Chapter 18 Chapter Eighteen

Rostov was ordered to look for Kutuzov and the king near the village of Platz.But not only were they not here, even a leader was nowhere to be seen. There were only groups of officers and soldiers of various troops scattered here.He drove his tired horse, trying to hurry through the crowd, but the crowd became more chaotic the further he went.He came to a high road, on which all kinds of wagons, buggies, wounded and unwounded soldiers of all branches of the Russian and Austrian armies crowded to and fro.All this hummed, mingled, and squirmed amidst the unnaturally dull rumble of French artillery shells fired from Platz Heights.

"Where is the king? Where is Kutuzov?" Rostov stopped and asked everyone, but received no answer from anyone. Finally he grabbed a soldier by the collar and forced him to answer. "Oh, man! Everyone has already run away, slipped forward!" said the soldier to Rostov, laughing as he broke free. After letting go of the apparently drunken soldier, Rostov stopped an officer's orderly or a horse led by a horse handler, and began to question the orderly.The orderly informed Rostov that the king had been driven down the road about an hour ago in a carriage, and that the king was wounded and dangerous.

"Impossible," said Rostov, "it must be someone else." "I've seen it with my own eyes," said the orderly, with a confident sneer. "I'll know the king now; how many times have I seen him in Petersburg. He looks too pale in the carriage. If only he would hitch the four black horses, my lord, He galloped past us with a roar. As if I should know the royal horses and the coachman, Ilya Ivanovitch, as if he never drives for anyone but the Tsar." Rostov urged the horse to continue galloping.A wounded officer who had passed him turned to talk to him.

"Who do you want?" asked the officer. "The Commander-in-Chief? He was killed by a shell. He was in our regiment. He was shot in the chest." "Not killed, wounded." Another officer corrected him. "Who is it? Kutuzov?" asked Rostov. "Not Kutuzov, oh, I can't remember who he was. Anyway, there are not many survivors. Look, you go there, go to the village where the chiefs are assembled," the officer pointed out. Said while looking at the village of Hostiradek, and immediately walked past. Rostov walked slowly step by step. He didn't know who he was looking for now and what his purpose was.The king is wounded, and the battle is lost.Can't help but believe it right now.Rostov drove off in the direction shown to him, and in the distance towers and churches could be seen.Where was he going in such a hurry? "If the king and Kutuzov are even alive and not wounded, what is to be said to them?"

"Your Excellency, please go this way, you will be killed if you go that way," the soldier shouted to him, "you will be killed if you go that way!" "Oh, what are you talking about!" said another soldier, "where is he going? Go closer from that road. " Rostov thought for a while, and then galloped off in the direction where he was told he would be killed. "Now it's all the same: since the king is wounded, shall I defend myself?" thought he.He galloped into the clearing where most of the men who had run down Platts Heights had died.The French officers and soldiers have not yet occupied this place, and those Russian officers and soldiers who are still alive or wounded have long ago abandoned this place.Ten to fifteen casualties per dessiare lay on the battlefield like stacks of wheat in a fertile field.Two or three of the wounded were slowly crawling together, and their harsh, which Rostov sometimes took to be feigned cries and groans could be heard.Rostov galloped his horse, so as not to see these suffering people, he felt terrified.His fear was not for his own life, but for the courage he needed, and he knew that his valor would be shaken by the sight of these unfortunates.

