战争与和平(上)-第214部分

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　“I　am　sick　of　this　cold。　They　talk　about　medicine。　What　is　medicine；　when　they　can’t　cure　a　cold？　Corvisart　gave　me　these　lozenges；　but　they　do　no　good。　What　can　they　cure？　They　can’t　cure　anything。　Our　body　is　a　machine　for　living。　It　is　organised　for　that；　it　is　its　nature；　leave　life　to　it　unhindered；　let　life　defend　itself　in　it；　it　will　do　more　than　if　you　paralyse　it；　encumbering　it　with　remedies。　Our　body　is　a　perfect　watch；　meant　to　go　for　a　certain　time；　the　watchmaker　has　not　the　power　of　opening　it；　he　can　only　handle　it　in　fumbling　fashion；　blindfold。　Our　body　is　a　machine　for　living；　that’s　all。”　And　apparently　because　he　had　dropped　into　making　definitions；　which　he　had　a　weakness　for　doing；　he　suddenly　hazarded　one　on　a　fresh　subject。　“Do　you　know；　Rapp；　what　the　military　art　consists　in？”　he　asked。　“It　is　the　art　of　being　stronger　than　the　enemy　at　a　given　moment。　That　is　all。”
Rapp　made　no　reply。
“To…morrow　we　shall　have　to　do　with　Kutuzov；”　said　Napoleon。　“We　shall　see！　Do　you　remember；　he　was　in　command　at　Braunau；　and　never　once　in　three　weeks　mounted　a　horse　to　inspect　his　entrenchments。　We　shall　see！”
He　looked　at　his　watch。　It　was　still　only　four　o’clock。　He　was　not　sleepy；　the　punch　was　finished；　and　there　was　still　nothing　to　do。　He　got　up；　walked　up　and　down；　put　on　a　warm　coat　and　hat　and　went　out　of　the　tent。　The　night　was　dark　and　damp；　a　slight　drizzle　was　falling　almost　inaudibly。　Close　by　in　the　French　Guard；　the　camp…fires　burned　dimly；　and　far　away　they　were　blazing　brightly　through　the　smoke　along　the　Russian　line。　The　air　was　still；　and　a　faint　stir　and　tramp　could　be　distinctly　heard　from　the　French　troops　beginning　to　move　to　occupy　the　position。
Napoleon　walked　to　and　fro　before　the　tent；　looked　at　the　fires；　listened　to　the　tramp；　and　passed　by　a　tall　guardsman　in　a　fur　cap；　a　sentinel　at　his　tent；　who　drew　himself　up　like　a　black　post　on　seeing　the　Emperor。　The　latter　stood　still；　facing　him。
“Since　what　year　have　you　served？”　he　asked；　with　that　affectation　of　military　bluntness　and　geniality　with　which　he　always　addressed　the　soldiers。　The　soldier　answered。
“Ah！　one　of　the　veterans！　Have　you　all　had　rice　in　the　regiment？”
“Yes；　your　majesty。”
Napoleon　nodded　and　walked　away。
At　half…past　five　Napoleon　rode　to　the　village　of　Shevardino。
It　began　to　get　light；　the　sky　cleared；　only　a　single　storm　cloud　lay　on　the　eastern　horizon。　The　deserted　camp…fires　burned　down　in　the　pale　light　of　morning。
A　solitary；　deep　cannon　shot　boomed　out　on　the　right；　hovered　in　the　air；　and　died　away　in　the　stillness。　Several　minutes　passed。　A　second；　and　a　third　shot　was　heard；　the　air　was　full　of　vibration；　a　fourth　and　a　fifth　boomed　out　majestically；　closely　on　the　right。
The　first　shots　had　not　died　away；　when　others　rang　out；　and　more　and　more；　their　notes　blending　and　overtaking　one　another。
Napoleon　rode　with　his　suite　to　the　Shevardino　redoubt；　and　dismounted　there。　The　game　had　begun。


Chapter　30
PIERRE；　on　returning　to　Gorky　from　seeing　Prince　Andrey；　gave　directions　to　his　postillion　to　have　horses　ready　and　to　call　him　early　next　morning；　and　promptly　fell　fast　asleep　in　the　corner　behind　a　screen　which　Boris　had　put　at　his　disposal。
