ON THE MORNING of the 15th, the next day but one, a great number of carriages stood outside the Slobodsky palace.

The great halls were full. In the first were the noblemen in their uniforms; in the second there were merchants with medals and long beards, wearing blue, full-skirted coats. The first room was full of noise and movement. The more important personages were sitting on high-backed chairs at a big table under the Tsar's portrait; but the greater number of the noblemen were walking about the hall.

The noblemen, whom Pierre saw every day either at the club or at their houses, were all in uniforms; some in those of Catherine's court, some in those of the Emperor Pavel, and some in the new uniforms of Alexander's reign, others in the common uniforms of the nobility, and the general character of their dress gave a strange and fantastic look to these old and young, most diverse and familiar faces. Particularly striking were the older men, dim-eyed, toothless, bald, and thin, with faces wrinkled or lost in yellow fat. They sat still for the most part and were silent, or if they walked and talked, attached themselves to some one younger. Just like the faces Petya had seen in the crowd, all these faces, in their universal expectation of something solemn, presented a striking contrast with their everyday, yesterday's aspect, when talking over their game of boston, Petrushka the cook, the health of Zinaida Dmitryevna, etc., etc.

Pierre, who had been since early morning in an uncomfortable uniform, that had become too tight for him, was in the room. He was in a state of excitement; this extraordinary assembly, not only of the nobility, but of the merchant class too—the estates, états généraux—called up in him a whole series of ideas of the Contrat Social and the French Revolution, ideas imprinted deeply on his soul, though they had long been laid aside. The words he had noticed in the manifesto, that the Tsar was coming to the capital for deliberation with his people, confirmed him in this chain of thought. And supposing that something of importance in that direction was near at hand, that what he had long been looking for was coming, he looked and listened attentively, but he saw nowhere any expression of the ideas that engrossed him.

The Tsar's manifesto was read, and evoked enthusiasm; and then all moved about, talking. Apart from their everyday interests, Pierre heard discussion as to where the marshals were to stand when the Tsar should come in, when the ball was to be given for the Tsar, whether they were to be divided according to districts or the whole province together… and so on. But as soon as the war and the whole object of their meeting together was touched upon, the talk was uncertain and hesitating. Every one seemed to prefer listening to speaking.

A manly-looking, handsome, middle-aged man, wearing the uniform of a retired naval officer, was speaking, and a little crowd was gathered about him in one of the rooms. Pierre went up to the circle that had formed round him, and began to listen. Count Ilya Andreitch, in his uniform of Catherine's time, was walking about with a pleasant smile among the crowd, with all of whom he was acquainted. He too approached this group, and began to listen with a good-humoured smile, as he always did listen, nodding his head approvingly in token of his agreeing with the speaker. The retired naval officer was speaking very boldly (that could be seen from the expression on the faces of the listeners and from the fact that some persons, known to Pierre as particularly submissive and timid, drew back from him in disapprobation or expressed dissent). Pierre pushed his way into the middle of the circle, listened, and gained the conviction that the speaker certainly was a liberal, but in quite a different sense from what Pierre was looking for. The naval officer spoke in the peculiarly mellow, sing-song baritone of a Russian nobleman, with peculiar burring of the r's and suppression of the consonants, in the voice in which men shout: “Waiter, pipe!” and such phrases. He talked with the habit of riotous living and of authority in his voice.

“What if the Smolensk people have offered the Emperor a levy of militia. Are the Smolensk people any rule for us? If the nobility of the Moscow province thinks fit, it can show its devotion to our sovereign the Emperor by other means. Have we forgotten the militia in the year 1807? It was only the beggarly priests' sons and thieves made a good thing of it.…”

Count Ilya Andreitch, smiling blandly, nodded his head in approval.

“And were our militiamen of any service to the state? Not the slightest! They only ruined our agriculture. Even conscription is better.… As it is, a man comes back to you neither soldier nor peasant, nothing, but only demoralised. The nobility don't grudge their lives. We will go ourselves to a man; take recruits, too; and the Tsar has but to say the word, and we will all die for him,” added the orator, warming up.

