IN THE YEAR 1811 there was living in Moscow a French doctor called Metivier, who was rapidly coming into fashion. He was a very tall, handsome man, polite as only a Frenchman is, and was said by every one in Moscow to be an extraordinarily clever doctor. He was received in the very best houses, not merely as a doctor, but as an equal.
Prince Nikolay Andreitch had always ridiculed medicine, but of late he had by Mademoiselle Bourienne's advice allowed this doctor to see him, and had become accustomed to his visits. Metivier used to see the old prince twice a week.
On St. Nikolay's day, the name-day of the old prince, all Moscow was driving up to the approach of his house, but he gave orders for no one to be admitted to see him. Only a few guests, of whom he gave a list to Princess Marya, were to be invited to dinner.
Metivier, who arrived in the morning with his felicitations, thought himself as the old prince's doctor entitled to forcer la consigne, as he told Princess Marya, and went in to the prince. It so happened that on that morning of his name-day the old prince was in one of his very worst tempers. He had spent the whole morning wandering about the house, finding fault with every one, and affecting not to understand what was said to him and to be misunderstood by everybody. Princess Marya knew that mood well from subdued and fretful grumbling, which usually found vent in a violent outburst of fury, and as though facing a cocked and loaded gun, she went all the morning in expectation of an explosion. The morning passed off fairly well, till the doctor's arrival. After admitting the doctor, Princess Marya sat down with a book in the drawing-room near the door, where she could hear all that passed in the prince's study.
At first she heard Metivier's voice alone, then her father's voice, then both voices began talking at once. The door flew open, and in the doorway she saw the handsome, terrified figure of Metivier with his shock of black hair, and the old prince in a skull-cap and dressing-gown, his face hideous with rage and his eyes lowered.
“You don't understand,” screamed the old prince, “but I do! French spy, slave of Bonaparte, spy, out of my house—away, I tell you!” And he slammed the door. Metivier, shrugging his shoulders, went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne, who ran out of the next room at the noise.
“The prince is not quite well, bile and rush of blood to the head. Calm yourself, I will look in to-morrow,” said Metivier; and putting his fingers to his lips he hurried off.
Through the door could be heard steps shuffling in slippers and shouts: “Spies, traitors, traitors everywhere! Not a minute of peace in my own house!”
After Metivier's departure the old prince sent for his daughter, and the whole fury of his passion spent itself on her. She was to blame for the spy's having been admitted to see him. Had not he told her, told her to make a list, and that those not on the list were on no account to be admitted? Why then had that scoundrel been shown up? She was to blame for everything. With her he could not have a minute of peace, could not die in peace, he told her.
“No, madame, we must part, we must part, I tell you! I can put up with no more,” he said, and went out of the room. And as though afraid she might find some comfort, he turned back and trying to assume an air of calmness, he added: “And don't imagine that I have said this in a moment of temper; no, I'm quite calm and I have thought it well over, and it shall be so—you shall go away, and find some place for yourself!…” But he could not restrain himself, and with the vindictive fury which can only exist where a man loves, obviously in anguish, he shook his fists and screamed at her: “Ah! if some fool would marry her!” He slammed the door, sent for Mademoiselle Bourienne, and subsided into his study.
At two o'clock the six persons he had selected arrived to dinner. Those guests—the celebrated Count Rastoptchin, Prince Lopuhin and his nephew, General Tchatrov, an old comrade of the prince's in the field, and of the younger generation Pierre and Boris Drubetskoy were awaiting him in the drawing-room. Boris, who had come on leave to Moscow shortly before, had been anxious to be presented to Prince Nikolay Andreitch, and had succeeded in so far ingratiating himself in his favour, that the old prince made in his case an exception from his usual rule of excluding all young unmarried men from his house.
The prince did not receive what is called “society,” but his house was the centre of a little circle into which—though it was not talked of much in the town—it was more flattering to be admitted than anywhere else. Boris had grasped that fact a week previously, when he heard Rastoptchin tell the commander-in-chief of Moscow, who had invited him to dine on St. Nikolay's day, that he could not accept his invitation.
“On that day I always go to pay my devotions to the relics of Prince Nikolay Andreitch.”
“Oh yes, yes…” assented the commander-in-chief. “How is he?…”
The little party assembled before dinner in the old-fashioned, lofty drawing-room, with its old furniture, was like the solemn meeting of some legal council board.
