The artillery story about the case of Borodino
Note Adjutant. Nikolay Lyubenkov is a member of the battle of Borodino, a lieutenant of the 33 of the light artillery company of the 17 of the artillery brigade of the 2 of the infantry corps. According to other sources, he served in the rank of ensign (see P. Chertov (Memoirs on Borodino) .- In the book: Maslov S. A, Memoirs in the Borodino Battle of 1865 and on the Borodino Monument in Moscow. M., 1865.); Lyubenkov himself in his memoirs calls the 33 light battery the place of his service. His short “Story ...” became quite popular in the 19 century and went through several editions. In his "Essays on the Battle of Borodino," FN mentions him and quotes him. Glinka. Unfortunately, in our time, the memories of this eyewitness of memorable events are known only to a narrow circle of specialists (although they were republished in 2000 in the collection of the All-Russian Society for the Protection of Monuments). stories and culture). Today we fill this gap.
Corrector's note. In this text I decided not to change anything in order to enjoy - along with the author - the epic style with which he tries his best to cope. But, perhaps, his enthusiasm is sincere, and the vocabulary is entertaining (for us).
Preface.
There were many lush and strategic descriptions of the battle of Borodino, but the details of the private actors are hidden; modest Russians are silent and let the light judge their valor. The Russians are right on modesty, the light is not to blame because of ignorance.
Let's tell how we feel; may Aristarchus not be indignant; what to do, the monopoly in literature has disappeared, there are almost no more conditional forms - and literary propaganda has spread [8] everywhere. At least, fight, gentlemen, politely, it will be in the spirit of the century; if I incorrectly described, wait for another Borodino case and check the validity of the experience, otherwise it will be a theory that is easier to preach than to be under the cores, canisters and with such a fierce enemy as the French.
The story of the gunner about the case of Borodino.
[9] For many centuries, political volcanoes shook Europe, its religious and civilian life collapsed, but the most formidable spill was still in the depths of its depths, in silence, secretly inaccessible, it arose from a fatal spark hidden under gloomy ashes. The general course of events, inscribed to mankind by the inscrutable Providence, fanned its terrible mouth; he poured [10] with the lava of a fiery ocean, and the universe prepared for the inevitable destruction, its destructive torrent fired everything on its lightning-fast path. The kingdoms fell, but there was a redeemer in the person of the unforgettable Sovereign Alexander; powerful Russia appeared with him, and her strongholds, held by a crowned anointed, worthy of its owner, were opposed; a destructive stream ebbed away, and, striking against its icy community, it cooled down, cooled down, lost its fighter force, and spread out the unshakable foundation for the glory of Russia and the redeemer of Europe.
The storm of past events merged inseparably with the political grandeur of Russia, it protects its centuries-old [11] prosperity, and the liberated humanity still brings to the sacred memory of Alexander with joyful memories, and the right hand of the almighty draws its immortal name before it, and the universe reverently bows before it.
The blows of disasters have just fallen silent, the actors are still alive, and the features of the main warriors, as a precious pledge of Russia's power, are kept in the Tsarist chambers for a happy posterity, it looks at them with people's pride. And let the young men, excited by their hot dream, imbued with a sense of their dignity, and honored to belong to Russia, ascend to the greatness that shines [12] on their foreheads, and wilt with reverence; let the tears of competition pour out sweetly from their eyes and imprint vengeance on their hearts on the heart, and may they involuntarily utter an oath of bloody vow to be terrible to the enemies of their homeland.
Twenty-five years have already elapsed since the terrible battle of Borodino, but the memories of it are alive, the faces of the fearless dead comrades, the faint echoes of those who suffered from wounds, the solemn Russian cliques and the ubiquitous fatal hell of fire are still deeply inscribed in memory this!
The bloody battle of life with death, the deaf roar of countless guns, [13] frantic invasions of cavalry and hot dumps everywhere on bayonets, with which Russians are always invincible, still lively in their eyes, and here the fatal "Hurray", as the forerunner of the storm, amazes and leads to shyness of enemies, and general anxiety, crackling weapons, and here the thunderous explosions of powder storages, like wolfhounds, bear death in their own ranks and in the ranks of the enemy, and in this unprecedented slaughter, among 2000 fiery vents, Russians fearlessly take blows to the chest, blows from enemies who rush on Russia with countless crowds.
Man shudders, carrying over to the events that the forces of the whole of Europe with Russia were studying, [14] with which she, alien to self-interest, decided the future fate of the universe, where a million troops hardened in victories, driven by Napoleon’s mighty military genius, flew to strike at Russia, fetter her with slavery wipe away the strongholds of her, these proud Russians, who have not yet fallen away before the conqueror of light, and, finally, the death of this million and the miserable, worthy fate of their leader, the enemy of the universe.
