Book 2 Chapter 13

THE SAME NIGHT, after taking leave of the minister of war, Bolkonsky set off to join the army, not knowing where he should find it, at the risk of being caught by the French on the way to Krems.

At Br?nn all the court and every one connected with it was packing up, and the heavy baggage was already being despatched to Olm?tz. Near Esselsdorf, Prince Andrey came out on the road along which the Russian army was moving in the utmost haste and in the greatest disorder. The road was so obstructed with baggage-waggons that it was impossible to get by in a carriage. Prince Andrey procured a horse and a Cossack from the officer in command of the Cossacks, and hungry and weary he threaded his way in and out between the waggons and rode in search of the commander-in-chief and his own luggage. The most sinister rumours as to the position of the army reached him on the road, and the appearance of the army fleeing in disorder confirmed these rumours.

“As for that Russian army which English gold has brought from the ends of the universe, we are going to inflict upon it the same fate (the fate of the army of Ulm)”; he remembered the words of Bonaparte's address to his army at the beginning of the campaign, and these words aroused in him simultaneously admiration for the genius of his hero, a feeling of mortified pride, and the hope of glory. “And if there's nothing left but to die?” he thought. “Well, if it must be! I will do it no worse than others.”

Prince Andrey looked disdainfully at the endless, confused mass of companies, of baggage-waggons, parks of artillery, and again store-waggons, carts, and waggons of every possible form, pursuing one another and obstructing the muddy road three and four abreast. On every side, behind and before, as far as the ear could reach in every direction there was the rumble of wheels, the rattle of carts, of waggons, and of gun-carriages, the tramp of horses, the crack of whips, the shouts of drivers, the swearing of soldiers, of orderlies, and officers. At the sides of the roads he saw fallen horses, and sometimes their skinned carcases, broken-down waggons, with solitary soldiers sitting on them, waiting for something, detached groups of soldiers strayed from their companies, starting off to neighbouring villages, or dragging back from them fowls, sheep, hay, or sacks of stores of some sort. Where the road went uphill or downhill the crush became greater, and there was an uninterrupted roar of shouts. The soldiers floundering knee-deep in the mud clutched the guns and clung to the waggons in the midst of cracking whips, slipping hoofs, breaking traces and throat-splitting yells. The officers superintending their movements rode to and fro in front and behind the convoys. Their voices were faintly audible in the midst of the general uproar, their faces betrayed that they despaired of the possibility of checking the disorder.

“Voilà le cher holy armament,” thought Bolkonsky, recalling Bilibin's words.

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.

就是在那天夜晚，博尔孔斯基向军政大臣辞行之后，便乘车向部队走去，连自己也不知道，在什么地方能够找到部队。还担心在前往克雷姆斯的途中会被法国人截住。

布吕恩朝廷的上上下下都在收拾行装，沉重的物件都已运到奥尔米茨。在埃采尔斯多夫附近的某地，安德烈公爵驶行到大马路上。俄国军队极其忙乱地沿着这条大路前进。这条路上塞满了形形色色的车辆，以致轻便马车无法通行。安德烈公爵饥肠辘辘，倦容满面，他向哥萨克长官雇了一匹马和一名哥萨克兵，赶到车队前面去寻找总司令和自己的马车。途中向他传来俄国军队进退维谷的消息，军队不遵守秩序、擅自逃跑的情状证实了这些马路消息。

“Cettearméerussequel'ordel'Angleterrea

transportéedesextrémitésdel'univers，nousallonsluifaireéprouverlememesort（lesortdel'arméea'ulm）．”①他回想起波拿巴在战役开始之前向军队发布的命令中所说的话，这些话同样使他对天才的英雄感到惊奇，激起屈辱的自豪感和沽名钓誉的希望。“假如除阵亡而外，一无所存，怎么办呢？”他想道，“既然有必要，也没有什么！我会处理得比别人更出色。”

