LITMIR.BIZ

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imagined what awaited it and the part he would have to play. Involuntarily he felt a joyful agitation at the thought of the humiliation of arrogant Austria and that in a week’s time he might, perhaps, see and take part in the first Russian encounter with the French since Suvorov met them. He feared that Bonaparte’s genius might outweigh all the courage of the Russian troops, and at the same time could not admit the idea of his hero being disgraced.

      Excited and irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew went toward his room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor he met Nesvitski, with whom he shared a room, and the wag Zherkov; they were as usual laughing.

      “Why are you so glum?” asked Nesvitski noticing Prince Andrew’s pale face and glittering eyes.

      “There’s nothing to be gay about,” answered Bolkonski.

      Just as Prince Andrew met Nesvitski and Zherkov, there came toward them from the other end of the corridor, Strauch, an Austrian general who on Kutuzov’s staff in charge of the provisioning of the Russian army, and the member of the Hofkriegsrath who had arrived the previous evening. There was room enough in the wide corridor for the generals to pass the three officers quite easily, but Zherkov, pushing Nesvitski aside with his arm, said in a breathless voice,

      “They’re coming!… they’re coming!… Stand aside, make way, please make way!”

      The generals were passing by, looking as if they wished to avoid embarrassing attentions. On the face of the wag Zherkov there suddenly appeared a stupid smile of glee which he seemed unable to suppress.

      “Your excellency,” said he in German, stepping forward and addressing the Austrian general, “I have the honor to congratulate you.”

      He bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and then with the other, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson.

      The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at him severely but, seeing the seriousness of his stupid smile, could not but give him a moment’s attention. He screwed up his eyes showing that he was listening.

      “I have the honor to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite well, only a little bruised just here,” he added, pointing with a beaming smile to his head.

      The general frowned, turned away, and went on.

      “Gott, wie naiv!” * said he angrily, after he had gone a few steps.

      * “Good God, what simplicity!”

       Nesvitski with a laugh threw his arms round Prince Andrew, but Bolkonski, turning still paler, pushed him away with an angry look and turned to Zherkov. The nervous irritation aroused by the appearance of Mack, the news of his defeat, and the thought of what lay before the Russian army found vent in anger at Zherkov’s untimely jest.

      “If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself,” he said sharply, with a slight trembling of the lower jaw, “I can’t prevent your doing so; but I warn you that if you dare to play the fool in my presence, I will teach you to behave yourself.”

      Nesvitski and Zherkov were so surprised by this outburst that they gazed at Bolkonski silently with wide-open eyes.

      “What’s the matter? I only congratulated them,” said Zherkov.

      “I am not jesting with you; please be silent!” cried Bolkonski, and taking Nesvitski’s arm he left Zherkov, who did not know what to say.

      “Come, what’s the matter, old fellow?” said Nesvitski trying to soothe him.

      “What’s the matter?” exclaimed Prince Andrew standing still in his excitement. “Don’t you understand that either we are officers serving our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes and grieving at the misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merely lackeys who care nothing for their master’s business. Quarante mille hommes massacres et l’armee de nos allies detruite, et vous trouvez la le mot pour rire,” he said, as if strengthening his views by this French sentence. “C’est bien pour un garcon de rien comme cet individu dont vous avez fait un ami, mais pas pour vous, pas pour vous. (2) Only a hobbledehoy could amuse himself in this way,” he added in Russian—but pronouncing the word with a French accent—having noticed that Zherkov could still hear him.

      * “Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our allies

       destroyed, and you find that a cause for jesting!”

       * (2) “It is all very well for that good-for-nothing fellow

       of whom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for

       you.”

       He waited a moment to see whether the cornet would answer, but he turned and went out of the corridor.

      CHAPTER IV

      The Pavlograd Hussars were stationed two miles from Braunau. The squadron in which Nicholas Rostov served as a cadet was quartered in the German village of Salzeneck. The best quarters in the village were assigned to cavalry-captain Denisov, the squadron commander, known throughout the whole cavalry division as Vaska Denisov. Cadet Rostov, ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had lived with the squadron commander.

      On October 11, the day when all was astir at headquarters over the news of Mack’s defeat, the camp life of the officers of this squadron was proceeding as usual. Denisov, who had been losing at cards all night, had not yet come home when Rostov rode back early in the morning from a foraging expedition. Rostov in his cadet uniform, with a jerk to his horse, rode up to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with a supple youthful movement, stood for a moment in the stirrup as if loathe to part from his horse, and at last sprang down and called to his orderly.

      “Ah, Bondarenko, dear friend!” said he to the hussar who rushed up headlong to the horse. “Walk him up and down, my dear fellow,” he continued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodhearted young people show to everyone when they are happy.

      “Yes, your excellency,” answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing his head.

      “Mind, walk him up and down well!”

      Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, but Bondarenko had already thrown the reins of the snaffle bridle over the horse’s head. It was evident that the cadet was liberal with his tips and that it paid to serve him. Rostov patted the horse’s neck and then his flank, and lingered for a moment.

      “Splendid! What a horse he will be!” he thought with a smile, and holding up his saber, his spurs jingling, he ran up the steps of the porch. His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face immediately brightened on seeing Rostov. “Schon gut Morgen! Schon gut Morgen!” * he said winking with a merry smile, evidently pleased to greet the young man.

      * “A very good morning! A very good morning!”

       “Schon fleissig?” said Rostov with the same gay brotherly smile which did not leave his eager face. “Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen! Kaiser Alexander hoch!” (2) said he, quoting words often repeated by the German landlord.

      * “Busy already?”

       * (2) “Hurrah for the Austrians! Hurrah for the Russians!

       Hurrah for Emperor Alexander!”

       The German laughed, came out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, and waving it above his head cried:

      “Und die ganze Welt hoch!” *

      * “And hurrah for the whole world!”

       Rostov waved his cap above his head like the German and cried laughing, “Und vivat die ganze Welt!” Though neither the German cleaning his cowshed nor Rostov back with his platoon from foraging for hay had any reason for rejoicing, they looked at each other with joyful delight and brotherly love, wagged their heads in token of their mutual affection, and parted smiling, the German returning to his cowshed and Rostov going to the cottage he occupied with Denisov.

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