War and Peace Leo Tolstoy (best e books to read .TXT) 📖

this will be a lesson to you. Do your duty. The Emperor is gracious, and I shan’t forget you if you deserve well.”

The clear blue eyes looked at the commander in chief just as boldly as they had looked at the regimental commander, seeming by their expression to tear open the veil of convention that separates a commander in chief so widely from a private.

“One thing I ask of your excellency,” Dólokhov said in his firm, ringing, deliberate voice. “I ask an opportunity to atone for my fault and prove my devotion to His Majesty the Emperor and to Russia!”

Kutúzov turned away. The same smile of the eyes with which he had turned from Captain Timókhin again flitted over his face. He turned away with a grimace as if to say that everything Dólokhov had said to him and everything he could say had long been known to him, that he was weary of it and it was not at all what he wanted. He turned away and went to the carriage.

The regiment broke up into companies, which went to their appointed quarters near Braunau, where they hoped to receive boots and clothes and to rest after their hard marches.

“You won’t bear me a grudge, Prokhór Ignátych?” said the regimental commander, overtaking the third company on its way to its quarters and riding up to Captain Timókhin who was walking in front. (The regimental commander’s face now that the inspection was happily over beamed with irrepressible delight.) “It’s in the Emperor’s service⁠ ⁠… it can’t be helped⁠ ⁠… one is sometimes a bit hasty on parade⁠ ⁠… I am the first to apologize, you know me!⁠ ⁠… He was very pleased!” And he held out his hand to the captain.

“Don’t mention it, General, as if I’d be so bold!” replied the captain, his nose growing redder as he gave a smile which showed where two front teeth were missing that had been knocked out by the butt end of a gun at Ismail.

“And tell Mr. Dólokhov that I won’t forget him⁠—he may be quite easy. And tell me, please⁠—I’ve been meaning to ask⁠—how is he behaving himself, and in general⁠ ⁠…”

“As far as the service goes he is quite punctilious, your excellency; but his character⁠ ⁠…” said Timókhin.

“And what about his character?” asked the regimental commander.

“It’s different on different days,” answered the captain. “One day he is sensible, well educated, and good-natured, and the next he’s a wild beast.⁠ ⁠… In Poland, if you please, he nearly killed a Jew.”

“Oh, well, well!” remarked the regimental commander. “Still, one must have pity on a young man in misfortune. You know he has important connections⁠ ⁠… Well, then, you just⁠ ⁠…”

“I will, your excellency,” said Timókhin, showing by his smile that he understood his commander’s wish.

“Well, of course, of course!”

The regimental commander sought out Dólokhov in the ranks and, reining in his horse, said to him:

“After the next affair⁠ ⁠… epaulettes.”

Dólokhov looked round but did not say anything, nor did the mocking smile on his lips change.

“Well, that’s all right,” continued the regimental commander. “A cup of vodka for the men from me,” he added so that the soldiers could hear. “I thank you all! God be praised!” and he rode past that company and overtook the next one.

“Well, he’s really a good fellow, one can serve under him,” said Timókhin to the subaltern beside him.

“In a word, a hearty one⁠ ⁠…” said the subaltern, laughing (the regimental commander was nicknamed King of Hearts).

The cheerful mood of their officers after the inspection infected the soldiers. The company marched on gaily. The soldiers’ voices could be heard on every side.

“And they said Kutúzov was blind of one eye?”

“And so he is! Quite blind!”

“No, friend, he is sharper-eyed than you are. Boots and leg bands⁠ ⁠… he noticed everything⁠ ⁠…”

“When he looked at my feet, friend⁠ ⁠… well, thinks I⁠ ⁠…”

“And that other one with him, the Austrian, looked as if he were smeared with chalk⁠—as white as flour! I suppose they polish him up as they do the guns.”

“I say, Fédeshon!⁠ ⁠… Did he say when the battles are to begin? You were near him. Everybody said that Bonaparte himself was at Braunau.”

“Bonaparte himself!⁠ ⁠… Just listen to the fool, what he doesn’t know! The Prussians are up in arms now. The Austrians, you see, are putting them down. When they’ve been put down, the war with Bonaparte will begin. And he says Bonaparte is in Braunau! Shows you’re a fool. You’d better listen more carefully!”

“What devils these quartermasters are! See, the fifth company is turning into the village already⁠ ⁠… they will have their buckwheat cooked before we reach our quarters.”

“Give me a biscuit, you devil!”

“And did you give me tobacco yesterday? That’s just it, friend! Ah, well, never mind, here you are.”

“They might call a halt here or we’ll have to do another four miles without eating.”

“Wasn’t it fine when those Germans gave us lifts! You just sit still and are drawn along.”

“And here, friend, the people are quite beggarly. There they all seemed to be Poles⁠—all under the Russian crown⁠—but here they’re all regular Germans.”

“Singers to the front” came the captain’s order.

And from the different ranks some twenty men ran to the front. A drummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, and flourishing his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers’ song, commencing with the words: “Morning dawned, the sun was rising,” and concluding: “On then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father Kámenski.” This song had been composed in the Turkish campaign and now being sung in Austria, the only change being that the words “Father Kámenski” were replaced by “Father Kutúzov.”

Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do and waved his arms as if flinging something to the ground, the drummer⁠—a lean, handsome soldier of forty⁠—looked sternly at the singers and screwed up his eyes. Then having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed on him, he raised both arms as if carefully lifting some invisible but precious object above his head and, holding it there for some seconds, suddenly flung it down and began:

“Oh, my