War and Peace
paused at the full stop. “I hope you will find him sympathetic and
ready to co-operate in promoting all that is reasonable.”
A circle soon formed round Speránski, and the old man who had talked
about his subordinate Pryánichnikov addressed a question to him.
Prince Andrew without joining in the conversation watched every movement
of Speránski’s: this man, not long since an insignificant divinity
student, who now, Bolkónski thought, held in his hands—those plump
white hands—the fate of Russia. Prince Andrew was struck by the
extraordinarily disdainful composure with which Speránski answered
the old man. He appeared to address condescending words to him from
an immeasurable height. When the old man began to speak too loud,
Speránski smiled and said he could not judge of the advantage or
disadvantage of what pleased the sovereign.
Having talked for a little while in the general circle, Speránski rose
and coming up to Prince Andrew took him along to the other end of the
room. It was clear that he thought it necessary to interest himself in
Bolkónski.
“I had no chance to talk with you, Prince, during the animated
conversation in which that venerable gentleman involved me,” he said
with a mildly contemptuous smile, as if intimating by that smile that he
and Prince Andrew understood the insignificance of the people with whom
he had just been talking. This flattered Prince Andrew. “I have known
of you for a long time: first from your action with regard to your
serfs, a first example, of which it is very desirable that there should
be more imitators; and secondly because you are one of those gentlemen
of the chamber who have not considered themselves offended by the new
decree concerning the ranks allotted to courtiers, which is causing so
much gossip and tittle-tattle.”
“No,” said Prince Andrew, “my father did not wish me to take
advantage of the privilege. I began the service from the lower grade.”
“Your father, a man of the last century, evidently stands above our
contemporaries who so condemn this measure which merely re-establishes
natural justice.”
“I think, however, that these condemnations have some ground,”
returned Prince Andrew, trying to resist Speránski’s influence, of
which he began to be conscious. He did not like to agree with him in
everything and felt a wish to contradict. Though he usually spoke easily
and well, he felt a difficulty in expressing himself now while talking
with Speránski. He was too much absorbed in observing the famous
man’s personality.
“Grounds of personal ambition maybe,” Speránski put in quietly.
“And of state interest to some extent,” said Prince Andrew.
“What do you mean?” asked Speránski quietly, lowering his eyes.
“I am an admirer of Montesquieu,” replied Prince Andrew, “and
his idea that le principe des monarchies est l’honneur me paraît
incontestable. Certains droits et privilèges de la noblesse me
paraissent être des moyens de soutenir ce sentiment.” *
* “The principle of monarchies is honor seems to me
incontestable. Certain rights and privileges for the
aristocracy appear to me a means of maintaining that
sentiment.”
The smile vanished from Speránski’s white face, which was much
improved by the change. Probably Prince Andrew’s thought interested
him.
“Si vous envisagez la question sous ce point de vue,” * he began,
pronouncing French with evident difficulty, and speaking even slower
than in Russian but quite calmly.
* “If you regard the question from that point of view.”
Speránski went on to say that honor, l’honneur, cannot be upheld by
privileges harmful to the service; that honor, l’honneur, is either a
negative concept of not doing what is blameworthy or it is a source of
emulation in pursuit of commendation and rewards, which recognize it.
His arguments were concise, simple, and clear.
“An institution upholding honor, the source of emulation, is one
similar to the Légion d’honneur of the great Emperor Napoleon, not
harmful but helpful to the success of the service, but not a class or
court privilege.”
“I do not dispute that, but it cannot be denied that court privileges
have attained the same end,” returned Prince Andrew. “Every courtier
considers himself bound to maintain his position worthily.”
“Yet you do not care to avail yourself of the privilege, Prince,”
said Speránski, indicating by a smile that he wished to finish amiably
an argument which was embarrassing for his companion. “If you will
do me the honor of calling on me on Wednesday,” he added, “I will,
after talking with Magnítski, let you know what may interest you, and
shall also have the pleasure of a more detailed chat with you.”
Closing his eyes, he bowed à la française, without taking leave, and
trying to attract as little attention as possible, he left the room.
CHAPTER VI
During the first weeks of his stay in Petersburg Prince Andrew felt the
whole trend of thought he had formed during his life of seclusion quite
overshadowed by the trifling cares that engrossed him in that city.
On returning home in the evening he would jot down in his notebook four
or five necessary calls or appointments for certain hours. The mechanism
of life, the arrangement of the day so as to be in time everywhere,
absorbed the greater part of his vital energy. He did nothing, did
not even think or find time to think, but only talked, and talked
successfully, of what he had thought while in the country.
He sometimes noticed with dissatisfaction that he repeated the same
remark on the same day in different circles. But he was so busy for
whole days together that he had no time to notice that he was thinking
of nothing.
As he had done on their first meeting at Kochubéy’s, Speránski
produced a strong impression on Prince Andrew on the Wednesday, when he
received him tête-à-tête at his own house and talked to him long and
confidentially.
