and then at the other.
"No, gentlemen, no... you mustn’t think... I quite understand.
You’re wrong to think that of me... I... for me... for the honor of
the regiment I’d... Ah well, I’ll show that in action, and for me
the honor of the flag... Well, never mind, it’s true I’m to blame,
to blame all round. Well, what else do you want?..."
"Come, that’s right, Count!" cried the staff captain, turning
round and clapping Rostov on the shoulder with his big hand.
"I tell you," shouted Denisov, "he’s a fine fellow."
"That’s better, Count," said the staff captain, beginning to
address Rostov by his title, as if in recognition of his confession.
"Go and apologize, your excellency. Yes, go!"
"Gentlemen, I’ll do anything. No one shall hear a word from me,"
said Rostov in an imploring voice, "but I can’t apologize, by God I
can’t, do what you will! How can I go and apologize like a little boy
asking forgiveness?"
Denisov began to laugh.
"It’ll be worse for you. Bogdanich is vindictive and you’ll pay
for your obstinacy," said Kirsten.
"No, on my word it’s not obstinacy! I can’t describe the feeling.
I can’t..."
"Well, it’s as you like," said the staff captain. "And what has
become of that scoundrel?" he asked Denisov.
"He has weported himself sick, he’s to be stwuck off the list
tomowwow," muttered Denisov.
"It is an illness, there’s no other way of explaining it," said
the staff captain.
"Illness or not, he’d better not cwoss my path. I’d kill him!"
shouted Denisov in a bloodthirsty tone.
Just then Zherkov entered the room.
"What brings you here?" cried the officers turning to the newcomer.
"We’re to go into action, gentlemen! Mack has surrendered with his
whole army."
"It’s not true!"
"I’ve seen him myself!"
"What? Saw the real Mack? With hands and feet?"
"Into action! Into action! Bring him a bottle for such news! But how
did you come here?"
"I’ve been sent back to the regiment all on account of that devil,
Mack. An Austrian general complained of me. I congratulated him on
Mack’s arrival... What’s the matter, Rostov? You look as if you’d
just come out of a hot bath."
"Oh, my dear fellow, we’re in such a stew here these last two
days."
The regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by
Zherkov. They were under orders to advance next day.
"We’re going into action, gentlemen!"
"Well, thank God! We’ve been sitting here too long!"
CHAPTER VI
Kutuzov fell back toward Vienna, destroying behind him the bridges over
the rivers Inn (at Braunau) and Traun (near Linz). On October 23 the
Russian troops were crossing the river Enns. At midday the Russian
baggage train, the artillery, and columns of troops were defiling
through the town of Enns on both sides of the bridge.
It was a warm, rainy, autumnal day. The wide expanse that opened out
before the heights on which the Russian batteries stood guarding the
bridge was at times veiled by a diaphanous curtain of slanting rain, and
then, suddenly spread out in the sunlight, far-distant objects could
be clearly seen glittering as though freshly varnished. Down below,
the little town could be seen with its white, red-roofed houses, its
cathedral, and its bridge, on both sides of which streamed jostling
masses of Russian troops. At the bend of the Danube, vessels, an island,
and a castle with a park surrounded by the waters of the confluence of
the Enns and the Danube became visible, and the rocky left bank of the
Danube covered with pine forests, with a mystic background of green
treetops and bluish gorges. The turrets of a convent stood out beyond a
wild virgin pine forest, and far away on the other side of the Enns the
enemy’s horse patrols could be discerned.
Among the field guns on the brow of the hill the general in command of
the rearguard stood with a staff officer, scanning the country through
his fieldglass. A little behind them Nesvitski, who had been sent to
the rearguard by the commander in chief, was sitting on the trail of a
gun carriage. A Cossack who accompanied him had handed him a knapsack
and a flask, and Nesvitski was treating some officers to pies and real
doppelkummel. The officers gladly gathered round him, some on their
knees, some squatting Turkish fashion on the wet grass.
"Yes, the Austrian prince who built that castle was no fool. It’s
a fine place! Why are you not eating anything, gentlemen?" Nesvitski
was saying.
"Thank you very much, Prince," answered one of the officers, pleased
to be talking to a staff officer of such importance. "It’s a lovely
place! We passed close to the park and saw two deer... and what a
splendid house!"
"Look, Prince," said another, who would have dearly liked to take
another pie but felt shy, and therefore pretended to be examining the
countryside - "See, our infantrymen have already got there. Look there
in the meadow behind the village, three of them are dragging something.
They’ll ransack that castle," he remarked with evident approval.
"So they will," said Nesvitski. "No, but what I should like,"
added he, munching a pie in his moist-lipped handsome mouth, "would be
to slip in over there."
He pointed with a smile to a turreted nunnery, and his eyes narrowed and
gleamed.
"That would be fine, gentlemen!"
The officers laughed.
"Just to flutter the nuns a bit. They say there are Italian girls
among them. On my word I’d give five years of my life for it!"
"They must be feeling dull, too," said one of the bolder officers,
laughing.
Meanwhile the staff officer standing in front pointed out something to
the general, who looked through his field glass.
"Yes, so it is, so it is," said the general angrily, lowering the
field glass and shrugging his shoulders, "so it is! They’ll be fired
on at the crossing. And why are they dawdling there?"
On the opposite side the enemy could be seen by the naked eye, and from
their battery a milk-white cloud arose. Then came the distant report of
a shot, and our troops could be seen hurrying to the crossing.
Nesvitski rose, puffing, and went up to the general, smiling.
"Would not your excellency like a little refreshment?" he said.
"It’s a bad business," said the general without answering him,
"our men have been wasting time."
"Hadn’t I better ride over, your excellency?" asked Nesvitski.
"Yes, please do," answered the general, and he repeated the order
that had already once been given in detail: "and tell the hussars
that they are to cross last and to fire the bridge as I ordered; and the
inflammable material on the bridge must be reinspected."
"Very good," answered Nesvitski.
He called the Cossack with his horse, told him to put away the knapsack
and flask, and swung his heavy person easily into the saddle.
"I’ll really call in on the nuns," he said to the officers who
watched him smilingly, and he rode off by the winding path down the
hill.
"Now then, let’s see how far it will carry, Captain. Just try!"
said the general, turning to an artillery officer. "Have a little fun
to pass the time."
"Crew, to your guns!" commanded the officer.
In a moment the men came running gaily from their campfires and began
loading.
"One!" came the command.
Number one jumped briskly aside. The gun rang out with a deafening
metallic roar, and a whistling grenade flew above the heads of our
troops below the hill and fell far short of the enemy, a little smoke
showing the spot where it burst.
