CHAPTER XVI

Chinese

“WELL, now, that's all,” said Kutuzov, as he signed the last paper, and rising clumsily, and straightening his fat, white neck, he went to the door with a more cheerful countenance.

The priest's wife, with the colour rushing to her face, snatched up the dish, and though she had been so long preparing, she did not succeed in presenting it at the right moment. With a low bow she offered it to Kutuzov. Kutuzov screwed up his eyes. He smiled, chucked her under the chin, and said:

“And what a pretty face! Thank you, my dear!”

He took some gold coins out of his trouser pocket, and put them on the dish. “Well, and how are we getting on?” he said, going towards the room that had been assigned him. The priest's wife, with smiling dimples on her rosy face, followed to show him the room. The adjutant came out to Prince Andrey in the porch, and invited him to lunch. Half an hour later Kutuzov sent for Prince Andrey. He was reclining in a low chair, still in the same unbuttoned military coat. He had a French novel in his hand, and at Prince Andrey's entrance laid a paper-knife in it and put it aside. It was Les Chevaliers du Cygne, a work by Madame de Genlis, as Prince Andrey saw by the cover.

“Well, sit down; sit down here. Let us have a little talk,” said Kutuzov. “It's sad; very sad. But remember, my dear, think of me as a father, another father, to you …!”

Prince Andrey told Kutuzov all he knew about his father's end, and what he had seen at Bleak Hills.

“To think what we have been brought to!” Kutuzov cried suddenly, in a voice full of feeling, Prince Andrey's story evidently bringing vividly before him the position of Russia.

“Wait a bit; wait a bit!” he added, with a vindictive look in his face, and apparently unwilling to continue a conversation that stirred him too deeply, he said:

“I sent for you to keep you with me.”

“I thank your highness!” answered Prince Andrey, “but I am afraid I am no more good for staff work,” he said, with a smile, which Kutuzov noticed. He looked at him inquiringly. “And the great thing is,” added Prince Andrey, “I am used to my regiment. I like the officers; and I think the men have come to like me. I should be sorry to leave the regiment. If I decline the honour of being in attendance on you, believe me …”

Kutuzov's podgy face beamed with a shrewd, good-natured, and yet subtly ironical expression. He cut Bolkonsky short.

“I'm sure you would have been of use to me. But you're right; you're right. It's not here that we want men. There are always a multitude of counsellors; but men are scarce. The regiments wouldn't be what they are if all the would-be counsellors would serve in them like you. I remember you at Austerlitz. I remember, I remember you with the flag!” said Kutuzov, and a flush of pleasure came into Prince Andrey's face at this reminiscence. Kutuzov held out his hand to him, offering him his cheek to kiss, and again Prince Andrey saw tears in the old man's eye. Though Prince Andrey knew Kutuzov's tears were apt to come easily, and that he was particularly affectionate and tender with him from the desire to show sympathy with his loss, yet he felt this reminder of Austerlitz agreeable and flattering.

“Go your own way, and God bless you in it. … I know your path is the path of honour!” He paused. “I missed you at Bucharest. I wanted some one to send …” And changing the subject, Kutuzov began talking of the Turkish war, and of the peace that had been concluded. “Yes, I have been roundly abused,” he said, “both for the war and the peace … but it all happened in the nick of time.” “ ‘Everything comes in time for him who knows how to wait,' ” he said, quoting the French proverb. “And there were as many counsellors there as here, …” he went on, returning to the superfluity of advisers, a subject which evidently occupied his mind. “Ugh, counsellors and counsellors!” he said. “If we had listened to all of them, we should be in Turkey now. We should not have made peace, and the war would never have been over. Always in haste, and more haste, worse speed. Kamensky would have come to grief there, if he hadn't died. He went storming fortresses with thirty thousand men. It's easy enough to take fortresses, but it's hard to finish off a campaign successfully. Storms and attacks are not what's wanted, but time and patience. Kamensky sent his soldiers to attack Rustchuk, but I trusted to them alone—time and patience—and I took more fortresses than Kamensky, and made the Turks eat horseflesh!” He shook his head. “And the French shall, too. Take my word for it,” cried Kutuzov, growing warmer and slapping himself on the chest, “I'll make them eat horseflesh!” And again his eye was dim with tears.

“We shall have to give battle, though, shan't we?” said Prince Andrey.

“We must, if every one wants to; there is no help for it.… But, mark my words, my dear boy! The strongest of all warriors are these two—time and patience. They do it all, and our wise counsellors n'entendent pas de cette oreille, voilà le mal. Some say ay, and some say no. What's one to do?” he asked, evidently expecting a reply. “Come, what would you have me do?” he repeated, and his eyes twinkled with a profound, shrewd expression. “I'll tell you what to do,” he said, since Prince Andrey still did not answer. “I'll tell you what to do, and what I do. Dans le doute, mon cher”—he paused—“abstiens-toi.” He articulated deliberately the French saying.

“Well, good-bye, my dear. Remember, with all my heart, I feel for your sorrow, and that for you I'm not his highness, nor prince, nor commander-in-chief, but simply a father to you. If you want anything, come straight to me. Good-bye, my dear boy!” Again he embraced and kissed him.

And before Prince Andrey had closed the door, Kutuzov settled himself comfortably with a sigh, and renewed the unfinished novel of Madame Genlis, Les Chevaliers du Cygne.

How, and why it was, Prince Andrey could not explain, but after this interview with Kutuzov, he went back to his regiment feeling reassured as to the future course of the war, and as to the man to whom its guidance was intrusted. The more clearly he perceived the absence of everything personal in the old leader, who seemed to have nothing left of his own but habits of passions, and instead of an intellect grasping events and making plans, had only the capacity for the calm contemplation of the course of events, the more confident he felt that all would be as it should be. “He will put in nothing of himself. He will contrive nothing, will undertake nothing,” thought Prince Andrey; “but he will hear everything, will think of everything, will put everything in its place, will not hinder anything that could be of use, and will not allow anything that could do harm. He knows that there is something stronger and more important than his will—that is the inevitable march of events, and he can see them, can grasp their significance, and, seeing their significance, can abstain from meddling, from following his own will, and aiming at something else. And the chief reason,” thought Prince Andrey, “why one believes in him is that he's Russian, in spite of Madame Genlis's novel and the French proverbs, that his voice shook when he said, ‘What we have been brought to!' and that he choked when he said ‘he would make them eat horseflesh!' ”

It was this feeling, more or less consciously shared by all, that determined the unanimous approval given to the appointment of Kutuzov to the chief command, in accordance with national sentiment, and in opposition to the intrigues at court.

第十六章

英文

“好，就到此结束。”库图佐夫签署了最后一份文件，说，他吃力地站起身，白胖脖领上的皱褶舒展开来，他带着快活的神情向门口走去。

那个牧师太太的脸立即涨得通红，十分激动，她端起准备了很久而未能及时献上的盘子，深深地鞠了一躬，把它捧到库图佐夫面前。

库图佐夫眯起眼睛，脸上流露出笑容，用手托起她的下巴，说：

“多么标致的美人！谢谢，亲爱的！”

他从裤袋里掏出几枚金币放在她的盘子里。

“喂，过得怎样？”库图佐夫一面说，一面向给他准备的房间走去。牧师太太绯红的面颊上绽开两个酒窝，随他走进正房。副官走到台阶上请安德烈公爵和他一道用早饭；半小时后，安德烈公爵又被召唤到库图佐夫那儿。库图佐夫仍然穿着那件敞开的军装，躺在沙发上。他手里拿着一本法文书，安德烈公爵进去时，他合上那本书，用一把小刀夹在读到的地方。安德烈公爵看见了封面，知道是《Les　chevaliers　du　Cygne》①，Madame　de　Genlis②的作品。

①法语：《天鹅骑士》。

②法语：让利斯夫人。

“坐下，坐在这儿，我们谈谈，”库图佐夫说。“悲恸啊，很悲恸。但是要记住，亲爱的朋友，我也是你的父亲，第二个父亲……”安德烈公爵把他所知道的父亲临终时的情形和途经童山时目睹的情形对库图佐夫叙述了一遍。

“弄到什么地步……到什么地步！”库图佐夫突然说，他声音激动，显然，从安德烈公爵的叙述中，他清楚地想象到俄国目前的处境。“给我一段时间，给我一段时间！”他脸上带着愤怒的表情又说，很明显，他不愿继续这个使他激动的话题，他说：“我叫你来，是想让你留在我身边。”

“多谢勋座大人，”安德烈公爵回答说，“但是我怕我不适合再做参谋工作了。”他面带微笑说，库图佐夫注意到了他的微笑，于是疑惑地看了看他。“主要是，”安德烈公爵又说，“我已经习惯团队的生活，我喜欢那些军官们，似乎军官们也喜欢我。离开团队，我会觉得可惜的。如果我辞谢在您身边供职的殊荣，那么请您相信我……”

库图佐夫虚胖的脸上，流露出聪明、和善，同时又含有几分嘲笑的表情。他打断博尔孔斯基的话说：

“遗憾，我真的需要你；不过你是对的，你是对的，我们这儿倒不缺人。顾问总有的是，可是缺乏人才。如果所有的顾问都像你那样到团队里去供职，我们的团队就不会是现在这个样子了。我在奥斯特利茨就记得你……记得，记得，我记得你手擎一面军旗。”库图佐夫说，一回想这段往事，安德烈公爵脸上立刻出现欢快的红晕。库图佐夫拉了拉他的手，把脸给他吻，安德烈公爵又看见老头眼里的泪花。虽然安德烈公爵知道库图佐夫容易流泪，且由于同情他的父丧而对他表示特别的亲切和怜恤，但关于奥斯特利茨的回忆仍使安德烈公爵既愉快又得意。

“上帝保佑，走你自己的路吧。我知道，你的道路，是一条光荣的道路。”他停了一会儿。“在布加勒斯特，我怜惜你来着：当时我务必派遣一个人。”于是库图佐夫改变了话题，谈到土耳其战争和缔结和约的事。“是啊，我遭到不少的责备，”库图佐夫说，“为了那场战争，也为了和约……但是一切来得都恰当其时。Tout　vient　a　point　à　celui　qui　sait　attendre①那里的顾问也不比这里的少……”他又谈起顾问一事，这个问题老困绕着他。“咳，顾问，顾问！”他说。“如果谁的话都听，那么我们在土耳其，和约就缔结不成，战争也结束不了。欲速则不达，倘若卡缅斯基不死，他会遭殃的。他用三万人突击要塞。攻克一个要塞并不难，难的是赢得整个战役的胜利。而要做到这一点，需要的不是突击和冲锋，而是忍耐和时间。卡缅斯基把兵派往鲁修克，可我只派去两样东西——忍耐和时间——比卡缅斯基攻克更多的要塞，而且逼得土耳其人吃马肉。”他摇了摇头，“法国人也会有这个下场！相信我的话，”库图佐夫拍着胸脯，非常兴奋地说，“我要让他们吃马肉！”他的眼睛又被泪水弄模糊了。

①法语：对善于等待的人，一切都来得恰当其时。

“然而总该打一仗吧？”安德烈公爵说。

“打一仗是可以的，如果大家都愿意的话，没有什么可说的……可是要知道，亲爱的朋友：没有比忍耐和时间这两个战士更强的了，这两位什么都能办成。可是顾问们n'entenBdent　pas　de　cette　oreille，voilà　le　mal．①一些人要这样，另一些又不这样。怎么办呢？”他问，显然在等着回答。

“你说说看，叫我怎么办？”他重复着，眼睛显得深沉、睿智。

“我告诉你怎么办：我是怎么办的。Dans　le　doute，mon　cher，”他停了一下，“abstiens－toi．”②他慢条斯理地一字一句地说。

“好吧，再会，好朋友；记住，我诚心诚意要分担你的损失，我不是你的勋座，不是公爵，也不是总司令，我是你的父亲。你需要什么，就来找我。再见，亲爱的。”他又拥抱他，吻他。安德烈公爵还没走出门，库图佐夫就轻松地舒了口气，又捧起那本没有看完的让利斯夫人的小说《Les　chevaliers　du　Cygne》③。

①法语：不肯听这个，困难就在这里。

②法语：如果你犹豫不决，亲爱的，那你就先干别的。

③法语：《天鹅骑士》。

安德烈公爵怎么也说不清这种感觉是怎样产生的；但是，在同库图佐夫会见后回到团里，对于整个战争的进程和担此重任的人，他都放了心。他愈是看到在这个老人身上没有个人的东西，缺少分析事件和作出结论的才智，有的仿佛只是热情奔放的习惯和静观事件发展趋向的能力，他就愈加放心，觉得一切都会安排妥当的。“他没有什么个人的东西。他什么也不思考，什么也不着手做，”安德烈公爵想道，“可是他听取一切，记取一切，把一切都安排得合情合理，对有益的事情，他不妨碍；对有害的事情，他不纵容。他懂得，有一种东西比他的意志更强，更重要，——这就是事件的必然过程。他善于观察这些事件，善于理解这些事件的意义，因而也善于放弃对这些事件的干预，放弃那本来另有所企的个人意志。最主要的，”安德烈公爵想道，“为什么信任他呢？因为他是俄国人，虽然他读让利斯夫人的小说和说法国谚语；也因为当他说：‘弄到什么地步！'的时候，他的声音颤抖了，当他说他逼得他们吃马肉的时候，他啜泣起来。”正是由于这种或多或少的、模模糊糊的感情，人民才称赞库图佐夫并有了一致的想法，违反宫廷的意思，选择了他当总司令。

CHAPTER XVII

Chinese

AFTER THE TSAR had left Moscow, the life of that city flowed on in its old accustomed channel, and the current of that life ran so much as usual that it was difficult to remember the days of patriotic fervour and enthusiasm, and hard to believe that Russia actually was in danger, and that the members of the English club were also her devoted sons, ready to make any sacrifice for her sake. The one thing that recalled the general patriotic fervour of the days of the Tsar's presence in Moscow was the call for contributions of men and money, and these demands were presented at once in a legal, official form, so that they seemed inevitable. As the enemy drew nearer to Moscow the attitude taken by its inhabitants in regard to their position did not become more serious, but, on the contrary, more frivolous, as is always the case with people who see a great danger approaching. At the approach of danger there are always two voices that speak with equal force in the heart of man: one very reasonably tells the man to consider the nature of the danger and the means of avoiding it; the other even more reasonably says that it is too painful and harassing to think of the danger, since it is not in a man's power to provide for everything and escape from the general march of events; and that it is therefore better to turn aside from the painful subject till it has come, and to think of what is pleasant. In solitude a man generally yields to the first voice; in society to the second. So it was now with the inhabitants of Moscow. It was long since there had been so much gaiety in Moscow as that year.

