战争与和平(上)-第42章

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ince　Andrey　leaned　his　elbow　on　the　cannon；　and　taking　out　a　note…book；　sketched　for　himself　a　plan　of　the　disposition　of　the　troops。　In　two　places　he　made　notes　with　a　pencil；　intending　to　speak　on　the　points　to　Bagration。　He　meant　to　suggest　first　concentrating　all　the　artillery　in　the　centre；　and　secondly　drawing　the　cavalry　back　to　the　further　side　of　the　ravine。　Prince　Andrey；　who　was　constantly　in　attendance　on　the　commander…in…chief；　watching　the　movements　of　masses　of　men　and　man？uvring　of　troops；　and　also　continually　studying　the　historical　accounts　of　battles；　could　not　help　viewing　the　course　of　the　military　operations　that　were　to　come　only　in　their　general　features。　His　imagination　dwelt　on　the　broad　possibilities；　such　as　the　following：　“If　the　enemy　makes　the　right　flank　the　point　of　attack；”　he　said　to　himself；　“the　Kiev　grenadiers　and　Podolosky　Chasseurs　will　have　to　defend　their　position；　till　the　reserves　from　the　centre　come　to　their　support。　In　that　case　the　dragoons　can　get　them　in　the　flank　and　drive　them　back。　In　case　of　an　attack　on　the　centre；　we　station　on　this　height　the　central　battery；　and　under　its　cover　we　draw　off　the　left　flank　and　retreat　to　the　ravine　by　platoons；”　he　reasoned。　…　All　the　while　he　was　on　the　cannon；　he　heard；　as　one　often　does；　the　sounds　of　the　voices　of　the　officers　talking　in　the　shanty；　but　he　did　not　take　in　a　single　word　of　what　they　were　saying。　Suddenly　a　voice　from　the　shanty　impressed　him　by　a　tone　of　such　earnestness　that　he　could　not　help　listening。
“No；　my　dear　fellow；”　said　a　pleasant　voice　that　seemed　somehow　familiar　to　Prince　Andrey。　“I　say　that　if　one　could　know　what　will　happen　after　death；　then　not　one　of　us　would　be　afraid　of　death。　That’s　so；　my　dear　fellow。”
Another　younger　voice　interrupted　him：　“But　afraid　or　not　afraid；　there’s　no　escaping　it。”
‘Why；　you’re　always　in　fear！　Fie　on　you　learned　fellows；”　said　a　third；　a　manly　voice；　interrupting　both。　“To　be　sure；　you　artillerymen　are　clever　fellows；　because　you　can　carry　everything　with　you　to　eat　and　to　drink。”
And　the　owner　of　the　manly　voice；　apparently　an　infantry　officer；　laughed。
“Still　one　is　in　fear；”　pursued　the　first　voice；　the　one　Prince　Andrey　knew。　“One’s　afraid　of　the　unknown；　that’s　what　it　is。　It’s　all　very　well　to　say　the　soul　goes　to　heaven　…　but　this　we　do　know；　that　there　is　no　heaven；　but　only　atmosphere。”
Again　the　manly　voice　interrupted。
“Come；　give　us　a　drop　of　your　herb…brandy；　Tushin；”　it　said。
“Oh；　it’s　the　captain；　who　had　his　boots　off　in　the　booth；”　thought　Prince　Andrey；　recognising　with　pleasure　the　agreeable　philosophising　voice。
“Herb…brandy　by　all　means；”　said　Tushin；　“but　still　to　conceive　of　a　future　life　…”　He　did　not　finish　his　sentence。
At　that　moment　there　was　a　whiz　heard　in　the　air：　nearer；　nearer；　faster　and　more　distinctly；　and　faster　it　came；　and　the　cannon…ball；　as　though　not　uttering　all　it　had　to　say；　thudded　into　the　earth　not　far　from　the　shanty；　tearing　up　the　soil　with　superhuman　force。　The　earth　seemed　to　moan　at　the　terrible　blow。　At　the　same　instant　there　dashed　out　of　the　shanty；　before　any　of　the　rest；　little　Tushin　with　his　short　pipe　in　his　mouth；　his　shrewd；　good…humoured　face　was　rather　pale。　After　him　emerged　the　owner　of　the　manly　voice；　a　stalwart　infantry　officer；　who　ran　off　to　his　company；　buttoning　his　coat　as　he　ran。


Chapter　17
