战争与和平(上)-第43部分

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He　rode　up　to　a　convoy；　intending　to　ask　of　some　one　of　these　men　where　he　could　find　the　commander…in…chief。　Directly　opposite　to　him　came　a　strange　vehicle；　with　one　horse；　obviously　rigged　up　by　soldiers　with　the　resources　at　their　disposal；　and　looking　like　something　between　a　cart；　a　cabriolet；　and　a　coach。　A　soldier　was　driving　it；　and　under　the　leathern　tilt　behind　a　cover　sat　a　woman；　muffled　up　in　shawls。　Prince　Andrey　rode　up　and　was　just　addressing　a　question　to　the　soldier；　when　his　attention　was　taken　off　by　the　despairing　shrieks　of　the　woman　in　this　conveyance。　The　officer；　directing　the　traffic；　aimed　a　blow　at　the　soldier　who　sat　in　the　coachman’s　seat；　for　trying　to　push　in　ahead　of　others；　and　the　lash　fell　on　the　cover　of　the　equipage。　The　woman　shrieked　shrilly。　On　catching　sight　of　Prince　Andrey；　she　looked　out　from　under　the　cover　and　putting　her　thin　arms　out　from　the　shawls　and　waving　them；　she　screamed：
“Adjutant！　sir！　…　For　God’s　sake！　…　protect　me。　…　What　will　happen　to　us？　…　I　am　the　wife　of　the　doctor　of　the　Seventh　Chasseurs　…　they　won’t　let　us　pass；　we　have　dropped　behind；　lost　our　own　people。　…”
“I’ll　thrash　you　into　mincemeat！　turn　back！”　shouted　the　exasperated　officer　to　the　soldier：　“turn　back　with　your　hussy！”
“Sir；　protect　us。　What　does　it　mean？”　screamed　the　doctor’s　wife。
“Kindly　let　this　cart　get　through。　Don’t　you　see　that　it　is　a　woman？”　said　Prince　Andrey；　riding　up　to　the　officer。
The　officer　glanced　at　him；　and　without　making　any　reply　turned　again　to　the　soldier。　“I’ll　teach　you　how　to　push　in。　…　Back！　…”
“Let　it　pass；　I　tell　you；”　repeated　Prince　Andrey；　setting　his　lips　tightly。
“And　who　are　you？”　cried　the　officer；　turning　upon　him　suddenly　with　drunken　fury。　“Who　are　you？　Are　you”　（he　put　a　peculiarly　offensive　intonation　into　the　word）　“in　command；　pray？　I’m　commanding　officer　here；　not　you。　Back　you　go；”　he　repeated；　“or　I’ll　lash　you　into　mincemeat。”　The　expression　evidently　pleased　the　officer。
“A　nice　snub　he　gave　the　little　adjutant；”　said　a　voice　in　the　background。
Prince　Andrey　saw　that　the　officer　was　in　that　stage　of　drunken　unreasoning　fury；　when　men　do　not　remember　what　they　say。　He　saw　that　his　championship　of　the　doctor’s　wife　in　the　queer　conveyance　was　exposing　him　to　what　he　dreaded　more　than　anything　else　in　the　world；　what　is　called　in　French　ridicule；　but　his　instinct　said　something　else。　The　officer　had　hardly　uttered　the　last　words　when　Prince　Andrey　rode　up　to　him　with　a　face　distorted　by　frenzied　anger；　and　raised　his　riding…whip：　“Let—them—pass！”
The　officer　flourished　his　arm　and　hurriedly　rode　away。
“It’s　all　their　doing；　these　staff…officers；　all　the　disorder；”　he　grumbled。　“Do　as　you　like。”
Prince　Andrey；　without　lifting　his　eyes；　made　haste　to　escape　from　the　doctor’s　wife；　who　called　him　her　deliverer。　And　dwelling　on　the　minutest　detail　of　this　humiliating　scene　with　loathing；　he　galloped　on　towards　the　village；　where　he　was　told　that　the　commander…in…chief　was。
On　reaching　the　village；　he　got　off　his　horse；　and　went　into　the　first　house　with　the　intention　of　resting　for　a　moment　at　least；　eating　something；　and　getting　all　the　mortifying　impressions　that　were　torturing　him　into　some　clear　shape。　“This　is　a　mob　of　scoundrels；　not　an　army；”　he　thought；　going　up　to　the　window　of　the　first　house；　when　a　familiar　voice　called　him　by　his　name。
