； and he had himself received a slight wound on his arm from a bullet。 As a mark of special favour on the part of the commander…in…chief； he was sent with the news of this victory to the Austrian court； now at Brünn； as Vienna was threatened by the French。 On the night of the battle； excited； but not weary （though Prince Andrey did not look robustly built； he could bear fatigue better than very strong men）； he had ridden with a despatch from Dohturov to Krems to Kutuzov。 The same night he had been sent on with a special despatch to Brünn。 This commission； apart from its reward； meant an important step in promotion。
The night was dark and starlit； the road looked black in the white snow that had fallen on the day of the battle。 With his mind filled with impressions of the battle； joyful anticipations of the effect that would be produced by the news of the victory； and recollections of the farewells of the commander…in…chief and his comrades； Prince Andrey trotted along in a light posting cart； with the sensations of a man who； after long waiting； has at last attained the first instalment of some coveted happiness。 As soon as he closed his eyes； the firing of guns and cannons was echoing in his ears； and that sound blended with the rattle of the wheels and the sensation of victory。 At one moment he would begin to dream that the Russians were flying； that he was himself slain； but he waked up in haste； and with fresh happiness realised anew that that was all unreal； and that it was the French； on the contrary； who were put to flight。 He recalled again all the details of the victory； his own calm manliness during the battle； and； reassured； he began to doze。… The dark； starlit night was followed by a bright and sunny morning。 The snow was thawing in the sun； the horses galloped quickly； and new and different…looking forests； fields； and trees flew by on both sides of the road alike。
At one of the stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded。 The Russian officer in charge of the transport lay lolling back in the foremost cart； and was shouting coarse abuse at a soldier。 In each of the long German Vorspanns six or more pale； bandaged； and dirty wounded men were being jolted over the stony roads。 Some of them were talking （he caught the sound of Russian words）； others were eating bread； the most severely wounded gazed dumbly at the posting cart trotting by； with the languid interest of sick children。
Prince Andrey told the driver to stop； and asked a soldier in what battle they had been wounded。
“The day before yesterday on the Danube；” answered the soldier。 Prince Andrey took out his purse and gave the soldier three gold pieces。
“For all；” he added； addressing the officer as he came up。 “Get well； lads；” he said to the soldiers； “there’s a lot to do yet。”
“What news？” asked the officer； evidently anxious to get into conversation。
“Good news！ Forward！” he called to the driver； and galloped on。
It was quite dark when Prince Andrey rode into Br？nn； and saw himself surrounded by high houses； lighted shops； the lighted windows of houses； and street lamps； handsome carriages noisily rolling over the pavement； and all that atmosphere of a great town full of life； which is so attractive to a soldier after camp。 In spite of the rapid drive and sleepless night； Prince Andrey felt even more alert； as he drove up to the palace； than he had on the previous evening。 Only his eyes glittered with a feverish brilliance； and his ideas followed one another with extreme rapidity and clearness。 He vividly pictured again all the details of the battle； not in confusion； but definitely； in condensed shape； as he meant to present them to the Emperor Francis。 He vividly imagined the casual questions that might be put to him and the answers he would make to them。 He imagined that he would be at once presented to the Emperor。 But at the chief entrance of the palace an official ran out to meet him； and learning that he was a special messenger； led him to another entrance。
“Turning to the right out of the corridor； Euer Hochgeboren； you will find the adjutant on duty；” the official said to him。 “He will conduct you to the minister of war。”
The adjutant on duty； meeting Prince Andrey； asked him to wait； and went into the war minister。 Five minutes later the adjutant returned； and with marked courtesy； bowing and ushering Prince Andrey before him； he led him across the corridor to the private room of the war minister。 The adjutant； by his elaborately formal courtesy； seemed to wish to guard himself from any attempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian adjutant。 The joyous feeling of Prince Andrey was considerably damped as he approached the door of the minister’s room。 He felt slighted； and the feeling of being slighted passed instantaneously without his being aware of it himself—into a feeling of disdain； which was quite uncalled for。 His subtle brain at the same instant supplied him with the point of view from which he had the right to feel disdain both of the adjutant and the minister of war。 “No doubt it seems to them a very simple matter to win victories； never having smelt powder！” he thought。 His eyelids drooped disdainfully； he walked with peculiar deliberateness into the war minister’s room。 This feeling was intensified when he saw the minister of war sitting at a big table； and for the first two minutes taking no notice of his entrance。 The minister of war had his bald head； with grey curls on the temple； held low between two wax candles； he was reading some papers； and marking them with a pencil。 He went on reading to the end； without raising his eyes at the opening of the door and the sound of footsteps。
