SEVEN DAYS had passed since Prince Andrey had found himself in the ambulance station on the field of Borodino. All that time he had been in a state of almost continual unconsciousness. The fever and inflammation of the bowels, which had been injured, were, in the opinion of the doctor accompanying the wounded, certain to carry him off. But on the seventh day he ate with relish a piece of bread with some tea, and the doctor observed that the fever was going down. Prince Andrey had regained consciousness in the morning. The first night after leaving Moscow had been fairly warm, and Prince Andrey had spent the night in his carriage. But at Mytishtchy the wounded man had himself asked to be moved and given tea. The pain caused by moving him into the hut had made Prince Andrey groan aloud and lose consciousness again. When he had been laid on his camp bedstead, he lay a long while with closed eyes without moving. Then he opened his eyes and whispered softly, “How about the tea?” The doctor was struck by this instance of consciousness of the little details of daily life. He felt his pulse, and to his surprise and dissatisfaction found that the pulse was stronger. The doctor's dissatisfaction was due to the fact that he felt certain from his experience that Prince Andrey could not live, and that if he did not die now, he would only die a little later with even greater suffering. With Prince Andrey was the red-nosed major of his regiment, Timohin, who had joined him in Moscow with a wound in his leg received at the same battle of Borodino. The doctor, the prince's valet, and coachman, and two orderlies were in charge of them.
Tea was given to Prince Andrey. He drank it eagerly, looking with feverish eyes at the door in front of him, as though trying to understand and recall something.
“No more. Is Timohin here?” he asked.
Timohin edged along the bench towards him.
“I am here, your excellency.”
“How is your wound?”
“Mine? All right. But how are you?”
Prince Andrey pondered again, as though he were recollecting something.
“Could not one get a book here?” he said.
“What book?”
“The Gospel! I haven't one.”
The doctor promised to get it, and began questioning the prince about his symptoms. Prince Andrey answered all the doctor's questions rationally, though reluctantly, and then said that he wanted a support put under him, as it was uncomfortable and very painful for him as he was. The doctor and the valet took off the military cloak, with which he was covered, and puckering up their faces at the sickly smell of putrefying flesh that came from the wound, began to look into the terrible place. The doctor was very much troubled about something; he made some changes, turning the wounded man over so that he groaned again, and again lost consciousness from the pain when they turned him over. He began to be delirious, and kept asking for the book to be brought and to be put under him. “What trouble would it be to you?” he kept saying. “I haven't it, get it me, please,—put it under me just for a minute,” he said in a piteous voice.
The doctor went outside to wash his hands.
“Ah, you have no conscience, you fellows really,” the doctor was saying to the valet, who was pouring water over his hands. “For one minute I didn't look after you. Why, it's such suffering that I wonder how he bears it.”
“I thought we did put it under him right, by the Lord Jesus Christ,” said the valet.
Prince Andrey had for the first time grasped where he was and what was happening to him, and had recollected that he had been wounded and how at the moment when the carriage had stopped at Mytishtchy, and he had asked to be taken into the hut. Losing consciousness again from the pain, he came fully to himself once more in the hut while he was drinking tea. And thereupon again, going over in his memory all that had happened to him, the most vivid picture in his mind was of that moment at the ambulance station when at the sight of the sufferings of a man he had not liked, those new thoughts had come to him with such promise of happiness. And those thoughts—though vague now and shapeless—took possession of his soul again. He remembered that he had now some new happiness, and that that happiness had something to do with the Gospel. That was why he asked for the Gospel. But the position he had been laid in, without support under his wound, and the new change of position, put his thoughts to confusion again; and it was only in the complete stillness of the night that he came to himself again for the third time. Every one was asleep around him. A cricket was chirping across the passage; some one was shouting and singing in the street; cockroaches were rustling over the table, the holy images and the walls; a big fly flopped on his pillow and about the tallow candle that stood with a great, smouldering wick beside him.
