Book 3 Chapter 6

IT was a long while since the Rostovs had had news of their Nikolushka. But in the middle of the winter a letter was handed to Count Rostov, on the envelope of which he recognised his son's handwriting. On receiving the letter the count, in alarm and in haste, ran on tiptoe to his room, trying to escape notice, shut himself in and read the letter. Anna Mihalovna had learned (as she always did learn all that passed in the house) that he had received a letter, and treading softly, she went in to the count and found him with the letter in his hand, sobbing and laughing at once. Anna Mihalovna, though her fortunes had been looking up, was still an inmate of the Rostov household.

“My dear friend?” Anna Mihalovna brought out in a voice of melancholy inquiry, equally ready for sympathy in any direction. The count sobbed more violently

“Nikolushka … letter … wounded … he would … my dear … wounded … my darling boy … the little countess … promoted … thank God … how are we to tell the little countess?”

Anna Mihalovna sat down by his side, with her own handkerchief wiped the tears from his eyes and from the letter, then dried her own tears, read the letter, soothed the count, and decided that before dinner and before tea she would prepare the countess; and after tea, with God's help, tell her all. During dinner Anna Mihalovna talked of the rumours from the war, of dear Nikolay, inquired twice when his last letter had been received, though she knew perfectly well, and observed that they might well be getting a letter from him to-day. Every time that the countess began to be uneasy under these hints and looked in trepidation from the count to Anna Mihalovna, the latter turned the conversation in the most unnoticeable way to insignificant subjects. Natasha, who was of all the family the one most gifted with the faculty of catching the shades of intonations, of glances, and expressions, had been on the alert from the beginning of dinner, and was certain that there was some secret between her father and Anna Mihalovna, and that it had something to do with her brother, and that Anna Mihalovna was paving the way for it. Natasha knew how easily upset her mother was by any references to news from Nikolushka, and in spite of all her recklessness she did not venture at dinner to ask a question. But she was too much excited to eat any dinner and kept wriggling about on her chair, regardless of the protests of her governess. After dinner she rushed headlong to overtake Anna Mihalovna, and in the divan-room dashed at her and flung herself on her neck: “Auntie, darling, do tell me what it is.”

“Nothing, my dear.”

“No, darling, sweet, precious peach, I won't leave off; I know you know something.”

Anna Mihalovna shook her head. “You are sharp, my child!” she said.

“A letter from Nikolinka? I'm sure of it!” cried Natasha, reading an affirmative answer on the face of Anna Mihalovna.

“But, for God's sake, be more careful; you know what a shock it may be to your mamma.”

“I will be, I will, but tell me about it. You won't? Well, then, I'll run and tell her this minute.”

Anna Mihalovna gave Natasha a brief account of what was in the letter, on condition that she would not tell a soul.

“On my word of honour,” said Natasha, crossing herself, “I won't tell any one,” and she ran at once to Sonya. “Nikolinka … wounded … a letter …” she proclaimed in gleeful triumph

“Nikolinka!” was all Sonya could articulate, instantly turning white. Natasha seeing the effect of the news of her brother's wound on Sonya, for the first time felt the painful aspect of the news.

She rushed at Sonya, hugged her, and began to cry. “A little wounded, but promoted to be an officer; he's all right now, he writes himself,” she said through her tears.

“One can see all you women are regular cry-babies,” said Petya, striding with resolute steps up and down the room; “I'm very glad, really very glad, that my brother has distinguished himself so. You all start blubbering! you don't understand anything about it.” Natasha smiled through her tears.

“You haven't read the letter?” asked Sonya

“No; but she told me it was all over, and that he's an officer now …”

“Thank God,” said Sonya, crossing herself. “But perhaps she was deceiving you. Let us go to mamma.”

Petya had been strutting up and down in silence

“If I were in Nikolinka's place, I'd have killed a lot more of those Frenchmen,” he said, “they're such beasts! I'd have killed them till there was a regular heap of them,” Petya went on.

“Hold your tongue, Petya, what a silly you are! …”

“I'm not a silly; people are silly who cry for trifles,” said Petya.

“Do you remember him?” Natasha asked suddenly, after a moment's silence. Sonya smiled.

“Do I remember Nikolinka?”

“No, Sonya, but do you remember him so as to remember him thoroughly, to remember him quite,” said Natasha with a strenuous gesture, as though she were trying to put into her words the most earnest meaning. “And I do remember Nikolinka, I remember him,” she said. “But I don't remember Boris. I don't remember him a bit …”

“What? You don't remember Boris?” Sonya queried with surprise.

