At that very time Napoleonder had just gained a great victory and was
riding over the field of battle on a greyhound of a horse. He trampled
with his horse's hoofs on the bodies of the dead, without pity or
regret, and the only thought in his mind was, "As soon as I have done
with Russia, I'll march against the Chinese and the white Arabs; and
then I shall have conquered exactly the whole world."
But just at that moment he heard some one calling, "Napoleonder! O
Napoleonder!" He looked around, and not far away, under a bush on a
little mound, he saw a wounded Russian soldier, who was beckoning to him
with his hand. Napoleonder was surprised. What could a wounded Russian
soldier want of him? He turned his horse and rode to the spot. "What do
you want?" he asked the soldier.
"I don't want anything of you," the wounded soldier replied, "except an
answer to one question. Tell me, please, what have you killed me for?"
Napoleonder was still more surprised. In the many years of his
conquering he had wounded and killed a multitude of men; but he had
never been asked that question before. And yet this Russian soldier
didn't look as if he had anything more than ordinary intelligence. He
was just a young, boyish fellow, with light flaxen hair and blue
eyes--evidently a new recruit from some country village.
"What do you mean--'killed you for'?" said Napoleonder. "I had to kill
you. When you went into the army, didn't you take an oath that you
would die?"
"I know what oath I took, Napoleonder, and I'm not making a fuss about
dying. But you--why did you kill me?"
"Why shouldn't I kill you," said Napoleonder, "when you were the
enemy,--that is, my foe,--come out to fight me on the field of
Borodino?"
"Cross yourself, Napoleonder!" said the young soldier. "How could I be
your foe, when there has never been any sort of quarrel between us?
Until you came into our country, and I was drafted into the army, I had
never even heard of you. And here you have killed me--and how many more
like me!"
"I killed," said Napoleonder, "because it was necessary for me to
conquer the world."
"But what have I got to do with your conquering the world?" replied the
soldier. "Conquer it, if you want to--I don't hinder. But why did you
kill me? Has killing me given you the world? The world doesn't belong to
me. You're not reasonable, brother Napoleonder. And is it possible that
you really think you can conquer the whole world?"
"I'm very much of that opinion," replied Napoleonder.
The little soldier smiled. "You're really stupid, Napoleonder," he said.
"I'm sorry for you. As if it were possible to conquer the whole world!"
"I'll subdue all the kingdoms," replied Napoleonder, "and put all
peoples in chains, and then I'll reign as Tsar of all the earth."
The soldier shook his head. "And God?" he inquired. "Will you conquer
him?"
Napoleonder was confused. "No," he finally said. "God's will is over us
all; and in the hollow of his hand we live."
"Then what's the use of your conquering the world?" said the soldier.
"God is all; therefore the world won't belong to you, but to him. And
you'll live just so long as he has patience with you, and no longer."
"I know that as well as you do," said Napoleonder.
"Well, then," replied the soldier, "if you know it, why don't you reckon
with God?"
Napoleonder scowled. "Don't say such things to me!" he cried. "I've
heard that sanctimonious stuff before. It's of no use. You can't fool
me! I don't know any such thing as pity."
"Indeed," said the soldier, "is it so? Have a care, Napoleonder! You are
swaggering too much. You lie when you say a man can live without pity.
To have a soul, and to feel compassion, are one and the same thing. You
have a soul, haven't you?"
"Of course I have," replied Napoleonder; "a man can't live without a
soul."
"There! you see!" said the soldier. "You have a soul, and you believe in
God. How, then, can you say you don't know any such thing as pity? You
do know! And I believe that at this very moment, deep down in your
heart, you are mortally sorry for me; only you don't want to show it.
Why, then, did you kill me?"
Napoleonder suddenly became furious. "May the pip seize your tongue, you
miscreant! I'll show you how much pity I have for you!" And, drawing a
pistol, Napoleonder shot the wounded soldier through the head. Then,
turning to his dead men, he said: "Did you see that?"
"We saw it," they replied; "and as long as it is so, we are your
faithful servants always."
Napoleonder rode on.
At last night comes; and Napoleonder is sitting alone in his golden
tent. His mind is troubled, and he can't understand what it is that
seems to be gnawing at his heart. For years he has been at war, and this
is the first time such a thing has happened. Never before has his soul
been so filled with unrest. And to-morrow morning he must begin another
battle--the last terrible fight with the Tsar Alexander the Blessed, on
the field of Borodino.
"Akh!" he thinks, "I'll show them to-morrow what a leader I am! I'll
lift the soldiers of the Tsar into the air on my lances and trample
their bodies under the feet of my horses. I'll make the Tsar himself a
prisoner, and I'll kill or scatter the whole Russian people."