Book Three: 1805 - Chapter XII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Shortly after nine o'clock that evening, Weyrother drove with hisplans to Kutuzov's quarters where the council of war was to be held.All the commanders of columns were summoned to the commander inchief's and with the exception of Prince Bagration, who declined tocome, were all there at the appointed time.

　　Weyrother, who was in full control of the proposed battle, by hiseagerness and briskness presented a marked contrast to thedissatisfied and drowsy Kutuzov, who reluctantly played the part ofchairman and president of the council of war. Weyrother evidently felthimself to be at the head of a movement that had already becomeunrestrainable. He was like a horse running downhill harnessed to aheavy cart. Whether he was pulling it or being pushed by it he did notknow, but rushed along at headlong speed with no time to consider whatthis movement might lead to. Weyrother had been twice that eveningto the enemy's picket line to reconnoiter personally, and twice to theEmperors, Russian and Austrian, to report and explain, and to hisheadquarters where he had dictated the dispositions in German, andnow, much exhausted, he arrived at Kutuzov's.

　　He was evidently so busy that he even forgot to be polite to thecommander in chief. He interrupted him, talked rapidly andindistinctly, without looking at the man he was addressing, and didnot reply to questions put to him. He was bespattered with mud and hada pitiful, weary, and distracted air, though at the same time he washaughty and self-confident.

　　Kutuzov was occupying a nobleman's castle of modest dimensionsnear Ostralitz. In the large drawing room which had become thecommander in chief's office were gathered Kutuzov himself,Weyrother, and the members of the council of war. They were drinkingtea, and only awaited Prince Bagration to begin the council. At lastBagration's orderly came with the news that the prince could notattend. Prince Andrew came in to inform the commander in chief of thisand, availing himself of permission previously given him by Kutuzov tobe present at the council, he remained in the room.

　　"Since Prince Bagration is not coming, we may begin," saidWeyrother, hurriedly rising from his seat and going up to the table onwhich an enormous map of the environs of Brunn was spread out.

　　Kutuzov, with his uniform unbuttoned so that his fat neck bulgedover his collar as if escaping, was sitting almost asleep in a lowchair, with his podgy old hands resting symmetrically on its arms.At the sound of Weyrother's voice, he opened his one eye with aneffort.

　　"Yes, yes, if you please! It is already late," said he, andnodding his head he let it droop and again closed his eye.

　　If at first the members of the council thought that Kutuzov waspretending to sleep, the sounds his nose emitted during the readingthat followed proved that the commander in chief at that moment wasabsorbed by a far more serious matter than a desire to show hiscontempt for the dispositions or anything else- he was engaged insatisfying the irresistible human need for sleep. He really wasasleep. Weyrother, with the gesture of a man too busy to lose amoment, glanced at Kutuzov and, having convinced himself that he wasasleep, took up a paper and in a loud, monotonous voice began toread out the dispositions for the impending battle, under a headingwhich he also read out:

　　"Dispositions for an attack on the enemy position behind Kobelnitzand Sokolnitz, November 30, 1805."

　　The dispositions were very complicated and difficult. They beganas follows:

　　"As the enemy's left wing rests on wooded hills and his rightextends along Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz behind the ponds that are there,while we, on the other hand, with our left wing by far outflank hisright, it is advantageous to attack the enemy's latter wing especiallyif we occupy the villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, whereby we canboth fall on his flank and pursue him over the plain betweenSchlappanitz and the Thuerassa forest, avoiding the defiles ofSchlappanitz and Bellowitz which cover the enemy's front. For thisobject it is necessary that... The first column marches... Thesecond column marches... The third column marches..." and so on,read Weyrother.

