战争与和平(上)-第198章

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Anatole　and　Dolohov　liked　Balaga；　too；　for　his　spirited　driving；　and　because　he　liked　the　same　things　that　they　liked。　With　other　people　Balaga　drove　hard　bargains；　he　would　take　as　much　as　twenty…five　roubles　for　a　two　hours’　drive；　and　rarely　drove　himself；　generally　sending　one　of　his　young　men。　But　with　his　own　gentlemen；　as　he　called　them；　he　always　drove　himself；　and　never　asked　for　anything　for　the　job。
Only　after　learning　through　their　valets　when　money　was　plentiful；　he　would　turn　up　once　every　few　months　in　the　morning；　and　sober；　and　bowing　low；　would　ask　them　to　help　him　out　of　his　difficulties。　The　gentlemen　always　made　him　sit　down。
“Please；　help　me　out　of　a　scrape；　Fyodor　Ivanovitch；　or　your　excellency；”　he　would　say。　“I’m　quite　run　out　of　horses；　lend　me　what　you　can　to　go　to　the　fair。”
And　whenever　they　were　flush　of　money　Anatole　and　Dolohov　would　give　him　a　thousand　or　two。
Balaga　was　a　flaxen…headed；　squat；　snub…nosed　peasant　of　seven　and　twenty；　with　a　red　face　and　a　particularly　red；　thick　neck；　little　sparkling　eyes；　and　a　little　beard。　He　wore　a　fine　blue　silk…lined　full　coat；　put　on　over　a　fur　pelisse。
He　crossed　himself；　facing　the　opposite　corner；　and　went　up　to　Dolohov；　holding　out　his　black；　little　hand。
“Respects　to　Fyodor　Ivanovitch！”　said　he；　bowing
“Good…day　to　you；　brother。　Well；　here　he　comes！”
“Good…morning；　your　excellency！”　he　said　to　Anatole　as　he　came　in　and　to　him；　too；　he　held　out　his　hand。
“I　say；　Balaga；”　said　Anatole；　laying　his　hands　on　his　shoulders；　“do　you　care　for　me　or　not？　Eh？　Now’s　the　time　to　do　me　good　service。…　What　sort　of　horses　have　you　come　with？　Eh？”
“As　the　messenger　bade　me；　your　favourite　beasts；”　said　Balaga。
“Come；　Balaga；　do　you　hear？　You　may　kill　all　three　of　them；　only　get　there　in　three　hours。　Eh？”
“If　I　kill　them；　how　are　we　to　get　there？”　said　Balaga；　winking。
“None　of　your　jokes　now。　I’ll　smash　your　face　in！”　cried　Anatole　suddenly；　rolling　his　eyes。
“Jokes！”　said　the　driver；　laughing。　“Do　I　grudge　anything　for　my　gentlemen？　As　fast　as　ever　the　horses　can　gallop　we　shall　get　there。”
“Ah！”　said　Anatole。　“Well；　sit　down。”
“Come；　sit　down；”　said　Dolohov。
“Oh；　I’ll　stand；　Fyodor　Ivanovitch。”
“Sit　down；　nonsense！　have　a　drink；”　said　Anatole；　and　he　poured　him　out　a　big　glass　of　madeira。　The　driver’s　eyes　sparkled　at　the　sight　of　the　wine。　Refusing　it　at　first　for　manners’　sake；　he　tossed　it　off；　and　wiped　his　mouth　with　a　red　silk　handkerchief　that　lay　in　his　cap。
“Well；　and　when　are　we　to　start；　your　excellency？”
“Oh…”　Anatole　looked　at　his　watch。　“We　must　set　off　at　once。　Now　mind；　Balaga。　Eh？　You’ll　get　there　in　time？”
“To　be　sure；　if　we’ve　luck　in　getting　off。　Why　shouldn’t　we　do　it　in　the　time？”　said　Balaga。　“We　got　you　to　Tver；　and　got　there　in　seven　hours。　You　remember；　I　bet；　your　excellency！”
“Do　you　know；　I　once　drove　from　Tver　at　Christmas　time；”　said　Anatole；　with　a　smile　at　the　recollection；　addressing　Makarin；　who　was　gazing　admiringly　at　him。　“Would　you　believe　it；　Makarka；　one　could　hardly　breathe　we　flew　so　fast。　We　drove　into　a　train　of　wagons　and　rode　right　over　two　of　them！　Eh？”
“They　were　horses；　too；”　Balaga　went　on。　“I’d　put　two　young　horses　in　the　traces　with　the　bay　in　the　shafts”—he　turned　to　Dolohov—“and；　would　you　believe　me；　Fyodor　Ivanovitch；　sixty　versts　those　beasts　galloped。　There　was　no　holding　them；　for　my　hands　were　numb；　it　was　a　frost。　I　flung　down　the　reins。　“You　hold　them　yourself；　your　excellency；”　said　I；　and　I　rolled　up　inside　the　sledge。　No　need　of　driving　them。　Why；　we　couldn’t　hold　them　in　when　we　got　there。　In　three　hours　the　devils　brought　us。　Only　the　left　one　died　of　it。”


Chapter　17
ANATOLE　went　out　of　the　room；　and　a　few　minutes　later　he　came　back　wearing　a　fur　pelisse；　girt　with　a　silver　belt；　and　a　sable　cap；　jauntily　stuck　on　one　side；　and　very　becoming　to　his　handsome　face。　Looking　at　himself　in　the　looking…glass；　and　then　standing　before　Dolohov　in　the　same　attitude　he　had　taken　before　the　looking…glass；　he　took　a　glass　of　wine。
