Война и мир/War and Peace (Лев Толстой). Страница 327 из 1273

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"

Oh

,

you

fool

!

"

said

the

old

man

,

spitting

angrily

.

Some

time

passed

in

silence

,

and

then

the

same

joke

was

repeated

.

Before

five

in

the

evening

the

battle

had

been

lost

at

all

points

.

More

than

a

hundred

cannon

were

already

in

the

hands

of

the

French

.

Przebyszéwski

and

his

corps

had

laid

down

their

arms

.

Other

columns

after

losing

half

their

men

were

retreating

in

disorderly

confused

masses

.

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The

remains

of

Langeron

's

and

Dokhtúrov

's

mingled

forces

were

crowding

around

the

dams

and

banks

of

the

ponds

near

the

village

of

Augesd

.

After

five

o'clock

it

was

only

at

the

Augesd

Dam

that

a

hot

cannonade

(

delivered

by

the

French

alone

)

was

still

to

be

heard

from

numerous

batteries

ranged

on

the

slopes

of

the

Pratzen

Heights

,

directed

at

our

retreating

forces

.

In

the

rearguard

,

Dokhtúrov

and

others

rallying

some

battalions

kept

up

a

musketry

fire

at

the

French

cavalry

that

was

pursuing

our

troops

.

It

was

growing

dusk

.

On

the

narrow

Augesd

Dam

where

for

so

many

years

the

old

miller

had

been

accustomed

to

sit

in

his

tasseled

cap

peacefully

angling

,

while

his

grandson

,

with

shirt

sleeves

rolled

up

,

handled

the

floundering

silvery

fish

in

the

watering

can

,

on

that

dam

over

which

for

so

many

years

Moravians

in

shaggy

caps

and

blue

jackets

had

peacefully

driven

their

two-horse

carts

loaded

with

wheat

and

had

returned

dusty

with

flour

whitening

their

carts

--

on

that

narrow

dam

amid

the

wagons

and

the

cannon

,

under

the

horses

'

hoofs

and

between

the

wagon

wheels

,

men

disfigured

by

fear

of

death

now

crowded

together

,

crushing

one

another

,

dying

,

stepping

over

the

dying

and

killing

one

another

,

only

to

move

on

a

few

steps

and

be

killed

themselves

in

the

same

way

.

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Every

ten

seconds

a

cannon

ball

flew

compressing

the

air

around

,

or

a

shell

burst

in

the

midst

of

that

dense

throng

,

killing

some

and

splashing

with

blood

those

near

them

.

Dólokhov

--

now

an

officer

--

wounded

in

the

arm

,

and

on

foot

,

with

the

regimental

commander

on

horseback

and

some

ten

men

of

his

company

,

represented

all

that

was

left

of

that

whole

regiment

.

Impelled

by

the

crowd

,

they

had

got

wedged

in

at

the

approach

to

the

dam

and

,

jammed

in

on

all

sides

,

had

stopped

because

a

horse

in

front

had

fallen

under

a

cannon

and

the

crowd

were

dragging

it

out

.

A

cannon

ball

killed

someone

behind

them

,

another

fell

in

front

and

splashed

Dólokhov

with

blood

.

The

crowd

,

pushing

forward

desperately

,

squeezed

together

,

moved

a

few

steps

,

and

again

stopped

.

"

Move

on

a

hundred

yards

and

we

are

certainly

saved

,

remain

here

another

two

minutes

and

it

is

certain

death

,

"

thought

each

one

.

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