 Book 10, Chapter 17, of War and Peace, read for LibreBox.org by David Rehm. After the Emperor had left Moscow, life flowed on there in its usual course, and its course was so very usual that it was difficult to remember the recent days of patriotic elation and arger, hard to believe that Russia was really in danger, and that the members of the English Club were also sons of the Fatherland, ready to sacrifice everything for it. The one thing that recalled the patriotic fervor everyone had displayed during the Emperor's stay was the call for contributions of men and money, a necessity that, as soon as the promises had been made, assumed a legal, official form, and became unavoidable. With the enemy's approach to Moscow, the Moskovites, view of the situation did not grow more serious, but on the contrary became even more frivolous, as always happens with people who see a great danger approaching. At the approach of danger, there are always two voices that speak with equal power in the human soul. One very reasonably tells a man to consider the nature of the danger and the means of escaping it. The other, still more reasonably, says that it is too depressing and painful to think of the danger since it is not in a man's power to foresee everything and avert the general course of events, and it is therefore better to disregard what is painful till it comes and to think about what is pleasant. In solitude, a man generally listens to the first voice, but in society to the second, so it was now with the inhabitants of Moscow. It was long since people had been as gay in Moscow as that year. Rostopshin's broadsheets, headed by woodcuts of a drink shop, a potman, and a Moscow burger called Karpushka-Chigiren, who, having been a militiaman and having had rather too much at the pub, heard that Napoleon wished to come to Moscow, grew angry, abused the French in very bad language, came out of the drink shop and under the sign of the eagle began to address the assembled people, and were read and discussed together with the latest of Vasily Lvovich Pushkin's Butrem. In the corner room at the club, members gathered to read these broadsheets, and some liked the way Karpushka-Chigiren at the French saying, They will swell up with Russian cabbage, burst with our buckwheat porridge, and choke themselves with cabbage soup. They are all dwarfs, and one peasant woman will toss three of them with a hayfork. Others did not like that tone, and said it was stupid and vulgar. It was said that Rostopshin had expelled all Frenchmen and even all foreigners from Moscow, and that there had been some spies and agents of Napoleon among them, but this was told chiefly to introduce Rostopshin's witty remark on that occasion. The foreigners were deported to Nizhny by boat, nor Rostopshin had said to them in French, Translation, note, think it over, get into the bark, and take care not to make it a bark of Karen. There was talk of all the government offices having been already removed from Moscow, and to this Shinshin's witticism was added that for that alone Moscow ought to be grateful to Napoleon. It was said that Mamanos, a regiment, would cost him 800,000 rubles, and that Bezhukov had spent even more on his, but the best thing about Bezhukov's action was that he himself was going to don a uniform and ride at the head of his regiment without charging anything for the show. He don't spare anyone, said Julie Trubetskaya, as she collected and pressed together a bunch of raveled lint with her thin, be-ringed fingers. Julie was preparing to leave Moscow next day and was giving a farewell soiree. Bezhukov is ridicule, but he is so kind and good-natured. What pleasure is there to be so kostik? A forfeit, cried a young man in a militia uniform, whom Julie called Montchavallier, and who was going with her Tunisiany. In Julie's set, as in many other circles in Moscow, it had been agreed that they would speak nothing but Russian, and that those who made a slip and spoke French should pay fines to the Committee of Voluntary Contributions. Another forfeit for egalism, said a Russian rider who was present. What pleasure is there to be is not Russian. You spare no one, continued Julie to the young man, without heeding the author's remark. For kostik I am guilty and will pay, and I am prepared to pay again for the pleasure of telling you the truth. For egalism, I won't be responsible, she remarked, turning to the author. I have neither the money nor the time, like Prince Galitsin, to engage a master to teach me Russian. Ah, here he is, she added. No, no, she said to the militia officer, you won't catch me. Speak of the sun, and you see its rays, and she smiled amiably at Pierre. We were just talking of you, she said, with a facility in lying natural to a society woman. We were saying that your regiment would be sure to be better than Mominoff's. Oh, don't talk to me of my regiment, replied Pierre, kissing his hostess's hand and taking a seat beside her. I am so sick of it. You will, of course, command it yourself, said Julie, directing a sly, sarcastic glance towards the militia officer. The latter, in Pierre's presence, had ceased to be kostik, and his face expressed perplexity as to what Julie's smile might mean. In spite of his absent-mindedness in good nature, Pierre's personality immediately checked any attempt to ridicule him to his face. No, said Pierre, with a laughing glance at his big, stout body. I should make too good a target for the French besides I am afraid I should hardly be able to climb onto a horse. Among those whom Julie's guests happened to choose to gossip about were the Rostovs. I hear that their affairs are in a very bad way, said Julie. And he is so unreasonable of the count himself, I mean. The Razumovskis wanted to buy his house in his estate near Moscow, but it drags on and on. He asks too much. No, I think the sale will come off in a few days, said someone, though it is madness to buy anything in Moscow now. Why, asked Julie, you don't think Moscow's in danger? Then why are you leaving? I? What a question. I am going because, well, because everyone is going, and besides, I'm not Joan of Arc or an Amazon. Well, of course, of course. Let me have some more strips of linen. If he manages the business properly, he will be able to pay off all his debts, said the militia officer speaking of Rostov. A kindly old man, but not up too much. And why do they stay on so long in Moscow? They meant to leave for the country. A long time ago, Natalia is quite well again now, isn't she? Julie asked Pierre with a knowing smile. They are waiting for their younger son, Pierre replied. He joined a Blinsky's Cossacks, and went to Belia-Turkov, where the regiment is being formed. But now they have had him transferred to my regiment and are expecting him every day. The count wanted to leave long ago, but the countess won't on any account leave Moscow till her son returns. I met them the day before yesterday at the Arkharovs. Natalia has recovered her looks and is brighter. She sang a song. How easily some people get over everything. Get over what? inquired Pierre, looking displeased. Julie smiled. You know, Count, such nights as you are only found in Madame de Souza's novels. What nights? What do you mean? demanded Pierre, blushing. Oh, come, my dear Count. C'est la fable de tout Moscow. Je vous admire ma parole de l'uneur. It is the talk of all Moscow. My word I admire you. Forfeit, forfeit, cried the militia officer. All right, one can't talk. How tiresome. What is the talk of all Moscow? Pierre asked angrily, rising to his feet. Come now, Count, you know. I don't know anything about it, said Pierre. I know you were friendly with Natalia, and so, but I was always more friendly with Vera, that dear Vera. No, Madame. Pierre continued in a tone of displeasure. I have not taken on myself the role of Natalia Rostova's night at all, and have not been their house for nearly a month, but I cannot understand the cruelty. Qui c'est Skousa Kuza, who excuses himself, accuses himself, said Julie, smiling, and waving the lint triumphantly, and to have the last word she promptly changed the subject. Do you know what I heard today? Poor Mary Bulkinskaya arrived in Moscow yesterday. Do you know that she has lost her father? Pierre. Really, where is she? I should very much like to see her, said Pierre. I spent the evening with her yesterday. She is going to their estate near Moscow, either today or tomorrow morning, with her nephew. Well, and how is she, asked Pierre. She is well, but sad. But do you know who rescued her? It is quite a romance. Nicholas Rostov. She was surrounded, and they wanted to kill her, and had wounded some of her people. He rushed in and saved her. Another romance, said the militia officer. Really, this general flight has been arranged to get all the old maids married off. Katish is one, and Princess Bulkinskaya another. Do you know, I really believe she is un petit peu un morce du jeune homme. A little bit in love with the young man. Forfeit, forfeit, forfeit. But how could one say that in Russian? End of Book 10, Chapter 17, read by David Reim, Sacramento, California, January 19, 2009. War and Peace, Book 10, Chapter 18, read for LibriVox.org by David Reim. When Pierre returned home, he was handed two of Rostovtian's broadsheets that had been brought that day. The first declared the report that Count Rostovtian had forbidden people to leave Moscow was false. On the contrary, he was glad that ladies and tradesmen's wives were leaving the city. There will be less panic and less gossip around the broadsheet. But I will stake my life on it that they will not enter Moscow. These words showed Pierre clearly for the first time that the French would enter Moscow. The second broadsheet stated that our headquarters were at Viasma, that Count Wittgenstein had defeated the French, but that as many of the inhabitants of Moscow wished to be armed, weapons were ready for them at the arsenal, sabers, pistols, and muskets which could be had at a low price. The tone of the proclamation was not as Jacose as in the former Chagirn talks. Pierre pondered over these broadsheets evidently the terrible storm-cloud he had desired, with the whole strength of his soul but which yet aroused involuntary horror in him was drawing near. Shall I join the army and enter the service? Or wait, he asked himself for the hundredth time. He took a pack of cards that lay on the table and began to lay them out for a game of patience. If this patience comes out, he said to himself after shuffling the cards, holding them in his hand and lifting his head, if it comes out it means—what does it mean? He had not decided what it should mean when he heard the voice of the eldest princess at the door asking whether she might come in. Then it will mean that I must go to the army, said Pierre to himself. Come in, come in, he added to the princess. Only the eldest princess, the one with the stony face and long waist, was still living in Pierre's house. The two younger ones had both married. Excuse my coming to you, cousin, she said in a reproachful and agitated voice. You know, some decision must become to. What is going to happen? Everyone has left Moscow, and the people are rioting. How is it that we are staying on? On the contrary, things seem satisfactory. Mccasine, said Pierre. In the bantering tone, he habitually adopted toward her, always feeling uncomfortable in the role of her benefactor. Satisfactory indeed. Very satisfactory. Barbara Ivanova told me today how our troops are distinguishing themselves. It certainly does them credit, and the people too are quite mutinous. They no longer obey, even my maid has taken to being rude. At this rate, they will soon begin beating us. One can't walk in the streets. But above all, the French will be here any day now. So what are we waiting for? I asked just one thing of you, cousin, she went on. Arrange for me to be taken to Petersburg. Whatever I may be, I can't live under Bonaparte's rule. Oh, come, Mccasine. Where do you get your information from? On the contrary. I won't submit to your Napoleon. Others may, if they please. If you don't want to do this, but I will, I'll give the order at once. The princess was apparently vexed at