Book 12 Chapter 16

PRINCE ANDREY did not only know that he would die, but felt indeed that he was dying; that he was already half-dead. He experienced a sense of aloofness from everything earthly, and a strange and joyous lightness in his being. Neither impatient, nor troubled, he lay awaiting what was before him.… The menacing, the eternal, the unknown, and remote, the presence of which he had never ceased to feel during the whole course of his life, was now close to him, and—from that strange lightness of being, that he experienced—almost comprehensible and palpable.

In the past he had dreaded the end. Twice he had experienced that terribly agonising feeling of the dread of death, of the end, and now he had ceased to understand it.

The first time he had experienced that feeling when the grenade was rotating before him, and he looked at the stubble, at the bushes, at the sky, and knew that death was facing him. When he had come to himself after his wound, and instantly, as though set free from the cramping bondage of life, there had sprung up in his soul that flower of love, eternal, free, not dependent on this life, he had no more fear, and no more thought, of death.

In those hours of solitary suffering and half-delirium that he spent afterwards, the more he passed in thought into that new element of eternal love, revealed to him, the further he unconsciously travelled from earthly life. To love everything, every one, to sacrifice self always for love, meant to love no one, meant not to live this earthly life. And the further he penetrated into that element of love, the more he renounced life, and the more completely he annihilated that fearful barrier that love sets up between life and death. Whenever, during that first period, he remembered that he had to die, he said to himself: “Well, so much the better.”

But after that night at Mytishtchy, when in his half-delirium she, whom he had longed for, appeared before him, and when pressing her hand to his lips, he wept soft, happy tears, love for one woman stole unseen into his heart, and bound him again to life. And glad and disturbing thoughts began to come back to him. Recalling that moment at the ambulance station, when he had seen Kuragin, he could not now go back to his feeling then. He was fretted by the question whether he were alive. And he dared not ask.

His illness went through its regular physical course; but what Natasha had called “this change” had come upon him two days before Princess Marya's arrival. It was the last moral struggle between life and death, in which death gained the victory. It was the sudden consciousness that life, in the shape of his love for Natasha, was still precious to him, and the last and vanquished onslaught of terror before the unknown.

It happened in the evening. He was, as usually after dinner, in a slightly feverish condition, and his thoughts were particularly clear. Sonya was sitting at the table. He fell into a doze. He felt a sudden sense of happiness.

“Ah, she has come in!” he thought.

Natasha had, in fact, just come in with noiseless steps, and was sitting in Sonya's place.

Ever since she had been looking after him he had always felt this physical sense of her presence. She was in a low chair beside him, knitting a stocking, and sitting so as to screen the light of the candle from him. She had learned to knit since Prince Andrey had once said to her that no one made such a good sick-nurse as an old nurse who knitted stockings, and that there was something soothing about knitting. Her slender fingers moved the needles rapidly with a slight click, and the dreamy profile of her drooping head could be clearly seen by him. She made a slight movement; the ball rolled off her knee. She started, glanced round at him, and, screening the light with her hand, bent over with a cautious, supple, and precise movement, picked up the ball, and sat back in the same attitude as before.

He gazed at her without stirring, and saw that after her movements she wanted to draw a deep breath, but did not dare to, and breathed with careful self-restraint.

At the Troitsa monastery they had spoken of the past, and he had told her that if he were to live he should thank God for ever for his wound, which had brought them together again; but since then they had never spoken of the future.

“Could it be, or could it not?” he was wondering now as he watched her and listened to the slight steel click of the needles. “Can fate have brought us together so strangely only for me to die? … Can the truth of life have been revealed to me only for me to have spent my life in falsity? I love her more than anything in the world! But what am I to do if I love her?” he said, and suddenly he unconsciously moaned from the habit he had fallen into in the course of his sufferings.

Hearing the sound, Natasha laid down her stocking, and bent down closer to him, and suddenly noticing his shining eyes, went up to him with a light step and stooped down.

“You are not asleep?”

“No; I have been looking at you for a long while. I felt when you came in. No one but you gives me the same soft peace … the same light. I want to weep with gladness!”

Natasha moved closer to him. Her face beamed with rapturous delight.

