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AFTER GOING BACK to the regiment and reporting to the colonel the position of
Denisov's affairs, Rostov rode to Tilsit with the letter to the Emperor.
On the 13th of June the French and Russian Emperors met at Tilsit. Boris
Drubetskoy had asked the personage of high rank on whom he was in attendance to
include him in the suite destined to be staying at Tilsit.
“I should like to see the great man,” he said, meaning Napoleon, whom he had
hitherto, like every one else, always spoken of as Bonaparte.
“You are speaking of Buonaparte?” the general said to him, smiling.
Boris looked inquiringly at his general, and immediately saw that this was a
playful test.
“I am speaking, prince, of the Emperor Napoleon,” he replied. With a smile
the general clapped him on the shoulder
“You will get on,” said he, and he took him with him. Boris was among the few
present at Niemen on the day of the meeting of the Emperors. He saw the raft
with the royal monograms, saw Napoleon's progress through the French guards
along the further bank, saw the pensive face of the Emperor Alexander as he sat
silent in the inn on the bank of the Niemen waiting for Napoleon's arrival. He
saw both the Emperors get into boats, and Napoleon reaching the raft first,
walked rapidly forward, and meeting Alexander, gave him his hand; then both the
Emperors disappeared into a pavilion. Ever since he had entered these higher
spheres, Boris had made it his habit to keep an attentive watch on what was
passing round him, and to note it all down. During the meeting of the Emperors
at Tilsit, he asked the names of the persons accompanying Napoleon, inquired
about the uniforms they were wearing, and listened carefully to the utterances
of persons of consequence. When the Emperors went into the pavilion, he looked
at his watch, and did not forget to look at it again when Alexander came out.
The interview had lasted an hour and fifty-three minutes; he noted this down
that evening among other facts, which he felt were of historical importance. As
the Emperors' suite were few in number, to be present at Tilsit at the meeting
of the Emperors was a matter of great consequence for a man who valued success
in the service, and Boris, when he succeeded in obtaining this privilege, felt
that his position was henceforth perfectly secure. He was not simply known, he
had become an observed and familiar figure. On two occasions he had been sent
with commissions to the Emperor himself, so that the Emperor knew him
personally, and all the court no longer held aloof from him, as they had done at
first, considering him a new man, and would even have noticed his absence with
surprise if he had been away.
Boris was lodging with another adjutant, the Polish count, Zhilinsky.
Zhilinsky, a Pole educated in Paris, was a wealthy man, devotedly attached to
the French, and almost every day of their stay in Tilsit, French officers of the
Guards and of the French head staff were dining and breakfasting with Zhilinsky
and Boris.
On the 24th of June Zhilinsky, with whom Boris shared quarters, was giving a
supper to his French acquaintances. At this supper there were present one of
Napoleon's adjutants—the guest of honour—several officers of the French Guards,
and a young lad of an aristocratic old French family, a page of Napoleon's. On
the same evening Rostov, taking advantage of the darkness to pass through
unrecognised, came to Tilsit in civilian dress, and went to the quarters of
Zhilinsky and Boris.
Rostov, like the whole army indeed, was far from having passed through that
revolution of feeling in regard to Napoleon and the French—transforming them
from foes into friends—that had taken place at headquarters and in Boris. In the
army every one was still feeling the same mingled hatred, fear, and contempt for
Bonaparte and the French. Only recently Rostov had argued with an officer of
Platov's Cossacks the question whether if Napoleon was taken prisoner he was to
be treated as an emperor or as a criminal. Only a little while previously Rostov
had met a wounded French colonel on the road, and had maintained to him with
heat that there could be no peace concluded between a legitimate emperor and the
criminal Bonaparte. Consequently it struck Rostov as strange to see French
officers in Boris's quarters wearing the uniforms at which he was used to
looking with very different eyes from the line of pickets. As soon as he caught
sight of a French officer, that feeling of war, of hostility, which he always
experienced at the sight of the enemy, came upon him at once. He stood still on
the threshold and asked in Russian whether Drubetskoy lived there. Boris,
hearing a strange voice in the passage, went out to meet him. For the first
moment when he recognised Rostov, his face betrayed his annoyance.
