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[阅读资料] 战争与和平1--20

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发表于 2009-6-17 16:07 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式
CHAPTER XX


PIERRE KNEW WELL that great room, divided by columns and an arch, and carpeted with Persian rugs. The part of the room behind the columns, where on one side there stood a high mahogany bedstead with silken hangings, and on the other a huge case of holy pictures, was brightly and decoratively lighted up, as churches are lighted for evening service. Under the gleaming ornamentation of the case stood a long invalid chair, and in the chair, on snow-white, uncrumpled, freshly changed pillows, covered to the waist with a bright green quilt, Pierre recognised the majestic figure of his father, Count Bezuhov, with the grey shock of hair like a lion's mane over his broad forehead, and the characteristically aristocratic, deep lines on his handsome, reddish-yellow face. He was lying directly under the holy pictures: both his great stout arms were lying on the quilt. In his right hand, which lay with the palm downwards, a wax candle had been thrust between the thumb and forefinger, and an old servant bending down over the chair held it in it. About the chair stood the clergy in their shining ceremonial vestments, with their long hair pulled out over them. They held lighted candles in their hands, and were performing the service with deliberate solemnity. A little behind them stood the two younger princesses holding handkerchiefs to their eyes, and in front of them the eldest, Katish, stood with a vindictive and determined air, never for an instant taking her eyes off the holy image, as though she were declaring to all that she would not answer for herself, if she were to look around. Anna Mihalovna with a countenance of meek sorrow and forgiveness stood at the door with the unknown lady. Prince Vassily was standing close to the invalid chair on the other side of the door. He had drawn a carved, velvet chair up to him, and was leaning on the back of it with his left hand, in which he held a candle, while with his right he crossed himself, turning his eyes upwards every time as he put his finger to his forehead. His face expressed quiet piety and submission to the will of God. “If you don't understand such feelings, so much the worse for you,” his face seemed to say.

Behind him stood the adjutant, the doctors, and the men-servants; the men and the women had separated as though they were in church. All were silently crossing themselves, nothing was audible but the reading of the service, the subdued, deep bass singing, and in the intervals of silence sighs could be heard and the shuffling of feet. With a significant air, which showed she knew what she was about, Anna Mihalovna walked right across the room to Pierre and gave him a candle. He lighted it, and absorbed in watching the people around him, he absent-mindedly crossed himself with the hand in which he held the candle. The youngest princess, Sophie, the rosy, laughing one with the mole, was looking at him. She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, and for a long while did not uncover it. But looking at Pierre again, again she laughed. She was apparently unable to look at him without laughing, but could not resist looking at him, and to be out of temptation, she softly moved behind a column. In the middle of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased, and they whispered something to one another. The old servant, who was holding the count's hand, got up and turned to the ladies. Anna Mihalovna stepped forward and, stooping over the sick man, she beckoned behind her back to Lorrain. The French doctor had been leaning against the column without a candle, in the respectful attitude of the foreigner, who would show that in spite of the difference of religion he comprehends all the solemnity of the ceremony and even approves of it. With the noiseless steps of a man in full vigour of his age, he went up to the sick man. His delicate, white fingers lifted his disengaged hand from the quilt, and turning away, the doctor began feeling the pulse in absorbed attention. They gave the sick man some drink; there was a slight bustle around him, then all went back to their places and the service was continued. During this break in the proceedings Pierre noticed that Prince Vassily moved away from his chair-back, and with that same air of being quite sure of what he was about, and of its being so much the worse for others, if they failed to understand it, he did not go up to the sick man, but passed by him and joined the eldest princess. Then together they went away to the further end of the room to the high bedstead under the silk canopy. When they moved away from the bed the prince and princess disappeared together by the further door, but before the end of the service they returned one after the other to their places. Pierre paid no more attention to this circumstance than to all the rest, having once for all made up his mind that all that he saw taking place that evening must inevitably be as it was.

The sounds of the church singing ceased and the voice of the chief ecclesiastic was heard, respectfully congratulating the sick man on his reception of the mystery. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable as before. Every one was moving about him, there was the sound of footsteps and of whispers, Anna Mihalovna's whisper rising above the rest.

Pierre heard her say: “Undoubtedly he must be moved on to the bed; it's impossible …”

The sick man was so surrounded by the doctors, the princesses and the servants, that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow face with the grey mane, which he had never lost sight of for one instant during the ceremony, even though he had been watching other people too. Pierre guessed from the cautious movements of the people about the chair that they were lifting the dying man up and moving him.

“Hold on to my arm; you'll drop him so,” he heard the frightened whisper of one of the servants. “Lower down … another one here,” said voices. And their heavy breathing and hurried tread seemed to show that the weight they carried was too heavy for them.