The faces of officers and men brightened up at the sound. Everyone got
up and began watching the movements of our troops below, as plainly
visible as if but a stone’s throw away, and the movements of the
approaching enemy farther off. At the same instant the sun came fully
out from behind the clouds, and the clear sound of the solitary shot
and the brilliance of the bright sunshine merged in a single joyous and
spirited impression.
CHAPTER VII
Two of the enemy’s shots had already flown across the bridge, where
there was a crush. Halfway across stood Prince Nesvitski, who had
alighted from his horse and whose big body was jammed against the
railings. He looked back laughing to the Cossack who stood a few
steps behind him holding two horses by their bridles. Each time Prince
Nesvitski tried to move on, soldiers and carts pushed him back again
and pressed him against the railings, and all he could do was to smile.
"What a fine fellow you are, friend!" said the Cossack to a convoy
soldier with a wagon, who was pressing onto the infantrymen who were
crowded together close to his wheels and his horses. "What a fellow!
You can’t wait a moment! Don’t you see the general wants to pass?"
But the convoyman took no notice of the word "general" and shouted
at the soldiers who were blocking his way. "Hi there, boys! Keep to
the left! Wait a bit." But the soldiers, crowded together shoulder to
shoulder, their bayonets interlocking, moved over the bridge in a dense
mass. Looking down over the rails Prince Nesvitski saw the rapid, noisy
little waves of the Enns, which rippling and eddying round the piles of
the bridge chased each other along. Looking on the bridge he saw equally
uniform living waves of soldiers, shoulder straps, covered shakos,
knapsacks, bayonets, long muskets, and, under the shakos, faces with
broad cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and listless tired expressions, and
feet that moved through the sticky mud that covered the planks of the
bridge. Sometimes through the monotonous waves of men, like a fleck of
white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer, in a cloak and with
a type of face different from that of the men, squeezed his way along;
sometimes like a chip of wood whirling in the river, an hussar on foot,
an orderly, or a townsman was carried through the waves of infantry;
and sometimes like a log floating down the river, an officers’ or
company’s baggage wagon, piled high, leather covered, and hemmed in on
all sides, moved across the bridge.
"It’s as if a dam had burst," said the Cossack hopelessly. "Are
there many more of you to come?"
"A million all but one!" replied a waggish soldier in a torn coat,
with a wink, and passed on followed by another, an old man.
"If he" (he meant the enemy) "begins popping at the bridge now,"
said the old soldier dismally to a comrade, "you’ll forget to
scratch yourself."
That soldier passed on, and after him came another sitting on a cart.
"Where the devil have the leg bands been shoved to?" said an
orderly, running behind the cart and fumbling in the back of it.
And he also passed on with the wagon. Then came some merry soldiers who
had evidently been drinking.
"And then, old fellow, he gives him one in the teeth with the butt
end of his gun..." a soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up said
gaily, with a wide swing of his arm.
"Yes, the ham was just delicious..." answered another with a loud
laugh. And they, too, passed on, so that Nesvitski did not learn who
had been struck on the teeth, or what the ham had to do with it.
"Bah! How they scurry. He just sends a ball and they think they’ll
all be killed," a sergeant was saying angrily and reproachfully.
"As it flies past me, Daddy, the ball I mean," said a young soldier
with an enormous mouth, hardly refraining from laughing, "I felt like
dying of fright. I did, ‘pon my word, I got that frightened!" said
he, as if bragging of having been frightened.
That one also passed. Then followed a cart unlike any that had gone
before. It was a German cart with a pair of horses led by a German, and
seemed loaded with a whole houseful of effects. A fine brindled cow with
a large udder was attached to the cart behind. A woman with an unweaned
baby, an old woman, and a healthy German girl with bright red cheeks
were sitting on some feather beds. Evidently these fugitives were
allowed to pass by special permission. The eyes of all the soldiers
turned toward the women, and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace
all the soldiers’ remarks related to the two young ones. Every face
bore almost the same smile, expressing unseemly thoughts about the
women.
"Just see, the German sausage is making tracks, too!"
"Sell me the missis," said another soldier, addressing the German,
who, angry and frightened, strode energetically along with downcast
eyes.
"See how smart she’s made herself! Oh, the devils!"
"There, Fedotov, you should be quartered on them!"
"I have seen as much before now, mate!"
"Where are you going?" asked an infantry officer who was eating an
apple, also half smiling as he looked at the handsome girl.
The German closed his eyes, signifying that he did not understand.
"Take it if you like," said the officer, giving the girl an apple.
The girl smiled and took it. Nesvitski like the rest of the men on the
bridge did not take his eyes off the women till they had passed. When
they had gone by, the same stream of soldiers followed, with the same
kind of talk, and at last all stopped. As often happens, the horses of
a convoy wagon became restive at the end of the bridge, and the whole
crowd had to wait.
"And why are they stopping? There’s no proper order!" said the
soldiers. "Where are you shoving to? Devil take you! Can’t you wait?
It’ll be worse if he fires the bridge. See, here’s an officer jammed
in too" - different voices were saying in the crowd, as the men looked
at one another, and all pressed toward the exit from the bridge.
Looking down at the waters of the Enns under the bridge, Nesvitski
suddenly heard a sound new to him, of something swiftly approaching...
something big, that splashed into the water.
"Just see where it carries to!" a soldier near by said sternly,
looking round at the sound.
"Encouraging us to get along quicker," said another uneasily.
The crowd moved on again. Nesvitski realized that it was a cannon ball.
"Hey, Cossack, my horse!" he said. "Now, then, you there! get out
of the way! Make way!"
With great difficulty he managed to get to his horse, and shouting
continually he moved on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to make way
for him, but again pressed on him so that they jammed his leg, and those
nearest him were not to blame for they were themselves pressed still
harder from behind.
"Nesvitski, Nesvitski! you numskull!" came a hoarse voice from
behind him.
Nesvitski looked round and saw, some fifteen paces away but separated
by the living mass of moving infantry, Vaska Denisov, red and shaggy,
with his cap on the back of his black head and a cloak hanging jauntily
over his shoulder.
"Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass!" shouted Denisov
evidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshot
whites glittering and rolling as he waved his sheathed saber in a small
bare hand as red as his face.
"Ah, Vaska!" joyfully replied Nesvitski. "What’s up with
you?"
"The squadwon can’t pass," shouted Vaska Denisov, showing his
white teeth fiercely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which
twitched its ears as the bayonets touched it, and snorted, spurting
white foam from his bit, tramping the planks of the bridge with his
hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the railings had his rider let
him. "What is this? They’re like sheep! Just like sheep! Out of the
way!... Let us pass!... Stop there, you devil with the cart! I’ll hack
you with my saber!" he shouted, actually drawing his saber from its
scabbard and flourishing it.
The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and
Denisov joined Nesvitski.
