Book 1 Chapter 1
“WELL, PRINCE, Genoa and Lucca are now no more than private estates of the Bonaparte family. No, I warn you, that if you do not tell me we are at war, if you again allow yourself to palliate all the infamies and atrocities of this Antichrist (upon my word, I believe he is), I don't know you in future, you are no longer my friend, no longer my faithful slave, as you say. There, how do you do, how do you do? I see I'm scaring you, sit down and talk to me.”
These words were uttered in July 1805 by Anna Pavlovna Scherer, a distinguished lady of the court, and confidential maid-of-honour to the Empress Marya Fyodorovna. It was her greeting to Prince Vassily, a man high in rank and office, who was the first to arrive at her soirée. Anna Pavlovna had been coughing for the last few days; she had an attack of la grippe, as she said—grippe was then a new word only used by a few people. In the notes she had sent round in the morning by a footman in red livery, she had written to all indiscriminately:
“If you have nothing better to do, count (or prince), and if the prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too alarming to you, I shall be charmed to see you at my house between 7 and 10. Annette Scherer.”
“Heavens! what a violent outburst!” the prince responded, not in the least disconcerted at such a reception. He was wearing an embroidered court uniform, stockings and slippers, and had stars on his breast, and a bright smile on his flat face.
He spoke in that elaborately choice French, in which our forefathers not only spoke but thought, and with those slow, patronising intonations peculiar to a man of importance who has grown old in court society. He went up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her hand, presenting her with a view of his perfumed, shining bald head, and complacently settled himself on the sofa.
“First of all, tell me how you are, dear friend. Relieve a friend's anxiety,” he said, with no change of his voice and tone, in which indifference, and even irony, was perceptible through the veil of courtesy and sympathy.
“How can one be well when one is in moral suffering? How can one help being worried in these times, if one has any feeling?” said Anna Pavlovna. “You'll spend the whole evening with me, I hope?”
“And the fête at the English ambassador's? To-day is Wednesday. I must put in an appearance there,” said the prince. “My daughter is coming to fetch me and take me there.”
“I thought to-day's fête had been put off. I confess that all these festivities and fireworks are beginning to pall.”
“If they had known that it was your wish, the fête would have been put off,” said the prince, from habit, like a wound-up clock, saying things he did not even wish to be believed.
“Don't tease me. Well, what has been decided in regard to the Novosiltsov dispatch? You know everything.”
“What is there to tell?” said the prince in a tired, listless tone. “What has been decided? It has been decided that Bonaparte has burnt his ships, and I think that we are about to burn ours.”
Prince Vassily always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating his part in an old play. Anna Pavlovna Scherer, in spite of her forty years, was on the contrary brimming over with excitement and impulsiveness. To be enthusiastic had become her pose in society, and at times even when she had, indeed, no inclination to be so, she was enthusiastic so as not to disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The affected smile which played continually about Anna Pavlovna's face, out of keeping as it was with her faded looks, expressed a spoilt child's continual consciousness of a charming failing of which she had neither the wish nor the power to correct herself, which, indeed, she saw no need to correct.
In the midst of a conversation about politics, Anna Pavlovna became greatly excited.
“Ah, don't talk to me about Austria! I know nothing about it, perhaps, but Austria has never wanted, and doesn't want war. She is betraying us. Russia alone is to be the saviour of Europe. Our benefactor knows his lofty destiny, and will be true to it. That's the one thing I have faith in. Our good and sublime emperor has the greatest part in the world to play, and he is so virtuous and noble that God will not desert him, and he will fulfil his mission—to strangle the hydra of revolution, which is more horrible than ever now in the person of this murderer and miscreant.… Whom can we reckon on, I ask you? … England with her commercial spirit will not comprehend and cannot comprehend all the loftiness of soul of the Emperor Alexander. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She tries to detect, she seeks a hidden motive in our actions. What have they said to Novosiltsov? Nothing. They didn't understand, they're incapable of understanding the self-sacrifice of our emperor, who desires nothing for himself, and everything for the good of humanity. And what have they promised? Nothing. What they have promised even won't come to anything! Prussia has declared that Bonaparte is invincible, and that all Europe can do nothing against him.… And I don't believe a single word of what was said by Hardenberg or Haugwitz. 
That famous Prussian neutrality is a mere snare. I have no faith but in God and the lofty destiny of our adored emperor. He will save Europe!” She stopped short abruptly, with a smile of amusement at her own warmth.
“I imagine,” said the prince, smiling, “that if you had been sent instead of our dear Wintsengerode, you would have carried the Prussian king's consent by storm,—you are so eloquent. Will you give me some tea?”
“In a moment. By the way,” she added subsiding into calm again, “there are two very interesting men to be here to-night, the vicomte de Mortemart; he is connected with the Montmorencies through the Rohans, one of the best families in France. He is one of the good emigrants, the real ones. Then Abbé Morio; you know that profound intellect? He has been received by the emperor. Do you know him?”
“Ah! I shall be delighted,” said the prince. “Tell me,” he added, as though he had just recollected something, speaking with special non-chalance, though the question was the chief motive of his visit: “is it true that the dowager empress desires the appointment of Baron Funke as first secretary to the Vienna legation? He is a poor creature, it appears, that baron.” Prince Vassily would have liked to see his son appointed to the post, which people were trying, through the Empress Marya Fyodorovna, to obtain for the baron.
Anna Pavlovna almost closed her eyes to signify that neither she nor any one else could pass judgment on what the empress might be pleased or see fit to do.
“Baron Funke has been recommended to the empress-mother by her sister,” was all she said in a dry, mournful tone. When Anna Pavlovna spoke of the empress her countenance suddenly assumed a profound and genuine expression of devotion and respect, mingled with melancholy, and this happened whenever she mentioned in conversation her illustrious patroness. She said that her Imperial Majesty had been graciously pleased to show great esteem to Baron Funke, and again a shade of melancholy passed over her face. The prince preserved an indifferent silence. Anna Pavlovna, with the adroitness and quick tact of a courtier and a woman, felt an inclination to chastise the prince for his temerity in referring in such terms to a person recommended to the empress, and at the same time to console him.
“But about your own family,” she said, “do you know that your daughter, since she has come out, charms everybody? People say she is as beautiful as the day.”
The prince bowed in token of respect and acknowledgment.
“I often think,” pursued Anna Pavlovna, moving up to the prince and smiling cordially to him, as though to mark that political and worldly conversation was over and now intimate talk was to begin: “I often think how unfairly the blessings of life are sometimes apportioned. Why has fate given you two such splendid children—I don't include Anatole, your youngest—him I don't like” (she put in with a decision admitting of no appeal, raising her eyebrows)—“such charming children? And you really seem to appreciate them less than any one, and so you don't deserve them.”
And she smiled her ecstatic smile.
“What would you have? Lavater would have said that I have not the bump of paternity,” said the prince.
“Don't keep on joking. I wanted to talk to you seriously. Do you know I'm not pleased with your youngest son. Between ourselves” (her face took its mournful expression), “people have been talking about him to her majesty and commiserating you…”
The prince did not answer, but looking at him significantly, she waited in silence for his answer. Prince Vassily frowned.
“What would you have me do?” he said at last. “You know I have done everything for their education a father could do, and they have both turned out des imbéciles. 
Ippolit is at least a quiet fool, while Anatole's a fool that won't keep quiet, that's the only difference,” he said, with a smile, more unnatural and more animated than usual, bringing out with peculiar prominence something surprisingly brutal and unpleasant in the lines about his mouth.
“Why are children born to men like you? If you weren't a father, I could find no fault with you,” said Anna Pavlovna, raising her eyes pensively.
“I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess. My children are the bane of my existence. It's the cross I have to bear, that's how I explain it to myself. 
What would you have?” … He broke off with a gesture expressing his resignation to a cruel fate. Anna Pavlovna pondered a moment.
“Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole? People say,” she said, “that old maids have a mania for matchmaking. I have never been conscious of this failing before, but I have a little person in my mind, who is very unhappy with her father, a relation of ours, the young Princess Bolkonsky.”
Prince Vassily made no reply, but with the rapidity of reflection and memory characteristic of worldly people, he signified by a motion of the head that he had taken in and was considering what she said.
“No, do you know that that boy is costing me forty thousand roubles a year?” he said, evidently unable to restrain the gloomy current of his thoughts. He paused. 
“What will it be in five years if this goes on? These are the advantages of being a father.… Is she rich, your young princess?”
“Her father is very rich and miserly. He lives in the country. You know that notorious Prince Bolkonsky, retired under the late emperor, and nicknamed the ‘Prussian King.' He's a very clever man, but eccentric and tedious. The poor little thing is as unhappy as possible. Her brother it is who has lately been married to Liza Meinen, an adjutant of Kutuzov's. He'll be here this evening.”
“Listen, dear Annette,” said the prince, suddenly taking his companion's hand, and for some reason bending it downwards. “Arrange this matter for me and I am your faithful slave for ever and ever. She's of good family and well off. That's all I want.”
And with the freedom, familiarity, and grace that distinguished him, he took the maid-of-honour's hand, kissed it, and as he kissed it waved her hand, while he stretched forward in his low chair and gazed away into the distance.
“Wait,” said Anna Pavlovna, considering. “I'll talk to Lise (the wife of young Bolkonsky) this very evening, and perhaps it can be arranged. I'll try my prentice hand as an old maid in your family.” 
“啊，公爵，热那亚和卢加现在是波拿巴家族的领地，不过，我得事先对您说，如果您不对我说我们这里处于战争状态，如果您还敢袒护这个基督的敌人（我确乎相信，他是一个基督的敌人）的种种卑劣行径和他一手造成的灾祸，那么我就不再管您了。您就不再是我的朋友，您就不再是，如您所说的，我的忠实的奴隶。啊，您好，您好。我看我正在吓唬您了，请坐，讲给我听。” 
一八○五年七月，遐迩闻名的安娜·帕夫洛夫娜·舍列尔——皇后玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜的宫廷女官和心腹，在欢迎首位莅临晚会的达官显要瓦西里公爵时说过这番话。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜一连咳嗽几天了。正如她所说，她身罹流行性感冒（那时候，流行性感冒是个新词，只有少数人才用它）。清早由一名红衣听差在分别发出的便函中，千篇一律地写道：“伯爵（或公爵），如您意下尚无任何可取的娱乐，如今日晚上这个可怜的女病人的症候不致使您过分惧怕，则请于七时至十时间莅临寒舍，不胜雀跃。安娜·舍列尔。”
“我的天，大打出手，好不激烈！”一位进来的公爵答道，对这种接见丝毫不感到困惑，他穿着绣花的宫廷礼服、长统袜子、短靴皮鞋，佩戴着多枚明星勋章，扁平的面部流露出愉快的表情。
他讲的是优雅的法语，我们的祖辈不仅借助它来说话，而且借助它来思考，他说起话来带有很平静的、长辈庇护晚辈时特有的腔调，那是上流社会和宫廷中德高望重的老年人独具的语调。他向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜跟前走来，把那洒满香水的闪闪发亮的秃头凑近她，吻吻她的手，就心平气和地坐到沙发上。
“亲爱的朋友，请您首先告诉我，身体可好吗？您让我安静下来，”他说道，嗓音并没有改变，透过他那讲究礼貌的、关怀备至的腔调可以看出冷淡的、甚至是讥讽的意味。
“当你精神上遭受折磨时，身体上怎么能够健康呢？……在我们这个时代，即令有感情，又怎么能够保持宁静呢？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，“我希望您整个晚上都待在我这儿，好吗？”
“英国公使的喜庆日子呢？今日是星期三，我要在那里露面，”公爵说道，“我女儿顺便来接我，坐一趟车子。”
“我以为今天的庆祝会取消了。Jevousavouequetoutescesfetesettouscesfeuxd'artificecommencentadevenirinBsipides．”①
“若是人家知道您有这种心愿，庆祝会就得取消的。”公爵说道，他俨然像一架上紧发条的钟，习惯地说些他不想要别人相信的话。
“Nemetourmentezpas．Ehbienqu'a－t－ondécidéparrapportàladépêchedeNovosilzoff？Voussaveztout．”②
“怎么对您说好呢？”公爵说道，他的语调冷淡，索然无味。“Qu'a—t—ondécidê？OnadécidêqueBuonaparteabrúlésesvaisseaux，etjecroisquenoussommesentraindebrulerlesnotres．”③ 
①法语：老实说，所有这些庆祝会、烟火，都令人厌恶极了。
②法语：请您不要折磨我。哦，他们就诺沃西利采夫的紧急情报作出了什么决议？这一切您了若指掌。
③法语：决定了什么？他们决定：波拿巴既已焚烧自己的战船，看来我们也要准备这样做。
瓦西里公爵向来是慢吞吞地说话，像演员口中道出旧台词那样。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜·舍列尔虽说是年满四十，却反而充满活力和激情。
她满腔热情，使她取得了社会地位。有时她甚至没有那种希冀，但为不辜负熟悉她的人们的期望，她还是要做一个满腔热情的人。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜脸上经常流露的冷淡的微笑，虽与她的憔悴的面容不相称，但却像娇生惯养的孩童那样，表示她经常意识到自己的微小缺点，不过她不想，也无法而且认为没有必要去把它改正。
在有关政治行动的谈话当中，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的心情激昂起来。
“咳！请您不要对我谈论奥地利了！也许我什么都不明白，可是奥地利从来不需要，现在也不需要战争。它把我们出卖了。唯独俄罗斯才应当成为欧洲的救星。我们的恩人知道自己的崇高天职，他必将信守不渝。这就是我唯一的信条。我们慈善的国君当前需要发挥世界上至为伟大的职能。他十分善良，道德高尚，上帝决不会把他抛弃，他必将履行自己的天职，镇压革命的邪恶势力；他如今竟以这个杀手和恶棍作为代表人物，革命就显得愈益可怖了。遵守教规者付出了鲜血，唯独我们才应该讨还这一笔血债。我们要仰赖谁呢？我问您……散布着商业气息的英国决不懂得，也没法懂得亚历山大皇帝品性的高尚。美国拒绝让出马耳他。它想窥看，并且探寻我们行动的用意。他们对诺沃西利采夫说了什么话？……什么也没说。他们不理解，也没法理解我们皇帝的奋不顾身精神，我们皇帝丝毫不贪图私利，他心中总想为全世界造福。他们许诺了什么？什么也没有。他们的许诺，将只是一纸空文！普鲁士已经宣布，说波拿巴无敌于天下，整个欧洲都无能同他作对……我一点也不相信哈登贝格·豪格维茨的鬼话。Cettefameuseneutralitéprussienne，cen'estqu'unpiège．①我只相信上帝，相信我们的贤明君主的高贵命运。他一定能够拯救欧洲！……”她忽然停了下来，对她自己的激昂情绪流露出讥讽的微笑。
“我认为，”公爵面露微笑地说道，“假如不委派我们这个可爱的温岑格罗德，而是委派您，您就会迫使普鲁士国王达成协议。您真是个能言善辩的人。给我斟点茶，好吗？”
“我马上把茶端来。顺带提一句，”她又心平气和地补充说，“今天在这儿有两位饶有风趣的人士，一位是LevicomtedeMostmart，ilestalliéauxMontmorencyparlesRohans，②法国优秀的家族之一。他是侨民之中的一个名副其实的佼佼者。另一位则是L'abbeMorio．③您认识这位聪明透顶的人士么？国王接见过他了。您知道吗？”
“啊！我将会感到非常高兴，”公爵说道，“请您告诉我，”他补充说，仿佛他方才想起某件事，显露出不经心的神态，而他所要问的事情，正是他来拜谒的主要鹄的。“L'impératrice－mère④想委派斗克男爵出任维也纳的头等秘书，真有其事吗？C'estunpauvresire，cebaron，àcequ'ilparait，⑤”瓦西里公爵想把儿子安插到这个职位上，而大家却在千方百计地通过玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜为男爵谋到这个职位。 
①法语：普鲁士的这种臭名昭著的中立，只是个陷阱。
②法语：莫特马尔子爵，借助罗昂家的关系，已同蒙莫朗西结成亲戚。
③法语：莫里约神甫。
④法语：孀居的太后。
⑤法语：这公爵似乎是个卑微的人。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜几乎阖上了眼睛，暗示无论是她，或是任何人都不能断定，皇太后乐意或者喜欢做什么事。
“MonsieurlebarondeFunkeaétérecommandéàL'impératrice－mèreparsasoeur，”①她只是用悲哀的、冷冰冰的语调说了这句话。当安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说到太后的名字时，她脸上顿时流露出无限忠诚和十分敬重的表情，而且混杂有每次谈话中提到她的至高无上的庇护者时就会表现出来的忧悒情绪。她说，太后陛下对斗克男爵beaucoupd'estime，②于是她的目光又笼罩着一抹愁云。
公爵不开腔了，现出了冷漠的神态。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜本身具备有廷臣和女人的那种灵活和麻利的本能，待人接物有分寸，她心想抨击公爵，因为他胆敢肆意评论那个推荐给太后的人，而同时又安慰公爵。
“Maisàproposdevotrefamille，”③她说道，“您知道吗？自从您女儿抛头露面，进入交际界以来，faitlesdélicesdetoutlemonde，Onlatrouvebelle，commeLejour．”④ 
①法语：斗克男爵是由太后的妹妹向太后推荐的。
②法语：十分尊重。
③法语：顺便谈谈您的家庭情况吧。
④法语：她是整个上流社会的宠物。大家都认为她是娇艳的美人。
公爵深深地鞠躬，表示尊敬和谢意。
“我常有这样的想法，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在沉默须臾之后继续说道，她将身子凑近公爵，对他露出亲切的微笑，仿佛在表示，政界和交际界的谈话已经结束，现在可以开始推心置腹地交谈，“我常有这样的想法，生活上的幸福有时安排得不公平。为什么命运之神赐予您这么两个可爱的孩子（除开您的小儿子阿纳托利，我不喜欢他），”她扬起眉毛，断然地插上一句话，“为什么命运之神赐予您这么两个顶好的孩子呢？可是您真的不珍惜他们，所以您不配有这么两个孩子。”
她于是兴奋地莞然一笑。
“Quevoulez－vous？Lafaterauraitditquejen'aipaslabossedelapaternité，①”公爵说道。
“请不要再开玩笑。我想和您认真地谈谈。您知道，我不满意您的小儿子。对这些话请别介意，就在我们之间说说吧（她脸上带有忧悒的表情），大家在太后跟前议论他，都对您表示惋惜……”
公爵不回答，但她沉默地、有所暗示地望着他，等待他回答。瓦西里公爵皱了一阵眉头。
“我该怎样办呢？”他终于说道。“您知道，为教育他们，我已竭尽为父的应尽的能事，可是到头来两个都成了desimBbeciles，②伊波利特充其量是个温顺的笨蛋，阿纳托利却是个惴惴不安的笨蛋。这就是二人之间唯一的差异。”他说道，笑得比平常更不自然，更兴奋，同时嘴角边起了皱褶，特别强烈地显得出人意料地粗暴和可憎。 
①法语：怎么办呢？拉法特会说我没有父爱的骨相。
②法语：笨蛋。
“为什么像您这种人要生儿女呢？如果您不当父亲，我就无话可责备您了。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，若有所思地抬起眼睛。
“Jesuisvotre①忠实的奴隶，etàvousseulejepuisl'avou－er，我的孩子们——cesontlesentravesdemonexisBtence，②这就是我的苦难。我是这样自我解释的。Quevoulezvous？……”③他默不作声，用手势表示他听从残酷命运的摆布。 
①法语：我是您的。
②法语：我只能向您一人坦白承认。我的孩子们是我的生活负担。
③法语：怎么办呢？
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜陷入了沉思。
“您从来没有想到替您那个浪子阿纳托利娶亲的事么？据说，”她开口说道，“老处女都有lamainedesmariages，①我还不觉得我自己会有这个弱点，可是我这里有一个petitepersonne，②她和她父亲相处，极为不幸，她就是博尔孔斯卡娅，uneparenteanous，uneprincesse．”③尽管瓦西里公爵具备上流社会人士固有的神速的颖悟力和记忆力，但对她的见识他只是摇摇脑袋表示要加以斟酌，并没有作答。
“不，您是不是知道，这个阿纳托利每年都要花费我四万卢布。”他说道，看来无法遏制他那忧悒的心绪。他沉默了片刻。
“若是这样拖下去，五年后那会怎样呢？VoilàL'avantageà'ètrepère。④您那个公爵小姐很富有吗？” 
①法语：为人办婚事的癖性。
②法语：少女。
③法语：我们的一个亲戚，公爵小姐。
④法语：这就是为父的益处。
“他父亲很富有，可也很吝啬。他在乡下居住。您知道，这个大名鼎鼎的博尔孔斯基公爵早在已故的皇帝在位时就退休了，他的绰号是‘普鲁士国王'。他是个非常聪明的人，可脾气古怪，难于同他相处。Lapauvrepetiteestmalheureuse，commelespierres，①她有个大哥，在当库图佐夫的副官，就在不久前娶上了丽莎·梅南，今天他要上我这儿来。”
“Ecoutez，chèreAnnette，②”公爵说道，他忽然抓住交谈者的手，不知怎的使它稍微向下弯。“Arrangez－moicetteaffaireetjesuisvotre③最忠诚的奴隶àtoutjamais（奴辈，commemon村长m'écritdes④在汇报中所写的）。她出身于名门望族，又很富有。这一切都是我所需要的。”
他的动作灵活、亲昵而优美，可作为他的表征，他抓起宫廷女官的手吻了吻，握着她的手摇晃了几下，伸开手脚懒洋洋地靠在安乐椅上，抬起眼睛向一旁望去。
“Attendez，”⑤安娜·帕夫洛夫娜思忖着说道，“我今天跟丽莎（Lafemmedujeune博尔孔斯基⑥）谈谈，也许这事情会办妥的。Ceseradansvotrefamille，
quejeferaimonapBprentissagedevieillefille．⑦” 
①法语：这个可怜的小姐太不幸了。
②法语：亲爱的安内特，请听我说吧。
③法语：替我办妥这件事，我就永远是您的。
④法语：正如我的村长所写的。
⑤法语：请您等一等。
⑥法语：博尔孔斯基的妻子。
⑦我开始在您家里学习老处女的行当。
Book 1 Chapter 2
ANNA PAVLOVNA'S DRAWING-ROOM gradually began to fill. The people of the highest distinction in Petersburg were there, people very different in ages and characters, but alike in the set in which they moved. The daughter of Prince Vassily, the beauty, Ellen, came to fetch her father and go with him to the ambassador's fête. She was wearing a ball-dress with an imperial badge on it. The young Princess Bolkonsky was there, celebrated as the most seductive woman in Petersburg. She had been married the previous winter, and was not now going out into the great world on account of her interesting condition, but was still to be seen at small parties. Prince Ippolit, the son of Prince Vassily, came too with Mortemart, whom he introduced. The Abbé Morio was there too, and many others.
“Have you not yet seen, or not been introduced to ma tante?” Anna Pavlovna said to her guests as they arrived, and very seriously she led them up to a little old lady wearing tall bows, who had sailed in out of the next room as soon as the guests began to arrive. Anna Pavlovna mentioned their names, deliberately turning her eyes from the guest to ma tante, and then withdrew. All the guests performed the ceremony of greeting the aunt, who was unknown, uninteresting and unnecessary to every one. Anna Pavlovna with mournful, solemn sympathy, followed these greetings, silently approving them. Ma tante said to each person the same words about his health, her own health, and the health of her majesty, who was, thank God, better to-day. Every one, though from politeness showing no undue haste, moved away from the old lady with a sense of relief at a tiresome duty accomplished, and did not approach her again all the evening. The young Princess Bolkonsky had come with her work in a gold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, faintly darkened with down, was very short over her teeth, but was all the more charming when it was lifted, and still more charming when it was at times drawn down to meet the lower lip. As is always the case with perfectly charming women, her defect — the shortness of the lip and the half-opened mouth — seemed her peculiar, her characteristic beauty. Every one took delight in watching the pretty creature full of life and gaiety, so soon to be a mother, and so lightly bearing her burden. Old men and bored, depressed young men gazing at her felt as though they were becoming like her, by being with her and talking a little while to her. Any man who spoke to her, and at every word saw her bright little smile and shining white teeth, gleaming continually, imagined that he was being particularly successful this evening. And this each thought in turn.
The little princess, moving with a slight swing, walked with rapid little steps round the table with her work-bag in her hand, and gaily arranging the folds of her gown, sat down on a sofa near the silver samovar; it seemed as though everything she did was a festival for herself and all around her.
“I have brought my work,” she said, displaying her reticule, and addressing the company generally. “Mind, Annette, don't play me a nasty trick,” she turned to the lady of the house; “you wrote to me that it was quite a little gathering. See how I am got up.”
And she flung her arms open to show her elegant grey dress, trimmed with lace and girt a little below the bosom with a broad sash.
“Never mind, Lise, you will always be prettier than any one else,” answered Anna Pavlovna.
“You know my husband is deserting me,” she went on in just the same voice, addressing a general; “he is going to get himself killed. Tell me what this nasty war is for,” she said to Prince Vassily, and without waiting for an answer she turned to Prince Vassily's daughter, the beautiful Ellen.
“How delightful this little princess is!” said Prince Vassily in an undertone to Anna Pavlovna.
Soon after the little princess, there walked in a massively built, stout young man in spectacles, with a cropped head, light breeches in the mode of the day, with a high lace ruffle and a ginger-coloured coat. This stout young man was the illegitimate son of a celebrated dandy of the days of Catherine, Count Bezuhov, who was now dying at Moscow. He had not yet entered any branch of the service; he had only just returned from abroad, where he had been educated, and this was his first appearance in society. Anna Pavlovna greeted him with a nod reserved for persons of the very lowest hierarchy in her drawing-room. But, in spite of this greeting, Anna Pavlovna's countenance showed signs on seeing Pierre of uneasiness and alarm, such as is shown at the sight of something too big and out of place. Though Pierre certainly was somewhat bigger than any of the other men in the room, this expression could only have reference to the clever, though shy, observant and natural look that distinguished him from every one else in the drawing-room.
“It is very kind of you, M. Pierre, to have come to see a poor invalid,” Anna Pavlovna said to him, exchanging anxious glances with her aunt, to whom she was conducting him.
Pierre murmured something unintelligible, and continued searching for something with his eyes. He smiled gleefully and delightedly, bowing to the little princess as though she were an intimate friend, and went up to the aunt. Anna Pavlovna's alarm was not without grounds, for Pierre walked away from the aunt without waiting to the end of her remarks about her majesty's health. Anna Pavlovna stopped him in dismay with the words: “You don't know Abbé Morio? He's a very interesting man,” she said.
“Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpetual peace, and it's very interesting, but hardly possible …”
“You think so?” said Anna Pavlovna in order to say something and to get away again to her duties as hostess, but Pierre committed the opposite incivility. Just now he had walked off without listening to the lady who was addressing him; now he detained by his talk a lady who wanted to get away from him. With head bent and legs planted wide apart, he began explaining to Anna Pavlovna why he considered the abbé's scheme chimerical.
“We will talk of it later,” said Anna Pavlovna, smiling.
And getting rid of this unmannerly young man she returned to her duties, keeping her eyes and ears open, ready to fly to the assistance at any point where the conversation was flagging. Just as the foreman of a spinning-mill settles the work-people in their places, walks up and down the works, and noting any stoppage or unusual creaking or too loud a whir in the spindles, goes up hurriedly, slackens the machinery and sets it going properly, so Anna Pavlovna, walking about her drawing-room, went up to any circle that was pausing or too loud in conversation and by a single word or change of position set the conversational machine going again in its regular, decorous way. But in the midst of these cares a special anxiety on Pierre's account could still be discerned in her. She kept an anxious watch on him as he went up to listen to what was being said near Mortemart, and walked away to another group where the abbé was talking. Pierre had been educated abroad, and this party at Anna Pavlovna's was the first at which he had been present in Russia. He knew all the intellectual lights of Petersburg gathered together here, and his eyes strayed about like a child's in a toy-shop. He was afraid at every moment of missing some intellectual conversation which he might have heard. Gazing at the self-confident and refined expressions of the personages assembled here, he was continually expecting something exceptionally clever. At last he moved up to Abbé Morio. The conversation seemed interesting, and he stood still waiting for an opportunity of expressing his own ideas, as young people are fond of doing. 
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的客厅渐渐挤满了来宾。彼得堡的有名望的显贵都来赴会了，就其年龄和性情而言，这些人虽然各不相同，但是就其生活的社会而言，却是相同的。瓦西里公爵的女儿——貌美的海伦前来赴会了，她顺路来接父亲，以便一同去出席公使的庆祝大会。她佩戴花字奖章，身穿舞会的艳装。知名的、年轻的、身材矮小的叫做博尔孔斯卡娅的公爵夫人，LafemmelaplusséduisantedePétersbourg①，也来赴会了；她于去冬出阁，因为怀胎，眼下不能跻身于稠人广众的交际场所，但仍旧出席小型晚会。瓦西里公爵的儿子伊波利特随同他所举荐的莫特马尔也来赴会了；此外，前来赴会的还有莫里约神父和许多旁的人。 
“我还没有见过（或者：您和Matante②不相识吧？）。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对各位来宾说，又一本正经地把他们领到小老太太跟前，她头上束着高高的蝴蝶结，当宾客快要到来时，便从另一个房间从容平稳地走出来；安娜·帕夫洛夫娜喊出一个个来客的名字，同时把目光慢慢地从客人移到matante身上，之后她就走开了。 
①彼得堡的迷人的女人。
②法语：我的姑母。
各位来宾都向这个谁也不熟悉、谁也不感兴趣、谁也不需要的姑母行礼问安。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜显露出忧郁而庄重的神态，聆听他们的问候，心中默默地表示赞许。matante用同样的言词对每位来宾谈论到他们的情形，谈论到她自己和太后的健康情形，“谢天谢地，太后今朝有起色。”各位前来叩安的客人，为着要讲究礼节，都不表露出仓忙的神色，但都怀着履行艰巨职责之后的轻快的感觉离开老太太，整个夜晚再也不到她身边去了。
年轻的名叫博尔孔斯卡娅的公爵夫人来了，她随身带着一个金线织的丝绒袋子，内中装有针线活儿。她那长有略带黑色绒毛的令人悦目的上唇，翘起来，露出了上牙，正因为这样，上唇启开时，就显得愈加好看，有时候上唇向前伸出或者搭在下唇上，就愈益好看了。她的缺点——翘嘴唇、微微张开的口——似乎已构成她的特殊的美。无论谁看见这个身体健壮、充满活力、即令是怀胎，依然一身轻快的、长相十分好看的未来的母亲，都感到无比喜悦。老年人和阴郁而烦闷的年青人，设若和她在一块待上片刻，聊聊天，就好像变得和她一个模样了。谁和她聊过天，看见她每说一句话都会露出来爽朗的微笑，看见她那雪白的、闪闪发亮的牙齿，就会感到今天受宠若惊，飘飘然。每个人脑子里都会浮现出这种想法。
身材矮小的公爵夫人手上提着一个装有针线活的袋子，迈着急速的碎步，蹒跚地绕过桌子，愉快地弄平连衣裙，便在银质茶炊旁的长沙发上坐下来，仿佛她无论做什么事情，对她本人和她周围的人，都是一件partiedeplaisir。①“J'aiapportémonouvrage，”②她打开女用手提包，把脸转向大家说道。
“您瞧吧，Annette，nemejouezpasunmauvais′tour，”她把脸转向女主人说话。“Vousm'avezécrit，quec'étaitunetoutepetitesoirée；voyezcommejesuisattifée．”③ 
①法语：开心事。
②法语：我把针线活儿随身带来了。
③法语：不要恶毒地跟我开玩笑，您写给我的信上说，你们举行一个小型的晚会。您瞧，我已经围上披肩了。
她于是两手一摊，让大伙儿瞧瞧她那件缀上花边的雅致的灰灰色的连衣裙，前胸以下系着一条宽阔的绸带。
“Soyeztranquille，Lise，voussereztoujourslaplusjolie，”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜回答。
“Voussavez，monmarim'abandonne。”她把脸转向一位将军，用同样的语调继续说下去，“ilvasefairetuer．Ditesmoi，pourquoicettevilaineguerre，”②她对瓦西里公爵说道，不等他回答，便转过身来和公爵的女儿——貌美的海伦谈话。
“Quelledélicieusepersonnequecettepetiteprincesse！”③瓦西里公爵轻言细语地对安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。 
①法语：丽莎，请您放心吧，您毕竟比谁都漂亮。
②法语：您知道，我的丈夫要把我抛弃了。他要去拼死卖命。请您告诉我，这种万恶的战争是为了什么目的啊！
③法语：这个身材矮小的公爵夫人，是个多么讨人喜欢的人啊！
紧随那矮小的公爵夫人之后，有一个块头大的、略嫌肥胖的年轻人走进来了、头发剪得短短的，戴着一付眼镜，穿着一条时髦的浅色裤子，那衣领显得又高又硬，还披上一件棕色的燕尾服。这个略嫌肥胖的年轻人是叶卡捷琳娜在位时一位大名鼎鼎的达官、而目前正在莫斯科奄奄一息的别祖霍夫伯爵的私生子。他还没有在任何地方工作过，刚从外国深造回来，头一次在社交场合露面。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对他鞠个躬，表示欢迎，平素她也同样地对待自己沙龙中的下级人员。虽然这是迎接下级的礼节，但一看见皮埃尔走进门来，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜脸上就表现出惊惶不安的神情，有如看见一只不宜于此地栖身的巨大怪物似的。皮埃尔的身材确实比沙龙里其他男人魁梧些，但这种惊惶的表情只可能由于他那机灵而又畏怯、敏锐而又焦然，有别于沙龙中其他人的目光而引起的。
“C'estbienaimableàvous，monsieurPierre，d'etrevenuvoirunepauvremalade，”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对他说道，把他带到姑母面前，惊惶失措地和她互使眼色。皮埃尔嘟哝着说了一句令人不懂的话，继续不停地用眼睛探寻着什么。他欢快地微微一笑，像对亲密的朋友那样，向身材矮小的公爵夫人鞠躬行礼，接着便向姑母面前走去。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的惊惶失措的神态并不是无缘无故的，因为皮埃尔还没有听完姑母讲太后的健康情形，便从她身旁走开了。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜心慌意乱地用话阻拦他。 
①法语：皮埃尔先生，您真是太好了，来探望一个可怜的女病人。
“您不知道莫里约神父吗？他是个很有风趣的人……”她说。
“是的，我听过有关他所提出的永久和平的计划。这真是十分有趣，不过未必有可能……”
“您有这样的想法？……”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，她本想随便聊聊，再去做些家庭主妇的活儿，但是皮埃尔竟然做出一反常态的缺少礼貌的举动。原先他没有听完对话人的话就走开了，此刻他却说些闲话来拦住需要离开他的对话人。他便垂着头，叉开他两条大腿，开始向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜证明，他为何认为神父的计划纯粹是幻想。
“我们以后来谈吧。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，流露出一丝微笑。
她摆脱了那个不善于生活的年轻人之后，便回过头来去干家庭主妇的活儿，继续留心地听听，仔细地看看，准备去帮助哪个谈得不带劲的地方的人。像一个纺纱作坊的老板，让劳动者就位以后，便在作坊里踱来踱去，发现纺锤停止转动，或者声音逆耳，轧轧作响、音量太大时，就赶快走去制动纺车，或者使它运转自如——安娜·帕夫洛夫娜也是这样处理事情的，她在自己客厅里踱来踱去，不时地走到寂然无声或者谈论过多的人群面前，开口说句话或者调动他们的坐位，于是又使谈话机器从容不迫地、文质彬彬地转动起来。但是在她这样照料的当儿，依然看得出她分外担心皮埃尔。当皮埃尔走到莫特马尔周围的人们近旁听听他们谈话，后来又走到有神父发言的那一群人面前的时候，她总是怀着关切的心态注视着皮埃尔。对于在外国受过教育的皮埃尔来说，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的这次晚会，是他在俄国目睹的第一个晚会。他知道，彼得堡的知识分子都在这里集会，他真像个置身于玩具商店的孩童那样，看不胜看，眼花缭乱。他老是惧怕错失他能听到的深奥议论的机会。他亲眼望见在这里集会的人们都现出充满信心而又文雅的表情，他老是等待能听到特别深奥的言论。末了，他向莫里约面前走去。他心里觉得他们的谈话十分有趣，他于是停了下来，等待有机会说出自己的主见，就像年轻人那样，个个喜欢这一着。
Book 1 Chapter 3
ANNA PAVLOVNA'S soirée was in full swing. The spindles kept up their regular hum on all sides without pause. Except the aunt, beside whom was sitting no one but an elderly lady with a thin, careworn face, who seemed rather out of her element in this brilliant society, the company was broken up into three groups. In one of these, the more masculine, the centre was the abbé; in the other, the group of young people, the chief attractions were the beautiful Princess Ellen, Prince Vassily's daughter, and the little Princess Bolkonsky, with her rosy prettiness, too plump for her years. In the third group were Mortemart and Anna Pavlovna.
The vicomte was a pretty young gentleman with soft features and manners, who obviously regarded himself as a celebrity, but with good breeding modestly allowed the company the benefit of his society. Anna Pavlovna unmistakably regarded him as the chief entertainment she was giving her guests. As a clever ma?tre d'h?tel serves as something superlatively good the piece of beef which no one would have cared to eat seeing it in the dirty kitchen, Anna Pavlovna that evening served up to her guests — first, the vicomte and then the abbé, as something superlatively subtle. In Mortemart's group the talk turned at once on the execution of the duc d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the duc d'Enghien had been lost by his own magnanimity and that there were special reasons for Bonaparte's bitterness against him.
“Ah, come! Tell us about that, vicomte,” said Anna Pavlovna gleefully, feeling that the phrase had a peculiarly Louis Quinze note about it: “Contez-nous cela, vicomte.”
The vicomte bowed and smiled courteously in token of his readiness to obey. Anna Pavlovna made a circle round the vicomte and invited every one to hear his story.
“The vicomte was personally acquainted with his highness,” Anna Pavlovna whispered to one. “The vicomte tells a story perfectly,” she said to another. “How one sees the man of quality,” she said to a third, and the vicomte was presented to the company in the most elegant and advantageous light, like the roast-beef on the hot dish garnished with green parsley.
The vicomte was about to begin his narrative, and he smiled subtly.
“Come over here, chère Hélène,” said Anna Pavlovna to the young beauty who was sitting a little way off, the centre of another group.
Princess Ellen smiled. She got up with the same unchanging smile of the acknowledged beauty with which she had entered the drawing-room. Her white ball-dress adorned with ivy and moss rustled lightly; her white shoulders, glossy hair, and diamonds glittered, as she passed between the men who moved apart to make way for her. Not looking directly at any one, but smiling at every one, as it were courteously allowing to all the right to admire the beauty of her figure, her full shoulders, her bosom and back, which were extremely exposed in the mode of the day, she moved up to Anna Pavlovna, seeming to bring with her the brilliance of the ballroom. Ellen was so lovely that she was not merely free from the slightest shade of coquetry, she seemed on the contrary ashamed of the too evident, too violent and all-conquering influence of her beauty. She seemed to wish but to be unable to soften the effect of her beauty.
“What a beautiful woman!” every one said on seeing her. As though struck by something extraordinary, the vicomte shrugged his shoulders and dropped his eyes, when she seated herself near him and dazzled him too with the same unchanging smile.
“Madame, I doubt my abilities before such an audience,” he said, bowing with a smile.
The princess leaned her plump, bare arm on the table and did not find it necessary to say anything. She waited, smiling. During the vicomte's story she sat upright, looking from time to time at her beautiful, plump arm, which lay with its line changed by pressure on the table, then at her still lovelier bosom, on which she set straight her diamond necklace. Several times she settled the folds of her gown and when the narrative made a sensation upon the audience, she glanced at Anna Pavlovna and at once assumed the expression she saw on the maid-of-honour's face, then she relapsed again into her unvarying smile. After Ellen the little princess too moved away from the tea-table.
“Wait for me, I will take my work,” she said. “Come, what are you thinking of?” she said to Prince Ippolit. “Bring me my reticule.”
The little princess, smiling and talking to every one, at once effected a change of position, and settling down again, gaily smoothed out her skirts.
“Now I'm comfortable,” she said, and begging the vicomte to begin, she took up her work. Prince Ippolit brought her reticule, moved to her side, and bending close over her chair, sat beside her.
Le charmant Hippolyte struck every one as extraordinarily like this sister, and, still more, as being, in spite of the likeness, strikingly ugly. His features were like his sister's, but in her, everything was radiant with joyous life, with the complacent, never-failing smile of youth and life and an extraordinary antique beauty of figure. The brother's face on the contrary was clouded over by imbecility and invariably wore a look of aggressive fretfulness, while he was thin and feebly built. His eyes, his nose, his mouth — everything was, as it were, puckered up in one vacant, bored grimace, while his arms and legs always fell into the most grotesque attitudes.
“It is not a ghost story,” he said, sitting down by the princess and hurriedly fixing his eyeglass in his eye, as though without that instrument he could not begin to speak.
“Why, no, my dear fellow,” said the astonished vicomte, with a shrug.
“Because I detest ghost stories,” said Prince Ippolit in a tone which showed that he uttered the words before he was aware of their meaning.
From the self-confidence with which he spoke no one could tell whether what he said was very clever or very stupid. He was dressed in a dark-green frock coat, breeches of the colour of the cuisse de nymphe effrayée, as he called it, stockings and slippers. The vicomte very charmingly related the anecdote then current, that the duc d'Enghien had secretly visited Paris for the sake of an interview with the actress, Mlle. Georges, and that there he met Bonaparte, who also enjoyed the favours of the celebrated actress, and that, meeting the duc, Napoleon had fallen into one of the fits to which he was subject and had been completely in the duc's power, how the duc had not taken advantage of it, and Bonaparte had in the sequel avenged his magnanimity by the duc's death.
The story was very charming and interesting, especially at the point when the rivals suddenly recognise each other, and the ladies seemed to be greatly excited by it. “Charmant!” said Anna Pavlovna, looking inquiringly at the little princess. “Charming!” whispered the little princess, sticking her needle into her work as an indication that the interest and charm of the story prevented her working. The vicomte appreciated this silent homage, and smiling gratefully, resumed his narrative. But meanwhile Anna Pavlovna, still keeping a watch on the dreadful young man, noticed that he was talking too loudly and too warmly with the abbé and hurried to the spot of danger. Pierre had in fact succeeded in getting into a political conversation with the abbé on the balance of power, and the abbé, evidently interested by the simple-hearted fervour of the young man, was unfolding to him his cherished idea. Both were listening and talking too eagerly and naturally, and Anna Pavlovna did not like it.
“The means? — the balance of power in Europe and the rights of the people,” said the abbé. “One powerful state like Russia — with the prestige of barbarism — need only take a disinterested stand at the head of the alliance that aims at securing the balance of power in Europe, and it would save the world!” “How are you going to get such a balance of power?” Pierre was beginning; but at that moment Anna Pavlovna came up, and glancing severely at Pierre, asked the Italian how he was supporting the climate. The Italian's face changed instantly and assumed the look of offensive, affected sweetness, which was evidently its habitual expression in conversation with women. “I am so enchanted by the wit and culture of the society — especially of the ladies — in which I have had the happiness to be received, that I have not yet had time to think of the climate,” he said. Not letting the abbé and Pierre slip out of her grasp, Anna Pavlovna, for greater convenience in watching them, made them join the bigger group.
At that moment another guest walked into the drawing-room. This was the young Prince Andrey Bolkonsky, the husband of the little princess. Prince Bolkonsky was a very handsome young man, of medium height, with clear, clean-cut features. Everything in his appearance, from his weary, bored expression to his slow, measured step, formed the most striking contrast to his lively little wife. Obviously all the people in the drawing-room were familiar figures to him, and more than that, he was unmistakably so sick of them that even to look at them and to listen to them was a weariness to him. Of all the wearisome faces the face of his pretty wife seemed to bore him most. With a grimace that distorted his handsome face he turned away from her. He kissed Anna Pavlovna's hand, and with half-closed eyelids scanned the whole company.
“You are enlisting for the war, prince?” said Anna Pavlovna.
“General Kutuzov has been kind enough to have me as an aide-de-camp,” said Bolkonsky.
“And Lise, your wife? —”
“She is going into the country.”
“Isn't it too bad of you to rob us of your charming wife?”
“André,” said his wife, addressing her husband in exactly the same coquettish tone in which she spoke to outsiders, “the vicomte has just told us such a story about Mlle. Georges and Bonaparte!”
Prince Andrey scowled and turned away. Pierre, who had kept his eyes joyfully and affectionately fixed on him ever since he came in, went up to him and took hold of his arm. Prince Andrey, without looking round, twisted his face into a grimace of annoyance at any one's touching him, but seeing Pierre's smiling face, he gave him a smile that was unexpectedly sweet and pleasant.
“Why, you! … And in such society too,” he said to Pierre.
“I knew you would be here,” answered Pierre. “I'm coming to supper with you,” he added in an undertone, not to interrupt the vicomte who was still talking. “Can I?”
“Oh no, impossible,” said Prince Andrey, laughing, with a squeeze of his hand giving Pierre to understand that there was no need to ask. He would have said something more, but at that instant Prince Vassily and his daughter got up and the two young men rose to make way for them.
“Pardon me, my dear vicomte,” said Prince Vassily in French, gently pulling him down by his sleeve to prevent him from getting up from his seat. “This luckless fête at the ambassador's deprives me of a pleasure and interrupts you. I am very sorry to leave your enchanting party,” he said to Anna Pavlovna.
His daughter, Princess Ellen, lightly holding the folds of her gown, passed between the chairs, and the smile glowed more brightly than ever on her handsome face. Pierre looked with rapturous, almost frightened eyes at this beautiful creature as she passed them.
“Very lovely!” said Prince Andrey.
“Very,” said Pierre.
As he came up to them, Prince Vassily took Pierre by the arm, and addressing Anna Pavlovna:
“Get this bear into shape for me,” he said. “Here he has been staying with me for a month, and this is the first time I have seen him in society. Nothing's so necessary for a young man as the society of clever women.”
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的晚会像纺车一般动起来了。纺锤从四面匀速地转动，不断地发出轧轧的响声。只有一位痛哭流涕的、面容消瘦的、渐近老境的太太坐在姑母身旁，在这个出色的社交团体中，她显得有点格格不入，除姑母而外，这个社交团体分成了三个小组。在男人占有多数的一个小组中，神父是中心人物。在另外一个小组——年轻人的小组中，美丽的公爵小姐海伦——瓦西里公爵的女儿和那矮小的名叫博尔孔斯卡娅的公爵夫人是中心人物，公爵夫人姿色迷人，面颊绯红，但年纪尚轻，身段显得太肥胖了。在第三个小组中，莫特马尔和安娜·帕夫洛夫娜是中心人物。 
子爵心地和善、待人谦让，是个相貌漂亮的年轻人。显然，他认为自己是个名人，但因受过良好教育，是以恭顺地让他所在的社团利用他，摆布他。很明显，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜借助他来款待来客。假如你在污秽的厨房里看见一块牛肉，根本不想吃它，可是一个好管家却会把它端上餐桌，作为一道异常可口的美味；今天晚上安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的做法也是这样，她先向客人献上子爵，然后献上神父，把他们作为异常精致的菜肴。莫特马尔那个小组立刻谈论到杀害昂吉安公爵的情形。子爵说，昂吉安公爵的死因，是舍己为人，而波拿巴的怨恨是有特殊原因的。
“Ah！voyonsContez－nouscela，vicomte，”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，高兴地感到“Contez－nouscela，vicomte”这句话àlaLouisⅩⅤ②的腔调。 
①法语：啊，是真的呀！子爵，请把这件事讲给我们听吧。
②法语：像路易十五。
子爵鞠躬以示顺从，彬彬有礼地微露笑容。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在子爵身边让客人围成一圈，请大家听他讲故事。
“LevicomteaétépersonnellementconnudemonB
seigneur，①”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜轻言细语地对一位来客说道。
“Levicomteestunparfaitconteur，”②她对另一位来客说道。
“CommeonvoitL'hommedelabonnecompagnie，”③她对第三位来客说道。可见子爵像一盘撒上青菜的热气腾腾的干炒牛里脊，从至为优雅和对他至为有利的方面来看，他好像被端上餐桌献给这个团体的人们。
子爵想开始讲故事，脸上流露出机灵的微笑。
“请您到这边来吧，chèreHélène．”④安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对长相俊美的公爵小姐说道。公爵小姐坐在稍远的地方，她是另一个小组的中心人物。 
①法语：子爵本人和那位公爵相识。
②法语：子爵是个令人惊讶的善于讲故事的大师。
③法语：一下子就看得出是位上流社会人士。
④法语：亲爱的海伦。
名叫海伦的公爵小姐面带笑容，站了起来，她总是流露着她走进客厅以后就流露的美女般的微笑。她从闪到两边去让路的男人中间走过时，她那点缀着藤蔓和藓苔图案的参加舞会穿的洁白的衣裳发出刷刷的响声，雪白的肩膀、发亮的头发和钻石都熠熠生辉，她一直往前走去，向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜身边走去，两眼不看任何人，但对人人微露笑容，宛如她把欣赏她的身段、丰满的肩头、装束时髦的、完全袒露的胸脯和脊背之美的权利恭恭敬敬地赐予每个人，宛如她给舞蹈晚会增添了光彩。海伦太美了，从她身上看不到半点娇媚的表情，恰恰相反，好像她为自己坚信不疑的、诱惑力足以倾到一切的姿色而深感羞愧，好像她希望减少自己的美貌的诱惑力，可是无能为力。
“Quellebellepersonne！”①凡是见过她的人都这样说。当她在子爵面前坐下，照常地微微发笑，使他容光焕发的时候，仿佛有一种非凡的力量使他大为惊讶，他于是耸了耸肩，垂下了眼帘。
“Madame，jecrainspourmesmoyensdevantunpareil
auditoire．”②他说道，低下头来，嘴角上露出微笑。
公爵小姐把她那裸露的肥胖的手臂的肘部靠在茶几上，她认为无须说话，面露笑容地等待着。在讲故事的当儿，她腰板挺直地坐着，时而瞧瞧轻松地搁在茶几上的肥胖而美丽的手臂，时而瞧瞧更加美丽的胸脯，弄平挂在胸前的钻石项链，她一连几次弄平连衣裙的皱褶，当故事讲到令人产生深刻印象的时候，她回过头来看看安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，立时现出和宫廷女官同样的面部表情，随后便安静下来，脸上浮现出愉快的微笑。矮小的公爵夫人也紧随海伦身后从茶几旁边走过来了。
“Attendez－moi，jevaisprendremonouvrage，”③她说，“Voyons，àquoipensez－vous？”她把脸转向伊波利特公爵说。“Apportez－moimonridicule．”④ 
①法语：多么迷人的美女啊！
②法语：我的确担心在这样的听众面前会拿不出讲话的本领来。
③法语：请等一下吧，我来拿我的活儿。
④法语：您怎样啦？您想什么啦？请您把我的女用手提包拿来。
公爵夫人微露笑容，和大家交谈的时候，她忽然调动坐位，坐下来，愉快地把衣服弄平，弄整齐。
“现在我觉得挺好，”她说，请人家开始讲故事，一面又做起活儿来了。
伊波利特公爵把女用小提包交给她，跟在她身后走过来，又把安乐椅移到靠近她的地方，便在她身旁坐下来。
这位LecharmantHippolyte①长得俨像他的美丽的妹
妹，真令人诧异，二人虽然相像，但他却十分丑陋，这就更令人诧异了。他的面部和他妹妹的一模一样，但他妹妹那乐观愉快的、洋洋自得、充满青春活力、朝夕不变的微笑和身段超人的古典美，使她容光焕发，倾城倾国；反之，哥哥的长相却显得愚昧昏庸，总是表现出十分自信和不满的神态，他身子既瘦且弱，疲软无力。眼睛、鼻子和口挤在一起，很不匀称，仿佛已变成缺乏表情的、闷闷不乐的鬼脸，而手足笨拙，总是做出生硬的姿势。
“Cen'estpasunehistoirederevenants？”②他说道。他坐在公爵夫人近侧，赶快把那单目眼镜戴在眼上，好像缺少这副工具他就无法开腔似的。
“Maisnon，moncher．”③讲故事的人大吃一惊，耸耸肩，说。
“C'estquejedétesteleshistoiresderevenants．”④伊波利特公爵用这种语调说，从中可以明显地看出，他先说这句话，然后才明了这句话有什么涵义。 
①法语：可爱的伊波利特。
②法语：这是不是关于鬼魂的故事？
③法语：亲爱的，根本不是。
④法语：问题就在于，我很讨厌鬼魂的故事。
他说话时过分自信，谁也领悟不出，他说的话究竟是明智呢，抑或是愚昧之谈。他上身穿一件深绿色的燕尾服，正如他自己说的，下身穿一条cuissedenympheeffrayée①颜色的长裤，脚上穿一双长统袜和短靴皮鞋。
Vicomte②十分动听地讲起了当时广为流传的一则趣闻。昂吉安悄然抵达巴黎，去与m－lleGeorge③相会，在那里遇见亦曾博得这位女演员好感的波拿巴，拿破仑在和公爵见面之后，出人意料地昏倒了，他于是陷入公爵的势力范围，公爵并没有藉此机会控制他，但到后来拿破仑却把公爵杀害，以此回报公爵的宽厚。
这故事十分动听，饶有趣味，尤其是讲到这两个情敌忽然认出对方的时候，太太们心中似乎都觉得激动不安。
“Charmant，”④安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，她一面回过头来用疑问的目光望望矮小的公爵夫人。 
①法语：受惊的自然女神的内体。
②法语：子爵。
③法语：名叫乔治的女演员。
④法语：好得很。
“Charmant，”矮小的公爵夫人轻言细语地说，把一根针插在针线活上，好像用以表示，这故事十分有趣，十分动听，简直妨碍她继续做针线活儿。
子爵对这沉默的称赞给予适度的评价，他脸上露出感激的微笑，后又继续讲下去，但是，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜不时地看看使她觉得可怕的那个年轻人，这时她发觉他不知怎的在和神父一同热烈地、高声地谈话，她于是赶快跑去支援那个告急的地方。确实是这样，皮埃尔竟然和那神父谈论政治均衡的事题，看来那神父对这个年轻人的纯朴的热情发生兴趣，他于是在他面前尽量发挥地那自以为是的观点。二人兴致勃勃地、真诚坦率地交谈，聆听对方的意见，这就使得安娜·帕夫洛夫娜有点扫兴了。
“臻致欧洲均势与droitdesgens①，是一种手段，”神甫说道，“只要俄国这个以野蛮残暴著称于世的强国能够大公无私地站出来领导以臻致欧洲均势为目标的同盟，那就可以拯救世界了！” 
①法语：民权。
“您究竟怎样去求得这种均衡呢？”皮埃尔本来要开腔，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜这时向他跟前走来，严肃地盯了皮埃尔一眼，问那个意大利人怎样才能熬得住本地的气候，意大利人的脸色忽然变了，现出一副看起来像是和女人交谈时他所惯用的假装得令人觉得委屈的谄媚的表情。
“我有幸加入你们的社会，你们的社会，尤其是妇女社会的那种优越的智慧和教育，真叫我神魂颠倒，因此我哪能事先想到气候呢。”他说。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜不放走神父和皮埃尔，为着便于观察起见，便叫他们二人一同加入普通小组。
这时候，又有一个来宾走进了客厅。这位新客就是年轻的安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵——矮小的公爵夫人的丈夫。博尔孔斯基公爵个子不大，是一个非常漂亮的青年，眉清目秀，面部略嫌消瘦。他整个外貌，从困倦而苦闷的目光到徐缓而匀整的脚步，和他那矮小而活泼的妻子恰恰相反，构成强烈的对照。显然，他不仅认识客厅里所有的人，而且他们都使他觉得厌烦，甚至连看看他们，听听他们谈话，他也感到索然无味。在所有这些使他厌恶的面孔中，他的俊俏的妻子的面孔似乎最使他生厌。他装出一副有损于他的美貌的丑相，把脸转过去不看她。他吻了一下安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的手，随后眯缝起眼睛，向众人环顾一遭。
“VousvousenroAlezpourlaguerre，monprince？①”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。
“LegénéralKoutouzoff，”博尔孔斯基说道，像法国人一样，说库图佐夫一词时总把重音搁在最后一个音节上，“abiBenvouludemoipouraide－de－camp……”②
“EtLise，votrefemme？”③
“她到农村去。”
“您从我们身边夺去您的漂亮的太太应该吗？”
“Andve，”④他的妻子说道，她对丈夫说话和对旁人说话都用同样娇媚的腔调，“子爵给我们讲了一则关于名叫乔治的小姐和波拿巴的故事，多么动听啊！” 
①法语：公爵，您准备去打仗吗？
②法语：库图佐夫将军要我做他的副官。
③法语：您的夫人丽莎呢？
④法语：安德烈。
安德烈公爵眯缝起眼睛，把脸转过去。安德烈公爵走进客厅之后，皮埃尔便很欣悦地、友善地望着他，一刻也没有转移目光，皮埃尔向前走去一把拉住他的手。安德烈公爵没有掉过头来看看，他蹙起额角，做出一副丑相，心里在埋怨碰到他的手臂的人，但当他望见皮埃尔含笑的面庞，他就出乎意外地流露出善意的、愉快的微笑。
“啊，原来如此！……你也跻身于稠人广众的交际场中了！”他对皮埃尔说道。
“我知道您会光临。”皮埃尔答道，“我上您那儿吃夜饭，”
他轻声地补充一句话，省得妨碍子爵讲故事，“行吗？”
“不，不行。”安德烈公爵含笑地说道，一面握住皮埃尔的手，向他示意，要他不必多问。他还想说些什么话，但在这当儿瓦西里公爵随同他的女儿都站起来，退席了，男士们也都站起来让路。
“我亲爱的子爵，您原谅我吧，”瓦西里公爵对法国人说，态度温和地拉住他的衣袖往椅子上按一下，不让他站起身来。
“公使举办的这个不吉利的庆祝会要夺去我的欢乐，并且把您的话儿打断了。离开您这个令人陶醉的晚会，真使我觉得难受。”他对安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。
他的女儿——名叫海伦的公爵小姐，用手轻轻地提起连衣裙褶，从椅子之间走出来，她那漂亮的脸盘上露出更愉快的微笑，当她从皮埃尔身旁走过时，皮埃尔惊喜地盯着这个美女。
“很标致。”安德烈公爵说。
“很标致。”皮埃尔说。
瓦西里公爵走过时，一把抓住皮埃尔的手，把脸转过来对安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。
“请您教导教导这头狗熊吧，”他说道，“他在我家中住了一个月，我头一次在交际场所碰见他了。对一个青年来说，没有任何事物像聪明的女人们的社交团体那样迫切需要的了。”
Book 1 Chapter 4 
ANNA PAVLOVNA smiled and promised to look after Pierre, who was, she knew, related to Prince Vassily on his father's side. The elderly lady, who had been till then sitting by the aunt, got up hurriedly, and over-took Prince Vassily in the hall. All the affectation of interest she had assumed till now vanished. Her kindly, careworn face expressed nothing but anxiety and alarm.
“What have you to tell me, prince, of my Boris?” she said, catching him in the hall. “I can't stay any longer in Petersburg. Tell me what news am I to take to my poor boy?”
Although Prince Vassily listened reluctantly and almost uncivilly to the elderly lady and even showed signs of impatience, she gave him an ingratiating and appealing smile, and to prevent his going away she took him by the arm. “It is nothing for you to say a word to the Emperor, and he will be transferred at once to the Guards,” she implored.
“Believe me, I will do all I can, princess,” answered Prince Vassily; “but it's not easy for me to petition the Emperor. I should advise you to apply to Rumyantsov, through Prince Galitsin; that would be the wisest course.”
The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskoy, one of the best families in Russia; but she was poor, had been a long while out of society, and had lost touch with her former connections. She had come now to try and obtain the appointment of her only son to the Guards. It was simply in order to see Prince Vassily that she had invited herself and come to Anna Pavlovna's party, simply for that she had listened to the vicomte's story. She was dismayed at Prince Vassily's words; her once handsome face showed exasperation, but that lasted only one moment. She smiled again and grasped Prince Vassily's arm more tightly.
“Hear what I have to say, prince,” she said. “I have never asked you a favour, and never will I ask one; I have never reminded you of my father's affection for you. But now, for God's sake, I beseech you, do this for my son, and I shall consider you my greatest benefactor,” she added hurriedly. “No, don't be angry, but promise me. I have asked Galitsin; he has refused. Be as kind as you used to be,” she said, trying to smile, though there were tears in her eyes.
“Papa, we are late,” said Princess Ellen, turning her lovely head on her statuesque shoulders as she waited at the door.
But influence in the world is a capital, which must be carefully guarded if it is not to disappear. Prince Vassily knew this, and having once for all reflected that if he were to beg for all who begged him to do so, he would soon be unable to beg for himself, he rarely made use of his influence. In Princess Drubetskoy's case, however, he felt after her new appeal something akin to a conscience-prick. She had reminded him of the truth; for his first step upwards in the service he had been indebted to her father. Besides this, he saw from her manner that she was one of those women—especially mothers—who having once taken an idea into their heads will not give it up till their wishes are fulfilled, and till then are prepared for daily, hourly persistence, and even for scenes. This last consideration made him waver.
“Chère Anna Mihalovna,” he said, with his invariable familiarity and boredom in his voice, “it's almost impossible for me to do what you wish; but to show you my devotion to you, and my reverence for your dear father's memory, I will do the impossible—your son shall be transferred to the Guards; here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?”
“My dear prince, you are our benefactor. I expected nothing less indeed; I know how good you are—” He tried to get away. “Wait a moment, one word. Once in the Guards …” She hesitated. “You are on friendly terms with Mihail Ilarionovitch Kutuzov, recommend Boris as his adjutant. Then my heart will be set at rest, then indeed …”
Prince Vassily smiled. “That I can't promise. You don't know how Kutuzov has been besieged ever since he has been appointed commander-in-chief. He told me himself that all the Moscow ladies were in league together to give him all their offspring as adjutants.”
“No, promise me; I can't let you off, kind, good friend, benefactor …”
“Papa,” repeated the beauty in the same tone, “we are late.”
“Come, au revoir, good-bye. You see how it is.”
“To-morrow then you will speak to the Emperor?”
“Certainly; but about Kutuzov I can't promise.”
“Yes; do promise, promise, Basile,” Anna Mihalovna said, pursuing him with the smile of a coquettish girl, once perhaps characteristic, but now utterly incongruous with her careworn face. Evidently she had forgotten her age and from habit was bringing out every feminine resource. But as soon as he had gone out her face assumed once more the frigid, artificial expression it had worn all the evening. She went back to the group in which the vicomte was still talking, and again affected to be listening, waiting for the suitable moment to get away, now that her object had been attained.
“And what do you think of this latest farce of the coronation at Milan?” said Anna Pavlovna. “And the new comedy of the people of Lucca and Genoa coming to present their petitions to Monsieur Buonaparte. Monsieur Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitions of nations! Adorable! Why, it is enough to drive one out of one's senses! It seems as though the whole world had lost its head.”
Prince Andrey smiled sarcastically, looking straight into Anna Pavlovna's face.
“God gives it me; let man beware of touching it,” he said (Bonaparte's words uttered at the coronation). “They say that he was very fine as he spoke those words,” he added, and he repeated the same words in Italian: “Dio me l'ha data, e quai a chi la tocca.”
“I hope that at last,” pursued Anna Pavlovna, “this has been the drop of water that will make the glass run over. The sovereigns cannot continue to endure this man who is a threat to everything.”
“The sovereigns! I am not speaking of Russia,” said the vicomte deferentially and hopelessly. “The sovereigns! … Madame! What did they do for Louis the Sixteenth, for the queen, for Madame Elisabeth? Nothing,” he went on with more animation; “and believe me, they are undergoing the punishment of their treason to the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! … They are sending ambassadors to congratulate the usurper.”
And with a scornful sigh he shifted his attitude again. Prince Ippolit, who had for a long time been staring through his eyeglass at the vicomte, at these words suddenly turned completely round, and bending over the little princess asked her for a needle, and began showing her the coat-of-arms of the Condé family, scratching it with the needle on the table. He explained the coat-of-arms with an air of gravity, as though the princess had asked him about it. “Staff, gules; engrailed with gules of azure—house of Condé,” he said. The princess listened smiling.
“If Bonaparte remains another year on the throne of France,” resumed the vicomte, with the air of a man who, being better acquainted with the subject than any one else, pursues his own train of thought without listening to other people, “things will have gone too far. By intrigue and violence, by exiles and executions, French society—I mean good society—will have been destroyed for ever, and then…”
He shrugged his shoulders, and made a despairing gesture with his hand. Pierre wanted to say something—the conversation interested him —but Anna Pavlovna, who was keeping her eye on him, interposed.
“And the Emperor Alexander,” she said with the pathetic note that always accompanied all her references to the imperial family, “has declared his intention of leaving it to the French themselves to choose their own form of government. And I imagine there is no doubt that the whole nation, delivered from the usurper, would fling itself into the arms of its lawful king,” said Anna Pavlovna, trying to be agreeable to an émigré and loyalist.
“That's not certain,” said Prince Andrey. “M. le vicomte is quite right in supposing that things have gone too far by now. I imagine it would not be easy to return to the old régime.”
“As far as I could hear,” Pierre, blushing, again interposed in the conversation, “almost all the nobility have gone over to Bonaparte.”
“That's what the Bonapartists assert,” said the vicomte without looking at Pierre. “It's a difficult matter now to find out what public opinion is in France.”
“Bonaparte said so,” observed Prince Andrey with a sarcastic smile. It was evident that he did not like the vicomte, and that though he was not looking at him, he was directing his remarks against him.
“ ‘I showed them the path of glory; they would not take it,' ” he said after a brief pause, again quoting Napoleon's words. “ ‘I opened my anterooms to them; they crowded in.' … I do not know in what degree he had a right to say so.”
“None!” retorted the vicomte. “Since the duc's murder even his warmest partisans have ceased to regard him as a hero. If indeed some people made a hero of him,” said the vicomte addressing Anna Pavlovna, “since the duke's assassination there has been a martyr more in heaven, and a hero less on earth.”
Anna Pavlovna and the rest of the company hardly had time to smile their appreciation of the vicomte's words, when Pierre again broke into the conversation, and though Anna Pavlovna had a foreboding he would say something inappropriate, this time she was unable to stop him.
“The execution of the duc d'Enghien,” said Monsieur Pierre, “was a political necessity, and I consider it a proof of greatness of soul that Napoleon did not hesitate to take the whole responsibility of it upon himself.”
“Dieu! mon Dieu!” moaned Anna Pavlovna, in a terrified whisper.
“What, Monsieur Pierre! you think assassination is greatness of soul?” said the little princess, smiling and moving her work nearer to her.
“Ah! oh!” cried different voices.
“Capital!” Prince Ippolit said in English, and he began slapping his knee. The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders.
Pierre looked solemnly over his spectacles at his audience.
“I say so,” he pursued desperately, “because the Bourbons ran away from the Revolution, leaving the people to anarchy; and Napoleon alone was capable of understanding the Revolution, of overcoming it, and so for the public good he could not stop short at the life of one man.”
“Won't you come over to this table?” said Anna Pavlovna. But Pierre went on without answering her.
“Yes,” he said, getting more and more eager, “Napoleon is great because he has towered above the Revolution, and subdued its evil tendencies, preserving all that was good—the equality of all citizens, and freedom of speech and of the press, and only to that end has he possessed himself of supreme power.”
“Yes, if on obtaining power he had surrendered it to the lawful king, instead of making use of it to commit murder,” said the vicomte, “then I might have called him a great man.”
“He could not have done that. The people gave him power simply for him to rid them of the Bourbons, and that was just why the people believed him to be a great man. The Revolution was a grand fact,” pursued Monsieur Pierre, betraying by this desperate and irrelevantly provocative statement his extreme youth and desire to give full expression to everything.
“Revolution and regicide a grand fact?…What next?…but won't you come to this table?” repeated Anna Pavlovna.
“Contrat social,” said the vicomte with a bland smile.
“I'm not speaking of regicide. I'm speaking of the idea.”
“The idea of plunder, murder, and regicide!” an ironical voice put in.
“Those were extremes, of course; but the whole meaning of the Revolution did not lie in them, but in the rights of man, in emancipation from conventional ideas, in equality; and all these Napoleon has maintained in their full force.”
“Liberty and equality,” said the vicomte contemptuously, as though he had at last made up his mind to show this youth seriously all the folly of his assertions: “all high-sounding words, which have long since been debased. Who does not love liberty and equality? Our Saviour indeed preached liberty and equality. Have men been any happier since the Revolution? On the contrary. We wanted liberty, but Bonaparte has crushed it.”
Prince Andrey looked with a smile first at Pierre, then at the vicomte, then at their hostess.
For the first minute Anna Pavlovna had, in spite of her social adroitness, been dismayed by Pierre's outbreak; but when she saw that the vicomte was not greatly discomposed by Pierre's sacrilegious utterances, and had convinced herself that it was impossible to suppress them, she rallied her forces and joined the vicomte in attacking the orator.
“Mais, mon cher Monsieur Pierre,” said Anna Pavlovna, “what have you to say for a great man who was capable of executing the due—or simply any human being—guiltless and untried?”
“I should like to ask,” said the vicomte, “how monsieur would explain the 18th of Brumaire? Was not that treachery?”
“It was a juggling trick not at all like a great man's way of acting.”
“And the wounded he killed in Africa?” said the little princess; “that was awful!” And she shrugged her shoulders.
“He's a plebeian, whatever you may say,” said Prince Ippolit.
Monsieur Pierre did not know which to answer. He looked at them all and smiled. His smile was utterly unlike the half-smile of all the others. When he smiled, suddenly, instantaneously, his serious, even rather sullen, face vanished completely, and a quite different face appeared, childish, good-humoured, even rather stupid, that seemed to beg indulgence. The vicomte, who was seeing him for the first time, saw clearly that this Jacobin was by no means so formidable as his words. Every one was silent.
“How is he to answer every one at once?” said Prince Andrey. “Besides, in the actions of a statesman, one must distinguish between his acts as a private person and as a general or an emperor. So it seems to me.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” put in Pierre, delighted at the assistance that had come to support him.
“One must admit,” pursued Prince Andrey, “that Napoleon as a man was great at the bridge of Arcola, or in the hospital at Jaffa, when he gave his hand to the plague-stricken, but…but there are other actions it would be hard to justify.”
Prince Andrey, who obviously wished to relieve the awkwardness of Pierre's position, got up to go, and made a sign to his wife.
Suddenly Prince Ippolit got up, and with a wave of his hands stopped every one, and motioning to them to be seated, began:
“Ah, I heard a Moscow story to-day; I must entertain you with it. You will excuse me, vicomte, I must tell it in Russian. If not, the point of the story will be lost.” And Prince Ippolit began speaking in Russian, using the sort of jargon Frenchmen speak after spending a year in Russia. Every one waited expectant; Prince Ippolit had so eagerly, so insistently called for the attention of all for his story.
“In Moscow there is a lady, une dame. And she is very stingy. She wanted to have two footmen behind her carriage. And very tall footmen. That was her taste. And she had a lady's maid, also very tall. She said…”
Here Prince Ippolit paused and pondered, apparently collecting his ideas with difficulty.
“She said…yes, she said: ‘Girl,' to the lady's maid, ‘put on livrée, and get up behind the carriage, to pay calls.' ”
Here Prince Ippolit gave a loud guffaw, laughing long before any of his audience, which created an impression by no means flattering to him. Several persons, among them the elderly lady and Anna Pavlovna, did smile, however.
“She drove off. Suddenly there was a violent gust of wind. The girl lost her hat, and her long hair fell down…”
At this point he could not restrain himself, and began laughing violently, articulating in the middle of a loud guffaw, “And all the world knew…”
There the anecdote ended. Though no one could understand why he had told it, and why he had insisted on telling it in Russian, still Anna Pavlovna and several other people appreciated the social breeding of Prince Ippolit in so agreeably putting a close to the disagreeable and illbred outbreak of Monsieur Pierre. The conversation after this episode broke up into small talk of no interest concerning the last and the approaching ball, the theatre, and where and when one would meet so-and-so again.
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜微微一笑，她答应接待皮埃尔，安娜知道瓦西里公爵是皮埃尔的父系的亲戚。原先和姑母坐在一起的已过中年的妇女赶快站起来，在接待室里赶上瓦西里公爵。原先她脸上假装出来的兴致已经消失了。她那仁慈的、痛哭流涕的面孔只露出惶恐不安的神色。 
“公爵，关于我的鲍里斯的事，您能对我说些什么话呢？”她在接待室追赶他时说道。（她说到鲍里斯的名字时，特别在字母“U”上加重音）。“我不能在彼得堡再呆下去了。请您告诉我，我能给我那可怜的男孩捎去什么信息呢？”
尽管瓦西里公爵很不高兴地、近乎失礼地听这个已过中年的妇人说话，甚至表现出急躁的情绪，但是她仍向公爵流露出亲热的、令人感动的微笑，一把抓住他的手，不让他走掉。
“您只要向国王替我陈词，他就可以直接调往近卫军去了，这在您易如反掌。”她央求道。
“公爵夫人，请您相信。凡是我能办到的事，我一定为您办到，”瓦西里公爵答道，“但是向国王求情，我确有碍难。我劝您莫如借助于戈利岑公爵去晋见鲁缅采夫，这样办事更为明智。”
已过中年的妇人名叫德鲁别茨卡娅公爵夫人，她出身于俄国的名门望族之一，但是她现已清寒，早就步出了交际场所，失掉了往日的社交联系。她现在走来是为她的独子在近卫军中求职而斡旋。她自报姓氏，出席安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办的晚会，其目的仅仅是要拜谒瓦西里公爵，也仅仅是为这一目的，她才聆听子爵讲故事。瓦西里公爵的一席话真使她大为震惊，她那昔日的俊俏的容貌现出了愤恨的神态，但是这神态只是继续了片刻而已，她又复微露笑意，把瓦西里公爵的手握得更紧了。
“公爵，请听我说吧，”她说道，“我从未向您求情，今后也不会向您求情，我从未向您吐露我父亲对您的深情厚谊。而今我以上帝神圣的名份向您恳求，请您为我儿子办成这件事吧，我必将把您视为行善的恩人，”她赶快补充一句话，“不，您不要气愤，就请您答应我的恳求吧。我向戈利岑求过情，他却拒之于千里之外。Soyezlebonenfantquevousavez
ètè，”①她说道，竭力地露出微笑，但是她的眼睛里噙满了泪水。 
①法语：请您像以前那样行行善吧。
“爸爸，我们准会迟到啦，”呆在门边等候的公爵小姐海伦扭转她那长在极具古典美肩膀上的俊美的头部，开口说道。
但是，在上流社会上势力是一笔资本，要珍惜资本，不让它白白消耗掉。瓦西里公爵对于这一点知之甚稔，他心里想到，如果人人求他，他替人人求情，那末，在不久以后他势必无法替自己求情了，因此，他极少运用自己的势力。但是在名叫德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人这桩事情上，经过她再次央求之后，他心里产生一种有如遭受良心谴责的感觉。她使公爵回想起真实的往事：公爵开始供职时，他所取得的成就归功于她的父亲。除此之外，从她的作为上他可以看到，有一些妇女，尤其是母亲，她们一作出主张，非如愿以偿，决不休止，否则，她们就准备每时每刻追随不舍，剌剌不休，甚至于相骂相斗，无理取闹，她就是这类的女人。想到最后这一点，使他有点动摇了。
“亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，”他说道，嗓音中带有他平素表露的亲昵而又苦闷的意味，“您希望办到的事，我几乎无法办到；但是，我要办妥这件不可能办妥的事，以便向您证明我对您的爱护和对您的去世的父亲的悼念，您的儿子以后会调到近卫军中去，您依靠我吧，我向您作出了保证，您觉得满意吗？”
“我亲爱的，您是个行善的恩人！您这样做，正是我所盼望的。我知道您多么慈善。”
他要走了。
“请您等一等，还有两句话要讲。Unefoispasseaux
gardes……①”她踌躇起来，“您和米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇·库图佐夫的交情甚厚，请您把鲍里斯介绍给他当副官。那时候我就放心了，那时候也就……”
瓦西里公爵脸上流露出微笑。 
①法语：但当他调到近卫军中以后……
“我不能答应这件事。您不知道，自从库图佐夫被委任为总司令以来，人们一直在纠缠他。他曾亲自对我说，莫斯科的夫人们统统勾结起来了，要把她们自己的儿子送给库图佐夫当副官。”
“不，您答应吧，否则，我就不放您走，我的亲爱的恩人。”
“爸爸，”那个美人儿又用同样的音调重复地说了一遍，“我们准要迟到啦。”
“啊，aurevoir①，再见吧，您心里明白她说的话吧？”
“那末，您明天禀告国王吗？”
“我一定禀告。可是我不能答应向库图佐夫求情的事。”
“不，请您答应吧，请您答应吧，Basile”②，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜跟在他身后说道，她脸上露出卖俏的少女的微笑，从前这大概是她惯有的一种微笑，而今它却与她那消瘦的面貌很不相称了。
显然，她已经忘记自己的年纪，她习以为常地耍出妇女向来所固有的种种手腕。但是当他一走出大门，她的脸上又浮现出原先那种冷漠的、虚伪的表情。她已经回到子爵还在继续讲故事的那个小姐那儿，又装出一副在听故事的模样，同时在等候退席离开的时机，因为她的事已经办妥了。
“可是，近来面世的dusacredeMilan③那幕喜剧，您认为如何？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，“EtlanouvellecomédiedespeuplesdeGênesetdeLucques，quiviennentprésenterleursvoeuxàM．Buonaparte，M，BuonaparteassissurunTrone，etexaucantlesvoeuxdesnations！Adorable！Non，maisc'estàendevenirfolle！Ondirait，quelemondeentieraperdulatete．④” 
①法语：再见。
②法语：瓦西里。
③法语：《米兰的加冕典礼》。
④法语：还有一幕新喜剧哩：热那亚和卢加各族民众向波拿巴先生表达自己的意愿。波拿巴先生坐在宝座上，居然满足了各族民众的愿望。呵！太美妙了！这真会令人疯狂。好像了不起似的，全世界都神魂颠倒了。
安德烈公爵直盯着安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的脸，发出了一阵冷笑。
“DieumeLadonne，gareàquilatouche，”他说道（这是波拿巴在加冕时说的话），“Onditqu'ilaététrèsbeauenprononcantcesporoles，①”他补充说，又用意大利语把这句话重说一遍，“Diomiladona，guaiachilatocca．”
“J'espéreenfin，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜继续说下去，“quecaaétélagoutted'eauquiferadeborderleverre．LessouBverainsnepeuventplussupportercethomme，quimenacetout．”②
“Lessouverains？JeneparlepasdelaRuisie，”子爵彬彬有礼地，但却绝望地说道，“Lessouverains，madame！
Qu'ontilsfaitpourLouisⅩⅤⅡ，pourlareine，pourmadameElisabeth？Rien，”他兴奋地继续说下去，“Etcroyez－moi，ilssubissentlapunitionpourleurtrahisondelacausedesBourbons．Lessouverains？IlsenvoientdesambasBsadeurscomplimenterl'usurpateur③．” 
①法语：上帝赐予我王冠，谁触到王冠，谁就会遭殃。据说，他说这句话时，派头十足。
②法语：他已恶贯满盈，达到不可容忍的地步，我希望这是他的最后一桩罪行，各国国王再也不能容忍这个极尽威胁之能事的恶魔了。
③法语：各国国王吗？我不是说俄国的情形。各国国王呀！他们为路易十七、为皇后、为伊丽莎白做了什么事？什么事也没有做。请你们相信我吧，他们因背叛波旁王朝的事业而遭受惩处。各国国王吗？他们还派遣大使去恭贺窃取王位的寇贼哩。
他鄙薄地叹了一口气，又变换了姿势。伊波利特戴上单目眼镜久久地望着子爵，他听到这些话时，忽然向那矮小的公爵夫人转过身去，向她要来一根针，便用针在桌子上描绘孔德徽章，指给她看。他意味深长地向她讲解这种徽章，好像矮小的公爵夫人请求他解释似的。
“Batondegueules，engrêlédegueulesd'azuz—maisonCondé，”①他说道。
公爵夫人微露笑容听着。
“如果波拿巴再保留一年王位，”子爵把开了头的话题儿继续讲下去，他讲话时带着那种神态，有如某人在一件他最熟悉的事情上不聆听他人的话，只注意自己的思路，一个劲儿说下去！“事情就越拖越久，以致不可收拾。阴谋诡计、横行霸道、放逐、死刑将会永远把法国这个社会，我所指的是法国上流社会，毁灭掉，到那时……”
他耸耸肩，两手一摊。皮埃尔本想说句什么话，子爵的话使他觉得有趣，但是窥伺他的安娜·帕夫洛夫娜把话打断了。
“亚历山大皇帝宣称，”她怀有一谈起皇室就会流露的忧郁心情说，“他让法国人自己选择政体形式，我深信，毫无疑义，只要解脱篡夺王位的贼寇的羁绊，举国上下立刻会掌握在合法的国王手上。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，尽量向这个侨居的君主主义者献殷勤。
“这话不太可靠，”安德烈公爵说。“Monsieurlevicomte②想得合情合理，事情做得太过火了。不过，我想，要走回原路，实在太难了。” 
①法语：孔德的住宅——是用天蓝色的兽嘴缠成的兽嘴权杖的象征。
②法语：子爵先生。
“据我所闻，”皮埃尔涨红着脸又插嘴了，“几乎全部贵族都已投靠波拿巴了。”
“这是波拿巴分子说的话，”子爵不望皮埃尔一眼便说道，“眼下很难弄清法国的社会舆论。”
“Bonapartel'adit，”①安德烈公爵冷冷一笑，说道。（看起来，他不喜欢子爵，没有望着子爵，不过这些话倒是针对子爵说的话。）
“Jeleuraimontrélechemindelagloire，”他沉默片刻之后，又重复拿破仑的话，说道，“ilsn'enontpasvoulu，jeleuraiouvertmesantichambres，ilssesontprécipitesenfoule……Jenesaispasaquelpointilaeuledroitdeledire．”②
“Aucun，”③子爵辩驳道，“谋杀了公爵以后，甚至连偏心的人也不认为他是英雄了。Simemecaaétéunhérospourcertainesgens，”子爵把脸转向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，说道，“depuisl'assasinatduducilyaunmartyrdeplusdansleciel，unhérosdemoinssurlaterre．”④ 
①法语：这是波拿巴说的话。
②法语：“我向他们指出了一条光荣之路，他们不愿意走这条路；我给他们打开了前厅之门，他们成群地冲了进来……”我不知道他有多大的权利说这种话。
③法语：无任何权利。
④法语：即令他在某些人面前曾经是英雄，而在公爵被谋杀之后，天堂就多了一个受难者，尘世也就少了一个英雄。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜和其他人还来不及微露笑容表示赏识子爵讲的这番话，皮埃尔又兴冲冲地谈起话来了，尽管安娜·帕夫洛夫娜预感到他会开口说些有伤大雅的话，可是她已经无法遏止他了。
“处昂吉安公爵以死刑，”皮埃尔说道，“此举对国家大有必要。拿破仑不怕独自一人承担责任，我由此看出，这正是他精神伟大之所在。”
“Dieu！mondieu！”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜以低沉而可怖的嗓音说道。
“Comment，M．Pierre，voustrouvezquel'assassinatestgrandeurd'aAme？”②矮小的公爵夫人说道，她一面微微发笑，一面把针线活儿移到她自己近旁。
“嗬！啊呀！”几个人异口同声地说道。
“Capital！”③伊波利特公爵说了一句英国话，他用手掌敲打着膝头。子爵只是耸耸肩膀。 
①法语：天哪，我的天哪！
②法语：皮埃尔先生，您把谋杀看作是精神的伟大吗？
③英语：好得很！
皮埃尔心情激动地朝眼镜上方瞅了瞅听众。
“我之所以这样说，”他毫无顾忌地继续说下去，“是因为波旁王朝回避革命，让人民处在无政府状态，唯独拿破仑善于理解革命，制服革命，因此，为共同福利起见，他不能顾及一人之命而停步不前。”
“您愿不愿意到那张桌上去？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。可是皮埃尔不回答，继续讲下去。
“不，”他愈益兴奋地说，“拿破仑所以伟大，是因为他高踞于革命之上，摒除了革命的弊病，保存了一切美好的事物——公民平等呀，言论出版自由呀，仅仅因为这个缘故，他才赢得了政权。”
“是的，假如他在夺取政权之后，不滥用政权来大肆屠杀，而把它交给合法的君王。”子爵说，“那么，我就会把他称为一位伟人。”
“他不能做出这等事。人民把政权交给他，目的仅仅是要他把人民从波旁王朝之下解救出来，因此人民才把他视为一位伟人。革命是一件伟大的事业，”皮埃尔先生继续说道。他毫无顾忌地、挑战似地插进这句话，借以显示他风华正茂，想快点把话儿全部说出来。
“革命和杀死沙皇都是伟大的事业吗？……从此以后……您愿不愿意到那张桌上去？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜把话重说了一遍。
“《Contratsocial》，”①子爵流露出温顺的微笑，说道。 
①法语：《民约论》——卢梭著。
“我不是说杀死沙皇，而是说思想问题。”
“是的，抢夺、谋杀、杀死沙皇的思想。”一个含有讥讽的嗓音又打断他的话了。
“不消说，这是万不得已而采取的行动，但全部意义不止于此，其意义在于人权、摆脱偏见的束缚、公民的平等权益。
拿破仑完全保存了所有这些思想。”
“自由与平等，”子爵蔑视地说，好像他终究拿定主意向这个青年证明他的一派胡言，“这都是浮夸的话，早已声名狼藉了。有谁不热爱自由与平等？我们的救世主早就鼓吹过自由平等。难道人们在革命以后变得更幸福么？恰恰相反。我们都希望自由，而拿破仑却取缔自由。”
安德烈公爵面露微笑，时而瞧瞧皮埃尔，时而瞧瞧子爵，时而瞧瞧女主人。开初，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜虽有上流社会应酬的习惯，却很害怕皮埃尔的乖戾举动。但是一当她看到，皮埃尔虽然说出一些渎神的坏话，子爵并没有大动肝火，在她相信不可能遏止这些言谈的时候，她就附和子爵，集中精力来攻击发言人了。
“Mais，moncherm－rPierre，”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，“一个大人物可以判处公爵死刑，以至未经开庭审判、毫无罪证亦可处死任何人，您对这事作何解释呢？”
“我想问一问，”子爵说道，“先生对雾月十八日作何解释呢？这岂不是骗局么？C'estunescamotage，quineressemblenullementàlamanièred'agird'ungrandhomme．”②“可他杀掉了非洲的俘虏呢？”矮小的公爵夫人说道，“这多么骇人啊！”她耸耸肩膀。
“C'estunroturier，voussurezbeaudire，”③伊波利特公爵说道。 
①法语：可是，我亲爱的皮埃尔先生。
②法语：这是欺骗手法，根本不像大人物的行为方法。
③法语：无论您怎么说，是个暴发户。
皮埃尔先生不晓得应该向谁回答才对，他朝大伙儿扫了一眼，脸上露出了一阵微笑。他的微笑和他人难得露出笑容的样子不一样。恰恰相反，当他面露微笑的时候，那种一本正经、甚至略嫌忧愁的脸色，零时间就消失了，又露出一副幼稚、慈善、甚至有点傻气、俨如在乞求宽恕的神态。
子爵头一次和他会面，可是他心里明白，这个雅各宾党人根本不像他的谈吐那样令人生畏。大家都沉默无言了。
“你们怎么想要他马上向大家作出回答呢？”安德烈公爵说道，“而且在一个国家活动家的行为上，必须分清，什么是私人行为，什么是统帅或皇帝的行为。我认为如此而已。”
“是的，是的，这是理所当然的事，”皮埃尔随着说起来，有人在帮忙，他高兴极了。
“不能不承认，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“从拿破仑在阿尔科拉桥上的表现看来，他是一位伟人，拿破仑在雅法医院向鼠疫患者伸出援助之手，从表现看来，他是一位伟人，但是……但是他有一些别的行为，却令人难以辩解。”
显然，安德烈公爵想冲淡一下皮埃尔说的尴尬话，他欠起身来，向妻子做了个手势，打算走了。
忽然，伊波利特公爵站起身来，他以手势挽留大家，要他们坐下，于是开腔说话了：
“Ah！aujourd'huionm'aracontéuneanecdote
moscovite，charmante：ilfautquejevousenrégale．Vousm'excusez，vicomte，ilfautquejeravconteenrusse．Autrementonnesentirapasleseldel'histoire①”
伊波利特公爵讲起俄国话来了，那口音听来就像一个在俄国呆了一年左右的法国人讲的俄国话。大家都停顿下来，伊波利特公爵十分迫切地要求大家用心听他讲故事。
“莫斯科有个太太，unedame②，十分吝啬。她需要两名跟马车的valetsdepied③，身材要魁梧。这是她个人所好。她有unefemmedechambre④，个子也高大。她说……”
这时分，伊波利特公爵沉思起来了，显然在暗自盘算。
“她说……是的，她说：婢女（àlafemmedechambre），你穿上livrée，⑤跟在马车后面，我们一同去fairedesvisBites．⑥” 
①法语：嗬！今天有人给我讲了一则十分动听的莫斯科趣闻，也应该讲给你们听听，让你们分享一份乐趣。子爵，请您原谅吧，我要用俄国话来讲，要不然，趣闻就会没有趣味了。
②法语：一个太太。
③法语：仆人。
④法语：一个女仆。
⑤法语：宫廷内侍制服。
⑥法语：拜会。
伊波利特公爵早就噗嗤一声大笑起来，这时，听众们还没有面露笑容，这一声大笑产生的印象对讲故事的人极为不利。然而，也有许多人，就中包括已过中年的太太和安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，都发出了一阵微笑。
“她坐上马车走了。忽然间起了一阵狂风。婢女丢掉了帽子，给风刮走了，梳理得整整齐齐的长发显得十分零乱……”
这时，他再也忍不住了，发出了若断若续的笑声，他透过笑声说道：
“上流社会都知道了……”
他讲的趣闻到此结束了。虽然不明了他为何要讲这则趣闻，为何非用俄国话讲不可，然而，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜和其他人都赏识伊波利特公爵在上流社会中待人周到的风格，赏识他这样高兴地结束了皮埃尔先生令人厌恶的、失礼的闹剧。在讲完趣闻之后，谈话变成了零星而琐细的闲聊。谈论到上回和下回的舞会、戏剧，并且谈论到何时何地与何人会面的事情。
Book 1 Chapter 5
THANKING ANNA PAVLOVNA for her charmante soirée, the guests began to take leave.
Pierre was clumsy, stout and uncommonly tall, with huge red hands; he did not, as they say, know how to come into a drawing-room and still less how to get out of one, that is, how to say something particularly agreeable on going away. Moreover, he was dreamy. He stood up, and picking up a three-cornered hat with the plume of a general in it instead of his own, he kept hold of it, pulling the feathers till the general asked him to restore it. But all his dreaminess and his inability to enter a drawing-room or talk properly in it were atoned for by his expression of good-nature, simplicity and modesty. Anna Pavlovna turned to him, and with Christian meekness signifying her forgiveness for his misbehaviour, she nodded to him and said:
“I hope I shall see you again, but I hope too you will change your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre.”
He made no answer, simply bowed and displayed to every one once more his smile, which said as plainly as words: “Opinions or no opinions, you see what a nice, good-hearted fellow I am.” And Anna Pavlovna and every one else instinctively felt this. Prince Andrey had gone out into the hall and turning his shoulders to the footman who was ready to put his cloak on him, he listened indifferently to his wife's chatter with Prince Ippolit, who had also come out into the hall. Prince Ippolit stood close to the pretty princess, so soon to be a mother, and stared persistently straight at her through his eyeglass.
“Go in, Annette, you'll catch cold,” said the little princess, saying good-bye to Anna Pavlovna. “It is settled,” she added in a low voice.
Anna Pavlovna had managed to have a few words with Liza about the match she was planning between Anatole and the sister-in-law of the little princess.
“I rely on you, my dear,” said Anna Pavlovna, also in an undertone; “you write to her and tell me how the father will view the matter. Au revoir!” And she went back out of the hall.
Prince Ippolit went up to the little princess and, bending his face down close to her, began saying something to her in a half whisper.
Two footmen, one the princess's, the other his own, stood with shawl and redingote waiting till they should finish talking, and listened to their French prattle, incomprehensible to them, with faces that seemed to say that they understood what was being said but would not show it. The princess, as always, talked with a smile and listened laughing.
“I'm very glad I didn't go to the ambassador's,” Prince Ippolit was saying: “such a bore.…A delightful evening it has been, hasn't it? delightful.”
“They say the ball will be a very fine one,” answered the little princess, twitching up her downy little lip. “All the pretty women are to be there.”
“Not all, since you won't be there; not all,” said Prince Ippolit, laughing gleefully; and snatching the shawl from the footman, shoving him aside as he did so, he began putting it on the little princess. Either from awkwardness or intentionally—no one could have said which—he did not remove his arms for a long while after the shawl had been put on, as it were holding the young woman in his embrace.
Gracefully, but still smiling, she moved away, turned round and glanced at her husband. Prince Andrey's eyes were closed: he seemed weary and drowsy.
“Are you ready?” he asked his wife, avoiding her eyes.
Prince Ippolit hurriedly put on his redingote, which in the latest mode hung down to his heels, and stumbling over it, ran out on to the steps after the princess, whom the footman was assisting into the carriage.
“Princesse, au revoir,” he shouted, his tongue tripping like his legs.
The princess, picking up her gown, seated herself in the darkness of the carriage; her husband was arranging his sabre; Prince Ippolit, under the pretence of assisting, was in every one's way.
“Allow me, sir,” Prince Andrey said in Russian drily and disagreeably to Prince Ippolit, who prevented his passing.
“I expect you, Pierre,” the same voice called in warm and friendly tones.
The postillion started at a trot, and the carriage rumbled away. Prince Ippolit gave vent to a short, jerky guffaw, as he stood on the steps waiting for the vicomte, whom he had promised to take home.
“Well, my dear fellow, your little princess is very good-looking, very good-looking,” said the vicomte, as he sat in the carriage with Ippolit. “Very good-looking indeed;” he kissed his finger tips. “And quite French.”
Ippolit snorted and laughed.
“And, do you know, you are a terrible fellow with that little innocent way of yours,” pursued the vicomte. “I am sorry for the poor husband, that officer boy who gives himself the airs of a reigning prince.”
Ippolit guffawed again, and in the middle of a laugh articulated:
“And you said that the Russian ladies were not equal to the French ladies. You must know how to take them.”
Pierre, arriving first, went to Prince Andrey's study, like one of the household, and at once lay down on the sofa, as his habit was, and taking up the first book he came upon in the shelf (it was C?sar's Commentaries) he propped himself on his elbow, and began reading it in the middle.
“What a shock you gave Mlle. Scherer! She'll be quite ill now,” Prince Andrey said, as he came into the study rubbing his small white hands.
Pierre rolled his whole person over so that the sofa creaked, turned his eager face to Prince Andrey, smiled and waved his hand to him.
“Oh, that abbé was very interesting, only he's got a wrong notion about it.…To my thinking, perpetual peace is possible, but I don't know how to put it.…Not by means of the balance of political power.…”
Prince Andrey was obviously not interested in these abstract discussions.
“One can't always say all one thinks everywhere, mon cher. Come tell me, have you settled on anything at last? Are you going into the cavalry or the diplomatic service?” asked Prince Andrey, after a momentary pause.
Pierre sat on the sofa with his legs crossed under him.
“Can you believe it, I still don't know. I don't like either.”
“But you must decide on something; you know your father's expecting it.”
At ten years old Pierre had been sent with an abbé as tutor to be educated abroad, and there he remained till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow, his father had dismissed the tutor and said to the young man: “Now you go to Petersburg, look about you and make your choice. I agree to anything. Here is a letter to Prince Vassily and here is money. Write and tell me everything; I will help you in everything.” Pierre had been three months already choosing a career and had not yet made his choice. It was of this choice Prince Andrey spoke to him now. Pierre rubbed his forehead.
“But he must be a freemason,” he said, meaning the abbé he had seen that evening.
“That's all nonsense,” Prince Andrey pulled him up again; “we'd better talk of serious things. Have you been to the Horse Guards?”
“No, I haven't; but this is what struck me and I wanted to talk to you about it. This war now is against Napoleon. If it were a war for freedom, I could have understood it, I would have been the first to go into the army; but to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world—that's not right.”
Prince Andrey simply shrugged his shoulders at Pierre's childish words. He looked as though one really could not answer such absurdities. But in reality it was hard to find any answer to this na?ve question other than the answer Prince Andrey made. “If every one would only fight for his own convictions, there'd be no war,” he said.
“And a very good thing that would be too,” said Pierre.
Prince Andrey smiled ironically. “Very likely it would be a good thing, but it will never come to pass…”
“Well, what are you going to the war for?” asked Pierre.
“What for? I don't know. Because I have to. Besides, I'm going…” he stopped. “I'm going because the life I lead here, this life is—not to my taste!”
客人们都向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜道谢，多亏她举行这次charmantesoirée①，开始散场了。 
①法语：迷人的晚会。
皮埃尔笨手笨脚。他长得非常肥胖，身材比普通人高，肩宽背厚，一双发红的手又粗又壮。正如大家所说的那样，他不熟谙进入沙龙的规矩，更不熟谙走出沙龙的规矩，很不内行，即是说，他不会在出门之前说两句十分悦耳的话。除此而外，他还颟颟顸顸。他站立起来，随手拿起一顶带有将军羽饰的三角帽，而不去拿自己的阔边帽，他手中拿着三角帽，不停地扯着帽缨，直至那个将军索回三角帽为止。不过他的善良、憨厚和谦逊的表情弥补了他那漫不经心、不熟谙进入沙龙的规矩、不擅长在沙龙中说话的缺陷。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜向他转过脸来，抱有基督徒的温和态度，对他乖戾的举动表示宽恕，点点头对他说道：
“我亲爱的皮埃尔先生，我希望再能和您见面，但是我也希望您能改变您的见解。”她说道。
当她对他说这话时，他一言未答，只是行了一鞠躬礼，又向大家微微一笑，这微笑没有说明什么涵义，大概只能表示，“意见总之是意见，可你们知道，我是一个多么好、多么善良的人。”所有的人随同安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，都不由自主地产生了这个感想。
安德烈公爵走到接待室，他向给他披斗篷的仆人挺起肩膀，冷淡地听听他妻子和那位也走到接待室来的伊波利特公爵闲谈。伊波利特站在长得标致的身已怀胎的公爵夫人侧边，戴起单目眼镜目不转睛地直盯着她。
“安内特，您进去吧，您会伤风的，”矮小的公爵夫人一面向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜告辞，一面对她说。“C'estarrèté①，”
她放低嗓门补充说。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜已经和丽莎商谈过她想要给阿纳托利和矮小的公爵夫人的小姑子说媒的事情。
“亲爱的朋友，我信任您了，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜也放低嗓门说道，“您给她写封信，再告诉我，commentlepéreenvisBageralachose．Aurevoir②。”她于是离开招待室。 
①法语：就这样确定了。
②法语：您父亲对这件事的看法。再会。
伊波利特公爵走到矮小的公爵夫人近旁，弯下腰来把脸凑近她，轻言细语地对她说些什么话。
两名仆人，一名是公爵夫人的仆人，他手中拿着肩巾，另一名是他的仆人，他手上提着长礼服，伫立在那里等候他们把话说完毕。他们听着他们心里不懂的法国话，那神态好像他们懂得似的，可是不想流露出他们听懂的神色。公爵夫人一如平常，笑容可掬地谈吐，听话时面露笑意。
“我非常高兴，我没有到公使那里去，”伊波利特公爵说道，“令人纳闷……晚会真美妙，是不是，真美妙？”
“有人说，舞会妙极了，”公爵夫人噘起长满茸毛的小嘴唇道，“社团中美貌的女人都要在那里露面。”
“不是所有的女人，因为您就不出席，不是所有女人，”伊波利特公爵说，洋洋得意地大笑，他霍地从仆人手中拿起肩巾，甚至推撞他，把肩巾披在公爵夫人身上。不知是动作不灵活还是蓄意这样做（谁也搞不清是怎么回事），肩巾还披在她身上，他却久久地没有把手放开，俨像在拥抱那个少妇似的。
她一直微露笑容，风度优雅地避开他，转过身来望了望丈夫。安德烈公爵阖上了眼睛，他似乎十分困倦，现出昏昏欲睡的神态。
“您已准备就绪了吧？”他向妻子问道，目光却回避她。
伊波利特公爵急急忙忙地穿上他那件新款式的长过脚后跟的长礼服，有点绊脚地跑到台阶上去追赶公爵夫人，这时分，仆人搀着她坐上马车。
“Princesse，aurevoir①．”他高声喊道，他的舌头也像两腿被礼服绊住那样，几乎要说不出话来。 
①法语：公爵夫人，再会。
公爵夫人撩起连衣裙，在那昏暗的马车中坐下来，她的丈夫在整理军刀，以效劳作为藉口的伊波利特公爵打扰了大家。
“先生，请让开。”伊波利特公爵妨碍安德烈公爵走过去，安德烈公爵于是冷冰冰地、满不高兴地用俄国话对他说道。
“皮埃尔，我在等候你。”安德烈公爵用那同样温柔悦耳的嗓音说道。
前导马御手开动了马车，马车车轮于是隆隆地响了起来。伊波利特公爵发出若断若续的笑声，站在门廊上等候子爵，他已答应乘车送子爵回家。
“呵，亲爱的，您这位矮小的公爵夫人十分可爱。十分可爱。简直是个法国女人。”子爵和伊波利特在马车中并排坐下来，说道。他吻了一下自己的指头尖。
伊波利特噗嗤一声笑了起来。
“您知不知道，您那纯真无瑕的样子真骇人，”子爵继续说下去，“我为这个可怜的丈夫——硬充是世袭领主的小军官表示遗憾。”
伊波利特又噗嗤一声笑了，透过笑声说道：
“可是您说过，俄国女士抵不过法国女士。要善于应付。”
皮埃尔先行到达，他像家里人一样走进了安德烈公爵的书斋，习以为常地立刻躺在沙发上，从书架上随便拿起一本书（这是凯撒写的《见闻录》），他用臂肘支撑着身子，从书本的半中间读了起来。
“你对舍列尔小姐怎么样？她现在完全病倒了。”安德烈公爵搓搓他那洁白的小手走进书斋时说道。
皮埃尔把整个身子翻了过来。沙发给弄得轧轧作响，他把神彩奕奕的脸孔转向安德烈公爵，露出一阵微笑，又把手挥动一下。
“不，这个神父很有风趣，只是不太明白事理……依我看，永久和平有可能实现，但是我不会把这件事说得透彻……横直不是凭藉政治均衡的手段……”
显然，安德烈公爵对这些抽象的话题不发生兴趣。
“我亲爱的，你不能到处把你想说的话一股脑儿说出来，啊，怎么样，你终究拿定了什么主意？你要做一名近卫重骑兵团的士兵，还是做一名外交官？”安德烈公爵在沉默片刻之后问道。
“您可以想象，我还不知道啦。这二者我都不喜欢。”
“可你要知道，总得拿定主意吧？你父亲在期望呢。”
皮埃尔从十岁起便随同做家庭教师的神父被送到国外去了，他在国外住到二十岁。当他回到莫斯科以后，他父亲把神父解雇了，并对这个年轻人说道：“你现在就到彼得堡去吧，观光一下，选个职务吧。我什么事情都同意。这是一封写给瓦西里公爵的信，这是给你用的钱。你把各种情况写信告诉我吧，我会在各个方面助你一臂之力。”皮埃尔选择职务选了三个月，可是一事无成。安德烈公爵也和他谈到选择职务这件事。皮埃尔揩了一下额头上的汗。
“他必然是个共济会会员。”他说道，心里指的是他在一次晚会上见过面的那个神父。
“这全是胡言乱语，”安德烈公爵又制止他，说道：“让我们最好谈谈正经事吧。你到过骑兵近卫军没有？……”
“没有，我没有去过，可是我脑海中想到一件事，要和您谈谈才好。目前这一场战争，是反对拿破仑的战争。假如这是一场争取自由的战争，那我心中就会一明二白，我要头一个去服兵役。可是帮助美国和奥地利去反对世界上一个最伟大的人……这就很不好了。”
安德烈公爵对皮埃尔这种稚气的言谈只是耸耸肩膀而已。他做出一副对这种傻话无可回答的神态，诚然，对这种幼稚的问题，只能像安德烈公爵那样作答，真难以作出他种答案。
“设若人人只凭信念而战，那就无战争可言了。”他说。
“这就美不胜言了。”皮埃尔说道。
安德烈公爵发出了一阵苦笑。
“也许，这真是美不胜言，但是，这种情景永远不会出现……”
“啊，您为什么要去作战呢？”皮埃尔问道。
“为什么？我也不知道，应当这样做。除此而外，我去作战……”他停顿下来了，“我去作战是因为我在这里所过的这种生活，这种生活不合乎我的心愿！”
Book 1 Chapter 6
THERE was the rustle of a woman's dress in the next room. Prince Andrey started up, as it were pulling himself together, and his face assumed the expression it had worn in Anna Pavlovna's drawing-room. Pierre dropped his legs down off the sofa. The princess came in. She had changed her gown, and was wearing a house dress as fresh and elegant as the other had been. Prince Andrey got up and courteously set a chair for her.
