War And Peace——战争与和平 （完结）_派派后花园

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[Novel] War And Peace——战争与和平 （完结）

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War And Peace




War and Peace (Russian: Война и мир, Voyna i mir) is a novel by Leo Tolstoy, first published from 1865 to 1869 in Russkii Vestnik (Russian: Русский Вестник, "Russian Messenger"), which tells the story of Russian society during the Napoleonic Era. It is usually described as one of Tolstoy's two major masterpieces (the other being Anna Karenina) as well as one of the world's greatest novels.
War and Peace offered a new kind of fiction, with a great many characters caught up in a plot that covered nothing less than the grand subjects indicated by the title, combined with the equally large topics of youth, marriage, age, and death. Though it is often called a novel today, it broke so many conventions of the form that it was not considered a novel in its time. Indeed, Tolstoy himself considered Anna Karenina (1878) to be his first attempt at a novel in the European sense.

War and Peace depicts a huge cast of characters, both historical and fictional, Russians and non-Russians, the majority of whom are introduced in the first book. The scope of the novel is extremely vast, but the narration focuses mainly on five or six characters whose differing personalities and experiences provide the impetus to the story, with mutual interactions leading up to, around and following the Napoleonic war.
Book oneThe novel begins in the Russian city of Saint Petersburg, at a soirée given in July 1805 by Anna Pavlovna Scherer — the maid of honour and confidante to the queen mother Maria Feodorovna. The main players and aristocratic families of the novel are made known here. Pierre Bezukhov is the illegitimate son of a wealthy count who is dying of a stroke. Pierre becomes unexpectedly embroiled in a tussle for his inheritance. Educated abroad in France, with his mother dead, Pierre is essentially kindhearted, but is socially awkward owing to his goodhearted, open nature, and finds it difficult to integrate into the Petersburg society.
Pierre's friend, the intelligent and sardonic Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, the husband of a charming wife Lise, also visits the soireé. Finding Petersburg society unctuous and starting to find married life little comfort as well, he chooses to be an aide-de-camp to Prince Mikhail Kutuzov in their coming war against Napoleon.
Tolstoy then switches to Moscow, Russia's ancient city, as a contrast to Saint Petersburg. The Rostov family will be one of the main narrative players of the novel. The Moscow Count Ilya Rostov family has four adolescent children. Young Natasha is supposedly in love with Boris, a disciplined boyish officer and a relative. Nikolai pledges his teenage love to Sonya, his younger cousin. The eldest child of the Rostov family, Vera, is cold and somewhat haughty but has a good prospective marriage in a German officer, Berg. Petya is the youngest of the Rostov family; like his brother he is impetuous and eager to join the army when of age. The heads of the family, Count Ilya Rostov and Countess Natalya Rostova, are an affectionate couple but forever worried about their disordered finances.
At Bald Hills, the Bolkonskys' country estate, Prince Andrei leaves his pregnant wife with his eccentric father Prince Nikolai Andreivitch Bolkonsky and devoutly religious sister Maria Bolkonskaya. He leaves for war.
The first page of War and Peace in an early editionThe second part opens with descriptions of the impending Russian-French war preparations. At the Schöngrabern engagement, Nikolai Rostov, who is now conscripted as ensign in a squadron of hussars, has his first baptism of fire in battle. He meets Prince Andrei whom he does not really like. Like all young soldiers he is attracted by Tsar Alexandr’s charisma. However Nikolai gambles recklessly and socializes with the lisping Denisov and the ruthless Dolokhov.
Book TwoBook Two begins with Nikolai Rostov briefly returning home to Moscow on home leave in early 1806. Nikolai finds the Rostov family facing financial ruin due to poor estate management. With Denisov he spends an eventful winter home. Natasha has blossomed into a beautiful young girl. Denisov proposes to her but is rejected. Although his mother pleads with Nikolai to find himself a good financial prospect in marriage, Nikolai refuses to accede to his mother's request. He promises to marry his childhood sweetheart, the orphaned, penniless cousin Sonya.
If there is a central character to War and Peace it is Pierre Bezukhov, who, upon receiving an unexpected inheritance, is suddenly burdened with the responsibilities and conflicts of a Russian nobleman. He then enters into marriage with Prince Kuragin's beautiful and immoral daughter Hélène (Ëlena), against his own better judgement. He is continually helpless in the face of his wife's numerous affairs, has a duel with one of her lovers, and is faced with anguish as all this happens. He later joins the Freemasons but becomes embroiled in some of the Freemasonry's politicking. Much of Book Two concerns his struggles with his passions and his spiritual conflicts to be a better man. Now a rich aristocrat, his former carefree behavior vanishes and he enters upon a philosophical quest particular to Tolstoy: how should one live a moral life in an ethically imperfect world? The question constantly baffles and confuses Pierre. He attempts to free his peasants, but ultimately achieves nothing of note.
Pierre is vividly contrasted with the intelligent and ambitious Prince Andrei Bolkonsky. At the Battle of Austerlitz, Andrei is inspired by a vision of glory to lead a charge of a straggling army. He suffers a near fatal artillery wound which renders him unconscious. At the face of death Andrei realizes all his former ambitions are pointless and his former hero, Napoleon (who rescues him in a horseback excursion to the battlefield), is apparently as vain as himself.
Prince Andrei recovers from his injuries in a military hospital, and returns home, only to find his wife Lise dying during childbirth. He is struck by his guilty conscience for not treating Lise better when she was alive.
Burdened with nihilistic disillusionment, Prince Andrei lives anonymously in his estate until he is led to a philosophical argument with Pierre one day. When Pierre visits his estate he poses the question: where is God in this amoral world? Pierre points to panentheism and an afterlife.
Young Natasha meets Andrei during her very first ball, and briefly reinvigorates Andrei with her lively vitality. Andrei believes he has found purpose in life again. However the couple's immediate plan to marry has to be postponed with a year-long engagement.
When Prince Andrei leaves for his military engagements, Elena and her handsome brother Anatole conspire for Anatole to seduce and dishonor the young, still immature and now beautiful Natasha Rostova. They bait her with plans of an elopement. Thanks to Sonya and Pierre, this plan fails, yet, for Pierre, it is the cause of an important meeting with Natasha. He realizes he has now fallen in love with Natasha. During the time when the Great Comet of 1811–2 streaks the sky, life appears to begin anew for Pierre.
Book ThreeNatasha breaks off her engagement with Andrei. Shamed by her near-seduction, she has a very serious illness and, with the help of her family; Pierre; and religious faith, manages to tide through this dark period of her life.
Meanwhile the whole of Russia is affected by the coming showdown between Napoleon's troops and the Russian army. Pierre convinces himself Napoleon is the Antichrist in Revelation through numerology. The old prince Bolkonsky dies from a stroke. In Moscow, Petya manages to snatch a loose piece of the Tsar's biscuit outside the Cathedral of the Assumption; he finally convinces his parents to allow him to conscript.
Meanwhile Nikolai unexpectedly acts as a white knight to the beleaguered Maria Bolkonskaya, whose father's death has left her in the mercy of an estate of hostile, rebelling peasants. Struck by Maria, whom he is seeing for the first time, Nikolai reconsiders marriage and finds Maria's devotion, consideration, and inheritance extremely attractive. But he is restricted by his earlier, youthful pledge to Sonya, and hesitates to woo Maria.
As Napoleon pushes through Russia, Pierre decides to leave Moscow and to watch the Battle of Borodino from a vantage point next to a Russian artillery crew. After watching for a time, he begins to join in carrying ammunition. From within the turmoil he experiences first-hand the death and destruction of war. The battle becomes a horrible slaughter for both armies and ends up a standoff. The Russians, however, have won a moral victory by standing up to Napoleon's seemingly invincible army. Having suffered huge losses and for strategic reasons, the Russian army withdraws the next day, allowing Napoleon to march on to Moscow.
Book FourBook Four climaxes Napoleon's invasion of Russia. When Napoleon's Grand Army occupies an abandoned and burning Moscow, Pierre takes off on a quixotic mission to assassinate Napoleon. He becomes an anonymous man in all the chaos, shedding his responsibilities by wearing peasant clothes and shunning his duties and lifestyle. The only person he sees while in this garb is Natasha, who recognizes him, and he in turn realizes the full scope of his love for her.
His plan fails, and he is captured in Napoleon's headquarters as a prisoner of war after saving a child from a burning building and assaulting a French legionnaire for attacking a woman. He becomes friends with his cell-mate Platòn Karataev, a peasant with a saintly demeanor, who is incapable of malice. In Karataev Pierre finally finds what he is looking for, an honest, "rounded" person who is totally without pretense. Karataev is unlike those from the Petersburg aristocratic society, and also notably a member of the working class, with whom Pierre finds meaning in life simply by living and interacting with him. After witnessing French soldiers sacking Moscow and shooting Russian civilians arbitrarily, Pierre is forced to march with the Grand Army during its disastrous retreat from Moscow owing to the harsh winter. After months of trial and tribulation — during which Karataev is capriciously shot by the French — Pierre is later freed by a Russian raiding party after a small skirmish with the French that sees the young Petya Rostov killed in action.
Meanwhile Andrei, wounded during Napoleon’s invasion, is taken in as a casualty cared for by the fleeing Rostovs. He is reunited with Natasha and sister Maria before the end of the war. Having lost all will to live after forgiving Natasha, he dies, much like the death scene at the end of The Death of Ivan Ilych.
As the novel draws to a close, Pierre’s wife Elena dies (sometime during the last throes of Napoleon’s invasion); and Pierre is reunited with Natasha, while the victorious Russians rebuild Moscow. Natasha speaks of Prince Andrei’s death and Pierre of Karataev’s. Both are aware of a growing bond with each other in their bereavement. Matchmade by Princess Marya, Pierre finds love at last and, revealing his love after being released from his former wife’s death, marries Natasha.
EpiloguesThe first epilogue begins with the wedding of Pierre and Natasha, in 1813. It is the last happy event for the Rostov family which is going through a transition. Count Ilya Rostov dies soon after, leaving the eldest son Nikolai to take charge of the debt-ridden estate.
Nikolai finds himself with the near-impossible task of maintaining the family on the verge of bankruptcy. His pride almost gets in the way of him, but Nikolai finally accedes to his mother's wish and marries the now-rich Marya Bolkonskaya in winter 1813, both out of feeling and out of the necessity to save his family from ruin.
Nikolai Rostov and Marya then move to Bald Hills with his mother and Sonya, whom he supports for the rest of their life. Buoyed on by his wife's funds, Nikolai pays off all his family's debts. They also raise Prince Andrei's orphaned son, Nikolai Bolkonsky.
Like in all marriages there are minor squabbles but the couples – Pierre and Natasha, Nikolai and Marya – remain devoted to their spouses. Pierre and Natasha visit Bald Hills in 1820, much to the jubilation of everyone concerned. There is a hint in the closing chapters that the idealistic, boyish Nikolai Bolkonsky (15-year-old in 1820) and Pierre would both become part of the Decembrist Uprising. The first epilogue concludes with Nikolai Bolkonsky promising he would do something which even his late father "would be satisfied…" (presumably as a revolutionary in the Decembrist revolt).
The second epilogue sums up Tolstoy’s views on history, free will and in what ways the two may interact to cause major events in humankind. in a long, partially historical and partly philosophical essay, where the narrator discusses how man cannot be wholly free, or wholly determined by "necessity" and this is primarily down to God.

Tolstoy's view of historyTolstoy does not subscribe to the "great man" view of history: the notion that history is the story of strong personalities that move events and shape societies. He believes that events shape themselves, caused by social and other forces; and great men take advantage of them, changing them but not creating them. As an example, he compares Napoleon and Kutuzov. Napoleon, the Great Man, thought he had created the French Revolution, but actually he had simply happened along at the right time and usurped it. Kutuzov was more modest and more effective.
Napoleon believed that he could control the course of a battle through sending orders through couriers, while Kutuzov admits that all he could do was to plan the initial disposition and then let subordinates direct the field of action. Typically, Napoleon would be frantically sending out orders throughout the course of a battle, carried by dashing young lieutenants—which were often misinterpreted or made irrelevant by changing conditions—while Kutuzov would sit quietly in his tent and often sleep through the battle. Ultimately, Napoleon chooses wrongly, opting to march on to Moscow and occupy it for five fatal weeks, when he would have been better off destroying the Russian army in a decisive battle. Instead, his numerically superior army dissipate on a huge scale, thanks to large scale looting and pillaging, and lack of direction for his force. General Kutuzov believes time to be his best ally, and refrains from engaging the French. He moves his army out of Moscow, and the residents evacuate the city: the nobles flee to their country estates, taking their treasures with them; lesser folk flee wherever they can, taking food and supplies. The French march into Moscow and disperse to find housing and supplies, then ultimately destroy themselves as they accidentally burn the city to the ground and then abandon it in late Fall, then limp back toward the French border in the teeth of a Russian Winter. They are all but destroyed by a final Cossack attack as they straggle back toward the west. Tolstoy observes that Kutuzuv didn't burn Moscow as a "scorched earth policy," nor did Napoleon; but after taking the city, Napoleon moved his troops in, to find housing more or less by chance in the abandoned houses: generals appropriated the grander houses, lesser men took what was left over; units were dispersed, and the chain of command dissolved into chaos. Quickly, his tightly disciplined army dissolved into a disorganized rabble; and of course, if one leaves a wooden city in the hands of strangers who naturally use fire to warm themselves, cook food, and smoke pipes, and have not learned how particular Russian families safely used their stoves and lamps (some of which they had taken with them as they fled the city), fires will break out. In the absence of an organized fire department, the fires will spread. As support for his outlook on history, Tolstoy concludes that the city was destroyed not by the freewill of either Napoleon or Kutuzov, but as an inevitable consequence of battle-weary foreign invaders occupying an abandoned wooden city.

     20世纪是人类有记载的历史上最杀人不眨眼的世纪。战争所造成的或者与战争有关的死亡总人数估计为1.87亿，相当于1913年世界人口的10%以上。如果算作是从1914年开始，这是一个战争几乎不间断的世纪，其中某地没有发生有组织的武装冲突的时期很少也很短暂。占据世纪主导地位的是世界大战：即国家或国家联盟之间的战争。从1914年到1945年的时期可以被看作一场单一的“30年战争”，仅仅被20年代的一段间歇所打断——在日本人于1922年最终从苏联远东撤退和1931年对满洲的进攻之间的时期。几乎紧随其后的是大约40年的冷战，这一时期符合霍布斯的战争定义，即其“不是仅仅包括战斗或者战争行为，而且包括一段时间，其中通过战斗来进行斗争的意志得到了充分的表达。”一个可以辩论的问题是，从冷战结束以来，美军在世界各地所参与的行动在多大程度上构成了这个世界大战时代的延续。然而毫无疑义的是，20世纪90年代充满了欧洲、非洲和西亚及东亚的正式与非正式的军事冲突。世界整体来说从1914年以来一直没有和平，现在也是一样。尽管如此，这个世纪不能被笼统地来对待，不论是从年代上还是从地理上来说。按照年代顺序，它分为三个阶段：以德国为中心的世界大战时代（1914年到1945年）、两个超级大国对峙的时代（1945年到1989年）和传统的国际实力体系终结以来的时代。我将把这些时期称为第一、第二和第三时期。从地理上讲，军事行动的影响一直是十分不匀称的。除了一个例外（1932年到1935年的查科战争），西半球（美洲）在20世纪里没有重大的国家间战争（与内战相区分）。敌人的军事行动很少触及这些领土：因此，9月11日世界贸易中心和五角大楼被炸才令人震惊。从1945年以来，国家间的战争也从欧洲消失了，而在此之前，欧洲曾经是主要的战场地区。虽然在第三时期里，战争回到了东南欧，但是在该大陆的其余地方，它却看来不大可能重演。另一方面，在第二时期，与全球对峙并不一定毫无联系的国家间战争仍然在中东和南亚肆虐，直接产生于这场全球对峙的主要战争在东亚和东南亚（韩国和印度支那）发生。与此同时，撒哈拉沙漠以南的非洲等地区在第一时期里受战争影响比较少（埃塞俄比亚除外，它迟迟地于1935到1936年遭受意大利的殖民征服），在第二时期成为武装冲突的战场，并在第三时期目睹了尸横遍野和水深火热。20世纪的另外两个战争特点很突出，第一个不如第二个明显。21世纪开始之际，我们不知不觉地进入这样一个世界：武装的行动基本上不再为政府或者其所授权的代理人所掌握，争端的各方除了动用武力的愿望外，毫无共同特征、身份或目标。国家间的战争在第一和第二时期主导了战争的形象，以致现有国家或帝国领土范围内的内战或其它武装冲突在一定程度上被掩盖了。就连十月革命后俄罗斯帝国领土上的内战以及中华帝国崩溃后发生的内战，也能够与国际冲突的框架相吻合，因为它们彼此不可分离。另一方面，拉丁美洲在20世纪里可能并没有军队跨越国界，但它却是重大国内冲突的场所：例如1911年以后在墨西哥、1948年以来在哥伦比亚，以及第二时期在许多中美洲国家，都是如此。人们一般没有认识到，从60年代过半以来，国际战争的数量相当持续地减少了。60年代中期，内部冲突变得比国家之间的冲突更加常见。国内冲突的数量继续激增，一直到90年代才趋于平缓。人们更加熟悉的是战斗员与非战斗员之间区别的被侵蚀。上半个世纪的两次世界大战涉及交战各国的全部人口；战斗员和非战斗员都遭受了损失。然而，在这个世纪进程中，战争的负担越来越多地从武装力量转移到平民身上。平民不仅是其受害者，而且越来越多地成为军事或军事-政治行动的目标。第一次世界大战和第二次之间的对比是显著的：在一战中阵亡者当中，只有5%是平民；二战中这一数字增加到66%。普遍的估计是，今天受战争影响的人们当中有80%到90%是平民。这一比例从冷战结束以来增加了，因为从那时以来的大多数军事行动都不是由义务兵军队，而是由小股正规或非正规部队进行的，在许多情况下所使用的是高技术武器，他们还受到保护，以免承担伤亡的风险。没有理由怀疑，战争的主要受害者仍将是平民。假如战争与和平像这个世纪初那样保持泾渭分明，则20世纪对这两者的著述会容易一些。世纪初，1899年和1907年的海牙公约把战争的规则编入法典。冲突被认为主要发生在主权国家之间，或者如果发生在一个特定国家领土范围内，是在组织充分、因而被其它主权国家公认具有交战地位的各方之间展开。战争当时被认为与和平有显著区别，通过开战时的一项战争宣言和战争结束时的一项和约。军事行动被认为在战斗员之间有明显区别——其特征譬如他们所穿的军装或者显示其属于一支有组织的军队的其它迹象——以及非作战平民。战争被认为是战斗员之间的事情。非战斗员只要可能，就应当在战时受到保护。过去一贯的谅解是，这些公约并不涵盖所有的国内和国际武装冲突，特别是不包括西方国家在国际公认的主权国家管辖范围以外地区进行的帝国扩张所造成的冲突，尽管这些冲突当中的一些（但绝非全部）被称为“战争”。它们也不包括反对地位稳固的国家的大规模叛乱，譬如所谓的“印度兵变”，或者在国家或名义上统治着这些国家的帝国当局有效控制范围之外地区反复发生的武装活动，譬如阿富汗或摩洛哥山区的劫掠和血仇。尽管如此，海牙公约仍然是第一次世界大战中的指导方针。20世纪，这一相对的明确性被混乱所取代。首先，国际冲突与国内冲突之间的界线变得模糊不清，因为20世纪的特点不仅是战争，而且还有革命和帝国的解体。一国内部的革命或解放斗争对国际局势产生影响，在冷战期间尤其如此。相反地，俄罗斯革命后，国家对自己所不支持的别国内部事务的干预变得司空见惯，起码在这样做风险比较小的地方是如此。现在情况仍然是这样。第二，战争与和平之间的明确差别变得含糊不清。除了个别地方外，第二次世界大战既不是以宣战开始，也不是以和约结束。随后的一个时期不论是从旧的意义上讲归类为战争还是和平都很困难，因此“冷战”这个新字眼不得不被发明来描述它。冷战以来状况的模糊性的一个明证就是中东的当前局势。不论“战争”还是“和平”都没有确切描述海湾战争正式结束以来伊拉克的形势——该国仍然几乎每天都遭到外国的轰炸——巴勒斯坦人和以色列人之间的关系也是如此，还有以色列与其邻国、黎巴嫩和叙利亚之间的关系。所有这些都是一种不幸的后遗症，其原因是20世纪的世界大战，还有战争的越来越强大的大众宣传机器，以及彼此不相称的和充满激情的意识形态之间对峙的一个时期。这种对峙给战争带来了相当于在以往的宗教冲突中所见到的正义讨伐的成分。这些冲突与国际实力体系的传统战争不同，越来越多地是为了不可谈判的目的，譬如“无条件投降”而进行。由于战争和胜利都被看作一边倒的，所以对18和19世纪的战争公约所可能强加给交战国能力的任何限制——甚至正式的宣战——都被抛弃。对胜利者坚持自己意志的威力的任何限制也是如此。经验表明，在和平情况下达成的协议可能很容易被撕毁。近年来，使情况进一步复杂化的是，在人们的公开言论中，“战争”一词往往被用来指部署有组织的力量打击被看作反社会的各种国家或国际活动——例如“反黑手党的战争”或“反贩毒组织的战争”。在这些冲突中，武装力量的两个类型的行动被混淆。一个类型——我们称之为“士兵”——用来对付其他武装力量，目的是击败他们。另外一个——我们把它叫做“警察”——努力保持或恢复一个现有的政治实体，一般是一个国家内部必要程度的法律和公共秩序。并不带有任何必要的道德隐含意义的胜利是一种力量的目的；将违法者绳之以法则带有道德的涵义，乃是另外一种力量的目标。然而，这种区分在理论上比在实践中容易做出，战斗中的一名士兵杀人本身并不犯法。但如果爱尔兰共和军的一名成员把自己看作交战一方，尽管正式的英国法律把他视为杀人犯，则情况如何？北爱尔兰的活动是像爱尔兰共和军所认为的那样是一场战争呢，还是在违法者面前为了维持英国的一个省有秩序的治理而做出的努力？由于不仅一支可观的当地警察部队，而且还有一支全国性的军队被动员起来对付爱尔兰共和军达30年左右，所以我们可以断定，这是一场战争，但却是一场像警察行动一样有条不紊地实施的战争，其方式把伤亡和该省中的生活中断减少到最低限度。新世纪开始时和平与战争之间关系的复杂性和混乱情况就是如此。它们得到了美国及其盟国目前正在进行的军事与其它行动的充分诠释。现在像整个20世纪一样，全然没有任何能够控制或解决武装争端的有效的全球权威机构。全球化已经在几乎每个方面取得进展——经济上、技术上、文化上甚至语言上——唯一例外的是，在政治与军事上，各国仍然是唯一的有效权威。虽然正式的国家有200个左右，但是在实践上只有少数举足轻重，其中美国享有占压倒优势的威力。然而从来没有任何国家或帝国足够地庞大、富裕或强大，以维持在世界政治领域中的霸权，就更不用说建立全球范围的政治与军事上的至高无上地位了。一个单一的超级大国无法弥补全球权威的空白，尤其鉴于其效力足以使之获得主要国家的自愿接受、被当作具有约束力的公约的缺乏——例如涉及国际裁军或者武器控制的等等。一些这种权威机构是存在的，特别是联合国、各种法律与金融机构，譬如国际货币基金组织、世界银行和世界贸易组织，以及一些国际法庭。但没有任何一个拥有除了国家之间的协议所赋予它们的之外的、由于强大国家的支持而获得的或者各国自愿接受的有效权力。虽然这一点令人遗憾，但是在可以预见的将来却不大可能改变。由于只有国家才行使实际的权力，所以风险在于，国际机构在试图应付“战争罪行”等违法行为的时候会无效或者缺乏普遍的合法地位。甚至当通过普遍共识而建立世界法庭（例如根据联合国1998年7月17日的罗马协议建立的国际刑事法庭），它们的判断也不一定会被当作合法和有约束力的而接受，只要强国有条件对其加以无视。一个由强国组成的集团可能足够强大，以确保来自比较弱小国家的一些违犯者被送上这些法庭，从而或许在某些地区限制武装冲突的残酷程度。然而这是表明在一个国际体系内权力与影响力的传统行使、而不是国际法行使的实例。然而在21世纪与20世纪之间有重大差别：认为战争是发生在一个划分为处于有效的政府权威之下的领土地区的世界上，这些政府享有对公共权力和强迫手段的垄断，这种想法已经不再适用。它从来都不适用于经历着革命的国家或者四分五裂的帝国的各个分裂部分，但直到最近为止，大多数新的革命或后殖民地政权——中国在1911年和1949年之间是主要的例外——相当迅速地再生，成为基本上有组织的和正常运转的继承政权和国家。然而最近30年左右，由于各种原因，国家丧失了其对武装力量的一贯的垄断、很大一部分从前的稳定性与权力，而且越来越多地还丧失了合法地位或者公认的永久性的根本感觉，这种地位过去使政府得以把税赋与征兵等负担强加给心甘情愿的公民。战争的物质装备现在对民间组织来说普遍地唾手可得，资助非国家战争的手段也是如此，这样一来，国家与非国家组织之间的力量对比已经改变。国家内部的武装冲突已经变得更加严重，并且可能继续几十年，而没有任何胜利或得到解决的真实前景：克什米尔、安哥拉、斯里兰卡、车臣、哥伦比亚。在极端的情况下，譬如在非洲的部分地区，国家可能已经基本不复存在，或者譬如在哥伦比亚，可能不再在本国部分领土上行使政权。甚至在强大和稳定的国家里，也一直难以消除非官方的小型武装集团，譬如英国的爱尔兰共和军及西班牙的巴斯克民族和自由组织。这一局面的新奇性通过一件事实显示出来：地球上最强大的国家在遭受了一场恐怖主义袭击后感到有义务发动一场正式的行动，打击一个很小的国际与非政府组织或网络，而后者既没有领土，也没有一支能够辨认的军队。这些变化如何影响今后一个世纪战争与和平之间的平衡呢？我宁愿不就很有可能爆发的战争或者它们可能的结局做出预测。然而不论武装冲突的结构还是解决的方法都由于主权国家世界体系的转变而发生了深刻变化。苏联的解体意味着，曾经指导了国际关系将近两个世纪、除了明显的例外还对国家之间的冲突行使了一定的控制权的大国体系不复存在。它的消失消除了现在国家间战争和国家对别国事务进行武装干预的一大因素——冷战期间外国领土的边界基本上未曾被军队所跨越。然而即使那时，由于弱小国家的大量存在（尽管这些国家从官方意义上讲是联合国的“主权”成员国），国际体系就已经存在潜在的不稳定性。苏联和欧洲共产党政权的垮台明显地使这种不稳定性增加。在迄今为止稳定的民族国家，譬如英国、西班牙、比利时和意大利，具有不同程度实力的分离主义趋势完全可能进一步加重这种不稳定。与此同时，国际舞台上民间表演者的数量也成倍增加。有什么机制可以用来控制和解决这种冲突吗？从记录看并不令人乐观。90年代的武装冲突没有一次以稳定的解决而告终。由于冷战的机构、假设与言论的持续存在，所以旧的怀疑未曾消亡，从而恶化了东南欧共产主义以后的分崩离析，使得解决一度被称为南斯拉夫的地区问题更加困难。我们要想制订一些控制武装冲突的手段，就必须从意识形态和权力-政治两方面消除这些冷战遗留下来的假设。此外明显的是，美国通过单方的武力来强加一种（任何一种）新的世界秩序的努力都已经失败并且必然继续失败，不管力量关系目前如何朝着有利于美国的方向偏斜，尽管美国得到了一个（必然短命的）联盟的支持。国际体系仍将是多边的，其管制将取决于几个大国达成一致的能力，尽管其中一个国家享有军事上的压倒优势。美国所采取的国际军事行动在多大程度上取决于别国通过谈判的协议已经很清楚。此外也清楚的是，战争的政治解决，甚至美国所参与的战争的解决，都将是通过谈判而不是通过单方的强加于人。以无条件投降而结束的战争的时代在可以预见的将来不会重演。对于现有的国际机构，特别是联合国的角色，也必须重新考虑。虽然它无时不在而且通常是求助的对象，但是在解决争端方面，却没有明确的角色。它的战略与行动始终任凭不断变幻的权力政治所宰割。缺乏一个被真正看作中立的和能够在未经安全理事会事先授权情况下采取行动的国际中介，这一直是争端处理体系中最明显的空白。冷战结束以来，对和平与战争的处理一直是即兴的。在最好情况下，譬如在巴尔干地区，武装冲突被外部武装干预制止，敌对行动结束时的现状由第三方的军队来维持。武装冲突未来控制的一个通用模型能否从这种干预中产生还不清楚。21世纪中战争与和平之间的平衡将不会取决于制订比较有效的谈判和解决机制，而是要看内部稳定和军事冲突的避免情况如何。除了少数例外，现有的国家之间的、过去导致了武装冲突的对抗与摩擦今天造成这种局面的可能性减小了。例如现在的国际边界问题上的政府间燃眉之急的冲突相对来说很少。另一方面，内部冲突很容易演变成暴力性的：战争的主要危险存在于外国或者外部军事势力对冲突的卷入。与贫困、严重不平等和经济不稳定的国家相比，经济蒸蒸日上、稳定而且商品在居民当中比较公平地分配的国家，其社会和政治局势动荡的可能性较小。然而，避免或控制国内武装暴力活动的情况更加直接地取决于国家政府的实力和政绩，及其在多数居民眼中的合法地位。今天没有任何政府能够对非武装民众的存在或者欧洲很多地方人们所长期熟悉的公共秩序的程度，认为理所当然。今天没有任何政府有条件无视或者清除掉国内的武装少数民族。尽管如此，世界越来越分裂为能够对自己领土和公民加以有效管理的国家以及为数越来越多的领土，其边界是得到官方承认的国际界线，国家的政府则从虚弱和腐败的到荡然无存的都有。这些地区所酝酿的是流血的内部斗争和国际冲突，譬如我们在非洲中部所见到。然而这种地区没有持续改善的即刻前景，如果动荡不定的国家的中央政府进一步被削弱或者世界版图进一步巴尔干化，则无疑会加重武装冲突的危险。一项尝试性的预测：21世纪的战争不大可能像20世纪的那样血腥。但造成不成比例的苦难与损失的武装暴力仍将在世界很多地方无处不在和泛滥成灾。一个和平的世纪的前景是遥远的。




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Part Two Chapter Ten


PRINCE ANDREY stayed at Bränn with a Russian of his acquaintance in the diplomatic service, Bilibin.
“Ah, my dear prince, there's no one I could have been more pleased to see,” said Bilibin, coming to meet Prince Andrey. “Franz, take the prince's things to my bedroom,” he said to the servant, who was ushering Bolkonsky in. “What, a messenger of victory? That's capital. I'm kept indoors ill, as you see.”
After washing and dressing, Prince Andrey came into the diplomat's luxurious study and sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bilibin was sitting quietly at the fireplace.
Not his journey only, but all the time he had spent with the army on the march, deprived of all the conveniences of cleanliness and the elegancies of life, made Prince Andrey feel now an agreeable sense of repose among the luxurious surroundings to which he had been accustomed from childhood. Moreover, after his Austrian reception, he was glad to speak—if not in Russian, for they talked French—at least to a Russian, who would, he imagined, share the general Russian dislike (which he felt particularly keenly just then) for the Austrians.
Bilibin was a man of five-and-thirty, a bachelor, of the same circle as Prince Andrey. They had been acquainted in Petersburg, but had become more intimate during Prince Andrey's last stay at Vienna with Kutuzov. Just as Prince Andrey was a young man, who promised to rise high in a military career, Bilibin promised to do even better in diplomacy. He was still a young man, but not a young diplomat, as he had been in the service since he was sixteen. He had been in Paris and in Copenhagen; and now in Vienna he filled a post of considerable importance. Both the foreign minister and our ambassador at Vienna knew him and valued him. He was not one of that great multitude of diplomats whose qualification is limited to the possession of negative qualities, who need simply avoid doing certain things and speak French in order to be very good diplomats. He was one of those diplomats who like work and understand it, and in spite of his natural indolence, he often spent nights at his writing-table. He worked equally well whatever the object of his work might be. He was interested not in the question “Why?” but in the question “How?” What constituted his diplomatic work, he did not mind, but to draw up a circular, a memorandum, or a report subtly, pointedly, and elegantly, was a task which gave him great pleasure. Apart from such labours, Bilibin's merits were esteemed the more from his ease in moving and talking in the higher spheres.
Bilibin enjoyed conversation just as he enjoyed work, only when the conversation could be elegantly witty. In society he was continually watching for an opportunity of saying something striking, and did not enter into conversation except under such circumstances. Bilibin's conversation was continually sprinkled with original, epigrammatic, polished phrases of general interest. These phrases were fashioned in the inner laboratory of Bilibin's mind, as though intentionally, of portable form, so that insignificant persons could easily remember them and carry them from drawing-room to drawing-room. And Bilibin's good things were hawked about in Viennese drawing-rooms and afterwards had an influence on so-called great events.
His thin, lean, yellow face was all covered with deep creases, which always looked as clean and carefully washed as the tips of one's fingers after a bath. The movement of these wrinkles made up the chief play of expression of his countenance. At one moment his forehead wrinkled up in broad furrows, and his eyebrows were lifted, at another moment his eyebrows drooped again and deep lines creased his cheeks. His deep-set, small eyes looked out frankly and good-humouredly.
“Come, now, tell us about your victories,” he said. Bolkonsky in the most modest fashion, without once mentioning himself in connection with it, described the engagement, and afterwards his reception by the war minister.
“They received me and my news like a dog in a game of skittles,” he concluded.
Bilibin grinned, and the creases in his face disappeared.
“All the same, my dear fellow,” he said, gazing from a distance at his finger-nails, and wrinkling up the skin over his left eye, “notwithstanding my high esteem for the holy Russian armament, I own that your victory is not so remarkably victorious.”
He went on talking in French, only uttering in Russian those words to which he wished to give a contemptuous intonation.
“Why? with the whole mass of your army you fell upon the unlucky Mortier with one division, and Mortier slipped through your fingers? Where's the victory?”
“Seriously speaking, though,” answered Prince Andrey, “we can at least say without boasting that it's rather better than Ulm…”
“Why didn't you capture us one, at least, one marshal?”
“Because everything isn't done as one expects it will be, and things are not as regular as on parade. We had expected, as I told you, to attack the enemy in the rear at seven o'clock in the morning, but we did not arrive at it until five o'clock in the evening.”
“But why didn't you do it at seven in the morning? You ought to have done it at seven in the morning,” said Bilibin, smiling; “you ought to have done it at seven in the morning.”
“Why didn't you succeed in impressing on Bonaparte by diplomatic methods that he had better leave Genoa alone?” said Prince Andrey in the same tone.
“I know,” broke in Bilibin, “you are thinking that it's very easy to capture marshals, sitting on the sofa by one's fireside. That's true, but still why didn't you capture him? And you needn't feel surprised if the most august Emperor and King Francis, like the war minister, is not very jubilant over your victory. Why, even I, a poor secretary of the Russian Embassy, feel no necessity to testify my rejoicing by giving my Franz a thaler and sending him out for a holiday to disport himself with his Liebchen on the Prater…though it's true there is no Prater here…” He looked straight at Prince Andrey and suddenly let the creases drop out of his puckered forehead.
“Now it's my turn to ask you ‘why,' my dear boy,” said Bolkonsky. “I must own that I don't understand it; perhaps there are diplomatic subtleties in it that are beyond my feeble intellect; but I can't make it out. Mack loses a whole army, Archduke Ferdinand and Archduke Karl give no sign of life and make one blunder after another; Kutuzov alone gains at last a decisive victory, breaks the prestige of invincibility of the French, and the minister of war does not even care to learn the details!”
“For that very reason, my dear boy, don't you see! Hurrah for the Tsar, for Russia, for the faith! That's all very nice; but what have we, I mean the Austrian court, to do with your victories? You bring us good news of a victory of Archduke Karl or Ferdinand—one archduke's as good as the other, as you know—if it's only a victory over a fire brigade of Bonaparte, and it will be another matter, it will set the cannons booming. But this can only tantalise us, as if it were done on purpose. Archduke Karl does nothing, Archduke Ferdinand covers himself with disgrace, you abandon Vienna, give up its defence, as though you would say to us, God is with us, and the devil take you and your capital. One general, whom we all loved, Schmidt, you put in the way of a bullet, and then congratulate us on your victory!…You must admit that anything more exasperating than the news you have brought could not be conceived. It's as though it were done on purpose, done on purpose. But apart from that, if you were to gain a really brilliant victory, if Archduke Karl even were to win a victory, what effect could it have on the general course of events? It's too late now, when Vienna is occupied by the French forces.”
“Occupied? Vienna occupied?”
“Not only is Vienna occupied, but Bonaparte is at Schönbrunn, and the count—our dear Count Urbna—is setting off to receive his orders.”
After the fatigues and impressions of his journey and his reception, and even more after the dinner he had just eaten, Bolkonsky felt that he could not take in all the significance of the words he had just heard.
“Count Lichtenfels was here this morning,” pursued Bilibin, “and he showed me a letter containing a full description of the parade of the French at Vienna. Prince Murat and all the rest of it … You see that your victory is not a great matter for rejoicing, and that you can't be received as our deliverer…”
“Really, I don't care about that, I don't care in the slightest!” said Prince Andrey, beginning to understand that his news of the battle before Krems was really of little importance in view of such an event as the taking of the capital of Austria. “How was Vienna taken? And its bridge and its famous fortifications, and Prince Auersperg? We heard rumours that Prince Auersperg was defending Vienna,” said he.
“Prince Auersperg is stationed on this side—our side—and is defending us; defending us very ineffectually, I imagine, but any way he is defending us. But Vienna's on the other side of the river. No, the bridge has not been taken, and I hope it won't be taken, because it is mined and orders have been given to blow it up. If it were not so, we should have long ago been in the mountains of Bohemia, and you and your army would have spent a bad quarter of an hour between two fires.”
“But still that doesn't mean that the campaign is over,” said Prince Andrey.
“But I believe that it is over. And so do all the big-wigs here, though they don't dare to say so. It will be as I said at the beginning of the campaign, that the matter will not be settled by your firing before Därenstein, not by gunpowder, but by those who invented it,” said Bilibin, repeating one of his mots, letting the creases run out of his forehead and pausing. “The only question is what the meeting of the Emperor Alexander and the Prussian king may bring forth. If Prussia enters the alliance, they will force Austria's hand and there will be war. If not, the only point will be to arrange where to draw up the articles of the new Campo Formio.”
“But what an extraordinary genius!” cried Prince Andrey suddenly, clenching his small hand and bringing it down on the table. “And what luck the man has!”
“Buonaparte?” said Bilibin interrogatively, puckering up his forehead and so intimating that a mot was coming. “Buonaparte?” he said, with special stress on the u. “I think, though, that now when he is dictating laws to Austria from Schönbrunn, we must let him off the u. I shall certainly adopt the innovation, and call him simply Bonaparte.”
“No, joking apart,” said Prince Andrey, “do you really believe the campaign is over?”
“I'll tell you what I think. Austria has been made a fool of, and she is not used to that. And she'll avenge it. And she has been made a fool of because in the first place her provinces have been pillaged (they say the Holy Russian armament is plundering them cruelly), her army has been destroyed, her capital has been taken, and all this for the sweet sake of his Sardinian Majesty. And so between ourselves, my dear boy, my instinct tells me we are being deceived; my instinct tells me of negotiations with France and projects of peace, a secret peace, concluded separately.”
“Impossible!” said Prince Andrey. “That would be too base.”
“Time will show,” said Bilibin, letting the creases run off his forehead again in token of being done with the subject.
When Prince Andrey went to the room that had been prepared for him, and lay down in the clean linen on the feather-bed and warmed and fragrant pillows, he felt as though the battle of which he brought tidings was far, far away from him. The Prussian alliance, the treachery of Austria, the new triumph of Bonaparte, the levée and parade and the audience of Emperor Francis next day, engrossed his attention. He closed his eyes and instantly his ears were ringing with the cannonade, the firing of muskets, and the creaking of wheels, and again he saw the long line of musketeers running down-hill and the French firing, and he felt his heart beating and saw himself galloping in front of the lines with Schmidt, and, the bullets whizzing merrily around him; and he knew that sense of intensified joy in living that he had not experienced since childhood. He waked up.
“Yes, that all happened!”…he said, with a happy, childlike smile to himself. And he fell into the deep sleep of youth.


第二章第十节


安德烈公爵在布吕恩的一个相识——俄国外交官比利宾那里住下来。
“啊，亲爱的公爵，没有比看见您这位客人更令人高兴的事，”比利宾出去迎接安德烈公爵时说道。“弗朗茨，把公爵的东西送到我的卧室中去！”他把脸转向伴随博尔孔斯基的仆人说，“怎么，是报送胜利消息的人吗？好极了。您看，我正害病哩。”
安德烈公爵盥洗、穿衣之后，便走进外交官的豪华的书斋，坐下来，他面前摆着做好的午餐。比利宾安闲地坐在壁炉旁。
安德烈公爵不仅在旅行之后，而且在他丧失一切舒适、洁净和优越的生活条件的行军之后，他体会到自从童年时代以来他就在这个已经习惯的奢侈生活环境中休息时所体会的那种心旷神怡的感觉。除此而外，他在受到奥国人的接待后，能够和一个俄国人谈话，即使不说俄国话（他们用法国话交谈），也感到愉快；因为他认为这个交谈者也怀有俄国人对奥国人的共同的厌恶之感（现在特别强烈地被他体会到的厌恶之感）。
比利宾三十五岁左右，未娶妻，他和安德烈公爵属于同一个上流社会。他们早在彼得堡就已相识，但在安德烈公爵随同库图佐夫抵达维也纳时，他们的交往就更密切了。如果说，安德烈公爵年轻，并且在军事舞台会有远大前途，那末比利宾在外交舞台的前途就更远大了。他还年轻，而他已经不是年轻的外交官了，因为他从十六岁那年起就开始任职，曾经留驻巴黎、哥本哈根。目下在维也纳担任相当重要的职务。首相和我国驻维也纳大使都认识他，而且重视他。他独树一帜，不属于多数外交家之列，他们为了要成为至为优秀的外交官员，就需具备一些消极的优点，不做某些不该做的事情，而要会说一口法语。虽然有一些外交官秉性懒惰，但是他们热爱工作，而且善于工作，他们有时候坐在办公桌旁一连熬上几个通宵，比利宾属于这些外交官之列。无论工作的实质何在，他都干得很出色。他所关注的不是“为什么要干”的问题，而是“怎样干”的问题。外交上的事务是什么，他满不在乎。他认为，熟练地雅致而妥当地草拟通令、备忘录或报告才是他的莫大的乐趣。比利宾的功绩受到珍视，除了笔头工作而外，他还擅长在上层社会致词和交际。
只是在交谈的人说说文雅的俏皮话的时候，比利宾才像喜爱工作那样喜爱谈话。在上流社会，他经常等候机会去说句什么动听的话，而且只是在这种环境中他才与人攀谈。比利宾谈起话来，经常在话中夹杂许多奇特古怪的俏皮话，而在结束时总要加上几句大家都感兴趣的漂亮话。这些漂亮话仿佛是在比利宾的内在的创作活动中故意编造出来的，具有独特的性质，而其目的在于便于卑微庸俗的上流社会人士记忆并在客厅中广泛流行。真的，lesmotsdeBilibinesecolporBtaientdanslessalonsdeVienne①，据说，常对所谓的重大国事产生影响。
①法语：比利宾的评论在维也纳的客厅中广为流传。

他那消瘦的、略带黄色的脸上布满了宽宽的皱纹，这些皱纹和洗完澡之后的指头尖一般总是细心地洗得干干净净的。这些皱纹的活动构成他面部表情的主要变化。他时而竖起眉尖，额头上就露出宽宽的皱褶，时而把眉尖向下低垂，面颊上就形成宽宽的皱纹。一对深陷的小眼睛总是快活地向前直视着。
“喂，现在给我们讲讲你们的战功吧。”他说道。博尔孔斯基一次也没有提到他自己，他很谦虚地讲到前方的战况和军政大臣接待他的情形。
“Ilsm'ontrecuavecmanouvelle，commeunchiendansunjeudequilles．”①他说了一句收尾的话。
比利宾苦笑一阵，舒展开脸皮上的皱褶。
“Cependant，moncher，”他说道，一面远远地察看自己的指甲，一面皱起左眼以上的皮肤，“malgrelahauteestimequejepsofessepourle东正教的俄国战士们，j'avouequevotrevictoiren'estpasdesplusvictorieuses．”②
①法语：他们像对待跑进九柱戏场地的狗那样接待我这个报送消息的人。
②法语：我亲爱的，虽然我十分尊敬东正教的俄国战士们，但是我认为，你们的胜利不是最辉煌的。

他用法国话继续说下去，他想轻蔑地加以强调的那些词才用俄国话说出来。
“可不是？你们仗着全军人马猛烈地攻打只有一师人的很不幸的莫蒂埃，这个莫蒂埃竟从你们手中逃跑了？哪能算什么胜利呢？”
“但是，严格地说，”安德烈公爵答道，“我们还可以不吹牛地说，这总比乌尔姆战役略胜一筹……”
“你们为什么不给我们俘获一个元帅呢？即使是一个也行。”
“因为不是一切事情都能按计划办成，也不能像检阅那样定期举行。正像我对您说的，我以为早上七点以前能迂回走到敌人后方，可是在下午五点以前还没有走到。”
“你们为什么不在早上七点钟以前走到呢？你们应当在早上七点钟以前走到，”比利宾面露微笑地说道，“应当在早上七点钟走到。”
“你们为什么不用外交手腕开导波拿巴，要他最好放弃热那亚呢？”安德烈公爵用同样的语调说道。
“我知道，”比利宾打断他的话，“您坐在壁炉前的沙发上，心中在想，抓住元帅是很容易的事。这没有错，可是你们究竟为什么没有把他抓住呢？您不要诧异，不仅军政大臣，而且至圣的皇帝弗朗茨陛下对你们的胜利都不会感到非常高兴，就连我这个不幸的俄国使馆的秘书也不觉得这有什么特别高兴的……”
他双眼直勾勾地望望安德烈公爵，忽然舒展开前额上绷紧的皮肤。
“我亲爱的，现在轮到我来问问您‘为什么'？”博尔孔斯基说道，“我向您承认，我也许并不明白，这里头会有什么超出我这贫乏智慧的外交上的微妙之处，但是我也弄不明白，马克丧失了全军人马，费迪南大公和卡尔大公奄奄待毙，毫无生气，而且接一连二地做出错事，只有库图佐夫终于赢得了真正的胜利，粉碎了法国人的Chavme①，而军政大臣甚至不想知道详细的战况哩！”
“我亲爱的，正是因为这个缘故。Voyez－vous，monchesB．②乌拉！为了沙皇，为了俄国，为了信仰！Toutcaestbeletbon③，但是，我说你们的胜利对我们、对奥国朝廷有什么关系？你们替我们带来卡尔大公或者费迪南大公赢得胜利的好消息吧。正像您所知道的，unarchiduevautl'autre④，打垮波拿巴的消防队也好哩，不过那是另一码事，而我们到那时一定要鸣炮示意。其实这只像是故意招惹我们似的。卡尔大公毫无作为，费迪南大公蒙受耻辱。你们在放弃维也纳，不再去保卫它了，commesivousnousdisiez⑤，上帝保佑我们，上帝也保佑你们和你们的首都。一位我们人人热爱的施米持将军：你们竟让他死在熗弹之下，现在反而要庆贺我们的胜利啦！……您赞同我们的看法吧，再也没想出比您带来的消息更令人气愤的事了。C'estcommeunfaitexprès，commeunfaitexprès⑥．此外，嗯，即使你们赢得辉煌的胜利，就连卡尔大公也赢得胜利，这就会改变整个军事行动的进程吧？维也纳已被法国军队占领，现在为时太晚了。”
①法语：战无不胜的誓言。
②法语：您要明白。
③法语：这一切都好极了。
④法语：这个大公顶得上那个大公。
⑤法语：你们好像是对我们说的。
⑥法语：这好像有意作对似的，有意作对似的。

“怎么已被占领了？维也纳已被占领了？”
“不仅被占领，而且波拿巴正待在申布鲁恩宫。伯爵，我们可爱的伯爵弗尔布纳已动身前往波拿巴处乞求指示了。”
博尔孔斯基在旅途劳累之后，印象犹新，在领受接待之后，尤其是在午宴之后他觉得，他弄不明白他所听到的这番话的全部意义。
“今天早上利希滕费尔斯伯爵到过这里了，”比利宾继续说下去，“他把一封信拿给我看，信中详尽地描述了法国人在维也纳举行阅兵式的实况。LeprinceMuratettoutletremBblement…①您知道，你们的胜利不是令人很高兴的事，您也不会像救世主那样受到厚待……”
“说实在的，我是无所谓的，完全无所谓的啊！”安德烈公爵说道。他开始明了，因为奥国首都已被占领，所以他所获悉的克雷姆斯城郊一战的消息就缺乏重要意义了。“维也纳怎么被占领了？那座大桥、那座举世闻名的tetedepont②，还有奥尔斯珀格公爵怎么样了？我们这里谣传，奥尔斯珀格公爵正在捍卫维也纳。”他说道。
①法语：缪拉亲王及其他……
②法语：堡垒。

“奥尔斯珀格公爵驻守在我军占领的大河这边，正在保卫我们。我认为他保卫得十分差劲，但毕竟是在保卫。维也纳在大河对岸。有一座桥还未被占领。我希望桥梁不被占领，因为桥上布满了地雷，并且下达了炸桥的命令。否则，我们老早就到波希米亚山区去了，你们随同你们的军队都要遭受到两面夹攻了。”
“但是，这还不意味，战役已经宣告结束。”安德烈公爵说道。
“我想，战役已经结束了。这里的一些大笨伯都有这种想法，但是不敢说出这句话。我在战役开始时说过的话就要兑现了，对战事起决定作用的不是你们的échauffouréedeDürenstein①，而且根本不是火药，而是那些妄图发动战争的人，”比利宾说道，把他爱用的mots②重说一遍，又一面舒展额角上皱起的皮肤，停顿一会儿，“问题只在于，亚历山大皇帝和普鲁士国王在柏林会谈的内容如何。如果普鲁士加入联盟，onforceralamainàl'Autriche③，战争就会爆发起来。若非如此，那末，问题只在于，双方议定于何地拟订新的CamBpoFormio④的初步条款。
“多么非凡的天才啊！”安德烈公爵忽然喊道，握紧他那细小的拳头，捶打着桌子，“这个人多么幸运啊！”
“Buonaparte？”⑤比利宾带着疑问的语调说道，他蹙起额头，想要人家意识到，unmot⑥就要出现了，“是波拿巴吗？”他说道，特别强调“u”的重音，“不过我以为，正当他在申布鲁恩宫制定奥国法典时，ilfautluifairvegracedel'u，⑦我要坚决地规定一项新办法，索兴称他Bonapartetoutcourt。”⑧
①法语和德语：迪伦斯坦交火。
②法语：词儿。
③法语：那就对奥国采取强制手段。
④法语：坎波福朱奥和约。
⑤法语：是波拿巴吗？
⑥法语：俏皮话。
⑦法语：就应当使他避免发出“u”音。
⑧法语：索兴称他波拿巴。

“不，甭开玩笑，”安德烈公爵说道，“您难道以为战役已经结束了吗？”
“我就是这样想的。奥国打输了，可是它不会习惯于失败的局面。它要报复的。它之所以失利，首先是因为一些省份已被摧毁（ondit，leest东正教的terriblepourlepillage①，军队被粉碎，首都被占领，这一切都是pourlesbeauxyeuxdu撒丁陛下②，其二是因为——entrenous，moncherB，③——我凭嗅觉正闻到，人家在欺骗我们，我凭嗅觉还闻到，他们和法国搭上了关系，制订了和约草案——单独缔结的秘密和约草案。”
“这不可能啊！”安德烈公爵说道，“这真是可恶极了。”
“Quivivranerra．”④比利宾说，又舒展皱起的皮肤，表示谈话结束了。
①法语：据说东正教的军队抢得很厉害。
②法语：为了撒丁陛下好看的眼睛。
③法语：我亲爱的，在我们之间说说。
④法语：过些日子，就会看清楚。

当安德烈公爵走到给他布置的房间、穿着干净的睡衣躺在绒毛褥子上、垫着香喷喷的暖和的枕头的时候，他感觉到，由他报送消息的那次战斗和他相隔很远很远了。他关心的是普鲁士联盟、奥国的变节、波拿巴的又一次大捷、明天的出朝、阅兵以及弗朗茨皇帝的接见。
他闭上眼睛，就在这一瞬间他耳鼓中响起隆隆的熗炮声和辚辚的车轮声，又看见排成一条长线的火熗兵走下山来，一群法国兵开熗射击，他于是觉得，他的心在颤栗着，他和施米特并骑向前疾驶，子弹在他四周欢快地呼啸，他体会到一种从童年起未曾体会到的生存的万分喜悦的感觉。
他醒悟了……
“是啊，这一切已是明日黄花！……”他说道，他脸上自然流露着幸福的童稚的微笑，这个年轻人于是酣然入睡了。
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Part Two Chapter Nine


PURSUED by the French army of a hundred thousand men under the command of Bonaparte, received with hostility by the inhabitants, losing confidence in their allies, suffering from shortness of supplies, and forced to act under circumstances unlike anything that had been foreseen, the Russian army of thirty-five thousand men, under the command of Kutuzov, beat a hasty retreat to the lower ground about the Danube. There they halted, and were overtaken by the enemy, and fought a few rear-guard skirmishes, avoiding an engagement, except in so far as it was necessary to secure a retreat without the loss of their baggage and guns. There were actions at Lambach, at Amsteten, and at Melk; but in spite of the courage and stubbornness—acknowledged even by the enemy—with which the Russians fought, the only consequence of these engagements was a still more rapid retreat. The Austrian troops that had escaped being taken at Ulm, and had joined Kutuzov's forces at Braunau, now parted from the Russian army, and Kutuzov was left unsupported with his weak and exhausted forces. The defence of Vienna could no longer be dreamed of. Instead of the elaborately planned campaign of attack, in accordance with the principles of the modern science of strategy, the plan of which had been communicated to Kutuzov during his sojourn in Vienna by the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, the sole aim—almost a hopeless one—that remained now for Kutuzov was to avoid losing his army, like Mack at Ulm, and to effect a junction with the fresh troops marching from Russia.
On the 28th of October, Kutuzov took his army across to the left bank of the Danube, and then for the first time halted, leaving the Danube between his army and the greater part of the enemy's forces. On the 30th he attacked Mortier's division, which was on the left bank of the Danube, and defeated it. In this action for the first time trophies were taken—a flag, cannons, and two of the enemy's generals. For the first time, after retreating for a fortnight, the Russian troops had halted, and after fighting had not merely kept the field of battle, but had driven the French off it. Although the troops were without clothing and exhausted, and had lost a third of their strength in wounded, killed, and missing; although they had left their sick and wounded behind on the other side of the Danube, with a letter from Kutuzov commending them to the humanity of the enemy; although the great hospitals and houses in Krems could not contain all the sick and wounded,—in spite of all that, the halt before Krems and the victory over Mortier had greatly raised the spirits of the troops. Throughout the whole army, and also at headquarters, there were the most cheerful but groundless rumours of the near approach of the columns from Russia, of some victory gained by the Austrians, and of the retreat of Bonaparte panic-stricken.
Prince Andrey had been during the engagement in attendance on the Austrian general Schmidt, who was killed in the battle. His horse had been wounded under him, and he had himself received a slight wound on his arm from a bullet. As a mark of special favour on the part of the commander-in-chief, he was sent with the news of this victory to the Austrian court, now at Brünn, as Vienna was threatened by the French. On the night of the battle, excited, but not weary (though Prince Andrey did not look robustly built, he could bear fatigue better than very strong men), he had ridden with a despatch from Dohturov to Krems to Kutuzov. The same night he had been sent on with a special despatch to Brünn. This commission, apart from its reward, meant an important step in promotion.
The night was dark and starlit; the road looked black in the white snow that had fallen on the day of the battle. With his mind filled with impressions of the battle, joyful anticipations of the effect that would be produced by the news of the victory, and recollections of the farewells of the commander-in-chief and his comrades, Prince Andrey trotted along in a light posting cart, with the sensations of a man who, after long waiting, has at last attained the first instalment of some coveted happiness. As soon as he closed his eyes, the firing of guns and cannons was echoing in his ears, and that sound blended with the rattle of the wheels and the sensation of victory. At one moment he would begin to dream that the Russians were flying, that he was himself slain; but he waked up in haste, and with fresh happiness realised anew that that was all unreal, and that it was the French, on the contrary, who were put to flight. He recalled again all the details of the victory, his own calm manliness during the battle, and, reassured, he began to doze.… The dark, starlit night was followed by a bright and sunny morning. The snow was thawing in the sun, the horses galloped quickly, and new and different-looking forests, fields, and trees flew by on both sides of the road alike.
At one of the stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded. The Russian officer in charge of the transport lay lolling back in the foremost cart, and was shouting coarse abuse at a soldier. In each of the long German Vorspanns six or more pale, bandaged, and dirty wounded men were being jolted over the stony roads. Some of them were talking (he caught the sound of Russian words), others were eating bread; the most severely wounded gazed dumbly at the posting cart trotting by, with the languid interest of sick children.
Prince Andrey told the driver to stop, and asked a soldier in what battle they had been wounded.
“The day before yesterday on the Danube,” answered the soldier. Prince Andrey took out his purse and gave the soldier three gold pieces.
“For all,” he added, addressing the officer as he came up. “Get well, lads,” he said to the soldiers, “there's a lot to do yet.”
“What news?” asked the officer, evidently anxious to get into conversation.
“Good news! Forward!” he called to the driver, and galloped on.
It was quite dark when Prince Andrey rode into Bränn, and saw himself surrounded by high houses, lighted shops, the lighted windows of houses, and street lamps, handsome carriages noisily rolling over the pavement, and all that atmosphere of a great town full of life, which is so attractive to a soldier after camp. In spite of the rapid drive and sleepless night, Prince Andrey felt even more alert, as he drove up to the palace, than he had on the previous evening. Only his eyes glittered with a feverish brilliance, and his ideas followed one another with extreme rapidity and clearness. He vividly pictured again all the details of the battle, not in confusion, but definitely, in condensed shape, as he meant to present them to the Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the casual questions that might be put to him and the answers he would make to them. He imagined that he would be at once presented to the Emperor. But at the chief entrance of the palace an official ran out to meet him, and learning that he was a special messenger, led him to another entrance.
“Turning to the right out of the corridor, Euer Hochgeboren, you will find the adjutant on duty,” the official said to him. “He will conduct you to the minister of war.”
The adjutant on duty, meeting Prince Andrey, asked him to wait, and went into the war minister. Five minutes later the adjutant returned, and with marked courtesy, bowing and ushering Prince Andrey before him, he led him across the corridor to the private room of the war minister. The adjutant, by his elaborately formal courtesy, seemed to wish to guard himself from any attempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian adjutant. The joyous feeling of Prince Andrey was considerably damped as he approached the door of the minister's room. He felt slighted, and the feeling of being slighted passed instantaneously without his being aware of it himself—into a feeling of disdain, which was quite uncalled for. His subtle brain at the same instant supplied him with the point of view from which he had the right to feel disdain both of the adjutant and the minister of war. “No doubt it seems to them a very simple matter to win victories, never having smelt powder!” he thought. His eyelids drooped disdainfully; he walked with peculiar deliberateness into the war minister's room. This feeling was intensified when he saw the minister of war sitting at a big table, and for the first two minutes taking no notice of his entrance. The minister of war had his bald head, with grey curls on the temple, held low between two wax candles; he was reading some papers, and marking them with a pencil. 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 give it him,” said the minister of war to his adjutant, handing him the papers, and taking no notice of the Russian attaché.
Prince Andrey felt that either the minister of war took less interest in the doings of Kutuzov's army than in any other subject demanding his attention, or that he wanted to make the Russian attaché feel this. “But that's a matter of complete indifference to me,” thought he. The minister of war put the other remaining papers together, making their edges level, and lifted his head. He had an intellectual and characteristic head. But the instant he turned to Prince Andrey, the shrewd and determined expression of the war minister's face changed in a manner evidently conscious and habitual. On his face was left the stupid smile—hypocritical, and not disguising its hypocrisy—of a man who receives many petitioners, one after another.
“From General—Field Marshal Kutuzov?” he queried. “Good news, I hope? Has there been an engagement with Mortier? A victory? It was high time!”
He took the despatch, which was addressed to him, and began to read it with a mournful expression.
“Ah! My God! my God! Schmidt!” he said in German. “What a calamity! what a calamity!” Skimming through the despatch, he laid it on the table and glanced at Prince Andrey, visibly meditating on something.
“Ah, what a calamity! So the action, you say, was a decisive one?” (“Mortier was not taken, however,” he reflected.) “Very glad you have brought good news, though the death of Schmidt is a costly price for the victory. His majesty will certainly wish to see you, but not to-day. I thank you; you must need repose. To-morrow, be at the levée after the review. But I will let you know.”
The stupid smile, which had disappeared while he was talking, reappeared on the war minister's face.
“Au revoir, I thank you indeed. His majesty the Emperor will most likely wish to see you,” he repeated, and he bowed his head.
As Prince Andrey left the palace, he felt that all the interest and happiness that had been given him by this victory had been left behind by him now in the indifferent hands of the minister and the formal adjutant. The whole tenor of his thoughts had instantaneously changed. The battle figured in his mind as a remote, far-away memory.


