战争与和平(上)-第250部分

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wn　back　into　the　realm　of　delirium。　The　soft　murmuring　voice　kept　up　its　rhythmic　whisper；　something　was　oppressing　him；　and　rising　up；　and　the　strange　face　stood　before　him。　Prince　Andrey　rallied　all　his　forces　to　regain　his　senses；　he　stirred　a　little；　and　suddenly　there　was　a　ringing　in　his　ears　and　a　dimness　before　his　eyes；　and　like　a　man　sinking　under　water；　he　lost　consciousness。
When　he　came　to　himself；　Natasha；　the　very　living　Natasha；　whom　of　all　people　in　the　world　he　most　longed　to　love　with　that　new；　pure；　divine　love　that　had　now　been　revealed　to　him；　was　on　her　knees　before　him。　He　knew　that　it　was　the　real；　living　Natasha；　and　did　not　wonder；　but　quietly　rejoiced。　Natasha；　on　her　knees；　in　terror；　but　without　moving　（she　could　not　have　moved）；　gazed　at　him；　restraining　her　sobs。　Her　face　was　white　and　rigid。　There　was　only　a　sort　of　quiver　in　the　lower　part　of　it。
Prince　Andrey　drew　a　sigh　of　relief；　smiled；　and　held　out　his　hand。
“You？”　he　said。　“What　happiness！”
With　a　swift　but　circumspect　movement；　Natasha　came　nearer；　still　kneeling；　and　carefully　taking　his　hand　she　bent　her　face　over　it　and　began　kissing　it；　softly　touching　it　with　her　lips。
“Forgive　me！”　she　said　in　a　whisper；　lifting　her　head　and　glancing　at　him。　“Forgive　me！”
“I　love　you；”　said　Prince　Andrey。
“Forgive　…”
“Forgive　what？”　asked　Prince　Andrey。
“Forgive　me　for　what　I　di　…　id；”　Natasha　murmured　in　a　hardly　audible；　broken　whisper；　and　again　and　again　she　softly　put　her　lips　to　his　hand。
“I　love　thee　more；　better　than　before；”　said　Prince　Andrey；　lifting　her　face　with　his　hand　so　that　he　could　look　into　her　eyes。
Those　eyes；　swimming　with　happy　tears；　gazed　at　him　with　timid　commiseration　and　joyful　love。　Natasha’s　thin；　pale　face；　with　its　swollen　lips；　was　more　than　ugly—it　looked　terrible。　But　Prince　Andrey　did　not　see　her　face；　he　saw　the　shining　eyes；　which　were　beautiful。　They　heard　talk　behind　them。
Pyotr；　the　valet；　by　now　wide　awake；　had　waked　up　the　doctor。　Timohin；　who　had　not　slept　all　night　for　the　pain　in　his　leg；　had　been　long　watching　all　that　was　happening；　and　huddled　up　on　his　bench；　carefully　wrapping　his　bare　person　up　in　the　sheet。
“Why；　what’s　this？”　said　the　doctor；　getting　up　from　his　bed　on　the　floor。　“Kindly　retire；　madame。”
At　that　moment　there　was　a　knock　at　the　door；　a　maid　had　been　sent　by　the　countess　in　search　of　her　daughter。
Like　a　sleep…walker　awakened　in　the　midst　of　her　trance；　Natasha　walked　out　of　the　room；　and　getting　back　to　her　hut；　sank　sobbing　on　her　bed。
From　that　day　at　all　the　halts　and　resting…places　on　the　remainder　of　the　Rostovs’　journey；　Natasha　never　left　Bolkonsky’s　side；　and　the　doctor　was　forced　to　admit　that　he　had　not　expected　from　a　young　girl　so　much　fortitude；　nor　skill　in　nursing　a　wounded　man。
Terrible　as　it　was　to　the　countess　to　think　that　Prince　Andrey　might　（and　very　probably；　too；　from　what　the　doctor　said）　die　on　the　road　in　her　daughter’s　arms；　she　could　not　resist　Natasha。　Although　with　the　renewal　of　affectionate　relations　between　Prince　Andrey　and　Natasha　the　idea　did　occur　that　in　case　he　recovered　their　old　engagement　would　be　renewed；　no　one—least　of　all　Natasha　and　Prince　Andrey—spoke　of　this。　The　unsettled　question　of　life　and　death　hanging；　not　only　over　Prince　Andrey；　but　over　all　Russia；　shut　off　all　other　considerations。


Chapter　33