①法语：我们要迫使英国的黄金自天涯海角运送来的这支俄国军队遭受同样的厄运（乌尔姆军队的厄运）。

安德烈公爵鄙夷地望着这些川流不息的混乱的队列、马车、辎重队、炮兵，又是马车、马车、各色各样的马车，后车追赶前车，排成三行、四行，堵塞着泥泞的道路。从四面八方，前前后后，听力所及之处，传来车轮的辚辚声、轻便马车车厢、普通大车和炮架的隆隆声、马蹄得得的声音、马鞭哒哒的响声、催马的吆喝声、士兵、勤务兵和军官的咒骂声。道路的两边时而不停地望见剥去外皮和尚未剥去外皮的倒毙的马匹，时而望见被破坏的马车，一些散兵游勇坐在马车旁等待着什么，时而望见一些脱离队伍的士兵，他们成群结队地向邻近的村庄走去，或者从村里拖出若干只母鸡、公羊、干草或一些装满着物品的布袋。在上下坡的地方，人群显得更加密集，不停地听见哼叫的声音。士兵们陷入齐膝深的泥泞中，双手抬着炮身，扶着带篷大车；马鞭不停地抽挞，马蹄滑动着；套索眼看就要破裂，他们拼命地吼叫，叫痛了胸口。指挥车马运行的军官们在车队中间时而向前、时而向后地驶行。在众人的嘈杂声中可以隐约地听见他们的说话声，从他们脸上看出，他们已经丧失制止混乱的希望了。

“Voilalecher①东正教军队。”博尔孔斯基回忆起比利宾的话时，思忖了一下。

①法语：看，这就是可爱的……

他驶近车队，欲向这些人中的任何一个打听总司令的下落。一辆稀奇古怪的单马轻便马车从他对面直奔而来，很明显这是一辆士兵家庭集资制造的式样介乎普通大车、单马双轮轻便车和四轮马车之间的马车。士兵驾驶着马车，一个妇女坐在皮革车篷底下的挡布后面，她满头缠着围巾。安德烈公爵向他们前面驶来，这个坐在带篷马车中的妇女拼命地喊叫，引起了他的注意，这时候他便问问那个士兵。一名坐在这辆马车上充当车夫的士兵很想赶到前面去，指挥车队的军官揍他一顿，皮鞭子不断地落在带篷马车的挡布上。这个妇女尖声地叫喊。她看见了安德烈公爵，便从挡布后面探出身子，一面挥动着从地毯似的围巾后面伸出来的瘦骨嶙峋的手臂，嚷道：

“副官！副官先生！…看在上帝面上……救救我吧…这会闹成啥样子？…我是第七猎骑兵团军医的妻子……不放我们过去：我们就落在后面，自己的人都失散了……”

“我真要把你砸成薄饼，你转回头去！”凶恶的军官对士兵喊道，“你跟你的邋遢女人转回头去。”

“副官先生，救救我吧！这是什么世道？”军医的妻子喊道。

“请您让这辆马车通行。您难道看不见这是妇女吗？”安德烈驶至军官面前，说道。

军官瞟了他一眼，没有回答，又把脸转向士兵，说道：

“我要绕到前面去……你后退吧！”

“让这辆马车通行，我跟您说。”安德烈公爵瘪着嘴唇，又重复地说了一句。

“你是什么人？”这名军官忽然摆出一副发酒疯的样子对他说，“你是什么人？（他特别强调“你”的重音）是长官，是不是？这里的长官是我，而不是你。你退回去吧，”他重说一遍，“我真要把你砸成薄饼。”

看起来，这名军官更喜欢这句口头禅。

“他很傲慢地把小副官的话顶回去了。”从后面传来话语声。

安德烈公爵看见，军官喝醉酒似地无缘无故地发狂，人通常处于这种状态会不记得自己所说的话的。他又看见，他庇护坐在马车上的军医太太，定会使人感到，这是世界上一件最可怕的事，这会变成所谓的ridicule①，但是他的本能使他产生别的情感。军官还没有来得及把最后一句话说完，安德烈公爵便狂暴得扭曲了面孔，走到他跟前，举起了马鞭：

