Book 4 Chapter 3

ON THE 3RD OF MARCH all the rooms of the English Club were full of the hum of voices, and the members and guests of the club, in uniforms and frock-coats, some even in powder and Russian kaftans, were standing meeting, parting, and running to and fro like bees swarming in spring. Powdered footmen in livery, wearing slippers and stockings, stood at every door, anxiously trying to follow every movement of the guests and club members, so as to proffer their services. The majority of those present were elderly and respected persons, with broad, self-confident faces, fat fingers, and resolute gestures and voices. Guests and members of this class sat in certain habitual places, and met together in certain habitual circles. A small proportion of those present were casual guests—chiefly young men, among them Denisov, Rostov, and Dolohov, who was now an officer in the Semyonovsky regiment again. The faces of the younger men, especially the officers, wore that expression of condescending deference to their elders which seems to say to the older generation, “Respect and deference we are prepared to give you, but remember all the same the future is for us.” Nesvitsky, an old member of the club, was there too. Pierre, who at his wife's command had let his hair grow and left off spectacles, was walking about the rooms dressed in the height of the fashion, but looking melancholy and depressed. Here, as everywhere, he was surrounded by the atmosphere of people paying homage to his wealth, and he behaved to them with the careless, contemptuous air of sovereignty that had become habitual with him.

In years, he belonged to the younger generation, but by his wealth and connections he was a member of the older circles, and so he passed from one set to the other. The most distinguished of the elder members formed the centres of circles, which even strangers respectfully approached to listen to the words of well-known men. The larger groups were formed round Count Rostoptchin, Valuev, and Naryshkin. Rostoptchin was describing how the Russians had been trampled underfoot by the fleeing Austrians, and had had to force a way with the bayonet through the fugitives. Valuev was confidentially informing his circle that Uvarov had been sent from Petersburg to ascertain the state of opinion in Moscow in regard to Austerlitz.

In the third group Naryshkin was repeating the tale of the meeting of the Austrian council of war, at which, in reply to the stupidity of the Austrian general, Suvorov crowed like a cock. Shinshin, who stood near, tried to make a joke, saying that Kutuzov, it seemed, had not even been able to learn from Suvorov that not very difficult art of crowing like a cock—but the elder club members looked sternly at the wit, giving him thereby to understand that even such a reference to Kutuzov was out of place on that day.

Count Ilya Andreitch Rostov kept anxiously hurrying in his soft boots to and fro from the dining-room to the drawing-room, giving hasty greetings to important and unimportant persons, all of whom he knew, and all of whom he treated alike, on an equal footing. Now and then his eyes sought out the graceful, dashing figure of his young son, rested gleefully on him, and winked to him. Young Rostov was standing at the window with Dolohov, whose acquaintance he had lately made, and greatly prized. The old count went up to them, and shook hands with Dolohov.

“I beg you will come and see us; so you're a friend of my youngster's … been together, playing the hero together out there.… Ah! Vassily Ignatitch … a good day to you, old man,” he turned to an old gentleman who had just come in, but before he had time to finish his greetings to him there was a general stir, and a footman running in with an alarmed countenance, announced: “He had arrived!”

Bells rang; the stewards rushed forward; the guests, scattered about the different rooms, gathered together in one mass, like rye shaken together in a shovel, and waited at the door of the great drawing-room.