All sat silent, or if they spoke, spoke in subdued tones. Prince Nikolay Andreitch came in, serious and taciturn. Princess Marya seemed meeker and more timid than usual. The guests showed no inclination to address their conversation to her, for they saw that she had no thought for what they were saying. Count Rastoptchin maintained the conversation alone, relating the latest news of the town and the political world. Lopuhin and the old general took part in the conversation at rare intervals. Prince Nikolay Andreitch listened like a presiding judge receiving a report submitted to him, only testifying by his silence, or from time to time by a brief word, that he was taking cognizance of the facts laid before him.
The tone of the conversation was based on the assumption that no one approved of what was being done in the political world. Incidents were related obviously confirming the view that everything was going from bad to worse. But in every story that was told, and in every criticism that was offered, what was striking was the way that the speaker checked himself, or was checked, every time the line was reached where a criticism might have reference to the person of the Tsar himself.
At dinner the conversation turned on the last political news, Napoleon's seizure of the possessions of the Duke of Oldenburg, and the Russian note, hostile to Napoleon, which had been despatched to all the European courts.
“Bonaparte treats all Europe as a pirate does a captured vessel,” said Rastoptchin, repeating a phrase he had uttered several times before. “One only marvels at the long-suffering or the blindness of the ruling sovereigns. Now it's the Pope's turn, and Bonaparte doesn't scruple to try and depose the head of the Catholic Church, and no one says a word. Our Emperor alone has protested against the seizure of the possessions of the Duke of Oldenburg. And even…” Count Rastoptchin broke off, feeling that he was on the very border line beyond which criticism was impossible.
“Other domains have been offered him instead of the duchy of Oldenburg,” said the old prince. “He shifts the dukes about, as I might move my serfs from Bleak Hills to Bogutcharovo and the Ryazan estates.”
“The Duke of Oldenburg supports his misfortune with admirable force of character and resignation,” said Boris putting in his word respectfully. He said this because on his journey from Petersburg he had had the honour of being presented to the duke. The old prince looked at the young man as though he would have liked to say something in reply, but changed his mind, considering him too young.
“I have read our protest about the Oldenburg affair, and I was surprised at how badly composed the note was,” said Count Rastoptchin in the casual tone of a man criticising something with which he is very familiar.
Pierre looked at Rastoptchin in na?ve wonder, unable to understand why he should be troubled by the defective composition of the note.
“Does it matter how the note is worded, count,” he said, “if the meaning is forcible?”
“My dear fellow, with our five hundred thousand troops, it should be easy to have a good style,” said Count Rastoptchin.
Pierre perceived the point of Count Rastoptchin's dissatisfaction with the wording of the note.
“I should have thought there were scribblers enough to write it,” said the old prince. “Up in Petersburg they do nothing but write—not notes only, but new laws they keep writing. My Andryusha up there has written a whole volume of new laws for Russia. Nowadays they're always at it!” And he laughed an unnatural laugh.
The conversation paused for a moment; the old general cleared his throat to draw attention.
“Did you hear of the last incident at the review in Petersburg? Didn't the new French ambassadors expose themselves!”
“Eh? Yes, I did hear something; he said something awkward in the presence of his majesty.”
“His majesty drew his attention to the grenadier division and the parade march,” pursued the general; “and it seems the ambassador took no notice and had the insolence to say ‘We in France,' says he, ‘don't pay attention to such trivial matters.' The emperor did not vouchsafe him a reply. At the review that followed the emperor, they say, did not once deign to address him.”
Every one was silent; upon this fact which related to the Tsar personally, no criticism could be offered.
“Impudent rogues!” said the old prince. “Do you know Metivier? I turned him out of the house to-day. He was here, he was allowed to come in, in spite of my begging no one should be admitted,” said the old prince, glancing angrily at his daughter. And he told them his whole conversation with the French doctor and his reasons for believing Metivier to be a spy. Though his reasons were very insufficient and obscure, no one raised an objection.
After the meat, champagne was handed round. The guests rose from their places to congratulate the old prince. Princess Marya too went up to him. He glanced at her with a cold, spiteful glance, and offered her his shaven, wrinkled cheek. The whole expression of his face told her that their morning's conversation was not forgotten, that his resolution still held good, and that it was only owing to the presence of their visitors that he did not tell her so now.
When they went into the drawing-room to coffee, the old men sat together.
Prince Nikolay Andreitch grew more animated, and began to express his views on the impending war. He said that our wars with Bonaparte would be unsuccessful so long as we sought alliances with the Germans and went meddling in European affairs, into which we had been drawn by the Peace of Tilsit. We had no business to fight for Austria or against Austria. Our political interests all lay in the East, and as regards Bonaparte, the one thing was an armed force on the frontier, and a firm policy, and he would never again dare to cross the Russian frontier, as he had done in 1807.
