บทที่ บทที่ 35 · 第35章

Two of the enemy’s shots had already flown across the bridge, where

there was a crush. Halfway across stood Prince Nesvítski, who had

alighted from his horse and whose big body was jammed against the

railings. He looked back laughing to the Cossack who stood a few

steps behind him holding two horses by their bridles. Each time Prince

Nesvítski tried to move on, soldiers and carts pushed him back again

and pressed him against the railings, and all he could do was to smile.

“What a fine fellow you are, friend!” said the Cossack to a convoy

soldier with a wagon, who was pressing onto the infantrymen who were

crowded together close to his wheels and his horses. “What a fellow!

You can’t wait a moment! Don’t you see the general wants to pass?”

But the convoyman took no notice of the word “general” and shouted

at the soldiers who were blocking his way. “Hi there, boys! Keep to

the left! Wait a bit.” But the soldiers, crowded together shoulder to

shoulder, their bayonets interlocking, moved over the bridge in a dense

mass. Looking down over the rails Prince Nesvítski saw the rapid, noisy

little waves of the Enns, which rippling and eddying round the piles of

the bridge chased each other along. Looking on the bridge he saw equally

uniform living waves of soldiers, shoulder straps, covered shakos,

knapsacks, bayonets, long muskets, and, under the shakos, faces with

broad cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and listless tired expressions, and

feet that moved through the sticky mud that covered the planks of the

bridge. Sometimes through the monotonous waves of men, like a fleck of

white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer, in a cloak and with

a type of face different from that of the men, squeezed his way along;

sometimes like a chip of wood whirling in the river, an hussar on foot,

an orderly, or a townsman was carried through the waves of infantry;

and sometimes like a log floating down the river, an officers’ or

company’s baggage wagon, piled high, leather covered, and hemmed in on

all sides, moved across the bridge.

“It’s as if a dam had burst,” said the Cossack hopelessly. “Are

there many more of you to come?”

“A million all but one!” replied a waggish soldier in a torn coat,

with a wink, and passed on followed by another, an old man.

“If he” (he meant the enemy) “begins popping at the bridge now,”

said the old soldier dismally to a comrade, “you’ll forget to

scratch yourself.”

That soldier passed on, and after him came another sitting on a cart.

“Where the devil have the leg bands been shoved to?” said an

orderly, running behind the cart and fumbling in the back of it.

And he also passed on with the wagon. Then came some merry soldiers who

had evidently been drinking.

“And then, old fellow, he gives him one in the teeth with the butt

end of his gun...” a soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up said

gaily, with a wide swing of his arm.

“Yes, the ham was just delicious...” answered another with a loud

laugh. And they, too, passed on, so that Nesvítski did not learn who

had been struck on the teeth, or what the ham had to do with it.

“Bah! How they scurry. He just sends a ball and they think they’ll

all be killed,” a sergeant was saying angrily and reproachfully.

“As it flies past me, Daddy, the ball I mean,” said a young soldier

with an enormous mouth, hardly refraining from laughing, “I felt like

dying of fright. I did, ‘pon my word, I got that frightened!” said

he, as if bragging of having been frightened.

That one also passed. Then followed a cart unlike any that had gone

before. It was a German cart with a pair of horses led by a German, and

seemed loaded with a whole houseful of effects. A fine brindled cow with

a large udder was attached to the cart behind. A woman with an unweaned

baby, an old woman, and a healthy German girl with bright red cheeks

were sitting on some feather beds. Evidently these fugitives were

allowed to pass by special permission. The eyes of all the soldiers

turned toward the women, and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace

all the soldiers’ remarks related to the two young ones. Every face

bore almost the same smile, expressing unseemly thoughts about the

women.

“Just see, the German sausage is making tracks, too!”

“Sell me the missis,” said another soldier, addressing the German,

who, angry and frightened, strode energetically along with downcast

eyes.

“See how smart she’s made herself! Oh, the devils!”

“There, Fedótov, you should be quartered on them!”

“I have seen as much before now, mate!”

“Where are you going?” asked an infantry officer who was eating an

apple, also half smiling as he looked at the handsome girl.

The German closed his eyes, signifying that he did not understand.

“Take it if you like,” said the officer, giving the girl an apple.

