战争与和平(上)-第98章

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Prince　Andrey　did　not　see　who　put　it　on　him　again；　nor　how　it　was　replaced；　but　all　at　once　he　found　the　locket　on　its　delicate　gold　chain　on　his　chest　outside　his　uniform。
“How　good　it　would　be；”　thought　Prince　Andrey；　as　he　glanced　at　the　image　which　his　sister　had　hung　round　his　neck　with　such　emotion　and　reverence；　“how　good　it　would　be　if　all　were　as　clear　and　simple　as　it　seems　to　Marie。　How　good　to　know　where　to　seek　aid　in　this　life　and　what　to　expect　after　it；　there；　beyond　the　grave！”
“How　happy　and　at　peace　I　should　be；　if　I　could　say　now；　‘Lord；　have　mercy　on　me！…’　But　to　whom　am　I　to　say　that？　Either　a　Power　infinite；　inconceivable；　to　which　I　cannot　appeal；　which　I　cannot　even　put　into　words；　the　great　whole；　or　nothing；”　he　said　to　himself；　“or　that　God；　who　has　been　sewn　up　here　in　this　locket　by　Marie？　There　is　nothing；　nothing　certain　but　the　nothingness　of　all　that　is　comprehensible　to　us；　and　the　grandeur　of　something　incomprehensible；　but　more　important！”
The　stretchers　began　to　be　moved。　At　every　jolt　he　felt　intolerable　pain　again。　The　fever　became　higher；　and　he　fell　into　delirium。　Visions　of　his　father；　his　wife；　his　sister；　and　his　future　son；　and　the　tenderness　he　had　felt　for　them　on　the　night　before　the　battle；　the　figure　of　that　little；　petty　Napoleon；　and　over　all　these　the　lofty　sky；　formed　the　chief　substance　of　his　delirious　dreams。　The　quiet　home　life　and　peaceful　happiness　of　Bleak　Hills　passed　before　his　imagination。　He　was　enjoying　that　happiness　when　suddenly　there　appeared　that　little　Napoleon　with　his　callous；　narrow　look　of　happiness　in　the　misery　of　others；　and　there　came　doubts　and　torments；　and　only　the　sky　promised　peace。　Towards　morning　all　his　dreams　mingled　and　melted　away　in　the　chaos　and　darkness　of　unconsciousness　and　oblivion；　far　more　likely；　in　the　opinion　of　Napoleon’s　doctor；　Larrey；　to　be　ended　by　death　than　by　recovery。
“He　is　a　nervous；　bilious　subject；”　said　Larrey；　“he　won’t　recover。”
Prince　Andrey；　with　the　rest　of　the　hopeless　cases；　was　handed　over　to　the　care　of　the　inhabitants　of　the　district。


Part　Four
Chapter　1
AT　THE　BEGINNING　of　the　year　1806；　Nikolay　Rostov　was　coming　home　on　leave。　Denisov；　too；　was　going　home　to　Voronezh；　and　Rostov　persuaded　him　to　go　with　him　to　Moscow　and　to　pay　him　a　visit　there。　Denisov　met　his　comrade　at　the　last　posting　station　but　one；　drank　three　bottles　of　wine　with　him；　and；　in　spite　of　the　jolting　of　the　road　on　the　journey　to　Moscow；　slept　soundly　lying　at　the　bottom　of　the　posting　sledge　beside　Rostov；　who　grew　more　and　more　impatient；　as　they　got　nearer　to　Moscow。
“Will　it　come　soon？　Soon？　Oh；　these　insufferable　streets；　bunshops；　street　lamps；　and　sledge　drivers！”　thought　Rostov；　when　they　had　presented　their　papers　at　the　town　gates　and　were　driving　into　Moscow。
“Denisov；　we’re　here！　Asleep！”　he　kept　saying；　flinging　his　whole　person　forward　as　though　by　that　position　he　hoped　to　hasten　the　progress　of　the　sledge。　Denisov　made　no　response。
“Here’s　the　corner　of　the　cross…roads；　where　Zahar　the　sledge…driver　used　to　stand；　and　here　is　Zahar；　too；　and　still　the　same　horse。　And　here’s　the　little　shop　where　we　used　to　buy　cakes。　Make　haste！　Now！”
“Which　house　is　it？”　asked　the　driver。
“Over　there；　at　the　end；　the　big　one；　how　is　it　you　don’t　see　it？　That’s　our　house；”　Rostov　kept　saying；　“that’s　our　house；　of　course。”
“Denisov！　Denisov！　we　shall　be　there　in　a　minute。”
Denisov　raised　his　head；　cleared　his　throat；　and　said　nothing。
“Dmitry；”　said　Rostov　to　his　valet　on　the　box；　“surely　that　light　is　home？”
“To　be　sure　it　is；　it’s　the　light　in　your　papa’s　study；　too。”
“They’ve　not　gone　to　bed　yet？　Eh？　What　do　you　think？”
“Mind　now；　don’t　forget　to　get　me　out　my　new　tunic；”　added　Rostov；　fingering　his　new　moustaches。
“Come；　get　on；”　he　shouted　to　the　driver。　“And　do　wake　up；　Vasya；”　he　said　to　Denisov；　who　had　begun　nodding　again。
