________________________________________________
_ From Smolensk the troops continued to retreat, followed by the
enemy. On the tenth of August the regiment Prince Andrew commanded was
marching along the highroad past the avenue leading to Bald Hills.
Heat and drought had continued for more than three weeks. Each day
fleecy clouds floated across the sky and occasionally veiled the
sun, but toward evening the sky cleared again and the sun set in
reddish-brown mist. Heavy night dews alone refreshed the earth. The
unreaped corn was scorched and shed its grain. The marshes dried up.
The cattle lowed from hunger, finding no food on the sun-parched
meadows. Only at night and in the forests while the dew lasted was
there any freshness. But on the road, the highroad along which the
troops marched, there was no such freshness even at night or when
the road passed through the forest; the dew was imperceptible on the
sandy dust churned up more than six inches deep. As soon as day dawned
the march began. The artillery and baggage wagons moved noiselessly
through the deep dust that rose to the very hubs of the wheels, and
the infantry sank ankle-deep in that soft, choking, hot dust that
never cooled even at night. Some of this dust was kneaded by the
feet and wheels, while the rest rose and hung like a cloud over the
troops, settling in eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils, and worst of all
in the lungs of the men and beasts as they moved along that road.
The higher the sun rose the higher rose that cloud of dust, and
through the screen of its hot fine particles one could look with naked
eye at the sun, which showed like a huge crimson ball in the unclouded
sky. There was no wind, and the men choked in that motionless
atmosphere. They marched with handkerchiefs tied over their noses
and mouths. When they passed through a village they all rushed to
the wells and fought for the water and drank it down to the mud.
Prince Andrew was in command of a regiment, and the management of
that regiment, the welfare of the men and the necessity of receiving
and giving orders, engrossed him. The burning of Smolensk and its
abandonment made an epoch in his life. A novel feeling of anger
against the foe made him forget his own sorrow. He was entirely
devoted to the affairs of his regiment and was considerate and kind to
his men and officers. In the regiment they called him "our prince,"
were proud of him and loved him. But he was kind and gentle only to
those of his regiment, to Timokhin and the like- people quite new to
him, belonging to a different world and who could not know and
understand his past. As soon as he came across a former acquaintance
or anyone from the staff, he bristled up immediately and grew
spiteful, ironical, and contemptuous. Everything that reminded him
of his past was repugnant to him, and so in his relations with that
former circle he confined himself to trying to do his duty and not
to be unfair.
In truth everything presented itself in a dark and gloomy light to
Prince Andrew, especially after the abandonment of Smolensk on the
sixth of August (he considered that it could and should have been
defended) and after his sick father had had to flee to Moscow,
abandoning to pillage his dearly beloved Bald Hills which he had built
and peopled. But despite this, thanks to his regiment, Prince Andrew
had something to think about entirely apart from general questions.
Two days previously he had received news that his father, son, and
sister had left for Moscow; and though there was nothing for him to do
at Bald Hills, Prince Andrew with a characteristic desire to foment
his own grief decided that he must ride there.
He ordered his horse to be saddled and, leaving his regiment on
the march, rode to his father's estate where he had been born and
spent his childhood. Riding past the pond where there used always to
be dozens of women chattering as they rinsed their linen or beat it
with wooden beetles, Prince Andrew noticed that there was not a soul
about and that the little washing wharf, torn from its place and
half submerged, was floating on its side in the middle of the pond. He
rode to the keeper's lodge. No one at the stone entrance gates of
the drive and the door stood open. Grass had already begun to grow
on the garden paths, and horses and calves were straying in the
English park. Prince Andrew rode up to the hothouse; some of the glass
panes were broken, and of the trees in tubs some were overturned and
others dried up. He called for Taras the gardener, but no one replied.
Having gone round the corner of the hothouse to the ornamental garden,
he saw that the carved garden fence was broken and branches of the
plum trees had been torn off with the fruit. An old peasant whom
Prince Andrew in his childhood had often seen at the gate was
sitting on a green garden seat, plaiting a bast shoe.
He was deaf and did not hear Prince Andrew ride up. He was sitting
on the seat the old prince used to like to sit on, and beside him
strips of bast were hanging on the broken and withered branch of a
magnolia.
