战争与和平(上)-第100章

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　guests　turned　upon　him。　He　got　up　and　went　up　to　Boris。
“I’m　in　your　way；　though；”　he　said　to　him　in　an　undertone；　“let　us　have　a　talk　about　my　business；　and　I’ll　go　away。”
“Oh；　no；　not　the　least；”　said　Boris。　“But　if　you　are　tired；　come　to　my　room　and　lie　down　and　rest。”
“Well；　really…”
They　went　into　the　little　room　where　Boris　slept。　Rostov；　without　sitting　down；　began　speaking　at　once　with　irritation—as　though　Boris　were　in　some　way　to　blame　in　the　matter。　He　told　him　of　Denisov’s　scrape；　asking　whether　he　would　and　could　through　his　general　intercede　with　the　Emperor　in　Denisov’s　favour；　and　through　him　present　the　letter。　When　they　were　alone　together；　Rostov　was　for　the　first　time　distinctly　aware　that　he　felt　an　awkwardness　in　looking　Boris　in　the　face。　Boris　crossing　one　leg　over　the　other；　and　stroking　the　slender　fingers　of　his　right　hand　with　his　left；　listened　to　Rostov；　as　a　general　listens　to　a　report　presented　by　a　subordinate；　at　one　time　looking　away；　at　the　next　looking　Rostov　straight　in　the　face　with　the　same　veiled　look　in　his　eyes。　Every　time　he　did　so；　Rostov　felt　ill　at　ease；　and　dropped　his　eyes。
“I　have　heard　of　affairs　of　the　sort；　and　I　know　that　the　Emperor　is　very　severe　in　such　cases。　I　think　it　had　better　not　be　taken　before　his　majesty。　To　my　mind；　it　would　be　better　to　apply　directly　to　the　commander　of　the　corps。…　But　generally　speaking；　I　believe…”
“Then　you　don’t　care　to　do　anything；　so　say　so！”　Rostov　almost　shouted；　not　looking　Boris　in　the　face。
Boris　smiled。
“On　the　contrary；　I　will　do　what　I　can；　only　I　imagine…”
At　that　moment　they　heard　the　voice　of　Zhilinsky　at　the　door；　calling　Boris。
“Well；　go　along；　go；　go…”　said　Rostov；　and　refusing　supper　and　remaining　alone　in　the　little　room；　he　walked　up　and　down　for　a　long　while；　listening　to　the　light…hearted　French　chatter　in　the　next　room。


Chapter　20
ROSTOV　had　arrived　at　Tilsit　on　the　day　least　suitable　for　interceding　in　Denisov’s　behalf。　It　was　out　of　the　question　for　him　to　go　himself　to　the　general　in　attendance；　since　he　was　wearing　civilian　dress；　and　had　come　to　Tilsit　without　permission　to　do　so；　and　Boris；　even　had　he　been　willing；　could　not　have　done　so　on　the　day　following　Rostov’s　arrival。　On　that　day；　the　27th　of　June；　the　preliminaries　of　peace　were　signed。　The　Emperors　exchanged　orders：　Alexander　received　the　Legion　of　Honour；　and　Napoleon　the　Order　of　St。　Andrey　of　the　first　degree；　and　that　day　had　been　fixed　for　the　dinner　to　be　given　by　a　battalion　of　French　guards　to　the　Preobrazhensky　battalion。　The　Emperors　were　to　be　present　at　this　banquet。　Rostov　felt　so　uncomfortable　and　ill　at　ease　with　Boris；　that　when　the　latter　peeped　in　at　him　after　supper　he　pretended　to　be　asleep；　and　the　next　day　he　left　early　in　the　morning　to　avoid　seeing　him。　In　a　frock　coat　and　round　hat；　Nikolay　strolled　about　the　town；　staring　at　the　French　and　their　uniforms；　examining　the　streets　and　the　houses　where　the　Russian　and　the　French　Emperors　were　staying。　In　the　market…place　he　saw　tables　set　out　and　preparations　for　the　banquet；　in　the　streets　he　saw　draperies　hung　across　with　flags　of　the　Russian　and　French　colours；　and　huge　monograms　of　A　and　N。　In　the　windows　of　the　houses；　too；　there　were　flags　and　monograms。
“Boris　doesn’t　care　to　help　me；　and　I　don’t　care　to　apply　to　him。　That　question’s　closed；”　thought　Nikolay；　“everything’s　over　between　us；　but　I’m　not　going　away　from　here　without　having　done　all　I　can　for　Denisov；　and；　above　all；　getting　the　letter　given　to　the　Emperor。　To　the　Emperor？　…　He　is　here！”　thought　Rostov；　who　had　unconsciously　gone　back　to　the　house　occupied　by　Alexander。