His soul was not in its normal state. A man in health usually thinks, feels and remembers simultaneously an immense number of different things, but he has the power and the faculty of selecting one series of ideas or phenomena and concentrating all his attention on that series. A man in health can at the moment of the profoundest thought break off to say a civil word to any one who comes in, and then return again to his thoughts. Prince Andrey's soul was not in a normal condition in this respect. All the faculties of his soul were clearer and more active than ever, but they acted apart from his will. The most diverse ideas and images had possession of his mind at the same time. Sometimes his brain suddenly began to work, and with a force, clearness, and depth with which it had never been capable of working in health. But suddenly the train of thought broke off in the midst, to be replaced by some unexpected image, and the power to go back to it was wanting. “Yes, a new happiness was revealed to me, that could not be taken away from man,” he thought, as he lay in the still, half-dark hut, gazing before him with feverishly wide, staring eyes. “Happiness beyond the reach of material forces, outside material, external influences on man, the happiness of the soul alone, the happiness of love! To feel it is in every man's power, but God alone can know it and ordain it. But how did God ordain this law? Why the Son? …” And all at once that train of thought broke off, and Prince Andrey heard (not knowing whether in delirium or in actual fact he heard it) a kind of soft, whispering voice, incessantly beating time: “Piti-pitt-piti,” and then “i-ti-ti,” and again, “ipiti-piti-piti,” and again “i-ti-ti.” And to the sound of this murmuring music Prince Andrey felt as though a strange, ethereal edifice of delicate needles or splinters were being raised over his face, over the very middle of it. He felt that (hard though it was for him) he must studiously preserve his balance that this rising edifice might not fall to pieces; but yet it was falling to pieces, and slowly rising up again to the rhythmic beat of the murmuring music.
“It is stretching out, stretching out, and spreading and stretching out!” Prince Andrey said to himself. While he listened to the murmur and felt that edifice of needles stretching out, and rising up, Prince Andrey saw by glimpses a red ring of light round the candle, and heard the rustling of the cockroaches and the buzzing of the fly as it flopped against his pillow and his face. And every time the fly touched his face, it gave him a stinging sensation, but yet it surprised him that though the fly struck him in the very centre of the rising edifice it did not shatter it. But, apart from all this, there was one other thing of importance. That was the white thing at the door; that was a statue of the sphinx, which oppressed him too
“But perhaps it is my shirt on the table,” thought Prince Andrey, “and that's my legs, and that's the door, but why this straining and moving and piti-piti-piti and ti-ti and piti-piti-piti … Enough, cease, be still, please,” Prince Andrey besought some one wearily. And all at once thought and feeling floated to the surface again with extraordinary clearness and force.
“Yes, love (he thought again with perfect distinctness), but not that love that loves for something, to gain something, or because of something, but that love that I felt for the first time, when dying, I saw my enemy and yet loved him. I knew that feeling of love which is the very essence of the soul, for which no object is needed. And I know that blissful feeling now too. To love one's neighbours; to love one's enemies. To love everything—to love God in all His manifestations. Some one dear to one can be loved with human love; but an enemy can only be loved with divine love. And that was why I felt such joy when I felt that I loved that man. What happened to him? Is he alive? … Loving with human love, one may pass from love to hatred; but divine love cannot change. Nothing, not even death, nothing can shatter it. It is the very nature of the soul. And how many people I have hated in my life. And of all people none I have loved and hated more than her.” And he vividly pictured Natasha to himself, not as he had pictured her in the past, only with the charm that had been a joy to him; for the first time he pictured to himself her soul. And he understood her feeling, her sufferings, her shame, and her penitence. Now, for the first time, he felt all the cruelty of his abandonment, saw all the cruelty of his rupture with her. “If it were only possible for me to see her once more … once, looking into those eyes, to say …”
Piti-piti-piti iti-ti, ipiti-piti—boom, the fly flapped … And his attention passed all at once into another world of reality and delirium, in which something peculiar was taking place. In that place the edifice was still rising, unshattered; something was still stretching out, the candle was still burning, with a red ring round it; the same shirt-sphinx still lay by the door. But beside all this, something creaked, there was a whiff of fresh air, and a new white sphinx appeared standing before the doorway. And that sphinx had the white face and shining eyes of that very Natasha he had been dreaming of just now.
