战争与和平(上)-第138章

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Cursing　his　temerity；　ready　to　faint　at　the　thought　that　he　might　any　minute　meet　the　Emperor　and　be　put　to　shame　before　him　and　placed　under　arrest；　fully　aware　by　now　of　all　the　indecorum　of　his　action；　and　regretting　it；　Rostov　was　making　his　way　out　of　the　house　with　downcast　eyes；　through　the　crowd　of　the　gorgeously　dressed　suite；　when　a　familiar　voice　called　to　him；　and　a　hand　detained　him。
“Well；　sir；　what　are　you　doing　here　in　a　frock　coat？”　asked　the　bass　voice。
It　was　a　cavalry　general　who　had　won　the　Emperor’s　special　favour　during　this　campaign；　and　had　formerly　been　in　command　of　the　division　in　which　Rostov　was　serving。
Rostov　began　in　dismay　to　try　and　excuse　himself；　but　seeing　the　good…naturedly　jocose　face　of　the　general；　he　moved　on　one　side；　and　in　an　excited　voice　told　him　of　the　whole　affair；　begging　him　to　intercede　for　Denisov；　whom　the　general　knew。
The　general　on　hearing　Rostov’s　story　shook　his　head　gravely。　“I’m　sorry；　very　sorry　for　the　gallant　fellow；　give　me　the　letter。”
Rostov　had　scarcely　time　to　give　him　the　letter　and　tell　him　all　about　Denisov’s　scrape；　when　the　clank　of　rapid　footsteps　with　spurs　was　heard　on　the　stairs；　and　the　general　left　his　side　and　moved　up　to　the　steps。　The　gentlemen　of　the　Emperor’s　suite　ran　downstairs　and　went　to　their　horses。　The　postillion；　the　same　one　who　had　been　at　Austerlitz；　led　up　the　Emperor’s　horse；　and　on　the　stairs　was　heard　a　light　footstep　which　Rostov　knew　at　once。　Forgetting　the　danger　of　being　recognised；　Rostov　moved　right　up　to　the　steps　together　with　some　curious　persons　from　the　town；　and　again　after　two　years　he　saw　the　features　he　adored：　the　same　face；　the　same　glance；　the　same　walk；　the　same　combination　of　majesty　and　mildness。…　And　the　feeling　of　enthusiasm　and　devotion　to　the　Emperor　rose　up　again　in　Rostov’s　heart　with　all　its　old　force。　The　Emperor　wore　the　uniform　of　the　Preobrazhensky　regiment；　white　elk…skin　breeches　and　high　boots；　and　a　star　which　Rostov　did　not　recognise　（it　was　the　star　of　the　Legion　of　Honour）。　He　came　out　on　the　steps；　holding　his　hat　under　his　arm；　and　putting　on　his　glove。　He　stopped；　looking　round　and　seeming　to　shed　brightness　around　him　with　his　glance。　To　some　one　of　the　generals　he　said　a　few　words。　He　recognised；　too；　the　former　commander　of　Rostov’s　division；　smiled　to　him；　and　summoned　him　to　him。
All　the　suite　stood　back；　and　Rostov　saw　the　general　talking　at　some　length　to　the　Emperor。
The　Emperor　said　a　few　words　to　him；　and　took　a　step　towards　his　horse。　Again　the　crowd　of　the　suite　and　the　street　gazers；　among　whom　was　Rostov；　moved　up　closer　to　the　Emperor。　Standing　still　with　his　hand　on　the　saddle；　the　Emperor　turned　to　the　cavalry　general　and　said　aloud　with　the　obvious　intention　of　being　heard　by　all：　“I　cannot；　general；　and　I　cannot　because　the　law　is　mightier　than　I　am；”　and　he　put　his　foot　in　the　stirrup。　The　general　bent　his　head　respectfully；　the　Emperor　took　his　seat　and　galloped　up　the　street。　Rostov；　wild　with　enthusiasm；　ran　after　him　with　the　crowd。


Chapter　21
IN　THE　PUBLIC　SQUARE　towards　which　the　Tsar　rode　there　stood；　facing　each　other；　the　battalion　of　the　Preobrazhensky　regiment　on　the　right；　and　the　battalion　of　the　French　guards　in　bearskin　caps　on　the　left。
While　the　Emperor　was　riding　up　to　one　flank　of　the　battalions；　who　presented　arms；　another　crowd　of　horsemen　was　galloping　up　to　the　opposite　flank；　and　at　the　head　of　them　Rostov　recognised　Napoleon。　That　figure　could　be　no　one　else。　He　galloped　up；　wearing　a　little　hat；　the　ribbon　of　St。　Andrey　across　his　shoulder；　and　a　blue　uniform　open　over　a　white　vest。　He　was　riding　a　grey　Arab　horse　of　extremely　fine　breed；　with　a　crimson；　gold…embroidered　saddle…cloth。　Riding　up　to　Alexander；　he　raised　his　hat；　and　at　that　moment　Rostov；　with　his　cavalryman’s　eye；　could　not　help　noticing　that　Napoleon　had　a　bad　and　uncertain　seat　on　horseback。　The　battalions　shouted　hurrah；　and　vive　l’Empereur！　Napoleon　said　something　to　Alexander。　Both　Emperors　dismounted　from　their　horses　and　took　each　other　by　the　hands。　Napoleon’s　face　wore　an　unpleasantly　hypocritical　smile。　Alexander　was　saying　something　to　him　with　a　cordial　expression。
