Book 1 Chapter 25

PRINCE ANDREY was leaving the following evening. The old prince, not departing from his regular routine, went away to his own room after dinner. The little princess was with her sister-in-law. Prince Andrey, having changed his dress and put on a travelling-coat without epaulettes, had been packing with his valet in the rooms set apart for him. After himself inspecting the coach and the packing of his trunks on it, he gave orders for the horses to be put to. Nothing was left in the room but the things that Prince Andrey always carried with him: a travelling-case, a big silver wine-case, two Turkish pistols and a sabre, a present from his father, brought back from his campaign under Otchakov. All Prince Andrey's belongings for the journey were in good order; everything was new and clean, in cloth covers, carefully fastened with tape.

At moments of starting off and beginning a different life, persons given to deliberating on their actions are usually apt to be in a serious frame of mind. At such moments one reviews the past and forms plans for the future. The face of Prince Andrey was very dreamy and tender. Clasping his hands behind him, he walked rapidly up and down the room from corner to corner looking straight before him and dreamily shaking his head. Whether he felt dread at going to the war, or grief at forsaking his wife or possibly something of both—he evidently did not care to be seen in that mood, for, catching the sound of footsteps in the outer room, he hastily unclasped his hands, stood at the table, as though engaged in fastening the cover of the case, and assumed his habitual calm and impenetrable expression. It was the heavy step of Princess Marya.

“They told me you had ordered the horses to be put in,” she said, panting (she had evidently been running), “and I did so want to have a little more talk with you alone. God knows how long we shall be parted again. You're not angry with me for coming? You're very much changed, Andryusha,” she added, as though to explain the question.

She smiled as she uttered the word “Andryusha.” It was obviously strange to her to think that this stern, handsome man was the same as the thin, mischievous boy, the Andryusha who had been the companion of her childhood.

“And where's Liza?” he asked, only answering her question by a smile.

“She was so tired that she fell asleep on the sofa in my room. Oh Andrey, what a treasure of a wife you have,” she said, sitting down on the sofa, facing her brother. “She is a perfect child; such a sweet, merry child. I like her so much.” Prince Andrey did not speak, but the princess noticed the ironical and contemptuous expression that came into his face.

“But one must be indulgent to little weaknesses. Who is free from them, Andrey? You mustn't forget that she has grown up and been educated in society. And then her position is not a very cheerful one. One must put oneself in every one's position. To understand everything is to forgive everything. Only think what it must be for her, poor girl, after the life she has been used to, to part from her husband and be left alone in the country, and in her condition too. It's very hard.”

Prince Andrey smiled, looking at his sister as we smile listening to people whom we fancy we see through.

“You live in the country and think the life so awful?” he said.

“I—that's a different matter. Why bring me in? I don't wish for any other life, and indeed I can't wish for anything different, for I know no other sort of life. But only think, Andrey, what it is for a young woman used to fashionable society to be buried for the best years of her life in the country, alone, because papa is always busy, and I … you know me … I am not a cheerful companion for women used to the best society. Mademoiselle Bourienne is the only person …”

“I don't like her at all, your Bourienne,” said Prince Andrey.

“Oh, no! she's a very good and sweet girl, and what's more, she's very much to be pitied. She has nobody, nobody. To tell the truth, she is of no use to me, but only in my way. I have always, you know, been a solitary creature, and now I'm getting more and more so. I like to be alone … Mon père likes her very much. She and Mihail Ivanovitch are the two people he is always friendly and good-tempered with, because he has been a benefactor to both of them; as Sterne says: ‘We don't love people so much for the good they have done us as for the good we have done them.' Mon père picked her up an orphan in the streets, and she's very good-natured. And mon père likes her way of reading. She reads aloud to him in the evenings. She reads very well.”

“Come, tell me the truth, Marie, you suffer a good deal, I expect, sometimes from our father's character?” Prince Andrey asked suddenly. Princess Marya was at first amazed, then aghast at the question.

“Me?…me?…me suffer!” she said.

“He was always harsh, but he's growing very tedious, I should think,” said Prince Andrey, speaking so slightingly of his father with an unmistakable intention either of puzzling or of testing his sister.

“You are good in every way, Andrey, but you have a sort of pride of intellect,” said the princess, evidently following her own train of thought rather than the thread of the conversation, “and that's a great sin. Do you think it right to judge our father? But if it were right, what feeling but vénération could be aroused by such a man as mon père? And I am so contented and happy with him. I could only wish you were all as happy as I am.”

