战争与和平(上)-第208章

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ought。　They；　in　Pierre’s　mind；　meant　the　soldiers；　those　who　had　been　on　the　battery；　and　those　who　had　given　him　food；　and　those　who　had　prayed　to　the　holy　picture。　They—those　strange　people；　of　whom　he　had　known　nothing　hitherto—they　stood　out　clearly　and　sharply　in　his　mind　apart　from　all　other　people。
“To　be　a　soldier；　simply　a　soldier！”　thought　Pierre　as　he　fell　asleep。　“To　enter　with　one’s　whole　nature　into　that　common　life；　to　be　filled　with　what　makes　them　what　they　are。　But　how　is　one　to　cast　off　all　that　is　superfluous；　devilish　in　one’s　self；　all　the　burden　of　the　outer　man？　At　one　time　I　might　have　been　the　same。　I　might　have　run　away　from　my　father　as　I　wanted　to。　After　the　duel　with　Dolohov　too　I　might　have　been　sent　for　a　soldier。”
And　into　Pierre’s　imagination　flashed　a　picture　of　the　dinner　at　the　club；　at　which　he　had　challenged　Dolohov；　then　the　image　of　his　benefactor　at　Torzhok。　And　there　rose　before　his　mind　a　solemn　meeting　of　the　lodge。　It　was　taking　place　at　the　English　Club。　And　some　one　he　knew；　some　one　near　and　dear　to　him；　was　sitting　at　the　end　of　the　table。　“Why；　it　is　he！　It　is　my　benefactor。　But　surely　he　died？”　thought　Pierre。　“Yes；　he　did　die；　but　I　didn’t　know　he　was　alive。　And　how　sorry　I　was　when　he　died；　and　how　glad　I　am　he　is　alive　again！”　On　one　side　of　the　table　were　sitting　Anatole；　Dolohov；　Nesvitsky；　Denisov；　and　others　like　them　（in　Pierre’s　dream　these　people　formed　as　distinct　a　class　apart　as　those　other　men　whom　he　had　called　them　to　himself）；　and　those　people；　Anatole　and　Dolohov；　were　loudly　shouting　and　singing。　But　through　their　clamour　the　voice　of　his　benefactor　could　be　heard　speaking　all　the　while；　and　the　sound　of　his　voice　was　as　weighty　and　as　uninterrupted　as　the　din　of　the　battlefield；　but　it　was　pleasant　and　comforting。　Pierre　did　not　understand　what　his　benefactor　was　saying；　but　he　knew　（the　category　of　his　ideas；　too；　was　distinct　in　his　dream）　that　he　was　talking　of　goodness；　of　the　possibility　of　being　like　them。　And　they　with　their　simple；　good；　plucky　faces　were　surrounding　his　benefactor　on　all　sides。　But　though　they　were　kindly；　they　did　not　look　at　Pierre；　they　did　not　know　him。　Pierre　wanted　to　attract　their　notice；　and　to　speak　to　them。　He　got　up；　but　at　the　same　instant　became　aware　that　his　legs　were　bare　and　chill。
He　felt　ashamed；　and　put　his　arm　over　his　legs；　from　which　his　cloak　had　in　fact　slipped　off。　For　an　instant　Pierre　opened　his　eyes　as　he　pulled　up　the　cloak；　and　saw　the　same　roofs；　and　posts；　and　yard；　but　it　was　now　full　of　bluish　light；　and　glistening　with　dew　or　frost。
“It’s　getting　light；”　thought　Pierre。　“But　that’s　not　the　point。　I　want　to　hear　and　understand　the　benefactor’s　words。”
He　muffled　himself　in　the　cloak　again；　but　the　masonic　dinner　and　his　benefactor　would　not　come　back。　All　that　remained　were　thoughts；　clearly　expressed　in　words；　ideas；　some　voice　was　speaking；　or　Pierre　was　thinking。
When　he　recalled　those　thoughts　later；　although　they　had　been　evoked　by　the　impressions　of　that　day；　Pierre　was　convinced　that　they　were　uttered　by　some　one　outside　himself。　It　seemed　to　him　that　he　had　never　been　capable　of　thinking　those　thoughts　and　expressing　them　in　that　form　in　his　waking　moments。
