Bureaucratic Power Games — War and Peace

Prince Andrew arrives in Petersburg in August 1809, when youthful Speránski is at the zenith of his fame and reforms are being pushed with the greatest energy. That same August the Emperor is thrown from his calèche, injures his leg, and remains three weeks at Peterhof, receiving Speránski every day and no one else. Two famous decrees that so agitate society are being prepared: abolishing court ranks and introducing examinations to qualify for Collegiate Assessor and State Councilor, and not merely these but a whole state constitution intended to change legal, administrative, and financial government from the Council of State down to district tribunals. The vague liberal dreams with which Alexander ascended the throne, tried with Czartorýski, Novosíltsev, Kochubéy, and Strógonov, whom he jested as his Comité de salut public, are taking shape. Now those men are replaced by Speránski on the civil side and Arakchéev on the military.

Soon after arrival Andrew, as a gentleman of the chamber, presents himself at court and at a levee. The Emperor meets him twice and does not favour him with a single word. It has always seemed to Andrew that he was antipathetic to the Emperor, that the latter disliked his face and personality; the cold, repellent glance now confirms the surmise. Courtiers explain the neglect by His Majesty's displeasure at Bolkónski's not having served since 1805. One cannot help one's sympathies and antipathies, Andrew thinks, so it will not do to present the army-regulation project to the Emperor personally; the project will speak for itself. He mentions what he has written to an old field marshal, a friend of his father's, who receives him graciously and promises to inform the Emperor. A few days later Andrew is told to see the Minister of War, Count Arakchéev.

On the appointed day he enters Arakchéev's waiting room at nine in the morning. He does not know the minister personally and has heard little to inspire respect, but the man is trusted by the Emperor and commissioned to consider the project. The anteroom has a special character: unimportant faces show embarrassment and servility; higher rank covers awkwardness with unconcern and self-ridicule. Some walk up and down; others whisper. Andrew hears the nickname Síla Andréevich and Uncle will give it to us hot. A general sits crossing and uncrossing his legs, smiling contemptuously at having to wait. The moment the door opens, one feeling alone appears on all faces: fear. Andrew asks the adjutant a second time to take in his name and receives an ironical look: his turn will come. An officer with a humiliated, frightened air is admitted; the audience lasts a long time; a harsh grating voice is heard; the officer comes out pale, lips trembling, clutching his head. Andrew is conducted in: to the right, at the window. A man of forty, long waist, closely cropped head, deep wrinkles, scowling brows, dull greenish-hazel eyes, overhanging red nose, turns his head without looking. What is your petition? Andrew quietly says he is not petitioning; the Emperor has deigned to send a project. Arakchéev reads that there are many laws but no one to carry out the old ones; nowadays everybody designs laws; writing is easier than doing. Across the paper is scrawled in pencil, without capitals, misspelled, without punctuation: unsoundly constructed because it resembles an imitation of the French military code and needlessly deviates from the Articles of War. The memorandum has gone to the Committee on Army Regulations; Andrew is recommended as a member, but without a salary. Andrew smiles that he does not want one. A member without salary, Arakchéev repeats, bows, and shouts for the next.