Her brother shook his head incredulously.

“The only thing that troubles me,—I'll tell you the truth, Andrey,— is our father's way of thinking in religious matters. I can't understand how a man of such immense intellect can fail to see what is as clear as day, and can fall into such error. That is the one thing that makes me unhappy. But even in this I see a slight change for the better of late. Lately his jeers have not been so bitter, and there is a monk whom he received and talked to a long time.”

“Well, my dear, I'm afraid you and your monk are wasting your powder and shot,” Prince Andrey said ironically but affectionately.

“Ah, mon ami! I can only pray to God and trust that He will hear me. Andrey,” she said timidly after a minute's silence, “I have a great favour to ask of you.”

“What is it, dear?”

“No; promise me you won't refuse. It will be no trouble to you, and there is nothing beneath you in it. Only it will be a comfort to me. Promise, Andryusha,” she said, putting her hand into her reticule and holding something in it, but not showing it yet, as though what she was holding was the object of her entreaty, and before she received a promise to grant it, she could not take that something out of her reticule. She looked timidly with imploring eyes at her brother.

“Even if it were a great trouble …” answered Prince Andrey, seeming to guess what the favour was.

“You may think what you please about it. I know you are like mon père. Think what you please, but do this for my sake. Do, please. The father of my father, our grandfather, always wore it in all his wars …” She still did not take out what she was holding in her reticule. “You promise me, then?”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Andrey, I am blessing you with the holy image, and you must promise me you will never take it off.… You promise?”

“If it does not weigh a ton and won't drag my neck off … To please you,” said Prince Andrey. The same second he noticed the pained expression that came over his sister's face at this jest, and felt remorseful. “I am very glad, really very glad, dear,” he added.

“Against your own will He will save and will have mercy on you and turn you to Himself, because in Him alone is truth and peace,” she said in a voice shaking with emotion, and with a solemn gesture holding in both hands before her brother an old-fashioned, little, oval holy image of the Saviour with a black face in a silver setting, on a little silver chain of delicate workmanship. She crossed herself, kissed the image, and gave it to Andrey.

“Please, Andrey, for my sake.”

Rays of kindly, timid light beamed from her great eyes. Those eyes lighted up all the thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her brother would have taken the image, but she stopped him. Andrey understood, crossed himself, and kissed the image. His face looked at once tender (he was touched) and ironical.

“Merci, mon ami.” She kissed him on the forehead and sat down again on the sofa. Both were silent.

“So as I was telling you, Andrey, you must be kind and generous as you always used to be. Don't judge Liza harshly,” she began; “she is so sweet, so good-natured, and her position is a very hard one just now.”

“I fancy I have said nothing to you, Masha, of my blaming my wife for anything or being dissatisfied with her. What makes you say all this to me?”

Princess Marya coloured in patches, and was mute, as though she felt guilty.

“I have said nothing to you, but you have been talked to. And that makes me sad.”

The red patches grew deeper on the forehead and neck and cheeks of Princess Marya. She would have said something, but could not utter the words. Her brother had guessed right: his wife had shed tears after dinner, had said that she had a presentiment of a bad confinement, that she was afraid of it, and had complained of her hard lot, of her father-in-law and her husband. After crying she had fallen asleep. Prince Andrey felt sorry for his sister.

“Let me tell you one thing, Masha, I can't reproach my wife for anything, I never have and I never shall, nor can I reproach myself for anything in regard to her, and that shall always be so in whatever circumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know the truth … if you want to know if I am happy. No. Is she happy? No. Why is it so? I don't know.”

As he said this, he went up to his sister, and stooping over her kissed her on the forehead. His fine eyes shone with an unaccustomed light of intelligence and goodness. But he was not looking at his sister, but towards the darkness of the open door, over her head.

“Let us go to her; I must say good-bye. Or you go alone and wake her up, and I'll come in a moment. Petrushka!” he called to his valet, “come here and take away these things. This is to go in the seat and this on the right side.”

Princess Marya got up and moved toward the door. She stopped. “Andrey, if you had faith, you would have appealed to God, to give you the love that you do not feel, and your prayer would have been granted.”

“Yes, perhaps so,” said Prince Andrey. “Go, Masha, I'll come immediately.”

On the way to his sister's room, in the gallery that united one house to the other, Prince Andrey encountered Mademoiselle Bourienne smiling sweetly. It was the third time that day that with an innocent and enthusiastic smile she had thrown herself in his way in secluded passages.