“Why is it, I often wonder,” she began in French as always, while she hurriedly and fussily settled herself in the low chair, “why is it Annette never married? How stupid you gentlemen all are not to have married her. You must excuse me, but you really have no sense about women. What an argumentative person you are, Monsieur Pierre!”
“I'm still arguing with your husband; I can't make out why he wants to go to the war,” said Pierre, addressing the princess without any of the affectation so common in the attitude of a young man to a young woman.
The princess shivered. Clearly Pierre's words touched a tender spot.
“Ah, that's what I say,” she said. “I can't understand, I simply can't understand why men can't get on without war. Why is it we women want nothing of the sort? We don't care for it. Come, you shall be the judge. I keep saying to him: here he is uncle's adjutant, a most brilliant position. He's so well known, so appreciated by every one. The other day at the Apraxins' I heard a lady ask: ‘So that is the famous Prince André? Upon my word!' ” She laughed. “He's asked everywhere. He could very easily be a flügel-adjutant. You know the Emperor has spoken very graciously to him. Annette and I were saying it would be quite easy to arrange it. What do you think?”
Pierre looked at Prince Andrey, and, noticing that his friend did not like this subject, made no reply.
“When are you starting?” he asked.
“Ah, don't talk to me about that going away; don't talk about it. I won't even hear it spoken of,” said the princess in just the capriciously playful tone in which she had talked to Ippolit at the soirée, a tone utterly incongruous in her own home circle, where Pierre was like one of the family. “This evening when I thought all these relations so precious to me must be broken off.…And then, you know, André?” She looked significantly at her husband. “I'm afraid! I'm afraid!” she whispered, twitching her shoulder. Her husband looked at her as though he were surprised to observe that there was some one in the room beside himself and Pierre, and with frigid courtesy he addressed an inquiry to his wife.
“What are you afraid of, Liza? I don't understand,” he said.
“See what egoists all men are; they are all, all egoists! Of his own accord, for his own whim, for no reason whatever, he is deserting me, shutting me up alone in the country.”
“With my father and sister, remember,” said Prince Andrey quietly.
“It's just the same as alone, without my friends.…And he doesn't expect me to be afraid.” Her tone was querulous now, her upper lip was lifted, giving her face not a joyous expression, but a wild-animal look, like a squirrel. She paused as though feeling it indecorous to speak of her condition before Pierre, though the whole gist of the matter lay in that.
“I still don't understand what you are afraid of,” Prince Andrey said deliberately, not taking his eyes off his wife. The princess flushed red, and waved her hands despairingly.
“No, André, I say you are so changed, so changed…”
“Your doctor's orders were that you were to go to bed earlier,” said Prince Andrey. “It's time you were asleep.”
The princess said nothing, and suddenly her short, downy lip began to quiver; Prince Andrey got up and walked about the room, shrugging his shoulders.
Pierre looked over his spectacles in na?ve wonder from him to the princess, and stirred uneasily as though he too meant to get up, but had changed his mind.
“What do I care if Monsieur Pierre is here,” the little princess said suddenly, her pretty face contorted into a tearful grimace; “I have long wanted to say to you, Andrey, why are you so changed to me? What have I done? You go away to the war, you don't feel for me. Why is it?”
“Liza!” was all Prince Andrey said, but in that one word there was entreaty and menace, and, most of all, conviction that she would herself regret her words; but she went on hurriedly.
“You treat me as though I were ill, or a child. I see it all. You weren't like this six months ago.”
“Liza, I beg you to be silent,” said Prince Andrey, still more expressively.
Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated during this conversation, got up and went to the princess. He seemed unable to endure the sight of her tears, and was ready to weep himself.
“Please don't distress yourself, princess. You only fancy that because …I assure you, I've felt so myself…because…through…oh, excuse me, an outsider has no business…Oh, don't distress yourself…goodbye.”
Prince Andrey held his hand and stopped him.
“No, stay a little, Pierre. The princess is so good, she would not wish to deprive me of the pleasure of spending an evening with you.”
“No, he thinks of nothing but himself,” the princess declared, not attempting to check her tears of anger.
“Liza,” said Prince Andrey drily, raising his voice to a pitch that showed his patience was exhausted.
All at once the angry squirrel expression of the princess's lovely little face changed to an attractive look of terror that awakened sympathy. She glanced from under her brows with lovely eyes at her husband, and her face wore the timorous, deprecating look of a dog when it faintly but rapidly wags its tail in penitence.
“Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” murmured the princess, and holding her gown with one hand, she went to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.
“Good-night, Liza,” said Prince Andrey, getting up and kissing her hand courteously, as though she were a stranger.
The friends were silent. Neither of them began to talk. Pierre looked at Prince Andrey; Prince Andrey rubbed his forehead with his small hand.
“Let us go and have supper,” he said with a sigh, getting up and going to the door.
They went into the elegantly, newly and richly furnished dining-room. Everything from the dinner-napkins to the silver, the china and the glass, wore that peculiar stamp of newness that is seen in the household belongings of newly married couples. In the middle of supper Prince Andrey leaned on his elbow, and like a man who has long had something on his mind, and suddenly resolves on giving it utterance, he began to speak with an expression of nervous irritation which Pierre had never seen in his friend before.
“Never, never marry, my dear fellow; that's my advice to you; don't marry till you have faced the fact that you have done all you're capable of doing, and till you cease to love the woman you have chosen, till you see her plainly, or else you will make a cruel mistake that can never be set right. Marry when you're old and good for nothing…Or else everything good and lofty in you will be done for. It will all be frittered away over trifles. Yes, yes, yes! Don't look at me with such surprise. If you expect anything of yourself in the future you will feel at every step that for you all is over, all is closed up except the drawing-room, where you will stand on the same level with the court lackey and the idiot…And why!”…He made a vigorous gesture.
Pierre took off his spectacles, which transformed his face, making it look even more good-natured, and looked wonderingly at his friend.
“My wife,” pursued Prince Andrey, “is an excellent woman. She is one of those rare women with whom one can feel quite secure of one's honour; but, my God! what wouldn't I give now not to be married! You are the first and the only person I say this to, because I like you.”
As Prince Andrey said this he was less than ever like the Bolkonsky who had sat lolling in Anna Pavlovna's drawing-room with half-closed eyelids, filtering French phrases through his teeth. His dry face was quivering with nervous excitement in every muscle; his eyes, which had seemed lustreless and lifeless, now gleamed with a full, vivid light. It seemed that the more lifeless he was at ordinary times, the more energetic he became at such moments of morbid irritability.
“You can't understand why I say this,” he went on. “Why, the whole story of life lies in it. You talk of Bonaparte and his career,” he said, though Pierre had not talked of Bonaparte; “you talk of Bonaparte, but Bonaparte when he was working his way up, going step by step straight to his aim, he was free; he had nothing except his aim and he attained it. But tie yourself up with a woman, and, like a chained convict, you lose all freedom. And all the hope and strength there is in you is only a drag on you, torturing you with regret. Drawing-rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, frivolity—that's the enchanted circle I can't get out of. I am setting off now to the war, the greatest war there has ever been, and I know nothing, and am good for nothing. I am very agreeable and sarcastic,” pursued Prince Andrey, “and at Anna Pavlovna's every one listens to me. And this imbecile society without which my wife can't exist, and these women…If you only knew what these society women are, and, indeed, women generally! My father's right. Egoism, vanity, silliness, triviality in everything—that's what women are when they show themselves as they really are. Looking at them in society, one fancies there's something in them, but there's nothing, nothing, nothing. No, don't marry, my dear fellow, don't marry!” Prince Andrey concluded.
“It seems absurd to me,” said Pierre, “that you, you consider yourself a failure, your life wrecked. You have everything, everything before you. And you…”
He did not say why you, but his tone showed how highly he thought of his friend, and how much he expected of him in the future.
“How can he say that?” Pierre thought.
Pierre regarded Prince Andrey as a model of all perfection, because Prince Andrey possessed in the highest degree just that combination of qualities in which Pierre was deficient, and which might be most nearly expressed by the idea of strength of will. Pierre always marvelled at Prince Andrey's faculty for dealing with people of every sort with perfect composure, his exceptional memory, his wide knowledge (he had read everything, knew everything, had some notion of everything), and most of all at his capacity for working and learning. If Pierre were frequently struck in Andrey by his lack of capacity for dreaming and philosophising (to which Pierre was himself greatly given), he did not regard this as a defect but as a strong point. Even in the very warmest, friendliest, and simplest relations, flattery or praise is needed just as grease is needed to keep wheels going round.
“I am a man whose day is done,” said Prince Andrey. “Why talk of me? let's talk about you,” he said after a brief pause, smiling at his own reassuring thoughts. The smile was instantly reflected on Pierre's face.
“Why, what is there to say about me?” said Pierre, letting his face relax into an easy-going, happy smile. “What am I? I am a bastard.” And he suddenly flushed crimson. Apparently it was a great effort to him to say this. “With no name, no fortune.…And after all, really…” He did not finish. “Meanwhile I am free though and I'm content. I don't know in the least what to set about doing. I meant to ask your advice in earnest.”
Prince Andrey looked at him with kindly eyes. But in his eyes, friendly and kind as they were, there was yet a consciousness of his own superiority.
“You are dear to me just because you are the one live person in all our society. You're lucky. Choose what you will, that's all the same. You'll always be all right, but there's one thing: give up going about with the Kuragins and leading this sort of life. It's not the right thing for you at all; all this riotous living and dissipation and all…”
“What would you have, my dear fellow?” said Pierre, shrugging his shoulders; “women, my dear fellow, women.”
“I can't understand it,” answered Andrey. “Ladies, that's another matter, but Kuragin's women, women and wine, I can't understand!”
Pierre was living at Prince Vassily Kuragin's, and sharing in the dissipated mode of life of his son Anatole, the son whom they were proposing to marry to Prince Andrey's sister to reform him.
“Do you know what,” said Pierre, as though a happy thought had suddenly occurred to him; “seriously, I have been thinking so for a long while. Leading this sort of life I can't decide on anything, or consider anything properly. My head aches and my money's all gone. He invited me to-night, but I won't go.”
“Give me your word of honour that you will give up going.”
“On my honour!”
It was past one o'clock when Pierre left his friend's house. It was a cloudless night, a typical Petersburg summer night. Pierre got into a hired coach, intending to drive home. But the nearer he got, the more he felt it impossible to go to bed on such a night, more like evening or morning. It was light enough to see a long way in the empty streets. On the way Pierre remembered that all the usual gambling set were to meet at Anatole Kuragin's that evening, after which there usually followed a drinking-bout, winding up with one of Pierre's favorite entertainments.
“It would be jolly to go to Kuragin's,” he thought. But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrey not to go there again.
But, as so often happens with people of weak character, as it is called, he was at once overcome with such a passionate desire to enjoy once more this sort of dissipation which had become so familiar to him, that he determined to go. And the idea at once occurred to him that his promise was of no consequence, since he had already promised Prince Anatole to go before making the promise to Andrey. Finally he reflected that all such promises were merely relative matters, having no sort of precise significance, especially if one considered that to-morrow one might be dead or something so extraordinary might happen that the distinction between honourable and dishonourable would have ceased to exist. Such reflections often occurred to Pierre, completely nullifying all his resolutions and intentions. He went to Kuragin's.
Driving up to the steps of a big house in the Horse Guards' barracks, where Anatole lived, he ran up the lighted steps and the staircase and went in at an open door. There was no one in the ante-room; empty bottles, cloaks, and over-shoes were lying about in disorder: there was a strong smell of spirits; in the distance he heard talking and shouting.
The card-playing and the supper were over, but the party had not broken up. Pierre flung off his cloak, and went into the first room, where there were the remnants of supper, and a footman who, thinking himself unobserved, was emptying the half-full glasses on the sly. In the third room there was a great uproar of laughter, familiar voices shouting, and a bear growling. Eight young men were crowding eagerly about the open window. Three others were busy with a young bear, one of them dragging at its chain and frightening the others with it.
“I bet a hundred on Stevens!” cried one.
“Mind there's no holding him up!” shouted another.
“I'm for Dolohov!” shouted a third. “Hold the stakes, Kuragin.”
“I say, let Mishka be, we're betting.”
“All at a go or the wager's lost!” cried a fourth.
“Yakov, give us a bottle, Yakov!” shouted Anatole himself, a tall, handsome fellow, standing in the middle of the room, in nothing but a thin shirt, open over his chest. “Stop, gentlemen. Here he is, here's Petrusha, the dear fellow.” He turned to Pierre.
A man of medium height with bright blue eyes, especially remarkable from looking sober in the midst of the drunken uproar, shouted from the window: “Come here. I'll explain the bets!” This was Dolohov, an officer of the Semenov regiment, a notorious gambler and duellist, who was living with Anatole. Pierre smiled, looking good-humouredly about him.
“I don't understand. What's the point?”
“Wait a minute, he's not drunk. A bottle here,” said Anatole; and taking a glass from the table he went up to Pierre.
“First of all, you must drink.”
Pierre began drinking off glass after glass, looking from under his brows at the drunken group, who had crowded about the window again, and listening to their talk. Anatole kept his glass filled and told him that Dolohov had made a bet with an Englishman, Stevens, a sailor who was staying here, that he, Dolohov, would drink a bottle of rum sitting in the third story window with his legs hanging down outside.
“Come, empty the bottle,” said Anatole, giving Pierre the last glass, “or I won't let you go!”
“No, I don't want to,” said Pierre, shoving Anatole away; and he went up to the window.
Dolohov was holding the Englishman's hand and explaining distinctly the terms of the bet, addressing himself principally to Anatole and Pierre.
Dolohov was a man of medium height, with curly hair and clear blue eyes. He was five-and-twenty. Like all infantry officers he wore no moustache, so that his mouth, the most striking feature in his face, was not concealed. The lines of that mouth were extremely delicately chiselled. The upper lip closed vigorously in a sharp wedge-shape on the firm lower one, and at the corners the mouth always formed something like two smiles, one at each side, and altogether, especially in conjunction with the resolute, insolent, shrewd look of his eyes, made such an impression that it was impossible to overlook his face. Dolohov was a man of small means and no connections. And yet though Anatole was spending ten thousand a year, Dolohov lived with him and succeeded in so regulating the position that Anatole and all who knew them respected Dolohov more than Anatole. Dolohov played at every sort of game, and almost always won. However much he drank, his brain never lost its clearness. Both Kuragin and Dolohov were at that time notorious figures in the fast and dissipated world in Petersburg.
The bottle of rum was brought: the window-frame, which hindered any one sitting on the outside sill of the window, was being broken out by two footmen, obviously flurried and intimidated by the shouts and directions given by the gentlemen around them.
Anatole with his swaggering air came up to the window. He was longing to break something. He shoved the footmen aside and pulled at the frame, but the frame did not give. He smashed a pane.
“Now then, you're the strong man,” he turned to Pierre. Pierre took hold of the cross beam, tugged, and with a crash wrenched the oak frame out.
“All out, or they'll think I'm holding on,” said Dolohov.
“The Englishman's bragging…it's a fine feat…eh?” said Anatole.
“Fine,” said Pierre, looking at Dolohov, who with the bottle in his hand had gone up to the window, from which the light of the sky could be seen and the glow of morning and of evening melting into it. Dolohov jumped up on to the window, holding the bottle of rum in his hand. “Listen!” he shouted, standing on the sill and facing the room. Every one was silent.
“I take a bet” (he spoke in French that the Englishman might hear him, and spoke it none too well)…“I take a bet for fifty imperials—like to make it a hundred?” he added, turning to the Englishman.
“Nó, fifty,” said the Englishman.
“Good, for fifty imperials, that I'll drink off a whole bottle of rum without taking it from my lips. I'll drink it sitting outside the window, here on this place” (he bent down and pointed to the sloping projection of the wall outside the window)… “and without holding on to anything.…That right?”
“All right,” said the Englishman.
Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by the button of his coat, and looking down at him (the Englishman was a short man), he began repeating the terms of the wager in English.
“Wait a minute!” shouted Dolohov, striking the bottle on the window to call attention. “Wait a minute, Kuragin; listen: if any one does the same thing, I'll pay him a hundred imperials. Do you understand?”
The Englishman nodded without making it plain whether be intended to take this new bet or not.
Anatole persisted in keeping hold of the Englishman, and although the latter, nodding, gave him to understand that he comprehended fully, Anatole translated Dolohov's words into English. A thin, youthful hussar, who had been losing at cards that evening, slipped up to the window, poked his head out and looked down.
“Oo!…oo!…oo!” he said looking out of the window at the pavement below.
“Shut up!” cried Dolohov, and he pushed the officer away, so that, tripping over his spurs, he went skipping awkwardly into the room.
Setting the bottle on the window-sill, so as to have it within reach, Dolohov climbed slowly and carefully into the window. Lowering his legs over, with both hands spread open on the window-ledge, he tried the position, seated himself, let his hands go, moved a little to the right, and then to the left, and took the bottle. Anatole brought two candles, and set them on the window-ledge, so that it was quite light. Dolohov's back in his white shirt and his curly head were lighted up on both sides. All crowded round the window. The Englishman stood in front. Pierre smiled, and said nothing. One of the party, rather older than the rest, suddenly came forward with a scared and angry face, and tried to clutch Dolohov by his shirt.
“Gentlemen, this is idiocy; he'll be killed,” said this more sensible man.
Anatole stopped him.
“Don't touch him; you'll startle him and he'll be killed. Eh?…What then, eh?”
Dolohov turned, balancing himself, and again spreading his hands out.
“If any one takes hold of me again,” he said, letting his words drop one by one through his thin, tightly compressed lips, “I'll throw him down from here. Now…”
Saying “now,” he turned again, let his hands drop, took the bottle and put it to his lips, bent his head back and held his disengaged hand upwards to keep his balance. One of the footmen who had begun clearing away the broken glass, stopped still in a stooping posture, his eyes fixed on the window and Dolohov's back. Anatole stood upright, with wide-open eyes. The Englishman stared from one side, pursing up his lips. The man who had tried to stop it, had retreated to the corner of the room, and lay on the sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre hid his face, and a smile strayed forgotten upon it, though it was full of terror and fear. All were silent. Pierre took his hands from his eyes; Dolohov was still sitting in the same position, only his head was so far bent back that his curls touched his shirt collar, and the hand with the bottle rose higher and higher, trembling with evident effort. Evidently the bottle was nearly empty, and so was tipped higher, throwing the head back. “Why is it so long?” thought Pierre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had passed. Suddenly Dolohov made a backward movement of the spine, and his arm trembled nervously; this was enough to displace his whole body as he sat on the sloping projection. He moved all over, and his arm and head trembled still more violently with the strain. One hand rose to clutch at the window-ledge, but it dropped again. Pierre shut his eyes once more, and said to himself that he would never open them again. Suddenly he was aware of a general stir about him. He glanced up, Dolohov was standing on the window-ledge, his face was pale and full of merriment.
“Empty!”
He tossed the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it neatly. Dolohov jumped down from the window. He smelt very strongly of rum.
“Capital! Bravo! That's something like a bet. You're a devil of a fellow!” came shouts from all sides.
The Englishman took out his purse and counted out the money. Dolohov frowned and did not speak. Pierre dashed up to the window.
“Gentlemen. Who'll take a bet with me? I'll do the same!” he shouted suddenly. “I don't care about betting; see here, tell them to give me a bottle. I'll do it.…Tell them to give it here.”
“Let him, let him!” said Dolohov, smiling.
“What, are you mad? No one would let you. Why, you turn giddy going downstairs,” various persons protested.
“I'll drink it; give me the bottle of rum,” roared Pierre, striking the table with a resolute, drunken gesture, and he climbed into the window. They clutched at his arms; but he was so strong that he shoved every one far away who came near him.
“No, there's no managing him like that,” said Anatole. “Wait a bit, I'll get round him.…Listen, I'll take your bet, but for to-morrow, for we're all going on now to…”
“Yes, come along,” shouted Pierre, “come along.…And take Mishka with us.”…And he caught hold of the bear, and embracing it and lifting it up, began waltzing round the room with it.
女人穿的连衣裙在隔壁房里发出沙沙的响声。安德烈公爵仿佛已清醒过来，把身子抖动一下，他的脸上正好流露出他在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜客厅里常有的那副表情。皮埃尔把他的两腿从沙发上放下去。公爵夫人走了进来。她穿着另一件家常穿的，但同样美观、未曾穿过的连衣裙。安德烈公爵站了起来，恭恭敬敬地把一张安乐椅移到她近旁。 
“我为什么常常思考，”她像平常那样说了一句德国话，就连忙坐在安乐椅上，“安内特为什么还不嫁人呢？先生们，你们都十分愚蠢，竟然不娶她为妻了。请你们原宥我吧，但是，女人有什么用场，你们却丝毫不明了哩。皮埃尔先生，您是个多么爱争论的人啊！”
“我总会和您的丈夫争论；我不明白，他为什么要去作战。”皮埃尔向公爵夫人转过身来毫无拘束地（年轻男人对年轻女人交往中常有的这种拘束）说道。
公爵夫人颤抖了一下。显然，皮埃尔的话触及了她的痛处。
“咳，我说的也是同样的话啊！”她说道，“我不明了，根本不明了，为什么男人不作战就不能活下去呢？为什么我们女人什么也下想要，什么也不需要呢？呵，您就做个裁判吧。我总把一切情形说给他听：他在这里是他叔父的副官，一个顶好的职位。大家都很熟悉他，都很赏识他。近日来我在阿普拉克辛家里曾听到，有个太太问过一句话：他就是闻名的安德烈公爵吗？说真话！”她笑了起来，“他到处都受到欢迎。他可以轻而易举地当上侍从武官。您知道，国王很慈善地和他谈过话。我和安内特说过，撮合这门亲事不会有困难。您认为怎样？”
皮埃尔望了望安德烈公爵，发现他的朋友不喜欢这次谈话，便一言不答。
“您什么时候走呢？”他发问。
“哦！请您不要对我说走的事，您不要说吧！这件事我不愿意听，”公爵夫人用在客厅里和伊波利特谈话时的那种猥亵而任性的音调说道，看来，这音调用在皮埃尔仿佛是成员的家庭中很不适合，“今天当我想到要中断这一切宝贵的关系……然后呢？安德烈，你知道吗？”她意味深长地眨眨眼睛向丈夫示意，“我觉得可怕，觉得可怕啊！”她的脊背打颤，轻言细语地说。
丈夫望着她，流露出那种神态，仿佛他惊恐万状，因为他发觉，除开他和皮埃尔而外，屋中还有一个人，但是他依然现出冷淡和谦逊的表情，用疑问的音调对妻子说：
“丽莎，你害怕什么？我无法理解。”他说道。
“算什么男人，男人都是利己主义者，都是，都是利己主义者啊！他自己因为要求苛刻，过分挑剔，天晓得为什么，把我抛弃了，把我一个人关在乡下。”
“跟我父亲和妹妹在一起，别忘记。”安德烈公爵低声说道。
“我身边没有我的朋友们了，横直是孑然一人……他还想要我不怕哩。”
她的声调已经含有埋怨的意味，小嘴唇翘了起来，使脸庞赋有不高兴的、松鼠似的兽性的表情。她默不作声了，似乎她认为在皮埃尔面前说到她怀孕是件不体面的事，而这正是问题的实质所在。
“我还是不明白，你害怕什么。”安德烈公爵目不转睛地看着妻子，慢条斯理地说道。
公爵夫人涨红了脸，失望地挥动双手。
“不，安德烈，你变得真厉害，变得真厉害……”
“你的医生吩咐你早点就寝，”安德烈公爵说道，“你去睡觉好了。”
公爵夫人不发一言，突然她那长满茸毛的小嘴唇颤栗起来；安德烈公爵站起来，耸耸肩，从房里走过去了。
皮埃尔惊奇而稚气地借助眼镜时而望望他，时而望望公爵夫人，他身子动了一下，好像他也想站起来，但又改变了念头。
“皮埃尔先生在这儿，与我根本不相干，”矮小的公爵夫人忽然说了一句话，她那秀丽的脸上忽然现出发哭的丑相，“安德烈，我老早就想对你说：你为什么对我改变了态度呢？我对你怎么啦？你要到军队里去，你不怜悯我，为什么？”
“丽莎！”安德烈公爵只说了一句话，但这句话既含有乞求，又含有威胁，主要是有坚定的信心，深信她自己会懊悔自己说的话，但是她忙着把话继续说下去：
“你对待我就像对待病人或者对待儿童那样。我看得一清二楚啊。难道半年前你是这个模样吗？”
“丽莎，我请您住口。”安德烈公爵愈益富于表情地说道。
在谈话的时候，皮埃尔越来越激动不安，他站了起来，走到公爵夫人面前。看来他不能经受住流泪的影响，自己也准备哭出声来。
“公爵夫人，请放心。这似乎是您的想象，因为我要您相信，我自己体会到……为什么……因为……不，请您原谅，外人在这儿真是多余的了……不，请您放心……再见……”
安德烈公爵抓住他的一只手，要他止步。
“皮埃尔，不，等一下。公爵夫人十分善良，她不想我失去和你消度一宵的快乐。”
“不，他心中只是想到自己的事。”公爵夫人说道，忍不住流出气忿的眼泪。
“丽莎，”安德烈公爵冷漠地说道，抬高了声调，这足以表明，他的耐性到了尽头。
公爵夫人那副魅人的、令人怜悯的、畏惧的表情替代了她那漂亮脸盘上像松鼠似的忿忿不平的表情；她蹙起额角，用一双秀丽的眼睛望了望丈夫，俨像一只疾速而乏力地摇摆着下垂的尾巴的狗，脸上现出了胆怯的、表露心曲的神态。
“Mondieu，mondieu！”①公爵夫人说道，用一只手撩起连衣裙褶，向丈夫面前走去，吻了吻他的额头。
“Bonsoir，Lise．”②安德烈公爵说道，他站了起来，像在外人近旁那样恭恭敬敬地吻着她的手。 
①法语：我的天哪，我的天哪！
②法语：丽莎，再会。
朋友们沉默不言。他们二人谁也不开腔。皮埃尔不时地看看安德烈公爵，安德烈公爵用一只小手揩揩自己的额头。
“我们去吃晚饭吧。”他叹一口气说道，站立起来向门口走去。
他们走进一间重新装修得豪华而优雅的餐厅。餐厅里的样样东西，从餐巾到银质器皿、洋瓷和水晶玻璃器皿，都具有年轻夫妇家的日常用品的异常新颖的特征。晚餐半中间，安德烈公爵用臂肘支撑着身子，开始说话了，他像个心怀积愫、忽然决意全盘吐露的人那样，脸上带有神经兴奋的表情，皮埃尔从未见过他的朋友流露过这种神态。
“我的朋友，永远，永远都不要结婚；这就是我对你的忠告，在你没有说你已做完你力所能及的一切以前，在你没有弃而不爱你所挑选的女人以前，在你还没有把她看清楚以前，你就不要结婚吧！否则，你就会铸成大错，弄到不可挽救的地步。当你是个毫不中用的老头的时候再结婚吧……否则，你身上所固有的一切美好而崇高的品质都将会丧失。一切都将在琐碎事情上消耗殆尽。是的，是的，是的！甭这样惊奇地望着我。如果你对自己的前程有所期望，你就会处处感觉到，你的一切都已完结，都已闭塞，只有那客厅除外，在那里你要和宫廷仆役和白痴平起平坐，被视为一流……岂不就是这么回事啊！……”
他用劲地挥挥手。
皮埃尔把眼镜摘下来，他的面部变了样子，显得愈加和善了，他很惊讶地望着自己的朋友。
“我的妻子，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“是个挺好的女人。她是可以放心相处并共同追求荣誉的难能可贵的女人之一，可是，我的老天哪，只要我能不娶亲，我如今不论什么都愿意贡献出来啊！我是头一回向你一个人说出这番话的，因为我爱护你啊。”
安德烈公爵说这话时与原先不同，更不像博尔孔斯基了，那时，博尔孔斯基把手脚伸开懒洋洋地坐在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的安乐椅上，把眼睛眯缝起来，透过齿缝说了几句法国话。他那冷淡的脸部由于神经兴奋的缘故每块肌肉都在颤栗着，一对眼睛里射出的生命之火在先前似乎熄灭了，现在却闪闪发亮。看来，他平常显得愈加暮气沉沉，而在兴奋时就会显得愈加生气勃勃。
“你并不明白，我为什么要说这番话，”他继续说下去，“要知道，这是全部生活史。你说到，波拿巴和他的升迁，”他说了这句话后，虽然皮埃尔并没有说到波拿巴的事情，“你谈到波拿巴；但当波拿巴从事他的活动，一步一步地朝着他的目标前进的时候，他自由自在，除开他所追求的目标而外，他一无所有，他终于达到了目标。但是，你如若把你自己和女的捆在一起，像个带上足枷的囚犯，那你就会丧失一切自由。你的希望和力量——这一切只会成为你的累赘，使你遭受到懊悔的折磨。客厅、谗言、舞会、虚荣、微不足道的事情，这就是我无法走出的魔力圈。现在我要去参战，参加一次前所未有的至为伟大的战争，可我一无所知，一点也不中用。JesuBistresamiableettrèscaustique①．”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“大伙儿都在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜那里听我说话。他们是一群愚蠢的人，如若没有他们，我的妻子就不能生活下去，还有这些女人……但愿你能知道，touteslesfemmesdistinguées②和一般的女人都是一些什么人啊！我父亲说得很对。当女人露出她们的真面目的时候，自私自利、虚荣、愚笨、微不足道——这就是女人的普遍特征。你看看上流社会的女人，他们似乎有点什么，可是什么也没有，什么也没有，什么也没有啊！对，我的心肝，甭结婚吧，甭结婚吧。”安德烈爵说完了话。 
①法语：我是个快嘴快舌的人。
②法语：这些像样的女人。
“我觉得非常可笑，”皮埃尔说道，“您认为自己无才干，认为自己的生活腐化堕落。其实您前途无量，而且您……”
他没有说出“您怎么样”，可是他的语调表明，他很器重自己的朋友，对他的前途抱有厚望。
“这种话他怎么能开口说出来呢？”皮埃尔想道。皮埃尔认为安德烈公爵是所有人的楷模，纯粹是因为安德烈公爵高度地凝聚着皮埃尔所缺乏的品德，这种品德可以用“意志力”这个概念至为切贴地表示出来。安德烈公爵善于沉着地应酬各种人，富有非凡的记忆力，博学多识（他博览群书，见多识广，洞悉一切），尤其是善于工作、善于学习，皮埃尔向来就对安德烈公爵的各种才能感到惊讶。如果说安德烈缺乏富于幻想的推理能力（皮埃尔特别倾向于这个领域），那么，他却不认为这是缺点，而是力量的源泉。
在最良好、友善和朴实的人际关系中，阿谀或赞扬都不可缺少，有如马车行驶，车轮需要抹油一样。
“Jesuisunhommefini，”①安德烈公爵说道，“关于我的情况有什么话可说的呢？让我们谈谈你的情况吧，”他说道，沉默片刻后，对他那令人快慰的想法微微一笑。
这一笑同时也在皮埃尔脸上反映出来了。
“可是，关于我的情形有什么话可说的呢？”皮埃尔说道，他嘴边浮现出愉快的、无忧无虑的微笑，“我是个什么人呢？Jesuisunbatard！”②他忽然涨红了脸。显然，他竭尽全力才把这句话说了出来，“sansnom，sansfortune……③也好，说实话……”但是他没把“说实话”这个词儿说出来，“我暂且自由自在，我心里感到舒畅。不过，我怎么也不知道我应当先做什么事。我想认真地和您商量商量。” 
①法语：我是个不可救药的人。
②法语：一个私生子。
③法语：既无名，亦无财富。
安德烈公爵用慈善的目光望着他。可是在他那友爱而温柔的目光中依旧显露出他的优越感。
“在我心目中，你之所以可贵，特别是因为唯有你才是我们整个上流社会中的一个活跃分子。你觉得舒适。你选择你所愿意做的事吧，反正是这么一回事。你以后到处都行得通，不过有一点要记住：你不要再去库拉金家中了，不要再过这种生活。狂饮、骠骑兵派头，这一切……对你都不适合了。”
“Quevoulez－vous，moncher，”皮埃尔耸耸肩，说道，“Lesfemmes，moncher，lesfemmes！”①
“我不明白，”安德烈答道：“LesfemmescommeilfautB，”②这是另一码事；不过库拉金家的Lesfemmes，lesfemmesetlevin③，我不明白啊！” 
①法语：我的朋友啊，毫无办法，那些女人，那些女人啊！
②法语：像样的女人。
③法语：女人，女人和酒。
皮埃尔在瓦西里·库拉金公爵家中居住，他和公爵的儿子阿纳托利一同享受纵酒作乐的生活，大家拿定了主意，要阿纳托利娶安德烈的妹妹为妻，促使他痛改前非。
“您可要知道，就是这么一回事啊！”皮埃尔说道，他脑海中仿佛突然出现一个极妙的想法，“真的，我老早就有这个念头。过着这种生活，对什么事我都拿不定主意，什么事我都无法缜密考虑。真头痛，钱也没有了。今天他又邀请我，我去不成了。”
“你向我保证，你不走，行吗？”
“我保证！”
当皮埃尔离开他的朋友走出大门时，已经是深夜一点多钟。是夜适逢是彼得堡六月的白夜。皮埃尔坐上一辆马车，打算回家去。但是他越走近家门，他就越发感觉到在这个夜晚不能入睡，这时候与其说是深夜，莫如说它更像黄昏或早晨。空荡无人的街上可以望见很远的地方。皮埃尔在途中回忆起来，今日晚上必定有一伙赌博的常客要在阿纳托利·库拉金家里聚会。豪赌之后照例是纵酒作乐，收场的节目又是皮埃尔喜爱的一种娱乐。
“如果到库拉金家去走一趟该多好啊。”他心中想道。但是立刻又想到他曾向安德烈公爵许下不去库拉金家串门的诺言。
但是，正如所谓优柔寡断者的遭遇那样，嗣后不久他又极欲再一次体验他所熟悉的腐化堕落的生活，他于是拿定主意，要到那里去了。他蓦地想到，许下的诺言毫无意义，因为在他向安德烈公爵许下诺言之前，他曾向阿纳托利公爵许下到他家去串门的诺言。他终于想到，所有这些诺言都是空洞的假设，并无明确的涵义，特别是当他想到，他明天有可能死掉，也有可能发生特殊事故，因此，承诺与不承诺的问题，就不复存在了。皮埃尔的脑海中常常出现这一类的论断，它消除了他的各种决定和意向。他还是乘车到库拉金家中去了。
他乘马车到达了阿纳托利所住的近卫骑兵队营房旁一栋大楼房的门廊前面，他登上了灯火通明的台阶，上了楼梯，向那敞开的门户走进去。接待室内荡然无人，乱七八糟地放着空瓶子、斗篷、套鞋，发散着一股酒味，远处的语声和喊声隐约可闻。
赌博和晚膳已经完毕了，但是客人们还没有各自回家。皮埃尔脱下斗篷，步入第一个房间，那里只有残酒与剩饭，还有一名仆役；他内心以为没有被人发现，悄悄地喝完了几杯残酒。第三个房间传出的喧器、哈哈大笑、熟悉的叫喊和狗熊的怒吼，清晰可闻。大约有八个年轻人在那敞开的窗口挤来挤去。有三个人正在玩耍一只小熊，一个人在地上拖着锁上铁链的小熊，用它来恐吓旁人。
“我押史蒂文斯一百卢布赌注！”有个人喊道。
“当心，不要搀扶！”另一人喊道。
“我押在多洛霍夫上啊！”第三个人喊道，“库拉金，把手掰开来。”
“喂，把小熊‘朱沙'扔开吧，这里在打赌啊！”
“要一干而尽，不然，就输了。”第四个人喊道。
“雅科夫，拿瓶酒来，雅科夫！”主人喊道，他是个身材高大的美男子，穿着一件袒露胸口的薄衬衣站在人群中间，“先生们，等一会。瞧，他就是彼得鲁沙，亲爱的朋友。”他把脸转向皮埃尔说道。
另一个身材不高、长着一对明亮的蓝眼睛的人从窗口喊叫：“请上这里来，给我们把手掰开，打赌啊！”这嗓音在所有这些醉汉的嗓音中听来令人觉得最为清醒，分外震惊。他是和阿纳托利住在一起的多洛霍夫，谢苗诺夫兵团的军官，大名鼎鼎的赌棍和决斗能手。皮埃尔面露微笑，快活地向四周张望。
“我什么也不明白。是怎么回事？”他问道。
“等一会，他还没有喝醉。给我一瓶酒。”阿纳托利说道，从桌上拿起一只玻璃杯，向皮埃尔跟前走去。
“你首先喝酒。”
皮埃尔一杯接着一杯地喝起酒来，而那些蹙起额头瞧瞧又在窗口挤来挤去的喝得醉醺醺的客人，倾听着他们交谈。阿纳托利给他斟酒，对他讲，多洛霍夫和到过此地的海员，叫做史蒂文斯的英国人打赌，这样议定：他多洛霍夫把脚吊在窗外坐在三楼窗台上一口气喝干一瓶烈性甜酒。
“喂，要喝干啊！”阿纳托利把最后一杯酒递给皮埃尔，说道，“不然，我不放过你！”
“不，我不想喝。”皮埃尔用手推开阿纳托利，说道；向窗前走去。
多洛霍夫握着英国人的手，明确地说出打赌的条件，但主要是和阿纳托利、皮埃尔打交道。
多洛霍夫这人中等身材，长着一头鬈发，有两只明亮的蓝眼睛。他约莫二十五岁。像所有的陆军军官那样，不蓄胡子，因而他的一张嘴全露出来，这正是他那令人惊叹的脸部线条。这张嘴十分清秀，弯成了曲线。上嘴唇中间似呈尖楔形，有力地搭在厚实的下嘴唇上，嘴角边经常现出两个微笑的酒窝。所有这一切，特别是在他那聪明、坚定而放肆的目光配合下，造成了一种不能不惹人注意这副脸型的印象。多洛霍夫是个不富裕的人，没有什么人情关系。尽管阿纳托利花费几万卢布现金，多洛霍夫和他住在一起，竟能为自己博得好评，他们的熟人把多洛霍夫和阿纳托利比较，更为尊重多洛霍夫，阿纳托利也尊重他。多洛霍夫无博不赌，几乎总是赢钱。无论他喝多少酒，他从来不会丧失清醒的头脑。当时在彼得堡的浪子和酒徒的领域中，多洛霍夫和库拉全都是赫赫有名的人物。
一瓶烈性甜酒拿来了。窗框使人们无法在那窗户外面的侧壁上坐下，于是有两个仆役把窗框拆下来，他们周围的老爷们指手划脚，不断地吆喝，把他们搞得慌里慌张，显得很羞怯。
阿纳托利现出洋洋得意的神气，向窗前走去。他禁不住要毁坏什么东西。他把仆人们推开，拖了拖窗框，可是拖不动它。他于是砸烂了玻璃。
“喂，你这个大力士。”他把脸转向皮埃尔说道。
皮埃尔抓住横木，拖了拖，像木制的窗框喀嚓喀嚓地响，有的地方被他弄断了，有的地方被扭脱了。
“把整个框子拆掉，要不然，大家还以为我要扶手哩。”多洛霍夫说道。
“那个英国人在吹牛嘛……可不是？……好不好呢？
……”阿纳托利说道。
“好吧。”皮埃尔望着多洛霍夫说道，多洛霍夫拿了一瓶烈性甜酒，正向窗前走去，从窗子望得见天空的亮光，曙光和夕晖在天上连成一片了。
多洛霍夫手中拿着一瓶烈性甜酒，霍地跳上了窗台。
“听我说吧！“他面向房间，站在窗台上喊道。大家都沉默不言。
“我打赌（他操着法语，让那个英国人听懂他的意思，但是他说得不太好），我赌五十金卢布，您想赌一百？”他把脸转向英国人，补充了一句。
“不，就赌五十吧。”英国人说道。
“好吧，赌五十金卢布，”二人议定，“我要一口气喝干一整瓶烈性糖酒，两手不扶着什么东西，坐在窗台外边，就坐在这个地方把它喝干（他弯下腰来，用手指指窗户外边那倾斜的墙壁上的突出部分）……就这样，好吗？……”
“很好。”英国人说道。
阿纳托利向英国人转过身去，一手揪住他的燕尾服上的钮扣，居高临下地望着他（那个英国人身材矮小），开始用法语向他重说了打赌的条件。
“等一下！”多洛霍夫为了要大家注意他，便用酒瓶敲打着窗户，大声喊道，“库拉金，等一会，听我说吧。如果有谁如法炮制，我就支付一百金卢布。明白么？”
英国人点点头，怎么也不肯让人明白，他有意还是无意接受打赌的新条件。阿纳托利不愿放开英国人，虽然那个英国人点头示意，但他心里什么都明白。阿纳托利用英语把多洛霍夫的话向他翻译出来。一个年轻的、瘦骨嶙峋的男孩——近卫骠骑兵，这天夜里输了钱，他于是爬上窗台上，探出头来向下面望望。
“吓！……吓！……吓！……”他瞧着窗外人行道上的石板说道。
“安静！”多洛霍夫高声喊道，把那个军官从窗台上拉了下来，被马刺绊住腿的军官很不自在地跳到房间里。
多洛霍夫把酒瓶搁在窗台上，这样拿起来方便，他谨小慎微地、悄悄地爬上窗户。他垂下两腿，双手支撑着窗沿，打量了一番，把身子坐稳，然后放开双手，向左向右移动，拿到了一只酒瓶。阿纳托利拿来了两根蜡烛，搁在窗台，虽然这时候天大亮了，两根蜡烛从两旁把多洛霍夫穿着一件白衬衣的脊背和他长满鬈发的头照得通亮了。大家都在窗口挤来挤去。那个英国人站在大家前面。皮埃尔微微发笑，不说一句话。一个在场的年纪最大的人露出气忿的、惊惶失惜的神色，忽然窜到前面去，想一把揪住多洛霍夫的衬衣。
“先生们，这是蠢事，他会跌死的。”这个较为明智的人说道。
阿纳托利制止他。
“不要触动他，你会吓倒他，他会跌死的。怎样？……那为什么呢？……哎呀……”
多洛霍夫扭过头来，坐得平稳点了，又用双手支撑着窗户的边沿。
“如果有谁再挤到我身边来，”他透过紧团的薄嘴唇断断续续地说，“我就要把他从这里扔下去。也罢！……”
他说了一声“也罢”，又转过身去，伸开双手，拿着一只酒瓶搁到嘴边，头向后仰，抬起一只空着的手，这样，好把身子弄平稳。有一个仆人在动手捡起玻璃，他弯曲着身子站着不动弹，目不转睛地望着窗户和多洛霍夫的脊背。阿纳托利瞪大眼睛，笔直地站着。那个英国人噘起嘴唇，从一旁观看。那个想阻拦他的人跑到屋角里去，面朝墙壁地躺在沙发上。皮埃尔用手捂住脸，此时他脸上虽然现出恐怖的神色，但却迷迷糊糊地保持着微笑的表情。大家都沉默不言。皮埃尔把蒙住眼睛的手拿开。多洛霍夫保持同样的姿态坐着，不过他的头颅向后扭转过来了，后脑勺上的卷发就碰在衬衫的领子上，提着酒瓶的手越举越高，不住地颤抖，用力地挣扎着。这酒瓶显然快要喝空了，而且举起来了，头也给扭弯了。“怎么搞了这样久呢？”皮埃尔想了想。他仿佛觉得已经过了半个多钟头。多洛霍夫把脊背向后转过去，一只手神经质地颤栗起来，这一颤栗足以推动坐在倾斜的侧壁上的整个身躯。他全身都挪动起来了，他的手和头越抖越厉害，费劲地挣扎。一只手抬了起来抓住那窗台，但又滑落下去了。皮埃尔又用手捂住眼睛，对自己说：永远也没法把它睁开来。他忽然觉得周围的一切微微地摆动起来了。他看了一眼：多洛霍夫正站在窗台上，他的脸色苍白，但却露出了愉快的神态。
“酒瓶子空了。”
他把这酒瓶扔给英国人，英国人灵活地接住。多洛霍夫从窗上跳下来。他身上发散着浓重的甜酒气味。
“棒极了！好样的！这才是打赌啊！您真了不起啊！”大家从四面叫喊起来了。
那个英国人拿出钱包来数钱。多洛霍夫愁苦着脸，沉默不语。皮埃尔一跃跳上了窗台。
“先生们！谁愿意同我打赌呢？我同样做它一遍，”他忽然高声喊道，“不需要打赌，听我说，我也这么干。请吩咐给我拿瓶酒来。我一定做到……请吩咐给我拿瓶酒来。”
“让他干吧，让他干吧！”多洛霍夫面带微笑，说道。
“你干嘛，发疯了么？谁会让你干呢？你就站在梯子上也会感到头晕啊。”大家从四面开腔说话。
“我准能喝干，给我一瓶烈性甜酒吧！”皮埃尔嚷道，做出坚定的醉汉的手势，捶打着椅子，随即爬上了窗户。
有人抓住他的手，可是他很有力气，把靠近他的人推到很远去了。
“不，你这样丝毫也说服不了他，”阿纳托利说道，“等一等，我来哄骗他。你听我说，跟你打个赌吧，但约在明天，现在我们大家都要到×××家中去了。”
“我们乘车子去吧，”皮埃尔喊道，“我们乘车子去吧！……
把小熊‘米沙'也带去。”
他于是急忙抓住这头熊，抱着它让它站起来，和它一同在房里跳起舞来，双腿旋转着。
Book 1 Chapter 7
PRINCE VASSILY kept the promise he had made at Anna Pavlovna's soirée to Princess Drubetskoy, who had petitioned him in favour of her only son Boris. His case had been laid before the Emperor, and though it was not to be a precedent for others, he received a commission as sub-lieutenant in the Guards of the Semenovsky regiment. But the post of an adjutant or attaché in Kutuzov's service was not to be obtained for Boris by all Anna Mihalovna's efforts and entreaties. Shortly after the gathering at Anna Pavlovna's, Anna Mihalovna went back to Moscow to her rich relatives the Rostovs, with whom she stayed in Moscow. It was with these relations that her adored Borinka, who had only recently entered a regiment of the line, and was now at once transferred to the Guards as a sub-lieutenant, had been educated from childhood and had lived for years. The Guards had already left Petersburg on the 10th of August, and her son, who was remaining in Moscow to get his equipment, was to overtake them on the road to Radzivilov.
The Rostovs were keeping the name-day of the mother and the younger daughter, both called Natalya. Ever since the morning, coaches with six horses had been incessantly driving to and from the Countess Rostov's big house in Povarsky, which was known to all Moscow. The countess and her handsomest eldest daughter were sitting in the drawing-room with their visitors, who came in continual succession to present their congratulations to the elder lady.
The countess was a woman with a thin face of Oriental cast, forty-five years old, and obviously exhausted by child-bearing. She had had twelve children. The deliberate slowness of her movements and conversation, arising from weak health, gave her an air of dignity which inspired respect. Princess Anna Mihalovna Drubetskoy, as an intimate friend of the family, sat with them assisting in the work of receiving and entertaining their guests. The younger members of the family were in the back rooms, not seeing fit to take part in receiving visitors. The count met his visitors and escorted them to the door, inviting all of them to dinner.
“I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher” or “ma chère,” he said to every one without exception (making not the slightest distinction between persons of higher or of lower standing than his own), “for myself and my two dear ones whose name-day we are keeping. Mind you come to dinner. I shall be offended if you don't, mon cher. I beg you most sincerely from all the family, my dear.” These words, invariably accompanied by the same expression on his full, good-humoured, clean-shaven face, and the same warm pressure of the hand, and repeated short bows, he said to all without exception or variation. When he had escorted one guest to the hall, the count returned to the gentleman or lady who was still in the drawing-room. Moving up a chair, and with the air of a man fond of society and at home in it, he would sit down, his legs jauntily apart, and his hands on his knees, and sway to and fro with dignity as he proffered surmises upon the weather, gave advice about health, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in very bad but complacent French. Then again he would get up, and with the air of a man weary but resolute in the performance of his duty, he would escort guests out, stroking up his grey hair over his bald patch, and again he would urge them to come to dinner. Sometimes on his way back from the hall, he would pass through the conservatory and the butler's room into a big room with a marble floor, where they were setting a table for eighty guests; and looking at the waiters who were bringing in the silver and china, setting out tables and unfolding damask tablecloths, he would call up Dmitry Vassilyevitch, a young man of good family, who performed the duties of a steward in his household, and would say: “Now then, Mitenka, mind everything's right. That's it, that's it,” he would say, looking round with pleasure at the immense table opened out to its full extent; “the great thing is the service. So, so.” …And he went off again with a sigh of satisfaction to the drawing-room.
“Marya Lvovna Karagin and her daughter,” the countess's huge footman announced in a deep bass at the drawing-room door. The countess thought a moment, and took a pinch from a golden snuff-box with her husband's portrait on it.
“I'm worn out with these callers,” she said; “well, this is the last one I'll see. She's so affected. Show her up,” she said in a dejected tone, as though she were saying, “Very well, finish me off entirely!”
A tall, stout, haughty-looking lady and her round-faced, smiling daughter walked with rustling skirts into the drawing-room.
“Dear countess, it is such a long time…she has been laid up, poor child…at the Razumovskys' ball, and the Countess Apraxin…I was so glad,” feminine voices chattered briskly, interrupting one another and mingling with the sound of rustling skirts and the scraping of chairs. Conversation began of the sort which is kept up just long enough for the caller to get up at the first pause, rustling her skirts and with a murmur of “I am so charmed; mamma's health…and the Countess Apraxin…” walk out again with the same rustle to the hall to put on cloak or overcoat and drive away. The conversation touched on the chief items of news in the town, on the illness of the wealthy old Count Bezuhov, a man who had been renowned for his personal beauty in the days of Catherine, and on his illegitimate son, Pierre, who had behaved so improperly at a soirée at Anna Pavlovna's. “I am very sorry for the poor count,” declared the visitor; “his health in such a precarious state, and now this distress caused him by his son; it will be the death of him!”
“Why, what has happened?” asked the countess, as though she did not know what was meant, though she had heard about the cause of Count Bezuhov's distress fifteen times already.
“This is what comes of modern education! When he was abroad,” the visitor pursued, “this young man was left to his own devices, and now in Petersburg, they say, he has been doing such atrocious things that he has been sent away under police escort.”
“Really!” said the countess.
“He has made a bad choice of his companions,” put in Princess Anna Mihalovna. “Prince Vassily's son—he and a young man called Dolohov, they say—God only knows the dreadful things they've been doing. And both have suffered for it. Dolohov has been degraded to the rank of a common soldier, while Bezuhov's son has been banished to Moscow. As to Anatole Kuragin…his father managed to hush it up somehow. But he has been sent out of Petersburg too.”
“Why, what did they do?” asked the countess.
“They're perfect ruffians, especially Dolohov,” said the visitor. “He's the son of Marya Ivanovna Dolohov, such a worthy woman, you know, but there! Only fancy, the three of them had got hold of a bear somewhere, put it in a carriage with them, and were taking it to some actress's. The police ran up to stop them. They took the police officer, tied him back to back to the bear, and dropped the bear into the Moika: the bear swam with the police officer on him.”
“A pretty figure he must have looked, ma chère,” cried the count, helpless with laughter.
“Ah, such a horror! What is there to laugh at in it, count?”
But the ladies could not help laughing at it themselves.
“It was all they could do to rescue the unlucky man,” the visitor went on. “And that's the intellectual sort of amusement the son of Count Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov indulges in!” she added. “And people said he was so well educated and clever. That's how foreign education turns out. I hope no one will receive him here, in spite of his great wealth. They tried to introduce him to me. I gave an absolute refusal: I have daughters.”
“What makes you say the young man is so wealthy?” asked the countess, turning away from the girls, who at once looked as though they did not hear. “He has none but illegitimate children. I believe that…Pierre too is illegitimate.”
The visitor waved her hand. “He has a score of them, I suppose.”
Princess Anna Mihalovna interposed, obviously wishing to show her connections and intimate knowledge with every detail in society.
“This is how the matter stands,” she said meaningly, speaking in a half whisper. “Count Kirill Vladimirovitch's reputation we all know.…He has lost count of his own children, indeed, but this Pierre was his favourite.”
“How handsome the old man was,” said the countess, “only last year! A finer-looking man I have never seen.”
“Now he's very much altered,” said Anna Mihalovna. “Well, I was just saying,” she went on, “the direct heir to all the property is Prince Vassily through his wife, but the father is very fond of Pierre, has taken trouble over his education, and he has written to the Emperor…so that no one can tell, if he dies (he's so ill that it's expected any moment, and Lorrain has come from Petersburg), whom that immense property will come to, Pierre or Prince Vassily. Forty thousand serfs and millions of money. I know this for a fact, for Prince Vassily himself told me so. And indeed Kirill Vladimirovitch happens to be a third cousin of mine on my mother's side, and he's Boris's godfather too,” she added, apparently attaching no importance to this circumstance.
“Prince Vassily arrived in Moscow yesterday. He's coming on some inspection business, so I was told,” said the visitor.
“Yes, between ourselves,” said the princess, “that's a pretext; he has come simply to see Prince Kirill Vladimirovitch, hearing he was in such a serious state.”
“But, really, ma chère, that was a capital piece of fun,” said the count; and seeing that the elder visitor did not hear him, he turned to the young ladies. “A funny figure the police officer must have looked; I can just fancy him.”
And showing how the police officer waved his arms about, he went off again into his rich bass laugh, his sides shaking with mirth, as people do laugh who always eat and, still more, drink well. “Then do, please, come to dinner with us,” he said.
瓦西里公爵履行了他在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办的晚会上答应名叫德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人替她的独子鲍里斯求情的诺言。有关鲍里斯的情形已禀告国王，他被破例调至谢苗诺夫兵团的近卫队中担任准尉。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜虽已四出奔走斡旋，施展各种手段，但是，鲍里斯还是未被委派为副官，亦未被安插在库图佐夫手下供职。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办晚会后不久，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜就回到莫斯科，径直地到她的富有的亲戚罗斯托夫家中去了，她一直住在莫斯科的这个亲戚家中，她的被溺爱的鲍里斯从小就在这个亲戚家中抚养长大，在这里住了许多年，他刚被提升为陆军准尉，旋即被调任近卫军准尉。八月十日近卫军已自彼得堡开走，她那留在莫斯科置备军装的儿子要在前往拉兹维洛夫的途中赶上近卫军的队伍。 
罗斯托夫家中有两个叫做娜塔莉娅的女人——母亲和小女儿——过命名日。从清早起，波瓦尔大街上一栋莫斯科全市闻名的叫做罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人的大楼前面，装载着贺客的车辆就来回奔走，川流不息。伯爵夫人和漂亮的大女儿坐在客厅里接待来宾，送走了一批宾客，又迎来了另一批宾客，不停地应接。
这位伯爵夫人长着一副东方型的瘦削的脸盘，四十五岁上下，她为儿女所劳累（有十二个儿女），身体显得虚弱。由于体弱，她的动作和言谈都很迟缓，这却赋予她一种令人肃然起敬的、威严的风貌。叫做安娜·米哈伊洛莫娜·德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人就像他们家里人一样，也坐在那儿，帮助和应酬宾客。年轻人认为不必参与接待事宜，都呆在后面的几个房间里。伯爵迎送着宾客，邀请全部宾客出席午宴。
“十分、十分感激您machère或moncher①，（他对待一切人，无论地位高于他，抑或低于他，都毫无例外地、毫无细微差别地称machère或moncher），我个人代替两个过命名日的亲人感激您。请费神，来用午膳。您不要让我生气，moncher。我代表全家人诚挚地邀请您，machère。”他毫无例外地，一字不变地对一切人都说这番话，他那肥胖的、愉快的、常常刮得很光的脸上现出同样的神态，他同样地紧握来宾的手，频频地鞠躬致意。送走一位宾客后，伯爵回到那些尚在客厅未退席的男女宾客面前，他把安乐椅移到近旁，显露出热爱生活、善于生活的人所固有的样子，豪放地摊开两腿，两手搁在膝盖上，意味深长地摇摇摆摆，他预测天气，请教保健的秘诀，有时讲俄国话，有时讲很差劲的、但自以为道地的法国话，后来又现出极度困倦、但却竭尽义务的人所独具的样子去送宾客，一面弄平秃头上稀疏的斑发，又请宾客来用午膳。有时候，他从接待室回来，顺路穿过花斋和堂馆休息室走进大理石大厅，大厅里已经摆好备有八十份餐具的筵席，他望着堂倌拿来银器和瓷器，摆筵席、铺上织花桌布，并把出身于贵族的管家德米特里·瓦西里耶维奇喊到身边来，说道：
“喂，喂，米佳，你要注意，把一切布置停妥。好，好，” 
①法语：亲爱的女客，亲爱的男客。
他说道，十分满意地望着摆开的大号餐桌，“餐桌的布置是头件大事。就是这样……”他洋洋自得地松了口气，又走回客厅去了。
“玛丽亚·利洛夫娜·卡拉金娜和她的女儿到了！”伯爵夫人的身材魁梧的随从的仆人走进客厅门，用那低沉的嗓音禀告。伯爵夫人思忖了一会，闻了闻镶有丈夫肖像的金质鼻烟壶。
“这些接客的事情把我折磨得难受，”她说道，“哦，我来接待她这最后一个女客。她真拘礼，请吧，”她用忧悒的嗓音对仆人说，内心好像是这样说：“哎呀！让你们这些人置我于死命吧！”
一个身段高大、肥胖、样子骄傲的太太和她的圆脸蛋的、微露笑容的女儿，衣裙沙沙作响，走进客厅来。
“Chèrecomtesse，ilyasilongtemps…elleaéléalitéelapauvreenfant…aubaldesRazoumowsky…etlacomtesseApraksine…j'aiétésiheureuse……①，听见妇女们互相打断话头、闹哄哄的谈话声，谈话声和连衣裙的沙沙声、移动椅子的响声连成一片了。这场谈话开始了，谈话在头次停顿的时候正好有人站起来，把那连衣裙弄得沙沙作响，有人说：“Jeauisbiencharmée，lasantédlemaman…etlacomtesseApraksine．”②连衣裙又给弄得沙沙作响，有人朝接待室走去，穿上皮袄或披起斗篷，就离开了。谈话中提到当时市内的首要新闻——遐尔闻名的富豪和叶卡捷琳娜女皇当政时的美男子老别祖霍夫伯爵的病情和他的私生子皮埃尔，此人在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜·舍列尔举办的晚会上行为不轨，有失体统。 
①法语：伯爵夫人……已经这样久了……可怜的女孩，她害病了……在拉祖莫夫斯基家的舞会上……伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜……我简直高兴极了……
①法语：我非常、非常高兴……妈妈很健康……伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜。
“我非常惋惜可怜的伯爵，”一个女客人说道，“他的健康情况原已十分恶劣，现今又为儿女痛心，这真会断送他的命啊！”
“是怎么回事？”伯爵夫人问道，好像她不知道那女客在说什么事，不过她已有十五次左右听过关于别祖霍夫伯爵感到伤心的原因。
“这就是现在的教育啊！”一位女客说，“现在国外时，这个年轻人就听天由命，放任自流，而今他在彼得堡，据说，他干了不少令人胆寒的事，已经通过警察局把他从这里驱逐出去了。”
“您看，真有其事！”伯爵夫人说道。
“他很愚蠢地择交，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜插嘴了，“瓦西里公爵的儿子，他的那个多洛霍夫，据说，天知道他们干了些什么勾当。二人都受罪了。多洛霍夫被贬为士兵，别祖霍夫的儿子被赶到莫斯科去了。阿纳托利·库拉金呢，他父亲不知怎的把他制服了，但也被驱逐出彼得堡。”
“他们究竟干了些什么勾当？”伯爵夫人问道。
“他们真是些十足的土匪，尤其是多洛霍夫，”女客人说道，“他是那个备受尊重的太太玛丽亚·伊万诺夫娜·多洛霍娃的儿子，后来怎么样呢？你们都可以设想一下，他们三个人在某个地方弄到了一头狗熊，装进了马车，开始把它运送到女伶人那里去了。警察跑来制止他们。他们抓住了警察分局局长，把他和狗熊背靠背地绑在一起，丢进莫伊卡河里。狗熊在泅水，警察分局局长仰卧在狗熊背上。”
“machère，警察分局局长的外貌好看吗？”伯爵笑得要命，高声喊道。
“啊，多么骇人呀！伯爵，这有什么可笑的呢？”
可是太太们情不自禁地笑起来。
“真费劲才把这个倒霉鬼救了出来，”女客人继续说下去，“基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇·别祖霍夫伯爵的儿子心眼真多，逗弄人啊！”她补充一句话，“听人家说，他受过良好的教育，脑子也挺灵活。你看，外国的教育结果把他弄到这个地步。虽然他有钱，我还是希望这里没有谁会接待他。有人想介绍他跟我认识一下，我断然拒绝了：我有几个女儿嘛。”
“您干嘛说这个年轻人很有钱呢？”伯爵夫人避开少女们弯下腰来问道，少女们马上装作不听她说话的样子，“要知道，他只有几个私生子女。看来……皮埃尔也是个私生子。”
女客人挥动一手下臂。
“我想，他有二十个私生子女。”
公爵夫人安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜插话了，她显然是想显示她的社交关系，表示她熟悉交际界的全部情况。
“就是这么一回事，”她低声地、意味深长地说道，“基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇伯爵颇有名声，尽人皆知……他的儿女多得不可胜数，而这个皮埃尔就是他的宠儿。”
“旧年这个老头儿还挺漂亮哩！”伯爵夫人说道，“我还未曾见过比他更漂亮的男人。”
“现在他变得很厉害了，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道。“我想这样说，”她继续说下去，“根据妻子方面的关系，瓦西里公爵是他的全部财产的直接继承人，但是他父亲喜爱皮埃尔，让他受教育，还禀告国王……如果他一旦辞世，他的病情加重，每时每刻都有可能断气，罗兰也从彼得堡来了，谁将会得到这一大笔财产，是皮埃尔呢，或者是瓦西里公爵。四万农奴和数百万财产。这一点我了若指掌，瓦西里公爵亲口对我说过这番话。基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇正是我的表舅哩。而且他给鲍里斯施行洗礼，是他的教父。”她补充一句，好像一点不重视这等事情似的。
“瓦西里公爵于昨日抵达莫斯科。有人对我说，他来的用意是实地视察。”女客人说。
“是的，但是，entrenous，”①公爵夫人说道，“这是一种藉口，说实话，他是来看基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇伯爵的，他听到伯爵的病情加重了。” 
①法语：这是我们之间的事，不可与外人道也。
“但是，machère，这是个招儿，”伯爵说道，他发现那个年长的女客不听他说话，就向小姐们转过脸去说，“我心里想象，那个警察分局局长的外貌是十分漂亮的。”
他于是想到那个警察分局局长挥动手臂的模样，又哈哈大笑起来，那响亮的嗓子低沉的笑声撼动着他整个肥胖的身躯，他发出这种笑声，就像平素吃得好，特别是喝得好的人所发出的笑声一样。“好吧，请您到我们那里来用午饭。”他说道。
Book 1 Chapter 8
A SILENCE followed. The countess looked at her guest, smiling affably, but still not disguising the fact that she would not take it at all amiss now if the guest were to get up and go. The daughter was already fingering at the folds of her gown and looking interrogatively at her mother, when suddenly they heard in the next room several girls and boys running to the door, and the grating sound of a chair knocked over and a girl of thirteen ran in, hiding something in her short muslin petticoat, and stopped short in the middle of the room. She had evidently bounded so far by mistake, unable to stop in her flight. At the same instant there appeared in the doorway a student with a crimson band on his collar, a young officer in the Guards, a girl of fifteen, and a fat, rosy-cheeked boy in a child's smock.
The prince jumped up, and swaying from side to side, held his arms out wide round the little girl.
“Ah, here she is!” he cried, laughing. “Our little darling on her fête day!”
“My dear, there is a time for everything,” said the countess, affecting severity. “You're always spoiling her, Elie,” she added to her husband.
“Bonjour, ma chère, je vous félicite,” said the visitor. “Quelle délicieuse enfant!” she added, turning to her mother.
The dark-eyed little girl, plain, but full of life, with her wide mouth, her childish bare shoulders, which shrugged and panted in her bodice from her rapid motion, her black hair brushed back, her slender bare arms and little legs in lace-edged long drawers and open slippers, was at that charming stage when the girl is no longer a child, while the child is not yet a young girl. Wriggling away from her father, she ran up to her mother, and taking no notice whatever of her severe remarks, she hid her flushed face in her mother's lace kerchief and broke into laughter. As she laughed she uttered some incoherent phrases about the doll, which was poking out from her petticoat.
“Do you see?…My doll…Mimi…you see…” And Natasha could say no more, it all seemed to her so funny. She sank on her mother's lap, and went off into such a loud peal of laughter that every one, even the prim visitor, could not help laughing too.
“Come, run along, run along with your monstrosity!” said her mother, pushing her daughter off with a pretence of anger. “This is my younger girl,” she said to the visitor. Natasha, pulling her face away from her mother's lace kerchief for a minute, peeped down at her through tears of laughter, and hid her face again.
The visitor, forced to admire this domestic scene, thought it suitable to take some part in it.
“Tell me, my dear,” she said, addressing Natasha, “how did you come by your Mimi? Your daughter, I suppose?”
Natasha did not like the tone of condescension to childish things with which the visitor had spoken to her. She made no answer, but stared solemnly at her.
Meanwhile all the younger generation, Boris, the officer, Anna Milhalovna's son; Nikolay, the student, the count's elder son; Sonya, the count's niece; and little Petya, his younger son, had all placed themselves about the drawing-room, and were obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum the excitement and mirth which was brimming over in their faces. Clearly in the back part of the house, from which they had dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had been more amusing than the small-talk in the drawing-room of the scandal of the town, the weather, and Countess Apraxin. Now and then they glanced at one another and could hardly suppress their laughter.
The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood, were of the same age, and both good-looking, but not like each other. Boris was a tall, fair-haired lad with delicate, regular features, and a look of composure on his handsome face. Nikolay was a curly-headed youth, not tall, with an open expression. On his upper lip there were already signs of a black moustache coming, and his whole face expressed impulsiveness and enthusiasm. Nikolay flushed red as he came into the drawing-room. He was unmistakably trying to find something to say, and unable to find anything. Boris, on the contrary, was at home immediately and talked easily and playfully of the doll Mimi, saying that he had known her as a young girl before her nose was broken, and she had grown older during the five years he remembered her, and how her head was cracked right across the skull. As he said this he looked at Natasha. Natasha turned away from him, glanced at her younger brother, who, with a scowl on his face, was shaking with noiseless laughter, and unable to restrain herself, she skipped up and flew out of the room as quickly as her swift little legs could carry her. Boris did not laugh.
“You were meaning to go out, mamma, weren't you? Do you want the carriage?” he said, addressing his mother with a smile.
“Yes, go along and tell them to get it ready,” she said, smiling. Boris walked slowly to the door and went after Natasha. The stout boy ran wrathfully after them, as though resenting the interruption of his pursuits.
大家都默不作声。伯爵夫人望着女客人，脸上露出愉快的微笑，但她并不掩饰那种心情：如果那个女客人站立起来，退席离开，她丝毫也不会感到怏怏不乐。女客的女儿正在弄平连衣裙，用疑问的眼神望着母亲，就在这时分，忽然听见隔壁房里传来一群男人和女人向门口迅跑的步履声、绊倒椅子的响声，一个十三岁的女孩跑进房里来，用那短短的纱裙盖住一件什么东西，她在房间当中停步了。很明显，她在跑步时失脚，出乎意料地蹦得这么远。就在这同一瞬间，一个露出深红色衣领的大学生、一个近卫军军官、一个十五岁的女孩和一个身穿儿童短上衣的面颊粉红的胖乎乎的男孩在那门口露面了。 
伯爵猛然跳起来，摇摇摆摆地走着，把两臂伸开，抱住跑进来的小女孩。
“啊，她毕竟来了！”他含笑地喊道，“过命名日的人！machère过命名日的人！”
“machère，ilyauntempspour，tout，”①伯爵夫人假装出一副严肃的样子，她说，“你总是溺爱她，埃利。”她对丈夫补充地说。
“Bonjour，machère，jevousfélicite，”女客人说道，“Quelledelicieuseenfant！②”她把脸转向母亲，补充地说。 
①法语：一切事情都得有个时间，亲爱的。
②法语：我亲爱的，您好，向您表示祝贺。多么可爱的小孩子！
小姑娘长着一双黑眼睛，一张大嘴巴，相貌不漂亮，但挺活泼。她跑得太快，背带滑脱了，袒露出孩子的小肩膀，黑黝黝的打绺的鬈发披在后面，光着的手臂十分纤细，身穿一条钩花裤子，一双小脚穿着没有鞋带的矮靿皮靴。说她是孩子已经不是孩子，说她是女郎还不是女郎，她正值这个美妙的年华。她从父亲的怀抱中挣脱出来，走到了母亲近旁，母亲的严厉呵斥她不在乎，倒把脸儿藏在母亲的花边斗篷里，不知她为什么而笑，一面若断若续地说到她从衣裙下面掏出来的洋娃娃。
“你们看见吗？……一个洋娃娃……咪咪……你们都看见。”
娜塔莎不能说下去了（她以为一切都很可笑），她倒在母亲身上，哈哈大笑起来，笑声非常响亮，以致所有的人，连那个过分拘礼的女客也情不自禁地笑了起来。
“你得啦，走吧，带上你这个丑东西走吧！”母亲说道，假装发脾气，把女儿推到一边去。“这是我的小女儿。”她把脸转向女客说道。
娜塔莎有一阵子把脸从母亲的花边三角头巾下抬起来，透过笑出的眼泪，从底下朝她望了一眼，又把脸蛋藏了起来。
女客人被迫欣赏家庭中的这个场面，认为有参与一下的必要了。
“我亲爱的，请您告诉我，”她把脸转向娜塔莎，说道，“这个咪咪究竟是您的什么人？大概是女儿吧？”
娜塔莎不喜欢对待儿童的宽容的口气，女客人却用这种口气对她说话。她一言不答，严肃地瞟了女客人一眼。
与此同时，这一辈年轻人：军官鲍里斯——名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人的儿子、大学生尼古拉——伯爵的长男、索尼娅——伯爵的一个现年十五岁的外甥女以及小彼得鲁沙——伯爵的幼子，都在客厅里入席就座了。显然，他们竭尽全力把还流露在每个人脸上的兴奋和悦意保持在合乎礼仪的范围以内。显而易见，他们在迅速奔跑出来的后面的几个房间里，闲谈比起在这里议论城里的谗言、天气和comtesseApraksine①的问题，听来令人更开心。他们有时候互相凝视，好不容易才忍住没有笑出声来。 
①法语：伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜。
两个年轻人，一个是大学生、一个是军官，从童年时代起就是朋友，两个人年龄相同，而且长得漂亮，但其面目并不相像。鲍里斯是个身材魁梧、头发浅黄的青年，他那宁静而俊美的面孔上，五官生得端正，眉清目秀。尼古拉是个身材不高的年轻人，一头鬈发，面部表情坦率。他的上嘴唇边逐渐长出黑色的短髭，他的灵敏和激情在整个面部流露出来。尼古拉一走进客厅，两颊就涨红了。显然，他想开口说话，但却找不到话题；鲍里斯正好相反，他一下子就想到了应付的办法，沉着而戏谑地讲起洋娃娃咪咪的事，说他认识它的时候，它还是个小姑娘，当时它的鼻孔还没有碰坏，他记得在这五年内它变老了，头顶也现出裂纹了。他说了这句话，便朝娜塔莎望了一眼。娜塔莎转过脸去不理睬他，看了看眯缝起眼睛、不出一声笑得浑身发抖的小弟弟，她再也按捺不住了，一跃而起，迈开敏捷的小腿，从客厅里飞奔出来。鲍里斯没有发笑。
“妈妈，看来您也要走了吧？要马车吗？”他面露微笑地对母亲说。
“好，走吧，走吧，吩咐他们把马车准备好。”她含笑说道。
鲍里斯悄悄地走出来，跟在娜塔莎后面，那个胖乎乎的男孩生气地跟在他们后面跑，好像他的事情遭受挫折而懊悔似的。
Book 1 Chapter 9
OF THE YOUNG PEOPLE, not reckoning the countess's elder daughter (who was four years older than her sister and behaved quite like a grown-up person) and the young lady visitor, there were left in the drawing-room Nikolay and Sonya, the niece. Sonya was a slender, miniature brunette, with soft eyes shaded by long lashes, thick black hair twisted in two coils round her head, and a skin of a somewhat sallow tint, particularly marked on her bare, thin, but shapely, muscular arms and neck. The smoothness of her movements, the softness and flexibility of her little limbs, and something of slyness and reserve in her manner, suggested a lovely half-grown kitten, which would one day be a charming cat. Apparently she thought it only proper to show an interest in the general conversation and to smile. But against her own will, her eyes turned under their thick, long lashes to her cousin, who was going away into the army, with such girlish, passionate adoration, that her smile could not for one moment impose upon any one, and it was clear that the kitten had only perched there to skip off more energetically than ever and to play with her cousin as soon as they could, like Boris and Natasha, get out of the drawing-room.
“Yes, ma chère,” said the old count, addressing the visitor and pointing to his Nikolay; “here his friend Boris has received his commission as an officer, and he's so fond of him he doesn't want to be left behind, and is giving up the university and his poor old father to go into the army, ma chère. And there was a place all ready for him in the archives department, and all. Isn't that friendship now?” said the count interrogatively.
“But they do say that war has been declared, you know,” said the visitor.
“They've been saying so a long while,” said the count. “They'll say so again and again, and so it will remain. There's friendship for you, ma chère!” he repeated. “He's going into the hussars.”
The visitor, not knowing what to say, shook her head.
“It's not from friendship at all,” answered Nikolay, flushing hotly, and denying it as though it were some disgraceful imputation. “Not friendship at all, but simply I feel drawn to the military service.”
He looked round at his cousin and the young lady visitor; both looked at him with a smile of approval.
“Schubert's dining with us to-night, the colonel of the Pavologradsky regiment of hussars. He has been here on leave, and is taking him with him. There's no help for it,” said the count, shrugging his shoulder and speaking playfully of what evidently was a source of much distress to him.
“I've told you already, papa,” said his son, “that if you're unwilling to let me go, I'll stay. But I know I'm no good for anything except in the army. I'm not a diplomatist, or a government clerk. I'm not clever at disguising my feelings,” he said, glancing repeatedly with the coquetry of handsome youth at Sonya and the young lady.
The kitten, her eyes riveted on him, seemed on the point of breaking into frolic, and showing her cat-like nature.
“Well, well, it's all-right!” said the old count; “he always gets so hot. Bonaparte's turned all their heads; they're all dreaming of how he rose from a lieutenant to be an emperor. Well, and so may it turn out again, please God,” he added, not noticing the visitor's sarcastic smile.
While their elders began talking about Bonaparte, Julie, Madame Karagin's daughter, turned to young Rostov.
“What a pity you weren't at the Arharovs' on Thursday. I was so dull without you,” she said, giving him a tender smile. The youth, highly flattered, moved with a coquettish smile nearer her, and entered into a conversation apart with the smiling Julie, entirely unaware that his unconscious smile had dealt a jealous stab to the heart of Sonya, who was flushing crimson and assuming a forced smile. In the middle of his talk with Julie he glanced round at her. Sonya gave him an intensely furious look, and, hardly able to restrain her tears, though there was still a constrained smile on her lips, she got up and went out of the room. All Nikolay's animation was gone. He waited for the first break in the conversation, and, with a face of distress, walked out of the room to look for Sonya.
“How all the young things wear their hearts on their sleeves!” said Anna Mihalovna, pointing to Nikolay's retreating figure. “Cousinage, dangereux voisinage,” she added.
“Yes,” said the countess, when the sunshine that had come into the drawing-room with the young people had vanished. She was, as it were, replying to a question which no one had put to her, but which was always in her thoughts: “What miseries, what anxieties one has gone through for the happiness one has in them now! And even now one feels really more dread than joy over them. One's always in terror! At this age particularly when there are so many dangers both for girls and boys.”
“Everything depends on bringing up,” said the visitor.
“Yes, you are right,” the countess went on. “So far I have been, thank God, my children's friend and have enjoyed their full confidence,” said the countess, repeating the error of so many parents, who imagine their children have no secrets from them. “I know I shall always be first in my children's confidence, and that Nikolay, if, with his impulsive character, he does get into mischief (boys will be boys) it won't be like these Petersburg young gentlemen.”
“Yes, they're capital children, capital children,” assented the count, who always solved all perplexing questions by deciding that everything was capital. “Fancy now, his taking it into his head to be an hussar! But what can one expect, ma chère?”
“What a sweet little thing your younger girl is!” said the visitor. “Full of fun and mischief!”
“Yes, that she is,” said the count. “She takes after me! And such a voice; though she's my daughter, it's the truth I'm telling you, she'll be a singer, another Salomini. We've engaged an Italian to give her lessons.”
“Isn't it too early? They say it injures the voice to train it at that age.”
“Oh, no! Too early!” said the count. “Why, our mothers used to be married at twelve and thirteen.”
“Well, she's in love with Boris already! What do you say to that?” said the countess, smiling softly and looking at Boris's mother. And apparently in reply to the question that was always in her mind, she went on: “Why, you know, if I were strict with her, if I were to forbid her…God knows what they might not be doing in secret” (the countess meant that they might kiss each other), “but as it is I know every word she utters. She'll come to me this evening and tell me everything of herself. I spoil her, perhaps, but I really believe it's the best way. I brought my elder girl up more strictly.”
“Yes, I was brought up quite differently,” said the elder girl, the handsome young Countess Vera; and she smiled. But the smile did not improve Vera's face; on the contrary her face looked unnatural, and therefore unpleasing. Vera was good-looking; she was not stupid, was clever at her lessons, and well educated; she had a pleasant voice, and what she said was true and appropriate. But, strange to say, every one—both the visitor and the countess—looked at her, as though wondering why she had said it, and conscious of a certain awkwardness.
“People are always too clever with their elder children; they try to do something exceptional with them,” said the visitor.
“We won't conceal our errors, ma chère! My dear countess was too clever with Vera,” said the count. “But what of it? she has turned out capitally all the same,” he added, with a wink of approval to Vera.
The guests got up and went away, promising to come to dinner.
“What manners! Staying on and on!” said the countess, when she had seen her guests out.
年轻人当中，除开伯爵夫人的长女（她比她妹妹年长四岁，举止已经跟大人一样了）和作客的小姐而外，客厅里剩下尼古拉和外甥女索尼娅二人了。索尼娅是个身段苗条、小巧玲珑的黑发女郎，在那长长的睫毛遮掩下闪现出温柔的眼神，一条乌黑而浓密的发辫在头上盘了两盘，脸上的皮肤，特别是裸露而消瘦、肌肉发达而漂亮的手臂和颈项的皮肤，都略带黄色。她那动作的平稳，小小肢体的柔软和灵活，有点调皮而自持的风度，便像一只尚未发育成熟的美丽可爱的猫崽，它必将成为一只颇具魅力的母猫。显然她认为面露微笑去谛听众人谈话是一种礼貌的态度，但是，她那对洋溢着少女热情崇拜的眼睛，从那长长的浓密的睫毛下面，情不自禁地望着行将入伍的consin①，她那笑意一点也不能欺骗任何人，显而易见，这只小猫蹲下来，只是想要更有力地跳起来，如同鲍里斯和娜塔莎一样从客厅里窜出去，和她的表兄一块儿嬉戏。 
①法语：表兄。
“machère，是的，”老伯爵把脸转向女客，一面指着他的尼古拉，说道，“machère，看，他的朋友鲍里斯擢升为军官了，为友谊起见，他不想落在鲍里斯后面，抛弃了大学和我这个老头，也服兵役去了。有人在档案馆给他弄到一个差事，本来一切都准备就绪了。这不就是看情面嘛？”伯爵用疑问的口气说道。
“是呀，有人说已经宣战了。”女客人说。
“早就有人在说啊，”伯爵说道，“说了一阵子，又说一阵子，就不再说了。machère，这不就是看情面嘛！”他把自己说过的话重说一遍，“尼古拉去当骠骑兵了。”
女客摇摇头，不知道要说什么话。
“根本不是为友情，”尼古拉答道，涨红了脸，好像他受到一种使他羞愧的诋毁似的，他于是要为自己辩护，“根本不是为友情，而只是觉得我有服兵役的天职。”
他回头望望表妹，又望望做客的小姐，她们二人都面露称赞的微笑望着他。
“保罗格勒骠骑兵团上校舒伯特今天在我们这儿吃午饭，他在这儿度假，要把尼古拉带走。这有什么法子呢？”伯爵说道，耸耸肩，诙谐地提起这件显然使他深感痛楚的事情。
“爸爸，我已经跟您说过，”儿子说道，“如果您不愿意放我走，那么我就留下来。但是我知道，除开服兵役而外，我毫无用场；我不是外交家，不是官员，不善于掩饰自己的感情，”他说道，露出风华正茂之时的轻薄的样子，不时地端详索尼娅和做客的小姐。
小猫用眼睛紧紧地盯住他，随时都准备嬉戏一通，表露一下它那猫的本性。
“嗯，嗯，好极了！”老伯爵说道，“向来就急躁……波拿巴还在冲昏大家的头脑，大家都想到他由中尉摇身一变当上皇帝了。也罢，愿上帝保佑。”他补充一句，并不注意女客嘲讽的微笑。
成年人开始谈论波拿巴的事情。卡拉金娜的女儿朱莉把脸转向小罗斯托夫，说道：
“很遗憾，星期四那天您没有到阿尔哈罗夫家里去。您不在场，我觉得寂寞无聊。”她说道，向他露出温和的微笑。
年轻人因受奉承而深感荣幸，脸上呈露出风华正茂之时的轻浮的微笑，他坐得离她更近了，他和那笑容可掬的朱莉单独地闲聊起来，根本没发觉他这情不自禁的微笑竟像一柄醋意的尖刀戳进那面红耳赤、佯装微笑的索尼娅的心窝。闲谈的中间，他回过头来瞥了她一眼，索尼娅愤恨地望望他，好不容易才忍住没有流出眼泪，没有露出假装的微笑，她站起来，从房里走出去。尼古拉的兴奋情绪已经消逝了。他窥伺谈话一中断，就露出扫兴的神态，从房里出来，寻找索尼娅去了。
“所有这些年轻人的秘密事情真藏不住，会露出马脚啊！”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜指着正走出门去的尼古拉说道。“CousiBnage－dangereuxvoisinage，”①她补充一句。
“是的，”伯爵夫人说道，随同这一代年轻人进入客厅带来的一线阳光消失后，她仿佛在回答未曾有人向她提出、但却经常使她全神贯注的问题似的，“她经受了多少苦难、多少烦扰，现在才能从他们身上得到一点欢乐啊！可是现在，说实话，恐惧的比重却大于欢乐。你总是怕这怕那，总是怕这怕那啊！男孩也好，女孩也好，正值这个年龄，就会遇到许多危险的事情。”
“一切以教育为转移。”女客人说道。
“是的，您说的是真话，”伯爵夫人继续说道，“谢天谢地，直至现在，我还是我的子女的朋友，我博得他们充分的信赖。”伯爵夫人说，许多父母出过差错，我重蹈覆辙，他们都以为，子女并没有隐瞒他们的秘密，“我知道，我永远是我的几个女儿的第一个confidente②，尼古拉性情急躁，要是他淘气（男孩子哪能不淘气），也不会像彼得堡这些绅士派头的人那样。” 
①法语：表兄弟、表姐妹这种亲戚真糟糕透了啊。
②法语：出主意的人。
“是啊，都是些很好的、很好的孩子，”伯爵说道，认为这种看法很对头。他往往在解决他认为很复杂的问题时，便用“很好的”这个词来应付，“得了吧！他也想去当个骠骑兵啊！无论您怎样要求，也无济于事，machère！”
“你的小女儿是个多么可爱的人儿！”女客人说道，“火性子人！”
“是的，火性子人，”伯爵说道，“她就像我啊！她有一副悦耳的嗓子：虽然她是我的儿女，但我也要如实说来。她将来是个歌唱家，又是一个萨洛莫妮。我们延请了一位意大利人教她唱歌。”
“不是太早了吗？据说，她这个时候学唱对嗓子不利。”
“哦，不，哪里太早啊！”伯爵说道，“我们母亲辈十二三岁不就出嫁了吗？”
“她现在就已爱上鲍里斯了！她怎么样？”伯爵夫人说道，两眼望着鲍里斯的母亲，悄悄地露出微笑，虽然在回答经常使她心神贯注的问题，她继续说下去，“哦，您知道，如果我对她严加管教，如果我禁止她……天知道，他们偷偷地会做出什么事（伯爵夫人心中暗指，他们会接吻），可是现在，她说的每句话我都知道。她晚上自己跑回家来，把一切情形讲给我听。我也许正在惯养她，不过，说实话，这样做似乎更妙。我对大女儿管教得很严。”
“是的，教育我的方式完全不一样。”长女——漂亮的名叫薇拉的伯爵小姐面带微笑地说道。
但是微笑并没有使薇拉的面部变得更加漂亮，这是一件常见的事，恰好适得其反，她的脸色变得不太自然，从而令人生厌。长女薇拉长得俊俏，并不笨拙，学习成绩优良，受到很好的教育，她的嗓子悠扬悦耳，她说的话合情合理，恰如其分，但是，说来令人诧异，女客也好，伯爵夫人也好，大家都竟然回过头来望她一眼，仿佛十分惊讶似的，为什么她要说这番话，大家都觉得尴尬。
“大家总对年龄较大的儿童自作主张，总想做出什么不平凡的事业。”女客人说道。
“machère，不用隐瞒，承认好了！伯爵夫人对薇拉的事自作主张，”伯爵说道。“这又有什么关系啊！她毕竟变成一个很好的姑娘。”他补充说道，向薇拉递个眼色，表示赞成的意思。
女客们站了起来，答应来吃午饭，便乘马车走了。
“是什么派头！他们都坐着，坐着不走！”伯爵夫人送走客人后说道。
Book 1 Chapter 10
WHEN NATASHA ran out of the drawing-room she only ran as far as the conservatory. There she stopped listening to the talk in the drawing-room, and waiting for Boris to come out. She was beginning to get impatient, and stamping her foot was almost ready to cry at his not coming at once, when she heard the young man's footsteps coming out discreetly, not too slowly nor too quickly. Natasha darted swiftly away and hid among the tubs of shrubs.
Boris stood still in the middle of the room, looked round him, brushed a speck of dirt off the sleeve of his uniform, and going up to the looking-glass examined his handsome face. Natasha, keeping quiet, peeped out of her hiding-place, waiting to see what he would do. He stood a little while before the glass, smiled at his reflection, and walked towards the other door. Natasha was on the point of calling to him, but she changed her mind. “Let him look for me,” she said to herself. Boris had only just gone out, when at the other door Sonya came in, flushed and muttering something angrily through her tears. Natasha checked her first impulse to run out to her, and remained in her hiding-place, as it were under the invisible cap, looking on at what was going on in the world. She began to feel a peculiar novel sort of enjoyment in it. Sonya was murmuring something as she looked towards the drawing-room door. The door opened and Nikolay came in.
“Sonya! what is the matter? how can you?” said Nikolay, running up to her.
“Nothing, nothing, leave me alone!” Sonya was sobbing.
“No, I know what it is.”
“Very well, you do, so much the better then, and you can go back to her.”
“So-o-onya! one word! How can you torture me and yourself for a mere fancy?” said Nikolay, taking her hand. Sonya did not pull her hand away, and left off crying.
Natasha, not stirring and hardly breathing, looked with shining eyes from her hiding-place. “What's coming now?” she thought.
“Sonya! I care for nothing in the whole world! You're everything to me,” said Nikolay. “I'll prove it to you.”
“I don't like you to talk like that.”
“Well, I won't then; come, forgive me, Sonya.” He drew her to him and kissed her.
“Oh, that's nice,” thought Natasha, and when Sonya and Nikolay had gone out of the room she followed them and called Boris to her.
“Boris, come here,” she said with a sly and significant look. “I've something I want to tell you. Here, here,” she said, and she led him into the conservatory, to the place where she had hidden between the tubs. Boris followed her, smiling.
“What is the something?” he inquired. She was a little embarrassed; she looked round her, and seeing her doll flung down on a tub she picked it up.
“Kiss the doll,” she said. Boris looked with observant, affectionate eyes at her eager face and made no answer. “Don't you want to? Well, then come here,” she said, and went further in among the shrubs and tossed away the doll. “Closer, closer!” she whispered. She caught hold of the young officer's arms above the cuff, and her flushed face had a look of solemnity and awe.
“Would you like to kiss me?” she whispered, hardly audibly, peeping up at him from under her eyelids, smiling and almost crying with excitement.
Boris reddened. “How absurd you are!” he said, bending down to her, flushing redder still, but doing nothing, waiting what would come next. Suddenly she jumped on to a tub, so that as she stood she was taller than he, flung both arms round him so that her slender, bare arms clasped him above his neck, and flinging back her hair with a toss of her head, she kissed him just on his lips.
She slipped away among the flower-pots on the other side, and stood with hanging head.
“Natasha,” he said, “you know I love you, but—”
“You're in love with me,” Natasha broke in.
“Yes I am, but, please, don't let us do like that.… In another four years… Then I shall ask for your hand.” Natasha pondered a moment.
“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen …” she said, counting on her thin little fingers.
“Very well. Then it's settled?” And her excited face beamed with a smile of delight and relief.
“Settled!” said Boris.
“For ever?” said the little girl. “Till death?” And taking his arm, with a happy face she walked quietly beside him into the next room.
娜塔莎步出客厅，奔驰而去，只奔至花房。她在这个房间里停下来了，等候鲍里斯走出门来。她已经不耐烦了。他没有马上走来，她顿了一下脚，快要放声大哭，这时听到了年轻人的不疾速亦不迟缓的文质彬彬的步履声。娜塔莎飞快地窜到花桶中间，躲匿起来了。 
鲍里斯在房间中央停步了，环顾了一遭，掸掉制服袖子上的尘屑，走到镜台前，仔细瞧瞧他那俊美的面孔。娜塔莎没有出声，从她躲匿的地方向外观望，等待着，看他怎样办。他在镜台前伫立了片刻，微微一笑，就向大门口走去。娜塔莎想喊他一声，随即改变了念头。
“让他去找吧，”她对自己说道。鲍里斯刚刚走出来，索尼娅涨红了脸，透过泪水愤恨地低声细语，从另一道门走了出来。娜塔莎忍住了，没有起步向她身边跑去，还留在躲匿的地方，宛如戴上一顶隐身帽，不时地窥视人世间的动静。她正在享受一种特别新鲜的乐趣。索尼娅用耳语说着什么话，又回头望望客厅门。尼古拉从门口走出来了。
“索尼娅，你怎么啦？哪能这样呢？”尼古拉说道，向她身边跑来了。
“没有什么，没有什么，丢下我别管吧！”索尼娅嚎啕大哭起来。
“不，我知道干嘛。”
“哦，您知道，好得很，您上她那儿去吧。”
“索——尼娅！有句话要跟你说！哪能凭瞎想这样折磨我，这样折磨你自己！”尼古拉说道，一把抓住她的手。
索尼娅不去挣脱自己的手，停止哭泣了。
娜塔莎屏住气息，一动不动地从她躲匿的地方用那闪闪发亮的眼睛向外张望。“此刻会出什么事呢？”她思忖道。
“索尼娅！我所需要的不是整个世界！在我心目中唯有你才是一切，”尼古拉说道，“我向你证明我说的话。”
“我不喜欢你这样说话。”
“哦，我再也不说了，嗯，索尼娅，宽恕我吧！”他把她拖到自己身边，吻了吻她。
“嗬，多么好啊！”娜塔莎心里想道，索尼娅和尼古拉从房里走出以后，她跟随着他们，把鲍里斯喊到自己身边来。
“鲍里斯，您到这里来，”她现出一副意味深长的狡黠的神态说道，“我有一件事要说给您听。到这里来吧，到这里来吧。”她说道，把他领到花房里她躲匿过的花桶之间。鲍里斯微露笑容，跟在她后面走去。
“这究竟是件什么事呢？”他发问。
她困窘不安，向四下打量一番，看见她那被扔在花桶上的洋娃娃，把它拿起来。
“吻吻这个洋娃娃吧。”她说道。
鲍里斯用关切而温和的目光望着她那兴奋的脸盘，一声也不回答。
“您不愿意吗？喂，就到这儿来吧，”她说道，并向花丛纵深走去，扔掉了那个洋娃娃，“靠近点，靠近点吧！”她轻言细语地说道。她双手抓住军官的袖口，在她那涨红了的脸上可以望见激动和恐惧的神色。
“您愿意吻吻我吗？”她低声细语，几乎听不清楚，皱着眉头向他瞧着，脸上露出微笑，激动得几乎要哭出声来。
鲍里斯面红耳赤。
“您多么可笑！”他说道，向她弯下腰来，面红得更加厉害，但却没有采取任何行动，只是等待好机会。
她突然跳到花桶上，身段就显得比他高了，她用自己的双手把他抱住了，于是她那纤细的裸露的手臂在他的颈项上方弯成弧形了，她仰起头来，把头发甩在后面，正好在他的唇上吻了一下。
她经过花钵中间窜到花丛的另一边，低垂着头，停步不前了。
“娜塔莎，”他说道，“您知道我是爱您的，可是……”
“您爱上我了吗？”娜塔莎打断了他的话。
“是的，我爱上您了，但是您瞧，真是的，我们以后不要像刚才那样冒冒失失……还有四个年头……那时候我会向您求婚。”
娜塔莎思忖了一下。
“十三岁，十四岁，十五岁，十六岁……”她说道，弯屈着她那纤细的指头算算，“很好！那么成了定局罗？”
欣喜和安定的微笑使她兴奋的面部神采奕奕。
“成定局了！”鲍里斯说道。
“永远吗？”小女孩说道，“一直到寿终正寝？”
她于是挽着他的手臂，露出幸运的神色，静悄悄地和他并排走到摆满沙发的休息室里去。
Book 1 Chapter 11
THE COUNTESS was so tired from seeing visitors that she gave orders that she would see no one else, and the doorkeeper was told to be sure and invite to dinner every one who should call with congratulations. The countess was longing for a tête-à-tête talk with the friend of her childhood, Anna Mihalovna, whom she had not seen properly since she had arrived from Petersburg. Anna Mihalovna, with her tear-worn and amiable face, moved closer up to the countess's easy-chair.
“With you I will be perfectly open,” said Anna Mihalovna. “We haven't many old friends left. That's how it is I value your friendship so.”
Anna Mihalovna looked at Vera and stopped. The countess pressed her friend's hand.
“Vera,” said the countess to her eldest daughter, unmistakably not her favourite, “how is it you have no notion about anything? Don't you feel that you're not wanted here? Go to your sister or …”
The handsome young countess smiled scornfully, apparently not in the least mortified.
“If you had told me, mamma, I would have gone away long ago,” she said, and went off towards her own room. But passing through the divan-room, she noticed two couples sitting symmetrically in the two windows. She stopped and smiled contemptuously at them. Sonya was sitting close beside Nikolay, who was copying out some verses for her, the first he had ever written. Boris and Natasha were sitting in the other window, and were silent when Vera came in. Sonya and Natasha looked at Vera with guilty, happy faces.
It was an amusing and touching sight to see these little girls in love, but the sight of them did not apparently arouse any agreeable feeling in Vera. “How often have I asked you,” she said, “not to take my things? You have a room of your own.” She took the inkstand away from Nikolay.
“One minute, one minute,” he said, dipping his pen in.
“You always manage to do things just at the wrong moment,” said Vera. “First you burst into the drawing-room so that every one was ashamed of you.” Although or just because what she said was perfectly true, no one answered; all the four simply looked at one another. She lingered in the room with the inkstand in her hand. “And what sort of secrets can you have at your age, Natasha and Boris, and you two!—it's all simply silly nonsense!”
“Well, what has it to do with you, Vera?” Natasha said in defence, speaking very gently. She was evidently more good-humoured and affectionate than usual that day with every one.
“It's very silly,” said Vera; “I am ashamed of you. What sort of secret…”
“Every one has secrets. We don't interfere with you and Berg,” said Natasha, getting warmer.
“I should think you didn't interfere,” said Vera, “because there could be no harm in any conduct of mine. But I shall tell mamma how you behave with Boris.”
“Natalya Ilyinishna behaves very well to me,” said Boris. “I have nothing to complain of,” he said.
“Leave off, Boris, you're such a diplomatist” (the world diplomatist was much in use among the children in the special sense they attached to the word). “It's tiresome, really,” said Natasha, in a mortified and shaking voice; “why does she set upon me?”
“You'll never understand it,” she said, addressing Vera, “because you've never cared for any one; you've no heart; you're simply Madame de Genlis” (this nickname, considered most offensive, had been given to Vera by Nikolay), “and your greatest delight is in getting other people into trouble. You can flirt with Berg, as much as you like,” she said quickly.
“Well, I'm not likely to run after a young man before visitors.…”
“Well, she has gained her object!” Nikolay put in; “she has said something nasty to every one, and upset everybody. Let's go into the nursery.”
All four rose, like a flock of scared birds, and went out of the room.
“You've said nasty things to me, and I said nothing to any one,” said Vera.
“Madame de Genlis! Madame de Genlis!” cried laughing voices through the door.
The handsome girl who produced such an irritating and unpleasant effect on every one smiled; and, obviously unaffected by what had been said to her, she went up to the looking-glass and put her scarf and her hair tidy. Looking at her handsome face, she seemed to become colder and more composed than ever.
In the drawing-room the conversation was still going on.
