الفصل الفصل 58 · 第58章

The day after the review, Borís, in his best uniform and with his

comrade Berg’s best wishes for success, rode to Olmütz to see

Bolkónski, wishing to profit by his friendliness and obtain for himself

the best post he could—preferably that of adjutant to some important

personage, a position in the army which seemed to him most attractive.

“It is all very well for Rostóv, whose father sends him ten thousand

rubles at a time, to talk about not wishing to cringe to anybody and not

be anyone’s lackey, but I who have nothing but my brains have to

make a career and must not miss opportunities, but must avail myself of

them!” he reflected.

He did not find Prince Andrew in Olmütz that day, but the appearance of

the town where the headquarters and the diplomatic corps were stationed

and the two Emperors were living with their suites, households, and

courts only strengthened his desire to belong to that higher world.

He knew no one, and despite his smart Guardsman’s uniform, all these

exalted personages passing in the streets in their elegant carriages

with their plumes, ribbons, and medals, both courtiers and military

men, seemed so immeasurably above him, an insignificant officer of the

Guards, that they not only did not wish to, but simply could not, be

aware of his existence. At the quarters of the commander in chief,

Kutúzov, where he inquired for Bolkónski, all the adjutants and even

the orderlies looked at him as if they wished to impress on him that a

great many officers like him were always coming there and that everybody

was heartily sick of them. In spite of this, or rather because of

it, next day, November 15, after dinner he again went to Olmütz and,

entering the house occupied by Kutúzov, asked for Bolkónski. Prince

Andrew was in and Borís was shown into a large hall probably formerly

used for dancing, but in which five beds now stood, and furniture of

various kinds: a table, chairs, and a clavichord. One adjutant, nearest

the door, was sitting at the table in a Persian dressing gown, writing.

Another, the red, stout Nesvítski, lay on a bed with his arms under his

head, laughing with an officer who had sat down beside him. A third was

playing a Viennese waltz on the clavichord, while a fourth, lying on

the clavichord, sang the tune. Bolkónski was not there. None of these

gentlemen changed his position on seeing Borís. The one who was writing

and whom Borís addressed turned round crossly and told him Bolkónski

was on duty and that he should go through the door on the left into the

reception room if he wished to see him. Borís thanked him and went to

the reception room, where he found some ten officers and generals.

When he entered, Prince Andrew, his eyes drooping contemptuously (with

that peculiar expression of polite weariness which plainly says, “If

it were not my duty I would not talk to you for a moment”), was

listening to an old Russian general with decorations, who stood very

erect, almost on tiptoe, with a soldier’s obsequious expression on his

purple face, reporting something.

“Very well, then, be so good as to wait,” said Prince Andrew to the

general, in Russian, speaking with the French intonation he affected

when he wished to speak contemptuously, and noticing Borís, Prince

Andrew, paying no more heed to the general who ran after him imploring

him to hear something more, nodded and turned to him with a cheerful

smile.

At that moment Borís clearly realized what he had before surmised, that

in the army, besides the subordination and discipline prescribed in the

military code, which he and the others knew in the regiment, there was

another, more important, subordination, which made this tight-laced,

purple-faced general wait respectfully while Captain Prince Andrew, for

his own pleasure, chose to chat with Lieutenant Drubetskóy. More than

ever was Borís resolved to serve in future not according to the written

code, but under this unwritten law. He felt now that merely by having

been recommended to Prince Andrew he had already risen above the general

who at the front had the power to annihilate him, a lieutenant of the

Guards. Prince Andrew came up to him and took his hand.

“I am very sorry you did not find me in yesterday. I was fussing about

with Germans all day. We went with Weyrother to survey the dispositions.

When Germans start being accurate, there’s no end to it!”

Borís smiled, as if he understood what Prince Andrew was alluding to

as something generally known. But it was the first time he had heard

Weyrother’s name, or even the term “dispositions.”

“Well, my dear fellow, so you still want to be an adjutant? I have

been thinking about you.”