As they passed him—Anna Mihalovna among them—the young man caught a glimpse over people's backs and necks of the great muscular open chest, the grey, curly, leonine head, and the massive shoulders of the sick man, which were pushed up, as he was supported under the armpits. His head, with its extraordinarily broad brow and cheek-bones, its beautiful sensual mouth, and haughty, cold eyes, was not disfigured by the proximity of death. It was just the same as Pierre had seen it three months before, when his father had been sending him off to Petersburg. But the head swayed helplessly with the jerky steps of the bearers, and the cold, apathetic eyes did not know on what to rest.

They were busy for several minutes round the high bed; then the people, who had moved the count, dispersed. Anna Mihalovna touched Pierre's arm and said, “Come along.” With her Pierre approached the bed, on which the sick man had been laid in a ceremonial position in keeping with the sacred rite that had just been performed. He was lying with his head propped high on the pillows. His hands were laid symmetrically on the green silk quilt with the palms turned downwards. When Pierre came up, the count looked straight at him, but he looked at him with a gaze the intent and significance of which no man could fathom. Either these eyes said nothing, but simply looked because as eyes they must look at something, or they said too much. Pierre stopped, not knowing what he was to do, and looked inquiringly at his monitress. Anna Mihalovna gave him a hurried glance, with a gesture indicating the sick man's hand and with her lips wafting towards it a phantom kiss. Pierre did as he was bid, and carefully craning his neck to avoid entanglement with the quilt, kissed the broad-boned, muscular hand. There was not the faintest stir in the hand, nor in any muscle of the count's face. Pierre again looked inquiringly at Anna Mihalovna to learn what he was to do now. Anna Mihalovna glanced towards the armchair that stood beside the bed. Pierre proceeded obediently to sit down there, his eyes still inquiring whether he had done the right thing. Anna Mihalovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell into the na?vely symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, obviously distressed that his ungainly person took up so much room, and doing his utmost to look as small as possible. He looked at the count. The count still gazed at the spot where Pierre's face had been, when he was standing up. Anna Mihalovna's attitude evinced her consciousness of the touching gravity of this last meeting between father and son. It lasted for two minutes, which seemed to Pierre an hour. Suddenly a shudder passed over the thick muscles and furrows of the count's face. The shudder grew more intense; the beautiful mouth was contorted (it was only then that Pierre grasped how near death his father was) and from the contorted mouth there came a husky, muffled sound. Anna Mihalovna looked intently at the sick man's mouth, and trying to guess what he wanted, pointed first to Pierre, then to some drink, then in an inquiring whisper she mentioned the name of Prince Vassily, then pointed to the quilt. The eyes and face of the sick man showed impatience. He made an effort to glance at the servant, who never moved away from the head of his bed.

“His excellency wants to be turned over on the other side,” whispered the servant, and he got up to turn the heavy body of the count facing the wall.

Pierre stood up to help the servant.

While the count was being turned over, one of his arms dragged helplessly behind, and he made a vain effort to pull it after him. Whether the count noticed the face of horror with which Pierre looked at that lifeless arm, or whether some other idea passed through his dying brain, he looked at the refractory arm, at the expression of horror on Pierre's face, again at his arm, and a smile came on his face, strangely out of keeping with its features; a weak, suffering smile, which seemed mocking at his own helplessness. Suddenly, at the sight of that smile, Pierre felt a lump in his throat and a tickling in his nose, and tears dimmed his eyes. The sick man was turned towards the wall. He sighed.

“He has fallen into a doze,” said Anna Mihalovna, noticing the princess coming to take her turn by the bedside. “Let us go.”

Pierre went out.
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 楼主| 发表于 2009-6-17 16:07 | 显示全部楼层
第二十章


