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Volume I, Part Two, Chapter I

— He is coming! — the signaler shouted at this time.

The regimental commander, reddening, ran to his horse, caught the stirrup with trembling hands, threw his body over, settled himself, drew his sword, and with a happy, resolute face, opening his mouth awry, prepared to shout. The regiment fluttered like a bird preening its plumage, and became motionless.

— 'Tention! — shouted the regimental commander in a soul-shaking voice, joyful for himself, strict in relation to the regiment, and welcoming in relation to the approaching chief.

Along the broad, tree-lined, unpaved high road, slightly rattling its springs, a high light-blue Viennese carriage was driven at a rapid trot by four horses in hand. Behind the carriage galloped the suite and an escort of Croats. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general in a white uniform, which looked strange among the black Russian ones. The carriage stopped at the regiment. Kutuzov and the Austrian general were saying something to each other in low voices, and Kutuzov smiled slightly as, treading heavily, he stepped down from the carriage step, exactly as if those 2,000 men who were gazing at him and at the regimental commander with bated breath did not exist.

The word of command rang out, again the regiment quivered with a clatter as it presented arms. In the dead silence the weak voice of the commander-in-chief was heard. The regiment roared: "Health to your ex-ex-ex-cellency!" And again everything was still. At first Kutuzov stood in one place while the regiment moved; then Kutuzov, side by side with the white general, accompanied by the suite, began walking on foot along the ranks.

From the way the regimental commander saluted the commander-in-chief, fixing his eyes on him, drawing himself up and tightening his muscles, and from the way he walked, leaning forward, behind the generals along the ranks, hardly able to restrain his quivering motion, and from the way he jumped at every word and movement of the commander-in-chief — it was evident that he performed his duties as a subordinate with even greater delight than his duties as a commander. The regiment, thanks to the strictness and diligence of the regimental commander, was in excellent condition compared to others that had arrived at Braunau at the same time. There were only 217 stragglers and sick. And everything was in order, except the footwear.

Kutuzov walked along the ranks, occasionally stopping and saying a few kind words to officers whom he knew from the Turkish war, and sometimes also to the soldiers. Glancing at their footwear, he sadly shook his head several times and pointed it out to the Austrian general with an expression that seemed not to reproach anyone for it, but could not help seeing how bad it was. The regimental commander each time ran forward, afraid to miss a word of the commander-in-chief's concerning the regiment. Behind Kutuzov, at such a distance that every softly spoken word could be heard, walked some twenty men of the suite. The gentlemen of the suite talked among themselves and sometimes laughed. Nearest of all behind the commander-in-chief walked a handsome adjutant. This was Prince Bolkonsky. Beside him walked his comrade Nesvitsky, a tall staff officer, extremely stout, with a kind, smiling, handsome face and moist eyes. Nesvitsky could hardly restrain his laughter, provoked by a swarthy hussar officer walking beside him. The hussar officer, without smiling, without changing the expression of his fixed eyes, with a serious face looked at the back of the regimental commander and mimicked his every movement. Every time the regimental commander quivered and bent forward, the hussar officer, in exactly the same way, exactly the same way, quivered and bent forward. Nesvitsky laughed and nudged the others to look at the joker.

Kutuzov walked slowly and languidly past the thousands of eyes which were starting from their sockets to watch the chief. Having drawn level with the 3rd company, he suddenly stopped. The suite, not foreseeing this halt, involuntarily pressed close to him.

— Ah, Timokhin! — said the commander-in-chief, recognizing the captain with the red nose who had suffered for the blue greatcoat.

It had seemed impossible to draw oneself up more than Timokhin had done when the regimental commander was reprimanding him. But at this moment of the commander-in-chief's addressing him, the captain drew himself up in such a way that it seemed if the commander-in-chief had looked at him a little longer, the captain would not have been able to bear it; and therefore Kutuzov, evidently understanding his position and wishing, on the contrary, every good to the captain, hastily turned away. A barely perceptible smile flitted over Kutuzov's plump face, disfigured by a wound.

— Another Izmailovo comrade, — he said. — A brave officer! Are you satisfied with him? — Kutuzov asked the regimental commander.

And the regimental commander, reflected, as in a mirror, without seeing it himself, in the hussar officer, quivered, stepped forward and answered:

— Very satisfied, your high excellency.

— We all have our weaknesses, — said Kutuzov, smiling and moving away from him. — He had a devotion to Bacchus.

