战争与和平(上)-第75章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


；　and　seated　them　on　the　sofa　in　the　middle　of　it。　The　great　men；　and　the　more　honoured　members　of　the　club；　surrounded　the　newly　arrived　guests。　Count　Ilya　Andreitch；　shoving　his　way　again　through　the　crowd；　went　out　of　the　drawing…room；　and　reappeared　a　minute　later　with　another　steward　carrying　a　great　silver　dish；　which　he　held　out　to　Prince　Bagration。　On　the　dish　lay　a　poem；　composed　and　printed　in　the　hero’s　honour。　Bagration；　on　seeing　the　dish；　looked　about　him　in　dismay；　as　though　seeking　assistance。　But　in　all　eyes　he　saw　the　expectation　that　he　would　submit。　Feeling　himself　in　their　power；　Bagration　resolutely　took　the　dish　in　both　hands；　and　looked　angrily　and　reproachfully　at　the　count；　who　had　brought　it。　Some　one　officiously　took　the　dish　from　Bagration　（or　he　would；　it　seemed；　have　held　it　so　till　nightfall；　and　have　carried　it　with　him　to　the　table）；　and　drew　his　attention　to　the　poem。　“Well；　I’ll　read　it　then；”　Bagration　seemed　to　say；　and　fixing　his　weary　eyes　on　the　paper；　he　began　reading　it　with　a　serious　and　concentrated　expression。　The　author　of　the　verses　took　them；　and　began　to　read　them　aloud　himself。　Prince　Bagration　bowed　his　head　and　listened。
“Be　thou　the　pride　of　Alexander’s　reign！
And　save　for　us　our　Titus　on　the　throne！
Be　thou　our　champion　and　our　country’s　stay！
A　noble　heart；　a　Caesar　in　the　fray！
Napoleon　in　the　zenith　of　his　fame
Learns　to　his　cost　to　fear　Bagration’s　name；
Nor　dares　provoke　a　Russian　foe　again；”　etc。　etc。
But　he　had　not　finished　the　poem；　when　the　butler　boomed　out　sonorously：　“Dinner　is　ready！”　The　door　opened；　from　the　dining…room　thundered　the　strains　of　the　Polonaise：　“Raise　the　shout　of　victory；　valiant　Russian；　festive　sing；”　and　Count　Ilya　Andreitch；　looking　angrily　at　the　author；　who　still　went　on　reading　his　verses；　bowed　to　Bagration　as　a　signal　to　go　in。　All　the　company　rose；　feeling　the　dinner　of　more　importance　than　the　poem；　and　Bagration；　again　preceding　all　the　rest；　went　in　to　dinner。　In　the　place　of　honour　between　two　Alexanders—　Bekleshov　and　Naryshkin—（this；　too；　was　intentional；　in　allusion　to　the　name　of　the　Tsar）　they　put　Bagration：　three　hundred　persons　were　ranged　about　the　tables　according　to　their　rank　and　importance；　those　of　greater　consequence；　nearer　to　the　distinguished　guest—as　naturally　as　water　flows　to　find　its　own　level。
Just　before　dinner；　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　presented　his　son　to　the　prince。　Bagration　recognised　him；　and　uttered　a　few　words；　awkward　and　incoherent；　as　were　indeed　all　he　spoke　that　day。　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　looked　about　at　every　one　in　gleeful　pride　while　Bagration　was　speaking　to　his　son。
Nikolay　Rostov；　with　Denisov　and　his　new　acquaintance　Dolohov；　sat　together　almost　in　the　middle　of　the　table。　Facing　them　sat　Pierre　with　Prince　Nesvitsky。　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　was　sitting　with　the　other　stewards　facing　Bagration；　and；　the　very　impersonation　of　Moscow　hospitality；　did　his　utmost　to　regale　the　prince。
His　labours　had　not　been　in　vain。　All　the　banquet—the　meat　dishes　and　the　Lenten　fare　alike—was　sumptuous；　but　still　he　could　not　be　perfectly　at　ease　till　the　end　of　dinner。　He　made　signs　to　the　carver；　gave　whispered　directions　to　the　footmen；　and　not　without　emotion　awaited　the　arrival　of　each　anticipated　dish。　Everything　was　capital。　At　the　second　course；　with　the　gigantic　sturgeon　（at　the　sight　of　which　Ilya　Andreitch　flushed　with　shamefaced　delight）；　the　footman　began　popping　corks　and　pouring　out　champagne。　After　the　fish；　which　made　a　certain　sensation；　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　exchanged　glances　with　the　other　stewards。　“There　will　be　a　great　many　toasts；　it’s　time　to　begin！”　he　whispered；　and；　glass　in　hand；　he　got　up。　All　were　silent；　waiting　for　what　he　would　say。