　　The generals seemed to listen reluctantly to the difficultdispositions. The tall, fair-haired General Buxhowden stood, leaninghis back against the wall, his eyes fixed on a burning candle, andseemed not to listen or even to wish to be thought to listen.Exactly opposite Weyrother, with his glistening wide-open eyes fixedupon him and his mustache twisted upwards, sat the ruddyMiloradovich in a military pose, his elbows turned outwards, his handson his knees, and his shoulders raised. He remained stubbornly silent,gazing at Weyrother's face, and only turned away his eyes when theAustrian chief of staff finished reading. Then Miloradovich lookedround significantly at the other generals. But one could not tell fromthat significant look whether he agreed or disagreed and was satisfiedor not with the arrangements. Next to Weyrother sat Count Langeronwho, with a subtle smile that never left his typically southern Frenchface during the whole time of the reading, gazed at his delicatefingers which rapidly twirled by its corners a gold snuffbox onwhich was a portrait. In the middle of one of the longest sentences,he stopped the rotary motion of the snuffbox, raised his head, andwith inimical politeness lurking in the corners of his thin lipsinterrupted Weyrother, wishing to say something. But the Austriangeneral, continuing to read, frowned angrily and jerked his elbows, asif to say: "You can tell me your views later, but now be so good as tolook at the map and listen." Langeron lifted his eyes with anexpression of perplexity, turned round to Miloradovich as if seekingan explanation, but meeting the latter's impressive but meaninglessgaze drooped his eyes sadly and again took to twirling his snuffbox.

　　"A geography lesson!" he muttered as if to himself, but loudenough to be heard.

　　Przebyszewski, with respectful but dignified politeness, held hishand to his ear toward Weyrother, with the air of a man absorbed inattention. Dohkturov, a little man, sat opposite Weyrother, with anassiduous and modest mien, and stooping over the outspread mapconscientiously studied the dispositions and the unfamiliarlocality. He asked Weyrother several times to repeat words he hadnot clearly heard and the difficult names of villages. Weyrothercomplied and Dohkturov noted them down.

　　When the reading which lasted more than an hour was over, Langeronagain brought his snuffbox to rest and, without looking at Weyrotheror at anyone in particular, began to say how difficult it was to carryout such a plan in which the enemy's position was assumed to be known,whereas it was perhaps not known, since the enemy was in movement.Langeron's objections were valid but it was obvious that their chiefaim was to show General Weyrother- who had read his dispositionswith as much self-confidence as if he were addressing school children-that he had to do, not with fools, but with men who could teach himsomething in military matters.

　　When the monotonous sound of Weyrother's voice ceased, Kutuzovopened his eye as a miller wakes up when the soporific drone of themill wheel is interrupted. He listened to what Langeron said, as ifremarking, "So you are still at that silly business!" quickly closedhis eye again, and let his head sink still lower.

　　Langeron, trying as virulently as possible to sting Weyrother'svanity as author of the military plan, argued that Bonaparte mighteasily attack instead of being attacked, and so render the whole ofthis plan perfectly worthless. Weyrother met all objections with afirm and contemptuous smile, evidently prepared beforehand to meet allobjections be they what they might.

　　"If he could attack us, he would have done so today," said he.

　　"So you think he is powerless?" said Langeron.

　　"He has forty thousand men at most," replied Weyrother, with thesmile of a doctor to whom an old wife wishes to explain thetreatment of a case.

　　"In that case he is inviting his doom by awaiting our attack,"said Langeron, with a subtly ironical smile, again glancing roundfor support to Miloradovich who was near him.

　　But Miloradovich was at that moment evidently thinking of anythingrather than of what the generals were disputing about.

　　"Ma foi!" said he, "tomorrow we shall see all that on thebattlefield."

　　Weyrother again gave that smile which seemed to say that to him itwas strange and ridiculous to meet objections from Russian generalsand to have to prove to them what he had not merely convincedhimself of, but had also convinced the sovereign Emperors of.

　　"The enemy has quenched his fires and a continual noise is heardfrom his camp," said he. "What does that mean? Either he isretreating, which is the only thing we need fear, or he is changinghis position." (He smiled ironically.) "But even if he also took upa position in the Thuerassa, he merely saves us a great deal oftrouble and all our arrangements to the minutest detail remain thesame."

