nder his father in recruitment. Since the campaign of 1805 the old prince and his son had virtually exchanged roles. The old prince, spurred on by his new activity, was optimistic about the present campaign, whereas Prince Andrey, who was out of the war and secretly regretting it, looked on the black side.
On the 26th of February 1807 the old prince set off on a tour of the area. Prince Andrey was staying at Bald Hills, as he usually did when his father was away. Little Nikolay had been ill for the last three days. The coachman who had been driving the old prince returned with some papers and letters picked up in the town for Prince Andrey. The valet couldn't find the young prince in his study to give him the letters, so he went over to Princess Marya's apartment, but he wasn't there either. They told him the prince had gone to the nursery. 'If you please, your Excellency, Petrusha has brought some papers for you,' said one of the nursery-maids to Prince Andrey, who was busy, sitting on a child's little chair and squinting closely as he poured some drops from a medicine bottle into half a wine-glass of water with trembling hands.
'What is it?' he said angrily, and his hand shook so much that he accidentally poured too many drops from the bottle into the glass. He tipped the medicine out on to the floor and asked for more water. The maid gave him some.
The furniture consisted of a couple of armchairs, a baby's cot, two chests, two tables, one for a small child, and the tiny chair that Prince Andrey was sitting on. The curtains were drawn, and a single candle was burning on the table, screened by a bound musical score which shielded the cot from the light.
'My dear,' said Princess Marya, turning to her brother from the side of the cot, 'let's wait a bit . . . do it later on.'
'Oh, please. You do say some stupid things. You keep waiting for something to happen, and now look!' said Prince Andrey in an exasperated whisper, with every intention of hurting her.
'We'd better not wake him, my dear . . . he's gone to sleep,' the princess pleaded.
Prince Andrey got to his feet and tiptoed over to the cot, carrying the glass.
'Is that what you think? We ought not to wake him up?' he said, hesitating.
'Well, you know best . . . I, er . . . whatever you think,' said Princess Marya, all bashful and embarrassed that her opinion should prevail. She pointed to the maid, who was beckoning to him and whispering something.
This was their second sleepless night together watching over the feverish baby. Having no faith in the local doctor they had sent for another one in town, and as they waited for him they spent the long hours trying one remedy after another. Worried sick and weary from lack of sleep, they were taking out their anxiety on each other, finding fault and quarrelling.
'Petrusha has brought some papers from your papa,' whispered the maid. Prince Andrey went out.
'Damned papers!' he growled, but he listened to some verbal instructions from his father, received one or two envelopes and his father's letter, and then went straight back to the nursery.
'Any change?' he asked.
'No. Be patient, for heaven's sake. Karl Ivanych always says sleep is the best thing,' Princess Marya whispered with a sigh. Prince Andrey went over to the baby and felt him. He was burning hot. 'Damn you and your Karl Ivanych!' He took the wine-glass with the medicine drops in it and went back to the cot.
'Andrey, please don't!' said Princess Marya. But he scowled and glared with a mixture of anger and anguish, and bent over the baby with the glass.
'This is what I want,' he said. 'Come on, please, give him some.'
Princess Marya shrugged, but obediently took hold of the glass, beckoned the nurse over and started to give the baby his medicine. He wailed and wheezed. Prince Andrey winced, clutched at his head and went out of the room to sit down on a sofa in the next one.
He was still holding the letters. He opened them automatically and began to read. The old prince wrote as follows on blue paper in his large, looping hand, with the odd abbreviation here and there: Have this moment received by special messenger most joyful news. If can be trusted, Bennigsen gained evidently complete victory over Bonaparte near Preussisch-Eylau. In Petersburg all jubilant and rewards galore sent to army. He's German, but must congratulate him. Commander in Korchevo, man called Khandrikov, can't make out what he's doing; reinforcements and stores not yet provided. Get over there at once and tell him I'll have his head off if it's not all here within the week. Have also had letter from Petya about Preussisch-Eylau battle in which he took part - it's all true. If people don't stick their nose in where it's not wanted, even a German has the beating of Napoleone Buonaparte. He's off, so they say, tail between legs. Get yourself over to Korchevo and carry out instructions - now!