Marvel, mortals, marvel at the greatness of Russia, the greatness consecrated forever by the unparalleled heroism of Sovereign Alexander and his high meekness; we loved our Monarch, flocked to his beat, [15] and his voice was native to the hearts of the Russians.
Thus, Providence has chosen the homeland as our dismal disgrace for glory; we underwent hard, beneficent experiments, they created the eternal power of Russia, they destroyed the long captivity of Europe.
And how long has the crowned hero of Russia, having become friends with the hard labor of war, among his intrepid children, thundered with new feats and tossed his triumphant banner on Ararat, the Balkans and in the depths of the rebellious Sarmatians.
The countries conquered, the people fell, and the generous Anointed One bestowed upon them their freedom, returned the rejected lands and, driven by the spirit [16] of fearlessness and the dignity of their dignity, more than once appeared among the hostile warriors who fell before it.
In such a brilliant era, it is pleasant to remember the past; it is inextricably linked with the modern glory of our fatherland.
1812 has come the year, the terrible, enlightened Attila has appeared. Europe was horrified, and the fainthearted condemned Russia to perdition, a bloody war broke out, and we carried on the enemy's chest to Russia, to death. He sowed revolts, trampled on the relic - and his tracks were stained with blood and fire.
Everyone recognized the systematic retreat necessary, but the Russian heart did not tolerate it; it [17] rebelled against prudence. To strike, to break - this is what Russian blood is blazing for. But, having heeded the will of the Tsar, the savior of the fathers, we with patience endured the retreat; Finally, tired of them, we eagerly awaited general battles. Avant-garde affairs occupied us little, we decided to take on the enemy with the whole mass of troops. Revenge for the Fatherland - was a common vow of the army.
The Most High Prince Kutuzov understood him long ago and presented us with an excellent position, the Borodino fields opened up, and many predicted where to fall. Silently, majestically, we occupied them, the slender line stretched away, the general movement animated us; infantry battalions [18] moved from one place to another; they merged into columns, artillery everywhere appeared, batteries advanced, our army was formidable before the fateful battle, and a heavy thought fell on my heart, a terrible slope occupied it. Leaning over one of my cannons, I wilted and with a deeply sad feeling followed the magnificent mass of our troops. What does all this foreshadow, I thought? Whether the storm is for our fatherland or a new triumph of glory that has never betrayed our arms; Is it a good onslaught of enemies that have long been ill in our heart, or a desperate resistance to which we were seething? Who is destined to die? Who else will return to their relatives, [19] or this land will cover millions.
Creator! What a predestination for kingdoms and man! Is killed for the fatherland or the winner happier? - Who is more glorious: is he who has oppressed the enemy and closed his eyes on the eyelids, having seen the victory - or is he who arrogantly imposes captivity on his opponents? And is there any prosperity above death for middle names? - You decided it, Russians! Incredible sacrifices yours flamed on the altar of the fatherland; you left your wives, you gave the children to the Sovereign, and you came to die in the same ranks as your boys. Fathers and children, young men and old people, all relatives by blood and a feeling of patriotism, you died at the hands of your sons [20] and bequeathed their revenge to the enemies; you beat your hand and saved your homeland (and your ashes crowned with mausoleums on the fields, terrible to the enemy of battles, will overwhelm your homeland — it became a holy place for foreigners; henceforth the alien hand will not touch this shrine), and the Tsar embraced you as children , called fellow, co-workers, precious names!
So I thought - my heart beat faster, it embraced Russia, which sympathized with him then and, perhaps, grumbled at us, but we did not lose heart. The king knew whether we deserved the name of the Russians and his cares!
My dreams came out before the common grave's shed, and all [21] experienced the desire for the triumph of a dear fatherland, and then the prayer to the Creator began to warm in my soul — I woke up and everything was quiet: the glowing shots were rolling, and the night, the fatal night glumly pulled over the grave cover over the countless victims, the fires of the enemies glowed still. What is there? are you ready for battle? but no: they have passion and vanity, we have the fate of the fatherland, chest wall; the mist hid the hostile, and nature and revenge subsided asleep, we all fell over the abyss that had opened at dawn.
It was a black, deep night, as my thoughts. Tomorrow, I thought, will indicate who fell from the giants! Who fights for glory, [22] who for native ashes! - Russian! bloody our land, cover it with the corpses of enemies, let Russia see if she has worthy sons, let Europe be ashamed of her slavery in our feat, let’s fall for immortality (August 25, on the eve of the Battle of Borodino, wore the miraculous image of the Smolensk Mother of God in our troops.) what affection I observed the action of the sacred rite on the souls of warriors; our terrible ears made us bow to the ground and prayerfully asked for grace from the creator. This holy blessing strengthened everyone with warm faith and the sacred names of the Sovereign and Fatherland burned in our hearts. Prayer for Russian is already half the victory.).