Rastoptchin's posters, with a print at the top of a gin-shop, a potman, and the Moscow artisan, Karpushka Tchigirin, “who, having gone into the militia, heard that Bonaparte meant to come to Moscow, was mightily wroth thereat, used very bad language about all the French, came out of the gin-shop and began to address the people assembled under the eagles,” were as much read and discussed as the last bouts rimés of Vassily Lvovitch Pushkin.

In the corner room of the club the members gathered together to read these posters; and some liked the way Karpushka was made to jeer at the French, saying that “they would be blown out with Russian cabbage, that Russian porridge would rip their guts open, and cabbage soup would finish them off; that they were all dwarfs, and a village lass could toss three of them on her pitchfork single-handed!”

Some people did not approve of this tone, and said it was vulgar and stupid. People said that Rastoptchin had sent all Frenchmen, and even foreigners, out of Moscow, and that there had been spies and agents of Napoleon among them. But they talked of this principally in order to repeat the witticisms uttered by Rastoptchin on the occasion. The foreigners had been put on a barque sailing to Nizhny, and Rastoptchin had said to them: “Keep yourselves to yourselves, get into the barque, and take care it does not become the barque of Charon to you.” People talked too of all the government offices having been removed from Moscow, and added Shinshin's joke, that for that alone Moscow ought to be grateful to Napoleon. People said that Mamonov's regiment was costing him eight hundred thousand; that Bezuhov was spending even more on his; but that the noblest proof of Bezuhov's patriotism was that he was going to put on the uniform himself and ride at the head of his regiment, without any charge for seats to spectators.

“You have no mercy on any one,” said Julie Drubetskoy, gathering up a pinch of scraped lint in her slender fingers covered with rings.

Julie was intending to leave Moscow next day, and was giving a farewell soirée.

“Bezuhov est ridicule, but he is so good-natured, so nice; how can you take pleasure in being so caustique?”

“Forfeit!” said a young man in a volunteer's uniform, whom Julie called “mon chevalier,” and was taking with her to Nizhny.

In Julie's circle, as in many circles in Moscow, it was a principle now to speak nothing but Russian, and those who made a mistake by speaking French had to pay a forfeit for the benefit of the committee of voluntary subscriptions.

“Another forfeit for a Gallicism,” said a Russian writer who happened to be present. “ ‘Take pleasure!' is not Russian.”

“You have no mercy on any one,” Julie went on to the volunteer, paying no attention to the remark of the author.

“Caustique, I admit,” she said, “and I'll pay for the pleasure of telling you the truth. I am ready to pay even more; but I am not responsible for Gallicisms,” she said to the writer. “I have neither the time nor the money to engage a teacher and learn Russian like Prince Galitzin. Ah, here he is!” added Julie. “Quand on … No, no,” she protested to the volunteer, “you're not going to catch me. When one speaks of the sun, one sees its rays. We were just talking of you,” she said, smiling affably to Pierre, and adding, with the easy lying characteristic of society women, “We were saying your regiment was certain to be a finer one than Mamonov's.”

“Oh, don't talk to me about my regiment,” answered Pierre, kissing his hostess's hand, and sitting down beside her. “I am so heartily sick of it!”

“You will take the command of it yourself, of course?” said Julie with a sly and sarcastic look towards the volunteer.

The latter was by no means so ready to be caustic in Pierre's presence, and his countenance betokened perplexity as to what Julie's smile could signify. In spite of his absent-mindedness and good nature, Pierre's presence never failed to cut short any attempt at ridicule at his expense.

“No,” answered Pierre, laughing and looking at his huge, bulky figure; “I should make too good a target for the French, and indeed I'm afraid I could hardly scramble on to a horse's back.”

Among the people picked out as subjects for gossip, Julie's friends happened to pitch on the Rostovs. “Their pecuniary position is very serious, I am told,” said Julie. “And the count is so unreasonable. The Razumovskys wanted to buy his house and his estate in the environs, and the matter is still dragging on. He will ask too much.”

“No, I fancy purchase will be concluded in a few days,” said some one. “Though it's madness to buy anything in Moscow just now.”

“Why so?” said Julie. “Surely you don't suppose that Moscow is in any danger.”

“Why are you leaving it then?”

“I? That's a strange question. I am going because … well, because everybody's going, and I am not a Jeanne d'Arc nor an Amazon.”

“Oh, oh! Give me another strip of linen to scrape.”

“He ought to be able to pay off all his debts, if he sets about it properly,” the volunteer observed of Count Rostov.

“He's a good-hearted old fellow, but very foolish.”

“And why are they staying on here so long? They were meaning to leave for the country long ago. Natalie is quite well again now, I suppose?” Julie asked Pierre, with a sly smile.

“They are waiting for their younger son,” said Pierre. “He went into Obolensky's Cossacks, and was sent off to Byela Tserkov. The regiment is being formed there. But now they have transferred him to my regiment, and he is expected every day. The count wanted to get away long ago, but nothing would induce the countess to leave Moscow till her son's return.”

“I saw them the day before yesterday at the Arharovs'. Natalie has quite recovered her looks and her spirits. She sang a song. How easily some people get over everything!”

“Get over what?” Pierre asked, looking displeased.

Julie smiled.

“O count, you know, such chivalrous knights as you are only to be found in Madame Suza's novels.”

“Knights! What do you mean?” Pierre asked blushing.

“Come now, my dear count. C'est la fable de tout Moscou. Je vous admire, ma parole d'honneur.”

“Forfeit! forfeit!” said the volunteer.

“Oh, very well. One cannot talk, what a bore it is!”

“What is the talk of all Moscow?” said Pierre angrily, rising to his feet.

“Nonsense, count, you know!”

“I know nothing about it,” said Pierre.

“I know what great friends you have always been with Natalie, and so … But, I was always more friendly with Vera. That darling Vera.”

“No, madam,” Pierre persisted in a tone of annoyance. “I have by no means taken upon myself the rôle of Countess Rostov's knight; indeed, it's almost a month since I have been near them. But I cannot understand the cruelty …”

“Qui s'excuse s'accuse,” cried Julie, smiling, and waving the lint triumphantly, and that she might have the last word, she promptly changed the subject. “By the way, I have heard poor Marie Bolkonsky arrived in Moscow yesterday. Have you heard she has lost her father?”

“Really? Where is she? I should like to see her,” said Pierre.

“I spent the evening with her yesterday. She is going on to-day or to-morrow morning to their estate in the province with her nephew.”

“Well, how is she? Tell me,” said Pierre.

“Oh, she is well, but very sad. But do you know who rescued her? It is quite a romance. Nikolay Rostov. She was surrounded; they tried to kill her and wounded her servants. He rushed in and saved her.…”

“Another romance,” said the volunteer. “This general flight is evidently intended to marry off all the old maids. Katish is one, Princess Bolkonsky another.”

“You know, I really do believe she's un petit peu amoureuse du jeune bomme.”

“Forfeit! forfeit! forfeit!”

“But how is one to say that in Russian?”

第十七章

英文

国王离开莫斯科之后，莫斯科的生活仍旧回到以往的平淡之中，这样的生活是如此平凡，以致令人难以想起前些日子高涨的爱国热情，难以相信俄国的处境真的岌岌可危，难以相信英国俱乐部的会员就是不惜任何牺牲的祖国儿女，唯一能令人记起国王在莫斯科期间那种普遍的爱国热忱的事情，就是关于有人出人，有钱出钱的号召。这事儿一做起来，就附以法律和正式官方的文件，成为非做不可的了。

随着敌人逐渐的逼近，莫斯科人对自己处境的态度，正像那些眼见大祸临头的人们常有的情形一样，不但没有变得更严肃，反而更轻率了。在危险迫近时，人的灵魂里常有两种同样有力的声音：一种声音很理智地叫人考虑危险的性质和摆脱危险的办法，另一种声音更理智地说，既然预见一切和躲避事件的必然发展是人力所不能做到的，又何必自寻烦恼去考虑危险呢？最好在苦难未到之前不去想它，只想些愉快的事。一个人独处时，多半是听从第一种声音的，但在大众生活中就相反地听从第二种声音了。现在莫斯科居民正是这样。莫斯科很久以来都没有像这一年这样快乐了。

拉斯托普钦散发了一种传单，上面画着一家酒馆、一个酒保、一个莫斯科小市民卡尔普什卡·奇吉林（这个奇吉林曾当过后备兵，他多喝了几杯；听说波拿巴要攻打莫斯科，就火冒三丈，用脏话痛骂所有的法国佬。他走出酒馆，在鹰形招牌下面，对聚在那儿的民众讲起话来，），这张传单如同瓦西里·利沃维奇·普希金①的限韵诗被人们诵读与讨论。

在俱乐部拐角的一幢屋子里，人们聚在一起读传单，有些人喜欢卡尔普什卡对法国人的讥笑，他们说：法国佬被大白菜催肥了，被菜汤撑死了，肚子也被稀饭撑破了，他们全是一些小矮人，有个农妇用干草叉一下子叉起三个扔了出去。有些人不喜欢这种调子，说这未免太庸俗、太愚蠢了。他们说，拉斯托普钦把所有法国人甚至其他外国人都从莫斯科赶出去，他们之中有拿破仑的特务和间谍；不过，讲这些话的目的，主要是想趁机转述拉斯托普钦在遣返那批外国人时所说的俏皮话。用帆船把外国人解送到尼日尼时，拉斯托普钦对他们说：“Rentrez　en　vous－même，entrez　dans　la　

①瓦西里·科沃维奇·普希金（1767～1830），俄国诗人，伟大诗人普希金的叔父。

barque　et　n'en　faites　pas　une　barque　de　Charon．”①人们讲起所有的机关都迁出了莫斯科时，立刻提起串串的玩笑，说是因为这一点莫斯科应当感谢拿破仑。人们谈到马莫诺夫要为他的兵团准备八十万卢布的花销，别祖霍夫为他的士兵破费得更多。但是，别祖霍夫最出色的表演是：他自己穿上军服，骑马走在团队的前面，对前来观看的人一律免费，不收一分钱。

“您对谁都不施恩。”朱莉·德鲁别茨卡娅说，她正用她那戴满戒指的纤细手指，把撕碎的棉线收在一起捏成团儿。

朱莉打算第二天离开莫斯科，现在举行告别晚会。

“别祖霍夫这个人est　ridicule②，但是他是那么和善，那么可爱。caustique③算什么取乐啊？”

“罚款！”一个身穿后备军制服的年轻人说。朱莉称他为“mon　chevalier”④，他将要陪伴朱莉去尼日尼。

①法语：回老家吧，请上船，当心别让它变成哈伦的船。（希腊神话中哈伦是渡亡魂去冥府的神。）

②法语：很可爱。

③法语：爱造谣中伤。

④法语：我的骑士。

在朱莉的社交团体里，也和莫斯科许多社交团体一样，规定只许说俄语，说法语要受罚，罚金交给捐献委员会。

“这是从法国借用的，要再罚一次。”客厅里一位俄国作家说，“‘算什么取乐'不是俄国话。”

“您谁也不宽恕，”朱莉不理睬作家的话，继续对那个后备军人说，“caustique，我说了法语，我认罚，”她说，“对您直说吧，因为‘算什么取乐'，这一句话，我准备再付一次款，但至于它是不是从法语借用的，我不能负责。”她对作家说，“我没有戈利岑公爵那样有钱有时间请教师，向他学俄语。啊，他来了，”朱莉说。“Quand　on①……不，不，”她转身对那个后备军人说，“您不要尽抓我的错，说到太阳，就见到了阳光。”女主人对皮埃尔亲切地微笑着，说，“我们正说你呢，”

①法语：当着。

朱莉用她那上流社会妇女所特有的能把谎言说得自然流利的本领，说，“我们说您的兵团准比马莫诺夫的好。”

“唉呀，可别提我的兵团了，”皮埃尔边回答，边吻着女主人的手，在她身旁坐下。“兵团让我厌烦死了！”

“您大概要亲自指挥那个兵团吧？”朱莉说，她和那个后备军人互递了个狡黠的、嘲笑的眼神。

有皮埃尔在场，那个后备军人已经不那么caustique了，可是对朱莉微笑的涵意，他的脸上流露出莫名其妙的神情，皮埃尔虽然漫不经心，心地仁厚，可是任何想当着他的面嘲笑他的企图在他的人品面前都自动放弃了。

“不，”皮埃尔看了看自己肥胖、庞大的身体，笑着说，“我会成为法国人绝好的目标，再说，我怕我爬不上马去……”

朱莉在闲谈她的社交团体里的一些人时，提到了罗斯托夫之家。

“听说他们的家事很糟。”朱莉说，“他是那么糊涂——我是说伯爵这个人。拉祖莫夫斯基要买他的住房和莫斯科近郊的田庄，可是这件事老拖着。他索价太高了。”

“不，听说最近几天内即可成交，”一个客人说，“虽然眼下在莫斯科置办什么产业是极不明智的。”

“为什么？”朱莉说，“难道您认为莫斯科有危险吗？”

“那您为什么要走呢？”

“我？问的真奇怪。我走是因为……是因为大伙儿都走，还因为我不是贞德①，也不是亚马孙人。”

“对了，对了，再给我一些碎布。”

“如果他善于管理家务，他可以还清所有的债务。”那个后备军人继续谈罗斯托夫。

“倒是一个忠厚老头，就是太pauvre　sire②。他们为什么在这儿住这么久？他们早就想回乡下了。娜塔莉现在似乎好了吧？”朱莉狡黠地笑着皮埃尔。

①贞德（约1412～1431），法国民族女英雄。

②法语：窝囊。

“他们在等小儿子呢，”皮埃尔说。“他加入了奥博连斯基的哥萨克部队，到白采尔科维去了。在那儿整编为团队。可现在他已经调到我的团队了，他们天天在盼着他，伯爵早就想走，可伯爵夫人在儿子没到之前，怎么也不肯离开莫斯科。”

“前天，我在阿尔哈罗夫家看见他们。娜塔莉又漂亮起来了，又活泼了。她唱了一支浪漫曲。有人那么轻易就把一切都忘掉了！”

“忘掉什么？”皮埃尔不高兴地问。朱莉微微一笑。

“伯爵，您可知道，像您这样的骑士，只有在苏扎夫人的小说中才找得到。”

“什么骑士？为什么？”皮埃尔涨红了脸问。

“亲爱的伯爵，得了，得了，c'est　la　fable　de　tout　Moscou．Je　vous　admire，ma　parole　d'honneur．①”

“罚款！罚款！”那个后备军人说。

“好吧，好吧。不许说，真烦！”

“Qu'est　ce　qui　est　la　fable　de　tout　Moscou？②”皮埃尔站起来，生气地问。

“伯爵，得了，您知道！”

“我什么都不知道。”皮埃尔说。

“我知道您跟娜塔莉好，因此……不，我一向跟薇拉更好。

Cette　chère　Vèra！③”

“Non，madame，”④皮埃尔继续用不满的腔调说。“我根本没有担任罗斯托娃小姐的骑士这个角色。我差不多已经一个月没到他们那儿去了。但我不懂这种残忍……”

“Qui　s'excuse——s'accuse．”⑤朱莉微笑着，挥动着棉线团说。为了不让对方辩解，随即改变了话题。“听我说，我知道什么来着！可怜的玛丽亚·博尔孔斯卡娅昨天到莫斯科了。你们听说了吗？她父亲去世了。”

①法语：全莫斯科都知道。真的，您真叫我惊讶。

②法语：全莫斯科都知道什么了？

③法语：这个可爱的薇拉。

④法语：不对，太太。

⑤法语：谁为自己辩护，谁就是揭发自己。

“真的呀！她在哪儿？我很想见到她。”皮埃尔说。

“昨晚我和她消磨了一个晚上。她就要和她侄儿一起到莫斯科近郊的田庄去，今天或者明儿一早。”

“她怎么样，还好吗？”皮埃尔问。

“还好，就是很忧愁。您可知道是谁救了她？这真是一个浪漫故事。是尼古拉·罗斯托夫。她被包围了，那些人要杀害她，伤了一些她的人。罗斯托夫冲进去把她救了出来……”

“又一个浪漫故事，”那个后备军人说。“一定是为全体老小姐都能出嫁，才来这次大逃难的。卡季什是一个，博尔孔斯卡娅又是一个。”

“您可知道，我真的相信，她un　petit　peu　amoureuse　du　jeune　homme．①”

①法语：有点爱上那个年轻人了。

“罚！罚！罚！”

CHAPTER XVIII

Chinese

WHEN PIERRE returned home, he was handed two new placards of Rastoptchin's that had just appeared.