not having anyone to be angry with, muttering to herself. She sat down on a chair. But you have been misinformed, said Pierre. Everything is quiet in the city, and there is not the slightest danger. See, I've just been reading. He showed her the broadsheet. Count Restoption writes that he will stake his life on it that the enemy will never enter Moscow. Oh, that count of yours, said the princess malevolently. He's a hypocrite, a rascal, who has himself roused the people to riot. Didn't he write in those idiotic broadsheets that anyone, whoever it might be, should be dragged to the lockup by his hair? How silly. And honor and glory to whoever captures him, he says. This is what his cajolery has brought us to. Barbara Ivanova told me. The mob near killed her because she said something in French. Oh, but it's so. You take everything so to heart, said Pierre, and began laying out his cards for patience. Although that patience did come out, Pierre did not join the army, but remained in deserted Moscow ever in the same state of agitation, irresolution, and alarm, yet at the same time joyfully expecting something terrible. Next day, toward evening, the princess set off and Pierre's head steward came to inform him that the money needed for the equipment of his regiment could not be found without selling one of the estates. In general, the head steward made out to Pierre that his project of raising a regiment would ruin him. Pierre listened to him scarcely able to repress a smile. Well then, sell it, said he. What's to be done? I can't draw back now. The worse everything became, especially his own affairs, the better was Pierre pleased, and the more evident was it that the catastrophe he expected was approaching. Hardly anyone he knew was left in town. Julie had gone, and so had Princess Mary. Of his intimate friends, only the Rostovs remained, but he did not go to see them. To distract his thoughts, he drove that day to the village of Vorontsovo, to see the great balloon Lepic was constructing to destroy the foe, and a trial balloon that was to go up next day. The balloon was not yet ready, but Pierre learned that it was being constructed by the emperor's desire. The emperor had written to count restoption as follows. As soon as Lepic is ready, get together a crew of reliable and intelligent men for his car, and send a courier to General Kutuzov to let him know, I have informed him of the matter. Please impress upon Lepic to be very careful where he descends for the first time that he may not make a mistake and fall into the enemy's hands. It is essential for him to combine his movements with those of the commander-in-chief. On his way home from Vorontsovo, as he was passing the Bolontnoia Place, Pierre, seeing a large crowd round the Lubnoia Place, stopped and got out of his trap. A French cook accused of being a spy was being flogged. The flogging was only just over, and the executioner was releasing from the flogging bench a stout man with red whiskers in blue stockings and a green jacket, who was moaning piteously. Another criminal, thin and pale, stood near. Judging by their faces they were both Frenchmen, with a frightened and suffering look resembling that on the thin Frenchman's face, Pierre pushed his way in through the crowd. What is it? Who is it? What is it for? he kept asking. But the attention of the crowd, officials, burgers, shopkeepers, peasants, and women in cloaks and in polices, was so eagerly centered on what was passing in Lubnoia Place that no one answered him. The stout man rose, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and evidently trying to appear firm began to pull on his jacket without looking about him. But suddenly his lips trembled and he began to cry, in the way full-blooded grown men cry, though angry with himself for doing so. In the crowd people began talking loudly to stifle their feelings of pity as it seemed to Pierre. He's cooked to some prince. Eh, monsieur! Russian sauce seems to be sour to a Frenchman. Sets his teeth on edge! said a wrinkled clerk who was standing behind Pierre when the Frenchman began to cry. The clerk glanced round, evidently hoping that his joke would be appreciated. Some people began to laugh, others continued to watch in dismay the e-executioner who was undressing the other man. Pierre choked, his face puckered, and he turned hastily away, went back to his trap muttering something to himself as he went, and took his seat. As they drove along he shuddered and exclaimed several times so audibly that the coachman asked him, What is your pleasure? Where are you going? shouted Pierre to the man who was driving to Lubionka Street. To the governors, as he ordered, answered the coachman. Fool, idiot! shouted Pierre, abusing his coachman, a thing he rarely did. Home, I told you, and drive faster, blockhead. I must get away this very day, he murmured to himself. At the sight of the tortured Frenchman and the crowd surrounding the Lubnoia Place, Pierre had so definitely made up his mind that he could no longer remain in Moscow and would leave for the army that very day that it seemed to him that either he had told the coachman this or that the man ought to have known it for himself. On reaching home Pierre gave orders to F. Tzavfe, his head coachman, who knew everything, could do anything, and was known to all Moscow, that he would leave that night for the army at Moskaisk and that his saddle horses should be sent there. This could not all be arranged that day, so on F. Tzavfe's reputation Pierre had to put off his departure till next day to allow time for the relay horses to be sent on in advance. On the twenty-fourth the weather cleared up after a spell of rain, and after dinner Pierre left Moscow. When changing horses that night, and per Kuzhkov, he learned that there had been a great battle that evening. This was the battle of Shevardino. He was told that there in Per Kuzhkov the earth trembled from the firing, but nobody could answer his questions as to who had won. At dawn next day Pierre was approaching Moskaisk. Every house in Moskaisk had soldiers quartered in it, and at the hostel where Pierre was met by his groom and coachman there was no room to be had. It was full of officers. Everywhere in Moskaisk and beyond it, troops were stationed, or on the march. Cossacks, foot and horse soldiers, wagons, caissons, and cannon were everywhere. Pierre pushed forward as fast as he could, and the farther he left Moscow behind, and the deeper he plunged into the sea of troops the more was he overcome by restless agitation and a new and joyful feeling he had not experienced before. It was a feeling akin to what he had felt at the Sloboda Palace during the Emperor's visit, a sense of the necessity of undertaking something and sacrificing something. He now experienced a glad consciousness that everything that constitutes men's happiness, the comforts of life, wealth, even life itself, is rubbish it is pleasant to throw away, compared with something. With what? Pierre could not say, and he did not try to determine for whom and for what he felt such particular delight in sacrificing everything. He was not occupied with the question of what to sacrifice for. The fact of sacrificing in itself afforded him a new and joyous sensation. END OF CHAPTER XVIII On the twenty-fourth of August the battle of the Shavardino redoubt was fought. On the twenty-fifth not a shot was fired by either side, and on the twenty-sixth the battle of Borodino itself took place. Why and how were the battles of Shavardino and Borodino given and accepted? Why was the battle of Borodino fought? There was not the least sense in it for either the French or the Russians. Its immediate result for the Russians was, and was bound to be, that we were brought nearer to the destruction of Moscow, which we feared more than anything in the world. And for the French its immediate result was that they were brought nearer to the destruction of their whole army, which they feared more than anything in the world. What the result must be was quite obvious, and yet Napoleon offered, and Katuzov accepted that battle. If the commanders had been guided by reason, it would seem that it must have been obvious to Napoleon that by advancing thirteen hundred miles and giving battle with the probability of losing a quarter of his army he was advancing to certain destruction, and it must have been equally clear to Katuzov that by accepting battle, and risking the loss of a quarter of his army, he would certainly lose Moscow. For Katuzov this was mathematically clear, as it is that if when playing drafts I have one man less, and go on exchanging I shall certainly lose, and therefore should not exchange. When my opponent has sixteen men, and I have fourteen, I am only one eighth weaker than he, but when I have exchanged thirteen more men, he will be three times as strong as I am. Before the battle of Borodino our strength in proportion to the French was about as five to six, but after that battle it was little more than one to two. Previously we had a hundred thousand against a hundred and twenty thousand, afterwards little more than fifty thousand against a hundred thousand. Yet the shrewd and experienced Katuzov accepted the battle, while Napoleon, who was said to be a commander of genius, gave it, losing a quarter of his army, and lengthening his lines of communication still more. If it is said that he expected to end the campaign by occupying Moscow as he had ended a previous campaign by occupying Vienna, there is much evidence to the contrary. Napoleon's historians themselves tell us that from Smolensk onwards he wished to stop, knew the danger of his extended position, and knew that the occupation of Moscow would not be the end of the campaign, for he had seen Smolensk, the state in which Russian towns were left to him, and had not received a single reply to his repeated announcements of his wish to negotiate. In giving an accepting battle at Borodino, Katuzov acted involuntarily and irrationally, but later on to fit what had occurred the historians provided cunningly devised evidence of the foresight and genius the generals who, of all the blind tools of history, were the most enslaved and involuntary. The ancients have left us model heroic poems in which the heroes furnished the whole interest of the story, and we are still unable to accustom ourselves to the fact that, for our epic histories of that kind are meaningless. On the other question, how the battle of Borodino and the preceding battle of Shevardino were fought, there also exists a definite and well known, but quite false conception. All the historians describe the affair as follows. The Russian army, they say, in its retreat from Smolensk, sought out for itself the best position for a general engagement, and found such a position at Borodino. The Russians, they say, fortified this position in advance on the left of the high road from Moscow to Smolensk, and almost at a right angle to it, from Borodino to Yutitsa, at the very place where the battle was fought. In front of this position, they say, a fortified outpost was set up on the Shevardino Mount to observe the enemy. On the 24th, we are told, Napoleon attacked this advance post and took it, and on the 26th attacked the whole Russian army, which was in position on the field of Borodino. So the histories say, and it is all quite wrong, as anyone who cares to look into the matter can easily convince himself. The Russians did not seek out the best position, but, on the contrary, during the retreat passed many positions better than Borodino. They did not stop at any one of these positions because Kutuzov did not wish to occupy a position he had not himself chosen, because the popular demand for a battle had not yet expressed itself strongly enough, and because Milarodovich had not yet arrived with the militia, and for many other reasons. The fact is that other positions they had passed were stronger, and that the position at Borodino, the one where the battle was fought, far from being strong, was no more a position than any other spot one might find in the Russian Empire by sticking a pin into the map at Hazard. Not only did the Russians not fortify the position on the field of