Ilya Andreitch's mouth was watering with satisfaction, and he nudged Pierre, but Pierre wanted to speak too. He moved forward, feeling stirred, though he did not yet know why nor what he would say. He was just opening his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by a perfectly toothless senator with a shrewd and wrathful face, who was standing close by the last orator. Evidently accustomed to lead debates and bring forward motions, he began speaking in a low but audible voice:

“I imagine, my dear sir,” said the senator, mumbling with his toothless mouth, “that we are summoned here not to discuss which is more suitable for the country at the present moment—conscription or the militia. We are summoned to reply to the appeal which our sovereign the Emperor graciously deigns to make to us. And to judge which is the fitter means—recruiting or a levy for militia—we leave to a higher power.…”

Pierre suddenly found the right outlet for his excitement. He felt exasperated with the senator, who introduced this conventional and narrow view of the duties that lay before the nobility. Pierre stepped forward and cut him short. He did not know himself what he was going to say, but he began eagerly, using bookish Russian, and occasionally relapsing into French.

“Excuse me, your excellency,” he began (Pierre was well acquainted with this senator, but he felt it necessary on this occasion to address him formally), “though I differ from the gentleman…” (Pierre hesitated; he would have liked to say Mon très honorable préopinante) “with the gentleman…whom I have not the honour of knowing; but I imagine the estate of the nobility, apart from the expression of its sympathy and enthusiasm, has been convoked also to deliberate upon the measures by which we can assist our country. I imagine,” said Pierre, growing warmer, “that the Tsar would himself be displeased if he should find in us only the owners of peasants, whom we give up to him, and chair à canon, which we offer in ourselves—and should not find in us co…co …counsel.…”

Many persons moved a little away from the circle, noticing the disdainful smile of the senator and the freedom of Pierre's words. Ilya Andreitch was the only person pleased at what Pierre said, just as he had been pleased with the naval officer's speech and the senator's, as he always was with the last speech he had heard.

“I consider that before discussing these questions,” Pierre continued, “we ought to ask the Emperor, most respectfully to ask his majesty, to communicate to us what forces we have, what is the position of our men and our army, and then…”

Pierre had hardly uttered these words when he was promptly attacked on three sides at once. The most violent onslaught was made upon him by an old acquaintance and partner at boston, who had always been on the friendliest terms with him, Stepan Stepanovitch Adraksin. Stepan Stepanovitch was, of course, in uniform, and whether it was due to the uniform or to other causes, Pierre saw before him quite a changed man. Stepan Stepanovitch, with an old man's anger in his face, screamed at Pierre:

“In the first place, let me tell you that we have no right to ask such questions of the Emperor; and secondly, if the nobility had any such right, the Emperor could not answer such questions. The movements of the troops depend on the movements of the enemy; the troops are augmented and decreased…”

Another voice interrupted Adraksin. The speaker was a man of forty, of medium height, whom Pierre had seen in former days at the gypsies' entertainments, and knew as a bad card-player. But now he, too, was quite transformed by his uniform, as he moved up to Pierre.

“Yes, and it's not the time for deliberation,” said this nobleman.

“What's needed is action; there is war in Russia. Our foe comes to ruin Russia, to desecrate the tombs of our fathers, to carry away our wives and children.” The gentleman struck himself a blow on the chest. “We will all rise up; we will all go to a man, we will follow our father the Tsar!” he cried, rolling his bloodshot eyes. Several approving voices could be heard in the crowd. “We are Russians and we do not grudge our blood for the defence of our faith, our throne, and our country. But we must put a stop to idle talk, if we are true sons of our fatherland. We will show Europe how Russia can defend Russia!” shouted this gentleman.

Pierre tried to reply, but he could not get in a word. He felt that the sound of his words, apart from any meaning they conveyed, was less audible than the sound of his excited adversary's voice.

In the rear of the group, Ilya Andreitch was nodding approval; several of the audience turned their shoulders briskly to the orator at the conclusion of a phrase and said:

“That's so, that's so, indeed!”

Pierre wanted to say that he was by no means averse to the sacrifice of his money, or his peasants, or himself, but that one ought to know the true position of affairs, in order to be able to assist, but he could not speak.

A number of voices were speaking and shouting together, so much so that Ilya Andreitch had not time to nod approval to all of them. And the group grew larger and broke up into knots, re-formed again, and moved all together with a hum of talk to the big table in the big room. Pierre was not allowed to speak; they rudely interrupted him, indeed hustled him and turned their backs on him as though he were the common foe. This was not really due to their dislike of the tenor of his speech, which they had forgotten, indeed, after the great number of speeches that followed it. But a crowd is always pleased to have a concrete object for its love or its hatred. Pierre furnished it with the latter.

Many orators spoke after the eager nobleman, but all spoke in the same tone. Some spoke eloquently and originally.