The first declared that the rumour, that it was forbidden to leave Moscow by Count Rastoptchin's order, was false, and that, on the contrary, he was glad that ladies and merchants' wives were leaving the town. “There will be less panic and less false news,” said the notice; “but I will stake my life on it that the miscreant will never enter Moscow.”

These words first showed Pierre clearly that the French certainly would enter Moscow. In the second placard it was announced that our headquarters were at Vyazma, that Count Wittgenstein had defeated the French, but that since many of the inhabitants of Moscow were desirous of arming themselves, weapons had been provided to meet their wishes in the arsenal; swords, pistols, and guns could all be procured there at a low rate.

The tone of this notice was not as jocose as the former supposed discourses of Tchigirin. The two placards made Pierre ponder. It was evident to him that the menacing storm cloud, for the advent of which his whole soul longed, though it roused an involuntary thrill of horror, it was evident that that cloud was coming closer.

“Shall I enter the service and join the army or wait here?” Pierre thought, a question he had put to himself a hundred times already. He took up a pack of cards that lay on the table to deal them for a game of patience.

“If I succeed in this game of patience,” he said to himself, shuffling the pack as he held it in his hand and looked upwards; “if I succeed, it means … what does it mean?” … He had not time to decide this question when he heard at the door of his study the voice of the eldest princess, asking whether she might come in. “Then it will mean that I must set off to join the army,” Pierre told himself. “Come, come in,” he said to the princess.

The eldest of his cousins, the one with the long waist and the stony face, was the only one still living in Pierre's house; the two younger sisters had both married.

“Excuse my coming to you, cousin,” she said in a tone of reproach and excitement. “Some decision really must be come to, you know. What is going to happen? Every one has left Moscow, and the populace are becoming unruly. Why are we staying on?”

“On the contrary, everything seems going on satisfactorily, ma cousine,” said Pierre in the habitually playful tone he had adopted with his cousin, to carry off the embarrassment he always felt at being in the position of a benefactor to her.

“Oh, yes, satisfactorily … highly satisfactory, I dare say. Varvara Ivanovna told me to-day how our troops are distinguishing themselves. It is certainly a credit to them. And the populace, too, is in complete revolt, they won't obey any one now; even my maid has begun to be insolent. If it goes on like this, they will soon begin killing us. One can't walk about the streets. And the worst of it is, in another day or two the French will be here. Why are we waiting for them? One favour I beg of you, mon cousin,” said the princess, “give orders for me to be taken to Petersburg; whatever I may be, any way I can't live under Bonaparte's rule.”

“But what nonsense, ma cousine! where do you get your information from? On the contrary …”

“I'm not going to submit to your Napoleon. Other people may do as they like.… If you won't do this for me …”

“But I will, I'll give orders for it at once.”

The princess was obviously annoyed at having no one to be angry with. Muttering something, she sat down on the edge of the chair.

“But you have been incorrectly informed,” said Pierre. “All's quiet in the town, and there's no sort of danger. See I have just read …” Pierre showed the princess the placards. “The count writes that he will stake his life on it that the enemy will never be in Moscow.”

“Ah, your count,” the princess began spitefully, “he's a hypocrite, a miscreant who has himself stirred the mob on to disorder. Didn't he write in his idiotic placards that they were to take anybody whoever it might be and drag by the hair to the lock-up (and how silly it is!). Honour our and glory, says he, to the man who does so. And this is what he has brought us to. Varvara Ivanovna told me the mob almost killed her for speaking French.”

“Oh, well, well … You take everything too much to heart,” said Pierre, and he began dealing out the patience.

Although he did succeed in the game, Pierre did not set off to join the army, but stayed on in Moscow, now rapidly emptying, and was still in the same agitation, uncertainty and alarm, and, at the same time, joyful expectation of something awful.

Next day the princess set off in the evening, and Pierre's head-steward came to inform him that it was impossible to raise the money he required for the equipment of his regiment unless he sold one of his estates. The head-steward impressed on Pierre generally that all this regimental craze would infallibly bring him to ruin. Pierre could hardly conceal a smile as he listened to the head-steward.

“Well, sell it then,” he said. “There's no help for it, I can't draw back now!”

The worse the position of affairs, and especially of his own affairs, the better pleased Pierre felt, and the more obvious it was to him that the catastrophe he expected was near at hand. Scarcely any of Pierre's acquaintances were left in the town. Julie had gone, Princess Marya had gone. Of his more intimate acquaintances the Rostovs were the only people left; but Pierre did not go to see them.

To divert his mind that day, Pierre drove out to the village of Vorontsovo, to look at a great air balloon which was being constructed by Leppich to use against the enemy, and the test balloon which was to be sent up the following day. The balloon was not yet ready; but as Pierre learned, it was being constructed by the Tsar's desire. The Tsar had written to Count Rastoptchin about it in the following terms:

“As soon as Leppich is ready, get together a crew for his car consisting of thoroughly trustworthy and intelligent men, and send a courier to General Kutuzov to prepare him for it. I have mentioned it to him. Impress upon Leppich, please, to take careful note where he descends the first time, that he may not go astray and fall into the hands of the enemy. It is essential that he should regulate his movements in accordance with the movements of the commander-in-chief.”

On his way home from Vorontsovo, Pierre drove through Bolotny Square, and seeing a crowd at Lobnoye Place, stopped and got out of his chaise. The crowd were watching the flogging of a French cook, accused of being a spy. The flogging was just over, and the man who had administered it was untying from the whipping-post a stout, red-whiskered man in blue stockings and a green tunic, who was groaning piteously. Another victim, a thin, pale man, was standing by. Both, to judge by their faces, were Frenchmen. With a face of sick dread like that of the thin Frenchman, Pierre pushed his way in among the crowd.

“What is it? Who are they? What for?” he kept asking. But the attention of the crowd—clerks, artisans, shopkeepers, peasants, women in pelisses and jackets—was so intently riveted on what was taking place on the Lobnoye Place that no one answered. The stout man got up, shrugged his shoulders frowning, and evidently trying to show fortitude, began putting on his tunic without looking about him. But all at once his lips quivered and to his own rage he began to cry, as grown-up men of sanguine temperament do cry. The crowd began talking loudly, to drown a feeling of pity in themselves, as it seemed to Pierre.

“Some prince's cook. …”

“Eh, monsieur, Russian sauce is a bit strong for a French stomach … sets the teeth on edge,” said a wrinkled clerk standing near Pierre, just when the Frenchman burst into tears. The clerk looked about him for signs of appreciation of his jest. Several persons laughed, but some were still gazing in dismay at the man who was undressing the second Frenchman and about to flog him.

Pierre choked, scowled, and turning quickly, went back to his chaise, still muttering something to himself as he went, and took his seat in it. During the rest of the way he several times started, and cried out so loudly that the coachman at last asked him what he desired.

“Where are you driving?” Pierre shouted to the coachman as he drove to Lubyanka.

“You told me to drive to the governor's,” answered the coachman.

“Fool! dolt!” shouted Pierre, abusing his coachman, a thing he very rarely did. “I told you home; and make haste, blockhead! This very day I must set off,” Pierre said to himself.

At the sight of the tortured Frenchman and the crowd round the Lobnoye Place, Pierre had so unhesitatingly decided that he could stay no longer in Moscow, and must that very day set off to join the army, that it seemed to him either that he had told the coachman so, or that the coachman ought to know it of himself.

On reaching home Pierre told his omniscient and omnipotent head-coachman, Yevstafitch, who was known to all Moscow, that he was going to drive that night to Mozhaisk to the army, and gave orders for his saddle horses to be sent on there. All this could not be arranged in one day, and therefore by Yevstafitch's representations Pierre was induced to defer his departure till next day to allow time for relays of horses to be sent on ahead.

The 24th was a bright day after a spell of bad weather, and after dinner on that day Pierre set out from Moscow. Changing horses in the night at Perhushkovo, Pierre learned that a great battle had been fought that evening. He was told that the earth had been vibrating there at Perhushkovo from the cannon. No one could answer Pierre's question whether the battle was a victory or a defeat. This was the battle of the 24th at Shevardino. Towards dawn Pierre approached Mozhaisk.

Troops were quartered in all the houses in Mozhaisk, and at the inn, where Pierre was met by his coachman and postillion, there was not a room to spare; the whole place was full of officers.

From Mozhaisk onwards troops were halting or marching everywhere. Cossacks, foot soldiers, horse soldiers, waggons, gun-carriages, and cannons were everywhere.

Pierre pushed on as fast as possible, and the further he got and the more deeply he plunged into this ocean of soldiers, the stronger became the thrill of uneasiness and of a new pleasurable sensation. It was a feeling akin to what he had felt at the Slobodsky Palace on the Tsar's visit, a sense of the urgent necessity of taking some step and making some sacrifice. He was conscious now of a glad sense that all that constitutes the happiness of life, comfort, wealth, even life itself, were all dust and ashes, which it was a joy to fling away in comparison with something else. … What that something else was Pierre could not have said, and indeed he did not seek to get a clear idea, for whose sake and for what object he found such peculiar joy in sacrificing all. He was not interested in knowing the object of the sacrifice, but the sacrifice itself afforded him a new joyful sensation.

第十八章

英文

皮埃尔回到家里，仆人交给他当天取来的两张拉斯托普钦的传单。

第一张传单说，谣传拉斯托普钦伯爵禁止人们离开莫斯科——不真实。与之相反，太太小姐和商人的妻子离开莫斯科，使拉斯托普钦伯爵感到高兴。“可以少点恐惧，少点传闻，”传单上说，“但是我以生命担保，那个凶手决到不了莫斯科。”这句话使皮埃尔第一次清楚地看出，法国人一定要到莫斯科。第二份传单是说我们的大本营在维亚济吗，维特根施泰因伯爵打败了法国人，因为许多居民愿意武装起来，所以武器库为他们准备了武器：军刀、手枪、长枪。这些武器将廉价地卖给他们。传单的口吻已不像原先在奇吉林谈话中那样诙谐了。面对这些传单，皮埃尔沉思起来。显然一场可怕的、孕育着暴风雨的乌云——他曾经以全部灵魂的力量呼唤，同时使他不由自主地恐惧的乌云，已经临近了。

“我是去参军，到部队去呢，还是再等一等？”他第一百次向自己提出这个问题。他从桌上拿起一副牌，开始摆起纸牌卦来。

“假如卦猜开了，”他洗好牌，把牌拿在手里，眼睛往上望着，自言自语道：“假如成功，那就是说……说什么呢？”他还未来得及决定应该说什么的时候，书斋门外传来大公爵小姐的声音，她问可不可以进来。

“那就是说，我应该去参军。”他对自己说。“进来，进来。”

他把脸转向公爵小姐，补充说。

（只有这个最大的公爵小姐，就是那个腰肢长长的，面孔板板的公爵小姐，还住在皮埃尔家里，另外两个小的都出嫁了。）

“请原谅，mon　cousine①，我来找您。”她用责备的、激动的口气说。“终究要想个办法才行！老是这样算怎么回事呀？大家都离开莫斯科了，老百姓在闹事。我们留下来作什么呀？”

①法语：表弟。

“正好相反，看来一切顺利，ma　cousine①，”皮埃尔带着开玩笑的语气说，皮埃尔对充当她的恩人这个角色，总觉得过意不去，所以习惯用这种态度跟她说话。

①法语：表姐。

“可不是嘛，一切顺利……好一个顺顺利利！瓦尔瓦拉·伊万诺夫娜今天对我讲，我们的军队打得如何好。这确实很光荣。可老百姓却完全反了，他们不肯听话。连我的使女也变野了。照这样下去，她们不久就要打我们了。简直不敢上街。要紧的是，法国人说不定哪天就打来了，我们还等什么！我只求您一件事，mon　cousin，”公爵小姐说，“请吩咐人把我送到彼得堡去吧：不管怎么样，反正我在波拿巴统治下没法儿活。”

“得了，ma　cousine，您从哪儿听来的这些消息？相反……”

“我决不做您的拿破仑的顺民。别人爱怎样就怎样……如果您不愿意这样办……”

“我来办，我来办，我马上就吩咐他们。”

看来，公爵小姐因为没有人可供她发脾气而懊恼了，她喃喃自语地在椅子上坐下。

“不过，您听到的消息不可靠，城里到处都很平静，什么危险也没有。您看，我刚读过……”皮埃尔把传单给公爵小姐看。“伯爵这样写的，他要用生命担保，决不让敌人进入莫斯科。”

“唉呀，您的那位伯爵，”公爵小姐恼恨地说，“他是个伪君子，坏蛋，是他亲自撺掇老百姓闹事的。他不是在那些荒谬的传单上写过吗？不管是谁，抓住他的头发就往拘留所送（多么愚蠢）！他还说，是谁抓住的，荣誉就归谁。他就是这样献殷勤的。瓦尔瓦拉·伊万诺夫娜说，因为她开始说起法国话来，老百姓就差一点没把她打死……”

