BOOK THIRTEEN: 1812
7. CHAPTER VII
Meanwhile another column was to have attacked the French from the
front, but Kutuzov accompanied that column. He well knew that
nothing but confusion would come of this battle undertaken against his
will, and as far as was in his power held the troops back. He did
not advance.
He rode silently on his small gray horse, indolently answering
suggestions that they should attack.
"The word attack is always on your tongue, but you don't see that we
are unable to execute complicated maneuvers," said he to
Miloradovich who asked permission to advance.
"We couldn't take Murat prisoner this morning or get to the place in
time, and nothing can be done now!" he replied to someone else.
When Kutuzov was informed that at the French rear- where according
to the reports of the Cossacks there had previously been nobody- there
were now two battalions of Poles, he gave a sidelong glance at Ermolov
who was behind him and to whom he had not spoken since the previous
day.
"You see! They are asking to attack and making plans of all kinds,
but as soon as one gets to business nothing is ready, and the enemy,
forewarned, takes measures accordingly."
Ermolov screwed up his eyes and smiled faintly on hearing these
words. He understood that for him the storm had blown over, and that
Kutuzov would content himself with that hint.
"He's having a little fun at my expense," said Ermolov softly,
nudging with his knee Raevski who was at his side.
Soon after this, Ermolov moved up to Kutuzov and respectfully
remarked:
"It is not too late yet, your Highness- the enemy has not gone away-
if you were to order an attack! If not, the Guards will not so much as
see a little smoke."
Kutuzov did not reply, but when they reported to him that Murat's
troops were in retreat he ordered an advance, though at every
hundred paces he halted for three quarters of an hour.
|