“Ah, chère,” said the countess, “in my life, too, everything is not rose-coloured. Do you suppose I don't see that, in the way we are going on, our fortune can't last long? And it's all the club and his good-nature. When we're in the country we have no rest from it,—it's nothing but theatricals, hunting parties, and God knows what. But we won't talk of me. Come, tell me how you managed it all. I often wonder at you, Annette, the way you go racing off alone, at your age, to Moscow, and to Petersburg, to all the ministers, and all the great people, and know how to get round them all too. I admire you, really! Well, how was it arranged? Why, I could never do it.”
“Ah, my dear!” answered Princess Anna Mihalovna, “God grant that you never know what it is to be left a widow, with no one to support you, and a son whom you love to distraction. One learns how to do anything,” she said with some pride. “My lawsuit trained me to it. If I want to see one of these great people, I write a note: ‘Princess so-and-so wishes to see so-and-so,' and I go myself in a hired cab two or three times—four, if need be—till I get what I want. I don't mind what they think of me.”
“Well, tell me, then, whom did you interview for Borinka?” asked the countess. “Here's your boy an officer in the Guards, while my Nikolinka's going as an ensign. There's no one to manage things for him. Whose help did you ask?”
“Prince Vassily's. He was so kind. Agreed to do everything immediately; put the case before the Emperor,” said Princess Anna Mihalovna enthusiastically, entirely forgetting all the humiliation she had been through to attain her object.
“And how is he? beginning to get old, Prince Vassily?” inquired the countess. “I have never seen him since our theatricals at the Rumyantsovs', and I dare say he has forgotten me. He paid me attentions,” the countess recalled with a smile.
“He's just the same,” answered Anna Mihalovna, “so affable, brimming over. Greatness has not turned his head. ‘I am sorry I can do so little for you, Princess,' he said to me; ‘I'm at your command.' Yes, he's a splendid man, and very good to his relatives. But you know, Natalie, my love for my boy. I don't know what I would not do to make him happy. And my means are so scanty,” pursued Anna Mihalovna, dropping her voice mournfully, “that now I am in a most awful position. My wretched lawsuit is eating up all I have, and making no progress. I have not, can you conceive it, literally, not sixpence in the world, and I don't know how to get Boris's equipment.” She took out her handkerchief and shed tears. “I must have five hundred roubles, and I have only a twenty-five rouble note. I'm in such a position.… My one hope now is in Prince Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov. If he will not come to the help of his godson—you know he is Boris's godfather—and allow him something for his maintenance, all my efforts will have been in vain; I shall have nothing to get his equipment with.”
The countess deliberated in tearful silence.
“I often think—perhaps it's a sinful thought,” said the princess—“but I often think: here is Prince Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov living all alone … that immense fortune … and what is he living for? Life is a burden to him, while Boris is only just beginning life.”
“He will be sure to leave something to Boris,” said the countess.
“God knows, chère amie! These wealthy grand people are such egoists. But still I'm going to see him at once with Boris, and I will tell him plainly the state of the case. People may think what they choose of me, I really don't care, when my son's fate depends on it.” The princess got up. “It's now two o'clock, and you dine at four. I shall have time to drive there and back.”
And with the air of a Petersburg lady, used to business, and knowing how to make use of every moment, Anna Mihalovna sent for her son, and with him went out into the hall.
“Good-bye, my dear,” she said to the countess, who accompanied her to the door. “Wish me good-luck,” she added in a whisper unheard by her son.
“You're going to Prince Kirill Vladimirovich's, ma chère?” said the count, coming out of the dining-room into the hall. “If he's better, invite Pierre to dine with us. He has been here; used to dance with the children. Be sure you invite him, ma chère. Now do come and look how Taras has surpassed himself to-day. He says Count Orlov never had such a dinner as we're going to have to-day.”
会客的事情使伯爵夫人疲惫不堪，她吩咐不再招待任何人，又指示门房，只邀请一些务须登门饮宴的贺客。伯爵夫人想和自己童年时代的女友——名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人单独晤谈，自从她自彼得堡归来，伯爵夫人还没有好好地探查她啦。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜露出一幅泪痕斑斑但却令人心欢的面孔，把身子移向伯爵夫人的安乐椅近旁。 
“我对你直言不讳，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，“我们这些老朋友剩存的已经很少了！因此，我十分珍惜你的友情。”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜望了望薇拉，便停住了。伯爵夫人握了握朋友的手。
“薇拉，”伯爵夫人把脸转向显然不受宠爱的长女，说道，“您怎么一点不明事理啊？难道你不觉得，你在这里是个多余的人吗？到几个妹妹那里去吧，或者……”
貌美的薇拉鄙夷地微露笑容，显然她一点也不感到屈辱。
“妈妈，假如您老早对我说了这番话，我老早就会离开您了。”她说了这句话，便向自己房里去了。
但是，当她路过摆满沙发的休息室时，她发觉休息室里有两对情人在两扇窗户近侧对称地坐着。她停步了，鄙视地微微一笑。索尼娅坐在尼古拉近侧，他把他头次创作的诗句誊写给她看。鲍里斯和娜塔莎坐在另一扇窗户旁边，当薇拉走进来时，他们都默不作声了。索尼娅和娜塔莎带着愧悔、但却幸福的神态，瞥了薇拉一眼。
看见这些热恋的小姑娘，真令人高兴和感动。但是她们的样子在薇拉身上显然没有引起愉快的感觉。
“我请求你们多少次了，”她说道，“不要拿走我的东西，你们都有你们自己的房间。”她拿起尼古拉身边的墨水瓶。
“我马上给你，马上给你。”他说道，把笔尖蘸上墨水了。
“你们向来不善于适合时宜地做事情，”薇拉说道，“方才你们跑到客厅里来，真教大家替你们害臊。”
虽然她说的话完全合情合理，莫非正因为如此，所以没有人回答，这四个人只是互使眼色而已。她手里拿着墨水瓶迟迟未起步，在房里滞留。
“你们这样的年纪，会有什么秘密，娜塔莎和鲍里斯之间，你们二人之间会有什么秘密，会是一些愚蠢事。”
“嘿，薇拉，这与你何干。”娜塔莎用低沉的嗓音作辩护。
这天她对大家显然比平常更慈善，更温和。
“很愚蠢，”薇拉说道，“我替你们害臊，这是什么秘密呢？
……”
“每个人都有自己的秘密。我们不招惹你和贝格就是了。”
娜塔莎急躁地说……
“我认为，你们不会触犯人，”薇拉说道，“因为我从来没有什么不轨的行为。看吧，你怎样对待鲍里斯，我准会告诉妈妈。”
“娜塔莉娅·伊利尼什娜待我非常好，”鲍里斯说道，“我不会诉怨的。”他说道。
“鲍里斯，请您不要管，您是这么一个外交家（外交家这个词在儿童中间广为流传，他们使这个词具有一种特殊意义），真够乏味，”娜塔莎用委屈的颤栗的嗓音说道，“她干嘛跟着我，纠缠得没完没了？这一点你永远也不会明白，”她把脸转向薇拉说道，“因为你从来没有爱过任何人；你简直没有心肠，你只是个ma－damedeGenlis①（尼古拉给薇拉起的侮辱人的绰号），你主要的乐趣就是给他人制造不愉快的事情。你去向贝格献媚吧，你想怎样献媚就怎样献媚。”她急匆匆地说道。 
①法语：让莉夫人。
 
“是的，我也许不会在客人们面前去追逐一个年轻人……”
“得啦，你达到目的了，”尼古拉插话了，“在大家面前说了许多讨厌的话，真使大家扫兴了。我们到儿童室去吧。”
这四个人有如一群惊弓之鸟都站立起来，从房里走出去了。
“人家对我说了许多讨厌的话，可我没有对谁说什么。”薇拉说道。
“madamedeGenlis！madamedeGenlis！”有人从门后传出一阵笑语。
貌美的薇拉给了大家一种令人激动的不愉快的印象，但她却微微一笑；大家说的话显然对她不发生作用，她向镜台前走去。把围巾和头发弄平，一面注视着她那美丽的面孔，她显然变得更冷漠，更安详了。
客厅中的谈话持续下去了。
“啊！亲爱的，”伯爵夫人说道，“在我的生活上toutn'estpasrose，我难道看不见吗，dutrain，quenousallons①，我们的财富不能长久地维系下去！这个俱乐部和他的慈善，全都碍了事。我们住在乡下，我们难道会静心养性吗？戏院呀，狩猎呀，天知道还有什么花样。至于我的情形，又有什么可谈的呢？哦，这一切一切你究竟是怎样安排的啊？安内特，我对你的境况常常感到惊讶，你这个年纪，怎么一个人乘坐马车，去莫斯科，去彼得堡，到各位部长那里去，到各个贵族那里去，你善于应酬各种人，真令我感到惊奇！嗬，这方面的事情究竟是怎样妥善安排的啊？这方面的事情我一点也不内行。” 
①法语：依照我们这种生活方式，并非幸福盈门，尽如人意。
 
“啊，我的心肝！”名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人答道，“但愿你不要知道，当一个寡妇，无依无靠，还有一个你所溺爱的儿子，生活多么艰苦，什么事都得学会，”她带着有点傲气的神态继续说道，“这场诉讼让我学了乖。如果我要会见某位显要达官，我就写一封便函：‘Princesseunetelle①欲晋谒某人，'我于是外出走一趟。我坐上马车亲自造访，哪怕走两趟也好，走三趟、四趟也好，直至达到目的为止。无论别人对我持有什么看法，对我来说，横直一样。”
“喂，你怎样替鲍里斯求情的呢？”伯爵夫人问道，“要知道，你的儿子已经是近卫军军官了，而尼古拉才当上士官生。
没有人为他斡旋哩。你向谁求过情呢？”
“我向瓦西里公爵求过情。他真是殷勤待人。现在他什么都答应了，并且禀告了国王。”名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人异常高兴地说道，完全忘记了她为达到目的而遭受的凌辱。
“瓦西里公爵怎么样？变老了吧？”伯爵夫人问道，“自从我们在鲁缅采夫家演了那幕闹剧以后，我就没有见过他。我想，他已经忘记我了。Ilmefaisaitlacour，”②伯爵夫人面露微笑地想起这件事。
“他还是那个样子，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜答道，“他很殷勤地待人，满口说的是奉承讨好的话。Lesgrandeursneluiontpastournélatêtedutout③。‘亲爱的公爵夫人，我感到遗憾的是，我能替您做的事太少了，'他对我说道，‘如有事就请吩咐吧。'不过，他是个享有荣誉的人，是个挺好的亲戚，娜塔莎，可你总知道，我疼爱自己的儿子。我不知道。为了他的幸福我有什么事不能做到啊。我的境况糟糕透了，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜降低嗓门心情忧悒地继续说下去，“我的情况糟糕透了，使我现在处于最难堪的地位。我那倒霉的讼案把我拥有的一切吞噬掉了，而且毫无进展。你可以想象我没有金钱，àlalettre④竟然没有十戈比的小银币，我不知道要用什么给鲍里斯置备军装，”她掏出一条手绢，哭起来了，“我现在需要五百卢布，而我身边只有一张二十五卢布的纸币。我处于这种境地……现在我唯一的希望寄托在基里尔弗拉基米罗维奇·别祖霍夫伯爵身上。如果他不愿意支援他的教子——要知道他曾给鲍里斯施洗礼——，不愿意发给他一笔薪金，那么，我的奔走斡旋势必付诸东流；我将用什么给他置备军装啊。” 
①法语：某公爵夫人。
②法语：他轻浮地追求过我。
③法语：荣耀的地位没有使他变样子。
④法语：有时候。
 
伯爵夫人两眼噙着泪水，沉默地想着什么事。
“我常常想到，这也许就是罪孽，”那公爵夫人说道，“我常常想到，基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇·别祖霍夫伯爵孤单地生活……他有这么多产业……他的生活目的何在？对他来说，生命是沉重的负担，可是鲍里斯才刚刚开始生活。”
“他想必会给鲍里斯留下什么财产。”伯爵夫人说道。
“chèreamie①，天晓得！这些富翁和显贵都是利己主义者。但是我还是即刻偕同鲍里斯到他那里去，坦率地对他说明，究竟是怎么一回事。人家对我抱有什么看法，请听便吧，说实话，只要儿子的命运有赖于此事，我一切都不在乎，”公爵夫人站立起来，“现在是两点钟，四点钟你们吃午餐。我出去走走还来得及哩。” 
①法语：亲爱的朋友。
 
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜具有精明能干、善于利用时间的彼得堡贵族夫人的作风，她派人去把儿子喊来，和他一同到接待室去。
“我的心肝，再会吧，”她对送她到门口的伯爵夫人说道，“请你祝我成功吧。”她背着儿子轻言细语地补充说一句。
“machère，您到基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇伯爵那里去吗？”伯爵从餐厅出来，也到接待室去时，说道，“如果皮埃尔身体好一些，请他上我家里来吃午饭。要知道，他时常到我这里来，和孩子们一块跳舞。machère，务必要请他。哦，让我们看看，塔拉斯今天怎样大显神通啊。他说，奥尔洛夫伯爵家里未曾举办像我们今天这样的午宴哩。”
Book 1 Chapter 12
“Mon cher Boris,” said Anna Mihalovna as the Countess Rostov's carriage drove along the street strewn with straw and into the wide courtyard of Count Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov's house. “Mon cher Boris,” said the mother, putting her hand out from under her old mantle, and laying it on her son's hand with a timid, caressing movement, “be nice, be attentive. Count Kirill Vladimirovitch is after all your godfather, and your future depends on him. Remember that, mon cher, be charming, as you know so well how to be.…”
“If I knew anything would come of it but humiliation,” her son answered coldly. “But I have promised, and I will do it for your sake.”
Although the carriage was standing at the entrance, the hall-porter, scanning the mother and son (they had not sent in their names, but had walked straight in through the glass doors between two rows of statues in niches), and looking significantly at the old mantle, inquired whom they wanted, the princesses or the count; and hearing that they wanted to see the count, said that his excellency was worse to-day, and his excellency could see no one.
“We may as well go away,” the son said in French.
“Mon ami!” said the mother in a voice of entreaty, again touching her son's hand, as though the contact might soothe or rouse him. Boris said no more, but without taking off his overcoat, looked inquiringly at his mother.
“My good man,” Anna Mihalovna said ingratiatingly, addressing the hall-porter, “I know that Count Kirill Vladimirovitch is very ill … that is why I am here … I am a relation … I shall not disturb him, my good man … I need only see Prince Vassily Sergyevitch; he's staying here, I know. Announce us, please.”
The hall-porter sullenly pulled the bell-rope that rang upstairs and turned away.
“Princess Drubetskoy to see Prince Vassily Sergyevitch,” he called to a footman in stockings, slippers and a frockcoat, who ran down from above, and looked down from the turn in the staircase.
The mother straightened out the folds of her dyed silk gown, looked at herself in the full-length Venetian looking-glass on the wall, and boldly walked up on the stair carpet in her shabby, shapeless shoes.
“My dear, you promised me,” she turned again to her son, rousing him by a touch on his arm. The son, with his eyes on the door, walked submissively after her.
They went into a large room, from which a door led to the apartments that had been assigned to Prince Vassily.
At the moment when the mother and son reached the middle of the room and were about to ask their way of an old footman, who had darted out at their entrance, the bronze handle of one of the doors turned, and Prince Vassily, dressed in a house jacket of velvet, with one star, came out, accompanying a handsome, black-haired man. This man was the celebrated Petersburg doctor, Lorrain.
“It is positive, then?” said the Prince.
“Prince, errare est humanum,” answered the doctor, lisping, and pronouncing the Latin words with a French accent.
“Very well, very well …”
Perceiving Anna Mihalovna and her son, Prince Vassily dismissed the doctor with a bow, and in silence, with an air of inquiry, advanced to meet them. The son noticed how an expression of intense grief came at once into his mother's eyes, and he smiled slightly.
“Yes, in what distressing circumstances we were destined to meet again, prince.… Tell me how is our dear patient?” she said, apparently not observing the frigid, offensive glance that was fixed on her. Prince Vassily stared at her, then at Boris with a look of inquiry that amounted to perplexity. Boris bowed politely. Prince Vassily, without acknowledging his bow, turned away to Anna Mihalovna, and to her question he replied by a movement of the head and lips, indicative of the worst fears for the patient.
“Is it possible?” cried Anna Mihalovna. “Ah, this is terrible! It is dreadful to think … This is my son,” she added, indicating Boris. “He wanted to thank you in person.”
Boris once more made a polite bow.
“Believe me, prince, a mother's heart will never forget what you have done for us.”
“I am glad I have been able to do you any service, my dear Anna Mihalovna,” said Prince Vassily, pulling his lace frill straight, and in voice and manner manifesting here in Moscow, before Anna Mihalovna, who was under obligation to him, an even greater sense of his own dignity than in Petersburg at Anna Pavlovna's soirée.
“Try to do your duty in the service, and to be worthy of it.” he added, turning severely to him. “I am glad … you are here on leave?” he asked in his expressionless voice.
“I am awaiting orders, your excellency, to join my new regiment,” answered Boris, showing no sign either of resentment at the prince's abrupt manner, nor of desire to get into conversation, but speaking with such respectful composure that the prince looked at him attentively.
“You are living with your mother?”
“I am living at Countess Rostov's,” said Boris, again adding: “your excellency.”
“The Ilya Rostov, who married Natalie Shinshin,” said Anna Mihalovna.
“I know, I know,” said Prince Vassily in his monotonous voice. “I have never been able to understand how Natalie Shinshin could make up her mind to marry that unlicked bear. A completely stupid and ridiculous person. And a gambler too, I am told.”
“But a very worthy man, prince,” observed Anna Mihalovna, with a pathetic smile, as though she too recognised that Count Rostov deserved this criticism, but begged him not to be too hard on the poor old fellow. “What do the doctors say?” asked the princess, after a brief pause, and again the expression of deep distress reappeared on her tear-worn face.
“There is little hope,” said the prince.
“And, I was so longing to thank uncle once more for all his kindness to me and to Boris. He is his godson,” she added in a tone that suggested that Prince Vassily would be highly delighted to hear this fact.
Prince Vassily pondered and frowned. Anna Mihalovna saw he was afraid of finding in her a rival with claims on Count Bezuhov's will. She hastened to reassure him. “If it were not for my genuine love and devotion for uncle,” she said, uttering the last word with peculiar assurance and carelessness, “I know his character,—generous, upright; but with only the princesses about him.… They are young.…” She bent her head and added in a whisper: “Has he performed his last duties, prince? How priceless are these last moments! He is as bad as he could be, it seems; it is absolutely necessary to prepare him, if he is so ill. We women, prince,” she smiled tenderly, “always know how to say these things. I absolutely must see him. Hard as it will be for me, I am used to suffering.”
The prince evidently understood, and understood, too, as he had at Anna Pavlovna's, that it was no easy task to get rid of Anna Mihalovna.
“Would not this interview be trying for him, chère Anna Mihalovna?” he said. “Let us wait till the evening; the doctors have predicted a crisis.”
“But waiting's out of the question, prince, at such a moment. Think, it is a question of saving his soul. Ah! how terrible, the duties of a Christian.…”
The door from the inner rooms opened, and one of the count's nieces entered with a cold and forbidding face, and a long waist strikingly out of proportion with the shortness of her legs.
Prince Vassily turned to her. “Well, how is he?”
“Still the same. What can you expect with this noise? …” said the princess, scanning Anna Mihalovna, as a stranger.
“Ah, dear, I did not recognise you,” said Anna Mihalovna, with a delighted smile, and she ambled lightly up to the count's niece. “I have just come, and I am at your service to help in nursing my uncle. I imagine what you have been suffering,” she added, sympathetically turning her eyes up.
The princess made no reply, she did not even smile, but walked straight away. Anna Mihalovna took off her gloves, and entrenched herself as it were in an armchair, inviting Prince Vassily to sit down beside her.
“Boris!” she said to her son, and she smiled at him, “I am going in to the count, to poor uncle, and you can go to Pierre, mon ami, meanwhile, and don't forget to give him the Rostovs' invitation. They ask him to dinner. I suppose he won't go?” she said to the prince.
“On the contrary,” said the prince, visibly cast down. “I should be very glad if you would take that young man off my hands.… He sticks on here. The count has not once asked for him.”
He shrugged his shoulders. A footman conducted the youth downstairs and up another staircase to the apartments of Pyotr Kirillovitch.
“MoncherBoris，”①当他们搭乘名叫罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人的四轮轿式马车经过铺有麦秆的街道，驶入基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇·别祖霍夫家的大庭院时，名列安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人对儿子说道，“moncherBoris，”母亲从旧式女外套下面伸出手来，胆怯地、温存地把手搁在儿子手上说道，“待人要殷勤、体贴。基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇毕竟是你的教父，你未来的命运以他为转移。moncher，你要记住，要和蔼可爱，你会这样做……” 
①法语：我亲爱的鲍里斯。
“如果我知道，除开屈辱而外，这能得到什么结果……，”儿子冷漠地答道，“但是我向您许了愿，我要为您而效劳。”
虽然有一辆什么人的四轮轿式马车停在台阶前面，但是门房还是把偕同儿子的母亲仔细观察一番（他们并没有通报姓氏，径直地走进两排壁龛雕像之间的玻璃穿堂里），意味深长地望了望她那身旧式的女外衣，问他们访问何人，是访问公爵小姐，还是访问伯爵，得知访问伯爵之后，便说大人今天病情更严重，不接见任何人。
“我们可以走啦。”儿子说了一句法国话。
“monami！”①母亲用央求的嗓音说道，又用手碰碰儿子的手臂，仿佛这一触动就可以使他平静，或者使他兴奋似的。
鲍里斯默不作声，没有脱下军大衣，他用疑问的目光望着母亲。 
①法语：我的朋友。
“老兄，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜把脸转向门房，用温柔的嗓音说道，“我知道，基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇伯爵的病情严重，……因此我才来探视……我是他的亲戚……老兄，我不会惊动他……不过，我必须见见瓦西里·谢尔盖耶维奇公爵，他不是呆在这里么。请通报一声。”
门房忧郁地拉了一下通到楼上的门铃的引线，就扭过脸去。
“名叫德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人求见瓦西里·谢尔盖耶维奇公爵，”他向那走下楼来、从楼梯凸缘下面向外张望的穿着长袜、矮靿皮靴和燕尾服的堂倌喊道。
母亲把那染过的丝绸连衣裙的裙褶弄匀整，照了照嵌在墙上的纯正的威尼斯穿衣镜。她脚上穿着一双矮靿破皮靴，沿着楼梯地毯，走上楼去了。
“moncher，vousm'avezpromis，”①她又向儿子转过脸去说道，她用手碰碰儿子，要他振作起来。
儿子低垂着眼睛，不慌不忙地跟在她后面。
他们走进了大厅，厅里有扇门通往瓦西里公爵的内室。
当母亲随带儿子走到屋子中间，正想向那个看见他们走进来便飞快起身的老堂倌问路的时候，一扇门的青铜拉手转动了，瓦西里公爵走出门来，他按照家常的穿戴方式，披上一件天鹅绒面的皮袄，只佩戴一枚金星勋章，正在送走一个头发黝黑的美男子。这个美男子是大名鼎鼎的彼得堡的罗兰大夫。
“C'estdoncpositif？”②公爵说道。
“Monprince，‘Errarehummanumest'，mais…③大夫答道，弹动小舌发喉音，用法国口音说出几个拉丁词。
“C'estbien，c'estbien…”④ 
①法语：我的朋友，你向我许愿了。
②法语：这是确实的吗？
③法语；我的公爵，“人本来就难免犯错误，”可是……
④法语：好啦，好啦……
瓦西里公爵看见了安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜和她带在身边的儿子，便鞠了一躬把那个大夫打发走了，他沉默地、但现出发问的样子向他们面前走去。她儿子发现母亲的眼中忽然流露出极度的忧伤，便微微一笑了之。
“是呀，公爵，我们是在多么忧愁的情况下会面啊！……哦，我们亲爱的病人现在怎样了？”她说道，仿佛没有注意到向她凝视的非常冷漠的、令人屈辱的目光。
瓦西里公爵现出疑虑的惶惑不安的神态看看她，而后又看看鲍里斯。鲍里斯彬彬有礼地鞠了一躬。瓦西里公爵没有躬身答礼，却向安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜转过脸来，摇摇头，努努嘴，以示回答她的问话，公爵的动作意味着病人没有多大希望了。
“莫不是？”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜惊叫道，“啊！这多么可怕！想起来真是骇人哩……这是我的儿子。”她用手指着鲍里斯补充了一句，“他想亲自向您表示感激。”
鲍里斯又彬彬有礼地鞠了一躬。
“公爵，请您相信我吧，母亲心眼里永远也不会忘记您为我们做的善事。”
“我亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，我能做一点使你们愉快的事情，我感到非常高兴。”瓦西里公爵说道，又把胸口的皱褶花边弄平。在这儿，在莫斯科，在受庇护的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜面前，和在彼得堡安内特·舍列尔举办的晚会上相比较，他的姿态和声调都表明他高傲得多了。
“你好好供职，尽力而为，做个当之无愧的臣民，”他很严肃地对着鲍里斯补充说，“我感到非常高兴……您在这里休假么？”他用冷漠的语调说，迫使他照办。
“大人，我听候命令，接到新的任命就动身。”鲍里斯答道，他不因公爵的生硬语调而恼怒，也不表示他有交谈的心意，但他心地平静，态度十分恭敬，公爵禁不住用那凝集的目光朝他瞥了一眼。
“您和您母亲住在一起吗？”
“我住在那个叫做罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人那里，”鲍里斯说道，又补充一句话：“大人。”
“这就是那个娶了娜塔莉娅·申申娜的伊利亚·罗斯托夫。”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道。
“我知道，我知道，”瓦西里公爵用单调的嗓音说道，“Jen'aijamaispuconcevoir，commentNathalies'estdécideeàépousercetoursmal—leche！Unpersonnagecomplétementstupideetridicule．Etjoueuràcequ'ondit。”①。
“maistresbravehomme，monprince，”②安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，脸上流露出令人感动的微笑，仿佛她也知道，罗斯托夫伯爵值得这样评价似的，可是她请求人家怜悯一下这个可怜的老头。
“大夫们说了什么呢？”公爵夫人沉默片刻后发问，她那泪痕斑斑的脸上又流露出极度的哀愁。
“希望不大了。”公爵说道。
“不过我很想再一次地感谢叔叔对我和鲍里斯的恩赐。C'estsonfilleul。”③她补充一句，那语调听来仿佛这个消息必然会使瓦西里公爵分外高兴似的。 
①法语：我从来都不明白，娜塔莎竟然拿定主意嫁给这头邋遢的狗熊。十分愚蠢而荒唐。据说，还是个赌棍哩。
②公爵，但他为人厚道。
③法语：这是他的教子。
瓦西里公爵陷入了沉思，蹙起了额头。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜心中明白，根据别祖霍夫的遗嘱来看，他怕她成为争夺财产的敌手，她赶快让他安心下来。
“如果不是我有真挚的爱心，对叔叔一片忠诚，”她说道，露出特别自信和漫不经心的样子说出“叔叔”这个词：“我熟悉他的性格，高尚而坦率，可是要知道，他身边尽是一些公爵小姐……她们都很年轻……”她低下头来，轻言细语地补充说道：“公爵，他是否履行了最后的义务，送了他的终？这最后的时刻多么宝贵啊！要知道，比这临终更糟的事是不会有的了，既然他的病情如此沉重，就必须给他准备后事。公爵，我们妇女辈，”她很温和地微微一笑，“一向就知道这些话应该怎样说哩。我务必要去见他一面。无论这件事使我怎样难受，可我养成了忍受痛苦的习惯。”
公爵显然已经明了，甚至在安内特·舍列尔举办的晚会上就已明了，很难摆脱开安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜这位夫人。
“亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，这次见面不会使他难受吧，”他说道，“我们就等到晚上好了。大夫们预告了危象。”
“公爵，可是在这种时刻，不能等待啊。Pensez，ilyvadusalutdesoname…Ah！c'estterrible，lesdevoirsd'unchrétien…”① 
①法语：我想想看，这事情涉及他的灵魂的拯救……啊！这多么可怕，一个基督徒的义务……
内室里的一扇门开了，一位公爵小姐——伯爵的侄女走出来了，显露出忧郁的冷淡的脸色，她腰身太长，和两腿很不相称。
瓦西里公爵向她转过脸来。
“哦，他怎么样了？”
“还是那个样子。不管您认为怎样，这一阵喧嚣……”公爵小姐说道，回头望着安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜便像望着一个陌生人拟的。
“Ah，chère，jenevousreconnaissaispas，”①安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜含着幸福的微笑，说道，她迈着轻盈而迅速的脚步向伯爵的侄女面前走去，“JeviensdamivenetjesnisanauspounvousaidenasoignenmononcleJ'imagine，comlienvousanegsouggent．”②她同情地翻着白眼，补充说道。
公爵小姐一言未答，甚至没有微微一笑，就立刻走出去了。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脱下了手套，摆出洋洋自得的姿态，在安乐椅里坐下来了，并请瓦西里公爵坐在她近旁。
“鲍里斯！”她微微一笑，对儿子说道，“我上伯爵叔叔那里去，我的朋友，你先到皮埃尔那里去，别忘记转告他，罗斯托夫家邀请他。他们请他用午饭。我想他去不成，是吗？”
她把脸转向公爵说道。
“正好相反，”公爵说道，看来他的心绪欠佳，“Jeseraistrescontentsivousmedebarrassezdecejeunehomme
……③他就在这里，伯爵一次也没有询问他的情况。”
他耸耸肩。堂倌领着这个年轻人下楼，从另一座楼梯上楼，到彼得·基里洛维奇那里去了。 
①法语：啊，亲爱的，我没有认出您了。
②法语：我来帮助您照料叔叔。我想象得到，你够辛苦的了。
③法语：如果您能够使我摆脱这个年轻人，那我就会感到非常高兴……
Book 1 Chapter 13
PIERRE had not succeeded in fixing upon a career in Petersburg, and really had been banished to Moscow for disorderly conduct. The story told about him at Count Rostov's was true. Pierre had assisted in tying the police officer to the bear. He had arrived a few days previously, stopping as he always did at his father's house. Though he had assumed that his story would be already known at Moscow, and that the ladies who were about his father, always unfavourably disposed to him, would profit by this opportunity of turning the count against him, he went on the day of his arrival to his father's part of the house. Going into the drawing-room, where the princesses usually sat, he greeted the ladies, two of whom were sitting at their embroidery frames, while one read aloud. There were three of them. The eldest, a trim, long-waisted, severe maiden-lady, the one who had come out to Anna Mihalovna, was reading. The younger ones, both rosy and pretty, were only to be distinguished by the fact that one of them had a little mole which made her much prettier. They were both working at their embroidery frames. Pierre was received like a man risen from the dead or stricken with plague. The eldest princess paused in her reading and stared at him in silence with dismay in her eyes. The second assumed precisely the same expression. The youngest, the one with the mole, who was of a mirthful and laughing disposition, bent over her frame, to conceal a smile, probably evoked by the amusing scene she foresaw coming. She pulled her embroidery wool out below, and bent down as though examining the pattern, hardly able to suppress her laughter.
“Good morning, cousin,” said Pierre. “You don't know me?”
“I know you only too well, only too well.”
“How is the count? Can I see him?” Pierre asked, awkwardly as always, but not disconcerted.
“The count is suffering both physically and morally, and your only anxiety seems to be to occasion him as much suffering as possible.”
“Can I see the count?” repeated Pierre.
“Hm … if you want to kill him, to kill him outright, you can see him. Olga, go and see if uncle's broth is ready—it will soon be time for it,” she added, to show Pierre they were busy, and busy in seeing after his father's comfort, while he was obviously only busy in causing him discomfort.
Olga went out. Pierre stood still a moment, looked at the sisters and bowing said: “Then I will go to my room. When I can see him, you will tell me.” He went away and heard the ringing but not loud laugh of the sister with the mole behind him.
The next day Prince Vassily had come and settled in the count's house. He sent for Pierre and said to him:
“My dear fellow, if you behave here as you did at Petersburg, you will come to a very bad end; that's all I have to say to you. The count is very, very ill; you must not see him.”
Since then Pierre had not been disturbed, and he spent the whole day alone in his room upstairs.
At the moment when Boris came in, Pierre was walking up and down his room, stopping now and then in the corners, making menacing gestures at the wall, as though thrusting some invisible enemy through with a lance, then he gazed sternly over his spectacles, then pacing up and down again, murmuring indistinct words, shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating.
“England's day is over!” he said, scowling and pointing at some one with his finger. “Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to the rights of man, is condemned…” he had not time to deliver Pitt's sentence, imagining himself at that moment Napoleon, and having in the person of his hero succeeded in the dangerous crossing of the Channel and in the conquest of London, when he saw a graceful, handsome young officer come in. He stood still. Pierre had seen Boris last as a boy of fourteen, and did not remember him in the least. But in spite of that he took his hand in his characteristically quick and warm-hearted manner, and smiled cordially at him.
“You remember me?” Boris said calmly with a pleasant smile. “I have come with my mother to see the count, but it seems he is not quite well.”
“Yes, he is ill, it seems. People are always bothering him,” answered Pierre, trying to recall who this youth might be.
Boris perceived that Pierre did not know him, but did not think fit to make himself known, and without the slightest embarrassment looked him straight in the face.
“Count Rostov asks you to come to dinner with him to-day,” he said, after a rather long silence somewhat disconcerting for Pierre.
“Ah, Count Rostov,” began Pierre, delighted. “So you are his son, Ilya? Can you believe it, for the first moment I did not recognise you. Do you remember how we used to slide on the Sparrow Hills with Madame Jacquot … long ago?”
“You are mistaken,” said Boris, deliberately, with a bold and rather sarcastic smile. “I am Boris, the son of Princess Anna Mihalovna Drubetskoy. It is the father of the Rostovs who is called Ilya, the son's Nikolay. And I don't know any Madame Jacquot.”
Pierre shook his hands and head, as though flies or bees were swarming upon him.
“Ah, how is it! I've mixed it all up. There are such a lot of relatives in Moscow! You are Boris … yes. Well, now, we have got it clear. Tell me, what do you think of the Boulogne expedition? Things will go badly with the English, you know, if Napoleon gets across the Channel. I believe that the expedition is very possible. If only Villeneuve doesn't make a mess of it!”
Boris knew nothing at all about the Boulogne expedition, and it was the first time he had heard of Villeneuve.
“Here in Moscow we are more interested in dinner parties and scandal than in politics,” he said in his self-possessed, sarcastic tone. “I know nothing and think nothing about it. Moscow's more engrossed in scandal than anything,” he went on. “Just now they are all talking about you and about the count.”
Pierre smiled his kindly smile, as though afraid for his companion's sake that he might say something he would regret. But Boris spoke distinctly, clearly and drily, looking straight into Pierre's face.
“There's nothing else to do in Moscow but talk scandal,” he went on. “Every one's absorbed in the question whom the count will leave his fortune to, though perhaps he will outlive us all, as I sincerely hope he may.”
“Yes, all that's very horrid,” Pierre interposed, “very horrid.” Pierre was still afraid this officer would inadvertently drop into some remark disconcerting for himself.
“And it must seem to you,” said Boris, flushing slightly, but not changing his voice or attitude, “it must seem to you that every one's thinking of nothing but getting something from him.”
“That's just it,” thought Pierre.
“And that's just what I want to say to you to prevent misunderstandings, that you are very much mistaken if you reckon me and my mother among those people. We are very poor, but I—at least I speak for myself—just because your father is rich, I don't consider myself a relation of his, and neither I nor my mother would ever ask him for anything or take anything from him.”
It was a long while before Pierre understood, but, when he did understand, he jumped up from the sofa, seized Boris's hand with his characteristic quickness and awkwardness, and blushing far more than Boris, began speaking with a mixed sensation of shame and annoyance.
“Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I … how you could think … I know very well …”
But Boris again interrupted him.
“I am glad I have told you everything frankly. Perhaps you dislike it: you must excuse me,” he said, trying to put Pierre at his ease instead of being put at his ease by him; “but I hope I have not offended you. I make it a rule to say everything quite plainly.… Then what message am I to take? You will come to dinner at the Rostovs'?” And Boris, with an evident sense of having discharged an onerous duty, having extricated himself from an awkward position, and put somebody else into one became perfectly pleasant again.
“No, let me tell you,” said Pierre, regaining his composure, “you are a wonderful person. What you have just said was very fine, very fine. Of course you don't know me, it's so long since we've seen each other … we were children.… You might suppose I should … I understand, I quite understand. I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have had the courage, but it's splendid. I'm very glad I have made your acquaintance. A queer idea,” he added, pausing and smiling, “you must have had of me.” He laughed. “But what of it? Let us know each other better, please!” He pressed Boris's hand. “Do you know I've not once seen the count? He has not sent for me … I am sorry for him, as a man … But what can one do?”
“And so you think Napoleon will succeed in getting his army across?” Boris queried, smiling.
Pierre saw that Boris was trying to change the conversation, and so he began explaining the advantages and difficulties of the Boulogne expedition.
A footman came in to summon Boris to the princess. The princess was going. Pierre promised to come to dinner in order to see more of Boris, and pressed his hand warmly at parting, looking affectionately into his face over his spectacles.
When he had gone, Pierre walked for some time longer up and down his room, not thrusting at an unseen foe, but smiling at the recollection of that charming, intelligent, and resolute young man.
As so often happens with young people, especially if they are in a position of loneliness, he felt an unreasonable tenderness for this youth, and he firmly resolved to become friends with him.
Prince Vassily accompanied the princess to the hall. The princess was holding her handkerchief to her eyes, and her face was tearful.
“It is terrible, terrible!” she said; “but whatever it costs me, I will do my duty. I will come to stay the night. He can't be left like this. Every minute is precious. I can't understand why his nieces put it off. Maybe God will help me to find a way to prepare him. Adieu, prince, may God support you …”
“Adieu, my kind friend,” answered Prince Vassily, turning away from her.
“Oh, he is in an awful position!” said the mother to her son, when they were sitting in the carriage again. “He scarcely knows any one.”
“I don't understand, mamma, what his attitude is as regards Pierre.”
“The will will make all that plain, my dear; our fate, too, hangs upon it.…”
“But what makes you think he will leave us anything?”
“Oh, my dear! He is so rich, and we are so poor.”
“Well, that's hardly a sufficient reason, mamma.”
“Oh, my God, how ill he is, how ill he is!” cried his mother.
皮埃尔在彼得堡始终没有给自己选择一门职业，他确因滋意闹事被驱逐到莫斯科去。有人在罗斯托夫家叙述的那则故事合乎事实。皮埃尔参与了一起捆绑警察分局局长和狗熊的案件。他在几天前才回来，像平日一样，呆在父亲住宅里。虽然他推想，他的这段历史，莫斯科已经家喻户晓。他父亲周围的那些太太一向对他不怀好意，她们要借此机会使他父亲忿怒。但是在他抵达的那天，他还是到他父亲的寓所去了。他走进公爵小姐平时驻足的客厅，向用绷子绣花和读书（她们之中有一人正在朗读一本书）的几个小姐打招呼。她们共有三个人。年长的小姐素性好洁，腰身太长，面部表情过分严肃，她就是到过安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜家里串门的姑娘，她在朗读一本书；两个年幼的小姐脸颊粉红，十分秀丽，她们之间的差异只是其中一位唇上长着一点使她显得更为美丽的胎痣，她们二人都用绷子绣花哩。她们会见皮埃尔，把他看作死人或鼠疫病人。年长的公爵小姐中断了朗读，默不做声地用恐惧的眼睛朝他瞟了一眼；那位年幼的公爵小姐，脸上没有胎痣，却流露出同样的表情；最年幼的小姐，脸上长着一点胎痣，天性活泼，滑稽可笑，她朝绷子弯下腰去，藏起了笑意，大概她已预见到即将演出一幕闹剧，这使她觉得可笑。她把绒线向下扯，弯下腰来，好像在识别图案似的，好不容易她才忍住没有笑出声来。 
“Bomjour，macousine，”皮埃尔说道，“VousnemereBconnaissezpas？”①
“我还记得很清楚，很清楚。”
“伯爵的健康情况怎样？我能会见他吗？”皮埃尔像平日那样不好意思地问道，但并没有困窘不安。
“伯爵无论在身体上，还是在精神上都遭受痛苦，似乎您试图使他在精神上遭受更大的痛苦。”
“我能会见伯爵吗？”皮埃尔重复自己说过的话。
“嗯！……假如您想杀死他，杀掉他，那么您就能见他一面。奥莉加，走去看看，表叔喝的汤炖好了吗，时候快到了。”她补充说道，向皮埃尔表示，她们都很忙，正忙着安慰他父亲，显然他只是忙着让他父亲心痛。
奥莉加走出去了。皮埃尔站了片刻，望望那两个表妹，鞠了一躬，说道：
“那我就到自己房里去好了。在能会面的时候，就请你们告诉我吧。”
他走出去了，身后传来那个长有胎痣的表妹的洪亮悦耳、但却低沉的笑声。
翌日，瓦西里公爵来了，他在伯爵家里落歇。他把皮埃尔喊到身边，对他说道：
“Moncher，sivousvousconduisezici，commeà
Pétersbeurg，vousfinireztrèsmal；c'esttoutcequejevousdis，②伯爵的病情很严重，很严重；你根本用不着和他见面。” 
①法语：表妹，您好，您不认识我了？
②法语：我亲爱的，假如您在这里也像在彼得堡那样行为不正当，结果会弄得很糟，这是真话。
从那时起，大家不再打扰皮埃尔了，他孑然一人整天价呆在楼上自己房里。
当鲍里斯向皮埃尔房里走进来时，他正在房里来回踱方步，有时候在屋角里停步不前，对着墙壁做出威胁的手势，仿佛用长剑刺杀那看不见的敌人似的，他板起脸孔从眼镜上方向外张望，然后又开始踱来踱去，有时候口里喃喃地说着不清晰的话语，他耸耸肩，摊开两手。
“L'Angleterreavécu，”①他皱起眉头，用手指指着某人说道，“M．Pittcommetraitreàlanationetaudroitdesgensestcondamnéà…”②这时分他把自己想象为拿破仑本人，并随同英雄经历危险越过加来海峡，侵占了伦敦，但他尚未说完处死皮特这句话时，忽然看见一个身材匀称、面目俊秀、向他走来的青年军官。他停步了。皮埃尔离开鲍里斯时，他才是个十四岁的男孩，皮埃尔简直记不得他了，尽管如此，皮埃尔还是现出他所特有的敏捷而热情的样子，一把握住鲍里斯的手，脸上含着友善的微笑。 
①法语：英国完蛋了。
②法语：皮特是个背叛民族、出卖民权的败类，要判处……
“您记得我吗？”鲍里斯面露愉快的微笑，心平气和地说道，“我和我母亲来找伯爵，可是他好像身体欠佳。”
“是啊，他好像身体欠佳。人家老是打扰他。”皮埃尔答道，竭力地追忆这个年轻人到底是何人。
鲍里斯觉得，皮埃尔不认识他了，但他认为用不着说出自己的姓名，两眼直盯着他的眼睛，丝毫不觉得困惑不安。
“罗斯托夫伯爵请您今天到他家去用午饭。”他在相当长久的使皮埃尔觉得很不自在的沉默后说道。
“啊！罗斯托夫伯爵！”皮埃尔高兴地说道，“伊利亚，那末，您就是他的儿子罗？您可以想想，我头一眼没有把您认出来呢。您还记得我们和m－meJacquot①乘车上麻雀山吗？
……那是很久很久以前的事啊。” 
①法语：雅科太太。
“您搞错了，”鲍里斯露出不同凡俗的略带讥讽的微笑，不慌不忙地说道，“我是鲍里斯，是叫做安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜·德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人的儿子，罗斯托夫的父亲叫做伊利亚，他儿子叫做尼古拉。我可不认识什么雅科太太。”
皮埃尔挥了挥手，晃了晃脑袋，好像有蚊蚋或蜜蜂向他袭来似的。
“哎，是怎么回事啊！我把什么都搞混了。有这么许多莫斯科的亲戚！是的，您是鲍里斯……嗯，我们说得有个头绪了。喂，您对布伦远征有什么看法呢？只要拿破仑渡过海峡，英国人就要遭殃了，是吗？我想，远征是十拿九稳的事。但愿维尔纳夫不要出漏子！”
布伦远征的事，鲍里斯一无所知，他不看报，还是头一次听到维尔纳夫这个人物。
“我们在这个地方，在莫斯科，对午宴和谗言比对政治更为关心，”他用那平静的讥讽的语调说道，“这事情，我一无所知，心里也不去想它。莫斯科最关心的是谗言，”他继续说道，“眼下大家都在谈论您，谈论伯爵哩。”
皮埃尔露出善意的微笑，好像他惧怕对方会说出什么使他本人懊悔的话。但是鲍里斯一直盯着皮埃尔的眼睛，他说话时，听来令人信服，但却索然乏味。
“莫斯科除开散布流言飞语而外，再也没有事情可干了，”他继续说道，“大家都在关心，伯爵会把财产留给什么人，不过他可能比我们大家活得更长，这就是我的衷心的祝愿……”
“说得对，这真够呛，”皮埃尔随着说起来，“真是够呛。”皮埃尔老是害怕这个军官会出乎意外地热衷于一场使他本人感到尴尬的谈话。
“您必定以为。”鲍里斯有点涨红了脸，说道，但没有改变嗓音和姿态，“您必定以为，大家关心的只是从富翁那里得到什么东西。”
“真是这样。”皮埃尔思忖了一会。
“为了要避免误解，我正想把话对您说，假如您把我和我母亲都算在这类人之列，那就大错特错了。我们虽然很贫穷，但我至少要替自己说话；正是因为您父亲很富有，我才不把自己看成是他的亲戚，无论是我，还是我母亲，我们永远也不会乞讨他的任何东西，也不会接受他的任何东西。”
皮埃尔久久地不能明白，但是当他明白了，他就从沙发上飞快跳起来，以他那固有的敏捷而笨拙的动作一把托住了鲍里斯的手臂；这时分他比鲍里斯的脸红得厉害多了，满怀着又羞愧又懊悔的感情说起话来：
“这多么古怪！我难道……可谁又会去想呢？……我十分清楚……”
可是鲍里斯又把他的话打断了：
“我把话全部说出来了，我觉得非常高兴。您也许会不乐意，就请您原谅我吧。”他说道，不仅不让皮埃尔安慰他，他反而安慰皮埃尔，“但是我希望，我不会使您受到屈辱。我的规矩是坦率地把话说干净……我应该怎样转达呢？您去罗斯托夫家吃午饭吗？”
鲍里斯显然推卸了沉重的责任，自己摆脱了尴尬的处境，却又使别人处于那种境地，于是他又变得非常愉快了。
“不，请您听我说吧，”皮埃尔心平气和地说道，“您是个不平凡的人。您方才说的话很不错，很不错。不消说，您不认识我了。我们许久不见面了……那时候还是儿童呢……您可以把我推测一番……我心里明白，十分明白。如果我缺乏勇气，这件事我就办不成啊，可是这棒极了。我和您认识了，我觉得非常高兴。说来真奇怪，”他沉默片刻，面露微笑地补充了一句，“您把我推测成什么样子！”他笑了起来。“也罢，这没有什么，那怎样呢？我们以后会认识得更加透彻的。就这样吧。”他握握鲍里斯的手。“您是否知道，伯爵那儿我一次也没有去过哩。他没邀请我……我怜悯他这个人……可是有什么法子呢？”
“您以为拿破仑会派军队越过海峡吗？”鲍里斯面露微笑地问道。
皮埃尔心里明白，鲍里斯想要改变话题，于是答应他了，开始诉说布伦远征之事的利与弊。
仆役走来呼唤鲍里斯去见公爵夫人。公爵夫人快要走了。皮埃尔答应来用午饭，为了要和鲍里斯亲近起来，他紧紧地握着鲍里斯的手，透过眼镜温和地望着他的眼睛……他离开以后，皮埃尔又在房间里久久地踱着方步，他再也不用长剑去刺杀那个望不见的敌人了；当他回想起这个聪明可爱、性格坚强的年轻人时，脸上微露笑容。
正像青春时期的人，尤其是像独居之时的人那样，他对这个年轻人抱着一种无缘无故的温情，他起誓了，一定要和他做个朋友。
瓦西里公爵送走公爵夫人。公爵夫人用手巾捂着眼角，她泪流满面。
“这多么可怕！多么可怕！”她说道，“无论我花费多大的代价，我也要履行自己的义务。我准来过夜。不能就这样丢下他不管。每瞬间都很宝贵啊。我真不明白，公爵小姐们干嘛要磨磨蹭蹭。也许上帝会帮助我想出办法来给他准备后事……Adieu，monprince，quelebonDieuvoussoutienne……”①
“Adieu，mabonne，”②瓦西里公爵答道，一面转过脸去避开她。 
①法语：公爵，再见吧，但愿上帝保佑您……
②法语：我亲爱的，再见吧。
“唉，他的病势很严重，糟糕透了，”当母亲和儿子又坐上四轮轿式马车时，母亲对儿子说道，“他几乎什么人也认不得了。”
“妈妈，我不明白，他对皮埃尔的态度怎样？”儿子问道。
“遗嘱将说明一切，我的亲人，我们的命运以它为转移……”
“可是您为什么认为，他会把点什么东西留给我们呢？”
“唉，我的朋友！他那么富有，可我们却这么穷！”
“嘿，妈妈，这还不是充分的理由啊。”
“哎呀，我的天！我的天！他病得多么厉害啊！”母亲悲叹地说道。
Book 1 Chapter 14
WHEN ANNA MIHALOVNA had driven off with her son to Count Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov's, Countess Rostov sat a long while alone, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. At last she rang the bell. 
“What does it mean?” she said angrily to the maid, who had kept her waiting a few minutes; “don't you care for my service, eh? I'll find you another place, if so.”
The countess was distressed at the troubles and degrading poverty of her friend, and so out of humour, which always found expression in such remarks to her servants.
“I'm very sorry,” said the maid.
“Ask the count to come to me.”
The count came waddling in to see his wife, looking, as usual, rather guilty.
“Well, little countess! What a sauté of woodcocks and Madeira we're to have, ma chère! I've tried it; I did well to give a thousand roubles for Taras. He's worth it!”
He sat down by his wife, setting his elbow jauntily on his knee, and ruffling up his grey hair. “What are your commands, little countess?”
“It's this, my dear—why, what is this mess on you here?” she said, pointing to his waistcoat. “It's the sauté, most likely,” she added, smiling. “It's this, my dear, I want some money.” Her face became gloomy.
“Ah, little countess! …” And the count fidgeted about, pulling out his pocket-book.
“I want a great deal, count. I want five hundred roubles.” And taking out her cambric handkerchief she wiped her husband's waistcoat.
“This minute, this minute. Hey, who's there?” he shouted, as men only shout who are certain that those they call will run headlong at their summons. “Send Mitenka to me!”
Mitenka, the young man of noble family who had been brought up in the count's house, and now had charge of all his money affairs, walked softly into the room.
“Here, my dear boy,” said the count to the young man, who came up respectfully. “Bring me,” he thought a moment, “yes, seven hundred roubles, yes. And mind, don't bring me such torn and dirty notes as last time; nice ones now, for the countess.”
“Yes, Mitenka, clean ones, please,” said the countess with a depressed sigh.
“Your excellency, when do you desire me to get the money?” said Mitenka. “Your honour ought to know … But don't trouble,” he added, noticing that the count was beginning to breathe rapidly and heavily, which was always the sign of approaching anger. “I was forgetting … This minute do you desire me to bring them?”
“Yes, yes, just so, bring them. Give them to the countess. What a treasure that Mitenka is,” added the count, smiling, when the young man had gone out. “He doesn't know the meaning of impossible. That's a thing I can't bear. Everything's possible.”
“Ah, money, count, money, what a lot of sorrow it causes in the world!” said the countess. “This money I am in great need of.”
“You are a terrible spendthrift, little countess, we all know,” said the count, and kissing his wife's hand he went away again to his own room.
When Anna Mihalovna came back from the Bezuhovs', the money was already on the countess's little table, all in new notes, under her pocket-handkerchief. Anna Mihalovna noticed that the countess was fluttered about something.
“Well, my dear?” queried the countess.
“Ah, he is in a terrible condition! One would not recognise him, he is so ill, so ill; I was there only a minute, and did not say two words.”
“Annette, for God's sake don't refuse me,” the countess said suddenly with a blush, which was strangely incongruous with her elderly, thin, and dignified face, taking the money from under her handkerchief. Anna Mihalovna instantly grasped the situation, and was already bending over to embrace the countess at the appropriate moment.
“This is for Boris, from me, for his equipment …”
Anna Mihalovna was already embracing her and weeping. The countess wept too. They wept because they were friends, and because they were soft-hearted, and that they, who had been friends in youth, should have to think of anything so base as money, and that their youth was over.… But the tears of both were sweet to them.…
当安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜偕同儿子乘车去基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇·别祖霍夫伯爵家时，叫做罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人用手巾捂着自己的眼睛，她独自端坐良久，而后按了一下铃。 
“亲爱的，您怎么啦，”伯爵夫人对强迫自己等候片刻的婢女气忿地说道，“您不愿意服务，是不是？那我就替您另找活儿做。”
伯爵夫人的女友极为痛苦，一贫如洗，忍屈受辱，伯爵夫人感到伤心，因此情绪不佳，每逢这种情形，她总是借用“亲爱的”和“您”称呼婢女，以示心境。
“我有过错，夫人。”婢女说道。
“请伯爵到我这里来。”
伯爵踉踉跄跄地向妻子跟前走来，像平时一样，脸上露出一点愧悔的样子。
“啊，伯爵夫人！sautéaumadère①炒花尾榛鸡，非常可口，machene！我尝了一下。买塔拉斯卡没有白花一千卢布，值得！” 
①法语：调味汁加马德拉葡萄酒。
他坐在妻子身旁，豪放地把胳膊肘撑在膝盖上，斑白的头发给弄得蓬乱。
“我的伯爵夫人，有什么吩咐？”
“我的亲人，原来是这么回事，你这里怎么弄脏了？”她用手指着他的西装背心说道，“这是调味汁，说真的，”她面露微笑，补充了一句，“听我说，伯爵，我要钱用。”
她的脸上露出愁容。
“啊，我的伯爵夫人！……”伯爵忙乱起来了，取出钱夹子。
“伯爵，我要很多钱，我需要五百卢布。”她掏出细亚麻手绢，揩丈夫的西装背心。
“马上，马上。喂，谁在那里呀？”他吼道，只有在他深信被呼唤的人会迅速应声而来的情况下，才用这样的嗓门呼喊，“喊米坚卡到我这儿来！”
米坚卡是在伯爵家受过教育的贵族的儿子，现在主管伯爵家里的事务，这时他脚步轻盈地走进房里来。
“亲爱的，听着，”伯爵对那走进来的恭恭敬敬的年轻人说道，“你把……给我拿来，”他沉思起来，“对，七百卢布，对。你要小心，像上次那样破破烂烂的肮肮脏脏的不要拿来，给伯爵夫人拿些好的纸币来。”
“米坚卡，对，请你拿干净的纸币，”伯爵夫人忧郁地呼气，说道。
“大人，您吩咐什么时候拿来？”米坚卡说道，“您知道，是这么回事……但是请您放心，”他发现伯爵开始急促地、困难地呼吸，向来这是他开始发怒的征候，于是补充了一句，“我几乎置之脑后了……您吩咐我马上送来吗？”
“对，对，就是这样，送来吧。要交给伯爵夫人。”
“这个米坚卡是我的金不换，”当年轻人走出门去，伯爵微笑着，补充一句话，“没有什么‘行不通'的事。‘行不通'这样的说法我可忍受不了啊。什么事都行得通。”
“唉，伯爵，重钱，贪钱。金钱引起了人世间的多少悲伤！”
伯爵夫人说道，“我可很需要这笔钱。”
“我的伯爵夫人，您是个出了名的爱挥霍的女人。”伯爵说道，吻吻妻子的手，又走回书斋去了。
当安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜离开别祖霍夫又回到家里时，那笔钱用手绢盖着，搁在伯爵夫人身边的茶几上，全是崭新的钞票。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜发现，伯爵夫人不知为何事扫兴起来。
“喂，我的朋友，怎么样了？”伯爵夫人问道。
“唉，他的病势十分恶劣！真没法认出他是谁了，他的病情太严重，太严重。我呆了一下子，竟没有说出两句话……”
“安内特，看在上帝份上，不要拒绝我吧，”伯爵夫人忽然说，面红耳赤，这在她那瘦削、庄重、中年人的面孔上显得十分古怪。这时候，她从手帕下面掏出钱来。
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜霎时明白了是怎么回事，于是弯下腰去，好在适当的瞬间巧妙地拥抱伯爵夫人。
“这是我给鲍里斯缝制军装的钱……”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜一面拥抱她，一面哭泣起来。伯爵夫人也哭起来了。她们之所以哭泣，是因为她们和睦相处，她们待人都很仁慈，她们是青春时代的朋友，她们现在关心的竟是卑鄙的东西——金钱；她们之所以哭泣，还因为她们的青春已经逝去了……可是从这两人的眼里流下的倒是愉快的眼泪……
Book 1 Chapter 15
COUNTESS ROSTOV, with her daughters and the greater number of the guests, was sitting in the drawing-room. The count led the gentlemen of the party to his room, calling their attention to his connoisseur's collection of Turkish pipes. Now and then he went out and inquired, had she come yet? They were waiting for Marya Dmitryevna Ahrosimov, known in society as le terrible dragon, a lady who owed her renown not to her wealth or her rank, but to her mental directness and her open, unconventional behaviour. Marya Dmitryevna was known to the imperial family; she was known to all Moscow and all Petersburg, and both cities, while they marvelled at her, laughed in their sleeves at her rudeness, and told good stories about her, nevertheless, all without exception respected and feared her.
In the count's room, full of smoke, there was talk of the war, which had been declared in a manifesto, and of the levies of troops. The manifesto no one had yet read, but every one knew of its appearance. The count was sitting on an ottoman with a man smoking and talking on each side of him. The count himself was neither smoking nor talking, but, with his head cocked first on one side and then on the other, gazed with evident satisfaction at the smokers, and listened to the argument he had got up between his two neighbours.
One of these two was a civilian with a thin, wrinkled, bilious, close-shaven face, a man past middle age, though dressed like the most fashionable young man. He sat with his leg up on the ottoman, as though he were at home, and with the amber mouthpiece in the side of his mouth, he smoked spasmodically, puckering up his face. This was an old bachelor, Shinshin, a cousin of the countess's, famed in Moscow drawing-rooms for his biting wit. He seemed supercilious in his manner to his companion, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards, irreproachably washed and brushed and buttoned. He held his pipe in the middle of his mouth, and drawing in a little smoke, sent it coiling in rings out of his fine red lips. He was Lieutenant Berg, an officer in the Semenovsky regiment with whom Boris was to go away, and about whom Natasha had taunted Vera, calling Berg her suitor. The count sat between these two listening intently to them. The count's favourite entertainment, next to playing boston, of which he was very fond, was that of listening to conversation, especially when he had succeeded in getting up a dispute between two talkative friends.
“Come, how is it, mon très honorable Alphonse Karlitch,” said Shinshin, chuckling, and using a combination of the most popular Russian colloquialisms and the most recherchès French expressions, which constituted the peculiarity of his phraseology. “You reckon you'll get an income from the government, and you want to get a little something from your company too?”
“No, Pyotr Nikolaitch, I only want to show that in the cavalry the advantages are few as compared with the infantry. Consider my position now, for instance, Pyotr Nikolaitch.” Berg talked very precisely, serenely, and politely. All he said was always concerning himself. He always maintained a serene silence when any subject was discussed that had no direct bearing on himself. And he could be silent in that way for several hours at a time, neither experiencing nor causing in others the slightest embarrassment. But as soon as the conversation concerned him personally, he began to talk at length and with visible satisfaction.
“Consider my position, Pyotr Nikolaitch: if I were in the cavalry, I should get no more than two hundred roubles every four months, even at the rank of lieutenant, while as it is I get two hundred and thirty,” he explained with a beaming, friendly smile, looking at Shinshin and the count as though he had no doubt that his success would always be the chief goal of all other people's wishes. “Besides that, Pyotr Nikolaitch, exchanging into the Guards, I'm so much nearer the front,” pursued Berg, “and vacancies occur so much more frequently in the infantry guards. Then you can fancy how well I can manage on two hundred and thirty roubles. Why, I'm putting by and sending some off to my father too,” he pursued, letting off a ring of smoke.
“There is a balance. A German will thrash wheat out of the head of an axe, as the Russian proverb has it,” said Shinshin, shifting his pipe to the other side of his mouth and winking to the count.
The count chuckled. The other visitors seeing that Shinshin was talking came up to listen. Berg, without perceiving either their sneers or their lack of interest, proceeded to explain how by exchanging into the guards he had already gained a step in advance of his old comrades in the corps; how in war-time the commander of a company may so easily be killed, and he as next in command might very easily succeed him, and how every one in the regiment liked him, and how pleased his father was with him. Berg was unmistakably enjoying himself as he told all this, and seemed never to suspect that other people too might have their own interests. But all he said was so nice, so sedate, the na?veté of his youthful egoism was so undisguised, that he disarmed his listeners.
“Well, my good fellow, whether you're in the infantry or in the cavalry, you'll always get on all right, that I venture to predict,” said Shinshin, patting him on the shoulder, and setting his feet down off the ottoman. Berg smiled gleefully. The count and the guests after him went into the drawing-room.
It was that interval just before a dinner when the assembled guests do not care to enter on a lengthy conversation, expecting to be summoned to the dining-room; while they feel it incumbent on them to move about and not to be silent, so as to show that they are not impatient to sit down to table. The host and hostess look towards the door, and occasionally at one another. The guests try from these glances to divine whom or what they are waiting for; some important relation late in arriving, or some dish which is not ready.
Pierre arrived just at dinner-time, and awkwardly sat down in the middle of the drawing-room in the first easy-chair he came across, blocking up the way for every one. The countess tried to make him talk, but he looked na?vely round him over his spectacles as though he were looking for some one, and replied in monosyllables to all the countess's questions. He was in the way, and was the only person unaware of it. The greater number of the guests, knowing the story of the bear, looked inquisitively at this big, stout, inoffensive-looking person, puzzled to think how such a spiritless and staid young man could have played such a prank.
“You have only lately arrived?” the countess asked him.
“Oui, madame.”
“You have not seen my husband?”
“Non, madame.” He smiled very inappropriately.
“You have lately been in Paris, I believe? I suppose it's very interesting.”
“Very interesting.”
The countess exchanged glances with Anna Mihalovna. Anna Mihalovna saw that she was asked to undertake the young man, and sitting down by him she began talking of his father. But to her as to the countess he replied only in monosyllables. The other guests were all busily engaged together. “The Razumovskys … It was very charming … You are so kind … Countess Apraxin …” rose in murmurs on all sides. The countess got up and went into the reception hall.
“Marya Dmitryevna?” her voice was heard asking from there.
“Herself,” a rough voice was heard in reply, and immediately after, Marya Dmitryevna walked into the room. All the girls and even the ladies, except the very old ones, got up. Marya Dmitryevna, a stout woman of fifty, stopped in the doorway, and holding her head with its grey curls erect, she looked down at the guests and as though tucking up her cuffs, she deliberately arranged the wide sleeves of her gown. Marya Dmitryevna always spoke Russian.
“Health and happiness to the lady whose name-day we are keeping and to her children,” she said in her loud, rich voice that dominated all other sounds. “Well, you old sinner,” she turned to the count who was kissing her hand. “I suppose you are tired of Moscow—nowhere to go out with the dogs? Well, my good man, what's to be done? these nestlings will grow up.…” She pointed to the girls. “Willy-nilly, you must look out for young men for them.”
“Well, my Cossack?” (Marya Dmitryevna used to call Natasha a Cossack) she said, stroking the hand of Natasha, who came up to kiss her hand gaily without shyness. “I know you're a wicked girl, but I like you.”
She took out of her huge reticule some amber earrings with drops, and giving them to Natasha, whose beaming birthday face flushed rosy red, she turned away immediately and addressed Pierre.
“Ay, ay! come here, sir!” she said in an intentionally quiet and gentle voice. “Come here, sir …” And she tucked her sleeve up higher in an ominous manner.
Pierre went up, looking innocently at her over his spectacles.
“Come along, come along, sir! I was the only person that told your father the truth when he was in high favour, and in your case it is a sacred duty.” She paused. Every one was mutely expectant of what was to follow, feeling that this was merely a prelude. “A pretty fellow, there's no denying! a pretty fellow! … His father is lying on his deathbed, and he's amusing himself, setting a police-constable astride on a bear! For shame, sir, for shame! You had better have gone to the war.”
She turned away and gave her hand to the count, who could hardly keep from laughing.
“Well, I suppose dinner's ready, eh?” said Marya Dmitrvevna. The count led the way with Marya Dmitryevna, then followed the countess, taken in by a colonel of hussars, a person of importance, as Nikolay was to travel in his company to join the regiment; then Anna Mihalovna with Shinshin. Berg gave his arm to Vera, Julie Karagin walked in smiling with Nikolay. They were followed by a string of other couples, stretching right across the hall, and behind all, the children with their tutors and governesses trooped in, walked singly. There was a bustle among the waiters and a creaking of chairs; the orchestra began playing, as the guests took their places. Then the strains of the count's household band were succeeded by the clatter of knives and forks, the conversation of the guests, and the subdued tread of the waiters. The countess presided at one end of the table. On her right was Marya Dmitryevna; on her left Anna Mihalovna and the other ladies of the party. At the other end sat the count, with the colonel of hussars on his left, and on his right Shinshin and the other guests of the male sex. On one side of the large table sat the more grown-up of the young people: Vera beside Berg, Pierre beside Boris. On the other side were the children with their tutors and governesses. The count peeped from behind the crystal of the decanters and fruit-dishes at his wife and her high cap with blue ribbons, and zealously poured out wine for his neighbours, not overlooking himself. The countess, too, while mindful of her duties as hostess, cast significant glances from behind the pineapples at her husband, whose face and bald head struck her as looking particularly red against his grey hair. At the ladies' end there was a rhythmic murmur of talk, but at the other end of the table the men's voices grew louder and louder, especially the voice of the colonel of hussars, who, getting more and more flushed, ate and drank so much that the count held him up as a pattern to the rest. Berg with a tender smile was telling Vera that love was an emotion not of earth but of heaven. Boris was telling his new friend Pierre the names of the guests, while he exchanged glances with Natasha sitting opposite him. Pierre said little, looked about at the new faces, and ate a great deal. Of the two soups he chose à la tortue, and from that course to the fish-pasties and the grouse, he did not let a single dish pass, and took every sort of wine that the butler offered him, as he mysteriously poked a bottle wrapped in a napkin over his neighbour's shoulder, murmuring, “Dry Madeira,” or “Hungarian,” or “Rhine wine.” Pierre took a wine-glass at random out of the four crystal glasses engraved with the count's crest that were set at each place, and drank with relish, staring at the guests with a countenance that became more and more amiable as the dinner went on. Natasha, who sat opposite him, gazed at Boris as girls of thirteen gaze at the boy whom they have just kissed for the first time, and with whom they are in love. This gaze sometimes strayed to Pierre, and at the look on the funny, excited little girl's face, he felt an impulse to laugh himself without knowing why.
Nikolay was sitting a long way from Sonya, beside Julie Karagin, and again smiling the same unconscious smile, he was talking to her. Sonya wore a company smile, but she was visibly in agonies of jealousy; at one moment she turned pale, then she crimsoned, and all her energies were concentrated on listening to what Nikolay and Julie were saying. The governess looked nervously about her, as though preparing to resent any slight that might be offered to the children. The German tutor was trying to learn by heart a list of all the kinds of dishes, desserts, and wines, in order to write a detailed description of them to the folks at home in Germany, and was greatly mortified that the butler with the bottle in the napkin had passed him over. The German knitted his brows, and tried to look as though he would not have cared to take that wine, but he was mortified because no one would understand that he had not wanted the wine to quench his thirst, or through greed, but from a conscientious desire for knowledge.
叫做罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人随同几个女儿陪伴着许多客人坐在客厅里。伯爵把几位男客带进书斋去，让他们玩赏他所搜集的土耳其烟斗。他有时候走出来，问问大家：“她来了没有？”大伙儿正在等候玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜·阿赫罗西莫娃——上流社会中绰号叫做leterribledragon①的夫人，她之所以大名鼎鼎，并不是由于财富或荣耀地位，而是由于心地正直，待人朴实的缘故。皇室知道玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，整个莫斯科和整个彼得堡都知道她。她使这两个城市的人感到惊奇，他们悄悄地讥笑她的粗暴，谈论她的趣闻。但是人人都一无例外地尊敬她，而且畏惧她。 
①法语：恐龙。
书斋里烟雾弥漫，大家正在谈论文告中业已宣布的战争和征兵事宜。谁也还没有读到上谕，但是人人都知道业已颁布了。那伯爵坐在一面抽烟，一面交谈的两位邻近的客人之间的土耳其式沙发上。伯爵自己不抽烟，也不开口说话，可是他时而把头侧向这边，时而侧向那边，显然他在留意地观看这两位抽烟的客人，静听被他惹起的两位邻座的讧争。
交谈者之中一人是文官，那布满皱纹、瘦削的面部刮得很光，带着易动肝火的神态，他已经趋近老年，但穿着像个挺时髦的年轻人。他盘着两腿坐在土耳其式沙发上，那模样跟户主家里人不相上下，他的嘴角上深深地叼着一根琥珀烟嘴子，一面眯缝起眼睛，若断若续地抽烟。这位客人是老光棍，伯爵夫人的堂兄，莫斯科的沙龙中常常议论他，都说他是个造谣中伤的人。他对交谈者，似乎会装作屈尊俯就的样子。另一位客人长着一张白里透红的面孔，精神焕发，是个近卫军军官，他梳洗得整齐清洁，扣上了衣扣，嘴中叼着一根琥珀烟嘴子，用那粉红的嘴唇轻轻地吸烟，从美丽的嘴中吐出一个个烟圈来。他就是谢苗诺夫兵团的军官贝格中尉，鲍里斯和他一起在这个兵团入伍。娜塔莎逗弄过薇拉——伯爵夫人的长女，将贝格称为她的未婚夫。伯爵坐在他们之间，全神贯注地听着。除开他所酷爱的波士顿牌戏之外，倾听大家争论，是一件使他至为愉快的事，尤其是当他在两个喜爱聊天的人中间引起争论的时候，他就觉得更加高兴了。
“老兄，怎么啦，montrèshonoraole①阿尔万斯·卡尔雷奇，”申申说道，微微一笑，他把民间最通俗的俄文语句和优雅的法文句子混杂在一起，这也就是他说话的特点，“Vouscomptezvousfairedesrentessurl'etat②，您想获得连队的一笔收入吗？” 
①法语：可尊敬的。
②法语：您想获得政府的一笔收入。
“彼得·尼古拉耶维奇，不是这么回事，我只是想表白一下，骑兵服役的收益比步兵服役要少得多，彼得·尼古拉耶维奇，请您设想一下我现在的处境吧。”
贝格说起话来总是十分准确、心平气和，态度很谦恭，他的谈话向来只是关系到他个人的私事，每当他人谈论的事情和他没有直接关系时，他便沉默不言。他能这样接连几个小时默不作声，一点也不觉得忸怩不安，而且不让他人产生这种感觉。可是交谈一提到他本人，他就长篇大论地说起来，明显地露出喜悦的神色。
“彼得·尼古拉耶维奇，请您想想我的处境：如果我在骑兵部队服役，那怕是挂中尉军衔，在四个月之内我所挣的钱也不会超过两百卢布，现在我已挣到两百三十卢布。”他说道，脸上露出洋洋得意的令人喜悦的微笑，一面回头看看申申和伯爵，仿佛他的成就永远是其他一切人共同期望的主要目标，他认为这是显而易见的事情。
“彼得·尼古拉耶维奇，除此之外，我调到近卫军以后，现在就崭露头角了，”贝格继续说道，“近卫军的步兵里常有空缺。请您设想一下，靠这两百三十卢布，我怎么能够安排自己的生活呢。我要储存一些钱，还得寄一些给父亲。”他继续说道，一面吐出一个烟圈。
“Labalanceyest……①commeditleproverbe，②德国人用斧头背都能打出谷来。”申申说道，另一边嘴角上叼着一根烟嘴子，并且向伯爵丢了个眼色。 
①法语：是真的……
②法语：照谚语说。
伯爵哈哈大笑起来。其余的客人看见申申在谈话，都走到面前来听听。贝格对嘲笑和冷漠的态度都不注意，继续述说他调到近卫军后，军衔就高于中等军事学校的同学了，他讲在战时连长可能就义，而他在连队职位较高，能够轻而易举地当上连长，他又讲他在兵团里人人热爱他，他父亲对他非常满意。贝格谈论这一切，看来洋洋自得，似乎没有意料到，人家也会有自己的志趣。可是他讲得娓娓动听，不卑不亢，那种年轻人所固有的幼稚的自私心理暴露无遗，终于使听众无力反驳了。
“老兄，您不论在步兵服役，还是在骑兵服役，到处都有办法，这就是我对您的预言。”申申说道，拍拍他的肩膀，把脚从土耳其式沙发上放下来。
贝格喜悦地微微一笑。伯爵和跟随在他身后的客人，都向客厅走去。
午宴前还有一小段时间，前来聚会的客人都已就坐，等候吃小菜，他们还没有开始长谈，但是同时却又认为必须活动一下，而且用不着默不作声，以此表示他们根本不急于就坐。主人们隔一会儿望一下门口，有时候彼此看一眼。客人们就凭这种眼神来竭力猜度，主人们还在等候谁，或者等候什么，是等候迟迟未到的高贵亲戚呢，还是等候尚未煮熟的肴馔。
皮埃尔在临近午宴时来到了，他在客厅当中随便碰到的一把安乐椅上不好意思地坐着，拦住大家的络。伯爵夫人想要他说话，但是他戴着眼镜稚气地向四周张望，好像在寻找某人似的，他简短地回答伯爵夫人提出的各种问题。他的样子羞羞涩涩，只有他一人觉察不出来。大部分客人都晓得他耍狗熊闹出的丑闻，因此都出于好奇心看看这个长得高大的胖乎乎的忠厚人，心里都疑惑这个谦虚的笨伯怎么会戏弄警察分局局长呢。
“您是不久以前回国的吗？”伯爵夫人问他。
“Oui，madame．”①他向四面打量，答道。
“您没有看见我丈夫吗？”
“Non，madame．”②他不适时地微微一笑。
“您不久以前好像到过巴黎？我想这非常有趣。”
“非常有趣。”
伯爵夫人和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜互使眼色。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜心中明白，这是人家要她来接待这个年轻人，她于是就坐在他的近旁，开始提到他的父亲的事；他如同回答伯爵夫人一样，只用三言两语来回答她的话。客人们彼此正忙于应酬。
“LesRazoumovsky…caaétécharmant…Vousêtesbienbonne…LacomtesseApraksine…”③四面传来了话语声。伯爵夫人站起身来，向大厅走去了。 
①法语：夫人，是，是，是。
②法语：夫人，还没有，没有。
③法语：拉祖莫夫斯基家里的人……太好了……这太好了……伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜……
“是玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜吗？”大厅里传来了她的声音。
“正是她。”听见有一个女人嗓音刺耳地回答。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜应声随即走进房里来。
小姐们、甚至夫人们，年迈的女人除外，都站立起来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜在门口停步了，她身材十分肥胖，高大，这个五十岁的太太高高地抬起长满一绺绺斑白鬈发的头，环顾了一下客人，不慌不忙地弄平连衣裙的宽大的袖子，好像要卷起自己的袖子似的。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜向来都说俄国话。
“祝贺过命名日的亲爱的夫人和儿童们，”她说道，声音洪亮而圆浑，盖过了其他声音，“你这个老色鬼，怎么样了，“她把脸转向正在吻着她的手的伯爵说道，“你在莫斯科大概觉得无聊吧？没有地方可以追逐猎犬了吧？但是毫无办法啊，老爷，你瞧瞧这些小鸟儿都要长大了……”她用手指着几个姑娘说道，“无论你愿意，还是不愿意，应该给她们找个未婚夫。”
“我的哥萨克，怎么样了？”（玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜把娜塔莎叫做哥萨克。）她说道，用手抚摩着毫无惧色、欢欢喜喜走来吻她的手的娜塔莎，“我知道这个姑娘是个狐狸精，可是我还喜爱她。”
她从女式大手提包里取出一双梨形蓝宝石耳环，送给两颊粉红、喜气洋洋的过命名日的娜塔莎，之后立即转过脸去避开她，对皮埃尔说话。
“嗨，嗨，亲爱的！到这里来，”她用假装的尖声细语说道，“亲爱的，来吧……”
她现出威吓的样子把衣袖卷得更高了。
皮埃尔走到面前来了，他透过眼镜稚气地望着她。
“亲爱的，到我跟前来，到我跟前来！当你父亲有权有势的时候，只有我这个人才对他说真心话，对于你呢，我听凭上帝的吩咐，也这样做就是。”
她沉默一会儿，大家都不开腔，等待着就要发生什么事，都觉得这只是一个开场白而已。
“这孩子好嘛，没有什么话可说！这孩子好嘛！……他父亲躺在病榻上，他却寻欢作乐，竟然把警察分局局长捆在狗熊背上。我的天，真不要脸，真不要脸！去打仗好了。”
她把脸转了过去，向伯爵伸出一只手来，伯爵险些儿忍不住要笑出声来。
“好吧，我看差不多要就座了吧？”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说道。
伯爵和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜启程前行，骠骑兵上校领着伯爵夫人尾随其后，上校是个合乎时代需要的能人，他要和尼古拉一道去追赶已经开拔的团队。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜和申申搓成一对了。贝格向薇拉伸出手来，做出亲热的姿态。笑容可掬的朱莉·卡拉金娜和尼古拉一同走向餐桌，准备入座。其他一些成对的男女跟随在他们后面。沿着大厅鱼贯而行。儿童和男女家庭教师不结成一对，作为殿后。堂倌都忙碌起来，椅子碰撞得轧轧作响，乐队奏起合唱曲，客人入席就座了。刀叉的铿锵声、客人的说话声、堂倌轻盈的步履声替代了伯爵家庭乐队的奏鸣声。伯爵夫人坐在餐桌一端的首席上。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜坐在右边，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜和其他女客坐在左边。伯爵坐在餐桌的另一端，骠骑兵上校坐在左边，申申和其他男客坐在右边。年纪较大的年轻人坐在长餐桌的一旁；薇拉和贝格并排而坐，皮埃尔和鲍里斯并排而坐；儿童和男女家庭教师坐在另一旁。伯爵从水晶玻璃器皿、酒瓶和水果盘后不时地望望妻子和她那系着蓝色绸带的高高翘起的寝帽，亲热地给邻座斟酒，但也没有把自己忘记。伯爵夫人并没有忘记她这个主妇应尽的责任，也向她丈夫投以意味深长的目光，她似乎觉得丈夫的秃头和面庞在苍苍白发的强烈对照下，显得红透了。在妇女就座的餐桌一端，传来均匀的嘟哝声，在男人就坐的另一端，说话声越来越响亮，尤其是那个骠骑兵上校的嗓音如雷贯耳，他吃得多，喝得多，脸红得越来越厉害，伯爵把他看作客人的模范。贝格面露温和的微笑，正和薇拉谈到，爱情并非是世俗的感情，而是纯洁的感情。鲍里斯向他自己的新相识说出餐桌上客人的姓名，并和坐在对面的娜塔莎互使眼色。皮埃尔寡于言谈，不时地瞧瞧陌生的面孔，他吃得太多了。从那两道汤中他所挑选的alatortue①和大馅饼，直到花尾榛鸡，他何尝放过一道菜。当那管家从邻座肩后悄悄地端出一只裹着餐巾的酒瓶，一边说：“纯马德拉葡萄酒”，“匈牙利葡萄酒”，或“莱茵葡萄酒”时，他何尝放过一种葡萄酒。每份餐具前面放着四只刻有伯爵姓名花字的酒樽，皮埃尔随便拿起一只酒樽，高高兴兴地喝酒，一面露出愈益快活的神态打量着客人。娜塔莎坐在对面，她正盯着鲍里斯，就像十三岁的姑娘两眼盯着头次接了吻的她所热恋的男孩那样。有时候她把同样的目光投在皮埃尔身上，但不知为什么，他在这个可笑的活泼的姑娘的目光逼视下真想笑出声来。 
①法语：甲鱼汤。
尼古拉在朱莉·卡拉金娜身旁坐着，离索尼娅很远。他又面露情不自禁的微笑和她说些什么话。索尼娅含着微笑，摆出很大的架子，但显而易见，她深受醋意的折磨，脸上时而发白，时而发红，聚精会神地谛听尼古拉和朱莉之间的谈话。一位家庭女教师心神不安地环顾四周，仿佛倘若有人想要凌辱儿童，她就要给予反击似的。一名德国男家庭教师极力记住种种肴馔，甜点心以及葡萄酒，以便在寄往德国的家信中把这全部情形详尽地描述一下。当那管家拿着裹有餐巾的酒瓶给大家斟酒时，竟把他漏掉了，他简直气忿极了。他愁眉苦脸，力图表示他不想饮这种葡萄酒。他所以恼火，是因为谁也不了解，他喝酒不是解渴，也不是贪婪，而是由于一种真诚的求知欲所致。
Book 1 Chapter 16
AT THE MEN'S END of the table the conversation was becoming more and more lively. The colonel was asserting that the proclamation of the declaration of war had already been issued in Petersburg, and that a copy, which he had seen himself, had that day been brought by a courier to the commander-in-chief.
“And what evil spirit must make us go to war with Bonaparte?” said Shinshin. “He has already made Austria take a back seat. I am afraid it may be our turn this time.”
The colonel was a stout, tall, and plethoric German, evidently a zealous officer and good patriot. He resented Shinshin's words.
“The reason why, my good sir,” he said, speaking with a German accent, “is just that the emperor knows that. In his proclamation he says that he cannot behold with equanimity the danger threatening Russia, and the security of the empire, its dignity, and the sacredness of its alliances.” He laid a special emphasis on the word alliances, as though the gist of the matter lay in that word. And with the unfailing memory for official matters that was peculiar to him, he repeated the introductory words of the proclamation … “and the desire, which constitutes the Sovereign's sole and immutable aim, to establish peace on a secure foundation, have determined him to despatch now a part of the troops abroad, and to make dispositions for carrying out this new project. That is the reason why, my dear sir,” he concluded, tossing off a glass of wine in edifying fashion, and looking towards the count for encouragement.
“Do you know the proverb, ‘Erema, Erema, you'd better stay at home and mind your spindle'?” said Shinshin, frowning and smiling. “That suits us to a hair. Why, Suvorov even was defeated hollow, and where are our Suvorovs nowadays? I just ask you that,” he said, continually shifting from Russian to French and back again.
“We ought to fight to the last drop of our blood,” said the colonel, thumping the table, “and to die for our emperor, and then all will be well. And to discuss it as little as possible,” he concluded, turning again to the count, and drawling out the word “possible.” “That's how we old hussars look at it; that's all we have to say. And how do you look at it, young man and young hussar?” he added, addressing Nikolay, who, catching that it was the war they were discussing, had dropped his conversation with Julie, and was all eyes and all ears, intent on the colonel.
“I perfectly agree with you,” answered Nikolay, growing hot all over, twisting his plate round, and changing the places of the glasses with a face as desperate and determined as though he were exposed to great danger at that actual moment. “I am convinced that the Russians must die or conquer,” he said. He was himself, like the rest of the party, conscious after the words were uttered that he had spoken with an enthusiasm and fervour out of keeping with the occasion, and so he was embarrassed.
“That was very fine, what you just said,” Julie sitting beside him said breathlessly. Sonya trembled all over and crimsoned to her ears, and behind her ears, and down her neck and shoulders, while Nikolay was speaking. Pierre listened to the colonel's remarks, and nodded his head approvingly.
“That's capital,” said he.
“You're a true hussar, young man,” the colonel shouted, thumping on the table again.
“What are you making such a noise about over there?” Marya Dmitryevna's bass voice was suddenly heard asking across the table. “What are you thumping the table for?” she addressed the colonel. “Whom are you so hot against? You imagine, I suppose, that the French are before you?”
“I speak the truth,” said the hussar, smiling.
“It's all about the war,” the count shouted across the table. “My son's going, you see, Marya Dmitryevna, my son's going.”
“And I've four sons in the army, but I don't grieve. All's in God's hands; one may die in one's bed, and in battle God may spare,” Marya Dmitryevna's deep voice boomed back, speaking without the slightest effort from the further end of the table.
“That's true.”
And the conversation concentrated into two groups again, one at the ladies' end, and one at the men's.
“You don't dare to ask!” said her little brother to Natasha, “and you won't ask!”
“I will ask,” answered Natasha. Her face suddenly glowed, expressing a desperate and mirthful resolution. She rose in her seat, her eyes inviting Pierre to listen, and addressed her mother.
“Mamma!” her childish contralto rang out over the table.
“What is it?” the countess asked in dismay; but seeing from her daughter's face that it was mischief, she shook her hand at her sternly, with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head.
All conversation was hushed.
“Mamma! what pudding will there be?” Natasha's little voice rang out still more resolutely and deliberately.
The countess tried to frown, but could not. Marya Dmitryevna shook her fat finger.
“Cossack!” she said menacingly.
Most of the guests looked at the parents, not knowing how they were to take this sally.
“I'll give it to you,” said the countess.
“Mamma! what pudding will it be?” Natasha cried, with bold and saucy gaiety, feeling sure that her prank would be taken in the right spirit. Sonya and fat little Petya were hiding their giggles. “You see I did ask,” Natasha whispered to her little brother and Pierre, at whom she glanced again.
“Ice-pudding, only you are not to have any,” said Marya Dmitryevna. Natasha saw there was nothing to be afraid of, and so she was not frightened at Marya Dmitryevna even.
“Marya Dmitryevna! what sort of ice-pudding? I don't like ice cream.”
“Carrot-ices.”
“No, what sort, Marya Dmitryevna, what sort?” she almost shrieked. “I want to know.” Marya Dmitryevna and the countess burst out laughing, and all the party followed their example. They all laughed, not at Marya Dmitryevna's answer, but at the irrepressible boldness and smartness of the little girl, who had the pluck and the wit to tackle Marya Dmitryevna in this fashion.
Natasha only desisted when she had been told it was to be pineapple ice. Before the ices, champagne was passed round. Again the band struck up, the count kissed the countess, and the guests getting up from the table congratulated the countess, and clinked glasses across the table with the count, the children, and one another. Again the waiters darted about, chairs grated on the floor, and in the same order, but with flushed faces, the guests returned to the drawing-room and the count's study.
在男客就座的餐桌的一端，谈话变得越来越热烈了。上校已经讲到，彼得堡颁布了宣战文告，他亲眼看见的一份文告已由信使递交总司令了。 
“真见鬼，我们干嘛要和波拿巴作战？”申申说道，“Iladéjàrabattulecaquetàl'autriche，Jecrainsquecettefoiscenesoitnotretowr。”① 
①法语：他已经打掉了奥地利的威风，我怕现在要轮到我们了。
上校个子高大，长得很结实，是个活泼好动的德国人，老军人和爱国者。申申的话使他生气了。
“为什么，阁下，”他说道，把母音“唉”发成“爱”，把软音发成硬音，“皇帝知道这件事。他在文告中说道，不能对俄国遭受威胁而熟视无睹，不能对帝国的安全、它的尊严和盟国的神圣权利遭受威胁而熟视无睹，”他说道，不知怎的特别强调“盟国的”这个词，好像这就是问题的实质所在。
他凭藉他那正确无讹的记忆公文的天赋，把文告中的引言重说了一遍：“……国王的意愿，他唯一的坚定不移的目标乃是：在巩固的基础之上奠定欧洲的和平，现已拟定调遣部分军队出国，再度竭尽全部力量以企臻达此一目标。”
“阁下，这就是为了什么。”他说了一句收尾的话，露出教训人的神态，一面喝完那杯葡萄酒，看看伯爵的脸色，想获得赞扬。
“Connaissezvousleproverbe，①‘叶廖马，叶廖马，你不如坐在家中，把你的纺锤磨平。”“申申蹙起眉头，微露笑容，说道，“Celanousconvientàmerveille，②苏沃洛夫顶什么用，他也被打得àplatecouture③，目前我们苏沃洛夫式的人物在哪里呢？Jevousdemandeunpeu．”④他说道，不断地从俄国话跳到法国语。 
①法语：您知道这句谚语。
②法语：这对于我们非常适宜。
③法语：落花流水。
④法语：我要问您。
“我们必须战斗到最后一滴血，”上校用手捶桌子，说道，“为皇帝献身，一切才会亨通。尽可能少地（在“可能”这个词上他把嗓音拖得特别长），尽可能少地议长论短，”他把话说完了，又朝伯爵转过脸来，“这就是我们老骠骑兵的论点，没有别的话要说了。年轻人和年轻的骠骑兵，您怎样评论呢？”他把脸转向尼古拉，补充一句话。尼古拉听到话题涉及战争后，便丢开对方不管，睁大两眼，全神贯注地谛听上校说话。
“完全同意您的看法，”尼古拉答道，他面红耳赤，一面转动着盘子，挪动着几只酒杯，脸上露出坚决的无所顾忌的神情，好像他眼前遭受到严重的危险似的，“我深信，俄国人都要为国捐躯，或者会赢得胜利。”他说道。正如其他人在这种时分说出过分激动的不是恰如其分的话那样，他也有同样的感受。
“C'estbienbeaucequevousvenezdedire．”①朱莉坐在他身旁叹息道。当尼古拉说话时，索尼娅全身颤抖起来，脸红到耳根，从耳根红到脖子，从脖子红到肩膀。皮埃尔谛听上校说话，点点头，表示赞同。 
①法语：很好！您说得很好。
“这么说真好。”他说道。
“地道的骠骑兵，年轻人。”上校又捶了一下桌子，嚷道。
“你们在那里吵什么？”忽然从餐桌那边传来玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜低沉的语声。“你为什么要捶桌子呢，”她把脸转向骠骑兵说道，“你对什么人动肝火？你真的以为现在你面前就有一群法国人！”
“我说的是真话。”骠骑兵面露微笑说道。
“老是说战争，”伯爵从餐桌那边嚷道，“玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，要知道，我的儿子要去作战了，儿子要去作战了。”
“我有四个儿子，都在军队里服役，我并不忧虑。一切都由上帝支配：你是躺在灶台上死去；还是在战斗中得到上帝的保佑。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜从餐桌的那端用浑厚的嗓音毫不费劲地说道。
“真是这样。”
谈话又集中火力了——女士在餐桌的一端，男子汉在餐桌的另一端。
“你问不到什么，”小弟弟对娜塔莎说道，“你问不到什么！”
“我一定要问。”娜塔莎答道。
她的脸红起来了，表现出无所顾忌的欢快的果断。她欠身起来一下，向坐在对面的皮埃尔投以目光，请他仔细听着，又向母亲转过脸去说话。
“妈妈！”整个餐桌都听见她的低沉洪亮的童音。
“你干嘛？”伯爵夫人惊恐地问道，但她凭女儿的脸色看出她在胡闹，就向她严肃地挥挥手，摇摇头，装作威吓和遏制的样子。
谈话暂时停止了。
“妈妈！有什么蛋糕？”娜塔莎脱口说出这句话，她的嗓音听来更坚定。
伯爵夫人想蹙起眉头，可是她没法蹙起来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜伸出她那肥胖的指头，威吓她。
“哥萨克！”她用威吓的口气说。
大多数客人都望着长辈，不知道应当怎样应付这场恶作剧。
“瞧我收拾你！”伯爵夫人说。
“妈妈！有蛋糕吃吗？”娜塔莎已经大胆任性、欢快地嚷起来，她事先确信，她的恶作剧会大受欢迎。
索尼娅和胖乎乎的彼佳笑得躲藏起来，不敢抬头。
“你瞧，我不是问了。”娜塔莎对小弟弟和皮埃尔轻言细语地说，她又向皮埃尔瞥了一眼。
“冰激凌，只是人家不给你。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说道。
娜塔莎明白，没有什么可害怕的，因此她也不害怕玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜。
“玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，什么样的冰激凌？我不爱吃奶油冰激凌。”
“胡萝卜冰激凌。”
“不是的，什么样的冰激凌？玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，什么样的冰激凌？”她几乎叫喊起来。“我想知道啊！”
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜和伯爵夫人都笑了起来，客人们也都跟着笑起来。大家不是对玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的回答觉得好笑，而是对这个女孩百思不解的大胆和机智觉得好笑，她居然有本事、有胆量这样对待玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜。
当人家告诉娜塔莎，快要摆上菠萝冰激凌时，她才不再纠缠了。端出冰激凌之前，先端出香槟酒。乐队又开始奏乐，伯爵吻了一下伯爵夫人，客人都站立起来，向伯爵夫人道贺，隔着桌子跟伯爵碰杯，跟孩子们碰杯，并互相碰杯。堂倌忙碌起来了，又跑来跑去，可以听见椅子碰撞的响声，客人们的两颊显得更红了，又依照原先的顺序走回客厅，走回伯爵的书斋。
Book 1 Chapter 17
THE CARD-TABLES were opened, parties were made up for boston, and the count's guests settled themselves in the two drawing-rooms, the divan-room, and the library.
The count, holding his cards in a fan, with some difficulty kept himself from dropping into his customary after-dinner nap, and laughed at everything. The young people, at the countess's suggestion, gathered about the clavichord and the harp. Julie was first pressed by every one to perform, and played a piece with variations on the harp. Then she joined the other young ladies in begging Natasha and Nikolay, who were noted for their musical talents, to sing something. Natasha, who was treated by every one as though she were grown-up, was visibly very proud of it, and at the same time made shy by it.
“What are we to sing?” she asked.
“The ‘Spring,' ” answered Nikolay.
“Well, then, let's make haste. Boris, come here,” said Natasha. “But where's Sonya?” She looked round, and seeing that her friend was not in the room, she ran off to find her.
After running to Sonya's room, and not finding her there, Natasha ran to the nursery: Sonya was not there either. Natasha knew that she must be on the chest in the corridor. The chest in the corridor was the scene of the woes of the younger feminine generation of the house of Rostov. Yes, Sonya was on the chest, lying face downwards, crushing her gossamer pink frock on their old nurse's dirty striped feather-bed. Her face hidden in her fingers, she was sobbing, and her little bare shoulders were heaving. Natasha's birthday face that had been festive and excited all day, changed at once; her eyes wore a fixed look, then her broad neck quivered, and the corners of her lips drooped.
“Sonya! what is it? … what's the matter with you? Oo-oo-oo! …” and Natasha, letting her big mouth drop open and becoming quite ugly, wailed like a baby, not knowing why, simply because Sonya was crying. Sonya tried to lift up her head, tried to answer, but could not, and buried her face more than ever. Natasha cried, sitting on the edge of the blue feather-bed and hugging her friend. Making an effort, Sonya got up, began to dry her tears and to talk.
“Nikolinka's going away in a week, his … paper … has come … he told me himself. … But still I shouldn't cry …” (she showed a sheet of paper she was holding in her hand; on it were verses written by Nikolay). “I shouldn't have cried; but you can't … no one can understand … what a soul he has.”
And again she fell to weeping at the thought of how noble his soul was.
“It's all right for you … I'm not envious … I love you and Boris too,” she said, controlling herself a little; “he's so nice … there are no difficulties in your way. But Nikolay's my cousin … the metropolitan chief priest himself … has to … or else it's impossible. And so, if mamma's told” (Sonya looked on the countess and addressed her as a mother), “she'll say that I'm spoiling Nikolay's career, that I have no heart, that I'm ungrateful, though really … in God's name” (she made the sign of the cross) “I love her so, and all of you, only Vera … Why is it? What have I done to her? I am so grateful to you that I would be glad to sacrifice everything for you, but I have nothing. …”
Sonya could say no more, and again she buried her head in her hands and the feather-bed. Natasha tried to comfort her, but her face showed that she grasped all the gravity of her friend's trouble.
“Sonya!” she said all at once, as though she had guessed the real cause of her cousin's misery, “of course Vera's been talking to you since dinner? Yes?”
“Yes, these verses Nikolay wrote himself, and I copied some others; and she found them on my table, and said she should show them to mamma, and she said too that I was ungrateful, and that mamma would never allow him to marry me, but that he would marry Julie. You see how he has been with her all day … Natasha! why is it?”
And again she sobbed more bitterly than ever. Natasha lifted her up, hugged her, and, smiling through her tears, began comforting her.
“Sonya, don't you believe her, darling; don't believe her. Do you remember how we talked with Nikolay, all three of us together, in the divan-room, do you remember, after supper? Why, we settled how it should all be. I don't quite remember now, but do you remember, it was all right and all possible. Why, uncle Shinshin's brother is married to his first cousin, and we're only second cousins, you know. And Boris said that it's quite easily arranged. You know I told him all about it. He's so clever and so good,” said Natasha. … “Don't cry, Sonya, darling, sweet one, precious, Sonya,” and she kissed her, laughing. “Vera is spiteful; never mind her! and it will all come right and she won't tell mamma. Nikolinka will tell her himself, and he's never thought of Julie.”
And she kissed her on the head. Sonya got up, and the kitten revived; its eyes sparkled, and it was ready, it seemed, to wag its tail, spring on its soft paws and begin to play with a ball, in its own natural, kittenish way.
“Do you think so? Really? Truly?” she said rapidly, smoothing her frock and her hair.
“Really, truly,” answered Natasha, putting back a stray coil of rough hair on her friend's head; and they both laughed. “Well, come along and sing the ‘Spring.' ”
“Let's go, then.”
“And do you know that fat Pierre, who was sitting opposite me, he's so funny!” Natasha said suddenly, stopping. “I am enjoying myself so,” and Natasha ran along the corridor.
Brushing off the feather fluff from her frock, and thrusting the verses into her bodice next her little throat and prominent breast-bones, Sonya ran with flushed face and light, happy steps, following Natasha along the corridor to the divan-room. At the request of their guests the young people sang the quartette the “Spring,” with which every one was delighted; then Nikolay sang a song he had lately learnt.
“How sweet in the moon's kindly ray,In fancy to thyself to say,That earth holds still one dear to thee!Whose thoughts, whose dreams are all of thee!That her fair fingers as of oldStray still upon the harp of gold,Making sweet, passionate harmony,That to her side doth summon thee!To-morrow and thy bliss is near!Alas! all's past! she is not here!”And he had hardly sung the last words when the young people were getting ready to dance in the big hall, and the musicians began stamping with their feet and coughing in the orchestra.
Pierre was sitting in the drawing-room, where Shinshin had started a conversation with him on the political situation, as a subject likely to be of interest to any one who had just come home from abroad, though it did not in fact interest Pierre. Several other persons joined in the conversation. When the orchestra struck up, Natasha walked into the drawing-room, and going straight up to Pierre, laughing and blushing, she said, “Mamma told me to ask you to dance.”
“I'm afraid of muddling the figures,” said Pierre, “but if you will be my teacher …” and he gave his fat hand to the slim little girl, putting his arm low down to reach her level.
While the couples were placing themselves and the musicians were tuning up, Pierre sat down with his little partner. Natasha was perfectly happy; she was dancing with a grown-up person, with a man who had just come from abroad. She was sitting in view of every one and talking to him like a grown-up person. She had in her hand a fan, which some lady had given her to hold, and taking the most modish pose (God knows where and when she had learnt it), fanning herself and smiling all over her face, she talked to her partner.
“What a girl! Just look at her, look at her!” said the old countess, crossing the big hall and pointing to Natasha. Natasha coloured and laughed.
“Why, what do you mean, mamma? Why should you laugh? Is there anything strange about it?”
In the middle of the third écossaise there was a clatter of chairs in the drawing-room, where the count and Marya Dmitryevna were playing, and the greater number of the more honoured guests and elderly people stretching themselves after sitting so long, put their pocket-books and purses in their pockets and came out to the door of the big hall. In front of all came Marya Dmitryevna and the count, both with radiant faces. The count gave his arm, curved into a hoop, to Marya Dmitryevna with playfully exaggerated ceremony, like a ballet-dancer. He drew himself up, and his face beamed with a peculiar, jauntily-knowing smile, and as soon as they had finished dancing the last figure of the écossaise, he clapped his hands to the orchestra, and shouted to the first violin: “Semyon! do you know ‘Daniel Cooper'?”
That was the count's favourite dance that he had danced in his youth. (Daniel Cooper was the name of a figure of the anglaise.)
“Look at papa!” Natasha shouted to all the room (entirely forgetting that she was dancing with a grown-up partner), and ducking down till her curly head almost touched her knees, she went off into her ringing laugh that filled the hall. Every one in the hall was, in fact, looking with a smile of delight at the gleeful old gentleman. Standing beside his majestic partner, Marya Dmitryevna, who was taller than he was, he curved his arms, swaying them in time to the music, moved his shoulders, twirled with his legs, lightly tapping with his heels, and with a broadening grin on his round face, prepared the spectators for what was to come. As soon as the orchestra played the gay, irresistible air of Daniel Cooper, somewhat like a livelier Russian trepak, all the doorways of the big hall were suddenly filled with the smiling faces of the house-serfs—men on one side, and women on the other—come to look at their master making merry.
“Our little father! An eagle he is!” the old nurse said out loud at one door.
