The intense activity that had begun that morning in the Emperors' headquarters and then stimulated all the ensuing activity was like the first turn of the centre wheel in a great tower clock. One wheel began its slow rotation, another one turned, then another, and round they went faster and faster, wheels and cogs all revolving, chimes playing, figures popping in and out, and the hands measuring time, all because of that first movement.
Military movement is like the movement of a clock: an impetus, once given, leads inexorably to a particular result while the untouched working parts wait in silent stillness for the action to reach them. Wheels creak on their spindles as the cogs bite, the speeding sprockets hum and the next wheel stands and waits patiently, as if resigned to centuries of immobility. But the moment comes when the lever slips into place and the submissive wheel rotates with a creak, blending into the common movement without knowing where it goes or why.
In a clock the complex action of countless different wheels works its way out in the even, leisurely movement of hands measuring time; in a similar way the complex action of humanity in those 160,000 Russians and Frenchmen - all their passions, longings, regrets, humiliation and suffering, their rushes of pride, fear and enthusiasm - only worked its way out in defeat at the battle of Austerlitz, known as the battle of the three Emperors, the slow tick-tock of the age-old hands on the clock face of human history.
Prince Andrey was a duty officer that day, inseparable from the commander-in-chief. Shortly before six o'clock in the evening Kutuzov drove over to the Emperors' headquarters, had a brief meeting with the Tsar and went in to see the grand marshal, Count Tolstoy.
Bolkonsky used this opportunity to call on Dolgorukov in an attempt to find out some details of the coming action. He had sensed that Kutuzov was worried and unhappy about something, and that they were unhappy with him at headquarters, and that all the staff at imperial headquarters were treating him as if only they were in the know - which was why he wanted to talk with Dolgorukov.
'Ah, good evening, my dear fellow,' said Dolgorukov, who was sitting with Bilibin, drinking tea. 'The fun starts tomorrow. How's old Kutuzov? Down in the mouth?'
'I wouldn't say that, but I think he would like to be listened to.' 'But he was listened to at the council of war, and he will be listened to when he starts talking sense. But to sit around waiting for something to happen when the one thing Bonaparte dreads is a combined attack - that's just not possible.'
'You've seen him, haven't you?' said Prince Andrey. 'Well, what did you make of Napoleon? How did he strike you?'
'Yes, I did see him, and I came away convinced there's nothing in the world he dreads more than a combined attack,' repeated Dolgorukov, who evidently set great store by this general conclusion that he had come to during his meeting with Napoleon. 'If he hadn't been too scared to fight why on earth would he have asked for that meeting, and for talks - most of all, why would he retreat when retreat goes against his whole method of fighting a war? Believe me, he's scared, scared of a mass attack. His hour has come. You mark my words.' 'But you haven't said what he's like or what he said,' Prince Andrey insisted.
'He's a man in a grey overcoat who wants to be called "Your Majesty", but I disappointed him. He didn't get any titles out of me. That's the sort of man he is, and that's all there is to him,' answered Dolgorukov, glancing round with a smile at Bilibin.
'I yield to no one in my respect for old Kutuzov,' he continued, 'but we'd look pretty stupid if we dithered long enough to let him get away or do something clever, when here he is virtually in our hands. No, we should never forget Suvorov and his golden rule - attack, don't be attacked. Believe me, when it comes to fighting, young men's energy is often a better guide than all your dilatory old veterans.'
'But where are you going to attack? I've been at the outposts today, and you can't tell where his main forces are concentrated,' said Prince Andrey. He was longing to tell Dolgorukov about his own approach, the plan of attack he had worked out.
'It doesn't make any difference,' was the curt response from Dolgorukov as he got up and spread a map on the table. 'We've thought of everything. Say he concentrates on Brno . . .' And Prince Dolgorukov gave a quick, rather vague account of Weierother's plan of a flanking manoeuvre.
Prince Andrey demurred and began to explain his own plan, which might have been just as good as Weierother's, though it did have one drawback - Weierother's had already been approved. The moment Prince Andrey began to outline that plan's weaknesses and the advantages of his own idea, Prince Dolgorukov stopped listening and stared vacantly not at the map but at Prince Andrey's face.
'Anyway, there's a council of war at Kutuzov's tonight. You can have your say then,' said Dolgorukov.
