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Returning from his journey through South Russia in the happiest state of
mind, Pierre carried out an intention he had long had of visiting his friend
Bolkonski, whom he had not seen for two years. |
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Bogucharovo lay in a flat uninteresting part of the country among fields
and forests of fir and birch, which were partly cut down. The house lay behind a
newly dug pond filled with water to the brink and with banks still bare of
grass. It was at the end of a village that stretched along the highroad in the
midst of a young copse in which were a few fir trees. |
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The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, outhouses, stables, a
bathhouse, a lodge, and a large brick house with semicircular facade still in
course of construction. Round the house was a garden newly laid out. The fences
and gates were new and solid; two fire pumps and a water cart, painted green,
stood in a shed; the paths were straight, the bridges were strong and had
handrails. Everything bore an impress of tidiness and good management. Some
domestic serfs Pierre met, in reply to inquiries as to where the prince lived,
pointed out a small newly built lodge close to the pond. Anton, a man who had
looked after Prince Andrew in his boyhood, helped Pierre out of his carriage,
said that the prince was at home, and showed him into a clean little anteroom. |
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Pierre was struck by the modesty of the small though clean house after
the brilliant surroundings in which he had last met his friend in Petersburg. |
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He quickly entered the small reception room with its still-unplastered
wooden walls redolent of pine, and would have gone farther, but Anton ran ahead
on tiptoe and knocked at a door. |
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"Well, what is it?" came a sharp, unpleasant voice. |
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"A visitor," answered Anton. |
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"Ask him to wait," and the sound was heard of a chair being
pushed back. |
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Pierre went with rapid steps to the door and suddenly came face to face
with Prince Andrew, who came out frowning and looking old. Pierre embraced him
and lifting his spectacles kissed his friend on the cheek and looked at him
closely. |
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"Well, I did not expect you, I am very glad," said Prince
Andrew. |
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Pierre said nothing; he looked fixedly at his friend with surprise. He
was struck by the change in him. His words were kindly and there was a smile on
his lips and face, but his eyes were dull and lifeless and in spite of his
evident wish to do so he could not give them a joyous and glad sparkle. Prince
Andrew had grown thinner, paler, and more manly-looking, but what amazed and
estranged Pierre till he got used to it were his inertia and a wrinkle on his
brow indicating prolonged concentration on some one thought. |
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As is usually the case with people meeting after a prolonged separation,
it was long before their conversation could settle on anything. They put
questions and gave brief replies about things they knew ought to be talked over
at length. At last the conversation gradually settled on some of the topics at
first lightly touched on: their past life, plans for the future, Pierre's
journeys and occupations, the war, and so on. The preoccupation and despondency
which Pierre had noticed in his friend's look was now still more clearly
expressed in the smile with which he listened to Pierre, especially when he
spoke with joyful animation of the past or the future. It was as if Prince
Andrew would have liked to sympathize with what Pierre was saying, but could
not. The latter began to feel that it was in bad taste to speak of his
enthusiasms, dreams, and hopes of happiness or goodness, in Prince Andrew's
presence. He was ashamed to express his new Masonic views, which had been
particularly revived and strengthened by his late tour. He checked himself,
fearing to seem naive, yet he felt an irresistible desire to show his friend as
soon as possible that he was now a quite different, and better, Pierre than he
had been in Petersburg. |
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"I can't tell you how much I have lived through since then. I hardly
know myself again." |
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"Yes, we have altered much, very much, since then," said Prince
Andrew. |
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"Well, and you? What are your plans?" |
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"Plans!" repeated Prince Andrew ironically. "My
plans?" he said, as if astonished at the word. "Well, you see, I'm
building. I mean to settle here altogether next year...." |
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Pierre looked silently and searchingly into Prince Andrew's face, which
had grown much older. |
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"No, I meant to ask..." Pierre began, but Prince Andrew
interrupted him. |
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"But why talk of me?... Talk to me, yes, tell me about your travels
and all you have been doing on your estates." |
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Pierre began describing what he had done on his estates, trying as far as
possible to conceal his own part in the improvements that had been made. Prince
Andrew several times prompted Pierre's story of what he had been doing, as
though it were all an old-time story, and he listened not only without interest
but even as if ashamed of what Pierre was telling him. |
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Pierre felt uncomfortable and even depressed in his friend's company and
at last became silent. |
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"I'll tell you what, my dear fellow," said Prince Andrew, who
evidently also felt depressed and constrained with his visitor, "I am only
bivouacking here and have just come to look round. I am going back to my sister
today. I will introduce you to her. But of course you know her already," he
said, evidently trying to entertain a visitor with whom he now found nothing in
common. "We will go after dinner. And would you now like to look round my
place?" |
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They went out and walked about till dinnertime, talking of the political
news and common acquaintances like people who do not know each other intimately.
Prince Andrew spoke with some animation and interest only of the new homestead
he was constructing and its buildings, but even here, while on the scaffolding,
in the midst of a talk explaining the future arrangements of the house, he
interrupted himself: |
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"However, this is not at all interesting. Let us have dinner, and
then we'll set off." |
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At dinner, conversation turned on Pierre's marriage. |
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"I was very much surprised when I heard of it," said Prince
Andrew. |
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Pierre blushed, as he always did when it was mentioned, and said
hurriedly: "I will tell you some time how it all happened. But you know it
is all over, and forever." |
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"Forever?" said Prince Andrew. "Nothing's forever." |
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"But you know how it all ended, don't you? You heard of the
duel?" |
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"And so you had to go through that too!" |
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"One thing I thank God for is that I did not kill that man,"
said Pierre. |
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"Why so?" asked Prince Andrew. "To kill a vicious dog is a
very good thing really." |
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"No, to kill a man is bad- wrong." |
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"Why is it wrong?" urged Prince Andrew. "It is not given
to man to know what is right and what is wrong. Men always did and always will
err, and in nothing more than in what they consider right and wrong." |
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"What does harm to another is wrong," said Pierre, feeling with
pleasure that for the first time since his arrival Prince Andrew was roused, had
begun to talk, and wanted to express what had brought him to his present state. |
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"And who has told you what is bad for another man?" he asked. |
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"Bad! Bad!" exclaimed Pierre. "We all know what is bad for
ourselves." |
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"Yes, we know that, but the harm I am conscious of in myself is
something I cannot inflict on others," said Prince Andrew, growing more and
more animated and evidently wishing to express his new outlook to Pierre. He
spoke in French. "I only know two very real evils in life: remorse and
illness. The only good is the absence of those evils. To live for myself
avoiding those two evils is my whole philosophy now." |
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"And love of one's neighbor, and self-sacrifice?" began Pierre.
"No, I can't agree with you! To live only so as not to do evil and not to
have to repent is not enough. I lived like that, I lived for myself and ruined
my life. And only now when I am living, or at least trying" (Pierre's
modesty made him correct himself) "to live for others, only now have I
understood all the happiness of life. No, I shall not agree with you, and you do
not really believe what you are saying." Prince Andrew looked silently at
Pierre with an ironic smile. |
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"When you see my sister, Princess Mary, you'll get on with
her," he said. "Perhaps you are right for yourself," he added
after a short pause, "but everyone lives in his own way. You lived for
yourself and say you nearly ruined your life and only found happiness when you
began living for others. I experienced just the reverse. I lived for glory.- And
after all what is glory? The same love of others, a desire to do something for
them, a desire for their approval.- So I lived for others, and not almost, but
quite, ruined my life. And I have become calmer since I began to live only for
myself." |
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"But what do you mean by living only for yourself?" asked
Pierre, growing excited. "What about your son, your sister, and your
father?" |
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"But that's just the same as myself- they are not others,"
explained Prince Andrew. "The others, one's neighbors, le prochain, as you
and Princess Mary call it, are the chief source of all error and evil. Le
prochain- your Kiev peasants to whom you want to do good." |
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And he looked at Pierre with a mocking, challenging expression. He
evidently wished to draw him on. |
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"You are joking," replied Pierre, growing more and more
excited. "What error or evil can there be in my wishing to do good, and
even doing a little- though I did very little and did it very badly? What evil
can there be in it if unfortunate people, our serfs, people like ourselves, were
growing up and dying with no idea of God and truth beyond ceremonies and
meaningless prayers and are now instructed in a comforting belief in future
life, retribution, recompense, and consolation? What evil and error are there in
it, if people were dying of disease without help while material assistance could
so easily be rendered, and I supplied them with a doctor, a hospital, and an
asylum for the aged? And is it not a palpable, unquestionable good if a peasant,
or a woman with a baby, has no rest day or night and I give them rest and
leisure?" said Pierre, hurrying and lisping. "And I have done that
though badly and to a small extent; but I have done something toward it and you
cannot persuade me that it was not a good action, and more than that, you can't
make me believe that you do not think so yourself. And the main thing is,"
he continued, "that I know, and know for certain, that the enjoyment of
doing this good is the only sure happiness in life." |
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"Yes, if you put it like that it's quite a different matter,"
said Prince Andrew. "I build a house and lay out a garden, and you build
hospitals. The one and the other may serve as a pastime. But what's right and
what's good must be judged by one who knows all, but not by us. Well, you want
an argument," he added, come on then." |
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They rose from the table and sat down in the entrance porch which served
as a veranda. |
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"Come, let's argue then," said Prince Andrew, "You talk of
schools," he went on, crooking a finger, "education and so forth; that
is, you want to raise him" (pointing to a peasant who passed by them taking
off his cap) "from his animal condition and awaken in him spiritual needs,
while it seems to me that animal happiness is the only happiness possible, and
that is just what you want to deprive him of. I envy him, but you want to make
him what I am, without giving him my means. Then you say, 'lighten his toil.'
But as I see it, physical labor is as essential to him, as much a condition of
his existence, as mental activity is to you or me. You can't help thinking. I go
to bed after two in the morning, thoughts come and I can't sleep but toss about
till dawn, because I think and can't help thinking, just as he can't help
plowing and mowing; if he didn't, he would go to the drink shop or fall ill.
Just as I could not stand his terrible physical labor but should die of it in a
week, so he could not stand my physical idleness, but would grow fat and die.
The third thing- what else was it you talked about?" and Prince Andrew
crooked a third finger. "Ah, yes, hospitals, medicine. He has a fit, he is
dying, and you come and bleed him and patch him up. He will drag about as a
cripple, a burden to everybody, for another ten years. It would be far easier
and simpler for him to die. Others are being born and there are plenty of them
as it is. It would be different if you grudged losing a laborer- that's how I
regard him- but you want to cure him from love of him. And he does not want
that. And besides, what a notion that medicine ever cured anyone! Killed them,
yes!" said he, frowning angrily and turning away from Pierre. |
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Prince Andrew expressed his ideas so clearly and distinctly that it was
evident he had reflected on this subject more than once, and he spoke readily
and rapidly like a man who has not talked for a long time. His glance became
more animated as his conclusions became more hopeless. |
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"Oh, that is dreadful, dreadful!" said Pierre. "I don't
understand how one can live with such ideas. I had such moments myself not long
ago, in Moscow and when traveling, but at such times I collapsed so that I don't
live at all- everything seems hateful to me... myself most of all. Then I don't
eat, don't wash... and how is it with you?..." |
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"Why not wash? That is not cleanly," said Prince Andrew;
"on the contrary one must try to make one's life as pleasant as possible.
