Book 1 Chapter 16

AT THE MEN'S END of the table the conversation was becoming more and more lively. The colonel was asserting that the proclamation of the declaration of war had already been issued in Petersburg, and that a copy, which he had seen himself, had that day been brought by a courier to the commander-in-chief.

“And what evil spirit must make us go to war with Bonaparte?” said Shinshin. “He has already made Austria take a back seat. I am afraid it may be our turn this time.”

The colonel was a stout, tall, and plethoric German, evidently a zealous officer and good patriot. He resented Shinshin's words.

“The reason why, my good sir,” he said, speaking with a German accent, “is just that the emperor knows that. In his proclamation he says that he cannot behold with equanimity the danger threatening Russia, and the security of the empire, its dignity, and the sacredness of its alliances.” He laid a special emphasis on the word alliances, as though the gist of the matter lay in that word. And with the unfailing memory for official matters that was peculiar to him, he repeated the introductory words of the proclamation … “and the desire, which constitutes the Sovereign's sole and immutable aim, to establish peace on a secure foundation, have determined him to despatch now a part of the troops abroad, and to make dispositions for carrying out this new project. That is the reason why, my dear sir,” he concluded, tossing off a glass of wine in edifying fashion, and looking towards the count for encouragement.

“Do you know the proverb, ‘Erema, Erema, you'd better stay at home and mind your spindle'?” said Shinshin, frowning and smiling. “That suits us to a hair. Why, Suvorov even was defeated hollow, and where are our Suvorovs nowadays? I just ask you that,” he said, continually shifting from Russian to French and back again.

“We ought to fight to the last drop of our blood,” said the colonel, thumping the table, “and to die for our emperor, and then all will be well. And to discuss it as little as possible,” he concluded, turning again to the count, and drawling out the word “possible.” “That's how we old hussars look at it; that's all we have to say. And how do you look at it, young man and young hussar?” he added, addressing Nikolay, who, catching that it was the war they were discussing, had dropped his conversation with Julie, and was all eyes and all ears, intent on the colonel.

“I perfectly agree with you,” answered Nikolay, growing hot all over, twisting his plate round, and changing the places of the glasses with a face as desperate and determined as though he were exposed to great danger at that actual moment. “I am convinced that the Russians must die or conquer,” he said. He was himself, like the rest of the party, conscious after the words were uttered that he had spoken with an enthusiasm and fervour out of keeping with the occasion, and so he was embarrassed.

“That was very fine, what you just said,” Julie sitting beside him said breathlessly. Sonya trembled all over and crimsoned to her ears, and behind her ears, and down her neck and shoulders, while Nikolay was speaking. Pierre listened to the colonel's remarks, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That's capital,” said he.

“You're a true hussar, young man,” the colonel shouted, thumping on the table again.

“What are you making such a noise about over there?” Marya Dmitryevna's bass voice was suddenly heard asking across the table. “What are you thumping the table for?” she addressed the colonel. “Whom are you so hot against? You imagine, I suppose, that the French are before you?”

“I speak the truth,” said the hussar, smiling.

“It's all about the war,” the count shouted across the table. “My son's going, you see, Marya Dmitryevna, my son's going.”

“And I've four sons in the army, but I don't grieve. All's in God's hands; one may die in one's bed, and in battle God may spare,” Marya Dmitryevna's deep voice boomed back, speaking without the slightest effort from the further end of the table.

“That's true.”

And the conversation concentrated into two groups again, one at the ladies' end, and one at the men's.

“You don't dare to ask!” said her little brother to Natasha, “and you won't ask!”

“I will ask,” answered Natasha. Her face suddenly glowed, expressing a desperate and mirthful resolution. She rose in her seat, her eyes inviting Pierre to listen, and addressed her mother.

“Mamma!” her childish contralto rang out over the table.

“What is it?” the countess asked in dismay; but seeing from her daughter's face that it was mischief, she shook her hand at her sternly, with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head.

All conversation was hushed.

“Mamma! what pudding will there be?” Natasha's little voice rang out still more resolutely and deliberately.

The countess tried to frown, but could not. Marya Dmitryevna shook her fat finger.