At the door of the ante-room appeared the figure of Bagration, without his hat or sword, which, in accordance with the club custom, he had left with the hall porter. He was not wearing an Astrachan cap, and had not a riding-whip over his shoulder, as Rostov had seen him on the night before the battle of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign orders and the star of St. George on the left side of his chest. He had, obviously with a view to the banquet, just had his hair cut and his whiskers clipped, which changed his appearance for the worse. He had a sort of na?vely festive air, which, in conjunction with his determined, manly features, gave an expression positively rather comic to his face. Bekleshov and Fyodor Petrovitch Uvarov, who had come with him, stood still in the doorway trying to make him, as the guest of most importance, precede them. Bagration was embarrassed, and unwilling to avail himself of their courtesy; there was a hitch in the proceedings at the door, but finally Bagration did, after all, enter first. He walked shyly and awkwardly over the parquet of the reception-room, not knowing what to do with his hands. He would have been more at home and at his ease walking over a ploughed field under fire, as he had walked at the head of the Kursk regiment at Sch?ngraben. The stewards met him at the first door, and saying a few words of their pleasure at seeing such an honoured guest, they surrounded him without waiting for an answer, and, as it were, taking possession of him, led him off to the drawing-room. There was no possibility of getting in at the drawing-room door from the crowds of members and guests, who were crushing one another in their efforts to get a look over each other's shoulders at Bagration, as if he were some rare sort of beast. Count Ilya Andreitch laughed more vigorously than any one, and continually repeating, “Make way for him, my dear boy, make way, make way,” shoved the crowd aside, led the guests into the drawing-room, and seated them on the sofa in the middle of it. The great men, and the more honoured members of the club, surrounded the newly arrived guests. Count Ilya Andreitch, shoving his way again through the crowd, went out of the drawing-room, and reappeared a minute later with another steward carrying a great silver dish, which he held out to Prince Bagration. On the dish lay a poem, composed and printed in the hero's honour. Bagration, on seeing the dish, looked about him in dismay, as though seeking assistance. But in all eyes he saw the expectation that he would submit. Feeling himself in their power, Bagration resolutely took the dish in both hands, and looked angrily and reproachfully at the count, who had brought it. Some one officiously took the dish from Bagration (or he would, it seemed, have held it so till nightfall, and have carried it with him to the table), and drew his attention to the poem. “Well, I'll read it then,” Bagration seemed to say, and fixing his weary eyes on the paper, he began reading it with a serious and concentrated expression. The author of the verses took them, and began to read them aloud himself. Prince Bagration bowed his head and listened.

“Be thou the pride of Alexander's reign!
And save for us our Titus on the throne!
Be thou our champion and our country's stay!
A noble heart, a Caesar in the fray!
Napoleon in the zenith of his fame
Learns to his cost to fear Bagration's name,
Nor dares provoke a Russian foe again,” etc. etc.
But he had not finished the poem, when the butler boomed out sonorously: “Dinner is ready!” The door opened, from the dining-room thundered the strains of the Polonaise: “Raise the shout of victory, valiant Russian, festive sing,” and Count Ilya Andreitch, looking angrily at the author, who still went on reading his verses, bowed to Bagration as a signal to go in. All the company rose, feeling the dinner of more importance than the poem, and Bagration, again preceding all the rest, went in to dinner. In the place of honour between two Alexanders— Bekleshov and Naryshkin—(this, too, was intentional, in allusion to the name of the Tsar) they put Bagration: three hundred persons were ranged about the tables according to their rank and importance, those of greater consequence, nearer to the distinguished guest—as naturally as water flows to find its own level.

Just before dinner, Count Ilya Andreitch presented his son to the prince. Bagration recognised him, and uttered a few words, awkward and incoherent, as were indeed all he spoke that day. Count Ilya Andreitch looked about at every one in gleeful pride while Bagration was speaking to his son.

Nikolay Rostov, with Denisov and his new acquaintance Dolohov, sat together almost in the middle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre with Prince Nesvitsky. Count Ilya Andreitch was sitting with the other stewards facing Bagration, and, the very impersonation of Moscow hospitality, did his utmost to regale the prince.

His labours had not been in vain. All the banquet—the meat dishes and the Lenten fare alike—was sumptuous, but still he could not be perfectly at ease till the end of dinner. He made signs to the carver, gave whispered directions to the footmen, and not without emotion awaited the arrival of each anticipated dish. Everything was capital. At the second course, with the gigantic sturgeon (at the sight of which Ilya Andreitch flushed with shamefaced delight), the footman began popping corks and pouring out champagne. After the fish, which made a certain sensation, Count Ilya Andreitch exchanged glances with the other stewards. “There will be a great many toasts, it's time to begin!” he whispered, and, glass in hand, he got up. All were silent, waiting for what he would say.