“Ah, that's you, very glad, very glad to see you,” he said, however, smiling
and moving towards him. But Rostov had detected his first impulse.
“I have come at a bad time, it seems,” said he; “I shouldn't have come, but
it's on a matter of importance,” he said coldly.…
“No, I was only surprised at your getting away from the regiment. I will be
with you in a moment,” he said in reply to a voice calling him.
“I see I have come at a bad time,” repeated Rostov.
The expression of annoyance had by now vanished from Boris's face; evidently
having reflected and made up his mind how to act, he took him by both hands with
marked composure and led him into the next room. Boris's eyes, gazing serenely
and unflinchingly at Rostov, seemed as it were veiled by something, as though a
sort of screen—the blue spectacles of conventional life—had been put over them.
So it seemed to Rostov.
“Oh, please, don't talk nonsense, as if you could come at a wrong time,” said
Boris. Boris led him into a room where supper was laid, introduced him to his
guests, mentioning his name, and explaining that he was not a civilian, but an
officer in the hussars, and his old friend. “Count Zhilinsky, Count N. N.,
Captain S. S.,” he said, naming his guests. Rostov looked frowning at the
Frenchmen, bowed reluctantly, and was mute.
Zhilinsky was obviously not pleased to receive this unknown Russian outsider
into his circle, and said nothing to Rostov. Boris appeared not to notice the
constraint produced by the newcomer, and with the same amiable composure and the
same veiled look in his eyes with which he had welcomed Rostov, he endeavoured
to enliven the conversation. With characteristic French courtesy one of the
French officers turned to Rostov, as he sat in stubborn silence, and said to him
that he had probably come to Tilsit to see the Emperor.
“No, I came on business,” was Rostov's short reply. Rostov had been out of
humour from the moment when he detected the dissatisfaction on the face of
Boris, and as is always the case with persons who are ill-humoured, it seemed to
him that every one looked at him with hostile eyes, and that he was in every
one's way. And in fact he was in every one's way, and he was the only person
left out of the general conversation, as it sprang up again. And what is he
sitting on here for? was the question asked by the eyes of the guests turned
upon him. He got up and went up to Boris.
“I'm in your way, though,” he said to him in an undertone; “let us have a
talk about my business, and I'll go away.”
“Oh, no, not the least,” said Boris. “But if you are tired, come to my room
and lie down and rest.”
“Well, really…”
They went into the little room where Boris slept. Rostov, without sitting
down, began speaking at once with irritation—as though Boris were in some way to
blame in the matter. He told him of Denisov's scrape, asking whether he would
and could through his general intercede with the Emperor in Denisov's favour,
and through him present the letter. When they were alone together, Rostov was
for the first time distinctly aware that he felt an awkwardness in looking Boris
in the face. Boris crossing one leg over the other, and stroking the slender
fingers of his right hand with his left, listened to Rostov, as a general
listens to a report presented by a subordinate, at one time looking away, at the
next looking Rostov straight in the face with the same veiled look in his eyes.
Every time he did so, Rostov felt ill at ease, and dropped his eyes.
“I have heard of affairs of the sort, and I know that the Emperor is very
severe in such cases. I think it had better not be taken before his majesty. To
my mind, it would be better to apply directly to the commander of the corps.…
But generally speaking, I believe…”
“Then you don't care to do anything, so say so!” Rostov almost shouted, not
looking Boris in the face.
Boris smiled.
“On the contrary, I will do what I can, only I imagine…”
At that moment they heard the voice of Zhilinsky at the door, calling
Boris.
“Well, go along, go, go…” said Rostov, and refusing supper and remaining
alone in the little room, he walked up and down for a long while, listening to
the light-hearted French chatter in the next room.
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