The editor of the Russian Messenger, Glinka, who was recognised and greeted with shouts of “the author, the author!” said that hell must be driven back by hell, that he had seen a child smiling at the lightning flash and the thunder clap, but we would not be like that child.

“Yes, yes, at the thunder clap!” was repeated with approval at the back of the crowd.

The crowd approached the great table, where grey or bald old noblemen of seventy were sitting, wearing uniforms and decorations. Almost all of them Pierre had seen with their buffoons in their own homes or playing boston at the club. The crowd drew near the table, still with the same buzz of talk. The orators, squeezed in behind the high chair backs by the surging crowd, spoke one after another and sometimes two at once. Those who stood further back noticed what the speaker had left unsaid and hastened to supply the gap. Others were busy in the heat and crush, ransacking their brains to find some idea and hurriedly uttering it. The old grandees at the table sat looking from one to another, and their expression for the most part betrayed nothing but that they were very hot. Pierre however felt excited, and the general feeling of desire to show that they were ready for anything, expressed for the most part more in tones and looks than in the tenor of the speeches, infected him too. He did not disavow his ideas, but felt somehow in fault and tried to defend himself.

“I only said that we could make sacrifices to better purpose when we know what is needed,” he cried, trying to shout down the other voices.

One old man close by him looked round, but his attention was immediately called off by a shout at the other end of the table.

“Yes, Moscow will be surrendered! She will be the expiation!” one man was shouting.

“He is the enemy of mankind!” another shouted.

“Allow me to say…”

“Gentlemen, you are crushing me!…”

此后第三天，即十五日早晨，斯洛博达宫门前停着无数的马车。

大厅里挤满了人。第一座里面，是穿制服的贵族，第二座里面，是佩带奖章、留着大胡子，穿着蓝灰色长衣的商人。在贵族会议大厅里，发出嗡嗡的谈话声和走动声。在皇帝的挂像下的一张桌子旁，一些最显贵的大官坐在高高的靠背椅里，但大多数贵族都在大厅里走来走去。

所有这些贵族，都是皮埃尔每天不是在俱乐部就是在他们家里见过的，现在他们一律身着制服，有的穿叶卡捷琳娜女皇时代的，有的穿保罗皇帝时代的，有的穿亚历山大皇帝新朝的制服，还有的穿一般的贵族制服，这种制服的共同特征，就是给这些老老少少、各式各样、平时面熟的人物增添一种稀奇古怪的意味。特别令人注目的是那些老头子，他们两眼昏花、牙齿脱落、脑壳光秃，面孔浮肿，皮肤姜黄，或者满脸皱纹，瘦骨嶙峋。他们多半坐在座位上一声不响。如果他们走动一下，找人说说话，那也是专找某个年轻人。所有这些人也像彼佳在广场上见到的那些人的面孔一样，对立者面容令人吃惊：对某种重大庄严事情的期待和对日常的、昨天的事情的看法，如对波士顿牌局、彼得鲁什卡厨师、季娜伊达·德米特里耶夫娜的健康及其他诸如此类的事情的看法。

一大早，皮埃尔身着一件窄瘦的贵族制服（这制服使他行动笨拙）来到大厅。他心情很激动：这次不平常的集会（不仅有贵族，而且也有商人参加——包括Les　états　généraux①各阶层），引起他一连串久已搁置的、但深深印在心中的关于Contrat　So－cial②和法国大革命的联想。他在《告民众书》中看到一句话，说皇上返回首都是为了同民众共商国事，这更肯定了他的想法。固此他认为，他久已期待的重要事件就要来了，于是他走来走去，观察，倾听，但是到处都没有发现他所关心的那种思想。

①法语：三级会议。

②法语：民约论。

宣读皇帝的宣言时，引起一阵狂喜，然后大家谈论着散开了。皮埃尔除了听到一些日常的话题，还听到人们谈论：皇上进来时，首席贵族应当站在什么地方，什么时候举行招待皇帝的舞会，各县分开还是全省在一起……等等；但一涉及战争和如何召来贵族，就谈得不那么明确，含糊其辞了。大家都愿意听而不愿意说了。