Our 17 Brigade occupied a place on the right flank of our army; the brave Colonel Dieterix 2 th [23] commanded her, three batteries were placed. The unforgettable Count Kutaisov, who commanded all artillery, was a brave, enlightened general, who gave great hopes to the fatherland, inspired full respect for his noble character, courage, and was the father of his subordinates, before the battle came to inspect the artillery line in the entire position occupied by the army, in a debate with officers about the benefits of the local position for artillery, allowed himself to be challenged and followed our opinions; watched shrewdly, asked about the reasons forcing each of us to put our weapons one way or another, [24] and agreed if we were right. So, seeing one of my guns in the gorge: "You put it perfectly," he said, "the servants are closed from the fire of the enemy, and it can act on a fairly vast space, but these two have opened the enemy too much." I explained to him that they had become on the crest of a steep mountain and, acting on an arbitrary space, remaining visible, could not serve as a mark to the enemy, because the shots must be too happy for the nuclei to fall into the guns. “Your truth,” he said, approaching closer to them, “I haven’t noticed this yet, and I wouldn’t choose the best places.” Then he [25] jumped off the horse, sat on the carpet and drank tea from a black, burnt kettle with us. “I haven’t had dinner today,” he said. So Kutaysov was a friendly farewell to us at the sunset of his beautiful life; he explained the meaning of the following day to us, jumped on his horse and rushed off. We watched for a long time this beloved man, and who knew that the last time, who knew that tomorrow, fascinated by unparalleled courage and patriotism, he would die for everyone!
The dawn was in charge of the blood veil, the abandoned bivouac smoked, the last lights burned and burned out like the life of the wounded. The armies were [26] in battle order, our guns were loaded, the fatal wicks were already smoking; the sun was rising too, he lamented, caressed our weapon.
The shooters tied up the case, there was an exchange of fire on our left flank. Suddenly, it spread and flared up along the whole line, like a powder stapine; gunfire roared, the cannonade intensified; but, to our chagrin, we were inactive, the enemy did not attack us yet. Creator, who thought that in calm, cold-blooded our faces, in these people, full of life and courage, passed death, in two hours there will be only corpses, who provide the hour of [27] death - the time of universal destruction - or the heart-thing will tell everyone him; for two hours, I say, we were cheerful, joked, laughed, composed epitaphs to each other, and at the same time our blood poured out, our members were torn to pieces, and there were not even traces of familiar, relatives.
Suddenly messenger; he rode at full speed; two words from his mouth - guns on the front, it was a matter of a moment, and a formidable chain of thirty-six guns and eighty powder boxes, under strong shots of the enemy, solemnly rushed to the left flank, where the battle became fierce and doubtful, to help relatives, holding [28] a strong onslaught of a superb enemy number (General Quartermaster Tolya was given the feat to skillfully carry out our corps under the strong shots of the enemy in the position of the left flank.).
On our rapid movement, we withstood the fire from the whole enemy line, located a few miles away; the links of this magnificent chain were knocked out by the cores of the enemies, but this did not stop the general aspiration; one core penetrated my two unicorn's root horses; cut off the straps, screwed in others, rushed after the batteries. The enemy strengthened his shots, focused them against us, but we reached our destination, quickly found ourselves on the [29] left flank, where our help was necessary, began to divide, replace gaps, and entered into a hot deal - there would be a whole hell against us; enemies in the inflamed state, half-sober, with violent cries, crowds poured on us; their cores tore our line, the battle was already universal, our arrows were retreating, the enemy was oppressing them. Their officers were killed, the enemy, not seeing guns at this place, made cavalry attacks in the puddle, but the appearance of the battery encouraged our shooters. Battery stand, with the front down - she rushed grape-shot, overturned the columns, the enemy cavalry troops mixed up, and the line of enemies [30] backed up, our arrows rushed forward, took possession of the heights, we firmly stood in this position (Where before the terrible Vorontsov with his Grenadiers and Prince Golitsyn with cuirassiers destroyed enemy columns.). Our soldiers love guns and breast stand for them: Forward, guys, they shout, dears have arrived.
Here the battle became like a duel, the corpses littered the ground, horses without riders, scattering manes, bellow and galloping; repulsed guns, the skeletons of the crates were scattered, smoke, flames, the roar of guns spewed continuous fire - the wounded moaned, the earth trembled. Courageous, [31], the intrepid General Baggovut, who commanded our corps, rode up to us. “You are very hot,” he said. “We're warming up with the enemy,” we answered. - "You need reinforcements, stand, brothers, no step, you amaze the enemy." Count Kutaisov was no longer in the world, courage dragged him into the dust of battle, and only one horse returned. It was jealous of the death of the Hero, and we waxed even more vengeance for him.
