THAT EVENING Pierre went to the Rostovs' to fulfil Prince Andrey's commission. Natasha was in bed, the count was at the club, and Pierre, after giving the letters to Sonya, went in to see Marya Dmitryevna, who was interested to know how Prince Andrey had taken the news. Ten minutes later, Sonya came in to Marya Dmitryevna.
“Natasha insists on seeing Count Pyotr Kirillitch,” she said.
“Why, are we to take him up to her, eh? Why, you are all in a muddle1 there,” said Marya Dmitryevna.
“No, she has dressed and gone into the drawing-room,” said Sonya.
Marya Dmitryevna could only shrug2 her shoulders. “When will the countess come? She has quite worn me out! You mind now, don't tell her everything,” she said to Pierre. “One hasn't the heart to scold her, she's so piteous, poor thing.”
Natasha was standing3 in the middle of the drawing-room, looking thinner, and with a pale, set face (not at all overcome with shame, as Pierre had expected to see her). When Pierre appeared in the doorway4, she made a hurried movement, evidently in uncertainty5 whether to go to meet him, or to wait for him to come to her.
Pierre went hurriedly towards her. He thought she would give him her hand as usual. But coming near him she stopped, breathing hard, and letting her hands hang lifelessly, exactly in the same pose in which she used to stand in the middle of the room to sing, but with an utterly6 different expression.
“Pyotr Kirillitch,” she began, speaking quickly, “Prince Bolkonsky was your friend—he is your friend,” she corrected herself. (It seemed to her that everything was in the past, and now all was changed.) “He told me to apply to you …”
Pierre choked dumbly as he looked at her. Till then he had in his heart blamed her, and tried to despise her; but now he felt so sorry for her, that there was no room in his heart for blame.
“He is here now, tell him … to for … to forgive me.” She stopped short and breathed even more quickly, but she did not weep.
“Yes … I will tell him,” said Pierre; “but …” He did not know what to say.
Natasha was evidently dismayed at the idea that might have occurred to Pierre.
“No, I know that everything is over,” she said hurriedly. “No, that can never be. I'm only wretched at the wrong I have done him. Only tell him that I beg him to forgive, to forgive, forgive me for everything …” Her whole body was heaving; she sat down on a chair.
A feeling of pity he had never known before flooded Pierre's heart.
“I will tell him, I will tell him everything once more,” said Pierre; “but … I should like to know one thing…”
“To know what?” Natasha's eyes asked.
“I should like to know, did you love …” Pierre did not know what to call Anatole, and flushed at the thought of him—“did you love that bad man?”
“Don't call him bad,” said Natasha. “But I don't … know, I don't know …” She began crying again, and Pierre was more than ever overwhelmed with pity, tenderness, and love. He felt the tears trickling7 under his spectacles, and hoped they would not be noticed.
“We won't talk any more of it, my dear,” he said. It seemed suddenly so strange to Natasha to hear the gentle, tender, sympathetic voice in which he spoke8. “We won't talk of it, my dear, I'll tell him everything. But one thing I beg you, look on me as your friend; and if you want help, advice, or simply want to open your heart to some one—not now, but when things are clearer in your heart—think of me.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I shall be happy, if I am able …” Pierre was confused.
“Don't speak to me like that; I'm not worth it!” cried Natasha, and she would have left the room, but Pierre held her hand. He knew there was something more he must say to her. But when he said it, he was surprised at his own words.
“Hush9, hush, your whole life lies before you,” he said to her.
“Before me! No! All is over for me,” she said, with shame and self-humiliation.
“All over?” he repeated. “If I were not myself, but the handsomest, cleverest, best man in the world, and if I were free I would be on my knees this minute to beg for your hand and your love.”
For the first time for many days Natasha wept with tears of gratitude10 and softened11 feeling, and glancing at Pierre, she went out of the room.
Pierre followed her, almost running into the vestibule, and restraining the tears of tenderness and happiness that made a lump in his throat. He flung on his fur coat, unable to find the armholes, and got into his sledge12.
“Now where, your excellency?” asked the coachman.