“Oh, how wearisome this everlasting delirium is!” thought Prince Andrey, trying to dispel that face from his vision. But that face stood before him with the face of reality, and that face was coming closer. Prince Andrey tried to go back to the world of pure thought, but he could not, and he was drawn back into the realm of delirium. The soft murmuring voice kept up its rhythmic whisper, something was oppressing him, and rising up, and the strange face stood before him. Prince Andrey rallied all his forces to regain his senses; he stirred a little, and suddenly there was a ringing in his ears and a dimness before his eyes, and like a man sinking under water, he lost consciousness.
When he came to himself, Natasha, the very living Natasha, whom of all people in the world he most longed to love with that new, pure, divine love that had now been revealed to him, was on her knees before him. He knew that it was the real, living Natasha, and did not wonder, but quietly rejoiced. Natasha, on her knees, in terror, but without moving (she could not have moved), gazed at him, restraining her sobs. Her face was white and rigid. There was only a sort of quiver in the lower part of it.
Prince Andrey drew a sigh of relief, smiled, and held out his hand.
“You?” he said. “What happiness!”
With a swift but circumspect movement, Natasha came nearer, still kneeling, and carefully taking his hand she bent her face over it and began kissing it, softly touching it with her lips.
“Forgive me!” she said in a whisper, lifting her head and glancing at him. “Forgive me!”
“I love you,” said Prince Andrey.
“Forgive …”
“Forgive what?” asked Prince Andrey.
“Forgive me for what I di … id,” Natasha murmured in a hardly audible, broken whisper, and again and again she softly put her lips to his hand.
“I love thee more, better than before,” said Prince Andrey, lifting her face with his hand so that he could look into her eyes.
Those eyes, swimming with happy tears, gazed at him with timid commiseration and joyful love. Natasha's thin, pale face, with its swollen lips, was more than ugly—it looked terrible. But Prince Andrey did not see her face, he saw the shining eyes, which were beautiful. They heard talk behind them.
Pyotr, the valet, by now wide awake, had waked up the doctor. Timohin, who had not slept all night for the pain in his leg, had been long watching all that was happening, and huddled up on his bench, carefully wrapping his bare person up in the sheet.
“Why, what's this?” said the doctor, getting up from his bed on the floor. “Kindly retire, madame.”
At that moment there was a knock at the door; a maid had been sent by the countess in search of her daughter.
Like a sleep-walker awakened in the midst of her trance, Natasha walked out of the room, and getting back to her hut, sank sobbing on her bed.
From that day at all the halts and resting-places on the remainder of the Rostovs' journey, Natasha never left Bolkonsky's side, and the doctor was forced to admit that he had not expected from a young girl so much fortitude, nor skill in nursing a wounded man.
Terrible as it was to the countess to think that Prince Andrey might (and very probably, too, from what the doctor said) die on the road in her daughter's arms, she could not resist Natasha. Although with the renewal of affectionate relations between Prince Andrey and Natasha the idea did occur that in case he recovered their old engagement would be renewed, no one—least of all Natasha and Prince Andrey—spoke of this. The unsettled question of life and death hanging, not only over Prince Andrey, but over all Russia, shut off all other considerations.
