Book 4 Chapter 2

ON HIS RETURN to Moscow from the army, Nikolay Rostov was received by his family as a hero, as the best of sons, their idolised Nikolenka; by his relations, as a charming, agreeable, and polite young man; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good dancer, and one of the best matches in Moscow.

All Moscow was acquainted with the Rostovs; the old count had plenty of money that year, because all his estates had been mortgaged, and so Nikolenka, who kept his own racehorse, and wore the most fashionable riding-breeches of a special cut, unlike any yet seen in Moscow, and the most fashionable boots, with extremely pointed toes, and little silver spurs, was able to pass his time very agreeably. After the first brief interval of adapting himself to the old conditions of life, Rostov felt very happy at being home again. He felt that he had grown up and become a man. His despair at failing in a Scripture examination, his borrowing money from Gavrilo for his sledge-drivers, his stolen kisses with Sonya—all that he looked back upon as childishness from which he was now immeasurably remote. Now he was a lieutenant of hussars with a silver-braided jacket, and a soldier's cross of St. George, he had a horse in training for a race, and kept company with well-known racing men, elderly and respected persons. He had struck up an acquaintance too, with a lady living in a boulevard, whom he used to visit in the evening. He led the mazurka at the Arharovs' balls, talked to Field-Marshal Kamensky about the war, and used familiar forms of address to a colonel of forty, to whom he had been introduced by Denisov.

His passion for the Tsar flagged a little in Moscow, as he did not see him, and had no chance of seeing him all that time. But still he often used to talk about the Emperor and his love for him, always with a suggestion in his tone that he was not saying all that there was in his feeling for the Emperor, something that every one could not understand; and with his whole heart he shared the general feeling in Moscow of adoration for the Emperor Alexander Pavlovitch, who was spoken of at that time in Moscow by the designation of the “angel incarnate.”

During this brief stay in Moscow, before his return to the army, Rostov did not come nearer to Sonya, but on the contrary drifted further away from her. She was very pretty and charming, and it was obvious that she was passionately in love with him. But he was at that stage of youth when there seems so much to do, that one has not time to pay attention to love, and a young man dreads being bound, and prizes his liberty, which he wants for so much else. When he thought about Sonya during this stay at Moscow, he said to himself: “Ah! there are many, many more like her to come, and there are many of them somewhere now, though I don't know them yet. There's plenty of time before me to think about love when I want to, but I have not the time now.” Moreover, it seemed to him that feminine society was somewhat beneath his manly dignity. He went to balls, and into ladies' society with an affection of doing so against his will. Races, the English club, carousals with Denisov, and the nocturnal visits that followed—all that was different, all that was the correct thing for a dashing young hussar.

At the beginning of March the old count, Ilya Andreivitch Rostov, was very busily engaged in arranging a dinner at the English Club, to be given in honour of Prince Bagration.

The count, in his dressing-gown, was continually walking up and down in the big hall, seeing the club manager, the celebrated Feoktista, and the head cook, and giving them instructions relative to asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal, and fish, for Prince Bagration's dinner. From the day of its foundation, the count had been a member of the club, and was its steward. He had been entrusted with the organisation of the banquet to Bagration by the club, because it would have been hard to find any one so well able to organise a banquet on a large and hospitable scale, and still more hard to find any one so able and willing to advance his own money, if funds were needed, for the organisation of the fête. The cook and the club manager listened to the count's orders with good-humoured faces, because they knew that with no one better than with him could one make a handsome profit out of a dinner costing several thousands.

“Well, then, mind there are scallops, scallops in pie-crust, you know.”

“Cold entrées, I suppose—three? …” questioned the cook.

The count pondered.

“Couldn't do with less, three … mayonnaise, one,” he said, crooking his finger.

“Then it's your excellency's order to take the big sturgeons?” asked the manager.

“Yes; it can't be helped, we must take them, if they won't knock the price down. Ah, mercy on us, I was forgetting. Of course we must have another entrée on the table. Ah, good heavens!” he clutched at his head. “And who's going to get me the flowers? Mitenka! Hey, Mitenka! You gallop, Mitenka,” he said to the steward who came in at his call, “you gallop off to the Podmoskovny estate” (the count's property in the environs of Moscow), “and tell Maksimka the gardener to set the serfs to work to get decorations from the greenhouses. Tell him everything from his conservatories is to be brought here, and is to be packed in felt. And that I'm to have two hundred pots here by Friday.”