“Where?” Pierre asked himself. “Where can I go now? Not to the club or to pay calls.” All men seemed to him so pitiful, so poor in comparison with the feeling of tenderness and love in his heart, in comparison with that softened, grateful glance she had turned upon him that last minute through her tears.
“Home,” said Pierre, throwing open the bearskin coat over his broad, joyously13 breathing chest in spite of ten degrees of frost.
It was clear and frosty. Over the dirty, half-dark streets, over the black roofs was a dark, starlit sky. It was only looking at the sky that Pierre forgot the mortifying14 meanness of all things earthly in comparison with the height his soul had risen to. As he drove into Arbatsky Square, the immense expanse of dark, starlit sky lay open before Pierre's eyes. Almost in the centre of it above the Prechistensky Boulevard, surrounded on all sides by stars, but distinguished15 from all by its nearness to the earth, its white light and long, upturned tail, shone the huge, brilliant comet of 1812; the comet which betokened16, it was said, all manner of horrors and the end of the world. But in Pierre's heart that bright comet, with its long, luminous17 tail, aroused no feeling of dread18. On the contrary, his eyes wet with tears, Pierre looked joyously at this bright comet, which seemed as though after flying with inconceivable swiftness through infinite space in a parabola, it had suddenly, like an arrow piercing the earth, stuck fast at one chosen spot in the black sky, and stayed there, vigorously tossing up its tail, shining and playing with its white light among the countless19 other twinkling stars. It seemed to Pierre that it was in full harmony with what was in his softened and emboldened20 heart, that had gained vigour21 to blossom into a new life.
为了完成被委托的这件事，当天晚上皮埃尔便到罗斯托夫家里去了。娜塔莎躺在病榻上，伯爵正在俱乐部，皮埃尔把信件交给索尼娅，然后到玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜那里去了，她很想知道安德烈公爵对退婚消息所持的态度。十分钟以后索尼娅走进玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜房里，找她去了。
“娜塔莎一定要和彼得·基里洛维奇伯爵见面。”她说。
“怎么，要把他带到她那里去吗？你们那里还没有收拾好啊。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说。
“不，她穿好了衣裳，到客厅里去了。”索尼娅说。
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜只得耸耸肩膀罢了。
