战争与和平(上)-第262节

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！


　being　seen；　ducking　his　head　and　quickening　his　pace　he　hurried　along　the　street。
Of　all　the　business　awaiting　Pierre　that　morning；　the　task　of　sorting　the　books　and　papers　of　Osip　Alexyevitch　seemed　to　him　the　most　urgent。
He　hailed　the　first　cab…driver　he　came　across；　and　told　him　to　drive　to　Patriarch’s　Ponds；　where　was　the　house　of　the　widow　of　Bazdyev。
Continually　watching　the　loaded　vehicles　moving　out　of　Moscow　from　all　directions；　and　balancing　his　bulky　person　carefully　not　to　slip　out　of　the　rickety　old　chaise；　Pierre　had　the　happy　sensation　of　a　run…away　schoolboy；　as　he　chatted　with　his　driver。
The　latter　told　him　that　to…day　arms　were　being　given　out　in　the　Kremlin；　and　that　next　day　every　one　would　be　driven　out　beyond　the　Three　Hills　Gate；　and　there　there　was　to　be　a　great　battle。
On　reaching　the　Patriarch’s　Ponds；　Pierre　looked　for　Bazdyev’s　house；　where　he　had　not　been　for　a　long　while　past。　He　went　up　to　a　little　garden　gate。　Gerasim；　the　yellow；　beardless　old　man　Pierre　had　seen　five　years　before　at　Torzhok　with　Osip　Alexyevitch；　came　out　on　hearing　him　knock。
“At　home？”　asked　Pierre。
“Owing　to　present　circumstances；　Sofya　Danilovna　and　her　children　have　gone　away　into　the　country；　your　excellency。”
“I’ll　come　in；　all　the　same；　I　want　to　look　through　the　books；”　said　Pierre。
“Pray　do；　you　are　very　welcome；　the　brother　of　my　late　master—the　heavenly　kingdom　be　his！—Makar　Alexyevitch　has　remained；　but　your　honour　is　aware　he　is　in　feeble　health；”　said　the　old　servant。
Makar　Alexyevitch　was；　as　Pierre　knew；　a　brother　of　Osip　Alexyevitch；　a　half…mad　creature；　besotted　by　drink。
“Yes；　yes；　I　know。　Let　us　go　in；”　said　Pierre；　and　he　went　into　the　house。　A　tall；　bald　old　man　in　a　dressing…gown；　with　a　red　nose　and　goloshes　on　his　bare　feet；　was　standing　in　the　vestibule；　seeing　Pierre；　he　muttered　something　angrily；　and　walked　away　into　the　corridor。
“He　was　a　great　intellect；　but　now；　as　your　honour　can　see；　he　has　grown　feeble；”　said　Gerasim。　“Will　you　like　to　go　into　the　study？”　Pierre　nodded。　“As　it　was　sealed　up；　so　it　has　remained。　Sofya　Danilovna　gave　orders　that　if　you　sent　for　the　books　they　were　to　be　handed　over。”
Pierre　went　into　the　gloomy　study；　which　he　had　entered　with　such　trepidation　in　the　lifetime　of　his　benefactor。　Now　covered　with　dust；　and　untouched　since　the　death　of　Osip　Alexyevitch；　the　room　was　gloomier　than　ever。
Gerasim　opened　one　blind；　and　went　out　of　the　room　on　tiptoe。　Pierre　walked　round　the　study；　went　up　to　the　bookcase；　where　the　manuscripts　were　kept；　and　took　one　of　the　most　important；　at　one　time　a　sacred　relic　of　the　order。　This　consisted　of　the　long　Scottish　acts　of　the　order；　with　Bazdyev’s　notes　and　commentaries。　He　sat　down　to　the　dusty　writing…table　and　laid　the　manuscripts　down　before　him；　opened　and　closed　them；　and　at　last；　pushing　them　away；　sank　into　thought；　with　his　elbow　on　the　table　and　his　head　in　his　hand。
Several　times　Gerasim　peeped　cautiously　into　the　study　and　saw　that　Pierre　was　sitting　in　the　same　attitude。
