"Yes, yes."
"And should your Serene Highness require a man who will not spare his
skin, please think of me.... Perhaps I may prove useful to your Serene
Highness."
"Yes... Yes..." Kutuzov repeated, his laughing eye narrowing more and
more as he looked at Pierre.
Just then Boris, with his courtierlike adroitness, stepped up to
Pierre’s side near Kutuzov and in a most natural manner, without
raising his voice, said to Pierre, as though continuing an interrupted
conversation:
"The militia have put on clean white shirts to be ready to die. What
heroism, Count!"
Boris evidently said this to Pierre in order to be overheard by his
Serene Highness. 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.
"So you want to smell gunpowder?" he said to Pierre. "Yes, it’s a
pleasant smell. I have the honor to be one of your wife’s adorers. Is
she well? My quarters are at your service."
And as often happens with old people, Kutuzov began looking about
absent-mindedly as if forgetting all he wanted to say or do.
Then, evidently remembering what he wanted, he beckoned to Andrew
Kaysarov, his adjutant’s brother.
"Those verses... those verses of Marin’s... how do they go, eh? Those he
wrote about Gerakov: ‘Lectures for the corps inditing’... Recite them,
recite them!" said he, evidently preparing to laugh.
Kaysarov recited.... Kutuzov smilingly nodded his head to the rhythm of
the verses.
When Pierre had left Kutuzov, Dolokhov came up to him and took his hand.
"I am very glad to meet you here, Count," he said aloud, regardless
of the presence of strangers and in a particularly resolute and solemn
tone. "On the eve of a day when God alone knows who of us is fated to
survive, I am glad of this opportunity to tell you that I regret the
misunderstandings that occurred between us and should wish you not to
have any ill feeling for me. I beg you to forgive me."
Pierre looked at Dolokhov with a smile, not knowing what to say to him.
With tears in his eyes Dolokhov embraced Pierre and kissed him.
Boris said a few words to his general, and Count Bennigsen turned to
Pierre and proposed that he should ride with him along the line.
"It will interest you," said he.
"Yes, very much," replied Pierre.
Half an hour later Kutuzov left for Tatarinova, and Bennigsen and his
suite, with Pierre among them, set out on their ride along the line.
CHAPTER XXIII
From Gorki, Bennigsen descended the highroad to the bridge which, when
they had looked at it from the hill, the officer had pointed out as
being the center of our position and where rows of fragrant new-mown hay
lay by the riverside. They rode across that bridge into the village of
Borodino and thence turned to the left, passing an enormous number of
troops and guns, and came to a high knoll where militiamen were digging.
This was the redoubt, as yet unnamed, which afterwards became known as
the Raevski Redoubt, or the Knoll Battery, but Pierre paid no special
attention to it. He did not know that it would become more memorable to
him than any other spot on the plain of Borodino.
They then crossed the hollow to Semenovsk, where the soldiers were
dragging away the last logs from the huts and barns. Then they rode
downhill and uphill, across a ryefield trodden and beaten down as if by
hail, following a track freshly made by the artillery over the furrows
of the plowed land, and reached some fleches * which were still being
dug.
* A kind of entrenchment.
At the fleches Bennigsen stopped and began looking at the Shevardino
Redoubt opposite, which had been ours the day before and where several
horsemen could be descried. The officers said that either Napoleon or
Murat was there, and they all gazed eagerly at this little group of
horsemen. Pierre also looked at them, trying to guess which of the
scarcely discernible figures was Napoleon. At last those mounted men
rode away from the mound and disappeared.
Bennigsen spoke to a general who approached him, and began explaining
the whole position of our troops. Pierre listened to him, straining each
faculty to understand the essential points of the impending battle, but
was mortified to feel that his mental capacity was inadequate for the
task. He could make nothing of it. Bennigsen stopped speaking and,
noticing that Pierre was listening, suddenly said to him:
"I don’t think this interests you?"
"On the contrary it’s very interesting!" replied Pierre not quite
truthfully.
From the fleches they rode still farther to the left, along a road
winding through a thick, low-growing birch wood. In the middle of the
wood a brown hare with white feet sprang out and, scared by the tramp of
the many horses, grew so confused that it leaped along the road in front
of them for some time, arousing general attention and laughter, and only
when several voices shouted at it did it dart to one side and disappear
in the thicket. After going through the wood for about a mile and a half
they came out on a glade where troops of Tuchkov’s corps were stationed
to defend the left flank.
Here, at the extreme left flank, Bennigsen talked a great deal and with
much heat, and, as it seemed to Pierre, gave orders of great military
importance. In front of Tuchkov’s troops was some high ground not
occupied by troops. Bennigsen loudly criticized this mistake, saying
that it was madness to leave a height which commanded the country around
unoccupied and to place troops below it. Some of the generals expressed
the same opinion. One in particular declared with martial heat that they
were put there to be slaughtered. Bennigsen on his own authority ordered
the troops to occupy the high ground. This disposition on the left flank
increased Pierre’s doubt of his own capacity to understand military
matters. Listening to Bennigsen and the generals criticizing the
position of the troops behind the hill, he quite understood them and
shared their opinion, but for that very reason he could not understand
how the man who put them there behind the hill could have made so gross
and palpable a blunder.
