to qualify for the grades of Collegiate Assessor and State Councilor—and not merely these but a whole state constitution, intended to change the existing order of government in Russia: legal, administrative, and financial, from the Council of State down to the district tribunals. Now those vague liberal dreams with which the Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne, and which he had tried to put into effect with the aid of his associates, Czartorýski, Novosíltsev, Kochubéy, and Strógonov—whom he himself in jest had called his Comité de salut public —were taking shape and being realized.
Now all these men were replaced by Speránski on the civil side, and Arakchéev on the military. Soon after his arrival Prince Andréy, as a gentleman of the chamber, presented himself at court and at a levee. The Emperor, though he met him twice, did not favor him with a single word. It had always seemed to Prince Andréy before that he was antipathetic to the Emperor and that the latter disliked his face and personality generally, and in the cold, repellent glance the Emperor gave him, he now found further confirmation of this surmise. The courtiers explained the Emperor’s neglect of him by His Majesty’s displeasure at Bolkónski’s not having served since 1805.
“I know myself that one cannot help one’s sympathies and antipathies,” thought Prince Andréy, “so it will not do to present my proposal for the reform of the army regulations to the Emperor personally, but the project will speak for itself.”
He mentioned what he had written to an old field marshal, a friend of his father’s. The field marshal made an appointment to see him, received him graciously, and promised to inform the Emperor. A few days later Prince Andréy received notice that he was to go to see the Minister of War, Count Arakchéev.
On the appointed day Prince Andréy entered Count Arakchéev’s waiting room at nine in the morning.