After giving further and yet further directions of all sorts, he was just going off to the countess to rest from his labours, but he recollected something else, turned back himself, brought the cook and manager back, and began giving orders again. They heard in the doorway a light, manly tread and a jingling of spurs, and the young count came in, handsome and rosy, with his darkening moustache, visibly sleeker and in better trim for his easy life in Moscow.

“Ah, my boy! my head's in a whirl,” said the old gentleman, with a somewhat shamefaced smile at his son. “You might come to my aid! We have still the singers to get, you see. The music is all settled, but shouldn't we order some gypsy singers? You military gentlemen are fond of that sort of thing.”

“Upon my word, papa, I do believe that Prince Bagration made less fuss over getting ready for the battle of Sch?ngraben than you are making now,” said his son, smiling.

The old count pretended to be angry.

“Well, you talk, you try!” And the count turned to the cook, who with a shrewd and respectful face looked observantly and sympathetically from father to son.

“What are the young people coming to, eh, Feoktista?” said he; “they laugh at us old fellows!”

“To be sure, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a good dinner, but to arrange it all and serve it up, that's no affair of theirs!”

“True, true!” cried the count; and gaily seizing his son by both hands, he cried: “Do you know now I've got hold of you! Take a sledge and pair this minute and drive off to Bezuhov, and say that Count Ilya Andreivitch has sent, say, to ask him for strawberries and fresh pineapples. There's no getting them from any one else. If he's not at home himself, you go in and give the message to the princesses; and, I say, from there you drive off to the Gaiety—Ipatka the coachman knows the place—and look up Ilyushka there, the gypsy who danced at Count Orlov's, do you remember, in a white Cossack dress, and bring him here to me.”

“And bring his gypsy girls here with him?” asked Nikolay, laughing.

“Come, come! …”

At this moment Anna Mihalovna stepped noiselessly into the room with that air of Christian meekness, mingled with practical and anxious preoccupation, that never left her face. Although Anna Mihalovna came upon the count in his dressing-gown every day, he was invariably disconcerted at her doing so, and apologised for his costume.

“Don't mention it, my dear count,” she said, closing her eyes meekly. “I am just going to see Bezuhov,” she said. “Young Bezuhov has arrived, and now we shall get all we want, count, from his greenhouses. I was wanting to see him on my own account, too. He has forwarded me a letter from Boris. Thank God, Boris is now on the staff.”

The count was overjoyed at Anna Mihalovna's undertaking one part of his commissions, and gave orders for the carriage to be brought round for her.

“Tell Bezuhov to come. I'll put his name down. Brought his wife with him?” he asked.

Anna Mihalovna turned up her eyes, and an expression of profound sadness came into her face.

“Ah, my dear, he's very unhappy,” she said. “If it's true what we have been hearing, it's awful. How little did we think of this when we were rejoicing in happiness! and such a lofty, angelic nature, that young Bezuhov! Yes, I pity him from my soul, and will do my utmost to give him any consolation in my power.”

“Why, what is the matter?” inquired both the Rostovs, young and old together.

Anna Mihalovna heaved a deep sigh.

“Dolohov, Marya Ivanovna's son,” she said in a mysterious whisper, “has, they say, utterly compromised her. He brought him forward, invited him to his house in Petersburg, and now this! … She has come here, and that scapegrace has come after her,” said Anna Mihalovna. She wished to express nothing but sympathy with Pierre, but in her involuntary intonations and half smile, she betrayed her sympathy with the scapegrace, as she called Dolohov. “Pierre himself, they say, is utterly crushed by his trouble.”

“Well, any way, tell him to come to the club—it will divert his mind. It will be a banquet on a grand scale.”

On the next day, the 3rd of March, at about two in the afternoon, the two hundred and fifty members of the English Club and fifty of their guests were awaiting the arrival of their honoured guest, the hero of the Austrian campaign, Prince Bagration.

