ON THE 30TH Pierre returned to Moscow. Almost at the city gates he was met by an adjutant of Count Rastoptchin's.
“Why, we have been looking for you everywhere,” said the adjutant. “The count urgently wants to see you. He begs you to come to him at once on very important business.” Instead of going home, Pierre hailed a cab-driver and drove to the governor's.
Count Rastoptchin had only that morning arrived from his summer villa at Sokolniky. The ante-room and waiting-room in the count's house were full of officials, who had been summoned by him, or had come to him for instructions. Vassiltchekov and Platov had already seen the count, and informed him that the defence of Moscow was out of the question, and the city would be surrendered. Though the news was being concealed from the citizens, the heads of various departments and officials of different kinds knew that Moscow would soon be in the hands of the enemy, just as Count Rastoptchin knew it. And all of them to escape personal responsibility had come to the governor to inquire how to act in regard to the offices in their charge.
At the moment when Pierre went into the waiting-room, a courier from the army was just coming out from an interview with the count.
The courier waved his hand with a hopeless air at the questions with which he was besieged, and walked across the room.
While he waited, Pierre watched with weary eyes the various officials—young, old, military, and civilian, important and insignificant— who were gathered together in the room. All seemed dissatisfied and uneasy. Pierre went up to one group of functionaries, among whom he recognised an acquaintance. After greeting him, they went on with their conversation.
“Well, to send out and bring back again would be no harm; but in the present position of affairs there's no answering for anything.”
“But look here, what he writes,” said another, pointing to a printed paper he held in his hand.
“That's a different matter. That's necessary for the common people,” said the first.
“What is it?” asked Pierre.
“The new proclamation.”
Pierre took it and began to read.
“His highness the prince has passed Mozhaisk, so as to unite with the troops that are going to join him, and has taken up a strong position, where the enemy cannot attack him suddenly. Forty-eight cannon with shells have been sent him from here, and his highness declares that he will defend Moscow to the last drop of blood, and is ready even to fight in the streets. Don't mind, brothers, that the courts of justice are closed; we must take our measures, and we'll deal with miscreants in our own fashion. When the time comes, I shall have need of some gallant fellows, both of town and country. I will give the word in a couple of days; but now there's no need, and I hold my peace. The axe is useful; the pike, too, is not to be despised; but best of all is the three-pronged fork: a Frenchman is no heavier than a sheaf of rye. To-morrow after dinner, I shall take the Iversky Holy Mother to St. Catherine's Hospital to the wounded. There we will consecrate the water; they will soon be well again. I, too am well now; one of my eyes was bad, but now I look well out of both.”
“Why, I was told by military men,” said Pierre, “that there could be no fighting in the town itself, and the position…”
“To be sure, that's just what we are saying,” said the first speaker.
“But what does that mean: ‘One of my eyes was bad, but now I look out of both'?” asked Pierre.
“The count had a sty in his eye,” said the adjutant smiling; “and he was very much put out when I told him people were coming to ask what was the matter. And oh, count,” he said suddenly, addressing Pierre with a smile, “we have been hearing that you are in trouble with domestic anxieties, that the countess, your spouse…”
“I have heard nothing about it,” said Pierre indifferently. “What is it you have heard?”
“Oh, you know, stories are so often made up. I only repeat what I hear.”
“What have you heard?”
“Oh, they say,” said the adjutant again with the same smile, “that the countess, your wife, is preparing to go abroad. It's most likely nonsense.”
“It may be,” said Pierre, looking absent-mindedly about him. “Who is that?” he asked, indicating a tall old man in a clean blue overcoat, with a big, snow-white beard and eyebrows and a ruddy face.
“That? Oh, he's a merchant; that is, he's the restaurant-keeper, Vereshtchagin. You have heard the story of the proclamation, I dare say?”
“Oh, so that's Vereshtchagin!” said Pierre, scrutinising the firm, calm face of the old merchant, and seeking in it some token of treachery.
“That's not the man himself. That's the father of the fellow who wrote the proclamation,” said the adjutant. “The young man himself is in custody, and I fancy it will go hard with him.”
A little old gentleman with a star, and a German official with a cross on his neck, joined the group.
