บทที่ บทที่ 240 · 第240章

In the middle of this fresh tale Pierre was summoned to the commander in

chief.

When he entered the private room Count Rostopchín, puckering his face,

was rubbing his forehead and eyes with his hand. A short man was saying

something, but when Pierre entered he stopped speaking and went out.

“Ah, how do you do, great warrior?” said Rostopchín as soon as the short

man had left the room. “We have heard of your prowess. But that’s not

the point. Between ourselves, mon cher, do you belong to the Masons?” he

went on severely, as though there were something wrong about it which

he nevertheless intended to pardon. Pierre remained silent. “I am well

informed, my friend, but I am aware that there are Masons and I hope

that you are not one of those who on pretense of saving mankind wish to

ruin Russia.”

“Yes, I am a Mason,” Pierre replied.

“There, you see, mon cher! I expect you know that Messrs. Speránski and

Magnítski have been deported to their proper place. Mr. Klyucharëv has

been treated in the same way, and so have others who on the plea of

building up the temple of Solomon have tried to destroy the temple of

their fatherland. You can understand that there are reasons for this and

that I could not have exiled the Postmaster had he not been a harmful

person. It has now come to my knowledge that you lent him your carriage

for his removal from town, and that you have even accepted papers from

him for safe custody. I like you and don’t wish you any harm and—as

you are only half my age—I advise you, as a father would, to cease

all communication with men of that stamp and to leave here as soon as

possible.”

“But what did Klyucharëv do wrong, Count?” asked Pierre.

“That is for me to know, but not for you to ask,” shouted Rostopchín.

“If he is accused of circulating Napoleon’s proclamation it is not

proved that he did so,” said Pierre without looking at Rostopchín, “and

Vereshchágin...”

“There we are!” Rostopchín shouted at Pierre louder than before,

frowning suddenly. “Vereshchágin is a renegade and a traitor who will

be punished as he deserves,” said he with the vindictive heat with which

people speak when recalling an insult. “But I did not summon you to

discuss my actions, but to give you advice—or an order if you prefer it.

I beg you to leave the town and break off all communication with such

men as Klyucharëv. And I will knock the nonsense out of anybody”—but

probably realizing that he was shouting at Bezúkhov who so far was not

guilty of anything, he added, taking Pierre’s hand in a friendly manner,

“We are on the eve of a public disaster and I haven’t time to be polite

to everybody who has business with me. My head is sometimes in a whirl.

Well, mon cher, what are you doing personally?”

“Why, nothing,” answered Pierre without raising his eyes or changing the

thoughtful expression of his face.

The count frowned.

“A word of friendly advice, mon cher. Be off as soon as you can, that’s

all I have to tell you. Happy he who has ears to hear. Good-by, my dear

fellow. Oh, by the by!” he shouted through the doorway after Pierre,

“is it true that the countess has fallen into the clutches of the holy

fathers of the Society of Jesus?”

Pierre did not answer and left Rostopchín’s room more sullen and angry

than he had ever before shown himself.

When he reached home it was already getting dark. Some eight people had

come to see him that evening: the secretary of a committee, the colonel

of his battalion, his steward, his major-domo, and various petitioners.

They all had business with Pierre and wanted decisions from him. Pierre

did not understand and was not interested in any of these questions and

only answered them in order to get rid of these people. When left alone

at last he opened and read his wife’s letter.

“They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince Andrew killed... that old

man... Simplicity is submission to God. Suffering is necessary... the

meaning of all... one must harness... my wife is getting married... One

must forget and understand...” And going to his bed he threw himself on

it without undressing and immediately fell asleep.

When he awoke next morning the major-domo came to inform him that a

special messenger, a police officer, had come from Count Rostopchín to

know whether Count Bezúkhov had left or was leaving the town.

A dozen persons who had business with Pierre were awaiting him in the

drawing room. Pierre dressed hurriedly and, instead of going to see

them, went to the back porch and out through the gate.

From that time till the end of the destruction of Moscow no one of

Bezúkhov’s household, despite all the search they made, saw Pierre again

or knew where he was.