SOME TENS OF THOUSANDS of men lay sacrificed in various postures and uniforms on the fields and meadows belonging to the Davidov family and the Crown serfs, on those fields and meadows where for hundreds of years the peasants of Borodino, Gorky, Shevardino, and Semyonovskoye had harvested their crops and grazed their cattle. At the ambulance stations the grass and earth were soaked with blood for two acres round. Crowds of men, wounded and unwounded, of various arms, with panic-stricken faces, dragged themselves, on one side back to Mozhaisk, on the other to Valuev. Other crowds, exhausted and hungry, were led forward by their officers. Others still held their ground, and went on firing.

Over all the plain, at first so bright and gay with its glittering bayonets and puffs of smoke in the morning sunshine, there hung now a dark cloud of damp mist and smoke and a strange, sour smell of saltpetre and blood. Storm clouds had gathered, and a drizzling rain began to fall on the dead, on the wounded, on the panic-stricken, and exhausted, and hesitating soldiers. It seemed to say: “Enough, enough; cease.… Consider. What are you doing?”

To the men on both sides, alike exhausted from want of food and rest, the doubt began to come whether they should still persist in slaughtering one another; and in every face could be seen hesitation, and in every heart alike there rose the question: “For what, for whom am I to slay and be slain? Slay whom you will, do what you will, but I have had enough!” This thought took shape towards evening in every heart alike. Any minute all those men might be horror-stricken at what they were doing, might throw up everything and run anywhere.

But though towards the end of the battle the men felt all the horror of their actions, though they would have been glad to cease, some unfathomable, mysterious force still led them on, and the artillerymen—the third of them left—soaked with sweat, grimed with powder and blood, and panting with weariness, still brought the charges, loaded, aimed, and lighted the match; and the cannon balls flew as swiftly and cruelly from each side and crushed human flesh, and kept up the fearful work, which was done not at the will of men, but at the will of Him who sways men and worlds.

Any one looking at the disorder in the rear of the Russian army would have said that the French had but to make one slight effort more and the Russian army would have been annihilated; and any one seeing the rear of the French army would have said that the Russians need but make a slight effort more and the French would be overthrown. But neither French nor Russians made that effort, and the flame of the battle burnt slowly out.

The Russians did not make this effort, because they were not attacking the French. At the beginning of the battle they merely stood on the road to Moscow, barring it to the French; and they still stood at the end of the battle as they had at the beginning. But even if it had been the aim of the Russians to drive back the French, they could not have made this final effort, because all the Russian troops had been routed; there was not a single part of the army that had not suffered in the battle, and the Russians, without being driven from their position, lost ONE HALF of their army.

For the French, with the memory of fifteen years of victories, with confidence in Napoleon's all-vanquishing genius, with the consciousness of having taken a part of the battlefield, of having only lost a fourth of their men, and of having a body of twenty thousand—the Guards— intact—it would have been an easy matter to make this effort. The French, attacking the Russian army with the object of driving it from its position, ought to have made this effort, because as long as the Russians still barred the way to Moscow, as before the battle, the aim of the French had not been attained, and all losses and exertions had been in vain. But the French did not make that effort. Some historians assert that if Napoleon had only let his Old Guard advance, the battle would have been gained. To talk of what might have happened if Napoleon had let his Guard advance is much the same as to talk of what would happen if spring came in autumn. That could not have been. Napoleon did not do so, not because he did not want to, but because it was impossible to do so. All the generals, officers, and soldiers of the French army knew that it was impossible to make this final effort, because the flagging spirit of the troops did not allow of it.

It was not Napoleon alone who had that nightmare feeling that the mighty arm was stricken powerless: all the generals, all the soldiers of the French army, those who fought and those who did not, after all their experiences of previous battles (when after one-tenth of the effort the enemy had always run), showed the feeling of horror before this foe, who, after losing ONE HALF of the army, still stood its ground as dauntless at the end as at the beginning of the battle. The moral force of the French, the attacking army, was exhausted. Not the victory, signalised by the capture of rags on the end of sticks, called flags, or of the ground on which the troops were standing, but a moral victory, that which compels the enemy to recognise the moral superiority of his opponent, and his own impotence, was won by the Russians at Borodino. The French invading army, like a ravening beast that has received its death-wound in its onslaught, felt its end near. But it could not stop, no more than the Russian army—of half its strength—could help retreating. After that check, the French army could still drag on to Moscow, but there, without fresh effort on the part of the Russian army, its ruin was inevitable, as its life-blood ebbed away from the deadly wound dealt it at Borodino. The direct consequence of the battle of Borodino was Napoleon's cause-less flight from Moscow, his return by the old Smolensk road, the ruin of the invading army of five hundred thousand men, and the downfall of the Napoleonic rule, on which, for the first time at Borodino, was laid the hand of a foe of stronger spirit.

