Book 3 Chapter 7

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 wearing a shabby ensign's jacket with a private soldier's cross, equally shabby riding-trousers lined with worn leather, and an officer's sabre with a sword knot. The horse he was riding was of the Don breed, bought of a Cossack on the march. A crushed hussar cap was stuck jauntily back on one side of his head. As he rode up to the camp of the Ismailovsky regiment, he was thinking of how he would impress Boris and all his comrades in the guards by looking so thoroughly a hussar who has been under fire and roughed it at the front.

The guards had made their march as though it were a pleasure excursion, priding themselves on their smartness and discipline. They moved by short stages, their knapsacks were carried in the transport waggons, and at every halt the Austrian government provided the officers with excellent dinners. The regiments made their entry into towns and their exit from them with bands playing, and, according to the grand duke's order, the whole march had (a point on which the guards prided themselves) been performed by the soldiers in step, the officers too walking in their proper places. Boris had throughout the march walked and stayed with Berg, who was by this time a captain. Berg, who had received his company on the march, had succeeded in gaining the confidence of his superior officers by his conscientiousness and accuracy, and had established his financial position on a very satisfactory basis. Boris had during the same period made the acquaintance of many persons likely to be of use to him, and by means of a letter of recommendation brought from Pierre, had made the acquaintance of Prince Andrey Bolkonsky, through whom he had hopes of obtaining a post on the staff of the commander-in-chief. Berg and Boris, who had rested well after the previous day's march, were sitting smartly and neatly dressed, in the clean quarters assigned them, playing draughts at a round table. Berg was holding between his knees a smoking pipe. Boris, with his characteristic nicety, was building the draughts into a pyramid with his delicate, white fingers, while he waited for Berg to play. He was watching his partner's face, obviously thinking of the game, his attention concentrated, as it always was, on what he was engaged in.

“Well, how are you going to get out of that?” he said.

“I am going to try,” answered Berg, touching the pieces, and taking his hand away again.

At that instant the door opened.

“Here he is at last!” shouted Rostov. “And Berg too. Ah, petisanfan, alley cooshey dormir!” he cried, repeating the saying of their old nurse's that had once been a joke with him and Boris.

“Goodness, how changed you are!” Boris got up to greet Rostov, but as he rose, he did not forget to hold the board, and to put back the falling pieces. He was about to embrace his friend, but Nikolay drew back from him. With that peculiarly youthful feeling of fearing beaten tracks, of wanting to avoid imitation, to express one's feelings in some new way of one's own, so as to escape the forms often conventionally used by one's elders, Nikolay wanted to do something striking on meeting his friend. He wanted somehow to give him a pinch, to give Berg a shove, anything rather than to kiss, as people always did on such occasions. Boris, on the contrary, embraced Rostov in a composed and friendly manner, and gave him three kisses.

It was almost six months since they had seen each other. And being at the stage when young men take their first steps along the path of life, each found immense changes in the other, quite new reflections of the different society in which they had taken those first steps. Both had changed greatly since they were last together, and both wanted to show as soon as possible what a change had taken place.

“Ah, you damned floor polishers! Smart and clean, as if you'd been enjoying yourselves; not like us poor devils at the front,” said Rostov, with martial swagger, and with baritone notes in his voice that were new to Boris. He pointed to his mud-stained riding-breeches. The German woman of the house popped her head out of a door at Rostov's loud voice.

“A pretty woman, eh?” said he, winking.

“Why do you shout so? You are frightening them,” said Boris. “I didn't expect you to-day,” he added. “I only sent the note off to you yesterday—through an adjutant of Kutuzov's, who's a friend of mine—Bolkonsky. I didn't expect he would send it to you so quickly. Well, how are you? Been under fire already?” asked Boris.

Without answering, Rostov, in soldierly fashion, shook the cross of St. George that hung on the cording of his uniform, and pointing to his arm in a sling, he glanced at Berg.

“As you see,” he said.

“To be sure, yes, yes,” said Boris, smiling, “and we have had a capital march here too. You know his Highness kept all the while with our regiment, so that we had every convenience and advantage. In Poland, the receptions, the dinners, the balls!—I can't tell you. And the Tsarevitch was very gracious to all our officers.” And both the friends began describing; one, the gay revels of the hussars and life at the front; the other, the amenities and advantages of service under the command of royalty.

