holding up his sword, he addressed Chernýshev and asked in German where the Emperor was. One could see that he wished to pass through the rooms as quickly as possible, finish with the bows and greetings, and sit down to business in front of a map, where he would feel at home. He nodded hurriedly in reply to Chernýshev, and smiled ironically on hearing that the sovereign was inspecting the fortifications that he, Pfuel, had planned in accord with his theory. He muttered something to himself abruptly and in a bass voice, as self-assured Germans do—it might have been “stupid fellow” … or “the whole affair will be ruined,” or “something absurd will come of it.” … Prince Andréy did not catch what he said and would have passed on, but Chernýshev introduced him to Pfuel, remarking that Prince Andréy was just back from Turkey where the war had terminated so fortunately. Pfuel barely glanced—not so much at Prince Andréy as past him—and said, with a laugh: “That must have been a fine tactical war”; and, laughing contemptuously, went on into the room from which the sound of voices was heard.
Pfuel, always inclined to be irritably sarcastic, was particularly disturbed that day, evidently by the fact that they had dared to inspect and criticize his camp in his absence. From this short interview with Pfuel, Prince Andréy, thanks to his Austerlitz experiences, was able to form a clear conception of the man. Pfuel was one of those hopelessly and immutably self-confident men, self-confident to the point of martyrdom as only Germans are, because only Germans are self-confident on the basis of an abstract notion—science, that is, the supposed knowledge of absolute truth. * A Frenchman is self-assured because he regards himself personally, both in mind and body,