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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.
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