ONE EVENING the old countess in her bed-jacket, without her false curls and with only one poor wisp of hair peeping out from under her white cotton nightcap, was bowing down on the carpet, sighing and moaning as she repeated her evening prayers. Her door creaked, and Natasha, also in a bed-jacket, ran in, bare-legged, with her feet in slippers, and her hair in curl papers. The countess looked round and frowned. She was repeating her last prayer. “Can it be this couch will be my bier?” Her devotional mood was dispelled. Natasha, flushed and eager, stopped suddenly short in her rapid movement as she saw her mother at her prayers. She half-sat down and unconsciously put out her tongue at herself.
Seeing that her mother was still praying, she ran on tiptoe to the bed; and rapidly slipping one little foot against the other, pushed off her slippers and sprang on to that couch which the countess in her prayer feared might become her bier. That couch was a high feather-bed, with five pillows, each smaller than the one below. Natasha skipped in, sank into the feather-bed, rolled over towards the side, and began snuggling up under the quilt, tucking herself up, bending her knees up to her chin, kicking out and giving a faintly audible giggle as she alternately hid her face under the quilt and peeped out at her mother. The countess had finished her prayers, and was approaching her bed with a stern face, but seeing that Natasha was playing bo-peep with her she smiled her good-natured, weak smile.
“Come, come, come!” said the mother.
“Mamma, may I speak; yes?” said Natasha. “Come, under the chin, one, and now another, and enough.” And she clutched at her mother's neck and kissed her favourite place on her chin. In Natasha's behaviour to her mother there was a superficial roughness of manner, but she had a natural tact and knack of doing things, so that, however she snatched her mother in her arms, she always managed so that she was not hurt, nor uncomfortable, nor displeased by it.
“Well, what is it to-night?” said her mother, settling herself in the pillows and waiting for Natasha, who had already rolled over twice, to lie down by her side under the bedclothes, to put out her arms and assume a serious expression.
These visits of Natasha to her mother at night before the count came home from the club were one of the greatest pleasures both of mother and daughter.
“What is it to-night? And I want to talk to you…” Natasha put her hand on her mother's lips.
“About Boris…I know,” she said seriously; “that's what I have come about. Don't say it; I know. No, do say it!” She took her hand away. “Say it, mamma! He's nice, eh?”
“Natasha, you are sixteen! At your age I was married. You say Boris is nice. He is very nice, and I love him like a son! But what do you want? …What are you thinking about? You have quite turned his head, I can see that…”
As she said this, the countess looked round at her daughter. Natasha was lying, looking steadily straight before her at one of the mahogany sphinxes carved on a corner of the bedstead, so that the countess could only see her daughter's face in profile. Her face impressed the countess by its strikingly serious and concentrated expression.
Natasha was listening and considering.
“Well, so what then?” she said.
“You have completely turned his head, and what for? What do you want of him? You know you can't marry him.”
“Why not?” said Natasha, with no change in her attitude.
“Because he's so young, because he's poor, because he's a relation…because you don't care for him yourself.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know. It's not right, my darling.”
“But if I want to…” said Natasha.
“Leave off talking nonsense,” said the countess.
“But if I want to…”
“Natasha, I am serious…”
Natasha did not let her finish; she drew the countess's large hand to her, and kissed it on the upper side, and then on the palm, then turned it over again and began kissing it on the knuckle of the top joint of the finger, then on the space between the knuckles, then on a knuckle again, whispering: “January, February, March, April, May.”
“Speak, mamma; why are you silent? Speak,” she said, looking round at her mother, who was gazing tenderly at her daughter, and apparently in gazing at her had forgotten all she meant to say.
“This won't do, my dear. It's not every one who will understand your childish feelings for one another, and seeing him on such intimate terms with you may prejudice you in the eyes of other young men who visit us, and what is of more consequence, it's making him wretched for nothing. He had very likely found a match that would suit him, some wealthy girl, and now he's half-crazy.”
“Half-crazy?” repeated Natasha.
“I'll tell you what happened in my own case. I had a cousin…”
“I know—Kirilla Matveitch; but he's old.”
“He was not always old. But I tell you what, Natasha, I'll speak to Boris. He mustn't come so often…”
“Why mustn't he, if he wants to?”
“Because I know it can't come to anything.”
“How do you know? No, mamma, don't speak to him. What nonsense!” said Natasha, in the tone of a man being robbed of his property. “Well, I won't marry him, so let him come, if he enjoys it and I enjoy it.”
Natasha looked at her mother, smiling. “Not to be married, but—just so,” she repeated.
“How so, my dear?”
“Oh, just so. I see it's very necessary I shouldn't marry him, but…just so.”
“Just so, just so,” repeated the countess, and shaking all over, she went off into a good-natured, unexpectedly elderly laugh.
“Don't laugh, stop,” cried Natasha; “you're shaking all the bed. You're awfully like me, just another giggler…Stop…” She snatched both the countess's hands, kissed one knuckle of the little finger, for June, and went on kissing—July, August—on the other hand. “Mamma, is he very much in love? What do you think? Were men as much in love with you? And he's very nice, very, very nice! Only not quite to my liking—he's so narrow, somehow, like a clock on the wall.… Don't you understand?…Narrow, you know, grey, light-coloured…”
“What nonsense you talk!” said the countess.
