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Volume I, Part Two, Chapter XI

At the levée the Emperor Francis only looked intently into Prince Andrei's face, who stood in the appointed place among the Austrian officers, and nodded his long head to him. But after the levée the adjutant of the previous day courteously conveyed to Bolkonsky the Emperor's desire to give him an audience. The Emperor Francis received him standing in the middle of the room. Before beginning the conversation, Prince Andrei was struck by the fact that the Emperor seemed confused, not knowing what to say, and blushed.

— Tell me, when did the battle begin? — he asked hurriedly.

Prince Andrei replied. This question was followed by other equally simple ones: "Is Kutuzov well? How long is it since he left Krems?" and so on. The Emperor spoke with an expression as if his whole aim consisted only in asking a certain number of questions. The answers to these questions, as was only too evident, could not interest him.

— At what hour did the battle begin? — asked the Emperor.

— I cannot inform Your Majesty at what hour the battle began in the front, but at Dürrenstein, where I was, the army began the attack at six in the evening, — said Bolkonsky, growing animated and supposing that he would now have an opportunity to present a truthful description, already prepared in his head, of all he knew and had seen.

But the Emperor smiled and interrupted him:

— How many miles?

— From where to where, Your Majesty?

— From Dürrenstein to Krems?

— Three and a half miles, Your Majesty.

— The French have left the left bank?

— As the scouts reported, the last of them crossed on rafts during the night.

— Is there sufficient forage in Krems?

— Forage has not been supplied in the quantity...

The Emperor interrupted him.

— At what hour was General Schmidt killed?

— At seven o'clock, I believe.

— At seven o'clock? Very sad! Very sad!

The Emperor said that he thanked him, and bowed. Prince Andrei went out and was immediately surrounded by courtiers on all sides. Affectionate eyes looked at him from all sides, and affectionate words were heard. The adjutant of the previous day reproached him for not having stayed at the palace, and offered him his own house. The minister of war came up, congratulating him on the Order of Maria Theresa of the third class, with which the Emperor was decorating him. The Empress's chamberlain invited him to Her Majesty. The Archduchess also wished to see him. He did not know whom to answer, and for a few seconds collected his thoughts. The Russian ambassador took him by the shoulder, led him to a window, and began to talk to him.

Contrary to Bilibin's words, the news he had brought was received joyfully. A thanksgiving service was appointed. Kutuzov was awarded the Grand Cross of Maria Theresa, and the whole army received rewards. Bolkonsky received invitations from all sides, and had to spend the whole morning paying visits to the principal Austrian dignitaries. Having finished his visits towards five in the afternoon, mentally composing a letter to his father about the battle and about his journey to Brünn, Prince Andrei was returning home to Bilibin's. At the porch of the house occupied by Bilibin stood a chaise half-packed with things, and Franz, Bilibin's servant, was coming out of the door with difficulty dragging a portmanteau. (Before going to Bilibin's, Prince Andrei had gone to a bookshop to stock up on books for the campaign, and had sat there for a long time.)

— What is this? — asked Bolkonsky.

— Ach, Erlaucht? — said Franz, with difficulty heaving the portmanteau into the chaise. — Wir ziehen noch weiter. Der Bösewicht ist schon wieder hinter uns her! [Ah, Your Excellency! We are moving on still further. The villain is already at our heels again!]

— What is it? What? — asked Prince Andrei.

Bilibin came out to meet Bolkonsky. His usually calm face showed agitation.

— Non, non, avouez que c'est charmant, — he was saying, — cette histoire du pont de Thabor (the bridge in Vienna). Ils l'ont passé sans coup férir. [No, no, confess that it is charming, this affair of the Tabor bridge. They crossed it without striking a blow.]

Prince Andrei could not understand anything.

— But where have you been, that you don't know what all the coachmen in the town already know?

— I come from the Archduchess. I heard nothing there.

— And you didn't see that everybody is packing up everywhere?

— I didn't see... But what is the matter? — asked Prince Andrei impatiently.

— What's the matter? The matter is that the French have crossed the bridge that Auersperg is defending, and the bridge has not been blown up, so that Murat is now rushing along the road to Brünn, and today or tomorrow they will be here.

— What do you mean, here? But how could they not blow up the bridge when it was mined?

— That is what I ask you. Nobody, not even Bonaparte himself, knows that.

Bolkonsky shrugged his shoulders.

— But if the bridge has been crossed, it means that the army has perished: it will be cut off, — he said.

— That's just the joke of it, — answered Bilibin. — Listen. The French enter Vienna, as I told you. All very well. The next day, that is, yesterday, Messieurs the Marshals: Murat, Lannes, and Belliard, mount their horses and go to the bridge. (Observe that all three are Gascons.) "Gentlemen," says one of them, "you know that the Tabor bridge is mined and countermined, and that in front of it is a formidable tête de pont [bridgehead] and fifteen thousand troops who are ordered to blow up the bridge and not let us cross. But it will please our Sovereign Emperor Napoleon if we take this bridge. Let us three go and take this bridge." — "Let's go," say the others; and they set off and take the bridge, cross it, and now with their whole army on this side of the Danube are marching on us, on you, and on your lines of communication.

— Stop joking, — said Prince Andrei sadly and seriously.