“It's a complicated story, you see,” the adjutant was relating. “The proclamation appeared two months ago. It was brought to the count. He ordered inquiry to be made. Well, Gavrilo Ivanitch made investigations; the proclamation had passed through some sixty-three hands. We come to one and ask, From whom did you get it? From so and so. And the next refers us on to so and so; and in that way they traced it to Vereshtchagin … a half-educated merchant's son, one of those pretty dears, you know,” said the adjutant smiling. “He too was asked, From whom did you get it? And we knew very well from whom he had it really. He could have had it from no one but the director of the post-office. But it was clear there was an understanding between them. He says he got it from no one, but had composed it himself. And threaten him and question him as they would, he stuck to it, he had written it himself. So the matter was reported, and the count had him sent for. ‘From whom did you get the proclamation?' ‘I wrote it myself.' Well! you know the count,” said the adjutant, with a smile of pride and delight. “He was fearfully angry; and only fancy the insolence, and lying, and stubbornness!”
“Oh! the count wanted him to say it was from Klutcharyov, I understand,” said Pierre.
“Oh no, not at all,” said the adjutant in dismay. “Klutcharyov had sins enough to answer for without that, and that's why he was banished. But any way, the count was very indignant. ‘How could you write it?' says the count. He took up the Hamburg Gazette that was on the table. ‘Here it is. You did not compose it, but translated it, and very badly too, because you don't even know French, you fool.' What do you think? ‘No,' says he, ‘I have never read any gazettes; I made it up.' ‘But if so, you're a traitor, and I'll hand you over for judgment, and you will be hanged.' ‘Tell us from whom you got it.' ‘I have not seen any gazettes; I composed it.' So the matter rests. The count sent for the father; he sticks to the same story. And they had him tried, and he was sentenced, I believe, to hard labour. Now the father has come to petition in his favour. But he is a worthless young scamp! You know the style of spoilt merchant's son, a regular dandy and lady-killer; has attended lectures of some sort, and so fancies that he's above everybody. A regular young scamp! His father has an eating-house here on the Kamenny bridge; and in the shop, you know, there is a great picture of God the Supporter of All, represented with a sceptre in one hand and the empire in the other; well, he took that picture home for a few days, and what do you suppose he did! He got hold of some wretched painter…”