这个大房间皮埃尔了若指掌,几根圆柱和一道拱门把它隔开来了,四面墙上挂满了波斯壁毯。房间里的圆柱后面,一方摆着一张挂有帷幔的高高的红木卧榻,另一方陈设着一个大神龛,像晚祷时的教堂一般,房间的这一部分灯火明亮,红光四射。神龛的灿烂辉煌的金属衣饰底下,放着一张伏尔泰椅,上面摆着几个雪白的、尚未揉皱的、显然是刚刚换上的枕头,皮埃尔所熟悉的他父亲别祖霍夫伯爵的端庄的身躯就躺在这张伏尔泰椅上,一床鲜绿色的被子盖在他腰上,在那宽大的额头上还露出狮子鬃毛般的白发,在那俊美的橙红色的脸上,仍旧刻有高贵者特有的深深的皱纹。他直挺挺地躺在神像下方,两只肥大的手从被底下伸出来,放在它上面。右手手掌向下,大拇指和食指之间插着一根蜡烛,一名老仆从伏尔泰椅后面弯下腰去,用手扶着那根蜡烛。几个神职人员高高地站在伏尔泰椅前面,他们身穿闪闪发光的衣裳,衣裳外面露出了长长的头发,他们手里执着点燃的蜡烛,缓慢地、庄严地做着祷告。两个年纪较小的公爵小姐站在神职人员身后不远的地方,用手绢捂着眼角边,公爵的大小姐卡季什站在她们前面,她现出凶恶而坚定的神态。目不转睛地望着神像,好像在对众人说,如果她一环顾,她就没法控制自己。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脸上流露着温顺的忧愁和大度包容的神色,她和一个不认识的女士伫立在门旁。这扇门的另一边,靠近伏尔泰椅的地方,瓦西里公爵站在雕花的天鹅绒面交椅后面,他把椅背向自己身边转过来,左手执着一根蜡烛撑在椅背上,每次当地用手指碰到额角时,他就抬起眼睛,一面用右手画十字。他的脸上呈露着心安理得的虔诚和对上帝意志的无限忠诚。“假若你们不明白这种感情,那末你们就更糟了。”他那神色仿佛说出了这番话。

一名副官、数名大夫和一名男仆站在瓦西里公爵后面,俨如在教堂里那样,男人和女人分立于两旁。大家都沉默不言,用手画着十字,只听见琅琅祈祷声、圆浑而低沉的唱诗声以及静默时移动足步的响声和叹息声。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜现出威风凛凛的样子,表示她知道应该怎样行事,她于是穿过房间走到皮埃尔身边,把一支蜡烛递给他。他把蜡烛点燃了,因为他乐于观察周围的人而忘乎所以,竟然用那只拿过蜡烛的手画起十字来。

最年幼的长有一颗胎痣的公爵小姐索菲,两颊粉红,含着笑意,正在打量着皮埃尔。她微微一笑,把脸蛋藏进手绢里,久久地不肯把它露出来。但是她望了望皮埃尔,又笑了起来。显然,她觉得看见他就会发笑,但却忍不住,还是会看他,为避免引诱,她悄悄地窜到圆柱后面去了。在祈祷的半中间,神职人员的声音骤然停止了,但有几个神甫轻声地交谈了三言两语,一名老仆握着伯爵的手,站起身来,向女士们转过脸去。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向前走去,在病人前面弯下腰来,从背后用指头把罗兰招呼过来。这个法国大夫没有执着点燃的蜡烛,作出一副外国人的恭敬的样子挨着圆柱站在那里,他那样子表明,尽管信仰不同,但他还是明了正在举行的仪式的全部重要意义,他甚至对这种仪式表示称赞。他迈着壮年人的不声不响的脚步向病人身边走去,用他那雪白而纤细的手指从绿色被子上拿起伯爵那只空手,转过脸去,开始把脉,他沉思起来。有人让病人喝了点什么,在他身旁动弹起来,然后又闪在一边,各自回到自己的座位上。暂停之后祈祷又开始了。在暂时休息的时候,皮埃尔看见,瓦西里公爵从椅子背后走出来,那神态表示,他心里知道应该怎样行事,假若别人不了解他,他们的处境就更糟了,他没有走到病人跟前,而是从他身边经过,他去联合公爵的大小姐,和她一起走到寝室深处挂有丝绸帷幔的高高的卧榻那里去了。公爵和公爵的大小姐离开卧榻朝后门方向隐藏起来了,但在祈祷告竣之前,他们二人前后相随又回到自己的座位上。皮埃尔对这种情形,如同对其他各种情形一样,并不太注意,他断然认为,今晚发生的各种事情都是不可避免的。

唱诗中断了,可以听见一个神职人员恭敬地祝贺病人受圣礼。病人仍旧是死气沉沉地一动不动地躺着。大家在他周围动弹起来了,传来步履声和絮语声,在这些语声之中,安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的声音听来最刺耳了。

皮埃尔听见她这样说:

“一定要将病人移到床上去,在这里是决不行的……”

大夫们、公爵小姐们和仆役们都围在病人身边,以致皮埃尔看不见橙红色的头和狮子鬃毛般的白发,尽管在祈祷时他也看见其他人,但是伯爵的头一刻也没有越出他的视野,从围在伏尔泰椅旁边的人们的小心翼翼的动作来看,皮埃尔已经猜想到,有人在把垂危的人抬起来,把他搬到别的地方去了。

