战争与和平(上)-第236章

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“I　will　write；　mamma；”　she　said。
Sonya　was　softened；　excited；　and　moved　by　all　that　had　passed　that　day；　especially　by　the　mysterious　fulfilment　of　her　divination；　which　she　had　just　seen。　Now；　when　she　knew　that　in　case　of　the　renewal　of　Natasha’s　engagement　to　Prince　Andrey；　Nikolay　could　not　be　married　to　Princess　Marya；　she　felt　with　delight　a　return　of　that　self…sacrificing　spirit　in　which　she　was　accustomed　and　liked　to　live。　And　with　tears　in　her　eyes；　and　with　a　glad　sense　of　performing　a　magnanimous　action；　she　sat　down；　and　several　times　interrupted　by　the　tears　that　dimmed　her　velvety　black　eyes；　she　wrote　the　touching　letter　the　reception　of　which　had　so　impressed　Nikolay。


Chapter　9
IN　THE　GUARD…ROOM　to　which　Pierre　had　been　taken；　the　officer　and　soldiers　in　charge　treated　him　with　hostility；　but　at　the　same　time　with　respect。　Their　attitude　to　him　betrayed　both　doubt　who　he　might　be—perhaps　a　person　of　great　importance—and　hostility；　in　consequence　of　the　personal　conflict　they　had　so　recently　had　with　him。
But　when　on　the　morning　of　the　next　day　the　guard　was　relieved；　Pierre　felt　that　for　his　new　guard—both　officers　and　soldiers—he　was　no　longer　an　object　of　the　same　interest　as　he　had　been　to　those　who　had　taken　him　prisoner。　And；　indeed；　in　the　big；　stout　man　in　a　peasant’s　coat；　the　sentinels　in　charge　next　day　saw　nothing　of　the　vigorous　person　who　had　fought　so　desperately　with　the　pillaging　soldier　and　the　convoy；　and　had　uttered　that　solemn　phrase　about　saving　a　child；　they　saw　in　him　only　number　seventeen　of　the　Russian　prisoners　who　were　to　be　detained　for　some　reason　by　order　of　the　higher　authorities。　If　there　were　anything　peculiar　about　Pierre；　it　lay　only　in　his　undaunted　air　of　concentrated　thought；　and　in　the　excellent　French　in　which；　to　the　surprise　of　the　French；　he　expressed　himself。　In　spite　of　that；　Pierre　was　put　that　day　with　the　other　suspicious　characters　who　had　been　apprehended；　since　the　room　he　had　occupied　was　wanted　for　an　officer。
All　the　Russians　detained　with　Pierre　were　persons　of　the　lowest　class。　And　all　of　them；　recognising　Pierre　as　a　gentleman；　held　aloof　from　him　all　the　more　for　his　speaking　French。　Pierre　mournfully　heard　their　jeers　at　his　expense。
On　the　following　evening；　Pierre　learned　that　all　the　prisoners　（and　himself　probably　in　the　number）　were　to　be　tried　for　incendiarism。　The　day　after；　Pierre　was　taken　with　the　rest　to　a　house　where　were　sitting　a　French　general　with　white　moustaches；　two　colonels；　and　other　Frenchmen　with　scarfs　on　their　shoulders。　With　that　peculiar　exactitude　and　definiteness；　which　is　always　employed　in　the　examination　of　prisoners　and　is　supposed　to　preclude　all　human　weaknesses；　they　put　questions　to　Pierre　and　the　others；　asking　who　he　was；　where　he　had　been；　with　what　object；　and　so　on。
These　questions；　leaving　on　one　side　the　essence　of　the　living　fact；　and　excluding　all　possibility　of　that　essence　being　discovered；　like　all　questions；　indeed；　in　legal　examinations；　aimed　only　at　directing　the　channel　along　which　the　examining　officials　desired　the　prisoner’s　answers　to　flow；　so　as　to　lead　him　to　the　goal　of　the　inquiry—that　is；　to　conviction。　So　soon　as　he　began　to　say　anything　that　was　not　conducive　to　this　aim；　then　they　pulled　up　the　channel；　and　the　water　might　flow　where　it　would。　Moreover；　Pierre　felt；　as　the　accused　always　do　feel　at　all　trials；　a　puzzled　wonder　why　all　these　questions　were　asked　him。　He　had　a　feeling　that　it　was　only　out　of　condescension；　out　of　a　sort　of　civility；　that　this　trick　of　directing　the　channel　of　their　replies　was　made　use　of。　