战争与和平(上)-第307章

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　owe　you　my　life。　That’s　enough　for　me。　I　am　at　your　disposal。　You　are　a　nobleman？”　he　added；　with　an　intonation　of　inquiry。　Pierre　bowed。
“Your　baptismal　name；　if　you　please？　I　ask　nothing　more。　M。　Pierre；　you　say？　Perfect！　That’s　all　I　want　to　know。”
When　they　had　brought　in　the　mutton；　an　omelette；　a　samovar；　vodka；　and　wine　from　a　Russian　cellar　brought　with　them　by　the　French；　Ramballe　begged　Pierre　to　share　his　dinner；　and　at　once　with　the　haste　and　greediness　of　a　healthy；　hungry　man；　set　to　work　on　the　viands　himself；　munching　vigorously　with　his　strong　teeth；　and　continually　smacking　his　lips　and　exclaiming；　“Excellent！　exquis！”　His　face　became　flushed　and　perspiring。　Pierre　was　hungry；　and　pleased　to　share　the　repast。　Morel；　the　orderly；　brought　in　a　pot　of　hot　water；　and　put　a　bottle　of　red　wine　to　warm　in　it。　He　brought　in　too　a　bottle　of　kvass　from　the　kitchen　for　them　to　taste。　This　beverage　was　already　known　to　the　French；　and　had　received　a　nickname。　They　called　it　limonade　de　cochon；　and　Morel　praised　this　“pigs’　lemonade；”　which　he　had　found　in　the　kitchen。　But　as　the　captain　had　the　wine　they　had　picked　up　as　they　crossed　Moscow；　he　left　the　kvass　for　Morel；　and　attacked　the　bottle　of　bordeaux。　He　wrapped　a　napkin　round　the　bottle；　and　poured　out　wine　for　himself　and　Pierre。　The　wine；　and　the　satisfaction　of　his　hunger；　made　the　captain　even　more　lively；　and　he　chatted　away　without　a　pause　all　dinner…time。
“Yes；　my　dear　M。　Pierre；　I　owe　you　a　fine　votive　candle　for　saving　me　from　that　maniac。　I　have　bullets　enough　in　my　body；　you　know。　Here　is　one　from　Wagram”　（he　pointed　to　his　side）；　“and　two　from　Smolensk”　（he　showed　the　scar　on　his　cheek）。　“And　this　leg　which　won’t　walk；　as　you　see。　It　was　at　the　great　battle　of　la　Moskowa　on　the　7th　that　I　got　that。　Sacré　Dieu；　it　was　fine！　You　ought　to　have　seen　that；　it　was　a　deluge　of　fire。　You　cut　us　out　a　tough　job；　you　can　boast　of　that；　my　word　on　it！　And　on　my　word；　in　spite　of　the　cough　I　caught；　I　should　be　ready　to　begin　again。　I　pity　those　who　did　not　see　it。”
“I　was　there；”　said　Pierre。
“Really！”　pursued　the　Frenchman。　“Well；　so　much　the　better。　You　are　fine　enemies；　though。　The　great　redoubt　was　well　held；　by　my　pipe。　And　you　made　us　pay　heavily　for　it　too。　I　was　at　it　three　times；　as　I’m　sitting　here。　Three　times　we　were　upon　the　cannons；　and　three　times　we　were　driven　back　like　cardboard　figures。　Oh；　it　was　fine；　M。　Pierre。　Your　grenadiers　were　superb；　God’s　thunder。　I　saw　them　six　times　in　succession　close　the　ranks　and　march　as　though　on　parade。　Fine　fellows。　Our　king　of　Naples；　who　knows　all　about　it；　cried；　Bravo！　Ah；　ah；　soldiers　like　ourselves；”　he　said　after　a　moment’s　silence。　“So　much　the　better；　so　much　the　better；　M。　Pierre。　Terrible　in　war　…　gallant；　with　the　fair”　（he　winked　with　a　smile）—“there　you　have　the　French；　M。　Pierre；　eh？”
The　captain　was　so　na？vely　and　good…humouredly　gay　and　obtuse　and　self…satisfied　that　Pierre　almost　winked　in　response；　as　he　looked　good…humouredly　at　him。　Probably　the　word　“gallant”　brought　the　captain　to　reflect　on　the　state　of　things　in　Moscow。
“By　the　way；　tell　me；　is　it　true　that　all　the　women　have　left　Moscow？　What　a　queer　idea！　What　had　they　to　fear？”
“Would　not　the　French　ladies　quit　Paris；　if　the　Russians　were　to　enter　it？”　said　Pierre。
“Ha—ha—ha！…”　The　Frenchman　gave　vent　to　a　gay；　sanguine　chuckle；　slapping　Pierre　on　the　shoulder。　“That’s　a　good　one；　that　is；”　he　went　on。　“Paris　…　But　Paris…”
“Paris　is　the　capital　of　the　world；”　said　Pierre；　finishing　the　sentence　for　him。
The　captain　looked　at　Pierre。　He　had　the　habit　of　stopping　short　in　the　middle　of　conversation；　and　staring　intently　with　his　laughing　genial　eyes。
“Well；　if　you　had　not　told　me　you　are　a　Russian；　I　would　have　wagered　you　were　a　Parisian。　You　have　that　indescribable　something　…”　and　uttering　this　compliment；　he　again　gazed　at　him　mutely。
“I　have　been　in　Paris。　I　spent　years　there；”　said　Pierre。