The girl smiled and took it. Nesvítski like the rest of the men on the

bridge did not take his eyes off the women till they had passed. When

they had gone by, the same stream of soldiers followed, with the same

kind of talk, and at last all stopped. As often happens, the horses of

a convoy wagon became restive at the end of the bridge, and the whole

crowd had to wait.

“And why are they stopping? There’s no proper order!” said the

soldiers. “Where are you shoving to? Devil take you! Can’t you wait?

It’ll be worse if he fires the bridge. See, here’s an officer jammed

in too”—different voices were saying in the crowd, as the men looked

at one another, and all pressed toward the exit from the bridge.

Looking down at the waters of the Enns under the bridge, Nesvítski

suddenly heard a sound new to him, of something swiftly approaching...

something big, that splashed into the water.

“Just see where it carries to!” a soldier near by said sternly,

looking round at the sound.

“Encouraging us to get along quicker,” said another uneasily.

The crowd moved on again. Nesvítski realized that it was a cannon ball.

“Hey, Cossack, my horse!” he said. “Now, then, you there! get out

of the way! Make way!”

With great difficulty he managed to get to his horse, and shouting

continually he moved on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to make way

for him, but again pressed on him so that they jammed his leg, and those

nearest him were not to blame for they were themselves pressed still

harder from behind.

“Nesvítski, Nesvítski! you numskull!” came a hoarse voice from

behind him.

Nesvítski looked round and saw, some fifteen paces away but separated

by the living mass of moving infantry, Váska Denísov, red and shaggy,

with his cap on the back of his black head and a cloak hanging jauntily

over his shoulder.

“Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass!” shouted Denísov

evidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshot

whites glittering and rolling as he waved his sheathed saber in a small

bare hand as red as his face.

“Ah, Váska!” joyfully replied Nesvítski. “What’s up with

you?”

“The squadwon can’t pass,” shouted Váska Denísov, showing his

white teeth fiercely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which

twitched its ears as the bayonets touched it, and snorted, spurting

white foam from his bit, tramping the planks of the bridge with his

hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the railings had his rider let

him. “What is this? They’re like sheep! Just like sheep! Out of the

way!... Let us pass!... Stop there, you devil with the cart! I’ll hack

you with my saber!” he shouted, actually drawing his saber from its

scabbard and flourishing it.

The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and

Denísov joined Nesvítski.

“How’s it you’re not drunk today?” said Nesvítski when the

other had ridden up to him.

“They don’t even give one time to dwink!” answered Váska

Denísov. “They keep dwagging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they

mean to fight, let’s fight. But the devil knows what this is.”

“What a dandy you are today!” said Nesvítski, looking at

Denísov’s new cloak and saddlecloth.

Denísov smiled, took out of his sabretache a handkerchief that diffused

a smell of perfume, and put it to Nesvítski’s nose.

“Of course. I’m going into action! I’ve shaved, bwushed my teeth,

and scented myself.”

The imposing figure of Nesvítski followed by his Cossack, and

the determination of Denísov who flourished his sword and shouted

frantically, had such an effect that they managed to squeeze through

to the farther side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the

bridge Nesvítski found the colonel to whom he had to deliver the order,

and having done this he rode back.

Having cleared the way Denísov stopped at the end of the bridge.

Carelessly holding in his stallion that was neighing and pawing the

ground, eager to rejoin its fellows, he watched his squadron draw

nearer. Then the clang of hoofs, as of several horses galloping,

resounded on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron, officers in

front and men four abreast, spread across the bridge and began to emerge

on his side of it.

The infantry who had been stopped crowded near the bridge in the

trampled mud and gazed with that particular feeling of ill-will,

estrangement, and ridicule with which troops of different arms usually

encounter one another at the clean, smart hussars who moved past them in

regular order.

“Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!” said one.

“What good are they? They’re led about just for show!” remarked

another.

“Don’t kick up the dust, you infantry!” jested an hussar whose

prancing horse had splashed mud over some foot soldiers.

“I’d like to put you on a two days’ march with a knapsack! Your

fine cords would soon get a bit rubbed,” said an infantryman, wiping

the mud off his face with his sleeve. “Perched up there, you’re more

like a bird than a man.”

“There now, Zíkin, they ought to put you on a horse. You’d look

fine,” said a corporal, chaffing a thin little soldier who bent under

the weight of his knapsack.

“Take a stick between your legs, that’ll suit you for a horse!”

the hussar shouted back.