Here's how we lost the brave General: the enemies, indignant that the Russians are not inferior to them a single step, and being ashamed of the superiority of their number over us, decided to dissolve our center and force us [32] to retreat. In this intention, they, in a strong number, rushed to one of our main batteries in the middle of the line, located in two faces. There was no means to keep their onslaught onslaught, and they took possession of it. Ardent Kutaisov and cold-blooded Yermolov instantly understood the enemy's plan, the execution of which entailed innumerable disasters for us. Without stopping, both famous generals decided to sacrifice their glory to our weapons, they seized the Ufa regiment and led it themselves into the heat of battle for the lost battery, flashed their bayonets, thundered “Hurray!”, The battery was taken, but Kutaisov fell. Fearless, courageous General, [33] worthy of honor, your death saved the honor of our army in the case of Borodino, you died with gratifying feelings, you recognized your feat and achieved it. Stay with us worthy of your associate. Moving on, Russians, appreciate their self-sacrifice, we will pronounce their names with reverence. Even less contemporaries cannot deny them such a tribute (Here the fearless Paskevich and his division were crammed with strong enemy columns, but overturned them with edged weapons and kept, finally, the top, the General Adjutant Vasilchikov shared this glory.).
The enemy, exceeding us by five times, was amazed at the fearlessness of [34] Russians, he was tired of attacks, we took him to certain death, the battle became slow but deadly, the tired troops rested for new extermination - one artillery did not stop. The mouths of the cannons spewed out the flames, the light went dark, the smoke curled in the atmosphere, the grave rumble shook the earth, and the terrible rumble of the guns did not stop.
The fields were covered with victims, the blood of the congregations and the enemies smoked, they perished, meeting ours; the ranks of both armies were empty, our best soldiers fell; what needs? We knew what we were standing for, death put everyone in with one feeling, we didn’t care for our loved ones, [35] care for human life disappeared, a virtue that distinguishes so much Russian, there was only a fatherland and a thirst to destroy the enemy.
So the wounded asked for help - it's not up to you, brothers, now we will all be there, the soldiers answered the comrades; Whether anyone will be killed, mortally wounded - in one pile, compassion has stopped for a while; his own life became a burden: he rejoiced over who dumped it - he died for the Sovereign, for Russia, for his relatives.
When mutual forces were exhausted, when the inexorable hand of death was tired of extermination, the army stood, it seemed, immovable; there was no end to a disastrous day; some guns were jammed, the rows were torn, in places [36] were silent too. In one of these intervals, the scorer of one of my guns, Kulkov, a young, brave soldier, leaning on a bannik, became thoughtful, I knew before and guessed the beautiful feelings of ordinary people. “You think of your betrothed!” - “Exactly, Your Honor,” answered the scorer, “it's a pity when I never see her again.” “Beat more French,” I said, “so that they won't take it away from you.” “No, Your Honor, it’s better not to see the light than to give it to the Busurmans.” Unhappy guessed; the nucleus carried his head down, and the brain and blood splashed into us, and he quietly tumbled down on the cannon with the bannik squeezed in his hands. The soldiers loved him, [37] respected him for his bravery and good qualities. “Let him bury him, Your Honor.” “You will not have time, brothers, now,” I told them, “but you will have time, do what you know, I have no time now.” With this, they rushed, dragged the decapitated body away, dug as much earth with a heap to cover a man, broke a stake, pinched it from above, inserted a cross stick in the form of a cross, stuck it into the ground, threw everything on the half-closed comrade in the last handful of earth, the soldiers crossed themselves. God be with you, the kingdom of heaven to you, they said and rushed to the guns, the enemy attacked us again. God helped us. Having repelled the enemy, we [38] made up the council, our charges were released, there were hardly any more to remain on the instrument. The brave non-commissioned officer of the Lithuanian Ulan regiment allowed our bewilderment: "Let me, Your Honor, fly behind the box to the enemy." - "Willingly," I answered, "you will be rewarded for it." And he rushed into the enemy line.
Before that, several times he rode around, inspected the number of the enemy, informed us about his private movements, bringing true benefit through his search. Here he raced with a box, one of the three box horses was killed; of the other two, the leg of the pristyarnaya was broken, the root leg was slightly injured. Ulan contrived: [39] he tied the reins of these two horses to the tail of his horse, sat headlong at it and galloped towards us, the visitor could barely keep up, jumping on three legs. We solemnly met the brave; I kissed Ulan. - “Where did you find the box with charges?” - “And here is where; looking at your order here that cavalry that now was, approached us, which you otpotchevat али casecall, I saw several Russian guns rushing to the attack; so they could not take him behind the killed sled and horse when they galloped to the right, but there was no time for the French; they fought us. ” The charges came in the size of our light weapons, [40], and we gladly divided them as precious loot, which was pulled out almost from the hands of the enemies, which at that time could not be replaced by the weight of the gold itself. Count Sivers, as the chief of our detachment, congratulated the brave non-commissioned officer; The Most High Prince Kutuzov for his exploits on the whole day made an officer. We rejoiced that he was adequately awarded and, having charges, did not despond more. The people at the guns were wounded, we replaced them with private soldiers from the Ryazan and Brest regiments covering us; dashing warriors of the Moscow militia were mounted on horses. This day wiped out the excellent, experienced [41] cannoners, but where it was better for them to fall, if not under Borodin, where the magnanimous Sovereign, conscious of the sacrifice suffered by the dead, ordered to build a worthy mausoleum on the Borodino field, surprisingly for centuries, even if precious this monument will revive the memories, let our warriors, seeing it, be aroused by even greater jealousy and become worthy of great sacrifices, may the reconciled enemies with a secret murmur go away. Seeing the obelisk to the giants of Europe, they would eclipse the idea of a new invasion of Russia, where the thunderous punishment overtook them.