三十日，皮埃尔回到莫斯科。快到城门口时，拉斯托普钦伯爵的副官迎了过来。
“我们到处找您，”副官说，“伯爵一定要见您。他请您立即到他那儿去，有一件非常重要的事情。”皮埃尔没有回家，雇了一辆马车就到总督那儿去了。
拉斯托普钦伯爵这天早上才从郊外索科尔尼茨别墅回到城里。伯爵住宅的前厅和接待室挤满了官员，有奉召而来的，有来请示的。瓦西里奇科夫和普拉托夫已同伯爵晤面，并向他解释莫斯科无法防守，只得放弃。这消息虽然瞒着居民，但官员们，各机关的长官们则已知道，莫斯科将落入敌手，像拉斯托普钦一样，他们为了推卸责任，都来向总督请示他们掌管的部门应当怎么办。
皮埃尔进入接待室时，一位军队的信使正从伯爵办公室出来。
信使对大家的提问无可奈何地摆了摆手，径直穿过接待室走了。
等候接见时，皮埃尔睁开疲倦的眼睛环顾室内的各色人物，年老的和年青的，军官和文官，大官和小官。大家都有一付不满不安的样子。皮埃尔走到一伙官员跟前，里面有一个他认识的。他们同皮埃尔寒暄后，继续谈他们的话。
“先撤出，然后再回师，不会吃亏；处在目前这种情况，无论怎样负不了责。”
“可是这个，他写的。”另一人说，指着他手里的印刷品。
“这是另一码事。这对民众是需要的。”刚才来的那人说。
“这是什么？”皮埃尔问。
“一张新的通告。”皮埃尔拿过来读。
“尊贵的公爵已越过莫扎伊斯克，以便尽快与向他靠拢的部队汇合，并已驻防于坚固阵地，敌人在彼处不会突然向他进攻。本城已向他运去四十八尊大炮和弹药，勋座称，他将保卫莫斯科直至最后一滴血，且已作好巷战准备。弟兄们，你们别管政府机关已关闭，应该各安其事，我们会惩罚恶人的！到时候，我需要城里和乡下的青壮。一两天内我将发出号召，现在还不必，所以我沉默。用斧头很好，用长矛不赖，用三般叉最好：法国佬不会比一捆麦子重。明天，午饭后，我要举着伊韦尔圣母像去叶卡捷琳娜医院看伤兵。在那里化圣水：他们会很快复元；我现在身体好；本来一只眼有病，而现在双目可视。
“军方人士告诉我，”皮埃尔说，“城里不能作战，地形……”
“那是，我们正谈论着呢。”刚才那位官员说。
“可这是什么意思：本来一只眼有病，而现在双目可视？”
皮埃尔问。
“伯爵眼睛长了个小疖子，”副官微笑着说，“当我告诉他民众来询问他得了什么病，他十分不安。而您呢，伯爵？”副官突然转身朝皮埃尔笑着说：“我们听说您有家庭纠葛，似乎伯爵夫人，您的夫人……”
“我一无所知，”皮埃尔心不在焉地说，“您听到什么啦？”
“没有，您知道，常常有人编造。我说的是听来的。”
“您究竟听到什么啦？”
“有人说啦，”副官依然微笑着说，“伯爵夫人，您妻子，打算出国。大概是，胡说……”
“可能，”皮埃尔说，沮丧地看了看周围。“这人是谁？”皮埃尔指着一个矮老头问，这人身穿整洁的蓝呢大衣，留着一把雪白的大胡子，雪白的眉毛，红光满面。
“他么？是一个商人，他就是饭店老板韦列夏金。您也许听说了布告的事。”
“噢，原来他就是韦列夏金！”皮埃尔说，打量着老商人那张坚强而镇定的面孔，在他脸上寻找奸细的表情。
“这不是他本人。是他儿子写的布告，”副官说，“那年青人坐牢了，看来要遭殃。”
一个戴勋章的小老头，还有一个脖子上挂十字架的德裔官员，走到谈话的人们跟前。
“你们知道吗，”副官详细作着说明，“事情弄混淆了。那篇宣言是两个月前发现的。向伯爵报告了。他便下令追查。加夫里洛、伊凡内奇查出，宣言已经经过六十三人的手。先追问一个人：‘你从谁那儿搞到的？'‘某某人。'又去找这个人：‘你是从谁手里得到的？'等等，一直问到韦列夏金……一个没念过什么书的小商人，你们晓得的，一个不讨厌的小商人，”副官微笑着说。又问他：‘你是谁给你的？'而主要的是，我们知道是谁给他的。他不可能从别人手里得到，只有从邮政局长那里。但是，他们显然串通好了。他说：‘没有准给我，我自己写出来的。'逼他也好，劝他也好，他总坚持：‘自己写的。'只好这样报告伯爵。伯爵吩咐把他叫来。‘你的布告是哪儿来的？'‘我自己写的。'呶，大家都了解伯爵！”副官骄傲地愉快地笑着说。“他勃然大怒，神态真可怕，你们想想，竟然那么胆大妄为，撒谎和顽固！……”
“噢！伯爵要他供出克柳恰廖夫，我明白了！”皮埃尔说。
“完全不需要，”副官惊慌地说，“即使没有这一条，克柳恰廖夫也有罪过，所以才被流放。问题是伯爵非常气愤。‘你怎么可能写呢？'伯爵说。他从桌上拿起一份《汉堡日报》。‘是这个。你没有写，是翻译的，而且译得很糟，因为你这个傻瓜甚至不懂得法语。'您猜怎么着？‘不，他说，我根本不看什么报纸，我自己写的。'‘既然是这样，那你就是叛徒，我要把你交付法庭，你会被绞死的。说，从谁手上拿到的？'‘我什么报也没有见过，是我写的。'事情就这样僵持着。伯爵把他父亲召来：他仍坚持前供。可是，交付法庭，好像判处他服苦役。现在父亲来为他求情。为这坏小子！你们知道，这样的商人儿子绔袴，勾引女人的家伙，在哪儿听了演讲，于是就满不在乎，无所顾忌。这就是一个花花公子！他父亲在石桥旁边开了一家饭馆，在饭馆里，知道吗，挂着一幅全能的上帝的大画像，一手握权杖，一手托金球；他把这张圣像拿回家去好几天，他都干了些什么？他找来一个浑蛋画家……”
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