战争与和平(上)-第68章

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The　troops　were　running　in　such　a　dense　multitude；　that　once　getting　into　the　midst　of　the　crowd；　it　was　a　hard　matter　to　get　out　of　it。　One　was　shouting：　“Get　on！　what　are　you　lagging　for？”　Another　was　turning　round　to　fire　in　the　air；　another　striking　the　very　horse　on　which　Kutuzov　was　mounted。　Getting　out　with　an　immense　effort　from　the　stream　on　the　left；　Kutuzov；　with　his　suite　diminished　to　a　half；　rode　towards　the　sounds　of　cannon　close　by。　Prince　Andrey；　trying　not　to　be　left　behind　by　Kutuzov；　saw；　as　he　got　out　of　the　racing　multitude；　a　Russian　battery　still　firing　in　the　smoke　on　the　hillside　and　the　French　running　towards　it。　A　little　higher　up　stood　Russian　infantry；　neither　moving　forward　to　the　support　of　the　battery；　nor　back　in　the　same　direction　as　the　runaways。　A　general　on　horseback　detached　himself　from　the　infantry　and　rode　towards　Kutuzov。　Of　Kutuzov’s　suite　only　four　men　were　left。　They　were　all　pale　and　looking　at　one　another　dumbly。
“Stop　those　wretches！”　Kutuzov　gasped　to　the　officer　in　command　of　the　regiment；　pointing　to　the　flying　soldiers。　But　at　the　same　instant；　as　though　in　revenge　for　the　words；　the　bullets　came　whizzing　over　the　regiment　and　Kutuzov’s　suite　like　a　flock　of　birds。　The　French　were　attacking　the　battery；　and　catching　sight　of　Kutuzov；　they　were　shooting　at　him。　With　this　volley　the　general　clutched　at　his　leg；　several　soldiers　fell；　and　the　second　lieutenant　standing　with　the　flag　let　it　drop　out　of　his　hands。　The　flag　tottered　and　was　caught　on　the　guns　of　the　nearest　soldiers。　The　soldiers　had　begun　firing　without　orders。
“Ooogh！”　Kutuzov　growled　with　an　expression　of　despair；　and　he　looked　round　him。　“Bolkonsky；”　he　whispered　in　a　voice　shaking　with　the　consciousness　of　his　old　age　and　helplessness。　“Bolkonsky；”　he　whispered；　pointing　to　the　routed　battalion　and　the　enemy；　“what’s　this？”
But　before　he　had　uttered　the　words；　Prince　Andrey；　feeling　the　tears　of　shame　and　mortification　rising　in　his　throat；　was　jumping　off　his　horse　and　running　to　the　flag。
“Lads；　forward！”　he　shrieked　in　a　voice　of　childish　shrillness。　“Here；　it　is　come！”　Prince　Andrey　thought；　seizing　the　staff　of　the　flag；　and　hearing　with　relief　the　whiz　of　bullets；　unmistakably　aimed　at　him。　Several　soldiers　dropped。
“Hurrah！”　shouted　Prince　Andrey；　and　hardly　able　to　hold　up　the　heavy　flag　in　both　his　hands；　he　ran　forward　in　the　unhesitating　conviction　that　the　whole　battalion　would　run　after　him。　And　in　fact　it　was　only　for　a　few　steps　that　he　ran　alone。　One　soldier　started；　then　another；　and　then　the　whole　battalion　with　a　shout　of　“hurrah！”　was　running　forward　and　overtaking　him。　An　under…officer　of　the　battalion　ran　up　and　took　the　flag　which　tottered　from　its　weight　in　Prince　Andrey’s　hands；　but　he　was　at　once　killed。　Prince　Andrey　snatched　up　the　flag　again；　and　waving　it　by　the　staff；　ran　on　with　the　battalion。　In　front　of　him　he　saw　our　artillery　men；　of　whom　some　were　fighting；　while　others　had　abandoned　their　cannons　and　were　running　towards　him。　He　saw　French　infantry　soldiers；　too；　seizing　the　artillery　horses　and　turning　the　cannons　round。　Prince　Andrey　and　the　battalion　were　within　twenty　paces　of　the　cannons。　He　heard　the　bullets　whizzing　over　him　incessantly；　and　continually　the　soldiers　moaned　and　fell　to　the　right　and　left　of　him。　But　he　did　not　look　at　them；　his　eyes　were　fixed　on　what　was　going　on　in　front　of　him—at　the　battery。　He　could　now　see　distinctly　the　figure　of　the　red…haired　artilleryman；　with　a　shako　crushed　on　one　side；　pulling　a　mop　one　way；　while　a　French　soldier　was　tugging　it　the　other　way。　Prince　Andrey　could　see　distinctly　now　the　distraught；　and　at　the　same　time　exasperated　expression　of　the　faces　of　the　two　men；　who　were　obviously　quite　unconscious　of　what　they　were　doing。
