‘Singers to the front/ the captain called. And from the different ranks about twenty men advanced to the front. The drummer, who was their leader, turned round facing the chorus and waving his arm, struck up a soldier’s song, beginning: ‘The sun was scarcely dawning/ and ending with the words: ‘So, lads, we’ll march to glory with Father Kamensky.’ . . . This song had been composed in Turkey, and now was sung in Austria, the only change being the substitution of the words ‘Father Kutuzov’ for ‘Father Kamensky.’
Jerking out the last words in soldierly fashion and waving his arms, as though he were flinging something on the ground, the drummer, a lean, handsome soldier of forty, looked sternly at the soldier-chorus and frowned. Then, having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed upon him, he gesticulated, as though he were carefully lifting some unseen precious object over his head in both hands, holding it there some seconds, and all at once with a desperate movement flinging it away.
‘Ah, the threshold of my cottage,
My new cottage.’
Here twenty voices caught up the refrain, and the castanet player, in spite of the weight of his weapon and knapsack, bounded nimbly forward, and walked backwards facing the company, shaking his shoulders, and seeming to menace some one with the castanets. The soldiers stepped out in time to the song, swinging their arms and unconsciously falling into step. Behind the company came the sound of wheels, the rumble of springs, and the tramp of horses. Kutuzov and his suite were going back to the town. The commander-in-chief made a sign for the soldiers to go on freely, and he and all his suite looked as though they took pleasure in the sound of the singing, and the spectacle of the dancing soldier and the gaily, smartly marching men. In the second row from the right flank, beside which the carriage passed, they could not help noticing the blueeyed soldier, Dolohov, who marched with a special jauntiness and grace in time to the song, and looked at the faces of the persons driving by with an expression that seemed to pity every one who was not at that moment marching in the ranks. The cornet of hussars, the officer of Kutuzov’s suite, who had mimicked the general, fell back from the carriage and rode up to Dolohov. )
The cornet of hussars, Zherkov, had at one time belonged to the fast set in Petersburg, of which Dolohov had been the leader. Zherkov had met Dolohov abroad as a common soldier, and had not seen fit to recognise him. But now, after Kutuzov’s conversation with the degraded officer, he addressed him with all the cordiality of an old friend.
‘Friend of my heart, how are you?’ he said, through the singing, making his horse keep pace with the marching soldiers.
‘How am I?’ Dolohov answered coldly. ‘As you see.’ The lively song gave a peculiar flavour to the tone of free-and-easy gaiety, with which Zherkov spoke, and the studied coldness of Dolohov’s replies.
‘Well, how do you get on with your officers?’ asked Zherkov.
‘All right; they’re good fellows. How did you manage to poke yourself on to the staff?’
‘I was attached; I’m on duty.’
They were silent.
‘My gay goshawk I took with me, From my right sleeve I set him free,
said the song, arousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness. Their conversation would most likely have been different, if they had not been talking while the song was singing.
‘Is it true, the Austrians- have been beaten?’ asked Dolohov.
‘Devil knows; they say so.’
‘I’m glad,’ Dolohov made a brief, sharp reply, as was required to fit in with the tune.
‘I say, come round to us some evening; we’ll have a game of faro,' said Zherkov.
‘Is money so plentiful among you?’
‘Do come.’
‘I can’t; I’ve sworn not to. I won’t drink or play till I’m promoted.’ ‘Well, but in the first action . . .’
‘Then we shall see.’ Again they paused.
‘You come, if you want anything; one can always be of use on the staff. . . .’
Dolohov grinned. ‘Don’t trouble yourself. What I want, I’m not going to ask for; I take it for myself.’
‘Oh, well, I only . . .’
‘Well, and I only.’
‘Good-bye.’
‘Good-bye.’
‘And far and free To his own country.’
Zherkov put spurs to his horse, which three times picked up its legs excitedly, not knowing which to start from, then galloped off round the company, and overtook the carriage, keeping time too to the song.
Ill
On returning from the review, Kutuzov, accompanied by the Austrian . general, went to his private room, and calling his adjutant, told him to give him certain papers, relating to the condition of the newly arrived troops, and letters, received from Archduke Ferdinand, who was in I command of the army at the front. Prince Andrey Bolkonsky came into the commander-in-chief’s room with the papers he had asked for. Kutuzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath were sitting over a plan | that lay unfolded on the table.