Since there was no one alive on the battlefield, the French army stopped firing on the battlefield full of casualties. After seeing the adjutant riding along the battlefield, they aimed their cannons at him and threw several shells. shells.He was struck with horror by hearing the dreadful screams, by seeing the horror of the dead bodies all around him, and made him feel pity for himself.He thought of a letter his mother had written recently. "How would she feel if she saw me here now, on this field, with some cannon aimed at me?" he thought. The Russian troops retreating from the battlefield were stationed in the village of Hostiladek. Even if it was chaotic, the order was greatly improved.The shells of the French army would no longer fall here, and the sound of firing seemed to be far away.People here clearly see, and are talking about, that the battle has been lost.No matter who Rostov asked, no one could tell him where the king was or where Kutuzov was.Some say that the news of the King's wound is true, others say that it is not true, and that, so to speak, this false report is due to the fact that the other attendants of the Emperor went out into battle, panic-stricken, Count Tolstoy, the Pale-faced Chief Minister of the Court, did indeed retreat from the battlefield in the king's carriage.One of the officers told Rostov that behind the village to the left he had seen a senior officer, and he went there, not expecting to find anyone, but only to cleanse his own conscience.Rostov had gone about three versts and rounded the last of the Russian troops, when he saw two knights standing on the opposite side of the ditch near the vegetable garden surrounded by a ditch.One of them was wearing a white tasseled cap, and somehow Rostov felt that this person looked familiar. Another knight who did not know him was riding a bay red horse (which Rostov seemed to know) to the front of the ditch. , he stabbed the horse with spurs, let go of the reins, and jumped briskly over the ditch in the vegetable garden.Pieces of dust fell from the embankment where the horse's heels had trod.He turned his horse's head sharply, jumped back across the ditch, and turned respectfully to the knight in the white tasseled cap, and talked to him, evidently expecting him to do the same.Rostov seemed to recognize the figure of the knight. The knight somehow attracted Rostov's attention. He shook his head in denial and waved his hands. Rostov immediately recognized him just because of this gesture. the admirable king.

"But he can't be alone in an empty field," Rostov thought for a while.At this moment Alexander turned his head, and Rostov saw the lovely face etched into his mind.The king's face was pale, his cheeks were sunken, and his eyes were pierced, but even so, his face was more handsome and more docile.Rostov was lucky because he was sure that the rumors about the king's wound were not true.He was very happy to see the emperor.He knew that he could, and even should, go straight to the king and tell him what Dolgorukov had ordered him to convey. But he is like a young man who is in love. When the moment of longing and longing has come and he can date her alone, he trembles and is stunned. He dare not say what he dreams about every night. Looking around, looking for help, or looking for a chance to delay time and escape, now that Rostov has achieved the goal he longed for in this world, he does not know how to go to the king, and there are thousands of thoughts in his mind. This kind of mood, he felt that such an interview was inappropriate, out of manners, and unbearable.

"How can I do it? I seemed to be glad to go and pay his respects to his Majesty when he was alone and dejected. A strange face must have disgusted and distressed him in this sad hour, and Now, what can I say to him when I look at him and my heart palpitates and my mouth goes dry!" Of the thousands of words he had intended to say to the king, not a single word could be said now. Can't think of it.Most of those words were poured out on other occasions, mostly in moments of triumph and ceremony, but chiefly when he was wounded and dying, and the king thanked him for his heroic deeds, that is to say, when he was dying. , he poured out these words when he wanted to show the king that he had proved his love by deeds.

"Besides, it's already past three o'clock in the afternoon, and the battle has been defeated. As for issuing orders to the right wing, what should I ask the king for? No, I shouldn't have gone before the king at all, no His contemplation should be broken. I would rather die than meet his sad eyes and hear his sharp reproach. Rostov made up his mind and walked away in a heartbroken and hopeless mood, but Still kept looking back at the hesitating king. While Rostov was thinking and leaving the king sadly, the captain von Toll accidentally went to that place, saw the king, went straight up to him, and helped him across the water on foot in his service. ditch.The king wanted to rest for a while, feeling ill, so he sat down under the apple tree, and Thor stopped beside him.Rostov saw from a distance with jealousy and remorse that von Tol had spoken at length to the king, who had evidently burst into tears, covered his eyes with one hand, and shook Thor's hand.

"I could have been in his place!" Rostov thought to himself, and with difficulty he suppressed his tears of sympathy for what had happened to the king, and walked on in utter disappointment, not knowing what was happening now. Where to go, what is the purpose. His despair was heightened because he felt that his own weakness was the cause of his pain. He could... not only could, but should go to the king.This was his only chance to show his loyalty to the king.But he didn't take advantage of this opportunity... "What have I done?" He thought for a while.So he turned his horse's head and ran back to the place where he had seen the emperor, but there was no one on the other side of the ditch.Only wagons and buggies moved on the road.Rostov learned from a cab driver that Kutuzov's headquarters were stationed in the village not far from here, from which the baggage train drove.Rostov followed the convoy.