“Natasha, I love you too much! More than everything in the world!”

“And I?” She turned away for a second. “Why too much?” she said.

“Why too much? … Well, what do you think, what do you feel in your heart, your whole heart, am I going to live? What do you think?”

“I am sure of it; sure of it!” Natasha almost cried out, taking both his hands with a passionate gesture.

He was silent for a while.

“How good it would be!” And taking her hand, he kissed it.

Natasha was happy and deeply stirred; and she recollected at once that this must not be, and that he must have quiet.

“But you are not asleep,” she said, subduing her joy. “Try and sleep … please do.”

He pressed her hand and let it go, and she moved back to the candle and sat down in the same position as before. Twice she glanced round at him; his eyes were bright as she met them. She set herself a task on her stocking, and told herself she would not look round till she had finished it.

He did, in fact, soon after shut his eyes and fall asleep. He did not sleep long, and woke up suddenly in a cold sweat of alarm.

As he fell asleep he was still thinking of what he had been thinking about all the time—of life and of death. And most of death. He felt he was closer to it.

“Love? What is love?” he thought.

“Love hinders death. Love is life. All, all that I understand, I understand only because I love. All is, all exists only because I love. All is bound up in love alone. Love is God, and dying means for me a particle of love, to go back to the universal and eternal source of love.” These thoughts seemed to him comforting. But they were only thoughts. Something was wanting in them; there was something one-sided and personal, something intellectual; they were not self-evident. And there was uneasiness, too, and obscurity. He fell asleep.

He dreamed that he was lying in the very room in which he was lying in reality, but that he was not ill, but quite well. Many people of various sorts, indifferent people of no importance, were present. He was talking and disputing with them about some trivial matter. They seemed to be preparing to set off somewhere. Prince Andrey had a dim feeling that all this was of no consequence, and that he had other matters of graver moment to think of, but still he went on uttering empty witticisms of some sort that surprised them. By degrees all these people began to disappear, and the one thing left was the question of closing the door. He got up and went towards the door to close it and bolt it. Everything depended on whether he were in time to shut it or not. He was going, he was hurrying, but his legs would not move, and he knew that he would not have time to shut the door, but still he was painfully straining every effort to do so. And an agonising terror came upon him. And that terror was the fear of death; behind the door stood It. But while he is helplessly and clumsily struggling towards the door, that something awful is already pressing against the other side of it, and forcing the door open. Something not human—death—is forcing the door open, and he must hold it to. He clutches at the door with a last straining effort—to shut it is impossible, at least to hold it—but his efforts are feeble and awkward; and, under the pressure of that awful thing, the door opens and shuts again.

Once more It was pressing on the door from without. His last, supernatural efforts are vain, and both leaves of the door are noiselessly opened. It comes in, and it is death. And Prince Andrey died.

But at the instant when in his dream he died, Prince Andrey recollected that he was asleep; and at the instant when he was dying, he made an effort and waked up.

“Yes, that was death. I died and I waked up. Yes, death is an awakening,” flashed with sudden light into his soul, and the veil that had till then hidden the unknown was lifted before his spiritual vision. He felt, as it were, set free from some force that held him in bondage, and was aware of that strange lightness of being that had not left him since.

When he waked up in a cold sweat and moved on the couch, Natasha went up and asked him what was the matter. He did not answer, and looked at her with strange eyes, not understanding her.

That was the change that had come over him two days before Princess Marya's arrival. The doctor said that from that day the wasting fever had assumed a more serious aspect, but Natasha paid little heed to what the doctor said; she saw the terrible moral symptoms, that for her were far more convincing.

With his awakening from sleep that day there began for Prince Andrey an awakening from life. And in relation to the duration of life it seemed to him not more prolonged than the awakening from sleep in relation to the duration of a dream. There was nothing violent or terrible in this relatively slow awakening.

His last days and hours passed in a simple and commonplace way. Princess Marya and Natasha, who never left his side, both felt that. They did not weep nor shudder, and towards the last they both felt they were waiting not on him (he was no more; he had gone far away from them), but on the nearest memory of him—his body. The feelings of both of them were so strong that the external, horrible side of death did not affect them, and they did not find it needful to work up their grief. They did not weep either in his presence nor away from him, and they never even talked of him together. They felt that they could not express in words what they understood.