Borodino, to the left of, and at a right angle to, the high road, that is, the position on which the battle took place, but never till the 25th of August, 1812, did they think that a battle might be fought there. This was shown first by the fact that there were no entrenchments there by the 25th, and that those begun on the 25th and 26th were not completed, and secondly, by the position of the Chevardino redoubt. That redoubt was quite senseless in front of the position where the battle was accepted. Why was it more strongly fortified than any other post, and why were all efforts exhausted and six thousand men sacrificed to defend it till late at night on the 24th? A Cossack patrol would have suffice to observe the enemy. Thirdly, is proof that the position on which the battle was fought had not been foreseen, and that the Chevardino redoubt was not an advanced post of that position. We have the fact that up to the 25th, Barclay de Toli and Bagration were convinced that the Chevardino redoubt was the left flank of the position, and that Katoosov himself in his report written in hot haste after the battle speaks of the Chevardino redoubt as the left flank of the position. It was much later, when reports on the Battle of Borodino were written at leisure, that the incorrect and extraordinary statement was invented, probably to justify the mistakes of a Commander-in-Chief who had to be represented as infallible, that the Chevardino redoubt was an advanced post, whereas in reality it was simply a fortified point on the left flank, and that the Battle of Borodino was fought by us on an entrenched position previously selected, where as it was fought on a quite unexpected spot which was almost entrenched. The case was evidently this. A position was selected along the River Colotia, which crosses the high road not at a right angle but at an acute angle, so that the left flank was at Chevardino, the right flank near the village of Novoia, and the center at Borodino at the confluence of the River Colotia and Voina. To anyone who looks at the field of Borodino without thinking of how the battle was actually fought, this position protected by the River Colotia presents itself as obvious for an army whose object was to prevent an enemy from advancing along the Smolensk road to Moscow. Napoleon, riding to Valuevo on the 24th, did not see, as the history books say he did, the position of the Russians from Utitsa to Borodino. He could not have seen that position, because it did not exist, nor did he see an advanced post of the Russian army, but while pursuing the Russian rearguard he came upon the left flank of the Russian position at the Chevardino redoubt, and unexpectedly for the Russians moved his army across the Colotia. And the Russians, not having time to begin a general engagement, withdrew their left wing from the position they had intended to occupy, and took up a new position which had not been foreseen and was not fortified. By crossing to the other side of the Colotia to the left of the high road, Napoleon shifted the whole forthcoming battle from right to left, looking from the Russian side, and transferred it to the plane between Utitsa, Semenovsk, and Borodino, a plane no more advantageous as a position than any other plane in Russia, and there the whole battle of the 26th of August took place. Had Napoleon not written out on the evening of the 24th to the Colotia, and had he not then ordered an immediate attack on the redoubt, but had begun the attack next morning, no one would have doubted that the Chevardino redoubt was the left flank of our and the battle would have taken place where we expected it. In that case we should probably have defended the Chevardino redoubt, our left flank still more obstinately. We should have attacked Napoleon in the center or on the right, and the engagement would have taken place on the 25th in the position we intended and had fortified. But as the attack on our left flank took place in the evening after the retreat of our rearguard, that is immediately after the fight at Grydneva, and as the Russian commanders did not wish, or were not in time, to begin a general engagement then on the evening of the 24th, the first and chief action of the battle of Borodino was already lost on the 24th and obviously led to the loss of the one fought on the 26th. After the loss of the Chevardino redoubt, we found ourselves on the morning of the 25th without a position for our left flank, and were forced to bend it back and hastily entrench it where it chanced to be. Not only was the Russian army on the 26th defended by weak, unfinished entrenchments, but the disadvantage of that position was increased by the fact that the Russian commanders, not having fully realized what had happened, namely the loss of our position on the left flank and the shifting of the whole field of the forthcoming battle from right to left, maintained their extended position from the village of Novoya to Yutitsa, and consequently had to move their forces from right to left during the battle. So it happened that throughout the whole battle the Russians opposed the entire French army launched against our left flank with but half as many men. Poniatsovsky's action against the Yutitsa and Yuvarov's on the right flank against the French were actions distinct from the main course of the battle, so the battle of Borodino did not take place at all as in an effort to conceal our commander's mistakes even at the cost of diminishing the glory due to the Russian army and people, it has been described. The battle of Borodino was not fought on a chosen and entrenched position with forces only slightly weaker than those of the enemy, but as a result of the loss of the Chevardino redoubt the Russians fought the battle of Borodino in an open and almost un-entrenched position with forces only half as numerous as the French. That is to say under conditions in which it was not merely unthinkable to fight for ten hours in secure and indecisive result, but unthinkable to keep an army even from complete disintegration and flight. End of Chapter 19, Recording by David Reim and Sacramento, California, January 19, 2009 War and Peace, Book 10, Chapter 20, Read for LibriVox.org by David Reim On the morning of the twenty-fifth Pierre was leaving Moshaevsk at the descent of the high steep hill down which a winding road led out of the town past the cathedral on the right where a service was being held and the bells were ringing, Pierre got out of his vehicle and proceeded on foot. Behind him a cavalry regiment was coming down the hill proceeded by its singers. Coming up toward him was a train of carts carrying men who had been wounded in the engagement the day before. The peasant drivers, shouting and lashing their horses, kept crossing from side to side. The carts, in each of which three or four wounded soldiers were lying or sitting, jolted over the stones that had been thrown on the steep incline to make it something like a road. The wounded bandaged with rags, with pale cheeks, compressed lips, and knitted brows, held on to the sides of the carts as they were jolted against one another. Almost all of them stared with naive childlike curiosity at Pierre's white hat and green swallowtail coat. Pierre's coachmen shouted angrily at the convoy of wounded to keep to one side of the road. The cavalry regiment, as it descended the hill with its singers, surrounded Pierre's carriage and blocked the road. Pierre stopped, being pressed against the side of the cutting in which the road ran. The sunshine from behind the hill did not penetrate into the cutting, and there it was cold and damp, but above Pierre's head was the bright August sunshine and the bells sounded merrily. One of the carts with wounded stopped by the side of the road close to Pierre. The driver, in his best shoes, ran panting up to it, placed a stone under one of its tireless, hind wheels, and began arranging the breach band on his little horse. One of the wounded, an old soldier, with a bandaged arm who was following the cart on foot, caught hold of it with his sound hand and turned to look at Pierre. I say, fellow countrymen, will they set us down here or take us on to Moscow, he asked. Pierre was so deep in thought that he did not hear the question. He was looking now at the cavalry regiment that had met the convoy of wounded, now at the cart by which he was standing, in which two wounded men were sitting and one was lying. One of those sitting up in the cart had probably been wounded in the cheek. His whole head was wrapped in rags, and one cheek was swollen to the size of a baby's head. His nose and mouth were twisted to one side. The soldier was looking at the cathedral and crossing himself. Another, a young lad, a fair-haired recruit, as white as though there was no blood in his thin face looked at Pierre kindly with a fixed smile. The third lay prone so that his face was not visible. The cavalry singers were passing close by. All lost, quite lost, is my head soaking, living in a foreign land, they sang their soldier's dance song. As if responding to them, but with a different sort of merriment, the metallic sound of the bells reverberated high above, and the hot rays of the sun bathed the top of the opposite slope with yet another sort of merriment. But beneath the slope, by the cart, with the wounded near the panting little nag where Pierre stood, it was damp, somber, and sad. The soldier with the swollen cheek looked angrily at the cavalry singers. Oh, the coxcombs, he muttered reproachfully. It's not the soldier's only, but I've seen peasants today, too. The peasants, even they have to go, said the soldier behind the cart, addressing Pierre with a sad smile. No distinctions made nowadays. They want the whole nation to fall on them. In a word, it's Moscow. They want to make an end of it. In spite of the obscurity of the soldier's words, Pierre understood what he wanted to say and not at approval. The road was clear again. Pierre descended the hill and drove on. He kept looking to either side of the road for familiar faces, but only saw every worthy unfamiliar faces of various military men of different branches of the service, who all looked with astonishment at his white hat and green tailcoat. Having gone nearly three miles, he at last met an acquaintance and eagerly addressed him. This was one of the head army doctors. He was driving toward Pierre, in a covered gig, sitting beside a young surgeon, and on recognizing Pierre, he told the cossack who occupied the driver's seat to pull up. Count, your Excellency, how come you to be here? asked the doctor. Well, you know, I wanted to see. Yes, yes, there will be something to see. Pierre got out and talked to the doctor, explaining his intention of taking part in a battle. The doctor advised him to apply direct to Katoosov. Why should you be God knows where out of sight during the battle, he said, exchanging glances with his young companion. Anyhow, his Serene Highness knows you, and will receive you graciously. That's what you must do. The doctor seemed tired in a hurry. You think so? Ah, I also wanted to ask you where our position is exactly, said Pierre. The position, repeated the doctor. Well, that's not my line. Drive past Tatarinova. A lot of digging is going on there. Go up the hillock, and you'll see. Can one see from there, if you would, but the doctor interrupted him and moved toward his gig. I would go with you, but on my honor, I am up to here, and he pointed to his throat. I am galloping to the commander of the corps. How to matter stand? You know. Count, there will be a battle tomorrow. Out of an army of a hundred thousand, we must expect at least twenty thousand wounded, and we haven't stretchers or bunks or dressers, or doctors enough for six thousand. We have ten thousand carts, but we need other things as well. We must manage as best we can. The strange thought, that of thousands of men, young and old, who had stared with merry surprise at his hat, perhaps the very men he had noticed, twenty thousand were inevitably doomed to wounds and death, amazed Pierre. They may die tomorrow. Why are they thinking of anything but death? And by some latent sequence of thought, the descent of the Mosias Kill, the