战争与和平(上)-第207部分

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pure；　clear　air；　the　huge　panorama　that　stretched　in　an　amphitheatre　before　him　from　the　rising　ground　lay　bathed　in　brilliant　sunshine。
The　Smolensk　high…road　ran　winding　through　that　amphitheatre；　intersecting　it　towards　the　left　at　the　top；　and　passing　through　a　village　with　a　white　church；　which　lay　some　five　hundred　paces　before　and　below　the　knoll。　This　was　Borodino。　The　road　passed　below　the　village；　crossed　a　bridge；　and　ran　winding　uphill　and　downhill；　mounting　up　and　up　to　the　hamlet　of　Valuev；　visible　six　versts　away；　where　Napoleon　now　was。　Behind　Valuev　the　road　disappeared　into　a　copse　turning　yellow　on　the　horizon。　In　this　copse　of　birch…　and　pine…trees；　on　the　right　of　the　road；　could　be　seen　far　away　the　shining　cross　and　belfry　of　the　Kolotsky　monastery。　Here　and　there　in　the　blue　distance；　to　right　and　to　left　of　the　copse　and　the　road；　could　be　seen　smoking　camp…fires　and　indistinct　masses　of　our　troops　and　the　enemy’s。　On　the　right；　along　the　course　of　the　rivers　Kolotcha　and　Moskva；　the　country　was　broken　and　hilly。　Through　the　gaps　between　the　hills　could　be　seen　the　villages　of　Bezzubovo　and　Zaharino。　On　the　left　the　ground　was　more　level；　there　were　fields　of　corn　and　a　smoking　village　that　had　been　set　on　fire—Semyonovskoye。
Everything　Pierre　saw　was　so　indefinite；　that　in　no　part　of　the　scene　before　him　could　he　find　anything　fully　corresponding　to　his　preconceptions。　There　was　nowhere　a　field　of　battle　such　as　he　had　expected　to　see；　nothing　but　fields；　dells；　troops；　woods；　camp…fires；　villages；　mounds；　and　streams。　With　all　Pierre’s　efforts；　he　could　not　discover　in　the　living　landscape　a　military　position。　He　could　not　even　distinguish　between　our　troops　and　the　enemy’s。
“I　must　ask　some　one　who　understands　it；”　he　thought；　and　he　addressed　the　officer；　who　was　looking　with　curiosity　at　his　huge；　unmilitary　figure。
“Allow　me　to　ask；”　Pierre　said；　“what　village　is　that　before　us？”
“Burdino；　isn’t　it　called？”　said　the　officer；　turning　inquiringly　to　his　comrade。
“Borodino；”　the　other　corrected。
The　officer；　obviously　pleased　at　an　opportunity　for　conversation；　went　nearer　to　Pierre。
“Are　these　our　men　there？”　asked　Pierre。
“Yes；　and　away　further；　those　are　the　French；”　said　the　officer。　“There　they　are；　there　you　can　see　them。”
“Where？　where？”　asked　Pierre。
“One　can　see　them　with　the　naked　eye。　Look！”　The　officer　pointed　to　smoke　rising　on　the　left　beyond　the　river；　and　the　same　stern　and　grave　expression　came　into　his　face　that　Pierre　had　noticed　in　many　of　the　faces　he　had　met。
“Ah；　that’s　the　French！　And　there？　…”　Pierre　pointed　to　a　knoll　on　the　left　about　which　troops　could　be　seen。
“Those　are　our　men。”
“Oh；　indeed！　And　there？　…”　Pierre　pointed　to　another　mound　in　the　distance；　with　a　big　tree　on　it；　near　a　village　that　could　be　seen　in　a　gap　between　the　hills；　where　there　was　a　dark　patch　and　the　smoke　of　campfires。
“Ah！　that’s　he　again！”　said　the　officer。　（It　was　the　redoubt　of　Shevardino。）　“Yesterday　that　was　ours；　but　now　it’s　his。”
“So　what　is　our　position；　then？”