Prince Andrey sighed and broke open the seal on the next letter. It was from Bilibin, two closely written pages. He folded it up without reading it, and reread his father's letter with the final injunction, 'Get yourself over to Korchevo and carry out instructions - now!'
'Oh no, I'm sorry, I'm not going anywhere until the baby's better,' he thought as he went over to the door and glanced into the nursery. Princess Marya was still standing by the cot, gently rocking the baby. 'Yes, what was that other nasty thing he said?' wondered Prince Andrey, harking back to his father's letter. 'Oh yes. Our troops have won a victory over Bonaparte, and I wasn't there. Yes, yes, he likes his little joke at my expense . . . Oh well, let him . . .', and he began to read Bilibin's letter, which was written in French. He read it through without taking half of it in, just to distract himself for a while from dwelling on certain obsessive and tormenting thoughts that had too long lingered in his mind.
CHAPTER 9
Bilibin was now on the diplomatic staff at military headquarters, and though he wrote in French, using little French witticisms and French turns of speech, he described the whole campaign with peculiarly Russian objectivity, which means not without self-criticism and self-mockery. Bilibin wrote that the need for tact and diplomacy was a torment to him, and he was happy to have in Prince Andrey a reliable correspondent to whom he could vent all the spleen that had been building up in him at the sight of what was going on in the army. It was an old letter, written in French and dating back to before the battle of Preussisch-Eylau.
Since our great successes at Austerlitz, my dear prince [wrote Bilibin], as you know, I have not left headquarters. I have acquired a real taste for warfare and I am much taken with it. What I have seen in these three months beggars belief.
I begin ab ovo. 'The enemy of the human race', as you know, is attacking the Prussians. The Prussians are our faithful allies, who have let us down no more than three times in three years. We take up the cause on their behalf. But as it turns out, the 'enemy of the human race' ignores our fine speeches, and with his usual rudeness and savagery he hurls himself at the Prussians without giving them time to finish the parade that they have just started, and hey presto! he gives them a good thrashing and moves into the palace at Potsdam.
'It is my most earnest wish,' writes the King of Prussia to Bonaparte, 'that your Majesty be received and treated in my palace in a manner congenial to you, and I have lost no time in taking every measure to that end which circumstances have permitted. If only I may be said to have succeeded!' The Prussian generals pride themselves on being polite to the French, and surrender at the first call.
The garrison commander at Glogau, in charge of ten thousand men, asks the King of Prussia what to do if he is called on to surrender . . . This we know for a fact.
In short, hoping to impress by nothing more than a little military posturing, we find ourselves at war in all seriousness, on our own frontiers to boot, with and for the King of Prussia. We have everything in abundance except for one little thing - a commander-in-chief. Since it turns out that the successes at Austerlitz might have been more decisive if the commander-in-chief had not been so young, the octogenarians have been put on parade and the choice between Prozorovsky and Kamensky goes in favour of the latter. This general turns up in a covered wagon a la Suvorov and is greeted with acclamations of joy and triumph.
4th inst. First post from Petersburg. The mails are taken to the field-marshal's room - he likes to do everything himself. I am summoned to help sort the letters and take any intended for us. The marshal watches us at work and waits for any packets addressed to him. We search - there aren't any. The marshal loses patience, gets down to business himself and discovers some letters from the Emperor to Count So-and-so, Prince What's-his-name, and others. Then he flies into one of his rages. Thunder-bolts in every direction. He grabs hold of the letters, opens them and reads those from the Emperor to other people.
'So that's how they treat me! No confidence in me! Oh yes, ordered to keep an eye on me! All right then - get out, the lot of you!'
