战争与和平(上)-第76章

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ding　it。　Pierre　glanced　at　Dolohov；　and　his　eyes　dropped；　something　terrible　and　hideous；　that　had　been　torturing　him　all　through　the　dinner；　rose　up　and　took　possession　of　him。　He　bent　the　whole　of　his　ungainly　person　across　the　table。　“Don’t　you　dare　to　take　it！”　he　shouted。
Hearing　that　shout　and　seeing　to　whom　it　was　addressed；　Nesvitsky　and　his　neighbour　on　the　right　side　turned　in　haste　and　alarm　to　Bezuhov。
“Hush；　hush；　what　are　you　about？”　whispered　panic…stricken　voices。　Dolohov　looked　at　Pierre　with　his　clear；　mirthful；　cruel　eyes；　still　with　the　same　smile；　as　though　he　were　saying：　“Come　now；　this　is　what　I　like。”
“I　won’t　give　it　up；”　he　said　distinctly。
Pale　and　with　quivering　lips；　Pierre　snatched　the　copy。
“You…you…blackguard！…I　challenge　you；”　he　said；　and　moving　back　his　chair；　he　got　up　from　the　table。　At　the　second　Pierre　did　this　and　uttered　these　words　he　felt　that　the　question　of　his　wife’s　guilt；　that　had　been　torturing　him　for　the　last　four　and　twenty　hours；　was　finally　and　incontestably　answered　in　the　affirmative。　He　hated　her　and　was　severed　from　her　for　ever。　In　spite　of　Denisov’s　entreaties　that　Rostov　would　have　nothing　to　do　with　the　affair；　Rostov　agreed　to　be　Dolohov’s　second；　and　after　dinner　he　discussed　with　Nesvitsky；　Bezuhov’s　second；　the　arrangements　for　the　duel。　Pierre　had　gone　home；　but　Rostov　with　Dolohov　and　Denisov　stayed　on　at　the　club　listening　to　the　gypsies　and　the　singers　till　late　in　the　evening。
“So　good…bye　till　to…morrow；　at　Sokolniky；”　said　Dolohov；　as　he　parted　from　Rostov　at　the　club　steps。
“And　do　you　feel　quite　calm？”　asked　Rostov。
Dolohov　stopped。
“Well；　do　you　see；　in　a　couple　of　words　I’ll　let　you　into　the　whole　secret　of　duelling。　If；　when　you　go　to　a　duel；　you　make　your　will　and　write　long　letters　to　your　parents；　if　you　think　that　you　may　be　killed；　you’re　a　fool　and　certain　to　be　done　for。　But　go　with　the　firm　intention　of　killing　your　man；　as　quickly　and　as　surely　as　may　be；　then　everything　will　be　all　right。　As　our　bear…killer　from　Kostroma　used　to　say　to　me：　‘A　bear；’　he’d　say；　‘why；　who’s　not　afraid　of　one？　but　come　to　see　one　and　your　fear’s　all　gone；　all　you　hope　is　he　won’t　get　away！’　Well；　that’s　just　how　I　feel。　A　demain；　mon　cher。”
Next　day　at　eight　o’clock　in　the　morning；　Pierre　and　Nesvitsky　reached　the　Sokolniky　copse；　and　found　Dolohov；　Denisov；　and　Rostov　already　there。　Pierre　had　the　air　of　a　man　absorbed　in　reflections　in　no　way　connected　with　the　matter　in　hand。　His　face　looked　hollow　and　yellow。　He　had　not　slept　all　night。　He　looked　about　him　absent…mindedly；　and　screwed　up　his　eyes；　as　though　in　glaring　sunshine。　He　was　exclusively　absorbed　by　two　considerations：　the　guilt　of　his　wife；　of　which　after　a　sleepless　night　he　had　not　a　vestige　of　doubt；　and　the　guiltlessness　of　Dolohov；　who　was　in　no　way　bound　to　guard　the　honour　of　a　man；　who　was　nothing　to　him。　“Maybe　I　should　have　done　the　same　in　his　place；”　thought　Pierre。　“For　certain；　indeed；　I　should　have　done　the　same；　then　why　this　duel；　this　murder？　Either　I　shall　kill　him；　or　he　will　shoot　me　in　the　head；　in　the　elbow；　or　the　knee。　To　get　away　from　here；　to　run；　to　bury　myself　somewhere；”　was　the　longing　that　came　into　his　mind。　But　precisely　at　the　moments　when　such　ideas　were　in　his　mind；　he　would　turn　with　a　peculiarly　calm　and　unconcerned　face；　which　inspired　respect　in　the　seconds　looking　at　him；　and　ask：　“Will　it　be　soon？”　or　“Aren’t　we　ready？”
When　everything　was　ready；　the　swords　stuck　in　the　snow　to　mark　the　barrier；　and　the　pistols　loaded；　Nesvitsky　went　up　to　Pierre。
