战争与和平(上)-第227章

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d　it）　a　kind　of　soft；　whispering　voice；　incessantly　beating　time：　“Piti…pitt…piti；”　and　then　“i…ti…ti；”　and　again；　“ipiti…piti…piti；”　and　again　“i…ti…ti。”　And　to　the　sound　of　this　murmuring　music　Prince　Andrey　felt　as　though　a　strange；　ethereal　edifice　of　delicate　needles　or　splinters　were　being　raised　over　his　face；　over　the　very　middle　of　it。　He　felt　that　（hard　though　it　was　for　him）　he　must　studiously　preserve　his　balance　that　this　rising　edifice　might　not　fall　to　pieces；　but　yet　it　was　falling　to　pieces；　and　slowly　rising　up　again　to　the　rhythmic　beat　of　the　murmuring　music。
“It　is　stretching　out；　stretching　out；　and　spreading　and　stretching　out！”　Prince　Andrey　said　to　himself。　While　he　listened　to　the　murmur　and　felt　that　edifice　of　needles　stretching　out；　and　rising　up；　Prince　Andrey　saw　by　glimpses　a　red　ring　of　light　round　the　candle；　and　heard　the　rustling　of　the　cockroaches　and　the　buzzing　of　the　fly　as　it　flopped　against　his　pillow　and　his　face。　And　every　time　the　fly　touched　his　face；　it　gave　him　a　stinging　sensation；　but　yet　it　surprised　him　that　though　the　fly　struck　him　in　the　very　centre　of　the　rising　edifice　it　did　not　shatter　it。　But；　apart　from　all　this；　there　was　one　other　thing　of　importance。　That　was　the　white　thing　at　the　door；　that　was　a　statue　of　the　sphinx；　which　oppressed　him　too
“But　perhaps　it　is　my　shirt　on　the　table；”　thought　Prince　Andrey；　“and　that’s　my　legs；　and　that’s　the　door；　but　why　this　straining　and　moving　and　piti…piti…piti　and　ti…ti　and　piti…piti…piti　…　Enough；　cease；　be　still；　please；”　Prince　Andrey　besought　some　one　wearily。　And　all　at　once　thought　and　feeling　floated　to　the　surface　again　with　extraordinary　clearness　and　force。
“Yes；　love　（he　thought　again　with　perfect　distinctness）；　but　not　that　love　that　loves　for　something；　to　gain　something；　or　because　of　something；　but　that　love　that　I　felt　for　the　first　time；　when　dying；　I　saw　my　enemy　and　yet　loved　him。　I　knew　that　feeling　of　love　which　is　the　very　essence　of　the　soul；　for　which　no　object　is　needed。　And　I　know　that　blissful　feeling　now　too。　To　love　one’s　neighbours；　to　love　one’s　enemies。　To　love　everything—to　love　God　in　all　His　manifestations。　Some　one　dear　to　one　can　be　loved　with　human　love；　but　an　enemy　can　only　be　loved　with　divine　love。　And　that　was　why　I　felt　such　joy　when　I　felt　that　I　loved　that　man。　What　happened　to　him？　Is　he　alive？　…　Loving　with　human　love；　one　may　pass　from　love　to　hatred；　but　divine　love　cannot　change。　Nothing；　not　even　death；　nothing　can　shatter　it。　It　is　the　very　nature　of　the　soul。　And　how　many　people　I　have　hated　in　my　life。　And　of　all　people　none　I　have　loved　and　hated　more　than　her。”　And　he　vividly　pictured　Natasha　to　himself；　not　as　he　had　pictured　her　in　the　past；　only　with　the　charm　that　had　been　a　joy　to　him；　for　the　first　time　he　pictured　to　himself　her　soul。　And　he　understood　her　feeling；　her　sufferings；　her　shame；　and　her　penitence。　Now；　for　the　first　time；　he　felt　all　the　cruelty　of　his　abandonment；　saw　all　the　cruelty　of　his　rupture　with　her。　“If　it　were　only　possible　for　me　to　see　her　once　more　…　once；　looking　into　those　eyes；　to　say　…”
Piti…piti…piti　iti…ti；　ipiti…piti—boom；　the　fly　flapped　…　And　his　attention　passed　all　at　once　into　another　world　of　reality　and　delirium；　in　which　something　peculiar　was　taking　place。　In　that　place　the　edifice　was　still　rising；　unshattered；　something　was　still　stretching　out；　the　candle　was　still　burning；　with　a　red　ring　round　it；　the　same　shirt…sphinx　still　lay　by　the　door。　But　beside　all　this；　something　creaked；　there　was　a　whiff　of　fresh　air；　and　a　new　white　sphinx　appeared　standing　before　the　doorway。　And　that　sphinx　had　the　white　face　and　shining　eyes　of　that　very　Natasha　he　had　been　dreaming　of　just　now。