carts with the wounded, the ringing bells, the slanting rays of the sun, and the songs of the cavalrymen vividly recurred to his mind. The cavalry ride to battle, and meet the wounded, and do not for a moment think of what awaits them, but pass by, winking at the wounded. Yet from among these men twenty thousand are doomed to die, and they wonder at my hat. Strange thought, Pierre, continuing his way to Tatarinova. In front of a landowner's house, to the left of the roads, to carriages, wagons, and crowds of orderlies and sentinels. The commander-in-chief was putting up there, but just when Pierre arrived, he was not in, and hardly any of the staff were there. They had gone to the church service. Pierre drove on toward Gorky. When he had ascended the hill, and reached the little village street, he saw for the first time pleasant militiamen in their white shirts, with crosses on their caps, who, talking and laughing loudly, animated and perspiring, were at work on a huge knoll overgrown with grass to the right of the road. Some of them were digging, others were wheeling barrel-loads of earth along planks, while others stood about doing nothing. Two officers were standing on the knoll, directing the men. On seeing these peasants, who were evidently still amused by the novelty of their position as soldiers, Pierre once more thought of the wounded men at Mosiask, and understood what the soldier had meant when he said, They want the whole nation to fall on them. The sight of these bearded peasants at work on the battlefield, with their queer, clumsy boots and perspiring necks, and their shirts opening from the left toward the middle, unfastened, exposing their sunburned collarbones, impressed Pierre more strongly with the solemnity and importance of the moment than anything he had yet seen or heard. Pierre stepped out of his carriage, and, passing the toiling militiamen, ascended the knoll from which, according to the doctor, the battlefield could be seen. It was about eleven o'clock. The sun, shone somewhat to the left and behind him, and brightly lit up the enormous panorama, which, rising like an amphitheater, extended before him in the clear, rarefied atmosphere. From above, on the left, bisecting that amphitheater, wound the Smolensk Tyroad, passing through a village with a white church, some five hundred paces in front of the knoll and below it. This was Borodino. Below the village the road crossed the river by a bridge, and, winding down and up, rose higher and higher to the village of Valuevo, visible about four miles away, where Napoleon was then stationed. Beyond Valuevo the road disappeared into a yellowing forest on the horizon. Far in the distance in that birch and fur forest to the right of the road, the cross and belfry of the Kalocha monastery gleamed in the sun. Here and there, over the whole of that blue expanse to right and left of the forest and the road, smoking campfires could be seen, an indefinite mass of troops, ours and the enemies. The ground to the right, along the course of the Kalocha and Moskva rivers, was broken and hilly. Between the hollows the villages of Buzubova and Zakharino showed in the distance. On the left the ground was more level. There were fields of grain and the smoking ruins of Seminovsk, which had been burned down, could be seen. All that Pierre saw was so indefinite that neither the left nor the right side of the field fully satisfied his expectations. Nowhere could he see the battlefield he had expected to find, but only fields, meadows, troops, woods, the smoke of campfires, villages, mounds and streams, and try as he would he could describe no military position in this place which teamed with life, nor could he even distinguish our troops from the enemies. I must ask someone who knows, he thought, and addressed an officer who was looking with curiosity at his huge unmilitary figure. May I ask you, said Pierre, what village that is in front? Burdino, isn't it? said the officer, turning to his companion. Borodino, the other corrected him. The officer, evidently glad of an opportunity for a talk, moved up to Pierre. Are those our men there? Pierre inquired. Yes, and there, further on, are the French, said the officer. There they are, there. You can see them. Where? Where? asked Pierre. One can see them with a naked eye. Why, there! The officer pointed with his hand to the smoke visible on the left behind the river, and the same stern and serious expression that Pierre had noticed on many of the faces he had met came into his face. Ah, those are the French. And over there? Pierre pointed to a knoll on the left, near which some troops could be seen. Those are ours. Ah, ours. And there? Pierre pointed to another knoll in the distance, with a big tree on it, near a village that lay in a hollow where also some campfires were smoking, and something black was visible. That's his again, said the officer. It was the Chevardino redoubt. It was ours yesterday, but now it is his. Then how about our position? Our position? replied the officer with a smile of satisfaction. I can tell you quite clearly, because I constructed nearly all our entrenchments. There, you see? There's our centre, at Borrodino, just there, and he pointed to the village in front of them with a white church. That's where one crosses the Colotia. You see down there, where the rows of hay are lying in the hollow, there's the bridge. That's our centre. Our right flank is over there. He pointed sharply to the right, far away in the broken ground. That's where the Moskva River is, and we have thrown up three redoubts there, very strong ones. The left flank, here the officer paused, well, you see, that's difficult to explain. Yesterday our left flank was there, at Chevardino, you see, where the oak is. But now we have withdrawn our left wing. Now it is over there. Do you see that village and the smoke? That's Seminovsk, yes, there, he pointed to Reavsky's gnoll. But the battle will hardly be there. His having moved his troops there is only a ruse. He will probably pass around to the right of the Moskva. But wherever it may be, many a man will be missing tomorrow, he remarked. An elderly sergeant who had approached the officer while he was giving these explanations had waited in silence for him to finish speaking, but at this point evidently not liking the officer's remark interrupted him. Gebbions must be sent for, said he sternly. The officer appeared abashed for, as though he understood that one might think of how many men would be missing tomorrow, but ought not to speak of it. Well, send number three company again, the officer replied hurriedly. And you? Are you one of the doctors? No, I've come on my own, answered Pierre, and he went down the hill again, passing the militiamen. Oh, those damned fellows muttered the officer who followed him, holding his nose as he ran past the men at work. There they are! Bringing her! Coming! There they are! They'll be here in a minute. Voices were suddenly heard saying, and officers, soldiers, and a militiamen began running forward along the road. A church procession was coming up the hill from Borodino. First along the dusty road came the infantry in ranks, bareheaded and with arms reversed. From behind them came the sound of church singing. Soldiers and militiamen ran bareheaded past Pierre toward the procession. They are bringing her, our protractress, the Iberian mother of God, someone cried. The small lungst mother of God, another corrected him. The militiamen, both those who had been in the village and those who had been at work on the battery, threw down their spades and ran to meet the church procession. Following the battalion that marched along the dusty road came priests in their vestments, one little old man in a hood with attendants and singers. Behind them soldiers and officers bore a large dark-faced icon with an embossed metal cover. This was the icon that had been brought from and had since accompanied the army. Behind, before and on both sides, crowds of militiamen with bareheaded walked, ran and bowed to the ground. At the summit of the hill they stopped with the icon. The men who had been holding it up by the linen bands attached to it were relieved by others. The chanters relit their sensors and service began. The hot rays of the sun beat down vertically in a fresh soft wind, played with the hair of the bareheaded and with the ribbons decorating the icon. The singing did not sound loud under the open sky. An immense crowd of bareheaded officers, soldiers and militiamen surrounded the icon. Behind the priest and the chanters stood the notabilities on a spot reserved for them. A bald general with a St. George's cross on his neck stood just behind the priest's back and, without crossing himself, he was evidently a German, patiently awaited the end of the service which he considered it necessary to hear to the end, probably to arouse the patriotism of the Russian people. Another general stood in a marshal pose, crossing himself by shaking his hand in front of his chest while looking about him. Standing among the crowd of peasants, Pierre recognized several acquaintances among these notables, but did not look at them. His whole attention was absorbed in watching the serious expression on the faces of the crowd of soldiers and militiamen who were all gazing eagerly at the icon. As soon as the tired chanters who were singing the service for the twentieth time that day began lazily and mechanically to sing, Save from calamity thy servant so mother of God, and the priest and deacon chimed in, For to thee under God we all flee as to an inviolable bulwark and protection. There again kindled in all those faces the same expression of consciousness of the solemnity of the impending moment that Pierre had seen on the faces at the foot of the hill a mosesk and momentarily on many and many faces he had met that morning, and heads were bowed more frequently and hair tossed back and sighs and the sound men made as they crossed themselves were heard. The crowd round the icon suddenly parted and pressed against Pierre, someone a very important personage judging by the haste with which way was made for him was approaching the icon. It was Kutuzov who had been riding round the position and on his way back to Tataronova had stopped where the service was being held. Pierre recognized him at once by his peculiar figure which distinguished him from everybody else, with a long overcoat on his exceedingly south round-shouldered body with uncovered white head and puffy face showing the white ball of the eye he had lost. Kutuzov walked with plunging swaying gate into the crowd and stopped behind the priest. He crossed himself with an accustomed movement bent till he touched the ground with his hand and bowed his white head with a deep sigh. Behind Kutuzov was Benignzen and the sweet, despite the presence of the commander in chief who attracted the attention of all the superior officers the militiamen and soldiers continued their prayers without looking at him. When the service was over Kutuzov stepped up to the icon, sank heavily to his knees, bowed to the ground, and for a long time tried vainly to rise but could not do so on account of his weakness and weight. His white head twitched with the effort. At last he rose, kissed the icon as a child does with naively pointing, pouting lips, and again bowed till he touched the ground with his hand. The other generals followed his example, then the officers, and after them with excited faces, pressing on one another, crowding, panting, and pushing, scrambled those soldiers and militiamen. End of Chapter 21, recording by Marcy Fraser, Custer, South Dakota. War and Peace, Book 10, Chapter 22, read for LibriVox.org by Eva Hanik. Staggering amid the crush, Pierre looked about him. Come Peter Kirilovich, how did you get here? said a voice. Pierre looked round, Boris Druvetskoi brushing his knees with his hand. He had probably sold them when he too had knelt before the icon, came up to him smiling. Boris was elegantly dressed with a slightly marshal touch appropriate to a campaign. He wore a long coat and like Kutuzov had a whip slung across his shoulder. Meanwhile Kutuzov had reached the village and seated himself in the shade