War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER II

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“COMING!” the sentinel shouted at that moment. The general, turning

red, ran to his horse, with trembling hands caught at the stirrup, swung

himself up, settled himself in the saddle, drew out his sword, and with

a pleased and resolute face opened his mouth on one side, in readiness

to shout. The regiment fluttered all over, like a bird preening its

wings, and subsided into stillness.

“Silence!” roared the general, in a soul-quaking voice, expressing at once

gladness on his own account, severity as regards the regiment, and welcome as

regards the approaching commander-in-chief.

A high, blue Vienna coach with several horses was driving at a smart trot,

rumbling on its springs, along the broad unpaved high-road, with trees planted

on each side of it. The general's suite and an escort of Croats galloped after

the coach. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general in a white uniform, that

looked strange among the black Russian ones. The coach drew up on reaching the

regiment. Kutuzov and the Austrian general were talking of something in low

voices, and Kutuzov smiled slightly as, treading heavily, he put his foot on the

carriage step, exactly as though those two thousand men gazing breathlessly at

him and at their general, did not exist at all.

The word of command rang out, again the regiment quivered with a clanking

sound as it presented arms. In the deathly silence the weak voice of the

commander-in-chief was audible. The regiment roared: “Good health to your Ex ..

lency .. lency .. lency!” And again all was still. At first Kutuzov stood in one

spot, while the regiment moved; then Kutuzov began walking on foot among the

ranks, the white general beside him, followed by his suite.

From the way that the general in command of the regiment saluted the

commander-in-chief, fixing his eyes intently on him, rigidly respectful and

obsequious, from the way in which, craning forward, he followed the generals

through the ranks, with an effort restraining his quivering strut, and darted up

at every word and every gesture of the commander-in-chief,—it was evident that

he performed his duties as a subordinate with even greater zest than his duties

as a commanding officer. Thanks to the strictness and assiduity of its

commander, the regiment was in excellent form as compared with the others that

had arrived at Braunau at the same time. The sick and the stragglers left behind

only numbered two hundred and seventeen, and everything was in good order except

the soldiers' boots.

Kutuzov walked through the ranks, stopping now and then, and saying a few

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

soldiers. Looking at their boots, he several times shook his head dejectedly,

and pointed them out to the Austrian general with an expression as much as to

say that he blamed no one for it, but he could not help seeing what a bad state

of things it was. The general in command of the regiment, on every occasion such

as this, ran forward, afraid of missing a single word the commander-in-chief

might utter regarding the regiment. Behind Kutuzov, at such a distance that

every word, even feebly articulated, could be heard, followed his suite,

consisting of some twenty persons. These gentlemen were talking among

themselves, and sometimes laughed. Nearest of all to the commander-in-chief

walked a handsome adjutant. It was Prince Bolkonsky. Beside him was his comrade

Nesvitsky, a tall staff-officer, excessively stout, with a good-natured,

smiling, handsome face, and moist eyes. Nesvitsky could hardly suppress his

mirth, which was excited by a swarthy officer of hussars walking near him. This

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

staring with a serious face at the commanding officer's back, and mimicking

every movement he made. Every time the commanding officer quivered and darted

forward, the officer of hussars quivered and darted forward in precisely the

same way. Nesvitsky laughed, and poked the others to make them look at the

mimic.

Kutuzov walked slowly and listlessly by the thousands of eyes which were

almost rolling out of their sockets in the effort to watch him. On reaching the

third company, he suddenly stopped. The suite, not foreseeing this halt, could

not help pressing up closer to him.

“Ah, Timohin!” said the commander-in-chief, recognising the captain with the

red nose who had got into trouble over the blue overcoat.

One would have thought it impossible to stand more rigidly erect than Timohin

had done when the general in command of the regiment had made his remarks to

him; but at the instant when the commander-in-chief addressed him, the captain

stood with such erect rigidity that it seemed that, were the commander-in-chief

to remain for some time looking at him, the captain could hardly sustain the

ordeal, and for that reason Kutuzov, realising his position, and wishing him

nothing but good, hurriedly turned away. A scarcely perceptible smile passed

over Kutuzov's podgy face, disfigured by the scar of a wound.

“Another old comrade at Ismail!” he said. “A gallant officer! Are you

satisfied with him?” Kutuzov asked of the general in command.

And the general, all unconscious that he was being reflected as in a mirror

in the officer of hussars behind him, quivered, pressed forward, and answered:

“Fully, your most high excellency.”

“We all have our weaknesses,” said Kutuzov, smiling and walking away from

him. “He had a predilection for Bacchus.”

