战争与和平(上)-第67章

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The　officer　had　been　resting　in　the　full　conviction　that　there　were　other　troops　in　front　of　him；　and　that　the　enemy　could　not　be　less　than　ten　versts　away。　In　reality　there　was　nothing　in　front　of　him　but　an　empty　stretch　of　ground；　sloping　downhill　and　covered　with　fog。　Giving　him　the　commander…in…chief’s　order　to　rectify　the　omission；　Prince　Andrey　galloped　back。　Kutuzov　was　still　at　the　same　spot；　his　bulky　frame　drooped　in　the　saddle　with　the　lassitude　of　old　age；　and　he　was　yawning　wearily　with　closed　eyes。　The　troops　had　not　yet　moved　on；　but　were　standing　at　attention。
“Good；　good；”　he　said　to　Prince　Andrey；　and　he　turned　to　the　general　who；　watch　in　hand；　was　saying　that　it　was　time　they　started；　as　all　the　columns　of　the　left　flank　had　gone　down　already。
“We　have　plenty　of　time　yet；　your　excellency；”　Kutuzov　interpolated　between　his　yawns。　“Plenty　of　time！”　he　repeated。
At　that　moment　in　the　distance　behind　Kutuzov　there　were　sounds　of　regiments　saluting；　the　shouts　came　rapidly　nearer　along　the　whole　drawn…out　line　of　the　advancing　Russian　columns。　Clearly　he　who　was　the　object　of　these　greetings　was　riding　quickly。　When　the　soldiers　of　the　regiment；　in　front　of　which　Kutuzov　was　standing；　began　to　shout；　he　rode　off　a　little　on　one　side；　and　wrinkling　up　his　face；　looked　round。　Along　the　road　from　Pratzen；　galloped　what　looked　like　a　whole　squadron　of　horsemen　of　different　colours。　Two　of　them　galloped　side　by　side　ahead　of　the　rest。　One　was　in　a　black　uniform　with　a　white　plume；　on　a　chestnut　English　thoroughbred；　the　other　in　a　white　uniform　on　a　black　horse。　These　were　the　two　Emperors　and　their　suites。　With　a　sort　of　affectation　of　the　manner　of　an　old　soldier　at　the　head　of　his　regiment；　Kutuzov　gave　the　command；　“Steady；”　to　the　standing　troops　and　rode　up　to　the　Emperors；　saluting。　His　whole　figure　and　manner　were　suddenly　transformed。　He　assumed　the　air　of　a　subordinate；　a　man　who　accepts　without　criticism。　With　an　affectation　of　respectfulness　which　unmistakably　made　an　unpleasant　impression　on　Alexander；　he　rode　up　and　saluted　him。
The　unpleasant　impression；　like　the　traces　of　fog　in　a　clear　sky；　merely　flitted　across　the　young　and　happy　face　of　the　Emperor　and　vanished。　He　looked　that　day　rather　thinner　after　his　illness　than　he　had　been　at　the　review　of　Olmütz；　where　Bolkonsky　had　seen　him　for　the　first　time　abroad。　But　there　was　the　same　bewitching　combination　of　majesty　and　mildness　in　his　fine；　grey　eyes；　and　on　his　delicate　lips　the　same　possibility　of　varying　expressions　and　the　predominant　expression　of　noble…hearted；　guileless　youth。
At　the　Olmütz　review　he　had　been　more　majestic；　here　he　was　livelier　and　more　energetic。　He　was　flushed　a　little　from　the　rapid　three…verst　gallop；　and　as　he　pulled　up　his　horse；　he　breathed　a　sigh　of　relief；　and　looked　round　at　those　among　the　faces　of　his　suite　that　were　as　young　and　eager　as　his　own。　Behind　the　Tsar　were　Tchartorizhsky；　and　Novosiltsov；　and　Prince　Bolkonsky；　and　Stroganov；　and　the　rest；　all　richly　dressed；　gay　young　men　on　splendid；　well…groomed；　fresh　horses；　slightly　heated　from　the　gallop。　The　Emperor　Francis；　a　rosy；　long…faced　young　man；　sat　excessively　erect　on　his　handsome　sable　horse；　casting　deliberate　and　anxious　looks　around　him。　He　beckoned　one　of　his　white　adjutants　and　asked　him　a　question。　“Most　likely　at　what　o’clock　they　started；”　thought　Prince　Andrey；　watching　his　old　acquaintance　with　a　smile；　which　he　could　not　repress；　as　he　remembered　his　audience　with　him。　With　the　Emperors’　suite　were　a　certain　number　of　fashionable　young　aristocrats—Russians　and　Austrians　selected　from　the　regiments　of　the　guards　and　the　line。　Among　them　were　postillions　leading　extra　horses；　beautiful　beasts　from　the　Tsar’s　stables；　covered　with　embroidered　horsecloths。