The count danced well and knew that he did, but his partner could not dance at all, and did not care about dancing well. Her portly figure stood erect, with her mighty arms hanging by her side (she had handed her reticule to the countess). It was only her stern, but comely face that danced. What was expressed by the whole round person of the count, was expressed by Marya Dmitryevna in her more and more beaming countenance and puckered nose. While the count, with greater and greater expenditure of energy, enchanted the spectators by the unexpectedness of the nimble pirouettes and capers of his supple legs, Marya Dmitryevna with the slightest effort in the movement of her shoulders or curving of her arms, when they turned or marked the time with their feet, produced no less impression from the contrast, which everyone appreciated, with her portliness and her habitual severity of demeanour. The dance grew more and more animated. The vis-à-vis could not obtain one moment's attention, and did not attempt to do so. All attention was absorbed by the count and Marya Dmitryevna. Natasha pulled at the sleeve or gown of every one present, urging them to look at papa, though they never took their eyes off the dancers. In the pauses in the dance the count drew a deep breath, waved his hands and shouted to the musician to play faster. More and more quickly, more and more nimbly the count pirouetted, turning now on his toes and now on his heels, round Marya Dmitryevna. At last, twisting his lady round to her place, he executed the last steps, kicking his supple legs up behind him, and bowing his perspiring head and smiling face, with a round sweep of his right arm, amidst a thunder of applause and laughter, in which Natasha's laugh was loudest. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily, and mopping their faces with their batiste handkerchiefs.
“That's how they used to dance in our day, ma chère, said the count.
“Bravo, Daniel Cooper!” said Marya Dmitryevna, tucking up her sleeves and drawing a deep, prolonged breath.
玩波士顿纸牌的大牌桌摆开了，牌局也都凑成了，伯爵的客人们在两个厅里就座，一间是摆有沙发的休息室，一间是图书室。 
伯爵把纸牌铺成扇面形，好不容易才改变午睡的习惯，他对着大家露出一张笑脸。伯爵夫人诱使年轻人聚集在击弦古铜琴和竖琴的近旁。朱莉在大家的请求下头一个用竖琴弹奏了一首变奏短曲，她和其余的女孩一块邀请素以音乐天赋出名的娜塔莎和尼古拉唱一首什么歌。大家像对待大人那样对待娜塔莎，她因此显得十分高傲，但同时有几分胆怯。
“我们唱什么？”她问道。
“《泉水》。”尼古拉答道。
“喂，快点。鲍里斯，到这里来吧，”娜塔莎说道，“索尼娅究竟到哪里去了？”
她向四周环顾，看见她的朋友不在房里，便跑去寻找她了。
娜塔莎跑进索尼娅房里，找不到她的女友，便跑到儿童室去了，那里也没有索尼娅的人影。娜塔莎明白，索尼娅呆在走廊里的箱笼上。走廊里的箱笼是罗斯托夫家年轻妇女们倾吐哀愁的地方。诚然，索尼娅呆在箱笼上，俯卧在保姆那张邋遢的条纹绒毛褥子上，她身上穿的粉红色的薄纱连衣裙都给揉皱了。她用手蒙着脸，哽噎得大声痛哭，赤裸裸的肩膀不住地颤抖。娜塔莎整天价因为过命名日而喜形于色，这时分脸色突然变了，她的视线呆滞不动了，之后她的宽大的脖子颤抖了一下，嘴角松垂下来了。
“索尼娅，你怎么样？……您是怎么回事？呜——鸣——
呜！……”
娜塔莎咧开大嘴哭起来了，样子变得十分难看，她像儿童似地嚎啕大哭，不知为什么，只是因为索尼娅哭泣的缘故。索尼娅想要抬起头来，想回答她的话，可是没法这样办，她把头藏得更深了。娜塔莎哭着，在蓝色的绒毛褥子上坐下，一面拥抱着女友。索尼娅鼓足一股劲，欠起身子，揩掉眼泪，开始述说起来。
“过一个礼拜尼古连卡要去打仗了，他的……公文……下达了……他亲自对我说了……我并不想哭哩……”她让娜塔莎看看她拿在手里的一张纸条，那是尼古拉写的诗句，“我并不想哭哩，可是你没法了解……谁也没法了解……他的心肠多么好啊。”
她于是又哭起来，哭他的心肠太好。
“你觉得挺好……我不妒嫉……我爱你，也爱鲍里斯，”她聚精会神地说道，“他是个可爱的人……对你们毫无妨碍。可是尼古拉是我的表兄……有必要……总主教本人允准……即使那样也不行。而且，若是妈妈（索尼娅认为伯爵夫人是母亲，把她称呼为母亲）……她说我断送尼古拉的锦绣前程，我没有好心眼我忘恩负义，说实话……真的……”她在胸前划了个十字，“我这样爱她，也爱你们大家，唯独薇拉……为什么？我有什么对她过不去呢？我十分感谢你们，我乐于为你们牺牲一切，但是我没有什么可以……”
索尼娅不能再往下说了，又托着头，埋进绒毛褥子里。娜塔莎安静下来了，但是从她的脸色可以看出，她心里明白她朋友的苦衷是何等沉重。
“索尼娅，”她忽然说道，仿佛猜中了表姐伤心的真实原因，“薇拉在午饭后大概对你说过什么话？是吗？”
“是的，尼古拉本人写了这些诗，我还抄了一些别的诗；她在我桌上发现了，还说要把它拿给妈妈看，说我忘恩负义，说妈妈决不会容许他娶我为妻，他要娶朱莉为妻。你看见，他整天价同她在一块吗？……娜塔莎！这是为什么？……”
她又哭了起来，显得比原先更悲伤了。娜搭莎帮助她欠起身来，拥抱她，透过眼泪微露笑容，开始安慰她。
“索尼娅，我亲爱的，不要相信她，不要相信啊。你总还记得我们和尼古拉三人在摆满沙发的休息室里说的话吧，是在晚饭后，你还记得吧？我们不是拿定了主意，把日后的事情划算好了吗？我已经记不清了，可是你总还记得事事都美满，事事都亨通。你看申申叔叔的兄弟娶他的表妹为妻，而我们不就是堂表子妹嘛，鲍里斯也说过完全可以这样做嘛。你知道，什么事我都对他说了。他既聪明，而又善良，”娜塔莎说道……“索尼娅，我亲爱的，你不要哭，索尼娅，我的心肝。”她一面吻她，一面发笑。“薇拉真凶恶，去她的吧！事事都会好起来，她也决不会告诉她妈妈的。尼古拉倒会亲口把话说出来，至于朱莉嘛，他连想也没有想过她。”
她于是吻她的头。索尼娅稍微抬起身子来，那只小猫也活跃起来了，一双小眼睛闪闪发光，它好像就要摇摇尾巴，伸出四双柔软的脚爪霍地跳起来，又要去玩耍线团，好像它适宜于这种游戏似的。
“你是这样想的吗？说的是实在的话？真的？”她说道，一面飞快地弄平连衣裙和头发。
“说实话吗？真的吗？”娜塔莎答道，一面给她的朋友弄平辫子下面露出来的一绺粗硬的头发。
她们二人都笑了起来。
“喂，我们去唱《泉水》这首歌吧。”
“我们去吧。”
“你可知道，坐在我对面的这个胖乎乎的皮埃尔多么滑稽可笑！”娜塔莎停步时忽然说道，“我觉得非常快活！”
娜塔莎于是在走廊里跑起来了。
索尼娅拍掉身上的绒毛，把诗藏在怀里靠近突出的胸骨的脖子旁边，她两颊通红，迈着轻盈而快活的步子，跟在娜塔莎身后沿着走廊向摆满沙发的休息室跑去。年轻人应客人之请唱了一首人人喜欢的四人合唱曲《泉水》之后尼古拉还唱了一首已经背熟的歌曲：
在令人欣悦的晚上，
在皎洁月色映照下，
你想象这该是多么幸福：
有个什么人在这尘世上，
她心中暗自把你思念！
她那秀丽的巧手
拨弄着金色的竖琴，
竖琴激越的和音
把你召唤
召唤到身边！
还有一两天，
幸福的生活就要来临……
唉，你的朋友
活不到那么一天！
他还没有唱完最后一句歌词，青年人就在大厅里准备跳舞，乐师们按照霍拉舞曲的节奏，把脚儿跺得咚咚响，这时传来他们的咳嗽声。
皮埃尔坐在客厅里，申申和这个从外国归来的皮埃尔谈论起使他觉得索然无味的政治范畴的事情，还有其他几个人也和他们攀谈起来，当乐队开始奏乐时，娜塔莎步入客厅，她向皮埃尔身边径直地走去，两脸通红，含笑地说道：“妈妈吩咐我请您去跳舞。”
“我怕会搞乱了舞步，”皮埃尔说道，“不过，假如您愿意当我的老师……”
于是他低低地垂下他那只肥胖的手，递给苗条的少女。
当一对对男女拉开距离站着、乐师正在调音律时，皮埃尔和他的小舞伴一同坐下来。娜塔莎觉得非常幸福：她和国外回来的大人跳过舞了。她在大家眼前坐着，像大人那样和他交谈。她手里拿着一把折扇，一位小姐让她拿去扇扇的。她装出一副地道的交际花的姿态（天知道她是何时何地学到的本领），她扇扇子，隔着折扇露出微笑，和她的舞伴交谈。
“她是啥模样？她是啥模样？你们看吧，你们看吧。”老伯爵夫人走过大厅，用手指着娜塔莎，说道。
娜塔莎两颊通红，笑了起来。
“妈妈，怎么啦？您何苦呢？这有什么奇怪的呢？”
第三节苏格兰民间舞曲奏到半中间时，客厅里的坐椅被移动了，伯爵和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜、大部分贵宾和老年人都在这里打纸牌，他们久坐之后伸伸懒腰，把皮夹和钱包放进衣袋里，一个个向大厅走去。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜随同伯爵走在最前面，二人都现出喜悦的神色。伯爵诙谐地装出拘礼的样子，有点像跳芭蕾舞似的，把他那圆圆的手臂伸给玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜。他挺直身子，神采奕奕，流露出特别洒脱的机智的微笑。一跳完苏格兰民间舞，他就向乐师击掌，面对第一提琴手，向那合唱队吼叫：
“谢苗！你熟悉《丹尼拉·库波尔》么？”
这是伯爵青年时代喜欢跳的一种舞蹈。（《丹尼拉·库波尔》其实是英吉利兹舞的一节。）
“瞧我爸爸吧。”娜塔莎朝着整个大厅嚷道（根本忘记了她在和大人一同跳舞），她把长有鬈发的头向膝盖微微垂下，非常洪亮的笑声响彻了厅堂。
诚然，大厅里的人都含着欢快的微笑打量那个愉快的老人，一个比他高大的显赫的女士——玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜站在他身旁，他那手臂蜷曲成圆形，合着拍子摇晃着，舒展开双肩，两脚向外撇开，轻盈地踏着拍子，他圆滚滚的脸上越来越眉开眼笑，让观众准备欣赏将要出现的场景。一当听见欢快的、引人入胜的、与快乐的《特烈帕克》舞曲相似的《丹尼拉·库波尔》舞曲，大厅的几个门口蓦然堆满了家仆的笑脸，一旁是男仆，一旁是女仆，他们都出来观看尽情作乐的老爷。
“我们的老爷！真是苍鹰啊！”保姆从一道门口高声地说道。
伯爵跳得很棒，而且心中有数，不过他的女舞伴根本不擅长跳舞，她也不想把舞跳好。她那硕大的身段笔直地站着，把两只强而有力的手臂低垂下去（她把女式手提包转交给伯爵夫人），只有她那副严肃、但却俊美的面孔在跳舞。伯爵的整个浑圆的身体是他外表上的特点，而越来越显得愉快的眉开眼笑的脸庞和向上翘起的鼻孔却是玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的外貌特征。如果认为，伯爵跳得越来越痛快，他那出乎意料的灵活转动和脚步从容的轻盈跳跃会使观众心神向往，那末，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜在转身或踏拍子时，肩膀一动或者手臂一卷曲，就可轻而易举地产生同样良好的印象；虽然她的身躯过分地肥胖，态度素来严厉，每个观众仍然赞赏不已。舞跳得愈益热闹了。他们对面的别的舞伴一刻也没有引起观众的注意，而且也不介意这件事。伯爵和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜吸引着全体的注意力。在场的人们本来就目不转睛地望着跳舞的伴侣，可是娜塔莎却拉拉这个人袖子，扯扯那个人的连衣裙，要大家都来看看她爸爸。跳舞暂停时，伯爵吃力地喘气，向乐师们挥手喊叫，要他们快点奏乐。伯爵围绕着玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜疾速地旋转，时而把脚尖踮起，时而把脚跟跺地，越来越矫捷，越来越勇猛，终于把舞伴领到她的坐位上，他把一只脚向后磴起来，低垂淌着热汗的头，这样才跳完了最后一个舞步，在洪亮的掌声和笑声中，尤其是在娜塔莎的哈哈大笑声中，他用右手挥动一下，腾空画了一个圆圈。两个跳舞的人停步了，吃力地喘气，用麻纱手巾揩汗。
“我们那个时代就是这样跳舞啊，machère，”①伯爵说道。
“《丹尼拉·库波尔》真不错！”玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜卷起袖子，久久地、吃力地喘气，说道。 
①法语：老大娘。
Book 1 Chapter 18
WHILE IN THE ROSTOVS' HALL they were dancing the sixth anglaise, while the weary orchestra played wrong notes, and the tired footmen and cooks were getting the supper, Count Bezuhov had just had his sixth stroke. The doctors declared that there was no hope of recovery; the sick man received absolution and the sacrament while unconscious. Preparations were being made for administering extreme unction, and the house was full of the bustle and thrill of suspense usual at such moments. Outside the house undertakers were crowding beyond the gates, trying to escape the notice of the carriages that drove up, but eagerly anticipating a good order for the count's funeral. The governor of Moscow, who had been constantly sending his adjutants to inquire after the count's condition, came himself that evening to say good-bye to the renowned grandee of Catherine's court, Count Bezuhov.
The magnificent reception-room was full. Every one stood up respectfully when the governor, after being half an hour alone with the sick man, came out of the sick-room. Bestowing scanty recognition on the bows with which he was received, he tried to escape as quickly as possible from the gaze of the doctors, ecclesiastical personages, and relations. Prince Vassily, who had grown paler and thinner during the last few days, escorted the governor out, and softly repeated something to him several times over.
After seeing the governor, Prince Vassily sat down on a chair in the hall alone, crossing one leg high over the other, leaning his elbow on his knee, and covering his eyes with his hand. After sitting so for some time he got up, and with steps more hurried than his wont, he crossed the long corridor, looking round him with frightened eyes, and went to the back part of the house to the apartments of the eldest princess.
The persons he had left in the dimly lighted reception-room, next to the sick-room, talked in broken whispers among themselves, pausing, and looking round with eyes full of suspense and inquiry whenever the door that led into the dying man's room creaked as some one went in or came out.
“Man's limitation,” said a little man, an ecclesiastic of some sort, to a lady, who was sitting near him listening na?vely to his words—“his limitation is fixed, there is no overstepping it.”
“I wonder if it won't be late for extreme unction?” inquired the lady, using his clerical title, and apparently having no opinion of her own on the matter.
“It is a great mystery, ma'am,” answered the clerk, passing his hands over his bald head, on which lay a few tresses of carefully combed, half grey hair.
“Who was that? was it the governor himself?” they were asking at the other end of the room. “What a young-looking man!”
“And he's over sixty!. … What, do they say, the count does not know any one? Do they mean to give extreme unction?”
“I knew a man who received extreme unction seven times.”
The second princess came out of the sick-room with tearful eyes, and sat down beside Doctor Lorrain, who was sitting in a graceful pose under the portrait of Catherine, with his elbow on the table.
“Very fine,” said the doctor in reply to a question about the weather; “very fine, princess, and besides, at Moscow, one might suppose oneself in the country.”
“Might one not?” said the princess, sighing. “So may he have something to drink?” Lorrain thought a moment.
“He has taken his medicine?”
“Yes.”
The doctor looked at his memoranda.
“Take a glass of boiled water and put in a pinch” (he showed with his delicate fingers what was meant by a pinch) “of cream of tartar.”
“There has never been a case,” said the German doctor to the adjutant, speaking broken Russian, “of recovery after having a third stroke.”
“And what a vigorous man he was!” said the adjutant. “And to whom will his great wealth go?” he added in a whisper.
“Candidates will be found,” the German replied, smiling. Every one looked round again at the door; it creaked, and the second princess having made the drink according to Lorrain's direction, carried it into the sick-room. The German doctor went up to Lorrain.
“Can it drag on till to-morrow morning?” asked the German, with a vile French accent.
Lorrain, with compressed lips and a stern face, moved his finger before his nose to express a negative.
“To-night, not later,” he said softly, and with a decorous smile of satisfaction at being able to understand and to express the exact position of the sick man, he walked away.
Meanwhile Prince Vassily had opened the door of the princess's room.
It was half dark in the room; there were only two lamps burning before the holy pictures, and there was a sweet perfume of incense and flowers. The whole room was furnished with miniature furniture, little sideboards, small bookcases, and small tables. Behind a screen could be seen the white coverings of a high feather-bed. A little dog barked.
“Ah, is that you, mon cousin?”
She got up and smoothed her hair, which was always, even now, so extraordinarily smooth that it seemed as though made out of one piece with her head and covered with varnish.
“Has anything happened?” she asked. “I am in continual dread.”
“Nothing, everything is unchanged. I have only come to have a little talk with you, Katish, about business,” said the prince, sitting down wearily in the low chair from which she had just risen. “How warm it is here, though,” he said. “Come, sit here; let us talk.”
“I wondered whether anything had happened,” said the princess, and with her stonily severe expression unchanged, she sat down opposite the prince, preparing herself to listen. “I have been trying to get some sleep, mon cousin, but I can't.”
“Well, my dear?” said Prince Vassily, taking the princess's hand, and bending it downwards as his habit was.
It was plain that this “well?” referred to much that they both comprehended without mentioning it in words.
The princess, with her spare, upright figure, so disproportionately long in the body, looked straight at the prince with no sign of emotion in her prominent grey eyes. She shook her head, and sighing looked towards the holy pictures. Her gesture might have been interpreted as an expression of grief and devotion, or as an expression of weariness and the hope of a speedy release. Prince Vassily took it as an expression of weariness.
“And do you suppose it's any easier for me?” he said. “I am as worn out as a post horse. I must have a little talk with you, Katish, and a very serious one.”
Prince Vassily paused. and his cheeks began twitching nervously, first on one side, then on the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression such as was never seen on his countenance when he was in drawing-rooms. His eyes, too, were different from usual: at one moment they stared with a sort of insolent jocoseness, at the next they looked round furtively.
The princess, pulling her dog on her lap with her thin, dry hands, gazed intently at the eyes of Prince Vassily, but it was evident that she would not break the silence, if she had to sit silent till morning.
“You see, my dear princess and cousin, Katerina Semyonovna,” pursued Prince Vassily, obviously with some inner conflict bracing himself to go on with what he wanted to say, “at such moments as the present, one has to think of everything. One must think of the future, of you … I care for all of you as if you were my own children; you know that.”
The princess looked at him with the same dull immovable gaze.
“Finally, we have to think of my family too,” continued Prince Vassily, angrily pushing away a little table and not looking at her: “you know, Katish, that you three Mamontov sisters and my wife,—we are the only direct heirs of the count. I know, I know how painful it is for you to speak and think of such things. And it's as hard for me; but, my dear, I am a man over fifty, I must be ready for anything. Do you know that I have sent for Pierre, and that the count, pointing straight at his portrait, has asked for him?”
Prince Vassily looked inquiringly at the princess, but he could not make out whether she was considering what he had said, or was simply staring at him.
“I pray to God for one thing only continually, mon cousin,” she replied, “that He may have mercy upon him, and allow his noble soul to leave this …”
“Yes, quite so,” Prince Vassily continued impatiently, rubbing his bald head and again wrathfully moving the table towards him that he had just moved away, “but in fact … in fact the point is, as you are yourself aware, that last winter the count made a will by which, passing over his direct heirs and us, he bequeathed all his property to Pierre.”
“He may have made ever so many wills!” the princess said placidly; “but he can't leave it to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.”
“Ma chère,” said Prince Vassily suddenly, pushing the table against him, growing more earnest and beginning to speak more rapidly: “but what if a letter has been written to the Emperor, and the count has petitioned him to legitimise Pierre? You understand, that the count's services would make his petition carry weight …”
The princess smiled, as people smile who believe that they know much more about the subject than those with whom they are talking.
“I can say more,” Prince Vassily went on, clasping her hand; “that letter has been written, though it has not been sent off, and the Emperor has heard about it. The question only is whether it has been destroyed or not. If not, as soon as all is over,” Prince Vassily sighed, giving her thereby to understand what he meant precisely by the words “all is over,” “and they open the count's papers, the will with the letter will be given to the Emperor, and his petition will certainly be granted. Pierre, as the legitimate son, will receive everything.”
“What about our share?” the princess inquired, smiling ironically as though anything but that might happen.
“Why, my poor Katish, it is as clear as daylight. He will then be the only legal heir of all, and you won't receive as much as this, see. You ought to know, my dear, whether the will and the petition were written, and whether they have been destroyed, and if they have somehow been overlooked, then you ought to know where they are and to find them, because …”
“That would be rather too much!” the princess interrupted him, smiling sardonically, with no change in the expression of her eyes. “I am a woman, and you think we are all silly; but I do know so much, that an illegitimate son can't inherit … Un batard,” she added, supposing that by this translation of the word she was conclusively proving to the prince the groundlessness of his contention.
“How can you not understand, Katish, really! You are so intelligent; how is it you don't understand that if the count has written a letter to the Emperor, begging him to recognise his son as legitimate, then Pierre will not be Pierre but Count Bezuhov, and then he will inherit everything under the will? And if the will and the letter have not been destroyed, then except the consolation of having been dutiful and of all that results from having done your duty, nothing is left for you. That's the fact.”
“I know that the will was made, but I know, too, that it is invalid, and you seem to take me for a perfect fool, mon cousin,” said the princess, with the air with which women speak when they imagine they are saying something witty and biting.
“My dear princess, Katerina Semyonovna!” Prince Vassily began impatiently, “I have come to you not to provoke you, but to talk to you as a kinswoman, a good, kind-hearted, true kinswoman, of your own interests. I tell you for the tenth time that if the letter to the Emperor and the will in Pierre's favour are among the count's papers, you, my dear girl, and your sisters are not heiresses. If you don't believe me, believe people who know; I have just been talking to Dmitry Onufritch” (this was the family solicitor); “he said the same.”
There was obviously some sudden change in the princess's ideas; her thin lips turned white (her eyes did not change), and when she began to speak, her voice passed through transitions, which she clearly did not herself anticipate.
“That would be a pretty thing,” she said. “I wanted nothing, and I want nothing.” She flung her dog off her lap and smoothed out the folds of her skirt.
“That's the gratitude, that's the recognition people get who have sacrificed everything for him,” she said. “Very nice! Excellent! I don't want anything, prince.”
“Yes, but you are not alone, you have sisters,” answered Prince Vassily. But the princess did not heed him.
“Yes, I knew it long ago, but I'd forgotten that I could expect nothing in this house but baseness, deceit, envy, scheming, nothing but ingratitude, the blackest ingratitude …”
“Do you or do you not know where that will is?” asked Prince Vassily, the twitching of his cheeks more marked than ever.
“Yes, I have been foolish; I still kept faith in people, and cared for them and sacrificed myself. But no one succeeds except those who are base and vile. I know whose plotting this is.”
The princess would have risen, but the prince held her by the arm. The princess had the air of a person who has suddenly lost faith in the whole human race. She looked viciously at her companion.
“There is still time, my dear. Remember, Katish, that all this was done heedlessly, in a moment of anger, of illness, and then forgotten. Our duty, my dear girl, is to correct his mistake, to soften his last moments by not letting him commit this injustice, not letting him die with the thought that he has made miserable those …”
“Those who have sacrificed everything for him,” the princess caught him up; and she made an impulsive effort again to stand up, but the prince would not let her, “a sacrifice he has never known how to appreciate. No, mon cousin,” she added, with a sigh, “I will remember that one can expect no reward in this world, that in this world there is no honour, no justice. Cunning and wickedness is what one wants in this world.”
“Come, voyons, calm yourself; I know your noble heart.”
“No, I have a wicked heart.”
“I know your heart,” repeated the prince. “I value your affection, and I could wish you had the same opinion of me. Calm yourself and let us talk sensibly while there is time—perhaps twenty-four hours, perhaps one. Tell me all you know about the will, and what's of most consequence, where it is; you must know. We will take it now at once and show it to the count. He has no doubt forgotten about it and would wish to destroy it. You understand that my desire is to carry out his wishes religiously. That is what I came here for. I am only here to be of use to him and to you.”
“Now I see it all. I know whose plotting this is. I know,” the princess was saying.
“That's not the point, my dear.”
“It's all your precious Anna Mihalovna, your protégée whom I wouldn't take as a housemaid, the nasty creature.”
“Do not let us waste time.”
“Oh, don't talk to me! Last winter she forced her way in here and told such a pack of vile, mean tales to the count about all of us, especially Sophie—I can't repeat them—that it made the count ill, and he wouldn't see us for a fortnight. It was at that time, I know, he wrote that hateful, infamous document, but I thought it was of no consequence.”
“There we are. Why didn't you tell us about it before?”
“It's in the inlaid portfolio that he keeps under his pillow. Now I know,” said the princess, making no reply. “Yes, if I have a sin to my account, a great sin, it's my hatred of that infamous woman,” almost shrieked the princess, utterly transformed. “And why does she force herself in here? But I'll have it out with her. The time will come!”
当人们在乐师因困倦而弹奏走调的音乐伴奏下正跳第六节英吉利兹舞、疲乏的堂倌和伙夫正准备晚膳的时候，别祖霍夫伯爵第六次罹患中风病。大夫们宣布，他已经没有痊愈的希望了，有人给病人做了忏悔仪式和圣餐仪式，并且还做了涂圣油仪式的准备。平素在这种时刻，这所住宅里的人总是乱哄哄的，惶恐不安地期待。卖棺材的人都聚集在住宅大门外，遇有马车驶近，便躲到一边去，他们等着承做安葬伯爵的棺材，赚一笔大钱。莫斯科军区总司令不断派遣副官来打听伯爵的病情，这天晚上他亲自乘车前来和叶卡捷琳娜时代的大官别祖霍夫伯爵作临终告别。 
华美的接待室挤满了人。当军区总司令独自和病人一起呆了半小时左右，走出门来的时候，大家都肃然起敬地站立起来，他微微鞠躬答礼，想尽快地从凝视他的大夫、神职人员和亲戚身边走过去。这些日子里，瓦西里公爵显得消瘦，脸色苍白，他伴送着军区总司令，轻声向他反复地说着什么话。
瓦西里公爵送走军区总司令后，独自一人在大厅的一把椅子上坐下来，他把一条腿高高地架在另一条腿上，用臂肘撑着膝头，用手捂住眼睛。他这样坐了片刻，便站立起来，用惊恐的目光向四下环顾一番，不像惯常那样，他迈着急急匆匆的脚步，经过走廊，到住宅后院去找公爵的大小姐了。
在灯光暗淡的房间里，人们彼此窃窃私语，声音若断若续，每当有人从通往行将就木者的寝室门口进出，房门发出微弱响声时，人们就寂然无声，用那洋溢着疑问和期待的目光，望望那扇房门。
“人的命运，”一个年老的神职人员对坐在他近旁、稚气地听他说话的女士说道，“命是注定的，不可逾越的。”
“我想，举行涂圣油仪式为时不晚吧？”这位女士补充说出神职人员的头衔，问道，仿佛她在这一点上毫无意见似的。
“大娘，这种圣礼仪式是很隆重的。”神职人员答道，一面用手摸摸那盖有几绺往后梳的斑白头发的秃顶。
“他究竟是谁？是军区总司令本人？”有人在房间的另一端问道，“他显得多么年轻啊！……”
“六十多岁了！据说，伯爵已经认不得他了，是吗？大家想举行涂圣油仪式吗？”
“有个人我可知道哩，他受过七次涂圣油礼了。”
公爵的二小姐从病人寝室里走出来，两眼泪痕斑斑，她在罗兰大夫身旁坐下，这位大夫用臂肘撑在桌子上，姿势优美地坐在叶卡捷琳娜画像下面。
“Tr'èsbeau，”大夫在回答有关天气问题时，说道，“trèsbeau，princesse，etpuis，àMoscouonsecroitàlacomBpagne．”①
“N'est—ce—pas？”②公爵小姐叹息道，“可以让他喝水吗？”
罗兰沉思起来。
“他服了药吗？”
“服过了。”
大夫看了看卜列格怀表。
“请您拿一杯开水，放进unepincée（他用那纤细的指头表示unepincée是什么涵义）decremortartari……”③ 
①法语：很好——公爵小姐，天气很好，而且，莫斯科和乡下很相像。
②法语：是真的？
③法语：一小撮酒石。
“没有患了三次中风还能幸存的事，”德国大夫对副官说道。
“他从前是个精力多么充沛的男人啊！”副官说道。“这份财产以后归什么人？”他轻言细语地补充一句。
“自愿当继承人的准会有的。”德国人面露微笑，答道。
大家又向门口望了一眼，门吱呀一声响了，公爵的二小姐依照罗兰的指点做好了饮料，送到病人那里。德国大夫向罗兰面前走去。
“大概他还能拖到明天早上吧？”德国人说着一口蹩脚的法国话问道。
罗兰撇一撇嘴唇，在鼻子前严肃地挥动指头，表示不赞同。
“今天夜晚，不会更晚。”他轻声说道，他因为能够明确地了解并说明病人的病情而洋洋自得，他脸上露出文质彬彬的笑意，走开了。
与此同时，瓦西里公爵打开了公爵小姐的房门。
房间里半明半暗。神像前面只点着两盏长明灯。神香和花朵散发着沁人的幽香。这个房间摆满了小柜子、小橱子、茶几之类的小家具。围屏后面看得见垫上绒毛褥子的高卧榻上铺着雪白的罩单。
“哦，是您呀，我的表兄吗？”
她站起身来，把头发弄平，她的头发向来是，甚至目前也是又平又光的，宛如头发和脑袋是用同一块原料造成的，头发又上了一层油漆。
“怎么，出了什么事吗？”她问道，“我真害怕得不得了。”
“没有什么，还是那个样子，卡季什，我只是来和你谈一件事情，”公爵说道，困倦地坐在她刚刚坐过的安乐椅上，“可是，你把这张椅子坐热了，”他说道，“到这里来坐吧，cauBsons。”① 
①法语：我们谈谈。
“我原以为出了什么事呢，”公爵小姐说，带着总是那样严肃而呆板的面部表情在公爵对面坐下，准备听他说话。
“我的表兄，我想熟睡一会儿，就是没法睡着。”
“我亲爱的，怎么样？”瓦西里公爵说道，他一把握住公爵小姐的手，习惯地轻轻一按。
可以看出，“怎么样”这几个字是有关他们两人不开口也能相互了解的许多事情。
公爵小姐的腰身干瘦而僵直，和腿比起来显得太长了，一对灰眼睛突出来，直楞楞地、冷冰冰地端详着公爵。她摇摇头，叹口气，望了望神像。她的姿态可以说明她无限忠诚，但内心忧愁，也可以说明她非常劳累，希望快点得到休息，瓦西里公爵把她的姿态说成是困倦的表示。
“而我觉得，”他说道，“你以为我觉得更轻快吗？Jesuisèreintè，commeunchevaldeposte，①卡季什，可是我还要和你谈谈，很认真地谈谈。” 
①法语：我疲乏透了，像一匹驿马。
瓦西里公爵沉默不言，他的两颊时而这边时而那边神经过敏地抽搐起来，使得他的脸庞带有他在客厅里驻足时从未有过的令人不悦的表情。他的眼神也一反常态，时而放肆无礼地、滑稽可笑地望人，时而惊惶失措地环顾四周。
公爵小姐用一双干瘦的手把那只小狗抱在膝头上，聚精会神地望着瓦西里公爵的眼睛。可是，看起来，她即令沉默不言呆到早晨，也没法提出问题来打破这种静默。
“我亲爱的公爵小姐，表妹，卡捷琳娜·谢苗诺夫娜，你是不是知道，”瓦西里公爵说道，看起来，要继续把话说下去，内心斗争不是没有的，“像现在这种时刻，什么都应当考虑考虑，应当考虑到将来，考虑到你们……我爱你们就像爱自己的孩子一样，这一点你是知道的。”
公爵小姐还是那样目光暗淡、滞然不动地望着他。
“最后，还应当考虑考虑我的家庭，”瓦西里公爵恼怒地推开自己身边的茶几，两眼没有望着她，继续说下去，“卡季什，你知道，你们马蒙托夫家的三个姐妹，可还有我的妻子，唯独我们才是伯爵的直系继承人。我晓得，我晓得，说这些事情，想这些事情，你觉得非常难受。我也不觉得轻松；可是，我的朋友，我有五十多岁了，一切事都要有所准备。我派了人去接皮埃尔，伯爵用手笔直地指着他的肖像，要他到他那里来，你知不知道？”
瓦西里公爵以疑问的眼神望望公爵小姐，但他没法弄明白，她是否在想他对她说的话，还是随便地望着他……“我为一桩事一直都在祷告上帝，moncousin，”她答道，“祈祷上帝宽恕他，让他高尚的灵魂平安地离开这个……”
“对，是这样的，”瓦西里公爵心情急躁地继续说下去，一面用手搓着秃头，愤愤地把推开的茶几移到身边来，“可是，到头来，到头来，问题就在于，你自己知道，去冬伯爵写了遗嘱，把他的全部产业留给皮埃尔，我们这些直系继承人都没有份了。”
“遗嘱随他去写吧，没有关系，”公爵小姐心平气和地说道，“但是他不能把遗产交给皮埃尔。皮埃尔是个私生子。”
“machère，”瓦西里公爵忽然说道，他紧紧贴着茶几，露出兴致勃勃的样子，说话的速度更快了，“假如伯爵禀告国王，请求立皮埃尔为子，那可怎么是好？你明白，就凭伯爵的功勋，他的请求是会受到尊重的……”
一些人以为他们自己比谈话对方知道的情形更多，他们就会面露微笑的，公爵小姐也同样地微微一笑。
“我还有更多的话要对你说，”瓦西里公爵一把抓着她的手，继续说下去，“信是写好了，尽管还没有寄上，国王也知道底细，只不过问题在于，这封信是否烧毁。若是没有焚毁，不久的将来一切都会完蛋的。”瓦西里公爵叹口气，用以使人家明白，“一切都会完蛋”的是有什么含义，“伯爵的文件一被拆开，遗嘱及信函就要呈交国王，他的请求大概会得到尊重的。皮埃尔作为合法的儿子就能获得一切产业。”
“而我们的那一份遗产呢？”公爵小姐问道，讥讽地微笑，好像一切都会发生，只有这桩事不会发生似的。
“Mais，mapauvreCatiche，c'estclair，commelejour，①那时候，只有他一人才是全部遗产的合法继承人，你们一定得不到自己的这一份。我亲爱的，你必须知道，遗嘱和奏疏是否已经写好了，或者已经烧毁了。假如这两样被人置之脑后，那你就应当知道这些东西搁在哪里，并且一一找到，因为……”
“竟有如此愚蠢之事！”公爵小姐打断他的话，露出恶意的微笑，也没有改变眼睛的表情，“我是个女人，依您看，我们都是些蠢货。可是，据我所知，私生子不能继承遗产……unbatard，”②她补充一句，以为通过翻译，可以使公爵彻底明了他缺乏继承的充分理由。 
①法语：可是，卡季什，这是一清二楚的事啊。
②法语：私生子。
“卡季什，你怎么总不明白！你这样聪明，怎么不明白；倘使伯爵给国王写了奏疏，请求国王承认他的儿子是合法的。这么说，皮埃尔已经不是皮埃尔，而是别祖霍夫伯爵了，到那时他可凭遗嘱获得全部遗产吗？倘使遗嘱和奏疏未被烧毁，那末，你除了具有高尚品德，聊以自慰而外，什么也捞不到。
这是千真万确的话。”
“我知道，遗嘱已经写好了，但是我也知道，遗嘱不生效，您似乎认为我是个十足的蠢货，moncousin，”公爵小姐说道，她那神态，俨如那些认为自己说了侮辱性的俏皮话的女人的神态一样。
“你是我的亲爱的公爵小姐卡捷琳娜·谢苗诺夫娜！”瓦西里公爵急躁地说道，“我到你这里来不是要和你争吵，而是要和一个亲人、一个善良、诚挚的亲人谈谈你的切身利益问题。我第十次告诉你，倘使伯爵的文件中附有呈送国王的奏疏和对皮埃尔有利的遗嘱，那末，我亲爱的，你和你的几个妹妹都不是遗产继承人了。假若你不相信我，你就相信知情人吧：我方才跟德米特里·奥努夫里伊奇（他是个家庭律师）谈过话，他也是这样说的。”
显然，公爵小姐的思想上忽然起了什么变化，她那薄薄的嘴唇变得苍白了（眼睛还是那个样子），当她开口说话时，嗓音时断时续，显然这并非她自己意料的事。
“这样挺好啊，”她说道，“我从前不想要什么，现在也不想要什么。”
她把那小狗从膝盖上扔下去，弄平连衣裙的皱褶。
“这就是谢忱，这就是对为他牺牲一切的人们的感激之情，”她说道，“好极了！很好！公爵，我什么都不要了。”
“是的，可你不是一个人，你有几个妹妹。”瓦西里公爵答道。
但是公爵小姐不听他说话。
“是的，这是我早就知道的事，可是我已经置之脑后了。除了卑鄙、骗局、嫉妒、阴谋诡计，除了忘恩负义，黑心眼的忘恩负义，我在这栋住宅里什么也不能期待……”
“你知道，还是不知道这份遗嘱搁在什么地方？”瓦西里公爵问道，他的两颊痉挛得比先前更加厉害了。
“是的，我十分愚蠢，还轻信人们，喜爱他们，并且牺牲我自己。可是只有那班卑鄙恶劣的坏人才会得心应手。我晓得这是谁搞的阴谋诡计。”
公爵小姐想站立起来，可是公爵紧紧地握住她的手，不让她走。公爵小姐露出那副样子，就像一个人突然对全人类感到悲观失望似的；她愤恨地望着交谈的对方。
“我的朋友，时间还是有的。卡季什，你要记住，这种种事情都是无意中发生的，是在气忿和罹病之际发生的，之后就遗忘了。我亲爱的，我们的义务就是要纠正他的错误，不让他做出这等不公允的事，减轻他临终之时的疾苦，不让他在心里想到使那些人不幸时死去……”
“那些为他而牺牲一切的人，”公爵小姐应声说道，又挣扎着想要站起来，可是公爵不放她走，“他从来不会器重他们。不，moncousin，”她叹息地补充说，“我要铭记，在这尘世上不能期待奖励，在这尘世上既无荣誉，亦无公理。在这尘世上就要狡猾，凶恶。”
“行了，voyons，①安静下来吧，你的好心肠我是知道的。” 
①法语：行了。
“不，我的心肠恶毒。”
“你的心我是知道的，”公爵重复地说道，“我珍惜你的友谊，希望你对我抱有同样的观点。安静下来吧，parlonsraiBson①，时间还是有的，也许会有一昼夜，也许只有一个钟头，你把你所知道的有关遗嘱的情况全部说给我听吧，主要的是，遗嘱搁在哪儿，你应当知道。我们立刻把它拿给伯爵过目，他大概把它遗忘了，他想把它毁掉。你心里明白，我唯一的心愿就是神圣地履行他的意愿，正是为了这一层，我才走到这里来。我呆在这儿只是为着帮助他，也帮助你们。”
“现在我什么都明白了。我晓得这是谁搞的阴谋诡计。我晓得。”公爵小姐说道。
“我的心肝，不是那么回事。”
“她就是您的被保护人，您的亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，这个卑劣、可恶的女人，给我做婢女我都不愿意接受。”
“Neperdonspointdetemps．”②
“唉，您甭说了吧！她去冬悄悄窜到这里来，向伯爵说了许多骂我们大家，特别是骂索菲的卑鄙龌龊的话，真叫我没法再说一遍，伯爵给弄得害病了，一连两个礼拜不愿意和我们见面。我知道就在这时候他写了这份令人厌恶的文件，不过我以为这份文件是毫无意义的。”
“Nousyvoila③，你干嘛不早点说给我听呢？” 
①法语：我们正经地谈谈吧。
②法语：我们甭浪费时间吧。
③法语：问题也就在这里。
“在他枕头底下的嵌花皮包里。我现在知道了，”公爵小姐不回答他的话，说道，“是的，设若我有罪孽，弥天的罪孽，这就是我痛恨这个可恶的女人，”公爵小姐几乎要叫喊起来，脸色全变了，“她干嘛悄悄窜到这里来？我把要说的话向她一股脑儿说出来，到时候一股脑儿说出来！”
Book 1 Chapter 19
AT THE TIME that these conversations were taking place in the reception-room and the princess's room, a carriage with Pierre (who had been sent for) and Anna Mihalovna (who had thought fit to come with him) in it was driving into the court of Count Bezuhov's mansion. When the sound of the carriage wheels was muffled by the straw in the street, Anna Mihalovna turned with words of consolation to her companion, discovered that he was asleep in his corner of the carriage, and waked him up. Rousing himself, Pierre followed Anna Mihalovna out of the carriage, and only then began to think of the interview with his dying father that awaited him. He noticed that they had driven not up to the visitors' approach, but to the back entrance. As he got down from the carriage step, two men in the dress of tradesmen hastily scurried away from the entrance into the shadow of the wall. Pierre, as he stood waiting, noticed several other similar persons standing in the shadow of the house on both sides. But neither Anna Mihalovna nor the footman and coachman, who must have seen these people, took any notice of them. So it must be all right, Pierre decided, and he followed Anna Mihalovna. With hurrying footsteps Anna Mihalovna walked up the dimly lighted, narrow stone staircase, urging on Pierre, who lagged behind. Though Pierre had no notion why he had to go to the count at all, and still less why he had to go by the back stairs, yet, impressed by Anna Mihalovna's assurance and haste, he made up his mind that it was undoubtedly necessary for him to do so. Half-way up the stairs they were almost knocked over by some men with pails, who ran down towards them, tramping loudly with their big boots. These men huddled up against the wall to let Pierre and Anna Mihalovna pass, and showed not the slightest surprise at seeing them.
“Is this the princess's side of the house?” Anna Mihalovna asked of one of them …
“Yes, it is,” answered the footman in a bold, loud voice, as though anything were permissible at such a time; “the door on the left, ma'am.”
“Perhaps the count has not asked for me,” said Pierre, as he reached the landing. “I had better go to my own room.” Anna Mihalovna stopped for Pierre to catch her up.
“Ah, mon ami,” she said, touching his hand with just the same gesture as she had used in the morning with her son. “Believe me, I am suffering as much as you; but be a man.”
“Really, had I not better go?” Pierre asked affectionately, looking at her over his spectacles.
“Ah, mon ami, forget the wrong that may have been done you, think that it is your father … and perhaps in his death agony,” she sighed. “I have loved you like a son from the first. Trust in me, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests.”
Pierre did not understand a word. Again he felt more strongly than before that all this had to be so, and he obediently followed Anna Mihalovna, who was already opening the door. The door led into the vestibule of the back stairs. In the corner sat the princess's old man-servant knitting stockings. Pierre had never been in this part of the house, and had not even suspected the existence of these apartments. A maid-servant carrying a tray with a decanter overtook them, and Anna Mihalovna (calling her “my dear” and “my good girl”) asked her after the princesses' health, and drew Pierre further along the stone corridor. The first door to the left led out of the corridor into the princesses' living rooms. The maid with the decanter was in a hurry (everything seemed to be done in a hurry at that moment in the house), and she did not close the door after her. Pierre and Anna Mihalovna, as they passed by, glanced unconsciously into the room where the eldest princess and Prince Vassily were sitting close together talking. On catching sight of their passing figures, Prince Vassily made an impatient movement and drew back, the princess jumped up, and with a despairing gesture she closed the door, slamming it with all her might. This action was so unlike the princess's habitual composure, the dismay depicted on the countenance of Prince Vassily was so out of keeping with his dignity, that Pierre stopped short and looked inquiringly over his spectacles at his guide. Anna Mihalovna manifested no surprise; she simply smiled a little and sighed, as though to show that she had anticipated all that.
“Be a man, mon ami, I am looking after your interests,” she said in response to his look of inquiry, and she walked more quickly along the corridor.
Pierre had no notion what was going on, and no inkling of what was meant by watching over his interests. But he felt that all this had had to be so. From the corridor they went into the half-lighted hall adjoining the count's reception-room. This was one of the cold, sumptuously furnished rooms which Pierre knew, leading from the visitors' staircase. But even in this apartment there was an empty bath standing in the middle of the floor, and water had been spilt on the carpet. They were met here by a servant and a church attendant with a censer, who walked on tiptoe and took no notice of them. They went into the reception-room opening into the winter garden, a room Pierre knew well, with its two Italian windows, its big bust and full-length portrait of Catherine. The same persons were all sitting almost in the same positions exchanging whispers in the reception-room. All ceased speaking and looked round at Anna Mihalovna, as she came in with her pale, tear-stained face, and at the big, stout figure of Pierre, as with downcast head he followed her submissively.
The countenance of Anna Mihalovna showed a consciousness that the crucial moment had arrived. With the air of a Petersburg lady of experience, she walked into the room even more boldly than in the morning, keeping Pierre at her side. She felt that as she was bringing the person the dying man wanted to see, she might feel secure as to her reception. With a rapid glance, scanning all the persons in the room, and observing the count's spiritual adviser, she did not precisely bow down, but seemed somehow suddenly to shrink in stature, and with a tripping amble swam up to the priest and reverentially received a blessing first from one and then from another ecclesiastic.
“Thank God that we are in time,” she said to the priest; “all of us, his kinsfolk, have been in such alarm. This young man is the count's son,” she added more softly, “It is a terrible moment.”
Having uttered these words she approached the doctor.
“Dear doctor,” she said to him, “this young man is the count's son. Is there any hope?”
The doctor did not speak but rapidly shrugged his shoulders and turned up his eyes. With precisely the same gesture Anna Mihalovna moved her shoulders and eyes, almost closing her eyelids, sighed and went away from the doctor to Pierre. She addressed Pierre with peculiar deference and tender melancholy.
“Have faith in His mercy,” she said to him, and indicating a sofa for him to sit down and wait for her, she went herself with inaudible steps towards the door, at which every one was looking, and after almost noiselessly opening it, she vanished behind it.
Pierre, having decided to obey his monitress in everything, moved towards the sofa she had pointed out to him. As soon as Anna Mihalovna had disappeared, he noticed that the eyes of all the persons in the room were fixed upon him with something more than curiosity and sympathy in their gaze. He noticed that they were all whispering together, looking towards him with something like awe and even obsequious deference. They showed him a respect such as had never been shown him before. A lady, a stranger to him, the one who had been talking to the priest, got up and offered him her place. An adjutant picked up the glove Pierre had dropped and handed it to him. The doctors respectfully paused in their talk when he passed by them and moved aside to make way for him. Pierre wanted at first to sit somewhere else, so as not to trouble the lady; he would have liked to pick up the glove himself and to walk round the doctors, who were really not at all in the way. But he felt all at once that to do so would be improper; he felt that he was that night a person who had to go through a terrible ceremony which every one expected of him, and that for that reason he was bound to accept service from every one. He took the glove from the adjutant in silence, sat down in the lady's place, laying his big hands on his knees, sitting in the na?vely symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, and decided mentally that it must all inevitably be like this, and that to avoid losing his head and doing something stupid, he must for that evening not act on his own ideas, but abandon himself wholly to the will of those who were guiding him.
Two minutes had not elapsed before Prince Vassily came majestically into the room, wearing his coat with three stars on it, and carrying his head high. He looked as though he had grown thinner since the morning. His eyes seemed larger than usual as he glanced round the room, and caught sight of Pierre. He went up to him, took his hand (a thing he had never done before), and drew it downwards, as though he wanted to try its strength.
“Courage, courage, mon ami. He has asked to see you, that is well …” and he would have gone on, but Pierre thought it fitting to ask: “How is …?” He hesitated, not knowing whether it was proper for him to call the dying man “the count”; he felt ashamed to call him “father.”
“He has had another stroke half-an-hour ago. Courage, mon ami.”
Pierre was in a condition of such mental confusion that the word stroke aroused in his mind the idea of a blow from some heavy body. He looked in perplexity at Prince Vassily, and only later grasped that an attack of illness was called a stroke. Prince Vassily said a few words to Lorrain as he passed and went to the door on tiptoe. He could not walk easily on tiptoe, and jerked his whole person up and down in an ungainly fashion. He was followed by the eldest princess, then by the clergy and church attendants; some servants too went in at the door. Through that door a stir could be heard, and at last Anna Mihalovna, with a face still pale but resolute in the performance of duty, ran out and touching Pierre on the arm, said:
“The goodness of heaven is inexhaustible; it is the ceremony of extreme unction which they are beginning. Come.”
Pierre went in, stepping on to the soft carpet, and noticed that the adjutant and the unknown lady and some servants too, all followed him in, as though there were no need now to ask permission to enter that room.
当客厅中和公爵小姐寝室中交谈正酣的时候，皮埃尔（已着人接他回家）和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜（她认为应当伴他同行）乘坐的四轮轿式马车开进了别祖霍夫伯爵的庭院。当马车车轮软绵绵地经过铺在窗下的麦秆上发出嘎嘎的响声时，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜把脸转向皮埃尔，说了几句安慰的话，当她弄清了，皮埃尔正在车厢的一角睡熟了，她便把他喊醒。皮埃尔睡醒了，跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜身后从车厢里走出来，这时分他才想了想他要和行将就木的父亲见面的事情。他发现他们没有朝前门门口走去，而是朝后门门口走去。他从马车踏板走下来时，有两个穿着市侩服装的人急匆匆地从后门门口跑到墙边的暗影里。皮埃尔停了一会儿，发现住房两边的暗影里还有几个类似模样的人。然而，无论是安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，无论是仆役，还是马车夫，都不会望不见这几个人，但却不去理睬他们。由此看来，非这样不可，皮埃尔拿定了主意，便跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜后面走去。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜迈着急促的脚步沿着灯光暗淡的狭窄的石梯上楼，一面招呼落在她身后的皮埃尔跟上来。虽说皮埃尔心里不明白，他为什么真的要见伯爵，他更不明白，他为什么必须沿着后门的石梯上楼，但从安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的坚定和仓忙的样子来推敲，他暗自断定，非这样不行，别无他途。在石梯半中间，有几个拿着水桶的人，穿着皮靴，踏得咯咯作响，朝着他们迎面跑下楼来，险些儿把他们撞倒。这几个人挨在墙上，让皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜走过去，当他们看见皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜时，丝毫没有现出诧异的样子。 
“这里可通往公爵小姐的住房吗？”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向他们之中的某人问道。
“在这里。”有个仆役大胆地、嗓音洪亮地答道。仿佛现在什么事都是可行的，“大娘，门在左边。”
“伯爵也许没有喊我，”皮埃尔走到楼梯的平台时，说道，“我回到自己的住房去好了。”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜停步了，想和皮埃尔一同并肩走。
“Ah，monami”她说道，那姿态就像早晨和儿子在一起时碰碰他的手那样，“croyez，quejesoffre，autantquevous，maissoyezhomme。”①
“说实话，我去好吗？”皮埃尔问道，透过眼镜温和地望着安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜。
“Ah，monami，oubliezlestortsqu'onapuavoirenversvous，pensezquec'estvotrepère……peut－êtreàl'agonie她叹了口气，“Jevousaitoutdesuiteaimecommemonfils，fiezvousàmoi，Pierre，Jen'oublieraipasvosintérêts．”② 
①法语：啊，我的朋友，请您相信，我比您更加难受，但是，您要做个男子汉。
②法语：啊，我的朋友，请您忘记人家对您不公道的态度吧。请您想想，他是您父亲……也许他死在旦夕。就像爱儿子那样，我一下子爱上您了。皮埃尔，信赖我吧，我决不会忘记您的切身利益。
皮埃尔什么也不明白，仿佛愈益感觉得到，一切都非如此不可，他于是温顺地跟随在那个打开房门的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜身后。
这道门朝向后门的外间。公爵小姐们的一个年老的仆役坐在屋角里织长统袜子。皮埃尔从来没有到过这半边住宅，连想也没有想过这种内室的生活。一个婢女手捧托盘，托着一只长颈水瓶，从后头赶上他们了，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜称呼她小妹子、亲爱的，向她探问公爵小姐们的健康状况。她带领皮埃尔沿着砖石结构的走廊向前走去。走廊左边的第一扇门通向公爵小姐们的住房。手捧长颈水瓶的婢女在仓促中没有关上房门（这时分整座住宅显得手忙脚乱），皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜从旁边走过时，情不自禁地朝房里瞥了一眼，瓦西里公爵和公爵的大小姐正坐在这间屋里，彼此隔得很近，正在谈话。瓦西里公爵看见有人从旁边过去，做了个烦躁的动作，身子向后仰，靠在椅背上；公爵的大小姐霍地跳起来，无所顾忌地、鼓足气力地砰的一声关上门了。
这个动作和公爵的大小姐平素的宁静截然不同，瓦西里公爵脸上露出的恐怖和他固有的傲气也不相称，因此皮埃尔止了步，他以疑问的目光透过眼镜望了望他的带路人。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜没有显示出诧异的样子，只是微微一笑，喘了喘气，好像在表示，这一切没有出乎她所意料。
“Soyezhomme，monami，c'estmoiquiveilleraiàvosintérêts。”①她在应对他的眼神时说道，而且行速更快地沿着走廊走去了。 
①法语：我的朋友，要做个大丈夫，我准维护您的利益。
皮埃尔心里不明白是怎么回事，他更不明白veilleràvosintecits①有何涵义，但他心里明白，这一切理当如此。他们经过走廊走到和伯爵的接待室毗邻的半明半暗的大厅。这是皮埃尔从正门的台阶一看就知晓的冰凉的豪华卧室之一。但是，就在这卧室的中央，摆着一只空浴盆，地毯上洒满了水。一名仆役和一名手捧香炉的教堂下级职员踮着脚尖向他们迎面走来，并没有注意他们。他们走进了皮埃尔熟悉的接待室，室内安装有两扇朝着冬季花园的意大利式窗户，陈列着一座叶卡捷琳娜的半身大雕像和一幅她的全身画像。接待室里还是原来那些人，差不多还是坐在原来那些位子上窃窃私语。大家都静默起来了，回头望望走进门来的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，她泪痕斑斑，脸色苍白；也回头望望个子高大、长得肥胖的皮埃尔，他低垂着头，顺从地跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜后面。 
①法语：维护他的利益。
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的神色表明了，她已经意识到紧要关头来到了。她不让皮埃尔离开她身边，显露出彼得堡女士那种务实的风度，步入房间，那样子比早上显得更大胆了。她觉得，她领着一个死在旦夕的伯爵想要见面的人，所以，她被接见一事是有保证的了。她向房里所有的人匆匆地瞥了一眼，看见了伯爵的那个听取忏悔的神甫，她没有躬起身子，但忽然变得更矮小了。她迈着小步东歪西扭地走到神甫面前，十分恭敬地接受一个又一个神职人员的祝福。
“谢天谢地，总算赶到了，”她对一个神职人员说道，“我们大伙儿，这些亲属多么担心啊。这个年轻人就是伯爵的儿子，”她把嗓门压得更低，补充了一句，“多么可怕的时刻！”
她说完这些话，就向大夫面前走去了。
“Cherdocteur，”她对他说道，“cejeunehommeestlefilsducomte……ya—t—ildel'espoir？”①
大夫沉默不言，飞快地抬起眼睛，耸起肩膀，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜也同样地耸起肩膀，抬起几乎是合上的眼睛，叹了一口气，便离开大夫，向皮埃尔面前走去。她把脸转过来，和皮埃尔交谈，样子显得特别谦恭、温柔而又忧愁。
“Ayezconfianceensamisericorde！”②她对他说道，用手指了指小沙发，让他坐下来等候她，她自己悄悄地向大家盯着的那扇门走去，门的响声几乎听不见，她随即在门后隐藏起来了。 
①法语：亲爱的大夫，这个青年是伯爵的儿子……是不是有希望呢？
②法语：信赖天主发善心吧！
皮埃尔拿定了主意，事事都听从他的带路人，他向她指给他看的小沙发走去。一当安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜躲在门后，他就发现，房间里的众人的目光都过分好奇地、同情地凝聚在他身上。他发现，大家在窃窃私语，用目光向他表示，有如目光中流露出恐惧，甚至是奴颜婢膝的样子。大家都向他表示前所未有的敬意。有个他不认识的女士，原先她和几个神职人员谈话，此刻站起身来，向他让座。副官把他无意中掉在地上的一只手套捡起来交给他。他从大夫们身边经过时，他们都默不做声，躲到一边去，给他让路。皮埃尔本来想坐在别的位子上，以免那个女士受拘束，本来想自己把手套捡起来，从那些根本没有拦路的大夫们身边绕过去，可是他突然感到这样做似乎不恰当，他感到今天晚上他是个务必要举行一次可怖的、人人期待的仪式的人物，因此他必须接受大家为他服务。他默不作声地从副官手里接过那只手套，坐在那个女士的座位上，摆出一副埃及雕像那样天真的姿势，把一双大手搁在摆得平衡的膝头上。他暗自下了决心，认为必须这样行事，为了要今天晚上不张皇失措，不做出傻事，他就不宜依照自己的见解行动，务必要完全听从指导他的人们的摆布。
还不到两分钟，瓦西里公爵便穿着那件佩戴有三枚星徽的长衣，高高地仰着头，傲慢地走进房里来。从清早起他似乎显得有点消瘦，当他向房里环顾，瞧见皮埃尔时，他的两眼比平常瞪得更大了。他向皮埃尔面前走去，一把握住他的手（过去他从未握过他的手），并且向下曳了曳，好像想测试一下，这只手臂的力气大不大。
“Courage，courage，monamiIlademandéàvousvoir，C'estbien……”①他于是要走了。
但是皮埃尔认为，问一问是有必要的。
“身体可好么……”他踌躇起来，不知道把行将就木的人称为伯爵是否恰当；他觉得把他称为父亲是很难为情的。
“Ilaeuencoreuncoup，ilyaunedemi—heure、还发作过一次。Courage，monami…”② 
①法语：我的朋友，不要气馁，不要气馁。他吩咐人家把您喊来。这很好……
②法语：半小时前还发作过一次。……我的朋友……不要气馁……
皮埃尔处于思路不清的状态中，他一听到“中风病发作”，便把这个词想象成受到某件物体的打击。他惶惑不安地望了望瓦西里公爵，之后才想起，有种病叫做中风。瓦西里公爵在走路时对罗兰说了几句话，就踮着脚尖走进门去。他不善于踮着脚尖走路，整个身子呆笨地一耸一耸地翕动。公爵的大小姐跟在他身后，几个神甫和教堂下级职员尾随其后，仆人们也走进门里去。从门后可以听见物体移动的响声，末了，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜跑了出来，她的脸部仍然显得那样苍白，但却流露着坚决履行义务的神色，她碰碰皮埃尔的手臂，说道：
“Labontédivineestinépuisable，C'estlacérémoniedel'ex－tremeonctionquivacommencervenez．”① 
①法语：上帝的慈善是无穷的。马上就要举行涂圣油仪式了。我们走吧。
皮埃尔踩着柔软的地毯走进门来，他发现一名副官、一个不相识的女士，还有仆役中的某人都跟在他身后走进门来，好像此刻无须获得许可就能走进这个房间了。
Book 1 Chapter 20
PIERRE KNEW WELL that great room, divided by columns and an arch, and carpeted with Persian rugs. The part of the room behind the columns, where on one side there stood a high mahogany bedstead with silken hangings, and on the other a huge case of holy pictures, was brightly and decoratively lighted up, as churches are lighted for evening service. Under the gleaming ornamentation of the case stood a long invalid chair, and in the chair, on snow-white, uncrumpled, freshly changed pillows, covered to the waist with a bright green quilt, Pierre recognised the majestic figure of his father, Count Bezuhov, with the grey shock of hair like a lion's mane over his broad forehead, and the characteristically aristocratic, deep lines on his handsome, reddish-yellow face. He was lying directly under the holy pictures: both his great stout arms were lying on the quilt. In his right hand, which lay with the palm downwards, a wax candle had been thrust between the thumb and forefinger, and an old servant bending down over the chair held it in it. About the chair stood the clergy in their shining ceremonial vestments, with their long hair pulled out over them. They held lighted candles in their hands, and were performing the service with deliberate solemnity. A little behind them stood the two younger princesses holding handkerchiefs to their eyes, and in front of them the eldest, Katish, stood with a vindictive and determined air, never for an instant taking her eyes off the holy image, as though she were declaring to all that she would not answer for herself, if she were to look around. Anna Mihalovna with a countenance of meek sorrow and forgiveness stood at the door with the unknown lady. Prince Vassily was standing close to the invalid chair on the other side of the door. He had drawn a carved, velvet chair up to him, and was leaning on the back of it with his left hand, in which he held a candle, while with his right he crossed himself, turning his eyes upwards every time as he put his finger to his forehead. His face expressed quiet piety and submission to the will of God. “If you don't understand such feelings, so much the worse for you,” his face seemed to say.
Behind him stood the adjutant, the doctors, and the men-servants; the men and the women had separated as though they were in church. All were silently crossing themselves, nothing was audible but the reading of the service, the subdued, deep bass singing, and in the intervals of silence sighs could be heard and the shuffling of feet. With a significant air, which showed she knew what she was about, Anna Mihalovna walked right across the room to Pierre and gave him a candle. He lighted it, and absorbed in watching the people around him, he absent-mindedly crossed himself with the hand in which he held the candle. The youngest princess, Sophie, the rosy, laughing one with the mole, was looking at him. She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, and for a long while did not uncover it. But looking at Pierre again, again she laughed. She was apparently unable to look at him without laughing, but could not resist looking at him, and to be out of temptation, she softly moved behind a column. In the middle of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased, and they whispered something to one another. The old servant, who was holding the count's hand, got up and turned to the ladies. Anna Mihalovna stepped forward and, stooping over the sick man, she beckoned behind her back to Lorrain. The French doctor had been leaning against the column without a candle, in the respectful attitude of the foreigner, who would show that in spite of the difference of religion he comprehends all the solemnity of the ceremony and even approves of it. With the noiseless steps of a man in full vigour of his age, he went up to the sick man. His delicate, white fingers lifted his disengaged hand from the quilt, and turning away, the doctor began feeling the pulse in absorbed attention. They gave the sick man some drink; there was a slight bustle around him, then all went back to their places and the service was continued. During this break in the proceedings Pierre noticed that Prince Vassily moved away from his chair-back, and with that same air of being quite sure of what he was about, and of its being so much the worse for others, if they failed to understand it, he did not go up to the sick man, but passed by him and joined the eldest princess. Then together they went away to the further end of the room to the high bedstead under the silk canopy. When they moved away from the bed the prince and princess disappeared together by the further door, but before the end of the service they returned one after the other to their places. Pierre paid no more attention to this circumstance than to all the rest, having once for all made up his mind that all that he saw taking place that evening must inevitably be as it was.
The sounds of the church singing ceased and the voice of the chief ecclesiastic was heard, respectfully congratulating the sick man on his reception of the mystery. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable as before. Every one was moving about him, there was the sound of footsteps and of whispers, Anna Mihalovna's whisper rising above the rest.
Pierre heard her say: “Undoubtedly he must be moved on to the bed; it's impossible …”
The sick man was so surrounded by the doctors, the princesses and the servants, that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow face with the grey mane, which he had never lost sight of for one instant during the ceremony, even though he had been watching other people too. Pierre guessed from the cautious movements of the people about the chair that they were lifting the dying man up and moving him.
“Hold on to my arm; you'll drop him so,” he heard the frightened whisper of one of the servants. “Lower down … another one here,” said voices. And their heavy breathing and hurried tread seemed to show that the weight they carried was too heavy for them.
As they passed him—Anna Mihalovna among them—the young man caught a glimpse over people's backs and necks of the great muscular open chest, the grey, curly, leonine head, and the massive shoulders of the sick man, which were pushed up, as he was supported under the armpits. His head, with its extraordinarily broad brow and cheek-bones, its beautiful sensual mouth, and haughty, cold eyes, was not disfigured by the proximity of death. It was just the same as Pierre had seen it three months before, when his father had been sending him off to Petersburg. But the head swayed helplessly with the jerky steps of the bearers, and the cold, apathetic eyes did not know on what to rest.
They were busy for several minutes round the high bed; then the people, who had moved the count, dispersed. Anna Mihalovna touched Pierre's arm and said, “Come along.” With her Pierre approached the bed, on which the sick man had been laid in a ceremonial position in keeping with the sacred rite that had just been performed. He was lying with his head propped high on the pillows. His hands were laid symmetrically on the green silk quilt with the palms turned downwards. When Pierre came up, the count looked straight at him, but he looked at him with a gaze the intent and significance of which no man could fathom. Either these eyes said nothing, but simply looked because as eyes they must look at something, or they said too much. Pierre stopped, not knowing what he was to do, and looked inquiringly at his monitress. Anna Mihalovna gave him a hurried glance, with a gesture indicating the sick man's hand and with her lips wafting towards it a phantom kiss. Pierre did as he was bid, and carefully craning his neck to avoid entanglement with the quilt, kissed the broad-boned, muscular hand. There was not the faintest stir in the hand, nor in any muscle of the count's face. Pierre again looked inquiringly at Anna Mihalovna to learn what he was to do now. Anna Mihalovna glanced towards the armchair that stood beside the bed. Pierre proceeded obediently to sit down there, his eyes still inquiring whether he had done the right thing. Anna Mihalovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell into the na?vely symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, obviously distressed that his ungainly person took up so much room, and doing his utmost to look as small as possible. He looked at the count. The count still gazed at the spot where Pierre's face had been, when he was standing up. Anna Mihalovna's attitude evinced her consciousness of the touching gravity of this last meeting between father and son. It lasted for two minutes, which seemed to Pierre an hour. Suddenly a shudder passed over the thick muscles and furrows of the count's face. The shudder grew more intense; the beautiful mouth was contorted (it was only then that Pierre grasped how near death his father was) and from the contorted mouth there came a husky, muffled sound. Anna Mihalovna looked intently at the sick man's mouth, and trying to guess what he wanted, pointed first to Pierre, then to some drink, then in an inquiring whisper she mentioned the name of Prince Vassily, then pointed to the quilt. The eyes and face of the sick man showed impatience. He made an effort to glance at the servant, who never moved away from the head of his bed.
“His excellency wants to be turned over on the other side,” whispered the servant, and he got up to turn the heavy body of the count facing the wall.
Pierre stood up to help the servant.
While the count was being turned over, one of his arms dragged helplessly behind, and he made a vain effort to pull it after him. Whether the count noticed the face of horror with which Pierre looked at that lifeless arm, or whether some other idea passed through his dying brain, he looked at the refractory arm, at the expression of horror on Pierre's face, again at his arm, and a smile came on his face, strangely out of keeping with its features; a weak, suffering smile, which seemed mocking at his own helplessness. Suddenly, at the sight of that smile, Pierre felt a lump in his throat and a tickling in his nose, and tears dimmed his eyes. The sick man was turned towards the wall. He sighed.
“He has fallen into a doze,” said Anna Mihalovna, noticing the princess coming to take her turn by the bedside. “Let us go.”
Pierre went out.
这个大房间皮埃尔了若指掌，几根圆柱和一道拱门把它隔开来了，四面墙上挂满了波斯壁毯。房间里的圆柱后面，一方摆着一张挂有帷幔的高高的红木卧榻，另一方陈设着一个大神龛，像晚祷时的教堂一般，房间的这一部分灯火明亮，红光四射。神龛的灿烂辉煌的金属衣饰底下，放着一张伏尔泰椅，上面摆着几个雪白的、尚未揉皱的、显然是刚刚换上的枕头，皮埃尔所熟悉的他父亲别祖霍夫伯爵的端庄的身躯就躺在这张伏尔泰椅上，一床鲜绿色的被子盖在他腰上，在那宽大的额头上还露出狮子鬃毛般的白发，在那俊美的橙红色的脸上，仍旧刻有高贵者特有的深深的皱纹。他直挺挺地躺在神像下方，两只肥大的手从被底下伸出来，放在它上面。右手手掌向下，大拇指和食指之间插着一根蜡烛，一名老仆从伏尔泰椅后面弯下腰去，用手扶着那根蜡烛。几个神职人员高高地站在伏尔泰椅前面，他们身穿闪闪发光的衣裳，衣裳外面露出了长长的头发，他们手里执着点燃的蜡烛，缓慢地、庄严地做着祷告。两个年纪较小的公爵小姐站在神职人员身后不远的地方，用手绢捂着眼角边，公爵的大小姐卡季什站在她们前面，她现出凶恶而坚定的神态。目不转睛地望着神像，好像在对众人说，如果她一环顾，她就没法控制自己。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脸上流露着温顺的忧愁和大度包容的神色，她和一个不认识的女士伫立在门旁。这扇门的另一边，靠近伏尔泰椅的地方，瓦西里公爵站在雕花的天鹅绒面交椅后面，他把椅背向自己身边转过来，左手执着一根蜡烛撑在椅背上，每次当地用手指碰到额角时，他就抬起眼睛，一面用右手画十字。他的脸上呈露着心安理得的虔诚和对上帝意志的无限忠诚。“假若你们不明白这种感情，那末你们就更糟了。”他那神色仿佛说出了这番话。 
一名副官、数名大夫和一名男仆站在瓦西里公爵后面，俨如在教堂里那样，男人和女人分立于两旁。大家都沉默不言，用手画着十字，只听见琅琅祈祷声、圆浑而低沉的唱诗声以及静默时移动足步的响声和叹息声。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜现出威风凛凛的样子，表示她知道应该怎样行事，她于是穿过房间走到皮埃尔身边，把一支蜡烛递给他。他把蜡烛点燃了，因为他乐于观察周围的人而忘乎所以，竟然用那只拿过蜡烛的手画起十字来。
最年幼的长有一颗胎痣的公爵小姐索菲，两颊粉红，含着笑意，正在打量着皮埃尔。她微微一笑，把脸蛋藏进手绢里，久久地不肯把它露出来。但是她望了望皮埃尔，又笑了起来。显然，她觉得看见他就会发笑，但却忍不住，还是会看他，为避免引诱，她悄悄地窜到圆柱后面去了。在祈祷的半中间，神职人员的声音骤然停止了，但有几个神甫轻声地交谈了三言两语，一名老仆握着伯爵的手，站起身来，向女士们转过脸去。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向前走去，在病人前面弯下腰来，从背后用指头把罗兰招呼过来。这个法国大夫没有执着点燃的蜡烛，作出一副外国人的恭敬的样子挨着圆柱站在那里，他那样子表明，尽管信仰不同，但他还是明了正在举行的仪式的全部重要意义，他甚至对这种仪式表示称赞。他迈着壮年人的不声不响的脚步向病人身边走去，用他那雪白而纤细的手指从绿色被子上拿起伯爵那只空手，转过脸去，开始把脉，他沉思起来。有人让病人喝了点什么，在他身旁动弹起来，然后又闪在一边，各自回到自己的座位上。暂停之后祈祷又开始了。在暂时休息的时候，皮埃尔看见，瓦西里公爵从椅子背后走出来，那神态表示，他心里知道应该怎样行事，假若别人不了解他，他们的处境就更糟了，他没有走到病人跟前，而是从他身边经过，他去联合公爵的大小姐，和她一起走到寝室深处挂有丝绸帷幔的高高的卧榻那里去了。公爵和公爵的大小姐离开卧榻朝后门方向隐藏起来了，但在祈祷告竣之前，他们二人前后相随又回到自己的座位上。皮埃尔对这种情形，如同对其他各种情形一样，并不太注意，他断然认为，今晚发生的各种事情都是不可避免的。
唱诗中断了，可以听见一个神职人员恭敬地祝贺病人受圣礼。病人仍旧是死气沉沉地一动不动地躺着。大家在他周围动弹起来了，传来步履声和絮语声，在这些语声之中，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的声音听来最刺耳了。
皮埃尔听见她这样说：
“一定要将病人移到床上去，在这里是决不行的……”
大夫们、公爵小姐们和仆役们都围在病人身边，以致皮埃尔看不见橙红色的头和狮子鬃毛般的白发，尽管在祈祷时他也看见其他人，但是伯爵的头一刻也没有越出他的视野，从围在伏尔泰椅旁边的人们的小心翼翼的动作来看，皮埃尔已经猜想到，有人在把垂危的人抬起来，把他搬到别的地方去了。
“抓住我的手，那样会摔下去的，”他听见一个仆役的惊恐的低语声，“从下面托住……再来一个人，”几个人都开腔说话，人们喘着粗气的声音和移动脚步的声音显得更加急促了，好像他们扛的重东西是他们力所不能及的。
扛起伯爵的人们，其中包括安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜在内，都赶上年轻的皮埃尔，走到他身边了，从人们的背脊和后脑勺后面，他隐约地看见病人又高又胖的裸露的胸膛，因被人搀起两腋而略微向上翘起的胖乎乎的肩膀和长满卷曲白发的狮子般的头。他的前额和颧骨非常宽阔，嘴长得俊美而富于肉感，目光威严而冷漠。这个头并未因濒临死亡而变得难看，和三个月以前伯爵打发皮埃尔去彼得堡时一模一样。但是，这个头竟因扛起伯爵的人脚步不均匀而显得软弱无力，微微地摇晃，他那冷漠的目光真不知要停留在什么上面。
扛过病人的人们在那高高的卧榻周围忙碌几分钟以后，就各自散开了。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜碰了碰皮埃尔的手，对他说：“venez．”①皮埃尔和她一道走到卧榻前面，病人安放在卧榻之上，那姿态逍遥自在，这显然是和方才施圣礼有关系。他躺着，头部高高地靠在睡枕上，掌心向下，两手平衡地搁在绿色丝绸被子上。当皮埃尔走到近旁，伯爵的目光直直地射在他身上，但是没有人能够了解他那目光表露什么意义，也许它根本没有含义，只是因为他还有一双眼睛，他就要朝个方向随便看看罢了，也许这目光表明了太多的心事。皮埃尔停步了，不知道该做什么好，他用疑问的目光看了看他的带路人安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜赶快使个眼色向他示意，同时用手指着病人的手，用嘴唇向它送了个飞吻。皮埃尔极力地把颈子伸长，以免碰到伯爵的丝绸被子，又用嘴唇吻吻他那骨胳大的肥厚的手，履行了她的忠告。无论是伯爵的手，还是他脸上的筋肉都不会颤动了。皮埃尔又疑问地望了望安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，向她发问，他现在该做什么事。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向他使个眼色，心中意指着卧榻旁边的安乐椅。皮埃尔在安乐椅上温顺地坐下来，继续用目光询问，他做得是否恰到好处。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜点点头，表示称赞。皮埃尔又做出一副埃及雕像那种恰如其分的稚气的姿势，显然，他因为自己那粗笨肥大的身体占据太大的空间而倍觉遗憾，才煞费苦心尽量使自己缩得小一点。他两眼望着伯爵。伯爵还在端详着皮埃尔站立时他脸部露出的地方。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的面部表情说明了，她意识到父子最后一次相会的时刻是何等令人感动。这次相会持续了两分钟，皮埃尔心里觉得这两分钟好像一小时似的。伯爵脸上的大块肌肉和皱纹突然间颤抖起来，抖得越来越厉害，他的美丽的嘴扭歪了（这时皮埃尔才明白他父亲濒临死亡了），从那扭歪的嘴里发出模糊不清的嘶哑的声音。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜极力地看着病人的眼睛，力图猜中他想要什么东西，她时而用手指着皮埃尔，时而指着饮料，时而带着疑问的语调轻声地叫出瓦西里公爵的名字，时而用手指着伯爵的被子。病人的眼睛和脸部流露出已无耐性的样子。他极力凝视一直站在床头的仆人。 
①法语：我们走吧。
“老爷想把身子转向另一侧啦，”仆役轻声地说道，他站了起来，让伯爵把脸部向墙，将那沉重的身躯侧向另一边。
皮埃尔站立起来，帮助这个仆人。
当众人使伯爵翻过身去的时候，他的一只手软弱无力地向后垂下，他用力地想把自己的这只手拿过去，但是无能为力，白费劲。伯爵是否已经发觉，皮埃尔在用那可怖的目光望着这只感觉迟钝的手，也许还有什么别的思绪在这生命垂危的脑海中闪现，但他望了一下自己那只不听使唤的手，望了一下皮埃尔脸上流露的可怖的表情，又望了一下自己的手，那脸上终于露出了一种和他的仪表不能并容的万分痛苦的微笑，仿佛在讥讽他自己的虚弱无力。皮埃尔望见这种微笑，胸中忽然不寒而栗，鼻子感到刺痛，一汪泪水使他的视线模糊了。病人面向墙壁，被翻过身去。他叹了口气。
“Ilestassoupi．”①安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜看见走来接班的公爵小姐，说道，“Allons。”②
皮埃尔走出去了。
Book 1 Chapter 21
THERE WAS by now no one in the reception-room except Prince Vassily and the eldest princess, who were in eager conversation together, sitting under the portrait of Catherine. They were mute at once on seeing Pierre and his companion, and the princess concealed something as Pierre fancied and murmured: “I can't stand the sight of that woman.”
“Katish has had tea served in the little drawing-room,” Prince Vassily said to Anna Mihalovna. “Go, my poor Anna Mihalovna, take something or you will not hold out.”
To Pierre he said nothing; he simply pressed his arm sympathetically. Pierre and Anna Mihalovna went on into the little drawing-room.
“There is nothing so reviving as a cup of this excellent Russian tea, after a sleepless night,” said Lorrain with an air of restrained briskness, sipping it out of a delicate china cup without a handle, as he stood in the little circular drawing-room close to a table laid with tea-things and cold supper-dishes. All who were in Count Bezuhov's house on that night had, with a view to fortifying themselves, gathered around the table. Pierre remembered well that little circular drawing-room with its mirrors and little tables. When there had been balls in the count's house, Pierre, who could not dance, had liked sitting in that little room full of mirrors, watching the ladies in ball-dresses with pearls and diamonds on their bare shoulders, as they crossed that room and looked at themselves in the brightly lighted mirrors that repeated their reflections several times. Now the same room was dimly lighted with two candles, and in the middle of the night the tea-set and supper-dishes stood in disorder on one of the little tables, and heterogeneous, plainly dressed persons were sitting at it, whispering together, and showing in every word that no one could forget what was passing at that moment and what was still to come in the bedroom. Pierre did not eat anything, though he felt very much inclined to. He looked round inquiringly towards his monitress, and perceived that she had gone out again on tiptoe into the reception-room where Prince Vassily had remained with the eldest princess. Pierre supposed that this too was an inevitable part of the proceedings, and, after a little delay, he followed her. Anna Mihalovna was standing beside the princess, and they were both talking at once in excited tones.
“Allow me, madam, to know what is and what is not to be done,” said the princess, who was apparently in the same exasperated temper as she had been when she slammed the door of her room.
“But, dear princess,” Anna Mihalovna was saying mildly and persuasively, blocking up the way towards the bedroom and not letting the princess pass. “Would that not be too great a tax on poor uncle at such a moment, when he needs repose? At such moments to talk of worldly matters when his soul is already prepared …”
Prince Vassily was sitting in a low chair in his habitual attitude, with one leg crossed high above the other. His cheeks were twitching violently, and when they relaxed, they looked heavier below; but he wore the air of a man little interested in the two ladies' discussion.
“No, my dear Anna Mihalovna, let Katish act on her own discretion. You know how the count loves her.”
“I don't even know what is in this document,” said the princess, addressing Prince Vassily, and pointing to the inlaid portfolio which she held in her hand. “All I know is that the real will is in the bureau, and this is a paper that has been forgotten. …”
She tried to get round Anna Mihalovna, but the latter, with another little skip, barred her way again.
“I know, dear, sweet princess,” said Anna Mihalovna, taking hold of the portfolio, and so firmly that it was clear she would not readily let go of it again. “Dear princess, I beg you, I beseech you, spare him. I entreat you.”
The princess did not speak. All that was heard was the sound of a scuffle over the portfolio. There could be no doubt that if she were to speak, she would say nothing complimentary to Anna Mihalovna. The latter kept a tight grip, but in spite of that her voice retained all its sweet gravity and softness.
Pierre, come here, my dear boy. He will not be one too many, I should imagine, in a family council; eh, prince?”
“Why don't you speak, mon cousin?” the princess shrieked all of a sudden, so loudly that they heard her voice, and were alarmed by it in the drawing-room. “Why don't you speak when here a meddling outsider takes upon herself to interfere, and make a scene on the very threshold of a dying man's room? Scheming creature,” she muttered viciously, and tugged at the portfolio with all her might, but Anna Mihalovna took a few steps forward so as not to lose her grasp of it and changed hands.
“Ah,” said Prince Vassily, in reproachful wonder. He got up. “It is ridiculous. Come, let go. I tell you.” The princess let go.
“And you.”
Anna Mihalovna did not heed him.
“Let go, I tell you. I will take it all upon myself. I will go and ask him. I … you let it alone.”
“But, prince,” said Anna Mihalovna, “after this solemn sacrament, let him have a moment's peace. Here, Pierre, tell me your opinion,” she turned to the young man, who going up to them was staring in surprise at the exasperated face of the princess, which had thrown off all appearance of decorum, and the twitching cheeks of Prince Vassily.
“Remember that you will have to answer for all the consequences,” said Prince Vassily sternly; “you don't know what you are doing.”
“Infamous woman,” shrieked the princess, suddenly pouncing on Anna Mihalovna and tearing the portfolio from her. Prince Vassily bowed his head and flung up his hands.
At that instant the door, the dreadful door at which Pierre had gazed so long, and which had opened so softly, was flung rapidly, noisily open, banging against the wall, and the second princess ran out wringing her hands.
“What are you about?” she said, in despair. “He is passing away, and you leave me alone.”
The eldest princess dropped the portfolio. Swiftly Anna Mihalovna stooped and, snatching up the object of dispute, ran into the bedroom. The eldest princess and Prince Vassily recovering themselves followed her. A few minutes later the eldest princess came out again with a pale, dry face, biting her underlip. At the sight of Pierre her face expressed irrepressible hatred.
“Yes, now you can give yourself airs,” she said, “you have got what you wanted.” And breaking into sobs, she hid her face in her handkerchief and ran out of the room.
The next to emerge was Prince Vassily. He staggered to the sofa, on which Pierre was sitting, and sank on to it, covering his eyes with his hand. Pierre noticed that he was pale, and that his lower jaw was quivering and working as though in ague.
“Ah, my dear boy,” he said, taking Pierre by the elbow—and there was a sincerity and a weakness in his voice that Pierre had never observed in him before—“what sins, what frauds we commit, and all for what? I'm over fifty, my dear boy. … I too. … It all ends in death, all. Death is awful.” He burst into tears.
Anna Mihalovna was the last to come out. She approached Pierre with soft, deliberate steps. “Pierre,” she said. Pierre looked inquiringly at her. She kissed the young man on the forehead, wetting him with her tears. She did not speak for a while.
“He is no more. …”
Pierre gazed at her over his spectacles.
“Come. I will take you back. Try to cry. Nothing relieves like tears.”
She led him into the dark drawing-room, and Pierre was glad that no one could see his face. Anna Mihalovna left him, and when she came back he was fast asleep with his arm under his head.
The next morning Anna Mihalovna said to Pierre: “Yes, my dear boy, it is a great loss for us all. I do not speak of you. But God will uphold you; you are young, and now you are at the head of an immense fortune, I hope. The will has not been opened yet. I know you well enough to know that this will not turn your head, but it will impose duties upon you and you must be a man.”
Pierre did not speak.
“Perhaps, later, I may tell you, my dear boy, that if I had not been there God knows what would have happened. You know, my uncle promised me, only the day before yesterday, not to forget Boris. But he had no time. I hope, dear friend, that you will fulfil your father's desire.”
Pierre did not understand a word, and colouring shyly, looked dumbly at Anna Mihalovna. After talking to him, Anna Mihalovna drove to the Rostovs', and went to bed. On waking in the morning, she told the Rostovs and all her acquaintances the details of Count Bezuhov's death. She said that the count had died, as she would wish to die herself, that his end had been not simply touching, but edifying; that the last interview of the father and son had been so touching that she could not recall it without tears; and that she did not know which had behaved more nobly in those terrible moments: the father, who had remembered everything and every one so well at the last, and had said such moving words to his son; or Pierre, whom it was heartbreaking to see, so utterly crushed was he, though he yet tried to conceal his grief, so as not to distress his dying father. “It is painful, but it does one good; it uplifts the soul to see such men as the old count and his worthy son,” she said. She told them about the action of the princess and Prince Vassily too, but in great secrecy, in whispers, and with disapproval.
除开瓦西里公爵和公爵的大小姐而外，接待室里没有其他人，他们二人坐在叶卡捷琳娜画像下面，正在兴致勃勃地谈论什么事。他们一望见皮埃尔和他的带路人，就默不作声了。 
皮埃尔仿佛看见公爵的大小姐把一样东西藏起来，并且轻言细语地说道：
“我不能跟这个女人见面。”
“Caticheafaitdonnerduthédanslepetitesalon，”瓦西里公爵对安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，“Allez，mapauvre安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，prenezquequeclhose，autrementvousnesuffirezpas．”③
他对皮埃尔什么话也没有说，只是亲切地握握他的手。皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向petitAalon④走去。 
①法语：他昏迷不醒了。
②法语：我们走吧。
③法语：卡季什已经吩咐人将茶端进小客厅去了。可怜的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，您最好去提提精神，否则您会没有力气的。
④法语：小客厅。
“Iln'yarienquirestaure，commeunetassedecetexcelBlentthérusseaprèsunenuitblanche，”①罗兰在圆形小客厅的桌子前面站着，这张桌上放着茶具和晚餐的冷菜，他端着很精致的不带把的中国茶碗，一口一口地呷着茶，流露着抑制兴奋的神色说道。这天晚上，那些在别祖霍夫伯爵家里的人，为了要提提精神，都聚集在桌子周围。皮埃尔很清楚地记得这间嵌有几面镜子和摆放几张茶几的圆形小客厅。伯爵家里举行舞会时，皮埃尔不会跳舞，只喜欢坐在这间嵌有镜子的小客厅里，从一旁观看那些穿着舞衣、裸露的肩上戴有钻石和珍珠项链的女士们穿过这间客厅时照照镜子的情景，几面闪闪发亮的镜子一连几次反映出她们的身影。现在这个房间只点着两根光线暗淡的蜡烛，在这深夜里，一张小茶几上乱七八糟地放着茶具和盘子，穿着得不太雅致的五颜六色的人们坐在这个房间里窃窃私语，言语行动都表示谁也不会忘记现在发生的事情和可能发生的事情。皮埃尔没有去吃东西，尽管他很想吃东西。他带着疑问的目光望望他的带路人，看见她踮起脚尖又走到接待室，瓦西里公爵和公爵的大小姐还呆在那里，没有走出去。皮埃尔认为有必要这样行事，他停了一会，便跟在她后面去了。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜站在公爵的大小姐近旁，二人同时心情激动地轻声说话。 
①法语：在不眠之夜以后，再没有什么比一碗十分可口的俄国茶更能恢复精力的了。
“公爵夫人，请您让我知道，什么是需要的，什么是不需要的。”公爵的大小姐说，她那激动的心情显然跟她砰然一声关上房门时的心情一样。
“可是，亲爱的公爵小姐，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜拦住通往寝室的路，不让公爵小姐走过去，她温和而恳切地说，“在可怜的叔叔需要休息的时刻，这样做不会使他太难受么？在他已经有了精神准备的时刻，竟然谈论世俗的事情……”
瓦西里公爵坐在安乐椅上，一条腿高高地架在另一条腿上，现出十分亲热的姿态。他的腮帮子深陷，下部看起来更为肥厚，跳动得很厉害，但是他摆出一副不太关心两个女士谈论的样子。
“Voyons，mabonne，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，laissezfaireCatiche①，您知道，伯爵多么喜爱她啊。”
“这份文件中包含有什么，我真的不知道，”公爵小姐把脸转向瓦西里公爵，并用手指着她拿在手里的镶花皮包，说道，“我只知道他的真遗嘱搁在旧式写字台里，而这是一份被遗忘的文件……”
她想从安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜身边绕过去，但安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜跳到她跟前，拦住她的去路。
“亲爱的、慈善的公爵小姐，我知道，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，用手抓着皮包，抓得很紧，看起来她不会很快松手的，“亲爱的公爵小姐，我求您，我央求您，怜悯怜悯他。
Jevousenconjure……”② 
①法语：不过，我亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，让卡季什去做她知道做的事吧。
②法语：我央求您。
公爵的大小姐默不作声。只传来用力抢夺皮包的响声。由此可见，如果她开口说话，她也不会说出什么称赞安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的话来。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜抓得很紧，但是她的声音慢吞吞的，还是保持着谄媚、委婉的意味。
“皮埃尔，我的朋友，到这里来。我想，他在亲属商议事情时不是多馀的。公爵，不是这样吗？”
“我的表兄，干嘛不作声？”公爵的大小姐突然叫喊起来，喊声很大，客厅里也能听见，可把大家吓坏了，“天晓得有个什么人胆敢在这里干涉别人的事，在临近死亡的人家里大吵大闹，您干嘛在这个时候一声不吭？一个施耍阴谋诡计的女人！”她凶恶地轻声说道，使尽全身力气去拖皮包，但是安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向前走了几步，不想放开那个皮包，换一只手把它抓住了。
“哎呀！”瓦西里公爵露出责备和惊讶的神态说，他站起身来。“C'estridicule，voyons①，放开吧，我说给您听吧。”
公爵的大小姐放开手了。
“您也放开手！”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜没有听从他。
“放开，我说给您听吧。我对一切负责。我去问他。我……
您别这样了。”
“Mais，monnpuince，”②安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，“在举行这样盛大的圣礼以后，让他安静片刻吧。皮埃尔，您把您的意见说出来，”她把脸转向年轻人说道；皮埃尔走到他们近侧，诧异地打量着公爵小姐那副凶狠的，丧失体统的面孔和瓦西里公爵的不停地颤动的两颊。 
①法语：这真可笑。得啦吧。
②法语：但是，我的公爵。
“您要记得，您要对一切后果负责，”瓦西里公爵严肃地说，“您不知道您在搞什么名堂。”
“讨厌的女人！”公爵小姐嚷道，忽然向安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜扑了过去，夺取那皮包。
瓦西里公爵低下头来，把两手一摊。
这时分，那扇房门——素来都是轻轻地打开的令人可怖的房门，皮埃尔久久地望着，房门忽然砰地一声被推开了，撞到墙壁上，公爵的二小姐从那里跑出来，把两手举起轻轻一拍。
“你们在做什么事？”她无所顾忌地说道，“Ils'envaetvousmelaissezseule．”① 
①法语：他快要死了，可你们把我一个人留在那里。
公爵的大小姐丢掉了皮包。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜飞快弯下腰去，顺手拾起那件引起争端的东西，就到寝室里去了。公爵的大小姐和瓦西里公爵在清醒以后，也跟在她后面走去。过了几分钟，公爵的大小姐头一个从那里走出来，面色惨白，紧闭着下嘴唇。她看见皮埃尔，脸上露出了难以抑制的愤恨。
“对了，您现在高兴了，”她说道，“这是您所期待的。”
她于是嚎啕大哭起来，用手绢蒙住脸，从房里跑出去了。
瓦西里公爵跟在公爵的大小姐后面走出去。他步履踉跄地走到皮埃尔坐的长沙发前面，用一只手蒙住眼睛，跌倒在长沙发上。皮埃尔发现他脸色苍白，下颔跳动着，颤栗着，像因冷热病发作而打战似的。
“哎呀，我的朋友！”他一把抓住皮埃尔的胳膊肘，说道，嗓音里带有一种诚实的软弱的意味，这是皮埃尔过去从未发觉到的，“我们造了多少孽，我们欺骗多少人，这一切为了什么？我的朋友，我已经五十多岁了……要知道，我……人一死，什么都完了，都完了。死是非常可怕的。”他大哭起来。
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜最后一人走出来。她用徐缓的脚步走到皮埃尔面前。
“皮埃尔！……”她说道。
皮埃尔以疑问的目光望着她。她吻吻年轻人的前额，眼泪把它沾湿了。她沉默了片刻。
“Iln'estplus…”①
皮埃尔透过眼镜望着她。
“Allons，jevousreconduiraiTachezdepleurer．Riennesoulage，commeleslarmes．”② 
①法语：他不在世了。
②法语：我们走吧，我送您去。想法子哭吧，没有什么比眼泪更能使人减轻痛苦。
她把他带到昏暗的客厅里，皮埃尔心里很高兴的是，那里没有人看见他的面孔。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜从他身旁走开了。当她回来时，他把一只手搁在脑底下酣睡了。
翌日清晨，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜对皮埃尔说：
“Oui，moncher，c'estunegrandepertepournoustous，Jeneparlepasdevous．Maisdieuvoussoutiendra，vousêtesjeuneetvousvoilàalateted'uneimmensefortune，jel'espère，Letestanentn'apasétéencoreouvert，Jevousconnaisassezpoursavoirquecelanevoustounrnerapaslatête，maiscelavousim－posedesdevoirs，etilfautêtre
hommê．”①
皮埃尔沉默不言。
“Peut—êtreplustardjevousdirai，moncher，quesijen'avaispasetela，Dieusaitcequiseraitarrive．Voussavezmononcleavant—hierencoremepromettaitdenepasoubliBerBoris．Maisiln'apaseuletemps．J'espère，moncherami，quevousremplirezledésirdevotrepère．”② 
①法语：对，我的朋友，即使不提及您，这对于我们所有的人也是极大的损失。但是上帝保佑您，您很年轻，我希望您如今是一大笔财产的拥有者。遗嘱还没有拆开来，对于您的情形我相当熟悉，坚信这不会使您冲昏头脑。但是这要您承担义务，您要做个大丈夫。
②法语：以后我也许会说给您听的，如果我不在那里，天知道会发生什么事。您知道，叔父前天答应我不要不顾鲍里斯，但是他来不及了。我的朋友，我希望您能履行父亲的意愿。
皮埃尔什么也不明白，他沉默不言，羞涩地涨红着脸，抬起眼睛望着名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜和皮埃尔谈了几句话，便离开他，前往罗斯托夫家憩宿。翌日清晨醒来，她向罗斯托夫家里人和各个熟人叙述了别祖霍夫伯爵辞世的详细情节。她说，伯爵正如她意料中的情景那样去世了，他的死不仅颇为感人，而且可资垂训。父子最后一次的会面竟如此感人，以致一想起此事她就会痛哭流涕，她不晓得在这令人可怖的时刻，父子二人中谁的行为表现更为出色，是在临终的时候对所有的事情和所有的人一一回顾、并对儿子道出感人的话的父亲呢，还是悲恸欲绝、为使死在旦夕的父亲不致于难受而隐藏自己内心的忧愁的、令人目睹而怜惜的皮埃尔。“C'estpenible，maiscelafaitdu
bien：caelèvel'amedevoirdeshommes，commelevieuxcomteetsondignefils。”①她说道。她也秘而不宣地、低声地谈到公爵的大小姐和瓦西里公爵的行为，但却不予以赞扬。 
①法语：这是令人难受的，却是富有教育意义的，当你看见老伯爵和他的当之无愧的儿子时，灵魂就变得高尚了。
Book 1 Chapter 22
AT BLEAK HILLS, the estate of Prince Nikolay Andreivitch Bolkonsky, the arrival of young Prince Andrey and his wife was daily expected. But this expectation did not disturb the regular routine in which life moved in the old prince's household. Prince Nikolay Andreivitch, once a commander-in-chief, known in the fashionable world by the nickname of “the Prussian king,” had been exiled to his estate in the reign of Paul, and had remained at Bleak Hills ever since with his daughter, Princess Marya, and her companion, Mademoiselle Bourienne. Even in the new reign, though he had received permission to return to the capital, he had never left his home in the country, saying that if any one wanted to see him, he could travel the hundred and fifty versts from Moscow to Bleak Hills, and, for his part, he wanted nobody and nothing. He used to maintain that human vices all sprang from only two sources—idleness and superstition, and that there were but two virtues—energy and intelligence. He had himself undertaken the education of his daughter; and to develop in her these important qualities, he continued giving her lessons in algebra and geometry up to her twentieth year, and mapped out her whole life in uninterrupted occupation. He was himself always occupied in writing his memoirs, working out problems in higher mathematics, turning snuff-boxes on his lathe, working in his garden, or looking after the erection of farm buildings which were always being built on his estate. Since the great thing for enabling one to get through work is regularity, he had carried regularity in his manner of life to the highest point of exactitude. His meals were served in a fixed and invariable manner, and not only at a certain hour, but at a certain minute. With those about him, from his daughter to his servants, the count was sharp and invariably exacting, and so, without being cruel, he inspired a degree of respect and awe that the most cruel man could not readily have commanded. In spite of the fact that he was now on the retired list, and had no influence whatever in political circles, every high official in the province in which was the prince's estate felt obliged to call upon him, and had, just like the architect, the gardener, or Princess Marya, to wait till the regular hour at which the prince always made his appearance in the lofty waiting-room. And every one in the waiting-room felt the same veneration, and even awe, when the immensely high door of the study opened and showed the small figure of the old man in a powdered wig, with his little withered hands and grey, overhanging eyebrows, that, at times when he scowled, hid the gleam in his shrewd, youthful-looking eyes.
On the day that the young people were expected to arrive, Princess Marya went as usual at the fixed hour in the morning into the waiting-room to say good-morning to her father, and with dread in her heart crossed herself and mentally repeated a prayer. Every day she went in to her father in the same way, and every day she prayed that her interview with her father might pass off well that day. The old man-servant, wearing powder, softly got up from his seat in the waiting-room and whispered: “Walk in.”
Through the door came the regular sounds of the lathe. The princess kept timidly hold of the door, which opened smoothly and easily, and stood still in the doorway. The prince was working at his lathe, and glancing round, he went on with what he was doing.
The immense room was filled with things obviously in constant use. The large table, on which lay books and plans, the high bookcases with keys in the glass-covered doors, the high table for the prince to write at, standing up, with an open manuscript-book upon it, the carpenter's lathe, with tools ranged about it and shavings scattered around, all suggested continual, varied, and orderly activity. The movements of the prince's small foot in its Tatar, silver-embroidered boot, the firm pressure of his sinewy, lean hand, showed the strength of vigorous old age still strong-willed and wiry. After making a few more turns, he took his foot from the pedal of the lathe, wiped the plane, dropped it into a leather pouch attached to the lathe, and going up to the table called his daughter. He never gave the usual blessing to his children; he simply offered her his scrubby, not yet shaved cheek, and said sternly and yet at the same time with intense tenderness, as he looked her over: “Quite well? … All right, then, sit down!” He took a geometry exercise-book written by his own hand, and drew his chair up with his leg.
“For to-morrow,” he said quickly, turning to the page and marking it from one paragraph to the next with his rough nail. The princess bent over the exercise-book. “Stop, there's a letter for you,” the old man said suddenly, pulling out of a pocket hanging over the table an envelope addressed in a feminine hand, and putting it on the table.
The princess's face coloured red in patches at the sight of the letter. She took it hurriedly and bent over it.
“From Heloise?” asked the prince, showing his still strong, yellow teeth in a cold smile.
“Yes, from Julie,” said the princess, glancing timidly at him, and timidly smiling.
“Two more letters I'll let pass, but the third I shall read,” said the prince severely. “I'm afraid you write a lot of nonsense. The third I shall read.”
“Read this one, father,” answered the princess, colouring still more and handing him the letter.
“The third, I said the third,” the prince cried shortly; pushing away the letter and leaning his elbow on the table, he drew up to him the book with the figures of geometry in it.
“Now, madam,” began the old man, bending over the book close to his daughter, and laying one arm on the back of the chair she was sitting on, so that the princess felt herself surrounded on all sides by the peculiar acrid smell of old age and tobacco, which she had so long associated with her father. “Come, madam, these triangles are equal: kindly look; the angle A B C. …”
The princess glanced in a scared way at her father's eyes gleaming close beside her. The red patches overspread her whole face, and it was evident that she did not understand a word, and was so frightened that terror prevented her from understanding all the subsequent explanations her father offered her, however clear they might be. Whether it was the teacher's fault or the pupil's, every day the same scene was repeated. The princess's eyes grew dim; she could see and hear nothing; she could feel nothing but the dry face of her stern father near her, his breath and the smell of him, and could think of nothing but how to escape as soon as possible from the study and to make out the problem in freedom in her room. The old man lost his temper; with a loud, grating noise he pushed back and drew up again the chair he was sitting on, made an effort to control himself, not to fly into a rage, and almost every time did fly into a rage, and scold, and sometimes flung the book away.
The princess answered a question wrong.
“Well, you are too stupid!” cried the prince, pushing away the book, and turning sharply away. But he got up immediately, walked up and down, laid his hand on the princess's hair, and sat down again. He drew himself up to the table and continued his explanations. “This won't do; it won't do,” he said, when Princess Marya, taking the exercise-book with the lesson set her, and shutting it, was about to leave the room: “mathematics is a grand subject, madam. And to have you like the common run of our silly misses is what I don't want at all. Patience, and you'll get to like it.” He patted her on the cheek. “It will drive all the nonsense out of your head.” She would have gone; he stopped her with a gesture, and took a new, uncut book from the high table.
“Here's a book, too, your Heloise sends you some sort of Key to the Mystery. Religious. But I don't interfere with any one's belief…. I have looked at it. Take it. Come, run along, run along.”
He patted her on the shoulder, and himself closed the door after her.