“Cossack!” she said menacingly.

Most of the guests looked at the parents, not knowing how they were to take this sally.

“I'll give it to you,” said the countess.

“Mamma! what pudding will it be?” Natasha cried, with bold and saucy gaiety, feeling sure that her prank would be taken in the right spirit. Sonya and fat little Petya were hiding their giggles. “You see I did ask,” Natasha whispered to her little brother and Pierre, at whom she glanced again.

“Ice-pudding, only you are not to have any,” said Marya Dmitryevna. Natasha saw there was nothing to be afraid of, and so she was not frightened at Marya Dmitryevna even.

“Marya Dmitryevna! what sort of ice-pudding? I don't like ice cream.”

“Carrot-ices.”

“No, what sort, Marya Dmitryevna, what sort?” she almost shrieked. “I want to know.” Marya Dmitryevna and the countess burst out laughing, and all the party followed their example. They all laughed, not at Marya Dmitryevna's answer, but at the irrepressible boldness and smartness of the little girl, who had the pluck and the wit to tackle Marya Dmitryevna in this fashion.

Natasha only desisted when she had been told it was to be pineapple ice. Before the ices, champagne was passed round. Again the band struck up, the count kissed the countess, and the guests getting up from the table congratulated the countess, and clinked glasses across the table with the count, the children, and one another. Again the waiters darted about, chairs grated on the floor, and in the same order, but with flushed faces, the guests returned to the drawing-room and the count's study.

在男客就座的餐桌的一端，谈话变得越来越热烈了。上校已经讲到，彼得堡颁布了宣战文告，他亲眼看见的一份文告已由信使递交总司令了。

“真见鬼，我们干嘛要和波拿巴作战？”申申说道，“Iladéjàrabattulecaquetàl'autriche，Jecrainsquecettefoiscenesoitnotretowr。”①

①法语：他已经打掉了奥地利的威风，我怕现在要轮到我们了。

上校个子高大，长得很结实，是个活泼好动的德国人，老军人和爱国者。申申的话使他生气了。

“为什么，阁下，”他说道，把母音“唉”发成“爱”，把软音发成硬音，“皇帝知道这件事。他在文告中说道，不能对俄国遭受威胁而熟视无睹，不能对帝国的安全、它的尊严和盟国的神圣权利遭受威胁而熟视无睹，”他说道，不知怎的特别强调“盟国的”这个词，好像这就是问题的实质所在。

他凭藉他那正确无讹的记忆公文的天赋，把文告中的引言重说了一遍：“……国王的意愿，他唯一的坚定不移的目标乃是：在巩固的基础之上奠定欧洲的和平，现已拟定调遣部分军队出国，再度竭尽全部力量以企臻达此一目标。”

“阁下，这就是为了什么。”他说了一句收尾的话，露出教训人的神态，一面喝完那杯葡萄酒，看看伯爵的脸色，想获得赞扬。

“Connaissezvousleproverbe，①‘叶廖马，叶廖马，你不如坐在家中，把你的纺锤磨平。”“申申蹙起眉头，微露笑容，说道，“Celanousconvientàmerveille，②苏沃洛夫顶什么用，他也被打得àplatecouture③，目前我们苏沃洛夫式的人物在哪里呢？Jevousdemandeunpeu．”④他说道，不断地从俄国话跳到法国语。

①法语：您知道这句谚语。

②法语：这对于我们非常适宜。

③法语：落花流水。

④法语：我要问您。

“我们必须战斗到最后一滴血，”上校用手捶桌子，说道，“为皇帝献身，一切才会亨通。尽可能少地（在“可能”这个词上他把嗓音拖得特别长），尽可能少地议长论短，”他把话说完了，又朝伯爵转过脸来，“这就是我们老骠骑兵的论点，没有别的话要说了。年轻人和年轻的骠骑兵，您怎样评论呢？”他把脸转向尼古拉，补充一句话。尼古拉听到话题涉及战争后，便丢开对方不管，睁大两眼，全神贯注地谛听上校说话。

