War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [99]
At one of the posting stations he overtook a convoy carrying Russian wounded. The Russian officer who was leading the transport, sprawled in the front cart, shouted something, abusing a soldier in rude terms. Six or more pale, bandaged, and dirty wounded went jolting down the rocky road in each of the long German Vorspanns. Some of them were talking (he heard Russian speech), others were eating bread, the most seriously wounded gazed at the courier galloping past them silently, with a meek and sickly childish interest.
Prince Andrei ordered the driver to stop and asked the soldiers what action they had been wounded in.
“Two days ago on the Danube,” a soldier replied. Prince Andrei took out a purse and gave the soldier three gold pieces.
“For all of you,” he added, addressing the approaching officer. “Get well, lads,” he said to the soldiers, “there’s still a lot to be done.”
“Well, Mister Adjutant, what news?” asked the officer, obviously wishing to strike up a conversation.
“Good news!…Drive on,” he cried to the coachman and galloped on his way.
It was already quite dark when Prince Andrei drove into Brünn and saw himself surrounded by tall buildings, lighted shops, windows, street lamps, fine carriages noisily driving over the pavement, and all the atmosphere of a big, lively town, which is always so attractive for a military man after camp life. Prince Andrei, despite the quick driving and the sleepless night, felt himself still more animated than the day before as he pulled up to the palace. Only his eyes shone with a feverish gleam and his thoughts followed one another with extraordinary speed and clarity. He vividly pictured again all the details of the battle, not vaguely now, but in the well-defined, concise account which, in his imagination, he was giving to the emperor Franz. He vividly pictured the casual questions that might be put to him and the answers he would give to them. He supposed that he would be presented to the emperor at once. But at the main entrance to the palace, an official came running out to him and, recognizing that he was a courier, led him to another entrance.
“To the right from the corridor; there, Euer Hochgeboren,*186 you will find the imperial adjutant on duty,” said the official. “He will take you to the minister of war.”
The imperial adjutant on duty, meeting Prince Andrei, asked him to wait and went to the minister of war. Five minutes later the imperial adjutant returned and, inclining with particular courtesy and letting Prince Andrei go ahead of him, led him down the corridor to the office where the minister of war worked. The imperial adjutant seemed to want to protect himself from any attempts at familiarity from the Russian adjutant. Prince Andrei’s joyful feeling weakened significantly as he approached the doors of the minister of war’s office. He felt offended, and the feeling of offense turned that same instant, without his noticing it, into a feeling of totally groundless scorn. His resourceful mind suggested to him that same instant the point of view from which he had the right to scorn both the adjutant and the minister of war. “To him it must seem very easy to win a victory, having never had a whiff of powder!” he thought. His eyes narrowed scornfully; he entered the minister of war’s office especially slowly. This feeling increased still more when he saw the minister of war sitting at the big desk and for the first two minutes paying no attention to the one who had entered. The minister of war had lowered his bald head with gray temples between two wax candles and was reading some papers, making notes with a pencil. He went on reading to the end, without raising his head, when the door opened and footsteps were heard.
“Take this and deliver it,” the minister of war said to his adjutant, handing him the papers and still paying no attention to the courier.
Prince Andrei felt that either, of all the matters that occupied the minister