一个中年男子，英姿勃勃，仪表堂堂，穿一身退役的海军服，正在一间大厅里说话，四周围着许多人。皮埃尔走近围着讲话人的小圈子，倾听起来。伊丽亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵穿一身叶卡捷琳娜时代的将军服，含着愉快的微笑在人群中走来走去。所有的人他都认识，他也走近这一群人，就像他一向听人讲话那样，带着和善的微笑，听人说话，不住地赞许地点头，表示同意。那个退役海军的谈话很大胆；这从听众的表情，从皮埃尔认为最老实安份的人们不以为然地走开或者表示反对的行为中可以看出。皮埃尔挤到中间，注意听了听，想信讲话的人的确是一个自由主义者，但是和他所设想的自由主义者完全不同。海军军人的声音特别响亮，悦耳，是贵族所特有的男中音，怪好听地用法语腔调发“P”音，辅音很短，就像在喊人：“拿茶来，拿烟袋来！”之类时的声调。

他说话的声音有一种习惯性的嚣张和发号施令的味道。

“斯摩棱斯克人向皇上建议组织义勇军。难道斯摩棱斯克人的话对于我们就是命令？如果莫斯科省的贵族认为有必要，他们可以用别的办法效忠皇上。难道我们忘了一八○七年的民团！结果得到好处的只是那些吃教会饭的，再就是小偷强盗……”

伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵含着甜丝丝的微笑，赞许地点着头。

“试问，难道我们的义勇军对国家有利吗？毫无利益可言！只能糟蹋我们的财产。最好是再征兵……不然，复员回来的，兵不像兵，庄稼人不像庄稼人，只落个浪荡胚子。贵族不吝惜自己的性命，我们人人都去参军，人人都去招兵，只要圣上（他这样称呼皇帝）一声号召，我们全都去为他牺牲。”这位演说家又激昂慷慨地补充说。

伊利亚·安德烈伊奇欢喜得直咽口水，不住地捅捅皮埃尔，但皮埃尔也急于要说话，他挤向前去，他觉得自己非常兴奋，但是他自己也不知道兴奋什么，不知道要说什么。他刚要开口，一个离那个讲话的人很近的枢密官——此人牙齿掉得精光，有一张聪明的面孔，但满脸怒容，他打断了皮埃尔的话。他显然惯于主持讨论和处理问题。他的声音很低，但还听得见。

“我认为，阁下，”枢密官用没有牙齿的嘴巴含糊不清地说，“我们被召来不是讨论目前对国家更有利的是什么——是征兵还是成立义勇军。我们是来响应皇帝陛下对我们的号召的。至于说征兵有利还是成立义勇军有利，我们恭候最高当局的裁决……”

皮埃尔的满腔豪情突然有了发泄的机会。那位枢密官对目前贵族当务之急提出迂腐而狭隘的观点，皮埃尔对此予以无情的驳斥。皮埃尔走向前去制止住他。连他自己也不知要说什么，就开始热烈地说起来，时而夹杂一些法语时而用书面俄语表达。

“请原谅，阁下，”他开始说（皮埃尔同这位枢密官是老相识，但是他认为这时对他有打官腔的必要），“虽然我不赞同这位先生……（皮埃尔讷讷起来，他本来想说mon　trés　honorable　préopinant①）也不赞同这位先生……que　je　n'ai　pas　l'honneur　de　connalAtre②；但是我认为，贵族被请来，除了表一表他们的同情和喜悦，还应当商讨拯救我们祖国的大计。我认为，”他激昂地说，“如果皇上看见我们只不过是一些把自己的农奴献给他的农奴主，只不过是我们把自己充……充当chair　a　conon③，而从我们这儿没有得到救……救……救亡的策略，那么，皇上是不会满意的。”

①法语：我可敬的对手。

②法语：我还没有荣幸认识他。

③法语：炮灰。

许多人看到枢密官露出轻蔑的微笑和皮埃尔信口雌黄，就从人群中走开了；只有伊利亚·安德烈伊奇对皮埃尔的话很满意，正像他对海军军人的话，枢密官的话，总之，对他刚听到的任何人的话，全都满意一样。

“我认为，在讨论这种问题之前，”皮埃尔接着说，我们应当问问皇上，恭恭敬敬地请陛下告诉我们，我们有多少军队，我们的军队和正在作战的部队情况如何，然后……”

