战争与和平(上)-第12章

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“There　is　little　hope；”　said　the　prince。
“And；　I　was　so　longing　to　thank　uncle　once　more　for　all　his　kindness　to　me　and　to　Boris。　He　is　his　godson；”　she　added　in　a　tone　that　suggested　that　Prince　Vassily　would　be　highly　delighted　to　hear　this　fact。
Prince　Vassily　pondered　and　frowned。　Anna　Mihalovna　saw　he　was　afraid　of　finding　in　her　a　rival　with　claims　on　Count　Bezuhov’s　will。　She　hastened　to　reassure　him。　“If　it　were　not　for　my　genuine　love　and　devotion　for　uncle；”　she　said；　uttering　the　last　word　with　peculiar　assurance　and　carelessness；　“I　know　his　character；—generous；　upright；　but　with　only　the　princesses　about　him。…　They　are　young。…”　She　bent　her　head　and　added　in　a　whisper：　“Has　he　performed　his　last　duties；　prince？　How　priceless　are　these　last　moments！　He　is　as　bad　as　he　could　be；　it　seems；　it　is　absolutely　necessary　to　prepare　him；　if　he　is　so　ill。　We　women；　prince；”　she　smiled　tenderly；　“always　know　how　to　say　these　things。　I　absolutely　must　see　him。　Hard　as　it　will　be　for　me；　I　am　used　to　suffering。”
The　prince　evidently　understood；　and　understood；　too；　as　he　had　at　Anna　Pavlovna’s；　that　it　was　no　easy　task　to　get　rid　of　Anna　Mihalovna。
“Would　not　this　interview　be　trying　for　him；　chère　Anna　Mihalovna？”　he　said。　“Let　us　wait　till　the　evening；　the　doctors　have　predicted　a　crisis。”
“But　waiting’s　out　of　the　question；　prince；　at　such　a　moment。　Think；　it　is　a　question　of　saving　his　soul。　Ah！　how　terrible；　the　duties　of　a　Christian。…”
The　door　from　the　inner　rooms　opened；　and　one　of　the　count’s　nieces　entered　with　a　cold　and　forbidding　face；　and　a　long　waist　strikingly　out　of　proportion　with　the　shortness　of　her　legs。
Prince　Vassily　turned　to　her。　“Well；　how　is　he？”
“Still　the　same。　What　can　you　expect　with　this　noise？　…”　said　the　princess；　scanning　Anna　Mihalovna；　as　a　stranger。
“Ah；　dear；　I　did　not　recognise　you；”　said　Anna　Mihalovna；　with　a　delighted　smile；　and　she　ambled　lightly　up　to　the　count’s　niece。　“I　have　just　come；　and　I　am　at　your　service　to　help　in　nursing　my　uncle。　I　imagine　what　you　have　been　suffering；”　she　added；　sympathetically　turning　her　eyes　up。
The　princess　made　no　reply；　she　did　not　even　smile；　but　walked　straight　away。　Anna　Mihalovna　took　off　her　gloves；　and　entrenched　herself　as　it　were　in　an　armchair；　inviting　Prince　Vassily　to　sit　down　beside　her。
“Boris！”　she　said　to　her　son；　and　she　smiled　at　him；　“I　am　going　in　to　the　count；　to　poor　uncle；　and　you　can　go　to　Pierre；　mon　ami；　meanwhile；　and　don’t　forget　to　give　him　the　Rostovs’　invitation。　They　ask　him　to　dinner。　I　suppose　he　won’t　go？”　she　said　to　the　prince。
“On　the　contrary；”　said　the　prince；　visibly　cast　down。　“I　should　be　very　glad　if　you　would　take　that　young　man　off　my　hands。…　He　sticks　on　here。　The　count　has　not　once　asked　for　him。”
He　shrugged　his　shoulders。　A　footman　conducted　the　youth　downstairs　and　up　another　staircase　to　the　apartments　of　Pyotr　Kirillovitch。


Chapter　13
PIERRE　had　not　succeeded　in　fixing　upon　a　career　in　Petersburg；　and　really　had　been　banished　to　Moscow　for　disorderly　conduct。　The　story　told　about　him　at　Count　Rostov’s　was　true。　Pierre　had　assisted　in　tying　the　police　officer　to　the　bear。　He　had　arrived　a　few　days　previously；　stopping　as　he　always　did　at　his　father’s　house。　Though　he　had　assumed　that　his　story　would　be　already　known　at　Moscow；　and　that　the　ladies　who　were　about　his　father；　always　unfavourably　disposed　to　him；　would　profit　by　this　opportunity　of　turning　the　count　against　him；　he　went　on　the　day　of　his　arrival　to　his　father’s　part　of　the　house。　Going　into　the　drawing…room；　where　the　princesses　usually　sat；　he　greeted　the　ladies；　two　of　whom　were　sitting　at　their　embroidery　frames；　while　one　read　aloud。　