That's when he writes his famous order of the day to General Bennigsen:
'I am wounded, cannot ride, and cannot therefore command the army. You have brought your defeated corps d'armee to Pultusk. Here it stands exposed, no fuel, no provisions, in need of support, so, as reported by you to Count Buxhowden9 yesterday, you must consider withdrawing to our frontier, and this must be done today.'
To the emperor he writes:
'Too many journeys on horseback have made me saddle-sore, which now - on top of all my other dressings - quite prevents me from riding and commanding an army on such a wide front, and I have therefore transferred the said command to the general next in seniority to me, Count Buxhowden, having despatched to him all my staff and appurtenances of the same, advising him, if bread runs out, to withdraw even further into Prussia, seeing that there is only one day's bread left and some regiments have none at all, as reported by regimental commanders Ostermann and Sedmoretsky, and any taken from the peasantry has been consumed, whilst I shall myself remain in hospital at Ostrolenka until I recover. In respect of which I most humbly beg further to report that if the army remains another fifteen days encamped as at present, by springtime not a man will be left in good health.
'I beg to be discharged from duty and allowed to retire to the country as an old man sufficiently shamed by his incapacity to fulfil the great and glorious destiny to which he was elected. I shall await here in the hospital your most gracious permission for the above, that I may not be reduced from the role of commander to that of army clerk. My retirement from the army will not involve the slightest danger to security - no more than a blind man leaving the army. In Russia there are thousands more like me.'
The marshal is angry with the Emperor and punishes all of us. Nice logic, isn't it?
End of Act One. As you would expect, interest and amusement continue to increase in those that follow. After the departure of the field-marshal it turns out that we are within sight of the enemy and must fight. Buxhowden is commanding officer by seniority, but General Bennigsen thinks differently, especially since he and his corps are the ones facing the enemy, and he wants a chance to fight a battle 'on his own hand', as the Germans put it. He does fight. It is the battle of Pultusk, which is seen as a great victory but in my view is nothing of the sort. We civilians, as you know, have a very crude way of deciding whether a battle has been won or lost. The side that does the retreating after the battle has lost, according to us, and by that token we lost the battle of Pultusk. To cut a long story short, we retreat after the battle, but we send a courier off to Petersburg with news of a victory, and the general does not transfer command to Buxhowden because he is hoping to receive from Petersburg the title of commander-in-chief in acknowledgement of his triumph. During the interregnum we embark on manoeuvres of an extremely fascinating and original kind. Our aim is not what it should be - avoiding the enemy or attacking him - but avoiding General Buxhowden, who by seniority ought to be our commanding officer. We pursue this goal with such vigour that even when we cross a river that cannot be forded we burn the bridges down in order to separate ourselves from the enemy, who for the time being is not Bonaparte but Buxhowden. General Buxhowden just missed being attacked and captured by superior enemy forces as a result of one of our splendid manoeuvres which saved us from him. Buxhowden comes after us - we scuttle. The moment he crosses to our side of the river we cross back again. At last the enemy, Buxhowden, catches up with us and attacks. The two generals have a row. There is even a challenge from Buxhowden and an epileptic fit from Bennigsen. But at the critical moment the courier who took the news of our Pultusk victory to Petersburg brings back news of our man's appointment as commander-in-chief, and with enemy number one, Buxhowden, disposed of, we are able to turn our attention to enemy number two, Bonaparte. But lo and behold! - at this juncture up rises enemy number three, the soldiers of Russian Orthodoxy, clamouring for bread, meat, biscuits, hay and I don't know what else! Nothing in the shops, roads impassable. Russian Orthodoxy goes on a looting spree the like of which you couldn't get a glimmering of from the last campaign. Half the regiments have turned themselves into gangs of free men rampaging through the countryside with fire and sword. Local inhabitants completely ruined, hospitals overflowing with sick people, famine everywhere. On two occasions headquarters have been attacked by marauding gangs and the commander-in-chief has had to put in a personal request for a battalion to drive them off. In one of these attacks my empty trunk and dressing-gown were stolen. The Emperor wants to authorize divisional commanders to shoot marauders, but I very much fear this will oblige one half of the army to shoot the other.