'I certainly shall,' said Prince Andrey, walking away from the map.
'What are you worrying about, gentlemen?' said Bilibin, who thus far had been listening to them with a broad smile on his face but was now unmistakably on the verge of making a joke. 'Whether tomorrow brings victory or defeat, Russian military honour is assured. Except for your man Kutuzov, every single column is commanded by a non-Russian. Look at the commanders: Herr General Wimpfen, le comte de Langeron, le prince de Liechtenstein, le prince de Hohenlohe, and then there's Prshprshprsh-all-consonants-and-no-vowels - like all Polish names.'
'That's enough slander,' said Dolgorukov. 'You're wrong anyway, there are two Russians: Miloradovich and Dokhturov, and there would have been another, Count Arakcheyev, but for his bad nerves.'
'Anyway, I think General Kutuzov has just come out,' said Prince Andrey. 'Good luck to you, gentlemen, and every success,' he added, shaking hands with both men before he left.
Driving back with Kutuzov Prince Andrey couldn't help asking the general, who was sitting beside him in complete silence, what he thought about tomorrow's battle. Kutuzov looked sternly at his adjutant, paused for a moment and said, 'I think we shall lose. That's what I said to Count Tolstoy and I asked him to tell the Tsar. And do you know what he said? "My dear General, I like dabbling in cutlets and rice - warfare I leave to you." Yes . . . That was all he said!'
CHAPTER 12
It was after nine o'clock in the evening when Weierother took his plans over to Kutuzov's quarters, where the council of war was to take place. The column commanders had been told to attend, and all except Prince Bagration, who refused to come, arrived at the appointed hour.
Weierother had full responsibility for planning the proposed battle, and he was excited and impatient, in sharp contrast to the grumpy and sleepy Kutuzov, who had reluctantly assumed the role of president and chairman of the council. Weierother clearly saw himself as the head of a movement that had now become unstoppable. He was like a horse in harness hauling a load downhill. He wasn't sure whether he was pulling or it was pushing, but he was hurtling along at top speed with no time to consider where this headlong rush might take him. Weierother had been out twice that evening to make a personal inspection of the enemy's line, and he had reported in detail to two Emperors, one Russian, one Austrian, and then called in at his office to dictate the disposition of the German troops. And now here he was at Kutuzov's, quite exhausted.
He was evidently too preoccupied to be polite to his commander-in-chief. He kept on interrupting, spoke too fast and rambled on without looking at the person he was talking to and ignored all questions put to him. He sat there spattered with mud, looking pathetically weary and bemused and yet also confident and condescending.
Kutuzov had taken over a small castle belonging to a nobleman near Ostralitz. There in the drawing-room, converted into a study for the commander-in-chief, the members of the council of war were assembled, including Kutuzov himself and Weierother. They were drinking tea and waiting only for Prince Bagration to arrive so that the council could get down to business. Then Bagration's orderly officer arrived with a message that the prince would not be able to attend. Prince Andrey came in to inform the commander-in-chief of this, and he remained in the room, acting on Kutuzo
v's permission earlier for him to be present at the council.
'Well, since Prince Bagration isn't coming, I think we can begin,' said Weierother, jumping to his feet and crossing over to a table on which an enormous map was spread out, showing Brno and the surrounding locality.
Kutuzov sat there in a Voltaire armchair with his uniform unbuttoned, his fat neck bulged out over his collar as if escaping, and his podgy old hands laid out symmetrically along the arms of the chair. He was nearly asleep. At the sound of Weierother's voice he forced his one eye open and said, 'Yes, yes, do that or it'll be too late,' after which he nodded his head, then let it droop and closed his eye again.
If at first the council members had believed that Kutuzov was only pretending to be asleep, the nasal sounds issuing from him during the reading that followed proved beyond doubt that the commander-in-chief was attending to something much more important than the wish to pour scorn on their disposition of troops or anything else; he was attending to an irresistible human need - sleep. He really was asleep. Weierother moved like a man too busy to waste any time, glanced across at Kutuzov to make sure he was asleep, took up a document and started reading out in a loud drone the entire disposition of the troops in the impending battle, not omitting the title: 'Disposition for an assault on the enemy's position behind Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz, 20th November, 1805.'
