PIERRE had of late rarely seen his wife alone. Both at Petersburg and at Moscow their house had been constantly full of guests. On the night following the duel1 he did not go to his bedroom, but spent the night, as he often did, in his huge study, formerly2 his father's room, the very room indeed in which Count Bezuhov had died.
He lay down on the couch and tried to go to sleep, so as to forget all that had happened to him, but he could not do so. Such a tempest of feelings, thoughts, and reminiscences suddenly arose in his soul, that, far from going to sleep, he could not even sit still in one place, and was forced to leap up from the couch and pace with rapid steps about the room. At one moment he had a vision of his wife, as she was in the first days after their marriage, with her bare shoulders, and languid, passionate3 eyes; and then immediately by her side he saw the handsome, impudent4, hard, and ironical5 face of Dolohov, as he had seen it at the banquet, and again the same face of Dolohov, pale, quivering, in agony, as it had been when he turned and sank in the snow.
“What has happened?” he asked himself; “I have killed her lover; yes, killed the lover of my wife. Yes, that has happened. Why was it? How have I come to this?” “Because you married her,” answered an inner voice.
“But how am I to blame?” he asked. “For marrying without loving her, for deceiving yourself and her.” And vividly6 he recalled that minute after supper at Prince Vassily's when he had said those words he found so difficult to utter: “I love you.” “It has all come from that. Even then I felt it,” he thought; “I felt at the time that it wasn't the right thing, that I had no right to do it. And so it has turned out.” He recalled the honeymoon7, and blushed at the recollection of it. Particularly vivid, humiliating, and shameful8 was the memory of how one day soon after his marriage he had come in his silk dressing-gown out of his bedroom into his study at twelve o'clock in the day, and in his study had found his head steward9, who had bowed deferentially10, and looking at Pierre's face and his dressing-gown, had faintly smiled, as though to express by that smile his respectful sympathy with his patron's happiness. “And how often I have been proud of her, proud of her majestic11 beauty, her social tact,” he thought; “proud of my house, in which she received all Petersburg, proud of her unapproachability and beauty. So this was what I prided myself on. I used to think then that I did not understand her. How often, reflecting on her character, I have told myself that I was to blame, that I did not understand her, did not understand that everlasting12 composure and complacency, and the absence of all preferences and desires, and the solution of the whole riddle13 lay in that fearful word, that she is a dissolute woman; I have found that fearful word, and all has become clear.
“Anatole used to come to borrow money of her, and used to kiss her on her bare shoulders. She didn't give him money; but she let herself be kissed. Her father used to try in joke to rouse her jealousy14; with a serene15 smile she used to say she was not fool enough to be jealous. Let him do as he likes, she used to say about me. I asked her once if she felt no symptoms of pregnancy16. She laughed contemptuously, and said she was not such a fool as to want children, and that she would never have a child by me.”
Then he thought of the coarseness, the bluntness of her ideas, and the vulgarity of the expressions that were characteristic of her, although she had been brought up in the highest aristocratic circles. “Not quite such a fool…you just try it on…you clear out of this,” she would say. Often, watching the favourable17 impression she made on young and old, on men and women, Pierre could not understand why it was he did not love her. “Yes; I never loved her,” Pierre said to himself; “I knew she was a dissolute woman,” he repeated to himself; “but I did not dare own it to myself.
“And now Dolohov: there he sits in the snow and forces himself to smile; and dies with maybe some swaggering affectation on his lips in answer to my remorse18.”
Pierre was one of those people who in spite of external weakness of character—so-called—do not seek a confidant for their sorrows. He worked through his trouble alone.
“She, she alone is to blame for everything,” he said to himself; “but what of it? Why did I bind19 myself to her; why did I say to her that ‘I love you,' which was a lie, and worse than a lie,” he said to himself; “I am to blame, and ought to bear … What? The disgrace to my name, the misery20 of my life? Oh, that's all rubbish,” he thought, “disgrace to one's name and honour, all that's relative, all that's apart from myself.