“Oh, you guards,” said Rostov. “But, I say, send for some wine.”

Boris frowned.

“If you really want some,” he said. And he went to the bedstead, took a purse from under the clean pillows, and ordered some wine. “Oh, and I have a letter and money to give you,” he added.

Rostov took the letter, and flinging the money on the sofa, put both his elbows on the table and began reading it. He read a few lines, and looked wrathfully at Berg. Meeting his eyes, Rostov hid his face with the letter.

“They sent you a decent lot of money, though,” said Berg, looking at the heavy bag, that sank into the sofa. “But we manage to scrape along on our pay, count, I can tell you in my own case. …”

“I say, Berg, my dear fellow,” said Rostov; “when you get a letter from home and meet one of your own people, whom you want to talk everything over with, and I'm on the scene, I'll clear out at once, so as not to be in your way. Do you hear, be off, please, anywhere, anywhere … to the devil!” he cried, and immediately seizing him by the shoulder, and looking affectionately into his face, evidently to soften the rudeness of his words, he added: “you know, you're not angry, my dear fellow, I speak straight from the heart to an old friend like you.”

“Why, of course, count, I quite understand,” said Berg, getting up and speaking in his deep voice.

“You might go and see the people of the house; they did invite you,” added Boris.

Berg put on a spotless clean coat, brushed his lovelocks upwards before the looking-glass, in the fashion worn by the Tsar Alexander Pavlovitch, and having assured himself from Rostov's expression that his coat had been observed, he went out of the room with a bland smile.

“Ah, what a beast I am, though,” said Rostov, as he read the letter.

“Oh, why?”

“Ah, what a pig I've been, never once to have written and to have given them such a fright. Ah, what a pig I am!” he repeated, flushing all at once. “Well, did you send Gavrila for some wine? That's right, let's have some!” said he.

With the letters from his family there had been inserted a letter of recommendation to Prince Bagration, by Anna Mihalovna's advice, which Countess Rostov had obtained through acquaintances, and had sent to her son, begging him to take it to its address, and to make use of it.

“What nonsense! Much use to me,” said Rostov, throwing the letter under the table.

“What did you throw that away for?” asked Boris.

“It's a letter of recommendation of some sort; what the devil do I want with a letter like that!”

“What the devil do you want with it?” said Boris, picking it up and reading the address; “that letter would be of great use to you.”

“I'm not in want of anything, and I'm not going to be an adjutant to anybody.”

“Why not?” asked Boris.

“A lackey's duty.”

“You are just as much of an idealist as ever, I see,” said Boris, shaking his head.

“And you're just as much of a diplomat. But that's not the point. … Come, how are you?” asked Rostov.

“Why, as you see. So far everything's gone well; but I'll own I should be very glad to get a post as adjutant, and not to stay in the line.”

“What for?”

“Why, because if once one goes in for a military career, one ought to try to make it as successful a career as one can.”

“Oh, that's it,” said Rostov, unmistakably thinking of something else. He looked intently and inquiringly into his friend's eyes, apparently seeking earnestly the solution of some question.

Old Gavrila brought in the wine.

“Shouldn't we send for Alphonse Karlitch now?” said Boris. “He'll drink with you, but I can't.”

“Send for him, send for him. Well, how do you get on with the Teuton?” said Rostov, with a contemptuous smile.

“He's a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant fellow,” said Boris.

Rostov looked intently into Boris's face once more and he sighed. Berg came back, and over the bottle the conversation between the three officers became livelier. The guardsmen told Rostov about their march and how they had been fêted in Russia, in Poland, and abroad. They talked of the sayings and doings of their commander, the Grand Duke, and told anecdotes of his kind-heartedness and his irascibility. Berg was silent, as he always was, when the subject did not concern him personally, but à propos of the irascibility of the Grand Duke he related with gusto how he had had some words with the Grand Duke in Galicia, when his Highness had inspected the regiments and had flown into a rage over some irregularity in their movements. With a bland smile on his face he described how the Grand Duke had ridden up to him in a violent rage, shouting “Arnauts!” (“Arnauts” was the Tsarevitch's favourite term of abuse when he was in a passion), and how he had asked for the captain. “Would you believe me, count, I wasn't in the least alarmed, because I knew I was right. Without boasting, you know, count, I may say I know all the regimental drill-book by heart, and the standing orders, too, I know as I know ‘Our Father that art in Heaven.' And so that's how it is, count, there's never the slightest detail neglected in my company. So my conscience was at ease. I came forward.” (Berg stood up and mimicked how he had come forward with his hand to the beak of his cap. It would certainly have been difficult to imagine more respectfulness and more self-complacency in a face.) “Well, he scolded, and scolded, and rated at me, and shouted his ‘Arnauts,' and damns, and ‘to Siberia,' ” said Berg, with a subtle smile. “I knew I was right, and so I didn't speak; how could I, count? ‘Why are you dumb?' he shouted. Still I held my tongue, and what do you think, count? Next day there was nothing about it in the orders of the day; that's what comes of keeping one's head. Yes, indeed, count,” said Berg, pulling at his pipe and letting off rings of smoke.