“Ah, I thought you were in your own room,” she said, for some reason blushing and casting down her eyes. Prince Andrey looked sternly at her. A sudden look of wrathful exasperation came into his face. He said nothing to her, but stared at her forehead and her hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt that the Frenchwoman crimsoned and went away without a word. When he reached his sister's room, the little princess was awake and her gay little voice could be heard through the open door, hurrying one word after another. She talked as though, after being long restrained, she wanted to make up for lost time, and, as always, she spoke French

“No, but imagine the old Countess Zubov, with false curls and her mouth full of false teeth as though she wanted to defy the years. Ha, ha, ha, Marie!”

Just the same phrase about Countess Zubov and just the same laugh Prince Andrey had heard five times already from his wife before outsiders. He walked softly into the room. The little princess, plump and rosy, was sitting in a low chair with her work in her hands, trotting out her Petersburg reminiscences and phrases. Prince Andrey went up, stroked her on the head, and asked if she had got over the fatigue of the journey. She answered him and went on talking.

The coach with six horses stood at the steps. It was a dark autumn night. The coachman could not see the shafts of the carriage. Servants with lanterns were running to and fro on the steps. The immense house glared with its great windows lighted up. The house-serfs were crowding in the outer hall, anxious to say good-bye to their young prince. In the great hall within stood all the members of the household: Mihail Ivanovitch, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Marya, and the little princess. Prince Andrey had been summoned to the study of his father, who wanted to take leave of him alone. All were waiting for him to come out again. When Prince Andrey went into the study, the old prince was in his old-age spectacles and his white dressing-gown, in which he never saw any one but his son. He was sitting at the table writing. He looked round.

“Going?” And he went on writing again.

“I have come to say good-bye.”

“Kiss me here,” he touched his cheek; “thanks, thanks!”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For not lingering beyond your fixed time, for not hanging about a woman's petticoats. Duty before everything. Thanks, thanks!” And he went on writing, so that ink spurted from the scratching pen.

“If you want to say anything, say it. I can do these two things at once,” he added.

“About my wife … I'm ashamed as it is to leave her on your hands.…”

“Why talk nonsense? Say what you want.”

“When my wife's confinement is due, send to Moscow for an accoucheur … Let him be here.”

The old man stopped and stared with stern eyes at his son, as though not understanding.

“I know that no one can be of use, if nature does not assist,” said Prince Andrey, evidently confused. “I admit that out of a million cases only one goes wrong, but it's her fancy and mine. They've been telling her things; she's had a dream and she's frightened.”

“H'm…h'm …” the old prince muttered to himself, going on with his writing. “I will do so.” He scribbled his signature, and suddenly turned quickly to his son and laughed.

“It's a bad business, eh?”

“What's a bad business, father?”

“Wife!” the old prince said briefly and significantly.

“I don't understand,” said Prince Andrey.

“But there's no help for it, my dear boy,” said the old prince; “they're all like that, and there's no getting unmarried again. Don't be afraid, I won't say a word to any one, but you know it yourself.”

He grasped his hand with his thin, little, bony fingers, shook it, looked straight into his son's face with his keen eyes, that seemed to see right through any one, and again he laughed his frigid laugh.

The son sighed, acknowledging in that sigh that his father understood him. The old man, still busy folding and sealing the letters with his habitual rapidity, snatched up and flung down again the wax, the seal, and the paper.

“It can't be helped. She's pretty. I'll do everything. Set your mind at rest,” he said jerkily, as he sealed the letter.

Andrey did not speak; it was both pleasant and painful to him that his father understood him. The old man got up and gave his son the letter.

“Listen,” said he. “Don't worry about your wife; what can be done shall be done. Now, listen; give this letter to Mihail Ilarionovitch. I write that he is to make use of you on good work, and not to keep you long an adjutant; a vile duty! Tell him I remember him and like him. And write to me how he receives you. If he's all right, serve him. The son of Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky has no need to serve under any man as a favour. Now, come here.”

He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half of his words, but his son was used to understanding him. He led his son to the bureau, opened it, drew out a drawer, and took out of it a manuscript book filled with his bold, big, compressed handwriting.

“I am sure to die before you. See, here are my notes, to be given to the Emperor after my death. Now here, see, is a bank note and a letter: this is a prize for any one who writes a history of Suvorov's wars. Send it to the academy. Here are my remarks, read them after I am gone for your own sake; you will find them profitable.”

