NATASHA, as soon as she was alone with her husband, had begun talking too, as only husband and wife can talk, that is, understanding and communicating their thoughts to each other, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity, by a quite peculiar method opposed to all the rules of logic, without the aid of premises, deductions, and conclusions. Natasha was so used to talking to her husband in this fashion that a logical sequence of thought on Pierre's part was to her an infallible symptom of something being out of tune between them. When he began arguing, talking reasonably and calmly, and when she was led on by his example into doing the same, she knew it would infallibly lead to a quarrel.
From the moment they were alone together and Natasha, with wide-open, happy eyes, crept softly up to him and suddenly, swiftly seizing his head, pressed it to her bosom, saying, “Now you're all mine, mine! You shan't escape!” that conversation began that contravened every rule of logic, especially because they talked of several different subjects at once. This discussion of all sorts of things at once, far from hindering clearness of comprehension, was the surest token that they understood one another fully.
As in a dream everything is uncertain, meaningless, and contradictory except the feeling that directs the dream, so in this communion of ideas, apart from every law of reason, what is clear and consecutive is not what is said, but the feeling that prompts the words.
Natasha talked to Pierre of the daily round of existence at her brother's; told him how she had suffered and been half-dead without him; and that she was fonder of Marie than ever, and Marie was better in every way than she was. In saying this Natasha was quite sincere in acknowledging Marie's superiority, but at the same time she expected Pierre to prefer her to Marie and all other women, and now, especially after he had been seeing a great many women in Petersburg, to tell her so anew. In response to Natasha's words, Pierre told her how intolerable he had found the evening parties and dinners with ladies in Petersburg.
“I have quite lost the art of talking to ladies,” he said; “it was horribly tiresome. Especially as I was so busy.”
Natasha looked intently at him, and went on. “Marie, now she is wonderful!” she said. “The insight she has into children. She seems to see straight into their souls. Yesterday, for instance, Mitenka was naughty…”
“And isn't he like his father?” Pierre put in.
Natasha knew why he made this remark about Mitenka's likeness to Nikolay. He disliked the thought of his dispute with his brother-in-law, and was longing to hear what she thought about it.
“It's a weakness of Nikolay's, that if anything is not generally accepted, he will never agree with it. And I see that that's just what you value to ouvrir une carrière,” she said, repeating a phrase Pierre had once uttered.
“No, the real thing is that to Nikolay,” said Pierre, “thoughts and ideas are an amusement, almost a pastime. Here he's forming a library and has made it a rule not to buy a new book till he has read through the last he has bought—Sismondi and Rousseau and Montesquieu,” Pierre added with a smile. “You know how I—,” he was beginning to soften his criticism; but Natasha interrupted, giving him thereby to understand that that was not necessary.
“So you say ideas to him are not serious…”
“Yes, and to me nothing else is serious. All the while I was in Petersburg, I seemed to be seeing every one in a dream. When I am absorbed by an idea, nothing else is serious.”
“Oh, what a pity I didn't see your meeting with the children,” said Natasha. “Which was the most pleased? Liza, of course?”
“Yes,” said Pierre, and he went on with what interested him. “Nikolay says we ought not to think. But I can't help it. To say nothing of the fact (I can say so to you) that in Petersburg I felt that the whole thing would go to pieces without me, every one pulled his own way. But I succeeded in bringing them all together; and then my idea is so clear and simple. I don't say we ought to work against so and so. We may be mistaken. But I say let those join hands who care for the good cause, and let our one standard be energy and honesty. Prince Sergey is a capital fellow, and clever.”
Natasha would have had no doubt that Pierre's idea was a grand idea, but that one thing troubled her. It was his being her husband. “Is it possible that a man of such value, of such importance to society, is at the same time my husband? How can it have happened?” She wanted to express this doubt to him. “Who are the persons who could decide positively whether he is so much cleverer than all of them?” she wondered, and she went over in imagination the people who were very much respected by Pierre. There was nobody whom, to judge by his own account, he had respected so much as Platon Karataev.
“Do you know what I am thinking about?” she said. “About Platon Karataev. What would he have said? Would he have approved of you now?”