“伯爵夫人什么时候到这里来，简直把我折磨坏了。你要当心，别把什么话都讲给她听。”她把脸转向皮埃尔说。“那里敢骂她，她这样可怜，这样可怜啊！”
娜塔莎非常消瘦，面色苍白而且严肃（根本不是皮埃尔所预料的那样害羞的样子），她站在客厅正中间。当皮埃尔在门口露面时候，她心里慌张起来，十分明显，她趑趄不前，向他走过去呢，还是等他走过来。
皮埃尔急忙走到她跟前。他心中想道，她会像平常一样向他伸出手来，但是她走近跟前以后停步了，喘不过气来，呆板地垂下一双手，她那姿态俨如走到大厅中间来唱歌一般，但是她脸上流露着完全不同的表情。
“彼得·基里雷奇，”她开始飞快地说，“博尔孔斯基公爵从前是您的朋友，现在他还是您的朋友，”她改正说（她仿佛觉得，这一切只是明日黄花，现在这一切不一样了），“那时他对我说，要我来求您……”
皮埃尔望着她，不作声地用鼻子发出呼哧呼哧的嗤声。他直至如今还在自己心中责备她，尽量藐视她，然而他现在非常怜悯她，致使他心中没有责备她的余地了。
“此刻他还在这里，告诉他……叫他饶恕……饶恕我。”她停住了，开始愈加急促地呼吸，但她并没有哭泣。
“是的……我要对他说，”皮埃尔说，“不过……”他不知道要说什么话。
娜塔莎显然担心皮埃尔头脑中会有那种想法。
“不，我晓得，这一切已经完了，”她连忙说。“不，这决不可能。只不过我做了危害他的恶事，这使我感到痛苦。我只有请您告诉他，我请他原谅、原谅、原谅我的一切……”她浑身颤抖起来，就在椅子上坐下。
皮埃尔从来没有体验过的那种怜悯感已经充满了他的心灵。
“我要对他说，我再一次地把这一切告诉他，”皮埃尔说，“但是……我希望知道一点……”
“要知道什么？”娜塔莎的眼神在发问……
“我希望知道您是否爱过……”皮埃尔不知道怎样称呼阿纳托利，一想到他，就满面通红，“您是否爱过这个坏人？”
“您不要把他叫做坏人吧，”娜塔莎说。“但是我什么，什么都不知道……”她又哭起来。
怜悯、温和与爱慕的感情愈益强烈地支配住皮埃尔。他听见他的眼泪在眼镜下面簌簌地流下，因此他希望不被人发现。
“我们不再讲了，我的朋友。”皮埃尔说。
娜塔莎忽然觉得他这种柔和、温情、诚挚的说话声非常奇怪。
“我们不讲了，我的朋友，我要把这一切说给他听，但是我要求您一件事——认为我是个朋友。如果您需要帮助、忠告，或者只不过是需要向谁倾诉衷肠，不是目前，而是当您心中开朗的时候，您就要想想我吧。”他一把抓住她的手，吻了吻。“如果我能够……我就会感到幸福。”皮埃尔腼腆起来。
“您甭跟我这样说，我配不上！”娜塔莎喊道，她想从房里走出去，但是皮埃尔握着她的手，把她拦住。他知道，他还需要向她说些什么话。但当他说完这句话以后，他对自己说的话感到惊讶。
“不要再讲了，不要再讲了，您前途远大。”他对她说。
“我的前途吗？不远大！我的一切都完了。”她怀着羞怯和妄自菲薄的心情说。
“一切都完了？”他重复地说。“如果我不是我自己，而是世界上的最俊美的最聪明的最优秀的人，而且是无拘无束的，我就会立刻跪下来向您求婚的。”
娜塔莎在许多天以后头一次流出了致谢和感动的眼泪，她向皮埃尔望了一眼，便从房里走出去了。
皮埃尔紧跟在她后面，几乎是跑到接待室，他忍住哽在他喉咙里的、因深受感动和幸福而流出的眼泪，他没有把手伸进袖筒，披上皮袄，坐上了雪橇。
“请问，现在去哪里？”马车夫问道。
“到哪里去呀？”皮埃尔问问自己。“现在究竟到哪里去呀？难道去俱乐部或者去做客？”与他所体验到的深受感动和爱慕的情感相比照，与她最后一次透过眼泪看看他时投射出来的那种和善的、感谢的目光相比照，所有的人都显得如此卑微、如此可怜。
“回家去。”皮埃尔说，尽管气温是零下十度，他仍旧敞开熊皮皮袄，露出他那宽阔的、喜悦地呼吸的胸脯。
天气晴朗，非常寒冷。在那污秽的半明半暗的街道上方，在黑魆魆的屋顶上方，伸展着昏暗的星罗棋布的天空。皮埃尔只是在不停地观看夜空时，才不觉得一切尘世的东西在与他的灵魂所处的高度相比照时，竟然卑微到令人感到受辱的地步。在进入阿尔巴特广场的地方，皮埃尔眼前展现出广袤无垠的昏暗的星空。一八一二年出现的这颗巨大而明亮的彗星正位于圣洁林荫道的上方，差不多悬在这片天空的正中央，它的周围密布着繁星，它与众星不同之处乃在于，它接近地面，放射出一道白光，它的长长的尾巴向上翘起来，据说，正是那颗彗星预示着一切灾难和世界末日的凶兆。但是皮埃尔心中这颗拖着长尾巴的璀璨的彗星并没有引起任何恐怖感。与之相反，皮埃尔兴高采烈地睁开他那双被泪水沾湿的眼睛，凝视着这颗明亮的彗星，它仿佛正以非言语所能形容的速度沿着一条抛物线飞过这辽阔的空间，忽然它像一枝射进土中的利箭，在黑暗的天空楔入它所选定的地方，停止不动，它使尽全力地翘起尾巴，在无数闪烁的星星之间炫耀自己的白光。皮埃尔仿佛觉得，这颗彗星和他那颗生机盎然的、变得温和而且受到鼓舞的心灵完全重合。
收听单词发音 |
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muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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