PIERRE　waked　up　late　on　the　3rd　of　September。　His　head　ached；　the　clothes　in　which　he　had　slept　without　undressing　fretted　his　body；　and　he　had　a　vague　sense　in　his　heart　of　something　shameful　he　had　done　the　evening　before。　That　something　shameful　was　his　talk　with　Captain　Ramballe。
His　watch　told　him　it　was　eleven；　but　it　seemed　a　particularly　dull　day。　Pierre　stood　up；　rubbed　his　eyes；　and　seeing　the　pistol　with　its　engraved　stock—Gerasim　had　put　it　back　on　the　writing…table—Pierre　remembered　where　he　was　and　what　was　in　store　for　him　that　day
“Am　I　not　too　late　already？”　Pierre　wondered。
No；　probably　he　would　not　make　his　entry　into　Moscow　before　twelve　o’clock。　Pierre　did　not　allow　himself　to　reflect　on　what　lay　before　him；　but　made　haste　to　act。
Setting　his　clothes　to　rights；　Pierre　took　up　the　pistol　and　was　about　to　set　off。　But　then　for　the　first　time　it　occurred　to　him　to　wonder　how；　if　not　in　his　hand；　he　was　to　carry　the　weapon　in　the　street。　Even　under　his　full　coat　it　would　be　hard　to　conceal　a　big　pistol。　It　could　not　be　put　in　his　sash；　nor　under　his　arm；　without　being　noticeable。　Moreover；　the　pistol　was　now　unloaded；　and　Pierre　could　not　succeed　in　reloading　it　in　time。　“The　dagger　will　do　as　well；”　Pierre　said　to　himself；　though；　in　considering　how　he　should　carry　out　his　design；　he　had　more　than　once　decided　that　the　great　mistake　made　by　the　student　in　1809　was　that　he　had　tried　to　kill　Napoleon　with　a　dagger。　But　Pierre’s　chief　aim　seemed　to　be；　not　so　much　to　succeed　in　his　project；　as　to　prove　to　himself　that　he　was　not　renouncing　his　design；　but　was　doing　everything　to　carry　it　out。　Pierre　hurriedly　took　the　blunt；　notched　dagger　in　a　green　scabbard；　which　he　had　bought；　together　with　the　pistol；　at　the　Suharev　Tower；　and　hid　it　under　his　waistcoat。
Tying　the　sash　round　his　peasant’s　coat；　and　pulling　his　cap　forward；　Pierre　walked　along　the　corridor；　trying　to　avoid　making　a　noise　and　meeting　the　captain；　and　slipped　out　into　the　street。
The　fire；　at　which　he　had　gazed　so　indifferently　the　evening　before；　had　sensibly　increased　during　the　night。　Moscow　was　on　fire　at　various　points。　There　were　fires　at　the　same　time　in　Carriage　Row；　Zamoskvoryetche；　the　Bazaar；　and　Povarsky；　and　the　timber　market　near　Dorogomilov　bridge　and　the　barges　in　the　river　Moskva　were　in　a　blaze。
Pierre’s　way　lay　across　a　side　street　to　Povarsky；　and　from　there　across　Arbaty　to　the　chapel　of　Nikola　Yavlenny；　where　he　had　long　before　in　his　fancy　fixed　on　the　spot　at　which　the　deed　ought　to　be　done。　Most　of　the　houses　had　their　gates　and　shutters　closed。　The　streets　and　lanes　were　deserted；　there　was　a　smell　of　burning　and　smoke　in　the　air。　Now　and　then　he　met　Russians　with　uneasy　and　timid　faces；　and　Frenchmen　with　a　look　of　the　camp　about　them；　walking　in　the　middle　of　the　road。　Both　looked　at　Pierre　with　surprise。　Apart　from　his　great　height　and　stoutness；　and　the　look　of　gloomy　concentration　and　suffering　in　his　face　and　whole　figure；　Russians　stared　at　Pierre　because　they　could　not　make　out　to　what　class　he　belonged。　Frenchmen　looked　after　him　with　surprise；　because；　while　all　other　Russians　stared　timidly　and　inquisitively　at　them；　Pierre　walked　by　without　noticing　them。　At　the　gates　of　a　house；　three　Frenchmen；　disputing　about　something　with　some　Russians；　who　did　not　understand　their　meaning；　stopped　Pierre　to　ask　whether　he　knew　French。