Andrey did not tell his father that he probably had many years before him. He knew there was no need to say that.

“I will do all that, father,” he said.

“Well, now, good-bye!” He gave his son his hand to kiss and embraced him. “Remember one thing, Prince Andrey, if you are killed, it will be a grief to me in my old age…” He paused abruptly, and all at once in a shrill voice went on: “But if I learn that you have not behaved like the son of Nikolay Bolkonsky, I shall be … ashamed,” he shrilled.

“You needn't have said that to me, father,” said his son, smiling.

The old man did not speak.

“There's another thing I wanted to ask you,” went on Prince Andrey; “if I'm killed, and if I have a son, don't let him slip out of your hands, as I said to you yesterday; let him grow up with you…please.”

“Not give him up to your wife?” said the old man, and he laughed.

They stood mutually facing each other. The old man's sharp eyes were fixed on his son's eyes. A quiver passed over the lower part of the old prince's face.

“We have said good-bye…go along!” he said suddenly. “Go along!” he cried in a loud and wrathful voice, opening the study door.

“What is it, what's the matter?” asked the two princesses on seeing Prince Andrey, and catching a momentary glimpse of the figure of the old man in his white dressing-gown, wearing his spectacles and no wig, and shouting in a wrathful voice.

Prince Andrey sighed and made no reply.

“Now, then,” he said, turning to his wife, and that “now then” sounded like a cold sneer, as though he had said, “Now, go through your little performance.”

“Andrey? Already!” said the little princess, turning pale and looking with dismay at her husband. He embraced her. She shrieked and fell swooning on his shoulder.

He cautiously withdrew the shoulder, on which she was lying, glanced into her face and carefully laid her in a low chair.

“Good-bye, Masha,” he said gently-to his sister, and they kissed one another's hands, then with rapid steps he walked out of the room.

The little princess lay in the arm-chair; Mademoiselle Bourienne rubbed her temples. Princess Marya, supporting her sister-in-law, still gazed with her fine eyes full of tears at the door by which Prince Andrey had gone, and she made the sign of the cross at it. From the study she heard like pistol shots the repeated and angry sounds of the old man blowing his nose. Just after Prince Andrey had gone, the door of the study was flung open, and the stern figure of the old man in his white dressing-gown peeped out.

“Gone? Well, and a good thing too!” he said, looking furiously at the fainting princess. He shook his head reproachfully and slammed the door.

第二天黄昏，安德烈公爵要动身了。老公爵遵守生活秩序，午膳后走回自己房里去了。矮小的公爵夫人呆在小姑房里。安德烈公爵穿上旅行常礼服，没有佩戴带穗肩章，在拨给他住的房间里和他的侍仆一同收拾行装。他亲自察看了马车，把手提箱装进车厢，嗣后吩咐套马车。房里只剩下一些安德烈平日随身带着的物品：一只小匣子、一只银质旅行食品箱、两支土耳其手枪和一柄军刀——从奥恰科夫运来的父亲赠送的物品。安德烈公爵的全部旅行用品摆放得齐齐整整，完整无缺，全是崭新的，十分干净的，罩上了呢绒套，并用小带子仔细地捆住。

在即将动身和改变生活规律的时刻，凡善于反思自己行为的人常常会产生一种忧闷的心绪。在这种时刻，他们通常是检查往事，制订长远规划。安德烈公爵脸部流露出沉思和感伤的表情。他把手放在背后。从房间的一角向另一角迈着疾速的脚步，张开眼睛向身前望去，沉思默想地晃着脑袋。他莫非是害怕上战场，抑或是离开妻子而忧心忡忡，——也许二者兼而有之，显然，他只是不想让人家望见他有这种心境；他听见门斗里的步履声，就连忙放开倒背着的手，在桌旁停步了，好像正在捆扎匣子上的布套，脸上带有平常那种宁静和神秘莫测的表情。这时分，可以听见公爵小姐玛丽亚的沉重的步履声。

“有人告诉我，你已经吩咐套马了，”她上气不接下气地说道（显然她是跑步来的），“我心里很想和你单独地再谈一会。天知道我们又要别离多久啊。我走来，你不发脾气吧？安德留沙，你变得厉害啊。”她补充一句话，好像要解释这句问话似的。