of the nearest house on a bench which one Cossack had round to fetch and another had hastily covered with a rag. An immense and brilliant suite surrounded him. The icon was carried further accompanied by the throng. Pierre stopped some sturdy paces from Kutuzov talking to Boris. He explained his wish to be present at the battle and to see the position. This is what you must do, said Boris. I will do the honors of the camp to you. You see everything best from where Count Beniksen will be. I am in attendance on him, you know. I will mention it to him. But if you want to ride around the position, come along with us. We are just going to the left flank. Then, when we get back, do spend the night with me and we'll arrange a game of cards. Of course you know Dimitri Sergeyevich. Those are his quarters and he pointed to the third house in the village of Gorky. But I should like to see the right flank. They say it is very strong, said Pierre. I should like to start from the Moskva river and ride around the whole position. Well, you can do that later. But the chief thing is the left flank. Yes, yes. But where is Prince Borkonsky's regimen? Can you point it out to me? Prince Andrews, we shall pass it and I'll take you to him. What about the left flank? asked Pierre. To tell you the truth between ourselves, God only knows what state our left flank is in, said Boris, confidentially lowering his voice. It is not at all what Count Beniksen intended. He meant to fortify that knoll quite differently. But Boris shrugged his shoulders. His Serene Highness would not have it, or someone persuaded him. You see? But Boris did not finish, for at that moment Kaisarov Kutuzov's adjutant came up to Pierre. Ah, Kaisarov, said Boris, addressing him with an unembarrassed smile. I was just trying to explain our position to the Count. It is amazing how his Serene Highness could so foresee the intentions of the French. You mean the left flank? asked Kaisarov. Yes, exactly. The left flank is now extremely strong. Though Kutuzov had dismissed all unnecessary men from the staff, Boris had contrived to remain at headquarters after the changes. He had established himself with Count Beniksen, who, like all on whom Boris had been in attendance, considered young Prince Drubetskoy an invaluable man. In the higher command there were two sharply defined parties, Kutuzov's party and that of Beniksen, the chief of staff. Boris belonged to the latter and no one else, while showing servile respect to Kutuzov, could so create an impression that the old fellow was not much good and that Beniksen managed everything. Now the decisive moment of battle had come, when Kutuzov would be destroyed and the power passed to Beniksen or even if Kutuzov won the battle, it would be felt that everything was done by Beniksen. In any case, many great rewards would have to be given for tomorrow's action and new men would come to the front. So Boris was full of nervous vivacity all day. After Kaisarov, others whom Pierre knew came up to him and he had not time to reply to all the questions about Moscow that were showered upon him or to listen to all that was told him. The faces all expressed animation and apprehension, but it seemed to Pierre that the cause of the excitement shown in some of these faces lay chiefly in questions of personal success. His mind, however, was occupied by the different expression he saw on other faces, an expression that spoke not of personal matters but of the universal questions of life and death. Kutuzov noticed Pierre's figure and the group gathered round him. Call him to me, said Kutuzov. An adjutant told Pierre of his serene highnesses wish and Pierre went toward Kutuzov's bench, but the militiamen got there before him. It was Dolokov. How did that fellow get here? asked Pierre. He is a creature that wriggles in anywhere, was the answer. He has been degraded, you know. Now he wants to bob up again. He has been proposing some scheme or other and has crawled into the enemy's picket line at night. He is a brave fellow. Pierre took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Kutuzov. I concluded that if I reported to your serene highness, you might send me away or say that you knew what I was reporting, but then I shouldn't lose anything, Dolokov was saying. Yes, yes, but if I were right, I should be rendering a service to my fatherland for which I am ready to die, yes, yes, and should your serene highness require a man who will not spare his skin, please think of me. Perhaps I may prove useful to your serene highness. Yes, yes, Kutuzov repeated his laughing eye narrowing more and more as he looked at Pierre. Just then Boris, with his courtier-like adroitness, stepped up to Pierre's side near Kutuzov and in a most natural manner, without raising his voice, set to Pierre as though continuing an interrupted conversation. The militia have put on clean white shirts to be ready to die, what heroism can't. Boris evidently set this to Pierre in order to be overheard by his serene highness. He knew Kutuzov's attention would be caught by those words, and so it was. What are you saying about the militia? he asked Boris. Preparing for tomorrow your serene highness, for this, they have put on clean white shirts Ah, a wonderful, a matchless people, said Kutuzov, and he closed his eyes and swayed his head. A matchless people, he repeated with a sigh. So you want to smell gunpowder, he said to Pierre. Yes, it is a pleasant smell. I have the honor to be one of your wives adorers. Is she well? My quarters are at your service. And, as often happens with old people, Kutuzov began looking about absent-mindedly as if forgetting all he wanted to say or do. Then, evidently remembering what he wanted, he beckoned to Andrew Kaisarov, his adjutant's brother. Those verses, those verses of marines, how do they go, eh? Those he wrote about Gerakov, lectures for the corpse, in writing. Recite them, recite them, said he, evidently preparing to laugh. Kaisarov recited. Kutuzov said, he said, he said, he said, he said, he said, he said, he said, he said, Kutuzov smilingly nodded his head to the rhythm of the verses. When Pierre had left Kutuzov, Dolokov came up to him and took his hand. I am very glad to meet you here, Count, he said aloud, regardless of the presence of strangers, and in a particularly resolute and solemn tone. On the eve of the day, when God alone knows who of us is fated to survive, I am glad of this opportunity to tell you that I regret the misunderstandings that occurred between us and should wish you not to have any ill feeling for me. I beg you to forgive me. Pierre looked at Dolokov with a smile, not knowing what to say to him. With tears in his eyes, Dolokov embraced Pierre and kissed him. Boris said a few words to his general, and Count Benningson turned to Pierre and proposed that he should ride with him along the line. It will interest you, said he. Yes, very much, replied Pierre. Half an hour later, Kutuzov left for Tatarinova, and Benningson and his suite, with Pierre among them, set out on their ride along the line. Or in Peace, Book 10, Chapter 23, read for LibriVox.org. From Gorky, Benningson descended the high road to the bridge, which, when they had looked at it from the hill, the officer had pointed out as being the center of our position, and where rows of fragrant pneumone hay lay by the riverside. They rode across that bridge into the village of Borodino, and then turned to the left, passing an enormous number of troops and guns, and came to a high knoll where militiamen were digging. This was the redoubt as yet unnamed, which afterwards became known as the Reavski Redoubt, or the knoll battery. But Pierre paid no special attention to it. He did not know that it would become more memorable to him than any other spot on the plain of Borodino. They then crossed the hollow to Seminovsk, where the soldiers were dragging away the last logs from the huts and barns. Then they rode downhill and uphill across a writhe field, trodden and beaten down as if by hail, following a track freshly made by the artillery over the furrows of the plowed land, and reached some fleshes, a kind of entrenchment, which were still being dug. At the fleshes, Benningson stopped and began looking at the Chevardino Redoubt opposite, which had been ours the day before, and where several horsemen could be described. The officers said that either Napoleon or Morat was there, and they all gazed eagerly at this little group of horsemen. Pierre also looked at them, trying to guess which of the scarcely discernible figures was Napoleon. At last those mounted men rode away from the mound and disappeared. Benningson spoke to a general who approached him, and began explaining the whole position of our troops. Pierre listened to him, straining each faculty to understand the essential points of the impending battle, but was mortified to feel that his mental capacity was inadequate for the task. He could make nothing of it. Benningson stopped speaking, and noticing that Pierre was listening, suddenly said to him, I don't think this interests you. On the contrary, it's very interesting, replied Pierre, not quite truthfully. From the fleshes they rode still further to the left, along a road winding through a thick, low-growing birch wood. In the middle of the wood, a brown hair with white feet sprang out, and scared by the tramp of the many horses, grew so confused that it leaped along the road in front of them for some time, arousing general attention and laughter, and only when several voices shouted at it did it dart to one side and disappear in the thicket. After going through the wood for about a mile and a half, they came out on a glade where troops of Tuchkov's corps were stationed to defend the left flank. Here, at the extreme left flank, Benningson talked a great deal and with much heat, and as it seemed to Pierre, gave orders of great military importance. In front of Tuchkov's troops was some high ground not occupied by troops. Benningson loudly criticized this mistake, saying that it was madness to leave a height which commanded the country around, unoccupied, and to place troops below it. Some of the generals expressed the same opinion. One in particular declared with martial heat that they were put there to be slaughtered. Benningson, on his own authority, ordered the troops to occupy the high ground. This disposition on the left flank increased Pierre's doubt of his own capacity to understand military matters. Listening to Benningson and the generals criticizing the position of the troops behind the hill, he quite understood them and shared their opinion, but for that very reason he could not understand how the man who put them there behind the hill could have made so gross and palpable a blunder. Pierre did not know that these troops were not, as Benningson supposed, put there to defend the position, but were in a concealed position as an ambush, that they should not be seen and might be able to strike an approaching enemy unexpectedly. Benningson did not know this and moved the troops forward according to his own ideas without mentioning the matter to the commander-in-chief. Prince Andrew lay leaning on his elbow in a broken-down shed in the village of Gniaskov at the further end of his regiment's encampment. Through a gap in the broken wall he could see beside the wooden fence a row of thirty-year-old birches with their lower branches lopped off, a field on which shocks of oats were standing, and some bushes near which rose the smoke of campfires, the soldiers' kitchens. Narrow and burdensome and useless to anyone as his life now seemed to him, Prince Andrew, on the evil battle, felt agitated and irritable, as he had done seven years before at Osterlitz. He had received and given the orders for next day's battle and had nothing more to do, but his sorts, the simplest, clearest, and therefore most terrible sorts would give him no peace. He knew that tomorrow's battle would be the most terrible of all he had taken part in, and for the first time in his life the possibility of death presented itself to him, not in relation to any worldly matter or his reference to its effect on others, but simply in relation to himself, to his own