战争与和平(上)-第377章

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Dessalle’s　voice　was　heard　at　the　door　asking　whether　Nikolushka　might　come　in　to　say　good…night。　“And　that　is　all；　all　…”　said　Natasha。　She　got　up　quickly　at　the　moment　Nikolushka　was　coming　in；　and　almost　running　to　the　door；　knocked　her　head　against　it　as　it　was　hidden　by　the　portière；　and　with　a　moan；　half　of　pain；　half　of　sorrow；　she　rushed　out　of　the　room。
Pierre　gazed　at　the　door　by　which　she　had　gone　out；　and　wondered　why　he　felt　suddenly　alone　in　the　wide　world。
Princess　Marya　roused　him　from　his　abstraction；　calling　his　attention　to　her　nephew　who　had　just　come　into　the　room。
The　face　of　Nikolushka；　so　like　his　father；　had　such　an　effect　on　Pierre　at　this　moment　of　emotional　tension；　that；　after　kissing　the　child；　he　got　up　himself；　and　taking　out　his　handkerchief；　walked　away　to　the　window。　He　would　have　taken　leave；　but　Princess　Marya　would　not　let　him　go。
“No；　Natasha　and　I　often　do　not　go　to　bed　till　past　two；　please　stay　a　little　longer。　We　will　have　supper。　Go　downstairs；　we　will　come　in　a　moment。”
Before　Pierre　went　down；　the　princess　said　to　him：　“It　is　the　first　time　she　has　talked　of　him　like　this。”


Chapter　17
PIERRE　was　conducted　into　the　big；　lighted…up　dining…room。　In　a　few　minutes　he　heard　footsteps　and　the　princess　and　Natasha　came　into　the　room。　Natasha　was　calm；　though　the　stern；　unsmiling　expression　had　come　back　again　now　into　her　face。　Princess　Marya；　Natasha；　and　Pierre　all　equally　experienced　that　feeling　of　awkwardness　which　usually　follows　when　a　serious　and　deeply　felt　conversation　is　over。　To　continue　on　the　same　subject　is　impossible；　to　speak　of　trivial　matters　seems　desecration；　and　to　be　silent　is　unpleasant；　because　one　wants　to　talk；　and　this　silence　seems　a　sort　of　affectation。　In　silence　they　came　to　the　table。　The　footmen　drew　back　and　pushed　up　the　chairs。　Pierre　unfolded　his　cold　dinner　napkin；　and　making　up　his　mind　to　break　the　silence　he　glanced　at　Natasha　and　at　Princess　Marya。　Both　had　plainly　reached　the　same　decision　at　the　same　moment；　in　the　eyes　of　both　there　gleamed　a　satisfaction　with　life；　and　an　admission　that　there　was　gladness　in　it　as　well　as　sorrow。
“Do　you　drink　vodka？”　said　Princess　Marya；　and　those　words　at　once　dispelled　the　shadows　of　the　past。
“Tell　us　about　yourself；”　said　Princess　Marya；　“such　incredibly　marvellous　stories　are　being　told　about　you。”
“Yes；”　answered　Pierre；　with　the　gentle　smile　of　irony　that　had　now　become　habitual　with　him。　“I　myself　am　told　of　marvels　that　I　never　dreamed　of。　Marya　Abramovna　invited　me　to　come　and　see　her　and　kept　telling　me　what　had　happened　to　me；　or　ought　to　have　happened。　Stepan　Stepanovitch　too　instructed　me　how　I　was　to　tell　my　story。　Altogether　I　have　noticed　that　to　be　an　interesting　person　is　a　very　easy　position　（I　am　now　an　interesting　person）；　people　invite　me　and　then　tell　me　all　about　it。”
Natasha　smiled　and　was　about　to　say　something。
“We　have　been　told　that　you　lost　two　millions　in　Moscow。　Is　that　true？”
“Oh；　I　am　three　times　as　rich；”　said　Pierre。　In　spite　of　the　strain　on　his　fortune；　of　his　wife’s　debts；　and　the　necessity　of　rebuilding；　Pierre　still　said　that　he　had　become　three　times　as　rich。
“What　I　have　undoubtedly　gained；”　he　said；　“is　freedom　…”　he　was　beginning　seriously；　but　on　second　thoughts　he　did　not　continue；　feeling　that　it　was　too　egoistic　a　subject。
“And　you　are　building？”
“Yes；　such　are　Savelitch’s　orders。”
“Tell　me；　you　had　not　heard　of　the　countess’s　death　when　you　stayed　in　Moscow？”　said　Princess　Marya；　and　she　flushed　crimson　at　once；　conscious　that　in　putting　this　question　to　him　after　his　mention　of　“freedom；”　she　was　ascribing　a　significance　to　his　words　which　was　possibly　not　intended。
