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PRINCE ANDREY arrived in Petersburg in the August of 1809. It was the period
when the young Speransky was at the zenith of his fame and his reforms were
being carried out with the utmost vigour. In that very month the Tsar was thrown
out of his carriage, hurt his foot, and was laid up for three weeks at Peterhof,
seeing Speransky every day and no one else. At that period there were in
preparation the two famous decrees that so convulsed society, abolishing the
bestowal of grades by court favour and establishing examinations for obtaining
the ranks of collegiate assessors and state councillors. But besides these
reforms, a whole political constitution was under discussion destined to
transform the whole legal, administrative and financial system of government
from the Privy Council to the district tribunals. At this time the vague,
liberal ideals with which the Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne were
taking shape and being carried into practice. Those ideals he had striven to
realise with the aid of Tchartorizhsky, Novosiltsov, Kotchubey, and Stroganov,
whom he used himself to call in fun his “comité du salut publique.” Now
all were replaced by Speransky on the civil side and Araktcheev on the
military.
Soon after his arrival, Prince Andrey, as a kammerherr, presented himself at
court and at a levée. The Tsar, meeting him on two occasions, did not deign to
bestow a single word upon him. Prince Andrey had fancied even before then that
he was antipathetic to the Tsar; that the Tsar disliked his face and his whole
personality. In the cold, repellent glance with which the Tsar looked at him,
Prince Andrey found further confirmation of this supposition. Courtiers
explained the Tsar's slight to Prince Andrey by saying that his majesty was
displeased at Bolkonsky's having retired from active service since 1805.
“I know myself that one has no control over one's likes and dislikes,”
thought Prince Andrey, “and so it is of no use to think of presenting my note on
army reform in person to the Tsar, but the thing will speak for itself.” He sent
word about his note to an old field-marshal, a friend of his father's. The
field-marshal fixed an hour to see him, received him cordially, and promised to
lay it before the Tsar. A few days later, Prince Andrey received notice that he
was to call upon the minister of war, Count Araktcheev.
At nine o'clock in the morning on the day appointed, Prince Andrey entered
Count Araktcheev's reception-room.
Prince Andrey did not know Araktcheev personally and had never seen him, but
all that he knew about him had inspired him with little respect for the
man.
“He is the minister of war, a person the Tsar trusts, and no one need have
any concern with his personal qualities; he has been commissioned to look at my
note, consequently he is the only person who can get it adopted,” thought Prince
Andrey, as he waited among many persons of importance and unimportance in Count
Araktcheev's anteroom.
During the years of his service—for the most part as an adjutant—Prince
Andrey had seen the anterooms of many great personages, and the various
characteristic types of such anterooms were very readily recognised by him.
Count Araktcheev's anteroom had quite a special character. The faces of the
persons of no consequence who were awaiting their turns for an audience with
Count Araktcheev betrayed a feeling of humiliation and servility; the faces of
those of superior rank all wore an expression of general discomfort, concealed
under a mask of ease and ridicule, of themselves and their position and the
person they were waiting to see. Some of them walked up and down plunged in
thought; others were laughing and whispering together, and Prince Andrey caught
the nickname Sila Andreitch (Sila meaning Force or Violence), and the
words “the governor'll give it you,” referring to Count Araktcheev. One general
(a person of great consequence), unmistakably chagrined at being kept waiting so
long, sat with crossed legs, disdainfully smiling to himself.
But as soon as the door opened, all faces instantly betrayed one feeling
only—terror.
Prince Andrey asked the adjutant on duty to mention his name again, but he
received a sarcastic stare, and was told his turn would come in due course.
After several persons had been let in and let out of the minister's room by the
adjutant, an officer was admitted at the dreadful door, whose abject and
panic-stricken face had struck Prince Andrey. The officer's audience lasted a
long while. Suddenly the roar of a harsh voice was heard through the door, and
the officer, with a white face and trembling lips, came out, and clutching at
his head, crossed the anteroom. After that, Prince Andrey was conducted to the
door, and the adjutant in a whisper said: “To the right, at the window.”
Prince Andrey went into a plain, neat study, and saw at the table a man of
forty with a long waist, with a long, closely-cropped head, deep wrinkles,
scowling brows over brown-green, dull eyes, and a red, over-hanging nose.
Araktcheev turned his head towards him, without looking at him.
“What is it you are petitioning for?” asked Araktcheev.
“There is nothing that I am…petitioning for, your excellency,” Prince Andrey
pronounced softly. Araktcheev's eyes turned to him.
“Sit down,” said Araktcheev. “Prince Bolkonsky?”
“I have no petition to make, but his majesty the Tsar has graciously sent to
your excellency a note submitted by me—”
“Be so good as to see, my dear sir; I have read your note,” Araktcheev
interrupted, uttering only the first words civilly, again looking away from him,
and relapsing more and more into a tone of grumbling contempt. “Is it new army
regulations you propose? There are regulations in plenty; no one will carry out
the old ones. Nowadays every one's drawing up regulations; it's easier writing
than doing.”
“I have come by the desire of his majesty the Tsar to learn from your
excellency how you propose to deal with my project,” said Prince Andrey
courteously.
“I have proposed a resolution in regard to your note, and have forwarded it
to the committee. I do not approve,” said Araktcheev, getting up and taking a
paper out of the writing-table. “Here.” He gave it to Prince Andrey. Right
across the note had been scrawled, without punctuation or capital letters and
with words misspelt: “Superficially compiled seeing that it's drawn up in
imitation of the French army regulations and needlessly departing from the
standing orders.”
“To what committee has the note been referred?” asked Prince Andrey.
“To the Committee on Army Regulations, and I have proposed your honour being
enrolled among its members. Only without salary.”
Prince Andrey smiled.
“I am not seeking a salary.”
“A member without salary,” repeated Araktcheev. “I wish you good day. Hey!
call! who's the next?” he shouted, as he bowed to Prince Andrey.
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