soul, vividly, plainly, terribly, and almost as a certainty. And from the height of this perception, all that had previously tormented and preoccupied him suddenly became ill-mind by a cold, white light without shadows, without perspective, without distinction of outline. All life appeared to him like magic-lenten pictures, at which he had long been gazing by artificial light through a glass. Now he suddenly saw those badly-dopped pictures in clear daylight and without a glass. Yes, yes, there they are, those false images that agitated and raptured and tormented me, said he to himself, passing in review the principal pictures of the magic-lenten of life and regarding them now in the cold, white daylight of his clear perception of death. There they are, those rudely-painted figures that once seemed splendid and mysterious. Glory, the good of society, love of a woman, the fatherland itself. How important these pictures appeared to me, with what profound meaning they seemed to be filled. And it is all so simple. Pale and crude in the cold, white light of this morning, which I feel is downing for, the three great sorrows of his life held his attention in particular. His love for a woman, his father's death, and the French invasion which had overrun half Russia. Love, that little girl who seemed to be brimming over with mystic forces. Yes, indeed, I loved her. I made romantic plans of love and happiness with her. Oh, what a boy I was, he said aloud bitterly. Ah, me, I believed in some ideal love which was to keep her faithful to me for the whole year of my absence. Like the gentle dove in the fable, she was to pine apart from me. But it was much simpler, really. It was all very simple and horrible. When my father built bold hills, he saw the place was his, his land, his air, his peasants. But Napoleon came and swept him aside, unconscious of his existence, as he might brush a chip from his past. And his bold hills and his whole life fell to pieces. Princess Mary says it is a trial sent from above. What is the trial for when he's not here and will never return? He is not here, for whom then is the trial intended? The fatherland, the destruction of Moscow. And tomorrow I shall be killed, perhaps not even by a Frenchman, but by one of our own men, by a soldier discharging a musket close to my ear as one of them did yesterday. And the French will come and take me by head and heels, and fling me into a hole that I may not stink under their noses. And new conditions of life will arise, which will seem quite ordinary to others, and about which I shall know nothing. I shall not exist. He looked at the raw bircher shining in the sunshine with their motionless green and yellow foliage and white bark. To die, to be killed tomorrow, that I should not exist, that all this should still be, but know me. And the birches with their light and shade, the curly clouds, the smoke of the campfires, and all that was around him changed and seemed terrible and menacing. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He rose quickly, went out of the shed, and began to walk about. After he had returned, voices were heard outside the shed. Who's that? he cried. The red-nosed Captain Timokin, formerly Dolokov Squadron Commander, but now, from lack of officers, a battalion commander, shyly entered the shed, followed by an adjutant and the regimental paymaster. Prince Andrew Rose Hastily, listened to the business they had come about, gave them some further instruction, and was about to dismiss them when he heard a familiar, lisping voice behind the shed. Double take it, said the voice of a man, stumbling over something. Prince Andrew looked out of the shed and saw Pierre, who had tripped over a pole on the ground, and had nearly fallen, coming his way. It was unpleasant to Prince Andrew to meet people of his own set in general, and Pierre specially, for he reminded him of all the painful moments of his last visit to Moscow. You, what a surprise, said he. What brings you here? This is unexpected. As he said this, his eyes and face expressed more than coldness. They expressed hostility, which Pierre noticed at once. He had approached the shed full of animation, but on seeing Prince Andrew's face, he felt constrained and ill at ease. I have come simply, you know, come, it interests me, said Pierre, who had so often that day, senselessly repeated that word interesting. I wish to see the battle. Oh, yes, and what do the Masonic brothers say about war? How would they stop it? said Prince Andrew sarcastically. Well, and how is Moscow? And my people have to reach Moscow at last, he asked seriously. Yes, they have. Julie Drubetskaya told me so. I went to see them, but missed them. They have gone to your estate near Moscow. End of chapter 24, recording by Eva Harnick, Pontevedra, Florida. War and Peace, Book 10, Chapter 25, Read 40 Bivouk, Southward, by Jeff. Chapter 25, the officers were about to take leave, but Prince Andrew, apparently reluctant to be left alone with his friend, asked them to stay and have tea. Sees were brought in and so was the tea. The officer skates with surprise at a pure huge stout figure and listens to his talk of Moscow and the position of our army. From which he had a reading. Prince Andrew remained silent, and his expression was so forbidding that a pure address is remarked sharply to the good-natured battalion commander. So you understand the whole position of our troops? Prince Andrew interrupts him. Yes, that is. How do you mean, said the peer? Now, being a military man, I can't say you have understood it fully, but I understand the general position. Well, then, you know more than anyone else. Be it Hoyt May, said Prince Andrew. Oh, said the peer, looking over his spectacles and perplexity at Prince Andrew. Well, and what to think of Kuzhuzov's appointment, he asked. I was very glad of his appointment. That's all I know, replied Prince Andrew. And tell me your opinion of backlight the toly? In Moscow, they are saying heaven knows what about him. What do you think of him? Ask them, replied Prince Andrew, indicating the officers. Peer looked at Malkin with the condescending, interactive smile, with which everybody voluntarily addressed that officer. With she light again, since his serenity has been appointed, your excellency said to Malkin timidly, and continually turning to glance at his colonel. Why so, asked the peer. Well, to mention only Firewood and the father. Let me inform you. Why, when we were retreating from Svinzian, would they now touch a stick, or a waist belt, or anything? You see, we were going away, so he would get it out. Wasn't it so, your excellency? And again, Timalkin turned to the Prince. But we didn't. In our regiment, two officers were curbed marshaled for that kind of thing. When his serenity took command, everything became straightforward. Now, we see light. Then why was it forbidden? Timalkin looked about in confusion, now knowing what were how to answer such a question. Peer put the same question to Prince Andrew. Why, so as now to lay waste the country we were abandoning to the enemy. Said Prince Andrew with venomous irony. It is very sound. One can't permit the land to be pillaged and accustomed to the troops to Malkin. At small land too, he judged correctly that the French might outflank us, as they had large forces. But he could now understand this. Cried Prince Andrew in a shrill voice that seemed to escape him involuntarily. He could now understand that there, for the first time, we were fighting for Russian soil. And that there was a spirit in the man, such as I've never seen before, that we had held the French for two days, and that that success had increased our strength tenfold. He ordered us to retreat, and all our efforts and losses went for nothing. He had no thought of betraying us. He tried to do the best he could. He thought of everything. And that's why he is unsuitable. He is unsuitable now just because he plans on everything very thoroughly and accurately, as every German has to. How can I explain? Well, say your father has a German valid, and he is just splendid valid and satisfies your father's requirements better than you could. Then it's alright like him, sir. But if your father is mortally sick, you will send a valid way to attend to your father with your own impracticed, awkward sense, and will suit him better than a skilled man who a stranger could. So it has been with Farclay. While Russian was well, a foreigner could serve her and be a splendid minister. But as soon as she is in danger, she needs one of her own kin. But in your club, they have been making him out of a traitor. They slander him as a traitor. And the only result will be that afterwards, ashamed of their false accusations, they will make him a hero or genius instead of a traitor. And that will be still more unjust. He is an honest and very punctilious German. And they say he is a skillful commander rejoined pure. I don't understand what is meant by a skillful commander, replied Prince Andrew ironically. A skillful commander replied pure. Why? One who foresees his own contingencies and foresees the adversary's intentions. But that's impossible, said Prince Andrew, as if it were a matter of several long ago. Pure look at him in surprise. And yet they say that the war is like a game of chess, he remarked. Yes, replied Prince Andrew. But with this little difference, that in chess, you may think over each move as long as you please, and are no limit for time. And with this difference too, that a knight is always stronger than a pal, and two pals are always stronger than one, while in war, battalion is sometimes stronger than a division and sometimes weaker than a company. The relative strength of bodies of troops can never be known to anyone. Believe me, he went on. If things depended on arrangements made by the staff, I could be there making arrangements. But instead of that, I have to be honored to serve here in the regiment with this gentleman. And I consider that an unjust morals battle would depend not on those others. Success never depends, and never will depend, on position or equipment or even on numbers, and at least of all on position. But on what then? On the feeling that it's in me and in him, he pointed to Timalkan, and in each soldier, Prince Andrew glanced at Timalkan, who looked at his commander in alarm and bewilderment. In contrast with his former reticent as eternity, Prince Andrew now seemed excited. He could apparently now to refrain from expressing the sales that had suddenly occurred to him. The battle is won by those who firmly resolved to win it. Why did we lose the battle at the outspolis? The French losses were almost equal to ours, but at very early we said to ourselves that we were losing the battle, and we did lose it. And we said so because we had nothing fight for there. We wanted to get away from the battlefield as soon as we could. We flustered, so let us run, and we run. And if we had now said that till the evening, heaven knows what might now have happened. But tomorrow we shouldn't say it. We talk about our position, the life rank weak and the right flank too extended. Wintown, that's all nonsense. There's nothing of the kind, but what awaits us tomorrow? A hundred million most diverse chances which will be decided on the incident by the fact that our men were theirs, run or do not run. And that this man or that man is cute, but all that is being done at present is only play. The fact is that those men with whom you have ridden around the position not only do not help matters, but they hinder their only concern with their own petty interests. Said Pierre reproachfully at such moment, Prince Andrew repeated, to them it is only a moment of affording opportunities to undermine a rival and obtain an extra crowd for ribbon. For me, tomorrow means this, Russian army of a hundred thousand and a French army of a hundred thousand have made to fight. And the thing is that these two hundred thousand men will fight and the size that fights more fiercely and spare itself least will win. And if you like, I will tell you that whatever happens and whatever models those at the top may make, we shall win tomorrow's battle. Tomorrow, heaven what may, we shall win. There now your