“And how should we, prince, fight against the French!” said Count Rastoptchin. “Can we arm ourselves against our teachers and divinities? Look at our young men, look at our ladies. Our gods are the French, and Paris—our Paradise.”
He began talking more loudly, obviously with the intention of being heard by every one.
“Our fashions are French, our ideas are French, our feelings are French! You have sent Metivier about his business because he's a Frenchman and a scoundrel, but our ladies are crawling on their hands and knees after him. Yesterday I was at an evening party, and out of five ladies three were Catholics and had a papal indulgence for embroidering on Sundays. And they sitting all but naked, like the sign-boards of some public bath-house, if you'll excuse my saying so. Ah, when one looks at our young people, prince, one would like to take Peter the Great's old cudgel out of the museum and break a few ribs in the good old Russian style, to knock the nonsense out of them!”
All were silent. The old prince looked at Rastoptchin with a smile on his face and shook his head approvingly.
“Well, good-bye, your excellency; don't you be ill,” said Rastoptchin, getting up with the brisk movements characteristic of him, and holding out his hand to the old prince.
“Good-bye, my dear fellow. Your talk is a music I'm always glad to listen to!” said the old prince, keeping hold of his hand and offering him his cheek for a kiss. The others, too, got up when Rastoptchin did.
一八一一年，一位瞬即轰动一时的法国大夫居住在莫斯科，他身材魁悟，眉清目秀，像法国人那样讲究礼貌，莫斯科人都说他是一位具有非凡医术的大夫，他就是梅蒂维埃。上流社会的家庭接待他，不把他视为大夫，而把他视为与别人平等的人。
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵从前嘲笑医学，近来他接受布里安小姐的忠告，准许这位大夫到他家里来，现在已经和他混熟了。梅蒂维埃每个礼拜到公爵家里去一两次。
公爵的命名日——圣尼古拉节，全莫斯科的人士都聚集在他的宅第门前，但是他吩咐不接见任何人，只宴请少数几个人，他把少数客人的名单交给公爵小姐玛丽亚。
早上前来祝贺的梅蒂维埃，认为做大夫的de forcer la consigne①，是理所当然的事，他对公爵小姐玛丽亚这样说，于是就走进去见公爵。很不巧，命名日这天早晨，老公爵的情绪坏透了。整个早晨他在屋里踱来踱去，老是在找大家的碴儿，装作听不懂别人对他说的话，大家也听不懂他说的话。公爵小姐玛丽亚确实知道，每当他焦虑不安、低声唠叨，最后难免要狂怒起来，整个早晨她在屋里走来走去，就像在一支扳开枪机的装上弹药的火枪前面，等待不可避免的射击似的。在大夫未来之前，早晨平安无事地度过了。公爵小姐玛丽亚放医生进来之后，便拿着一本书在客厅厅房坐下来，从这儿她能听见书斋中发生的事情。
