NATASHA was calmer, but no happier. She did not merely shun every external form of amusement—balls, skating, concerts, and theatres—but she never even laughed without the sound of tears behind her laughter. She could not sing. As soon as she began to laugh or attempted to sing all by herself, tears choked her: tears of remorse; tears of regret for that time of pure happiness that could never return; tears of vexation that she should so wantonly have ruined her young life, that might have been so happy. Laughter and singing especially seemed to her like scoffing at her grief. She never even thought of desiring admiration; she had no impulse of vanity to restrain. She said and felt at that time that all men were no more to her than Nastasya Ivanovna, the buffoon. An inner sentinel seemed to guard against every sort of pleasure. And, indeed, she seemed to have lost all the old interests of her girlish, careless life, that had been so full of hope. Most often, and with most pining, she brooded over the memory of those autumn months, the hunting, the old uncle, and the Christmas holidays spent with Nikolay at Otradnoe. What would she not have given to bring back one single day of that time! But it was all over for her. Her presentiment at the time had not deceived her, that such a time of freedom and readiness for every enjoyment would never come again. But yet she had to live.

It comforted her to think, not that she was better, as she had once fancied, but worse, far worse than any one, than any one in the whole world. But that meant little to her. She believed it; but then she asked: “And what next?” And there was nothing to come. There was no gladness in life, but life was passing. All Natasha tried after was plainly to be no burden to others, and not to hinder other people's enjoyment; but for herself she wanted nothing. She held aloof from all the household. It was only with her brother, Petya, that she felt at ease. She liked being with him better than being with the rest, and sometimes even laughed when she was alone with him. She hardly left the house to go anywhere; and of the guests who came to the house she was only glad to see one person—Pierre. No one could have been more tender, circumspect, and at the same time serious, than Count Bezuhov in his manner to her. Natasha was unconsciously aware of this tenderness, and it was owing to it that she found more pleasure in his society. But she was not even grateful to him for it. Nothing good in him seemed to her due to an effort on Pierre's part. It seemed so natural to Pierre to be kind that there was no merit in his kindness. Sometimes Natasha noticed some confusion or awkwardness in Pierre in her presence, especially when he was trying to do something for her pleasure or afraid something in the conversation might suggest to her painful reminiscences. She observed this, and put it down to his general kindliness and shyness, which she supposed would be the same with every one else. Ever since those unforeseen words—that if he had been free, he would have asked on his knees for her hand and her love—uttered in a moment full of violent emotion for her, Pierre had said nothing of his feelings to Natasha; and it seemed to her clear that those words, which had so comforted her, had been uttered, just as one says any meaningless nonsense to console a weeping child. It was not because Pierre was a married man, but because Natasha felt between herself and him the force of that moral barrier—of the absence of which she had been so conscious with Kuragin—that the idea never occurred to her that her relations with Pierre might develop into love on her side, and still less on his, or even into that tender, self-conscious, romantic friendship between a man and a woman, of which she had known several instances.

Towards the end of St. Peter's fast, Agrafena Ivanovna Byelov, a country neighbour of the Rostovs, came to Moscow to pay her devotions to the saints there. She suggested to Natasha that she should prepare herself for the Sacrament, and Natasha caught eagerly at the suggestion. Although the doctors forbade her going out early in the morning, Natasha insisted on keeping the fast, and not simply as it was kept in the Rostovs' household, by taking part in three services in the house, but keeping it as Agrafena Ivanova was doing, that is to say, for a whole week, not missing a single early morning service, or litany, or vesper.

The countess was pleased at these signs of religious fervour in Natasha. After the poor results of medical treatment, at the bottom of her heart she hoped that prayer would do more for her than medicine; and though she concealed it from the doctors and had some inward misgivings, she fell in with Natasha's wishes, and intrusted her to Madame Byelov.