“Yes, that's capital,” said Rostov, smiling; but Boris, seeing that Rostov was disposed to make fun of Berg, skilfully turned the conversation. He begged Rostov to tell them how and where he had been wounded. That pleased Rostov, and he began telling them, getting more and more eager as he talked. He described to them his battle at Sch?ngraben exactly as men who have taken part in battles always do describe them, that is, as they would have liked them to be, as they have heard them described by others, and as sounds well, but not in the least as it really had been. Rostov was a truthful young man; he would not have intentionally told a lie. He began with the intention of telling everything precisely as it had happened, but imperceptibly, unconsciously, and inevitably he passed into falsehood. If he had told the truth to his listeners, who, like himself, had heard numerous descriptions of cavalry charges, and had formed a definite idea of what a charge was like and were expecting a similar description, either they would not have believed him, or worse still, would have assumed that Rostov was himself to blame for not having performed the exploits usually performed by those who describe cavalry charges. He could not tell them simply that they had all been charging full gallop, that he had fallen off his horse, sprained his arm, and run with all his might away from the French into the copse. And besides, to tell everything exactly as it happened, he would have had to exercise considerable self-control in order to tell nothing beyond what happened. To tell the truth is a very difficult thing; and young people are rarely capable of it. His listeners expected to hear how he bad been all on fire with excitement, had forgotten himself, had flown like a tempest on the enemy's square, had cut his way into it, hewing men down right and left, how a sabre had been thrust into his flesh, how he had fallen unconscious, and so on. And he described all that. In the middle of his tale, just as he was saying: “You can't fancy what a strange frenzy takes possession of one at the moment of the charge,” there walked into the room Prince Andrey Bolkonsky, whom Boris was expecting. Prince Andrey liked to encourage and assist younger men, he was flattered at being applied to for his influence, and well disposed to Boris, who had succeeded in making a favourable impression on him the previous day; he was eager to do for the young man what he desired. Having been sent with papers from Kutuzov to the Tsarevitch, he called upon Boris, hoping to find him alone. When he came into the room and saw the hussar with his soldierly swagger describing his warlike exploits (Prince Andrey could not endure the kind of men who are fond of doing so), he smiled cordially to Boris, but frowned and dropped his eyelids as he turned to Rostov with a slight bow. Wearily and languidly he sat down on the sofa, regretting that he had dropped into such undesirable society. Rostov, perceiving it, grew hot, but he did not care; this man was nothing to him. Glancing at Boris, he saw, however, that he too seemed ashamed of the valiant hussar. In spite of Prince Andrey's unpleasant, ironical manner, in spite of the disdain with which Rostov, from his point of view of a fighting man in the regular army, regarded the whole race of staff-adjutants in general—the class to which the new-comer unmistakably belonged—he yet felt abashed, reddened, and subsided into silence. Boris inquired what news there was on the staff and whether he could not without indiscretion tell them something about our plans.

“Most likely they will advance,” answered Bolkonsky, obviously unwilling to say more before outsiders. Berg seized the opportunity to inquire with peculiar deference whether the report was true, as he had heard, that the allowance of forage to captains of companies was to be doubled. To this Prince Andrey replied with a smile that he could not presume to offer an opinion on state questions of such gravity, and Berg laughed with delight.

“As to your business,” Prince Andrey turned back to Boris, “we will talk of it later,” and he glanced at Rostov. “You come to me after the review, and we'll do what we can.” And looking round the room he addressed Rostov, whose childish, uncontrollable embarrassment, passing now into anger, he did not think fit to notice: “You were talking, I think, about the Sch?ngraben action? Were you there?”