On receiving the news of the defeat of Austerlitz, all Moscow had at first been thrown into bewilderment. At that period the Russians were so used to victories, that on receiving news of a defeat, some people were simply incredulous, while others sought an explanation of so strange an event in exceptional circumstances of some kind. At the English Club, where every one of note, every one who had authentic information and weight gathered together, during December, when the news began to arrive, not a word was said about the war and about the last defeat; it was as though all were in a conspiracy of silence. The men who took the lead in conversation at the club, such as Count Rostoptchin, Prince Yury Vladimirovitch Dolgoruky, Valuev, Count Markov, and Prince Vyazemsky, did not put in an appearance at the club, but met together in their intimate circles at each other's houses.

That section of Moscow society which took its opinions from others (to which, indeed, Count Ilya Andreivitch Rostov belonged) remained for a short time without leaders and without definite views upon the progress of the war. People felt in Moscow that something was wrong, and that it was difficult to know what to think of the bad news, and so better to be silent. But a little later, like jurymen coming out of their consultation room, the leaders reappeared to give their opinion in the club, and a clear and definite formula was found. Causes had been discovered to account for the fact—so incredible, unheard-of, and impossible—that the Russians had been beaten, and all became clear, and the same version was repeated from one end of Moscow to the other. These causes were: the treachery of the Austrians; the defective commissariat; the treachery of the Pole Przhebyshevsky and the Frenchman Langeron; the incapacity of Kutuzov; and (this was murmured in subdued tones) the youth and inexperience of the Emperor, who had put faith in men of no character and ability. But the army, the Russian army, said every one, had been extraordinary, and had performed miracles of valour. The soldiers, the officers, the generals—all were heroes. But the hero among heroes was Prince Bagration, who had distinguished himself in his Sch?ngraben engagement and in the retreat from Austerlitz, where he alone had withdrawn his column in good order, and had succeeded in repelling during the whole day an enemy twice as numerous. What contributed to Bagration's being chosen for the popular hero at Moscow was the fact that he was an outsider, that he had no connections in Moscow. In his person they could do honour to the simple fighting Russian soldier, unsupported by connections and intrigues, and still associated by memories of the Italian campaign with the name of Suvorov. And besides, bestowing upon him such honours was the best possible way of showing their dislike and disapproval of Kutuzov.

“If there had been no Bagration, somebody would have to invent him,” said the wit, Shinshin, parodying the words of Voltaire.

Of Kutuzov people did not speak at all, or whispered abuse of him, calling him the court weathercock and the old satyr.

All Moscow was repeating the words of Prince Dolgorukov: “Chop down trees enough and you're bound to cut your finger,” which in our defeat suggested a consolatory reminder of former victories, and the saying of Rostoptchin, that French soldiers have to be excited to battle by high-sounding phrases; that Germans must have it logically proved to them that it is more dangerous to run away than to go forward; but that all Russian soldiers need is to be held back and urged not to be too reckless! New anecdotes were continually to be heard on every side of individual feats of gallantry performed by our officers and men at Austerlitz. Here a man had saved a flag, another had killed five Frenchmen, another had kept five cannons loaded single-handed. The story was told of Berg, by those who did not know him, that wounded in his right hand, he had taken his sword in his left and charged on the enemy. Nothing was said about Bolkonsky, and only those who had known him intimately regretted that he had died so young, leaving a wife with child, and his queer old father.

尼古拉·罗斯托夫从部队回到莫斯科以后，家里人把他看作是一个最优秀的儿子、英雄和最心爱的尼古卢什卡；亲戚们把他看作是一个可爱的、招人喜欢的、孝敬的青年；熟人们把他看作是一个俊美的骠骑兵中尉、熟练的舞蹈家、莫斯科的最优秀的未婚夫之一。

