IT was on the eve of St. Nikolay's day, the 5th of December, 1820. That year Natasha with her husband and children had been staying at Bleak Hills since the beginning of autumn. Pierre was in Petersburg, where he had gone on private business of his own, as he said, for three weeks. He had already been away for six, and was expected home every minute.
On this 5th of December there was also staying with the Rostovs Nikolay's old friend, the general on half-pay, Vassily Fedorovitch Denisov.
Next day visitors were coming in celebration of his nameday, and Nikolay knew that he would have to take off his loose Tatar coat, to put on a frock coat, and narrow boots with pointed toes, and to go to the new church he had built, and there to receive congratulations, and to offer refreshments to his guests, and to talk about the provincial elections and the year's crops. But the day before he considered he had a right to spend as usual. Before dinner-time Nikolay had gone over the bailiff's accounts from the Ryazan estate, the property of his wife's nephew; written two business letters, and walked through the corn barns, the cattleyard, and the stables. After taking measures against the general drunkenness he expected next day among his peasants in honour of the fête, he came in to dinner, without having had a moment's conversation alone with his wife all day. He sat down to a long table laid with twenty covers, at which all the household were assembled, consisting of his mother, old Madame Byelov, who lived with her as a companion, his wife and three children, their governess and tutor, his wife's nephew with his tutor, Sonya, Denisov, Natasha, her three children, their governess, and Mihail Ivanitch, the old prince's architect, who was living out his old age in peace at Bleak Hills.
Countess Marya was sitting at the opposite end of the table. As soon as her husband sat down to the table, from the gesture with which he took up his table-napkin and quickly pushed back the tumbler and wineglass set at his place, she knew that he was out of humour, as he sometimes was, particularly before the soup, and when he came straight in to dinner from his work. Countess Marya understood this mood in her husband very well, and when she was herself in a good temper, she used to wait quietly till he had swallowed his soup, and only then began to talk to him and to make him admit that he had no reason to be out of temper. But to-day she totally forgot this principle of hers; she had a miserable sense of his being vexed with her without cause, and she felt wretched. She asked him where he had been. He answered. She asked again whether everything were going well on the estate. He frowned disagreeably at her unnatural tone, and made a hasty reply.
“I was right then,” thought Countess Marya, “and what is he cross with me for?” In the tone of his answer she read ill-will towards her and a desire to cut short the conversation. She felt that her words were unnatural; but she could not restrain herself, and asked a few more questions.
The conversation at dinner, thanks to Denisov, soon became general and animated, and she did not say more to her husband. When they rose from table, and according to custom came up to thank the old countess, Countess Marya kissed her husband, offering him her hand, and asked why he was cross with her.
“You always have such strange ideas; I never thought of being cross,” he said.
But that word always answered her: Yes, I am angry, and I don't choose to say.
Nikolay lived on such excellent terms with his wife that even Sonya and the old countess, who from jealousy would have been pleased to see disagreement between them, could find nothing to reproach them with; but there were moments of antagonism even between them. Sometimes, particularly just after their happiest periods, they had a sudden feeling of estrangement and antagonism; that feeling was most frequent during the times when Countess Marya was with child. They happened to be just now at such a period of antagonism.
“Well, messieurs et mesdames,” said Nikolay loudly, and with a show of cheerfulness (it seemed to his wife that this was on purpose to mortify her), “I have been since six o'clock on my legs. To-morrow will be an infliction, so to-day I'll go and rest.” And saying nothing more to Countess Marya, he went off to the little divan-room, and lay down on the sofa.
“That's how it always is,” thought his wife. “He talks to everybody but not to me. I see, I see that I am repulsive to him, especially in this condition.” She looked down at her high waist and then into the looking-glass at her sallow and sunken face, in which the eyes looked bigger than ever.
And everything jarred upon her: Denisov's shout and guffaw and Natasha's chatter, and above all the hasty glance Sonya stole at her.
Sonya was always the first excuse Countess Marya pitched on for her irritability.
After sitting a little while with her guests, not understanding a word they were saying, she slipped out and went to the nursery.
The children were sitting on chairs playing at driving to Moscow, and invited her to join them. She sat down and played with them, but the thought of her husband and his causeless ill-temper worried her all the time. She got up, and walked with difficulty on tiptoe to the little divan-room
“Perhaps he is not asleep. I will speak plainly to him,” she said to herself. Andryusha, her elder boy, followed her on tiptoe, imitating her. His mother did not notice him.