“I was there,” Rostov said in a tone of exasperation, which he seemed to intend as an insult to the adjutant. Bolkonsky noticed the hussar's state of mind, and it seemed to amuse him. He smiled rather disdainfully.

“Ah! there are a great many stories now about that engagement.”

“Yes, stories!” said Rostov loudly, looking from Boris to Bolkonsky with eyes full of sudden fury, “a great many stories, I dare say, but our stories are the stories of men who have been under the enemy's fire, our stories have some weight, they're not the tales of little staff upstarts, who draw pay for doing nothing.”

“The class to which you assume me to belong,” said Prince Andrey, with a calm and particularly amiable smile.

A strange feeling of exasperation was mingled in Rostov's heart with respect for the self-possession of this person.

“I'm not talking about you,” he said; “I don't know you, and, I'll own, I don't want to. I'm speaking of staff-officers in general.”

“Let me tell you this,” Prince Andrey cut him short in a tone of quiet authority, “you are trying to insult me, and I'm ready to agree with you that it is very easy to do so, if you haven't sufficient respect for yourself. But you will agree that the time and place is ill-chosen for this squabble. In a day or two we have to take part in a great and more serious duel, and besides, Drubetskoy, who tells me he is an old friend of yours, is in no way to blame because my physiognomy is so unfortunate as to displease you. However,” he said, getting up, “you know my name, and know where to find me; but don't forget,” he added, “that I don't consider either myself or you insulted, and my advice, as a man older than you, is to let the matter drop. So on Friday, after the review, I shall expect you, Drubetskoy; good-bye till then,” cried Prince Andrey, and he went out, bowing to both.

Rostov only bethought him of what he ought to have answered when he had gone. And he was more furious still that he had not thought of saying it. He ordered his horse to be brought round at once, and taking leave of Boris coldly, he rode back. Whether to ride to-morrow to head-quarters and challenge that conceited adjutant, or whether really to let the matter drop, was the question that worried him all the way. At one moment he thought vindictively how he would enjoy seeing the fright that feeble, little, conceited fellow would be in, facing his pistol, at the next he was feeling with surprise that, of all the men he knew, there was no one he would be more glad to have for his friend than that detested little adjutant.

十一月十二日，驻扎在奥尔米茨附近的库图佐夫的战斗部队，准备于翌日接受两位皇席——俄皇和奥皇——的检阅。刚从俄国开到的近卫军在离奥尔米茨十五俄里的地方歇宿，于翌日上午十时以前径赴奥尔米茨阅兵场接受检阅。

这天，尼古拉·罗斯托夫接到鲍里斯的便函，通知他说，伊兹梅洛夫兵团在离奥尔米茨十五俄里的地方歇宿，鲍里斯正在等候他，以便把金钱和信件转交给他。正当部队出征归来、在奥尔米茨近郊扎营的时候，罗斯托夫特别需要钱用。一些随军商贩和奥籍犹太商人充分供应各种富有诱惑力的商品，挤满了营盘。保罗格勒兵团的官兵相继举行宴会，（藉以）庆贺出征立功受奖，他们骑马前往奥尔米茨探望新来的匈牙利女人卡罗利娜，她和一名厨娘在那里开设一间酒肆。不久前罗斯托夫庆贺他提升为骑兵少尉，他向杰尼索夫买到一匹叫做“贝杜英”的战马，欠了伙伴和随军商贩的钱，浑身是债。罗斯托夫接到了鲍里斯的便函，随同一名伙伴骑马前赴奥尔米茨，在那里用了一顿午饭，喝了一瓶葡萄酒，之后独自一人驰到近卫军营寻找他的童年时代的伙伴。罗斯托夫没有来得及置备军服，他穿的是一件破烂的佩戴有十字肩章的士官生上衣，一条同样破烂的，皮衬磨光了的紧腿马裤，腰间挂着一柄饰以刀穗的军刀。他骑的那匹马是他在行军时从一个哥萨克手上买来的顿河马，他很神气地向后歪戴着一顶弄皱了的骠骑兵帽。当他驰近伊兹梅洛夫兵团的营盘时，心中想道，他这副身经百战的骠骑兵模样会使鲍里斯和他的伙伴大为惊讶。

