战争与和平(上)-第259章
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redoubt。 “Only the battle won’t be there； most likely。 He has moved his troops here； but that’s a blind； he will probably try to get round on the right。 Well； but however it may be； there’ll be a lot of men missing at roll…call to…morrow！” said the officer。
The old sergeant； who came up during the officer’s speech； had waited in silence for his superior officer to finish speaking。 But at this point he interrupted him in undisguised annoyance at his last words。
“We have to send for gabions；” he said severely。
The officer seemed abashed； as though he were fully aware that though he might think how many men would be missing next day； he ought not to talk about it。
“Well； send the third company again；” he said hurriedly。 “And who are you； not one of the doctors？”
“No； I am nothing in particular；” answered Pierre。 And he went downhill again； passing the peasant militiamen。
“Ah； the damned beasts！” said the officer； pinching his nose； and hurrying by them with Pierre。
“Here they come！ … They are bringing her； they are coming。 … Here she is … they’ll be here in a minute；” cried voices suddenly； and officers； soldiers； and peasants ran forward along the road。
A church procession was coming up the hill from Borodino。 In front of it a regiment of infantry marched smartly along the dusty road； with their shakoes off and their muskets lowered。 Behind the infantry came the sounds of church singing。
Soldiers and peasants came running down bareheaded to meet it； overtaking Pierre。
“They are bringing the Holy Mother！ Our defender … the Holy Mother of Iversky！ …”
“The Holy Mother of Smolensk …” another corrected。
The militiamen who had been in the village and those who had been working at the battery； flinging down their spades； ran to meet the procession。 The battalion marching along the dusty road was followed by priests in church robes； a little old man in a hood with attendant deacons and choristers。 Behind them came soldiers and officers bearing a huge holy picture； with tarnished face in a setting of silver。 This was the holy ikon that had been brought away from Smolensk； and had accompanied the army ever since。 Behind； before； and all around it； walked or ran crowds of soldiers with bared heads； bowing to the earth。
On the top of the hill the procession stopped； the men bearing the holy picture on a linen cloth were relieved by others； the deacons relighted their censers； and the service began。 The burning rays of the sun beat vertically down on the crowds； a faint； fresh breeze played with the hair of their bare heads； and fluttered the ribbons with which the holy picture was decked； the singing sounded subdued under the open sky。 An immense crowd—officers； soldiers； and militiamen—stood round； all with bare heads。 In a space apart； behind the priests and deacons； stood the persons of higher rank。 A bald general； with the order of St。 George on his neck； stood directly behind the priest。 He was unmistakably a German； for he stood； not crossing himself； patiently waiting for the end of the service； to which he thought it right to listen； probably as a means of arousing the patriotism of the Russian peasantry； another general stood in a martial pose and swung his arm before his chest； looking about him as he made the sign of the cross。 Pierre； standing among the peasants； recognised in this group of higher rank several persons he knew。 But he did not look at them； his whole attention was engrossed by the serious expression of the faces in the crowd； soldiers and peasants alike； all gazing with the same eagerness at the holy picture。 As soon as the weary choristers （it was their twentieth service） began languidly singing their habitual chant； “O Mother of God； save Thy servants from calamity；” and priest and deacon chimed in； “For to Thee we all fly as our invincible Bulwark and Protectress；” there was a gleam on every face of that sense of the solemnity of the coming moment； which he had seen on the hill at Mozhaisk and by glimpses in so many of the faces meeting him that morning。 And heads were bowed lower； while locks of hair fluttered in the breeze； and there was the sound of sighing and beating the breast as the soldiers crossed themselves。
The crowd suddenly parted and pressed upon Pierre。 Some one； probably a very great person； judging by the promptitude with which they made way for him； was approaching the holy picture。
It was Kutuzov； who had been making the round of the position。 On his way back to Tatarinovo； he joined the service。 Pierre at once recognised him from his peculiar figure； which marked him out at once。
In a long military coat； with his enormously stout figure and bent back； with his white head uncovered； and his blind white eye； conspicuous in his puffy face； Kutuzov walked with his waddling swaying gait into the ring and stood behind the priest。 He crossed himself with an habitual gesture； bent down； with his hand touching the earth； and； sighing heavily； bowed his grey head。 Kutuzov was followed by Bennigsen and his suite。 In spite of the presence of the commander…in…chief； which drew the attention of all persons of higher rank； the militiamen and soldiers went on praying without looking at him。
When the service was over； Kutuzov went up to the holy picture； dropped heavily down on his knees； bowing to the earth； and for a long time he attempted to get up； and was unable from his weakness and heavy weight。 His grey head twitched with the strain。 At last he did get up； and putting out his lips in a na？ve； childlike way kissed the holy picture； and again bowed down； with one hand touching the ground。 The other generals followed his example； then the officers； and after them the soldiers and militiamen ran up with excited faces； pushing each other； and shoving breathlessly forward。
Chapter 22
STAGGERING from the crush of the crowd that carried him along with it； Pierre looked about him。
“Count！ Pyotr Kirillitch！ How did you come here？” said a voice。 Pierre looked round。
Boris Drubetskoy； brushing his knee with his hand （he had probably made it dusty in his devotions before the holy picture） came up to Pierre smiling。 Boris was elegantly dressed； though 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； Kutuzo