第二章第九节


库图佐夫统率的三万五千官兵的俄国军队，在波拿巴指挥的十万法国军队追击时受到怀有敌意的居民的冷遇，深感军队粮饷的不足，已不再信任盟国，俄军不顾预见到的战争环境，被迫采取军事行动，遂经由多瑙河下游仓惶退却，而在敌军追赶的地区却停止前进，仅为配合撤退，不损失重型装备才开展后卫战斗。在兰巴赫、阿姆施特滕、梅尔克附近双方曾经作战，俄军与敌军交锋时英勇刚毅，已为敌军所公认；虽然如此，但是这几次战役均以俄军迅速撤退而告终。奥国军队在乌尔姆附近虽幸免被俘，并与库图佐夫在布劳瑙会师，而现今竟与俄国军队分立。库图佐夫兵力不足，装备很差，疲惫不堪，只得听之任之了。保卫维也纳的事已无可考虑。库图佐夫在维也纳期间，奥国军事参议院曾经送交他一份依据新科学规律酌情拟定的进攻性战略方案，但是目前库图佐夫部下向他提出的一项近乎难以达到的目标却已摒除以上的战略，其旨意在于联合来自俄国的军队，不重蹈马克在乌尔姆近郊损兵折将、全军被歼的覆辙。
十月二十八日，库图佐夫带领军队横渡多瑙河抵达左岸，头一次驻扎下来，与法国人的主力分据于多瑙河两岸。三十日，库图佐夫攻打驻守在多瑙河左岸的莫蒂埃师团，把它击溃了。在这次战役中，头一回赢得了战利品：军旗、大炮和两名敌军将领。在两个星期的撤退之后，俄国军队头一次留驻下来，在一场争斗以后，不仅守住了战地，而且驱逐了法国人。虽然这些军队缺少衣服，疲惫不堪，掉队、伤亡和患病的人员占三分之一，削弱了兵力；虽然一些伤病员持有库图佐夫的手谕留在多瑙河对岸（手谕中暗示：听任敌人赐予他们仁慈的照拂）；虽然克雷姆斯的大病院和住房都已变成军医院，但是仍然容纳不了全部伤病员，尽管如此，在克雷姆斯驻留和对莫蒂埃的胜利在颇大程度上提高了部队的士气。在全军之中和在大本营中都散布着令人喜悦、虽然并非真实的传闻，说什么俄国纵队即将来临、奥国人赢得大捷，吓破胆的波拿巴撤退了。
作战期间，安德烈公爵曾在这次战役中捐躯的奥地利将军施米特身边服役。他骑的马负了伤，他本人也被子弹擦伤一只手，伤势轻微。多亏总司令给予特殊照顾，他携带大捷的消息被派至奥国宫廷；法国军队的威胁引起宫廷恐惧，奥国宫廷已经不在维也纳，而在布吕恩。作战的深夜，安德烈公爵激动不安，并不感到困倦，虽然看起来他的身体虚弱，但是他比那些最强壮的人更能经受住劳累，他骑上马，随身带着多赫图罗夫的情报前往克雷姆斯晋谒库图佐夫。当天夜晚安德烈公爵充当信使被派往布吕恩。执行信使这一职务，除获得奖励而外，还意味他向升迁的路上迈出一大步。
黑夜里星光点点，白皑皑的积雪中的道路显得更黑了，前一天，即是作战的那天下了一场雪。安德烈公爵时而逐一回溯刚刚结束的战斗留下的印象，时而快活地想象他要传达的胜利消息必将造成的印象，一边回味总司令和战友们饯行的情景，安德烈公爵坐在邮车里飞速地行驶，他心中怀有那种感情，就像某人长久地等待、终于开始获得朝思暮想的幸福。他只要闭上眼睛，耳鼓中就会响起熗声和炮声，这声音正和车轮的响声以及大捷的印象融汇在一起了。他时而仿佛觉得，俄国人正在奔跑，而他自己战死了；但是他很快觉醒过来怀着幸福的心情，仿佛又悟到没有发生什么事，又仿佛觉得法国官兵反而逃跑了。他又回想起大捷的详情细节和他在作战时的镇静和英勇精神，于是他心安理得，打起盹来……在昏暗的星夜之后阳光灿烂的欢乐的早晨来到了。积雪在阳光下融化，马儿飞速奔驰着，道路的左右两侧，闪过了不熟悉的五颜六色的森林、田野和村庄。
他在一个车站上赶过了装运俄国伤员的车队。一名押运的俄国军官把手脚伸开懒洋洋地躺在前面的大车上，一面叫喊着什么，一面说着士兵的粗话骂人。几辆德国制造的长车身马车，沿着石板马路颠簸着，每辆都载有六名以上的脸色苍白、缠上绷带、形容污秽的伤员。其中一些人正在谈话（他听见俄国口音），另外一些人在吃面包，伤势至为严重的都默不作声，都带着温顺、痛苦而幼稚的心情望着从他们身旁疾驰而去的信使。
安德烈公爵吩咐手下人停步，向一名士兵询问，他们是在什么战役中负伤的。
“前天在多瑙河上负伤的。”士兵回答。安德烈公爵掏出钱包把三枚金币交给士兵。
“是给你们大家的，”他向那个朝他跟前走来的军官补充说。“伙伴们，养好伤吧，”他把脸转向士兵们说道，“还有许多仗要打啊。”
“副官先生，怎么样？有什么消息？”军官问道，看起来，他想畅谈一番。
“有好消息啊！前进。”他向驿站马车夫喊了一声，便乘车往前奔驰而去。
当安德烈公爵乘车驶入布吕恩的时候，天色已经黑了，他看见周围有一栋栋高大的楼房，商店和住宅的窗户里灯火通明，一排排路灯闪烁着耀眼的光辉，豪华的马车沿着石板马路驶行，发出辚辚的响声，这正是热热闹闹的大城市的气氛，对那个度过一段兵营生涯的军人来说，这种气氛真是十分诱人的。虽然安德烈公爵快马加鞭，彻夜不眠，但是在他驶近皇宫时，他觉得自己比前夜精神更加抖擞。只是他那对眼睛闪烁着狂热之光。他的心绪万千，接踵而至，思路极其敏捷而且清晰。他的思想上又很生动地浮现出作战的详细情节，这种想象已经不是模糊的，而是合乎逻辑的。他想简单而扼要地向弗朗茨皇帝禀告实情。他的思想上很生动地浮现出一些偶然提出的问题以及他对这些问题作出的回答。他原以为马上有人带他去觐见皇帝。但在皇宫正门前，有一名官员向他跑来，一眼认出他是信差，就把他领到另一道门前。
“EuerHochgeboren①，沿着走廊向右转，您可以找到值班的侍从武官，”这名官员对他说，“他会带您去见军政大臣。”
①德语：大人。

值班的侍从武官接待了安德烈公爵，请他等候片刻，这名侍从武官便到军政大臣那儿去了。过了五分钟，侍从武官走回来，他特别恭敬地弯腰鞠躬，让安德烈公爵在前面走，带领他穿过走廊进入军务倥偬的军政大臣的办公室。侍从武官文质彬彬，非常谦虚，仿佛要俄国副官不必对他太客气似的。当他走到军政大臣办公室门前的时候，他那愉快的感觉大大地冲淡了。他觉得自己遭受到侮辱，而这种受辱的感觉就在他不知不觉的一瞬间变成了毫无道理的蔑视感。就在这一瞬间，随机应变的头脑向他暗示一个有权蔑视副官和军政大臣的理由。“他们大概以为不闻火药味也可以不费吹灰之力地赢得胜利啊！”他想了想。他那双眼睛轻蔑地眯缝起来。他特别缓慢地走进了军政大臣的办公室。当他看见军政大臣坐在一张宽大的办公桌前、头两分钟不理睬走进来的人时，他这种感觉就变得愈益强烈了。这个军政大臣把他那夹在两支蜡烛中间、两鬓斑白的秃头低垂下来，一面阅读文件，一面用铅笔做记号。当房门敞开、听见步履声时，他连头也不抬，继续把文件看完。
“您拿着文件，把它转送出去吧。”军政大臣对他的副官说话，并把文件递给他时，还没有理睬这个信使。
安德烈公爵已经感觉到，或者在军政大臣所操心的事务中，他对库图佐夫采取的行动丝毫不感兴趣，或者有必要让俄国信差意识到这么一点。“不过我觉得，这横竖一样。”他想了想。军政大臣把其余的文件推到一边，摆得整整齐齐，随后才抬起头来。他那脑袋瓜子挺聪明，个性很倔强。可是在他把脸转向安德烈公爵的这一瞬间，军政大臣脸上流露的聪明而坚定的表情似乎习惯地有意识地突然改变了。地脸上现出愚笨、虚伪、并不掩饰虚伪的微笑，就像某人接见一大批一大批请愿者时面露微笑似的。
“您是从库图佐夫元帅那里来的？”他问道，“我希望您带来好消息，是吗？和莫蒂埃发生过军事冲突么？打赢了？正是时候啊！”
他拿起一份署有他的名字的急电，带着忧悒的表情开始念电文。
“哎！我的天！我的天！施米特呀！”他用德国话说道，“多么不幸啊！多么不幸啊！”
他走马观花地看了一下电文，把它放在桌上，望了望安德烈公爵，看来他在考虑什么事情。
“哎，多么不幸啊！您说，这是一场决定性的战役吗？但是莫蒂埃还没有被抓起来（他想了想。）。虽然施米特阵亡是为赢得胜利而付出的高昂代价，但是我非常高兴，您带来了好消息。陛下也许很想和您见面，但是并不是今天。我感谢您，去休息休息。明天阅兵后您来朝拜吧。最好还是我来通知您。”
谈话时已经消失的愚蠢的微笑又在军政大臣脸上流露出来。
“再见，我很感谢您。国王也许很想和您见面。”他重说一遍，低下头去。
当安德烈公爵从皇宫里走出来的时候，他觉得，胜利给他带来的一切利益和幸福现今已被他抛弃，并且交给军政大臣和谦恭的副官的冷冰冰的手中了。他的全部思想转瞬之间改变了。他仿佛觉得这场战斗已是久远的往事的回忆。


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Part Two Chapter Eight


THE REST of the infantry pressed together into a funnel shape at the entrance of the bridge, and hastily marched across it. At last all the baggage-waggons had passed over; the crush was less, and the last battalion were stepping on to the bridge. Only the hussars of Denisov's squadron were left on the further side of the river facing the enemy. The enemy, visible in the distance from the opposite mountain, could not yet be seen from the bridge below, as, from the valley, through which the river flowed, the horizon was bounded by rising ground not more than half a mile away. In front lay a waste plain dotted here and there with handfuls of our scouting Cossacks. Suddenly on the road, where it ran up the rising ground opposite, troops came into sight wearing blue tunics and accompanied by artillery. They were the French. A scouting party of Cossacks trotted away down the hillside. Though the officers and the men of Denisov's squadron tried to talk of other things, and to look in other directions, they all thought continually of nothing else but what was there on the hillside, and kept constantly glancing towards the dark patches they saw coming into sight on the sky-line, and recognised as the enemy's forces. The weather had cleared again after midday, and the sun shone brilliantly as it began to go down over the Danube and the dark mountains that encircle it. The air was still, and from the hillside there floated across from time to time the sound of bugles and of the shouts of the enemy. Between the squadron and the enemy there was no one now but a few scouting parties. An empty plain, about six hundred yards across, separated them from the hostile troops. The enemy had ceased firing, and that made even more keenly felt the stern menace of that inaccessible, unassailable borderland that was the dividing-line between the two hostile armies.

“One step across that line, that suggests the line dividing the living from the dead, and unknown sufferings and death. And what is there? and who is there? there, beyond that field and that tree and the roofs with the sunlight on them? No one knows, and one longs to know and dreads crossing that line, and longs to cross it, and one knows that sooner or later one will have to cross it and find out what there is on the other side of the line, just as one must inevitably find out what is on the other side of death. Yet one is strong and well and cheerful and nervously excited, and surrounded by men as strong in the same irritable excitement.” That is how every man, even if he does not think, feels in the sight of the enemy, and that feeling gives a peculiar brilliance and delightful keenness to one's impressions of all that takes place at such moments.

On the rising ground occupied by the enemy, there rose the smoke of a shot, and a cannon ball flew whizzing over the heads of the squadron of hussars. The officers, who had been standing together, scattered in different directions. The hussars began carefully getting their horses back into line. The whole squadron subsided into silence. All the men were looking at the enemy in front and at the commander of the squadron, expecting an order to be given. Another cannon ball flew by them, and a third. There was no doubt that they were firing at the hussars. But the cannon balls, whizzing regularly and rapidly, flew over the heads of the hussars and struck the ground beyond them. The hussars did not look round, but at each sound of a flying ball, as though at the word of command, the whole squadron, with their faces so alike, through all their dissimilarity, rose in the stirrups, holding their breath, as the ball whizzed by, then sank again. The soldiers did not turn their heads, but glanced out of the corners of their eyes at one another, curious to see the effect on their comrades. Every face from Denisov down to the bugler showed about the lips and chin the same lines of conflict and nervous irritability and excitement. The sergeant frowned, looking the soldiers up and down, as though threatening them with punishment. Ensign Mironov ducked at the passing of each cannon ball. On the left flank, Rostov on his Rook—a handsome beast, in spite of his unsound legs—had the happy air of a schoolboy called up before a large audience for an examination in which he is confident that he will distinguish himself. He looked serenely and brightly at every one, as though calling upon them all to notice how unconcerned he was under fire. But into his face too there crept, against his will, that line about the mouth that betrayed some new and strenuous feeling.

“Who's bobbing up and down there? Ensign Mironov! Not the thing! look at me!” roared Denisov, who could not keep still in one place, but galloped to and fro before the squadron.

The snub-nosed, black, hairy face of Vaska Denisov, and his little, battered figure, and the sinewy, short-fingered hand in which he held the hilt of his naked sword—his whole figure was just as it always was, especially in the evening after he had drunk a couple of bottles. He was only rather redder in the face than usual, and tossing back his shaggy head, as birds do when they drink, his little legs mercilessly driving the spurs into his good horse Bedouin, he galloped to the other flank of the squadron, looking as though he were falling backwards in the saddle, and shouted in a husky voice to the men to look to their pistols. He rode up to Kirsten. The staff-captain on his stout, steady charger rode at a walking pace to meet him. The staff-captain's face with its long whiskers was serious, as always, but his eyes looked brighter than usual.

“Well,” he said to Denisov, “it won't come to a fight. You'll see, we shall retreat again.”

“Devil knows what they're about!” growled Denisov. “Ah, Rostov!” he called to the ensign, noticing his beaming face. “Well, you've not had long to wait.” And he smiled approvingly, unmistakably pleased at the sight of the ensign. Rostov felt perfectly blissful. At that moment the colonel appeared at the bridge. Denisov galloped up to him.

“Your excellency, let us attack! we'll settle them.”

“Attack, indeed!” said the colonel in a bored voice, puckering his face up as though at a teasing fly. “And what are you stopping here for? You see the flanks are retreating. Lead the squadron back.”

The squadron crossed the bridge and passed out of range of the enemy's guns without losing a single man. It was followed by the second squadron, and the Cossacks last of all crossed, leaving the further side of the river clear.

The two squadrons of the Pavlograd regiment, after crossing the bridge, rode one after the other up the hill. Their colonel, Karl Bogdanitch Schubert, had joined Denisov's squadron, and was riding at a walking pace not far from Rostov, taking no notice of him, though this was the first time they had met since the incident in connection with Telyanin. Rostov, feeling himself at the front in the power of the man towards whom be now admitted that he had been to blame, never took his eyes off the athletic back, and flaxen head and red neck of the colonel. It seemed to Rostov at one time that Bogdanitch was only feigning inattention, and that his whole aim was now to test the ensign's pluck; and he drew himself up and looked about him gaily. Then he fancied that Bogdanitch was riding close by him on purpose to show off his own valour. Then the thought struck him that his enemy was now sending the squadron to a hopeless attack on purpose to punish him, Rostov. Then he dreamed of how after the attack he would go up to him as he lay wounded, and magnanimously hold out his hand in reconciliation. The high-shouldered figure of Zherkov, who was known to the Pavlograd hussars, as he had not long before left their regiment, rode up to the colonel. After Zherkov had been dismissed from the staff of the commander-in-chief, he had not remained in the regiment, saying that he was not such a fool as to go to hard labour at the front when he could get more pay for doing nothing on the staff, and he had succeeded in getting appointed an orderly on the staff of Prince Bagration. He rode up to his old colonel with an order from the commander of the rear guard.

“Colonel,” he said, with his gloomy seriousness, addressing Rostov's enemy, and looking round at his comrades, “there's an order to go back and burn the bridge.”

“An order, who to?” asked the colonel grimly.

“Well, I don't know, colonel, who to,” answered the cornet, seriously, “only the prince commanded me: ‘Ride and tell the colonel the hussars are to make haste back and burn the bridge.' ”

Zherkov was followed by an officer of the suite, who rode up to the colonel with the same command. After the officer of the suite the stout figure of Nesvitsky was seen riding up on a Cossack's horse, which had some trouble to gallop with him.

“Why, colonel,” he shouted, while still galloping towards him, “I told you to burn the bridge, and now some one's got it wrong; they're all frantic over there, there's no making out anything.”

The colonel in a leisurely way stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvitsky.

“You told me about burning materials,” he said; “but about burning it, you never said a word.”

“Why, my good man,” said Nesvitsky, as he halted, taking off his forage-cap and passing his plump hand over his hair, which was drenched with sweat, “what need to say the bridge was to be burnt when you put burning materials to it?”

“I'm not your ‘good man,' M. le staff-officer, and you never told me to set fire to the bridge! I know my duty, and it's my habit to carry out my orders strictly. You said the bridge will be burnt, but who was going to burn it I couldn't tell.”

“Well, that's always the way,” said Nesvitsky, with a wave of his arm. “How do you come here?” he added, addressing Zherkov.

“Why, about the same order. You're sopping though, you want to be rubbed down.”

“You said, M. le staff-officer …” pursued the colonel in an aggrieved tone.

“Colonel,” interposed the officer of the suite, “there is need of haste, or the enemy will have moved up their grape-shot guns.”

The colonel looked dumbly at the officer of the suite, at the stout staff-officer, at Zherkov, and scowled.

“I will burn the bridge,” he said in a solemn tone, as though he would express that in spite of everything they might do to annoy him, he would still do what he ought.

Beating his long muscular legs against his horse, as though he were to blame for it all, the colonel moved forward and commanded the second squadron, the one under Denisov's command, in which Rostov was serving, to turn back to the bridge.

“Yes, it really is so,” thought Rostov, “he wants to test me!” His heart throbbed and the blood rushed to his face. “Let him see whether I'm a coward!” he thought.

Again all the light-hearted faces of the men of the squadron wore that grave line, which had come upon them when they were under fire. Rostov looked steadily at his enemy, the colonel, trying to find confirmation of his suppositions on his face. But the colonel never once glanced at Rostov, and looked, as he always did at the front, stern and solemn. The word of command was given.

“Look sharp! look sharp!” several voices repeated around him.

Their swords catching in the reins and their spurs jingling, the hussars dismounted in haste, not knowing themselves what they were to do. The soldiers crossed themselves. Rostov did not look at the colonel now; he had no time. He dreaded, with a sinking heart he dreaded, being left behind by the hussars. His hand trembled as he gave his horse to an orderly, and he felt that the blood was rushing to his heart with a thud. Denisov, rolling backwards, and shouting something, rode by him. Rostov saw nothing but the hussars running around him, clinking spurs and jingling swords.

“Stretchers!” shouted a voice behind him. Rostov did not think of the meaning of the need of stretchers. He ran along, trying only to be ahead of all. But just at the bridge, not looking at his feet, he got into the slippery, trodden mud, and stumbling fell on his hands. The others out-stripped him.

“On both sides, captain,” he heard shouted by the colonel, who, riding on ahead, had pulled his horse up near the bridge, with a triumphant and cheerful face.

Rostov, rubbing his muddy hands on his riding-breeches, looked round at his enemy, and would have run on further, imagining that the forwarder he went the better it would be. But though Bogdanitch was not looking, and did not recognise Rostov, he shouted to him.

“Who will go along the middle of the bridge? On the right side? Ensign, back!” he shouted angrily, and he turned to Denisov, who with swaggering bravado rode on horseback on to the planks of the bridge.

“Why run risks, captain? You should dismount,” said the colonel.

“Eh! it'll strike the guilty one,” said Vaska Denisov, turning in his saddle.

Meanwhile Nesvitsky, Zherkov, and the officer of the suite were standing together out of range of the enemy, watching the little group of men in yellow shakoes, dark-green jackets, embroidered with frogs, and blue riding-breeches, swarming about the bridge, and on the other side of the river the blue tunics and the groups with horses, that might so easily be taken for guns, approaching in the distance.

“Will they burn the bridge or not? Who'll get there first? Will they run there and burn it, or the French train their grape-shot on them and kill them?” These were the questions that, with a sinking of the heart, each man was asking himself in the great mass of troops overlooking the bridge. In the brilliant evening sunshine they gazed at the bridge and the hussars and at the blue tunics, with bayonets and guns, moving up on the other side.

“Ugh! The hussars will be caught,” said Nesvitsky. “They're not out of range of grape-shot now.”

“He did wrong to take so many men,” said the officer of the suite.

“Yes, indeed,” said Nesvitsky. “If he'd sent two bold fellows it would have done as well.”

“Ah, your excellency,” put in Zherkov, his eyes fixed on the hussars, though he still spoke with his naïve manner, from which one could not guess whether he were speaking seriously or not. “Ah, your excellency. How you look at things. Send two men, but who would give us the Vladimir and ribbon then? But as it is, even if they do pepper them, one can represent the squadron and receive the ribbon oneself. Our good friend Bogdanitch knows the way to do things.”

“I say,” said the officer of the suite, “that's grape-shot.”

He pointed to the French guns, which had been taken out of the gun-carriages, and were hurriedly moving away.

On the French side, smoke rose among the groups that had cannons. One puff, a second and a third almost at the same instant; and at the very moment when they heard the sound of the first shot, there rose the smoke of a fourth; two booms came one after another, then a third.

“Oh, oh!” moaned Nesvitsky, clutching at the hand of the officer of the suite, as though in intense pain. “Look, a man has fallen, fallen, fallen!”

“Two, I think.”

“If I were Tsar, I'd never go to war,” said Nesvitsky, turning away.

The French cannons were speedily loaded again. The infantry in their blue tunics were running towards the bridge. Again the puffs of smoke rose at different intervals, and the grape-shot rattled and cracked on the bridge. But this time Nesvitsky could not see what was happening at the bridge. A thick cloud of smoke had risen from it. The hussars had succeeded in setting fire to the bridge, and the French batteries were firing at them now, not to hinder them, but because their guns had been brought up and they had some one to fire at.

The French had time to fire three volleys of grape-shot before the hussars got back to their horses. Two were badly aimed, and the shot flew over them, but the last volley fell in the middle of the group of hussars and knocked down three men.

Rostov, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanitch, stepped on the bridge, not knowing what he had to do. There was no one to slash at with his sword (that was how he always pictured a battle to himself), and he could be of no use in burning the bridge, because he had not brought with him any wisps of straw, like the other soldiers. He stood and looked about him, when suddenly there was a rattle on the bridge, like a lot of nuts being scattered, and one of the hussars, the one standing nearest him, fell with a groan on the railing. Rostov ran up to him with the others. Again some one shouted. “Stretchers!” Four men took hold of the hussar and began lifting him up. “Oooo! … Let me be, for Christ's sake!” shrieked the wounded man, but still they lifted him up and laid him on a stretcher. Nikolay Rostov turned away, and began staring into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, at the sun, as though he were searching for something. How fair that sky seemed, how blue and calm and deep. How brilliant and triumphant seemed the setting sun. With what an enticing glimmer shone the water of the faraway Danube. And fairer still were the far-away mountains that showed blue beyond the Danube, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, the pine forests, filled with mist to the tree-tops … there all was peace and happiness.… “There is nothing, nothing I could wish for, if only I were there,” thought Rostov. “In myself alone and in that sunshine there is so much happiness, while here … groans, agonies, and this uncertainty, this hurry.… Here they are shouting something again and again, all of them are running back somewhere, and I'm running with them, and here is it, it, death hanging over me, all round me.… One instant, and I shall never see that sunshine, that water, that mountain gorge again.…” At that moment the sun went behind the clouds; more stretchers came into view ahead of Rostov. And the terror of death and of the stretchers, and the loss of the sunshine and life, all blended into one sensation of sickening fear.

“Good God, Thou who art in that sky, save and forgive, and protect me,” Rostov whispered to himself.

The hussars ran back to their horses; their voices grew louder and more assured; the stretchers disappeared from sight.

“Well, lad, so you've had a sniff of powder!” Vaska Denisov shouted in his ear.

“It's all over, but I am a coward, yes, I am a coward,” thought Rostov, and with a heavy sigh he took his Rook, who had begun to go lame of one leg, from the man who held him and began mounting.

“What was that—grape-shot?” he asked of Denisov.

“Yes, and something like it too,” cried Denisov; “they worked their guns in fine style. But it's a nasty business. A cavalry attack's a pleasant thing—slash away at the dogs; but this is for all the devil like aiming at a target.”

And Denisov rode away to a group standing not far from Rostov, consisting of the colonel, Nesvitsky, Zherkov, and the officer of the suite.

“It seems as if no one noticed it, though,” Rostov thought to himself. And indeed no one had noticed it at all, for every one was familiar with the feeling that the ensign, never before under fire, was experiencing for the first time.

“Now you'll have something to talk about,” said Zherkov; “they'll be promoting me a sub-lieutenant before I know where I am, eh?”

“Inform the prince that I have burnt the bridge,” said the colonel, in a cheerful and triumphant tone.

“And if he inquires with what losses?”

“Not worth mentioning,” boomed the colonel; “two hussars wounded and one stark dead on the spot,” he said, with undisguised cheerfulness. The German was unable to repress a smile of satisfaction as he sonorously enunciated the idiomatic Russian colloquialism of the last phrase.


第二章第八节


其余的步兵呈漏斗形挤缩在桥头，急急忙忙地过桥。一辆辆大车终于走过去了，已经不太拥挤了，最后一个营也走到桥上。杰尼索夫骑兵连的骠骑兵只有留在桥那边抗拒敌军。从对面山上可以远远地望见敌军，可是从下面桥上还望不见它，因为河水流经谷地，往前不逾半俄里，对面的高地就出现在地平线的尽头。前面是一片沙漠，一小股一小股的哥萨克侦察兵在沙漠中的某处慢慢地移动。忽然间身穿蓝色外套的军队的官兵和炮兵在对面的高地上出现了。他们都是法国人。哥萨克侦察兵飞也似地下山了。杰尼索夫骑兵连的全体官兵，虽然极力地谈论着不相干的事情，眼睛向四周观望，而心中不断地想到的却只是那边山上的动态，他们不停地注视地平线上出现的黑点，认为那是敌人的军队。午后又转晴了，耀眼的阳光落在多瑙河和它周围的暗山上。四下里一片寂静，有时候从那山上传来敌军的号角声和呐喊声。在骑兵连和敌军之间，除了小股的侦察兵而外，已经没有人影了。约莫有三百俄丈的空空荡荡的地段把他们和敌军分隔开来。敌军停止射击了，那条把敌对的两军分隔开来的森严可畏、不可接近、难以辨认的界线于是使人更加清晰地感觉到了。
向这条似可划分生者与死者的界线跨出一步，就会面临未知的痛苦和死亡。那儿是什么？谁在那儿？在这片田野、树木、阳光照耀的屋顶后面？谁也不知道，又很想知道。逾越这条界线是很可怕的但又很想逾越它。而且你知道，或迟或早不得不逾越过去，以便深入地了解界线那边是什么，正如不可避免地要了解死亡的那一面是什么一样，而你自己身强体壮、心情愉快、易于兴奋，你周围的人们也很健壮、易于兴奋、生气勃勃。每一个看见敌人的人，即令没有这种想法，也有这种感觉，而这种感觉会使此时此刻发生的一切赋有一种特殊的光泽和令人欣悦的深刻而强烈的印象。
敌军的小山岗上放炮后冒起了一股烟雾，一枚炮弹从骑兵连头顶上方呼啸着飞过去了。先前站在一块的军官们四散走开了。骠骑兵设法把马匹排列得整整齐齐。骑兵连里寂然无声。大家都向正前方望着敌军，望着骑兵连长，等待他发口令。第二枚炮弹、第三枚炮弹都飞过去了。很明显，炮弹是向骠骑兵发射的，但是炮弹迅速地有节奏地从骠骑兵头顶上呼啸着飞过，命中了后面的什么地方。骠骑兵未向四周环顾，但是每当听见炮弹飞过的响声，整个骑兵连队就像听从口令似的，都屏住气息，一些人露出同样的面部表情，另一些人却不同。当炮弹掠空而过时，他们都在马镫上欠起身子，而后又坐下来。士兵们并未扭过头来，都斜起眼睛互相望着，怀有好奇的心情仔细观察战友的感应。从杰尼索夫到号手，在每个人的脸上，在嘴唇和下颏旁边流露出一种内心斗争、兴奋和激动的神情。司务长愁眉苦脸，不时地望着士兵，好像要用处分来威吓他们似的。士官生朱罗诺夫每当炮弹飞过时，总要弯下身子。罗斯托夫骑着他那匹有点跛腿的良骓“白嘴鸦”，站在左翼，露出走运的样子，就像一个小学生被喊到一群人面前应试，并且相信自己会取得优异成绩似的。他双目炯炯有神，打量着众人，仿佛是请他们注意他在熗林弹雨之下不慌不乱，非常镇静。但在他的嘴角边情不自禁地流露出异于往日的十分严肃的面部表现。
“谁在那里低头弯腰地鞠躬？士官生朱罗诺夫吗？很不好！您望着我吗！”杰尼索夫高声喊道，他在那个地方站不下去，便骑着马儿在骑兵连队面前兜圈子。
翘鼻孔的黑头发的瓦西卡·杰尼索夫的面孔、他那矮小而结实的身体、握着出鞘的马刀刀柄的青筋赤露的手（手指很短，长满了细毛），与其平日的样子完全相同，尤其是与黄昏前喝完两瓶烧酒之后的样子相同。他满面通红，不过较诸于平日显得更红。他像小鸟喝水时一样，仰起他那头发蓬乱的头，两条细腿使劲地用马刺刺着那匹良骓贝杜英的两肋，他那身子俨像要向后跌倒似的，骑着马儿向连队的另一翼疾驰而去；他开始用他嘶哑的嗓门叫喊，要大家检查手熗。这时他策马跑到基尔斯坚面前，骑兵上尉骑着一匹肥大的稳重的母马，跨出一步，向杰尼索夫走来。骑兵上尉长着很长的胡髭，像平日一样严肃，只是那对眼睛比平日更加炯炯有神。
“怎么啦？”他对杰尼索夫说道，“打是打不起来的。你看得见，我们一定要撤退。”
“鬼知道他们在做什么事！”杰尼索夫唠叨地说。“啊！罗斯托夫！”他看见士官生那副快活的面孔，便向他喊了一声，“嗯，你总算等到了。”
他微微一笑，表示称赞，很明显，对士官生表示中意。罗斯托夫觉得自己幸运极了。这时候首长在桥上露面了。杰尼索夫骑马跑到他跟前。
“大人！让我们发动进攻！我把他们统统击溃。”
“这里有什么可进攻的，”首长用沉闷的嗓音说道，像赶开那只讨厌的苍蝇似地蹙起额角，“您干嘛站在这儿？您看，两翼的官兵正在撤退。您把骑兵连带回去吧。”
这个骑兵连过了桥，从射程以内退了出来，没有一人阵亡。先前展开散兵线的第二骑兵连跟在后面走过去了，最后走的哥萨克腾出了那一片土地。
保罗格勒兵团的两个骑兵连过桥了，一连紧跟一连地向山上退却。团长卡尔·波格丹内奇策马跑到杰尼索夫的骑兵连前面，他在离罗斯托夫不远的地方徐步驶行；虽然他们曾为捷利亚宁的事发生冲突，冲突之后他们初次见面，但是他不去理睬他。罗斯托夫觉得在前线有权支配他的人正是此时他认为自己对不住的这个人。他目不转睛地望着团长那大力士般的脊背、浅色头发的后脑勺和通红的脖子。罗斯托夫时而觉得波格丹内奇只是装出一副不留神的样子罢了，他这时的意向全在于考验一名士官生的勇敢精神，他于是挺直胸膛，十分愉快地向四周张望。他时而觉得，波格丹内奇故意在附近驶行，他要向罗斯托夫显示一下他的勇敢精神。他时而想到，他的仇敌此时故意派遣骑兵连队奋不顾身地去发动进攻，目的是在于惩罚他罗斯托夫。他时而又想，在大举进攻之后，他将要走到他跟前，向他这个负伤的人故作慷慨地伸出和事之手。
保罗格勒兵团的官兵都熟悉那两肩高耸的热尔科夫的身材（他在不久前才退出他们的兵团），他骑马跑到团长面前。热尔科夫被驱逐出司令部之后，没有留在兵团里，他说他懂得在前线要干苦差事，而在司令部即使不干事也能获得更多的奖赏。他凭自己的本领在巴格拉季翁公爵门下谋得了传令军官的职位。他持有后卫司令官的命令前来叩见从前的首长。
“团长，”他把脸转向罗斯托夫的仇敌，一面端详着从前的战友们，露出阴悒而严肃的神情，说道，“命令大家停下来，烧毁桥梁。”
“向谁颁布的命令？”团长固执地问道。
“上校，我也不知道是向谁颁布的命令，”骑兵少尉一本正经地回答，“公爵只是命令我：骑马去告诉上校，要骠骑兵快点退回来，把桥梁烧掉。”
一名侍从武官跟在热尔科夫身后持有同样的命令前来叩见骠骑兵上校。胖乎乎的涅斯维茨基紧随侍从武官之后，骑着一匹吃力地驮着他的哥萨克马奔驰而来。
“上校，怎么啦，”他还在骑行就大声喊道，“我和您说过要焚烧桥梁，可眼下是谁把话传错了，他们在那里都快发疯了，乱七八糟，弄不清。”
上校从容不迫地把一团人阻止住了，于是面向涅斯维茨基，说道：
“您对我说过引火的燃料的事，”他说道，“可是烧毁桥梁的事，您没有说过半句。”
“老爷子，哪能这样呢，”涅斯维茨基停步了，摘下军帽，用那胖胖的手弄平汗湿的头发，开腔说道，“已经放下了引火的燃料，怎么没说过烧桥的事呢？”
“校官先生，我不是您的‘老爷子'，您没有对我传达烧毁桥梁的事啊！我知道份内的事，我有严格执行命令的习惯。您说要烧掉桥梁，可是谁去烧桥呢？我简直弄不明白……”
“嗯，这种事总会有的，”涅斯维茨基挥挥手说道。“你怎么在这儿呢？”他面向热尔科夫说道。
“就是为了那件事。不过你把衣服弄湿了，我来给你拧干吧。”
“校官先生，您说了……”上校带着气恼的声调继续说道。
“上校，”侍从武官打断他的话，“要赶快采取行动，否则，敌军把大炮移近一点，就要发射霰弹了。”
上校默默无言地望望侍从武官，望望肥胖的校官，又望望热尔科夫，就皱起眉头。
“由我来烧毁桥梁。”他带着庄重的语调说道，仿佛用这句话来表示，虽然别人会给他制造种种麻烦，他总要办好该办的事情。
上校用他那肌肉丰满的长腿踢了踢马，仿佛那匹马总有罪过似的，他开始挺进了；罗斯托夫由杰尼索夫指挥，在第二骑兵连服役，这时候上校向第二骑兵连发出口令，要该连队向桥上撤退。
“咳，真是这样，”罗斯托夫想了想，“他要来考验我啦！”他的心抽紧了，血液直涌到脸上，怒火上升了。“就请他瞧瞧，我是不是个胆小鬼。”他想了想。
骑兵连的人们的十分愉快的脸上又出现了他们站在炮弹下脸上带着的那种严峻的表情。罗斯托夫目不转睛地望着他的仇敌——团长，想在他脸上发现，他的猜测已被证明是正确的；可是上校没有瞧罗斯托夫一眼，而是像平常在前线那样严肃而洋洋自得地东张西望。发出了口令。
“赶快！赶快！”他周围的几个人异口同声地说道。
骠骑兵急急忙忙地下马，马刀被缠绳挂住了，马刺发出丁当的响声，他们自己不知道他们要做什么事。骠骑兵画着十字。罗斯托夫已经不去望团长了，他没有工夫去望他。他非常害怕，心慌意乱，极度紧张，害怕他要落在骠骑兵后面。当他把马交给控马兵时，他的一只手颤栗着，而且他觉得血液突突地涌上心头。杰尼索夫的身子向后倾斜，喊叫着什么，从他身旁走过去了。骠骑兵们被马刺挂住，马刀相撞时发出铿锵的响声，除了在罗斯托夫周围奔走的骠骑兵而外，他什么也没有看见。
“担架啊！”有个人在他后面高声喊道。
罗斯托夫没有去思考，把担架叫来意味着什么，他一直跑着，只是想方设法要跑到大伙儿前面去，可是一到了桥头，因为没有当心自己脚下的东西，陷入了踩得稀烂的泥泞中，他绊了一跤，跌倒了，两只手撑在地上。别人绕过他，跑到前面去了。
“骑兵上尉，靠西边走，”他听见团长说话的声音，团长骑着马跑到了前头，在离桥头不远的地方停住了，他脸上带着愉快而洋洋自得的神色。
罗斯托夫在紧腿裤上揩着粘满污泥的手，朝他的敌人望了一眼，想跑到更远的地方去，他以为向前跑得越远就越好。虽然波格丹内奇并没有抬眼去看罗斯托夫，也没有把他认出来，但他还是向他喊了一声：
“谁在桥中间跑呢？靠右边走！士官生，向后转！”他把脸转向杰尼索夫，气忿地喊道，杰尼索夫想要炫耀自己的勇气，便骑着马儿跑到桥上去了。
“骑兵上尉，为什么要冒险啊！您从马上下来吧。”上校说道。
“嗳！有罪的人才会倒霉。”瓦西卡·杰尼索夫坐在马鞍上，转过脸来答道。
其时，涅斯维茨基、热尔科夫和侍从军官一同站在射程以外的地方，时而观看这群正在桥头蠕蠕而动的官兵，他们头戴黄色的高筒军帽、身穿绣有绦带的暗绿色上装和蓝色的紧腿马裤，时而观看远处慢慢地移近的身穿蓝色外套的法国兵和骑马的人群——很容易认出那是炮队。
“他们会烧掉桥梁，或是没法把它烧掉？谁首先动手？他们先跑到，把桥梁烧掉，或是法国人先到，发射霰弹，把他们全部歼灭呢？”这一大批军队中的每个人几乎要屏住气息，情不自禁地向自己提出这些问题，这批军队停留在桥梁对面的高地上，夕阳的余晖灿烂夺目，他们在夕照之下观看着桥梁和骠骑兵，观看着对岸，并且观看着身穿蓝色外套、配备有刺刀和大炮、逐渐地向前推进的法国兵。
“啊呀！骠骑兵要受惩罚啦！”涅斯维茨基说道，“目前正处在霰弹射程以内。”
“他带领这么许多人是徒劳无功的。”一名侍从军官说道。
“真的，”涅斯维茨基说道，“派两个棒小伙子就行啦，横竖一样。”
“咳，大人，”热尔科夫插嘴了，他目不转睛地望着骠骑兵，但还是带着他那副天真的样子，真没法琢磨他开口说的是不是正经话，“咳，大人！您是怎样评论的！派出两个人，可是由谁给我们颁发弗拉基米尔勋章呢？这么说，即使他们硬要打，也不要紧，还是可以呈请首长给骑兵连发奖，他自己也可以获得弗拉基米尔勋章。我们的波格丹内奇办起事来是有一套办法的。”
“喂，”一名侍从军官说道，“这是霰弹啊！”
他指了指那几样从前车卸下、急忙撤走的法国大炮。
在法军那边，在拥有大炮的一群群官兵中冒出了一股硝烟，而第二股、第三股硝烟几乎在同时冒了出来；当传来第一声炮响的时刻，冒出了第四股硝烟。听见了两次炮声，一声接着一声，又听见第三次炮声。
“啊，啊呀！”涅斯维茨基唉声叹气，一把抓着侍从军官的手，仿佛他感到一阵剧痛似的，“您瞧瞧，有个人倒下来了，倒下来了，倒下来了啊！”
“好像是有两个人倒下来了，对吗？”
“如果我是个沙皇，就永远不要打仗了。”涅斯维茨基转过脸去，说道。
法国大炮又急忙地装上弹药了。步兵们身穿蓝色外套向一座桥边跑去了。但是在那个不同的时刻，又冒出一股股硝烟，霰弹从桥上发出噼啦的响声。这次，涅斯维茨基没法子看清桥上发生的事情。桥上升起了一股浓烟。骠骑兵们烧毁了桥梁，几座法国炮台向他们放炮，目的并不是打扰他们的阵地，而是用大炮瞄准目标，向他们大家射击。
在骠骑兵们回到控马兵那里以前，法国人已经发射了三次霰弹。两梭子霰弹射击得不准，霰弹都飞过去了，可是最后一次发射的霰弹落在一小群骠骑兵中间，掀倒了三个人。
罗斯托夫很担心自己对波格丹内奇的态度，他于是在桥上停止了脚步，他不知道他要怎么办才对。这时候，没有什么人可以砍杀（正像他经常设想到战斗的情况那样），他也没法去帮助他人烧毁桥梁，因为他不像其他士兵那样都携带着引火用的草辫。他站着，向四周张望，忽然间桥上传来了噼啪的响声，就像撒落坚果似的，离他最近的一名骠骑兵哼了一声倒在栏杆上。罗斯托夫和其他人跑到他跟前。又有什么人高声喊道：“担架啊！”四个人搀扶着这个骠骑兵，把他抬起来。
“啊！啊！啊！……看在基督面上，行行善吧，请你们把我扔开。”负伤的人喊道，但是他们还是把他抬起来，放在担架上。
尼古拉·罗斯托夫转过脸去，好像在寻找什么东西，他开始观看远方，观看多瑙河的流水，观看天空，观看太阳！天空多么美丽、多么蔚蓝、平静而深邃啊！渐渐西沉的太阳多么明亮而且壮观啊！遥远的多瑙河的流水闪烁着多么温柔的光辉啊！多瑙河对岸的浅蓝色的远山、寺庙、神秘的峡谷、烟雾迷漫于树巅的松林……显得更加绚丽多姿。那地方恬静而祥和……“我只要呆在那个地方，我就不奢望什么，不奢望什么，”罗斯托夫想道，“在我心中，在这轮太阳中充满着许多幸福之光，而在这个地方，一片呻吟、苦难与恐怖，还有那溟蒙混沌与忙乱……人们又在叫喊着什么，又在向后面奔跑，我也和他们一同奔跑，你瞧，就是它，你瞧，就是它，死亡在我的上方，在我的四周回荡……顷刻间，我就永远看不见这轮太阳，这泓流水，这座峡谷了……”
这时分太阳开始在乌云后面隐藏起来了；在罗斯托夫前面出现了另一些担架。死亡和担架引起的恐怖以及对太阳和生活的热爱——这一切已经融汇成一种令人痛苦而惶恐的印象。
“上帝啊！这个天上的主啊，拯救我，饶恕我，保佑我吧！”
罗斯托夫喃喃地说。
骠骑兵向控马兵身边跑去了，人们的话语声变得更洪亮、更平静，担架已经消失不见了。
“老兄，怎么样，你闻到一点火药气味吧？……”瓦西卡·杰尼索夫在他耳畔大声喊道。
“什么都完了，不过我是个胆小鬼，是的，我是个胆小鬼，”罗斯托夫想了想，深深叹口气，便从控马兵手里牵走他那匹腿上有点毛病的“白嘴鸦”，纵身骑上去了。
“那是什么啦，是霰弹吧？”他向杰尼索夫问道。
“当然是霰弹，还是什么别的吗！”杰尼索夫喊道，“我们干起活来，都是好汉！可是这活儿糟糕透了！冲锋陷阵是令人愉快的事，把这些狗东西打个落花流水，可是在这里，人家竟像打靶似的向我们射击哩。”
杰尼索夫于是向站在罗斯托夫附近的一群人——团长、涅斯维茨基、热尔科夫和侍从军官——走去。
“但是，好像没有人发觉。”罗斯托夫暗自想道。确实谁也没有发觉什么，因为每个人都熟悉没有打过仗的士官生初次上阵时体会到的那种感觉。
“这是您的一份战绩报告，”热尔科夫说道，“你瞧，我就要当上少尉了。”
“请禀告公爵，我把桥烧了。”上校愉快而洋洋得意地说道。
“如果有人向我问到伤亡情况呢？”
“这没有关系！”上校压低嗓门说道，“两名骠骑兵受了伤，一名战死疆场，”他怀着明显的喜悦的心情说道，没法子忍住愉快的微笑，用他那洪亮的嗓音斩钉截铁地说出“战死疆场”这个优雅的字眼。


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Part Two Chapter Seven


OVER THE BRIDGE two of the enemy's shots had already flown and there was a crush on the bridge. In the middle of the bridge stood Nesvitsky. He had dismounted and stood with his stout person jammed against the railings. He looked laughingly back at his Cossack, who was standing several paces behind him holding the two horses by their bridles. Every time Nesvitsky tried to move on, the advancing soldiers and waggons bore down upon him and shoved him back against the railings. There was nothing for him to do but to smile.
“Hi there, my lad,” said the Cossack to a soldier in charge of a waggon-load who was forcing his way through the foot-soldiers that pressed right up to his wheels and his horses; “what are you about? No, you wait a bit; you see the general wants to pass.”
But the convoy soldier, taking no notice of the allusion to the general, bawled to the soldiers who blocked the way: “Hi! fellows, keep to the left! wait a bit!” But the fellows, shoulder to shoulder, with their bayonets interlocked, moved over the bridge in one compact mass. Looking down over the rails, Prince Nesvitsky saw the noisy, rapid, but not high waves of the Enns, which, swirling in eddies round the piles of the bridge, chased one another down stream. Looking on the bridge he saw the living waves of the soldiers, all alike as they streamed by: shakoes with covers on them, knapsacks, bayonets, long rifles, and under the shakoes broad-jawed faces, sunken cheeks, and looks of listless weariness, and legs moving over the boards of the bridge, that were coated with sticky mud. Sometimes among the monotonous streams of soldiers, like a crest of white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer forced his way through, in a cloak, with a face of a different type from the soldiers. Sometimes, like a chip whirling on the river, there passed over the bridge among the waves of infantry a dismounted hussar, an orderly, or an inhabitant of the town. Sometimes, like a log floating down the river, there moved over the bridge, hemmed in on all sides, a baggage-waggon, piled up high and covered with leather covers.
“Why, they're like a river bursting its banks,” said the Cossack, stopping hopelessly. “Are there many more over there?”
“A million, all but one!” said a cheerful soldier in a torn coat, winking, as he passed out of sight; after him came another soldier, an older man.
“If he” (he meant the enemy) “starts popping at the bridge just now,” said the old soldier dismally, addressing his companion, “you'll forget to scratch yourself.” And he passed on. After him came another soldier riding on a waggon.
“Where the devil did you put the leg-wrappers?” said an orderly, running after the waggon and fumbling in the back part of it. And he too passed on with the waggon.
Then came some hilarious soldiers, who had unmistakably been drinking.
“And didn't he up with the butt end of his gun and give him one right in the teeth,” one soldier was saying gleefully with a wide sweep of his arm.
“It just was a delicious ham,” answered the other with a chuckle. And they passed on, so that Nesvitsky never knew who had received the blow in his teeth, and what the ham had to do with it.
“Yes, they're in a hurry now! When he let fly a bit of cold lead, one would have thought they were all being killed,” said an under officer, angrily and reproachfully.
“When it whizzed by me, uncle, the bullet,” said a young soldier with a huge mouth, scarcely able to keep from laughing, “I turned fairly numb. Upon my soul, wasn't I in a fright, to be sure!” said the soldier, making a sort of boast of his terror.
He, too, passed on. After him came a waggon unlike all that had passed over before. It was a German Vorspann with two horses, loaded, it seemed, with the goods of a whole household. The horses were led by a German, and behind was fastened a handsome, brindled cow with an immense udder. On piled-up feather-beds sat a woman with a small baby, an old woman, and a good-looking, rosy-cheeked German girl. They were evidently country people, moving, who had been allowed through by special permit. The eyes of all the soldiers were turned upon the women, and, while the waggon moved by, a step at a time, all the soldiers' remarks related to the two women. Every face wore almost the same smile, reflecting indecent ideas about the women.
“Hey, the sausage, he's moving away!”
“Sell us your missis,” said another soldier, addressing the German, who strode along with downcast eyes, looking wrathful and alarmed.
“See how she's dressed herself up! Ah, you devils!”
“I say, wouldn't you like to be billeted on them, Fedotov!”
“I know a thing or two, mate!”
“Where are you going?” asked the infantry officer, who was eating an apple. He too was half smiling and staring at the handsome girl. The German, shutting his eyes, signified that he did not understand.
“Take it, if you like,” said the officer, giving the girl an apple. The girl smiled and took it. Nesvitsky, like all the men on the bridge, never took his eyes off the women till they had passed by. When they had passed by, again there moved by the same soldiers, with the same talk, and at last all came to a standstill. As often happens, the horses in a convoy-waggon became unmanageable at the end of the bridge, and the whole crowd had to wait.
“What are they standing still for? There's no order kept!” said the soldiers. “Where are you shoving?” “Damn it!” “Can't you wait a little?” “It'll be a bad look-out if he sets light to the bridge.”
“Look, there's an officer jammed in too,” the soldiers said in different parts of the stationary crowd, as they looked about them and kept pressing forward to the end of the bridge. Looking round at the waters of the Enns under the bridge, Nesvitsky suddenly heard a sound new to him, the sound of something rapidly coming nearer … something big, and then a splash in the water.
“Look where it reaches to!” a soldier standing near said sternly, looking round at the sound.
“He's encouraging us to get on quicker,” said another uneasily. The crowd moved again. Nesvitsky grasped that it was a cannon ball.
“Hey, Cossack, give me my horse!” he said. “Now then, stand aside! stand aside! make way!”
With a mighty effort he succeeded in getting to his horse. Shouting continually, he moved forward. The soldiers pressed together to make way for him, but jammed upon him again, so that they squeezed his leg, and those nearest him were not to blame, for they were pressed forward even more violently from behind.
“Nesvitsky! Nesvitsky! You, old chap!” he heard a husky voice shouting from behind at that instant.
Nesvitsky looked round and saw, fifteen paces away, separated from him by a living mass of moving infantry, the red and black and tousled face of Vaska Denisov with a forage-cap on the back of his head, and a pelisse swung jauntily over his shoulder.
“Tell them to make way, the damned devils!” roared Denisov, who was evidently in a great state of excitement. He rolled his flashing, coal-black eyes, showing the bloodshot whites, and waved a sheathed sword, which he held in a bare hand as red as his face.
“Eh! Vaska!” Nesvitsky responded joyfully. “But what are you about?”
“The squadron can't advance!” roared Vaska Denisov, viciously showing his white teeth, and spurring his handsome, raven thoroughbred “Bedouin,” which, twitching its ears at the bayonets against which it pricked itself, snorting and shooting froth from its bit, tramped with metallic clang on the boards of the bridge, and seemed ready to leap over the railings, if its rider would let it.
“What next! like sheep! for all the world like sheep; back … make way! … Stand there! go to the devil with the waggon! I'll cut you down with my sword!” he roared, actually drawing his sword out of the sheath and beginning to brandish it.
The soldiers, with terrified faces, squeezed together, and Denisov joined Nesvitsky.
“How is it you're not drunk to-day?” said Nesvitsky, when he came up.
“They don't even give us time to drink!” answered Vaska Denisov. “They've been dragging the regiment to and fro the whole day. Fighting's all very well, but who the devil's to know what this is!”
“How smart you are to-day!” said Nesvitsky, looking at his new pelisse and fur saddle-cloth.
Denisov smiled, pulled out of his sabretache a handkerchief that diffused a smell of scent, and put it to Nesvitsky's nose.
“To be sure, I'm going into action! I've shaved, and cleaned my teeth and scented myself!”
Nesvitsky's imposing figure, accompanied by his Cossack, and the determination of Denisov, waving his sword and shouting desperately, produced so much effect that they stopped the infantry and got to the other end of the bridge. Nesvitsky found at the entry the colonel, to whom he had to deliver the command, and having executed his commission he rode back.
Having cleared the way for him, Denisov stopped at the entrance of the bridge. Carelessly holding in his horse, who neighed to get to his companions, and stamped with its foot, he looked at the squadron moving towards him. The clang of the hoofs on the boards of the bridge sounded as though several horses were galloping, and the squadron, with the officers in front, drew out four men abreast across the bridge and began emerging on the other side.
The infantry soldiers, who had been forced to stop, crowding in the trampled mud of the bridge, looked at the clean, smart hussars, passing them in good order, with that special feeling of aloofness and irony with which different branches of the service usually meet.
“They're a smart lot! They ought to be on the Podnovinsky!”
“They're a great deal of use! They're only for show!” said another.
“Infantry, don't you kick up a dust!” jested a hussar, whose horse, prancing, sent a spurt of mud on an infantry soldier.
“I should like to see you after two long marches with the knapsack on your shoulder. Your frogs would be a bit shabby,” said the foot-soldier, rubbing the mud off his face with his sleeve; “perched up there you're more like a bird than a man!”
“Wouldn't you like to be popped on a horse, Zikin; you'd make an elegant rider,” jested a corporal at a thin soldier, bowed down by the weight of his knapsack.
“Put a stick between your legs and you'd have a horse to suit you,” responded the hussar.


