战争与和平(上)-第230章

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n　was　supposed　to　lie　in　the　loud；　resonant　voice；　varying　between　a　despairing　howl　and　a　tender　whine；　in　which　he　rolled　off　the　words　quite　independently　of　the　sense；　so　that　a　howl　fell　on　one　word　and　a　whine　on　others　quite　at　random。　This　reading；　as　was　always　the　case　with　Anna　Pavlovna’s　entertainments；　had　a　political　significance。　She　was　expecting　at　this　soirée　several　important　personages　who　were　to　be　made　to　feel　ashamed　of　patronising　the　French　theatre；　and　to　be　roused　to　patriotic　fervour。　A　good　many　people　had　already　arrived；　but　Anna　Pavlovna　did　not　yet　see　those　persons　whose　presence　in　her　drawing…room　was　necessary；　and　she　was　therefore　starting　general　topics　of　conversation　before　proceeding　to　the　reading。
The　news　of　the　day　in　Petersburg　was　the　illness　of　Countess　Bezuhov。　The　countess　had　been　taken　ill　a　few　days　previously；　she　had　missed　several　entertainments；　of　which　she　was　usually　the　ornament；　and　it　was　said　that　she　was　seeing　no　one；　and　that　instead　of　the　celebrated　Petersburg　physicians；　who　usually　attended　her；　she　had　put　herself　into　the　hands　of　some　Italian　doctor；　who　was　treating　her　on　some　new　and　extraordinary　method。
Everybody　was　very　well　aware　that　the　charming　countess’s　illness　was　due　to　inconveniences　arising　from　marrying　two　husbands　at　once；　and　that　the　Italian　doctor’s　treatment　consisted　in　the　removal　of　such　inconvenience。　But　in　the　presence　of　Anna　Pavlovna　no　one　ventured　to　think　about　that　view　of　the　question；　or　even；　as　it　were；　to　know　what　they　did　know　about　it。
“They　say　the　poor　countess　is　very　ill。　The　doctor　says　it　is　angina　pectoris。”
“Angine？　Oh；　that’s　a　terrible　illness。”
“They　say　the　rivals　are　reconciled；　thanks　to　the　angine…”　The　word　angine　was　repeated　with　great　relish。
“I　am　told　the　old　count　is　touching。　He　cried　like　a　child　when　the　doctor　told　him　there　was　danger。”
“Oh；　it　would　be　a　terrible　loss。　She　is　a　fascinating　woman。”
“You　speak　of　the　poor　countess；”　said　Anna　Pavlovna；　coming　up。　“I　sent　to　inquire　after　her。　I　was　told　she　was　getting　better。　Oh；　no　doubt　of　it；　she　is　the　most　charming　woman　in　the　world；”　said　Anna　Pavlovna；　with　a　smile　at　her　own　enthusiasm。　“We　belong　to　different　camps；　but　that　does　not　prevent　me　from　appreciating　her　as　she　deserves。　She　is　very　unhappy；”　added　Anna　Pavlovna。
Supposing　that　by　these　last　words　Anna　Pavlovna　had　slightly　lifted　the　veil　of　mystery　that　hung　over　the　countess’s　illness；　one　unwary　young　man　permitted　himself　to　express　surprise　that　no　well…known　doctor　had　been　called　in；　and　that　the　countess　should　be　treated　by　a　charlatan；　who　might　make　use　of　dangerous　remedies。
“Your　information　may　be　better　than　mine；”　cried　Anna　Pavlovna；　falling　upon　the　inexperienced　youth　with　sudden　viciousness；　“but　I　have　it　on　good　authority　that　this　doctor　is　a　very　learned　and　skilful　man。　He　is　the　private　physician　of　the　Queen　of　Spain。”
And　having　thus　annihilated　the　young　man；　Anna　Pavlovna　turned　to　Bilibin；　who　was　talking　in　another　group　about　the　Austrians；　and　had　his　forehead　puckered　up　in　wrinkles　in　readiness　to　utter　un　mot。
“I　think　it　is　charming！”　he　was　saying　of　the　diplomatic　note　which　had　been　sent　to　Vienna　with　the　Austrian　flags　taken　by　Wittgenstein；　“le　héros　de　Pétropol；”　as　he　was　called　at　Petersburg。
“What？　what　was　it？”　Anna　Pavlovna　inquired；　creating　a　silence　for　the　mot　to　be　heard；　though　she　had　in　fact　heard　it　before。
And　Bilibin　repeated　the　precise　words　of　the　diplomatic　despatch　he　had　composed。
“The　Emperor　sends　back　the　Austrian　flags；”　said　Bilibin；　“drapeaux　amis　et　égarés　qu’il　a　trouvés　hors　de　la　route；”　Bilibin　concluded；　letting　the　wrinkles　run　off　his　forehead。
