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第87章

战争与和平(上)-第87章

小说: 战争与和平(上) 字数: 每页4000字

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 that significant glance it was impossible to tell whether he agreed or disagreed; was pleased or displeased; at the arrangements。 Next to Weierother sat Count Langeron; with a subtle smile that never left his Southern French face during the reading; he gazed at his delicate fingers as he twisted round a golden snuff…box with a portrait on it。 In the middle of one of the lengthy paragraphs he stopped the rotatory motion of the snuff…box; lifted his head; and with hostile courtesy lurking in the corners of his thin lips; interrupted Weierother and would have said something。 But the Austrian general; continuing to read; frowned angrily with a motion of the elbows that seemed to say: “Later; later; you shall give your opinion; now be so good as to look at the map and listen。” Langeron turned up his eyes with a look of bewilderment; looked round at Miloradovitch; as though seeking enlightenment; but meeting the significant gaze of Miloradovitch; that signified nothing; he dropped his eyes dejectedly; and fell to twisting his snuff…box again。
“A geography lesson;” he murmured as though to himself; but loud enough to be heard。
Przhebyshevsky; with respectful but dignified courtesy; put his hand up to his ear on the side nearest Weierother; with the air of a man absorbed in attention。 Dohturov; a little man; sat opposite Weierother with a studious and modest look on his face。 Bending over the map; he was conscientiously studying the arrangement of the troops and the unfamiliar locality。 Several times he asked Weierother to repeat words and difficult names of villages that he had not caught。 Weierother did so; and Dohturov made a note of them。
When the reading; which lasted more than an hour; was over; Langeron; stopping his twisting snuff…box; began to speak without looking at Weierother or any one in particular。 He pointed out how difficult it was to carry out such a disposition; in which the enemy’s position was assumed to be known; when it might well be uncertain seeing that the enemy was in movement。 Langeron’s objections were well founded; yet it was evident that their principal object was to make Weierother; who had read his plans so conceitedly; as though to a lot of schoolboys; feel that he had to deal not with fools; but with men who could teach him something in military matters。
When the monotonous sound of Weierother’s voice ceased; Kutuzov opened his eyes; as the miller wakes up at any interruption in the droning of the mill…wheels; listened to what Langeron was saying; and as though saying to himself: “Oh; you’re still at the same nonsense!” made haste to close his eyes again; and let his head sink still lower。
Langeron; trying to deal the most malignant thrusts possible at Weierother’s military vanity as author of the plan; showed that Bonaparte might easily become the attacking party instead of waiting to be attacked; and so render all this plan of the disposition of the troops utterly futile。 Weierother met all objections with a confident and contemptuous smile; obviously prepared beforehand for every objection; regardless of what they might say to him。
“If he could have attacked us; he would have done so to…day;” he said。
“You suppose him; then; to be powerless?” said Langeron。
“I doubt if he has as much as forty thousand troops;” answered Weierother with the smile of a doctor to whom the sick…nurse is trying to expound her own method of treatment。
“In that case; he is going to meet his ruin in awaiting our attack;” said Langeron with a subtle; ironical smile; looking round again for support to Miloradovitch near him。 But Miloradovitch was obviously thinking at that instant of anything in the world rather than the matter in dispute between the generals。
“Ma foi;” he said; “to…morrow we shall see all that on the field of battle。”
Weierother smiled again; a smile that said that it was comic and queer for him to meet with objections from Russian generals and to have to give proofs to confirm what he was not simply himself convinced of; but had thoroughly convinced their majesties the Emperors of too。
“The enemy have extinguished their fires and a continual noise has been heard in their camp;” he said。 “What does that mean? Either they are retreating—the only thing we have to fear; or changing their position” (he smiled ironically)。 “But even if they were to take up their position at Turas; it would only be saving us a great deal of trouble; and all our arrangements will remain unchanged in the smallest detail。”
“How can that be?…” said Prince Andrey; who had a long while been looking out for an opportunity of expressing his doubts。 Kutuzov waked up; cleared his throat huskily; and looked round at the generals。
“Gentlemen; the disposition for to…morrow; for to…day indeed (for it’s going on for one o’clock); can’t be altered now;” he said。 “You have heard it; and we will all do our duty。 And before a battle nothing is of so much importance…” (he paused) “as a good night’s rest。”
He made a show of rising from his chair。 The generals bowed themselves out。 It was past midnight。 Prince Andrey went out。
The council of war at which Prince Andrey had not succeeded in expressing his opinion; as he had hoped to do; had left on him an impression of uncertainty and uneasiness。 Which was right—Dolgorukov and Weierother? or Kutuzov and Langeron and the others; who did not approve of the plan of attack—he did not know。 But had it really been impossible for Kutuzov to tell the Tsar his views directly? Could it not have been managed differently? On account of personal and court considerations were tens of thousands of lives to be risked—“and my life; mine?” he thought。
“Yes; it may well be that I shall be killed to…morrow;” he thought。
And all at once; at that thought of death; a whole chain of memories; the most remote and closest to his heart; rose up in his imagination。 He recalled his last farewell to his father and his wife; he recalled the early days of his love for her; thought of her approaching motherhood; and he felt sorry for her and for himself; and in a nervously overwrought and softened mood he went out of the cottage at which he and Nesvitsky were putting up; and began to walk to and fro before it。 The night was foggy; and the moonlight glimmered mysteriously through the mist。 “Yes; to…morrow; to…morrow!” he thought。 “To…morrow; maybe; all will be over for me; all these memories will be no more; all these memories will have no more meaning for me。 To…morrow; perhaps—for certain; indeed—to…morrow; I have a presentiment; I shall have for the first time to show all I can do。” And he pictured the engagement; the loss of it; the concentration of the fighting at one point; and the hesitation of all the commanding officers。 And then the happy moment—that Toulon he had been waiting for so long—at last comes to him。 Resolutely and clearly he speaks his opinion to Kutuzov and Weierother; and the Emperors。 All are struck by the justness of his view; but no one undertakes to carry it into execution; and behold; he leads the regiment; only making it a condition that no one is to interfere with his plans; and he leads his division to the critical point and wins the victory alone。 “And death and agony!” said another voice。 But Prince Andrey did not answer that voice; and went on with his triumphs。 The disposition of the battle that ensues is all his work alone。 Nominally; he is an adjutant on the staff of Kutuzov; but he does everything alone。 The battle is gained by him alone。 Kutuzov is replaced; he is appointed。… “Well; and then?” said the other voice again; “what then; if you do a dozen times over escape being wounded; killed; or deceived before that; well; what then?” “Why; then…” Prince Andrey answered himself; “I don’t know what will come then; I can’t know; and don’t want to; but if I want that; if I want glory; want to be known to men; want to be loved by them; it’s not my fault that I want it; that it’s the only thing I care for; the only thing I live for。 Yes; the only thing! I shall never say to any one; but; my God! what am I to do; if I care for nothing but glory; but men’s love? Death; wounds; the loss of my family—nothing has terrors fo

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