“One　can　see　that！　Paris！　A　man　who　does　not　know　Paris　is　a　savage　…　A　Parisian　can　be　told　two　leagues　off。　Paris—it　is　Talma；　la　Duschénois；　Potier；　the　Sorbonne；　the　boulevards。”　Perceiving　that　the　conclusion　of　his　phrase　was　somewhat　of　an　anticlimax；　he　added　hurriedly；　“There　is　only　one　Paris　in　the　world。…　You　have　been　in　Paris；　and　you　remain　Russian。　Well；　I　don’t　think　the　less　of　you　for　that。”
After　the　days　he　had　spent　alone　with　his　gloomy　thoughts；　Pierre；　under　the　influence　of　the　wine　he　had　drunk；　could　not　help　taking　pleasure　in　conversing　with　this　good…humoured　and　na？ve　person。
“To　return　to　your　ladies；　they　are　said　to　be　beautiful。　What　a　silly　idea　to　go　and　bury　themselves　in　the　steppes；　when　the　French　army　is　in　Moscow。　What　a　chance　they　have　lost。　Your　peasants　are　different；　but　you　civilised　people　ought　to　know　better　than　that。　We　have　taken　Vienna；　Berlin；　Madrid；　Naples；　Rome；　Warsaw—all　the　capitals　in　the　world。　We　are　feared；　but　we　are　loved。　We　are　worth　knowing。　And　then　the　Emperor…”　he　was　beginning；　but　Pierre　interrupted　him。
“The　Emperor；”　repeated　Pierre；　and　his　face　suddenly　wore　a　mournful　and　embarrassed　look。　“What　of　the　Emperor？”
“The　Emperor？　He　is　generosity；　mercy；　justice；　order；　genius—that　is　the　Emperor。　It　is　I；　Ramballe；　who　tell　you　that。　I　was　his　enemy　eight　years　ago。　My　father　was　an　emigrant　count。　But　he　has　conquered　me；　that　man。　He　has　taken　hold　of　me。　I　could　not　resist　the　spectacle　of　the　greatness　and　glory　with　which　he　was　covering　France。　When　I　understood　what　he　wanted；　when　I　saw　he　was　preparing　a　bed　of　laurels　for　us；　I　said　to　myself：　‘That　is　a　monarch。’　And　I　gave　myself　up　to　him。　Oh　yes；　he　is　the　greatest　man　of　the　centuries；　past　and　to　come。”
“And　is　he　in　Moscow？”　Pierre　asked；　hesitating　and　looking　guilty。
The　Frenchman　gazed　at　Pierre’s　guilty　face；　and　grinned。
“No；　he　will　make　his　entry　to…morrow；”　he　said；　and　went　on　with　his　talk。
Their　conversation　was　interrupted　by　several　voices　shouting　at　the　gates；　and　Morel　coming　in　to　tell　the　captain　that　some　Würtemberg　hussars　had　come　and　wanted　to　put　up　their　horses　in　the　yard　in　which　the　captain’s　had　been　put　up。　The　difficulty　arose　chiefly　from　the　hussars　not　understanding　what　was　said　to　them。
The　captain　bade　the　senior　sergeant　be　brought　to　him；　and　in　a　stern　voice　asked　him　to　what　regiment　he　belonged；　who　was　his　commanding　officer；　and　on　what　pretext　he　dared　attempt　to　occupy　quarters　already　occupied。　The　German；　who　knew　very　little　French；　succeeded　in　answering　the　first　two　questions；　but　in　reply　to　the　last　one；　which　he　did　not　understand；　he　answered　in　broken　French　and　German　that　he　was　quartermaster　of　the　regiment；　and　had　received　orders　from　his　superior　officer　to　occupy　all　the　houses　in　the　row。　Pierre；　who　knew　German；　translated　the　German’s　words　to　the　captain；　and　translated　the　captain’s　answer　back　for　the　Würtemberg　hussar。　On　understanding　what　was　said　to　him；　the　German　gave　in；　and　took　his　men　away。
The　captain　went　out　to　the　entrance　and　gave　some　loud　commands。
When　he　came　back　into　the　room；　Pierre　was　sitting　where　he　had　been　sitting　before；　with　his　head　in　his　hands。　His　face　expressed　suffering。　He　really　was　at　that　moment　suffering。　As　soon　as　the　captain　had　gone　out；　and　Pierre　had　been　left　alone；　he　suddenly　came　to　himself；　and　recognised　the　position　he　was　in。　It　was　not　that　Moscow　had　been　taken；　not　that　these　lucky　conquerors　were　making　themselves　at　home　there　and　patronising　him；　bitterly　as　Pierre　felt　it；　that　tortured　him　at　that　moment。　He　was　tortured　by　the　consciousness　of　his　own　weakness。　The　few　glasses　of　wine　he　had　drunk；　the　chat　with　this　good…natured　fellow；　had　dissipated　that　mood　of　concentrated　gloom；　which　he　had　been　living　in　for　the　last　few　days；　and　which　was　essential　for　carrying　out　his　design。　The　pistol　and　the　dagger　and　the　peasant’s　coat　were　ready；　Napoleon　was　making　his　entry　on　the　morrow。　Pierre　felt　it　as　praiseworthy　and　as　beneficial　as　ever　to　slay　the　miscreant；　but　he　felt　now　that　he　would　not　do　it。　He　struggled　against　the　consciousness　of　his　own　we