Princess Marya went back to her own room with that dejected, scared expression that rarely left her, and made her plain, sickly face even plainer. She sat down at her writing-table, which was dotted with miniature portraits, and strewn with books and manuscripts. The princess was as untidy as her father was tidy. She put down the geometry exercise-book and impatiently opened the letter. The letter was from the princess's dearest friend from childhood; this friend was none other than Julie Karagin, who had been at the Rostovs' name-day party.
Julie wrote in French:
“DEAR AND EXCELLENT FRIEND,—What a terrible and frightful thing is absence! I say to myself that half of my existence and of my happiness is in you, that notwithstanding the distance that separates us, our hearts are united by invisible bonds; yet mine rebels against destiny, and in spite of the pleasures and distractions around me, I cannot overcome a certain hidden sadness which I feel in the bottom of my heart since our separation. Why are we not together as we were this summer in your great study, on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why can I not, as I did three months ago, draw new moral strength from that gentle, calm, penetrating look of yours, a look that I loved so well and that I seem to see before me as I write to you.”
When she reached this passage, Princess Marya sighed and looked round into the pier-glass that stood on her right. The glass reflected a feeble, ungraceful figure and a thin face. The eyes, always melancholy, were looking just now with a particularly hopeless expression at herself in the looking-glass. She flatters me, thought the princess, and she turned away and went on reading. But Julie did not flatter her friend: the princess's eyes—large, deep, and luminous (rays of warm light seemed at times to radiate in streams from them), were really so fine, that very often in spite of the plainness of the whole face her eyes were more attractive than beauty. But the princess had never seen the beautiful expression of her eyes; the expression that came into them when she was not thinking of herself. As is the case with every one, her face assumed an affected, unnatural, ugly expression as soon as she looked in the looking-glass.
She went on reading:
“All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my two brothers is already abroad, the other is with the Guards, who are starting on the march to the frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburg, and, people declare, intends to expose his precious existence to the risks of war. God grant that the Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of Europe may be brought low by the angel whom the Almighty in His mercy has given us as sovereign. Without speaking of my brothers, this war has deprived me of one of my heart's dearest alliances. I mean the young Nicholas Rostov, whose enthusiasm could not endure inaction, and who has left the university to go and join the army. Well, dear Marie, I will own to you that, in spite of his extreme youth, his departure for the army has been a great grief to me. This young man, of whom I spoke to you in the summer, has so much nobility, so much real youthfulness, rarely to be met with in our age, among our old men of twenty. Above all, he has so much openness and so much heart. He is so pure and poetic that my acquaintance with him, though so transient, has been one of the dearest joys known by my poor heart, which has already had so much suffering. Some day I will tell you about our farewells and all that we said to each other as we parted. As yet, all that is too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are fortunate in not knowing these joys and these pains which are so poignant. You are fortunate, because the latter are generally stronger! I know very well that Count Nicholas is too young ever to become more to me than a friend, but this sweet friendship, this poetic and pure intimacy have fulfilled a need of my heart. No more of this. The great news of the day, with which all Moscow is taken up, is the death of old Count Bezuhov, and his inheritance. Fancy, the three princesses have hardly got anything, Prince Vassily nothing, and everything has been left to M. Pierre, who has been acknowledged as a legitimate son into the bargain, so that he is Count Bezuhov and has the finest fortune in Russia. People say that Prince Vassily behaved very badly in all these matters and that he has gone back to Petersburg quite cast down.
“I own that I understand very little about all these details of legacies and wills; what I know is that since the young man whom we all used to know as plain M. Pierre has become Count Bezuhov and owner of one of the largest fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to observe the change in the tone and the manners of mammas burdened with marriageable daughters and of those young ladies themselves, towards that individual— who I may say in passing has always seemed to me a poor creature. As people have amused themselves for the last two years in giving me husbands whom I don't know, the matrimonial gossip of Moscow generally makes me Countess Bezuhov. But you, I am sure, feel that I have no desire to become so. About marriage, by the by, do you know that the universal aunt, Anna Mihalovna, has confided to me, under the seal of the deepest secrecy, a marriage scheme for you. It is no one more or less than Prince Vassily's son, Anatole, whom they want to settle by marrying him to some one rich and distinguished, and the choice of his relations has fallen on you. I don't know what view you will take of the matter, but I thought it my duty to let you know beforehand. He is said to be very handsome and very wild; that is all I have been able to find out about him.
“But enough of gossip. I am finishing my second sheet and mamma is sending for me to go and dine with the Apraxins. Read the mystical book which I send you, and which is the rage here. Though there are things in this book, difficult for our human conceptions to attain to, it is an admirable book, and reading it calms and elevates the soul. Farewell. My respects to your father and my compliments to Mlle. Bourienne. I embrace you as I love you.
JULIE.
“P.S.—Let me hear news of your brother and his charming little wife.”
Princess Marya thought a minute, smiling dreamily (her face, lighted up by her luminous eyes, was completely transformed). Suddenly getting up, she crossed over to the table, treading heavily. She got out a sheet of paper and her hand began rapidly moving over it. She wrote the following answer:
“DEAR AND EXCELLENT FRIEND,—Your letter of the 13th gave me great delight. So you still love me, my poetic Julie. So, absence, which you so bitterly denounce, has not had its usual effect upon you. You complain of absence—what might I say, if I ventured to complain, I, deprived of all who are dear to me? Ah, if we had not religion to console us, life would be very sad. Why do you suppose that I should look severe when you tell me of your affection for that young man? In such matters I am hard upon no one but myself. I understand such feelings in other people, and if, never having felt thern, I cannot express approval, I do not condemn them. Only it seems to me that Christian love, the love of our neighbour, the love of our enemies, is more meritorious, sweeter and more beautiful than those feelings that may be inspired in a poetic and loving young girl like you, by the fine eyes of a young man.
“The news of Count Bezuhov's death reached us before your letter, and affected my father very much. He says that the count was the last representative but one of the great century and that it is his turn now; but that he will do his best to have his turn come as late as possible. May God save us from that terrible misfortune. I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I knew as a child. He always appeared to me to have an excellent heart, and that is the quality that I most esteem in people. As to his inheritance and Prince Vassily's behaviour about it, it is very sad for both. Ah, my dear friend, our divine Saviour's word, that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of Heaven is a terribly true saying; I pity Prince Vassily, and I am yet more sorry for Pierre. So young and burdened with this wealth, to what temptations he will be exposed! If I were asked what I wished most in the world, it would be to be poorer than the poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the work you send me, and which is all the rage where you are. As, however, you tell me that amid many good things there are others to which our weak human understanding cannot attain, it seems to me rather useless to busy oneself in reading an unintelligible book, since for that very reason it cannot yield any profit. I have never been able to comprehend the passion which some people have for confusing their minds by giving themselves to the study of mystical books which only awaken their doubts, inflaming their imagination, and giving them a disposition to exaggeration altogether contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us read the Apostles and the Gospel. Do not let us seek to penetrate what is mysterious in these, for how can we dare presume, miserable sinners as we are, to enter into the terrible and sacred secrets of Providence, while we wear this carnal husk that raises an impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal? Let us rather confine ourselves to studying those sublime principles which our divine Saviour has left us as guides for our conduct here below; let us seek to conform ourselves to those and follow them; let us persuade ourselves that the less range we give to our weak human understanding, the more agreeable it will be to God, who rejects all knowledge that does not come from Him; that the less we seek to dive into that which He has pleased to hide from our knowledge the sooner will He discover it to us by means of His divine Spirit.
“My father has not spoken to me of the suitor, but has only told me that he has received a letter, and was expecting a visit from Prince Vassily. In regard to a marriage-scheme concerning myself, I will tell you, my dear and excellent friend, that to my mind marriage is a divine institution to which we must conform. However painful it may be to me, if the Alrnighty should ever impose upon me the duties of a wife and mother, I shall try to fulfil them as faithfully as I can without disquieting myself by examining my feelings in regard to him whom He may give me for a husband.
“I have received a letter from my brother, who announces his coming to Bleak Hills with his wife. It will be a pleasure of brief duration, since he is leaving us to take part in this unhappy war into which we have been drawn, God knows how and why. It is not only with you, in the centre of business and society, that people talk of nothing except war, for here also, amid those rustic labours and that calm of nature, which townspeople generally imagine in the country, rumours of war are heard and are felt painfully. My father talks of nothing but marches and counter-marches, things of which I understand nothing; and the day before yesterday, taking my usual walk in the village street, I witnessed a heartrending scene.… It was a convoy of recruits that had been enrolled in our district, and were being sent away to the army. You should have seen the state of the mothers, wives and children of the men who were going, and have heard the sobs on both sides. It seems as though humanity had forgotten the laws of its divine Saviour, Who preached love and the forgiveness of offences, and were making the greatest merit to consist in the art of killing one another.
“Adieu, dear and good friend: may our divine Saviour and His most Holy Mother keep you in their holy and powerful care.
MARIE.”
“Ah, you are sending off your letters, princess. I have already finished mine. I have written to my poor mother,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne quickly in her agreeable, juicy voice, with a roll of the r's. She came in, all smiles, bringing into the intense, melancholy, gloomy atmosphere of the Princess Marya an alien world of gay frivolity and self-satisfaction. “Princess, I must warn you,” she added, dropping her voice, “the prince has had an altercation,” she said, with a peculiar roll of the r, seeming to listen to herself with pleasure. “An altercation with Mihail Ivanov. He is in a very ill humour, very morose. Be prepared, you know.”
“Ah, chère amie,” answered Princess Marya, “I have begged you never to tell me beforehand in what humour I shall find my father. I do not permit myself to judge him and I would not have others do so.”
The princess glanced at her watch, and seeing that it was already five minutes later than the hour fixed for her practice on the clavichord, she went with a face of alarm into the divan-room. In accordance with the rules by which the day was mapped out, the prince rested from twelve to two, while the young princess practised on the clavichord.
在童山尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基公爵的田庄里，大家每天都在等待年轻的安德烈公爵偕同夫人归来，但是期待没有打乱老公爵之家的严谨的生活秩序。在上流社会中浑名叫做leroidePrusse①的大将尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇公爵，当保罗皇帝在位时就被流放到农村，他和女儿——叫做玛丽亚的公爵小姐以及她的女伴布里安小姐，在童山过着深居简出的生活。新王朝执政时，虽然他已被允许进入都城，但他继续定居农村，从不外出，他说，如果有谁需要求他，那末他就得从莫斯科走一百五十俄里的路到童山来；而他对任何东西，对任何人都一无所求。他说，只有人才有两大罪恶的根源：无所事事和迷信；只有人才有两大崇高品德：活动和才智。他亲自培养自己的女儿，给她传授代数、几何课程，以便在她身上培养这两大品德；妥善地安排她的生活，要她不断地完成作业。他本人总是很忙，时而写回忆录，时而算高等数学题，时而在车床上车鼻烟壶，时而在花园里劳作和监督他田庄里未曾中断的建筑工程。因为活动的首要条件是秩序，所以在他的生活方式中程序已达到一丝不苟的程度。他依照一成不变的陈规出来用餐，总是在同一时辰，分秒不误。公爵对待周围的人，从他女儿到仆人，态度十分粗鲁，一向要求苛刻，所以，他纵然不算残忍，却常激起连最残忍的人也难以激起的一种对他的敬畏之感。他虽已退休赋闲，在国家事务中不发挥什么作用，但是公爵的田庄所隶属的那个省份的每个上任的省长都认为拜谒他是一种应尽的义务，而且亦如建筑师、园丁或者名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐，在那宽大的堂倌休息间等候公爵于规定时刻出来会客。每当书斋那扇高大的门被推开，一个身材矮小的老人出来会客时，每个在堂倌休息间等候接见的人都会对他产生一种尊敬甚至畏惧之感，这个老人头戴扑粉的假发，露出一双肌肉萎缩的小手和两条垂下的灰白的眉毛，有时他皱起眉头，眉毛便挡住那双机灵的、焕发着青春之光的眼睛。 
①法语：普鲁士国王。
年轻夫妇抵达的那天早上，同平素一样，名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐在规定的时刻走进堂倌休息间叩请早安，她心惊胆战地画着十字，心中念着祷文。她每天走进休息间，每天都祈祷，希望这天的会见能平安无事地结束。
坐在休息间的那个头发上扑了粉的老仆人动作缓慢地站起来，轻言细语地禀告：“请。”
门后可以听见车床均匀地转动的响声。公爵小姐羞羞答答地拉了一下门，门很平稳地、轻易地被拉开了。她在门旁停步了。公爵在车床上干活，掉过头来望了望，又继续干他的活。
大书斋里堆满了各种东西，显然都是一些常用的东西。一张大桌子——桌子上摆着书本和图表，几个高大的玻璃书柜——钥匙插在柜门上，一张专供站着写字用的高台子——台子上摆着一本打开的练习本，一张车床——上面放着几件工具，四周撒满了刨屑，——这一切表明这里在进行经常性的、多种多样的、富有成效的活动。从他用以操作的那只穿着绣有银线的鞑靼式的皮靴的不大的脚来看，从青筋赤露、肌肉萎缩的手上磨出的硬皮来看，公爵还具有精神充沛的老人的百折不回的毅力和极大的耐力。他旋了几圈，便从车床踏板上把脚拿下来，揩干净凿头，把它丢进安在车床上的皮袋里。他向桌前走去，把女儿喊到身边来。他从来没有祝福自己的孩子，只是把他那当天还没有剃过的、胡子拉碴的面颊凑近他女儿，露出严肃的、温和而关怀的样子望望她，说道：
“你身体好吗？……喂，坐下来吧！”
他拿起他亲手写的几何学练习本，又用脚把安乐椅推了过来。
“是明天的啊！”他说道，很快找到了那一页，在这段和另一段的两头用硬指甲戳上了记号。
公爵小姐在摆着练习本的桌前弯下腰来。
“等一下，有封你的信。”老人从安在桌上的皮袋中取出女人手笔的信一封，扔在桌上。
公爵小姐看见信，立刻涨红了脸，她赶快拿起信，低垂着头去看。
“爱洛绮丝寄来的吗？”公爵问道，把他那坚固的、略微发黄的牙齿露出来，冷冷一笑。
“是的，是朱莉寄来的。”公爵小姐说道，羞答答地望着，羞答答地微笑。
“还有两封信我不看，而第三封我一定要看，”公爵严肃地说道，“我怕你们在写一大堆废话。第三封我一定要看。”
“monpeve①，就连这封信您也看吧。”公爵小姐答道，脸红得更加厉害，一面把信递给他。 
①法语：爸爸。
“我已经说了，第三封，第三封。”公爵把信推开，迅速而果断地喊道。他用胳膊肘撑着桌子，把那绘有几何图形的练习本拖到身边来。
“喂，女士，”老头子开始说话，挨近女儿，朝着练习本弯下腰来，并把一只手搁在公爵小姐坐着的安乐椅的靠背上，公爵小姐觉得自己已被早就熟谙的父亲的烟草气味和老人的呛人的气味笼罩着。“喂，女士，这些三角形都是相似的：你看见，abc角……”
公爵小姐惊惶失措地望着父亲向她逼近的、闪闪发亮的眼睛，脸上泛起了红晕。可见，她什么都不懂得，心里很畏惧，虽然父亲的讲解清清楚楚，但是这种畏惧心毕竟会妨碍她弄懂父亲的进一步的讲解。教师有过错呢，还是女学生有过错呢，但是每天都重现着同样的情况。公爵小姐的眼睛模糊不清了，她视若无睹，听若罔闻，只觉得严厉的父亲那副干瘦的脸孔凑近她身边，她闻到他的气息和气味，只是想到尽快地离开书斋，好在自己房中无拘无束地弄懂习题。老头子发脾气了，轰隆一声把他自己坐的安乐椅从身边移开，又拖过来，他极力控制自己不动肝火，但是，差不多每次都火冒三丈，开口大骂，有时候竟把练习本扔到一边去。公爵小姐答错了。
“嘿，你真是个蠢货！”公爵嚷道，推开那本练习簿，飞快地转过脸去，但立刻站立起来，在房间里走走，用手碰碰公爵小姐的头发，又坐下来。
他将身子移近一点，继续讲解。
“公爵小姐，不行的，不行的，”当公爵小姐拿起继而又合上附有规定的家庭作业的练习本准备离开的时候，他说道，“数学是一件首要的大事，我的女士。我不希望你像我们那帮愚昧的小姐。习久相安嘛。”他抚摩一下女儿的面颊，“糊涂思想就会从脑海里跑出去。”
她想走出去，他用手势把她拦住了，从那高高的台子上取下一本尚未裁开的新书。
“还有你的爱洛绮丝给你寄来的一部《奥秘解答》。一本宗教范畴的书。我不过问任何人的宗教信仰……我浏览了一下。你拿去吧。得啦，你走吧，你走吧！”
他拍了一下她的肩膀，等她一出门，他就在她身后亲自把门关上了。
名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐露出忧悒和惊恐的神色回到她自己的寝室。她常常带有这种神色，使她那副不俊俏的、病态的面孔变得更加难看了。她在写字台旁坐下，台子上放着微型的肖像，堆满了练习本和书本。公爵小姐缺乏条理，她父亲倒有条不紊。她搁下了几何学练习本，急躁地拆开那封信。信是公爵小姐童年时代的密友寄来的，这位密友就是出席过罗斯托夫家的命名日庆祝会的朱莉·卡拉金娜。
朱莉在信中写道：
亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，离别是一桩多么可怖、多么令人痛苦的事啊！我多少次反复地对我自己申说，我的生活和我的幸福的一半寄托在您身上，虽然我们天各一方，但是我们的心是用拉不断的纽带联系在一起的，我的心逆着天命，不听从它的摆布，虽然我置身于作乐和消遣的环境中，但是自从我们分离后，我就不能抑制住我心灵深处的隐忧。我们为什么不能像旧年夏天那样在您那宽大的书斋里聚首，一同坐在天蓝色的沙发上，“表白爱情”的沙发上呢？我为什么不能像三个月以前那样从您温顺、安详、敏锐的目光中，从我喜爱的目光中，从我给您写信时我依旧在我面前瞥见的目光中汲取新的精神力量呢？
名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐念到这里叹了一口气，向嵌在右边墙上的穿衣镜照了照，镜子反映出一副不美丽的虚弱的身躯和那消瘦的面孔。一向显得怏怏不乐的眼睛现在特别失望地对着镜子看自己。“她谄媚我哩，”公爵小姐想了想。她把脸转过来继续念信。但是朱莉没有谄媚过朋友；诚然，公爵小姐那双深沉、炯炯发光的大眼睛（有时候仿佛发射出一束束温柔的光芒）十分美丽，尽管整个脸孔不好看，但是这双眼睛却常常变得分外迷人。公爵小姐从来没有见过自己眼睛的美丽动人的表情，即是当她不思忖自己时她的眼睛的表情。如同所有的人，她一照镜子，脸上就流露出生硬的不自然的很不好看的表情。她继续读信：
整个莫斯科只知道谈论战争。我的两个长兄，一个已经在国外，另一个跟随近卫军向边境进发。我们亲爱的皇帝已经放弃彼得堡，有人推测，皇帝意欲亲自督阵，使宝贵生命经受一次战争的风险。愿上帝保佑，万能的上帝大慈大悲，委派一位天使充当我们的君主，但愿他推翻这个煽动欧洲叛乱的科西嘉恶魔。姑且不提我的两个长兄，这次战争竟使我丧失一个最亲密的人。我说的是年轻的尼古拉·罗斯托夫，他充满热情，不甘于无所作为，离开了大学，投笔从戎。亲爱的玛丽，我向您坦白承认，虽说他十分年轻，但是他这次从军却使我感到极大的痛苦。旧年夏天我曾经向您谈到这个年轻人，他有这么许多高高的品德和真正的青春活力。当代，在我们这些二十岁的小老头子中间，这是不常见的啊！尤其是他待人真诚，心地善良。他非常纯洁，充满着理想。我和他的关系虽如昙花一现，但这却是我这个遭受过许多折磨的不幸的心灵尝到的极为甜蜜的欢乐之一。
总有一天我要和您谈谈我们离别的情形、临别时的
赠言。所有这一切未从记忆中磨灭……啊！亲爱的朋友，您十分幸福，您没有尝受过炽热的欢快和难忍的悲痛。您十分幸福，因为悲痛常比欣悦更为强烈。我心中十分明白，尼古拉伯爵太年轻了，诚了作个朋友外，我认为，不可能搭上什么别的关系。但这甜蜜的友情，这多么象有诗意、多么纯洁的关系，是我心灵之所需。这件事别再谈了。
吸引整个莫斯科的注意力的头条新闻，是老别祖霍
夫伯爵的去世和他的遗产问题。您想象一下，三个公爵小姐获得一小部分，瓦西里公爵没有捞到分文，而皮埃尔却是全部遗产的继承人，此外他被公认为法定的儿子，即为别祖霍夫伯爵和俄国最大财富的占有者。据说，在这件事的始末，瓦西里公爵扮演了极其卑鄙的角色，很难为情地往彼得堡去了。我向您承认，我不大懂得遗嘱方面的事情，我只晓得，自从这个人人认识、名叫皮埃尔的年轻人变成别祖霍夫伯爵和俄国最大财富的占有者以后，我觉得可笑的是，我看见那些有及笄女儿的母亲以及小姐本人，都在这位先生面前变了腔调。附带说一句，我总觉得皮埃尔是个十分渺小的人。
因为这两个年头大家都在给我物色未婚夫，认为这
是开心的事儿（对象多半是我不认识的人），所以莫斯科婚姻大事记，要使我成为叫做别祖霍娃的伯爵夫人。可是您明了，这件事完全不合乎我的心愿。不妨顺便提提婚事吧。您是否知道，公认的大娘安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜在不久以前极为秘密地把给您筹办婚事的意图告诉我了。对象正好是瓦西里公爵的儿子阿纳托利，他们正想给他娶一个有钱的、贵族门第的姑娘，您倒被他父母选中了。我不知道您对此事抱有什么看法。但我认为有责任提醒您哩。听说他相貌长得很漂亮，但却是个十足的浪子。关于他的情况，我打听到的只有这些，没有别的了。
够了，不必再扯了。我快写完第二页了，妈妈着人来叫我坐车到阿普拉克辛家去出席午宴。
请您读一读我给您寄上的这本神秘主义的书吧，在我们这儿，这本书大受欢迎。虽然我们普通人的贫乏的智慧很难弄懂这本书中的某些内容，但这却是一本出色的书。读这本书，能使灵魂升华，使灵魂得到安慰。再见吧。向您父亲致以敬意，并向布里安小姐问候。我衷心地拥抱您。
朱莉
再启：请将您长兄和他的可爱的妻子的消息告诉我。
公爵小姐想了想，沉思地微微一笑（与此同时，炯炯的目光照耀着她的脸庞，使它完全变了模样），她突然站立起来，曳着沉重的步子，向桌前走去。她取出一张纸，她的手开始迅速地在纸上移动。她的回信是这样写的：
亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，十三日的来信使我感到非常高兴。我的充满理想的朱莉，您仍旧爱我。可见您说得那么难堪的离别，在您身上没有产生常见的影响力。您埋怨别离，假如我敢于埋怨，那么我应当说句什么话——
我丧失了我所珍惜的一切人吗？咳，假若没有宗教的安慰，生活就会极其凄凉。当您谈起您爱慕一个年轻人时，您为什么认为我的目光是严峻的呢？在这方面，我只是严谨地对待自己罢了。我明了别人的这种感情，既然我从未体会这种感情，不能予以赞扬，那我也不加以斥责。
我只是觉得，基督的仁爱，对敌人的爱，较之年轻人的一双美丽的眼睛使您这样一个充满理想的具有爱心的年轻姑娘产生的那种感情更为可敬，更为可贵，更为高尚。
在尚未接到您的来信以前，别祖霍夫伯爵去世的消
息就已经传到我们这里了，我父亲闻讯悲恸万分。他说别祖霍夫伯爵是我们伟大时代剩下的倒数第二个代表人物。现在要轮到他头上了。他将尽力而为，使这一轮尽量晚点到来。愿上帝保佑，使我们免受这种不幸啊！
我是女孩的时候就认识皮埃尔，我不能赞同您对他
的意见。我似乎觉得，他的心肠永远都是善良的。这正是我所珍惜的人应有的品德。至于他所继承的遗产以及瓦西里公爵在这方面扮演的角色，这对他们两人都是很不光彩的。啊，亲爱的朋友，我们的救世的天主说了这么一句话：骆驼穿过针眼比富翁进入天国更容易，这句话很有道理！我怜悯瓦西里公爵，更加怜悯皮埃尔。他这么年少就要肩负一大笔财富的重担，他将要经受多少命运的考验啊！假若有人要问我，这尘世上我最希冀的是什么，我就会说，我希望做个比最贫穷的乞丐更穷的人。亲爱的朋友，我千万次地向您表示感谢，感谢您给我寄来的一本在你们那里引起纷纷议论的书。其实，您对我说，在这本书的一些可取的内容之间还夹有一些我们普通人的贫乏的智慧不能弄懂的内容，所以我觉得，谈奥妙难懂的东西是多余的，不会给人们带来半点裨益。我从来没法领悟某些人的酷嗜，他们酷嗜神秘主义的书籍，思绪给弄得十分紊乱，因为这些书会在他们头脑中引起疑惑，激起他们的臆想，铸成他们那种与基督的纯朴完全对立的夸张的性格。
我们莫如读一读《使徒行传》和《福音书》吧。我
们不要妄图识透书本上包含的神秘的内容，因为趁我们这些不幸的罪人还有肉体的躯壳支撑，它在我们和永恒之间树立着穿不透的隔幕的时候，末日尚未到来的时候，我们怎么能够认识上天的可怖和神圣的隐秘呢？我们莫如只研究救世的天主遗留给我们作为尘世指南的那些伟大的准则，我们要力求遵守这些准则，并要竭诚地相信，我们越少于纵欲，就越能取悦于上帝。上帝排斥一切不是由他传授的知识，我们越少去研究他不想要我们知道的隐秘，他就会越快地用那神明的智慧为人类拨开茅塞。
我父亲没有对我谈起未婚夫的事，他说的只是，他
收到一封信，正在等待瓦西里公爵的访问。我亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，至于筹划我的婚姻一事，我要说给您听，在我看来，结婚是定当服从的教规。我认为无论这是多么沉重，但若万能的上帝要我担负贤妻良母的天职，我将竭尽全力，忠诚地履行这一天职，而我对上帝赐予我的男人怀有什么感情，我却无心去研究。
我已经收到长兄的一封来信，他向我提到他将和妻子一道来童山。这次欢乐的团聚为时是不长的，因为他快要离开我们去参与战斗，天知道我们如何和何故被卷入这场战争。不光是在你那儿——各种事件和社交的中心，而且在这儿——在田间劳作和市民平常所想象的农村的寂静中，也传来战争的回声，也令人心情沉重。我父亲只知道谈论我丝毫也不明了的南征北战的情形。前天，当我照常在村庄的街道上漫步的时候，我看见一个令人心碎的场面……他们都是我们这里招募入伍的一批新兵……有必要去看看那些上前线的新兵的母亲、妻子和儿女的情景，听听新兵和家属的啼哭！你想想，人类已经忘记了救世的天主以博爱和宽恕宿怨的教义训导我们，而人类竟把互相谋杀的伎俩看作主要的优点。
亲爱的，慈善的朋友，再见。愿那救世的天主和圣母赐予您神圣而万能的庇护。
玛丽
“Ah，vousexpédiezlecorrier，Princesse，moij'aidejáexpedielemien．J'aiecrisamapauvremere．”①布里安小姐面露微笑，用她那清脆、悦耳的嗓音说道，她说得很快，“r”音发得不准确。在名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐的凝神思索、愁闷而阴郁的气氛里，她带进了一种完全异样的轻佻而悦意的洋洋自得的神情。 
①法语：啊，您就要把信寄出去，我已经把信寄出去了。信是写给我的可怜的母亲的。
“Princesse，ilfautquejevousprévienne，”她压低嗓门，补充说一句，“Leprinceaeuunealtercation，altercation，”她说道，特别着重用法语腔调发“r”音，并且高兴地听她自己的语声，“unealtercationavecMichelIvanoff．Ilestdetrèsmauvaisehumeur，trèsmorose．Soyezprèvenue，voussauez．”①
“Ah！chèreamie．”名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐答道，“Jevousaipriedenejamaismeprevenirdel'humeurdanslaquellesetrouvemonpère．Jenemeperometspasdelejuger，etjenevoudruispasquelesautreslefassent．”② 
①法语：公爵小姐，我得事先告诉您——公爵把米哈伊尔·伊万内奇大骂了一顿。他的情绪不好，愁眉苦脸。我事先告诉您，您晓得……
②法语：啊，我亲爱的朋友，我求您千万不要对我谈论父亲的心境吧。我不容许我自己评说他，我也不希望他人这样做。
公爵小姐看了一下钟，她发觉已经耽误了五分钟弹钢琴的时间，流露出惊惶的神色向休息室走去。按照规定的作息制度，十二点钟至两点钟之间，公爵休息，公爵小姐弹钢琴。
Book 1 Chapter 23
THE GREY-HAIRED VALET was sitting in the waiting-room dozing and listening to the prince's snoring in his immense study. From a far-off part of the house there came through closed doors the sound of difficult passages of a sonata of Dusseck's repeated twenty times over.
At that moment a carriage and a little cart drove up to the steps, and Prince Andrey got out of the carriage, helped his little wife out and let her pass into the house before him. Grey Tihon in his wig, popping out at the door of the waiting-room, informed him in a whisper that the prince was taking a nap and made haste to close the door. Tihon knew that no extraordinary event, not even the arrival of his son, would be permitted to break through the routine of the day. Prince Andrey was apparently as well aware of the fact as Tihon. He looked at his watch as though to ascertain whether his father's habits had changed during the time he had not seen him, and satisfying himself that they were unchanged, he turned to his wife.
“He will get up in twenty minutes. Let's go to Marie,” he said.
The little princess had grown stouter during this time, but her short upper lip, with a smile and the faint moustache on it, rose as gaily and charmingly as ever when she spoke.
“Why, it is a palace,” she said to her husband, looking round her with exactly the expression with which people pay compliments to the host at a ball. “Come, quick, quick!” As she looked about her, she smiled at Tihon and at her husband, and at the footman who was showing them in.
“It is Marie practising? Let us go quietly, we must surprise her.” Prince Andrey followed her with a courteous and depressed expression.
“You're looking older, Tihon,” he said as he passed to the old man, who was kissing his hand.
Before they had reached the room, from which the sounds of the clavichord were coming, the pretty, fair-haired Frenchwoman emerged from a side-door. Mademoiselle Bourienne seemed overwhelmed with delight.
“Ah, what a pleasure for the princess!” she exclaimed. “At last! I must tell her.”
“No, no, please not” … said the little princess, kissing her. “You are Mademoiselle Bourienne; I know you already through my sister-in-law's friendship for you. She does not expect us!”
They went up to the door of the divan-room, from which came the sound of the same passage repeated over and over again. Prince Andrey stood still frowning as though in expectation of something unpleasant.
The little princess went in. The passage broke off in the middle; he heard an exclamation, the heavy tread of Princess Marya, and the sound of kissing. When Prince Andrey went in, the two ladies, who had only seen each other once for a short time at Prince Andrey's wedding, were clasped in each other's arms, warmly pressing their lips to the first place each had chanced upon. Mademoiselle Bourienne was standing near them, her hands pressed to her heart; she was smiling devoutly, apparently equally ready to weep and to laugh. Prince Andrey shrugged his shoulders, and scowled as lovers of music scowl when they hear a false note. The two ladies let each other go; then hastened again, as though each afraid of being remiss, to hug each other, began kissing each other's hands and pulling them away, and then fell to kissing each other on the face again. Then they quite astonished Prince Andrey by both suddenly bursting into tears and beginning the kissing over again. Mademoiselle Bourienne cried too. Prince Andrey was unmistakably ill at ease. But to the two women it seemed such a natural thing that they should weep; it seemed never to have occurred to them that their meeting could have taken place without tears.
“Ah, ma chère!… Ah, Marie!” … both the ladies began talking at once, and they laughed. “I had a dream last night. Then you did not expect us? O Marie, you have got thinner.”
“And you are looking better …”
“I recognized the princess at once,” put in Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“And I had no idea!” … cried Princess Marya. “Ah, Andrey, I did not see you.”
Prince Andrey and his sister kissed each other's hands, and he told her she was just as great a cry-baby as she always had been. Princess Marya turned to her brother, and through her tears, her great, luminous eyes, that were beautiful at that instant, rested with a loving, warm and gentle gaze on Prince Andrey's face. The little princess talked incessantly. The short, downy upper lip was continually flying down to meet the rosy, lower lip when necessary, and parting again in a smile of gleaming teeth and eyes. The little princess described an incident that had occurred to them on Spasskoe hill, and might have been serious for her in her condition. And immediately after that she communicated the intelligence that she had left all her clothes in Petersburg, and God knew what she would have to go about in here, and that Andrey was quite changed, and that Kitty Odintsov had married an old man, and that a suitor had turned up for Princess Marya, “who was a suitor worth having,” but that they would talk about that later. Princess Marya was still gazing mutely at her brother, and her beautiful eyes were full of love and melancholy. It was clear that her thoughts were following a train of their own, apart from the chatter of her sister-in-law. In the middle of the latter's description of the last fête-day at Petersburg, she addressed her brother.
“And is it quite settled that you are going to the war, Andrey?” she said, sighing. Liza sighed too.
“Yes, and to-morrow too,” answered her brother.
“He is deserting me here, and Heaven knows why, when he might have had promotion …” Princess Marya did not listen to the end, but following her own train of thought, she turned to her sister-in-law, letting her affectionate eyes rest on her waist.
“Is it really true?” she said.
The face of her sister-in-law changed. She sighed.
“Yes, it's true,” she said. “Oh! It's very dreadful …”
Liza's lip drooped. She put her face close to her sister-in-law's face, and again she unexpectedly began to cry.
“She needs rest,” said Prince Andrey, frowning. “Don't you, Liza? Take her to your room, while I go to father. How is he—just the same?”
“The same, just the same; I don't know what you will think,” Princess Marya answered joyfully.
“And the same hours, and the walks about the avenues, and the lathe?” asked Prince Andrey with a scarcely perceptible smile, showing that, in spite of all his love and respect for his father, he recognised his weaknesses.
“The same hours and the lathe, mathematics too, and my geometry lessons,” Princess Marya answered gaily, as though those lessons were one of the most delightful events of her life.
When the twenty minutes had elapsed, and the time for the old prince to get up had come, Tihon came to call the young man to his father. The old man made a departure from his ordinary routine in honour of his son's arrival. He directed that he should be admitted into his apartments during his time for dressing, before dinner. The old prince used to wear the old-fashioned dress, the kaftan and powder. And when Prince Andrey—not with the disdainful face and manners with which he walked into drawing-rooms, but with the eager face with which he had talked to Pierre—went in to his father's room, the old gentleman was in his dressing-room sitting in a roomy morocco chair in a peignoir, with his head in the hands of Tihon.
“Ah! the warrior! So you want to fight Bonaparte?” said the old man, shaking his powdered head as far as his plaited tail, which was in Tihon's hands, would permit him.
“Mind you look sharp after him, at any rate, or he'll soon be putting us on the list of his subjects. How are you?”
And he held out his cheek to him.
The old gentleman was in excellent humour after his nap before dinner. (He used to say that sleep after dinner was silver, but before dinner it was golden.) He took delighted, sidelong glances at his son from under his thick, overhanging brows. Prince Andrey went up and kissed his father on the spot indicated for him. He made no reply on his father's favourite topic—jesting banter at the military men of the period, and particularly at Bonaparte.
“Yes, I have come to you, father, bringing a wife with child,” said Prince Andrey, with eager and reverential eyes watching every movement of his father's face. “How is your health?”
“None but fools, my lad, and profligates are unwell, and you know me; busy from morning till night and temperate, so of course I'm well.”
“Thank God,” said his son, smiling.
“God's not much to do with the matter. Come, tell me,” the old man went on, going back to his favourite hobby, “how have the Germans trained you to fight with Bonaparte on their new scientific method—strategy as they call it?”
Prince Andrey smiled.
“Give me time to recover myself, father,” he said, with a smile that showed that his father's failings did not prevent his respecting and loving him. “Why, I have only just got here.”
“Nonsense, nonsense,” cried the old man, shaking his tail to try whether it were tightly plaited, and taking his son by the hand. “The house is ready for your wife. Marie will look after her and show her everything, and talk nineteen to the dozen with her too. That's their feminine way. I'm glad to have her. Sit down, talk to me. Mihelson's army, I understand, Tolstoy's too … a simultaneous expedition … but what's the army of the South going to do? Prussia, her neutrality … I know all that. What of Austria?” he said, getting up from his chair and walking about the room, with Tihon running after him, giving him various articles of his apparel. “What about Sweden? How will they cross Pomerania?”
Prince Andrey, seeing the urgency of his father's questions, began explaining the plan of operations of the proposed campaign, speaking at first reluctantly, but becoming more interested as he went on, and unconsciously from habit passing from Russian into French. He told him how an army of ninety thousand troops was to threaten Prussia so as to drive her out of her neutrality and draw her into the war, how part of these troops were to join the Swedish troops at Strahlsund, how two hundred and twenty thousand Austrians were to combine with a hundred thousand Russians in Italy and on the Rhine, and how fifty thousand Russians and fifty thousand English troops were to meet at Naples, and how the army, forming a total of five hundred thousand, was to attack the French on different sides at once. The old prince did not manifest the slightest interest in what he told him. He went on dressing, as he walked about, apparently not listening, and three times he unexpectedly interrupted him. Once he stopped him and shouted: “the white one! the white one!”
This meant that Tihon had not given him the waistcoat he wanted. Another time, he stood still, asked: “And will she be confined soon?” and shook his head reproachfully: “That's bad! Go on, go on.”
The third time was when Prince Andrey was just finishing his description. The old man hummed in French, in his falsetto old voice: “Malbrook goes off to battle, God knows when he'll come back.”
His son only smiled.
“I don't say that this is a plan I approve of,” he said; “I'm only telling you what it is. Napoleon has made a plan by now as good as this one.”
“Well, you have told me nothing new.” And thoughtfully the old man repeated, speaking quickly to himself: “God knows when he'll come back. Go into the dining-room.”
白发苍苍的侍仆一面坐在那里打瞌睡，一面静听大书斋里公爵的鼾声。住宅远处的一端，紧闭着的门户后面，可以听见杜塞克奏鸣曲，难奏的乐句都重奏二十次。 
这时分，一辆四轮轿式马车和一辆轻便马车开到台阶前，安德烈公爵从轿式马车车厢里走出来，搀扶矮小的妻子下车，让她在前面走。白发苍苍的吉洪，头戴假发，从堂倌休息间的门里探出头来，轻言细语地禀告：公爵正在睡觉，随即仓忙地关上了大门。吉洪知道，无论是他儿子归来，还是出现非常事故，都不宜破坏作息制度。安德烈公爵像吉洪一样对这件事了若指掌。他看看表，似乎想证实一下他离开父亲以来父亲的习惯是否发生变化。当他相信父亲的习惯没有改变之后，便转过脸去对妻子说：
“过二十分钟他才起床。我们到公爵小姐玛丽亚那里去吧。”
他说道。
在这段时间以来，矮小的公爵夫人可真长胖了，但是当她开腔的时候，那双眼睛抬了起来，长有茸毛的短嘴唇微露笑意，向上翘起来，一望便令人欣快，讨人喜爱。
“maisc'estunpalais．”①她向四周打量一番，对丈夫说道，那神态就像跳舞会的主人被人夸耀似的，“Allons，vite，vite！…”②她一面回顾，一面对吉洪、对丈夫、对伴随她的堂倌微露笑容。
“C'estmariequisexerce？Allonsdoucement，ilfautlasurprendre．”③ 
①法语：这真是皇宫啊！
②法语：喂，快点吧，快点吧！……
③法语：是玛丽亚在练钢琴吗？我们不声不响地走过去，省得她望见我们。
安德烈公爵面露恭敬而忧悒的表情，跟在她后面走去。
“吉洪，你变老了。”他走过去，一面对吻他的手的老头子说道。
在那可以听见击弦古钢琴声的房间前面，一个貌美的长着浅色头发的法国女人从侧门跳出来。布里安小姐欣喜欲狂了。
“Ah！quelbonheurpourlaprincesse，”她说道“Enfin！
Ilfautquejelaprevienne．”①
“Non，non，degrace…VousêtesM—lleBourienne，jevousconnaisdéjàparl'amitiequevousportemablle－soeur．”公爵夫人和她接吻时说道，“Ellenenousattendpas！”② 
①法语：公爵小姐该会多么高兴啊！毕竟是来了！应该事先告诉她。
②法语：不，不，真是的……您可就是布里安小姐，我的儿媳妇是您的好朋友，我已经认识您了。她没料想我们来了。
他们向休息室门前走去，从门里传出反复弹奏的乐句。安德烈公爵停步了，蹙了蹙额头，好像在等待不愉快的事件发生似的。
公爵夫人走进来，乐句奏到半中间就停止了，可以听见叫喊声，公爵小姐玛丽亚的沉重的步履声和接吻的声音。当安德烈公爵走进来的时候，公爵夫人和公爵小姐拥抱起来了，她们的嘴唇正紧紧贴在乍一见面就亲嘴的地方，她们二人只是在安德烈公爵举行婚礼时短暂地会过一次面。布里安小姐站在她们身边，两手扪住胸口，露出虔诚的微笑，看起来，无论是啼哭还是嘻笑，她都有充分准备。安德烈公爵像音乐爱好者听见一个走调的音那样，耸了一下肩膀，蹙了一下眉头。两个女人把手放开了，然后，仿佛惧怕迟误似的，她们又互相抓住一双手，亲吻起来，放开两只手又互相吻吻脸皮。她们哭起来了，哭着哭着又亲吻起来，安德烈公爵认为这是出人意料的事。布里安小姐同样地哭了。看来安德烈公爵感到尴尬，但是在这两个女人心目中，她们的啼哭是很自然的。显然，她们并不会推测，这次见面会搞出什么别的花样。
“Ah！chère…Ah！marie…”两个女人忽然笑起来，开口说道，“J'airêvécettenuit…Vousnenousattendiezdoncpas？…Ah！Marie，vousavezmaigri…Etvousavezrepris…”①
“J'aitoutdesuitereconnumadamelaprincesse，”②布里安小姐插上一句话。
“Etmoiquinemedoutaispas！…”公爵小姐玛丽亚惊叫道，“Ah！André，jenevousvoyaispas．”③
安德烈公爵和他的妹妹手拉手地互吻了一下，他对她说，她还像过去那样是个pleurnicheuse。④公爵小姐玛丽亚向她的长兄转过脸去，这时她那对美丽迷人的、炯炯发光的大眼睛透过一汪泪水，把那爱抚、柔和、温顺的目光投射到长兄的脸上。 
①法语：啊！亲爱的！……啊！玛丽！……我梦见……——您没料想到我们会来吧？……啊！玛丽，您变得消瘦了，——以前您可真胖啦！
②法语：我立即认出了公爵夫人。
③法语：我连想也没有想到！……啊！安德烈，我真没看见你哩。
④法语：好哭的人。
公爵夫人不住地絮叨。她那长着茸毛的短短的上唇时常飞快地下垂，随意地触动一下绯红色的下唇的某一部分，之后她又微微一笑，露出皓白的牙齿和亮晶晶的眼睛。公爵夫人述说他们在救主山经历过一次对她怀孕的身体极为危险的遭遇，随后她立刻谈起她将全部衣服都留在彼得堡了，天晓得她在这里要穿什么衣服，她还谈起安德烈完全变样了，吉蒂·奥登佐娃许配给一个老年人，公爵小姐玛丽亚有个pourtoutdebon①未婚夫，这件事我们以后再叙。公爵小姐玛丽亚还是默不作声地望着长兄，她那美丽动人的眼睛流露出爱意和哀愁。可见，萦绕她心头的思绪此时不以嫂嫂的言论为转移。嫂嫂谈论彼得堡最近举行的庆祝活动。在谈论的半中间，她向长兄转过脸去。
“安德烈，你坚决要去作战吗？”她叹息道。
丽莎也叹了一口气。
“而且是明天就动身。”长兄答道。
“Ilm'abandonneici，etDieusaitpourquoi，quandilauBraitpuavoirdel'avancement…”② 
①法语：真正的。
②法语：他把我丢在这里了，天晓得，目的何在，而他是有能力晋升的……
公爵小姐玛丽亚还在继续思索，没有把话儿听完，便向嫂嫂转过脸来，用那温和的目光望着她的肚子。
“真的怀孕了吗？”她说道。
公爵夫人的脸色变了。她叹了一口气。
“是的，真怀孕了，”她说道，“哎呀！这很可怕……”
丽莎的嘴唇松垂下来。她把脸盘凑近小姑的脸盘，出乎意料地又哭起来了。
“她必需休息休息，”安德烈公爵蹙起额角说，“对不对，丽莎？你把她带到自己房里去吧，我到爸爸那儿去了。他现在怎样？还是老样子吗？”
“还是那个样子，还是那个老样子，不晓得你看来他是怎样。”公爵小姐高兴地答道。
“还是在那个时间，照常在林荫道上散步吗？在车床上劳作吗？”安德烈公爵问道，几乎看不出微笑，这就表明，尽管他十分爱护和尊敬父亲，但他也了解父亲的弱点。
“还是在那个时间，在车床上劳作，还有数学，我的几何课。”公爵小姐玛丽亚高兴地答道，好像几何课在她生活上产生了一种极为愉快的印象。
老公爵起床花费二十分钟时间之后，吉洪来喊年轻的公爵到他父亲那里去。老头为欢迎儿子的到来，破除了生活方式上的惯例：他吩咐手下人允许他儿子在午膳前穿衣戴帽时进入他的内室。公爵按旧式穿着：穿长上衣，戴扑粉假发。当安德烈向父亲内室走去时，老头不是带着他在自己客厅里故意装的不满的表情和态度，而是带着他和皮埃尔交谈时那种兴奋的神情，老年人坐在更衣室里一张宽大的山羊皮面安乐椅上，披着一条扑粉用披巾，把头伸到吉洪的手边，让他扑粉。
“啊！兵士！你想要征服波拿巴吗？”老年人说道，因为吉洪手上正在编着发辫，只得在可能范围内晃了晃扑了粉的脑袋，“你好好收拾他才行，否则他很快就会把我们看作他的臣民了。你好哇！”他于是伸出自己的面颊。
老年人在午膳前睡觉以后心境好极了。（他说，午膳后睡眠是银，午膳前睡眠是金。）他从垂下的浓眉下高兴地斜着眼睛看儿子。安德烈公爵向父亲跟前走去，吻了吻父亲指着叫他吻的地方。他不去回答父亲中意的话题——对现时的军人，尤其是对波拿巴稍微取笑一两句。
“爸爸，是我到您跟前来了，还把怀孕的老婆也带来，”安德烈公爵说道，他用兴奋而恭敬的目光注视着他脸上每根线条流露的表情，“您身体好么？”
“孩子，只有傻瓜和色鬼才不健康哩，你是知道我的情况的：从早到晚都忙得很，饮食起居有节制，真是够健康的。”
“谢天谢地！”儿子脸上流露出微笑，说道。
“这与上帝无关！欸，你讲讲吧，”他继续说下去，又回到他爱谈的话题上，“德国人怎样教会你们凭藉所谓战略的新科学去同波拿巴战斗。”
安德烈公爵微微一笑。
“爸爸，让我醒悟过来吧，”他面露微笑，说道，这就表示，父亲的弱点并不妨碍他对父亲敬爱的心情，“我还没有安顿下来呢。”
“胡扯，胡扯，”老头子嚷道，晃动着发辫，想试试发辫编得牢固不牢固，一面抓着儿子的手臂，“你老婆的住房准备好了。公爵小姐玛丽亚会领她去看房间，而且她会说得天花乱坠的。这是她们娘儿们的事。我看见她就很高兴啊。你坐下讲讲吧。米切尔森的军队我是了解的，托尔斯泰……也是了解的……同时登陆……南方的军队要干什么呢？普鲁士、中立……这是我所知道的。奥地利的情况怎样？”他从安乐椅旁站起来，在房间里踱方步，吉洪跟着他跑来跑去，把衣服送到他手上，“瑞典的情况怎样？他们要怎样越过美拉尼亚呢？”
安德烈公爵看见他父亲坚决要求，开头不愿意谈，但是后来他越谈越兴奋，由于习惯的关系，谈到半中间，情不自禁地从说俄国话改说法国话了，他开始述说拟议中的战役的军事行动计划。他谈到，九万人的军队定能威胁普鲁士，迫使它放弃中立，投入战争，一部分军队必将在施特拉尔松与瑞典军队合并；二十二万奥国军队和十万俄国军队合并，必将在意大利和莱茵河上采取军事行动，五万俄国军队和五万英国军队必将在那不勒斯登陆；合计五十万军队必将从四面进攻法国军队。儿子述说的时候，老公爵没有表示一点兴趣，好像不听似的，一边走路一边穿衣服，接连有三次出乎意外地打断儿子的话。有一次制止他说话，喊道：
“白色的，白色的！”
他的意思是说吉洪没有把他想穿的那件西装背心送到他手上。另一次，他停步了，开口问道：
“她快要生小孩吧？”他流露出责备的神态，摇摇头说道，“很不好！继续说下去，继续说下去。”
第三次，在安德烈公爵快要叙述完毕的时候，老年人用那假嗓子开始唱道：“Malbroug，s'envo—t—enguerre．Dieusaitquandreviendra．”①
儿子只是微微一笑而已。 
①法语：马尔布鲁去远征，天知道什么时候才回来。
“我不是说，这是我所称赞的计划，”儿子说道，“我只是对您讲讲有这么一个计划。拿破仑拟订了一个更好的计划。”
“唉，你没有说出一点新消息，”老年人沉思，像放连珠炮似地喃喃自语：“Dieusaitquandreviendra，”又说：“去餐厅里吧。”
Book 1 Chapter 24
AT THE EXACT HOUR, the prince, powdered and shaven, walked into the dining-room, where there were waiting for him his daughter-in-law, Princess Marya, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and the prince's architect, who, by a strange whim of the old gentleman's, dined at his table, though being an insignificant person of no social standing, he would not naturally have expected to be treated with such honour. The prince, who was in practice a firm stickler for distinctions of tank, and rarely admitted to his table even important provincial functionaries, had suddenly pitched on the architect Mihail Ivanovitch, blowing his nose in a check pocket-handkerchief in the corner, to illustrate the theory that all men are equal, and had more than once impressed upon his daughter that Mihail Ivanovitch was every whit as good as himself and her. At table the prince addressed his conversation to the taciturn architect more often than to any one.
In the dining-room, which, like all the other rooms in the house, was immensely lofty, the prince's entrance was awaited by all the members of his household and the footmen, standing behind each chair. The butler with a table-napkin on his arm scanned the setting of the table, making signs to the footmen, and continually he glanced uneasily from the clock on the wall to the door, by which the prince was to enter. Prince Andrey stood at an immense golden frame on the wall that was new to him. It contained the genealogical tree of the Bolkonskys, and hanging opposite it was a frame, equally immense, with a badly painted representation (evidently the work of some household artist) of a reigning prince in a crown, intended for the descendant of Rurik and founder of the family of the Bolkonsky princes. Prince Andrey looked at this genealogical tree shaking his head, and he laughed.
“There you have him all over!” he said to Princess Marya as she came up to him.
Princess Marya looked at her brother in surprise. She did not know what he was smiling at. Everything her father did inspired in her reverence that did not admit of criticism.
“Every one has his weak spot,” Prince Andrey went on; “with his vast intellect to condescend to such triviality!”
Princess Marya could not understand the boldness of her brother's criticism and was making ready to protest, when the step they were all listening for was heard coming from the study. The prince walked in with a quick, lively step, as he always walked, as though intentionally contrasting the elasticity of his movements with the rigidity of the routine of the house. At that instant the big clock struck two, and another clock in the drawing-room echoed it in thinner tones. The prince stood still; his keen, stern eyes gleaming under his bushy, overhanging brows scanned all the company and rested on the little princess. The little princess experienced at that moment the sensation that courtiers know on the entrance of the Tsar, that feeling of awe and veneration that this old man inspired in every one about him. He stroked the little princess on the head, and then with an awkward movement patted her on her neck.
“I'm glad, glad to see you,” he said, and looking intently into her eyes he walked away and sat down in his place. “Sit down, sit down, Mihail Ivanovitch, sit down.”
He pointed his daughter-in-law to a seat beside him. The footman moved a chair back for her.
“Ho, ho!” said the old man, looking at her rounded figure. “You've not lost time; that's bad!” He laughed a dry, cold, unpleasant laugh, laughing as he always did with his lips, but not with his eyes. “You must have exercise, as much exercise as possible, as much as possible,” he said.
The little princess did not hear or did not care to hear his words. She sat dumb and seemed disconcerted. The prince asked after her father, and she began to talk and to smile. He asked her about common acquaintances; the princess became more and more animated, and began talking away, giving the prince greetings from various people and retailing the gossip of the town.
“Poor Countess Apraxin has lost her husband; she has quite cried her eyes out, poor dear,” she said, growing more and more lively.
As she became livelier, the prince looked more and more sternly at her, and all at once, as though he had studied her sufficiently and had formed a clear idea of her, he turned away and addressed Mihail Ivanovitch:
“Well, Mihail Ivanovitch, our friend Bonaparte is to have a bad time of it. Prince Andrey” (this was how he always spoke of his son) “has been telling me what forces are being massed against him! While you and I have always looked upon him as a very insignificant person.”
Mihail Ivanovitch, utterly at a loss to conjecture when “you and I” had said anything of the sort about Bonaparte, but grasping that he was wanted for the introduction of the prince's favourite subject, glanced in wonder at the young prince, not knowing what was to come next.
“He's a great tactician!” said the prince to his son, indicating the architect, and the conversation turned again on the war, on Bonaparte, and the generals and political personages of the day. The old prince was, it seemed, convinced that all the public men of the period were mere babes who had no idea of the A B C of military and political matters; while Bonaparte, according to him, was an insignificant Frenchman, who had met with success simply because there were no Potyomkins and Suvorovs to oppose him. He was even persuaded firmly that there were no political difficulties in Europe, that there was no war indeed, but only a sort of marionette show in which the men of the day took part, pretending to be doing the real thing. Prince Andrey received his father's jeers at modern people gaily, and with obvious pleasure drew his father out and listened to him.
“Does everything seem good that was done in the past?” he said; “why, didn't Suvorov himself fall into the trap Moreau laid for him, and wasn't he unable to get out of it too?”
“Who told you that? Who said so?” cried the prince. “Suvorov!” And he flung away his plate, which Tihon very neatly caught. “Suvorov!… Think again, Prince Andrey. There were two men—Friedrich and Suvorov … Moreau! Moreau would have been a prisoner if Suvorov's hands had been free, but his hands were tied by the Hofsskriegswurstschnappsrath; the devil himself would have been in a tight place. Ah, you'll find out what these Hofskriegswurstschnappsraths are like! Suvorov couldn't get the better of them, so how is Mihail Kutuzov going to do it? No, my dear,” he went on; “so you and your generals aren't able to get round Bonaparte; you must needs call in Frenchmen —set a thief to catch a thief! The German, Pahlen, has been sent to New York in America to get the Frenchman Moreau,” he said, alluding to the invitation that had that year been made to Moreau to enter the Russian service. “A queer business!…Why the Potyomkins, the Suvorovs, the Orlovs, were they Germans? No, my lad, either you have all lost your wits, or I have outlived mine. God help you, and we shall see. Bonaparte's become a great military leader among them! H'm!…”
“I don't say at all that all those plans are good,” said Prince Andrey; “only I can't understand how you can have such an opinion of Bonaparte. Laugh, if you like, but Bonaparte is any way a great general!”
“Mihail Ivanovitch!” the old prince cried to the architect, who, absorbed in the roast meat, hoped they had forgotten him. “Didn't I tell you Bonaparte was a great tactician? Here he says so too.”
“To be sure, your excellency,” replied the architect. The prince laughed again his frigid laugh.
“Bonaparte was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He has splendid soldiers. And he attacked the Germans first too. And any fool can beat the Germans. From the very beginning of the world every one has beaten the Germans. And they've never beaten any one. They only conquer each other. He made his reputation fighting against them.”
And the prince began analysing all the blunders that in his opinion Bonaparte had committed in his wars and even in politics. His son did not protest, but it was evident that whatever arguments were advanced against him, he was as little disposed to give up his opinion as the old prince himself. Prince Andrey listened and refrained from replying. He could not help wondering how this old man, living so many years alone and never leaving the country, could know all the military and political events in Europe of the last few years in such detail and with such accuracy, and form his own judgment on them.
“You think I'm an old man and don't understand the actual position of affairs?” he wound up. “But I'll tell you I'm taken up with it! I don't sleep at nights. Come, where has this great general of yours proved himself to be such?”
“That would be a long story,” answered his son.
“You go along to your Bonaparte. Mademoiselle Bourienne, here is another admirer of your blackguard of an emperor!” he cried in excellent French.
“You know that I am not a Bonapartist, prince.”
“God knows when he'll come back …” the prince hummed in falsetto, laughed still more falsetto, and got up from the table.
The little princess had sat silent during the whole discussion and the rest of the dinner, looking in alarm first at Princess Marya and then at her father-in-law. When they left the dinner-table, she took her sister-in-law's arm and drew her into another room.
“What a clever man your father is,” she said; “perhaps that is why I am afraid of him.”
“Oh, he is so kind!” said Princess Marya.
在那规定的时刻，老公爵扑了香粉，刮了脸，走到餐厅里去，儿媳妇、公爵小姐玛丽亚、布里安小姐和公爵的建筑师都在这里等候他。出于公爵的怪癖，这位建筑师竟被准许入席就座，这个渺小的人物就地位而论，是决不能奢求这种荣幸的。公爵在生活上坚定地遵守等级制度，甚至省府的达官显贵也很少准许入席就座。那个常在角落里用方格手帕擤鼻涕的建筑师米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇忽然被准许入席就座了，公爵用他这个惯例来表明，人人一律平等，他不只一次开导女儿说，米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇没有一点不如我们的地方。在筵席间，公爵常和寡言鲜语的米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇开心畅谈。 
这餐厅又高又大，和住室里所有的房间不相上下，家眷和堂倌在每把椅子背后站着，等候公爵走出门来；管家的手上搭着餐巾，他环视着餐桌的摆设，向仆役使眼色，不时地把激动不安的目光从挂钟移向公爵即将出现的门口。安德烈公爵端详着一副他初次看见的金色大框架，框架里面放着博尔孔斯基公爵家的系谱表，对面悬挂着一样大的框架，里面放着一副做工蹩脚的（显然是家庭画师的手笔）享有世袭统治权的公爵的戴冕画像，他一定是出身于留里克家族，即是博尔孔斯基家的始祖。安德烈公爵看系谱表时摇摇头，不时地暗自微笑，那神态就像他看见一副俨像自己的肖像而觉得可笑似的。
“我在这儿认出是他啊！”他对向他身边走来的公爵小姐玛丽亚说道。
公爵小姐玛丽亚惊奇地望望她的哥哥。她不明白他在暗笑什么。父亲所做的一切在她身上激起一种无法评论的敬意。
“每个人都有致命的弱点，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“以他那卓越的的才智，donnersdansceridicule！”① 
①法语：竟然受制于这等琐事。
名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐无法理解长兄提出的大胆的见解，她准备向他反驳，书斋里忽然传出人人期待的步履声，公爵像平素一样迈着急速的脚步，高高兴兴地走进门来，仿佛蓄意用那来去匆匆的样子和严格的家庭秩序形成相反的对比。正在这一转瞬之间，大钟敲响了两声，客厅里的另一只钟用那尖细的声音作出了响应。公爵停步了。他那炯炯有神、富于表情而严峻的目光从垂下的浓眉下向大家环顾一番，然后投射在年轻的公爵夫人身上。年轻的公爵夫人这时感觉到一种有如近臣见皇帝出朝时的感情；也就是这位老人使他的心腹产生的一种敬畏之感。他用手摸了摸公爵夫人的头，然后呆笨地拍了一下她的后脑。
“我真高兴，我真高兴，”他说道，又聚精会神地望了一下她的眼睛，就飞快地走开，坐回自己的座位，“请坐，请坐！
米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇，请坐。”
他向儿媳妇指了指身边的座位。堂倌给她移开椅子。
“嘿嘿！”老年人望着她那浑圆的腰部，说道，“太匆忙了，不好！”
他像平常那样只用嘴巴笑，而不用眼睛笑，他乏味地、冷漠而且不痛快地笑起来。
“你应当走动走动，尽量，尽量多走动。”他说道。
矮小的公爵夫人没有听见或是不想听他说话。她沉默不言，觉得困惑不安。公爵向她问到她的父亲的情况，公爵夫人于是微露笑容，开口说话了。他又向她问到一般的熟人的情况，公爵夫人现出更加兴奋的样子，开始述说起来，她代人向公爵问候，并且转告城里的流言飞语。
“LacomtesseApraksine，lapauvre，aperdusonmari，etelleapleurèleslarmesdesesyeux，”①她说道，显得更加兴奋起来。 
①法语：可怜的伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜丧失了丈夫，痛哭了很久，眼睛都哭坏了，可怜的女人。
她越来越显得兴致勃勃，公爵就越来越严肃地注视着她。公爵忽然转过脸去；不再理睬她，好像他已经把她研究得够多的了，对她已有明确的概念，他然后便向米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇转过脸去。
“喂，米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇，我们的波拿巴要遭殃了。安德烈公爵（他向来都用第三人称称呼自己的儿子）告诉我，为了击溃他，聚集了多么雄厚的兵力啊！我们一向认为他是个微不足道的人。”
米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇根本不知道“我们”在什么时候谈论过波拿巴的事，可是他心里明白，人家有求于他，目的乃在于打开自己喜欢的话匣子。他诧异地望了望年轻的公爵，自己并不知道，这次谈话会产生何种结果。
“他是我们这里的一位伟大的战术家！”公爵用手指着建筑师对儿子说。
谈话又涉及战争，涉及波拿巴和现时的将军以及国事活动家。看来，老公爵不仅相信，当前的政要人物全是一些不通晓军事和国务知识初阶的乳臭小子，波拿巴也是一个微不足道的法国佬，他所以大受欢迎，只是因为没有波将金或者苏沃洛夫式的人物和他对立罢了。他甚至相信，欧洲并没有任何政治上的障碍，也没有战争，只是一些现时的活动家装作一副办事的模样，演演木偶戏罢了。安德烈公爵愉快地忍受父亲对现代人的嘲笑，明显地露出高兴的神色，喊他父亲谈话，而他自己聆听着。
“过去的一切看来都是好的，”他说道，“那个苏沃洛夫岂不落进了莫罗布下的陷阱，无法自拔了么？”
“是谁对你讲的呢？谁讲的呢？”公爵嚷道，“苏沃洛夫吧！”他扔开一只盘子，吉洪赶快将它接住。“苏沃洛夫吧！……安德烈公爵，想想吧。我知道有两个人：一个是腓特烈，一个是苏沃洛夫……莫罗呀！假如苏沃洛夫有权在握，莫罗该当俘虏了，不过他受制于军事参议院。他倒霉透了，鬼都讨厌他。你到了那个地方，你就能尝到腊肠烧酒的滋味啊！苏沃洛夫无法制服他们，米哈伊尔·库图佐夫又怎能应付呢？行不通，朋友，”他继续说下去，“你们和我们的将军们制服不了波拿巴，就得雇用一批法国人，让他们认不清自己人，自己人屠杀自己人。德国人帕伦被派往美国纽约去寻找法国人莫罗，”他说道，暗指当年聘请莫罗至俄军任职一事。“真怪！怎么啦，那波将金、苏沃洛夫、奥尔洛夫式的人物难道都是德国人吗？不是的，朋友，或者是你们都发疯了，或都是我已经昏瞆了。愿上帝保佑你们，我们来瞧瞧吧。在他们那儿，波拿巴竟然当上伟大的统帅了！哼！……”
“我说的根本不是，他的指示都是可取的，”安德烈公爵说道，“不过，我没法弄明白，您怎能这样评说波拿巴。您想怎样嘲笑，就怎样嘲笑吧，而波拿巴仍然是个伟大的统帅！”
“米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇！”老公爵对那个开始吃烤菜、希望别人把他忘却的建筑师喊道，“我以前对您说过波拿巴是个伟大的战术家，是吗？您看，他也是这样说的。”
“可不是，公爵大人。”建筑师答道。
公爵又冷笑起来。
“波拿巴生来有福分。他的士兵很精锐，而且他先向德国人进攻，只有懒人才不打德国人。自从宇宙存在以来，大家都打德国人。他们打不赢任何人。他们只晓得互相杀戮。他就足凭这一手闻名于世的。”
公爵于是就其看法开始分析波拿巴在战争乃至国务上所犯的过失，儿子不表示异议，但是可以看出，无论向他提出任何论据，他都像老公爵那样很难改变自己的看法。安德烈公爵谛听着，克制着不予辩驳，而且情不自禁地感到谅异，这个老年人足不出户在农村独处许多年，对近几年来欧洲的军事政治局势知晓得如此详尽，评述得如此精辟。
“你认为我这个老头儿不了解目前的事态吗？”他说了一句收尾的话。“我念念不忘时事啊！我彻夜目不交睫。嘿，你那个伟大的统帅究竟在哪里大显身手呀？”
“这说来话长。”儿子答道。
“你到你自己的波拿巴那里去好了M—lleBourienne，voilàencoreunadmirateurdeuotregoujatd'empereur！”①他操着非常漂亮的法国话，喊道：
“Voussavez，quejenesuispasbonapartiste，mon
prince．”②
“OieuSaitquandneviendva…”③公爵不自然地唱道，更加不自然地发笑，从餐桌后面走出来。
在争辩和不争辩的午膳的其余时间里，矮小的公爵夫人默不作声，时而惊惶不安地望望公爵小姐玛丽亚，时而望望老公公，在她从桌子后面走出来时，她一把抓住小姑的手臂，把她喊进另一个房间里。
“Commec'estunhommed'espritvotre，”她说道，“C'estàcausedecelapeut—êtreqúilmefaitpeur．”④“啊，他太慈善了！”公爵小姐玛丽亚说道。 
①法语：布里安小姐，你那个奴才般的皇帝又有一个崇拜者了。
②法语：公爵，您知道，我不是波拿巴份子啊。
③法语：天知道什么时候他才回来。
④法语：您爸爸是个很聪明的人，也许因为这种缘故我才害怕他。
Book 1 Chapter 25
PRINCE ANDREY was leaving the following evening. The old prince, not departing from his regular routine, went away to his own room after dinner. The little princess was with her sister-in-law. Prince Andrey, having changed his dress and put on a travelling-coat without epaulettes, had been packing with his valet in the rooms set apart for him. After himself inspecting the coach and the packing of his trunks on it, he gave orders for the horses to be put to. Nothing was left in the room but the things that Prince Andrey always carried with him: a travelling-case, a big silver wine-case, two Turkish pistols and a sabre, a present from his father, brought back from his campaign under Otchakov. All Prince Andrey's belongings for the journey were in good order; everything was new and clean, in cloth covers, carefully fastened with tape.
At moments of starting off and beginning a different life, persons given to deliberating on their actions are usually apt to be in a serious frame of mind. At such moments one reviews the past and forms plans for the future. The face of Prince Andrey was very dreamy and tender. Clasping his hands behind him, he walked rapidly up and down the room from corner to corner looking straight before him and dreamily shaking his head. Whether he felt dread at going to the war, or grief at forsaking his wife or possibly something of both—he evidently did not care to be seen in that mood, for, catching the sound of footsteps in the outer room, he hastily unclasped his hands, stood at the table, as though engaged in fastening the cover of the case, and assumed his habitual calm and impenetrable expression. It was the heavy step of Princess Marya.
“They told me you had ordered the horses to be put in,” she said, panting (she had evidently been running), “and I did so want to have a little more talk with you alone. God knows how long we shall be parted again. You're not angry with me for coming? You're very much changed, Andryusha,” she added, as though to explain the question.
She smiled as she uttered the word “Andryusha.” It was obviously strange to her to think that this stern, handsome man was the same as the thin, mischievous boy, the Andryusha who had been the companion of her childhood.
“And where's Liza?” he asked, only answering her question by a smile.
“She was so tired that she fell asleep on the sofa in my room. Oh Andrey, what a treasure of a wife you have,” she said, sitting down on the sofa, facing her brother. “She is a perfect child; such a sweet, merry child. I like her so much.” Prince Andrey did not speak, but the princess noticed the ironical and contemptuous expression that came into his face.
“But one must be indulgent to little weaknesses. Who is free from them, Andrey? You mustn't forget that she has grown up and been educated in society. And then her position is not a very cheerful one. One must put oneself in every one's position. To understand everything is to forgive everything. Only think what it must be for her, poor girl, after the life she has been used to, to part from her husband and be left alone in the country, and in her condition too. It's very hard.”
Prince Andrey smiled, looking at his sister as we smile listening to people whom we fancy we see through.
“You live in the country and think the life so awful?” he said.
“I—that's a different matter. Why bring me in? I don't wish for any other life, and indeed I can't wish for anything different, for I know no other sort of life. But only think, Andrey, what it is for a young woman used to fashionable society to be buried for the best years of her life in the country, alone, because papa is always busy, and I … you know me … I am not a cheerful companion for women used to the best society. Mademoiselle Bourienne is the only person …”
“I don't like her at all, your Bourienne,” said Prince Andrey.
“Oh, no! she's a very good and sweet girl, and what's more, she's very much to be pitied. She has nobody, nobody. To tell the truth, she is of no use to me, but only in my way. I have always, you know, been a solitary creature, and now I'm getting more and more so. I like to be alone … Mon père likes her very much. She and Mihail Ivanovitch are the two people he is always friendly and good-tempered with, because he has been a benefactor to both of them; as Sterne says: ‘We don't love people so much for the good they have done us as for the good we have done them.' Mon père picked her up an orphan in the streets, and she's very good-natured. And mon père likes her way of reading. She reads aloud to him in the evenings. She reads very well.”
“Come, tell me the truth, Marie, you suffer a good deal, I expect, sometimes from our father's character?” Prince Andrey asked suddenly. Princess Marya was at first amazed, then aghast at the question.
“Me?…me?…me suffer!” she said.
“He was always harsh, but he's growing very tedious, I should think,” said Prince Andrey, speaking so slightingly of his father with an unmistakable intention either of puzzling or of testing his sister.
“You are good in every way, Andrey, but you have a sort of pride of intellect,” said the princess, evidently following her own train of thought rather than the thread of the conversation, “and that's a great sin. Do you think it right to judge our father? But if it were right, what feeling but vénération could be aroused by such a man as mon père? And I am so contented and happy with him. I could only wish you were all as happy as I am.”
Her brother shook his head incredulously.
“The only thing that troubles me,—I'll tell you the truth, Andrey,— is our father's way of thinking in religious matters. I can't understand how a man of such immense intellect can fail to see what is as clear as day, and can fall into such error. That is the one thing that makes me unhappy. But even in this I see a slight change for the better of late. Lately his jeers have not been so bitter, and there is a monk whom he received and talked to a long time.”
“Well, my dear, I'm afraid you and your monk are wasting your powder and shot,” Prince Andrey said ironically but affectionately.
“Ah, mon ami! I can only pray to God and trust that He will hear me. Andrey,” she said timidly after a minute's silence, “I have a great favour to ask of you.”
“What is it, dear?”
“No; promise me you won't refuse. It will be no trouble to you, and there is nothing beneath you in it. Only it will be a comfort to me. Promise, Andryusha,” she said, putting her hand into her reticule and holding something in it, but not showing it yet, as though what she was holding was the object of her entreaty, and before she received a promise to grant it, she could not take that something out of her reticule. She looked timidly with imploring eyes at her brother.
“Even if it were a great trouble …” answered Prince Andrey, seeming to guess what the favour was.
“You may think what you please about it. I know you are like mon père. Think what you please, but do this for my sake. Do, please. The father of my father, our grandfather, always wore it in all his wars …” She still did not take out what she was holding in her reticule. “You promise me, then?”
“Of course, what is it?”
“Andrey, I am blessing you with the holy image, and you must promise me you will never take it off.… You promise?”
“If it does not weigh a ton and won't drag my neck off … To please you,” said Prince Andrey. The same second he noticed the pained expression that came over his sister's face at this jest, and felt remorseful. “I am very glad, really very glad, dear,” he added.
“Against your own will He will save and will have mercy on you and turn you to Himself, because in Him alone is truth and peace,” she said in a voice shaking with emotion, and with a solemn gesture holding in both hands before her brother an old-fashioned, little, oval holy image of the Saviour with a black face in a silver setting, on a little silver chain of delicate workmanship. She crossed herself, kissed the image, and gave it to Andrey.
“Please, Andrey, for my sake.”
Rays of kindly, timid light beamed from her great eyes. Those eyes lighted up all the thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her brother would have taken the image, but she stopped him. Andrey understood, crossed himself, and kissed the image. His face looked at once tender (he was touched) and ironical.
“Merci, mon ami.” She kissed him on the forehead and sat down again on the sofa. Both were silent.
“So as I was telling you, Andrey, you must be kind and generous as you always used to be. Don't judge Liza harshly,” she began; “she is so sweet, so good-natured, and her position is a very hard one just now.”
“I fancy I have said nothing to you, Masha, of my blaming my wife for anything or being dissatisfied with her. What makes you say all this to me?”
Princess Marya coloured in patches, and was mute, as though she felt guilty.
“I have said nothing to you, but you have been talked to. And that makes me sad.”
The red patches grew deeper on the forehead and neck and cheeks of Princess Marya. She would have said something, but could not utter the words. Her brother had guessed right: his wife had shed tears after dinner, had said that she had a presentiment of a bad confinement, that she was afraid of it, and had complained of her hard lot, of her father-in-law and her husband. After crying she had fallen asleep. Prince Andrey felt sorry for his sister.
“Let me tell you one thing, Masha, I can't reproach my wife for anything, I never have and I never shall, nor can I reproach myself for anything in regard to her, and that shall always be so in whatever circumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know the truth … if you want to know if I am happy. No. Is she happy? No. Why is it so? I don't know.”
As he said this, he went up to his sister, and stooping over her kissed her on the forehead. His fine eyes shone with an unaccustomed light of intelligence and goodness. But he was not looking at his sister, but towards the darkness of the open door, over her head.
“Let us go to her; I must say good-bye. Or you go alone and wake her up, and I'll come in a moment. Petrushka!” he called to his valet, “come here and take away these things. This is to go in the seat and this on the right side.”
Princess Marya got up and moved toward the door. She stopped. “Andrey, if you had faith, you would have appealed to God, to give you the love that you do not feel, and your prayer would have been granted.”
“Yes, perhaps so,” said Prince Andrey. “Go, Masha, I'll come immediately.”
On the way to his sister's room, in the gallery that united one house to the other, Prince Andrey encountered Mademoiselle Bourienne smiling sweetly. It was the third time that day that with an innocent and enthusiastic smile she had thrown herself in his way in secluded passages.
“Ah, I thought you were in your own room,” she said, for some reason blushing and casting down her eyes. Prince Andrey looked sternly at her. A sudden look of wrathful exasperation came into his face. He said nothing to her, but stared at her forehead and her hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt that the Frenchwoman crimsoned and went away without a word. When he reached his sister's room, the little princess was awake and her gay little voice could be heard through the open door, hurrying one word after another. She talked as though, after being long restrained, she wanted to make up for lost time, and, as always, she spoke French
“No, but imagine the old Countess Zubov, with false curls and her mouth full of false teeth as though she wanted to defy the years. Ha, ha, ha, Marie!”
Just the same phrase about Countess Zubov and just the same laugh Prince Andrey had heard five times already from his wife before outsiders. He walked softly into the room. The little princess, plump and rosy, was sitting in a low chair with her work in her hands, trotting out her Petersburg reminiscences and phrases. Prince Andrey went up, stroked her on the head, and asked if she had got over the fatigue of the journey. She answered him and went on talking.
The coach with six horses stood at the steps. It was a dark autumn night. The coachman could not see the shafts of the carriage. Servants with lanterns were running to and fro on the steps. The immense house glared with its great windows lighted up. The house-serfs were crowding in the outer hall, anxious to say good-bye to their young prince. In the great hall within stood all the members of the household: Mihail Ivanovitch, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Marya, and the little princess. Prince Andrey had been summoned to the study of his father, who wanted to take leave of him alone. All were waiting for him to come out again. When Prince Andrey went into the study, the old prince was in his old-age spectacles and his white dressing-gown, in which he never saw any one but his son. He was sitting at the table writing. He looked round.
“Going?” And he went on writing again.
“I have come to say good-bye.”
“Kiss me here,” he touched his cheek; “thanks, thanks!”
“What are you thanking me for?”
“For not lingering beyond your fixed time, for not hanging about a woman's petticoats. Duty before everything. Thanks, thanks!” And he went on writing, so that ink spurted from the scratching pen.
“If you want to say anything, say it. I can do these two things at once,” he added.
“About my wife … I'm ashamed as it is to leave her on your hands.…”
“Why talk nonsense? Say what you want.”
“When my wife's confinement is due, send to Moscow for an accoucheur … Let him be here.”
The old man stopped and stared with stern eyes at his son, as though not understanding.
“I know that no one can be of use, if nature does not assist,” said Prince Andrey, evidently confused. “I admit that out of a million cases only one goes wrong, but it's her fancy and mine. They've been telling her things; she's had a dream and she's frightened.”
“H'm…h'm …” the old prince muttered to himself, going on with his writing. “I will do so.” He scribbled his signature, and suddenly turned quickly to his son and laughed.
“It's a bad business, eh?”
“What's a bad business, father?”
“Wife!” the old prince said briefly and significantly.
“I don't understand,” said Prince Andrey.
“But there's no help for it, my dear boy,” said the old prince; “they're all like that, and there's no getting unmarried again. Don't be afraid, I won't say a word to any one, but you know it yourself.”
He grasped his hand with his thin, little, bony fingers, shook it, looked straight into his son's face with his keen eyes, that seemed to see right through any one, and again he laughed his frigid laugh.
The son sighed, acknowledging in that sigh that his father understood him. The old man, still busy folding and sealing the letters with his habitual rapidity, snatched up and flung down again the wax, the seal, and the paper.
“It can't be helped. She's pretty. I'll do everything. Set your mind at rest,” he said jerkily, as he sealed the letter.
Andrey did not speak; it was both pleasant and painful to him that his father understood him. The old man got up and gave his son the letter.
“Listen,” said he. “Don't worry about your wife; what can be done shall be done. Now, listen; give this letter to Mihail Ilarionovitch. I write that he is to make use of you on good work, and not to keep you long an adjutant; a vile duty! Tell him I remember him and like him. And write to me how he receives you. If he's all right, serve him. The son of Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky has no need to serve under any man as a favour. Now, come here.”
He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half of his words, but his son was used to understanding him. He led his son to the bureau, opened it, drew out a drawer, and took out of it a manuscript book filled with his bold, big, compressed handwriting.
“I am sure to die before you. See, here are my notes, to be given to the Emperor after my death. Now here, see, is a bank note and a letter: this is a prize for any one who writes a history of Suvorov's wars. Send it to the academy. Here are my remarks, read them after I am gone for your own sake; you will find them profitable.”
Andrey did not tell his father that he probably had many years before him. He knew there was no need to say that.
“I will do all that, father,” he said.
“Well, now, good-bye!” He gave his son his hand to kiss and embraced him. “Remember one thing, Prince Andrey, if you are killed, it will be a grief to me in my old age…” He paused abruptly, and all at once in a shrill voice went on: “But if I learn that you have not behaved like the son of Nikolay Bolkonsky, I shall be … ashamed,” he shrilled.
“You needn't have said that to me, father,” said his son, smiling.
The old man did not speak.
“There's another thing I wanted to ask you,” went on Prince Andrey; “if I'm killed, and if I have a son, don't let him slip out of your hands, as I said to you yesterday; let him grow up with you…please.”
“Not give him up to your wife?” said the old man, and he laughed.
They stood mutually facing each other. The old man's sharp eyes were fixed on his son's eyes. A quiver passed over the lower part of the old prince's face.
“We have said good-bye…go along!” he said suddenly. “Go along!” he cried in a loud and wrathful voice, opening the study door.
“What is it, what's the matter?” asked the two princesses on seeing Prince Andrey, and catching a momentary glimpse of the figure of the old man in his white dressing-gown, wearing his spectacles and no wig, and shouting in a wrathful voice.
Prince Andrey sighed and made no reply.
“Now, then,” he said, turning to his wife, and that “now then” sounded like a cold sneer, as though he had said, “Now, go through your little performance.”
“Andrey? Already!” said the little princess, turning pale and looking with dismay at her husband. He embraced her. She shrieked and fell swooning on his shoulder.
He cautiously withdrew the shoulder, on which she was lying, glanced into her face and carefully laid her in a low chair.
“Good-bye, Masha,” he said gently-to his sister, and they kissed one another's hands, then with rapid steps he walked out of the room.
The little princess lay in the arm-chair; Mademoiselle Bourienne rubbed her temples. Princess Marya, supporting her sister-in-law, still gazed with her fine eyes full of tears at the door by which Prince Andrey had gone, and she made the sign of the cross at it. From the study she heard like pistol shots the repeated and angry sounds of the old man blowing his nose. Just after Prince Andrey had gone, the door of the study was flung open, and the stern figure of the old man in his white dressing-gown peeped out.
“Gone? Well, and a good thing too!” he said, looking furiously at the fainting princess. He shook his head reproachfully and slammed the door.
第二天黄昏，安德烈公爵要动身了。老公爵遵守生活秩序，午膳后走回自己房里去了。矮小的公爵夫人呆在小姑房里。安德烈公爵穿上旅行常礼服，没有佩戴带穗肩章，在拨给他住的房间里和他的侍仆一同收拾行装。他亲自察看了马车，把手提箱装进车厢，嗣后吩咐套马车。房里只剩下一些安德烈平日随身带着的物品：一只小匣子、一只银质旅行食品箱、两支土耳其手枪和一柄军刀——从奥恰科夫运来的父亲赠送的物品。安德烈公爵的全部旅行用品摆放得齐齐整整，完整无缺，全是崭新的，十分干净的，罩上了呢绒套，并用小带子仔细地捆住。 
在即将动身和改变生活规律的时刻，凡善于反思自己行为的人常常会产生一种忧闷的心绪。在这种时刻，他们通常是检查往事，制订长远规划。安德烈公爵脸部流露出沉思和感伤的表情。他把手放在背后。从房间的一角向另一角迈着疾速的脚步，张开眼睛向身前望去，沉思默想地晃着脑袋。他莫非是害怕上战场，抑或是离开妻子而忧心忡忡，——也许二者兼而有之，显然，他只是不想让人家望见他有这种心境；他听见门斗里的步履声，就连忙放开倒背着的手，在桌旁停步了，好像正在捆扎匣子上的布套，脸上带有平常那种宁静和神秘莫测的表情。这时分，可以听见公爵小姐玛丽亚的沉重的步履声。
“有人告诉我，你已经吩咐套马了，”她上气不接下气地说道（显然她是跑步来的），“我心里很想和你单独地再谈一会。天知道我们又要别离多久啊。我走来，你不发脾气吧？安德留沙，你变得厉害啊。”她补充一句话，好像要解释这句问话似的。
她喊“安德留沙”这个名字时，脸部微露笑容。看来，她想到这个严肃的俊美的男人，正是那个消瘦的调皮的安德留沙，她幼年时代的朋友，心里觉得十分奇怪。
“丽莎在哪儿？”他问道，只以微微一笑来回答她的问话。
“她觉得非常疲倦，在我房里的长沙发上睡着了。啊，Andrè！Quéltresondefemmevousavez，”①她说道，一面在长兄对面的长沙发上坐下。“她完全是个小女孩，一个可爱的愉快的小女孩。我很喜爱她。”
安德烈公爵默不作声，可是公爵小姐发现他脸上流露出嘲讽的鄙夷的表情。
“应当宽宏大量地对待一些小缺点，安德烈，谁会没有缺点啊！你不要忘记，她是在上流社会中教育、长大成人的。而且她目前的境遇并不幸福。应当同情每个人的处境。Toutcomprendre，c'esttoutpardonner，②你想想，她过惯了这种生活之后，怎么能够和丈夫离别，孤零零地呆在农村，而且怀了孕，她这个可怜的女人心里有什么感受？这是非常痛苦的。” 
①法语：安德烈，你的妻子太可贵了。
②法语：谁能理解一切，谁就会宽恕一切。
安德烈公爵望着妹妹，脸上露出笑意，就像我们听到我们似乎看透了的那些人说话时面露笑容一样。
“你在农村生活，可是你并不认为这种生活可怕。”他说道。
“我就不一样了。干嘛要谈论我啊！我不企求别的生活，而且不能抱有这种心愿，因为我不知道还有什么别的生活。安德烈，你要想想，一个年轻轻的上流社会的女人，在大好年华，孑然一人匿身于农村，因为爸爸总是忙得不可开交，而我……你是知道我的情况的……对一个习惯于上流社会生活的女人来说，我是多么可怜，多么enresources①，唯独布里安小姐……”
“我极不喜欢您那个布里安。”安德烈公爵说道。
“啊，不对，她很可爱，又和善，主要是，她是一个不幸的姑娘。她没有任何亲人。老实说，我不仅不需要她，而且她使我感到不方便。你知道我一向是个野蛮人，现在变本加厉了。我喜欢独处……monpeve②很喜欢她。爸爸亲热而慈善地对待这两个人——她和米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇，因为他们二人都获得他的恩泽，斯特恩说，我们与其爱那些向我们布善的人，毋宁爱那些领受我们布善的人。monpeve收留了她这个surlepavé③的孤儿。她十分和善，喜欢她朗读的风度。她每逢夜晚给他朗读。她读得非常动听。” 
①法语：不快活。
②法语：爸爸。
③法语：被遗弃于街头。
“嘿，玛丽，说真的，我认为父亲的性情有时会使你觉得难受，对不对？”安德烈公爵忽然问道。
公爵小姐玛丽亚先是大为惊讶，然后就害怕他这句问话。
“我觉得？……我觉得？我觉得难受？”她说道。
“我认为，他一向都很专横，现在变得难以共处了。”安德烈公爵说道，看来他故意使妹妹难堪，或者想试探一下，才这样轻率地评论父亲的。
“你各个方面都表现得很好，安德烈，可是你有点自傲，”公爵小姐说道，她不太注意谈话的进程，过多地注意自己的思路，“这真是一大罪孽。岂可评论父亲？即令是可以，而像monpeve这样的人，只能令人vénération，”①，哪能引起另一种感情？与他相处，我很满意，很幸福！我只希望你们都像我这样幸福。
长兄疑惑地摇摇头。
“安德烈，有一件事使我觉得难受，我如实地告诉你，那就是父亲在宗教方面的观点。我不明了，一个非常聪明的人，怎能看不清显而易见的事，怎能误入迷途？这就是我的一大不幸。但是我近来看见了他有改善的迹象。近来他的嘲讽不那么恶毒了。有个僧侣来拜门，他接见了僧侣，并且一同谈了很久的话。”
“啊，我的亲人，我怕您和僧侣都白费劲。”安德烈公爵嘲讽地，但却亲热地说道。
“Ah！monami，②我只是祷告上帝，希望他能听见我的祷告，安德烈，”沉默片刻之后她羞怯地说道：“我有一件要紧的事求你。” 
①法语：崇拜。
②法语：啊，我的朋友。
“我的亲人，求我做什么事？”
“请你答应我，你不会拒绝我的请求。在你心目中，这件事不用费吹灰之力，也不会使你有损于身分。你只是安慰我而已。安德留沙，请你答应吧，”她说了这句话便把手伸进女式手提包里，拿着一样东西，但是不让别人望见，好像她手上拿的东西正是她所请求的目标，在她的请求尚未获得允诺之前，她是不能从女式手提包里取出这样东西的。
她用央求的目光羞羞答答地望着长兄。
“即使我要花费很大的力气……”安德烈公爵答道，仿佛要猜中是怎么回事。
“你随意想什么都行！我知道你和monpeve都是同样的人。你随意想什么都行，可是你要替我办这件事。请你办妥这件事！我父亲的父亲，即是我们的祖父在南征北战中都随身带着这样东西……”她依旧没有从女式手提包里取出她手里拿着的东西。“你会答应我吗？”
“当然，究竟是怎么回事啊？”
“安德烈，我用神像为你祝福，你要答应我你永远不会把它取下来……答应吗？”
“既然它的重量不到两普特，就不会压疼脖子……要让你愉快……”安德烈公爵说道，但是，一当他发现妹妹听了这句戏言，脸上就流露出忧伤的神情，他顿时后悔起来，“我非常高兴，我的确十分高兴，我的亲人。”他补充一句。
“上帝必将依据你的意志拯救你，保佑你，使你倾向他，唯有在他身上才能获得真理和安慰，”她用激动得颤栗的嗓音说道，在长兄面前庄重地捧着一帧救世主像。这帧古式神像呈椭圆形，面色黧黑并饰以银袍，身上系有一条银链。
她在胸前画十字，吻了吻神像，便把它递给安德烈。
“安德烈，请你保存，为我……”
她的一双大眼睛善良而且羞怯地炯炯发光。这双大眼睛照耀着她那瘦削的病态的面孔，使它变得十分美丽了。长兄想要伸手去拿神像，但是她把他拦住了。安德烈心里明白，他便在胸前画了十字，吻了一下神像。同时他脸上带有温和（他深受感动）和嘲笑的表情。
“mercimonami．”① 
①法语：我的朋友，我感谢你。
她吻吻他的额头，又在长沙发上坐下来。他们都沉默不言。
“安德烈，我对你说过，你要像平常那样慈善、宽宏大量，不要严厉地责难丽莎，”她开始说道，“她很可爱，很和善，目前她的境况非常困难。”
“玛莎，我似乎什么也没有对你说起我责备妻子或者对她表示不满的话。你干嘛老对我说起这件事呢？”
公爵小姐玛丽亚脸上红一阵，白一阵，她沉默起来了，仿佛觉得自己有过错似的。
“我一点也没有对你说，不过有人对你说了。这真使我伤脑筋。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚的额头、颈项和两颊上的斑斑红晕显得更红了。她心里很想说点什么话，可是说不出来。长兄猜中了，午饭后矮小的公爵夫人哭了一顿，说她预感到不幸的分娩，她害怕难产，埋怨自己的命运，埋怨老公公和丈夫。她痛哭一顿以后就睡着了。安德烈公爵怜悯起妹妹来了。
“玛莎，你要知道是这么回事，我没有什么可责备妻子的，以前没有责备，以后也永远不会责备她，在我对她的态度上，我并没有什么可责怪自己的地方。无论我处在何种情况下，我永远都是这样。但是，如果你很想知道真相，……你想知道我是否幸福？我并不幸福。她是否幸福？也不幸福。这究竟是什么？我不知道……”
他说话时，站起身来，走到他妹妹面前，弯下腰去，吻了一下她的额头。他那美丽的眼睛放射出不常见的明智而和善的光芒，但是，他并不望他妹妹，而是逾越她的头部望着黑洞洞的敞开的门户。
“我们到她那里去吧，应当向她告辞了！要不然，你一个人去吧，把她喊醒，我马上就来。彼得鲁什卡！”他向侍仆喊道，“到这里来，收拾东西吧。这件要放在座位里边，这件要放在右边。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚站起身来，向门边走去。这时她停住脚步了。
“André，sivousavezlafoi，vousvousseriezadresséàDieu，pourqu'ilvousdonnel'amourquevousnesentezpas，etvotrepriereauraiteteexaucee．”①
“是啊，真有这种事吗！”安德烈公爵说道，“玛莎，你去吧，我立刻就来。”
安德烈公爵去妹妹房间的途中，在连结甲乙两幢住宅的走廊里，碰见了笑容可掬的布里安小姐，是日她已经第三次露出天真而喜悦的笑意在冷冷清清的过道上和他邂逅相遇了。
“Ah！jevouscroyaischezvous，”②她说道，不知怎的涨红了脸，低垂着眼睛。 
①法语：安德烈，如果你有一种信仰，你就会祈祷上帝，要他赐予你那种体会不到的爱，要上帝能听到你的祷告。
②法语：啊，我原来以为您在自己房里哩。
安德烈公爵严肃地瞟了她一眼，脸上顿时流露出狂怒的神色，他什么话也没有对她说，不屑望望她的眼睛，只朝她的额角和头发瞥视一下，眼神是那么鄙夷，以致这个法国女人满面通红，她一言未发便走开了。当他行走到妹妹门口的时候，公爵夫人睡醒了，门户洞开，从里面传来她那愉快的上句紧扣下句的话语声。她说起话来，就像长时间克制之后，现在很想要补偿失去的时光似的。
“Non，maisfigurezvous，lavieillecomtesseZouboffavecdefaussesbouclesetlabouchepleinedefaussesdents，commesiellevoulaitdefierlesannees…①玛丽，哈，哈，哈！”
安德烈公爵约莫有五次听见他妻子在旁人面前说伯爵夫人祖博娃的一些同样的闲话，还听见一串串同样的笑声。他悄悄地走进房来。略嫌肥胖、面颊绯红的公爵夫人坐在安乐椅上，手里拿着针线活儿，不住声地说话，一桩桩、一件件回忆彼得堡的往事，甚至回忆一句句的原话。安德烈向她跟前走来，摸摸她的头，问她旅途之余是不是得到休息。她应声回答，又继续说下去了。 
①法语：不，你设想一下，老伯爵夫人祖博娃长着一头假发，一口假牙，好像在嘲笑自己的年纪似的……
六套马的四轮马车停在台阶前面。外面正是昏暗的秋夜。车夫望不见马车的辕轩。人们都手提灯笼在门廊里忙忙碌碌。一幢雄伟的住宅透过一扇扇高大的窗户反射出耀眼的灯光。仆人们都聚集在接待室里想跟年轻的公爵告别；家属：米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇、布里安小姐、公爵小姐玛丽亚和公爵夫人，一个个站在大客厅里。安德烈公爵被人叫到书斋去见父亲，父亲很想单独地跟他告别，他们正在等待着父子走出门来。
安德烈公爵走进书斋时，老公爵戴上老年人用的眼镜，穿着一件洁白的长衫，除开会见儿子之外，他从未穿过这件长衫接见任何人，这时公爵正坐在桌旁写字。他掉过头来望一眼。
“你要走了吗？”他又握着笔管写起字来。
“我来告辞了。”
“吻我这里吧，”他指指面颊，“谢谢，谢谢！”
“您为什么要谢我？”
“因为你没有稽延多日，没有纠缠着女人的衣裙。服兵役第一。谢谢，谢谢！”他继续写字，墨水飞溅，笔尖沙沙地作响。“若是要说什么话，你就说吧。我可以同一时间做两件事。”
他补充一句。
“关于我的老婆……我把她留了下来让您老人家操劳，我实在不好意思……”
“你瞎说什么？说你该说的话吧。”
“我老婆分娩的时候，请您派人去莫斯科请个产科男医生……叫他到这里来。”
老公爵停住了，好像没有听懂他的意思，他用严肃的目光凝视他儿子。
“我知道，假如大自然帮不了忙，那就没有谁能帮上忙的，”安德烈公爵说道，看来他感到困惑不安，“我所赞成的是，一百万件事例中通常只有一件是不幸的，但是，这真是她的幻觉，也是我的幻觉。别人对她瞎说了什么不该说的话，她做了恶梦，因此她心里十分畏惧。”
“嗯……嗯……”老公爵喃喃地说，一面继续把信写完，“我一定办妥。”
他签了字，忽然很快地把脸转向儿子，哈哈大笑了。
“事情糟糕透了，不是吗？”
“爸爸，什么事情糟糕透了？”
“你的老婆呀！”老公爵三言两语地、但却意味深长地说道。
“我不明了。”安德烈公爵说道。
“亲爱的人，这真是毫无办法的，”公爵说道，“她们都是一路的货色，是离不成婚的。你不要害怕，我决不对人说，可是你自己要知道。”
他用那瘦骨嶙峋的小手一把抓住儿子的手臂，晃了一下，用那仿佛是要把人看透的目光朝着儿子的面孔飞快地扫了一眼，然后又冷冷地笑了。
他儿子叹了一口气，表示他已承认父亲了解他。老年人用那习惯的敏捷的动作继续折叠并封上几封信，他飞快拿起火漆、戳子和信纸，之后又搁下来。
“怎么办。长得俊俏嘛！一切我都办妥，你放心好了。”他在封信时若断若续地说道。
安德烈沉默不言，父亲了解他，这使他觉得愉快，又觉得不愉快。老年人站起身来，把信递给他儿子。
“你听我说，”他说道，“不要替老婆操心，凡是可能办到的事，都一定办到。你听着：把这封信转交米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇。我在信上写了，要他任用你，谋个好差事，不要让你老是当个副官，糟糕透了的职务啊！你告诉他，我还记得他，而且喜爱他。他怎样接待你，以后来信告诉我。假如他待人厚道，就干这个差事吧。尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基的儿子因为不受恩赐，所以不肯在任何人麾下任职。喂，现在到这里来。”
他像放连珠炮似地说话，说不到半句就说完了，可是他儿子已经听惯了，懂得他的意思。他把他儿子领到旧式写字台前面，启开盖子，拉出写字台的抽屉，取出一个笔记本，他把这个笔记本写满了又粗又长又密的小字。
“我想必会死在你前头。你听我说，这里是我的回忆录，在我去世后，把它呈送国王，这里有一张债券和一封信：这里有奖励《苏沃洛夫战史》著述者的一笔奖金。把这些东西寄到科学院去。这里是我的诠注，在我去世后，你自己可以浏阅，从其中获得裨益。”
安德烈没有对父亲说，他想必还能活很久。他心里明白，这种话是用不着说的。
“爸爸，这一切我都能办妥。”他说道。
“好啦，再见吧！”他让他儿子吻吻他的手，然后拥抱自己的儿子。“安德烈公爵，有一点你要牢记在心，如果你被敌人打死，我这个老头子会感到非常悲痛的……”他出乎意料地默不作声，突然他用尖锐刺耳的嗓音继续说，“如果我知道你的行为不像尼古拉·博尔孔斯基的儿子，我就会……感到汗颜！”他突然用那小尖嗓儿叫了一声。
“爸爸，您可以不对我说这种话。”儿子面带微笑地说道。
老年人默不作声了。
“我还有求于您，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“如果我被敌人打死，如果我将来有个儿子，请让他留在您身边，不要他离开，正如我昨天对您说的那样，让他在您这儿成长……请您照拂一下。”
“不把儿子交给老婆吗？”老年人说了这句话，大笑起来。
他们沉默不言，面对面地站着。老年人的敏锐的目光逼视着儿子的眼睛。老公爵的面颊的下部不知怎的颤抖了一下。
“辞别已经完毕了……你走吧！”他忽然说道。“你走吧！”
他把书斋门打开，提高嗓门怒气冲冲地喊道。
“究竟是怎么回事？怎么啦？”公爵夫人和公爵小姐望见了安德烈公爵和那身穿白长衫、未戴假发、戴着一副老年人用的眼镜、愤怒地吼叫的老年人匆匆探出来的身子，于是问道。
安德烈公爵叹了一口气，一声也没有回答。
“好啦，”他向妻子转过脸去说道。“好啦”这个词含有冷嘲热讽的意味，好像他是说：“您现在耍耍您的招儿吧。”
“Andredeja？”①矮小的公爵夫人说道，她脸色惨白，恐惧地望着丈夫。
他搂抱她。她尖叫一声，不省人事地倒在他的肩膀上。
他很小心地移开被她枕着的那只肩膀，望了望她的面孔，爱抚地扶她坐在安乐椅上。
“Adieu，marie，”②他轻声地对他妹妹说道，他和她互相吻吻手，从房里飞快走出来。 
①法语：安德烈，怎么，告别完了吗？
②法语：玛丽亚，再见吧。
公爵夫人躺在安乐椅上，布里安小姐给她揉搓太阳穴。公爵小姐玛丽亚搀扶嫂嫂，她那双美丽的眼睛泪痕斑斑，还在望着安德烈公爵从那里走过的门口，她画着十字，为公爵祈祷祝福。书斋里多次地传出老头子的怒气冲冲的像射击似的擤鼻涕的声音。安德烈公爵刚刚走出去，书斋门很快就敞开了，从门里露出那个穿白色长衫的老年人的威严的身影。
“他走了吗？那就好了！”他说道，愤怒地望望不省人事的个子矮小的公爵夫人，他露出责备的神态摇摇头，砰的一声关上门了。
Book 2 Chapter 1
IN THE OCTOBER OF 1805 the Russian troops were occupying the towns and villages of the Austrian archduchy, and fresh regiments kept arriving from Russia and encamping about the fortress of Braunau, burdening the inhabitants on whom they were billeted. Braunau was the chief headquarters of the commander-in-chief, Kutuzov. 