“To the health of our sovereign, the Emperor!” he shouted, and at the moment his kindly eyes grew moist with tears of pleasure and enthusiasm. At that instant they began playing: “Raise the shout of victory!” All rose from their seats and shouted “Hurrah!” And Bagration shouted “Hurrah!” in the same voice in which he had shouted it in the field at Sch?ngraben. The enthusiastic voice of young Rostov could be heard above the three hundred other voices. He was on the very point of tears. “The health of our sovereign, the Emperor,” he roared, “hurrah!” Emptying his glass at one gulp, he flung it on the floor. Many followed his example. And the loud shouts lasted for a long while. When the uproar subsided, the footmen cleared away the broken glass, and all began settling themselves again; and smiling at the noise they had made, began talking. Count Ilya Andreitch rose once more, glanced at a note that lay beside his plate, and proposed a toast to the health of the hero of our last campaign, Prince Pyotr Ivanovitch Bagration, and again the count's blue eyes were dimmed with tears. “Hurrah!” was shouted again by the three hundred voices of the guests, and instead of music this time a chorus of singers began to sing a cantata composed by Pavel Ivanovitch Kutuzov:

“No hindrance bars a Russian's way,
Valour's the pledge of victory,
We have our Bagrations.
Our foes will all be at our feet,” etc. etc.
As soon as the singers had finished, more and more toasts followed, at which Count Ilya Andreitch became more and more moved, and more glass was broken and even more uproar was made. They drank to the health of Bekleshov, of Naryshkin, of Uvarov, of Dolgorukov, of Apraxin, of Valuev, to the health of the stewards, to the health of the committee, to the health of all the club members, to the health of all the guests of the club, and finally and separately to the health of the organiser of the banquet, Count Ilya Andreitch. At that toast the count took out his handkerchief and, hiding his face in it, fairly broke down.

三月三日，英国俱乐部的各个厅中都听见一片嘈杂声，俱乐部的成员和客人们穿着制服、燕尾服，有些人穿着束有腰带的长衫，假发上扑了香粉，就像一群在春季迁徙时节纷飞的蜜蜂似的往来穿梭，一会儿坐着或站着，一会儿集合或散开。假发上扑有香粉的仆人，都穿着仆役制服、长袜和矮靿皮鞋，伫立在每一道门旁，很紧张地注意观察俱乐部的客人和成员的每个动作，以便上前侍候。出席者之中多数是年高望重的人士，他们都长着宽宽的充满自信的面孔、粗大的手指，脚步稳健，嗓音清晰。这一类来客和俱乐部的成员坐在他们习惯坐的某个位子上，他们在惯常团聚的某些小组中碰头。出席者之中有一小部分是由偶然来的客人组合而成的——主要是年轻人，其中包括杰尼索夫、罗斯托夫和多洛霍夫，多洛霍夫又当上谢苗诺夫兵团的军官了。在青年人、特别是青年军人脸上都流露着轻视而又尊重老人的表情，它仿佛在告诉老前辈：“我们愿意尊敬你们，但是你们要记住，未来毕竟是属于我们的。”

涅斯维茨基是俱乐部的老成员，他也待在这个地方。皮埃尔遵照妻子的吩咐，蓄一头长发，摘下了眼镜，穿着得合乎时尚，但是他却流露着忧郁而沮丧的神色，在几个大厅里踱来踱去。他在到处都是那个样子，凡是崇拜他的财富的人都把他围住，他于是摆出一副习以为常的作威作福的姿态，带着漫不经心的蔑视的表情对待他们。

论年龄，他应该和年轻人在一起，论个人财富和人情关系，他却是年高望重的客人们的几个小组的成员，因此他经常在这个小组和那个小组之间来来往往。最有威望的客人们中的老年人成为这几个小组的中心人物，甚至陌生的客人也毕恭毕敬地与他们接近，以便听取知名人士的发言。几个较大的小组安插在拉斯托普钦伯爵、瓦卢耶夫和纳雷什金的左近。拉斯托普钦谈到俄国官兵遭受逃跑的奥国官兵的践踏，溃不成军，不得不用刺刀穿过逃跑的人群给自己开辟一条道路。

瓦卢耶夫机密地谈到，乌瓦罗夫由彼得堡派来了解莫斯科人对奥斯特利茨战役的意见。

纳雷什金在第三组中谈到苏沃洛夫曾在奥国军委会会议中像公鸡似的发出尖叫声，用以回答奥国将军们说的蠢话。这时分申申站在这里，想开开玩笑，他说，看来库图佐夫没法学到苏沃洛夫这套简易的本领——像公鸡似的发出尖叫声；但是老人们严肃地看看这个爱戏谑的人，让他感觉到今天在这儿谈论库图佐夫是不体面的。