“就是那么一回事……您把一切太放在心上了。”皮埃尔说，开始摆他的纸牌猜卦。

虽然既牌卦摆通了，皮埃尔还是没到军队去，他留在莫斯科这座空城里，每时每刻都在惊慌、犹豫、恐惧，同时又喜悦地期待着什么事情的发生。

次日傍晚时分，公爵小姐走了。皮埃尔的总管来告诉他，说，若不卖掉一处庄子，就筹不出装备一个团所需要的费用。总之，总管向皮埃尔说明，建立一个团的主意，一定会使他破产。听着总管的话，皮埃尔忍不住要笑。

“那您就卖了吧，”他说，“没办法，我现在不能打退堂鼓！”

情况变得越糟，特别是他的家业越糟，皮埃尔就越高兴，他所期待的灾难的临近也就越明显。城里几乎没有皮埃尔的熟人了。朱莉走了，玛丽亚公爵小姐走了。亲近些的熟人中，只有罗斯托夫一家没走，但皮埃尔不常到他们那里去。

这天，皮埃尔出门散心，走到沃罗佐沃村去看列比赫制造的用来歼求敌人的大气球。一只实验用的气球要在第二天升上天空，这只气球还没做好，皮埃尔听说，气球是遵照国王的旨意制造的。为此，国王曾给拉斯托普钦写了如下一封信：

“AussitoAt　que　Leppich　sera　prêt，composez　lui　un　équipage　pour　sa　nacelle　d'hommes　suArs　et　intelligents　et　dépêchez　un　cour－rier　au　général　Koutousoff　pour　l'en　prévenir．Je　l'ai　instruit　de　la　chose．

Recommandez，je　vous　prie，a　Leppich　d'être　bien　attentif　sur　l'endroit　où　il　descendra　la　première　fois，pour　ne　pas　se　tromp－er　et　ne　pas　tomber　dans　les　mains　de　l'ennemi．Il　est　indispensible　qu'li　combine　ses　mouvements　avec　cle　général—en　chef．”①

①法语：一旦列比赫准备完毕，您就组织一批机智可靠的人作吊篮的乘员，并派一名信使到库图佐夫那里去关照他。此事我已通知他了。

在从沃罗佐沃村回家的途中，经过沼泽广场时，皮埃尔看见断头台那儿有一群人，他停下来，下了车。这是一个被指控为特务的法国厨子在受鞭刑。鞭刑完后，行刑手从行刑登上解下一个穿蓝裤子、绿坎肩、可怜地呻吟着的有一脸红胡子的胖子。另一个面色苍白、身体瘦削的罪犯站在旁边。从脸型看，两个人都是法国人。皮埃尔挤进人群，他那神情很像那个瘦削的法国人，惊慌而且痛苦。

请嘱咐列比赫，对第一次降落的地点要特别小心，不要误落到敌人手中。务必叫他多多考虑他的活动与总司令的活动之紧密配合。

“这是怎么回事？是什么人？为了什么？”他问。但是那群人（其中有官吏、小市民、商人、农民、穿肥大外衣和短皮外套的妇女）的注意力完全集中在宣谕台上，没有人答话。那个胖子站起来，紧锁着眉头，大概是要显示一下自己的坚强吧，他耸耸肩、不向周围看，把坎肩穿上，可突然，他的嘴唇开始颤抖起来，自己生着自己的气，像个易动感情的成年人似的哭了。人们大声谈起话来，皮埃尔觉得，他们这样做只是为了抑制自己的怜悯。

“他是某公爵的厨子……”

“怎么样，先生？看来俄国的酱油到法国人嘴里就变成醋了……酸得龇牙咧嘴的。”一个站在皮埃尔旁边的满脸皱纹的小职员在法国人刚开始哭时说。然后，他看看四周，似乎是在等着别人赞扬他说的笑话。有些人笑了，有些人仍然吃惊地望着给另一个罪犯脱衣服的行刑手。

皮埃尔哼了几声，皱着眉头，赶快转身回到马车旁，在他走着去坐车的时候，他不断地自言自语，在回家的途中有好几次浑身打战，大声地喊叫，以致车夫问他：

“您有什么吩咐吗？”

“你往哪儿走？”皮埃尔对正把马车赶往鲁比扬卡去的车夫喊道。

“您吩咐见总司令的。”

“糊涂虫！畜生！”皮埃尔喊起来，他很少这样骂他的车夫。“我说过要回家；快走，糊涂虫！我今天就得离开。”他自言自语，嘟哝着。

看到那个受刑的法国人和围着宣谕台的人群以后，皮埃尔最后决定，再也不能留在莫斯科了，他今天就要去参军，他似乎觉得，不是他已经这样吩咐过车夫，就是车夫自己应当知道这一点。

一回到家，皮埃尔就吩咐他那无所不知、无所不能、闻名全莫斯科的车夫叶夫斯塔菲耶维奇，把他的几匹鞍马送到莫扎伊斯克，他当夜就要到那儿去参军。这件事不可能当天就安排好，依叶夫斯塔菲耶维奇的意思，皮埃尔的行期得推迟到第二天，好有时间把替换的马赶到路上。

二十四日，阴雨过后，天转晴。午饭后皮埃尔离开莫斯科。当夜在佩尔胡什科夫换马的时候，皮埃尔听说那天傍晚打了一场大仗。人们都在讲，佩尔胡什科夫的地面都被炮声震得打颤。皮埃尔问谁打赢了。没有人能回答。（这是二十四日舍瓦尔金诺村战役。）翌日拂晓，皮埃尔到达莫扎伊斯克。

莫扎伊斯克所有的房屋都驻有士兵，皮埃尔的马夫和车夫都在这里的客店迎接他，客店已没有空房间了，都住满了军官。

莫扎伊斯克城里城外都有军队驻扎和通过。到处可以见到哥萨克、步兵、骑兵、大车、炮弹箱和大炮。皮埃尔急急忙忙向前赶路，他离莫斯科越远、越深入这士兵的海洋，就越感到焦急不安，同时有一种还没有体验过的新鲜的喜悦之情。这是一种类似他在斯洛博达宫当国王驾到时所体验的，一种必须做点什么或牺牲点什么的感觉。他现在愉快地感觉到，构成人们的幸福的一切——生活的舒适、财富，甚至生命本身，比起某种东西来，都是弃之为快的虚妄的东西……比起什么东西呢？皮埃尔弄不清楚，也不想极力去弄清楚为了何人，为了何事而牺牲一切才使他认为特别美好。他对自己为之而牺牲的东西并不感兴趣，只是牺牲本身对他来说是一种新鲜的、快乐的感觉。

CHAPTER XIX

Chinese

ON THE 24th was fought the battle before the redoubt of Shevardino; on the 25th not a shot was fired on either side; on the 26th was fought the battle of Borodino.

How and with what object were the battles of Shevardino and Borodino fought? Why was the battle of Borodino fought? There was not the slightest sense in it, either for the French or for the Russians. The immediate result of it was, and was bound to be, for the Russians, that we were brought nearer to the destruction of Moscow (the very thing we dreaded above everything in the world); and for the French, that they were brought nearer to the destruction of their army (which they, too, dreaded above everything in the world). That result was at the time perfectly obvious, and yet Napoleon offered battle, and Kutuzov accepted it.

If military leaders were guided by reasonable considerations only, it would seem that it must have been clear to Napoleon that in advancing two thousand versts into the heart of the country and giving battle, with the probable contingency of losing a quarter of his men, he was going to certain destruction; and that it must have been equally clear to Kutuzov that in accepting that battle and risking the loss of a fourth of his army, he would infallibly lose Moscow. For Kutuzov this was mathematically clear, as clear as it is at chess, that if I have one piece less than my adversary and I exchange pieces, I am certain to be a loser by it, and therefore must avoid exchanging pieces. When my adversary has sixteen pieces and I have fourteen, I am only one-eighth weaker than he; but when we have exchanged thirteen pieces, he is three times as strong as I am.

Up to the battle of Borodino our forces were approximately five-sixths of the French, but after that battle they were only one-half—that is, before the battle a hundred thousand against a hundred and twenty thousand, and after the battle fifty thousand against a hundred thousand. And yet the shrewd and experienced Kutuzov fought the battle. Napoleon, a military genius, as he is called, gave battle, losing a fourth of his army and drawing his line of communications out further than ever. If we are told that he expected the taking of Moscow to complete the campaign, as the taking of Vienna had done, we may say that there are many evidences to the contrary. Napoleon's historians themselves tell us that he wanted to halt as soon as he reached Smolensk; that he knew the danger of his extended line, and that he knew that the taking of Moscow would not be the end of the campaign, because from Smolensk he had learned in what condition the towns were left when abandoned to him, and he had not received a single reply to his reiterated expressions of a desire to open negotiations.

In giving and accepting battle at Borodino, Kutuzov and Napoleon acted without design or rational plan. After the accomplished fact historians have brought forward cunningly devised evidences of the foresight and genius of the generals, who of all the involuntary instruments of the world's history were the most slavish and least independent agents.

The ancients have transmitted to us examples of epic poems in which the whole interest of history is concentrated in a few heroic figures; and under their influence we are still unable to accustom our minds to the idea that history of that kind is meaningless at our stage in the development of humanity.

In answer to the next question, how the battles of Borodino and Shevardino came to be fought, we have also a very definite, well-known, and utterly false account. All the historians describe the affair thus:

The Russian army, they say, in its retreat from Smolensk sought out the best position for a general engagement, and such a position they found in Borodino. The Russians, they say, fortified the position beforehand, to the left of the road (from Moscow to Smolensk) at right angles to it, from Borodino to Utitsa, at the very place where the battle was fought.

In front of this position, they tell us, a fortified earthwork was thrown up on the Shevardino redoubt as an outpost for observation of the enemy's movements.

On the 24th, we are told, Napoleon attacked this redoubt, and took it. On the 26th he attacked the whole Russian army, which had taken up its position on the plain of Borodino.

This is what we are told in the histories, and all that is perfectly incorrect, as any one may easily see who cares to go into the matter.

The Russians did not seek out the best position; on the contrary, on their retreat they had passed by many positions better than Borodino. They did not make a stand at one of these positions, because Kutuzov did not care to take up a position he had not himself selected, because the popular clamour for a battle had not yet been so strongly expressed, because Miloradovitch had not yet arrived with reinforcements of militia, and for countless other reasons.

The fact remains that there were stronger positions on the road the Russian army had passed along, and that the plain of Borodino, on which the battle was fought, is in no respect a more suitable position than any other spot in the Russian empire to which one might point at hazard on the map.

Far from having fortified the position on the left at right angles to the road—that is the spot on which the battle was fought—the Russians never, till the 25th of August, 1812, dreamed of a battle being possible on that spot. The proof of this is, first, that there were no fortifications there before the 25th, and that the earthworks begun on that day were not completed by the 26th; and, secondly, the Shevardino redoubt, owing to its situation in front of the position on which the battle was actually fought, was of no real value. With what object was that redoubt more strongly fortified than any of the other points? And with what object was every effort exhausted and six thousand men sacrificed to defend it till late at night on the 24th? A picket of Cossacks would have been enough to keep watch on the enemy's movements. And a third proof that the position of the battlefield was not foreseen, and that the redoubt of Shevardino was not the foremost point of that position, is to be found in the fact that Barclay de Tolly and Bagration were, till the 25th, under the impression that the Shevardino redoubt was the left flank of the position, and that Kutuzov himself, in the report written in hot haste after the battle, speaks of Shevardino as the left flank of the position. Only a good time later, when reports of the battle were written at leisure, the incorrect and strange statement was invented (probably to cover the blunders of the commander-in-chief, who had, of course, to appear infallible) that the Shevardino redoubt served as an advance post, though it was in reality simply the fortified point of the left flank, and that the battle of Borodino was fought by us on a fortified position selected beforehand for it, though it was in reality fought on a position quite unforeseen, and almost unfortified.

The affair obviously took place in this way. A position had been pitched upon on the stream Kolotcha, which intersects the high-road, not at a right angle, but at an acute angle, so that the left flank was at Shevardino, the right near the village of Novoe, and the centre at Borodino, near the confluence of the Kolotcha and the Voina. Any one looking at the plain of Borodino, and not considering how the battle actually was fought, would pick out this position, covered by the Kolotcha, as the obvious one for an army, whose object was to check the advance of an enemy marching along the Smolensk road towards Moscow.

Napoleon, riding up on the 24th to Valuev, did not (we are told in the histories) see the position of the Russians from Utitsa to Borodino (he could not have seen that position since it did not exist), and did not see the advance posts of the Russian army, but in the pursuit of the Russian rearguard stumbled upon the left flank of the Russian position at the redoubt of Shevardino, and, to the surprise of the Russians, his troops crossed the Kolotcha. And the Russians, since it was too late for a general engagement, withdrew their left wing from the position they had intended to occupy, and took up a new position, which had not been foreseen, and was not fortified. By crossing to the left bank of the Kolotcha, on the left of the road, Napoleon shifted the whole battle from right to left (looking from the Russian side), and transferred it to the plain between Utitsa, Semyonovskoye and Borodino—a plain which in itself was a no more favourable position than any other plain in Russia—and on that plain was fought the whole battle of the 26th.

Had Napoleon not reached the Kolotcha on the evening of the 24th, and had he not ordered the redoubt to be attacked at once that evening, had he begun the attack next morning, no one could have doubted that the Shevardino redoubt was the left flank of the Russian position; and the battle would have been fought as we expected. In that case we should probably have defended the Shevardino redoubt by our left flank even more obstinately; we should have attacked Napoleon in the centre or on the right, and the general engagement would have been fought on the 24th on the position prepared and fortified for it. But as the attack was made on our left flank in the evening after the retreat of our rearguard, that is, immediately after the action at Gridnevo, and as the Russian generals would not, or could not, begin the general engagement on the evening of the 24th, the first and most important action of the battle of Borodino was lost on the 24th, and that loss led inevitably to the loss of the battle fought on the 26th.

After the loss of the Shevardino redoubt, we found ourselves on the morning of the 25th with our left flank driven from its position, and were forced to draw in the left wing of our position and hurriedly fortify it were we could.

So that on the 26th of August the Russian troops were only defended by weak, unfinished earthworks, and the disadvantage of that position was aggravated by the fact that the Russian generals, not fully recognising the facts of the position (the loss of the position on the left flank, and the shifting of the whole field of the coming battle from right to left), retained their extended formation from Novoe to Utitsa, and, consequently, had to transfer their troops from right to left during the battle. Consequently, we had during the whole battle to face the whole French army attacking our left wing, with our forces of half the strength.

(Poniatovsky's action facing Utitsa and Uvarov's action against the French right flank were quite independent of the general course of the battle.)

