【有声英语文学名著】战争与和平 Book 10（36）

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Prince Andrey’s regiment¹ was among the reserves which till after one o’clock were stationed inactive behind Semenovsk, under heavy artillery² fire. Toward two o’clock the regiment, having already lost more than two hundred men, was moved forward into a trampled³ oatfield in the gap between Semenovsk and the Knoll⁴ Battery, where thousands of men perished that day and on which an intense, concentrated fire from several hundred enemy guns was directed between one and two o’clock.

Without moving from that spot or firing a single shot the regiment here lost another third of its men. From in front and especially from the right, in the unlifting smoke the guns boomed, and out of the mysterious domain⁵ of smoke that overlay the whole space in front, quick hissing⁶ cannon⁷ balls and slow whistling shells flew unceasingly. At times, as if to allow them a respite⁸, a quarter of an hour passed during which the cannon balls and shells all flew overhead, but sometimes several men were torn from the regiment in a minute and the slain⁹ were continually being dragged away and the wounded carried off.

With each fresh blow less and less chance of life remained for those not yet killed. The regiment stood in columns of battalion¹⁰, three hundred paces apart, but nevertheless the men were always in one and the same mood. All alike were taciturn and morose¹¹. Talk was rarely heard in the ranks, and it ceased altogether every time the thud of a successful shot and the cry of “stretchers!” was heard. Most of the time, by their officers’ order, the men sat on the ground. One, having taken off his shako, carefully loosened the gathers of its lining¹³ and drew them tight again; another, rubbing some dry clay between his palms, polished his bayonet; another fingered the strap¹⁴ and pulled the buckle¹⁵ of his bandolier, while another smoothed and refolded his leg bands and put his boots on again. Some built little houses of the tufts in the plowed¹⁶ ground, or plaited baskets from the straw in the cornfield. All seemed fully¹² absorbed in these pursuits. When men were killed or wounded, when rows of stretchers went past, when some troops retreated, and when great masses of the enemy came into view through the smoke, no one paid any attention to these things. But when our artillery or cavalry¹⁷ advanced or some of our infantry¹⁸ were seen to move forward, words of approval were heard on all sides. But the liveliest attention was attracted by occurrences quite apart from, and unconnected with, the battle. It was as if the minds of these morally exhausted¹⁹ men found relief in everyday, commonplace occurrences. A battery of artillery was passing in front of the regiment. The horse of an ammunition²⁰ cart put its leg over a trace. “Hey, look at the trace horse! . . . Get her leg out! She’ll fall. . . . Ah, they don’t see it!” came identical shouts from the ranks all along the regiment. Another time, general attention was attracted by a small brown dog, coming heaven knows whence, which trotted²¹ in a preoccupied²² manner in front of the ranks with tail stiffly erect²³ till suddenly a shell fell close by, when it yelped²⁴, tucked its tail between its legs, and darted²⁵ aside. Yells and shrieks²⁶ of laughter rose from the whole regiment. But such distractions²⁷ lasted only a moment, and for eight hours the men had been inactive, without food, in constant fear of death, and their pale and gloomy faces grew ever paler and gloomier.

Prince Andrey, pale and gloomy like everyone in the regiment, paced up and down from the border of one patch to another, at the edge of the meadow beside an oatfield, with head bowed and arms behind his back. There was nothing for him to do and no orders to be given. Everything went on of itself. The killed were dragged from the front, the wounded carried away, and the ranks closed up. If any soldiers ran to the rear they returned immediately and hastily. At first Prince Andrey, considering it his duty to rouse the courage of the men and to set them an example, walked about among the ranks, but he soon became convinced that this was unnecessary and that there was nothing he could teach them. All the powers of his soul, as of every soldier there, were unconsciously bent²⁸ on avoiding the contemplation of the horrors of their situation. He walked along the meadow, dragging his feet, rustling²⁹ the grass, and gazing at the dust that covered his boots; now he took big strides trying to keep to the footprints left on the meadow by the mowers, then he counted his steps, calculating how often he must walk from one strip to another to walk a mile, then he stripped the flowers from the wormwood that grew along a boundary rut, rubbed them in his palms, and smelled their pungent³⁰, sweetly bitter scent³¹. Nothing remained of the previous day’s thoughts. He thought of nothing. He listened with weary ears to the ever-recurring sounds, distinguishing the whistle of flying projectiles³² from the booming of the reports, glanced at the tiresomely³³ familiar faces of the men of the first battalion, and waited. “Here it comes . . . this one is coming our way again!” he thought, listening to an approaching whistle in the hidden region of smoke. “One, another! Again! It has hit. . . . ” He stopped and looked at the ranks. “No, it has gone over. But this one has hit!” And again he started trying to reach the boundary strip in sixteen paces. A whizz and a thud! Five paces from him, a cannon ball tore up the dry earth and disappeared. A chill ran down his back. Again he glanced at the ranks. Probably many had been hit — a large crowd had gathered near the second battalion.

“Adjutant!” he shouted. “Order them not to crowd together.”