The general in command was afraid that he might be to blame for this, and

made no answer. The officer of hussars at that instant noticed the face of the

captain with the red nose, and the rigidly drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his

face and attitude in such a life-like manner that Nesvitsky could not restrain

his laughter. Kutuzov turned round. The officer could apparently do anything he

liked with his face; at the instant Kutuzov turned round, the officer had time

to get in a grimace before assuming the most serious, respectful, and innocent

expression.

The third company was the last, and Kutuzov seemed pondering, as though

trying to recall something. Prince Andrey stepped forward and said softly in

French: “You told me to remind you of the degraded officer, Dolohov, serving in

the ranks in this regiment.”

“Where is Dolohov?” asked Kutuzov.

Dolohov, attired by now in the grey overcoat of a private soldier, did not

wait to be called up. The slender figure of the fair-haired soldier, with his

bright blue eyes, stepped out of the line. He went up to the commander-in-chief

and presented arms.

“A complaint to make?” Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.

“This is Dolohov,” said Prince Andrey.

“Ah!” said Kutuzov. “I hope this will be a lesson to you, do your duty

thoroughly. The Emperor is gracious. And I shall not forget you, if you deserve

it.”

The bright blue eyes looked at the commander-in-chief just as impudently as

at the general of his regiment, as though by his expression tearing down the

veil of convention that removed the commander-in-chief so far from the

soldier.

“The only favour I beg of your most high excellency,” he said in his firm,

ringing, deliberate voice, “is to give me a chance to atone for my offence, and

to prove my devotion to his majesty the Emperor, and to Russia.”

Kutuzov turned away. There was a gleam in his eyes of the same smile with

which he had turned away from Captain Timohin. He turned away and frowned, as

though to express that all Dolohov had said to him and all he could say, he had

known long, long ago, that he was sick to death long ago of it, and that it was

not at all what was wanted. He turned away and went towards the coach.

The regiment broke into companies and went towards the quarters assigned them

at no great distance from Braunau, where they hoped to find boots and clothes,

and to rest after their hard marches.

“You won't bear me a grudge, Proho Ignatitch?” said the commanding general,

overtaking the third company and riding up to Captain Timohin, who was walking

in front of it. The general's face beamed with a delight he could not suppress

after the successful inspection. “It's in the Tsar's service … can't be helped …

sometimes one has to be a little sharp at inspection. I'm the first to

apologise; you know me.… He was very much pleased.” And he held out his hand to

the captain.

“Upon my word, general, as if I'd make so bold,” answered the captain, his

nose flushing redder. He smiled, and his smile revealed the loss of two front

teeth, knocked out by the butt-end of a gun at Ismail.

“And tell Dolohov that I won't forget him; he can be easy about that. And

tell me, please, what about him, how's he behaving himself … I've been meaning

to inquire…”

“He's very exact in the discharge of his duties, your excellency … but he's a

character …” said Timohin.

“Why, what sort of a character?” asked the general.

“It's different on different days, your excellency,” said the captain; “at

one time he's sensible and well-educated and good-natured. And then he'll be

like a wild beast. In Poland, he all but killed a Jew, if you please.…”

“Well, well,” said the general, “still one must feel for a young man in

trouble. He has great connections, you know.… So you …”

“Oh, yes, your excellency,” said Timohin, with a smile that showed he

understood his superior officer's wish in the matter.

“Very well, then, very well.”

The general sought out Dolohov in the ranks and pulled up his horse.

“In the first action you may win your epaulettes,” he said to him.

Dolohov looked round and said nothing. There was no change in the lines of

his ironically-smiling mouth.

“Well, that's all right then,” the general went on. “A glass of brandy to

every man from me,” he added, so that the soldiers could hear. “I thank you all.

God be praised!” And riding round the company, he galloped off to another.

“Well, he's really a good fellow, one can get on very well under him,” said

Timohin to the subaltern officer walking beside him.

“The king of hearts, that's the only word for him,” the subaltern said,

laughing. (The general was nicknamed the king of hearts.)

The cheerful state of mind of the officers after the inspection was shared by

the soldiers. The companies went along merrily. Soldiers' voices could be heard

on all sides chatting away.

“Why, don't they say Kutuzov's blind in one eye?”

“To be sure he is. Quite blind of one eye.”

“Nay … lads, he's more sharp-eyed than you are. See how he looked at our

boots and things.” …

“I say, mate, when he looked at my legs … well, thinks I …”

“And the other was an Austrian with him, that looked as if he'd been chalked

all over. As white as flour. I bet they rub him up as we rub up our guns.”

“I say, Fedeshou … did he say anything as to when the battles are going to

begin? You stood nearer. They did say Bonaparte himself was in Brunovo.”

“Bonaparte! What nonsense the fellow talks! What won't you know next! Now

it's the Prussian that's revolting. The Austrian, do you see, is pacifying him.

When he's quiet, then the war will begin with Bonaparte. And he talks of

Bonaparte's being in Brunovo! It's plain the fellow's a fool. You'd better keep

your ears open.”