He　looked　round。　Out　of　a　little　window　was　thrust　the　handsome　face　of　Nesvitsky。　Nesvitsky；　munching　something　in　his　moist　mouth　and　beckoning　to　him；　called　him　in。
“Bolkonsky！　Bolkonsky！　Don’t　you　hear；　eh？　Make　haste；”　he　shouted。
Going　into　the　house；　Prince　Andrey　found　Nesvitsky　and　another　adjutant　having　a　meal。　They　hastily　turned　to　Bolkonsky　with　the　inquiry；　had　he　any　news？　On　their　familiar　faces　Prince　Andrey　read　alarm　and　uneasiness。　That　expression　was　particularly　noticeable　in　Nesvitsky’s　face；　usually　so　full　of　laughter。
“Where　is　the　commander…in…chief？”　asked　Bolkonsky。
“Here　in　this　house；”　answered　the　adjutant。
“Well；　is　it　true；　about　the　peace　and　capitulation？”　asked　Nesvitsky。
“I　ask　you。　I　know　nothing　except　that　I　have　had　great　difficulty　in　getting　through　to　you。”
“And　the　things　that　have　been　going　on；　my　boy！　Awful！　I　was　wrong　to　laugh　at　Mack；　there’s　worse　in　store　for　us；”　said　Nesvitsky。　“But　sit　down；　have　something　to　eat。”
“You　won’t　find　your　baggage　or　anything　now；　prince；　and　God　knows　what’s　become　of　your　Pyotr；”　said　the　other　adjutant。
“Where　are　the　headquarters？”
“We　shall　spend　the　night　in　Znaim。”
“Well；　I　got　everything　I　wanted　packed　up　on　two　horses；”　said　Nesvitsky；　“and　capital　packs　they　made　for　me；　fit　to　scamper　as　far　as　the　Bohemian　mountains　at　least。　Things　are　in　a　bad　way；　my　boy。　But；　I　say；　you　must　be　ill；　shivering　like　that？”　Nesvitsky　queried；　noticing　how　Prince　Andrey　shuddered；　as　though　in　contact　with　a　galvanic　battery。
“No；　I’m　all　right；”　answered　Prince　Andrey。　He　had　recalled　at　that　instant　the　incident　with　the　doctor’s　wife　and　the　transport　officer。
“What　is　the　commander…in…chief　doing　here？”　he　asked。
“I　can’t　make　out　anything；”　said　Nesvitsky。
“I　know　one　thing；　that　it’s　all　loathsome；　loathsome；　loathsome；”　said　Prince　Andrey；　and　he　went　into　the　house　where　the　commander…in…chief　was　stopping。
Passing　by　Kutuzov’s　carriage；　the　exhausted　saddle…horses　of　his　suite；　and　the　Cossacks　talking　loudly　together；　Prince　Andrey　went　into　the　outer　room。　Kutuzov　himself　was；　as　Prince　Andrey　had　been　told；　in　the　inner　room　of　the　hut　with　Prince　Bagration　and　Weierother。　The　latter　was　the　Austrian　general；　who　had　taken　Schmidt’s　place。　In　the　outer　room　little　Kozlovsky　was　squatting　on　his　heels　in　front　of　a　copying…clerk。　The　latter　was　sitting　on　a　tub　turned　upside　down；　he　was　writing　rapidly　with　the　cuffs　of　his　uniform　tucked　up。　Kozlovsky’s　face　was　careworn；　he　too　looked　as　if　he　had　not　slept　all　night。　He　glanced　at　Prince　Andrey；　and　did　not　even　nod　to　him。
“The　second　line。…　Ready？”　he　went　on；　dictating　to　the　clerk：　“the　Kiev　Grenadiers；　the　Podolsky　…”
“Don’t　be　in　such　a　hurry；　your　honour；”　the　clerk　answered　rudely　and　angrily；　looking　at　Kozlovsky。　Through　the　door　he　heard　at　that　moment　Kutuzov’s　voice；　eager　and　dissatisfied；　and　other　unfamiliar　voices　interrupting　him。　The　sound　of　those　voices；　the　inattention　with　which　Kozlovsky　glanced　at　him；　the　churlishness　of　the　harassed　clerk；　the　fact　that　the　clerk　and　Kozlovsky　were　sitting　round　a　tub　on　the　floor　at　so　little　distance　from　the　commander…in…chief；　and　that　the　Cossacks　holding　the　horses　laughed　so　loudly　at　the　window—all　made　Prince　Andrey　feel　that　some　grave　calamity　was　hanging　over　them。
