THE CAVALRY TRANSPORT, and the prisoners, and the marshal’s baggage-train, halted at the village of Shamshevo. —
骑兵运输队、囚犯和元帅的行李车队停在Shamshevo村。 —

All crowded together round the campfire. —
所有人都拥挤在篝火周围。 —

Pierre went up to a fire, ate some roast horse-flesh, lay down with his back to the fire, and at once fell asleep. —
皮埃尔走到一个火堆旁，吃了一些烤马肉，躺在火堆后面，立刻就睡着了。 —

He fell into the same sort of sleep that he had slept at Mozhaisk, after the battle of Borodino.
他陷入了和在莫斯科附近的睡眠一样的状态，在那之后他参加了布洛迪诺战役。

Again the facts of real life mingled with his dreams; —
现实生活的事实再次和他的梦境交织在一起。 —

and again some one, himself or some one else, was uttering thoughts in his ear, and the same thoughts, indeed, as had come in his dream at Mozhaisk.
又有一个人，无论是他自己还是别人，都在他耳边说着思考的话，事实上，这些思考和他在莫斯科的梦境中所想的一模一样。

Life is everything. Life is God. All is changing and moving, and that motion is God. And while there is life, there is the joy of the consciousness of the Godhead. —
生活就是一切。生活就是上帝。一切在不断变化和运动中，这种运动就是上帝。只要有生命存在，就会有对上帝意识的喜悦。 —

To love life is to love God. The hardest and the most blessed thing is to love this life in one’s sufferings, in undeserved suffering.
爱生命就是爱上帝。最艰难、最幸福的事情就是在苦难中、在不应该承受的痛苦中爱这个生命。

“Karataev!” flashed into Pierre’s mind. —
“Karataev！”皮埃尔脑中闪过这个名字。 —

And all at once there rose up, as vivid as though alive, the image, long forgotten, of the gentle old teacher, who had given Pierre geography lessons in Switzerland. —
突然之间，长时间被遗忘的温柔老师的形象活灵活现地浮现出来，他曾经在瑞士给皮埃尔上地理课。 —

“Wait a minute,” the old man was saying. And he was showing Pierre a globe. —
“等一下，”老人说着。他向皮埃尔展示了一个地球仪。 —

This globe was a living, quivering ball, with no definite limits. —
这个地球仪是一个活生生、颤动不定的球，没有明确的界限。 —

Its whole surface consisted of drops, closely cohering together. —
它的整个表面由密集的水滴组成，紧密地凝聚在一起。 —

And those drops were all in motion, and changing, several passing into one, and then one splitting up again into many. —
这些水滴都在运动中变化，有些水滴融合在一起，然后有一个分裂成很多。 —

Every drop seemed striving to spread, to take up more space, but the others, pressing upon it, sometimes absorbed it, sometimes melted into it.
每一个水滴似乎都在努力扩展，占据更多的空间，但其他的水滴压在它上面，有时会吸收它，有时会融入它。

“This is life,” the old teacher was saying.
“这就是生活，”老师说道。

“How simple it is and how clear,” thought Pierre. “How was it I did not know that before? —
“多么简单，多么清晰，”皮埃尔心想。“我以前怎么不知道呢？ —

God is in the midst, and each drop strives to expand, to reflect Him on the largest scale possible. —
上帝就在其中，每一滴都在努力扩展，以在最大范围上映照他。 —

And it grows, and is absorbed and crowded out, and on the surface it disappears, goes back into the depths, and falls not to the surface again. —
它成长，被吸收和排挤，表面上消失，回归深处，再也不浮现于表面。 —

That is how it is with him, with Karataev; —
卡拉塔耶夫就是这样， —

he is absorbed and has disappeared.”
他被吸收了，消失了。

“You understand, my child,” said the teacher.
“你懂了，孩子，”老师说。

“You understand, damn you!” shouted a voice, and Pierre woke up.
“你懂了，该死的！”一个声音喊道，皮埃尔醒了过来。

He raised his head and sat up. A French soldier was squatting on his heels by the fire. —
他抬起头，坐了起来。一个法国士兵正蹲在火边。 —

He had just shoved away a Russian soldier, and was roasting a piece of meat on the end of a ramrod. —
他刚刚把一个俄罗斯士兵推开，正用一根枪杆烤着肉。 —

His sinewy, lean, hairy, red hands, with short fingers, were deftly turning the ramrod. —
他结实的红手，覆盖着毛发，手指短小，灵巧地转动着枪杆。 —

His brown, morose face, with its sullen brows, could be clearly seen in the light of the glowing embers.
他褐色、阴郁的脸庞，带着阴沉的眉毛，在燃烧的余烬的光亮下可以清晰地看见。

“It’s just the same to him,” he muttered, quickly addressing a soldier standing behind him. “Brigand! go!”
“对他来说都一样，”他嘟囔着，迅速对着身后的士兵说道。“混蛋！走开！”

And the soldier, turning the ramrod, glanced gloomily at Pierre. —
士兵转动着枪杆，忧郁地瞥了皮埃尔一眼。 —

The latter turned away, gazing into the shadows. —
后者转过身，凝视着黑暗中的影子。 —

A Russian soldier, the one who had been pushed away, was sitting near the fire, patting something with his hand. —
一个俄罗斯士兵，那个被推开的士兵，坐在火边，用手拍着什么东西。 —