Pierre did not know that these troops were not, as Bennigsen supposed,
put there to defend the position, but were in a concealed position as
an ambush, that they should not be seen and might be able to strike an
approaching enemy unexpectedly. Bennigsen did not know this and moved
the troops forward according to his own ideas without mentioning the
matter to the commander in chief.
CHAPTER XXIV
On that bright evening of August 25, Prince Andrew lay leaning on his
elbow in a broken-down shed in the village of Knyazkovo at the further
end of his regiment’s encampment. Through a gap in the broken wall he
could see, beside the wooden fence, a row of thirty-year-old birches
with their lower branches lopped off, a field on which shocks of
oats were standing, and some bushes near which rose the smoke of
campfires - the soldiers’ kitchens.
Narrow and burdensome and useless to anyone as his life now seemed to
him, Prince Andrew on the eve of battle felt agitated and irritable as
he had done seven years before at Austerlitz.
He had received and given the orders for next day’s battle and had
nothing more to do. But his thoughts - the simplest, clearest, and
therefore most terrible thoughts - would give him no peace. He knew that
tomorrow’s battle would be the most terrible of all he had taken
part in, and for the first time in his life the possibility of death
presented itself to him - not in relation to any worldly matter or with
reference to its effect on others, but simply in relation to himself, to
his own soul - vividly, plainly, terribly, and almost as a certainty. And
from the height of this perception all that had previously tormented and
preoccupied him suddenly became illumined by a cold white light without
shadows, without perspective, without distinction of outline. All life
appeared to him like magic-lantern pictures at which he had long been
gazing by artificial light through a glass. Now he suddenly saw those
badly daubed pictures in clear daylight and without a glass. "Yes,
yes! There they are, those false images that agitated, enraptured,
and tormented me," said he to himself, passing in review the principal
pictures of the magic lantern of life and regarding them now in the cold
white daylight of his clear perception of death. "There they are, those
rudely painted figures that once seemed splendid and mysterious.
Glory, the good of society, love of a woman, the Fatherland itself - how
important these pictures appeared to me, with what profound meaning they
seemed to be filled! And it is all so simple, pale, and crude in the
cold white light of this morning which I feel is dawning for me." The
three great sorrows of his life held his attention in particular: his
love for a woman, his father’s death, and the French invasion which had
overrun half Russia. "Love... that little girl who seemed to me brimming
over with mystic forces! Yes, indeed, I loved her. I made romantic plans
of love and happiness with her! Oh, what a boy I was!" he said aloud
bitterly. "Ah me! I believed in some ideal love which was to keep her
faithful to me for the whole year of my absence! Like the gentle dove
in the fable she was to pine apart from me.... But it was much simpler
really.... It was all very simple and horrible."
"When my father built Bald Hills he thought the place was his: his
land, his air, his peasants. But Napoleon came and swept him aside,
unconscious of his existence, as he might brush a chip from his path,
and his Bald Hills and his whole life fell to pieces. Princess Mary says
it is a trial sent from above. What is the trial for, when he is not
here and will never return? He is not here! For whom then is the trial
intended? The Fatherland, the destruction of Moscow! And tomorrow I
shall be killed, perhaps not even by a Frenchman but by one of our own
men, by a soldier discharging a musket close to my ear as one of them
did yesterday, and the French will come and take me by head and heels
and fling me into a hole that I may not stink under their noses, and new
conditions of life will arise, which will seem quite ordinary to others
and about which I shall know nothing. I shall not exist...."
He looked at the row of birches shining in the sunshine, with their
motionless green and yellow foliage and white bark. "To die... to be
killed tomorrow... That I should not exist... That all this should still
be, but no me...."
And the birches with their light and shade, the curly clouds, the
smoke of the campfires, and all that was around him changed and seemed
terrible and menacing. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He rose
quickly, went out of the shed, and began to walk about.
After he had returned, voices were heard outside the shed. "Who’s that?"
he cried.
The red-nosed Captain Timokhin, formerly Dolokhov’s squadron commander,
but now from lack of officers a battalion commander, shyly entered the
shed followed by an adjutant and the regimental paymaster.
Prince Andrew rose hastily, listened to the business they had come
about, gave them some further instructions, and was about to dismiss
them when he heard a familiar, lisping, voice behind the shed.
"Devil take it!" said the voice of a man stumbling over something.
Prince Andrew looked out of the shed and saw Pierre, who had tripped
over a pole on the ground and had nearly fallen, coming his way. It was
unpleasant to Prince Andrew to meet people of his own set in general,
and Pierre especially, for he reminded him of all the painful moments of
his last visit to Moscow.
"You? What a surprise!" said he. "What brings you here? This is
unexpected!"
As he said this his eyes and face expressed more than coldness - they
expressed hostility, which Pierre noticed at once. He had approached
the shed full of animation, but on seeing Prince Andrew’s face he felt
constrained and ill at ease.
"I have come... simply... you know... come... it interests me," said
Pierre, who had so often that day senselessly repeated that word
"interesting." "I wish to see the battle."
"Oh yes, and what do the Masonic brothers say about war? How would they
stop it?" said Prince Andrew sarcastically. "Well, and how’s Moscow? And
my people? Have they reached Moscow at last?" he asked seriously.