Prince　Andrey　turned　to　Kozlovsky　with　urgent　questions。
“In　a　minute；　prince；”　said　Kozlovsky。　“The　disposition　of　Bagration’s　troops…”
“What　about　capitulation？”
“Nothing　of　the　sort；　arrangements　have　been　made　for　a　battle！”
Prince　Andrey　went　towards　the　door　from　which　the　sound　of　voices　came。　But　at　the　moment　when　he　was　going　to　open　the　door；　the　voices　in　the　room　paused；　the　door　opened　of　itself；　and　Kutuzov　with　his　eagle　nose　and　podgy　face　appeared　in　the　doorway。　Prince　Andrey　was　standing　exactly　opposite　Kutuzov；　but　from　the　expression　of　the　commander…in…chief’s　one　seeing　eye　it　was　evident　that　thought　and　anxiety　so　engrossed　him　as　to　veil；　as　it　were；　his　vision。　He　looked　straight　into　his　adjutant’s　face　and　did　not　recognise　him。
“Well；　have　you　finished？”　he　addressed　Kozlovsky。
“In　a　second；　your　Excellency。”
Bagration；　a　short　lean　man；　not　yet　elderly；　with　a　resolute　and　impassive　face　of　oriental　type；　came　out　after　the　commander…in…chief。
“I　have　the　honour　to　report　myself；”　Prince　Andrey　said　for　the　second　time；　rather　loudly；　as　he　handed　Kutuzov　an　envelope。
“Ah；　from　Vienna？　Very　good！　Later；　later！”　Kutuzov　went　out　to　the　steps　with　Bagration。
“Well；　prince；　good…bye；”　he　said　to　Bagration。　“Christ　be　with　you！　May　my　blessing　bring　you　a　great　victory！”　Kutuzov’s　face　suddenly　softened；　and　there　were　tears　in　his　eyes。　With　his　left　arm　he　drew　Bagration　to　him；　while　with　his　right　hand；　on　which　he　wore　a　ring；　he　crossed　him　with　a　gesture　evidently　habitual。　He　offered　him　his　podgy　cheek；　but　Bagration　kissed　him　on　the　neck。　“Christ　be　with　you！”　repeated　Kutuzov；　and　he　went　towards　his　carriage。　“Get　in　with　me；”　he　said　to　Bolkonsky。
“Your　Most　High　Excellency；　I　should　have　liked　to　be　of　use　here。　Allow　me　to　remain　in　Prince　Bagration’s　detachment。”
“Get　in；”　said　Kutuzov；　and　noticing　that　Bolkonsky　still　delayed：　“I　have　need　of　good　officers　myself；　myself。”
They　took　their　seats　in　the　carriage　and　drove　for　some　minutes　in　silence。
“There　is　a　great　deal；　a　great　deal　of　everything　still　before　us；”　he　said；　with　an　expression　of　old…age　clairvoyance；　as　though　he　saw　all　that　was　passing　in　Bolkonsky’s　heart。　“If　one…tenth　part　of　his　detachment　comes　in；　I　shall　thank　God；”　added　Kutuzov；　as　though　talking　to　himself。
Prince　Andrey　glanced　at　Kutuzov；　and　unconsciously　his　eyes　were　caught　by　the　carefully　washed　seams　of　the　scar　on　his　temple；　where　the　bullet　had　gone　through　his　head　at　Ismail；　and　the　empty　eyesocket；　not　a　yard　from　him。　“Yes；　he　has　the　right　to　speak　so　calmly　of　the　destruction　of　these　men；”　thought　Bolkonsky。
“That’s　why　I　ask　you　to　send　me　to　that　detachment；”　he　said。
Kutuzov　made　no　reply。　He　seemed　to　have　forgotten　what　was　said　to　him；　and　sat　plunged　in　thought。　Five　minutes　later；　swaying　easily　in　the　soft　carriage　springs；　Kutuzov　addressed　Prince　Andrey。　There　was　no　trace　of　emotion　on　his　face　now。　With　delicate　irony　he　questioned　Prince　Andrey　about　the　details　of　his　interview　with　the　Emperor；　about　the　comments　he　had　heard　at　Court　on　the　Krems　engagement；　and　about　ladies　of　their　common　acquaintance。


Chapter　14
KUTUZOV　had；　on　the　1st　of　November；　received　from　one　of　his　spies　information　that　showed　the　army　he　commanded　to　be　in　an　almost　hopeless　position。　The　spy　reported　that　the　French；　after　crossing　the　bridge　at　Vi