Peace be upon yours, giants of Russia, worthy of weeping and joyful [42] memories. The thunder of your weapon was heard everywhere, your punks hit everyone. North and South, East and West, all alternately passed your laws. Centuries will pass by, and the tables of history will immortalize your name, the universe will be with reverence and incessantly repeats further posterity about you with fair respect.
In our soldiers there are often beautiful, high features; so in this battle the French were captured, many were injured, one leg was torn off. Tormented by intolerable pain and hunger, he turned to our soldiers and asked for bread, [43] we did not have it, our train was far away, one of them took out a piece of bread and gave it to the enemy. "On you, comrade, I am with my legs, until I reach somewhere, but you have nowhere to take it." I knew that the last piece was the last, and I embraced the noble soldier, I received the brave and good-natured for the Borodino case of George. So there is a great soul in our simple warriors; it is stored as a precious diamond in its rough bark, only know how to open it.
It was dusk, the shots subsided, the rest became necessary, the army shed, it seemed, all the blood, there were no casualties, the air cleared, the smoke quietly soared and thinned. The warlord of the enemies (claimed [44] prisoners that Napoleon himself was), surrounded by a retinue of more than one hundred persons, reconnoitered, he often looked into the telescope. We were silent for the time being, he was approaching, and we wanted this, our light guns were loaded with nuclei, battery canisters. In the meeting, we made a plan to take advantage of this circumstance and give a volley, keeping cool approaching, with this we could destroy, if not lucky, then some enemy generals who were here in the retinue. We surrounded the guns in order not to let them see that they were guided; Suddenly they bounced off, a light flared, smoke rose from the rapid-fire tubes, and all [45] guns burst into death. The magnificent train has been dissolved, it has been swept aside, half is exterminated. But after that we withstood the vengeance of the enemies, we withstood incredibly. In a quarter of an hour, a thick column of French grenadiers, up to five thousand with red flowing banners, music and drumming, like a black thundercloud rushing straight at us; she seemed to be told to die to the last or to take our battery. Our loss was significant; the brave brigade of the Brest and Ryazan regiments, rushing several times on the bayonets during the day, upset itself. General Graf Ivelich, who commanded her, was wounded, but [46] did not leave his seat. The courageous Lithuanian Ulan regiment suffered at least from continuous attacks, we had to die. The fearless Earl of Sivers encouraged us, we decided to go to death. The artillery officers were interrupted, only I and the Tishinin combat remained (now the colonel's artillery). We embraced with him and calmly expected the enemies, not wanting to give them a gift or a shot, and with confidence announced cover that he would share half of this column, embraced, still said goodbye, and to the point. We first had to meet uninvited guests.
It is necessary to do justice to the French, that their onslaught is [47] extraordinary; their first attacks are extremely rapid, it seems that only Russians can withstand them. Usually they make false movements, concentrate all their forces in one point and rush to break the line, but this does not last long, then they soften, become friendlier, and then the Russians, constant in character and fearlessness, rush and crush them . So it was here, in our business: they approached with a wild cry, we met them with a canister, and the terrible column hesitated. Their leaders shouted: allons! avancez! The ranks were instantly replaced, they lined up over their [48] corpses and moved smoothly, majestically. Splashing with more grapeshot. The new defeat, the column mixed up, but the cries of the chiefs did not stop, and she, again, slim, moved. To inflict a decisive defeat and slow it down, we began to act with volleys of semi-batteries, the shots were successful, the terrible cloud dispersed, the musicians and the drums fell silent, but the enemies again went boldly. This column was similar to the continuous tide and ebb of the sea, it was then fed back, then approached, in some moments of movement from the action of our battery were in one place, she hesitated, suddenly approached. Squadrons of the Ulansky regiment rushed to the attack, [49] but by a small number of people could not withstand it; the column opened a murderous battalion fire, our cavalry was repulsed and returned. Count Sivers, whose fearlessness on this day was beyond any description, seeing that he had no more charges left, ordered us to be on the front end, and covered our retreat by the Rangers.
