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Prince Andrew's eyes were still following Pfuel out of the
room when Count Bennigsen entered hurriedly, and nodding to Bolkonski,
but not pausing, went into the study, giving instructions to his
adjutant as he went. The Emperor was following him, and Bennigsen
had hastened on to make some preparations and to be ready to receive
the sovereign. Chernyshev and Prince Andrew went out into the
porch, where the Emperor, who looked fatigued, was dismounting.
Marquis Paulucci was talking to him with particular warmth and
the Emperor, with his head bent to the left, was listening with
a dissatisfied air. The Emperor moved forward evidently wishing
to end the conversation, but the flushed and excited Italian,
oblivious of decorum, followed him and continued to speak.
"And as for the man who advised forming this camp- the
Drissa camp," said Paulucci, as the Emperor mounted the steps
and noticing Prince Andrew scanned his unfamiliar face, "as
to that person, sire..." continued Paulucci, desperately,
apparently unable to restrain himself, "the man who advised
the Drissa camp- I see no alternative but the lunatic asylum or
the gallows!"
Without heeding the end of the Italian's remarks, and as though
not hearing them, the Emperor, recognizing Bolkonski, addressed
him graciously.
"I am very glad to see you! Go in there where they are
meeting, and wait for me."
The Emperor went into the study. He was followed by Prince
Peter Mikhaylovich Volkonski and Baron Stein, and the door closed
behind them. Prince Andrew, taking advantage of the Emperor's
permission, accompanied Paulucci, whom he had known in Turkey,
into the drawing room where the council was assembled.
Prince Peter Mikhaylovich Volkonski occupied the position,
as it were, of chief of the Emperor's staff. He came out of the
study into the drawing room with some maps which he spread on
a table, and put questions on which he wished to hear the opinion
of the gentlemen present. What had happened was that news (which
afterwards proved to be false) had been received during the night
of a movement by the French to outflank the Drissa camp.
The first to speak was General Armfeldt who, to meet the difficulty
that presented itself, unexpectedly proposed a perfectly new position
away from the Petersburg and Moscow roads. The reason for this
was inexplicable (unless he wished to show that he, too, could
have an opinion), but he urged that at this point the army should
unite and there await the enemy. It was plain that Armfeldt had
thought out that plan long ago and now expounded it not so much
to answer the questions put- which, in fact, his plan did not
answer- as to avail himself of the opportunity to air it. It was
one of the millions of proposals, one as good as another, that
could be made as long as it was quite unknown what character the
war would take. Some disputed his arguments, others defended them.
Young Count Toll objected to the Swedish general's views more
warmly than anyone else, and in the course of the dispute drew
from his side pocket a well-filled notebook, which he asked permission
to read to them. In these voluminous notes Toll suggested another
scheme, totally different from Armfeldt's or Pfuel's plan of campaign.
In answer to Toll, Paulucci suggested an advance and an attack,
which, he urged, could alone extricate us from the present uncertainty
and from the trap (as he called the Drissa camp) in which we were
situated.
During all these discussions Pfuel and his interpreter, Wolzogen
(his "bridge" in court relations), were silent. Pfuel
only snorted contemptuously and turned away, to show that he would
never demean himself by replying to such nonsense as he was now
hearing. So when Prince Volkonski, who was in the chair, called
on him to give his opinion, he merely said:
"Why ask me? General Armfeldt has proposed a splendid
position with an exposed rear, or why not this Italian gentleman's
attack- very fine, or a retreat, also good! Why ask me?"
said he. "Why, you yourselves know everything better than
I do."
But when Volkonski said, with a frown, that it was in the
Emperor's name that he asked his opinion, Pfuel rose and, suddenly
growing animated, began to speak:
"Everything has been spoiled, everything muddled, everybody
thought they knew better than I did, and now you come to me! How
mend matters? There is nothing to mend! The principles laid down
by me must be strictly adhered to," said he, drumming on
the table with his bony fingers. "What is the difficulty?
Nonsense, childishness!"
He went up to the map and speaking rapidly began proving that
no eventuality could alter the efficiency of the Drissa camp,
that everything had been foreseen, and that if the enemy were
really going to outflank it, the enemy would inevitably be destroyed.
Paulucci, who did not know German, began questioning him in
French. Wolzogen came to the assistance of his chief, who spoke
French badly, and began translating for him, hardly able to keep
pace with Pfuel, who was rapidly demonstrating that not only all
that had happened, but all that could happen, had been foreseen
in his scheme, and that if there were now any difficulties the
whole fault lay in the fact that his plan had not been precisely
executed. He kept laughing sarcastically, he demonstrated, and
at last contemptuously ceased to demonstrate, like a mathematician
who ceases to prove in various ways the accuracy of a problem
that has already been proved. Wolzogen took his place and continued
to explain his views in French, every now and then turning to
Pfuel and saying, "Is it not so, your excellency?" But
Pfuel, like a man heated in a fight who strikes those on his own
side, shouted angrily at his own supporter, Wolzogen:
"Well, of course, what more is there to explain?"