“Take this and give it him；” said the minister of war to his adjutant； handing him the papers； and taking no notice of the Russian attaché。
Prince Andrey felt that either the minister of war took less interest in the doings of Kutuzov’s army than in any other subject demanding his attention； or that he wanted to make the Russian attaché feel this。 “But that’s a matter of complete indifference to me；” thought he。 The minister of war put the other remaining papers together； making their edges level； and lifted his head。 He had an intellectual and characteristic head。 But the instant he turned to Prince Andrey； the shrewd and determined expression of the war minister’s face changed in a manner evidently conscious and habitual。 On his face was left the stupid smile—hypocritical； and not disguising its hypocrisy—of a man who receives many petitioners； one after another。
“From General—Field Marshal Kutuzov？” he queried。 “Good news； I hope？ Has there been an engagement with Mortier？ A victory？ It was high time！”
He took the despatch； which was addressed to him； and began to read it with a mournful expression。
“Ah！ My God！ my God！ Schmidt！” he said in German。 “What a calamity！ what a calamity！” Skimming through the despatch； he laid it on the table and glanced at Prince Andrey； visibly meditating on something。
“Ah； what a calamity！ So the action； you say； was a decisive one？” （“Mortier was not taken； however；” he reflected。） “Very glad you have brought good news； though the death of Schmidt is a costly price for the victory。 His majesty will certainly wish to see you； but not to…day。 I thank you； you must need repose。 To…morrow； be at the levée after the review。 But I will let you know。”
The stupid smile； which had disappeared while he was talking； reappeared on the war minister’s face。
“Au revoir； I thank you indeed。 His majesty the Emperor will most likely wish to see you；” he repeated； and he bowed his head。
As Prince Andrey left the palace； he felt that all the interest and happiness that had been given him by this victory had been left behind by him now in the indifferent hands of the minister and the formal adjutant。 The whole tenor of his thoughts had instantaneously changed。 The battle figured in his mind as a remote； far…away memory。
Chapter 10
PRINCE ANDREY stayed at Br？nn with a Russian of his acquaintance in the diplomatic service； Bilibin。
“Ah； my dear prince； there’s no one I could have been more pleased to see；” said Bilibin； coming to meet Prince Andrey。 “Franz； take the prince’s things to my bedroom；” he said to the servant； who was ushering Bolkonsky in。 “What； a messenger of victory？ That’s capital。 I’m kept indoors ill； as you see。”
After washing and dressing； Prince Andrey came into the diplomat’s luxurious study and sat down to the dinner prepared for him。 Bilibin was sitting quietly at the fireplace。
Not his journey only； but all the time he had spent with the army on the march； deprived of all the conveniences of cleanliness and the elegancies of life； made Prince Andrey feel now an agreeable sense of repose among the luxurious surroundings to which he had been accustomed from childhood。 Moreover； after his Austrian reception； he was glad to speak—if not in Russian； for they talked French—at least to a Russian； who would； he imagined； share the general Russian dislike （which he felt particularly keenly just then） for the Austrians。
Bilibin was a man of five…and…thirty； a bachelor； of the same circle as Prince Andrey。 They had been acquainted in Petersburg； but had become more intimate during Prince Andrey’s last stay at Vienna with Kutuzov。 Just as Prince Andrey was a young man； who promised to rise high in a military career； Bilibin promised to do even better in diplomacy。 He was still a young man； but not a young diplomat； as he had been in the service since he was sixteen。 He had been in Paris and in Copenhagen； and now in Vienna he filled a post of considerable importance。 Both the foreign minister and our ambassador at Vienna knew him and valued him。 He was not one of that great multitude of diplomats whose qualification is limited to the possession of negative qualities； who need simply avoid doing certain things and speak French in order to be very good diplomats。 He was one of those diplomats who like work and understand it； and in spite of his natural indolence； he often spent nights at his writing…table。 He worked equally well whatever the object of his work might be。 He was interested not in the question “Why？” but in the question “H