ON THE MORNING of the 25th Pierre drove out of Mozhaisk. On the slope of an immense, steep, and winding1 hill, leading out of the town, Pierre got out of the carriage, and walked by a cathedral on the right of the hill, where a service was being performed. A cavalry2 regiment3 followed him down the hill, the singers of the regiment in front. A train of carts came up the hill towards them, filled with wounded from the previous day's engagement. The peasant drivers kept running from side to side, shouting and whipping the horses. The carts, in each of which three or four wounded soldiers were lying or sitting, jolted4 up and down on the stones that had been thrown on the steep ascent5 to mend the road. The wounded men, pale and bandaged up, with compressed lips and knitted brows, clung to the sides, as they were shaken and jolted in the carts. Almost all of them stared with na?ve and childlike curiosity at Pierre's white hat and green coat.
Pierre's coachman shouted angrily at the train of wounded men to keep to one side of the road. The cavalry regiment, coming down the hill in time to their song, overtook Pierre's chaise and blocked the road. Pierre stopped, keeping close to the edge of the road that had been hollowed out in the hill. The sun did not reach over the side of the hill to the road, and there it felt cold and damp. But overhead it was a bright August morning, and the chimes rang out merrily. One cart full of wounded men came to a standstill at the edge of the road quite close to Pierre. The driver, in bast shoes, ran panting up to his cart, thrust a stone under the hind6 wheels, which were without tires, and began setting straight the breech on his horse.
An old wounded soldier, with his arm in a sling7, walking behind the cart, caught hold of it with his uninjured arm, and looked round at Pierre.
“Well, fellow-countryman, are we to be put down here or taken on to Moscow?” he said.
Pierre was so lost in thought that he did not hear the question. He looked from the cavalry regiment, which was now meeting the train of wounded, to the cart by which he stood, with the two wounded men sitting, and one lying down in it. One of the soldiers sitting in the cart had probably been wounded in the cheek. His whole head was done up in bandages, and one cheek was swollen8 as large as a baby's head. All his mouth and nose were on one side. This soldier was looking at the cathedral and crossing himself. Another, a young fellow, a light-haired recruit, as white as though there were not a drop of blood in his thin face, gazed with a fixed9, good-natured smile at Pierre. The third lay so that his face could not be seen. The singers of the cavalry regiment passed close by the cart.
“A! za-pro-pa-la …”
they sang the military dance tune10. As though seconding them, though in a different tone of gaiety, clanged out the metallic11 notes of the chimes at the top of the hill. And the hot rays of the sun bathed the top of the opposite slope with sunshine sparkling with another suggestion of gaiety. But where Pierre stood under the hillside, by the cart full of wounded soldiers, and the panting, little nag12, it was damp, overcast13, and dismal14.
The soldier with the wounded cheek looked angrily at the singing horse soldiers.
“Oh, the smart fellows!” he murmured reproachfully.
“It's not soldiers only, but peasants, too, I have seen to-day! Peasants, too, they are hunting up,” said the soldier standing16 by the cart, addressing himself to Pierre, with a melancholy17 smile. “They can't pick and choose now. … They want to mass all the people together—it's a matter of Moscow, you see. There is only one thing to do now.” In spite of the vagueness of the soldier's words, Pierre fully15 grasped his meaning, and nodded his head approvingly.
The road was clear once more, and Pierre walked downhill, and drove on further.
Pierre drove on, looking on both sides of the road for familiar faces, and meeting none but unfamiliar18, military faces, belonging to all sorts of regiments19, and all staring with the same surprise at his white hat and green coat.
After driving four versts, for the first time he met an acquaintance, and greeted him joyfully20. This was a doctor, one of the heads of the medical staff. He drove to meet Pierre in a covered gig, with a young doctor sitting beside him; and recognising Pierre, he called to the Cossack, who sat on the driver's seat, and told him to stop.
“Count, your excellency, how do you come here?” asked the doctor.
“Oh, I wanted to have a look …”
“Oh well, there will be something to look at …” Pierre got out of his carriage, and stopped to have a talk with the doctor, explaining to him his plan for taking part in the battle.
The doctor advised Bezuhov to go straight to his highness.
“Why, you would be God knows where during the battle, out of sight,” he said, with a glance at his young companion; “and his highness knows you anyway, and will give you a gracious reception. That's what I should do, my friend,” said the doctor.
The doctor seemed tired and hurried.
“So you think. … But one thing more I wanted to ask you, where is the position exactly?” said Pierre.
“The position?” said the doctor; “well, that's not in my line. Drive on to Tatarinovo, there's a great deal of digging going on there. There you'll come out on a mound21; from there you get a view,” said the doctor.
“A view from it? … If you would …”
But the doctor interrupted, and moved toward his gig.
