Chapter 35

           

           Ontherug-coveredbenchwherePierrehadseenhiminthemorningsatKutúzov,hisgrayheadhanging,hisheavybodyrelaxed.Hegavenoorders,butonlyassentedtoordissentedfromwhatotherssuggested.

           “Yes,yes,dothat,”herepliedtovariousproposals.“Yes,yes:go,dearboy,andhavealook,”hewouldsaytooneoranotherofthoseabouthim;or,“No,don’t,we’dbetterwait!”Helistenedtothereportsthatwerebroughthimandgavedirectionswhenhissubordinatesdemandedthatofhim;butwhenlisteningtothereportsitseemedasifhewerenotinterestedintheimportofthewordsspoken,butratherinsomethingelse—intheexpressionoffaceandtoneofvoiceofthosewhowerereporting.Bylongyearsofmilitaryexperienceheknew,andwiththewisdomofageunderstood,thatitisimpossibleforonemantodirecthundredsofthousandsofothersstrugglingwithdeath,andheknewthattheresultofabattleisdecidednotbytheordersofacommanderinchief,northeplacewherethetroopsarestationed,norbythenumberofcannonorofslaughteredmen,butbythatintangibleforcecalledthespiritofthearmy,andhewatchedthisforceandguideditinasfarasthatwasinhispower.

           Kutúzov’sgeneralexpressionwasoneofconcentratedquietattention,andhisfaceworeastrainedlookasifhefounditdifficulttomasterthefatigueofhisoldandfeeblebody.

           Ateleveno’clocktheybroughthimnewsthattheflèchescapturedbytheFrenchhadbeenretaken,butthatPrinceBagratiónwaswounded.Kutúzovgroanedandswayedhishead.

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