Natasha went on:
“Don't you really understand? Nikolenka would understand…Bezuhov now—he's blue, dark blue and red, and he's quadrangular.”
“You're flirting with him, too,” said the countess, laughing.
“No, he's a freemason, I have heard. He's jolly, dark blue and red; how am I to explain to you…”
“Little countess,” they heard the count's voice through the door, “you're not asleep?” Natasha skipped up, snatched up her slippers, and ran barefoot to her own room. For a long while she could not go to sleep. She kept musing on no one's being able to understand all she understood and all that was in her.
“Sonya?” she wondered, looking at her friend asleep, curled up like a kitten with her great mass of hair. “No, how could she! She's virtuous. She's in love with Nikolenka and doesn't care to know anything more. Mamma, even she doesn't understand. It's wonderful how clever I am and how…she is charming,” she went on, speaking of herself in the third person, and fancying that it was some very clever, the very cleverest and finest of men, who was saying it of her… “There is everything, everything in her,” this man continued, “extraordinarily clever, charming and then pretty, extraordinarily pretty, graceful. She swims, rides capitally, and a voice!—a marvellous voice, one may say!” She hummed her favourite musical phrase from an opera of Cherubini, flung herself into bed, laughed with delight at the thought that she would soon be asleep, called to Dunyasha to blow out the candle; and before Dunyasha had left her room she had already passed into another still happier world of dreams, where everything was as easy and as beautiful as in reality, and was only better because it was all different.
Next day the countess sent for Boris, and talked to him, and from that day he gave up visiting at the Rostovs'.
有一天晚上，老伯爵夫人戴着一项寝帽，穿着一件短上衣，没有戴假发，从那白色的细棉布寝帽下面露出一个寒酸的发髻，她一面叹气，一面发出呼哧声，跪在小小的地毯上磕头做晚祷，这时她的房门吱吱响了一下，娜塔莎赤着脚穿一双便鞋，身上也穿着一件短上衣，扎着卷发纸，跑进房间里。伯爵夫人环顾四周，皱起眉头。她快要念完她的最后一句祷词：“难道这张床就是我的未来的寿坊吗？”她的祈祷的情绪被一扫而尽。娜塔莎看见祈祷的母亲后，红光满面，兴奋起来，她忽然停止跑步，蹲在地上，情不自禁地伸出舌头，吓唬着自己。她发觉母亲在继续祈祷，便踮着脚尖跑到床前，用一只小脚迅速地蹭另一只小脚，脱下了便鞋，猛地跳到那伯爵夫人害怕成为她的寿坊的卧榻上。这张卧榻很高，铺着羽毛褥子，上面摆放着五个一个比一个小的枕头。娜塔莎霍地跳起来，钻进羽毛褥子里，向墙边转过身去，在被子下面耍起来了，一面躺着，一面把膝盖弯屈到下颏边，蹬着两条腿，这时她的笑声隐约可闻；她时而把头蒙住，时而露出头来看看她的母亲。伯爵夫人做完了晚祷，走到床前，露出严肃的面孔，但在她看见娜塔莎蒙住头之后，便慈祥地微微一笑。