I'm alive, that is not my fault, so I must live out my life as best I can
without hurting others." |
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"But with such ideas what motive have you for living? One would sit
without moving, undertaking nothing...." |
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"Life as it is leaves one no peace. I should be thankful to do
nothing, but here on the one hand the local nobility have done me the honor to
choose me to be their marshal; it was all I could do to get out of it. They
could not understand that I have not the necessary qualifications for it- the
kind of good-natured, fussy shallowness necessary for the position. Then there's
this house, which must be built in order to have a nook of one's own in which to
be quiet. And now there's this recruiting." |
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"Why aren't you serving in the army?" |
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"After Austerlitz!" said Prince Andrew gloomily. "No,
thank you very much! I have promised myself not to serve again in the active
Russian army. And I won't- not even if Bonaparte were here at Smolensk
threatening Bald Hills- even then I wouldn't serve in the Russian army! Well, as
I was saying," he continued, recovering his composure, "now there's
this recruiting. My father is chief in command of the Third District, and my
only way of avoiding active service is to serve under him." |
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"Then you are serving?" |
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"I am." |
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He paused a little while. |
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"And why do you serve?" |
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"Why, for this reason! My father is one of the most remarkable men
of his time. But he is growing old, and though not exactly cruel he has too
energetic a character. He is so accustomed to unlimited power that he is
terrible, and now he has this authority of a commander in chief of the
recruiting, granted by the Emperor. If I had been two hours late a fortnight ago
he would have had a paymaster's clerk at Yukhnovna hanged," said Prince
Andrew with a smile. "So I am serving because I alone have any influence
with my father, and now and then can save him from actions which would torment
him afterwards." |
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"Well, there you see!" |
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"Yes, but it is not as you imagine," Prince Andrew continued.
"I did not, and do not, in the least care about that scoundrel of a clerk
who had stolen some boots from the recruits; I should even have been very glad
to see him hanged, but I was sorry for my father- that again is for
myself." |
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Prince Andrew grew more and more animated. His eyes glittered feverishly
while he tried to prove to Pierre that in his actions there was no desire to do
good to his neighbor. |
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"There now, you wish to liberate your serfs," he continued;
"that is a very good thing, but not for you- I don't suppose you ever had
anyone flogged or sent to Siberia- and still less for your serfs. If they are
beaten, flogged, or sent to Siberia, I don't suppose they are any the worse off.
In Siberia they lead the same animal life, and the stripes on their bodies heal,
and they are happy as before. But it is a good thing for proprietors who perish
morally, bring remorse upon themselves, stifle this remorse and grow callous, as
a result of being able to inflict punishments justly and unjustly. It is those
people I pity, and for their sake I should like to liberate the serfs. You may
not have seen, but I have seen, how good men brought up in those traditions of
unlimited power, in time when they grow more irritable, become cruel and harsh,
are conscious of it, but cannot restrain themselves and grow more and more
miserable." |
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Prince Andrew spoke so earnestly that Pierre could not help thinking that
these thoughts had been suggested to Prince Andrew by his father's case. |
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He did not reply. |
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"So that's what I'm sorry for- human dignity, peace of mind, purity,
and not the serfs' backs and foreheads, which, beat and shave as you may, always
remain the same backs and foreheads." |
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"No, no! A thousand times no! I shall never agree with you,"
said Pierre. |
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In the evening Andrew and Pierre got into the open carriage and drove to
Bald Hills. Prince Andrew, glancing at Pierre, broke the silence now and then
with remarks which showed that he was in a good temper. |
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Pointing to the fields, he spoke of the improvements he was making in his
husbandry. |
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Pierre remained gloomily silent, answering in monosyllables and
apparently immersed in his own thoughts. |
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He was thinking that Prince Andrew was unhappy, had gone astray, did not
see the true light, and that he, Pierre, ought to aid, enlighten, and raise him.
But as soon as he thought of what he should say, he felt that Prince Andrew with
one word, one argument, would upset all his teaching, and he shrank from
beginning, afraid of exposing to possible ridicule what to him was precious and
sacred. |
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"No, but why do you think so?" Pierre suddenly began, lowering
his head and looking like a bull about to charge, "why do you think so? You
should not think so." |
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"Think? What about?" asked Prince Andrew with surprise. |
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"About life, about man's destiny. It can't be so. I myself thought
like that, and do you know what saved me? Freemasonry! No, don't smile.
Freemasonry is not a religious ceremonial sect, as I thought it was: Freemasonry
is the best expression of the best, the eternal, aspects of humanity." |
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And he began to explain Freemasonry as he understood it to Prince Andrew.
He said that Freemasonry is the teaching of Christianity freed from the bonds of
State and Church, a teaching of equality, brotherhood, and love. |
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"Only our holy brotherhood has the real meaning of life, all the
rest is a dream," said Pierre. "Understand, my dear fellow, that
outside this union all is filled with deceit and falsehood and I agree with you
that nothing is left for an intelligent and good man but to live out his life,
like you, merely trying not to harm others. But make our fundamental convictions
your own, join our brotherhood, give yourself up to us, let yourself be guided,
and you will at once feel yourself, as I have felt myself, a part of that vast
invisible chain the beginning of which is hidden in heaven," said Pierre. |
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Prince Andrew, looking straight in front of him, listened in silence to
Pierre's words. More than once, when the noise of the wheels prevented his
catching what Pierre said, he asked him to repeat it, and by the peculiar glow
that came into Prince Andrew's eyes and by his silence, Pierre saw that his
words were not in vain and that Prince Andrew would not interrupt him or laugh
at what he said. |
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They reached a river that had overflowed its banks and which they had to
cross by ferry. While the carriage and horses were being placed on it, they also
stepped on the raft. |
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Prince Andrew, leaning his arms on the raft railing, gazed silently at
the flooding waters glittering in the setting sun. |
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"Well, what do you think about it?" Pierre asked. "Why are
you silent?" |
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"What do I think about it? I am listening to you. It's all very
well.... You say: join our brotherhood and we will show you the aim of life, the
destiny of man, and the laws which govern the world. But who are we? Men. How is
it you know everything? Why do I alone not see what you see? You see a reign of
goodness and truth on earth, but I don't see it." |
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Pierre interrupted him. |
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"Do you believe in a future life?" he asked. |
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"A future life?" Prince Andrew repeated, but Pierre, giving him
no time to reply, took the repetition for a denial, the more readily as he knew
Prince Andrew's former atheistic convictions. |
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"You say you can't see a reign of goodness and truth on earth. Nor
could I, and it cannot be seen if one looks on our life here as the end of
everything. On earth, here on this earth" (Pierre pointed to the fields),
"there is no truth, all is false and evil; but in the universe, in the
whole universe there is a kingdom of truth, and we who are now the children of
earth are- eternally- children of the whole universe. Don't I feel in my soul
that I am part of this vast harmonious whole? Don't I feel that I form one link,
one step, between the lower and higher beings, in this vast harmonious multitude
of beings in whom the Deity- the Supreme Power if you prefer the term- is
manifest? If I see, clearly see, that ladder leading from plant to man, why
should I suppose it breaks off at me and does not go farther and farther? I feel
that I cannot vanish, since nothing vanishes in this world, but that I shall
always exist and always have existed. I feel that beyond me and above me there
are spirits, and that in this world there is truth." |
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"Yes, that is Herder's theory," said Prince Andrew, "but
it is not that which can convince me, dear friend- life and death are what
convince. What convinces is when one sees a being dear to one, bound up with
one's own life, before whom one was to blame and had hoped to make it
right" (Prince Andrew's voice trembled and he turned away), "and
suddenly that being is seized with pain, suffers, and ceases to exist.... Why?
It cannot be that there is no answer. And I believe there is.... That's what
convinces, that is what has convinced me," said Prince Andrew. |
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"Yes, yes, of course," said Pierre, "isn't that what I'm
saying?" |
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"No. All I say is that it is not argument that convinces me of the
necessity of a future life, but this: when you go hand in hand with someone and
all at once that person vanishes there, into nowhere, and you yourself are left
facing that abyss, and look in. And I have looked in...." |
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"Well, that's it then! You know that there is a there and there is a
Someone? There is the future life. The Someone is- God." |
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Prince Andrew did not reply. The carriage and horses had long since been
taken off, onto the farther bank, and reharnessed. The sun had sunk half below
the horizon and an evening frost was starring the puddles near the ferry, but
Pierre and Andrew, to the astonishment of the footmen, coachmen, and ferrymen,
still stood on the raft and talked. |
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"If there is a God and future life, there is truth and good, and
man's highest happiness consists in striving to attain them. We must live, we
must love, and we must believe that we live not only today on this scrap of
earth, but have lived and shall live forever, there, in the Whole," said
Pierre, and he pointed to the sky. |
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Prince Andrew stood leaning on the railing of the raft listening to
Pierre, and he gazed with his eyes fixed on the red reflection of the sun
gleaming on the blue waters. There was perfect stillness. Pierre became silent.