她喊“安德留沙”这个名字时，脸部微露笑容。看来，她想到这个严肃的俊美的男人，正是那个消瘦的调皮的安德留沙，她幼年时代的朋友，心里觉得十分奇怪。

“丽莎在哪儿？”他问道，只以微微一笑来回答她的问话。

“她觉得非常疲倦，在我房里的长沙发上睡着了。啊，Andrè！Quéltresondefemmevousavez，”①她说道，一面在长兄对面的长沙发上坐下。“她完全是个小女孩，一个可爱的愉快的小女孩。我很喜爱她。”

安德烈公爵默不作声，可是公爵小姐发现他脸上流露出嘲讽的鄙夷的表情。

“应当宽宏大量地对待一些小缺点，安德烈，谁会没有缺点啊！你不要忘记，她是在上流社会中教育、长大成人的。而且她目前的境遇并不幸福。应当同情每个人的处境。Toutcomprendre，c'esttoutpardonner，②你想想，她过惯了这种生活之后，怎么能够和丈夫离别，孤零零地呆在农村，而且怀了孕，她这个可怜的女人心里有什么感受？这是非常痛苦的。”

①法语：安德烈，你的妻子太可贵了。

②法语：谁能理解一切，谁就会宽恕一切。

安德烈公爵望着妹妹，脸上露出笑意，就像我们听到我们似乎看透了的那些人说话时面露笑容一样。

“你在农村生活，可是你并不认为这种生活可怕。”他说道。

“我就不一样了。干嘛要谈论我啊！我不企求别的生活，而且不能抱有这种心愿，因为我不知道还有什么别的生活。安德烈，你要想想，一个年轻轻的上流社会的女人，在大好年华，孑然一人匿身于农村，因为爸爸总是忙得不可开交，而我……你是知道我的情况的……对一个习惯于上流社会生活的女人来说，我是多么可怜，多么enresources①，唯独布里安小姐……”

“我极不喜欢您那个布里安。”安德烈公爵说道。

“啊，不对，她很可爱，又和善，主要是，她是一个不幸的姑娘。她没有任何亲人。老实说，我不仅不需要她，而且她使我感到不方便。你知道我一向是个野蛮人，现在变本加厉了。我喜欢独处……monpeve②很喜欢她。爸爸亲热而慈善地对待这两个人——她和米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇，因为他们二人都获得他的恩泽，斯特恩说，我们与其爱那些向我们布善的人，毋宁爱那些领受我们布善的人。monpeve收留了她这个surlepavé③的孤儿。她十分和善，喜欢她朗读的风度。她每逢夜晚给他朗读。她读得非常动听。”

①法语：不快活。

②法语：爸爸。

③法语：被遗弃于街头。

“嘿，玛丽，说真的，我认为父亲的性情有时会使你觉得难受，对不对？”安德烈公爵忽然问道。

公爵小姐玛丽亚先是大为惊讶，然后就害怕他这句问话。

“我觉得？……我觉得？我觉得难受？”她说道。

“我认为，他一向都很专横，现在变得难以共处了。”安德烈公爵说道，看来他故意使妹妹难堪，或者想试探一下，才这样轻率地评论父亲的。

“你各个方面都表现得很好，安德烈，可是你有点自傲，”公爵小姐说道，她不太注意谈话的进程，过多地注意自己的思路，“这真是一大罪孽。岂可评论父亲？即令是可以，而像monpeve这样的人，只能令人vénération，”①，哪能引起另一种感情？与他相处，我很满意，很幸福！我只希望你们都像我这样幸福。

长兄疑惑地摇摇头。

“安德烈，有一件事使我觉得难受，我如实地告诉你，那就是父亲在宗教方面的观点。我不明了，一个非常聪明的人，怎能看不清显而易见的事，怎能误入迷途？这就是我的一大不幸。但是我近来看见了他有改善的迹象。近来他的嘲讽不那么恶毒了。有个僧侣来拜门，他接见了僧侣，并且一同谈了很久的话。”

“啊，我的亲人，我怕您和僧侣都白费劲。”安德烈公爵嘲讽地，但却亲热地说道。

“Ah！monami，②我只是祷告上帝，希望他能听见我的祷告，安德烈，”沉默片刻之后她羞怯地说道：“我有一件要紧的事求你。”

①法语：崇拜。

②法语：啊，我的朋友。

“我的亲人，求我做什么事？”

“请你答应我，你不会拒绝我的请求。在你心目中，这件事不用费吹灰之力，也不会使你有损于身分。你只是安慰我而已。安德留沙，请你答应吧，”她说了这句话便把手伸进女式手提包里，拿着一样东西，但是不让别人望见，好像她手上拿的东西正是她所请求的目标，在她的请求尚未获得允诺之前，她是不能从女式手提包里取出这样东西的。

