War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [116]
Another, younger voice interrupted him:
“Afraid or not, all the same you can’t avoid it.”
“But you’re still afraid! Eh, you learned people,” said a third, manly voice, interrupting the two others. “That’s why you artillerists are so learned, because you can tote everything along with you, both vodka and grub.”
And the owner of the manly voice, probably an infantry officer, laughed.
“But you’re still afraid,” the first, familiar voice went on. “Afraid of the unknown, that’s what. However much we say that the soul will go to heaven…we know that there is no heaven, but only atmosphere.”18
Again the manly voice interrupted the artillerist.
“Well, let’s have some of your herb liqueur, Tushin,” it said.
“Ah, it’s that same captain who stood without boots in the canteen,” thought Prince Andrei, glad to have identified the pleasant, philosophizing voice.
“Herb liqueur’s possible,” said Tushin, “but even so, to understand the future life…” He did not finish.
Just then a whistling was heard in the air; closer, closer, faster and louder, louder and faster, and a cannonball, as if not finishing all it had to say, crashed to the ground with inhuman force not far from the lean-to, throwing up a spray of dirt. The earth seemed to gasp from the terrible blow.
At that same moment little Tushin came running out of the lean-to ahead of everyone else, his pipe askew in his teeth; his kindly, intelligent face was slightly pale. After him the owner of the manly voice came out, a dashing infantry officer, and ran to his company, buttoning himself up as he ran.
XVII
Prince Andrei, mounted up, stayed at the battery, looking at the smoke of the cannon from which the cannonball had come flying. His eyes ran over the vast space. He saw only that the previously immobile masses of the French began to sway, and that there was indeed a battery to the left. The smoke there had not yet dispersed. Two French horsemen, probably adjutants, were galloping over the hill. A small column of the enemy, clearly visible, was moving down the hillside, probably to reinforce the line. The smoke of the first shot had not scattered when another puff appeared, followed by a report. The battle had begun. Prince Andrei turned his horse and rode back to Grunt to look for Prince Bagration. Behind him he heard the cannonade growing louder and heavier. Evidently ours had begun to respond. Below, in the place where the envoys had passed, musketfire was heard.
Lemarrois had just come galloping to Murat with the menacing letter from Bonaparte, and the shamed Murat, wishing to smooth over his mistake, at once moved his troops up to the center and around both flanks, hoping before evening and the emperor’s arrival to crush the insignificant detachment that stood facing him.
“It’s begun! Here it is!” thought Prince Andrei, feeling the blood beginning to rush more quickly to his heart. “But where, then? How will my Toulon declare itself?” he thought.
Riding among the same companies that had been eating kasha and drinking vodka a quarter of an hour ago, he saw everywhere the same quick movements of soldiers lining up and taking their muskets, and on all faces he recognized the feeling of animation that was in his heart. “It’s begun! Here it is! Fearful and merry!” spoke the face of every soldier and officer.
Before he reached the still-unfinished fortification, he saw horsemen moving towards him in the evening light of the gray, autumnal day. The foremost, in a felt cloak and peaked astrakhan cap, was riding a white horse. It was Prince Bagration. Prince Andrei stopped to wait for him. Prince Bagration reined in his horse and, recognizing Prince Andrei, nodded to him. He went on looking ahead all the while Prince Andrei was telling him what he had seen.
The expression “It’s begun! Here it is!” was even on the firm, swarthy face of Prince Bagration, with its half-closed eyes, lackluster as if from want of sleep. Prince Andrei peered into that immobile face with anxious curiosity, and wished