“Louis XVI was executed because they said he was dishonourable and a criminal” (the idea crossed Pierre's mind), “and they were right from their point of view just as those were right too who died a martyr's death for his sake, and canonised him as a saint. Then Robespierre was executed for being a tyrant21. Who is right, who is wrong? No one. But live while you live, to-morrow you die, as I might have died an hour ago. And is it worth worrying oneself, when life is only one second in comparison with eternity22?” But at the moment when he believed himself soothed23 by reflections of that sort, he suddenly had a vision of her, and of her at those moments when he had most violently expressed his most insincere love to her, and he felt a rush of blood to his heart, and had to jump up again, and move about and break and tear to pieces anything that his hands came across. “Why did I say to her ‘I love you'?” he kept repeating to himself. And as he repeated the question for the tenth time the saying of Molière came into his head: “But what the devil was he doing in that galley24?” and he laughed at himself.
In the night he called for his valet and bade him pack up to go to Petersburg. He could not conceive how he was going to speak to her now. He resolved that next day he would go away, leaving her a letter, in which he would announce his intention of parting from her for ever.
In the morning when the valet came into the study with his coffee, Pierre was lying on an ottoman asleep with an open book in his hand.
He woke up and looked about him for a long while in alarm, unable to grasp where he was.
“The countess sent to inquire if your excellency were at home,” said the valet.
But before Pierre had time to make up his mind what answer he would send, the countess herself walked calmly and majestically25 into the room. She was wearing a white satin dressing-gown embroidered26 with silver, and had her hair in two immense coils wound like a coronet round her exquisite27 head. In spite of her calm, there was a wrathful line on her rather prominent, marble brow. With her accustomed self-control and composure she did not begin to speak till the valet had left the room. She knew of the duel and had come to talk of it. She waited till the valet had set the coffee and gone out. Pierre looked timidly at her over his spectacles, and as the hare, hemmed29 in by dogs, goes on lying with its ears back in sight of its foes30, so he tried to go on reading. But he felt that this was senseless and impossible, and again he glanced timidly at her. She did not sit down, but stood looking at him with a disdainful smile, waiting for the valet to be gone.
“What's this about now? What have you been up to? I'm asking you,” she said sternly.
“I? I? what?” said Pierre.
“You going in for deeds of valour! Now, answer me, what does this duel mean? What did you want to prove by it? Eh! I ask you the question.” Pierre turned heavily on the sofa, opened his mouth but could not answer.
“If you won't answer, I'll tell you …” Ellen went on. “You believe everything you're told. You were told …” Ellen laughed, “that Dolohov was my lover,” she said in French, with her coarse plainness of speech, uttering the word “amant” like any other word, “and you believed it! But what have you proved by this? What have you proved by this duel? That you're a fool; but every one knew that as it was. What does it lead to? Why, that I'm made a laughing-stock to all Moscow; that every one's saying that when you were drunk and didn't know what you were doing, you challenged a man of whom you were jealous without grounds,” Ellen raised her voice and grew more and more passionate; “who's a better man than you in every respect. …”
“Hem28 … hem …” Pierre growled31, wrinkling up his face, and neither looking at her nor stirring a muscle.
“And how came you to believe that he's my lover? … Eh? Because I like his society? If you were cleverer and more agreeable, I should prefer yours.”
“Don't speak to me … I beseech32 you,” Pierre muttered huskily.
“Why shouldn't I speak? I can speak as I like, and I tell you boldly that it's not many a wife who with a husband like you wouldn't have taken a lover, but I haven't done it,” she said. Pierre tried to say something, glanced at her with strange eyes, whose meaning she did not comprehend, and lay down again. He was in physical agony at that moment; he felt a weight on his chest so that he could not breathe. He knew that he must do something to put an end to this agony but what he wanted to do was too horrible.
“We had better part,” he articulated huskily.
“Part, by all means, only if you give me a fortune,” said Ellen. … “Part—that's a threat to frighten me!”
Pierre leaped up from the couch and rushed staggering towards her.