Pierre was not in the least surprised at this question. He understood the connection of his wife's ideas.
“Platon Karataev?” he said, and he pondered, evidently trying sincerely to picture what Karataev's judgment would have been on the subject. “He would not have understood, and yet, perhaps, he would.”
“I like you awfully!” said Natasha all at once. “Awfully! awfully!”
“No, he wouldn't have approved,” said Pierre, musing. “What he would have approved of is our home life. He did so like to see seemliness, happiness, peace in everything, and I could have shown him all of us with pride. You talk about separation. But you would not believe what a special feeling I have for you after separation …”
“And, besides, …” Natasha was beginning.
“No, not so. I never leave off loving you. And one couldn't love more; but it's something special.…” He did not finish, because their eyes meeting said the rest.
“What nonsense,” said Natasha suddenly, “it all is about the honeymoon and that the greatest happiness is at first. On the contrary, now is much the best. If only you wouldn't go away. Do you remember how we used to quarrel? And I was always in the wrong. It was always my doing. And what we quarrelled about—I don't remember even.”
“Always the same thing,” said Pierre smiling. “Jea …”
“Don't say it, I can't bear it,” cried Natasha, and a cold, vindictive light gleamed in her eyes. “Did you see her?” she added after a pause.
“No; and if I had, I shouldn't have known her.”
They were silent.
“Oh! do you know, when you were talking in the study, I was looking at you,” said Natasha, obviously trying to drive away the cloud that had come between them. “And do you know you are like him as two drops of water, like the boy.” That was what she called her baby son. “Ah, it's time I went to him. … But I am sorry to go away.”
They were both silent for some seconds. Then all at once, at the same moment, they turned to each other and began talking. Pierre was beginning with self-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Natasha with a soft, happy smile. Interrupting each other, both stopped, waiting for the other to go on.
“No, what is it? Tell me, tell me.”
“No, you tell me, it wasn't anything, only nonsense,” said Natasha.
Pierre said what he had been going to say. It was the sequel to his complacent reflections on his success in Petersburg. It seemed to him at that moment that he was destined to give a new direction to the progress of the whole of Russian society and of the whole world.
“I only meant to say that all ideas that have immense results are always simple. All my idea really is that if vicious people are united and form a power, honest men must do the same. It's so simple, you see.”
“Yes.”
“But what were you going to say?”
“Oh, nothing, nonsense.”
“No, say it though.”
“Oh, nothing, only silly nonsense,” said Natasha, breaking into a more beaming smile than ever. “I was only going to tell you about Petya. Nurse came up to take him from me to-day, he laughed and puckered up his face and squeezed up to me—I suppose he thought he was hiding. He's awfully sweet. … There he is crying. Well, good-bye!” and she ran out of the room.
Meanwhile, below in Nikolinka Bolkonsky's bedroom a lamp was burning as usual (the boy was afraid of the dark and could not be cured of this weakness). Dessalle was asleep with his head high on his four pillows, and his Roman nose gave forth rhythmic sounds of snoring. Nikolinka had just waked up in a cold sweat, and was sitting up in bed, gazing with wide-open eyes straight before him. He had been waked by a fearful dream. In his dream his Uncle Pierre and he in helmets, such as appeared in the illustrations in his Plutarch, were marching at the head of an immense army. This army was made up of slanting, white threads that filled the air like those spider-webs that float in autumn and that Dessalle used to call le fil de la Vierge. Ahead of them was glory, which was something like those threads too, only somewhat more opaque. They—he and Pierre—were flying lightly and happily nearer and nearer to their goal. All at once the threads that moved them seemed to grow weak and tangled; and it was all difficult. And Uncle Nikolay stood before them in a stern and menacing attitude.
“Have you done this?” he said, pointing to broken pens and sticks of sealing-wax. “I did love you, but Araktcheev has bidden me, and I will kill the first that moves forward.”
Nikolinka looked round for Pierre; but Pierre was not there. Instead of Pierre, there was his father—Prince Andrey—and his father had no shape or form, but he was there; and seeing him, Nikolinka felt the weakness of love; he felt powerless, limp, and relaxed. His father caressed him and pitied him, but his Uncle Nikolay was moving down upon them, coming closer and closer. A great horror came over Nikolinka, and he waked up.
