Book Nine: 1812 - Chapter IV

by Leo Tolstoy

　　At two in the morning of the fourteenth of June, the Emperor, havingsent for Balashev and read him his letter to Napoleon, ordered himto take it and hand it personally to the French Emperor. Whendispatching Balashev, the Emperor repeated to him the words that hewould not make peace so long as a single armed enemy remained onRussian soil and told him to transmit those words to Napoleon.Alexander did not insert them in his letter to Napoleon, becausewith his characteristic tact he felt it would be injudicious to usethem at a moment when a last attempt at reconciliation was being made,but he definitely instructed Balashev to repeat them personally toNapoleon.

　　Having set off in the small hours of the fourteenth, accompaniedby a bugler and two Cossacks, Balashev reached the French outpostsat the village of Rykonty, on the Russian side of the Niemen, by dawn.There he was stopped by French cavalry sentinels.

　　A French noncommissioned officer of hussars, in crimson uniformand a shaggy cap, shouted to the approaching Balashev to halt.Balashev did not do so at once, but continued to advance along theroad at a walking pace.

　　The noncommissioned officer frowned and, muttering words of abuse,advanced his horse's chest against Balashev, put his hand to hissaber, and shouted rudely at the Russian general, asking: was hedeaf that he did not do as he was told? Balashev mentioned who he was.The noncommissioned officer began talking with his comrades aboutregimental matters without looking at the Russian general.

　　After living at the seat of the highest authority and power, afterconversing with the Emperor less than three hours before, and ingeneral being accustomed to the respect due to his rank in theservice, Balashev found it very strange here on Russian soil toencounter this hostile, and still more this disrespectful, applicationof brute force to himself.

　　The sun was only just appearing from behind the clouds, the airwas fresh and dewy. A herd of cattle was being driven along the roadfrom the village, and over the fields the larks rose trilling, oneafter another, like bubbles rising in water.

　　Balashev looked around him, awaiting the arrival of an officerfrom the village. The Russian Cossacks and bugler and the Frenchhussars looked silently at one another from time to time.

　　A French colonel of hussars, who had evidently just left his bed,came riding from the village on a handsome sleek gray horse,accompanied by two hussars. The officer, the soldiers, and theirhorses all looked smart and well kept.

　　It was that first period of a campaign when troops are still in fulltrim, almost like that of peacetime maneuvers, but with a shade ofmartial swagger in their clothes, and a touch of the gaiety and spiritof enterprise which always accompany the opening of a campaign.

　　The French colonel with difficulty repressed a yawn, but waspolite and evidently understood Balashev's importance. He led him pasthis soldiers and behind the outposts and told him that his wish tobe presented to the Emperor would most likely be satisfiedimmediately, as the Emperor's quarters were, he believed, not far off.

　　They rode through the village of Rykonty, past tethered Frenchhussar horses, past sentinels and men who saluted their colonel andstared with curiosity at a Russian uniform, and came out at theother end of the village. The colonel said that the commander of thedivision was a mile and a quarter away and would receive Balashevand conduct him to his destination.

　　The sun had by now risen and shone gaily on the bright verdure.

　　They had hardly ridden up a hill, past a tavern, before they saw agroup of horsemen coming toward them. In front of the group, on ablack horse with trappings that glittered in the sun, rode a tallman with plumes in his hat and black hair curling down to hisshoulders. He wore a red mantle, and stretched his long legs forwardin French fashion. This man rode toward Balashev at a gallop, hisplumes flowing and his gems and gold lace glittering in the brightJune sunshine.