In　spite　of　the　kicking　of　the　horses　of　the　French　gendarmes；　who　were　keeping　back　the　crowd；　Rostov　watched　every　movement　of　the　Emperor　Alexander　and　of　Bonaparte；　and　never　took　his　eyes　off　them。　What　struck　him　as　something　unexpected　and　strange　was　that　Alexander　behaved　as　though　Bonaparte　were　his　equal；　and　that　Bonaparte　in　his　manner　to　the　Russian　Tsar　seemed　perfectly　at　ease；　as　though　this　equal　and　intimate　relation　with　a　monarch　were　something　natural　and　customary　with　him。
Alexander　and　Napoleon；　with　a　long　tail　of　suite；　moved　towards　the　right　flank　of　the　Preobrazhensky　battalion；　close　up　to　the　crowd　which　was　standing　there。　The　crowd　found　itself　unexpectedly　so　close　to　the　Emperors；　that　Rostov；　who　stood　in　the　front　part　of　it；　began　to　be　afraid　he　might　be　recognised。
“Sire；　I　ask　your　permission　to　give　the　Legion　of　Honour　to　the　bravest　of　your　soldiers；”　said　a　harsh；　precise　voice；　fully　articulating　every　letter。
It　was　little　Bonaparte　speaking；　looking　up　straight　into　Alexander’s　eyes。　Alexander　listened　attentively　to　what　was　said　to　him；　and　bending　his　head　smiled　amiably。
“To　him　who　bore　himself　most　valiantly　in　this　last　war；”　added　Napoleon；　emphasising　each　syllable；　and　with　an　assurance　and　composure；　revolting　to　Rostov；　scanning　the　rows　of　Russian　soldiers　drawn　up　before　him；　all　presenting　arms；　and　all　gazing　immovably　at　the　face　of　their　own　Emperor。
“Will　your　majesty　allow　me　to　ask　the　opinion　of　the　colonel？”　said　Alexander；　and　he　took　a　few　hurried　steps　towards　Prince　Kozlovsky；　the　commander　of　the　battalion。　Bonaparte　was　meanwhile　taking　the　glove　off　his　little　white　hand；　and；　tearing　it；　he　threw　it　away。　An　adjutant；　rushing　hurriedly　forward　from　behind；　picked　it　up。　“Give　it　to　whom？”　the　Emperor　Alexander　asked　of　Kozlovsky　in　Russian；　in　a　low　voice。
“As　your　majesty　commands。”
The　Emperor　frowned；　with　a　look　of　displeasure；　and；　looking　round；　said：　“Well；　we　must　give　him　an　answer。”
Kozlovsky　scanned　the　ranks　with　a　resolute　air；　taking　in　Rostov　too；　in　that　glance。
“Won’t　it　be　me！”　thought　Rostov。
“Lazarev！”　the　colonel　called　with　a　scowling　face；　and　Lazarev；　the　soldier　who　was　the　best　shot　in　firing　at　the　range；　stepped　smartly　forward。
“Where　are　you　off　to？　Stand　still！”　voices　whispered　to　Lazarev；　who　did　not　know　where　he　was　to　go。　Lazarev　stopped　short；　with　a　sidelong　scared　look　at　his　colonel；　and　his　face　quivered；　as　one　so　often　sees　in　soldiers　called　up　in　front　of　the　ranks。
Napoleon　gave　a　slight　backward　turn　of　his　head；　and　a　slight　motion　of　his　little　fat　hand；　as　though　seeking　something　with　it。　The　members　of　his　suite；　who　guessed　the　same　second　what　was　wanted；　were　all　in　a　bustle；　they　whispered　together；　passing　something　from　one　to　another；　and　a　page—the　same　one　Rostov　had　seen　the　previous　evening　at　Boris’s　quarters—ran　forward；　and　respectfully　bowing　over　the　outstretched　hand　and　not　keeping　it　one　instant　waiting；　put　in　it　an　order　on　a　red　ribbon。　Napoleon；　without　looking　at　it；　pressed　two　fingers　together；　the　order　was　between　them。　Napoleon　approached　Lazarev；　who　stood　rolling　his　eyes；　and　still　gazing　obstinately　at　his　own　Emperor　only。　Napoleon　looked　round　at　the　Emperor　Alexander；　as　though　to　show　that　what　he　was　doing　now　he　was　doing　for　the　sake　of　his　ally。　The　little　white　hand；　with　the　order　in　it；　just　touched　the　button　of　the　soldier　Lazarev。　It　was　as　though　Napoleon　knew　that　it　was　enough　for　his；　Napoleon’s；　hand　to　deign　to　touch　the　soldier’s　breast；　for　that　soldier　to　be　happy；　rewarded；　and　distinguished　from　every　one　in　the　world。　Napoleon　merely　laid　the　cross　on　Lazarev’s　breast；　and；　dropping　his　hand；　turned　to　Alexander；　as　though　he　knew　that　cross　would　be　sure　to　stick　on　Lazarev’s　breast。　The　cross　did；　in　fact；　stick　on。
Officious　hands；　Russian　and　French；　were　instantaneously　ready　to　support　it；　to　fasten　it　to　his　uniform。
Lazarev　looked　darkly　at　th