To Bolkónski so many people appeared contemptible and insignificant
creatures, and he so longed to find in someone the living ideal of that
perfection toward which he strove, that he readily believed that in
Speránski he had found this ideal of a perfectly rational and virtuous
man. Had Speránski sprung from the same class as himself and possessed
the same breeding and traditions, Bolkónski would soon have discovered
his weak, human, unheroic sides; but as it was, Speránski’s strange
and logical turn of mind inspired him with respect all the more because
he did not quite understand him. Moreover, Speránski, either because he
appreciated the other’s capacity or because he considered it necessary
to win him to his side, showed off his dispassionate calm reasonableness
before Prince Andrew and flattered him with that subtle flattery which
goes hand in hand with self-assurance and consists in a tacit assumption
that one’s companion is the only man besides oneself capable of
understanding the folly of the rest of mankind and the reasonableness
and profundity of one’s own ideas.
During their long conversation on Wednesday evening, Speránski more
than once remarked: “We regard everything that is above the common
level of rooted custom...” or, with a smile: “But we want the wolves
to be fed and the sheep to be safe...” or: “They cannot understand
this...” and all in a way that seemed to say: “We, you and I,
understand what they are and who we are.”
This first long conversation with Speránski only strengthened in Prince
Andrew the feeling he had experienced toward him at their first meeting.
He saw in him a remarkable, clear-thinking man of vast intellect who by
his energy and persistence had attained power, which he was using solely
for the welfare of Russia. In Prince Andrew’s eyes Speránski was the
man he would himself have wished to be—one who explained all the facts
of life reasonably, considered important only what was rational, and
was capable of applying the standard of reason to everything. Everything
seemed so simple and clear in Speránski’s exposition that Prince
Andrew involuntarily agreed with him about everything. If he replied and
argued, it was only because he wished to maintain his independence and
not submit to Speránski’s opinions entirely. Everything was right
and everything was as it should be: only one thing disconcerted Prince
Andrew. This was Speránski’s cold, mirrorlike look, which did not
allow one to penetrate to his soul, and his delicate white hands, which
Prince Andrew involuntarily watched as one does watch the hands of
those who possess power. This mirrorlike gaze and those delicate hands
irritated Prince Andrew, he knew not why. He was unpleasantly
struck, too, by the excessive contempt for others that he observed in
Speránski, and by the diversity of lines of argument he used to
support his opinions. He made use of every kind of mental device, except
analogy, and passed too boldly, it seemed to Prince Andrew, from one
to another. Now he would take up the position of a practical man and
condemn dreamers; now that of a satirist, and laugh ironically at his
opponents; now grow severely logical, or suddenly rise to the realm of
metaphysics. (This last resource was one he very frequently employed.)
He would transfer a question to metaphysical heights, pass on to
definitions of space, time, and thought, and, having deduced the
refutation he needed, would again descend to the level of the original
discussion.
In general the trait of Speránski’s mentality which struck Prince
Andrew most was his absolute and unshakable belief in the power and
authority of reason. It was evident that the thought could never occur
to him which to Prince Andrew seemed so natural, namely, that it is
after all impossible to express all one thinks; and that he had never
felt the doubt, “Is not all I think and believe nonsense?” And
it was just this peculiarity of Speránski’s mind that particularly
attracted Prince Andrew.
During the first period of their acquaintance Bolkónski felt a
passionate admiration for him similar to that which he had once felt for
Bonaparte. The fact that Speránski was the son of a village priest,
and that stupid people might meanly despise him on account of his
humble origin (as in fact many did), caused Prince Andrew to cherish his
sentiment for him the more, and unconsciously to strengthen it.
On that first evening Bolkónski spent with him, having mentioned the
Commission for the Revision of the Code of Laws, Speránski told him
sarcastically that the Commission had existed for a hundred and fifty
years, had cost millions, and had done nothing except that Rosenkampf
had stuck labels on the corresponding paragraphs of the different codes.
“And that is all the state has for the millions it has spent,” said
he. “We want to give the Senate new juridical powers, but we have no
laws. That is why it is a sin for men like you, Prince, not to serve in
these times!”
Prince Andrew said that for that work an education in jurisprudence was
needed which he did not possess.
“But nobody possesses it, so what would you have? It is a vicious
circle from which we must break a way out.”
A week later Prince Andrew was a member of the Committee on Army
Regulations and—what he had not at all expected—was chairman of a
section of the committee for the revision of the laws. At Speránski’s
request he took the first part of the Civil Code that was being drawn up
and, with the aid of the Code Napoléon and the Institutes of Justinian,
he worked at formulating the section on Personal Rights.
CHAPTER VII
Nearly two years before this, in 1808, Pierre on returning to Petersburg
after visiting his estates had involuntarily found himself in a leading
position among the Petersburg Freemasons. He arranged dining and funeral