“Oh；　how　wearisome　this　everlasting　delirium　is！”　thought　Prince　Andrey；　trying　to　dispel　that　face　from　his　vision。　But　that　face　stood　before　him　with　the　face　of　reality；　and　that　face　was　coming　closer。　Prince　Andrey　tried　to　go　back　to　the　world　of　pure　thought；　but　he　could　not；　and　he　was　drawn　back　into　the　realm　of　delirium。　The　soft　murmuring　voice　kept　up　its　rhythmic　whisper；　something　was　oppressing　him；　and　rising　up；　and　the　strange　face　stood　before　him。　Prince　Andrey　rallied　all　his　forces　to　regain　his　senses；　he　stirred　a　little；　and　suddenly　there　was　a　ringing　in　his　ears　and　a　dimness　before　his　eyes；　and　like　a　man　sinking　under　water；　he　lost　consciousness。
When　he　came　to　himself；　Natasha；　the　very　living　Natasha；　whom　of　all　people　in　the　world　he　most　longed　to　love　with　that　new；　pure；　divine　love　that　had　now　been　revealed　to　him；　was　on　her　knees　before　him。　He　knew　that　it　was　the　real；　living　Natasha；　and　did　not　wonder；　but　quietly　rejoiced。　Natasha；　on　her　knees；　in　terror；　but　without　moving　（she　could　not　have　moved）；　gazed　at　him；　restraining　her　sobs。　Her　face　was　white　and　rigid。　There　was　only　a　sort　of　quiver　in　the　lower　part　of　it。
Prince　Andrey　drew　a　sigh　of　relief；　smiled；　and　held　out　his　hand。
“You？”　he　said。　“What　happiness！”
With　a　swift　but　circumspect　movement；　Natasha　came　nearer；　still　kneeling；　and　carefully　taking　his　hand　she　bent　her　face　over　it　and　began　kissing　it；　softly　touching　it　with　her　lips。
“Forgive　me！”　she　said　in　a　whisper；　lifting　her　head　and　glancing　at　him。　“Forgive　me！”
“I　love　you；”　said　Prince　Andrey。
“Forgive　…”
“Forgive　what？”　asked　Prince　Andrey。
“Forgive　me　for　what　I　di　…　id；”　Natasha　murmured　in　a　hardly　audible；　broken　whisper；　and　again　and　again　she　softly　put　her　lips　to　his　hand。
“I　love　thee　more；　better　than　before；”　said　Prince　Andrey；　lifting　her　face　with　his　hand　so　that　he　could　look　into　her　eyes。
Those　eyes；　swimming　with　happy　tears；　gazed　at　him　with　timid　commiseration　and　joyful　love。　Natasha’s　thin；　pale　face；　with　its　swollen　lips；　was　more　than　ugly—it　looked　terrible。　But　Prince　Andrey　did　not　see　her　face；　he　saw　the　shining　eyes；　which　were　beautiful。　They　heard　talk　behind　them。
Pyotr；　the　valet；　by　now　wide　awake；　had　waked　up　the　doctor。　Timohin；　who　had　not　slept　all　night　for　the　pain　in　his　leg；　had　been　long　watching　all　that　was　happening；　and　huddled　up　on　his　bench；　carefully　wrapping　his　bare　person　up　in　the　sheet。
“Why；　what’s　this？”　said　the　doctor；　getting　up　from　his　bed　on　the　floor。　“Kindly　retire；　madame。”
At　that　moment　there　was　a　knock　at　the　door；　a　maid　had　been　sent　by　the　countess　in　search　of　her　daughter。
Like　a　sleep…walker　awakened　in　the　midst　of　her　trance；　Natasha　walked　out　of　the　room；　and　getting　back　to　her　hut；　sank　sobbing　on　her　bed。
From　that　day　at　all　the　halts　and　resting…places　on　the　remainder　of　the　Rostovs’　journey；　Natasha　never　left　Bolkonsky’s　side；　and　the　doctor　was　forced　to　admit　that　he　had　not　expected　from　a　young　girl　so　much　fortitude；　nor　skill　in　nursing　a　wounded　man。
Terrible　as　it　was　to　the　countess　to　think　that　Prince　Andrey　might　（and　very　probably；　too；　from　what　the　doctor　said）　die　on　the　road　in　her　daughter’s　arms；　she　could　not　resist　Natasha。　Although　with　the　renewal　of　affectionate　relations　between　Prince　Andrey　and　Natasha　the　idea　did　occur　that　in　case　he　recovered　their　old　engagement　would　be　renewed；　no　one—least　of　all　Natasha　and　Prince　Andrey—spoke　of　this。　The　unsettled　question　of　life　and　death　hanging；　not　only　over　Prince　Andrey；　but　over　all　Russia；　shut　off　all　other　considerations。


Chapter　33
