THE RUSSIAN ARMY, retreating from Borodino, halted at Fili. Yermolov, who had been inspecting the position, rode up to the commander-in-chief.

“There is no possibility of fighting in this position,” he said.

Kutuzov looked at him in wonder, and made him repeat the words he had just uttered. When he had done so, he put out his hand to him.

“Give me your hand,” he said; and turning it so as to feel his pulse, he said: “You are not well, my dear boy. Think what you are saying.”

Kutuzov could not yet take in the idea of its being possible to retreat, abandoning Moscow without a battle.

On the Poklonnaya Hill, six versts from Dorogomilovsky gate, Kutuzov got out of his carriage and sat down on a bench by the side of the road. A great crowd of generals gathered about him. Count Rastoptchin, who had come out from Moscow, joined them. All this brilliant company broke up into several circles, and talked among themselves of the advantages and disadvantages of the position, of the condition of the troops, of the plans proposed, of the situation of Moscow—in fact, of military questions generally. All felt that though they had not been summoned for the purpose, it was really, if not ostensibly, a military council. All conversation was confined to public questions. If any one did repeat or inquire any piece of personal news, it was in a whisper, and the talk passed at once back to general topics. There was not a jest, not a laugh, not even a smile, to be seen among all these men. They was all making an obvious effort to rise to the level of the situation. And all the groups, while talking among themselves, tried to keep close to the commander-in-chief, whose bench formed the centre of the whole crowd, and tried to talk so that he might hear them. The commander-in-chief listened, and sometimes asked what had been said near him, but did not himself enter into conversation or express any opinion. For the most part, after listening to the talk of some group, he turned away with an air of disappointment, as though they were not speaking of anything he cared to hear about at all. Some were discussing the position, criticising not so much the position itself as the intellectual qualifications of those who had selected it. Others argued that a blunder had been made earlier, that a battle ought to have been fought two days before. Others talked of the battle of Salamanca, which a Frenchman, Crosart, wearing a Spanish uniform, was describing to them. (This Frenchman, who had just arrived, had with one of the German princes serving in the Russian army been criticising the siege of Saragossa, foreseeing a possibility of a similar defence of Moscow.) In the fourth group, Count Rastoptchin was saying that he, with the Moscow city guard, was ready to die under the walls of the city, but that still he could not but complain of the uncertainty in which he had been left, and that had he known it earlier, things would have been different.… A fifth group was manifesting the profundity of their tactical insight by discussing the direction the troops should certainly take now. A sixth group were talking arrant nonsense.

Kutuzov's face grew more and more careworn and gloomy. From all this talk Kutuzov saw one thing only: the defence of Moscow was a physical impossibility in the fullest sense of the words. It was so utterly impossible that even if some insane commander were to give orders for a battle, all that would follow would be a muddle, and no battle would be fought. There would be no battle, because all the officers in command, not merely recognised the position to be impossible, but were only engaged now in discussing what was to be done after the inevitable abandonment of that position. How could officers lead their men to a field of battle which they considered it impossible to hold? The officers of lower rank, and even the soldiers themselves (they too form their conclusions), recognised that the position could not be held, and so they could not advance into battle with the conviction that they would be defeated. That Bennigsen urged the defence of this position, and others still discussed it, was a fact that had no significance in itself, but only as a pretext for dissension and intrigue. Kutuzov knew that.

Bennigsen was warmly manifesting his Russian patriotism (Kutuzov could not listen to him without wincing), by insisting on the defence of Moscow. To Kutuzov, his object was as clear as daylight: in case of the defence being unsuccessful, to throw the blame on Kutuzov, who had brought the army as far as the Sparrow Hills without a battle; in case of its being successful, to claim the credit; in case of it not being attempted, to clear himself of the crime of abandoning Moscow.

But these questions of intrigue did not occupy the old man's mind now. One terrible question absorbed him. And to that question he heard no reply from any one. The question for him now was this: “Can it be that I have let Napoleon get to Moscow, and when did I do it? When did it happen? Was it yesterday, when I sent word to Platov to retreat, or the evening before when I had a nap and bade Bennigsen give instructions? Or earlier still? … When, when was it this fearful thing happened? Moscow must be abandoned. The army must retire, and I must give the order for it.”

To give that terrible order seemed to him equivalent to resigning the command of the army. And apart from the fact that he loved power, and was used to it (the honours paid to Prince Prozorovsky, under whom he had been serving in Turkey, galled him), he was convinced that he was destined to deliver Russia, and had only for that cause been chosen commander-in-chief contrary to the Tsar's wishes by the will of the people. He was persuaded that in these difficult circumstances he was the one man who could maintain his position at the head of the army, that he was the only man in the world capable of meeting Napoleon as an antagonist without panic. And he was in terror at the idea of having to resign the command. But he must decide on some step, he must cut short this chatter round him, which was beginning to assume too free a character.

He beckoned the senior generals to him.

“Ma tête, f?t-elle bonne ou mauvaise, n'a qu'à s'aider d'elle-même,” he said, getting up from his bench, and he rode off to Fili, where his carriages were waiting.