“The　most　difficult　thing　is　the　subjection　of　man’s　will　to　the　law　of　God；”　said　the　voice。　“Simplicity　is　the　submission　to　God；　there　is　no　escaping　from　Him。　And　they　are　simple。　They　do　not　talk；　but　act。　A　word　uttered　is　silver；　but　unuttered　is　golden。　No　one　can　be　master　of　anything　while　he　fears　death。　And　all　things　belong　to　him　who　fears　it　not。　If　it　were　not　for　suffering；　a　man　would　know　not　his　limits；　would　know　not　himself。　The　hardest　thing”　（Pierre　thought　or　heard　in　his　dream）　“is　to　know　how　to　unite　in　one’s　soul　the　significance　of　the　whole。　To　unite　the　whole？”　Pierre　said　to　himself。　“No；　not　to　unite。　One　cannot　unite　one’s　thoughts；　but　to　harness　together　all　those　ideas；　that’s　what’s　wanted。　Yes；　one　must　harness　together；　harness　together；”　Pierre　repeated　to　himself　with　a　thrill　of　ecstasy；　feeling　that　those　words；　and　only　those　words；　expressed　what　he　wanted　to　express；　and　solved　the　whole　problem　fretting　him。
“Yes；　one　must　harness　together；　it’s　time　to　harness…”
“We　want　to　harness　the　horses；　it’s　time　to　harness　the　horses；　your　excellency！　Your　excellency；”　some　voice　was　repeating；　“we　want　to　harness　the　horses；　it’s　time…”
It　was　the　groom　waking　Pierre。　The　sun　was　shining　full　in　Pierre’s　face。　He　glanced　at　the　dirty　tavern　yard；　at　the　well　in　the　middle　of　it　soldiers　were　watering　their　thin　horses；　and　waggons　were　moving　out　of　the　gate。
He　turned　away　with　repugnance；　and　shutting　his　eyes；　made　haste　to　huddle　up　again　on　the　seat　of　the　carriage。　“No；　I　don’t　want　that；　I　don’t　want　to　see　and　understand　that；　I　want　to　understand　what　was　revealed　to　me　in　my　sleep。　Another　second　and　I　should　have　understood　it　all。　But　what　am　I　to　do？　To　harness；　but　how　to　harness　all　together？”　And　Pierre　felt　with　horror　that　the　whole　meaning　of　what　he　had　seen　and　thought　in　his　dream　had　slipped　away。
The　groom；　the　coachman；　and　the　porter　told　Pierre　that　an　officer　had　come　with　the　news　that　the　French　were　advancing　on　Mozhaisk　and　our　troops　were　retreating。
Pierre　got　up；　and　ordering　the　carriage　to　be　got　out　and　to　drive　after　him；　crossed　the　town　on　foot。
The　troops　were　marching　out；　leaving　tens　of　thousands　of　wounded　behind。　The　wounded　could　be　seen　at　the　windows　of　the　houses；　and　were　crowding　the　yards　and　streets。　Screams；　oaths；　and　blows　could　be　heard　in　the　streets　about　the　carts　which　were　to　carry　away　the　wounded。　Pierre　put　his　carriage　at　the　service　of　a　wounded　general　of　his　acquaintance；　and　drove　with　him　to　Moscow。　On　the　way　he　was　told　of　the　death　of　his　brother…in…law；　Anatole；　and　of　the　death　of　Prince　Andrey。


Chapter　10
ON　THE　30TH　Pierre　returned　to　Moscow。　Almost　at　the　city　gates　he　was　met　by　an　adjutant　of　Count　Rastoptchin’s。
“Why；　we　have　been　looking　for　you　everywhere；”　said　the　adjutant。　“The　count　urgently　wants　to　see　you。　He　begs　you　to　come　to　him　at　once　on　very　important　business。”　Instead　of　going　home；　Pierre　hailed　a　cab…driver　and　drove　to　the　governor’s。
Count　Rastoptchin　had　only　that　morning　arrived　from　his　summer　villa　at　Sokolniky。　The　ante…room　and　waiting…room　in　the　count’s　house　were　full　of　officials；　who　had　been　summoned　by　him；　or　had　come　to　him　for　instructions。　Vassiltchekov　and　Platov　had　already　seen　the　count；　and　informed　him　that　the　defence　of　Moscow　was　out　of　the　question；　and　the　city　would　be　surrendered。　Though　the　news　was　being　concealed　from　the　citizens；　the　heads　of　various　departments　and　officials　of　different　kinds　knew　that　Moscow　would　soon　be　in　the　hands　of　the　enemy；　just　as　Count　Rastoptchin　knew　it。　And　all　of　them　to　escape　personal　responsibility　had　come　to　the　governor　to　inquire　how　to　act　in　regard　to　the　offices　in　their　charge。
At　the　moment　when　Pierre　went　into　the　waiting…room；　a　courier　from　the　army　was　just　coming　out　from　an　interview　with　the　count。
The　courier　waved　his　hand　with　a　hopeless　air　at　the　questions　with　which　he　was　besieged；　and　walked　across　the　room。