They both saw that he was slowly and quietly slipping further and further away from them, and both knew that this must be so, and that it was well. He received absolution and extreme unction; every one came to bid him good-bye. When his son was brought in to him, he pressed his lips to him and turned away, not because it was painful or sad to him (Princess Marya and Natasha saw that), but simply because he supposed he had done all that was required of him. But he was told to give him his blessing, he did what was required, and looked round as though to ask whether there was anything else he must do. When the body, deserted by the spirit, passed through its last struggles, Princess Marya and Natasha were there.

“It is over!” said Princess Marya, after the body had lain for some moments motionless, and growing cold before them. Natasha went close, glanced at the dead eyes, and made haste to shut them. She closed them, and did not kiss them, but hung over what was the nearest memory of him. “Where has he gone? Where is he now? …”

When the body lay, dressed and washed, in the coffin on the table every one came to take leave of him, and every one cried. Nikolushka cried from the agonising bewilderment that was rending his heart. The countess and Sonya cried from pity for Natasha, and from grief that he was gone. The old count cried because he felt that he too must soon take the same terrible step.

Natasha and Princess Marya wept too now. But they did not weep for their personal sorrow; they wept from the emotion and awe that filled their souls before the simple and solemn mystery of death that had been accomplished before their eyes.

安德烈公爵不仅知道他会死去，而且感到他正在死去，并且已经死去一半了。他体验到了远离尘世的意识，和愉快而奇怪的轻松的感觉。他不着急不慌张地等待他正面临的时限。那威严的永恒的未知的遥远的主宰，他在自己生命的延续中不断触摸到他的存在，此时已迫近他，并且，照他所体验到的奇怪的轻松的感觉，几乎是易于理解的，可以感觉得到的……

他曾经害怕过终极。他两次体验过死亡，即终极的恐怖这一骇人而痛苦的感觉，但现在他已不明白这种感觉了。

他第一次体验到这种感觉，是在炮弹像陀螺一样旋转着朝他飞来的时候，他望着休耕地、灌木丛和天空，知道这是死神向他扑来。当他负伤后醒来，他心里刹那间绽开了那犹如从压制着他的人生中挣脱出来的，永恒的自由的不再受人生之约束的爱的花朵，于是，他不惧怕死亡，也不去想它。

在他负伤后度过的那些痛苦的孤独和半昏迷的日子里，他愈思考永恒之爱的新原则给他的启示，他便愈脱离人间生活，他自己倒不觉得，爱一切，爱一切人，永远为爱牺牲自己，即是谁也不爱，即是——不要过人间生活。而且，他愈是沉浸在爱的原则之中，他愈是远离着生活，也愈彻底地清除了当人们没有了爱时，那道生与死之间的障碍。在他这第一次想到他应该死的时候，他对自己说：好吧，这样更好。

但在梅季希村那天晚上，当他在半昏迷中，那个他想见到的人出现在他面前，当他把她的手放到自己的嘴唇上，流下无声的喜悦的眼泪时，对一个女人的爱情不知不觉潜入他的心中，又把他同人生联在一起。又喜又惊的思想又来打扰他。回想起他在包扎站见到库拉金那一时刻，他现在不会再陷入那一次的情感中了：他现在反而耽心他是否还活着。但他不敢去问。

他的病情与他的生理状况一致，但娜塔莎称之为“他出现了那种情况”的事，发生在玛丽亚公爵到来的前两天。这是那种生死之间最后的精神上的搏斗，死亡取得了胜利。这是对生命之珍惜的突然觉醒，它体现于对娜塔莎的爱情，也是最后一次屈从地面对未知的恐怖。

