War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [443]
“I suppose, my dear sir,” said the senator, maundering with his toothless mouth, “that we have been summoned here not in order to discuss what is more appropriate for the country at the present moment—conscription or a militia. We have been summoned to respond to the appeal the sovereign has deigned to make to us. And we can let higher authorities judge which is more opportune—conscription or a militia…”
Pierre suddenly found an outlet for his inspiration. He rose up against the senator who had introduced this correctness and narrowness of view into the tasks facing the nobility. Pierre stepped forward and stopped him. He did not know himself what he was going to say, but he began with animation, from time to time breaking into French words and expressing himself bookishly in Russian.
“Excuse me, Your Excellency,” he began. (Pierre knew this senator well, but considered it necessary here to address him officially.) “Though I do not agree with the gentleman…” (Pierre hesitated. He wanted to say mon très honorable préopinant*430 )—“with the gentleman…que je n’ai pas l’honneur de connaître;†431 but I suppose that the estate of the nobility, besides expressing its sympathy and delight, has also been summoned to discuss the measures by which we may help the fatherland. I suppose,” he said, becoming inspired, “that the sovereign himself would be displeased if he were to find in us only owners of peasants, whom we give to him, and…chair à canon,‡432 which we make of ourselves, and did not find in us any co…co…counsel.”
Many walked away from the circle, seeing the senator’s contemptuous smile and that Pierre was speaking liberally. Only Ilya Andreich was pleased with Pierre’s speech, as he had been pleased with the speech of the naval officer, the senator, and generally always with the speech he had heard last.
“I suppose that, before discussing these questions,” Pierre went on, “we should ask the sovereign, most respectfully ask his majesty, to communicate to us how many troops we have, in what position our troops and the army find themselves, and then…”
But Pierre had not managed to finish these words, when he was suddenly attacked from three sides. The strongest attack came from his old acquaintance, the Boston player Stepan Stepanovich Apraksin, who had always been well-disposed towards him. Stepan Stepanovich was wearing a uniform, and either because of the uniform, or for some other reason, Pierre saw a completely different person before him. With an old man’s anger suddenly showing on his face, Stepan Stepanovich shouted at Pierre:
“First, I put it to you that we have no right to ask that of the sovereign, and second, if the Russian nobility did have that right, the sovereign could not answer us. Troops move in accordance with the movements of the enemy—troops decrease and increase…”
Another voice, of a man of medium height, about forty years old, whom Pierre in the old days used to see at the Gypsies’ and knew for a dishonest card-player, and who, also changed by his uniform, moving closer to Pierre, interrupted Apraksin.
“And this is not the time for debate,” said the voice of this nobleman, “we must act: there’s war in Russia. The enemy is coming to destroy Russia, to defile the graves of our fathers, to carry off our wives and children.” The nobleman beat his chest. “We’ll all stand up, we’ll all go to the last man for our dearest tsar!” he cried, rolling his bloodshot eyes. Several approving voices were heard in the crowd. “We’re Russian, and we won’t spare our blood to defend the faith, the throne, and the fatherland. And the raving has to stop, if we are sons of the fatherland. We’ll show Europe how