"Yes, they have. Julie Drubetskaya told me so. I went to see them, but
missed them. They have gone to your estate near Moscow."
CHAPTER XXV
The officers were about to take leave, but Prince Andrew, apparently
reluctant to be left alone with his friend, asked them to stay and have
tea. Seats were brought in and so was the tea. The officers gazed with
surprise at Pierre’s huge stout figure and listened to his talk of
Moscow and the position of our army, round which he had ridden. Prince
Andrew remained silent, and his expression was so forbidding that Pierre
addressed his remarks chiefly to the good-natured battalion commander.
"So you understand the whole position of our troops?" Prince Andrew
interrupted him.
"Yes - that is, how do you mean?" said Pierre. "Not being a military man
I can’t say I have understood it fully, but I understand the general
position."
"Well, then, you know more than anyone else, be it who it may," said
Prince Andrew.
"Oh!" said Pierre, looking over his spectacles in perplexity at Prince
Andrew. "Well, and what do you think of Kutuzov’s appointment?" he
asked.
"I was very glad of his appointment, that’s all I know," replied Prince
Andrew.
"And tell me your opinion of Barclay de Tolly. In Moscow they are saying
heaven knows what about him.... What do you think of him?"
"Ask them," replied Prince Andrew, indicating the officers.
Pierre looked at Timokhin with the condescendingly interrogative smile
with which everybody involuntarily addressed that officer.
"We see light again, since his Serenity has been appointed, your
excellency," said Timokhin timidly, and continually turning to glance at
his colonel.
"Why so?" asked Pierre.
"Well, to mention only firewood and fodder, let me inform you. Why, when
we were retreating from Sventsyani we dare not touch a stick or a wisp
of hay or anything. You see, we were going away, so he would get it all;
wasn’t it so, your excellency?" and again Timokhin turned to the prince.
"But we daren’t. In our regiment two officers were court-martialed for
that kind of thing. But when his Serenity took command everything became
straightforward. Now we see light...."
"Then why was it forbidden?"
Timokhin looked about in confusion, not knowing what or how to answer
such a question. Pierre put the same question to Prince Andrew.
"Why, so as not to lay waste the country we were abandoning to the
enemy," said Prince Andrew with venomous irony. "It is very sound:
one can’t permit the land to be pillaged and accustom the troops to
marauding. At Smolensk too he judged correctly that the French might
outflank us, as they had larger forces. But he could not understand
this," cried Prince Andrew in a shrill voice that seemed to escape him
involuntarily: "he could not understand that there, for the first time,
we were fighting for Russian soil, and that there was a spirit in the
men such as I had never seen before, that we had held the French for
two days, and that that success had increased our strength tenfold. He
ordered us to retreat, and all our efforts and losses went for nothing.
He had no thought of betraying us, he tried to do the best he could,
he thought out everything, and that is why he is unsuitable. He is
unsuitable now, just because he plans out everything very thoroughly and
accurately as every German has to. How can I explain?... Well, say your
father has a German valet, and he is a splendid valet and satisfies your
father’s requirements better than you could, then it’s all right to let
him serve. But if your father is mortally sick you’ll send the valet
away and attend to your father with your own unpracticed, awkward hands,
and will soothe him better than a skilled man who is a stranger could.
So it has been with Barclay. While Russia was well, a foreigner could
serve her and be a splendid minister; but as soon as she is in danger
she needs one of her own kin. But in your Club they have been making him
out a traitor! They slander him as a traitor, and the only result will
be that afterwards, ashamed of their false accusations, they will make
him out a hero or a genius instead of a traitor, and that will be still
more unjust. He is an honest and very punctilious German."
"And they say he’s a skillful commander," rejoined Pierre.
"I don’t understand what is meant by ‘a skillful commander,’" replied
Prince Andrew ironically.
"A skillful commander?" replied Pierre. "Why, one who foresees all
contingencies... and foresees the adversary’s intentions."
"But that’s impossible," said Prince Andrew as if it were a matter
settled long ago.
Pierre looked at him in surprise.
"And yet they say that war is like a game of chess?" he remarked.
"Yes," replied Prince Andrew, "but with this little difference, that
in chess you may think over each move as long as you please and are not
limited for time, and with this difference too, that a knight is always
stronger than a pawn, and two pawns are always stronger than one, while
in war a battalion is sometimes stronger than a division and sometimes
weaker than a company. The relative strength of bodies of troops can
never be known to anyone. Believe me," he went on, "if things
depended on arrangements made by the staff, I should be there making
arrangements, but instead of that I have the honor to serve here in
the regiment with these gentlemen, and I consider that on us tomorrow’s
battle will depend and not on those others.... Success never depends,
and never will depend, on position, or equipment, or even on numbers,
and least of all on position."
"But on what then?"
"On the feeling that is in me and in him," he pointed to Timokhin, "and
in each soldier."
Prince Andrew glanced at Timokhin, who looked at his commander in alarm
and bewilderment. In contrast to his former reticent taciturnity
Prince Andrew now seemed excited. He could apparently not refrain from
expressing the thoughts that had suddenly occurred to him.