伊利亚·安德烈伊奇·罗斯托夫伯爵忧虑不安，他穿着一双软底皮靴仓促地从餐厅慢慢走进客厅，又从客厅慢慢走回来，神色慌张，和他全都认识的达官显要、地位低微的人物一视同仁地打着招呼，有时用目光搜寻身材匀称的英姿勃勃的儿子，兴高采烈地把那目光停留在他身上，向他使个眼色。年轻的罗斯托夫和多洛霍夫都站在窗口，他在不久前结识了多洛霍夫并很珍视他们的交情。老伯爵走到他们面前，握了握多洛霍夫的手。

“请光临，你跟我的棒小子交上朋友了……你们在那儿并肩作战，共同建立英雄功绩……啊！瓦西里·伊格纳季奇……，老伙计，您好，”他把脸转向从一旁走过的小老头，说道，但是他还来不及寒暄完毕，周围的一切就动弹起来，一个跑来的仆人面露惊恐的表情，他面禀：“贵宾已光临！”

铃响了，几个领导者冲上前来，分布在各个房里的客人，就像用木锹扬开的黑麦似的，聚集成一堆，在大客厅前的舞厅门旁停步了。

巴格拉季翁在接待室门口出现了，他没有戴上军帽，也没有佩带单刀，按照俱乐部的惯例，他把这些东西存放在阍者那里了。他没有戴羔皮军帽，肩上也没有挎着马鞭，有像罗斯托夫在奥斯特利茨战役前夜看见他时那个样子，而是身穿一件紧身的新军服，佩戴有俄国以及外国的各种勋章，左胸前戴着圣乔治金星勋章。看来他在午宴之前剪了头发，剃了连鬓胡子，这使他的脸型变得难看了。他脸上流露着某种童稚而欢愉的表情，加上他那刚勇而坚定的特征，甚至于给人造成有几分滑稽可爱的印象。和他同路前来的别克列绍夫和费奥多尔·彼得罗维奇·乌瓦罗夫都在门口停步了，想让他这位主要来宾在他们前面走。巴格拉季翁慌里慌张，他不想心领他们的敬意，停在门口，最后巴格拉季翁还是走到前面去了。他在招待室的镶木地板上走着，他感到腼腆，不灵活，真不知道把手放在何处才好。申格拉本战役中，他在库尔斯克兵团前面，置身于枪林弹雨之下，沿着耕过的麦田行走时，他心里反而觉得更习惯，更轻快。几个领导骨干在第一道门口迎迓，向他道出了几句欢迎贵宾的话，不等他回答，仿佛吸引了他的注意力，把他围在中间，领他进客厅。俱乐部的成员和客人把那客厅门口拉得水泄不通，你推我撞，力图超过他人的肩头把巴格拉季翁这头稀奇的野兽打量一番。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵精力至为充沛，他含笑着说：“亲爱的，让路，让路，让路！”推开一群人，把客人们领进客厅，请他们在中间的长沙发上入座。知名人士，最受尊重的俱乐部的成员们，又把来宾围在自己中间。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵又从人群中挤过去，步出客厅，俄而，他又和另一名理事走来，手里托着一只大银盘，端到巴格拉季翁公爵面前。银盘中摆着一首为欢迎英雄而编印的诗。巴格拉季翁看了银盘，便惊惶不安地东张西望，仿佛在寻求援救似的。但是众人的眼神都要求他听从他们的意见。巴格拉季翁觉得自己已经遭受众人的控制，他于是断然地将那银盘捧在手中，他用气忿的责备的目光望了望端来银盘的伯爵。有个人怀有奉承的心情拿走巴格拉季翁手里的银盘（要不然，他好像就要这样不停地端到晚上，并且端着银盘上餐桌），这个人请他注意那首诗。“喏，让我来朗诵，”巴格拉季翁好像说了这句话，他于是把那疲倦的目光集中在一张纸上，他装出聚精会神的严肃认真的样子朗诵起来。但是这首诗的作者把诗拿在手中，开始亲自朗诵。巴格拉季翁公爵低下头来，倾听着。

