Book 10 Chapter 35

KUTUZOV, with his grey head hanging, and his heavy, corpulent frame sunk into a heap, was sitting on a bench covered with a rug, in the same place in which Pierre had seen him in the morning. He issued no orders, and simply gave or withheld his assent to what was proposed to him.

“Yes, yes, do so,” he would say in reply to various suggestions. “Yes, yes, go across, my dear boy, and see,” he would cry first to one and the to another of the adjutants near him; or, “No, better not; we'd better wait a bit,” he would say. He listened to the reports brought him, and gave orders, when they were asked for. But as he heard the reports, he seemed to take little interest in the import of the words spoken; something else in the expression of his face, in the tone of the voice of the speaker, seemed to interest him more. From long years of military experience he had learned, and with the wisdom of old age he had recognised, that one man cannot guide hundreds of thousands of men struggling with death; that the fate of battles is not decided by the orders given by the commander-in-chief, nor the place in which the troops are stationed, nor the number of cannons, nor of killed, but by that intangible force called the spirit of the army, and he followed that force and led it as far as it lay in his power.

The general expression of Kutuzov's face was concentrated, quiet attention and intensity, with difficulty overcoming his weak and aged body.

At eleven o'clock they brought him the news that the French had been driven back again from the flèches they had captured, but that Bagration was wounded. Kutuzov groaned, and shook his head.

“Ride over to Prince Pyotr Ivanovitch and find out exactly about it,” he said to one of the adjutants, and then he turned to the Prince of Würtemberg, who was standing behind him:

“Will your highness be pleased to take the command of the first army?”

Soon after the prince's departure—so soon that he could not yet have reached Semyonovskoye—his adjutant came back with a message from him asking Kutuzov for more troops.

Kutuzov frowned, and sent Dohturov orders to take the command of the first army, and begged the prince to come back, saying that he found he could not get on without him at such an important moment. When news was brought that Murat had been taken prisoner, and the members of the staff congratulated Kutuzov, he smiled.

“Wait a little, gentlemen,” he said. “The battle is won, and Murat's being taken prisoner is nothing very extraordinary. But we had better defer our rejoicings.” Still he sent an adjutant to take the news to the troops.

When Shtcherbinin galloped up from the left flank with the report of the capture of the flèche, and Semyonovskoye by the French, Kutuzov, guessing from the sounds of the battlefield and Shtcherbinin's face, that the news was bad, got up as though to stretch his legs, and taking Shtcherbinin by the arm drew him aside.

“You go, my dear boy,” he said to Yermolov, “and see whether something can't be done.”

Kutuzov was in Gorky, the centre of the Russian position. The attack on our left flank had been several times repulsed. In the centre the French did not advance beyond Borodino. Uvarov's cavalry had sent the French flying from the left flank.

At three o'clock the attacks of the French ceased. On the faces of all who came from the battlefield, as well as of those standing round him, Kutuzov read an expression of effort, strained to the utmost tension. He was himself satisfied with the success of the day beyond his expectations. But the old man's physical force was failing him. Several times his head sank, as though he were falling, and he dropped asleep. Dinner was brought him.

The adjutant-general, Woltzogen, the man whom Prince Andrey had overheard saying that the war ought to be “im Raum verlegen,” and whom Bagration so particularly detested, rode up to Kutuzov while he was at dinner. Woltzogen had come from Barclay to report on the progress of the fight on the left flank. The sagacious Barclay de Tolly, seeing crowds of wounded men running back, and the ranks in disorder, and weighing all the circumstances of the case, made up his mind that the battle was lost, and sent his favourite adjutant to the commander-in-chief to tell him so.

Kutuzov was with difficulty chewing roast chicken, and his eyes were screwed up with a more cheerful expression as he glanced at Woltzogen.

With a half-contemptuous smile Woltzogen walked carelessly up to Kutuzov, scarcely touching the peak of his cap.