"A battle is won by those who firmly resolve to win it! Why did we lose
the battle at Austerlitz? The French losses were almost equal to ours,
but very early we said to ourselves that we were losing the battle,
and we did lose it. And we said so because we had nothing to fight for
there, we wanted to get away from the battlefield as soon as we could.
‘We’ve lost, so let us run,’ and we ran. If we had not said that till
the evening, heaven knows what might not have happened. But tomorrow we
shan’t say it! You talk about our position, the left flank weak and the
right flank too extended," he went on. "That’s all nonsense, there’s
nothing of the kind. But what awaits us tomorrow? A hundred million most
diverse chances which will be decided on the instant by the fact that
our men or theirs run or do not run, and that this man or that man is
killed, but all that is being done at present is only play. The fact is
that those men with whom you have ridden round the position not only
do not help matters, but hinder. They are only concerned with their own
petty interests."
"At such a moment?" said Pierre reproachfully.
"At such a moment!" Prince Andrew repeated. "To them it is only a moment
affording opportunities to undermine a rival and obtain an extra cross
or ribbon. For me tomorrow means this: a Russian army of a hundred
thousand and a French army of a hundred thousand have met to fight, and
the thing is that these two hundred thousand men will fight and the side
that fights more fiercely and spares itself least will win. And if you
like I will tell you that whatever happens and whatever muddles those at
the top may make, we shall win tomorrow’s battle. Tomorrow, happen what
may, we shall win!"
"There now, your excellency! That’s the truth, the real truth," said
Timokhin. "Who would spare himself now? The soldiers in my battalion,
believe me, wouldn’t drink their vodka! ‘It’s not the day for that!’
they say."
All were silent. The officers rose. Prince Andrew went out of the shed
with them, giving final orders to the adjutant. After they had gone
Pierre approached Prince Andrew and was about to start a conversation
when they heard the clatter of three horses’ hoofs on the road not far
from the shed, and looking in that direction Prince Andrew recognized
Wolzogen and Clausewitz accompanied by a Cossack. They rode close by
continuing to converse, and Prince Andrew involuntarily heard these
words:
"Der Krieg muss in Raum verlegt werden. Der Ansicht kann ich nicht genug
Preis geben," * said one of them.
* "The war must be extended widely. I cannot sufficiently
commend that view."
"Oh, ja," said the other, "der Zweck ist nur den Feind zu schwächen,
so kann man gewiss nicht den Verlust der Privat-Personen in Achtung
nehmen." *
* "Oh, yes, the only aim is to weaken the enemy, so of
course one cannot take into account the loss of private
individuals."
"Oh, no," agreed the other.
"Extend widely!" said Prince Andrew with an angry snort, when they had
ridden past. "In that ‘extend’ were my father, son, and sister, at Bald
Hills. That’s all the same to him! That’s what I was saying to you - those
German gentlemen won’t win the battle tomorrow but will only make all
the mess they can, because they have nothing in their German heads but
theories not worth an empty eggshell and haven’t in their hearts the one
thing needed tomorrow - that which Timokhin has. They have yielded up all
Europe to him, and have now come to teach us. Fine teachers!" and again
his voice grew shrill.
"So you think we shall win tomorrow’s battle?" asked Pierre.
"Yes, yes," answered Prince Andrew absently. "One thing I would do if
I had the power," he began again, "I would not take prisoners. Why take
prisoners? It’s chivalry! The French have destroyed my home and are on
their way to destroy Moscow, they have outraged and are outraging me
every moment. They are my enemies. In my opinion they are all criminals.
And so thinks Timokhin and the whole army. They should be executed!
Since they are my foes they cannot be my friends, whatever may have been
said at Tilsit."
"Yes, yes," muttered Pierre, looking with shining eyes at Prince Andrew.
"I quite agree with you!"
The question that had perturbed Pierre on the Mozhaysk hill and all
that day now seemed to him quite clear and completely solved. He now
understood the whole meaning and importance of this war and of the
impending battle. All he had seen that day, all the significant and
stern expressions on the faces he had seen in passing, were lit up
for him by a new light. He understood that latent heat (as they say in
physics) of patriotism which was present in all these men he had seen,
and this explained to him why they all prepared for death calmly, and as
it were lightheartedly.
"Not take prisoners," Prince Andrew continued: "That by itself would
quite change the whole war and make it less cruel. As it is we have
played at war - that’s what’s vile! We play at magnanimity and all that
stuff. Such magnanimity and sensibility are like the magnanimity and
sensibility of a lady who faints when she sees a calf being killed: she
is so kindhearted that she can’t look at blood, but enjoys eating the
calf served up with sauce. They talk to us of the rules of war, of
chivalry, of flags of truce, of mercy to the unfortunate and so on. It’s
all rubbish! I saw chivalry and flags of truce in 1805; they humbugged
us and we humbugged them. They plunder other people’s houses, issue
false paper money, and worst of all they kill my children and my
father, and then talk of rules of war and magnanimity to foes! Take no
prisoners, but kill and be killed! He who has come to this as I have
through the same sufferings..."
Prince Andrew, who had thought it was all the same to him whether or
not Moscow was taken as Smolensk had been, was suddenly checked in his
speech by an unexpected cramp in his throat. He paced up and down a
few times in silence, but his eyes glittered feverishly and his lips
quivered as he began speaking.
