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<h2> CHAPTER XXII </h2>
<p>Two days later, on the fifteenth of July, an immense number of carriages
were standing outside the Sloboda Palace.</p>
<p>The great halls were full. In the first were the nobility and gentry in
their uniforms, in the second bearded merchants in full-skirted coats of
blue cloth and wearing medals. In the noblemen's hall there was an
incessant movement and buzz of voices. The chief magnates sat on
high-backed chairs at a large table under the portrait of the Emperor, but
most of the gentry were strolling about the room.</p>
<p>All these nobles, whom Pierre met every day at the Club or in their own
houses, were in uniform—some in that of Catherine's day, others in
that of Emperor Paul, others again in the new uniforms of Alexander's time
or the ordinary uniform of the nobility, and the general characteristic of
being in uniform imparted something strange and fantastic to these diverse
and familiar personalities, both old and young. The old men, dim-eyed,
toothless, bald, sallow, and bloated, or gaunt and wrinkled, were
especially striking. For the most part they sat quietly in their places
and were silent, or, if they walked about and talked, attached themselves
to someone younger. On all these faces, as on the faces of the crowd Petya
had seen in the Square, there was a striking contradiction: the general
expectation of a solemn event, and at the same time the everyday interests
in a boston card party, Peter the cook, Zinaida Dmitrievna's health, and
so on.</p>
<p>Pierre was there too, buttoned up since early morning in a nobleman's
uniform that had become too tight for him. He was agitated; this
extraordinary gathering not only of nobles but also of the merchant-class—les
etats generaux (States-General)—evoked in him a whole series of
ideas he had long laid aside but which were deeply graven in his soul:
thoughts of the Contrat social and the French Revolution. The words that
had struck him in the Emperor's appeal—that the sovereign was coming
to the capital for consultation with his people—strengthened this
idea. And imagining that in this direction something important which he
had long awaited was drawing near, he strolled about watching and
listening to conversations, but nowhere finding any confirmation of the
ideas that occupied him.</p>
<p>The Emperor's manifesto was read, evoking enthusiasm, and then all moved
about discussing it. Besides the ordinary topics of conversation, Pierre
heard questions of where the marshals of the nobility were to stand when
the Emperor entered, when a ball should be given in the Emperor's honor,
whether they should group themselves by districts or by whole provinces...
and so on; but as soon as the war was touched on, or what the nobility had
been convened for, the talk became undecided and indefinite. Then all
preferred listening to speaking.</p>
<p>A middle-aged man, handsome and virile, in the uniform of a retired naval
officer, was speaking in one of the rooms, and a small crowd was pressing
round him. Pierre went up to the circle that had formed round the speaker
and listened. Count Ilya Rostov, in a military uniform of Catherine's
time, was sauntering with a pleasant smile among the crowd, with all of
whom he was acquainted. He too approached that group and listened with a
kindly smile and nods of approval, as he always did, to what the speaker
was saying. The retired naval man was speaking very boldly, as was evident
from the expression on the faces of the listeners and from the fact that
some people Pierre knew as the meekest and quietest of men walked away
disapprovingly or expressed disagreement with him. Pierre pushed his way
into the middle of the group, listened, and convinced himself that the man
was indeed a liberal, but of views quite different from his own. The naval
officer spoke in a particularly sonorous, musical, and aristocratic
baritone voice, pleasantly swallowing his r's and generally slurring his
consonants: the voice of a man calling out to his servant, "Heah! Bwing me
my pipe!" It was indicative of dissipation and the exercise of authority.</p>
<p>"What if the Smolensk people have offahd to waise militia for the Empewah?
Ah we to take Smolensk as our patte'n? If the noble awistocwacy of the
pwovince of Moscow thinks fit, it can show its loyalty to our sov'weign
the Empewah in other ways. Have we fo'gotten the waising of the militia in
the yeah 'seven? All that did was to enwich the pwiests' sons and thieves
and wobbahs...."</p>
<p>Count Ilya Rostov smiled blandly and nodded approval.</p>
<p>"And was our militia of any use to the Empia? Not at all! It only wuined
our farming! Bettah have another conscwiption... o' ou' men will wetu'n
neithah soldiers no' peasants, and we'll get only depwavity fwom them. The
nobility don't gwudge theah lives—evewy one of us will go and bwing
in more wecwuits, and the sov'weign" (that was the way he referred to the
Emperor) "need only say the word and we'll all die fo' him!" added the
orator with animation.</p>
<p>Count Rostov's mouth watered with pleasure and he nudged Pierre, but
Pierre wanted to speak himself. He pushed forward, feeling stirred, but
not yet sure what stirred him or what he would say. Scarcely had he opened
his mouth when one of the senators, a man without a tooth in his head,
with a shrewd though angry expression, standing near the first speaker,
interrupted him. Evidently accustomed to managing debates and to
maintaining an argument, he began in low but distinct tones:</p>
<p>"I imagine, sir," said he, mumbling with his toothless mouth, "that we
have been summoned here not to discuss whether it's best for the empire at
the present moment to adopt conscription or to call out the militia. We
have been summoned to reply to the appeal with which our sovereign the
Emperor has honored us. But to judge what is best—conscription or
the militia—we can leave to the supreme authority...."</p>
<p>Pierre suddenly saw an outlet for his excitement. He hardened his heart
against the senator who was introducing this set and narrow attitude into
the deliberations of the nobility. Pierre stepped forward and interrupted
him. He himself did not yet know what he would say, but he began to speak
eagerly, occasionally lapsing into French or expressing himself in bookish
Russian.</p>
<p>"Excuse me, your excellency," he began. (He was well acquainted with the
