Book 11 Chapter 34

WHEN PIERRE, after running across courtyards and by-lanes, got back with his burden to Prince Gruzinsky's garden, at the corner of Povarsky, he did not for the first moment recognise the place from which he had set out to look for the baby: it was so packed with people and goods, dragged out of the houses. Besides the Russian families with their belongings saved from the fire, there were a good many French soldiers here too in various uniforms. Pierre took no notice of them. He was in haste to find the family, and to restore the child to its mother, so as to be able to go back and save some one else. It seemed to Pierre that he had a great deal more to do, and to do quickly. Warmed up by the heat and running, Pierre felt even more strongly at that minute the sense of youth, eagerness, and resolution, which had come upon him when he was running to save the baby.

The child was quiet now, and clinging to Pierre's coat with her little hands, she sat on his arm, and looked about her like a little wild beast. Pierre glanced at her now and then, and smiled slightly. He fancied he saw something touchingly innocent in the frightened, sickly little face.

Neither the official nor his wife were in the place where he had left them. With rapid steps, Pierre walked about among the crowd, scanning the different faces he came across. He could not help noticing a Georgian or Armenian family, consisting of a very old man, of a handsome Oriental cast of face, dressed in a new cloth-faced sheepskin and new boots; an old woman of a similar type; and a young woman. The latter—a very young woman—struck Pierre as a perfect example of Oriental beauty, with her sharply marked, arched, black eyebrows, her extraordinarily soft, bright colour and beautiful, expressionless, oval face. Among the goods flung down in the crowd in the grass space, in her rich satin mantle, and the bright lilac kerchief on her head, she suggested a tender, tropical plant, thrown down in the snow. She was sitting on the baggage a little behind the old woman, and her big, black, long-shaped eyes, with their long lashes, were fixed immovably on the ground. Evidently she was aware of her beauty, and fearful because of it. Her face struck Pierre, and in his haste he looked round at her several times as he passed along by the fence. Reaching the fence, and still failing to find the people he was looking for, Pierre stood still and looked round.

Pierre's figure was more remarkable than ever now with the baby in his arms, and several Russians, both men and women, gathered about him.

“Have you lost some one, good sir? Are you a gentleman yourself, or what? Whose baby is it?” they asked him.

Pierre answered that the baby belonged to a woman in a black mantle, who had been sitting at this spot with her children; and asked whether any one knew her, and where she had gone.

“Why, it must be the Anferovs,” said an old deacon addressing a pock-marked peasant woman. “Lord, have mercy on us! Lord, have mercy on us!” he added, in his professional bass.

“The Anferovs,” said the woman. “Why, the Anferovs have been gone since early this morning. It will either be Marya Nikolaevna's or Ivanova's.”

“He says a woman, and Marya Nikolaevna's a lady,” said a house-serf.

“You know her, then; a thin woman—long teeth,” said Pierre.

“To be sure, Marya Nikolaevna. They moved off into the garden as soon as these wolves pounced down on us,” said the woman, indicating the French soldiers.

“O Lord, have mercy on us!” the deacon added again.

“You go on yonder, they are there. It's she, for sure. She was quite beside herself with crying,” said the woman again. “It's she. Here this way.”

But Pierre was not heeding the woman. For several seconds he had been gazing intently at what was passing a few paces from him. He was looking at the Armenian family and two French soldiers, who had approached them. One of these soldiers, a nimble, little man, was dressed in a blue coat, with a cord tied round for a belt. He had a night-cap on his head, and his feet were bare. Another, whose appearance struck Pierre particularly, was a long, round-shouldered, fair-haired, thin man, with ponderous movements and an idiotic expression of face. He was dressed in a frieze tunic, blue trousers and big, torn, high boots. The little bare-footed Frenchman in the blue coat, on going up to the Armenians, said something, and at once took hold of the old man's legs, and the old man began immediately in haste pulling off his boots. The other soldier in the tunic stopped facing the beautiful Armenian girl, with his hands in his pockets, and stared at her without speaking or moving.

“Take it, take the child,” said Pierre, handing the child to the peasant woman, and speaking with peremptory haste. “You give her to them, you take her,” he almost shouted to the woman, setting the screaming child on the ground, and looking round again at the Frenchmen and the Armenian family. The old man was by now sitting barefoot. The little Frenchman had just taken the second boot from him, and was slapping the boots together. The old man was saying something with a sob, but all that Pierre only saw in a passing glimpse. His whole attention was absorbed by the Frenchman in the tunic, who had meanwhile, with a deliberate, swinging gait, moved up to the young woman, and taking his hands out of his pockets, caught hold of her neck.