她用央求的目光羞羞答答地望着长兄。

“即使我要花费很大的力气……”安德烈公爵答道，仿佛要猜中是怎么回事。

“你随意想什么都行！我知道你和monpeve都是同样的人。你随意想什么都行，可是你要替我办这件事。请你办妥这件事！我父亲的父亲，即是我们的祖父在南征北战中都随身带着这样东西……”她依旧没有从女式手提包里取出她手里拿着的东西。“你会答应我吗？”

“当然，究竟是怎么回事啊？”

“安德烈，我用神像为你祝福，你要答应我你永远不会把它取下来……答应吗？”

“既然它的重量不到两普特，就不会压疼脖子……要让你愉快……”安德烈公爵说道，但是，一当他发现妹妹听了这句戏言，脸上就流露出忧伤的神情，他顿时后悔起来，“我非常高兴，我的确十分高兴，我的亲人。”他补充一句。

“上帝必将依据你的意志拯救你，保佑你，使你倾向他，唯有在他身上才能获得真理和安慰，”她用激动得颤栗的嗓音说道，在长兄面前庄重地捧着一帧救世主像。这帧古式神像呈椭圆形，面色黧黑并饰以银袍，身上系有一条银链。

她在胸前画十字，吻了吻神像，便把它递给安德烈。

“安德烈，请你保存，为我……”

她的一双大眼睛善良而且羞怯地炯炯发光。这双大眼睛照耀着她那瘦削的病态的面孔，使它变得十分美丽了。长兄想要伸手去拿神像，但是她把他拦住了。安德烈心里明白，他便在胸前画了十字，吻了一下神像。同时他脸上带有温和（他深受感动）和嘲笑的表情。

“mercimonami．”①

①法语：我的朋友，我感谢你。

她吻吻他的额头，又在长沙发上坐下来。他们都沉默不言。

“安德烈，我对你说过，你要像平常那样慈善、宽宏大量，不要严厉地责难丽莎，”她开始说道，“她很可爱，很和善，目前她的境况非常困难。”

“玛莎，我似乎什么也没有对你说起我责备妻子或者对她表示不满的话。你干嘛老对我说起这件事呢？”

公爵小姐玛丽亚脸上红一阵，白一阵，她沉默起来了，仿佛觉得自己有过错似的。

“我一点也没有对你说，不过有人对你说了。这真使我伤脑筋。”

公爵小姐玛丽亚的额头、颈项和两颊上的斑斑红晕显得更红了。她心里很想说点什么话，可是说不出来。长兄猜中了，午饭后矮小的公爵夫人哭了一顿，说她预感到不幸的分娩，她害怕难产，埋怨自己的命运，埋怨老公公和丈夫。她痛哭一顿以后就睡着了。安德烈公爵怜悯起妹妹来了。

“玛莎，你要知道是这么回事，我没有什么可责备妻子的，以前没有责备，以后也永远不会责备她，在我对她的态度上，我并没有什么可责怪自己的地方。无论我处在何种情况下，我永远都是这样。但是，如果你很想知道真相，……你想知道我是否幸福？我并不幸福。她是否幸福？也不幸福。这究竟是什么？我不知道……”

他说话时，站起身来，走到他妹妹面前，弯下腰去，吻了一下她的额头。他那美丽的眼睛放射出不常见的明智而和善的光芒，但是，他并不望他妹妹，而是逾越她的头部望着黑洞洞的敞开的门户。

“我们到她那里去吧，应当向她告辞了！要不然，你一个人去吧，把她喊醒，我马上就来。彼得鲁什卡！”他向侍仆喊道，“到这里来，收拾东西吧。这件要放在座位里边，这件要放在右边。”

公爵小姐玛丽亚站起身来，向门边走去。这时她停住脚步了。

“André，sivousavezlafoi，vousvousseriezadresséàDieu，pourqu'ilvousdonnel'amourquevousnesentezpas，etvotrepriereauraiteteexaucee．”①

“是啊，真有这种事吗！”安德烈公爵说道，“玛莎，你去吧，我立刻就来。”