And so the battle of Borodino was fought, not at all as, in order to cover the blunders of our commanders, it is described by our historians, whose accounts, consequently, diminish the credit due to the Russian army and the Russian people. The battle of Borodino was not fought on a carefully picked and fortified position, with forces only slightly weaker on the Russian side. After the loss of the Shevardino redoubt, the Russians fought on an open, almost unfortified position, with forces half the strength of the French, that is, in conditions in which it was not merely senseless to fight for ten hours and gain a drawn battle, but incredibly difficult to keep the army for three hours together from absolute rout and flight.

第十九章

英文

八月二十四日，在舍瓦尔金诺多面堡打了一仗，二十五日，双方都没有开火，二十六日，波罗底诺战役爆发了。

舍瓦尔金诺和波罗底诺两次战役是为了什么呢？是怎样挑起、怎样应战的呢？为什么又打起波罗底诺战役呢？不论是对法国人还是对俄国人来说，这次战役都是毫无意义的。这次战役，对俄国人来说，最直接的结果曾是也必然是促进莫斯科的毁灭（这是我们最担心的），对法国人来说，则是促进他们的全军覆没（这也是他们怕得要命的）。这个结果甚至在当时也是非常明显的，然而拿破仑还是发动了这次战役，库图佐夫也奋起应了战。

如果两位统帅均以理智为指南，拿破仑似乎应当明白，深入俄国两千俄里，在很有可能损失四分之一军队的情况下发动一场大战，他必将趋于毁灭；库图佐夫也似乎同样应当明白，冒着损失四分之一军队的军队应战，他准会失掉莫斯科。这在库图佐夫就像做算术题一样明显，比如下跳棋，我方少一个子儿，而要跟对方对拼子儿，我方一定会输，因为不应当对拼。

当对方有十六个子儿，我方有十四个子儿的时候，我方只比对方弱八分之一；但是如果我方拼掉了十三个子儿，对方就比我方强三倍了。

在波罗底诺战役之前，我方兵力与法军相比，大致是五比六；战役之后，是一比二，也就是战役以前是十万比十二万，战役以后是五万比十万。然而聪明且富有经验的库图佐夫应战了。被人称为天才统帅的拿破仑发动了那次战役，损失了四分之一的兵力，更拉长了战线。如果说他认为占领莫斯科就像占领维也纳一样，可以结束战争，那么他错了，有许多证据证明并非如此。拿破仑的史学家们亲口说，他在占领了斯摩棱斯克之后就想停止前进，他知道拉长战线的危险，也知道占领莫斯科不会是战争的终结，因为在斯摩棱克他就看到，留给他的那些俄国城市是怎样的情景，他一再表示愿意进行谈判，但一次也没有得到答复。

拿破仑和库图佐夫发动和应接波罗底诺战役都是不由自主和毫无意义的。但是后来史学家们用这些既成事实强牵附会地证明两个统帅的预见和天才。其实，这些统帅不过是历史的工具，且是所有不由自主的历史工具中最不自由、最不由自主的活动家。

古人留给我们许多英雄史诗的典范，其中的英雄人物引起历史上的普遍注意，但是我们还不能习惯这样的事实，那就是这类历史对于我们人类的时代是没有意义的。

关于另外一个问题：波罗底诺战役以及在这之前的舍瓦尔金诺战役是怎样打起来的，也存在一个极为明显、众所周知、完全错误的概念。所有史学家都是这样描述的：俄国军队在从斯摩棱斯克撤退时，就为大会战寻找最有利的阵地，在波罗底诺找到了这样的阵地。

在莫斯科到斯摩棱斯克的大路左侧，与大路几乎成直角——从波罗底诺到乌季察，也就是作战的那个地方，俄国人事前在那儿修筑了防御工事。

在这个阵地的前方，在舍瓦尔金诺高地，设立了一个观察敌情的前哨。二十四日，拿破仑进攻这个前哨，占领了它；

二十六日，开始进攻已经进入波罗底诺战场的全部俄军。

史书上是这样记载的，而这是完全歪曲的，这一点，任何愿意深入研究事情真相的人，都能很容易弄清楚。

俄国人并没有寻找最好的阵地；恰恰相反，他们在退却中放过了许多比波罗底诺更好的阵地。他们没有据守这些阵地中的任何一个：因为库图佐夫不愿采纳不是他所选择的阵地；因为人们对大会战的要求还不够强烈；还因为带领后备军的米洛拉多维奇尚未赶到；还有其他无数的原因。事实上，以前所放过的阵地都比较强大，波罗底诺阵地（大会战的地点）不但不强大，与俄罗斯帝国任何一个地方相比较，哪怕随便用针在地图上插一个地方，它都更不像一个阵地。

在大路左侧与大路成直角的波罗底诺战场（就是大会战的地点），俄国人非但没有设防，而且在一八一二年八月二十五日前，从未想到在这个地点会打一场大仗。以下事实可以说明这一点：其一，不但二十五日以前那里没有战壕，而且二十五日开始挖的那些战壕，到二十六日也没有挖成；其二，舍瓦尔金诺多面堡的形势可资证明，那个在发生战斗的阵地前面的舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，是无任何意义的，为什么比别的据点更要加强那个多面堡呢？为什么要耗费一切力量，损失六千人，把它据守到二十四日深夜呢？要观测敌人，一个哥萨克侦察班就足够了；其三，作战的那个阵地不是事先料到的，而舍瓦尔金诺多面堡也不是那个阵地的前哨，因为直到二十五日，巴克莱·德·托利和巴格拉季翁还相信舍瓦尔金诺多面堡是阵地的·左·翼。而库图佐夫本人在那次战役之后，在一时盛怒之下写的报告中，也说舍瓦尔金诺多面堡是此阵地的·左·翼。只是在很久以后，可以自由地写波罗底诺战役的报告时，才捏造出那一套奇谈怪论（大概是为一个不会犯错误的总司令辩护），说舍瓦尔金诺多面堡是一个前哨（其实，它不过是左翼的一个设防点），说波罗底诺战役是在我们预先选定的、在修筑了工事的阵地上进行的。实际上，那次战斗是在一个完全意外的，几乎没有任何工事的地点爆发的。

事情显然是这样的：沿科洛恰河选定了一个阵地，这条河斜穿过大路，不是成直角，而是成锐角，因此左翼是在舍瓦尔金诺，右翼靠近诺沃耶村，中心在波罗底诺，也就是在科洛恰和沃伊纳两河汇流的地方。假如不去管仗是怎么打的。只要看一看波罗底诺战场，就一目了然，这个战地是以科洛恰河为掩护，以阻止沿斯摩棱斯克大路进犯莫斯科的敌军。

二十四日拿破仑骑马来到瓦卢耶瓦，他没有看见（正如史书上所说的）从乌季察到波罗底诺的俄国阵地（他不可能看见那个阵地，因为它并不存在），他也没有看见俄国的前哨，但在追击俄军后卫的时候，他碰到俄军阵地的左翼——舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，出乎俄国人意料之外，拿破仑把他的军队移过科洛恰河。这样一来，俄国人已经来不及迎接大会战了，只好撤掉他们本来要据守的左翼阵地，占领一个不曾料到的，没有修筑工事的新阵地。拿破仑转移到科洛恰河对岸，也就是大路的左侧，这样拿破仑就把即将打响的战斗从右侧移到左侧（从俄军方面看），移到乌季察、谢苗诺夫斯科耶和波罗底诺之间的平原上（作为一个阵地，这片平原并不比俄国任何一片平原更为有利），二十六日的大会战就在这片平原上打响了。预定的战斗和实际的战斗的草图见下页：

假如拿破仑不在二十四日傍晚到达科洛恰河；假如他当晚没有立刻下令攻打多面堡，而是在第二天早晨开始攻打的话，那么，就不会有人怀疑舍瓦尔金诺多面堡是我们的左翼了；而战斗也会像我们所预料的那样进行了。在那种情况下，我们大概会像我们所预料的那样进行了。在这种情况下，我们大概会顽强地守卫舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，与此同时，从中央或者从右面攻击拿破仑，而二十四日大会战就会在预定的修筑有工事的阵地上进行了。但是，因为对我们左翼进攻是在紧接着我们的后卫撤退的晚上，也就是在格里德涅瓦战役刚结束的晚上发生的，还因为俄国的军事将领不愿意或者来不及在二十四日晚上就开始大会战，以致波罗底诺战役的第一仗，也是主要的一仗，在二十四日就打输了，而且显然导致二十六日那一仗的失败。

在舍瓦尔金诺多面堡沦陷后，二十五日清晨我们已经没有左翼阵地了，于是不得不把左翼往后撤，随便选择一个地方仓促地构筑工事。

但是，只说俄军仅用薄弱的、未筑成的工事来防守还不够，更加不利的情况还在于，俄军将领不承认显而易见的既成事实（左翼已失守，当前的战场已经从右面向左面转移），仍停留在诺沃耶村至乌季察这一带拉长的阵地上，因此，在战斗开始后，不得不把军队从右方调到左方。这样一来，在整个战斗期间，俄国方面仅有对方一半的兵力用以抵抗法军对我军左翼的进攻（波尼亚托夫斯基对乌季察的进攻以及乌瓦罗夫从右翼攻击法军，只是大会成进程中的单独的军事行动）。

由此可见，波罗底诺战役完全不像人们描绘的那样（极力隐瞒我们军事将领们的错误，从而贬低俄国军队和人民的光荣）。波罗底诺战役并不是在一个选定的，设了防的阵地上进行的，也不是俄军的兵力仅仅稍弱于敌军，实际上俄国人由于失掉舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，不得不在一个开阔的，几乎没有防御工事的地带，兵力比法军少一半的情况下迎接波罗底诺战役，也就是说，在这样的条件下，不仅战斗十小时和打一场不分输赢的战役不可思议，就是坚持三小时而不使军队完全崩溃和逃遁也是不可思议的。

CHAPTER XX

Chinese

ON THE MORNING of the 25th Pierre drove out of Mozhaisk. On the slope of an immense, steep, and winding hill, leading out of the town, Pierre got out of the carriage, and walked by a cathedral on the right of the hill, where a service was being performed. A cavalry regiment followed him down the hill, the singers of the regiment in front. A train of carts came up the hill towards them, filled with wounded from the previous day's engagement. The peasant drivers kept running from side to side, shouting and whipping the horses. The carts, in each of which three or four wounded soldiers were lying or sitting, jolted up and down on the stones that had been thrown on the steep ascent to mend the road. The wounded men, pale and bandaged up, with compressed lips and knitted brows, clung to the sides, as they were shaken and jolted in the carts. Almost all of them stared with naïve and childlike curiosity at Pierre's white hat and green coat.

Pierre's coachman shouted angrily at the train of wounded men to keep to one side of the road. The cavalry regiment, coming down the hill in time to their song, overtook Pierre's chaise and blocked the road. Pierre stopped, keeping close to the edge of the road that had been hollowed out in the hill. The sun did not reach over the side of the hill to the road, and there it felt cold and damp. But overhead it was a bright August morning, and the chimes rang out merrily. One cart full of wounded men came to a standstill at the edge of the road quite close to Pierre. The driver, in bast shoes, ran panting up to his cart, thrust a stone under the hind wheels, which were without tires, and began setting straight the breech on his horse.

An old wounded soldier, with his arm in a sling, walking behind the cart, caught hold of it with his uninjured arm, and looked round at Pierre.

“Well, fellow-countryman, are we to be put down here or taken on to Moscow?” he said.

Pierre was so lost in thought that he did not hear the question. He looked from the cavalry regiment, which was now meeting the train of wounded, to the cart by which he stood, with the two wounded men sitting, and one lying down in it. One of the soldiers sitting in the cart had probably been wounded in the cheek. His whole head was done up in bandages, and one cheek was swollen as large as a baby's head. All his mouth and nose were on one side. This soldier was looking at the cathedral and crossing himself. Another, a young fellow, a light-haired recruit, as white as though there were not a drop of blood in his thin face, gazed with a fixed, good-natured smile at Pierre. The third lay so that his face could not be seen. The singers of the cavalry regiment passed close by the cart.

“A! za-pro-pa-la …”

they sang the military dance tune. As though seconding them, though in a different tone of gaiety, clanged out the metallic notes of the chimes at the top of the hill. And the hot rays of the sun bathed the top of the opposite slope with sunshine sparkling with another suggestion of gaiety. But where Pierre stood under the hillside, by the cart full of wounded soldiers, and the panting, little nag, it was damp, overcast, and dismal.

The soldier with the wounded cheek looked angrily at the singing horse soldiers.

“Oh, the smart fellows!” he murmured reproachfully.

“It's not soldiers only, but peasants, too, I have seen to-day! Peasants, too, they are hunting up,” said the soldier standing by the cart, addressing himself to Pierre, with a melancholy smile. “They can't pick and choose now. … They want to mass all the people together—it's a matter of Moscow, you see. There is only one thing to do now.” In spite of the vagueness of the soldier's words, Pierre fully grasped his meaning, and nodded his head approvingly.

The road was clear once more, and Pierre walked downhill, and drove on further.

Pierre drove on, looking on both sides of the road for familiar faces, and meeting none but unfamiliar, military faces, belonging to all sorts of regiments, and all staring with the same surprise at his white hat and green coat.

After driving four versts, for the first time he met an acquaintance, and greeted him joyfully. This was a doctor, one of the heads of the medical staff. He drove to meet Pierre in a covered gig, with a young doctor sitting beside him; and recognising Pierre, he called to the Cossack, who sat on the driver's seat, and told him to stop.

“Count, your excellency, how do you come here?” asked the doctor.

“Oh, I wanted to have a look …”

“Oh well, there will be something to look at …” Pierre got out of his carriage, and stopped to have a talk with the doctor, explaining to him his plan for taking part in the battle.

The doctor advised Bezuhov to go straight to his highness.

“Why, you would be God knows where during the battle, out of sight,” he said, with a glance at his young companion; “and his highness knows you anyway, and will give you a gracious reception. That's what I should do, my friend,” said the doctor.

The doctor seemed tired and hurried.

“So you think. … But one thing more I wanted to ask you, where is the position exactly?” said Pierre.

“The position?” said the doctor; “well, that's not in my line. Drive on to Tatarinovo, there's a great deal of digging going on there. There you'll come out on a mound; from there you get a view,” said the doctor.

“A view from it? … If you would …”

But the doctor interrupted, and moved toward his gig.

“I would have shown you the way, but by God, you see” (the doctor made a significant gesture), “I'm racing to the commander of the corps. We're in such a fix, you see … you know, count, there's to be a battle tomorrow; with a hundred thousand troops, we must reckon on twenty thousand wounded at least; and we haven't the stretchers, nor beds, nor attendants, nor doctors for six thousand. There are ten thousand carts; but we want other things; one must manage as one can.”