"How’s it you’re not drunk today?" said Nesvitski when the
other had ridden up to him.
"They don’t even give one time to dwink!" answered Vaska
Denisov. "They keep dwagging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they
mean to fight, let’s fight. But the devil knows what this is."
"What a dandy you are today!" said Nesvitski, looking at
Denisov’s new cloak and saddlecloth.
Denisov smiled, took out of his sabretache a handkerchief that diffused
a smell of perfume, and put it to Nesvitski’s nose.
"Of course. I’m going into action! I’ve shaved, bwushed my teeth,
and scented myself."
The imposing figure of Nesvitski followed by his Cossack, and
the determination of Denisov who flourished his sword and shouted
frantically, had such an effect that they managed to squeeze through
to the farther side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the
bridge Nesvitski found the colonel to whom he had to deliver the order,
and having done this he rode back.
Having cleared the way Denisov stopped at the end of the bridge.
Carelessly holding in his stallion that was neighing and pawing the
ground, eager to rejoin its fellows, he watched his squadron draw
nearer. Then the clang of hoofs, as of several horses galloping,
resounded on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron, officers in
front and men four abreast, spread across the bridge and began to emerge
on his side of it.
The infantry who had been stopped crowded near the bridge in the
trampled mud and gazed with that particular feeling of ill-will,
estrangement, and ridicule with which troops of different arms usually
encounter one another at the clean, smart hussars who moved past them in
regular order.
"Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!" said one.
"What good are they? They’re led about just for show!" remarked
another.
"Don’t kick up the dust, you infantry!" jested an hussar whose
prancing horse had splashed mud over some foot soldiers.
"I’d like to put you on a two days’ march with a knapsack! Your
fine cords would soon get a bit rubbed," said an infantryman, wiping
the mud off his face with his sleeve. "Perched up there, you’re more
like a bird than a man."
"There now, Zikin, they ought to put you on a horse. You’d look
fine," said a corporal, chaffing a thin little soldier who bent under
the weight of his knapsack.
"Take a stick between your legs, that’ll suit you for a horse!"
the hussar shouted back.
CHAPTER VIII
The last of the infantry hurriedly crossed the bridge, squeezing
together as they approached it as if passing through a funnel. At last
the baggage wagons had all crossed, the crush was less, and the last
battalion came onto the bridge. Only Denisov’s squadron of hussars
remained on the farther side of the bridge facing the enemy, who could
be seen from the hill on the opposite bank but was not yet visible from
the bridge, for the horizon as seen from the valley through which the
river flowed was formed by the rising ground only half a mile away.
At the foot of the hill lay wasteland over which a few groups of our
Cossack scouts were moving. Suddenly on the road at the top of the high
ground, artillery and troops in blue uniform were seen. These were the
French. A group of Cossack scouts retired down the hill at a trot. All
the officers and men of Denisov’s squadron, though they tried to talk
of other things and to look in other directions, thought only of what
was there on the hilltop, and kept constantly looking at the patches
appearing on the skyline, which they knew to be the enemy’s troops.
The weather had cleared again since noon and the sun was descending
brightly upon the Danube and the dark hills around it. It was calm, and
at intervals the bugle calls and the shouts of the enemy could be heard
from the hill. There was no one now between the squadron and the enemy
except a few scattered skirmishers. An empty space of some seven hundred
yards was all that separated them. The enemy ceased firing, and that
stern, threatening, inaccessible, and intangible line which separates
two hostile armies was all the more clearly felt.
"One step beyond that boundary line which resembles the line dividing
the living from the dead lies uncertainty, suffering, and death. And
what is there? Who is there? - there beyond that field, that tree, that
roof lit up by the sun? No one knows, but one wants to know. You fear
and yet long to cross that line, and know that sooner or later it must
be crossed and you will have to find out what is there, just as you will
inevitably have to learn what lies the other side of death. But you are
strong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, and are surrounded by other such
excitedly animated and healthy men." So thinks, or at any rate
feels, anyone who comes in sight of the enemy, and that feeling gives
a particular glamour and glad keenness of impression to everything that
takes place at such moments.
On the high ground where the enemy was, the smoke of a cannon rose,
and a ball flew whistling over the heads of the hussar squadron. The
officers who had been standing together rode off to their places. The
hussars began carefully aligning their horses. Silence fell on the whole
squadron. All were looking at the enemy in front and at the squadron
commander, awaiting the word of command. A second and a third cannon
ball flew past. Evidently they were firing at the hussars, but the balls
with rapid rhythmic whistle flew over the heads of the horsemen and fell
somewhere beyond them. The hussars did not look round, but at the sound
of each shot, as at the word of command, the whole squadron with its
rows of faces so alike yet so different, holding its breath while the
ball flew past, rose in the stirrups and sank back again. The soldiers
without turning their heads glanced at one another, curious to see their
comrades’ impression. Every face, from Denisov’s to that of the
bugler, showed one common expression of conflict, irritation, and
excitement, around chin and mouth. The quartermaster frowned, looking
at the soldiers as if threatening to punish them. Cadet Mironov ducked
every time a ball flew past. Rostov on the left flank, mounted on his
Rook - a handsome horse despite its game leg - had the happy air of a
schoolboy called up before a large audience for an examination in which
he feels sure he will distinguish himself. He was glancing at everyone
with a clear, bright expression, as if asking them to notice how calmly
he sat under fire. But despite himself, on his face too that same
indication of something new and stern showed round the mouth.
"Who’s that curtseying there? Cadet Miwonov! That’s not wight!
Look at me," cried Denisov who, unable to keep still on one spot,
kept turning his horse in front of the squadron.
The black, hairy, snub-nosed face of Vaska Denisov, and his whole
short sturdy figure with the sinewy hairy hand and stumpy fingers in
which he held the hilt of his naked saber, looked just as it usually
did, especially toward evening when he had emptied his second bottle; he
was only redder than usual. With his shaggy head thrown back like birds
when they drink, pressing his spurs mercilessly into the sides of his
good horse, Bedouin, and sitting as though falling backwards in the
saddle, he galloped to the other flank of the squadron and shouted in
a hoarse voice to the men to look to their pistols. He rode up to
Kirsten. The staff captain on his broad-backed, steady mare came at a
walk to meet him. His face with its long mustache was serious as always,
only his eyes were brighter than usual.
"Well, what about it?" said he to Denisov. "It won’t come to a
fight. You’ll see - we shall retire."
"The devil only knows what they’re about!" muttered Denisov.
"Ah, Wostov," he cried noticing the cadet’s bright face,
"you’ve got it at last."
And he smiled approvingly, evidently pleased with the cadet. Rostov
felt perfectly happy. Just then the commander appeared on the bridge.
Denisov galloped up to him.
"Your excellency! Let us attack them! I’ll dwive them off."
