【有声英语文学名著】战争与和平 Book 10（5）

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From Smolensk the troops continued to retreat, followed by the enemy. On the tenth of August the regiment¹ Prince Andrey commanded was marching along the highroad past the avenue leading to Bald Hills. Heat and drought had continued for more than three weeks. Each day fleecy clouds floated across the sky and occasionally veiled the sun, but toward evening the sky cleared again and the sun set in reddish-brown mist. Heavy night dews alone refreshed the earth. The unreaped corn was scorched² and shed its grain. The marshes³ dried up. The cattle lowed from hunger, finding no food on the sun-parched meadows. Only at night and in the forests while the dew lasted was there any freshness. But on the road, the highroad along which the troops marched, there was no such freshness even at night or when the road passed through the forest; the dew was imperceptible on the sandy dust churned up more than six inches deep. As soon as day dawned the march began. The artillery⁴ and baggage wagons⁵ moved noiselessly through the deep dust that rose to the very hubs of the wheels, and the infantry⁶ sank ankle-deep in that soft, choking, hot dust that never cooled even at night. Some of this dust was kneaded by the feet and wheels, while the rest rose and hung like a cloud over the troops, settling in eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils⁷, and worst of all in the lungs of the men and beasts as they moved along that road. The higher the sun rose the higher rose that cloud of dust, and through the screen of its hot fine particles one could look with naked eye at the sun, which showed like a huge crimson⁸ ball in the unclouded sky. There was no wind, and the men choked in that motionless atmosphere. They marched with handkerchiefs tied over their noses and mouths. When they passed through a village they all rushed to the wells and fought for the water and drank it down to the mud.

Prince Andrey was in command of a regiment, and the management of that regiment, the welfare of the men and the necessity of receiving and giving orders, engrossed⁹ him. The burning of Smolensk and its abandonment made an epoch¹⁰ in his life. A novel feeling of anger against the foe¹¹ made him forget his own sorrow. He was entirely¹² devoted¹³ to the affairs of his regiment and was considerate and kind to his men and officers. In the regiment they called him “our prince,” were proud of him and loved him. But he was kind and gentle only to those of his regiment, to Timokhin and the like — people quite new to him, belonging to a different world and who could not know and understand his past. As soon as he came across a former acquaintance or anyone from the staff, he bristled¹⁴ up immediately and grew spiteful, ironical¹⁵, and contemptuous. Everything that reminded him of his past was repugnant to him, and so in his relations with that former circle he confined himself to trying to do his duty and not to be unfair.

In truth everything presented itself in a dark and gloomy light to Prince Andrey, especially after the abandonment of Smolensk on the sixth of August (he considered that it could and should have been defended) and after his sick father had had to flee to Moscow, abandoning to pillage¹⁷ his dearly beloved Bald Hills which he had built and peopled. But despite this, thanks to his regiment, Prince Andrey had something to think about entirely apart from general questions. Two days previously¹⁸ he had received news that his father, son, and sister had left for Moscow; and though there was nothing for him to do at Bald Hills, Prince Andrey with a characteristic desire to foment¹⁹ his own grief decided²⁰ that he must ride there.

He ordered his horse to be saddled and, leaving his regiment on the march, rode to his father’s estate where he had been born and spent his childhood. Riding past the pond where there used always to be dozens of women chattering²¹ as they rinsed²² their linen²³ or beat it with wooden beetles²⁴, Prince Andrey noticed that there was not a soul about and that the little washing wharf²⁵, torn from its place and half submerged, was floating on its side in the middle of the pond. He rode to the keeper’s lodge²⁶. No one at the stone entrance gates of the drive and the door stood open. Grass had already begun to grow on the garden paths, and horses and calves²⁷ were straying in the English park. Prince Andrey rode up to the hothouse; some of the glass panes²⁸ were broken, and of the trees in tubs some were overturned and others dried up. He called for Taras the gardener, but no one replied. Having gone round the corner of the hothouse to the ornamental²⁹ garden, he saw that the carved garden fence was broken and branches of the plum trees had been torn off with the fruit. An old peasant whom Prince Andrey in his childhood had often seen at the gate was sitting on a green garden seat, plaiting a bast shoe.

He was deaf and did not hear Prince Andrey ride up. He was sitting on the seat the old prince used to like to sit on, and beside him strips of bast were hanging on the broken and withered³⁰ branch of a magnolia.

