During this engagement Prince Andrey had been in attendance on the Austrian General Schmidt, who had been killed in the field. His own horse had been wounded, and he had received a slight bullet wound to the arm. As a mark of special favour on the part of the commander-in-chief, he was dispatched with news of this victory to the Austrian court, now at Brno rather than Vienna, which was under French threat. On the night of the battle, still excited but not weary (despite Prince Andrey’s apparently slender build he could bear fatigue better than the strongest of men), he had ridden into Krems with a report from Dokhturov to Kutuzov and was then sent straight on with a special dispatch to Brno. This commission, apart from the decoration it would bring, meant an important step towards promotion.
It was a dark but starry night and the road shone black against the white snow that had fallen on the day of the battle. Prince Andrey bowled along in his post-chaise, his mind filled with images of battle, pleasantly anticipating the effect that his news of victory would create, and still enjoying the memory of his commander-in-chief and his comrades sending him on his way. His feelings were those of a man who has found the beginnings of a long-sought happiness. The moment he closed his eyelids, his ears rang with the rattle of muskets and the boom of cannon-fire, sounds that blended with the rumble of the wheels and the sensation of victory. First he began to dream that the Russians were on the run and he had been killed, then he would wake up with a start and realize with great relief that none of this had happened – it was the French who were running away. Once more he savoured the details of their victory, including his own courage and steadiness under fire; then, fully reassured, he began to doze off . . . The dark, starry night was followed by a bright and sunny morning. The snow was thawing in the sunshine, the horses were running well and on either side of the road new and different kinds of forest, fields and trees flew by.
At one posting-station he caught up with a convoy of Russian wounded. The Russian officer in charge of the transport sprawled back in the leading wagon, swearing volubly at a soldier. In each of the long German carts half a dozen pale-faced, bandaged and filthy casualties were being jolted along the stony road. Some of them were talking (he could hear Russian being spoken), others were munching bread, but the worst of the wounded gazed out impassively as the courier’s carriage went trotting by, showing no more concern than the feeblest of sick children.
Prince Andrey told the driver to stop, and asked a soldier what battle they had been in when they were wounded.
‘Day before yesterday on the Danube,’ answered the soldier. Prince Andrey took out his purse and gave the soldier three gold pieces.
‘For all of you,’ he added, addressing an officer who now came up. ‘Let’s see you get better, boys,’ he said to the soldiers. ‘There’s a lot more work to be done.’
‘Any news, sir?’ asked the officer, eager for conversation.
‘Yes, good news! . . . Drive on!’ he called out, and off they went.
It was quite dark when Prince Andrey drove into Brno, and found himself surrounded by tall mansions, well-lit shops, houses with bright windows, street lamps, fine carriages rattling down the streets and the whole atmosphere of a great living town which is so appealing to a soldier back from camp. Prince Andrey had lost a night’s sleep on the hurried journey, but now, as he drove up to the palace, he felt even more alert than he had on the previous evening. His eyes had a feverish glint in them, and all manner of thoughts raced through his mind with remarkable clarity. As he ran over every last detail of the battle, his ideas were not now blurred but sharp and concise, just as he could see himself presenting them to Emperor Francis. He also ran over all the casual questions that might be put to him, and the answers he would provide. He assumed he would be taken straight to the Emperor, but no, at the main entrance to the palace an official ran out to meet him, saw that he was a special messenger and took him round to another entrance.
‘Down the corridor on your right you will find the duty adjutant, your Excellency,’ said the official. ‘He will take you to the minister of war.’
