战争与和平(上)-第74部分

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“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　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　r