第二章第七节


两枚敌人的圆形炮弹飞过桥梁的上空，桥上显得拥挤不堪。涅斯维茨基在桥中间下马，站立着，他那胖乎乎的身子紧紧地靠在栏杆上，他含笑地掉过头来望了望哥萨克，他牵着两匹马在涅斯维茨基身后几步远的地方停步了。涅斯维茨基刚想向前走去，一群士兵和车辆又把他挤得不能动弹，他又被紧紧地逼到栏杆上，一筹莫展，只好苦笑罢了。
“老弟，你真是！”哥萨克对那赶车的辎重兵说道，这个辎重兵从车轮和马匹旁边麇集的步兵中用力挤过去，“你真是！你不能不等一等，你明明看见将军要过桥。”
有人道出了将军的姓名，但是这个辎重兵并不理会，他大声斥责那些拦住他的去路的士兵。
“喂！乡亲们！请靠左走，等一等！”
可是，乡亲们互相拥挤，肩膀碰着肩膀，刺刀挂着刺刀，密密麻麻的一片从桥上源源不断地行进。涅斯维茨基朝着栏杆向桥下望了一眼，看见恩斯河上湍急的喧嚣的浪涛，然而浪头不高，在桥桩四周汇合起来，泛起了一片涟漪，然后折回，后浪推前浪，奔腾不息。他朝桥上打量了一番，看见同类的士兵的浪涛——士兵、饰穗、套上布罩的高筒军帽、背包、刺刀、长熗，还看见高筒军帽下露出的疲惫的面容，宽大的颧骨，凹陷的两颊，还有在黏满桥板的泥泞中行走的双腿。有时候，俨如恩斯河的浪涛中飞溅的白沫，在士兵的浪涛中混进一个披着雨衣、相貌和士兵截然不同的军官。有时候，俨如河中一块荡漾的木片，一个步行的骠骑兵、勤务兵或者是居民从桥上经过，被士兵的浪涛冲走了。有时候，俨如河上飘浮的圆木，一辆连队的大车或是军官的大车，满载着物件，覆盖着皮革，在四周的众人护卫下从桥上驶行。
“你看，像堤坝被冲决了似的，”一名哥萨克绝望地停住脚步，说道，“那儿还有很多人吗？”
“差一个就满一百万！”一名穿着破军大衣、从附近走过的快活的士兵递着眼色，说道，随即看不见了。
“候如他（他即指敌人）立刻在桥上烤起馅饼来，”一名老兵向他的伙伴转过脸去，面色阴沉地说道，“那你就什么都会忘掉的。”
这名老兵从身边走过去，一名乘坐大车的士兵跟在他后面驶行。
“见鬼，包脚布塞到哪里去了？”一名勤务兵跟在大车后面飞奔，一面在大车的尾部摸索着寻找，他说道。
这名士兵也跟随大车走过去了。
有几名士兵现出愉快的神情，看起来像是喝过一顿酒，他们跟在这个士兵后面走去。
“他这个好人用熗托照准牙齿捅了一下……”一个把军大衣掖得很高的士兵使劲地挥动手臂，兴高采烈地说道。
“是呀，是呀，正是那甜滋滋的火腿。”另一名士兵哈哈大笑地答道。
他们也走过去了。涅斯维茨基不知道打了谁的牙齿，火腿意味着什么，有什么内在的联系。
“你瞧，他们手忙脚乱的！他只开了一炮，就自以为敌人全被打死了。”一个士官带着气忿和责备的神态说道。
“大叔，那炮弹从我身边飞过去了，”长着一张大嘴巴的年轻士兵几乎忍不住要笑出声来，他说道，“我简直吓呆了。说实话，我吓坏了，真要命！”这个士兵说道，好像在炫耀他胆怯似的。
这个士兵也走过去了。一辆大马车跟在他后面，它和以前驶过的大马车都不相像。这是一辆德国制造的双套长车身马车，车上运载的仿佛是全部家当。一个德国男人驾着马车，这辆马车后面绑着一头乳头很大的好看的花母牛。一个抱着婴孩的妇人、老太婆和一个两颊绯红、年轻而健康的德国姑娘坐在绒毛褥子上。看起来，这些移民是凭特殊许可证通行的。士兵们的目光都投射到妇人们身上，当这辆大车一步一步地驶过时，士兵们评论的内容只是和这两个妇人有关的话。大家的脸上几乎同样地流露出对这个妇人怀有淫猥念头的笑容。
“瞧，德国香肠（德国人的绰号）也落荒了！”
“把娘儿卖掉吧。”另一个士兵把脸转向德国人说道，说话时重音落在最后一个音节上，那个德国人垂下眼帘，气忿而惊恐地迈着大步向前走去。
“你瞧，打扮得这么漂亮！真见鬼！”
“费多托夫，你应当在她们附近扎营！”
“老兄，我们是有见识的。”
“你们到哪里去呢？”一个正在吃苹果的步兵军官问道，他也半露笑容地打量着那个美丽的姑娘。
德国人闭上眼睛，表示他听不懂意思。
“你想吃，就拿去吧。”军官说道，一面把苹果递给姑娘。
姑娘微微一笑，拿了一个苹果。涅斯维茨基像所有站在桥上的人那样，在两个妇人还没有乘车驶过之前，他也目不转睛地望着她们。当她们驶过之后，又有同样的士兵，谈着同样的话题向前走过来，大伙儿终于停住了。到了桥头，连队的大车上的马匹不听驾驶了，一群人只得呆在那里等候。
“干嘛都停滞不前呢？没有秩序了！”士兵们说道，“你硬往哪里闯？见鬼！不能不等一下子。假使他烧毁桥梁，那就更糟了。你瞧，他们把那个军官挤得无路可走。”站着的一大群人面面相觑，谈东道西，还在桥头上挤来挤去。
涅斯维茨基朝桥底下望了望恩斯河的滚滚流水，忽然间听见一种奇异的响声，好像有什么东西疾速地靠近……这东西体积很大，扑通一声落到水中。
“你瞧，射到哪里去了！”一个站在附近的士兵听见响声就掉过头来瞥了一眼，严肃地说道。
“他正在鼓励我们，希望我们快点儿过去。”另一名士兵焦急不安地说道。
一群人又开始向前移动。涅斯维茨基心里明白这是一枚炮弹。
“喂，哥萨克，把马儿牵过来！”他说道，“喂，你们大家闪到一边去！闪开点儿，让出一条路来！”
他费了很大的劲才走到马儿前面。他不断地喊叫，缓慢地向前移动。士兵们挤缩在一起，给他让路，可是又复把他挤得很紧，踩痛了他的腿。站在他附近的人没有过失，因为他们被挤得更厉害。
“涅斯维茨基！涅斯维茨基！你这个丑家伙！”这时他后面传来嘶哑的嗓音。
涅斯维茨基回头一看，看见了瓦西卡·杰尼索夫，他离涅斯维茨基有十五步路远，一大群向前移动的步兵把他们隔开了；杰尼索夫两脸通红，头发黝黑，十分蓬乱，后脑勺上戴着一顶军帽，雄赳赳地披着一件骠骑兵披肩。
“你吩咐这班鬼东西让路。”杰尼索夫大声喊道，看起来他又发火了。他那对煤炭一般乌黑的眼珠在发炎的眼白中闪闪发光，骨碌碌地乱转，他那和脸膛一股通红的裸露的小手握着一柄未出鞘的马刀，不时地挥动着。
“哎，瓦夏！”涅斯维茨基愉快地答道，“你怎么样？”
“骑兵连没法子走过去，”瓦西卡·杰尼索夫恶狠狠地露出洁白的牙齿，用马刺刺着那匹好看的乌骓贝杜英，高声喊道，那匹乌骓碰到刺刀尖，抖动着耳朵，打着响鼻，从马嚼子上喷出白沫，铃铛丁零丁零地响着，马蹄子踩着桥板，发出咚咚的声音，假如骑马的人允许，它似乎准备跨过桥栏杆跳下去。
“这是什么名堂？像一群绵羊，俨像一群绵羊！滚开！……让出一条路来！……在那儿站住吧！这辆大马车，真见鬼！我要用马刀砍了！”他大声喊道，真的从鞘中拔出马刀，挥动起来。
士兵们面露惊恐的神色，挤缩在一起了，杰尼索夫于是走到涅斯维茨基身边去。
“你怎么今日没有喝醉呢？”当杰尼索夫向他驶近时，涅斯维茨基说道。
“哪有喝酒的工夫！”瓦西卡·杰尼索夫答道，“整天价把兵团拉到这儿，又拉到那儿。要打仗，就打仗吧。其实，鬼才知道这是怎么回事！”
“今天你是个穿得很漂亮的人啊！”涅斯维茨基望着他的一件新斗篷、新鞍垫说道。
杰尼索夫微微一笑，从皮囊里取出一条散发着香水气味的手帕，向涅斯维茨基的鼻孔边塞去。
“不行，作战用得着我嘛！我剃了脸，刷了牙，喷了香水。”
涅斯维茨基由哥萨克兵陪伴，外貌威严；杰尼索夫手挥马刀，大喊大叫，举动果敢，发挥了效力，他们挤缩到桥梁的那边，把步兵拦阻住了。涅斯维茨基在桥头找到了上校，涅斯维茨基应当把命令转告他，在执行了委托的任务之后就返回原地去了。
杰尼索夫扫清了道路上的障碍，在桥头停步了。他很随便地勒住跺着蹄子向自己同类冲去的公马，端详着迎面走来的骑兵连官兵。桥板上可以听见清脆悦耳的马蹄声，好像有几匹马儿在飞速奔驰，骑兵连的队伍四人一排，军官们站在前头，一字长蛇阵似地从桥上走过，队列开始走出那边的桥头。
停步不前的步兵在桥边的烂泥地上挤来挤去，带着不同的兵种相遇时常会产生的那种敌对的互相讥讽的格格不入的特殊情感，望着步伐整齐地从他们身旁走过的衣着讲究而整洁的骠骑兵。
“穿得多么漂亮的小伙子啊！只好去赶波德诺文斯克庙会啦！”
“他们有什么用场啊！只能摆出来做个样子给人看！”另一个士兵说道。
“步兵们，不要把尘埃扬起来！”一个骠骑兵开了个玩笑，他骑着的那匹马一踢蹄子，就把烂泥溅到了那个步兵身上了。
“你带着背囊，把你赶去行军才好，让你走上两昼夜的路，你那细带子准会磨破的，”那个步兵用袖筒揩去脸上的烂泥，说道，“那你就不像个人了，像只鸟儿搂在马身上！”
“济金，真想让你骑在马身上哩，那你就很舒服了。”上等兵讥笑那个被背囊压得弯腰驼背的消瘦的士兵，打趣地说。
“你拿根棍子架在胯裆时，那你就有一匹马了。”一名骠骑兵应声说道。
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87162鲜花 72鸡蛋

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举报 只看该作者 31楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part Two Chapter Six


KUTUZOV fell back to Vienna, destroying behind him the bridges over the river Inn (in Braunau) and the river Traun (in Linz). On the 23rd of October the Russian troops crossed the river Enns. The Russian baggage-waggons and artillery and the columns of troops were in the middle of that day stretching in a long string across the town of Enns on both sides of the bridge. The day was warm, autumnal, and rainy. The wide view that opened out from the heights where the Russian batteries stood guarding the bridge was at times narrowed by the slanting rain that shut it in like a muslin curtain, then again widened out, and in the bright sunlight objects could be distinctly seen in the distance, looking as if covered with a coat of varnish. The little town could be seen below with its white houses and its red roofs, its cathedral and its bridge, on both sides of which streamed masses of Russian troops, crowded together. At the bend of the Danube could be seen ships and the island and a castle with a park, surrounded by the waters formed by the Enns falling into the Danube, and the precipitous left bank of the Danube, covered with pine forest, with a mysterious distance of green tree-tops and bluish gorges. Beyond the pine forest, that looked wild and untouched by the hand of man, rose the turrets of a nunnery; and in the far distance in front, on the hill on the further side of the Enns, could be seen the scouts of the enemy.
Between the cannons on the height stood the general in command of the rear-guard and an officer of the suite scanning the country through a field-glass. A little behind them, there sat on the trunk of a cannon, Nesvitsky, who had been despatched by the commander-in-chief to the rear-guard. The Cossack who accompanied Nesvitsky had handed him over a knapsack and a flask, and Nesvitsky was regaling the officers with pies and real doppel-kämmel. The officers surrounded him in a delighted circle, some on their knees, some sitting cross-legged, like Turks, on the wet grass.
“Yes, there was some sense in that Austrian prince who built a castle here. It's a magnificent spot. Why aren't you eating, gentlemen?” said Nesvitsky.
“Thank you very much, prince,” answered one of the officers, enjoying the opportunity of talking to a staff-official of such importance. “It's a lovely spot. We marched right by the park; we saw two deer and such a splendid house!”
“Look, prince,” said another, who would dearly have liked to take another pie, but was ashamed to, and therefore affected to be gazing at the countryside; “look, our infantry have just got in there. Over there, near the meadow behind the village, three of them are dragging something. They will clean out that palace nicely,” he said, with evident approval.
“No doubt,” said Nesvitsky. “No; but what I should like,” he added, munching a pie in his moist, handsome mouth, “would be to slip in there.” He pointed to the turreted nunnery that could be seen on the mountainside. He smiled, his eyes narrowing and gleaming. “Yes, that would be first-rate, gentlemen!” The officers laughed.
“One might at least scare the nuns a little. There are Italian girls, they say, among them. Upon my word, I'd give five years of my life for it!”
“They must be bored, too,” said an officer who was rather bolder, laughing.
Meanwhile the officer of the suite, who was standing in front, pointed something out to the general; the general looked through the field-glass.
“Yes, so it is, so it is,” said the general angrily, taking the field-glass away from his eye and shrugging his shoulders; “they are going to fire at them at the crossing of the river. And why do they linger so?”
With the naked eye, looking in that direction, one could discern the enemy and their batteries, from which a milky-white smoke was rising. The smoke was followed by the sound of a shot in the distance, and our troops were unmistakably hurrying to the place of crossing.
Nesvitsky got up puffing and went up to the general, smiling.
“Wouldn't your excellency take some lunch?” he said.
“It's a bad business,” said the general, without answering him; “our men have been too slow.”
“Shouldn't I ride over, your excellency?” said Nesvitsky.
“Yes, ride over, please,” said the general, repeating an order that had already once before been given in detail; “and tell the hussars that they are to cross last and to burn the bridge, as I sent orders, and that they're to overhaul the burning materials on the bridge.”
“Very good,” answered Nesvitsky. He called the Cossack with his horse, told him to pick up the knapsack and flask, and lightly swung his heavy person into the saddle.
“Upon my word, I am going to pay a visit to the nuns,” he said to the officers who were watching him, smiling, and he rode along the winding path down the mountain.
“Now then, captain, try how far it'll carry,” said the general, turning to the artillery officer. “Have a little fun to pass the time.”
“Men, to the guns!” commanded the officer, and in a moment the gunners ran gaily from the camp fires and loaded the big guns.
“One!” they heard the word of command. Number one bounded back nimbly. The cannon boomed with a deafening metallic sound, and whistling over the heads of our men under the mountainside, the grenade flew across, and falling a long way short of the enemy showed by the rising smoke where it had fallen and burst.
The faces of the soldiers and officers lightened up at the sound. Every one got up and busily watched the movements of our troops below, which could be seen as in the hollow of a hand, and the movements of the advancing enemy. At the same instant, the sun came out fully from behind the clouds, and the full note of the solitary shot and the brilliance of the bright sunshine melted into a single inspiriting impression of light-hearted gaiety.


第二章第六节


库图佐夫烧毁一座座桥梁（因河上布劳瑙市的桥梁和特劳恩河上林茨市的桥梁），向维也纳撤退。十月二十三日，俄国军队横渡恩斯河。那天正午，俄国的辎重车队、炮兵和步兵纵队从桥上两侧鱼贯地通过恩斯市。
时值温和的细雨濛濛的秋天。护卫桥梁的俄国炮台所坐落的高地前所展现的辽阔的远景，时而突被纱幔般的斜雨所遮蔽，时而显得很开阔，艳阳照耀下的景致仿佛涂了一层清油漆，从远处也清晰可辨。脚底下的小市镇里，一幢幢白垩垩的房屋、红彤彤的顶盖、大教堂和桥梁——桥梁两侧川流不息的俄国军队的乌合之众，都已尽收眼底。可以看见多瑙河湾的船舶和孤岛，恩斯河和多瑙河汇合点所围绕的花园城寨，可以看见一片松林覆盖的陡峭的多瑙河左岸和那神秘远方的碧绿的山峰和蔚蓝色的隘口，可以看见突露在仿佛未曾砍伐的野生松林后面的寺院塔楼和恩斯河彼岸的远山前的敌军骑兵侦察分队。
在这座高地的几尊大炮之间，一个率领后卫部队的将军随同一名侍从军官在前面站着，并用望远镜观察地形。在他们背后几步路远的地方，由总司令派往后卫部队的涅斯维茨基正坐在炮架尾部。伴随涅斯维茨基的哥萨克把背囊和军用水壶递过来，涅斯维茨基于是用馅饼和纯正的茴香甜酒款待军官们。军官们高高兴兴地把他围在中间，有的人跪着，有的人像土耳其人那样盘着腿儿坐在湿漉漉的草地上。
“这个奥国公爵不是笨蛋，在这儿修建了一座城寨。这是个顶好的地方。先生们，你们干嘛不吃呢？”涅斯维茨基说道。
“公爵，十分感谢，”一名军官答道，和这样一位显要的司令部官员谈话，他觉得非常高兴。“优美的地方。我们从公园近侧走过时，看见两只鹿，房子多么华丽啊！”
“公爵，请您看看吧，”另一位军官说道，他很想再拿一个馅饼，但是觉得不好意思，便装出环顾地形的样子，“请看，我们的步兵已经到达那个地方，走得这么远啊。就是在那个地方，在村庄后面的草地上，有三个人正在拖曳着什么东西，他们要给这座宫殿建筑物除去杂草。”他现出一副明显的称赞的样子，说道。
“即使是那样，即使是那样，”涅斯维茨基说道。“可是，我很想，”他补充一句话，一面用他那长得好看的湿润的嘴咀嚼着馅饼，“那末，到那个地方去吧。”
他指了指在山上望得见的有塔楼的寺院。他微微一笑，眼睛眯起来，炯炯有神光。
“先生们，这才真是一派秀气啊！”
军官们笑了起来。
“吓一吓尼姑也好。据说有些是意大利的少女哩。说实在的，我宁可豁出五年的时光！”
“她们本来就够寂寞的哩。”一个更有胆量的军官面露微笑，说道。
其时，站在前头的侍从军官正把什么指给将军看，将军便拿着景物望远镜观望。
“真是这样，真是这样，”将军愤怒地说道，放下望远镜，耸一耸肩，“真是这样的，敌人要打渡头了，他们干嘛在那儿耽误时间呢？”
大河彼岸，用肉眼可以看见敌军和他们的炮台，从那炮台中冒出乳白色的硝烟，硝烟后面传来了远方的炮声，可以看见我们的军队急急忙忙地渡河。
涅斯维茨基呼哧呼哧喘着气，站起身来，面露微笑地向将军面前走去。
“大人，要吃点东西么？”他说道。
“真糟糕，”将军没有回答他的话，说道，“我们的军队磨蹭起来了。”
“大人，要不要去走一趟呢？”涅斯维茨基说道。
“对，请您去走一趟，”将军说道，他又把已经详细地吩咐的事重说一遍，“告诉骠骑兵，依照我的吩咐，最后一批渡河，烧毁桥梁，而且还要察看一下桥上引火用的燃料。”
“很好。”涅斯维茨基答道。
他向牵马的哥萨克兵喊了一声，吩咐他收拾背囊和军用水壶，轻巧地把他那沉重的身躯翻上马鞍。
“说真的，我要找尼姑去了。”他向面露微笑望着他的军官们说道，于是就沿着一条蜿蜒曲折的小道下山去了。
“喂，上尉，开一炮，看看能射到什么地方去！”将军把脸转向炮兵说道，“真烦闷，开开心吧。”
“炮手们各就各位！”一名军官发出了口令，须臾之后，炮手们都很快活地从篝火旁边跑出来，装上炮弹。
“第一号，放！”发出了口令。
第一号炮兵迅速地跳开。大炮发出震耳欲聋的隆隆声，一枚榴弹从山下我军官兵头上飞过，发出一阵呼啸，榴弹落下的地方，冒出滚滚的硝烟，爆炸了，榴弹离敌军阵地还有很远一段路。
在这隆隆的炮声中，官兵们脸上都流露着愉快的神情；全体都站立起来，观察那了若指掌的山下我军的动态，观察那逐渐靠近的敌军的动态。这时候，太阳完全从云堆里探出头来。这一声单调的好听的炮响和耀眼的阳光汇合在一起了，使人产生一种激励的愉快的印象。
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87162鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 30楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part Two Chapter Five


IN THE EVENING of the same day a lively discussion was taking place in Denisov's quarters between some officers of the squadron.
“But I tell you, Rostov, that you must apologise to the colonel,” the tall staff-captain was saying, addressing Rostov, who was crimson with excitement. The staff-captain, Kirsten, a man with grizzled hair, immense whiskers, thick features and a wrinkled face, had been twice degraded to the ranks for affairs of honour, and had twice risen again to holding a commission.
“I permit no one to tell me I'm lying!” cried Rostov. “He told me I was lying and I told him he was lying. And there it rests. He can put me on duty every day, he can place me under arrest, but no one can compel me to apologise, because if he, as the colonel, considers it beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then …”
“But you wait a bit, my good fellow; you listen to me,” interrupted the staff-captain in his bass voice, calmly stroking his long whiskers. “You tell the colonel in the presence of other officers that an officer has stolen—”
“I'm not to blame for the conversation being in the presence of other officers. Possibly I ought not to have spoken before them, but I'm not a diplomatist. That's just why I went into the hussars; I thought that here I should have no need of such finicky considerations, and he tells me I'm a liar … so let him give me satisfaction.”
“That's all very fine, no one imagines that you're a coward; but that's not the point. Ask Denisov if it's not utterly out of the question for an ensign to demand satisfaction of his colonel?”
Denisov was biting his moustache with a morose air, listening to the conversation, evidently with no desire to take part in it. To the captain's question, he replied by a negative shake of the head.
“You speak to the colonel in the presence of other officers of this dirty business,” pursued the staff-captain. “Bogdanitch” (Bogdanitch was what they called the colonel) “snubbed you …”
“No, he didn't. He said I was telling an untruth.”
“Quite so, and you talked nonsense to him, and you must apologise.”
“Not on any consideration!” shouted Rostov.
“I shouldn't have expected this of you,” said the staff-captain seriously and severely. “You won't apologise, but, my good sir, it's not only him, but all the regiment, all of us, that you've acted wrongly by; you're to blame all round. Look here; if you'd only thought it over, and taken advice how to deal with the matter, but you must go and blurt it all straight out before the officers. What was the colonel to do then? Is he to bring the officer up for trial and disgrace the whole regiment? On account of one scoundrel is the whole regiment to be put to shame? Is that the thing for him to do, to your thinking? It is not to our thinking. And Bogdanitch did the right thing. He told you that you were telling an untruth. It's unpleasant, but what could he do? you brought it on yourself. And now when they try to smooth the thing over, you're so high and mighty, you won't apologise, and want to have the whole story out. You're huffy at being put on duty, but what is it for you to apologise to an old and honourable officer! Whatever Bogdanitch may be, any way he's an honourable and gallant old colonel; you're offended at that, but disgracing the regiment's nothing to you.” The staff-captain's voice began to quaver. “You, sir, have been next to no time in the regiment; you're here to-day, and to-morrow you'll be passed on somewhere as an adjutant; you don't care a straw for people saying: ‘There are thieves among the Pavlograd officers!' But we do care! Don't we, Denisov? Do we care?”
Denisov still did not speak or stir; his gleaming black eyes glanced now and then at Rostov.
“Your pride is dear to you, you don't want to apologise,” continued the staff-captain, “but we old fellows, as we grew up in the regiment and, please God, we hope to die in it, it's the honour of the regiment is dear to us, and Bogdanitch knows that. Ah, isn't it dear to us! But this isn't right; it's not right! You may take offence or not; but I always speak the plain truth. It's not right!”
And the staff-captain got up and turned away from Rostov.
“That's the truth, damn it!” shouted Denisov, jumping up. “Come, Rostov, come!”
Rostov, turning crimson and white again, looked first at one officer and then at the other.
“No, gentlemen, no … you mustn't think … I quite understand, you're wrong in thinking that of me … I … for me … for the honour of the regiment I'd … but why talk? I'll prove that in action and for me the honour of the flag … well, never mind, it's true, I'm to blame!” … There were tears in his eyes. “I'm wrong, wrong all round! Well, what more do you want?” …
“Come, that's right, count,” cried the staff-captain, turning round and clapping him on the shoulder with his big hand.
“I tell you,” shouted Denisov, “he's a capital fellow.”
‘That's better, count,” repeated the captain, beginning to address him by his title as though in acknowledgment of his confession. “Go and apologise, your excellency.”
“Gentlemen, I'll do anything, no one shall hear a word from me,” Rostov protested in an imploring voice, “but I can't apologise, by God, I can't, say what you will! How can I apologise, like a little boy begging pardon!”
Denisov laughed.
“It'll be the worse for you, if you don't. Bogdanitch doesn't forget things; he'll make you pay for your obstinacy,” said Kirsten.
“By God, it's not obstinacy! I can't describe the feeling it gives me. I can't do it.”
“Well, as you like,” said the staff-captain. “What has the scoundrel done with himself?” he asked Denisov.
“He has reported himself ill; to-morrow the order's given for him to be struck off,” said Denisov.
“It is an illness, there's no other way of explaining it,” said the staff-captain.
“Whether it's illness or whether it's not, he'd better not cross my path—I'd kill him,” Denisov shouted bloodthirstily.
Zherkov walked into the room.
“How do you come here?” the officers cried to the newcomer at once.
“To the front, gentlemen. Mack has surrendered with his whole army.”
“Nonsense!”
“I've seen him myself.”
“What? Seen Mack alive, with all his arms and legs?”
“To the front! to the front! Give him a bottle for such news. How did you come here?”
“I've been dismissed back to the regiment again on account of that devil, Mack. The Austrian general complained of me. I congratulated him on Mack's arrival. … What is it, Rostov, you look as if you'd just come out of a hot bath?”
“We've been in such a mess these last two days, old boy.”
The regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by Zherkov. They were under orders to advance next day.
“To the front, gentlemen!”
“Well, thank God! we've been sticking here too long.”


第二章第五节


就在那天夜晚，骑兵连的军官们都在杰尼索夫的住宅中热烈地交谈。
“罗斯托夫，我告诉您，您要向团长表示歉意。”骑兵上尉对两脸通红、激动不安的罗斯托夫说，上尉身材高大，头发苍白，口髭浓重，大脸膛上布满着皱纹。
骑兵上尉基尔斯坚曾二度因赔偿名誉而贬为士兵，但两次恢复原职，又升为上尉。
“任何人说我撒谎，我都不容许！”罗斯托夫高声喊道，“他说我撒谎，我就说他撒谎。事情始终是如此。即使是天天派我值勤也行，把我关进牢房也行，可是任何人不能强迫我道歉，如果他身为团长，认为自己不屑于同我决斗，那末……”
“老兄，请您等一等，听我说吧，”骑兵上尉用那男低音打断他的发言，一面悠闲地捋顺他那长长的胡髭，“您在旁的军官面前对团长说有个军官行窃……”
“在旁的军官面前谈起这件事情，我是没有过错的。也许不应当在他们面前谈到这等事，但我不是外交官。我之所以来当骠骑兵，就是因为骑兵队里根本用不着讲究细节的缘故，可是他竟然说我撒谎……那末就要他同意和我决斗……”
“这些话说得不错，谁也不会想到您是个懦夫，可是问题并不在这里。您问问杰尼索夫，士官生向团长提出决斗，这像什么话？”
杰尼索夫咬了一下胡髭，面色阴沉地静听发言，显然他是不愿意参与这次谈话的。他对骑兵上尉的发问否定地摇了摇头。
“您当着军官们的面对团长说这种下流话，”骑兵上尉继续说下去，“波格丹内奇（团长叫做波格丹内奇）把您遏止住了。”
“没有遏止，而是说我扯谎。”
“得了吧，您竟对他说了这么多傻话，理应道歉。”
“决不道歉！”罗斯托夫高声喊道。
“我没有料到您会这样，”骑兵上尉严肃而冷漠地说，“可是，老兄啊，您不光是不愿意在团长面前，而且也不愿意在整个兵团面前，在我们大家面前道歉。您原先就应当仔细想想，请别人指教一下，应当怎样来应付这件事，可是您公然在军官们面前把什么都说出来了。而团长现在该怎么办呢？把这名军官送交法庭审判，玷污整个兵团吗？因为一个恶棍而使整个兵团名誉扫地吗？在您看来，这样做行吗？在我们看来，这样不行。波格丹内奇真有两下子，他说您扯谎。听起来虽不悦耳，但是毫无办法啊，老兄？是您自己乱冲的。现在大伙儿都想暗中了结这个案子，您却因为骄傲而不愿意道歉，想把什么都说出来。叫您多值一会儿班，您就感到气恼，干嘛您不能向一个令人尊敬的老军官道歉？不管波格丹内奇怎么样，他毕竟是个令人尊敬的勇敢的老上校，可是您感到气恼；玷污兵团，您不在乎嘛！”骑兵上尉的声音颤栗起来，“老兄，您在兵团中没有呆上几天，今天呆在兵团里，明天就被调到什么地方去做副官。您不理睬别人说的话：保罗格勒兵团中的军官们中竟有窃贼！我们可不是一切都不在乎的。杰尼索夫，难道不是这样吗？不是一切都不在乎的吧？”
杰尼索夫总是沉默不言，也不动弹，有时候用他那乌黑的闪闪发亮的眼睛望望罗斯托夫。
“骄傲对您是很宝贵的，您是不愿意道歉的，”骑兵上尉继续说下去，“不过我们这些老年人，因为是在兵团里成长的，所以死也应该死在兵团里。总之，在我们心目中，荣誉是宝贵的，这一点波格丹内奇也是知道的。啊，您不明白这是多么可贵，老兄！这样很不好，很不好！您以后生气还是不生气呢，我始终要把实话说出来。很不好！”
骑兵上尉于是站起来，把脸转过去不理睬罗斯托夫。
“说实在的，真了不起！”杰尼索夫一跃而起，说道，“喂，罗斯托夫，喂！”
罗斯托夫脸上白里透红，焦虑不安，他时而望望这个军官，时而望望那个军官。
“不是，先生们，不是……您甭以为……我十分明了；您对我抱有那种看法是毫无根据的……我……为我自己……为兵团的光荣……不是么？我要用事实来证明一下，团旗的光荣对我也是……嗯，说实在的，反正是我有罪！……”他眼睛里噙着泪水。“我有罪，全是我的不是！……您还要怎样呢？
……”
“伯爵，就是这样的。”骑兵上尉转过脸来喊道，他伸出他那巨大的手捶打着他的肩膀。
“我对你说，”杰尼索夫喊道，“他是个不错的人。”
“伯爵，这样才更好，”骑兵上尉重复地说，他用爵位称呼他，好像是表扬他承认错误似的。“伯爵大人，您去道道歉吧。”
“先生们，我能办妥一切事情，任何人决听不到我乱说一句话，”罗斯托夫用乞求的声音说道，“但是我不会道歉，你们想要怎样就怎样吧，我的确不会道歉！我怎么要去道歉呢，就像个儿童那样请求原宥么？”
杰尼索夫笑了起来。
“您会觉得更糟。波格丹内奇爱记旧仇，您因固执己见是会受到惩罚的。”基尔斯坚说道。
“说实在的，不是固执！我没法向您描述这是一种怎样的感情，我没法描述……”
“喂，听您的便，”骑兵上尉说道。“那个坏蛋溜到哪里去了？那怎样办？”他向杰尼索夫问道。
“他说他自己有病，明天就发出命令开除他。”杰尼索夫说道。
“这是疾病，不能用别的理由来解释。”骑兵上尉说。
“无论有病还是无病，他可不要碰见我——我会杀死他的！”杰尼索夫杀气腾腾地吼道。
热尔科夫走进房里来了。
“你怎么样？”军官们忽然把脸转向那个走进房里来的人，说道。
“先生们，出征啊。马克被俘，他随全军投降了。”
“撒谎！”
“是我亲眼看见的。”
“怎么？你亲眼看见马克还活着？有手有脚的活人？”
“出征啊！出征啊！他带来了消息，要给他一瓶烧酒。你怎么走到这里来了？”
“因为马克这个鬼家伙，我才又被派到兵团里来了。奥国将军控告我了。马克来了，我向他庆贺……罗斯托夫，你怎么样？你好像是从浴室里走出来的？”
“老兄，从昨天一直到现在，我们这儿很混乱。”
兵团团部的副官来了，他证明热尔科夫带来的消息是可靠的。已颁布命令明天开拔。
“先生们，要出征啊！”
“啊，谢天谢地，我们坐得太久了。”
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Part Two Chapter Four


THE PAVLOGRADSKY REGIMENT of hussars was stationed two miles from Braunau. The squadron in which Nikolay Rostov was serving as ensign was billeted on a German village, Salzeneck. The officer in command of the squadron, Captain Denisov, known through the whole cavalry division under the name of Vaska Denisov, had been assigned the best quarters in the village. Ensign Rostov had been sharing his quarters, ever since he overtook the regiment in Poland.
On the 8th of October, the very day when at headquarters all was astir over the news of Mack's defeat, the routine of life was going on as before among the officers of this squadron.
Denisov, who had been losing all night at cards, had not yet returned home, when Rostov rode back early in the morning from a foraging expedition. Rostov, in his ensign's uniform, rode up to the steps, with a jerk to his horse, swung his leg over with a supple, youthful action, stood a moment in the stirrup as though loath to part from the horse, at last sprang down and called the orderly.
“Ah, Bondarenko, friend of my heart,” he said to the hussar who rushed headlong up to his horse. “Walk him up and down, my dear fellow,” he said, with that gay and brotherly cordiality with which good-hearted young people behave to every one, when they are happy.
“Yes, your excellency,” answered the Little Russian, shaking his head good-humouredly.
“Mind now, walk him about well!”
Another hussar rushed up to the horse too, but Bondarenko had already hold of the reins.
It was evident that the ensign was liberal with his tips, and that his service was a profitable one. Rostov stroked the horse on the neck and then on the haunch, and lingered on the steps.
“Splendid! What a horse he will be!” he said to himself, and smiling and holding his sword, he ran up the steps, clanking his spurs. The German, on whom they were billeted, looked out of the cowshed, wearing a jerkin and a pointed cap, and holding a fork, with which he was clearing out the dung. The German's face brightened at once when he saw Rostov. He smiled good-humouredly and winked. “Good-morning, good-morning!” he repeated, apparently taking pleasure in greeting the young man.
“At work already?” said Rostov, still with the same happy, fraternal smile that was constantly on his eager face. “Long live the Austrians! Long live the Russians! Hurrah for the Emperor Alexander!” he said, repeating phrases that had often been uttered by the German. The German laughed, came right out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, and waving it over his head, cried:
“And long live all the world!”
Rostov too, like the German, waved his cap over his bead, and laughing cried: “And hurrah for all the world!” Though there was no reason for any special rejoicing either for the German, clearing out his shed, or for Rostov, coming back from foraging for hay, both these persons gazed at one another in delighted ecstasy and brotherly love, wagged their heads at each other in token of their mutual affection, and parted with smiles, the German to his cowshed, and Rostov to the cottage he shared with Denisov.
“Where's your master?” he asked of Lavrushka, Denisov's valet, well known to all the regiment as a rogue.
“His honour's not been in since the evening. He's been losing, for sure,” answered Lavrushka. “I know by now, if he wins, he'll come home early to boast of his luck; but if he's not back by morning, it means that he's lost,—he'll come back in a rage. Shall I bring coffee?”
“Yes, bring it.”
Ten minutes later, Lavrushka brought in the coffee.
“He's coming!” said he; “now for trouble!”
Rostov glanced out of the window and saw Denisov returning home. Denisov was a little man with a red face, sparkling black eyes, tousled black whiskers and hair. He was wearing an unbuttoned tunic, wide breeches that fell in folds, and on the back of his head a crushed hussar's cap. Gloomily, with downcast head, he drew near the steps.
“Lavrushka,” he shouted, loudly and angrily, lisping the r, “come, take it off, blockhead!”
“Well, I am taking it off,” answered Lavrushka's voice.
“Ah! you are up already,” said Denisov, coming into the room.
“Long ago,” said Rostov; “I've been out already after hay, and I have seen Fräulein Mathilde.”
“Really? And I've been losing, my boy, all night, like the son of a dog,” cried Denisov, not pronouncing his r's. “Such ill-luck! such ill-luck! …As soon as you left, my luck was gone. Hey, tea?”
Denisov, puckering up his face as though he were smiling, and showing his short, strong teeth, began with his short-fingered hands ruffling up his thick, black hair, that was tangled like a forest.
“The devil was in me to go to that rat” (the nickname of an officer), he said, rubbing his brow and face with both hands. “Only fancy, he didn't deal me one card, not one, not one card!” Denisov took the lighted pipe that was handed to him, gripped it in his fist, and scattering sparks, he tapped it on the floor, still shouting.
“He lets me have the simple, and beats the parole; lets me get the simple, and beats the parole.”
He scattered the sparks, broke the pipe, and threw it away. Then Denisov paused, and all at once he glanced brightly at Rostov with his gleaming black eyes.
“If there were only women. But here, except drinking, there's nothing to do. If only we could get to fighting soon.… Hey, who's there?” he called towards the door, catching the sounds of thick boots and clanking spurs that came to a stop, and of a respectful cough.
“The sergeant!” said Lavrushka. Denisov puckered up his face more than ever.
“That's a nuisance,” he said, flinging down a purse with several gold coins in it. “Rostov, count, there's a dear boy, how much is left, and put the purse under the pillow,” he said, and he went out to the sergeant. Rostov took the money and mechanically sorting and arranging in heaps the old and new gold, he began counting it over.
“Ah, Telyanin! Good-morning! I was cleaned out last night,” he heard Denisov's voice saying from the other room.
“Where was that? At Bykov's? At the rat's? … I knew it,” said a thin voice, and thereupon there walked into the room Lieutenant Telyanin, a little officer in the same squadron.
Rostov put the purse under the pillow, and shook the damp little hand that was offered him. Telyanin had for some reason been transferred from the guards just before the regiment set out. He had behaved very well in the regiment, but he was not liked, and Rostov, in particular, could not endure him, and could not conceal his groundless aversion for this officer.
“Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook doing for you?” (Rook was a riding-horse Telyanin had sold to Rostov.) The lieutenant never looked the person he was speaking to in the face. His eyes were continually flitting from one object to another. “I saw you riding today …”
“Oh, he's all right; a good horse,” answered Rostov, though the horse, for which he had paid seven hundred roubles, was not worth half that sum. “He's begun to go a little lame in the left foreleg …” he added.
“The hoof cracked! That's no matter. I'll teach you, I'll show you the sort of thing to put on it.”
“Yes, please do,” said Rostov.
“I'll show you, I'll show you, it's not a secret. But you'll be grateful to me for that horse.”
“Then I'll have the horse brought round,” said Rostov, anxious to be rid of Telyanin. He went out to order the horse to be brought round.
In the outer room Denisov was squatting on the threshold with a pipe, facing the sergeant, who was giving him some report. On seeing Rostov, Denisov screwed up his eyes, and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and shook his head with an air of loathing.
“Ugh! I don't like the fellow,” he said, regardless of the presence of the sergeant.
Rostov shrugged his shoulders as though to say, “Nor do I, but what's one to do?” And having given his order, he went back to Telyanin.
The latter was still sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his little white hands.
“What nasty faces there are in this world!” thought Rostov as he went into the room.
“Well, have you given orders for the horse to be fetched out?” said Telyanin, getting up and looking carelessly about him.
“Yes.”
“Well, you come along yourself. I only came round to ask Denisov about yesterday's order. Have you got it, Denisov?”
“Not yet. But where are you off to?”
“I'm going to show this young man here how to shoe a horse,” said Telyanin.
They went out down the steps and into the stable. The lieutenant showed how to put on the remedy, and went away to his own quarters.
When Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and some sausage on the table. Denisov was sitting at the table, and his pen was squeaking over the paper. He looked gloomily into Rostov's face.
“I am writing to her,” he said. He leaned his elbow on the table with the pen in his hand, and obviously rejoiced at the possibility of saying by word of mouth all he meant to write, he told the contents of his letter to Rostov. “You see, my dear boy,” he said, “we are plunged in slumber, we are the children of dust and ashes, until we love … but love, and you are a god, you are pure, as on the first day of creation.… Who's that now? Send him to the devil! I've no time!” he shouted to Lavrushka, who, not in the slightest daunted, went up to him.
“Why, who should it be? You told him to come yourself. The sergeant has come for the money.”
Denisov frowned, seemed about to shout some reply, but did not speak.
“It's a nuisance,” he said to himself. “How much money was there left there in the purse?” he asked Rostov.
“Seven new and three old gold pieces.”
“Oh, it's a nuisance! Well, why are you standing there, you mummy? Send the sergeant!” Denisov shouted to Lavrushka.
“Please, Denisov, take the money from me; I've plenty,” said Rostov, blushing.
“I don't like borrowing from my own friends; I dislike it,” grumbled Denisov.
“But if you won't take money from me like a comrade, you'll offend me. I've really got it,” repeated Rostov.
“Oh, no.” And Denisov went to the bed to take the purse from under the pillow.
“Where did you put it, Rostov?”
“Under the lower pillow.”
“But it's not there.” Denisov threw both the pillows on the floor. There was no purse. “Well, that's a queer thing.”
“Wait a bit, haven't you dropped it?” said Rostov, picking the pillows up one at a time and shaking them. He took off the quilt and shook it. The purse was not there.
“Could I have forgotten? No, for I thought that you keep it like a secret treasure under your head,” said Rostov. “I laid the purse here. Where is it?” He turned to Lavrushka.
“I never came into the room. Where you put it, there it must be.”
“But it isn't.”
“You're always like that; you throw things down anywhere and forget them. Look in your pockets.”
“No, if I hadn't thought of its being a secret treasure,” said Rostov, “but I remember where I put it.”
Lavrushka ransacked the whole bed, glanced under it and under the table, ransacked the whole room and stood still in the middle of the room. Denisov watched Lavrushka's movements in silence, and when Lavrushka flung up his hands in amazement to signify that it was nowhere, he looked round at Rostov.
“Rostov, none of your schoolboy jokes.”
Rostov, feeling Denisov's eyes upon him, lifted his eyes and instantly dropped them again. All his blood, which felt as though it had been locked up somewhere below his throat, rushed to his face and eyes. He could hardly draw his breath.
“And there's been no one in the room but the lieutenant and yourselves. It must be here somewhere,” said Lavrushka.
“Now then, you devil's puppet, bestir yourself and look for it!” Denisov shouted suddenly, turning purple and dashing at the valet with a threatening gesture. “The purse is to be found, or I'll flog you! I'll flog you all!”
Rostov, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began buttoning up his jacket fastening on his sword, and putting on his forage-cap.
“I tell you the purse is to be found,” roared Denisov, shaking the orderly by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall.
“Denisov, let him be; I know who has taken it,” said Rostov, going towards the door without raising his eyes.
Denisov stopped, thought a moment, and evidently understanding Rostov's hint, he clutched him by the arm.
“Nonsense!” he roared so that the veins stood out on his neck and forehead like cords. “I tell you, you've gone out of your mind; I won't allow it. The purse is here; I'll flay the skin off this rascal, and it will be here.”
“I know who has taken it,” repeated Rostov, in a shaking voice, and he went to the door.
“And I tell you, you're not to dare to do it,” shouted Denisov, making a dash at the ensign to detain him. But Rostov pulled his arm away, lifted his eyes, and looked directly and resolutely at Denisov with as much fury as if he had been his greatest enemy.
“Do you understand what you're saying?” he said in a trembling voice; “except me, there has been no one else in the room. So that, if it's not so, why then …”
He could not utter the rest, and ran out of the room.
“Oh, damn you and all the rest,” were the last words Rostov heard.
Rostov went to Telyanin's quarters.
“The master's not at home, he's gone to the staff,” Telyanin's orderly told him. “Has something happened?” the orderly added, wondering at the ensign's troubled face.
“No, nothing.”
“You've only just missed him,” said the orderly.
The staff quarters were two miles and a half from Salzeneck. Not having found him at home, Rostov took his horse and rode to the quarters of the staff. In the village, where the staff was quartered, there was a restaurant which the officers frequented. Rostov reached the restaurant and saw Telyanin's horse at the entry.
In the second room the lieutenant was sitting over a dish of sausages and a bottle of wine.
“Ah, you have come here too, young man,” he said, smiling and lifting his eyebrows.
“Yes,” said Rostov, speaking as though the utterance of the word cost him great effort; and he sat down at the nearest table.
Both were silent; there were two Germans and a Russian officer in the room. Every one was mute, and the only sounds audible were the clatter of knives on the plates and the munching of the lieutenant. When Telyanin had finished his lunch, he took out of his pocket a double purse; with his little white fingers, that were curved at the tips, he parted the rings, took out some gold, and raising his eyebrows, gave the money to the attendant.
“Make haste, please,” he said.
The gold was new. Rostov got up and went to Telyanin.
“Let me look at the purse,” he said in a low voice, scarcely audible.
With shifting eyes, but eyebrows still raised, Telyanin gave him the purse.
“Yes, it's a pretty purse … yes …” he said, and suddenly he turned white. “You can look at it, young man,” he added.
Rostov took the purse in his hand and looked both at it and at the money in it, and also at Telyanin. The lieutenant looked about him, as his way was, and seemed suddenly to have grown very good-humoured.
“If we go to Vienna, I suspect I shall leave it all there, but now there's nowhere to spend our money in these wretched little places,” he said. “Come, give it me, young man; I'm going.”
Rostov did not speak.
“What are you going to do? have lunch too? They give you decent food,” Telyanin went on. “Give it me.” He put out his hand and took. hold of the purse. Rostov let go of it. Telyanin took the purse and began carelessly dropping it into the pocket of his riding trousers, while his eyebrows were carelessly lifted and his mouth stood a little open, as though he would say: “Yes, yes, I'm putting my purse in my pocket, and that's a very simple matter, and no one has anything to do with it.”
“Well, young man?” he said with a sign, and from under his lifted eyebrows he glanced into Rostov's eyes. A kind of gleam passed with the swiftness of an electric flash from Telyanin's eyes to the eyes of Rostov, and back again and back again and again, all in one instant.
“Come here,” said Rostov, taking Telyanin by the arm. He almost dragged him to the window. “That's Denisov's money; you took it …” he whispered in his ear.
“What? … what? … How dare you? What?” … said Telyanin. But the words sounded like a plaintive, despairing cry and prayer for forgiveness. As soon as Rostov heard the sound of his voice, a great weight of suspense, like a stone, rolled off his heart. He felt glad, and at the same instant he pitied the luckless creature standing before him, but he had to carry the thing through to the end.
“God knows what the people here may think,” muttered Telyanin, snatching up his forage-cap and turning towards a small empty room. “You must explain …”
“I know that, and I'll prove it,” said Rostov.
“I …”
The terrified, white face of Telyanin began twitching in every muscle; his eyes still moved uneasily, but on the ground, never rising to the level of Rostov's face, and tearful sobs could be heard.
“Count! … don't ruin a young man … here is the wretched money, take it.” … He threw it on the table. “I've an old father and mother!”
Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin's eyes, and without uttering a word, he went out of the room. But in the doorway he stopped and turned back.
“My God!” he said, with tears in his eyes, “how could you do it?”
“Count,” said Telyanin, coming nearer to the ensign.
“Don't touch me,” said Rostov, drawing back. “If you're in need take the money.”
He thrust a purse on him and ran out of the restaurant.


保罗格勒骠骑兵团驻扎在离布劳瑙两英里的地方。士官生尼古拉·罗斯托夫服役的骑兵连在德国村庄扎尔策涅克设营。骑兵连长杰尼索夫大尉素以瓦西卡·杰尼索夫这个名字闻名于整个骑兵师，村庄中一栋极好的住宅分拨给他了。自从士官生在波兰赶上团队以来，他就和连长住在一个地方。
十月八日，适逢马克失败的消息正惊扰大本营的上上下下，骑兵连部的行军生活照旧是风平浪静。清晨，当罗斯托夫骑着马儿采办饲料回来时，一通宵打纸牌输钱的杰尼索夫尚未回家。罗斯托夫身穿一套士官生制服，正催马跑到台阶前面，用那年轻人的灵活的姿势缩回一条腿，在马镫上站了片刻，好像他不想离开坐骑似的，后来他一跃跳下马来，向马弁喊了一声。
“啊，邦达连科，诚挚的朋友，”他对那拼命跑到他的坐骑前面的骠骑兵说道。“朋友，牵马遛一遛。”他说道，一面流露着亲切的愉快而温和的神态，凡是善良的年轻人在那幸福的时候都会带着这种神态和人们打交道的。
“大人，遵命。”一簇毛（指乌克兰人）愉快地晃着脑袋答道。
“要当心，好好地牵马遛一遛！”
另一个骠骑兵也跑到坐骑前面，可是邦达连科已经把缰绳扔了过来。显然，士官生给的酒钱可多啦，侍候他是有利可图的。罗斯托夫用手摸了摸马脖子，然后摸了摸马屁股，便在台阶上停步了。
“真棒！会变成一匹骏马啊！”他暗自说道，面露微笑，轻轻扶着马刀，马刺铿锵一声奔上了台阶。德国主人穿一件毛衣，戴尖顶帽子，拿着叉子清除牛粪，他从牛栏里向外面瞥了一眼。当德国人一看见罗斯托夫，他的脸色顿时开朗起来。他愉快地微微一笑，丢了个眼色：“Schon，gutMorgen！Schongutmorgen！”①他重复地说道，看起来，他和年轻人寒暄时能够得到欢乐。
“Schonfleissig！”②罗斯托夫说道，他那兴奋的脸上仍旧流露着愉快的亲切的微笑。“HochOestrreicher！HochRussen！KaiserAlexanderhoch！”③他把脸转向德国人，把德国主人常说的这些话重复地说一遍。
①德语：早安，早安！
②德语：真在干活啦！
③德语：奥国人万岁！俄国人万岁！亚历山大皇帝，乌拉！

德国人笑了起来，干脆走出牛栏门，摘下尖顶帽子，举在头顶上晃了一下，高声喊道：
“UnddieganzeWelthoch！”①
罗斯托夫和德国人一样，把一顶军帽举在头顶上晃动一下，含笑地高声喊道：“UndVivatdieganzeWelt！⑤
①⑤　德语：全世界万岁！