莫斯科全市的人都是罗斯托夫之家的熟人，今年老伯爵的进款足够开销了，因为他的地产全部重新典当了，所以尼古卢什卡买进了一匹个人享用的走马、一条最时髦的紧腿马裤，这是一种在莫斯科还没有人穿过的式样特殊的马裤，还添置一双最时髦的带有小银马刺的尖头皮靴，他极为愉快地消度时光。罗斯托夫回家了，在他为了适应旧的生活环境而度过一段时光后，他已体验到那种非常惬意的感觉。他仿佛觉得，他已经长大成人了。他因神学考试不及格而感到失望、向加夫里洛借钱偿还马车夫、和索尼娅偷偷地接吻，他回想起这一切，就像回想起时隔多年的久远的儿童时代的往事一般。现在他——一个骠骑兵中尉，身披一件银丝镶边的披肩，佩戴军人的乔治十字勋章，和几个知名的备受尊敬的老猎手一起训练走马。在林荫路上，他有个交往甚笃的女伴、夜晚他常到她家里去。他在阿尔哈罗夫家里举办的舞会上指挥马祖尔卡舞，和卡缅斯基元帅谈及战事，他常到英国俱乐部去，与杰尼索夫给他介绍的那个四十岁的上校交朋友，亲热地以“你”相称。

在莫斯科城，他对国王的热烈的感情稍微减弱了，因为他在这个期间没有看见他的缘故。不过他仍旧常常谈到国君，谈到他对国君的爱戴，他要大家感觉到，他没有把话全部说完，他对国王的热情中尚且存在某种不为尽人所能明了的东西；他由衷地随同当时的莫斯科公众共同体验他们对亚历山大·帕夫洛维奇皇帝的崇敬之情，莫斯科当时把他称做“天使的化身”。

罗斯托夫在动身回部队以前，在莫斯科的短暂逗留期间，他没有和索尼娅接近，相反地，和她断绝往来了。她长得标致，而且可爱，很明显，她已经爱上他了，可是他处在风华正茂的年代，看来还有许多事业要完成，没有闲暇去干这种勾当，年轻人害怕拘束，但却珍惜那种从事多项事业所必需的自由。这次他在莫斯科逗留期间，每当想到索尼娅，他总要自言自语地说：“嗳，像这样的姑娘可真多啊，在某个地方还有许多我不熟悉的姑娘呢。只要我愿意，我总来得及谈情说爱，可是现在没有闲功夫了。”此外，他出没于妇女交际场所，有损于他的英勇气概。他装作违反意志的样子，常去妇女交际场所参加舞会。而驾车赛马、英国俱乐部、与杰尼索夫纵酒、赴某地旅行——这倒是另一码事。而这对一个英姿勃勃的骠骑兵来说是很体面的。

三月初，老伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇在英国俱乐部张罗筹办一次欢迎巴格拉季翁公爵的宴会。

伯爵穿一种长罩衫在大厅中踱来踱去，并且吩咐俱乐部的管事人和闻名的英国俱乐部的大厨师费奥克蒂斯特地为迎接巴格拉季翁公爵的宴会备办龙须菜、鲜黄瓜、草莓、小牛肉和鱼。自从俱乐部成立以来，伯爵就是成员和主任。他接受俱乐部的委托，为迎接巴格拉季翁筹办一次盛大的酒会，因为很少有人这样慷慨待客，他竟能举办豪华的宴会，尤其是因为很少有人为举办华筵需要耗费金钱时能够而且愿意掏出腰包。俱乐部的厨师和管事人满面春风，听候伯爵的吩咐，因为他们知道，在任何人手下都不如在他手下筹办一回耗费几千卢布的酒会中更加有利可图了。

“看着点，甲鱼汤里放点儿鸡冠子，鸡冠子，你知道么？”

“这么说来，要三个冷盘？……”厨师问道。

伯爵沉思了片刻。

“要三个……不能少于三个，一盘沙粒子油凉拌菜。”他屈着指头说道……

“那么，吩咐人去买大鲟鱼罗？”管事人问道。

“既然不让价，有什么办法，去买吧。是啊，我的老天爷啊！我本来快要忘记了。瞧，还有一盘冷菜要端上餐桌。哎呀，我的老天爷啊！”他抓住自己的脑袋，心惊胆战起来，“谁给我把花卉运来？米坚卡！啊，米坚卡！米坚卡，你快马加鞭到莫斯科郊外田庄去一趟，”他把脸转向应声走进来的管理员说，“你快马加鞭到莫斯科郊外田庄去，吩咐园丁马克西姆卡，叫他马上派人服劳役。对他说，用毡子把暖房的花统统包好，运到这里来。叫人在礼拜五以前将两百盆花给我送来。”

