When Power Says No — War and Peace

Rostóv has come to Tilsit on the day least suitable for Denísov's petition. He cannot go to the general in attendance: he is in mufti and without permission. Borís, even had he wished, could not have helped the next day. On 27 June the preliminaries of peace are signed. The Emperors exchange decorations: Alexander receives the Cross of the Legion of Honour, Napoleon the Order of St. Andrew of the First Degree. A battalion of French Guards will give a dinner to the Preobrazhénsk battalion, both Emperors present. Rostóv feels so ill at ease with Borís that when the latter looks in after supper he pretends to be asleep, and early next morning goes away avoiding him. In civilian clothes and a round hat he wanders the town, staring at French uniforms and at houses where the Emperors stay. In a square, tables are set; Russian and French colours drape the streets with huge monograms A and N.

Borís does not want to help, and Rostóv will not ask. All is over between them, but he will not leave without getting the letter to the Emperor. Unconsciously he returns to Alexander's house. Saddled horses wait; the suite assembles. If only he could hand the letter direct: would they arrest him for civilian clothes? The Emperor understands everything, is just and magnanimous. Even arrest would not matter. He will not miss his opportunity as he did after Austerlitz. He fancies the sovereign saying he is happy when he can do good, but to remedy injustice is the greatest happiness. With a determination he himself does not expect, he feels for the letter and goes straight in. A broad staircase; a door downstairs. He wants to hand a petition to His Majesty. A petition? This way, to the officer on duty; only it will not be accepted. The indifferent voice frightens him; the thought of meeting the Emperor is so fascinating it is alarming; he is ready to run, but the official opens the door.

A short stout man of about thirty, in white breeches and high boots, stands while a valet buttons handsome silk-embroidered braces that for some reason attract Rostóv's attention. He has been saying a good figure and in her first bloom; seeing Rostóv he frowns. Another petitioner. Tell him to come later; tomorrow; too late. Rostóv turns to go; the man stops him. From Major Denísov; Lieutenant Count Rostóv. What audacity. Hand it in through your commander. Go. Cursing his temerity, heart sinking at the thought of being shamed and arrested before the Emperor, Rostóv is making his way out through brilliant parade uniforms when a deep voice detains him. A cavalry general who has the Emperor's special favour this campaign, formerly commander of Rostóv's division, asks what he is doing in civilian dress. Seeing the kindly, jocular face, Rostóv takes him aside and tells the whole affair. The general shakes his head: sorry for that fine fellow; give me the letter. Hasty steps, jingling spurs: Hayne, the groom from Austerlitz, leads up the horse. Rostóv, forgetting danger, goes close to the porch and after two years sees the features he adores, majesty and mildness, now in Preobrazhénsk uniform with the Légion d'honneur star he does not know. Enthusiasm and love rise in their old force. The monarch speaks to generals, beckons the cavalry general, then, hand on the saddle, says in a loud voice meant to be heard by all: I cannot do it, General. I cannot, because the law is stronger than I. He mounts and gallops down the street. Beside himself with enthusiasm, Rostóv runs after him with the crowd.