无论是这个清扫牛栏的德国人，还是那个随同一排人来领干草的罗斯托夫，都没有任何理由值得特别高兴，但是这两个人都心怀幸福的欢乐和兄弟般的爱心彼此望了一眼，晃了晃脑袋表示彼此之间的友爱，他们面露微笑地走开了，德国人走回牛栏，罗斯托夫走进他和杰尼索夫一同占用的农舍。
“老爷怎么啦？”他向杰尼索夫的仆役拉夫鲁什卡——闻名于全团的骗子手问道。
“从晚上出去就没有归来，大概是输了钱吧，”拉夫鲁什卡答道，“我的确心中有数。假如赢了钱，老早就会回来说大话。倘若到早上还没有回来，就是说，输净了，怒气冲冲地走回来。请问，要咖啡吗？”
“端来，端来吧！”
过了十分钟，拉夫鲁什卡端来了咖啡。
“来了！”他说道，“现在要吃霉头了。”
罗斯托夫朝窗口睇了一眼，看见杰尼索夫走回家来，杰尼索夫身材矮小，红彤彤的面孔，眼睛乌黑，闪闪发亮，黝黑的胡髭和头发十分蓬乱。他身上披着一件骠骑兵的斗篷，敞开着，没有扣上纽扣，宽大的马裤下垂着，起了一条条皱褶。皱皱巴巴的骠骑兵制帽戴到后脑勺上。他低垂着头，满面愁云，向台阶近旁走来。
“拉夫鲁什卡，”他怒气冲冲地高声嚷道，“P”音发得不准确，“喂，给我脱下，蠢货！”
“我本来就在脱嘛。”拉夫鲁什卡答道。
“啊！你起来了。”杰尼索夫走进房里来，说道。
“早就起来了，”罗斯托夫说道，“我来领干草，见过玛蒂尔达小姐了。”
“真有这么一回事？老弟，我昨夜像只狗崽仔，把钱输得精光了！”杰尼索夫高声嚷道，“真不走运！真不走运！你一走，事情就变得糟透了。喂，把茶端来吧！”
杰尼索夫蹙起了额头，似乎含着一丝微笑，露出坚固的短牙齿，开始伸出两手，用那短短的手指搔乱树林般蓬松的浓浓的黑发。
“鬼迷心窍，拖我去找这个大老鼠（一名军官的绰号），”他用自己的两手搓搓前额和面颊，说道，“你设想一下，他一张牌，一张牌也没有给我。”
杰尼索夫拿取人家递给他的点着的烟斗，紧紧攥在手心里，磕了磕地板，火星撒落下来，他继续吼道：
“孤注他就让，加倍下注他就吃，孤注他就让，加倍下注他就吃。”
他把火星撒落在地上，敲灭了烟斗，把它丢到一边去。然后他沉默片刻，突然把那明亮的乌黑的眼睛朝着罗斯托夫欢快地望望。
“哪怕有女人也好。要不然，这里除了饮酒就没有什么事情可做，快点儿打起架来也好……”
“喂，谁在那里？”他听见了马刺丁丁当当的响声、踏着厚底皮靴停止脚步的响声和那谨小慎微的咳嗽声，便朝门口转过脸去，说道。
“骑兵司务长！”拉夫鲁什卡说道。
杰尼索夫把额角蹙得更紧了。
“真糟糕，”他说道，一面把装着少数金币的钱包扔开来。
“罗斯托夫，亲爱的，点点那里面还剩下多少钱，再把它搁到枕头底下。”他说完这句话，就向骑兵司务长跟前走去了。
罗斯托夫取出钱来，机械地把新旧金币一堆一堆地摆放整齐，开始点钱。
“啊！捷利亚宁，你好！昨天我输得精光了。”从另一个房间传来杰尼索夫的说话声。
“是在谁那儿？是在大老鼠贝科夫那儿么？……我是知道的。”另一个人用尖细的嗓音说道，随后捷利亚宁中尉走进了这个房间，他身材矮小，也是那个骑兵连的一名军官。
罗斯托夫把钱包掷到枕头底下，握握向他伸出来的湿漉漉的小手。捷利亚宁不知是什么缘由在出征前从近卫军中调出来了。他在兵团中表现得十分出色，可是大家都不喜欢他，尤其是罗斯托夫，罗斯托夫既没法克制也没法掩饰他对这个军官的毫无理由的憎恶。
“喂，年轻的骑兵，怎么样了？您觉得我的秃鼻乌鸦不错吧？”他问道（秃鼻乌鸦是捷利亚宁卖给罗斯托夫的一匹刚能骑的幼马）。
中尉和人交谈时，从来都不看交谈者的眼睛，他的目光经常从一个目标很快地移到另一个目标。
“我看见您今天骑着马儿走过去了……”
“是的，挺不错，是一匹骏马，”罗斯托夫答道，这匹马花了七百卢布买来的，但它值不到这个价格的一半，“左前腿微跛……”他补充说道。
“马蹄裂开了！没关系啊。我来教教您并且给您说明怎样安好脚钉。”
“是的，请您指教指教。”罗斯托夫说道。
“我给您说明，我给您说明，这不是秘密。您买这匹马，以后您会感谢我的。”
“那么我请人把马儿牵来。”罗斯托夫说道，他想避开捷利亚宁，就走出去请人将马牵来。
杰尼索夫拿着烟斗，在过道屋的门槛上弯下身子，面对着向他禀告什么事的骑兵司务长坐着。杰尼索夫看见罗斯托夫，皱起了眉头，伸出大拇指从肩头上向后指了一下捷利亚宁坐着的那个房间，又皱了一阵眉头，憎恶地抖抖身子。
“唉，我不喜欢这个坏东西。”他在骑兵司务长面前出言不逊地说道。
罗斯托夫耸耸肩，好像他在说：“我也讨厌他，可是有啥办法呢！”他吩咐完毕，就回到捷利亚宁身边去了。
捷利亚宁一直坐着，仍然保持着罗斯托夫离开他时的那副懒洋洋的样子，一面搓着他那双洁白的小手。
“这种可恶的人倒是常见的。”罗斯托夫走进房间时，思忖了一会。
“究竟怎么样，您已经吩咐牵马了吗？”捷利亚宁说道，站起身来，漫不经心地环顾四周。
“已经吩咐了。”
“我们一道去吧。要知道，我只是顺路来向杰尼索夫问问昨天的命令，杰尼索夫，接到命令吗？”
“还没有接到。您上哪里去呀？”
“我想教会年轻人给马钉掌。”捷利亚宁说道。
他们步出台阶，向马厩走去了。中尉说明了怎样给马钉掌，就走回去了。
罗斯托夫回来时，桌子上放着一瓶烧酒和一份香肠，杰尼索夫坐在桌前写字，笔尖刷刷地作响。他脸色阴沉地望了望罗斯托夫的面孔。
“我给她写封信。”他说道。
他手里拿着钢笔，用胳膊肘支撑着桌子，很明显，他高兴的是，有机会立刻把他想写的话简而明地全说出来，于是向罗斯托夫道出信中的内容。
“朋友，你是否知道，”他说道，“我们不恋爱，就睡个痛快。我们都是浮云般的尘世俗子……只要我们一恋爱，就会变成神仙了，就会像创世的头一天那样圣洁……又有谁来了？赶他去见鬼吧。没有功夫啊！”他向那个毫不胆怯地向他面前走来的拉夫鲁什卡喊道。
“还有谁会来呢？您自己吩咐他的。骑兵司务长来领款了。”
杰尼索夫蹙起额角，想大叫一声，但又默不作声了。
“糟糕透了，”他自言自语地说道，“那钱包里剩下多少钱？”他向罗斯托夫问道。
“七块新币，三块旧币。”
“唉，糟糕透了！丑八怪，你干嘛站着，派司务长去吧！”
杰尼索夫向拉夫鲁什卡喊了一声。
“杰尼索夫，别客气，请把我的钱拿去吧，要知道，我这儿还有啦。”罗斯托夫涨红着脸说道。
“我不喜欢向自己人借钱，我不喜欢。”杰尼索夫唠唠叨叨地说了一顿。
“如果你不够朋友，硬不用我的钱，那末，我真会生气的。
说实在的，我有钱哩。”罗斯托夫重复地说。
“不。”
杰尼索夫于是乎走到床前，从枕头底下拿钱包。
“罗斯托夫，你把它搁在那儿呢？”
“在下面一个枕头底下啊。”
“没有啊。”
杰尼索夫把两个枕头丢到地上了，钱包不在了。
“真怪！”
“等一下，你是不是把它丢掉了？”罗斯托夫说道，他把枕头一个个捡起来，抖了好几下。
他翻转被子抖了抖，钱包不在了。
“我把它忘了？忘不了啊，我还以为，你好像枕珍宝那样，把它枕在头底下，”罗斯托夫说道。“我把钱包搁在这儿。钱包在哪儿？”他把脸转向拉夫鲁什卡，说道。
“我没有走进房里来。您搁在哪儿，就还在哪儿。”
“可是，没有钱包啊。”
“您老是这个样子，把东西往哪儿一丢，就忘记了。请您瞧瞧您的口袋吧。”
“不，如果我没有想到它是件珍宝，那就会忘掉，”罗斯托夫说道，“其实我记得，我把它放好了的。”
拉夫鲁什卡把床铺翻寻遍了，瞅了瞅床底下，桌子底下，把整个房间翻遍了，就在这个房间的中间停步了。杰尼索夫默不作声地注视着拉夫鲁什卡的行动，当拉夫鲁什卡惊奇地摊开两手，诉说到处都没有钱包的时候，他掉过头来望了望罗斯托夫。
“罗斯托夫，你不要像孩子般地胡闹……”
罗斯托夫感到杰尼索夫的视线已经投到他身上了，他抬起眼睛，瞬即低垂下来。原先憋在他喉咙底下的全部血流，现已涌到他的面颊和眼睛里了。他简直喘不过气来。
“除了中尉和您自己之外，房间里没有人来过。钱包还在房间里的什么地方。”拉夫鲁什卡说道。
“喂，你这个玩鬼的东西，转身就去找吧，”杰尼索夫的脸涨得通红，装出一副威吓的姿势，向仆役身上扑将过去，忽然喊道，“一定要找到，否则我就要用鞭子打人。你们一个个都要挨打。”
罗斯托夫回避杰尼索夫的目光，扣紧制服上衣，扣上佩带的马刀，戴上制服帽。
“我对你说，一定要找到钱包。”杰尼索夫喊道，一把抓住勤务兵的肩膀摇晃着，把他推到墙上乱撞几下。
“杰尼索夫，把他放开，我知道是什么人把它拿走了。”罗斯托夫说道，没有抬起眼睛，向门口走去。
杰尼索夫停步了，思忖了片刻，显然他明白，罗斯托夫在暗示什么，于是就抓住他的手。
“废话！”他喊道，他的颈上和额角上鼓起绳子般大小的青筋，“我对你说，你神经错乱了，我不容许这样。钱包就在这儿，我来把这个坏蛋狠揍一顿，钱包就会在这儿找到的。”
“我知道是什么人把它拿走的。”罗斯托夫声音颤栗地补充了一句，向门口走去。
“我告诉你，决不许这样做。”杰尼索夫喊道，向这名士官生扑将过去，想把他拦住。
但是罗斯托夫把手挣脱了，他恶狠狠地直盯着杰尼索夫，仿佛杰尼索夫是他的最大的敌人似的。
“你是否明白你在说什么话么？”他声音颤栗地说道，“除我而外，这个房间里谁也没来过。这么说来，假如不是这种情形，那么就是……”
他没法说下去，从房间里跑出去了。
“咳，你算了吧，你们大家算了吧。”这就是罗斯托夫听见的最后几句话。
罗斯托夫来到了捷利亚宁的住宅。
“老爷不在家哩，他到司令部去了，”捷利亚宁的勤务兵对他说道。“或者是出什么事了？”勤务兵补充了一句，他对士官生的扫兴的脸色感到惊奇。
“不，没什么。”
“早来片刻，就碰见了。”勤务兵说道。
司令部驻扎在离那个扎尔策涅克村三俄里远的地方。罗斯托夫没有顺路回家，骑了一匹马，直奔司令部去了。司令部扎营的那个村子有一家酒肆，军官们常来光顾。罗斯托夫来到了酒肆，他在台阶旁望见了捷利亚宁的座骑。
中尉坐在酒肆的第二间屋里用餐，他身旁摆着一盘香肠、一瓶葡萄酒。
“啊，小伙子，您也来了。”他说道，面露微笑，竖起了两撇眉毛。
“嗯。”罗斯托夫说道，仿佛费了很大气力才吐出这个字，他在邻近的桌旁坐下来。
二人都默不作声，两个德国人和一名俄国军官坐在房间里。大家都不开口，可以听见刀子和盘子碰击时发出铿锵的声音、中尉吃饭时吧答吧答的声音捷利亚宁吃罢早餐，从他荷包中取出一个对折的钱包，弯弯地竖起几个洁白的小指头，拉开扣环，掏出一块金币，微微地扬起眉尖，把钱交给侍从。
“请你快点吧。”他说道。
这是一块很新的金币。罗斯托夫站立起来走到捷利亚宁跟前。
“让我瞧瞧这个钱包，”他说道，嗓音很低，几乎听不清楚。
捷利亚宁的眼珠子不停地来回乱转，老是竖起眉尖，把钱包交给他。
“是啊，这是个好钱包……是啊……是啊……”他说道，脸色忽然变得惨白了。“小伙子，瞧瞧。”他补充一句话。
罗斯托夫拿起钱包望了望，又望了望钱包里的钱，还望了望捷利亚宁。中尉习惯地向四周环顾，他忽然觉得愉快极了。
“如果我在维也纳，我就要把钱全部用掉，眼前在这些糟糕透了的小市镇上，有钱也无处可花，”他说道，“得啦，小伙子，给我好了，我就要走了。”
罗斯托夫默不作声。
“您怎么了？也要用早餐吗？伙食很不错，”捷利亚宁继续说下去，“给我好了。”
他伸出手来，抓住了钱包。罗斯托夫放开手中的钱包。捷利亚宁拿起钱包就搁进紧腿裤的口袋里，随便地竖起眉尖，微微地张开嘴唇，好像他在说：“是啊，是啊，我把自己的钱包搁进口袋里，这是很寻常的事，与任何人无关。”
“小伙子，怎么了？”他说道，叹了一口气，从微微竖起的眉尖底下望了望罗斯托夫的眼睛。有一线目光从捷利亚宁眼睛中有如闪电迸发的火星似地投射到罗斯托夫的眼睛中，反射回去，又反射回来，再反射回去，这一切都是在顷刻之间发生的。
“请到这里来，”罗斯托夫说道，一把抓住捷利亚宁的手。他几乎把他拖到窗子前面了。“这是杰尼索夫的钱，您把它拿走了……”他凑近他的耳根轻声地说道。
“怎么？……怎么？……您胆敢这么说？怎么？……”捷利亚宁说道。
可是这些话，听起来像是诉苦的绝望的喊叫，又像是祈求宽宥。罗斯托夫听见他的话语声，心中的狐疑有如巨石落了下来。他觉得心旷神怡，与此同时，他又怜悯起这个站在他跟前的不幸的人；但是必须把已经开始做的事情全部完成。
“天知道这里的人们会想些什么事，”捷利亚宁喃喃地说，他手中拿着一顶军帽，向那空荡荡的小房间走去，“应当说个明白……”
“这一点我是知道的，我来证明一下。”罗斯托夫说道。
“我……”
捷利亚宁那张惊恐而惨白的脸上，一块块肌肉颤栗起来了。他的眼珠儿还是不停地乱转，只是向下看，而没有抬起眼睛来瞥视罗斯托夫的面孔；这时可以听见啜泣声。
“伯爵！……您不要糟蹋年轻人吧……这是些倒霉的钱，拿去吧……”他把钱抛到桌上，“我有年老的父亲和母亲！
……”
罗斯托夫避开捷利亚宁的目光，拿起钱来，一句话没说，便从房间里走了出来。但是他在门旁停步了，往回头路上走去。
“我的天啊，”他两眼噙着泪水，说道，“您怎么能够做出这种事？”
“伯爵。”捷利亚宁向一名士官生近旁走去，说道。
“您别触动我，”罗斯托夫避开时说道，“假如您要钱用，就把这些钱拿去吧。”他向他扔出了钱包，便从酒肆中跑出来。
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Part Two Chapter Three


ON RETURNING from the review, Kutuzov, accompanied by the Austrian general, went to his private room, and calling his adjutant, told him to give him certain papers, relating to the condition of the newly arrived troops, and letters, received from Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of the army at the front. Prince Andrey Bolkonsky came into the commander-in-chief's room with the papers he had asked for. Kutuzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath were sitting over a plan that lay unfolded on the table.
“Ah!” … said Kutuzov, looking round at Bolkonsky; and inviting his adjutant, as it were, by his word to wait, he went on in French with the conversation.
“I have only one thing to say, general,” said Kutuzov, with an agreeable elegance of expression and intonation, that forced one to listen for each deliberately uttered word. It was evident that Kutuzov himself listened to his voice with pleasure. “I can only say one thing, that if the matter depended on my personal wishes, the desire of his majesty, the Emperor Francis, should long ago have been accomplished; I should long ago have joined the archduke. And, upon my honour, believe me that for me personally to hand over the chief command of the army to more experienced and skilful generals—such as Austria is so rich in—and to throw off all this weighty responsibility, for me personally would be a relief. But circumstances are too strong for us, general.” And Kutuzov smiled with an expression that seemed to say: “You are perfectly at liberty not to believe me, and indeed it's a matter of perfect indifference to me whether you believe me or not, but you have no grounds for saying so. And that's the whole point.” The Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but he had no choice but to answer Kutuzov in the same tone.
“On the contrary,” he said in a querulous and irritated voice, that contrasted with the flattering intention of the words he uttered; “On the contrary, the participation of your most high excellency in common action is highly appreciated by his majesty. But we imagine that the present delay robs the gallant Russian troops and their commander-in-chief of the laurels they are accustomed to winning in action,” he concluded a phrase he had evidently prepared beforehand.
Kutuzov bowed, still with the same smile.
“But I am convinced of this, and relying on the last letter with which his Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honoured me, I imagine that the Austrian troops under the command of so talented a leader as General Mack, have by now gained a decisive victory and have no longer need of our aid,” said Kutuzov.
The general frowned. Though there was no positive news of the defeat of the Austrians, there were too many circumstances in confirmation of the unfavourable reports; and so Kutuzov's supposition in regard to an Austrian victory sounded very much like a sneer. But Kutuzov smiled blandly, still with the same expression, which seemed to say that he had a right to suppose so. And in fact the last letter he had received from the army of General Mack had given him news of victory, and of the most favourable strategical position of the army.
“Give me that letter,” said Kutuzov, addressing Prince Andrey. “Here, if you will kindly look”—and Kutuzov, with an ironical smile about the corners of his mouth, read in German the following passage from the letter of the Archduke Ferdinand:
“We have a force, perfectly kept together, of nearly 70,000 men, in order to attack and defeat the enemy if they should pass the Lech. As we are masters of Ulm, we cannot lose the advantage of remaining masters also of both sides of the Danube; and moreover able, should the enemy not cross the Lech, to pass over the Danube at any moment, throw ourselves upon their line of communications, recross the Danube lower down, and entirely resist the enemy's aim if they should attempt to turn their whole force upon our faithful ally. In this way we shall await courageously the moment when the Imperial Russian is ready, and shall then, in conjunction, easily find a possibility of preparing for the foe that fate which he so richly deserves.”
Kutuzov concluded this period with a heavy sigh and looked intently and genially at the member of the Hofkriegsrath.
“But you know, your excellency, the sage precept to prepare for the worst,” said the Austrian general, obviously wishing to have done with jests and to come to business. He could not help glancing round at the adjutant.
“Excuse me, general,” Kutuzov interrupted him, and he, too, turned to Prince Andrey. “Here, my dear boy, get all the reports from our scouts from Kozlovsky. Here are two letters from Count Nostits, here is a letter from his Highness the Archduke Ferdinand, here is another,” he said, giving him several papers. “And of all this make out clearly in French a memorandum showing all the information we have had of the movements of the Austrian Army. Well, do so, and then show it to his excellency.”
Prince Andrey bowed in token of understanding from the first word not merely what had been said, but also what Kutuzov would have liked to have said to him. He gathered up the papers, and making a comprehensive bow, stepped softly over the carpet and went out into the reception-room.
Although so short a time had passed since Prince Andrey had left Russia, he had changed greatly during that time. In the expression of his face, in his gestures, in his gait, there was scarcely a trace to be seen now of his former affectation, ennui, and indolence. He had the air of a man who has not time to think of the impression he is making on others, and is absorbed in work, both agreeable and interesting. His face showed more satisfaction with himself and those around him. His smile and his glance were more light-hearted and attractive.
Kutuzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him very cordially, had promised not to forget him, had marked him out among the other adjutants, had taken him with him to Vienna and given him the more serious commissions. From Vienna, Kutuzov had written to his old comrade, Prince Andrey's father.
“Your son,” he wrote, “gives promise of becoming an officer, who will make his name by his industry, firmness, and conscientiousness. I consider myself lucky to have such an assistant at hand.”
On Kutuzov's staff, among his fellow-officers, and in the army generally, Prince Andrey had, as he had had in Petersburg society, two quite opposite reputations. Some, the minority, regarded Prince Andrey as a being different from themselves and from all other men, expected great things of him, listened to him, were enthusiastic in his praise, and imitated him, and with such people Prince Andrey was frank and agreeable. Others, the majority, did not like Prince Andrey, and regarded him as a sulky, cold, and disagreeable person. But with the latter class, too, Prince Andrey knew how to behave so that he was respected and even feared by them.
Coming out of Kutuzov's room into the reception-room, Prince Andrey went in with his papers to his comrade, the adjutant on duty, Kozlovsky, who was sitting in the window with a book.
“What is it, prince?” queried Kozlovsky.
“I am told to make a note of the reason why we are not moving forward.”
“And why aren't we?”
Prince Andrey shrugged his shoulders
“No news from Mack?” asked Kozlovsky.
“No.”
“If it were true that he had been beaten, news would have come.”
“Most likely,” said Prince Andrey, and he moved towards the door to go out. But he was met on the way by a tall man who at that instant walked into the reception-room, slamming the door. The stranger, who had obviously just arrived, was an Austrian general in a long coat, with a black kerchief tied round his head, and the order of Maria Theresa on his neck. Prince Andrey stopped short.
“Commander-in-chief Kutuzov?” the general asked quickly, speaking with a harsh German accent. He looked about him on both sides, and without a pause walked to the door of the private room.
“The commander-in-chief is engaged,” said Kozlovsky, hurriedly going up to the unknown general and barring his way to the door. “Whom am I to announce?”
The unknown general looked disdainfully down at the short figure of Kozlovsky, as though surprised that they could be ignorant of his identity.
“The commander-in-chief is engaged,” Kozlovsky repeated tranquilly.
The general's face contracted, his lips twitched and quivered. He took out a notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out the leaf, handed it to Kozlovsky, and with rapid steps walked to the window, dropped on to a chair and looked round at the persons in the room, as though asking what they were looking at him for. Then the general lifted his head, craned his neck forward as though intending to say something, but immediately, as though carelessly beginning to hum to himself, uttered a strange sound which broke off at once. The door of the private room opened, and Kutuzov appeared in the doorway.
The general with the bandaged head, bent forward as though fleeing from danger, strode towards Kutuzov, his thin legs moving swiftly.
“You see the unfortunate Mack,” he articulated in French in a breaking voice.
The face of Kutuzov, as he stood in the doorway, remained for several instants perfectly unmoved. Then a frown seemed to run over his face, like a wave, leaving his forehead smooth again; he bowed his head respectfully, closed his eyes, ushered Mack in before him without a word, and closed the door behind him.
The report, which had been in circulation before this, of the defeat of the Austrians and the surrender of the whole army at Ulm, turned out to be the truth. Within half an hour adjutants had been despatched in various directions with orders. It was evident that the Russian troops which had hitherto been inactive, were destined soon to meet the enemy.
Prince Andrey was one of those rare staff-officers whose interests were concentrated on the general progress of the war. On seeing Mack and learning the details of his overthrow, he grasped the fact that half the campaign was lost; he perceived all the difficulty of the position of the Russian troops, and vividly pictured to himself what lay before the Army, and the part he would have to play in the work in store for them. He could not help feeling a rush of joyful emotion at the thought of the humiliation of self-confident Austria, and the prospect within a week, perhaps, of seeing and taking part in the meeting of the Russians with the French, the first since Suvorov's day. But he was afraid of the genius of Bonaparte, which might turn out to be more powerful than all the bravery of the Russian troops; and at the same time he could not bear to entertain the idea of the disgrace of his favourite hero.
Excited and irritated by these ideas, Prince Andrey went towards his own room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor he met Nesvitsky, the comrade with whom he shared a room, and the comic man, Zherkov. They were, as usual, laughing at some joke.
“What are you looking so dismal about?” asked Nesvitsky, noticing Prince Andrey's pale face and gleaming eyes.
“There's nothing to be gay about,” answered Bolkonsky.
Just as Prince Andrey met Nesvitsky and Zherkov, there came towards them from the other end of the corridor Strauch, an Austrian general, who was on Kutuzov's staff in charge of the provisioning of the Russian army, and the member of the Hofkriegsrath, who had arrived the previous evening. There was plenty of room in the wide corridor for the generals to pass the three officers easily. But Zherkov, pulling Nesvitsky back by the arm, cried in a breathless voice:
“They are coming! … they are coming! … move aside, make way! please, make way.”
The generals advanced with an air of wishing to avoid burdensome honours. The face of the comic man, Zherkov, suddenly wore a stupid smile of glee, which he seemed unable to suppress.
“Your Excellency,” he said in German, moving forward and addressing the Austrian general, “I have the honour to congratulate you.” He bowed, and awkwardly, as children do at dancing-lessons, he began scraping first with one leg and then with the other. The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked severely at him, but seeing the seriousness of his stupid smile, he could not refuse him a moment's attention. He screwed up his eyes and showed that he was listening.
“I have the honour to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite well, only slightly wounded here,” he added, pointing with a beaming smile to his head.
The general frowned, turned away and went on.
“Gott, wie naïv!” he said angrily, when he was a few steps away.
Nesvitsky with a chuckle threw his arms round Prince Andrey, but Bolkonsky, turning even paler, pushed him away with a furious expression, and turned to Zherkov. The nervous irritability, into which he had been thrown by the sight of Mack, the news of his defeat and the thought of what lay before the Russian army, found a vent in anger at the misplaced jest of Zherkov.
“If you, sir,” he began cuttingly, with a slight trembling in his lower jaw, “like to be a clown, I can't prevent your being so, but if you dare to play the fool another time in my presence, I'll teach you how to behave.”
Nesvitsky and Zherkov were so astounded at this outburst that they gazed at Bolkonsky with open eyes.
“Why, I only congratulated them,” said Zherkov.
“I am not jesting with you; be silent, please!” shouted Bolkonsky, and taking Nesvitsky's arm, he walked away from Zherkov, who could not find any reply.
“Come, what is the matter, my dear boy?” said Nesvitsky, trying to soothe him.“What's the matter?” said Prince Andrey, standing still from excitement. “Why, you ought to understand that we're either officers, who serve their Tsar and their country and rejoice in the success, and grieve at the defeat of the common cause, or we're hirelings, who have no interest in our master's business. Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our allies destroyed, and you find something in that to laugh at,” he said, as though by this French phrase he were strengthening his view. “It is all very well for a worthless fellow like that individual of whom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for you. None but schoolboys can find amusement in such jokes,” Prince Andrey added in Russian, uttering the word with a French accent. He noticed that Zherkov could still hear him, and waited to see whether the cornet would not reply. But the cornet turned and went out of the corridor.

第二章第三节


阅兵归来之后，库图佐夫在奥国将军陪伴下，走进办公室，他把一名副官喊来，吩咐他将开到本地的部队的实际情况的文件和指挥先头部队的费迪南大公的函件一并拿来。安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵随身带着总司令必需的文件走进他的办公室。库图佐夫和军事参议院的奥籍参议员坐在一份摆在桌上的作战方案前面。
“啊……”库图佐夫望着博尔孔斯基说道，他说一声“啊”好像是要副官等候片刻功夫，这之后便用法国话把已经开始的谈话继续谈下去。
“将军，我只说这么一件事，”库图佐夫说道，用词优美，语调动听，迫使对话人倾听他不慌不忙说出的每一个词。显然，库图佐夫本人也乐于倾听自己说话。“将军，我只说这么一件事，如果这件事取决于我本人的愿望，弗朗茨国王陛下的圣旨老早就履行了。我老早就和大公会合了。请您相信我的人格，对我本人来说，把统率军队的最高权力转交给比我更有造诣、更高明的将军，而奥地利是大有人在的，只要从我身上卸去一切责任的重担，那末对我本人来说，这真是一大乐事。将军，不过实际情况常比我们的愿望更富有说服力。”
库图佐夫微微一笑，那神色好像是说：“您满有理由不相信我，姑无论您相信还是不相信，我是根本不在乎的，但是您没有根据对我说出这种话。这也就是问题的症结。”
奥国将军现出不满意的样子，所以他不能不用同样的口吻回答库图佐夫。
“与此相反，”他用埋怨的愤怒的口气说，这种口气和他含有谄媚意味的话语相抵触，“与此相反，陛下高度赞赏阁下参与我们的共同事业。但是我们一直认为，目下的延宕会使俄国军队及其总司令丧失他们通常在大战中所赢得的胜利的桂冠。”看来他已把事先准备要说的话说完了。
库图佐夫脸上仍然保持着笑意，行了一鞠躬礼。
“然以费迪南大公殿下迩近惠赐的大函作为根据，我坚定地相信并且认为，奥国军队在马克将军如此高明的副司令官统率之下，现已赢得决定性胜利，再也不需要我们援助了。”
库图佐夫说道。
奥国将军蹙起了额角。尽管还没有传出有关奥国军队败北的确切消息，但有多种情形业已证明普遍失利的传说，因此，库图佐夫关于奥国军队获胜的推测很像是一种嘲笑。但是库图佐夫却面露温顺的微笑，他一直带着那种神态，仿佛是表示他有推测此事的权利。他从马克军队中最近收到的来函，的确向他通报了奥国军队的胜利及其最为有利的战略地位。
“把信拿到这里来吧，”库图佐夫把脸转向安德烈公爵，说道，“请你看看，”库图佐夫嘴角边流露出讽刺的微笑，用德国话向奥国将军念出费迪南大公来札中的如下内容：
WirhabenvollkommengehalteneKrafte，nahean70000Maun，umdenFeind，wennerdenLechpassirte，angreifenundschlagenzukonnen，Wirkonnen，dawirMeistervon
Ulmsind，denVortheil，auchvonbeidenufernderDonauMeisterzubleiben，nichtvertieren，mithinauchjedenAuBgenblick，wennderFeinddenLechnichtpassirte，dieDonau，ubersetzen，unsaufseineCommunika－tions－Liniewerfen，dieDonauunterhalbrepassirenuhddemFeinde，wennersichgegenunseretreueAllirtemitganzerMachtwendenwollte，seineAbsichtalsbald，vereiteln，WirwerdenaufsolcheWeisedenZeitpunkt，wodiekaiserlich－RussisBcheArmeeausgerüstetseinwird，muthigentgegenharren，undsodannleichtgemeinschaftlichdieMoglichkeitfinden，demFeindedasSchicksalzuznbereiten，soerverdivent。①
①德语：我们具备有充分集中的兵力，约计七万人，如果敌人横渡莱希河，我们一定能够发动进攻，一举歼灭敌人。因为我们占有乌尔姆，我们则可继续控制多瑙河两岸的有利形势；因此，如果敌人不横渡莱希河，我们定能随时渡过多瑙河，冲至敌人的交通线，并从多瑙河下游渡河返回原地，如果敌人欲以全部兵力进犯我们的忠实盟军，我们决不允许敌人实现这一企图。因此，我们要振奋精神，等待俄皇军队完成备战任务，然后我们上下一致，不难觅得良机，使敌人面临其理应遭遇的厄运。

库图佐夫念完了这段信，心情沉重地吸了一口气，他用留心的目光亲热地望望军事参议院的参议员。
“可是，阁下，您知道有一条明哲的行为准则：要作最坏的打算，”奥国将军说道，显然他想借助于戏言来结束闲谈，下一步说点什么正经事儿。
他现出不满意的神态，回头望了望副官。
“将军，对不起，”库图佐夫打断他的话，他也向安德烈公爵转过脸去。“亲爱的，你听我说，你向科兹洛夫斯基索取我们侦察员的全部情报吧。这儿是诺斯蒂茨伯爵的两封疏函，这儿是费迪南大公殿下的疏函，还有另一些，”他说道，一面把几份公文递给他。“依据这全部公文用法文清晰地编写一份用memorandum，①把我们所掌握的奥军军事行动的全部消息编写成一份呈文。喂，照此办理，然后送呈大人达览。”
①法语：官方记事公文。

安德烈公爵低下头来，表示一听见库图佐夫开腔，他就非但明白他说了什么话，而且也明白，他想对他说什么话。他收拾好文件，向二位行了一鞠躬礼，就从地毯上迈起徐缓的脚步朝接待室走去了。
虽然安德烈公爵离开俄国以来还没有度过多少时光，但在这段时间里他却变得多了。他的面部表情、动作和步态上几乎看不见从前那种虚假、劳累和懒惰的样子。他那种神态，就像某人没有时间去想他对旁人产生什么印象，而只是忙着干一件悦意而饶有兴趣的活儿似的。他脸上现出过分的自满和对周围的人表示满意的样子。他的笑容和眼神显得更快活、更惹人喜爱了。
他在波兰就赶上了库图佐夫，库图佐夫待他十分周到，答应他不会把他忘记，他和其他副官不同，库图佐夫非常赏识他，把他带到维也纳，委托他办理比较重要的事情。库图佐夫在维也纳给他的老同僚——安德烈公爵的父亲写了一封信。
“令郎，”他写道，“因为他兢兢业业、立场坚定、勤勤恳恳，有希望当上一名与众不同的军官。我身边能有这样一名手下人，我觉得自己非常幸运。”
在库图佐夫的司令部里，泛而言之，即是在军队里，安德烈公爵在同事之间素有两种截然相反的名声。有一些人，也就是少数人，承认安德烈公爵是个与己与众有所不同的特殊人物，预期他将来有所造诣，都服从他，佩服他，并且效法他。安德烈公爵对这些人都很大方、憨厚，和他们共事时，他觉得心情愉快。而另一些人，即是多数人，都不喜欢安德烈公爵，认为他是个盛气凌人、冷淡、令人厌恶的人物。安德烈公爵善于应付这些人，要他们尊敬他，甚至畏惧他。
安德烈公爵走出库图佐夫办公室，来到接待室，他随身带着公文问一个同事——正在窗前看书的值班副官科兹洛夫斯基面前走去。
“喂，公爵，怎么啦？”科兹洛夫基斯问。
“接到命令要拟出一份官方记事公文，借以说明我们为什么不向前推进。”
“为什么呢？”
安德烈公爵耸耸肩膀。
“没有马克方面的消息？”科兹洛夫斯基问道。
“没有。”
“假如他确实已被击溃，消息是会传来的。”
“大概是这样的吧。”安德烈公爵说道，就向门口走去了。但是正在这个时候，一个身材高大、看来像是刚从外地抵达的奥国将军迈着飞快的脚步迎面走进接待室，砰的一声把门关上了。他身穿常礼服，头上裹着黑头巾，颈上佩戴着玛丽亚·特雷西娅勋章。安德烈公爵停步了。
“库图佐夫上将在吗？”刚从外地来到的将军带着刺耳的德国口音飞快地说道，一方面向两旁张望，不停步地向办公室门口走去。
“上将没有空，”科兹洛夫斯基说道，急忙走到不相识的将军前面，拦住门前的通道，“请问尊姓大名？”
这个不相识的将军鄙薄地从上到下把那身材不高的科兹洛夫斯基打量一番，好像觉得惊讶，竟有人会不认识他。
“上将没有空。”科兹洛夫斯基心平气和地重说了一句。
将军皱起了眉头，现出阴郁的脸色，他的嘴唇抽搐一下，颤栗起来了。他取出笔记本，用铅笔飞快地写了几只字，撕下一页纸递给科兹洛夫斯基，然后他就飞快地向窗口走去，一屁股坐在椅子上，朝房里的人瞥了一眼，好像心里在问：他们为什么都望着我呢？之后将军抬起头来，伸直了颈项，仿佛他想说句什么话，但是随即又像是漫不经心地暗自吟唱，唱出一种古怪的声音，这声音立即中断了。办公室的门敞开了，库图佐夫在门坎前面出现了。裹着头巾的将军有如躲避危险似的，弯下腰去，他那消瘦的两腿迈着飞快的脚步，向库图佐夫面前走了。
“VousvoyezlemalheureuxMack．”①他突然改变声调说道。
①法语：您亲眼看见了不幸的马克。

库图佐夫站在办公室门口，脸部的表情有一阵子滞然不动了。然后，他脸上闪现出一条波浪似的皱纹。前额舒展开了；他毕恭毕敬地低下头，合上眼睛，默不作声地让马克从身边走过去，随手把门关上了。
原先传说奥国人已被击溃并在乌尔姆城下全军投降的消息原来是真实的。过了半小时，副官们已被派至各处传达命令，命令表明，直至目前尚未采取行动的俄军也快要和敌人交锋了。
司令部里只有寥寥无几的军官才很关心战事的全部进程，安德烈公爵是其中之一。安德烈公爵看见马克并听见他的军队覆没的详情之后，他心中明白，半个战局已经输完了，俄军的处境极其艰难。他很生动地想到军队即将面临何种局面，他在军队中应当发挥何种作用。当他一想到过于自信的奥国遭到可耻的失败，再过一个礼拜也许会亲眼看到并且参与苏沃洛夫之后的史无前例的俄法武装冲突，他就禁不住会产生一种激动的喜悦的感情。但是他害怕那比俄军英勇更胜一筹的波拿巴的天才，同时他也不能容许自己的英雄蒙受奇耻大辱。
这些心事使安德烈公爵感到激动和恼怒，他向自己房里走去，给父亲写信，他每日都给父亲写信，他在走廊上碰见同屋居住的涅斯维茨基和诙谐的热尔科夫。同平日那样，他们不知道为什么而笑。
“你怎么这样忧愁？”涅斯维茨基发现安德烈公爵脸色苍白，两眼闪闪发光，于是问道。
“没有什么可开心的。”博尔孔斯基答道。
当安德烈公爵碰见涅斯维茨基和热尔科夫时，昨日刚刚抵达的奥国将军施特劳赫和奥国军事参议院参议员从走廊的另一边迎面走来；这个奥国将军留驻于库图佐夫司令部，监察俄国军队的粮食供应。走廊很宽绰，有空地方可供两个将军和三个军官自由通行；但是热尔科夫把涅斯维茨基推开，气喘吁吁地说道：
“他们来了！……他们来了！……闪到一边去吧，让路！
请让路！”
两个将军走过去，他们都摆出一副想回避麻烦礼节的样子。诙谐的热尔科夫脸上忽然流露出似乎忍耐不住的欢快的蠢笑。
“大人，”他向前迈出几步，把脸转向奥国将军用德国话说道，“向您道贺，我深感荣幸。”
他低下头来，就像那学跳舞的儿童一样，呆笨地时而伸出左脚，时而伸出右脚，开始并足致礼。
奥国军事参议院参议员将军严肃地瞟了他一眼，可是发现他一本正经地蠢笑，不能不注意一会儿。将军眯缝起眼睛，表示正在听他说话。
“马克将军来到了，他安然无恙，只是这个地方碰伤了，向他道贺，我深感荣幸。”他指了指自己的头部，微露笑容地补充了一句。
将军蹙起了额头，转过身子向前走去了。
“Gott，wienaiv！”①他走开几步，愤怒地说道。
①法语：我的天啊，多么天真！

涅斯维茨基哈哈大笑起来，抱住了安德烈公爵，但是博尔孔斯基的脸色显得更加苍白，他现出愤恨的神色把他推开，向热尔科夫转过脸去。马克的神色、他遭到失败的消息以及俄军所面临的局面引起的万端思绪，使他陷入了神经兴奋的状态。热尔科夫不合时宜地逗乐，他觉得忿恨，这一切就在他愤怒时向热尔科夫发泄出来了。
“阁下，”他的下颔微微颤抖，嗓音刺耳地说道，“如果您想当一名侍从丑角，这事儿我不能阻拦。但是我向您公开声明，如果您再敢当着我的面逗乐子，我可要把您教训教训，要您懂得怎样做人。”
涅斯维茨基和热尔科夫对这种乖张行为表示惊奇，瞪大了眼睛，默默地望着博尔孔斯基。
“怎么啦，我只是道贺罢了。”热尔科夫说道。
“我不和您闹着玩，请别开腔！”博尔孔斯基喊了一声，用力抓住涅斯维茨基的手，就从那没法回答的热尔科夫身边走开了。
“喂，老弟，你怎么啦？”涅斯维茨基用安慰的口气说道。
“说什么怎么啦？”安德烈公爵说道，激动得停步了，“你可要明白，我们或者是一些为国王和祖国效力的军官，为共同的胜利而欢乐，为共同的失败而悲伤；我们或者是一些对君主的事业无关痛痒的走狗。Quarantemilleshommesmassacrésetl'arméedenosalliésdétruite，etvoustroucezlàlemotpourrive，”他说道，好像要用这句法国话认证自己的意见。”C'estbienpourungarconderien，commecetindiBvidu，dontvousavezfaitunami，maispaspourvous，paspourvous①，只有乳臭未干的孩子才能这样逗乐哩。”安德烈公爵发现热尔科夫还能听见他说话，就用俄国话补充了一句，而且带法国口音说出孩子这个词。
①法国：四万人捐躯了，我们的盟军被歼灭了，可是你们居然开这种玩笑。您和这个先生交朋友，像他这样的小人，还情有可原，而您，而您就不可饶恕了。
他等了一会儿，看骑兵少尉是否回答。可是骑兵少尉转过身去，从走廊里走出去了。
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Part Two Chapter Two


“COMING!” the sentinel shouted at that moment. The general, turning red, ran to his horse, with trembling hands caught at the stirrup, swung himself up, settled himself in the saddle, drew out his sword, and with a pleased and resolute face opened his mouth on one side, in readiness to shout. The regiment fluttered all over, like a bird preening its wings, and subsided into stillness.
“Silence!” roared the general, in a soul-quaking voice, expressing at once gladness on his own account, severity as regards the regiment, and welcome as regards the approaching commander-in-chief.
A high, blue Vienna coach with several horses was driving at a smart trot, rumbling on its springs, along the broad unpaved high-road, with trees planted on each side of it. The general's suite and an escort of Croats galloped after the coach. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general in a white uniform, that looked strange among the black Russian ones. The coach drew up on reaching the regiment. Kutuzov and the Austrian general were talking of something in low voices, and Kutuzov smiled slightly as, treading heavily, he put his foot on the carriage step, exactly as though those two thousand men gazing breathlessly at him and at their general, did not exist at all.
The word of command rang out, again the regiment quivered with a clanking sound as it presented arms. In the deathly silence the weak voice of the commander-in-chief was audible. The regiment roared: “Good health to your Ex .. lency .. lency .. lency!” And again all was still. At first Kutuzov stood in one spot, while the regiment moved; then Kutuzov began walking on foot among the ranks, the white general beside him, followed by his suite.
From the way that the general in command of the regiment saluted the commander-in-chief, fixing his eyes intently on him, rigidly respectful and obsequious, from the way in which, craning forward, he followed the generals through the ranks, with an effort restraining his quivering strut, and darted up at every word and every gesture of the commander-in-chief,—it was evident that he performed his duties as a subordinate with even greater zest than his duties as a commanding officer. Thanks to the strictness and assiduity of its commander, the regiment was in excellent form as compared with the others that had arrived at Braunau at the same time. The sick and the stragglers left behind only numbered two hundred and seventeen, and everything was in good order except the soldiers' boots.
Kutuzov walked through the ranks, stopping now and then, and saying a few friendly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war, and sometimes to the soldiers. Looking at their boots, he several times shook his head dejectedly, and pointed them out to the Austrian general with an expression as much as to say that he blamed no one for it, but he could not help seeing what a bad state of things it was. The general in command of the regiment, on every occasion such as this, ran forward, afraid of missing a single word the commander-in-chief might utter regarding the regiment. Behind Kutuzov, at such a distance that every word, even feebly articulated, could be heard, followed his suite, consisting of some twenty persons. These gentlemen were talking among themselves, and sometimes laughed. Nearest of all to the commander-in-chief walked a handsome adjutant. It was Prince Bolkonsky. Beside him was his comrade Nesvitsky, a tall staff-officer, excessively stout, with a good-natured, smiling, handsome face, and moist eyes. Nesvitsky could hardly suppress his mirth, which was excited by a swarthy officer of hussars walking near him. This officer, without a smile or a change in the expression of his fixed eyes, was staring with a serious face at the commanding officer's back, and mimicking every movement he made. Every time the commanding officer quivered and darted forward, the officer of hussars quivered and darted forward in precisely the same way. Nesvitsky laughed, and poked the others to make them look at the mimic.
Kutuzov walked slowly and listlessly by the thousands of eyes which were almost rolling out of their sockets in the effort to watch him. On reaching the third company, he suddenly stopped. The suite, not foreseeing this halt, could not help pressing up closer to him.
“Ah, Timohin!” said the commander-in-chief, recognising the captain with the red nose who had got into trouble over the blue overcoat.
One would have thought it impossible to stand more rigidly erect than Timohin had done when the general in command of the regiment had made his remarks to him; but at the instant when the commander-in-chief addressed him, the captain stood with such erect rigidity that it seemed that, were the commander-in-chief to remain for some time looking at him, the captain could hardly sustain the ordeal, and for that reason Kutuzov, realising his position, and wishing him nothing but good, hurriedly turned away. A scarcely perceptible smile passed over Kutuzov's podgy face, disfigured by the scar of a wound.
“Another old comrade at Ismail!” he said. “A gallant officer! Are you satisfied with him?” Kutuzov asked of the general in command.
And the general, all unconscious that he was being reflected as in a mirror in the officer of hussars behind him, quivered, pressed forward, and answered: “Fully, your most high excellency.”
“We all have our weaknesses,” said Kutuzov, smiling and walking away from him. “He had a predilection for Bacchus.”
The general in command was afraid that he might be to blame for this, and made no answer. The officer of hussars at that instant noticed the face of the captain with the red nose, and the rigidly drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his face and attitude in such a life-like manner that Nesvitsky could not restrain his laughter. Kutuzov turned round. The officer could apparently do anything he liked with his face; at the instant Kutuzov turned round, the officer had time to get in a grimace before assuming the most serious, respectful, and innocent expression.
The third company was the last, and Kutuzov seemed pondering, as though trying to recall something. Prince Andrey stepped forward and said softly in French: “You told me to remind you of the degraded officer, Dolohov, serving in the ranks in this regiment.”
“Where is Dolohov?” asked Kutuzov.
Dolohov, attired by now in the grey overcoat of a private soldier, did not wait to be called up. The slender figure of the fair-haired soldier, with his bright blue eyes, stepped out of the line. He went up to the commander-in-chief and presented arms.
“A complaint to make?” Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.
“This is Dolohov,” said Prince Andrey.
“Ah!” said Kutuzov. “I hope this will be a lesson to you, do your duty thoroughly. The Emperor is gracious. And I shall not forget you, if you deserve it.”
The bright blue eyes looked at the commander-in-chief just as impudently as at the general of his regiment, as though by his expression tearing down the veil of convention that removed the commander-in-chief so far from the soldier.
“The only favour I beg of your most high excellency,” he said in his firm, ringing, deliberate voice, “is to give me a chance to atone for my offence, and to prove my devotion to his majesty the Emperor, and to Russia.”
Kutuzov turned away. There was a gleam in his eyes of the same smile with which he had turned away from Captain Timohin. He turned away and frowned, as though to express that all Dolohov had said to him and all he could say, he had known long, long ago, that he was sick to death long ago of it, and that it was not at all what was wanted. He turned away and went towards the coach.
The regiment broke into companies and went towards the quarters assigned them at no great distance from Braunau, where they hoped to find boots and clothes, and to rest after their hard marches.
“You won't bear me a grudge, Proho Ignatitch?” said the commanding general, overtaking the third company and riding up to Captain Timohin, who was walking in front of it. The general's face beamed with a delight he could not suppress after the successful inspection. “It's in the Tsar's service … can't be helped … sometimes one has to be a little sharp at inspection. I'm the first to apologise; you know me.… He was very much pleased.” And he held out his hand to the captain.
“Upon my word, general, as if I'd make so bold,” answered the captain, his nose flushing redder. He smiled, and his smile revealed the loss of two front teeth, knocked out by the butt-end of a gun at Ismail.
“And tell Dolohov that I won't forget him; he can be easy about that. And tell me, please, what about him, how's he behaving himself … I've been meaning to inquire…”
“He's very exact in the discharge of his duties, your excellency … but he's a character …” said Timohin.
“Why, what sort of a character?” asked the general.
“It's different on different days, your excellency,” said the captain; “at one time he's sensible and well-educated and good-natured. And then he'll be like a wild beast. In Poland, he all but killed a Jew, if you please.…”
“Well, well,” said the general, “still one must feel for a young man in trouble. He has great connections, you know.… So you …”
“Oh, yes, your excellency,” said Timohin, with a smile that showed he understood his superior officer's wish in the matter.
“Very well, then, very well.”
The general sought out Dolohov in the ranks and pulled up his horse.
“In the first action you may win your epaulettes,” he said to him.
Dolohov looked round and said nothing. There was no change in the lines of his ironically-smiling mouth.
“Well, that's all right then,” the general went on. “A glass of brandy to every man from me,” he added, so that the soldiers could hear. “I thank you all. God be praised!” And riding round the company, he galloped off to another.
“Well, he's really a good fellow, one can get on very well under him,” said Timohin to the subaltern officer walking beside him.
“The king of hearts, that's the only word for him,” the subaltern said, laughing. (The general was nicknamed the king of hearts.)
The cheerful state of mind of the officers after the inspection was shared by the soldiers. The companies went along merrily. Soldiers' voices could be heard on all sides chatting away.
“Why, don't they say Kutuzov's blind in one eye?”
“To be sure he is. Quite blind of one eye.”
“Nay … lads, he's more sharp-eyed than you are. See how he looked at our boots and things.” …
“I say, mate, when he looked at my legs … well, thinks I …”
“And the other was an Austrian with him, that looked as if he'd been chalked all over. As white as flour. I bet they rub him up as we rub up our guns.”
“I say, Fedeshou … did he say anything as to when the battles are going to begin? You stood nearer. They did say Bonaparte himself was in Brunovo.”
“Bonaparte! What nonsense the fellow talks! What won't you know next! Now it's the Prussian that's revolting. The Austrian, do you see, is pacifying him. When he's quiet, then the war will begin with Bonaparte. And he talks of Bonaparte's being in Brunovo! It's plain the fellow's a fool. You'd better keep your ears open.”
“Those devils of quartermasters! … The fifth company's turned into the village by now, and they're cooking their porridge, and we're not there yet.”
“Give us a biscuit, old man.”
“And did you give me tobacco yesterday? All right, my lad. Well, well, God be with you.”
“They might have made a halt, or we'll have to do another four miles with nothing to eat.”
“I say, it was fine how those Germans gave us carriages. One drove along, something like.”
“But here, lads, the folks are regularly stripped bare. There it was all Poles of some sort, all under the Russian crown, but now we've come to the regular Germans, my boy.”
“Singers to the front,” the captain called. And from the different ranks about twenty men advanced to the front. The drummer, who was their leader, turned round facing the chorus and waving his arm, struck up a soldier's song, beginning: “The sun was scarcely dawning,” and ending with the words: “So, lads, we'll march to glory with Father Kamensky.” … This song had been composed in Turkey, and now was sung in Austria, the only change being the substitution of the words “Father Kutuzov” for “Father Kamensky.”
Jerking out the last words in soldierly fashion and waving his arms, as though he were flinging something on the ground, the drummer, a lean, handsome soldier of forty, looked sternly at the soldier-chorus and frowned. Then, having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed upon him, he gesticulated, as though he were carefully lifting some unseen precious object over his head in both hands, holding it there some seconds, and all at once with a desperate movement flinging it away.“Ah, the threshold of my cottage,My new cottage.”
Here twenty voices caught up the refrain, and the castanet player, in spite of the weight of his weapon and knapsack, bounded nimbly forward, and walked backwards facing the company, shaking his shoulders, and seeming to menace some one with the castanets. The soldiers stepped out in time to the song, swinging their arms and unconsciously falling into step. Behind the company came the sound of wheels, the rumble of springs, and the tramp of horses. Kutuzov and his suite were going back to the town. The commander-in-chief made a sign for the soldiers to go on freely, and he and all his suite looked as though they took pleasure in the sound of the singing, and the spectacle of the dancing soldier and the gaily, smartly marching men. In the second row from the right flank, beside which the carriage passed, they could not help noticing the blue-eyed soldier, Dolohov, who marched with a special jauntiness and grace in time to the song, and looked at the faces of the persons driving by with an expression that seemed to pity every one who was not at that moment marching in the ranks. The cornet of hussars, the officer of Kutuzov's suite, who had mimicked the general, fell back from the carriage and rode up to Dolohov.
The cornet of hussars, Zherkov, had at one time belonged to the fast set in Petersburg, of which Dolohov had been the leader. Zherkov had met Dolohov abroad as a common soldier, and had not seen fit to recognise him. But now, after Kutuzov's conversation with the degraded officer, he addressed him with all the cordiality of an old friend.
“Friend of my heart, how are you?” he said, through the singing, making his horse keep pace with the marching soldiers.
“How am I?” Dolohov answered coldly. “As you see.” The lively song gave a peculiar flavour to the tone of free-and-easy gaiety, with which Zherkov spoke, and the studied coldness of Dolohov's replies.
“Well, how do you get on with your officers?” asked Zherkov.
“All right; they're good fellows. How did you manage to poke yourself on to the staff?”
“I was attached; I'm on duty.”
They were silent.“My gay goshawk I took with me,From my right sleeve I set him free,”
said the song, arousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness. Their conversation would most likely have been different, if they had not been talking while the song was singing.
“Is it true, the Austrians have been beaten?” asked Dolohov.
“Devil knows; they say so.”
“I'm glad,” Dolohov made a brief, sharp reply, as was required to fit in with the tune.
“I say, come round to us some evening; we'll have a game of faro,” said Zherkov.
“Is money so plentiful among you?”
“Do come.”
“I can't; I've sworn not to. I won't drink or play till I'm promoted.”
“Well, but in the first action …”
“Then we shall see.” Again they paused.
“You come, if you want anything; one can always be of use on the staff.…”
Dolohov grinned. “Don't trouble yourself. What I want, I'm not going to ask for; I take it for myself.”
“Oh, well, I only …”
“Well, and I only.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”“And far and freeTo his own country.”
Zherkov put spurs to his horse, which three times picked up its legs excitedly, not knowing which to start from, then galloped off round the company, and overtook the carriage, keeping time too to the song.


第二章第二节


“总司令来了！”这时信号兵喊道。
团长脸红了，跑到了马儿前面。他用巍颤颤的手抓住马镫，纵身上马，稳定身子，拔出了军刀。他面带欣喜而坚定的神情，撇着张开的嘴，准备喊口令。整个兵团就像梳平毛羽、振翅欲飞的鸟，抖抖身子，就屏住气息，一动不动了。
“立——正！”团长用震撼人心的嗓音喊道，这声音对他表示欢乐，对兵团表示森严，对前来检阅的首长表示迎迓之意。
几匹马纵列驾着的高大的天蓝色的维也纳轿式四轮马车，沿着没有铺砌路面的宽阔的周围种满树木的大路，奔驰而至，马车的弹簧发出轻微的隆隆响声。侍从们和克罗地亚人的护卫队乘坐轻骑在车后疾驰。一个奥国将军坐在库图佐夫近旁，他身穿一套在俄国人的黑军装之中显得稀奇古怪的白军装。四轮轿式马车在兵团的队列前停下来。库图佐夫和奥国将军轻声地谈论什么事情，库图佐夫微露笑容，当他迈着沉重的步子，从踏板上把腿伸下的时候，俨如他面前并无二千名屏住气息谛视着他和团长的士兵似的。
传来了口令声，兵团的队伍又颤动了，一齐举熗致敬，发出铿锵的响声。在那死一般的肃穆中，总司令的微弱的说话声清晰可闻。全团的士兵拉开了嗓子喊道：“大——人——健康长寿！”全体又屏息不动了。开初，当兵团的队伍行进时，库图佐夫站在一个位置上不动。然后，他和那身穿白军装的将军，在侍从的伴随之下，并排地沿着队列开始徒步检阅。
从团长挺直胸膛、衣着整齐、姿态端正、眼睛谛视总司令举手行军礼来看，从他勉强抑制住微微发抖的步态、身体向前微倾、跟随着二位将军沿着队列徒步检阅来看，从他听见总司令每说一句话，看见总司令每作一次手势就跑上前去唯唯诺诺来看，他履行下属的职务，较诸于履行首长的职务，更能得心应手。与那些同时抵达布劳瑙的兵团相比较，这个兵团由于团长的严厉和勤奋而居于至为优越的地位。掉队者和病号只有二百一十七人。除皮靴而外，其余一切都完整无缺。
库图佐夫沿着队列走过去了。有时停步对他在土耳其战争中认识的军官们说上几句密切的话，有时也对士兵们说几句话。当他望着皮靴时，他有好几回忧郁地摇头，并指着皮靴让奥国将军看看，他那表情能说明，在这件事上他似乎不想责备任何人，但却不能不目睹这种恶劣的情形。每当这时团长就向前跑去，深怕没听见总司令谈论这个兵团的每句话。在每句低声道出的话语都能听见的距离以内，约莫有二十名侍从跟随在库图佐夫身后。侍从先生们互相交谈，有时候发出笑声。一个长得漂亮的副官紧紧地跟着总司令，相隔的距离很近，他就是博尔孔斯基公爵，他的同事涅斯维茨基校官和他并肩同行，他身材魁梧，格外肥胖，长着一张美丽、善良和笑容可掬的脸，一对水汪汪的眼睛，一个面孔有点黧黑的骠骑军官在涅斯维茨基旁边走着，把他逗弄得几乎忍不住要笑。那个骠骑军官没有露出微笑，严肃地用那呆滞的目光望着团长的脊背，滑稽地摹仿团长的每个动作。每当团长微微发抖、向前弯腰的时候，那个骠骑军官就同样地、不爽毫厘地发抖、弯腰。涅斯维茨基一面发笑，一面推撞别人，让他们也来观看这个好逗笑的人。
库图佐夫无精打采地、脚步缓慢地从几千对瞪着眼珠谛视着首长的眼睛旁边走过去。走到第三连近侧的时候，他忽然停步了。侍从们没有预见到他会停步，不由地朝地拥上来。
“啊，季莫欣！”总司令说道，认出了那个因身穿蓝色军大衣而尝到苦头的红鼻子上尉。
季莫欣在团长责备他的时候身子似乎挺得不能再直了。但是，在总司令和他谈话的这个时刻，他把身子挺得更直了。看起来，若是总司令再多望他一会儿，他就会忍受不住了。库图佐夫显然明了上尉的这种窘态，他心中祝愿上尉诸事吉祥，话音一落地就连忙转过脸去。库图佐夫那张因负伤而变得丑陋的胖得发圆的脸上，掠过一丝难以觉察的微笑。
“还有个伊兹梅尔战役的同志，”他说道。“是个勇敢的军官啊！你满意他吗？”库图佐夫向团长问道。
团长在骠骑军官身上的反映，就像照镜子那样，只是团长自己看不见。团长颤栗了一下，向前走去，答道：
“大人，我很满意。”
“我们大家并不是没有弱点，”库图佐夫说道，面露微笑，从他身边走开了。“他忠实于巴克斯”①。
①巴克斯就是罗马神话中的酒神。

团长吓了一跳，这是否就是他的罪过，他什么话也没有回答。这时候军官看见了鼻子发红、腹部收缩的上尉的面孔，就模仿他的面部表情和姿态，模仿得像极了，以致涅斯维茨基不禁笑出声来。库图佐夫扭过头来。看样子，军官能够随心所欲地控制自己的面部表情，当库图左夫扭过头来的刹那间，他装出一副鬼脸，旋即露出至为严肃的毕恭毕敬的纯洁无瑕的表情。
第三连是最后一个连。库图佐夫沉思起来，显然他想起什么事情。安德烈公爵从侍从们中间走出来，用法国话轻声地说道：
“您吩咐我提醒您一件关于本团内受降级处分的多洛霍夫的事情。”
“多洛霍夫在哪里？”库图佐夫问道。
多洛霍夫换上一件士兵的灰军大衣，焦急地等待有人召唤他。一个身材匀称、浅色头发、一对蓝眼睛闪闪发光的士兵从队列中走出来了。他向总司令面前走去，举熗敬礼。
“你有要求吗？”库图佐夫微微地蹙起额头，问道。
“他就是多洛霍夫。”安德烈公爵说道。
“啊！”库图佐夫说道，“我希望这场教训会使你纠正错误，好好地服役。国王是很慈悲的。你只要立功，我就不会把你忘记。”
那双闪闪发光的蓝眼睛放肆地望着总司令，就像正视着团长那样，他好像要用他的表情去冲破那层把总司令和士兵远远分开的隔幕。
“大人，有一件事我要求您，”他用那洪亮、坚定、从容不迫的嗓音说道，“我求您给我一个赎罪的机会，证明我对国王和俄国的一片忠心。”
库图佐夫转过脸来，正如他向季莫欣转过脸来一样，他脸上掠过一丝含在眼中的微笑。他转过脸来，蹙一阵额头，好像他想表明，多洛霍夫对他所说的种种情形，以及多洛霍夫对他可能说到的种种情形，他老早老早就心中有数了，这一切使他厌倦，都是一些根本用不着说的话。他转过头来，向马车面前走去了。
一团人按连站队开往布劳瑙附近指定的驻地，希望在那里能给自己弄到皮靴和军服，在艰苦的行军之后休息休息。
“普罗霍尔·伊格纳季奇，您不会抱怨我吧？”团长骑在马上绕过向营盘走去的第三连官兵，向带领连队的季莫欣上尉面前直奔而去，对他说道，在顺利举行阅兵式之后，团长脸上不禁流露出欣快。“为沙皇效劳……不可以乱来……我有时会在队列中威吓你们一通……我先来道歉，您是知道我的……我十分感谢！”他于是向连长伸出手来。
“将军，哪能呢，我怎敢埋怨您呀！”上尉答道，他的鼻子涨红了，面露微笑，微笑时张开他在伊兹梅尔城下被熗托打落两颗门牙的缺口。
“请转告多洛霍夫先生，我决不会忘记他，要他放心好了。请您告诉我，我总想问您，他怎么样？操行端正么？各方面的表现……”
“大人，他努力工作……可是性格……”季莫欣说道。
“怎么？性格怎么样？”团长问道。
“大人，天天不一样，”上尉说道，“有时候很聪明，有学问，待人和善。有时候不然，他变成野兽了。他在波兰本来打死了一个犹太人……您要知道……”
“是呀，是呀，”团长说道，“还是要怜悯怜悯这个不幸的青年。要知道，他交际广阔，情谊深厚……所以您要……”
“大人，遵命。”季莫欣说道，他面露微笑，表示他明了首长的意愿。
“是呀，是呀。”
团长在队列中找到了多洛霍夫，并且把马勒住了。
“作战前先发肩章。”团长对他说道。
多洛霍夫环顾了四周，没有说什么，也没有改变他那露出嘲笑的嘴角的表情。
“嗯，这就好了，”团长继续说道。“我邀请各位痛饮一杯，”他补充一句，让士兵们都能听见他说的话，“我感谢大家！谢天谢地！”他于是赶到这个连队的前面，并向另一个连队疾驰而去。
“没啥可说的，他确实是个好人，蛮可以和他一道干工作。”季莫欣对在身旁步行的连级军官说道。
“一言以蔽之，他是个红桃！……（团长的绰号叫做‘红桃K'）”那个连级军官一面发笑，一面说道。
长官们在举行阅兵式后的喜悦心情也感染了士兵们。这一连人心情愉快地步行。四面八方都传来士兵谈话的声音。
“有人把库图佐夫叫什么来着，他是个独眼人，只有一只眼睛？”
“可不是么！百分之百的独眼人。”
“不……老弟，他比你更眼尖哩。皮靴和包脚布，什么都看得清清楚楚……”
“我的老弟，他望了望我这双脚……嘿！我以为……”
“还有那个和他同路来的奥国人，好像他全身刷了一层白灰似的，简直白得像面粉！想必有人像擦驮具那样把他擦得干干净净！”
“费杰绍，怎么样！……他不是说过什么时候开始打仗吗？你不是呆在更近的地方？人家老是说，波拿巴本人就驻扎在布鲁诺沃①。”
①布鲁诺沃即是布劳瑙。

“波拿巴会驻扎在这里！瞧，他真是瞎说，笨蛋！他知道什么呀！目前普鲁士人在叛变。这也就是说，奥国人正在戡乱，一旦普鲁士人给镇压下去，就向要波拿巴宣战了。可是他硬说波拿巴驻扎在布鲁诺沃啊！由此可见，他是个笨蛋。你多听一点消息吧。”
“你瞧，设营员这些鬼家伙！瞧，第五连官兵已经拐弯，进村了，他们就要煮稀饭了，可我们还没有到达目的地。”
“鬼东西，给我一点面包干。”
“昨天你给了我一点烟叶，是吗？老弟，怪不得。喂，你拿去吧，上帝保佑你。”
“让我们停下来休息休息也好，要不然，我们还要空着肚子走五俄里左右的路。”
“若是德国人给我们几辆四轮马车，那就妙极了。坐上去满不在乎，真威风！”
“老弟，这里的民众狂暴得很。那里好像都是俄国王权之下的波兰人；老弟，如今这里是清一色的德国人。”
“歌手都到前面来！”可以听见上尉的喊声。
约莫二十人从各个队列中跑到连队的前面。一名领唱的鼓手向歌手们转过脸来，他挥一挥手，唱起悠扬婉转的士兵之歌，歌曲的头一句的字样是：“朝霞升，太阳红……”收尾一句的字样是：“弟兄们，光荣归于卡缅斯基爷爷和我们……”这首歌曲编写于土耳其，现时在奥国流行，只是歌词中有所改动，其中的“卡缅斯基爷爷”已被改成“库图佐夫爷爷”。
鼓手这个消瘦、眉清目秀、约莫四十岁的士兵，依照士兵的惯例突然停止，不喝完最后一句，把两手一挥，好像把一件什么东西扔到地上似的，他向士兵歌手们严肃地瞥了一眼，眯缝起眼睛。之后，当他深信人人的目光都集中在他身上的时候，他好像把一件看不见的贵重物品举在头顶上，呆了片刻后突然使劲地把它扔掉：
哎呀，我的门斗呀，我的门斗！
“我的新门斗……”二十个人接着唱下去，乐匙手尽管担负着沉重的驮具，但却急忙地向前跑去，面向连队后退着行走，微微地抖动肩膀，威吓某人似地击打着乐匙。士兵们合着歌曲的拍节，挥动着手臂，迈开大步，不知不觉地走齐了脚步。连队后面可以听见车轮的辘辘声，弹簧垫的轧轧声和马蹄的得得声。库图佐夫偕同侍从回到城里去。总司令做了个手势，要士兵们继续便步行进，一听见歌声，一望见跳舞的士兵和快活地、脚步敏捷地行进的全连的士兵，总司令及其侍从们的脸上就流露出喜悦的表情。马车从连队右边一跃而过，连队右翼的第二排中，有个蓝眼睛的士兵无意中引人注目，此人就是多洛霍夫，他雄赳赳地、步态优美地合着歌曲的拍节行走着，一面望着从他身旁走过的人们的面孔，那神情就像他很怜悯此时没有跟随连队行进的人。库图佐夫的侍从中的一名骠骑兵少尉曾经模仿团长的姿态，引起一场哄笑，这时候，他落在马车后面，向多洛霍夫跟前奔驰而去。
骠骑兵少尉热尔科夫在彼得堡曾一度属于多洛霍夫把持的暴徒团伙。热尔科夫在国外遇见一个当兵的多洛霍夫，认为没有必要和他结识。如今，当库图佐夫和这个受降级处分的军官谈话之后，他怀着老友会面的喜悦心情向他倾吐所怀。
“知心的挚友，你怎么样了？”他在听见歌声时说道，一面使他的坐骑和连队的步调一致。
“我怎么样？”多洛霍夫冷漠地答道，“正像你望见的这个样子。”
节拍轻快的歌声，使热尔科夫说话时那种无拘无束的愉快的语调和多洛霍夫回答时故意装出的冷漠的神态，赋有一种特殊意义。
“喂，你是怎样和首长搞好关系的？”热尔科夫问道。
“没有什么，都是一些好人。你是怎样混进司令部的？”
“暂时调来的，由我值班嘛。”
他们沉默了片刻。
“她从右手袖筒中放出一只雄鹰，”歌词中写道，歌词无意中引起一种朝气蓬勃的愉快的感觉。假若他们不是在听见歌声时交谈，他们的话题也许就不同了。
“打垮了奥国人，是真的么？”多洛霍夫问道。
“大家这样说，鬼才知道啊。”
“我很高兴。”正像歌词所要求的那样，多洛霍夫简而明地答道。
“好吧，随便哪天晚上请到我们那里来打法拉昂纸牌吧。”
热尔科夫说道。
“也许是你们捞到许多钱了？”
“你来吧。”
“不行，我已经发誓了。在没有晋升以前，我不喝酒，不赌钱。”
“也罢，在打仗以前……”
“到时候就见分晓。”
他们又沉吟起来。
“你需要什么就来吧，司令部里大家都会帮忙的……”热尔科夫说道。
多洛霍夫冷冷一笑。
“你还是放心好了。我需要什么不会去索求，我自己准能办到。”
“也罢，我只是这样说……”
“我也只是这样说。”
“再见。”
“祝你健康……”
……眺望故土，
关山远阻……
热尔科夫用马刺刺马，马暴躁起来，发了烈性，用蹄子约莫跺了三下，不知道先要伸出哪条腿，定神之后，疾驰起来，也同样合着歌曲的节拍赶到连队前面去追赶四轮轿式马车。
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Part Two Chapter One


IN THE OCTOBER OF 1805 the Russian troops were occupying the towns and villages of the Austrian archduchy, and fresh regiments kept arriving from Russia and encamping about the fortress of Braunau, burdening the inhabitants on whom they were billeted. Braunau was the chief headquarters of the commander-in-chief, Kutuzov.