"Attack indeed!" said the colonel in a bored voice, puckering up his
face as if driving off a troublesome fly. "And why are you stopping
here? Don’t you see the skirmishers are retreating? Lead the squadron
back."
The squadron crossed the bridge and drew out of range of fire without
having lost a single man. The second squadron that had been in the front
line followed them across and the last Cossacks quitted the farther side
of the river.
The two Pavlograd squadrons, having crossed the bridge, retired up the
hill one after the other. Their colonel, Karl Bogdanich Schubert, came
up to Denisov’s squadron and rode at a footpace not far from Rostov,
without taking any notice of him although they were now meeting for the
first time since their encounter concerning Telyanin. Rostov, feeling
that he was at the front and in the power of a man toward whom he now
admitted that he had been to blame, did not lift his eyes from the
colonel’s athletic back, his nape covered with light hair, and his red
neck. It seemed to Rostov that Bogdanich was only pretending not
to notice him, and that his whole aim now was to test the cadet’s
courage, so he drew himself up and looked around him merrily; then it
seemed to him that Bogdanich rode so near in order to show him his
courage. Next he thought that his enemy would send the squadron on a
desperate attack just to punish him - Rostov. Then he imagined how,
after the attack, Bogdanich would come up to him as he lay wounded and
would magnanimously extend the hand of reconciliation.
The high-shouldered figure of Zherkov, familiar to the Pavlograds as
he had but recently left their regiment, rode up to the colonel.
After his dismissal from headquarters Zherkov had not remained in the
regiment, saying he was not such a fool as to slave at the front when he
could get more rewards by doing nothing on the staff, and had succeeded
in attaching himself as an orderly officer to Prince Bagration. He now
came to his former chief with an order from the commander of the rear
guard.
"Colonel," he said, addressing Rostov’s enemy with an air of
gloomy gravity and glancing round at his comrades, "there is an order
to stop and fire the bridge."
"An order to who?" asked the colonel morosely.
"I don’t myself know ‘to who,’" replied the cornet in a
serious tone, "but the prince told me to ‘go and tell the colonel
that the hussars must return quickly and fire the bridge.’"
Zherkov was followed by an officer of the suite who rode up to the
colonel of hussars with the same order. After him the stout Nesvitski
came galloping up on a Cossack horse that could scarcely carry his
weight.
"How’s this, Colonel?" he shouted as he approached. "I told you
to fire the bridge, and now someone has gone and blundered; they are all
beside themselves over there and one can’t make anything out."
The colonel deliberately stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvitski.
"You spoke to me of inflammable material," said he, "but you said
nothing about firing it."
"But, my dear sir," said Nesvitski as he drew up, taking off his
cap and smoothing his hair wet with perspiration with his plump hand,
"wasn’t I telling you to fire the bridge, when inflammable material
had been put in position?"
"I am not your ‘dear sir,’ Mr. Staff Officer, and you did not tell
me to burn the bridge! I know the service, and it is my habit orders
strictly to obey. You said the bridge would be burned, but who would it
burn, I could not know by the holy spirit!"
"Ah, that’s always the way!" said Nesvitski with a wave of the
hand. "How did you get here?" said he, turning to Zherkov.
"On the same business. But you are damp! Let me wring you out!"
"You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer..." continued the colonel in an
offended tone.
"Colonel," interrupted the officer of the suite, "You must be
quick or the enemy will bring up his guns to use grapeshot."
The colonel looked silently at the officer of the suite, at the stout
staff officer, and at Zherkov, and he frowned.
"I will the bridge fire," he said in a solemn tone as if to announce
that in spite of all the unpleasantness he had to endure he would still
do the right thing.
Striking his horse with his long muscular legs as if it were to blame
for everything, the colonel moved forward and ordered the second
squadron, that in which Rostov was serving under Denisov, to return to
the bridge.
"There, it’s just as I thought," said Rostov to himself. "He
wishes to test me!" His heart contracted and the blood rushed to his
face. "Let him see whether I am a coward!" he thought.
Again on all the bright faces of the squadron the serious expression
appeared that they had worn when under fire. Rostov watched his enemy,
the colonel, closely - to find in his face confirmation of his own
conjecture, but the colonel did not once glance at Rostov, and looked
as he always did when at the front, solemn and stern. Then came the word
of command.
"Look sharp! Look sharp!" several voices repeated around him.
Their sabers catching in the bridles and their spurs jingling, the
hussars hastily dismounted, not knowing what they were to do. The men
were crossing themselves. Rostov no longer looked at the colonel, he
had no time. He was afraid of falling behind the hussars, so much afraid
that his heart stood still. His hand trembled as he gave his horse into
an orderly’s charge, and he felt the blood rush to his heart with
a thud. Denisov rode past him, leaning back and shouting something.
Rostov saw nothing but the hussars running all around him, their spurs
catching and their sabers clattering.
"Stretchers!" shouted someone behind him.
Rostov did not think what this call for stretchers meant; he ran on,
trying only to be ahead of the others; but just at the bridge, not
looking at the ground, he came on some sticky, trodden mud, stumbled,
and fell on his hands. The others outstripped him.
"At boss zides, Captain," he heard the voice of the colonel, who,
having ridden ahead, had pulled up his horse near the bridge, with a
triumphant, cheerful face.
Rostov wiping his muddy hands on his breeches looked at his enemy and
was about to run on, thinking that the farther he went to the front
the better. But Bogdanich, without looking at or recognizing Rostov,
shouted to him:
"Who’s that running on the middle of the bridge? To the right! Come
back, Cadet!" he cried angrily; and turning to Denisov, who, showing
off his courage, had ridden on to the planks of the bridge:
"Why run risks, Captain? You should dismount," he said.
"Oh, every bullet has its billet," answered Vaska Denisov, turning
in his saddle.
Meanwhile Nesvitski, Zherkov, and the officer of the suite were
standing together out of range of the shots, watching, now the small
group of men with yellow shakos, dark-green jackets braided with cord,
and blue riding breeches, who were swarming near the bridge, and then at
what was approaching in the distance from the opposite side - the blue
uniforms and groups with horses, easily recognizable as artillery.
"Will they burn the bridge or not? Who’ll get there first? Will they
get there and fire the bridge or will the French get within grapeshot
range and wipe them out?" These were the questions each man of the
troops on the high ground above the bridge involuntarily asked himself
with a sinking heart - watching the bridge and the hussars in the bright
evening light and the blue tunics advancing from the other side with
their bayonets and guns.
"Ugh. The hussars will get it hot!" said Nesvitski; "they are
within grapeshot range now."
"He shouldn’t have taken so many men," said the officer of the
suite.
"True enough," answered Nesvitski; "two smart fellows could have
done the job just as well."
