‘Wait, I haven’t finished,’ he said to Prince Andrey, seizing him by the hand. ‘I can only imagine that intervention will be stronger than non-intervention. And besides . . .’ He paused. ‘Non-receipt of our dispatch of November the 28th doesn’t count as imputing . . . Anyway, that’s how it’s all going to end.’ And he let go of Bolkonsky’s hand to indicate that he had quite finished.
‘Demosthenes, I know you by the pebble in your golden mouth!’10 said Bilibin, his thick thatch of hair rippling with delight.
Everyone laughed, no one louder than Hippolyte. He was almost choking from obvious distress, but he couldn’t hold back from frenzied laughter that sent spasms across his usually impassive features.
‘Now listen, gentlemen,’ said Bilibin, ‘Bolkonsky is my guest even here in Brno and I want to entertain him to the best of my ability with all the pleasures of our life in this town. If we were in Vienna it would all be very easy, but here, in this godforsaken Moravian hole it’s more difficult, and I am asking all of you to help. He must be given the freedom of Brno. You take the theatre, I’ll take society life, and, of course, you, Hippolyte – the women.’
‘We must show him Amélie. She’s gorgeous!’ said one of ‘our people’, kissing his fingertips.
‘To cut a long story short,’ said Bilibin, ‘we must turn this bloodthirsty warrior more towards love of his fellow creatures.’
‘I’m afraid I shan’t be able to accept your hospitality, gentlemen. It’s time for me to go,’ said Bolkonsky, glancing at his watch.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘The Emperor!’
‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’
‘Well,
‘While you’re talking to the Emperor do what you can to praise the procurement and route-mapping,’ said Bilibin, seeing Bolkonsky into the hall.
‘I’d love to do that, but from what I’ve seen I shan’t be able to,’ answered Bolkonsky with a smile.
‘Well, try to do all the talking, anyway. He’s a great holder of audiences, but he doesn’t like talking. In fact, he can’t talk at all. You’ll see for yourself.’
CHAPTER 12
At the reception Prince Andrey took up his appointed place among the Austrian officers. Emperor Francis merely looked at him closely in the face and nodded his elongated head. But after the reception the adjutant of the previous evening obsequiously communicated to Bolkonsky the Emperor’s desire to grant him an audience. Emperor Francis received him standing in the middle of the room. Prince Andrey was surprised to observe that before beginning the conversation, the Emperor seemed embarrassed; he didn’t know what to say, and went red in the face.
‘Tell me when the battle began,’ he blurted out. Prince Andrey answered. The question was followed by others, just as simple: Was Kutuzov well? When did he leave Krems? and so on. The Emperor spoke as though his sole aim was to get through a series of set questions. The answers seemed not to hold the slightest interest for him.
‘At what time of day did the battle begin?’ asked the Emperor.
‘I cannot inform your Majesty at what precise time the battle began at the front, but at Dürrenstein, where I was, the troops began the attack about six in the evening,’ said Bolkonsky, warming to his task and beginning to think he would now have a chance to launch into his carefully prepared description of all he knew and had seen. But the Emperor interrupted him with a smile:
‘How many miles is it?’
‘From where to where, your Majesty?’
‘From Dürrenstein to Krems.’
‘Three and a half miles, your Majesty.’
‘The French abandoned the left bank?’
‘According to intelligence, the last of them crossed on rafts during the night.’
‘Have you enough provisions at Krems?’
‘Well, we were rather short of . . .’
The Emperor interrupted.
‘What time was General Schmidt killed?’
‘Seven o’clock, I believe.’
‘At seven o’clock? Very sad! Very sad!’
The Emperor said he was grateful and bowed. Prince Andrey withdrew and was immediately surrounded on all sides by courtiers. Everywhere he saw warm, friendly eyes looking at him, and heard warm, friendly voices talking to him. Yesterday’s adjutant reproached him for not staying in the palace, and offered him his own house. The minister of war came up and congratulated him on the Order of Maria Theresa (Third Class) which the Emperor wished to award him. The Empress’s chamberlain invited him to call upon her Majesty. The Archduchess, too, wished to see him. He didn’t know which answer should come first, and took a few seconds to gather his senses. The Russian Ambassador took him by the shoulder, led him away to a window and began to talk.
