The commander was worried that this might be his fault, so he said nothing in reply. At that moment the hussar officer noticed the red-nosed captain’s face and his pulled-in stomach, and he mimicked them both so closely that Nesvitsky laughed out loud. Kutuzov turned round. The officer seemed able to do anything with his features. Even as Kutuzov turned round he managed to pull another funny face before assuming the gravest expression of innocence and respect.
The third company was the last one, and Kutuzov paused for a moment as if he was trying to remember something. Prince Andrey stepped forward and spoke quietly to him in French. ‘Sir, you asked me to remind you about Dolokhov, the officer in this regiment who was reduced to the ranks.’
‘Where is Dolokhov?’ asked Kutuzov.
Dolokhov, who had by now changed into a grey private soldier’s coat, didn’t wait to be called. The slim figure of the fair-haired soldier, with his clear blue eyes, stepped out of the front rank, marched up to the commander-in-chief and presented arms.
‘Any complaint?’ asked Kutuzov with a slight frown.
‘This is Dolokhov, sir,’ said Prince Andrey.
‘Ah!’ said Kutuzov. ‘Well, let this be a lesson to you. Do your duty as a soldier. The Emperor is merciful. I shan’t forget you, if you do well.’
The clear blue eyes looked at the commander-in-chief just as brazenly as at the regimental commander; they seemed almost to rip away the veil of convention that set the commander-in-chief so far above the common soldier.
‘I ask only one favour, your most high Excellency,’ he said in his loud, confident voice, not hurrying his words, ‘and that is a chance to atone for my offence and prove my devotion to his Majesty the Emperor, and to Russia.’
Kutuzov turned away. His eyes lit up with the same flicker of a smile with which he had turned away from Captain Timokhin. He turned away and frowned, as if to indicate that everything Dolokhov had said to him, and anything that he could say, was old hat, too tedious for words and not at all what was needed. He turned away and walked off towards the coach.
The regiment broke down by companies and the men set off for their appointed quarters at no great distance from Braunau, where they hoped to find new boots and clothes, and have a good rest after so long on the march.
‘Don’t hold it against me, Prokhor Ignatich, will you?’ said the regimental commander, overtaking the third company and riding up to Captain Timokhin, who was leading it. The general’s face was beaming with irrepressible delight following such a successful inspection. ‘It’s all in the Tsar’s service . . . you can’t, er . . . sometimes you have to be a bit hard . . . I’m the first to apologize. You know me . . . He said how pleased he was.’ And he held out a hand to the captain.
‘Please, General, as if I would,’ answered the captain, his nose redder than ever. He smiled, and his smile showed that his two front teeth were missing – they had been knocked out by a rifle-butt at Izmail.
‘Oh, and tell Dolokhov to rest easy – I shan’t forget him. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask: what is he doing? How’s he getting on? . . .’
‘He is diligent in the performance of his duty, sir. But he can be temperamental,’ said Timokhin.
‘What do you mean, “temperamental”?’ asked the general.
‘Different things on different days, sir,’ said the captain. ‘Sometimes he’s sensible and intelligent and good-natured. Then he can be like a wild animal. When we were in Poland, I should tell you, he all but killed a Jew . . .’
‘Yes, yes, I see,’ said the general. ‘Still you have to go easy on a young fellow when he’s in trouble. He is well connected, you know . . . I think you should, er . . .’
‘Yes, sir. Yes, sir,’ said Timokhin, his smile indicating that he knew what was required of him.
‘Very well, then, very well.’
The general went to find Dolokhov in the ranks and reined in his horse. ‘Come the first action you could get your epaulettes back,’ he said to him. Dolokhov looked round but said nothing. The sardonic smile that played about his mouth stayed the same.
‘Well, that’s all right then,’ the general went on. ‘Vodka all round – on me!’ he added, loud enough for the soldiers to hear. ‘My thanks to you all. God be praised!’ He galloped past that company and on to the next one.
‘He’s a good man, you know. Worth serving with,’ said Timokhin to a junior officer at his side.
‘ “King of Hearts”, that’s the only word for him,’ said the officer with a laugh, that being the general’s nickname.
The officers’ buoyant mood following the inspection was caught by the soldiers. The company marched along merrily with soldiers’ voices chattering away on all sides.
‘Who was it said Kutuzov’s blind in one eye?’
‘Well, he is. Blind as they come.’
‘Nay, boys, he’s got better eyes than you. Soon spotted our boots and leg-bands,4 didn’t he?’
‘Listen, mate, when he looked at my legs . . . I says to myself . . .’