Prince Andrew rode up to the house. Several limes in the old
garden had been cut down and a piebald mare and her foal were
wandering in front of the house among the rosebushes. The shutters
were all closed, except at one window which was open. A little serf
boy, seeing Prince Andrew, ran into the house. Alpatych, having sent
his family away, was alone at Bald Hills and was sitting indoors
reading the Lives of the Saints. On hearing that Prince Andrew had
come, he went out with his spectacles on his nose, buttoning his coat,
and, hastily stepping up, without a word began weeping and kissing
Prince Andrew's knee.
Then, vexed at his own weakness, he turned away and began to
report on the position of affairs. Everything precious and valuable
had been removed to Bogucharovo. Seventy quarters of grain had also
been carted away. The hay and the spring corn, of which Alpatych
said there had been a remarkable crop that year, had been commandeered
by the troops and mown down while still green. The peasants were
ruined; some of them too had gone to Bogucharovo, only a few remained.
Without waiting to hear him out, Prince Andrew asked:
"When did my father and sister leave?" meaning when did they leave
for Moscow.
Alpatych, understanding the question to refer to their departure for
Bogucharovo, replied that they had left on the seventh and again
went into details concerning the estate management, asking for
instructions.
"Am I to let the troops have the oats, and to take a receipt for
them? We have still six hundred quarters left," he inquired.
"What am I to say to him?" thought Prince Andrew, looking down on
the old man's bald head shining in the sun and seeing by the
expression on his face that the old man himself understood how
untimely such questions were and only asked them to allay his grief.
"Yes, let them have it," replied Prince Andrew.
"If you noticed some disorder in the garden," said Alpatych, "it was
impossible to prevent it. Three regiments have been here and spent the
night, dragoons mostly. I took down the name and rank of their
commanding officer, to hand in a complaint about it."
"Well, and what are you going to do? Will you stay here if the enemy
occupies the place?" asked Prince Andrew.
Alpatych turned his face to Prince Andrew, looked at him, and
suddenly with a solemn gesture raised his arm.
"He is my refuge! His will be done!" he exclaimed.
A group of bareheaded peasants was approaching across the meadow
toward the prince.
"Well, good-by!" said Prince Andrew, bending over to Alpatych.
"You must go away too, take away what you can and tell the serfs to go
to the Ryazan estate or to the one near Moscow."
Alpatych clung to Prince Andrew's leg and burst into sobs. Gently
disengaging himself, the prince spurred his horse and rode down the
avenue at a gallop.
The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a fly
impassive on the face of a loved one who is dead, tapping the last
on which he was making the bast shoe, and two little girls, running
out from the hot house carrying in their skirts plums they had plucked
from the trees there, came upon Prince Andrew. On seeing the young
master, the elder one frightened look clutched her younger companion
by the hand and hid with her behind a birch tree, not stopping to pick
up some green plums they had dropped.
Prince Andrew turned away with startled haste, unwilling to let them
see that they had been observed. He was sorry for the pretty
frightened little girl, was afraid of looking at her, and yet felt
an irresistible desire to do so. A new sensation of comfort and relief
came over him when, seeing these girls, he realized the existence of
other human interests entirely aloof from his own and just as
legitimate as those that occupied him. Evidently these girls
passionately desired one thing- to carry away and eat those green
plums without being caught- and Prince Andrew shared their wish for
the success of their enterprise. He could not resist looking at them
once more. Believing their danger past, they sprang from their
ambush and, chirruping something in their shrill little voices and
holding up their skirts, their bare little sunburned feet scampered
merrily and quickly across the meadow grass.
Prince Andrew was somewhat refreshed by having ridden off the
dusty highroad along which the troops were moving. But not far from
Bald Hills he again came out on the road and overtook his regiment
at its halting place by the dam of a small pond. It was past one
o'clock. The sun, a red ball through the dust, burned and scorched his
back intolerably through his black coat. The dust always hung
motionless above the buzz of talk that came from the resting troops.
There was no wind. As he crossed the dam Prince Andrew smelled the
ooze and freshness of the pond. He longed to get into that water,
however dirty it might be, and he glanced round at the pool from
whence came sounds of shrieks and laughter. The small, muddy, green
pond had risen visibly more than a foot, flooding the dam, because
it was full of the naked white bodies of soldiers with brick-red
hands, necks, and faces, who were splashing about in it. All this
naked white human flesh, laughing and shrieking, floundered about in
that dirty pool like carp stuffed into a watering can, and the
suggestion of merriment in that floundering mass rendered it specially
pathetic.