When　Pierre　was　fully　awake　next　morning；　there　was　no　one　in　the　hut。　The　panes　were　rattling　in　the　little　windows。　The　postillion　was　at　his　side；　shaking　him。　“Your　excellency；　your　excellency；　your　excellency　…”　the　groom　kept　saying　persistently；　shaking　him　by　the　shoulder；　without　even　looking　at　him；　apparently　having　lost　all　hope　of　ever　waking　him　up。
“Eh；　has　it　begun？　Is　it　time？”　said　Pierre；　waking　up。
“Listen　to　the　firing；　your　excellency；”　said　the　postillion；　an　old　soldier；　“all　the　gentlemen　are　gone　already；　his　highness　set　off　long　ago。”
Pierre　dressed　in　haste；　and　ran　out　into　the　porch。　It　was　a　bright；　fresh；　dewy；　cheerful　morning。　The　sun　had　just　broken　through　the　cloud　that　had　screened　it；　and　its　rays　filtered　through　the　rent　clouds；　and　over　the　roofs　of　the　street　opposite　on　to　the　dew…drenched　dust　of　the　road；　on　to　the　fences　and　the　windows　of　the　houses；　and　Pierre’s　horses　standing　by　the　cottage。　The　roar　of　the　cannon　could　be　heard　more　distinctly　in　the　open　air。　An　adjutant　galloped　down　the　street；　followed　by　a　Cossack。
“It’s　time；　count；　it’s　time！”　cried　the　adjutant。　Pierre　gave　orders　that　he　should　be　followed　with　a　horse；　and　walked　along　the　street　to　the　knoll　from　which　he　had　viewed　the　field　of　battle　the　day　before。　On　this　knoll　was　a　crowd　of　officers；　and　Pierre　heard　the　French　chatter　of　the　staff；　and　saw　Kutuzov’s　grey　head　sunk　in　his　shoulders；　and　his　white　cap；　with　red　braiding　on　it。　Kutuzov　was　looking　through　a　field…glass　along　the　high…road　before　him。
Mounting　the　steps　of　the　approach　to　the　mound；　Pierre　glanced　before　him；　and　felt　a　thrill　of　delight　at　the　beauty　of　the　spectacle。　It　was　the　same　scene　that　he　had　admired　from　that　mound　the　day　before。　But　now　the　whole　panorama　was　filled　with　troops　and　the　smoke　of　the　guns；　and　in　the　pure　morning　air　the　slanting　rays　of　the　sun；　behind　Pierre　on　the　left；　shed　on　it　a　brilliant　light　full　of　gold　and　pink　tones；　and　broken　up　by　long；　dark　shadows。　The　distant　forests　that　bounded　the　scene　lay　in　a　crescent　on　the　horizon；　looking　as　though　carved　out　of　some　precious　yellow…green　stone；　and　through　their　midst　behind　Valuev　ran　the　great　Smolensk　road；　all　covered　with　troops。　In　the　foreground　lay　golden　fields　and　copses　glittering　in　the　sun。　Everywhere；　to　right；　to　left；　and　in　front　were　soldiers。　The　whole　scene　was　inspiriting；　impressive；　and　unexpected；　but　what　struck　Pierre　most　of　all　was　the　aspect　of　the　field　of　battle　itself；　of　Borodino；　and　the　hollow　on　both　sides　of　the　Kolotcha。
About　the　Kolotcha；　in　Borodino；　and　both　sides　of　it；　especially　to　the　left　where　the　Voina　runs　through　swampy　ground　into　the　Kolotcha；　a　mist　still　hung　over　the　scene；　melting；　parting；　shimmering　with　light　in　the　bright　sunshine；　and　giving　fairy…like　beauty　to　the　shapes　seen　through　it。　The　smoke　of　the　guns　mingled　with　this　mist；　and　everywhere　gleams　of　sunlight　sparkled　in　it　from　the　water；　from　the　dew；　from　the　bayonets　of　the　soldiers　crowding　on　the　river　banks　and　in　Borodino。　Through　this　mist　could　be　seen　a　white　church；　here　and　there　roofs　of　cottages　in　Borodino；　and　fitful　glimpses　came　of　compact　masses　of　soldiers；　and　green　ammunition…boxes　and　cannons。　And　the　whole　scene　moved；　or　seemed　to　move；　as　the　mist　and　smoke　trailed　over　the　wide　plain。　In　this　low　ground　about　Borodino　in　the　mist；　and　above　it；　and　especially　along　the　whole　line　to　the　left；　in　the　copses；　in　the　meadows　below；　and　on　the　tops　of　the　heights；　clouds　of　smoke　were　incessantly　springing　out　of　nothing；　now　singly；　now　several　at　once；　then　at　longer　intervals；　then　in　rapid　succession。　These　clouds　of　smoke；　puffing；　rolling；　melting　into　one　another；　and　sundering　apart；　trailed　all　across　the　wide　plain。　These　puffs　of　smoke；　and　the　reports　that　followed　them；　were；　strange　to　say；　what　gave　the　chief　charm　to　the　scene。