“Yes, I was thinking”—for some reason Borís could not help

blushing—“of asking the commander in chief. He has had a letter from

Prince Kurágin about me. I only wanted to ask because I fear the Guards

won’t be in action,” he added as if in apology.

“All right, all right. We’ll talk it over,” replied Prince Andrew.

“Only let me report this gentleman’s business, and I shall be at

your disposal.”

While Prince Andrew went to report about the purple-faced general, that

gentleman—evidently not sharing Borís’ conception of the advantages

of the unwritten code of subordination—looked so fixedly at the

presumptuous lieutenant who had prevented his finishing what he had to

say to the adjutant that Borís felt uncomfortable. He turned away and

waited impatiently for Prince Andrew’s return from the commander in

chief’s room.

“You see, my dear fellow, I have been thinking about you,”

said Prince Andrew when they had gone into the large room where the

clavichord was. “It’s no use your going to the commander in chief.

He would say a lot of pleasant things, ask you to dinner” (“That

would not be bad as regards the unwritten code,” thought Borís),

“but nothing more would come of it. There will soon be a battalion of

us aides-de-camp and adjutants! But this is what we’ll do: I have

a good friend, an adjutant general and an excellent fellow, Prince

Dolgorúkov; and though you may not know it, the fact is that now

Kutúzov with his staff and all of us count for nothing. Everything is

now centered round the Emperor. So we will go to Dolgorúkov; I have to

go there anyhow and I have already spoken to him about you. We shall

see whether he cannot attach you to himself or find a place for you

somewhere nearer the sun.”

Prince Andrew always became specially keen when he had to guide a young

man and help him to worldly success. Under cover of obtaining help

of this kind for another, which from pride he would never accept for

himself, he kept in touch with the circle which confers success and

which attracted him. He very readily took up Borís’ cause and went

with him to Dolgorúkov.

It was late in the evening when they entered the palace at Olmütz

occupied by the Emperors and their retinues.

That same day a council of war had been held in which all the members of

the Hofkriegsrath and both Emperors took part. At that council, contrary

to the views of the old generals Kutúzov and Prince Schwartzenberg, it

had been decided to advance immediately and give battle to Bonaparte.

The council of war was just over when Prince Andrew accompanied

by Borís arrived at the palace to find Dolgorúkov. Everyone at

headquarters was still under the spell of the day’s council, at which

the party of the young had triumphed. The voices of those who counseled

delay and advised waiting for something else before advancing had been

so completely silenced and their arguments confuted by such conclusive

evidence of the advantages of attacking that what had been discussed

at the council—the coming battle and the victory that would certainly

result from it—no longer seemed to be in the future but in the past.

All the advantages were on our side. Our enormous forces, undoubtedly

superior to Napoleon’s, were concentrated in one place, the troops

inspired by the Emperors’ presence were eager for action. The

strategic position where the operations would take place was familiar in

all its details to the Austrian General Weyrother: a lucky accident had

ordained that the Austrian army should maneuver the previous year on the

very fields where the French had now to be fought; the adjacent

locality was known and shown in every detail on the maps, and Bonaparte,

evidently weakened, was undertaking nothing.

Dolgorúkov, one of the warmest advocates of an attack, had just

returned from the council, tired and exhausted but eager and proud

of the victory that had been gained. Prince Andrew introduced his

protégé, but Prince Dolgorúkov politely and firmly pressing his hand

said nothing to Borís and, evidently unable to suppress the thoughts

which were uppermost in his mind at that moment, addressed Prince Andrew

in French.

“Ah, my dear fellow, what a battle we have gained! God grant that

the one that will result from it will be as victorious! However, dear

fellow,” he said abruptly and eagerly, “I must confess to having

been unjust to the Austrians and especially to Weyrother. What

exactitude, what minuteness, what knowledge of the locality, what

foresight for every eventuality, every possibility even to the smallest

detail! No, my dear fellow, no conditions better than our present ones

could have been devised. This combination of Austrian precision with

Russian valor—what more could be wished for?”