PRINCE　ANDREY　mounted　his　horse　but　lingered　at　the　battery；　looking　at　the　smoke　of　the　cannon　from　which　the　ball　had　flown。　His　eyes　moved　rapidly　over　the　wide　plain。　He　only　saw　that　the　previously　immobile　masses　of　the　French　were　heaving　to　and　fro；　and　that　it　really　was　a　battery　on　the　left。　The　smoke　still　clung　about　it。　Two　Frenchmen　on　horseback；　doubtless　adjutants；　were　galloping　on　the　hill。　A　small　column　of　the　enemy；　distinctly　visible；　were　moving　downhill；　probably　to　strengthen　the　line。　The　smoke　of　the　first　shot　had　not　cleared　away；　when　there　was　a　fresh　puff　of　smoke　and　another　shot。　The　battle　was　beginning。　Prince　Andrey　turned　his　horse　and　galloped　back　to　Grunte　to　look　for　Prince　Bagration。　Behind　him　he　heard　the　cannonade　becoming　louder　and　more　frequent。　Our　men　were　evidently　beginning　to　reply。　Musket　shots　could　be　heard　below　at　the　spot　where　the　lines　were　closest。　Lemarrois　had　only　just　galloped　to　Murat　with　Napoleon’s　menacing　letter；　and　Murat；　abashed　and　anxious　to　efface　his　error；　at　once　moved　his　forces　to　the　centre　and　towards　both　flanks；　hoping　before　evening　and　the　arrival　of　the　Emperor　to　destroy　the　insignificant　detachment　before　him。
“It　has　begun！　Here　it　comes！”　thought　Prince　Andrey；　feeling　the　blood　rush　to　his　heart。　“But　where？　What　form　is　my　Toulon　to　take？”　he　wondered。
Passing　between　the　companies　that　had　been　eating　porridge　and　drinking　vodka　a　quarter　of　an　hour　before；　he　saw　everywhere　nothing　but　the　same　rapid　movements　of　soldiers　forming　in　ranks　and　getting　their　guns；　and　on　every　face　he　saw　the　same　eagerness　that　he　felt　in　his　heart。　“It　has　begun！　Here　it　comes！　Terrible　and　delightful！”　said　the　face　of　every　private　and　officer。　Before　he　reached　the　earthworks　that　were　being　thrown　up；　he　saw　in　the　evening　light　of　the　dull　autumn　day　men　on　horseback　crossing　towards　him。　The　foremost；　wearing　a　cloak　and　an　Astrachan　cap；　was　riding　on　a　white　horse。　It　was　Prince　Bagration。　Prince　Andrey　stopped　and　waited　for　him　to　come　up。　Prince　Bagration　stopped　his　horse；　and　recognising　Prince　Andrey　nodded　to　him。　He　still　gazed　on　ahead　while　Prince　Andrey　told　him　what　he　had　been　seeing。
The　expression：　“It　has　begun！　it　is　coming！”　was　discernible　even　on　Prince　Bagration’s　strong；　brown　face；　with　his　half…closed；　lustreless；　sleepy…looking　eyes。　Prince　Andrey　glanced　with　uneasy　curiosity　at　that　impassive　face；　and　he　longed　to　know：　Was　that　man　thinking　and　feeling；　and　what　was　he　thinking　and　feeling　at　that　moment？　“Is　there　anything　at　all　there　behind　that　impassive　face？”　Prince　Andrey　wondered；　looking　at　him。　Prince　Bagration　nodded　in　token　of　his　assent　to　Prince　Andrey’s　words；　and　said：　“Very　good；”　with　an　expression　that　seemed　to　signify　that　all　that　happened；　and　all　that　was　told　him；　was　exactly　what　he　had　foreseen。　Prince　Andrey；　panting　from　his　rapid　ride；　spoke　quickly。　Prince　Bagration　uttered　his　words　in　his　Oriental　accent　with　peculiar　deliberation；　as　though　impressing　upon　him　that　there　was　no　need　of　hurry。　He　did；　however；　spur　his　horse　into　a　gallop　in　the　direction　of　Tushin’s　battery。　Prince　Andrey　rode　after　him　with　his　suite。　The　party　consisted　of　an　officer　of　the　suite；　Bagration’s　private　adjutant；　Zherkov；　an　orderly　officer；　the　staff…officer　on　duty；　riding　a　beautiful　horse　of　English　breed；　and　a　civilian　official；　the　auditor；　who　had　asked　to　be　present　from　curiosity　to　see　the　battle。　The　auditor；　a　plump　man　with　a　plump　face；　looked　about　him　with　a　na？ve　smile　of　amusement；　swaying　about　on　his　horse；　and　cutting　a　queer　figure　in　his　cloak　on　his　saddle　among　the　hussars；　Cossacks；　and　adjutants。
“This　gentleman　wants　to　see　a　battle；”　said　Zherkov　to　Bolkonsky；　indicating　the　auditor；　“but　has　begun　to　feel　queer　already。”
“Come；　leave　off；”　said　the　auditor；　with　a　beaming　smile　at　once　na？ve　and　cunning；　as　though　he　were　flattered　at　being　the　object　of　Zherkov’s　jests；　and　was　purposely　trying　to　seem　stupider　than　he　was　in　reality。