自从安德烈公爵在波罗底诺战场救护站苏醒以来，已经过去七天了。整个这一段时间里，他几乎经常处于昏迷状态。持续发烧和受伤的肠子的炎症，据随行医生意见，会送掉他的性命。但是，在第七天上，他很高兴地吃了一片面包喝了一点茶，结果医生发现，他的热度减退了。公爵从早晨起恢复了神志。撤出莫斯科的第一夜，天气相当暖和，安德烈公爵便被留在四轮马车上过夜；但在梅季希村，这位伤员自己要求把他抬下车，给他喝茶。往屋里搬动加诸于他的疼痛，使他高声呻吟，并又失去了知觉。当他被安顿到行军床上后，他闭目不动地躺了很久。然后他睁开眼低声说：“茶呢？”他对生活琐事的挂念使医生吃惊。他摸摸脉搏，惊奇而又不满地发现脉搏好一些了。医生之所以感到不满，是因为他根据以往经验确信，安德烈公爵活不了，如果他现在不死去，那只会遭受更大的痛苦而死于晚些时候。同安德烈公爵一起被护送的，有与他在莫斯科汇合的他所在的兵团的少校，也同样在波罗底诺受了腿伤的红鼻子季莫欣。随行的有医生，公爵的随从和马夫及两名勤务兵。
给公爵端来了茶。他贪婪地喝着，用发烧的眼睛望着前面的门，像是要努力明白并且记起什么事情。
“我喝够了。不想再喝了。季莫欣在吗？”他问。季莫欣顺着长凳朝他爬过去。
“我在，大人。”
“伤怎么样？”
“我的伤吗？没什么。可您呢？”安德烈公爵又沉思起来，好像要记起什么事。
“找一本书来，不行吗？”他问。
“什么书？”
“《福音书》！我没有的。”
医生答应找，并开始问公爵他感觉怎样。安德烈公爵不情愿地，但神智清醒地回答了医生的一切问题，随后说，他要一个垫子放在身子下面，不然不舒服，而且很痛。医生和随从揭开了他盖着的军大衣（伤口化脓的腐肉的恶臭使他们皱眉），开始仔细地察看这处可怕的伤口。不知医生对什么很不高兴，他重新护理了一下，给伤者翻了身，后者便又呻吟起来，由于翻身引起了疼痛，又使他昏迷过去，并且开始说谵语。他总是叨念着快点给他找到那本书，放在他身子底下。
“这费你们什么事呢？”他说。“我没有这本书嘛——请你们找来，在身子底下放一阵子。”他凄惨地说。
医生走出房间，到过厅里去洗手。
“唉，你们真没良心，”医生对给他往手上淋水的随从说。
“我只忽略了一分钟。要知道，这样的伤痛他忍受得了，我真吃惊。”
“我们好像给他垫上了东西，主耶稣基督。”随从说。
安德烈公爵第一次明白他在什么地方，出了什么事，也回忆起他受伤了，并想起当他的四轮马车在梅季希村停下的那一时刻，他要求住进农舍。他再次疼得神志模糊以后，在屋子里又清醒了过来，喝茶时，他再次回想他遭遇的一切，之后便更清晰地想起在救护站的时刻，当时，在看到他不喜欢的人遭受痛苦之际，他生出了些新的使他预感到幸福的念头。这些念头虽不清晰不确定，可是现在又支配着他的心。他想起他现在有了新的幸福，而这新的幸福与《福音书》有某种共同之处。故尔他要得到《福音书》。但是他们竟得他放得压住伤口，很不好受，并且给他翻动身体，又妨碍了他的思绪，而他第三次清醒过来，已经是夜深人静的时分了。他身旁的人都已入睡。蟋蟀在过厅外鸣叫，街上有人喊着唱着，蟀螂在桌上，圣像和墙壁上沙沙地爬，一只大苍蝇在他的床头撞来撞去，并绕着床旁结了大烛花的蜡烛飞旋。