在行军的全程中，近卫军犹如游园一般，炫耀着它自己的整洁和纪律。每昼夜的行程很短，他们便用大车运载行囊；奥国的首长在行军途中给军官们准备十分可口的食物。各个兵团在一片军乐声中出入于城市。军人们遵循大公的命令，在全程中（近卫军军人引以自豪）自始至终地合着脚步行进，各个岗位的军官徒步行进。在行军期间，鲍里斯始终都在现已担任连长的贝格身边。贝格在行军期间接管一个连，他善于执行命令，谨慎行事，已赢得首长们的信任，他在办理经济事务上也处于有利地位。在行军中鲍里斯广于交际，结识了一些有助于他的人，他凭藉皮埃尔的介绍信，结识了安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵，他希望借助于他在总司令部谋得一个职位。贝格和鲍里斯在最后一天行军结束后，得到了充分的休息，他们穿得十分整洁，坐在拨给他们的住房中的一张圆桌前面下棋。贝格在他的双膝之间拿着一根点燃的烟斗。鲍里斯装出一副他特有的谨小慎微的样子，用他那又白又细的手把棋子摆成小金字塔形，等待着对手走棋，一面望着贝格的面孔，显然他在思忖下棋的游戏，他一向只是想到他所做的事情。

“喂，你怎么走得出来？”他说道。

“要尽力而为。”贝格回答，他用手拨动卒子，又把手放下来了。

这时候，门敞开了。

“他毕竟在这儿露面了！”罗斯托夫喊道。“贝格也在这儿！哎，你这个人真是，nemuzahcpah，anenyweqorwnup！①他喊道，重复着他和鲍里斯从前用以取笑的保姆说的话。

①保姆说的不通的法语：孩子们，去睡觉吧。

“我的老天爷！你变得很厉害啊！”鲍里斯站立起来，向前走去迎接罗斯托夫，但是在他站立的当儿，他没有忘记把倒下的棋子扶起来，放回原处；他想去拥抱自己的朋友，可是尼古拉回避他了。尼古拉怀有青春时代害怕因循守旧的生活道路的特殊情感。他不愿意模仿别人，而想按照新的方式，按照自己的方式来表达情感，只是不要像长辈那样虚伪地表达情感。因此尼古拉和朋友相会时想做个什么特别的动作。他想捏捏鲍里斯，推推鲍里斯，可是他无论怎样都不像大家相会时那样接个吻。而鲍里斯则相反，他安详而友善地拥抱罗斯托夫，吻了他三次。

他们有半年几乎没有见面了，在他们这个年纪的时候，年轻人正在生活道路上迈出第一步，他们二人发现彼此都有很大的变化，那即是他们在生活上迈出第一步的那个崭新社会的面貌的反映。从他们最后一次相会以来，他们二人都有许多变化，因此他们都想尽快地互相吐露内心发生的变化。

“咳，你们都是可诅咒的不务正业的人！穿得很鲜艳，干干净净，好像从游园会上回来似的，并不是说我们都是有罪的丘八长官。”罗斯托夫用那使鲍里斯听来觉得不熟悉的男中音说道，一面摆出军人的架势，指指他自己穿的那条尽是污泥的紧腿马裤。

德国女老板听见罗斯托夫的响亮的嗓音，便从半开着的门内探出头来。

“怎么样，长得标致吗？”他丢个眼色，说道。

“你干嘛这样大喊大叫！你会吓倒他们的，”鲍里斯说道。

“我今天没有料到你会来，”他补充地说。“我昨日只是通过一个熟悉的库图佐夫的副官博尔孔斯基把一封便函转交给你了。我没有想到，他这么快就把……送到你手上了。啊，你怎么样？经过战斗锻炼吗？”鲍里斯问道。

罗斯托夫没有作答，他晃了晃挂在制服滚绦上的士兵圣乔治十字勋章，用手指着他那只缠上绷带的手臂，面露微笑，望了望贝格。

“你看得见啦。”他说。

“原来是这样，不错，不错！”鲍里斯微露笑意，说道，“我们这次出征也享有荣誉。你本就知道，皇太子经常伴随我们兵团驶行，因此我们得到各种优惠和便利。我们在波兰受到多么热情的接待，出席多么丰盛的午宴和舞会——我不能全都讲给你听。皇太子对待我们军官是够慈善的。”

