Война и мир

Chapter 20

           Thedriverinhisbastshoesranpantinguptoit,placedastoneunderoneofitstirelesshindwheels,andbeganarrangingthebreech-bandonhislittlehorse.

           Oneofthewounded,anoldsoldierwithabandagedarmwhowasfollowingthecartonfoot,caughtholdofitwithhissoundhandandturnedtolookatPierre.

           “Isay,fellowcountryman!WilltheysetusdownhereortakeusontoMoscow?”heasked.

           Pierrewassodeepinthoughtthathedidnothearthequestion.Hewaslookingnowatthecavalryregimentthathadmettheconvoyofwounded,nowatthecartbywhichhewasstanding,inwhichtwowoundedmenweresittingandonewaslying.Oneofthosesittingupinthecarthadprobablybeenwoundedinthecheek.Hiswholeheadwaswrappedinragsandonecheekwasswollentothesizeofababy’shead.Hisnoseandmouthweretwistedtooneside.Thissoldierwaslookingatthecathedralandcrossinghimself.Another,ayounglad,afair-hairedrecruitaswhiteasthoughtherewasnobloodinhisthinface,lookedatPierrekindly,withafixedsmile.Thethirdlaypronesothathisfacewasnotvisible.Thecavalrysingerswerepassingcloseby:

           Ahlost,quitelost...ismyheadsokeen,

           Livinginaforeignland...

           theysangtheirsoldiers’dancesong.

           Asifrespondingtothembutwithadifferentsortofmerriment,themetallicsoundofthebellsreverberatedhighaboveandthehotraysofthesunbathedthetopoftheoppositeslopewithyetanothersortofmerriment.Butbeneaththeslope,bythecartwiththewoundednearthepantinglittlenagwherePierrestood,itwasdamp,somber,andsad.

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