“Dear Marie, I believe he is asleep; he was so tired,” said Sonya, meeting her in the next room (it seemed to Countess Marya that she was everywhere). “Andryusha had better not wake him.”
Countess Marya looked round, saw Andryusha behind her, felt that Sonya was right, and for that very reason flushed angrily, and with evident difficulty restrained herself from a cruel retort. She said nothing, and, so as not to obey her, let Andryusha follow her, but signed to him to be quiet, and went up to the door. Sonya went out by the other door. From the room where Nikolay was asleep, his wife could hear his even breathing, every tone of which was so familiar. As she listened to it, she could see his smooth, handsome brow, his moustaches, the whole face she had so often gazed at in the stillness of the night when he was asleep. Nikolay suddenly stirred and cleared his throat. And at the same instant Andryusha shouted from the door, “Papa, mamma's here!” His mother turned pale with dismay and made signs to the boy. He was quiet, and there followed a terrible silence that lasted a minute. She knew how Nikolay disliked being waked. Suddenly she heard him stir and clear his throat again, and in a tone of displeasure he said:
“I'm never given a moment's peace. Marie, is it you? Why did you bring him here?”
“I only came to look … I did not see … I'm so sorry …”
Nikolay coughed and said no more. His wife went away, and took her son back to the nursery. Five minutes later little, black-eyed, three-year-old Natasha, her father's favourite, hearing from her brother that papa was asleep, and mamma in the next room, ran in to her father, unnoticed by her mother.
The black-eyed little girl boldly rattled at the door, and her fat, little feet ran with vigorous steps up to the sofa. After examining the position of her father, who was asleep with his back to her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed the hand that lay under his head. Nikolay turned round to her with a smile of tenderness on his face.
“Natasha, Natasha!” he heard his wife whisper in dismay from the door. “Papa is sleepy.”
“No, mamma, he isn't sleepy,” little Natasha answered with conviction. “He's laughing.”
Nikolay set his feet down, got up, and picked his little daughter up in his arms.
“Come in, Masha,” he said to his wife. She went in and sat down beside him.
“I did not see him run in after me,” she said timidly. “I just looked in …”
Holding his little girl on one arm, Nikolay looked at his wife, and noticing her guilty expression, he put the other arm round her and kissed her on the hair.
“May I kiss mamma?” he asked Natasha. The little girl smiled demurely. “Again,” she said, with a peremptory gesture, pointing to the spot where Nikolay had kissed her mother.
“I don't know why you should think I am cross,” said Nikolay, replying to the question which he knew was in his wife's heart.
“You can't imagine how unhappy, how lonely, I am when you are like that. It always seems to me …”
“Marie, hush, nonsense! You ought to be ashamed,” he said gaily.
“It seems to me that you can't care for me; that I am so ugly … at all times, and now in this …”
“Oh, how absurd you are! It's not those who are handsome we love, but those we love who are handsome. It is only Malvinas and such heroines who are loved because they are beautiful. And do you suppose I love my wife? Oh no, I don't love you, but only … I don't know how to tell you. When you are away, and any misunderstanding like this comes between us, I feel as though I were lost, and can do nothing. Why, do I love my finger? I don't love it, but only try cutting it off …”
“No, I don't feel like that, but I understand. Then you are not angry with me?”
“I am awfully angry!” he said, smiling, and getting up, and smoothing his hair, he began pacing up and down the room.
“Do you know, Marie, what I have been thinking?” he began, beginning at once now that peace was made between them, thinking aloud before his wife. He did not inquire whether she were disposed to listen; that did not matter to him. An idea occurred to him; and so it must to her, too. And he told her that he meant to persuade Pierre to stay with them till the spring.
Countess Marya listened to him, made some comments, and then in her turn began thinking her thoughts aloud. Her thoughts were of the children.
“How one can see the woman in her already,” she said in French, pointing to little Natasha. “You reproach us women for being illogical. You see in her our logic. I say, papa is sleepy, and she says, no, he's laughing. And she is right,” said Countess Marya, smiling blissfully.
“Yes, yes,” said Nikolay, lifting up his little girl in his strong arm, raised her high in the air, sat her on his shoulder, holding her little feet, and began walking up and down with her. There was just the same look of thoughtless happiness on the faces of father and daughter.