The strange idea that of those thousands of men, alive and well, young and old, who had been staring with such light-hearted amusement at his hat, twenty thousand were inevitably doomed to wounds and death (perhaps the very men whom he had seen) made a great impression on Pierre.

“They will die, perhaps, to-morrow; how can they think of anything but death?” And suddenly, by some latent connection of ideas, he saw a vivid picture of the hillside of Mozhaisk, the carts of wounded men, the chimes, the slanting sunshine, and the singing of the cavalry regiment.

“They were going into battle, and meeting wounded soldiers, and never for a minute paused to think what was in store for them, but went by and winked at their wounded comrades. And of all those, twenty thousand are doomed to death, and they can wonder at my hat! Strange!” thought Pierre, as he went on towards Tatarinovo.

Carriages, waggons, and crowds of orderlies and sentinels were standing about a gentleman's house on the left side of the road. The commander-in-chief was putting up there. But when Pierre arrived, he found his highness and almost all the staff were out. They had all gone to the church service. Pierre pushed on ahead to Gorky; and driving uphill into a little village street, Pierre saw for the first time the peasants of the militia in white shirts, with crosses on their caps. With loud talk and laughter, eager and perspiring, they were working on the right of the road at a huge mound overgrown with grass.

Some of them were digging out the earth, others were carrying the earth away in wheelbarrows, while a third lot stood doing nothing.

There were two officers on the knoll giving them instructions. Seeing these peasants, who were unmistakably enjoying the novelty of their position as soldiers, Pierre thought again of the wounded soldiers at Mozhaisk, and he understood what the soldier had tried to express by the words “they want to mass all the people together.” The sight of these bearded peasants toiling on the field of battle with their queer, clumsy boots, with their perspiring necks, and here and there with shirts unbuttoned showing their sun-burnt collar-bones, impressed Pierre more strongly than anything he had yet seen and heard with the solemnity and gravity of the moment.

第二十章

英文

二十五日清早，皮埃尔离开莫扎伊斯克。出了城就是蜿蜒而陡峭的山坡，右边山上有一座教堂，那儿正在鸣钟，做礼拜。皮埃尔下了马车，徒步前进。他后面有一个骑兵团队正从山坡上走下来，团队前面有一群歌手。迎面来了一队大车，载着昨天在战斗中负伤的士兵。赶车的农民吆喝着，响着鞭子，不断地在车子两边奔走。每辆坐着或躺着三、四个伤兵的大车，在陡峭的山坡石路上颠簸着。伤兵包着破布，面色苍白，紧闭着嘴，皱着眉头，抓住车栏杆在车上颠动、互相碰撞。几乎所有的伤兵都怀着孩子般的天真的好奇心望着皮埃尔那顶白帽子和绿色燕尾服。

皮埃尔的车夫气忿地吆喝伤兵运输队，叫他们靠边走。骑兵团唱着歌直冲着皮埃尔的马车走下山坡，把路都堵塞了。皮埃尔停下来，被挤到铲平的山路边上去了。山坡挡住了太阳，低洼的路上见不到阳光，显得又冷又潮湿，而皮埃尔头顶上是明朗的八月的早晨的天空，教堂里发出欢乐的钟声。一辆伤兵车停放在皮埃尔身边旁的路边上，那个穿树皮鞋的车夫喘不过气来跑到车前，往没有轮箍的后轮塞了一块石头，然后又给停下的小马整理皮马套。

一个吊着一只胳膊的年老的伤兵，跟着车步行，他用没负伤的那只大手抓住大车，转脸看了看皮埃尔。

“我说，老乡，是不是就把我们扔到这儿？还是送往莫斯科？”他问。

皮埃尔正陷入沉思，没听见有人问他，他时而看看迎着伤兵车走来的骑兵团队，时而看看他身旁的大车，车上的伤兵有两个坐着，一个躺着。其中一个坐着的，大概脸腮子受了伤，整个脑袋都包着破布，一边腮肿了起来，像孩子的头似的。他的嘴和鼻子都歪到一边了。这个伤兵正望着教堂划十字；另一个是年幼点的新兵，金黄色的头发，脸白得一点血色也没有，带着友好的傻笑望着皮埃尔；第三个趴在那儿，看不见他的脸，骑兵歌手们从车子旁边走过。

“咳，你在哪儿……倔强的人……”

“你流落在异乡……”他们唱着士兵舞曲。仿佛是响应他们，山坡高处不断地发出叮当的钟声，别有一番欢乐意味。此外，还有一种别样的欢乐：对面山坡顶上沐浴着灼热的阳光，可是山坡下，伤兵车旁边，喘息着的小马附近，皮埃尔站着的地方，却充满着潮湿、阴暗和忧伤。

那个肿脸的士兵怒气冲冲地望着骑兵歌手们。

“嗬，花花公子！”他责备地说。

“这个年头，不仅看见了士兵，也看见了农夫！农夫也被赶上战场，”那个站在车后面的士兵面露苦笑对皮埃尔说，“现在什么都不分了……要老百姓都一齐冲上去，一句话——为了莫斯科。他们要拼到底啊。”尽管那个士兵说得不清楚，皮埃尔仍明白了他的意思。赞同地点点头。

路通了，皮埃尔走下山坡，坐车继续前进。

皮埃尔一路上左顾右盼，寻找着熟悉的面孔，但是见到的都是不同兵种的陌生的军人面孔，他们全都惊奇地盯着他那顶白帽子和绿色燕尾服。

走了四俄里，他才遇到第一个熟人，于是高兴地招呼他。这个熟人是个军医官。他坐着一辆篷车，向皮埃尔迎面赶来，他旁边坐的是一个青年医生。这个军医官认出皮埃尔，就叫那个坐在前座代替车夫的哥萨克停下来。

“伯爵！大人，您怎么到这儿来了！”医生问。

“想来看看……”

“对了，对了，就要有可看的了……”

皮埃尔下了车，站在那儿跟医生谈话，向他说明自己打算参加战斗。

医生劝别祖霍夫直接去见勋座。

“在开战的时候，您何必要到这个谁也不知道，谁也找不到的地方来。”他说，向年轻的同事递了个眼色，“不管怎么说，勋座总认识您，他会厚待您的。老兄，就这么办吧。”医生说。

医生好像很疲倦而且很匆忙。

“您是这么考虑的……不过我还想问您，阵地在哪儿？”皮埃尔说。

“阵地？”医生说。“那可不是我的事。过了塔塔里诺沃，那儿有许多人挖战壕，您爬上那个高岗，就可以看见了。”医生说。

“从那儿可以看见吗？……要是您……”

但是医生打断了他的话，向篷车走去。

“我本来可以送您，可是，说真的，我的事情多得到这儿（他在喉咙上比划了一下），我还要赶到兵团司令那儿去。我们的情况怎么样……您可知道，伯爵，明天就要打一场大仗，一支十万人的军队，至少会有两万伤员，可是我们的担架、病床、护士、医生，还不够六千人用。我们有一万辆大车，但是还需要别的东西；那只好自己看着办了。”

在那成千上万活泼的、健康的、年轻的、年老的，怀着愉快的好奇心看他的帽子的人们中间，有两万人注定要负伤或死亡（也许就是他看见的那些人），这个古怪的念头使皮埃尔不由得感到吃惊。

“他们也许明天就死掉，可为什么除了死他们还想别的呢？”由于某种不可揣测的联想，他突然很生动地想起莫扎伊斯克山坡，载着伤兵的大车，教堂的钟声，夕阳的余晖，以及骑兵们的歌声。

“骑兵们去作战，路上遇见伤兵，可是他们一点不去想那正在等待他们的命运，而只是瞟了伤兵一眼就走过去了。在他们之中有两万人注定要死亡，可是他们却对我的帽子感到惊讶！多么奇怪！”皮埃尔在去塔塔里诺沃的路上想道。

路左边有一所地主的住宅，那儿停着几辆马车、带篷的大车、一些勤务兵和哨兵。勋座就住在那儿。但是皮埃尔到的时候，他人不在，几乎一个参谋人员也没有。他们都做礼拜去了。皮埃尔坐上马车继续往前走，向戈尔基进发。

皮埃尔的车上了山，到了山村里一条不大的街上，在这儿他第一次看见了农民后备军，他们头戴缀有十字架的帽子，身穿白衬衫，大声谈笑着，兴致勃勃，满身大汗正在路右边一座长满青草的高大土岗上干活儿。

他们中有许多人在挖土，另一些人用手推车在跳板上运土，还有些人站在那儿不动。

两个军官站在土岗上指挥他们。皮埃尔看见这些农夫显然还在为刚当上军人而开心、他想起了莫扎伊斯克那些伤兵，他开始明了，那个兵说·要·老·百·姓·都·一·齐·冲·上·去这句话的意思。这些在战场上干活儿的大胡子农夫，他们那古怪的笨重的靴子，冒着汗的脖子，有些人的敞开的斜领口，衬衫里面露出的晒黑的锁骨，这一切景象比皮埃尔过去所见所闻的更强有力地使他感到此时此刻的严肃性和重要性。

CHAPTER XXI

Chinese

PIERRE got out of his carriage, and passing by the toiling peasants, clambered up the knoll from which the doctor had told him he could get a view of the field of battle.

It was eleven o'clock in the morning. The sun was a little on the left, and behind Pierre, and in the 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 naïve, 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.

第二十一章

英文

皮埃尔下了马车，从干活儿的后备军人身边走过去，爬上那个医生告诉他从那儿可以看见战场的土岗。

这时是上午十一点左右。透过明净的、稀薄的空气，一轮太阳高悬在皮埃尔的左后方，明晃晃地照耀着面前像圆剧场一般隆起的广阔的战地全貌。

斯摩棱斯克大路从左上方穿过圆形剧场，经过一座坐落在土岗前下方五百来步有白色教堂的村子（这村子就是波罗底诺）蜿蜒曲折地延伸着。然后又从村子下面过去，跨过一座桥，一起一伏地经过几个山坡，盘旋着越爬越高，一直延伸到从六俄里外可以看见的瓦卢耶瓦村（现在拿破仑就驻扎在那儿）。过了瓦卢耶瓦村，大路就隐没在地平线上一片已经变黄的森林里了。在那片长满白桦和枞树的森林里，大路的右边，科洛恰修道院的十字架和钟楼远远地在太阳下闪光。在那黛青色的远方，在森林和大路的两旁，好些地方都可以看见冒烟的篝火和分辨不清的敌我双方的战士。右边，沿科洛恰河和莫斯科河流域，是峡谷纵横的山地。在峡谷中间，从远处可以看见别祖博沃村和扎哈林诺村。左边地势比较平坦，有长着庄稼的田地，那里可以看见一座被烧掉的冒烟的村子——谢苗诺夫斯科耶村。

皮埃尔从左右两边所看到的一切，都是那么不明确。战场的左右两边都不大像他所想象的那样。到处都找不到他希望看见的样子。只是看见田野、草地、军队、篝火的青烟、村庄、丘陵、小河，无论怎样观看，也不能从这充满生命活力的地方找到战场，甚至分不清敌人和我们的队伍。

“得问一个了解情况的人。”他想，于是转身问一个军官，那个军官正好奇地打量他那不是军人装束的庞大身躯。

“请问，”皮埃尔对那个军官说，“前面是什么村庄？”

“是布尔金诺吧？”那个军官问他的伙伴。

“波罗底诺。”另一个纠正他说。

显然，那个军官有一个谈话的机会，觉得很高兴，于是凑近皮埃尔。

“那儿是我们的人吗？”皮埃尔问。

“是的，再往前去就是法国人，”那个军官说，“那儿就是他们，看得见。”

“哪儿？哪儿？”皮埃尔问。

“凭肉眼就看得见。那不是，就在那儿！”军官用手指着河对岸左边看得见的烟，他脸上的神情严肃而认真，皮埃尔碰到的很多面孔都有这种表情。

“啊，那是法国人！那儿呢？……”皮埃尔指着左边的山岗，那附近有一些队伍。

“那是我们的人。”

“啊，是我们的人！那边呢？”皮埃尔指着远方有一棵大树的土岗，旁边有一个坐落在山谷里的村子，也有一些篝火在冒烟，还有一些黑糊糊的东西。

“这又是·他，”那个军官说。（即指舍瓦尔金诺多面堡。）

“昨天是我们的，现在是·他·的了。”

“那么我们的阵地呢？”

“阵地？”那个军官带着得意的微笑说。“这个我可以给您讲清楚，因为我修筑过我们所有的工事。在那儿，看见么，我们的中心在波罗底诺，就在那儿。”他指着前面有白色教堂的村庄。“那儿是科洛恰河渡口。就在那儿，您看，那边洼地上还堆放着成排的刚割下来的干草呢，您瞧，那儿还有一座桥。那是我们的中心。我们的右翼就在那儿（他指着离山谷很远的正右方），那儿是莫斯科河，那儿我们有三个多面堡，修筑得非常坚固。右翼……”军官说到这儿停住了。“您知道，这很难给您说得明白……昨天我们的右翼在那里，在舍瓦尔金诺，在那里，瞧见么，那儿有一棵橡树；现在我们把左翼后撤了，现在在那儿，那儿——您看见那个村子和那缕青烟了吗？——那是谢苗诺夫斯科耶，而这里，”他指了指拉耶夫斯基土岗。“不过，战斗未必在这里进行。·他把军队调到这里，只是一种诡计；·他很可能从右边迂回莫斯科。不过，不管在哪儿打，我们的人明天都要大大地减少了！”那个军官说。

一个年老的中士在军官说话的时候走过来，默默地等待他的长官把话说完；但是，显然他不喜欢军官在这个地方说这样的话，他打断了他的话。

“该去取土筐了。”他说，口气颇严厉。

军官似乎慌了神，好像明白他不该说这种话，只可以在心里想会有多么大的伤亡。

“对了，又要派三连去。”军官急忙说。

“您有何贵干，是大夫吗？”

“不是，我随便看看。”皮埃尔回答道。然后他又绕过那些后备军人走下山岗去。

“咳，该死的东西！”军官跟在他后面，捂着鼻子从干活的人们旁边跑过去，说道。

“瞧，他们！……抬着来了……那是圣母……马上就要到了……”突然听见嘈杂的人声，军官、士兵、后备军人都顺着大路往前跑去。

在波罗底诺山脚下出现了游行的教会队伍。在尘土飞扬的大路上，步兵在前面整整齐齐地走着，他们光着头，枪口朝下背着。步兵后面响起了教会的歌声。

没有戴帽子的士兵和后备军人绕过皮埃尔，向那队人跑去。

“圣母来了！保护神！……伊韦尔圣母！……”