The beautiful Armenian still sat in the same immobile pose, with her long lashes drooping, and seemed not to see and not to feel what the soldier was doing to her.

While Pierre ran the few steps that separated him from the Frenchman, the long soldier in the tunic had already torn the necklace from the Armenian beauty's neck, and the young woman, clutching at her neck with both hands, screamed shrilly.

“Let that woman alone!” Pierre roared in a voice hoarse with rage, and seizing the long, stooping soldier by the shoulders he shoved him away. The soldier fell down, got up, and ran away. His comrade, dropping the boots, pulled out his sword, and moved up to Pierre in a menacing attitude.

“Voyons, pas de bêtises!” he shouted.

Pierre was in that transport of frenzy in which he remembered nothing, and his strength was increased tenfold. He dashed at the barefoot Frenchman, and before he had time to draw his cutlass, he knocked him down, and was pommelling him with his fists Shouts of approval were heard from the crowd around, and at the same time a patrol of French Uhlans came riding round the corner. The Uhlans trotted up to Pierre, and the French soldiers surrounded him. Pierre had no recollection of what followed. He remembered that he beat somebody, and was beaten, and that in the end he found that his hands were tied, that a group of French soldiers were standing round him, ransacking his clothes.

“Lieutenant, he has a dagger,” were the first words Pierre grasped the meaning of.

“Ah, a weapon,” said the officer, and he turned to the barefoot soldier, who had been taken with Pierre. “Very good, very good; you can tell all your story at the court-martial,” said the officer. And then he turned to Pierre: “Do you know French?”

Pierre looked about him with bloodshot eyes, and made no reply. Probably his face looked very terrible; for the officer said something in a whisper, and four more Uhlans left the rest, and stationed themselves both sides of Pierre.

“Do you speak French?” the officer, keeping his distance, repeated the question. “Call the interpreter.” From the ranks a little man came forward, in a Russian civilian dress. Pierre, from his dress and speech, at once recognised in him a French shopman from some Moscow shop.

“He doesn't look like a common man,” said the interpreter, scanning Pierre.

“Oh, oh, he looks very like an incendiary,” said the officer. “Ask him who he is,” he added.

“Who are you?” asked the interpreter in his Frenchified Russian. “You must answer the officer.”

“I will not say who I am. I am your prisoner. Take me away.” Pierre said suddenly in French.

“Ah! ah!” commented the officer, knitting his brows; “well, march then!”

A crowd had gathered around the Uhlans. Nearest of all to Pierre stood the pock-marked peasant woman with the child. When the patrol was moving, she stepped forward:

“Why, where are they taking you, my good soul?” she said. “The child! what am I to do with the child if it's not theirs?” she cried.

“What does she want, this woman?” asked the officer.

Pierre was like a drunken man. His excitement was increased at the sight of the little girl he had saved.

“What does she want?” he said. “She is carrying my daughter, whom I have just saved from the flames,” he declared. “Good-bye!” and utterly at a loss to explain to himself the aimless lie he had just blurted out, he strode along with a resolute and solemn step between the Frenchmen.

The patrol of Uhlans was one of those that had been sent out by Durosnel's orders through various streets of Moscow to put a stop to pillage, and still more to capture the incendiaries, who in the general opinion of the French officers in the higher ranks on that day were causing the fires. Patrolling several streets, the Uhlans arrested five more suspicious characters, a shopkeeper, two divinity students, a peasant, and a house-serf—all Russians—besides several French soldiers engaged in pillage. But of all these suspicious characters Pierre seemed to them the most suspicious of all.

When they had all been brought for the night to a big house on Zubovsky rampart, which had been fixed upon as a guardhouse, Pierre was put apart from the rest under strict guard.

当皮埃尔跑过几家院子几条小巷，携带着女孩回到波瓦尔大街街角的格鲁津斯基花园时，他一下子还没认出他刚才离开去找小孩的这个地方：这儿阻塞着许多人和从房屋里拖出来的家什。除开逃出火灾来到这里的带着财物的几个俄罗斯家庭之外，这里还有一些身穿各色各样服装的法国士兵。皮埃尔并不注意这些人。他急于要找到那个小官一家人，好把女儿交给母亲，然后再去救别的人。皮埃尔觉得他还须赶快做许多事。热气和奔跑使得浑身发热的皮埃尔，此时体验到一股充满青春、活力和坚决劲儿，比他跑去救小孩时所感受到的更强烈。小姑娘现在安静了，用小手抓紧皮埃尔的长袍，坐在他臂弯上，像一头小野兽似的，张望着她的周围。皮埃尔不时地看看她，微微地笑着。他仿佛在这张吓坏了的病恹恹的脸上，看到使他感动的无辜的受难者的样子。

