Kabanata Kabanata 37 · 第37章

Pursued by the French army of a hundred thousand men under the command

of Bonaparte, encountering a population that was unfriendly to it,

losing confidence in its allies, suffering from shortness of supplies,

and compelled to act under conditions of war unlike anything that had

been foreseen, the Russian army of thirty-five thousand men commanded

by Kutúzov was hurriedly retreating along the Danube, stopping where

overtaken by the enemy and fighting rearguard actions only as far as

necessary to enable it to retreat without losing its heavy equipment.

There had been actions at Lambach, Amstetten, and Melk; but despite the

courage and endurance—acknowledged even by the enemy—with which the

Russians fought, the only consequence of these actions was a yet more

rapid retreat. Austrian troops that had escaped capture at Ulm and had

joined Kutúzov at Braunau now separated from the Russian army, and

Kutúzov was left with only his own weak and exhausted forces. The

defense of Vienna was no longer to be thought of. Instead of an

offensive, the plan of which, carefully prepared in accord with the

modern science of strategics, had been handed to Kutúzov when he was in

Vienna by the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, the sole and almost unattainable

aim remaining for him was to effect a junction with the forces that were

advancing from Russia, without losing his army as Mack had done at Ulm.

On the twenty-eighth of October Kutúzov with his army crossed to the

left bank of the Danube and took up a position for the first time

with the river between himself and the main body of the French. On the

thirtieth he attacked Mortier’s division, which was on the left bank,

and broke it up. In this action for the first time trophies were taken:

banners, cannon, and two enemy generals. For the first time, after a

fortnight’s retreat, the Russian troops had halted and after a fight

had not only held the field but had repulsed the French. Though the

troops were ill-clad, exhausted, and had lost a third of their number

in killed, wounded, sick, and stragglers; though a number of sick and

wounded had been abandoned on the other side of the Danube with a letter

in which Kutúzov entrusted them to the humanity of the enemy; and

though the big hospitals and the houses in Krems converted into military

hospitals could no longer accommodate all the sick and wounded, yet the

stand made 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 of

this victory to the Austrian court, now no longer at Vienna (which was

threatened by the French) but at Brünn. 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 Dokhtúrov to

Kutúzov, he was sent immediately with a special dispatch to Brünn.

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 day—the 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 long-desired 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.

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 Brünn 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 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 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. 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 Kutúzov’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 Kutúzov?” 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 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.