He behaved to his highness with a certain affected negligence, which aimed at showing that he, as a highly trained military man, left it to the Russians to make a prodigy of this useless old person, and was himself well aware what kind of a man he had to deal with. “The ‘old gentleman' ” —this was how Kutuzov was always spoken of in Woltzogen's German circle—“is making himself quite comfortable,” he thought; and glancing severely at the dishes before Kutuzov, he began reporting to the old gentleman Barclay's message and his own impressions and views. “Every point of our position is in the enemy's hands, and they cannot be driven back, because there are not the troops to do it; the men run away and there's no possibility of stopping them,” he submitted.

Kutuzov, stopping short in his munching, stared at Woltzogen in amazement, as though not understanding what was said to him. Woltzogen, noticing the old gentleman's excitement, said with a smile:

“I did not consider I had a right to conceal from your highness what I saw.… The troops are completely routed.…”

“You saw? You saw?…” cried Kutuzov, getting up quickly, and stepping up to Woltzogen. “How…how dare you!…” making a menacing gesture with his trembling hands, he cried, with a catch in his breath: “How dare you, sir, tell me that? You know nothing about it. Tell General Barclay from me that his information is incorrect, and that I, the commander-in-chief, know more of the course of the battle than he does.”

Woltzogen would have made some protest, but Kutuzov interrupted him.

“The enemy has been repulsed on the left and defeated on the right flank. If you have seen amiss, sir, do not permit yourself to speak of what you do not understand. Kindly return to General Barclay and inform him of my unhesitating intention to attack the French to-morrow,” said Kutuzov sternly.

All were silent, and nothing was to be heard but the heavy breathing of the gasping, old general. “Repulsed at all points, for which I thank God and our brave men. The enemy is defeated, and to-morrow we will drive him out of the holy land of Russia!” said Kutuzov, crossing himself; and all at once he gave a sob from the rising tears.

Woltzogen, shrugging his shoulders, and puckering his lips, walked away in silence, marvelling “über diese Eingenommenheit des alten Herrn.”

“Ah, here he is, my hero!” said Kutuzov, as a stoutish, handsome, black-haired general came up the hillside. It was Raevsky, who had spent the whole day at the most important part of the battlefield.

Raevsky reported that the men were standing their ground firmly, and that the French were not venturing a further attack.

When he had heard him out, Kutuzov said in French: “You do not think, like some others, that we are obliged to retreat?”

“On the contrary, your highness, in indecisive actions it is always the most obstinate who remains victorious,” answered Raevsky; “and my opinion…”

“Kaisarov,” Kutuzov called to his adjutant, “sit down and write the order for to-morrow. And you,” he turned to another, “ride along the line and announce that to-morrow we attack.”

While he was talking to Raevsky and dictating the order, Woltzogen came back from Barclay and announced that General Barclay de Tolly would be glad to have a written confirmation of the order given by the field-marshal.

Kutuzov, without looking at Woltzogen, ordered an adjutant to make out this written order, which the former commander-in-chief very prudently wished to have to screen himself from all responsibility. And through the undefinable, mysterious link that maintains through a whole army the same temper, called the spirit of the army, and constituting the chief sinew of war, Kutuzov's words, his order for the battle next day, were transmitted instantaneously from one end of the army to the other.

The words and the phrases of the order were by no means the same when they reached the furthest links in the chain. There was, indeed, not a word in the stories men were repeating to one another from one end of the army to the other, that resembled what Kutuzov had actually said; but the drift of his words spread everywhere, because what Kutuzov had said was not the result of shrewd considerations, but the outflow of a feeling that lay deep in the heart of the commander-in-chief, and deep in the heart of every Russian.

And learning that to-morrow we were to attack the enemy, hearing from the higher spheres of the army the confirmation of what they wanted to believe, the worn-out, wavering men took comfort and courage again.

