战争与和平(上)-第229章

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；　so　as　to　be　able　to　go　back　and　save　some　one　else。　It　seemed　to　Pierre　that　he　had　a　great　deal　more　to　do；　and　to　do　quickly。　Warmed　up　by　the　heat　and　running；　Pierre　felt　even　more　strongly　at　that　minute　the　sense　of　youth；　eagerness；　and　resolution；　which　had　come　upon　him　when　he　was　running　to　save　the　baby。
The　child　was　quiet　now；　and　clinging　to　Pierre’s　coat　with　her　little　hands；　she　sat　on　his　arm；　and　looked　about　her　like　a　little　wild　beast。　Pierre　glanced　at　her　now　and　then；　and　smiled　slightly。　He　fancied　he　saw　something　touchingly　innocent　in　the　frightened；　sickly　little　face。
Neither　the　official　nor　his　wife　were　in　the　place　where　he　had　left　them。　With　rapid　steps；　Pierre　walked　about　among　the　crowd；　scanning　the　different　faces　he　came　across。　He　could　not　help　noticing　a　Georgian　or　Armenian　family；　consisting　of　a　very　old　man；　of　a　handsome　Oriental　cast　of　face；　dressed　in　a　new　cloth…faced　sheepskin　and　new　boots；　an　old　woman　of　a　similar　type；　and　a　young　woman。　The　latter—a　very　young　woman—struck　Pierre　as　a　perfect　example　of　Oriental　beauty；　with　her　sharply　marked；　arched；　black　eyebrows；　her　extraordinarily　soft；　bright　colour　and　beautiful；　expressionless；　oval　face。　Among　the　goods　flung　down　in　the　crowd　in　the　grass　space；　in　her　rich　satin　mantle；　and　the　bright　lilac　kerchief　on　her　head；　she　suggested　a　tender；　tropical　plant；　thrown　down　in　the　snow。　She　was　sitting　on　the　baggage　a　little　behind　the　old　woman；　and　her　big；　black；　long…shaped　eyes；　with　their　long　lashes；　were　fixed　immovably　on　the　ground。　Evidently　she　was　aware　of　her　beauty；　and　fearful　because　of　it。　Her　face　struck　Pierre；　and　in　his　haste　he　looked　round　at　her　several　times　as　he　passed　along　by　the　fence。　Reaching　the　fence；　and　still　failing　to　find　the　people　he　was　looking　for；　Pierre　stood　still　and　looked　round。
Pierre’s　figure　was　more　remarkable　than　ever　now　with　the　baby　in　his　arms；　and　several　Russians；　both　men　and　women；　gathered　about　him。
“Have　you　lost　some　one；　good　sir？　Are　you　a　gentleman　yourself；　or　what？　Whose　baby　is　it？”　they　asked　him。
Pierre　answered　that　the　baby　belonged　to　a　woman　in　a　black　mantle；　who　had　been　sitting　at　this　spot　with　her　children；　and　asked　whether　any　one　knew　her；　and　where　she　had　gone。
“Why；　it　must　be　the　Anferovs；”　said　an　old　deacon　addressing　a　pock…marked　peasant　woman。　“Lord；　have　mercy　on　us！　Lord；　have　mercy　on　us！”　he　added；　in　his　professional　bass。
“The　Anferovs；”　said　the　woman。　“Why；　the　Anferovs　have　been　gone　since　early　this　morning。　It　will　either　be　Marya　Nikolaevna’s　or　Ivanova’s。”
“He　says　a　woman；　and　Marya　Nikolaevna’s　a　lady；”　said　a　house…serf。
“You　know　her；　then；　a　thin　woman—long　teeth；”　said　Pierre。
“To　be　sure；　Marya　Nikolaevna。　They　moved　off　into　the　garden　as　soon　as　these　wolves　pounced　down　on　us；”　said　the　woman；　indicating　the　French　soldiers。
“O　Lord；　have　mercy　on　us！”　the　deacon　added　again。
“You　go　on　yonder；　they　are　there。　It’s　she；　for　sure。　She　was　quite　beside　herself　with　crying；”　said　the　woman　again。　“It’s　she。　Here　this　way。”
But　Pierre　was　not　heeding　the　woman。　For　several　seconds　he　had　been　gazing　intently　at　what　was　passing　a　few　paces　from　him。　He　was　looking　at　the　Armenian　family　and　two　French　soldiers；　who　had　approached　them。　One　of　these　soldiers；　a　nimble；　little　man；　was　dressed　in　a　blue　coat；　with　a　cord　tied　round　for　a　belt。　He　had　a　night…cap　on　his　head；　and　his　feet　were　bare。　Another；　whose　appearance　struck　Pierre　particularly；　was　a　long；　round…shouldered；　fair…haired；　thin　man；　with　ponderous　movements　and　an　idiotic　expression　of　face。　He　was　dressed　in　a　frieze　tunic；　blue　trousers　and　big；　torn；　high　boots。　The　little　bare…footed　Frenchman　in　the　blue　coat；　on　going　up　to　the　Armenians；　said　something；　and　at　once　took　hold　of　the　old　man’s　legs；　and　the　old　man　began　immediately　in　haste　pulling　off　his　boots。　The　other　soldier　in　the　tunic　stopped　facing　the　beautiful　Armenian　girl；　with　his　hands　in　his　pockets；　and　stared　at　her　without　speaking　or　moving。
