战争与和平(上)-第259部分

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　what　was　happening　during　the　last　day　or　two　in　Moscow　and　the　first　days　of　the　journey；　that　feeling；　that　consciousness　of　the　intervention　of　Providence　in　her　personal　affairs；　was　a　source　of　joy　to　Sonya。　At　the　Troitsa　monastery　the　Rostovs　made　the　first　break　in　their　journey。
In　the　hostel　of　the　monastery　three　big　rooms　were　assigned　to　the　Rostovs；　one　of　which　was　occupied　by　Prince　Andrey。　The　wounded　man　was　by　this　time　a　great　deal　better。　Natasha　was　sitting　with　him。　In　the　next　room　were　the　count　and　the　countess　reverently　conversing　with　the　superior；　who　was　paying　a　visit　to　his　old　acquaintances　and　patrons。　Sonya　was　sitting　with　them；　fretted　by　curiosity　as　to　what　Prince　Andrey　and　Natasha　were　saying。　She　heard　the　sounds　of　their　voices　through　the　door。　The　door　of　Prince　Andrey’s　room　opened。　Natasha　came　out　with　an　excited　face；　and　not　noticing　the　monk；　who　rose　to　meet　her；　and　pulled　back　his　wide　sleeve　off　his　right　hand；　she　went　up　to　Sonya　and　took　her　by　the　arm。
“Natasha；　what　are　you　about？　Come　here；”　said　the　countess。
Natasha　went　up　to　receive　the　blessing；　and　the　superior　counselled　her　to　turn　for　aid　to　God　and　to　His　saint。
Immediately　after　the　superior　had　gone　out；　Natasha　took　her　friend　by　the　arm；　and　went　with　her　into　the　empty　third　room。
“Sonya；　yes；　he　will　live；”　she　said。　“Sonya；　how　happy　I　am；　and　how　wretched！　Sonya；　darling；　everything　is　just　as　it　used　to　be。　If　only　he　were　going　to　live。　He　cannot；　…　because　…　be　…　cause　…”　and　Natasha　burst　into　tears。
“Yes！　I　knew　it　would　be！　Thank　God；”　said　Sonya。　“He　will　live。”
Sonya　was　no　less　excited　than　her　friend；　both　by　the　latter’s　grief　and　fears；　and　by　her　own　personal　reflections；　of　which　she　had　spoken　to　no　one。　Sobbing；　she　kissed　and　comforted　Natasha。　“If　only　he　were　to　live！”　she　thought。　After　weeping；　talking　a　little；　and　wiping　their　tears；　the　two　friends　went　towards　Prince　Andrey’s　door。　Natasha；　cautiously　opening　the　door；　glanced　into　the　room。　Sonya　stood　beside　her　at　the　half…open　door。
Prince　Andrey　was　lying　raised　high　on　three　pillows。　His　pale　face　looked　peaceful；　his　eyes　were　closed；　and　they　could　see　his　quiet；　regular　breathing。
“Ah；　Natasha！”　Sonya　almost　shrieked　all　of　a　sudden；　clutching　at　her　cousin’s　arm；　and　moving　back　away　from　the　door。
“What！　what　is　it？”　asked　Natasha
“It’s　the　same；　the　same；　you　know　…”　said　Sonya；　with　a　white　face　and　quivering　lips。
Natasha　softly　closed　the　door　and　walked　away　with　Sonya　to　the　window；　not　yet　understanding　what　she　was　talking　of。
“Do　you　remember；”　said　Sonya；　with　a　scared　and　solemn　face；　“do　you　remember　when　I　looked　into　the　mirror　for　you　…　at　Otradnoe　at　Christmas　time　…　Do　you　remember　what　I　saw？”　…
“Yes；　yes；”　said　Natasha；　opening　her　eyes　wide；　and　vaguely　recalling　that　Sonya　had　said　something　then　about　seeing　Prince　Andrey　lying　down。