“What　are　they　about？”　wondered　Prince　Andrey；　watching　them；　“why　doesn’t　the　red…haired　artilleryman　run；　since　he　has　no　weapon？　Why　doesn’t　the　Frenchman　stab　him？　He　won’t　have　time　to　run　away　before　the　Frenchman　will　think　of　his　gun；　and　knock　him　on　the　head。”　Another　Frenchman　did；　indeed；　run　up　to　the　combatants　with　his　gun　almost　overbalancing　him；　and　the　fate　of　the　red…haired　artilleryman；　who　still　had　no　conception　of　what　was　awaiting　him；　and　was　pulling　the　mop　away　in　triumph；　was　probably　sealed。　But　Prince　Andrey　did　not　see　how　it　ended。　It　seemed　to　him　as　though　a　hard　stick　was　swung　full　at　him　by　some　soldier　near；　dealing　him　a　violent　blow　on　the　head。　It　hurt　a　little；　but　the　worst　of　it　was　that　the　pain　distracted　his　attention；　and　prevented　him　from　seeing　what　he　was　looking　at。
“What’s　this？　am　I　falling？　my　legs　are　giving　way　under　me；”　he　thought；　and　fell　on　his　back。　He　opened　his　eyes；　hoping　to　see　how　the　struggle　of　the　French　soldiers　with　the　artilleryman　was　ending；　and　eager　to　know　whether　the　red…haired　artilleryman　was　killed　or　not；　whether　the　cannons　had　been　taken　or　saved。　But　he　saw　nothing　of　all　that。　Above　him　there　was　nothing　but　the　sky—the　lofty　sky；　not　clear；　but　still　immeasurably　lofty；　with　grey　clouds　creeping　quietly　over　it。　“How　quietly；　peacefully；　and　triumphantly；　and　not　like　us　running；　shouting；　and　fighting；　not　like　the　Frenchman　and　artilleryman　dragging　the　mop　from　one　another　with　frightened　and　frantic　faces；　how　differently　are　those　clouds　creeping　over　that　lofty；　limitless　sky。　How　was　it　I　did　not　see　that　lofty　sky　before？　And　how　happy　I　am　to　have　found　it　at　last。　Yes！　all　is　vanity；　all　is　a　cheat；　except　that　infinite　sky。　There　is　nothing；　nothing　but　that。　But　even　that　is　not；　there　is　nothing　but　peace　and　stillness。　And　thank　God！　…”


Chapter　17
ON　THE　RIGHT　FLANK　in　Bagration’s　detachment；　at　nine　o’clock　the　battle　had　not　yet　begun。　Not　caring　to　assent　to　Dolgorukov’s　request　that　he　should　advance　into　action；　and　anxious　to　be　rid　of　all　responsibility；　Prince　Bagration　proposed　to　Dolgorukov　to　send　to　inquire　of　the　commander…in…chief。　Bagration　was　aware　that　as　the　distance　between　one　flank　and　the　other　was　almost　eight　miles；　if　the　messenger　sent　were　not　killed　（which　was　highly　probable）；　and　if　he　were　to　succeed　in　finding　the　commander…in…chief　（which　would　be　very　difficult）；　he　would　hardly　succeed　in　making　his　way　back　before　the　evening。
Bagration　looked　up　and　down　his　suite　with　his　large；　expressionless；　sleepy　eyes；　and　the　childish　face　of　Rostov；　unconsciously　all　a…quiver　with　excitement　and　hope；　was　the　first　that　caught　his　eye。　And　he　sent　him。
“And　if　I　meet　his　majesty　before　the　commander…in…chief；　your　excellency？”　said　Rostov；　with　his　hand　to　the　peak　of　his　cap。
“You　can　give　the　message　to　his　majesty；”　said　Dolgorukov；　hurriedly　interposing　before　Bagration。
On　being　relieved　from　picket　duty；　Rostov　had　managed　to　get　a　few　hours’　sleep　before　morning；　and　felt　cheerful；　bold；　and　resolute；　with　a　peculiar　springiness　in　his　movements；　and　confidence　in　his　luck；　and　in　that　frame　of　mind　in　which　everything　seems　easy　and　possible。
All　his　hopes　had　been　fulfilled　that　morning：　there　was　to　be　a　general　engagement；　he　was　taking　part　in　it；　more　than　that；　he　was　in　attendance　on　the　bravest　general；　more　than　that；　he　was　being　sent　on　a　commission　to　Kutuzov；　perhaps　even　to　the　Tsar　himself。　It　was　a　fine　morning；　he　had　a　good　horse　under　him；　his　heart　was　full　of　joy　and　happiness。　On　receiving　his　orders；　he　spurred　his　horse　and　galloped　along　the　line。　At　first　he　rode　along　the　line　of　Bagration’s　troops　which　had　not　yet　advanced　into　action；　and　were　standing　motionless；　then　he　rode　into　the　region　occupied　by　Uvarov’s　cavalry；　and　here　he　began　to　observe　activity　and　signs　of　preparation　for　battle。　After　he　had　passed　Uvarov’s　cavalry；　he　could　distinctly　hear　the　sound　of　musket…fire　and　the　booming　of　cannons　ahead　of　him。　The　firing　grew　louder　and　more　intense。