“But do you know, you may be unfair. You are too fond of this one,” his wife whispered in French.
“Yes, but what can I do? … I try not to show it …”
At that moment there was heard from the hall and the vestibule the sound of the block of the door, and footsteps, as though some one had arrived.
“Somebody has come.”
“I am sure it is Pierre. I will go and find out,” said Countess Marya, and she went out of the room.
While she was gone Nikolay allowed himself to gallop round the room with his little girl. Panting for breath, he quickly lowered the laughing child, and hugged her to his breast. His capers made him think of dancing; and looking at the childish, round, happy little face, he wondered what she would be like when he would be an old man, taking her out to dances, and he remembered how his father used to dance Daniel Cooper and the mazurka with his daughter.
“It is he, it is he, Nikolay!” said Countess Marya, returning a few minutes later. “Now our Natasha is herself again. You should have seen her delight, and what a scolding he came in for at once for having out-stayed his time. Come, let us go; make haste; come along! You must part at last,” she said, smiling, as she looked at the little girl nestling up to her father. Nikolay went out, holding his daughter by the hand.
Countess Marya lingered behind.
“Never, never could I have believed,” she murmured to herself, “that one could be so happy.” Her face lighted up with a smile; but at the same moment she sighed, and a soft melancholy came into her thoughtful glance. It was as though, apart from the happiness she was feeling there was another happiness unattainable in this life, which she could not help remembering at that moment.
这是一八二○年十二月五日，冬季圣尼古拉节前夕。这一年初秋娜塔莎就和丈夫、孩子住在她哥哥家。皮埃尔专程去彼得堡办事去了，他原来说要去三个星期，可现在已经在那里待了六个多星期了。他说他随时都可能回来。
十二月五日那天，除了皮埃尔一家外，还有尼古拉的老朋友，退役将军瓦西里·费奥多罗维奇·杰尼索夫也在罗斯托夫家作客。