Like　a　breath　of　fresh　country　air　rushing　into　a　stuffy　room　through　an　open　window　was　the　youth；　energy；　and　confidence　of　success　that　the　cavalcade　of　brilliant　young　people　brought　with　them　into　Kutuzov’s　cheerless　staff。
“Why　aren’t　you　beginning；　Mihail　Larionovitch？”　the　Emperor　Alexander　said　hurriedly；　addressing　Kutuzov；　while　he　glanced　courteously　towards　the　Emperor　Francis。
“I　am　waiting　to　see；　your　majesty；”　Kutuzov　answered；　bowing　reverentially。
The　Emperor　turned　his　ear　towards　him；　with　a　slight　frown　and　an　air　of　not　having　caught　his　words。
“I’m　waiting　to　see；　your　majesty；”　repeated　Kutuzov　（Prince　Andrey　noticed　that　Kutuzov’s　upper　lip　quivered　unnaturally　as　he　uttered　that：　“I’m　waiting”）。　“Not　all　the　columns　are　massed　yet；　your　majesty。”
The　Tsar　heard　him；　but　the　answer　apparently　did　not　please　him；　he　shrugged　his　sloping　shoulders；　and　glanced　at　Novosiltsov；　who　stood　near；　with　a　look　that　seemed　to　complain　of　Kutuzov。
“We　are　not　on　the　Tsaritsin　field；　you　know；　Mihail　Larionovitch；　where　the　parade　is　not　begun　till　all　the　regiments　are　ready；”　said　the　Tsar；　glancing　again　at　the　Emperor　Francis　as　though　inviting　him；　if　not　to　take　part；　at　least　to　listen　to　what　he　was　saying。　But　the　Emperor　Francis　still　gazed　away　and　did　not　listen。
“That’s　just　why　I’m　not　beginning；　sire；”　said　Kutuzov　in　a　resounding　voice；　as　though　foreseeing　a　possibility　his　words　might　be　ignored；　and　once　more　there　was　a　quiver　in　his　face。　“That’s　why　I　am　not　beginning；　sire；　because　we　are　not　on　parade　and　not　on　the　Tsaritsin　field；”　he　articulated　clearly　and　distinctly。
All　in　the　Tsar’s　suite　exchanged　instantaneous　glances　with　one　another；　and　every　face　wore　an　expression　of　regret　and　reproach。　“However　old　he　may　be；　he　ought　not；　he　ought　never　to　speak　like　that；”　the　faces　expressed。
The　Tsar　looked　steadily　and　attentively　into　Kutuzov’s　face；　waiting　to　see　if　he　were　not　going　to　say　more。　But　Kutuzov　too　on　his　side；　bending　his　head　respectfully；　seemed　to　be　waiting。　The　silence　lasted　about　a　minute。
“However；　if　it’s　your　majesty’s　command；”　said　Kutuzov；　lifting　his　head　and　relapsing　into　his　former　affectation　of　the　tone　of　a　stupid；　uncritical　general；　who　obeys　orders。　He　moved　away；　and　beckoning　the　commanding　officer　of　the　column；　Miloradovitch；　gave　him　the　command　to　advance。
The　troops　began　to　move　again；　and　two　battalions　of　the　Novgorod　regiment　and　a　battalion　of　the　Apsheron　regiment　passed　before　the　Tsar。
While　the　Apsheron　battalion　was　marching　by；　Miloradovitch；　a　red…faced　man；　wearing　a　uniform　and　orders；　with　no　overcoat；　and　a　turned…up　hat　with　huge　plumes　stuck　on　one　side；　galloped　ahead　of　them；　and　saluting　in　gallant　style；　reined　up　his　horse　before　the　Tsar。
“With　God’s　aid；　general；”　said　the　Tsar。
“Ma　foi；　sire；　we　will　do　whatever　is　in　our　power　to　do；”　he　answered　gaily；　arousing　none　the　less　an　ironical　smile　among　the　gentlemen　of　the　Tsar’s　suite　by　his　bad　French　accent。　Miloradovitch　wheeled　his　horse　round　sharply；　and　halted　a　few　steps　behind　the　Tsar。　The　Apsheron　men；　roused　by　the　presence　of　the　Tsar；　stepped　out　gallantly　as　they　marched　by　the　Emperors　and　their　suites。
“Lads！”　shouted　Miloradovitch　in　his　loud；　self…confident；　and　cheery　voice。　He　was　apparently　so　excited　by　the　sounds　of　the　firing；　the　anticipation　of　battle；　and　the　sight　of　the　gallant　Apsheron　men；　his　old　comrades　with　Suvorov；　that　he　forgot　the　Tsar’s　presence。　“Lads！　it’s　not　the　first　village　you’ve　had　to　take！”　he　shouted。
