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“What if the Smolnsk people have offahd to waise militia for the Empewah? Ah we to take Smolnsk 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....”

Count Ily Rostv smiled blandly and nodded approval.

“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.

Count Rostv’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:

“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....”

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.

“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 trs honorable propinant”—“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 canon * we are ready to make of ourselves—and not to obtain from us any co-co-counsel.”

    * “Food for cannon.”
 

Many persons withdrew from the circle, noticing the senator’s sarcastic smile and the freedom of Pierre’s remarks. Only Count Rostv 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.

“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...”

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, Stepn Stepnovich Adrksin. Adrksin 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, Adrksin shouted at Pierre:

“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....”

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 Adrksin.

“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, everyone 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!”

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.

Count Rostv 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:

“That’s right, quite right! Just so!”

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 Rostv 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.

Glnka, 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.”