When Heroes Disappoint — War and Peace

Next day Prince Andrew thinks of the ball, but his mind does not dwell on it long. Yes, it was a very brilliant ball, and then, yes, that little Rostóva is very charming. There is something fresh, original, un-Petersburg-like about her that distinguishes her. That is all he thinks about yesterday's ball, and after his morning tea he sets to work. But either from fatigue or want of sleep he is ill-disposed for work and can get nothing done. He keeps criticizing his own work, as he often does, and is glad when he hears someone coming.

The visitor is Bítski, who serves on various committees, frequents all the societies in Petersburg, and is a passionate devotee of the new ideas and of Speránski, a diligent Petersburg newsmonger, one of those men who choose their opinions like their clothes according to the fashion, but who for that very reason appear to be the warmest partisans. Hardly has he got rid of his hat before he runs into Andrew's room with a preoccupied air and at once begins talking. He has just heard particulars of that morning's sitting of the Council of State opened by the Emperor, and he speaks of it enthusiastically. The Emperor's speech was extraordinary, such as only constitutional monarchs deliver. The Sovereign plainly said that the Council and Senate are estates of the realm, that government must rest not on authority but on secure bases, that the fiscal system must be reorganized and the accounts published. Ah, yes, today's events mark an epoch, the greatest epoch in our history. Andrew listens to the account of the opening he had so impatiently awaited and to which he had attached such importance, and is surprised that this event, now that it has taken place, does not affect him, and even seems quite insignificant. He listens with quiet irony. A very simple thought occurs: what does it matter to me or to Bítski what the Emperor was pleased to say at the Council? Can all that make me any happier or better? And this simple reflection suddenly destroys all the interest he had felt in the impending reforms.

He is going to dine that evening at Speránski's, with only a few friends, as the host said when inviting him. The prospect of that dinner in the intimate home circle of the man he so admired had greatly interested him, especially as he had not yet seen Speránski in his domestic surroundings, but now he feels disinclined to go. At the appointed hour, however, he enters the modest house. He hears the statesman's high staged laugh, anecdotes mocking officials, and laughter that grates like a false note, while Andrew cannot join the joke. Leaving disillusioned, he reviews months of committee work. He thinks of meetings of a committee of which Berg was a member, how carefully and at what length everything relating to form and procedure was discussed, and how sedulously and promptly all that related to the gist of the business was evaded. He recalls his labours on the Legal Code, how painstakingly he translated articles of the Roman and French codes into Russian, and he feels ashamed of himself. Then he vividly pictures Boguchárovo, his occupations in the country, his journey to Ryazán; he remembers the peasants and Dron the village elder, and mentally applying to them the Personal Rights he had divided into paragraphs, he feels astonished that he could have spent so much time on such useless work.