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
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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.
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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, en220
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tered 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.
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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
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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.
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‘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
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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 rein 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 Russianbut pronouncing the word
with a French accenthaving 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