excellency, that's the truth, the real truth, said Malkin, who would spare himself now the soldier in my battalion, believe me, wouldn't drink their vodka is now the day for that they say. All were silent, the officers rose, Prince Andrew went out of the shed with them, giving final orders to the Algetons. After they had gone, Pierre approached Prince Andrew, and it was about to start a conversation when they heard the clatter of three horses' hooves on the road not far from the shed. And looking in that direction, Prince Andrew recognized the wasn't and the claws was accompanied by a calset, the road closed by continuing to converse, and the Prince Andrew involuntarily heard these whores. The war must be extended widely, I cannot sufficiently command that view. Oh yes, the only aim is to weaken the enemy, so of course one can now take into account the loss of private individuals. Oh no, agree the others. The extent widely, said Prince Andrew with their angry snout when they had a written haste. In that extent were my father, son, and sister at both heels. Thou shalt say to him, that's what I was saying to you. Those German gentlemen won't win the battle tomorrow, but will only take out the match they can, because they have nothing in their German haste, but the theories not worth the empty eggshell and heaven in their hearts, be one thing needed tomorrow that the wished mocking has. They have yelled it out of Europe to him, and have now come to teach us, find teachers, and again his voice grew surreal. So you think we shall win tomorrow's battle? Ask the peer. Yes, yes, answer the Prince Andrew absently. One thing I would do if I had the power. He began again. I would now take prisoners. Why take prisoners? It is severly. The French has destroyed my home, and are only way to destroy Moscow. They have outraged and are outraging me every moment. They are my enemies. In my opinion, they are all criminals. And so thanks to Malkin and the whole army, they should be executed. Since they are my foes, they cannot be my friends. Whatever may have been said at the Tuesdays. Yes, yes, answer the peer. Looking with shining eyes at the Prince Andrew, I quite agree with you. The question that I had perturbed the peer on the Mozask Hill and out that day now seemed to him quite clear and completely solved. He now understood the whole meaning and importance of this war and of the impending battle. Out that he had seen that day, all the significant and sturdy expressions on the faces he had seen in passing were laid up for him by a new light. He understood that a latent heat, as they say in physics, of patriotism, which was present in all this man he had seen. And this explained to him why they all prepared for death calmly and as it were light heartedly. Now taking prisoners, Prince Andrew continued, that by itself would quite change the whole world and make it a light screw. As it is, we have played at war. That was vile. We play at magnanimity and all that stuff. Such magnanimity and sensibility are like the magnanimity and sensibility of a lady who finds when she sees as a calf being killed. She is so kindhearted that she can't look at the blood, but enjoys eating the calf served up with cells. They talk to us of rules of war, of shivery, of flags of truth, of mercy to the unfortunate and so on. It's all rubbish. I saw shivers and flags of truth in 1805. They humbucked us and we humbucked them. The plunder of the people's houses issued false paper money. And worst of all, they killed my children and my father, and then talk of rules of war and magnanimity to folks. Take no prisoners, but kill and be killed. He who has come to this as I've through the same sufferings. Prince Andrew, who have felt it was all the same to him. Whether or not Moscow was taken as my lens had been, was suddenly checked in his speech by an inspected cramming throat. He paced up and down a few times in silence, but his eyes glitter feverishly, and his lips quivered as he began speaking. If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to war only when there was worth while going to a certain death as now. Then there would not be war, because Paul Ivanovich has offended Michael Ivanovich, and when there was a war like this one, it would be war. And then the determination of the troops would be quite different. Then all these vice defalions and the Hessians whom Napoleon is leading would not follow him into Russia, and we should now go to a fight in Austria and Prussia without knowing why. War is not a courtesy, but the most horrible thing in life, and we ought to understand that and not play at war. We ought to accept this terrible necessity sternly and seriously. It all lies in that. Get rid of falsehood and let war be war another game. Else it is now. War is the favorite pastime of the idol and the frivolous. The military calling is the most highly honored. But what is war? What is needed for success in warfare? What are the habits of military? The aim of war is murder. The methods of war are spying, treachery, and their encouragement. The ruin of a country's inhabitants robbing them was stealing to provision the army, and the frauds and the falsehood termed military craft. The habits of the military class are the absence of freedom. That is, display, idleness, ignorance, cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And in spite of all this, it is the highest class, respected by everyone, all the kings, except the Chinese, where military uniforms and a heel who kills most people receive the highest rewards. They may ask which shall meet tomorrow to murder one another, the kill and the main tennis of thousands, and they have Thanksgiving service for having killed so many people. They even exaggerate the number, and they announce a victory, supposing that the more people they have killed, the greater their achievements. How does God above look at them and hear them? exclaimed Prince Andrew in a surreal and piercing voice. Ah, my friends, it has of late become hard for me to leave. I see that I have began to understand too much, and it doesn't do for men to taste of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Ah, well, it is not for long, he added. However, you're sleepy. And it's time for me to sleep. Go back to Gorky, said Prince Andrew suddenly. Oh no, pure reply, looking at Prince Andrew with frightened, compassionate eyes. Go, go, before battle, one must have one sleep out, repeat Prince Andrew. He came quickly up to pure and embraced and kissed him. Goodbye, be out, he shouted. Whether we meet again or not, and turning away hurriedly, he entered the shed. It was already dark, and pure could not make out whether the expression of Prince Andrew's face was angry or tender. For some time, he stood in silence, whether he should follow him or go away. No, he does not want it, pure concluded. And I know that this is our last meeting. He signed it deeply, and rode back to Gorky, and we entered the shed. Prince Andrew laid down a rod, but he could not sleep. He closed his eyes. One picture succeeded another in his imagination, and one of them he dwelt long and joyfully. He vividly recalled the evening in Petersburg. Natasha with animated and excited face was telling him how she had gone to look for mushrooms the previous summer, and had lost her way in the big forest. She incoherently described the depths of the forest, her feelings, and the talk with the beekeeper she met. And constantly interrupt her story to say, no one can and not telling it right. No, you don't understand. Though he encouraged her by seeing that he did understand, and that he really had understand how she wanted to say, but Natasha was now satisfied with her own words. She felt that they did not convey the passionately pointed. Natasha was now satisfied with her own words. She felt that they did not convey the passionately poetic feeling she had experienced that day, the wish to convey. He was such a delightful old man, and it was so dark in the forest, and he had such kind, no one can describe it. She had said, fleshed and excited. Prince Andrew smile now the same happy smile as then when he had look into her eyes. I understood her. He felt, I not only understood her, but it was just the inner, spiritual force, that sincerity, that frankness of soul, that very soul of hers, who seemed to be fettered by her body. It was in that soul I loved in her, loved so strongly and happily. And suddenly he remembered how his love had ended. He did not need anything of that kind. He neither saw nor understood anything of the sort. He only saw in her pretty, fresh young girl, with whom he did now dain to unite his fate, a nigh, and he is still alive and a gay. Prince Andrew jumped up as if someone had burned him, and again began pacing up and down in front of the set. End of Chapter 25. War and Peace, Book 10, Chapter 26, Read for Liberfox.org by Anna Simon. On August 25, the eve of the Battle of Borodino, Monsieur de Bosse, prefect of the French Emperor's Palace, arrived at Napoleon's quarters at Valoevo with Colonel Favier, the former from Paris and a letter from Madrid. Donning his court uniform, Monsieur de Bosse ordered a box he had brought for the Emperor to be carried before him, and entered the first compartment of Napoleon's tent, where he began opening the box while conversing with Napoleon's aide-de-camp, who surrounded him. Favier, not entering the tent, remained at the entrance, talking to some generals of his acquaintance. The Emperor Napoleon had not yet left his bedroom and was finishing his toilet. Slightly snorting and grunting, he presented now his back and now his plump, hairy chest to the brush with which his valet was rubbing him down. Another valet, with his finger over the mouth of a bottle, was sprinkling odocologne on the Emperor's pampered body with an expression which seemed to say that he alone knew where and how much odocologne should be sprinkled. Napoleon's short hair was wet and matted on the forehead, but his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed physical satisfaction. Go on, harder, go on! he matted to the valet he was rubbing him, slightly twitching and grunting, and aide-de-camp, who had entered the bedroom to report to the Emperor the number of prisoners taken in yesterday's action, was standing by the door after delivering his message, awaiting permission to withdraw. Napoleon, frowning, looked at him from under his brows. No prisoners, said he, repeating the aide-de-camp's words. They are forcing us to exterminate them, so much the worse for the Russian army. Go on, harder, harder, he matted, hunching his back and presenting his fat shoulders. All right, let Monsieur de Bousset enter, and fervier to, he said, noddling to the aide-de-camp. Yes, Sire, and the aide-de-camp disappeared through the door of the tent. Two valets rapidly dressed his majesty and wearing the blue uniform of the guards, he went with firm quick steps to the reception room. De Bousset's hands, meanwhile, were busily engaged, arranging the present he had brought from the Empress, on two chairs directly in front of the entrance. But Napoleon had dressed and come out with such unexpected rapidity, that it not time to finish arranging the surprise. Napoleon noticed at once what they were about, and guessed that they were not ready. He did not wish to deprive them of the pleasure of giving him a surprise, so he pretended not to see de Bousset and called fervier to him, listening silently, and with a stern frown to what fervier told him of the heroism and devotion of his troops fighting at Salamanca, at the other end of Europe, with but one thought to be worthier their emperor, and but one fear to fail to please him. The result of that battle had been deplorable. Napoleon made ironic remarks during fervier's account as if he had not expected that matters could go otherwise in his absence. I must make up for that in Moscow, said Napoleon. I'll see you later, he added, and cement de Bousset, who by that time had prepared the surprise, having placed something on the chairs and covered it with a cloth. De Bousset bowed low, with that courtly French bow which only the old retainers de Bourbons knew how to make, and approached him, presenting