　　"How is that?..." began Prince Andrew, who had for long been waitingan opportunity to express his doubts.

　　Kutuzov here woke up, coughed heavily, and looked round at thegenerals.

　　"Gentlemen, the dispositions for tomorrow- or rather for today,for it is past midnight- cannot now be altered," said he. "You haveheard them, and we shall all do our duty. But before a battle, thereis nothing more important..." he paused, "than to have a good sleep."

　　He moved as if to rise. The generals bowed and retired. It waspast midnight. Prince Andrew went out.

　　The council of war, at which Prince Andrew had not been able toexpress his opinion as he had hoped to, left on him a vague and uneasyimpression. Whether Dolgorukov and Weyrother, or Kutuzov, Langeron,and the others who did not approve of the plan of attack, wereright- he did not know. "But was it really not possible for Kutuzov tostate his views plainly to the Emperor? Is it possible that on accountof court and personal considerations tens of thousands of lives, andmy life, my life," he thought, "must be risked?"

　　"Yes, it is very likely that I shall be killed tomorrow," hethought. And suddenly, at this thought of death, a whole series ofmost distant, most intimate, memories rose in his imagination: heremembered his last parting from his father and his wife; heremembered the days when he first loved her. He thought of herpregnancy and felt sorry for her and for himself, and in a nervouslyemotional and softened mood he went out of the hut in which he wasbilleted with Nesvitski and began to walk up and down before it.

　　The night was foggy and through the fog the moonlight gleamedmysteriously. "Yes, tomorrow, tomorrow!" he thought. "Tomorroweverything may be over for me! All these memories will be no more,none of them will have any meaning for me. Tomorrow perhaps, evencertainly, I have a presentiment that for the first time I shallhave to show all I can do." And his fancy pictured the battle, itsloss, the concentration of fighting at one point, and the hesitationof all the commanders. And then that happy moment, that Toulon forwhich he had so long waited, presents itself to him at last. He firmlyand clearly expresses his opinion to Kutuzov, to Weyrother, and to theEmperors. All are struck by the justness of his views, but no oneundertakes to carry them out, so he takes a regiment, a division-stipulates that no one is to interfere with his arrangements- leadshis division to the decisive point, and gains the victory alone."But death and suffering?" suggested another voice. Prince Andrew,however, did not answer that voice and went on dreaming of histriumphs. The dispositions for the next battle are planned by himalone. Nominally he is only an adjutant on Kutuzov's staff, but hedoes everything alone. The next battle is won by him alone. Kutuzov isremoved and he is appointed... "Well and then?" asked the other voice."If before that you are not ten times wounded, killed, or betrayed,well... what then?..." "Well then," Prince Andrew answered himself, "Idon't know what will happen and don't want to know, and can't, butif I want this- want glory, want to be known to men, want to beloved by them, it is not my fault that I want it and want nothingbut that and live only for that. Yes, for that alone! I shall nevertell anyone, but, oh God! what am I to do if I love nothing but fameand men's esteem? Death, wounds, the loss of family- I fear nothing.And precious and dear as many persons are to me- father, sister, wife-those dearest to me- yet dreadful and unnatural as it seems, I wouldgive them all at once for a moment of glory, of triumph over men, oflove from men I don't know and never shall know, for the love of thesemen here," he thought, as he listened to voices in Kutuzov'scourtyard. The voices were those of the orderlies who were packing up;one voice, probably a coachman's, was teasing Kutuzov's old cookwhom Prince Andrew knew, and who was called Tit. He was saying,"Tit, I say, Tit!"

　　"Well?" returned the old man.

　　"Go, Tit, thresh a bit!" said the wag.

　　"Oh, go to the devil!" called out a voice, drowned by the laughterof the orderlies and servants.

　　"All the same, I love and value nothing but triumph over them all, Ivalue this mystic power and glory that is floating here above me inthis mist!"