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战争与和平(上)-第246部分
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n。 I pity those who did not see it。”
“I was there；” said Pierre。
“Really！” pursued the Frenchman。 “Well； so much the better。 You are fine enemies； though。 The great redoubt was well held； by my pipe。 And you made us pay heavily for it too。 I was at it three times； as I’m sitting here。 Three times we were upon the cannons； and three times we were driven back like cardboard figures。 Oh； it was fine； M。 Pierre。 Your grenadiers were superb； God’s thunder。 I saw them six times in succession close the ranks and march as though on parade。 Fine fellows。 Our king of Naples； who knows all about it； cried； Bravo！ Ah； ah； soldiers like ourselves；” he said after a moment’s silence。 “So much the better； so much the better； M。 Pierre。 Terrible in war … gallant； with the fair” （he winked with a smile）—“there you have the French； M。 Pierre； eh？”
The captain was so na？vely and good…humouredly gay and obtuse and self…satisfied that Pierre almost winked in response； as he looked good…humouredly at him。 Probably the word “gallant” brought the captain to reflect on the state of things in Moscow。
“By the way； tell me； is it true that all the women have left Moscow？ What a queer idea！ What had they to fear？”
“Would not the French ladies quit Paris； if the Russians were to enter it？” said Pierre。
“Ha—ha—ha！…” The Frenchman gave vent to a gay； sanguine chuckle； slapping Pierre on the shoulder。 “That’s a good one； that is；” he went on。 “Paris … But Paris…”
“Paris is the capital of the world；” said Pierre； finishing the sentence for him。
The captain looked at Pierre。 He had the habit of stopping short in the middle of conversation； and staring intently with his laughing genial eyes。
“Well； if you had not told me you are a Russian； I would have wagered you were a Parisian。 You have that indescribable something …” and uttering this compliment； he again gazed at him mutely。
“I have been in Paris。 I spent years there；” said Pierre。
“One can see that！ Paris！ A man who does not know Paris is a savage … A Parisian can be told two leagues off。 Paris—it is Talma； la Duschénois； Potier； the Sorbonne； the boulevards。” Perceiving that the conclusion of his phrase was somewhat of an anticlimax； he added hurriedly； “There is only one Paris in the world。… You have been in Paris； and you remain Russian。 Well； I don’t think the less of you for that。”
After the days he had spent alone with his gloomy thoughts； Pierre； under the influence of the wine he had drunk； could not help taking pleasure in conversing with this good…humoured and na？ve person。
“To return to your ladies； they are said to be beautiful。 What a silly idea to go and bury themselves in the steppes； when the French army is in Moscow。 What a chance they have lost。 Your peasants are different； but you civilised people ought to know better than that。 We have taken Vienna； Berlin； Madrid； Naples； Rome； Warsaw—all the capitals in the world。 We are feared； but we are loved。 We are worth knowing。 And then the Emperor…” he was beginning； but Pierre interrupted him。
“The Emperor；” repeated Pierre； and his face suddenly wore a mournful and embarrassed look。 “What of the Emperor？”
“The Emperor？ He is generosity； mercy； justice； order； genius—that is the Emperor。 It is I； Ramballe； who tell you that。 I was his enemy eight years ago。 My father was an emigrant count。 But he has conquered me； that man。 He has taken hold of me。 I could not resist the spectacle of the greatness and glory with which he was covering France。 When I understood what he wanted； when I saw he was preparing a bed of laurels for us； I said to myself： ‘That is a monarch。’ And I gave myself up to him。 Oh yes； he is the greatest man of the centuries； past and to come。”
“And is he in Moscow？” Pierre asked； hesitating and looking guilty。
The Frenchman gazed at Pierre’s guilty face； and grinned。
“No； he will make his entry to…morrow；” he said； and went on with his talk。
Their conversation was interrupted by several voices shouting at the gates； and Morel coming in to tell the captain that some Würtemberg hussars had come and wanted to put up their horses in the yard in which the captain’s had been put up。 The difficulty arose chiefly from the hussars not understanding what was said to them。
The captain bade the senior sergeant be brought to him； and in a stern voice asked him to what regiment he belonged； who was his commanding officer； and on what pretext he dared attempt to occupy quarters already occupied。 The German； who knew very little French； succeeded in answering the first two questions； but in reply to the last one； which he did not understand； he answered in broken French and German that he was quartermaster of the regiment； and had received orders from his superior officer to occupy all the houses in the row。 Pierre； who knew German； translated the German’s words to the captain； and translated the captain’s answer back for the Würtemberg hussar。 On understanding what was said to him； the German gave in； and took his men away。
The captain went out to the entrance and gave some loud commands。