The disposition was very complicated and hard to understand. Written originally in German, it began as follows: Whereas the left wing of the enemy reposes against the forested hills and his right wing is extended by way of Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz behind the ponds there situated, while conversely our left wing greatly surpasses their right, it will be advantageous for us to attack the latter aforesaid enemy wing, especially if we occupy the villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, it then being within our capacity to mount an assault on the enemy flank and pursue him across the open terrain between Schlapanitz and the forest of Thuerassa thereby avoiding the defiles of Schlapanitz and Bellowitz by which the enemy's front is covered. With this in mind it will be essential . . . The first column marches . . . The second column marches . . . The third column marches . . .
Weierother went on and on.
The generals seemed less than keen to listen to such a demanding account of the disposition of the troops. The tall, fair-haired General Buxhowden leant against the wall and stared at a burning candle, apparently not listening and not even wanting people to think that he was. Directly opposite Weierother, fixing him with gleaming, wide-open eyes, sat the red-faced Miloradovich, whiskers combed up and shoulders high, striking a military attitude with his hands on his knees and his elbows bent outwards. He sat there in grim-faced silence, staring straight at Weierother and looking away only when the Austrian commander stopped speaking. Then Miloradovich looked round knowingly at the other generals. But the knowing glance didn't make it clear whether he agreed or disagreed, was pleased or not pleased with the troop disposition. Right next to Weierother sat Count Langeron, with a subtle smile that never left his typically southern French face throughout the reading as he looked down at his delicate fingers and played with the corners of a golden snuff-box with a portrait on the lid, twirling it round and round. In the middle of a particularly turgid paragraph he stopped twirling the snuff box, looked up and with fulsome courtesy lingering at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth he broke in and was about to speak. But the Austrian general wouldn't stop. He flapped his elbows as if to say, 'Later, you can tell me what you think later, but now be so good as to look at the map and listen.' Langeron rolled his eyes upwards with a bemused look and glanced round at Miloradovich as though seeking enlightenment, only to encounter a knowing look from Miloradovich, who actually knew nothing, so he looked down again sadly and went back to twirling his snuff-box.
'A geography lesson,' he mumbled, ostensibly under his breath but loud enough for all to hear.
Przebyszewski's display of dignified courtesy was more genuine; he cupped one ear towards Weierother and had every appearance of close concentration. The diminutive Dokhturov sat across from Weierother, self-effacing and eager to please, and bent over the outspread map, conscientiously poring over the disposition of the troops and the unfamiliar territory. Several times he asked Weierother to repeat certain words and difficult names of villages that he hadn't quite caught. Weierother obliged and Dokhturov wrote it all down.
The reading went on for more than an hour and when it was over Langeron stopped twirling his box and spoke out, without looking at Weierother or anyone in particular. His point was that such a disposition might be difficult because it assumed knowledge of the enemy's situation, but such knowledge was doubtful with the enemy on the move. For all the substance in these objections it was clear that the main purpose in presenting them was to get at Weierother, who had been so patronizing, as if he was reading his plans to a lot of school-boys, and make him realize that he wasn't dealing with fools but with men who could teach him a thing or two about military matters.
The moment Weierother's voice stopped droning Kutuzov opened his eye, like a miller waking up at the slightest hiccup in the sleepy rumbling of his mill-wheels, listened to Langeron and then as if to say, 'Huh, still the same old rubbish!' snapped his eye tight shut and allowed his head to slump down even lower.
Langeron, weighing into Weierother with the sharpest sarcasm for his pompous attitude as a military leader and planner, pointed out that Napoleon might well go on the offensive instead of waiting to be attacked, and that would render all this disposition business utterly futile. Weierother countered every misgiving with a confident smile and a sneer, obviously well prepared for objections and for anything that might be said.
'If he'd been able to attack us, he would have done it today,' he said.
'So you think he's helpless, then?' said Langeron.
'I doubt he has more than forty thousand men,' answered Weierother, smiling like a doctor approached by a junior nurse with her own diagnosis.
'In which case he's asking for trouble if he sits there waiting for us to attack,' said Langeron with his subtly sarcastic smile, looking to Miloradovich for support. But Miloradovich's mind was on anything but this row between generals.
