The third company was the last, and Kutuzov pondered, apparently
trying to recollect something. Prince Andrew stepped forward from among
the suite and said in French:
"You told me to remind you of the
officer Dolokhov, reduced to the ranks in this regiment."
"Where is
Dolokhov?" asked Kutuzov.
Dolokhov, who had already changed into a
soldier's gray greatcoat, did not wait to be called. The shapely figure of
the fair-haired soldier, with his clear blue eyes, stepped forward from the
ranks, went up to the commander in chief, and presented arms.
"Have
you a complaint to make?" Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.
"This is
Dolokhov," said Prince Andrew.
"Ah!" said Kutuzov. "I hope this will be a
lesson to you. Do your duty. The Emperor is gracious, and I shan't forget you
if you deserve well."
The clear blue eyes looked at the
commander-in-chief just as boldly as they had looked at the regimental
commander, seeming by their expression to tear open the veil of convention
that separates a commander-in-chief so widely from a private.
"One
thing I ask of your excellency," Dolokhov said in his firm, ringing,
deliberate voice. "I ask an opportunity to atone for my fault and prove my
devotion to His Majesty the Emperor and to Russia!"
Kutuzov turned away.
The same smile of the eyes with which he had turned from Captain Timokhin
again flitted over his face. He turned away with a grimace as if to say that
everything Dolokhov had said to him and everything he could say had long been
known to him, that he was weary of it and it was not at all what he wanted.
He turned away and went to the carriage.
The regiment broke up into
companies, which went to their appointed quarters near Braunau, where they
hoped to receive boots and clothes and to rest after their hard
marches.
"You won't bear me a grudge, Prokhor Ignatych?" said the
regimental commander, overtaking the third company on its way to its quarters
and riding up to Captain Timokhin who was walking in front. (The
regimental commander's face now that the inspection was happily over beamed
with irrepressible delight.) "It's in the Emperor's service... it can't
be helped... one is sometimes a bit hasty on parade... I am the first
to apologize, you know me!... He was very pleased!" And he held out
his hand to the captain.
"Don't mention it, General, as if I'd be so
bold!" replied the captain, his nose growing redder as he gave a smile which
showed where two front teeth were missing that had been knocked out by the
butt end of a gun at Ismail.
"And tell Mr. Dolokhov that I won't
forget him--he may be quite easy. And tell me, please--I've been meaning to
ask--how is he behaving himself, and in general..."
"As far as the
service goes he is quite punctilious, your excellency; but his character..."
said Timokhin.
"And what about his character?" asked the regimental
commander.
"It's different on different days," answered the captain. "One
day he is sensible, well educated, and good-natured, and the next he's a
wild beast.... In Poland, if you please, he nearly killed a Jew."
"Oh,
well, well!" remarked the regimental commander. "Still, one must have pity on
a young man in misfortune. You know he has important connections... Well,
then, you just..."
"I will, your excellency," said Timokhin, showing by
his smile that he understood his commander's wish.
"Well, of course,
of course!"
The regimental commander sought out Dolokhov in the ranks
and, reining in his horse, said to him:
"After the next affair...
epaulettes."
Dolokhov looked round but did not say anything, nor did the
mocking smile on his lips change.
"Well, that's all right," continued
the regimental commander. "A cup of vodka for the men from me," he added so
that the soldiers could hear. "I thank you all! God be praised!" and he rode
past that company and overtook the next one.
"Well, he's really a good
fellow, one can serve under him," said Timokhin to the subaltern beside
him.
"In a word, a hearty one..." said the subaltern, laughing
(the regimental commander was nicknamed King of Hearts).
The cheerful
mood of their officers after the inspection infected the soldiers. The
company marched on gaily. The soldiers' voices could be heard on every
side.
"And they said Kutuzov was blind of one eye?"
"And so he is!
Quite blind!"
"No, friend, he is sharper-eyed than you are. Boots and leg
bands... he noticed everything..."
"When he looked at my feet,
friend... well, thinks I..."