senator, but thought it necessary on this occasion to address him
formally.) "Though I don't agree with the gentleman..." (he hesitated: he
wished to say, "Mon tres honorable preopinant"—"My very honorable
opponent") "with the gentleman... whom I have not the honor of knowing, I
suppose that the nobility have been summoned not merely to express their
sympathy and enthusiasm but also to consider the means by which we can
assist our Fatherland! I imagine," he went on, warming to his subject,
"that the Emperor himself would not be satisfied to find in us merely
owners of serfs whom we are willing to devote to his service, and chair a
canon * we are ready to make of ourselves—and not to obtain from us
any co-co-counsel."</p>
<p>* "Food for cannon."<br/></p>
<p>Many persons withdrew from the circle, noticing the senator's sarcastic
smile and the freedom of Pierre's remarks. Only Count Rostov was pleased
with them as he had been pleased with those of the naval officer, the
senator, and in general with whatever speech he had last heard.</p>
<p>"I think that before discussing these questions," Pierre continued, "we
should ask the Emperor—most respectfully ask His Majesty—to
let us know the number of our troops and the position in which our army
and our forces now are, and then..."</p>
<p>But scarcely had Pierre uttered these words before he was attacked from
three sides. The most vigorous attack came from an old acquaintance, a
boston player who had always been well disposed toward him, Stepan
Stepanovich Adraksin. Adraksin was in uniform, and whether as a result of
the uniform or from some other cause Pierre saw before him quite a
different man. With a sudden expression of malevolence on his aged face,
Adraksin shouted at Pierre:</p>
<p>"In the first place, I tell you we have no right to question the Emperor
about that, and secondly, if the Russian nobility had that right, the
Emperor could not answer such a question. The troops are moved according
to the enemy's movements and the number of men increases and decreases..."</p>
<p>Another voice, that of a nobleman of medium height and about forty years
of age, whom Pierre had formerly met at the gypsies' and knew as a bad
cardplayer, and who, also transformed by his uniform, came up to Pierre,
interrupted Adraksin.</p>
<p>"Yes, and this is not a time for discussing," he continued, "but for
acting: there is war in Russia! The enemy is advancing to destroy Russia,
to desecrate the tombs of our fathers, to carry off our wives and
children." The nobleman smote his breast. "We will all arise, every one of
us will go, for our father the Tsar!" he shouted, rolling his bloodshot
eyes. Several approving voices were heard in the crowd. "We are Russians
and will not grudge our blood in defense of our faith, the throne, and the
Fatherland! We must cease raving if we are sons of our Fatherland! We will
show Europe how Russia rises to the defense of Russia!"</p>
<p>Pierre wished to reply, but could not get in a word. He felt that his
words, apart from what meaning they conveyed, were less audible than the
sound of his opponent's voice.</p>
<p>Count Rostov at the back of the crowd was expressing approval; several
persons, briskly turning a shoulder to the orator at the end of a phrase,
said:</p>
<p>"That's right, quite right! Just so!"</p>
<p>Pierre wished to say that he was ready to sacrifice his money, his serfs,
or himself, only one ought to know the state of affairs in order to be
able to improve it, but he was unable to speak. Many voices shouted and
talked at the same time, so that Count Rostov had not time to signify his
approval of them all, and the group increased, dispersed, re-formed, and
then moved with a hum of talk into the largest hall and to the big table.
Not only was Pierre's attempt to speak unsuccessful, but he was rudely
interrupted, pushed aside, and people turned away from him as from a
common enemy. This happened not because they were displeased by the
substance of his speech, which had even been forgotten after the many
subsequent speeches, but to animate it the crowd needed a tangible object
to love and a tangible object to hate. Pierre became the latter. Many
other orators spoke after the excited nobleman, and all in the same tone.
Many spoke eloquently and with originality.</p>
<p>Glinka, the editor of the Russian Messenger, who was recognized (cries of
"author! author!" were heard in the crowd), said that "hell must be
repulsed by hell," and that he had seen a child smiling at lightning
flashes and thunderclaps, but "we will not be that child."</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, at thunderclaps!" was repeated approvingly in the back rows of
the crowd.</p>
<p>The crowd drew up to the large table, at which sat gray-haired or bald
seventy-year-old magnates, uniformed and besashed almost all of whom
Pierre had seen in their own homes with their buffoons, or playing boston
at the clubs. With an incessant hum of voices the crowd advanced to the
table. Pressed by the throng against the high backs of the chairs, the
orators spoke one after another and sometimes two together. Those standing
behind noticed what a speaker omitted to say and hastened to supply it.
Others in that heat and crush racked their brains to find some thought and
hastened to utter it. The old magnates, whom Pierre knew, sat and turned
to look first at one and then at another, and their faces for the most
part only expressed the fact that they found it very hot. Pierre, however,
felt excited, and the general desire to show that they were ready to go to
all lengths—which found expression in the tones and looks more than
in the substance of the speeches—infected him too. He did not
renounce his opinions, but felt himself in some way to blame and wished to
justify himself.</p>
<p>"I only said that it would be more to the purpose to make sacrifices when
we know what is needed!" said he, trying to be heard above the other
voices.</p>
<p>One of the old men nearest to him looked round, but his attention was
immediately diverted by an exclamation at the other side of the table.</p>
<p>"Yes, Moscow will be surrendered! She will be our expiation!" shouted one
man.</p>
<p>"He is the enemy of mankind!" cried another. "Allow me to speak...."
"Gentlemen, you are crushing me!..."</p>
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