The raft had long since stopped and only the waves of the current beat softly
against it below. Prince Andrew felt as if the sound of the waves kept up a
refrain to Pierre's words, whispering: |
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"It is true, believe it." |
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He sighed, and glanced with a radiant, childlike, tender look at Pierre's
face, flushed and rapturous, but yet shy before his superior friend. |
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"Yes, if it only were so!" said Prince Andrew. "However,
it is time to get on," he added, and, stepping off the raft, he looked up
at the sky to which Pierre had pointed, and for the first time since Austerlitz
saw that high, everlasting sky he had seen while lying on that battlefield; and
something that had long been slumbering, something that was best within him,
suddenly awoke, joyful and youthful, in his soul. It vanished as soon as he
returned to the customary conditions of his life, but he knew that this feeling
which he did not know how to develop existed within him. His meeting with Pierre
formed an epoch in Prince Andrew's life. Though outwardly he continued to live
in the same old way, inwardly he began a new life. |
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It was getting dusk when Prince Andrew and Pierre drove up to the front
entrance of the house at Bald Hills. As they approached the house, Prince Andrew
with asmile drew Pierre's attention to a commotion going on at the back porch. A
woman, bent with age, with a wallet on her back, and a short, long-haired, young
man in a black garment had rushed back to the gate on seeing the carriage
driving up. Two women ran out after them, and all four, looking round at the
carriage, ran in dismay up the steps of the back porch. |
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"Those are Mary's 'God's folk,'" said Prince Andrew. "They
have mistaken us for my father. This is the one matter in which she disobeys
him. He orders these pilgrims to be driven away, but she receives them." |
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"But what are 'God's folk'?" asked Pierre. |
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Prince Andrew had no time to answer. The servants came out to meet them,
and he asked where the old prince was and whether he was expected back soon. |
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The old prince had gone to the town and was expected back any minute. |
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Prince Andrew led Pierre to his own apartments, which were always kept in
perfect order and readiness for him in his father's house; he himself went to
the nursery. |
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"Let us go and see my sister," he said to Pierre when he
returned. "I have not found her yet, she is hiding now, sitting with her
'God's folk.' It will serve her right, she will be confused, but you will see
her 'God's folk.' It's really very curious." |
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"What are 'God's folk'?" asked Pierre. |
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"Come, and you'll see for yourself." |
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Princess Mary really was disconcerted and red patches came on her face
when they went in. In her snug room, with lamps burning before the icon stand, a
young lad with a long nose and long hair, wearing a monk's cassock, sat on the
sofa beside her, behind a samovar. Near them, in an armchair, sat a thin,
shriveled, old woman, with a meek expression on her childlike face. |
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"Andrew, why didn't you warn me?" said the princess, with mild
reproach, as she stood before her pilgrims like a hen before her chickens. |
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"Charmee de vous voir. Je suis tres contente de vous voir,"*
she said to Pierre as he kissed her hand. She had known him as a child, and now
his friendship with Andrew, his misfortune with his wife, and above all his
kindly, simple face disposed her favorably toward him. She looked at him with
her beautiful radiant eyes and seemed to say, "I like you very much, but
please don't laugh at my people." After exchanging the first greetings,
they sat down. |
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*"Delighted to see you. I am very glad to see you." |
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"Ah, and Ivanushka is here too!" said Prince Andrew, glancing
with a smile at the young pilgrim. |
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"Andrew!" said Princess Mary, imploringly. "Il faut que
vous sachiez que c'est une femme,"* said Prince Andrew to Pierre. |
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"Andrew, au nom de Dieu!"*[2] Princess Mary repeated. |
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*"You must know that this is a woman." |
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*[2] "For heaven's sake." |
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It was evident that Prince Andrew's ironical tone toward the pilgrims and
Princess Mary's helpless attempts to protect them were their customary
long-established relations on the matter. |
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|
"Mais, ma bonne amie," said Prince Andrew, "vous devriez
au contraire m'etre reconnaissante de ce que j'explique a Pierre votre intimite
avec ce jeune homme."* |
|
|
*"But, my dear, you ought on the contrary to be grateful to me for
explaining to Pierre your intimacy with this young man." |
|
|
"Really?" said Pierre, gazing over his spectacles with
curiosity and seriousness (for which Princess Mary was specially grateful to
him) into Ivanushka's face, who, seeing that she was being spoken about, looked
round at them all with crafty eyes. |
|
|
Princess Mary's embarrassment on her people's account was quite
unnecessary. They were not in the least abashed. The old woman, lowering her
eyes but casting side glances at the newcomers, had turned her cup upside down
and placed a nibbled bit of sugar beside it, and sat quietly in her armchair,
though hoping to be offered another cup of tea. Ivanushka, sipping out of her
saucer, looked with sly womanish eyes from under her brows at the young men. |
|
|
"Where have you been? To Kiev?" Prince Andrew asked the old
woman. |
|
|
"I have, good sir," she answered garrulously. "Just at
Christmastime I was deemed worthy to partake of the holy and heavenly sacrament
at the shrine of the saint. And now I'm from Kolyazin, master, where a great and
wonderful blessing has been revealed." |
|
|
"And was Ivanushka with you?" |
|
|
"I go by myself, benefactor," said Ivanushka, trying to speak
in a bass voice. "I only came across Pelageya in Yukhnovo..." |
|
|
Pelageya interrupted her companion; she evidently wished to tell what she
had seen. |
|
|
"In Kolyazin, master, a wonderful blessing has been revealed." |
|
|
"What is it? Some new relics?" asked Prince Andrew. |
|
|
"Andrew, do leave off," said Princess Mary. "Don't tell
him, Pelageya." |
|
|
"No... why not, my dear, why shouldn't I? I like him. He is kind, he
is one of God's chosen, he's a benefactor, he once gave me ten rubles, I
remember. When I was in Kiev, Crazy Cyril says to me (he's one of God's own and
goes barefoot summer and winter), he says, 'Why are you not going to the right
place? Go to Kolyazin where a wonder-working icon of the Holy Mother of God has
been revealed.' On hearing those words I said good-by to the holy folk and
went." |
|
|
All were silent, only the pilgrim woman went on in measured tones,
drawing in her breath. |
|
|
"So I come, master, and the people say to me: 'A great blessing has
been revealed, holy oil trickles from the cheeks of our blessed Mother, the Holy
Virgin Mother of God'...." |
|
|
"All right, all right, you can tell us afterwards," said
Princess Mary, flushing. |
|
|
"Let me ask her," said Pierre. "Did you see it
yourselves?" he inquired. |
|
|
"Oh, yes, master, I was found worthy. Such a brightness on the face
like the light of heaven, and from the blessed Mother's cheek it drops and
drops...." |
|
|
"But, dear me, that must be a fraud!" said Pierre, naively, who
had listened attentively to the pilgrim. |
|
|
"Oh, master, what are you saying?" exclaimed the horrified
Pelageya, turning to Princess Mary for support. |
|
|
"They impose on the people," he repeated. |
|
|
"Lord Jesus Christ!" exclaimed the pilgrim woman, crossing
herself. "Oh, don't speak so, master! There was a general who did not
believe, and said, 'The monks cheat,' and as soon as he'd said it he went blind.
And he dreamed that the Holy Virgin Mother of the Kiev catacombs came to him and
said, 'Believe in me and I will make you whole.' So he begged: 'Take me to her,
take me to her.' It's the real truth I'm telling you, I saw it myself. So he was
brought, quite blind, straight to her, and he goes up to her and falls down and
says, 'Make me whole,' says he, 'and I'll give thee what the Tsar bestowed on
me.' I saw it myself, master, the star is fixed into the icon. Well, and what do
you think? He received his sight! It's a sin to speak so. God will punish
you," she said admonishingly, turning to Pierre. |
|
|
"How did the star get into the icon?" Pierre asked. |
|
|
"And was the Holy Mother promoted to the rank of general?" said
Prince Andrew, with a smile. |
|
|
Pelageya suddenly grew quite pale and clasped her hands. |
|
|
"Oh, master, master, what a sin! And you who have a son!" she
began, her pallor suddenly turning to a vivid red. "Master, what have you
said? God forgive you!" And she crossed herself. "Lord forgive him! My
dear, what does it mean?..." she asked, turning to Princess Mary. She got
up and, almost crying, began to arrange her wallet. She evidently felt
frightened and ashamed to have accepted charity in a house where such things
could be said, and was at the same time sorry to have now to forgo the charity
of this house. |
|
|
"Now, why need you do it?" said Princess Mary. "Why did
you come to me?..." |
|
|
"Come, Pelageya, I was joking," said Pierre. "Princesse,
ma parole, je n'ai pas voulu l'offenser.* I did not mean anything, I was only
joking," he said, smiling shyly and trying to efface his offense. "It
was all my fault, and Andrew was only joking." |
|
|
*"Princess, on my word, I did not wish to offend her." |
|
|
Pelageya stopped doubtfully, but in Pierre's face there was such a look
of sincere penitence, and Prince Andrew glanced so meekly now at her and now at
Pierre, that she was gradually reassured. |
|
|
The pilgrim woman was appeased and, being encouraged to talk, gave a long
account of Father Amphilochus, who led so holy a life that his hands smelled of
incense, and how on her last visit to Kiev some monks she knew let her have the
keys of the catacombs, and how she, taking some dried bread with her, had spent
two days in the catacombs with the saints. "I'd pray awhile to one, ponder
awhile, then go on to another. I'd sleep a bit and then again go and kiss the
relics, and there was such peace all around, such blessedness, that one don't
want to come out, even into the light of heaven again." |
|
|
Pierre listened to her attentively and seriously. Prince Andrew went out
of the room, and then, leaving "God's folk" to finish their tea,
Princess Mary took Pierre into the drawing room. |
|
|
"You are very kind," she said to him. |
|
|
"Oh, I really did not mean to hurt her feelings. I understand them
so well and have the greatest respect for them." |
|
|
Princess Mary looked at him silently and smiled affectionately. |
|
|
"I have known you a long time, you see, and am as fond of you as of
a brother," she said. "How do you find Andrew?" she added
hurriedly, not giving him time to reply to her affectionate words. "I am
very anxious about him. His health was better in the winter, but last spring his
wound reopened and the doctor said he ought to go away for a cure. And I am also
very much afraid for him spiritually. He has not a character like us women who,
when we suffer, can weep away our sorrows. He keeps it all within him. Today he
is cheerful and in good spirits, but that is the effect of your visit- he is not
often like that. If you could persuade him to go abroad. He needs activity, and
this quiet regular life is very bad for him. Others don't notice it, but I see
it." |
|
|
Toward ten o'clock the men servants rushed to the front door, hearing the
bells of the old prince's carriage approaching. Prince Andrew and Pierre also
went out into the porch. |
|
|
"Who's that?" asked the old prince, noticing Pierre as he got
out of, the carriage. |
|
|
"Ah! Very glad! Kiss me," he said, having learned who the young
stranger was. |
|
|
The old prince was in a good temper and very gracious to Pierre. |
|
|
Before supper, Prince Andrew, coming back to his father's study, found
him disputing hotly with his visitor. Pierre was maintaining that a time would
come when there would be no more wars. The old prince disputed it chaffingly,
but without getting angry. |
|
|
"Drain the blood from men's veins and put in water instead, then
there will be no more war! Old women's nonsense- old women's nonsense!" he
repeated, but still he patted Pierre affectionately on the shoulder, and then
went up to the table where Prince Andrew, evidently not wishing to join in the
conversation, was looking over the papers his father had brought from town. The
old prince went up to him and began to talk business. |
|
|
"The marshal, a Count Rostov, hasn't sent half his contingent. He
came to town and wanted to invite me to dinner- I gave him a pretty dinner!...
And there, look at this.... Well, my boy," the old prince went on,
addressing his son and patting Pierre on the shoulder. "A fine fellow- your
friend- I like him! He stirs me up. Another says clever things and one doesn't
care to listen, but this one talks rubbish yet stirs an old fellow up. Well, go!
Get along! Perhaps I'll come and sit with you at supper. We'll have another
dispute. Make friends with my little fool, Princess Mary," he shouted after
Pierre, through the door. |
|
|
Only now, on his visit to Bald Hills, did Pierre fully realize the
strength and charm of his friendship with Prince Andrew. That charm was not
expressed so much in his relations with him as with all his family and with the
household. With the stern old prince and the gentle, timid Princess Mary, though
he had scarcely known them, Pierre at once felt like an old friend. They were
all fond of him already. Not only Princess Mary, who had been won by his
gentleness with the pilgrims, gave him her most radiant looks, but even the
one-year-old "Prince Nicholas" (as his grandfather called him) smiled
at Pierre and let himself be taken in his arms, and Michael Ivanovich and
Mademoiselle Bourienne looked at him with pleasant smiles when he talked to the
old prince. |
|
|
The old prince came in to supper; this was evidently on Pierre's account.