Agrafena Ivanovna went in to wake Natasha at three o'clock in the night, and frequently found her not asleep. Natasha was afraid of sleeping too late for the early morning service. Hurriedly washing, and in all humility putting on her shabbiest dress and old mantle, Natasha, shuddering at the chill air, went out into the deserted streets, in the limpid light of the early dawn. By the advice of Agrafena Ivanovna, Natasha did not attend the services of her own parish church, but went to a church where the priest was esteemed by the devout Madame Byelov as being of a particularly severe and exemplary life. There were few people in the church. Natasha and Madame Byelov always took the same seat before an image of the Mother of God, carved at the back of the left choir; and a new feeling of humility before the great mystery came over Natasha, as at that unusual hour in the morning she gazed at the black outline of the Mother of God, with the light of the candles burning in front of it, and the morning light falling on it from the window. She listened to the words of the service, and tried to follow and understand them. When she did understand them, all the shades of her personal feeling blended with her prayer; when she did not understand, it was still sweeter for her to think that the desire to understand all was pride, that she could not comprehend all; that she had but to believe and give herself up to God, Who was, she felt, at those moments guiding her soul. She crossed herself, bowed to the ground, and when she did not follow, simply prayed to God to forgive her everything, everything, and to have mercy on her, in horror at her own vileness. The prayer into which she threw herself heart and soul was the prayer of repentance. On the way home in the early morning, when they met no one but masons going to their work, or porters cleaning the streets, and every one was asleep in the houses, Natasha had a new sense of the possibility of correcting herself of her sins and leading a new life of purity and happiness.

During the week she spent in this way, that feeling grew stronger with every day. And the joy of “communication,” as Agrafena Ivanovna liked to call taking the Communion, seemed to her so great that she fancied she could not live till that blissful Sunday.

But the happy day did come. And when on that memorable Sunday Natasha returned from the Sacrament wearing a white muslin dress, for the first time for many months she felt at peace, and not oppressed by the life that lay before her.

The doctor came that day to see Natasha, and gave directions for the powders to be continued that he had begun prescribing a fortnight ago. “She must certainly go on taking them morning and evening,” he said, with visible and simple-hearted satisfaction at the success of his treatment. “Please, don't forget them. You may set your mind at rest, countess,” the doctor said playfully, as he deftly received the gold in the hollow of his palm. “She will soon be singing and dancing again. The last medicine has done her great, great good. She is very much better.”

The countess looked at her finger-nails and spat, to avert the ill-omen of such words, as with a cheerful face she went back to the drawing-room.

娜塔莎更平静了，但是却不快活。她不仅回避外界所有使人愉快的环境：舞会、滑冰、音乐会、剧院；而且没有哪一次笑星不含着泪水的。她不能唱歌。她刚一开始笑或者想独自一个人唱歌，泪水便呜咽了她：悔恨的眼泪，对那一去不复返的纯洁时光回忆的泪；恼恨的泪，恨自己白白地毁掉了那本来可以过得幸福的青春生活。她尤其觉得欢笑和歌唱对她的悲伤是一种亵渎。她不想搔首弄姿；她甚至不需要克制自己。她这样说，也感觉到：此时的男人对她来说完全与小丑娜斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜一样。内心的恐惧禁止她有任何欢乐。而且她已没有了往日所有的生活趣味，那无忧无虑、充满希望的少女生活情趣。最经常也是最使她痛心的是回忆起往日的秋季，狩猎，叔叔和Nicolas一起在奥特拉德诺耶度过的圣诞节。哪怕再过上一天这样的时光，她肯愿付出任何代价！但这一切都永远结束了。预感没有欺骗她，无拘无束、随时都拥有所有快乐的生活已经一去不复返了。但是要活下去。

使她愉快的是想到她不像她以前想的那么好，而是比世界上任何人都更坏，而且坏得多，不过这还不够。她知道这一点，并问自己：“以后怎么办呢？”而以后什么也没有。生活中没有任何欢乐，而生活存流逝。虽然，娜塔莎尽力不使任何人感到有负担，只有不妨碍任何人，可是自己什么也不需要。她避开所有家人，只有与弟弟彼佳在一起才感到轻松些。比起与别人在一起，她更愿和他在一起；有时他们的眼睛瞪着眼睛，大笑起来。她几乎是不出户，在常到她家里来的人中，使她高兴的只有一个人——皮埃尔。没有人能比别祖霍夫伯爵待她更温存、更小心、更严肃的了。娜塔莎不知不觉中感觉得到这种温柔体贴，因而与他在一起感到极大的欢愉。可是她并不感谢他的温存。她觉得皮埃尔做任何好事都不费力。好像皮埃尔是那样自然地善待所有的人，他的善良并没有任何功劳。有时娜塔莎看出皮埃尔在她面前局促不安、不自然，特别是当他害怕在谈话中可能有什么会引起娜塔莎难堪的回忆。她发现这点，并认为这是由于他禀性善良和腼腆，按照她的理解，他对包括她在内的所有的人，都一视同仁。自从他在她极度激动的时刻，无意中说出如果他是自由的，他会跪下来向她求爱的话之后，皮埃尔再也未倾诉任何他对娜塔莎的感情；在她看来，那些话显然是安慰她的话，就像大人在安慰哭啼的孩子时随口说的话一样。不是由于皮埃尔是已婚的男人，而是由于娜塔莎觉得在她与皮埃尔之间有很高的精神障碍，她觉得与库拉金之间就没有那种障碍——她脑海中从未有过这类念头，在她和皮埃尔的关系中，不可能从她这方面，更不可能从他那方面产生爱情，甚至连那种她了解的几例男人和女人之间的温柔多情、羞羞答答、诗意般的友谊也不可能在她头脑中浮现。