PIERRE　waked　up　late　on　the　3rd　of　September。　His　head　ached；　the　clothes　in　which　he　had　slept　without　undressing　fretted　his　body；　and　he　had　a　vague　sense　in　his　heart　of　something　shameful　he　had　done　the　evening　before。　That　something　shameful　was　his　talk　with　Captain　Ramballe。
His　watch　told　him　it　was　eleven；　but　it　seemed　a　particularly　dull　day。　Pierre　stood　up；　rubbed　his　eyes；　and　seeing　the　pistol　with　its　engraved　stock—Gerasim　had　put　it　back　on　the　writing…table—Pierre　remembered　where　he　was　and　what　was　in　store　for　him　that　day
“Am　I　not　too　late　already？”　Pierre　wondered。
No；　probably　he　would　not　make　his　entry　into　Moscow　before　twelve　o’clock。　Pierre　did　not　allow　himself　to　reflect　on　what　lay　before　him；　but　made　haste　to　act。
Setting　his　clothes　to　rights；　Pierre　took　up　the　pistol　and　was　about　to　set　off。　But　then　for　the　first　time　it　occurred　to　him　to　wonder　how；　if　not　in　his　hand；　he　was　to　carry　the　weapon　in　the　street。　Even　under　his　full　coat　it　would　be　hard　to　conceal　a　big　pistol。　It　could　not　be　put　in　his　sash；　nor　under　his　arm；　without　being　noticeable。　Moreover；　the　pistol　was　now　unloaded；　and　Pierre　could　not　succeed　in　reloading　it　in　time。　“The　dagger　will　do　as　well；”　Pierre　said　to　himself；　though；　in　considering　how　he　should　carry　out　his　design；　he　had　more　than　once　decided　that　the　great　mistake　made　by　the　student　in　1809　was　that　he　had　tried　to　kill　Napoleon　with　a　dagger。　But　Pierre’s　chief　aim　seemed　to　be；　not　so　much　to　succeed　in　his　project；　as　to　prove　to　himself　that　he　was　not　renouncing　his　design；　but　was　doing　everything　to　carry　it　out。　Pierre　hurriedly　took　the　blunt；　notched　dagger　in　a　green　scabbard；　which　he　had　bought；　together　with　the　pistol；　at　the　Suharev　Tower；　and　hid　it　under　his　waistcoat。
Tying　the　sash　round　his　peasant’s　coat；　and　pulling　his　cap　forward；　Pierre　walked　along　the　corridor；　trying　to　avoid　making　a　noise　and　meeting　the　captain；　and　slipped　out　into　the　street。
The　fire；　at　which　he　had　gazed　so　indifferently　the　evening　before；　had　sensibly　increased　during　the　night。　Moscow　was　on　fire　at　various　points。　There　were　fires　at　the　same　time　in　Carriage　Row；　Zamoskvoryetche；　the　Bazaar；　and　Povarsky；　and　the　timber　market　near　Dorogomilov　bridge　and　the　barges　in　the　river　Moskva　were　in　a　blaze。
Pierre’s　way　lay　across　a　side　street　to　Povarsky；　and　from　there　across　Arbaty　to　the　chapel　of　Nikola　Yavlenny；　where　he　had　long　before　in　his　fancy　fixed　on　the　spot　at　which　the　deed　ought　to　be　done。　Most　of　the　houses　had　their　gates　and　shutters　closed。　The　streets　and　lanes　were　deserted；　there　was　a　smell　of　burning　and　smoke　in　the　air。　Now　and　then　he　met　Russians　with　uneasy　and　timid　faces；　and　Frenchmen　with　a　look　of　the　camp　about　them；　walking　in　the　middle　of　the　road。　Both　looked　at　Pierre　with　surprise。　Apart　from　his　great　height　and　stoutness；　and　the　look　of　gloomy　concentration　and　suffering　in　his　face　and　whole　figure；　Russians　stared　at　Pierre　because　they　could　not　make　out　to　what　class　he　belonged。　Frenchmen　looked　after　him　with　surprise；　because；　while　all　other　Russians　stared　timidly　and　inquisitively　at　them；　Pierre　walked　by　without　noticing　them。　At　the　gates　of　a　house；　three　Frenchmen；　disputing　about　something　with　some　Russians；　who　did　not　understand　their　meaning；　stopped　Pierre　to　ask　whether　he　knew　French。
Pierre　shook　his　head　and　walked　on。　In　another　lane　a　sentinel；　on　guard　by　a　green　caisson；　shouted　at　him；　and　it　was　only　at　the　repetition　of　his　menacing　shout；　and　the　sound　of　his　picking　up　his　gun；　that　Pierre　grasped　that　he　ought　to　have　passed　the　street　on　the　other　side。　He　heard　and　saw　nothing　around　him。　With　haste　and　horror　he　bore　within　him　his　intention　as　something　strange　and　fearful　to　him；　fearing