And during the two days of the young man's visit he was extremely kind to him
and told him to visit them again. |
|
|
When Pierre had gone and the members of the household met together, they
began to express their opinions of him as people always do after a new
acquaintance has left, but as seldom happens, no one said anything but what was
good of him. |
|
|
When returning from his leave, Rostov felt, for the first time, how close
was the bond that united him to Denisov and and the whole regiment. |
|
|
On approaching it, Rostov felt as he had done when approaching his home
in Moscow. When he saw the first hussar with the unbuttoned uniform of his
regiment, when he recognized red-haired Dementyev and saw the picket ropes of
the roan horses, when Lavrushka gleefully shouted to his master, "The count
has come!" and Denisov, who had been asleep on his bed, ran all disheveled
out of the mud hut to embrace him, and the officers collected round to greet the
new arrival, Rostov experienced the same feeling his mother, his father, and his
sister had embraced him, and tears of joy choked him so that he could not speak.
The regiment was also a home, and as unalterably dear and precious as his
parents' house. |
|
|
When he had reported himself to the commander of the regiment and had
been reassigned to his former squadron, had been on duty and had gone out
foraging, when he had again entered into all the little interests of the
regiment and felt himself deprived of liberty and bound in one narrow,
unchanging frame, he experienced the same sense of peace, of moral support, and
the same sense being at home here in his own place, as he had felt under the
parental roof. But here was none of all that turmoil of the world at large,
where he did not know his right place and took mistaken decisions; here was no
Sonya with whom he ought, or ought not, to have an explanation; here was no
possibility of going there or not going there; here there were not twenty-four
hours in the day which could be spent in such a variety of ways; there was not
that innumerable crowd of people of whom not one was nearer to him or farther
from him than another; there were none of those uncertain and undefined money
relations with his father, and nothing to recall that terrible loss to Dolokhov.
Here, in the regiment, all was clear and simple. The whole world was divided
into two unequal parts: one, our Pavlograd regiment; the other, all the rest.
And the rest was no concern of his. In the regiment, everything was definite:
who was lieutenant, who captain, who was a good fellow, who a bad one, and most
of all, who was a comrade. The canteenkeeper gave one credit, one's pay came
every four months, there was nothing to think out or decide, you had only to do
nothing that was considered bad in the Pavlograd regiment and, when given an
order, to do what was clearly, distinctly, and definitely ordered- and all would
be well. |
|
|
Having once more entered into the definite conditions of this regimental
life, Rostov felt the joy and relief a tired man feels on lying down to rest.
Life in the regiment, during this campaign, was all the pleasanter for him,
because, after his loss to Dolokhov (for which, in spite of all his family's
efforts to console him, he could not forgive himself), he had made up his mind
to atone for his fault by serving, not as he had done before, but really well,
and by being a perfectly first-rate comrade and officer- in a word, a splendid
man altogether, a thing which seemed so difficult out in the world, but so
possible in the regiment. |
|
|
After his losses, he had determined to pay back his debt to his parents
in five years. He received ten thousand rubles a year, but now resolved to take
only two thousand and leave the rest to repay the debt to his parents. |
|
|
Our army, after repeated retreats and advances and battles at Pultusk and
Preussisch-Eylau, was concentrated near Bartenstein. It was awaiting the
Emperor's arrival and the beginning of a new campaign. |
|
|
The Pavlograd regiment, belonging to that part of the army which had
served in the 1805 campaign, had been recruiting up to strength in Russia, and
arrived too late to take part in the first actions of the campaign. It had been
neither at Pultusk nor at Preussisch-Eylau and, when it joined the army in the
field in the second half of the campaign, was attached to Platov's division. |
|
|
Platov's division was acting independently of the main army. Several
times parts of the Pavlograd regiment had exchanged shots with the enemy, had
taken prisoners, and once had even captured Marshal Oudinot's carriages. In
April the Pavlograds were stationed immovably for some weeks near a totally
ruined and deserted German village. |
|
|
A thaw had set in, it was muddy and cold, the ice on the river broke, and
the roads became impassable. For days neither provisions for the men nor fodder
for the horses had been issued. As no transports could arrive, the men dispersed
about the abandoned and deserted villages, searching for potatoes, but found few
even of these. |
|
|
Everything had been eaten up and the inhabitants had all fled- if any
remained, they were worse than beggars and nothing more could be taken from
them; even the soldiers, usually pitiless enough, instead of taking anything
from them, often gave them the last of their rations. |
|
|
The Pavlograd regiment had had only two men wounded in action, but had
lost nearly half its men from hunger and sickness. In the hospitals, death was
so certain that soldiers suffering from fever, or the swelling that came from
bad food, preferred to remain on duty, and hardly able to drag their legs went
to the front rather than to the hospitals. When spring came on, the soldiers
found a plant just showing out of the ground that looked like asparagus, which,
for some reason, they called "Mashka's sweet root." It was very
bitter, but they wandered about the fields seeking it and dug it out with their
sabers and ate it, though they were ordered not to do so, as it was a noxious
plant. That spring a new disease broke out broke out among the soldiers, a
swelling of the arms, legs, and face, which the doctors attributed to eating
this root. But in spite of all this, the soldiers of Denisov's squadron fed
chiefly on "Mashka's sweet root," because it was the second week that
the last of the biscuits were being doled out at the rate of half a pound a man
and the last potatoes received had sprouted and frozen. |
|
|
The horses also had been fed for a fortnight on straw from the thatched
roofs and had become terribly thin, though still covered with tufts of felty
winter hair. |
|
|
Despite this destitution, the soldiers and officers went on living just
as usual. Despite their pale swollen faces and tattered uniforms, the hussars
formed line for roll call, kept things in order, groomed their horses, polished
their arms, brought in straw from the thatched roofs in place of fodder, and sat
down to dine round the caldrons from which they rose up hungry, joking about
their nasty food and their hunger. As usual, in their spare time, they lit
bonfires, steamed themselves before them naked; smoked, picked out and baked
sprouting rotten potatoes, told and listened to stories of Potemkin's and
Suvorov's campaigns, or to legends of Alesha the Sly, or the priest's laborer
Mikolka. |
|
|
The officers, as usual, lived in twos and threes in the roofless,
half-ruined houses. The seniors tried to collect straw and potatoes and, in
general, food for the men. The younger ones occupied themselves as before, some
playing cards (there was plenty of money, though there was no food), some with
more innocent games, such as quoits and skittles. The general trend of the
campaign was rarely spoken of, partly because nothing certain was known about
it, partly because there was a vague feeling that in the main it was going
badly. |
|
|
Rostov lived, as before, with Denisov, and since their furlough they had
become more friendly than ever. Denisov never spoke of Rostov's family, but by
the tender friendship his commander showed him, Rostov felt that the elder
hussar's luckless love for Natasha played a part in strengthening their
friendship. Denisov evidently tried to expose Rostov to danger as seldom as
possible, and after an action greeted his safe return with evident joy. On one
of his foraging expeditions, in a deserted and ruined village to which he had
come in search of provisions, Rostov found a family consisting of an old Pole
and his daughter with an infant in arms. They were half clad, hungry, too weak
to get away on foot and had no means of obtaining a conveyance. Rostov brought
them to his quarters, placed them in his own lodging, and kept them for some
weeks while the old man was recovering. One of his comrades, talking of women,
began chaffing Rostov, saying that he was more wily than any of them and that it
would not be a bad thing if he introduced to them the pretty Polish girl he had
saved. Rostov took the joke as an insult, flared up, and said such unpleasant
things to the officer that it was all Denisov could do to prevent a duel. When
the officer had gone away, Denisov, who did not himself know what Rostov's
relations with the Polish girl might be, began to upbraid him for his quickness
of temper, and Rostov replied: |
|
|
"Say what you like.... She is like a sister to me, and I can't tell
you how it offended me... because... well, for that reason...." |
|
|
Denisov patted him on the shoulder and began rapidly pacing the room
without looking at Rostov, as was his way at moments of deep feeling. |
|
|
"Ah, what a mad bweed you Wostovs are!" he muttered, and Rostov
noticed tears in his eyes. |
|
|
In April the troops were enlivened by news of the Emperor's arrival, but
Rostov had no chance of being present at the review he held at Bartenstein, as
the Pavlograds were at the outposts far beyond that place. |
|
|
They were bivouacking. Denisov and Rostov were living in an earth hut,
dug out for them by the soldiers and roofed with branches and turf. The hut was
made in the following manner, which had then come into vogue. A trench was dug
three and a half feet wide, four feet eight inches deep, and eight feet long. At
one end of the trench, steps were cut out and these formed the entrance and
vestibule. The trench itself was the room, in which the lucky ones, such as the
squadron commander, had a board, lying on piles at the end opposite the
entrance, to serve as a table. On each side of the trench, the earth was cut out
to a breadth of about two and a half feet, and this did duty for bedsteads and
couches. The roof was so constructed that one could stand up in the middle of
the trench and could even sit up on the beds if one drew close to the table.
Denisov, who was living luxuriously because the soldiers of his squadron liked
him, had also a board in the roof at the farther end, with a piece of (broken
but mended) glass in it for a window. When it was very cold, embers from the
soldiers' campfire were placed on a bent sheet of iron on the steps in the
"reception room"- as Denisov called that part of the hut- and it was
then so warm that the officers, of whom there were always some with Denisov and
Rostov, sat in their shirt sleeves. |
|
|
In April, Rostov was on orderly duty. One morning, between seven and
eight, returning after a sleepless night, he sent for embers, changed his
rain-soaked underclothes, said his prayers, drank tea, got warm, then tidied up
the things on the table and in his own corner, and, his face glowing from
exposure to the wind and with nothing on but his shirt, lay down on his back,
putting his arms under his head. He was pleasantly considering the probability
of being promoted in a few days for his last reconnoitering expedition, and was
awaiting Denisov, who had gone out somewhere and with whom he wanted a talk. |
|
|
Suddenly he heard Denisov shouting in a vibrating voice behind the hut,
evidently much excited. Rostov moved to the window to see whom he was speaking
to, and saw the quartermaster, Topcheenko. |
|
|
"I ordered you not to let them that Mashka woot stuff!" Denisov
was shouting. "And I saw with my own eyes how Lazarchuk bwought some fwom
the fields." |
|
|
"I have given the order again and again, your honor, but they don't
obey," answered the quartermaster. |
|
|
Rostov lay down again on his bed and thought complacently: "Let him
fuss and bustle now, my job's done and I'm lying down- capitally!" He could
hear that Lavrushka- that sly, bold orderly of Denisov's- was talking, as well
as the quartermaster. Lavrushka was saying something about loaded wagons,
biscuits, and oxen he had seen when he had gone out for provisions. |
|
|
Then Denisov's voice was heard shouting farther and farther away.