“I'll kill you!” he shouted, and snatching up a marble slab33 from a table with a strength he had not known in himself till then, he made a step towards her and waved it at her.
Ellen's face was terrible to see; she shrieked34 and darted35 away from him. His father's nature showed itself in him. Pierre felt the abandonment and the fascination36 of frenzy37. He flung down the slab, shivering it into fragments, and with open arms swooping38 down upon Ellen, screamed “Go!” in a voice so terrible that they heard it all over the house with horror. God knows what Pierre would have done at that moment if Ellen had not run out of the room.
A week later Pierre had made over to his wife the revenue from all his estates in Great Russia, which made up the larger half of his property, and had gone away alone to Petersburg.
皮埃尔近来很少单独地和妻子会面。无论在彼得堡，抑或在莫斯科，他们的住宅中经常挤满了来宾。决斗后的次日晚上，他像平常一样，没有走到卧室里去，而是留在他父亲的那间大书斋里，伯爵别祖霍夫就是在这里逝世的。
他半躺半卧地倚靠在长沙发上想睡一觉，好忘掉他所发生的事情，但是他却办不到。那种思想、感情和对往事的回忆忽然在他心中涌现出来，以致于他非但不能入睡，而且不能坐在原地不动，他不得不从长沙发上一跃而起，迈着疾速的步子在房里踱来踱去。时而他脑海中想到，在结婚之后，初时她常袒露双肩，疲倦的眼神充满着激情，但是他同时想到，多洛霍夫在宴会上露出的那张俊美的放肆无礼的分明地含有讥讽意味的面孔顿时在她近侧显露出来，他脑海中又想到，当多洛霍夫转过身来倒在雪地上时，他的那张面孔依然如故，只不过显得惨白、颤栗、极为痛苦而已。
“究竟发生过什么事呢？”他扪心自问，“我打死了一个情夫，是的，我妻子的情夫。是的，真有其事。为什么？我怎么会落到这个地步？因为你娶她为妻的缘故。”内在的声音答道。
“可是我有什么过失呢？”他问，“过失就在于你不爱她而娶她为妻，你既欺骗了自己，也欺骗了她。”于是他清楚地回忆起在瓦西里公爵家里举办的晚宴结束后的那个时刻，那时他说了一句不是出自内心的话：“Je vous aime．①一切都是由此而引起的！那时候我感觉到，”他想道，“那时候我感觉到，这不是那么回事，我还没有说这句话的权利。其结果真是如此。”他想起他度蜜月的光景，一回忆往事就涨红了脸。尤其使他感到沉痛、委屈和可耻的是，他回想起在婚后不久，有一次，上午十一点多钟，他穿着一身丝绸的长罩衫，从卧室走进书斋，他在书斋里碰见总管家，总管家恭恭敬敬地鞠躬行礼，他向皮埃尔面孔、他的长罩衫瞥了一眼，微微一笑，仿佛在这微笑中表示他对主人的幸福深为赞美。
①法语：我爱你。
“我多少次为她而感到骄傲，为她的容貌端庄、为她在社交场合保持有分寸的态度而感到骄傲，”他想。“我为自己的家而感到骄傲，她在家中接待整个彼得堡的人士，为她那傲慢不可接近的神态和美貌而感到自豪，我所感到自豪的原来就是这些么？那时候我想，我不了解她，我时常仔细推敲她的性格，我对自己说，我是有过错的，我不了解她，不了解她这种一向固有的泰然自若、心满意足、缺乏任何嗜欲的天性，而全部谜底乃在于她是‘淫妇'这个令人生畏的词：他对自己说出了这个令人生畏的词，于是一切真相大白了！”
阿纳托利常常到她那里去，向她借钱，吻她裸露的肩头。她不把钱借给他，但却允许他去吻她。父亲的戏谑引起她的醋意，她含着宁静的微笑说道，她不会那么愚蠢，以致于吃醋，她谈论我的时候这么说：他愿意干什么，就让他干什么。有一回我问她，她是否感到她有怀孕的征状。她轻蔑地大笑，并且说她不会那么愚蠢，以致于希冀生儿育女，她不会为我生几个孩子的。