“Our　position？”　said　the　officer；　with　a　smile　of　satisfaction。　“I　can　describe　it　very　clearly；　because　I　have　had　to　do　with　the　making　of　almost　all　our　fortifications。　There；　our　centre；　do　you　see；　is　here　at　Borodino。”　He　pointed　to　the　village　with　the　white　church；　in　front　of　them。　“There’s　the　ford　across　the　Kolotcha。　Here；　do　you　see；　where　the　rows　of　mown　hay　are　still　lying　in　the　low　ground；　there’s　the　bridge。　That’s　our　centre。　Our　right　flank　is　away　yonder”　（he　pointed　to　the　right；　far　away　to　the　hollows　among　the　hills）；　“there　is　the　river　Moskva；　and　there　we　have　thrown　up　three　very　strong　redoubts。　The　left　flank　…”　there　the　officer　paused。　“It’s　hard　to　explain；　you　see。　…　Yesterday　our　left　flank　was　over　there；　at　Shevardino；　do　you　see；　where　the　oak　is。　But　now　we　have　drawn　back　our　left　wing；　now　it’s　over　there；—you　see　the　village　and　the　smoke—that’s　Semyonovskoye；　and　here—look；”　he　pointed　to　Raevsky’s　redoubt。　“Only　the　battle　won’t　be　there；　most　likely。　He　has　moved　his　troops　here；　but　that’s　a　blind；　he　will　probably　try　to　get　round　on　the　right。　Well；　but　however　it　may　be；　there’ll　be　a　lot　of　men　missing　at　roll…call　to…morrow！”　said　the　officer。
The　old　sergeant；　who　came　up　during　the　officer’s　speech；　had　waited　in　silence　for　his　superior　officer　to　finish　speaking。　But　at　this　point　he　interrupted　him　in　undisguised　annoyance　at　his　last　words。
“We　have　to　send　for　gabions；”　he　said　severely。
The　officer　seemed　abashed；　as　though　he　were　fully　aware　that　though　he　might　think　how　many　men　would　be　missing　next　day；　he　ought　not　to　talk　about　it。
“Well；　send　the　third　company　again；”　he　said　hurriedly。　“And　who　are　you；　not　one　of　the　doctors？”
“No；　I　am　nothing　in　particular；”　answered　Pierre。　And　he　went　downhill　again；　passing　the　peasant　militiamen。
“Ah；　the　damned　beasts！”　said　the　officer；　pinching　his　nose；　and　hurrying　by　them　with　Pierre。
“Here　they　come！　…　They　are　bringing　her；　they　are　coming。　…　Here　she　is　…　they’ll　be　here　in　a　minute；”　cried　voices　suddenly；　and　officers；　soldiers；　and　peasants　ran　forward　along　the　road。
A　church　procession　was　coming　up　the　hill　from　Borodino。　In　front　of　it　a　regiment　of　infantry　marched　smartly　along　the　dusty　road；　with　their　shakoes　off　and　their　muskets　lowered。　Behind　the　infantry　came　the　sounds　of　church　singing。
Soldiers　and　peasants　came　running　down　bareheaded　to　meet　it；　overtaking　Pierre。
“They　are　bringing　the　Holy　Mother！　Our　defender　…　the　Holy　Mother　of　Iversky！　…”
“The　Holy　Mother　of　Smolensk　…”　another　corrected。
The　militiamen　who　had　been　in　the　village　and　those　who　had　been　working　at　the　battery；　flinging　down　their　spades；　ran　to　meet　the　procession。　The　battalion　marching　along　the　dusty　road　was　followed　by　priests　in　church　robes；　a　little　old　man　in　a　hood　with　attendant　deacons　and　choristers。　Behind　them　came　soldiers　and　officers　bearing　a　huge　holy　picture；　with　tarnished　face　in　a　setting　of　silver。　This　was　the　holy　ikon　that　had　been　brought　away　from　Smolensk；　and　had　accompanied　the　army　ever　since。　Behind；　before；　and　all　around　it；　walked　or　ran　crowds　of　soldiers　with　bared　heads；　bowing　to　the　earth。
On　the　top　of　the　hill　the　procession　stopped；　the　men　bearing　the　holy　picture　on　a　linen　cloth　were　relieved　by　others；　the　deacons　relighted　their　censers；　and　the　service　began。　The　burning　rays　of　the　sun　beat　vertically　down　on　the　crowds；　a　faint；　fresh　breeze　played　with　the　hair　of　their　bare　heads；　and　fluttered　the　ribbons　with　which　the　holy　picture　was　decked；　the　singing　sounded　subdued　under　the　open　sky。　An　immense　crowd—officers；　soldiers；　and　militiamen—stood　round；　all　with　bare　heads。　