“You have muddled and spoilt it all。 You would all know better than I； and now you come to me to ask how to set things right。 There is nothing that needs setting right。 The only thing is to carry out in exact detail the plan laid down by me；” he said； rapping his bony fingers on the table。 “Where’s the difficulty？ It’s nonsense； child’s play！” He went up to the map； and began talking rapidly； pointing with his wrinkled finger about the map； and proving that no sort of contingency could affect the adaptability of the Drissa camp to every emergency； that every chance had been foreseen； and that if the enemy actually did make a circuit round it； then the enemy would infallibly be annihilated。
Paulucci； who did not know German； began to ask him questions in French。 Woltzogen came to the assistance of his leader； who spoke French very badly； and began translating his utterances； hardly able to keep pace with Pfuhl； who was proceeding at a great rate to prove that everything； everything； not only what was happening； but everything that possibly could happen； had been provided for in his plan； and that if difficulties had arisen now； they were due simply to the failure to carry out that plan with perfect exactitude。 He was continually giving vent to a sarcastic laugh as he went on proving； and at last scornfully abandoned all attempt to prove； his position； as a mathematician will refuse to establish by various different methods a problem he has once for all proved to be correctly solved。 Woltzogen took his place； continuing to explain his views in French； and occasionally referring to Pfuhl himself： “Is that not true； your excellency？” But Pfuhl； as a man in the heat of the fray will belabour those of his own side； shouted angrily at his own follower—at Woltzogen； too。
“To be sure； what is there to explain in that？”
Paulucci and Michaud fell simultaneously on Woltzogen in French。 Armfeldt addressed Pfuhl himself in German。 Toll was interpreting to Prince Volkonsky in Russian。 Prince Andrey listened and watched them in silence。
Of all these men the one for whom Prince Andrey felt most sympathy was the exasperated； determined； insanely conceited Pfuhl。 He was the only one of all the persons present who was unmistakably seeking nothing for himself； and harbouring no personal grudge against anybody else。 He desired one thing only—the adoption of his plan； in accordance with the theory that was the fruit of years of toil。 He was ludicrous； he was disagreeable with his sarcasm； but yet he roused an involuntary feeling of respect from his boundless devotion to an idea。
Apart from this； with the single exception of Pfuhl； every speech of every person present had one common feature； which Prince Andrey had not seen at the council of war in 1805—that was； a panic dread of the genius of Napoleon； a dread which was involuntarily betrayed in every utterance now； in spite of all efforts to conceal it。 Anything was assumed possible for Napoleon； he was expected from every quarter at once； and to invoke his terrible name was enough for them to condemn each other’s suggestions。 Pfuhl alone seemed to look on him too； even Napoleon； as a barbarian； like every other opponent of his theory； and Pfuhl roused a feeling of pity； too； as well as respect； in Prince Andrey。 From the tone with which the courtiers addressed him； from what Paulucci had ventured to say to the Tsar； and above all from a certain despairing expression in Pfuhl himself； it was clear that others knew； and he himself； that his downfall was at hand。 And for all his conceit and his German grumpy irony； he was pitiful with his flattened locks on his forehead and his wisps of uncombed hair sticking out behind。 Though he tried to conceal it under a semblance of anger and contempt； he was visibly in despair that the sole chance left him of testing his theory on a vast scale and proving its infallibility to the whole world was slipping away from him。
The debate lasted a long while； and the longer it continued the hotter it became； passing into clamour and personalities； and the less possible it was to draw any sort of general conclusion from what was uttered。 Prince Andrey simply wondered at what they were all saying as he listened to the confusion of different tongues； and the propositions； the plans； the shouts； and the objections。 The idea which had long ago and often occurred to him during the period of his active service； that there was and could be no sort of military science； and that therefore there could not be such a thing as military genius； seemed to him now to be an absolutely obvious truth。 “What theory and science can there be of a subject of which the conditions and circumstances are uncertain and can never be definitely known； in which the strength of the active forces engaged can be even less definitely measured？ No one can； or possibly could； know the relative positions of our army and the enemy’s in another twenty…four hours； and no one can gauge the force of this or the other detachment。 Sometimes when there is no coward in front to cry； ‘We are cut off！’ and to run； but a brave； spirited fellow leads the way； shouting ‘Hurrah！’ a detachment of five thousand is as good as thirty thousand； as it was at Sch？ngraben； while at times fifty thousand will run from eight thousand； as they did at Austerlitz。 How can there be a science of war in which； as in every practical matter； nothing can be definite and everything depends on countless conditions； the influence of which becomes manifest all in a moment； and no one can know when that moment is coming。 Armfeldt declares that our army is cut off； while Paulucci maintains that we have caught the French army between two fires； Michaud asserts that the defect of the Drissa camp is having the river in its rear； while Pfuhl protests that that is what constitutes its strength； Toll proposes one plan； Armfeldt suggests another； and all are good and all are bad； and the suitability of any proposition can only be seen at the moment of trial。 And why do they all talk of military genius？ Is a man to be called a genius because he knows when to order biscuits to be given out； and when to march his troops to the right and when to the left？ He is only called a genius because of the glamour and authority with which the military are invested； and because masses of sycophants are always ready to flatter power； and to ascribe to it qualities quite alien to it。 The best generals I have known are； on the contrary； stupid or absent…minded men。 The best of them is Bagration—Napoleon himself admitted it。 And Bonaparte himself！ I remember his fatuous and limited face on the field of Austerlitz。 A good general has no need of genius； nor of any great qualities； on the contrary； he is the better for the absence of the finest and highest of human qualities—love； poetry； tenderness； philosophic and inquiring doubt。 He should be limited； firmly convinced that what he is doing is of great importance （or he would never have patience to go through with it）； and only then will he be a gallant general。 God forbid he should be humane； should feel love and compassion； should pause to think what is right and wrong。 It is perfectly comprehensible that the theory of their genius should have been elaborated long； long ago； for the simple reason that they are the representatives of power。 The credit of success in battle is not by right theirs； for victory or defeat depends in reality on the soldier in the ranks who first shouts ‘Hurrah！’ or ‘We are lost！’ And it is only in the ranks that one can serve with perfect conviction； that one is of use！”
Such were Prince Andrey’s reflections as he heard the discussion going on around him； and he was only roused from his musing when Paulucci called to him and the meeting was breaking up。
Next day at the review the Tsar asked Prince Andrey where he desired to serve； and Bolkonsky ruined his chances for ever in the court world by asking to be sent to the front； instead of begging for a post in attendance on the Tsar’s person。
Chapter 12
BEFORE THE BEGINNING of the campaign Rostov had received a letter from his parents； in which they informed him briefly of Natasha’s illness and the breaking off of her engagement； and again begged him to retire from the army and come home to them。 Natasha had； they explained； broken off the engagement by her own wish。 On receiving this letter Nikolay did not even attempt to retire from the army or to obtain leave； but wrote to his parents that he was very sorry to hear of Natasha’s illness and her rupture with her betrothed； and that he would do everything in his power to follow their wishes。 To Sonya he wrote separately。
“Adored friend of my heart；” he wrote； “nothing but honour could avail to keep me from returning to the country。 But now； at the beginning of a campaign； I should feel myself dishonoured in my comrades’ eyes； as well as my own； if I put my own happiness before my duty and my love for my country。 But this shall be our last separation。 Believe me； immediately after the war； if I be living and still loved by thee； I shall throw up everything and fly to thee to press thee for ever to my ardent breast。”
It was； in fact； only the outbreak of the war that detained Rostov and hindered him from returning home； as he had promised； and marrying Sonya。 The autumn at Otradnoe with the hunting； and the winter with the Christmas festivities and Sonya’s love had opened before his imagination a vista of peace and quiet country delights unknown to him before； and this prospect now lured him back。 “A charming wife； children； a good pack of hounds； ten to twelve leashes of swift harriers； the estate to look after； the neighbours； election to offices； perhaps； by the provincial nobility；” he mused。 But now war was breaking out； and he had to remain with his regiment。 And since this had to be； Nikolay Rostov was characteristically able to be content too with the life he led in the regiment； and to make that life a pleasant one。
On his return from his leave； Nikolay had been joyfully welcomed by his comrades and sent off for remounts。 He succeeded in bringing back from Little Russia some first…rate horses that gave him great satisfaction； and won him the commendati