“Those devils of quartermasters! … The fifth company's turned into the

village by now, and they're cooking their porridge, and we're not there

yet.”

“Give us a biscuit, old man.”

“And did you give me tobacco yesterday? All right, my lad. Well, well, God be

with you.”

“They might have made a halt, or we'll have to do another four miles with

nothing to eat.”

“I say, it was fine how those Germans gave us carriages. One drove along,

something like.”

“But here, lads, the folks are regularly stripped bare. There it was all

Poles of some sort, all under the Russian crown, but now we've come to the

regular Germans, my boy.”

“Singers to the front,” the captain called. And from the different ranks

about twenty men advanced to the front. The drummer, who was their leader,

turned round facing the chorus and waving his arm, struck up a soldier's song,

beginning: “The sun was scarcely dawning,” and ending with the words: “So, lads,

we'll march to glory with Father Kamensky.” … This song had been composed in

Turkey, and now was sung in Austria, the only change being the substitution of

the words “Father Kutuzov” for “Father Kamensky.”

Jerking out the last words in soldierly fashion and waving his arms, as

though he were flinging something on the ground, the drummer, a lean, handsome

soldier of forty, looked sternly at the soldier-chorus and frowned. Then, having

satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed upon him, he gesticulated, as though

he were carefully lifting some unseen precious object over his head in both

hands, holding it there some seconds, and all at once with a desperate movement

flinging it away.

“Ah, the threshold of my cottage,
My new cottage.”

Here twenty voices caught up the refrain, and the castanet player, in spite

of the weight of his weapon and knapsack, bounded nimbly forward, and walked

backwards facing the company, shaking his shoulders, and seeming to menace some

one with the castanets. The soldiers stepped out in time to the song, swinging

their arms and unconsciously falling into step. Behind the company came the

sound of wheels, the rumble of springs, and the tramp of horses. Kutuzov and his

suite were going back to the town. The commander-in-chief made a sign for the

soldiers to go on freely, and he and all his suite looked as though they took

pleasure in the sound of the singing, and the spectacle of the dancing soldier

and the gaily, smartly marching men. In the second row from the right flank,

beside which the carriage passed, they could not help noticing the blue-eyed

soldier, Dolohov, who marched with a special jauntiness and grace in time to the

song, and looked at the faces of the persons driving by with an expression that

seemed to pity every one who was not at that moment marching in the ranks. The

cornet of hussars, the officer of Kutuzov's suite, who had mimicked the general,

fell back from the carriage and rode up to Dolohov.

The cornet of hussars, Zherkov, had at one time belonged to the fast set in

Petersburg, of which Dolohov had been the leader. Zherkov had met Dolohov abroad

as a common soldier, and had not seen fit to recognise him. But now, after

Kutuzov's conversation with the degraded officer, he addressed him with all the

cordiality of an old friend.

“Friend of my heart, how are you?” he said, through the singing, making his

horse keep pace with the marching soldiers.

“How am I?” Dolohov answered coldly. “As you see.” The lively song gave a

peculiar flavour to the tone of free-and-easy gaiety, with which Zherkov spoke,

and the studied coldness of Dolohov's replies.

“Well, how do you get on with your officers?” asked Zherkov.

“All right; they're good fellows. How did you manage to poke yourself on to

the staff?”

“I was attached; I'm on duty.”

They were silent.

“My gay goshawk I took with me,
From my right sleeve I set him

free,”

said the song, arousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness.

Their conversation would most likely have been different, if they had not been

talking while the song was singing.

“Is it true, the Austrians have been beaten?” asked Dolohov.

“Devil knows; they say so.”

“I'm glad,” Dolohov made a brief, sharp reply, as was required to fit in with

the tune.

“I say, come round to us some evening; we'll have a game of faro,” said

Zherkov.

“Is money so plentiful among you?”

“Do come.”

“I can't; I've sworn not to. I won't drink or play till I'm promoted.”

“Well, but in the first action …”

“Then we shall see.” Again they paused.

“You come, if you want anything; one can always be of use on the

staff.…”

Dolohov grinned. “Don't trouble yourself. What I want, I'm not going to ask

for; I take it for myself.”

“Oh, well, I only …”

“Well, and I only.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

“And far and free
To his own country.”

Zherkov put spurs to his horse, which three times picked up its legs

excitedly, not knowing which to start from, then galloped off round the company,

and overtook the carriage, keeping time too to the song.

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1. Ebooks list page : 82
2. War And Peace: Book 4 - CHAPTER V
3. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER III
4. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER I
5. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER IV
6. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIX
7. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XVI
8. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XV
9. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIV
10. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER V
11. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER VI
12. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIX
13. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XVI
14. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIV
15. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XV
16. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XI