后来他回想起，虽然她在上层贵族社会中受过教育，但是她的思想却很粗陋而且简单，她所惯用的言词庸俗而不可耐。“我不是一个微贱的傻瓜……不信的话，试试看……allez vous promen－er。”①她说。皮埃尔常常看见她在男女老少心目中取得的成就，但是他无法明白他为什么不爱她。“可是我从来没有爱过她，”皮埃尔对自己说，“我知道她是一个淫荡的女人，”他重复地说，可是这一点他不敢承认。
“你看，多洛霍夫正坐在雪地上，强颜微笑，他行将死去，大概还装作逞英雄的样子，想用以回答我的忏悔！”
从外表看来，有些人的性格可以说是很软弱，但是他们却不寻找别人来分担自己的痛苦，皮埃尔就是他们之中的一人。他独自一人体会自己的痛苦。
“她在各个方面，在各个方面都是有过错的，”他自言自语地说，“那末，要怎么样呢？我为什么把我自己和她结合在一起呢？我为什么对她说出这句话：‘Je vous aime'②，这是句谎话，甚至比谎话更坏，”他自言自语地说，“我有过错，应当来承担……甚么？声名狼藉吗？生活不幸吗？唉，这全是废话，”他想了想，“无论是玷辱名声，抑或是享有殊荣，全是相对而论，一切都不以我为转移。”
①法语：滚开。
②法语：我爱您。
“路易十六被处以死刑，是因为他们说他寡廉鲜耻，罪恶累累（皮埃尔忽然想起这件事），他们从自己的观点看来是对的，正如那些为他而折磨致死，将他奉为神圣的人，也是对的。后来罗伯斯庇尔因是暴君而被处以极刑。谁无辜，谁有罪？莫衷一是。你活着，就活下去：说不定你明天就死去，正如一小时前我也可能死去一样。人生与永恒相比较只是一瞬间，值得遭受折磨吗？”但是在他认为这种论断使他自己得到安慰的时候，她忽然在他脑海中浮现出来，在他至为强烈地向她表白虚伪的爱情时，他感觉到一股热血涌上心头，又不得不站立起来，举步向前，他在手边随便碰到什么东西，就把它折断、撕破。“我为什么对她说：‘我爱您？'”他还在自言自语地重复这句话。这个问题重提了十次，他忽然想到莫里哀的台词：“Mais que diable allait－il faire dans cette qalère？”①他于是嘲笑自己来了。
晚上他把侍仆喊来，吩咐他准备行装，到彼得堡去。他不能跟她住在同一栋屋里了。他不能想象他现在应该怎样和她谈话。他决定明天启程，给她留下一封信，他在信中把他要跟她永远分离的打算告诉她了。
清晨当侍仆端着咖啡走进书斋的时候，皮埃尔躺在土耳其式沙发上，手中拿着一本打开的书睡着了。
他睡醒了，睁开一对惊惶失措的眼睛久久地环顾四周，没法明了他待在什么地方。
“伯爵夫人命令我来问问，大人是不是还待在家里。”侍仆问。
可是皮埃尔心里还没有决定回答他的话，伯爵夫人就亲自走进房里来，神态安静而庄严，穿着一种滚银边的白绸长罩衫，梳着普通的发型（两条粗大的辫子在她那漂亮的头上盘了两盘成了diadéme②，不过在稍微突出的大理石般光滑的额头上有一条愤怒的皱纹。她露出沉着的神情，不肯在仆人面前开腔。她知道决斗的情况，走来谈论这件事。她正在等着仆人摆上咖啡之后走出门去。皮埃尔戴着眼镜很胆怯地望望她，就像被猎狗围住的野兔一般，抿起耳朵，在敌人眼前继续躺着，他就这样试着继续看书，但是心里觉得，这样做毫无意义，令人受不了，于是又胆怯地望望她。她没有坐下来。脸上流露着蔑视的微笑，不停地注视着他，一面等待仆人走出门去。
①法语：干嘛冒失地上那条船呢？
②法语：冠状头饰。
“又怎么啦？您干了什么鬼名堂？我问您。”她严厉地说。
“我？我干了什么？”皮埃尔说。
“你瞧，一个勇士自己找上来了！喂，您回答，决斗是怎么回事？您想凭藉这件事证明什么呢？什么？我问您。”皮埃尔在沙发上吃力地转过身来，张开口，可是没法子回答。
“既然您不回答，那么我就对您说……”海伦继续说下去。
“您相信人家对您说的一切。有人对您说了……”海伦大笑起来，“多洛霍夫是我的情夫，”她用法国话说，藉以明确地指出这句话所包含的粗俗意味，“情夫”这个词也像任何别的词一样，在强调其含义时，她就这样说，“您真的相信！您凭这件事证明了什么呢？您凭藉这次决斗证明了什么呢？证明您是个蠢东西，que vous êtes un sot①，这是众所周知的事！这会弄到什么地步呢？这会使我成为全莫斯科人取笑的对象，到头来每个人都会说您烂醉如泥，忘乎所以，居然把那个您毫无根据地嫉妒的人喊出来决斗，”海伦把嗓门越抬越高，越来越兴奋，“其实那个人在各个方面都比您优越……”
①法语：您是个蠢东西。
“哼……哼，”皮埃尔皱着眉头，不去看她，四肢丝毫也不动弹，含糊不清地说话。
“您为什么竟会相信他是我的情夫呢？……为什么？因为我喜欢和他交往吗？如果您会更聪明，更可爱，我就宁愿和您在一起。”
“甭跟我说吧……我恳求您。”皮埃尔嘶哑地轻声说。
“我为什么不说话呢？我可以说话，而且要大胆地说话，凡是有您这样的丈夫的妻子，很少有人不找到几个情夫的（法语为：des amants），可是我没有干这种勾当。”她说道。皮埃尔想说句什么话，他用她无法理解的奇异的眼神望望她，又躺下来。这时候他在肉体上遭受痛苦，他觉得胸口发闷，几乎不能呼吸。他知道他应当拿出一点办法来制止肉体上的痛苦，但是他想做的事情太骇人了。
