战争与和平(上)-第88章

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for　nothing　but　glory；　but　men’s　love？　Death；　wounds；　the　loss　of　my　family—nothing　has　terrors　for　me。　And　dear　and　precious　as　many　people　are　to　me：　father；　sister；　wife—the　people　dearest　to　me；　yet　dreadful　and　unnatural　as　it　seems；　I　would　give　them　all　up　for　a　moment　of　glory；　of　triumph　over　men；　of　love　from　men　whom　I　don’t　know；　and　shall　never　know；　for　the　love　of　those　people　there；”　he　thought；　listening　to　the　talk　in　the　courtyard　of　Kutuzov’s　house。　He　could　hear　the　voices　of　the　officers’　servants　packing　up；　one　of　them；　probably　a　coachman；　was　teasing　Kutuzov’s　old　cook；　a　man　called　Tit；　whom　Prince　Andrey　knew。　He　kept　calling　him　and　making　a　joke　on　his　name。
“Tit；　hey；　Tit？”　he　said。
“Well？”　answered　the　old　man。
“Tit；　stupay　molotit”　（“Tit；　go　a…thrashing”）；　said　the　jester。
“Pooh；　go　to　the　devil；　do；”　he　heard　the　cook’s　voice；　smothered　in　the　laughter　of　the　servants。
“And　yet；　the　only　thing　I　love　and　prize　is　triumph　over　all　of　them；　that　mysterious　power　and　glory　which　seems　hovering　over　me　in　this　mist！”


Chapter　13
ROSTOV　had　been　sent　that　night　with　a　platoon　on　picket　duty　to　the　line　of　outposts　in　the　foremost　part　of　Bagration’s　detachment。　His　hussars　were　scattered　in　couples　about　the　outposts；　he　himself　rode　about　the　line　of　the　outposts　trying　to　struggle　against　the　sleepiness　which　kept　overcoming　him。　Behind　him　could　be　seen　the　immense　expanse　of　the　dimly　burning　fires　of　our　army；　before　him　was　the　misty　darkness。　However　intently　Rostov　gazed　into　this　misty　distance；　he　could　see　nothing；　at　one　moment　there　seemed　something　greyish；　at　the　next　something　blackish；　then　something　like　the　glimmer　of　a　fire　over　there　where　the　enemy　must　be；　then　he　fancied　the　glimmer　had　been　only　in　his　own　eyes。　His　eyes　kept　closing；　and　there　floated　before　his　mind　the　image　of　the　Emperor；　then　of　Denisov；　and　Moscow　memories；　and　again　he　opened　his　eyes　and　saw　close　before　him　the　head　and　ears　of　the　horse　he　was　riding；　and　sometimes　black　figures　of　hussars；　when　he　rode　within　six　paces　of　them；　but　in　the　distance　still　the　same　misty　darkness。　“Why？　it　may　well　happen；”　mused　Rostov；　“that　the　Emperor　will　meet　me　and　give　me　some　commission；　as　he　might　to　any　officer；　he’ll　say；　“Go　and　find　out　what’s　there。”　There　are　a　lot　of　stories　of　how　quite　by　chance　he　has　made　the　acquaintance　of　officers　and　given　them　some　place　close　to　him　too。　Oh；　if　he　were　to　give　me　a　place　in　attendance　on　him！　Oh；　what　care　I　would　take　of　him；　how　I　would　tell　him　the　whole　truth；　how　I　would　unmask　all　who　deceive　him！”　And　to　picture　his　love　and　devotion　to　the　Tsar　more　vividly；　Rostov　imagined　some　enemy　or　treacherous　German；　whom　he　would　with　great　zest　not　simply　kill；　but　slap　in　the　face　before　the　Tsar’s　eyes。　All　at　once　a　shout　in　the　distance　roused　Rostov。　He　started　and　opened　his　eyes。　“Where　am　I？　Yes；　in　the　picket　line；　the　pass　and　watchword—shaft；　Olmütz。　How　annoying　that　our　squadron　will　be　in　reserve　…”　he　thought。　“I’ll　ask　to　go　to　the　front。　It　may　be　my　only　chance　of　seeing　the　Emperor。　And　now　it’s　not　long　before　I’m　off　duty。　I’ll　ride　round　once　more；　and　as　I　come　back；　I’ll　go　to　the　general　and　ask　him。”　He　sat　up　straight　in　the　saddle　and　set　off　to　ride　once　more　round　his　hussars。　It　seemed　to　him　that　it　was　lighter。　On　the　left　side　he　could　see　a　sloping　descent　that　looked　lighted　up　and　a　black　knoll　facing　it　that　seemed　steep　as　a　wall。　On　this　knoll　was　a　white　patch　which　Rostov　could　not　understand；　was　it　a　clearing　in　the　wood；　lighted　up　by　the　moon；　or　the　remains　of　snow；　or　white　horses？　It　seemed　to　him　indeed　that　something　was　moving　over　that　white　spot。　“It　must　be　snow—that　spot：　a　spot—une　tache；”　Rostov　mused　dreamily。　“But　that’s　not　a　tache　…　Na　…　tasha；　my　sister；　her　black　eyes。　Na　…　tasha　（won’t　she　be　surprised　when　I　tell　her　how　I’ve　seen　the　Emperor！）　Natasha　…　tasha　…　sabretache。