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This letter had not yet been presented to the Emperor when
Barclay, one day at dinner, informed Bolkonski that the sovereign
wished to see him personally, to question him about Turkey, and
that Prince Andrew was to present himself at Bennigsen's quarters
at six that evening.
News was received at the Emperor's quarters that very day
of a fresh movement by Napoleon which might endanger the army-
news subsequently found to be false. And that morning Colonel
Michaud had ridden round the Drissa fortifications with the Emperor
and had pointed out to him that this fortified camp constructed
by Pfuel, and till then considered a chef-d'oeuvre of tactical
science which would ensure Napoleon's destruction, was an absurdity,
threatening the destruction of the Russian army.
Prince Andrew arrived at Bennigsen's quarters- a country gentleman's
house of moderate size, situated on the very banks of the river.
Neither Bennigsen nor the Emperor was there, but Chernyshev, the
Emperor's aide-de-camp, received Bolkonski and informed him that
the Emperor, accompanied by General Bennigsen and Marquis Paulucci,
had gone a second time that day to inspect the fortifications
of the Drissa camp, of the suitability of which serious doubts
were beginning to be felt.
Chernyshev was sitting at a window in the first room with
a French novel in his hand. This room had probably been a music
room; there was still an organ in it on which some rugs were piled,
and in one corner stood the folding bedstead of Bennigsen's adjutant.
This adjutant was also there and sat dozing on the rolled-up bedding,
evidently exhausted by work or by feasting. Two doors led from
the room, one straight on into what had been the drawing room,
and another, on the right, to the study. Through the first door
came the sound of voices conversing in German and occasionally
in French. In that drawing room were gathered, by the Emperor's
wish, not a military council (the Emperor preferred indefiniteness),
but certain persons whose opinions he wished to know in view of
the impending difficulties. It was not a council of war, but,
as it were, a council to elucidate certain questions for the Emperor
personally. To this semicouncil had been invited the Swedish General
Armfeldt, Adjutant General Wolzogen, Wintzingerode (whom Napoleon
had referred to as a renegade French subject), Michaud, Toll,
Count Stein who was not a military man at all, and Pfuel himself,
who, as Prince Andrew had heard, was the mainspring of the whole
affair. Prince Andrew had an opportunity of getting a good look
at him, for Pfuel arrived soon after himself and, in passing through
to the drawing room, stopped a minute to speak to Chernyshev.
At first sight, Pfuel, in his ill-made uniform of a Russian
general, which fitted him badly like a fancy costume, seemed familiar
to Prince Andrew, though he saw him now for the first time. There
was about him something of Weyrother, Mack, and Schmidt, and many
other German theorist-generals whom Prince Andrew had seen in
1805, but he was more typical than any of them. Prince Andrew
had never yet seen a German theorist in whom all the characteristics
of those others were united to such an extent.
Pfuel was short and very thin but broad-boned, of coarse,
robust build, broad in the hips, and with prominent shoulder blades.
His face was much wrinkled and his eyes deep set. His hair had
evidently been hastily brushed smooth in front of the temples,
but stuck up behind in quaint little tufts. He entered the room,
looking restlessly and angrily around, as if afraid of everything
in that large apartment. Awkwardly holding up his sword, he addressed
Chernyshev and asked in German where the Emperor was. One could
see that he wished to pass through the rooms as quickly as possible,
finish with the bows and greetings, and sit down to business in
front of a map, where he would feel at home. He nodded hurriedly
in reply to Chernyshev, and smiled ironically on hearing that
the sovereign was inspecting the fortifications that he, Pfuel,
had planned in accord with his theory. He muttered something to
himself abruptly and in a bass voice, as self-assured Germans
do- it might have been "stupid fellow"... or "the
whole affair will be ruined," or "something absurd will
come of it."... Prince Andrew did not catch what he said
and would have passed on, but Chernyshev introduced him to Pfuel,
remarking that Prince Andrew was just back from Turkey where the
war had terminated so fortunately. Pfuel barely glanced- not so
much at Prince Andrew as past him- and said, with a laugh: "That
must have been a fine tactical war"; and, laughing contemptuously,
went on into the room from which the sound of voices was heard.
Pfuel, always inclined to be irritably sarcastic, was particularly
disturbed that day, evidently by the fact that they had dared
to inspect and criticize his camp in his absence. From this short
interview with Pfuel, Prince Andrew, thanks to his Austerlitz
experiences, was able to form a clear conception of the man. Pfuel
was one of those hopelessly and immutably self-confident men,
self-confident to the point of martyrdom as only Germans are,
because only Germans are self-confident on the basis of an abstract
notion- science, that is, the supposed knowledge of absolute truth.
A Frenchman is self-assured because he regards himself personally,
both in mind and body, as irresistibly attractive to men and women.
An Englishman is self-assured, as being a citizen of the best-organized
state in the world, and therefore as an Englishman always knows
what he should do and knows that all he does as an Englishman
is undoubtedly correct. An Italian is self-assured because he
is excitable and easily forgets himself and other people. A Russian
is self-assured just because he knows nothing does not want to
know anything, since he does not believe that anything can be
known. The German's self-assurance is worst of all, stronger and
more repulsive than any other, because he imagines that he knows
the truth- science- which he himself has invented but which is
for him the absolute truth.
Pfuel was evidently of that sort. He had a science- the theory
of oblique movements deduced by him from the history of Frederick
the Great's wars, and all he came across in the history of more
recent warfare seemed to him absurd and barbarous- monstrous collisions
in which so many blunders were committed by both sides that these
wars could not be called wars, they did not accord with the theory,
and therefore could not serve as material for science.
In 1806 Pfuel had been one of those responsible, for the plan
of campaign that ended in Jena and Auerstadt, but he did not see
the least proof of the fallibility of his theory in the disasters
of that war. On the contrary, the deviations made from his theory
were, in his opinion, the sole cause of the whole disaster, and
with characteristically gleeful sarcasm he would remark, "There,
I said the whole affair would go to the devil!" Pfuel was
one of those theoreticians who so love their theory that they
lose sight of the theory's object- its practical application.
His love of theory made him hate everything practical, and he
would not listen to it. He was even pleased by failures, for failures
resulting from deviations in practice from the theory only proved
to him the accuracy of his theory.
He said a few words to Prince Andrew and Chernyshev about
the present war, with the air of a man who knows beforehand that
all will go wrong, and who is not displeased that it should be
so. The unbrushed tufts of hair sticking up behind and the hastily
brushed hair on his temples expressed this most eloquently.
He passed into the next room, and the deep, querulous sounds
of his voice were at once heard from there.
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