“I would have shown you the way, but by God, you see” (the doctor made a significant gesture), “I'm racing22 to the commander of the corps23. We're in such a fix, you see … you know, count, there's to be a battle tomorrow; with a hundred thousand troops, we must reckon on twenty thousand wounded at least; and we haven't the stretchers, nor beds, nor attendants, nor doctors for six thousand. There are ten thousand carts; but we want other things; one must manage as one can.”
The strange idea that of those thousands of men, alive and well, young and old, who had been staring with such light-hearted amusement at his hat, twenty thousand were inevitably24 doomed25 to wounds and death (perhaps the very men whom he had seen) made a great impression on Pierre.
“They will die, perhaps, to-morrow; how can they think of anything but death?” And suddenly, by some latent connection of ideas, he saw a vivid picture of the hillside of Mozhaisk, the carts of wounded men, the chimes, the slanting26 sunshine, and the singing of the cavalry regiment.
“They were going into battle, and meeting wounded soldiers, and never for a minute paused to think what was in store for them, but went by and winked27 at their wounded comrades. And of all those, twenty thousand are doomed to death, and they can wonder at my hat! Strange!” thought Pierre, as he went on towards Tatarinovo.
Carriages, waggons28, and crowds of orderlies and sentinels were standing about a gentleman's house on the left side of the road. The commander-in-chief was putting up there. But when Pierre arrived, he found his highness and almost all the staff were out. They had all gone to the church service. Pierre pushed on ahead to Gorky; and driving uphill into a little village street, Pierre saw for the first time the peasants of the militia29 in white shirts, with crosses on their caps. With loud talk and laughter, eager and perspiring30, they were working on the right of the road at a huge mound overgrown with grass.
Some of them were digging out the earth, others were carrying the earth away in wheelbarrows, while a third lot stood doing nothing.
There were two officers on the knoll31 giving them instructions. Seeing these peasants, who were unmistakably enjoying the novelty of their position as soldiers, Pierre thought again of the wounded soldiers at Mozhaisk, and he understood what the soldier had tried to express by the words “they want to mass all the people together.” The sight of these bearded peasants toiling32 on the field of battle with their queer, clumsy boots, with their perspiring necks, and here and there with shirts unbuttoned showing their sun-burnt collar-bones, impressed Pierre more strongly than anything he had yet seen and heard with the solemnity and gravity of the moment.
