战争与和平(上)-第161章

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　streamers　on　their　lances　waving；　and　trotted　downhill　towards　the　French　cavalry；　who　came　into　sight　below　on　the　left。
As　soon　as　the　Uhlans　had　started　downhill；　the　hussars　received　the　order　to　ride　off　uphill　to　cover　the　battery。　Just　as　the　hussars　were　moving　into　the　place　of　the　Uhlans；　there　came　flying　from　the　out…posts　some　cannon…balls；　hissing　and　whistling　out　of　the　distance；　and　hitting　nothing。
This　sound；　which　he　had　not　heard　for　so　long；　had　an　even　more　inspiriting　and　cheering　effect　on　Rostov　than　the　report　of　the　muskets。　Drawing　himself　up；　he　surveyed　the　field　of　battle；　as　it　opened　out　before　him　riding　uphill；　and　his　whole　heart　went　with　the　movements　of　the　Uhlans。　They　were　swooping　down　close　upon　the　French　dragoons；　there　was　some　confusion　yonder　in　the　smoke；　and　five　minutes　later　the　Uhlans　were　dashing　back；　not　towards　the　spot　where　they　had　been　posted；　but　more　to　the　left。　Between　the　ranks　of　Uhlans　on　the　chestnut　horses；　and　in　a　great　mass　behind　them；　could　be　seen　blue　French　dragoons　on　grey　horses。


Chapter　15
ROSTOV；　with　his　keen　sportsman’s　eye；　was　one　of　the　first　to　descry　these　blue　dragoons　pursuing　our　Uhlans。　Nearer　and　nearer　flew　the　disordered　crowds　of　the　Uhlans　and　the　French　dragoons　in　pursuit　of　them。　He　could　see　now　separate　figures；　looking　small　at　the　bottom　of　the　hill；　fighting；　overtaking　one　another；　and　waving　their　arms　and　their　swords。
Rostov　gazed　at　what　was　passing　before　him　as　at　a　hunt。　He　felt　instinctively　that　if　he　were　to　charge　with　his　hussars　on　the　French　dragoons　now；　they　could　not　stand　their　ground；　but　if　he　were　to　charge　it　must　be　that　very　minute　or　it　would　be　too　late。　He　looked　round。　The　captain　standing　beside　him　had　his　eyes　too　fixed　on　the　cavalry　below。
“Andrey　Sevastianitch；”　said　Rostov；　“we　could　close　them　in；　surely　…”
“And　a　smart　job；　too；”　said　the　captain；　“and　indeed　…”
Rostov；　without　waiting　for　his　answer；　set　spurs　to　his　horse　and　galloped　off　in　front　of　his　squadron。　Before　he　had　time　to　give　the　command；　the　whole　squadron；　sharing　his　feeling；　flew　after　him。　Rostov　himself　could　not　have　said　how　or　why　he　did　it。　He　did　it　all；　as　he　did　everything　in　a　wolf　hunt；　without　thinking　or　considering。　He　saw　that　the　dragoons　were　near；　that　they　were　galloping　in　no　order；　he　knew　they　could　not　stand　their　ground；　he　knew　there　was　only　one　minute　to　act　in；　which　would　not　return　if　he　let　it　slip。　The　cannon　balls　were　hissing　and　whistling　so　inspiritingly　about　him；　his　horse　pulled　so　eagerly　forward　that　he　could　not　resist　it。　He　spurred　his　horse；　shouted　the　command；　and　the　same　instant　flew　full　trot　down…hill　towards　the　dragoons；　hearing　the　tramp　of　his　squadron　behind　him。　As　they　dashed　downhill；　the　trot　insensibly　passed　into　a　gallop　that　became　swifter　and　swifter；　as　they　drew　nearer　their　Uhlans　and　the　French　dragoons　pursuing　them。　The　dragoons　were　close　now。　The　foremost；　seeing　the　hussars；　began　turning　back；　the　hindmost　halted。　With　the　same　feeling　with　which　he　had　dashed　off　to　cut　off　the　wolf’s　escape；　Rostov；　letting　his　Don　horse　go　at　his　utmost　speed；　galloped　to　cut　off　the　broken　ranks　of　the　dragoons。　One　Uhlan　halted；　another；　on　foot；　flung　himself　to　the　ground　to　avoid　being　knocked　down；　a　riderless　horse　was　carried　along　with　the　hussars。　Almost　all　the　dragoons　were　galloping　back。　Rostov　picked　out　one　of　them　on　a　grey　horse　and　flew　after　him。　On　the　way　he　rode　straight　at　a　bush；　his　gallant　horse　cleared　it；　and　Nikolay　was　hardly　straight　in　the　saddle　again　when　he　saw　in　a　few　seconds　he　would　overtake　the　enemy　he　had　pitched　upon　as　his　aim。　The　Frenchman；　probably　an　officer　from　his　uniform；　sat　crouched　upon　his　grey　horse；　and　urging　it　on　with　his　sword。　In　another　instant　Rostov’s　horse　dashed　up　against　the　grey　horse’s　hindquarters；　almost　knocking　it　over；　and　at　the　same　second　Rostov；　not　knowing　why　he　did　so；　raised　his　sword；　and　aimed　a　blow　at　the　Frenchman。