“Do　you　remember？”　Sonya　went　on。　“I　saw　him　then；　and　told　you　all　so　at　the　time；　you　and　Dunyasha。　I　saw　him　lying　on　a　bed；”　she　said；　at　each　detail　making　a　gesture　with　her　lifted　finger；　“and　that　he　had　his　eyes　shut；　and　that　he　was　covered　with　a　pink　quilt；　and　that　he　had　his　hands　folded；”　said　Sonya；　convinced　as　she　described　the　details　she　had　just　seen　that　they　were　the　very　details　she　had　seen　then。　At　the　time　she　had　seen　nothing；　but　had　said　she　was　seeing　the　first　thing　that　came　into　her　head。　But　what　she　had　invented　then　seemed　to　her　now　as　real　a　memory　as　any　other。　She　not　only　remembered　that　she　had　said　at　the　time　that　he　looked　round　at　her　and　smiled；　and　was　covered　with　something　red；　but　was　firmly　convinced　that　she　had　seen　and　said　at　the　time；　that　he　was　covered　with　a　pink　quilt—yes；　pink—and　that　his　eyes　had　been　closed。
“Yes；　yes；　pink　it　was；”　said　Natasha；　who　began　now　to　fancy　too　that　she　remembered　her　saying　it　was　a　pink　quilt；　and　saw　in　that　detail　the　most　striking　and　mysterious　point　in　the　prediction。
“But　what　does　it　mean？”　said　Natasha　dreamily。
“Ah；　I　don’t　know；　how　extraordinary　it　all　is！”　said　Sonya；　clutching　at　her　head。
*　*　*
A　few　minutes　later；　Prince　Andrey　rang　his　bell；　and　Natasha　went　in　to　him；　while　Sonya；　in　a　state　of　excitement　and　emotion　such　as　she　had　rarely　experienced；　remained　in　the　window；　pondering　over　all　the　strangeness　of　what　was　happening。
That　day　there　was　an　opportunity　of　sending　letters　to　the　army；　and　the　countess　wrote　a　letter　to　her　son。
“Sonya；”　said　the　countess；　raising　her　head　from　her　letter；　as　her　niece　passed　by　her。　“Sonya；　won’t　you　write　to　Nikolenka？”　said　the　countess；　in　a　soft　and　trembling　voice；　and　in　the　tired　eyes；　that　looked　at　her　over　the　spectacles；　Sonya　read　all　that　the　countess　meant　by　those　words。　Those　eyes　expressed　entreaty　and　dread　of　a　refusal　and　shame　at　having　to　beg；　and　readiness　for　unforgiving　hatred　in　case　of　refusal。
Sonya　went　up　to　the　countess；　and　kneeling　down；　kissed　her　hand。
“I　will　write；　mamma；”　she　said。
Sonya　was　softened；　excited；　and　moved　by　all　that　had　passed　that　day；　especially　by　the　mysterious　fulfilment　of　her　divination；　which　she　had　just　seen。　Now；　when　she　knew　that　in　case　of　the　renewal　of　Natasha’s　engagement　to　Prince　Andrey；　Nikolay　could　not　be　married　to　Princess　Marya；　she　felt　with　delight　a　return　of　that　self…sacrificing　spirit　in　which　she　was　accustomed　and　liked　to　live。　And　with　tears　in　her　eyes；　and　with　a　glad　sense　of　performing　a　magnanimous　action；　she　sat　down；　and　several　times　interrupted　by　the　tears　that　dimmed　her　velvety　black　eyes；　she　wrote　the　touching　letter　the　reception　of　which　had　so　impressed　Nikolay。


Chapter　9
IN　THE　GUARD…ROOM　to　which　Pierre　had　been　taken；　the　officer　and　soldiers　in　charge　treated　him　with　hostility；　but　at　the　same　time　with　respect。　Their　attitude　to　him　betrayed　both　doubt　who　he　might　be—perhaps　a　person　of　great　importance—and　hostility；　in　consequence　of　the　personal　conflict　they　had　so　recently　had　with　him。
But　when　on　the　morning　of　the　next　day　the　guard　was　relieved；　Pierre　felt　that　for　his　new　guard—both　officers　and　soldiers—he　was　no　longer　an　object　of　the　same　interest　as　he　had　been　to　those　who　had　taken　him　prisoner。　And；　indeed；　in　the　big；　stout　man　in　a　peasant’s　coat；　the　sentinels　in　charge　next　day　saw　nothing　of　the　vigorous　person　who　had　fought　so　desperately　with　the　pillaging　soldier　and　the　convoy；　and　had　uttered　that　solemn　phrase　about　saving　a　child；　they　saw　in　him　only　number　seventeen　of　the　Russian　prisoners　who　were　to　be　detained　for　some　reason　by　order　of　the　higher　authorities。　If　there　were　anything　peculiar　about　Pierre；　it　lay　only　in　his　undaunted　air　of　concentrated　thought；　and　in　the　excellent　French　in　which；　to　the　surprise　of　the　French；　he　expressed　himself。　In　spite　of　that；　Pierre　was　put　that　day　with　the　other　suspicious　characters　who　had　been　apprehended；　since　the　room　he　had　occupied　was　wanted　for　an　officer。