他的心处于非正常的状态。健全的人，通常同时思维，感受和回忆无数的事情，但有选择一些思想或现象并把全部注意力集中在上面的力量。健全的人在深思熟虑的时候，为了要向走进来的人说句客套话能够突然停住不想事情，然后再回到思考中去。就此而言，安德烈公爵的精神状态是不正常的。他的全部精力比任何时候更充沛而且更强，但是不受他的意志支配。极其不同的思想和观念占据他的头脑。有时候，他的思想突然活跃起来，而且显得有力、清晰和深刻（他在健全时往往达不到这点）；但突然这种思想活动中断，由意外的想法所代替，而且不能恢复到刚才的思想上去。
“是的，一种新的幸福，一种不能从人身上剥夺的幸福已降临于我，”他躺在半明半暗的寂静的农舍里，睁大发烧的、呆滞的眼睛望着前面，心里这样想，“存在于物质力量之外的不以人的外在物质影响力为转移的幸福，一颗心的幸福，爱情的幸福！这种幸福，是所有的人都可以懂得的，但认识幸福且制定这种幸福的，只有上帝一人。但上帝如何制定这一神则呢？为什么圣子？……”接着，思想活动突然中断了，安德烈公爵听见了（不知是在昏迷中，还是他的确听到了），听见了声音节奏均匀的不停息的窃窃私语：“咿，哔唧——哔唧——哔唧，”接下去是“咿，唧——唧，”然后是“咿，哔唧——哔唧——哔唧，”接着又是“咿，唧——唧。”同时，在这低声的音乐声的伴奏下，安德烈公爵感觉到，在他的脸上，在正中央，冒出一座奇怪的空中楼阁，它是由细针和木片建造的。他觉得（虽然这使他感到吃力），他必须尽力保持平衡，才能使那高耸着的楼阁不致倒塌；但它还是倒塌了，却又在均匀微弱的音乐声中慢慢地矗立起来。“伸展！伸展！伸展开来，不断地伸展，”安德公爵自言自语地说。谛听着低吟声和感觉着用细针搭起的楼阁慢慢伸展和竖立的同时，安德烈公爵间或还看到烛光的红晕，听到蟑螂沙沙地爬行，听到苍蝇撞到枕头和他脸上的声音。每当苍蝇触及脸，便引起一种烧灼的感觉；但同时又令他惊讶，苍蝇正撞击到矗立在他脸上的楼阁的边缘，竟不曾撞垮它。除了这些，还有一桩重大的发现呢。这是出现在门旁的一团白色的东西，这是斯芬克斯像，它也使他感到压抑。
“不过，这大概是我桌上的衬衫，”安德烈公爵想，“而这是我的脚，这是门，但为什么它老是伸展向前挪动，老是哔唧——哔唧——哔唧和唧——唧——又是哔唧——哔唧——哔唧……——够了，请停下来，别这样。”安德烈公爵痛苦地哀求什么人。后来，忽然间，他的思想和感情又异常鲜明而有力地浮现起来。
“是的，爱情（他完全清楚地想着），但不是要换取什么，有什么目的或原因而爱的那种爱情，而是我现在快要死的时候第一次体会到的爱情，这时我看到了自己的敌人，而我仍然爱他。我体会到了这样的爱情：它是心灵的最本质的东西，因而不需要有爱的对象。我现在便正体会着这幸福的感情。爱他人，爱自己的敌人。爱一切——便是爱体现一切的上帝。爱亲人，用人类之爱；而爱敌人，则要用上帝之爱，由此，当我感到我是在爱那个人时，我体会到这种欢乐。他怎么样了？他还活着吗……用人类之爱去爱，可能从爱转化为恨；但上帝之爱不会改变。一切都不能，连死亡也不能，什么也摧毁不了这种爱。这上帝之爱便是灵魂的本质。而我一生却恨过许多人啊。在所有的人里边，我最爱也最恨的，莫过于她呢。”于是，他生动地想象出娜塔莎样子，但不像以往那样只想到了她使她欢欣的魅力；他第一次想象到了她的灵魂。并且，他理解了她的感情，她的痛苦、羞耻和懊悔。他现在第一次明白了他表示拒绝是多么残忍，看到他同她决裂是多么残酷。
“要是能再一次见到她该多好啊。只要一次，看着那两只眼睛说……”