“So the attack is definitely resolved on?” asked Bolkónski.

“And do you know, my dear fellow, it seems to me that Bonaparte has

decidedly lost bearings, you know that a letter was received from him

today for the Emperor.” Dolgorúkov smiled significantly.

“Is that so? And what did he say?” inquired Bolkónski.

“What can he say? Tra-di-ri-di-ra and so on... merely to gain time.

I tell you he is in our hands, that’s certain! But what was most

amusing,” he continued, with a sudden, good-natured laugh, “was that

we could not think how to address the reply! If not as ‘Consul’

and of course not as ‘Emperor,’ it seemed to me it should be to

‘General Bonaparte.’”

“But between not recognizing him as Emperor and calling him General

Bonaparte, there is a difference,” remarked Bolkónski.

“That’s just it,” interrupted Dolgorúkov quickly, laughing.

“You know Bilíbin—he’s a very clever fellow. He suggested

addressing him as ‘Usurper and Enemy of Mankind.’”

Dolgorúkov laughed merrily.

“Only that?” said Bolkónski.

“All the same, it was Bilíbin who found a suitable form for the

address. He is a wise and clever fellow.”

“What was it?”

“To the Head of the French Government... Au chef du gouvernement

français,” said Dolgorúkov, with grave satisfaction. “Good,

wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but he will dislike it extremely,” said Bolkónski.

“Oh yes, very much! My brother knows him, he’s dined with him—the

present Emperor—more than once in Paris, and tells me he never met a

more cunning or subtle diplomatist—you know, a combination of French

adroitness and Italian play-acting! Do you know the tale about him and

Count Markóv? Count Markóv was the only man who knew how to handle

him. You know the story of the handkerchief? It is delightful!”

And the talkative Dolgorúkov, turning now to Borís, now to Prince

Andrew, told how Bonaparte wishing to test Markóv, our ambassador,

purposely dropped a handkerchief in front of him and stood looking

at Markóv, probably expecting Markóv to pick it up for him, and how

Markóv immediately dropped his own beside it and picked it up without

touching Bonaparte’s.

“Delightful!” said Bolkónski. “But I have come to you, Prince,

as a petitioner on behalf of this young man. You see...” but

before Prince Andrew could finish, an aide-de-camp came in to summon

Dolgorúkov to the Emperor.

“Oh, what a nuisance,” said Dolgorúkov, getting up hurriedly and

pressing the hands of Prince Andrew and Borís. “You know I should

be very glad to do all in my power both for you and for this dear young

man.” Again he pressed the hand of the latter with an expression of

good-natured, sincere, and animated levity. “But you see... another

time!”

Borís was excited by the thought of being so close to the higher powers

as he felt himself to be at that moment. He was conscious that here

he was in contact with the springs that set in motion the enormous

movements of the mass of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny,

obedient, and insignificant atom. They followed Prince Dolgorúkov out

into the corridor and met—coming out of the door of the Emperor’s

room by which Dolgorúkov had entered—a short man in civilian clothes

with a clever face and sharply projecting jaw which, without spoiling

his face, gave him a peculiar vivacity and shiftiness of expression.

This short man nodded to Dolgorúkov as to an intimate friend and stared

at Prince Andrew with cool intensity, walking straight toward him and

evidently expecting him to bow or to step out of his way. Prince Andrew

did neither: a look of animosity appeared on his face and the other

turned away and went down the side of the corridor.

“Who was that?” asked Borís.

“He is one of the most remarkable, but to me most unpleasant of

men—the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartorýski.... It

is such men as he who decide the fate of nations,” added Bolkónski

with a sigh he could not suppress, as they passed out of the palace.

Next day, the army began its campaign, and up to the very battle of

Austerlitz, Borís was unable to see either Prince Andrew or Dolgorúkov

again and remained for a while with the Ismáylov regiment.