在原来的地方，小官不在，他的妻子也不在了。皮埃尔在人堆里快步穿行，瞧他碰到的各种面孔。他无意地注意到了一个格鲁吉亚人或阿尔明尼亚人的家庭，这个家庭是由一个年高的长者（漂亮的东方脸型，穿一件新皮袄和一双新靴子）、一个同样脸型的老太太和一个年轻女郎所组成的。这个很年轻的女郎照皮埃尔看来，是东方美人的完美体现，她长着轮廓呈弓形的浓黑的秀眉，一张长长的毫无表情的、却异常柔媚的红脸蛋。在这块空地上的人堆里散乱放着的什物中间，披一件豪华的缎面斗篷式的长衫，扎一条浅紫色头巾，像一株娇嫩的温室里植物被抛在雪地上。她坐在老太太身后不远的包袱上，用又黑又大的睫毛长长的杏眼动不动地看着地面。显然，她知道自己的美貌，为美貌而耽心。这容貌使皮埃尔惊叹，当他在匆忙中，在进入栅栏以后，他还频频回头看她。虽然来到栅栏附近，他仍找不到要找的人。皮埃尔停下，往四下里看。

皮埃尔手里抱着小女孩的模样，比先前更为引人注目，他周围聚扰了几个俄国人，有男有女。

“你和谁走散了，好人？”

“您自己是名门望族，对吧？谁的娃娃？”

众人问他。

皮埃尔回答说，孩子是一个身穿黑色斗篷式长衫的女人的，她刚才带着儿女就坐在这里，他又问有没有谁认识她，她走到那里去了。

“这一定是安菲罗夫家的女孩，”一个老年的教堂执事对一个麻脸的姆妈说。“上帝保佑，上帝保佑，”他又用惯常说话用的低音补了一句。

“安菲罗夫一家在哪里？”姆妈说。“安菲罗夫家一早就离开了。而这娃娃要末是玛丽亚·尼古拉耶夫娜的，要末是伊万诺夫家的。”

“他说——女人，可玛丽亚·尼古拉耶夫娜是太太呀。”一个家仆模样的人说。

“对，你们认识她，牙齿很长，人瘦瘦的。”皮埃尔说。

“就是玛丽亚·尼古拉耶夫娜了。当这群狼跑来时，他们到花园里去了。”姆妈指着法军士兵说。

“呵，上帝保佑。”执事又说了一声。

“您往那边去吧，他们在那里，正是她。老是在哭，十分悲痛。”姆妈又说。“正是她，朝这儿走吧。”

但是皮埃尔没有听姆妈说话。他有几秒钟目不转睛地盯着离他几步远的地方，那儿在出事。他看着阿尔明尼亚的那家人和向他们走去的两个法军士兵。其中一个轻浮的小矮人身穿蓝色军大衣，腰间束一根绳子。他戴着尖顶帽子，光着一双脚。另一个使皮埃尔尤为惊奇，是瘦高、背微驼的头发淡黄的男子，行动缓慢，脸上一付白痴相。这家伙穿一件粗呢女外衣，蓝色裤子，一双裂开了的骑兵大靴子。未穿靴子而穿蓝大衣的矮小的法国兵一走近阿尔明尼亚人，说了句什么，立即抓起长者的脚，长者也就连忙脱靴子。那个穿女外衣的，对着阿尔明尼亚美人停下，不言不语，也不动，指手揣在裤包里看着她。

“接着，接着小孩，”皮埃尔边说边把小孩递给姆妈，并用命令口吻匆忙对她说，“你交给他们，交给他们！”他几乎是在对姆妈喊叫，把又哭起来了的小姑娘往地上一放，又再回过头去看法国兵和阿尔明尼亚的那家人。长者已是光脚坐在那里。矮小的法国兵脱下他的第二支靴子，在用一只拍打另一只。长者呜咽地诉说着什么，但是皮埃尔只是瞥了一眼，他的全部注意力此时集中在穿女外衣的法国兵身上，这家伙慢慢地摇头晃脑地走近年轻女郎之后，把手从裤包里伸出来，抓住了她的脖子。

