War and Peace: Original Version. Лев Толстой

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СКАЧАТЬ papers. “And out of all this you compose a memorandum in immaculate French, a note to present clearly all the news that we have had about the operations of the Austrian army. Right, that’s it, and present it to his excellency.”

      Prince Andrei inclined his head politely as a sign that, from the very first words, he had understood not only what was said, but also what Kutuzov would have liked to say to him. He gathered up the papers and, taking his leave with a bow, he walked quietly across the carpet and went out into the reception room.

      Despite the fact that it was less than three months since Prince Andrei had left Russia, he had changed greatly in that time. In the expression of his face, his movements and his gait there was almost no trace of the former dissembling and weary lassitude. He had the air of a man who did not have time to think about the impression he was producing on others, and was occupied with something agreeable and interesting. His face expressed greater contentment with himself and the people around him; his smile and his glance were more cheerful and attractive.

      Kutuzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him very warmly, promising not to forget him, and had singled him out from the other adjutants, taking him with him to Vienna and giving him the more serious assignments. On Kutuzov’s staff, among his comrades and colleagues, and in the army in general, Prince Andrei had two entirely opposite reputations, just as he had had in St. Petersburg society. Some, the minority, recognised that Prince Andrei was different in some way from themselves and from everyone else and, expecting great things from him, they heeded, admired and imitated him. And with these people Prince Andrei was simple and agreeable. Others, the majority, did not like Prince Andrei, and thought him a puffed-up, cold and disagreeable individual. But with these people the prince knew how to comport himself in such a way that they respected and even feared him. He was closest of all to two people: one of them was a St. Petersburg friend, the good-hearted, fat Prince Nesvitsky. Prince Nesvitsky, immensely rich, carefree and jolly, fed the entire headquarters staff and bought their drink, always laughing at anything that was even remotely funny, and incapable of understanding or believing in the possibility of acting basely or of hating anyone. The other was a man with no title, Captain Kozlovsky from the infantry regiment, who had had no education to prepare him for society and even spoke French badly, but who was carving out a career by hard work, zeal and intelligence, and for this campaign had been recommended and taken on for special assignments for the commander-in-chief. Bolkonsky had befriended him willingly, if patronisingly.

      On emerging from Kutuzov’s study into the reception room, Prince Andrei took his papers across to Kozlovsky, the man on duty, who was sitting by the window with a book on fortification. Several military men in full uniform with timid expressions on their faces were waiting patiently at the other side of the room.

      “Well, what is it, prince?” asked Kozlovsky.

      “I have been ordered to draw up a memorandum about why we are not advancing.”

      “And why is that?”

      Prince Andrei shrugged.

      “I think you were right,” he said.

      “And is there no news from Mack?” asked Kozlovsky.

      “No.”

      “Well, if it were true that he has been defeated, then news would have reached us.”

      “I’m not so sure,” said Prince Andrei.

      “As I told you, prince, the Austrians have taken us over, no good will come of it.”

      Prince Andrei smiled and stepped towards the door, but just at that moment, an Austrian general, obviously just recently arrived, with his head bandaged in a black kerchief and an Order of Marya-Theresa round his neck, hurried into the room, banging the door behind him. Prince Andrei came to a halt. The Austrian general’s tall figure, his wrinkled, determined face and rapid movements were so strikingly consequential and disquieting that everyone in the room involuntarily rose to their feet.

      “General-in-chief Kutuzov?” the new arrival said rapidly, with a harsh German accent, glancing about on both sides as he walked without stopping across to the door of the study.

      “The general-in-chief is busy,” said Kozlovsky with the sombre briskness with which he always carried out his duties, and he approached the unknown general to block his way to the door. “How shall I announce you?”

      The unknown general glanced down contemptuously at the short Kozlovsky, as if amazed that that anyone might not know him.

      “The general-in-chief is busy,” Kozlovsky repeated calmly.

      The general’s face turned sullen, his lips twitched and began trembling. He took out a notebook, dashed off something hastily with a pencil, tore out the page, handed it to Kozlovsky, walked quickly over to the window, hurled his body into a chair and looked round at everybody in the room as if asking why they were all looking at him. The general raised his head, stretched out his neck and half-turned towards Prince Andrei, who was standing closest of all to him, as though intending to say something, but immediately turned away again and made a strange sound, as though he were beginning to hum something nonchalantly to himself, but the sound immediately broke off. The door of the study opened and Kutuzov appeared on the threshold. In a moment the general with the bandaged head, ducking down as if fleeing from danger, moved swiftly across the room with long strides on thin legs which brought him close to Kutuzov’s face. His own elderly, wrinkled face turned pale, and he was unable to prevent his lower lip from trembling nervously as he uttered the following words in badly pronounced French in a voice that faltered and was too loud:

      “You see before you the unfortunate Mack.”

      For a few moments, as Kutuzov stood there in the doorway of his study, his broad face, disfigured by wounds, remained absolutely motionless. Then, like a wave, a frown rippled across his face and his forehead smoothed out again; he inclined his head respectfully, closed his eyes and, without a word, allowed Mack to go past him into the room, closing the door behind himself.

      The rumour which had been spread earlier, concerning the defeat of the Austrians and the surrender of the entire army at the Ulm, proved to be correct. The members of headquarters staff related to each other the details of Mack’s conversation with the commander-in-chief, which not one of them had been able to hear. Half an hour later adjutants had already been despatched in various directions with orders clearly indicating that the Russian forces, which had so far not seen action, were also certain to encounter the enemy soon.

      “That half-crazy old fanatic Mack wanted to fight the greatest military genius since Caesar!” thought Prince Andrei as he went back to his room. “What did I tell Kozlovsky? What did I write to my father?” he thought. “Now it has happened.” And despite himself he experienced a feeling of joyful excitement at thinking of arrogant Austria’s disgrace and that perhaps in a week’s time he would see and take part in an armed conflict between the Russians and the French, the first since Suvorov.

      Once he got back downstairs to the room that he shared with Nesvitsky, Prince Andrei put the now unnecessary papers on the table and, holding his hands behind his back, he began walking to and fro across the room, smiling at his own thoughts. He feared the genius of Bonaparte, which might prove stronger than all the bravery of the Russian troops, yet at the same time he was unable to conceive of his hero being disgraced. The only possible solution to this contradiction was that he himself should command the Russian army against Bonaparte. But when could that be? In ten years – ten years that seem like an eternity when they amount to more than a third of one’s life so far. “Ah! Do what duty requires, come what may,” he said, rehearsing to himself the motto that he had chosen. He called for СКАЧАТЬ