“I don't mean I don't remember him. I know what he's like, but not as I remember Nikolinka. I shut my eyes and I can see him, but not Boris” (she shut her eyes), “no, nothing!”

“Ah, Natasha!” said Sonya, looking solemnly and earnestly at her friend, as though she considered her unworthy to hear what she meant to say, and was saying it to some one else with whom joking was out of the question. “I have come to love your brother once for all, and whatever were to happen to him and to me, I could never cease to love him all my life.”

With inquisitive, wondering eyes, Natasha gazed at Sonya, and she did not speak. She felt that what Sonya was saying was the truth, that there was love such as Sonya was speaking of. But Natasha had never known anything like it. She believed that it might be so, but she did not understand it.

“Shall you write to him?” she asked. Sonya sank into thought. How she should write to Nikolay, and whether she ought to write to him, was a question that worried her. Now that he was an officer, and a wounded hero, would it be nice on her part to remind him of herself, and as it were of the obligations he had taken on himself in regard to her. “I don't know. I suppose if he writes to me I shall write,” she said, blushing.

“And you won't be ashamed to write to him?”

Sonya smiled.

“No.”

“And I should be ashamed to write to Boris, and I'm not going to write.”

“But why should you be ashamed?”

“Oh, I don't know. I feel awkward, ashamed.”

“I know why she'd be ashamed,” said Petya, offended at Natasha's previous remark, “because she fell in love with that fat fellow in spectacles” (this was how Petya used to describe his namesake, the new Count Bezuhov); “and now she's in love with that singing fellow” (Petya meant Natasha's Italian singing-master), “that's why she's ashamed.”

“Petya, you're a stupid,” said Natasha.

“No stupider than you, ma'am,” said nine-year-old Petya, exactly as though he had been an elderly brigadier.

The countess had been prepared by Anna Mihalovna's hints during dinner. On returning to her room she had sat down in a low chair with her eyes fixed on the miniature of her son, painted on the lid of her snuff-box, and the tears started into her eyes. Anna Mihalovna, with the letter, approached the countess's room on tiptoe, and stood still at the door.

“Don't come in,” she said to the old count, who was following her; “later,” and she closed the door after her. The count put his ear to the keyhole, and listened.

At first he heard the sound of indifferent talk, then Anna Mihalovna's voice alone, uttering a long speech, then a shriek, then silence, then both voices talking at once with joyful intonations, then there were steps, and Anna Mihalovna opened the door. Her face wore the look of pride of an operator who has performed a difficult amputation, and invites the public in to appreciate his skill.

“It is done,” she said to the count triumphantly, motioning him to the countess, who was holding in one hand the snuff-box with the portrait, in the other the letter, and pressing her lips first to one and then to the other. On seeing the count, she held out her arms to him, embraced his bald head, and looked again over the bald head at the letter and the portrait, and in order again to press them to her lips, slightly repelled the bald head from her. Vera, Natasha, Sonya, and Petya came into the room, and the reading of the letter began. The letter briefly described the march and the two battles in which Nikolushka had taken part, and the receiving of his commission, and said that he kissed the hands of his mamma and papa, begging their blessing, and sent kisses to Vera, Natasha, and Petya. He sent greetings, too, to Monsieur Schelling and Madame Schoss, and his old nurse, and begged them to kiss for him his darling Sonya, whom he still loved and thought of the same as ever. On hearing this, Sonya blushed till the tears came into her eyes. And unable to stand the eyes fixed upon her, she ran into the big hall, ran about with a flushed and smiling face, whirled round and round and ducked down, making her skirts into a balloon. The countess was crying.

“What are you crying about, mamma?” said Vera. “From all he writes, we ought to rejoice instead of crying.”

This was perfectly true, but the count and the countess and Natasha all looked at her reproachfully. “And who is it that she takes after!” thought the countess.

Nikolushka's letter was read over hundreds of times, and those who were considered worthy of hearing it had to come in to the countess, who did not let it go out of her hands. The tutors went in, the nurses, Mitenka, and several acquaintances, and the countess read the letter every time with fresh enjoyment and every time she discovered from it new virtues in her Nikolushka. How strange, extraordinary, and joyful it was to her to think that her son—the little son, whose tiny limbs had faintly stirred within her twenty years ago, for whose sake she had so often quarrelled with the count, who would spoil him, the little son, who had first learnt to say grusha, and then had learnt to say baba—that that son was now in a foreign land, in strange surroundings, a manly warrior, alone without help or guidance, doing there his proper manly work. All the world-wide experience of ages, proving that children do imperceptibly from the cradle grow up into men, did not exist for the countess. The growth of her son had been for her at every stage of his growth just as extraordinary as though millions of millions of men had not grown up in the same way. Just as, twenty years before, she could not believe that the little creature that was lying somewhere under her heart, would one day cry and suck her breast and learn to talk, now she could not believe that the same little creature could be that strong, brave man, that paragon of sons and of men that, judging by this letter, he was now.