Prince Andrey rode up to the house. Several limes in the old garden had been cut down and a piebald mare³¹ and her foal were wandering in front of the house among the rosebushes. The shutters³² were all closed, except at one window which was open. A little serf boy, seeing Prince Andrey, ran into the house. Alpatych, having sent his family away, was alone at Bald Hills and was sitting indoors reading the Lives of the Saints. On hearing that Prince Andrey had come, he went out with his spectacles on his nose, buttoning his coat, and, hastily stepping up, without a word began weeping and kissing Prince Andrey’s knee.

Then, vexed³³ at his own weakness, he turned away and began to report on the position of affairs. Everything precious and valuable had been removed to Bogucharovo. Seventy quarters of grain had also been carted away. The hay and the spring corn, of which Alpatych said there had been a remarkable³⁴ crop that year, had been commandeered by the troops and mown down while still green. The peasants were ruined; some of them too had gone to Bogucharovo, only a few remained.

Without waiting to hear him out, Prince Andrey asked:

“When did my father and sister leave?” meaning when did they leave for Moscow.

Alpatych, understanding the question to refer to their departure for Bogucharovo, replied that they had left on the seventh and again went into details concerning the estate management, asking for instructions.

“Am I to let the troops have the oats, and to take a receipt for them? We have still six hundred quarters left,” he inquired.

“What am I to say to him?” thought Prince Andrey, looking down on the old man’s bald head shining in the sun and seeing by the expression on his face that the old man himself understood how untimely such questions were and only asked them to allay³⁶ his grief.

“Yes, let them have it,” replied Prince Andrey.

“If you noticed some disorder³⁷ in the garden,” said Alpatych, “it was impossible to prevent it. Three regiments³⁸ have been here and spent the night, dragoons mostly. I took down the name and rank of their commanding officer, to hand in a complaint about it.”

“Well, and what are you going to do? Will you stay here if the enemy occupies the place?” asked Prince Andrey.

Alpatych turned his face to Prince Andrey, looked at him, and suddenly with a solemn gesture raised his arm.

“He is my refuge! His will be done!” he exclaimed.

A group of bareheaded peasants was approaching across the meadow toward the prince.

“Well, good-by!” said Prince Andrey, bending over to Alpatych. “You must go away too, take away what you can and tell the serfs to go to the Ryazan estate or to the one near Moscow.”

Alpatych clung to Prince Andrey’s leg and burst into sobs³⁹. Gently disengaging himself, the prince spurred his horse and rode down the avenue at a gallop⁴⁰.

The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a fly impassive on the face of a loved one who is dead, tapping the last on which he was making the bast shoe, and two little girls, running out from the hot house carrying in their skirts plums they had plucked from the trees there, came upon Prince Andrey. On seeing the young master, the elder one frightened look clutched her younger companion by the hand and hid with her behind a birch tree, not stopping to pick up some green plums they had dropped.

Prince Andrey turned away with startled haste, unwilling⁴¹ to let them see that they had been observed. He was sorry for the pretty frightened little girl, was afraid of looking at her, and yet felt an irresistible⁴² desire to do so. A new sensation of comfort and relief came over him when, seeing these girls, he realized the existence of other human interests entirely aloof⁴³ from his own and just as legitimate⁴⁴ as those that occupied him. Evidently these girls passionately⁴⁵ desired one thing — to carry away and eat those green plums without being caught — and Prince Andrey shared their wish for the success of their enterprise. He could not resist looking at them once more. Believing their danger past, they sprang from their ambush⁴⁶ and, chirruping something in their shrill⁴⁷ little voices and holding up their skirts, their bare little sunburned feet scampered⁴⁸ merrily and quickly across the meadow grass.

Prince Andrey was somewhat refreshed by having ridden off the dusty highroad along which the troops were moving. But not far from Bald Hills he again came out on the road and overtook his regiment at its halting place by the dam of a small pond. It was past one o’clock. The sun, a red ball through the dust, burned and scorched his back intolerably through his black coat. The dust always hung motionless above the buzz of talk that came from the resting troops. There was no wind. As he crossed the dam Prince Andrey smelled the ooze⁴⁹ and freshness of the pond. He longed to get into that water, however dirty it might be, and he glanced round at the pool from whence came sounds of shrieks⁵⁰ and laughter. The small, muddy, green pond had risen visibly more than a foot, flooding the dam, because it was full of the naked white bodies of soldiers with brick-red hands, necks, and faces, who were splashing about in it. All this naked white human flesh, laughing and shrieking⁵¹, floundered about in that dirty pool like carp stuffed into a watering can, and the suggestion of merriment in that floundering mass rendered it specially¹⁶ pathetic.

