War and Peace: Original Version. Лев Толстой

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ as fastidious as a woman, careful of his own person, neat and tidy. Nesvitsky knew that nothing could make his room-mate more angry than disorder among his things, and Bolkonsky’s two tables, one a writing-desk that was set, like his desk in St. Petersburg, with bronze writing accessories, the other arrayed with brushes, soap-dishes and a mirror, were always arranged symmetrically and without a single speck of dust. Since his departure from St. Petersburg and, most importantly, since parting from his wife, Prince Andrei had entered a new era of activity and seemed to be reliving his youth. He read and studied a lot. Campaign life gave him a good deal of free time, and the books he had acquired abroad opened up new interests to him. The greater part of these books were works of philosophy. Apart from its intrinsic interest, philosophy was for him one of those pedestals of pride which he loved to ascend in front of other people. Although he had many different pedestals from which he could look down on people – birth, connections, wealth – philosophy represented for him the one from which he could feel superior even to people such as Kutuzov, and feeling that was essential for Prince Andrei’s peace of mind. He picked up Kant’s latest work, which was lying on his table with half its pages cut, and began reading. But his thoughts were far away, and he constantly imagined that he saw before him his most cherished dream – the banner of the Bridge at Arcole.

      “Well, brother, I owe you a bottle,” said the immense, fat Nesvitsky as he entered the room, accompanied, as always, by Zherkov. “What do you make of this business with Mack?”

      “Yes, he must have just spent an unpleasant quarter of an hour upstairs,” said Prince Andrei.

      (They had had a wager. Prince Andrei had asserted that Mack would be routed, so he had won.)

      “I owe you a bottle,” said Nesvitsky, unbuttoning his uniform coat, which squeezed his plump neck. “But what a dinner we’ll have today, brother! Wild goat, I got a fresh one, and turkey with chestnuts.”

      “I told you Mack would get stuck in your teeth,” said Zherkov, but his jest was not appreciated. Prince Andrei glanced round coldly at him and turned to Nesvitsky.

      “What have you heard, when are they setting out?” he asked.

      “They have sent for the second division to be moved,” Zherkov said in his ingratiating manner.

      “Ah!” said Prince Andrei, then turned away and began reading.

      “Right, that’s enough of your philosophising,” cried Nesvitsky, throwing himself onto his bed and panting for breath. “Let’s talk. How I laughed just now! Imagine it, we’d just come out, and there was Strauch walking along. You should have seen the capers Zherkov cut in front of him.”

      “That’s all right, I was saluting an ally,” said Zherkov, and Nesvitsky began laughing so hard that the bed creaked under him.

      Strauch, the Austrian general sent from Vienna to oversee the supply of provisions to the Russian army, had for some reason become Zherkov’s favourite victim. Zherkov mimicked him with deadly accuracy and every time he encountered him, Zherkov would stand to attention, pretending to be afraid of him, and at every opportunity he could find, he would begin speaking with him in broken German, making himself out to be a naïve fool, to Nesvitsky’s great delight.

      “Ah, yes!” said Nesvitsky, turning to Prince Andrei. “By the way, about Strauch. There’s an infantry officer here who’s been waiting a long time to see you.”

      “What officer?”

      “Remember, they sent you to investigate the case, he stole a cow or something from the Germans.”

      “What does he want?” said Prince Andrei, frowning and twisting the ring on his small white hand.

      “He’s a pitiful sort, come to petition you. Zherkov, what was his name? Well, what was it he said?”

      Zherkov pulled a face and began imitating the officer.

      “I … didn’t, not that, not at all … the soldiers … they bought the beast, because the owners … The beast … the owners … the beast …”

      Prince Andrei got up and put on his uniform jacket.

      “Yes, do hush it up somehow,” said Nesvitsky. “My God, how pitiful he is.”

      “I do not wish either to hush it up or to be unfair to anyone. I was sent, and I reported what had happened. I never take pity on scoundrels nor do I laugh at them,” he added, glancing at Zherkov.

      He went out to speak with the officer, and explained haughtily that he had no personal business with him and did not wish to have any.

      “But after all, you know yourself, your … prince,” said the officer, evidently unsure about the right way to address this adjutant: he was equally afraid of abasing himself and of not being polite enough. “After all, you yourself know, prince, that we’d been on the march for days, the soldiers hadn’t eaten, so how could I forbid it … judge for yourself …”

      “If you require my personal conviction,” said Prince Andrei, “then I can tell you that in my opinion, pillaging is always a serious offence, and there is no punishment severe enough for it in the country of one’s allies. But above all, please understand that there is nothing I can do; my job is to report to the commander-in-chief what I have found. I cannot lie for you.” And, with a smile at this odd idea, he bowed to the officer and left to return to his room. In the corridor, he saw General Strauch and the member of the Hofkriegsrat walking ahead of him. Nesvitsky and Zherkov were coming the other way, towards them.

      There was enough space in the broad corridor for the generals to pass the two officers, but Zherkov, pushing Nesvitsky to one side with his hand, said in a breathless voice:

      “They’re coming! They’re coming! Move over, make way! Please, make way!”

      The generals were walking along with an air that suggested they wished to avoid bothersome expressions of respect. Zherkov’s face was suddenly transformed by a stupid smile of joy, as if he were unable to restrain it.

      “You excellency,” he said in German, advancing and addressing the Austrian general. “Please permit me to congratulate you.” He inclined his head and began scraping first one foot, then the other, in a clumsy fashion, like a child learning to dance.

      The general who was a member of the Hofkriegsrat glanced sternly at him but, noticing the seriousness of the stupid smile, felt obliged to grant him a moment of attention. He lowered his gaze, to show he was listening.

      “Allow me to congratulate you on General Mack’s arriving quite unhurt, with only a little bump here,” Zherkov went on, smiling radiantly and pointing to his own head.

      The general scowled, turned away and began to walk on.

      “Gott, how naïve!” he said angrily after a few steps. Nesvitsky embraced Prince Andrei with a laugh and pulled him towards their room. Ignoring the laughter, Prince Andrei followed Nesvitsky inside, and going over to where Zherkov’s cap was lying on his table, he knocked it to the floor.

      “Yes, did you see that face?” Nesvitsky said through his laughter. “It was marvellous! Just a little bump here … ha, ha, ha!”

      “There’s nothing funny about it,” said Prince Andrei.

      “Nothing funny? Why, his face alone …”

      “Nothing СКАЧАТЬ