六日是圣尼古拉节，有许多客人要来。尼古拉知道他得脱下短棉袄换上礼服，穿上尖头皮靴，坐车到新建成的教堂去。然后回家接受祝贺请客人用点心，谈论贵族选举①和年景，但他认为节日前夕他可以像平时一样地度过。年饭前，尼古拉检查管家做的内侄名下梁赞庄园的帐目，写了两封事务性的信，巡视了谷仓、牛栏和马厩。他对明天过节大家可能喝醉酒一事采取了预防措施，然后去用午餐。他没有机会同妻子私下谈几句，就在长餐桌旁坐下。桌上摆着二十副餐具，全家人围坐在桌旁。这里有他母亲、陪伴母亲的别洛娃老婆子、妻子、三个孩子、男女家庭教师、内侄和他的家庭教师、索尼娅、杰尼索夫、娜塔莎和三个孩子，以及孩子们的家庭教师，还有在童山养老的已故老公爵的建筑师米哈伊尔·伊凡内奇老人。
①当时每省贵族都形成一个团体，定期选举、集会，参与地方行政。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人坐在餐桌的另一端。她丈夫刚刚就坐，就拿起餐巾，把面前的玻璃杯和酒杯推开。玛丽亚伯爵夫人从这一举动就看出她丈夫心绪不佳。他有时候就是这样，尤其是当他直接从农场回来吃饭，在没有喝汤之前。玛丽亚伯爵夫人深知他的脾气，遇到她自己心情好，她就耐心等待，等他喝过汤，她再跟他说话，让他自己承认发火是没有来由的。但是今天她完全忘记这样观察。她心里难过，因为他无缘无故对她发脾气，她感到自己很不幸，她问他到哪里去了。他回答了她。她又问他农场里是不是正常。他听出她的声调不自然，不高兴地皱了皱眉头，漫不经心地答了一句。“我又没有错，”玛丽亚伯爵夫人想，“他为什么对我发脾气？”从他答话的腔调，玛丽亚伯爵夫人听出他对她不满，不愿跟她继续谈话。她也觉得自己说话有点不自然，但还是忍不住要再问几句。
餐桌上多亏有了杰尼索夫，大家很快就热烈地交谈起来，玛丽亚伯爵夫人就没再跟丈夫说话了。当他们离开餐桌，去向老伯爵夫人道谢时，玛丽亚伯爵夫人伸出手来，一面吻了吻丈夫，一面问他为什么生她的气。
“你总是胡思乱想，我根本没有想过要生气。”他说。
但玛丽亚伯爵夫人觉得他说总是两个字就表示：不错，我是在生气，但我不想说明罢了。
尼古拉同妻子和睦相处，甚至连索尼娅和老伯爵夫人出于嫉妒，也希望他们之间出现不和睦，但又无懈可击。但他们之间也有不融洽的时候。有时，在他们过了一段非常愉快的日子后，他们之间会突然感到疏远、反感。这种感觉常常发生在玛丽亚伯爵夫人怀孕的时候，现在她正是怀孕了。
“哦，女士们、先生们，”尼古拉用法语大声说，做出很高兴地样子，（玛丽亚伯爵夫人觉得他这是故意要气气她）“我从六点钟起就没有歇过。明天还得受罪，我现在要去休息了。”他对玛丽亚伯爵夫人再没说什么，就走进小起居室，在沙发上躺下来。
“他总是这样，”玛丽亚伯爵夫人想。“跟大家说话，就是不跟我说话。我看得出，他讨厌我。特别是我怀了孕。”她瞧瞧自己隆起的肚子，对着镜子看到了她那张蜡黄、苍白的瘦脸，她的眼睛显得比平时更大了。
不论是杰尼索夫的喊声和笑声，还是娜塔莎的说话声，尤其是索尼娅匆匆向她投来的目光，所有这一切都使她心里感到不痛快。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人一生气，索尼娅总是成为出气筒。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人陪客人坐了一会儿，客人谈什么，她一点也听不进去，后来就悄悄地走到育儿室去。
孩子们把椅子排成火车，玩“到莫斯科去”的游戏，请她也一起玩。她坐下陪孩子们玩了一阵，但心里一直捉摸着丈夫此刻的心情，想到丈夫无缘无故地生气，她感到很难过。
她站起来，费力地踮着脚尖走到小起居室去。
“也许，他还没睡着，我要去同他讲清楚。”她自言自语。她的大孩子安德留沙学她的样，踮着脚尖跟着她走，在后面，但玛丽亚伯爵夫人没有发觉。
“亲爱的玛丽亚，他好像睡着了，他累坏了，”索尼娅在大起居室里用法语说（玛丽亚伯爵夫人觉得无论到什么地方都会碰上她）。“安德留沙，别把他吵醒了。”
玛丽亚伯爵夫人回头看见安德留沙跟在后面，看来索尼娅说得对，然而正因为如此，脸涨得通红，好容易忍住，没说出难听的话来。她一言不发，但为了表示不听索尼娅那些话，只做了个手势叫安德留沙别出声，还是让他跟在后面，朝门口走去，索尼娅则从另一道门出去了，尼古拉睡觉的房间里传出均匀的呼吸声，这声音做妻子的是很熟悉的。她听着他的呼吸声，端详着他那光滑漂亮的前额、小胡子和整个面庞，每当夜阑人静，尼古拉熟睡时她往往长久地注视着这张脸。尼古拉突然动了一下，干咳了一声。正在这时，安德留沙就在门口嚷道：
“爸爸，妈在这儿呢。”