圣彼得斋戒日要结束时，罗斯托夫家在奥特拉德诺耶的女邻居阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜·别洛娃来到莫斯科朝拜莫斯科圣徒。她建议娜塔莎斋戒祈祷，娜塔莎马上高兴地接受了这个主意。尽管医嘱禁止一大早外出，娜塔莎还是坚持要这样做，这种斋戒祈祷不像罗斯托夫家通常在家里作的那种也就只进行三次就完了的祈祷，而是要像阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜那样，整个星期都不错过晚祷、弥撒和晨祷。

伯爵夫人喜欢娜塔莎的这种诚心；在医疗无效之后，她在心里希望祷告比药物能更大地帮助她，虽然提心吊胆地瞒着医生，但却满足了娜塔莎的愿望，并把她托付给了别洛娃。阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜夜里三点钟来叫醒娜塔莎，大多数时候发现此时她已醒来了。娜塔莎怕错过晨祷的时间。娜塔莎匆匆忙忙地洗过脸，带着虔诚穿上自己最破的衣裳，披上斗篷，在清新空气中抖抖索索，走到朝霞通明、空旷无人的大街上。依照阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜的劝告，娜塔莎不在自己的教区祷告，而是在另外一所教堂祷告，据虔诚的别洛娃说，那儿有一位过着极端严肃和高尚生活的神父。教堂里的人总是很少；娜塔莎和别洛娃在嵌在唱诗班左后方的圣母像前面停下来，站在她们常站的地方。每当在这不寻常的早晨凝视着被烛光和窗外射进的晨光照亮的圣母暗黑的脸庞，听着那她紧跟着念并努力理解的祷文。在这伟大的不可知的事物面前，娜塔莎总有一种未曾体验的谦卑的感觉。当她理解了祷文时，她那带有个人色彩的感情与她的祷词融合起来；当她不懂时，更愉快地想到，想明白一切的愿望是值得骄傲的，人不可能理解所有事物，只要相信和皈依此刻在她的意识中支配她灵魂的上帝就行了。她划十字，鞠躬，当她对自己卑劣的行为感到恐惧和不明白时，只求上帝原谅她、宽恕她的一切，对她大发慈悲。最能使她全神贯注的是忏悔祷告。大清早回家时，只碰见去赶工的泥瓦匠，扫街的清道夫，回到家里，所有人都仍在酣睡。娜塔莎体验到一种从未有过的感情，觉得有可能纠正自己的错误，过一种纯洁、幸福的新生活。

在连续过这种生活的整个星期，这种感觉一天天增强。领圣体或者像阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜喜欢说的话“领圣餐”，娜塔莎觉得这种幸福是多么伟大，她甚至觉得她活不到这个极乐的礼拜日。

但是幸福日子终于来临，在这对她值得纪念的礼拜日，当娜塔莎身着雪白的细纱衣裳领过圣餐归来时，无数个月以来她第一次感受到了心平气和不为眼前的生活所压抑。

这天，医生来看娜塔莎，吩咐她继续服他在两个星期前最后开的那些药粉。

“每天早晚一定要继续服药，”他说，显然，他对自己的成功由衷地满意。“不过，不能大意。伯爵夫人您放心吧。”医生一面开玩笑地说，一面麻利地接过一枚金币握在手心里，很快她就又唱又跳了。最后一剂药对她非常、非常有效。她大有起色了。

伯爵夫人看了看手指甲，吐了一点唾沫，喜形于色地回到客厅。