二十五日清早，皮埃尔离开莫扎伊斯克。出了城就是蜿蜒而陡峭的山坡，右边山上有一座教堂，那儿正在鸣钟，做礼拜。皮埃尔下了马车，徒步前进。他后面有一个骑兵团队正从山坡上走下来，团队前面有一群歌手。迎面来了一队大车，载着昨天在战斗中负伤的士兵。赶车的农民吆喝着，响着鞭子，不断地在车子两边奔走。每辆坐着或躺着三、四个伤兵的大车，在陡峭的山坡石路上颠簸着。伤兵包着破布，面色苍白，紧闭着嘴，皱着眉头，抓住车栏杆在车上颠动、互相碰撞。几乎所有的伤兵都怀着孩子般的天真的好奇心望着皮埃尔那顶白帽子和绿色燕尾服。
皮埃尔的车夫气忿地吆喝伤兵运输队，叫他们靠边走。骑兵团唱着歌直冲着皮埃尔的马车走下山坡，把路都堵塞了。皮埃尔停下来，被挤到铲平的山路边上去了。山坡挡住了太阳，低洼的路上见不到阳光，显得又冷又潮湿，而皮埃尔头顶上是明朗的八月的早晨的天空，教堂里发出欢乐的钟声。一辆伤兵车停放在皮埃尔身边旁的路边上，那个穿树皮鞋的车夫喘不过气来跑到车前，往没有轮箍的后轮塞了一块石头，然后又给停下的小马整理皮马套。
一个吊着一只胳膊的年老的伤兵，跟着车步行，他用没负伤的那只大手抓住大车，转脸看了看皮埃尔。
“我说，老乡，是不是就把我们扔到这儿？还是送往莫斯科？”他问。
皮埃尔正陷入沉思，没听见有人问他，他时而看看迎着伤兵车走来的骑兵团队，时而看看他身旁的大车，车上的伤兵有两个坐着，一个躺着。其中一个坐着的，大概脸腮子受了伤，整个脑袋都包着破布，一边腮肿了起来，像孩子的头似的。他的嘴和鼻子都歪到一边了。这个伤兵正望着教堂划十字；另一个是年幼点的新兵，金黄色的头发，脸白得一点血色也没有，带着友好的傻笑望着皮埃尔；第三个趴在那儿，看不见他的脸，骑兵歌手们从车子旁边走过。
“咳，你在哪儿……倔强的人……”
“你流落在异乡……”他们唱着士兵舞曲。仿佛是响应他们，山坡高处不断地发出叮当的钟声，别有一番欢乐意味。此外，还有一种别样的欢乐：对面山坡顶上沐浴着灼热的阳光，可是山坡下，伤兵车旁边，喘息着的小马附近，皮埃尔站着的地方，却充满着潮湿、阴暗和忧伤。
那个肿脸的士兵怒气冲冲地望着骑兵歌手们。
“嗬，花花公子！”他责备地说。
“这个年头，不仅看见了士兵，也看见了农夫！农夫也被赶上战场，”那个站在车后面的士兵面露苦笑对皮埃尔说，“现在什么都不分了……要老百姓都一齐冲上去，一句话——为了莫斯科。他们要拼到底啊。”尽管那个士兵说得不清楚，皮埃尔仍明白了他的意思。赞同地点点头。
路通了，皮埃尔走下山坡，坐车继续前进。
皮埃尔一路上左顾右盼，寻找着熟悉的面孔，但是见到的都是不同兵种的陌生的军人面孔，他们全都惊奇地盯着他那顶白帽子和绿色燕尾服。
走了四俄里，他才遇到第一个熟人，于是高兴地招呼他。这个熟人是个军医官。他坐着一辆篷车，向皮埃尔迎面赶来，他旁边坐的是一个青年医生。这个军医官认出皮埃尔，就叫那个坐在前座代替车夫的哥萨克停下来。
“伯爵！大人，您怎么到这儿来了！”医生问。
“想来看看……”
“对了，对了，就要有可看的了……”
皮埃尔下了车，站在那儿跟医生谈话，向他说明自己打算参加战斗。
医生劝别祖霍夫直接去见勋座。
“在开战的时候，您何必要到这个谁也不知道，谁也找不到的地方来。”他说，向年轻的同事递了个眼色，“不管怎么说，勋座总认识您，他会厚待您的。老兄，就这么办吧。”医生说。
医生好像很疲倦而且很匆忙。
“您是这么考虑的……不过我还想问您，阵地在哪儿？”皮埃尔说。
“阵地？”医生说。“那可不是我的事。过了塔塔里诺沃，那儿有许多人挖战壕，您爬上那个高岗，就可以看见了。”医生说。
“从那儿可以看见吗？……要是您……”
但是医生打断了他的话，向篷车走去。
“我本来可以送您，可是，说真的，我的事情多得到这儿（他在喉咙上比划了一下），我还要赶到兵团司令那儿去。我们的情况怎么样……您可知道，伯爵，明天就要打一场大仗，一支十万人的军队，至少会有两万伤员，可是我们的担架、病床、护士、医生，还不够六千人用。我们有一万辆大车，但是还需要别的东西；那只好自己看着办了。”
在那成千上万活泼的、健康的、年轻的、年老的，怀着愉快的好奇心看他的帽子的人们中间，有两万人注定要负伤或死亡（也许就是他看见的那些人），这个古怪的念头使皮埃尔不由得感到吃惊。
“他们也许明天就死掉，可为什么除了死他们还想别的呢？”由于某种不可揣测的联想，他突然很生动地想起莫扎伊斯克山坡，载着伤兵的大车，教堂的钟声，夕阳的余晖，以及骑兵们的歌声。
“骑兵们去作战，路上遇见伤兵，可是他们一点不去想那正在等待他们的命运，而只是瞟了伤兵一眼就走过去了。在他们之中有两万人注定要死亡，可是他们却对我的帽子感到惊讶！多么奇怪！”皮埃尔在去塔塔里诺沃的路上想道。
路左边有一所地主的住宅，那儿停着几辆马车、带篷的大车、一些勤务兵和哨兵。勋座就住在那儿。但是皮埃尔到的时候，他人不在，几乎一个参谋人员也没有。他们都做礼拜去了。皮埃尔坐上马车继续往前走，向戈尔基进发。
皮埃尔的车上了山，到了山村里一条不大的街上，在这儿他第一次看见了农民后备军，他们头戴缀有十字架的帽子，身穿白衬衫，大声谈笑着，兴致勃勃，满身大汗正在路右边一座长满青草的高大土岗上干活儿。
他们中有许多人在挖土，另一些人用手推车在跳板上运土，还有些人站在那儿不动。
两个军官站在土岗上指挥他们。皮埃尔看见这些农夫显然还在为刚当上军人而开心、他想起了莫扎伊斯克那些伤兵，他开始明了，那个兵说·要·老·百·姓·都·一·齐·冲·上·去这句话的意思。这些在战场上干活儿的大胡子农夫，他们那古怪的笨重的靴子，冒着汗的脖子，有些人的敞开的斜领口，衬衫里面露出的晒黑的锁骨，这一切景象比皮埃尔过去所见所闻的更强有力地使他感到此时此刻的严肃性和重要性。
收听单词发音 |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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