玛丽亚伯爵夫人吓得脸都变白了，忙向儿子做手势。他不说话了。沉默了一会儿，玛丽亚伯爵夫人感到胆战心惊。她知道尼古拉最不喜欢人家把他吵醒。屋里突然又传来干咳和床上翻身的声音。尼古拉不高兴地说：
“一分钟也不让人安静。玛丽①，是你吗？你怎么把他带到这里来了？”
“我只是来看看，我没注意……对不起……”
尼古拉咳嗽了几声，不再说话了。玛丽亚伯爵夫人离开门口，把儿子带回育儿室。过了五分钟，爸爸的宝贝女儿，三岁的黑眼睛的小娜塔莎听哥哥说爸爸睡在小起居室里，就背着母亲，悄悄地走到父亲跟前。这黑眼睛的小姑娘大胆地咯吱一声打开了门，用结实的小腿有力地迈着小碎步，走到沙发旁边，打量着爸爸背对她睡着的姿势，就踮起脚尖吻了吻他枕在头下的手，尼古拉转过身，脸上露出慈爱的微笑。
“娜塔莎，娜塔莎！”玛丽亚伯爵夫人在门外惊慌地喊道，“爸爸要睡觉。”
“不，妈妈，他不想睡了，”小娜塔莎很有把握地回答道，“瞧，他还在笑呢。”
尼古拉垂下腿，站起来，抱起女儿。
“进来吧，玛莎。”②他对妻子说。玛丽亚伯爵夫人走进屋里，在丈夫身旁坐下。
①原文为Mapu，玛丽亚的爱称。
②原文为Mama，玛丽亚的爱称。
“我没有看见安德留沙跟着我跑来，”她怯生生地说。“我只是……”
尼古拉一手抱住女儿，望了望妻子，见她脸上带有歉意，就用另一只手搂住她，吻了吻她的头发。
“可以亲亲妈妈吗？”他向娜塔莎。
娜塔莎羞怯地笑了。
“再吻一下。”她打了个手势，指着尼古拉刚才吻过的地方，命令似地说。
“我不明白，你为什么觉得我心情不好。”尼古拉说，猜透了妻子的心事。
“你无法想象，每当你这样，我心里有多难过，多孤单。
我总觉得……”
“玛丽，算啦，你真糊涂。你也不害臊。”他快活地说。
“我总觉得，你不会爱我，我现在这么难看……从来就……而现在……又是这个样子……”
“嗨，你这个人真可笑！一个人不是因为漂亮才可爱，而是因为可爱才显得漂亮。只有马尔维纳斯之类的女人才靠姿色迷人。要是问我爱不爱妻子？！我说不爱吗？唉，真不知道怎么能跟你说清楚？！当你不在时，或者我们之间有什么不愉快的事，我就变得六神无主，什么事也做不下去。你说，我爱自己的手指吗？如果说我不爱，你把我的手指割掉试试……”
“不，我可不会那么做，但我心里是明白的。那么说，你并没有生我的气喽？”
“生气得要命。”他笑着说，站起来掠掠头发，开始在屋里踱步。
“你知道吗，玛丽，我在想什么？”他们和解了，他立刻把自己的打算和想法告诉妻子。他也不问她爱不爱听，听不听他都无所谓。他如有了一个新的想法，自然也就是她的想法。他告诉她，他想劝皮埃尔在他们家待到开春。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人听丈夫说完之后，讲了自己的意见，然后讲她的打算。她想的是孩子们的事。
“她现在已经像个大人了，”她指着娜塔莎，用法语说，“你们总是责备我们女人缺乏逻辑性。她就是我们这儿的逻辑专家。我说，爸爸要睡觉，可她说：‘不，他在笑呢！'还是她说得对，”玛亚丽伯爵夫人快活地笑着说。
“对，对！”尼古拉用强壮的手臂抱起女儿，把她举得高高的，让她坐在肩上，抓住她的两只小腿，扛着她在屋里踱步。父女俩脸上都露出无限幸福的神情。
“要知道，你也许有点不公平。你太宠她了。”玛丽亚伯爵夫人用法语低声说。
“是的，可是有什么办法呢？……我已经竭力不表现出来了。……”
这时，门廊和前厅里传来了门的滑轮声和脚步声，好像有人来了。
“有人来了。”
“那准是皮埃尔。我去看看。”玛丽亚伯爵夫人说着就走出屋去。
尼古拉趁她出去，就扛起女儿在屋里飞快地兜圈子。他气喘吁吁，一下子把乐不可支的女儿放下，紧紧地搂在怀里。他这一蹦蹦跳跳，使他想起跳舞来。他望着女儿圆圆的快乐的小脸，心里想，等他自己变成老头子，他要带女儿去参加舞会，跳玛祖尔卡舞，就像当年他已故的父亲带女儿跳丹尼拉·库波尔舞那样，到那时自己的女儿又会长成什么样子呢？！
“是他，是他，尼古拉，”几分钟后，玛丽亚伯爵夫人回来说。“这一下咱们的娜塔莎可高兴了。你该看看她多开心，而皮埃尔因为姗姗来迟，挨了多少骂。好了，快点去吧，快去！你们也该分手了。”她含笑望着偎依在爸爸身上的小女儿说。尼古拉拉着女儿的手走出去。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人待在起居室里。
“我从来都不相信，我会这样幸福。”她低声自言自语。她脸上露出了笑容，但随即叹了一口气，她那深邃的眼神里流露出淡淡的哀愁。仿佛除了她此刻体验到的幸福之外，她不禁又想到今世不可能得到的另一种幸福。
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