When he came back into the room； Pierre was sitting where he had been sitting before； with his head in his hands。 His face expressed suffering。 He really was at that moment suffering。 As soon as the captain had gone out； and Pierre had been left alone； he suddenly came to himself； and recognised the position he was in。 It was not that Moscow had been taken； not that these lucky conquerors were making themselves at home there and patronising him； bitterly as Pierre felt it； that tortured him at that moment。 He was tortured by the consciousness of his own weakness。 The few glasses of wine he had drunk； the chat with this good…natured fellow； had dissipated that mood of concentrated gloom； which he had been living in for the last few days； and which was essential for carrying out his design。 The pistol and the dagger and the peasant’s coat were ready； Napoleon was making his entry on the morrow。 Pierre felt it as praiseworthy and as beneficial as ever to slay the miscreant； but he felt now that he would not do it。 He struggled against the consciousness of his own weakness； but he vaguely felt that he could not overcome it； that his past gloomy train of ideas； of vengeance； murder； and self…sacrifice； had been blown away like dust at contact with the first human being。
The captain came into the room； limping a little； and whistling some tune。
The Frenchman’s chatter that had amused Pierre struck him now as revolting。 And his whistling a tune； and his gait； and his gesture in twisting his moustaches； all seemed insulting to Pierre now。
“I’ll go away at once； I won’t say another word to him；” thought Pierre。 He thought this； yet went on sitting in the same place。 Some strange feeling of weakness riveted him to his place； he longed to get up and go； and could not。
The captain； on the contrary； seemed in exceedingly good spirits。 He walked a couple of times up and down the room。 His eyes sparkled and his moustaches slightly twitched as though he were smiling to himself at some amusing notion。
“Charming fellow the colonel of these Würtembergers；” he said all at once。 “He’s a German； but a good fellow if ever there was one。 But a German。”
He sat down facing Pierre。
“By the way； you know German？”
Pierre looked at him in silence。
“How do you say ‘asile’ in German？”
“Asile？” repeated Pierre。 “Asile in German is Unterkunft。”
“What do you say？” the captain queried quickly and doubtfully。
“Unterkunft；” repeated Pierre。
“Onterkoff；” said the captain； and for several seconds he looked at Pierre with his laughing eyes。 “The Germans are awful fools； aren’t they； M。 Pierre？” he concluded。
“Well； another bottle of this Moscow claret； eh？ Morel； warm us another bottle！” the captain shouted gaily。
Morel brought candles and a bottle of wine。 The captain looked at Pierre in the candle…light； and was obviously struck by the troubled face of his companion。 With genuine regret and sympathy in his face； Ramballe approached Pierre； and bent over him。
“Eh； we are sad！” he said； touching Pierre on the hand。 “Can I have hurt you？ No； really； have you anything against me？” he questioned。 “Perhaps it is owing to the situation of affairs？”
Pierre made no reply； but looked cordially into the Frenchman’s eyes。 This expression of sympathy was pleasant to him。
“My word of honour； to say nothing of what I owe you； I have a liking for you。 Can I do anything for you？ Dispose of me。 It is for life and death。 With my hand and my heart； I say so；” he said； slapping himself on the chest。
“Thank you；” said Pierre。 The captain gazed at Pierre as he had gazed at him when he learnt the German for “refuge；” and his face suddenly brightened。
“Ah； in that case； I drink to our friendship；” he cried gaily； pouring out two glasses of wine。
Pierre took the glass and emptied it。 Ramballe emptied his； pressed Pierre’s hand once more； and leaned his elbow on the table in a pose of pensive melancholy。
“Yes； my dear friend； such are the freaks of fortune；” he began。 “Who would have said I should be a soldier and captain of dragoons in the service of Bonaparte； as we used to call him。 And yet here I am at Moscow with him。 I must tell you； my dear fellow；” he continued in the mournful and measured voice of a man who intends to tell a long story； “our name is one of the most ancient in France。”
And with the easy and na？ve unreserve of a Frenchman； the captain told Pierre the history of his forefathers； his childhood； boyhood； and manhood； and all his relations； his fortunes； and domestic affairs。 “Ma pauvre mère；” took； of course； a prominent part in this recital。
“But all that is only the setting of life； the real thing is love。 Love！ Eh； M。 Pierre？” he said； warming up。 “Another glass。”
Pierre again emptied his glass； and filled himself a third。
“O women！ women！” and the captain； gazing with moist eyes at Pierre； began talking of love and his adventures with the fair sex。 They were very numerous； as might readily be believed； judging from the officer’s conceited； handsome face and the eager enthusiasm with which he talked of women。 Although all Ramballe�
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