战争与和平(上)-第75部分

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y　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　Rostov　just　in　front　of　him；　where　he　must　inevitably　come　into　collision　with　him。　This　horse…guard　would　infallibly　have　overturned　Rostov　and　his　Bedouin　（Rostov　felt　himself　so　little　and　feeble　beside　these　gigantic　men　and　horses）　if　he　had　not　bethought　himself　of　striking　the　horse…guard’s　horse　in　the　face　with　his　riding…whip。　The　heavy；　black；　high　horse　twitched　its　ears　and　reared；　but　its　pock…marked　rider　brought　it　down　with　a　violent　thrust　of　the　spurs　into　its　huge　sides；　and　the　horse；　lashing　its　tail　and　dragging　its　neck；　flew　on　faster　than　ever。　The　horse…guard　had　hardly　passed　Rostov　when　he　heard　their　shout；　“Hurrah！”　and　looking　round　saw　their　foremost　ranks　mixed　up　with　some　strange　cavalry；　in　red　epaulettes；　probably　French。　He　could　see　nothing　more；　for　immediately　after　cannons　were　fired　from　somewhere；　and　everything　was　lost　in　the　smoke。
At　the　moment　when　the　horse…guards　passing　him　vanished　into　the　smoke；　Rostov　hesitated　whether　to　gallop　after　them　or　to　go　on　where　he　had　to　go。　This　was　the　brilliant　charge　of　the　horse…guards　of　which　the　French　themselves　expressed　their　admiration。　Rostov　was　appalled　to　hear　afterwards　that　of　all　that　mass　of　huge；　fine　men；　of　all　those　brilliant；　rich　young　officers　and　ensigns　who　had　galloped　by　him　on　horses　worth　thousands　of　roubles。　only　eighteen　were　left　after　the　charge。
“I　have　no　need　to　envy　them；　my　share　won’t　be　taken　from　me；　and　may　be　I　shall　see　the　Emperor　in　a　minute！”　thought　Rostov；　and　he　galloped　on。
When　he　reached　the　infantry　of　the　guards；　he　noticed　that　cannon　balls　were　flying　over　and　about　them；　not　so　much　from　the　sound　of　the　cannon　balls；　as　from　the　uneasiness　he　saw　in　the　faces　of　the　soldiers　and　the　unnatural；　martial　solemnity　on　the　faces　of　the　officers。
As　he　rode　behind　one　of　the　lines　of　the　regiments　of　footguards；　he　heard　a　voice　calling　him　by　name：　“Rostov！”
“Eh？”　he　called　back；　not　recognising　Boris。
“I　say；　we’ve　been　in　the　front　line！　Our　regiment　marched　to　t