"It's a bad business, Napoleonder," the generals and field-marshals say.
"For some reason the Russians are fighting harder to-day than ever.
You'd better call out your dead men."
Napoleonder shouted at the top of his voice, "Bonaparty!"--six hundred
and sixty-six,--the number of the Beast. But, cry as he would, he only
frightened the jackdaws. The dead men didn't come out of their graves,
nor answer his call. And Napoleonder was left on the field of Borodino
alone. All his generals and field-marshals had fled, and he sat there
alone on his horse, shouting, "Bonaparty! Bonaparty!"
Then suddenly there appeared beside him the smooth-faced, blue-eyed,
fair-haired Russian recruit whom he had killed the day before. And the
young soldier said: "It's useless to shout, Napoleonder. Nobody will
come. Yesterday you felt sorry for me and for my dead brothers, and
because of your pity your corpse-soldiers no longer come at your call.
Your power over them is gone."
Then Napoleonder began to weep and sob, and cried out, "You have ruined
me, you wretched, miserable soldier!"
But the soldier (who was Ivan-angel, and not a soldier at all) replied:
"I have not ruined you, Napoleonder; I have saved you.
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