On the 11th of October 1805, one of the infantry regiments that had just reached Braunau had halted half a mile from the town, awaiting the inspection of the commander-in-chief. In spite of the un-Russian character of the country and the environment (the fruit gardens, the stone walls, the tiled roofs, the mountains in the distance, the foreign peasants, who looked with curiosity at the Russian soldiers), the regiment looked exactly as every Russian regiment always looks when it is getting ready for inspection anywhere in the heart of Russia. In the evening, on the last stage of the march, the order had been received that the commander-in-chief would inspect the regiment on the march. Though the wording of the order did not seem quite clear to the general in command of the regiment, and the question arose whether they were to take it to mean, in marching order or not, it was decided on a consultation between the majors to present the regiment in parade order on the ground, since, as the saying is, it is better to bow too low than not to bow low enough. And the soldiers after a twenty-five mile march had not closed their eyes, but had spent the night mending and cleaning, while the adjutants and officers had been reckoning up and calculating. And by the morning the regiment, instead of the straggling, disorderly crowd it had been on the last march, the previous evening, presented the spectacle of an organised mass of two thousand men, of whom every one knew his part and his duty, and had every button and every strap in its proper position, and shining with cleanliness. It was not only the outside that was in good order; if the commander-in-chief should think fit to peep below the uniform, he would see on every man alike a clean shirt, and in every knapsack he would find the regulation number of articles. There was only one circumstance which no one could feel comfortable about. That was their foot-gear. More than half the soldiers had holes in their boots. But this deficiency was not due to any shortcoming on the part of their commanding officer, since in spite of his repeated demands the boots had not yet been granted him by the Austrian authorities, and the regiment had marched nearly a thousand miles.

The commander of the regiment was a sanguine-looking general past middle age, with grey whiskers and eyebrows, broad and thick-set, and thicker through from the chest to the back than across the shoulders. He wore a brand-new uniform with the creases still in it where it had been folded, and rich gold epaulettes, which seemed to stand up instead of lying down on his thick shoulders. The general had the air of a man who has successfully performed one of the most solemn duties of his life. He walked about in front of the line, and quivered as he walked, with a slight jerk of his back at each step. The general was unmistakably admiring his regiment, and happy in it, and it was evident that his whole brain was engrossed by the regiment. But for all that, his quivering strut seemed to say that, apart from his military interests, he had plenty of warmth in his heart for the attractions of social life and the fair sex.

“Well, Mihail Mitritch, sir,” he said, addressing a major (the major came forward smiling; they were evidently in excellent spirits).

“We have had our hands full all night…But it'll do, I fancy; the regiment's not so bad as some…eh?”

The major understood this good-humoured irony and laughed.

“Even on the Tsaritsyn review ground they wouldn't be turned off.”

“Eh?” said the commander.

At that moment two figures on horseback came into sight on the road from the town, where sentinels had been posted to give the signal. They were an adjutant, and a Cossack riding behind him.

The adjutant had been sent by the commander-in-chief to confirm to the commander what had not been clearly stated in the previous order, namely, that the commander-in-chief wished to inspect the regiment exactly in the order in which it had arrived—wearing their overcoats, and carrying their baggage, and without any sort of preparation.

A member of the Hofkriegsrath from Vienna had been with Kutuzov the previous day, proposing and demanding that he should move on as quickly as possible to effect a junction with the army of Archduke Ferdinand and Mack; and Kutuzov, not considering this combination advisable, had intended, among other arguments in support of his view, to point out to the Austrian general the pitiable condition in which were the troops that had arrived from Russia. It was with this object, indeed, that he had meant to meet the regiment, so that the worse the condition of the regiment, the better pleased the commander-in-chief would be with it. Though the adjutant did not know these details, he gave the general in command of the regiment the message that the commander-in-chief absolutely insisted on the men being in their overcoats and marching order, and that, if the contrary were the case, the commander-in-chief would be displeased.

On hearing this the general's head sank; he shrugged his shoulders, and flung up his hands with a choleric gesture.

“Here's a mess we've made of it,” he said. “Why, didn't I tell you, Mihail Mitritch, that on the march meant in their overcoats,” he said reproachfully to the major. “Ah, my God!” he added, and stepped resolutely forward. “Captains of the companies!” he shouted in a voice used to command. “Sergeants!… Will his excellency be coming soon?” he said, turning to the adjutant with an expression of respectful deference, that related obviously only to the person he was speaking of.

“In an hour's time, I believe.”

“Have we time to change clothes?”

“I can't say, general.…”

The general, going himself among the ranks, gave orders for the men to change back to their overcoats. The captains ran about among the companies, the sergeants bustled to and fro (the overcoats were not quite up to the mark), and instantaneously the squadrons, that had been in regular order and silent, were heaving to and fro, straggling apart and humming with talk. The soldiers ran backwards and forwards in all directions, stooping with their shoulders thrown back, drawing their knapsacks off over their heads, taking out their overcoats and lifting their arms up to thrust them into the sleeves.

Half an hour later everything was in its former good order again, only the squadrons were now grey instead of black. The general walked in front of the regiment again with his quivering strut, and scanned it from some distance.

“What next? what's this!” he shouted, stopping short. “Captain of the third company!”

“The captain of the third company to the general! The captain to the general of the third company to the captain!” … voices were heard along the ranks, and an adjutant ran to look for the tardy officer. When the sound of the officious voices, varying the command, and, by now, crying, “the general to the third company,” reached their destination, the officer called for emerged from behind his company, and, though he was an elderly man and not accustomed to running, he moved at a quick trot towards the general, stumbling awkwardly over the toes of his boots. The captain's face showed the uneasiness of a schoolboy who is called up to repeat an unlearnt lesson. Patches came out on his red nose (unmistakably due to intemperance), and he did not know how to keep his mouth steady. The general looked the captain up and down as he ran panting up, slackening his pace as he drew nearer.

“You'll soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What's the meaning of it?” shouted the general, thrusting out his lower jaw and pointing in the ranks of the third division to a soldier in an overcoat of a colour different from the rest. “Where have you been yourself? The commander-in-chief is expected, and you're not in your place? Eh? … I'll teach you to rig your men out in dressing-gowns for inspection! … Eh?”

The captain, never taking his eyes off his superior officer, pressed the peak of his cap more and more tightly with his two fingers, as though he saw in this compression his only hope of safety.

“Well, why don't you speak? Who's that dressed up like a Hungarian?” the general jested bitterly.

“Your excellency …”

“Well, what's your excellency? Your excellency! Your excellency! But what that means, your excellency, nobody knows.”

“Your excellency, that's Dolohov, the degraded officer,” the captain said softly.

“Well, is he degraded to be a field-marshal, or a common soldier? If he's a soldier, then he must be dressed like all the rest, according to regulation.”

“Your excellency, you gave him leave yourself on the march.”

“Gave him leave? There, you're always like that, you young men,” said the general, softening a little. “Gave him leave? If one says a word to you, you go and …” The general paused. “One says a word to you, and you go and…Eh?” he said with renewed irritation. “Be so good as to clothe your men decently.…”

And the general, looking round at the adjutant, walked with his quivering strut towards the regiment. It was obvious that he was pleased with his own display of anger, and that, walking through the regiment, he was trying to find a pretext for wrath. Falling foul of one officer for an unpolished ensign, of another for the unevenness of the rank, he approached the third company.

“How are you standing? Where is your leg? Where is your leg?” the general shouted with a note of anguish in his voice, stopping five men off Dolohov, who was wearing his blue overcoat. Dolohov slowly straightened his bent leg, and looked with his clear, insolent eyes straight in the general's face.

“Why are you in a blue coat? Off with it!…Sergeant! change his coat…the dir…” Before he had time to finish the word—

“General, I am bound to obey orders, but I am not bound to put up with…” Dolohov hastened to say.

“No talking in the ranks! … No talking, no talking!”

“Not bound to put up with insults,” Dolohov went on, loudly and clearly. The eyes of the general and the soldier met. The general paused, angrily pulling down his stiff scarf.

“Change your coat, if you please,” he said as he walked away.


第二章第一节


一八○五年十月间，俄国军队侵占了奥国大公管辖的几个大村庄和城市，一些新兵团又从俄国开来，驻扎在布劳瑙要塞附近的地方，因而加重了居民的负担。库图佐夫总司令的大本营也坐落在布劳瑙。
一八○五年十月十一日，刚刚抵达布劳瑙的步兵团在离城市半英里处扎营，听候总司令检阅军队。尽管地形和周围环境（果园、石砌的围墙、瓦房盖、远处望得见的山峦）与俄罗斯迥然不同，尽管非俄罗斯民众怀着好奇心观望着士兵，但是，这个兵团的外貌，却和俄罗斯中部任何地区任何一个准备接受检阅的俄国兵一模一样。
那天傍晚，在最近一次行军的路上，接到了一项关于总司令检阅行军中的兵团的命令。虽然团长不太明了命令中的措词，出现了应当怎样领会措词的问题：士兵是不是穿上行军的服装接受检阅？而在营长会议上，遵照以礼相待的准则，决定兵团的士兵穿上阅兵服接受检阅。于是在三十俄里的行军之后，士兵们目不交睫，彻夜缝补衣裳，洗濯污秽；副官和连长命令士兵报数，清除一部分人。次日清晨，这个兵团已经不是最近一次行军的前夜那样松松垮垮的乌合之众，而是一支拥有两千人众的排列整齐的军队，每个人都熟谙自己的位置和任务，每个人的每个纽扣和每根皮带都位于原处，洁净得闪闪发亮。而且不仅是外面穿的军装没有破烂不堪，如果总司令要察看军装里面，他就会看到每个人都穿着一件同样干净的衬衫，他也会发现每只背袋里都装有一定数量的物件，正像士兵们说的那样，“锥子、肥皂，应有尽有。”人人都认为，只有一件事令人心烦，那就是鞋子问题。士兵们的皮靴多半穿破了。但是这个缺点不能归咎于团长。虽然多次提出要求，奥国主管部门并没有把军需品拨给团长，而这个兵团走了一千俄里路了。
这个团长是个易于激动的、须眉均已苍白的渐近老境的将军，他体格结实，胸背之间的宽度大于左右两肩之间的宽度。他身穿一套新缝制的带有一溜溜褶痕的军装，镀金的肩章挺厚，好像没有压低他那肥胖的肩膀，而是使它隆起来。团长的那副样子，就像某人正在顺利地完成一项平生最庄严的事业似的。他在队列前面慢慢地走动，有点儿弯腰曲背，走动时微微发抖，看起来，这个团长非常欣赏自己的兵团，因为他居于一团之首而感到幸福，他把全部精力都投入这个兵团了。尽管如此，他那微微发抖的步态仿佛说明，他除开对军事颇感兴趣，对上流社会的生活方式和女性的兴趣在他灵魂深处也占有相当重要的地位。
“喂，老兄，米哈伊洛·米特里奇，”他把脸转向一个营长，说道（这营长微微一笑，向前移动一步，看上去他们都很走运），“夜里我们都挨责备了。可是，似乎还不错，我们的兵团不是劣等的……啊，不是吗？”
营长听懂了这句令人开心的讽刺话，笑起来了。
“就是在察里津草地举行阅兵式，也不会有人把我们赶出去的。”
“什么？”那团长说道。
这时候，在那分布着信号兵的直通城市的大道上，有两个骑马的人出现了，一个是副官，另一个是跟随身后的哥萨克。
副官是由总司令部派来向团长阐明昨天发布的命令中模糊不清的措词的，即是阐明，总司令意欲看见一个完全处于行军状态的兵团——穿军大衣，罩上外套，不作任何检阅准备。
前一天，奥国军事参议院有一名参议员由维也纳前来叩见库图佐夫，建议并要求俄国军队尽速与费迪南大公和马克的部队汇合，但是库图佐夫认为这种汇合并无裨益，所以，他在摆出可作为他的观点的佐证时，还试图请那位奥国将军目睹一下来自俄国的军队的凄惨情状。他愿意前来与兵团士兵会面，就是要臻达这个目的；因此，兵团的处境愈益恶劣，总司令就愈益高兴。尽管那个副官不熟悉详情，但他已向团长转达了非履行不可的总司令的要求，即是士兵必须穿军大衣，罩上外套，不然，总司令就会表示不满意的。
团长听了这些话后垂下头来，默不作声地耸耸肩膀，很激动地把两手一摊。
“胡作非为啊！”他说道。“米哈伊洛·米特里奇，我不是跟你说过，在行军中，就是要穿军大衣，”他指责营长，“唉呀！我的天！”他补充一句话，就很坚定地向前走去。“诸位，连长！”他用那惯于发口令的嗓音喊道。“上士！……他即将光临？”他流露出恭恭敬敬的神情面对前来的副官说道。看来是为他所提起的那人，他才面带这种表情的。
“我认为要过一个钟头。”
“还来得及换衣服吗？”
“将军，我不晓得……”
这个团长亲自走到了队列的前面，吩咐士兵们重新穿上军大衣。连长各自奔回连部，上士们开始忙碌起来了（一部分大衣未予缝补，不太完整），就在这一刹那间，那些原先既整齐而又肃静的四边形队列开始蠕动、松散，喧哗不已。士兵从四面八方来回奔走，一个个向前耸起肩膀，绕过头上取下行军用的背袋，脱下军大衣，抬起一双手伸进衣袖中。
过了半个钟头，一切恢复了原有的秩序，只有四边形队列已由黑色变成灰色的了。团长又用那微微发抖的步态走到兵团的前面，从远处望它一眼。
“这又是什么名堂？这是什么名堂？”他在停步之时喊，“第三连连长！……”
“传呼第三连连长去见将军，传呼连长去见将军，传呼第三连连长去见团长！……”一列列队伍都听见传呼的声音，一名副官跑去寻找那个磨磨蹭蹭的军官。
这些费劲传呼的声音越传越不对头，在传到被传者的耳鼓时，原话已经变成“将军被传到第三连”了。这名被传的军官从连部后面窜出来，他虽然是个已过中年的男人，不习惯于跑步，但他还是步履踉跄，磕磕绊绊地快步走到将军面前。上尉那种惶惑不安的神色，就像有人叫一个没有学会功课的学生回答问题似的。他那显然由于饮酒无度而发红的脸上现出了斑点，嘴巴撇得合不拢了。他走到团长近侧，放慢了脚步，当他气喘吁吁走到团长面前时，团长从头到脚把他打量一番。
“您很快要给士兵们换上长袍了！这是什么名堂？”团长喊道，他用下颔指了指第三连的队伍中的一个穿着与别人的军大衣截然不同的厂呢色军大衣的士兵，“您刚才呆在哪儿？预料总司令就要到了，而您擅自离开岗位，啊，不是吗？……我要教训您一顿，干嘛要让士兵们穿上卡萨金去接受检阅！
……啊，不是吗？
连长眼巴巴地望着首长，他把两个指头按在帽檐上，越按越紧，好像他认为这会儿只有按帽檐行礼才能得救似的。
“喂，您为什么不开腔？您这儿有一个装扮成匈牙利人的是谁呀？”团长带着严肃的神色，开玩笑说。
“大人……”
“喂，什么‘大人'？大人！大人！可是谁不知道‘大人'是什么。”
“大人，他是受降级处分的多洛霍夫……”上尉轻声地说道。
“怎么？他被贬为元帅，是不是？还是贬为士兵呢？士兵就应当像大家一样穿军装。”
“大人，您亲自准许他在行军时可以穿这种衣服。”
“我准许的么？我准许的么？你们这些年轻人总是这个样子，”团长有几分冷静地说道。“我准许的么？对你们随便说句什么话，你们就……怎么？”他怒气冲冲地说道，“请让士兵们穿着得体面一点……”
团长掉过头来望望副官，他又用那微微发抖的步态向兵团的队伍走去。可见他很喜欢大发脾气，在这个兵团的队伍中走了一阵之后，他想再找一个大发脾气的借口。他威吓一个军官，因为这个军官戴着尚未擦亮的奖章，又威吓另一个军官，因为他带的队伍不整齐，之后他就向第三连走去。
“你是怎——样站的？脚放在哪里？脚放在哪里？”离那个身穿浅蓝色军大衣的多洛霍夫莫约有五人间隔的地方，团长就用含有痛楚的嗓音喊道。
多洛霍夫把他那弯着的腿慢慢地伸直，用炯炯发亮的放肆无礼的目光朝将军的面孔瞥了一眼。
“干嘛要穿蓝色的军大衣？脱掉！……上士！给他换衣服……坏东西……”团长还没有把话说完，多洛霍夫就急急忙忙地说道：
“将军，我必须执行命令。但是，我不应该忍受……”
“在队伍里不要闲扯！……不要闲扯，不要闲扯！……”
“我不应该忍受屈辱。”多洛霍夫用那洪亮的嗓音把话说完了。
将军和士兵的视线相遇了。将军怒气冲冲地向下拉着那条系得紧紧的腰带，他沉默起来了。
“请您换换衣服吧，我请求您。”他走开时说道。
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87162鲜花 72鸡蛋

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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
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Part One Chapter Twenty-Five


PRINCE ANDREY was leaving the following evening. The old prince, not departing from his regular routine, went away to his own room after dinner. The little princess was with her sister-in-law. Prince Andrey, having changed his dress and put on a travelling-coat without epaulettes, had been packing with his valet in the rooms set apart for him. After himself inspecting the coach and the packing of his trunks on it, he gave orders for the horses to be put to. Nothing was left in the room but the things that Prince Andrey always carried with him: a travelling-case, a big silver wine-case, two Turkish pistols and a sabre, a present from his father, brought back from his campaign under Otchakov. All Prince Andrey's belongings for the journey were in good order; everything was new and clean, in cloth covers, carefully fastened with tape.
At moments of starting off and beginning a different life, persons given to deliberating on their actions are usually apt to be in a serious frame of mind. At such moments one reviews the past and forms plans for the future. The face of Prince Andrey was very dreamy and tender. Clasping his hands behind him, he walked rapidly up and down the room from corner to corner looking straight before him and dreamily shaking his head. Whether he felt dread at going to the war, or grief at forsaking his wife or possibly something of both—he evidently did not care to be seen in that mood, for, catching the sound of footsteps in the outer room, he hastily unclasped his hands, stood at the table, as though engaged in fastening the cover of the case, and assumed his habitual calm and impenetrable expression. It was the heavy step of Princess Marya.
“They told me you had ordered the horses to be put in,” she said, panting (she had evidently been running), “and I did so want to have a little more talk with you alone. God knows how long we shall be parted again. You're not angry with me for coming? You're very much changed, Andryusha,” she added, as though to explain the question.
She smiled as she uttered the word “Andryusha.” It was obviously strange to her to think that this stern, handsome man was the same as the thin, mischievous boy, the Andryusha who had been the companion of her childhood.
“And where's Liza?” he asked, only answering her question by a smile.
“She was so tired that she fell asleep on the sofa in my room. Oh Andrey, what a treasure of a wife you have,” she said, sitting down on the sofa, facing her brother. “She is a perfect child; such a sweet, merry child. I like her so much.” Prince Andrey did not speak, but the princess noticed the ironical and contemptuous expression that came into his face.
“But one must be indulgent to little weaknesses. Who is free from them, Andrey? You mustn't forget that she has grown up and been educated in society. And then her position is not a very cheerful one. One must put oneself in every one's position. To understand everything is to forgive everything. Only think what it must be for her, poor girl, after the life she has been used to, to part from her husband and be left alone in the country, and in her condition too. It's very hard.”
Prince Andrey smiled, looking at his sister as we smile listening to people whom we fancy we see through.
“You live in the country and think the life so awful?” he said.
“I—that's a different matter. Why bring me in? I don't wish for any other life, and indeed I can't wish for anything different, for I know no other sort of life. But only think, Andrey, what it is for a young woman used to fashionable society to be buried for the best years of her life in the country, alone, because papa is always busy, and I … you know me … I am not a cheerful companion for women used to the best society. Mademoiselle Bourienne is the only person …”
“I don't like her at all, your Bourienne,” said Prince Andrey.
“Oh, no! she's a very good and sweet girl, and what's more, she's very much to be pitied. She has nobody, nobody. To tell the truth, she is of no use to me, but only in my way. I have always, you know, been a solitary creature, and now I'm getting more and more so. I like to be alone … Mon père likes her very much. She and Mihail Ivanovitch are the two people he is always friendly and good-tempered with, because he has been a benefactor to both of them; as Sterne says: ‘We don't love people so much for the good they have done us as for the good we have done them.' Mon père picked her up an orphan in the streets, and she's very good-natured. And mon père likes her way of reading. She reads aloud to him in the evenings. She reads very well.”
“Come, tell me the truth, Marie, you suffer a good deal, I expect, sometimes from our father's character?” Prince Andrey asked suddenly. Princess Marya was at first amazed, then aghast at the question.
“Me?…me?…me suffer!” she said.
“He was always harsh, but he's growing very tedious, I should think,” said Prince Andrey, speaking so slightingly of his father with an unmistakable intention either of puzzling or of testing his sister.
“You are good in every way, Andrey, but you have a sort of pride of intellect,” said the princess, evidently following her own train of thought rather than the thread of the conversation, “and that's a great sin. Do you think it right to judge our father? But if it were right, what feeling but vénération could be aroused by such a man as mon père? And I am so contented and happy with him. I could only wish you were all as happy as I am.”
Her brother shook his head incredulously.
“The only thing that troubles me,—I'll tell you the truth, Andrey,— is our father's way of thinking in religious matters. I can't understand how a man of such immense intellect can fail to see what is as clear as day, and can fall into such error. That is the one thing that makes me unhappy. But even in this I see a slight change for the better of late. Lately his jeers have not been so bitter, and there is a monk whom he received and talked to a long time.”
“Well, my dear, I'm afraid you and your monk are wasting your powder and shot,” Prince Andrey said ironically but affectionately.
“Ah, mon ami! I can only pray to God and trust that He will hear me. Andrey,” she said timidly after a minute's silence, “I have a great favour to ask of you.”
“What is it, dear?”
“No; promise me you won't refuse. It will be no trouble to you, and there is nothing beneath you in it. Only it will be a comfort to me. Promise, Andryusha,” she said, putting her hand into her reticule and holding something in it, but not showing it yet, as though what she was holding was the object of her entreaty, and before she received a promise to grant it, she could not take that something out of her reticule. She looked timidly with imploring eyes at her brother.
“Even if it were a great trouble …” answered Prince Andrey, seeming to guess what the favour was.
“You may think what you please about it. I know you are like mon père. Think what you please, but do this for my sake. Do, please. The father of my father, our grandfather, always wore it in all his wars …” She still did not take out what she was holding in her reticule. “You promise me, then?”
“Of course, what is it?”
“Andrey, I am blessing you with the holy image, and you must promise me you will never take it off.… You promise?”
“If it does not weigh a ton and won't drag my neck off … To please you,” said Prince Andrey. The same second he noticed the pained expression that came over his sister's face at this jest, and felt remorseful. “I am very glad, really very glad, dear,” he added.
“Against your own will He will save and will have mercy on you and turn you to Himself, because in Him alone is truth and peace,” she said in a voice shaking with emotion, and with a solemn gesture holding in both hands before her brother an old-fashioned, little, oval holy image of the Saviour with a black face in a silver setting, on a little silver chain of delicate workmanship. She crossed herself, kissed the image, and gave it to Andrey.
“Please, Andrey, for my sake.”
Rays of kindly, timid light beamed from her great eyes. Those eyes lighted up all the thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her brother would have taken the image, but she stopped him. Andrey understood, crossed himself, and kissed the image. His face looked at once tender (he was touched) and ironical.
“Merci, mon ami.” She kissed him on the forehead and sat down again on the sofa. Both were silent.
“So as I was telling you, Andrey, you must be kind and generous as you always used to be. Don't judge Liza harshly,” she began; “she is so sweet, so good-natured, and her position is a very hard one just now.”
“I fancy I have said nothing to you, Masha, of my blaming my wife for anything or being dissatisfied with her. What makes you say all this to me?”
Princess Marya coloured in patches, and was mute, as though she felt guilty.
“I have said nothing to you, but you have been talked to. And that makes me sad.”
The red patches grew deeper on the forehead and neck and cheeks of Princess Marya. She would have said something, but could not utter the words. Her brother had guessed right: his wife had shed tears after dinner, had said that she had a presentiment of a bad confinement, that she was afraid of it, and had complained of her hard lot, of her father-in-law and her husband. After crying she had fallen asleep. Prince Andrey felt sorry for his sister.
“Let me tell you one thing, Masha, I can't reproach my wife for anything, I never have and I never shall, nor can I reproach myself for anything in regard to her, and that shall always be so in whatever circumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know the truth … if you want to know if I am happy. No. Is she happy? No. Why is it so? I don't know.”
As he said this, he went up to his sister, and stooping over her kissed her on the forehead. His fine eyes shone with an unaccustomed light of intelligence and goodness. But he was not looking at his sister, but towards the darkness of the open door, over her head.
“Let us go to her; I must say good-bye. Or you go alone and wake her up, and I'll come in a moment. Petrushka!” he called to his valet, “come here and take away these things. This is to go in the seat and this on the right side.”
Princess Marya got up and moved toward the door. She stopped. “Andrey, if you had faith, you would have appealed to God, to give you the love that you do not feel, and your prayer would have been granted.”
“Yes, perhaps so,” said Prince Andrey. “Go, Masha, I'll come immediately.”
On the way to his sister's room, in the gallery that united one house to the other, Prince Andrey encountered Mademoiselle Bourienne smiling sweetly. It was the third time that day that with an innocent and enthusiastic smile she had thrown herself in his way in secluded passages.
“Ah, I thought you were in your own room,” she said, for some reason blushing and casting down her eyes. Prince Andrey looked sternly at her. A sudden look of wrathful exasperation came into his face. He said nothing to her, but stared at her forehead and her hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt that the Frenchwoman crimsoned and went away without a word. When he reached his sister's room, the little princess was awake and her gay little voice could be heard through the open door, hurrying one word after another. She talked as though, after being long restrained, she wanted to make up for lost time, and, as always, she spoke French
“No, but imagine the old Countess Zubov, with false curls and her mouth full of false teeth as though she wanted to defy the years. Ha, ha, ha, Marie!”
Just the same phrase about Countess Zubov and just the same laugh Prince Andrey had heard five times already from his wife before outsiders. He walked softly into the room. The little princess, plump and rosy, was sitting in a low chair with her work in her hands, trotting out her Petersburg reminiscences and phrases. Prince Andrey went up, stroked her on the head, and asked if she had got over the fatigue of the journey. She answered him and went on talking.
The coach with six horses stood at the steps. It was a dark autumn night. The coachman could not see the shafts of the carriage. Servants with lanterns were running to and fro on the steps. The immense house glared with its great windows lighted up. The house-serfs were crowding in the outer hall, anxious to say good-bye to their young prince. In the great hall within stood all the members of the household: Mihail Ivanovitch, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Marya, and the little princess. Prince Andrey had been summoned to the study of his father, who wanted to take leave of him alone. All were waiting for him to come out again. When Prince Andrey went into the study, the old prince was in his old-age spectacles and his white dressing-gown, in which he never saw any one but his son. He was sitting at the table writing. He looked round.
“Going?” And he went on writing again.
“I have come to say good-bye.”
“Kiss me here,” he touched his cheek; “thanks, thanks!”
“What are you thanking me for?”
“For not lingering beyond your fixed time, for not hanging about a woman's petticoats. Duty before everything. Thanks, thanks!” And he went on writing, so that ink spurted from the scratching pen.
“If you want to say anything, say it. I can do these two things at once,” he added.
“About my wife … I'm ashamed as it is to leave her on your hands.…”
“Why talk nonsense? Say what you want.”
“When my wife's confinement is due, send to Moscow for an accoucheur … Let him be here.”
The old man stopped and stared with stern eyes at his son, as though not understanding.
“I know that no one can be of use, if nature does not assist,” said Prince Andrey, evidently confused. “I admit that out of a million cases only one goes wrong, but it's her fancy and mine. They've been telling her things; she's had a dream and she's frightened.”
“H'm…h'm …” the old prince muttered to himself, going on with his writing. “I will do so.” He scribbled his signature, and suddenly turned quickly to his son and laughed.
“It's a bad business, eh?”
“What's a bad business, father?”
“Wife!” the old prince said briefly and significantly.
“I don't understand,” said Prince Andrey.
“But there's no help for it, my dear boy,” said the old prince; “they're all like that, and there's no getting unmarried again. Don't be afraid, I won't say a word to any one, but you know it yourself.”
He grasped his hand with his thin, little, bony fingers, shook it, looked straight into his son's face with his keen eyes, that seemed to see right through any one, and again he laughed his frigid laugh.
The son sighed, acknowledging in that sigh that his father understood him. The old man, still busy folding and sealing the letters with his habitual rapidity, snatched up and flung down again the wax, the seal, and the paper.
“It can't be helped. She's pretty. I'll do everything. Set your mind at rest,” he said jerkily, as he sealed the letter.
Andrey did not speak; it was both pleasant and painful to him that his father understood him. The old man got up and gave his son the letter.
“Listen,” said he. “Don't worry about your wife; what can be done shall be done. Now, listen; give this letter to Mihail Ilarionovitch. I write that he is to make use of you on good work, and not to keep you long an adjutant; a vile duty! Tell him I remember him and like him. And write to me how he receives you. If he's all right, serve him. The son of Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky has no need to serve under any man as a favour. Now, come here.”
He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half of his words, but his son was used to understanding him. He led his son to the bureau, opened it, drew out a drawer, and took out of it a manuscript book filled with his bold, big, compressed handwriting.
“I am sure to die before you. See, here are my notes, to be given to the Emperor after my death. Now here, see, is a bank note and a letter: this is a prize for any one who writes a history of Suvorov's wars. Send it to the academy. Here are my remarks, read them after I am gone for your own sake; you will find them profitable.”
Andrey did not tell his father that he probably had many years before him. He knew there was no need to say that.
“I will do all that, father,” he said.
“Well, now, good-bye!” He gave his son his hand to kiss and embraced him. “Remember one thing, Prince Andrey, if you are killed, it will be a grief to me in my old age…” He paused abruptly, and all at once in a shrill voice went on: “But if I learn that you have not behaved like the son of Nikolay Bolkonsky, I shall be … ashamed,” he shrilled.
“You needn't have said that to me, father,” said his son, smiling.
The old man did not speak.
“There's another thing I wanted to ask you,” went on Prince Andrey; “if I'm killed, and if I have a son, don't let him slip out of your hands, as I said to you yesterday; let him grow up with you…please.”
“Not give him up to your wife?” said the old man, and he laughed.
They stood mutually facing each other. The old man's sharp eyes were fixed on his son's eyes. A quiver passed over the lower part of the old prince's face.
“We have said good-bye…go along!” he said suddenly. “Go along!” he cried in a loud and wrathful voice, opening the study door.
“What is it, what's the matter?” asked the two princesses on seeing Prince Andrey, and catching a momentary glimpse of the figure of the old man in his white dressing-gown, wearing his spectacles and no wig, and shouting in a wrathful voice.
Prince Andrey sighed and made no reply.
“Now, then,” he said, turning to his wife, and that “now then” sounded like a cold sneer, as though he had said, “Now, go through your little performance.”
“Andrey? Already!” said the little princess, turning pale and looking with dismay at her husband. He embraced her. She shrieked and fell swooning on his shoulder.
He cautiously withdrew the shoulder, on which she was lying, glanced into her face and carefully laid her in a low chair.
“Good-bye, Masha,” he said gently-to his sister, and they kissed one another's hands, then with rapid steps he walked out of the room.
The little princess lay in the arm-chair; Mademoiselle Bourienne rubbed her temples. Princess Marya, supporting her sister-in-law, still gazed with her fine eyes full of tears at the door by which Prince Andrey had gone, and she made the sign of the cross at it. From the study she heard like pistol shots the repeated and angry sounds of the old man blowing his nose. Just after Prince Andrey had gone, the door of the study was flung open, and the stern figure of the old man in his white dressing-gown peeped out.
“Gone? Well, and a good thing too!” he said, looking furiously at the fainting princess. He shook his head reproachfully and slammed the door.


第一章第二十五节


第二天黄昏，安德烈公爵要动身了。老公爵遵守生活秩序，午膳后走回自己房里去了。矮小的公爵夫人呆在小姑房里。安德烈公爵穿上旅行常礼服，没有佩戴带穗肩章，在拨给他住的房间里和他的侍仆一同收拾行装。他亲自察看了马车，把手提箱装进车厢，嗣后吩咐套马车。房里只剩下一些安德烈平日随身带着的物品：一只小匣子、一只银质旅行食品箱、两支土耳其手熗和一柄军刀——从奥恰科夫运来的父亲赠送的物品。安德烈公爵的全部旅行用品摆放得齐齐整整，完整无缺，全是崭新的，十分干净的，罩上了呢绒套，并用小带子仔细地捆住。
在即将动身和改变生活规律的时刻，凡善于反思自己行为的人常常会产生一种忧闷的心绪。在这种时刻，他们通常是检查往事，制订长远规划。安德烈公爵脸部流露出沉思和感伤的表情。他把手放在背后。从房间的一角向另一角迈着疾速的脚步，张开眼睛向身前望去，沉思默想地晃着脑袋。他莫非是害怕上战场，抑或是离开妻子而忧心忡忡，——也许二者兼而有之，显然，他只是不想让人家望见他有这种心境；他听见门斗里的步履声，就连忙放开倒背着的手，在桌旁停步了，好像正在捆扎匣子上的布套，脸上带有平常那种宁静和神秘莫测的表情。这时分，可以听见公爵小姐玛丽亚的沉重的步履声。
“有人告诉我，你已经吩咐套马了，”她上气不接下气地说道（显然她是跑步来的），“我心里很想和你单独地再谈一会。天知道我们又要别离多久啊。我走来，你不发脾气吧？安德留沙，你变得厉害啊。”她补充一句话，好像要解释这句问话似的。
她喊“安德留沙”这个名字时，脸部微露笑容。看来，她想到这个严肃的俊美的男人，正是那个消瘦的调皮的安德留沙，她幼年时代的朋友，心里觉得十分奇怪。
“丽莎在哪儿？”他问道，只以微微一笑来回答她的问话。
“她觉得非常疲倦，在我房里的长沙发上睡着了。啊，Andrè！Quéltresondefemmevousavez，”①她说道，一面在长兄对面的长沙发上坐下。“她完全是个小女孩，一个可爱的愉快的小女孩。我很喜爱她。”
安德烈公爵默不作声，可是公爵小姐发现他脸上流露出嘲讽的鄙夷的表情。
“应当宽宏大量地对待一些小缺点，安德烈，谁会没有缺点啊！你不要忘记，她是在上流社会中教育、长大成人的。而且她目前的境遇并不幸福。应当同情每个人的处境。Toutcomprendre，c'esttoutpardonner，②你想想，她过惯了这种生活之后，怎么能够和丈夫离别，孤零零地呆在农村，而且怀了孕，她这个可怜的女人心里有什么感受？这是非常痛苦的。”
①法语：安德烈，你的妻子太可贵了。
②法语：谁能理解一切，谁就会宽恕一切。

安德烈公爵望着妹妹，脸上露出笑意，就像我们听到我们似乎看透了的那些人说话时面露笑容一样。
“你在农村生活，可是你并不认为这种生活可怕。”他说道。
“我就不一样了。干嘛要谈论我啊！我不企求别的生活，而且不能抱有这种心愿，因为我不知道还有什么别的生活。安德烈，你要想想，一个年轻轻的上流社会的女人，在大好年华，孑然一人匿身于农村，因为爸爸总是忙得不可开交，而我……你是知道我的情况的……对一个习惯于上流社会生活的女人来说，我是多么可怜，多么enresources①，唯独布里安小姐……”
“我极不喜欢您那个布里安。”安德烈公爵说道。
“啊，不对，她很可爱，又和善，主要是，她是一个不幸的姑娘。她没有任何亲人。老实说，我不仅不需要她，而且她使我感到不方便。你知道我一向是个野蛮人，现在变本加厉了。我喜欢独处……monpeve②很喜欢她。爸爸亲热而慈善地对待这两个人——她和米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇，因为他们二人都获得他的恩泽，斯特恩说，我们与其爱那些向我们布善的人，毋宁爱那些领受我们布善的人。monpeve收留了她这个surlepavé③的孤儿。她十分和善，喜欢她朗读的风度。她每逢夜晚给他朗读。她读得非常动听。”
①法语：不快活。
②法语：爸爸。
③法语：被遗弃于街头。

“嘿，玛丽，说真的，我认为父亲的性情有时会使你觉得难受，对不对？”安德烈公爵忽然问道。
公爵小姐玛丽亚先是大为惊讶，然后就害怕他这句问话。
“我觉得？……我觉得？我觉得难受？”她说道。
“我认为，他一向都很专横，现在变得难以共处了。”安德烈公爵说道，看来他故意使妹妹难堪，或者想试探一下，才这样轻率地评论父亲的。
“你各个方面都表现得很好，安德烈，可是你有点自傲，”公爵小姐说道，她不太注意谈话的进程，过多地注意自己的思路，“这真是一大罪孽。岂可评论父亲？即令是可以，而像monpeve这样的人，只能令人vénération，”①，哪能引起另一种感情？与他相处，我很满意，很幸福！我只希望你们都像我这样幸福。
长兄疑惑地摇摇头。
“安德烈，有一件事使我觉得难受，我如实地告诉你，那就是父亲在宗教方面的观点。我不明了，一个非常聪明的人，怎能看不清显而易见的事，怎能误入迷途？这就是我的一大不幸。但是我近来看见了他有改善的迹象。近来他的嘲讽不那么恶毒了。有个僧侣来拜门，他接见了僧侣，并且一同谈了很久的话。”
“啊，我的亲人，我怕您和僧侣都白费劲。”安德烈公爵嘲讽地，但却亲热地说道。
“Ah！monami，②我只是祷告上帝，希望他能听见我的祷告，安德烈，”沉默片刻之后她羞怯地说道：“我有一件要紧的事求你。”
①法语：崇拜。
②法语：啊，我的朋友。

“我的亲人，求我做什么事？”
“请你答应我，你不会拒绝我的请求。在你心目中，这件事不用费吹灰之力，也不会使你有损于身分。你只是安慰我而已。安德留沙，请你答应吧，”她说了这句话便把手伸进女式手提包里，拿着一样东西，但是不让别人望见，好像她手上拿的东西正是她所请求的目标，在她的请求尚未获得允诺之前，她是不能从女式手提包里取出这样东西的。
她用央求的目光羞羞答答地望着长兄。
“即使我要花费很大的力气……”安德烈公爵答道，仿佛要猜中是怎么回事。
“你随意想什么都行！我知道你和monpeve都是同样的人。你随意想什么都行，可是你要替我办这件事。请你办妥这件事！我父亲的父亲，即是我们的祖父在南征北战中都随身带着这样东西……”她依旧没有从女式手提包里取出她手里拿着的东西。“你会答应我吗？”
“当然，究竟是怎么回事啊？”
“安德烈，我用神像为你祝福，你要答应我你永远不会把它取下来……答应吗？”
“既然它的重量不到两普特，就不会压疼脖子……要让你愉快……”安德烈公爵说道，但是，一当他发现妹妹听了这句戏言，脸上就流露出忧伤的神情，他顿时后悔起来，“我非常高兴，我的确十分高兴，我的亲人。”他补充一句。
“上帝必将依据你的意志拯救你，保佑你，使你倾向他，唯有在他身上才能获得真理和安慰，”她用激动得颤栗的嗓音说道，在长兄面前庄重地捧着一帧救世主像。这帧古式神像呈椭圆形，面色黧黑并饰以银袍，身上系有一条银链。
她在胸前画十字，吻了吻神像，便把它递给安德烈。
“安德烈，请你保存，为我……”
她的一双大眼睛善良而且羞怯地炯炯发光。这双大眼睛照耀着她那瘦削的病态的面孔，使它变得十分美丽了。长兄想要伸手去拿神像，但是她把他拦住了。安德烈心里明白，他便在胸前画了十字，吻了一下神像。同时他脸上带有温和（他深受感动）和嘲笑的表情。
“mercimonami．”①
①法语：我的朋友，我感谢你。

她吻吻他的额头，又在长沙发上坐下来。他们都沉默不言。
“安德烈，我对你说过，你要像平常那样慈善、宽宏大量，不要严厉地责难丽莎，”她开始说道，“她很可爱，很和善，目前她的境况非常困难。”
“玛莎，我似乎什么也没有对你说起我责备妻子或者对她表示不满的话。你干嘛老对我说起这件事呢？”
公爵小姐玛丽亚脸上红一阵，白一阵，她沉默起来了，仿佛觉得自己有过错似的。
“我一点也没有对你说，不过有人对你说了。这真使我伤脑筋。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚的额头、颈项和两颊上的斑斑红晕显得更红了。她心里很想说点什么话，可是说不出来。长兄猜中了，午饭后矮小的公爵夫人哭了一顿，说她预感到不幸的分娩，她害怕难产，埋怨自己的命运，埋怨老公公和丈夫。她痛哭一顿以后就睡着了。安德烈公爵怜悯起妹妹来了。
“玛莎，你要知道是这么回事，我没有什么可责备妻子的，以前没有责备，以后也永远不会责备她，在我对她的态度上，我并没有什么可责怪自己的地方。无论我处在何种情况下，我永远都是这样。但是，如果你很想知道真相，……你想知道我是否幸福？我并不幸福。她是否幸福？也不幸福。这究竟是什么？我不知道……”
他说话时，站起身来，走到他妹妹面前，弯下腰去，吻了一下她的额头。他那美丽的眼睛放射出不常见的明智而和善的光芒，但是，他并不望他妹妹，而是逾越她的头部望着黑洞洞的敞开的门户。
“我们到她那里去吧，应当向她告辞了！要不然，你一个人去吧，把她喊醒，我马上就来。彼得鲁什卡！”他向侍仆喊道，“到这里来，收拾东西吧。这件要放在座位里边，这件要放在右边。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚站起身来，向门边走去。这时她停住脚步了。
“André，sivousavezlafoi，vousvousseriezadresséàDieu，pourqu'ilvousdonnel'amourquevousnesentezpas，etvotrepriereauraiteteexaucee．”①
“是啊，真有这种事吗！”安德烈公爵说道，“玛莎，你去吧，我立刻就来。”
安德烈公爵去妹妹房间的途中，在连结甲乙两幢住宅的走廊里，碰见了笑容可掬的布里安小姐，是日她已经第三次露出天真而喜悦的笑意在冷冷清清的过道上和他邂逅相遇了。
“Ah！jevouscroyaischezvous，”②她说道，不知怎的涨红了脸，低垂着眼睛。
①法语：安德烈，如果你有一种信仰，你就会祈祷上帝，要他赐予你那种体会不到的爱，要上帝能听到你的祷告。
②法语：啊，我原来以为您在自己房里哩。

安德烈公爵严肃地瞟了她一眼，脸上顿时流露出狂怒的神色，他什么话也没有对她说，不屑望望她的眼睛，只朝她的额角和头发瞥视一下，眼神是那么鄙夷，以致这个法国女人满面通红，她一言未发便走开了。当他行走到妹妹门口的时候，公爵夫人睡醒了，门户洞开，从里面传来她那愉快的上句紧扣下句的话语声。她说起话来，就像长时间克制之后，现在很想要补偿失去的时光似的。
“Non，maisfigurezvous，lavieillecomtesseZouboffavecdefaussesbouclesetlabouchepleinedefaussesdents，commesiellevoulaitdefierlesannees…①玛丽，哈，哈，哈！”
安德烈公爵约莫有五次听见他妻子在旁人面前说伯爵夫人祖博娃的一些同样的闲话，还听见一串串同样的笑声。他悄悄地走进房来。略嫌肥胖、面颊绯红的公爵夫人坐在安乐椅上，手里拿着针线活儿，不住声地说话，一桩桩、一件件回忆彼得堡的往事，甚至回忆一句句的原话。安德烈向她跟前走来，摸摸她的头，问她旅途之余是不是得到休息。她应声回答，又继续说下去了。
①法语：不，你设想一下，老伯爵夫人祖博娃长着一头假发，一口假牙，好像在嘲笑自己的年纪似的……

六套马的四轮马车停在台阶前面。外面正是昏暗的秋夜。车夫望不见马车的辕轩。人们都手提灯笼在门廊里忙忙碌碌。一幢雄伟的住宅透过一扇扇高大的窗户反射出耀眼的灯光。仆人们都聚集在接待室里想跟年轻的公爵告别；家属：米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇、布里安小姐、公爵小姐玛丽亚和公爵夫人，一个个站在大客厅里。安德烈公爵被人叫到书斋去见父亲，父亲很想单独地跟他告别，他们正在等待着父子走出门来。
安德烈公爵走进书斋时，老公爵戴上老年人用的眼镜，穿着一件洁白的长衫，除开会见儿子之外，他从未穿过这件长衫接见任何人，这时公爵正坐在桌旁写字。他掉过头来望一眼。
“你要走了吗？”他又握着笔管写起字来。
“我来告辞了。”
“吻我这里吧，”他指指面颊，“谢谢，谢谢！”
“您为什么要谢我？”
“因为你没有稽延多日，没有纠缠着女人的衣裙。服兵役第一。谢谢，谢谢！”他继续写字，墨水飞溅，笔尖沙沙地作响。“若是要说什么话，你就说吧。我可以同一时间做两件事。”
他补充一句。
“关于我的老婆……我把她留了下来让您老人家操劳，我实在不好意思……”
“你瞎说什么？说你该说的话吧。”
“我老婆分娩的时候，请您派人去莫斯科请个产科男医生……叫他到这里来。”
老公爵停住了，好像没有听懂他的意思，他用严肃的目光凝视他儿子。
“我知道，假如大自然帮不了忙，那就没有谁能帮上忙的，”安德烈公爵说道，看来他感到困惑不安，“我所赞成的是，一百万件事例中通常只有一件是不幸的，但是，这真是她的幻觉，也是我的幻觉。别人对她瞎说了什么不该说的话，她做了恶梦，因此她心里十分畏惧。”
“嗯……嗯……”老公爵喃喃地说，一面继续把信写完，“我一定办妥。”
他签了字，忽然很快地把脸转向儿子，哈哈大笑了。
“事情糟糕透了，不是吗？”
“爸爸，什么事情糟糕透了？”
“你的老婆呀！”老公爵三言两语地、但却意味深长地说道。
“我不明了。”安德烈公爵说道。
“亲爱的人，这真是毫无办法的，”公爵说道，“她们都是一路的货色，是离不成婚的。你不要害怕，我决不对人说，可是你自己要知道。”
他用那瘦骨嶙峋的小手一把抓住儿子的手臂，晃了一下，用那仿佛是要把人看透的目光朝着儿子的面孔飞快地扫了一眼，然后又冷冷地笑了。
他儿子叹了一口气，表示他已承认父亲了解他。老年人用那习惯的敏捷的动作继续折叠并封上几封信，他飞快拿起火漆、戳子和信纸，之后又搁下来。
“怎么办。长得俊俏嘛！一切我都办妥，你放心好了。”他在封信时若断若续地说道。
安德烈沉默不言，父亲了解他，这使他觉得愉快，又觉得不愉快。老年人站起身来，把信递给他儿子。
“你听我说，”他说道，“不要替老婆操心，凡是可能办到的事，都一定办到。你听着：把这封信转交米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇。我在信上写了，要他任用你，谋个好差事，不要让你老是当个副官，糟糕透了的职务啊！你告诉他，我还记得他，而且喜爱他。他怎样接待你，以后来信告诉我。假如他待人厚道，就干这个差事吧。尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基的儿子因为不受恩赐，所以不肯在任何人麾下任职。喂，现在到这里来。”
他像放连珠炮似地说话，说不到半句就说完了，可是他儿子已经听惯了，懂得他的意思。他把他儿子领到旧式写字台前面，启开盖子，拉出写字台的抽屉，取出一个笔记本，他把这个笔记本写满了又粗又长又密的小字。
“我想必会死在你前头。你听我说，这里是我的回忆录，在我去世后，把它呈送国王，这里有一张债券和一封信：这里有奖励《苏沃洛夫战史》著述者的一笔奖金。把这些东西寄到科学院去。这里是我的诠注，在我去世后，你自己可以浏阅，从其中获得裨益。”
安德烈没有对父亲说，他想必还能活很久。他心里明白，这种话是用不着说的。
“爸爸，这一切我都能办妥。”他说道。
“好啦，再见吧！”他让他儿子吻吻他的手，然后拥抱自己的儿子。“安德烈公爵，有一点你要牢记在心，如果你被敌人打死，我这个老头子会感到非常悲痛的……”他出乎意料地默不作声，突然他用尖锐刺耳的嗓音继续说，“如果我知道你的行为不像尼古拉·博尔孔斯基的儿子，我就会……感到汗颜！”他突然用那小尖嗓儿叫了一声。
“爸爸，您可以不对我说这种话。”儿子面带微笑地说道。
老年人默不作声了。
“我还有求于您，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“如果我被敌人打死，如果我将来有个儿子，请让他留在您身边，不要他离开，正如我昨天对您说的那样，让他在您这儿成长……请您照拂一下。”
“不把儿子交给老婆吗？”老年人说了这句话，大笑起来。
他们沉默不言，面对面地站着。老年人的敏锐的目光逼视着儿子的眼睛。老公爵的面颊的下部不知怎的颤抖了一下。
“辞别已经完毕了……你走吧！”他忽然说道。“你走吧！”
他把书斋门打开，提高嗓门怒气冲冲地喊道。
“究竟是怎么回事？怎么啦？”公爵夫人和公爵小姐望见了安德烈公爵和那身穿白长衫、未戴假发、戴着一副老年人用的眼镜、愤怒地吼叫的老年人匆匆探出来的身子，于是问道。
安德烈公爵叹了一口气，一声也没有回答。
“好啦，”他向妻子转过脸去说道。“好啦”这个词含有冷嘲热讽的意味，好像他是说：“您现在耍耍您的招儿吧。”
“Andredeja？”①矮小的公爵夫人说道，她脸色惨白，恐惧地望着丈夫。
他搂抱她。她尖叫一声，不省人事地倒在他的肩膀上。
他很小心地移开被她枕着的那只肩膀，望了望她的面孔，爱抚地扶她坐在安乐椅上。
“Adieu，marie，”②他轻声地对他妹妹说道，他和她互相吻吻手，从房里飞快走出来。
①法语：安德烈，怎么，告别完了吗？
②法语：玛丽亚，再见吧。

公爵夫人躺在安乐椅上，布里安小姐给她揉搓太阳穴。公爵小姐玛丽亚搀扶嫂嫂，她那双美丽的眼睛泪痕斑斑，还在望着安德烈公爵从那里走过的门口，她画着十字，为公爵祈祷祝福。书斋里多次地传出老头子的怒气冲冲的像射击似的擤鼻涕的声音。安德烈公爵刚刚走出去，书斋门很快就敞开了，从门里露出那个穿白色长衫的老年人的威严的身影。
“他走了吗？那就好了！”他说道，愤怒地望望不省人事的个子矮小的公爵夫人，他露出责备的神态摇摇头，砰的一声关上门了。
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配偶: 回到夏末之初
我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
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Part One Chapter Twenty-Fuor


AT THE EXACT HOUR, the prince, powdered and shaven, walked into the dining-room, where there were waiting for him his daughter-in-law, Princess Marya, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and the prince's architect, who, by a strange whim of the old gentleman's, dined at his table, though being an insignificant person of no social standing, he would not naturally have expected to be treated with such honour. The prince, who was in practice a firm stickler for distinctions of tank, and rarely admitted to his table even important provincial functionaries, had suddenly pitched on the architect Mihail Ivanovitch, blowing his nose in a check pocket-handkerchief in the corner, to illustrate the theory that all men are equal, and had more than once impressed upon his daughter that Mihail Ivanovitch was every whit as good as himself and her. At table the prince addressed his conversation to the taciturn architect more often than to any one.
In the dining-room, which, like all the other rooms in the house, was immensely lofty, the prince's entrance was awaited by all the members of his household and the footmen, standing behind each chair. The butler with a table-napkin on his arm scanned the setting of the table, making signs to the footmen, and continually he glanced uneasily from the clock on the wall to the door, by which the prince was to enter. Prince Andrey stood at an immense golden frame on the wall that was new to him. It contained the genealogical tree of the Bolkonskys, and hanging opposite it was a frame, equally immense, with a badly painted representation (evidently the work of some household artist) of a reigning prince in a crown, intended for the descendant of Rurik and founder of the family of the Bolkonsky princes. Prince Andrey looked at this genealogical tree shaking his head, and he laughed.
“There you have him all over!” he said to Princess Marya as she came up to him.
Princess Marya looked at her brother in surprise. She did not know what he was smiling at. Everything her father did inspired in her reverence that did not admit of criticism.
“Every one has his weak spot,” Prince Andrey went on; “with his vast intellect to condescend to such triviality!”
Princess Marya could not understand the boldness of her brother's criticism and was making ready to protest, when the step they were all listening for was heard coming from the study. The prince walked in with a quick, lively step, as he always walked, as though intentionally contrasting the elasticity of his movements with the rigidity of the routine of the house. At that instant the big clock struck two, and another clock in the drawing-room echoed it in thinner tones. The prince stood still; his keen, stern eyes gleaming under his bushy, overhanging brows scanned all the company and rested on the little princess. The little princess experienced at that moment the sensation that courtiers know on the entrance of the Tsar, that feeling of awe and veneration that this old man inspired in every one about him. He stroked the little princess on the head, and then with an awkward movement patted her on her neck.
“I'm glad, glad to see you,” he said, and looking intently into her eyes he walked away and sat down in his place. “Sit down, sit down, Mihail Ivanovitch, sit down.”
He pointed his daughter-in-law to a seat beside him. The footman moved a chair back for her.
“Ho, ho!” said the old man, looking at her rounded figure. “You've not lost time; that's bad!” He laughed a dry, cold, unpleasant laugh, laughing as he always did with his lips, but not with his eyes. “You must have exercise, as much exercise as possible, as much as possible,” he said.
The little princess did not hear or did not care to hear his words. She sat dumb and seemed disconcerted. The prince asked after her father, and she began to talk and to smile. He asked her about common acquaintances; the princess became more and more animated, and began talking away, giving the prince greetings from various people and retailing the gossip of the town.
“Poor Countess Apraxin has lost her husband; she has quite cried her eyes out, poor dear,” she said, growing more and more lively.
As she became livelier, the prince looked more and more sternly at her, and all at once, as though he had studied her sufficiently and had formed a clear idea of her, he turned away and addressed Mihail Ivanovitch:
“Well, Mihail Ivanovitch, our friend Bonaparte is to have a bad time of it. Prince Andrey” (this was how he always spoke of his son) “has been telling me what forces are being massed against him! While you and I have always looked upon him as a very insignificant person.”
Mihail Ivanovitch, utterly at a loss to conjecture when “you and I” had said anything of the sort about Bonaparte, but grasping that he was wanted for the introduction of the prince's favourite subject, glanced in wonder at the young prince, not knowing what was to come next.
“He's a great tactician!” said the prince to his son, indicating the architect, and the conversation turned again on the war, on Bonaparte, and the generals and political personages of the day. The old prince was, it seemed, convinced that all the public men of the period were mere babes who had no idea of the A B C of military and political matters; while Bonaparte, according to him, was an insignificant Frenchman, who had met with success simply because there were no Potyomkins and Suvorovs to oppose him. He was even persuaded firmly that there were no political difficulties in Europe, that there was no war indeed, but only a sort of marionette show in which the men of the day took part, pretending to be doing the real thing. Prince Andrey received his father's jeers at modern people gaily, and with obvious pleasure drew his father out and listened to him.
“Does everything seem good that was done in the past?” he said; “why, didn't Suvorov himself fall into the trap Moreau laid for him, and wasn't he unable to get out of it too?”
“Who told you that? Who said so?” cried the prince. “Suvorov!” And he flung away his plate, which Tihon very neatly caught. “Suvorov!… Think again, Prince Andrey. There were two men—Friedrich and Suvorov … Moreau! Moreau would have been a prisoner if Suvorov's hands had been free, but his hands were tied by the Hofsskriegswurstschnappsrath; the devil himself would have been in a tight place. Ah, you'll find out what these Hofskriegswurstschnappsraths are like! Suvorov couldn't get the better of them, so how is Mihail Kutuzov going to do it? No, my dear,” he went on; “so you and your generals aren't able to get round Bonaparte; you must needs call in Frenchmen —set a thief to catch a thief! The German, Pahlen, has been sent to New York in America to get the Frenchman Moreau,” he said, alluding to the invitation that had that year been made to Moreau to enter the Russian service. “A queer business!…Why the Potyomkins, the Suvorovs, the Orlovs, were they Germans? No, my lad, either you have all lost your wits, or I have outlived mine. God help you, and we shall see. Bonaparte's become a great military leader among them! H'm!…”
“I don't say at all that all those plans are good,” said Prince Andrey; “only I can't understand how you can have such an opinion of Bonaparte. Laugh, if you like, but Bonaparte is any way a great general!”
“Mihail Ivanovitch!” the old prince cried to the architect, who, absorbed in the roast meat, hoped they had forgotten him. “Didn't I tell you Bonaparte was a great tactician? Here he says so too.”
“To be sure, your excellency,” replied the architect. The prince laughed again his frigid laugh.
“Bonaparte was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He has splendid soldiers. And he attacked the Germans first too. And any fool can beat the Germans. From the very beginning of the world every one has beaten the Germans. And they've never beaten any one. They only conquer each other. He made his reputation fighting against them.”
And the prince began analysing all the blunders that in his opinion Bonaparte had committed in his wars and even in politics. His son did not protest, but it was evident that whatever arguments were advanced against him, he was as little disposed to give up his opinion as the old prince himself. Prince Andrey listened and refrained from replying. He could not help wondering how this old man, living so many years alone and never leaving the country, could know all the military and political events in Europe of the last few years in such detail and with such accuracy, and form his own judgment on them.
“You think I'm an old man and don't understand the actual position of affairs?” he wound up. “But I'll tell you I'm taken up with it! I don't sleep at nights. Come, where has this great general of yours proved himself to be such?”
“That would be a long story,” answered his son.
“You go along to your Bonaparte. Mademoiselle Bourienne, here is another admirer of your blackguard of an emperor!” he cried in excellent French.
“You know that I am not a Bonapartist, prince.”
“God knows when he'll come back …” the prince hummed in falsetto, laughed still more falsetto, and got up from the table.
The little princess had sat silent during the whole discussion and the rest of the dinner, looking in alarm first at Princess Marya and then at her father-in-law. When they left the dinner-table, she took her sister-in-law's arm and drew her into another room.
“What a clever man your father is,” she said; “perhaps that is why I am afraid of him.”
“Oh, he is so kind!” said Princess Marya.