“抓住我的手,那样会摔下去的,”他听见一个仆役的惊恐的低语声,“从下面托住……再来一个人,”几个人都开腔说话,人们喘着粗气的声音和移动脚步的声音显得更加急促了,好像他们扛的重东西是他们力所不能及的。

扛起伯爵的人们,其中包括安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜在内,都赶上年轻的皮埃尔,走到他身边了,从人们的背脊和后脑勺后面,他隐约地看见病人又高又胖的裸露的胸膛,因被人搀起两腋而略微向上翘起的胖乎乎的肩膀和长满卷曲白发的狮子般的头。他的前额和颧骨非常宽阔,嘴长得俊美而富于肉感,目光威严而冷漠。这个头并未因濒临死亡而变得难看,和三个月以前伯爵打发皮埃尔去彼得堡时一模一样。但是,这个头竟因扛起伯爵的人脚步不均匀而显得软弱无力,微微地摇晃,他那冷漠的目光真不知要停留在什么上面。

扛过病人的人们在那高高的卧榻周围忙碌几分钟以后,就各自散开了。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜碰了碰皮埃尔的手,对他说:“venez.”①皮埃尔和她一道走到卧榻前面,病人安放在卧榻之上,那姿态逍遥自在,这显然是和方才施圣礼有关系。他躺着,头部高高地靠在睡枕上,掌心向下,两手平衡地搁在绿色丝绸被子上。当皮埃尔走到近旁,伯爵的目光直直地射在他身上,但是没有人能够了解他那目光表露什么意义,也许它根本没有含义,只是因为他还有一双眼睛,他就要朝个方向随便看看罢了,也许这目光表明了太多的心事。皮埃尔停步了,不知道该做什么好,他用疑问的目光看了看他的带路人安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜赶快使个眼色向他示意,同时用手指着病人的手,用嘴唇向它送了个飞吻。皮埃尔极力地把颈子伸长,以免碰到伯爵的丝绸被子,又用嘴唇吻吻他那骨胳大的肥厚的手,履行了她的忠告。无论是伯爵的手,还是他脸上的筋肉都不会颤动了。皮埃尔又疑问地望了望安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜,向她发问,他现在该做什么事。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向他使个眼色,心中意指着卧榻旁边的安乐椅。皮埃尔在安乐椅上温顺地坐下来,继续用目光询问,他做得是否恰到好处。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜点点头,表示称赞。皮埃尔又做出一副埃及雕像那种恰如其分的稚气的姿势,显然,他因为自己那粗笨肥大的身体占据太大的空间而倍觉遗憾,才煞费苦心尽量使自己缩得小一点。他两眼望着伯爵。伯爵还在端详着皮埃尔站立时他脸部露出的地方。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的面部表情说明了,她意识到父子最后一次相会的时刻是何等令人感动。这次相会持续了两分钟,皮埃尔心里觉得这两分钟好像一小时似的。伯爵脸上的大块肌肉和皱纹突然间颤抖起来,抖得越来越厉害,他的美丽的嘴扭歪了(这时皮埃尔才明白他父亲濒临死亡了),从那扭歪的嘴里发出模糊不清的嘶哑的声音。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜极力地看着病人的眼睛,力图猜中他想要什么东西,她时而用手指着皮埃尔,时而指着饮料,时而带着疑问的语调轻声地叫出瓦西里公爵的名字,时而用手指着伯爵的被子。病人的眼睛和脸部流露出已无耐性的样子。他极力凝视一直站在床头的仆人。

①法语:我们走吧。


“老爷想把身子转向另一侧啦,”仆役轻声地说道,他站了起来,让伯爵把脸部向墙,将那沉重的身躯侧向另一边。

皮埃尔站立起来,帮助这个仆人。

当众人使伯爵翻过身去的时候,他的一只手软弱无力地向后垂下,他用力地想把自己的这只手拿过去,但是无能为力,白费劲。伯爵是否已经发觉,皮埃尔在用那可怖的目光望着这只感觉迟钝的手,也许还有什么别的思绪在这生命垂危的脑海中闪现,但他望了一下自己那只不听使唤的手,望了一下皮埃尔脸上流露的可怖的表情,又望了一下自己的手,那脸上终于露出了一种和他的仪表不能并容的万分痛苦的微笑,仿佛在讥讽他自己的虚弱无力。皮埃尔望见这种微笑,胸中忽然不寒而栗,鼻子感到刺痛,一汪泪水使他的视线模糊了。病人面向墙壁,被翻过身去。他叹了口气。

“Ilestassoupi.”①安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜看见走来接班的公爵小姐,说道,“Allons。”②

皮埃尔走出去了。
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