Book 15 Chapter 8

ONE would naturally have expected that in the almost inconceivably wretched conditions in which the Russian soldiers were placed at that time—without thick boots, without fur coats, without a roof over their heads in the snow, with a frost of eighteen degrees, often without full rations—they must have presented a most melancholy and depressing spectacle.

It was quite the opposite. Never under the most favourable material conditions had the army worn a livelier and more cheerful aspect. This was due to the fact that every element that showed signs of depression or weakness was sifted every day out of the army. All the physically and morally weak had long ago been left behind. What was left was the pick of the army—in strength of body and of spirit.

The camp-fire of the eighth company, screened by their wattle fence, attracted a greater crowd than any. Two sergeants were sitting by it, and the fire was blazing more brightly than any of them. They insisted on logs being brought in return for the right of sitting under the screen.

“Hi, Makyev, hullo … are you lost, or have the wolves eaten you? Fetch some wood,” shouted a red-faced, red-haired soldier, screwing up his eyes, and blinking from the smoke, but not moving back from the fire.

“You run, Crow, and fetch some wood,” he cried, addressing another soldier. The red-headed man was not a non-commissioned officer, nor a corporal, but he was a sturdy fellow, and so he gave orders to those who were weaker than himself. A thin, little soldier, with a sharp nose, who was called the “Crow,” got up submissively, and was about to obey; but at that moment there stepped into the light of the fire the slender, hand-some figure of a young soldier, carrying a load of wood.

“Give it here. Well, that's something like!”

They broke up the wood and threw it on, blew up the fire with their mouths, and fanned it with the skirts of their coats, and the flame began to hiss and crackle. The soldiers drew nearer the fire and lighted their pipes. The handsome young soldier who had brought in the wood put his arms akimbo, and began a smart and nimble shuffle with his frozen feet as he stood.

“Ah, mother dear, the dew is cold, but yet it is fine, and a musketeer!” … he began singing, with a sort of hiccup at each syllable of the song.

“Hey, his soles are flying off!” cried the red-haired man, noticing that the dancer's soles were loose. “He's a rare devil for dancing!”

The dancer stopped, tore off the loose leather, and flung it in the fire.

“You're right there, brother,” said he, and sitting down he took out of his knapsack a strip of French blue cloth, and began binding it round his foot. “It's the steam that warps them,” he added, stretching his feet out to the fire.

“They'll soon serve us new ones. They say when we finish them off, we are all to have a double lot of stuff.”

“I say, that son of a bitch, Petrov, has sneaked off, it seems,” said a sergeant.

“It's a long while since I've noticed him,” said the other.

“Oh, well, a poor sort of soldier …”

“And in the third company, they were saying, there were nine men missing at the roll-call yesterday.”

“Well, but after all, when one's feet are frozen, how's one to walk?”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” said the sergeant.

“Why, do you want to do the same?” said an old soldier; reproachfully addressing the man who had talked of frozen feet.

“Well, what do you think?” the sharp-nosed soldier, called “Crow,” said suddenly, in a squeaking and quavery voice, turning himself on one elbow behind the fire. “If a man's sleek and fat, he just grows thin, but for a thin man it's death. Look at me, now! I have no strength left,” he said, with sudden resolution, addressing a sergeant. “Say the word for me to be sent off to the hospital. I'm one ache with rheumatism, and one only gets left behind just the same …”

“There, that's enough; that's enough,” said the sergeant calmly.

The soldier was silent, and the conversation went on.

“There's a rare lot of these Frenchies have been taken to-day; but not a pair of boots on one of them, one may say, worth having; no, not worth mentioning,” one of the soldiers began, starting a new subject.

“The Cossacks had stripped them of everything. We cleaned a hut for the colonel, and carried them out. It was pitiful to see them, lads,” said the dancer. “We overhauled them. One was alive, would you believe it, muttering something in their lingo.”

“They're a clean people, lads,” said the first. “White—why, as white as a birch-tree, and brave they are, I must say, and gentlemen too.”

“Well, what would you expect? Soldiers are taken from all classes with them.”

“And yet they don't understand a word we say,” said the dancer, with a wondering smile. “I says to him, ‘Of what kingdom are you?' and he mutters away his lingo. A strange people!”

“I'll tell you a wonderful thing, mates,” went on the man who had expressed surprise at their whiteness. “The peasants about Mozhaisk were telling how, when they went to take away the dead where the great battle was, why, their bodies had been lying there a good month. Well, they lay there, as white and clean as paper, and not a smell about them.”

“Why, from the cold, eh?” asked one.