an envelope. Napoleon turned to him gaily and pulled his ear. You've heard here. I'm very glad. Well, what is Paris saying? he asked, suddenly changing his former stern expression for a most cordial tone. Sire, all Paris regrets your absence, replied de Bousset, as was proper. But though Napoleon knew that de Bousset had to say something of this kind, and though in his lucid moments he knew it was untrue, he was pleased to hear it from him. Again he honoured him by touching his ear. I'm very sorry to have made you travel so far, said he. Sire, I expected nothing less than to find you at the gates of Moscow, replied de Bousset. Napoleon smiled, and, lifting his head absentmindedly, glanced to the right. An adicamp approached with gliding steps and offered him a gold snuff-box which he took. Yes, it has happened luckily for you, he said, raising the open snuff-box to his nose. You are fond of travel, and in three days you will see Moscow. Usually did not expect to see that Asiatic capital. You'll have a pleasant journey. De Bousset bowed gratefully at this regard for his taste for travel, of which he had not till then been aware. Ha! what's this? asked Napoleon, noticing that all the courages were looking at something concealed under a cloth. With courtly drudness, de Bousset half turned, and without turning his back to the emperor, retired two steps, twitching of the cloth at the same time, and said, A present to your majesty from the empress. It was a portrait painted in bright colours by Gerard, of the son born to Napoleon, by the daughter of the emperor of Austria, the boy whom, for some reason, everyone called the king of Rome. A very pretty, curly-headed boy with a look of the Christ in a cystile Madonna was depicted playing at stick and bowl, and the bowl represented the terrestrial globe, and the stick, in his other hand, a scepter. Though it was not clear what the artist meant to express by depicting the so-called king of Rome spiking the earth with a stick, the allegory apparently seemed to Napoleon, as it had done to all who had seen it in Paris, quite clear and very pleasing. The king of Rome, he said, pointing to the portrait with a graceful gesture, admirable. With the natural capacity of an Italian for changing the expression of his face at will, he drew nearer to the portrait and assumed a look of pensive tenderness. He felt that what he now said and did would be historical, and it seemed to him that it would now be best for him, whose grandeur enabled his son to play stick and bowl with the terrestrial globe, to show, in contrast to that grandeur, the simplest paternal tenderness. His eyes grew dim, he moved forward, glanced round at the chair, which seemed to place itself under him, and sat down on it before the portrait. At a single gesture from him, everyone went out on tiptoe, leaving the great man to himself and his emotion. Having sat still for a while, he touched, himself not knowing why, the thick spot of paint representing the highest light in the portrait, rose and recalled the bossa and the officer on duty. He ordered the portrait to be carried outside his tent, that the old guard stationed around it might not be deprived of the pleasure of seeing the King of Rome, the son and heir of their adored monarch. And while he was doing M. de Bosset the honour of breakfasting with him, they heard, as Napoleon had anticipated, the rapturous cries of the officers and men of the old guard who'd run up to see the portrait. Vive l'embreur! Vive le roi de Rome! Vive l'embreur! came those ecstatic cries. After breakfast, Napoleon, in de Bosset's presence, dictated his order of the day to the army. Short and energetic, he remarked, when he had read over the proclamation which had dictated straight off without corrections. It ran, Soldiers, this is the battle you have so longed for. Victory depends on you. It is essential for us. It will give us all we need, comfortable quarters, at a speedy return to our country. Behave as you did at Ausalitz, Friedland, Vitebsk and Smolensk. Let our remotest posterity recall your achievements this day with pride. Let it be said of each of you, he was in the great battle before Moscow. Before Moscow, repeated Napoleon. And inviting M. de Bosset, who was so fond of travel, to accompany him on his ride, he went out of the tent to where the horses stood settled. Your Majesty is too kind, replied de Bosset, to the invitation to accompany the Emperor. He wanted to sleep, did not know how to ride, and was afraid of doing so. But Napoleon nodded to the traveller, and de Bosset had to mount. When Napoleon came out of the tent, the shouting of the guards before his son's portrait grew still louder. Napoleon frowned. Take him away, he said, pointing with a gracefully majestic gesture to the portrait. It is too soon for him to see a field of battle. De Bosset closed his eyes, bowed his head, and sighed deeply, to indicate how profoundly he valued and comprehended the Emperor's words. In August, so his historians tell us, Napoleon spent the whole day on horseback, inspecting the locality, considering plans submitted to him by his marshals, and personally giving commands to his generals. The original line of the Russian forces along the river Kalochya had been dislocated by the capture of the Shevardino Redoubt on the 24th, and part of the line, the left flank, had been drawn back. That part of the line was not entrenched, and in front of it, the ground was more open and level than elsewhere. It was evident to anyone, military or not, that it was here the French should attack. It would seem that not much consideration was needed to reach this conclusion, nor any particular care or trouble on the part of the Emperor and his marshals, nor was there any need of that special and supreme quality called genius that people also apt to ascribe to Napoleon. Yet the historians who describe the event later, and the men who then surrounded Napoleon and he himself, thought otherwise. Napoleon rode off the plane and surveyed the locality with a profound air and in silence, nodded with approval or shook his head dubiously, and without communicating to the generals around him the profound cause of ideas which guided his decisions merely gave them his final conclusions in the form of commands. Having listened to a suggestion from Davout, who was now called Prince Dekmul, to turn the Russian left wing, Napoleon said it should not be done without explaining why not. To a proposal made by General Campan, who was to attack the Fleshers to lead his division through the woods, Napoleon agreed, though the so-called Duke of Elkingen, Ney, ventured to remark that a movement through the woods was dangerous and might disorder the division. Having expected a country opposite the Chevardino redoubt, the Napoleon pondled a little in silence and then indicated the spots where two batteries should be set up by the morrow to act against the Russian entrenchments and the places where, in line with them, the field artillery should be placed. After giving these and other commands, he returned to his tent and the dispositions for the battle were written down from his dictation. These dispositions, of which the French historians, right with enthusiasm and other historians with profound respect, were as follows. A dawn the two new batteries established during the night on the plane occupied by the Prince Dekmul, will open fire on the opposing batteries of the enemy. At the same time, the commander of the artillery of the 1st Corps, General Pernetti, with 30 cannon of Camp Pons division and all the howitzers of Desserts and Freons divisions, will move forward, open fire and overwhelm with shell fire the enemy's battery, against which will operate 24 guns of the artillery of the guards, 30 guns of Camp Pons division and 8 guns of Freons and Desserts divisions, in all 62 guns. The commander of the artillery of the 3rd Corps, General Fouché, will place the howitzers of the 3rd and 8th Corps, 16 in all, on the flanks of the battery, that is, to bombard the entrenchment on the left, which will have 40 guns in all directed against it. General Saubier must be ready at the 1st order to advance with all the howitzers of the guards artillery against either one or other of the entrenchments. During the cannonade, Prince Poniatowski is to advance through the wood on the village and turn the enemy's position. General Campon will move through the wood to seize the 1st fortification. After the advance has begun in this manner, orders will be given in accordance with the enemy's movements. The cannonade on the left flank will begin as soon as the guns of the right wing are heard. The sharpshooters of Moran's division and of the vice king's division will open a heavy fire on seeing the attack commends on the right wing. The vice king will occupy the village and cross by its three bridges, advancing to the same heights as Moran's and Gibra's divisions, which under his leadership will be directed against the readout and come into line with the rest of the forces. All this must be done in good order. Le tout se fera avec ordre méthode, as far as possible, retaining troops in reserve. The Imperial Camp Nimozesk, September the 6th, 1812. These dispositions, which are very obscure and confused, if one allows oneself to regard the arrangements without religious awe of his genius, relate it to Napoleon's orders to deal with four points, four different orders. Not one of these was or could be carried out. In the disposition it is said first that the batteries placed on the spot chosen by Napoleon with the guns of Bernetti and Fouché, which were to come in line with them, 102 guns in all, were to open fire and shower shells under Russian fleshes and readouts. This could not be done, as from the spot selected by Napoleon, the projectiles did not carry to the Russian works, and those 102 guns shot into the air until the newest commander, contrary to Napoleon's instructions, moved them forward. The second order was that Poniatowski, moving to the village through the wood, should turn the Russian left flank. This could not be done, and was not done, because Poniatowski, advancing on the village through the wood, made to take off there, barring his way, and could not and did not turn the Russian position. The third order was, General Campan will move through the wood to seize the first fortification. General Campan's division did not seize the first fortification, but was driven back, for, when emerging from the wood, it had to reform under grapeshot, of which Napoleon was unaware. The fourth order was, the vice king will occupy the village, Borodino, and cross by its three bridges, advancing to the same heights as Moras and Gibras divisions, for whose movements no directions are given, which under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt, and come into line with the rest of the forces. As far as one can make out, not so much from this unintelligible sentence, as from the attempts the vice king made to execute the orders given him, he will straight advance from the left through Borodino to the redoubt, while the divisions of Moras and Gibras were to advance simultaneously from the front. All this, like the other parts of the disposition, was not and could not be executed. After passing through Borodino, the vice king was driven back to the Kalochia, and could get no father, while the divisions of Moras and Gibras did not take the redoubt, but were driven back, and the redoubt was only taken at the end of the battle by the cavalry, a thing probably unforeseen and not heard of by Napoleon. So not one of the orders in the disposition was or could be executed, but in the disposition it is said that, after the fight has commenced in this manner, orders will be given in accordance with the enemy's movements, and so it might be supposed that all necessary arrangements would be made by Napoleon during the battle, but this was not and could not be done, for during the whole battle Napoleon was so far away that, as appeared later, he could not know the cause of the battle, and not one of his orders during the fight could be executed. End of Chapter 27, Recording by Ernst Patinama, Amsterdam, The Netherlands This recording is