"Saddle! Second platoon!" |
|
|
"Where are they off to now?" thought Rostov. |
|
|
Five minutes later, Denisov came into the hut, climbed with muddy boots
on the bed, lit his pipe, furiously scattered his things about, took his leaded
whip, buckled on his saber, and went out again. In answer to Rostov's inquiry
where he was going, he answered vaguely and crossly that he had some business. |
|
|
"Let God and our gweat monarch judge me afterwards!" said
Denisov going out, and Rostov heard the hoofs of several horses splashing
through the mud. He did not even trouble to find out where Denisov had gone.
Having got warm in his corner, he fell asleep and did not leave the hut till
toward evening. Denisov had not yet returned. The weather had cleared up, and
near the next hut two officers and a cadet were playing svayka, laughing as they
threw their missiles which buried themselves in the soft mud. Rostov joined
them. In the middle of the game, the officers saw some wagons approaching with
fifteen hussars on their skinny horses behind them. The wagons escorted by the
hussars drew up to the picket ropes and a crowd of hussars surrounded them. |
|
|
"There now, Denisov has been worrying," said Rostov, "and
here are the provisions." |
|
|
"So they are!" said the officers. "Won't the soldiers be
glad!" |
|
|
A little behind the hussars came Denisov, accompanied by two infantry
officers with whom he was talking. |
|
|
Rostov went to meet them. |
|
|
"I warn you, Captain," one of the officers, a short thin man,
evidently very angry, was saying. |
|
|
"Haven't I told you I won't give them up?" replied Denisov. |
|
|
"You will answer for it, Captain. It is mutiny- seizing the
transport of one's own army. Our men have had nothing to eat for two days." |
|
|
"And mine have had nothing for two weeks," said Denisov. |
|
|
"It is robbery! You'll answer for it, sir!" said the infantry
officer, raising his voice. |
|
|
"Now, what are you pestewing me for?" cried Denisov, suddenly
losing his temper. "I shall answer for it and not you, and you'd better not
buzz about here till you get hurt. Be off! Go!" he shouted at the officers. |
|
|
"Very well, then!" shouted the little officer, undaunted and
not riding away. "If you are determined to rob, I'll..." |
|
|
"Go to the devil! quick ma'ch, while you're safe and sound!"
and Denisov turned his horse on the officer. |
|
|
"Very well, very well!" muttered the officer, threateningly,
and turning his horse he trotted away, jolting in his saddle. |
|
|
"A dog astwide a fence! A weal dog astwide a fence!" shouted
Denisov after him (the most insulting expression a cavalryman can address to a
mounted infantryman) and riding up to Rostov, he burst out laughing. |
|
|
"I've taken twansports from the infantwy by force!" he said.
"After all, can't let our men starve." |
|
|
The wagons that had reached the hussars had been consigned to an infantry
regiment, but learning from Lavrushka that the transport was unescorted, Denisov
with his hussars had seized it by force. The soldiers had biscuits dealt out to
them freely, and they even shared them with the other squadrons. |
|
|
The next day the regimental commander sent for Denisov, and holding his
fingers spread out before his eyes said: |
|
|
"This is how I look at this affair: I know nothing about it and
won't begin proceedings, but I advise you to ride over to the staff and settle
the business there in the commissariat department and if possible sign a receipt
for such and such stores received. If not, as the demand was booked against an
infantry regiment, there will be a row and the affair may end badly." |
|
|
From the regimental commander's, Denisov rode straight to the staff with
a sincere desire to act on this advice. In the evening he came back to his
dugout in a state such as Rostov had never yet seen him in. Denisov could not
speak and gasped for breath. When Rostov asked what was the matter, he only
uttered some incoherent oaths and threats in a hoarse, feeble voice. |
|
|
Alarmed at Denisov's condition, Rostov suggested that he should undress,
drink some water, and send for the doctor. |
|
|
"Twy me for wobbewy... oh! Some more water... Let them twy me, but
I'll always thwash scoundwels... and I'll tell the Empewo'... Ice..." he
muttered. |
|
|
The regimental doctor, when he came, said it was absolutely necessary to
bleed Denisov. A deep saucer of black blood was taken from his hairy arm and
only then was he able to relate what had happened to him. |
|
|
"I get there," began Denisov. "'Now then, where's your
chief's quarters?' They were pointed out. 'Please to wait.' 'I've widden twenty
miles and have duties to attend to and no time to wait. Announce me.' Vewy well,
so out comes their head chief- also took it into his head to lecture me: 'It's
wobbewy!'- 'Wobbewy,' I say, 'is not done by man who seizes pwovisions to feed
his soldiers, but by him who takes them to fill his own pockets!' 'Will you
please be silent?' 'Vewy good!' Then he says: 'Go and give a weceipt to the
commissioner, but your affair will be passed on to headquarters.' I go to the
commissioner. I enter, and at the table... who do you think? No, but wait a
bit!... Who is it that's starving us?" shouted Denisov, hitting the table
with the fist of his newly bled arm so violently that the table nearly broke
down and the tumblers on it jumped about. "Telyanin! 'What? So it's you
who's starving us to death! Is it? Take this and this!' and I hit him so pat,
stwaight on his snout... 'Ah, what a... what...!' and I sta'ted fwashing him...
Well, I've had a bit of fun I can tell you!" cried Denisov, gleeful and yet
angry, his showing under his black mustache. "I'd have killed him if they
hadn't taken him away!" |
|
|
"But what are you shouting for? Calm yourself," said Rostov.
"You've set your arm bleeding afresh. Wait, we must tie it up again." |
|
|
Denisov was bandaged up again and put to bed. Next day he woke calm and
cheerful. |
|
|
But at noon the adjutant of the regiment came into Rostov's and Denisov's
dugout with a grave and serious face and regretfully showed them a paper
addressed to Major Denisov from the regimental commander in which inquiries were
made about yesterday's occurrence. The adjutant told them that the affair was
likely to take a very bad turn: that a court-martial had been appointed, and
that in view of the severity with which marauding and insubordination were now
regarded, degradation to the ranks would be the best that could be hoped for. |
|
|
The case, as represented by the offended parties, was that, after seizing
the transports, Major Denisov, being drunk, went to the chief quartermaster and
without any provocation called him a thief, threatened to strike him, and on
being led out had rushed into the office and given two officials a thrashing,
and dislocated the arm of one of them. |
|
|
In answer to Rostov's renewed questions, Denisov said, laughing, that he
thought he remembered that some other fellow had got mixed up in it, but that it
was all nonsense and rubbish, and he did not in the least fear any kind of
trial, and that if those scoundrels dared attack him he would give them an
answer that they would not easily forget. |
|
|
Denisov spoke contemptuously of the whole matter, but Rostov knew him too
well not to detect that (while hiding it from others) at heart he feared a
court-martial and was worried over the affair, which was evidently taking a bad
turn. Every day, letters of inquiry and notices from the court arrived, and on
the first of May, Denisov was ordered to hand the squadron over to the next in
seniority and appear before the staff of his division to explain his violence at
the commissariat office. On the previous day Platov reconnoitered with two
Cossack regiments and two squadrons of hussars. Denisov, as was his wont, rode
out in front of the outposts, parading his courage. A bullet fired by a French
sharpshooter hit him in the fleshy part of his leg. Perhaps at another time
Denisov would not have left the regiment for so slight a wound, but now he took
advantage of it to excuse himself from appearing at the staff and went into
hospital. |
|
|
In June the battle of Friedland was fought, in which the Pavlograds did
not take part, and after that an armistice was proclaimed. Rostov, who felt his
friend's absence very much, having no news of him since he left and feeling very
anxious about his wound and the progress of his affairs, took advantage of the
armistice to get leave to visit Denisov in hospital. |
|
|
The hospital was in a small Prussian town that had been twice devastated
by Russian and French troops. Because it was summer, when it is so beautiful out
in the fields, the little town presented a particularly dismal appearance with
its broken roofs and fences, its foul streets, tattered inhabitants, and the
sick and drunken soldiers wandering about. |
|
|
The hospital was in a brick building with some of the window frames and
panes broken and a courtyard surrounded by the remains of a wooden fence that
had been pulled to pieces. Several bandaged soldiers, with pale swollen faces,
were sitting or walking about in the sunshine in the yard. |
|
|
Directly Rostov entered the door he was enveloped by a smell of
putrefaction and hospital air. On the stairs he met a Russian army doctor
smoking a cigar. The doctor was followed by a Russian assistant. |
|
|
"I can't tear myself to pieces," the doctor was saying.
"Come to Makar Alexeevich in the evening. I shall be there." |
|
|
The assistant asked some further questions. |
|
|
"Oh, do the best you can! Isn't it all the same?" The doctor
noticed Rostov coming upstairs. |
|
|
"What do you want, sir?" said the doctor. "What do you
want? The bullets having spared you, do you want to try typhus? This is a
pesthouse, sir." |
|
|
"How so?" asked Rostov. |
|
|
"Typhus, sir. It's death to go in. Only we two, Makeev and I"
(he pointed to the assistant), "keep on here. Some five of us doctors have
died in this place.... When a new one comes he is done for in a week," said
the doctor with evident satisfaction. "Prussian doctors have been invited
here, but our allies don't like it at all." |
|
|
Rostov explained that he wanted to see Major Denisov of the hussars, who
was wounded. |
|
|
"I don't know. I can't tell you, sir. Only think! I am alone in
charge of three hospitals with more than four hundred patients! It's well that
the charitable Prussian ladies send us two pounds of coffee and some lint each
month or we should be lost!" he laughed. "Four hundred, sir, and
they're always sending me fresh ones. There are four hundred? Eh?" he
asked, turning to the assistant. |
|
|
The assistant looked fagged out. He was evidently vexed and impatient for
the talkative doctor to go. |
|
|
"Major Denisov," Rostov said again. "He was wounded at
Molliten." |
|
|
"Dead, I fancy. Eh, Makeev?" queried the doctor, in a tone of
indifference. |
|
|
The assistant, however, did not confirm the doctor's words. |
|
|
"Is he tall and with reddish hair?" asked the doctor. |
|
|
Rostov described Denisov's appearance. |
|
|
"There was one like that," said the doctor, as if pleased.
"That one is dead, I fancy. However, I'll look up our list. We had a list.
Have you got it, Makeev?" |
|
|
"Makar Alexeevich has the list," answered the assistant.
"But if you'll step into the officers' wards you'll see for yourself,"
he added, turning to Rostov. |
|
|
"Ah, you'd better not go, sir," said the doctor, "or you
may have to stay here yourself." |
|
|
But Rostov bowed himself away from the doctor and asked the assistant to
show him the way. |
|
|
"Only don't blame me!" the doctor shouted up after him. |
|
|
Rostov and the assistant went into the dark corridor. The smell was so
strong there that Rostov held his nose and had to pause and collect his strength
before he could go on. A door opened to the right, and an emaciated sallow man
on crutches, barefoot and in underclothing, limped out and, leaning against the
doorpost, looked with glittering envious eyes at those who were passing.