"And that other one with him, the Austrian,
looked as if he were smeared with chalk--as white as flour! I suppose they
polish him up as they do the guns."
"I say, Fedeshon!... Did he say
when the battles are to begin? You were near him. Everybody said that
Buonaparte himself was at Braunau."
"Buonaparte himself!... Just listen
to the fool, what he doesn't know! The Prussians are up in arms now. The
Austrians, you see, are putting them down. When they've been put down, the
war with Buonaparte will begin. And he says Buonaparte is in Braunau! Shows
you're a fool. You'd better listen more carefully!"
"What devils these
quartermasters are! See, the fifth company is turning into the village
already... they will have their buckwheat cooked before we reach our
quarters."
"Give me a biscuit, you devil!"
"And did you give me
tobacco yesterday? That's just it, friend! Ah, well, never mind, here you
are."
"They might call a halt here or we'll have to do another four
miles without eating."
"Wasn't it fine when those Germans gave us
lifts! You just sit still and are drawn along."
"And here, friend, the
people are quite beggarly. There they all seemed to be Poles--all under the
Russian crown--but here they're all regular Germans."
"Singers to the
front" came the captain's order.
And from the different ranks some twenty
men ran to the front. A drummer, their leader, turned round facing the
singers, and flourishing his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers' song,
commencing with the words: "Morning dawned, the sun was rising," and
concluding: "On then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father Kamenski." This
song had been composed in the Turkish campaign and now being sung in Austria,
the only change being that the words "Father Kamenski" were replaced by
"Father Kutuzov."
Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do
and waved his arms as if flinging something to the ground, the drummer--a
lean, handsome soldier of forty--looked sternly at the singers and screwed up
his eyes. Then having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed on him, he
raised both arms as if carefully lifting some invisible but precious
object above his head and, holding it there for some seconds, suddenly flung
it down and began:
"Oh, my bower, oh, my bower...!"
"Oh, my
bower new...!" chimed in twenty voices, and the castanet player, in spite of
the burden of his equipment, rushed out to the front and, walking backwards
before the company, jerked his shoulders and flourished his castanets as if
threatening someone. The soldiers, swinging their arms and keeping time
spontaneously, marched with long steps. Behind the company the sound of
wheels, the creaking of springs, and the tramp of horses' hoofs were heard.
Kutuzov and his suite were returning to the town. The commander-in-chief made
a sign that the men should continue to march at ease, and he and all his
suite showed pleasure at the sound of the singing and the sight of the
dancing soldier and the gay and smartly marching men. In the second file
from the right flank, beside which the carriage passed the company, a
blue- eyed soldier involuntarily attracted notice. It was Dolokhov
marching with particular grace and boldness in time to the song and looking
at those driving past as if he pitied all who were not at that
moment marching with the company. The hussar cornet of Kutuzov's suite who
had mimicked the regimental commander, fell back from the carriage and
rode up to Dolokhov.
Hussar cornet Zherkov had at one time, in
Petersburg, belonged to the wild set led by Dolokhov. Zherkov had met
Dolokhov abroad as a private and had not seen fit to recognize him. But now
that Kutuzov had spoken to the gentleman ranker, he addressed him with the
cordiality of an old friend.
"My dear fellow, how are you?" said he
through the singing, making his horse keep pace with the company.
"How
am I?" Dolokhov answered coldly. "I am as you see."
The lively song gave
a special flavor to the tone of free and easy gaiety with which Zherkov
spoke, and to the intentional coldness of Dolokhov's reply.
"And how
do you get on with the officers?" inquired Zherkov.
"All right. They are
good fellows. And how have you wriggled onto the staff?"
"I was
attached; I'm on duty."
Both were silent.
"She let the hawk fly
upward from her wide right sleeve," went the song, arousing an involuntary
sensation of courage and cheerfulness. Their conversation would probably have
been different but for the effect of that song.
"Is it true that
Austrians have been beaten?" asked Dolokhov.