　　Balashev was only two horses' length from the equestrian with thebracelets, plunies, necklaces, and gold embroidery, who wasgalloping toward him with a theatrically solemn countenance, whenJulner, the French colonel, whispered respectfully: "The King ofNaples!" It was, in fact, Murat, now called "King of Naples." Thoughit was quite incomprehensible why he should be King of Naples, hewas called so, and was himself convinced that he was so, and thereforeassumed a more solemn and important air than formerly. He was sosure that he really was the King of Naples that when, on the eve ofhis departure from that city, while walking through the streets withhis wife, some Italians called out to him: "Viva il re!"* he turned tohis wife with a pensive smile and said: "Poor fellows, they don't knowthat I am leaving them tomorrow!"

　　*"Long live the king."

　　But though he firmly believed himself to be King of Naples andpitied the grief felt by the subjects he was abandoning, latterly,after he had been ordered to return to military service- andespecially since his last interview with Napoleon in Danzig, whenhis august brother-in-law had told him: "I made you King that youshould reign in my way, but not in yours!"- he had cheerfully taken uphis familiar business, and- like a well-fed but not overfat horse thatfeels himself in harness and grows skittish between the shafts- hedressed up in clothes as variegated and expensive as possible, andgaily and contentedly galloped along the roads of Poland, withouthimself knowing why or whither.

　　On seeing the Russian general he threw back his head, with itslong hair curling to his shoulders, in a majestically royal manner,and looked inquiringly at the French colonel. The colonel respectfullyinformed His Majesty of Balashev's mission, whose name he could notpronounce.

　　"De Bal-macheve!" said the King (overcoming by his assurance thedifficulty that had presented itself to the colonel). "Charmed to makeyour acquaintance, General!" he added, with a gesture of kinglycondescension.

　　As soon as the King began to speak loud and fast his royal dignityinstantly forsook him, and without noticing it he passed into hisnatural tone of good-natured familiarity. He laid his hand on thewithers of Balashev's horse and said:

　　"Well, General, it all looks like war," as if regretting acircumstance of which he was unable to judge.

　　"Your Majesty," replied Balashev, "my master, the Emperor, doesnot desire war and as Your Majesty sees..." said Balashev, using thewords Your Majesty at every opportunity, with the affectationunavoidable in frequently addressing one to whom the title was still anovelty.

　　Murat's face beamed with stupid satisfaction as he listened to"Monsieur de Bal-macheve." But royaute oblige!* and he felt itincumbent on him, as a king and an ally, to confer on state affairswith Alexander's envoy. He dismounted, took Balashev's arm, and movinga few steps away from his suite, which waited respectfully, began topace up and down with him, trying to speak significantly. Hereferred to the fact that the Emperor Napoleon had resented the demandthat he should withdraw his troops from Prussia, especially whenthat demand became generally known and the dignity of France wasthereby offended.

　　*"Royalty has its obligations."

　　Balashev replied that there was nothing offensive in the demand,because..." but Murat interrupted him.

　　"Then you don't consider the Emperor Alexander the aggressor?" heasked unexpectedly, with a kindly and foolish smile.

　　Balashev told him why he considered Napoleon to be the originator ofthe war.

　　"Oh, my dear general!" Murat again interrupted him, "with all myheart I wish the Emperors may arrange the affair between them, andthat the war begun by no wish of mine may finish as quickly aspossible!" said he, in the tone of a servant who wants to remaingood friends with another despite a quarrel between their masters.

　　And he went on to inquiries about the Grand Duke and the state ofhis health, and to reminiscences of the gay and amusing times he hadspent with him in Naples. Then suddenly, as if remembering his royaldignity, Murat solemnly drew himself up, assumed the pose in whichhe had stood at his coronation. and, waving his right arm, said:

　　"I won't detain you longer, General. I wish success to yourmission," and with his embroidered red mantle, his flowing feathers,and his glittering ornaments, he rejoined his suite who wererespectfully awaiting him.

　　Balashev rode on, supposing from Murat's words that he would verysoon be brought before Napoleon himself. But instead of that, at thenext village the sentinels of Davout's infantry corps detained himas the pickets of the vanguard had done, and an adjutant of thecorps commander, who was fetched, conducted him into the village toMarshal Davout.