Glancing in at the door, Rostov saw that the sick and wounded were lying on the
floor on straw and overcoats. |
|
|
"May I go in and look?" |
|
|
"What is there to see?" said the assistant. |
|
|
But, just because the assistant evidently did not want him to go in,
Rostov entered the soldiers' ward. The foul air, to which he had already begun
to get used in the corridor, was still stronger here. It was a little different,
more pungent, and one felt that this was where it originated. |
|
|
In the long room, brightly lit up by the sun through the large windows,
the sick and wounded lay in two rows with their heads to the walls, and leaving
a passage in the middle. Most of them were unconscious and paid no attention to
the newcomers. Those who were conscious raised themselves or lifted their thin
yellow faces, and all looked intently at Rostov with the same expression of
hope, of relief, reproach, and envy of another's health. Rostov went to the
middle of the room and looking through the open doors into the two adjoining
rooms saw the same thing there. He stood still, looking silently around. He had
not at all expected such a sight. Just before him, almost across the middle of
the passage on the bare floor, lay a sick man, probably a Cossack to judge by
the cut of his hair. The man lay on his back, his huge arms and legs
outstretched. His face was purple, his eyes were rolled back so that only the
whites were seen, and on his bare legs and arms which were still red, the veins
stood out like cords. He was knocking the back of his head against the floor,
hoarsely uttering some word which he kept repeating. Rostov listened and made
out the word. It was "drink, drink, a drink!" Rostov glanced round,
looking for someone who would put this man back in his place and bring him
water. |
|
|
"Who looks after the sick here?" he asked the assistant. |
|
|
Just then a commissariat soldier, a hospital orderly, came in from the
next room, marching stiffly, and drew up in front of Rostov. |
|
|
"Good day, your honor!" he shouted, rolling his eyes at Rostov
and evidently mistaking him for one of the hospital authorities. |
|
|
"Get him to his place and give him some water," said Rostov,
pointing to the Cossack. |
|
|
"Yes, your honor," the soldier replied complacently, and
rolling his eyes more than ever he drew himself up still straighter, but did not
move. |
|
|
"No, it's impossible to do anything here," thought Rostov,
lowering his eyes, and he was going out, but became aware of an intense look
fixed on him on his right, and he turned. Close to the corner, on an overcoat,
sat an old, unshaven, gray-bearded soldier as thin as a skeleton, with a stern
sallow face and eyes intently fixed on Rostov. The man's neighbor on one side
whispered something to him, pointing at Rostov, who noticed that the old man
wanted to speak to him. He drew nearer and saw that the old man had only one leg
bent under him, the other had been amputated above the knee. His neighbor on the
other side, who lay motionless some distance from him with his head thrown back,
was a young soldier with a snub nose. His pale waxen face was still freckled and
his eyes were rolled back. Rostov looked at the young soldier and a cold chill
ran down his back. |
|
|
"Why, this one seems..." he began, turning to the assistant. |
|
|
"And how we've been begging, your honor," said the old soldier,
his jaw quivering. "He's been dead since morning. After all we're men, not
dogs." |
|
|
"I'll send someone at once. He shall be taken away- taken away at
once," said the assistant hurriedly. "Let us go, your honor." |
|
|
"Yes, yes, let us go," said Rostov hastily, and lowering his
eyes and shrinking, he tried to pass unnoticed between the rows of reproachful
envious eyes that were fixed upon him, and went out of the room. |
|
|
Going along the corridor, the assistant led Rostov to the officers'
wards, consisting of three rooms, the doors of which stood open. There were beds
in these rooms and the sick and wounded officers were lying or sitting on them.
Some were walking about the rooms in hospital dressing gowns. The first person
Rostov met in the officers' ward was a thin little man with one arm, who was
walking about the first room in a nightcap and hospital dressing gown, with a
pipe between his teeth. Rostov looked at him, trying to remember where he had
seen him before. |
|
|
"See where we've met again!" said the little man. "Tushin,
Tushin, don't you remember, who gave you a lift at Schon Grabern? And I've had a
bit cut off, you see..." he went on with a smile, pointing to the empty
sleeve of his dressing gown. "Looking for Vasili Dmitrich Denisov? My
neighbor," he added, when he heard who Rostov wanted. "Here,
here," and Tushin led him into the next room, from whence came sounds of
several laughing voices. |
|
|
"How can they laugh, or even live at all here?" thought Rostov,
still aware of that smell of decomposing flesh that had been so strong in the
soldiers' ward, and still seeming to see fixed on him those envious looks which
had followed him out from both sides, and the face of that young soldier with
eyes rolled back. |
|
|
Denisov lay asleep on his bed with his head under the blanket, though it
was nearly noon. |
|
|
"Ah, Wostov? How are you, how are you?" he called out, still in
the same voice as in the regiment, but Rostov noticed sadly that under this
habitual ease and animation some new, sinister, hidden feeling showed itself in
the expression of Denisov's face and the intonations of his voice. |
|
|
His wound, though a slight one, had not yet healed even now, six weeks
after he had been hit. His face had the same swollen pallor as the faces of the
other hospital patients, but it was not this that struck Rostov. What struck him
was that Denisov did not seem glad to see him, and smiled at him unnaturally. He
did not ask about the regiment, nor about the general state of affairs, and when
Rostov spoke of these matters did not listen. |
|
|
Rostov even noticed that Denisov did not like to be reminded of the
regiment, or in general of that other free life which was going on outside the
hospital. He seemed to try to forget that old life and was only interested in
the affair with the commissariat officers. On Rostov's inquiry as to how the
matter stood, he at once produced from under his pillow a paper he had received
from the commission and the rough draft of his answer to it. He became animated
when he began reading his paper and specially drew Rostov's attention to the
stinging rejoinders he made to his enemies. His hospital companions, who had
gathered round Rostov- a fresh arrival from the world outside- gradually began
to disperse as soon as Denisov began reading his answer. Rostov noticed by their
faces that all those gentlemen had already heard that story more than once and
were tired of it. Only the man who had the next bed, a stout Uhlan, continued to
sit on his bed, gloomily frowning and smoking a pipe, and little one-armed
Tushin still listened, shaking his head disapprovingly. In the middle of the
reading, the Uhlan interrupted Denisov. |
|
|
"But what I say is," he said, turning to Rostov, "it would
be best simply to petition the Emperor for pardon. They say great rewards will
now be distributed, and surely a pardon would be granted...." |
|
|
"Me petition the Empewo'!" exclaimed Denisov, in a voice to
which he tried hard to give the old energy and fire, but which sounded like an
expression of irritable impotence. "What for? If I were a wobber I would
ask mercy, but I'm being court-martialed for bwinging wobbers to book. Let them
twy me, I'm not afwaid of anyone. I've served the Tsar and my countwy honowably
and have not stolen! And am I to be degwaded?... Listen, I'm w'iting to them
stwaight. This is what I say: 'If I had wobbed the Tweasuwy...'" |
|
|
"It's certainly well written," said Tushin, "but that's
not the point, Vasili Dmitrich," and he also turned to Rostov. "One
has to submit, and Vasili Dmitrich doesn't want to. You know the auditor told
you it was a bad business. |
|
|
"Well, let it be bad," said Denisov. |
|
|
"The auditor wrote out a petition for you," continued Tushin,
"and you ought to sign it and ask this gentleman to take it. No doubt
he" (indicating Rostov) "has connections on the staff. You won't find
a better opportunity." |
|
|
"Haven't I said I'm not going to gwovel?" Denisov interrupted
him, went on reading his paper. |
|
|
Rostov had not the courage to persuade Denisov, though he instinctively
felt that the way advised by Tushin and the other officers was the safest, and
though he would have been glad to be of service to Denisov. He knew his stubborn
will and straightforward hasty temper. |
|
|
When the reading of Denisov's virulent reply, which took more than an
hour, was over, Rostov said nothing, and he spent the rest of the day in a most
dejected state of mind amid Denisov's hospital comrades, who had round him,
telling them what he knew and listening to their stories. Denisov was moodily
silent all the evening. |
|
|
Late in the evening, when Rostov was about to leave, he asked Denisov
whether he had no commission for him. |
|
|
"Yes, wait a bit," said Denisov, glancing round at the
officers, and taking his papers from under his pillow he went to the window,
where he had an inkpot, and sat down to write. |
|
|
"It seems it's no use knocking one's head against a wall!" he
said, coming from the window and giving Rostov a large envelope. In it was the
petition to the Emperor drawn up by the auditor, in which Denisov, without
alluding to the offenses of the commissariat officials, simply asked for pardon. |
|
|
"Hand it in. It seems..." |
|
|
He did not finish, but gave a painfully unnatural smile. |
|
|
Having returned to the regiment and told the commander the state of
Denisov's affairs, Rostov rode to Tilsit with the letter to the Emperor. |
|
|
On the thirteenth of June the French and Russian Emperors arrived in
Tilsit. Boris Drubetskoy had asked the important personage on whom he was in
attendance, to include him in the suite appointed for the stay at Tilsit. |
|
|
"I should like to see the great man," he said, alluding to
Napoleon, whom hitherto he, like everyone else, had always called Buonaparte. |
|
|
"You are speaking of Buonaparte?" asked the general, smiling. |
|
|
Boris looked at his general inquiringly and immediately saw that he was
being tested. |
|
|
"I am speaking, Prince, of the Emperor Napoleon," he replied.
The general patted him on the shoulder, with a smile. |
|
|
"You will go far," he said, and took him to Tilsit with him. |
|
|
Boris was among the few present at the Niemen on the day the two Emperors
met. He saw the raft, decorated with monograms, saw Napoleon pass before the
French Guards on the farther bank of the river, saw the pensive face of the
Emperor Alexander as he sat in silence in a tavern on the bank of the Niemen
awaiting Napoleon's arrival, saw both Emperors get into boats, and saw how
Napoleon- reaching the raft first- stepped quickly forward to meet Alexander and
held out his hand to him, and how they both retired into the pavilion. Since he
had begun to move in the highest circles Boris had made it his habit to watch
attentively all that went on around him and to note it down. At the time of the
meeting at Tilsit he asked the names of those who had come with Napoleon and
about the uniforms they wore, and listened attentively to words spoken by
important personages. At the moment the Emperors went into the pavilion he
looked at his watch, and did not forget to look at it again when Alexander came
out. The interview had lasted an hour and fifty-three minutes. He noted this
down that same evening, among other facts he felt to be of historic importance.
As the Emperor's suite was a very small one, it was a matter of great
importance, for a man who valued his success in the service, to be at Tilsit on
the occasion of this interview between the two Emperors, and having succeeded in
this, Boris felt that henceforth his position was fully assured. He had not only
become known, but people had grown accustomed to him and accepted him. Twice he
had executed commissions to the Emperor himself, so that the latter knew his
face, and all those at court, far from cold-shouldering him as at first when
they considered him a newcomer, would now have been surprised had he been
absent. |
|
|
Boris lodged with another adjutant, the Polish Count Zhilinski.