On the 11th of October 1805, one of the infantry regiments that had just reached Braunau had halted half a mile from the town, awaiting the inspection of the commander-in-chief. In spite of the un-Russian character of the country and the environment (the fruit gardens, the stone walls, the tiled roofs, the mountains in the distance, the foreign peasants, who looked with curiosity at the Russian soldiers), the regiment looked exactly as every Russian regiment always looks when it is getting ready for inspection anywhere in the heart of Russia. In the evening, on the last stage of the march, the order had been received that the commander-in-chief would inspect the regiment on the march. Though the wording of the order did not seem quite clear to the general in command of the regiment, and the question arose whether they were to take it to mean, in marching order or not, it was decided on a consultation between the majors to present the regiment in parade order on the ground, since, as the saying is, it is better to bow too low than not to bow low enough. And the soldiers after a twenty-five mile march had not closed their eyes, but had spent the night mending and cleaning, while the adjutants and officers had been reckoning up and calculating. And by the morning the regiment, instead of the straggling, disorderly crowd it had been on the last march, the previous evening, presented the spectacle of an organised mass of two thousand men, of whom every one knew his part and his duty, and had every button and every strap in its proper position, and shining with cleanliness. It was not only the outside that was in good order; if the commander-in-chief should think fit to peep below the uniform, he would see on every man alike a clean shirt, and in every knapsack he would find the regulation number of articles. There was only one circumstance which no one could feel comfortable about. That was their foot-gear. More than half the soldiers had holes in their boots. But this deficiency was not due to any shortcoming on the part of their commanding officer, since in spite of his repeated demands the boots had not yet been granted him by the Austrian authorities, and the regiment had marched nearly a thousand miles.
The commander of the regiment was a sanguine-looking general past middle age, with grey whiskers and eyebrows, broad and thick-set, and thicker through from the chest to the back than across the shoulders. He wore a brand-new uniform with the creases still in it where it had been folded, and rich gold epaulettes, which seemed to stand up instead of lying down on his thick shoulders. The general had the air of a man who has successfully performed one of the most solemn duties of his life. He walked about in front of the line, and quivered as he walked, with a slight jerk of his back at each step. The general was unmistakably admiring his regiment, and happy in it, and it was evident that his whole brain was engrossed by the regiment. But for all that, his quivering strut seemed to say that, apart from his military interests, he had plenty of warmth in his heart for the attractions of social life and the fair sex.
“Well, Mihail Mitritch, sir,” he said, addressing a major (the major came forward smiling; they were evidently in excellent spirits).
“We have had our hands full all night…But it'll do, I fancy; the regiment's not so bad as some…eh?”
The major understood this good-humoured irony and laughed.
“Even on the Tsaritsyn review ground they wouldn't be turned off.”
“Eh?” said the commander.
At that moment two figures on horseback came into sight on the road from the town, where sentinels had been posted to give the signal. They were an adjutant, and a Cossack riding behind him.
The adjutant had been sent by the commander-in-chief to confirm to the commander what had not been clearly stated in the previous order, namely, that the commander-in-chief wished to inspect the regiment exactly in the order in which it had arrived—wearing their overcoats, and carrying their baggage, and without any sort of preparation.
A member of the Hofkriegsrath from Vienna had been with Kutuzov the previous day, proposing and demanding that he should move on as quickly as possible to effect a junction with the army of Archduke Ferdinand and Mack; and Kutuzov, not considering this combination advisable, had intended, among other arguments in support of his view, to point out to the Austrian general the pitiable condition in which were the troops that had arrived from Russia. It was with this object, indeed, that he had meant to meet the regiment, so that the worse the condition of the regiment, the better pleased the commander-in-chief would be with it. Though the adjutant did not know these details, he gave the general in command of the regiment the message that the commander-in-chief absolutely insisted on the men being in their overcoats and marching order, and that, if the contrary were the case, the commander-in-chief would be displeased.
On hearing this the general's head sank; he shrugged his shoulders, and flung up his hands with a choleric gesture.
“Here's a mess we've made of it,” he said. “Why, didn't I tell you, Mihail Mitritch, that on the march meant in their overcoats,” he said reproachfully to the major. “Ah, my God!” he added, and stepped resolutely forward. “Captains of the companies!” he shouted in a voice used to command. “Sergeants!… Will his excellency be coming soon?” he said, turning to the adjutant with an expression of respectful deference, that related obviously only to the person he was speaking of.
“In an hour's time, I believe.”
“Have we time to change clothes?”
“I can't say, general.…”
The general, going himself among the ranks, gave orders for the men to change back to their overcoats. The captains ran about among the companies, the sergeants bustled to and fro (the overcoats were not quite up to the mark), and instantaneously the squadrons, that had been in regular order and silent, were heaving to and fro, straggling apart and humming with talk. The soldiers ran backwards and forwards in all directions, stooping with their shoulders thrown back, drawing their knapsacks off over their heads, taking out their overcoats and lifting their arms up to thrust them into the sleeves.
Half an hour later everything was in its former good order again, only the squadrons were now grey instead of black. The general walked in front of the regiment again with his quivering strut, and scanned it from some distance.
“What next? what's this!” he shouted, stopping short. “Captain of the third company!”
“The captain of the third company to the general! The captain to the general of the third company to the captain!” … voices were heard along the ranks, and an adjutant ran to look for the tardy officer. When the sound of the officious voices, varying the command, and, by now, crying, “the general to the third company,” reached their destination, the officer called for emerged from behind his company, and, though he was an elderly man and not accustomed to running, he moved at a quick trot towards the general, stumbling awkwardly over the toes of his boots. The captain's face showed the uneasiness of a schoolboy who is called up to repeat an unlearnt lesson. Patches came out on his red nose (unmistakably due to intemperance), and he did not know how to keep his mouth steady. The general looked the captain up and down as he ran panting up, slackening his pace as he drew nearer.
“You'll soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What's the meaning of it?” shouted the general, thrusting out his lower jaw and pointing in the ranks of the third division to a soldier in an overcoat of a colour different from the rest. “Where have you been yourself? The commander-in-chief is expected, and you're not in your place? Eh? … I'll teach you to rig your men out in dressing-gowns for inspection! … Eh?”
The captain, never taking his eyes off his superior officer, pressed the peak of his cap more and more tightly with his two fingers, as though he saw in this compression his only hope of safety.
“Well, why don't you speak? Who's that dressed up like a Hungarian?” the general jested bitterly.
“Your excellency …”
“Well, what's your excellency? Your excellency! Your excellency! But what that means, your excellency, nobody knows.”
“Your excellency, that's Dolohov, the degraded officer,” the captain said softly.
“Well, is he degraded to be a field-marshal, or a common soldier? If he's a soldier, then he must be dressed like all the rest, according to regulation.”
“Your excellency, you gave him leave yourself on the march.”
“Gave him leave? There, you're always like that, you young men,” said the general, softening a little. “Gave him leave? If one says a word to you, you go and …” The general paused. “One says a word to you, and you go and…Eh?” he said with renewed irritation. “Be so good as to clothe your men decently.…”
And the general, looking round at the adjutant, walked with his quivering strut towards the regiment. It was obvious that he was pleased with his own display of anger, and that, walking through the regiment, he was trying to find a pretext for wrath. Falling foul of one officer for an unpolished ensign, of another for the unevenness of the rank, he approached the third company.
“How are you standing? Where is your leg? Where is your leg?” the general shouted with a note of anguish in his voice, stopping five men off Dolohov, who was wearing his blue overcoat. Dolohov slowly straightened his bent leg, and looked with his clear, insolent eyes straight in the general's face.
“Why are you in a blue coat? Off with it!…Sergeant! change his coat…the dir…” Before he had time to finish the word—
“General, I am bound to obey orders, but I am not bound to put up with…” Dolohov hastened to say.
“No talking in the ranks! … No talking, no talking!”
“Not bound to put up with insults,” Dolohov went on, loudly and clearly. The eyes of the general and the soldier met. The general paused, angrily pulling down his stiff scarf.
“Change your coat, if you please,” he said as he walked away.
一八○五年十月间，俄国军队侵占了奥国大公管辖的几个大村庄和城市，一些新兵团又从俄国开来，驻扎在布劳瑙要塞附近的地方，因而加重了居民的负担。库图佐夫总司令的大本营也坐落在布劳瑙。 
一八○五年十月十一日，刚刚抵达布劳瑙的步兵团在离城市半英里处扎营，听候总司令检阅军队。尽管地形和周围环境（果园、石砌的围墙、瓦房盖、远处望得见的山峦）与俄罗斯迥然不同，尽管非俄罗斯民众怀着好奇心观望着士兵，但是，这个兵团的外貌，却和俄罗斯中部任何地区任何一个准备接受检阅的俄国兵一模一样。
那天傍晚，在最近一次行军的路上，接到了一项关于总司令检阅行军中的兵团的命令。虽然团长不太明了命令中的措词，出现了应当怎样领会措词的问题：士兵是不是穿上行军的服装接受检阅？而在营长会议上，遵照以礼相待的准则，决定兵团的士兵穿上阅兵服接受检阅。于是在三十俄里的行军之后，士兵们目不交睫，彻夜缝补衣裳，洗濯污秽；副官和连长命令士兵报数，清除一部分人。次日清晨，这个兵团已经不是最近一次行军的前夜那样松松垮垮的乌合之众，而是一支拥有两千人众的排列整齐的军队，每个人都熟谙自己的位置和任务，每个人的每个纽扣和每根皮带都位于原处，洁净得闪闪发亮。而且不仅是外面穿的军装没有破烂不堪，如果总司令要察看军装里面，他就会看到每个人都穿着一件同样干净的衬衫，他也会发现每只背袋里都装有一定数量的物件，正像士兵们说的那样，“锥子、肥皂，应有尽有。”人人都认为，只有一件事令人心烦，那就是鞋子问题。士兵们的皮靴多半穿破了。但是这个缺点不能归咎于团长。虽然多次提出要求，奥国主管部门并没有把军需品拨给团长，而这个兵团走了一千俄里路了。
这个团长是个易于激动的、须眉均已苍白的渐近老境的将军，他体格结实，胸背之间的宽度大于左右两肩之间的宽度。他身穿一套新缝制的带有一溜溜褶痕的军装，镀金的肩章挺厚，好像没有压低他那肥胖的肩膀，而是使它隆起来。团长的那副样子，就像某人正在顺利地完成一项平生最庄严的事业似的。他在队列前面慢慢地走动，有点儿弯腰曲背，走动时微微发抖，看起来，这个团长非常欣赏自己的兵团，因为他居于一团之首而感到幸福，他把全部精力都投入这个兵团了。尽管如此，他那微微发抖的步态仿佛说明，他除开对军事颇感兴趣，对上流社会的生活方式和女性的兴趣在他灵魂深处也占有相当重要的地位。
“喂，老兄，米哈伊洛·米特里奇，”他把脸转向一个营长，说道（这营长微微一笑，向前移动一步，看上去他们都很走运），“夜里我们都挨责备了。可是，似乎还不错，我们的兵团不是劣等的……啊，不是吗？”
营长听懂了这句令人开心的讽刺话，笑起来了。
“就是在察里津草地举行阅兵式，也不会有人把我们赶出去的。”
“什么？”那团长说道。
这时候，在那分布着信号兵的直通城市的大道上，有两个骑马的人出现了，一个是副官，另一个是跟随身后的哥萨克。
副官是由总司令部派来向团长阐明昨天发布的命令中模糊不清的措词的，即是阐明，总司令意欲看见一个完全处于行军状态的兵团——穿军大衣，罩上外套，不作任何检阅准备。
前一天，奥国军事参议院有一名参议员由维也纳前来叩见库图佐夫，建议并要求俄国军队尽速与费迪南大公和马克的部队汇合，但是库图佐夫认为这种汇合并无裨益，所以，他在摆出可作为他的观点的佐证时，还试图请那位奥国将军目睹一下来自俄国的军队的凄惨情状。他愿意前来与兵团士兵会面，就是要臻达这个目的；因此，兵团的处境愈益恶劣，总司令就愈益高兴。尽管那个副官不熟悉详情，但他已向团长转达了非履行不可的总司令的要求，即是士兵必须穿军大衣，罩上外套，不然，总司令就会表示不满意的。
团长听了这些话后垂下头来，默不作声地耸耸肩膀，很激动地把两手一摊。
“胡作非为啊！”他说道。“米哈伊洛·米特里奇，我不是跟你说过，在行军中，就是要穿军大衣，”他指责营长，“唉呀！我的天！”他补充一句话，就很坚定地向前走去。“诸位，连长！”他用那惯于发口令的嗓音喊道。“上士！……他即将光临？”他流露出恭恭敬敬的神情面对前来的副官说道。看来是为他所提起的那人，他才面带这种表情的。
“我认为要过一个钟头。”
“还来得及换衣服吗？”
“将军，我不晓得……”
这个团长亲自走到了队列的前面，吩咐士兵们重新穿上军大衣。连长各自奔回连部，上士们开始忙碌起来了（一部分大衣未予缝补，不太完整），就在这一刹那间，那些原先既整齐而又肃静的四边形队列开始蠕动、松散，喧哗不已。士兵从四面八方来回奔走，一个个向前耸起肩膀，绕过头上取下行军用的背袋，脱下军大衣，抬起一双手伸进衣袖中。
过了半个钟头，一切恢复了原有的秩序，只有四边形队列已由黑色变成灰色的了。团长又用那微微发抖的步态走到兵团的前面，从远处望它一眼。
“这又是什么名堂？这是什么名堂？”他在停步之时喊，“第三连连长！……”
“传呼第三连连长去见将军，传呼连长去见将军，传呼第三连连长去见团长！……”一列列队伍都听见传呼的声音，一名副官跑去寻找那个磨磨蹭蹭的军官。
这些费劲传呼的声音越传越不对头，在传到被传者的耳鼓时，原话已经变成“将军被传到第三连”了。这名被传的军官从连部后面窜出来，他虽然是个已过中年的男人，不习惯于跑步，但他还是步履踉跄，磕磕绊绊地快步走到将军面前。上尉那种惶惑不安的神色，就像有人叫一个没有学会功课的学生回答问题似的。他那显然由于饮酒无度而发红的脸上现出了斑点，嘴巴撇得合不拢了。他走到团长近侧，放慢了脚步，当他气喘吁吁走到团长面前时，团长从头到脚把他打量一番。
“您很快要给士兵们换上长袍了！这是什么名堂？”团长喊道，他用下颔指了指第三连的队伍中的一个穿着与别人的军大衣截然不同的厂呢色军大衣的士兵，“您刚才呆在哪儿？预料总司令就要到了，而您擅自离开岗位，啊，不是吗？……我要教训您一顿，干嘛要让士兵们穿上卡萨金去接受检阅！
……啊，不是吗？
连长眼巴巴地望着首长，他把两个指头按在帽檐上，越按越紧，好像他认为这会儿只有按帽檐行礼才能得救似的。
“喂，您为什么不开腔？您这儿有一个装扮成匈牙利人的是谁呀？”团长带着严肃的神色，开玩笑说。
“大人……”
“喂，什么‘大人'？大人！大人！可是谁不知道‘大人'是什么。”
“大人，他是受降级处分的多洛霍夫……”上尉轻声地说道。
“怎么？他被贬为元帅，是不是？还是贬为士兵呢？士兵就应当像大家一样穿军装。”
“大人，您亲自准许他在行军时可以穿这种衣服。”
“我准许的么？我准许的么？你们这些年轻人总是这个样子，”团长有几分冷静地说道。“我准许的么？对你们随便说句什么话，你们就……怎么？”他怒气冲冲地说道，“请让士兵们穿着得体面一点……”
团长掉过头来望望副官，他又用那微微发抖的步态向兵团的队伍走去。可见他很喜欢大发脾气，在这个兵团的队伍中走了一阵之后，他想再找一个大发脾气的借口。他威吓一个军官，因为这个军官戴着尚未擦亮的奖章，又威吓另一个军官，因为他带的队伍不整齐，之后他就向第三连走去。
“你是怎——样站的？脚放在哪里？脚放在哪里？”离那个身穿浅蓝色军大衣的多洛霍夫莫约有五人间隔的地方，团长就用含有痛楚的嗓音喊道。
多洛霍夫把他那弯着的腿慢慢地伸直，用炯炯发亮的放肆无礼的目光朝将军的面孔瞥了一眼。
“干嘛要穿蓝色的军大衣？脱掉！……上士！给他换衣服……坏东西……”团长还没有把话说完，多洛霍夫就急急忙忙地说道：
“将军，我必须执行命令。但是，我不应该忍受……”
“在队伍里不要闲扯！……不要闲扯，不要闲扯！……”
“我不应该忍受屈辱。”多洛霍夫用那洪亮的嗓音把话说完了。
将军和士兵的视线相遇了。将军怒气冲冲地向下拉着那条系得紧紧的腰带，他沉默起来了。
“请您换换衣服吧，我请求您。”他走开时说道。
Book 2 Chapter 2
“COMING!” the sentinel shouted at that moment. The general, turning red, ran to his horse, with trembling hands caught at the stirrup, swung himself up, settled himself in the saddle, drew out his sword, and with a pleased and resolute face opened his mouth on one side, in readiness to shout. The regiment fluttered all over, like a bird preening its wings, and subsided into stillness.
“Silence!” roared the general, in a soul-quaking voice, expressing at once gladness on his own account, severity as regards the regiment, and welcome as regards the approaching commander-in-chief.
A high, blue Vienna coach with several horses was driving at a smart trot, rumbling on its springs, along the broad unpaved high-road, with trees planted on each side of it. The general's suite and an escort of Croats galloped after the coach. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general in a white uniform, that looked strange among the black Russian ones. The coach drew up on reaching the regiment. Kutuzov and the Austrian general were talking of something in low voices, and Kutuzov smiled slightly as, treading heavily, he put his foot on the carriage step, exactly as though those two thousand men gazing breathlessly at him and at their general, did not exist at all.
The word of command rang out, again the regiment quivered with a clanking sound as it presented arms. In the deathly silence the weak voice of the commander-in-chief was audible. The regiment roared: “Good health to your Ex .. lency .. lency .. lency!” And again all was still. At first Kutuzov stood in one spot, while the regiment moved; then Kutuzov began walking on foot among the ranks, the white general beside him, followed by his suite.
From the way that the general in command of the regiment saluted the commander-in-chief, fixing his eyes intently on him, rigidly respectful and obsequious, from the way in which, craning forward, he followed the generals through the ranks, with an effort restraining his quivering strut, and darted up at every word and every gesture of the commander-in-chief,—it was evident that he performed his duties as a subordinate with even greater zest than his duties as a commanding officer. Thanks to the strictness and assiduity of its commander, the regiment was in excellent form as compared with the others that had arrived at Braunau at the same time. The sick and the stragglers left behind only numbered two hundred and seventeen, and everything was in good order except the soldiers' boots.
Kutuzov walked through the ranks, stopping now and then, and saying a few friendly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war, and sometimes to the soldiers. Looking at their boots, he several times shook his head dejectedly, and pointed them out to the Austrian general with an expression as much as to say that he blamed no one for it, but he could not help seeing what a bad state of things it was. The general in command of the regiment, on every occasion such as this, ran forward, afraid of missing a single word the commander-in-chief might utter regarding the regiment. Behind Kutuzov, at such a distance that every word, even feebly articulated, could be heard, followed his suite, consisting of some twenty persons. These gentlemen were talking among themselves, and sometimes laughed. Nearest of all to the commander-in-chief walked a handsome adjutant. It was Prince Bolkonsky. Beside him was his comrade Nesvitsky, a tall staff-officer, excessively stout, with a good-natured, smiling, handsome face, and moist eyes. Nesvitsky could hardly suppress his mirth, which was excited by a swarthy officer of hussars walking near him. This officer, without a smile or a change in the expression of his fixed eyes, was staring with a serious face at the commanding officer's back, and mimicking every movement he made. Every time the commanding officer quivered and darted forward, the officer of hussars quivered and darted forward in precisely the same way. Nesvitsky laughed, and poked the others to make them look at the mimic.
Kutuzov walked slowly and listlessly by the thousands of eyes which were almost rolling out of their sockets in the effort to watch him. On reaching the third company, he suddenly stopped. The suite, not foreseeing this halt, could not help pressing up closer to him.
“Ah, Timohin!” said the commander-in-chief, recognising the captain with the red nose who had got into trouble over the blue overcoat.
One would have thought it impossible to stand more rigidly erect than Timohin had done when the general in command of the regiment had made his remarks to him; but at the instant when the commander-in-chief addressed him, the captain stood with such erect rigidity that it seemed that, were the commander-in-chief to remain for some time looking at him, the captain could hardly sustain the ordeal, and for that reason Kutuzov, realising his position, and wishing him nothing but good, hurriedly turned away. A scarcely perceptible smile passed over Kutuzov's podgy face, disfigured by the scar of a wound.
“Another old comrade at Ismail!” he said. “A gallant officer! Are you satisfied with him?” Kutuzov asked of the general in command.
And the general, all unconscious that he was being reflected as in a mirror in the officer of hussars behind him, quivered, pressed forward, and answered: “Fully, your most high excellency.”
“We all have our weaknesses,” said Kutuzov, smiling and walking away from him. “He had a predilection for Bacchus.”
The general in command was afraid that he might be to blame for this, and made no answer. The officer of hussars at that instant noticed the face of the captain with the red nose, and the rigidly drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his face and attitude in such a life-like manner that Nesvitsky could not restrain his laughter. Kutuzov turned round. The officer could apparently do anything he liked with his face; at the instant Kutuzov turned round, the officer had time to get in a grimace before assuming the most serious, respectful, and innocent expression.
The third company was the last, and Kutuzov seemed pondering, as though trying to recall something. Prince Andrey stepped forward and said softly in French: “You told me to remind you of the degraded officer, Dolohov, serving in the ranks in this regiment.”
“Where is Dolohov?” asked Kutuzov.
Dolohov, attired by now in the grey overcoat of a private soldier, did not wait to be called up. The slender figure of the fair-haired soldier, with his bright blue eyes, stepped out of the line. He went up to the commander-in-chief and presented arms.
“A complaint to make?” Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.
“This is Dolohov,” said Prince Andrey.
“Ah!” said Kutuzov. “I hope this will be a lesson to you, do your duty thoroughly. The Emperor is gracious. And I shall not forget you, if you deserve it.”
The bright blue eyes looked at the commander-in-chief just as impudently as at the general of his regiment, as though by his expression tearing down the veil of convention that removed the commander-in-chief so far from the soldier.
“The only favour I beg of your most high excellency,” he said in his firm, ringing, deliberate voice, “is to give me a chance to atone for my offence, and to prove my devotion to his majesty the Emperor, and to Russia.”
Kutuzov turned away. There was a gleam in his eyes of the same smile with which he had turned away from Captain Timohin. He turned away and frowned, as though to express that all Dolohov had said to him and all he could say, he had known long, long ago, that he was sick to death long ago of it, and that it was not at all what was wanted. He turned away and went towards the coach.
The regiment broke into companies and went towards the quarters assigned them at no great distance from Braunau, where they hoped to find boots and clothes, and to rest after their hard marches.
“You won't bear me a grudge, Proho Ignatitch?” said the commanding general, overtaking the third company and riding up to Captain Timohin, who was walking in front of it. The general's face beamed with a delight he could not suppress after the successful inspection. “It's in the Tsar's service … can't be helped … sometimes one has to be a little sharp at inspection. I'm the first to apologise; you know me.… He was very much pleased.” And he held out his hand to the captain.
“Upon my word, general, as if I'd make so bold,” answered the captain, his nose flushing redder. He smiled, and his smile revealed the loss of two front teeth, knocked out by the butt-end of a gun at Ismail.
“And tell Dolohov that I won't forget him; he can be easy about that. And tell me, please, what about him, how's he behaving himself … I've been meaning to inquire…”
“He's very exact in the discharge of his duties, your excellency … but he's a character …” said Timohin.
“Why, what sort of a character?” asked the general.
“It's different on different days, your excellency,” said the captain; “at one time he's sensible and well-educated and good-natured. And then he'll be like a wild beast. In Poland, he all but killed a Jew, if you please.…”
“Well, well,” said the general, “still one must feel for a young man in trouble. He has great connections, you know.… So you …”
“Oh, yes, your excellency,” said Timohin, with a smile that showed he understood his superior officer's wish in the matter.
“Very well, then, very well.”
The general sought out Dolohov in the ranks and pulled up his horse.
“In the first action you may win your epaulettes,” he said to him.
Dolohov looked round and said nothing. There was no change in the lines of his ironically-smiling mouth.
“Well, that's all right then,” the general went on. “A glass of brandy to every man from me,” he added, so that the soldiers could hear. “I thank you all. God be praised!” And riding round the company, he galloped off to another.
“Well, he's really a good fellow, one can get on very well under him,” said Timohin to the subaltern officer walking beside him.
“The king of hearts, that's the only word for him,” the subaltern said, laughing. (The general was nicknamed the king of hearts.)
The cheerful state of mind of the officers after the inspection was shared by the soldiers. The companies went along merrily. Soldiers' voices could be heard on all sides chatting away.
“Why, don't they say Kutuzov's blind in one eye?”
“To be sure he is. Quite blind of one eye.”
“Nay … lads, he's more sharp-eyed than you are. See how he looked at our boots and things.” …
“I say, mate, when he looked at my legs … well, thinks I …”
“And the other was an Austrian with him, that looked as if he'd been chalked all over. As white as flour. I bet they rub him up as we rub up our guns.”
“I say, Fedeshou … did he say anything as to when the battles are going to begin? You stood nearer. They did say Bonaparte himself was in Brunovo.”
“Bonaparte! What nonsense the fellow talks! What won't you know next! Now it's the Prussian that's revolting. The Austrian, do you see, is pacifying him. When he's quiet, then the war will begin with Bonaparte. And he talks of Bonaparte's being in Brunovo! It's plain the fellow's a fool. You'd better keep your ears open.”
“Those devils of quartermasters! … The fifth company's turned into the village by now, and they're cooking their porridge, and we're not there yet.”
“Give us a biscuit, old man.”
“And did you give me tobacco yesterday? All right, my lad. Well, well, God be with you.”
“They might have made a halt, or we'll have to do another four miles with nothing to eat.”
“I say, it was fine how those Germans gave us carriages. One drove along, something like.”
“But here, lads, the folks are regularly stripped bare. There it was all Poles of some sort, all under the Russian crown, but now we've come to the regular Germans, my boy.”
“Singers to the front,” the captain called. And from the different ranks about twenty men advanced to the front. The drummer, who was their leader, turned round facing the chorus and waving his arm, struck up a soldier's song, beginning: “The sun was scarcely dawning,” and ending with the words: “So, lads, we'll march to glory with Father Kamensky.” … This song had been composed in Turkey, and now was sung in Austria, the only change being the substitution of the words “Father Kutuzov” for “Father Kamensky.”
Jerking out the last words in soldierly fashion and waving his arms, as though he were flinging something on the ground, the drummer, a lean, handsome soldier of forty, looked sternly at the soldier-chorus and frowned. Then, having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed upon him, he gesticulated, as though he were carefully lifting some unseen precious object over his head in both hands, holding it there some seconds, and all at once with a desperate movement flinging it away.
“Ah, the threshold of my cottage,My new cottage.”Here twenty voices caught up the refrain, and the castanet player, in spite of the weight of his weapon and knapsack, bounded nimbly forward, and walked backwards facing the company, shaking his shoulders, and seeming to menace some one with the castanets. The soldiers stepped out in time to the song, swinging their arms and unconsciously falling into step. Behind the company came the sound of wheels, the rumble of springs, and the tramp of horses. Kutuzov and his suite were going back to the town. The commander-in-chief made a sign for the soldiers to go on freely, and he and all his suite looked as though they took pleasure in the sound of the singing, and the spectacle of the dancing soldier and the gaily, smartly marching men. In the second row from the right flank, beside which the carriage passed, they could not help noticing the blue-eyed soldier, Dolohov, who marched with a special jauntiness and grace in time to the song, and looked at the faces of the persons driving by with an expression that seemed to pity every one who was not at that moment marching in the ranks. The cornet of hussars, the officer of Kutuzov's suite, who had mimicked the general, fell back from the carriage and rode up to Dolohov.
The cornet of hussars, Zherkov, had at one time belonged to the fast set in Petersburg, of which Dolohov had been the leader. Zherkov had met Dolohov abroad as a common soldier, and had not seen fit to recognise him. But now, after Kutuzov's conversation with the degraded officer, he addressed him with all the cordiality of an old friend.
“Friend of my heart, how are you?” he said, through the singing, making his horse keep pace with the marching soldiers.
“How am I?” Dolohov answered coldly. “As you see.” The lively song gave a peculiar flavour to the tone of free-and-easy gaiety, with which Zherkov spoke, and the studied coldness of Dolohov's replies.
“Well, how do you get on with your officers?” asked Zherkov.
“All right; they're good fellows. How did you manage to poke yourself on to the staff?”
“I was attached; I'm on duty.”
They were silent.
“My gay goshawk I took with me,From my right sleeve I set him free,”said the song, arousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness. Their conversation would most likely have been different, if they had not been talking while the song was singing.
“Is it true, the Austrians have been beaten?” asked Dolohov.
“Devil knows; they say so.”
“I'm glad,” Dolohov made a brief, sharp reply, as was required to fit in with the tune.
“I say, come round to us some evening; we'll have a game of faro,” said Zherkov.
“Is money so plentiful among you?”
“Do come.”
“I can't; I've sworn not to. I won't drink or play till I'm promoted.”
“Well, but in the first action …”
“Then we shall see.” Again they paused.
“You come, if you want anything; one can always be of use on the staff.…”
Dolohov grinned. “Don't trouble yourself. What I want, I'm not going to ask for; I take it for myself.”
“Oh, well, I only …”
“Well, and I only.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
“And far and freeTo his own country.”Zherkov put spurs to his horse, which three times picked up its legs excitedly, not knowing which to start from, then galloped off round the company, and overtook the carriage, keeping time too to the song.
“总司令来了！”这时信号兵喊道。 
团长脸红了，跑到了马儿前面。他用巍颤颤的手抓住马镫，纵身上马，稳定身子，拔出了军刀。他面带欣喜而坚定的神情，撇着张开的嘴，准备喊口令。整个兵团就像梳平毛羽、振翅欲飞的鸟，抖抖身子，就屏住气息，一动不动了。
“立——正！”团长用震撼人心的嗓音喊道，这声音对他表示欢乐，对兵团表示森严，对前来检阅的首长表示迎迓之意。
几匹马纵列驾着的高大的天蓝色的维也纳轿式四轮马车，沿着没有铺砌路面的宽阔的周围种满树木的大路，奔驰而至，马车的弹簧发出轻微的隆隆响声。侍从们和克罗地亚人的护卫队乘坐轻骑在车后疾驰。一个奥国将军坐在库图佐夫近旁，他身穿一套在俄国人的黑军装之中显得稀奇古怪的白军装。四轮轿式马车在兵团的队列前停下来。库图佐夫和奥国将军轻声地谈论什么事情，库图佐夫微露笑容，当他迈着沉重的步子，从踏板上把腿伸下的时候，俨如他面前并无二千名屏住气息谛视着他和团长的士兵似的。
传来了口令声，兵团的队伍又颤动了，一齐举枪致敬，发出铿锵的响声。在那死一般的肃穆中，总司令的微弱的说话声清晰可闻。全团的士兵拉开了嗓子喊道：“大——人——健康长寿！”全体又屏息不动了。开初，当兵团的队伍行进时，库图佐夫站在一个位置上不动。然后，他和那身穿白军装的将军，在侍从的伴随之下，并排地沿着队列开始徒步检阅。
从团长挺直胸膛、衣着整齐、姿态端正、眼睛谛视总司令举手行军礼来看，从他勉强抑制住微微发抖的步态、身体向前微倾、跟随着二位将军沿着队列徒步检阅来看，从他听见总司令每说一句话，看见总司令每作一次手势就跑上前去唯唯诺诺来看，他履行下属的职务，较诸于履行首长的职务，更能得心应手。与那些同时抵达布劳瑙的兵团相比较，这个兵团由于团长的严厉和勤奋而居于至为优越的地位。掉队者和病号只有二百一十七人。除皮靴而外，其余一切都完整无缺。
库图佐夫沿着队列走过去了。有时停步对他在土耳其战争中认识的军官们说上几句密切的话，有时也对士兵们说几句话。当他望着皮靴时，他有好几回忧郁地摇头，并指着皮靴让奥国将军看看，他那表情能说明，在这件事上他似乎不想责备任何人，但却不能不目睹这种恶劣的情形。每当这时团长就向前跑去，深怕没听见总司令谈论这个兵团的每句话。在每句低声道出的话语都能听见的距离以内，约莫有二十名侍从跟随在库图佐夫身后。侍从先生们互相交谈，有时候发出笑声。一个长得漂亮的副官紧紧地跟着总司令，相隔的距离很近，他就是博尔孔斯基公爵，他的同事涅斯维茨基校官和他并肩同行，他身材魁梧，格外肥胖，长着一张美丽、善良和笑容可掬的脸，一对水汪汪的眼睛，一个面孔有点黧黑的骠骑军官在涅斯维茨基旁边走着，把他逗弄得几乎忍不住要笑。那个骠骑军官没有露出微笑，严肃地用那呆滞的目光望着团长的脊背，滑稽地摹仿团长的每个动作。每当团长微微发抖、向前弯腰的时候，那个骠骑军官就同样地、不爽毫厘地发抖、弯腰。涅斯维茨基一面发笑，一面推撞别人，让他们也来观看这个好逗笑的人。
库图佐夫无精打采地、脚步缓慢地从几千对瞪着眼珠谛视着首长的眼睛旁边走过去。走到第三连近侧的时候，他忽然停步了。侍从们没有预见到他会停步，不由地朝地拥上来。
“啊，季莫欣！”总司令说道，认出了那个因身穿蓝色军大衣而尝到苦头的红鼻子上尉。
季莫欣在团长责备他的时候身子似乎挺得不能再直了。但是，在总司令和他谈话的这个时刻，他把身子挺得更直了。看起来，若是总司令再多望他一会儿，他就会忍受不住了。库图佐夫显然明了上尉的这种窘态，他心中祝愿上尉诸事吉祥，话音一落地就连忙转过脸去。库图佐夫那张因负伤而变得丑陋的胖得发圆的脸上，掠过一丝难以觉察的微笑。
“还有个伊兹梅尔战役的同志，”他说道。“是个勇敢的军官啊！你满意他吗？”库图佐夫向团长问道。
团长在骠骑军官身上的反映，就像照镜子那样，只是团长自己看不见。团长颤栗了一下，向前走去，答道：
“大人，我很满意。”
“我们大家并不是没有弱点，”库图佐夫说道，面露微笑，从他身边走开了。“他忠实于巴克斯”①。 
①巴克斯就是罗马神话中的酒神。
团长吓了一跳，这是否就是他的罪过，他什么话也没有回答。这时候军官看见了鼻子发红、腹部收缩的上尉的面孔，就模仿他的面部表情和姿态，模仿得像极了，以致涅斯维茨基不禁笑出声来。库图佐夫扭过头来。看样子，军官能够随心所欲地控制自己的面部表情，当库图左夫扭过头来的刹那间，他装出一副鬼脸，旋即露出至为严肃的毕恭毕敬的纯洁无瑕的表情。
第三连是最后一个连。库图佐夫沉思起来，显然他想起什么事情。安德烈公爵从侍从们中间走出来，用法国话轻声地说道：
“您吩咐我提醒您一件关于本团内受降级处分的多洛霍夫的事情。”
“多洛霍夫在哪里？”库图佐夫问道。
多洛霍夫换上一件士兵的灰军大衣，焦急地等待有人召唤他。一个身材匀称、浅色头发、一对蓝眼睛闪闪发光的士兵从队列中走出来了。他向总司令面前走去，举枪敬礼。
“你有要求吗？”库图佐夫微微地蹙起额头，问道。
“他就是多洛霍夫。”安德烈公爵说道。
“啊！”库图佐夫说道，“我希望这场教训会使你纠正错误，好好地服役。国王是很慈悲的。你只要立功，我就不会把你忘记。”
那双闪闪发光的蓝眼睛放肆地望着总司令，就像正视着团长那样，他好像要用他的表情去冲破那层把总司令和士兵远远分开的隔幕。
“大人，有一件事我要求您，”他用那洪亮、坚定、从容不迫的嗓音说道，“我求您给我一个赎罪的机会，证明我对国王和俄国的一片忠心。”
库图佐夫转过脸来，正如他向季莫欣转过脸来一样，他脸上掠过一丝含在眼中的微笑。他转过脸来，蹙一阵额头，好像他想表明，多洛霍夫对他所说的种种情形，以及多洛霍夫对他可能说到的种种情形，他老早老早就心中有数了，这一切使他厌倦，都是一些根本用不着说的话。他转过头来，向马车面前走去了。
一团人按连站队开往布劳瑙附近指定的驻地，希望在那里能给自己弄到皮靴和军服，在艰苦的行军之后休息休息。
“普罗霍尔·伊格纳季奇，您不会抱怨我吧？”团长骑在马上绕过向营盘走去的第三连官兵，向带领连队的季莫欣上尉面前直奔而去，对他说道，在顺利举行阅兵式之后，团长脸上不禁流露出欣快。“为沙皇效劳……不可以乱来……我有时会在队列中威吓你们一通……我先来道歉，您是知道我的……我十分感谢！”他于是向连长伸出手来。
“将军，哪能呢，我怎敢埋怨您呀！”上尉答道，他的鼻子涨红了，面露微笑，微笑时张开他在伊兹梅尔城下被枪托打落两颗门牙的缺口。
“请转告多洛霍夫先生，我决不会忘记他，要他放心好了。请您告诉我，我总想问您，他怎么样？操行端正么？各方面的表现……”
“大人，他努力工作……可是性格……”季莫欣说道。
“怎么？性格怎么样？”团长问道。
“大人，天天不一样，”上尉说道，“有时候很聪明，有学问，待人和善。有时候不然，他变成野兽了。他在波兰本来打死了一个犹太人……您要知道……”
“是呀，是呀，”团长说道，“还是要怜悯怜悯这个不幸的青年。要知道，他交际广阔，情谊深厚……所以您要……”
“大人，遵命。”季莫欣说道，他面露微笑，表示他明了首长的意愿。
“是呀，是呀。”
团长在队列中找到了多洛霍夫，并且把马勒住了。
“作战前先发肩章。”团长对他说道。
多洛霍夫环顾了四周，没有说什么，也没有改变他那露出嘲笑的嘴角的表情。
“嗯，这就好了，”团长继续说道。“我邀请各位痛饮一杯，”他补充一句，让士兵们都能听见他说的话，“我感谢大家！谢天谢地！”他于是赶到这个连队的前面，并向另一个连队疾驰而去。
“没啥可说的，他确实是个好人，蛮可以和他一道干工作。”季莫欣对在身旁步行的连级军官说道。
“一言以蔽之，他是个红桃！……（团长的绰号叫做‘红桃K'）”那个连级军官一面发笑，一面说道。
长官们在举行阅兵式后的喜悦心情也感染了士兵们。这一连人心情愉快地步行。四面八方都传来士兵谈话的声音。
“有人把库图佐夫叫什么来着，他是个独眼人，只有一只眼睛？”
“可不是么！百分之百的独眼人。”
“不……老弟，他比你更眼尖哩。皮靴和包脚布，什么都看得清清楚楚……”
“我的老弟，他望了望我这双脚……嘿！我以为……”
“还有那个和他同路来的奥国人，好像他全身刷了一层白灰似的，简直白得像面粉！想必有人像擦驮具那样把他擦得干干净净！”
“费杰绍，怎么样！……他不是说过什么时候开始打仗吗？你不是呆在更近的地方？人家老是说，波拿巴本人就驻扎在布鲁诺沃①。” 
①布鲁诺沃即是布劳瑙。
“波拿巴会驻扎在这里！瞧，他真是瞎说，笨蛋！他知道什么呀！目前普鲁士人在叛变。这也就是说，奥国人正在戡乱，一旦普鲁士人给镇压下去，就向要波拿巴宣战了。可是他硬说波拿巴驻扎在布鲁诺沃啊！由此可见，他是个笨蛋。你多听一点消息吧。”
“你瞧，设营员这些鬼家伙！瞧，第五连官兵已经拐弯，进村了，他们就要煮稀饭了，可我们还没有到达目的地。”
“鬼东西，给我一点面包干。”
“昨天你给了我一点烟叶，是吗？老弟，怪不得。喂，你拿去吧，上帝保佑你。”
“让我们停下来休息休息也好，要不然，我们还要空着肚子走五俄里左右的路。”
“若是德国人给我们几辆四轮马车，那就妙极了。坐上去满不在乎，真威风！”
“老弟，这里的民众狂暴得很。那里好像都是俄国王权之下的波兰人；老弟，如今这里是清一色的德国人。”
“歌手都到前面来！”可以听见上尉的喊声。
约莫二十人从各个队列中跑到连队的前面。一名领唱的鼓手向歌手们转过脸来，他挥一挥手，唱起悠扬婉转的士兵之歌，歌曲的头一句的字样是：“朝霞升，太阳红……”收尾一句的字样是：“弟兄们，光荣归于卡缅斯基爷爷和我们……”这首歌曲编写于土耳其，现时在奥国流行，只是歌词中有所改动，其中的“卡缅斯基爷爷”已被改成“库图佐夫爷爷”。
鼓手这个消瘦、眉清目秀、约莫四十岁的士兵，依照士兵的惯例突然停止，不喝完最后一句，把两手一挥，好像把一件什么东西扔到地上似的，他向士兵歌手们严肃地瞥了一眼，眯缝起眼睛。之后，当他深信人人的目光都集中在他身上的时候，他好像把一件看不见的贵重物品举在头顶上，呆了片刻后突然使劲地把它扔掉：
哎呀，我的门斗呀，我的门斗！
“我的新门斗……”二十个人接着唱下去，乐匙手尽管担负着沉重的驮具，但却急忙地向前跑去，面向连队后退着行走，微微地抖动肩膀，威吓某人似地击打着乐匙。士兵们合着歌曲的拍节，挥动着手臂，迈开大步，不知不觉地走齐了脚步。连队后面可以听见车轮的辘辘声，弹簧垫的轧轧声和马蹄的得得声。库图佐夫偕同侍从回到城里去。总司令做了个手势，要士兵们继续便步行进，一听见歌声，一望见跳舞的士兵和快活地、脚步敏捷地行进的全连的士兵，总司令及其侍从们的脸上就流露出喜悦的表情。马车从连队右边一跃而过，连队右翼的第二排中，有个蓝眼睛的士兵无意中引人注目，此人就是多洛霍夫，他雄赳赳地、步态优美地合着歌曲的拍节行走着，一面望着从他身旁走过的人们的面孔，那神情就像他很怜悯此时没有跟随连队行进的人。库图佐夫的侍从中的一名骠骑兵少尉曾经模仿团长的姿态，引起一场哄笑，这时候，他落在马车后面，向多洛霍夫跟前奔驰而去。
骠骑兵少尉热尔科夫在彼得堡曾一度属于多洛霍夫把持的暴徒团伙。热尔科夫在国外遇见一个当兵的多洛霍夫，认为没有必要和他结识。如今，当库图佐夫和这个受降级处分的军官谈话之后，他怀着老友会面的喜悦心情向他倾吐所怀。
“知心的挚友，你怎么样了？”他在听见歌声时说道，一面使他的坐骑和连队的步调一致。
“我怎么样？”多洛霍夫冷漠地答道，“正像你望见的这个样子。”
节拍轻快的歌声，使热尔科夫说话时那种无拘无束的愉快的语调和多洛霍夫回答时故意装出的冷漠的神态，赋有一种特殊意义。
“喂，你是怎样和首长搞好关系的？”热尔科夫问道。
“没有什么，都是一些好人。你是怎样混进司令部的？”
“暂时调来的，由我值班嘛。”
他们沉默了片刻。
“她从右手袖筒中放出一只雄鹰，”歌词中写道，歌词无意中引起一种朝气蓬勃的愉快的感觉。假若他们不是在听见歌声时交谈，他们的话题也许就不同了。
“打垮了奥国人，是真的么？”多洛霍夫问道。
“大家这样说，鬼才知道啊。”
“我很高兴。”正像歌词所要求的那样，多洛霍夫简而明地答道。
“好吧，随便哪天晚上请到我们那里来打法拉昂纸牌吧。”
热尔科夫说道。
“也许是你们捞到许多钱了？”
“你来吧。”
“不行，我已经发誓了。在没有晋升以前，我不喝酒，不赌钱。”
“也罢，在打仗以前……”
“到时候就见分晓。”
他们又沉吟起来。
“你需要什么就来吧，司令部里大家都会帮忙的……”热尔科夫说道。
多洛霍夫冷冷一笑。
“你还是放心好了。我需要什么不会去索求，我自己准能办到。”
“也罢，我只是这样说……”
“我也只是这样说。”
“再见。”
“祝你健康……”
……眺望故土，
关山远阻……
热尔科夫用马刺刺马，马暴躁起来，发了烈性，用蹄子约莫跺了三下，不知道先要伸出哪条腿，定神之后，疾驰起来，也同样合着歌曲的节拍赶到连队前面去追赶四轮轿式马车。
Book 2 Chapter 3
ON RETURNING from the review, Kutuzov, accompanied by the Austrian general, went to his private room, and calling his adjutant, told him to give him certain papers, relating to the condition of the newly arrived troops, and letters, received from Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of the army at the front. Prince Andrey Bolkonsky came into the commander-in-chief's room with the papers he had asked for. Kutuzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath were sitting over a plan that lay unfolded on the table.
“Ah!” … said Kutuzov, looking round at Bolkonsky; and inviting his adjutant, as it were, by his word to wait, he went on in French with the conversation.
“I have only one thing to say, general,” said Kutuzov, with an agreeable elegance of expression and intonation, that forced one to listen for each deliberately uttered word. It was evident that Kutuzov himself listened to his voice with pleasure. “I can only say one thing, that if the matter depended on my personal wishes, the desire of his majesty, the Emperor Francis, should long ago have been accomplished; I should long ago have joined the archduke. And, upon my honour, believe me that for me personally to hand over the chief command of the army to more experienced and skilful generals—such as Austria is so rich in—and to throw off all this weighty responsibility, for me personally would be a relief. But circumstances are too strong for us, general.” And Kutuzov smiled with an expression that seemed to say: “You are perfectly at liberty not to believe me, and indeed it's a matter of perfect indifference to me whether you believe me or not, but you have no grounds for saying so. And that's the whole point.” The Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but he had no choice but to answer Kutuzov in the same tone.
“On the contrary,” he said in a querulous and irritated voice, that contrasted with the flattering intention of the words he uttered; “On the contrary, the participation of your most high excellency in common action is highly appreciated by his majesty. But we imagine that the present delay robs the gallant Russian troops and their commander-in-chief of the laurels they are accustomed to winning in action,” he concluded a phrase he had evidently prepared beforehand.
Kutuzov bowed, still with the same smile.
“But I am convinced of this, and relying on the last letter with which his Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honoured me, I imagine that the Austrian troops under the command of so talented a leader as General Mack, have by now gained a decisive victory and have no longer need of our aid,” said Kutuzov.
The general frowned. Though there was no positive news of the defeat of the Austrians, there were too many circumstances in confirmation of the unfavourable reports; and so Kutuzov's supposition in regard to an Austrian victory sounded very much like a sneer. But Kutuzov smiled blandly, still with the same expression, which seemed to say that he had a right to suppose so. And in fact the last letter he had received from the army of General Mack had given him news of victory, and of the most favourable strategical position of the army.
“Give me that letter,” said Kutuzov, addressing Prince Andrey. “Here, if you will kindly look”—and Kutuzov, with an ironical smile about the corners of his mouth, read in German the following passage from the letter of the Archduke Ferdinand:
“We have a force, perfectly kept together, of nearly 70,000 men, in order to attack and defeat the enemy if they should pass the Lech. As we are masters of Ulm, we cannot lose the advantage of remaining masters also of both sides of the Danube; and moreover able, should the enemy not cross the Lech, to pass over the Danube at any moment, throw ourselves upon their line of communications, recross the Danube lower down, and entirely resist the enemy's aim if they should attempt to turn their whole force upon our faithful ally. In this way we shall await courageously the moment when the Imperial Russian is ready, and shall then, in conjunction, easily find a possibility of preparing for the foe that fate which he so richly deserves.”
Kutuzov concluded this period with a heavy sigh and looked intently and genially at the member of the Hofkriegsrath.
“But you know, your excellency, the sage precept to prepare for the worst,” said the Austrian general, obviously wishing to have done with jests and to come to business. He could not help glancing round at the adjutant.
“Excuse me, general,” Kutuzov interrupted him, and he, too, turned to Prince Andrey. “Here, my dear boy, get all the reports from our scouts from Kozlovsky. Here are two letters from Count Nostits, here is a letter from his Highness the Archduke Ferdinand, here is another,” he said, giving him several papers. “And of all this make out clearly in French a memorandum showing all the information we have had of the movements of the Austrian Army. Well, do so, and then show it to his excellency.”
Prince Andrey bowed in token of understanding from the first word not merely what had been said, but also what Kutuzov would have liked to have said to him. He gathered up the papers, and making a comprehensive bow, stepped softly over the carpet and went out into the reception-room.
Although so short a time had passed since Prince Andrey had left Russia, he had changed greatly during that time. In the expression of his face, in his gestures, in his gait, there was scarcely a trace to be seen now of his former affectation, ennui, and indolence. He had the air of a man who has not time to think of the impression he is making on others, and is absorbed in work, both agreeable and interesting. His face showed more satisfaction with himself and those around him. His smile and his glance were more light-hearted and attractive.
Kutuzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him very cordially, had promised not to forget him, had marked him out among the other adjutants, had taken him with him to Vienna and given him the more serious commissions. From Vienna, Kutuzov had written to his old comrade, Prince Andrey's father.
“Your son,” he wrote, “gives promise of becoming an officer, who will make his name by his industry, firmness, and conscientiousness. I consider myself lucky to have such an assistant at hand.”
On Kutuzov's staff, among his fellow-officers, and in the army generally, Prince Andrey had, as he had had in Petersburg society, two quite opposite reputations. Some, the minority, regarded Prince Andrey as a being different from themselves and from all other men, expected great things of him, listened to him, were enthusiastic in his praise, and imitated him, and with such people Prince Andrey was frank and agreeable. Others, the majority, did not like Prince Andrey, and regarded him as a sulky, cold, and disagreeable person. But with the latter class, too, Prince Andrey knew how to behave so that he was respected and even feared by them.
Coming out of Kutuzov's room into the reception-room, Prince Andrey went in with his papers to his comrade, the adjutant on duty, Kozlovsky, who was sitting in the window with a book.
“What is it, prince?” queried Kozlovsky.
“I am told to make a note of the reason why we are not moving forward.”
“And why aren't we?”
Prince Andrey shrugged his shoulders
“No news from Mack?” asked Kozlovsky.
“No.”
“If it were true that he had been beaten, news would have come.”
“Most likely,” said Prince Andrey, and he moved towards the door to go out. But he was met on the way by a tall man who at that instant walked into the reception-room, slamming the door. The stranger, who had obviously just arrived, was an Austrian general in a long coat, with a black kerchief tied round his head, and the order of Maria Theresa on his neck. Prince Andrey stopped short.
“Commander-in-chief Kutuzov?” the general asked quickly, speaking with a harsh German accent. He looked about him on both sides, and without a pause walked to the door of the private room.
“The commander-in-chief is engaged,” said Kozlovsky, hurriedly going up to the unknown general and barring his way to the door. “Whom am I to announce?”
The unknown general looked disdainfully down at the short figure of Kozlovsky, as though surprised that they could be ignorant of his identity.
“The commander-in-chief is engaged,” Kozlovsky repeated tranquilly.
The general's face contracted, his lips twitched and quivered. He took out a notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out the leaf, handed it to Kozlovsky, and with rapid steps walked to the window, dropped on to a chair and looked round at the persons in the room, as though asking what they were looking at him for. Then the general lifted his head, craned his neck forward as though intending to say something, but immediately, as though carelessly beginning to hum to himself, uttered a strange sound which broke off at once. The door of the private room opened, and Kutuzov appeared in the doorway.
The general with the bandaged head, bent forward as though fleeing from danger, strode towards Kutuzov, his thin legs moving swiftly.
“You see the unfortunate Mack,” he articulated in French in a breaking voice.
The face of Kutuzov, as he stood in the doorway, remained for several instants perfectly unmoved. Then a frown seemed to run over his face, like a wave, leaving his forehead smooth again; he bowed his head respectfully, closed his eyes, ushered Mack in before him without a word, and closed the door behind him.
The report, which had been in circulation before this, of the defeat of the Austrians and the surrender of the whole army at Ulm, turned out to be the truth. Within half an hour adjutants had been despatched in various directions with orders. It was evident that the Russian troops which had hitherto been inactive, were destined soon to meet the enemy.
Prince Andrey was one of those rare staff-officers whose interests were concentrated on the general progress of the war. On seeing Mack and learning the details of his overthrow, he grasped the fact that half the campaign was lost; he perceived all the difficulty of the position of the Russian troops, and vividly pictured to himself what lay before the Army, and the part he would have to play in the work in store for them. He could not help feeling a rush of joyful emotion at the thought of the humiliation of self-confident Austria, and the prospect within a week, perhaps, of seeing and taking part in the meeting of the Russians with the French, the first since Suvorov's day. But he was afraid of the genius of Bonaparte, which might turn out to be more powerful than all the bravery of the Russian troops; and at the same time he could not bear to entertain the idea of the disgrace of his favourite hero.
Excited and irritated by these ideas, Prince Andrey went towards his own room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor he met Nesvitsky, the comrade with whom he shared a room, and the comic man, Zherkov. They were, as usual, laughing at some joke.
“What are you looking so dismal about?” asked Nesvitsky, noticing Prince Andrey's pale face and gleaming eyes.
“There's nothing to be gay about,” answered Bolkonsky.
Just as Prince Andrey met Nesvitsky and Zherkov, there came towards them from the other end of the corridor Strauch, an Austrian general, who was on Kutuzov's staff in charge of the provisioning of the Russian army, and the member of the Hofkriegsrath, who had arrived the previous evening. There was plenty of room in the wide corridor for the generals to pass the three officers easily. But Zherkov, pulling Nesvitsky back by the arm, cried in a breathless voice:
“They are coming! … they are coming! … move aside, make way! please, make way.”
The generals advanced with an air of wishing to avoid burdensome honours. The face of the comic man, Zherkov, suddenly wore a stupid smile of glee, which he seemed unable to suppress.
“Your Excellency,” he said in German, moving forward and addressing the Austrian general, “I have the honour to congratulate you.” He bowed, and awkwardly, as children do at dancing-lessons, he began scraping first with one leg and then with the other. The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked severely at him, but seeing the seriousness of his stupid smile, he could not refuse him a moment's attention. He screwed up his eyes and showed that he was listening.
“I have the honour to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite well, only slightly wounded here,” he added, pointing with a beaming smile to his head.
The general frowned, turned away and went on.
“Gott, wie na?v!” he said angrily, when he was a few steps away.
Nesvitsky with a chuckle threw his arms round Prince Andrey, but Bolkonsky, turning even paler, pushed him away with a furious expression, and turned to Zherkov. The nervous irritability, into which he had been thrown by the sight of Mack, the news of his defeat and the thought of what lay before the Russian army, found a vent in anger at the misplaced jest of Zherkov.
“If you, sir,” he began cuttingly, with a slight trembling in his lower jaw, “like to be a clown, I can't prevent your being so, but if you dare to play the fool another time in my presence, I'll teach you how to behave.”
Nesvitsky and Zherkov were so astounded at this outburst that they gazed at Bolkonsky with open eyes.
“Why, I only congratulated them,” said Zherkov.
“I am not jesting with you; be silent, please!” shouted Bolkonsky, and taking Nesvitsky's arm, he walked away from Zherkov, who could not find any reply.
“Come, what is the matter, my dear boy?” said Nesvitsky, trying to soothe him.
“What's the matter?” said Prince Andrey, standing still from excitement. “Why, you ought to understand that we're either officers, who serve their Tsar and their country and rejoice in the success, and grieve at the defeat of the common cause, or we're hirelings, who have no interest in our master's business. Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our allies destroyed, and you find something in that to laugh at,” he said, as though by this French phrase he were strengthening his view. “It is all very well for a worthless fellow like that individual of whom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for you. None but schoolboys can find amusement in such jokes,” Prince Andrey added in Russian, uttering the word with a French accent. He noticed that Zherkov could still hear him, and waited to see whether the cornet would not reply. But the cornet turned and went out of the corridor.
阅兵归来之后，库图佐夫在奥国将军陪伴下，走进办公室，他把一名副官喊来，吩咐他将开到本地的部队的实际情况的文件和指挥先头部队的费迪南大公的函件一并拿来。安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵随身带着总司令必需的文件走进他的办公室。库图佐夫和军事参议院的奥籍参议员坐在一份摆在桌上的作战方案前面。 
“啊……”库图佐夫望着博尔孔斯基说道，他说一声“啊”好像是要副官等候片刻功夫，这之后便用法国话把已经开始的谈话继续谈下去。
“将军，我只说这么一件事，”库图佐夫说道，用词优美，语调动听，迫使对话人倾听他不慌不忙说出的每一个词。显然，库图佐夫本人也乐于倾听自己说话。“将军，我只说这么一件事，如果这件事取决于我本人的愿望，弗朗茨国王陛下的圣旨老早就履行了。我老早就和大公会合了。请您相信我的人格，对我本人来说，把统率军队的最高权力转交给比我更有造诣、更高明的将军，而奥地利是大有人在的，只要从我身上卸去一切责任的重担，那末对我本人来说，这真是一大乐事。将军，不过实际情况常比我们的愿望更富有说服力。”
库图佐夫微微一笑，那神色好像是说：“您满有理由不相信我，姑无论您相信还是不相信，我是根本不在乎的，但是您没有根据对我说出这种话。这也就是问题的症结。”
奥国将军现出不满意的样子，所以他不能不用同样的口吻回答库图佐夫。
“与此相反，”他用埋怨的愤怒的口气说，这种口气和他含有谄媚意味的话语相抵触，“与此相反，陛下高度赞赏阁下参与我们的共同事业。但是我们一直认为，目下的延宕会使俄国军队及其总司令丧失他们通常在大战中所赢得的胜利的桂冠。”看来他已把事先准备要说的话说完了。
库图佐夫脸上仍然保持着笑意，行了一鞠躬礼。
“然以费迪南大公殿下迩近惠赐的大函作为根据，我坚定地相信并且认为，奥国军队在马克将军如此高明的副司令官统率之下，现已赢得决定性胜利，再也不需要我们援助了。”
库图佐夫说道。
奥国将军蹙起了额角。尽管还没有传出有关奥国军队败北的确切消息，但有多种情形业已证明普遍失利的传说，因此，库图佐夫关于奥国军队获胜的推测很像是一种嘲笑。但是库图佐夫却面露温顺的微笑，他一直带着那种神态，仿佛是表示他有推测此事的权利。他从马克军队中最近收到的来函，的确向他通报了奥国军队的胜利及其最为有利的战略地位。
“把信拿到这里来吧，”库图佐夫把脸转向安德烈公爵，说道，“请你看看，”库图佐夫嘴角边流露出讽刺的微笑，用德国话向奥国将军念出费迪南大公来札中的如下内容：
WirhabenvollkommengehalteneKrafte，nahean70000Maun，umdenFeind，wennerdenLechpassirte，angreifenundschlagenzukonnen，Wirkonnen，dawirMeistervon
Ulmsind，denVortheil，auchvonbeidenufernderDonauMeisterzubleiben，nichtvertieren，mithinauchjedenAuBgenblick，wennderFeinddenLechnichtpassirte，dieDonau，ubersetzen，unsaufseineCommunika－tions－Liniewerfen，dieDonauunterhalbrepassirenuhddemFeinde，wennersichgegenunseretreueAllirtemitganzerMachtwendenwollte，seineAbsichtalsbald，vereiteln，WirwerdenaufsolcheWeisedenZeitpunkt，wodiekaiserlich－RussisBcheArmeeausgerüstetseinwird，muthigentgegenharren，undsodannleichtgemeinschaftlichdieMoglichkeitfinden，demFeindedasSchicksalzuznbereiten，soerverdivent。① 
①德语：我们具备有充分集中的兵力，约计七万人，如果敌人横渡莱希河，我们一定能够发动进攻，一举歼灭敌人。因为我们占有乌尔姆，我们则可继续控制多瑙河两岸的有利形势；因此，如果敌人不横渡莱希河，我们定能随时渡过多瑙河，冲至敌人的交通线，并从多瑙河下游渡河返回原地，如果敌人欲以全部兵力进犯我们的忠实盟军，我们决不允许敌人实现这一企图。因此，我们要振奋精神，等待俄皇军队完成备战任务，然后我们上下一致，不难觅得良机，使敌人面临其理应遭遇的厄运。
库图佐夫念完了这段信，心情沉重地吸了一口气，他用留心的目光亲热地望望军事参议院的参议员。
“可是，阁下，您知道有一条明哲的行为准则：要作最坏的打算，”奥国将军说道，显然他想借助于戏言来结束闲谈，下一步说点什么正经事儿。
他现出不满意的神态，回头望了望副官。
“将军，对不起，”库图佐夫打断他的话，他也向安德烈公爵转过脸去。“亲爱的，你听我说，你向科兹洛夫斯基索取我们侦察员的全部情报吧。这儿是诺斯蒂茨伯爵的两封疏函，这儿是费迪南大公殿下的疏函，还有另一些，”他说道，一面把几份公文递给他。“依据这全部公文用法文清晰地编写一份用memorandum，①把我们所掌握的奥军军事行动的全部消息编写成一份呈文。喂，照此办理，然后送呈大人达览。” 
①法语：官方记事公文。
安德烈公爵低下头来，表示一听见库图佐夫开腔，他就非但明白他说了什么话，而且也明白，他想对他说什么话。他收拾好文件，向二位行了一鞠躬礼，就从地毯上迈起徐缓的脚步朝接待室走去了。
虽然安德烈公爵离开俄国以来还没有度过多少时光，但在这段时间里他却变得多了。他的面部表情、动作和步态上几乎看不见从前那种虚假、劳累和懒惰的样子。他那种神态，就像某人没有时间去想他对旁人产生什么印象，而只是忙着干一件悦意而饶有兴趣的活儿似的。他脸上现出过分的自满和对周围的人表示满意的样子。他的笑容和眼神显得更快活、更惹人喜爱了。
他在波兰就赶上了库图佐夫，库图佐夫待他十分周到，答应他不会把他忘记，他和其他副官不同，库图佐夫非常赏识他，把他带到维也纳，委托他办理比较重要的事情。库图佐夫在维也纳给他的老同僚——安德烈公爵的父亲写了一封信。
“令郎，”他写道，“因为他兢兢业业、立场坚定、勤勤恳恳，有希望当上一名与众不同的军官。我身边能有这样一名手下人，我觉得自己非常幸运。”
在库图佐夫的司令部里，泛而言之，即是在军队里，安德烈公爵在同事之间素有两种截然相反的名声。有一些人，也就是少数人，承认安德烈公爵是个与己与众有所不同的特殊人物，预期他将来有所造诣，都服从他，佩服他，并且效法他。安德烈公爵对这些人都很大方、憨厚，和他们共事时，他觉得心情愉快。而另一些人，即是多数人，都不喜欢安德烈公爵，认为他是个盛气凌人、冷淡、令人厌恶的人物。安德烈公爵善于应付这些人，要他们尊敬他，甚至畏惧他。
安德烈公爵走出库图佐夫办公室，来到接待室，他随身带着公文问一个同事——正在窗前看书的值班副官科兹洛夫斯基面前走去。
“喂，公爵，怎么啦？”科兹洛夫基斯问。
“接到命令要拟出一份官方记事公文，借以说明我们为什么不向前推进。”
“为什么呢？”
安德烈公爵耸耸肩膀。
“没有马克方面的消息？”科兹洛夫斯基问道。
“没有。”
“假如他确实已被击溃，消息是会传来的。”
“大概是这样的吧。”安德烈公爵说道，就向门口走去了。但是正在这个时候，一个身材高大、看来像是刚从外地抵达的奥国将军迈着飞快的脚步迎面走进接待室，砰的一声把门关上了。他身穿常礼服，头上裹着黑头巾，颈上佩戴着玛丽亚·特雷西娅勋章。安德烈公爵停步了。
“库图佐夫上将在吗？”刚从外地来到的将军带着刺耳的德国口音飞快地说道，一方面向两旁张望，不停步地向办公室门口走去。
“上将没有空，”科兹洛夫斯基说道，急忙走到不相识的将军前面，拦住门前的通道，“请问尊姓大名？”
这个不相识的将军鄙薄地从上到下把那身材不高的科兹洛夫斯基打量一番，好像觉得惊讶，竟有人会不认识他。
“上将没有空。”科兹洛夫斯基心平气和地重说了一句。
将军皱起了眉头，现出阴郁的脸色，他的嘴唇抽搐一下，颤栗起来了。他取出笔记本，用铅笔飞快地写了几只字，撕下一页纸递给科兹洛夫斯基，然后他就飞快地向窗口走去，一屁股坐在椅子上，朝房里的人瞥了一眼，好像心里在问：他们为什么都望着我呢？之后将军抬起头来，伸直了颈项，仿佛他想说句什么话，但是随即又像是漫不经心地暗自吟唱，唱出一种古怪的声音，这声音立即中断了。办公室的门敞开了，库图佐夫在门坎前面出现了。裹着头巾的将军有如躲避危险似的，弯下腰去，他那消瘦的两腿迈着飞快的脚步，向库图佐夫面前走了。
“VousvoyezlemalheureuxMack．”①他突然改变声调说道。 
①法语：您亲眼看见了不幸的马克。
库图佐夫站在办公室门口，脸部的表情有一阵子滞然不动了。然后，他脸上闪现出一条波浪似的皱纹。前额舒展开了；他毕恭毕敬地低下头，合上眼睛，默不作声地让马克从身边走过去，随手把门关上了。
原先传说奥国人已被击溃并在乌尔姆城下全军投降的消息原来是真实的。过了半小时，副官们已被派至各处传达命令，命令表明，直至目前尚未采取行动的俄军也快要和敌人交锋了。
司令部里只有寥寥无几的军官才很关心战事的全部进程，安德烈公爵是其中之一。安德烈公爵看见马克并听见他的军队覆没的详情之后，他心中明白，半个战局已经输完了，俄军的处境极其艰难。他很生动地想到军队即将面临何种局面，他在军队中应当发挥何种作用。当他一想到过于自信的奥国遭到可耻的失败，再过一个礼拜也许会亲眼看到并且参与苏沃洛夫之后的史无前例的俄法武装冲突，他就禁不住会产生一种激动的喜悦的感情。但是他害怕那比俄军英勇更胜一筹的波拿巴的天才，同时他也不能容许自己的英雄蒙受奇耻大辱。
这些心事使安德烈公爵感到激动和恼怒，他向自己房里走去，给父亲写信，他每日都给父亲写信，他在走廊上碰见同屋居住的涅斯维茨基和诙谐的热尔科夫。同平日那样，他们不知道为什么而笑。
“你怎么这样忧愁？”涅斯维茨基发现安德烈公爵脸色苍白，两眼闪闪发光，于是问道。
“没有什么可开心的。”博尔孔斯基答道。
当安德烈公爵碰见涅斯维茨基和热尔科夫时，昨日刚刚抵达的奥国将军施特劳赫和奥国军事参议院参议员从走廊的另一边迎面走来；这个奥国将军留驻于库图佐夫司令部，监察俄国军队的粮食供应。走廊很宽绰，有空地方可供两个将军和三个军官自由通行；但是热尔科夫把涅斯维茨基推开，气喘吁吁地说道：
“他们来了！……他们来了！……闪到一边去吧，让路！
请让路！”
两个将军走过去，他们都摆出一副想回避麻烦礼节的样子。诙谐的热尔科夫脸上忽然流露出似乎忍耐不住的欢快的蠢笑。
“大人，”他向前迈出几步，把脸转向奥国将军用德国话说道，“向您道贺，我深感荣幸。”
他低下头来，就像那学跳舞的儿童一样，呆笨地时而伸出左脚，时而伸出右脚，开始并足致礼。
奥国军事参议院参议员将军严肃地瞟了他一眼，可是发现他一本正经地蠢笑，不能不注意一会儿。将军眯缝起眼睛，表示正在听他说话。
“马克将军来到了，他安然无恙，只是这个地方碰伤了，向他道贺，我深感荣幸。”他指了指自己的头部，微露笑容地补充了一句。
将军蹙起了额头，转过身子向前走去了。
“Gott，wienaiv！”①他走开几步，愤怒地说道。 
①法语：我的天啊，多么天真！
涅斯维茨基哈哈大笑起来，抱住了安德烈公爵，但是博尔孔斯基的脸色显得更加苍白，他现出愤恨的神色把他推开，向热尔科夫转过脸去。马克的神色、他遭到失败的消息以及俄军所面临的局面引起的万端思绪，使他陷入了神经兴奋的状态。热尔科夫不合时宜地逗乐，他觉得忿恨，这一切就在他愤怒时向热尔科夫发泄出来了。
“阁下，”他的下颔微微颤抖，嗓音刺耳地说道，“如果您想当一名侍从丑角，这事儿我不能阻拦。但是我向您公开声明，如果您再敢当着我的面逗乐子，我可要把您教训教训，要您懂得怎样做人。”
涅斯维茨基和热尔科夫对这种乖张行为表示惊奇，瞪大了眼睛，默默地望着博尔孔斯基。
“怎么啦，我只是道贺罢了。”热尔科夫说道。
“我不和您闹着玩，请别开腔！”博尔孔斯基喊了一声，用力抓住涅斯维茨基的手，就从那没法回答的热尔科夫身边走开了。
“喂，老弟，你怎么啦？”涅斯维茨基用安慰的口气说道。
“说什么怎么啦？”安德烈公爵说道，激动得停步了，“你可要明白，我们或者是一些为国王和祖国效力的军官，为共同的胜利而欢乐，为共同的失败而悲伤；我们或者是一些对君主的事业无关痛痒的走狗。Quarantemilleshommesmassacrésetl'arméedenosalliésdétruite，etvoustroucezlàlemotpourrive，”他说道，好像要用这句法国话认证自己的意见。”C'estbienpourungarconderien，commecetindiBvidu，dontvousavezfaitunami，maispaspourvous，paspourvous①，只有乳臭未干的孩子才能这样逗乐哩。”安德烈公爵发现热尔科夫还能听见他说话，就用俄国话补充了一句，而且带法国口音说出孩子这个词。 
①法国：四万人捐躯了，我们的盟军被歼灭了，可是你们居然开这种玩笑。您和这个先生交朋友，像他这样的小人，还情有可原，而您，而您就不可饶恕了。
他等了一会儿，看骑兵少尉是否回答。可是骑兵少尉转过身去，从走廊里走出去了。
Book 2 Chapter 4
THE PAVLOGRADSKY REGIMENT of hussars was stationed two miles from Braunau. The squadron in which Nikolay Rostov was serving as ensign was billeted on a German village, Salzeneck. The officer in command of the squadron, Captain Denisov, known through the whole cavalry division under the name of Vaska Denisov, had been assigned the best quarters in the village. Ensign Rostov had been sharing his quarters, ever since he overtook the regiment in Poland.
On the 8th of October, the very day when at headquarters all was astir over the news of Mack's defeat, the routine of life was going on as before among the officers of this squadron.
Denisov, who had been losing all night at cards, had not yet returned home, when Rostov rode back early in the morning from a foraging expedition. Rostov, in his ensign's uniform, rode up to the steps, with a jerk to his horse, swung his leg over with a supple, youthful action, stood a moment in the stirrup as though loath to part from the horse, at last sprang down and called the orderly.
“Ah, Bondarenko, friend of my heart,” he said to the hussar who rushed headlong up to his horse. “Walk him up and down, my dear fellow,” he said, with that gay and brotherly cordiality with which good-hearted young people behave to every one, when they are happy.
“Yes, your excellency,” answered the Little Russian, shaking his head good-humouredly.
“Mind now, walk him about well!”
Another hussar rushed up to the horse too, but Bondarenko had already hold of the reins.
It was evident that the ensign was liberal with his tips, and that his service was a profitable one. Rostov stroked the horse on the neck and then on the haunch, and lingered on the steps.
“Splendid! What a horse he will be!” he said to himself, and smiling and holding his sword, he ran up the steps, clanking his spurs. The German, on whom they were billeted, looked out of the cowshed, wearing a jerkin and a pointed cap, and holding a fork, with which he was clearing out the dung. The German's face brightened at once when he saw Rostov. He smiled good-humouredly and winked. “Good-morning, good-morning!” he repeated, apparently taking pleasure in greeting the young man.
“At work already?” said Rostov, still with the same happy, fraternal smile that was constantly on his eager face. “Long live the Austrians! Long live the Russians! Hurrah for the Emperor Alexander!” he said, repeating phrases that had often been uttered by the German. The German laughed, came right out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, and waving it over his head, cried:
“And long live all the world!”
Rostov too, like the German, waved his cap over his bead, and laughing cried: “And hurrah for all the world!” Though there was no reason for any special rejoicing either for the German, clearing out his shed, or for Rostov, coming back from foraging for hay, both these persons gazed at one another in delighted ecstasy and brotherly love, wagged their heads at each other in token of their mutual affection, and parted with smiles, the German to his cowshed, and Rostov to the cottage he shared with Denisov.
“Where's your master?” he asked of Lavrushka, Denisov's valet, well known to all the regiment as a rogue.
“His honour's not been in since the evening. He's been losing, for sure,” answered Lavrushka. “I know by now, if he wins, he'll come home early to boast of his luck; but if he's not back by morning, it means that he's lost,—he'll come back in a rage. Shall I bring coffee?”
“Yes, bring it.”
Ten minutes later, Lavrushka brought in the coffee.
“He's coming!” said he; “now for trouble!”
Rostov glanced out of the window and saw Denisov returning home. Denisov was a little man with a red face, sparkling black eyes, tousled black whiskers and hair. He was wearing an unbuttoned tunic, wide breeches that fell in folds, and on the back of his head a crushed hussar's cap. Gloomily, with downcast head, he drew near the steps.
“Lavrushka,” he shouted, loudly and angrily, lisping the r, “come, take it off, blockhead!”
“Well, I am taking it off,” answered Lavrushka's voice.
“Ah! you are up already,” said Denisov, coming into the room.
“Long ago,” said Rostov; “I've been out already after hay, and I have seen Fr?ulein Mathilde.”
“Really? And I've been losing, my boy, all night, like the son of a dog,” cried Denisov, not pronouncing his r's. “Such ill-luck! such ill-luck! …As soon as you left, my luck was gone. Hey, tea?”
Denisov, puckering up his face as though he were smiling, and showing his short, strong teeth, began with his short-fingered hands ruffling up his thick, black hair, that was tangled like a forest.
“The devil was in me to go to that rat” (the nickname of an officer), he said, rubbing his brow and face with both hands. “Only fancy, he didn't deal me one card, not one, not one card!” Denisov took the lighted pipe that was handed to him, gripped it in his fist, and scattering sparks, he tapped it on the floor, still shouting.
“He lets me have the simple, and beats the parole; lets me get the simple, and beats the parole.”
He scattered the sparks, broke the pipe, and threw it away. Then Denisov paused, and all at once he glanced brightly at Rostov with his gleaming black eyes.
“If there were only women. But here, except drinking, there's nothing to do. If only we could get to fighting soon.… Hey, who's there?” he called towards the door, catching the sounds of thick boots and clanking spurs that came to a stop, and of a respectful cough.
“The sergeant!” said Lavrushka. Denisov puckered up his face more than ever.
“That's a nuisance,” he said, flinging down a purse with several gold coins in it. “Rostov, count, there's a dear boy, how much is left, and put the purse under the pillow,” he said, and he went out to the sergeant. Rostov took the money and mechanically sorting and arranging in heaps the old and new gold, he began counting it over.
“Ah, Telyanin! Good-morning! I was cleaned out last night,” he heard Denisov's voice saying from the other room.
“Where was that? At Bykov's? At the rat's? … I knew it,” said a thin voice, and thereupon there walked into the room Lieutenant Telyanin, a little officer in the same squadron.
Rostov put the purse under the pillow, and shook the damp little hand that was offered him. Telyanin had for some reason been transferred from the guards just before the regiment set out. He had behaved very well in the regiment, but he was not liked, and Rostov, in particular, could not endure him, and could not conceal his groundless aversion for this officer.
“Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook doing for you?” (Rook was a riding-horse Telyanin had sold to Rostov.) The lieutenant never looked the person he was speaking to in the face. His eyes were continually flitting from one object to another. “I saw you riding today …”
“Oh, he's all right; a good horse,” answered Rostov, though the horse, for which he had paid seven hundred roubles, was not worth half that sum. “He's begun to go a little lame in the left foreleg …” he added.
“The hoof cracked! That's no matter. I'll teach you, I'll show you the sort of thing to put on it.”
“Yes, please do,” said Rostov.
“I'll show you, I'll show you, it's not a secret. But you'll be grateful to me for that horse.”
“Then I'll have the horse brought round,” said Rostov, anxious to be rid of Telyanin. He went out to order the horse to be brought round.
In the outer room Denisov was squatting on the threshold with a pipe, facing the sergeant, who was giving him some report. On seeing Rostov, Denisov screwed up his eyes, and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and shook his head with an air of loathing.
“Ugh! I don't like the fellow,” he said, regardless of the presence of the sergeant.
Rostov shrugged his shoulders as though to say, “Nor do I, but what's one to do?” And having given his order, he went back to Telyanin.
The latter was still sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his little white hands.
“What nasty faces there are in this world!” thought Rostov as he went into the room.
“Well, have you given orders for the horse to be fetched out?” said Telyanin, getting up and looking carelessly about him.
“Yes.”
“Well, you come along yourself. I only came round to ask Denisov about yesterday's order. Have you got it, Denisov?”
“Not yet. But where are you off to?”
“I'm going to show this young man here how to shoe a horse,” said Telyanin.
They went out down the steps and into the stable. The lieutenant showed how to put on the remedy, and went away to his own quarters.
When Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and some sausage on the table. Denisov was sitting at the table, and his pen was squeaking over the paper. He looked gloomily into Rostov's face.
“I am writing to her,” he said. He leaned his elbow on the table with the pen in his hand, and obviously rejoiced at the possibility of saying by word of mouth all he meant to write, he told the contents of his letter to Rostov. “You see, my dear boy,” he said, “we are plunged in slumber, we are the children of dust and ashes, until we love … but love, and you are a god, you are pure, as on the first day of creation.… Who's that now? Send him to the devil! I've no time!” he shouted to Lavrushka, who, not in the slightest daunted, went up to him.
“Why, who should it be? You told him to come yourself. The sergeant has come for the money.”
Denisov frowned, seemed about to shout some reply, but did not speak.
“It's a nuisance,” he said to himself. “How much money was there left there in the purse?” he asked Rostov.
“Seven new and three old gold pieces.”
“Oh, it's a nuisance! Well, why are you standing there, you mummy? Send the sergeant!” Denisov shouted to Lavrushka.
“Please, Denisov, take the money from me; I've plenty,” said Rostov, blushing.
“I don't like borrowing from my own friends; I dislike it,” grumbled Denisov.
“But if you won't take money from me like a comrade, you'll offend me. I've really got it,” repeated Rostov.
“Oh, no.” And Denisov went to the bed to take the purse from under the pillow.
“Where did you put it, Rostov?”
“Under the lower pillow.”
“But it's not there.” Denisov threw both the pillows on the floor. There was no purse. “Well, that's a queer thing.”
“Wait a bit, haven't you dropped it?” said Rostov, picking the pillows up one at a time and shaking them. He took off the quilt and shook it. The purse was not there.
“Could I have forgotten? No, for I thought that you keep it like a secret treasure under your head,” said Rostov. “I laid the purse here. Where is it?” He turned to Lavrushka.
“I never came into the room. Where you put it, there it must be.”
“But it isn't.”
“You're always like that; you throw things down anywhere and forget them. Look in your pockets.”
“No, if I hadn't thought of its being a secret treasure,” said Rostov, “but I remember where I put it.”
Lavrushka ransacked the whole bed, glanced under it and under the table, ransacked the whole room and stood still in the middle of the room. Denisov watched Lavrushka's movements in silence, and when Lavrushka flung up his hands in amazement to signify that it was nowhere, he looked round at Rostov.
“Rostov, none of your schoolboy jokes.”
Rostov, feeling Denisov's eyes upon him, lifted his eyes and instantly dropped them again. All his blood, which felt as though it had been locked up somewhere below his throat, rushed to his face and eyes. He could hardly draw his breath.
“And there's been no one in the room but the lieutenant and yourselves. It must be here somewhere,” said Lavrushka.
“Now then, you devil's puppet, bestir yourself and look for it!” Denisov shouted suddenly, turning purple and dashing at the valet with a threatening gesture. “The purse is to be found, or I'll flog you! I'll flog you all!”
Rostov, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began buttoning up his jacket fastening on his sword, and putting on his forage-cap.
“I tell you the purse is to be found,” roared Denisov, shaking the orderly by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall.
“Denisov, let him be; I know who has taken it,” said Rostov, going towards the door without raising his eyes.
Denisov stopped, thought a moment, and evidently understanding Rostov's hint, he clutched him by the arm.
“Nonsense!” he roared so that the veins stood out on his neck and forehead like cords. “I tell you, you've gone out of your mind; I won't allow it. The purse is here; I'll flay the skin off this rascal, and it will be here.”
“I know who has taken it,” repeated Rostov, in a shaking voice, and he went to the door.
“And I tell you, you're not to dare to do it,” shouted Denisov, making a dash at the ensign to detain him. But Rostov pulled his arm away, lifted his eyes, and looked directly and resolutely at Denisov with as much fury as if he had been his greatest enemy.
“Do you understand what you're saying?” he said in a trembling voice; “except me, there has been no one else in the room. So that, if it's not so, why then …”
He could not utter the rest, and ran out of the room.
“Oh, damn you and all the rest,” were the last words Rostov heard.
Rostov went to Telyanin's quarters.
“The master's not at home, he's gone to the staff,” Telyanin's orderly told him. “Has something happened?” the orderly added, wondering at the ensign's troubled face.
“No, nothing.”
“You've only just missed him,” said the orderly.
The staff quarters were two miles and a half from Salzeneck. Not having found him at home, Rostov took his horse and rode to the quarters of the staff. In the village, where the staff was quartered, there was a restaurant which the officers frequented. Rostov reached the restaurant and saw Telyanin's horse at the entry.
In the second room the lieutenant was sitting over a dish of sausages and a bottle of wine.
“Ah, you have come here too, young man,” he said, smiling and lifting his eyebrows.
“Yes,” said Rostov, speaking as though the utterance of the word cost him great effort; and he sat down at the nearest table.
Both were silent; there were two Germans and a Russian officer in the room. Every one was mute, and the only sounds audible were the clatter of knives on the plates and the munching of the lieutenant. When Telyanin had finished his lunch, he took out of his pocket a double purse; with his little white fingers, that were curved at the tips, he parted the rings, took out some gold, and raising his eyebrows, gave the money to the attendant.
“Make haste, please,” he said.
The gold was new. Rostov got up and went to Telyanin.
“Let me look at the purse,” he said in a low voice, scarcely audible.
With shifting eyes, but eyebrows still raised, Telyanin gave him the purse.
“Yes, it's a pretty purse … yes …” he said, and suddenly he turned white. “You can look at it, young man,” he added.
Rostov took the purse in his hand and looked both at it and at the money in it, and also at Telyanin. The lieutenant looked about him, as his way was, and seemed suddenly to have grown very good-humoured.
“If we go to Vienna, I suspect I shall leave it all there, but now there's nowhere to spend our money in these wretched little places,” he said. “Come, give it me, young man; I'm going.”
Rostov did not speak.
“What are you going to do? have lunch too? They give you decent food,” Telyanin went on. “Give it me.” He put out his hand and took. hold of the purse. Rostov let go of it. Telyanin took the purse and began carelessly dropping it into the pocket of his riding trousers, while his eyebrows were carelessly lifted and his mouth stood a little open, as though he would say: “Yes, yes, I'm putting my purse in my pocket, and that's a very simple matter, and no one has anything to do with it.”
“Well, young man?” he said with a sign, and from under his lifted eyebrows he glanced into Rostov's eyes. A kind of gleam passed with the swiftness of an electric flash from Telyanin's eyes to the eyes of Rostov, and back again and back again and again, all in one instant.
“Come here,” said Rostov, taking Telyanin by the arm. He almost dragged him to the window. “That's Denisov's money; you took it …” he whispered in his ear.
“What? … what? … How dare you? What?” … said Telyanin. But the words sounded like a plaintive, despairing cry and prayer for forgiveness. As soon as Rostov heard the sound of his voice, a great weight of suspense, like a stone, rolled off his heart. He felt glad, and at the same instant he pitied the luckless creature standing before him, but he had to carry the thing through to the end.
“God knows what the people here may think,” muttered Telyanin, snatching up his forage-cap and turning towards a small empty room. “You must explain …”
“I know that, and I'll prove it,” said Rostov.
“I …”
The terrified, white face of Telyanin began twitching in every muscle; his eyes still moved uneasily, but on the ground, never rising to the level of Rostov's face, and tearful sobs could be heard.
“Count! … don't ruin a young man … here is the wretched money, take it.” … He threw it on the table. “I've an old father and mother!”
Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin's eyes, and without uttering a word, he went out of the room. But in the doorway he stopped and turned back.
“My God!” he said, with tears in his eyes, “how could you do it?”
“Count,” said Telyanin, coming nearer to the ensign.
“Don't touch me,” said Rostov, drawing back. “If you're in need take the money.”
He thrust a purse on him and ran out of the restaurant.
保罗格勒骠骑兵团驻扎在离布劳瑙两英里的地方。士官生尼古拉·罗斯托夫服役的骑兵连在德国村庄扎尔策涅克设营。骑兵连长杰尼索夫大尉素以瓦西卡·杰尼索夫这个名字闻名于整个骑兵师，村庄中一栋极好的住宅分拨给他了。自从士官生在波兰赶上团队以来，他就和连长住在一个地方。 
十月八日，适逢马克失败的消息正惊扰大本营的上上下下，骑兵连部的行军生活照旧是风平浪静。清晨，当罗斯托夫骑着马儿采办饲料回来时，一通宵打纸牌输钱的杰尼索夫尚未回家。罗斯托夫身穿一套士官生制服，正催马跑到台阶前面，用那年轻人的灵活的姿势缩回一条腿，在马镫上站了片刻，好像他不想离开坐骑似的，后来他一跃跳下马来，向马弁喊了一声。
“啊，邦达连科，诚挚的朋友，”他对那拼命跑到他的坐骑前面的骠骑兵说道。“朋友，牵马遛一遛。”他说道，一面流露着亲切的愉快而温和的神态，凡是善良的年轻人在那幸福的时候都会带着这种神态和人们打交道的。
“大人，遵命。”一簇毛（指乌克兰人）愉快地晃着脑袋答道。
“要当心，好好地牵马遛一遛！”
另一个骠骑兵也跑到坐骑前面，可是邦达连科已经把缰绳扔了过来。显然，士官生给的酒钱可多啦，侍候他是有利可图的。罗斯托夫用手摸了摸马脖子，然后摸了摸马屁股，便在台阶上停步了。
“真棒！会变成一匹骏马啊！”他暗自说道，面露微笑，轻轻扶着马刀，马刺铿锵一声奔上了台阶。德国主人穿一件毛衣，戴尖顶帽子，拿着叉子清除牛粪，他从牛栏里向外面瞥了一眼。当德国人一看见罗斯托夫，他的脸色顿时开朗起来。他愉快地微微一笑，丢了个眼色：“Schon，gutMorgen！Schongutmorgen！”①他重复地说道，看起来，他和年轻人寒暄时能够得到欢乐。
“Schonfleissig！”②罗斯托夫说道，他那兴奋的脸上仍旧流露着愉快的亲切的微笑。“HochOestrreicher！HochRussen！KaiserAlexanderhoch！”③他把脸转向德国人，把德国主人常说的这些话重复地说一遍。 
①德语：早安，早安！
②德语：真在干活啦！
③德语：奥国人万岁！俄国人万岁！亚历山大皇帝，乌拉！
德国人笑了起来，干脆走出牛栏门，摘下尖顶帽子，举在头顶上晃了一下，高声喊道：
“UnddieganzeWelthoch！”①
罗斯托夫和德国人一样，把一顶军帽举在头顶上晃动一下，含笑地高声喊道：“UndVivatdieganzeWelt！⑤ 
①⑤　德语：全世界万岁！
无论是这个清扫牛栏的德国人，还是那个随同一排人来领干草的罗斯托夫，都没有任何理由值得特别高兴，但是这两个人都心怀幸福的欢乐和兄弟般的爱心彼此望了一眼，晃了晃脑袋表示彼此之间的友爱，他们面露微笑地走开了，德国人走回牛栏，罗斯托夫走进他和杰尼索夫一同占用的农舍。
“老爷怎么啦？”他向杰尼索夫的仆役拉夫鲁什卡——闻名于全团的骗子手问道。
“从晚上出去就没有归来，大概是输了钱吧，”拉夫鲁什卡答道，“我的确心中有数。假如赢了钱，老早就会回来说大话。倘若到早上还没有回来，就是说，输净了，怒气冲冲地走回来。请问，要咖啡吗？”
“端来，端来吧！”
过了十分钟，拉夫鲁什卡端来了咖啡。
“来了！”他说道，“现在要吃霉头了。”
罗斯托夫朝窗口睇了一眼，看见杰尼索夫走回家来，杰尼索夫身材矮小，红彤彤的面孔，眼睛乌黑，闪闪发亮，黝黑的胡髭和头发十分蓬乱。他身上披着一件骠骑兵的斗篷，敞开着，没有扣上纽扣，宽大的马裤下垂着，起了一条条皱褶。皱皱巴巴的骠骑兵制帽戴到后脑勺上。他低垂着头，满面愁云，向台阶近旁走来。
“拉夫鲁什卡，”他怒气冲冲地高声嚷道，“P”音发得不准确，“喂，给我脱下，蠢货！”
“我本来就在脱嘛。”拉夫鲁什卡答道。
“啊！你起来了。”杰尼索夫走进房里来，说道。
“早就起来了，”罗斯托夫说道，“我来领干草，见过玛蒂尔达小姐了。”
“真有这么一回事？老弟，我昨夜像只狗崽仔，把钱输得精光了！”杰尼索夫高声嚷道，“真不走运！真不走运！你一走，事情就变得糟透了。喂，把茶端来吧！”
杰尼索夫蹙起了额头，似乎含着一丝微笑，露出坚固的短牙齿，开始伸出两手，用那短短的手指搔乱树林般蓬松的浓浓的黑发。
“鬼迷心窍，拖我去找这个大老鼠（一名军官的绰号），”他用自己的两手搓搓前额和面颊，说道，“你设想一下，他一张牌，一张牌也没有给我。”
杰尼索夫拿取人家递给他的点着的烟斗，紧紧攥在手心里，磕了磕地板，火星撒落下来，他继续吼道：
“孤注他就让，加倍下注他就吃，孤注他就让，加倍下注他就吃。”
他把火星撒落在地上，敲灭了烟斗，把它丢到一边去。然后他沉默片刻，突然把那明亮的乌黑的眼睛朝着罗斯托夫欢快地望望。
“哪怕有女人也好。要不然，这里除了饮酒就没有什么事情可做，快点儿打起架来也好……”
“喂，谁在那里？”他听见了马刺丁丁当当的响声、踏着厚底皮靴停止脚步的响声和那谨小慎微的咳嗽声，便朝门口转过脸去，说道。
“骑兵司务长！”拉夫鲁什卡说道。
杰尼索夫把额角蹙得更紧了。
“真糟糕，”他说道，一面把装着少数金币的钱包扔开来。
“罗斯托夫，亲爱的，点点那里面还剩下多少钱，再把它搁到枕头底下。”他说完这句话，就向骑兵司务长跟前走去了。
罗斯托夫取出钱来，机械地把新旧金币一堆一堆地摆放整齐，开始点钱。
“啊！捷利亚宁，你好！昨天我输得精光了。”从另一个房间传来杰尼索夫的说话声。
“是在谁那儿？是在大老鼠贝科夫那儿么？……我是知道的。”另一个人用尖细的嗓音说道，随后捷利亚宁中尉走进了这个房间，他身材矮小，也是那个骑兵连的一名军官。
罗斯托夫把钱包掷到枕头底下，握握向他伸出来的湿漉漉的小手。捷利亚宁不知是什么缘由在出征前从近卫军中调出来了。他在兵团中表现得十分出色，可是大家都不喜欢他，尤其是罗斯托夫，罗斯托夫既没法克制也没法掩饰他对这个军官的毫无理由的憎恶。
“喂，年轻的骑兵，怎么样了？您觉得我的秃鼻乌鸦不错吧？”他问道（秃鼻乌鸦是捷利亚宁卖给罗斯托夫的一匹刚能骑的幼马）。
中尉和人交谈时，从来都不看交谈者的眼睛，他的目光经常从一个目标很快地移到另一个目标。
“我看见您今天骑着马儿走过去了……”
“是的，挺不错，是一匹骏马，”罗斯托夫答道，这匹马花了七百卢布买来的，但它值不到这个价格的一半，“左前腿微跛……”他补充说道。
“马蹄裂开了！没关系啊。我来教教您并且给您说明怎样安好脚钉。”
“是的，请您指教指教。”罗斯托夫说道。
“我给您说明，我给您说明，这不是秘密。您买这匹马，以后您会感谢我的。”
“那么我请人把马儿牵来。”罗斯托夫说道，他想避开捷利亚宁，就走出去请人将马牵来。
杰尼索夫拿着烟斗，在过道屋的门槛上弯下身子，面对着向他禀告什么事的骑兵司务长坐着。杰尼索夫看见罗斯托夫，皱起了眉头，伸出大拇指从肩头上向后指了一下捷利亚宁坐着的那个房间，又皱了一阵眉头，憎恶地抖抖身子。
“唉，我不喜欢这个坏东西。”他在骑兵司务长面前出言不逊地说道。
罗斯托夫耸耸肩，好像他在说：“我也讨厌他，可是有啥办法呢！”他吩咐完毕，就回到捷利亚宁身边去了。
捷利亚宁一直坐着，仍然保持着罗斯托夫离开他时的那副懒洋洋的样子，一面搓着他那双洁白的小手。
“这种可恶的人倒是常见的。”罗斯托夫走进房间时，思忖了一会。
“究竟怎么样，您已经吩咐牵马了吗？”捷利亚宁说道，站起身来，漫不经心地环顾四周。
“已经吩咐了。”
“我们一道去吧。要知道，我只是顺路来向杰尼索夫问问昨天的命令，杰尼索夫，接到命令吗？”
“还没有接到。您上哪里去呀？”
“我想教会年轻人给马钉掌。”捷利亚宁说道。
他们步出台阶，向马厩走去了。中尉说明了怎样给马钉掌，就走回去了。
罗斯托夫回来时，桌子上放着一瓶烧酒和一份香肠，杰尼索夫坐在桌前写字，笔尖刷刷地作响。他脸色阴沉地望了望罗斯托夫的面孔。
“我给她写封信。”他说道。
他手里拿着钢笔，用胳膊肘支撑着桌子，很明显，他高兴的是，有机会立刻把他想写的话简而明地全说出来，于是向罗斯托夫道出信中的内容。
“朋友，你是否知道，”他说道，“我们不恋爱，就睡个痛快。我们都是浮云般的尘世俗子……只要我们一恋爱，就会变成神仙了，就会像创世的头一天那样圣洁……又有谁来了？赶他去见鬼吧。没有功夫啊！”他向那个毫不胆怯地向他面前走来的拉夫鲁什卡喊道。
“还有谁会来呢？您自己吩咐他的。骑兵司务长来领款了。”
杰尼索夫蹙起额角，想大叫一声，但又默不作声了。
“糟糕透了，”他自言自语地说道，“那钱包里剩下多少钱？”他向罗斯托夫问道。
“七块新币，三块旧币。”
“唉，糟糕透了！丑八怪，你干嘛站着，派司务长去吧！”
杰尼索夫向拉夫鲁什卡喊了一声。
“杰尼索夫，别客气，请把我的钱拿去吧，要知道，我这儿还有啦。”罗斯托夫涨红着脸说道。
“我不喜欢向自己人借钱，我不喜欢。”杰尼索夫唠唠叨叨地说了一顿。
“如果你不够朋友，硬不用我的钱，那末，我真会生气的。
说实在的，我有钱哩。”罗斯托夫重复地说。
“不。”
杰尼索夫于是乎走到床前，从枕头底下拿钱包。
“罗斯托夫，你把它搁在那儿呢？”
“在下面一个枕头底下啊。”
“没有啊。”
杰尼索夫把两个枕头丢到地上了，钱包不在了。
“真怪！”
“等一下，你是不是把它丢掉了？”罗斯托夫说道，他把枕头一个个捡起来，抖了好几下。
他翻转被子抖了抖，钱包不在了。
“我把它忘了？忘不了啊，我还以为，你好像枕珍宝那样，把它枕在头底下，”罗斯托夫说道。“我把钱包搁在这儿。钱包在哪儿？”他把脸转向拉夫鲁什卡，说道。
“我没有走进房里来。您搁在哪儿，就还在哪儿。”
“可是，没有钱包啊。”
“您老是这个样子，把东西往哪儿一丢，就忘记了。请您瞧瞧您的口袋吧。”
“不，如果我没有想到它是件珍宝，那就会忘掉，”罗斯托夫说道，“其实我记得，我把它放好了的。”
拉夫鲁什卡把床铺翻寻遍了，瞅了瞅床底下，桌子底下，把整个房间翻遍了，就在这个房间的中间停步了。杰尼索夫默不作声地注视着拉夫鲁什卡的行动，当拉夫鲁什卡惊奇地摊开两手，诉说到处都没有钱包的时候，他掉过头来望了望罗斯托夫。
“罗斯托夫，你不要像孩子般地胡闹……”
罗斯托夫感到杰尼索夫的视线已经投到他身上了，他抬起眼睛，瞬即低垂下来。原先憋在他喉咙底下的全部血流，现已涌到他的面颊和眼睛里了。他简直喘不过气来。
“除了中尉和您自己之外，房间里没有人来过。钱包还在房间里的什么地方。”拉夫鲁什卡说道。
“喂，你这个玩鬼的东西，转身就去找吧，”杰尼索夫的脸涨得通红，装出一副威吓的姿势，向仆役身上扑将过去，忽然喊道，“一定要找到，否则我就要用鞭子打人。你们一个个都要挨打。”
罗斯托夫回避杰尼索夫的目光，扣紧制服上衣，扣上佩带的马刀，戴上制服帽。
“我对你说，一定要找到钱包。”杰尼索夫喊道，一把抓住勤务兵的肩膀摇晃着，把他推到墙上乱撞几下。
“杰尼索夫，把他放开，我知道是什么人把它拿走了。”罗斯托夫说道，没有抬起眼睛，向门口走去。
杰尼索夫停步了，思忖了片刻，显然他明白，罗斯托夫在暗示什么，于是就抓住他的手。
“废话！”他喊道，他的颈上和额角上鼓起绳子般大小的青筋，“我对你说，你神经错乱了，我不容许这样。钱包就在这儿，我来把这个坏蛋狠揍一顿，钱包就会在这儿找到的。”
“我知道是什么人把它拿走的。”罗斯托夫声音颤栗地补充了一句，向门口走去。
“我告诉你，决不许这样做。”杰尼索夫喊道，向这名士官生扑将过去，想把他拦住。
但是罗斯托夫把手挣脱了，他恶狠狠地直盯着杰尼索夫，仿佛杰尼索夫是他的最大的敌人似的。
“你是否明白你在说什么话么？”他声音颤栗地说道，“除我而外，这个房间里谁也没来过。这么说来，假如不是这种情形，那么就是……”
他没法说下去，从房间里跑出去了。
“咳，你算了吧，你们大家算了吧。”这就是罗斯托夫听见的最后几句话。
罗斯托夫来到了捷利亚宁的住宅。
“老爷不在家哩，他到司令部去了，”捷利亚宁的勤务兵对他说道。“或者是出什么事了？”勤务兵补充了一句，他对士官生的扫兴的脸色感到惊奇。
“不，没什么。”
“早来片刻，就碰见了。”勤务兵说道。
司令部驻扎在离那个扎尔策涅克村三俄里远的地方。罗斯托夫没有顺路回家，骑了一匹马，直奔司令部去了。司令部扎营的那个村子有一家酒肆，军官们常来光顾。罗斯托夫来到了酒肆，他在台阶旁望见了捷利亚宁的座骑。
中尉坐在酒肆的第二间屋里用餐，他身旁摆着一盘香肠、一瓶葡萄酒。
“啊，小伙子，您也来了。”他说道，面露微笑，竖起了两撇眉毛。
“嗯。”罗斯托夫说道，仿佛费了很大气力才吐出这个字，他在邻近的桌旁坐下来。
二人都默不作声，两个德国人和一名俄国军官坐在房间里。大家都不开口，可以听见刀子和盘子碰击时发出铿锵的声音、中尉吃饭时吧答吧答的声音捷利亚宁吃罢早餐，从他荷包中取出一个对折的钱包，弯弯地竖起几个洁白的小指头，拉开扣环，掏出一块金币，微微地扬起眉尖，把钱交给侍从。
“请你快点吧。”他说道。
这是一块很新的金币。罗斯托夫站立起来走到捷利亚宁跟前。
“让我瞧瞧这个钱包，”他说道，嗓音很低，几乎听不清楚。
捷利亚宁的眼珠子不停地来回乱转，老是竖起眉尖，把钱包交给他。
“是啊，这是个好钱包……是啊……是啊……”他说道，脸色忽然变得惨白了。“小伙子，瞧瞧。”他补充一句话。
罗斯托夫拿起钱包望了望，又望了望钱包里的钱，还望了望捷利亚宁。中尉习惯地向四周环顾，他忽然觉得愉快极了。
“如果我在维也纳，我就要把钱全部用掉，眼前在这些糟糕透了的小市镇上，有钱也无处可花，”他说道，“得啦，小伙子，给我好了，我就要走了。”
罗斯托夫默不作声。
“您怎么了？也要用早餐吗？伙食很不错，”捷利亚宁继续说下去，“给我好了。”
他伸出手来，抓住了钱包。罗斯托夫放开手中的钱包。捷利亚宁拿起钱包就搁进紧腿裤的口袋里，随便地竖起眉尖，微微地张开嘴唇，好像他在说：“是啊，是啊，我把自己的钱包搁进口袋里，这是很寻常的事，与任何人无关。”
“小伙子，怎么了？”他说道，叹了一口气，从微微竖起的眉尖底下望了望罗斯托夫的眼睛。有一线目光从捷利亚宁眼睛中有如闪电迸发的火星似地投射到罗斯托夫的眼睛中，反射回去，又反射回来，再反射回去，这一切都是在顷刻之间发生的。
“请到这里来，”罗斯托夫说道，一把抓住捷利亚宁的手。他几乎把他拖到窗子前面了。“这是杰尼索夫的钱，您把它拿走了……”他凑近他的耳根轻声地说道。
“怎么？……怎么？……您胆敢这么说？怎么？……”捷利亚宁说道。
可是这些话，听起来像是诉苦的绝望的喊叫，又像是祈求宽宥。罗斯托夫听见他的话语声，心中的狐疑有如巨石落了下来。他觉得心旷神怡，与此同时，他又怜悯起这个站在他跟前的不幸的人；但是必须把已经开始做的事情全部完成。
“天知道这里的人们会想些什么事，”捷利亚宁喃喃地说，他手中拿着一顶军帽，向那空荡荡的小房间走去，“应当说个明白……”
“这一点我是知道的，我来证明一下。”罗斯托夫说道。
“我……”
捷利亚宁那张惊恐而惨白的脸上，一块块肌肉颤栗起来了。他的眼珠儿还是不停地乱转，只是向下看，而没有抬起眼睛来瞥视罗斯托夫的面孔；这时可以听见啜泣声。
“伯爵！……您不要糟蹋年轻人吧……这是些倒霉的钱，拿去吧……”他把钱抛到桌上，“我有年老的父亲和母亲！
……”
罗斯托夫避开捷利亚宁的目光，拿起钱来，一句话没说，便从房间里走了出来。但是他在门旁停步了，往回头路上走去。
“我的天啊，”他两眼噙着泪水，说道，“您怎么能够做出这种事？”
“伯爵。”捷利亚宁向一名士官生近旁走去，说道。
“您别触动我，”罗斯托夫避开时说道，“假如您要钱用，就把这些钱拿去吧。”他向他扔出了钱包，便从酒肆中跑出来。
Book 2 Chapter 5
IN THE EVENING of the same day a lively discussion was taking place in Denisov's quarters between some officers of the squadron.