第一章第二十四节


在那规定的时刻，老公爵扑了香粉，刮了脸，走到餐厅里去，儿媳妇、公爵小姐玛丽亚、布里安小姐和公爵的建筑师都在这里等候他。出于公爵的怪癖，这位建筑师竟被准许入席就座，这个渺小的人物就地位而论，是决不能奢求这种荣幸的。公爵在生活上坚定地遵守等级制度，甚至省府的达官显贵也很少准许入席就座。那个常在角落里用方格手帕擤鼻涕的建筑师米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇忽然被准许入席就座了，公爵用他这个惯例来表明，人人一律平等，他不只一次开导女儿说，米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇没有一点不如我们的地方。在筵席间，公爵常和寡言鲜语的米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇开心畅谈。
这餐厅又高又大，和住室里所有的房间不相上下，家眷和堂倌在每把椅子背后站着，等候公爵走出门来；管家的手上搭着餐巾，他环视着餐桌的摆设，向仆役使眼色，不时地把激动不安的目光从挂钟移向公爵即将出现的门口。安德烈公爵端详着一副他初次看见的金色大框架，框架里面放着博尔孔斯基公爵家的系谱表，对面悬挂着一样大的框架，里面放着一副做工蹩脚的（显然是家庭画师的手笔）享有世袭统治权的公爵的戴冕画像，他一定是出身于留里克家族，即是博尔孔斯基家的始祖。安德烈公爵看系谱表时摇摇头，不时地暗自微笑，那神态就像他看见一副俨像自己的肖像而觉得可笑似的。
“我在这儿认出是他啊！”他对向他身边走来的公爵小姐玛丽亚说道。
公爵小姐玛丽亚惊奇地望望她的哥哥。她不明白他在暗笑什么。父亲所做的一切在她身上激起一种无法评论的敬意。
“每个人都有致命的弱点，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“以他那卓越的的才智，donnersdansceridicule！”①
①法语：竟然受制于这等琐事。

名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐无法理解长兄提出的大胆的见解，她准备向他反驳，书斋里忽然传出人人期待的步履声，公爵像平素一样迈着急速的脚步，高高兴兴地走进门来，仿佛蓄意用那来去匆匆的样子和严格的家庭秩序形成相反的对比。正在这一转瞬之间，大钟敲响了两声，客厅里的另一只钟用那尖细的声音作出了响应。公爵停步了。他那炯炯有神、富于表情而严峻的目光从垂下的浓眉下向大家环顾一番，然后投射在年轻的公爵夫人身上。年轻的公爵夫人这时感觉到一种有如近臣见皇帝出朝时的感情；也就是这位老人使他的心腹产生的一种敬畏之感。他用手摸了摸公爵夫人的头，然后呆笨地拍了一下她的后脑。
“我真高兴，我真高兴，”他说道，又聚精会神地望了一下她的眼睛，就飞快地走开，坐回自己的座位，“请坐，请坐！
米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇，请坐。”
他向儿媳妇指了指身边的座位。堂倌给她移开椅子。
“嘿嘿！”老年人望着她那浑圆的腰部，说道，“太匆忙了，不好！”
他像平常那样只用嘴巴笑，而不用眼睛笑，他乏味地、冷漠而且不痛快地笑起来。
“你应当走动走动，尽量，尽量多走动。”他说道。
矮小的公爵夫人没有听见或是不想听他说话。她沉默不言，觉得困惑不安。公爵向她问到她的父亲的情况，公爵夫人于是微露笑容，开口说话了。他又向她问到一般的熟人的情况，公爵夫人现出更加兴奋的样子，开始述说起来，她代人向公爵问候，并且转告城里的流言飞语。
“LacomtesseApraksine，lapauvre，aperdusonmari，etelleapleurèleslarmesdesesyeux，”①她说道，显得更加兴奋起来。
①法语：可怜的伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜丧失了丈夫，痛哭了很久，眼睛都哭坏了，可怜的女人。

她越来越显得兴致勃勃，公爵就越来越严肃地注视着她。公爵忽然转过脸去；不再理睬她，好像他已经把她研究得够多的了，对她已有明确的概念，他然后便向米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇转过脸去。
“喂，米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇，我们的波拿巴要遭殃了。安德烈公爵（他向来都用第三人称称呼自己的儿子）告诉我，为了击溃他，聚集了多么雄厚的兵力啊！我们一向认为他是个微不足道的人。”
米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇根本不知道“我们”在什么时候谈论过波拿巴的事，可是他心里明白，人家有求于他，目的乃在于打开自己喜欢的话匣子。他诧异地望了望年轻的公爵，自己并不知道，这次谈话会产生何种结果。
“他是我们这里的一位伟大的战术家！”公爵用手指着建筑师对儿子说。
谈话又涉及战争，涉及波拿巴和现时的将军以及国事活动家。看来，老公爵不仅相信，当前的政要人物全是一些不通晓军事和国务知识初阶的乳臭小子，波拿巴也是一个微不足道的法国佬，他所以大受欢迎，只是因为没有波将金或者苏沃洛夫式的人物和他对立罢了。他甚至相信，欧洲并没有任何政治上的障碍，也没有战争，只是一些现时的活动家装作一副办事的模样，演演木偶戏罢了。安德烈公爵愉快地忍受父亲对现代人的嘲笑，明显地露出高兴的神色，喊他父亲谈话，而他自己聆听着。
“过去的一切看来都是好的，”他说道，“那个苏沃洛夫岂不落进了莫罗布下的陷阱，无法自拔了么？”
“是谁对你讲的呢？谁讲的呢？”公爵嚷道，“苏沃洛夫吧！”他扔开一只盘子，吉洪赶快将它接住。“苏沃洛夫吧！……安德烈公爵，想想吧。我知道有两个人：一个是腓特烈，一个是苏沃洛夫……莫罗呀！假如苏沃洛夫有权在握，莫罗该当俘虏了，不过他受制于军事参议院。他倒霉透了，鬼都讨厌他。你到了那个地方，你就能尝到腊肠烧酒的滋味啊！苏沃洛夫无法制服他们，米哈伊尔·库图佐夫又怎能应付呢？行不通，朋友，”他继续说下去，“你们和我们的将军们制服不了波拿巴，就得雇用一批法国人，让他们认不清自己人，自己人屠杀自己人。德国人帕伦被派往美国纽约去寻找法国人莫罗，”他说道，暗指当年聘请莫罗至俄军任职一事。“真怪！怎么啦，那波将金、苏沃洛夫、奥尔洛夫式的人物难道都是德国人吗？不是的，朋友，或者是你们都发疯了，或都是我已经昏瞆了。愿上帝保佑你们，我们来瞧瞧吧。在他们那儿，波拿巴竟然当上伟大的统帅了！哼！……”
“我说的根本不是，他的指示都是可取的，”安德烈公爵说道，“不过，我没法弄明白，您怎能这样评说波拿巴。您想怎样嘲笑，就怎样嘲笑吧，而波拿巴仍然是个伟大的统帅！”
“米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇！”老公爵对那个开始吃烤菜、希望别人把他忘却的建筑师喊道，“我以前对您说过波拿巴是个伟大的战术家，是吗？您看，他也是这样说的。”
“可不是，公爵大人。”建筑师答道。
公爵又冷笑起来。
“波拿巴生来有福分。他的士兵很精锐，而且他先向德国人进攻，只有懒人才不打德国人。自从宇宙存在以来，大家都打德国人。他们打不赢任何人。他们只晓得互相杀戮。他就足凭这一手闻名于世的。”
公爵于是就其看法开始分析波拿巴在战争乃至国务上所犯的过失，儿子不表示异议，但是可以看出，无论向他提出任何论据，他都像老公爵那样很难改变自己的看法。安德烈公爵谛听着，克制着不予辩驳，而且情不自禁地感到谅异，这个老年人足不出户在农村独处许多年，对近几年来欧洲的军事政治局势知晓得如此详尽，评述得如此精辟。
“你认为我这个老头儿不了解目前的事态吗？”他说了一句收尾的话。“我念念不忘时事啊！我彻夜目不交睫。嘿，你那个伟大的统帅究竟在哪里大显身手呀？”
“这说来话长。”儿子答道。
“你到你自己的波拿巴那里去好了M—lleBourienne，voilàencoreunadmirateurdeuotregoujatd'empereur！”①他操着非常漂亮的法国话，喊道：
“Voussavez，quejenesuispasbonapartiste，mon
prince．”②
“OieuSaitquandneviendva…”③公爵不自然地唱道，更加不自然地发笑，从餐桌后面走出来。
在争辩和不争辩的午膳的其余时间里，矮小的公爵夫人默不作声，时而惊惶不安地望望公爵小姐玛丽亚，时而望望老公公，在她从桌子后面走出来时，她一把抓住小姑的手臂，把她喊进另一个房间里。
“Commec'estunhommed'espritvotre，”她说道，“C'estàcausedecelapeut—êtreqúilmefaitpeur．”④“啊，他太慈善了！”公爵小姐玛丽亚说道。
①法语：布里安小姐，你那个奴才般的皇帝又有一个崇拜者了。
②法语：公爵，您知道，我不是波拿巴份子啊。
③法语：天知道什么时候他才回来。
④法语：您爸爸是个很聪明的人，也许因为这种缘故我才害怕他。


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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
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Part One Chapter Twenty-Three


THE GREY-HAIRED VALET was sitting in the waiting-room dozing and listening to the prince's snoring in his immense study. From a far-off part of the house there came through closed doors the sound of difficult passages of a sonata of Dusseck's repeated twenty times over.
At that moment a carriage and a little cart drove up to the steps, and Prince Andrey got out of the carriage, helped his little wife out and let her pass into the house before him. Grey Tihon in his wig, popping out at the door of the waiting-room, informed him in a whisper that the prince was taking a nap and made haste to close the door. Tihon knew that no extraordinary event, not even the arrival of his son, would be permitted to break through the routine of the day. Prince Andrey was apparently as well aware of the fact as Tihon. He looked at his watch as though to ascertain whether his father's habits had changed during the time he had not seen him, and satisfying himself that they were unchanged, he turned to his wife.
“He will get up in twenty minutes. Let's go to Marie,” he said.
The little princess had grown stouter during this time, but her short upper lip, with a smile and the faint moustache on it, rose as gaily and charmingly as ever when she spoke.
“Why, it is a palace,” she said to her husband, looking round her with exactly the expression with which people pay compliments to the host at a ball. “Come, quick, quick!” As she looked about her, she smiled at Tihon and at her husband, and at the footman who was showing them in.
“It is Marie practising? Let us go quietly, we must surprise her.” Prince Andrey followed her with a courteous and depressed expression.
“You're looking older, Tihon,” he said as he passed to the old man, who was kissing his hand.
Before they had reached the room, from which the sounds of the clavichord were coming, the pretty, fair-haired Frenchwoman emerged from a side-door. Mademoiselle Bourienne seemed overwhelmed with delight.
“Ah, what a pleasure for the princess!” she exclaimed. “At last! I must tell her.”
“No, no, please not” … said the little princess, kissing her. “You are Mademoiselle Bourienne; I know you already through my sister-in-law's friendship for you. She does not expect us!”
They went up to the door of the divan-room, from which came the sound of the same passage repeated over and over again. Prince Andrey stood still frowning as though in expectation of something unpleasant.
The little princess went in. The passage broke off in the middle; he heard an exclamation, the heavy tread of Princess Marya, and the sound of kissing. When Prince Andrey went in, the two ladies, who had only seen each other once for a short time at Prince Andrey's wedding, were clasped in each other's arms, warmly pressing their lips to the first place each had chanced upon. Mademoiselle Bourienne was standing near them, her hands pressed to her heart; she was smiling devoutly, apparently equally ready to weep and to laugh. Prince Andrey shrugged his shoulders, and scowled as lovers of music scowl when they hear a false note. The two ladies let each other go; then hastened again, as though each afraid of being remiss, to hug each other, began kissing each other's hands and pulling them away, and then fell to kissing each other on the face again. Then they quite astonished Prince Andrey by both suddenly bursting into tears and beginning the kissing over again. Mademoiselle Bourienne cried too. Prince Andrey was unmistakably ill at ease. But to the two women it seemed such a natural thing that they should weep; it seemed never to have occurred to them that their meeting could have taken place without tears.
“Ah, ma chère!… Ah, Marie!” … both the ladies began talking at once, and they laughed. “I had a dream last night. Then you did not expect us? O Marie, you have got thinner.”
“And you are looking better …”
“I recognized the princess at once,” put in Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“And I had no idea!” … cried Princess Marya. “Ah, Andrey, I did not see you.”
Prince Andrey and his sister kissed each other's hands, and he told her she was just as great a cry-baby as she always had been. Princess Marya turned to her brother, and through her tears, her great, luminous eyes, that were beautiful at that instant, rested with a loving, warm and gentle gaze on Prince Andrey's face. The little princess talked incessantly. The short, downy upper lip was continually flying down to meet the rosy, lower lip when necessary, and parting again in a smile of gleaming teeth and eyes. The little princess described an incident that had occurred to them on Spasskoe hill, and might have been serious for her in her condition. And immediately after that she communicated the intelligence that she had left all her clothes in Petersburg, and God knew what she would have to go about in here, and that Andrey was quite changed, and that Kitty Odintsov had married an old man, and that a suitor had turned up for Princess Marya, “who was a suitor worth having,” but that they would talk about that later. Princess Marya was still gazing mutely at her brother, and her beautiful eyes were full of love and melancholy. It was clear that her thoughts were following a train of their own, apart from the chatter of her sister-in-law. In the middle of the latter's description of the last fête-day at Petersburg, she addressed her brother.
“And is it quite settled that you are going to the war, Andrey?” she said, sighing. Liza sighed too.
“Yes, and to-morrow too,” answered her brother.
“He is deserting me here, and Heaven knows why, when he might have had promotion …” Princess Marya did not listen to the end, but following her own train of thought, she turned to her sister-in-law, letting her affectionate eyes rest on her waist.
“Is it really true?” she said.
The face of her sister-in-law changed. She sighed.
“Yes, it's true,” she said. “Oh! It's very dreadful …”
Liza's lip drooped. She put her face close to her sister-in-law's face, and again she unexpectedly began to cry.
“She needs rest,” said Prince Andrey, frowning. “Don't you, Liza? Take her to your room, while I go to father. How is he—just the same?”
“The same, just the same; I don't know what you will think,” Princess Marya answered joyfully.
“And the same hours, and the walks about the avenues, and the lathe?” asked Prince Andrey with a scarcely perceptible smile, showing that, in spite of all his love and respect for his father, he recognised his weaknesses.
“The same hours and the lathe, mathematics too, and my geometry lessons,” Princess Marya answered gaily, as though those lessons were one of the most delightful events of her life.
When the twenty minutes had elapsed, and the time for the old prince to get up had come, Tihon came to call the young man to his father. The old man made a departure from his ordinary routine in honour of his son's arrival. He directed that he should be admitted into his apartments during his time for dressing, before dinner. The old prince used to wear the old-fashioned dress, the kaftan and powder. And when Prince Andrey—not with the disdainful face and manners with which he walked into drawing-rooms, but with the eager face with which he had talked to Pierre—went in to his father's room, the old gentleman was in his dressing-room sitting in a roomy morocco chair in a peignoir, with his head in the hands of Tihon.
“Ah! the warrior! So you want to fight Bonaparte?” said the old man, shaking his powdered head as far as his plaited tail, which was in Tihon's hands, would permit him.
“Mind you look sharp after him, at any rate, or he'll soon be putting us on the list of his subjects. How are you?”
And he held out his cheek to him.
The old gentleman was in excellent humour after his nap before dinner. (He used to say that sleep after dinner was silver, but before dinner it was golden.) He took delighted, sidelong glances at his son from under his thick, overhanging brows. Prince Andrey went up and kissed his father on the spot indicated for him. He made no reply on his father's favourite topic—jesting banter at the military men of the period, and particularly at Bonaparte.
“Yes, I have come to you, father, bringing a wife with child,” said Prince Andrey, with eager and reverential eyes watching every movement of his father's face. “How is your health?”
“None but fools, my lad, and profligates are unwell, and you know me; busy from morning till night and temperate, so of course I'm well.”
“Thank God,” said his son, smiling.
“God's not much to do with the matter. Come, tell me,” the old man went on, going back to his favourite hobby, “how have the Germans trained you to fight with Bonaparte on their new scientific method—strategy as they call it?”
Prince Andrey smiled.
“Give me time to recover myself, father,” he said, with a smile that showed that his father's failings did not prevent his respecting and loving him. “Why, I have only just got here.”
“Nonsense, nonsense,” cried the old man, shaking his tail to try whether it were tightly plaited, and taking his son by the hand. “The house is ready for your wife. Marie will look after her and show her everything, and talk nineteen to the dozen with her too. That's their feminine way. I'm glad to have her. Sit down, talk to me. Mihelson's army, I understand, Tolstoy's too … a simultaneous expedition … but what's the army of the South going to do? Prussia, her neutrality … I know all that. What of Austria?” he said, getting up from his chair and walking about the room, with Tihon running after him, giving him various articles of his apparel. “What about Sweden? How will they cross Pomerania?”
Prince Andrey, seeing the urgency of his father's questions, began explaining the plan of operations of the proposed campaign, speaking at first reluctantly, but becoming more interested as he went on, and unconsciously from habit passing from Russian into French. He told him how an army of ninety thousand troops was to threaten Prussia so as to drive her out of her neutrality and draw her into the war, how part of these troops were to join the Swedish troops at Strahlsund, how two hundred and twenty thousand Austrians were to combine with a hundred thousand Russians in Italy and on the Rhine, and how fifty thousand Russians and fifty thousand English troops were to meet at Naples, and how the army, forming a total of five hundred thousand, was to attack the French on different sides at once. The old prince did not manifest the slightest interest in what he told him. He went on dressing, as he walked about, apparently not listening, and three times he unexpectedly interrupted him. Once he stopped him and shouted: “the white one! the white one!”
This meant that Tihon had not given him the waistcoat he wanted. Another time, he stood still, asked: “And will she be confined soon?” and shook his head reproachfully: “That's bad! Go on, go on.”
The third time was when Prince Andrey was just finishing his description. The old man hummed in French, in his falsetto old voice: “Malbrook goes off to battle, God knows when he'll come back.”
His son only smiled.
“I don't say that this is a plan I approve of,” he said; “I'm only telling you what it is. Napoleon has made a plan by now as good as this one.”
“Well, you have told me nothing new.” And thoughtfully the old man repeated, speaking quickly to himself: “God knows when he'll come back. Go into the dining-room.”


第一章第二十三节


白发苍苍的侍仆一面坐在那里打瞌睡，一面静听大书斋里公爵的鼾声。住宅远处的一端，紧闭着的门户后面，可以听见杜塞克奏鸣曲，难奏的乐句都重奏二十次。
这时分，一辆四轮轿式马车和一辆轻便马车开到台阶前，安德烈公爵从轿式马车车厢里走出来，搀扶矮小的妻子下车，让她在前面走。白发苍苍的吉洪，头戴假发，从堂倌休息间的门里探出头来，轻言细语地禀告：公爵正在睡觉，随即仓忙地关上了大门。吉洪知道，无论是他儿子归来，还是出现非常事故，都不宜破坏作息制度。安德烈公爵像吉洪一样对这件事了若指掌。他看看表，似乎想证实一下他离开父亲以来父亲的习惯是否发生变化。当他相信父亲的习惯没有改变之后，便转过脸去对妻子说：
“过二十分钟他才起床。我们到公爵小姐玛丽亚那里去吧。”
他说道。
在这段时间以来，矮小的公爵夫人可真长胖了，但是当她开腔的时候，那双眼睛抬了起来，长有茸毛的短嘴唇微露笑意，向上翘起来，一望便令人欣快，讨人喜爱。
“maisc'estunpalais．”①她向四周打量一番，对丈夫说道，那神态就像跳舞会的主人被人夸耀似的，“Allons，vite，vite！…”②她一面回顾，一面对吉洪、对丈夫、对伴随她的堂倌微露笑容。
“C'estmariequisexerce？Allonsdoucement，ilfautlasurprendre．”③
①法语：这真是皇宫啊！
②法语：喂，快点吧，快点吧！……
③法语：是玛丽亚在练钢琴吗？我们不声不响地走过去，省得她望见我们。

安德烈公爵面露恭敬而忧悒的表情，跟在她后面走去。
“吉洪，你变老了。”他走过去，一面对吻他的手的老头子说道。
在那可以听见击弦古钢琴声的房间前面，一个貌美的长着浅色头发的法国女人从侧门跳出来。布里安小姐欣喜欲狂了。
“Ah！quelbonheurpourlaprincesse，”她说道“Enfin！
Ilfautquejelaprevienne．”①
“Non，non，degrace…VousêtesM—lleBourienne，jevousconnaisdéjàparl'amitiequevousportemablle－soeur．”公爵夫人和她接吻时说道，“Ellenenousattendpas！”②
①法语：公爵小姐该会多么高兴啊！毕竟是来了！应该事先告诉她。
②法语：不，不，真是的……您可就是布里安小姐，我的儿媳妇是您的好朋友，我已经认识您了。她没料想我们来了。

他们向休息室门前走去，从门里传出反复弹奏的乐句。安德烈公爵停步了，蹙了蹙额头，好像在等待不愉快的事件发生似的。
公爵夫人走进来，乐句奏到半中间就停止了，可以听见叫喊声，公爵小姐玛丽亚的沉重的步履声和接吻的声音。当安德烈公爵走进来的时候，公爵夫人和公爵小姐拥抱起来了，她们的嘴唇正紧紧贴在乍一见面就亲嘴的地方，她们二人只是在安德烈公爵举行婚礼时短暂地会过一次面。布里安小姐站在她们身边，两手扪住胸口，露出虔诚的微笑，看起来，无论是啼哭还是嘻笑，她都有充分准备。安德烈公爵像音乐爱好者听见一个走调的音那样，耸了一下肩膀，蹙了一下眉头。两个女人把手放开了，然后，仿佛惧怕迟误似的，她们又互相抓住一双手，亲吻起来，放开两只手又互相吻吻脸皮。她们哭起来了，哭着哭着又亲吻起来，安德烈公爵认为这是出人意料的事。布里安小姐同样地哭了。看来安德烈公爵感到尴尬，但是在这两个女人心目中，她们的啼哭是很自然的。显然，她们并不会推测，这次见面会搞出什么别的花样。
“Ah！chère…Ah！marie…”两个女人忽然笑起来，开口说道，“J'airêvécettenuit…Vousnenousattendiezdoncpas？…Ah！Marie，vousavezmaigri…Etvousavezrepris…”①
“J'aitoutdesuitereconnumadamelaprincesse，”②布里安小姐插上一句话。
“Etmoiquinemedoutaispas！…”公爵小姐玛丽亚惊叫道，“Ah！André，jenevousvoyaispas．”③
安德烈公爵和他的妹妹手拉手地互吻了一下，他对她说，她还像过去那样是个pleurnicheuse。④公爵小姐玛丽亚向她的长兄转过脸去，这时她那对美丽迷人的、炯炯发光的大眼睛透过一汪泪水，把那爱抚、柔和、温顺的目光投射到长兄的脸上。
①法语：啊！亲爱的！……啊！玛丽！……我梦见……——您没料想到我们会来吧？……啊！玛丽，您变得消瘦了，——以前您可真胖啦！
②法语：我立即认出了公爵夫人。
③法语：我连想也没有想到！……啊！安德烈，我真没看见你哩。
④法语：好哭的人。

公爵夫人不住地絮叨。她那长着茸毛的短短的上唇时常飞快地下垂，随意地触动一下绯红色的下唇的某一部分，之后她又微微一笑，露出皓白的牙齿和亮晶晶的眼睛。公爵夫人述说他们在救主山经历过一次对她怀孕的身体极为危险的遭遇，随后她立刻谈起她将全部衣服都留在彼得堡了，天晓得她在这里要穿什么衣服，她还谈起安德烈完全变样了，吉蒂·奥登佐娃许配给一个老年人，公爵小姐玛丽亚有个pourtoutdebon①未婚夫，这件事我们以后再叙。公爵小姐玛丽亚还是默不作声地望着长兄，她那美丽动人的眼睛流露出爱意和哀愁。可见，萦绕她心头的思绪此时不以嫂嫂的言论为转移。嫂嫂谈论彼得堡最近举行的庆祝活动。在谈论的半中间，她向长兄转过脸去。
“安德烈，你坚决要去作战吗？”她叹息道。
丽莎也叹了一口气。
“而且是明天就动身。”长兄答道。
“Ilm'abandonneici，etDieusaitpourquoi，quandilauBraitpuavoirdel'avancement…”②
①法语：真正的。
②法语：他把我丢在这里了，天晓得，目的何在，而他是有能力晋升的……

公爵小姐玛丽亚还在继续思索，没有把话儿听完，便向嫂嫂转过脸来，用那温和的目光望着她的肚子。
“真的怀孕了吗？”她说道。
公爵夫人的脸色变了。她叹了一口气。
“是的，真怀孕了，”她说道，“哎呀！这很可怕……”
丽莎的嘴唇松垂下来。她把脸盘凑近小姑的脸盘，出乎意料地又哭起来了。
“她必需休息休息，”安德烈公爵蹙起额角说，“对不对，丽莎？你把她带到自己房里去吧，我到爸爸那儿去了。他现在怎样？还是老样子吗？”
“还是那个样子，还是那个老样子，不晓得你看来他是怎样。”公爵小姐高兴地答道。
“还是在那个时间，照常在林荫道上散步吗？在车床上劳作吗？”安德烈公爵问道，几乎看不出微笑，这就表明，尽管他十分爱护和尊敬父亲，但他也了解父亲的弱点。
“还是在那个时间，在车床上劳作，还有数学，我的几何课。”公爵小姐玛丽亚高兴地答道，好像几何课在她生活上产生了一种极为愉快的印象。
老公爵起床花费二十分钟时间之后，吉洪来喊年轻的公爵到他父亲那里去。老头为欢迎儿子的到来，破除了生活方式上的惯例：他吩咐手下人允许他儿子在午膳前穿衣戴帽时进入他的内室。公爵按旧式穿着：穿长上衣，戴扑粉假发。当安德烈向父亲内室走去时，老头不是带着他在自己客厅里故意装的不满的表情和态度，而是带着他和皮埃尔交谈时那种兴奋的神情，老年人坐在更衣室里一张宽大的山羊皮面安乐椅上，披着一条扑粉用披巾，把头伸到吉洪的手边，让他扑粉。
“啊！兵士！你想要征服波拿巴吗？”老年人说道，因为吉洪手上正在编着发辫，只得在可能范围内晃了晃扑了粉的脑袋，“你好好收拾他才行，否则他很快就会把我们看作他的臣民了。你好哇！”他于是伸出自己的面颊。
老年人在午膳前睡觉以后心境好极了。（他说，午膳后睡眠是银，午膳前睡眠是金。）他从垂下的浓眉下高兴地斜着眼睛看儿子。安德烈公爵向父亲跟前走去，吻了吻父亲指着叫他吻的地方。他不去回答父亲中意的话题——对现时的军人，尤其是对波拿巴稍微取笑一两句。
“爸爸，是我到您跟前来了，还把怀孕的老婆也带来，”安德烈公爵说道，他用兴奋而恭敬的目光注视着他脸上每根线条流露的表情，“您身体好么？”
“孩子，只有傻瓜和色鬼才不健康哩，你是知道我的情况的：从早到晚都忙得很，饮食起居有节制，真是够健康的。”
“谢天谢地！”儿子脸上流露出微笑，说道。
“这与上帝无关！欸，你讲讲吧，”他继续说下去，又回到他爱谈的话题上，“德国人怎样教会你们凭藉所谓战略的新科学去同波拿巴战斗。”
安德烈公爵微微一笑。
“爸爸，让我醒悟过来吧，”他面露微笑，说道，这就表示，父亲的弱点并不妨碍他对父亲敬爱的心情，“我还没有安顿下来呢。”
“胡扯，胡扯，”老头子嚷道，晃动着发辫，想试试发辫编得牢固不牢固，一面抓着儿子的手臂，“你老婆的住房准备好了。公爵小姐玛丽亚会领她去看房间，而且她会说得天花乱坠的。这是她们娘儿们的事。我看见她就很高兴啊。你坐下讲讲吧。米切尔森的军队我是了解的，托尔斯泰……也是了解的……同时登陆……南方的军队要干什么呢？普鲁士、中立……这是我所知道的。奥地利的情况怎样？”他从安乐椅旁站起来，在房间里踱方步，吉洪跟着他跑来跑去，把衣服送到他手上，“瑞典的情况怎样？他们要怎样越过美拉尼亚呢？”
安德烈公爵看见他父亲坚决要求，开头不愿意谈，但是后来他越谈越兴奋，由于习惯的关系，谈到半中间，情不自禁地从说俄国话改说法国话了，他开始述说拟议中的战役的军事行动计划。他谈到，九万人的军队定能威胁普鲁士，迫使它放弃中立，投入战争，一部分军队必将在施特拉尔松与瑞典军队合并；二十二万奥国军队和十万俄国军队合并，必将在意大利和莱茵河上采取军事行动，五万俄国军队和五万英国军队必将在那不勒斯登陆；合计五十万军队必将从四面进攻法国军队。儿子述说的时候，老公爵没有表示一点兴趣，好像不听似的，一边走路一边穿衣服，接连有三次出乎意外地打断儿子的话。有一次制止他说话，喊道：
“白色的，白色的！”
他的意思是说吉洪没有把他想穿的那件西装背心送到他手上。另一次，他停步了，开口问道：
“她快要生小孩吧？”他流露出责备的神态，摇摇头说道，“很不好！继续说下去，继续说下去。”
第三次，在安德烈公爵快要叙述完毕的时候，老年人用那假嗓子开始唱道：“Malbroug，s'envo—t—enguerre．Dieusaitquandreviendra．”①
儿子只是微微一笑而已。
①法语：马尔布鲁去远征，天知道什么时候才回来。

“我不是说，这是我所称赞的计划，”儿子说道，“我只是对您讲讲有这么一个计划。拿破仑拟订了一个更好的计划。”
“唉，你没有说出一点新消息，”老年人沉思，像放连珠炮似地喃喃自语：“Dieusaitquandreviendra，”又说：“去餐厅里吧。”
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等级: 内阁元老
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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
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Part One Chapter Twenty-Two


AT BLEAK HILLS, the estate of Prince Nikolay Andreivitch Bolkonsky, the arrival of young Prince Andrey and his wife was daily expected. But this expectation did not disturb the regular routine in which life moved in the old prince's household. Prince Nikolay Andreivitch, once a commander-in-chief, known in the fashionable world by the nickname of “the Prussian king,” had been exiled to his estate in the reign of Paul, and had remained at Bleak Hills ever since with his daughter, Princess Marya, and her companion, Mademoiselle Bourienne. Even in the new reign, though he had received permission to return to the capital, he had never left his home in the country, saying that if any one wanted to see him, he could travel the hundred and fifty versts from Moscow to Bleak Hills, and, for his part, he wanted nobody and nothing. He used to maintain that human vices all sprang from only two sources—idleness and superstition, and that there were but two virtues—energy and intelligence. He had himself undertaken the education of his daughter; and to develop in her these important qualities, he continued giving her lessons in algebra and geometry up to her twentieth year, and mapped out her whole life in uninterrupted occupation. He was himself always occupied in writing his memoirs, working out problems in higher mathematics, turning snuff-boxes on his lathe, working in his garden, or looking after the erection of farm buildings which were always being built on his estate. Since the great thing for enabling one to get through work is regularity, he had carried regularity in his manner of life to the highest point of exactitude. His meals were served in a fixed and invariable manner, and not only at a certain hour, but at a certain minute. With those about him, from his daughter to his servants, the count was sharp and invariably exacting, and so, without being cruel, he inspired a degree of respect and awe that the most cruel man could not readily have commanded. In spite of the fact that he was now on the retired list, and had no influence whatever in political circles, every high official in the province in which was the prince's estate felt obliged to call upon him, and had, just like the architect, the gardener, or Princess Marya, to wait till the regular hour at which the prince always made his appearance in the lofty waiting-room. And every one in the waiting-room felt the same veneration, and even awe, when the immensely high door of the study opened and showed the small figure of the old man in a powdered wig, with his little withered hands and grey, overhanging eyebrows, that, at times when he scowled, hid the gleam in his shrewd, youthful-looking eyes.
On the day that the young people were expected to arrive, Princess Marya went as usual at the fixed hour in the morning into the waiting-room to say good-morning to her father, and with dread in her heart crossed herself and mentally repeated a prayer. Every day she went in to her father in the same way, and every day she prayed that her interview with her father might pass off well that day. The old man-servant, wearing powder, softly got up from his seat in the waiting-room and whispered: “Walk in.”
Through the door came the regular sounds of the lathe. The princess kept timidly hold of the door, which opened smoothly and easily, and stood still in the doorway. The prince was working at his lathe, and glancing round, he went on with what he was doing.
The immense room was filled with things obviously in constant use. The large table, on which lay books and plans, the high bookcases with keys in the glass-covered doors, the high table for the prince to write at, standing up, with an open manuscript-book upon it, the carpenter's lathe, with tools ranged about it and shavings scattered around, all suggested continual, varied, and orderly activity. The movements of the prince's small foot in its Tatar, silver-embroidered boot, the firm pressure of his sinewy, lean hand, showed the strength of vigorous old age still strong-willed and wiry. After making a few more turns, he took his foot from the pedal of the lathe, wiped the plane, dropped it into a leather pouch attached to the lathe, and going up to the table called his daughter. He never gave the usual blessing to his children; he simply offered her his scrubby, not yet shaved cheek, and said sternly and yet at the same time with intense tenderness, as he looked her over: “Quite well? … All right, then, sit down!” He took a geometry exercise-book written by his own hand, and drew his chair up with his leg.
“For to-morrow,” he said quickly, turning to the page and marking it from one paragraph to the next with his rough nail. The princess bent over the exercise-book. “Stop, there's a letter for you,” the old man said suddenly, pulling out of a pocket hanging over the table an envelope addressed in a feminine hand, and putting it on the table.
The princess's face coloured red in patches at the sight of the letter. She took it hurriedly and bent over it.
“From Heloise?” asked the prince, showing his still strong, yellow teeth in a cold smile.
“Yes, from Julie,” said the princess, glancing timidly at him, and timidly smiling.
“Two more letters I'll let pass, but the third I shall read,” said the prince severely. “I'm afraid you write a lot of nonsense. The third I shall read.”
“Read this one, father,” answered the princess, colouring still more and handing him the letter.
“The third, I said the third,” the prince cried shortly; pushing away the letter and leaning his elbow on the table, he drew up to him the book with the figures of geometry in it.
“Now, madam,” began the old man, bending over the book close to his daughter, and laying one arm on the back of the chair she was sitting on, so that the princess felt herself surrounded on all sides by the peculiar acrid smell of old age and tobacco, which she had so long associated with her father. “Come, madam, these triangles are equal: kindly look; the angle A B C. …”
The princess glanced in a scared way at her father's eyes gleaming close beside her. The red patches overspread her whole face, and it was evident that she did not understand a word, and was so frightened that terror prevented her from understanding all the subsequent explanations her father offered her, however clear they might be. Whether it was the teacher's fault or the pupil's, every day the same scene was repeated. The princess's eyes grew dim; she could see and hear nothing; she could feel nothing but the dry face of her stern father near her, his breath and the smell of him, and could think of nothing but how to escape as soon as possible from the study and to make out the problem in freedom in her room. The old man lost his temper; with a loud, grating noise he pushed back and drew up again the chair he was sitting on, made an effort to control himself, not to fly into a rage, and almost every time did fly into a rage, and scold, and sometimes flung the book away.
The princess answered a question wrong.
“Well, you are too stupid!” cried the prince, pushing away the book, and turning sharply away. But he got up immediately, walked up and down, laid his hand on the princess's hair, and sat down again. He drew himself up to the table and continued his explanations. “This won't do; it won't do,” he said, when Princess Marya, taking the exercise-book with the lesson set her, and shutting it, was about to leave the room: “mathematics is a grand subject, madam. And to have you like the common run of our silly misses is what I don't want at all. Patience, and you'll get to like it.” He patted her on the cheek. “It will drive all the nonsense out of your head.” She would have gone; he stopped her with a gesture, and took a new, uncut book from the high table.
“Here's a book, too, your Heloise sends you some sort of Key to the Mystery. Religious. But I don't interfere with any one's belief…. I have looked at it. Take it. Come, run along, run along.”
He patted her on the shoulder, and himself closed the door after her.
Princess Marya went back to her own room with that dejected, scared expression that rarely left her, and made her plain, sickly face even plainer. She sat down at her writing-table, which was dotted with miniature portraits, and strewn with books and manuscripts. The princess was as untidy as her father was tidy. She put down the geometry exercise-book and impatiently opened the letter. The letter was from the princess's dearest friend from childhood; this friend was none other than Julie Karagin, who had been at the Rostovs' name-day party.
Julie wrote in French:
“DEAR AND EXCELLENT FRIEND,—What a terrible and frightful thing is absence! I say to myself that half of my existence and of my happiness is in you, that notwithstanding the distance that separates us, our hearts are united by invisible bonds; yet mine rebels against destiny, and in spite of the pleasures and distractions around me, I cannot overcome a certain hidden sadness which I feel in the bottom of my heart since our separation. Why are we not together as we were this summer in your great study, on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why can I not, as I did three months ago, draw new moral strength from that gentle, calm, penetrating look of yours, a look that I loved so well and that I seem to see before me as I write to you.”
When she reached this passage, Princess Marya sighed and looked round into the pier-glass that stood on her right. The glass reflected a feeble, ungraceful figure and a thin face. The eyes, always melancholy, were looking just now with a particularly hopeless expression at herself in the looking-glass. She flatters me, thought the princess, and she turned away and went on reading. But Julie did not flatter her friend: the princess's eyes—large, deep, and luminous (rays of warm light seemed at times to radiate in streams from them), were really so fine, that very often in spite of the plainness of the whole face her eyes were more attractive than beauty. But the princess had never seen the beautiful expression of her eyes; the expression that came into them when she was not thinking of herself. As is the case with every one, her face assumed an affected, unnatural, ugly expression as soon as she looked in the looking-glass.
She went on reading:
“All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my two brothers is already abroad, the other is with the Guards, who are starting on the march to the frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburg, and, people declare, intends to expose his precious existence to the risks of war. God grant that the Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of Europe may be brought low by the angel whom the Almighty in His mercy has given us as sovereign. Without speaking of my brothers, this war has deprived me of one of my heart's dearest alliances. I mean the young Nicholas Rostov, whose enthusiasm could not endure inaction, and who has left the university to go and join the army. Well, dear Marie, I will own to you that, in spite of his extreme youth, his departure for the army has been a great grief to me. This young man, of whom I spoke to you in the summer, has so much nobility, so much real youthfulness, rarely to be met with in our age, among our old men of twenty. Above all, he has so much openness and so much heart. He is so pure and poetic that my acquaintance with him, though so transient, has been one of the dearest joys known by my poor heart, which has already had so much suffering. Some day I will tell you about our farewells and all that we said to each other as we parted. As yet, all that is too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are fortunate in not knowing these joys and these pains which are so poignant. You are fortunate, because the latter are generally stronger! I know very well that Count Nicholas is too young ever to become more to me than a friend, but this sweet friendship, this poetic and pure intimacy have fulfilled a need of my heart. No more of this. The great news of the day, with which all Moscow is taken up, is the death of old Count Bezuhov, and his inheritance. Fancy, the three princesses have hardly got anything, Prince Vassily nothing, and everything has been left to M. Pierre, who has been acknowledged as a legitimate son into the bargain, so that he is Count Bezuhov and has the finest fortune in Russia. People say that Prince Vassily behaved very badly in all these matters and that he has gone back to Petersburg quite cast down.
“I own that I understand very little about all these details of legacies and wills; what I know is that since the young man whom we all used to know as plain M. Pierre has become Count Bezuhov and owner of one of the largest fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to observe the change in the tone and the manners of mammas burdened with marriageable daughters and of those young ladies themselves, towards that individual— who I may say in passing has always seemed to me a poor creature. As people have amused themselves for the last two years in giving me husbands whom I don't know, the matrimonial gossip of Moscow generally makes me Countess Bezuhov. But you, I am sure, feel that I have no desire to become so. About marriage, by the by, do you know that the universal aunt, Anna Mihalovna, has confided to me, under the seal of the deepest secrecy, a marriage scheme for you. It is no one more or less than Prince Vassily's son, Anatole, whom they want to settle by marrying him to some one rich and distinguished, and the choice of his relations has fallen on you. I don't know what view you will take of the matter, but I thought it my duty to let you know beforehand. He is said to be very handsome and very wild; that is all I have been able to find out about him.
“But enough of gossip. I am finishing my second sheet and mamma is sending for me to go and dine with the Apraxins. Read the mystical book which I send you, and which is the rage here. Though there are things in this book, difficult for our human conceptions to attain to, it is an admirable book, and reading it calms and elevates the soul. Farewell. My respects to your father and my compliments to Mlle. Bourienne. I embrace you as I love you.
JULIE.

“P.S.—Let me hear news of your brother and his charming little wife.”
Princess Marya thought a minute, smiling dreamily (her face, lighted up by her luminous eyes, was completely transformed). Suddenly getting up, she crossed over to the table, treading heavily. She got out a sheet of paper and her hand began rapidly moving over it. She wrote the following answer:
“DEAR AND EXCELLENT FRIEND,—Your letter of the 13th gave me great delight. So you still love me, my poetic Julie. So, absence, which you so bitterly denounce, has not had its usual effect upon you. You complain of absence—what might I say, if I ventured to complain, I, deprived of all who are dear to me? Ah, if we had not religion to console us, life would be very sad. Why do you suppose that I should look severe when you tell me of your affection for that young man? In such matters I am hard upon no one but myself. I understand such feelings in other people, and if, never having felt thern, I cannot express approval, I do not condemn them. Only it seems to me that Christian love, the love of our neighbour, the love of our enemies, is more meritorious, sweeter and more beautiful than those feelings that may be inspired in a poetic and loving young girl like you, by the fine eyes of a young man.
“The news of Count Bezuhov's death reached us before your letter, and affected my father very much. He says that the count was the last representative but one of the great century and that it is his turn now; but that he will do his best to have his turn come as late as possible. May God save us from that terrible misfortune. I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I knew as a child. He always appeared to me to have an excellent heart, and that is the quality that I most esteem in people. As to his inheritance and Prince Vassily's behaviour about it, it is very sad for both. Ah, my dear friend, our divine Saviour's word, that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of Heaven is a terribly true saying; I pity Prince Vassily, and I am yet more sorry for Pierre. So young and burdened with this wealth, to what temptations he will be exposed! If I were asked what I wished most in the world, it would be to be poorer than the poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the work you send me, and which is all the rage where you are. As, however, you tell me that amid many good things there are others to which our weak human understanding cannot attain, it seems to me rather useless to busy oneself in reading an unintelligible book, since for that very reason it cannot yield any profit. I have never been able to comprehend the passion which some people have for confusing their minds by giving themselves to the study of mystical books which only awaken their doubts, inflaming their imagination, and giving them a disposition to exaggeration altogether contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us read the Apostles and the Gospel. Do not let us seek to penetrate what is mysterious in these, for how can we dare presume, miserable sinners as we are, to enter into the terrible and sacred secrets of Providence, while we wear this carnal husk that raises an impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal? Let us rather confine ourselves to studying those sublime principles which our divine Saviour has left us as guides for our conduct here below; let us seek to conform ourselves to those and follow them; let us persuade ourselves that the less range we give to our weak human understanding, the more agreeable it will be to God, who rejects all knowledge that does not come from Him; that the less we seek to dive into that which He has pleased to hide from our knowledge the sooner will He discover it to us by means of His divine Spirit.
“My father has not spoken to me of the suitor, but has only told me that he has received a letter, and was expecting a visit from Prince Vassily. In regard to a marriage-scheme concerning myself, I will tell you, my dear and excellent friend, that to my mind marriage is a divine institution to which we must conform. However painful it may be to me, if the Alrnighty should ever impose upon me the duties of a wife and mother, I shall try to fulfil them as faithfully as I can without disquieting myself by examining my feelings in regard to him whom He may give me for a husband.
“I have received a letter from my brother, who announces his coming to Bleak Hills with his wife. It will be a pleasure of brief duration, since he is leaving us to take part in this unhappy war into which we have been drawn, God knows how and why. It is not only with you, in the centre of business and society, that people talk of nothing except war, for here also, amid those rustic labours and that calm of nature, which townspeople generally imagine in the country, rumours of war are heard and are felt painfully. My father talks of nothing but marches and counter-marches, things of which I understand nothing; and the day before yesterday, taking my usual walk in the village street, I witnessed a heartrending scene.… It was a convoy of recruits that had been enrolled in our district, and were being sent away to the army. You should have seen the state of the mothers, wives and children of the men who were going, and have heard the sobs on both sides. It seems as though humanity had forgotten the laws of its divine Saviour, Who preached love and the forgiveness of offences, and were making the greatest merit to consist in the art of killing one another.
“Adieu, dear and good friend: may our divine Saviour and His most Holy Mother keep you in their holy and powerful care.
MARIE.”