“What style, how charmingly he describes everything!” she said, reading over the descriptions in the letter. “And what soul! Of himself not a word … not a word! A great deal about a man called Denisov, though he was himself, I dare say, braver than any one. He doesn't write a word about his sufferings. What a heart! How like him it is! How he thinks of every one! No one forgotten. I always, always said, when he was no more than that high, I always used to say …”

For over a week they were hard at work preparing a letter to Nikolushka from all the household, writing out rough copies, copying out fair copies. With the watchful care of the countess, and the fussy solicitude of the count, all sorts of necessary things were got together, and money, too, for the equipment and the uniform of the young officer. Anna Mihalovna, practical woman, had succeeded in obtaining special patronage for herself and her son in the army, that even extended to their correspondence. She had opportunities of sending her letters to the Grand Duke Konstantin Pavlovitch, who was in command of the guards. The Rostovs assumed that “The Russian Guards Abroad,” was quite a sufficiently definite address, and that if a letter reached the grand duke in command of the guards, there was no reason why it should not reach the Pavlograd regiment, who were presumably somewhere in the same vicinity. And so it was decided to send off their letters and money by the special messenger of the grand duke to Boris, and Boris would have to forward them to Nikolushka. There were letters from the count, the countess, Petya, Vera, Natasha, and Sonya, a sum of six thousand roubles for his equipment, and various other things which the count was sending to his son.

罗斯托夫一家人许久没有获得尼古卢什卡的消息，时值仲冬，伯爵才收得一封来信，他从来信的地址上认出了儿子的笔迹。伯爵接到这封信之后，惊恐万状，极力地做出不被人发现的样子，他踮起脚尖跑进自己的书斋，关上房门，念起信来。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜知道家里接到一封信（家中发生什么事，她全知道），就悄悄地移动脚步走到伯爵跟前，碰见他手中拿着一封信，又哭又笑很狼狈。

安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜虽然景况有所好转，但她还继续住在罗斯托夫家中。

“monbonami？”①安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜忧愁地问道，无论发生什么事，她都愿意同情他。

①法语：我的好朋友。

伯爵哭得更厉害了。

“尼古卢什卡……一封信……负伤了……macherve，……负伤了……我亲爱的……伯爵夫人……他升为军官了……谢天谢地……怎样对伯爵夫人说才好？……”

午宴间，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜不断地谈到战争的消息，谈到尼古卢什卡的情况，虽然她早就心中有数，但还接连两次问到是在什么时候接到他的一封最近的来信，她说，也许不打紧，就是今日又会接到一封信。每当公爵夫人得到这些暗示总觉得心慌意乱、惶恐地时而望望伯爵，时而望望安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的时候，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜就不引人注目地把话题转到无关紧要的事情上。娜塔莎在全家人之中最富有才华，她善于体会人们的语调、眼神和面部表情的细微差别，午宴一开始她就竖起耳朵，她了解她的父亲和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜之间发生了什么事情，发生了什么涉及哥哥的事情，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜正在筹备什么事情。娜塔莎虽然很有胆量（她知道她的母亲对涉及尼古卢什卡的消息的一切都很敏感），但是她不敢在午宴间提出问题，并且因为焦急不安，在午宴间什么都不吃，在椅子上坐不安定，也不去听家庭女教师的责备。午宴后她拼命地跑去追赶安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，并在休息室跑着冲上去搂住她的颈项。

“好大妈，我亲爱的，说给我听，是怎么回事？”

“我的朋友，没有什么事。”

“不，我的心肝，我亲爱的，不说的话，我决不罢休，我知道您所知道的事。”

安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜摇摇头。

“Vousêtesunefinemouche，monenfant．”①她说道。

①法语：嘿，你真是个滑头啊。

“尼古连卡寄来的信吗？想必是的！”“娜塔莎从安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的脸色看出了肯定的回答，她于是大声喊道。

“不过看在上帝份上，你要小心点儿，你知道这可能会使你妈妈感到惊讶的。”

“我会小心的，我会小心的，可是，说给我听吧。您不说吗？也罢，我马上去说。”

安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜三言两语就把这封信的内容讲给娜塔莎听了，不过有个附带条件：不要告诉任何人。

