战争与和平(上)-第293章

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e。
“Where　are　we　to　fasten　this　on？”　said　the　servant；　trying　to　lay　a　trunk　on　the　narrow　footboard　behind　in　the　carriage。　“We　must　keep　just　one　cart　for　it。”
“What　is　it？”　asked　Natasha。
“The　count’s　books。”
“Leave　it。　Vassilitch　will　put　it　away。　That’s　not　necessary。”
The　covered　gig　was　full　of　people；　they　were　only　in　doubt　where　Pyotr　Ilyitch　was　to　sit。
“He’ll　go　on　the　box。　You’ll　go　on　the　box；　won’t　you；　Petya？”　cried　Natasha。
Sonya；　too；　worked　with　unflagging　zeal；　but　the　aim　of　her　exertions　was　the　opposite　of　Natasha’s。　She　saw　to　the　storing　away　of　all　that　was　left　behind；　made　a　list　of　them　at　the　countess’s　desire；　and　tried　to　get　as　much　as　possible　taken　with　them。


Chapter　17
BY　TWO　O’CLOCK　the　Rostovs’　four　carriages；　packed　and　ready　to　start；　stood　in　the　approach。　The　waggon…loads　of　wounded　were　filing　one　after　another　out　of　the　yard。
The　coach　in　which　Prince　Andrey　was　being　taken　drove　by　the　front　door；　and　attracted　the　attention　of　Sonya；　who　was　helping　a　maid　to　arrange　the　countess’s　seat　comfortably　in　her　huge；　high　carriage。
“Whose　carriage　is　that？”　asked　Sonya；　popping　her　head　out　of　the　carriage　window。
“Why；　haven’t　you　heard；　miss？”　answered　the　maid。　“The　wounded　prince；　he　stayed　the　night　in　the　house；　and　is　going　on　with　us。”
“Oh；　who　is　he？　what’s　his　name？”
“Our　betrothed　that　was　…　Prince　Bolkonsky　himself！”　answered　the　maid；　sighing。　“They　say　he　is　dying。”
Sonya　jumped　out　of　the　carriage　and　ran　in　to　the　countess。　The　countess；　dressed　for　the　journey；　in　her　hat　and　shawl；　was　walking　wearily　about　the　drawing…room；　waiting　for　the　rest　of　the　household　to　come　in　and　sit　down　with　closed　doors；　for　the　usual　silent　prayer　before　setting　out。　Natasha　was　not　in　the　room。
“Mamma；”　said　Sonya。　“Prince　Andrey　is　here；　wounded　and　dying；　He　is　going　with　us。”
The　countess　opened　her　eyes　in　dismay；　and　clutching　Sonya’s　arm；　looked　about　her。
“Natasha；”　she　said。
Both　to　Sonya　and　the　countess　this　news　had　for　the　first　moment　but　one　significance。　They　knew　their　Natasha；　and　alarm　at　the　thought　of　the　effect　the　news　might　have　on　her　outweighed　all　sympathy　for　the　man；　though　they　both　liked　him。
“Natasha　does　not　know　yet；　but　he　is　going　with　us；”　said　Sonya。
“You　say　he　is　dying？”
Sonya　nodded。
The　countess　embraced　Sonya　and　burst　into　tears。　“The　ways　of　the　Lord　are　past　our　finding　out！”　she　thought；　feeling　that　in　all　that　was　passing　now　the　Hand　of　the　Almighty；　hitherto　unseen；　was　beginning　to　be　manifest。
“Well；　mamma；　it’s　all　ready。　What　is　it？　…”　asked　Natasha；　running　with　her　eager　face　into　the　room。
“Nothing；”　said　the　countess。　“If　we’re　ready；　then　do　let　us　start。”　And　the　countess　bent　over　her　reticule　to　hide　her　agitated　face。　Sonya　embraced　Natasha　and　kissed　her。
Natasha　looked　inquisitively　at　her。
“What　is　it？　What　has　happened？”
“Nothing；　…　oh；　no；　…”
“Something　very　bad；　concerning　me？　…　What　is　it？”　asked　the　keen…witted　Natasha。
Sonya　sighed；　and　made　no　reply。　The　count；　Petya；　Madame　Schoss；　Mavra　Kuzminishna；　and　Vassilitch　came　into　the　drawing…room；　and　closing　the　doors；　they　all　sat　down；　and　sat　so　in　silence；　without　looking　at　each　other　for　several　seconds。
The　count　was　the　first　to　get　up。　With　a　loud　sigh　he　crossed　himself　before　the　holy　picture。　All　the　others　did　the　same。　Then　the　count　proceeded　to　embrace　Mavra　Kuzminishna　and　Vassilitch；　who　were　to　remain　in　Moscow；　and　while　they　caught　at　his　hand　and　kissed　his　shoulder；　he　patted　them　on　the　back　with　vaguely　affectionate　and　reassuring　phrases。　The　countess　went　off　to　the　little　chapel；　and　Sonya　found　her　there　on　her　knees　before　the　holy　pictures；　that　were　still　left　here　and　there　on　the　walls。　All　the　holy　pictures　most　precious　through　association　with　the　traditions　of　the　family　were　being　taken　with　them。
In　the　porch　and　in　the　yard　the　servants　who　were　going—all　of　whom　had　been　armed　with　swords　and　daggers　by　Petya—with　their　trousers　tucked　in　their　boots；　and　their　sashes　or　leather　belts　tightly　braced；　took　leave　of　those　who　were　left　behind。