“My father!” he thought. (Although there were two very good portraits of Prince Andrey in the house, Nikolinka never thought of his father in human form.) “My father has been with me, and has caressed me. He approved of me; he approved of Uncle Pierre. Whatever he might tell me, I would do it. Mucius Scaevola burnt his hand. But why should not the same sort of thing happen in my life? I know they want me to study. And I am going to study. But some day I shall have finished, and then I will act. One thing only I pray God for, that the same sort of thing may happen with me as with Plutarch's men, and I will act in the same way. I will do more. Every one shall know of me, shall love me, and admire me.” And all at once Nikolinka felt his breast heaving with sobs, and he burst into tears.
“Are you ill?” he heard Dessalle's voice.
“No,” answered Nikolinka, and he lay back on his pillow. “How good and kind he is; I love him!” He thought of Dessalle. “But Uncle Pierre! Oh, what a wonderful man! And my father? Father! Father! Yes, I will do something that even he would be content with …”
娜塔莎和丈夫在一起时，谈话也像一般夫妻之间那样，也就是直率而明确地交换思想，既不遵循任何逻辑法则，也不用判断、推理和结论的程式，而完全是用一种独特的方式来进行。娜塔莎早已习惯于用这种方式与丈夫交谈，因此只要皮埃尔谈话时，一运用逻辑推理，就准确无误地表明他们夫妻之间有点不和了。只要皮埃尔开始心平气和地进行推理式地谈话，而娜塔莎也照样以这种方式回话，她就知道下一步就是要吵架了。
剩下他们两人在一起，娜塔莎就会睁大一双幸福的眼睛，突然悄悄走到丈夫身边，一下子搂住他的头紧靠在自己的胸前，说：“现在你可完全属于我了，完全属于我了！你跑不掉了！”接着他们就谈起话来，违背一切逻辑法则，谈论各种各样的话题，他们同时讨论许多问题，这不仅没有影响到彼此理解，反而更清楚地表明他们彼此完全理解。
就像做梦一样，梦境里的一切都是虚幻的，毫无现实意义的，前后矛盾的，只有那支配梦境的感情是真实的。像在梦境中一样，他们彼此相处与交往也违背一般常规情理，交谈的语言模糊，不相连贯，而只有感情在支配他们的交谈。
娜塔莎对皮埃尔讲起她哥哥的生活，讲到皮埃尔不在家时她很痛苦，感到生活空虚，也谈到她比过去更加喜欢玛丽亚，讲玛丽亚在各方面都比她强。娜塔莎说这些话时，诚恳地承认玛丽亚比自己好，然而同时又要求皮埃尔更加喜欢她，而不是喜欢玛丽或别的女人，特别是皮埃尔在彼得堡见过许多女人之后，她再一次向他说明一下。
