Book Ten: 1812 - Chapter XXI

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Pierre stepped out of his carriage and, passing the toilingmilitiamen, 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 leftand behind him and brightly lit up the enormous panorama which, risinglike an amphitheater, extended before him in the clear rarefiedatmosphere.

　　From above on the left, bisecting that amphitheater, wound theSmolensk highroad, passing through a village with a white churchsome five hundred paces in front of the knoll and below it. This wasBorodino. Below the village the road crossed the river by a bridgeand, winding down and up, rose higher and higher to the village ofValuevo visible about four miles away, where Napoleon was thenstationed. Beyond Valuevo the road disappeared into a yellowing foreston the horizon. Far in the distance in that birch and fir forest tothe right of the road, the cross and belfry of the Kolocha Monasterygleamed in the sun. Here and there over the whole of that blueexpanse, to right and left of the forest and the road, smokingcampfires could be seen and indefinite masses of troops- ours andthe enemy's. The ground to the right- along the course of theKolocha and Moskva rivers- was broken and hilly. Between the hollowsthe villages of Bezubova and Zakharino showed in the distance. Onthe left the ground was more level; there were fields of grain, andthe smoking ruins of Semenovsk, which had been burned down, could beseen.

　　All that Pierre saw was so indefinite that neither the left northe right side of the field fully satisfied his expectations.Nowhere could he see the battlefield he had expected to find, but onlyfields, meadows, troops, woods, the smoke of campfires, villages,mounds, and streams; and try as he would he could descry no military"position" in this place which teemed with life, nor could he evendistinguish our troops from the enemy's.

　　"I must ask someone who knows," he thought, and addressed an officerwho 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 upto 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 the naked eye... Why, there!"

　　The officer pointed with his hand to the smoke visible on the leftbeyond the river, and the same stern and serious expression thatPierre 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 aknoll on the left, near which some troops could be seen.

　　"Those are ours."

　　"Ah, ours! And there?..." Pierre pointed to another knoll in thedistance with a big tree on it, near a village that lay in a hollowwhere also some campfires were smoking and something black wasvisible.

　　"That's his again," said the officer. (It was the ShevardinoRedoubt.) "It was ours yesterday, but now it is his."

　　"Then how about our position?"

　　"Our position?" replied the officer with a smile of satisfaction. "Ican tell you quite clearly, because I constructed nearly all ourentrenchments. There, you see? There's our center, at Borodino, justthere," and he pointed to the village in front of them with thewhite church. "That's where one crosses the Kolocha. You see downthere where the rows of hay are lying in the hollow, there's thebridge. That's our center. Our right flank is over there"- hepointed sharply to the right, far away in the broken ground- "That'swhere 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 flankwas there at Shevardino, you see, where the oak is, but now we havewithdrawn our left wing- now it is over there, do you see that villageand the smoke? That's Semenovsk, yes, there," he pointed toRaevski's knoll. "But the battle will hardly be there. His havingmoved his troops there is only a ruse; he will probably pass roundto the right of the Moskva. But wherever it may be, many a man will bemissing tomorrow!" he remarked.

　　An elderly sergeant who had approached the officer while he wasgiving these explanations had waited in silence for him to finishspeaking, but at this point, evidently not liking the officer'sremark, interrupted him.

　　"Gabions must be sent for," said he sternly.

　　The officer appeared abashed, as though he understood that one mightthink of how many men would be missing tomorrow but ought not to speakto speak of it.

　　"Well, send number three company again," the officer repliedhurriedly.

　　"And you, are you one of the doctors?"

　　"No, I've come on my own," answered Pierre, and he went down thehill 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'llbe here in a minute..." voices were suddenly heard saying; andofficers, soldiers, and militiamen began running forward along theroad.

　　A church procession was coming up the hill from Borodino. Firstalong the dusty road came the infantry in ranks, bareheaded and witharms reversed. From behind them came the sound of church singing.

　　Soldiers and militiamen ran bareheaded past Pierre toward theprocession.

　　"They are bringing her, our Protectress!... The Iberian Mother ofGod!" someone cried.

　　"The Smolensk Mother of God," another corrected him.

　　The militiamen, both those who had been in the village and those whohad been at work on the battery, threw down their spades and ran tomeet the church procession. Following the battalion that marched alongthe dusty road came priests in their vestments- one little old manin a hood with attendants and singers. Behind them soldiers andofficers bore a large, dark-faced icon with an embossed metal cover.This was the icon that had been brought from and had since accompaniedthe army. Behind, before, and on both sides, crowds of militiamen withbared heads walked, ran, and bowed to the ground.

　　At the summit of the hill they stopped with the icon; the men whohad been holding it up by the linen bands attached to it were relievedby others, the chanters relit their censers, and service began. Thehot rays of the sun beat down vertically and a fresh soft windplayed with the hair of the bared heads and with the ribbonsdecorating the icon. The singing did not sound loud under the opensky. An immense crowd of bareheaded officers, soldiers, and militiamensurrounded the icon. Behind the priest and a chanter stood thenotabilities on a spot reserved for them. A bald general withgeneral with a St. George's Cross on his neck stood just behind thepriest's back, and without crossing himself (he was evidently aGerman) patiently awaited the end of the service, which heconsidered it necessary to hear to the end, probably to arouse thepatriotism of the Russian people. Another general stood in a martialpose, crossing himself by shaking his hand in front of his chest whilelooking about him. Standing among the crowd of peasants, Pierrerecognized several acquaintances among these notables, but did notlook at them- his whole attention was absorbed in watching the seriousexpression on the faces of the crowd of soldiers and militiamen whowere all gazing eagerly at the icon. As soon as the tired chanters,who were singing the service for the twentieth time that day, beganlazily and mechanically to sing: "Save from calamity Thy servants, OMother of God," and the priest and deacon chimed in: "For to Theeunder God we all flee as to an inviolable bulwark and protection,"there again kindled in all those faces the same expression ofconsciousness of the solemnity of the impending moment that Pierre hadseen on the faces at the foot of the hill at Mozhaysk andmomentarily on many and many faces he had met that morning; andheads were bowed more frequently and hair tossed back, and sighs andthe 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 whichway was made for him, was approaching the icon.

　　It was Kutuzov, who had been riding round the position and on hisway back to Tatarinova had stopped where the service was being held.Pierre recognized him at once by his peculiar figure, whichdistinguished him from everybody else.

　　With a long overcoat on his his exceedingly stout,round-shouldered body, with uncovered white head and puffy faceshowing the white ball of the eye he had lost, Kutuzov walked withplunging, swaying gait into the crowd and stopped behind the priest.He crossed himself with an accustomed movement, bent till he touchedthe ground with his hand, and bowed his white head with a deep sigh.Behind Kutuzov was Bennigsen and the suite. Despite the presence ofthe commander in chief, who attracted the attention of all thesuperior officers, the militiamen and soldiers continued their prayerswithout looking at him.

　　When the service was over, Kutuzov stepped up to the icon, sankheavily to his knees, bowed to the ground, and for a long time triedvainly to rise, but could not do so on account of his weakness andweight. His white head twitched with the effort. At last he rose,kissed the icon as a child does with naively pouting lips, and againbowed till he touched the ground with his hand. The other generalsfollowed his example, then the officers, and after them with excitedfaces, pressing on one another, crowding, panting, and pushing,scrambled the soldiers and militiamen.