The　instant　he　did　this　all　Rostov’s　eagerness　suddenly　vanished。　The　officer　fell　to　the　ground；　not　so　much　from　the　sword　cut；　for　it　had　only　just　grazed　his　arm　above　the　elbow；　as　from　fright　and　the　shock　to　his　horse。　As　Rostov　pulled　his　horse　in；　his　eyes　sought　his　foe　to　see　what　sort　of　man　he　had　vanquished。　The　French　officer　was　hopping　along　on　the　ground；　with　one　foot　caught　in　the　stirrup。　Screwing　up　his　eyes；　as　though　expecting　another　blow　every　instant；　he　glanced　up　at　Rostov　frowning　with　an　expression　of　terror。　His　pale；　mud…stained　face—fair　and　young；　with　a　dimple　on　the　chin　and　clear　blue　eyes—was　the　most　unwarlike；　most　good…natured　face；　more　in　place　by　a　quiet　fireside　than　on　the　field　of　battle。　Before　Rostov　could　make　up　his　mind　what　to　do　with　him；　the　officer　shouted；　“I　surrender。”　He　tried　hurriedly　and　failed　to　extricate　his　foot　from　the　stirrup；　and　still　gazed　with　his　frightened　blue　eyes　at　Rostov。　The　hussars；　galloping　up；　freed　his　foot；　and　got　him　into　his　saddle。　The　hussars　were　busily　engaged　on　all　sides　with　the　dragoons；　one　was　wounded；　but　though　his　face　was　streaming　with　blood　he　would　not　let　go　of　his　horse；　another　put　his　arms　round　an　hussar　as　he　sat　perched　up　behind　on　his　horse；　a　third　was　clambering　on　to　his　horse；　supported　by　an　hussar。　The　French　infantry　were　in　front；　firing　as　they　ran。　The　hussars　galloped　hastily　back　with　their　prisoners。　Rostov　galloped　back　with　the　rest；　conscious　of　some　disagreeable　sensation；　a　kind　of　ache　at　his　heart。　A　glimpse　of　something　vague　and　confused；　of　which　he　could　not　get　a　clear　view；　seemed　to　have　come　to　him　with　the　capture　of　that　French　officer　and　the　blow　he　had　dealt　him。
Count　Osterman…Tolstoy　met　the　hussars　on　their　return；　summoned　Rostov；　thanked　him　and　told　him　he　would　report　his　gallant　action　to　the　Tsar　and　would　recommend　him　for　the　cross　of　St。　George。　When　Rostov　was　called　up　to　Count　Osterman；　bethinking　himself　that　he　had　received　no　command　to　charge；　he　had　no　doubt　that　his　commanding　officer　sent　for　him　to　reprimand　him　for　his　breach　of　discipline。　Osterman’s　flattering　words　and　promise　of　a　reward　should；　therefore；　have　been　a　pleasant　surprise　to　Rostov；　but　he　still　suffered　from　that　unpleasant　vague　feeling　of　moral　nausea。　“Why；　what　on　earth　is　it　that’s　worrying　me？”　he　wondered；　as　he　rode　away　from　the　general。　“Ilyin？　No；　he’s　all　right。　Did　I　do　anything　disgraceful？　No；　that’s　not　it　either！”　Something　else　fretted　him　like　a　remorse。　“Yes；　yes；　that　officer　with　the　dimple。　And　I　remember　clearly　how　my　hand　paused　when　I　had　lifted　it。”
Rostov　saw　the　prisoners　being　led　away；　and　galloped　after　them　to　look　at　his　Frenchman　with　the　dimple　in　his　chin。　He　was　sitting　in　his　strange　uniform　on　one　of　the　spare　horses；　looking　uneasily　about　him。　The　sword…cut　in　his　arm　could　hardly　be　called　a　wound。　He　looked　at　Rostov　with　a　constrained　smile；　and　waved　his　hand　by　way　of　a　greeting。　Rostov　still　felt　the　same　discomfort　and　vague　remorse。