这两个朋友于是交谈起来，其中一人讲到骠骑兵的饮宴作乐和战斗生涯，另一人讲到在上层人士率领下服役的欣喜和收益。等等。

“啊！近卫军啊！”罗斯托夫说。“你听我说，派人去打酒吧。”

鲍里斯皱起眉头。

“如果你非喝不可。”他说道。

他于是走到床边，从干净的枕头下面掏出钱包，吩咐手下人去把酒端来。

“对，把钱和信都交给你吧。”他补充一句。

罗斯托夫拿起一封信，把钱扔在沙发上，两只胳膊支撑着桌子，开始念信。他念了几行，便凶狠地瞟了贝格一眼。罗斯托夫和他的目光相遇之后，用信把脸捂住了。

“真给您寄来这么多的钱，”贝格说，一面望着陷进沙发的沉重的钱包，“伯爵，我们本来就靠薪俸勉强对付着过活。

我对您说的是我自己的情形……”

“贝格，亲爱的，您听我说吧，”罗斯托夫说，“当您接到一封家信，要和自己人会面，您想向他详细打听各种情况，那时候若是我也在这儿，我就会立刻走开，省得妨碍你们。请您听我说，您随便走到那里去吧……见鬼去吧！”他喊道，即刻抓住他的肩膀，亲热地瞧着他的面孔，看样子，想竭力使他说的粗鲁话不太刺耳，他于是补充一句：“我亲爱的，您知道，不要生气吧，我是向我们的老朋友打心眼里说的话啊。”

“哦，得了吧，伯爵，我完全明白。”贝格站起来，用尖细刺耳的嗓音说道。

“您到主人们那里去吧，他们请您了。”鲍里斯补充地说。

贝格穿着一件挺干净的既无污点又无尘屑的常礼服，在镜子前面把鬓发弄得蓬松，就像亚历山大一世的鬓发那样向上翘起来，他从罗斯托夫的目光中深信不疑地看出，他的常礼服引人瞩目，于是流露出愉快的微笑，从房里走了出来。

“哎呀，我真是畜生！”罗斯托夫一面念信，一面说。

“怎么？”

“哎呀，我真是猪猡。我一封信都没有写过，真把他们吓坏了。咳，我真是猪猡！”他忽然涨红了脸，重复地说。“喂，你派加夫里洛去打酒吧！也好，我们喝他个痛快！……”他说。

在双亲的信函中，附有一封呈送巴格拉季翁公爵的介绍信，老伯爵夫人依照安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的忠告借助于熟人弄到这封介绍信，并且寄给她儿子，要他把信件送至指定的收件人，充分加以利用。

“真是愚蠢！我才不需要哩。”罗斯托夫把信扔到桌子底下时，说道。

“你为什么把它扔掉呀？”鲍里斯问道。

“一封什么介绍信，我要它有什么用！”

“这封信怎么会没有用呢？”鲍里斯一边拾起信来，一边念着署名，他说道。“这封信对你很有用处。”

“我并不需要什么，我不去当任何人的副官。”

“究竟为什么？”鲍里斯问道。

“奴才般的差事啊！”

“我看，你还是这样一个幻想家。”鲍里斯摇摇头，说道。

“你还是这样一个外交家。可是问题不在于此……你怎么？”罗斯托夫问道。

“是的，正像你看见的这样。直到现在一切都蛮好，可是，说实在的，我很想当个副官，不想老呆在前线。”

“为什么？”

“既然在服兵役，就要尽可能争个锦绣前程，飞黄腾达，目的正在于此。”

“是啊，原来是这样！”罗斯托夫说道，看起来，他正在想着别的什么。

他怀着疑惑的心情，目不转睛地望着自己的朋友，显然他在枉费心机地寻找某个问题的解答。

加夫里洛老头把酒带来了。

“现在要不要派人去把阿尔方斯·卡尔雷奇喊来？①”鲍里斯说道，“他和你一块儿喝酒，我不能喝了。”

