战争与和平(上)-第262部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


t　salvation　from　that　despair　and　from　these　doubts　lay　in　his　own　hands。　But　now　he　felt　that　it　was　not　his　fault　that　the　world　was　collapsing　before　his　eyes；　and　that　nothing　was　left　but　meaningless　ruins。　He　felt　that　to　get　back　to　faith　in　life　was　not　in　his　power。
Around　him　in　the　darkness　stood　men。　Probably　they　found　something　very　entertaining　in　him。　They　were　telling　him　something；　asking　him　something；　then　leading　him　somewhere；　and　at　last　he　found　himself　in　a　corner　of　the　shed　beside　men　of　some　sort；　who　were　talking　on　all　sides；　and　laughing。
“And　so；　mates…that　same　prince　who”　（with　a　special　emphasis　on　the　last　word）…some　voice　was　saying　in　the　opposite　corner　of　the　shed。
Sitting　in　the　straw　against　the　wall；　mute　and　motionless；　Pierre　opened；　and　then　closed；　his　eyes。　As　soon　as　he　shut　his　eyes　he　saw　the　fearful　face　of　the　factory　lad；　fearful　especially　from　its　simplicity；　and　the　faces　of　the　involuntary　murderers；　still　more　fearful　in　their　uneasiness。　And　he　opened　his　eyes　again　and　stared　blankly　about　him　in　the　darkness。
Close　by　him　a　little　man　was　sitting　bent　up；　of　whose　presence　Pierre　was　first　aware　from　the　strong　smell　of　sweat　that　rose　at　every　movement　he　made。　This　man　was　doing　something　with　his　feet　in　the　darkness；　and　although　Pierre　did　not　see　his　face；　he　was　aware　that　he　was　continually　glancing　at　him。　Peering　intently　at　him　in　the　dark；　Pierre　made　out　that　the　man　was　undoing　his　foot…gear。　And　the　way　he　was　doing　it　began　to　interest　Pierre。
Undoing　the　strings　in　which　one　foot　was　tied　up；　he　wound　them　neatly　off；　and　at　once　set　to　work　on　the　other　leg；　glancing　at　Pierre。　While　one　hand　hung　up　the　first　leg…binder；　the　other　was　already　beginning　to　untie　the　other　leg。　In　this　way；　deftly；　with　rounded；　effective　movements　following　one　another　without　delay；　the　man　unrolled　his　leg…wrappers　and　hung　them　up　on　pegs　driven　in　over…head；　took　out　a　knife；　cut　off　something；　shut　the　knife　up；　put　it　under　his　bolster　and　settling　himself　more　at　his　ease；　clasped　his　arms　round　his　knees；　and　stared　straight　at　Pierre。　Pierre　was　conscious　of　something　pleasant；　soothing；　and　rounded　off　in　those　deft　movements；　in　his　comfortable　establishment　of　his　belongings　in　the　corner；　and　even　in　the　very　smell　of　the　man；　and　he　did　not　take　his　eyes　off　him。
“And　have　you　seen　a　lot　of　trouble；　sir？　Eh？”　said　the　little　man　suddenly。　And　there　was　a　tone　of　such　friendliness　and　simplicity　in　the　sing…song　voice　that　Pierre　wanted　to　answer；　but　his　jaw　quivered；　and　he　felt　the　tears　rising。　At　the　same　second；　leaving　no　time　for　Pierre’s　embarrassment　to　appear；　the　little　man　said；　in　the　same　pleasant　voice：
“Ay；　darling；　don’t　grieve；”　he　said；　in　that　tender；　caressing　sing…song　in　which　old　Russian　peasant　women　talk。　“Don’t　grieve；　dearie；　trouble　lasts　an　hour；　but　life　lasts　for　ever！　Ay；　ay；　my　dear。　And　we　get　on　here　finely；　thank　God；　nothing　to　vex　us。　They’re　men；　too；　and　bad　and　good　among　them；”　he　said；　and；　while　still　speaking；　got　with　a　supple　movement　on　his　knees　to　his　feet；　and　clearing　his　throat　walked　away。
“Hey；　the　hussy；　here　she　is！”　Pierre　heard　at　the　end　of　the　shed　the　same　caressing　voice。　“Here　she　is；　the　hussy；　she　remembers　me！　There；　there；　lie　down！”　And　the　soldier；　pushing　down　a　dog　that　was　jumping　up　on　him；　came　back　to　his　place　and　sat　down。　In　his　hands　he　had　something　wrapped　up　in　a　cloth。