皮埃尔回答娜塔莎说，他在彼得堡的确参加了许多晚会和宴会，见到了不少太太小姐，不过她们实在叫人受不了。
“我已经忘记了，不习惯怎么跟这些太太小姐们打交道了，”他说，“简直乏味透顶。再说，我自己的事已经够我忙的了。”
娜塔莎凝神对他看看，继续说：
“玛丽亚真了不起！”她说，“她很能理解孩子们。她仿佛把孩子们的心都看透了。譬如说，昨天米佳淘气……”
“哦，他太像他父亲了。”皮埃尔插嘴说。
娜塔莎心里明白皮埃尔为什么说米佳像尼古拉，他一想到同内兄的争吵就不痛快，他很想知道娜塔莎对这件事的看法。
“尼古拉就是有这个弱点，凡是大家没有认可的，他决不表示同意。不过，我知道，你很重视开拓新天地。”她重复了皮埃尔以前说过的一句话。
“不，主要的是，”皮埃尔说，“尼古拉认为思考和推理只是消遣，甚至是消磨时间。比如，在收藏图书方面他订下了一条规则，不把买来的书（西斯蒙第①、卢梭、孟德斯鸠②的作品）读完，决不再买新书，”皮埃尔含笑补充说。“你知道，我想使他……”他开始缓和一下自己的口气，娜塔莎打断他，让他感到自己没有必要那样做。
①西斯蒙第（1773～1842），瑞士政治经济学家和历史学家。
②卢梭和孟德斯鸠是十八世纪法国著名哲学家。
“你说，他认为思考是一种消遣……”
“是的，对我来说所有其他的一切才是消遣。我在彼得堡时，像在做梦一样，会见所有的人。一旦堕入沉思，我就感到其余的一切不过是消遣罢了。”
“哦，刚才你去看孩子们，和他们互相问好时，可惜我不在场，”娜塔莎说，“你觉得那个孩子最讨你喜欢？很可能是丽莎吧！”
“是的，”皮埃尔说，还在接着谈他内心中考虑的事情。
“尼古拉说，我们不应该思考。可我办不到。更不用说在彼得堡时我的感受了。我觉得（我对你可以直说），在那种情况下，没有我，一切事情都办不成了。那时各人坚持各人的一套。但是我能把大家团结起来，而我的想法简单明了，也易为大家所接受。要知道，我不说我们应当反对这反对那。那样可能把事情办糟，会出差错的，我说，凡是喜欢做好事的人都携起手来，我们唯一的旗帜是——积极行善。谢尔盖公爵是个好人，也很聪明。”
娜塔莎毫不怀疑，皮埃尔的思想是伟大的，但有一点却使她困惑不解。那就是，他是她的丈夫。“难道这样一位重要人物，一个对社会有用的人能同时又是我的丈夫吗？！这种情况是怎么造成的呢？”她想告诉他，自己心中的疑问。“哪些人能够肯定他比其他人更聪明呢？”她自己问自己，并且把皮埃尔所崇敬的人在脑子里逐一地回想一遍。根据他的话判断，他最尊敬的人要算普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫了。
“你知道我在想什么吗？”她说，“我想到普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫这个人。他怎么样？如果他在，他会赞成你的做法吗？”
皮埃尔对这个问题的提出，一点也不感到惊讶。他了解妻子的思路。
“普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫？”他说沉吟了一会，显然在认真考虑卡拉塔耶夫对这个问题的看法。“他可能还不太理解，不过我想他会赞成的。”
“我真爱你！”娜塔莎突然说，“非常非常爱你！”
“不，他不会赞成的，”皮埃尔想了想说，“他会赞成我们的家庭生活。他希望看到一切都是那么优雅、幸福、安宁，我将会自豪地让他看看我们。哦，刚才你谈到离别，我们离别后我对你怀着多么特殊的感情啊……”
“是啊，还会更加……”娜塔莎说。
“不，不是那个意思。我一直是爱你的，爱得不能再爱了，特别是……是啊……”他没有把话说完，因为他们俩人的目光相遇了，彼此的眼神把要说的话都完全表达了。
“这些都是些蠢话。什么度蜜月真幸福啦，什么恋爱初期最甜蜜啦，”娜塔莎突然说，“恰恰相反，现在才是我们爱情的金秋时节。只要你不出门离开我就好。你还记得我们吵架的情况吗？每次都是我不对，总是我的不是。可咱们为什么争吵，我已经不记得了。”
“都是为了一件事，”——皮埃尔微笑着说，“忌妒……”