①阿尔方斯·卡尔雷奇是贝格的名字和父称。

“派人去喊他，派人去喊他。这个德国鬼子怎么样？”罗斯托夫面露轻蔑的微笑，说道。

“他是个挺好、挺好的人，既正派而又令人喜爱。”鲍里斯说道。

罗斯托夫又一次目不转睛地望望鲍里斯，叹了一口气。贝格回来了，三名军官同饮一瓶酒时兴致勃勃地交谈起来。这两名近卫军军人把他们出征的情形讲给罗斯托夫听，讲到他们在俄国、波兰，在国外受到殷勤的招待，讲到他们的指挥官——大公的言行，讲到他仁慈而又急躁的趣闻。当话题没有涉及贝格本人时，他像平时一样默不作声，可是一提及大公忿怒的趣闻，他就高高兴兴地谈到他在加利西亚和大公谈过一次话，那时候大公巡视各兵团，看见军人行为不轨因而暴怒起来。他面露愉快的笑意时讲到大公大发雷霆，骑马走到他跟前，大声喊道：“阿尔瑙特人①！”（这是皇太子忿怒时爱用的口头禅）他于是传唤连长。

①土耳其人把阿尔巴尼亚人称为阿尔瑙特人。

“伯爵，我什么也不怕，信不信，因为我知道我是对的。伯爵，你要知道，我可以毫不夸口地说，我把兵团的命令背得滚瓜烂熟，我把操典也背得滚瓜烂熟，就像背‘我们在天上的父'似的。因此，伯爵，我在全连中是没有什么过失的。我觉得问心无愧。我来报到了，（贝格欠起身子，惟妙惟肖地行举手礼。是的，难以表现出更加恭敬和得意的样子了。）正如常言所说的，他在呵斥我，呵斥呀，呵斥呀，正如常言所说的，呵斥得狗血喷头，还说‘阿尔瑙特人'，还说‘鬼家伙'，还说‘放逐到西伯利亚'。”贝格面露诚挚的笑容，说道。“我知道，我是对的，所以我默不作声，伯爵，难道不是这样吗？第二天在命令中没有提到这件事，这就是沉着的真谛所在！伯爵，就是这样。”贝格说道，一面点燃烟斗，一面吐出烟圈来。

“是的，真是妙极了。”罗斯托夫微露笑容，说道。

但是鲍里斯发现罗斯托夫想嘲笑贝格了，于是巧妙地引开话头。他请求罗斯托夫述说他是在什么地方、怎样负伤的，这就使罗斯托夫觉得愉快，他开始讲话，在讲的时候他的精神显得越来越振奋。他向他们讲到申格拉本之战，完全像那些参加战斗的人平常讲到战斗的情况那样，即是说，他们讲到的都是他们希望发生的事件，都是他们从别的讲述人那里听来的事件，都是讲得娓娓动听的但全非真实的事件。罗斯托夫是一个老老实实的青年，他无论怎样都不会存心说谎话。他开始讲的时候，力求讲得恰如其分，可是情不自禁地、不知不觉地而且不可避免地说起假话来。这些听众和他自己一样多次听过冲锋陷阵的故事，对何谓冲锋陷阵一事已构成一定的概念，他们正等着要听这样的故事，如果对这些听众述说真实情况，他们就会不相信他讲的话，或则更糟的是，他们会以为罗斯托夫的过失在于，他没有遇到讲述骑兵冲锋陷阵的人通常遇到的情况。他不能这样简单地讲给他们听，讲什么个个骑兵纵马飞奔，他跌下马来，扭伤了手臂，使尽全力地跑进森林，躲避法国人。而且，他想把发生的情况全都讲出来，那就非得克制自己不可，只宜叙述当时发生的事情的梗概。叙述真情实况是很困难的，真有这种本领的年轻人寥寥无几。他们指望能听到这样的故事：他忘我地赴汤蹈火，就像在烈火中燃烧，就像一阵暴风袭击敌人的方阵，他杀入腹地，左一刀右一刀砍杀敌人，军刀已经饱尝人肉的滋味，他精疲力竭，从战马上摔下来，等等。他把这一切讲给他们听了。

