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In the year 1812, when news of the war with Napoleon reached Bucharest where Kutuzov had been living for two months, passing his days and nights with a Wallachian woman Prince Andrew asked Kutuzov to transfer him to the Western Army. Kutuzov, who was already weary of Bolkonski's activity which seemed to reproach his own idleness, very readily let him go and gave him a mission to Barclay de Tolly.
On such feelings, more or less dimly shared by all, the unanimity and general approval were founded with which, despite court influences, the popular choice of Kutuzov as commander in chief was received.
"Hurrah!" cried the three hundred voices again, but instead of the band a choir began singing a cantata composed by Paul Ivanovich Kutuzov: Russians! O'er all barriers on! Courage conquest guarantees; Have we not Bagration? He brings foe men to their knees,... etc.
"Yes, exactly; the left flank is now extremely strong." Though Kutuzov had dismissed all unnecessary men from the staff, Boris had contrived to remain at headquarters after the changes. He had established himself with Count Bennigsen, who, like all on whom Boris had been in attendance, considered young Prince Drubetskoy an invaluable man.
The Emperor turned with a smile to one of his followers and made a remark to him, pointing to the gallant Apsherons. Kutuzov accompanied by his adjutants rode at a walking pace behind the carabineers. When he had gone less than half a mile in the rear of the column he stopped at a solitary, deserted house that had probably once been an inn, where two roads parted.
His plan seemed decidedly a good one, especially from the strength of conviction with which he spoke. Kutuzov looked down at his own legs, occasionally glancing at the door of the adjoining hut as if expecting something unpleasant to emerge from it. And from that hut, while Denisov was speaking, a general with a portfolio under his arm really did appear.
Kutuzov was silent for a few seconds and then, submitting with evident reluctance to the duty imposed by his position, raised his head and began to speak. A throng of officers surrounded him. He looked attentively around at the circle of officers, recognizing several of them. "I thank you all!" he said, addressing the soldiers and then again the officers.
"It's sad, very sad. But remember, my dear fellow, that I am a father to you, a second father...." Prince Andrew told Kutuzov all he knew of his father's death, and what he had seen at Bald Hills when he passed through it. "What... what they have brought us to!"
Both of them led downhill and troops were marching along both. The fog had begun to clear and enemy troops were already dimly visible about a mile and a half off on the opposite heights. Down below, on the left, the firing became more distinct. Kutuzov had stopped and was speaking to an Austrian general.
He knew Kutuzov's attention would be caught by those words, and so it was. "What are you saying about the militia?" he asked Boris. "Preparing for tomorrow, your Serene Highness for death they have put on clean shirts." "Ah... a wonderful, a matchless people!" said Kutuzov; and he closed his eyes and swayed his head. "A matchless people!" he repeated with a sigh.
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