"If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to war only
when it was worth while going to certain death, as now. Then there would
not be war because Paul Ivanovich had offended Michael Ivanovich. And
when there was a war, like this one, it would be war! And then the
determination of the troops would be quite different. Then all these
Westphalians and Hessians whom Napoleon is leading would not follow
him into Russia, and we should not go to fight in Austria and Prussia
without knowing why. War is not courtesy but the most horrible thing in
life; and we ought to understand that and not play at war. We ought to
accept this terrible necessity sternly and seriously. It all lies in
that: get rid of falsehood and let war be war and not a game. As it is
now, war is the favorite pastime of the idle and frivolous. The military
calling is the most highly honored.
"But what is war? What is needed for success in warfare? What are the
habits of the military? The aim of war is murder; the methods of war
are spying, treachery, and their encouragement, the ruin of a country’s
inhabitants, robbing them or stealing to provision the army, and fraud
and falsehood termed military craft. The habits of the military class
are the absence of freedom, that is, discipline, idleness, ignorance,
cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And in spite of all this it is the
highest class, respected by everyone. All the kings, except the Chinese,
wear military uniforms, and he who kills most people receives the
highest rewards.
"They meet, as we shall meet tomorrow, to murder one another; they kill
and maim tens of thousands, and then have thanksgiving services for
having killed so many people (they even exaggerate the number), and they
announce a victory, supposing that the more people they have killed
the greater their achievement. How does God above look at them and hear
them?" exclaimed Prince Andrew in a shrill, piercing voice. "Ah, my
friend, it has of late become hard for me to live. I see that I have
begun to understand too much. And it doesn’t do for man to taste of the
tree of knowledge of good and evil.... Ah, well, it’s not for long!" he
added.
"However, you’re sleepy, and it’s time for me to sleep. Go back to
Gorki!" said Prince Andrew suddenly.
"Oh no!" Pierre replied, looking at Prince Andrew with frightened,
compassionate eyes.
"Go, go! Before a battle one must have one’s sleep out," repeated Prince
Andrew.
He came quickly up to Pierre and embraced and kissed him. "Good-by, be
off!" he shouted. "Whether we meet again or not..." and turning away
hurriedly he entered the shed.
It was already dark, and Pierre could not make out whether the
expression of Prince Andrew’s face was angry or tender.
For some time he stood in silence considering whether he should follow
him or go away. "No, he does not want it!" Pierre concluded. "And I know
that this is our last meeting!" He sighed deeply and rode back to Gorki.
On re-entering the shed Prince Andrew lay down on a rug, but he could
not sleep.
He closed his eyes. One picture succeeded another in his imagination. On
one of them he dwelt long and joyfully. He vividly recalled an evening
in Petersburg. Natasha with animated and excited face was telling him
how she had gone to look for mushrooms the previous summer and had lost
her way in the big forest. She incoherently described the depths of
the forest, her feelings, and a talk with a beekeeper she met, and
constantly interrupted her story to say: "No, I can’t! I’m not telling
it right; no, you don’t understand," though he encouraged her by saying
that he did understand, and he really had understood all she wanted to
say. But Natasha was not satisfied with her own words: she felt that
they did not convey the passionately poetic feeling she had experienced
that day and wished to convey. "He was such a delightful old man, and
it was so dark in the forest... and he had such kind... No, I can’t
describe it," she had said, flushed and excited. Prince Andrew smiled
now the same happy smile as then when he had looked into her eyes. "I
understood her," he thought. "I not only understood her, but it was just
that inner, spiritual force, that sincerity, that frankness of soul - that
very soul of hers which seemed to be fettered by her body - it was that
soul I loved in her... loved so strongly and happily..." and suddenly
he remembered how his love had ended. "He did not need anything of that
kind. He neither saw nor understood anything of the sort. He only saw in
her a pretty and fresh young girl, with whom he did not deign to unite
his fate. And I?... and he is still alive and gay!"
Prince Andrew jumped up as if someone had burned him, and again began
pacing up and down in front of the shed.
CHAPTER XXVI
On August 25, the eve of the battle of Borodino, M. de Beausset, prefect
of the French Emperor’s palace, arrived at Napoleon’s quarters at
Valuevo with Colonel Fabvier, the former from Paris and the latter from
Madrid.
Donning his court uniform, M. de Beausset ordered a box he had
brought for the Emperor to be carried before him and entered the first
compartment of Napoleon’s tent, where he began opening the box while
conversing with Napoleon’s aides-de-camp who surrounded him.
Fabvier, not entering the tent, remained at the entrance talking to some
generals of his acquaintance.
The Emperor Napoleon had not yet left his bedroom and was finishing his
toilet. Slightly snorting and grunting, he presented now his back and
now his plump hairy chest to the brush with which his valet was rubbing
him down. Another valet, with his finger over the mouth of a bottle,
was sprinkling Eau de Cologne on the Emperor’s pampered body with an
expression which seemed to say that he alone knew where and how much Eau
de Cologne should be sprinkled. Napoleon’s short hair was wet and
matted on the forehead, but his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed
physical satisfaction. "Go on, harder, go on!" he muttered to the valet
who was rubbing him, slightly twitching and grunting. An aide-de-camp,
who had entered the bedroom to report to the Emperor the number of
prisoners taken in yesterday’s action, was standing by the door after
delivering his message, awaiting permission to withdraw. Napoleon,
frowning, looked at him from under his brows.