Zhilinski, a Pole brought up in Paris, was rich, and passionately fond of the
French, and almost every day of the stay at Tilsit, French officers of the Guard
and from French headquarters were dining and lunching with him and Boris. |
|
|
On the evening of the twenty-fourth of June, Count Zhilinski arranged a
supper for his French friends. The guest of honor was an aide-de-camp of
Napoleon's, there were also several French officers of the Guard, and a page of
Napoleon's, a young lad of an old aristocratic French family. That same day,
Rostov, profiting by the darkness to avoid being recognized in civilian dress.
came to Tilsit and went to the lodging occupied by Boris and Zhilinski. |
|
|
Rostov, in common with the whole army from which he came, was far from
having experienced the change of feeling toward Napoleon and the French- who
from being foes had suddenly become friends- that had taken place at
headquarters and in Boris. In the army, Bonaparte and the French were still
regarded with mingled feelings of anger, contempt, and fear. Only recently,
talking with one of Platov's Cossack officers, Rostov had argued that if
Napoleon were taken prisoner he would be treated not as a sovereign, but as a
criminal. Quite lately, happening to meet a wounded French colonel on the road,
Rostov had maintained with heat that peace was impossible between a legitimate
sovereign and the criminal Bonaparte. Rostov was therefore unpleasantly struck
by the presence of French officers in Boris' lodging, dressed in uniforms he had
been accustomed to see from quite a different point of view from the outposts of
the flank. As soon as he noticed a French officer, who thrust his head out of
the door, that warlike feeling of hostility which he always experienced at the
sight of the enemy suddenly seized him. He stopped at the threshold and asked in
Russian whether Drubetskoy lived there. Boris, hearing a strange voice in the
anteroom, came out to meet him. An expression of annoyance showed itself for a
moment on his face on first recognizing Rostov. |
|
|
"Ah, it's you? Very glad, very glad to see you," he said,
however, coming toward him with a smile. But Rostov had noticed his first
impulse. |
|
|
"I've come at a bad time I think. I should not have come, but I have
business," he said coldly. |
|
|
"No, I only wonder how you managed to get away from your regiment.
Dans un moment je suis a vous,"* he said, answering someone who called him.
|
|
|
*"In a minute I shall be at your disposal." |
|
|
"I see I'm intruding," Rostov repeated. |
|
|
The look of annoyance had already disappeared from Boris' face: having
evidently reflected and decided how to act, he very quietly took both Rostov's
hands and led him into the next room. His eyes, looking serenely and steadily at
Rostov, seemed to be veiled by something, as if screened by blue spectacles of
conventionality. So it seemed to Rostov. |
|
|
"Oh, come now! As if you could come at a wrong time!" said
Boris, and he led him into the room where the supper table was laid and
introduced him to his guests, explaining that he was not a civilian, but an
hussar officer, and an old friend of his. |
|
|
"Count Zhilinski- le Comte N. N.- le Capitaine S. S.," said he,
naming his guests. Rostov looked frowningly at the Frenchmen, bowed reluctantly,
and remained silent. |
|
|
Zhilinski evidently did not receive this new Russian person very
willingly into his circle and did not speak to Rostov. Boris did not appear to
notice the constraint the newcomer produced and, with the same pleasant
composure and the same veiled look in his eyes with which he had met Rostov,
tried to enliven the conversation. One of the Frenchmen, with the politeness
characteristic of his countrymen, addressed the obstinately taciturn Rostov,
saying that the latter had probably come to Tilsit to see the Emperor. |
|
|
"No, I came on business," replied Rostov, briefly. |
|
|
Rostov had been out of humor from the moment he noticed the look of
dissatisfaction on Boris' face, and as always happens to those in a bad humor,
it seemed to him that everyone regarded him with aversion and that he was in
everybody's way. He really was in their way, for he alone took no part in the
conversation which again became general. The looks the visitors cast on him
seemed to say: "And what is he sitting here for?" He rose and went up
to Boris. |
|
|
"Anyhow, I'm in your way," he said in a low tone. "Come
and talk over my business and I'll go away." |
|
|
"Oh, no, not at all," said Boris. "But if you are tired,
come and lie down in my room and have a rest." |
|
|
"Yes, really..." |
|
|
They went into the little room where Boris slept. Rostov, without sitting
down, began at once, irritably (as if Boris were to blame in some way) telling
him about Denisov's affair, asking him whether, through his general, he could
and would intercede with the Emperor on Denisov's behalf and get Denisov's
petition handed in. When he and Boris were alone, Rostov felt for the first time
that he could not look Boris in the face without a sense of awkwardness. Boris,
with one leg crossed over the other and stroking his left hand with the slender
fingers of his right, listened to Rostov as a general listens to the report of a
subordinate, now looking aside and now gazing straight into Rostov's eyes with
the same veiled look. Each time this happened Rostov felt uncomfortable and cast
down his eyes. |
|
|
"I have heard of such cases and know that His Majesty is very severe
in such affairs. I think it would be best not to bring it before the Emperor,
but to apply to the commander of the corps.... But in general, I think..." |
|
|
"So you don't want to do anything? Well then, say so!" Rostov
almost shouted, not looking Boris in the face. |
|
|
Boris smiled. |
|
|
"On the contrary, I will do what I can. Only I thought..." |
|
|
At that moment Zhilinski's voice was heard calling Boris. |
|
|
"Well then, go, go, go..." said Rostov, and refusing supper and
remaining alone in the little room, he walked up and down for a long time,
hearing the lighthearted French conversation from the next room. |
|
|
Rostov had come to Tilsit the day least suitable for a petition on
Denisov's behalf. He could not himself go to the general in attendance as he was
in mufti and had come to Tilsit without permission to do so, and Boris, even had
he wished to, could not have done so on the following day. On that day, June 27,
the preliminaries of peace were signed. The Emperors exchanged decorations:
Alexander received the Cross of the Legion of Honor and Napoleon the Order of
St. Andrew of the First Degree, and a dinner had been arranged for the evening,
given by a battalion of the French Guards to the Preobrazhensk battalion. The
Emperors were to be present at that banquet. |
|
|
Rostov felt so ill at ease and uncomfortable with Boris that, when the
latter looked in after supper, he pretended to be asleep, and early next morning
went away, avoiding Boris. In his civilian clothes and a round hat, he wandered
about the town, staring at the French and their uniforms and at the streets and
houses where the Russian and French Emperors were staying. In a square he saw
tables being set up and preparations made for the dinner; he saw the Russian and
French colors draped from side to side of the streets, with hugh monograms A and
N. In the windows of the houses also flags and bunting were displayed. |
|
|
"Boris doesn't want to help me and I don't want to ask him. That's
settled," thought Nicholas. "All is over between us, but I won't leave
here without having done all I can for Denisov and certainly not without getting
his letter to the Emperor. The Emperor!... He is here!" thought Rostov, who
had unconsciously returned to the house where Alexander lodged. |
|
|
Saddled horses were standing before the house and the suite were
assembling, evidently preparing for the Emperor to come out. |
|
|
"I may see him at any moment," thought Rostov. "If only I
were to hand the letter direct to him and tell him all... could they really
arrest me for my civilian clothes? Surely not! He would understand on whose side
justice lies. He understands everything, knows everything. Who can be more just,
more magnanimous than he? And even if they did arrest me for being here, what
would it matter?" thought he, looking at an officer who was entering the
house the Emperor occupied. "After all, people do go in.... It's all
nonsense! I'll go in and hand the letter to the Emperor myself so much the worse
for Drubetskoy who drives me to it!" And suddenly with a determination he
himself did not expect, Rostov felt for the letter in his pocket and went
straight to the house. |
|
|
"No, I won't miss my opportunity now, as I did after
Austerlitz," he thought, expecting every moment to meet the monarch, and
conscious of the blood that rushed to his heart at the thought. "I will
fall at his feet and beseech him. He will lift me up, will listen, and will even
thank me. 'I am happy when I can do good, but to remedy injustice is the
greatest happiness,'" Rostov fancied the sovereign saying. And passing
people who looked after him with curiosity, he entered the porch of the
Emperor's house. |
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A broad staircase led straight up from the entry, and to the right he saw
a closed door. Below, under the staircase, was a door leading to the lower
floor. |
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"Whom do you want?" someone inquired. |
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"To hand in a letter, a petition, to His Majesty," said
Nicholas, with a tremor in his voice. |
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"A petition? This way, to the officer the officer on duty" (he
was shown the door leading downstairs), "only it won't be accepted." |
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On hearing this indifferent voice, Rostov grew frightened at what he was
doing; the thought of meeting the Emperor at any moment was so fascinating and
consequently so alarming that he was ready to run away, but the official who had
questioned him opened the door, and Rostov entered. |
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A short stout man of about thirty, in white breeches and high boots and a
batiste shirt that he had evidently only just put on, standing in that room, and
his valet was buttoning on to the back of his breeches a new pair of handsome
silk-embroidered braces that, for some reason, attracted Rostov's attention.
This man was was speaking to someone in the adjoining room. |
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"A good figure and in her first bloom," he was saying, but on
seeing Rostov, he stopped short and frowned. |
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"What is it? A petition?" |
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"What is it?" asked the person in the other room. |
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"Another petitioner," answered the man with the braces. |
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"Tell him to come later. He'll be coming out directly, we must
go." |
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"Later... later! Tomorrow. It's too late..." |
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Rostov turned and was about to go, but the man in the braces stopped him. |
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"Whom have you come from? Who are you?" |
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"I come from Major Denisov," answered Rostov. |
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"Are you an officer?" |
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"Lieutenant Count Rostov." |
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"What audacity! Hand it in through your commander. And go along with
you... go," and he continued to put on the uniform the valet handed him. |
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Rostov went back into the hall and noticed that in the porch there were
many officers and generals in full parade uniform, whom he had to pass. |
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Cursing his temerity, his heart sinking at the thought of finding himself
at any moment face to face with the Emperor and being put to shame and arrested
in his presence, fully alive now to the impropriety of his conduct and repenting
of it, Rostov, with downcast eyes, was making his way out of the house through
the brilliant suite when a familiar voice called him and a hand detained him. |
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"What are you doing here, sir, in civilian dress?" asked a deep
voice. |
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It was a cavalry general who had obtained the Emperor's special favor
during this campaign, and who had formerly commanded the division in which
Rostov was serving. |
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Rostov, in dismay, began justifying himself, but seeing the kindly,
jocular face of the general, he took him aside and in an excited voice told him
the whole affair, asking him to intercede for Denisov, whom the general knew.
Having heard Rostov to the end, the general shook his head gravely. |
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"I'm sorry, sorry for that fine fellow. Give me the letter." |
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Hardly had Rostov handed him the letter and finished explaining Denisov's
case, when hasty steps and the jingling of spurs were heard on the stairs, and
the general, leaving him, went to the porch. The gentlemen of the Emperor's
suite ran down the stairs and went to their horses. Hayne, the same groom who
had been at Austerlitz, led up the Emperor's horse, and the faint creak of a
footstep Rostov knew at once was heard on the stairs. Forgetting the danger of
being recognized, Rostov went close to the porch, together with some inquisitive
civilians, and again, after two years, saw those features he adored: that same
face and same look and step, and the same union of majesty and mildness.... And
the feeling of enthusiasm and love for his sovereign rose again in Rostov's soul
in all its old force. In the uniform of the Preobrazhensk regiment- white
chamois-leather breeches and high boots- and wearing a star Rostov did not know
(it was that of the Legion d'honneur), the monarch came out into the porch,
putting on his gloves and carrying his hat under his arm. He stopped and looked
about him, brightening everything around by his glance. He spoke a few words to
some of the generals, and, recognizing the former commander of Rostov's
division, smiled and beckoned to him. |
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All the suite drew back and Rostov saw the general talking for some time
to the Emperor. |
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The Emperor said a few words to him and took a step toward his horse.