“You're a clever one! Cold, indeed! Why, it was hot weather. If it had been from the cold, our men, too, wouldn't have rotted. But they say, go up to one of ours, and it would all be putrefied and maggoty. They tie handkerchiefs round their noses, and drag them off, turning their faces away, so they say. They can't help it. But they're white as paper; not a smell about them.”

There was a general silence.

“Must be from the feeding,” said the sergeant: “they are gorged like gentry.”

No one replied.

“That peasant at Mozhaisk, where the battle was, was saying that they were fetched from ten villages round, and at work there for twenty days, and couldn't get all the dead away. A lot of those wolves, says he …”

“That was something like a battle,” said an old soldier. “The only one worth mentioning; everything since … it's simply tormenting folks for nothing.”

“Oh, well, uncle, we did attack them the day before yesterday. But what's one to do? They won't let us get at them. They were so quick at laying down their arms, and on their knees. Pardon!—they say. And that's only one example. They have said twice that Platov had taken Polion himself. He catches him, and lo! he turns into a bird in his hands and flies away and away. And as to killing him, no manner of means of doing it.”

“You're a sturdy liar, Kiselov, by the look of you!”

“Liar, indeed! It's the holy truth.”

“Well, if you ask me, I'd bury him in the earth, if I caught him. Yes, with a good aspen cudgel. The number of folk he has destroyed!”

“Any way, we shall soon make an end of him; he won't come again,” said the old soldier, yawning.

The conversation died away; the soldiers began making themselves comfortable for the night.

“I say, what a lot of stars; how they shine! One would say the women had been laying out their linen!” said a soldier admiring the Milky Way.

“That's a sign of a good harvest, lads!”

“We shall want a little more wood.”

“One warms one's back, and one's belly freezes. That's queer.”

“O Lord!”

“What are you shoving for—is the fire only for you, eh? See … there he sprawls.”

In the silence that reigned snoring could be heard from a few who had gone to sleep. The rest turned themselves to get warm by the fire, exchanging occasional remarks. From a fire a hundred paces away came a chorus of merry laughter.

“They are guffawing in the fifth company,” said a soldier. “And what a lot of them there!”

A soldier got up and went off to the fifth company.

“There's a bit of fun!” he said, coming back. “Two Frenchies have come. One's quite frozen, but the other's a fine plucky fellow! He's singing songs.”

“O-O! must go and look …” Several soldiers went across to the fifth company.

俄国士兵在当时的处境极其艰难，难以用语言来描绘——没有保暖的靴子，没有皮衣，上无片瓦可以栖身，露宿在零下十八度严寒的雪地之中，甚至没有足够的口粮（部队的给养常常跟不上了，士兵们本应表现出十分狼狈和十分悲惨的景象。

恰好相反，即便在最好的条件下，也从来没有表现出比现在更加快乐、更加活跃的景象。这是因为每天都把意志薄弱和体力衰弱的人从部队淘汰掉，他们早就掉了队，剩下的全是部队的精英——不论在身体方面，还是精神方面，都是坚强的人。

在用篱笆遮挡的八连驻地聚集的人最多。两个司务长坐在他们那里，他们的火堆燃烧得最旺。他们规定，只有拿木柴来，才能坐在这里。

“喂，马克耶夫，你怎么搞的……你跑到哪里去了？狼把你吃啦？去拿些柴来。”一个红头发、红脸的士兵喊道，他眨巴着被烟子熏得眯成一条缝的眼睛，就这样他也不愿意远离火堆。“你，乌鸦，也去拿点柴火来。”这个大兵转过身对另一个士兵说。这个红脸人既不是军士也不是上等兵。但他壮实，就因为这，他就能指挥那些体质比他弱的士兵。那个被叫做乌鸦的士兵又瘦又小，长着个尖鼻子，乖乖地站了起来，准备去执行这个命令。就在这时，一个身材修长的、年青英俊的士兵抱着一大捆木柴向着火堆的光亮处走了过来。

“抱到这儿来，真是雪中送炭！”

大伙儿劈开木柴，往火上加，用嘴吹，用大衣的下摆煽，火苗丝丝作响，噼噼啪啪地燃烧起来。士兵们挪近火堆，抽起烟来。那个抱木柴来的年轻英俊的士兵，两手叉腰，就地快速和有节奏的跺着冻僵了的脚。

“哎呀，我的妈呀，夜露多冷，好在我是一个火枪兵……”他悠然低吟，好像每一个音节都要打个嗝儿。

“喂，鞋底要飞了！”那个红脸人发现跳舞的人的靴底掌搭拉下来，高声叫道。“好一个舞蹈家。”

跳舞的人停住脚，扯下搭拉下来的皮子，扔进了火堆。

“好啦，老兄，”他说；他坐下来，从挎包里掏出一块灰色法兰绒，用它包住脚。“都冻木了。”他补了一句，把脚伸向火堆。

“快要发新的了。听说，打完仗，给大家发双份服装。”