More　than　two　hours　passed　by；　Gerasim　ventured　to　make　a　slight　noise　at　the　door　to　attract　Pierre’s　attention。　Pierre　did　not　hear　him。
“Is　the　driver　to　be　dismissed；　your　honour？”
“Oh　yes；”　said　Pierre；　waking　up　from　his　reverie；　and　hurriedly　getting　up。　“Listen；”　he　said；　taking　Gerasim　by　the　button　of　his　coat　and　looking　down　at　the　old　man　with　moist；　shining；　eager　eyes。　“Listen！　You　know　that　to…morrow　there　is　to　be　a　battle　…”
“They　have　been　saying　so　…”　answered　Gerasim。
“I　beg　you　not　to　tell　any　one　who　I　am。　And　do　what　I　tell　you。。”
“Certainly；　sir；”　said　Gerasim。　“Would　your　honour　like　something　to　eat？”
“No；　but　I　want　something　else。　I　want　a　peasant　dress　and　a　pistol；”　said　Pierre；　suddenly　flushing　red。
“Certainly；　sir；”　said　Gerasim；　after　a　moment’s　thought。
All　the　rest　of　that　day　Pierre　spent　alone　in　his　benefactor’s　study　pacing　restlessly　from　one　corner　to　the　other；　as　Gerasim　could　hear；　and　talking　to　himself；　and　he　spent　the　night　on　a　bed　made　up　for　him　there。
Gerasim　accepted　Pierre’s　taking　up　his　abode　there　with　the　imperturbability　of　a　servant；　who　had　seen　many　queer　things　in　his　time；　and　he　seemed；　indeed；　pleased　at　having　some　one　to　wait　upon。　Without　even　permitting　himself　to　wonder　with　what　object　it　was　wanted；　he　obtained　for　Pierre　that　evening　a　coachman’s　coat　and　cap；　and　promised　next　day　to　procure　the　pistol　he　required。　Makar　Alexyevitch　twice　that　evening　approached　the　door；　shuffling　in　his　goloshes；　and　stood　there；　gazing　with　an　ingratiating　air　at　Pierre。　But　as　soon　as　Pierre　turned　to　him；　he　wrapped　his　dressing…gown　round　him　with　a　shamefaced　and　wrathful　look；　and　hastily　retreated。　Pierre　put　on　the　coachman’s　coat；　procured　and　carefully　fumigated　for　him　by　Gerasim；　and　went　out　with　the　latter　to　buy　a　pistol　at　the　Suharev　Tower。　It　was　there　he　had　met　the　Rostovs。


Chapter　19
ON　THE　NIGHT　of　the　1st　of　September　Kutuzov　gave　the　Russian　troops　the　command　to　fall　back　across　Moscow　to　the　Ryazan　road。
The　first　troops　moved　that　night；　marching　deliberately　and　in　steady　order。　But　at　dawn　the　retreating　troops　on　reaching　the　Dorogomilov　bridge　saw　before　them；　crowding　on　the　other　side；　and　hurrying　over　the　bridge；　and　blocking　the　streets　and　alleys　on　the　same　side；　and　bearing　down　upon　them　from　behind；　immense　masses　of　soldiers。　And　the　troops　were　overtaken　by　causeless　panic　and　haste。　There　was　a　general　rush　forward　towards　the　bridge；　on　to　the　bridge；　to　the　fords　and　to　the　boats。　Kutuzov　had　himself　driven　by　back　streets　to　the　other　side　of　Moscow。
At　ten　o’clock　in　the　morning　of　the　2nd　of　September　the　only　troops　left　in　the　Dorogomilov　suburbs　were　the　regiments　of　the　rear…guard；　and　the　crush　was　over。　The　army　was　already　on　the　further　side　of　Moscow；　and　out　of　the　town　altogether。
