at Krems and the victory over Mortier raised the spirits of
the army considerably. Throughout the whole army and at
headquarters most joyful though erroneous rumors were
rife of the imaginary approach of columns from Russia, of
some victory gained by the Austrians, and of the retreat of
the frightened Bonaparte.
Prince Andrew during the battle had been in attendance
on the Austrian General Schmidt, who was killed in the
action. His horse had been wounded under him and his
own arm slightly grazed by a bullet. As a mark of the commander in chief’s special favor he was sent with the news
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of this victory to the Austrian court, now no longer at Vienna (which was threatened by the French) but at Brunn.
Despite his apparently delicate build Prince Andrew could
endure physical fatigue far better than many very muscular
men, and on the night of the battle, having arrived at Krems
excited but not weary, with dispatches from Dokhturov to
Kutuzov, he was sent immediately with a special dispatch to
Brunn. To be so sent meant not only a reward but an important step toward promotion.
The night was dark but starry, the road showed black
in the snow that had fallen the previous daythe day of the
battle. Reviewing his impressions of the recent battle, picturing pleasantly to himself the impression his news of a
victory would create, or recalling the send-off given him
by the commander in chief and his fellow officers, Prince
Andrew was galloping along in a post chaise enjoying the
feelings of a man who has at length begun to attain a longdesired happiness. As soon as he closed his eyes his ears
seemed filled with the rattle of the wheels and the sensation
of victory. Then he began to imagine that the Russians were
running away and that he himself was killed, but he quickly
roused himself with a feeling of joy, as if learning afresh
that this was not so but that on the contrary the French had
run away. He again recalled all the details of the victory and
his own calm courage during the battle, and feeling reassured he dozed off…. The dark starry night was followed by a
bright cheerful morning. The snow was thawing in the sunshine, the horses galloped quickly, and on both sides of the
road were forests of different kinds, fields, and villages.
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At one of the post stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded. The Russian officer in charge of the transport
lolled back in the front cart, shouting and scolding a soldier
with coarse abuse. In each of the long German carts six or
more pale, dirty, bandaged men were being jolted over the
stony road. Some of them were talking (he heard Russian
words), others were eating bread; the more severely wounded looked silently, with the languid interest of sick children,
at the envoy hurrying past them.
Prince Andrew told his driver to stop, and asked a soldier
in what action they had been wounded. ‘Day before yesterday, on the Danube,’ answered the soldier. Prince Andrew
took out his purse and gave the soldier three gold pieces.
‘That’s for them all,’ he said to the officer who came up.
‘Get well soon, lads!’ he continued, turning to the soldiers. ‘There’s plenty to do still.’
‘What news, sir?’ asked the officer, evidently anxious to
start a conversation.
‘Good news!… Go on!’ he shouted to the driver, and they
galloped on.
It was already quite dark when Prince Andrew rattled
over the paved streets of Brunn and found himself surrounded by high buildings, the lights of shops, houses,
and street lamps, fine carriages, and all that atmosphere of
a large and active town which is always so attractive to a
soldier after camp life. Despite his rapid journey and sleepless night, Prince Andrew when he drove up to the palace
felt even more vigorous and alert than he had done the day
before. Only his eyes gleamed feverishly and his thoughts
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followed one another with extraordinary clearness and rapidity. He again vividly recalled the details of the battle,
no longer dim, but definite and in the concise form concise form in which he imagined himself stating them to the
Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the casual questions
that might be put to him and the answers he would give.
He expected to be at once presented to the Emperor. At the
chief entrance to the palace, however, an official came running out to meet him, and learning that he was a special
messenger led him to another entrance.
‘To the right from the corridor, Euer Hochgeboren! There
you will find the adjutant on duty,’ said the official. ‘He will
conduct you to the Minister of War.’
The adjutant on duty, meeting Prince Andrew, asked
him to wait, and went in to the Minister of War. Five minutes later he returned and bowing with particular courtesy
ushered Prince Andrew before him along a corridor to the
cabinet where the Minister of War was at work. The adjutant by his elaborate courtesy appeared to wish to ward off
any attempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian messenger.