'God save us,' he said, 'tomorrow all will become clear on the battlefield.'
Weierother smiled again, and his smile implied that he of all people found it odd and amusing to encounter objections from Russian generals and to have to explain for their benefit something that he knew to be a certainty, and so did the royal Emperors.
'The enemy has put out his fires and a continual noise comes from his camp,' he said. 'What does this mean? Either he is retreating and that's all we have to fear, or else he's changing position.' (He smiled his smile.) 'But even if he set himself up in Thuerassa, that would only save us a good deal of trouble and all our arrangements would stay in place, every last detail.'
'How can that be? . . .' said Prince Andrey, who had long been waiting for a chance to voice his own doubts. Kutuzov woke up, cleared his throat hoarsely and scanned the generals.
'Gentlemen,' he said, 'the disposition for tomorrow, no, for today - it's past midnight - cannot now be changed. You have heard it, and we shall all do our duty. But before a battle there's nothing more important than . . .' (he paused) 'a good night's sleep.'
He made it clear that he was about to rise from his chair. The generals bowed and left. It was past midnight. Prince Andrey went out.
The council of war at which Prince Andrey had not managed to voice his opinion in the way that he had hoped had left him with a feeling of uncertainty and unease. Who was right - Dolgorukov and Weierother on the one hand, or Kutuzov and Langeron and the other men who disapproved of the plan of attack? He didn't know. But couldn't Kutuzov have gone straight to the Tsar with his views? Couldn't it all have been handled differently? Was it really necessary to put tens of thousands of lives at risk, including my life, mine, just because of personal vanity and niceties at court? These were his thoughts.
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'Yes, I could easily get killed tomorrow,' he mused.
And suddenly, at the thought of death, a whole chain of memories, some distant, some close to his heart, rose up in his imagination. He remembered saying goodbye to his father and his wife; he remembered falling in love with her, thought of her being pregnant, which made him feel sorry for her and for himself; and it was in a state of emotion and nervous anxiety that he walked out of the hut that he was sharing with Nesvitsky and began to stroll about outside. It was a foggy night and the moonlight shimmered mysteriously through the mist. 'Tomorrow, oh yes, tomorrow!' he thought. 'Maybe tomorrow will see the last of me, and there will be no more memories - all these memories will have no more meaning for me. Maybe tomorrow - yes, it must be tomorrow - I can feel it coming - for the first time I shall have to show what I'm made of.' And he imagined the battle, the loss of it, the fighting concentrated at one point and all the commanding officers in terrible confusion. And then he could sense the happy moment - at long last it would be like Toulon for Napoleon. With challenging frankness he voices his opinion before Kutuzov and Weierother and the Emperors. All are struck by the correctness of his approach, but no one is prepared to carry it through, so there he goes, leading a regiment, a division, with the sole proviso that no one is to interfere with his plans, and he leads his division through the crisis and on to a victory that is his alone. 'Yes, but what about death and agony?' says a different voice. Prince Andrey ignores it and goes on with his triumphs. Comes the next battle, and it is for him alone to plan the disposition. He may be described as a lowly aide to Kutuzov, but here he is doing everything on his own. The next battle is won by him. Kutuzov is replaced; he is the replacement . . . 'Yes, but what comes next?' queries the other voice. 'Say you can manage to avoid getting wounded, killed or cheated a dozen times or more? What happens next?' 'Well, er . . .' Prince Andrey answered himself, 'I don't know what happens next, I can't possibly know, I don't wish to know, but if that's what I want, if I want glory, if I want to be famous and loved by everyone, it's not my fault that I want this, that this is all I care for, the only thing I live for. Yes, only this! I won't breathe a word of it to anyone, but, my God!, what can I do, if I care for nothing but glory and the love of men? Death, wounds, the loss of my family - nothing can frighten me. I know many people are dear and precious to me, my father, my sister, my wife - my nearest and dearest, yet, however terrible and unnatural it may seem, I would give them all up for one moment of glory, triumph over men, to be loved by men I don't even know, and never shall know, to be loved by these people there,' he thought, listening to men talking in the courtyard of Kutuzov's castle. They were the voices of the officers' servants doing the packing. Someone, probably one of the drivers, was teasing Kutuzov's old cook, well known to Prince Andrey, about his name - Titus.