“Glad　to　do　our　best；”　roared　the　soldiers。　The　Tsar’s　horse　reared　at　the　unexpected　sound。　This　horse；　who　had　carried　the　Tsar　at　reviews　in　Russia；　bore　his　rider　here　on　the　field　of　Austerlitz；　patiently　enduring　the　heedless　blows　of　his　left　foot；　and　pricked　up　his　ears　at　the　sound　of　shots　as　he　had　done　on　the　review　ground　with　no　comprehension　of　the　significance　of　these　sounds；　nor　of　the　nearness　of　the　raven　horse　of　Emperor　Francis；　nor　of　all　that　was　said　and　thought　and　felt　that　day　by　the　man　who　rode　upon　his　back。
The　Tsar　turned　with　a　smile　to　one　of　his　courtiers；　pointing　to　the　gallant…looking　Apsheron　regiment；　and　said　something　to　him。


Chapter　16
KUTUZOV；　accompanied　by　his　adjutants；　followed　the　carabineers　at　a　walking　pace。
After　going　on　for　half　a　mile　at　the　tail　of　the　column；　he　stopped　at　a　solitary；　deserted　house　（probably　once　an　inn）；　near　the　branching　of　two　roads。　Both　roads　led　downhill；　and　troops　were　marching　along　both。
The　fog　was　beginning　to　part；　and　a　mile　and　a　half　away　the　enemy’s　troops　could　be　indistinctly　seen　on　the　opposite　heights。　On　the　left　below；　the　firing　became　more　distinct。　Kutuzov　stood　still　in　conversation　with　an　Austrian　general。　Prince　Andrey　standing　a　little　behind　watched　them　intently；　and　turned　to　an　adjutant；　meaning　to　ask　him　for　a　field…glass。
“Look；　look！”　this　adjutant　said；　looking　not　at　the　troops　in　the　distance；　but　down　the　hill　before　him。　“It’s　the　French！”
The　two　generals　and　the　adjutant　began　snatching　at　the　field…glass；　pulling　it　from　one　another。　All　their　faces　suddenly　changed；　and　horror　was　apparent　in　them　all。　They　had　supposed　the　French　to　be　over　a　mile　and　a　half　away；　and　here　they　were　all　of　a　sudden　confronting　us。
“Is　it　the　enemy？　…　No。　…　But；　look；　it　is　…　for　certain。…　What　does　it　mean？”　voices　were　heard　saying。
With　the　naked　eye　Prince　Andrey　saw　to　the　right；　below　them；　a　dense　column　of　French　soldiers　coming　up　towards　the　Apsheron　regiment；　not　over　five　hundred　paces　from　where　Kutuzov　was　standing。
“Here　it　is；　it　is　coming；　the　decisive　moment！　My　moment　has　come；”　thought　Prince　Andrey；　and　slashing　his　horse；　he　rode　up　to　Kutuzov。
“We　must　stop　the　Apsheron　regiment；”　he　shouted；　“your　most　high　excellency。”
But　at　that　instant　everything　was　lost　in　a　cloud　of　smoke；　there　was　a　sound　of　firing　close　by；　and　a　voice　in　na？ve　terror　cried　not　two　paces　from　Prince　Andrey：　“Hey；　mates；　it’s　all　up！”　And　this　voice　was　like　a　command。　At　that　voice　there　was　a　general　rush；　crowds；　growing　larger　every　moment；　ran　back　in　confusion　to　the　spot　where　five　minutes　before　they　had　marched　by　the　Emperors。　It　was　not　simply　difficult　to　check　this　rushing　crowd；　it　was　impossible　not　to　be　carried　back　with　the　stream　oneself。　Bolkonsky　tried　only　not　to　be　left　behind　by　it；　and　looked　about　him　in　bewilderment；　unable　to　grasp　what　was　taking　place。　Nesvitsky；　with　an　exasperated；　crimson　face；　utterly　unlike　himself；　was　shouting　to　Kutuzov　that　if　he　didn’t　get　away　at　once　he’d　be　taken　prisoner　to　a　certainty。　Kutuzov　was　standing　in　the　same　place：　he　was　taking　out　his　handkerchief；　and　did　not　answer。　The　blood　was　flowing　from　his　cheek。　Prince　Andrey　forced　his　way　up　to　him。
“You　are　wounded？”　he　asked；　hardly　able　to　control　the　quivering　of　his　lower　jaw。
“The　wound’s　not　here；　but　there；　see！”　said　Kutuzov；　pressing　the　handkerchief　to　his　wounded　cheek；　and　pointing　to　the　running　soldiers。
“Stop　them！”　he　shouted；　and　at　the　same　time　convinced　that　it　was　impossible　to　stop　them；　he　lashed　his　horse　and　rode　to　the　right。　A　fresh　rush　of　flying　crowds　caught　him　up　with　it　and　carried　him　back。
The　troops　were　running　in　such　a　dense　multitude；　that　once　getting　into　the　midst　of　the　crowd；　it　was　a　hard　ma