Folk-Tales of Napoleon | Page 6

the Lord God heard the wail of the Russian people and the
prayers of the Holy Virgin the Mother of God of Smolensk, and he
cried out to the angels and the archangels: "The hour of my wrath has
passed. The people have suffered enough for their sins and have
repented of their wickedness. Napoleonder has destroyed nations
enough. It's time for him to learn mercy. Who of you, my servants, will
go down to the earth--who will undertake the great work of softening
the conqueror's heart?"
The older angels and the archangels didn't want to go. "Soften his

heart!" they cried. "He is made of sand--he hasn't any navel--he is
pitiless--we're afraid of him!"
Then Ivan-angel stepped forward and said: "I'll go."
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,"