“I　should　not　be　doing　my　duty；　count；”　he　said　in　a　timid　voice；　“nor　justifying　the　confidence　and　the　honour　you　have　done　me　in　choosing　me　for　your　second；　if　at　this　grave　moment；　this　very　grave　moment；　I　did　not　speak　the　whole　truth　to　you。　I　consider　that　the　quarrel　has　not　sufficient　grounds　and　is　not　worth　shedding　blood　over。…　You　were　not　right；　not　quite　in　the　right；　you　lost　your　temper。…”
“Oh；　yes；　it　was　awfully　stupid；”　said　Pierre。
“Then　allow　me　to　express　your　regret；　and　I　am　convinced　that　our　opponents　will　agree　to　accept　your　apology；”　said　Nesvitsky　（who；　like　the　others　assisting　in　the　affair；　and　every　one　at　such　affairs；　was　unable　to　believe　that　the　quarrel　would　come　to　an　actual　duel）。　“You　know；　count；　it　is　far　nobler　to　acknowledge　one’s　mistake　than　to　push　things　to　the　irrevocable。　There　was　no　great　offence　on　either　side。　Permit　me　to　convey…”
“No；　what　are　you　talking　about？”　said　Pierre；　“it　doesn’t　matter。…　Ready　then？”　he　added。　“Only　tell　me　how　and　where　I　am　to　go；　and　what　to　shoot　at？”　he　said　with　a　smile　unnaturally　gentle。　He　took　up　a　pistol；　and　began　inquiring　how　to　let　it　off；　as　he　had　never　had　a　pistol　in　his　hand　before；　a　fact　he　did　not　care　to　confess。　“Oh；　yes；　of　course；　I　know；　I　had　only　forgotten；”　he　said。
“No　apologies；　absolutely　nothing；”　Dolohov　was　saying　to　Denisov；　who　for　his　part　was　also　making　an　attempt　at　reconciliation；　and　he　too　went　up　to　the　appointed　spot。
The　place　chosen　for　the　duel　was　some　eighty　paces　from　the　road；　on　which　their　sledges　had　been　left；　in　a　small　clearing　in　the　pine　wood；　covered　with　snow　that　had　thawed　in　the　warmer　weather　of　the　last　few　days。　The　antagonists　stood　forty　paces　from　each　other　at　the　further　edge　of　the　clearing。　The　seconds；　in　measuring　the　paces；　left　tracks　in　the　deep；　wet　snow　from　the　spot　where　they　had　been　standing　to　the　swords　of　Nesvitsky　and　Denisov；　which　had　been　thrust　in　the　ground　ten　paces　from　one　another　to　mark　the　barrier。　The　thaw　and　mist　persisted；　forty　paces　away　nothing　could　be　seen。　In　three　minutes　everything　was　ready；　but　still　they　delayed　beginning。　Every　one　was　silent。


Chapter　5
“WELL；　let　us　begin；”　said　Dolohov。
“To　be　sure；”　said　Pierre；　still　with　the　same　smile。
A　feeling　of　dread　was　in　the　air。　It　was　obvious　that　the　affair　that　had　begun　so　lightly　could　not　now　be　in　any　way　turned　back；　that　it　was　going　forward　of　itself；　independently　of　men’s　will；　and　must　run　its　course。　Denisov　was　the　first　to　come　forward　to　the　barrier　and　pronounce　the　words：
“Since　the　antagonists　refuse　all　reconciliation；　would　it　not　be　as　well　to　begin？　Take　your　pistols；　and　at　the　word　‘three’　begin　to　advance　together。　O　…　one！　Two！　Three！　…”　Denisov　shouted　angrily；　and　he　walked　away　from　the　barrier。　Both　walked　along　the　trodden　tracks　closer　and　closer　together；　beginning　to　recognise　one　another　in　the　mist。　The　combatants　had　the　right　to　fire　when　they　chose　as　they　approached　the　barrier。　Dolohov　walked　slowly；　not　lifting　his　pistol；　and　looking　intently　with　his　clear；　shining　eyes　into　the　face　of　his　antagonist。　His　mouth　wore；　as　always；　the　semblance　of　a　smile。
“So　when　I　like；　I　can　fire；”　said　Pierre；　and　at　the　word　three；　he　walked　with　rapid　steps　forward；　straying　off　the　beaten　track　and　stepping　over　the　untrodden　snow。　Pierre　held　his　pistol　at　full　length　in　his　right　hand；　obviously　afraid　of　killing　himself　with　that　pistol。　His　left　arm　he　studiously　held　behind　him；　because　he　felt　inclined　to　use　it　to　support　his　right　arm；　and　he　knew　that　was　not　allowed。　After　advancing　six　paces；　and　getting　off　the　track　into　the　snow；　Pierre　looked　about　under　his　feet；　glancing　rapidly　again　at　Dolohov；　and　stretching　out　his　finger；　as　he　had　been　shown；　fired。　Not　at　all　expecting　so　loud　a　report；　Pierre　started　at　his　own　shot；　then　smiled　at　his　own　sensation　and　stood　still。　The　smoke；　which　was　made　thicker　by　the　fog；　hindered　him　from　seeing　for　the　first　moment；　but　the　other　shot　that　he　was　expecting　did　not　follow。　All　that　could　be　heard　were　Dolohov’s　rapid　footsteps；　and　his　figure　came　into　view　through　the　smoke。　With　one　hand　he　was　clutching　at　his　left　side；　the　other　was　clenched　on　the　lower　pistol。　His　face　was　pale。　Rostov　was　running　up　and　saying　something　to　him。