The regimental commander was frightened lest he should be to blame for this, and made no answer. The officer at that moment noticed the face of the captain with the red nose and drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his face and pose so exactly that Nesvitsky could not restrain his laughter. Kutuzov turned round. It was evident that the officer could control his face as he pleased: at the moment Kutuzov turned, the officer managed to make a grimace, and immediately after to assume the most serious, respectful, and innocent expression.

The third company was the last, and Kutuzov pondered, evidently recalling something. Prince Andrei stepped out of the suite and said softly in French:

— You ordered me to remind you of the demoted Dolokhov in this regiment.

— Where is Dolokhov here? — asked Kutuzov.

Dolokhov, already changed into a soldier's grey greatcoat, did not wait to be called out. The well-built figure of the fair-haired soldier with clear blue eyes stepped out from the line. He approached the commander-in-chief and presented arms.

— A grievance? — asked Kutuzov, frowning slightly.

— This is Dolokhov, — said Prince Andrei.

— Ah! — said Kutuzov. — I hope this lesson will reform you, serve well. The Emperor is merciful. And I shall not forget you, if you deserve it.

The clear blue eyes looked at the commander-in-chief as insolently as at the regimental commander, as if by their expression tearing away the veil of convention that separated the commander-in-chief so widely from the soldier.

— One thing I ask, your high excellency, — he said in his sonorous, firm, unhurried voice. — I ask you to give me an opportunity to expiate my guilt and to prove my devotion to the Emperor and to Russia.

Kutuzov turned away. The same smile of the eyes flashed over his face as when he had turned away from Captain Timokhin. He turned away and frowned, as if he wished to express by this that he had known all that Dolokhov had said to him, and all that he could say to him, long, long ago, that he was already sick of it all, and that all this was not at all what was needed. He turned away and went towards the carriage.

The regiment broke up into companies and marched to the appointed quarters not far from Braunau, where they hoped to get boots, clothes, and rest after their hard marches.

— You are not aggrieved with me, Prokhor Ignatich? — said the regimental commander, riding round the 3rd company as it moved to its place, and approaching Captain Timokhin, who was walking in front of it. The regimental commander's face expressed unrestrainable joy after the successfully concluded review. — The Tsar's service... one can't help it... sometimes one pulls you up in the ranks... I am the first to apologize, you know me... He thanked us very much! — And he held out his hand to the company commander.

— Have mercy, general, how could I dare! — answered the captain, reddening his nose, smiling, and revealing by his smile the lack of two front teeth, knocked out by the butt of a musket at Izmail.

— And tell Mr. Dolokhov that I shall not forget him, so that he may be easy. And tell me, please, I've been meaning to ask, how is he, how does he behave? And in general...

— He is very punctual in the service, your excellency... but his character... — said Timokhin.

— And what, what about his character? — asked the regimental commander.

— It comes upon him on certain days, your excellency, — said the captain, — sometimes he is intelligent, and educated, and kind. And sometimes he is a wild beast. In Poland he nearly killed a Jew, if you please...

— Well, yes, well, yes, — said the regimental commander, — one must always pity a young man in misfortune. You see, he has great connections... So you just...

— I understand, your excellency, — said Timokhin, showing by a smile that he understood his commander's wishes.

— Well, yes, well, yes.

The regimental commander sought out Dolokhov in the ranks and reined in his horse.

— Epaulettes before the first engagement, — he said to him.

Dolokhov looked round, said nothing, and did not change the expression of his mockingly smiling mouth.

— Well, that's good, — continued the regimental commander. — A glass of vodka for the men from me, — he added, so that the soldiers could hear. — I thank everyone! Thank God! — And he, overtaking the company, rode up to another.

— Well, he's really a good fellow, one can serve with him, — said Timokhin to the subaltern officer walking beside him.

— In a word, the King of Hearts!... (the regimental commander had been nicknamed the King of Hearts) — said the subaltern officer, laughing.

The happy mood of the authorities after the review communicated itself to the soldiers. The company marched merrily. Soldiers' voices were talking on all sides.

— How was it they said Kutuzov was blind in one eye?

— Why, so he is! Quite blind.

— No... brother, he's more sharp-sighted than you. Boots and foot-wraps — he saw everything...

— When he, my dear fellow, looks at my feet... well! I think...

— And the other Austrian, the one with him, looked as if he was smeared with chalk. As white as flour. I expect they clean him like accoutrements!

— What, Fedeshow!... did he say when the battles will begin? you stood nearer? They all say Bonaparte himself is at Brunovo.