Pierre　shook　his　head　and　walked　on。　In　another　lane　a　sentinel；　on　guard　by　a　green　caisson；　shouted　at　him；　and　it　was　only　at　the　repetition　of　his　menacing　shout；　and　the　sound　of　his　picking　up　his　gun；　that　Pierre　grasped　that　he　ought　to　have　passed　the　street　on　the　other　side。　He　heard　and　saw　nothing　around　him。　With　haste　and　horror　he　bore　within　him　his　intention　as　something　strange　and　fearful　to　him；　fearing—from　the　experience　of　the　previous　night—to　lose　it。　But　Pierre　was　not　destined　to　carry　his　design　in　safety　to　the　spot　to　which　he　was　bending　his　steps。　Moreover；　if　he　had　not　been　detained　on　the　road；　his　design　could　not　have　been　carried　out；　because　Napoleon　had　four　hours　earlier　left　the　Dorogomilov　suburb；　and　crossed　Arbaty　to　the　Kremlin；　and　he　was　by　then　sitting　in　the　royal　study　in　the　Kremlin　palace　in　the　gloomiest　temper；　giving　circumstantial　orders　for　immediately　extinguishing　the　fires；　preventing　pillage；　and　reassuring　the　inhabitants。　But　Pierre　knew　nothing　of　that；　entirely　engrossed　in　what　lay　before　him；　he　was　suffering　the　anguish　men　suffer　when　they　persist　in　undertaking　a　task　impossible　for　them—not　from　its　inherent　difficulties；　but　from　its　incompatibility　with　their　own　nature。　He　was　tortured　by　the　dread　that　he　would　be　weak　at　the　decisive　moment；　and　so　would　lose　his　respect　for　himself。
Though　he　saw　and　heard　nothing　around　him；　he　instinctively　found　his　way；　and　took　the　right　turning　to　reach　Povarsky。
As　Pierre　got　nearer　to　Povarsky　Street；　the　smoke　grew　thicker　and　thicker；　and　the　air　was　positively　warm　from　the　heat　of　the　conflagration。　Tongues　of　flame　shot　up　here　and　there　behind　the　house…tops。　He　met　more　people　in　the　streets；　and　these　people　were　in　great　excitement。　But　though　Pierre　felt　that　something　unusual　was　happening　around　him；　he　did　not　grasp　the　fact　that　he　was　getting　near　the　fire。　As　he　walked　along　a　path；　across　the　large　open　space　adjoining　on　one　side　Povarsky　Street；　and　on　the　other　side　the　gardens　of　Prince　Gruzinsky；　Pierre　suddenly　heard　close　by　him　the　sound　of　a　woman；　crying　desperately。　He　stood　still；　as　though　awakened　from　a　dream；　and　raised　his　head。
On　the　dried…up；　dusty　grass　on　one　side　of　the　path　lay　heaps　of　household　belongings　piled　up：　feather…beds；　a　samovar；　holy　images；　and　boxes。　On　the　ground；　near　the　boxes；　sat　a　thin　woman；　no　longer　young；　with　long；　projecting　front　teeth；　dressed　in　a　black　cloak　and　cap。　This　woman　was　weeping　violently；　swaying　to　and　fro；　and　muttering　something。　Two　little　girls；　from　ten　to　twelve　years　old；　dressed　in　dirty；　short　frocks　and　cloaks；　were　gazing　at　their　mother；　with　an　expression　of　stupefaction　on　their　pale；　frightened　faces。　A　little　boy　of　seven；　in　a　coat　and　a　huge　cap；　obviously　not　his　own；　was　crying　in　an　old　nurse’s　arms。　A　bare…legged；　dirty　servant…girl　was　sitting　on　a　chest；　she　had　let　down　her　flaxen　hair；　and　was　pulling　out　the　singed　hairs；　sniffing　at　them。　The　husband；　a　short；　stooping　man；　in　a　uniform；　with　little；　wheel…shaped　whiskers；　and　smooth　locks　of　hair；　peeping　out　from　under　his　cap；　which　was　stuck　erect　on　his　head；　was　moving　the　chests　from　under　one　another　with　an　immovable　face；　dragging　garments　of　some　sort　from　under　them。
The　woman　almost　flung　herself　at　Pierre’s　feet　as　soon　as　she　saw　him。
“Merciful　heavens；　good　Christian　folk；　save　me；　help　me；　kind　sir！　…　somebody；　help　me；”　she　a