讲到半中间，正当地说“你不能设想，在冲锋陷阵时你竟会体验到一种多么奇怪的疯狂的感觉”的时候，鲍里斯所等候的安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵走进房里来了。安德烈公爵喜欢庇护青年，别人向他求情使他感到荣幸。他对昨天那个善于使他喜悦的鲍里斯怀有好感，想满足这个青年的心愿。库图佐夫委派他随带公文去见皇太子，他顺路去看这个年轻人，希望和他单独会面。他走进房里来，看见一名正在叙述作战中建立奇绩的集团军直属骠骑兵（安德烈公爵不能容忍这种人），他向鲍里斯露出和蔼的笑容，皱起眉头，眯缝起眼睛，望了望罗斯托夫，微微地鞠躬行礼，倦怠而迟缓地坐到沙发上。他碰见一群讨厌的人，心里很不高兴。罗斯托夫明白这一点，于是涨红了脸。但他觉得满不在乎，因为这是一个陌生人，可是他朝鲍里斯瞥了一眼，看见鲍里斯好像替他这个集团军直属骠骑兵难为情似的。虽然安德烈公爵的腔调含有讥讽意味，令人厌恶，虽然罗斯托夫持有作战部队的观点，一向瞧不起司令部里的芝麻副官（这个走进来的人显然属于这一流），罗斯托夫却感到局促不安，涨红了脸，沉默不言了。鲍里斯探问司令部里有什么消息，是否可于便中打听到我们拟订的军事计划。

“他们想必要向前推进。”博尔孔斯基答道，很明显，他不愿在旁人面前多说话。

贝格趁此机会十分恭敬地询问，他们会不会正像传闻所说的那样，要把双倍的饲料发给各连的连长？安德烈公爵面露微笑地回答了这个问题，他说他不能评论这样重大的国家法令，贝格于是很高兴地哈哈大笑。

“关于您的那桩事，”安德烈公爵又把脸转向鲍里斯说道，“我们以后再说，”他回头望望罗斯托夫。“检阅完毕后请您到我这儿来，我们能够办到的样样都办到。”

他朝屋里扫了一眼，就把脸儿转向罗斯托夫，罗斯托夫那副不可克服的稚气的窘态变为忿怒，他简直不屑去理会，他说：

“您好像谈过申格拉本之战，是吗？您到过那里吧？”

“我到过那里。”罗斯托夫气忿地说道，仿佛通过这句话来侮辱这个副官。

博尔孔斯基发现骠骑兵的窘态，觉得非常可笑。他略带轻蔑的样子，微微一笑。

“是啊，现在编造了许多有关这次战役的故事。”

“是的，有许多故事！”罗斯托夫高声地说道，忽然间用那变得疯狂的眼睛时而盯着鲍里斯，时而盯着博尔孔斯基，“是的，有许多故事，不过我们的故事统统是那样一些冒着敌人的炮火前进的人的故事，我们的故事是有分量的，而不是那些无所事事、竟获奖励的司令部里的花花公子的故事。”

“您认为我属于那种人，是吗？”安德烈公爵心平气和地特别愉快地微笑着说道。

这时一种奇异的忿怒的感觉随同他对此人的镇静的尊重在罗斯托夫的心灵中融合起来了。

“我所说的不是您，”他说道，“我不知道您这个人，老实说，我不想知道您这个人。总之，我所说的就是司令部的人员。”

“不过我得告诉您，”安德烈公爵带着恬静而威严的嗓音打断他的话。“您想侮辱我，我愿意表示赞同。只要您对您自己不太尊重，侮辱我一事是很容易做到的。可是您得承认，在这件事上，时间和地点都选得很不适宜。最近几天内，我们不得不举行一次更为严重的大决斗，此外，德鲁别茨科伊（鲍里斯的姓氏）说到，他是您的老相识，可惜我的面孔使您厌恶，这根本不是他的过失。不过，”他在站立时说道，“您知道我的姓氏，您也知道在什么地方能找到我。可是，您不要忘记，”他补充地说，“我认为，无论是您，还是我都没有受人欺侮，我是个比您年纪更大的人，所以我劝您放弃这件事。好吧，星期五检阅完毕以后，我来等您。德鲁别茨科伊，再见吧。”安德烈公爵说了一句收尾的话，对两个人行了一鞠躬礼，就走出去了。

只是在他走出去以后，罗斯托夫才想到他要向他回答什么话。因为他忘了说出这句话，所以他更加恼怒了。罗斯托夫立刻吩咐仆人备马，冷淡地向鲍里斯告辞之后，便回到自己的住宅去了。他明日是否到大本营去向这个出洋相的副官挑战，抑或是真的放弃这件事？这个问题使他一路上感到苦恼。他时而忿恨地想到，他会多么高兴地看见这个身材矮小的体力衰弱而骄傲的人在他的手枪之下露出惶恐的神态，他时而惊讶地感觉到，在他所认识的人之中，没有什么人会像这个他非常仇视的小小副官那样使他多么希望和他结为知交的。