The adjutant, having obeyed this instruction, approached Prince Andrey. From the other side a battalion commander rode up.

“Look out!” came a frightened cry from a soldier and, like a bird whirring in rapid flight and alighting on the ground, a shell dropped with little noise within two steps of Prince Andrey and close to the battalion commander’s horse. The horse first, regardless of whether it was right or wrong to show fear, snorted, reared almost throwing the major, and galloped³⁴ aside. The horse’s terror infected the men.

“Lie down!” cried the adjutant, throwing himself flat on the ground.

Prince Andrey hesitated. The smoking shell spun³⁵ like a top between him and the prostrate³⁶ adjutant, near a wormwood plant between the field and the meadow.

“Can this be death?” thought Prince Andrey, looking with a quite new, envious³⁷ glance at the grass, the wormwood, and the streamlet of smoke that curled up from the rotating black ball. “I cannot, I do not wish to die. I love life — I love this grass, this earth, this air. . . . ” He thought this, and at the same time remembered that people were looking at him.

“It’s shameful³⁸, sir!” he said to the adjutant. “What . . . ”

He did not finish speaking. At one and the same moment came the sound of an explosion, a whistle of splinters as from a breaking window frame, a suffocating³⁹ smell of powder, and Prince Andrey started to one side, raising his arm, and fell on his chest. Several officers ran up to him. From the right side of his abdomen⁴⁰, blood was welling out making a large stain on the grass.

The militiamen with stretchers who were called up stood behind the officers. Prince Andrey lay on his chest with his face in the grass, breathing heavily and noisily.

“What are you waiting for? Come along!”

The peasants went up and took him by his shoulders and legs, but he moaned piteously and, exchanging looks, they set him down again.

“Pick him up, lift him, it’s all the same!” cried someone.

They again took him by the shoulders and laid him on the stretcher.

“Ah, God! My God! What is it? The stomach? That means death! My God!”— voices among the officers were heard saying.

“It flew a hair’s breadth past my ear,” said the adjutant.

The peasants, adjusting the stretcher to their shoulders, started hurriedly along the path they had trodden down, to the dressing⁴¹ station.

“Keep in step! Ah . . . those peasants!” shouted an officer, seizing by their shoulders and checking the peasants, who were walking unevenly⁴² and jolting⁴³ the stretcher.

“Get into step, Fedor . . . I say, Fedor!” said the foremost peasant.

“Now that’s right!” said the one behind joyfully⁴⁴, when he had got into step.

“Your excellency! Eh, Prince!” said the trembling voice of Timokhin, who had run up and was looking down on the stretcher.

Prince Andrey opened his eyes and looked up at the speaker from the stretcher into which his head had sunk deep and again his eyelids⁴⁵ drooped⁴⁶.

The militiamen carried Prince Andrey to dressing station by the wood, where wagons⁴⁷ were stationed. The dressing station consisted of three tents with flaps turned back, pitched at the edge of a birch wood. In the wood, wagons and horses were standing⁴⁸. The horses were eating oats from their movable troughs and sparrows flew down and pecked the grains that fell. Some crows, scenting⁴⁹ blood, flew among the birch trees cawing impatiently. Around the tents, over more than five acres, bloodstained men in various garbs⁵⁰ stood, sat, or lay. Around the wounded stood crowds of soldier stretcher-bearers with dismal⁵¹ and attentive⁵² faces, whom the officers keeping order tried in vain to drive from the spot. Disregarding the officers’ orders, the soldiers stood leaning against their stretchers and gazing intently, as if trying to comprehend the difficult problem of what was taking place before them. From the tents came now loud angry cries and now plaintive⁵³ groans⁵⁴. Occasionally dressers ran out to fetch water, or to point out those who were to be brought in next. The wounded men awaiting their turn outside the tents groaned⁵⁵, sighed, wept, screamed, swore, or asked for vodka. Some were delirious⁵⁶. Prince Andrey’s bearers, stepping over the wounded who had not yet been bandaged, took him, as a regimental commander, close up to one of the tents and there stopped, awaiting instructions. Prince Andrey opened his eyes and for a long time could not make out what was going on around him. He remembered the meadow, the wormwood, the field, the whirling black ball, and his sudden rush of passionate⁵⁷ love of life. Two steps from him, leaning against a branch and talking loudly and attracting general attention, stood a tall, handsome, black-haired noncommissioned officer with a bandaged head. He had been wounded in the head and leg by bullets. Around him, eagerly listening to his talk, a crowd of wounded and stretcher-bearers was gathered.

“We kicked him out from there so that he chucked everything, we grabbed the King himself!” cried he, looking around him with eyes that glittered with fever. “If only reserves had come up just then, lads, there wouldn’t have been nothing left of him! I tell you surely . . . ”

Like all the others near the speaker, Prince Andrey looked at him with shining eyes and experienced a sense of comfort. “But isn’t it all the same now?” thought he. “And what will be there, and what has there been here? Why was I so reluctant to part with life? There was something in this life I did not and do not understand.”

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