"Ah, your excellency," put in Zherkov, his eyes fixed on the
hussars, but still with that naïve air that made it impossible to know
whether he was speaking in jest or in earnest. "Ah, your excellency!
How you look at things! Send two men? And who then would give us the
Vladimir medal and ribbon? But now, even if they do get peppered, the
squadron may be recommended for honors and he may get a ribbon. Our
Bogdanich knows how things are done."
"There now!" said the officer of the suite, "that’s
grapeshot."
He pointed to the French guns, the limbers of which were being detached
and hurriedly removed.
On the French side, amid the groups with cannon, a cloud of smoke
appeared, then a second and a third almost simultaneously, and at the
moment when the first report was heard a fourth was seen. Then two
reports one after another, and a third.
"Oh! Oh!" groaned Nesvitski as if in fierce pain, seizing the
officer of the suite by the arm. "Look! A man has fallen! Fallen,
fallen!"
"Two, I think."
"If I were Tsar I would never go to war," said Nesvitski, turning
away.
The French guns were hastily reloaded. The infantry in their blue
uniforms advanced toward the bridge at a run. Smoke appeared again
but at irregular intervals, and grapeshot cracked and rattled onto the
bridge. But this time Nesvitski could not see what was happening there,
as a dense cloud of smoke arose from it. The hussars had succeeded in
setting it on fire and the French batteries were now firing at them, no
longer to hinder them but because the guns were trained and there was
someone to fire at.
The French had time to fire three rounds of grapeshot before the hussars
got back to their horses. Two were misdirected and the shot went too
high, but the last round fell in the midst of a group of hussars and
knocked three of them over.
Rostov, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanich, had paused on the
bridge not knowing what to do. There was no one to hew down (as he
had always imagined battles to himself), nor could he help to fire the
bridge because he had not brought any burning straw with him like the
other soldiers. He stood looking about him, when suddenly he heard a
rattle on the bridge as if nuts were being spilt, and the hussar nearest
to him fell against the rails with a groan. Rostov ran up to him with
the others. Again someone shouted, "Stretchers!" Four men seized the
hussar and began lifting him.
"Oooh! For Christ’s sake let me alone!" cried the wounded man, but
still he was lifted and laid on the stretcher.
Nicholas Rostov turned away and, as if searching for something, gazed
into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, and at the
sun. How beautiful the sky looked; how blue, how calm, and how deep!
How bright and glorious was the setting sun! With what soft glitter the
waters of the distant Danube shone. And fairer still were the faraway
blue mountains beyond the river, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, and
the pine forests veiled in the mist of their summits... There was peace
and happiness... "I should wish for nothing else, nothing, if only I
were there," thought Rostov. "In myself alone and in that sunshine
there is so much happiness; but here... groans, suffering, fear, and
this uncertainty and hurry... There - they are shouting again, and
again are all running back somewhere, and I shall run with them, and it,
death, is here above me and around... Another instant and I shall never
again see the sun, this water, that gorge!..."
At that instant the sun began to hide behind the clouds, and other
stretchers came into view before Rostov. And the fear of death and of
the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, all merged into one
feeling of sickening agitation.
"O Lord God! Thou who art in that heaven, save, forgive, and protect
me!" Rostov whispered.
The hussars ran back to the men who held their horses; their voices
sounded louder and calmer, the stretchers disappeared from sight.
"Well, fwiend? So you’ve smelt powdah!" shouted Vaska Denisov
just above his ear.
"It’s all over; but I am a coward - yes, a coward!" thought
Rostov, and sighing deeply he took Rook, his horse, which stood resting
one foot, from the orderly and began to mount.
"Was that grapeshot?" he asked Denisov.
"Yes and no mistake!" cried Denisov. "You worked like wegular
bwicks and it’s nasty work! An attack’s pleasant work! Hacking
away at the dogs! But this sort of thing is the very devil, with them
shooting at you like a target."
And Denisov rode up to a group that had stopped near Rostov, composed
of the colonel, Nesvitski, Zherkov, and the officer from the suite.
"Well, it seems that no one has noticed," thought Rostov. And this
was true. No one had taken any notice, for everyone knew the sensation
which the cadet under fire for the first time had experienced.
"Here’s something for you to report," said Zherkov. "See if I
don’t get promoted to a sublieutenancy."
"Inform the prince that I the bridge fired!" said the colonel
triumphantly and gaily.
"And if he asks about the losses?"
"A trifle," said the colonel in his bass voice: "two hussars
wounded, and one knocked out," he added, unable to restrain a happy
smile, and pronouncing the phrase "knocked out" with ringing
distinctness.
CHAPTER IX
Pursued by the French army of a hundred thousand men under the command
of Bonaparte, encountering a population that was unfriendly to it,
losing confidence in its allies, suffering from shortness of supplies,
and compelled to act under conditions of war unlike anything that had
been foreseen, the Russian army of thirty-five thousand men commanded
by Kutuzov was hurriedly retreating along the Danube, stopping where
overtaken by the enemy and fighting rearguard actions only as far as
necessary to enable it to retreat without losing its heavy equipment.
There had been actions at Lambach, Amstetten, and Melk; but despite the
courage and endurance - acknowledged even by the enemy - with which the
Russians fought, the only consequence of these actions was a yet more
rapid retreat. Austrian troops that had escaped capture at Ulm and had
joined Kutuzov at Braunau now separated from the Russian army, and
Kutuzov was left with only his own weak and exhausted forces. The
defense of Vienna was no longer to be thought of. Instead of an
offensive, the plan of which, carefully prepared in accord with the
modern science of strategics, had been handed to Kutuzov when he was in
Vienna by the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, the sole and almost unattainable
aim remaining for him was to effect a junction with the forces that were
advancing from Russia, without losing his army as Mack had done at Ulm.
On the twenty-eighth of October Kutuzov with his army crossed to the
left bank of the Danube and took up a position for the first time
with the river between himself and the main body of the French. On the
thirtieth he attacked Mortier’s division, which was on the left bank,
and broke it up. In this action for the first time trophies were taken:
banners, cannon, and two enemy generals. For the first time, after a
fortnight’s retreat, the Russian troops had halted and after a fight
had not only held the field but had repulsed the French. Though the
troops were ill-clad, exhausted, and had lost a third of their number
in killed, wounded, sick, and stragglers; though a number of sick and
wounded had been abandoned on the other side of the Danube with a letter
in which Kutuzov entrusted them to the humanity of the enemy; and
though the big hospitals and the houses in Krems converted into military
hospitals could no longer accommodate all the sick and wounded, yet the
stand made at Krems and the victory over Mortier raised the spirits of
the army considerably. Throughout the whole army and at headquarters
most joyful though erroneous rumors were rife of the imaginary approach
of columns from Russia, of some victory gained by the Austrians, and of
the retreat of the frightened Bonaparte.
