“DOES IT HAPPEN to you,” said Natasha to her brother, when they were settled in the divan-room, “to feel that nothing will ever happen—nothing; that all that is good is past? And it's not exactly a bored feeling, but melancholy?”
“I should think so!” said he. “It has sometimes happened to me that when everything's all right, and every one's cheerful, it suddenly strikes one that one's sick of it all, and all must die. Once in the regiment when I did not go to some merrymaking, and there the music was playing…and I felt all at once so dreary…”
“Oh, I know that feeling; I know it, I know it,” Natasha assented; “even when I was quite little, I used to have that feeling. Do you remember, once I was punished for eating some plums, and you were all dancing, and I sat in the schoolroom sobbing. I shall never forget it; I felt sad and sorry for every one, sorry for myself, and for every—every one. And what was the chief point, I wasn't to blame,” said Natasha; “do you remember?”
“I remember,” said Nikolay. “I remember that I came to you afterwards, and I longed to comfort you, but you know, I felt ashamed to. Awfully funny we used to be. I had a wooden doll then, and I wanted to give it you. Do you remember?”
“And do you remember,” said Natasha, with a pensive smile, “how long, long ago, when we were quite little, uncle called us into the study in the old house, and it was dark; we went in, and all at once there stood…”
“A Negro,” Nikolay finished her sentence with a smile of delight; “of course, I remember. To this day I don't know whether there really was a Negro, or whether we dreamed it, or were told about it.”
“He was grey-headed, do you remember, and had white teeth; he stood and looked at us…”
“Do you remember, Sonya?” asked Nikolay.
“Yes, yes, I do remember something too,” Sonya answered timidly.
“You know I have often asked both papa and mamma about that Negro,” said Natasha. “They say there never was a Negro at all. But you remember him!”
“Of course, I do. I remember his teeth, as if it were to-day.”
“How strange it is, as though it were a dream. I like that.”
“And do you remember how we were rolling eggs in the big hall, and all of a sudden two old women came in, and began whirling round on the carpet. Did that happen or not? Do you remember what fun it was?”
“Yes. And do you remember how papa, in a blue coat, fired a gun off on the steps?”
Smiling with enjoyment, they went through their reminiscences; not the melancholy memories of old age, but the romantic memories of youth, those impressions of the remotest past in which dreamland melts into reality. They laughed with quiet pleasure.
Sonya was, as always, left behind by them, though their past had been spent together.
Sonya did not remember much of what they recalled, and what she did remember, did not rouse the same romantic feeling in her. She was simply enjoying their pleasure, and trying to share it.
She could only enter into it fully when they recalled Sonya's first arrival. Sonya described how she had been afraid of Nikolay, because he had cording on his jacket, and the nurse had told her that they would tie her up in cording too.
“And I remember, I was told you were found under a cabbage,” said Natasha; “and I remember I didn't dare to disbelieve it then, though I knew it was untrue, and I felt so uncomfortable.”
During this conversation a maid popped her head in at a door leading into the divan-room.
“Miss, they've brought you a cock,” she said in a whisper.
“I don't want it, Polya; tell them to take it away,” said Natasha.
In the middle of their talk in the divan-room, Dimmler came into the room, and went up to the harp that stood in the corner. He took off the cloth-case, and the harp gave a jarring sound. “Edward Karlitch, do, please, play my favourite nocturne of M. Field,” said the voice of the old countess from the drawing-room.
Dimmler struck a chord, and turning to Natasha, Nikolay, and Sonya, he said, “How quiet you young people are!”
“Yes, we're talking philosophy,” said Natasha, looking round for a minute and going on with the conversation. They were talking now about dreams.
Dimmler began to play. Natasha went noiselessly on tiptoe to the table, took the candle, carried it away, and going back, sat quietly in her place. It was dark in the room, especially where they were sitting on the sofa, but the silver light of the full moon shone in at the big windows and lay on the floor.
“Do you know, I think,” said Natasha, in a whisper, moving up to Nikolay and Sonya, when Dimmler had finished, and still sat, faintly twanging the strings, in evident uncertainty whether to leave off playing or begin something new, “that one goes on remembering, and remembering; one remembers till one recalls what happened before one was in this world.…”
“That's metempsychosis,” said Sonya, who had been good at lessons, and remembered all she had learned. “The Egyptians used to believe that our souls had been in animals, and would go into animals again.”