While　he　waited；　Pierre　watched　with　weary　eyes　the　various　officials—young；　old；　military；　and　civilian；　important　and　insignificant—　who　were　gathered　together　in　the　room。　All　seemed　dissatisfied　and　uneasy。　Pierre　went　up　to　one　group　of　functionaries；　among　whom　he　recognised　an　acquaintance。　After　greeting　him；　they　went　on　with　their　conversation。
“Well；　to　send　out　and　bring　back　again　would　be　no　harm；　but　in　the　present　position　of　affairs　there’s　no　answering　for　anything。”
“But　look　here；　what　he　writes；”　said　another；　pointing　to　a　printed　paper　he　held　in　his　hand。
“That’s　a　different　matter。　That’s　necessary　for　the　common　people；”　said　the　first。
“What　is　it？”　asked　Pierre。
“The　new　proclamation。”
Pierre　took　it　and　began　to　read。
“His　highness　the　prince　has　passed　Mozhaisk；　so　as　to　unite　with　the　troops　that　are　going　to　join　him；　and　has　taken　up　a　strong　position；　where　the　enemy　cannot　attack　him　suddenly。　Forty…eight　cannon　with　shells　have　been　sent　him　from　here；　and　his　highness　declares　that　he　will　defend　Moscow　to　the　last　drop　of　blood；　and　is　ready　even　to　fight　in　the　streets。　Don’t　mind；　brothers；　that　the　courts　of　justice　are　closed；　we　must　take　our　measures；　and　we’ll　deal　with　miscreants　in　our　own　fashion。　When　the　time　comes；　I　shall　have　need　of　some　gallant　fellows；　both　of　town　and　country。　I　will　give　the　word　in　a　couple　of　days；　but　now　there’s　no　need；　and　I　hold　my　peace。　The　axe　is　useful；　the　pike；　too；　is　not　to　be　despised；　but　best　of　all　is　the　three…pronged　fork：　a　Frenchman　is　no　heavier　than　a　sheaf　of　rye。　To…morrow　after　dinner；　I　shall　take　the　Iversky　Holy　Mother　to　St。　Catherine’s　Hospital　to　the　wounded。　There　we　will　consecrate　the　water；　they　will　soon　be　well　again。　I；　too　am　well　now；　one　of　my　eyes　was　bad；　but　now　I　look　well　out　of　both。”
“Why；　I　was　told　by　military　men；”　said　Pierre；　“that　there　could　be　no　fighting　in　the　town　itself；　and　the　position…”
“To　be　sure；　that’s　just　what　we　are　saying；”　said　the　first　speaker。
“But　what　does　that　mean：　‘One　of　my　eyes　was　bad；　but　now　I　look　out　of　both’？”　asked　Pierre。
“The　count　had　a　sty　in　his　eye；”　said　the　adjutant　smiling；　“and　he　was　very　much　put　out　when　I　told　him　people　were　coming　to　ask　what　was　the　matter。　And　oh；　count；”　he　said　suddenly；　addressing　Pierre　with　a　smile；　“we　have　been　hearing　that　you　are　in　trouble　with　domestic　anxieties；　that　the　countess；　your　spouse…”
“I　have　heard　nothing　about　it；”　said　Pierre　indifferently。　“What　is　it　you　have　heard？”
“Oh；　you　know；　stories　are　so　often　made　up。　I　only　repeat　what　I　hear。”
“What　have　you　heard？”
“Oh；　they　say；”　said　the　adjutant　again　with　the　same　smile；　“that　the　countess；　your　wife；　is　preparing　to　go　abroad。　It’s　most　likely　nonsense。”
“It　may　be；”　said　Pierre；　looking　absent…mindedly　about　him。　“Who　is　that？”　he　asked；　indicating　a　tall　old　man　in　a　clean　blue　overcoat；　with　a　big；　snow…white　beard　and　eyebrows　and　a　ruddy　face。
“That？　Oh；　he’s　a　merchant；　that　is；　he’s　the　restaurant…keeper；　Vereshtchagin。　You　have　heard　the　story　of　the　proclamation；　I　dare　say？”
“Oh；　so　that’s　Vereshtchagin！”　said　Pierre；　scrutinising　the　firm；　calm　face　of　the　old　merchant；　and　seeking　in　it　some　token　of　treachery。
“That’s　not　the　man　himself。　That’s　the　father　of　the　fellow　who　wrote　the　proclamation；”　said　the　adjutant。　“The　young　man　himself　is　in　custody；　and　I　fancy　it　will　go　hard　with　him。”
A　little　old　gentleman　with　a　star；　and　a　German　official　with　a　cross　on　his　neck；　joined　the　group。
“It’s　a　complicated　story；　you　see；”　the　adjutant　was　relating。　“The　proclamation　appeared　two　months　ago。　It　was　brought　to　the　count。　He　ordered　inquiry　to　be　made。　Well；　Gavrilo　Ivanitch　made　investigations；　the　proclamation　had　passed　through　some　sixty…three　hands。　We　come　to　one　and　ask；　From　whom　did　you　get　it？　From　so　and　so。　And　the　next　refers　us　o