“请您让这辆马车通行吧！”

①法语：笑料。

军官挥挥手，急忙走到一边去。

“这些司令部的人员把什么都搞得乱七八糟，”他唠叨地说，“您要干什么，听您的便吧。”

安德烈公爵没有抬起眼睛，匆匆忙忙地从那个把他叫做救星的军医太太身边走开，向人家告诉他的总司令驻扎的村庄疾驰而去，一面厌恶地想到这种有伤自尊心的争执的详情细节。

他驶入村庄，翻身下马，向第一栋住宅走去，心里想要休息片刻，吃点什么，澄清一下令人屈辱的折磨他的想法。

“这是一群坏蛋，而不是军队。”他想道，向第一栋住宅的窗口走去，这时候一个熟人喊出了他的名字。

他回头一看，涅斯维茨基的清秀的面孔从那小小的窗口探了出来。涅斯维茨基用那红阔的嘴咀嚼着什么食物，一面挥动着手臂，把他喊到身边去。

“博尔孔斯基，博尔孔斯基！你听不见，是不是？快点来吧。”他喊道。

安德烈公爵走进住宅，看见正在就餐的涅斯维茨基和另一名副官。他们急忙地询问博尔孔斯基，他是否获悉什么新闻？安德烈公爵从他很熟悉的他们的脸上看出了惊惶不安的神色。这种神色在向来流露笑意的涅斯维茨基的脸上特别引人注目。

“总司令在哪里？”博尔孔斯基发问。

“是在这里，在那栋住宅里。”副官答道。

“啊，说实在话，媾和与投降，都没有什么，是吗？”涅斯维茨基问道。

“我正在问您。我什么也不知道，只是很费劲地才走到你们这里来。”

“老兄，我们这里怎么啦！不得了！老兄，我认罪；大家嘲笑过马克，可是我们自己搞得更糟了，”涅斯维茨基说道，“你坐下，吃点什么吧。”

“公爵，而今没有找到马车，什么也找不到，天知道您的彼得在哪里呢。”另一名副官说道。

“大本营究竟在哪里？”

“我们要在茨奈姆落歇。”

“我把我要用的全部物件重新驮在两匹马背上，”涅斯维茨基说道，“马搭子装得棒极了。即令要溜过波希米亚山也行。老兄，很不妙。你真的病了，怎么老在发抖呢？”涅斯维茨基发现安德烈公爵像触到电容瓶似地打了个哆嗦，于是问道。

“没关系。”安德烈公爵答道。

这时分他想起了不久以前跟军医太太和辎重队军官发生冲突的情景。

“总司令在此地做什么事？”他问道。

“我一点也不知道。”涅斯维茨基说道。

“有一点我是了解的：什么都令人厌恶，令人厌恶，令人厌恶！”安德烈公爵说完这句话，就到总司令驻扎的住宅去了。

安德烈公爵从库图佐夫的轻便马车旁边，从疲惫不堪的随员骑的马匹旁边，从那些大声交谈的哥萨克兵旁边经过后，便走进外屋。有人告诉安德烈公爵，库图佐夫本人和巴格拉季翁公爵、魏罗特尔都在一间农村木房里。魏罗特尔是替代已经献身的施米特的奥国将军。在外屋里，个子矮小的科兹洛夫斯基在文书官面前蹲着。文书官卷起制服的袖口，坐在桶底朝上翻过来的木桶上，急急忙忙地誊写文件。科兹洛夫斯基面容疲倦，看起来，他也有一宵未眠。他朝安德烈公爵瞥了一眼，连头也没有点一下。

“第二行……写好了吗？”他向文书官继续口授，“基辅掷弹兵团，波多尔斯克兵团……”

