War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER III

作者: Leo Tolstoy

语言: English

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Author: Leo Tolstoy

ON RETURNING from the review, Kutuzov, accompanied by the Austrian general,

went to his private room, and calling his adjutant, told him to give him certain

papers, relating to the condition of the newly arrived troops, and letters,

received from Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of the army at the front.

Prince Andrey Bolkonsky came into the commander-in-chief's room with the papers

he had asked for. Kutuzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath were

sitting over a plan that lay unfolded on the table.

“Ah!” … said Kutuzov, looking round at Bolkonsky; and inviting his adjutant,

as it were, by his word to wait, he went on in French with the

conversation.

“I have only one thing to say, general,” said Kutuzov, with an agreeable

elegance of expression and intonation, that forced one to listen for each

deliberately uttered word. It was evident that Kutuzov himself listened to his

voice with pleasure. “I can only say one thing, that if the matter depended on

my personal wishes, the desire of his majesty, the Emperor Francis, should long

ago have been accomplished; I should long ago have joined the archduke. And,

upon my honour, believe me that for me personally to hand over the chief command

of the army to more experienced and skilful generals—such as Austria is so rich

in—and to throw off all this weighty responsibility, for me personally would be

a relief. But circumstances are too strong for us, general.” And Kutuzov smiled

with an expression that seemed to say: “You are perfectly at liberty not to

believe me, and indeed it's a matter of perfect indifference to me whether you

believe me or not, but you have no grounds for saying so. And that's the whole

point.” The Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but he had no choice but to

answer Kutuzov in the same tone.

“On the contrary,” he said in a querulous and irritated voice, that

contrasted with the flattering intention of the words he uttered; “On the

contrary, the participation of your most high excellency in common action is

highly appreciated by his majesty. But we imagine that the present delay robs

the gallant Russian troops and their commander-in-chief of the laurels they are

accustomed to winning in action,” he concluded a phrase he had evidently

prepared beforehand.

Kutuzov bowed, still with the same smile.

“But I am convinced of this, and relying on the last letter with which his

Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honoured me, I imagine that the Austrian

troops under the command of so talented a leader as General Mack, have by now

gained a decisive victory and have no longer need of our aid,” said

Kutuzov.

The general frowned. Though there was no positive news of the defeat of the

Austrians, there were too many circumstances in confirmation of the unfavourable

reports; and so Kutuzov's supposition in regard to an Austrian victory sounded

very much like a sneer. But Kutuzov smiled blandly, still 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 the army of General Mack had given him news

of victory, and of the most favourable strategical position of the army.

“Give me that letter,” said Kutuzov, addressing Prince Andrey. “Here, if you

will kindly look”—and Kutuzov, with an ironical smile about the corners of his

mouth, read in German the following passage from the letter of the Archduke

Ferdinand:

“We have a force, perfectly kept together, of nearly 70,000 men, in order to

attack and defeat the enemy if they should pass the Lech. As we are masters of

Ulm, we cannot lose the advantage of remaining masters also of both sides of the

Danube; and moreover able, should the enemy not cross the Lech, to pass over the

Danube at any moment, throw ourselves upon their line of communications, recross

the Danube lower down, and entirely resist the enemy's aim if they should

attempt to turn their whole force upon our faithful ally. In this way we shall

await courageously the moment when the Imperial Russian is ready, and shall

then, in conjunction, easily find a possibility of preparing for the foe that

fate which he so richly deserves.”

Kutuzov concluded this period with a heavy sigh and looked intently and

genially at the member of the Hofkriegsrath.

“But you know, your excellency, the sage precept to prepare for the worst,”

said the Austrian general, obviously wishing to have done with jests and to come

to business. He could not help glancing round at the adjutant.

“Excuse me, general,” Kutuzov interrupted him, and he, too, turned to Prince

Andrey. “Here, my dear boy, get all the reports from our scouts from Kozlovsky.

Here are two letters from Count Nostits, here is a letter from his Highness the

Archduke Ferdinand, here is another,” he said, giving him several papers. “And

of all this make out clearly in French a memorandum showing all the information

we have had of the movements of the Austrian Army. Well, do so, and then show it

to his excellency.”

Prince Andrey bowed in token of understanding from the first word not merely

what had been said, but also what Kutuzov would have liked to have said to him.

He gathered up the papers, and making a comprehensive bow, stepped softly over

the carpet and went out into the reception-room.

Although so short a time had passed since Prince Andrey had left Russia, he

had changed greatly during that time. In the expression of his face, in his

gestures, in his gait, there was scarcely a trace to be seen now of his former

affectation, ennui, and indolence. He had the air of a man who has not time to

think of the impression he is making on others, and is absorbed in work, both

agreeable and interesting. His face showed more satisfaction with himself and

those around him. His smile and his glance were more light-hearted and

attractive.

Kutuzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him very cordially,

had promised not to forget him, had marked him out among the other adjutants,

had taken him with him to Vienna and given him the more serious commissions.

From Vienna, Kutuzov had written to his old comrade, Prince Andrey's

father.

“Your son,” he wrote, “gives promise of becoming an officer, who will make

his name by his industry, firmness, and conscientiousness. I consider myself

lucky to have such an assistant at hand.”

On Kutuzov's staff, among his fellow-officers, and in the army generally,

Prince Andrey had, as he had had in Petersburg society, two quite opposite

reputations. Some, the minority, regarded Prince Andrey as a being different

from themselves and from all other men, expected great things of him, listened

to him, were enthusiastic in his praise, and imitated him, and with such people

Prince Andrey was frank and agreeable. Others, the majority, did not like Prince

Andrey, and regarded him as a sulky, cold, and disagreeable person. But with the

latter class, too, Prince Andrey knew how to behave so that he was respected and

even feared by them.

Coming out of Kutuzov's room into the reception-room, Prince Andrey went in

with his papers to his comrade, the adjutant on duty, Kozlovsky, who was sitting

in the window with a book.

“What is it, prince?” queried Kozlovsky.

“I am told to make a note of the reason why we are not moving forward.”

“And why aren't we?”

Prince Andrey shrugged his shoulders

“No news from Mack?” asked Kozlovsky.

“No.”

“If it were true that he had been beaten, news would have come.”

“Most likely,” said Prince Andrey, and he moved towards the door to go out.

But he was met on the way by a tall man who at that instant walked into the

reception-room, slamming the door. The stranger, who had obviously just arrived,

was an Austrian general in a long coat, with a black kerchief tied round his

head, and the order of Maria Theresa on his neck. Prince Andrey stopped

short.

“Commander-in-chief Kutuzov?” the general asked quickly, speaking with a

harsh German accent. He looked about him on both sides, and without a pause

walked to the door of the private room.

“The commander-in-chief is engaged,” said Kozlovsky, hurriedly going up to

the unknown general and barring his way to the door. “Whom am I to

announce?”

The unknown general looked disdainfully down at the short figure of

Kozlovsky, as though surprised that they could be ignorant of his

identity.

“The commander-in-chief is engaged,” Kozlovsky repeated tranquilly.

The general's face contracted, his lips twitched and quivered. He took out a

notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out the leaf, handed it

to Kozlovsky, and with rapid steps walked to the window, dropped on to a chair

and looked round at the persons in the room, as though asking what they were

looking at him for. Then the general lifted his head, craned his neck forward as

though intending to say something, but immediately, as though carelessly

beginning to hum to himself, uttered a strange sound which broke off at once.

The door of the private room opened, and Kutuzov appeared in the doorway.

The general with the bandaged head, bent forward as though fleeing from

danger, strode towards Kutuzov, his thin legs moving swiftly.

“You see the unfortunate Mack,” he articulated in French in a breaking

voice.

The face of Kutuzov, as he stood in the doorway, remained for several

instants perfectly unmoved. Then a frown seemed to run over his face, like a

wave, leaving his forehead smooth again; he bowed his head respectfully, closed

his eyes, ushered Mack in before him without a word, and closed the door behind

him.

The report, which had been in circulation before this, of the defeat of the

Austrians and the surrender of the whole army at Ulm, turned out to be the

truth. Within half an hour adjutants had been despatched in various directions

with orders. It was evident that the Russian troops which had hitherto been

inactive, were destined soon to meet the enemy.

Prince Andrey was one of those rare staff-officers whose interests were

concentrated on the general progress of the war. On seeing Mack and learning the

details of his overthrow, he grasped the fact that half the campaign was lost;

he perceived all the difficulty of the position of the Russian troops, and

vividly pictured to himself what lay before the Army, and the part he would have

to play in the work in store for them. He could not help feeling a rush of

joyful emotion at the thought of the humiliation of self-confident Austria, and

the prospect within a week, perhaps, of seeing and taking part in the meeting of

the Russians with the French, the first since Suvorov's day. But he was afraid

of the genius of Bonaparte, which might turn out to be more powerful than all

the bravery of the Russian troops; and at the same time he could not bear to

entertain the idea of the disgrace of his favourite hero.

Excited and irritated by these ideas, Prince Andrey went towards his own room

to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor he met

Nesvitsky, the comrade with whom he shared a room, and the comic man, Zherkov.

They were, as usual, laughing at some joke.

“What are you looking so dismal about?” asked Nesvitsky, noticing Prince

Andrey's pale face and gleaming eyes.

“There's nothing to be gay about,” answered Bolkonsky.

Just as Prince Andrey met Nesvitsky and Zherkov, there came towards them from

the other end of the corridor Strauch, an Austrian general, who was 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 plenty of room in

the wide corridor for the generals to pass the three officers easily. But

Zherkov, pulling Nesvitsky back by the arm, cried in a breathless voice:

“They are coming! … they are coming! … move aside, make way! please, make

way.”

The generals advanced with an air of wishing to avoid burdensome honours. The

face of the comic man, Zherkov, suddenly wore a stupid smile of glee, which he

seemed unable to suppress.

“Your Excellency,” he said in German, moving forward and addressing the

Austrian general, “I have the honour to congratulate you.” He bowed, and

awkwardly, as children do at dancing-lessons, he began scraping first with one

leg and then with the other. The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked severely at

him, but seeing the seriousness of his stupid smile, he could not refuse him a

moment's attention. He screwed up his eyes and showed that he was

listening.

“I have the honour to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite well,

only slightly wounded here,” he added, pointing with a beaming smile to his

head.

The general frowned, turned away and went on.

“Gott, wie na"

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