The　sound　that　reached　him　in　the　fresh　morning　air　was　not　now；　as　before；　the　report　of　two　or　three　shots　at　irregular　intervals；　and　then　one　or　two　cannons　booming。　Down　the　slopes　of　the　hillsides　before　Pratzen；　he　could　hear　volleys　of　musketry；　interspersed　with　such　frequent　shots　of　cannon　that　sometimes　several　booming　shots　could　not　be　distinguished　from　one　another；　but　melted　into　one　mingled　roar　of　sound。
He　could　see　the　puffs　of　musket　smoke　flying　down　the　hillsides；　as　though　racing　one　another；　while　the　cannon　smoke　hung　in　clouds；　that　floated　along　and　melted　into　one　another。　He　could　see；　from　the　gleam　of　bayonets　in　the　smoke；　that　masses　of　infantry　were　moving　down；　and　narrow　lines　of　artillery　with　green　caissons。
On　a　hillock　Rostov　stopped　his　horse　to　try　and　make　out　what　was　going　on。　But　however　much　he　strained　his　attention；　he　could　not　make　out　and　understand　what　he　saw；　there　were　men　of　some　sort　moving　about　there　in　the　smoke；　lines　of　troops　were　moving　both　backwards　and　forwards；　but　what　for？　Who？　where　were　they　going？　it　was　impossible　to　make　out。　This　sight；　and　these　sounds；　so　far　from　exciting　any　feeling　of　depression　or　timidity　in　him；　only　increased　his　energy　and　determination。
“Come；　fire　away；　at　them　again！”　was　his　mental　response　to　the　sounds　he　heard。　Again　he　galloped　along　the　line；　penetrating　further　and　further　into　the　part　where　the　troops　were　already　in　action。
“How　it　will　be　there；　I　don’t　know；　but　it　will　all　be　all　right！”　thought　Rostov。
After　passing　Austrian　troops　of　some　sort；　Rostov　noticed　that　the　next　part　of　the　forces　（they　were　the　guards）　had　already　advanced　into　action。
“So　much　the　better！　I　shall　see　it　close；”　he　thought。
He　was　riding　almost　along　the　front　line。　A　body　of　horsemen　came　galloping　towards　him。　They　were　a　troop　of　our　Uhlans　returning　in　disorder　from　the　attack。　Rostov；　as　he　passed　them；　could　not　help　noticing　one　of　them　covered　with　blood；　but　he　galloped　on。
“That’s　no　affair　of　mine！”　he　thought。
He　had　not　ridden　on　many　hundred　paces　further　when　there　came　into　sight；　on　his　left；　across　the　whole　extent　of　the　field；　an　immense　mass　of　cavalry　on　black　horses；　in　dazzling　white　uniforms；　trotting　straight　towards　him；　cutting　off　his　advance。　Rostov　put　his　horse　to　his　utmost　speed　to　get　out　of　the　way　of　these　cavalrymen；　and　he　would　have　cleared　them　had　they　been　advancing　at　the　same　rate；　but　they　kept　increasing　their　pace；　so　that　several　horses　broke　into　a　gallop。　More　and　more　loudly　Rostov　could　hear　the　thud　of　their　horses’　hoofs；　and　the　jingle　of　their　weapons；　and　more　and　more　distinctly　he　could　see　their　horses；　their　figures；　and　even　their　faces。　These　were　our　horse…guards；　charging　to　attack　the　French　cavalry；　who　were　advancing　to　meet　them。
The　cavalry　guards　were　galloping；　though　still　holding　in　their　horses。　Rostov　could　see　their　faces　now；　and　hear　the　word　of　command；　“Charge！”　uttered　by　an　officer；　as　he　let　his　thoroughbred　go　at　full　speed。　Rostov；　in　danger　of　being　trampled　underfoot　or　carried　away　to　attack　the　French；　galloped　along　before　their　line　as　fast　as　his　horse　could　go；　and　still　he　was　not　in　time　to　escape　them。
The　last　of　the　line　of　cavalry；　a　pock…marked　man　of　immense　stature；　scowled　viciously　on　seeing