库图佐夫垂着白发苍苍的头，放松沉重的身子，坐在铺着毯子的长凳上，也就是坐在皮埃尔早晨看见的地方。他不发任何命令，只对别人的建议表示同意或不同意。

“对，对，就那样做吧。”他在回答各种建议时说，“对，对，去吧，亲爱的，去看一看。”他对这个来人或对那个来人说；或者，“不，不要，我们还是等一等好。”他说。他听取报告，在下级要求他指示的时候，就给他们指示；但是，在他听取报告时，好像并不关心报告者所说的是什么意思，使他感兴趣的是报告者脸上的表情和说话的语调中所含的另外一种东西。多年的战争经验使他知道，老者的睿智使他懂得，领导数十万人作殊死战斗，决不是一个人能够胜任的，他还知道，决定战斗命运的，不是总司令的命令，不是军队所占的地形，不是大炮和杀死人的数量，而是一种所谓士气的不可捉摸的力量，他正是在注视这种力量，尽他的权力所及指导这种力量。

库图佐夫整个面部的表情显得镇静、紧张、注意力集中（勉强克制住他那衰老身体的疲倦）。

上午十一时，他接到消息说，被法军占领的凸角堡又夺回来了，但是巴格拉季翁公爵受了伤。库图佐夫惊叹一声，摇摇头。

“快去彼得·伊万诺维奇公爵①那儿，详细探听一下，看看是怎么回事。”他对一个副官说，然后转向站在身后的符腾堡公爵②。

“请殿下指挥第一军，好吗？”

公爵刚离开不大一会儿，可能还没走到谢苗诺夫斯科耶村，他的副官就回来向勋座报告说，公爵请求增援军队。

库图佐夫皱了皱眉头，命令多赫图罗夫去指挥第一军，请公爵回到他这儿来，他说，在这样紧要的时刻，他离不开公爵。当传来缪拉被俘③的消息时，参谋人员都向他祝贺，库图佐夫微笑了。

①彼得·伊万诺维奇公爵即巴格拉季翁公爵。

②符腾堡公爵是保罗皇帝的皇后玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜的兄弟。

③缪拉被俘的消息不确，被俘的是波纳米将军。

“要等一等，诸位。”他说，“仗是打赢了，俘虏缪拉并不是什么了不起的事。不过，还是等一等再高兴吧。”他虽然这样说，仍然派一名副官把这个消息通告全军。

当谢尔比宁从左翼驰来报告法军占领凸角堡和谢苗诺夫斯科耶村的时候，库图佐夫从战场上传来的声音和谢尔比宁的脸色猜到，消息是不好的，他好像要活动活动腿脚，站起身，挽起谢尔比宁的臂膀，把他拉到一边。

“你走一趟，亲爱的，”他对叶尔莫洛夫说，“去看看有什么困难。”

库图佐夫在俄军阵地中心——戈尔基。拿破仑对我方左翼的进攻被打退了好几次。在中央，法军没有越过波罗底诺一步。乌瓦罗夫的骑兵从左翼赶跑了法国人。

下午两点多钟，法国人的进攻停止了。在所有从战场回来的人的脸上，在他周围站着的人们的脸上，库图佐夫看到了极其紧张的表情。库图佐夫对白天出乎意料的成功感到满意。但是老头子的体力不济了。有好几次他的头低低地垂下，仿佛要跌下去似的，他总在打瞌睡。人们给他摆上了饭。

将级副官沃尔佐根，（就是那个从安德烈公爵那儿经过时说，战争必须im　Raum　verlegen①的人，也就是巴格拉季翁非常憎恶的那个人，）在吃饭的时候来到库图佐夫这儿。沃尔佐根是巴克莱派来报告左翼战况的。谨小慎微的巴克莱·德·托利见到成群的伤兵逃跑，军队的后卫紊乱，考虑到战局的全部情况，断定战斗失败了，派他的心腹来见总司令就是报告这个消息的。

库图佐夫正费劲地吃烤鸡，他眯细着微含笑意的双眼，看了看沃尔佐根。

沃尔佐根漫不经心地迈着步子，嘴角噙着半带轻蔑的微笑，一只手几乎没碰着帽檐，走到库图佐夫面前。

沃尔佐根对待勋座，有意作出轻慢的态度，表示他是受过高等教育的军人，让俄国人把一个无用的老头子当作偶像吧，而他知道他是和谁打交道。“Der　alte　Herr（德国人在自己圈子里都这样称呼库图佐夫）macht　sich　ganz　bequem，”②沃尔佐根心中想到，狠狠地看了一眼摆在库图佐夫面前的碟子，就开始按照巴克莱命令的及他自己看见和了解的向老先生报告左翼的战况。