“No, do you know, I don't believe that we were once in animals,” said Natasha, still in the same whisper, though the music was over; “but I know for certain that we were once angels somewhere beyond, and we have been here, and that's why we remember everything.…”
“May I join you?” said Dimmler, coming up quietly, and he sat down by them.
“If we had been angels, why should we have fallen lower?” said Nikolay. “No, that can't be!”
“Not lower…who told you we were lower?…This is how I know I have existed before,” Natasha replied, with conviction: “The soul is immortal, you know…so, if I am to live for ever, I have lived before too, I have lived for all eternity.”
“Yes, but it's hard for us to conceive of eternity,” said Dimmler, who had joined the young people, with a mildly condescending smile, but now talked as quietly and seriously as they did.
“Why is it hard to conceive of eternity?” said Natasha. “There will be to-day, and there will be to-morrow, and there will be for ever, and yesterday has been, and the day before.…”
“Natasha! now it's your turn. Sing me something,” called the voice of the countess. “Why are you sitting there so quietly, like conspirators?”
“Mamma, I don't want to a bit!” said Natasha, but she got up as she said it.
None of them, not even Dimmler, who was not young, wanted to break off the conversation, and come out of the corner of the divan-room; but Natasha stood up; and Nikolay sat down to the clavichord. Standing, as she always did, in the middle of the room, and choosing the place where the resonance was greatest, Natasha began singing her mother's favourite song.
She had said she did not want to sing, but it was long since she had sung, and long before she sang again as she sang that evening. Count Ilya Andreitch listened to her singing from his study, where he was talking to Mitenka, and like a schoolboy in haste to finish his lesson and run out to play, he blundered in his orders to the steward, and at last paused, and Mitenka stood silent and smiling before him, listening too. Nikolay never took his eyes off his sister, and drew his breath when she did. Sonya, as she listened, thought of the vast difference between her and her friend, and how impossible it was for her to be in ever so slight a degree fascinating like her cousin. The old countess sat with a blissful, but mournful smile, and tears in her eyes, and now and then she shook her head. She, too, was thinking of Natasha and of her own youth, and of how there was something terrible and unnatural in Natasha's marrying Prince Andrey.
Dimmler, sitting by the countess, listened with closed eyes. “No, countess,” he said, at last, “that's a European talent; she has no need of teaching: that softness, tenderness, strength…”
“Ah, I'm afraid for her, I'm afraid,” said the countess, not remembering with whom she was speaking. Her motherly instinct told her that there was too much of something in Natasha, and that it would prevent her being happy.
Natasha had not finished singing when fourteen-year-old Petya ran in great excitement into the room to announce the arrival of the mummers.
Natasha stopped abruptly.
“Idiot!” she screamed at her brother. She ran to a chair, sank into it, and broke into such violent sobbing that it was a long while before she could stop.
“It's nothing, mamma, it's nothing really, it's all right; Petya startled me,” she said, trying to smile; but the tears still flowed, and the sobs still choked her.
The mummers—house-serfs dressed up as bears, Turks, tavern-keepers, and ladies—awe-inspiring or comic figures, at first huddled shyly together in the vestibule, bringing in with them the freshness of the cold outside, and a feeling of gaiety. Then, hiding behind one another, they crowded together in the big hall; and at first with constraint, but afterwards with more liveliness and unanimity, they started singing songs, and performing dances, and songs with dancing, and playing Christmas games. The countess after identifying them, and laughing at their costumes, went away to the drawing-room. Count Ilya Andreitch sat with a beaming smile in the big hall, praising their performances. The young people had disappeared.
Half an hour later there appeared in the hall among the other mummers an old lady in a crinoline—this was Nikolay. Petya was a Turkish lady, Dimmler was a clown, Natasha a hussar, and Sonya a Circassian with eyebrows and moustaches smudged with burnt cork.
After those of the household who were not dressed up had expressed condescending wonder and approval, and had failed to recognise them, the young people began to think their costumes so good that they must display them to some one else.
Nikolay, who wanted to drive them all in his sledge, as the road was in capital condition, proposed to drive to their so-called uncle's, taking about a dozen of the house-serfs in their mummer-dress with them.
“No; why should you disturb the old fellow?” said the countess. “Besides you wouldn't have room to turn round there. If you must go, let it be to the Melyukovs'.”
Madame Melyukov was a widow with a family of children of various ages, and a number of tutors and governesses living in her house, four versts from the Rostovs'.