又是哔唧——哔唧——哔唧和唧——唧，又是哔唧——哔唧——噗，苍蝇碰了一下……这时，他的注意力突然转向另一世界，一个有某种特别情况发生的既是现实又是谵妄的世界。在这一世界里，那座楼阁仍然耸立着，不会倒塌，有一种东西依旧不断地延伸，蜡烛周围带有一圈红晕依旧燃烧着，那件衬衫——斯芬克斯仍旧蜷缩在门边；但是，除开所有这一切，有某种东西在咿呀作响，拂来一股清凉的风，随后，一个新的白色的斯芬克斯，站立着，显现在门的前面。而这个斯芬克斯的头上，有一张苍白的面孔和他正思念着的娜塔莎那样的一双眼睛。
“呵，无休止的谵妄多么难受！”安德烈公爵想道，竭力要把这张脸赶出他的想象范围。但是这张脸真切地分明地出现在他的面前，而且不断靠近。安德烈公爵想回到纯粹的思维中去，但不能够这样做，而且梦幻把他拖向它一边。那悄悄的絮语在继续发出有节奏的喃喃声，某种东西在挤压，在延伸，而且一张奇怪的脸停在他面前。安德烈公爵尽着自己的全部力量想清醒过来；他翻动身子，但突然两耳轰鸣，两眼昏花，像一个落水之人，失去了知觉。在他醒来的时候，娜塔莎，那个活生生的娜塔莎，那个所有的人当中他最希望去爱，用他那种新的纯洁的上帝现已向他启示之爱去爱的人，就展现在他面前，双膝跪在他的床边。他明白这是真实的活生生的娜塔莎，但并不吃惊，而且暗自高兴。娜塔莎双膝跪着，惊恐地，凝神地（她不能动弹）看着他，忍住不哭出声来。她的面容苍白，神情呆板，但是脸的下部在抖动。
安德烈公爵舒解地叹了一口气，微笑了，并且伸出手去。
“是您？”他说，“真是幸运！”
娜塔莎迅速而又小心地膝行着靠近他，小心地握住他的手，把脸埋下去，用嘴唇轻轻地吻它。
“请您宽恕！”她抬起头看着他，喃喃地说，“请宽恕我吧！”
“我爱您。”安德烈公爵说。
“请宽恕……”
“宽恕什么？”安德烈公爵问。
“宽恕我犯的过……错。”娜塔莎用仅能听见的声音断续地说完这句话，开始更频繁地用嘴唇轻轻吻他的手。
“我比以前更加爱你了。”安德烈公爵说，并用手托起她的脸。看她的眼睛。
这双充满着幸福泪水的眼睛，羞怯地同情地、高兴而又含情地注视着他。娜塔莎消瘦而苍白的脸，脸上浮肿的嘴唇，不止是难看，简直是可怕。但安德烈公爵没有看见这张脸，他看见的是流光溢彩的眼睛，它们是美丽的，两人的身后有了谈话声。
随从彼得，这时从梦中醒来，已全无睡意，推醒了医生。腿疼而一直未睡着的季莫欣，早已看到所发生的一切，小心地用被单盖好赤裸的身体，蜷缩在长凳上。
“这是什么事啊？”医生从睡铺上欠身起来说，“请您走吧，小姐。”
正在这时，有个女仆敲门，是伯爵夫人发觉女儿不见了派来的女仆。
像一个从梦中惊醒的梦游患者，娜塔莎走出这间房，一回到自己的农舍，便倒在床上，号啕大哭。
从这一天开始，在罗斯托夫一家人继续赶路的整个期间，无论是小憩或是夜宿，娜塔莎都未离开受伤的博尔孔斯基，而医生不得不承认，他未料到姑娘如此坚强，如此善于照料伤员。
伯爵夫人一想到安德烈公爵会（照医生的话说极有可能）在途中死于女儿的怀抱，就觉得非常可怕，她也不能阻止娜塔莎。虽然，鉴于受伤的安德烈公爵和娜塔莎之间目前的亲密关系，会使人想到，一旦康复、这对未婚夫妻的关系将会恢复，但谁也不谈论这件事，娜塔莎和安德烈公爵更不谈论这点：不仅有关博尔孔斯基的问题，而且有关整个俄国的生死存亡问题均悬而未谈，它掩盖着其余一切的揣测。
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