As　is　invariably　the　case　at　starting　on　a　journey；　a　great　many　things　were　found　to　have　been　forgotten；　or　packed　in　the　wrong　place；　and　two　grooms　were　kept　a　long　while　standing；　one　each　side　of　the　open　carriage　door；　ready　to　help　the　countess　up　the　carriage　steps；　while　maids　were　flying　with　pillows　and　bags　from　the　house　to　the　carriages；　the　coach；　and　the　covered　gig；　and　back　again。
“They　will　always　forget　everything　as　long　as　they　live！”　said　the　countess。　“You　know　that　I　can’t　sit　like　that。”　And　Dunyasha；　with　clenched　teeth　and　an　aggrieved　look　on　her　face；　rushed　to　the　carriage　to　arrange　the　cushions　again　without　a　word。
“Ah；　those　servants；”　said　the　count；　shaking　his　head。
The　old　coachman　Efim；　the　only　one　whom　the　countess　could　trust　to　drive　her；　sat　perched　up　on　the　box；　and　did　not　even　look　round　at　what　was　passing　behind　him。　His　thirty　years’　experience　had　taught　him　that　it　would　be　some　time　yet　before　they　would　say；　“Now；　in　God’s　name；　start！”　and　that　when　they　had　said　it；　they　would　stop　him　at　least　twice　again　to　send　back　for　things　that　had　been　forgotten；　and　after　that　he　would　have　to　pull　up　once　more　for　the　countess　herself　to　put　her　head　out　of　window　and　beg　him；　for　Christ’s　sake；　to　drive　carefully　downhill。　He　knew　this；　and　therefore　awaited　what　was　to　come　with　more　patience　than　his　horses；　especially　the　left　one；　the　chestnut　Falcon；　who　was　continually　pawing　the　ground　and　champing　at　the　bit。　At　last　all　were　seated；　the　carriage　steps　were　pulled　up；　and　the　door　slammed；　and　the　forgotten　travelling…case　had　been　sent　for　and　the　countess　had　popped　her　head　out　and　given　the　usual　injunctions。　Then　Efim　deliberately　took　his　hat　off　and　began　crossing　himself。　The　postillion　and　all　the　servants　did　the　same。
“With　God’s　blessing！”　said　Efim；　putting　his　hat　on。　“Off！”　The　postillion　started　his　horse。　The　right…shaft　horse　began　to　pull；　the　high　springs　creaked；　and　the　carriage　swayed。　The　footman　jumped　up　on　the　box　while　it　was　moving。　The　carriage　jolted　as　it　drove　out　of　the　yard　on　to　the　uneven　pavement；　the　other　vehicles　jolted　in　the　same　way　as　they　followed　in　a　procession　up　the　street。　All　the　occupants　of　the　carriages；　the　coach　and　the　covered　gig；　crossed　themselves　on　seeing　the　church　opposite。　The　servants；　who　were　staying　in　Moscow；　walked　along　on　both　sides　of　the　carriages　to　see　them　off。
Natasha　had　rarely　felt　such　a　joyful　sensation　as　she　experienced　at　that　moment　sitting　in　the　carriage　by　the　countess　and　watching；　as　they　slowly　moved　by　her；　the　walls　of　forsaken；　agitated　Moscow。　Now　and　then　she　put　her　head　out　of　the　carriage　window　and　looked　back；　and　then　in　front　of　the　long　train　of　waggons　full　of　wounded　soldiers　preceding　them。　Foremost　of　them　all　she　could　see　Prince　Andrey’s　closed　carriage。　She　did　not　know　who　was　in　it；　and　every　time　she　took　stock　of　the　procession　of　waggons　she　looked　out　for　that　coach。　She　knew　it　would　be　the　foremost。　In　Kudrino　and　from　Nikitsky　Street；　from　Pryesny；　and　from　Podnovinsky　several　trains　of　vehicles；　similar　to　the　Rostovs’；　came　driving　out；　and　by　the　time　they　reached　Sadovoy　Street　the　carriages　and　carts　were　two　deep　all　along　the　road。
As　they　turned　round　Suharev　Tower；　Natasha；　who　was　quickly　and　inquisitively　scrutinising　the　crowd　driving　and　walking　by；　uttered　a　cry　of　delight　and　surprise：
“Good　Heavens！　Mamma；　Sonya；　look；　it’s　he！”
“Who？　who？”
“Look；　do　look！　Bezuhov；”　said　Natasha；　putting　her　head　out　of　the　carriage　window　and　staring　at　a　tall；　stout　man　in　a　coachman’s　long　coat；　obviously　a　gentleman　disguised；　from　his　carriage　and　gait。　He　was　passing　under　the　arch　of　the　Suharev　Tower　beside　a　yellow…looking；　beardless；　little　old　man　in　a　frieze　cloak。
“Only　fancy！　Bezuhov　in　a　coachman’s　coat；　with　a　queer　sort　of　old…looking　boy；”　said　Natasha。　“Do　look；　do　look！”
“No；　it’s　not　he。　How　can　you　be　so　absurd！”
“Mamma；”　cried　Natasha。　“O