"The devil only knows! They
say so."
"I'm glad," answered Dolokhov briefly and clearly, as the song
demanded.
"I say, come round some evening and we'll have a game of faro!"
said Zherkov.
"Why, have you too much money?"
"Do
come."
"I can't. I've sworn not to. I won't drink and won't play till I
get reinstated."
"Well, that's only till the first
engagement."
"We shall see."
They were again silent.
"Come
if you need anything. One can at least be of use on the
staff..."
Dolokhov smiled. "Don't trouble. If I want anything, I won't
beg--I'll take it!"
"Well, never mind; I only..."
"And I
only..."
"Good-bye."
"Good health..."
"It's a long,
long way. To my native land..."
Zherkov touched his horse with the spurs;
it pranced excitedly from foot to foot uncertain with which to start, then
settled down, galloped past the company, and overtook the carriage, still
keeping time to the song.
CHAPTER III
On returning
from the review, Kutuzov took the Austrian general into his private room and,
calling his adjutant, asked for some papers relating to the condition of the
troops on their arrival, and the letters that had come from the Archduke
Ferdinand, who was in command of the advanced army. Prince Andrew Bolkonski
came into the room with the required papers. Kutuzov and the Austrian member
of the Hofkriegsrath were sitting at the table on which a plan was spread
out.
"Ah!..." said Kutuzov glancing at Bolkonski as if by this
exclamation he was asking the adjutant to wait, and he went on with the
conversation in French.
"All I can say, General," said he with a
pleasant elegance of expression and intonation that obliged one to listen to
each deliberately spoken word. It was evident that Kutuzov himself listened
with pleasure to his own voice. "All I can say, General, is that if the
matter depended on my personal wishes, the will of His Majesty the Emperor
Francis would have been fulfilled long ago. I should long ago have joined the
archduke. And believe me on my honour that to me personally it would be a
pleasure to hand over the supreme command of the army into the hands of a
better informed and more skillful general--of whom Austria has so many--and
to lay down all this heavy responsibility. But circumstances are
sometimes too strong for us, General."
And Kutuzov smiled in a way
that seemed to say, "You are quite at liberty not to believe me and I don't
even care whether you do or not, but you have no grounds for telling me so.
And that is the whole point."
The Austrian general looked dissatisfied,
but had no option but to reply in the same tone.
"On the contrary," he
said, in a querulous and angry tone that contrasted with his flattering
words, "on the contrary, your excellency's participation in the common action
is highly valued by His Majesty; but we think the present delay is depriving
the splendid Russian troops and their commander of the laurels they have
been accustomed to win in their battles," he concluded his
evidently prearranged sentence.
Kutuzov bowed with the same
smile.
"But that is my conviction, and judging by the last letter with
which His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honored me, I imagine that
the Austrian troops, under the direction of so skillful a leader as
General Mack, have by now already gained a decisive victory and no longer
need our aid," said Kutuzov.
The general frowned. Though there was no
definite news of an Austrian defeat, there were many circumstances confirming
the unfavorable rumors that were afloat, and so Kutuzov's suggestion of an
Austrian victory sounded much like irony. But Kutuzov went on blandly smiling
with the same expression, which seemed to say that he had a right to suppose
so. And, in fact, the last letter he had received from Mack's army
informed him of a victory and stated strategically the position of the army
was very favorable.
"Give me that letter," said Kutuzov turning to
Prince Andrew. "Please have a look at it"--and Kutuzov with an ironical smile
about the corners of his mouth read to the Austrian general the following
passage, in German, from the Archduke Ferdinand's letter:
We have
fully concentrated forces of nearly seventy thousand men with which to attack
and defeat the enemy should he cross the Lech. Also, as we are masters of
Ulm, we cannot be deprived of the advantage of commanding both sides of the
Danube, so that should the enemy not cross the Lech, we can cross the Danube,
throw ourselves on his line of communications, recross the river lower down,
and frustrate his intention should he try to direct his whole force against
our faithful ally. We shall therefore confidently await the moment when the
Imperial Russian army will be fully equipped, and shall then, in conjunction
with it, easily find a way to prepare for the enemy the fate he
deserves.