“That's a good idea, my love,” the old count assented, beginning to be aroused. “Only let me dress up and I'll go with you. I'll make Pashette open her eyes.”
But the countess would not agree to the count's going; for several days he had had a bad leg. It was decided that the count must not go, but that if Luisa Ivanovna (Madame Schoss) would go with them, the young ladies might go to Madame Melyukov's. Sonya, usually so shy and reticent, was more urgent than any in persuading Luisa Ivanovna not to refuse.
Sonya's disguise was the best of all. Her moustaches and eyebrows were extraordinarily becoming to her. Every one told her she looked very pretty, and she was in a mood of eager energy unlike her. Some inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be sealed, and in her masculine attire she seemed quite another person. Luisa Ivanovna consented to go; and half an hour later four sledges with bells drove up to the steps, their runners crunching, with a clanging sound, over the frozen snow.
Natasha was foremost in setting the tone of holiday gaiety; and that gaiety, reflected from one to another, grew wilder and wilder, and reached its climax when they all went out into the frost, and talking, and calling to one another, laughing and shouting, got into the sledges.
Two of the sledges were the common household sledges; the third was the old count's, with a trotting horse from Orlov's famous stud; the fourth, Nikolay's own, with his own short, shaggy, raven horse in the shafts. Nikolay, in his old lady's crinoline and a hussar's cloak belted over it, stood up in the middle of the sledge picking up the reins. It was so light that he could see the metal discs of the harness shining in the moonlight, and the eyes of the horses looking round in alarm at the noise made by the party under the portico of the approach.
Sonya, Natasha, Madame Schoss, and two maids got into Nikolay's sledge. In the count's sledge were Dimmler with his wife and Petya; the other mummers were seated in the other two sledges.
“You go ahead, Zahar!” shouted Nikolay to his father's coachman, so as to have a chance of overtaking him on the road.
The count's sledge with Dimmler and the others of his party started forward, its runners creaking as though they were frozen to the snow, and the deep-toned bell clanging. The trace-horses pressed close to the shafts and sticking in the snow kicked it up, hard and glittering as sugar.
Nikolay followed the first sledge: behind him he heard the noise and crunch of the other two. At first they drove at a slow trot along the narrow road. As they drove by the garden, the shadows of the leafless trees often lay right across the road and hid the bright moonlight. But as soon as they were out of their grounds, the snowy plain, glittering like a diamond with bluish lights in it, lay stretched out on all sides, all motionless and bathed in moonlight. Now and again a hole gave the first sledge a jolt; the next was jolted in just the same way, and the next, and the sledges followed one another, rudely breaking the iron-bound stillness.
“A hare's track, a lot of tracks!” Natasha's voice rang out in the frost-bound air.
“How light it is, Nikolenka,” said the voice of Sonya.
Nikolay looked round at Sonya, and bent down to look at her face closer. It was a quite new, charming face with black moustaches, and eyebrows that peeped up at him from the sable fur—so close yet so distant—in the moonlight.
“That used to be Sonya,” thought Nikolay. He looked closer at her and smiled.
“What is it, Nikolenka?”
“Nothing,” he said, and turned to his horses again.
As they came out on the trodden highroad, polished by sledge runners, and all cut up by the tracks of spiked horseshoes visible in the snow in the moonlight—the horses of their own accord tugged at the reins and quickened their pace. The left trace-horse, arching his head, pulled in jerks at his traces. The shaft-horse swayed to and fro, pricking up his ears as though to ask: “Are we to begin or is it too soon?” Zahar's sledge could be distinctly seen, black against the white snow, a long way ahead now, and its deep-toned bell seemed to be getting further away. They could hear shouts and laughter and talk from his sledge.
“Now then, my darlings!” shouted Nikolay, pulling a rein on one side, and moving his whip hand. It was only from the wind seeming to blow more freely in their faces, and from the tugging of the pulling trace-horses, quickening their trot, that they saw how fast the sledge was flying along. Nikolay looked behind. The other sledges, with crunching runners, with shouts, and cracking of whips, were hurrying after them. Their shaft-horse was moving vigorously under the yoke, with no sign of slackening, and every token of being ready to go faster and faster if required.
Nikolay overtook the first sledge. They drove down a hill and into a wide, trodden road by a meadow near a river.