“But I tell you, Rostov, that you must apologise to the colonel,” the tall staff-captain was saying, addressing Rostov, who was crimson with excitement. The staff-captain, Kirsten, a man with grizzled hair, immense whiskers, thick features and a wrinkled face, had been twice degraded to the ranks for affairs of honour, and had twice risen again to holding a commission.
“I permit no one to tell me I'm lying!” cried Rostov. “He told me I was lying and I told him he was lying. And there it rests. He can put me on duty every day, he can place me under arrest, but no one can compel me to apologise, because if he, as the colonel, considers it beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then …”
“But you wait a bit, my good fellow; you listen to me,” interrupted the staff-captain in his bass voice, calmly stroking his long whiskers. “You tell the colonel in the presence of other officers that an officer has stolen—”
“I'm not to blame for the conversation being in the presence of other officers. Possibly I ought not to have spoken before them, but I'm not a diplomatist. That's just why I went into the hussars; I thought that here I should have no need of such finicky considerations, and he tells me I'm a liar … so let him give me satisfaction.”
“That's all very fine, no one imagines that you're a coward; but that's not the point. Ask Denisov if it's not utterly out of the question for an ensign to demand satisfaction of his colonel?”
Denisov was biting his moustache with a morose air, listening to the conversation, evidently with no desire to take part in it. To the captain's question, he replied by a negative shake of the head.
“You speak to the colonel in the presence of other officers of this dirty business,” pursued the staff-captain. “Bogdanitch” (Bogdanitch was what they called the colonel) “snubbed you …”
“No, he didn't. He said I was telling an untruth.”
“Quite so, and you talked nonsense to him, and you must apologise.”
“Not on any consideration!” shouted Rostov.
“I shouldn't have expected this of you,” said the staff-captain seriously and severely. “You won't apologise, but, my good sir, it's not only him, but all the regiment, all of us, that you've acted wrongly by; you're to blame all round. Look here; if you'd only thought it over, and taken advice how to deal with the matter, but you must go and blurt it all straight out before the officers. What was the colonel to do then? Is he to bring the officer up for trial and disgrace the whole regiment? On account of one scoundrel is the whole regiment to be put to shame? Is that the thing for him to do, to your thinking? It is not to our thinking. And Bogdanitch did the right thing. He told you that you were telling an untruth. It's unpleasant, but what could he do? you brought it on yourself. And now when they try to smooth the thing over, you're so high and mighty, you won't apologise, and want to have the whole story out. You're huffy at being put on duty, but what is it for you to apologise to an old and honourable officer! Whatever Bogdanitch may be, any way he's an honourable and gallant old colonel; you're offended at that, but disgracing the regiment's nothing to you.” The staff-captain's voice began to quaver. “You, sir, have been next to no time in the regiment; you're here to-day, and to-morrow you'll be passed on somewhere as an adjutant; you don't care a straw for people saying: ‘There are thieves among the Pavlograd officers!' But we do care! Don't we, Denisov? Do we care?”
Denisov still did not speak or stir; his gleaming black eyes glanced now and then at Rostov.
“Your pride is dear to you, you don't want to apologise,” continued the staff-captain, “but we old fellows, as we grew up in the regiment and, please God, we hope to die in it, it's the honour of the regiment is dear to us, and Bogdanitch knows that. Ah, isn't it dear to us! But this isn't right; it's not right! You may take offence or not; but I always speak the plain truth. It's not right!”
And the staff-captain got up and turned away from Rostov.
“That's the truth, damn it!” shouted Denisov, jumping up. “Come, Rostov, come!”
Rostov, turning crimson and white again, looked first at one officer and then at the other.
“No, gentlemen, no … you mustn't think … I quite understand, you're wrong in thinking that of me … I … for me … for the honour of the regiment I'd … but why talk? I'll prove that in action and for me the honour of the flag … well, never mind, it's true, I'm to blame!” … There were tears in his eyes. “I'm wrong, wrong all round! Well, what more do you want?” …
“Come, that's right, count,” cried the staff-captain, turning round and clapping him on the shoulder with his big hand.
“I tell you,” shouted Denisov, “he's a capital fellow.”
‘That's better, count,” repeated the captain, beginning to address him by his title as though in acknowledgment of his confession. “Go and apologise, your excellency.”
“Gentlemen, I'll do anything, no one shall hear a word from me,” Rostov protested in an imploring voice, “but I can't apologise, by God, I can't, say what you will! How can I apologise, like a little boy begging pardon!”
Denisov laughed.
“It'll be the worse for you, if you don't. Bogdanitch doesn't forget things; he'll make you pay for your obstinacy,” said Kirsten.
“By God, it's not obstinacy! I can't describe the feeling it gives me. I can't do it.”
“Well, as you like,” said the staff-captain. “What has the scoundrel done with himself?” he asked Denisov.
“He has reported himself ill; to-morrow the order's given for him to be struck off,” said Denisov.
“It is an illness, there's no other way of explaining it,” said the staff-captain.
“Whether it's illness or whether it's not, he'd better not cross my path—I'd kill him,” Denisov shouted bloodthirstily.
Zherkov walked into the room.
“How do you come here?” the officers cried to the newcomer at once.
“To the front, gentlemen. Mack has surrendered with his whole army.”
“Nonsense!”
“I've seen him myself.”
“What? Seen Mack alive, with all his arms and legs?”
“To the front! to the front! Give him a bottle for such news. How did you come here?”
“I've been dismissed back to the regiment again on account of that devil, Mack. The Austrian general complained of me. I congratulated him on Mack's arrival. … What is it, Rostov, you look as if you'd just come out of a hot bath?”
“We've been in such a mess these last two days, old boy.”
The regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by Zherkov. They were under orders to advance next day.
“To the front, gentlemen!”
“Well, thank God! we've been sticking here too long.”
就在那天夜晚，骑兵连的军官们都在杰尼索夫的住宅中热烈地交谈。 
“罗斯托夫，我告诉您，您要向团长表示歉意。”骑兵上尉对两脸通红、激动不安的罗斯托夫说，上尉身材高大，头发苍白，口髭浓重，大脸膛上布满着皱纹。
骑兵上尉基尔斯坚曾二度因赔偿名誉而贬为士兵，但两次恢复原职，又升为上尉。
“任何人说我撒谎，我都不容许！”罗斯托夫高声喊道，“他说我撒谎，我就说他撒谎。事情始终是如此。即使是天天派我值勤也行，把我关进牢房也行，可是任何人不能强迫我道歉，如果他身为团长，认为自己不屑于同我决斗，那末……”
“老兄，请您等一等，听我说吧，”骑兵上尉用那男低音打断他的发言，一面悠闲地捋顺他那长长的胡髭，“您在旁的军官面前对团长说有个军官行窃……”
“在旁的军官面前谈起这件事情，我是没有过错的。也许不应当在他们面前谈到这等事，但我不是外交官。我之所以来当骠骑兵，就是因为骑兵队里根本用不着讲究细节的缘故，可是他竟然说我撒谎……那末就要他同意和我决斗……”
“这些话说得不错，谁也不会想到您是个懦夫，可是问题并不在这里。您问问杰尼索夫，士官生向团长提出决斗，这像什么话？”
杰尼索夫咬了一下胡髭，面色阴沉地静听发言，显然他是不愿意参与这次谈话的。他对骑兵上尉的发问否定地摇了摇头。
“您当着军官们的面对团长说这种下流话，”骑兵上尉继续说下去，“波格丹内奇（团长叫做波格丹内奇）把您遏止住了。”
“没有遏止，而是说我扯谎。”
“得了吧，您竟对他说了这么多傻话，理应道歉。”
“决不道歉！”罗斯托夫高声喊道。
“我没有料到您会这样，”骑兵上尉严肃而冷漠地说，“可是，老兄啊，您不光是不愿意在团长面前，而且也不愿意在整个兵团面前，在我们大家面前道歉。您原先就应当仔细想想，请别人指教一下，应当怎样来应付这件事，可是您公然在军官们面前把什么都说出来了。而团长现在该怎么办呢？把这名军官送交法庭审判，玷污整个兵团吗？因为一个恶棍而使整个兵团名誉扫地吗？在您看来，这样做行吗？在我们看来，这样不行。波格丹内奇真有两下子，他说您扯谎。听起来虽不悦耳，但是毫无办法啊，老兄？是您自己乱冲的。现在大伙儿都想暗中了结这个案子，您却因为骄傲而不愿意道歉，想把什么都说出来。叫您多值一会儿班，您就感到气恼，干嘛您不能向一个令人尊敬的老军官道歉？不管波格丹内奇怎么样，他毕竟是个令人尊敬的勇敢的老上校，可是您感到气恼；玷污兵团，您不在乎嘛！”骑兵上尉的声音颤栗起来，“老兄，您在兵团中没有呆上几天，今天呆在兵团里，明天就被调到什么地方去做副官。您不理睬别人说的话：保罗格勒兵团中的军官们中竟有窃贼！我们可不是一切都不在乎的。杰尼索夫，难道不是这样吗？不是一切都不在乎的吧？”
杰尼索夫总是沉默不言，也不动弹，有时候用他那乌黑的闪闪发亮的眼睛望望罗斯托夫。
“骄傲对您是很宝贵的，您是不愿意道歉的，”骑兵上尉继续说下去，“不过我们这些老年人，因为是在兵团里成长的，所以死也应该死在兵团里。总之，在我们心目中，荣誉是宝贵的，这一点波格丹内奇也是知道的。啊，您不明白这是多么可贵，老兄！这样很不好，很不好！您以后生气还是不生气呢，我始终要把实话说出来。很不好！”
骑兵上尉于是站起来，把脸转过去不理睬罗斯托夫。
“说实在的，真了不起！”杰尼索夫一跃而起，说道，“喂，罗斯托夫，喂！”
罗斯托夫脸上白里透红，焦虑不安，他时而望望这个军官，时而望望那个军官。
“不是，先生们，不是……您甭以为……我十分明了；您对我抱有那种看法是毫无根据的……我……为我自己……为兵团的光荣……不是么？我要用事实来证明一下，团旗的光荣对我也是……嗯，说实在的，反正是我有罪！……”他眼睛里噙着泪水。“我有罪，全是我的不是！……您还要怎样呢？
……”
“伯爵，就是这样的。”骑兵上尉转过脸来喊道，他伸出他那巨大的手捶打着他的肩膀。
“我对你说，”杰尼索夫喊道，“他是个不错的人。”
“伯爵，这样才更好，”骑兵上尉重复地说，他用爵位称呼他，好像是表扬他承认错误似的。“伯爵大人，您去道道歉吧。”
“先生们，我能办妥一切事情，任何人决听不到我乱说一句话，”罗斯托夫用乞求的声音说道，“但是我不会道歉，你们想要怎样就怎样吧，我的确不会道歉！我怎么要去道歉呢，就像个儿童那样请求原宥么？”
杰尼索夫笑了起来。
“您会觉得更糟。波格丹内奇爱记旧仇，您因固执己见是会受到惩罚的。”基尔斯坚说道。
“说实在的，不是固执！我没法向您描述这是一种怎样的感情，我没法描述……”
“喂，听您的便，”骑兵上尉说道。“那个坏蛋溜到哪里去了？那怎样办？”他向杰尼索夫问道。
“他说他自己有病，明天就发出命令开除他。”杰尼索夫说道。
“这是疾病，不能用别的理由来解释。”骑兵上尉说。
“无论有病还是无病，他可不要碰见我——我会杀死他的！”杰尼索夫杀气腾腾地吼道。
热尔科夫走进房里来了。
“你怎么样？”军官们忽然把脸转向那个走进房里来的人，说道。
“先生们，出征啊。马克被俘，他随全军投降了。”
“撒谎！”
“是我亲眼看见的。”
“怎么？你亲眼看见马克还活着？有手有脚的活人？”
“出征啊！出征啊！他带来了消息，要给他一瓶烧酒。你怎么走到这里来了？”
“因为马克这个鬼家伙，我才又被派到兵团里来了。奥国将军控告我了。马克来了，我向他庆贺……罗斯托夫，你怎么样？你好像是从浴室里走出来的？”
“老兄，从昨天一直到现在，我们这儿很混乱。”
兵团团部的副官来了，他证明热尔科夫带来的消息是可靠的。已颁布命令明天开拔。
“先生们，要出征啊！”
“啊，谢天谢地，我们坐得太久了。”
Book 2 Chapter 6
KUTUZOV fell back to Vienna, destroying behind him the bridges over the river Inn (in Braunau) and the river Traun (in Linz). On the 23rd of October the Russian troops crossed the river Enns. The Russian baggage-waggons and artillery and the columns of troops were in the middle of that day stretching in a long string across the town of Enns on both sides of the bridge. The day was warm, autumnal, and rainy. The wide view that opened out from the heights where the Russian batteries stood guarding the bridge was at times narrowed by the slanting rain that shut it in like a muslin curtain, then again widened out, and in the bright sunlight objects could be distinctly seen in the distance, looking as if covered with a coat of varnish. The little town could be seen below with its white houses and its red roofs, its cathedral and its bridge, on both sides of which streamed masses of Russian troops, crowded together. At the bend of the Danube could be seen ships and the island and a castle with a park, surrounded by the waters formed by the Enns falling into the Danube, and the precipitous left bank of the Danube, covered with pine forest, with a mysterious distance of green tree-tops and bluish gorges. Beyond the pine forest, that looked wild and untouched by the hand of man, rose the turrets of a nunnery; and in the far distance in front, on the hill on the further side of the Enns, could be seen the scouts of the enemy.
Between the cannons on the height stood the general in command of the rear-guard and an officer of the suite scanning the country through a field-glass. A little behind them, there sat on the trunk of a cannon, Nesvitsky, who had been despatched by the commander-in-chief to the rear-guard. The Cossack who accompanied Nesvitsky had handed him over a knapsack and a flask, and Nesvitsky was regaling the officers with pies and real doppel-k?mmel. The officers surrounded him in a delighted circle, some on their knees, some sitting cross-legged, like Turks, on the wet grass.
“Yes, there was some sense in that Austrian prince who built a castle here. It's a magnificent spot. Why aren't you eating, gentlemen?” said Nesvitsky.
“Thank you very much, prince,” answered one of the officers, enjoying the opportunity of talking to a staff-official of such importance. “It's a lovely spot. We marched right by the park; we saw two deer and such a splendid house!”
“Look, prince,” said another, who would dearly have liked to take another pie, but was ashamed to, and therefore affected to be gazing at the countryside; “look, our infantry have just got in there. Over there, near the meadow behind the village, three of them are dragging something. They will clean out that palace nicely,” he said, with evident approval.
“No doubt,” said Nesvitsky. “No; but what I should like,” he added, munching a pie in his moist, handsome mouth, “would be to slip in there.” He pointed to the turreted nunnery that could be seen on the mountainside. He smiled, his eyes narrowing and gleaming. “Yes, that would be first-rate, gentlemen!” The officers laughed.
“One might at least scare the nuns a little. There are Italian girls, they say, among them. Upon my word, I'd give five years of my life for it!”
“They must be bored, too,” said an officer who was rather bolder, laughing.
Meanwhile the officer of the suite, who was standing in front, pointed something out to the general; the general looked through the field-glass.
“Yes, so it is, so it is,” said the general angrily, taking the field-glass away from his eye and shrugging his shoulders; “they are going to fire at them at the crossing of the river. And why do they linger so?”
With the naked eye, looking in that direction, one could discern the enemy and their batteries, from which a milky-white smoke was rising. The smoke was followed by the sound of a shot in the distance, and our troops were unmistakably hurrying to the place of crossing.
Nesvitsky got up puffing and went up to the general, smiling.
“Wouldn't your excellency take some lunch?” he said.
“It's a bad business,” said the general, without answering him; “our men have been too slow.”
“Shouldn't I ride over, your excellency?” said Nesvitsky.
“Yes, ride over, please,” said the general, repeating an order that had already once before been given in detail; “and tell the hussars that they are to cross last and to burn the bridge, as I sent orders, and that they're to overhaul the burning materials on the bridge.”
“Very good,” answered Nesvitsky. He called the Cossack with his horse, told him to pick up the knapsack and flask, and lightly swung his heavy person into the saddle.
“Upon my word, I am going to pay a visit to the nuns,” he said to the officers who were watching him, smiling, and he rode along the winding path down the mountain.
“Now then, captain, try how far it'll carry,” said the general, turning to the artillery officer. “Have a little fun to pass the time.”
“Men, to the guns!” commanded the officer, and in a moment the gunners ran gaily from the camp fires and loaded the big guns.
“One!” they heard the word of command. Number one bounded back nimbly. The cannon boomed with a deafening metallic sound, and whistling over the heads of our men under the mountainside, the grenade flew across, and falling a long way short of the enemy showed by the rising smoke where it had fallen and burst.
The faces of the soldiers and officers lightened up at the sound. Every one got up and busily watched the movements of our troops below, which could be seen as in the hollow of a hand, and the movements of the advancing enemy. At the same instant, the sun came out fully from behind the clouds, and the full note of the solitary shot and the brilliance of the bright sunshine melted into a single inspiriting impression of light-hearted gaiety.
库图佐夫烧毁一座座桥梁（因河上布劳瑙市的桥梁和特劳恩河上林茨市的桥梁），向维也纳撤退。十月二十三日，俄国军队横渡恩斯河。那天正午，俄国的辎重车队、炮兵和步兵纵队从桥上两侧鱼贯地通过恩斯市。 
时值温和的细雨濛濛的秋天。护卫桥梁的俄国炮台所坐落的高地前所展现的辽阔的远景，时而突被纱幔般的斜雨所遮蔽，时而显得很开阔，艳阳照耀下的景致仿佛涂了一层清油漆，从远处也清晰可辨。脚底下的小市镇里，一幢幢白垩垩的房屋、红彤彤的顶盖、大教堂和桥梁——桥梁两侧川流不息的俄国军队的乌合之众，都已尽收眼底。可以看见多瑙河湾的船舶和孤岛，恩斯河和多瑙河汇合点所围绕的花园城寨，可以看见一片松林覆盖的陡峭的多瑙河左岸和那神秘远方的碧绿的山峰和蔚蓝色的隘口，可以看见突露在仿佛未曾砍伐的野生松林后面的寺院塔楼和恩斯河彼岸的远山前的敌军骑兵侦察分队。
在这座高地的几尊大炮之间，一个率领后卫部队的将军随同一名侍从军官在前面站着，并用望远镜观察地形。在他们背后几步路远的地方，由总司令派往后卫部队的涅斯维茨基正坐在炮架尾部。伴随涅斯维茨基的哥萨克把背囊和军用水壶递过来，涅斯维茨基于是用馅饼和纯正的茴香甜酒款待军官们。军官们高高兴兴地把他围在中间，有的人跪着，有的人像土耳其人那样盘着腿儿坐在湿漉漉的草地上。
“这个奥国公爵不是笨蛋，在这儿修建了一座城寨。这是个顶好的地方。先生们，你们干嘛不吃呢？”涅斯维茨基说道。
“公爵，十分感谢，”一名军官答道，和这样一位显要的司令部官员谈话，他觉得非常高兴。“优美的地方。我们从公园近侧走过时，看见两只鹿，房子多么华丽啊！”
“公爵，请您看看吧，”另一位军官说道，他很想再拿一个馅饼，但是觉得不好意思，便装出环顾地形的样子，“请看，我们的步兵已经到达那个地方，走得这么远啊。就是在那个地方，在村庄后面的草地上，有三个人正在拖曳着什么东西，他们要给这座宫殿建筑物除去杂草。”他现出一副明显的称赞的样子，说道。
“即使是那样，即使是那样，”涅斯维茨基说道。“可是，我很想，”他补充一句话，一面用他那长得好看的湿润的嘴咀嚼着馅饼，“那末，到那个地方去吧。”
他指了指在山上望得见的有塔楼的寺院。他微微一笑，眼睛眯起来，炯炯有神光。
“先生们，这才真是一派秀气啊！”
军官们笑了起来。
“吓一吓尼姑也好。据说有些是意大利的少女哩。说实在的，我宁可豁出五年的时光！”
“她们本来就够寂寞的哩。”一个更有胆量的军官面露微笑，说道。
其时，站在前头的侍从军官正把什么指给将军看，将军便拿着景物望远镜观望。
“真是这样，真是这样，”将军愤怒地说道，放下望远镜，耸一耸肩，“真是这样的，敌人要打渡头了，他们干嘛在那儿耽误时间呢？”
大河彼岸，用肉眼可以看见敌军和他们的炮台，从那炮台中冒出乳白色的硝烟，硝烟后面传来了远方的炮声，可以看见我们的军队急急忙忙地渡河。
涅斯维茨基呼哧呼哧喘着气，站起身来，面露微笑地向将军面前走去。
“大人，要吃点东西么？”他说道。
“真糟糕，”将军没有回答他的话，说道，“我们的军队磨蹭起来了。”
“大人，要不要去走一趟呢？”涅斯维茨基说道。
“对，请您去走一趟，”将军说道，他又把已经详细地吩咐的事重说一遍，“告诉骠骑兵，依照我的吩咐，最后一批渡河，烧毁桥梁，而且还要察看一下桥上引火用的燃料。”
“很好。”涅斯维茨基答道。
他向牵马的哥萨克兵喊了一声，吩咐他收拾背囊和军用水壶，轻巧地把他那沉重的身躯翻上马鞍。
“说真的，我要找尼姑去了。”他向面露微笑望着他的军官们说道，于是就沿着一条蜿蜒曲折的小道下山去了。
“喂，上尉，开一炮，看看能射到什么地方去！”将军把脸转向炮兵说道，“真烦闷，开开心吧。”
“炮手们各就各位！”一名军官发出了口令，须臾之后，炮手们都很快活地从篝火旁边跑出来，装上炮弹。
“第一号，放！”发出了口令。
第一号炮兵迅速地跳开。大炮发出震耳欲聋的隆隆声，一枚榴弹从山下我军官兵头上飞过，发出一阵呼啸，榴弹落下的地方，冒出滚滚的硝烟，爆炸了，榴弹离敌军阵地还有很远一段路。
在这隆隆的炮声中，官兵们脸上都流露着愉快的神情；全体都站立起来，观察那了若指掌的山下我军的动态，观察那逐渐靠近的敌军的动态。这时候，太阳完全从云堆里探出头来。这一声单调的好听的炮响和耀眼的阳光汇合在一起了，使人产生一种激励的愉快的印象。
Book 2 Chapter 7
OVER THE BRIDGE two of the enemy's shots had already flown and there was a crush on the bridge. In the middle of the bridge stood Nesvitsky. He had dismounted and stood with his stout person jammed against the railings. He looked laughingly back at his Cossack, who was standing several paces behind him holding the two horses by their bridles. Every time Nesvitsky tried to move on, the advancing soldiers and waggons bore down upon him and shoved him back against the railings. There was nothing for him to do but to smile.
“Hi there, my lad,” said the Cossack to a soldier in charge of a waggon-load who was forcing his way through the foot-soldiers that pressed right up to his wheels and his horses; “what are you about? No, you wait a bit; you see the general wants to pass.”
But the convoy soldier, taking no notice of the allusion to the general, bawled to the soldiers who blocked the way: “Hi! fellows, keep to the left! wait a bit!” But the fellows, shoulder to shoulder, with their bayonets interlocked, moved over the bridge in one compact mass. Looking down over the rails, Prince Nesvitsky saw the noisy, rapid, but not high waves of the Enns, which, swirling in eddies round the piles of the bridge, chased one another down stream. Looking on the bridge he saw the living waves of the soldiers, all alike as they streamed by: shakoes with covers on them, knapsacks, bayonets, long rifles, and under the shakoes broad-jawed faces, sunken cheeks, and looks of listless weariness, and legs moving over the boards of the bridge, that were coated with sticky mud. Sometimes among the monotonous streams of soldiers, like a crest of white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer forced his way through, in a cloak, with a face of a different type from the soldiers. Sometimes, like a chip whirling on the river, there passed over the bridge among the waves of infantry a dismounted hussar, an orderly, or an inhabitant of the town. Sometimes, like a log floating down the river, there moved over the bridge, hemmed in on all sides, a baggage-waggon, piled up high and covered with leather covers.
“Why, they're like a river bursting its banks,” said the Cossack, stopping hopelessly. “Are there many more over there?”
“A million, all but one!” said a cheerful soldier in a torn coat, winking, as he passed out of sight; after him came another soldier, an older man.
“If he” (he meant the enemy) “starts popping at the bridge just now,” said the old soldier dismally, addressing his companion, “you'll forget to scratch yourself.” And he passed on. After him came another soldier riding on a waggon.
“Where the devil did you put the leg-wrappers?” said an orderly, running after the waggon and fumbling in the back part of it. And he too passed on with the waggon.
Then came some hilarious soldiers, who had unmistakably been drinking.
“And didn't he up with the butt end of his gun and give him one right in the teeth,” one soldier was saying gleefully with a wide sweep of his arm.
“It just was a delicious ham,” answered the other with a chuckle. And they passed on, so that Nesvitsky never knew who had received the blow in his teeth, and what the ham had to do with it.
“Yes, they're in a hurry now! When he let fly a bit of cold lead, one would have thought they were all being killed,” said an under officer, angrily and reproachfully.
“When it whizzed by me, uncle, the bullet,” said a young soldier with a huge mouth, scarcely able to keep from laughing, “I turned fairly numb. Upon my soul, wasn't I in a fright, to be sure!” said the soldier, making a sort of boast of his terror.
He, too, passed on. After him came a waggon unlike all that had passed over before. It was a German Vorspann with two horses, loaded, it seemed, with the goods of a whole household. The horses were led by a German, and behind was fastened a handsome, brindled cow with an immense udder. On piled-up feather-beds sat a woman with a small baby, an old woman, and a good-looking, rosy-cheeked German girl. They were evidently country people, moving, who had been allowed through by special permit. The eyes of all the soldiers were turned upon the women, and, while the waggon moved by, a step at a time, all the soldiers' remarks related to the two women. Every face wore almost the same smile, reflecting indecent ideas about the women.
“Hey, the sausage, he's moving away!”
“Sell us your missis,” said another soldier, addressing the German, who strode along with downcast eyes, looking wrathful and alarmed.
“See how she's dressed herself up! Ah, you devils!”
“I say, wouldn't you like to be billeted on them, Fedotov!”
“I know a thing or two, mate!”
“Where are you going?” asked the infantry officer, who was eating an apple. He too was half smiling and staring at the handsome girl. The German, shutting his eyes, signified that he did not understand.
“Take it, if you like,” said the officer, giving the girl an apple. The girl smiled and took it. Nesvitsky, like all the men on the bridge, never took his eyes off the women till they had passed by. When they had passed by, again there moved by the same soldiers, with the same talk, and at last all came to a standstill. As often happens, the horses in a convoy-waggon became unmanageable at the end of the bridge, and the whole crowd had to wait.
“What are they standing still for? There's no order kept!” said the soldiers. “Where are you shoving?” “Damn it!” “Can't you wait a little?” “It'll be a bad look-out if he sets light to the bridge.”
“Look, there's an officer jammed in too,” the soldiers said in different parts of the stationary crowd, as they looked about them and kept pressing forward to the end of the bridge. Looking round at the waters of the Enns under the bridge, Nesvitsky suddenly heard a sound new to him, the sound of something rapidly coming nearer … something big, and then a splash in the water.
“Look where it reaches to!” a soldier standing near said sternly, looking round at the sound.
“He's encouraging us to get on quicker,” said another uneasily. The crowd moved again. Nesvitsky grasped that it was a cannon ball.
“Hey, Cossack, give me my horse!” he said. “Now then, stand aside! stand aside! make way!”
With a mighty effort he succeeded in getting to his horse. Shouting continually, he moved forward. The soldiers pressed together to make way for him, but jammed upon him again, so that they squeezed his leg, and those nearest him were not to blame, for they were pressed forward even more violently from behind.
“Nesvitsky! Nesvitsky! You, old chap!” he heard a husky voice shouting from behind at that instant.
Nesvitsky looked round and saw, fifteen paces away, separated from him by a living mass of moving infantry, the red and black and tousled face of Vaska Denisov with a forage-cap on the back of his head, and a pelisse swung jauntily over his shoulder.
“Tell them to make way, the damned devils!” roared Denisov, who was evidently in a great state of excitement. He rolled his flashing, coal-black eyes, showing the bloodshot whites, and waved a sheathed sword, which he held in a bare hand as red as his face.
“Eh! Vaska!” Nesvitsky responded joyfully. “But what are you about?”
“The squadron can't advance!” roared Vaska Denisov, viciously showing his white teeth, and spurring his handsome, raven thoroughbred “Bedouin,” which, twitching its ears at the bayonets against which it pricked itself, snorting and shooting froth from its bit, tramped with metallic clang on the boards of the bridge, and seemed ready to leap over the railings, if its rider would let it.
“What next! like sheep! for all the world like sheep; back … make way! … Stand there! go to the devil with the waggon! I'll cut you down with my sword!” he roared, actually drawing his sword out of the sheath and beginning to brandish it.
The soldiers, with terrified faces, squeezed together, and Denisov joined Nesvitsky.
“How is it you're not drunk to-day?” said Nesvitsky, when he came up.
“They don't even give us time to drink!” answered Vaska Denisov. “They've been dragging the regiment to and fro the whole day. Fighting's all very well, but who the devil's to know what this is!”
“How smart you are to-day!” said Nesvitsky, looking at his new pelisse and fur saddle-cloth.
Denisov smiled, pulled out of his sabretache a handkerchief that diffused a smell of scent, and put it to Nesvitsky's nose.
“To be sure, I'm going into action! I've shaved, and cleaned my teeth and scented myself!”
Nesvitsky's imposing figure, accompanied by his Cossack, and the determination of Denisov, waving his sword and shouting desperately, produced so much effect that they stopped the infantry and got to the other end of the bridge. Nesvitsky found at the entry the colonel, to whom he had to deliver the command, and having executed his commission he rode back.
Having cleared the way for him, Denisov stopped at the entrance of the bridge. Carelessly holding in his horse, who neighed to get to his companions, and stamped with its foot, he looked at the squadron moving towards him. The clang of the hoofs on the boards of the bridge sounded as though several horses were galloping, and the squadron, with the officers in front, drew out four men abreast across the bridge and began emerging on the other side.
The infantry soldiers, who had been forced to stop, crowding in the trampled mud of the bridge, looked at the clean, smart hussars, passing them in good order, with that special feeling of aloofness and irony with which different branches of the service usually meet.
“They're a smart lot! They ought to be on the Podnovinsky!”
“They're a great deal of use! They're only for show!” said another.
“Infantry, don't you kick up a dust!” jested a hussar, whose horse, prancing, sent a spurt of mud on an infantry soldier.
“I should like to see you after two long marches with the knapsack on your shoulder. Your frogs would be a bit shabby,” said the foot-soldier, rubbing the mud off his face with his sleeve; “perched up there you're more like a bird than a man!”
“Wouldn't you like to be popped on a horse, Zikin; you'd make an elegant rider,” jested a corporal at a thin soldier, bowed down by the weight of his knapsack.
“Put a stick between your legs and you'd have a horse to suit you,” responded the hussar.
两枚敌人的圆形炮弹飞过桥梁的上空，桥上显得拥挤不堪。涅斯维茨基在桥中间下马，站立着，他那胖乎乎的身子紧紧地靠在栏杆上，他含笑地掉过头来望了望哥萨克，他牵着两匹马在涅斯维茨基身后几步远的地方停步了。涅斯维茨基刚想向前走去，一群士兵和车辆又把他挤得不能动弹，他又被紧紧地逼到栏杆上，一筹莫展，只好苦笑罢了。 
“老弟，你真是！”哥萨克对那赶车的辎重兵说道，这个辎重兵从车轮和马匹旁边麇集的步兵中用力挤过去，“你真是！你不能不等一等，你明明看见将军要过桥。”
有人道出了将军的姓名，但是这个辎重兵并不理会，他大声斥责那些拦住他的去路的士兵。
“喂！乡亲们！请靠左走，等一等！”
可是，乡亲们互相拥挤，肩膀碰着肩膀，刺刀挂着刺刀，密密麻麻的一片从桥上源源不断地行进。涅斯维茨基朝着栏杆向桥下望了一眼，看见恩斯河上湍急的喧嚣的浪涛，然而浪头不高，在桥桩四周汇合起来，泛起了一片涟漪，然后折回，后浪推前浪，奔腾不息。他朝桥上打量了一番，看见同类的士兵的浪涛——士兵、饰穗、套上布罩的高筒军帽、背包、刺刀、长枪，还看见高筒军帽下露出的疲惫的面容，宽大的颧骨，凹陷的两颊，还有在黏满桥板的泥泞中行走的双腿。有时候，俨如恩斯河的浪涛中飞溅的白沫，在士兵的浪涛中混进一个披着雨衣、相貌和士兵截然不同的军官。有时候，俨如河中一块荡漾的木片，一个步行的骠骑兵、勤务兵或者是居民从桥上经过，被士兵的浪涛冲走了。有时候，俨如河上飘浮的圆木，一辆连队的大车或是军官的大车，满载着物件，覆盖着皮革，在四周的众人护卫下从桥上驶行。
“你看，像堤坝被冲决了似的，”一名哥萨克绝望地停住脚步，说道，“那儿还有很多人吗？”
“差一个就满一百万！”一名穿着破军大衣、从附近走过的快活的士兵递着眼色，说道，随即看不见了。
“候如他（他即指敌人）立刻在桥上烤起馅饼来，”一名老兵向他的伙伴转过脸去，面色阴沉地说道，“那你就什么都会忘掉的。”
这名老兵从身边走过去，一名乘坐大车的士兵跟在他后面驶行。
“见鬼，包脚布塞到哪里去了？”一名勤务兵跟在大车后面飞奔，一面在大车的尾部摸索着寻找，他说道。
这名士兵也跟随大车走过去了。
有几名士兵现出愉快的神情，看起来像是喝过一顿酒，他们跟在这个士兵后面走去。
“他这个好人用枪托照准牙齿捅了一下……”一个把军大衣掖得很高的士兵使劲地挥动手臂，兴高采烈地说道。
“是呀，是呀，正是那甜滋滋的火腿。”另一名士兵哈哈大笑地答道。
他们也走过去了。涅斯维茨基不知道打了谁的牙齿，火腿意味着什么，有什么内在的联系。
“你瞧，他们手忙脚乱的！他只开了一炮，就自以为敌人全被打死了。”一个士官带着气忿和责备的神态说道。
“大叔，那炮弹从我身边飞过去了，”长着一张大嘴巴的年轻士兵几乎忍不住要笑出声来，他说道，“我简直吓呆了。说实话，我吓坏了，真要命！”这个士兵说道，好像在炫耀他胆怯似的。
这个士兵也走过去了。一辆大马车跟在他后面，它和以前驶过的大马车都不相像。这是一辆德国制造的双套长车身马车，车上运载的仿佛是全部家当。一个德国男人驾着马车，这辆马车后面绑着一头乳头很大的好看的花母牛。一个抱着婴孩的妇人、老太婆和一个两颊绯红、年轻而健康的德国姑娘坐在绒毛褥子上。看起来，这些移民是凭特殊许可证通行的。士兵们的目光都投射到妇人们身上，当这辆大车一步一步地驶过时，士兵们评论的内容只是和这两个妇人有关的话。大家的脸上几乎同样地流露出对这个妇人怀有淫猥念头的笑容。
“瞧，德国香肠（德国人的绰号）也落荒了！”
“把娘儿卖掉吧。”另一个士兵把脸转向德国人说道，说话时重音落在最后一个音节上，那个德国人垂下眼帘，气忿而惊恐地迈着大步向前走去。
“你瞧，打扮得这么漂亮！真见鬼！”
“费多托夫，你应当在她们附近扎营！”
“老兄，我们是有见识的。”
“你们到哪里去呢？”一个正在吃苹果的步兵军官问道，他也半露笑容地打量着那个美丽的姑娘。
德国人闭上眼睛，表示他听不懂意思。
“你想吃，就拿去吧。”军官说道，一面把苹果递给姑娘。
姑娘微微一笑，拿了一个苹果。涅斯维茨基像所有站在桥上的人那样，在两个妇人还没有乘车驶过之前，他也目不转睛地望着她们。当她们驶过之后，又有同样的士兵，谈着同样的话题向前走过来，大伙儿终于停住了。到了桥头，连队的大车上的马匹不听驾驶了，一群人只得呆在那里等候。
“干嘛都停滞不前呢？没有秩序了！”士兵们说道，“你硬往哪里闯？见鬼！不能不等一下子。假使他烧毁桥梁，那就更糟了。你瞧，他们把那个军官挤得无路可走。”站着的一大群人面面相觑，谈东道西，还在桥头上挤来挤去。
涅斯维茨基朝桥底下望了望恩斯河的滚滚流水，忽然间听见一种奇异的响声，好像有什么东西疾速地靠近……这东西体积很大，扑通一声落到水中。
“你瞧，射到哪里去了！”一个站在附近的士兵听见响声就掉过头来瞥了一眼，严肃地说道。
“他正在鼓励我们，希望我们快点儿过去。”另一名士兵焦急不安地说道。
一群人又开始向前移动。涅斯维茨基心里明白这是一枚炮弹。
“喂，哥萨克，把马儿牵过来！”他说道，“喂，你们大家闪到一边去！闪开点儿，让出一条路来！”
他费了很大的劲才走到马儿前面。他不断地喊叫，缓慢地向前移动。士兵们挤缩在一起，给他让路，可是又复把他挤得很紧，踩痛了他的腿。站在他附近的人没有过失，因为他们被挤得更厉害。
“涅斯维茨基！涅斯维茨基！你这个丑家伙！”这时他后面传来嘶哑的嗓音。
涅斯维茨基回头一看，看见了瓦西卡·杰尼索夫，他离涅斯维茨基有十五步路远，一大群向前移动的步兵把他们隔开了；杰尼索夫两脸通红，头发黝黑，十分蓬乱，后脑勺上戴着一顶军帽，雄赳赳地披着一件骠骑兵披肩。
“你吩咐这班鬼东西让路。”杰尼索夫大声喊道，看起来他又发火了。他那对煤炭一般乌黑的眼珠在发炎的眼白中闪闪发光，骨碌碌地乱转，他那和脸膛一股通红的裸露的小手握着一柄未出鞘的马刀，不时地挥动着。
“哎，瓦夏！”涅斯维茨基愉快地答道，“你怎么样？”
“骑兵连没法子走过去，”瓦西卡·杰尼索夫恶狠狠地露出洁白的牙齿，用马刺刺着那匹好看的乌骓贝杜英，高声喊道，那匹乌骓碰到刺刀尖，抖动着耳朵，打着响鼻，从马嚼子上喷出白沫，铃铛丁零丁零地响着，马蹄子踩着桥板，发出咚咚的声音，假如骑马的人允许，它似乎准备跨过桥栏杆跳下去。
“这是什么名堂？像一群绵羊，俨像一群绵羊！滚开！……让出一条路来！……在那儿站住吧！这辆大马车，真见鬼！我要用马刀砍了！”他大声喊道，真的从鞘中拔出马刀，挥动起来。
士兵们面露惊恐的神色，挤缩在一起了，杰尼索夫于是走到涅斯维茨基身边去。
“你怎么今日没有喝醉呢？”当杰尼索夫向他驶近时，涅斯维茨基说道。
“哪有喝酒的工夫！”瓦西卡·杰尼索夫答道，“整天价把兵团拉到这儿，又拉到那儿。要打仗，就打仗吧。其实，鬼才知道这是怎么回事！”
“今天你是个穿得很漂亮的人啊！”涅斯维茨基望着他的一件新斗篷、新鞍垫说道。
杰尼索夫微微一笑，从皮囊里取出一条散发着香水气味的手帕，向涅斯维茨基的鼻孔边塞去。
“不行，作战用得着我嘛！我剃了脸，刷了牙，喷了香水。”
涅斯维茨基由哥萨克兵陪伴，外貌威严；杰尼索夫手挥马刀，大喊大叫，举动果敢，发挥了效力，他们挤缩到桥梁的那边，把步兵拦阻住了。涅斯维茨基在桥头找到了上校，涅斯维茨基应当把命令转告他，在执行了委托的任务之后就返回原地去了。
杰尼索夫扫清了道路上的障碍，在桥头停步了。他很随便地勒住跺着蹄子向自己同类冲去的公马，端详着迎面走来的骑兵连官兵。桥板上可以听见清脆悦耳的马蹄声，好像有几匹马儿在飞速奔驰，骑兵连的队伍四人一排，军官们站在前头，一字长蛇阵似地从桥上走过，队列开始走出那边的桥头。
停步不前的步兵在桥边的烂泥地上挤来挤去，带着不同的兵种相遇时常会产生的那种敌对的互相讥讽的格格不入的特殊情感，望着步伐整齐地从他们身旁走过的衣着讲究而整洁的骠骑兵。
“穿得多么漂亮的小伙子啊！只好去赶波德诺文斯克庙会啦！”
“他们有什么用场啊！只能摆出来做个样子给人看！”另一个士兵说道。
“步兵们，不要把尘埃扬起来！”一个骠骑兵开了个玩笑，他骑着的那匹马一踢蹄子，就把烂泥溅到了那个步兵身上了。
“你带着背囊，把你赶去行军才好，让你走上两昼夜的路，你那细带子准会磨破的，”那个步兵用袖筒揩去脸上的烂泥，说道，“那你就不像个人了，像只鸟儿搂在马身上！”
“济金，真想让你骑在马身上哩，那你就很舒服了。”上等兵讥笑那个被背囊压得弯腰驼背的消瘦的士兵，打趣地说。
“你拿根棍子架在胯裆时，那你就有一匹马了。”一名骠骑兵应声说道。
Book 2 Chapter 8
THE REST of the infantry pressed together into a funnel shape at the entrance of the bridge, and hastily marched across it. At last all the baggage-waggons had passed over; the crush was less, and the last battalion were stepping on to the bridge. Only the hussars of Denisov's squadron were left on the further side of the river facing the enemy. The enemy, visible in the distance from the opposite mountain, could not yet be seen from the bridge below, as, from the valley, through which the river flowed, the horizon was bounded by rising ground not more than half a mile away. In front lay a waste plain dotted here and there with handfuls of our scouting Cossacks. Suddenly on the road, where it ran up the rising ground opposite, troops came into sight wearing blue tunics and accompanied by artillery. They were the French. A scouting party of Cossacks trotted away down the hillside. Though the officers and the men of Denisov's squadron tried to talk of other things, and to look in other directions, they all thought continually of nothing else but what was there on the hillside, and kept constantly glancing towards the dark patches they saw coming into sight on the sky-line, and recognised as the enemy's forces. The weather had cleared again after midday, and the sun shone brilliantly as it began to go down over the Danube and the dark mountains that encircle it. The air was still, and from the hillside there floated across from time to time the sound of bugles and of the shouts of the enemy. Between the squadron and the enemy there was no one now but a few scouting parties. An empty plain, about six hundred yards across, separated them from the hostile troops. The enemy had ceased firing, and that made even more keenly felt the stern menace of that inaccessible, unassailable borderland that was the dividing-line between the two hostile armies.
“One step across that line, that suggests the line dividing the living from the dead, and unknown sufferings and death. And what is there? and who is there? there, beyond that field and that tree and the roofs with the sunlight on them? No one knows, and one longs to know and dreads crossing that line, and longs to cross it, and one knows that sooner or later one will have to cross it and find out what there is on the other side of the line, just as one must inevitably find out what is on the other side of death. Yet one is strong and well and cheerful and nervously excited, and surrounded by men as strong in the same irritable excitement.” That is how every man, even if he does not think, feels in the sight of the enemy, and that feeling gives a peculiar brilliance and delightful keenness to one's impressions of all that takes place at such moments.
On the rising ground occupied by the enemy, there rose the smoke of a shot, and a cannon ball flew whizzing over the heads of the squadron of hussars. The officers, who had been standing together, scattered in different directions. The hussars began carefully getting their horses back into line. The whole squadron subsided into silence. All the men were looking at the enemy in front and at the commander of the squadron, expecting an order to be given. Another cannon ball flew by them, and a third. There was no doubt that they were firing at the hussars. But the cannon balls, whizzing regularly and rapidly, flew over the heads of the hussars and struck the ground beyond them. The hussars did not look round, but at each sound of a flying ball, as though at the word of command, the whole squadron, with their faces so alike, through all their dissimilarity, rose in the stirrups, holding their breath, as the ball whizzed by, then sank again. The soldiers did not turn their heads, but glanced out of the corners of their eyes at one another, curious to see the effect on their comrades. Every face from Denisov down to the bugler showed about the lips and chin the same lines of conflict and nervous irritability and excitement. The sergeant frowned, looking the soldiers up and down, as though threatening them with punishment. Ensign Mironov ducked at the passing of each cannon ball. On the left flank, Rostov on his Rook—a handsome beast, in spite of his unsound legs—had the happy air of a schoolboy called up before a large audience for an examination in which he is confident that he will distinguish himself. He looked serenely and brightly at every one, as though calling upon them all to notice how unconcerned he was under fire. But into his face too there crept, against his will, that line about the mouth that betrayed some new and strenuous feeling.
“Who's bobbing up and down there? Ensign Mironov! Not the thing! look at me!” roared Denisov, who could not keep still in one place, but galloped to and fro before the squadron.
The snub-nosed, black, hairy face of Vaska Denisov, and his little, battered figure, and the sinewy, short-fingered hand in which he held the hilt of his naked sword—his whole figure was just as it always was, especially in the evening after he had drunk a couple of bottles. He was only rather redder in the face than usual, and tossing back his shaggy head, as birds do when they drink, his little legs mercilessly driving the spurs into his good horse Bedouin, he galloped to the other flank of the squadron, looking as though he were falling backwards in the saddle, and shouted in a husky voice to the men to look to their pistols. He rode up to Kirsten. The staff-captain on his stout, steady charger rode at a walking pace to meet him. The staff-captain's face with its long whiskers was serious, as always, but his eyes looked brighter than usual.
“Well,” he said to Denisov, “it won't come to a fight. You'll see, we shall retreat again.”
“Devil knows what they're about!” growled Denisov. “Ah, Rostov!” he called to the ensign, noticing his beaming face. “Well, you've not had long to wait.” And he smiled approvingly, unmistakably pleased at the sight of the ensign. Rostov felt perfectly blissful. At that moment the colonel appeared at the bridge. Denisov galloped up to him.
“Your excellency, let us attack! we'll settle them.”
“Attack, indeed!” said the colonel in a bored voice, puckering his face up as though at a teasing fly. “And what are you stopping here for? You see the flanks are retreating. Lead the squadron back.”
The squadron crossed the bridge and passed out of range of the enemy's guns without losing a single man. It was followed by the second squadron, and the Cossacks last of all crossed, leaving the further side of the river clear.
The two squadrons of the Pavlograd regiment, after crossing the bridge, rode one after the other up the hill. Their colonel, Karl Bogdanitch Schubert, had joined Denisov's squadron, and was riding at a walking pace not far from Rostov, taking no notice of him, though this was the first time they had met since the incident in connection with Telyanin. Rostov, feeling himself at the front in the power of the man towards whom be now admitted that he had been to blame, never took his eyes off the athletic back, and flaxen head and red neck of the colonel. It seemed to Rostov at one time that Bogdanitch was only feigning inattention, and that his whole aim was now to test the ensign's pluck; and he drew himself up and looked about him gaily. Then he fancied that Bogdanitch was riding close by him on purpose to show off his own valour. Then the thought struck him that his enemy was now sending the squadron to a hopeless attack on purpose to punish him, Rostov. Then he dreamed of how after the attack he would go up to him as he lay wounded, and magnanimously hold out his hand in reconciliation. The high-shouldered figure of Zherkov, who was known to the Pavlograd hussars, as he had not long before left their regiment, rode up to the colonel. After Zherkov had been dismissed from the staff of the commander-in-chief, he had not remained in the regiment, saying that he was not such a fool as to go to hard labour at the front when he could get more pay for doing nothing on the staff, and he had succeeded in getting appointed an orderly on the staff of Prince Bagration. He rode up to his old colonel with an order from the commander of the rear guard.
“Colonel,” he said, with his gloomy seriousness, addressing Rostov's enemy, and looking round at his comrades, “there's an order to go back and burn the bridge.”
“An order, who to?” asked the colonel grimly.
“Well, I don't know, colonel, who to,” answered the cornet, seriously, “only the prince commanded me: ‘Ride and tell the colonel the hussars are to make haste back and burn the bridge.' ”
Zherkov was followed by an officer of the suite, who rode up to the colonel with the same command. After the officer of the suite the stout figure of Nesvitsky was seen riding up on a Cossack's horse, which had some trouble to gallop with him.
“Why, colonel,” he shouted, while still galloping towards him, “I told you to burn the bridge, and now some one's got it wrong; they're all frantic over there, there's no making out anything.”
The colonel in a leisurely way stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvitsky.
“You told me about burning materials,” he said; “but about burning it, you never said a word.”
“Why, my good man,” said Nesvitsky, as he halted, taking off his forage-cap and passing his plump hand over his hair, which was drenched with sweat, “what need to say the bridge was to be burnt when you put burning materials to it?”
“I'm not your ‘good man,' M. le staff-officer, and you never told me to set fire to the bridge! I know my duty, and it's my habit to carry out my orders strictly. You said the bridge will be burnt, but who was going to burn it I couldn't tell.”
“Well, that's always the way,” said Nesvitsky, with a wave of his arm. “How do you come here?” he added, addressing Zherkov.
“Why, about the same order. You're sopping though, you want to be rubbed down.”
“You said, M. le staff-officer …” pursued the colonel in an aggrieved tone.
“Colonel,” interposed the officer of the suite, “there is need of haste, or the enemy will have moved up their grape-shot guns.”
The colonel looked dumbly at the officer of the suite, at the stout staff-officer, at Zherkov, and scowled.
“I will burn the bridge,” he said in a solemn tone, as though he would express that in spite of everything they might do to annoy him, he would still do what he ought.
Beating his long muscular legs against his horse, as though he were to blame for it all, the colonel moved forward and commanded the second squadron, the one under Denisov's command, in which Rostov was serving, to turn back to the bridge.
“Yes, it really is so,” thought Rostov, “he wants to test me!” His heart throbbed and the blood rushed to his face. “Let him see whether I'm a coward!” he thought.
Again all the light-hearted faces of the men of the squadron wore that grave line, which had come upon them when they were under fire. Rostov looked steadily at his enemy, the colonel, trying to find confirmation of his suppositions on his face. But the colonel never once glanced at Rostov, and looked, as he always did at the front, stern and solemn. The word of command was given.
“Look sharp! look sharp!” several voices repeated around him.
Their swords catching in the reins and their spurs jingling, the hussars dismounted in haste, not knowing themselves what they were to do. The soldiers crossed themselves. Rostov did not look at the colonel now; he had no time. He dreaded, with a sinking heart he dreaded, being left behind by the hussars. His hand trembled as he gave his horse to an orderly, and he felt that the blood was rushing to his heart with a thud. Denisov, rolling backwards, and shouting something, rode by him. Rostov saw nothing but the hussars running around him, clinking spurs and jingling swords.
“Stretchers!” shouted a voice behind him. Rostov did not think of the meaning of the need of stretchers. He ran along, trying only to be ahead of all. But just at the bridge, not looking at his feet, he got into the slippery, trodden mud, and stumbling fell on his hands. The others out-stripped him.
“On both sides, captain,” he heard shouted by the colonel, who, riding on ahead, had pulled his horse up near the bridge, with a triumphant and cheerful face.
Rostov, rubbing his muddy hands on his riding-breeches, looked round at his enemy, and would have run on further, imagining that the forwarder he went the better it would be. But though Bogdanitch was not looking, and did not recognise Rostov, he shouted to him.
“Who will go along the middle of the bridge? On the right side? Ensign, back!” he shouted angrily, and he turned to Denisov, who with swaggering bravado rode on horseback on to the planks of the bridge.
“Why run risks, captain? You should dismount,” said the colonel.
“Eh! it'll strike the guilty one,” said Vaska Denisov, turning in his saddle.
Meanwhile Nesvitsky, Zherkov, and the officer of the suite were standing together out of range of the enemy, watching the little group of men in yellow shakoes, dark-green jackets, embroidered with frogs, and blue riding-breeches, swarming about the bridge, and on the other side of the river the blue tunics and the groups with horses, that might so easily be taken for guns, approaching in the distance.
“Will they burn the bridge or not? Who'll get there first? Will they run there and burn it, or the French train their grape-shot on them and kill them?” These were the questions that, with a sinking of the heart, each man was asking himself in the great mass of troops overlooking the bridge. In the brilliant evening sunshine they gazed at the bridge and the hussars and at the blue tunics, with bayonets and guns, moving up on the other side.
“Ugh! The hussars will be caught,” said Nesvitsky. “They're not out of range of grape-shot now.”
“He did wrong to take so many men,” said the officer of the suite.
“Yes, indeed,” said Nesvitsky. “If he'd sent two bold fellows it would have done as well.”
“Ah, your excellency,” put in Zherkov, his eyes fixed on the hussars, though he still spoke with his na?ve manner, from which one could not guess whether he were speaking seriously or not. “Ah, your excellency. How you look at things. Send two men, but who would give us the Vladimir and ribbon then? But as it is, even if they do pepper them, one can represent the squadron and receive the ribbon oneself. Our good friend Bogdanitch knows the way to do things.”
“I say,” said the officer of the suite, “that's grape-shot.”
He pointed to the French guns, which had been taken out of the gun-carriages, and were hurriedly moving away.
On the French side, smoke rose among the groups that had cannons. One puff, a second and a third almost at the same instant; and at the very moment when they heard the sound of the first shot, there rose the smoke of a fourth; two booms came one after another, then a third.
“Oh, oh!” moaned Nesvitsky, clutching at the hand of the officer of the suite, as though in intense pain. “Look, a man has fallen, fallen, fallen!”
“Two, I think.”
“If I were Tsar, I'd never go to war,” said Nesvitsky, turning away.
The French cannons were speedily loaded again. The infantry in their blue tunics were running towards the bridge. Again the puffs of smoke rose at different intervals, and the grape-shot rattled and cracked on the bridge. But this time Nesvitsky could not see what was happening at the bridge. A thick cloud of smoke had risen from it. The hussars had succeeded in setting fire to the bridge, and the French batteries were firing at them now, not to hinder them, but because their guns had been brought up and they had some one to fire at.
The French had time to fire three volleys of grape-shot before the hussars got back to their horses. Two were badly aimed, and the shot flew over them, but the last volley fell in the middle of the group of hussars and knocked down three men.
Rostov, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanitch, stepped on the bridge, not knowing what he had to do. There was no one to slash at with his sword (that was how he always pictured a battle to himself), and he could be of no use in burning the bridge, because he had not brought with him any wisps of straw, like the other soldiers. He stood and looked about him, when suddenly there was a rattle on the bridge, like a lot of nuts being scattered, and one of the hussars, the one standing nearest him, fell with a groan on the railing. Rostov ran up to him with the others. Again some one shouted. “Stretchers!” Four men took hold of the hussar and began lifting him up. “Oooo! … Let me be, for Christ's sake!” shrieked the wounded man, but still they lifted him up and laid him on a stretcher. Nikolay Rostov turned away, and began staring into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, at the sun, as though he were searching for something. How fair that sky seemed, how blue and calm and deep. How brilliant and triumphant seemed the setting sun. With what an enticing glimmer shone the water of the faraway Danube. And fairer still were the far-away mountains that showed blue beyond the Danube, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, the pine forests, filled with mist to the tree-tops … there all was peace and happiness.… “There is nothing, nothing I could wish for, if only I were there,” thought Rostov. “In myself alone and in that sunshine there is so much happiness, while here … groans, agonies, and this uncertainty, this hurry.… Here they are shouting something again and again, all of them are running back somewhere, and I'm running with them, and here is it, it, death hanging over me, all round me.… One instant, and I shall never see that sunshine, that water, that mountain gorge again.…” At that moment the sun went behind the clouds; more stretchers came into view ahead of Rostov. And the terror of death and of the stretchers, and the loss of the sunshine and life, all blended into one sensation of sickening fear.
“Good God, Thou who art in that sky, save and forgive, and protect me,” Rostov whispered to himself.
The hussars ran back to their horses; their voices grew louder and more assured; the stretchers disappeared from sight.
“Well, lad, so you've had a sniff of powder!” Vaska Denisov shouted in his ear.
“It's all over, but I am a coward, yes, I am a coward,” thought Rostov, and with a heavy sigh he took his Rook, who had begun to go lame of one leg, from the man who held him and began mounting.
“What was that—grape-shot?” he asked of Denisov.
“Yes, and something like it too,” cried Denisov; “they worked their guns in fine style. But it's a nasty business. A cavalry attack's a pleasant thing—slash away at the dogs; but this is for all the devil like aiming at a target.”
And Denisov rode away to a group standing not far from Rostov, consisting of the colonel, Nesvitsky, Zherkov, and the officer of the suite.
“It seems as if no one noticed it, though,” Rostov thought to himself. And indeed no one had noticed it at all, for every one was familiar with the feeling that the ensign, never before under fire, was experiencing for the first time.
“Now you'll have something to talk about,” said Zherkov; “they'll be promoting me a sub-lieutenant before I know where I am, eh?”
“Inform the prince that I have burnt the bridge,” said the colonel, in a cheerful and triumphant tone.
“And if he inquires with what losses?”
“Not worth mentioning,” boomed the colonel; “two hussars wounded and one stark dead on the spot,” he said, with undisguised cheerfulness. The German was unable to repress a smile of satisfaction as he sonorously enunciated the idiomatic Russian colloquialism of the last phrase.
其余的步兵呈漏斗形挤缩在桥头，急急忙忙地过桥。一辆辆大车终于走过去了，已经不太拥挤了，最后一个营也走到桥上。杰尼索夫骑兵连的骠骑兵只有留在桥那边抗拒敌军。从对面山上可以远远地望见敌军，可是从下面桥上还望不见它，因为河水流经谷地，往前不逾半俄里，对面的高地就出现在地平线的尽头。前面是一片沙漠，一小股一小股的哥萨克侦察兵在沙漠中的某处慢慢地移动。忽然间身穿蓝色外套的军队的官兵和炮兵在对面的高地上出现了。他们都是法国人。哥萨克侦察兵飞也似地下山了。杰尼索夫骑兵连的全体官兵，虽然极力地谈论着不相干的事情，眼睛向四周观望，而心中不断地想到的却只是那边山上的动态，他们不停地注视地平线上出现的黑点，认为那是敌人的军队。午后又转晴了，耀眼的阳光落在多瑙河和它周围的暗山上。四下里一片寂静，有时候从那山上传来敌军的号角声和呐喊声。在骑兵连和敌军之间，除了小股的侦察兵而外，已经没有人影了。约莫有三百俄丈的空空荡荡的地段把他们和敌军分隔开来。敌军停止射击了，那条把敌对的两军分隔开来的森严可畏、不可接近、难以辨认的界线于是使人更加清晰地感觉到了。 
向这条似可划分生者与死者的界线跨出一步，就会面临未知的痛苦和死亡。那儿是什么？谁在那儿？在这片田野、树木、阳光照耀的屋顶后面？谁也不知道，又很想知道。逾越这条界线是很可怕的但又很想逾越它。而且你知道，或迟或早不得不逾越过去，以便深入地了解界线那边是什么，正如不可避免地要了解死亡的那一面是什么一样，而你自己身强体壮、心情愉快、易于兴奋，你周围的人们也很健壮、易于兴奋、生气勃勃。每一个看见敌人的人，即令没有这种想法，也有这种感觉，而这种感觉会使此时此刻发生的一切赋有一种特殊的光泽和令人欣悦的深刻而强烈的印象。
敌军的小山岗上放炮后冒起了一股烟雾，一枚炮弹从骑兵连头顶上方呼啸着飞过去了。先前站在一块的军官们四散走开了。骠骑兵设法把马匹排列得整整齐齐。骑兵连里寂然无声。大家都向正前方望着敌军，望着骑兵连长，等待他发口令。第二枚炮弹、第三枚炮弹都飞过去了。很明显，炮弹是向骠骑兵发射的，但是炮弹迅速地有节奏地从骠骑兵头顶上呼啸着飞过，命中了后面的什么地方。骠骑兵未向四周环顾，但是每当听见炮弹飞过的响声，整个骑兵连队就像听从口令似的，都屏住气息，一些人露出同样的面部表情，另一些人却不同。当炮弹掠空而过时，他们都在马镫上欠起身子，而后又坐下来。士兵们并未扭过头来，都斜起眼睛互相望着，怀有好奇的心情仔细观察战友的感应。从杰尼索夫到号手，在每个人的脸上，在嘴唇和下颏旁边流露出一种内心斗争、兴奋和激动的神情。司务长愁眉苦脸，不时地望着士兵，好像要用处分来威吓他们似的。士官生朱罗诺夫每当炮弹飞过时，总要弯下身子。罗斯托夫骑着他那匹有点跛腿的良骓“白嘴鸦”，站在左翼，露出走运的样子，就像一个小学生被喊到一群人面前应试，并且相信自己会取得优异成绩似的。他双目炯炯有神，打量着众人，仿佛是请他们注意他在枪林弹雨之下不慌不乱，非常镇静。但在他的嘴角边情不自禁地流露出异于往日的十分严肃的面部表现。
“谁在那里低头弯腰地鞠躬？士官生朱罗诺夫吗？很不好！您望着我吗！”杰尼索夫高声喊道，他在那个地方站不下去，便骑着马儿在骑兵连队面前兜圈子。
翘鼻孔的黑头发的瓦西卡·杰尼索夫的面孔、他那矮小而结实的身体、握着出鞘的马刀刀柄的青筋赤露的手（手指很短，长满了细毛），与其平日的样子完全相同，尤其是与黄昏前喝完两瓶烧酒之后的样子相同。他满面通红，不过较诸于平日显得更红。他像小鸟喝水时一样，仰起他那头发蓬乱的头，两条细腿使劲地用马刺刺着那匹良骓贝杜英的两肋，他那身子俨像要向后跌倒似的，骑着马儿向连队的另一翼疾驰而去；他开始用他嘶哑的嗓门叫喊，要大家检查手枪。这时他策马跑到基尔斯坚面前，骑兵上尉骑着一匹肥大的稳重的母马，跨出一步，向杰尼索夫走来。骑兵上尉长着很长的胡髭，像平日一样严肃，只是那对眼睛比平日更加炯炯有神。
“怎么啦？”他对杰尼索夫说道，“打是打不起来的。你看得见，我们一定要撤退。”
“鬼知道他们在做什么事！”杰尼索夫唠叨地说。“啊！罗斯托夫！”他看见士官生那副快活的面孔，便向他喊了一声，“嗯，你总算等到了。”
他微微一笑，表示称赞，很明显，对士官生表示中意。罗斯托夫觉得自己幸运极了。这时候首长在桥上露面了。杰尼索夫骑马跑到他跟前。
“大人！让我们发动进攻！我把他们统统击溃。”
“这里有什么可进攻的，”首长用沉闷的嗓音说道，像赶开那只讨厌的苍蝇似地蹙起额角，“您干嘛站在这儿？您看，两翼的官兵正在撤退。您把骑兵连带回去吧。”
这个骑兵连过了桥，从射程以内退了出来，没有一人阵亡。先前展开散兵线的第二骑兵连跟在后面走过去了，最后走的哥萨克腾出了那一片土地。
保罗格勒兵团的两个骑兵连过桥了，一连紧跟一连地向山上退却。团长卡尔·波格丹内奇策马跑到杰尼索夫的骑兵连前面，他在离罗斯托夫不远的地方徐步驶行；虽然他们曾为捷利亚宁的事发生冲突，冲突之后他们初次见面，但是他不去理睬他。罗斯托夫觉得在前线有权支配他的人正是此时他认为自己对不住的这个人。他目不转睛地望着团长那大力士般的脊背、浅色头发的后脑勺和通红的脖子。罗斯托夫时而觉得波格丹内奇只是装出一副不留神的样子罢了，他这时的意向全在于考验一名士官生的勇敢精神，他于是挺直胸膛，十分愉快地向四周张望。他时而觉得，波格丹内奇故意在附近驶行，他要向罗斯托夫显示一下他的勇敢精神。他时而想到，他的仇敌此时故意派遣骑兵连队奋不顾身地去发动进攻，目的是在于惩罚他罗斯托夫。他时而又想，在大举进攻之后，他将要走到他跟前，向他这个负伤的人故作慷慨地伸出和事之手。
保罗格勒兵团的官兵都熟悉那两肩高耸的热尔科夫的身材（他在不久前才退出他们的兵团），他骑马跑到团长面前。热尔科夫被驱逐出司令部之后，没有留在兵团里，他说他懂得在前线要干苦差事，而在司令部即使不干事也能获得更多的奖赏。他凭自己的本领在巴格拉季翁公爵门下谋得了传令军官的职位。他持有后卫司令官的命令前来叩见从前的首长。
“团长，”他把脸转向罗斯托夫的仇敌，一面端详着从前的战友们，露出阴悒而严肃的神情，说道，“命令大家停下来，烧毁桥梁。”
“向谁颁布的命令？”团长固执地问道。
“上校，我也不知道是向谁颁布的命令，”骑兵少尉一本正经地回答，“公爵只是命令我：骑马去告诉上校，要骠骑兵快点退回来，把桥梁烧掉。”
一名侍从武官跟在热尔科夫身后持有同样的命令前来叩见骠骑兵上校。胖乎乎的涅斯维茨基紧随侍从武官之后，骑着一匹吃力地驮着他的哥萨克马奔驰而来。
“上校，怎么啦，”他还在骑行就大声喊道，“我和您说过要焚烧桥梁，可眼下是谁把话传错了，他们在那里都快发疯了，乱七八糟，弄不清。”
上校从容不迫地把一团人阻止住了，于是面向涅斯维茨基，说道：
“您对我说过引火的燃料的事，”他说道，“可是烧毁桥梁的事，您没有说过半句。”
“老爷子，哪能这样呢，”涅斯维茨基停步了，摘下军帽，用那胖胖的手弄平汗湿的头发，开腔说道，“已经放下了引火的燃料，怎么没说过烧桥的事呢？”
“校官先生，我不是您的‘老爷子'，您没有对我传达烧毁桥梁的事啊！我知道份内的事，我有严格执行命令的习惯。您说要烧掉桥梁，可是谁去烧桥呢？我简直弄不明白……”
“嗯，这种事总会有的，”涅斯维茨基挥挥手说道。“你怎么在这儿呢？”他面向热尔科夫说道。
“就是为了那件事。不过你把衣服弄湿了，我来给你拧干吧。”
“校官先生，您说了……”上校带着气恼的声调继续说道。
“上校，”侍从武官打断他的话，“要赶快采取行动，否则，敌军把大炮移近一点，就要发射霰弹了。”
上校默默无言地望望侍从武官，望望肥胖的校官，又望望热尔科夫，就皱起眉头。
“由我来烧毁桥梁。”他带着庄重的语调说道，仿佛用这句话来表示，虽然别人会给他制造种种麻烦，他总要办好该办的事情。
上校用他那肌肉丰满的长腿踢了踢马，仿佛那匹马总有罪过似的，他开始挺进了；罗斯托夫由杰尼索夫指挥，在第二骑兵连服役，这时候上校向第二骑兵连发出口令，要该连队向桥上撤退。
“咳，真是这样，”罗斯托夫想了想，“他要来考验我啦！”他的心抽紧了，血液直涌到脸上，怒火上升了。“就请他瞧瞧，我是不是个胆小鬼。”他想了想。
骑兵连的人们的十分愉快的脸上又出现了他们站在炮弹下脸上带着的那种严峻的表情。罗斯托夫目不转睛地望着他的仇敌——团长，想在他脸上发现，他的猜测已被证明是正确的；可是上校没有瞧罗斯托夫一眼，而是像平常在前线那样严肃而洋洋自得地东张西望。发出了口令。
“赶快！赶快！”他周围的几个人异口同声地说道。
骠骑兵急急忙忙地下马，马刀被缠绳挂住了，马刺发出丁当的响声，他们自己不知道他们要做什么事。骠骑兵画着十字。罗斯托夫已经不去望团长了，他没有工夫去望他。他非常害怕，心慌意乱，极度紧张，害怕他要落在骠骑兵后面。当他把马交给控马兵时，他的一只手颤栗着，而且他觉得血液突突地涌上心头。杰尼索夫的身子向后倾斜，喊叫着什么，从他身旁走过去了。骠骑兵们被马刺挂住，马刀相撞时发出铿锵的响声，除了在罗斯托夫周围奔走的骠骑兵而外，他什么也没有看见。
“担架啊！”有个人在他后面高声喊道。
罗斯托夫没有去思考，把担架叫来意味着什么，他一直跑着，只是想方设法要跑到大伙儿前面去，可是一到了桥头，因为没有当心自己脚下的东西，陷入了踩得稀烂的泥泞中，他绊了一跤，跌倒了，两只手撑在地上。别人绕过他，跑到前面去了。
“骑兵上尉，靠西边走，”他听见团长说话的声音，团长骑着马跑到了前头，在离桥头不远的地方停住了，他脸上带着愉快而洋洋自得的神色。
罗斯托夫在紧腿裤上揩着粘满污泥的手，朝他的敌人望了一眼，想跑到更远的地方去，他以为向前跑得越远就越好。虽然波格丹内奇并没有抬眼去看罗斯托夫，也没有把他认出来，但他还是向他喊了一声：
“谁在桥中间跑呢？靠右边走！士官生，向后转！”他把脸转向杰尼索夫，气忿地喊道，杰尼索夫想要炫耀自己的勇气，便骑着马儿跑到桥上去了。
“骑兵上尉，为什么要冒险啊！您从马上下来吧。”上校说道。
“嗳！有罪的人才会倒霉。”瓦西卡·杰尼索夫坐在马鞍上，转过脸来答道。
其时，涅斯维茨基、热尔科夫和侍从军官一同站在射程以外的地方，时而观看这群正在桥头蠕蠕而动的官兵，他们头戴黄色的高筒军帽、身穿绣有绦带的暗绿色上装和蓝色的紧腿马裤，时而观看远处慢慢地移近的身穿蓝色外套的法国兵和骑马的人群——很容易认出那是炮队。
“他们会烧掉桥梁，或是没法把它烧掉？谁首先动手？他们先跑到，把桥梁烧掉，或是法国人先到，发射霰弹，把他们全部歼灭呢？”这一大批军队中的每个人几乎要屏住气息，情不自禁地向自己提出这些问题，这批军队停留在桥梁对面的高地上，夕阳的余晖灿烂夺目，他们在夕照之下观看着桥梁和骠骑兵，观看着对岸，并且观看着身穿蓝色外套、配备有刺刀和大炮、逐渐地向前推进的法国兵。
“啊呀！骠骑兵要受惩罚啦！”涅斯维茨基说道，“目前正处在霰弹射程以内。”
“他带领这么许多人是徒劳无功的。”一名侍从军官说道。
“真的，”涅斯维茨基说道，“派两个棒小伙子就行啦，横竖一样。”
“咳，大人，”热尔科夫插嘴了，他目不转睛地望着骠骑兵，但还是带着他那副天真的样子，真没法琢磨他开口说的是不是正经话，“咳，大人！您是怎样评论的！派出两个人，可是由谁给我们颁发弗拉基米尔勋章呢？这么说，即使他们硬要打，也不要紧，还是可以呈请首长给骑兵连发奖，他自己也可以获得弗拉基米尔勋章。我们的波格丹内奇办起事来是有一套办法的。”
“喂，”一名侍从军官说道，“这是霰弹啊！”
他指了指那几样从前车卸下、急忙撤走的法国大炮。
在法军那边，在拥有大炮的一群群官兵中冒出了一股硝烟，而第二股、第三股硝烟几乎在同时冒了出来；当传来第一声炮响的时刻，冒出了第四股硝烟。听见了两次炮声，一声接着一声，又听见第三次炮声。
“啊，啊呀！”涅斯维茨基唉声叹气，一把抓着侍从军官的手，仿佛他感到一阵剧痛似的，“您瞧瞧，有个人倒下来了，倒下来了，倒下来了啊！”
“好像是有两个人倒下来了，对吗？”
“如果我是个沙皇，就永远不要打仗了。”涅斯维茨基转过脸去，说道。
法国大炮又急忙地装上弹药了。步兵们身穿蓝色外套向一座桥边跑去了。但是在那个不同的时刻，又冒出一股股硝烟，霰弹从桥上发出噼啦的响声。这次，涅斯维茨基没法子看清桥上发生的事情。桥上升起了一股浓烟。骠骑兵们烧毁了桥梁，几座法国炮台向他们放炮，目的并不是打扰他们的阵地，而是用大炮瞄准目标，向他们大家射击。
在骠骑兵们回到控马兵那里以前，法国人已经发射了三次霰弹。两梭子霰弹射击得不准，霰弹都飞过去了，可是最后一次发射的霰弹落在一小群骠骑兵中间，掀倒了三个人。
罗斯托夫很担心自己对波格丹内奇的态度，他于是在桥上停止了脚步，他不知道他要怎么办才对。这时候，没有什么人可以砍杀（正像他经常设想到战斗的情况那样），他也没法去帮助他人烧毁桥梁，因为他不像其他士兵那样都携带着引火用的草辫。他站着，向四周张望，忽然间桥上传来了噼啪的响声，就像撒落坚果似的，离他最近的一名骠骑兵哼了一声倒在栏杆上。罗斯托夫和其他人跑到他跟前。又有什么人高声喊道：“担架啊！”四个人搀扶着这个骠骑兵，把他抬起来。
“啊！啊！啊！……看在基督面上，行行善吧，请你们把我扔开。”负伤的人喊道，但是他们还是把他抬起来，放在担架上。
尼古拉·罗斯托夫转过脸去，好像在寻找什么东西，他开始观看远方，观看多瑙河的流水，观看天空，观看太阳！天空多么美丽、多么蔚蓝、平静而深邃啊！渐渐西沉的太阳多么明亮而且壮观啊！遥远的多瑙河的流水闪烁着多么温柔的光辉啊！多瑙河对岸的浅蓝色的远山、寺庙、神秘的峡谷、烟雾迷漫于树巅的松林……显得更加绚丽多姿。那地方恬静而祥和……“我只要呆在那个地方，我就不奢望什么，不奢望什么，”罗斯托夫想道，“在我心中，在这轮太阳中充满着许多幸福之光，而在这个地方，一片呻吟、苦难与恐怖，还有那溟蒙混沌与忙乱……人们又在叫喊着什么，又在向后面奔跑，我也和他们一同奔跑，你瞧，就是它，你瞧，就是它，死亡在我的上方，在我的四周回荡……顷刻间，我就永远看不见这轮太阳，这泓流水，这座峡谷了……”
这时分太阳开始在乌云后面隐藏起来了；在罗斯托夫前面出现了另一些担架。死亡和担架引起的恐怖以及对太阳和生活的热爱——这一切已经融汇成一种令人痛苦而惶恐的印象。
“上帝啊！这个天上的主啊，拯救我，饶恕我，保佑我吧！”
罗斯托夫喃喃地说。
骠骑兵向控马兵身边跑去了，人们的话语声变得更洪亮、更平静，担架已经消失不见了。
“老兄，怎么样，你闻到一点火药气味吧？……”瓦西卡·杰尼索夫在他耳畔大声喊道。
“什么都完了，不过我是个胆小鬼，是的，我是个胆小鬼，”罗斯托夫想了想，深深叹口气，便从控马兵手里牵走他那匹腿上有点毛病的“白嘴鸦”，纵身骑上去了。
“那是什么啦，是霰弹吧？”他向杰尼索夫问道。
“当然是霰弹，还是什么别的吗！”杰尼索夫喊道，“我们干起活来，都是好汉！可是这活儿糟糕透了！冲锋陷阵是令人愉快的事，把这些狗东西打个落花流水，可是在这里，人家竟像打靶似的向我们射击哩。”
杰尼索夫于是向站在罗斯托夫附近的一群人——团长、涅斯维茨基、热尔科夫和侍从军官——走去。
“但是，好像没有人发觉。”罗斯托夫暗自想道。确实谁也没有发觉什么，因为每个人都熟悉没有打过仗的士官生初次上阵时体会到的那种感觉。
“这是您的一份战绩报告，”热尔科夫说道，“你瞧，我就要当上少尉了。”
“请禀告公爵，我把桥烧了。”上校愉快而洋洋得意地说道。
“如果有人向我问到伤亡情况呢？”
“这没有关系！”上校压低嗓门说道，“两名骠骑兵受了伤，一名战死疆场，”他怀着明显的喜悦的心情说道，没法子忍住愉快的微笑，用他那洪亮的嗓音斩钉截铁地说出“战死疆场”这个优雅的字眼。
Book 2 Chapter 9
PURSUED by the French army of a hundred thousand men under the command of Bonaparte, received with hostility by the inhabitants, losing confidence in their allies, suffering from shortness of supplies, and forced to act under circumstances unlike anything that had been foreseen, the Russian army of thirty-five thousand men, under the command of Kutuzov, beat a hasty retreat to the lower ground about the Danube. There they halted, and were overtaken by the enemy, and fought a few rear-guard skirmishes, avoiding an engagement, except in so far as it was necessary to secure a retreat without the loss of their baggage and guns. There were actions at Lambach, at Amsteten, and at Melk; but in spite of the courage and stubbornness—acknowledged even by the enemy—with which the Russians fought, the only consequence of these engagements was a still more rapid retreat. The Austrian troops that had escaped being taken at Ulm, and had joined Kutuzov's forces at Braunau, now parted from the Russian army, and Kutuzov was left unsupported with his weak and exhausted forces. The defence of Vienna could no longer be dreamed of. Instead of the elaborately planned campaign of attack, in accordance with the principles of the modern science of strategy, the plan of which had been communicated to Kutuzov during his sojourn in Vienna by the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, the sole aim—almost a hopeless one—that remained now for Kutuzov was to avoid losing his army, like Mack at Ulm, and to effect a junction with the fresh troops marching from Russia.
On the 28th of October, Kutuzov took his army across to the left bank of the Danube, and then for the first time halted, leaving the Danube between his army and the greater part of the enemy's forces. On the 30th he attacked Mortier's division, which was on the left bank of the Danube, and defeated it. In this action for the first time trophies were taken—a flag, cannons, and two of the enemy's generals. For the first time, after retreating for a fortnight, the Russian troops had halted, and after fighting had not merely kept the field of battle, but had driven the French off it. Although the troops were without clothing and exhausted, and had lost a third of their strength in wounded, killed, and missing; although they had left their sick and wounded behind on the other side of the Danube, with a letter from Kutuzov commending them to the humanity of the enemy; although the great hospitals and houses in Krems could not contain all the sick and wounded,—in spite of all that, the halt before Krems and the victory over Mortier had greatly raised the spirits of the troops. Throughout the whole army, and also at headquarters, there were the most cheerful but groundless rumours of the near approach of the columns from Russia, of some victory gained by the Austrians, and of the retreat of Bonaparte panic-stricken.
Prince Andrey had been during the engagement in attendance on the Austrian general Schmidt, who was killed in the battle. His horse had been wounded under him, and he had himself received a slight wound on his arm from a bullet. As a mark of special favour on the part of the commander-in-chief, he was sent with the news of this victory to the Austrian court, now at Brünn, as Vienna was threatened by the French. On the night of the battle, excited, but not weary (though Prince Andrey did not look robustly built, he could bear fatigue better than very strong men), he had ridden with a despatch from Dohturov to Krems to Kutuzov. The same night he had been sent on with a special despatch to Brünn. This commission, apart from its reward, meant an important step in promotion.
The night was dark and starlit; the road looked black in the white snow that had fallen on the day of the battle. With his mind filled with impressions of the battle, joyful anticipations of the effect that would be produced by the news of the victory, and recollections of the farewells of the commander-in-chief and his comrades, Prince Andrey trotted along in a light posting cart, with the sensations of a man who, after long waiting, has at last attained the first instalment of some coveted happiness. As soon as he closed his eyes, the firing of guns and cannons was echoing in his ears, and that sound blended with the rattle of the wheels and the sensation of victory. At one moment he would begin to dream that the Russians were flying, that he was himself slain; but he waked up in haste, and with fresh happiness realised anew that that was all unreal, and that it was the French, on the contrary, who were put to flight. He recalled again all the details of the victory, his own calm manliness during the battle, and, reassured, he began to doze.… The dark, starlit night was followed by a bright and sunny morning. The snow was thawing in the sun, the horses galloped quickly, and new and different-looking forests, fields, and trees flew by on both sides of the road alike.
At one of the stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded. The Russian officer in charge of the transport lay lolling back in the foremost cart, and was shouting coarse abuse at a soldier. In each of the long German Vorspanns six or more pale, bandaged, and dirty wounded men were being jolted over the stony roads. Some of them were talking (he caught the sound of Russian words), others were eating bread; the most severely wounded gazed dumbly at the posting cart trotting by, with the languid interest of sick children.
Prince Andrey told the driver to stop, and asked a soldier in what battle they had been wounded.
“The day before yesterday on the Danube,” answered the soldier. Prince Andrey took out his purse and gave the soldier three gold pieces.
“For all,” he added, addressing the officer as he came up. “Get well, lads,” he said to the soldiers, “there's a lot to do yet.”
“What news?” asked the officer, evidently anxious to get into conversation.
“Good news! Forward!” he called to the driver, and galloped on.
It was quite dark when Prince Andrey rode into Br?nn, and saw himself surrounded by high houses, lighted shops, the lighted windows of houses, and street lamps, handsome carriages noisily rolling over the pavement, and all that atmosphere of a great town full of life, which is so attractive to a soldier after camp. In spite of the rapid drive and sleepless night, Prince Andrey felt even more alert, as he drove up to the palace, than he had on the previous evening. Only his eyes glittered with a feverish brilliance, and his ideas followed one another with extreme rapidity and clearness. He vividly pictured again all the details of the battle, not in confusion, but definitely, in condensed shape, as he meant to present them to the Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the casual questions that might be put to him and the answers he would make to them. He imagined that he would be at once presented to the Emperor. But at the chief entrance of the palace an official ran out to meet him, and learning that he was a special messenger, led him to another entrance.
“Turning to the right out of the corridor, Euer Hochgeboren, you will find the adjutant on duty,” the official said to him. “He will conduct you to the minister of war.”
The adjutant on duty, meeting Prince Andrey, asked him to wait, and went into the war minister. Five minutes later the adjutant returned, and with marked courtesy, bowing and ushering Prince Andrey before him, he led him across the corridor to the private room of the war minister. The adjutant, by his elaborately formal courtesy, seemed to wish to guard himself from any attempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian adjutant. The joyous feeling of Prince Andrey was considerably damped as he approached the door of the minister's room. He felt slighted, and the feeling of being slighted passed instantaneously without his being aware of it himself—into a feeling of disdain, which was quite uncalled for. His subtle brain at the same instant supplied him with the point of view from which he had the right to feel disdain both of the adjutant and the minister of war. “No doubt it seems to them a very simple matter to win victories, never having smelt powder!” he thought. His eyelids drooped disdainfully; he walked with peculiar deliberateness into the war minister's room. This feeling was intensified when he saw the minister of war sitting at a big table, and for the first two minutes taking no notice of his entrance. The minister of war had his bald head, with grey curls on the temple, held low between two wax candles; he was reading some papers, and marking them with a pencil. He went on reading to the end, without raising his eyes at the opening of the door and the sound of footsteps.
“Take this and give it him,” said the minister of war to his adjutant, handing him the papers, and taking no notice of the Russian attaché.
Prince Andrey felt that either the minister of war took less interest in the doings of Kutuzov's army than in any other subject demanding his attention, or that he wanted to make the Russian attaché feel this. “But that's a matter of complete indifference to me,” thought he. The minister of war put the other remaining papers together, making their edges level, and lifted his head. He had an intellectual and characteristic head. But the instant he turned to Prince Andrey, the shrewd and determined expression of the war minister's face changed in a manner evidently conscious and habitual. On his face was left the stupid smile—hypocritical, and not disguising its hypocrisy—of a man who receives many petitioners, one after another.
“From General—Field Marshal Kutuzov?” he queried. “Good news, I hope? Has there been an engagement with Mortier? A victory? It was high time!”
He took the despatch, which was addressed to him, and began to read it with a mournful expression.
“Ah! My God! my God! Schmidt!” he said in German. “What a calamity! what a calamity!” Skimming through the despatch, he laid it on the table and glanced at Prince Andrey, visibly meditating on something.
“Ah, what a calamity! So the action, you say, was a decisive one?” (“Mortier was not taken, however,” he reflected.) “Very glad you have brought good news, though the death of Schmidt is a costly price for the victory. His majesty will certainly wish to see you, but not to-day. I thank you; you must need repose. To-morrow, be at the levée after the review. But I will let you know.”
The stupid smile, which had disappeared while he was talking, reappeared on the war minister's face.
“Au revoir, I thank you indeed. His majesty the Emperor will most likely wish to see you,” he repeated, and he bowed his head.
As Prince Andrey left the palace, he felt that all the interest and happiness that had been given him by this victory had been left behind by him now in the indifferent hands of the minister and the formal adjutant. The whole tenor of his thoughts had instantaneously changed. The battle figured in his mind as a remote, far-away memory.
库图佐夫统率的三万五千官兵的俄国军队，在波拿巴指挥的十万法国军队追击时受到怀有敌意的居民的冷遇，深感军队粮饷的不足，已不再信任盟国，俄军不顾预见到的战争环境，被迫采取军事行动，遂经由多瑙河下游仓惶退却，而在敌军追赶的地区却停止前进，仅为配合撤退，不损失重型装备才开展后卫战斗。在兰巴赫、阿姆施特滕、梅尔克附近双方曾经作战，俄军与敌军交锋时英勇刚毅，已为敌军所公认；虽然如此，但是这几次战役均以俄军迅速撤退而告终。奥国军队在乌尔姆附近虽幸免被俘，并与库图佐夫在布劳瑙会师，而现今竟与俄国军队分立。库图佐夫兵力不足，装备很差，疲惫不堪，只得听之任之了。保卫维也纳的事已无可考虑。库图佐夫在维也纳期间，奥国军事参议院曾经送交他一份依据新科学规律酌情拟定的进攻性战略方案，但是目前库图佐夫部下向他提出的一项近乎难以达到的目标却已摒除以上的战略，其旨意在于联合来自俄国的军队，不重蹈马克在乌尔姆近郊损兵折将、全军被歼的覆辙。 
十月二十八日，库图佐夫带领军队横渡多瑙河抵达左岸，头一次驻扎下来，与法国人的主力分据于多瑙河两岸。三十日，库图佐夫攻打驻守在多瑙河左岸的莫蒂埃师团，把它击溃了。在这次战役中，头一回赢得了战利品：军旗、大炮和两名敌军将领。在两个星期的撤退之后，俄国军队头一次留驻下来，在一场争斗以后，不仅守住了战地，而且驱逐了法国人。虽然这些军队缺少衣服，疲惫不堪，掉队、伤亡和患病的人员占三分之一，削弱了兵力；虽然一些伤病员持有库图佐夫的手谕留在多瑙河对岸（手谕中暗示：听任敌人赐予他们仁慈的照拂）；虽然克雷姆斯的大病院和住房都已变成军医院，但是仍然容纳不了全部伤病员，尽管如此，在克雷姆斯驻留和对莫蒂埃的胜利在颇大程度上提高了部队的士气。在全军之中和在大本营中都散布着令人喜悦、虽然并非真实的传闻，说什么俄国纵队即将来临、奥国人赢得大捷，吓破胆的波拿巴撤退了。
作战期间，安德烈公爵曾在这次战役中捐躯的奥地利将军施米特身边服役。他骑的马负了伤，他本人也被子弹擦伤一只手，伤势轻微。多亏总司令给予特殊照顾，他携带大捷的消息被派至奥国宫廷；法国军队的威胁引起宫廷恐惧，奥国宫廷已经不在维也纳，而在布吕恩。作战的深夜，安德烈公爵激动不安，并不感到困倦，虽然看起来他的身体虚弱，但是他比那些最强壮的人更能经受住劳累，他骑上马，随身带着多赫图罗夫的情报前往克雷姆斯晋谒库图佐夫。当天夜晚安德烈公爵充当信使被派往布吕恩。执行信使这一职务，除获得奖励而外，还意味他向升迁的路上迈出一大步。
黑夜里星光点点，白皑皑的积雪中的道路显得更黑了，前一天，即是作战的那天下了一场雪。安德烈公爵时而逐一回溯刚刚结束的战斗留下的印象，时而快活地想象他要传达的胜利消息必将造成的印象，一边回味总司令和战友们饯行的情景，安德烈公爵坐在邮车里飞速地行驶，他心中怀有那种感情，就像某人长久地等待、终于开始获得朝思暮想的幸福。他只要闭上眼睛，耳鼓中就会响起枪声和炮声，这声音正和车轮的响声以及大捷的印象融汇在一起了。他时而仿佛觉得，俄国人正在奔跑，而他自己战死了；但是他很快觉醒过来怀着幸福的心情，仿佛又悟到没有发生什么事，又仿佛觉得法国官兵反而逃跑了。他又回想起大捷的详情细节和他在作战时的镇静和英勇精神，于是他心安理得，打起盹来……在昏暗的星夜之后阳光灿烂的欢乐的早晨来到了。积雪在阳光下融化，马儿飞速奔驰着，道路的左右两侧，闪过了不熟悉的五颜六色的森林、田野和村庄。
他在一个车站上赶过了装运俄国伤员的车队。一名押运的俄国军官把手脚伸开懒洋洋地躺在前面的大车上，一面叫喊着什么，一面说着士兵的粗话骂人。几辆德国制造的长车身马车，沿着石板马路颠簸着，每辆都载有六名以上的脸色苍白、缠上绷带、形容污秽的伤员。其中一些人正在谈话（他听见俄国口音），另外一些人在吃面包，伤势至为严重的都默不作声，都带着温顺、痛苦而幼稚的心情望着从他们身旁疾驰而去的信使。
安德烈公爵吩咐手下人停步，向一名士兵询问，他们是在什么战役中负伤的。
“前天在多瑙河上负伤的。”士兵回答。安德烈公爵掏出钱包把三枚金币交给士兵。
“是给你们大家的，”他向那个朝他跟前走来的军官补充说。“伙伴们，养好伤吧，”他把脸转向士兵们说道，“还有许多仗要打啊。”
“副官先生，怎么样？有什么消息？”军官问道，看起来，他想畅谈一番。
“有好消息啊！前进。”他向驿站马车夫喊了一声，便乘车往前奔驰而去。
当安德烈公爵乘车驶入布吕恩的时候，天色已经黑了，他看见周围有一栋栋高大的楼房，商店和住宅的窗户里灯火通明，一排排路灯闪烁着耀眼的光辉，豪华的马车沿着石板马路驶行，发出辚辚的响声，这正是热热闹闹的大城市的气氛，对那个度过一段兵营生涯的军人来说，这种气氛真是十分诱人的。虽然安德烈公爵快马加鞭，彻夜不眠，但是在他驶近皇宫时，他觉得自己比前夜精神更加抖擞。只是他那对眼睛闪烁着狂热之光。他的心绪万千，接踵而至，思路极其敏捷而且清晰。他的思想上又很生动地浮现出作战的详细情节，这种想象已经不是模糊的，而是合乎逻辑的。他想简单而扼要地向弗朗茨皇帝禀告实情。他的思想上很生动地浮现出一些偶然提出的问题以及他对这些问题作出的回答。他原以为马上有人带他去觐见皇帝。但在皇宫正门前，有一名官员向他跑来，一眼认出他是信差，就把他领到另一道门前。
“EuerHochgeboren①，沿着走廊向右转，您可以找到值班的侍从武官，”这名官员对他说，“他会带您去见军政大臣。” 
①德语：大人。
值班的侍从武官接待了安德烈公爵，请他等候片刻，这名侍从武官便到军政大臣那儿去了。过了五分钟，侍从武官走回来，他特别恭敬地弯腰鞠躬，让安德烈公爵在前面走，带领他穿过走廊进入军务倥偬的军政大臣的办公室。侍从武官文质彬彬，非常谦虚，仿佛要俄国副官不必对他太客气似的。当他走到军政大臣办公室门前的时候，他那愉快的感觉大大地冲淡了。他觉得自己遭受到侮辱，而这种受辱的感觉就在他不知不觉的一瞬间变成了毫无道理的蔑视感。就在这一瞬间，随机应变的头脑向他暗示一个有权蔑视副官和军政大臣的理由。“他们大概以为不闻火药味也可以不费吹灰之力地赢得胜利啊！”他想了想。他那双眼睛轻蔑地眯缝起来。他特别缓慢地走进了军政大臣的办公室。当他看见军政大臣坐在一张宽大的办公桌前、头两分钟不理睬走进来的人时，他这种感觉就变得愈益强烈了。这个军政大臣把他那夹在两支蜡烛中间、两鬓斑白的秃头低垂下来，一面阅读文件，一面用铅笔做记号。当房门敞开、听见步履声时，他连头也不抬，继续把文件看完。
“您拿着文件，把它转送出去吧。”军政大臣对他的副官说话，并把文件递给他时，还没有理睬这个信使。
安德烈公爵已经感觉到，或者在军政大臣所操心的事务中，他对库图佐夫采取的行动丝毫不感兴趣，或者有必要让俄国信差意识到这么一点。“不过我觉得，这横竖一样。”他想了想。军政大臣把其余的文件推到一边，摆得整整齐齐，随后才抬起头来。他那脑袋瓜子挺聪明，个性很倔强。可是在他把脸转向安德烈公爵的这一瞬间，军政大臣脸上流露的聪明而坚定的表情似乎习惯地有意识地突然改变了。地脸上现出愚笨、虚伪、并不掩饰虚伪的微笑，就像某人接见一大批一大批请愿者时面露微笑似的。
“您是从库图佐夫元帅那里来的？”他问道，“我希望您带来好消息，是吗？和莫蒂埃发生过军事冲突么？打赢了？正是时候啊！”
他拿起一份署有他的名字的急电，带着忧悒的表情开始念电文。
“哎！我的天！我的天！施米特呀！”他用德国话说道，“多么不幸啊！多么不幸啊！”
他走马观花地看了一下电文，把它放在桌上，望了望安德烈公爵，看来他在考虑什么事情。
“哎，多么不幸啊！您说，这是一场决定性的战役吗？但是莫蒂埃还没有被抓起来（他想了想。）。虽然施米特阵亡是为赢得胜利而付出的高昂代价，但是我非常高兴，您带来了好消息。陛下也许很想和您见面，但是并不是今天。我感谢您，去休息休息。明天阅兵后您来朝拜吧。最好还是我来通知您。”
谈话时已经消失的愚蠢的微笑又在军政大臣脸上流露出来。
“再见，我很感谢您。国王也许很想和您见面。”他重说一遍，低下头去。
当安德烈公爵从皇宫里走出来的时候，他觉得，胜利给他带来的一切利益和幸福现今已被他抛弃，并且交给军政大臣和谦恭的副官的冷冰冰的手中了。他的全部思想转瞬之间改变了。他仿佛觉得这场战斗已是久远的往事的回忆。
Book 2 Chapter 10
PRINCE ANDREY stayed at Br?nn with a Russian of his acquaintance in the diplomatic service, Bilibin.
“Ah, my dear prince, there's no one I could have been more pleased to see,” said Bilibin, coming to meet Prince Andrey. “Franz, take the prince's things to my bedroom,” he said to the servant, who was ushering Bolkonsky in. “What, a messenger of victory? That's capital. I'm kept indoors ill, as you see.”
After washing and dressing, Prince Andrey came into the diplomat's luxurious study and sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bilibin was sitting quietly at the fireplace.
Not his journey only, but all the time he had spent with the army on the march, deprived of all the conveniences of cleanliness and the elegancies of life, made Prince Andrey feel now an agreeable sense of repose among the luxurious surroundings to which he had been accustomed from childhood. Moreover, after his Austrian reception, he was glad to speak—if not in Russian, for they talked French—at least to a Russian, who would, he imagined, share the general Russian dislike (which he felt particularly keenly just then) for the Austrians.
Bilibin was a man of five-and-thirty, a bachelor, of the same circle as Prince Andrey. They had been acquainted in Petersburg, but had become more intimate during Prince Andrey's last stay at Vienna with Kutuzov. Just as Prince Andrey was a young man, who promised to rise high in a military career, Bilibin promised to do even better in diplomacy. He was still a young man, but not a young diplomat, as he had been in the service since he was sixteen. He had been in Paris and in Copenhagen; and now in Vienna he filled a post of considerable importance. Both the foreign minister and our ambassador at Vienna knew him and valued him. He was not one of that great multitude of diplomats whose qualification is limited to the possession of negative qualities, who need simply avoid doing certain things and speak French in order to be very good diplomats. He was one of those diplomats who like work and understand it, and in spite of his natural indolence, he often spent nights at his writing-table. He worked equally well whatever the object of his work might be. He was interested not in the question “Why?” but in the question “How?” What constituted his diplomatic work, he did not mind, but to draw up a circular, a memorandum, or a report subtly, pointedly, and elegantly, was a task which gave him great pleasure. Apart from such labours, Bilibin's merits were esteemed the more from his ease in moving and talking in the higher spheres.
Bilibin enjoyed conversation just as he enjoyed work, only when the conversation could be elegantly witty. In society he was continually watching for an opportunity of saying something striking, and did not enter into conversation except under such circumstances. Bilibin's conversation was continually sprinkled with original, epigrammatic, polished phrases of general interest. These phrases were fashioned in the inner laboratory of Bilibin's mind, as though intentionally, of portable form, so that insignificant persons could easily remember them and carry them from drawing-room to drawing-room. And Bilibin's good things were hawked about in Viennese drawing-rooms and afterwards had an influence on so-called great events.
His thin, lean, yellow face was all covered with deep creases, which always looked as clean and carefully washed as the tips of one's fingers after a bath. The movement of these wrinkles made up the chief play of expression of his countenance. At one moment his forehead wrinkled up in broad furrows, and his eyebrows were lifted, at another moment his eyebrows drooped again and deep lines creased his cheeks. His deep-set, small eyes looked out frankly and good-humouredly.
“Come, now, tell us about your victories,” he said. Bolkonsky in the most modest fashion, without once mentioning himself in connection with it, described the engagement, and afterwards his reception by the war minister.
“They received me and my news like a dog in a game of skittles,” he concluded.
Bilibin grinned, and the creases in his face disappeared.
“All the same, my dear fellow,” he said, gazing from a distance at his finger-nails, and wrinkling up the skin over his left eye, “notwithstanding my high esteem for the holy Russian armament, I own that your victory is not so remarkably victorious.”
He went on talking in French, only uttering in Russian those words to which he wished to give a contemptuous intonation.
“Why? with the whole mass of your army you fell upon the unlucky Mortier with one division, and Mortier slipped through your fingers? Where's the victory?”
“Seriously speaking, though,” answered Prince Andrey, “we can at least say without boasting that it's rather better than Ulm…”
“Why didn't you capture us one, at least, one marshal?”
“Because everything isn't done as one expects it will be, and things are not as regular as on parade. We had expected, as I told you, to attack the enemy in the rear at seven o'clock in the morning, but we did not arrive at it until five o'clock in the evening.”
“But why didn't you do it at seven in the morning? You ought to have done it at seven in the morning,” said Bilibin, smiling; “you ought to have done it at seven in the morning.”