但是，皮埃尔还没有把话说完，就忽然受到了三方面的攻击。攻击他最利害的是一个他的老相识斯捷潘·斯捷潘诺维奇·阿普拉克辛，此人是玩波士顿牌的能手，对皮埃尔一向怀有好感。斯捷潘·斯捷潘诺维奇身穿制服，不知是由于这身制服还是由于别的原因，此时，皮埃尔看见的是一个完全异样的人。斯捷潘·斯捷潘诺维奇脸上突然露出老年人的凶相，向皮埃尔呵斥道：“首先，启禀阁下，我们无权向皇上询问此事；其次，俄国贵族就算有此种权利，皇上也可能答复我们。军队是要看敌人的行动而行动的——军队的增和减……”

另外一个人的声音打断了阿普拉克辛的话，这个人中等身材，四十来岁，前些时候皮埃尔在茨冈舞女那儿常常看见他，知道他是一个蹩脚的牌手，他今天也因穿了制服而变了样子，他向皮埃尔迈进一步。

“而且现在不是发议论的时候，”这是那个贵族的声音，“而是要行动。战火已经蔓延到俄国。敌人打来了，它要灭掉俄国，践踏我们祖先的坟墓，掠走我们的妻子儿女。”这个贵族捶着胸脯。“我们人人都要行动起来，勇往直前，为沙皇圣主而战！”他瞪着充血的眼睛，喊道。人群中有些赞许的声音。

“为了捍卫我们的信仰，王位和祖国，我们俄罗斯人不惜流血牺牲。如果我们是祖国的男儿，就不要净说漂亮话吧。我们要让欧洲知道，俄国人是怎样站起来保卫祖国的。”那个贵族喊道。

皮埃尔想反对，但是一句话也说不出。他觉得，问题不在他的话包含什么思想，而是他的声音总不如生气勃勃的贵族说得响亮。

伊利亚·安德烈伊奇在那个圈子的人群后面频频点头称赞；在那个人说到最后一句话的时候，有几个人猛地转身对着演说的人说：

“对啦，对啦，就是这样！”

皮埃尔想说他并不反对献出金钱、农奴，甚至他自己，但是，要想解决问题，就得弄清楚情况，可是他张口结舌，一个字也说不出。许多声音一起喊叫，发表意见，弄得伊利亚·安德烈伊奇应接不暇，连连点头；人群聚了又散，散了又聚，吵吵嚷嚷，一齐向大厅里一张桌子涌去。皮埃尔的话不但没能说完，而且粗暴地被人打断，人们推开他，避开他，像对待共同的敌人一样。这种情况之所以发生，并不是因为对他的话的含义有所不满——在他之后又有许多人发表演说，他的意见早被人忘记了——而是因为，为了鼓舞人群，必须有可以感觉到的爱的对象和可以感觉到的恨的对象。皮埃尔就成为后者。在那个贵族慷慨陈词之后，又有很多人发了言，但说话的都是一个腔调，许多人都说得极好，而且有独到的见解。《俄罗斯导报》出版家格林卡①被人认出来了（“作家，作家！”人群中传出喊声），这位出版家说，地狱应当用地狱来反击，他曾见过一个孩子在雷电交加的时候还在微笑，但是我们不要做那个孩子。

①谢·尼·格林卡（1776～1847），俄国作家。

“对，对，雷电交加！”几个站在后边的人赞许地重复着。

人群向一张大桌子走去，桌旁坐着几位身着制服，佩带绶带，白发秃顶的七十来岁的达官显贵，差不多全是皮埃尔常见的，看见他们在家里逗小丑们取乐，或者在俱乐部里打波士顿牌。人群吵吵嚷嚷地向桌旁走去。讲话的人一个接着一个，有时两个一齐讲，说话的人被熙熙攘攘的人群挤到高椅背后面。站在后面的人发现讲话的人有什么没讲到的地方，就赶紧加以补充。别的人则在这热气腾腾和拥挤的气氛中，绞尽脑汁，想找点什么，好赶快说出来。皮埃尔认识的那几个年高的大官坐在那儿，时而看看这个，时而看看那个，他们脸上的表情很明显，只说明他们觉得很热。然而皮埃尔的情绪也高昂起来，那种普遍表示牺牲一切在所不惜的气概（多半表现在声音上，而不是表现在讲话的内容上）也感染了他。他不放弃自己的意见，但是他觉得他犯了什么错误，想辩解一下。

“我只是说，当我们知道迫切需要是什么的时候，我们的牺牲就会更有价值。”他竭力压倒别人的声音，赶忙说。

一个离得最近的小老头回头看了他一眼，随即被桌子另一边的声音吸引过去。

“是的，就要放弃莫斯科了！它将要成为赎罪品牺牲品！”

有人喊道。

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