War and Peace

by Leo Tolstoy

  Kutuzov walked at a slow, leisurely pace past the thousands of eyes almost straining out of their sockets in an effort to see him. When he got to the third company he stopped abruptly. The entourage had not foreseen such a sudden stop and couldn't help pressing up close behind.

  'Ah, Timokhin!' said the commander-in-chief, recognizing the red-nosed captain who had been in trouble over the blue greatcoat.

  It might have seemed impossible for anyone to stand as erect as Timokhin had done when the regimental commander had rebuked him, but now, finding himself spoken to by the commander-in-chief, the captain stretched himself to attention so rigidly that he seemed unlikely to survive the experience, should the commander-in-chief stay there much longer looking at him. For this reason Kutuzov, seeing how things stood and wishing him nothing but good, turned away sharply. A flicker of a smile passed over Kutuzov's podgy, battle-scarred face.

  'Another old comrade from Izmail!' he said. 'A gallant officer! Are you pleased with him?' Kutuzov asked the general in command. And the general, oblivious to the mirror-like mimicry of the hussar behind him, quivered, pressed forward and responded, 'Yes, sir, very pleased indeed.'

  'We all have our little weaknesses,' said Kutuzov, smiling as he walked away. 'His was a predilection for Bacchus.'3

  The commander was worried that this might be his fault, so he said nothing in reply. At that moment the hussar officer noticed the red-nosed captain's face and his pulled-in stomach, and he mimicked them both so closely that Nesvitsky laughed out loud. Kutuzov turned round. The officer seemed able to do anything with his features. Even as Kutuzov turned round he managed to pull another funny face before assuming the gravest expression of innocence and respect.

  The third company was the last one, and Kutuzov paused for a moment as if he was trying to remember something. Prince Andrey stepped forward and spoke quietly to him in French. 'Sir, you asked me to remind you about Dolokhov, the officer in this regiment who was reduced to the ranks.'

  'Where is Dolokhov?' asked Kutuzov.

  Dolokhov, who had by now changed into a grey private soldier's coat, didn't wait to be called. The slim figure of the fair-haired soldier, with his clear blue eyes, stepped out of the front rank, marched up to the commander-in-chief and presented arms.

  'Any complaint?' asked Kutuzov with a slight frown.

  'This is Dolokhov, sir,' said Prince Andrey.

  'Ah!' said Kutuzov. 'Well, let this be a lesson to you. Do your duty as a soldier. The Emperor is merciful. I shan't forget you, if you do well.'

  The clear blue eyes looked at the commander-in-chief just as brazenly as at the regimental commander; they seemed almost to rip away the veil of convention that set the commander-in-chief so far above the common soldier.

  'I ask only one favour, your most high Excellency,' he said in his loud, confident voice, not hurrying his words, 'and that is a chance to atone for my offence and prove my devotion to his Majesty the Emperor, and to Russia.'

  Kutuzov turned away. His eyes lit up with the same flicker of a smile with which he had turned away from Captain Timokhin. He turned away and frowned, as if to indicate that everything Dolokhov had said to him, and anything that he could say, was old hat, too tedious for words and not at all what was needed. He turned away and walked off towards the coach.

  The regiment broke down by companies and the men set off for their appointed quarters at no great distance from Braunau, where they hoped to find new boots and clothes, and have a good rest after so long on the march.

  'Don't hold it against me, Prokhor Ignatich, will you?' said the regimental commander, overtaking the third company and riding up to Captain Timokhin, who was leading it. The general's face was beaming with irrepressible delight following such a successful inspection. 'It's all in the Tsar's service . . . you can't, er . . . sometimes you have to be a bit hard . . . I'm the first to apologize. You know me . . . He said how pleased he was.' And he held out a hand to the captain.

  'Please, General, as if I would,' answered the captain, his nose redder than ever. He smiled, and his smile showed that his two front teeth were missing - they had been knocked out by a rifle-butt at Izmail.

  'Oh, and tell Dolokhov to rest easy - I shan't forget him. By the way, I've been meaning to ask: what is he doing? How's he getting on? . . .'