这是一个晚上，他，饭后总是这样，处于低烧状态，但思想异常清晰。索尼娅坐在桌旁，他在打盹，突然，身上出现一股幸福的感觉。

“啊，这是她来了！”她心里想。

果然，在索尼娅刚才坐的地方传来娜塔莎进门的脚步声。

从她开始看护他的时候起，他便时时体会到与她亲近的这种生理上的感觉。她坐在斜对着他的扶手椅里，遮住照着他的烛光，编织袜子。（安德烈公爵有一回告诉她，谁都不善于像老妈妈那样看护病人，她们总是一边看护，一边织袜子，而织袜子的动作里有安详感，听了之后，她便学起编织袜子来了）。她纤细的手指飞快地织着，时而撞响织针，她的下垂的沉思的面孔的侧影被他看得很清楚。她动了一下——线团从她膝上滚落。她颤抖一下，看了他一眼，用手遮住蜡烛，小心翼翼地灵活地弯下腰去，拾起线团，又坐回原处。

他不眨眼地望着她，看到每当她自己动一下，她便要深深叹一口气，但又不敢这样，只得小心地喘气。

在特罗伊茨修道院，他俩谈起了过去，他告诉她，如果他活着，他会为自己负伤而永远感谢上帝，是受伤使他又同她在一起，但从那以后，他们从未谈过未来。

“这可不可能呢？”他此时一边看着她，听着金属织针轻微的碰击声，一边想着。“难道命运这样奇怪地带我到她面前，仅仅是为了让我死去？……难道人生之真理展现在我面前，仅仅由于我在虚妄中度过了一生？我爱她胜过世界上的一切。可我爱她又能怎么办？”他想，同时不由自主地习惯性地呻吟起来，他每当痛苦时就有这样的习惯。

听到呻吟声，娜塔莎放下袜子，弯腰靠近他，突然她看见他闪光的眼睛，便轻快地起身，走向他身边，俯下身去。

“您没睡？”

“没有，我朝您看了很久了；您进来我感觉到了。谁都不像您这样给我如此柔和的宁静……光明，我高兴得很想哭。”

娜塔莎更靠近了些。她的脸闪耀着狂喜的光辉。

“娜塔莎，我太爱您了，超过世上的一切。”

“可我呢？”她转过脸去，只一瞬间，“为什么太爱呢？”她说。

“为什么太爱？……呶，您怎么想，您心里，您整个心有什么感觉：我能活下去吗？照您看会怎样？”

“我相信，我相信！”娜塔莎几乎是喊叫，热烈地握住他的两只手。

他不作声。

“那该多好啊！”于是，他握住她的手吻了一下。

娜塔莎感到幸福和激动；但她立刻想起这不应该，他需要平静。

“原来您没有睡，”她压下自己的喜悦说，“尽量使自己睡着吧……请您。”

他握一下她的手便放开了，而她回到蜡烛旁，坐回原来的姿势。她看了他两次，他的眼睛朝她闪着光呢，她给自己规定织多少，对自己说，不织完它，决不再看他一眼。

果然，这以后他迅速闭上眼睛，而且睡着了。他睡了不久，突然出一身冷汗，惊醒了过来。

他入睡之际，仍在想着这整个期间都在想的问题——生与死。而更多地是想着死，他觉得自己离它更近了。

“爱呢？什么是爱？”他想道。

“爱妨碍死亡。爱便是生存。只是因为我爱，我才明白一切、一切，只是因为我爱，才有一切，才存在一切，也仅仅是因为我爱。一切都只同爱联系着。爱是上帝，而死——即是：我，作为爱的分子，回归到总的永恒的源泉里去。”这样地想，使他感到慰藉。但这只是想。其中还有缺失，那是偏于个人的，智力的东西——还看不显著，于是，依然不安和难以解释，他睡着了。

他梦见他躺在他现在躺着的房间里，但没有受伤，而是好好的。许多不同人物，卑微的，冷淡的，出现在他面前，他们同他交谈，争辩着勿须争辩的事情。他们打算去一个地方。安德烈公爵模糊地想起，这一切都毫无意义，他有别的最重要的事务，但仍继续说下去，用一些空洞俏皮的话使他们惊讶。渐渐地、不知不觉地，这些人物全部开始消逝，一切只剩下一个关门的问题。他起身朝房门走去，以便插上门栓，把门关闭好。一切有赖于他来不来得及紧闭房门。他走，急忙走，但他的脚不能迈动，他于是知道他来不及关门，但仍然徒劳地鼓足全身力量。他陷入痛苦的恐怖之中。这恐怖是死亡的恐怖：“它”就站在门外。但就在他无力地笨拙地朝房门爬去的时候，这一可怕之物已从另一边压过来，冲破了房门。某种非人之物——死亡——已快破门而入，应该把门顶住才对，他够着门了，鼓起最后的力气——关门已不可能了——哪怕就顶住它；但他的力气微弱，而且不灵活，因而在可怕之物推挤下，房门被打开，但是又关上了。