We made the final farewell volley from the whole battery. The French were completely mixed up, but again they were built almost before the battery; here the Ryazan and Brest regiments struck “Hurray!” and rushed to the bayonets. There are no means to convey the total bitterness with which our soldiers threw themselves; [50] is a battle of fierce tigers, not people, and then, as both sides decided to lie down in place, the broken guns did not stop, they fought with rifle butts, scaffolds; hand-to-hand combat is terrible, the killing lasted for half an hour. Both columns from the place, they rose, piled up on the dead bodies. Our last small reserve, with a thunderous “hurray!” Rushed to the tormenting columns, no one else was left — and the grim murderous column of the French grenadiers overturned, scattered and destroyed; little has returned and ours. The martial arts of the columns looked like slaughter, our gun carriages were shot through, people and horses were killed; the latter for some [51] instinct stood all day, their heads sadly bowed, they quietly rearranged their legs, shivering at times from the nuclei and grenades bursting on the batteries.
The evening stopped the killing, a handful of winners returned to theirs; we were all bloody, our robes torn; we were like a part of Spartan, killed with the immortal Leonid; our faces are in dust, smoky powder smoke, mouth dried; but we embraced together and honored the memory of the dead with a tear of compassion that was dulled, disappeared during the day. We felt that we deserve the trust of the Fatherland and the Sovereign.
We spent the night on the corpses and the wounded, [52] and my dreams were covered again; I saw how the Borodino fields were bloody with blood, I saw it was gratifying, as the enemies died, as my kernels tore apart a terrible column, ready to crush us; I saw the sun go down with a flaming ball along with the life of almost one hundred thousand; darkness covered them for ever. But you will rise again, a majestic light, you will shine on the horizon, you will shelter, revive all stagnation, you will warm your nature with warmth, you will dry her tears, only the unfortunate victims will not revive, they will not shelter more orphans left by them, they will not dry their tears they will not close their beliefs and the pre-grave crying will not ease the suffering, [53] will not calm the wounds of the soul about the fate of their relatives and fatherland. Tomorrow the groans will again be distributed, and you, ashamed of the murders, will again fall to the sun, beyond the black earth. Tell me, how long will inhuman still last on earth? Maybe centuries will flow, a million tribes in the world will be exterminated, and you will still shine on fires, robberies, murders, or you will stop your magnificent path when people will destroy each other; or when a new return of the Savior will save, reconcile humanity from enmity.
But in this disastrous time, did Russia seek war? Did not the Emperor Alexander reject her, loving as children of his subjects, [54] and what moderation in demands, what high meekness, worthy of his dignity, He showed to the vanquished.
So the forty centuries passed, and in these centuries there is no example of the feats that the Russians showed who have immortalized their name. Everywhere, in all countries, we were a thunderstorm to oppressors and guardians of civilians. Generosity always crowned our actions. Thus, establishing ourselves at the heights of Montmartre, we expected only the will of the Tsar, one moment of it: and this proud Paris would take off into the air (Like terrible winners, we based ourselves on these famous heights, and with our hands in the hands shook the fate of the greatest State in the universe; one thing the wave of our Tsar, and this blooming vast city would turn into ashes: with its kind people, and with its glory, and with the Louvre, and with lovely women ...). Frankly, we all [55] eagerly desired it, but His will was sacred for us. He pardoned the enemies, and our revenge for our native Moscow subsided; we have been reconciled generously with the enemies.
Until then, we will be happy as long as we remain Russian. We love our Sovereigns and Russia, their glory is precious for us, and if our blood is needed for their greatness, who among us will not gladly spill it to the last heartbeat, which is burning with their prosperity? [56]
Count Sivers, having no adjutants already with him, who were all sent out, and, noting that the enemy columns were pushing hard, told me: “I will stay instead of you, skip to Lieutenant Weide (he stood six guns to the right of our battery); Let him turn all his shots against the columns, and not against the enemy batteries. ” With this assignment, I was already jumping, many things struck me on my way, from which my heart now turns away - everything is broken, broken, crushed, naked, and on our ugly field of suffering, our Russian cuirassiers in a frantic fight with the French brass, the cuirass [57] from the mutual greetings of the broadswords were crackling, they were hotly chopped up - they invaded the insurmountable battle-hitherto convoy of the best French troops and crushed it with force and determination: they were two terrible clouds that had come down from which blood streams poured.
They sooled so amicably that I rode past them, not paying almost any attention to themselves, two batters just rushed towards me, but were cut down by our cuirassiers, and I shot an arrow, making a good shot from the pistol one at a time.
It is necessary to be surprised sometimes to this bitterness and that passion to achieve without fail its goal, with which [58] fulfilled are warring.
Our colonel, wanting to terminate the action of one enemy battery, which snatched rows of our columns, ordered our battery “to attack”; we rushed to the front of the carriage, jumped on the cartel shot, fired a volley of cannonballs and continued to shoot with the canisters, knocked down the battery, it stopped and took off with the guns. At this time, the Little Russian our cuirassiers grappled with the French latniks, their bitterness was so great that they, hitting each other, rushed more than once through our battery, were cut between themselves, not touching us; I was amazed at [59] of this quick-temperedness, which may have a probability in the eyes of only an eyewitness.