  'He is diligent in the performance of his duty, sir. But he can be temperamental,' said Timokhin.

  'What do you mean, "temperamental"?' asked the general.

  'Different things on different days, sir,' said the captain. 'Sometimes he's sensible and intelligent and good-natured. Then he can be like a wild animal. When we were in Poland, I should tell you, he all but killed a Jew . . .'

  'Yes, yes, I see,' said the general. 'Still you have to go easy on a young fellow when he's in trouble. He is well connected, you know . . . I think you should, er . . .'

  'Yes, sir. Yes, sir,' said Timokhin, his smile indicating that he knew what was required of him.

  'Very well, then, very well.'

  The general went to find Dolokhov in the ranks and reined in his horse. 'Come the first action you could get your epaulettes back,' he said to him. Dolokhov looked round but said nothing. The sardonic smile that played about his mouth stayed the same.

  'Well, that's all right then,' the general went on. 'Vodka all round - on me!' he added, loud enough for the soldiers to hear. 'My thanks to you all. God be praised!' He galloped past that company and on to the next one.

  'He's a good man, you know. Worth serving with,' said Timokhin to a junior officer at his side.

  ' "King of Hearts", that's the only word for him,' said the officer with a laugh, that being the general's nickname.

  The officers' buoyant mood following the inspection was caught by the soldiers. The company marched along merrily with soldiers' voices chattering away on all sides.

  'Who was it said Kutuzov's blind in one eye?'

  'Well, he is. Blind as they come.'

  'Nay, boys, he's got better eyes than you. Soon spotted our boots and leg-bands,4 didn't he?'

  'Listen, mate, when he looked at my legs . . . I says to myself . . .'

  'And what about that Austrian bloke with him - looked like they'd chalked him all over. White as flour. I bet they strips him down and cleans him like we does the guns!'

  'Hey, Fedya . . . did he say anything about when it all starts? You were nearer than me. Somebody said Bonaparte's here in Braunau.'

  'In Braunau? Rubbish! Come off it! It's the Prussians what's revolting now. The Austrians, they got to put 'em down. When that's done, that's when there's a war with Bonaparte. And your mate says Bonaparte's here now! Must be stupid. You keep your ears open.'

  'Blasted quartermasters! Look! Fifth company's turning off into that village. They'll have their porridge cooked, and we're nowhere near!'

  'Give us a bit of your biscuit, old man.'

  'What? Did you give me any baccy yesterday? See what I mean? Go on, then, you can have a bit.'

  'We ought to have a halt here, or we'll have to do another three or four miles with nothing inside us.'

  'Wasn't it great when them Germans gave us a lift in their carts! Got a move on then, didn't we?'5

  'But listen, boys, the folks round here be a weird lot. Up to now it's been all Poles and suchlike, all under the Russian crown, from now on it's all Germans, me boy.'

  'Singers to the front!' came the captain's call, and a couple of dozen men went forward from various ranks. The drummer, who was also the leader, turned round to face the choir, waved an arm and struck up a long, meandering soldier's song, beginning: 'As the morning sun was dawning . . .', and ending: 'Therefore, boys, we march to glory, all with Father Kamensky.' This song had been composed in Turkey, and now it was being sung in Austria, except that instead of 'Kamensky' they sang 'Kutuzov'.

  Rapping out the last words in military fashion with a downward sweep of his arms as if he was throwing something on the ground, the drummer, a lean, handsome soldier ab
out forty years old, looked grimly at the soldiers' choir and frowned. Then, satisfied that everyone was looking at him, he made as if he was delicately raising some unseen treasure over his head with both hands, held it there for a few seconds . . . and then suddenly hurled it down in one furious movement.

  'Ah, the bosom of my cottage . . .'