All　that　day　and　the　next　Rostov’s　friends　and　comrades　noticed　that；　without　being　exactly　depressed　or　irritable；　he　was　silent；　dreamy；　and　preoccupied。　He　did　not　care　to　drink；　tried　to　be　alone；　and　seemed　absorbed　in　thought。　Rostov　was　still　pondering　on　his　brilliant　exploit；　which；　to　his　amazement；　had　won　him　the　St。　George’s　Cross　and　made　his　reputation　indeed　for　fearless　gallantry。　There　was　something　he　could　not　fathom　in　it。　“So　they　are　even　more　frightened　than　we　are；”　he　thought。　“Why；　is　this　all　that’s　meant　by　heroism？　And　did　I　do　it　for　the　sake　of　my　country？　And　was　he　to　blame　with　his　dimple　and　his　blue　eyes？　How　frightened　he　was！　He　thought　I　was　going　to　kill　him。　Why　should　I　kill　him？　My　hand　trembled。　And　they　have　given　me　the　St。　George’s　Cross。　I　can’t　make　it　out；　I　can’t　make　it　out！”
But　while　Nikolay　was　worrying　over　these　questions　in　his　heart　and　unable　to　find　any　clear　solution　of　the　doubts　that　troubled　him；　the　wheel　of　fortune　was　turning　in　his　favour；　as　so　often　happens　in　the　service。　He　was　brought　forward　after　the　affair　at　Ostrovna；　received　the　command　of　a　battalion　of　hussars；　and　when　an　officer　of　dauntless　courage　was　wanted　he　was　picked　out。


Chapter　16
COUNTESS　ROSTOV　had　not　recovered　her　strength　when　she　received　the　news　of　Natasha’s　illness。　Weak　as　she　still　was；　she　set　out　at　once　for　Moscow　with　Petya　and　the　whole　household；　and　the　Rostovs　moved　from　Marya　Dmitryevna’s　into　their　own　house；　where　the　whole　family　were　installed。
Natasha’s　illness　was　so　serious　that；　luckily　for　herself　and　her　parents；　all　thought　of　what　had　caused　it；　of　her　conduct　and　of　the　breaking　off　of　her　engagement；　fell　into　the　background。　She　was　so　ill　that　no　one　could　consider　how　far　she　was　to　blame　for　all　that　had　happened；　while　she　could　not　eat　nor　sleep；　was　growing　visibly　thinner；　coughed；　and　was；　as　the　doctors　gave　them　to　understand；　in　actual　danger。　Nothing　could　be　thought　of　but　how　to　make　her　well　again。　Doctors　came　to　see　Natasha；　both　separately　and　in　consultation。　They　said　a　great　deal　in　French；　in　German；　and　in　Latin。　They　criticised　one　another；　and　prescribed　the　most　diverse　remedies　for　all　the　diseases　they　were　familiar　with。　But　it　never　occurred　to　one　of　them　to　make　the　simple　reflection　that　they　could　not　understand　the　disease　from　which　Natasha　was　suffering；　as　no　single　disease　can　be　fully　understood　in　a　living　person；　for　every　living　person　has　his　individual　peculiarities　and　always　has　his　own　peculiar；　new；　complex　complaints　unknown　to　medicine—not　a　disease　of　the　lungs；　of　the　kidneys；　of　the　skin；　of　the　heart；　and　so　on；　as　described　in　medical　books；　but　a　disease　that　consists　of　one　out　of　the　innumerable　combinations　of　ailments　of　those　organs。　This　simple　reflection　can　never　occur　to　doctors　（just　as　a　sorcerer　cannot　entertain　the　idea　that　he　is　unable　to　work　magic　spells）　because　it　is　the　work　of　their　life　to　undertake　the　cure　of　disease；　because　it　is　for　that　that　they　are　paid；　and　on　that　they　have　wasted　the　best　years　of　their　life。　And　what　is　more；　that　reflection　could　not　occur　to　the　doctors　because　they　saw　that　they　unquestionably　were　of　use；　and　they　certainly　were　of　use　to　all　the　Rostov　household。　They　were　of　use；　not　because　they　made　the　patient　swallow　drugs；　mostly　injurious　（the　injury　done　by　them　was　hardly　perceptible　because　they　were　given　in　such　small　doses）。　They　were　of　use；　were　needed；　were　indispensable　in　fact　（for　the　same　reason　that　there　have　always　been；　and　always　will　be；　reputed　healers；　witches；　hom？opaths　and　allopaths）；　because　they　satisfied　the　moral　cravings　of　the　patient　and　those　who　loved　her。　They　satisfied　that　eternal　human　need　of　hope　for　relief；　that　need　for　sympathetic　action　that　is　felt　in　the　presence　of　suffering；　that　need　that　is　shown　in　its　simplest　form　in　the　little　child；　who　must　have　the　place　rubbed　when　it　has　hurt　itself。　The　child　is　hurt；　and　runs　at　once　to　the　arms　of　its　mother　or　nurse　for　them　to　kiss　or　rub　the　tender　spot；　and　it　feels　better　for　the　kissing　and　rubb