“Here；　you　taste　this；　sir；”　he　said；　returning　to　the　respectful　tone　he　had　used　at　first；　and　untying　and　handing　to　Pierre　several　baked　potatoes。　“At　dinner　we　had　soup。　But　the　potatoes　are　first…rate！”
Pierre　had　eaten　nothing　the　whole　day；　and　the　smell　of　the　potatoes　struck　him　as　extraordinarily　pleasant。　He　thanked　the　soldier　and　began　eating。
“But　why　so；　eh？”　said　the　soldier　smiling；　and　he　took　one　of　the　potatoes。　“You　try　them　like　this。”　He　took　out　his　clasp…knife　again；　cut　the　potato　in　his　hand　into　two　even　halves；　and　sprinkled　them　with　salt　from　the　cloth；　and　offered　them　to　Pierre。
“The　potatoes　are　first…rate；”　he　repeated。　“You　taste　them　like　that。”
It　seemed　to　Pierre　that　he　had　never　eaten　anything　so　good。
“No；　I　am　all　right；”　said　Pierre；　“but　why　did　they　shoot　those　poor　fellows？…The　last　was　a　lad　of　twenty。”
“Tss…tss…”　said　the　little　man。　“Sin；　indeed；…sin…”　he　added　quickly；　just　as　though　the　words　were　already　in　his　mouth　and　flew　out　of　it　by　accident；　he　went　on：　“How　was　it；　sir；　you　came　to　stay　in　Moscow　like　this？”
“I　didn’t　think　they　would　come　so　soon。　I　stayed　by　accident；”　said　Pierre。
“But　how　did　they　take　you；　darling；　from　your　home？”
“No；　I　went　out　to　see　the　fire；　and　then　they　took　me　up　and　brought　me　to　judgment　as　an　incendiary。”
“Where　there’s　judgment；　there　there’s　falsehood；”　put　in　the　little　man。
“And　have　you　been　here　long？”　asked　Pierre；　as　he　munched　the　last　potato。
“I？　On　Sunday　they　took　me　out　of　the　hospital　in　Moscow。”
“Who　are　you；　a　soldier？”
“We　are　soldiers　of　the　Apsheron　regiment。　I　was　dying　of　fever。　We　were　never　told　anything。　There　were　twenty　of　us　lying　sick。　And　we　had　never　a　thought；　never　a　guess　of　how　it　was。”
“Well；　and　are　you　miserable　here？”　asked　Pierre。
“Miserable；　to　be　sure；　darling。　My　name’s　Platon；　surname　Karataev；”　he　added；　evidently　to　make　it　easier　for　Pierre　to　address　him。　“In　the　regiment　they　called　me　‘the　little　hawk。’　How　can　one　help　being　sad；　my　dear？　Moscow—she’s　the　mother　of　cities。　One　must　be　sad　to　see　it。　Yes；　the　maggot　gnaws　the　cabbage；　but　it　dies　before　it’s　done；　so　the　old　folks　used　to　say；”　he　added　quickly。
“What；　what　was　that　you　said？”　asked　Pierre。
“I？”　said　Karataev。　“I　say　it’s　not　by　our　wit；　but　as　God　thinks　fit；”　said　he；　supposing　that　he　was　repeating　what　he　had　said。　And　at　once　he　went　on：　“Tell　me；　sir；　and　have　you　an　estate　from　your　fathers？　And　a　house　of　your　own？　To　be　sure；　your　cup　was　overflowing！　And　a　wife；　too？　And　are　your　old　parents　living？”　he　asked；　and　though　Pierre　could　not　see　him　in　the　dark；　he　felt　that　the　soldier’s　lips　were　puckered　in　a　restrained　smile　of　kindliness　while　he　asked　these　questions。　He　was　evidently　disappointed　that　Pierre　had　no　parents；　especially　that　he　had　not　a　mother。
“Wife　for　good　counsel；　mother…in…law　for　kind　welcome；　but　none　dear　as　your　own　mother！”　said　he。　“And　have　you　children？”　he　went　on　to　ask。　Pierre’s　negative　reply　seemed　to　disappoint　him　again；　and　he　added　himself：　“Oh　well；　you　are　young　folks；　please　God；　there　will　be。　Only　live　in　peace　and　concord。”
“But　it　makes　no　difference　now；”　Pierre　could　not　help　saying。