This news was distressing and at the same time pleasant to Prince Andrei. As soon as he learned that the Russian army was in such a hopeless situation, it occurred to him that it was exactly for him that it was destined to lead the Russian army out of this situation, that here was the Toulon that would lift him from the ranks of unknown officers and open the first path to glory for him! Listening to Bilibin, he was already imagining how, on returning to the army, he would give an opinion at a council of war that alone would save the army, and how he alone would be entrusted with the execution of this plan.

— Stop joking, — he said.

— I am not joking, — Bilibin continued, — nothing is truer and sadder. These gentlemen ride up to the bridge alone and raise white handkerchiefs; they assert that there is an armistice, and that they, the marshals, have come to parley with Prince Auersperg. The officer on duty lets them into the tête de pont. [bridgehead.] They tell him a thousand Gascon absurdities: they say the war is over, that Emperor Francis has arranged an interview with Bonaparte, that they desire to see Prince Auersperg, and so on. The officer sends for Auersperg; these gentlemen embrace the officers, joke, sit on the cannons, and meanwhile a French battalion advances unnoticed on the bridge, throws the sacks of combustible material into the water, and approaches the tête de pont. At last the lieutenant general himself, our dear Prince Auersperg von Mautern, appears. "Dear enemy! Flower of the Austrian army, hero of the Turkish wars! Enmity is at an end, we can shake hands... Emperor Napoleon burns with desire to make Prince Auersperg's acquaintance." In a word, these gentlemen, Gascons for good reason, so overwhelm Auersperg with fine words, he is so flattered by his so rapidly established intimacy with the French marshals, so dazzled by the sight of Murat's mantle and ostrich feathers, qu'il n'y voit que du feu, et oublie celui qu'il devait faire faire sur l'ennemi. (In spite of the animation of his speech, Bilibin did not forget to pause after this mot to give time for its appreciation.) The French battalion runs into the tête de pont, spikes the guns, and the bridge is taken. No, but what is best of all, — he went on, his excitement calming down under the charm of his own story, — is that the sergeant placed at the very cannon the firing of which was to give the signal to ignite the mines and blow up the bridge, this sergeant, seeing that the French troops were running onto the bridge, was already about to fire, but Lannes stayed his hand. The sergeant, who was evidently wiser than his general, goes up to Auersperg and says: "Prince, you are being deceived, here are the French!" Murat sees that the game is lost if the sergeant is allowed to speak. With feigned surprise (a true Gascon) he turns to Auersperg: "I don't recognize the world-renowned Austrian discipline," he says, "that you allow a subordinate to address you like this!" C'est génial. Le prince d'Auersperg se pique d'honneur et fait mettre le sergent aux arrêts. Non, mais avouez que c'est charmant toute cette histoire du pont de Thabor. Ce n'est ni bêtise, ni lâcheté... [It is a stroke of genius. Prince Auersperg takes offense at the point of honor and has the sergeant arrested. No, but confess that it is charming, all this story of the Tabor bridge. It is neither stupidity nor cowardice...]

— C'est trahison peut-être, [It is treason, perhaps,] — said Prince Andrei, vividly imagining the gray overcoats, the wounds, the gunpowder smoke, the sounds of firing, and the glory that awaited him.

— Non plus. Cela met la cour dans de trop mauvais draps, — continued Bilibin. — Ce n'est ni trahison, ni lâcheté, ni bêtise; c'est comme à Ulm... — He seemed to be pondering, seeking an expression: — c'est... c'est du Mack. Nous sommes mackés. [Nor that either. That puts the court in too bad a light. It is neither treason, nor cowardice, nor stupidity; it is like Ulm... it is... it is Mackery. We have been Macked.] — he concluded, feeling that he had uttered a mot, a fresh mot, such a mot as would be repeated.

The hitherto gathered wrinkles on his forehead rapidly unpuckered as a sign of satisfaction, and with a slight smile he began examining his fingernails.

— Where are you going? — he said suddenly, turning to Prince Andrei, who had got up and was heading for his room.

— I am going.

— Where to?

— To the army.

— But you wanted to stay two days more?

— But now I am going at once.

And Prince Andrei, having given orders for his departure, went to his room.

— You know what, my dear fellow, — said Bilibin, coming into his room. — I have been thinking about you. Why are you going?

And in proof of the irrefutability of this argument all the wrinkles vanished from his face.

Prince Andrei looked inquiringly at his interlocutor and made no reply.

— Why are you going? I know you think it is your duty to gallop off to the army now that the army is in danger. I understand that, mon cher, c'est de l'héroïsme. [my dear, that is heroism.]

— Not at all, — said Prince Andrei.

— But as you are un philosophe, [a philosopher,] be one completely, look at things from the other side, and you will see that your duty, on the contrary, is to take care of yourself. Leave it to others who are fit for nothing else... You have not been ordered back, and you have not been dismissed from here; therefore you can stay and go with us wherever our unhappy fate takes us. They say they are going to Olmütz. And Olmütz is a very nice town. And you and I will travel comfortably together in my carriage.

— Stop joking, Bilibin, — said Bolkonsky.

— I am speaking to you sincerely and as a friend. Consider. Where and why are you going now, when you can stay here? You face one of two things (he gathered the skin over his left temple): either you will not reach the army and peace will be concluded, or defeat and disgrace with all Kutuzov's army.

And Bilibin smoothed his skin, feeling that his dilemma was irrefutable.

— I cannot judge of that, — Prince Andrei said coldly, while he thought: "I am going to save the army."

— Mon cher, vous êtes un héros, [My dear, you are a hero,] — said Bilibin.