It had been a clear, frosty day. Kutuzov, mounted on his fat, whitf little horse, was riding towards Dobroe, followed by an immense suite o: generals, whispering their dissatisfaction behind his back. Seven thou sand French prisoners had been taken that day, and all along ths road they met parties of them, crowding to warm themselves rouni the camp-fires. Not far from Dobroe they heard a loud hum of talk frorr an immense crowd of tattered prisoners, bandaged and wrapped up ir rags of all sorts, standing in the road near a long row of unharnessec French cannons. At the approach of the commander-in-chief the buzz o talk died away, and all eyes were fixed upon Kutuzov, who moved slowly along the road, wearing a white cap with a red band, and a wadded over coat, that set in a hunch on his round shoulders. One of the generals begat explaining to Kutuzov where the prisoners and the guns had been taken Kutuzov seemed absorbed in anxious thought, and did not hear thi general’s words. He screwed up his eyes with an air of displeasure, anc gazed intently at the figures of the prisoners, who presented a particularly pitiable appearance. The majority of the French soldiers were disfigurec by frost-bitten cheeks and noses, and almost all of them had red, swollen and streaming eyes.
One group of Frenchmen was standing close by the road, and tw< soldiers, one with his face covered with sores, were tearing at a piece of rav meat with their hands. There was something bestial and horrible in the cursory glance they cast on the approaching generals, and the frenziec expression with which the soldier with the sore face, after a glance a Kutuzov, turned away and went on with what he was doing.
Kutuzov looked a long while intently at those two soldiers; frowning more than before, he half-closed his eyelids, and shook his head thought fully. Further on, he noticed a Russian soldier, who was saying something friendly to a French prisoner, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder Kutuzov shook his head again with the same expression.
‘What do you say?’ he asked the general, who was trying to draw thj
)mmander-in-chief’s attention to the French flags, that were set up in ont of the Preobrazhensky regiment.
‘Ah, the flags!’ said Kutuzov, rousing himself with evident difficulty om the subject absorbing his thoughts. He looked about him absently, housands of eyes were gazing at him from all sides, waiting for his words. He came to a standstill before the Preobrazhensky regiment, sighed ?avily and closed his eyes. One of the suite beckoned to the soldiers aiding the flags to come up and set up the flagstaffs around the com- ander-in-chief. Kutuzov was silent for a few seconds. Then with obvious •luctance, yielding to the obligations of his position, he raised his head id began to speak. Crowds of officers gathered round him. He scanned le circle of officers with an attentive eye, recognising some of them.
‘I thank you all!’ he said, addressing the soldiers, and then again turn- ig to the officers. In the deep stillness that prevailed all round him, his owly articulated words were distinctly audible: ‘I thank you all for your ard and faithful service. The victory is complete, and Russia will not irget you. Your glory will be for ever! ’ He paused, looking about him. ‘Lower; bow his head lower,’ he said to the soldier, who was holding ie French eagle, and had accidentally lowered it before the Preobraz- ensky standard.
‘Lower, lower, that’s it. Hurrah, lads! ’ he said, his chin moving quickly 5 he turned to the soldiers.
‘Hurrah-rah-rah!’ thousands of voices roared.
While the soldiers were shouting, Kutuzov, bending forward in his iddle, bowed his head, and his eyes gleamed with a mild and, as it were, onical light.
‘And now, brothers . .. .’ he said, when the shouts had died away.
And all at once his face and expression changed: it was not the com- iiander-in-chief speaking now, but a simple, aged man, who plainly anted to say something most important now to his comrades.
‘And now, brothers. I know it’s hard for you, but there’s no help for it! lave a little patience; it won’t last much longer. We will see our visitors ff, and then we will rest. The Tsar won’t forget your services. It’s hard jr you, but still you are at home; while they—you see what they have )me to,’ he said, pointing to the prisoners. ‘Worse than the lowest beg- ars. While they were strong, we did not spare ourselves, but now we can /en spare them. They too are men. Eh, lads?’
He looked about him. And in the unflinching, respectfully wondering /es staring persistently at him, he read sympathy with his words. His ice grew brighter and brighter with the gentle smile of old age, that rought clusters of wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and his eyes, te paused and dropped his head, as though in doubt.
‘But after all is said and done, who asked them to come here? It serves
lem right, the b- b-,’ he said suddenly, lifting his head. And