Kutuzov sighed deeply on finishing this paragraph and looked at
the member of the Hofkriegsrath mildly and attentively.
"But you know
the wise maxim your excellency, advising one to expect the worst," said the
Austrian general, evidently wishing to have done with jests and to come to
business. He involuntarily looked round at the aide-de-camp.
"Excuse
me, General," interrupted Kutuzov, also turning to Prince Andrew. "Look here,
my dear fellow, get from Kozlovski all the reports from our scouts. Here are
two letters from Count Nostitz and here is one from His Highness the Archduke
Ferdinand and here are these," he said, handing him several papers, "make a
neat memorandum in French out of all this, showing all the news we have had
of the movements of the Austrian army, and then give it to his
excellency."
Prince Andrew bowed his head in token of having understood
from the first not only what had been said but also what Kutuzov would have
liked to tell him. He gathered up the papers and with a bow to both,
stepped softly over the carpet and went out into the waiting
room.
Though not much time had passed since Prince Andrew had left
Russia, he had changed greatly during that period. In the expression of his
face, in his movements, in his walk, scarcely a trace was left of his
former affected languor and indolence. He now looked like a man who has time
to think of the impression he makes on others, but is occupied
with agreeable and interesting work. His face expressed more
satisfaction with himself and those around him, his smile and glance were
brighter and more attractive.
Kutuzov, whom he had overtaken in
Poland, had received him very kindly, promised not to forget him,
distinguished him above the other adjutants, and had taken him to Vienna and
given him the more serious commissions. From Vienna Kutuzov wrote to his old
comrade, Prince Andrew's father.
Your son bids fair to become an officer
distinguished by his industry, firmness, and expedition. I consider myself
fortunate to have such a subordinate by me.
On Kutuzov's staff, among
his fellow officers and in the army generally, Prince Andrew had, as he had
had in Petersburg society, two quite opposite reputations. Some, a minority,
acknowledged him to be different from themselves and from everyone else,
expected great things of him, listened to him, admired, and imitated him, and
with them Prince Andrew was natural and pleasant. Others, the majority,
disliked him and considered him conceited, cold, and disagreeable. But among
these people Prince Andrew knew how to take his stand so that they respected
and even feared him.
Coming out of Kutuzov's room into the waiting
room with the papers in his hand Prince Andrew came up to his comrade, the
aide-de-camp on duty, Kozlovski, who was sitting at the window with a
book.
"Well, Prince?" asked Kozlovski.
"I am ordered to write a
memorandum explaining why we are not advancing."
"And why is
it?"
Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders.
"Any news from
Mack?"
"No."
"If it were true that he has been beaten, news would
have come."
"Probably," said Prince Andrew moving toward the outer
door.
But at that instant a tall Austrian general in a greatcoat, with
the order of Maria Theresa on his neck and a black bandage round his
head, who had evidently just arrived, entered quickly, slamming the
door. Prince Andrew stopped short.
"Commander in Chief Kutuzov?" said
the newly arrived general speaking quickly with a harsh German accent,
looking to both sides and advancing straight toward the inner
door.
"The commander-in-chief is engaged," said Kozlovski, going
hurriedly up to the unknown general and blocking his way to the door. "Whom
shall I announce?"
The unknown general looked disdainfully down at
Kozlovski, who was rather short, as if surprised that anyone should not know
him.
"The commander-in-chief is engaged," repeated Kozlovski
calmly.
The general's face clouded, his lips quivered and trembled. He
took out a notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out the
leaf, gave it to Kozlovski, stepped quickly to the window, and threw
himself into a chair, gazing at those in the room as if asking, "Why do
they look at me?" Then he lifted his head, stretched his neck as if
he intended to say something, but immediately, with affected
indifference, began to hum to himself, producing a queer sound which
immediately broke off. The door of the private room opened and Kutuzov
appeared in the doorway. The general with the bandaged head bent forward as
though running away from some danger, and, making long, quick strides with
his thin legs, went up to Kutuzov.