“Where are we?” Nikolay wondered. “Possibly Kosoy Meadow, I suppose. But no; this is something new I never saw before. This is not the Kosoy Meadow nor Demkin hill. It's something—there's no knowing what. It's something new and fairy-like. Well, come what may!” And shouting to his horses, he began to drive by the first sledge. Zahar pulled up his horses and turned his face, which was white with hoar-frost to the eyebrows.
Nikolay let his horses go; Zahar, stretching his hands forward, urged his on. “Come, hold on, master,” said he.
The sledges dashed along side by side, even more swiftly, and the horses' hoofs flew up and down more and more quickly. Nikolay began to get ahead. Zahar, still keeping his hands stretched forward, raised one hand with the reins.
“Nonsense, master,” he shouted. Nikolay put his three horses into a gallop and outstripped Zahar. The horses scattered the fine dry snow in their faces; close by they heard the ringing of the bells and the horses' legs moving rapidly out of step, and they saw the shadows of the sledge behind. From different sides came the crunch of runners over the snow, and the shrieks of girls. Stopping his horses again, Nikolay looked round him. All around him lay still the same enchanted plain, bathed in moon-light, with stars scattered over its surface.
“Zahar's shouting that I'm to turn to the left, but why to the left?” thought Nikolay. “Are we really going to the Melyukovs'; is this really Melyukovka? God knows where we are going, and God knows what is going to become of us—and very strange and nice it is what is happening to us.” He looked round in the sledge.
“Look, his moustache and his eyelashes are all white,” said one of the strange, pretty, unfamiliar figures sitting by him, with fine moustaches and eyebrows.