①法语：违反命令。
起初她听见梅蒂维埃一个人的说话声，继而听见父亲的说话声，之后听见两个人同时说话的声音，门敞开了，心惊胆战的、相貌漂亮的、头上蓄有一绺蓬起的黑发的梅蒂维埃的身影在门坎上出现了，公爵的身影也在这里出现了，他头戴睡帽，身穿长衫，现出一副由于狂怒而变得难看的面孔，一双瞳人向下垂。
“你不明白吗？”公爵喊道，“可是我明白啊！一个法国的密探，波拿巴的奴隶，密探，从我屋里滚出去，滚出去，我对你说！”他于是砰然一声关上门。
梅蒂维埃耸耸肩膀，走到布里安小姐跟前，她听见喊声，从隔壁房里跑来了。
“公爵不太舒服，la bile et le transport an cerveau．Tranquilliscz－vous，je repasserai demain．”①梅蒂维埃说，把一个指头放在嘴唇上，匆匆地走出去了。
①法语：胆囊病，脑充血。不用担心吧，明天我顺路再来。
从门后传来步履声和叫喊声：“这一伙密探，叛徒，到处是叛徒！我自己家里也没有片刻的平静！”
梅蒂维埃走后，老公爵把女儿喊到身边来，于是向她大发雷霆。她的罪过是：把一个密探放进屋里来。他不是对她说过，叫她开列一份名单，凡是名单上没有的人，不得放进屋里来。干嘛要把这个坏蛋放进来啊！她真是罪魁祸首。“她在他身边，他不会有片刻的宁静，他不会宁静地寿终正寝的。”
他说道。
“不行，妈呀！分开，分开，这一点您要晓得，您要晓得！现在我不能再忍受了。”他说完这句话，便从房里走出去。他仿佛怕她不会想个法子来自己安尉自己，于是回到她身边，极力地装出心平气和的样子，补充地说：“您甭以为我是在生气时才对您说出这番话的，现在我心平气和，我把这一点缜密地考虑到了，只有这么办，分开，您给您自己找个地方吧！……”但是他忍受不了，现出愠怒的样子，只有爱她的人才会这样，显然他自己感到痛苦，他晃了晃拳头，向她喊道：
“哪怕有个什么笨蛋把她娶去也好！”他砰然一声关上房门，把布里安小姐喊到身边来，书斋中鸦雀无声。
两点钟，六位被挑选的客人都乘车前来出席宴会。这六位客人说：大名鼎鼎的拉斯托普钦伯爵、洛普欣公爵和他的侄儿、公爵的老战友恰特罗夫将军，年轻的客人有皮埃尔和鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊——他们都在客厅中等候他。
目前来到莫斯科休假的鲍里斯，极欲结识尼古拉·博尔孔斯基公爵，他擅长于博得公爵的好感，使得公爵为他破例在家中接见单身青年。
公爵的家不是所谓的“上流社会”，而是一个小圈子，尽管在市内默默无闻，但是受到它的接待令人感到无比的荣幸。鲍里斯在一星期前才明白这一点，那时候总司令在他面前邀请拉斯托普钦伯爵在圣尼古拉节赴宴，拉斯托普钦说他不能应邀。
“这一天我总要到骨瘦如柴的尼古拉·安德烈俨奇公爵那里去表示敬意。”
“啊，对，对，”总司令答道。“他近来怎样？……”
午宴前这个小团体聚集在摆设有陈旧家具的高大的旧式客厅里，俨像法庭召开的一次盛会。大家都默默无言，即令在交谈，也把嗓音压得很低。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵走出来了，他态度严肃，默不作声，公爵小姐玛丽亚比平素显得更娴静而羞怯。客人很不乐意地和她应酬几句，因为看见她无心去听他们谈话。惟有拉斯托普钦伯爵一人为使谈话不中断，他时而讲到最近的市内新闻，时而讲到政治领域的新闻。
洛普欣和年老的将军有时也参加谈话。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵谛听着，俨如一位听取下级汇报情况的首席法官，只不过有时候默不作声地或者三言两语地表明，他对下级向他汇报的情况已经知照。谈话的腔调听起来容易明了，谁也不称颂政治领域发生的事情。人们所讲的重大事体显然证实了各种情况越来越恶劣，但是，在讲述和议论任何事件时，令人惊奇的是，只要议论的内容涉及皇帝陛下，讲话的人就停下来，或者被人家制止。
宴会间，谈话牵涉到最近的政治新闻：拿破仑占领奥尔登堡大公的领地、俄国送陈欧洲各国朝廷旨在反对拿破仑的照会。
“波拿巴对付欧洲，就像海盗对付一条被夺去的海船一样。”拉斯托普钦伯爵说，把他说过几遍的话重述一遍。“各国国王的长久忍耐，或者是受人蒙骗，使人感到惊奇。现在事情涉及教皇了，波拿巴已经肆无忌惮地不害臊地试图推翻天主教的首领，因此人人都不吭声！唯有我们的国王一人对侵占奥尔登堡大公的领地一事表示抗议。既使那样，也是……”拉斯托普钦伯爵默不作声，他觉得他正处在不能继续谴责的边缘。