他又发出了一连串的指示，正走出门，要去伯爵小姐那里休息休息，可是又想起一件紧要的事情，他走回去，把管事人和厨师召回，又作出了一些指示。从门口可以听见男人的轻盈的步履声，年轻的伯爵走进来了，他长得漂亮，脸色红润，蓄起一撮黑色的胡髭。显然，莫斯科的安逸的生活使他得到充分的休息和精心的照料。

“啊，我的伙计啊！我简直晕头转向了，”老头子说，他面露微笑，好像在儿子面前有点害臊似的。“你来帮个忙也好！要知道，还得用上大批歌手啊。我有一个乐队，把那些茨冈人叫来，还是怎么样？你们军人兄弟喜欢这事儿。”

“爸爸，说实话，我想，巴格拉季翁公爵在准备申格拉本战役时还没有你们目前这样忙碌哩。”儿子面露笑意，说。

老伯爵装作怒气冲冲的样子。

“既然你会说，你来试试吧。”

厨师露出聪颖而可敬的神情，用细心观察的亲热的目光打量着父亲和儿子。

“啊，费奥克蒂斯特，年轻人是个啥样子？”他说，“居然嘲笑我们自己的兄弟——嘲笑老头子来了。”

“大人，也罢，他们只会痛痛快快地吃，而怎样收拾、怎样摆筵席，他们就不管了。”

“是啊，是啊！”伯爵大声喊道，他抓住儿子的一双手，大声喊道：“你听我说，你落到我手上来了！你立刻驾起双套雪橇，到别祖霍夫那里去走一趟，告诉他，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇派我来向您要些草莓和新鲜菠萝。再也没法向谁弄到这些东西。如果他不在家，就去告诉那几个公爵小姐。你听我说，从那里出来，你就到拉兹古利阿伊去——马车夫伊帕特卡知道怎样走，——你在那里找到茨冈人伊柳什卡，你记得吧，就是那个在奥尔洛夫伯爵家中跳舞的、身穿白色卡萨金服装的人，你把他拖到我这里来。”

“把他和几个茨冈女郎都送到这里来吗？”尼古拉面露微笑，说道。

“嗯，嗯！……”

这时候，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脸上流露着她所固有的、作事过分认真、忧虑不安和基督式的温顺的神情，悄悄地走进屋里来。虽然安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜每天碰见伯爵穿着一件长罩衫，但是他每次在她面前都觉得十分腼腆，请她原宥他的衣服不像样子。

“伯爵，没关系，亲爱的，”她温顺地合上眼睛时说，“我到别祖霍夫那里去走一趟，”她说，“年轻的伯爵来了，伯爵，我们现在可以从他的暖房里弄到各种花。我也要见见他。他把鲍里斯的一封信寄给我了。谢天谢地，目前鲍里斯正在司令部里供职哩。”

伯爵很高兴，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜能承担他的一部分任务，于是他吩咐给她套一辆四轮轿式小马车。

“您告诉别祖霍夫，要他到我这里来。我要把他的名字写在请帖上面。怎么，他跟他老婆一道来吗？”他问道。

安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜翻了翻白眼，脸上露出了深深的悲痛。

“唉，我的亲人，他很不幸啊。”她说，“如果我们听到的是真情实况，这就太骇人了。当我们为他的幸福而感到非常高兴的时候，我们是否想到有这么一天！这样崇高的天使般纯洁的灵魂，年轻的别祖霍夫啊！是的，我由衷地替他惋惜，我要尽可能地赐予他以安慰。”

“是怎么回事？”罗斯托夫父子二人——一老一少，异口同声地问道。

安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜深深地叹一口气。

“玛丽亚·伊万诺夫娜的儿子多洛霍夫，”她用神秘的低声说道，“据说，完全使她声名狼藉。他领他出来，请他到彼得堡家里住下，你看……她到这里来了，这个不顾死活的家伙也跟踪而来，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说，她想同情皮埃尔，但是在她自己意识不到的语调中和那微露笑意的表情中却显示出她所同情的正是她称为“不顾死活的家伙”的多洛霍夫。