①德语：移到广阔地区。

②德语：老先生过得满舒服。

“我军阵地所有的据点都落入敌人手中，无法反击，因为没有军队；士兵纷纷逃跑，无法阻止他们。”他报告说。

库图佐夫不再咀嚼，惊讶地望着他，好像不懂他在说什么。沃尔佐根看出des　alten　Herrn①很激动，于是堆着笑脸说：

“我认为我无权向勋座隐瞒我所看见的……军队完全乱了……”

“您看见了吗？您看见了吗？……”库图佐夫皱眉喊道，他霍地站起来，向沃尔佐根紧走几步。“您怎么……您怎么敢！……”他用颤抖的两手做出威吓的姿势，气喘吁吁地喊道。

“您怎么敢，阁下，对我说这种话。您什么也不知道。代我告诉巴克莱将军，他的报告不确实，对于战斗的真正情况，我总司令比他知道得更清楚。”

沃尔佐根想辩解，但是库图佐夫打断他的话。

“左翼的敌人被打退了，右翼也打败了。如果您没看清楚，阁下，就不要说您不知道的事。请您回去通知巴克莱，我明天一定要向敌人进攻。”库图佐夫严厉地说，大家都不吭声，只听见老将军沉重的喘息声。“敌人到处都被打退，为这我要感谢上帝和我们勇敢的军队。战胜敌人，明天把他们赶出俄国神圣的领土。”库图佐夫划着十字说，忽然他老泪纵横，声音哽咽了。沃尔佐根耸耸肩，撇撇嘴，一声不响地走到一旁，über　diese　Einge－nommenheit　des　alten　Herrn②感到惊奇。

①德语：老先生。

②德语：对老先生的刚愎自用。

“啊，这不是他来了，我的英雄。”这时一个身材魁伟、仪表英俊的黑发将军登上土岗，库图佐夫看着他说。这个将军是拉耶夫斯基，他整天都在波罗底诺战场的主要据点度过。

拉耶夫斯基报告说，我军紧守阵地，法国人不敢再进攻了。

听了他的报告，库图佐夫用法语说：

“Vous　ne　pensez　donc　pas　comme　les　autres　que　nous　sommes　obligés　nous　ritirer？”①“Au　contraire，votre　altesse，dans　les　attaires　indécises　c'est　toujours　le　plus　opiniaAtre　qui　reste　victorieux，”拉耶夫斯基回答说，“Et　mon　opinion……”②

①法语：这么说来，您不像别人那样认为我们应当撤退了？

②法语：相反，勋座，在胜负未定的战斗中，谁更顽强，胜利就属于谁，我的意见……

 

“凯萨罗夫！”库图佐夫叫他的副官。“坐下写明天的命令。还有你，”他对另一个副官说，“到前线去宣传，明天我们要进攻。”

在库图佐夫同拉耶夫斯基谈话并口授命令的时候，沃尔佐根从巴克莱那儿回来了，他报告说，巴克莱·德·托利将军希望能拿到元帅发出的那份命令的明文。

库图佐夫不看沃尔佐根，叫人写那份命令，前总司令所以要书面命令，一定是为了逃避个人的责任。

有一种不可捉摸的神秘的链条，它使全军同心同德，并构成战争的主要神经，这就是被称为士气的东西，库图佐夫的话和他所下的第二天进攻的命令，就是沿着这条链子传遍全军每个角落的。

传到这条链子的最后一环时，已经远非原来的话及命令了。在军队各个角落互相传说的故事，甚至与库图佐夫说的话完全不同；但是他的话的含意却传到了各处，因为库图佐夫所说的话并非出于狡诈的计谋，而是表达了总司令和每个俄国人心灵中的感情。

得知我们明天要进攻敌人，并且从最高指挥部证实了他们所希望的事，疲惫，动摇的人们得到了安慰和鼓舞。