Prince Andrey began by skimming the letter, but unconsciously he became more and more absorbed in its contents (though he knew how far Bilibin could be believed). At this point he screwed up the letter and threw it away. It wasn't so much the contents of the letter that annoyed him; he was annoyed by the simple fact that that far-away life, now so alien to him, could bother him at all. He closed his eyes and wiped his forehead with one hand, as if to rid himself of any involvement in what he had been reading, and then listened again to what was going on in the nursery. Suddenly he thought he heard a strange sound coming through the door. He panicked, afraid that something might have gone wrong with the baby while he'd been reading the letter. He tiptoed back to the nursery door and opened it.
As he was going in he saw the nurse hiding something from him with a scared face. Princess Marya was no longer there beside the cot.
'My dear.' He heard Princess Marya's voice behind him whispering in what he took to be despair. As often happens after prolonged sleeplessness and great worry, he had panicked for no good reason and jumped to the conclusion that the baby was dead. Everything he saw and heard seemed to confirm his worst fears.
'It's all over,' he thought, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He walked over to the cot in great distress, knowing he would find it empty - the nurse had been hiding the dead baby. He pulled the curtains aside, and for quite some time his worried eyes darted about without finding the baby. Then he saw him. The red-cheeked child was lying crosswise with his head lower than the pillow, smacking his lips in his sleep and breathing evenly.
Prince Andrey was overjoyed to see the child, having thought he had lost him. He bent down and touched the baby with his lips to check whether he was feverish, as his sister had shown him. The soft forehead was damp. He touched the head with his hand - even the hair was wet. The child was soaked with sweat. But he wasn't dead; no, the crisis was clearly over and he was getting better. Prince Andrey wanted to grab him, crush him, press the little helpless creature to his heart, but he didn't dare. He stood over him, gazing down at his head and his little arms and legs sticking up under the blanket. He heard a rustling sound at his elbow, and a shadow seemed to spread across under the canopy of the cot. He did not look round. He was still gazing at the baby's face and listening to his regular breathing. The dark shadow was Princess Marya, who had come over to the cot without making a sound, lifted the curtain and let it fall again behind her. Prince Andrey knew who it was without looking round and he held out his hand to her. She gave it a squeeze.
'He's covered in sweat,' said Prince Andrey.
'I was on my way to tell you.'
The baby stirred slightly in its sleep, gave a smile and rubbed its forehead against the pillow.
Prince Andrey looked at his sister. In the hazy half-light under the cot-hangings Princess Marya's luminous eyes shone brighter than ever with tears of happiness. She bent forward and kissed her brother, catching herself in the hangings. They shushed, wagging their fingers at each other, and lingered there in the half-light under the canopy, as if reluctant to leave the seclusion with the three of them, all alone, cut off from the rest of the world. Prince Andrey was the first to move away, catching his hair in the muslin hangings.
'Yes, it's all I have left,' he said with a sigh.
CHAPTER 10
Shortly after his initiation into the Masonic Brotherhood, Pierre set off for the Kiev province where most of his peasants lived, having written down for his own guidance a complete plan of action for the reform of his estates.
Once in Kiev, Pierre summoned all his stewards to a meeting in his main office, where he outlined his wishes and intentions. He told them that measures would soon be put in hand for the complete liberation of his peasants from serf rule,10 and meanwhile his peasants were not to be overworked, women with children were not to be sent out to work, assistance was to be given to the peasants, corporal punishment was to be replaced by admonishment, and every estate must be furnished with hospitals, alms-houses and schools. Several of the stewards (including some overseers who were barely literate) listened in dismay, assuming the young count's remarks to imply that he was dissatisfied with the way they were running things and embezzling his money. Others soon got over the first shock of alarm and couldn't help laughing at Pierre's lisping speech and the new-fangled words that he used. There were also some who were happy just to be hearing the sound of their master's voice. But one or two of them, including the head steward, listened to what he was saying and quickly worked out how to deal with the master and get what the