It was a cavalry general who had won special favour with the Emperor during the recent campaign; he had been the commanding officer of Rostov’s division.
Rostov looked at him in dismay and tried to make some excuse, but once he saw that the general’s face looked amused and benevolent he took him to one side and blurted out his story with great excitement, begging him to intercede for Denisov, who was known personally to the general.
The general heard Rostov’s story and shook his head gravely. ‘I’m sorry, very sorry. Such a gallant fellow. Give me the letter.’
Rostov had barely enough time to hand over the letter and tell him all about Denisov’s plight when jingling spurs announced rapid movement down the stairs, at which the general left him and moved over on to the steps. The gentlemen of the Emperor’s entourage ran down and took to their horses. The same groom who had been at Austerlitz, a man called Hayne, led the Emperor’s horse forward, and when light footsteps came tripping down the staircase Rostov knew them at once. Forgetting any danger of being recognized, Rostov went along with a number of curious local people and moved up close to the steps, where once again, after a lapse of two years, he saw the adored features – the same face, the same glance, the same walk, the same blend of majesty and gentleness . . . And the feeling of rapturous adoration inspired by the Emperor was rekindled in Rostov’s heart with all its old force. The Emperor was wearing the uniform of the Preobrazhensky regiment, white chamois leather breeches and high boots, and a star which Rostov didn’t recognize. (It was the Legion of Honour.) He came out on the steps holding his hat under one arm and pulling on a glove. He stopped and had a look around, illuminating everything that met with his glance. He said a few words to one or two of the generals. Then he recognized Rostov’s former divisional commander, smiled at him and beckoned him over.
All the entourage stood aside and Rostov watched as the general spoke to the Emperor for quite some time.
The Emperor said a few words in return and then took a step towards his horse. Once again the massed entourage and the spectators, Rostov among them, surged in closer to the Emperor. Standing by his horse with one hand on the saddle, the Emperor turned back to the cavalry general and said aloud obviously for all to hear, ‘I cannot do it, General, and the reason I cannot do it is because the law is mightier than I am,’ and he put his foot in the stirrup. The general bowed his head respectfully while the Emperor mounted his horse and galloped off down the street. Beside himself with excitement, Rostov ran on behind with the crowd.
CHAPTER 21
The Tsar rode off towards a square in which two battalions stood on parade ranged against each other: to the right, the men of the Preobrazhensky regiment and, to the left, the French guards in their bearskin caps.
As the Emperor rode up to one flank of the battalions, where the men presented arms, another group of horsemen was galloping up to the opposite flank, and at their head Rostov recognized Napoleon. It couldn’t be anyone else. He galloped up, wearing a small hat and a blue uniform open over a white vest, with the St Andrew ribbon draped across his chest. He was riding a magnificent grey thoroughbred Arab caparisoned in crimson and gold. Riding up to Alexander, he half-raised his hat, a movement which immediately told Rostov, with his cavalryman’s eye, that Napoleon was a poor and clumsy horseman. The battalions roared out their ‘Hurrah!’ and ‘Long live the Emperor!’ Napoleon said something to Alexander. Both Emperors dismounted and took each other by the hands. Napoleon’s face wore an unpleasantly forced smile. Alexander was saying something to him with a warm and friendly expression on his face.
Despite the danger of being trampled by the horses of the French gendarmes controlling the crowd, Rostov followed every movement of the Emperor Alexander and Bonaparte, never taking his eyes off them. He was struck by something quite unexpected: Alexander was treating Bonaparte like an equal, and Bonaparte was completely relaxed, taking his familiarity with the Russian Tsar for granted as if it was something of long standing, and he seemed to be on equal terms with the Russian monarch.
Alexander and Napoleon, with their suite stretched out behind in a long train, moved towards the right flank of the Preobrazhensky battalion and ended up close to the crowd that was standing there. Suddenly the crowd found itself right next to the two Emperors, and Rostov, who was well to the front, began to be afraid of being recognized.
‘Sire, I beg permission to award the Legion of Honour to the bravest of your soldiers,’ said a clipped, grating voice, carefully articulating every letter.