Prince Andrew during the battle had been in attendance on the Austrian
General Schmidt, who was killed in the action. His horse had been
wounded under him and his own arm slightly grazed by a bullet. As a mark
of the commander in chief’s special favor he was sent with the news of
this victory to the Austrian court, now no longer at Vienna (which was
threatened by the French) but at Brunn. Despite his apparently delicate
build Prince Andrew could endure physical fatigue far better than many
very muscular men, and on the night of the battle, having arrived
at Krems excited but not weary, with dispatches from Dokhturov to
Kutuzov, he was sent immediately with a special dispatch to Brunn.
To be so sent meant not only a reward but an important step toward
promotion.
The night was dark but starry, the road showed black in the snow that
had fallen the previous day - the day of the battle. Reviewing his
impressions of the recent battle, picturing pleasantly to himself the
impression his news of a victory would create, or recalling the send-off
given him by the commander in chief and his fellow officers, Prince
Andrew was galloping along in a post chaise enjoying the feelings of a
man who has at length begun to attain a long-desired happiness. As soon
as he closed his eyes his ears seemed filled with the rattle of the
wheels and the sensation of victory. Then he began to imagine that
the Russians were running away and that he himself was killed, but he
quickly roused himself with a feeling of joy, as if learning afresh that
this was not so but that on the contrary the French had run away. He
again recalled all the details of the victory and his own calm courage
during the battle, and feeling reassured he dozed off.... The dark
starry night was followed by a bright cheerful morning. The snow was
thawing in the sunshine, the horses galloped quickly, and on both sides
of the road were forests of different kinds, fields, and villages.
At one of the post stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded.
The Russian officer in charge of the transport lolled back in the front
cart, shouting and scolding a soldier with coarse abuse. In each of
the long German carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men were being
jolted over the stony road. Some of them were talking (he heard Russian
words), others were eating bread; the more severely wounded looked
silently, with the languid interest of sick children, at the envoy
hurrying past them.
Prince Andrew told his driver to stop, and asked a soldier in what
action they had been wounded. "Day before yesterday, on the Danube,"
answered the soldier. Prince Andrew took out his purse and gave the
soldier three gold pieces.
"That’s for them all," he said to the officer who came up.
"Get well soon, lads!" he continued, turning to the soldiers.
"There’s plenty to do still."
"What news, sir?" asked the officer, evidently anxious to start a
conversation.
"Good news!... Go on!" he shouted to the driver, and they galloped
on.
It was already quite dark when Prince Andrew rattled over the paved
streets of Brunn and found himself surrounded by high buildings, the
lights of shops, houses, and street lamps, fine carriages, and all that
atmosphere of a large and active town which is always so attractive to a
soldier after camp life. Despite his rapid journey and sleepless night,
Prince Andrew when he drove up to the palace felt even more vigorous and
alert than he had done the day before. Only his eyes gleamed feverishly
and his thoughts followed one another with extraordinary clearness and
rapidity. He again vividly recalled the details of the battle, no longer
dim, but definite and in the concise form in which he imagined himself
stating them to the Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the casual
questions that might be put to him and the answers he would give. He
expected to be at once presented to the Emperor. At the chief entrance
to the palace, however, an official came running out to meet him, and
learning that he was a special messenger led him to another entrance.
"To the right from the corridor, Euer Hochgeboren! There you will find
the adjutant on duty," said the official. "He will conduct you to
the Minister of War."
The adjutant on duty, meeting Prince Andrew, asked him to wait, and went
in to the Minister of War. Five minutes later he returned and bowing
with particular courtesy ushered Prince Andrew before him along a
corridor to the cabinet where the Minister of War was at work. The
adjutant by his elaborate courtesy appeared to wish to ward off any
attempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian messenger.
Prince Andrew’s joyous feeling was considerably weakened as he
approached the door of the minister’s room. He felt offended, and
without his noticing it the feeling of offense immediately turned into
one of disdain which was quite uncalled for. His fertile mind instantly
suggested to him a point of view which gave him a right to despise
the adjutant and the minister. "Away from the smell of powder, they
probably think it easy to gain victories!" he thought. His eyes
narrowed disdainfully, he entered the room of the Minister of War with
peculiarly deliberate steps. This feeling of disdain was heightened
when he saw the minister seated at a large table reading some papers
and making pencil notes on them, and for the first two or three minutes
taking no notice of his arrival. A wax candle stood at each side of the
minister’s bent bald head with its gray temples. He went on reading
to the end, without raising his eyes at the opening of the door and the
sound of footsteps.
"Take this and deliver it," said he to his adjutant, handing him the
papers and still taking no notice of the special messenger.
Prince Andrew felt that either the actions of Kutuzov’s army
interested the Minister of War less than any of the other matters he was
concerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian special messenger that
impression. "But that is a matter of perfect indifference to me," he
thought. The minister drew the remaining papers together, arranged them
evenly, and then raised his head. He had an intellectual and distinctive
head, but the instant he turned to Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent
expression on his face changed in a way evidently deliberate and
habitual to him. His face took on the stupid artificial smile (which
does not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is
continually receiving many petitioners one after another.
"From General Field Marshal Kutuzov?" he asked. "I hope it is
good news? There has been an encounter with Mortier? A victory? It was
high time!"
He took the dispatch which was addressed to him and began to read it
with a mournful expression.
"Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!" he exclaimed in German. "What a
calamity! What a calamity!"
Having glanced through the dispatch he laid it on the table and looked
at Prince Andrew, evidently considering something.
"Ah what a calamity! You say the affair was decisive? But Mortier is
not captured." Again he pondered. "I am very glad you have brought
good news, though Schmidt’s death is a heavy price to pay for the
victory. His Majesty will no doubt wish to see you, but not today. I
thank you! You must have a rest. Be at the levee tomorrow after the
parade. However, I will let you know."
The stupid smile, which had left his face while he was speaking,
reappeared.
"Au revoir! Thank you very much. His Majesty will probably desire to
see you," he added, bowing his head.
When Prince Andrew left the palace he felt that all the interest
and happiness the victory had afforded him had been now left in the
indifferent hands of the Minister of War and the polite adjutant. The
whole tenor of his thoughts instantaneously changed; the battle seemed
the memory of a remote event long past.
CHAPTER X
.
1
2
"
,
,
.
.
.
’
.
.
.
.
3
’
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
4
’
.
.
.
,
’
,
5
.
.
.
,
,
’
’
,
6
.
,
?
.
.
.
"
7
8
"
,
’
,
!
"
,
9
.
10
11
"
,
"
,
"
’
.
"
12
13
"
’
,
,
"
,
14
,
.
