“All that there was before seems good,” he said, “but wasn’t it that same Suvorov who fell into the trap set for him by Moreau and was unable to get out of it?”48
“Who told you that? Who told you?” cried the prince. “Suvorov!” And he flung away his plate, which was deftly caught by Tikhon. “Suvorov!…Think a little, Prince Andrei. Two men: Friedrich and Suvorov…Moreau! Moreau would have been captured if Suvorov had had a free hand; but he had the Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-rath49 on his hands. Even the devil wouldn’t be glad of that. But go, and you’ll learn about these Hofs-kriegs-wursts-chnapps-raths! Suvorov couldn’t get on with them, how is Mikhail Kutuzov going to do it?! No, my friend,” he went on, “you and your generals won’t get around Bonaparte; you need to get hold of a Frenchman, so that their own don’t know their own, and their own beat their own.50 They sent the German Pahlen to New York, to America, to fetch the Frenchman Moreau,”51 he said, alluding to the invitation made to Moreau that year to enter the Russian service. “Wonders!! What, were the Potemkins, the Suvorovs, the Orlovs Germans? No, brother, either you’ve all lost your wits there, or mine have burnt out. God help you, but we’ll see. They take Bonaparte for a great general! Hm!…”
“I’m by no means saying that all the plans are good,” said Prince Andrei, “only I can’t understand how you can make such a judgment about Bonaparte. Laugh all you like, but Bonaparte is still a great general!”
“Mikhail Ivanovich!” the old prince cried to the architect, who, being busy with the roast, had hoped to be forgotten. “Didn’t I tell you Bonaparte was a great tactician? Well, he says so, too.”
“Sure thing, Your Excellency,” replied the architect.
The prince again laughed his cold laugh.
“Bonaparte was born lucky. He has excellent soldiers. And the Germans were the first he attacked. You’d have to be a do-nothing not to beat the Germans. Ever since the world began, everybody’s beaten the Germans. And they’ve beaten nobody. Except each other. It was on them he earned his glory.”
And the prince began to analyze all the mistakes which, to his way of thinking, Bonaparte had made in all his wars and even in state affairs. His son did not object, but it was clear that, whatever the arguments presented to him, he was as little able to change his opinion as the old prince was. Prince Andrei listened, holding back his objections, and involuntarily amazed at how this old man, who had sat alone in the country uninterruptedly for so many years, could know and discuss, in such detail and with such subtlety, all the military and political circumstances of Europe in recent years.
“You think I’m an old man and don’t understand the real state of affairs,” he concluded. “But I have it all up here! I don’t sleep nights. So, where has this great general of yours shown himself?”
“That would be a long story,” said his son.
“Off with you to your Buonaparte, then. Mademoiselle Bourienne, voilà encore un admirateur de votre goujat d’empereur!”*167 he shouted in excellent French.
“Vous savez que je ne suis pas bonapartiste, mon prince.”†168
“Dieu sait quand reviendra…” the prince sang off-key, laughed still more off-key, and left the table.
All through the argument and the rest of dinner, the little princess was silent and kept glancing fearfully now at Princess Marya, now at her father-in-law. When they left the table, she took her sister-in-law by the arm and led her to another room.
“Comme c’est un homme d’esprit, votre père,” she said, “c’est à cause de cela peut-être qu’il me fait peur.”‡169
“Ah, he’s so kind!” said the princess.
XXV
Prince Andrei was leaving the next evening. The old prince, not abandoning his order, went to his rooms after dinner. The little princess was with her sister-in-law. Prince Andrei, dressed in a traveling frock coat without epaulettes, was packing with his valet in the rooms assigned to him. He personally saw to the carriage and the loading of the trunks, and ordered the horses harnessed up. All that remained in the room were the objects Prince Andrei always carried with him: a strongbox, a big silver cellaret, two Turkish pistols, and a saber—a present from his father, brought back from Ochakov. All these traveling accessories Prince Andrei kept in great order: everything was new, clean, in broadcloth covers, carefully tied with tapes.
At moments of departure and a change of life, people capable of reflecting on their actions usually get into a serious state of mind. At these moments they usually take stock of the past and make plans for the future. Prince Andrei’s face was very thoughtful and tender. His hands behind his back, he paced rapidly up and down the room, looking straight ahead and thoughtfully shaking his head. Was he afraid of going to the war, was he sad to be leaving his wife—perhaps both, but, evidently not wishing to be seen in such a state, when he heard footsteps in the hallway, he quickly unclasped his hands, stopped by the table, pretending to tie the tapes on the strongbox cover, and assumed his usual calm and impenetrable expression. They were the heavy footsteps of Princess Marya.
“They told me you gave orders to harness up,” she said breathlessly (she had obviously come running), “and I wanted so much to talk more with you alone. God knows for how long we’re parting again. You’re not angry that I’ve come? You’ve changed very much, Andryusha,” she added, as if to explain her question.
She smiled as she pronounced the name Andryusha. It must have been strange to her to think that this stern, handsome man was that same Andryusha, a thin, frolicsome boy, her childhood companion.
“And where is Lise?” he asked, only smiling in answer to her question.
“She was so tired that she fell asleep in my room on the sofa. Ah, André! Quel trésor de femme vous avez,”*170 she said, sitting down on the sofa opposite her brother. “She’s a perfect child, such a dear, merry child. I’ve come to love her so.”
Prince Andrei was silent, but the princess noticed the ironic and scornful expression that appeared on his face.
“But one must be indulgent towards little weaknesses—who doesn’t have them, André! Don’t forget that she grew up and was formed in society. And then, her position now isn’t very rosy. One must enter into each person’s position. Tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner.*171 Just think how it is for the poor dear, in her condition, after the life she’s used to, to part with her husband and remain alone in the country? It’s very hard.”
Prince Andrei smiled, looking at his sister, as we smile listening to people whom we think we can see through.
“You live in the country, and you don’t find this life so terrible,” he said.
“I’m another matter. Why talk of me! I do not and cannot wish for any other life, because I don’t know any other life. But think, André, for a young and worldly woman, in the best years of her life, to be buried in the country, alone, because papa’s always busy, and I…you know me…how poor I am en ressources, for a woman accustomed to the best society. Mademoiselle Bourienne alone…”