  And two dozen voices came in with the next line, 'My new cottage . . .', and the wooden-spoon player, in spite of all his accoutrements, leapt smartly to the front and walked backwards facing the company, jerking his shoulders and pretending to threaten people with his spoons. The soldiers stepped out to the rhythm of the song, swinging their arms and instinctively coming into step. Suddenly, from behind the company came the sound of wheels, the crunching of springs and the clattering of horses' hooves. Kutuzov and his entourage were returning to the town. The commander-in-chief gave a signal for the soldiers to carry on, and soon he and all his followers were enjoying the singing, the antics of the dancing soldier and the happy men marching on so smartly. There, in the second row from the right flank, which the carriage had to drive past, one figure stood out - the blue-eyed soldier, Dolokhov, marching to the rhythm of the song with a special bounce and panache, and looking at the faces of those who were driving by with apparent pity for anyone who was not marching with them then and there in the ranks. The young hussar officer in Kutuzov's suite, Zherkov, who had been mimicking the general, dropped back from the carriage and rode up to Dolokhov.

  Zherkov had at one time belonged to the wild set in Petersburg which had had Dolokhov as its leader. He had come across Dolokhov outside Russia as a common soldier, and had not seen fit to recognize him. But now, following Kutuzov's conversation with the disgraced officer, he addressed him with all the joviality of an old friend.

  'My dear fellow, how are you?' he asked through all the singing, while manoeuvring his horse to keep pace with the marching soldiers.

  'How am I?' Dolokhov answered coldly. 'Can't you see?'

  The lively song gave a particular thrust to Zherkov's free-and-easy cheerfulness as he spoke, and to the deliberate iciness of Dolokhov's responses.

  'Well, how do you get on with the officers?'

  'Not bad. They're good fellows. How did you manage to worm your way on to the staff?'

  'I was seconded. Just for a spell.'

  They were silent.

  I took my hawk and let him leave

  From my right arm, from my sleeve . . .

  The song rang out, automatically arousing feelings of brightness and joy. No doubt they would have had a different kind of conversation if they hadn't been talking against the singing.

  'Have the Austrians really been beaten?' asked Dolokhov.

  'They keep damn well saying so.'

  'I'm glad,' came Dolokhov's clear, snappy reply, as demanded by the song.

  'I say, why don't you drop round one evening? We'll have a game of cards,' said Zherkov.

  'Have you got plenty of money, then?'

  'Well, do come.'

  'I can't. I've sworn not to. No drinking or betting till I'm promoted.'

  'Oh well, come the first action . . .'

  'We'll see what happens.'

  Another pause.

  'Well, drop by if you need anything. Someone at staff headquarters can always help . . .'

  Dolokhov grinned. 'Don't worry. What I want, I'm not going to ask for. I'll get it myself.'

  'Yes, well, I only . . .'

  'Me too.'

  'Goodbye.'

  'Keep well.'

  Go fond flier, ever higher,

  To your country far away . . .

  Zherkov put spurs to his horse, which reared on its hind legs two or three times in great excitement as if it couldn't decide which foreleg to lead off with, then it galloped past the company, and caught up with the carriage, still moving to the rhythm of the song.

  CHAPTER 3

  Once back from the review, Kutuzov took the Austrian general into his private room and summoned his aide, asking for certain papers concerning the condition of the newly arrived troops, and some letters received from the Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of the advance army. Prince Andrey Bolkonsky came into the commander-in-chief's room with the necessary documents. Kutuzov and the Austrian representative of the Hofkriegsrath were sitting over a plan that lay unfolded on the table.

  'Oh yes,' said Kutuzov, looking round at Bolkonsky and using the phrase as an invitation for his aide to stay with them. Then he continued his conversation.

  'I have only one thing to say, General,' said Kutuzov, using French of such agreeable elegance and persuasive intonation that the listener was obliged to concentrate on each carefully enunciated word. And Kutuzov was clearly not averse to the sound of his own voice. 'All I can say is that if this were a matter of my personal preference, the desire of his Majesty, Emperor Francis, would have been fulfilled long ago. I would have lost no time in joining the Archduke. I give you my word that for me personally to hand over the high command of the army to more knowledgeable and experienced generals - which Austria has in abundance - and to cast off such a heavy responsibility, this for me personally would be a relief. But circumstances are sometimes too much for us, General.' And Kutuzov smiled with an expression that seemed to say, 'You have every right to disbelieve me, and I don't much care whether you do or you don't, but you have no grounds for saying that out loud. And that's it.'