阿尔明尼亚美人继续坐着不动，仍像刚才的样子，长长的睫毛下垂，仿佛没看见也没感觉到这个兵在对她干什么。

皮埃尔从几步之外跑到法国兵跟前时，穿女外衣的瘦高个子的劫匪已从阿尔明尼亚女郎脖子上扯下她佩戴的项链，而年轻女郎用手抱着脖子尖声地叫着。

“Laissez　cette　femme！”①皮埃尔用狂怒的嘶哑的嗓音大叫，抓住高个子驼背的士兵的肩膀，把他扔到一边去。那个兵跌到了，爬起来之后连忙跑开。但他的同伙，扔掉靴子，拔出佩刀向皮埃尔气势汹汹地逼过来。

“Voyons，pas　de　betises！”②他叫了一声。

①放开那个女人！

②喂，喂！别胡闹！

皮埃尔处于愤怒的顶点，这样子他什么都不记得了，而且力量增加了十倍。他在光脚的法国兵还未抽出佩刀前，就扑了过去把他打倒在地，用拳头捶他。围观的群众响起一片赞许声，正在这时，一队法国枪骑兵巡逻队在街角出现。枪骑兵驰到皮埃尔和法国兵跟前，把他俩包围住。以后的事，皮埃尔便什么也不记得了。他记得他打了人，也挨了打，最后，他感觉出他的手被绑起来，一群法国兵围着他站着，搜他的衣裳。

“Il　a　un　porgnard，lieutenant．”①他们说了第一句话，皮埃尔听明白了。

“Ah，une　arme！”②军官说，把脸转向与皮埃尔一同被抓的光着脚的士兵。

“C'est　bon，vous　direz　tout　cela　au　conseil　de　guerre”，③军官说。随后立即转向皮埃尔：“Parlez－vous　francais，vous？”④

皮埃尔用充血的眼睛看看四周，未作回答。大概是他的脸色很恐怖，因而军官低声说了句话后，又有四名枪骑兵出列，站到他的两边。

“Parlez—vous　francais？”军官对他重复地问道，离他站得远了一点。“Faites　venir　l'interpreAte。”⑤一个穿俄国平民服的小矮个子策马出队。皮埃尔看他的穿着听他的口音，立即认出他是一间莫斯科商店的法国店员。

①中尉，他有一把匕首。

②啊，一把武器！

③好，好，到军事法庭全都说出来。

④你懂法语吗？

⑤把翻译叫来。

“Il　n'a　pas　I'air　d'un　homme　du　peuple．”①翻译看看皮埃尔后说。

“Oh，oh！ca　m'a　bien　l'air　d'un　des　incendiBaires，”军官说。“Demandez　lui　ce　qu'il　est？”②他又说。

“你是谁？”翻译问，“你得回答长官。”他说。

“Je　ne　vous　dirai　pas　qui　je　suis．Je　suis　votre　prisonnier．Emmenez　moi，”③皮埃尔突然用法语说。

“Ah！Ah！”军官皱起眉头说。“Marchons！”④

枪骑兵周围聚起了人群。离皮埃尔最近的是带着小女孩的麻脸姆妈；当巡逻队走动起来，她往前挪动了几步。

“这是要把你往哪里带呢，我亲爱的？”她说，“小姑娘呢，小姑娘我往哪儿搁呢，如果她不是他们家的！”她不断地说。

“Qu'est　ce　qu'elle　veut，cette　femme．”⑤军官问道。

①他不像普通人。

②噢，噢！他很像纵火犯。问他，他是谁？

③我不告诉你们我是谁。我是你们的俘虏。带我走。

④啊！啊！齐步走！

⑤她要干什么？

皮埃尔像喝醉了酒。看见他救出的小姑娘，他的情绪更加亢奋。

“Le　qu'elle　dit？”他说。“Elle　m'apporté　ma　fille　que　je　viens　de　sauver　des　flammes，”他最后说，“Adieu！”①连他自己也不明白这句无目的的谎话怎么会冲口而出，于是迈开坚定的洋洋得意的步子走在两行法兵的中间。

①她要干什么？她抱着我的女儿，我刚从火里把她救出来。别了！

这支法兵巡逻队，是奉迪罗涅尔之命派往莫斯科各街道制止抢劫、特别是捉拿纵火犯的几支巡逻队之一，据法国高级军官当天发表的一致意见，这些人是带来火灾的人。巡查几条街道之后，巡逻队又抓了五名俄国嫌疑犯：一个小店主，两名中学生，一个农夫，一个仆人，还抓了几个抢劫犯。但在这些嫌疑犯中，皮埃尔是最大的嫌疑犯。当他们被带到祖波夫要塞（那里没有拘留所）一间大屋子过夜时，皮埃尔在严格的看管下被单独监禁起来。