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By Root 3342 0

that Kutuzov despised both knowledge and intelligence, and knew something else that was to decide matters—something that did not depend on intelligence and knowledge. Prince Andrei followed attentively the expression of the commander in chief’s face, and the only expression he was able to notice on it was one of boredom, of curiosity about the meaning of the woman’s whispering behind the door, and of the wish to observe propriety. It was obvious that Kutuzov despised the intelligence, the knowledge, and even the patriotic feeling shown by Denisov, but he despised them not with his intelligence, or feeling, or knowledge (for he did not even try to show any), he despised them with something else. He despised them with his old age, with his experience of life. The one order Kutuzov added personally to this report was concerned with looting by Russian troops. At the end of his report, the general on duty presented his serenity with a paper to be signed concerning remuneration by the army commanders, at a landowner’s request, for green oats that had been mowed down.

Kutuzov smacked his lips and shook his head, having listened to the matter.

“Into the stove…into the fire! And I tell you once and for all, my dear boy,” he said, “into the fire with all these things. Let them cut grain and burn wood as much as they like. I don’t order it or allow it, but neither can I punish them for it. It’s impossible otherwise. When you chop wood, the chips fly.” He glanced at the paper once more. “Oh, German scrupulosity!” he said, shaking his head.

XVI

“Well, that’s all now!” said Kutuzov, signing the last paper and, getting up heavily and smoothing the folds of his plump, white neck, he headed for the door with a more cheerful face.

The priest’s wife, the blood rushing to her face, seized the platter, which, though she had had it so long prepared, she still did not manage to present in time. With a low bow, she offered it to Kutuzov.

Kutuzov’s eyes narrowed; he smiled, took her by the chin, and said:

“And such a beauty! Thank you, my dear girl!”

He took a few gold coins from the pocket of his wide trousers and put them on the platter for her.

“Well, how’s your life?” said Kutuzov, heading for the room that had been assigned to him. The priest’s wife, with dimples on her red-cheeked, smiling face, followed him into the room. The adjutant came out to the porch and invited Prince Andrei to lunch; half an hour later, Prince Andrei was again summoned to Kutuzov. Kutuzov was lying in an armchair, in the same unbuttoned coat. He was holding a French book in his hand, and when Prince Andrei came in, he closed it, using the paper knife as a bookmark. It was Les chevaliers du Cygne, by Mme de Genlis,17 as Prince Andrei saw by the cover.

“Well, sit down, sit down here, let’s talk,” said Kutuzov. “It’s sad, very sad. But remember, my dear friend, that I’m like a father to you, a second father…” Prince Andrei told Kutuzov all he knew about his father’s passing away, and about what he had seen at Bald Hills as he passed through.

“See…see what they’ve brought us to!” Kutuzov suddenly said with deep feeling, obviously picturing clearly to himself, from Prince Andrei’s account, the situation Russia was in. “Just wait, just wait,” he added with a spiteful expression on his face and, obviously not wishing to continue this disturbing conversation, he said: “I sent for you so as to keep you with me.”

“I thank Your Serenity,” replied Prince Andrei, “but I’m afraid I’m no longer fit for the staff,” he said with a smile, which Kutuzov noticed. Kutuzov looked at him questioningly. “And above all,” Prince Andrei added, “I’m used to the regiment, I’ve come to love the officers, and the men seem to love me. I’d be sorry to leave the regiment. If I refuse the honor of being attached to you, believe me…”

An intelligent, kind, and at the same time subtly mocking expression lit up on Kutuzov’s plump face. He interrupted Bolkonsky:

“I’m sorry, I would have had need of you; but you’re right, you’re right. It’s not here that we need men. Advisers are always plentiful,