All　the　Russians　detained　with　Pierre　were　persons　of　the　lowest　class。　And　all　of　them；　recognising　Pierre　as　a　gentleman；　held　aloof　from　him　all　the　more　for　his　speaking　French。　Pierre　mournfully　heard　their　jeers　at　his　expense。
On　the　following　evening；　Pierre　learned　that　all　the　prisoners　（and　himself　probably　in　the　number）　were　to　be　tried　for　incendiarism。　The　day　after；　Pierre　was　taken　with　the　rest　to　a　house　where　were　sitting　a　French　general　with　white　moustaches；　two　colonels；　and　other　Frenchmen　with　scarfs　on　their　shoulders。　With　that　peculiar　exactitude　and　definiteness；　which　is　always　employed　in　the　examination　of　prisoners　and　is　supposed　to　preclude　all　human　weaknesses；　they　put　questions　to　Pierre　and　the　others；　asking　who　he　was；　where　he　had　been；　with　what　object；　and　so　on。
These　questions；　leaving　on　one　side　the　essence　of　the　living　fact；　and　excluding　all　possibility　of　that　essence　being　discovered；　like　all　questions；　indeed；　in　legal　examinations；　aimed　only　at　directing　the　channel　along　which　the　examining　officials　desired　the　prisoner’s　answers　to　flow；　so　as　to　lead　him　to　the　goal　of　the　inquiry—that　is；　to　conviction。　So　soon　as　he　began　to　say　anything　that　was　not　conducive　to　this　aim；　then　they　pulled　up　the　channel；　and　the　water　might　flow　where　it　would。　Moreover；　Pierre　felt；　as　the　accused　always　do　feel　at　all　trials；　a　puzzled　wonder　why　all　these　questions　were　asked　him。　He　had　a　feeling　that　it　was　only　out　of　condescension；　out　of　a　sort　of　civility；　that　this　trick　of　directing　the　channel　of　their　replies　was　made　use　of。　He　knew　he　was　in　the　power　of　these　men；　that　it　was　only　by　superior　force　that　he　had　been　brought　here；　that　it　was　only　superior　force　that　gave　them　the　right　to　exact　answers　to　their　questions；　that　the　whole　aim　of　the　proceeding　was　to　convict　him。　And；　therefore；　since　they　had　superior　force；　and　they　had　the　desire　to　convict　him；　there　seemed　no　need　of　the　network　of　questions　and　the　trial。　It　was　obvious　that　all　the　questions　were　bound　to　lead　up　to　his　conviction。　To　the　inquiry　what　he　was　doing　when　he　was　apprehended；　Pierre　replied　with　a　certain　tragic　dignity　that　he　was　carrying　back　to　its　parents　a　child　he　had　“rescued　from　the　flames。”　Why　was　he　fighting　with　the　soldiers？　Pierre　replied　that　he　was　defending　a　woman；　that　the　defence　of　an　insulted　woman　was　the　duty　of　every　man；　and　so　on　…　He　was　pulled　up；　this　was　irrelevant。　With　what　object　had　he　been　in　the　courtyard　of　a　burning　house　where　he　had　been　seen　by　several　witnesses？　He　answered　that　he　was　going　out　to　see　what　was　going　on　in　Moscow。　He　was　pulled　up　again。　He　had　not　been　asked；　he　was　told；　where　he　was　going；　but　with　what　object　he　was　near　the　fire。　Who　was　he？　The　first　question　was　repeated；　to　which　he　had　said　he　did　not　want　to　answer。　Again　he　replied　that　he　could　not　answer　that。
“Write　that　down；　that’s　bad。　Very　bad；”　the　general　with　the　white　whiskers　and　the　red；　flushed　face　said　to　him　sternly。
On　the　fourth　day；　fire　broke　out　on　the　Zubovsky　rampart。
Pierre　was　moved　with　thirteen　of　the　others　to　a　coach…house　belonging　to　a　merchant’s　house