Again the crowd of members of the suite and street gazers (among whom was
Rostov) moved nearer to the Emperor. Stopping beside his horse, with his hand on
the saddle, the Emperor turned to the cavalry general and said in a loud voice,
evidently wishing to be heard by all: |
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"I cannot do it, General. I cannot, because the law is stronger than
I," and he raised his foot to the stirrup. |
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The general bowed his head respectfully, and the monarch mounted and rode
down the street at a gallop. Beside himself with enthusiasm, Rostov ran after
him with the crowd. |
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The Emperor rode to the square where, facing one another, a battalion of
the Preobrazhensk regiment stood on the right and a battalion of the French
Guards in their bearskin caps on the left. |
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As the Tsar rode up to one flank of the battalions, which presented arms,
another group of horsemen galloped up to the opposite flank, and at the head of
them Rostov recognized Napoleon. It could be no one else. He came at a gallop,
wearing a small hat, a blue uniform open over a white vest, and the St. Andrew
ribbon over his shoulder. He was riding a very fine thoroughbred gray Arab horse
with a crimson gold-embroidered saddlecloth. On approaching Alexander he raised
his hat, and as he did so, Rostov, with his cavalryman's eye, could not help
noticing that Napoleon did not sit well or firmly in the saddle. The battalions
shouted "Hurrah!" and "Vive l'Empereur!" Napoleon said
something to Alexander, and both Emperors dismounted and took each other's
hands. Napoleon's face wore an unpleasant and artificial smile. Alexander was
saying something affable to him. |
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In spite of the trampling of the French gendarmes' horses, which were
pushing back the crowd, Rostov kept his eyes on every movement of Alexander and
Bonaparte. It struck him as a surprise that Alexander treated Bonaparte as an
equal and that the latter was quite at ease with the Tsar, as if such relations
with an Emperor were an everyday matter to him. |
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Alexander and Napoleon, with the long train of their suites, approached
the right flank of the Preobrazhensk battalion and came straight up to the crowd
standing there. The crowd unexpectedly found itself so close to the Emperors
that Rostov, standing in the front row, was afraid he might be recognized. |
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"Sire, I ask your permission to present the Legion of Honor to the
bravest of your soldiers," said a sharp, precise voice, articulating every
letter. |
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This was said by the undersized Napoleon, looking up straight into
Alexander's eyes. Alexander listened attentively to what was said to him and,
bending his head, smiled pleasantly. |
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"To him who has borne himself most bravely in this last war,"
added Napoleon, accentuating each syllable, as with a composure and assurance
exasperating to Rostov, he ran his eyes over the Russian ranks drawn up before
him, who all presented arms with their eyes fixed on their Emperor. |
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"Will Your Majesty allow me to consult the colonel?" said
Alexander and took a few hasty steps toward Prince Kozlovski, the commander of
the battalion. |
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Bonaparte meanwhile began taking the glove off his small white hand, tore
it in doing so, and threw it away. An aide-de-camp behind him rushed forward and
picked it up. |
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"To whom shall it be given?" the Emperor Alexander asked
Koslovski, in Russian in a low voice. |
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"To whomever Your Majesty commands." |
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The Emperor knit his brows with dissatisfaction and, glancing back,
remarked: |
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"But we must give him an answer." |
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Kozlovski scanned the ranks resolutely and included Rostov in his
scrutiny. |
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"Can it be me?" thought Rostov. |
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"Lazarev!" the colonel called, with a frown, and Lazarev, the
first soldier in the rank, stepped briskly forward. |
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"Where are you off to? Stop here!" voices whispered to Lazarev
who did not know where to go. Lazarev stopped, casting a sidelong look at his
colonel in alarm. His face twitched, as often happens to soldiers called before
the ranks. |
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Napoleon slightly turned his head, and put his plump little hand out
behind him as if to take something. The members of his suite, guessing at once
what he wanted, moved about and whispered as they passed something from one to
another, and a page- the same one Rostov had seen the previous evening at
Boris'- ran forward and, bowing respectfully over the outstretched hand and not
keeping it waiting a moment, laid in it an Order on a red ribbon. Napoleon,
without looking, pressed two fingers together and the badge was between them.
Then he approached Lazarev (who rolled his eyes and persistently gazed at his
own monarch), looked round at the Emperor Alexander to imply that what he was
now doing was done for the sake of his ally, and the small white hand holding
the Order touched one of Lazarev's buttons. It was as if Napoleon knew that it
was only necessary for his hand to deign to touch that soldier's breast for the
soldier to be forever happy, rewarded, and distinguished from everyone else in
the world. Napoleon merely laid the cross on Lazarev's breast and, dropping his
hand, turned toward Alexander as though sure that the cross would adhere there.
And it really did. |
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Officious hands, Russian and French, immediately seized the cross and
fastened it to the uniform. Lazarev glanced morosely at the little man with
white hands who was doing something to him and, still standing motionless
presenting arms, looked again straight into Alexander's eyes, as if asking
whether he should stand there, or go away, or do something else. But receiving
no orders, he remained for some time in that rigid position. |
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The Emperors remounted and rode away. The Preobrazhensk battalion,
breaking rank, mingled with the French Guards and sat down at the tables
prepared for them. |
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Lazarev sat in the place of honor. Russian and French officers embraced
him, congratulated him, and pressed his hands. Crowds of officers and civilians
drew near merely to see him. A rumble of Russian and French voices and laughter
filled the air round the tables in the square. Two officers with flushed faces,
looking cheerful and happy, passed by Rostov. |
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"What d'you think of the treat? All on silver plate," one of
them was saying. "Have you seen Lazarev?" |
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"I have." |
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"Tomorrow, I hear, the Preobrazhenskis will give them a
dinner." |
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"Yes, but what luck for Lazarev! Twelve hundred francs' pension for
life." |
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"Here's a cap, lads!" shouted a Preobrazhensk soldier, donning
a shaggy French cap. |
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"It's a fine thing! First-rate!" |
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"Have you heard the password?" asked one Guards' officer of
another. "The day before yesterday it was 'Napoleon, France, bravoure';
yesterday, 'Alexandre, Russie, grandeur.' One day our Emperor gives it and next
day Napoleon. Tomorrow our Emperor will send a St. George's Cross to the bravest
of the French Guards. It has to be done. He must respond in kind." |
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Boris, too, with his friend Zhilinski, came to see the Preobrazhensk
banquet. On his way back, he noticed Rostov standing by the corner of a house. |
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"Rostov! How d'you do? We missed one another," he said, and
could not refrain from asking what was the matter, so strangely dismal and
troubled was Rostov's face. |
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"Nothing, nothing," replied Rostov. |
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"You'll call round?" |
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"Yes, I will." |
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Rostov stood at that corner for a long time, watching the feast from a
distance. a distance. In his mind, a painful process was going on which he could
not bring to a conclusion. Terrible doubts rose in his soul. Now he remembered
Denisov with his changed expression, his submission, and the whole hospital,
with arms and legs torn off and its dirt and disease. So vividly did he recall
that hospital stench of dead flesh that he looked round to see where the smell
came from. Next he thought of that self-satisfied Bonaparte, with his small
white hand, who was now an Emperor, liked and respected by Alexander. Then why
those severed arms and legs and those dead men?... Then again he thought of
Lazarev rewarded and Denisov punished and unpardoned. He caught himself
harboring such strange thoughts that he was frightened. |
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The smell of the food the Preobrazhenskis were eating and a sense of
hunger recalled him from these reflections; he had to get something to eat
before going away. He went to a hotel he had noticed that morning. There he
found so many people, among them officers who, like himself, had come in
civilian clothes, that he had difficulty in getting a dinner. Two officers of
his own division joined him. The conversation naturally turned on the peace. The
officers, his comrades, like most of the army, were dissatisfied with the peace
concluded after the battle of Friedland. They said that had we held out a little
longer Napoleon would have been done for, as his troops had neither provisions
nor ammunition. Nicholas ate and drank (chiefly the latter) in silence. He
finished a couple of bottles of wine by himself. The process in his mind went on
tormenting him without reaching a conclusion. He feared to give way to his
thoughts, yet could not get rid of them. Suddenly, on one of the officers'
saying that it was humiliating to look at the French, Rostov began shouting with
uncalled-for wrath, and therefore much to the surprise of the officers: |
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"How can you judge what's best?" he cried, the blood suddenly
rushing to his face. "How can you judge the Emperor's actions? What right
have we to argue? We cannot comprehend either the Emperor's or his
actions!" |
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"But I never said a word about the Emperor!" said the officer,
justifying himself, and unable to understand Rostov's outburst, except on the
supposition that he was drunk. |
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But Rostov did not listen to him. |
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"We are not diplomatic officials, we are soldiers and nothing
more," he went on. "If we are ordered to die, we must die. If we're
punished, it means that we have deserved it, it's not for us to judge. If the
Emperor pleases to recognize Bonaparte as Emperor and to conclude an alliance
with him, it means that that is the right thing to do. If once we begin judging
and arguing about everything, nothing sacred will be left! That way we shall be
saying there is no God- nothing!" shouted Nicholas, banging the table- very
little to the point as it seemed to his listeners, but quite relevantly to the
course of his own thoughts. |
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"Our business is to do our duty, to fight and not to think! That's
all...." said he. |
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"And to drink," said one of the officers, not wishing to
quarrel. |
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"Yes, and to drink," assented Nicholas. "Hullo there!
Another bottle!" he shouted. |
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In 1808 the Emperor Alexander went to Erfurt for a fresh interview with
the Emperor Napoleon, and in the upper circles of Petersburg there was much talk
of the grandeur of this important meeting. |
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In 1809 the intimacy between "the world's two arbiters," as
Napoleon and Alexander were called, was such that when Napoleon declared war on
Austria a Russian corps crossed the frontier to co-operate with our old enemy
Bonaparte against our old ally the Emperor of Austria, and in court circles the
possibility of marriage between Napoleon and one of Alexander's sisters was
spoken of. But besides considerations of foreign policy, the attention of
Russian society was at that time keenly directed on the internal changes that
were being undertaken in all the departments of government. |
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Life meanwhile- real life, with its essential interests of health and
sickness, toil and rest, and its intellectual interests in thought, science,
poetry, music, love, friendship, hatred, and passions- went on as usual,
independently of and apart from political friendship or enmity with Napoleon
Bonaparte and from all the schemes of reconstruction. |
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