战争与和平(上)-第276章

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There　were　three　tables　in　the　tent。　Two　were　occupied；　on　the　third　they　laid　Prince　Andrey。　For　some　time　he　was　left　alone；　an　involuntary　witness　of　what　was　being　done　at　the　other　tables。　On　the　table　nearest　sat　a　Tatar；　probably　of　a　Cossack　regiment；　judging　from　the　uniform　that　had　been　thrown　down　close　by。　Four　soldiers　were　holding　him。　A　doctor　in　spectacles　was　cutting　something　in　his　brown；　muscular　back。
‘Ooh！　ooh！　ooh！…”　the　Tatar；　as　it　were；　grunted；　and　all　of　a　sudden；　throwing　up　his　broad；　swarthy；　sun…burned　face；　and　showing　his　white　teeth；　he　began　wriggling；　twitching；　and　shrieking　a　piercingly　shrill；　prolonged　scream。　On　the　other　table；　round　which　a　number　of　persons　were　standing；　a　big；　stout　man　lay　on　his　back；　with　his　head　flung　back。　The　colour　and　curliness　of　the　hair　and　the　shape　seemed　strangely　familiar　to　Prince　Andrey。　Several　assistants　were　holding　him；　and　weighing　on　his　chest。　One　white；　plump　leg　was　incessantly　moving　with　a　rapid；　spasmodic　twitching。　This　man　was　sobbing　and　choking　convulsively。　Two　doctors—one　was　pale　and　trembling—were　mutely　engaged　in　doing　something　with　the　other　red；　gory　leg。　Having　finished　with　the　Tatar；　over　whom　a　cloak　was　thrown；　the　doctor　in　spectacles　came　up　to　Prince　Andrey；　wiping　his　hands。
He　glanced　at　his　face；　and　hurriedly　turned　away。　“Undress　him！　Why　are　you　dawdling？”　he　shouted　angrily　to　the　assistant。
His　earliest；　remotest　childhood　came　back　to　Prince　Andrey；　when　the　assistant；　with　tucked…up　sleeves；　hurriedly　unbuttoned　his　buttons；　and　took　off　his　clothes。　The　doctor　bent　close　down　over　the　wound；　felt　it；　and　sighed　deeply。　Then　he　made　a　sign　to　some　one。　And　the　excruciating　pain　inside　his　stomach　made　Prince　Andrey　lose　consciousness。　When　he　regained　consciousness；　the　broken　splinters　of　his　thigh　bone　had　been　removed；　the　bits　of　ragged　flesh　had　been　cut　off；　and　the　wound　bound　up。　Water　was　sprinkled　on　his　face。　As　soon　as　Prince　Andrey　opened　his　eyes；　the　doctor　bent　over　him；　kissed　him　on　the　lips　without　speaking；　and　hurried　away。
After　the　agony　he　had　passed　through；　Prince　Andrey　felt　a　blissful　peace；　such　as　he　had　not　known　for　very　long。　All　the　best　and　happiest　moments　of　his　life；　especially　his　earliest　childhood；　when　he　had　been　undressed　and　put　to　bed；　when　his　nurse　had　sung　lullabies　over　him；　when；　burying　his　head　in　the　pillows；　he　had　felt　happy　in　the　mere　consciousness　of　life；　rose　before　his　imagination；　not　like　the　past　even；　but　as　though　it　were　the　actual　present。
The　doctors　were　busily　engaged　with　the　wounded　man；　whose　head　had　seemed　somehow　familiar　to　Prince　Andrey：　they　were　lifting　him　up　and　trying　to　soothe　him。
“Show　it　to　me…　ooo！　o！　ooo！”　he　could　hear　his　frightened；　abjectly　suffering　moans；　broken　by　sobs。　Hearing　his　moans；　Prince　Andrey　wanted　to　cry。　Either　because　he　was　dying　thus　without　glory；　or　because　he　was　sorry　to　part　with　life；　or　from　these　memories　of　a　childhood　that　could　never　return；　or　because　he　was　in　pain；　or　because　others　were　suffering；　and　that　man　was　moaning　so　piteously；　he　longed　to　weep　childlike；　good；　almost　happy；　tears。
They　showed　the　wounded　man　the　leg　that　had　been　amputated；　wearing　a　boot；　and　covered　with　dry　gore。　“O！　oooo！”　he　sobbed　like　a　woman。　The　doctor　who　had　been　standing　near　him；　screening　his　face；　moved　away。
“My　God！　How’s　this？　Why　is　he　here？”　Prince　Andrey　wondered。