“有人建议用其他领地代替奥尔登堡公国，”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵说，“他叫大公们这样迁来迁去，就像我叫农夫自童山迁到博古恰罗夫和梁赞的领地去那样。”
“Le duc d'Oldenbourg supporte son malheur avec une force de caractère et une resignation admirable。”①鲍里斯说，他恭恭敬敬地参与谈话。他所以说这番话，是因为他自彼得堡前来此地的途中荣幸地与大公结识。尼古拉·安德列伊奇公爵望了望这个年轻人，好像他想就此事对他说点什么话，然而他认为他太年轻，便转变念头。
“我读过我方就奥尔登堡事件所提出的抗议书，这份照会的措词拙劣，真令我感到惊讶。”拉斯托普钦伯爵漫不经心地说，那腔调就像某人评论一件他最熟的事情那样。
皮埃尔带着幼稚的惊讶的神情望望拉斯托普钦，心里不明白，为什么照会的拙劣措词会使他焦虑不安。
“伯爵，如果照会的内涵富有说服力，文词上的优与劣，难道不都是一样？”他说。
“Mon cher，avec nos 500 mille hommes de troupes，il serait facile d'avoir un beau style．”②拉斯托普钦伯爵说。皮埃尔明白，照会的措词使拉斯托普钦伯爵担心的原因。
①法语：奥尔登堡大公以其惊人的毅力和镇静的态度忍受自己的不幸。
②法语：我亲爱的，拥有五十万军队，要想有优美的文笔，是很容易的。
“看来，文人相当多了，”老公爵说，“彼得堡人人都会写，不仅会写照会，——还会编纂新法典。我的安德留沙在那儿为俄国编纂了一整册法典。现在人人在写嘛！”他很不自然地笑起来了。
谈话停顿了一会，年老的将军咳嗽了几声，引起别人的注意。
“请问您，是不是听到近来彼得堡举行阅兵式时发生的事件？那些新任的法国公使大显身手啊！”
“怎么？说得对，我多少听到一点；他在陛下面前不自在地说了什么话。”
“陛下叫他注意掷弹兵师和分列式，”将军继续说下去，“那个公使好像什么都不注意，而且他竟胆敢说，我们在自己法国就不注意这等琐碎事。国王没有说什么。据说，在以后的阅兵式上，国王根本不去理睬他了。”
大家都默不作声，对与国王本人有关的这件事情，决不能发表任何议论。
“放肆！”公爵说，“您知道梅蒂维埃吗？我今天把他赶出去了。他到过这儿，无论我怎样叫他们不要把任何人放进屋里来，可是他们还是让他来到我面前来。”公爵说，很气忿地瞟了女儿一眼。于是他讲述了他和法国医生谈话的全部内容，讲述了他坚信梅蒂维埃是个密探的原因。虽然这些原因很不充分，很不明显，但是谁也不去反驳他。
吃完烤菜之后，端来了香槟酒。客人们从座位上站起来，祝贺老公爵。公爵小姐玛丽亚也走到他跟前。
他用那冷漠而凶恶的目光瞟了她一眼，把布满皱纹的刮净的面颊凑近她。他的面部表情向她说明，他并没有把早晨的谈话忘记，他的决定像从前一样生效，只不过由于客人们在场，他现在不把这件事讲给她听。
在他们走到客厅里去喝咖啡茶的时候，老人们坐在一起了。
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇更加兴奋起来，并且说出了他对当前的战争的见解。
他说，当我们仍向德意志人寻求联盟，硬要干预欧洲的事务（蒂尔西特和约把我们卷入欧洲事务中）的时候，我们反对波拿巴的战争就会是很不幸的。我们用不着为奥国而作战，也用不着为反对奥国而作战。我们的整个政策重心落在东方，而对波拿巴，只要在边境用兵，推行坚定的政策，这样，他永远也不敢像一八○七年那样逾越俄国边境了。
“公爵，我们怎么能够对法国人宣战啊！”拉斯托普钦伯爵说，“难道我们能够组成义勇军去反对我们的教师和上帝吗？请您看看我们的青年，看看我们的太太们。我们的上帝是法国人，我们的天国是巴黎。”
他开始说得更响亮，看来要让大家听见他说话。
“法国人的服装，法国人的思想，法国人的感情啊！看，您掐着梅蒂维埃的脖子把他撵出去，因为他是法国人，是恶汉，可是我们的太太们却匍匐在他面前。我昨天出席了一次晚会，那里的五个夫人中就有三个是天主教徒，在教皇的许可下，星期天她们要在十字布上绣花。可是她们几乎是光着身子，坐在那里，俨像买卖人的澡堂的招牌似的，不客气地这么说吧。咳，公爵，看看我们这样的青年，我要从珍品陈列馆里拿出一根彼得大帝的很旧的粗棒子，遵照俄国方式把他们痛打一顿，叫他们醒悟过来！”
大家都沉默不言。老公爵脸上流露着微笑，一面谛视拉斯托普钦，赞成地晃晃脑袋。
“喂，阁下，再见，祝您健康。”拉斯托普钦说，他以那固有的急促的动作站立起来，向公爵伸出手来。
“亲爱的，再见，您的话像古斯里琴，叫我听得出神！”老公爵握着他的手，把面颊凑近他，他让他亲吻。其他人也随着拉斯托普钦站立起来。
| 欢迎访问英文小说网http://novel.tingroom.com |