"No prisoners!" said he, repeating the aide-de-camp’s words. "They
are forcing us to exterminate them. So much the worse for the Russian
army.... Go on... harder, harder!" he muttered, hunching his back and
presenting his fat shoulders.
"All right. Let Monsieur de Beausset enter, and Fabvier too," he said,
nodding to the aide-de-camp.
"Yes, sire," and the aide-de-camp disappeared through the door of the
tent.
Two valets rapidly dressed His Majesty, and wearing the blue uniform of
the Guards he went with firm quick steps to the reception room.
De Beausset’s hands meanwhile were busily engaged arranging the present
he had brought from the Empress, on two chairs directly in front of the
entrance. But Napoleon had dressed and come out with such unexpected
rapidity that he had not time to finish arranging the surprise.
Napoleon noticed at once what they were about and guessed that they were
not ready. He did not wish to deprive them of the pleasure of giving him
a surprise, so he pretended not to see de Beausset and called Fabvier to
him, listening silently and with a stern frown to what Fabvier told him
of the heroism and devotion of his troops fighting at Salamanca, at
the other end of Europe, with but one thought - to be worthy of their
Emperor - and but one fear - to fail to please him. The result of that
battle had been deplorable. Napoleon made ironic remarks during
Fabvier’s account, as if he had not expected that matters could go
otherwise in his absence.
"I must make up for that in Moscow," said Napoleon. "I’ll see you
later," he added, and summoned de Beausset, who by that time had
prepared the surprise, having placed something on the chairs and covered
it with a cloth.
De Beausset bowed low, with that courtly French bow which only the
old retainers of the Bourbons knew how to make, and approached him,
presenting an envelope.
Napoleon turned to him gaily and pulled his ear.
"You have hurried here. I am very glad. Well, what is Paris saying?" he
asked, suddenly changing his former stern expression for a most cordial
tone.
"Sire, all Paris regrets your absence," replied de Beausset as was
proper.
But though Napoleon knew that de Beausset had to say something of this
kind, and though in his lucid moments he knew it was untrue, he was
pleased to hear it from him. Again he honored him by touching his ear.
"I am very sorry to have made you travel so far," said he.
"Sire, I expected nothing less than to find you at the gates of Moscow,"
replied de Beausset.
Napoleon smiled and, lifting his head absent-mindedly, glanced to the
right. An aide-de-camp approached with gliding steps and offered him a
gold snuffbox, which he took.
"Yes, it has happened luckily for you," he said, raising the open
snuffbox to his nose. "You are fond of travel, and in three days you
will see Moscow. You surely did not expect to see that Asiatic capital.
You will have a pleasant journey."
De Beausset bowed gratefully at this regard for his taste for travel (of
which he had not till then been aware).
"Ha, what’s this?" asked Napoleon, noticing that all the courtiers were
looking at something concealed under a cloth.
With courtly adroitness de Beausset half turned and without turning his
back to the Emperor retired two steps, twitching off the cloth at the
same time, and said:
"A present to Your Majesty from the Empress."
It was a portrait, painted in bright colors by Gerard, of the son borne
to Napoleon by the daughter of the Emperor of Austria, the boy whom for
some reason everyone called "The King of Rome."
A very pretty curly-headed boy with a look of the Christ in the Sistine
Madonna was depicted playing at stick and ball. The ball represented the
terrestrial globe and the stick in his other hand a scepter.
Though it was not clear what the artist meant to express by depicting
the so-called King of Rome spiking the earth with a stick, the allegory
apparently seemed to Napoleon, as it had done to all who had seen it in
Paris, quite clear and very pleasing.
"The King of Rome!" he said, pointing to the portrait with a graceful
gesture. "Admirable!"
With the natural capacity of an Italian for changing the expression of
his face at will, he drew nearer to the portrait and assumed a look
of pensive tenderness. He felt that what he now said and did would be
historical, and it seemed to him that it would now be best for him - whose
grandeur enabled his son to play stick and ball with the terrestrial
globe - to show, in contrast to that grandeur, the simplest paternal
tenderness. His eyes grew dim, he moved forward, glanced round at a
chair (which seemed to place itself under him), and sat down on it
before the portrait. At a single gesture from him everyone went out on
tiptoe, leaving the great man to himself and his emotion.
Having sat still for a while he touched - himself not knowing why - the
thick spot of paint representing the highest light in the portrait,
rose, and recalled de Beausset and the officer on duty. He ordered the
portrait to be carried outside his tent, that the Old Guard, stationed
round it, might not be deprived of the pleasure of seeing the King of
Rome, the son and heir of their adored monarch.
And while he was doing M. de Beausset the honor of breakfasting with
him, they heard, as Napoleon had anticipated, the rapturous cries of the
officers and men of the Old Guard who had run up to see the portrait.
"Vive l’Empereur! Vive le roi de Rome! Vive l’Empereur!" came those
ecstatic cries.
After breakfast Napoleon in de Beausset’s presence dictated his order of
the day to the army.