Looking more closely, Pierre saw the grey dog, who was sitting by the soldier, wagging her tail.
仔细看，皮埃尔看到那只灰色的狗，坐在士兵旁边，摇着尾巴。

“Ah, she has come …” said Pierre. “And Plat …” he was beginning, but he did not go on. —
“啊，她来了……”皮埃尔说。“还有普拉特……”他开始说，但没有继续说下去。 —

All at once, instantly in close connection, there rose up the memory of the look Platon had fixed upon him, as he sat under the tree, of the shot heard at that spot, of the dog’s howl, of the guilty faces of the soldiers as they ran by, of the smoking gun, of Karataev’s absence at that halting-place; —
突然间，紧密地联系在一起，他想起了普拉贡盯着他那棵树下坐着的样子，那个地方传来的枪声，狗的哀嚎，士兵们逃跑时的有罪的面孔，烟雾弥漫的枪，卡拉塔耶夫在那个停下的地方的消失； —

and he was on the point of fully realising that Karataev had been killed, but at the same instant, at some mysterious summons, there rose up the memory of a summer evening he had spent with a beautiful Polish lady on the verandah of his house at Kiev. And nevertheless, making no effort to connect the impressions of the day, and to deduce anything from them, Pierre closed his eyes, and the picture of the summer night in the country mingled with the thought of bathing and of that fluid, quivering globe, and he seemed to sink deep down into water, so that the waters closed over his head.
他正处于完全意识到卡拉塔耶夫已经被杀害的边缘，但同时，在某种神秘的召唤下，他想起了与一个美丽的波兰女士共度的一个夏日晚上，他们坐在基辅的房屋阳台上。然而，他没有努力将这一天的印象联系起来，从中推断出任何东西，皮埃尔闭上了眼睛，夏夜的画面与游泳和那个液态，颤动的球体的想法交错在一起，他似乎陷入了深水中，水面闭合在他头上。

Before sunrise he was wakened by loud and rapid shots and outcries. The French were flying by him.
在日出前，他被大声而快速的枪声和呼喊声惊醒。法国人从他身边飞过。

“The Cossacks!” one of them shouted, and a minute later a crowd of Russians were surrounding Pierre. —
“哥萨克！”其中一个人喊道，一分钟后，一群俄罗斯人围住了皮埃尔。 —

For a long while Pierre could not understand what had happened to him. —
很长一段时间，皮埃尔无法理解发生了什么事情。 —

He heard all about him his comrades’ wails of joy.
他听到身边伙伴们喜悦的哭喊声。

“Mates! our own folk! brothers!” the old soldiers cried, weeping, as they embraced the Cossacks and the hussars. —
“伙计们！我们自己人！兄弟！”老兵们喊道，抱着哥萨克和轻骑兵们哭泣着拥抱他们。 —

The hussars and the Cossacks crowded round the prisoners, pressing on them clothes, and boots, and bread. —
轻骑兵和哥萨克们围着俘虏，给他们衣服、靴子和面包。 —

Pierre sat sobbing in their midst, and could not utter one word; —
皮埃尔坐在他们中间哭泣，一句话也说不出来； —

he hugged the first soldier who went up to him, and kissed him, weeping.
当走上前去的第一个士兵时，他拥抱他，哭着亲吻他。

Dolohov was standing at the gates of a dilapidated house, letting the crowd of unarmed Frenchmen pass by him. —
多洛霍夫站在一座破旧房子的大门口，放过了一群手无寸铁的法国人通过。 —

The French, excited by all that had happened, were talking loudly among themselves; —
受到发生的一切所激动的法国人在彼此之间大声交谈； —

but as they passed before Dolohov, who stood switching his boots with his riding-whip, and watching them with his cold, glassy eyes, that boded nothing good, their talk died away. —
但当他们经过多洛霍夫时，他站在那里用鞭子边拂拭着自己的靴子，边用冰冷而呆滞的眼神注视着他们，这预示着不祥之兆，他们的交谈变得无声无息。 —

One of Dolohov’s Cossacks stood on the other side, counting the prisoners, and marking off the hundreds with a chalk mark on the gate.
多洛霍夫的一个哥萨克站在另一边，数着囚犯的数量，并在门上用粉笔画出每一百人的标记。

“How many?” Dolohov asked him.
“多少人？”多洛霍夫问他。

“The second hundred,” answered the Cossack.
哥萨克回答道：“第二百人。”

“Filez, filez,” said Dolohov, who had picked up the expression from the French; —
“走，走”，多洛霍夫说着，他从法国人那里学会了这个表达方式； —

and when he met the eyes of the passing prisoners, his eyes gleamed with a cruel light.
当他与经过的囚犯的目光相遇时，他的眼睛闪烁着残忍的光芒。

With a gloomy face Denisov, holding his high Cossack hat in his hand, was walking behind the Cossacks, who were bearing to a hole freshly dug in the garden the body of Petya Rostov.
丹尼索夫脸色阴沉，手里拿着高高的哥萨克帽子，在哥萨克们后面漫步，他们正担着一个新挖的坟墓，里面葬着彼得亚·罗斯托夫的尸体。