按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
ians and especially Weierother。 What accuracy； what minuteness； what knowledge of the locality； what foresight of every possibility； every condition； of every minutest detail！ No； my dear boy； anything more propitious than the circumstance we are placed in could not have been found； if one had arranged it purposely。 The union of Austrian exactitude with Russian valour—what could you wish for more？”
“So an attack has been finally decided upon？” said Bolkonsky。
“And do you know； I fancy； Bonaparte really has lost his head。 You know that a letter came from him to…day to the Emperor。” Dolgorukov smiled significantly。
“You don’t say so！ What does he write？” asked Bolkonsky。
“What can he write？ Tradi…ri…di…ra—all simply to gain time。 I tell you he’s in our hands； that’s the fact！ But the most amusing part of it all；” he said； breaking all at once into a good…natured laugh； “is that they couldn’t think how to address an answer to him。 If not ‘consul；’ and of course not ‘emperor；’ it should be ‘general’ Bonaparte； it seemed to me。”
“But between not recognising him as emperor and calling him General Bonaparte； there’s a difference；” said Bolkonsky。
“That’s just the point；” Dolgorukov interrupted quickly； laughing。 “You know Bilibin； he’s a very clever fellow； he suggested addressing it； ‘To the Usurper and Enemy of the Human Race；’ ” Dolgorukov chuckled merrily。
“And nothing more？” observed Bolkonsky。
“But still it was Bilibin who found the suitable form of address in earnest。 He’s both shrewd and witty…”
“How was it？”
“To the Chief of the French Government： au chef du gouvernement fran？ais；” Dolgorukov said seriously and with satisfaction。 “That was the right thing； wasn’t it？”
“It was all right； but he will dislike it extremely；” observed Bolkonsky。
“Oh； extremely！ My brother knows him； he’s dined more than once with him—nowadays the emperor—in Paris； and used to tell me that he’d never seen a subtler and more crafty diplomat； you know； a combination of French adroitness and the Italian actor…faculty！ You know the anecdote about Bonaparte and Count Markov？ Count Markov was the only person who knew how to treat him。 You know the story of the handkerchief？ It’s a gem！” And the talkative Dolgorukov turning from Boris to Prince Andrey told the story of how Bonaparte； to test Markov； our ambassador； had purposely dropped his handkerchief before him； and had stood looking at him； probably expecting Markov to pick it up for him； and how Markov promptly dropped his own beside it； and had picked up his own without touching Bonaparte’s。
“Capital；” said Bolkonsky。 “But； prince； I have come to you as a petitioner in behalf of this young friend。 You see …” But before Prince Andrey could finish； an adjutant came into the room to summon Prince Dolgorukov to the Emperor。
“Ah； how annoying！” said Dolgorukov； getting up hurriedly and shaking hands with Prince Andrey and Boris。 “You know I shall be very glad to do all that depends on me both for you and for this charming young man。” Once more he shook hands with Boris with an expression of good…natured； genuine； heedless gaiety。 “But you see … another time！”
Boris was excited by the thought of being so close to the higher powers； as he felt himself to be at that instant。 He was conscious here of being in contact with the springs that controlled all those vast movements of the masses； of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny； humble； and insignificant part。 They followed Prince Dolgorukov out into the corridor and met （coming out of the door of the Tsar’s room at which Dolgorukov went in） a short man in civilian dress with a shrewd face and a sharply projecting lower jaw； which； without spoiling his face； gave him a peculiar alertness and shiftiness of expression。 This short man nodded to Dolgorukov； as if he were an intimate friend； and stared with an intently cold gaze at Prince Andrey； walking straight towards him and apparently expecting him to bow or move out of his way。 Prince Andrey did neither； there was a vindictive look on his face； and the short young man turned away and walked at the side of the corridor。
“Who’s that？” asked Boris。
“That’s one of the most remarkable men—and the most unpleasant to me。 The minister of foreign affairs； Prince Adam Tchartorizhsky。”
“Those are the men；” added Bolkonsky with a sigh which he could not suppress； as they went out of the palace； “those are the men who decide the fates of nations。”
Next day the troops set off on the march； and up to the time of the battle of Austerlitz； Boris did not succeed in seeing Bolkonsky or Dolgorukov again； and remained for a while in the Ismailov regiment。
Chapter 10
AT DAWN on the 16th； Denisov’s squadron； in which Nikolay Rostov was serving； and which formed part of Prince Bagration’s detachment； moved on from its halting place for the night—to advance into action； as was said。 After about a mile’s march； in the rear of other columns； it was brought to a standstill on the high…road。 Rostov saw the Cossacks； the first and second squadrons of hussars； and the infantry battalions with the artillery pass him and march on ahead； he also saw the Generals Bagration and Dolgorukov ride by with their adjutants。 All the panic he had felt； as before； at the prospect of battle； all the inner conflict by means of which he had overcome that panic； all his dreams of distinguishing himself in true hussar style in this battle—all were for nothing。 His squadron was held back in reserve； and Nikolay Rostov spent a tedious and wretched day。 About nine o’clock in the morning he heard firing ahead of him； and shouts of hurrah； saw the wounded being brought back （there were not many of them）； and finally saw a whole detachment of French cavalry being brought away in the midst of a company of Cossacks。 Obviously the action was over； and the action had； obviously； been a small one； but successful。 The soldiers and officers as they came back were talking of a brilliant victory； of the taking of the town of Vishau； and a whole French squadron taken prisoners。 The day was bright and sunny after a sharp frost at night； and the cheerful brightness of the autumn day was in keeping with the news of victory； which was told not only by the accounts of those who had taken part in it； but by the joyful expression of soldiers； officers； generals； and adjutants； who rode to and fro by Rostov。 All the greater was the pang in Nikolay’s heart that he should have suffered the dread that goes before the battle for nothing； and have spent that happy day in inactivity。
“Rostov； come here； let’s drink ‘begone； dull care！’ ” shouted Denisov； sitting at the roadside before a bottle and some edibles。 The officers gathered in a ring； eating and talking； round Denisov’s wine…case。
“Here they’re bringing another！” said one of the officers； pointing to a French prisoner； a dragoon； who was being led on foot by two Cossacks。 One of them was leading by the bridle the prisoner’s horse； a tall and beautiful French beast。
“Sell the horse？” Denisov called to the Cossacks。
“If you will； your honour。”
The officers got up and stood round the Cossacks an