“据说，皮埃尔受尽了痛苦的折磨。”

“喂，您还是告诉他，叫他到俱乐部里来，一切都会烟消云散的。宴会是丰盛无比的。”

翌日，三月三日，下午一点多钟，二百五十名英国俱乐部成员和五十位客人正在等候贵宾、奥国远征的英雄巴格拉季翁公爵莅临盛宴。刚刚接到奥斯特利茨战役的消息之后，莫斯科陷入困惑不安的状态。那时俄国人习惯于百战百胜，在获得败北的消息之后，有些人简直不相信，另一些人便在异乎寻常的原因中探求解释这一奇怪事件的根据。在贵族、拥有可靠信息的、有权有势的人士集中的英国俱乐部里，在消息开始传来的十二月份，缄口不谈论战争和迩近的一次战役，好像是众人串通一气心照不宣似的。指导言论的人们，比如：拉斯托普钦伯爵、尤里·弗拉基米罗维奇、多尔戈鲁基公爵、瓦卢耶夫、马尔科夫伯爵、维亚泽姆斯基公爵都不在俱乐部抛头露面，而在自己家中、亲密的小圈子里集会。莫斯科人一味地随声附和（伊利亚·安德烈伊奇·罗斯托夫也属于他们之列），在一段短时间内，缺乏言论的领导者，对于战争尚无明确的见解。莫斯科人都觉得，形势中有点不祥的征兆，评论这些坏消息委实令人难受，所以最好是闭口不说。可是过了一些时日，那帮在俱乐部发表意见的著名人物就像陪审官走出议事厅那样，又出现了，于是话题又很明确了。俄国人已被击溃，这一难以置信的前所未闻的令人不能容忍的重大事件的肇因已被找出了，于是一切真相大白，莫斯科的各个角落开始谈论同样的话题。这些肇因如下：奥国人的背叛、军粮供应的不景气、波兰人普热贝舍夫斯基和法国人朗热隆的变节、库图佑夫的无能、“悄悄谈论“国王因年轻、经验不足而轻信一班卑鄙之徒。但是人人都说，军队，俄国部队很不平凡，创造了英勇的奇迹。士兵、军官、将军都是英雄人物，巴格拉季翁公爵就是英雄中的英雄，他凭藉申格拉本之战和奥斯特利茨撤退二事而名扬天下，他在奥斯特利茨独自一人统率一支井井有序的纵队，而且整天价不断地击退兵力强于一倍的敌人。巴格拉季翁在莫斯科没有交情联系，是个陌生人，而这一点却有助于他被选为莫斯科的英雄。尊敬他，就是尊敬战斗的、普通的、既无交情联系又无阴谋诡计的俄国军人，人们回顾意大利出征时常把他和苏沃洛夫的名字联系在一起。此外，从对他论功行奖、表示敬意一事中可以至为明显地看出库图佐夫的受贬和失宠。

“如果没有巴格拉季蓊，il　faudrait　l'inventer。①”诙谐的申申滑稽地模仿伏尔泰的话说。没有人说过什么关于库图佐夫的事情。有些人轻声地责骂他，说他是个宫廷中的轻浮者和耽于酒色的老家伙。

①法语：那就应当把他虚构出来。

全莫斯科都在反复地传诵多尔戈鲁科夫说过的话：“智者千虑，必有一失”，他从过去胜利的回忆中，为我们的失败寻找慰藉，而且反复地传诵拉斯托普钦说过的话：对法国士兵，宜用高雅的词句去激励他们参与战斗；对德国士兵，要跟他们说明事理，使他们坚信，逃走比向前冲锋更危险；对俄国士兵，只有拦住他们，说一声：“慢点走！”从四面八方传来一桩桩一件件有关我们的官兵在奥斯特利茨战役中作出的英勇模范事迹。有谁保全了军旗，有谁杀死了五个法国人，有谁独自一人给五门大炮装好炮弹。那些不认识贝格的人也在谈论贝格，说他右手负伤了，便用左手紧握军刀冲锋陷阵。谁也没有说一句关于博尔孔斯基的话，只有熟谙他的身世的人才怜悯他，说他死得太早了，留下了怀孕的妻子和脾气古怪的父亲。