In　a　space　apart；　behind　the　priests　and　deacons；　stood　the　persons　of　higher　rank。　A　bald　general；　with　the　order　of　St。　George　on　his　neck；　stood　directly　behind　the　priest。　He　was　unmistakably　a　German；　for　he　stood；　not　crossing　himself；　patiently　waiting　for　the　end　of　the　service；　to　which　he　thought　it　right　to　listen；　probably　as　a　means　of　arousing　the　patriotism　of　the　Russian　peasantry；　another　general　stood　in　a　martial　pose　and　swung　his　arm　before　his　chest；　looking　about　him　as　he　made　the　sign　of　the　cross。　Pierre；　standing　among　the　peasants；　recognised　in　this　group　of　higher　rank　several　persons　he　knew。　But　he　did　not　look　at　them；　his　whole　attention　was　engrossed　by　the　serious　expression　of　the　faces　in　the　crowd；　soldiers　and　peasants　alike；　all　gazing　with　the　same　eagerness　at　the　holy　picture。　As　soon　as　the　weary　choristers　（it　was　their　twentieth　service）　began　languidly　singing　their　habitual　chant；　“O　Mother　of　God；　save　Thy　servants　from　calamity；”　and　priest　and　deacon　chimed　in；　“For　to　Thee　we　all　fly　as　our　invincible　Bulwark　and　Protectress；”　there　was　a　gleam　on　every　face　of　that　sense　of　the　solemnity　of　the　coming　moment；　which　he　had　seen　on　the　hill　at　Mozhaisk　and　by　glimpses　in　so　many　of　the　faces　meeting　him　that　morning。　And　heads　were　bowed　lower；　while　locks　of　hair　fluttered　in　the　breeze；　and　there　was　the　sound　of　sighing　and　beating　the　breast　as　the　soldiers　crossed　themselves。
The　crowd　suddenly　parted　and　pressed　upon　Pierre。　Some　one；　probably　a　very　great　person；　judging　by　the　promptitude　with　which　they　made　way　for　him；　was　approaching　the　holy　picture。
It　was　Kutuzov；　who　had　been　making　the　round　of　the　position。　On　his　way　back　to　Tatarinovo；　he　joined　the　service。　Pierre　at　once　recognised　him　from　his　peculiar　figure；　which　marked　him　out　at　once。
In　a　long　military　coat；　with　his　enormously　stout　figure　and　bent　back；　with　his　white　head　uncovered；　and　his　blind　white　eye；　conspicuous　in　his　puffy　face；　Kutuzov　walked　with　his　waddling　swaying　gait　into　the　ring　and　stood　behind　the　priest。　He　crossed　himself　with　an　habitual　gesture；　bent　down；　with　his　hand　touching　the　earth；　and；　sighing　heavily；　bowed　his　grey　head。　Kutuzov　was　followed　by　Bennigsen　and　his　suite。　In　spite　of　the　presence　of　the　commander…in…chief；　which　drew　the　attention　of　all　persons　of　higher　rank；　the　militiamen　and　soldiers　went　on　praying　without　looking　at　him。
When　the　service　was　over；　Kutuzov　went　up　to　the　holy　picture；　dropped　heavily　down　on　his　knees；　bowing　to　the　earth；　and　for　a　long　time　he　attempted　to　get　up；　and　was　unable　from　his　weakness　and　heavy　weight。　His　grey　head　twitched　with　the　strain。　At　last　he　did　get　up；　and　putting　out　his　lips　in　a　na？ve；　childlike　way　kissed　the　holy　picture；　and　again　bowed　down；　with　one　hand　touching　the　ground。　The　other　generals　followed　his　example；　then　the　officers；　and　after　them　the　soldiers　and　militiamen　ran　up　with　excited　faces；　pushing　each　other；　and　shoving　breathlessly　forward。


Chapter　22
STAGGERING　from　the　crush　of　the　crowd　that　carried　him　along　with　it；　Pierre　looked　about　him。
“Count！　Pyotr　Kirillitch！　How　did　you　come　here？”　said　a　voice。　Pierre　looked　round。
Boris　Drubetskoy；　brushing　his　knee　with　his　hand　（he　had　probably　made　it　dusty　in　his　devotions　before　the　holy　picture）　came　up　to　Pierre　smiling。　Boris　was　elegantly　dressed；　though　h