War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [89]
“That’s the way, Count!” the staff captain cried, turning and slapping him on the shoulder with his big hand.
“It’s true what I told you,” shouted Denisov, “he’s a good lad!”
“That’s better, Count!” the staff captain repeated, as if beginning to call him by his title on account of his acknowledgment. “Go and apologize, Your Excellency, yes, sir.”
“Gentlemen, I’ll do anything, nobody will hear a word from me,” Rostov said in a pleading voice, “but apologize I cannot, by God, I cannot, do what you will! How am I going to apologize, like a little boy asking forgiveness?”
Denisov laughed.
“So much the worse for you. Bogdanych is rancorous, you’ll pay for your stubbornness,” said Kirsten.
“By God, it’s not stubbornness! I can’t describe the feeling to you, I can’t…”
“Well, as you will,” said the staff captain. “So, what’s become of the blackguard now?” he asked Denisov.
“He’s reported himself sick, as of tomorrow he’s been ordered struck off,” said Denisov.
“It’s a sickness, there’s no other explanation,” said the staff captain.
“Sickness or no sickness, he’d better not show his face to me—I’ll kill him!” Denisov shouted out bloodthirstily.
Zherkov came into the room.
“What brings you here?” the officers suddenly addressed the newcomer.
“On the march, gentlemen. Mack has surrendered and his whole army with him.”
“No!”
“I saw him myself.”
“What? Saw Mack alive? with all his arms and legs?”
“On the march! On the march! Give him a bottle for such news. How did you wind up here?”
“I’ve been sent back to the regiment again on account of this devil, this Mack. An Austrian general made a complaint. I congratulated him on Mack’s arrival…What’s with you, Rostov, come straight from the bathhouse?”
“We’ve had a mess brewing here, brother, for two days now.”
A regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by Zherkov. The orders were to set out the next day.
“On the march, gentlemen!”
“Well, thank God, we’ve sat enough.”
VI
Kutuzov fell back towards Vienna, destroying behind him the bridges over the rivers Inn (in Braunau) and Traun (in Linz). On the twenty-third of October, the Russian troops were crossing the river Enns. At midday Russian transport, artillery, and troop columns were strung out through the town of Enns, on both sides of the bridge.
The day was warm, autumnal, and rainy. The vast prospect that opened out from the height where the Russian batteries stood, defending the bridge, was now suddenly covered by a muslin curtain of slanting rain, then suddenly widened out, and in the sunlight objects became visible and clear in the distance, as if freshly varnished. At one’s feet one could see the little town with its white houses and red roofs, the cathedral, and the bridge, on both sides of which streamed crowding masses of Russian troops. At the bend of the Danube one could see boats and an island, and a castle with a park, surrounded by the waters of the Enns falling into the Danube; one could see the left bank of the Danube, rocky and covered with pine forest, with a mysterious distance of green treetops and bluish gorges. One could see the towers of a convent looming up from the pine forest with its wild and untouched look, and far away on a hilltop, on the other side of the Enns, one could see the mounted patrols of the enemy.
Amidst the cannons on the height, the general in charge of the rear guard stood out in front with an officer of the suite, examining the area through a spyglass. Slightly behind him on the trail of a cannon sat Nesvitsky, sent to the rear guard by the commander in chief. The Cossack who accompanied Nesvitsky handed him a bag and a flask, and Nesvitsky treated the officers to savory little pies and real Doppelkümmel. The officers joyfully surrounded him, some kneeling, some sitting Turkish fashion on the wet grass.
“Yes, the Austrian prince who built a castle here was no fool. A fine place. Why aren’t you eating,