War And Peace: Book 15 - CHAPTER VI

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THE 5TH of November was the first day of the so-called battle of

Krasnoe.

Many had been the blunders and disputes among the generals, who had not

reached their proper places, many the contradictory orders carried to them by

adjutants, but towards evening it was clear that the enemy were everywhere in

flight, and that there would not and could not be a battle. In the evening

Kutuzov set out from Krasnoe towards Dobroe, to which place the headquarters had

that day been removed.

It had been a clear, frosty day. Kutuzov, mounted on his fat, white little

horse, was riding towards Dobroe, followed by an immense suite of generals,

whispering their dissatisfaction behind his back. Seven thousand French

prisoners had been taken that day, and all along the road they met parties of

them, crowding to warm themselves round the camp-fires. Not far from Dobroe they

heard a loud hum of talk from an immense crowd of tattered prisoners, bandaged

and wrapped up in rags of all sorts, standing in the road near a long row of

unharnessed French cannons. At the approach of the commander-in-chief the buzz

of talk died away, and all eyes were fixed upon Kutuzov, who moved slowly along

the road, wearing a white cap with a red band, and a wadded overcoat, that set

in a hunch on his round shoulders. One of the generals began explaining to

Kutuzov where the prisoners and the guns had been taken.

Kutuzov seemed absorbed in anxious thought, and did not hear the general's

words. He screwed up his eyes with an air of displeasure, and gazed intently at

the figures of the prisoners, who presented a particularly pitiable appearance.

The majority of the French soldiers were disfigured by frost-bitten cheeks and

noses, and almost all of them had red, swollen, and streaming eyes.

One group of Frenchmen was standing close by the road, and two soldiers, one

with his face covered with sores, were tearing at a piece of raw meat with their

hands. There was something bestial and horrible in the cursory glance they cast

on the approaching generals, and the frenzied expression with which the soldier

with the sore face, after a glance at Kutuzov, turned away and went on with what

he was doing.

Kutuzov looked a long while intently at these two soldiers; frowning more

than before, he half-closed his eyelids, and shook his head thoughtfully.

Further on, he noticed a Russian soldier, who was saying something friendly to a

French prisoner, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder. Kutuzov shook his

head again with the same expression.

“What do you say?” he asked the general, who was trying to draw the

commander-in-chief's attention to the French flags, that were set up in front of

the Preobrazhensky regiment.

“Ah, the flags!” said Kutuzov, rousing himself with evident difficulty from

the subject absorbing his thoughts. He looked about him absently. Thousands of

eyes were gazing at him from all sides, waiting for his words.

He came to a standstill before the Preobrazhensky regiment, sighed heavily

and closed his eyes. One of the suite beckoned to the soldiers holding the flags

to come up and set up the flagstaffs around the commander-in-chief. Kutuzov was

silent for a few seconds. Then with obvious reluctance, yielding to the

obligations of his position, he raised his head and began to speak. Crowds of

officers gathered round him. He scanned the circle of officers with an attentive

eye, recognising some of them.

“I thank you all!” he said, addressing the soldiers, and then again turning

to the officers. In the deep stillness that prevailed all round him, his slowly

articulated words were distinctly audible: “I thank you all for your hard and

faithful service. The victory is complete, and Russia will not forget you. Your

glory will be for ever!” He paused, looking about him.

“Lower; bow his head lower,” he said to the soldier, who was holding the

French eagle, and had accidentally lowered it before the Preobrazhensky

standard.

“Lower, lower, that's it. Hurrah, lads!” he said, his chin moving quickly as

he turned to the soldiers.

“Hurrah-rah-rah!” thousands of voices roared.

While the soldiers were shouting, Kutuzov, bending forward in his saddle,

bowed his head, and his eyes gleamed with a mild and, as it were, ironical

light.

“And now, brothers …” he said, when the shouts had died away.

And all at once his face and expression changed: it was not the

commander-in-chief speaking now, but a simple, aged man, who plainly wanted to

say something most important now to his comrades.

“And now, brothers. I know it's hard for you, but there's no help for it!

Have a little patience; it won't last much longer. We will see our visitors off,

and then we will rest. The Tsar won't forget your services. It's hard for you,

but still you are at home; while they—you see what they have come to,” he said,

pointing to the prisoners. “Worse than the lowest beggars. While they were

strong, we did not spare ourselves, but now we can even spare them. They too are

men. Eh, lads?”

He looked about him. And in the unflinching, respectfully wondering eyes

staring persistently at him, he read sympathy with his words. His face grew

brighter and brighter with the gentle smile of old age, that brought clusters of

wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and his eyes. He paused and dropped his

head, as though in doubt.

“But after all is said and done, who asked them to come here? It serves them

right, the b— b—” he said suddenly, lifting his head. And swinging his

riding-whip, he rode off at a gallop, accompanied for the first time during the

whole campaign by gleeful guffaws and roars of hurrah from the men as they moved

out of rank.

The words uttered by Kutuzov were hardly understood by the soldiers. No one

could have repeated the field-marshal's speech at first of such solemnity, and

towards the end of such homely simplicity. But the meaning at the bottom of his

words, they understood very well, and the same feeling of solemn triumph in

their victory, together with pity for the enemy and the sense of the justice of

their cause—expressed, too, with precisely the same homely coarseness—lay at the

bottom of every soldier's heart, and found a vent in delighted shouts, that did

not cease for a long while. When one of the generals addressed the

commander-in-chief after this, asking whether he desired his carriage, Kutuzov

broke into a sudden sob in replying. He was evidently deeply moved.

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1. Ebooks list page : 85
2. War And Peace: Book 4 - CHAPTER V
3. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER III
4. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER II
5. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER I
6. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER IV
7. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIX
8. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XVI
9. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XV
10. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIV
11. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER V
12. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER VI
13. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIX
14. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XVI
15. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIV
16. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XV