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Pierre
did
not
know
that
these
troops
were
not
,
as
Bennigsen
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
.
Bennigsen
did
not
know
this
and
moved
the
troops
forward
according
to
his
own
ideas
without
mentioning
the
matter
to
the
commander
in
chief
.
On
that
bright
evening
of
August
25
,
Prince
Andrew
lay
leaning
on
his
elbow
in
a
broken-down
shed
in
the
village
of
Knyazkóvo
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
eve
of
battle
felt
agitated
and
irritable
as
he
had
done
seven
years
before
at
Austerlitz
.
He
had
received
and
given
the
orders
for
next
day
's
battle
and
had
nothing
more
to
do
.
But
his
thoughts
--
the
simplest
,
clearest
,
and
therefore
most
terrible
thoughts
--
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
with
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
illumined
by
a
cold
white
light
without
shadows
,
without
perspective
,
without
distinction
of
outline
.
All
life
appeared
to
him
like
magic-lantern
pictures
at
which
he
had
long
been
gazing
by
artificial
light
through
a
glass
.
Now
he
suddenly
saw
those
badly
daubed
pictures
in
clear
daylight
and
without
a
glass
.
"
Yes
,
yes
!
There
they
are
,
those
false
images
that
agitated
,
enraptured
,
and
tormented
me
,
"
said
he
to
himself
,
passing
in
review
the
principal
pictures
of
the
magic
lantern
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
dawning
for
me
.
"
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
me
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
Bald
Hills
he
thought
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
path
,
and
his
Bald
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
is
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
row
of
birches
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
no
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
.