“Charming；　charming！”　said　Prince　Vassily。
“The　road　to　Warsaw；　perhaps；”　Prince　Ippolit　said　loudly；　to　the　general　surprise。　Everybody　looked　at　him；　at　a　loss　to　guess　what　he　meant。　Prince　Ippolit；　too；　looked　about　him　with　light…hearted　wonder。　He　had　no　more　notion　than　other　people　what　was　meant　by　his　words。　In　the　course　of　his　diplomatic　career　he　had　more　than　once　noticed　that　words　suddenly　uttered　in　that　way　were　accepted　as　highly　diverting；　and　on　every　occasion　he　uttered　in　that　way　the　first　words　that　chanced　to　come　to　his　tongue。　“May　be；　it　will　come　out　all　right；”　he　thought；　“and　if　it　doesn’t；　they　will　know　how　to　give　some　turn　to　it。”　And　the　awkward　silence　that　reigned　was　in　fact　broken　by　the　entrance　of　the　personage　of　defective　patriotism　whom　Anna　Pavlovna　was　waiting　for　to　convert　to　a　better　mind；　and　smiling；　and　shaking　her　finger　at　Prince　Ippolit；　she　summoned　Prince　Vassily　to　the　table；　and　setting　two　candles　and　a　manuscript　before　him；　she　begged　him　to　begin。　There　was　a　general　hush。
“Most　high　and　gracious　Emperor　and　Tsar！”　Prince　Vassily　boomed　out　sternly；　and　he　looked　round　at　his　audience　as　though　to　inquire　whether　any　one　had　anything　to　say　against　that。　But　nobody　said　anything。　“The　chief　capital　city；　Moscow；　the　New　Jerusalem；　receives　her　Messiah”—he　threw　a　sudden　emphasis　on　the　“her”—“even　as　a　mother　in　the　embraces　of　her　zealous　sons；　and　through　the　gathering　darkness；　foreseeing　the　dazzling　glory　of　thy　dominion；　sings　aloud　in　triumph：　‘Hosanna！　Blessed　be　He　that　cometh！”’
Prince　Vassily　uttered　these　last　words　in　a　tearful　voice。
Bilibin　scrutinised　his　nails　attentively；　and　many　of　the　audience　were　visibly　cowed；　as　though　wondering　what　they　had　done　wrong。　Anna　Pavlovna　murmured　the　words　over　beforehand；　as　old　women　whisper　the　prayer　to　come　at　communion：　“Let　the　base　and　insolent　Goliath…”　she　whispered。
Prince　Vassily　continued：
“Let　the　base　and　insolent　Goliath　from　the　borders　of　France　encompass　the　realm　of　Russia　with　the　horrors　of　death；　lowly　faith；　the　sling　of　the　Russian　David；　shall　smite　a　swift　blow　at　the　head　of　his　pride　that　thirsteth　for　blood。　This　holy　image　of　the　most　venerable　Saint　Sergey；　of　old　a　zealous　champion　of　our　country’s　welfare；　is　borne　to　your　imperial　majesty。　I　grieve　that　my　failing　strength　hinders　me　from　the　joy　of　your　most　gracious　presence。　Fervent　prayers　I　am　offering　up　to　Heaven；　and　the　Almighty　will　exalt　the　faithful　and　fulfil　in　His　mercy　the　hopes　of　your　majesty。”
“Quel　force！　Quel　style！”　was　murmured　in　applause　of　the　reader　and　the　author。　Roused　by　this　appeal；　Anna　Pavlovna’s　guests　continued　for　a　long　while　talking　of　the　position　of　the　country；　and　made　various　surmises　as　to　the　issue　of　the　battle　to　be　fought　in　a　few　days。
“You　will　see；”　said　Anna　Pavlovna；　“that　to…morrow　on　the　Emperor’s　birthday　we　shall　get　news。　I　have　a　presentiment　of　something　good。”


Chapter　2
ANNA　PAVLOVNA’S　PRESENTIMENT　was　in　fact　fulfilled。　Next　day；　during　the　special　service　at　court　in　honour　of　the　Tsar’s　birthday；　Prince　Volkonsky　was　called　out　of　church　and　received　a　despatch　from　Prince　Kutuzov。　This　was　the　despatch　Kutuzov　had　sent　off　on　the　day　of　the　battle　from　Tatarinovo。　Kutuzov　wrote　that　the　Russians　had　not　retreated　a　single　step；　that　the　French　had　lost　far　more　than　our　troops；　that　he　was　writing　off　in　haste　from　the　field　of　battle　before　he　had　time　to　collect　the　latest　intelligence。　So　it　had　been　a　victory；　it　appeared。　And　at　once；　without　leaving　church；　the　assembled　court　offered　up　thanks　to　the　Creator　for　His　succour；　and　for　the　victory。
