الفصل الفصل 232 · 第232章

When Ermólov, having been sent by Kutúzov to inspect the position, told

the field marshal that it was impossible to fight there before Moscow

and that they must retreat, Kutúzov looked at him in silence.

“Give me your hand,” said he and, turning it over so as to feel the

pulse, added: “You are not well, my dear fellow. Think what you are

saying!”

Kutúzov could not yet admit the possibility of retreating beyond Moscow

without a battle.

On the Poklónny Hill, four miles from the Dorogomílov gate of Moscow,

Kutúzov got out of his carriage and sat down on a bench by the roadside.

A great crowd of generals gathered round him, and Count Rostopchín, who

had come out from Moscow, joined them. This brilliant company separated

into several groups who all discussed the advantages and disadvantages

of the position, the state of the army, the plans suggested, the

situation of Moscow, and military questions generally. Though they had

not been summoned for the purpose, and though it was not so called, they

all felt that this was really a council of war. The conversations all

dealt with public questions. If anyone gave or asked for personal

news, it was done in a whisper and they immediately reverted to general

matters. No jokes, or laughter, or smiles even, were seen among all

these men. They evidently all made an effort to hold themselves at the

height the situation demanded. And all these groups, while talking

among themselves, tried to keep near the commander in chief (whose

bench formed the center of the gathering) and to speak so that he might

overhear them. The commander in chief listened to what was being said

and sometimes asked them to repeat their remarks, but did not himself

take part in the conversations or express any opinion. After hearing

what was being said by one or other of these groups he generally turned

away with an air of disappointment, as though they were not speaking of

anything he wished to hear. Some discussed the position that had been

chosen, criticizing not the position itself so much as the mental

capacity of those who had chosen it. Others argued that a mistake had

been made earlier and that a battle should have been fought two days

before. Others again spoke of the battle of Salamanca, which was

described by Crosart, a newly arrived Frenchman in a Spanish uniform.

(This Frenchman and one of the German princes serving with the Russian

army were discussing the siege of Saragossa and considering the

possibility of defending Moscow in a similar manner.) Count Rostopchín

was telling a fourth group that he was prepared to die with the city

train bands under the walls of the capital, but that he still could not

help regretting having been left in ignorance of what was happening, and

that had he known it sooner things would have been different.... A

fifth group, displaying the profundity of their strategic perceptions,

discussed the direction the troops would now have to take. A sixth group

was talking absolute nonsense. Kutúzov’s expression grew more and more

preoccupied and gloomy. From all this talk he saw only one thing: that

to defend Moscow was a physical impossibility in the full meaning of

those words, that is to say, so utterly impossible that if any senseless

commander were to give orders to fight, confusion would result but the

battle would still not take place. It would not take place because the

commanders not merely all recognized the position to be impossible, but

in their conversations were only discussing what would happen after its

inevitable abandonment. How could the commanders lead their troops to

a field of battle they considered impossible to hold? The lower-grade

officers and even the soldiers (who too reason) also considered the

position impossible and therefore could not go to fight, fully convinced

as they were of defeat. If Bennigsen insisted on the position being

defended and others still discussed it, the question was no longer

important in itself but only as a pretext for disputes and intrigue.

This Kutúzov knew well.

Bennigsen, who had chosen the position, warmly displayed his Russian

patriotism (Kutúzov could not listen to this without wincing) by

insisting that Moscow must be defended. His aim was as clear as daylight

to Kutúzov: if the defense failed, to throw the blame on Kutúzov who had

brought the army as far as the Sparrow Hills without giving battle; if

it succeeded, to claim the success as his own; or if battle were not

given, to clear himself of the crime of abandoning Moscow. But this

intrigue did not now occupy the old man’s mind. One terrible question

absorbed him and to that question he heard no reply from anyone. The

question for him now was: “Have I really allowed Napoleon to reach

Moscow, and when did I do so? When was it decided? Can it have been

yesterday when I ordered Plátov to retreat, or was it the evening

before, when I had a nap and told Bennigsen to issue orders? Or was it

earlier still?... When, when was this terrible affair decided? Moscow

must be abandoned. The army must retreat and the order to do so must

be given.” To give that terrible order seemed to him equivalent to

resigning the command of the army. And not only did he love power to

which he was accustomed (the honours awarded to Prince Prozoróvski,

under whom he had served in Turkey, galled him), but he was convinced

that he was destined to save Russia and that that was why, against

the Emperor’s wish and by the will of the people, he had been chosen

commander in chief. He was convinced that he alone could maintain

command of the army in these difficult circumstances, and that in all

the world he alone could encounter the invincible Napoleon without fear,

and he was horrified at the thought of the order he had to issue. But

something had to be decided, and these conversations around him which

were assuming too free a character must be stopped.

He called the most important generals to him.

“My head, be it good or bad, must depend on itself,” said he, rising

from the bench, and he rode to Filí where his carriages were waiting.