“Ah；　my　dear　man；”　rejoined　Platon；　“the　beggar’s　bag　and　the　prison　walls　none　can　be　sure　of　escaping。”　He　settled　himself　more　comfortably；　and　cleared　his　throat；　evidently　preparing　himself　for　a　long　story。　“So　it　was　like　this；　dear　friend；　when　I　used　to　be　living　at　home；”　he　began；　“we　have　a　rich　heritage；　a　great　deal　of　land；　the　peasants　were　well　off；　and　our　house—something　to　thank　God　for；　indeed。　Father　used　to　go　out　to　reap　with　six　of　us。　We　got　along　finely。　Something　like　peasants　we　were。　It　came　to　pass…”　and　Platon　Karataev　told　a　long　story　of　how　he　had　gone　into　another　man’s　copse　for　wood；　and　had　been　caught　by　the　keeper；　how　he　had　been　flogged；　tried；　and　sent　for　a　soldier。　“And　do　you　know；　darling；”　said　he；　his　voice　changing　from　the　smile　on　his　face；　“we　thought　it　was　a　misfortune；　while　it　was　all　for　our　happiness。　My　brother　would　have　had　to　go　if　it　hadn’t　been　for　my　fault。　And　my　younger　brother　had　five　little　ones；　while　I；　look　you；　I　left　no　one　behind　but　my　wife。　I　had　a　little　girl；　but　God　had　taken　her　before　I　went　for　a　soldier。　I　went　home　on　leave；　I　must　tell　you。　I　find　them　all　better　off　than　ever。　The　yard　full　of　beasts；　the　women　folk　at　home；　two　brothers　out　earning　wages。　Only　Mihailo；　the　youngest；　at　home。　Father　says　all　his　children　are　alike；　whichever　finger’s　pricked；　it　hurts　the　same。　And　if　they　hadn’t　shaved　Platon　for　a　soldier；　then　Mihailo　would　have　had　to　go。　He　called　us　all　together—would　you　believe　it—made　us　stand　before　the　holy　picture。　‘Mihailo；’　says　he；　‘come　here；　bend　down　to　his　feet；　and　you；　women；　bow　down；　and　you；　grandchildren。　Do　you　understand？’　says　he。　Yes；　so　you　see；　my　dear。　Fate　acts　with　reason。　And　we　are　always　passing　judgment；　that’s　not　right；　and　this　doesn’t　suit　us。　Our　happiness；　my　dear；　is　like　water　in　a　dragnet；　you　drag；　and　it　is　all　puffed　up；　but　pull　it　out　and　there’s　nothing。　Yes；　that’s　it。”　And　Platon　moved　to　a　fresh　seat　in　the　straw。
After　a　short　pause；　Platon　got　up。
“Well；　I　dare　say；　you　are　sleepy？”　he　said；　and　he　began　rapidly　crossing　himself；　murmuring：
“Lord　Jesus　Christ；　holy　Saint　Nikola；　Frola　and　Lavra；　Lord　Jesus　Christ；　holy　Saint　Nikola；　Frola　and　Lavra；　Lord　Jesus　Christ—have　mercy　and　save　us！”　he　concluded；　bowed　down　to　the　ground；　got　up；　sighed；　and　sat　down　on　his　straw。　“That’s　right。　Let　me　lie　down　like　a　stone；　O　God；　and　rise　up　like　new　bread！”　he　murmured；　and　lay　down；　pulling　his　military　coat　over　him。
“What　prayer　was　that　you　recited？”　asked　Pierre。
“Eh？”　said　Platon　（he　was　already　half　asleep）。　“Recited？　I　prayed　to　God。　Don’t　you　pray；　too？”
“Yes；　I　do；”　said　Pierre。　“But　what　was　it　you　said—Frola　and　Lavra？”
“Eh；　to　be　sure；”　Platon　answered　quickly。　“They’re　the　horses’　saints。　One　must　think　of　the　poor　beasts；　too；”　he　said。　“Why；　the　little　hussy；　she’s　curled　up。　You’re　warm；　child　of　a　bitch！”　he　said；　feeling　the　dog　at　his　feet；　and；　turning　over　again；　he　fell　asleep　at　once。
Outside　shouting　and　wailing　could　be　heard　somewhere　far　away；　and　through　the　cracks　in　the　walls　could　be　seen　the　glow　of　fire；　but　within　the　shed　all　was　dark　and　hushed。　For　a　long　while　Pierre　did　not　sleep；　and　lay　with　open　eyes　in　the　darkness；　listening　to　Platon　snoring　rhythmically　as　he　lay　beside　him；　and　he　felt　that　the　world　that　had　been　shattered　was　rising　up　now　in　his　soul；　in　new　beauty；　and　on　new