安德烈公爵去妹妹房间的途中，在连结甲乙两幢住宅的走廊里，碰见了笑容可掬的布里安小姐，是日她已经第三次露出天真而喜悦的笑意在冷冷清清的过道上和他邂逅相遇了。

“Ah！jevouscroyaischezvous，”②她说道，不知怎的涨红了脸，低垂着眼睛。

①法语：安德烈，如果你有一种信仰，你就会祈祷上帝，要他赐予你那种体会不到的爱，要上帝能听到你的祷告。

②法语：啊，我原来以为您在自己房里哩。

安德烈公爵严肃地瞟了她一眼，脸上顿时流露出狂怒的神色，他什么话也没有对她说，不屑望望她的眼睛，只朝她的额角和头发瞥视一下，眼神是那么鄙夷，以致这个法国女人满面通红，她一言未发便走开了。当他行走到妹妹门口的时候，公爵夫人睡醒了，门户洞开，从里面传来她那愉快的上句紧扣下句的话语声。她说起话来，就像长时间克制之后，现在很想要补偿失去的时光似的。

“Non，maisfigurezvous，lavieillecomtesseZouboffavecdefaussesbouclesetlabouchepleinedefaussesdents，commesiellevoulaitdefierlesannees…①玛丽，哈，哈，哈！”

安德烈公爵约莫有五次听见他妻子在旁人面前说伯爵夫人祖博娃的一些同样的闲话，还听见一串串同样的笑声。他悄悄地走进房来。略嫌肥胖、面颊绯红的公爵夫人坐在安乐椅上，手里拿着针线活儿，不住声地说话，一桩桩、一件件回忆彼得堡的往事，甚至回忆一句句的原话。安德烈向她跟前走来，摸摸她的头，问她旅途之余是不是得到休息。她应声回答，又继续说下去了。

①法语：不，你设想一下，老伯爵夫人祖博娃长着一头假发，一口假牙，好像在嘲笑自己的年纪似的……

六套马的四轮马车停在台阶前面。外面正是昏暗的秋夜。车夫望不见马车的辕轩。人们都手提灯笼在门廊里忙忙碌碌。一幢雄伟的住宅透过一扇扇高大的窗户反射出耀眼的灯光。仆人们都聚集在接待室里想跟年轻的公爵告别；家属：米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇、布里安小姐、公爵小姐玛丽亚和公爵夫人，一个个站在大客厅里。安德烈公爵被人叫到书斋去见父亲，父亲很想单独地跟他告别，他们正在等待着父子走出门来。

安德烈公爵走进书斋时，老公爵戴上老年人用的眼镜，穿着一件洁白的长衫，除开会见儿子之外，他从未穿过这件长衫接见任何人，这时公爵正坐在桌旁写字。他掉过头来望一眼。

“你要走了吗？”他又握着笔管写起字来。

“我来告辞了。”

“吻我这里吧，”他指指面颊，“谢谢，谢谢！”

“您为什么要谢我？”

“因为你没有稽延多日，没有纠缠着女人的衣裙。服兵役第一。谢谢，谢谢！”他继续写字，墨水飞溅，笔尖沙沙地作响。“若是要说什么话，你就说吧。我可以同一时间做两件事。”

他补充一句。

“关于我的老婆……我把她留了下来让您老人家操劳，我实在不好意思……”

“你瞎说什么？说你该说的话吧。”

“我老婆分娩的时候，请您派人去莫斯科请个产科男医生……叫他到这里来。”

老公爵停住了，好像没有听懂他的意思，他用严肃的目光凝视他儿子。

“我知道，假如大自然帮不了忙，那就没有谁能帮上忙的，”安德烈公爵说道，看来他感到困惑不安，“我所赞成的是，一百万件事例中通常只有一件是不幸的，但是，这真是她的幻觉，也是我的幻觉。别人对她瞎说了什么不该说的话，她做了恶梦，因此她心里十分畏惧。”

“嗯……嗯……”老公爵喃喃地说，一面继续把信写完，“我一定办妥。”

他签了字，忽然很快地把脸转向儿子，哈哈大笑了。

“事情糟糕透了，不是吗？”

“爸爸，什么事情糟糕透了？”

“你的老婆呀！”老公爵三言两语地、但却意味深长地说道。

“我不明了。”安德烈公爵说道。

“亲爱的人，这真是毫无办法的，”公爵说道，“她们都是一路的货色，是离不成婚的。你不要害怕，我决不对人说，可是你自己要知道。”

