War And Peace полностью

‘And to think the only thing I love and treasure is triumphing over all these people. All the magical power and glory hanging over me up there in this mist!’

CHAPTER 13

That same night Nikolay Rostov was out with a platoon of pickets along the outposts ahead of Bagration’s detachment. His hussars were paired off down the line and he was patrolling it, struggling against overwhelming drowsiness. Behind him our soldiers’ campfires could be seen flickering over a huge area; misty darkness lay ahead. Peer as he may into this misty distance, Rostov could see nothing, as grey blurred into black, and what might have been the flicker of an enemy campfire suddenly seemed more like a trick of the light. His eyes were closing, and he kept imagining he could see first the Emperor, then Denisov, then the Moscow of old, and whenever he opened his eyes again with a start, it was only the head and ears of his horse or maybe the odd black shape of a hussar six yards away, and in the distance still the same misty darkness. ‘Why not? It could easily happen,’ mused Rostov. ‘The Emperor might meet me and give me an order, as if I was any old officer, and he’d say, “Go and find out about that over there.” I’ve heard so many stories about him getting to know an officer just like that and taking him on. Oh, if only he would take me on! Oh, how closely I would guard him, and I’d tell him the truth, I’d expose anybody who tried to deceive him!’ And by way of imagining his love and devotion to the Tsar more vividly, Rostov dreamt of some enemy or a treacherous German that he was about to enjoy dispatching and he would slap him across the face right in front of the Tsar. Then suddenly a distant shout brought him to his senses. He opened his eyes with a start.

‘Where am I? Oh yes, out on the line. The password’s “shaft” and “Olmütz” is the watchword. It’s awful to think that our squadron will be held in reserve tomorrow . . .’ he thought. ‘I’m going to ask if I can go forward. It may be my only chance of seeing the Emperor. It’ll soon be the end of my watch. I’ll go round once more and when I get back I’ll go and ask the general.’ He sat up in the saddle and set off to make one last check on his men. It seemed to be getting lighter. To the left he could see a moonlit hillside and a black slope opposite that looked as steep as a wall. On this slope there was a white patch which Rostov couldn’t make out at all – was it a clearing in the wood catching the moonlight, some snow that hadn’t melted or white houses? He could have sworn there was something moving across the white patch. ‘It must be snow, or could it be white ash? . . . Why tash . . . ?’ Rostov mused dreamily. ‘Not white ash . . . Tash . . . Na – tasha . . . sister . . . black eyes. Na – tasha. (Imagine her surprise when I tell her I’ve seen the Emperor!) Natasha . . . tasha . . . This is my sabre – tache.’

‘A bit to the right, sir. Some bushes here,’ a hussar’s voice said to Rostov, who was nodding as he rode by. Rostov’s head had flopped down almost on to his horse’s mane; he wrenched it up and reined in beside the hussar, still unable to shake off the overpowering urge to sleep like a baby. ‘Wait a minute, what was I thinking about? Mustn’t forget. Oh yes, speaking to the Emperor! No, that’s not it – that’s tomorrow. I know! Na – tasha, mount an at – tasha. Hussars and moustaches . . . That hussar with a moustache dashing down the Tverskaya, I was just thinking about him . . . opposite Guryev’s . . . Old Guryev . . . Ah, Denisov, he’s a good fellow! Oh, this is all stupid. The main thing is – the Emperor’s here. He looked at me and he was dying to say something, but he just didn’t dare . . . Wait a minute . . . it was me . . . I didn’t dare. Oh, it’s all stupid . . . the thing is . . . not to forget . . . I was thinking about something important, yes, Natasha, mount an attasha, yes . . . yes . . . I’ve got it now.’ And again he dropped his head down on his horse’s neck. Then suddenly – what was this? – was he being fired at. ‘Eh? What? . . . Cut them to pieces! What’s that?’ Rostov stammered out as he came round. The moment he opened his eyes, Rostov heard from the enemy territory ahead the great long roaring of a thousand voices. His own horse and the horse of the nearby hussar pricked up their ears at all this shouting. Over there where the shouts were coming from, a light flashed and went out, then another, and then all along the line of the French troops on the hillside fires were being lit and the shouts grew louder and louder. Rostov could hear the sounds of French words but he couldn’t work out what they were. Too many booming voices. All he could hear was ‘aaaa!’ and the French ‘rrrr!’

‘What is it? What do you make of that?’ Rostov said to the hussar next to him. ‘It’s the enemy, isn’t it?’

The hussar said nothing.

‘Well, can’t you hear it?’ Rostov asked again, after waiting some time for a reply.