“我们最好分手吧。”他若断若续地说。
“分手就分手，也好，您只要给我一份家产，”海伦说，“分手，您用这一手来吓唬我！”
皮埃尔从沙发上跳起来，踉踉跄跄地向她扑过去。
“我打死你！”他大声喊道，迅猛地从桌上拿起一块大理石板，使出他前所未有的气力，向她迈出一步，举起大理石板，做出要打她的样子。
海伦的脸色变得惨白，她突然尖叫一声，从他身边跳开了。有其父必有其子，从他身上可以看出他属于父亲同一类型的人。皮埃尔感觉到疯狂的吸引和迷力。他把石板扔过去，打得粉碎，张开两臂向海伦面前跑去，大喊一声：“滚开！”那嗓音非常骇人，全家人都胆寒地听到这一声喊叫。如果海伦不从房里跑出去，天晓得皮埃尔在这时会干出什么恶事来。
过一周后，皮埃尔让他妻子管理全部大俄罗斯领地，这些领地占他家产的一半以上，皮埃尔独自一人驱车到彼得堡去了。
收听单词发音 |
1
duel
|
|
| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
impudent
|
|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
ironical
|
|
| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
vividly
|
|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
honeymoon
|
|
| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
steward
|
|
| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
deferentially
|
|
| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
majestic
|
|
| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
everlasting
|
|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
riddle
|
|
| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
pregnancy
|
|
| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
favourable
|
|
| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
bind
|
|
| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
tyrant
|
|
| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
eternity
|
|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
galley
|
|
| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
majestically
|
|
| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
hem
|
|
| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
hemmed
|
|
| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
foes
|
|
| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
beseech
|
|
| v.祈求，恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
slab
|
|
| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
shrieked
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
frenzy
|
|
| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
swooping
|
|
| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |