战争与和平(上)-第62部分

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“You　haven’t　read　the　letter？”　asked　Sonya
“No；　but　she　told　me　it　was　all　over；　and　that　he’s　an　officer　now　…”
“Thank　God；”　said　Sonya；　crossing　herself。　“But　perhaps　she　was　deceiving　you。　Let　us　go　to　mamma。”
Petya　had　been　strutting　up　and　down　in　silence
“If　I　were　in　Nikolinka’s　place；　I’d　have　killed　a　lot　more　of　those　Frenchmen；”　he　said；　“they’re　such　beasts！　I’d　have　killed　them　till　there　was　a　regular　heap　of　them；”　Petya　went　on。
“Hold　your　tongue；　Petya；　what　a　silly　you　are！　…”
“I’m　not　a　silly；　people　are　silly　who　cry　for　trifles；”　said　Petya。
“Do　you　remember　him？”　Natasha　asked　suddenly；　after　a　moment’s　silence。　Sonya　smiled。
“Do　I　remember　Nikolinka？”
“No；　Sonya；　but　do　you　remember　him　so　as　to　remember　him　thoroughly；　to　remember　him　quite；”　said　Natasha　with　a　strenuous　gesture；　as　though　she　were　trying　to　put　into　her　words　the　most　earnest　meaning。　“And　I　do　remember　Nikolinka；　I　remember　him；”　she　said。　“But　I　don’t　remember　Boris。　I　don’t　remember　him　a　bit　…”
“What？　You　don’t　remember　Boris？”　Sonya　queried　with　surprise。
“I　don’t　mean　I　don’t　remember　him。　I　know　what　he’s　like；　but　not　as　I　remember　Nikolinka。　I　shut　my　eyes　and　I　can　see　him；　but　not　Boris”　（she　shut　her　eyes）；　“no；　nothing！”
“Ah；　Natasha！”　said　Sonya；　looking　solemnly　and　earnestly　at　her　friend；　as　though　she　considered　her　unworthy　to　hear　what　she　meant　to　say；　and　was　saying　it　to　some　one　else　with　whom　joking　was　out　of　the　question。　“I　have　come　to　love　your　brother　once　for　all；　and　whatever　were　to　happen　to　him　and　to　me；　I　could　never　cease　to　love　him　all　my　life。”
With　inquisitive；　wondering　eyes；　Natasha　gazed　at　Sonya；　and　she　did　not　speak。　She　felt　that　what　Sonya　was　saying　was　the　truth；　that　there　was　love　such　as　Sonya　was　speaking　of。　But　Natasha　had　never　known　anything　like　it。　She　believed　that　it　might　be　so；　but　she　did　not　understand　it。
“Shall　you　write　to　him？”　she　asked。　Sonya　sank　into　thought。　How　she　should　write　to　Nikolay；　and　whether　she　ought　to　write　to　him；　was　a　question　that　worried　her。　Now　that　he　was　an　officer；　and　a　wounded　hero；　would　it　be　nice　on　her　part　to　remind　him　of　herself；　and　as　it　were　of　the　obligations　he　had　taken　on　himself　in　regard　to　her。　“I　don’t　know。　I　suppose　if　he　writes　to　me　I　shall　write；”　she　said；　blushing。
“And　you　won’t　be　ashamed　to　write　to　him？”
Sonya　smiled。
“No。”
“And　I　should　be　ashamed　to　write　to　Boris；　and　I’m　not　going　to　write。”
“But　why　should　you　be　ashamed？”
“Oh；　I　don’t　know。　I　feel　awkward；　ashamed。”
“I　know　why　she’d　be　ashamed；”　said　Petya；　offended　at　Natasha’s　previous　remark；　“because　she　fell　in　love　with　that　fat　fellow　in　spectacles”　（this　was　how　Petya　used　to　describe　his　namesake；　the　new　Count　Bezuhov）；　“and　now　she’s　in　love　with　that　singing　fellow”　（Petya　meant　Natasha’s　Italian　singing…master）；　“that’s　why　she’s　ashamed。”
“Petya；　you’re　a　stupid；”　said　Natasha。
“No　stupider　than　you；　ma’am；”　said　nine…year…old　Petya；　exactly　as　though　he　had　been　an　elderly　brigadier。
The　countess　had　been　prepared　by　Anna　Mihalovna’s　hints　during　dinner。　On　returning　to　her　room　she　had　sat　down　in　a　low　chair　with　her　eyes　fixed　on　the　miniature　of　her　son；　painted　on　the　lid　of　her　snuff…box；　and　the　tears　started　into　her　eyes。　Anna　Mihalovna；　with　the　letter；　approached　the　countess’s　room　on　tiptoe；　and　stood　still　at　the　door。
“Don’t　come　in；”　she　said　to　the　old　count；　who　was　following　her；　“later；”　and　she　closed　the　door　after　her。　The　count　put　his　ear　to　the　keyhole；　and　listened。
At　first　he　heard　the　sound　of　indifferent　talk；　then　Anna　Mihalovna’s　voice　alone；　uttering　a　long　speech；　then　a　shriek；　then　silence；　then　both　voices　talking　at　once　with　joyful　intonations；　then　there　were　steps；　and　Anna　Mihalovna　opened　the　door。　Her　face　wore　the　look　of　pride　of　an　operator　who　has　performed　a　difficult　amputation；　and　invites　the　public　in　to　appreciate　his　skill。
“It　is　done；”　she　said　to　the　count　triumphantly；　motioning　him　to　the　countess；　who　was　holding　in　one　hand　the　snuff…box　with　the　portrait；　in　the　other　the　letter；　and　pressing　her　lips　first　to　one　and　then　to　the　other。　On　seeing　the　count；　she　held　out　her　arms　to　him；　embraced　his　bald　head；　and　looked　again　over　the　bald　head　at　the　letter　and　the　portrait；　and　in　order　again　to　press　them　to　her　lips；　slightly　repelled　the　bald　head　from　her。　Vera；　Natasha；　Sonya；　and　Petya　came　into　the　room；　and　the　reading　of　the　letter　began。　The　letter　briefly　described　the　march　and　the　two　battles　in　which　Nikolushka　had　taken　part；　and　the　receiving　of　his　commission；　and　said　that　he　kissed　the　hands　of　his　mamma　and　papa；　begging　their　blessing；　and　sent　kisses　to　Vera；　Natasha；　and　Petya。　He　sent　greetings；　too；　to　Monsieur　Schelling　and　Madame　Schoss；　and　his　old　nurse；　and　begged　them　to　kiss　for　him　his　darling　Sonya；　whom　he　still　loved　and　thought　of　the　same　as　ever。　On　hearing　this；　Sonya　blushed　till　the　tears　came　into　her　eyes。　And　unable　to　stand　the　eyes　fixed　upon　her；　she　ran　into　the　big　hall；　ran　about　with　a　flushed　and　smiling　face；　whirled　round　and　round　and　ducked　down；　making　her　skirts　into　a　balloon。　The　countess　was　crying。
“What　are　you　crying　about；　mamma？”　said　Vera。　“From　all　he　writes；　we　ought　to　rejoice　instead　of　crying。”
This　was　perfectly　true；　but　the　count　and　the　countess　and　Natasha　all　looked　at　her　reproachfully。　“And　who　is　it　that　she　takes　after！”　thought　the　countess。
Nikolushka’s　letter　was　read　over　hundreds　of　times；　and　those　who　were　considered　worthy　of　hearing　it　had　to　come　in　to　the　countess；　who　did　not　let　it　go　out　of　her　hands。　The　tutors　went　in；　the　nurses；　Mitenka；　and　several　acquaintances；　and　the　countess　read　the　letter　every　time　with　fresh　enjoyment　and　every　time　she　discovered　from　it　new　virtues　in　her　Nikolushka。　How　strange；　extraordinary；　and　joyful　it　was　to　her　to　think　that　her　son—the　little　son；　whose　tiny　limbs　had　faintly　stirred　within　her　twenty　years　ago；　for　whose　sake　she　had　so　often　quarrelled　with　the　count；　who　would　spoil　him；　the　little　son；　who　had　first　learnt　to　say　grusha；　and　then　had　learnt　to　say　baba—that　that　son　was　now　in　a　foreign　land；　in　strange　surroundings；　a　manly　warrior；　alone　without　help　or　guidance；　doing　there　his　proper　manly　work。　All　the　world…wide　experience　of　ages；　proving　that　children　do　imperceptibly　from　the　cradle　grow　up　into　men；　did　not　exist　for　the　countess。　The　growth　of　her　son　had　been　for　her　at　every　stage　of　his　growth　just　as　extraordinary　as　though　millions　of　millions　of　men　had　not　grown　up　in　the　same　way。　Just　as；　twenty　years　before；　she　could　not　believe　that　the　little　creature　that　was　lying　somewhere　under　her　heart；　would　one　day　cry　and　suck　her　breast　and　learn　to　talk；　now　she　could　not　believe　that　the　same　little　creature　could　be　that　strong；　brave　man；　that　paragon　of　sons　and　of　men　that；　judging　by　this　letter；　he　was　now。