Prince Andrew’s joyous feeling was considerably weakened as he approached the door of the minister’s room. He
felt offended, and without his noticing it the feeling of offense immediately turned into one of disdain which was
quite uncalled for. His fertile mind instantly suggested to
him a point of view which gave him a right to despise the
adjutant and the minister. ‘Away from the smell of powder,
they probably think it easy to gain victories!’ he thought.
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His eyes narrowed disdainfully, he entered the room of
the Minister of War with peculiarly deliberate steps. This
feeling of disdain was heightened when he saw the minister seated at a large table reading some papers and making
pencil notes on them, and for the first two or three minutes
taking no notice of his arrival. A wax candle stood at each
side of the minister’s bent bald head with its gray temples.
He went on reading to the end, without raising his eyes at
the opening of the door and the sound of footsteps.
‘Take this and deliver it,’ said he to his adjutant, handing him the papers and still taking no notice of the special
messenger.
Prince Andrew felt that either the actions of Kutuzov’s
army interested the Minister of War less than any of the
other matters he was concerned with, or he wanted to give
the Russian special messenger that impression. ‘But that is a
matter of perfect indifference to me,’ he thought. The minister drew the remaining papers together, arranged them
evenly, and then raised his head. He had an intellectual and
distinctive head, but the instant he turned to Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent expression on his face changed
in a way evidently deliberate and habitual to him. His face
took on the stupid artificial smile (which does not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is continually
receiving many petitioners one after another.
‘From General Field Marshal Kutuzov?’ he asked. ‘I hope
it is good news? There has been an encounter with Mortier?
A victory? It was high time!’
He took the dispatch which was addressed to him and
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began to read it with a mournful expression.
‘Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!’ he exclaimed in German. ‘What a calamity! What a calamity!’
Having glanced through the dispatch he laid it on the
table and looked at Prince Andrew, evidently considering
something.
‘Ah what a calamity! You say the affair was decisive? But
Mortier is not captured.’ Again he pondered. ‘I am very glad
you have brought good news, though Schmidt’s death is a
heavy price to pay for the victory. His Majesty will no doubt
wish to see you, but not today. I thank you! You must have
a rest. Be at the levee tomorrow after the parade. However,
I will let you know.’
The stupid smile, which had left his face while he was
speaking, reappeared.
‘Au revoir! Thank you very much. His Majesty will probably desire to see you,’ he added, bowing his head.
When Prince Andrew left the palace he felt that all the
interest and happiness the victory had afforded him had
been now left in the indifferent hands of the Minister of War
and the polite adjutant. The whole tenor of his thoughts instantaneously changed; the battle seemed the memory of a
remote event long past.
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Chapter X
Prince Andrew stayed at Brunn with Bilibin, a Russian
acquaintance of his in the diplomatic service.
‘Ah, my dear prince! I could not have a more welcome
visitor,’ said Bilibin as he came out to meet Prince Andrew.
‘Franz, put the prince’s things in my bedroom,’ said he to
the servant who was ushering Bolkonski in. ‘So you’re a
messenger of victory, eh? Splendid! And I am sitting here
ill, as you see.’
After washing and dressing, Prince Andrew came into
the diplomat’s luxurious study and sat down to the dinner
prepared for him. Bilibin settled down comfortably beside
the fire.
After his journey and the campaign during which he had
been deprived of all the comforts of cleanliness and all the
refinements of life, Prince Andrew felt a pleasant sense of
repose among luxurious surroundings such as he had been
accustomed to from childhood. Besides it was pleasant, after his reception by the Austrians, to speak if not in Russian
(for they were speaking French) at least with a Russian who
would, he supposed, share the general Russian antipathy to
the Austrians which was then particularly strong.
Bilibin was a man of thirty-five, a bachelor, and of the
same circle as Prince Andrew. They had known each other previously in Petersburg, but had become more intimate
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when Prince Andrew was in Vienna with Kutuzov. Just as
Prince Andrew was a young man who gave promise of rising
high in the military profession, so to an even greater extent
Bilibin gave promise of rising in his diplomatic career. He
still a young man but no longer a young diplomat, as he had
entered the service at the age of sixteen, had been in Paris
and Copenhagen, and now held a rather important post in
Vienna. Both the foreign minister and our ambassador