“Poooff！”　suddenly　there　flew　up　a　round；　compact　ball　of　smoke；　with　shades　of　purple；　grey；　and　milk…white　in　it；　and　“booom！”　followed　the　roar　of　the　cannon　a　minute　later。
“Pooff…pooff！”　two　clouds　of　smoke　rose；　meeting　and　mingling　into　one；　and　“boom…boom；”　the　sound　repeated　what　the　eye　had　seen。
Pierre　looked　round　at　the　first　puff　of　smoke；　which　he　had　seen　a　second　before　a　round；　compact　ball；　and　already　in　its　place　were　wreaths　of　smoke　trailing　away　to　one　side；　and　“pooff”…（then　a　pause）　“pooff…pooff”—three　more　flew　up；　and　another　four　at　once；　and　at　the　same　intervals　after　each　other　“boom…boom…boom…boom；”　rang　out　the　sonorous；　resolute；　unfailing　sounds。　At　one　moment　it　seemed　that　those　clouds　of　smoke　were　scudding　across　the　plain；　at　the　next；　that　they　were　stationary；　and　the　copses；　fields；　and　glittering　bayonets　were　flying　by　them。　From　the　left　side　these　great　clouds　of　smoke　were　incessantly　flying　over　the　fields　and　bushes；　with　the　stately　roar　resounding　after　each　of　them。　Still　nearer；　in　the　low　meadows　and　copses；　there　darted　up　from　the　musket…fire　tiny　puffs　that　hardly　formed　into　balls　of　smoke；　and　each　of　these；　too；　had　its　tiny　report　echoing　after　it。　Tra…ta…ta…ta　sounded　the　crack　of　the　muskets　at　frequent　intervals；　but　thin　and　irregular　in　comparison　with　the　rhythmic　roar　of　the　cannon。
Pierre　longed　to　be　there　in　the　midst　of　the　smoke；　the　glittering　bayonets；　the　movement；　and　the　noise。　He　looked　round　at　Kutuzov　and　his　suite　to　compare　his　own　impression　with　that　of　others。　All　like　him　were　looking　before　them　at　the　field；　and；　he　fancied；　with　the　same　feeling。　Every　face　now　was　lighted　up　by　that　latent　heat　of　feeling　that　Pierre　had　noticed　the　day　before；　and　understood　perfectly　after　his　talk　with　Prince　Andrey。
“Go；　my　dear　fellow；　go；　and　Christ　be　with　you！”　said　Kutuzov；　never　taking　his　eyes　off　the　field　of　battle；　to　a　general　standing　beside　him。　The　general；　who　received　this　order；　ran　by　Pierre　down　the　descent　from　the　mound。
“To　ride　across！…”　the　general　said　coldly　and　severely；　in　answer　to　a　question　from　one　of　the　staff。
“And　I　too；　I　too；”　thought　Pierre；　and　he　went　in　the　same　direction。
The　general　mounted　a　horse；　led　up　to　him　by　a　Cossack。　Pierre　went　up　to　the　groom；　who　was　holding　his　horses。　Asking　him　which　was　the　quietest；　Pierre　got　on　it；　clutched　at　the　horse’s　mane；　pressed　his　heels　into　the　beast’s　stomach；　and　feeling　that　his　spectacles　were　slipping　off；　and　that　he　was　incapable　of　letting　go　of　the　mane　and　the　reins；　he　galloped　after　the　general；　followed　by　smiles　from　the　staff　officers　staring　at　him　from　the　mound。


Chapter　31
THE　GENERAL　after　whom　Pierre　galloped　trotted　downhill；　turned　off　sharply　to　the　left；　and　Pierre；　losing　sight　of　him；　galloped　into　the　middle　of　a　battalion　of　infantry　marching　ahead　of　him。　He　tried　to　get　away　from　them；　turning　to　left　and　to　right；　but　there　were　soldiers　everywhere；　all　with　the　same　anxious　faces；　preoccupied　with　some　unseen；　b