“N…no；”　Dolohov　muttered　through　his　teeth；　“no；　it’s　not　over”；　and　struggling　on　a　few　sinking；　staggering　steps　up　to　the　sword；　he　sank　on　to　the　snow　beside　it。　His　left　hand　was　covered　with　blood；　he　rubbed　it　on　his　coat　and　leaned　upon　it。　His　face　was　pale；　frowning　and　trembling。
“Co…”　Dolohov　began；　but　he　could　not　at　once　articulate　the　words：　“come　up；”　he　said；　with　an　effort。　Pierre；　hardly　able　to　restrain　his　sobs；　ran　towards　Dolohov；　and　would　have　crossed　the　space　that　separated　the　barriers；　when　Dolohov　cried：　“To　the　barrier！”　and　Pierre；　grasping　what　was　wanted；　stood　still　just　at　the　sword。　Only　ten　paces　divided　them。　Dolohov　putting　his　head　down；　greedily　bit　at　the　snow；　lifted　his　head　again；　sat　up；　tried　to　get　on　his　legs　and　sat　down；　trying　to　find　a　secure　centre　of　gravity。　He　took　a　mouthful　of　the　cold　snow；　and　sucked　it；　his　lips　quivered；　but　still　he　smiled；　his　eyes　glittered　with　the　strain　and　exasperation　of　the　struggle　with　his　failing　forces。　He　raised　the　pistol　and　began　taking　aim。
“Sideways；　don’t　expose　yourself　to　the　pistol；”　said　Nesvitsky。
“Don’t　face　it！”　Denisov　could　not　help　shouting；　though　it　was　to　an　antagonist。
With　his　gentle　smile　of　sympathy　and　remorse；　Pierre　stood　with　his　legs　and　arms　straddling　helplessly；　and　his　broad　chest　directly　facing　Dolohov；　and　looked　at　him　mournfully。　Denisov；　Rostov；　and　Nesvitsky　screwed　up　their　eyes。　At　the　same　instant　they　heard　a　shot　and　Dolohov’s　wrathful　cry。
“Missed！”　shouted　Dolohov；　and　he　dropped　helplessly；　face　downwards；　in　the　snow。　Pierre　clutched　at　his　head；　and　turning　back；　walked　into　the　wood；　off　the　path　in　the　snow；　muttering　aloud　incoherent　words。
“Stupid…stupid！　Death…lies…”　he　kept　repeating；　scowling。　Nesvitsky　stopped　him　and　took　him　home。
Rostov　and　Denisov　got　the　wounded　Dolohov　away。
Dolohov　lay　in　the　sledge　with　closed　eyes；　in　silence；　and　uttered　not　a　word　in　reply　to　questions　addressed　to　him。　But　as　they　were　driving　into　Moscow；　he　suddenly　came　to　himself；　and　lifting　his　head　with　an　effort；　he　took　the　hand　of　Rostov；　who　was　sitting　near　him。　Rostov　was　struck　by　the　utterly　transformed　and　unexpectedly　passionately　tender　expression　on　Dolohov’s　face。
“Well？　How　do　you　feel？”　asked　Rostov。
“Bad！　but　that’s　not　the　point。　My　friend；”　said　Dolohov；　in　a　breaking　voice；　“where　are　we？　We　are　in　Moscow；　I　know。　I　don’t　matter；　but　I　have　killed　her；　killed　her。…She　won’t　get　over　this。　She　can’t　bear…”
“Who？”　asked　Rostov。
“My　mother。　My　mother；　my　angel；　my　adored　angel；　my　mother；”　and　squeezing　Rostov’s　hand；　Dolohov　burst　into　tears。　When　he　was　a　little　calmer；　he　explained　to　Rostov　that　he　was　living　with　his　mother；　that　if　his　mother　were　to　see　him　dying；　she　would　not　get　over　the　shock。　He　besought　Rostov　to　go　to　her　and　prepare　her。
Rostov　drove　on　ahead　to　carry　out　his　wish；　and　to　his　immense　astonishment　he　learned　that　Dolohov；　this　bully；　this　noted　duellist　Dolohov；　lived　at　Moscow　with　his　old　mother　and　a　hunchback　sister；　and　was　the　tenderest　son　and　brother。


Chapter　6
PIERRE　had　of　late　rarely　seen　his　wife　alone。　Both　at　Petersburg　and　at　Moscow　their　house　had　been　constantly　full　of　guests