“To　the　health　of　our　sovereign；　the　Emperor！”　he　shouted；　and　at　the　moment　his　kindly　eyes　grew　moist　with　tears　of　pleasure　and　enthusiasm。　At　that　instant　they　began　playing：　“Raise　the　shout　of　victory！”　All　rose　from　their　seats　and　shouted　“Hurrah！”　And　Bagration　shouted　“Hurrah！”　in　the　same　voice　in　which　he　had　shouted　it　in　the　field　at　Sch？ngraben。　The　enthusiastic　voice　of　young　Rostov　could　be　heard　above　the　three　hundred　other　voices。　He　was　on　the　very　point　of　tears。　“The　health　of　our　sovereign；　the　Emperor；”　he　roared；　“hurrah！”　Emptying　his　glass　at　one　gulp；　he　flung　it　on　the　floor。　Many　followed　his　example。　And　the　loud　shouts　lasted　for　a　long　while。　When　the　uproar　subsided；　the　footmen　cleared　away　the　broken　glass；　and　all　began　settling　themselves　again；　and　smiling　at　the　noise　they　had　made；　began　talking。　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　rose　once　more；　glanced　at　a　note　that　lay　beside　his　plate；　and　proposed　a　toast　to　the　health　of　the　hero　of　our　last　campaign；　Prince　Pyotr　Ivanovitch　Bagration；　and　again　the　count’s　blue　eyes　were　dimmed　with　tears。　“Hurrah！”　was　shouted　again　by　the　three　hundred　voices　of　the　guests；　and　instead　of　music　this　time　a　chorus　of　singers　began　to　sing　a　cantata　composed　by　Pavel　Ivanovitch　Kutuzov：
“No　hindrance　bars　a　Russian’s　way；
Valour’s　the　pledge　of　victory；
We　have　our　Bagrations。
Our　foes　will　all　be　at　our　feet；”　etc。　etc。
As　soon　as　the　singers　had　finished；　more　and　more　toasts　followed；　at　which　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　became　more　and　more　moved；　and　more　glass　was　broken　and　even　more　uproar　was　made。　They　drank　to　the　health　of　Bekleshov；　of　Naryshkin；　of　Uvarov；　of　Dolgorukov；　of　Apraxin；　of　Valuev；　to　the　health　of　the　stewards；　to　the　health　of　the　committee；　to　the　health　of　all　the　club　members；　to　the　health　of　all　the　guests　of　the　club；　and　finally　and　separately　to　the　health　of　the　organiser　of　the　banquet；　Count　Ilya　Andreitch。　At　that　toast　the　count　took　out　his　handkerchief　and；　hiding　his　face　in　it；　fairly　broke　down。


Chapter　4
PIERRE　was　sitting　opposite　Dolohov　and　Nikolay　Rostov。　He　ate　greedily　and　drank　heavily；　as　he　always　did。　But　those　who　knew　him　slightly　could　see　that　some　great　change　was　taking　place　in　him　that　day。　He　was　silent　all　through　dinner；　and　blinking　and　screwing　up　his　eyes；　looked　about　him；　or　letting　his　eyes　rest　on　something　with　an　air　of　complete　absent…mindedness；　rubbed　the　bridge　of　his　nose　with　his　finger。　His　face　was　depressed　and　gloomy。　He　seemed　not　to　be　seeing　or　hearing　what　was　passing　about　him　and　to　be　thinking　of　some　one　thing；　something　painful　and　unsettled。
This　unsettled　question　that　worried　him　was　due　to　the　hints　dropped　by　the　princess；　his　cousin；　at　Moscow　in　regard　to　Dolohov’s　close　intimacy　with　his　wife；　and　to　an　anonymous　letter　he　had　received　that　morning；　which；　with　the　vile　jocoseness　peculiar　to　all　anonymous　letters；　had　said　that　he　didn’t　seem　to　see　clearly　through　his　spectacles；　and　that　his　wife’s　connection　with　Dolohov　was　a　secret　from　no　one　but　himself。　Pierre　did　not　absolutely　believe　either　the　princess’s　hints；　or　the　anonymous　letter；　but　he　was　afraid　now　to　look　at　Dolohov；　who　sat　opposite　him。　Every　time　his　glance　casually　met　Dolohov’s　handsome；　insolent　eyes；　Pierre　felt　as　though　something　awful；　hideous　was　rising　up　in　his　soul；　and　he　made　haste　to　turn　away。　Involuntarily　recalling　all　his　wife’s　past　and　her　attitude　to　Dolohov；　Pierre　saw　clearly　that　what　was　said　in　the　letter　might　well　be　true；　might　at　least　appear　to　be　the　truth；　if　only　it　had　not　related　to　his　wife。　Pierre　could　not　help　recalling　how　Dolohov；　who　had　been　completely　reinstated；　had　returned　to　Petersburg　and　come　to　see　him。　Dolohov　had　taken　advantage　of　his　friendly　relations　with　Pierre　in　their　old　rowdy　days；　had　come　straight　to　his　house；　and　Pierre　had　established　him　in　it　and　lent　him　money。　Pierre　recalled　how　Ellen；　smiling；　had　expressed　her　dissatisfaction　at　Dolohov’s　staying　in　their　house；　and　how　cynically　Dolohov　had　praised　his　wife’s　beauty　to　him；　and　how　he　had　never　since　left　them　up　to　the　time　of　their　coming　to　Moscow。