“Ah, you are sending off your letters, princess. I have already finished mine. I have written to my poor mother,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne quickly in her agreeable, juicy voice, with a roll of the r's. She came in, all smiles, bringing into the intense, melancholy, gloomy atmosphere of the Princess Marya an alien world of gay frivolity and self-satisfaction. “Princess, I must warn you,” she added, dropping her voice, “the prince has had an altercation,” she said, with a peculiar roll of the r, seeming to listen to herself with pleasure. “An altercation with Mihail Ivanov. He is in a very ill humour, very morose. Be prepared, you know.”
“Ah, chère amie,” answered Princess Marya, “I have begged you never to tell me beforehand in what humour I shall find my father. I do not permit myself to judge him and I would not have others do so.”
The princess glanced at her watch, and seeing that it was already five minutes later than the hour fixed for her practice on the clavichord, she went with a face of alarm into the divan-room. In accordance with the rules by which the day was mapped ou


第一章第二十二节


在童山尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基公爵的田庄里，大家每天都在等待年轻的安德烈公爵偕同夫人归来，但是期待没有打乱老公爵之家的严谨的生活秩序。在上流社会中浑名叫做leroidePrusse①的大将尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇公爵，当保罗皇帝在位时就被流放到农村，他和女儿——叫做玛丽亚的公爵小姐以及她的女伴布里安小姐，在童山过着深居简出的生活。新王朝执政时，虽然他已被允许进入都城，但他继续定居农村，从不外出，他说，如果有谁需要求他，那末他就得从莫斯科走一百五十俄里的路到童山来；而他对任何东西，对任何人都一无所求。他说，只有人才有两大罪恶的根源：无所事事和迷信；只有人才有两大崇高品德：活动和才智。他亲自培养自己的女儿，给她传授代数、几何课程，以便在她身上培养这两大品德；妥善地安排她的生活，要她不断地完成作业。他本人总是很忙，时而写回忆录，时而算高等数学题，时而在车床上车鼻烟壶，时而在花园里劳作和监督他田庄里未曾中断的建筑工程。因为活动的首要条件是秩序，所以在他的生活方式中程序已达到一丝不苟的程度。他依照一成不变的陈规出来用餐，总是在同一时辰，分秒不误。公爵对待周围的人，从他女儿到仆人，态度十分粗鲁，一向要求苛刻，所以，他纵然不算残忍，却常激起连最残忍的人也难以激起的一种对他的敬畏之感。他虽已退休赋闲，在国家事务中不发挥什么作用，但是公爵的田庄所隶属的那个省份的每个上任的省长都认为拜谒他是一种应尽的义务，而且亦如建筑师、园丁或者名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐，在那宽大的堂倌休息间等候公爵于规定时刻出来会客。每当书斋那扇高大的门被推开，一个身材矮小的老人出来会客时，每个在堂倌休息间等候接见的人都会对他产生一种尊敬甚至畏惧之感，这个老人头戴扑粉的假发，露出一双肌肉萎缩的小手和两条垂下的灰白的眉毛，有时他皱起眉头，眉毛便挡住那双机灵的、焕发着青春之光的眼睛。
①法语：普鲁士国王。

年轻夫妇抵达的那天早上，同平素一样，名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐在规定的时刻走进堂倌休息间叩请早安，她心惊胆战地画着十字，心中念着祷文。她每天走进休息间，每天都祈祷，希望这天的会见能平安无事地结束。
坐在休息间的那个头发上扑了粉的老仆人动作缓慢地站起来，轻言细语地禀告：“请。”
门后可以听见车床均匀地转动的响声。公爵小姐羞羞答答地拉了一下门，门很平稳地、轻易地被拉开了。她在门旁停步了。公爵在车床上干活，掉过头来望了望，又继续干他的活。
大书斋里堆满了各种东西，显然都是一些常用的东西。一张大桌子——桌子上摆着书本和图表，几个高大的玻璃书柜——钥匙插在柜门上，一张专供站着写字用的高台子——台子上摆着一本打开的练习本，一张车床——上面放着几件工具，四周撒满了刨屑，——这一切表明这里在进行经常性的、多种多样的、富有成效的活动。从他用以操作的那只穿着绣有银线的鞑靼式的皮靴的不大的脚来看，从青筋赤露、肌肉萎缩的手上磨出的硬皮来看，公爵还具有精神充沛的老人的百折不回的毅力和极大的耐力。他旋了几圈，便从车床踏板上把脚拿下来，揩干净凿头，把它丢进安在车床上的皮袋里。他向桌前走去，把女儿喊到身边来。他从来没有祝福自己的孩子，只是把他那当天还没有剃过的、胡子拉碴的面颊凑近他女儿，露出严肃的、温和而关怀的样子望望她，说道：
“你身体好吗？……喂，坐下来吧！”
他拿起他亲手写的几何学练习本，又用脚把安乐椅推了过来。
“是明天的啊！”他说道，很快找到了那一页，在这段和另一段的两头用硬指甲戳上了记号。
公爵小姐在摆着练习本的桌前弯下腰来。
“等一下，有封你的信。”老人从安在桌上的皮袋中取出女人手笔的信一封，扔在桌上。
公爵小姐看见信，立刻涨红了脸，她赶快拿起信，低垂着头去看。
“爱洛绮丝寄来的吗？”公爵问道，把他那坚固的、略微发黄的牙齿露出来，冷冷一笑。
“是的，是朱莉寄来的。”公爵小姐说道，羞答答地望着，羞答答地微笑。
“还有两封信我不看，而第三封我一定要看，”公爵严肃地说道，“我怕你们在写一大堆废话。第三封我一定要看。”
“monpeve①，就连这封信您也看吧。”公爵小姐答道，脸红得更加厉害，一面把信递给他。
①法语：爸爸。

“我已经说了，第三封，第三封。”公爵把信推开，迅速而果断地喊道。他用胳膊肘撑着桌子，把那绘有几何图形的练习本拖到身边来。
“喂，女士，”老头子开始说话，挨近女儿，朝着练习本弯下腰来，并把一只手搁在公爵小姐坐着的安乐椅的靠背上，公爵小姐觉得自己已被早就熟谙的父亲的烟草气味和老人的呛人的气味笼罩着。“喂，女士，这些三角形都是相似的：你看见，abc角……”
公爵小姐惊惶失措地望着父亲向她逼近的、闪闪发亮的眼睛，脸上泛起了红晕。可见，她什么都不懂得，心里很畏惧，虽然父亲的讲解清清楚楚，但是这种畏惧心毕竟会妨碍她弄懂父亲的进一步的讲解。教师有过错呢，还是女学生有过错呢，但是每天都重现着同样的情况。公爵小姐的眼睛模糊不清了，她视若无睹，听若罔闻，只觉得严厉的父亲那副干瘦的脸孔凑近她身边，她闻到他的气息和气味，只是想到尽快地离开书斋，好在自己房中无拘无束地弄懂习题。老头子发脾气了，轰隆一声把他自己坐的安乐椅从身边移开，又拖过来，他极力控制自己不动肝火，但是，差不多每次都火冒三丈，开口大骂，有时候竟把练习本扔到一边去。公爵小姐答错了。
“嘿，你真是个蠢货！”公爵嚷道，推开那本练习簿，飞快地转过脸去，但立刻站立起来，在房间里走走，用手碰碰公爵小姐的头发，又坐下来。
他将身子移近一点，继续讲解。
“公爵小姐，不行的，不行的，”当公爵小姐拿起继而又合上附有规定的家庭作业的练习本准备离开的时候，他说道，“数学是一件首要的大事，我的女士。我不希望你像我们那帮愚昧的小姐。习久相安嘛。”他抚摩一下女儿的面颊，“糊涂思想就会从脑海里跑出去。”
她想走出去，他用手势把她拦住了，从那高高的台子上取下一本尚未裁开的新书。
“还有你的爱洛绮丝给你寄来的一部《奥秘解答》。一本宗教范畴的书。我不过问任何人的宗教信仰……我浏览了一下。你拿去吧。得啦，你走吧，你走吧！”
他拍了一下她的肩膀，等她一出门，他就在她身后亲自把门关上了。
名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐露出忧悒和惊恐的神色回到她自己的寝室。她常常带有这种神色，使她那副不俊俏的、病态的面孔变得更加难看了。她在写字台旁坐下，台子上放着微型的肖像，堆满了练习本和书本。公爵小姐缺乏条理，她父亲倒有条不紊。她搁下了几何学练习本，急躁地拆开那封信。信是公爵小姐童年时代的密友寄来的，这位密友就是出席过罗斯托夫家的命名日庆祝会的朱莉·卡拉金娜。
朱莉在信中写道：
亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，离别是一桩多么可怖、多么令人痛苦的事啊！我多少次反复地对我自己申说，我的生活和我的幸福的一半寄托在您身上，虽然我们天各一方，但是我们的心是用拉不断的纽带联系在一起的，我的心逆着天命，不听从它的摆布，虽然我置身于作乐和消遣的环境中，但是自从我们分离后，我就不能抑制住我心灵深处的隐忧。我们为什么不能像旧年夏天那样在您那宽大的书斋里聚首，一同坐在天蓝色的沙发上，“表白爱情”的沙发上呢？我为什么不能像三个月以前那样从您温顺、安详、敏锐的目光中，从我喜爱的目光中，从我给您写信时我依旧在我面前瞥见的目光中汲取新的精神力量呢？
名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐念到这里叹了一口气，向嵌在右边墙上的穿衣镜照了照，镜子反映出一副不美丽的虚弱的身躯和那消瘦的面孔。一向显得怏怏不乐的眼睛现在特别失望地对着镜子看自己。“她谄媚我哩，”公爵小姐想了想。她把脸转过来继续念信。但是朱莉没有谄媚过朋友；诚然，公爵小姐那双深沉、炯炯发光的大眼睛（有时候仿佛发射出一束束温柔的光芒）十分美丽，尽管整个脸孔不好看，但是这双眼睛却常常变得分外迷人。公爵小姐从来没有见过自己眼睛的美丽动人的表情，即是当她不思忖自己时她的眼睛的表情。如同所有的人，她一照镜子，脸上就流露出生硬的不自然的很不好看的表情。她继续读信：
整个莫斯科只知道谈论战争。我的两个长兄，一个已经在国外，另一个跟随近卫军向边境进发。我们亲爱的皇帝已经放弃彼得堡，有人推测，皇帝意欲亲自督阵，使宝贵生命经受一次战争的风险。愿上帝保佑，万能的上帝大慈大悲，委派一位天使充当我们的君主，但愿他推翻这个煽动欧洲叛乱的科西嘉恶魔。姑且不提我的两个长兄，这次战争竟使我丧失一个最亲密的人。我说的是年轻的尼古拉·罗斯托夫，他充满热情，不甘于无所作为，离开了大学，投笔从戎。亲爱的玛丽，我向您坦白承认，虽说他十分年轻，但是他这次从军却使我感到极大的痛苦。旧年夏天我曾经向您谈到这个年轻人，他有这么许多高高的品德和真正的青春活力。当代，在我们这些二十岁的小老头子中间，这是不常见的啊！尤其是他待人真诚，心地善良。他非常纯洁，充满着理想。我和他的关系虽如昙花一现，但这却是我这个遭受过许多折磨的不幸的心灵尝到的极为甜蜜的欢乐之一。
总有一天我要和您谈谈我们离别的情形、临别时的
赠言。所有这一切未从记忆中磨灭……啊！亲爱的朋友，您十分幸福，您没有尝受过炽热的欢快和难忍的悲痛。您十分幸福，因为悲痛常比欣悦更为强烈。我心中十分明白，尼古拉伯爵太年轻了，诚了作个朋友外，我认为，不可能搭上什么别的关系。但这甜蜜的友情，这多么象有诗意、多么纯洁的关系，是我心灵之所需。这件事别再谈了。
吸引整个莫斯科的注意力的头条新闻，是老别祖霍
夫伯爵的去世和他的遗产问题。您想象一下，三个公爵小姐获得一小部分，瓦西里公爵没有捞到分文，而皮埃尔却是全部遗产的继承人，此外他被公认为法定的儿子，即为别祖霍夫伯爵和俄国最大财富的占有者。据说，在这件事的始末，瓦西里公爵扮演了极其卑鄙的角色，很难为情地往彼得堡去了。我向您承认，我不大懂得遗嘱方面的事情，我只晓得，自从这个人人认识、名叫皮埃尔的年轻人变成别祖霍夫伯爵和俄国最大财富的占有者以后，我觉得可笑的是，我看见那些有及笄女儿的母亲以及小姐本人，都在这位先生面前变了腔调。附带说一句，我总觉得皮埃尔是个十分渺小的人。
因为这两个年头大家都在给我物色未婚夫，认为这
是开心的事儿（对象多半是我不认识的人），所以莫斯科婚姻大事记，要使我成为叫做别祖霍娃的伯爵夫人。可是您明了，这件事完全不合乎我的心愿。不妨顺便提提婚事吧。您是否知道，公认的大娘安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜在不久以前极为秘密地把给您筹办婚事的意图告诉我了。对象正好是瓦西里公爵的儿子阿纳托利，他们正想给他娶一个有钱的、贵族门第的姑娘，您倒被他父母选中了。我不知道您对此事抱有什么看法。但我认为有责任提醒您哩。听说他相貌长得很漂亮，但却是个十足的浪子。关于他的情况，我打听到的只有这些，没有别的了。
够了，不必再扯了。我快写完第二页了，妈妈着人来叫我坐车到阿普拉克辛家去出席午宴。
请您读一读我给您寄上的这本神秘主义的书吧，在我们这儿，这本书大受欢迎。虽然我们普通人的贫乏的智慧很难弄懂这本书中的某些内容，但这却是一本出色的书。读这本书，能使灵魂升华，使灵魂得到安慰。再见吧。向您父亲致以敬意，并向布里安小姐问候。我衷心地拥抱您。
朱莉
再启：请将您长兄和他的可爱的妻子的消息告诉我。
公爵小姐想了想，沉思地微微一笑（与此同时，炯炯的目光照耀着她的脸庞，使它完全变了模样），她突然站立起来，曳着沉重的步子，向桌前走去。她取出一张纸，她的手开始迅速地在纸上移动。她的回信是这样写的：
亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，十三日的来信使我感到非常高兴。我的充满理想的朱莉，您仍旧爱我。可见您说得那么难堪的离别，在您身上没有产生常见的影响力。您埋怨别离，假如我敢于埋怨，那么我应当说句什么话——
我丧失了我所珍惜的一切人吗？咳，假若没有宗教的安慰，生活就会极其凄凉。当您谈起您爱慕一个年轻人时，您为什么认为我的目光是严峻的呢？在这方面，我只是严谨地对待自己罢了。我明了别人的这种感情，既然我从未体会这种感情，不能予以赞扬，那我也不加以斥责。
我只是觉得，基督的仁爱，对敌人的爱，较之年轻人的一双美丽的眼睛使您这样一个充满理想的具有爱心的年轻姑娘产生的那种感情更为可敬，更为可贵，更为高尚。
在尚未接到您的来信以前，别祖霍夫伯爵去世的消
息就已经传到我们这里了，我父亲闻讯悲恸万分。他说别祖霍夫伯爵是我们伟大时代剩下的倒数第二个代表人物。现在要轮到他头上了。他将尽力而为，使这一轮尽量晚点到来。愿上帝保佑，使我们免受这种不幸啊！
我是女孩的时候就认识皮埃尔，我不能赞同您对他
的意见。我似乎觉得，他的心肠永远都是善良的。这正是我所珍惜的人应有的品德。至于他所继承的遗产以及瓦西里公爵在这方面扮演的角色，这对他们两人都是很不光彩的。啊，亲爱的朋友，我们的救世的天主说了这么一句话：骆驼穿过针眼比富翁进入天国更容易，这句话很有道理！我怜悯瓦西里公爵，更加怜悯皮埃尔。他这么年少就要肩负一大笔财富的重担，他将要经受多少命运的考验啊！假若有人要问我，这尘世上我最希冀的是什么，我就会说，我希望做个比最贫穷的乞丐更穷的人。亲爱的朋友，我千万次地向您表示感谢，感谢您给我寄来的一本在你们那里引起纷纷议论的书。其实，您对我说，在这本书的一些可取的内容之间还夹有一些我们普通人的贫乏的智慧不能弄懂的内容，所以我觉得，谈奥妙难懂的东西是多余的，不会给人们带来半点裨益。我从来没法领悟某些人的酷嗜，他们酷嗜神秘主义的书籍，思绪给弄得十分紊乱，因为这些书会在他们头脑中引起疑惑，激起他们的臆想，铸成他们那种与基督的纯朴完全对立的夸张的性格。
我们莫如读一读《使徒行传》和《福音书》吧。我
们不要妄图识透书本上包含的神秘的内容，因为趁我们这些不幸的罪人还有肉体的躯壳支撑，它在我们和永恒之间树立着穿不透的隔幕的时候，末日尚未到来的时候，我们怎么能够认识上天的可怖和神圣的隐秘呢？我们莫如只研究救世的天主遗留给我们作为尘世指南的那些伟大的准则，我们要力求遵守这些准则，并要竭诚地相信，我们越少于纵欲，就越能取悦于上帝。上帝排斥一切不是由他传授的知识，我们越少去研究他不想要我们知道的隐秘，他就会越快地用那神明的智慧为人类拨开茅塞。
我父亲没有对我谈起未婚夫的事，他说的只是，他
收到一封信，正在等待瓦西里公爵的访问。我亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，至于筹划我的婚姻一事，我要说给您听，在我看来，结婚是定当服从的教规。我认为无论这是多么沉重，但若万能的上帝要我担负贤妻良母的天职，我将竭尽全力，忠诚地履行这一天职，而我对上帝赐予我的男人怀有什么感情，我却无心去研究。
我已经收到长兄的一封来信，他向我提到他将和妻子一道来童山。这次欢乐的团聚为时是不长的，因为他快要离开我们去参与战斗，天知道我们如何和何故被卷入这场战争。不光是在你那儿——各种事件和社交的中心，而且在这儿——在田间劳作和市民平常所想象的农村的寂静中，也传来战争的回声，也令人心情沉重。我父亲只知道谈论我丝毫也不明了的南征北战的情形。前天，当我照常在村庄的街道上漫步的时候，我看见一个令人心碎的场面……他们都是我们这里招募入伍的一批新兵……有必要去看看那些上前线的新兵的母亲、妻子和儿女的情景，听听新兵和家属的啼哭！你想想，人类已经忘记了救世的天主以博爱和宽恕宿怨的教义训导我们，而人类竟把互相谋杀的伎俩看作主要的优点。
亲爱的，慈善的朋友，再见。愿那救世的天主和圣母赐予您神圣而万能的庇护。
玛丽
“Ah，vousexpédiezlecorrier，Princesse，moij'aidejáexpedielemien．J'aiecrisamapauvremere．”①布里安小姐面露微笑，用她那清脆、悦耳的嗓音说道，她说得很快，“r”音发得不准确。在名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐的凝神思索、愁闷而阴郁的气氛里，她带进了一种完全异样的轻佻而悦意的洋洋自得的神情。
①法语：啊，您就要把信寄出去，我已经把信寄出去了。信是写给我的可怜的母亲的。

“Princesse，ilfautquejevousprévienne，”她压低嗓门，补充说一句，“Leprinceaeuunealtercation，altercation，”她说道，特别着重用法语腔调发“r”音，并且高兴地听她自己的语声，“unealtercationavecMichelIvanoff．Ilestdetrèsmauvaisehumeur，trèsmorose．Soyezprèvenue，voussauez．”①
“Ah！chèreamie．”名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐答道，“Jevousaipriedenejamaismeprevenirdel'humeurdanslaquellesetrouvemonpère．Jenemeperometspasdelejuger，etjenevoudruispasquelesautreslefassent．”②
①法语：公爵小姐，我得事先告诉您——公爵把米哈伊尔·伊万内奇大骂了一顿。他的情绪不好，愁眉苦脸。我事先告诉您，您晓得……
②法语：啊，我亲爱的朋友，我求您千万不要对我谈论父亲的心境吧。我不容许我自己评说他，我也不希望他人这样做。

公爵小姐看了一下钟，她发觉已经耽误了五分钟弹钢琴的时间，流露出惊惶的神色向休息室走去。按照规定的作息制度，十二点钟至两点钟之间，公爵休息，公爵小姐弹钢琴。
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87162鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
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Part One Chapter Twenty-One


THERE WAS by now no one in the reception-room except Prince Vassily and the eldest princess, who were in eager conversation together, sitting under the portrait of Catherine. They were mute at once on seeing Pierre and his companion, and the princess concealed something as Pierre fancied and murmured: “I can't stand the sight of that woman.”
“Katish has had tea served in the little drawing-room,” Prince Vassily said to Anna Mihalovna. “Go, my poor Anna Mihalovna, take something or you will not hold out.”
To Pierre he said nothing; he simply pressed his arm sympathetically. Pierre and Anna Mihalovna went on into the little drawing-room.
“There is nothing so reviving as a cup of this excellent Russian tea, after a sleepless night,” said Lorrain with an air of restrained briskness, sipping it out of a delicate china cup without a handle, as he stood in the little circular drawing-room close to a table laid with tea-things and cold supper-dishes. All who were in Count Bezuhov's house on that night had, with a view to fortifying themselves, gathered around the table. Pierre remembered well that little circular drawing-room with its mirrors and little tables. When there had been balls in the count's house, Pierre, who could not dance, had liked sitting in that little room full of mirrors, watching the ladies in ball-dresses with pearls and diamonds on their bare shoulders, as they crossed that room and looked at themselves in the brightly lighted mirrors that repeated their reflections several times. Now the same room was dimly lighted with two candles, and in the middle of the night the tea-set and supper-dishes stood in disorder on one of the little tables, and heterogeneous, plainly dressed persons were sitting at it, whispering together, and showing in every word that no one could forget what was passing at that moment and what was still to come in the bedroom. Pierre did not eat anything, though he felt very much inclined to. He looked round inquiringly towards his monitress, and perceived that she had gone out again on tiptoe into the reception-room where Prince Vassily had remained with the eldest princess. Pierre supposed that this too was an inevitable part of the proceedings, and, after a little delay, he followed her. Anna Mihalovna was standing beside the princess, and they were both talking at once in excited tones.
“Allow me, madam, to know what is and what is not to be done,” said the princess, who was apparently in the same exasperated temper as she had been when she slammed the door of her room.
“But, dear princess,” Anna Mihalovna was saying mildly and persuasively, blocking up the way towards the bedroom and not letting the princess pass. “Would that not be too great a tax on poor uncle at such a moment, when he needs repose? At such moments to talk of worldly matters when his soul is already prepared …”
Prince Vassily was sitting in a low chair in his habitual attitude, with one leg crossed high above the other. His cheeks were twitching violently, and when they relaxed, they looked heavier below; but he wore the air of a man little interested in the two ladies' discussion.
“No, my dear Anna Mihalovna, let Katish act on her own discretion. You know how the count loves her.”
“I don't even know what is in this document,” said the princess, addressing Prince Vassily, and pointing to the inlaid portfolio which she held in her hand. “All I know is that the real will is in the bureau, and this is a paper that has been forgotten. …”
She tried to get round Anna Mihalovna, but the latter, with another little skip, barred her way again.
“I know, dear, sweet princess,” said Anna Mihalovna, taking hold of the portfolio, and so firmly that it was clear she would not readily let go of it again. “Dear princess, I beg you, I beseech you, spare him. I entreat you.”
The princess did not speak. All that was heard was the sound of a scuffle over the portfolio. There could be no doubt that if she were to speak, she would say nothing complimentary to Anna Mihalovna. The latter kept a tight grip, but in spite of that her voice retained all its sweet gravity and softness.
Pierre, come here, my dear boy. He will not be one too many, I should imagine, in a family council; eh, prince?”
“Why don't you speak, mon cousin?” the princess shrieked all of a sudden, so loudly that they heard her voice, and were alarmed by it in the drawing-room. “Why don't you speak when here a meddling outsider takes upon herself to interfere, and make a scene on the very threshold of a dying man's room? Scheming creature,” she muttered viciously, and tugged at the portfolio with all her might, but Anna Mihalovna took a few steps forward so as not to lose her grasp of it and changed hands.
“Ah,” said Prince Vassily, in reproachful wonder. He got up. “It is ridiculous. Come, let go. I tell you.” The princess let go.
“And you.”
Anna Mihalovna did not heed him.
“Let go, I tell you. I will take it all upon myself. I will go and ask him. I … you let it alone.”
“But, prince,” said Anna Mihalovna, “after this solemn sacrament, let him have a moment's peace. Here, Pierre, tell me your opinion,” she turned to the young man, who going up to them was staring in surprise at the exasperated face of the princess, which had thrown off all appearance of decorum, and the twitching cheeks of Prince Vassily.
“Remember that you will have to answer for all the consequences,” said Prince Vassily sternly; “you don't know what you are doing.”
“Infamous woman,” shrieked the princess, suddenly pouncing on Anna Mihalovna and tearing the portfolio from her. Prince Vassily bowed his head and flung up his hands.
At that instant the door, the dreadful door at which Pierre had gazed so long, and which had opened so softly, was flung rapidly, noisily open, banging against the wall, and the second princess ran out wringing her hands.
“What are you about?” she said, in despair. “He is passing away, and you leave me alone.”
The eldest princess dropped the portfolio. Swiftly Anna Mihalovna stooped and, snatching up the object of dispute, ran into the bedroom. The eldest princess and Prince Vassily recovering themselves followed her. A few minutes later the eldest princess came out again with a pale, dry face, biting her underlip. At the sight of Pierre her face expressed irrepressible hatred.
“Yes, now you can give yourself airs,” she said, “you have got what you wanted.” And breaking into sobs, she hid her face in her handkerchief and ran out of the room.
The next to emerge was Prince Vassily. He staggered to the sofa, on which Pierre was sitting, and sank on to it, covering his eyes with his hand. Pierre noticed that he was pale, and that his lower jaw was quivering and working as though in ague.
“Ah, my dear boy,” he said, taking Pierre by the elbow—and there was a sincerity and a weakness in his voice that Pierre had never observed in him before—“what sins, what frauds we commit, and all for what? I'm over fifty, my dear boy. … I too. … It all ends in death, all. Death is awful.” He burst into tears.
Anna Mihalovna was the last to come out. She approached Pierre with soft, deliberate steps. “Pierre,” she said. Pierre looked inquiringly at her. She kissed the young man on the forehead, wetting him with her tears. She did not speak for a while.
“He is no more. …”
Pierre gazed at her over his spectacles.
“Come. I will take you back. Try to cry. Nothing relieves like tears.”
She led him into the dark drawing-room, and Pierre was glad that no one could see his face. Anna Mihalovna left him, and when she came back he was fast asleep with his arm under his head.
The next morning Anna Mihalovna said to Pierre: “Yes, my dear boy, it is a great loss for us all. I do not speak of you. But God will uphold you; you are young, and now you are at the head of an immense fortune, I hope. The will has not been opened yet. I know you well enough to know that this will not turn your head, but it will impose duties upon you and you must be a man.”
Pierre did not speak.
“Perhaps, later, I may tell you, my dear boy, that if I had not been there God knows what would have happened. You know, my uncle promised me, only the day before yesterday, not to forget Boris. But he had no time. I hope, dear friend, that you will fulfil your father's desire.”

Pierre did not understand a word, and colouring shyly, looked dumbly at Anna Mihalovna. After talking to him, Anna Mihalovna drove to the Rostovs', and went to bed. On waking in the morning, she told the Rostovs and all her acquaintances the details of Count Bezuhov's death. She said that the count had died, as she would wish to die herself, that his end had been not simply touching, but edifying; that the last interview of the father and son had been so touching that she could not recall it without tears; and that she did not know which had behaved more nobly in those terrible moments: the father, who had remembered everything and every one so well at the last, and had said such moving words to his son; or Pierre, whom it was heartbreaking to see, so utterly crushed was he, though he yet tried to conceal his grief, so as not to distress his dying father. “It is painful, but it does one good; it uplifts the soul to see such men as the old count and his worthy son,” she said. She told them about the action of the princess and Prince Vassily too, but in great secrecy, in whispers, and with disapproval.


第一章第二十一节


除开瓦西里公爵和公爵的大小姐而外，接待室里没有其他人，他们二人坐在叶卡捷琳娜画像下面，正在兴致勃勃地谈论什么事。他们一望见皮埃尔和他的带路人，就默不作声了。
皮埃尔仿佛看见公爵的大小姐把一样东西藏起来，并且轻言细语地说道：
“我不能跟这个女人见面。”
“Caticheafaitdonnerduthédanslepetitesalon，”瓦西里公爵对安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，“Allez，mapauvre安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，prenezquequeclhose，autrementvousnesuffirezpas．”③
他对皮埃尔什么话也没有说，只是亲切地握握他的手。皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向petitAalon④走去。
①法语：他昏迷不醒了。
②法语：我们走吧。
③法语：卡季什已经吩咐人将茶端进小客厅去了。可怜的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，您最好去提提精神，否则您会没有力气的。
④法语：小客厅。

“Iln'yarienquirestaure，commeunetassedecetexcelBlentthérusseaprèsunenuitblanche，”①罗兰在圆形小客厅的桌子前面站着，这张桌上放着茶具和晚餐的冷菜，他端着很精致的不带把的中国茶碗，一口一口地呷着茶，流露着抑制兴奋的神色说道。这天晚上，那些在别祖霍夫伯爵家里的人，为了要提提精神，都聚集在桌子周围。皮埃尔很清楚地记得这间嵌有几面镜子和摆放几张茶几的圆形小客厅。伯爵家里举行舞会时，皮埃尔不会跳舞，只喜欢坐在这间嵌有镜子的小客厅里，从一旁观看那些穿着舞衣、裸露的肩上戴有钻石和珍珠项链的女士们穿过这间客厅时照照镜子的情景，几面闪闪发亮的镜子一连几次反映出她们的身影。现在这个房间只点着两根光线暗淡的蜡烛，在这深夜里，一张小茶几上乱七八糟地放着茶具和盘子，穿着得不太雅致的五颜六色的人们坐在这个房间里窃窃私语，言语行动都表示谁也不会忘记现在发生的事情和可能发生的事情。皮埃尔没有去吃东西，尽管他很想吃东西。他带着疑问的目光望望他的带路人，看见她踮起脚尖又走到接待室，瓦西里公爵和公爵的大小姐还呆在那里，没有走出去。皮埃尔认为有必要这样行事，他停了一会，便跟在她后面去了。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜站在公爵的大小姐近旁，二人同时心情激动地轻声说话。
①法语：在不眠之夜以后，再没有什么比一碗十分可口的俄国茶更能恢复精力的了。

“公爵夫人，请您让我知道，什么是需要的，什么是不需要的。”公爵的大小姐说，她那激动的心情显然跟她砰然一声关上房门时的心情一样。
“可是，亲爱的公爵小姐，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜拦住通往寝室的路，不让公爵小姐走过去，她温和而恳切地说，“在可怜的叔叔需要休息的时刻，这样做不会使他太难受么？在他已经有了精神准备的时刻，竟然谈论世俗的事情……”
瓦西里公爵坐在安乐椅上，一条腿高高地架在另一条腿上，现出十分亲热的姿态。他的腮帮子深陷，下部看起来更为肥厚，跳动得很厉害，但是他摆出一副不太关心两个女士谈论的样子。
“Voyons，mabonne，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，laissezfaireCatiche①，您知道，伯爵多么喜爱她啊。”
“这份文件中包含有什么，我真的不知道，”公爵小姐把脸转向瓦西里公爵，并用手指着她拿在手里的镶花皮包，说道，“我只知道他的真遗嘱搁在旧式写字台里，而这是一份被遗忘的文件……”
她想从安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜身边绕过去，但安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜跳到她跟前，拦住她的去路。
“亲爱的、慈善的公爵小姐，我知道，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，用手抓着皮包，抓得很紧，看起来她不会很快松手的，“亲爱的公爵小姐，我求您，我央求您，怜悯怜悯他。
Jevousenconjure……”②
①法语：不过，我亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，让卡季什去做她知道做的事吧。
②法语：我央求您。

公爵的大小姐默不作声。只传来用力抢夺皮包的响声。由此可见，如果她开口说话，她也不会说出什么称赞安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的话来。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜抓得很紧，但是她的声音慢吞吞的，还是保持着谄媚、委婉的意味。
“皮埃尔，我的朋友，到这里来。我想，他在亲属商议事情时不是多馀的。公爵，不是这样吗？”
“我的表兄，干嘛不作声？”公爵的大小姐突然叫喊起来，喊声很大，客厅里也能听见，可把大家吓坏了，“天晓得有个什么人胆敢在这里干涉别人的事，在临近死亡的人家里大吵大闹，您干嘛在这个时候一声不吭？一个施耍阴谋诡计的女人！”她凶恶地轻声说道，使尽全身力气去拖皮包，但是安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向前走了几步，不想放开那个皮包，换一只手把它抓住了。
“哎呀！”瓦西里公爵露出责备和惊讶的神态说，他站起身来。“C'estridicule，voyons①，放开吧，我说给您听吧。”
公爵的大小姐放开手了。
“您也放开手！”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜没有听从他。
“放开，我说给您听吧。我对一切负责。我去问他。我……
您别这样了。”
“Mais，monnpuince，”②安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，“在举行这样盛大的圣礼以后，让他安静片刻吧。皮埃尔，您把您的意见说出来，”她把脸转向年轻人说道；皮埃尔走到他们近侧，诧异地打量着公爵小姐那副凶狠的，丧失体统的面孔和瓦西里公爵的不停地颤动的两颊。
①法语：这真可笑。得啦吧。
②法语：但是，我的公爵。

“您要记得，您要对一切后果负责，”瓦西里公爵严肃地说，“您不知道您在搞什么名堂。”
“讨厌的女人！”公爵小姐嚷道，忽然向安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜扑了过去，夺取那皮包。
瓦西里公爵低下头来，把两手一摊。
这时分，那扇房门——素来都是轻轻地打开的令人可怖的房门，皮埃尔久久地望着，房门忽然砰地一声被推开了，撞到墙壁上，公爵的二小姐从那里跑出来，把两手举起轻轻一拍。
“你们在做什么事？”她无所顾忌地说道，“Ils'envaetvousmelaissezseule．”①
①法语：他快要死了，可你们把我一个人留在那里。

公爵的大小姐丢掉了皮包。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜飞快弯下腰去，顺手拾起那件引起争端的东西，就到寝室里去了。公爵的大小姐和瓦西里公爵在清醒以后，也跟在她后面走去。过了几分钟，公爵的大小姐头一个从那里走出来，面色惨白，紧闭着下嘴唇。她看见皮埃尔，脸上露出了难以抑制的愤恨。
“对了，您现在高兴了，”她说道，“这是您所期待的。”
她于是嚎啕大哭起来，用手绢蒙住脸，从房里跑出去了。
瓦西里公爵跟在公爵的大小姐后面走出去。他步履踉跄地走到皮埃尔坐的长沙发前面，用一只手蒙住眼睛，跌倒在长沙发上。皮埃尔发现他脸色苍白，下颔跳动着，颤栗着，像因冷热病发作而打战似的。
“哎呀，我的朋友！”他一把抓住皮埃尔的胳膊肘，说道，嗓音里带有一种诚实的软弱的意味，这是皮埃尔过去从未发觉到的，“我们造了多少孽，我们欺骗多少人，这一切为了什么？我的朋友，我已经五十多岁了……要知道，我……人一死，什么都完了，都完了。死是非常可怕的。”他大哭起来。
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜最后一人走出来。她用徐缓的脚步走到皮埃尔面前。
“皮埃尔！……”她说道。
皮埃尔以疑问的目光望着她。她吻吻年轻人的前额，眼泪把它沾湿了。她沉默了片刻。
“Iln'estplus…”①
皮埃尔透过眼镜望着她。
“Allons，jevousreconduiraiTachezdepleurer．Riennesoulage，commeleslarmes．”②
①法语：他不在世了。
②法语：我们走吧，我送您去。想法子哭吧，没有什么比眼泪更能使人减轻痛苦。

她把他带到昏暗的客厅里，皮埃尔心里很高兴的是，那里没有人看见他的面孔。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜从他身旁走开了。当她回来时，他把一只手搁在脑底下酣睡了。
翌日清晨，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜对皮埃尔说：
“Oui，moncher，c'estunegrandepertepournoustous，Jeneparlepasdevous．Maisdieuvoussoutiendra，vousêtesjeuneetvousvoilàalateted'uneimmensefortune，jel'espère，Letestanentn'apasétéencoreouvert，Jevousconnaisassezpoursavoirquecelanevoustounrnerapaslatête，maiscelavousim－posedesdevoirs，etilfautêtre
hommê．”①
皮埃尔沉默不言。
“Peut—êtreplustardjevousdirai，moncher，quesijen'avaispasetela，Dieusaitcequiseraitarrive．Voussavezmononcleavant—hierencoremepromettaitdenepasoubliBerBoris．Maisiln'apaseuletemps．J'espère，moncherami，quevousremplirezledésirdevotrepère．”②
①法语：对，我的朋友，即使不提及您，这对于我们所有的人也是极大的损失。但是上帝保佑您，您很年轻，我希望您如今是一大笔财产的拥有者。遗嘱还没有拆开来，对于您的情形我相当熟悉，坚信这不会使您冲昏头脑。但是这要您承担义务，您要做个大丈夫。
②法语：以后我也许会说给您听的，如果我不在那里，天知道会发生什么事。您知道，叔父前天答应我不要不顾鲍里斯，但是他来不及了。我的朋友，我希望您能履行父亲的意愿。

皮埃尔什么也不明白，他沉默不言，羞涩地涨红着脸，抬起眼睛望着名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜和皮埃尔谈了几句话，便离开他，前往罗斯托夫家憩宿。翌日清晨醒来，她向罗斯托夫家里人和各个熟人叙述了别祖霍夫伯爵辞世的详细情节。她说，伯爵正如她意料中的情景那样去世了，他的死不仅颇为感人，而且可资垂训。父子最后一次的会面竟如此感人，以致一想起此事她就会痛哭流涕，她不晓得在这令人可怖的时刻，父子二人中谁的行为表现更为出色，是在临终的时候对所有的事情和所有的人一一回顾、并对儿子道出感人的话的父亲呢，还是悲恸欲绝、为使死在旦夕的父亲不致于难受而隐藏自己内心的忧愁的、令人目睹而怜惜的皮埃尔。“C'estpenible，maiscelafaitdu
bien：caelèvel'amedevoirdeshommes，commelevieuxcomteetsondignefils。”①她说道。她也秘而不宣地、低声地谈到公爵的大小姐和瓦西里公爵的行为，但却不予以赞扬。
①法语：这是令人难受的，却是富有教育意义的，当你看见老伯爵和他的当之无愧的儿子时，灵魂就变得高尚了。
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Part One Chapter  Twenty


PIERRE KNEW WELL that great room, divided by columns and an arch, and carpeted with Persian rugs. The part of the room behind the columns, where on one side there stood a high mahogany bedstead with silken hangings, and on the other a huge case of holy pictures, was brightly and decoratively lighted up, as churches are lighted for evening service. Under the gleaming ornamentation of the case stood a long invalid chair, and in the chair, on snow-white, uncrumpled, freshly changed pillows, covered to the waist with a bright green quilt, Pierre recognised the majestic figure of his father, Count Bezuhov, with the grey shock of hair like a lion's mane over his broad forehead, and the characteristically aristocratic, deep lines on his handsome, reddish-yellow face. He was lying directly under the holy pictures: both his great stout arms were lying on the quilt. In his right hand, which lay with the palm downwards, a wax candle had been thrust between the thumb and forefinger, and an old servant bending down over the chair held it in it. About the chair stood the clergy in their shining ceremonial vestments, with their long hair pulled out over them. They held lighted candles in their hands, and were performing the service with deliberate solemnity. A little behind them stood the two younger princesses holding handkerchiefs to their eyes, and in front of them the eldest, Katish, stood with a vindictive and determined air, never for an instant taking her eyes off the holy image, as though she were declaring to all that she would not answer for herself, if she were to look around. Anna Mihalovna with a countenance of meek sorrow and forgiveness stood at the door with the unknown lady. Prince Vassily was standing close to the invalid chair on the other side of the door. He had drawn a carved, velvet chair up to him, and was leaning on the back of it with his left hand, in which he held a candle, while with his right he crossed himself, turning his eyes upwards every time as he put his finger to his forehead. His face expressed quiet piety and submission to the will of God. “If you don't understand such feelings, so much the worse for you,” his face seemed to say.
Behind him stood the adjutant, the doctors, and the men-servants; the men and the women had separated as though they were in church. All were silently crossing themselves, nothing was audible but the reading of the service, the subdued, deep bass singing, and in the intervals of silence sighs could be heard and the shuffling of feet. With a significant air, which showed she knew what she was about, Anna Mihalovna walked right across the room to Pierre and gave him a candle. He lighted it, and absorbed in watching the people around him, he absent-mindedly crossed himself with the hand in which he held the candle. The youngest princess, Sophie, the rosy, laughing one with the mole, was looking at him. She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, and for a long while did not uncover it. But looking at Pierre again, again she laughed. She was apparently unable to look at him without laughing, but could not resist looking at him, and to be out of temptation, she softly moved behind a column. In the middle of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased, and they whispered something to one another. The old servant, who was holding the count's hand, got up and turned to the ladies. Anna Mihalovna stepped forward and, stooping over the sick man, she beckoned behind her back to Lorrain. The French doctor had been leaning against the column without a candle, in the respectful attitude of the foreigner, who would show that in spite of the difference of religion he comprehends all the solemnity of the ceremony and even approves of it. With the noiseless steps of a man in full vigour of his age, he went up to the sick man. His delicate, white fingers lifted his disengaged hand from the quilt, and turning away, the doctor began feeling the pulse in absorbed attention. They gave the sick man some drink; there was a slight bustle around him, then all went back to their places and the service was continued. During this break in the proceedings Pierre noticed that Prince Vassily moved away from his chair-back, and with that same air of being quite sure of what he was about, and of its being so much the worse for others, if they failed to understand it, he did not go up to the sick man, but passed by him and joined the eldest princess. Then together they went away to the further end of the room to the high bedstead under the silk canopy. When they moved away from the bed the prince and princess disappeared together by the further door, but before the end of the service they returned one after the other to their places. Pierre paid no more attention to this circumstance than to all the rest, having once for all made up his mind that all that he saw taking place that evening must inevitably be as it was.
The sounds of the church singing ceased and the voice of the chief ecclesiastic was heard, respectfully congratulating the sick man on his reception of the mystery. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable as before. Every one was moving about him, there was the sound of footsteps and of whispers, Anna Mihalovna's whisper rising above the rest.
Pierre heard her say: “Undoubtedly he must be moved on to the bed; it's impossible …”
The sick man was so surrounded by the doctors, the princesses and the servants, that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow face with the grey mane, which he had never lost sight of for one instant during the ceremony, even though he had been watching other people too. Pierre guessed from the cautious movements of the people about the chair that they were lifting the dying man up and moving him.
“Hold on to my arm; you'll drop him so,” he heard the frightened whisper of one of the servants. “Lower down … another one here,” said voices. And their heavy breathing and hurried tread seemed to show that the weight they carried was too heavy for them.
As they passed him—Anna Mihalovna among them—the young man caught a glimpse over people's backs and necks of the great muscular open chest, the grey, curly, leonine head, and the massive shoulders of the sick man, which were pushed up, as he was supported under the armpits. His head, with its extraordinarily broad brow and cheek-bones, its beautiful sensual mouth, and haughty, cold eyes, was not disfigured by the proximity of death. It was just the same as Pierre had seen it three months before, when his father had been sending him off to Petersburg. But the head swayed helplessly with the jerky steps of the bearers, and the cold, apathetic eyes did not know on what to rest.
They were busy for several minutes round the high bed; then the people, who had moved the count, dispersed. Anna Mihalovna touched Pierre's arm and said, “Come along.” With her Pierre approached the bed, on which the sick man had been laid in a ceremonial position in keeping with the sacred rite that had just been performed. He was lying with his head propped high on the pillows. His hands were laid symmetrically on the green silk quilt with the palms turned downwards. When Pierre came up, the count looked straight at him, but he looked at him with a gaze the intent and significance of which no man could fathom. Either these eyes said nothing, but simply looked because as eyes they must look at something, or they said too much. Pierre stopped, not knowing what he was to do, and looked inquiringly at his monitress. Anna Mihalovna gave him a hurried glance, with a gesture indicating the sick man's hand and with her lips wafting towards it a phantom kiss. Pierre did as he was bid, and carefully craning his neck to avoid entanglement with the quilt, kissed the broad-boned, muscular hand. There was not the faintest stir in the hand, nor in any muscle of the count's face. Pierre again looked inquiringly at Anna Mihalovna to learn what he was to do now. Anna Mihalovna glanced towards the armchair that stood beside the bed. Pierre proceeded obediently to sit down there, his eyes still inquiring whether he had done the right thing. Anna Mihalovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell into the naïvely symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, obviously distressed that his ungainly person took up so much room, and doing his utmost to look as small as possible. He looked at the count. The count still gazed at the spot where Pierre's face had been, when he was standing up. Anna Mihalovna's attitude evinced her consciousness of the touching gravity of this last meeting between father and son. It lasted for two minutes, which seemed to Pierre an hour. Suddenly a shudder passed over the thick muscles and furrows of the count's face. The shudder grew more intense; the beautiful mouth was contorted (it was only then that Pierre grasped how near death his father was) and from the contorted mouth there came a husky, muffled sound. Anna Mihalovna looked intently at the sick man's mouth, and trying to guess what he wanted, pointed first to Pierre, then to some drink, then in an inquiring whisper she mentioned the name of Prince Vassily, then pointed to the quilt. The eyes and face of the sick man showed impatience. He made an effort to glance at the servant, who never moved away from the head of his bed.
“His excellency wants to be turned over on the other side,” whispered the servant, and he got up to turn the heavy body of the count facing the wall.
Pierre stood up to help the servant.
While the count was being turned over, one of his arms dragged helplessly behind, and he made a vain effort to pull it after him. Whether the count noticed the face of horror with which Pierre looked at that lifeless arm, or whether some other idea passed through his dying brain, he looked at the refractory arm, at the expression of horror on Pierre's face, again at his arm, and a smile came on his face, strangely out of keeping with its features; a weak, suffering smile, which seemed mocking at his own helplessness. Suddenly, at the sight of that smile, Pierre felt a lump in his throat and a tickling in his nose, and tears dimmed his eyes. The sick man was turned towards the wall. He sighed.
“He has fallen into a doze,” said Anna Mihalovna, noticing the princess coming to take her turn by the bedside. “Let us go.”
Pierre went out.


第一章第二十节


这个大房间皮埃尔了若指掌，几根圆柱和一道拱门把它隔开来了，四面墙上挂满了波斯壁毯。房间里的圆柱后面，一方摆着一张挂有帷幔的高高的红木卧榻，另一方陈设着一个大神龛，像晚祷时的教堂一般，房间的这一部分灯火明亮，红光四射。神龛的灿烂辉煌的金属衣饰底下，放着一张伏尔泰椅，上面摆着几个雪白的、尚未揉皱的、显然是刚刚换上的枕头，皮埃尔所熟悉的他父亲别祖霍夫伯爵的端庄的身躯就躺在这张伏尔泰椅上，一床鲜绿色的被子盖在他腰上，在那宽大的额头上还露出狮子鬃毛般的白发，在那俊美的橙红色的脸上，仍旧刻有高贵者特有的深深的皱纹。他直挺挺地躺在神像下方，两只肥大的手从被底下伸出来，放在它上面。右手手掌向下，大拇指和食指之间插着一根蜡烛，一名老仆从伏尔泰椅后面弯下腰去，用手扶着那根蜡烛。几个神职人员高高地站在伏尔泰椅前面，他们身穿闪闪发光的衣裳，衣裳外面露出了长长的头发，他们手里执着点燃的蜡烛，缓慢地、庄严地做着祷告。两个年纪较小的公爵小姐站在神职人员身后不远的地方，用手绢捂着眼角边，公爵的大小姐卡季什站在她们前面，她现出凶恶而坚定的神态。目不转睛地望着神像，好像在对众人说，如果她一环顾，她就没法控制自己。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脸上流露着温顺的忧愁和大度包容的神色，她和一个不认识的女士伫立在门旁。这扇门的另一边，靠近伏尔泰椅的地方，瓦西里公爵站在雕花的天鹅绒面交椅后面，他把椅背向自己身边转过来，左手执着一根蜡烛撑在椅背上，每次当地用手指碰到额角时，他就抬起眼睛，一面用右手画十字。他的脸上呈露着心安理得的虔诚和对上帝意志的无限忠诚。“假若你们不明白这种感情，那末你们就更糟了。”他那神色仿佛说出了这番话。
一名副官、数名大夫和一名男仆站在瓦西里公爵后面，俨如在教堂里那样，男人和女人分立于两旁。大家都沉默不言，用手画着十字，只听见琅琅祈祷声、圆浑而低沉的唱诗声以及静默时移动足步的响声和叹息声。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜现出威风凛凛的样子，表示她知道应该怎样行事，她于是穿过房间走到皮埃尔身边，把一支蜡烛递给他。他把蜡烛点燃了，因为他乐于观察周围的人而忘乎所以，竟然用那只拿过蜡烛的手画起十字来。
最年幼的长有一颗胎痣的公爵小姐索菲，两颊粉红，含着笑意，正在打量着皮埃尔。她微微一笑，把脸蛋藏进手绢里，久久地不肯把它露出来。但是她望了望皮埃尔，又笑了起来。显然，她觉得看见他就会发笑，但却忍不住，还是会看他，为避免引诱，她悄悄地窜到圆柱后面去了。在祈祷的半中间，神职人员的声音骤然停止了，但有几个神甫轻声地交谈了三言两语，一名老仆握着伯爵的手，站起身来，向女士们转过脸去。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向前走去，在病人前面弯下腰来，从背后用指头把罗兰招呼过来。这个法国大夫没有执着点燃的蜡烛，作出一副外国人的恭敬的样子挨着圆柱站在那里，他那样子表明，尽管信仰不同，但他还是明了正在举行的仪式的全部重要意义，他甚至对这种仪式表示称赞。他迈着壮年人的不声不响的脚步向病人身边走去，用他那雪白而纤细的手指从绿色被子上拿起伯爵那只空手，转过脸去，开始把脉，他沉思起来。有人让病人喝了点什么，在他身旁动弹起来，然后又闪在一边，各自回到自己的座位上。暂停之后祈祷又开始了。在暂时休息的时候，皮埃尔看见，瓦西里公爵从椅子背后走出来，那神态表示，他心里知道应该怎样行事，假若别人不了解他，他们的处境就更糟了，他没有走到病人跟前，而是从他身边经过，他去联合公爵的大小姐，和她一起走到寝室深处挂有丝绸帷幔的高高的卧榻那里去了。公爵和公爵的大小姐离开卧榻朝后门方向隐藏起来了，但在祈祷告竣之前，他们二人前后相随又回到自己的座位上。皮埃尔对这种情形，如同对其他各种情形一样，并不太注意，他断然认为，今晚发生的各种事情都是不可避免的。
唱诗中断了，可以听见一个神职人员恭敬地祝贺病人受圣礼。病人仍旧是死气沉沉地一动不动地躺着。大家在他周围动弹起来了，传来步履声和絮语声，在这些语声之中，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的声音听来最刺耳了。
皮埃尔听见她这样说：
“一定要将病人移到床上去，在这里是决不行的……”
大夫们、公爵小姐们和仆役们都围在病人身边，以致皮埃尔看不见橙红色的头和狮子鬃毛般的白发，尽管在祈祷时他也看见其他人，但是伯爵的头一刻也没有越出他的视野，从围在伏尔泰椅旁边的人们的小心翼翼的动作来看，皮埃尔已经猜想到，有人在把垂危的人抬起来，把他搬到别的地方去了。
“抓住我的手，那样会摔下去的，”他听见一个仆役的惊恐的低语声，“从下面托住……再来一个人，”几个人都开腔说话，人们喘着粗气的声音和移动脚步的声音显得更加急促了，好像他们扛的重东西是他们力所不能及的。
扛起伯爵的人们，其中包括安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜在内，都赶上年轻的皮埃尔，走到他身边了，从人们的背脊和后脑勺后面，他隐约地看见病人又高又胖的裸露的胸膛，因被人搀起两腋而略微向上翘起的胖乎乎的肩膀和长满卷曲白发的狮子般的头。他的前额和颧骨非常宽阔，嘴长得俊美而富于肉感，目光威严而冷漠。这个头并未因濒临死亡而变得难看，和三个月以前伯爵打发皮埃尔去彼得堡时一模一样。但是，这个头竟因扛起伯爵的人脚步不均匀而显得软弱无力，微微地摇晃，他那冷漠的目光真不知要停留在什么上面。
扛过病人的人们在那高高的卧榻周围忙碌几分钟以后，就各自散开了。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜碰了碰皮埃尔的手，对他说：“venez．”①皮埃尔和她一道走到卧榻前面，病人安放在卧榻之上，那姿态逍遥自在，这显然是和方才施圣礼有关系。他躺着，头部高高地靠在睡枕上，掌心向下，两手平衡地搁在绿色丝绸被子上。当皮埃尔走到近旁，伯爵的目光直直地射在他身上，但是没有人能够了解他那目光表露什么意义，也许它根本没有含义，只是因为他还有一双眼睛，他就要朝个方向随便看看罢了，也许这目光表明了太多的心事。皮埃尔停步了，不知道该做什么好，他用疑问的目光看了看他的带路人安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜赶快使个眼色向他示意，同时用手指着病人的手，用嘴唇向它送了个飞吻。皮埃尔极力地把颈子伸长，以免碰到伯爵的丝绸被子，又用嘴唇吻吻他那骨胳大的肥厚的手，履行了她的忠告。无论是伯爵的手，还是他脸上的筋肉都不会颤动了。皮埃尔又疑问地望了望安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，向她发问，他现在该做什么事。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向他使个眼色，心中意指着卧榻旁边的安乐椅。皮埃尔在安乐椅上温顺地坐下来，继续用目光询问，他做得是否恰到好处。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜点点头，表示称赞。皮埃尔又做出一副埃及雕像那种恰如其分的稚气的姿势，显然，他因为自己那粗笨肥大的身体占据太大的空间而倍觉遗憾，才煞费苦心尽量使自己缩得小一点。他两眼望着伯爵。伯爵还在端详着皮埃尔站立时他脸部露出的地方。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的面部表情说明了，她意识到父子最后一次相会的时刻是何等令人感动。这次相会持续了两分钟，皮埃尔心里觉得这两分钟好像一小时似的。伯爵脸上的大块肌肉和皱纹突然间颤抖起来，抖得越来越厉害，他的美丽的嘴扭歪了（这时皮埃尔才明白他父亲濒临死亡了），从那扭歪的嘴里发出模糊不清的嘶哑的声音。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜极力地看着病人的眼睛，力图猜中他想要什么东西，她时而用手指着皮埃尔，时而指着饮料，时而带着疑问的语调轻声地叫出瓦西里公爵的名字，时而用手指着伯爵的被子。病人的眼睛和脸部流露出已无耐性的样子。他极力凝视一直站在床头的仆人。
①法语：我们走吧。

“老爷想把身子转向另一侧啦，”仆役轻声地说道，他站了起来，让伯爵把脸部向墙，将那沉重的身躯侧向另一边。
皮埃尔站立起来，帮助这个仆人。
当众人使伯爵翻过身去的时候，他的一只手软弱无力地向后垂下，他用力地想把自己的这只手拿过去，但是无能为力，白费劲。伯爵是否已经发觉，皮埃尔在用那可怖的目光望着这只感觉迟钝的手，也许还有什么别的思绪在这生命垂危的脑海中闪现，但他望了一下自己那只不听使唤的手，望了一下皮埃尔脸上流露的可怖的表情，又望了一下自己的手，那脸上终于露出了一种和他的仪表不能并容的万分痛苦的微笑，仿佛在讥讽他自己的虚弱无力。皮埃尔望见这种微笑，胸中忽然不寒而栗，鼻子感到刺痛，一汪泪水使他的视线模糊了。病人面向墙壁，被翻过身去。他叹了口气。
“Ilestassoupi．”①安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜看见走来接班的公爵小姐，说道，“Allons。”②
皮埃尔走出去了。
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Part One Chapter  Nineteen


AT THE TIME that these conversations were taking place in the reception-room and the princess's room, a carriage with Pierre (who had been sent for) and Anna Mihalovna (who had thought fit to come with him) in it was driving into the court of Count Bezuhov's mansion. When the sound of the carriage wheels was muffled by the straw in the street, Anna Mihalovna turned with words of consolation to her companion, discovered that he was asleep in his corner of the carriage, and waked him up. Rousing himself, Pierre followed Anna Mihalovna out of the carriage, and only then began to think of the interview with his dying father that awaited him. He noticed that they had driven not up to the visitors' approach, but to the back entrance. As he got down from the carriage step, two men in the dress of tradesmen hastily scurried away from the entrance into the shadow of the wall. Pierre, as he stood waiting, noticed several other similar persons standing in the shadow of the house on both sides. But neither Anna Mihalovna nor the footman and coachman, who must have seen these people, took any notice of them. So it must be all right, Pierre decided, and he followed Anna Mihalovna. With hurrying footsteps Anna Mihalovna walked up the dimly lighted, narrow stone staircase, urging on Pierre, who lagged behind. Though Pierre had no notion why he had to go to the count at all, and still less why he had to go by the back stairs, yet, impressed by Anna Mihalovna's assurance and haste, he made up his mind that it was undoubtedly necessary for him to do so. Half-way up the stairs they were almost knocked over by some men with pails, who ran down towards them, tramping loudly with their big boots. These men huddled up against the wall to let Pierre and Anna Mihalovna pass, and showed not the slightest surprise at seeing them.
“Is this the princess's side of the house?” Anna Mihalovna asked of one of them …
“Yes, it is,” answered the footman in a bold, loud voice, as though anything were permissible at such a time; “the door on the left, ma'am.”
“Perhaps the count has not asked for me,” said Pierre, as he reached the landing. “I had better go to my own room.” Anna Mihalovna stopped for Pierre to catch her up.
“Ah, mon ami,” she said, touching his hand with just the same gesture as she had used in the morning with her son. “Believe me, I am suffering as much as you; but be a man.”
“Really, had I not better go?” Pierre asked affectionately, looking at her over his spectacles.
“Ah, mon ami, forget the wrong that may have been done you, think that it is your father … and perhaps in his death agony,” she sighed. “I have loved you like a son from the first. Trust in me, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests.”
Pierre did not understand a word. Again he felt more strongly than before that all this had to be so, and he obediently followed Anna Mihalovna, who was already opening the door. The door led into the vestibule of the back stairs. In the corner sat the princess's old man-servant knitting stockings. Pierre had never been in this part of the house, and had not even suspected the existence of these apartments. A maid-servant carrying a tray with a decanter overtook them, and Anna Mihalovna (calling her “my dear” and “my good girl”) asked her after the princesses' health, and drew Pierre further along the stone corridor. The first door to the left led out of the corridor into the princesses' living rooms. The maid with the decanter was in a hurry (everything seemed to be done in a hurry at that moment in the house), and she did not close the door after her. Pierre and Anna Mihalovna, as they passed by, glanced unconsciously into the room where the eldest princess and Prince Vassily were sitting close together talking. On catching sight of their passing figures, Prince Vassily made an impatient movement and drew back, the princess jumped up, and with a despairing gesture she closed the door, slamming it with all her might. This action was so unlike the princess's habitual composure, the dismay depicted on the countenance of Prince Vassily was so out of keeping with his dignity, that Pierre stopped short and looked inquiringly over his spectacles at his guide. Anna Mihalovna manifested no surprise; she simply smiled a little and sighed, as though to show that she had anticipated all that.
“Be a man, mon ami, I am looking after your interests,” she said in response to his look of inquiry, and she walked more quickly along the corridor.
Pierre had no notion what was going on, and no inkling of what was meant by watching over his interests. But he felt that all this had had to be so. From the corridor they went into the half-lighted hall adjoining the count's reception-room. This was one of the cold, sumptuously furnished rooms which Pierre knew, leading from the visitors' staircase. But even in this apartment there was an empty bath standing in the middle of the floor, and water had been spilt on the carpet. They were met here by a servant and a church attendant with a censer, who walked on tiptoe and took no notice of them. They went into the reception-room opening into the winter garden, a room Pierre knew well, with its two Italian windows, its big bust and full-length portrait of Catherine. The same persons were all sitting almost in the same positions exchanging whispers in the reception-room. All ceased speaking and looked round at Anna Mihalovna, as she came in with her pale, tear-stained face, and at the big, stout figure of Pierre, as with downcast head he followed her submissively.
The countenance of Anna Mihalovna showed a consciousness that the crucial moment had arrived. With the air of a Petersburg lady of experience, she walked into the room even more boldly than in the morning, keeping Pierre at her side. She felt that as she was bringing the person the dying man wanted to see, she might feel secure as to her reception. With a rapid glance, scanning all the persons in the room, and observing the count's spiritual adviser, she did not precisely bow down, but seemed somehow suddenly to shrink in stature, and with a tripping amble swam up to the priest and reverentially received a blessing first from one and then from another ecclesiastic.
“Thank God that we are in time,” she said to the priest; “all of us, his kinsfolk, have been in such alarm. This young man is the count's son,” she added more softly, “It is a terrible moment.”
Having uttered these words she approached the doctor.
“Dear doctor,” she said to him, “this young man is the count's son. Is there any hope?”
The doctor did not speak but rapidly shrugged his shoulders and turned up his eyes. With precisely the same gesture Anna Mihalovna moved her shoulders and eyes, almost closing her eyelids, sighed and went away from the doctor to Pierre. She addressed Pierre with peculiar deference and tender melancholy.
“Have faith in His mercy,” she said to him, and indicating a sofa for him to sit down and wait for her, she went herself with inaudible steps towards the door, at which every one was looking, and after almost noiselessly opening it, she vanished behind it.
Pierre, having decided to obey his monitress in everything, moved towards the sofa she had pointed out to him. As soon as Anna Mihalovna had disappeared, he noticed that the eyes of all the persons in the room were fixed upon him with something more than curiosity and sympathy in their gaze. He noticed that they were all whispering together, looking towards him with something like awe and even obsequious deference. They showed him a respect such as had never been shown him before. A lady, a stranger to him, the one who had been talking to the priest, got up and offered him her place. An adjutant picked up the glove Pierre had dropped and handed it to him. The doctors respectfully paused in their talk when he passed by them and moved aside to make way for him. Pierre wanted at first to sit somewhere else, so as not to trouble the lady; he would have liked to pick up the glove himself and to walk round the doctors, who were really not at all in the way. But he felt all at once that to do so would be improper; he felt that he was that night a person who had to go through a terrible ceremony which every one expected of him, and that for that reason he was bound to accept service from every one. He took the glove from the adjutant in silence, sat down in the lady's place, laying his big hands on his knees, sitting in the naïvely symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, and decided mentally that it must all inevitably be like this, and that to avoid losing his head and doing something stupid, he must for that evening not act on his own ideas, but abandon himself wholly to the will of those who were guiding him.
Two minutes had not elapsed before Prince Vassily came majestically into the room, wearing his coat with three stars on it, and carrying his head high. He looked as though he had grown thinner since the morning. His eyes seemed larger than usual as he glanced round the room, and caught sight of Pierre. He went up to him, took his hand (a thing he had never done before), and drew it downwards, as though he wanted to try its strength.
“Courage, courage, mon ami. He has asked to see you, that is well …” and he would have gone on, but Pierre thought it fitting to ask: “How is …?” He hesitated, not knowing whether it was proper for him to call the dying man “the count”; he felt ashamed to call him “father.”
“He has had another stroke half-an-hour ago. Courage, mon ami.”
Pierre was in a condition of such mental confusion that the word stroke aroused in his mind the idea of a blow from some heavy body. He looked in perplexity at Prince Vassily, and only later grasped that an attack of illness was called a stroke. Prince Vassily said a few words to Lorrain as he passed and went to the door on tiptoe. He could not walk easily on tiptoe, and jerked his whole person up and down in an ungainly fashion. He was followed by the eldest princess, then by the clergy and church attendants; some servants too went in at the door. Through that door a stir could be heard, and at last Anna Mihalovna, with a face still pale but resolute in the performance of duty, ran out and touching Pierre on the arm, said:
“The goodness of heaven is inexhaustible; it is the ceremony of extreme unction which they are beginning. Come.”
Pierre went in, stepping on to the soft carpet, and noticed that the adjutant and the unknown lady and some servants too, all followed him in, as though there were no need now to ask permission to enter that room.