它又一次从那边压过来。他最后的超出自然的力量白费了，两扇房门无声地被撞开。“它”进来了，而它就是“死亡”。于是，安德烈公爵死去。

但就在死去的那一瞬间，安德烈公爵想起他是睡着的，同时，在死的那一瞬间，他给自己身上用力，醒了过来。

“是的，这就是死。我死了——我醒了。是的，死——便是觉醒。”突然间他的心里亮了起来，那迄今为止罩住未知物的帘幕，在他心灵的眼睛面前掀起来了。他感到好像挣脱了以前捆住他的力量，他感到了从那时以来没有离开过他的那奇怪的轻松。

当他在冷汗中醒来，在沙发上动弹的时候，娜塔莎走到他身旁，问他是怎么了。他不回答她，而且不理解她，只是用奇怪的目光看着她。

这就是玛丽亚公爵小姐到达前两天，他发生的情况。从那天起，正如医生所说，内热有了坏的发展，但娜塔莎并不在意医生的话，她看到了那些可怕的，对她更勿庸怀疑的精神上的征兆。

从那天开始，对于安德烈公爵，从梦中醒来的同时——也就是对人生的觉醒。他觉得，与生之延续相反的生之觉醒，并不比与梦之延续相反的梦之觉醒来得更缓慢。

在这比较缓慢的觉醒过程中，没有什么可怕的急遽的东西。

他最后的时日过得平常而又单纯。

没有离开过他的玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎也感觉到了这点。她们不哭，不颤栗，在最后时间里，她们自己也感觉到，已不是在照料他（他已经没有了，他离开了她们），而是在照料关于他的最亲密的回忆——他的身躯而已。她俩的这一感觉非常强烈，以至死的外在的可怕的一面，已不能对她们有影响，她们也不认为需要发泄她们的悲伤。她们既不在他面前哭，也不背着他哭，而且绝口不在她们之间讲起他，她们觉得无法用言语表达她们内心明白的东西。

她俩都看到，他愈来愈深地，缓慢而平静地离开她们，沉入到那一个某处，并且她们两人都知道，这应该如此，这样好。

给他作了忏悔，领了圣餐；大家都来他这里告别。当儿子被带到他跟前，他用嘴唇吻了他便转过头去，不是因为他觉得心情沉重和遗憾（这一点玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎是明白的），而是仅仅因为他哭了，要求他做的事也完了；但当人们告诉他为儿子祝福，他这样做了，又睁开眼张望，仿佛询问还有什么需要做的。

魂灵正在离去的躯体最后颤动的时刻，玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎在他旁边。

“逝世了？！”在他的躯体一动不动地，并且在冷却下去，躺了几分钟之后，玛丽亚公爵小姐说道。娜塔莎走过去，向那双僵死的眼睛俯下身去，急忙阖上了它们。她阖上了那双眼睛，没有亲吻它们，而是伏身在那个关于他的最亲密的回忆的体现上。

“他到哪里去了？他现在在何方？”

当把洗净的尸体穿好寿衣，让它躺在桌上的棺材里的时候，大家前去诀别，并且都哭了。

尼古卢什卡哭了，困惑的悲痛撕裂他的心。伯爵夫人和索尼娅哭了，力娜塔莎惋惜并且想到他已不在人世。老伯爵哭了，想到很快，他觉得，他也要跨出这同一可怕的一步。

娜塔莎和玛丽亚公爵小姐现在也在哭泣，但她们不是出于自己个人的悲伤，他们哭泣是由于虔敬的感动，她们的心灵因面对她们所目睹的死亡之隐秘而深受感动，死亡的隐秘即简单而又庄严。