…”　“Keep　to　the　right；　your　honour；　there　are　bushes　here；”　said　the　voice　of　an　hussar；　by　whom　Rostov　was　riding　as　he　fell　asleep。　Rostov　lifted　his　head；　which　had　dropped　on　to　his　horse’s　mane；　and　pulled　up　beside　the　hussar。　He　could　not　shake　off　the　youthful；　childish　drowsiness　that　overcame　him。　“But；　I　say；　what　was　I　thinking？　I　mustn’t　forget。　How　I　am　going　to　speak　to　the　Emperor？　No；　not　that—that’s　to…morrow。　Yes；　yes！　Natasha；　attacks；　tacks　us；—whom？　The　hussars。　Ah；　the　hussars　with　their　moustaches　…　Along　the　Tversky　boulevard　rode　that　hussar　with　the　moustaches；　I　was　thinking　of　him　too　just　opposite　Guryev’s　house。…　Old　Guryev。…　Ah；　a　fine　fellow；　Denisov！　But　that’s　all　nonsense。　The　great　thing　is　that　the　Emperor’s　here　now。　How　he　looked　at　me　and　longed　to　say　something；　but　he　did　not　dare。…　No；　it　was　I　did　not　dare。　But　that’s　nonsense；　and　the　great　thing　is　not　to　forget　something　important　I　was　thinking　of；　yes。　Natasha；　attacks　us；　yes；　yes；　yes。　That’s　right。”　And　again　he　dropped　with　his　head　on　his　horse’s　neck。　All　at　once　it　seemed　to　him　that　he　was　being　fired　at。　“What？　what？…　Cut　them　down！　What？”　Rostov　was　saying；　as　he　wakened　up。　At　the　instant　that　he　opened　his　eyes；　Rostov　heard　in　front；　over　where　the　enemy　were；　the　prolonged　shouting　of　thousands　of　voices。　His　horse　and　the　horse　of　the　hussar　near　him　pricked　up　their　ears　at　these　shouts。　Over　where　the　shouts　came　from；　a　light　was　lighted　and　put　out；　then　another；　and　all　along　the　line　of　the　French　troops　on　the　hillside　fires　were　lighted　and　the　shouts　grew　louder　and　louder。　Rostov　heard　the　sound　of　French　words　though　he　could　not　distinguish　them。　He　could　only　hear：　aaaa！　and　rrrr！
“What　is　it？　What　do　you　think？”　Rostov　said　to　the　hussar　near　him。　“That’s　in　the　enemy’s　camp　surely？”
The　hussar　made　no　reply。
“Why；　don’t　you　hear　it？”　Rostov　asked　again；　after　waiting　some　time　for　a　reply。
“Who　can　tell；　your　honour？”　the　hussar　answered　reluctantly。
“From　the　direction　it　must　be　the　enemy；”　Rostov　said　again。
“May　be　’tis；　and　may　be　not；”　said　the　hussar；　“it’s　dark。　Now！　steady；”　he　shouted　to　his　horse；　who　fidgeted。　Rostov’s　horse　too　was　restless；　and　pawed　the　frozen　ground　as　it　listened　to　the　shouts　and　looked　at　the　lights。　The　shouting　grew　louder　and　passed　into　a　mingled　roar　that　could　only　be　produced　by　an　army　of　several　thousands。　The　lights　stretched　further　and　further　probably　along　the　line　of　the　French　camp。　Rostov　was　not　sleepy　now。　The　gay；　triumphant　shouts　in　the　enemy’s　army　had　a　rousing　effect　on　him。　“Vive　l’Empereur！　l’Empereur！”　Rostov　could　hear　distinctly　now。
“Not　far　off；　beyond　the　stream　it　must　be；”　he　said　to　the　hussar　near　him。
The　hussar　merely　sighed　without　replying；　and　cleared　his　throat　angrily。　They　heard　the　thud　of　a　horse　trotting　along　the　line　of　hussars；　and　there　suddenly　sprang　up　out　of　the　night　mist；　looking　huge　as　an　elephant；　the　figure　of　a　sergeant　of　hussars。
“Your　honour；　the　generals！”　said　the　sergeant；　riding　up　to　Rostov。　Rostov；　still　looking　away　towards　the　lights　and　shouts；　rode　with　the　sergeant　to　meet　several　men　galloping　along　the　line。　One　was　on　a　white　horse。　Prince　Bagration　with　Prince　Dolgorukov　and　his　adjutant　had　ridden　out　to　look　at　the　strange　demonstration　of　lights　and　shouts　in　the　enemy’s　army。　Rostov；　going　up　to　Bagration；　reported　what　he　had　heard　and　seen　to　him；　and　joined　the　adjutants；　listening　to　what　the　generals　were　saying。
“Take　my　word　for　it；”　Prince　Dolgorukov　was　saying　to　Bagration；　“it’s　nothing　but　a　trick；　they　have　retreated　and　ordered　the　rearguard　to　light　fires　and　make　a　noise　to　deceive　us。”
“I　doubt　it；”　said　Bagration；　“since　evening　I　have　seen　them　on　that　knoll；　if　they　had　retreated；　they　would　have　withdrawn　from　there　too。　Monsieur　l’officier；”　Prince　Bagration　turned　to　Rostov；　“are　the　enemy’s　pickets　still　there？”
“They　were　there　this　evening；　but　now　I　can’t　be　sure；　your　excellency。　Shall　I　go　with　some　hussars　and　see？”　said　Rostov。
Bagration　stood　still；　and　before　answering；　tried　to　make　out　Rostov’s　face　i