One fair-haired young soldier of the third company, whom Prince Andrey knew and who had a strap⁵² round the calf⁵³ of one leg, crossed himself, stepped back to get a good run, and plunged⁵⁴ into the water; another, a dark noncommissioned officer who was always shaggy, stood up to his waist in the water joyfully⁵⁵ wriggling⁵⁶ his muscular figure and snorted with satisfaction as he poured the water over his head with hands blackened to the wrists. There were sounds of men slapping one another, yelling, and puffing⁵⁷.

Everywhere on the bank, on the dam, and in the pond, there was healthy, white, muscular flesh. The officer, Timokhin, with his red little nose, standing³⁵ on the dam wiping himself with a towel, felt confused at seeing the prince, but made up his mind to address him nevertheless.

“It’s very nice, your excellency! Wouldn’t you like to?” said he.

“It’s dirty,” replied Prince Andrey, making a grimace⁵⁸.

“We’ll clear it out for you in a minute,” said Timokhin, and, still undressed, ran off to clear the men out of the pond.

“The prince wants to bathe.”

“What prince? Ours?” said many voices, and the men were in such haste to clear out that the prince could hardly stop them. He decided that he would rather himself with water in the barn.

“Flesh, bodies, cannon⁵⁹ fodder⁶⁰!” he thought, and he looked at his own naked body and shuddered⁶¹, not from cold but from a sense of disgust and horror he did not himself understand, aroused by the sight of that immense number of bodies splashing about in the dirty pond.

On the seventh of August Prince Bagration wrote as follows from his quarters at Mikhaylovna on the Smolensk road:

Dear Count Alexis Andreevich — (He was writing to Arakcheev but knew that his letter would be read by the Emperor, and therefore weighed every word in it to the best of his ability.)

I expect the Minister [Barclay de Tolly] has already reported the abandonment of Smolensk to the enemy. It is pitiable and sad, and the whole army is in despair that this most important place has been wantonly abandoned. I, for my part, begged him personally most urgently and finally wrote him, but nothing would induce him to consent. I swear to you on my honor that Napoleon was in such a fix as never before and might have lost half his army but could not have taken Smolensk. Our troops fought, and are fighting, as never before. With fifteen thousand men I held the enemy at bay for thirty-five hours and beat him; but he would not hold out even for fourteen hours. It is disgraceful, a stain on our army, and as for him, he ought, it seems to me, not to live. If he reports that our losses were great, it is not true; perhaps about four thousand, not more, and not even that; but even were they ten thousand, that’s war! But the enemy has lost masses . . .

What would it have cost him to hold out for another two days? They would have had to retire of their own accord, for they had no water for men or horses. He gave me his word he would not retreat, but suddenly sent instructions that he was retiring that night. We cannot fight in this way, or we may soon bring the enemy to Moscow . . .

There is a rumor⁶² that you are thinking of peace. God forbid that you should make peace after all our sacrifices and such insane retreats! You would set all Russia against you and every one of us would feel ashamed to wear the uniform. If it has come to this — we must fight as long as Russia can and as long as there are men able to stand . . .

One man ought to be in command, and not two. Your Minister may perhaps be good as a Minister, but as a general he is not merely bad but execrable, yet to him is entrusted⁶³ the fate of our whole country. . . . I am really frantic⁶⁴ with vexation; forgive my writing boldly. It is clear that the man who advocates the conclusion of a peace, and that the Minister should command the army, does not love our sovereign and desires the ruin of us all. So I write you frankly⁶⁵: call out the militia⁶⁶. For the Minister is leading these visitors after him to Moscow in a most masterly way. The whole army feels great suspicion of the Imperial aide-de-camp Wolzogen. He is said to be more Napoleon’s man than ours, and he is always advising the Minister. I am not merely civil to him but obey him like a corporal, though I am his senior. This is painful, but, loving my benefactor⁶⁷ and sovereign, I submit. Only I am sorry for the Emperor that he entrusts⁶⁸ our fine army to such as he. Consider that on our retreat we have lost by fatigue⁶⁹ and left in the hospital more than fifteen thousand men, and had we attacked this would not have happened. Tell me, for God’s sake, what will Russia, our mother Russia, say to our being so frightened, and why are we abandoning our good and gallant⁷⁰ Fatherland to such rabble⁷¹ and implanting feelings of hatred⁷² and shame in all our subjects? What are we scared at and of whom are we afraid? I am not to blame that the Minister is vacillating, a coward, dense⁷³, dilatory⁷⁴, and has all bad qualities. The whole army bewails it and calls down curses upon him ...

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