第一章第十九节


当客厅中和公爵小姐寝室中交谈正酣的时候，皮埃尔（已着人接他回家）和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜（她认为应当伴他同行）乘坐的四轮轿式马车开进了别祖霍夫伯爵的庭院。当马车车轮软绵绵地经过铺在窗下的麦秆上发出嘎嘎的响声时，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜把脸转向皮埃尔，说了几句安慰的话，当她弄清了，皮埃尔正在车厢的一角睡熟了，她便把他喊醒。皮埃尔睡醒了，跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜身后从车厢里走出来，这时分他才想了想他要和行将就木的父亲见面的事情。他发现他们没有朝前门门口走去，而是朝后门门口走去。他从马车踏板走下来时，有两个穿着市侩服装的人急匆匆地从后门门口跑到墙边的暗影里。皮埃尔停了一会儿，发现住房两边的暗影里还有几个类似模样的人。然而，无论是安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，无论是仆役，还是马车夫，都不会望不见这几个人，但却不去理睬他们。由此看来，非这样不可，皮埃尔拿定了主意，便跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜后面走去。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜迈着急促的脚步沿着灯光暗淡的狭窄的石梯上楼，一面招呼落在她身后的皮埃尔跟上来。虽说皮埃尔心里不明白，他为什么真的要见伯爵，他更不明白，他为什么必须沿着后门的石梯上楼，但从安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的坚定和仓忙的样子来推敲，他暗自断定，非这样不行，别无他途。在石梯半中间，有几个拿着水桶的人，穿着皮靴，踏得咯咯作响，朝着他们迎面跑下楼来，险些儿把他们撞倒。这几个人挨在墙上，让皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜走过去，当他们看见皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜时，丝毫没有现出诧异的样子。
“这里可通往公爵小姐的住房吗？”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向他们之中的某人问道。
“在这里。”有个仆役大胆地、嗓音洪亮地答道。仿佛现在什么事都是可行的，“大娘，门在左边。”
“伯爵也许没有喊我，”皮埃尔走到楼梯的平台时，说道，“我回到自己的住房去好了。”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜停步了，想和皮埃尔一同并肩走。
“Ah，monami”她说道，那姿态就像早晨和儿子在一起时碰碰他的手那样，“croyez，quejesoffre，autantquevous，maissoyezhomme。”①
“说实话，我去好吗？”皮埃尔问道，透过眼镜温和地望着安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜。
“Ah，monami，oubliezlestortsqu'onapuavoirenversvous，pensezquec'estvotrepère……peut－êtreàl'agonie她叹了口气，“Jevousaitoutdesuiteaimecommemonfils，fiezvousàmoi，Pierre，Jen'oublieraipasvosintérêts．”②
①法语：啊，我的朋友，请您相信，我比您更加难受，但是，您要做个男子汉。
②法语：啊，我的朋友，请您忘记人家对您不公道的态度吧。请您想想，他是您父亲……也许他死在旦夕。就像爱儿子那样，我一下子爱上您了。皮埃尔，信赖我吧，我决不会忘记您的切身利益。

皮埃尔什么也不明白，仿佛愈益感觉得到，一切都非如此不可，他于是温顺地跟随在那个打开房门的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜身后。
这道门朝向后门的外间。公爵小姐们的一个年老的仆役坐在屋角里织长统袜子。皮埃尔从来没有到过这半边住宅，连想也没有想过这种内室的生活。一个婢女手捧托盘，托着一只长颈水瓶，从后头赶上他们了，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜称呼她小妹子、亲爱的，向她探问公爵小姐们的健康状况。她带领皮埃尔沿着砖石结构的走廊向前走去。走廊左边的第一扇门通向公爵小姐们的住房。手捧长颈水瓶的婢女在仓促中没有关上房门（这时分整座住宅显得手忙脚乱），皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜从旁边走过时，情不自禁地朝房里瞥了一眼，瓦西里公爵和公爵的大小姐正坐在这间屋里，彼此隔得很近，正在谈话。瓦西里公爵看见有人从旁边过去，做了个烦躁的动作，身子向后仰，靠在椅背上；公爵的大小姐霍地跳起来，无所顾忌地、鼓足气力地砰的一声关上门了。
这个动作和公爵的大小姐平素的宁静截然不同，瓦西里公爵脸上露出的恐怖和他固有的傲气也不相称，因此皮埃尔止了步，他以疑问的目光透过眼镜望了望他的带路人。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜没有显示出诧异的样子，只是微微一笑，喘了喘气，好像在表示，这一切没有出乎她所意料。
“Soyezhomme，monami，c'estmoiquiveilleraiàvosintérêts。”①她在应对他的眼神时说道，而且行速更快地沿着走廊走去了。
①法语：我的朋友，要做个大丈夫，我准维护您的利益。

皮埃尔心里不明白是怎么回事，他更不明白veilleràvosintecits①有何涵义，但他心里明白，这一切理当如此。他们经过走廊走到和伯爵的接待室毗邻的半明半暗的大厅。这是皮埃尔从正门的台阶一看就知晓的冰凉的豪华卧室之一。但是，就在这卧室的中央，摆着一只空浴盆，地毯上洒满了水。一名仆役和一名手捧香炉的教堂下级职员踮着脚尖向他们迎面走来，并没有注意他们。他们走进了皮埃尔熟悉的接待室，室内安装有两扇朝着冬季花园的意大利式窗户，陈列着一座叶卡捷琳娜的半身大雕像和一幅她的全身画像。接待室里还是原来那些人，差不多还是坐在原来那些位子上窃窃私语。大家都静默起来了，回头望望走进门来的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，她泪痕斑斑，脸色苍白；也回头望望个子高大、长得肥胖的皮埃尔，他低垂着头，顺从地跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜后面。
①法语：维护他的利益。

安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的神色表明了，她已经意识到紧要关头来到了。她不让皮埃尔离开她身边，显露出彼得堡女士那种务实的风度，步入房间，那样子比早上显得更大胆了。她觉得，她领着一个死在旦夕的伯爵想要见面的人，所以，她被接见一事是有保证的了。她向房里所有的人匆匆地瞥了一眼，看见了伯爵的那个听取忏悔的神甫，她没有躬起身子，但忽然变得更矮小了。她迈着小步东歪西扭地走到神甫面前，十分恭敬地接受一个又一个神职人员的祝福。
“谢天谢地，总算赶到了，”她对一个神职人员说道，“我们大伙儿，这些亲属多么担心啊。这个年轻人就是伯爵的儿子，”她把嗓门压得更低，补充了一句，“多么可怕的时刻！”
她说完这些话，就向大夫面前走去了。
“Cherdocteur，”她对他说道，“cejeunehommeestlefilsducomte……ya—t—ildel'espoir？”①
大夫沉默不言，飞快地抬起眼睛，耸起肩膀，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜也同样地耸起肩膀，抬起几乎是合上的眼睛，叹了一口气，便离开大夫，向皮埃尔面前走去。她把脸转过来，和皮埃尔交谈，样子显得特别谦恭、温柔而又忧愁。
“Ayezconfianceensamisericorde！”②她对他说道，用手指了指小沙发，让他坐下来等候她，她自己悄悄地向大家盯着的那扇门走去，门的响声几乎听不见，她随即在门后隐藏起来了。
①法语：亲爱的大夫，这个青年是伯爵的儿子……是不是有希望呢？
②法语：信赖天主发善心吧！

皮埃尔拿定了主意，事事都听从他的带路人，他向她指给他看的小沙发走去。一当安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜躲在门后，他就发现，房间里的众人的目光都过分好奇地、同情地凝聚在他身上。他发现，大家在窃窃私语，用目光向他表示，有如目光中流露出恐惧，甚至是奴颜婢膝的样子。大家都向他表示前所未有的敬意。有个他不认识的女士，原先她和几个神职人员谈话，此刻站起身来，向他让座。副官把他无意中掉在地上的一只手套捡起来交给他。他从大夫们身边经过时，他们都默不做声，躲到一边去，给他让路。皮埃尔本来想坐在别的位子上，以免那个女士受拘束，本来想自己把手套捡起来，从那些根本没有拦路的大夫们身边绕过去，可是他突然感到这样做似乎不恰当，他感到今天晚上他是个务必要举行一次可怖的、人人期待的仪式的人物，因此他必须接受大家为他服务。他默不作声地从副官手里接过那只手套，坐在那个女士的座位上，摆出一副埃及雕像那样天真的姿势，把一双大手搁在摆得平衡的膝头上。他暗自下了决心，认为必须这样行事，为了要今天晚上不张皇失措，不做出傻事，他就不宜依照自己的见解行动，务必要完全听从指导他的人们的摆布。
还不到两分钟，瓦西里公爵便穿着那件佩戴有三枚星徽的长衣，高高地仰着头，傲慢地走进房里来。从清早起他似乎显得有点消瘦，当他向房里环顾，瞧见皮埃尔时，他的两眼比平常瞪得更大了。他向皮埃尔面前走去，一把握住他的手（过去他从未握过他的手），并且向下曳了曳，好像想测试一下，这只手臂的力气大不大。
“Courage，courage，monamiIlademandéàvousvoir，C'estbien……”①他于是要走了。
但是皮埃尔认为，问一问是有必要的。
“身体可好么……”他踌躇起来，不知道把行将就木的人称为伯爵是否恰当；他觉得把他称为父亲是很难为情的。
“Ilaeuencoreuncoup，ilyaunedemi—heure、还发作过一次。Courage，monami…”②
①法语：我的朋友，不要气馁，不要气馁。他吩咐人家把您喊来。这很好……
②法语：半小时前还发作过一次。……我的朋友……不要气馁……

皮埃尔处于思路不清的状态中，他一听到“中风病发作”，便把这个词想象成受到某件物体的打击。他惶惑不安地望了望瓦西里公爵，之后才想起，有种病叫做中风。瓦西里公爵在走路时对罗兰说了几句话，就踮着脚尖走进门去。他不善于踮着脚尖走路，整个身子呆笨地一耸一耸地翕动。公爵的大小姐跟在他身后，几个神甫和教堂下级职员尾随其后，仆人们也走进门里去。从门后可以听见物体移动的响声，末了，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜跑了出来，她的脸部仍然显得那样苍白，但却流露着坚决履行义务的神色，她碰碰皮埃尔的手臂，说道：
“Labontédivineestinépuisable，C'estlacérémoniedel'ex－tremeonctionquivacommencervenez．”①
①法语：上帝的慈善是无穷的。马上就要举行涂圣油仪式了。我们走吧。

皮埃尔踩着柔软的地毯走进门来，他发现一名副官、一个不相识的女士，还有仆役中的某人都跟在他身后走进门来，好像此刻无须获得许可就能走进这个房间了。


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Part One Chapter  Eightteen


WHILE IN THE ROSTOVS' HALL they were dancing the sixth anglaise, while the weary orchestra played wrong notes, and the tired footmen and cooks were getting the supper, Count Bezuhov had just had his sixth stroke. The doctors declared that there was no hope of recovery; the sick man received absolution and the sacrament while unconscious. Preparations were being made for administering extreme unction, and the house was full of the bustle and thrill of suspense usual at such moments. Outside the house undertakers were crowding beyond the gates, trying to escape the notice of the carriages that drove up, but eagerly anticipating a good order for the count's funeral. The governor of Moscow, who had been constantly sending his adjutants to inquire after the count's condition, came himself that evening to say good-bye to the renowned grandee of Catherine's court, Count Bezuhov.
The magnificent reception-room was full. Every one stood up respectfully when the governor, after being half an hour alone with the sick man, came out of the sick-room. Bestowing scanty recognition on the bows with which he was received, he tried to escape as quickly as possible from the gaze of the doctors, ecclesiastical personages, and relations. Prince Vassily, who had grown paler and thinner during the last few days, escorted the governor out, and softly repeated something to him several times over.
After seeing the governor, Prince Vassily sat down on a chair in the hall alone, crossing one leg high over the other, leaning his elbow on his knee, and covering his eyes with his hand. After sitting so for some time he got up, and with steps more hurried than his wont, he crossed the long corridor, looking round him with frightened eyes, and went to the back part of the house to the apartments of the eldest princess.
The persons he had left in the dimly lighted reception-room, next to the sick-room, talked in broken whispers among themselves, pausing, and looking round with eyes full of suspense and inquiry whenever the door that led into the dying man's room creaked as some one went in or came out.
“Man's limitation,” said a little man, an ecclesiastic of some sort, to a lady, who was sitting near him listening naïvely to his words—“his limitation is fixed, there is no overstepping it.”
“I wonder if it won't be late for extreme unction?” inquired the lady, using his clerical title, and apparently having no opinion of her own on the matter.
“It is a great mystery, ma'am,” answered the clerk, passing his hands over his bald head, on which lay a few tresses of carefully combed, half grey hair.
“Who was that? was it the governor himself?” they were asking at the other end of the room. “What a young-looking man!”
“And he's over sixty!. … What, do they say, the count does not know any one? Do they mean to give extreme unction?”
“I knew a man who received extreme unction seven times.”
The second princess came out of the sick-room with tearful eyes, and sat down beside Doctor Lorrain, who was sitting in a graceful pose under the portrait of Catherine, with his elbow on the table.
“Very fine,” said the doctor in reply to a question about the weather; “very fine, princess, and besides, at Moscow, one might suppose oneself in the country.”
“Might one not?” said the princess, sighing. “So may he have something to drink?” Lorrain thought a moment.
“He has taken his medicine?”
“Yes.”
The doctor looked at his memoranda.
“Take a glass of boiled water and put in a pinch” (he showed with his delicate fingers what was meant by a pinch) “of cream of tartar.”
“There has never been a case,” said the German doctor to the adjutant, speaking broken Russian, “of recovery after having a third stroke.”
“And what a vigorous man he was!” said the adjutant. “And to whom will his great wealth go?” he added in a whisper.
“Candidates will be found,” the German replied, smiling. Every one looked round again at the door; it creaked, and the second princess having made the drink according to Lorrain's direction, carried it into the sick-room. The German doctor went up to Lorrain.
“Can it drag on till to-morrow morning?” asked the German, with a vile French accent.
Lorrain, with compressed lips and a stern face, moved his finger before his nose to express a negative.
“To-night, not later,” he said softly, and with a decorous smile of satisfaction at being able to understand and to express the exact position of the sick man, he walked away.
Meanwhile Prince Vassily had opened the door of the princess's room.
It was half dark in the room; there were only two lamps burning before the holy pictures, and there was a sweet perfume of incense and flowers. The whole room was furnished with miniature furniture, little sideboards, small bookcases, and small tables. Behind a screen could be seen the white coverings of a high feather-bed. A little dog barked.
“Ah, is that you, mon cousin?”
She got up and smoothed her hair, which was always, even now, so extraordinarily smooth that it seemed as though made out of one piece with her head and covered with varnish.
“Has anything happened?” she asked. “I am in continual dread.”
“Nothing, everything is unchanged. I have only come to have a little talk with you, Katish, about business,” said the prince, sitting down wearily in the low chair from which she had just risen. “How warm it is here, though,” he said. “Come, sit here; let us talk.”
“I wondered whether anything had happened,” said the princess, and with her stonily severe expression unchanged, she sat down opposite the prince, preparing herself to listen. “I have been trying to get some sleep, mon cousin, but I can't.”
“Well, my dear?” said Prince Vassily, taking the princess's hand, and bending it downwards as his habit was.
It was plain that this “well?” referred to much that they both comprehended without mentioning it in words.
The princess, with her spare, upright figure, so disproportionately long in the body, looked straight at the prince with no sign of emotion in her prominent grey eyes. She shook her head, and sighing looked towards the holy pictures. Her gesture might have been interpreted as an expression of grief and devotion, or as an expression of weariness and the hope of a speedy release. Prince Vassily took it as an expression of weariness.
“And do you suppose it's any easier for me?” he said. “I am as worn out as a post horse. I must have a little talk with you, Katish, and a very serious one.”
Prince Vassily paused. and his cheeks began twitching nervously, first on one side, then on the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression such as was never seen on his countenance when he was in drawing-rooms. His eyes, too, were different from usual: at one moment they stared with a sort of insolent jocoseness, at the next they looked round furtively.
The princess, pulling her dog on her lap with her thin, dry hands, gazed intently at the eyes of Prince Vassily, but it was evident that she would not break the silence, if she had to sit silent till morning.
“You see, my dear princess and cousin, Katerina Semyonovna,” pursued Prince Vassily, obviously with some inner conflict bracing himself to go on with what he wanted to say, “at such moments as the present, one has to think of everything. One must think of the future, of you … I care for all of you as if you were my own children; you know that.”
The princess looked at him with the same dull immovable gaze.
“Finally, we have to think of my family too,” continued Prince Vassily, angrily pushing away a little table and not looking at her: “you know, Katish, that you three Mamontov sisters and my wife,—we are the only direct heirs of the count. I know, I know how painful it is for you to speak and think of such things. And it's as hard for me; but, my dear, I am a man over fifty, I must be ready for anything. Do you know that I have sent for Pierre, and that the count, pointing straight at his portrait, has asked for him?”
Prince Vassily looked inquiringly at the princess, but he could not make out whether she was considering what he had said, or was simply staring at him.
“I pray to God for one thing only continually, mon cousin,” she replied, “that He may have mercy upon him, and allow his noble soul to leave this …”
“Yes, quite so,” Prince Vassily continued impatiently, rubbing his bald head and again wrathfully moving the table towards him that he had just moved away, “but in fact … in fact the point is, as you are yourself aware, that last winter the count made a will by which, passing over his direct heirs and us, he bequeathed all his property to Pierre.”
“He may have made ever so many wills!” the princess said placidly; “but he can't leave it to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.”
“Ma chère,” said Prince Vassily suddenly, pushing the table against him, growing more earnest and beginning to speak more rapidly: “but what if a letter has been written to the Emperor, and the count has petitioned him to legitimise Pierre? You understand, that the count's services would make his petition carry weight …”
The princess smiled, as people smile who believe that they know much more about the subject than those with whom they are talking.
“I can say more,” Prince Vassily went on, clasping her hand; “that letter has been written, though it has not been sent off, and the Emperor has heard about it. The question only is whether it has been destroyed or not. If not, as soon as all is over,” Prince Vassily sighed, giving her thereby to understand what he meant precisely by the words “all is over,” “and they open the count's papers, the will with the letter will be given to the Emperor, and his petition will certainly be granted. Pierre, as the legitimate son, will receive everything.”
“What about our share?” the princess inquired, smiling ironically as though anything but that might happen.
“Why, my poor Katish, it is as clear as daylight. He will then be the only legal heir of all, and you won't receive as much as this, see. You ought to know, my dear, whether the will and the petition were written, and whether they have been destroyed, and if they have somehow been overlooked, then you ought to know where they are and to find them, because …”
“That would be rather too much!” the princess interrupted him, smiling sardonically, with no change in the expression of her eyes. “I am a woman, and you think we are all silly; but I do know so much, that an illegitimate son can't inherit … Un batard,” she added, supposing that by this translation of the word she was conclusively proving to the prince the groundlessness of his contention.
“How can you not understand, Katish, really! You are so intelligent; how is it you don't understand that if the count has written a letter to the Emperor, begging him to recognise his son as legitimate, then Pierre will not be Pierre but Count Bezuhov, and then he will inherit everything under the will? And if the will and the letter have not been destroyed, then except the consolation of having been dutiful and of all that results from having done your duty, nothing is left for you. That's the fact.”
“I know that the will was made, but I know, too, that it is invalid, and you seem to take me for a perfect fool, mon cousin,” said the princess, with the air with which women speak when they imagine they are saying something witty and biting.
“My dear princess, Katerina Semyonovna!” Prince Vassily began impatiently, “I have come to you not to provoke you, but to talk to you as a kinswoman, a good, kind-hearted, true kinswoman, of your own interests. I tell you for the tenth time that if the letter to the Emperor and the will in Pierre's favour are among the count's papers, you, my dear girl, and your sisters are not heiresses. If you don't believe me, believe people who know; I have just been talking to Dmitry Onufritch” (this was the family solicitor); “he said the same.”
There was obviously some sudden change in the princess's ideas; her thin lips turned white (her eyes did not change), and when she began to speak, her voice passed through transitions, which she clearly did not herself anticipate.
“That would be a pretty thing,” she said. “I wanted nothing, and I want nothing.” She flung her dog off her lap and smoothed out the folds of her skirt.
“That's the gratitude, that's the recognition people get who have sacrificed everything for him,” she said. “Very nice! Excellent! I don't want anything, prince.”
“Yes, but you are not alone, you have sisters,” answered Prince Vassily. But the princess did not heed him.
“Yes, I knew it long ago, but I'd forgotten that I could expect nothing in this house but baseness, deceit, envy, scheming, nothing but ingratitude, the blackest ingratitude …”
“Do you or do you not know where that will is?” asked Prince Vassily, the twitching of his cheeks more marked than ever.
“Yes, I have been foolish; I still kept faith in people, and cared for them and sacrificed myself. But no one succeeds except those who are base and vile. I know whose plotting this is.”
The princess would have risen, but the prince held her by the arm. The princess had the air of a person who has suddenly lost faith in the whole human race. She looked viciously at her companion.
“There is still time, my dear. Remember, Katish, that all this was done heedlessly, in a moment of anger, of illness, and then forgotten. Our duty, my dear girl, is to correct his mistake, to soften his last moments by not letting him commit this injustice, not letting him die with the thought that he has made miserable those …”
“Those who have sacrificed everything for him,” the princess caught him up; and she made an impulsive effort again to stand up, but the prince would not let her, “a sacrifice he has never known how to appreciate. No, mon cousin,” she added, with a sigh, “I will remember that one can expect no reward in this world, that in this world there is no honour, no justice. Cunning and wickedness is what one wants in this world.”
“Come, voyons, calm yourself; I know your noble heart.”
“No, I have a wicked heart.”
“I know your heart,” repeated the prince. “I value your affection, and I could wish you had the same opinion of me. Calm yourself and let us talk sensibly while there is time—perhaps twenty-four hours, perhaps one. Tell me all you know about the will, and what's of most consequence, where it is; you must know. We will take it now at once and show it to the count. He has no doubt forgotten about it and would wish to destroy it. You understand that my desire is to carry out his wishes religiously. That is what I came here for. I am only here to be of use to him and to you.”
“Now I see it all. I know whose plotting this is. I know,” the princess was saying.
“That's not the point, my dear.”
“It's all your precious Anna Mihalovna, your protégée whom I wouldn't take as a housemaid, the nasty creature.”
“Do not let us waste time.”
“Oh, don't talk to me! Last winter she forced her way in here and told such a pack of vile, mean tales to the count about all of us, especially Sophie—I can't repeat them—that it made the count ill, and he wouldn't see us for a fortnight. It was at that time, I know, he wrote that hateful, infamous document, but I thought it was of no consequence.”
“There we are. Why didn't you tell us about it before?”
“It's in the inlaid portfolio that he keeps under his pillow. Now I know,” said the princess, making no reply. “Yes, if I have a sin to my account, a great sin, it's my hatred of that infamous woman,” almost shrieked the princess, utterly transformed. “And why does she force herself in here? But I'll have it out with her. The time will come!”


第一章第十八节


当人们在乐师因困倦而弹奏走调的音乐伴奏下正跳第六节英吉利兹舞、疲乏的堂倌和伙夫正准备晚膳的时候，别祖霍夫伯爵第六次罹患中风病。大夫们宣布，他已经没有痊愈的希望了，有人给病人做了忏悔仪式和圣餐仪式，并且还做了涂圣油仪式的准备。平素在这种时刻，这所住宅里的人总是乱哄哄的，惶恐不安地期待。卖棺材的人都聚集在住宅大门外，遇有马车驶近，便躲到一边去，他们等着承做安葬伯爵的棺材，赚一笔大钱。莫斯科军区总司令不断派遣副官来打听伯爵的病情，这天晚上他亲自乘车前来和叶卡捷琳娜时代的大官别祖霍夫伯爵作临终告别。
华美的接待室挤满了人。当军区总司令独自和病人一起呆了半小时左右，走出门来的时候，大家都肃然起敬地站立起来，他微微鞠躬答礼，想尽快地从凝视他的大夫、神职人员和亲戚身边走过去。这些日子里，瓦西里公爵显得消瘦，脸色苍白，他伴送着军区总司令，轻声向他反复地说着什么话。
瓦西里公爵送走军区总司令后，独自一人在大厅的一把椅子上坐下来，他把一条腿高高地架在另一条腿上，用臂肘撑着膝头，用手捂住眼睛。他这样坐了片刻，便站立起来，用惊恐的目光向四下环顾一番，不像惯常那样，他迈着急急匆匆的脚步，经过走廊，到住宅后院去找公爵的大小姐了。
在灯光暗淡的房间里，人们彼此窃窃私语，声音若断若续，每当有人从通往行将就木者的寝室门口进出，房门发出微弱响声时，人们就寂然无声，用那洋溢着疑问和期待的目光，望望那扇房门。
“人的命运，”一个年老的神职人员对坐在他近旁、稚气地听他说话的女士说道，“命是注定的，不可逾越的。”
“我想，举行涂圣油仪式为时不晚吧？”这位女士补充说出神职人员的头衔，问道，仿佛她在这一点上毫无意见似的。
“大娘，这种圣礼仪式是很隆重的。”神职人员答道，一面用手摸摸那盖有几绺往后梳的斑白头发的秃顶。
“他究竟是谁？是军区总司令本人？”有人在房间的另一端问道，“他显得多么年轻啊！……”
“六十多岁了！据说，伯爵已经认不得他了，是吗？大家想举行涂圣油仪式吗？”
“有个人我可知道哩，他受过七次涂圣油礼了。”
公爵的二小姐从病人寝室里走出来，两眼泪痕斑斑，她在罗兰大夫身旁坐下，这位大夫用臂肘撑在桌子上，姿势优美地坐在叶卡捷琳娜画像下面。
“Tr'èsbeau，”大夫在回答有关天气问题时，说道，“trèsbeau，princesse，etpuis，àMoscouonsecroitàlacomBpagne．”①
“N'est—ce—pas？”②公爵小姐叹息道，“可以让他喝水吗？”
罗兰沉思起来。
“他服了药吗？”
“服过了。”
大夫看了看卜列格怀表。
“请您拿一杯开水，放进unepincée（他用那纤细的指头表示unepincée是什么涵义）decremortartari……”③
①法语：很好——公爵小姐，天气很好，而且，莫斯科和乡下很相像。
②法语：是真的？
③法语：一小撮酒石。

“没有患了三次中风还能幸存的事，”德国大夫对副官说道。
“他从前是个精力多么充沛的男人啊！”副官说道。“这份财产以后归什么人？”他轻言细语地补充一句。
“自愿当继承人的准会有的。”德国人面露微笑，答道。
大家又向门口望了一眼，门吱呀一声响了，公爵的二小姐依照罗兰的指点做好了饮料，送到病人那里。德国大夫向罗兰面前走去。
“大概他还能拖到明天早上吧？”德国人说着一口蹩脚的法国话问道。
罗兰撇一撇嘴唇，在鼻子前严肃地挥动指头，表示不赞同。
“今天夜晚，不会更晚。”他轻声说道，他因为能够明确地了解并说明病人的病情而洋洋自得，他脸上露出文质彬彬的笑意，走开了。
与此同时，瓦西里公爵打开了公爵小姐的房门。
房间里半明半暗。神像前面只点着两盏长明灯。神香和花朵散发着沁人的幽香。这个房间摆满了小柜子、小橱子、茶几之类的小家具。围屏后面看得见垫上绒毛褥子的高卧榻上铺着雪白的罩单。
“哦，是您呀，我的表兄吗？”
她站起身来，把头发弄平，她的头发向来是，甚至目前也是又平又光的，宛如头发和脑袋是用同一块原料造成的，头发又上了一层油漆。
“怎么，出了什么事吗？”她问道，“我真害怕得不得了。”
“没有什么，还是那个样子，卡季什，我只是来和你谈一件事情，”公爵说道，困倦地坐在她刚刚坐过的安乐椅上，“可是，你把这张椅子坐热了，”他说道，“到这里来坐吧，cauBsons。”①
①法语：我们谈谈。

“我原以为出了什么事呢，”公爵小姐说，带着总是那样严肃而呆板的面部表情在公爵对面坐下，准备听他说话。
“我的表兄，我想熟睡一会儿，就是没法睡着。”
“我亲爱的，怎么样？”瓦西里公爵说道，他一把握住公爵小姐的手，习惯地轻轻一按。
可以看出，“怎么样”这几个字是有关他们两人不开口也能相互了解的许多事情。
公爵小姐的腰身干瘦而僵直，和腿比起来显得太长了，一对灰眼睛突出来，直楞楞地、冷冰冰地端详着公爵。她摇摇头，叹口气，望了望神像。她的姿态可以说明她无限忠诚，但内心忧愁，也可以说明她非常劳累，希望快点得到休息，瓦西里公爵把她的姿态说成是困倦的表示。
“而我觉得，”他说道，“你以为我觉得更轻快吗？Jesuisèreintè，commeunchevaldeposte，①卡季什，可是我还要和你谈谈，很认真地谈谈。”
①法语：我疲乏透了，像一匹驿马。

瓦西里公爵沉默不言，他的两颊时而这边时而那边神经过敏地抽搐起来，使得他的脸庞带有他在客厅里驻足时从未有过的令人不悦的表情。他的眼神也一反常态，时而放肆无礼地、滑稽可笑地望人，时而惊惶失措地环顾四周。
公爵小姐用一双干瘦的手把那只小狗抱在膝头上，聚精会神地望着瓦西里公爵的眼睛。可是，看起来，她即令沉默不言呆到早晨，也没法提出问题来打破这种静默。
“我亲爱的公爵小姐，表妹，卡捷琳娜·谢苗诺夫娜，你是不是知道，”瓦西里公爵说道，看起来，要继续把话说下去，内心斗争不是没有的，“像现在这种时刻，什么都应当考虑考虑，应当考虑到将来，考虑到你们……我爱你们就像爱自己的孩子一样，这一点你是知道的。”
公爵小姐还是那样目光暗淡、滞然不动地望着他。
“最后，还应当考虑考虑我的家庭，”瓦西里公爵恼怒地推开自己身边的茶几，两眼没有望着她，继续说下去，“卡季什，你知道，你们马蒙托夫家的三个姐妹，可还有我的妻子，唯独我们才是伯爵的直系继承人。我晓得，我晓得，说这些事情，想这些事情，你觉得非常难受。我也不觉得轻松；可是，我的朋友，我有五十多岁了，一切事都要有所准备。我派了人去接皮埃尔，伯爵用手笔直地指着他的肖像，要他到他那里来，你知不知道？”
瓦西里公爵以疑问的眼神望望公爵小姐，但他没法弄明白，她是否在想他对她说的话，还是随便地望着他……“我为一桩事一直都在祷告上帝，moncousin，”她答道，“祈祷上帝宽恕他，让他高尚的灵魂平安地离开这个……”
“对，是这样的，”瓦西里公爵心情急躁地继续说下去，一面用手搓着秃头，愤愤地把推开的茶几移到身边来，“可是，到头来，到头来，问题就在于，你自己知道，去冬伯爵写了遗嘱，把他的全部产业留给皮埃尔，我们这些直系继承人都没有份了。”
“遗嘱随他去写吧，没有关系，”公爵小姐心平气和地说道，“但是他不能把遗产交给皮埃尔。皮埃尔是个私生子。”
“machère，”瓦西里公爵忽然说道，他紧紧贴着茶几，露出兴致勃勃的样子，说话的速度更快了，“假如伯爵禀告国王，请求立皮埃尔为子，那可怎么是好？你明白，就凭伯爵的功勋，他的请求是会受到尊重的……”
一些人以为他们自己比谈话对方知道的情形更多，他们就会面露微笑的，公爵小姐也同样地微微一笑。
“我还有更多的话要对你说，”瓦西里公爵一把抓着她的手，继续说下去，“信是写好了，尽管还没有寄上，国王也知道底细，只不过问题在于，这封信是否烧毁。若是没有焚毁，不久的将来一切都会完蛋的。”瓦西里公爵叹口气，用以使人家明白，“一切都会完蛋”的是有什么含义，“伯爵的文件一被拆开，遗嘱及信函就要呈交国王，他的请求大概会得到尊重的。皮埃尔作为合法的儿子就能获得一切产业。”
“而我们的那一份遗产呢？”公爵小姐问道，讥讽地微笑，好像一切都会发生，只有这桩事不会发生似的。
“Mais，mapauvreCatiche，c'estclair，commelejour，①那时候，只有他一人才是全部遗产的合法继承人，你们一定得不到自己的这一份。我亲爱的，你必须知道，遗嘱和奏疏是否已经写好了，或者已经烧毁了。假如这两样被人置之脑后，那你就应当知道这些东西搁在哪里，并且一一找到，因为……”
“竟有如此愚蠢之事！”公爵小姐打断他的话，露出恶意的微笑，也没有改变眼睛的表情，“我是个女人，依您看，我们都是些蠢货。可是，据我所知，私生子不能继承遗产……unbatard，”②她补充一句，以为通过翻译，可以使公爵彻底明了他缺乏继承的充分理由。
①法语：可是，卡季什，这是一清二楚的事啊。
②法语：私生子。

“卡季什，你怎么总不明白！你这样聪明，怎么不明白；倘使伯爵给国王写了奏疏，请求国王承认他的儿子是合法的。这么说，皮埃尔已经不是皮埃尔，而是别祖霍夫伯爵了，到那时他可凭遗嘱获得全部遗产吗？倘使遗嘱和奏疏未被烧毁，那末，你除了具有高尚品德，聊以自慰而外，什么也捞不到。
这是千真万确的话。”
“我知道，遗嘱已经写好了，但是我也知道，遗嘱不生效，您似乎认为我是个十足的蠢货，moncousin，”公爵小姐说道，她那神态，俨如那些认为自己说了侮辱性的俏皮话的女人的神态一样。
“你是我的亲爱的公爵小姐卡捷琳娜·谢苗诺夫娜！”瓦西里公爵急躁地说道，“我到你这里来不是要和你争吵，而是要和一个亲人、一个善良、诚挚的亲人谈谈你的切身利益问题。我第十次告诉你，倘使伯爵的文件中附有呈送国王的奏疏和对皮埃尔有利的遗嘱，那末，我亲爱的，你和你的几个妹妹都不是遗产继承人了。假若你不相信我，你就相信知情人吧：我方才跟德米特里·奥努夫里伊奇（他是个家庭律师）谈过话，他也是这样说的。”
显然，公爵小姐的思想上忽然起了什么变化，她那薄薄的嘴唇变得苍白了（眼睛还是那个样子），当她开口说话时，嗓音时断时续，显然这并非她自己意料的事。
“这样挺好啊，”她说道，“我从前不想要什么，现在也不想要什么。”
她把那小狗从膝盖上扔下去，弄平连衣裙的皱褶。
“这就是谢忱，这就是对为他牺牲一切的人们的感激之情，”她说道，“好极了！很好！公爵，我什么都不要了。”
“是的，可你不是一个人，你有几个妹妹。”瓦西里公爵答道。
但是公爵小姐不听他说话。
“是的，这是我早就知道的事，可是我已经置之脑后了。除了卑鄙、骗局、嫉妒、阴谋诡计，除了忘恩负义，黑心眼的忘恩负义，我在这栋住宅里什么也不能期待……”
“你知道，还是不知道这份遗嘱搁在什么地方？”瓦西里公爵问道，他的两颊痉挛得比先前更加厉害了。
“是的，我十分愚蠢，还轻信人们，喜爱他们，并且牺牲我自己。可是只有那班卑鄙恶劣的坏人才会得心应手。我晓得这是谁搞的阴谋诡计。”
公爵小姐想站立起来，可是公爵紧紧地握住她的手，不让她走。公爵小姐露出那副样子，就像一个人突然对全人类感到悲观失望似的；她愤恨地望着交谈的对方。
“我的朋友，时间还是有的。卡季什，你要记住，这种种事情都是无意中发生的，是在气忿和罹病之际发生的，之后就遗忘了。我亲爱的，我们的义务就是要纠正他的错误，不让他做出这等不公允的事，减轻他临终之时的疾苦，不让他在心里想到使那些人不幸时死去……”
“那些为他而牺牲一切的人，”公爵小姐应声说道，又挣扎着想要站起来，可是公爵不放她走，“他从来不会器重他们。不，moncousin，”她叹息地补充说，“我要铭记，在这尘世上不能期待奖励，在这尘世上既无荣誉，亦无公理。在这尘世上就要狡猾，凶恶。”
“行了，voyons，①安静下来吧，你的好心肠我是知道的。”
①法语：行了。

“不，我的心肠恶毒。”
“你的心我是知道的，”公爵重复地说道，“我珍惜你的友谊，希望你对我抱有同样的观点。安静下来吧，parlonsraiBson①，时间还是有的，也许会有一昼夜，也许只有一个钟头，你把你所知道的有关遗嘱的情况全部说给我听吧，主要的是，遗嘱搁在哪儿，你应当知道。我们立刻把它拿给伯爵过目，他大概把它遗忘了，他想把它毁掉。你心里明白，我唯一的心愿就是神圣地履行他的意愿，正是为了这一层，我才走到这里来。我呆在这儿只是为着帮助他，也帮助你们。”
“现在我什么都明白了。我晓得这是谁搞的阴谋诡计。我晓得。”公爵小姐说道。
“我的心肝，不是那么回事。”
“她就是您的被保护人，您的亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，这个卑劣、可恶的女人，给我做婢女我都不愿意接受。”
“Neperdonspointdetemps．”②
“唉，您甭说了吧！她去冬悄悄窜到这里来，向伯爵说了许多骂我们大家，特别是骂索菲的卑鄙龌龊的话，真叫我没法再说一遍，伯爵给弄得害病了，一连两个礼拜不愿意和我们见面。我知道就在这时候他写了这份令人厌恶的文件，不过我以为这份文件是毫无意义的。”
“Nousyvoila③，你干嘛不早点说给我听呢？”
①法语：我们正经地谈谈吧。
②法语：我们甭浪费时间吧。
③法语：问题也就在这里。

“在他枕头底下的嵌花皮包里。我现在知道了，”公爵小姐不回答他的话，说道，“是的，设若我有罪孽，弥天的罪孽，这就是我痛恨这个可恶的女人，”公爵小姐几乎要叫喊起来，脸色全变了，“她干嘛悄悄窜到这里来？我把要说的话向她一股脑儿说出来，到时候一股脑儿说出来！”
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Part One Chapter  Seventeen


THE CARD-TABLES were opened, parties were made up for boston, and the count's guests settled themselves in the two drawing-rooms, the divan-room, and the library.
The count, holding his cards in a fan, with some difficulty kept himself from dropping into his customary after-dinner nap, and laughed at everything. The young people, at the countess's suggestion, gathered about the clavichord and the harp. Julie was first pressed by every one to perform, and played a piece with variations on the harp. Then she joined the other young ladies in begging Natasha and Nikolay, who were noted for their musical talents, to sing something. Natasha, who was treated by every one as though she were grown-up, was visibly very proud of it, and at the same time made shy by it.
“What are we to sing?” she asked.
“The ‘Spring,' ” answered Nikolay.
“Well, then, let's make haste. Boris, come here,” said Natasha. “But where's Sonya?” She looked round, and seeing that her friend was not in the room, she ran off to find her.
After running to Sonya's room, and not finding her there, Natasha ran to the nursery: Sonya was not there either. Natasha knew that she must be on the chest in the corridor. The chest in the corridor was the scene of the woes of the younger feminine generation of the house of Rostov. Yes, Sonya was on the chest, lying face downwards, crushing her gossamer pink frock on their old nurse's dirty striped feather-bed. Her face hidden in her fingers, she was sobbing, and her little bare shoulders were heaving. Natasha's birthday face that had been festive and excited all day, changed at once; her eyes wore a fixed look, then her broad neck quivered, and the corners of her lips drooped.
“Sonya! what is it? … what's the matter with you? Oo-oo-oo! …” and Natasha, letting her big mouth drop open and becoming quite ugly, wailed like a baby, not knowing why, simply because Sonya was crying. Sonya tried to lift up her head, tried to answer, but could not, and buried her face more than ever. Natasha cried, sitting on the edge of the blue feather-bed and hugging her friend. Making an effort, Sonya got up, began to dry her tears and to talk.
“Nikolinka's going away in a week, his … paper … has come … he told me himself. … But still I shouldn't cry …” (she showed a sheet of paper she was holding in her hand; on it were verses written by Nikolay). “I shouldn't have cried; but you can't … no one can understand … what a soul he has.”
And again she fell to weeping at the thought of how noble his soul was.
“It's all right for you … I'm not envious … I love you and Boris too,” she said, controlling herself a little; “he's so nice … there are no difficulties in your way. But Nikolay's my cousin … the metropolitan chief priest himself … has to … or else it's impossible. And so, if mamma's told” (Sonya looked on the countess and addressed her as a mother), “she'll say that I'm spoiling Nikolay's career, that I have no heart, that I'm ungrateful, though really … in God's name” (she made the sign of the cross) “I love her so, and all of you, only Vera … Why is it? What have I done to her? I am so grateful to you that I would be glad to sacrifice everything for you, but I have nothing. …”
Sonya could say no more, and again she buried her head in her hands and the feather-bed. Natasha tried to comfort her, but her face showed that she grasped all the gravity of her friend's trouble.
“Sonya!” she said all at once, as though she had guessed the real cause of her cousin's misery, “of course Vera's been talking to you since dinner? Yes?”
“Yes, these verses Nikolay wrote himself, and I copied some others; and she found them on my table, and said she should show them to mamma, and she said too that I was ungrateful, and that mamma would never allow him to marry me, but that he would marry Julie. You see how he has been with her all day … Natasha! why is it?”
And again she sobbed more bitterly than ever. Natasha lifted her up, hugged her, and, smiling through her tears, began comforting her.
“Sonya, don't you believe her, darling; don't believe her. Do you remember how we talked with Nikolay, all three of us together, in the divan-room, do you remember, after supper? Why, we settled how it should all be. I don't quite remember now, but do you remember, it was all right and all possible. Why, uncle Shinshin's brother is married to his first cousin, and we're only second cousins, you know. And Boris said that it's quite easily arranged. You know I told him all about it. He's so clever and so good,” said Natasha. … “Don't cry, Sonya, darling, sweet one, precious, Sonya,” and she kissed her, laughing. “Vera is spiteful; never mind her! and it will all come right and she won't tell mamma. Nikolinka will tell her himself, and he's never thought of Julie.”
And she kissed her on the head. Sonya got up, and the kitten revived; its eyes sparkled, and it was ready, it seemed, to wag its tail, spring on its soft paws and begin to play with a ball, in its own natural, kittenish way.
“Do you think so? Really? Truly?” she said rapidly, smoothing her frock and her hair.
“Really, truly,” answered Natasha, putting back a stray coil of rough hair on her friend's head; and they both laughed. “Well, come along and sing the ‘Spring.' ”
“Let's go, then.”
“And do you know that fat Pierre, who was sitting opposite me, he's so funny!” Natasha said suddenly, stopping. “I am enjoying myself so,” and Natasha ran along the corridor.
Brushing off the feather fluff from her frock, and thrusting the verses into her bodice next her little throat and prominent breast-bones, Sonya ran with flushed face and light, happy steps, following Natasha along the corridor to the divan-room. At the request of their guests the young people sang the quartette the “Spring,” with which every one was delighted; then Nikolay sang a song he had lately learnt.“How sweet in the moon's kindly ray,In fancy to thyself to say,That earth holds still one dear to thee!Whose thoughts, whose dreams are all of thee!That her fair fingers as of oldStray still upon the harp of gold,Making sweet, passionate harmony,That to her side doth summon thee!To-morrow and thy bliss is near!Alas! all's past! she is not here!”
And he had hardly sung the last words when the young people were getting ready to dance in the big hall, and the musicians began stamping with their feet and coughing in the orchestra.
Pierre was sitting in the drawing-room, where Shinshin had started a conversation with him on the political situation, as a subject likely to be of interest to any one who had just come home from abroad, though it did not in fact interest Pierre. Several other persons joined in the conversation. When the orchestra struck up, Natasha walked into the drawing-room, and going straight up to Pierre, laughing and blushing, she said, “Mamma told me to ask you to dance.”
“I'm afraid of muddling the figures,” said Pierre, “but if you will be my teacher …” and he gave his fat hand to the slim little girl, putting his arm low down to reach her level.
While the couples were placing themselves and the musicians were tuning up, Pierre sat down with his little partner. Natasha was perfectly happy; she was dancing with a grown-up person, with a man who had just come from abroad. She was sitting in view of every one and talking to him like a grown-up person. She had in her hand a fan, which some lady had given her to hold, and taking the most modish pose (God knows where and when she had learnt it), fanning herself and smiling all over her face, she talked to her partner.
“What a girl! Just look at her, look at her!” said the old countess, crossing the big hall and pointing to Natasha. Natasha coloured and laughed.
“Why, what do you mean, mamma? Why should you laugh? Is there anything strange about it?”
In the middle of the third écossaise there was a clatter of chairs in the drawing-room, where the count and Marya Dmitryevna were playing, and the greater number of the more honoured guests and elderly people stretching themselves after sitting so long, put their pocket-books and purses in their pockets and came out to the door of the big hall. In front of all came Marya Dmitryevna and the count, both with radiant faces. The count gave his arm, curved into a hoop, to Marya Dmitryevna with playfully exaggerated ceremony, like a ballet-dancer. He drew himself up, and his face beamed with a peculiar, jauntily-knowing smile, and as soon as they had finished dancing the last figure of the écossaise, he clapped his hands to the orchestra, and shouted to the first violin: “Semyon! do you know ‘Daniel Cooper'?”
That was the count's favourite dance that he had danced in his youth. (Daniel Cooper was the name of a figure of the anglaise.)
“Look at papa!” Natasha shouted to all the room (entirely forgetting that she was dancing with a grown-up partner), and ducking down till her curly head almost touched her knees, she went off into her ringing laugh that filled the hall. Every one in the hall was, in fact, looking with a smile of delight at the gleeful old gentleman. Standing beside his majestic partner, Marya Dmitryevna, who was taller than he was, he curved his arms, swaying them in time to the music, moved his shoulders, twirled with his legs, lightly tapping with his heels, and with a broadening grin on his round face, prepared the spectators for what was to come. As soon as the orchestra played the gay, irresistible air of Daniel Cooper, somewhat like a livelier Russian trepak, all the doorways of the big hall were suddenly filled with the smiling faces of the house-serfs—men on one side, and women on the other—come to look at their master making merry.
“Our little father! An eagle he is!” the old nurse said out loud at one door.
The count danced well and knew that he did, but his partner could not dance at all, and did not care about dancing well. Her portly figure stood erect, with her mighty arms hanging by her side (she had handed her reticule to the countess). It was only her stern, but comely face that danced. What was expressed by the whole round person of the count, was expressed by Marya Dmitryevna in her more and more beaming countenance and puckered nose. While the count, with greater and greater expenditure of energy, enchanted the spectators by the unexpectedness of the nimble pirouettes and capers of his supple legs, Marya Dmitryevna with the slightest effort in the movement of her shoulders or curving of her arms, when they turned or marked the time with their feet, produced no less impression from the contrast, which everyone appreciated, with her portliness and her habitual severity of demeanour. The dance grew more and more animated. The vis-à-vis could not obtain one moment's attention, and did not attempt to do so. All attention was absorbed by the count and Marya Dmitryevna. Natasha pulled at the sleeve or gown of every one present, urging them to look at papa, though they never took their eyes off the dancers. In the pauses in the dance the count drew a deep breath, waved his hands and shouted to the musician to play faster. More and more quickly, more and more nimbly the count pirouetted, turning now on his toes and now on his heels, round Marya Dmitryevna. At last, twisting his lady round to her place, he executed the last steps, kicking his supple legs up behind him, and bowing his perspiring head and smiling face, with a round sweep of his right arm, amidst a thunder of applause and laughter, in which Natasha's laugh was loudest. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily, and mopping their faces with their batiste handkerchiefs.
“That's how they used to dance in our day, ma chère, said the count.
“Bravo, Daniel Cooper!” said Marya Dmitryevna, tucking up her sleeves and drawing a deep, prolonged breath.


第一章第十七节


玩波士顿纸牌的大牌桌摆开了，牌局也都凑成了，伯爵的客人们在两个厅里就座，一间是摆有沙发的休息室，一间是图书室。
伯爵把纸牌铺成扇面形，好不容易才改变午睡的习惯，他对着大家露出一张笑脸。伯爵夫人诱使年轻人聚集在击弦古铜琴和竖琴的近旁。朱莉在大家的请求下头一个用竖琴弹奏了一首变奏短曲，她和其余的女孩一块邀请素以音乐天赋出名的娜塔莎和尼古拉唱一首什么歌。大家像对待大人那样对待娜塔莎，她因此显得十分高傲，但同时有几分胆怯。
“我们唱什么？”她问道。
“《泉水》。”尼古拉答道。
“喂，快点。鲍里斯，到这里来吧，”娜塔莎说道，“索尼娅究竟到哪里去了？”
她向四周环顾，看见她的朋友不在房里，便跑去寻找她了。
娜塔莎跑进索尼娅房里，找不到她的女友，便跑到儿童室去了，那里也没有索尼娅的人影。娜塔莎明白，索尼娅呆在走廊里的箱笼上。走廊里的箱笼是罗斯托夫家年轻妇女们倾吐哀愁的地方。诚然，索尼娅呆在箱笼上，俯卧在保姆那张邋遢的条纹绒毛褥子上，她身上穿的粉红色的薄纱连衣裙都给揉皱了。她用手蒙着脸，哽噎得大声痛哭，赤裸裸的肩膀不住地颤抖。娜塔莎整天价因为过命名日而喜形于色，这时分脸色突然变了，她的视线呆滞不动了，之后她的宽大的脖子颤抖了一下，嘴角松垂下来了。
“索尼娅，你怎么样？……您是怎么回事？呜——鸣——
呜！……”
娜塔莎咧开大嘴哭起来了，样子变得十分难看，她像儿童似地嚎啕大哭，不知为什么，只是因为索尼娅哭泣的缘故。索尼娅想要抬起头来，想回答她的话，可是没法这样办，她把头藏得更深了。娜塔莎哭着，在蓝色的绒毛褥子上坐下，一面拥抱着女友。索尼娅鼓足一股劲，欠起身子，揩掉眼泪，开始述说起来。
“过一个礼拜尼古连卡要去打仗了，他的……公文……下达了……他亲自对我说了……我并不想哭哩……”她让娜塔莎看看她拿在手里的一张纸条，那是尼古拉写的诗句，“我并不想哭哩，可是你没法了解……谁也没法了解……他的心肠多么好啊。”
她于是又哭起来，哭他的心肠太好。
“你觉得挺好……我不妒嫉……我爱你，也爱鲍里斯，”她聚精会神地说道，“他是个可爱的人……对你们毫无妨碍。可是尼古拉是我的表兄……有必要……总主教本人允准……即使那样也不行。而且，若是妈妈（索尼娅认为伯爵夫人是母亲，把她称呼为母亲）……她说我断送尼古拉的锦绣前程，我没有好心眼我忘恩负义，说实话……真的……”她在胸前划了个十字，“我这样爱她，也爱你们大家，唯独薇拉……为什么？我有什么对她过不去呢？我十分感谢你们，我乐于为你们牺牲一切，但是我没有什么可以……”
索尼娅不能再往下说了，又托着头，埋进绒毛褥子里。娜塔莎安静下来了，但是从她的脸色可以看出，她心里明白她朋友的苦衷是何等沉重。
“索尼娅，”她忽然说道，仿佛猜中了表姐伤心的真实原因，“薇拉在午饭后大概对你说过什么话？是吗？”
“是的，尼古拉本人写了这些诗，我还抄了一些别的诗；她在我桌上发现了，还说要把它拿给妈妈看，说我忘恩负义，说妈妈决不会容许他娶我为妻，他要娶朱莉为妻。你看见，他整天价同她在一块吗？……娜塔莎！这是为什么？……”
她又哭了起来，显得比原先更悲伤了。娜搭莎帮助她欠起身来，拥抱她，透过眼泪微露笑容，开始安慰她。
“索尼娅，我亲爱的，不要相信她，不要相信啊。你总还记得我们和尼古拉三人在摆满沙发的休息室里说的话吧，是在晚饭后，你还记得吧？我们不是拿定了主意，把日后的事情划算好了吗？我已经记不清了，可是你总还记得事事都美满，事事都亨通。你看申申叔叔的兄弟娶他的表妹为妻，而我们不就是堂表子妹嘛，鲍里斯也说过完全可以这样做嘛。你知道，什么事我都对他说了。他既聪明，而又善良，”娜塔莎说道……“索尼娅，我亲爱的，你不要哭，索尼娅，我的心肝。”她一面吻她，一面发笑。“薇拉真凶恶，去她的吧！事事都会好起来，她也决不会告诉她妈妈的。尼古拉倒会亲口把话说出来，至于朱莉嘛，他连想也没有想过她。”
她于是吻她的头。索尼娅稍微抬起身子来，那只小猫也活跃起来了，一双小眼睛闪闪发光，它好像就要摇摇尾巴，伸出四双柔软的脚爪霍地跳起来，又要去玩耍线团，好像它适宜于这种游戏似的。
“你是这样想的吗？说的是实在的话？真的？”她说道，一面飞快地弄平连衣裙和头发。
“说实话吗？真的吗？”娜塔莎答道，一面给她的朋友弄平辫子下面露出来的一绺粗硬的头发。
她们二人都笑了起来。
“喂，我们去唱《泉水》这首歌吧。”
“我们去吧。”
“你可知道，坐在我对面的这个胖乎乎的皮埃尔多么滑稽可笑！”娜塔莎停步时忽然说道，“我觉得非常快活！”
娜塔莎于是在走廊里跑起来了。
索尼娅拍掉身上的绒毛，把诗藏在怀里靠近突出的胸骨的脖子旁边，她两颊通红，迈着轻盈而快活的步子，跟在娜塔莎身后沿着走廊向摆满沙发的休息室跑去。年轻人应客人之请唱了一首人人喜欢的四人合唱曲《泉水》之后尼古拉还唱了一首已经背熟的歌曲：
在令人欣悦的晚上，
在皎洁月色映照下，
你想象这该是多么幸福：
有个什么人在这尘世上，
她心中暗自把你思念！
她那秀丽的巧手
拨弄着金色的竖琴，
竖琴激越的和音
把你召唤
召唤到身边！
还有一两天，
幸福的生活就要来临……
唉，你的朋友
活不到那么一天！
他还没有唱完最后一句歌词，青年人就在大厅里准备跳舞，乐师们按照霍拉舞曲的节奏，把脚儿跺得咚咚响，这时传来他们的咳嗽声。
皮埃尔坐在客厅里，申申和这个从外国归来的皮埃尔谈论起使他觉得索然无味的政治范畴的事情，还有其他几个人也和他们攀谈起来，当乐队开始奏乐时，娜塔莎步入客厅，她向皮埃尔身边径直地走去，两脸通红，含笑地说道：“妈妈吩咐我请您去跳舞。”
“我怕会搞乱了舞步，”皮埃尔说道，“不过，假如您愿意当我的老师……”
于是他低低地垂下他那只肥胖的手，递给苗条的少女。
当一对对男女拉开距离站着、乐师正在调音律时，皮埃尔和他的小舞伴一同坐下来。娜塔莎觉得非常幸福：她和国外回来的大人跳过舞了。她在大家眼前坐着，像大人那样和他交谈。她手里拿着一把折扇，一位小姐让她拿去扇扇的。她装出一副地道的交际花的姿态（天知道她是何时何地学到的本领），她扇扇子，隔着折扇露出微笑，和她的舞伴交谈。
“她是啥模样？她是啥模样？你们看吧，你们看吧。”老伯爵夫人走过大厅，用手指着娜塔莎，说道。
娜塔莎两颊通红，笑了起来。
“妈妈，怎么啦？您何苦呢？这有什么奇怪的呢？”
第三节苏格兰民间舞曲奏到半中间时，客厅里的坐椅被移动了，伯爵和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜、大部分贵宾和老年人都在这里打纸牌，他们久坐之后伸伸懒腰，把皮夹和钱包放进衣袋里，一个个向大厅走去。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜随同伯爵走在最前面，二人都现出喜悦的神色。伯爵诙谐地装出拘礼的样子，有点像跳芭蕾舞似的，把他那圆圆的手臂伸给玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜。他挺直身子，神采奕奕，流露出特别洒脱的机智的微笑。一跳完苏格兰民间舞，他就向乐师击掌，面对第一提琴手，向那合唱队吼叫：
“谢苗！你熟悉《丹尼拉·库波尔》么？”
这是伯爵青年时代喜欢跳的一种舞蹈。（《丹尼拉·库波尔》其实是英吉利兹舞的一节。）
“瞧我爸爸吧。”娜塔莎朝着整个大厅嚷道（根本忘记了她在和大人一同跳舞），她把长有鬈发的头向膝盖微微垂下，非常洪亮的笑声响彻了厅堂。
诚然，大厅里的人都含着欢快的微笑打量那个愉快的老人，一个比他高大的显赫的女士——玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜站在他身旁，他那手臂蜷曲成圆形，合着拍子摇晃着，舒展开双肩，两脚向外撇开，轻盈地踏着拍子，他圆滚滚的脸上越来越眉开眼笑，让观众准备欣赏将要出现的场景。一当听见欢快的、引人入胜的、与快乐的《特烈帕克》舞曲相似的《丹尼拉·库波尔》舞曲，大厅的几个门口蓦然堆满了家仆的笑脸，一旁是男仆，一旁是女仆，他们都出来观看尽情作乐的老爷。
“我们的老爷！真是苍鹰啊！”保姆从一道门口高声地说道。
伯爵跳得很棒，而且心中有数，不过他的女舞伴根本不擅长跳舞，她也不想把舞跳好。她那硕大的身段笔直地站着，把两只强而有力的手臂低垂下去（她把女式手提包转交给伯爵夫人），只有她那副严肃、但却俊美的面孔在跳舞。伯爵的整个浑圆的身体是他外表上的特点，而越来越显得愉快的眉开眼笑的脸庞和向上翘起的鼻孔却是玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的外貌特征。如果认为，伯爵跳得越来越痛快，他那出乎意料的灵活转动和脚步从容的轻盈跳跃会使观众心神向往，那末，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜在转身或踏拍子时，肩膀一动或者手臂一卷曲，就可轻而易举地产生同样良好的印象；虽然她的身躯过分地肥胖，态度素来严厉，每个观众仍然赞赏不已。舞跳得愈益热闹了。他们对面的别的舞伴一刻也没有引起观众的注意，而且也不介意这件事。伯爵和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜吸引着全体的注意力。在场的人们本来就目不转睛地望着跳舞的伴侣，可是娜塔莎却拉拉这个人袖子，扯扯那个人的连衣裙，要大家都来看看她爸爸。跳舞暂停时，伯爵吃力地喘气，向乐师们挥手喊叫，要他们快点奏乐。伯爵围绕着玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜疾速地旋转，时而把脚尖踮起，时而把脚跟跺地，越来越矫捷，越来越勇猛，终于把舞伴领到她的坐位上，他把一只脚向后磴起来，低垂淌着热汗的头，这样才跳完了最后一个舞步，在洪亮的掌声和笑声中，尤其是在娜塔莎的哈哈大笑声中，他用右手挥动一下，腾空画了一个圆圈。两个跳舞的人停步了，吃力地喘气，用麻纱手巾揩汗。
“我们那个时代就是这样跳舞啊，machère，”①伯爵说道。
“《丹尼拉·库波尔》真不错！”玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜卷起袖子，久久地、吃力地喘气，说道。
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