15
"
,
.
,
!
"
16
17
"
,
’
.
,
"
18
,
"
’
,
19
’
,
!
20
?
"
21
22
.
23
24
"
’
.
’
25
,
"
.
26
27
"
,
’
!
’
.
28
’
.
.
.
"
29
30
"
,
’
,
"
.
"
31
?
"
.
32
33
"
,
’
34
,
"
.
35
36
"
,
’
,
"
37
.
38
39
"
,
’
.
’
!
"
40
.
41
42
.
43
44
"
?
"
.
45
46
"
’
,
!
47
.
"
48
49
"
’
!
"
50
51
"
’
!
"
52
53
"
?
?
?
"
54
55
"
!
!
!
56
?
"
57
58
"
’
,
59
.
.
60
’
.
.
.
’
,
?
’
61
.
"
62
63
"
,
,
’
64
.
"
65
66
67
.
.
68
69
"
’
,
!
"
70
71
"
,
!
’
!
"
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
,
80
(
)
(
)
.
81
.
82
,
,
83
.
84
85
,
,
.
86
87
,
88
,
,
-
89
.
,
90
,
-
,
91
,
,
92
.
,
,
,
93
94
,
95
,
96
.
97
,
98
’
.
99
100
101
,
102
.
,
103
,
104
.
105
,
106
.
,
107
,
.
108
109
"
,
.
’
110
!
,
?
"
111
.
112
113
"
,
,
"
,
114
.
"
’
115
!
.
.
.
116
!
"
117
118
"
,
,
"
,
119
,
120
-
"
,
.
121
,
.
122
’
,
"
.
123
124
"
,
"
.
"
,
,
"
125
,
-
,
"
126
.
"
127
128
,
129
.
130
131
"
,
!
"
132
133
.
134
135
"
.
136
.
’
!
"
137
138
"
,
,
"
,
139
.
140
141
142
,
.
143
144
"
,
,
,
"
,
145
,
"
!
’
146
.
?
"
147
148
,
149
-
.
150
,
.
151
152
,
,
,
.
153
154
"
?
"
.
155
156
"
’
,
"
,
157
"
.
"
158
159
"
’
,
?
"
.
160
161
"
,
,
"
,
162
:
"
163
;
164
.
"
165
166
"
,
"
.
167
168
,
169
,
.
170
171
"
’
,
"
172
,
173
.
174
175
"
,
’
,
.
!
"
176
,
.
"
177
.
"
178
179
"
,
!
"
.
180
181
182
.
183
184
"
!
"
.
185
186
.
187
,
188
,
189
.
190
191
.
192
,
193
’
,
194
.
195
,
196
197
.
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
’
,
206
.
,
207
208
.
209
.
210
,
211
,
.
212
213
"
,
!
"
214
,
215
.
"
!
216
’
!
’
?
"
217
218
"
"
219
.
"
,
!
220
!
.
"
,
221
,
,
222
.
,
223
,
224
.
225
,
,
,
226
,
,
,
,
,
227
,
,
,
228
229
.
,
230
,
,
231
,
;
232
,
,
233
,
;
234
,
’
235
’
,
,
,
236
,
.
237
238
"
’
,
"
.
"
239
?
"
240
241
"
!
"
,
242
,
,
.
243
244
"
"
(
)
"
,
"
245
,
"
’
246
.
"
247
248
,
.
249
250
"
?
"
251
,
.
252
253
.
254
.
255
256
"
,
,
257
.
.
.
"
258
,
.
259
260
"
,
.
.
.
"
261
.
,
,
,
262
,
.
263
264
"
!
.
’
265
,
"
.
266
267
"
,
,
,
"
268
,
,
"
269
.
,
‘
,
!
"
270
,
.
271
272
.
273
.
,
274
.
275
.
276
,
,
277
.
278
.
279
,
280
’
.
281
,
282
.
283
284
"
,
,
!
"
285
286
"
,
"
,
,
287
,
,
288
.
289
290
"
’
!
,
!
"
291
292
"
,
,
!
"
293
294
"
,
!
"
295
296
"
?
"
297
,
.
298
299
,
.
300
301
"
,
"
,
.
302
303
.
304
.
305
,
,
306
,
.
,
307
,
308
.
309
310
"
?
’
!
"
311
.
"
?
!
’
?
312
’
.
,
’
313
"
-
,
314
,
.
315
316
,
317
,
.
.
.
318
,
.
319
320
"
!
"
,
321
.
322
323
"
,
"
.
324
325
.
.
326
327
"
,
,
!
"
.
"
,
,
!
328
!
!
"
329
330
,
331
.
332
,
,
333
334
.
335
336
"
,
!
!
"
337
.
338
339
,
340
,
,
,
341
342
.
343
344
"
,
,
!
"
345
,
-
346
347
.
348
349
"
,
!
"
.
"
’
350
?
"
351
352
"
’
,
"
,
353
,
354
,
,
355
,
356
,
357
.
"
?
’
!
!
358
!
.
.
.
!
.
.
.
,
!
’
359
!
"
,
360
.
361
362
,
363
.
364
365
"
’
’
?
"
366
.
367
368
"
’
!
"
369
.
"
.
370
,
’
.
.
"
371
372
"
!
"
,
373
’
.
374
375
,
376
,
’
.
377
378
"
.
’
!
’
,
,
379
.
"
380
381
,
382
383
,
384
.
385
,
386
.
387
388
.
389
390
,
,
391
.
,
,
392
,
,
393
,
394
.
395
396
397
-
,
398
,
399
,
400
.
401
402
"
!
!
"
.
403
404
"
?
’
!
"
405
.
406
407
"
’
,
!
"
408
.
409
410
"
’
’
!
411
,
"
,
412
.
"
,
’
413
.
"
414
415
"
,
,
.
’
416
,
"
,
417
.
418
419
"
,
’
!
"
420
.
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
,
429
.
430
,
,
431
.
’
432
,
433
434
,
435
.
436
437
.
438
,
.
439
.
.
440
’
,
441
,
442
,
443
,
’
.
444
445
.
,
446
447
.
448
.
449
.
,
450
,
,
,
451
.
452
453
"
454
,
,
.
455
?
?
-
,
,
456
?
,
.
457
,
458
,
459
.
460
,
,
,
,
461
.
"
,
462
,
,
463
464
.
465
466
,
,
467
.
468
.
469
.
470
.
471
,
.
472
.
,
473
474
.
,
475
,
,
476
,
477
,
.
478
,
479
’
.
,
’
480
,
,
,
481
,
.
,
482
.
483
.
,
484
-
-
485
486
.
487
,
,
488
.
,
489
.
490
491
"
’
?
!
’
!
492
,
"
,
,
493
.
