War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [276]
IV
Prince Andrei arrived in Petersburg in August 1809. This was the time when the glory of the young Speransky and the energy of the reforms he carried through were at their apogee.3 That same August, the sovereign, was overturned while driving in his carriage, injured his leg, and stayed in Peterhof4 for three weeks, seeing Speransky daily and exclusively. This was the time of the preparation not only of the two famous decrees which so alarmed society, on the abolition of court ranks and on examinations for the ranks of collegiate assessor and state councillor,5 but also of an entire state constitution, which was supposed to change the existing judicial, administrative, and financial order of management in Russia, from the council of state to the local board. Now came the realization and embodiment of those vague liberal dreams with which Alexander had taken the throne and which he had been striving to realize with the aid of his helpers Czartoryski, Novosiltsev, Kochubey, and Stroganov, whom he himself jokingly referred to as his comité de salut publique.*336 6
Now they had all been replaced by Speransky on the civil side and Arakcheev on the military. Soon after his arrival, Prince Andrei, being a gentleman of the chamber, appeared at court and at a levee. The sovereign met him twice and did not deign to say even one word to him. It had always seemed to Prince Andrei, even before, that he was antipathetic for the sovereign, that the sovereign disliked his face and his whole being. In the dry, distant gaze with which the sovereign looked at him, Prince Andrei found still more confirmation of this supposition than before. The courtiers explained the sovereign’s inattention to him by the fact that his majesty was displeased that Bolkonsky had not served since 1805.
“I know myself how little control we have over our sympathies and antipathies,” thought Prince Andrei, “and therefore there’s no use thinking of presenting my memorandum on military regulations to the sovereign personally, but the matter will speak for itself.” He told an old field marshal, his father’s friend, about his project. The field marshal appointed a time, received him benignly, and promised to report to the sovereign. A few days later, Prince Andrei was told that he had to appear before the minister of war, Count Arakcheev.
At nine o’clock in the morning of the appointed day, Prince Andrei appeared in Count Arakcheev’s anteroom.
Prince Andrei did not know Arakcheev personally and had never seen him, but everything he knew about him inspired little respect in him for this man.
“He is minister of war, the sovereign emperor’s trusted man; his personal qualities are nobody’s business; he was entrusted with considering my memorandum—consequently, he alone can set it in motion,” thought Prince Andrei, waiting among many significant and insignificant persons in Count Arakcheev’s anteroom.
During his service, mostly as an adjutant, Prince Andrei had seen many anterooms of significant persons, and the differing characters of these anterooms were very clear to him. Count Arakcheev’s anteroom had a completely special character. The insignificant persons waiting in line for an audience in Count Arakcheev’s anteroom had feelings of abashedness and submission written on their faces; the persons of higher rank had faces expressing a general feeling of awkwardness, concealed behind an appearance of casualness and mockery of oneself, of one’s position, and of the person they were waiting to meet. Some paced up and down pensively, others whispered and laughed, and Prince Andrei heard the sobriquet “Sila Andreich”7 and the phrase “Uncle will give you what for,” referring to Arakcheev. One general (a significant person), apparently insulted at having to wait so long, sat crossing and recrossing his legs and smiling contemptuously to himself.
But as soon as the door opened, all the faces instantly expressed only one thing—fear. Prince Andrei asked the officer