“I believe that was Natasha,” thought Nikolay; “and that was Madame Schoss; but perhaps it's not so; and that Circassian with the moustaches I don't know, but I love her.”
“Aren't you cold?” he asked them. They laughed and did not answer. Dimmler from the sledge behind shouted, probably something funny, but they could not make out what he said.
“Yes, yes,” voices answered, laughing.
But now came a sort of enchanted forest with shifting, black shadows, and the glitter of diamonds, and a flight of marble steps, and silver roofs of enchanted buildings, and the shrill whine of some beasts. “And if it really is Melyukovka, then it's stranger than ever that after driving, God knows where, we should come to Melyukovka,” thought Nikolay.
It certainly was Melyukovka, and footmen and maid-servants were running out with lights and beaming faces.
“Who is it?” was asked from the entrance.
“The mummers from the count's; I can see by the horses,” answered voices.
“你是否常有这种情形，”当他们在摆满沙发的休息室里坐下来，娜塔莎对哥哥说，“你仿佛认为，将来不会发生什么事情，不会发生什么事情，一切美好的事情都已成为明日黄花？不是说令人愁闷，而是说忧郁，你是否常有这种情形？”
“有，别提多么好啦！”他说，“我常有这种情形，一切都很称心，大家十分高兴，可是我忽然想到，一切令人厌烦，大家要去见阎王了。有一回，我没有出席兵团里的游园会，那里正在奏乐……我忽然感到厌烦……”
“啊呀，这个我知道，我知道，我知道”娜塔莎接着说。
“当我还是小女孩的时候，我也有过这样的情形。你总记得，有一次因为李子的事情我被处罚了，你们大家都在跳舞，而我却坐在教室里嚎啕大哭，这件事我永远不会忘记：那时候我感到忧愁并且可怜大伙儿，也可怜自己，可怜所有的人。主要是，我没有过错，”娜塔莎说道，“你还记得么？”
“记得。”尼古拉说，“我记得，后来我向你身边走去，我想安慰你，你要知道，我感到很不好意思。我们都太可笑了。
当时我有个木偶玩具，我想送给你。你记得么？”
“你总记得吧，”娜塔莎若有所思地微笑，她说道，“很久很久以前，我们还是个小孩的时候，叔叔把我们叫到旧屋的书斋里去，暗得很，我们一走进来，忽然间有个人站在那里……”
“黑人奴仆，”尼古拉含着愉快的微笑说完这句话，“怎么会记不得呢？直至目前我也不知道，这个人就是黑人奴仆，或者是我们做了一个梦，或者是别人对我们讲的。”
“他这个黑人灰溜溜的，你总记得，可是他露出雪白的牙齿，他站着，观看我们……”
“您记得吗，索尼娅？”尼古拉问道……
“记得，我记得，我也记得一点。”索尼娅胆怯地回答……“我不是向爸爸妈妈问过这个黑人嘛，”娜塔莎说，“他们说，没有任何黑人奴仆。你不是还记得很清楚嘛！”
“可不是，他的牙齿我至今还记忆犹新。”
“多么奇怪，真像做过一个梦。我喜欢这个。”
“你总记得，我们在大厅里滚鸡蛋，忽然有两个老太婆在地毯上打转转。有没有这回事？多么轻松愉快，还记得吧？”
“是的。你总记得，爸爸穿着蓝皮袄站在台阶上放了一枪？”他们面露微笑，怀着回忆往事的喜悦心情，不是忧悒的老者的回顾，而是富有诗情画意的青春的回忆——他们逐一回想那些梦景和现实融为一体的久远的印象，不知为什么而感到高兴，不时地发出轻微的笑声。