“Take　it；　take　the　child；”　said　Pierre；　handing　the　child　to　the　peasant　woman；　and　speaking　with　peremptory　haste。　“You　give　her　to　them；　you　take　her；”　he　almost　shouted　to　the　woman；　setting　the　screaming　child　on　the　ground；　and　looking　round　again　at　the　Frenchmen　and　the　Armenian　family。　The　old　man　was　by　now　sitting　barefoot。　The　little　Frenchman　had　just　taken　the　second　boot　from　him；　and　was　slapping　the　boots　together。　The　old　man　was　saying　something　with　a　sob；　but　all　that　Pierre　only　saw　in　a　passing　glimpse。　His　whole　attention　was　absorbed　by　the　Frenchman　in　the　tunic；　who　had　meanwhile；　with　a　deliberate；　swinging　gait；　moved　up　to　the　young　woman；　and　taking　his　hands　out　of　his　pockets；　caught　hold　of　her　neck。
The　beautiful　Armenian　still　sat　in　the　same　immobile　pose；　with　her　long　lashes　drooping；　and　seemed　not　to　see　and　not　to　feel　what　the　soldier　was　doing　to　her。
While　Pierre　ran　the　few　steps　that　separated　him　from　the　Frenchman；　the　long　soldier　in　the　tunic　had　already　torn　the　necklace　from　the　Armenian　beauty’s　neck；　and　the　young　woman；　clutching　at　her　neck　with　both　hands；　screamed　shrilly。
“Let　that　woman　alone！”　Pierre　roared　in　a　voice　hoarse　with　rage；　and　seizing　the　long；　stooping　soldier　by　the　shoulders　he　shoved　him　away。　The　soldier　fell　down；　got　up；　and　ran　away。　His　comrade；　dropping　the　boots；　pulled　out　his　sword；　and　moved　up　to　Pierre　in　a　menacing　attitude。
“Voyons；　pas　de　bêtises！”　he　shouted。
Pierre　was　in　that　transport　of　frenzy　in　which　he　remembered　nothing；　and　his　strength　was　increased　tenfold。　He　dashed　at　the　barefoot　Frenchman；　and　before　he　had　time　to　draw　his　cutlass；　he　knocked　him　down；　and　was　pommelling　him　with　his　fists　Shouts　of　approval　were　heard　from　the　crowd　around；　and　at　the　same　time　a　patrol　of　French　Uhlans　came　riding　round　the　corner。　The　Uhlans　trotted　up　to　Pierre；　and　the　French　soldiers　surrounded　him。　Pierre　had　no　recollection　of　what　followed。　He　remembered　that　he　beat　somebody；　and　was　beaten；　and　that　in　the　end　he　found　that　his　hands　were　tied；　that　a　group　of　French　soldiers　were　standing　round　him；　ransacking　his　clothes。
“Lieutenant；　he　has　a　dagger；”　were　the　first　words　Pierre　grasped　the　meaning　of。
“Ah；　a　weapon；”　said　the　officer；　and　he　turned　to　the　barefoot　soldier；　who　had　been　taken　with　Pierre。　“Very　good；　very　good；　you　can　tell　all　your　story　at　the　court…martial；”　said　the　officer。　And　then　he　turned　to　Pierre：　“Do　you　know　French？”
Pierre　looked　about　him　with　bloodshot　eyes；　and　made　no　reply。　Probably　his　face　looked　very　terrible；　for　the　officer　said　something　in　a　whisper；　and　four　more　Uhlans　left　the　rest；　and　stationed　themselves　both　sides　of　Pierre。
“Do　you　speak　French？”　the　officer；　keeping　his　distance；　repeated　the　question。　“Call　the　interpreter。”　From　the　ranks　a　little　man　came　forward；　in　a　Russian　civilian　dress。　Pierre；　from　his　dress　and　speech；　at　once　recognised　in　him　a　French　shopman　from　some　Moscow　shop。
“He　doesn’t　look　like　a　common　man；”　said　the　interpreter；　scanning　Pierre。
“Oh；　oh；　he　looks　very　like　an　incendiary；”　said　the　officer。　“Ask　him　who　he　is；”　he　added。
“Who　are　you？”　asked　the　interpreter　in　his　Frenchified　Russian。　“You　must　answer　the　officer。”
“I　will　not　say　who　I　am。　I　am　your　prisoner。　Take　me　away。”　Pierre　said　suddenly　in　French。