There　were　three　of　them。　The　eldest；　a　trim；　long…waisted；　severe　maiden…lady；　the　one　who　had　come　out　to　Anna　Mihalovna；　was　reading。　The　younger　ones；　both　rosy　and　pretty；　were　only　to　be　distinguished　by　the　fact　that　one　of　them　had　a　little　mole　which　made　her　much　prettier。　They　were　both　working　at　their　embroidery　frames。　Pierre　was　received　like　a　man　risen　from　the　dead　or　stricken　with　plague。　The　eldest　princess　paused　in　her　reading　and　stared　at　him　in　silence　with　dismay　in　her　eyes。　The　second　assumed　precisely　the　same　expression。　The　youngest；　the　one　with　the　mole；　who　was　of　a　mirthful　and　laughing　disposition；　bent　over　her　frame；　to　conceal　a　smile；　probably　evoked　by　the　amusing　scene　she　foresaw　coming。　She　pulled　her　embroidery　wool　out　below；　and　bent　down　as　though　examining　the　pattern；　hardly　able　to　suppress　her　laughter。
“Good　morning；　cousin；”　said　Pierre。　“You　don’t　know　me？”
“I　know　you　only　too　well；　only　too　well。”
“How　is　the　count？　Can　I　see　him？”　Pierre　asked；　awkwardly　as　always；　but　not　disconcerted。
“The　count　is　suffering　both　physically　and　morally；　and　your　only　anxiety　seems　to　be　to　occasion　him　as　much　suffering　as　possible。”
“Can　I　see　the　count？”　repeated　Pierre。
“Hm　…　if　you　want　to　kill　him；　to　kill　him　outright；　you　can　see　him。　Olga；　go　and　see　if　uncle’s　broth　is　ready—it　will　soon　be　time　for　it；”　she　added；　to　show　Pierre　they　were　busy；　and　busy　in　seeing　after　his　father’s　comfort；　while　he　was　obviously　only　busy　in　causing　him　discomfort。
Olga　went　out。　Pierre　stood　still　a　moment；　looked　at　the　sisters　and　bowing　said：　“Then　I　will　go　to　my　room。　When　I　can　see　him；　you　will　tell　me。”　He　went　away　and　heard　the　ringing　but　not　loud　laugh　of　the　sister　with　the　mole　behind　him。
The　next　day　Prince　Vassily　had　come　and　settled　in　the　count’s　house。　He　sent　for　Pierre　and　said　to　him：
“My　dear　fellow；　if　you　behave　here　as　you　did　at　Petersburg；　you　will　come　to　a　very　bad　end；　that’s　all　I　have　to　say　to　you。　The　count　is　very；　very　ill；　you　must　not　see　him。”
Since　then　Pierre　had　not　been　disturbed；　and　he　spent　the　whole　day　alone　in　his　room　upstairs。
At　the　moment　when　Boris　came　in；　Pierre　was　walking　up　and　down　his　room；　stopping　now　and　then　in　the　corners；　making　menacing　gestures　at　the　wall；　as　though　thrusting　some　invisible　enemy　through　with　a　lance；　then　he　gazed　sternly　over　his　spectacles；　then　pacing　up　and　down　again；　murmuring　indistinct　words；　shrugging　his　shoulders　and　gesticulating。
“England’s　day　is　over！”　he　said；　scowling　and　pointing　at　some　one　with　his　finger。　“Mr。　Pitt；　as　a　traitor　to　the　nation　and　to　the　rights　of　man；　is　condemned…”　he　had　not　time　to　deliver　Pitt’s　sentence；　imagining　himself　at　that　moment　Napoleon；　and　having　in　the　person　of　his　hero　succeeded　in　the　dangerous　crossing　of　the　Channel　and　in　the　conquest　of　London；　when　he　saw　a　graceful；　handsome　young　officer　come　in。　He　stood　still。　Pierre　had　seen　Boris　last　as　a　boy　of　fourteen；　and　did　not　remember　him　in　the　least。　But　in　spite　of　that　he　took　his　hand　in　his　characteristically　quick　and　warm…hearted　manner；　and　smiled　cordially　at　him。
“You　remember　me？”　Boris　said　calmly　with　a　pleasant　smile。　“I　have　come　with　my　mother　to　see　the　count；　but　it　seems　he　is　not　quite　well。”
“Yes；　he　is　ill；　it　seems。　People　are　always　bothering　him；”　answered　Pierre；　trying　to　recall　who　this　youth　might　be。
Boris　perceived　that　Pierre　did　not　know　him；　but　did　not　think　fit　to　make　himself　known；　and　without　the　slightest　embarrassment　looked　him　straight　in　the　face。
“Count　Rostov　asks　you　to　come　to　dinner　with　him　to…day；”　he　said；　after　a　rather　long　silence　somewhat　disconcerting　for　Pierre。