At　the　same　time；　at　ten　o’clock　in　the　morning　of　the　2nd　of　September；　Napoleon　was　standing　in　the　midst　of　his　troops　on　Poklonny　Hill；　gazing　at　the　spectacle　that　lay　before　him。　From　the　26th　of　August　to　the　2nd　of　September；　from　the　day　of　Borodino　to　the　entrance　into　Moscow；　all　that　agitating；　that　memorable　week；　there　had　been　that　extraordinarily　beautiful　autumn　weather；　which　always　comes　as　a　surprise；　when　though　the　sun　is　low　in　the　sky　it　shines　more　warmly　than　in　spring；　when　everything　is　glistening　in　the　pure；　limpid　air；　so　that　the　eyes　are　dazzled；　while　the　chest　is　braced　and　refreshed　inhaling　the　fragrant　autumn　air；　when　the　nights　even　are　warm；　and　when　in　these　dark；　warm　nights　golden　stars　are　continually　falling　from　the　sky；　to　the　delight　or　terror　of　all　who　watch　them。
At　ten　o’clock　on　the　2nd　of　September　the　morning　light　was　full　of　the　beauty　of　fairyland。　From　Poklonny　Hill　Moscow　lay　stretching　wide　below　with　her　river；　her　gardens；　and　her　churches；　and　seemed　to　be　living　a　life　of　her　own；　her　cupolas　twinkling　like　stars　in　the　sunlight。
At　the　sight　of　the　strange　town；　with　its　new　forms　of　unfamiliar　architecture；　Napoleon　felt　something　of　that　envious　and　uneasy　curiosity　that　men　feel　at　the　sight　of　the　aspects　of　a　strange　life；　knowing　nothing　of　them。　It　was　clear　that　that　town　was　teeming　with　vigorous　life。　By　those　indefinable　tokens　by　which　one　can　infallibly　tell　from　a　distance　a　live　body　from　a　dead　one；　Napoleon　could　detect　from　Poklonny　Hill　the　throb　of　life　in　the　town；　and　could　feel；　as　it　were；　the　breathing　of　that　beautiful；　great　being。　Every　Russian　gazing　at　Moscow　feels　she　is　the　mother；　every　foreigner　gazing　at　her；　and　ignorant　of　her　significance　as　the　mother　city；　must　be　aware　of　the　feminine　character　of　the　town；　and　Napoleon　felt　it。
“This　Asiatic　city　with　the　innumerable　churches；　Moscow　the　holy。　Here　it　is　at　last；　the　famous　city！　It　was　high　time；”　said　Napoleon；　and　dismounting　from　his　horse　he　bade　them　open　the　plan　of　Moscow　before　him；　and　sent　for　his　interpreter；　Lelorme　d’Ideville。
“A　city　occupied　by　the　enemy　is　like　a　girl　who　has　lost　her　honour；”　he　thought　（it　was　the　phrase　he　had　uttered　to　Tutchkov　at　Smolensk）。　And　from　that　point　of　view　he　gazed　at　the　Oriental　beauty　who　lay　for　the　first　time　before　his　eyes。　He　felt　it　strange　himself　that　the　desire　so　long　cherished；　and　thought　so　impossible；　had　at　last　come　to　pass。　In　the　clear　morning　light　he　gazed　at　the　town；　and　then　at　the　plan；　looking　up　its　details；　and　the　certainty　of　possessing　it　agitated　and　awed　him。
“But　how　could　it　be　otherwise？”　he　thought。　“Here　is　this　capital；　she　lies　at　my　feet　awaiting　her　fate。　Where　is　Alexander　now；　and　what　is　he　thinking？　A　strange；　beautiful；　and　grand　city！　And　a　strange　and　grand　moment　is　this！　In　what　light　must　I　appear　to　them？”　he　mused；　thinking　of　his　soldiers。　“Here　is　the　city—the　reward　for　all　those　of　little　faith；”　he　thought；　looking　round　at　his　suite　and　the　approaching　troops；　forming　into　ranks。
“One　word　of　mine；　one　wave　of　my　arm；　and　the　ancient　capital　of　the　Tsar　is　no　more。　But　my　clemency　is　ever　prompt　to　stoop　to　the　vanquished。　I　must　be　magnanimous　and　truly　great。　But　no；　it　is　not　true　that　I