Kutuzov's trainer led some quilted horses ahead of Rostov.A cart drove behind the trainer, and an old servant in a wide-brimmed hat, short leather jacket, and bowed legs followed behind. "Jit, Jit!" said the trainer. "What for?" replied the old man absent-mindedly. "Jit! Go threshing wheat." "Ah, fool, bah!" said the old man, spitting out angrily.After walking in silence for a while, he started joking again. After four o'clock in the afternoon, all strongholds were defeated.More than a hundred cannons have fallen into the hands of the French army. Przebyszewski and his corps had laid down their arms.The other columns, with nearly half the casualties, were broken and retreated in a mess. The remnants of Langeron's and Dokhturov's troops crowded around the pond and on the embankment in the village of August in a mixed crowd. At around five o'clock in the afternoon, only the vicinity of the Augst embankment could hear the violent sound of artillery. French officers and soldiers deployed many artillery teams on the side slopes of the Platz Heights and fired at our retreating army. Dokhturov and others in the rearguard, gathering several battalions of officers and men, were fighting back against the French cavalry who were chasing our army.Twilight was beginning to fall.For many years, the old miller, wearing a peaked hat and holding a fishing rod, has been sitting on this narrow bank of August to fish leisurely. His grandson rolled up his shirt cuffs, stretched his hands into the jars, and struggled one by one. and for years the Moravians, in shaggy fur hats and blue jackets, have driven leisurely along this embankment in their wheat-laden double wagons. , These people, covered with flour, drove the carts full of flour along this embankment again--and now on this narrow embankment, those people who have become hideous due to the fear of death are standing. Squeezing between wagons and cannons, under horses' hoofs and wheels, trampling each other to death, they trod on the dying, killing each other just to finish A few steps later, he was also shot dead. Every ten seconds a shell squeezed the air and rumbled, or a grenade exploded in this dense crowd, killing and spattering blood on those who stood nearby.Dolokhov, wounded in one hand, led ten soldiers of his company on foot (he had been promoted to officer), and his regimental commander on horseback, who represented the remnants of the regiment.The crowd swarmed up all around, swept them away, pushed them in front of the embankment, and stopped, because a horse lay ahead under the cannon, and a group of men were dragging it out.Another shell killed those behind them, another fell in front and spattered Dolokhov with blood.A group of people moved forward desperately, huddled together, moved a few steps, and stopped again. "If you walk a hundred steps, you will be saved; if you stand for two more minutes, you will die." Everyone thinks this way. Standing in the midst of the crowd, Dolokhov rushed straight to the edge of the embankment, knocked down two soldiers, and ran onto the slippery ice of the pond. "Turn a turn!" cried Earth, bouncing on the crackling ice beneath his feet, "Turn a turn!" cried Earth to the cannon, "Ice stands! . . . " He was standing on the ice, which held up, but caved in a little, and crackled, and was about to burst.Evidently it would have sunk not only under the cannon or under the feet of the crowd, but even under his own feet.People stared at him, curled up on the shore, not daring to go down.The head of the regiment stopped in front of the embankment on his war horse, raised his hand facing Dolokhov, and opened his mouth.Suddenly a cannonball flew low above the crowd with a whistling sound, and everyone bowed down.Something fell to the damp ground with a thud, and the general and his horse fell in a pool of blood.No one glanced at the general, no one thought of helping him to his feet. "Get on the ice! Walk along the ice! Go! Turn aside! Still haven't heard you! Go!" After a shell hit the general, countless people could be heard shouting, not knowing what they were doing. What to shout, why to shout. One of the last cannons landed on the embankment, turned a corner, and drove onto the ice.Groups of soldiers began to run from the embankment into the frozen pond.One of the soldiers walking ahead had the ice cracked under his feet, and one leg fell into the water. He tried to stand upright, but was waist-deep in the water.Several soldiers standing near him faltered, and the chariot driver reined in his horse, but a shout could still be heard from behind: "Go to the ice, why stop, go, go!" There were also terrible shouts from the crowd.The soldiers standing around the cannon waved their arms at the horses, whipping them, telling them to turn and push forward.The horses all left the embankment and started off.A large chunk of the ice surface that had withstood the infantry's trampling collapsed, and some forty or so people walking along the ice surface, some leaning forward, some backward, pushed each other into the water, and were about to drown. The cannonballs still made a uniform whistling sound, plopping down on the ice, water, and constantly falling on the crowds crowded on the embankments, ponds and pool banks.