In order to reach my destination, I set off in my entire quarry, my horse suddenly collapsed and I was with her, she lay without hind legs; I rushed on foot, having received a kind impetus that rang in my ears. Many horses were walking about and briskly running in front of me; I grabbed one by the mouthpiece; she, having lost her master, flew straight towards me and stopped two steps away, but the core collapsed into her too. When I reached the Weide battery on foot, I saw a brave officer with a hand punched through a bullet, blood was flowing from her, but he didn’t pay attention and was only happy about the skillful [60] action of his battery. “At the very least, they were keeping a wound in order to be able to fulfill the order of the Count,” I told him. Strong, naturally tireless, he escaped from the hands of a soldier who, laying a wound with a piece of tow, tied it with a handkerchief, and continued shouting: “The second and third guns on the right column, well, guys, skillfully, not for nothing shots.” We shook hands and I returned. For no more than half an hour I was in the absence, but I didn’t find many on the battery; the nuclei whistled, their ricochets plowed the ground, fragments of grenades flew.
Wounded in the heel, Lieutenant Davydov sat quietly in the distance [61] and read Jung, with whom he never parted; enemy shots flew past him. “What are you doing?” - “It is necessary to calm the soul and prepare for death,” he answered calmly, “I have nothing left to do with you, I have fulfilled my duty.” Eternal his rival in opinions, the seriously wounded Lieutenant Neroon said goodbye to my eyes, which at that very moment became motionless. “Do not leave, brothers, places and bow to your relatives,” he said quietly and fell silent forever. My heart fluttered, the loss of this noble comrade added a new wound to him. Gloomy, sad, he talked all day about death, which he had seen. [62]
The soldiers, seeing me, all exclaimed: “Thank God, Your Honor, that you are alive; we thought that the patrons would chop you up, and there was no way to help; but when they killed your horse, they said goodbye to you. ” They, speaking this, worked desperately, only one grieved me. Feeding charges from the boxes, every time he hid his head behind him, when a smoking grenade buzzes the core or flashes, acting, however, all day like a brave soldier. I called him, loaded the gun, put it before the very vent. “This is how the villains should die,” I said, and I took the warden in my hands. “I’m sorry, Your Honor, this will not happen, something longing [63] has attacked.” I forgave him and sent him back to the charging box; but only he opened it to get the charges, the enemy grenade burst in the box itself, the box exploded, and the soldier was not found. "Here, guys," I said, "how God punishes cowards." The horses were cast aside, scorched, but they remained alive; poor animals quietly stopped at this place.
Shots were sometimes surprisingly successful. So once the enemy core fell into the upper part of the gun, gave it away, knocked a fly, made a hollow and bounced off; the soldiers, jokingly, wittily said: “right, I didn’t have to fit the caliber” Another shot [64] was even weirder. Under the gun on the axis itself hung a basket with rye (stock of artillery soldiers); the core pierced the basket, passed through the rye and both sides of the basket, made an indentation on the axis of the gun, and after the battle, the astonished soldiers found it in the basket and kept it for a long time as a gift from the French.
But in one of the deadly minutes, our salvation with Lieutenant Tyshinin was wonderful. Our battery should have been instantly removed, the guns were thrown on the front end, and it was already running at a trot. Stopping to put some wounded on the carriage, we caught up with our guns, and as our riding horses were [65] killed, we both wanted to jump on the carriage of one of the guns, and, not reaching it a few steps, cut the rule as a core; a minute earlier - and the thread of our life would have been interrupted. God keep you right, happily noticed the soldiers.
The famous Ulansky hero, who participated in all our actions and became hungry like us, in one of his bold reconnaissance possessed a large pot of cow oil, which he extracted from a French charging truck; the soldiers rushed to the pot, smashed it and in an instant swallowed all the butter in pieces. After the battle, they gathered some mushrooms and roasted them on the fire of camp fires. [66] "It's bad, brothers, they did," said one of them, "that they ate the oil, keep it up to the mushrooms." Such jokes are common. Russian soldier does not lose heart; a high presence of mind is especially found in them during the dressing of the wounded. So one of them, with his leg torn off, spoke to his sergeant-major, who was shot through with a bullet on the cheek and could not say: “Well, Ivan Petrovich, send us some straw, some firewood (that is, how it was done before)”. Poor Feldwebel shook his head.
