الفصل الفصل 220 · 第220章

On returning to Górki after having seen Prince Andrew, Pierre ordered

his groom to get the horses ready and to call him early in the morning,

and then immediately fell asleep behind a partition in a corner Borís

had given up to him.

Before he was thoroughly awake next morning everybody had already left

the hut. The panes were rattling in the little windows and his groom was

shaking him.

“Your excellency! Your excellency! Your excellency!” he kept repeating

pertinaciously while he shook Pierre by the shoulder without looking at

him, having apparently lost hope of getting him to wake up.

“What? Has it begun? Is it time?” Pierre asked, waking up.

“Hear the firing,” said the groom, a discharged soldier. “All the

gentlemen have gone out, and his Serene Highness himself rode past long

ago.”

Pierre dressed hastily and ran out to the porch. Outside all was bright,

fresh, dewy, and cheerful. The sun, just bursting forth from behind a

cloud that had concealed it, was shining, with rays still half broken

by the clouds, over the roofs of the street opposite, on the

dew-besprinkled dust of the road, on the walls of the houses, on the

windows, the fence, and on Pierre’s horses standing before the hut. The

roar of guns sounded more distinct outside. An adjutant accompanied by a

Cossack passed by at a sharp trot.

“It’s time, Count; it’s time!” cried the adjutant.

Telling the groom to follow him with the horses, Pierre went down the

street to the knoll from which he had looked at the field of battle the

day before. A crowd of military men was assembled there, members of the

staff could be heard conversing in French, and Kutúzov’s gray head in

a white cap with a red band was visible, his gray nape sunk between his

shoulders. He was looking through a field glass down the highroad before

him.

Mounting the steps to the knoll Pierre looked at the scene before him,

spellbound by beauty. It was the same panorama he had admired from that

spot the day before, but now the whole place was full of troops and

covered by smoke clouds from the guns, and the slanting rays of the

bright sun, rising slightly to the left behind Pierre, cast upon it

through the clear morning air penetrating streaks of rosy, golden-tinted

light and long dark shadows. The forest at the farthest extremity of

the panorama seemed carved in some precious stone of a yellowish-green

color; its undulating outline was silhouetted against the horizon and

was pierced beyond Valúevo by the Smolénsk highroad crowded with troops.

Nearer at hand glittered golden cornfields interspersed with copses.

There were troops to be seen everywhere, in front and to the right and

left. All this was vivid, majestic, and unexpected; but what impressed

Pierre most of all was the view of the battlefield itself, of Borodinó

and the hollows on both sides of the Kolochá.

Above the Kolochá, in Borodinó and on both sides of it, especially to

the left where the Vóyna flowing between its marshy banks falls into

the Kolochá, a mist had spread which seemed to melt, to dissolve, and to

become translucent when the brilliant sun appeared and magically colored

and outlined everything. The smoke of the guns mingled with this mist,

and over the whole expanse and through that mist the rays of the morning

sun were reflected, flashing back like lightning from the water, from

the dew, and from the bayonets of the troops crowded together by the

riverbanks and in Borodinó. A white church could be seen through the

mist, and here and there the roofs of huts in Borodinó as well as dense

masses of soldiers, or green ammunition chests and ordnance. And all

this moved, or seemed to move, as the smoke and mist spread out over

the whole space. Just as in the mist-enveloped hollow near Borodinó, so

along the entire line outside and above it and especially in the woods

and fields to the left, in the valleys and on the summits of the high

ground, clouds of powder smoke seemed continually to spring up out of

nothing, now singly, now several at a time, some translucent, others

dense, which, swelling, growing, rolling, and blending, extended over

the whole expanse.

These puffs of smoke and (strange to say) the sound of the firing

produced the chief beauty of the spectacle.

“Puff!”—suddenly a round compact cloud of smoke was seen merging from

violet into gray and milky white, and “boom!” came the report a second

later.

“Puff! puff!”—and two clouds arose pushing one another and blending

together; and “boom, boom!” came the sounds confirming what the eye had

seen.

Pierre glanced round at the first cloud, which he had seen as a round

compact ball, and in its place already were balloons of smoke floating

to one side, and—“puff” (with a pause)—“puff, puff!” three and then four

more appeared and then from each, with the same interval—“boom—boom,

boom!” came the fine, firm, precise sounds in reply. It seemed as if

those smoke clouds sometimes ran and sometimes stood still while woods,

fields, and glittering bayonets ran past them. From the left, over

fields and bushes, those large balls of smoke were continually appearing

followed by their solemn reports, while nearer still, in the hollows and

woods, there burst from the muskets small cloudlets that had no time

to become balls, but had their little echoes in just the same way.

“Trakh-ta-ta-takh!” came the frequent crackle of musketry, but it was

irregular and feeble in comparison with the reports of the cannon.

Pierre wished to be there with that smoke, those shining bayonets, that

movement, and those sounds. He turned to look at Kutúzov and his suite,

to compare his impressions with those of others. They were all looking

at the field of battle as he was, and, as it seemed to him, with the

same feelings. All their faces were now shining with that latent warmth

of feeling Pierre had noticed the day before and had fully understood

after his talk with Prince Andrew.

“Go, my dear fellow, go... and Christ be with you!” Kutúzov was

saying to a general who stood beside him, not taking his eye from the

battlefield.

Having received this order the general passed by Pierre on his way down

the knoll.

“To the crossing!” said the general coldly and sternly in reply to one

of the staff who asked where he was going.

“I’ll go there too, I too!” thought Pierre, and followed the general.

The general mounted a horse a Cossack had brought him. Pierre went to

his groom who was holding his horses and, asking which was the quietest,

clambered onto it, seized it by the mane, and turning out his toes

pressed his heels against its sides and, feeling that his spectacles

were slipping off but unable to let go of the mane and reins, he

galloped after the general, causing the staff officers to smile as they

watched him from the knoll.