Saddle　horses　were　standing　at　the　entrance；　and　the　suite　were　riding　up；　evidently　getting　ready　for　the　Emperor　to　come　out。
“Any　minute　I　may　see　him；”　thought　Rostov。　“If　only　I　could　give　him　the　letter　directly；　and　tell　him　all　…　could　they　really　arrest　me　for　my　frock　coat？　Impossible。　He　would　understand　on　which　side　the　truth　lay。　He　understands　everything；　he　knows　everything。　Who　can　be　juster　and　more　magnanimous　than　he？　Besides；　even　if　they　were　to　arrest　me　for　being　here；　what　would　it　matter？”　he　thought；　looking　at　an　officer　who　was　going　into　the　house。　“Why；　people　go　in；　I　see。　Oh！　it’s　all　nonsense。　I’ll　go　and　give　the　letter　to　the　Emperor　myself；　so　much　the　worse　for　Drubetskoy　who　has　driven　me　to　it。”　And　all　at　once；　with　a　decision　he　would　never　have　expected　of　himself；　Rostov；　fingering　the　letter　in　his　pocket；　went　straight　into　the　house　where　the　Emperor　was　staying。
“No；　this　time　I　won’t　miss　my　opportunity　as　I　did　after　Austerlitz；”　he　thought；　expecting　every　minute　to　meet　the　Emperor；　and　feeling　a　rush　of　blood　to　the　heart　at　the　idea。　“I　will　fall　at　his　feet　and　will　beseech　him。　He　will　lift　me　up；　hear　me　out；　and　thank　me　too。　‘I　am　happy　when　I　can　do　good；　but　to　cancel　injustice　is　the　greatest　happiness；’　”　Rostov　fancied　the　Emperor　would　say　to　him。　And　he　passed　up　the　stairs　regardless　of　the　inquisitive　eyes　that　were　turned　upon　him。　The　broad　staircase　led　straight　upwards　from　the　entry；　on　the　right　was　a　closed　door。　Below；　under　the　stairs；　was　a　door　to　the　rooms　on　the　ground　floor。
“Whom　are　you　looking　for？”　some　one　asked　him。
“To　give　a　letter；　a　petition；　to　his　majesty；”　said　Nikolay；　with　a　quiver　in　his　voice。
“A　petition—to　the　officer　on　duty；　this　way；　please”　（he　was　motioned　to　the　door　below）。　“Only　it　won’t　receive　attention。”
Hearing　this　indifferent　voice；　Rostov　felt　panic…stricken　at　what　he　was　doing；　the　idea　that　he　might　meet　the　Emperor　at　any　minute　was　so　fascinating　and　consequently　so　terrible；　that　he　was　ready　to　fly；　but　an　attendant　meeting　him　opened　the　door　to　the　officer’s　room　for　him；　and　Rostov　went　in。
A　short；　stout　man　of　about　thirty　in　white　breeches；　high　boots；　and　in　a　batiste　shirt；　apparently　only　just　put　on；　was　standing　in　this　room。　A　valet　was　buttoning　behind　him　some　fine…looking；　new；　silk…embroidered　braces；　which　for　some　reason　attracted　Rostov’s　notice。　The　stout　man　was　conversing　with　some　one　in　the　adjoining　room。
“A　good　figure　and　in　her　first　bloom；”　he　was　saying；　but　seeing　Rostov　he　broke　off　and　frowned。
“What　do　you　want？　A　petition？　…”
“What　is　it？”　asked　some　one　in　the　next　room。
“Another　petition；”　answered　the　man　in　the　braces。
“Tell　him　to　come　later。　He’ll　be　coming　out　directly；　we　must　go。”
“Later；　later；　to…morrow。　It’s　too　late。…”
Rostov　turned　away　and　would　have　gone　out；　but　the　man　in　the　braces　stopped　him。
“From　whom　is　it？　Who　are　you？”
“From　Major　Denisov；”　answered　Rostov。
“Who　are　you—an　officer？”
“A　lieutenant；　Count　Rostov。”
“What　audacity！　Send　it　through　the　proper　channel。　And　go　along　with　you；　go。…”　And　he　began　putting　on　the　uniform　the　valet　handed　him。
Rostov　went　out　into　the　hall　again；　and　noticed　that　by　this　time　there　were　a　great　many　officers　and　generals　in　full　dress；　and　he　had　to　pass　through　their　midst。
Cursing　his　temerity；　ready　to　faint　at　the　thought　that　he　might　any　minute　meet　the　Emperor　and　be　put　to　shame　before　him　and　placed　under　arrest；　fully　aware　by　now　of　all　the　indecorum　of　his　action；　and　regretting　it；　Rostov　was　making　his　way　out　of　the　house　with　downcast　eyes；　through　the　crowd　of　the　gorgeously　dressed　suite；　when　a　familiar　voice　called　to　him；　and　a　hand　detained　him。