“No；”　answered　Pierre；　obviously　unconscious　of　any　awkwardness　in　the　interpretation　Princess　Marya　had　put　on　his　allusion　to　his　freedom。　“I　heard　of　it　in　Orel；　and　you　cannot　imagine　how　it　affected　me。　We　were　not　an　exemplary　couple；”　he　said　quickly；　glancing　at　Natasha　and　detecting　in　her　face　curiosity　as　to　how　he　would　speak　of　his　wife。　“But　her　death　affected　me　greatly。　When　two　people　quarrel；　both　are　always　in　fault。　And　one　becomes　terribly　aware　of　one’s　shortcomings　towards　any　one　who　is　no　more。　And　then　such　a　death　…　apart　from　friends　and　consolation。　I　felt　very　sorry　for　her；”　he　concluded；　and　noticed　with　satisfaction　a　glad　look　of　approval　on　Natasha’s　face。
“And　so　you　are　once　more　an　eligible　parti；”　said　Princess　Marya。
Pierre　flushed　suddenly　crimson；　and　for　a　long　while　he　tried　not　to　look　at　Natasha。　When　he　did　venture　to　glance　at　her；　her　face　was　cold　and　severe；　even；　he　fancied；　disdainful。
“But　did　you　really　see　and　talk　to　Napoleon；　as　we　have　been　told？”　said　Princess　Marya。
Pierre　laughed。
“Not　once；　never。　Every　one　always　imagines　that　to　be　a　prisoner　is　equivalent　to　being　on　a　visit　to　Napoleon。　I　never　saw；　never　even　heard　anything　about　him。　I　was　in　much　lower　company。”
Supper　was　over；　and　Pierre；　who　had　at　first　refused　to　talk　about　his　captivity；　was　gradually　drawn　into　telling　them　about　it。
“But　it　is　true　that　you　stayed　behind　to　kill　Napoleon？”　Natasha　asked　him　with　a　slight　smile。　“I　guessed　that　at　the　time　when　we　met　you　by　the　Suharev　Tower：　do　you　remember？”
Pierre　owned　that　it　was　so；　and　from　that　question　was　led　on　by　Princess　Marya’s；　and　still　more　by　Natasha’s；　questions　to　give　a　detailed　account　of　his　adventures。
At　first　he　told　his　story　with　that　tone　of　gentle　irony　that　he　always　had　now　towards　men　and　especially　towards　himself。　But　as　he　came　to　describe　the　horrors　and　sufferings　he　had　seen；　he　was　drawn　on　unawares；　and　began　to　speak　with　the　suppressed　emotion　of　a　man　living　again　in　imagination　through　the　intense　impressions　of　the　past。
Princess　Marya　looked　from　Pierre　to　Natasha　with　a　gentle　smile。　In　all　he　told　them　she　saw　only　Pierre　and　his　goodness。　Natasha；　her　head　supported　in　her　hand；　and　her　face　changing　continually　with　the　story；　watched　Pierre；　never　taking　her　eyes　off　him；　and　was　in　imagination　passing　through　all　he　told　her　with　him。　Not　only　her　eyes；　but　her　exclamations　and　the　brief　questions　she　put　showed　Pierre　that　she　understood　from　his　words　just　what　he　was　trying　to　convey　by　them。　It　was　evident　that　she　understood；　not　only　what　he　said；　but　also　what　he　would　have　liked　to　say　and　could　not　express　in　words。　The　episode　of　the　child　and　of　the　woman　in　whose　defence　he　was　taken　prisoner；　Pierre　described　in　this　way。　“It　was　an　awful　scene；　children　abandoned；　some　in　the　midst　of　the　fire　…　Children　were　dragged　out　before　my　eyes　…　and　women；　who　had　their　things　pulled　off　them；　earrings　torn　off　…”
Pierre　flushed　and　hesitated。　“Then　a　patrol　came　up　and　all　who　were　not　pillaging；　all　the　men；　that　is；　they　took　prisoner。　And　me　with　them。”
“I　am　sure　you　are　not　telling　us　all；　I　am　sure　you　did　something；”　said　Natasha；　and　after　a　moment’s　pause；　“something　good。”
Pierre　went　on　with　his　story。　When　he　came　to　the　execution；　he　would　have　passed　over　the　horrible　details　of　it；　but　Natasha　insisted　on　his　leaving　nothing　out。
Pierre　was　beginning　to　tell　them　about　Karataev；　he　had　risen　from　the　table　and　was　walking　up　and　down；　Natasha　following　him　with　her　eyes。
“No；”　he　said；　stopping　short　in　his　story；　“you　cannot　understand　what　I　learned　from　that　illiterate　man—that　simple　creature。”
“No；　no；　tell　us；”　said　Natasha。　“Where　is　he　now？”
“He　was　killed　almost　before　my　eyes。”
And　Pierre　began　to　describe　the　latter　part　of　their　retreat；　Karataev’s　illness　（his　voice　shook　continually）　and　then　his　death。
Pierre　told　the　tale　of　his　adventures　as　he　had　never　thought　of　them　before。　He　saw　now　as　it　were　a　new　significance　in　all　he　had　been　through。　He　experienced　now　in　telling　it　all　to　Natasha　that　rare　happiness　given　to　men　by　women　when　they　listen　to　them—not　by　clever　women；　who；　as　they　listen；　are　either　trying　to　remember　what　they　are　told　to　enrich　their　intellect　and　on　occasion　to　repeat　it；　or　to　adapt　what　is　told　them　to　their　own　ideas　and　to　bring　out　in　haste　the　clever　comments　elaborated　in　thei