So, the rumour that had been going round – that the Austrians had been defeated and the whole army had surrendered at Ulm – had turned out to be true. Within half an hour aides had been dispatched in every direction with orders to the effect that the Russian troops which had so far been inactive would soon have to confront the enemy.
Prince Andrey was one of those few staff officers with a genuine interest in the overall progress of the war. On observing Mack and learning the details of his downfall, he saw immediately that the campaign was half lost. He could sense the enormous difficulty which now faced the Russian troops, and imagine what lay ahead of them; he could also foresee the part that he personally would have to play. He couldn’t resist a thrill of real pleasure at the thought of the arrogant Austrians suffering such humiliation, and the prospect of, perhaps in less than a week, witnessing, even taking part in, an encounter between the Russians and the French, the first since Suvorov’s day. But he was afraid of Bonaparte’s genius – this man might turn out to be stronger than all the brave Russian troops put together; and yet at the same time he couldn’t bear to think of his hero being disgraced.
Excited and unnerved by these thoughts, Prince Andrey decided to go to his room and write to his father, which he did every day, but in the corridor he met his room-mate Nesvitsky and Zherkov the clown. As usual they had found something to laugh at.
‘What are you looking so miserable about?’ asked Nesvitsky, noticing Prince Andrey’s pale face with its gleaming eyes.
‘There’s nothing to celebrate,’ answered Bolkonsky.
Just as Prince Andrey encountered Nesvitsky and Zherkov, down the corridor towards them came the two Austrian generals who had arrived the previous night, Strauch, an attaché charged with provisioning the Russian army, and the Hofkriegsrath representative. There was plenty of room in the wide corridor for the generals to pass the three officers with something to spare. Nevertheless Zherkov shoved Nesvitsky to one side and called out breathlessly, ‘Mind your backs, please! . . . Make way! . . . Stand aside!’
The generals walked on looking as if they would have liked to avoid any embarrassing display of respect, but Zherkov the clown suddenly smirked with what seemed to be uncontrollable glee.
‘Your Excellency,’ he said in German, moving forward and addressing the Austrian general, ‘my compliments to you, sir.’ He began bowing and scraping, awkwardly, like a child getting his legs mixed up at a dancing lesson. The Hofkriegsrath man looked at him sharply, but, detecting something serious behind the silly smirk, he couldn’t refuse him a moment’s attention. He frowned with concentration to show that he was listening.
‘My compliments indeed, sir, on General Mack’s arrival. He seems to be well. Just a bit of trouble up here,’ he added, tapping his head with an even broader smile.
The general’s frown deepened; he turned away and hurried off.
‘Stupid boy!’ he said angrily, a few steps further on.
Nesvitsky roared with laughter and threw his arms around Prince Andrey, but Bolkonsky, turning even paler, pushed him away with a furious glare and turned to Zherkov. The nervous tension brought on by the sight of Mack, the news of his defeat and the thought of what the Russian army was in for expressed itself in a furious reaction to Zherkov’s tasteless joke.
‘Sir, if you insist on acting like a
‘Huh, I only gave them my compliments,’ said Zherkov.
‘I’m not joking, sir! Please be silent!’ Bolkonsky roared, and taking Nesvitsky by the arm he walked away from Zherkov, leaving him lost for words.
‘I say, come on, old fellow,’ said Nesvitsky, trying to soothe him.
‘Come on?’ said Prince Andrey, pausing, still very excited. ‘Listen. Either we are officers serving Tsar and country, rejoicing in allied successes and grieving together in defeat, or we’re just hired servants who have no interest in our master’s business. Forty thousand men massacred and the allied army destroyed, and you think that’s funny,’ he said, choosing his phrases carefully, in French, to emphasize what he was saying. ‘It may be all right for a stupid young idiot like that friend of yours, but it’s not all right for you – not for you.
CHAPTER 4