“斯摩棱斯克圣母。”另外一个人更正说。

后备军人们——就是那些在村子里的，还有那些正在炮兵连干活儿的，都扔下铁锹向教会的游行队伍跑去。在尘土飞扬的路上行进着的一营人后面，是穿着法衣的神甫们——一个戴着高筒僧帽的小老头、一群僧侣和唱诗班。再后面就是士兵和军官抬着一幅巨大的、金光闪闪的黑脸圣像。这是从斯摩棱斯克运出并且从此就跟着军队的圣像。圣像的周围是成群的没戴帽子的军人，他们走着，跑着，跪拜叩头。

圣像抬到山上就停了下来，用一大块布托着圣像的人们换了班，读经员重新点起手提香炉，开始祈祷了。炽热的阳光烘烤着大地；清凉的微风吹拂着人们的头发和圣像的饰带，歌声在寥廓的苍穹下显得不怎么响亮。一大群光头的军官、士兵和后备军人围着圣像。有一些官员站在神甫和读经员后面的一片空地上，一个脖子上挂着圣升治十字勋章的秃顶将军，站在神甫背后，他没划十字（显然是德国人），耐心地等待祈祷结束，他认为必须听完那想必可以激发俄国人民的爱国热忱的祈祷。另外一个将军很精神地站在那里，一只手不时地在胸前抖动着划十字，他老向四周张望。站在农民中间的皮埃尔认出了官员中的几个熟人，但他没看他们：他全部的注意力都被这群贪看圣像的士兵和后备军人的严肃面孔吸引住了。疲倦的读经员一开始懒洋洋地、习惯地唱（唱第二十遍了）：“把你的奴隶从灾难中拯救出来吧，圣母。”神甫和助祭就接着唱：“上帝保佑我们，投向你，就像投向不可摧毁的堡垒。”于是所有人的脸上又现出那种意识到即将来临的重大事件时的表情，这种表情那天早晨皮埃尔在莫扎伊斯克山脚下看见过，有时也在碰见的许许多多张脸上看见过这种表情，人们更加频繁地低头，抖动头发，听得见叹息声和在胸前划十字发出的声音。

围着圣像的人群忽然闪开来，推挤着皮埃尔。从人们匆忙地让路这一点来看，向圣像走来的大概是一个非常显要的人物。

这是视察阵地的库图佐夫。他在回塔塔里诺沃的路上前来祈祷。皮埃尔从他与众不同的特殊身形，立刻认出了库图佐夫。

库图佐夫庞大而肥胖的身上穿着一件长长的礼服，背微驼，满头白发，没有戴帽子，浮肿的脸上有一只因负伤而流泪的白眼睛，他迈着一瘸一拐的摇晃不定的步子走进人群，在神甫后面停了下来。他用习惯性的动作划了十字，然后一躬到地，深深地叹了口气，低下满是白发的头。库图佐夫后面是贝尼格森和侍从。虽然总司令的出现引起了全体高级官员的注意，但是后备军人和士兵却没看他，仍然继续祷告着。

祈祷完毕了，库图佐夫走到圣像前，挺费劲地跪下叩头，试了半天想站起来，却因身体笨重、衰弱，站不起来。最后他还是站了起来，像天真的孩子似的噘起嘴唇去吻圣像，又鞠了一躬，一只手触到地面。将军们都跟着他这样做；然后是军官们照样做了，在军官之后，士兵和后备军人互相推挤着，践踏着，喘息着，流露出激动的神情在地上爬行。

CHAPTER XXII

Chinese

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 his get-up was of a style appropriate to active service. He wore a long military coat and had a riding-whip slung across his shoulder, as Kutuzov had.

Kutuzov had meanwhile reached the village, and sat down in the shade of the nearest house, on a bench which one Cossack ran to fetch him, and another hastily covered with a rug. An immense retinue of magnificent officers surrounded him.

The procession was moving on further, accompanied by the crowd. Pierre stood still about thirty paces from Kutuzov, talking to Boris.

He explained to him his desire to take part in the battle and to inspect the position.

“I tell you what you had better do,” said Boris. “I will do the honours of the camp for you. You will see everything best of all from where Count Bennigsen is to be. I am in attendance on him. I will mention it to him. And if you like to go over the position, come along with us; we are just going to the left flank. And then when we come back, I beg you will stay the night with me, and we will make up a game of cards. You know Dmitry Sergeitch, of course. He is staying there.” He pointed to the third house in Gorky.

“But I should have liked to have seen the right flank. I'm told it is very strong,” said Pierre. “I should have liked to go from the river Moskva through the whole position.”

“Well, that you can do later, but the great thing is the left flank.”

“Yes, yes. And where is Prince Bolkonsky's regiment? can you point it out to me?” asked Pierre.

“Andrey Nikolaevitch's? We shall pass it. I will take you to him.”

“What about the left flank?” asked Pierre.

“To tell you the truth, between ourselves, there's no making out how things stand with the left flank,” said Boris confidentially, dropping his voice. “Count Bennigsen had proposed something quite different. He proposed to fortify that knoll over there, not at all as it has … but …” Boris shrugged his shoulders. “His highness would not have it so, or he was talked over. You see …” Boris did not finish because Kaisarov, Kutuzov's adjutant, at that moment came up to Pierre. “Ah, Paisy Sergeitch,” said Boris to him, with an unembarrassed smile, “I am trying, you see, to explain the position to the count. It's amazing how his highness can gauge the enemy's plans so accurately!”

“Do you mean about the left flank?” said Kaisarov.

“Yes, yes; just so. Our left flank is now extremely strong.”

Although Kutuzov had made a clearance of the superfluous persons on the staff, Boris had succeeded, after the change he had made, in retaining a post at headquarters. Boris was in attendance on Count Bennigsen. Count Bennigsen, like every one on whom Boris had been in attendance, looked on young Prince Drubetskoy as an invaluable man. Among the chief officers of the army there were two clearly defined parties: Kutuzov's party and the party of Bennigsen, the chief of the staff. Boris belonged to the latter faction, and no one succeeded better than he did in paying the most servile adulation to Kutuzov, while managing to insinuate that the old fellow was not good for much, and that everything was really due to the initiative of Bennigsen. Now the decisive moment of battle had come, which must mean the downfall of Kutuzov and the transfer of the command to Bennigsen, or if Kutuzov should gain the battle, the credit of it must be skilfully put down to Bennigsen. In any case many promotions were bound to be made, and many new men were certain to be brought to the front after the morrow. And Boris was consequently in a state of nervous exhilaration all that day.

Others of Pierre's acquaintances joined him; and he had not time to answer all the questions about Moscow that were showered upon him, nor to listen to all they had to tell him. Every face wore a look of excitement and agitation. But it seemed to Pierre that the cause of the excitement that was betrayed by some of those faces was to be found in questions of personal success, and he could not forget that other look of excitement he had seen in the other faces, that suggested problems, not of personal success, but the universal questions of life and death.

Kutuzov noticed Pierre's figure and the group gathered about him.

“Call him to me,” said Kutuzov.

An adjutant communicated his highness's desire, and Pierre went towards the bench. But a militiaman approached Kutuzov before him. It was Dolohov.

“How does that man come to be here?” asked Pierre.

“Oh, he's such a sly dog, he pokes himself in everywhere!” was the answer he received. “He has been degraded to the ranks, you know. Now he wants to pop up again. He has made plans of some sort and spies in the enemy's lines at night … but he's a plucky fellow …”

Pierre took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Kutuzov.

“I decided that if I were to lay the matter before your highness, you might dismiss me or say that you were aware of the facts and then I shouldn't lose anything,” Dolohov was saying.

“To be sure.”

“And if I were right, I should do a service for my fatherland, for which I am ready to die.”

“To be sure … to be sure …”

“And if your highness has need of a man who would not spare his skin graciously remember me … perhaps I might be of use to your highness …”

“To be sure … to be sure …” repeated Kutuzov, looking with laughing, half-closed eye at Pierre.

Meanwhile Boris, with his courtier-like tact, had moved close to the commander-in-chief with Pierre, and in the most natural manner, in a quiet voice, as though continuing his previous conversation, he said to Pierre:

“The peasant militiamen have simply put on clean, white shirts to be ready to die. What heroism, count!”

Boris said this to Pierre with the evident intention of being overheard by his excellency. He knew Kutuzov's attention would be caught by those words, and his highness did in fact address him.

“What are you saying about the militia?” he said to Boris.

“They have put on white shirts, your highness, by way of preparing for to-morrow, to be ready for death.”

“Ah! … A marvellous, unique people,” said Kutuzov, and closing his eyes he shook his head. “A unique people!” he repeated, with a sigh.

“Do you want a sniff of powder?” he said to Pierre. “Yes; a pleasant smell. I have the honour to be one of your wife's worshippers; is she quite well? My quarters are at your service.” And Kutuzov began, as old people often do, gazing abstractedly about him, as though forgetting all he had to say or do. Apparently recollecting the object of his search, he beckoned to Andrey Sergeitch Kaisarov, the brother of his adjutant.

“How was it, how do they go, those verses of Marin? How do they go? What he wrote on Gerakov: ‘You will be teacher in the corps …' Tell me, tell me,” said Kutuzov, his countenance relaxing in readiness for a laugh. Kaisarov repeated the lines … Kutuzov, smiling, nodded his head to the rhythm of the verse.

When Pierre moved away from Kutuzov, Dolohov approached and took his hand

“I am very glad to meet you here, count,” he said, aloud, disregarding the presence of outsiders, and speaking with a marked determination and gravity. “On the eve of a day which God knows who among us will be destined to survive I am glad to have the chance of telling you that I regret the misunderstandings there have been between us in the past; and I should be glad to think you had nothing against me. I beg you to forgive me.”

Pierre looked with a smile at Dolohov, not knowing what to say to him. With tears starting into his eyes, Dolohov embraced and kissed Pierre.

Boris had said a few words to his general, and Count Bennigsen addressed Pierre, proposing that he should accompany them along the line.

“You will find it interesting,” he said.

“Yes, very interesting,” said Pierre.

Half an hour later Kutuzov was on his way back to Tatarinovo, while Bennigsen and his suite, with Pierre among them, were inspecting the position.

第二十二章

英文

被挤得跌跌撞撞的皮埃尔，向四处张望着。

“伯爵，彼得·基里雷奇！您怎么在这儿？”不知是谁在叫他，皮埃尔回头看了一眼。

鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊用手拍着弄脏了的膝盖（想必他也向圣像跪拜过），微笑着走了过来。鲍里斯穿着雅致，一副剽悍英武的气派。他穿一件长外衣，像库图佐夫一样肩上挎一根马鞭。

这时，库图佐夫向村庄走去，到了最近一户人家，就在阴凉处坐在一个哥萨克跑着送来的一张长凳上，另一个哥萨克赶快铺上一块毯子。一大群衣着华丽的侍从围着总司令。

圣像向前移动了，后面跟着一大群人。皮埃尔站在离库图佐夫三十来步的地方，在跟鲍里斯谈话。

皮埃尔说他想参加战斗，并且察看一下阵地。

“好哇，您这样做很好，”鲍里斯说。“Je　vous　ferai　les　honneurs　du　camp①，您可以从贝尼格森伯爵要去的地方把一切看得清清楚楚。我就在他的部下。我一定向他报告。如果您想巡视阵地，就跟我们来；我们要去左翼。然后再回来，请您在我们那里过夜，咱们可以凑一局牌。您不是认识德米特里·谢尔盖伊奇吗？他也在那儿住。”他指着戈尔基村第三户人家说。

①法语：我一定代表营盘招待您。

“不过我很想看看右翼，听说右翼很强。”皮埃尔说。“我想从莫斯科河出发，把整个阵地都走一遍。”

“好的，这以后再说，主要的是左翼……”

“是的，是的。博尔孔斯基的团队在哪儿？您能给我指点指点吗？”皮埃尔问道。

“安德烈·尼古拉耶维奇吗？我们要从那儿经过，我领您去找他。”

“我们的左翼怎么样？”皮埃尔问。

“我对您说实话，entre　nous①，天知道左翼的情况是怎样的，”鲍里斯说，机密地、压低了声音，“贝尔格森伯爵完全不是那么设想的。他本来打算在那个山岗上设防，完全不是现在这样……但是，”鲍里斯耸了耸肩。“勋座不同意，也许他听了什么人的话。要知道……”鲍里斯没有把话说完，因为这时库图佐夫的副官凯萨罗夫来了。“啊！派西·谢尔盖伊奇，”鲍里斯带着很随便的微笑对凯萨罗夫说。“我正给伯爵介绍我们的阵地呢。真奇怪，勋座对法国人的意图怎么料得这么准！”

①法语：只是咱们俩私下谈谈。

“您是说左翼吗？”凯萨罗夫说。

“是的，是的，正是。我们的左翼现在非常、非常坚固。”

虽然库图佐夫把参谋部所有多余的人都打发走了，鲍里斯却能不受这次调动的影响而留在司令部。鲍里斯在贝尔格森伯爵那儿谋了个职位。贝尼格森伯爵也像鲍里斯跟随过的所有的人一样，认为德鲁别茨科伊是个无价之宝。

军队领导层中有两个截然不同，泾渭分明的派别：库图佐夫派及其参谋长贝尼格森派。鲍里斯属于后一派，谁也没有他那样善于奴颜婢膝，曲意奉承库图佐夫，而同时又给人以老头子不行，一切都由贝尼格森主持的感觉。现在到了战斗的决定时刻，库图佐夫就该垮台了，大权将要交给贝尼格森，或者，就算库图佐夫打了胜仗，也要使人觉得一切功劳归贝尼格森。不管怎样，为明天的战斗将有重赏，一批新人将被提拔。因此，鲍里斯整天情绪激昂。

在凯萨罗夫之后，又有一些熟人走过来，皮埃尔来不及回答他们像撒豆子似的向他撒来的关于莫斯科情况的询问，也来不及听他们的讲述。每个人的表情都是既兴奋又惊慌，但是皮埃尔觉得，其中一些人之所以紧张，多半是因为考虑到个人得失，而另外一些人脸上的另一种紧张表情（这种紧张不是因为关心个人问题，而是关心整体的生死问题）却始终萦绕在皮埃尔心头。库图佐夫看见了皮埃尔和围着他的一群人。

“叫他来见我。”库图佐夫说。副官传达了勋座的命令，于是皮埃尔就向长凳走了过来。但是有一个普通的后备军人抢在他的前头向库图佐夫走去。这人是多洛霍夫。

“这家伙怎么在这儿？”皮埃尔问。

“这个骗子手，没有他钻不到的地方！”有人这样回答道。

“他早就降为士兵了。现在却要提升。他提出了些作战方案而且夜里爬到敌人的散兵线……倒是条好汉！……”