“喂，喂，喂。”母亲说。
“妈妈，可以谈谈吗，行不行？”娜塔莎说，“嘿，亲一下颈窝，再亲一下，”她搂抱母亲的脖子，吻了吻她的下颏，在对母亲的态度上，娜塔莎虽然显示了表面的粗鲁，不过她很敏锐，而且灵活，她无论怎样用双手拥抱母亲，总不会使她觉得疼痛，她不会使她厌恶，也不会使她不自在。
“啊，现在谈啥呀？”母亲说，等娜塔莎莫约翻了两次身，从被底下伸出手来，装出一副严肃的表情，和她同盖一床被窝，并排躺下来。
在伯爵从俱乐部回家之前，娜塔莎在夜晚多次来玩，是母亲和女儿的一种最大的乐趣。
“现在究竟要谈啥呀？可是我应当对你说……”
娜塔莎用手捂住母亲的嘴。
“就谈谈鲍里斯吧……我知道，”她严肃地说，“我是为了这件事才来的。您不消说，我晓得。不，您就说吧！”她放下手来。“妈妈，告诉我，他热情吗？”
“娜塔莎，你十六岁了，我在你这个年纪已经出嫁了。你说鲍里斯很热情。他很热情，我像爱儿子一样爱他，可是你想怎么样？……你在想什么？你使他完全冲昏了头脑，这一点我看得清楚……”
伯爵夫人在说这些话的时候，回头望了望她的女儿。娜塔莎一动不动地一直盯着面前的床角上用红木雕刻的狮身人面像，因此伯爵夫人只看见女儿面孔的侧面。这副面孔流露着特别严肃的、凝神思索的表情，使伯爵夫人觉得惊奇。
娜塔莎一面倾听，一面思忖。
“唉，那怎样呢？”她说。
“你完全使他冲昏了头脑，为什么？你想要他怎样呢？你不能嫁给他，你是知道的。”
“为什么？”娜塔莎不改变姿势，说道。
“因为他年轻，因为他贫穷，因为他是个亲戚……因为你自己不会爱他。”
“为什么您会知道呢？”
“我是知道的，这不太好，我亲爱的。”
“如果我愿意……”娜塔莎说。
“不要再讲蠢话了。”伯爵夫人说。
“如果我愿意……”
“娜塔莎，我要一本正经地说……”
娜塔莎不让伯爵夫人说完，就把她的一只大手拉到自己身边来，吻吻她的手背，然后吻吻掌心，又把手翻过来，开始吻她的手指的上关节，然后吻关节之间的地方，然后又吻上关节，同时轻言细语地说：“一月，二月，三月，四月，五月。”
“妈妈，告诉我，您干嘛一声不响？告诉我吧。”她回头看她母亲时说，母亲用那温柔的目光望着女儿，这样一望，她好像忘记了她要说的一切。
“这怎么行，我的心肝。不是大家都了解你们在童年时代的关系，在另外些常到我们家里来的年轻人的心目中，看见他和你这样亲密，对你是很不利的，主要是，白白地使他难受。他也许给他自己找到了情投意合的有钱的配偶，他现在简直要发疯了。”
“要发疯了吗？”娜塔莎重说一句话。
“我把我自己的情况说给你听。我有个表兄……”
“我知道——基里拉·马特维奇，他是个老头子，是吗？”
“他并非从来就是老头子。你听我讲，娜塔莎，我要跟鲍里斯谈谈，他不应当来得这样勤……”
“既然他很想来，为什么他不该来？”
“因为我知道，这不会有任何结果的。”
“为什么您会知道呢？不，妈妈，您不要对他说吧。真是一派胡言！”娜塔莎说，那腔调听来就像有人要夺取某人的财产似的。“啊，我不出嫁，既然他感到快活，我也感到快活，那就让他来好了。”娜塔莎微露笑容，向母亲瞥了一眼。
“我不出嫁，·就·这·样·过·下·去。”她重说一句。
“这是怎么回事，我的亲人？”
“对，·就·这·样·过·下·去。嗯，我不出嫁，但是……就这样过下去，很有必要。”
“就这样，就这样。”伯爵夫人重复地说，她全身战栗着，突然发出了和善的老太婆的笑声。
“不应该发笑，不要再笑了，”娜塔莎喊道，“您把整张床弄得摇摇晃晃。您非常像我，也是个好高声大笑的人……等一等……”她抓起伯爵夫夫的两只手，吻一吻小指头的一个关节——六月，继而吻另一只手的七月、八月。“妈妈，他过分钟情，是吗？您的看法怎么样？从前有些人这样钟情于您吗？他很可爱，很，很可爱！不过我对他不太感兴趣——他像食堂里的钟那样非常狭窄……您不明白吗？……狭窄的，您要知道，浅灰色的……”
“你撒什么谎！”伯爵夫人说。
娜塔莎继续说：
“难道您不明白吗？尼古拉是会明白的……别祖霍夫——
是蓝色的，暗蓝色中带有红色的，他又是四角形的。”
“你也向他卖弄风情。”伯爵夫人笑着说。
“不，他是个共济会员，我探听到了。他挺好，暗蓝色中带有红颜色，要怎么向您解释……”
“我亲爱的伯爵夫人，”从门后传来伯爵的说话声，“你没有睡吗？”娜塔沙光着脚霍地跳起来，手里拿着一双便鞋，跑到自己房里去了。
她久久不能入睡，她总是这样考虑：谁也没法理解她所理解的一切和她内心包含的一切。
“索尼娅？”她想了想，睁开两眼瞧着那只有条大辫子的、缩成一团躺着睡觉的小猫。“不，她哪能明白！她是个高尚的人。她爱上了尼古拉，不再想知道什么了。妈妈心里也不明白。真奇怪，我多么聪明，而且多么……她很可爱。”她接着说，用第三人称谈论自己的事，脑子里想到，有某个很聪明的、最聪明的、最好的男人在谈论她的事情……她的内心容纳着一切，“这个男人接着说，“她异常聪明，可爱而且美丽，异常美丽而灵活——游泳、骑马，都很出色，还有一副好嗓子！可以说，非常悦耳的嗓子！”她唱了她所喜爱的凯鲁比尼歌剧中的短短的乐句，就急忙扑到床上去，当她愉快地想到她马上就会酣然入睡时，她便放声大笑，她喊杜尼亚莎吹熄蜡烛，杜尼亚莎还没有从房里去出来，她就进入了另一个更幸福的梦幻世界，那里的一切同现实一样美好，令人感到轻松愉快，只不过在那个世界另有一番景况，因而就显得更为美妙。
第二天，伯爵夫人把鲍里斯请来，和他商议一番，从那天起他就不再到罗斯托夫家里去了。
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