A passion for battle is revealed in the folk spirit of the Russians, combat for them is fun. Take a look at our national [67] gymnastic games - they all have a martial character. The hunt for fistfights in any nation, with the inclusion of the most British, is not so much found as in the Russians, and this fight is always in our idea of a colossal one and has its own strategy. Such general battles, especially in provincial cities and always two opposing parties, are clear evidence of this. What bloody mistakes; and here is its own tactic: usually boys are turned up - it's the shooters, then everyone grabs it - this is the army; Finally, the best, respected fighters - veterans, as the main reserve. And how, after such lessons of a lifetime [68], not being able to work Russian with bayonet and butts in battles? One cannot be allowed to continue such an ingrained custom, both for the preservation of people and because it belongs to distant times; but it must be admitted that these popular battles, with the goal of often one amusement, inhabit courage and skill. It is perfectly true when they say that Russians go into business with joy, singing their favorite folk songs; This is confirmed by the fact I stated. Our powerful warriors are accustomed to boldly face the blows of their peers.
They never think about wounds and sufferings, the main result of them is to rush, to reach, [69] to break, and if they know that the Sovereign is in the army, then let's bravely ten enemies to one. With such warriors you can’t decide what you won’t do! They demand only care from their bosses for their food, and for this they commit themselves to all the victims who are required of them. Say a greeting to them, encourage, try porridge from their cauldron, and they will go into fire and water; the hospitality of their leaders is comforted. It seems that Suvorov owes many of his victories to a part of the fact that he, more than other leaders, learned the way to the heart of the Russian soldier.
By the way, here you will notice that Russians and French are always enemies only by competition in [70] glory. So to the question of one General. what is called the enemy? the soldier resolutely answered: French, Your Excellency. - Well, when is the war with the Turks? - Still a Frenchman. This was shortly after the 1812 campaign of the year. So much hardened they were censureable behavior of the French in Russia, and our enemies should not blame even Russian peasants for cruelties with them. For the frantic acts of the French army in Russia would deserve even more revenge. And did we do this in France, did we pay for their unbelievable atrocities? However, we are avenged, we were in France in order to show her our magnanimity. [71] And as good deeds do not remain without retribution, then, more than once having been abroad then, I enjoyed the wonderful fruits of peace and tranquility that we brought into the depths of this State instead of revenge, which we should punish.
Our soldiers are proud and love to show their sharpness. At one time, Captain Filatyev was sent in for employment. Not knowing his name, for the first time out of decency we called him Monsieur Filatyev; the soldiers heard it. Turning to one of my officers, I told him: send this message to Monsieur Filatyev. “Why don't you order him to send it,” he said [72], pointing to a rampant corporal who was standing right there. “Do you know what the name of the Captain is, to which you must go?” - “How not to know, Your Honor, to Moses Filatyevich,” he answered with confidence. We burst out laughing and sent him to Moses Filatevich.
I think that a warrior spirit develops in our soldier, having it as a beginning even in the life of a peasant. Continuous wars waged by Russia with the Swedes, Turks, Poles, Tatars and Highlanders of the Caucasus transformed our nation into a military one. Peter the Great merged her spirit together and gave him a direction worthy of the glory of Russia. The next Sovereigns developed this popular prowess to the highest [73] degree. In the Patriotic campaign, she showed up more majestic, and 1812 year took the full character of the people's war with its innumerable horrors and disasters, proving to the whole world the extermination of the European army that it was fatal to touch us in our smoky huts when we did not send invitations. The free armaments of our peasants, their patriotic actions are known to everyone, just had to see it from experience (They say that Talleyrand told Napoleon when he planned an expedition in Russia: do not touch the bear in his lair. The Patriarch of the diplomats truly knew Russia better than his Emperor.) . [74]
The view of the people's war is terrible and magnificent. Confusion, anxiety, general militia, bell alarm, guards on the heights and the determination of everyone to sell the property, life and destiny of their families. And one is saved - the other perishes.
But tell me who, if not the Creator, saves us in such disastrous moments; why the one and the other remained alive, why more than a hundred thousand were killed and wounded in the case of Borodinsky, where, rightly, Kutuzov said, there was no place for the coward. Silence before the indestructible definitions of providence, hope is comforting; faith is a warm, wholesome ray for an innocent soul. She [75] was created to learn all the goodness that the creator sends her (33-I Lightweight battery received our work in Russia, especially for Borodino, buttonholes and marks for contrast to shako; the officers were all rewarded. From 70 remaining after the Borodino case soldiers, 26 for him received the crosses of St. George. There was no example in the army that a third of the soldiers who had left the battle were so rewarded. Count Miloradovich, having our battery always in his vanguard, did not call us anything but brave. my name day greeted us going to de lo: “Hello, brave,” he said, “here are the 10 crosses, go and deserve.” None of the bodies on which they were laid came alive from the battle. The count was able to encourage.).
Bring him prayers. Let us rejoice in the flourishing state of Russia. Russian is justly proud of [76] with its name. The famous feats of the last wars surrendered in all parts of the world serve as a guarantee of the unshakable respect for us by the powers of the enlightened.
In Russia, the peaceful shelter and property of each are firmly protected by laws; talents and infirmities without the acceptance of people gain faithful shelter.
Information