"Short and energetic!" he remarked when he had read over the
proclamation which he had dictated straight off without corrections. It
ran:
Soldiers! This is the battle you have so longed for. Victory depends on
you. It is essential for us; it will give us all we need: comfortable
quarters and a speedy return to our country. Behave as you did at
Austerlitz, Friedland, Vitebsk, and Smolensk. Let our remotest posterity
recall your achievements this day with pride. Let it be said of each of
you: "He was in the great battle before Moscow!"
"Before Moscow!" repeated Napoleon, and inviting M. de Beausset, who was
so fond of travel, to accompany him on his ride, he went out of the tent
to where the horses stood saddled.
"Your Majesty is too kind!" replied de Beausset to the invitation to
accompany the Emperor; he wanted to sleep, did not know how to ride and
was afraid of doing so.
But Napoleon nodded to the traveler, and de Beausset had to mount. When
Napoleon came out of the tent the shouting of the Guards before his
son’s portrait grew still louder. Napoleon frowned.
"Take him away!" he said, pointing with a gracefully majestic gesture to
the portrait. "It is too soon for him to see a field of battle."
De Beausset closed his eyes, bowed his head, and sighed deeply, to
indicate how profoundly he valued and comprehended the Emperor’s words.
CHAPTER XXVII
On the twenty-fifth of August, so his historians tell us, Napoleon spent
the whole day on horseback inspecting the locality, considering plans
submitted to him by his marshals, and personally giving commands to his
generals.
The original line of the Russian forces along the river Kolocha had
been dislocated by the capture of the Shevardino Redoubt on the
twenty-fourth, and part of the line - the left flank - had been drawn back.
That part of the line was not entrenched and in front of it the ground
was more open and level than elsewhere. It was evident to anyone,
military or not, that it was here the French should attack. It would
seem that not much consideration was needed to reach this conclusion,
nor any particular care or trouble on the part of the Emperor and his
marshals, nor was there any need of that special and supreme quality
called genius that people are so apt to ascribe to Napoleon; yet the
historians who described the event later and the men who then surrounded
Napoleon, and he himself, thought otherwise.
Napoleon rode over the plain and surveyed the locality with a profound
air and in silence, nodded with approval or shook his head dubiously,
and without communicating to the generals around him the profound
course of ideas which guided his decisions merely gave them his final
conclusions in the form of commands. Having listened to a suggestion
from Davout, who was now called Prince d’Eckmuhl, to turn the Russian
left wing, Napoleon said it should not be done, without explaining
why not. To a proposal made by General Campan (who was to attack the
fleches) to lead his division through the woods, Napoleon agreed, though
the so-called Duke of Elchingen (Ney) ventured to remark that a movement
through the woods was dangerous and might disorder the division.
Having inspected the country opposite the Shevardino Redoubt, Napoleon
pondered a little in silence and then indicated the spots where two
batteries should be set up by the morrow to act against the Russian
entrenchments, and the places where, in line with them, the field
artillery should be placed.
After giving these and other commands he returned to his tent, and the
dispositions for the battle were written down from his dictation.
These dispositions, of which the French historians write with enthusiasm
and other historians with profound respect, were as follows:
At dawn the two new batteries established during the night on the
plain occupied by the Prince d’Eckmuhl will open fire on the opposing
batteries of the enemy.
At the same time the commander of the artillery of the 1st Corps,
General Pernetti, with thirty cannon of Campan’s division and all the
howitzers of Dessaix’s and Friant’s divisions, will move forward, open
fire, and overwhelm with shellfire the enemy’s battery, against which
will operate:
24 guns of the artillery of the Guards
30 guns of Campan’s division
and8 guns of Friant’s and Dessaix’s divisions
-
in all 62 guns.
The commander of the artillery of the 3rd Corps, General Fouche, will
place the howitzers of the 3rd and 8th Corps, sixteen in all, on the
flanks of the battery that is to bombard the entrenchment on the left,
which will have forty guns in all directed against it.
General Sorbier must be ready at the first order to advance with all the
howitzers of the Guard’s artillery against either one or other of the
entrenchments.
During the cannonade Prince Poniatowski is to advance through the wood
on the village and turn the enemy’s position.
General Campan will move through the wood to seize the first
fortification.
After the advance has begun in this manner, orders will be given in
accordance with the enemy’s movements.
The cannonade on the left flank will begin as soon as the guns of the
right wing are heard. The sharpshooters of Morand’s division and of
the vice-King’s division will open a heavy fire on seeing the attack
commence on the right wing.
The vice-King will occupy the village and cross by its three bridges,
advancing to the same heights as Morand’s and Gibrard’s divisions, which
under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt and come into
line with the rest of the forces.
All this must be done in good order (le tout se fera avec ordre et
methode) as far as possible retaining troops in reserve.
The Imperial Camp near Mozhaysk,
September, 6, 1812.
These dispositions, which are very obscure and confused if one allows
oneself to regard the arrangements without religious awe of his genius,
related to Napoleon’s orders to deal with four points - four different
orders. Not one of these was, or could be, carried out.
In the disposition it is said first that the batteries placed on the
spot chosen by Napoleon, with the guns of Pernetti and Fouche; which
were to come in line with them, 102 guns in all, were to open fire and
shower shells on the Russian fleches and redoubts. This could not be
done, as from the spots selected by Napoleon the projectiles did not
carry to the Russian works, and those 102 guns shot into the air until
the nearest commander, contrary to Napoleon’s instructions, moved them
forward.