— Bonaparte is there! look what lies she tells, the fool! What doesn't she know! Now the Prussian is rebelling. So the Austrian is pacifying him. When he makes peace, then the war with Bonaparte will open. And she says Bonaparte is at Brunovo! That shows what a fool she is. You just listen more.

— Look at those devils of quartermasters! The fifth company, look, is already turning into the village, they'll have their kasha cooked, and we won't even reach our place.

— Give us a rusk, devil.

— And did you give me any tobacco yesterday? There you are, brother. Well, take it, God be with you.

— If only they'd make a halt, or else we'll trudge another five versts without eating.

— Wasn't it fine when the Germans gave us carriages. You just ride and ride: grand!

— But here, my dear fellow, the people have gone completely wild. There they all seemed to be Poles, all belonging to the Russian crown; but now, brother, it's solid Germans.

— Singers to the front! — the captain's shout was heard.

And some twenty men ran out in front of the company from different ranks. The drummer who led the singing turned to face the singers, and, waving his arm, struck up a long-drawn-out soldier's song, beginning: "Was it not the dawn, the sun was rising..." and ending with the words: "Then, brothers, there will be glory for us with father Kamensky..." This song had been composed in Turkey and was now sung in Austria, only with the alteration that in place of "father Kamensky" they put the words: "father Kutuzov".

Having jerked out these last words in a soldierly fashion and waved his arms as if he were throwing something on the ground, the drummer, a lean, handsome soldier of about forty, looked sternly at the singers and closed his eyes. Then, having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed on him, he seemed to lift carefully with both hands some invisible, precious object above his head, held it so for a few seconds, and suddenly threw it desperately:

Ah, my canopy, my canopy!

"My new canopy...", caught up twenty voices, and the spoon-player, despite the weight of his accoutrements, sprang briskly forward and walked backwards before the company, twitching his shoulders and threatening someone with his spoons. The soldiers, swinging their arms in time to the song, walked with a spacious stride, involuntarily falling into step. From behind the company came the sound of wheels, the crunching of springs, and the tramp of horses. Kutuzov and his suite were returning to the town. The commander-in-chief gave a sign that the men should continue to march at ease, and his face and all the faces of his suite expressed pleasure at the sound of the song, at the sight of the dancing soldier and the smartly and merrily marching soldiers of the company. In the second rank, on the right flank, from which the carriage was overtaking the company, a blue-eyed soldier, Dolokhov, involuntarily caught the eye; he was marching particularly smartly and gracefully in time to the song, and looking at the faces of the passing officers with an expression as if he pitied everyone who was not at that moment marching with the company. The hussar cornet of Kutuzov's suite, who had mimicked the regimental commander, dropped behind the carriage and rode up to Dolokhov.

The hussar cornet Zherkov had at one time in Petersburg belonged to that wild set which Dolokhov led. Abroad, Zherkov had met Dolokhov as a soldier, but had not thought it necessary to recognize him. Now, after Kutuzov's conversation with the demoted man, he addressed him with the joy of an old friend:

— My dear friend, how are you? — he said to the accompaniment of the song, matching the pace of his horse to the pace of the company.

— How am I? — Dolokhov answered coldly, — as you see.

The lively song gave a special significance to the tone of free-and-easy gaiety with which Zherkov spoke, and to the intentional coldness of Dolokhov's answers.

— Well, how do you get on with the authorities? — Zherkov asked.

— All right, good people. How did you get into the staff?

— Attached, on duty.

They fell silent.

"She let the falcon fly from her right sleeve," said the song, involuntarily exciting a brisk, cheerful feeling. Their conversation would probably have been different if they had not been speaking to the sound of the song.

— Is it true that the Austrians have been beaten? — asked Dolokhov.

— The devil knows, they say so.

— I am glad, — Dolokhov answered briefly and clearly, as the song demanded.

— Well, come over to us some evening, we'll have a game of faro, — said Zherkov.

— Or have you got a lot of money?

— Come.

— I can't. I've taken a vow. I won't drink or play till I am promoted.

— Well, what of it, till the first engagement...

— We shall see.

Again they were silent.

— You drop in, if you need anything, everyone on the staff will help... — said Zherkov.

Dolokhov grinned.

— You'd better not trouble yourself. If I need anything, I won't ask, I'll take it myself.

— Well, what of it, I just meant...

— Well, and I just meant.

— Goodbye.

— Keep well...

... And high, and far,

To my native land...

Zherkov touched his horse with his spurs; it pranced, crossing its legs three times, not knowing which to start with, recovered itself, and galloped off, overtaking the company and catching up with the carriage, also in time to the song.