“Come；　get　on；　three　silver　roubles　for　vodka—get　on！”　shouted　Rostov；　when　they　were　only　three　houses　from　the　entrance。　It　seemed　to　him　that　the　horses　were　not　moving。　At　last　the　sledge　turned　to　the　right　into　the　approach；　Rostov　saw　the　familiar　cornice　with　the　broken　plaster　overhead；　the　steps；　the　lamp…post。　He　jumped　out　of　the　sledge　while　it　was　moving　and　ran　into　the　porch。　The　house　stood　so　inhospitably；　as　though　it　were　no　concern　of　its　who　had　come　into　it。　There　was　no　one　in　the　porch。　“My　God！　is　everything　all　right？”　wondered　Rostov；　stopping　for　a　moment　with　a　sinking　heart；　and　then　running　on　again　along　the　porch　and　up　the　familiar；　crooked　steps。　Still　the　same　door　handle；　the　dirtiness　of　which　so　often　angered　the　countess；　turned　in　the　same　halting　fashion。　In　the　hall　there　was　a　single　tallow　candle　burning。
Old　Mihailo　was　asleep　on　his　perch。
Prokofy；　the　footman；　a　man　so　strong　that　he　had　lifted　up　a　carriage；　was　sitting　there　in　his　list　shoes。　He　glanced　towards　the　opening　door　and　his　expression　of　sleepy　indifference　was　suddenly　transformed　into　one　of　frightened　ecstasy。
“Merciful　Heavens！　The　young　count！”　he　cried；　recognising　his　young　master。　“Can　it　be？　my　darling？”　And　Prokofy；　shaking　with　emotion；　made　a　dash　towards　the　drawing…room　door；　probably　with　the　view　of　announcing　him；　but　apparently　he　changed　his　mind；　for　he　came　back　and　fell　on　his　young　master’s　shoulder。
“All　well？”　asked　Rostov；　pulling　his　hand　away　from　him。
“Thank　God；　yes！　All；　thank　God！　Only　just　finished　supper！　Let　me　have　a　look　at　you；　your　excellency！”
“Everything　perfectly　all　right？”
“Thank　God；　yes；　thank　God！”
Rostov；　completely　forgetting　Denisov；　flung　off　his　fur　coat　and；　anxious　that　no　one　should　prepare　the　way　for　him；　he　ran　on　tip…toe　into　the　big；　dark　reception…hall。　Everything　was　the　same；　the　same　card…tables；　the　same　candelabra　with　a　cover　over　it；　but　some　one　had　already　seen　the　young　master；　and　he　had　not　reached　the　drawing…room　when　from　a　side　door　something　swooped　headlong；　like　a　storm　upon　him；　and　began　hugging　and　kissing　him。　A　second　and　a　third　figure　dashed　in　at　a　second　door　and　at　a　third；　more　huggings；　more　kisses；　more　outcries　and　tears　of　delight。　He　could　not　distinguish　where　and　which　was　papa；　which　was　Natasha；　and　which　was　Petya。　All　were　screaming　and　talking　and　kissing　him　at　the　same　moment。　Only　his　mother　was　not　among　them；　that　he　remembered。
“And　I　never　knew…　Nikolenka　…　my　darling！”
“Here　he　is　…　our　boy　…　my　darling　Kolya。…　Isn’t　he　changed！　Where　are　the　candles？　Tea！”
“Kiss　me　too！”
“Dearest　…　and　me　too。”
Sonya；　Natasha；　Petya；　Anna　Mihalovna；　Vera；　and　the　old　count　were　all　hugging　him；　and　the　servants　and　the　maids　flocked　into　the　room　with　talk　and　outcries。
Petya　hung　on　his　legs。
“Me　too！”　he　kept　shouting。
Natasha；　after　pulling　him　down　to　her　and　kissing　his　face　all　over；　skipped　back　from　him　and；　keeping　her　hold　of　his　jacket；　pranced　like　a　goat　up　and　down　in　the　same　place　uttering　shrill　shrieks　of　delight。
All　round　him　were　loving　eyes　shining　with　tears　of　joy；　all　round　were　lips　seeking　kisses。
Sonya　too；　as　red　as　crimson　baize；　clung　to　his　arm　and　beamed　all　over；　gazing　blissfully　at　his　eyes　for　which　she　had　so　long　been　waiting。　Sonya　was　just　sixteen　and　she　was　very　pretty；　especially　at　this　moment　of　happy；　eager　excitement。　She　gazed　at　him；　unable　to　take　her　eyes　off　him；　smiling　and　holding　her　breath。　He　glanced　gratefully　at　her；　but　still　he　was　expectant　and　looking　for　some　one；　and　the　old　countess　had　not　come　in　yet。　And　now　steps　were　heard　at　the　door。　The　steps　were　so　rapid　that　they　could　hardly　be　his　mother’s　footsteps。
But　she　it　was　in　a　new　dress　that　he　did　not　know；　made　during　his　absence。　All　of　them　let　him　go；　and　he　ran　to　her。　When　they　came　together；　she　sank　on　his　bosom；　sobbing。　She　could　not　lift　up　her　face；　and　only　pressed　it　to　the　cold　braiding　of　his　hussar’s　jacket。　Denisov；　who　had　come　into　the　room　unnoticed　by　any　one；　stood　still　looking　at　them　and　rubbing　his　eyes。
“Vassily　Denisov；　your　son’s　friend；”　he　said；　introducing　himself　to　the　count；　who　looked　inquiringly　at　him。
“