The second order was that Poniatowski, moving to the village through the
wood, should turn the Russian left flank. This could not be done and
was not done, because Poniatowski, advancing on the village through the
wood, met Tuchkov there barring his way, and could not and did not turn
the Russian position.
The third order was: General Campan will move through the wood to seize
the first fortification. General Campan’s division did not seize the
first fortification but was driven back, for on emerging from the wood
it had to reform under grapeshot, of which Napoleon was unaware.
The fourth order was: The vice-King will occupy the village (Borodino)
and cross by its three bridges, advancing to the same heights as
Morand’s and Gerard’s divisions (for whose movements no directions are
given), which under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt
and come into line with the rest of the forces.
As far as one can make out, not so much from this unintelligible
sentence as from the attempts the vice-King made to execute the orders
given him, he was to advance from the left through Borodino to the
redoubt while the divisions of Morand and Gerard were to advance
simultaneously from the front.
All this, like the other parts of the disposition, was not and could
not be executed. After passing through Borodino the vice-King was driven
back to the Kolocha and could get no farther; while the divisions of
Morand and Gerard did not take the redoubt but were driven back, and the
redoubt was only taken at the end of the battle by the cavalry (a thing
probably unforeseen and not heard of by Napoleon). So not one of
the orders in the disposition was, or could be, executed. But in the
disposition it is said that, after the fight has commenced in this
manner, orders will be given in accordance with the enemy’s movements,
and so it might be supposed that all necessary arrangements would be
made by Napoleon during the battle. But this was not and could not be
done, for during the whole battle Napoleon was so far away that, as
appeared later, he could not know the course of the battle and not one
of his orders during the fight could be executed.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Many historians say that the French did not win the battle of Borodino
because Napoleon had a cold, and that if he had not had a cold the
orders he gave before and during the battle would have been still more
full of genius and Russia would have been lost and the face of the world
have been changed. To historians who believe that Russia was shaped
by the will of one man - Peter the Great - and that France from a republic
became an empire and French armies went to Russia at the will of one
man - Napoleon - to say that Russia remained a power because Napoleon had a
bad cold on the twenty-fourth of August may seem logical and convincing.
If it had depended on Napoleon’s will to fight or not to fight the
battle of Borodino, and if this or that other arrangement depended on
his will, then evidently a cold affecting the manifestation of his will
might have saved Russia, and consequently the valet who omitted to bring
Napoleon his waterproof boots on the twenty-fourth would have been
the savior of Russia. Along that line of thought such a deduction is
indubitable, as indubitable as the deduction Voltaire made in jest
(without knowing what he was jesting at) when he saw that the Massacre
of St. Bartholomew was due to Charles IX’s stomach being deranged. But
to men who do not admit that Russia was formed by the will of one man,
Peter I, or that the French Empire was formed and the war with Russia
begun by the will of one man, Napoleon, that argument seems not merely
untrue and irrational, but contrary to all human reality. To the
question of what causes historic events another answer presents itself,
namely, that the course of human events is predetermined from on
high - depends on the coincidence of the wills of all who take part in the
events, and that a Napoleon’s influence on the course of these events is
purely external and fictitious.
Strange as at first glance it may seem to suppose that the Massacre of
St. Bartholomew was not due to Charles IX’s will, though he gave the
order for it and thought it was done as a result of that order; and
strange as it may seem to suppose that the slaughter of eighty thousand
men at Borodino was not due to Napoleon’s will, though he ordered the
commencement and conduct of the battle and thought it was done
because he ordered it; strange as these suppositions appear, yet human
dignity - which tells me that each of us is, if not more at least not less
a man than the great Napoleon - demands the acceptance of that solution of
the question, and historic investigation abundantly confirms it.
At the battle of Borodino Napoleon shot at no one and killed no one.
That was all done by the soldiers. Therefore it was not he who killed
people.
The French soldiers went to kill and be killed at the battle of Borodino
not because of Napoleon’s orders but by their own volition. The whole
army - French, Italian, German, Polish, and Dutch - hungry, ragged, and
weary of the campaign, felt at the sight of an army blocking their road
to Moscow that the wine was drawn and must be drunk. Had Napoleon then
forbidden them to fight the Russians, they would have killed him and
have proceeded to fight the Russians because it was inevitable.
When they heard Napoleon’s proclamation offering them, as compensation
for mutilation and death, the words of posterity about their having been
in the battle before Moscow, they cried "Vive l’Empereur!" just as they
had cried "Vive l’Empereur!" at the sight of the portrait of the boy
piercing the terrestrial globe with a toy stick, and just as they would
have cried "Vive l’Empereur!" at any nonsense that might be told them.
There was nothing left for them to do but cry "Vive l’Empereur!" and go
to fight, in order to get food and rest as conquerors in Moscow. So it
was not because of Napoleon’s commands that they killed their fellow
men.
And it was not Napoleon who directed the course of the battle, for none
of his orders were executed and during the battle he did not know what
was going on before him. So the way in which these people killed one
another was not decided by Napoleon’s will but occurred independently of
him, in accord with the will of hundreds of thousands of people who took
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000