“大人，跟不上您呀。”文书官回头望望科兹洛夫斯基，不恭敬地、气忿地答道。

这时从门里可以听见库图佐夫的极度兴奋的不满意的话语声，它被另外的陌生的话语声打断了。这些话语声清晰可闻，科兹洛夫斯基漫不经心地瞥他一眼，疲惫不堪的文书官出言不逊，文书官和科兹洛夫斯基离总司令只有咫尺之地，他们围着木桶坐在地板上，几名哥萨克牵着马儿在住宅的窗下哈哈大笑，——从这一切来推敲，安德烈公爵心里觉得，想必发生了什么不幸的严重事件。

安德烈公爵十分迫切地向科兹洛夫斯基提出了几个问题。

“公爵，马上就回答，”科兹洛夫斯基说道，“正给巴格拉季翁下一道书面命令。”

“是要投降吗？”

“根本不是，作战命令已经颁布了。”

安德烈公爵向门口走去，门后可以听见众人的话语声。但是当他想要开门时，房间里的话语声停住了，门自动地敞开了。库图佐夫长着一张肥胖的脸，鹰钩鼻子，他在门坎前出现了。安德烈公爵笔直地站在库图佐夫对面，但是从总司令的独眼的表情可以看出，一种心绪和忧虑萦回于他的脑际，仿佛蒙住了他的视觉。他直勾勾地望着他的副官的面孔，没有认出他是谁。

“喂，怎么，写好了吗？”他把脸转向科兹洛夫斯基，说道。

“立刻写好，大人。”

巴格拉季翁，身材不高，一副东方型的表情呆板而端正的脸孔，干瘪瘪的，还不是老年人，他跟随总司令走出来。

“遵命来到，荣幸之至。”安德烈公爵递上一封信，嗓音洪亮地重说一句话。

“啊，是从维也纳来的吗？很好。过一会儿，过一会儿！”

库图佐夫随同巴格拉季翁走上了台阶。

“啊，公爵，再见，”他对巴格拉季翁说道，“基督保佑你。

祝福你建立丰功伟绩。”

库图佐夫的脸色忽然变得温和了，眼睛里噙满了泪水。他用左手把巴格拉季翁拉到自己身边，用那只戴着戒指的右手做出显然是习惯做的手势，给他画十字，向他伸出肥胖的脸颊，巴格拉季翁没有去吻他的脸颊，而是吻了吻他的颈项。

“基督保佑你，”库图佐夫重说了一遍，便向四轮马车前面走去，“你和我一同坐车吧。”他对博尔孔斯基说道。

“大人，我希望能在此地效劳。请您允许我留在巴格拉季翁公爵的部队中吧。”

“你坐下，”库图佐夫发现博尔孔斯基在耽误时间，便开口说道，“我本人，本人要用一些优秀的军官。”

他们坐上了四轮马车，默不作声地驶行了几分钟。

“前途无量，还有许多事要干，”他带着老年人富有洞察力的表情说道，仿佛他明白博尔孔斯基的全部内心活动似的，“假如明日有十分之一的人从他的部队中回来的话，我就要感谢上帝。”库图佐夫好像自言自语地补充说。

安德烈公爵望了望库图佐夫，在离他半俄尺的地方，他情不自禁地注视库图佐夫的太阳穴上洗得干干净净的伤疤，在伊兹梅尔战役中一颗子弹射穿了他的头颅，失去了眼球，他这只出水的眼睛也使安德烈公爵注目。“是的，他有权利心平气和地谈论这些人阵亡的事啊！”博尔孔斯基思忖了一会。

“正是因为这缘故，我才请求把我派到这支部队里去。”他说道。

库图佐夫没有回答。他好像忘记了他说的话，还在沉思默想地坐着。五分钟以后，库图佐夫把脸转向安德烈公爵，坐在柔软的四轮马车的弹簧车垫上平稳地摇摇晃晃。他脸上没有激动的痕迹了。他带着含蓄的讥讽的神情询问安德烈公爵关于他和皇帝会面的详细情形、在皇宫听到什么有关克雷姆战役的评论，并且问到大家都认识的几个女人。