他用那瘦骨嶙峋的小手一把抓住儿子的手臂，晃了一下，用那仿佛是要把人看透的目光朝着儿子的面孔飞快地扫了一眼，然后又冷冷地笑了。

他儿子叹了一口气，表示他已承认父亲了解他。老年人用那习惯的敏捷的动作继续折叠并封上几封信，他飞快拿起火漆、戳子和信纸，之后又搁下来。

“怎么办。长得俊俏嘛！一切我都办妥，你放心好了。”他在封信时若断若续地说道。

安德烈沉默不言，父亲了解他，这使他觉得愉快，又觉得不愉快。老年人站起身来，把信递给他儿子。

“你听我说，”他说道，“不要替老婆操心，凡是可能办到的事，都一定办到。你听着：把这封信转交米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇。我在信上写了，要他任用你，谋个好差事，不要让你老是当个副官，糟糕透了的职务啊！你告诉他，我还记得他，而且喜爱他。他怎样接待你，以后来信告诉我。假如他待人厚道，就干这个差事吧。尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基的儿子因为不受恩赐，所以不肯在任何人麾下任职。喂，现在到这里来。”

他像放连珠炮似地说话，说不到半句就说完了，可是他儿子已经听惯了，懂得他的意思。他把他儿子领到旧式写字台前面，启开盖子，拉出写字台的抽屉，取出一个笔记本，他把这个笔记本写满了又粗又长又密的小字。

“我想必会死在你前头。你听我说，这里是我的回忆录，在我去世后，把它呈送国王，这里有一张债券和一封信：这里有奖励《苏沃洛夫战史》著述者的一笔奖金。把这些东西寄到科学院去。这里是我的诠注，在我去世后，你自己可以浏阅，从其中获得裨益。”

安德烈没有对父亲说，他想必还能活很久。他心里明白，这种话是用不着说的。

“爸爸，这一切我都能办妥。”他说道。

“好啦，再见吧！”他让他儿子吻吻他的手，然后拥抱自己的儿子。“安德烈公爵，有一点你要牢记在心，如果你被敌人打死，我这个老头子会感到非常悲痛的……”他出乎意料地默不作声，突然他用尖锐刺耳的嗓音继续说，“如果我知道你的行为不像尼古拉·博尔孔斯基的儿子，我就会……感到汗颜！”他突然用那小尖嗓儿叫了一声。

“爸爸，您可以不对我说这种话。”儿子面带微笑地说道。

老年人默不作声了。

“我还有求于您，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“如果我被敌人打死，如果我将来有个儿子，请让他留在您身边，不要他离开，正如我昨天对您说的那样，让他在您这儿成长……请您照拂一下。”

“不把儿子交给老婆吗？”老年人说了这句话，大笑起来。

他们沉默不言，面对面地站着。老年人的敏锐的目光逼视着儿子的眼睛。老公爵的面颊的下部不知怎的颤抖了一下。

“辞别已经完毕了……你走吧！”他忽然说道。“你走吧！”

他把书斋门打开，提高嗓门怒气冲冲地喊道。

“究竟是怎么回事？怎么啦？”公爵夫人和公爵小姐望见了安德烈公爵和那身穿白长衫、未戴假发、戴着一副老年人用的眼镜、愤怒地吼叫的老年人匆匆探出来的身子，于是问道。

安德烈公爵叹了一口气，一声也没有回答。

“好啦，”他向妻子转过脸去说道。“好啦”这个词含有冷嘲热讽的意味，好像他是说：“您现在耍耍您的招儿吧。”

“Andredeja？”①矮小的公爵夫人说道，她脸色惨白，恐惧地望着丈夫。

他搂抱她。她尖叫一声，不省人事地倒在他的肩膀上。

他很小心地移开被她枕着的那只肩膀，望了望她的面孔，爱抚地扶她坐在安乐椅上。

“Adieu，marie，”②他轻声地对他妹妹说道，他和她互相吻吻手，从房里飞快走出来。

①法语：安德烈，怎么，告别完了吗？

②法语：玛丽亚，再见吧。

公爵夫人躺在安乐椅上，布里安小姐给她揉搓太阳穴。公爵小姐玛丽亚搀扶嫂嫂，她那双美丽的眼睛泪痕斑斑，还在望着安德烈公爵从那里走过的门口，她画着十字，为公爵祈祷祝福。书斋里多次地传出老头子的怒气冲冲的像射击似的擤鼻涕的声音。安德烈公爵刚刚走出去，书斋门很快就敞开了，从门里露出那个穿白色长衫的老年人的威严的身影。

“他走了吗？那就好了！”他说道，愤怒地望望不省人事的个子矮小的公爵夫人，他露出责备的神态摇摇头，砰的一声关上门了。