“完全同意您的看法，”尼古拉答道，他面红耳赤，一面转动着盘子，挪动着几只酒杯，脸上露出坚决的无所顾忌的神情，好像他眼前遭受到严重的危险似的，“我深信，俄国人都要为国捐躯，或者会赢得胜利。”他说道。正如其他人在这种时分说出过分激动的不是恰如其分的话那样，他也有同样的感受。

“C'estbienbeaucequevousvenezdedire．”①朱莉坐在他身旁叹息道。当尼古拉说话时，索尼娅全身颤抖起来，脸红到耳根，从耳根红到脖子，从脖子红到肩膀。皮埃尔谛听上校说话，点点头，表示赞同。

①法语：很好！您说得很好。

“这么说真好。”他说道。

“地道的骠骑兵，年轻人。”上校又捶了一下桌子，嚷道。

“你们在那里吵什么？”忽然从餐桌那边传来玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜低沉的语声。“你为什么要捶桌子呢，”她把脸转向骠骑兵说道，“你对什么人动肝火？你真的以为现在你面前就有一群法国人！”

“我说的是真话。”骠骑兵面露微笑说道。

“老是说战争，”伯爵从餐桌那边嚷道，“玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，要知道，我的儿子要去作战了，儿子要去作战了。”

“我有四个儿子，都在军队里服役，我并不忧虑。一切都由上帝支配：你是躺在灶台上死去；还是在战斗中得到上帝的保佑。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜从餐桌的那端用浑厚的嗓音毫不费劲地说道。

“真是这样。”

谈话又集中火力了——女士在餐桌的一端，男子汉在餐桌的另一端。

“你问不到什么，”小弟弟对娜塔莎说道，“你问不到什么！”

“我一定要问。”娜塔莎答道。

她的脸红起来了，表现出无所顾忌的欢快的果断。她欠身起来一下，向坐在对面的皮埃尔投以目光，请他仔细听着，又向母亲转过脸去说话。

“妈妈！”整个餐桌都听见她的低沉洪亮的童音。

“你干嘛？”伯爵夫人惊恐地问道，但她凭女儿的脸色看出她在胡闹，就向她严肃地挥挥手，摇摇头，装作威吓和遏制的样子。

谈话暂时停止了。

“妈妈！有什么蛋糕？”娜塔莎脱口说出这句话，她的嗓音听来更坚定。

伯爵夫人想蹙起眉头，可是她没法蹙起来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜伸出她那肥胖的指头，威吓她。

“哥萨克！”她用威吓的口气说。

大多数客人都望着长辈，不知道应当怎样应付这场恶作剧。

“瞧我收拾你！”伯爵夫人说。

“妈妈！有蛋糕吃吗？”娜塔莎已经大胆任性、欢快地嚷起来，她事先确信，她的恶作剧会大受欢迎。

索尼娅和胖乎乎的彼佳笑得躲藏起来，不敢抬头。

“你瞧，我不是问了。”娜塔莎对小弟弟和皮埃尔轻言细语地说，她又向皮埃尔瞥了一眼。

“冰激凌，只是人家不给你。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说道。

娜塔莎明白，没有什么可害怕的，因此她也不害怕玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜。

“玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，什么样的冰激凌？我不爱吃奶油冰激凌。”

“胡萝卜冰激凌。”

“不是的，什么样的冰激凌？玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，什么样的冰激凌？”她几乎叫喊起来。“我想知道啊！”

玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜和伯爵夫人都笑了起来，客人们也都跟着笑起来。大家不是对玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的回答觉得好笑，而是对这个女孩百思不解的大胆和机智觉得好笑，她居然有本事、有胆量这样对待玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜。

当人家告诉娜塔莎，快要摆上菠萝冰激凌时，她才不再纠缠了。端出冰激凌之前，先端出香槟酒。乐队又开始奏乐，伯爵吻了一下伯爵夫人，客人都站立起来，向伯爵夫人道贺，隔着桌子跟伯爵碰杯，跟孩子们碰杯，并互相碰杯。堂倌忙碌起来了，又跑来跑去，可以听见椅子碰撞的响声，客人们的两颊显得更红了，又依照原先的顺序走回客厅，走回伯爵的书斋。