"Vous voyez le malheureux Mack," he
uttered in a broken voice.
Kutuzov's face as he stood in the open doorway
remained perfectly immobile for a few moments. Then wrinkles ran over his
face like a wave and his forehead became smooth again, he bowed his head
respectfully, closed his eyes, silently let Mack enter his room before him,
and closed the door himself behind him.
The report which had been
circulated that the Austrians had been beaten and that the whole army had
surrendered at Ulm proved to be correct. Within half an hour adjutants had
been sent in various directions with orders which showed that the Russian
troops, who had hitherto been inactive, would also soon have to meet the
enemy.
Prince Andrew was one of those rare staff officers whose chief
interest lay in the general progress of the war. When he saw Mack and heard
the details of his disaster he understood that half the campaign was
lost, understood all the difficulties of the Russian army's position,
and vividly imagined what awaited it and the part he would have to
play. Involuntarily he felt a joyful agitation at the thought of
the humiliation of arrogant Austria and that in a week's time he
might, perhaps, see and take part in the first Russian encounter with
the French since Suvorov met them. He feared that Bonaparte's genius
might outweigh all the courage of the Russian troops, and at the same
time could not admit the idea of his hero being disgraced.
Excited and
irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew went toward his room to write to
his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor he met Nesvitski,
with whom he shared a room, and the wag Zherkov; they were as usual
laughing.
"Why are you so glum?" asked Nesvitski noticing Prince Andrew's
pale face and glittering eyes.
"There's nothing to be gay about,"
answered Bolkonski.
Just as Prince Andrew met Nesvitski and Zherkov,
there came toward them from the other end of the corridor, Strauch, an
Austrian general who on Kutuzov's staff in charge of the provisioning of the
Russian army, and the member of the Hofkriegsrath who had arrived the
previous evening. There was room enough in the wide corridor for the generals
to pass the three officers quite easily, but Zherkov, pushing Nesvitski aside
with his arm, said in a breathless voice,
"They're coming!... they're
coming!... Stand aside, make way, please make way!"
The generals were
passing by, looking as if they wished to avoid embarrassing attentions. On
the face of the wag Zherkov there suddenly appeared a stupid smile of glee
which he seemed unable to suppress.
"Your excellency," said he in German,
stepping forward and addressing the Austrian general, "I have the honor to
congratulate you."
He bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and
then with the other, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson.
The
member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at him severely but, seeing
the seriousness of his stupid smile, could not but give him a
moment's attention. He screwed up his eyes showing that he was
listening.
"I have the honor to congratulate you. General Mack has
arrived, quite well, only a little bruised just here," he added, pointing
with a beaming smile to his head.
The general frowned, turned away,
and went on.
"Gott, wie naiv!" * said he angrily, after he had gone a few
steps.
* "Good God, what simplicity!"
Nesvitski with a laugh
threw his arms round Prince Andrew, but Bolkonski, turning still paler,
pushed him away with an angry look and turned to Zherkov. The nervous
irritation aroused by the appearance of Mack, the news of his defeat, and the
thought of what lay before the Russian army found vent in anger at Zherkov's
untimely jest.
"If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself," he
said sharply, with a slight trembling of the lower jaw, "I can't prevent your
doing so; but I warn you that if you dare to play the fool in my presence,
I will teach you to behave yourself."
Nesvitski and Zherkov were so
surprised by this outburst that they gazed at Bolkonski silently with
wide-open eyes.
"What's the matter? I only congratulated them," said
Zherkov.
"I am not jesting with you; please be silent!" cried Bolkonski,
and taking Nesvitski's arm he left Zherkov, who did not know what to
say.
"Come, what's the matter, old fellow?" said Nesvitski trying to
soothe him.