尽管他们有着共同的回忆，但是索尼娅像平常一样比他们落伍。
他们回忆的往事中，索尼娅已经忘记许多了，而她所记得的往事在她心中也不会激起他们所体验到的那种感情。她只是竭力地效法他们，分享他们的欢乐。
在他们回忆起索尼娅首次来到他们家中的时候，她才参加谈话。索尼娅讲到她害怕尼古拉，因为他的夹克上有几根绦带，保姆对她说，也要给她的上衣缝几根绦带。
“我可还记得，有人对我说，你是在白菜下面出生的，”娜塔莎说，“我还记得，我当时不敢不相信，但是我知道，这不是实话，这也就使我感到尴尬了。”
在谈话时，一个女佣从休息室的后门探出头来。
“小姐，有人把公鸡拿来了。”那个女仆用耳语说。
“用不着了，波利娅①，吩咐他们把它拿走吧。”娜塔莎说。
他们在摆满沙发的休息室谈话，谈到半中间的时候，季姆勒走进房里来，他走到放在角落里的竖琴前面，取下那覆盖竖琴的呢子布，竖琴发出走调的响声。
“爱德华·卡尔雷奇，请您弹奏一首我爱听的菲尔德先生的Nocturne②吧。”从客厅里传来老伯爵夫人的语气。
①波利娅是佩拉格娅的小名。
②法语：夜曲。约翰·菲尔德（1782～1837）——钢琴家和作曲家，他以钢琴协奏曲和夜曲而闻名于世。1804—1831年间定居于彼得堡，讲授课程并举行音乐会。
季姆勒弹奏了和弦，把脸转向娜塔莎、尼古拉和索尼娅，说道：
“嗬，年轻人乖乖地坐着啊！”
“我们谈论哲学问题吧。”娜塔莎说，她回顾片刻，之后继续谈话。此时的话题是梦幻。
季姆勒开始弹琴。娜塔莎踮着脚尖儿一声不响地走到桌旁，拿起蜡烛，把它移开，就往回头走，静静地坐在原来的位子上。这间房里，特别是他们坐的沙发那儿很昏暗，但是一轮满月的银辉透过几扇大窗户照在地板上。
“你要知道，我想，”娜塔莎向尼古拉和索尼娅身边靠拢一些，用耳语说，这时候季姆勒弹奏完毕，仍旧坐在那里，轻盈地拨弄琴弦，心中犹豫不决，就这样罢休呢，还是再弹点新花样。我想，“如果这样回想，再回想，总是这样回想，就会回想起在我还没有出世之前我所记得的事情……”
“这就是灵魂的转生，”索尼娅说道，她一向学习成绩优良，什么都记得很牢。“埃及人相信我们的灵魂曾经附在牲畜身上，以后又会回归到牲畜身上。”
“不对，你知道，我不相信我们曾经附在牲畜身上这种看法，”尽管已经停止了弹奏，但是娜塔莎还用耳语说话，“我的确知道，我们曾在某个地方是安琪儿，而且到过这个地方，因此我们什么都记得很牢……”
“我可以加入你们一伙吗？”悄悄地走到他们跟前来的季姆勒说道，并且在他们身旁坐下。
“既然我们曾经是安琪儿，那末我们怎么会降到更低的地方？”尼古拉说道，“不对，这不可能！”
“不是更低，谁对你说更低呢？……为什么我知道我前世是什么，”娜塔莎以坚定的口气驳斥。“要知道灵魂是不朽的……因此，只要我是永生的，那末我从前也活着，永恒地活着。”
“不过，对我们来说永恒是难以想象的。”季姆勒说，他流露着温顺而鄙夷的笑容走到年轻人跟前，但是这时候他也像他们一样低声而严肃地说话。
“为什么说永恒是难以想象的？”娜塔莎说，“有今天，有明白，永无止镜，有昨日，有前日……”
“娜塔莎！现在轮到你了。你给我唱个什么曲子，”这时可以听见伯爵夫人的语声，“你们为什么要在这儿坐得太久，就像一伙阴谋家似的？”
“妈妈，我很不想唱。”娜塔莎说道，而且站起来。
他们大家，甚至连年纪不轻的季姆勒也不想停止谈话和离开休息室的这个角落，但是娜塔莎站起来，于是尼古拉就在击弦古钢琴旁边坐下。像平常一样，娜塔莎站在大厅正中间，选了个最聚音的地方，开始唱一支她母亲爱听的乐曲。
她说她不想唱歌，但在很久以前和此后很久都没有这天晚上唱得那样好。伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇和米坚卡在书斋里谈话，听到她的歌声，就像个急忙想去玩耍的学童快点把功课做完那样，给管家下命令时语无伦次，终于不吭声了，米坚卡也默默无语地听她唱，面露微笑地站在伯爵前面。尼古拉目不转睛地望着妹妹，和她一同喘息。索尼娅一面听着，一面想到，她和她的朋友之间的差距多么大，她怎么不能像她表妹那样令人倾倒即使有一点也好。老伯爵夫人坐在那里，流露出幸福而忧悒的微笑，眼睛里噙满泪水，有时摇摇头。也想到娜塔莎，想到自己的青年时代，她想到娜塔莎和安德烈公爵快要办的这门婚事中有某种不寻常的令人担忧的东西。