“Ah！　ah！”　commented　the　officer；　knitting　his　brows；　“well；　march　then！”
A　crowd　had　gathered　around　the　Uhlans。　Nearest　of　all　to　Pierre　stood　the　pock…marked　peasant　woman　with　the　child。　When　the　patrol　was　moving；　she　stepped　forward：
“Why；　where　are　they　taking　you；　my　good　soul？”　she　said。　“The　child！　what　am　I　to　do　with　the　child　if　it’s　not　theirs？”　she　cried。
“What　does　she　want；　this　woman？”　asked　the　officer。
Pierre　was　like　a　drunken　man。　His　excitement　was　increased　at　the　sight　of　the　little　girl　he　had　saved。
“What　does　she　want？”　he　said。　“She　is　carrying　my　daughter；　whom　I　have　just　saved　from　the　flames；”　he　declared。　“Good…bye！”　and　utterly　at　a　loss　to　explain　to　himself　the　aimless　lie　he　had　just　blurted　out；　he　strode　along　with　a　resolute　and　solemn　step　between　the　Frenchmen。
The　patrol　of　Uhlans　was　one　of　those　that　had　been　sent　out　by　Durosnel’s　orders　through　various　streets　of　Moscow　to　put　a　stop　to　pillage；　and　still　more　to　capture　the　incendiaries；　who　in　the　general　opinion　of　the　French　officers　in　the　higher　ranks　on　that　day　were　causing　the　fires。　Patrolling　several　streets；　the　Uhlans　arrested　five　more　suspicious　characters；　a　shopkeeper；　two　divinity　students；　a　peasant；　and　a　house…serf—all　Russians—besides　several　French　soldiers　engaged　in　pillage。　But　of　all　these　suspicious　characters　Pierre　seemed　to　them　the　most　suspicious　of　all。
When　they　had　all　been　brought　for　the　night　to　a　big　house　on　Zubovsky　rampart；　which　had　been　fixed　upon　as　a　guardhouse；　Pierre　was　put　apart　from　the　rest　under　strict　guard。


Part　Twelve
Chapter　1
IN　THE　HIGHER　CIRCLES　in　Petersburg　the　intricate　conflict　between　the　parties　of　Rumyantsev；　of　the　French；　of　Marya　Fyodorovna；　of　the　Tsarevitch；　and　the　rest　was　going　on　all　this　time　with　more　heat　than　ever；　drowned；　as　always；　by　the　buzzing　of　the　court　drones。　But　the　easy；　luxurious　life　of　Petersburg；　troubled　only　about　phantasms；　the　reflection　of　life；　went　on　its　old　way；　and　the　course　of　that　life　made　it　a　difficult　task　to　believe　in　the　danger　and　the　difficult　position　of　the　Russian　people。　There　were　the　same　levees　and　balls；　the　same　French　theatre；　the　same　court　interests；　the　same　interests　and　intrigues　in　the　government　service。　It　was　only　in　the　very　highest　circles　that　efforts　were　made　to　recollect　the　difficulty　of　the　real　position。　There　was　whispered　gossip　of　how　the　two　Empresses　had　acted　in　opposition　to　one　another　in　these　difficult　circumstances。　The　Empress　Marya　Fyodorovna；　anxious　for　the　welfare　of　the　benevolent　and　educational　institutions　under　her　patronage；　had　arrangements　made　for　the　removal　of　all　the　institutes　to　Kazan；　and　all　the　belongings　of　these　establishments　were　already　packed。　The　Empress　Elizaveta　Alexyevna　on　being　asked　what　commands　she　was　graciously　pleased　to　give；　had　been　pleased　to　reply　that　in　regard　to　state　matters　she　could　give　no　commands；　since　that　was　all　in　the　Tsar’s　hands；　as　far　as　she　personally　was　concerned；　she　had　graciously　declared；　with　her　characteristic　Russian　patriotism；　that　she　would　be　the　last　to　leave　Petersburg。
On　the　26th　of　August；　the　very　day　of　the　battle　of　Borodino；　there　was　a　soirée　at　Anna　Pavlovna’s；　the　chief　attraction　of　which　was　to　be　the　reading　of　the　Metropolitan’s　letter；　written　on　the　occasion　of　his　sending　to　the　Tsar　the　holy　picture　of　Saint　Sergey。　This　letter　was　looked　upon　as　a　model　of　patriotic　ecclesiastical　eloquence。　It　was　to　be　read　by　Prince　Vassily　himself；　who　was　famed　for　his　fine　elocution。　（He　used　even　to　read　aloud　in　the　Empress’s　drawing…room。）　The　beauty　of　his　elocution　was　supposed　to　lie　in　the　loud；　resonant　voice；　varying　between　a　despairing　howl　and　a　tender　wh