494
495
,
,
-
,
496
497
,
498
,
;
499
.
500
,
501
,
,
502
,
503
.
504
.
-
,
505
.
,
506
.
507
508
"
,
?
"
.
"
’
509
.
’
-
.
"
510
511
"
’
!
"
.
512
"
,
,
"
’
,
513
"
’
.
"
514
515
,
.
516
.
.
517
.
518
519
"
!
!
’
.
"
520
521
"
!
"
,
522
.
"
523
?
’
?
524
.
"
525
526
527
.
528
529
.
530
531
,
,
532
.
,
,
533
’
,
534
535
.
,
536
537
,
538
’
,
,
539
.
540
,
’
541
,
;
542
543
.
544
-
.
,
545
,
546
.
547
548
-
,
549
,
.
550
551
,
552
,
553
.
554
555
.
556
557
"
,
"
,
’
558
,
"
559
.
"
560
561
"
?
"
.
562
563
"
’
‘
,
’
"
564
,
"
‘
565
.
’
"
566
567
568
.
569
570
.
571
572
"
’
,
?
"
.
"
573
,
;
574
’
.
"
575
576
.
577
578
"
,
"
,
"
579
.
"
580
581
"
,
,
"
,
582
,
583
"
’
,
584
?
"
585
586
"
‘
,
’
.
,
587
!
,
588
.
,
589
,
!
"
590
591
"
,
’
!
"
592
.
"
?
"
,
.
593
594
"
.
!
!
"
595
596
"
,
.
.
.
.
"
597
.
598
599
"
,
"
,
"
600
.
"
601
602
,
603
,
,
.
604
605
"
,
"
606
607
.
608
609
610
,
611
,
,
612
.
613
614
"
,
’
,
"
.
"
615
!
"
616
.
"
!
"
.
617
618
619
.
,
620
,
-
621
,
,
622
,
.
623
.
624
625
"
!
!
"
.
626
627
,
628
,
.
629
.
,
630
.
,
631
.
632
’
,
633
.
,
.
634
,
635
.
636
637
"
!
"
.
638
639
;
,
640
;
,
641
,
,
,
,
642
.
.
643
644
"
,
,
"
,
,
645
,
,
646
,
.
647
648
649
,
650
.
,
,
651
:
652
653
"
’
?
!
654
,
!
"
;
,
,
655
,
:
656
657
"
,
?
,
"
.
658
659
"
,
,
"
,
660
.
661
662
663
,
,
664
,
,
665
,
-
,
666
,
,
667
-
668
,
.
669
670
"
?
’
?
671
672
?
"
673
674
-
675
676
.
677
678
"
.
!
"
;
"
679
.
"
680
681
"
’
,
"
682
.
683
684
"
,
"
;
"
685
.
"
686
687
"
,
,
"
,
688
,
689
.
"
,
!
690
!
?
691
?
,
,
692
.
693
.
"
694
695
"
!
"
,
"
’
696
.
"
697
698
,
699
.
700
701
,
,
702
,
,
703
.
704
,
.
705
706
"
!
!
"
,
707
.
"
!
!
,
708
!
"
709
710
"
,
.
"
711
712
"
,
"
,
713
.
714
715
.
716
.
717
,
718
.
,
719
.
720
,
721
722
.
723
724
725
.
726
,
727
.
728
729
,
,
730
.
(
731
)
,
732
733
.
,
734
,
735
.
736
.
,
"
!
"
737
.
738
739
"
!
’
!
"
,
740
.
741
742
,
,
743
,
,
,
744
.
;
,
,
!
745
!
746
.
747
,
,
,
748
.
.
.
749
.
.
.
"
,
,
750
,
"
.
"
751
;
.
.
.
,
,
,
752
.
.
.
-
,
753
,
,
,
754
,
.
.
.
755
,
,
!
.
.
.
"
756
757
,
758
.
759
,
,
760
.
761
762
"
!
,
,
,
763
!
"
.
764
765
;
766
,
.
767
768
"
,
?
’
!
"
769
.
770
771
"
’
;
-
,
!
"
772
,
,
,
773
,
.
774
775
"
?
"
.
776
777
"
!
"
.
"
778
’
!
’
!
779
!
,
780
.
"
781
782
,
783
,
,
,
.
784
785
"
,
,
"
.
786
.
,
787
.
788
789
"
’
,
"
.
"
790
’
.
"
791
792
"
!
"
793
.
794
795
"
?
"
796
797
"
,
"
:
"
798
,
,
"
,
799
,
"
"
800
.
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
,
,
810
,
,
811
812
,
-
813
,
814
815
.
816
,
,
;
817
-
-
818
,
819
.
820
,
821
.
822
.
823
,
,
824
,
825
,
826
827
,
.
828
829
-
830
831
.
832
’
,
,
833
.
:
834
,
,
.
,
835
’
,
836
.
837
-
,
,
838
,
,
,
;
839
840
;
841
842
,
843
844
.
845
846
,
,
847
.
848
849
850
,
.
851
.
852
’
853
,
(
854
)
.
855
856
,
,
857
,
858
,
.
859
860
.
861
862
,
863
-
.
864
,
865
,
-
866
,
867
868
-
.
869
870
.
871
,
872
,
873
.
874
875
,
.
.
.
.
876
.
877
,
,
878
,
,
.
879
880
.
881
882
,
.
883
,
,
884
.
(
885
)
,
;
886
,
,
887
.
888
889
,
890
.
"
,
,
"
891
.
892
.
893
894
"
’
,
"
.
895
896
"
,
!
"
,
.
897
"
’
.
"
898
899
"
,
?
"
,
900
.
901
902
"
!
.
.
.
!
"
,
903
.
904
905
906
,
907
,
,
,
,
908
909
.
,
910
911
.
912
913
.
,
914
,
915
.
916
.
917
.
918
,
,
,
919
.
920
921
"
,
!
922
,
"
.
"
923
.
"
924
925
,
,
,
926
.
927
928
.
929
930
.
931
932
’
933
’
.
,
934
935
.
936
937
.
"
,
938
!
"
.
939
,
940
.
941
942
,
943
.
944
’
.
945
,
946
.
947
948
"
,
"
,
949
.
950
951
’
952
953
,
954
.
"
,
"
955
.
,
956
,
.
957
,
,
958
959
.
(
960
)
961
.
962
963
"
?
"
.
"
964
?
?
?
965
!
"
966
967
968
.
969
970
"
,
!
!
!
"
.
"
971
!
!
"
972
973
974
,
.
975
976
"
!
?
977
.
"
.
"
978
,
’
979
.
,
.
980
!
.
981
.
,
.
"
982
983
,
,
984
.
985
986
"
!
.
987
,
"
,
.
988
989
990
991
.
992
;
993
.
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000