“What　style；　how　charmingly　he　describes　everything！”　she　said；　reading　over　the　descriptions　in　the　letter。　“And　what　soul！　Of　himself　not　a　word　…　not　a　word！　A　great　deal　about　a　man　called　Denisov；　though　he　was　himself；　I　dare　say；　braver　than　any　one。　He　doesn’t　write　a　word　about　his　sufferings。　What　a　heart！　How　like　him　it　is！　How　he　thinks　of　every　one！　No　one　forgotten。　I　always；　always　said；　when　he　was　no　more　than　that　high；　I　always　used　to　say　…”
For　over　a　week　they　were　hard　at　work　preparing　a　letter　to　Nikolushka　from　all　the　household；　writing　out　rough　copies；　copying　out　fair　copies。　With　the　watchful　care　of　the　countess；　and　the　fussy　solicitude　of　the　count；　all　sorts　of　necessary　things　were　got　together；　and　money；　too；　for　the　equipment　and　the　uniform　of　the　young　officer。　Anna　Mihalovna；　practical　woman；　had　succeeded　in　obtaining　special　patronage　for　herself　and　her　son　in　the　army；　that　even　extended　to　their　correspondence。　She　had　opportunities　of　sending　her　letters　to　the　Grand　Duke　Konstantin　Pavlovitch；　who　was　in　command　of　the　guards。　The　Rostovs　assumed　that　“The　Russian　Guards　Abroad；”　was　quite　a　sufficiently　definite　address；　and　that　if　a　letter　reached　the　grand　duke　in　command　of　the　guards；　there　was　no　reason　why　it　should　not　reach　the　Pavlograd　regiment；　who　were　presumably　somewhere　in　the　same　vicinity。　And　so　it　was　decided　to　send　off　their　letters　and　money　by　the　special　messenger　of　the　grand　duke　to　Boris；　and　Boris　would　have　to　forward　them　to　Nikolushka。　There　were　letters　from　the　count；　the　countess；　Petya；　Vera；　Natasha；　and　Sonya；　a　sum　of　six　thousand　roubles　for　his　equipment；　and　various　other　things　which　the　count　was　sending　to　his　son。


Chapter　7
ON　THE　12TH　of　November；　Kutuzov’s　army；　encamped　near　Olmütz；　was　preparing　to　be　reviewed　on　the　following　day　by　the　two　Emperors—the　Russian　and　the　Austrian。　The　guards；　who　had　only　just　arrived　from　Russia；　spent　a　night　fifteen　versts　from　Olmütz；　and　at　ten　o’clock　the　next　morning　went　straight　to　be　reviewed　in　the　Olmütz　plain。
That　day　Nikolay　Rostov　had　received　a　note　from　Boris　informing　him　that　the　Ismailovsky　regiment　was　quartered　for　the　night　fifteen　versts　from　Olmütz；　and　that　he　wanted　to　see　him　to　give　him　a　letter　and　some　money。　The　money　Rostov　particularly　needed　just　now；　when　the　troops　after　active　service　were　stationed　near　Olmütz；　and　the　camp　swarmed　with　well…equipped　canteen　keepers　and　Austrian　Jews；　offering　all　kinds　of　attractions。　The　Pavlograd　hussars　had　been　keeping　up　a　round　of　gaiety；　fêtes　in　honour　of　the　promotions　received　in　the　field；　and　excursions　to　Olmütz　to　a　certain　Caroline　la　Hongroise；　who　had　recently　opened　a　restaurant　there　with　girls　as　waiters。　Rostov　had　just　been　celebrating　his　commission　as　a　cornet；　he　had　bought　Denisov’s　horse　Bedouin；　too；　and　was　in　debt　all　round　to　his　comrades　and　the　canteen　keepers。　On　getting　the　note　from　Boris；　Rostov　rode　into　Olmütz　with　a　comrade；　dined　there；　drank　a　bottle　of　wine；　and　rode　on　alone　to　the　guards’　camp　to　find　the　companion　of　his　childhood。　Rostov　had　not　yet　got　his　uniform。　He　was　wearin