季姆勒在伯爵夫人身旁坐下来，合上眼睛，听他们说话。
“伯爵夫人，不过，”他终于开口说话，“这是欧洲的天才，她没有什么可学的了，这种和善、温存、强而有力……”
“噢，我多么替她担忧，我多么担忧。”伯爵夫人说，她忘记在和谁说话。她那母亲的嗅觉对她说，不知道娜塔莎身上的什么东西显得太多了，所以她将来不会幸福。娜塔莎还没有唱完曲子，面露喜色的十四步的彼佳跑进房里来，通知大家，说有一些穿化装衣服的人来了。
娜塔莎忽然站住了。
“傻瓜！”她对她哥哥喊道，跑到了椅子前面，倒在椅子上，号啕大哭起来，之后哭了很久也没有罢休。
“妈妈，没什么，真的没什么，是怎么回事：彼佳吓唬我了。”她说着，极力地露出微笑，但是眼泪籁籁地流，啜泣使她透不过气来。
家仆们一个个化装成狗熊、土耳其人、小饭店老板和太太，既可怕，又可笑，随身带来了冷气和欢乐，最初他们畏葸葸地蜷缩在接待室里，然后互相躲在背后挤入了大厅，起初有点羞羞答答，后来就越来越快活，越来越和谐地唱歌、跳舞、跳轮舞，做圣诞节日的游戏。伯爵夫人认清了面孔，对着穿化装衣服的人笑了一阵子，便走进客厅里去。伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇坐在大厅中笑逐颜开，赞美玩耍的人。一些轻年人不知溜到哪里去了。
半小时后，还有一个穿着鲸须架式筒裙的老夫人在大厅的其他一些身穿化装衣服的人中间出现了——这是尼古拉。彼佳化装成土耳其女人。季姆勒扮成丑角，娜塔莎扮成骠骑兵，索尼娅扮成切尔克斯人（有一副用软木炭画的胡子和眉毛）。
在没有穿上化装衣服的人们宽厚地对他们表示惊叹、表示认不清庐山真面目、并且表示赞美之后，年轻人都一致认为装束十分美观，还应当到别人面前去展示一番。
尼古拉心里想用他的三架雪橇运载着他们所有的人在畅通的大道上游玩一下，他建议随带十名穿上化装衣服的家仆去大叔那里走一趟。
“不行，你们干嘛要使老头子难堪！”伯爵夫人说。“他那里连个转身的地方都没有。真要去的话，那就去梅柳科娃家。”
梅柳科娃是一个遗孀，她住在离罗斯托夫家四俄里的地方，有几个不同年龄的孩子，也雇有几个男女家庭教师。
“我亲爱的，好主意，”振作起精神来的老伯爵附和着说，“让我立刻化起装来和你们同去吧。我的确要使帕金塔打起精神来。”
然而伯爵夫人不准伯爵走，因为他那条腿痛了好几天了。他们决定，伊利亚·安德烈耶维奇不去，如果路易萨·伊万诺夫娜（肖斯小姐）一定要去，那么小姐们都可以乘车到梅柳科娃家里去。一向胆怯、羞羞答答的索尼娅最坚决地央求路易萨·伊万诺夫娜不要拒绝她们去。
索尼娅打扮得比谁都漂亮。她那用软木炭画的胡子和眉毛对她非常相称。大家都对她说，她很好看。她显得异常兴奋和精神充沛，这种情绪对她来说是不一般的。一种发自内心的声音对她说，或许是今天决定她的命运，或许是永远也不能决定，她穿上男人的服装，好像完全变成另外一个人了。路易萨·伊万诺夫娜答应了，半个钟头之后，四辆带有铃鼓，铃铛的三架雪橇开到了台阶前面，滑铁在冰冻的雪地上发出咯吱咯吱的响声。
娜塔莎头一个发出圣诞节狂欢的口令并以愉快情绪互相感染着，越来越热烈，当大家走到严寒的户外，彼此叫喊，互相呼应，谈笑风生，坐上雪橇的时候，狂欢情绪到达了顶峰。
驿马驮着前二辆三驾雪橇，老伯爵乘坐第三辆雪橇，由奥尔洛夫的大走马驾辕，尼古拉乘坐私人的第四辆雪橇，由他那匹矮身量的、毛烘烘的黑马驾辕。尼古拉穿着一件老太婆的衣裳，外面披上束紧腰带的骠骑兵斗篷，拉紧缰绳站在这几辆雪橇的中间。
天还很亮，他看见搭扣和辕马的眼睛在月亮下发出反光，这几匹马儿惊恐地望着那些在黑暗的台阶上的遮阳下喧嚷喊叫的骑者。
娜塔莎、索尼娅、肖斯小姐和两个丫头坐在尼古拉的雪橇上。季姆勒偕同妻子和彼佳坐在老伯爵的雪橇上，化装的仆役分别坐在其馀几辆雪橇上。
“扎哈尔，你先走吧！”尼古拉对父亲的马车夫喊了一声，但意欲乘机于途中赶到前面去。
季姆勒和其他几个化装的人乘坐的老伯爵的那辆三驾雪橇上，滑铁好像冻结在雪上似的，咯吱咯吱地作响，不时地听见低沉的叮叮当当的铃声，雪橇开始向前移动了。两匹拉边套的马紧紧地贴近车辕，马蹄陷进雪地里，翻卷起坚硬得有如白糖似的闪闪发光的积雪。