“Yes；　he　is　very　handsome；”　thought　Pierre；　“and　I　know　him。　There　would　be　a　particular　charm　for　him　in　disgracing　my　name　and　turning　me　into　ridicule；　just　because　I　have　exerted　myself　in　his　behalf；　have　befriended　him　and　helped　him。　I　know；　I　understand　what　zest　that　would　be　sure　to　give　to　his　betrayal　of　me；　if　it　were　true。　Yes；　if　it　were　true；　but　I　don’t　believe　it。　I　have　no　right　to　and　I　can’t　believe　it。”　He　recalled　the　expression　on　Dolohov’s　face　in　his　moments　of　cruelty；　such　as　when　he　was　tying　the　police　officer　on　to　the　bear　and　dropping　him　into　the　water；　or　when　he　had　utterly　without　provocation　challenged　a　man　to　a　duel　or　killed　a　sledge…driver’s　horse　with　a　shot　from　his　pistol。　That　expression　often　came　into　Dolohov’s　face　when　he　was　looking　at　him。　“Yes；　he’s　a　duelling　bully；”　thought　Pierre；　“to　him　it　means　nothing　to　kill　a　man；　it　must　seem　to　him　that　every　one’s　afraid　of　him。　He　must　like　it。　He　must　think　I　am　afraid　of　him。　And；　in　fact；　I　really　am　afraid　of　him；”　Pierre　mused；　and　again　at　these　thoughts　he　felt　as　though　something　terrible　and　hideous　were　rising　up　in　his　soul。　Dolohov；　Denisov；　and　Rostov　were　sitting　facing　Pierre　and　seemed　to　be　greatly　enjoying　themselves。　Rostov　talked　away　merrily　to　his　two　friends；　of　whom　one　was　a　dashing　hussar；　the　other　a　notorious　duellist　and　scapegrace；　and　now　and　then　cast　ironical　glances　at　Pierre；　whose　appearance　at　the　dinner　was　a　striking　one；　with　his　preoccupied；　absent…minded；　massive　figure。　Rostov　looked　with　disfavour　upon　Pierre。　In　the　first　place；　because　Pierre；　in　the　eyes　of　the　smart　hussar；　was　a　rich　civilian；　and　husband　of　a　beauty；　was　altogether；　in　fact；　an　old　woman。　And　secondly；　because　Pierre　in　his　preoccupation　and　absent…mindedness　had　not　recognised　Rostov　and　had　failed　to　respond　to　his　bow。　When　they　got　up　to　drink　the　health　of　the　Tsar；　Pierre；　plunged　in　thought；　did　not　rise　nor　take　up　his　glass。
“What　are　you　about？”　Rostov　shouted　to　him；　looking　at　him　with　enthusiastic　and　exasperated　eyes。　“Don’t　you　hear：　the　health　of　our　sovereign　the　Emperor！”
Pierre　with　a　sigh　obeyed；　got　up；　emptied　his　glass；　and　waiting　till　all　were　seated　again；　he　turned　with　his　kindly　smile　to　Rostov。　“Why；　I　didn’t　recognise　you；”　he　said。　But　Rostov　had　no　thoughts　for　him；　he　was　shouting　“Hurrah！”
“Why　don’t　you　renew　the　acquaintance？”　said　Dolohov　to　Rostov。
“Oh；　bother　him；　he’s　a　fool；”　said　Rostov。
“One　has　to　be　sweet　to　the　husbands　of　pretty　women；”　said　Denisov。　Pierre　did　not　hear　what　they　were　saying；　but　he　knew　they　were　talking　of　him。　He　flushed　and　turned　away。　“Well；　now　to　the　health　of　pretty　women；”　said　Dolohov；　and　with　a　serious　expression；　though　a　smile　lurked　in　the　corners　of　his　mouth；　he　turned　to　Pierre。
“To　the　health　of　pretty　women；　Petrusha；　and　their　lovers　too；”　he　said。
Pierre；　with　downcast　eyes；　sipped　his　glass；　without　looking　at　Dolohov　or　answering　him。　The　footman；　distributing　copies　of　Kutuzov’s　cantata；　laid　a　copy　by　Pierre；　as　one　of　the　more　honoured　guests。　He　would　have　taken　it；　but　Dolohov　bent　forward；　snatched　the　paper　out　of　his　hands　and　began　reading　it。　Pierre　glanced　at　Dolohov；　and　his　eyes　dropped；　something　terrible　and　hideous；　that　had　b