  The Austrian general looked unhappy, but he dared not adopt the wrong tone with Kutuzov.

  'On the contrary,' he snapped with a petulance that belied the meaning of his unctuous words. 'On the contrary, the participation of your most high Excellency in our joint enterprise is highly appreciated by his Majesty. But we do believe that the present delay is depriving the gallant Russian troops and their commander-in-chief of the laurels they are accustomed to winning in the field,' he concluded a sentence obviously prepared in advance.

  Kutuzov bowed, still smiling the same smile.

  'But I am equally certain, to judge by the last letter with which his Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honoured me,' he said, 'and I put it to you indeed that the Austrian troops under the command of so skilful a leader as General Mack have already achieved total victory and have no further need of our assistance.'

  The general frowned. Though there had been no definite news of an Austrian defeat, there was too much circumstantial evidence confirming this as an unpleasant possibility, and that made Kutuzov's assertion of an Austrian victory sound rather like a sneer. But Kutuzov's brief smile contained the same suggestion as before - that he had every right to say what he did. As it happened the last letter he had received from the army of General Mack had informed him of victory, and of the army's most favourable strategic position.

  'Hand me that letter,' said Kutuzov to Prince Andrey. 'See here.' And Kutuzov, with a sardonic smile playing about the corners of his mouth, read out in German for the benefit of the Austrian general this excerpt from the letter of the Archduke Ferdinand:

  'We have a fully concentrated force of nearly seventy thousand men, and therefore stand ready to attack and defeat the enemy in the event of his crossing the Lech. Since we already hold Ulm we are in a position to maintain the advantage of commanding both banks of the Danube, and therefore would be able at a moment's notice, should the enemy decide not to cross the Lech, to cross the Danube ourselves and fall upon their line of communications, recross the river downstream and frustrate the enemy's intentions should he decide to mount a mass attack against our faithful ally. On this account we shall await with confidence the full readiness of the Imperial Russian Army, whereupon we shall easily proceed together in preparing for the enemy that fate which he so richly deserves.'

  Kutuzov gave a heavy sigh as he finished reading the extract and he turned sympathetically to the representative of the Hofkriegsrath, eyeing him closely.

  'But as you well know, your Excellency, it is always wise to prepare for the worst,' said the Austrian gener
al, clearly eager to stop playing around and get down to business. He glanced with displeasure at the adjutant.

  'Excuse me, General,' Kutuzov interrupted him, and he too turned to Prince Andrey. 'My dear fellow, I want you to collect all our intelligence reports from Kozlovsky. Here are two letters from Count Nostitz, here's one from his Highness the Archduke Ferdinand and there's all these others,' he said, handing him several documents. 'Take all this and write me a memorandum, a note in your neatest French clearly presenting all the information we've received about any movements of the Austrian army. Do that, please, and then show it to his Excellency.'

  Prince Andrey gave a nod which indicated that he had understood from the outset not only what was said but also what Kutuzov would have liked to say. He gathered up the papers, gave a single bow and padded across the carpeted floor and out into the reception-room.

  Although it was not long since Prince Andrey had left Russia, he had changed a great deal during that time. His facial expression and the way he moved and walked showed barely a trace of his former affectation and languid boredom. He had the air of a man too absorbed in enjoyable and fascinating work to think about making an impression on other people. His face showed greater contentment - with himself and those around him. His smile was easier; a warmer charm shone in his eyes.

  General Kutuzov, whom he had caught up with in Poland, had received him very graciously and promised not to forget him. He gave him preference over the other adjutants and took him to Vienna, entrusting him with the more important commissions. From Vienna Kutuzov wrote as follows to his old comrade, Prince Andrey's father: 'Your son, with his knowledge, spirit and attention to detail, has the potential to become an outstanding officer. I consider myself lucky to have such an able subordinate.'