“Well；　sir；　what　are　you　doing　here　in　a　frock　coat？”　asked　the　bass　voice。
It　was　a　cavalry　general　who　had　won　the　Emperor’s　special　favour　during　this　campaign；　and　had　formerly　been　in　command　of　the　division　in　which　Rostov　was　serving。
Rostov　began　in　dismay　to　try　and　excuse　himself；　but　seeing　the　good…naturedly　jocose　face　of　the　general；　he　moved　on　one　side；　and　in　an　excited　voice　told　him　of　the　whole　affair；　begging　him　to　intercede　for　Denisov；　whom　the　general　knew。
The　general　on　hearing　Rostov’s　story　shook　his　head　gravely。　“I’m　sorry；　very　sorry　for　the　gallant　fellow；　give　me　the　letter。”
Rostov　had　scarcely　time　to　give　him　the　letter　and　tell　him　all　about　Denisov’s　scrape；　when　the　clank　of　rapid　footsteps　with　spurs　was　heard　on　the　stairs；　and　the　general　left　his　side　and　moved　up　to　the　steps。　The　gentlemen　of　the　Emperor’s　suite　ran　downstairs　and　went　to　their　horses。　The　postillion；　the　same　one　who　had　been　at　Austerlitz；　led　up　the　Emperor’s　horse；　and　on　the　stairs　was　heard　a　light　footstep　which　Rostov　knew　at　once。　Forgetting　the　danger　of　being　recognised；　Rostov　moved　right　up　to　the　steps　together　with　some　curious　persons　from　the　town；　and　again　after　two　years　he　saw　the　features　he　adored：　the　same　face；　the　same　glance；　the　same　walk；　the　same　combination　of　majesty　and　mildness。…　And　the　feeling　of　enthusiasm　and　devotion　to　the　Emperor　rose　up　again　in　Rostov’s　heart　with　all　its　old　force。　The　Emperor　wore　the　uniform　of　the　Preobrazhensky　regiment；　white　elk…skin　breeches　and　high　boots；　and　a　star　which　Rostov　did　not　recognise　（it　was　the　star　of　the　Legion　of　Honour）。　He　came　out　on　the　steps；　holding　his　hat　under　his　arm；　and　putting　on　his　glove。　He　stopped；　looking　round　and　seeming　to　shed　brightness　around　him　with　his　glance。　To　some　one　of　the　generals　he　said　a　few　words。　He　recognised；　too；　the　former　commander　of　Rostov’s　division；　smiled　to　him；　and　summoned　him　to　him。
All　the　suite　stood　back；　and　Rostov　saw　the　general　talking　at　some　length　to　the　Emperor。
The　Emperor　said　a　few　words　to　him；　and　took　a　step　towards　his　horse。　Again　the　crowd　of　the　suite　and　the　street　gazers；　among　whom　was　Rostov；　moved　up　closer　to　the　Emperor。　Standing　still　with　his　hand　on　the　saddle；　the　Emperor　turned　to　the　cavalry　general　and　said　aloud　with　the　obvious　intention　of　being　heard　by　all：　“I　cannot；　general；　and　I　cannot　because　the　law　is　mightier　than　I　am；”　and　he　put　his　foot　in　the　stirrup。　The　general　bent　his　head　respectfully；　the　Emperor　took　his　seat　and　galloped　up　the　street。　Rostov；　wild　with　enthusiasm；　ran　after　him　with　the　crowd。


Chapter　21
IN　THE　PUBLIC　SQUARE　towards　which　the　Tsar　rode　there　stood；　facing　each　other；　the　battalion　of　the　Preobrazhensky　regiment　on　the　right；　and　the　battalion　of　the　French　guards　in　bearskin　caps　on　the　left。
While　the　Emperor　was　riding　up　to　one　flank　of　the　battalions；　who　presented　arms；　another　crowd　of　horsemen　was　galloping　up　to　the　opposite　flank；　and　at　the　head　of　them　Rostov　recognised　Napoleon。　That　figure　could　be　no　one　else。　He　galloped　up；　wearing　a　little　hat；　the　ribbon　of　St。　Andrey　across　his　shoulder；　and　a　blue　uniform　open　over　a　white　vest。　He　was　riding　a　grey　Arab　horse　of　extremely　fine　breed；　with　a　crimson；　gold…embroidered　saddle…cloth。　Riding　up　to　Alexander；　he　raised　his　hat；　and　at　that　moment　Rostov；　with　his　cavalryman’s　eye；　could　not　help　noticing　that　Napoleon　had　a　bad　and　uncertain　seat　on　horseback。　The　battalions　shouted　hurrah；　and　vive　l’Empereur！　Napoleon　said　something　to　Alexander。　Both　Emperors　dismounted　from　their　horses　and　took　each　other　by　the　hands。　Napoleon’s　face　wore　an　unpleasantly　hypocritical　smile。　Alexander　was　saying　something　to　him　with　a