几万名死人，以各种姿势，穿着各种服装，躺在属于达维多夫老爷家和皇室农奴的田地及草地上，数百年来，波罗底诺、戈尔基、舍瓦尔金诺和谢苗诺夫斯科耶的村民就在这里收庄稼，放牲口。在救护站周围一俄亩的地方，鲜血浸透了青草和土地，一群群受伤的、未受伤的来自不同队伍的士兵，带着惊慌的面孔，一批步履艰难地返回莫扎伊斯克，另一批返回瓦卢耶瓦。另外一群群疲惫不堪的忍饥挨饿的人在长官的带领下向前走着，还有一些站在原地不动，继续射击。

整个战场，原先是烟雾弥漫，刺刀在晨熹中闪光，是那么欢快而美丽，现在却在潮湿的烟尘笼罩下，散发着难闻的硝酸和血腥味。乌云聚集着，开始落雨了，雨点落在死者身上，落在伤员身上，落在惊慌失措、精疲力尽而又迷惘的人身上。雨点仿佛在说：“行啦，行啦，人们。住手吧……清醒清醒吧。你们都在干些什么呀？”

疲惫不堪的，得不到食物和休息的敌对双方的人们，都同样怀疑起来——是不是他们还要互相残杀——所有的脸孔都显出疑惑的神情，每个人心中都有着同样的问题：“为什么，为了谁，非得杀人、被杀？您爱杀就杀吧，爱干就干吧，我却不愿再干下去了！”到傍晚时，这样的思想在每个人心中都成熟了。这些人每时每刻都可能为他们所做的事大吃一惊，都可能抛弃一切，随便逃到什么地方去。

虽然战斗已近尾声，但人们仍感受到自己行为的恐惧；虽然他们乐于停战，但仍有一种不可思议的、神秘的力量在指导他们；虽然炮兵中三个只剩下一个，而且浑身是汗沾满了火药和血，都累得走不稳路，踉踉跄跄，气喘呼呼，但他们仍在送火药，装炮弹，安上引火线，瞄准。炮弹仍在双方间迅速而冷酷地飞来飞去，把人的身体炸成肉泥。那种不是按照人的意志而是按照统治人类和世界的上帝的旨意进行的可怕的事情，仍在继续着。

如果有人看一看俄军后方混乱的情况，就会说，只要法国人稍微再加点劲，俄军就完了；如果有人看一看法军的后方，也会说，只要俄国人再努一把力，法国人就垮了。但是不论是法国人还是俄国人，都没有加这把劲，战争的火焰慢慢地熄灭。

俄国人没有努那一把力，因为并非他们进攻法国人。在战斗开始的时候，他们只是守着通往莫斯科的道路，挡住敌人的去路，直到战斗结束，他们仍然像战斗刚开始一样坚守着。但是，即使俄国人的目的是要打退法国人，他们也不可能使出最后一把力，因为所有的俄军都已被击溃，没有哪一个部队在战斗中没受损失，俄国人在坚守阵地中，就损失了一半人马。

至于法国人，他们怀念过去十五年来取得的胜利，相信拿破仑不可战胜，知道他们已经占领一部分战场，他们只损失四分之一的人，他们还有两万名未曾动用的近卫军。努这一把力是容易的。法国人进攻俄国军队的目的就是要把他们赶出阵地，应当努这一把力，因为只要俄国人像战斗开始时一样挡住通往莫斯科的道路，法国人就达不到自己鹄的，他们所有的损失和努力就白费了。但是法国人没有做出这样的努力。有些史学家说，拿破仑只要派出他的完整的老近卫军，那一仗就打赢了，说拿破仑派出他的近卫军就会怎么样，如同说秋天变成春天就会怎么样。这是不可能的。拿破仑没派出他的近卫军，不是因为他不愿意这样做，而是因为不能这样做。法军所有的将军、军官、士兵都知道不能这样做，因为低落的士气不允许这样做。

不只是拿破仑一人体验到那类似噩梦的感觉（臂膀可畏的一击却是那么软弱无力），而且法军的全体将军，参加和尚未参加战斗的全体士兵，在他们积累过去所有的战斗经验之后，只要用十分之一的力量，敌人就会望风而逃，而现在面对的却是损失已达一半军队，战斗到最后仍然像战斗开始时一样威严地岿然不动的敌人，都有同样的恐怖感。处于进攻地位的法军士气已消耗殆尽。俄国人在波罗底诺取得了胜利，这种胜利不是用缴获几块绑在棍子上的布片（所谓军旗）来标志的胜利，也不是军队占领了和正在占领着地盘就算胜利，而是使敌人相信他的敌手的精神的优越和他自己的软弱无力的那种精神上的胜利。法国侵略者像一头疯狂的野兽，在它跳跃奔跑中受了致命伤，感到自己的死期将至；但是它不能停止下来，正如人数少一半的俄国人一路避开敌人的锋芒，不能停止一样。在这次猛力推动下，法军仍然能够冲到莫斯科；但是在那儿，俄军不用费力，法军就在波罗底诺受了致命伤，它在流血，它必然走向灭亡。波罗底诺战役的直接结果是，拿破仑无缘无故地从莫斯科逃跑，沿着斯摩棱斯克旧路逃回去，五十万侵略军被毁灭，拿破仑的法国在波罗底诺第一次遭遇到精神上更强大的敌手而陷于崩溃。