“It’s　very　curious；　mon　Monsieur　Prince；”　said　the　staff…officer　on　duty。　（He　vaguely　remembered　that　the　title　prince　was　translated　in　some　peculiar　way　in　French；　but　could　not　get　it　quite　right。）　By　this　time　they　were　all　riding　up　to　Tushin’s　battery；　and　a　ball　struck　the　ground　before　them。
“What　was　that　falling？”　asked　the　auditor；　smiling　na？vely。
“A　French　pancake；”　said　Zherkov。
“That’s　what　they　hit　you　with；　then？”　asked　the　auditor。　“How　awful！”　And　he　seemed　to　expand　all　over　with　enjoyment。　He　had　hardly　uttered　the　words　when　again　there　was　a　sudden　terrible　whiz；　which　ended　abruptly　in　a　thud　into　something　soft；　and　flop—a　Cossack；　riding　a　little　behind　and　to　the　right　of　the　auditor；　dropped　from　his　horse　to　the　ground。　Zherkov　and　the　staff…officer　bent　forward　over　their　saddles　and　turned　their　horses　away。　The　auditor　stopped　facing　the　Cossack；　and　looking　with　curiosity　at　him。　The　Cossack　was　dead；　the　horse　was　still　struggling。
Prince　Bagration　dropped　his　eyelids；　looked　round；　and　seeing　the　cause　of　the　delay；　turned　away　indifferently；　seeming　to　ask；　“Why　notice　these　trivial　details？”　With　the　ease　of　a　first…rate　horseman　he　stopped　his　horse；　bent　over　a　little　and　disengaged　his　sabre；　which　had　caught　under　his　cloak。　The　sabre　was　an　old…fashioned　one；　unlike　what　are　worn　now。　Prince　Andrey　remembered　the　story　that　Suvorov　had　given　his　sabre　to　Bagration　in　Italy；　and　the　recollection　was　particularly　pleasant　to　him　at　that　moment。　They　had　ridden　up　to　the　very　battery　from　which　Prince　Andrey　had　surveyed　the　field　of　battle。
“Whose　company？”　Prince　Bagration　asked　of　the　artilleryman　standing　at　the　ammunition　boxes。
He　asked　in　words：　“Whose　company？”　but　what　he　was　really　asking　was；　“You’re　not　in　a　panic　here？”　And　the　artilleryman　understood　that。
“Captain　Tushin’s；　your　excellency；”　the　red…haired；　freckled　artilleryman　sang　out　in　a　cheerful　voice；　as　he　ducked　forward。
“To　be　sure；　to　be　sure；”　said　Bagration；　pondering　something；　and　he　rode　by　the　platforms　up　to　the　end　cannon。　Just　as　he　reached　it；　a　shot　boomed　from　the　cannon；　deafening　him　and　his　suite；　and　in　the　smoke　that　suddenly　enveloped　the　cannon　the　artillerymen　could　be　seen　hauling　at　the　cannon；　dragging　and　rolling　it　back　to　its　former　position。　A　broad…shouldered；　gigantic　soldier；　gunner　number　one；　with　a　mop；　darted　up　to　the　wheel　and　planted　himself；　his　legs　wide　apart；　while　number　two；　with　a　shaking　hand；　put　the　charge　into　the　cannon’s　mouth；　a　small　man　with　stooping　shoulders；　the　officer　Tushin；　stumbling　against　the　cannon；　dashed　forward；　not　noticing　the　general；　and　looked　out；　shading　his　eyes　with　his　little　hand。
“Another　two　points　higher；　and　it　will　be　just　right；”　he　shouted　in　a　shrill　voice；　to　which　he　tried　to　give　a　swaggering　note　utterly　out　of　keeping　with　his　figure。　“Two！”　he　piped。　“Smash　away；　Medvyedev！”
Bagration　called　to　the　officer；　and　Tushin　went　up　to　the　general；　putting　three　fingers　to　the　peak　of　his　cap　with　a　timid　and　awkward　gesture；　more　like　a　priest　blessing　some　one　than　a　soldier　saluting。　Though　Tushin’s　guns　had　been　intended　to　cannonade　the　valley；　he　was　throwing　shells　over　the　village　of　Sch？ngraben；　in　part　of　which　immense　masses　of　French　soldiers　were　moving　out。
No　one　had　given　Tushin　instructions　at　what　or　with　what　to　fire；　and　after　consulting　his　sergeant；　Zaharchenko；　for　whom　he　had　a　great　respect；　he　had　decided　that　it　would　be　a　good　thing　to　set　fire　to　the　village。　“Very　good！”　Bagration　said；　on　the　officer’s　submitting　that　he　had　done　so；　and　he　began　scrutinising　the　whole　field　of　battle　that　lay　unfolded　before　him。　He　seemed　to　be　considering　something。　The　French　had　advanced