Anna　Pavlovna’s　presentiment　had　been　fulfilled；　and　the　whole　morning　a　mood　of　joyous　festivity　prevailed　in　the　town。　Every　one　accepted　the　victory　as　a　conclusive　one；　and　some　people　were　already　beginning　to　talk　of　Napoleon’s　having　been　taken　prisoner；　of　his　disposition；　and　the　selection　of　a　new　sovereign　for　France
At　a　distance　from　the　scene　of　action　and　amid　the　conditions　of　court　life；　it　is　very　difficult　for　events　to　be　reflected　in　their　true　force　and　dimensions。　Public　events　are　involuntarily　grouped　about　some　private　incident。　So　in　this　case；　the　courtiers’　rejoicing　was　as　much　due　to　the　fact　of　the　news　of　this　victory　having　arrived　precisely　on　the　Tsar’s　birthday　as　to　the　fact　of　the　victory　itself。　It　was　like　a　successfully　arranged　surprise。　Kutuzov’s　despatches　had　spoken；　too；　of　the　Russian　losses；　and　among　them　had　mentioned　the　names　of　Tutchkov；　Bagration；　and　Kutaissov。　The　melancholy　side；　too；　of　the　event　was　unconsciously　in　this　Petersburg　world　concentrated　about　a　single　incident—the　death　of　Kutaissov。　Every　one　knew　him；　the　Tsar　liked　him；　he　was　young　and　interesting。　All　met　that　day　with　the　words：
“How　wonderful　it　should　have　happened　so！　Just　in　the　Te　Deum。　But　what　a　loss—Kutaissov！　Ah；　what　a　pity！”
“What　did　I　tell　you　about　Kutuzov？”　Prince　Vassily　said　now　with　the　pride　of　a　prophet。　“I　always　said　he　was　the　only　man　capable　of　conquering　Napoleon。”
But　next　day　no　news　came　from　the　army；　and　the　public　voice　began　to　waver。　The　courtiers　suffered　agonies　over　the　agonies　of　suspense　which　the　Tsar　was　suffering。
“Think　of　the　Emperor’s　position！”　the　courtiers　said；　and　they　no　longer　sang　the　praises　of　Kutuzov　as　two　days　before；　but　upbraided　him　as　the　cause　of　the　Tsar’s　uneasiness　that　day。　Prince　Vassily　no　longer　boasted　of　his　protégé　Kutuzov；　but　was　mute　when　the　commander…in…chief　was　the　subject　of　conversation。　Moreover；　on　the　evening　of　that　day　everything　seemed　to　conspire　to　throw　the　Peters…burg　world　into　agitation　and　uneasiness：　a　terrible　piece　of　news　came　to　add　to　their　alarms。　Countess　Elena　Bezuhov　died　quite　suddenly　of　the　terrible　illness　which　had　been　so　amusing　to　talk　about。　At　larger　gatherings　every　one　repeated　the　official　story　that　Countess　Bezuhov　had　died　of　a　terrible　attack　of　angina　pectoris；　but　in　intimate　circles　people　told　in　detail　how　the　Queen　of　Spain’s　own　medical　attendant　had　prescribed　to　Ellen　small　doses　of　a　certain　drug　to　bring　about　certain　desired　results；　but　that　Ellen；　tortured　by　the　old　count’s　suspecting　her；　and　by　her　husband’s　not　having　answered　her　letter　（that　unfortunate；　dissipated　Pierre）；　had　suddenly　taken　an　enormous　dose　of　the　drug　prescribed；　and　had　died　in　agonies　before　assistance　could　be　given。　The　story　ran　that　Prince　Vassily　and　the　old　count　had　been　going　to　take　proceedings　against　the　Italian；　but　the　latter　had　produced　notes　in　his　possession　from　the　unhappy　deceased　of　such　a　character　that　they　had　promptly　let　him　go。
Conversation　centred　round　three　melancholy　facts—the　Tsar’s　state　of　suspense；　the　loss　of　Kutaissov；　and　the　death　of　Ellen。
On　the　third　day　after　Kutuzov’s　despatch；　a　country　gentleman　arrived　in　Petersburg　from　Moscow；　and　the　news　of　the　surrender　of　Moscow　to　the　French　was　all　over　the　town。　This　was　awful！　Think　of　the　position　of　the　Emperor！　Kutuzov　was　a　traitor；　and　during　the　“visits　of　condolence”　paid　to　Prince　Vassily　on　the　occasion　of　his　daughter’s　death；　when　he　spoke　of　Kutuzov；　whose　praises　he　had　once　sung　so　loudly—it　was　pardonable　in　his　grief　to　forget　what　he　had　said　before—he　said　that　nothing　else　was　to　be　expected　from　a　blind　and　dissolute　old　man。
“I　only　wonder　how　su