俄军撤离波罗底诺后，驻扎于菲利附近的地区。叶尔莫洛夫策马视察了阵地后，来见元帅。

“在这样的阵地上打仗是不行的，”他说。库图佐夫惊奇地看了他一眼，让他再说一遍。当他说完后，库图佐夫把手伸给了他。

“把手伸给我，”他说。他把那只手翻看了一下，摸了摸脉，说道：“你不舒服，亲爱的。想想你说些什么。”

库图佐夫在波克隆山，在距多罗戈米洛夫关六俄里处下了马车，在路边一张长凳上坐下。一大群将军们聚在他四周。莫斯科来的拉斯托普钦伯爵也在其中。这群精英分成了小组，互相议论阵地的利弊，部队的状态，各种不同的方案，莫斯科的现状，总之是关于军事问题。大家觉得，虽然没有被赋予讨论的使命，也没有这样的名目，但这就是一次军事会议。谈话始终保持在这些共同的问题范围内。要是有人透露或打听私下传闻，声音就低了下来，随之又立即转到共同问题上。没有戏谑，没有笑声，连笑容也不曾出现在这些人中间。大家努力保持高贵的身份，各小组虽在分开议论，又都努力保持与总司令的近距离（他坐的长凳成了各组的中心点），声音总要使他能够听得到。总司令在倾听，并时而询问他周围的人在说什么，但未参与谈话，也不表示意见。他大部分时间听一个小组的谈话，然后神情沮丧地——仿佛他们谈的完全不是他想了解的那样，——转过身去。一些人议论选定的阵地，但不就事论事，反而评论选择阵地的人的智力；另一些人在证明，早就铸成了大错，本来应在前天发动战斗；另一些人谈的是萨拉曼卡之战，身着西班牙军装刚刚到来的法国人克罗萨叙述颇为详尽（这名法国人同在俄军服役的一些德国亲王一道，分析了萨拉戈萨城之被围。①曾经预料过也会那样保卫莫斯科的）。第四圈人中，拉斯托普钦伯爵在谈他决心与莫斯科义勇队一道捐躯于城下，他无论如何也不能不惋惜他当时处于情况不明之中，如果他先就知道是这样，情况就会不同……。第五圈人阐述了他们战略设想的深刻性之后，讲了部队今后应向何方运动。第六圈人则言不及义。库图佐夫的面容越来越焦虑消沉。从这些人的所有谈话中，库图佐夫看到一点：保卫莫斯科是没有任何兵力上的可能性的，照其意义充分讲来就是如此，即是说，其不可能的程度很大，假如哪个昏聩的总司令下达了作战命令，也只会出现一场混乱，而战斗仍不会发生；不会发生，是因为高级军官不仅承认据守之不可能，而且在谈话中只讨论无疑要放弃这场防守战之后的事态。军官们如何能率领士卒奔赴他们认为不可能打一仗的沙场呢？下级军官，以至士兵（他们也议论纷纷）同样认为据守不可能，因此不能明知失败而去硬拼。若谓贝尼格森坚持过防守战，其他人还加以讨论过，则此刻这一问题本身已无意义，其意义只在于作驳难和阴谋的藉口。这一点库图佐夫是明白的。

①一八○八年法军围攻西班牙萨拉戈萨城，该城防守数月才被法军攻陷。

选好阵地的贝尼格森，热烈地表现了一番爱俄国的爱国精神（对此，库图佐夫只得皱眉头）之后，坚持保卫莫斯科。库图佐夫明白如昼地看到了他的目的：如果保卫战失败——把过失推给库图佐夫，是他不战而回师麻雀山，但假如成功呢——则记在自己帐上，要是不采纳建议么——则可为自己开脱放弃莫斯科的罪责。但这一阴谋现在已不能使老人有所触动。一个可怕的问题抓住了他，怎样解开它的答案，他还未听到过谁说出来。这个问题现在仅仅是：“难道放拿破仑到莫斯科的是我吗，是我什么时候放他进来的？这是什么时候决定的？难道是昨天当我向普拉托夫下令撤退的时候，或是前天晚上我要打个盹、命令贝尼格森处理军务的时候？或者还要早些吗？……但是在什么时候，究竟是在什么时候决定这件可怕的事呢？莫斯科该放弃，军队该后撤，所以必须这样下令。”下达这道可怕的命令，好像与拒绝就任总司令是一回事。可是不一样，他爱掌权，也习惯于掌权（驻扎于土耳其时，作为僚属，他对普罗佐罗夫斯基公爵受到的尊敬艳羡不置）；他相信他肩负拯救俄罗斯的使命，谨此之故，才违背皇上的旨意，顺从民心，他被遴选为总司令一职。他相信，唯独他一人能在此危难之际充当元戎之任，全世界也唯有他一人能无所畏惧，承认不败之拿破仑为己之敌手；但是，一想到他必须下达的那一道命令，便不寒而栗。应该决定些事情呢，应该制止他周围越来越漫无边际的谈话了。

他召拢几个为首的将军。

“Ma　tête，fut－elle　bonne　ou　mauvaise，n'a　qu'a　s'aider　d'elle－même．”①说过之后，他从凳子上站起来，然后乘马车去菲利，他的军队就驻扎在那里。

①法语：我的脑袋不管是好是坏，也只有依靠它了。