War And Peace: Book 11 - CHAPTER IV

作者: Leo Tolstoy

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Author: Leo Tolstoy

IN THE LARGE BEST ROOM of the peasant Andrey Savostyanov's cottage, at two

o'clock, a council met. The men and women and children of the peasant's big

family all crowded together in the room on the other side of the passage. Only

Andrey's little grandchild, Malasha, a child of six, whom his highness had

petted, giving her sugar while he drank his tea, stayed behind by the big stove

in the best room. Malasha peeped out from on the stove with shy delight at the

faces, the uniforms, and the crosses of the generals, who kept coming into the

room one after another, and sitting in a row on the broad benches in the best

corner under the holy images. “Granddad” himself, as Malasha in her own mind

called Kutuzov, was sitting apart from the rest in the dark corner behind the

stove. He sat sunk all of a heap in a folding armchair, and was continually

clearing his throat and straightening the collar of his coat, which, though it

was unbuttoned, still seemed to gall his neck. The generals, as they came in one

after another, walked up to the commander-in-chief: he shook hands with some, to

others he merely nodded.

The adjutant, Kaisarov, would have drawn back a curtain from the window

facing Kutuzov, but the latter shook his hand angrily at him, and Kaisarov saw

that his highness did not care for them to see his face.

Round the peasant's deal table, on which lay maps, plans, pencils, and

papers, there was such a crowd that the orderlies brought in another bench, and

set it near the table. Yermolov, Kaisarov, and Toll seated themselves on this

bench. In the foremost place, under the holy images, sat Barclay de Tolly, with

his Order of St. George on his neck, with his pale, sickly face and high

forehead that met his bald head. He had been in the throes of fever for the last

two days, and was shivering and shaking now. Beside him sat Uvarov, speaking to

him with rapid gesticulations in the same low voice in which everybody spoke.

Little chubby Dohturov was listening attentively with his eyebrows raised and

his hands clasped over his stomach. On the other side, resting his broad head on

his hand, sat Count Osterman-Tolstoy, with his bold features and brilliant eyes,

apparently plunged in his own thoughts. Raevsky sat twisting his black curls on

his temples, as he always did, and looking with impatience from Kutuzov to the

door. Konovnitsyn's firm, handsome, good-humoured face was bright with a sly and

kindly smile. He caught Malasha's eye, and made signs to her with his eyes, that

set the little girl smiling.

They were all waiting for Bennigsen, who, on the pretext of a fresh

inspection of the position, was engaged in finishing his luxurious dinner. They

waited for him from four to six o'clock, and all that time did not enter on

their deliberations, but talked of extraneous matters in subdued tones.

Only when Bennigsen had entered the hut, Kutuzov moved out of his corner and

came up to the table, but sat there so that his face did not come within the

light of the candles on it.

Bennigsen opened the council by the question: Whether to abandon the holy and

ancient capital of Russia, or to defend it?

A prolonged silence followed. Every face was knitted, and in the stillness

Kutuzov could be heard angrily coughing and clearing his throat. All eyes were

fixed on him. Malasha too gazed at “Granddad.”

She was nearest of all to him, and saw that his face was working; he seemed

to be going to cry. But that did not last long.

“The holy and ancient capital of Russia!” he cried suddenly, in a

wrathful voice, repeating Bennigsen's words, and thereby underlining the false

note in them. “Allow me to tell your excellency that that question has no

meaning to a Russian.” (He lurched his unwieldy figure forward.) “Such a

question cannot be put; there is no sense in such a question. The question I

have asked these gentlemen to meet to discuss is the question of the war. The

question is: The safety of Russia lies in her army. Is it better to risk the

loss of the army and of Moscow by giving battle, or to abandon Moscow without a

battle? That is the question on which I desire to learn your opinion.” He

lurched back into his low chair again.

A debate began. Bennigsen did not yet consider that the game was lost.

Overruled by the opinion of Barclay and others in admitting the impossibility of

maintaining a defensive position at Fili, he proceeded to prove his Russian

patriotism and devotion to Moscow by proposing to move the army during the night

from the right to the left flank of the position, and to aim a blow at the

French right flank next day. Opinions were divided, and arguments were advanced

for and against this project. Yermolov, Dohturov, and Raevsky sided with

Bennigsen. Led by a feeling that a sacrifice was called for before abandoning

the city, and by other personal considerations, these generals seemed unable to

grasp that the council then sitting could not affect the inevitable course of

events, and that Moscow was already in effect abandoned. The other generals

understood this, and leaving the question of Moscow on one side, talked of the

direction the army ought to take in retreating.

Malasha, who kept her eyes fixed on what was passing before her, saw the

council in quite a different light. It seemed to her that the whole point at

issue was a personal struggle between “Granddad” and “Longcoat,” as she called

Bennigsen to herself. She saw that they were angry when they spoke to one

another, and in her heart she was on “Granddad's” side. In the middle of the

conversation, she caught the swift, subtle glance that “Granddad” gave

Bennigsen, and immediately after she noted with glee that “Granddad's” words had

put “Longcoat” down. Bennigsen suddenly flushed, and strode angrily across the

room. The words that had thus affected Bennigsen were Kutuzov's quietly and

softly uttered comment on his proposal to move the troops from the right to the

left flank in the night in order to attack the French right.

“I cannot approve of the count's plan, gentlemen,” said Kutuzov. “Movements

of troops in close proximity to the enemy are always risky, and military history

affords many examples of disasters arising from them. For instance …” (Kutuzov

seemed to ponder, seeking an example, and then looking with a frank, na

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