“你看，狗崽子彼得罗夫，还是掉了队。”司务长说。

“我早看出来了。”另一个说。

“噢，一个不中用的小卒……”

“听说，三连昨天少了九个人。”

“不错，脚都冻坏了，还能走路吗？”

“嘿，废话！”司务长说。

“你是不是也想那样？”一个老兵以责备的口气对那个说脚冻坏的人说。

“你究竟是怎么想的？”那个被叫做乌鸦的士兵突然从火堆旁欠起身，用尖细而颤抖的声音说：“胖的拖瘦了，瘦的拖死了，就以我来说吧，一点力气也没有了，”他突然面对司务长，坚决地说，”把我送到医院去吧，我周身疼痛，骨头架子都要散了，不然早晚我都是要掉队的……”

“好啦，好啦。”司务长平静地说。

那个小兵不再吱声，谈话继续进行。

“今天捉的法国人真不少，这些人穿的靴子，说实在的，说是靴子，其实连一双像样的都没有，”一个士兵提出了一个新话题。

“哥萨克把他们的靴子全给脱走了。他们给团长打扫房子，把死了的都拖走，真惨不忍睹，弟兄们，”那个跳舞的人说，“翻动尸体时，有一个还活着，你能相信吗？嘴里还在叽咕着说话呢。”

“个个都白白净净的，弟兄们，”第一个说话的人说，“白的，就像桦树皮一样白，有的仪表威武，说不定还是贵族。”

“你以为怎么着？他们人人都要当兵。”

“谁也不懂我们的话，”那个跳舞的人带着困惑不解的微笑说道。“我问他，‘谁的王徽？'他嘟嘟噜噜。一个不可思议的民族！”

“不过，却真怪，弟兄们，”那个对他们那么白感到惊奇的人接着说，“莫扎伊斯克的农民说，在他们那里曾发生过战斗，他们在掩埋死人时，那些法国人的尸体已经露天摆在那儿有个把月了，像白纸一样白，干干净净，连一点点火药的臭味都没有。”

“怎么，或许是寒冷的缘故吧？”一个人问。“你太聪明了！冻的！可当时天气还热着呢。假如因为严寒所致，那么我们的人的尸体就不会腐烂。农民说，‘到咱们的人跟前一看，全腐烂了。生了蛆。'”他说，“拖尸体时，我们用毛巾把脸包起来，扭过头去，那气味实在叫人受不了。”他又说，“可是他们的人呢，像纸一样白，边一点火药的臭味都没有。”

大家都默不出声。

“那就是吃的好吧，”司务长说，“他们吃的都是上等的伙食。”

没有人反对。

“那个农民说，在莫扎伊期克附近曾经打过仗，在那里，从十来个村庄召来的人运了二十天，也没有把死尸运完。有不少都喂了狼……”

“那是一场真正的战斗，”一个老兵说。“只有这一场战斗令人难忘；而在此之后的一切……只是折磨人罢了。”

“就是，大叔。前天我们追击他们，还不等你靠近，他们就赶紧扔下枪，跪在地上，喊‘饶命！'他们说，这只是一个例子。还说，普拉托夫曾两次捉住拿破仑本人，他不会法国话，捉是捉住了：在他手上化成一只鸟，飞了，又飞了。没有杀掉他。”

“我看你，基谢廖夫，是一个吹牛大王。”“什么吹牛，那千真万确。”

“假如他落在我的手里，我一定把他埋起来，再钉上一根杨树桩，他害了多少人哇！”

“一切都快到头啦，他不能横行了。”那个老兵打着哈欠说道。

谈话停止了，士兵们躺下睡了。

“瞧，天上的星星，闪耀得多好看！你还以为是铺展开的一幅画布。”一个士兵欣赏着天上的银河，说道。

“弟兄们，这是丰年的预兆。”

“应当添点柴火。”

“背烤暖了，肚皮又冻得冰凉，真怪。”

“唉，真不得了！”

“你挤什么，火是你一个人的，还是怎么的？看……看你的手脚是怎样伸的。”

由于停止了谈话而寂静下来，可以听得见有几个人打着鼾声；其余的人辗转翻身烤火，时而交谈几句。从相距百把步远的一个火堆旁传来欢快的齐声大笑。

“瞧，五连那边多热闹。”一个士兵说，“人真多！”

一个士兵站起来，到五连那边去了。

“笑得够意思，”他回来说，“有两个法国人，一个冻僵了，另一个很活跃，在唱歌。”

“噢，噢？看看去……”几个兵到五连去。