He　knew　he　was　in　the　power　of　these　men；　that　it　was　only　by　superior　force　that　he　had　been　brought　here；　that　it　was　only　superior　force　that　gave　them　the　right　to　exact　answers　to　their　questions；　that　the　whole　aim　of　the　proceeding　was　to　convict　him。　And；　therefore；　since　they　had　superior　force；　and　they　had　the　desire　to　convict　him；　there　seemed　no　need　of　the　network　of　questions　and　the　trial。　It　was　obvious　that　all　the　questions　were　bound　to　lead　up　to　his　conviction。　To　the　inquiry　what　he　was　doing　when　he　was　apprehended；　Pierre　replied　with　a　certain　tragic　dignity　that　he　was　carrying　back　to　its　parents　a　child　he　had　“rescued　from　the　flames。”　Why　was　he　fighting　with　the　soldiers？　Pierre　replied　that　he　was　defending　a　woman；　that　the　defence　of　an　insulted　woman　was　the　duty　of　every　man；　and　so　on　…　He　was　pulled　up；　this　was　irrelevant。　With　what　object　had　he　been　in　the　courtyard　of　a　burning　house　where　he　had　been　seen　by　several　witnesses？　He　answered　that　he　was　going　out　to　see　what　was　going　on　in　Moscow。　He　was　pulled　up　again。　He　had　not　been　asked；　he　was　told；　where　he　was　going；　but　with　what　object　he　was　near　the　fire。　Who　was　he？　The　first　question　was　repeated；　to　which　he　had　said　he　did　not　want　to　answer。　Again　he　replied　that　he　could　not　answer　that。
“Write　that　down；　that’s　bad。　Very　bad；”　the　general　with　the　white　whiskers　and　the　red；　flushed　face　said　to　him　sternly。
On　the　fourth　day；　fire　broke　out　on　the　Zubovsky　rampart。
Pierre　was　moved　with　thirteen　of　the　others　to　a　coach…house　belonging　to　a　merchant’s　house　on　the　Crimean　Ford。　As　he　passed　through　the　street；　Pierre　could　hardly　breathe　for　the　smoke；　which　seemed　hanging　over　the　whole　city。　Fires　could　be　seen　in　various　directions。　Pierre　did　not　at　that　time　grasp　what　was　implied　by　the　burning　of　Moscow；　and　he　gazed　with　horror　at　the　fires。
In　a　coach…house　behind　a　house　in　the　Crimean　Ford；　Pierre　spent　another　four　days；　and　in　the　course　of　those　four　days　he　learned；　from　the　conversation　of　the　French　soldiers；　that　all　the　prisoners　in　detention　here　were　every　day　awaiting　the　decision　of　their　fate　by　a　marshal。　Of　what　marshal；　Pierre　could　not　ascertain　from　the　soldiers。　For　the　soldiers；　this　marshal　was　evidently　the　highest　and　somewhat　mysterious　symbol　of　power。
These　first　days；　up　to　the　8th　of　September；　when　the　prisoners　were　brought　up　for　a　second　examination；　were　the　most　painful　for　Pierre。


Chapter　10
ON　THE　8TH　of　September；　there　came　into　the　prisoners’　coach…house　an　officer　of　very　great　consequence；　judging　by　the　respectfulness　with　which　he　was　addressed　by　the　soldiers　on　guard。　This　officer；　probably　some　one　on　the　staff；　held　a　memorandum　in　his　hand；　and　called　over　all　the　Russians’　names；　giving　Pierre　the　title　of　“the　one　who　will　not　give　his　name。”　And　with　an　indolent　and　indifferent　glance　at　all　the　prisoners；　he　gave　the　officer　on　guard　orders　to　have　them　decently　dressed　and　in　good　order　before　bringing　them　before　the　marshal。　In　an　hour　a　company　of　soldiers　arrived；　and　Pierre　with　the　thirteen　others　was　taken　to　the　Virgin’s　Meadow。　It　was　a　fine　day；　sunny　after　rain；　and　the　air　was　exceptionally　clear。　The　smoke　did　not　hang　low　over　the　town　as　on　the　day　when　Pierre　had　been　taken　from　the　guard…room　of　the　Zubovsky　rampart；　the　smoke　rose　up　in　columns　into　the　pure　air。　Flames　were　nowhere　to　be　seen；　but　columns　of　smoke　were　rising　up　on　all　sides；　and　all　Moscow；　all　that　Pierre　could　see；　was　one　conflagration。　On　all　sides　he　saw　places　laid　waste；　with　stoves　and　pipes　left　standing　in　them；　and　now　and　then　the　charred　walls　of　a　stone　house。