“决不食言，”娜塔莎一面画十字，一面说道，“我决不告诉任何人。”她立即跑去见索尼娅。

“尼古连卡……负了伤……有一封信……”她激动而高兴地说。

“尼古拉！”索尼娅刚刚开口说话，脸色顿时变得苍白了。

娜塔莎亲眼看见哥哥负伤的消息对索尼娅产生影响，她才头一回感到这个消息充满着悲伤。

她向索尼娅挤过去，把她抱住，大哭起来。

“负了一点伤，但是升为军官了，他自己在信中写道，目前身体很健康。”她透过眼泪说道。

“由此可见，你们这些妇女都是哭鬼，”彼佳说，一边迈着坚定的脚步在房间里走来走去。“哥哥出类拔萃，我很高兴，说真的，我很高兴。你们都哭哭啼啼！什么都不懂得。”娜塔莎透过眼泪，微微一笑。

“你没有看过信吗？”索尼娅问道。

“我没有看过，可是她说，一切都过去了，他已经当上军官了……”

“谢天谢地，”索尼娅用手画十字时说道。“可是，她也许欺骗你了。我们到妈妈那里去吧。”

彼佳沉默地在房里踱来踱去。

“如果我处于尼古卢什卡的地位，我就会杀死更多的法国人，”他说，“他们多么卑鄙啊！我真要把他们杀光，让那尸骨堆积成山。”彼佳继续说道。

“彼佳，你住口，你真是个傻瓜啊！……”

“我不是傻瓜，而那些因为一些小事而哭的人才是傻瓜。”

彼佳说。

“你记得他吗？”沉默片刻之后娜塔莎忽然问道。索尼娅微微一笑。

“我是不是还记得尼古拉么？”

“不，索尼娅，你记不记得他，要记得清清楚楚，什么都要记得清清楚楚，”娜塔莎做个亲热的手势说，很明显，想使她的话语赋有最严肃的意义。“我也记得尼古连卡，我记得他，”她说道“可我记不得鲍里斯。根本记不得。……”

“怎么？记不得鲍里斯吗？”索尼娅惊奇地发问。

“不是说我记不得，我知道他是什么模样，可是不像记得尼古连卡那样记得一清二楚。我闭上眼睛都记得他，可是记不得鲍里斯（她闭上眼睛），真的，不记得，一点也不记得啊！”

“唉，娜塔莎！”索尼娅欣喜而严肃地望着她的女友时说道，仿佛她认为她不配去听她想说的话，又仿佛她把这件事告诉另外一个不能打趣的人似的。“既然我爱上你的哥哥，无论是他还是我发生什么事，我一辈子永远都会爱他的。”

娜塔莎睁开一对好奇的眼睛，惊讶地瞧着索尼娅，沉默不言。她觉得，索尼娅说的是真心话，索尼娅说的那种爱情也是有的，可是娜塔莎毫无这种体验。她相信，这种事可能会有的，但是她不明白。

“你要给他写信吗？”她问道。

索尼娅沉默起来。要怎样给尼古拉写信，有没有写信的必要，是个使她苦恼的问题。现在他已经当上军官，是负伤的英雄，她要他想到她自己，好像他对她担负有那种责任似的，这样做是否恰当呢。

“我不知道，我想，假如他写信，我也写信。”她涨红着脸，说道。

“你给他写信就不觉得羞耻吗？”

索尼娅微微一笑。

“不觉得。”

“可是我觉得给鲍里斯写信是可耻的，所以我不写给他。”

“究竟为什么会觉得可耻呢？”

“是这么回事，我不知道。我觉得可耻，不好意思。”

“可是我晓得，为什么她会觉得可耻，”娜塔莎的开初的责备使得彼佳受委屈，他说，“因为她爱上这个戴眼镜的胖子（彼佳这样称呼他的同名人——新伯爵别祖霍夫），现在又爱上这个歌手（彼佳说的是那个教娜塔莎唱歌的意大利教师），所以她觉得可耻。”

“彼佳，你太傻了。”娜塔莎说。

“亲爱的，我不比你更愚蠢。”九岁的彼佳像个年老的准将似的，他说。

午宴间安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜作了暗示，伯爵夫人在精神上有所准备。她回到自己房里以后，坐在安乐椅上，目不转睛地望着镶嵌在烟壶上的儿子的微型肖像，泪水涌上眼眶，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜携带信件踮着脚尖走到伯爵夫人门口，她停步了。

“请您不要走进来，”她对跟在安娜后面走的老伯爵说，“一会儿以后。”她随手把门关上了。

伯爵把耳朵贴在锁上，谛听起来了。

开先他听见冷淡的谈话声，之后听见安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜一个人的冗长的说话声，接着是一声喊叫，然后是鸦雀无声，然后又是两个人都用欢快的语调谈话，接着他听见脚步声，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜给他打开了房门。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脸上流露着骄傲的表情，就像施行手术的医师完成一次困难的截肢手术后，把观众带进手术室来赏识他的技术似的。