“别说了，我不想听，”娜塔莎叫道，眼睛里露出冷峻的愤怒的神情。“你见到她了吗？”她停了一下，又问。
“没有，即使见到也不认识了。”
他们沉默了一会儿。
“啊，你知道吗？当你在书斋里说话的时候，我一直在看着你，”娜塔莎说，显然她力图驱散向他们袭来的阴云。“你跟我们的孩子长得太像了，简直是一个模子里倒出来的。（她指的是他们的小儿子）。啊！该到小儿子那里去了。……奶来了……真舍不得离开你。”
他们又沉默了一会儿。然后两人同时转过身来面对着面，一齐开口说话。皮埃尔自鸣得意，兴致勃勃，娜塔莎脸上露出平静而幸福的微笑。他俩同时开口，然后又同时停住，让对方先说。
“不，你说什么？说吧，说吧！”
“不，你说吧，我说的是些傻话。”娜塔莎说。
于是皮埃尔接着讲他已经开始的话题。他得意洋洋地讲他在彼得堡取得的成就。谈到得意之处，他仿佛觉得自己肩负重任——向全俄罗斯和全世界指明前进的新方向。
“我只是想说，凡是有伟大影响力的思想总是简单的。我的全部思想只是，如果坏人能聚合在一起并形成一种势力，那末好人也应该这样做。要知道，道理就是这么简单。”
“是的。”
“你想说什么呢？”
“我只是说些傻话。”
“没什么，还是说吧。”
“没什么，一点小事，”娜塔莎说，笑得更加容光焕发，“我只是想谈一下佩佳，今天保姆准备把他从我手里接过去的时候，他笑起来了，眯起眼睛，紧紧搂住我，他大概以为这样就可以躲起来，不去保姆那边了。他那个样子可爱极了。你听，他现在又在哭了。好了，再见！”她说着就走了出去。
与此同时，在楼下小尼古拉·博尔孔斯基的卧室里，像往常一样点着一盏小灯（这孩子怕黑，这个毛病怎么也改不掉）。德塞尔高枕着四个枕头睡着了，他那高鼻梁的鼻子发出均匀的鼾声。小尼古拉刚刚睡醒，出了一身冷汗，睁大眼睛坐在床上看着自己的前方。他是被一场恶梦惊醒的。在梦中他和皮埃尔都戴着普鲁塔赫①著作的插图中的那种头盔。他和皮埃尔叔叔率领着一支大军。这支大军由白色的斜线组成，这种斜线很有点像秋天布满空中的飘荡的蜘蛛网丝。而德塞尔把这种细丝称为游丝②。前面是光荣两个字，也像飘忽不定的丝线，只不过更粗一些。他同皮埃尔轻松愉快地向前走去，离目标越来越近了。突然，引导他们的线松弛了，纠缠在一起，拉也拉不动了，此时，尼古拉姑父突然站在他们面前，神态威严可怖。
①普鲁塔赫是古希腊历史学家，著有《希腊罗马伟人传》。
②法语：圣母线。（即飘浮在空中的游丝。）
“这都是你们干的吧？”他指着被弄断的火漆和鹅毛笔说。
“我爱过你们，可现在阿拉克切耶夫命令我，谁首先往前走就干掉谁。”小尼古拉回头去看皮埃尔，皮埃尔已不在了。皮埃尔变成他父亲安德烈公爵，父亲虽无影无形，却确实站在那里。小尼古拉看见父亲、觉得他特别喜欢他父亲，但又觉得自己浑身无力，骨头也散了架，似乎想爱又爱不起来。父亲抚爱他，怜惜他。可此时尼古拉·伊利伊奇姑父却离他们越来越近。小尼古拉吓得要命，一下子就惊醒了。
“父亲，”他想。“父亲（尽管家里已有两张维妙维肖的安德烈公爵像，但小尼古拉脑海中始终没有想到安德烈公爵这个人的形象），“父亲和我在一起，他抚爱我。他称赞我和皮埃尔叔叔。不论他说什么，我都将尽力去办。穆齐·塞服拉烧掉了自己的手①，为什么在我生活中就碰不到这样的事情呢？我知道他们要我学习。我是要学习的。到学习结束那一天，我就要有所作为。我只要求上帝帮我办一件事——让我遇到像普鲁塔克的英雄们所遇到的事，我一定照他们的榜样去做。我还要比他们完成得更好。到那时，人人都会知道我，爱我称赞我。”小尼古拉突然感到胸闷气紧，不禁失声痛哭起来。
①穆齐·塞服拉是古罗马传说中的英雄，相传为了挽救罗马不致亡国，他自己烧掉右手，以示决心。
“您不舒服吗？”①他听见德塞尔在问他。
“没有什么。”②小尼古拉回答说，又躺到枕头上去。“他是多么好的人，又慈祥，又和气，我喜欢他。”小尼古拉这样忖量着德塞尔的为人。
“哦，还有皮埃尔叔叔！他这个人太好了！还有父亲呢？
父亲！父亲！我一定要有所作为，做出他深感满意的事来……”
①法语。
②法语：没有。
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