One fair-haired young soldier of the third company, whom Prince
Andrew knew and who had a strap round the calf of one leg, crossed
himself, stepped back to get a good run, and plunged into the water;
another, a dark noncommissioned officer who was always shaggy, stood
up to his waist in the water joyfully wriggling his muscular figure
and snorted with satisfaction as he poured the water over his head
with hands blackened to the wrists. There were sounds of men
slapping one another, yelling, and puffing.
Everywhere on the bank, on the dam, and in the pond, there was
healthy, white, muscular flesh. The officer, Timokhin, with his red
little nose, standing on the dam wiping himself with a towel, felt
confused at seeing the prince, but made up his mind to address him
nevertheless.
"It's very nice, your excellency! Wouldn't you like to?" said he.
"It's dirty," replied Prince Andrew, making a grimace.
"We'll clear it out for you in a minute," said Timokhin, and,
still undressed, ran off to clear the men out of the pond.
"The prince wants to bathe."
"What prince? Ours?" said many voices, and the men were in such
haste to clear out that the prince could hardly stop them. He
decided that he would rather himself with water in the barn.
"Flesh, bodies, cannon fodder!" he thought, and he looked at his own
naked body and shuddered, not from cold but from a sense of disgust
and horror he did not himself understand, aroused by the sight of that
immense number of bodies splashing about in the dirty pond.
On the seventh of August Prince Bagration wrote as follows from
his quarters at Mikhaylovna on the Smolensk road:
Dear Count Alexis Andreevich- (He was writing to Arakcheev but
knew that his letter would be read by the Emperor, and therefore
weighed every word in it to the best of his ability.)
I expect the Minister [Barclay de Tolly] has already reported the
abandonment of Smolensk to the enemy. It is pitiable and sad, and
the whole army is in despair that this most important place has been
wantonly abandoned. I, for my part, begged him personally most
urgently and finally wrote him, but nothing would induce him to
consent. I swear to you on my honor that Napoleon was in such a fix as
never before and might have lost half his army but could not have
taken Smolensk. Our troops fought, and are fighting, as never
before. With fifteen thousand men I held the enemy at bay for
thirty-five hours and beat him; but he would not hold out even for
fourteen hours. It is disgraceful, a stain on our army, and as for
him, he ought, it seems to me, not to live. If he reports that our
losses were great, it is not true; perhaps about four thousand, not
more, and not even that; but even were they ten thousand, that's
war! But the enemy has lost masses...
What would it have cost him to hold out for another two days? They
would have had to retire of their own accord, for they had no water
for men or horses. He gave me his word he would not retreat, but
suddenly sent instructions that he was retiring that night. We
cannot fight in this way, or we may soon bring the enemy to Moscow...
There is a rumor that you are thinking of peace. God forbid that you
should make peace after all our sacrifices and such insane retreats!
You would set all Russia against you and every one of us would feel
ashamed to wear the uniform. If it has come to this- we must fight
as long as Russia can and as long as there are men able to stand...
One man ought to be in command, and not two. Your Minister may
perhaps be good as a Minister, but as a general he is not merely bad
but execrable, yet to him is entrusted the fate of our whole
country.... I am really frantic with vexation; forgive my writing
boldly. It is clear that the man who advocates the conclusion of a
peace, and that the Minister should command the army, does not love
our sovereign and desires the ruin of us all. So I write you
frankly: call out the militia. For the Minister is leading these
visitors after him to Moscow in a most masterly way. The whole army
feels great suspicion of the Imperial aide-de-camp Wolzogen. He is
said to be more Napoleon's man than ours, and he is always advising
the Minister. I am not merely civil to him but obey him like a
corporal, though I am his senior. This is painful, but, loving my
benefactor and sovereign, I submit. Only I am sorry for the Emperor
that he entrusts our fine army to such as he. Consider that on our
retreat we have lost by fatigue and left in the hospital more than
fifteen thousand men, and had we attacked this would not have
happened. Tell me, for God's sake, what will Russia, our mother
Russia, say to our being so frightened, and why are we abandoning
our good and gallant Fatherland to such rabble and implanting feelings
of hatred and shame in all our subjects? What are we scared at and
of whom are we afraid? I am not to blame that the Minister is
vacillating, a coward, dense, dilatory, and has all bad qualities. The
whole army bewails it and calls down curses upon him... _
Read next: Book Ten: 1812: Chapter 6
Read previous: Book Ten: 1812: Chapter 4
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