“C'estfait！”①她用激动的手势指着伯爵夫人对伯爵说，伯爵夫人一手拿着嵌有肖像的烟壶，一手拿着书函，把嘴唇时而贴在烟壶上，时而贴在书函上。

①法语：成了。

她看见伯爵之后，便向他伸出手来，抱住他的秃头，她隔着秃头又看看书函和肖像，她轻轻地把秃头推开，又吻吻书函和肖像。薇拉、娜塔莎、索尼娅和彼佳走进房里来，开始念信了。信上简略地描述行军的情形、尼古卢什卡参与的两次战斗，他被提升为军官，还提到他吻双亲的手，请他们祝福他，还吻薇拉、娜塔莎、彼佳，除此而外，他向谢林先生致意，向肖斯太太、保姆致意，除此而外，他祈求代他吻吻亲爱的索尼娅，他至今还是那样爱她，还是那样惦记她。索尼娅听到这句话，涨红了脸，泪水涌出了眼眶。她没法忍受向她投射的目光，跑到大厅里去了，她越来越快地跑起来，旋转得头晕目眩，连衣裙鼓得像气球似的，满面通红，微露笑容，在地板上坐下来。伯爵夫人悲痛地啼哭。

“maman，您哭什么呀？”薇拉说道，“从他写的信来看，应当高兴，不要哭啊。”

这是完全对的，但是伯爵、伯爵夫人和娜塔莎都带着责备的神态望望她。“她这副模样究竟像谁呀！”伯爵夫人想了想。

尼古卢什卡的信被念了几百遍，那些认为自己理应前去细听来信内容的人，都走到那个把信拿在手上不放的伯爵夫人面前来。家庭教师、保姆、米坚卡，几个熟人都来到她跟前，伯爵夫人反复多次地念信，每次都感到一种新的快慰，每次都从信上发现尼古卢什卡的新美德。她觉得多么奇怪，多么不平凡，多么令人欢快，她的儿子——二十年前在她腹中微微移动细小的四肢的儿子，为了他，她和胡作非为的伯爵多次发生口角，他就是那个先学会说“梨”，后学会喊“婆婆”的儿子，现在他身居异地，环境生疏，他居然是个英勇的战士，独自一人在既无援助又无指导的条件下做出了一番须眉大丈夫的事业。亘古以来全世界的经验表明，儿童自幼年开始，就不知不觉地逐渐地长大成人，对伯爵夫人来说这个经验是不存在的。对她来说她的儿子每个时期的发育成长都不平凡，正像千千万万人从来没有这样发育成长似的。二十年前她怎么会相信那个在她心脏下面的什么地方生存的小生物，竟会啼哭起来，竟会吸奶和说话，现在从这封信来看，她同样不会相信那个小生物现在竟成为身强体壮的勇敢的男人，竟是众人和子孙的楷模。

“他叙述得多么动人，多么优美的·文·体！”当她念到信中的描述部分时说道。“多么纯洁的灵魂！他丝毫没有提到自己……丝毫没有！他提到某个叫做杰尼索夫的人，想必他自己比大家更勇敢。他丝毫没有写到自己的苦难，多么好的心肠啊！我非常熟悉他的情况啊！所有的人他都记得清清楚楚！他没有忘记任何人。当他还是这么点点大的时候，我经常——

经常说，我经常说……”

他们准备一个多礼拜了，打好了书信的草稿，并且把全家写给尼古卢什卡的几封书信誊了一遍，在伯爵夫人的监督和伯爵的关照下，筹措一些必需品和钱款，为已擢升的军官置备军服和生活用具。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜是个办事讲究实际的女人，她甚至连和儿子通信的事也能在军队中托人求情。

她就乘机向指挥近卫军的康斯坦丁·帕夫洛维奇大公处寄信。罗斯托夫一家人推测，·国·外·俄·国·近·卫·军是一个完全固定的通信地址，假如信件投寄到指挥近卫军的康斯坦丁大公处，就无理由不寄到附近的保罗格勒兵团团部。因此他们决定借助于大公的信使将信件和金钱送至鲍里斯处，鲍里斯定当转送尼古卢什卡。老伯爵、伯爵夫人的信、彼佳、薇拉、娜塔莎、索尼娅的信都寄到了，还有伯爵寄给儿子置备军服和各种用品的六千卢布也寄到了。