In　the　miserable；　sobbing；　abject　creature；　whose　leg　had　just　been　cut　off；　he　recognised　Anatole　Kuragin。　It　was　Anatole　they　were　holding　up　in　their　arms　and　offering　a　glass　of　water；　the　edge　of　which　he　could　not　catch　with　his　trembling；　swollen　lips。　Anatole　drew　a　sobbing；　convulsive　breath。　“Yes；　it　is　he；　yes；　that　man　is　somehow　closely　and　painfully　bound　up　with　me；”　thought　Prince　Andrey；　with　no　clear　understanding　yet　of　what　was　before　him。　“What　is　the　connection　between　that　man　and　my　childhood；　my　life？”　he　asked　himself；　unable　to　find　the　clue。　And　all　at　once　a　new；　unexpected　memory　from　that　childlike　world　of　purity　and　love　rose　up　before　Prince　Andrey。　He　remembered　Natasha；　as　he　had　seen　her　for　the　first　time　at　the　ball　in　1810；　with　her　slender　neck　and　slender　arms；　and　her　frightened；　happy　face；　ready　for　ecstatic　enjoyment；　and　a　love　and　tenderness　awoke　in　his　heart　for　her　stronger　and　more　loving　than　ever。　He　recalled　now　the　bond　that　existed　between　him　and　this　man；　who　was　looking　vaguely　at　him　through　the　tears　that　filled　his　swollen　eyes。　Prince　Andrey　remembered　everything；　and　a　passionate　pity　and　love　for　that　suffering　man　filled　his　happy　heart。
Prince　Andrey　could　restrain　himself　no　more　and　wept　tears　of　love　and　tenderness　over　his　fellow…men；　over　himself；　and　over　their　errors　and　his　own。　“Sympathy；　love　for　our　brothers；　for　those　who　love　us；　love　for　those　who　hate　us；　love　for　our　enemies；　yes；　the　love　that　God　preached　upon　earth；　that　Marie　sought　to　teach　me；　and　I　did　not　understand；　that　is　why　I　am　sorry　to　part　with　life；　that　is　what　was　left　me　if　I　had　lived。　But　now　it　is　too　late。　I　know　that！”


Chapter　38
THE　TEARFUL　SPECTACLE　of　the　battlefield；　heaped　with　dead　and　wounded；　in　conjunction　with　the　heaviness　of　his　head；　the　news　that　some　twenty　generals　he　knew　well　were　among　the　killed　or　wounded；　and　the　sense　of　the　impotence　of　his　once　mighty　army；　made　an　unexpected　impression　on　Napoleon；　who　was　usually　fond　of　looking　over　the　dead　and　wounded；　proving　thereby；　as　he　imagined；　his　dauntless　spirit。　On　that　day；　the　awful　spectacle　of　the　battlefield　overcame　this　dauntless　spirit；　which　he　looked　upon　as　a　merit　and　a　proof　of　greatness。　He　hastened　away　from　the　field　of　battle　and　returned　to　Shevardino。　With　a　yellow；　puffy；　heavy　face；　dim　eyes；　a　red　nose；　and　a　husky　voice；　he　sat　on　a　camp…stool；　looking　down　and　involuntarily　listening　to　the　sounds　of　the　firing。　With　sickly　uneasiness　he　awaited　the　end　of　this　action；　in　which　he　considered　himself　the　prime　mover；　though　he　could　not　have　stopped　it。　The　personal；　human　sentiment　for　one　brief　moment　gained　the　ascendant　over　the　artificial　phantasm　of　life；　that　he　had　served　so　long。　He　imagined　in　his　own　case　the　agonies　and　death　he　had　seen　on　the　battlefield。　The　heaviness　of　his　head　and　chest　reminded　him　of　the　possibility　for　him　too　of　agony　and　death。　At　that　minute　he　felt　no　longing　for　Moscow；　for　victory　or　for　glory。　（What　need　had　he　for　more　glory？）　The　one　thing　he　desired　now　was　repose；　tranquillity；　and　freedom。　But　when　he　was　on　the　height　above　Semyonovskoye；　the　officer　in　command　of　the　artillery　proposed　to　him　to　bring　several　batteries　up　on　to　that　height　to　increase　the　fire　on　the　Russian　troops　before　Knyazkovo。　Napoleon　assented；　and　gave　orders　that　word　should　be　brought　him　of　the　effect　produced　by　this　battery。
An　adjutant　came　to　say　that　by　the　Emperor’s　orders　two　hundred　guns　had　been　directed　upon　the　Russians；　but　that　they　were　still　holding　their　ground。
“Our　fire　is　mowing　them　down　in　whole　rows；　but　they　stand　firm；”　said　the　adjutant。
“They　want　more　of　it！”　said　Napoleon　in　his　husky　voice。
“Sire？”　repeated　the　adjutant；　who　had　not　caught　the　words。
“They　want　even　more！”　Napoleon　croaked　hoarsely；　frowning。　“Well；　let　them　have　it　then。”
Already；　without　orders　from　him；　what　he　did　not　really　want　was　being　done；　and　he　gave　the　order　to　do　it　simply　because　he　thought　the　order　was　expected　of　him。　And　he　passed　back　again　into　his　old　artificial　world；　peopled　by　the　phantoms　of　some　unreal　greatness；　and　again　（as　a　horse　running　in　a　rolling　wheel　may　imagine　it　is　acting　on　its　own　account）　he　fell　back　into　submissively　performing　the　cruel；　gloomy；　irksome；　and　inhuman　part　destined　for　him。
And　not　for　that　hour　and　day　only　were　the　mind　and　conscience　darkened　in　that　man；　on　whom　the　burden　of　all　that　was　being　done　lay　even　more　heavily　than　on　all　the　others　who　took　part　in　it。　Never；　down　to　the　end　of　his　life；　had　he　the　least　comprehension　of　good；　of　beauty；　of　truth；　of　the　significance　of　his　own　acts；　which　were　too　far　opposed　to　truth　a