Pierre　stared　at　the　fires；　and　did　not　recognise　parts　of　the　town　that　he　knew　well。　Here　and　there　could　be　seen　churches　that　had　not　been　touched　by　the　fire。　The　Kremlin　uninjured；　rose　white　in　the　distance；　with　towers　and　Ivan　the　Great。　Close　at　hand；　the　cupola　of　the　Monastery　of　the　New　Virgin　shone　brightly；　and　the　bells　for　service　rang　out　gaily　from　it。　Those　bells　reminded　Pierre　that　it　was　Sunday　and　the　festival　of　the　birth　of　the　Virgin　Mother。　But　there　seemed　to　be　no　one　to　keep　this　holiday；　on　all　sides　they　saw　the　ruin　wrought　by　the　fires；　and　the　only　Russians　they　met　were　a　few　tattered　and　frightened…looking　people；　who　hid　themselves　on　seeing　the　French。
It　was　evident　that　the　Russian　nest　was　in　ruins　and　destroyed；　but　with　this　annihilation　of　the　old　Russian　order　of　life；　Pierre　was　unconsciously　aware　that　the　French　had　raised　up　over　this　ruined　nest　an　utterly　different　but　strong　order　of　their　own。　He　felt　this　at　the　sight　of　the　regular　ranks　of　the　boldly　and　gaily　marching　soldiers　who　were　escorting　him　and　the　other　prisoners；　he　felt　it　at　the　sight　of　some　important　French　official　in　a　carriage　and　pair；　driven　by　a　soldier；　whom　they　met　on　their　way。　He　felt　it　at　the　gay　sounds　of　regimental　music；　which　floated　across　from　the　left　of　the　meadow；　and　he　had　felt　it　and　realised　it　particularly　strongly　from　the　memorandum　the　French　officer　had　read　in　the　morning　when　he　called　over　the　prisoners’　names。　Pierre　was　taken　by　one　set　of　soldiers；　led　off　to　one　place；　and　thence　to　another；　with　dozens　of　different　people。　It　seemed　to　him　that　they　might　have　forgotten　him；　have　mixed　him　up　with　other　people。　But　no；　his　answers　given　at　the　examination　came　back　to　him　in　the　form　of　the　designation；　“the　one　who　will　not　give　his　name。”　And　under　this　designation；　which　filled　Pierre　with　dread；　they　led　him　away　somewhere；　with　unhesitating　conviction　written　on　their　faces　that　he　and　the　other　prisoners　with　him　were　the　right　ones；　and　that　they　were　being　taken　to　the　proper　place。　Pierre　felt　himself　an　insignificant　chip　that　had　fallen　under　the　wheel　of　a　machine　that　worked　without　a　hitch；　though　he　did　not　understand　it。
Pierre　was　led　with　the　other　prisoners　to　the　right　side　of　the　Virgin’s　Meadow；　not　far　from　the　monastery；　and　taken　up　to　a　big；　white　house　with　an　immense　garden。　It　was　the　house　of　Prince　Shtcherbatov；　and　Pierre　had　often　been　inside　it　in　former　days　to　see　its　owner。　Now；　as　he　learnt　from　the　talk　of　the　soldiers；　it　was　occupied　by　the　marshal；　the　Duke　of　Eckmühl。
They　were　led　up　to　the　entrance；　and　taken　into　the　house；　one　at　a　time。　Pierre　was　the　sixth　to　be　led　in。　Through　a　glass…roofed　gallery；　a　vestibule；　and　a　hall；　all　familiar　to　Pierre；　he　was　led　to　the　long；　low…pitched　study；　at　the　door　of　which　stood　an　adjutant。
Davoust　was　sitting　at　a　table　at　the　end　of　the　room；　his　spectacles　on　his　nose。　Pierre　came　close　up　to　him。　Davoust；　without　raising　his　eyes；　was　apparently　engaged　in　looking　up　something　in　a　document　that　lay　before　him。　Without　raising　his　eyes；　he　asked　softly：　“Who　are　you？”
Pierre　was　mute　because　he　was　incapable　of　articulating　a　word。　Davoust　was　not　to　Pierre　simply　a　French　general；　to　Pierre；　Davoust　was　a　man　notorious　for　his　cruelty。　Looking　at　the　cold　face　of　Davoust；　which；　like　a　stern　teacher；　seemed　to　consent　for　a　time　to　have　patience　and　await　a　reply；　Pierre　felt　that　every　second　of　delay　might　cost　him　his　life。　But　he　did　not　know　what　to　say。　To　say　the　same　as　he　had　said　at　the　first　examination　he　did　not　dare；　to　disclose　his　name　and　his　position　would　be　both　dangerous　and　shameful。　Pierre　stood　mute。　But　before　he　had　time　to　come　to　any　decision；　Davoust　raised　his　head；　thrust　his　spectacles　up　on　his　forehead；　screwed　up　his　eyes；　and　looked　intently　at　Pierre。
“I　know　this　man；”　he　said；　in　a　frigid；　measured　tone；　obv