Paulucci and Michaud both attacked Wolzogen simultaneously
in French. Armfeldt addressed Pfuel in German. Toll explained
to Volkonski in Russian. Prince Andrew listened and observed in
silence.
Of all these men Prince Andrew sympathized most with Pfuel,
angry, determined, and absurdly self-confident as he was. Of all
those present, evidently he alone was not seeking anything for
himself, nursed no hatred against anyone, and only desired that
the plan, formed on a theory arrived at by years of toil, should
be carried out. He was ridiculous, and unpleasantly sarcastic,
but yet he inspired involuntary respect by his boundless devotion
to an idea. Besides this, the remarks of all except Pfuel had
one common trait that had not been noticeable at the council of
war in 1805: there was now a panic fear of Napoleon's genius,
which, though concealed, was noticeable in every rejoinder. Everything
was assumed to be possible for Napoleon, they expected him from
every side, and invoked his terrible name to shatter each other's
proposals. Pfuel alone seemed to consider Napoleon a barbarian
like everyone else who opposed his theory. But besides this feeling
of respect, Pfuel evoked pity in Prince Andrew. From the tone
in which the courtiers addressed him and the way Paulucci had
allowed himself to speak of him to the Emperor, but above all
from a certain desperation in Pfuel's own expressions, it was
clear that the others knew, and Pfuel himself felt, that his fall
was at hand. And despite his self-confidence and grumpy German
sarcasm he was pitiable, with his hair smoothly brushed on the
temples and sticking up in tufts behind. Though he concealed the
fact under a show of irritation and contempt, he was evidently
in despair that the sole remaining chance of verifying his theory
by a huge experiment and proving its soundness to the whole world
was slipping away from him.
The discussions continued a long time, and the longer they
lasted the more heated became the disputes, culminating in shouts
and personalities, and the less was it possible to arrive at any
general conclusion from all that had been said. Prince Andrew,
listening to this polyglot talk and to these surmises, plans,
refutations, and shouts, felt nothing but amazement at what they
were saying. A thought that had long since and often occurred
to him during his military activities- the idea that there is
not and cannot be any science of war, and that therefore there
can be no such thing as a military genius- now appeared to him
an obvious truth. "What theory and science is possible about
a matter the conditions and circumstances of which are unknown
and cannot be defined, especially when the strength of the acting
forces cannot be ascertained? No one was or is able to foresee
in what condition our or the enemy's armies will be in a day's
time, and no one can gauge the force of this or that detachment.
Sometimes- when there is not a coward at the front to shout, 'We
are cut off!' and start running, but a brave and jolly lad who
shouts, 'Hurrah!'- a detachment of five thousand is worth thirty
thousand, as at Schon Grabern, while at times fifty thousand run
from eight thousand, as at Austerlitz. What science can there
be in a matter in which, as in all practical matters, nothing
can be defined and everything depends on innumerable conditions,
the significance of which is determined at a particular moment
which arrives no one knows when? Armfeldt says our army is cut
in half, and Paulucci says we have got the French army between
two fires; Michaud says that the worthlessness of the Drissa camp
lies in having the river behind it, and Pfuel says that is what
constitutes its strength; Toll proposes one plan, Armfeldt another,
and they are all good and all bad, and the advantages of any suggestions
can be seen only at the moment of trial. And why do they all speak
of a 'military genius'? Is a man a genius who can order bread
to be brought up at the right time and say who is to go to the
right and who to the left? It is only because military men are
invested with pomp and power and crowds of sychophants flatter
power, attributing to it qualities of genius it does not possess.
The best generals I have known were, on the contrary, stupid or
absent-minded men. Bagration was the best, Napoleon himself admitted
that. And of Bonaparte himself! I remember his limited, self-satisfied
face on the field of Austerlitz. Not only does a good army commander
not need any special qualities, on the contrary he needs the absence
of the highest and best human attributes- love, poetry, tenderness,
and philosophic inquiring doubt. He should be limited, firmly
convinced that what he is doing is very important (otherwise he
will not have sufficient patience), and only then will he be a
brave leader. God forbid that he should be humane, should love,
or pity, or think of what is just and unjust. It is understandable
that a theory of their 'genius' was invented for them long ago
because they have power! The success of a military action depends
not on them, but on the man in the ranks who shouts, 'We are lost!'
or who shouts, 'Hurrah!' And only in the ranks can one serve with
assurance of being useful."
So thought Prince Andrew as he listened to the talking, and
he roused himself only when Paulucci called him and everyone was
leaving.
At the review next day the Emperor asked Prince Andrew where
he would like to serve, and Prince Andrew lost his standing in
court circles forever by not asking to remain attached to the
sovereign's person, but for permission to serve in the army.
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