皮埃尔脱下帽子，恭恭敬敬地向库图佐夫鞠了一躬。

“我认为，如果我向勋座大人报告，您可能把我撵走，也许会说，您已经知道我所报告的事，即使这样，对我也没有什么坏处……”多洛霍夫说。

“是的，是的。”

“如果我对了，这就会给祖国带来好处，我随时准备为祖国献身。”

“是的，……是的……”

“假如勋座大人需要不吝惜自己生命的人，请记起我……

也许勋座大人用得上我。”

“是的……是的……”库图佐夫重复着，眯起眼睛，微笑地望着皮埃尔。

这时，鲍里斯以其侍从武官特有的灵活性，迅速移到皮埃尔身边，靠近了首长，用最自然的态度，仿佛是继续已经开始的谈话似的，低声对皮埃尔说：

“后备军人都穿上了干净的白衬衫，准备为国捐躯。多么英勇啊，伯爵！”

鲍里斯对皮埃尔说这话，显然是为了让勋座听见。他知道库图佐夫一样会注意这句话，勋座对他说：

“你说后备军人怎么来着？”他问鲍里斯。

“勋座大人，他们穿上白衬衫，准备明天去赴死。”

“啊！……英勇卓绝、无与伦比的人民！”库图佐夫说，他闭上眼睛，摇了摇头：“无与伦比的人民！”他叹息着，重复说了一遍。

“您想闻闻火药味吗？”他对皮埃尔说。“是的，令人愉快的气味。我很荣幸作为尊夫人的崇拜者。她好吗？我的住处可以供您使用。”正像老年人常有的情形，库图作夫精神恍惚地向四周张望，好象忘了他要说什么或者要做什么似的。

显然他想起他要寻找的东西了，于是他向副官的弟弟安德烈·谢尔盖伊奇·凯萨罗夫招手。

“马林那首诗是怎么说来着，怎么说的？就是咏格拉科夫的那几句：‘你在兵团里充教师爷……'你说说看，你说说看。”库图佐夫说，显然想笑出来。凯萨罗夫背诵起来……库图佐夫微笑着，头随着诗的节奏摇晃着。

当皮埃尔离开库图佐夫时，多洛霍夫走近皮埃尔，握起他的手。

“我非常高兴在这儿看见您，伯爵，”他不顾有别人在场，大声说着，语气特别坚定而激昂。“在这只有上帝才知道咱们之间谁注定活下来的前夕，我很高兴能有这个机会对您说，我为咱们中间曾经发生的误会而抱歉，我希望您对我不再有任何芥蒂。请您原谅我。”

皮埃尔看着多洛霍夫，不知对他说什么好，一味咧着嘴微笑。多洛霍夫含泪拥抱皮埃尔，吻了吻他。

鲍里斯对他的将军说了几句话，于是贝尔格森转向皮埃尔，邀他一同去视察战线。

“那会使您感兴趣的。”他说。

“是的，会非常有趣。”皮埃尔说。

半小时后，库图佐夫向塔塔里诺沃进发，贝尼格森带着他的侍从，皮埃尔和他们一道，视察战线去了。

CHAPTER XXIII

Chinese

FROM GORKY Bennigsen went down the high-road to the bridge, which the officer on the knoll had pointed out to Pierre as the centre of the position, where by the riverside lay rows of sweet-scented, new-mown hay. They crossed the bridge to the village of Borodino, then turned to the left, and passing immense numbers of men and cannons, came out on to the high knoll on which militiamen were at work excavating. This was the redoubt, as yet unnamed, afterwards called Raevsky's redoubt, or the battery on the mound.

Pierre did not take special notice of this redoubt. He did not dream that that spot would be more memorable for him than any other part of the plain of Borodino. Then they crossed a hollow to Semyonovskoye, where the soldiers were dragging away the last logs of the huts and barns. Then they rode on downhill and uphill again, across a field of rye, trampled and laid as though by hail, along the track newly made by the artillery, over the ridges of the ploughed field, to the earthworks, at which the men were still at work.

Bennigsen halted at the earthworks, and looked in front at the redoubt of Shevardino, which had been ours the day before. Several horsemen could be descried upon it. The officers said that Napoleon and Murat were there. And all gazed eagerly at the little group of horsemen. Pierre too stared at them, trying to guess which of the scarcely discernible figures was Napoleon. At last the group of horsemen descended the hill and passed out of sight.

Bennigsen began explaining to a general who had ridden up to him the whole position of our troops. Pierre listened to his words, straining every faculty of his mind to grasp the essential points of the coming battle, but to his mortification he felt that his faculties were not equal to the task. He could make nothing of it. Bennigsen finished speaking, and noticing Pierre's listening face, he said, turning suddenly to him:

“It's not very interesting for you, I expect.”

“Oh, on the contrary, it's very interesting,” Pierre repeated, not quite truthfully.

From the earthworks they turned still more to the left of the road that ran winding through a thick, low-growing, birch wood. In the middle of the wood a brown hare with white feet popped out on the road before them, and was so frightened by the tramp of so many horses, that in its terror it hopped along the road just in front of them for a long while, rousing general laughter, and only when several voices shouted at it, dashed to one side and was lost in the thicket. After a couple of versts of woodland, they came out on a clearing, where were the troops of Tutchkov's corps, destined to protect the left flank.

At this point, at the extreme left flank, Bennigsen talked a great deal with much heat; and gave instructions, of great importance from a military point of view, as it seemed to Pierre. Just in front of the spot where Tutchkov's troops were placed there rose a knoll, which was not occupied by troops. Bennigsen was loud in his criticism of this oversight, saying that it was insane to leave a height that commanded the country round unoccupied and place troops just below it. Several generals expressed the same opinion. One in particular, with martial warmth, declared that they were doomed there to certain destruction. Bennigsen, on his own responsibility, ordered the troops to be moved on to the high-road.

This change of position on the left flank made Pierre more than ever doubtful of his capacity for comprehending military matters. As he heard Bennigsen and the other generals criticising the position of the troops at the foot of the hill, Pierre fully grasped and shared their views. But that was why he could not imagine how the man who had placed them there could have made so gross and obvious a blunder.

Pierre did not know that the troops had not been placed there to defend their position, as Bennigsen supposed, but had been stationed in that concealed spot in ambush, in order unobserved to deal a sudden blow at the enemy unawares. Bennigsen, ignorant of this project, moved the troops into a prominent position without saying anything about this change to the commander-in-chief.

第二十三章

英文

贝尼格森离开戈尔基，顺着山坡大路向大桥进发，这就是军官指给皮埃尔看的那个阵地中心，那座桥旁边的河岸上堆放着刚割下来的，散发着香味的干草。他们驰过桥，进入波罗底诺，再向左转，经过大批的士兵和大炮，来到有士兵在那儿挖土的高岗。这个多面堡当时还没有命名，后来叫作拉耶夫斯基多面堡或者叫作高地炮台。

皮埃尔没有特别注意这个多面堡。他不知道，这个地方对他来说比波罗底诺战场任何其他地方，都更值得纪念。随后他们经过一条山沟来到谢苗诺夫斯科耶村，士兵们正在那儿从农舍和烘干室拖走最后剩余的木头。然后，他们又翻了一座山，经过一片像被冰雹砸平的黑麦地，沿着耕地上刚被炮兵踏出来的坎坷不平的道路驰到了正在构筑的突角堡①。

①突角堡是一种防御工事。——托尔斯泰注。

贝尼格森在突角堡停下来，向前眺望那昨天还属于我们的舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，看得见那儿几个骑马的人。军官们说，那里面有拿破仑，要不就有缪拉。大家都贪婪地望那一群骑马的人。皮埃尔也往那边看，极力猜测那几个影影绰绰的人影中哪一个是拿破仑，后来，骑马的人下了山岗就不见了。

贝尼格森对走到跟前的军官开始讲解我军的整个形势。皮埃尔听着贝尼格森的讲解，绞尽脑汁想弄清目前战役的真相，但是他很苦恼，觉得自己脑子不够用。他一点也没听懂。

贝尼格森停住了，看着仔细倾听的皮埃尔，忽然对他说：

“你大概不感兴趣吧？”

“啊，正相反，非常感兴趣。”皮埃尔说了违心的话。

他们离开突角堡向左转，在一片稠密的白桦树矮林中，沿着一条蜿蜒的小道前行。走到树林中时，一只白腿的褐色兔子跳到他们面前的路上，被众多的马蹄声吓得惊慌失措，在他们前面的路上跳上了很久，引起大家的注意和哄笑，直到几个人一齐吆喝它，才跳到路旁的密林里。在密林里又走了两三俄里，他们来到一片林间空地上，这儿驻扎着防守左翼的图奇科夫兵团的队伍。

在这极左翼的地方，贝尼格森激动地讲了很久，然后发布了一个皮埃尔觉得是重要的军事命令。在图奇科夫的队伍驻地前面有一个高地。这个高地没有驻扎军队。贝尼格森大声地批评这个错误。他说，不据守制高点而把军队放在山下面，简直是发疯。有几个将军也表示了同样的意见。其中一个特别具有军人的暴烈脾气，他说，把军队放在这儿是等着敌人来屠杀。贝尼格森自作主张，命令把军队都转移到高地上去。

左翼的部署，使皮埃尔更加怀疑自己对军事的理解能力。听贝尼格森和将军们批评军队驻在山上，皮埃尔完全明白他们所说的话，也赞成他们的意见；但是，正因为如此，他不能理解那个把军队放在山下的人怎么会犯这样明显、重大的错误。

皮埃尔不知道，这些军队布置在那儿，并不像贝尼格森所想的那样是为了守卫阵地，而是隐蔽起来打伏击的，也就是出其不意地打击来犯的敌人。贝尼格森不知道这一点，不向总司令报告，便自作主张把军队调到前面去。

CHAPTER XXIV

Chinese

PRINCE ANDREY was on that bright August evening lying propped on his elbow in a broken-down barn in the village of Knyazkovo, at the further end of the encampment of his regiment. Through a gap in the broken wall he was looking at the line of thirty-year-old pollard birches in the hedge, at the field with sheaves of oats lying about it, and at the bushes where he saw the smoke of camp-fires, at which the soldiers were doing their cooking.

Cramped and useless and burdensome as his life seemed now to Prince Andrey, he felt nervously excited and irritable on the eve of battle, just as he had felt seven years earlier before Austerlitz.

He had received and given all orders for the next day's battle. He had nothing more to do. But thoughts—the simplest, most obvious, and therefore most awful—would not leave him in peace. He knew that the battle next day would be the most awful of all he had taken part in, and death, for the first time, presented itself to him, not in relation to his actual manner of life, or to the effect of it on others, but simply in relation to himself, to his soul, and rose before him simply and awfully with a vividness that made it like a concrete reality. And from the height of this vision everything that had once occupied him seemed suddenly illumined by a cold, white light, without shade, without perspective or outline. His whole life seemed to him like a magic lantern, at which he had been looking through the glass and by artificial light. Now he saw suddenly, without the glass, in the clear light of day, those badly daubed pictures. “Yes, yes, there are they; there are the cheating forms that excited torments and ecstasies in me,” he said to himself, going over in imagination the chief pictures of the magic lantern of his life, looking at them now in the cold, white daylight of a clear view of death. “These are they, these coarsely sketched figures which seemed something splendid and mysterious. Glory, the good society, love for a woman, the fatherland—what grand pictures they used to seem to me, with what deep meaning they seemed to be filled! And it is all so simple, so colourless and coarse in the cold light of the day that I feel is dawning for me.” The three chief sorrows of his life held his attention especially. His love for a woman, his father's death, and the invasion of the French—now in possession of half of Russia. “Love! … That little girl, who seemed to me brimming over with mysterious forces. How I loved her! I made romantic plans of love, of happiness with her! O simple-hearted youth!” he said aloud bitterly. “Why, I believed in some ideal love which was to keep her faithful to me for the whole year of my absence! Like the faithful dove in the fable, she was to pine away in my absence from her! And it was all so much simpler. … It is all so horribly simple and loathsome!

“My father, too, laid out Bleak Hills, and thought it was his place, his land, his air, his peasants. But Napoleon came along, and without even knowing of his existence, swept him away like a chip out of his path, and his Bleak Hills laid in the dust, and all his life with it brought to nought. Princess Marya says that it is a trial sent from above. What is the trial for, since he is not and never will be? He will never come back again! He is not! So for whom is it a trial? Fatherland, the spoiling of Moscow! But to-morrow I shall be killed; and not by a Frenchman even, maybe, but by one of our own men, like the soldier who let off his gun close to my ear yesterday; and the French will come and pick me up by my head and my heels and pitch me into a hole that I may not stink under their noses; and new conditions of life will arise, and I shall know nothing of them, and I shall not be at all.”

He gazed at the row of birch-trees with their motionless yellows and greens, and the white bark shining in the sun. “To die then, let them kill me to-morrow, let me be no more … let it all go on, and let me be at an end.” He vividly pictured his own absence from that life. And those birch-trees, with their light and shade, and the curling clouds and the smoke of the fires, everything around seemed suddenly transformed into something weird and menacing. A shiver ran down his back. Rising quickly to his feet, he went out of the barn, and began to walk about.

He heard voices behind the barn.

“Who's there?” called Prince Andrey.

The red-nosed Captain Timohin, once the officer in command of Dolohov's company, now in the lack of officers promoted to the command of a battalion, came shyly into the barn. He was followed by an adjutant and the paymaster of the regiment.

Prince Andrey got up hurriedly, listened to the matters relating to their duties that the officers had come to him about, gave a few instructions, and was about to dismiss them, when he heard a familiar, lisping voice behind the barn.

“Que diable!” said the voice of some one stumbling over something.

Prince Andrey, peeping out of the barn, saw Pierre, who had just hit against a post lying on the ground, and had almost fallen over. Prince Andrey always disliked seeing people from his own circle, especially Pierre, who reminded him of all the painful moments he had passed through on his last stay at Moscow.

“Well!” he cried. “What fate has brought you? I didn't expect to see you.”

While he said this there was in his eyes and his whole face more than coldness, positive hostility, which Pierre noticed at once. He had approached the barn with the greatest eagerness, but now, on seeing Prince Andrey's face, he felt constrained and ill at ease.

“I have come … you know … simply … I have come … it's interesting,” said Pierre, who had so many times already that day repeated that word “interesting” without meaning it. “I wanted to see the battle!”

“Yes, yes; but your mason brethren, what do they say of war? How would they avert it?” said Prince Andrey sarcastically. “Well, tell me about Moscow. And my people? Have they reached Moscow at last?” he asked seriously.

“Yes. Julie Drubetskoy told me so. I went to call, but missed them. They had started for your Moscow estate.”