“Ah；　Count　Rostov；”　began　Pierre；　delighted。　“So　you　are　his　son；　Ilya？　Can　you　believe　it；　for　the　first　moment　I　did　not　recognise　you。　Do　you　remember　how　we　used　to　slide　on　the　Sparrow　Hills　with　Madame　Jacquot　…　long　ago？”
“You　are　mistaken；”　said　Boris；　deliberately；　with　a　bold　and　rather　sarcastic　smile。　“I　am　Boris；　the　son　of　Princess　Anna　Mihalovna　Drubetskoy。　It　is　the　father　of　the　Rostovs　who　is　called　Ilya；　the　son’s　Nikolay。　And　I　don’t　know　any　Madame　Jacquot。”
Pierre　shook　his　hands　and　head；　as　though　flies　or　bees　were　swarming　upon　him。
“Ah；　how　is　it！　I’ve　mixed　it　all　up。　There　are　such　a　lot　of　relatives　in　Moscow！　You　are　Boris　…　yes。　Well；　now；　we　have　got　it　clear。　Tell　me；　what　do　you　think　of　the　Boulogne　expedition？　Things　will　go　badly　with　the　English；　you　know；　if　Napoleon　gets　across　the　Channel。　I　believe　that　the　expedition　is　very　possible。　If　only　Villeneuve　doesn’t　make　a　mess　of　it！”
Boris　knew　nothing　at　all　about　the　Boulogne　expedition；　and　it　was　the　first　time　he　had　heard　of　Villeneuve。
“Here　in　Moscow　we　are　more　interested　in　dinner　parties　and　scandal　than　in　politics；”　he　said　in　his　self…possessed；　sarcastic　tone。　“I　know　nothing　and　think　nothing　about　it。　Moscow’s　more　engrossed　in　scandal　than　anything；”　he　went　on。　“Just　now　they　are　all　talking　about　you　and　about　the　count。”
Pierre　smiled　his　kindly　smile；　as　though　afraid　for　his　companion’s　sake　that　he　might　say　something　he　would　regret。　But　Boris　spoke　distinctly；　clearly　and　drily；　looking　straight　into　Pierre’s　face。
“There’s　nothing　else　to　do　in　Moscow　but　talk　scandal；”　he　went　on。　“Every　one’s　absorbed　in　the　question　whom　the　count　will　leave　his　fortune　to；　though　perhaps　he　will　outlive　us　all；　as　I　sincerely　hope　he　may。”
“Yes；　all　that’s　very　horrid；”　Pierre　interposed；　“very　horrid。”　Pierre　was　still　afraid　this　officer　would　inadvertently　drop　into　some　remark　disconcerting　for　himself。
“And　it　must　seem　to　you；”　said　Boris；　flushing　slightly；　but　not　changing　his　voice　or　attitude；　“it　must　seem　to　you　that　every　one’s　thinking　of　nothing　but　getting　something　from　him。”
“That’s　just　it；”　thought　Pierre。
“And　that’s　just　what　I　want　to　say　to　you　to　prevent　misunderstandings；　that　you　are　very　much　mistaken　if　you　reckon　me　and　my　mother　among　those　people。　We　are　very　poor；　but　I—at　least　I　speak　for　myself—just　because　your　father　is　rich；　I　don’t　consider　myself　a　relation　of　his；　and　neither　I　nor　my　mother　would　ever　ask　him　for　anything　or　take　anything　from　him。”
It　was　a　long　while　before　Pierre　understood；　but；　when　he　did　understand；　he　jumped　up　from　the　sofa；　seized　Boris’s　hand　with　his　characteristic　quickness　and　awkwardness；　and　blushing　far　more　than　Boris；　began　speaking　with　a　mixed　sensation　of　shame　and　annoyance。
“Well；　this　is　strange！　Do　you　suppose　I　…　how　you　could　think　…　I　know　very　well　…”
But　Boris　again　interrupted　him。
“I　am　glad　I　have　told　you　everything　frankly。　Perhaps　you　dislike　it：　you　must　excuse　me；”　he　said；　trying　to　put　Pierre　at　his　ease　instead　of　being　put　at　his　ease　by　him；　“but　I　hope　I　have　not　offended　you。　I　make　it　a　rule　to　say　everything　quite　plainly。…　Then　what　message　am　I　to　take？　You　will　come　to　dinner　at　the　Rostovs’？”　And　Boris；　with　an　evident　sense　of　having　discharged　an　onerous　duty；　having　extricated　himself　from　an　awkward　position；　and　put　somebody　else　into　one　became　perfectly　pleasant　again。
“No；　let　me　tell　you；”　said　Pierre；　regaining　his　composure；　“you　are　a　wonderful　person。　What　you　have　just　said　was　very　fine；　very　fine。　Of　course　you　don’t　know　me；　it’s　so　long　since　we’ve　seen　each　other　…　we　were　children。…　You　might　suppose　I　should　…　I　understan