and salt, the emblems of welcome, on his entrance. Her husband had met his highness with the cross in church, and she intended to welcome him to the house. . . . ‘She’s very pretty,’ added the adjutant with a smile. Kutuzov looked round at the words. He heard the general's report, the subject of which was chiefly a criticism of the position of the troops before Tsarevo-Zaimishtche, just as he had heard Denisov, and just as, seven years before, he had heard the discussions of the military council before Austerlitz. He was obviously hearing it simply because he had ears, and although one of them was stuffed up with cotton-wool they could not help hearing. But it w T as obvious that nothing that general could possibly say could surprise or interest him, that he knew beforehand all he would be told, and listened only because he had to listen to it, just as one has to listen to the litany being sung. All Denisov had said was practical and sensible. What the general was saying was even more practical and sensible, but apparently Kutuzov despised both knowledge and intellect, and knew of something else that would settle things—something different, quite apart from intellect and knowledge. Prince Andrey watched the commander-in-chief’s face attentively, and the only expression he could detect in it was an expression of boredom, of curiosity to know the meaning of the feminine whispering at the door, and of a desire to observe the proprieties. It was obvious that Kutuzov despised intellect and learning, and even the patriotic feeling Denisov had shown; but he did not despise them through intellect, nor through sentiment, nor through learning (for he made no effort to display anything of the kind), he despised them through something else—through his old age, through his experience Df life. The only instruction of his own that Kutuzov inserted in the report related to acts of marauding by Russian troops. The general, at the end of the report, presented his highness a document for signature relating to a petition for damages from a landowner for the cutting of dis oats by certain officers.
Kutuzov smacked his lips together and shook his head, as he listened :o the matter.
‘Into the stove . . . into the fire with it! And I tell you once for all, ny dear fellow,’ he said, ‘all such things put into the fire. Let them cut :he corn and burn the wood to their heart’s content. It’s not by my rrders and it's not with my permission, but I can't pursue the matter. It ;:an’t be helped. You can’t hew down trees without the chips flying.’ He 'lanced once more at the paper. ‘Oh, this German preciseness,’ he com- nented, shaking his head.
XVI
Well, now, that’s all,’ said Kutuzov, as he signed the last paper, and ising clumsily, and straightening his fat, white neck, he went to the door vith a more cheerful countenance.
The priest’s wife, with the colour rushing to her face, snatched up
702 WAR AND PEACE
the dish, and though she '.tad been so long preparing, she did not succeed in presenting it at the right moment. With a low bow she offered it to Kutuzov. Kutuzov screwed up his eyes. He smiled, chucked her under the chin, and said:
‘And what a pretty face! Thank you, my dear!’
Tie.took some gold coins out of his trouser pocket, and put them on the dish. ‘Well, and how are we getting on?’ he said, going towards the room that had been assigned him. The priest’s wife, with smiling dimples on her rosy face, followed to show him the room. The adjutant came out to Prince Andrey in the porch, and invited him to lunch. Half an hour later Kutuzov sent for Prince Andrey. He was reclining in a low chair, still in the same unbuttoned military coat. He had a French novel in his hand, and at Prince Audrey’s entrance laid a paper-knife in it and put it aside. It was Les Chevaliers du Cygne, a work by Madame de Genlis, as Prince Andrey saw by the cover.
‘Well, sit down; sit down here. Let us have a little talk,’ said Kutuzov. ‘It’s sad; very sad. But remember, my dear, think of me as a father, another father, to you . . . !’
Prince Andrey told Kutuzov all he knew about his father’s end, and what he had seen at Bleak Hills.
‘To think what we have been brought to!’ Kutuzov cried suddenly, in a voice full of feeling, Prince Andrey’s story evidently bringing vividly before him the position of Russia.
‘Wait a bit; wait a bit!’ he added, with a vindictive look in his face, and apparently unwilling to continue a conversation that stirred him too deeply, he said:
‘I sent for you to keep you with me.’
‘I thank your highness!’ answered Prince Andrey, ‘but I am afraid I am no more good for staff work,’ he said, with a smile, which Kutuzov noticed. He looked at him inquiringly. ‘And the great thing is,’ added Prince Andrey, ‘I am used to my regiment. I like the officers; and I think the men have come to like me. I should be sorry to leave the regiment. If I decline the honour of being in attendance on you, believe me . . .’
