Book Thirteen: 1812 - Chapter XVI

by Leo Tolstoy

　　It was a warm, dark, autumn night. It had been raining for fourdays. Having changed horses twice and galloped twenty miles in an hourand a half over a sticky, muddy road, Bolkhovitinov reached Litashevkaafter one o'clock at night. Dismounting at a cottage on whose wattlefence hung a signboard, General Staff, and throwing down his reins, heentered a dark passage.

　　"The general on duty, quick! It's very important!" said he tosomeone who had risen and was sniffing in the dark passage.

　　"He has been very unwell since the evening and this is the thirdnight he has not slept," said the orderly pleadingly in a whisper."You should wake the captain first."

　　"But this is very important, from General Dokhturov," saidBolkhovitinov, entering the open door which he had found by feeling inthe dark.

　　The orderly had gone in before him and began waking somebody.

　　"Your honor, your honor! A courier."

　　"What? What's that? From whom?" came a sleepy voice.

　　"From Dokhturov and from Alexey Petrovich. Napoleon is at Forminsk,"said Bolkhovitinov, unable to see in the dark who was speaking butguessing by the voice that it was not Konovnitsyn.

　　The man who had wakened yawned and stretched himself.

　　"I don't like waking him," he said, fumbling for something. "He isvery ill. Perhaps this is only a rumor."

　　"Here is the dispatch," said Bolkhovitinov. "My orders are to giveit at once to the general on duty."

　　"Wait a moment, I'll light a candle. You damned rascal, where do youalways hide it?" said the voice of the man who was stretching himself,to the orderly. (This was Shcherbinin, Konovnitsyn's adjutant.)"I've found it, I've found it!" he added.

　　The orderly was striking a light and Shcherbinin was fumbling forsomething on the candlestick.

　　"Oh, the nasty beasts!" said he with disgust.

　　By the light of the sparks Bolkhovitinov saw Shcherbinin'syouthful face as he held the candle, and the face of another man whowas still asleep. This was Konovnitsyn.

　　When the flame of the sulphur splinters kindled by the tinder burnedup, first blue and then red, Shcherbinin lit the tallow candle, fromthe candlestick of which the cockroaches that had been gnawing it wererunning away, and looked at the messenger. Bolkhovitinov wasbespattered all over with mud and had smeared his face by wiping itwith his sleeve.

　　"Who gave the report?" inquired Shcherbinin, taking the envelope.

　　"The news is reliable," said Bolkhovitinov. "Prisoners, Cossacks,and the scouts all say the same thing."

　　"There's nothing to be done, we'll have to wake him," saidShcherbinin, rising and going up to the man in the nightcap who laycovered by a greatcoat. "Peter Petrovich!" said he. (Konovnitsyn didnot stir.) "To the General Staff!" he said with a smile, knowingthat those words would be sure to arouse him.

　　And in fact the head in the nightcap was lifted at once. OnKonovnitsyn's handsome, resolute face with cheeks flushed by fever,there still remained for an instant a faraway dreamy expression remotefrom present affairs, but then he suddenly started and his faceassumed its habitual calm and firm appearance.

　　"Well, what is it? From whom?" he asked immediately but withouthurry, blinking at the light.

　　While listening to the officer's report Konovnitsyn broke the sealand read the dispatch. Hardly had he done so before he lowered hislegs in their woolen stockings to the earthen floor and beganputting on his boots. Then he took off his nightcap, combed his hairover his temples, and donned his cap.

　　"Did you get here quickly? Let us go to his Highness."

　　Konovnitsyn had understood at once that the news brought was ofgreat importance and that no time must be lost. He did not consider orask himself whether the news was good or bad. That did not interesthim. He regarded the whole business of the war not with hisintelligence or his reason but by something else. There was within hima deep unexpressed conviction that all would be well, but that onemust not trust to this and still less speak about it, but must onlyattend to one's own work. And he did his work, giving his wholestrength to the task.

　　Peter Petrovich Konovnitsyn, like Dokhturov, seems to have beenincluded merely for propriety's sake in the list of the so-calledheroes of 1812- the Barclays, Raevskis, Ermolovs, Platovs, andMiloradoviches. Like Dokhturov he had the reputation of being a man ofvery limited capacity and information, and like Dokhturov he nevermade plans of battle but was always found where the situation was mostdifficult. Since his appointment as general on duty he had alwaysslept with his door open, giving orders that every messenger should beallowed to wake him up. In battle he was always under fire, so thatKutuzov reproved him for it and feared to send him to the front, andlike Dokhturov he was one of those unnoticed cogwheels that, withoutclatter or noise, constitute the most essential part of the machine.

　　Coming out of the hut into the damp, dark night Konovnitsyn frowned-partly from an increased pain in his head and partly at the unpleasantthought that occurred to him, of how all that nest of influentialmen on the staff would be stirred up by this news, especiallyBennigsen, who ever since Tarutino had been at daggers drawn withKutuzov; and how they would make suggestions, quarrel, issue orders,and rescind them. And this premonition was disagreeable to himthough he knew it could not be helped.

　　And in fact Toll, to whom he went to communicate the news,immediately began to expound his plans to a general sharing hisquarters, until Konovnitsyn, who listened in weary silence, remindedhim that they must go to see his Highness.