Book Two: 1805 - Chapter 2

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"He's coming!" shouted the signaler at that moment.

The regimental commander, flushing, ran to his horse, seized the

stirrup with trembling hands, threw his body across the saddle,

righted himself, drew his saber, and with a happy and resolute

countenance, opening his mouth awry, prepared to shout. The regiment

fluttered like a bird preening its plumage and became motionless.

"Att-ention!" shouted the regimental commander in a soul-shaking

voice which expressed joy for himself, severity for the regiment,

and welcome for the approaching chief.

Along the broad country road, edged on both sides by trees, came a

high, light blue Viennese caleche, slightly creaking on its springs

and drawn by six horses at a smart trot. Behind the caleche galloped

the suite and a convoy of Croats. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian

general, in a white uniform that looked strange among the Russian

black ones. The caleche stopped in front of the regiment. Kutuzov

and the Austrian general were talking in low voices and Kutuzov smiled

slightly as treading heavily he stepped down from the carriage just as

if those two thousand men breathlessly gazing at him and the

regimental commander did not exist.

The word of command rang out, and again the regiment quivered, as

with a jingling sound it presented arms. Then amidst a dead silence

the feeble voice of the commander in chief was heard. The regiment

roared, "Health to your ex... len... len... lency!" and again all

became silent. At first Kutuzov stood still while the regiment

moved; then he and the general in white, accompanied by the suite,

walked between the ranks.

From the way the regimental commander saluted the commander in chief

and devoured him with his eyes, drawing himself up obsequiously, and

from the way he walked through the ranks behind the generals,

bending forward and hardly able to restrain his jerky movements, and

from the way he darted forward at every word or gesture of the

commander in chief, it was evident that he performed his duty as a

subordinate with even greater zeal than his duty as a commander.

Thanks to the strictness and assiduity of its commander the

regiment, in comparison with others that had reached Braunau at the

same time, was in splendid condition. There were only 217 sick and

stragglers. Everything was in good order except the boots.

Kutuzov walked through the ranks, sometimes stopping to say a few

friendly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war,

sometimes also to the soldiers. Looking at their boots he several

times shook his head sadly, pointing them out to the Austrian

general with an expression which seemed to say that he was not blaming

anyone, but could not help noticing what a bad state of things it was.

The regimental commander ran forward on each such occasion, fearing to

miss a single word of the commander in chief's regarding the regiment.

Behind Kutuzov, at a distance that allowed every softly spoken word to

be heard, followed some twenty men of his suite. These gentlemen

talked among themselves and sometimes laughed. Nearest of all to the

commander in chief walked a handsome adjutant. This was Prince

Bolkonski. Beside him was his comrade Nesvitski, a tall staff officer,

extremely stout, with a kindly, smiling, handsome face and moist eyes.

Nesvitski could hardly keep from laughter provoked by a swarthy hussar

officer who walked beside him. This hussar, with a grave face and

without a smile or a change in the expression of his fixed eyes,

watched the regimental commander's back and mimicked his every

movement. Each time the commander started and bent forward, the hussar

started and bent forward in exactly the same manner. Nesvitski laughed

and nudged the others to make them look at the wag.

Kutuzov walked slowly and languidly past thousands of eyes which

were starting from their sockets to watch their chief. On reaching the

third company he suddenly stopped. His suite, not having expected

this, involuntarily came closer to him.

"Ah, Timokhin!" said he, recognizing the red-nosed captain who had

been reprimanded on account of the blue greatcoat.

One would have thought it impossible for a man to stretch himself

more than Timokhin had done when he was reprimanded by the

regimental commander, but now that the commander in chief addressed

him he drew himself up to such an extent that it seemed he could not

have sustained it had the commander in chief continued to look at him,

and so Kutuzov, who evidently understood his case and wished him

nothing but good, quickly turned away, a scarcely perceptible smile

flitting over his scarred and puffy face.

"Another Ismail comrade," said he. "A brave officer! Are you

satisfied with him?" he asked the regimental commander.

And the latter- unconscious that he was being reflected in the

hussar officer as in a looking glass- started, moved forward, and

answered: "Highly satisfied, your excellency!"

"We all have our weaknesses," said Kutuzov smiling and walking

away from him. "He used to have a predilection for Bacchus."

The regimental commander was afraid he might be blamed for this

and did not answer. The hussar at that moment noticed the face of

the red-nosed captain and his drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his

expression and pose with such exactitude that Nesvitski could not help

laughing. Kutuzov turned round. The officer evidently had complete

control of his face, and while Kutuzov was turning managed to make a

grimace and then assume a most serious, deferential, and innocent

expression.

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 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-by."

"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.

Read next: Book Two: 1805#Chapter 3

Read previous: Book Two: 1805#Chapter 1

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