歌颂亚历山大的时代！

捍卫我们的泰塔斯皇上。

祝愿他成为威严可畏的领袖和仁者，

祖国的里费，战场的凯撒！

侥幸的拿破仑

叫他尝尝

巴格拉季翁的拳头，

再不敢刁难俄国人……

但是他还没有念完这首诗，那个嗓音洪亮的管家便宣告：“菜肴已经做好了！”房门敞开了，餐厅里响起了波洛涅兹舞曲：“胜利的霹雳轰鸣，勇敢的俄罗斯人尽情地欢腾”，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵气忿地望望那个继续朗诵诗篇的作者，并向巴格拉季翁鞠躬行礼。众人起立，心里觉得酒会总比诗更重要，于是巴格拉季翁又站在众人前面向餐桌走去。众人请巴格拉季翁在二位名叫亚历山大的客人——别克列绍夫和纳雷什金之间的首席入座；与国王同名，其用意实与圣讳有关，三百人均按官阶和职位高低在餐厅里入座，客人中间谁的职位愈高谁就离那备受殷勤款待的贵宾愈近，正如水向深处、向低处流一样，是理所当然的事。

酒宴之前，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵向公爵介绍了他的儿子。巴格拉季翁在认出他之后，说了几句如同他今日所说的不连贯的表达不恰当的话。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵正当巴格拉季翁跟他儿子谈话时，他把那欣喜而矜持的目光朝着大家环视一番。

尼古拉·罗斯托夫和杰尼索夫以及一位新相识多洛霍夫一起差不多坐在餐桌正中间。皮埃尔和涅斯维茨基公爵，并排坐在他们对面。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵和其他几个领导骨干坐在巴格拉季翁对面，因而表现了莫斯科殷勤好客、亲热款待公爵的热忱。

他的劳动并没有白费。他所备办的肴馔，素菜和荤菜全都味美，十分可取，但在酒会结束之前，他依旧不能十分平静。他不时地向餐厅的侍者使眼色，轻声地吩咐仆人，他以不无激动心情，等待他所熟悉的每一道菜。全部菜肴都精美可口。在端出第二道菜——大鲟鱼拼盘时，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇看见鲟鱼，欢喜而又腼腆得面红耳赤，仆人开始砰砰地打开瓶塞，在斟香槟酒了。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵和其他几个理事互使眼色，“还要喝很多杯哩，应该开始了！”他轻声地说了一句什么话，便捧起高脚酒杯，站立起来。众人都沉默不言，等待他说话。

“祝愿国王健康长寿！”他高呼一声，就在这一瞬间，他那双和善的眼睛被狂喜与异常兴奋的泪水润湿了。就在此时奏起了乐曲：“胜利的霹雳轰鸣”。众人都从位子上站立起来，高呼“乌拉！”巴格拉季翁就像他在申格拉本战场上呐喊时那样高呼“乌拉！”从三百客人的呼声中传来年轻的罗斯托夫的热情洋溢的欢呼声。他几乎要哭出声来。“祝愿国王健康长寿！”他高声喊道。“乌拉！”他一口气喝干一杯酒，把杯子掷在地板上。很多人仿效他的榜样。一片嘹亮的欢呼声持续了很久。呼声一停息，仆人就拣起打碎的杯子，众人都各自入座，对他们自己的欢呼报以微笑，彼此间攀谈起来。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵又站立起来，瞧了瞧搁在他餐盘旁边的纸条，他为祝愿我们最后一次战役的英雄彼得·伊万诺维奇·巴格拉季翁的健康而举杯，伯爵那双蓝色的眼睛又被泪水润湿了。三百位客人又在高呼“乌拉！”，这时可以听见的不是音乐，而是歌手们吟唱的、由帕维尔·伊万诺维奇·库图佐夫撰写的大合唱。

俄罗斯人不可阻挡，

勇敢乃是胜利的保证，

而我们拥有无数位巴格拉季翁，

一切敌人将在我们脚下跪倒。

……

歌手们刚刚吟唱完毕，人们就接着一次又一次地举杯祝酒，此时伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵越来越受感动，越来越多的酒樽被打碎了，欢呼声也越来越响亮。人们为别克列绍夫、纳雷什金、乌瓦罗夫、多尔戈鲁科夫、阿普拉克辛、瓦卢耶夫的健康，为理事们的健康、为管事人的健康，为俱乐部全体成员的健康、为俱乐部的列位来宾的健康干杯，末了，单独为宴会筹办人伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵的健康干杯。在举杯时，伯爵取出手帕，捂住脸，放声大哭起来。