"What's the matter?" exclaimed Prince Andrew standing
still in his excitement. "Don't you understand that either we are officers
serving our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes and grieving at
the misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merely lackeys who
care nothing for their master's business. Quarante mille hommes massacres
et l'armee de nos allies detruite, et vous trouvez la le mot pour rire,"
* he said, as if strengthening his views by this French sentence.
"C'est bien pour un garcon de rien comme cet individu dont vous avez fait
un ami, mais pas pour vous, pas pour vous. *(2) Only a hobbledehoy
could amuse himself in this way," he added in Russian--but pronouncing
the word with a French accent--having noticed that Zherkov could still
hear him.
* "Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our
allies destroyed, and you find that a cause for jesting!"
* (2) "It is
all very well for that good-for-nothing fellow of whom you have made a
friend, but not for you, not for you."
He waited a moment to see whether
the cornet would answer, but he turned and went out of the
corridor.
CHAPTER IV
The Pavlograd Hussars were
stationed two miles from Braunau. The squadron in which Nicholas Rostov
served as a cadet was quartered in the German village of Salzeneck. The best
quarters in the village were assigned to cavalry-captain Denisov, the
squadron commander, known throughout the whole cavalry division as Vaska
Denisov. Cadet Rostov, ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland,
had lived with the squadron commander.
On October 11, the day when all
was astir at headquarters over the news of Mack's defeat, the camp life of
the officers of this squadron was proceeding as usual. Denisov, who had been
losing at cards all night, had not yet come home when Rostov rode back early
in the morning from a foraging expedition. Rostov in his cadet uniform, with
a jerk to his horse, rode up to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with
a supple youthful movement, stood for a moment in the stirrup as if loathe
to part from his horse, and at last sprang down and called to his
orderly.
"Ah, Bondarenko, dear friend!" said he to the hussar who rushed
up headlong to the horse. "Walk him up and down, my dear fellow,"
he continued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodhearted
young people show to everyone when they are happy.
"Yes, your
excellency," answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing his head.
"Mind, walk
him up and down well!"
Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, but
Bondarenko had already thrown the reins of the snaffle bridle over the
horse's head. It was evident that the cadet was liberal with his tips and
that it paid to serve him. Rostov patted the horse's neck and then his flank,
and lingered for a moment.
"Splendid! What a horse he will be!" he
thought with a smile, and holding up his saber, his spurs jingling, he ran up
the steps of the porch. His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap,
pitchfork in hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his
face immediately brightened on seeing Rostov. "Schon gut Morgen! Schon
gut Morgen!" * he said winking with a merry smile, evidently pleased
to greet the young man.
* "A very good morning! A very good
morning!"
"Schon fleissig?" * said Rostov with the same gay brotherly
smile which did not leave his eager face. "Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen!
Kaiser Alexander hoch!" *(2) said he, quoting words often repeated by
the German landlord.
* "Busy already?"
* (2) "Hurrah for
the Austrians! Hurrah for the Russians! Hurrah for Emperor
Alexander!"
The German laughed, came out of the cowshed, pulled off his
cap, and waving it above his head cried:
"Und die ganze Welt hoch!"
*
* "And hurrah for the whole world!"
Rostov waved his cap
above his head like the German and cried laughing, "Und vivat die ganze
Welt!" Though neither the German cleaning his cowshed nor Rostov back with
his platoon from foraging for hay had any reason for rejoicing, they looked
at each other with joyful delight and brotherly love, wagged their heads in
token of their mutual affection, and parted smiling, the German returning to
his cowshed and Rostov going to the cottage he occupied with
Denisov.
"What about your master?" he asked Lavrushka, Denisov's orderly,
whom all the regiment knew for a rogue.
"Hasn't been in since the
evening. Must have been losing," answered Lavrushka. "I know by now, if he
wins he comes back early to brag about it, but if he stays out till morning
it means he's lost and will come back in a rage. Will you have
coffee?" "Yes, bring some." |
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