“Well；　Fedya；　farewell；　thanks　for　everything；　and　farewell；”　said　Anatole。　“Come；　comrades；　friends　…”—he　grew　pensive—“of　my　youth　…　farewell；”　he　turned　to　Makarin　and　the　others。
Although　they　were　all　going　with　him；　Anatole　evidently　wanted　to　make　a　touching　and　solemn　ceremony　of　this　address　to　his　comrades。　He　spoke　in　a　loud；　deliberate　voice；　squaring　his　chest　and　swinging　one　leg。
“All　take　glasses；　you　too；　Balaga。　Well；　lads；　friends　of　my　youth；　we　have　had　jolly　sprees　together。　Eh？　Now；　when　shall　we　meet　again？　I’m　going　abroad！　We’ve　had　a　good　time；　and　farewell；　lads。　Here’s　to　our　health！　Hurrah！　…”　he　said；　tossing　off　his　glass；　and　flinging　it　on　the　floor。
“To　your　health！”　said　Balaga。　He；　too；　emptied　his　glass　and　wiped　his　lips　with　his　handkerchief。
Makarin　embraced　Anatole　with　tears　in　his　eyes。
“Ah；　prince；　how　it　grieves　my　heart　to　part　from　you；”　he　said。
“Start！　start！”　shouted　Anatole。
Balaga　was　going　out　of　the　room。
“No；　stay；”　said　Anatole。　“Shut　the　door；　we　must　sit　down。　Like　this。”　They　shut　the　door　and　all　sat　down。
“Well；　now；　quick；　march；　lads！”　said　Anatole；　getting　up。
The　valet；　Joseph；　gave　Anatole　his　knapsack　and　sword；　and　they　all　went　out　into　the　vestibule。
“But　where’s　a　fur　cloak？”　said　Dolohov。　“Hey；　Ignatka！　Run　in　to　Matryona　Matveyevna；　and　ask　her　for　the　sable　cloak。　I’ve　heard　what　elopements　are　like；”　said　Dolohov；　winking。　“She’ll　come　skipping　out　more　dead　than　alive　just　in　the　things　she　had　on　indoors；　the　slightest　delay　and　then　there　are　tears；　and　dear　papa　and　dear　mamma；　and　she’s　frozen　in　a　minute　and　for　going　back　again—you　wrap　her　up　in　a　cloak　at　once　and　carry　her　to　the　sledge。”
The　valet　brought　a　woman’s　fox…lined　pelisse。
“Fool；　I　told　you　the　sable。　Hey；　Matryoshka；　the　sable；”　he　shouted；　so　that　his　voice　rang　out　through　the　rooms。
A　handsome；　thin；　and　pale　gypsy　woman；　with　shining　black　eyes　and　curly　black　hair；　with　a　bluish　shade　in　it；　ran　out；　wearing　a　red　shawl　and　holding　a　sable　cloak　on　her　arm。
“Here；　I　don’t　grudge　it；　take　it；”　she　said；　in　visible　fear　of　her　lord　and　regretful　at　losing　the　cloak。
Dolohov；　making　her　no　answer；　took　the　cloak；　flung　it　about　Matryosha；　and　wrapped　her　up　in　it。
“That’s　the　way；”　said　Dolohov。　“And　then　this　is　the　way；”　he　said　and　he　turned　the　collar　up　round　her　head；　leaving　it　only　a　little　open　before　the　face。　“And　then　this　is　the　way；　do　you　see？”　and　he　moved　Anatole’s　head　forward　to　meet　the　open　space　left　by　the　collar；　from　which　Matryosha’s　flashing　smile　peeped　out。
“Well；　good…bye；　Matryosha；”　said　Anatole；　kissing　her。　“Ah；　all　my　fun　here　is　over！　Give　my　love　to　Styoshka。　There；　good…bye！　Good…bye；　Matryosha；　wish　me　happiness。”
“God　grant　you　great　happiness；　prince；”　said　Matryosha；　with　her　gypsy　accent。
At　the　steps　stood　two　three…horse　sledges；　two　stalwart　young　drivers　were　holding　them。　Balaga　took　his　seat　in　the　foremost；　and　holding　his　elbows　high；　began　deliberately　arranging　the　reins　in　his　hands。　Anatole　and　Dolohov　got　in　with　him。　Makarin；　Hvostikov；　and　the　valet　got　into　the　other　sledge。
“Ready；　eh？”　queried　Balaga。　“Off！”　he　shouted；　twisting　the　reins　round　his　hands；　and　the　sledge　flew　at　break…neck　pace　along　the　Nikitsky　Boulevard。
“Tprroo！　Hi！　…　Tproo！！”　Balaga　and　the　young　driver　on　the　box　were　continually　shouting。
In　Arbatsky　Square　the　sledge　came　into　collision　with　a　carriage；　there　was　a　crash　and　shouts；　and　the　sledge　flew　off　along　Arbaty。　Turning　twice　along　Podnovinsky；　Balaga　began　to　pull　up；　and　turning　back；　stopped　the　horses　at　the　Old　Equerrys’　crossing。
A　smart　young　driver　jumped　down　to　hold　the　horses　by　the　bridle；　Anatole　and　Dolohov　walked　along　the　pavement。　On　reaching　the　gates；　Dolohov　whistled。　The　whistle　was　answered；　and　a　maid…servant　ran　out。
“Come　into　the　courtyard；　or　you’ll　be　seen；　she　is　coming　in　a　minute；”　she　said。
Dolohov　stayed　at　the　gate。　Anatole　followed　the　maid　into　the　courtyard；　turned　a　corner；　and　ran　up　the　steps。
He　was　met　by　Gav