FROM VARIOUS ROADS, and with various feelings, the inhabitants running and driving away from Moscow, and the retreating troops, gazed at the glow of the first fire that broke out in the city on the 2nd of September.

The Rostovs' party stopped for that night at Mytishtchy, twenty versts from Moscow. They had started so late on the 1st of September, the road had been so blocked by waggons and troops, so many things had been forgotten, and servants sent back to get them, that they had decided to halt for the first night five versts from Moscow. The next morning they walked late, and there were again so many delays that they only reached Great Mytishtchy. At ten o'clock the Rostov family, and the wounded soldiers travelling with them, had all found places for the night in the yards and huts of the greater village. The servants, the Rostovs' coachmen, and the orderlies of the wounded officers, after settling their masters for the night, supped, fed their horses, and came out into the porch of a hut.

In the next hut lay Raevsky's adjutant with a broken wrist, and the terrible pain made him moan incessantly, and these moans had a grue-some sound in the autumn darkness of the night. On the first night this adjutant had spent the night in a building in the same yard as the hut in which the Rostovs slept. The countess declared that she had not closed her eyes all night from that moaning, and at Mytishtchy she had moved into a less comfortable hut simply to get further away from the wounded man. One of the servants noticed in the dark night sky, above the high carriage standing at the entry, another small glow of fire. One such glow had been seen long before, and every one knew it was Little Mytishtchy, which had been set on fire by Mamonov's Cossacks.

“I say, mates, there's another fire,” said the man. All of them looked towards the glow.

“Why, they told us Mamonov's Cossacks had fired Little Mytishtchy.” “Nay! that's not Mytishtchy, it's further.” “Look'ee, it's in Moscow seemingly.” Two of the men left the porch, went to a carriage and squatted on the step. “It's more to the left! Why, Mytishtchy is away yonder, and that's quite the other side.”

Several more men joined the first group.

“I say it is flaring,” said one; “that's a fire in Moscow, my friends; either in Sushtchovsky or in Rogozhsky.”

No one answered this remark. And for a good while all these men gazed in silence at the flames of this new conflagration glowing far away. An old man, the count's valet (as he was called), Danilo Terentyitch, came up to the crowd and called Mishka.

“What are you gaping at? … The count may ask for you and nobody to be found; go and put the clothes together.”

“Oh, I only ran out for some water,” said Mishka.

“And what do you say, Danilo Terentyitch? that's a fire in Moscow, isn't it?” said one of the footmen.

Danilo Terentyitch made no reply, and for a long while all were mute again. The glow spread wider, and flickered further and further away.

“God have mercy! … a wind and the drought …” said a voice again.

“Look'ee, how it's spreading. O Lord! why, one can see the jackdaws! Lord, have mercy on us poor sinners!”

“They'll put it out, never fear.”

“Who's to put it out?” cried the voice of Danilo Terentyitch, silent till that moment. His voice was quiet and deliberate. “Moscow it is, mates,” he said; “it's she, our mother, the white city …” his voice broke, and he suddenly burst into the sobs of old age. And it seemed as though all had been waiting for that to grasp the import for all of that glow they were watching. Sighs were heard and muttered prayers, and the sobs of the old valet.

乘车或步行逃亡的居民和退却的部队，以不同的感触，从不同的路途上远望着九月二日初次燃起的大火的火光。

罗斯托夫家的车队当晚停留在梅季希村。离莫斯科二十俄里。九月一日他们动身得太晚，道路上挤满了车辆和士兵，忘记带的东西又太多，又派人回去取，故尔决定这一晚就在莫斯科城外五俄里处住宿。第二天早晨醒得也迟，同时又是走走停停，以至于只走到大梅季希村。晚上十点，罗斯托夫一家和与他们同行的伤员们，都分别住进了这座大村子里的几家大院和农舍里。罗斯托夫家的仆人和车夫们，以及受伤军官的勤务兵们，安顿好各自的主人后，吃罢晚饭，给马上了饲料，然后走到门廊上来。

隔壁农舍里，躺着受伤的拉耶夫斯基副官，他的腕骨折断了，他感受到的可怕的痛楚，使他不停地可怜地呻吟，他的呻吟在秋夜的黑暗里听来很恐怖。第一晚，这个副官与罗斯托夫家的人同住在一个农户的院子里。伯爵夫人说，她听到呻吟不能合眼，于是，在梅季希村搬到较差的农舍去住，好离这名伤员远一点。

在这漆黑的夜里，一名仆人站在大门旁一辆马车的高顶篷上，看到了另一处不大的一片火光。这一处火光大家早看到了，并且都知道是小梅季希村起了火，放火的是马蒙诺夫的哥萨克。

“这一场火嘛，弟兄们，是新燃起来的。”勤务兵说。大家注视着火光。

“不是说过了吗，小梅季希村被马蒙诺夫的哥萨克放火烧起来了。”

“就是他们！不呵，这不是梅季希村，还要远哩。”

“瞧呵，就在莫斯科。”

两名仆人走下门廊，绕到马车一边，在踏脚板上坐下。

“这个地方偏左！梅季希村在那边呢，而这场大火根本不在那个方向。”

有几个人凑到那两个人身旁，“看，烧得好厉害，”一个人说，“那是莫斯科的大火，先生们；要末在苏谢夫街，要末在罗戈日街。”谁也没有对此说法作出回答，所有在场的人只是沉默地望着远处这场新的大火的冲天火焰，过了很长一阵子。

老丹尼洛·捷连季奇，伯爵的跟班（大家这样称呼他），向人群走来，高喊米什卡。

“你还没看够，傻家伙……伯爵要是叫人，谁都不在；先去把衣服收好吧。”

“我刚才还打水来着。”米什卡说。

“您的看法如何，丹尼洛·捷连季奇，这好像是莫斯科的火光吧？”一个仆人说。

丹尼洛·捷连季奇未作任何回答，于是，大家又沉默了很久。火势在伸展，悠悠荡荡，愈来愈向远处蔓延。

“上帝保佑！……有风，天也干……”一个声音又说。

“看呵，烧成了这样，呵上帝！都看得见火乌鸦飘过来了。

上帝宽恕我们有罪的人啊！”

“会扑灭的，是吧。”

“谁去扑灭哟？”一直沉默到现在的丹尼洛·捷连季奇说话了。他的声音平静，慢条斯理。“就是莫斯科，小老弟们，”他说，“她是圣洁的母亲……”他的声音中断，并突然像老年人那样呜咽哭了起来。这似乎就是他们等待的结果，他们的等待，是为了明白他们看到的火光对他们具有何种意义。响起了一片叹息声、祈祷声，和伯爵老跟班的呜咽声。