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On the rug-covered bench where Pierre had seen him in the
morning sat Kutuzov, his gray head hanging, his heavy body relaxed.
He gave no orders, but only assented to or dissented from what
others suggested.
"Yes, yes, do that," he replied to various proposals.
"Yes, yes: go, dear boy, and have a look," he would
say to one or another of those about him; or, "No, don't,
we'd better wait!" He listened to the reports that were brought
him and gave directions when his subordinates demanded that of
him; but when listening to the reports it seemed as if he were
not interested in the import of the words spoken, but rather in
something else- in the expression of face and tone of voice of
those who were reporting. By long years of military experience
he knew, and with the wisdom of age understood, that it is impossible
for one man to direct hundreds of thousands of others struggling
with death, and he knew that the result of a battle is decided
not by the orders of a commander in chief, nor the place where
the troops are stationed, nor by the number of cannon or of slaughtered
men, but by that intangible force called the spirit of the army,
and he watched this force and guided it in as far as that was
in his power.
Kutuzov's general expression was one of concentrated quiet
attention, and his face wore a strained look as if he found it
difficult to master the fatigue of his old and feeble body.
At eleven o'clock they brought him news that the fleches captured
by the French had been retaken, but that Prince Bagration was
wounded. Kutuzov groaned and swayed his head.
"Ride over to Prince Peter Ivanovich and find out about
it exactly," he said to one of his adjutants, and then turned
to the Duke of Wurttemberg who was standing behind him.
"Will Your Highness please take command of the first
army?"
Soon after the duke's departure- before he could possibly
have reached Semenovsk- his adjutant came back from him and told
Kutuzov that the duke asked for more troops.
Kutuzov made a grimace and sent an order to Dokhturov to take
over the command of the first army, and a request to the duke-
whom he said he could not spare at such an important moment- to
return to him. When they brought him news that Murat had been
taken prisoner, and the staff officers congratulated him, Kutuzov
smiled.
"Wait a little, gentlemen," said he. "The battle
is won, and there is nothing extraordinary in the capture of Murat.
Still, it is better to wait before we rejoice."
But he sent an adjutant to take the news round the army.
When Scherbinin came galloping from the left flank with news
that the French had captured the fleches and the village of Semenovsk,
Kutuzov, guessing by the sounds of the battle and by Scherbinin's
looks that the news was bad, rose as if to stretch his legs and,
taking Scherbinin's arm, led him aside.
"Go, my dear fellow," he said to Ermolov, "and
see whether something can't be done."
Kutuzov was in Gorki, near the center of the Russian position.
The attack directed by Napoleon against our left flank had been
several times repulsed. In the center the French had not got beyond
Borodino, and on their left flank Uvarov's cavalry had put the
French to flight.
Toward three o'clock the French attacks ceased. On the faces
of all who came from the field of battle, and of those who stood
around him, Kutuzov noticed an expression of extreme tension.
He was satisfied with the day's success- a success exceeding his
expectations, but the old man's strength was failing him. Several
times his head dropped low as if it were falling and he dozed
off. Dinner was brought him.
Adjutant General Wolzogen, the man who when riding past Prince
Andrew had said, "the war should be extended widely,"
and whom Bagration so detested, rode up while Kutuzov was at dinner.
Wolzogen had come from Barclay de Tolly to report on the progress
of affairs on the left flank. The sagacious Barclay de Tolly,
seeing crowds of wounded men running back and the disordered rear
of the army, weighed all the circumstances, concluded that the
battle was lost, and sent his favorite officer to the commander
in chief with that news.
Kutuzov was chewing a piece of roast chicken with difficulty
and glanced at Wolzogen with eyes that brightened under their
puckering lids.
Wolzogen, nonchalantly stretching his legs, approached Kutuzov
with a half-contemptuous smile on his lips, scarcely touching
the peak of his cap.
He treated his Serene Highness with a somewhat affected nonchalance
intended to show that, as a highly trained military man, he left
it to Russians to make an idol of this useless old man, but that
he knew whom he was dealing with. "Der alte Herr" (as
in their own set the Germans called Kutuzov) "is making himself
very comfortable," thought Wolzogen, and looking severely
at the dishes in front of Kutuzov he began to report to "the
old gentleman" the position of affairs on the left flank
as Barclay had ordered him to and as he himself had seen and understood
it.
"All the points of our position are in the enemy's hands
and we cannot dislodge them for lack of troops, the men are running
away and it is impossible to stop them," he reported.
Kutuzov ceased chewing and fixed an astonished gaze on Wolzogen,
as if not understand what was said to him. Wolzogen, noticing
"the old gentleman's" agitation, said with a smile:
"I have not considered it right to conceal from your
Serene Highness what I have seen. The troops are in complete disorder..."
"You have seen? You have seen?..." Kutuzov shouted
frowning, and rising quickly he went up to Wolzogen.
"How... how dare you!..." he shouted, choking and
making a threatening gesture with his trembling arms: "How
dare you, sir, say that to me? You know nothing about it. Tell
General Barclay from me that his information is incorrect and
that the real course of the battle is better known to me, the
commander in chief, than to him."
Wolzogen was about to make a rejoinder, 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 allow
yourself to say what you don't know! Be so good as to ride to
General Barclay and inform him of my firm intention to attack
the enemy tomorrow," said Kutuzov sternly.
All were silent, and the only sound audible was the heavy
breathing of the panting old general.
"They are repulsed everywhere, for which I thank God
and our brave army! The enemy is beaten, and tomorrow we shall
drive him from the sacred soil of Russia," said Kutuzov crossing
himself, and he suddenly sobbed as his eyes filled with tears.
Wolzogen, shrugging his shoulders and curling his lips, stepped
silently aside, marveling at "the old gentleman's" conceited
stupidity.
"Ah, here he is, my hero!" said Kutuzov to a portly,
handsome, dark-haired general who was just ascending the knoll.
This was Raevski, who had spent the whole day at the most
important part of the field of Borodino.
Raevski reported that the troops were firmly holding their
ground and that the French no longer ventured to attack.
After hearing him, Kutuzov said in French:
"Then you do not think, like some others, that we must
retreat?"
"On the contrary, your Highness, in indecisive actions
it is always the most stubborn who remain victors," replied
Raevski, "and in my opinion..."
"Kaysarov!" Kutuzov called to his adjutant. "Sit
down and write out the order of the day for tomorrow. And you,"
he continued, addressing another, "ride along the line and
that tomorrow we attack."
While Kutuzov was talking to Raevski and dictating the order
of the day, Wolzogen returned from Barclay and said that General
Barclay wished to have written confirmation of the order the field
marshal had given.
Kutuzov, without looking at Wolzogen, gave directions for
the order to be written out which the former commander in chief,
to avoid personal responsibility, very judiciously wished to receive.
And by means of that mysterious indefinable bond which maintains
throughout an army one and the same temper, known as "the
spirit of the army," and which constitutes the sinew of war,
Kutuzov's words, his order for a battle next day, immediately
became known from one end of the army to the other.
It was far from being the same words or the same order that
reached the farthest links of that chain. The tales passing from
mouth to mouth at different ends of the army did not even resemble
what Kutuzov had said, but the sense of his words spread everywhere
because what he said was not the outcome of cunning calculations,
but of a feeling that lay in the commander in chief's soul as
in that of every Russian.
And on learning that tomorrow they were to attack the enemy,
and hearing from the highest quarters a confirmation of what they
wanted to believe, the exhausted, wavering men felt comforted
and inspirited.
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