尼古拉跟在第一辆三驾雪橇后面出发了，其他几辆雪橇在后面发出咯咯吱吱的响声。最初在狭窄的路上跑快步。当他们从花园近旁驶过的时候，光秃秃的树木的阴影常常横断道路，遮蔽明亮的月光，但是他们一驶出围墙，整个洒满月光的一动不动的雪原就像钻石似的发出灰蓝色的反光，从四面展现出来。前面的雪橇在行驶时碰到了一个坑洼，颠簸了一两下，后面的几辆雪橇也同样地碰到了坑洼，这几辆雪橇莽莽撞撞地打破禁锢着的寂静，开始拉开距离向前驶去。
“野兔的脚印，很多的脚印！”在冰冻天气的冷空气中传来娜塔莎的说话声。
“看得多么清楚啊，尼古拉！”可以听见索尼娅的说话声。尼古拉掉转头来望望索尼娅，他俯下身子凑近她，谛视她的面孔。那张和从前迥然不同的可爱的面孔从貂皮围脖下面显露出来，软木炭画的眉毛和胡子黑黝黝的，在月色映照之下似近又远。
“这还是从前的那个索尼娅。”尼古拉想了一下。他从更近的地方看看她，微微一笑。
“您怎么，尼古拉？”
“没什么。”他说，又向那几匹马转过脸去。
走上了平整的大路，路面给滑铁磨得锃亮，在月光映照之下可以看见纵横交错的马掌钉的印痕，这些马儿不自觉地拉紧缰绳，加快了步速。那匹在左首拉边套的马低垂着头，时而轻轻拉一下挽索。辕马摇晃着身子，动动耳朵，好像在发问：“现在就开始，或者是还早？”扎哈尔的黑色的雪橇在白皑皑的雪地上还可以看得清楚，但是它已经驶到很远的前方去了，低沉的铃声也渐渐隔远了。可以听见他的雪橇中传来的喊声、欢笑声和化装的人们的说话声。
“喂，加把劲，亲爱的！”尼古拉喊了一声，轻轻地拉着一根缰绳，放开挥扬马鞭的手。只凭那仿佛迎面吹来的越吹越大的风声、拉紧挽缰和加速飞奔的拉边套的辕马的牵动，就可以明显地意识到，三驾雪橇何等迅速地飞奔。尼古拉回头望了一眼，另外几辆雪橇也赶上前来，扬起马鞭驱使辕马飞奔，雪橇中传来一片呐喊声和尖叫声。那匹辕马在轭下坚毅地晃地身子，没有考虑减低步速，于必要时情愿加一把劲，再加一把劲。
尼古拉赶上了第一辆三驾雪橇。他们从一座山上驶行下来，已经驶到河边草地中轧宽的路上。
“我们在什么地方行驶呢？”尼古拉想了想，“想必是在科索伊草地上。不对，这是个我从未见过的新地方。这不是科索伊草地，也不是焦姆金山，天知道这是个啥地方啊！这是个什么神奇的新地方。不管那是个什么地方啊！”他对几匹马大喝一声，开始绕过第一辆三驾雪橇。
扎哈尔勒住马，把他那一直到眉毛上挂满霜的脸转过来。
尼古拉撒开他的几匹马，扎哈尔向前伸出他自己的两只手，吧嗒一下嘴，也撒开他自己的马。
“喂，少爷，沉住气。”他说道。几辆并排的三驾雪橇驶行得更快，疾驰的马儿飞快地变换脚步。尼古拉冲到前面去了。扎哈尔还没有改变向前伸出两手的姿势，微微地抬起他那只紧握缰绳的手。
“少爷，不对头。”他向尼古拉嚷道。尼古拉让那几匹马向前飞跃，终于赶过了扎哈尔。马在疾跑时翻卷起微小而干爽的雪粒，撒到那些乘车人的脸上，他们身边可以听见繁密的铿锵的响声，急速地移动的马蹄和被赶过的三驾雪橇的阴影乱成一团了。从雪地的四面传来滑铁咯吱咯吱的响声和妇女们刺耳的尖叫声。
尼古拉又勒住马，向周遭望了一眼。四下里仍旧是繁星闪耀的、完全沉浸在月光中的神奇的平原。
“扎哈尔叫我向左边走，可是干嘛要向左边走呢？”尼古拉想道。“难道我们是驶向梅柳科娃家吧？难道这就是梅柳科娃的村庄吗？天知道我们在哪里驶行，天知道我们会发生什么事情。不过我们现在感到非常奇怪而且舒畅。”他朝雪橇里瞥了一眼。
“你瞧，他的胡髭和睫毛全是白的。”一个坐在雪橇里的长着细胡子、细眉毛、样子古怪而清秀的陌生人说。
“这个人好像是娜塔莎，”尼古拉想了想，“这是肖斯小姐，也许不是，这个有胡髭的切尔克斯人，我不知道她是谁，可是我爱她。”
“你们不觉得冷吗？”他问道。他们不答话，哈哈大笑起来。坐在后面那辆雪橇上的季姆勒不知道在喊什么，也许是可笑的事情，可是他喊什么，听不清楚。
“对，对，”可以听见有几个人一面发笑，一面回答。
“不过，这是一座仙境般的树林，黑色的树荫和钻石般闪耀的光点互相辉映，还有一长排穿廊式的大理石台阶，神奇的建筑物的银顶，可以听见野兽刺耳的尖叫声。设若这真是梅柳科娃的村庄，那就更加奇怪了，天知道我们在哪里行驶，我们总算来到了梅柳科娃的村庄。”尼古拉想道。
这真是梅柳科娃的村庄，一些丫头和仆人拿着蜡烛，露出愉快的面容跑到大门口。
“这是什么人啊？”有人在大门口问道。
“看看那些马，我就晓得，这是化了装的伯爵家里的人，”
可以听见几个人回答的声音。
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