“Why didn't you succeed in impressing on Bonaparte by diplomatic methods that he had better leave Genoa alone?” said Prince Andrey in the same tone.
“I know,” broke in Bilibin, “you are thinking that it's very easy to capture marshals, sitting on the sofa by one's fireside. That's true, but still why didn't you capture him? And you needn't feel surprised if the most august Emperor and King Francis, like the war minister, is not very jubilant over your victory. Why, even I, a poor secretary of the Russian Embassy, feel no necessity to testify my rejoicing by giving my Franz a thaler and sending him out for a holiday to disport himself with his Liebchen on the Prater…though it's true there is no Prater here…” He looked straight at Prince Andrey and suddenly let the creases drop out of his puckered forehead.
“Now it's my turn to ask you ‘why,' my dear boy,” said Bolkonsky. “I must own that I don't understand it; perhaps there are diplomatic subtleties in it that are beyond my feeble intellect; but I can't make it out. Mack loses a whole army, Archduke Ferdinand and Archduke Karl give no sign of life and make one blunder after another; Kutuzov alone gains at last a decisive victory, breaks the prestige of invincibility of the French, and the minister of war does not even care to learn the details!”
“For that very reason, my dear boy, don't you see! Hurrah for the Tsar, for Russia, for the faith! That's all very nice; but what have we, I mean the Austrian court, to do with your victories? You bring us good news of a victory of Archduke Karl or Ferdinand—one archduke's as good as the other, as you know—if it's only a victory over a fire brigade of Bonaparte, and it will be another matter, it will set the cannons booming. But this can only tantalise us, as if it were done on purpose. Archduke Karl does nothing, Archduke Ferdinand covers himself with disgrace, you abandon Vienna, give up its defence, as though you would say to us, God is with us, and the devil take you and your capital. One general, whom we all loved, Schmidt, you put in the way of a bullet, and then congratulate us on your victory!…You must admit that anything more exasperating than the news you have brought could not be conceived. It's as though it were done on purpose, done on purpose. But apart from that, if you were to gain a really brilliant victory, if Archduke Karl even were to win a victory, what effect could it have on the general course of events? It's too late now, when Vienna is occupied by the French forces.”
“Occupied? Vienna occupied?”
“Not only is Vienna occupied, but Bonaparte is at Sch?nbrunn, and the count—our dear Count Urbna—is setting off to receive his orders.”
After the fatigues and impressions of his journey and his reception, and even more after the dinner he had just eaten, Bolkonsky felt that he could not take in all the significance of the words he had just heard.
“Count Lichtenfels was here this morning,” pursued Bilibin, “and he showed me a letter containing a full description of the parade of the French at Vienna. Prince Murat and all the rest of it … You see that your victory is not a great matter for rejoicing, and that you can't be received as our deliverer…”
“Really, I don't care about that, I don't care in the slightest!” said Prince Andrey, beginning to understand that his news of the battle before Krems was really of little importance in view of such an event as the taking of the capital of Austria. “How was Vienna taken? And its bridge and its famous fortifications, and Prince Auersperg? We heard rumours that Prince Auersperg was defending Vienna,” said he.
“Prince Auersperg is stationed on this side—our side—and is defending us; defending us very ineffectually, I imagine, but any way he is defending us. But Vienna's on the other side of the river. No, the bridge has not been taken, and I hope it won't be taken, because it is mined and orders have been given to blow it up. If it were not so, we should have long ago been in the mountains of Bohemia, and you and your army would have spent a bad quarter of an hour between two fires.”
“But still that doesn't mean that the campaign is over,” said Prince Andrey.
“But I believe that it is over. And so do all the big-wigs here, though they don't dare to say so. It will be as I said at the beginning of the campaign, that the matter will not be settled by your firing before D?renstein, not by gunpowder, but by those who invented it,” said Bilibin, repeating one of his mots, letting the creases run out of his forehead and pausing. “The only question is what the meeting of the Emperor Alexander and the Prussian king may bring forth. If Prussia enters the alliance, they will force Austria's hand and there will be war. If not, the only point will be to arrange where to draw up the articles of the new Campo Formio.”
“But what an extraordinary genius!” cried Prince Andrey suddenly, clenching his small hand and bringing it down on the table. “And what luck the man has!”
“Buonaparte?” said Bilibin interrogatively, puckering up his forehead and so intimating that a mot was coming. “Buonaparte?” he said, with special stress on the u. “I think, though, that now when he is dictating laws to Austria from Sch?nbrunn, we must let him off the u. I shall certainly adopt the innovation, and call him simply Bonaparte.”
“No, joking apart,” said Prince Andrey, “do you really believe the campaign is over?”
“I'll tell you what I think. Austria has been made a fool of, and she is not used to that. And she'll avenge it. And she has been made a fool of because in the first place her provinces have been pillaged (they say the Holy Russian armament is plundering them cruelly), her army has been destroyed, her capital has been taken, and all this for the sweet sake of his Sardinian Majesty. And so between ourselves, my dear boy, my instinct tells me we are being deceived; my instinct tells me of negotiations with France and projects of peace, a secret peace, concluded separately.”
“Impossible!” said Prince Andrey. “That would be too base.”
“Time will show,” said Bilibin, letting the creases run off his forehead again in token of being done with the subject.
When Prince Andrey went to the room that had been prepared for him, and lay down in the clean linen on the feather-bed and warmed and fragrant pillows, he felt as though the battle of which he brought tidings was far, far away from him. The Prussian alliance, the treachery of Austria, the new triumph of Bonaparte, the levée and parade and the audience of Emperor Francis next day, engrossed his attention. He closed his eyes and instantly his ears were ringing with the cannonade, the firing of muskets, and the creaking of wheels, and again he saw the long line of musketeers running down-hill and the French firing, and he felt his heart beating and saw himself galloping in front of the lines with Schmidt, and, the bullets whizzing merrily around him; and he knew that sense of intensified joy in living that he had not experienced since childhood. He waked up.
“Yes, that all happened!”…he said, with a happy, childlike smile to himself. And he fell into the deep sleep of youth.
安德烈公爵在布吕恩的一个相识——俄国外交官比利宾那里住下来。 
“啊，亲爱的公爵，没有比看见您这位客人更令人高兴的事，”比利宾出去迎接安德烈公爵时说道。“弗朗茨，把公爵的东西送到我的卧室中去！”他把脸转向伴随博尔孔斯基的仆人说，“怎么，是报送胜利消息的人吗？好极了。您看，我正害病哩。”
安德烈公爵盥洗、穿衣之后，便走进外交官的豪华的书斋，坐下来，他面前摆着做好的午餐。比利宾安闲地坐在壁炉旁。
安德烈公爵不仅在旅行之后，而且在他丧失一切舒适、洁净和优越的生活条件的行军之后，他体会到自从童年时代以来他就在这个已经习惯的奢侈生活环境中休息时所体会的那种心旷神怡的感觉。除此而外，他在受到奥国人的接待后，能够和一个俄国人谈话，即使不说俄国话（他们用法国话交谈），也感到愉快；因为他认为这个交谈者也怀有俄国人对奥国人的共同的厌恶之感（现在特别强烈地被他体会到的厌恶之感）。
比利宾三十五岁左右，未娶妻，他和安德烈公爵属于同一个上流社会。他们早在彼得堡就已相识，但在安德烈公爵随同库图佐夫抵达维也纳时，他们的交往就更密切了。如果说，安德烈公爵年轻，并且在军事舞台会有远大前途，那末比利宾在外交舞台的前途就更远大了。他还年轻，而他已经不是年轻的外交官了，因为他从十六岁那年起就开始任职，曾经留驻巴黎、哥本哈根。目下在维也纳担任相当重要的职务。首相和我国驻维也纳大使都认识他，而且重视他。他独树一帜，不属于多数外交家之列，他们为了要成为至为优秀的外交官员，就需具备一些消极的优点，不做某些不该做的事情，而要会说一口法语。虽然有一些外交官秉性懒惰，但是他们热爱工作，而且善于工作，他们有时候坐在办公桌旁一连熬上几个通宵，比利宾属于这些外交官之列。无论工作的实质何在，他都干得很出色。他所关注的不是“为什么要干”的问题，而是“怎样干”的问题。外交上的事务是什么，他满不在乎。他认为，熟练地雅致而妥当地草拟通令、备忘录或报告才是他的莫大的乐趣。比利宾的功绩受到珍视，除了笔头工作而外，他还擅长在上层社会致词和交际。
只是在交谈的人说说文雅的俏皮话的时候，比利宾才像喜爱工作那样喜爱谈话。在上流社会，他经常等候机会去说句什么动听的话，而且只是在这种环境中他才与人攀谈。比利宾谈起话来，经常在话中夹杂许多奇特古怪的俏皮话，而在结束时总要加上几句大家都感兴趣的漂亮话。这些漂亮话仿佛是在比利宾的内在的创作活动中故意编造出来的，具有独特的性质，而其目的在于便于卑微庸俗的上流社会人士记忆并在客厅中广泛流行。真的，lesmotsdeBilibinesecolporBtaientdanslessalonsdeVienne①，据说，常对所谓的重大国事产生影响。 
①法语：比利宾的评论在维也纳的客厅中广为流传。
他那消瘦的、略带黄色的脸上布满了宽宽的皱纹，这些皱纹和洗完澡之后的指头尖一般总是细心地洗得干干净净的。这些皱纹的活动构成他面部表情的主要变化。他时而竖起眉尖，额头上就露出宽宽的皱褶，时而把眉尖向下低垂，面颊上就形成宽宽的皱纹。一对深陷的小眼睛总是快活地向前直视着。
“喂，现在给我们讲讲你们的战功吧。”他说道。博尔孔斯基一次也没有提到他自己，他很谦虚地讲到前方的战况和军政大臣接待他的情形。
“Ilsm'ontrecuavecmanouvelle，commeunchiendansunjeudequilles．”①他说了一句收尾的话。
比利宾苦笑一阵，舒展开脸皮上的皱褶。
“Cependant，moncher，”他说道，一面远远地察看自己的指甲，一面皱起左眼以上的皮肤，“malgrelahauteestimequejepsofessepourle东正教的俄国战士们，j'avouequevotrevictoiren'estpasdesplusvictorieuses．”② 
①法语：他们像对待跑进九柱戏场地的狗那样接待我这个报送消息的人。
②法语：我亲爱的，虽然我十分尊敬东正教的俄国战士们，但是我认为，你们的胜利不是最辉煌的。
他用法国话继续说下去，他想轻蔑地加以强调的那些词才用俄国话说出来。
“可不是？你们仗着全军人马猛烈地攻打只有一师人的很不幸的莫蒂埃，这个莫蒂埃竟从你们手中逃跑了？哪能算什么胜利呢？”
“但是，严格地说，”安德烈公爵答道，“我们还可以不吹牛地说，这总比乌尔姆战役略胜一筹……”
“你们为什么不给我们俘获一个元帅呢？即使是一个也行。”
“因为不是一切事情都能按计划办成，也不能像检阅那样定期举行。正像我对您说的，我以为早上七点以前能迂回走到敌人后方，可是在下午五点以前还没有走到。”
“你们为什么不在早上七点钟以前走到呢？你们应当在早上七点钟以前走到，”比利宾面露微笑地说道，“应当在早上七点钟走到。”
“你们为什么不用外交手腕开导波拿巴，要他最好放弃热那亚呢？”安德烈公爵用同样的语调说道。
“我知道，”比利宾打断他的话，“您坐在壁炉前的沙发上，心中在想，抓住元帅是很容易的事。这没有错，可是你们究竟为什么没有把他抓住呢？您不要诧异，不仅军政大臣，而且至圣的皇帝弗朗茨陛下对你们的胜利都不会感到非常高兴，就连我这个不幸的俄国使馆的秘书也不觉得这有什么特别高兴的……”
他双眼直勾勾地望望安德烈公爵，忽然舒展开前额上绷紧的皮肤。
“我亲爱的，现在轮到我来问问您‘为什么'？”博尔孔斯基说道，“我向您承认，我也许并不明白，这里头会有什么超出我这贫乏智慧的外交上的微妙之处，但是我也弄不明白，马克丧失了全军人马，费迪南大公和卡尔大公奄奄待毙，毫无生气，而且接一连二地做出错事，只有库图佐夫终于赢得了真正的胜利，粉碎了法国人的Chavme①，而军政大臣甚至不想知道详细的战况哩！”
“我亲爱的，正是因为这个缘故。Voyez－vous，monchesB．②乌拉！为了沙皇，为了俄国，为了信仰！Toutcaestbeletbon③，但是，我说你们的胜利对我们、对奥国朝廷有什么关系？你们替我们带来卡尔大公或者费迪南大公赢得胜利的好消息吧。正像您所知道的，unarchiduevautl'autre④，打垮波拿巴的消防队也好哩，不过那是另一码事，而我们到那时一定要鸣炮示意。其实这只像是故意招惹我们似的。卡尔大公毫无作为，费迪南大公蒙受耻辱。你们在放弃维也纳，不再去保卫它了，commesivousnousdisiez⑤，上帝保佑我们，上帝也保佑你们和你们的首都。一位我们人人热爱的施米持将军：你们竟让他死在枪弹之下，现在反而要庆贺我们的胜利啦！……您赞同我们的看法吧，再也没想出比您带来的消息更令人气愤的事了。C'estcommeunfaitexprès，commeunfaitexprès⑥．此外，嗯，即使你们赢得辉煌的胜利，就连卡尔大公也赢得胜利，这就会改变整个军事行动的进程吧？维也纳已被法国军队占领，现在为时太晚了。” 
①法语：战无不胜的誓言。
②法语：您要明白。
③法语：这一切都好极了。
④法语：这个大公顶得上那个大公。
⑤法语：你们好像是对我们说的。
⑥法语：这好像有意作对似的，有意作对似的。
“怎么已被占领了？维也纳已被占领了？”
“不仅被占领，而且波拿巴正待在申布鲁恩宫。伯爵，我们可爱的伯爵弗尔布纳已动身前往波拿巴处乞求指示了。”
博尔孔斯基在旅途劳累之后，印象犹新，在领受接待之后，尤其是在午宴之后他觉得，他弄不明白他所听到的这番话的全部意义。
“今天早上利希滕费尔斯伯爵到过这里了，”比利宾继续说下去，“他把一封信拿给我看，信中详尽地描述了法国人在维也纳举行阅兵式的实况。LeprinceMuratettoutletremBblement…①您知道，你们的胜利不是令人很高兴的事，您也不会像救世主那样受到厚待……”
“说实在的，我是无所谓的，完全无所谓的啊！”安德烈公爵说道。他开始明了，因为奥国首都已被占领，所以他所获悉的克雷姆斯城郊一战的消息就缺乏重要意义了。“维也纳怎么被占领了？那座大桥、那座举世闻名的tetedepont②，还有奥尔斯珀格公爵怎么样了？我们这里谣传，奥尔斯珀格公爵正在捍卫维也纳。”他说道。 
①法语：缪拉亲王及其他……
②法语：堡垒。
“奥尔斯珀格公爵驻守在我军占领的大河这边，正在保卫我们。我认为他保卫得十分差劲，但毕竟是在保卫。维也纳在大河对岸。有一座桥还未被占领。我希望桥梁不被占领，因为桥上布满了地雷，并且下达了炸桥的命令。否则，我们老早就到波希米亚山区去了，你们随同你们的军队都要遭受到两面夹攻了。”
“但是，这还不意味，战役已经宣告结束。”安德烈公爵说道。
“我想，战役已经结束了。这里的一些大笨伯都有这种想法，但是不敢说出这句话。我在战役开始时说过的话就要兑现了，对战事起决定作用的不是你们的échauffouréedeDürenstein①，而且根本不是火药，而是那些妄图发动战争的人，”比利宾说道，把他爱用的mots②重说一遍，又一面舒展额角上皱起的皮肤，停顿一会儿，“问题只在于，亚历山大皇帝和普鲁士国王在柏林会谈的内容如何。如果普鲁士加入联盟，onforceralamainàl'Autriche③，战争就会爆发起来。若非如此，那末，问题只在于，双方议定于何地拟订新的CamBpoFormio④的初步条款。
“多么非凡的天才啊！”安德烈公爵忽然喊道，握紧他那细小的拳头，捶打着桌子，“这个人多么幸运啊！”
“Buonaparte？”⑤比利宾带着疑问的语调说道，他蹙起额头，想要人家意识到，unmot⑥就要出现了，“是波拿巴吗？”他说道，特别强调“u”的重音，“不过我以为，正当他在申布鲁恩宫制定奥国法典时，ilfautluifairvegracedel'u，⑦我要坚决地规定一项新办法，索兴称他Bonapartetoutcourt。”⑧ 
①法语和德语：迪伦斯坦交火。
②法语：词儿。
③法语：那就对奥国采取强制手段。
④法语：坎波福朱奥和约。
⑤法语：是波拿巴吗？
⑥法语：俏皮话。
⑦法语：就应当使他避免发出“u”音。
⑧法语：索兴称他波拿巴。
“不，甭开玩笑，”安德烈公爵说道，“您难道以为战役已经结束了吗？”
“我就是这样想的。奥国打输了，可是它不会习惯于失败的局面。它要报复的。它之所以失利，首先是因为一些省份已被摧毁（ondit，leest东正教的terriblepourlepillage①，军队被粉碎，首都被占领，这一切都是pourlesbeauxyeuxdu撒丁陛下②，其二是因为——entrenous，moncherB，③——我凭嗅觉正闻到，人家在欺骗我们，我凭嗅觉还闻到，他们和法国搭上了关系，制订了和约草案——单独缔结的秘密和约草案。”
“这不可能啊！”安德烈公爵说道，“这真是可恶极了。”
“Quivivranerra．”④比利宾说，又舒展皱起的皮肤，表示谈话结束了。 
①法语：据说东正教的军队抢得很厉害。
②法语：为了撒丁陛下好看的眼睛。
③法语：我亲爱的，在我们之间说说。
④法语：过些日子，就会看清楚。
当安德烈公爵走到给他布置的房间、穿着干净的睡衣躺在绒毛褥子上、垫着香喷喷的暖和的枕头的时候，他感觉到，由他报送消息的那次战斗和他相隔很远很远了。他关心的是普鲁士联盟、奥国的变节、波拿巴的又一次大捷、明天的出朝、阅兵以及弗朗茨皇帝的接见。
他闭上眼睛，就在这一瞬间他耳鼓中响起隆隆的枪炮声和辚辚的车轮声，又看见排成一条长线的火枪兵走下山来，一群法国兵开枪射击，他于是觉得，他的心在颤栗着，他和施米特并骑向前疾驶，子弹在他四周欢快地呼啸，他体会到一种从童年起未曾体会到的生存的万分喜悦的感觉。
他醒悟了……
“是啊，这一切已是明日黄花！……”他说道，他脸上自然流露着幸福的童稚的微笑，这个年轻人于是酣然入睡了。
Book 2 Chapter 11
NEXT DAY he waked up late. Going over the impressions of the past, what he recalled most vividly was that he was to be presented to the Emperor Francis; he remembered the minister of war, the ceremonious adjutant, Bilibin, and the conversation of the previous evening. He dressed for his attendance at court in full court-dress, which he had not worn for a long time, and fresh, eager, and handsome, he walked into Bilibin's room with his arm in a sling. Four gentlemen of the diplomatic corps were already there. With Prince Ippolit Kuragin, who was a secretary to the embassy, Bolkonsky was already acquainted; Bilibin introduced him to the others.
The gentlemen calling on Bilibin were a set of fashionable, wealthy, and lively young men, who here, as at Vienna, made up a circle apart, a circle which Bilibin, its leader, spoke of as les n?tres. This circle, consisting almost exclusively of diplomatists, evidently had its own interests—quite apart from the war and politics—interests, that revolved round the fashionable world, relations with certain women and the formal side of the service. They gave Prince Andrey an unmistakably cordial reception, as one of themselves (a distinction they allowed to few). From civility and to break the ice they asked him a few questions about the army and the battle, and the conversation slipped back again to disconnected, good-humoured jests and gossip.
“But what was so particularly nice,” said one, relating a disaster that had befallen a colleague, “was that the minister told him in so many words that his appointment to London was a promotion and that that was how he ought to regard it. Can you fancy his figure at the moment?”…
“But the worst of all is to come, gentlemen. I'm going to betray Kuragin—here is this Don Juan going to profit by his misfortune; he's a shocking fellow!”
Prince Ippolit lounged in a reclining chair, with his legs over the arm. He laughed.
“Tell me about that,” said he.
“O Don Juan! O serpent!” cried the voices.
“You're not aware, I dare say, Bolkonsky,” said Bilibin, turning to Prince Andrey, “that all the atrocities of the French army (I was almost saying of the Russian) are nothing in comparison with the exploits of this fellow among the ladies.”
“Woman…is the companion of man,” Prince Ippolit enunciated, and he stared through his eyeglass at his elevated legs.
Bilibin and les n?tres roared, looking Ippolit straight in the face. Prince Andrey saw that this Ippolit, of whom—he could not disguise it from himself—he had been almost jealous on his wife's account, was the butt of this set.
“No, I must entertain you with a specimen of Kuragin,” said Bilibin aside to Bolkonsky. “He's exquisite, when he airs his views upon politics; you must see his gravity.”
He sat down by Ippolit, and, wrinkling up his forehead, began talking to him about politics. Prince Andrey and the others stood round the two.
“The Berlin cabinet cannot express a feeling of alliance,” Ippolit began, looking consequentially round at all of them, “without expressing…as in its last note…you understand…you understand…and besides, if his Majesty the Emperor does not give up the principle of our alliance.”
“Wait, I have not finished,” he said to Prince Andrey, taking him by the arm. “I suppose that intervention will be stronger than non-intervention. And…” He paused. “Our dispatch of the 28th of November cannot be reckoned as an exception. That is how it will all end.” And he dropped Bolkonsky's arm as a sign that he had now quite concluded.
“Demosthenes, I recognise you by the pebble that you hide in your golden mouth,” said Bilibin, whose thick thatch of hair moved forward on his head from the puckering of his brows with delight.
Every one laughed. Ippolit laughed louder than any. He was visibly distressed; he breathed painfully, but he could not help breaking into a savage laugh, that convulsed his usually impassive face.
“Well now, gentlemen,” said Bilibin, “Bolkonsky is my guest here in Br?nn and I want to show him, as far as I can, all the attractions of our life here. If we were in Vienna, it would be easy enough; but here, in this vile Moravian hole, it is more difficult, and I beg you all for assistance. We must do him the honour of Br?nn. You undertake the theatre and I will undertake society; you, Ippolit, of course, the ladies.”
“We ought to let him see Amélie; she's exquisite!” said one of les n?tres. kissing his finger-tips.
“Altogether,” said Bilibin, “we must turn this bloodthirsty rnan to more humane interests.”
“I fear I can hardly take advantage of your hospitality, gentlemen; it's time I was off even now,” said Bolkonsky, glancing at his watch.
“Where to?”
“To the Emperor!”
“Oh! oh! oh!”
“Well, au revoir, Bolkonsky! Au revoir, prince! Come early to dinner,” said voices. “We reckon upon you.”
“Try to make the most of the good discipline of the troops, in the provisioning of supplies and on the lines of march, when you talk to the Emperor,” said Bilibin, accompanying Bolkonsky to the hall.
“I should like to speak well of it, but as far as my observation goes, I can't,” answered Bolkonsky, smiling.
“Well, talk as much as you can, any way. Audiences are his passion, but he doesn't like talking himself, and can't talk either, as you will see.”
翌日，他醒来得很迟。重温着往日的印象，首先想到今日要朝拜弗朗茨皇帝，想起军政大臣、恭恭敬敬的侍从武官、比利宾和昨日夜晚的闲谈。他要去朝拜，便穿上一套许久未穿的检阅服装，精神焕发，兴致勃勃，姿态亦优美，一只手绑着绷带，走进比利宾的书斋。书斋里有四个外交使团的绅士模样的人。博尔孔斯基认识公使馆的秘书伊波利特·库拉金公爵，比利宾介绍其余三个人和他相识。 
经常到比利宾这里来的绅士派头的人都是一些年轻、家境富裕、快活的上层社会人士，他们无论在维也纳，还是在此地都结成一个独立的团体，这个团体的头头比利宾把它称为自己人（lesnotres）。这个几乎主要是由外交官构成的团体，看来有自己所固有的与战争和政治毫无关系的兴趣，这个团体对上层社会、对一些女士的态度和公务很感兴趣。看起来，这些有绅士派头的人都乐意吸收安德烈公爵加入他们的团体，认为他是自己人（他们对少数几个人表示尊敬）。因为人们尊敬他，才向他提出几个有关军队和战役的问题，以此作为话题。随即又闲谈起来，话里头夹杂着许多乱七八糟的笑话，而且议论他人的长短。
“不过这是件特别好的事，”有个人讲到外交官中一个同僚的失败时，说道，“其所以是件特别好的事，是因为奥国首相坦率地告诉他：他去伦敦上任是一种晋升，要他能这样看待这件事。你们能臆想得出他这时的模样吗？……”
“诸君，不过最糟的是，我要向你们揭发库拉金；有个人处于逆境，他这个唐璜却借机滋事。这个人多么可怕啊！”
伊波利特公爵躺在一把伏尔泰椅上，一双脚跷在扶手上，大笑起来。
“Parlez—moideca，”①他说道。 
①法语：喂，您讲讲吧，喂，您讲讲吧。
②法语：女人是男人的伴侣。
“啊，唐璜！啊！一条毒蛇。”听见几个人异口同声地说。
“博尔孔斯基，您不知道，”比利宾把脸转向安德烈公爵说道，“法国军队的诸多可怖（我险些儿说成俄国军队）比起这个人在女人中间干的勾当来是算不了一回事的。”
“Lafemmeestlacompagnedel'homme，”②伊波利特公爵说道，开始戴上单目眼镜观看他那双架起来的脚。
比利宾和自己人注视伊波利特的眼睛时哈哈大笑起来。安德烈公爵看到，这个伊波利特是这个团体的丑角，他（应当承认）几乎因为伊波利特和妻子相好而感到醋意。
“不，我要请您品味一下库拉金，”比利宾对博尔孔斯基轻声地说，“他议论政治时很会盅惑人心，要看看这副傲慢的样子。”
他在伊波利特近旁坐下来，皱起额头，和他谈论有关政治的问题。安德烈公爵和其他人都站在他们二人周围。
“LecabinetdeBerlinnepeutpasexprimerunsentiB
mentd'alliance，”伊波利特意味深长地环顾众人，开始发言，“sansexprimer…commedanssadernierenote…vouscomprenez…vouscomprenez…etpuissisaMajestél'empereurnedérogepasauprincipedenotrealliance…”①
“Attendez，jen'aipasfini…”他一把抓住安德烈公爵的手，说道，“jesupposequel'interventionseraplusfortequelanon—intervention，Et…”他沉默片刻，“Onnepourrapasimputeràlafindenon－recevoirnotredépêchedu28novembreVoilàcom－menttoutcelafinira．”②他松开博尔孔斯基的手，以此表示，他的话讲完了。“Demosthènes，jetereconnaisaucaillouquetuascachédanstabouched'or！”③
比利宾说道，他高兴得一头的头发都散开了。
大家都笑了起来。伊波利特的笑声最响亮。看起来，他气喘吁吁，觉得不好受，但是他没法忍住，发出一阵狂笑，好像拉长了他那一向显得呆板的面孔似的。
“喂，诸位，原来是这么回事，”比利宾说道，“无论在这栋屋里，还是在布吕恩，博尔孔斯基总是我的客人，我要尽可能让他饱尝一番本地生活上的乐趣。如果在维也纳，那是容易办到的事。可是在这里，danscevilaintroumorave④，就更难办了，因此，我向你们大家求援。ⅡfautluifaiveleshonBneursdeBrtinn，⑤看戏的事由你们负责，社团的事由我承担，伊波利特，不消说，应酬女人的事由您主持好了。” 
①法语：柏林内阁不能表示它对联盟的意见，在最近的照会中……没有表示……其实，你们明白，你们明白……如果皇帝陛下不改变我们联盟的实质……
②法语：等一等，我还没有讲完……我想，干涉比不干涉更稳妥。而且，……
不可能认为，问题就在于完全不接受我方十一月二十八日的紧急报告……其结局必将是这样的。 
③法语：德摩西尼，我凭你放在你那金口中的石头就能把你认出来。
④法语：在这令人厌恶的摩拉维亚山洞中。
⑤法语：就应当请他饱尝一番布吕恩的风味。
“应当请他瞧瞧阿梅莉，真是美不胜言！”一个自己人吻着自己的指头尖，说道。
“总而言之，应当让这个嗜血成性的士兵倾向仁爱的观点。”比利宾说道。
“诸位，我未必能够享受你们的款待，我现在应该走了。”
博尔孔斯基看着表，说道。
“上哪里去呢？”
“去朝拜皇帝。”
“啊，啊！啊！”
“嗬！博尔孔斯基，再见！公爵，再见！早点回来用午餐，”
可以听见几个人异口同声地说，“我们来应付您了。”
“当您和皇帝谈话时，请尽量夸奖军粮供应的措施和适宜的行进路线的分布。”比利宾把博尔孔斯基送到接待室时，说道。
“我心里本想，知道多少就夸奖多少，可是办不到。”博尔孔斯基面露微笑，答道。
“嗯，总之要尽量多说点。他很喜欢接见人，可是他本人不喜欢讲话，也不善于讲话，以后您会知道的。”
Book 2 Chapter 12
AT THE LEVéE the Emperor Francis only looked intently into Prince Andrey's face, and nodded his long head to him as he stood in the place assigned him among the Austrian officers. But after the levée the adjutant of the previous evening ceremoniously communicated to Bolkonsky the Emperor's desire to give him an audience. The Emperor Francis received him, standing in the middle of the room. Prince Andrey was struck by the fact that before beginning the conversation, the Emperor seemed embarrassed, didn't know what to say, and reddened.
“Tell me when the battle began,” he asked hurriedly. Prince Andrey answered. The question was followed by others, as simple: “Was Kutuzov well?” “How long was it since he left Krems?” and so on. The Emperor spoke as though his sole aim was to put a certain number of questions. The answers to these questions, as was only too evident, could have no interest for him.
“At what o'clock did the battle begin?” asked the Emperor.
“I cannot inform your majesty at what o'clock the battle began in the front lines, but at D?renstein, where I was, the troops began the attack about six in the evening,” said Bolkonsky, growing more eager, and conceiving that now there was a chance for him to give an accurate description, just as he had it ready in his head, of all he knew and had seen. But the Emperor smiled and interrupted him:
“How many miles?”
“From where to where, your majesty?”
“From D?renstein to Krems?”
“Three and a half miles, your majesty.”
“The French abandoned the left bank?”
“As our scouts reported, the last crossed the river on rafts in the night.”
“Have you enough provisions at Krems?”
“Provisions have not been furnished to the amount…”
The Emperor interrupted him:
“At what o'clock was General Schmidt killed?”
“At seven o'clock, I think.”
“At seven o'clock? Very sad! very sad!”
The Emperor said that he thanked him, and bowed. Prince Andrey withdrew, and was at once surrounded by courtiers on all sides. Everywhere he saw friendly eyes gazing at him, and heard friendly voices addressing him. The adjutant of the preceding evening reproached him for not having stopped at the palace, and offered him his own house. The minister of war came up and congratulated him on the Order of Maria Theresa of the third grade, with which the Emperor was presenting him. The Empress's chamberlain invited him to her majesty. The archduchess, too, wished to see him. He did not know whom to answer, and for a few seconds he was trying to collect his ideas. The Russian ambassador took him by the shoulder, led him away to a window, and began to talk to him.
Contrary to Bilibin's prognostications, the news he brought was received with rejoicing. A thanksgiving service was arranged. Kutuzov was decorated with the great cross of Maria Theresa, and rewards were bestowed on the whole army. Bolkonsky received invitations on all hands, and had to spend the whole morning paying visits to the principal personages in the Austrian Government. After paying his visits, Prince Andrey, at five o'clock in the evening, was returning homewards to Bilibin's, mentally composing a letter to his father about the battle and his reception at Br?nn. At the steps of Bilibin's house stood a cart packed half full of things, and Franz, Bilibin's servant, came out of the doorway, with difficulty dragging a travelling-trunk.
Before going back to Bilibin's Prince Andrey had driven to a book-seller's to lay in a stock of books for the campaign, and had spent some time in the shop.
“What is it?” asked Bolkonsky.
“Ah, your excellency!” said Franz, with some exertion rolling the trunk on the cart. “We are to move on still farther. The scoundrel is already at our heels again!”
“Eh? what?” queried Prince Andrey.
Bilibin came out to meet Bolkonsky. His ordinarily composed face looked excited.
“No, no, confess that this is charming,” he said, “this story of the bridge of Tabor. They have crossed it without striking a blow.”
Prince Andrey could not understand.
“Why, where do you come from not to know what every coachman in the town knows by now?”
“I come from the archduchess. I heard nothing there.”
“And didn't you see that people are packing up everywhere?”
“I have seen nothing … But what's the matter?” Prince Andrey asked impatiently.
“What's the matter? The matter is that the French have crossed the bridge that Auersperg was defending, and they haven't blown up the bridge, so that Murat is at this moment running along the road to Br?nn, and to-day or to-morrow they'll be here.”
“Here? But how is it the bridge wasn't blown up, since it was mined?”
“Why, that's what I ask you. No one—not Bonaparte himself—can tell why.” Bolkonsky shrugged his shoulders.
“But if they have crossed the bridge, then it will be all over with the army; it will be cut off,” he said.
“That's the whole point,” answered Bilibin. “Listen. The French enter Vienna, as I told you. Everything is satisfactory. Next day, that is yesterday, Messieurs les Maréchaux, Murat, Lannes, and Beliard get on their horses and ride off to the bridge. (Remark that all three are Gascons.) ‘Gentlemen,' says one, ‘you know that the Tabor bridge has been mined and countermined, and is protected by a formidable fortification and fifteen thousand troops, who have orders to blow up the bridge and not to let us pass. But our gracious Emperor Napoleon will be pleased if we take the bridge. Let us go us there and take it.' ‘Yes, let us go,' say the others; and they start off and take the bridge, cross it, and now with their whole army on this side of the Danube, they are coming straight upon us, and upon you and your communications.”
“Leave off jesting,” said Prince Andrey, with mournful seriousness. The news grieved Prince Andrey, and yet it gave him pleasure. As soon as he heard that the Russian army was in such a hopeless position, the idea struck him that he was the very man destined to extricate the Russian army from that position, and that it had come—the Toulon—that would lift him for ever from out of the ranks of unknown officers, and open the first path to glory for him! As he listened to Bilibin, he was already considering how, on reaching the army, he would, at a council of war, give the opinion that alone could save the army, and how he would be entrusted alone to execute the plan.
“Leave off joking,” he said.
“I'm not joking,” Bilibin went on. “Nothing could be more truthful or more melancholy. These three gentlemen advance to the bridge alone and wave white handkerchiefs; they declare that it's a truce, and that they, the marshals, are come for a parley with Prince Auersperg. The officer on duty lets them into the tête du pont. They tell him a thousand Gascon absurdities; say that the war is over, that Emperor Francis has arranged a meeting with Bonaparte, that they desire to see Prince Auersperg, and so on. The officer sends for Auersperg. These Gascon gentlemen embrace the officers, make jokes, and sit about on the cannons, while a French battalion meantime advances unnoticed on the bridge, flings the sacks of inflammable material into the river, and marches up to the tête du pont. Finally the lieutenant-general himself appears, our dear Prince Auersperg von Mautern. ‘My dear enemy! Flower of Austrian chivalry! hero of the Turkish war! Hostility is at end, we can take each other's hands … the Emperor Napoleon burns with impatience to make the acquaintance of Prince Auersperg.' In a word, these gentlemen—not Gascons for nothing—so bewilder Auersperg with fair words—he is so flattered at this speedy intimacy with French marshals, so dazzled by the spectacle of their cloaks, and of the ostrich feathers of Murat—that their fire gets into his eyes and makes him forget that he ought to be firing on the enemy” (in spite of the interest of his story, Bilibin did not omit to pause after this mot, to give time for its appreciation). “A French battalion runs into the tête du pont, spikes the cannons, and the bridge is taken. No, but really the best part of the whole episode,” he went on, his excitement subsiding under the interest of his own story, “is that the sergeant in charge of the cannon which was to give the signal for firing the mines and blowing up the bridge, this sergeant seeing the French troops running on to the bridge wanted to fire, but Lannes pulled his arm away. The sergeant, who seems to have been sharper than his general, goes up to Auersperg and says: ‘Prince, they're deceiving you, here are the French!' Murat sees the game is up if he lets the sergeant have his say. With an affectation of surprise (a true Gascon!) he addresses Auersperg: ‘Is this the Austrian discipline so highly extolled all over the world,' says he, ‘do you let a man of low rank speak to you like this?' It was a stroke of genius. The Prince of Auersperg is touched in his honour and has the sergeant put under arrest. No, but confess that all this story of the bridge of Tabor is charming. It is neither stupidity, nor cowardice …”
“It is treason, perhaps,” said Prince Andrey, vividly picturing to himself grey overcoats, wounds, the smoke and sound of firing, and the glory awaiting him.
“Not that either. This puts the court into a pretty pickle,” pursued Bilibin. “It is not treason, nor cowardice, nor stupidity; it is just as it was at Ulm …” He seemed to ponder, seeking the phrase, “it is … c'est du Mack. Nous sommes mackés,” he said, feeling he was uttering un mot, and a fresh one, one that would be repeated. His creased-up brows let the puckers smooth out quickly in sign of satisfaction, and with a faint smile he fell to scrutinizing his finger-nails.
“Where are you off to?” he said, suddenly turning to Prince Andrey, who had got up and was going to his room.
“I must start.”
“Where to?”
“To the army.”
“But you meant to stay another two days?”
“But now I am going at once”; and Prince Andrey, after a few words arranging about his journey, went to his room.
“Do you know, my dear boy,” said Bilibin, coming into his room, “I have been thinking about you. What are you going for?” And in support of the irrefutability of his arguments on the subject, all the creases ran off his face.
Prince Andrey looked inquiringly at him and made no reply.
“Why are you going? I know you consider that it's your duty to gallop off to the army now that the army is in danger. I understand that, my boy, it's heroism.”
“Nothing of the kind,” said Prince Andrey.
“But you are un philosophe, be one fully, look at things from the other side, and you will see that it is your duty, on the contrary, to take care of yourself. Leave that to others who are no good for anything else … You have received no orders to go back, and you are not dismissed from here, so that you can remain and go with us, where our ill-luck takes us. They say they are going to Olm?tz. And Olm?tz is a very charming town. And we can travel there comfortably together in my carriage.”
“That's enough joking, Bilibin,” said Bolkonsky.
“I am speaking to you sincerely as a friend. Consider where are you going and with what object now, when you can stay here. You have two alternatives before you” (he puckered up the skin of his left temple) “either you won't reach the army before peace will be concluded, or you will share the defeat and disgrace with Kutuzov's whole army.” And Bilibin let his brow go smooth again, feeling that his dilemma was beyond attack.
“That I can't enter into,” said Prince Andrey coldly, but he thought: “I am going to save the army.”
“My dear fellow, you are a hero,” said Bilibin
翌日，他醒来得很迟。重温着往日的印象，首先想到今日要朝拜弗朗茨皇帝，想起军政大臣、恭恭敬敬的侍从武官、比利宾和昨日夜晚的闲谈。他要去朝拜，便穿上一套许久未穿的检阅服装，精神焕发，兴致勃勃，姿态亦优美，一只手绑着绷带，走进比利宾的书斋。书斋里有四个外交使团的绅士模样的人。博尔孔斯基认识公使馆的秘书伊波利特·库拉金公爵，比利宾介绍其余三个人和他相识。 
经常到比利宾这里来的绅士派头的人都是一些年轻、家境富裕、快活的上层社会人士，他们无论在维也纳，还是在此地都结成一个独立的团体，这个团体的头头比利宾把它称为自己人（lesnotres）。这个几乎主要是由外交官构成的团体，看来有自己所固有的与战争和政治毫无关系的兴趣，这个团体对上层社会、对一些女士的态度和公务很感兴趣。看起来，这些有绅士派头的人都乐意吸收安德烈公爵加入他们的团体，认为他是自己人（他们对少数几个人表示尊敬）。因为人们尊敬他，才向他提出几个有关军队和战役的问题，以此作为话题。随即又闲谈起来，话里头夹杂着许多乱七八糟的笑话，而且议论他人的长短。
“不过这是件特别好的事，”有个人讲到外交官中一个同僚的失败时，说道，“其所以是件特别好的事，是因为奥国首相坦率地告诉他：他去伦敦上任是一种晋升，要他能这样看待这件事。你们能臆想得出他这时的模样吗？……”
“诸君，不过最糟的是，我要向你们揭发库拉金；有个人处于逆境，他这个唐璜却借机滋事。这个人多么可怕啊！”
伊波利特公爵躺在一把伏尔泰椅上，一双脚跷在扶手上，大笑起来。
“Parlez—moideca，”①他说道。 
①法语：喂，您讲讲吧，喂，您讲讲吧。
②法语：女人是男人的伴侣。
“啊，唐璜！啊！一条毒蛇。”听见几个人异口同声地说。
“博尔孔斯基，您不知道，”比利宾把脸转向安德烈公爵说道，“法国军队的诸多可怖（我险些儿说成俄国军队）比起这个人在女人中间干的勾当来是算不了一回事的。”
“Lafemmeestlacompagnedel'homme，”②伊波利特公爵说道，开始戴上单目眼镜观看他那双架起来的脚。
比利宾和自己人注视伊波利特的眼睛时哈哈大笑起来。安德烈公爵看到，这个伊波利特是这个团体的丑角，他（应当承认）几乎因为伊波利特和妻子相好而感到醋意。
“不，我要请您品味一下库拉金，”比利宾对博尔孔斯基轻声地说，“他议论政治时很会盅惑人心，要看看这副傲慢的样子。”
他在伊波利特近旁坐下来，皱起额头，和他谈论有关政治的问题。安德烈公爵和其他人都站在他们二人周围。
“LecabinetdeBerlinnepeutpasexprimerunsentiB
mentd'alliance，”伊波利特意味深长地环顾众人，开始发言，“sansexprimer…commedanssadernierenote…vouscomprenez…vouscomprenez…etpuissisaMajestél'empereurnedérogepasauprincipedenotrealliance…”①
“Attendez，jen'aipasfini…”他一把抓住安德烈公爵的手，说道，“jesupposequel'interventionseraplusfortequelanon—intervention，Et…”他沉默片刻，“Onnepourrapasimputeràlafindenon－recevoirnotredépêchedu28novembreVoilàcom－menttoutcelafinira．”②他松开博尔孔斯基的手，以此表示，他的话讲完了。“Demosthènes，jetereconnaisaucaillouquetuascachédanstabouched'or！”③
比利宾说道，他高兴得一头的头发都散开了。
大家都笑了起来。伊波利特的笑声最响亮。看起来，他气喘吁吁，觉得不好受，但是他没法忍住，发出一阵狂笑，好像拉长了他那一向显得呆板的面孔似的。
“喂，诸位，原来是这么回事，”比利宾说道，“无论在这栋屋里，还是在布吕恩，博尔孔斯基总是我的客人，我要尽可能让他饱尝一番本地生活上的乐趣。如果在维也纳，那是容易办到的事。可是在这里，danscevilaintroumorave④，就更难办了，因此，我向你们大家求援。ⅡfautluifaiveleshonBneursdeBrtinn，⑤看戏的事由你们负责，社团的事由我承担，伊波利特，不消说，应酬女人的事由您主持好了。” 
①法语：柏林内阁不能表示它对联盟的意见，在最近的照会中……没有表示……其实，你们明白，你们明白……如果皇帝陛下不改变我们联盟的实质……
②法语：等一等，我还没有讲完……我想，干涉比不干涉更稳妥。而且，……
不可能认为，问题就在于完全不接受我方十一月二十八日的紧急报告……其结局必将是这样的。 
③法语：德摩西尼，我凭你放在你那金口中的石头就能把你认出来。
④法语：在这令人厌恶的摩拉维亚山洞中。
⑤法语：就应当请他饱尝一番布吕恩的风味。
“应当请他瞧瞧阿梅莉，真是美不胜言！”一个自己人吻着自己的指头尖，说道。
“总而言之，应当让这个嗜血成性的士兵倾向仁爱的观点。”比利宾说道。
“诸位，我未必能够享受你们的款待，我现在应该走了。”
博尔孔斯基看着表，说道。
“上哪里去呢？”
“去朝拜皇帝。”
“啊，啊！啊！”
“嗬！博尔孔斯基，再见！公爵，再见！早点回来用午餐，”
可以听见几个人异口同声地说，“我们来应付您了。”
“当您和皇帝谈话时，请尽量夸奖军粮供应的措施和适宜的行进路线的分布。”比利宾把博尔孔斯基送到接待室时，说道。
“我心里本想，知道多少就夸奖多少，可是办不到。”博尔孔斯基面露微笑，答道。
“嗯，总之要尽量多说点。他很喜欢接见人，可是他本人不喜欢讲话，也不善于讲话，以后您会知道的。”
Book 2 Chapter 13
THE SAME NIGHT, after taking leave of the minister of war, Bolkonsky set off to join the army, not knowing where he should find it, at the risk of being caught by the French on the way to Krems.
At Br?nn all the court and every one connected with it was packing up, and the heavy baggage was already being despatched to Olm?tz. Near Esselsdorf, Prince Andrey came out on the road along which the Russian army was moving in the utmost haste and in the greatest disorder. The road was so obstructed with baggage-waggons that it was impossible to get by in a carriage. Prince Andrey procured a horse and a Cossack from the officer in command of the Cossacks, and hungry and weary he threaded his way in and out between the waggons and rode in search of the commander-in-chief and his own luggage. The most sinister rumours as to the position of the army reached him on the road, and the appearance of the army fleeing in disorder confirmed these rumours.
“As for that Russian army which English gold has brought from the ends of the universe, we are going to inflict upon it the same fate (the fate of the army of Ulm)”; he remembered the words of Bonaparte's address to his army at the beginning of the campaign, and these words aroused in him simultaneously admiration for the genius of his hero, a feeling of mortified pride, and the hope of glory. “And if there's nothing left but to die?” he thought. “Well, if it must be! I will do it no worse than others.”
Prince Andrey looked disdainfully at the endless, confused mass of companies, of baggage-waggons, parks of artillery, and again store-waggons, carts, and waggons of every possible form, pursuing one another and obstructing the muddy road three and four abreast. On every side, behind and before, as far as the ear could reach in every direction there was the rumble of wheels, the rattle of carts, of waggons, and of gun-carriages, the tramp of horses, the crack of whips, the shouts of drivers, the swearing of soldiers, of orderlies, and officers. At the sides of the roads he saw fallen horses, and sometimes their skinned carcases, broken-down waggons, with solitary soldiers sitting on them, waiting for something, detached groups of soldiers strayed from their companies, starting off to neighbouring villages, or dragging back from them fowls, sheep, hay, or sacks of stores of some sort. Where the road went uphill or downhill the crush became greater, and there was an uninterrupted roar of shouts. The soldiers floundering knee-deep in the mud clutched the guns and clung to the waggons in the midst of cracking whips, slipping hoofs, breaking traces and throat-splitting yells. The officers superintending their movements rode to and fro in front and behind the convoys. Their voices were faintly audible in the midst of the general uproar, their faces betrayed that they despaired of the possibility of checking the disorder.
“Voilà le cher holy armament,” thought Bolkonsky, recalling Bilibin's words.
He rode up to a convoy, intending to ask of some one of these men where he could find the commander-in-chief. Directly opposite to him came a strange vehicle, with one horse, obviously rigged up by soldiers with the resources at their disposal, and looking like something between a cart, a cabriolet, and a coach. A soldier was driving it, and under the leathern tilt behind a cover sat a woman, muffled up in shawls. Prince Andrey rode up and was just addressing a question to the soldier, when his attention was taken off by the despairing shrieks of the woman in this conveyance. The officer, directing the traffic, aimed a blow at the soldier who sat in the coachman's seat, for trying to push in ahead of others, and the lash fell on the cover of the equipage. The woman shrieked shrilly. On catching sight of Prince Andrey, she looked out from under the cover and putting her thin arms out from the shawls and waving them, she screamed:
“Adjutant! sir! … For God's sake! … protect me. … What will happen to us? … I am the wife of the doctor of the Seventh Chasseurs … they won't let us pass, we have dropped behind, lost our own people. …”
“I'll thrash you into mincemeat! turn back!” shouted the exasperated officer to the soldier: “turn back with your hussy!”
“Sir, protect us. What does it mean?” screamed the doctor's wife.
“Kindly let this cart get through. Don't you see that it is a woman?” said Prince Andrey, riding up to the officer.
The officer glanced at him, and without making any reply turned again to the soldier. “I'll teach you how to push in. … Back! …”
“Let it pass, I tell you,” repeated Prince Andrey, setting his lips tightly.
“And who are you?” cried the officer, turning upon him suddenly with drunken fury. “Who are you? Are you” (he put a peculiarly offensive intonation into the word) “in command, pray? I'm commanding officer here, not you. Back you go,” he repeated, “or I'll lash you into mincemeat.” The expression evidently pleased the officer.
“A nice snub he gave the little adjutant,” said a voice in the background.
Prince Andrey saw that the officer was in that stage of drunken unreasoning fury, when men do not remember what they say. He saw that his championship of the doctor's wife in the queer conveyance was exposing him to what he dreaded more than anything else in the world, what is called in French ridicule, but his instinct said something else. The officer had hardly uttered the last words when Prince Andrey rode up to him with a face distorted by frenzied anger, and raised his riding-whip: “Let—them—pass!”
The officer flourished his arm and hurriedly rode away.
“It's all their doing, these staff-officers, all the disorder,” he grumbled. “Do as you like.”
Prince Andrey, without lifting his eyes, made haste to escape from the doctor's wife, who called him her deliverer. And dwelling on the minutest detail of this humiliating scene with loathing, he galloped on towards the village, where he was told that the commander-in-chief was.
On reaching the village, he got off his horse, and went into the first house with the intention of resting for a moment at least, eating something, and getting all the mortifying impressions that were torturing him into some clear shape. “This is a mob of scoundrels, not an army,” he thought, going up to the window of the first house, when a familiar voice called him by his name.
He looked round. Out of a little window was thrust the handsome face of Nesvitsky. Nesvitsky, munching something in his moist mouth and beckoning to him, called him in.
“Bolkonsky! Bolkonsky! Don't you hear, eh? Make haste,” he shouted.
Going into the house, Prince Andrey found Nesvitsky and another adjutant having a meal. They hastily turned to Bolkonsky with the inquiry, had he any news? On their familiar faces Prince Andrey read alarm and uneasiness. That expression was particularly noticeable in Nesvitsky's face, usually so full of laughter.
“Where is the commander-in-chief?” asked Bolkonsky.
“Here in this house,” answered the adjutant.
“Well, is it true, about the peace and capitulation?” asked Nesvitsky.
“I ask you. I know nothing except that I have had great difficulty in getting through to you.”
“And the things that have been going on, my boy! Awful! I was wrong to laugh at Mack; there's worse in store for us,” said Nesvitsky. “But sit down, have something to eat.”
“You won't find your baggage or anything now, prince, and God knows what's become of your Pyotr,” said the other adjutant.
“Where are the headquarters?”
“We shall spend the night in Znaim.”
“Well, I got everything I wanted packed up on two horses,” said Nesvitsky; “and capital packs they made for me, fit to scamper as far as the Bohemian mountains at least. Things are in a bad way, my boy. But, I say, you must be ill, shivering like that?” Nesvitsky queried, noticing how Prince Andrey shuddered, as though in contact with a galvanic battery.
“No; I'm all right,” answered Prince Andrey. He had recalled at that instant the incident with the doctor's wife and the transport officer.
“What is the commander-in-chief doing here?” he asked.
“I can't make out anything,” said Nesvitsky.
“I know one thing, that it's all loathsome, loathsome, loathsome,” said Prince Andrey, and he went into the house where the commander-in-chief was stopping.
Passing by Kutuzov's carriage, the exhausted saddle-horses of his suite, and the Cossacks talking loudly together, Prince Andrey went into the outer room. Kutuzov himself was, as Prince Andrey had been told, in the inner room of the hut with Prince Bagration and Weierother. The latter was the Austrian general, who had taken Schmidt's place. In the outer room little Kozlovsky was squatting on his heels in front of a copying-clerk. The latter was sitting on a tub turned upside down, he was writing rapidly with the cuffs of his uniform tucked up. Kozlovsky's face was careworn; he too looked as if he had not slept all night. He glanced at Prince Andrey, and did not even nod to him.
“The second line.… Ready?” he went on, dictating to the clerk: “the Kiev Grenadiers, the Podolsky …”
“Don't be in such a hurry, your honour,” the clerk answered rudely and angrily, looking at Kozlovsky. Through the door he heard at that moment Kutuzov's voice, eager and dissatisfied, and other unfamiliar voices interrupting him. The sound of those voices, the inattention with which Kozlovsky glanced at him, the churlishness of the harassed clerk, the fact that the clerk and Kozlovsky were sitting round a tub on the floor at so little distance from the commander-in-chief, and that the Cossacks holding the horses laughed so loudly at the window—all made Prince Andrey feel that some grave calamity was hanging over them.
Prince Andrey turned to Kozlovsky with urgent questions.
“In a minute, prince,” said Kozlovsky. “The disposition of Bagration's troops…”
“What about capitulation?”
“Nothing of the sort; arrangements have been made for a battle!”
Prince Andrey went towards the door from which the sound of voices came. But at the moment when he was going to open the door, the voices in the room paused, the door opened of itself, and Kutuzov with his eagle nose and podgy face appeared in the doorway. Prince Andrey was standing exactly opposite Kutuzov; but from the expression of the commander-in-chief's one seeing eye it was evident that thought and anxiety so engrossed him as to veil, as it were, his vision. He looked straight into his adjutant's face and did not recognise him.
“Well, have you finished?” he addressed Kozlovsky.
“In a second, your Excellency.”
Bagration, a short lean man, not yet elderly, with a resolute and impassive face of oriental type, came out after the commander-in-chief.
“I have the honour to report myself,” Prince Andrey said for the second time, rather loudly, as he handed Kutuzov an envelope.
“Ah, from Vienna? Very good! Later, later!” Kutuzov went out to the steps with Bagration.
“Well, prince, good-bye,” he said to Bagration. “Christ be with you! May my blessing bring you a great victory!” Kutuzov's face suddenly softened, and there were tears in his eyes. With his left arm he drew Bagration to him, while with his right hand, on which he wore a ring, he crossed him with a gesture evidently habitual. He offered him his podgy cheek, but Bagration kissed him on the neck. “Christ be with you!” repeated Kutuzov, and he went towards his carriage. “Get in with me,” he said to Bolkonsky.
“Your Most High Excellency, I should have liked to be of use here. Allow me to remain in Prince Bagration's detachment.”
“Get in,” said Kutuzov, and noticing that Bolkonsky still delayed: “I have need of good officers myself, myself.”
They took their seats in the carriage and drove for some minutes in silence.
“There is a great deal, a great deal of everything still before us,” he said, with an expression of old-age clairvoyance, as though he saw all that was passing in Bolkonsky's heart. “If one-tenth part of his detachment comes in, I shall thank God,” added Kutuzov, as though talking to himself.
Prince Andrey glanced at Kutuzov, and unconsciously his eyes were caught by the carefully washed seams of the scar on his temple, where the bullet had gone through his head at Ismail, and the empty eyesocket, not a yard from him. “Yes, he has the right to speak so calmly of the destruction of these men,” thought Bolkonsky.
“That's why I ask you to send me to that detachment,” he said.
Kutuzov made no reply. He seemed to have forgotten what was said to him, and sat plunged in thought. Five minutes later, swaying easily in the soft carriage springs, Kutuzov addressed Prince Andrey. There was no trace of emotion on his face now. With delicate irony he questioned Prince Andrey about the details of his interview with the Emperor, about the comments he had heard at Court on the Krems engagement, and about ladies of their common acquaintance.
就是在那天夜晚，博尔孔斯基向军政大臣辞行之后，便乘车向部队走去，连自己也不知道，在什么地方能够找到部队。还担心在前往克雷姆斯的途中会被法国人截住。 
布吕恩朝廷的上上下下都在收拾行装，沉重的物件都已运到奥尔米茨。在埃采尔斯多夫附近的某地，安德烈公爵驶行到大马路上。俄国军队极其忙乱地沿着这条大路前进。这条路上塞满了形形色色的车辆，以致轻便马车无法通行。安德烈公爵饥肠辘辘，倦容满面，他向哥萨克长官雇了一匹马和一名哥萨克兵，赶到车队前面去寻找总司令和自己的马车。途中向他传来俄国军队进退维谷的消息，军队不遵守秩序、擅自逃跑的情状证实了这些马路消息。
“Cettearméerussequel'ordel'Angleterrea
transportéedesextrémitésdel'univers，nousallonsluifaireéprouverlememesort（lesortdel'arméea'ulm）．”①他回想起波拿巴在战役开始之前向军队发布的命令中所说的话，这些话同样使他对天才的英雄感到惊奇，激起屈辱的自豪感和沽名钓誉的希望。“假如除阵亡而外，一无所存，怎么办呢？”他想道，“既然有必要，也没有什么！我会处理得比别人更出色。” 
①法语：我们要迫使英国的黄金自天涯海角运送来的这支俄国军队遭受同样的厄运（乌尔姆军队的厄运）。
安德烈公爵鄙夷地望着这些川流不息的混乱的队列、马车、辎重队、炮兵，又是马车、马车、各色各样的马车，后车追赶前车，排成三行、四行，堵塞着泥泞的道路。从四面八方，前前后后，听力所及之处，传来车轮的辚辚声、轻便马车车厢、普通大车和炮架的隆隆声、马蹄得得的声音、马鞭哒哒的响声、催马的吆喝声、士兵、勤务兵和军官的咒骂声。道路的两边时而不停地望见剥去外皮和尚未剥去外皮的倒毙的马匹，时而望见被破坏的马车，一些散兵游勇坐在马车旁等待着什么，时而望见一些脱离队伍的士兵，他们成群结队地向邻近的村庄走去，或者从村里拖出若干只母鸡、公羊、干草或一些装满着物品的布袋。在上下坡的地方，人群显得更加密集，不停地听见哼叫的声音。士兵们陷入齐膝深的泥泞中，双手抬着炮身，扶着带篷大车；马鞭不停地抽挞，马蹄滑动着；套索眼看就要破裂，他们拼命地吼叫，叫痛了胸口。指挥车马运行的军官们在车队中间时而向前、时而向后地驶行。在众人的嘈杂声中可以隐约地听见他们的说话声，从他们脸上看出，他们已经丧失制止混乱的希望了。
“Voilalecher①东正教军队。”博尔孔斯基回忆起比利宾的话时，思忖了一下。 
①法语：看，这就是可爱的……
他驶近车队，欲向这些人中的任何一个打听总司令的下落。一辆稀奇古怪的单马轻便马车从他对面直奔而来，很明显这是一辆士兵家庭集资制造的式样介乎普通大车、单马双轮轻便车和四轮马车之间的马车。士兵驾驶着马车，一个妇女坐在皮革车篷底下的挡布后面，她满头缠着围巾。安德烈公爵向他们前面驶来，这个坐在带篷马车中的妇女拼命地喊叫，引起了他的注意，这时候他便问问那个士兵。一名坐在这辆马车上充当车夫的士兵很想赶到前面去，指挥车队的军官揍他一顿，皮鞭子不断地落在带篷马车的挡布上。这个妇女尖声地叫喊。她看见了安德烈公爵，便从挡布后面探出身子，一面挥动着从地毯似的围巾后面伸出来的瘦骨嶙峋的手臂，嚷道：
“副官！副官先生！…看在上帝面上……救救我吧…这会闹成啥样子？…我是第七猎骑兵团军医的妻子……不放我们过去：我们就落在后面，自己的人都失散了……”
“我真要把你砸成薄饼，你转回头去！”凶恶的军官对士兵喊道，“你跟你的邋遢女人转回头去。”
“副官先生，救救我吧！这是什么世道？”军医的妻子喊道。
“请您让这辆马车通行。您难道看不见这是妇女吗？”安德烈驶至军官面前，说道。
军官瞟了他一眼，没有回答，又把脸转向士兵，说道：
“我要绕到前面去……你后退吧！”
“让这辆马车通行，我跟您说。”安德烈公爵瘪着嘴唇，又重复地说了一句。
“你是什么人？”这名军官忽然摆出一副发酒疯的样子对他说，“你是什么人？（他特别强调“你”的重音）是长官，是不是？这里的长官是我，而不是你。你退回去吧，”他重说一遍，“我真要把你砸成薄饼。”
看起来，这名军官更喜欢这句口头禅。
“他很傲慢地把小副官的话顶回去了。”从后面传来话语声。
安德烈公爵看见，军官喝醉酒似地无缘无故地发狂，人通常处于这种状态会不记得自己所说的话的。他又看见，他庇护坐在马车上的军医太太，定会使人感到，这是世界上一件最可怕的事，这会变成所谓的ridicule①，但是他的本能使他产生别的情感。军官还没有来得及把最后一句话说完，安德烈公爵便狂暴得扭曲了面孔，走到他跟前，举起了马鞭：
“请您让这辆马车通行吧！” 
①法语：笑料。
军官挥挥手，急忙走到一边去。
“这些司令部的人员把什么都搞得乱七八糟，”他唠叨地说，“您要干什么，听您的便吧。”
安德烈公爵没有抬起眼睛，匆匆忙忙地从那个把他叫做救星的军医太太身边走开，向人家告诉他的总司令驻扎的村庄疾驰而去，一面厌恶地想到这种有伤自尊心的争执的详情细节。
他驶入村庄，翻身下马，向第一栋住宅走去，心里想要休息片刻，吃点什么，澄清一下令人屈辱的折磨他的想法。
“这是一群坏蛋，而不是军队。”他想道，向第一栋住宅的窗口走去，这时候一个熟人喊出了他的名字。
他回头一看，涅斯维茨基的清秀的面孔从那小小的窗口探了出来。涅斯维茨基用那红阔的嘴咀嚼着什么食物，一面挥动着手臂，把他喊到身边去。
“博尔孔斯基，博尔孔斯基！你听不见，是不是？快点来吧。”他喊道。
安德烈公爵走进住宅，看见正在就餐的涅斯维茨基和另一名副官。他们急忙地询问博尔孔斯基，他是否获悉什么新闻？安德烈公爵从他很熟悉的他们的脸上看出了惊惶不安的神色。这种神色在向来流露笑意的涅斯维茨基的脸上特别引人注目。
“总司令在哪里？”博尔孔斯基发问。
“是在这里，在那栋住宅里。”副官答道。
“啊，说实在话，媾和与投降，都没有什么，是吗？”涅斯维茨基问道。
“我正在问您。我什么也不知道，只是很费劲地才走到你们这里来。”
“老兄，我们这里怎么啦！不得了！老兄，我认罪；大家嘲笑过马克，可是我们自己搞得更糟了，”涅斯维茨基说道，“你坐下，吃点什么吧。”
“公爵，而今没有找到马车，什么也找不到，天知道您的彼得在哪里呢。”另一名副官说道。
“大本营究竟在哪里？”
“我们要在茨奈姆落歇。”
“我把我要用的全部物件重新驮在两匹马背上，”涅斯维茨基说道，“马搭子装得棒极了。即令要溜过波希米亚山也行。老兄，很不妙。你真的病了，怎么老在发抖呢？”涅斯维茨基发现安德烈公爵像触到电容瓶似地打了个哆嗦，于是问道。
“没关系。”安德烈公爵答道。
这时分他想起了不久以前跟军医太太和辎重队军官发生冲突的情景。
“总司令在此地做什么事？”他问道。
“我一点也不知道。”涅斯维茨基说道。
“有一点我是了解的：什么都令人厌恶，令人厌恶，令人厌恶！”安德烈公爵说完这句话，就到总司令驻扎的住宅去了。
安德烈公爵从库图佐夫的轻便马车旁边，从疲惫不堪的随员骑的马匹旁边，从那些大声交谈的哥萨克兵旁边经过后，便走进外屋。有人告诉安德烈公爵，库图佐夫本人和巴格拉季翁公爵、魏罗特尔都在一间农村木房里。魏罗特尔是替代已经献身的施米特的奥国将军。在外屋里，个子矮小的科兹洛夫斯基在文书官面前蹲着。文书官卷起制服的袖口，坐在桶底朝上翻过来的木桶上，急急忙忙地誊写文件。科兹洛夫斯基面容疲倦，看起来，他也有一宵未眠。他朝安德烈公爵瞥了一眼，连头也没有点一下。
“第二行……写好了吗？”他向文书官继续口授，“基辅掷弹兵团，波多尔斯克兵团……”
“大人，跟不上您呀。”文书官回头望望科兹洛夫斯基，不恭敬地、气忿地答道。
这时从门里可以听见库图佐夫的极度兴奋的不满意的话语声，它被另外的陌生的话语声打断了。这些话语声清晰可闻，科兹洛夫斯基漫不经心地瞥他一眼，疲惫不堪的文书官出言不逊，文书官和科兹洛夫斯基离总司令只有咫尺之地，他们围着木桶坐在地板上，几名哥萨克牵着马儿在住宅的窗下哈哈大笑，——从这一切来推敲，安德烈公爵心里觉得，想必发生了什么不幸的严重事件。
安德烈公爵十分迫切地向科兹洛夫斯基提出了几个问题。
“公爵，马上就回答，”科兹洛夫斯基说道，“正给巴格拉季翁下一道书面命令。”
“是要投降吗？”
“根本不是，作战命令已经颁布了。”
安德烈公爵向门口走去，门后可以听见众人的话语声。但是当他想要开门时，房间里的话语声停住了，门自动地敞开了。库图佐夫长着一张肥胖的脸，鹰钩鼻子，他在门坎前出现了。安德烈公爵笔直地站在库图佐夫对面，但是从总司令的独眼的表情可以看出，一种心绪和忧虑萦回于他的脑际，仿佛蒙住了他的视觉。他直勾勾地望着他的副官的面孔，没有认出他是谁。
“喂，怎么，写好了吗？”他把脸转向科兹洛夫斯基，说道。
“立刻写好，大人。”
巴格拉季翁，身材不高，一副东方型的表情呆板而端正的脸孔，干瘪瘪的，还不是老年人，他跟随总司令走出来。
“遵命来到，荣幸之至。”安德烈公爵递上一封信，嗓音洪亮地重说一句话。
“啊，是从维也纳来的吗？很好。过一会儿，过一会儿！”
库图佐夫随同巴格拉季翁走上了台阶。
“啊，公爵，再见，”他对巴格拉季翁说道，“基督保佑你。
祝福你建立丰功伟绩。”
库图佐夫的脸色忽然变得温和了，眼睛里噙满了泪水。他用左手把巴格拉季翁拉到自己身边，用那只戴着戒指的右手做出显然是习惯做的手势，给他画十字，向他伸出肥胖的脸颊，巴格拉季翁没有去吻他的脸颊，而是吻了吻他的颈项。
“基督保佑你，”库图佐夫重说了一遍，便向四轮马车前面走去，“你和我一同坐车吧。”他对博尔孔斯基说道。
“大人，我希望能在此地效劳。请您允许我留在巴格拉季翁公爵的部队中吧。”
“你坐下，”库图佐夫发现博尔孔斯基在耽误时间，便开口说道，“我本人，本人要用一些优秀的军官。”
他们坐上了四轮马车，默不作声地驶行了几分钟。
“前途无量，还有许多事要干，”他带着老年人富有洞察力的表情说道，仿佛他明白博尔孔斯基的全部内心活动似的，“假如明日有十分之一的人从他的部队中回来的话，我就要感谢上帝。”库图佐夫好像自言自语地补充说。
安德烈公爵望了望库图佐夫，在离他半俄尺的地方，他情不自禁地注视库图佐夫的太阳穴上洗得干干净净的伤疤，在伊兹梅尔战役中一颗子弹射穿了他的头颅，失去了眼球，他这只出水的眼睛也使安德烈公爵注目。“是的，他有权利心平气和地谈论这些人阵亡的事啊！”博尔孔斯基思忖了一会。
“正是因为这缘故，我才请求把我派到这支部队里去。”他说道。
库图佐夫没有回答。他好像忘记了他说的话，还在沉思默想地坐着。五分钟以后，库图佐夫把脸转向安德烈公爵，坐在柔软的四轮马车的弹簧车垫上平稳地摇摇晃晃。他脸上没有激动的痕迹了。他带着含蓄的讥讽的神情询问安德烈公爵关于他和皇帝会面的详细情形、在皇宫听到什么有关克雷姆战役的评论，并且问到大家都认识的几个女人。
Book 2 Chapter 14
KUTUZOV had, on the 1st of November, received from one of his spies information that showed the army he commanded to be in an almost hopeless position. The spy reported that the French, after crossing the bridge at Vienna, were moving in immense force on Kutuzov's line of communications with the reinforcements marching from Russia. If Kutuzov were to determine to remain at Krems, Napoleon's army of a hundred and fifty thousand men would cut him off from all communications, and would surround his exhausted army of forty thousand, and he would find himself in the position of Mack before Ulm. If Kutuzov decided to leave the road leading to a junction with the Russian reinforcements, he would have to make his way with no road through unknown country to the mountains of Bohemia, pursued by the cream of the enemy's forces, and to give up all hope of effecting a junction with Buxhevden. If Kutuzov decided to march by the road from Krems to Olm?tz to join the forces from Russia he ran the risk of finding the French, who had crossed the Vienna bridge, in advance of him on this road, and so being forced to give battle on the march, encumbered with all his stores and transport, with an enemy three times as numerous and hemming him in on both sides. Kutuzov chose the last course.
The French, after crossing the river, had, as the spy reported, set off at a quick march toward Znaim, which lay on Kutuzov's line of routes more than a hundred versts in front of him. To reach Znaim before the French offered the best hopes of saving the army. To allow the French to get to Znaim before him would mean exposing the whole army to a disgrace like that of the Austrians at Ulm, or to complete destruction. But to arrive there before the French with the whole army was impossible. The road of the French army from Vienna to Znaim was shorter and better than the Russians' road from Krems to Znaim.
On the night of receiving the news Kutuzov sent Bagration's advance guard of four thousand soldiers to the right over the mountains from the Krems-Znaim road to the Vienna and Znaim road. Bagration was to make a forced march, to halt facing towards Vienna and with his back to Znaim, and if he succeeded in getting on the road in advance of the French, he was to delay them as long as he could. Kutuzov himself with all the transport was making straight for Znaim.
Bagration marched forty-five versts, by night in stormy weather, through the mountains, with no road, and with hungry, barefoot soldiers. Leaving a third of his men straggling behind him, Bagration reached Hollabrunn, on the Vienna and Znaim road, a few hours before the French, who marched upon Hollabrunn from Vienna. Kutuzov needed fully another twenty-four hours to get to Znaim with all the transport, and so to save the army Bagration would have had, with his four thousand hungry and exhausted soldiers, to have kept at bay the whole army of the enemy confronting him at Hollabrunn for four-and-twenty hours, and this was obviously impossible. But a freak of fate made the impossible possible. The success of the trick that had given the Vienna bridge into the hands of the French encouraged Murat to try and take in Kutuzov too. Murat, on meeting Bagration's weak detachment on the Znaim road, supposed it to be the whole army of Kutuzov. To give this army a final and crushing defeat he waited for the troops still on the road from Vienna, and to that end he proposed a truce for three days, on the condition that neither army should change its position nor stir from where it was. Murat averred that negotiations for peace were now proceeding, and that he proposed a truce therefore to avoid useless bloodshed. The Austrian general, Nostits, who was in charge of the advance posts, believed the statements of Murat's messengers and retired, leaving Bagration's detachment unprotected. The other messengers rode off to the Russian line to make the same announcement about peace negotiations, and to propose a truce of three days, to the Russian troops. Bagration replied that he was not authorised to accept or to decline a truce, and sent his adjutant to Kutuzov with a report of the proposition made to him.
A truce gave Kutuzov the only possibility of gaining time, of letting Bagration's exhausted forces rest, and of getting the transport and heavy convoys (the movement of which was concealed from the French) a further stage on their journey. The offer of a truce gave the one—and totally unexpected—chance of saving the army. On receiving information of it, Kutuzov promptly despatched the general-adjutant, Winzengerode, who was with him, to the enemy's camp. Winzengerode was instructed not only to accept the truce, but to propose terms of capitulation, while Kutuzov meanwhile sent his adjutants back to hasten to the utmost the transport of the luggage of the whole army along the Krems and Znaim road. Bagration's hungry and exhausted detachment alone was to cover the movements of the transport and of the whole army, by remaining stationary in face of an enemy eight times stronger numerically.
Kutuzov's anticipations were correct both as to the proposals of capitulation, which bound him to nothing, giving time for part of the transport to reach Znaim, and as to Murat's blunder being very quickly discovered. As soon as Bonaparte, who was at Sch?nbrunn, only twenty-five versts from Hollabrunn, received Murat's despatch and projects of truce and capitulation, he detected the deception and despatched the following letter to Murat:
To Prince Murat.
Sch?nbrunn, 25 Brumaire, year 1805, 
at 8 o'clock in the morning.
“It is impossible to find terms in which to express to you my displeasure. You only command my advance guard and you have no right to make any truce without my order. You are causing me to lose the results of a campaign. Break the truce immediately and march upon the enemy. You must make a declaration to them that the general who signed this capitulation had no right to do so, and that only the Emperor of Russia has that right.
“Whenever the Emperor of Russia ratifies the aforesaid convention, however, I will ratify it; but it is only a stratagem. March on, destroy the Russian army … you are in a position to take its baggage and artillery.
“The Emperor of Russia's aide-de-camp is a … Officers are nothing when they have not powers; this one had none. … The Austrians let themselves be tricked about the crossing of the bridge of Vienna, you are letting yourself be tricked by one of the Emperor's aides-de-camp.
“NAPOLEON.”
Bonaparte's adjutant dashed off at full gallop with this menacing letter to Murat. Not trusting his generals, Bonaparte himself advanced to the field of battle with his whole guard, fearful of letting the snared victim slip through his fingers. Meanwhile the four thousand men of Bagration's detachment, merrily lighting camp-fires, dried and warmed themselves, and cooked their porridge for the first time for three days, and not one among them knew or dreamed of what was in store for them.
十一月一日，库图佐夫从他的侦察兵那里得到了消息，这项消息可能使他率领的军队陷入走投无路的境地。侦察兵禀告：法国佬以其雄厚的兵力已越过维也纳大桥，向库图佐夫和俄国开来的军队的交通线挺进。如若库图佐夫下定决心留守克雷姆，拿破仑的十五万军队就要截断他的各条交通线，包围他的精疲力竭的四万军队，他就会处于乌尔姆战役中马克陷入的绝境。若是库图佐夫下定决心放弃他和俄国军队取得联络的道路，他就会无路可走，只得进入那人地生疏的无名的波希米亚山区，自我防卫，以免遭受拥有优势兵力的敌人的进犯，并且丧失他和布克斯格夫登取得联络的任何希望。若是库图佐夫下定决心沿途退却，从克雷姆斯撤退到奥尔米茨，同俄国军队汇合，那末在这条路上，那些越过维也纳大桥的法国人就要抢先一步，使库图佐夫遭受危险，这样一来，他就要被迫携带各种重型装备和辎重在行军中作战，同兵力优越二倍、从两面向他夹攻的敌人作战。 
库图佐夫选择了后一条出路。
侦察兵禀告，法国人越过维也纳大桥，正以强行军的速度向库图佐夫撤退的道路上的茨奈姆推进，在库图佐夫前头走了一百多俄里。先于法国官兵抵达茨奈姆，意味着拯救全军的希望更大；让法国官兵抢先到达茨奈姆，就意味着一定会使全军遭受乌尔姆战役之类的奇耻大辱，或者使全军覆没。但是，率领全军赶到法国官兵前头去是不可能的。法国官兵从维也纳到茨奈姆的道路，比俄国官兵从克雷姆斯到茨奈姆的道路更短，更便于行走。
得到消息的晚上，库图佐夫派遣巴格拉季翁的四千人马的前卫队伍从克雷姆斯——茨索姆大道右侧翻越山峰向维也纳——茨奈姆大道推进。巴格拉季翁应当不停地走完这段行程，在面朝维也纳背向茨奈姆的地方扎下营盘。假如能赶到法国官兵前头，他就应当尽可能地阻止他们前进，库图佐夫本人携带各种重型装备起程前赴茨奈姆。
在暴风雨之夜，巴格拉季翁带着那些忍饥挨饿、不穿皮靴的士兵在无路径的山中走了四十五俄里，失去了三分之一的掉队的官兵。巴格拉季翁比法国官兵早几个钟头到达维也纳——茨奈姆大道上的霍拉布伦，这时法国官兵正向霍拉布伦附近推进。库图佐夫随带辎重还要再走一昼夜才能抵达茨奈姆；因此，为拯救军队巴格拉季翁就必须带领四千名饥饿而劳累的士兵花费一昼夜在霍拉布伦阻击相遇的全部敌军，这显然是办不到的事。但是奇特的命运却使办不到的事变成办得到的事。不战而将维也纳大桥交到法国官兵手中这一骗术的成功促使缪拉也试图欺骗一下库图佐夫。缪拉在茨奈姆大道上遇见巴格拉季翁的兵力薄弱的部队后，以为这就是库图佐夫的全军人马。为坚持粉碎这支部队，他要等候从维也纳动身后于途中掉队的官兵，为此目的他建议休战三天，条件是：双方的部队不得改变驻地，在原地不动。缪拉要人人相信，和谈正在进行中，为避免无益的流血，所以提议停战。
处于前哨部队中的奥国将军诺斯蒂茨伯爵相信缪拉军使的话，给巴格拉季翁的队伍开路，自己退却了。另一名军使向俄国散兵线上驶去，也宣布同样的和谈消息，建议俄国军队休战三天。巴格拉季翁回答，他不能决定是否接受停战建议一事，他于是派出他的副官携带建议休战的报告去晋谒库图佐夫。
停战对库图佐夫来说是唯一的赢取时间的办法，巴格拉季翁的疲惫不堪的部队可用以稍事休憩，即令他让辎重和重型装备得以向茨奈姆多推进一段路程也行（瞒着法国官兵运输辎重和重型装备）。这项停战建议为拯救全军造成了料想不到的唯一的良机。库图佐夫在得到消息之后，立即把他部下的侍从武官长温岑格罗德派往敌营。温岑格罗德不仅应该接受停战条款，而且应该提出投降条件；与此同时，库图佐夫还派出数名副官，尽量催促克雷姆斯——茨奈姆大道上全军的辎重向前推进。唯独巴格拉季翁的疲惫而饥馑的部队为掩护辎重和全军行进而在兵力强于七倍的敌人面前岸然不动地设营。
库图佐夫意料之事果然应验了，其一是，投降建议并不要求承担任何责任。它可使部分辎重赢得推进的时机；其二是，缪拉的错误很快会被揭露。波拿巴驻扎在申布鲁恩，离霍拉布伦有二十五俄里之遥，他一接到缪拉的情报和停战、投降的草案，便立刻看出这个骗局，于是给缪拉写了如下的一封信。
缪拉亲王：
我搜寻不到恰当的言词以表达我对您的不满。您只
能指挥我的前卫，如未接获我的命令，您无权擅自停战媾和。您使我丧失整个战役的成果。您立刻撕毁停战建议书，并且前去歼灭敌人。您对他宣布，签署这份降书的将军无权作出这一决定，除俄皇之外，谁也无权作出这一决定。
但是，如果俄皇同意这一条件，我也表示赞同，然
而这只是一种计谋而已。您要去消灭俄国军队……您定能夺取俄国军队的辎重和大炮。
俄皇的侍从武官长是个骗子手……军官们如未授予
全权，就不能发挥任何作用，他也没有这种权力……在越过维也纳大桥时，奥国人遭受欺骗，而您却遭受俄皇侍从武官的欺骗。
拿破仑
一八○五年雾月二十五日八时于申布鲁恩
波拿巴的副官携带这封令人恐怖的书函向缪拉处奔驰而来。波拿巴本人不信任将军，生怕放走现成的牺牲品，便率领御林军奔赴战场。巴格拉季翁的四千人马的队伍正在快活地点起篝火，烤干衣服、取暖，停战三天后第一次煮饭，队伍中谁也不知道，谁也不会想到目前将要发生什么事。
Book 2 Chapter 15
BEFORE FOUR O'CLOCK in the afternoon Prince Andrey, who had persisted in his petition to Kutuzov, reached Grunte, and joined Bagration. Bonaparte's adjutant had not yet reached Murat's division, and the battle had not yet begun. In Bagration's detachment, they knew nothing of the progress of events. They talked about peace, but did not believe in its possibility. They talked of a battle, but did not believe in a battle's being close at hand either.
Knowing Bolkonsky to be a favourite and trusted adjutant, Bagration received him with a commanding officer's special graciousness and condescension. He informed him that there would probably be an engagement that day or the next day, and gave him full liberty to remain in attendance on him during the battle, or to retire to the rear-guard to watch over the order of the retreat, also a matter of great importance.
“To-day, though, there will most likely be no action,” said Bagration, as though to reassure Prince Andrey.
“If this is one of the common run of little staff dandies, sent here to win a cross, he can do that in the rear-guard, but if he wants to be with me, let him … he'll be of use, if he's a brave officer,” thought Bagration. Prince Andrey, without replying, asked the prince's permission to ride round the position and find out the disposition of the forces, so that, in case of a message, he might know where to take it. An officer on duty, a handsome and elegantly dressed man, with a diamond ring on his forefinger, who spoke French badly, but with assurance, was summoned to conduct Prince Andrey.
On all sides they saw officers drenched through, with dejected faces, apparently looking for something, and soldiers dragging doors, benches, and fences from the village.
“Here we can't put a stop to these people,” said the staff-officer, pointing to them. “Their commanders let their companies get out of hand. And look here,” he pointed to a canteen-keeper's booth, “they gather here, and here they sit. I drove them all out this morning, and look, it's full again. I must go and scare them, prince. One moment.”
“Let us go together, and I'll get some bread and cheese there,” said Prince Andrey, who had not yet had time for a meal.
“Why didn't you mention it, prince? I would have offered you something.”
They got off their horses and went into the canteen-keeper's booth. Several officers, with flushed and exhausted faces, were sitting at the tables, eating and drinking.
“Now what does this mean, gentlemen?” said the staff-officer, in the reproachful tone of a man who has repeated the same thing several times. “You mustn't absent yourselves like this. The prince gave orders that no one was to leave his post. Come, really, captain,” he remonstrated with a muddy, thin little artillery officer, who in his stockings (he had given his boots to the canteen-keeper to dry) stood up at their entrance, smiling not quite naturally.
“Now aren't you ashamed, Captain Tushin?” pursued the staff-officer. “I should have thought you as an artillery officer ought to set an example, and you have no boots on. They'll sound the alarm, and you'll be in a pretty position without your boots on.” (The staff-officer smiled.) “Kindly return to your posts, gentlemen, all, all,” he added in a tone of authority.
Prince Andrey could not help smiling as he glanced at Captain Tushin. Smiling, without a word, Tushin shifted from one bare foot to the other, looking inquiringly, with his big, shrewd, and good-natured eyes, from Prince Andrey to the staff-officer.
“The soldiers say it's easier barefoot,” said Captain Tushin, smiling shyly, evidently anxious to carry off his awkward position in a jesting tone. But before he had uttered the words, he felt that his joke would not do and had not come off. He was in confusion.
“Kindly go to your places,” said the staff-officer, trying to preserve his gravity.
Prince Andrey glanced once more at the little figure of the artillery officer. There was something peculiar about it, utterly unsoldierly, rather comic, but very attractive.
The staff-officer and Prince Andrey got on their horses and rode on.
Riding out beyond the village, continually meeting or overtaking soldiers and officers of various ranks, they saw on the left earthworks being thrown up, still red with the freshly dug clay. Several battalions of soldiers, in their shirt-sleeves, in spite of the cold wind were toiling like white ants at these entrenchments; from the trench they saw spadefuls of red clay continually being thrown out by unseen hands. They rode up to the entrenchment, examined it, and were riding on further. Close behind the entrenchment they came upon dozens of soldiers continually running to and from the earthworks, and they had to hold their noses and put their horses to a gallop to get by the pestilential atmosphere of this improvised sewer.
“Voilà l'agrément des camps, monsieur le prince,” said the staff-officer. They rode up the opposite hill. From that hill they had a view of the French. Prince Andrey stopped and began looking closer at what lay before them.
“You see here is where our battery stands,” said the staff-officer, pointing to the highest point, “commanded by that queer fellow sitting without his boots; from there you can see everything; let us go there, prince.”
“I am very grateful to you, I'll go on alone now,” said Prince Andrey, anxious to be rid of the staff-officer; “don't trouble yourself further, please.”
The staff-officer left him, and Prince Andrey rode on alone.
The further forward and the nearer to the enemy he went, the more orderly and cheerful he found the troops. The greatest disorder and depression had prevailed in the transport forces before Znaim, which Prince Andrey had passed that morning, ten versts from the French. At Grunte too a certain alarm and vague dread could be felt. But the nearer Prince Andrey got to the French line, the more self-confident was the appearance of our troops. The soldiers, in their great-coats, stood ranged in lines with their sergeant, and the captain was calling over the men, poking the last soldier in the line in the ribs, and telling him to hold up his hand. Soldiers were dotted all over the plain, dragging logs and brushwood, and constructing shanties, chatting together, and laughing good-humouredly. They were sitting round the fires, dressed and stripped, drying shirts and foot-gear. Or they thronged round the porridge-pots and cauldrons, brushing their boots and their coats. In one company dinner was ready, and the soldiers, with greedy faces, watched the steaming pots, and waited for the sample, which was being taken in a wooden bowl to the commissariat officer, sitting on a piece of wood facing his shanty.
In another company—a lucky one, for not all had vodka—the soldiers stood in a group round a broad-shouldered, pock-marked sergeant, who was tilting a keg of vodka, and pouring it into the covers of the canteens held out to him in turn. The soldiers, with reverential faces, lifted the covers to their mouths, drained them, and licking their lips and rubbing them with the sleeves of their coats, they walked away looking more good-humoured than before. Every face was as serene as though it were all happening not in sight of the enemy, just before an action in which at least half of the detachment must certainly be left on the field, but somewhere at home in Russia, with every prospect of a quiet halting-place. Prince Andrey rode by the Chasseur regiment, and as he advanced into the ranks of the Kiev Grenadiers, stalwart fellows all engaged in the same peaceful pursuits, not far from the colonel's shanty, standing higher than the rest, he came upon a platoon of grenadiers, before whom lay a man stripped naked. Two soldiers were holding him, while two others were brandishing supple twigs and bringing them down at regular intervals on the man's bare back. The man shrieked unnaturally. A stout major was walking up and down in front of the platoon, and regardless of the screams, he kept saying: “It's a disgrace for a soldier to steal; a soldier must be honest, honourable, and brave, and to steal from a comrade, he must be without honour indeed, a monster. Again, again!”
And still he heard the dull thuds and the desperate but affected scream.
“Again, again,” the major was saying.
A young officer, with an expression of bewilderment and distress in his face, walked away from the flogging, looking inquiringly at the adjutant.
Prince Andrey, coming out to the foremost line, rode along in front of it. Our line and the enemy's were far from one another at the left and also at the right flank; but in the centre, at the spot where in the morning the messengers had met, the lines came so close that the soldiers of the two armies could see each other's faces and talk together. Besides these soldiers, whose place was in that part of the line, many others had gathered there from both sides, and they were laughing, as they scrutinised the strange and novel dress and aspect of their foes.
Since early morning, though it was forbidden to go up to the line, the commanding officers could not keep the inquisitive soldiers back. The soldiers, whose post was in that part of the line, like showmen exhibiting some curiosity, no longer looked at the French, but made observations on the men who came up to look, and waited with a bored face to be relieved. Prince Andrey stopped to look carefully at the French.
“Look'ee, look'ee,” one soldier was saying to a comrade, pointing to a Russian musketeer, who had gone up to the lines with an officer and was talking warmly and rapidly with a French grenadier. “I say, doesn't he jabber away fine! I bet the Frenchy can't keep pace with him. Now, then, Sidorov?”
“Wait a bit; listen. Aye, it's fine!” replied Sidorov, reputed a regular scholar at talking French.
The soldier, at whom they had pointed laughing, was Dolohov. Prince Andrey recognised him and listened to what he was saying. Dolohov, together with his captain, had come from the left flank, where his regiment was posted.
“Come, again, again!” the captain urged, craning forward and trying not to lose a syllable of the conversation, though it was unintelligible to him. “Please, go on. What's he saying?”
Dolohov did not answer the captain; he had been drawn into a hot dispute with the French grenadier. They were talking, as was to be expected, of the campaign. The Frenchman, mixing up the Austrians and the Russians, was maintaining that the Russians had been defeated and had been fleeing all the way from Ulm. Dolohov declared that the Russians had never been defeated, but had beaten the French.
“We have orders to drive you away from here, and we shall too,” said Dolohov.
“You had better take care you are not all captured with all your Cossacks,” said the French grenadier.
Spectators and listeners on the French side laughed.
“We shall make you dance, as you danced in Suvorov's day” (on vous fera danser), said Dolohov.
“What is he prating about?” said a Frenchman.
“Ancient history,” said another, guessing that the allusion was to former wars. “The Emperor will show your Suvorov, like the others.…”
“Bonaparte …” Dolohov was beginning, but the Frenchman interrupted him.
“Not Bonaparte. He is the Emperor! Sacré nom …” he said angrily.
“Damnation to him, your Emperor!”
And Dolohov swore a coarse soldier's oath in Russian, and, shouldering his gun, walked away.
“Come along, Ivan Lukitch,” he said to his captain.
“So that's how they talk French,” said the soldiers in the line. “Now then, you, Sidorov.” Sidorov winked, and, turning to the French, he fell to gabbling disconnected syllables very rapidly.
“Kari-ma-la-ta-fa-sa-fi-mu-ter-kess-ka,” he jabbered, trying to give the most expressive intonation to his voice.
“Ho, ho, ho! ha ha! ha ha! Oh! oo!” the soldiers burst into a roar of such hearty, good-humoured laughter, in which the French line too could not keep from joining, that after it it seemed as though they must unload their guns, blow up their ammunition, and all hurry away back to their homes. But the guns remained loaded, the port-holes in the houses and earthworks looked out as menacingly as ever, and the cannons, taken off their platforms, confronted one another as before.
下午三点多钟，安德烈公爵向库图佐夫坚决地请求，在获准之后来到格伦特，拜谒了巴格拉季翁。波拿巴的副官尚未抵达缪拉部队，因此会战仍未开始。巴格拉季翁的队伍中对整个事态的进展一无所知，人人都在谈论媾和，但都不相信媾和有实现的可能。人人都在谈论会战，但也不相信会战近在眉睫。 
巴格拉季翁认为博尔孔斯基是个走红的靠得住的副官，所以他像首长厚爱部下那样接待他。他向他宣布，大概在一二日之内将要发生会战，在会战期间，他让他享有充分的自由，可以自行决定：或者留在他身边，或者留在后卫队监察撤退的秩序，“这也是极为重要的事。”
“但是在眼下大概不会发生会战。”巴格拉季翁说，好像在安慰安德烈公爵似的。
“如果他是个派来领十字勋章的司令部的普通的阔少，那他在后卫队也能得到奖励。如果他愿意留在我左右办事，那就让他干下去……如果他是个勇敢的军官，那就大有用场了。”巴格拉季翁想了想。安德烈公爵什么话也没有回答，他请求允许他去视察阵地，了解一下部队的驻地，以便在接受任务时熟悉驶行的方位。部队中值勤的军官自告奋勇地陪伴安德烈公爵，这名军官是个眉清目秀的男子汉，穿着很讲究，食指上戴着一枚钻石戒指，法国话说得蹩脚，但他乐意说。
从四面八方可以看见满面愁容、浑身湿透的军官，仿佛在寻找什么东西，还可以看见从村中拖出门板、条凳和栏栅的士兵。
“公爵，瞧，我们没法摆脱这些老百姓，”校官指着这些人，说道，“指挥官纵容他们。瞧瞧这地方，”他指了指随军商贩支起的帐篷，“都聚在一起，坐着哩。今天早上把他们统一赶出去了，瞧瞧，又挤满了人。公爵，应当走到前面去，吓唬他们一下。等一等吗？”
“我们一块儿走吧，我也得向他要点乳酪和白面包。”来不及吃点东西的安德烈公爵说。
“公爵，您为什么不说呢？我愿意款待您哩。”
他们下了马，走进了随军商贩的帐篷。数名军官现出疲惫不堪的样子，涨红了脸，坐在桌旁又吃又喝。
“啊，诸位，这究竟是怎么回事！”校官用责备的口吻说道，就像某人接连数次地重说一句同样的话，“要知道，随便离开是不行的。公爵已吩咐，不准任何人走来。哎，上尉先生，瞧您这副模样。”他把脸朝向身材矮小、形容污秽、瘦骨嶙峋的炮兵军官说道，这名军官没有穿皮靴（他把皮靴交给随军商贩烤干），只穿着一双长袜，在走进来的人面前站起来，不太自然地面露微笑。
“喂，图申上尉，您不觉得害羞吗？”校官继续说道，“您这个炮兵好像要以身作则，而您竟不穿皮靴。假如发出警报，您不穿皮靴，那就很好看了。（校官微微一笑）诸位，诸位，诸位，请各回原位。”他客气十足地补充一句。
安德烈公爵望了望上尉，情不自禁地微微一笑。图申默不作声，微露笑意，站立时把重心从一只不穿靴子的脚移至另一只脚上，他带着疑惑的样子，用他那对聪明而善良的大眼睛时而望着安德烈公爵，时而望着校官。
“士兵都说：不穿靴子更方便。”图申上尉说道，面露微笑，显得很羞怯，看起来，他想用诙谐的语调来摆脱他的窘境。
“你们都各回原位。”校官尽量保持严肃的神态，说道。
安德烈公爵又一次地望望炮兵的身段。在他身上有一种特殊的全然不是军人固有的略嫌可笑、但又异常诱人的东西。
校官和安德烈公爵都骑上马，继续前行。
他们走到村外，不断地追赶并且遇见行军的各个小队的官兵，看见正在修筑的防御工事，工事左面刚刚挖出的泥土呈露红色。寒风凛冽，几个营的士兵都穿着一件衬衣，像白蚁似地在防御工事上蠕动。望不见的人在土墙后面铲出一锹一锹的红土。他们骑马走到防御工事前面，观看了一下，便继续前进。在防御工事后面，他们碰到几十个不断轮流替换、从工事跑下来的士兵。他们只好掩住鼻子，驱马疾驰，离开这种毒气弥漫的氛围。
“Voilàagrementdescamps，monsieurleprince．”①值日校官说。 
①法语：公爵，这就是兵营的乐趣。
他们骑马走到了对面山上。从这座山上可以看见法国官兵。安德烈公爵停步了，开始仔细地观察。
“瞧，这儿就是我们的炮台，”校官指着那个制高点说道，“就是那个不穿靴子坐在帐篷里的古怪人主管的炮台，从那儿什么都可以望见。公爵，让我们一道去吧。”
“感激之至，我一个人现在就走过去，”安德烈公爵说道，想避开这个校官，“请您甭费心。”
他越向前行驶，越靠近敌军，我军官兵就显得更神气、更愉快。茨奈姆离法国人有十俄里，安德烈公爵是日早晨得绕过茨奈姆；正在茨奈姆前面驶行的辎重车队的秩序极为混乱，士气也低沉。在格伦特可以觉察到某种惧怕和惊慌的气氛。安德烈公爵越走近法军的散兵线，我军官兵就越显得信心充足。一些穿着军大衣的士兵排成一行，站在那里，上士和连长在清点人数，用手指戳着班里靠边站的士兵的胸口，命令他举起手来。分布在整片空地上的士兵拖着木柴、干树枝，搭起临时用的棚子，欢快地说说笑笑。一些穿着衣服的和裸露身子的士兵都坐在篝火旁边，烧干衬衣，包脚布，或者修补皮靴和大衣，都聚集在饭锅和伙夫周围。有个连的午饭弄好了，士兵们露出贪婪的神情望着蒸气腾腾的饭锅，等候着品尝的东西，军需给养员用木钵装着品尝的东西端给坐在棚子对面圆木上的军官。
在另一个更走运的连队里，不是人人都有伏特加酒，士兵们挤成一团，站在那麻面、肩宽的上士周围，这名上士侧着小桶，向那依次地搁在手边的军用水壶盖子中斟酒。士兵们流露出虔诚的神色把军用水壶放到嘴边，将酒一倾而尽，嗽嗽口，用军大衣袖子揩揩嘴，带着快活的样子离开上士。大家的脸上非常平静，就好像这种种情形不是在敌人眼前发生，也不是在至少有半数军队要献身于沙场的战斗之前发生，而好像是在祖国某处等待着平安的设营似的。安德烈公爵越过了猎骑兵团，在基辅掷弹兵的队列中间，在那些从事和平劳作的英姿勃勃的人中间，在离那座高大的、与众不同的团长的棚子不远的地方，碰到了一排掷弹兵，一个光着身子的人躺在他们前面。两名士兵捉住他，另外两名挥动着柔软的树条，有节奏地抽挞着他的裸露的背脊，受惩罚的人异乎寻常地吼叫。一名很胖的少校在队列前头走来走去，不理睬他的吼叫声，不住口地说：
“士兵偷东西是很可耻的，士兵应当诚实、高尚而勇敢，假如偷了弟兄的东西，那就会丧失人格，那就是个恶棍。还要打！还要打！”
可以不断地听见柔软的树条抽挞的响声和那绝望的、却是假装的吼叫声。
年轻的军官流露着困惑不安和痛苦的神态，从受惩罚的人身边走开，带着疑问的目光打量着骑马从身旁走过的副官。
安德烈公爵走进前沿阵地之后，便沿着战线的前面驰去。我军和敌军的左右两翼的散兵线相距很远，但在中部地带，就是军使们早晨经过的地方，两军的散兵线相距很近，他们彼此看得清脸孔，可以交谈几句。除开在这个地方据有散兵线的士兵而外，还有许多好奇的人站在战线的两旁，他们冷讥热讽，端详着他们觉得古怪的陌生的敌人。
从清早起，虽然禁止人们走近散兵线，可是首长们没法赶走那些好奇的人。据有散兵线的士兵就像炫示什么珍宝的人们那样，已不再去观看法国官兵，而去观察向他们走来的人，寂寞无聊地等待着接班人。安德烈公爵停下来仔细观察法国官兵。
“你瞧吧，你瞧，”一名士兵指着俄国火枪兵对战友说道，火枪兵随同军官走到散兵线前面，他和法国掷弹兵急速而热烈地谈论什么事，“你瞧，他叽哩咕噜地讲得多么流利！连法国人也赶不上他哩。喂，西多罗夫，你为一句给我听听！”
“你等一下，听听吧，你瞧，多么流利啊！”被认为善于讲法国话的西多罗夫答道。
两个面露笑意的人指给人家看的那名士兵就是多洛霍夫。安德烈公爵认出他了，开始谛听他谈话。多洛霍夫随同他的连长从他们兵团驻守的左翼来到散兵线了。
“喂，再说几句吧，再说几句吧，”连长催促他说话，一面弯下腰，极力不漏掉他听不懂的每句话，“请再说快点。他说什么啦？”
多洛霍夫不回答连长的话，他卷入了跟法国掷弹兵开展的激烈的论争。他们当然是谈论战役问题。法国人把奥国人和俄国人混为一谈，他居然证明，俄国人投降了，从乌尔姆逃走了。多洛霍夫却证明，俄国人非但没有投降，而且打击了法国人。
“我们奉命在这里赶走你们，我们一定能赶走你们。”多洛霍夫说。
“只不过你们要卖力干，别让人家把你们和你们的哥萨克掳走了。”法国掷弹兵说道。
法国观众和听众笑了起来。
“要强迫你们团团转，就像苏沃洛夫在世时强迫你们团团转那样（onvousferadanser），”①多洛霍夫说道。
“Quest—cequ'ilchante？”②一个法国人说道。
“Del'histoireancienne，”③另外一个法国人猜到话题是涉及从前的战事，说道，“L'EmpereurvaluifairevoiràvotreSouvara，commeauxautres…”④
“波拿巴……”多洛霍夫本想开口说话，但是法国人打断他的话。
“不是波拿巴，是皇帝啊！Sacrèmon…⑤”他怒气冲冲地喊道。
“你们的皇帝见鬼去吧！” 
①法语：要强迫你们团团转。
②法语：他在那儿乱唱什么？
③法语：古代史。
④法语：皇帝像对待其他人一样，也要教训你们的苏瓦拉一顿……（苏瓦拉即指苏沃洛夫。）
⑤法语：见鬼去……
多洛霍夫像士兵似的用俄国话粗鲁地骂了一顿，提起枪来，走开了。
“伊万·卢基奇，我们走吧，”他对连长说道。
“你看，法国话多棒，”散兵线上的士兵说道，“喂，西多罗夫，你说一句给我听听。”
西多罗夫丢了个眼色，把脸转向法国人，开始急促地嘟嚷着一些听不懂的话。
“卡里，乌拉，塔法，萨菲，木特尔，卡斯卡。”他叽哩咕噜地说，极力地想使他的语调富有表情。
“嘿，嘿，嘿！哈，哈，哈，哈！哟！哟！”士兵中间传来了快活的哄然大笑，这笑声透过散兵线无意中感染了法国人，看来在这场大笑之后就应当退出枪弹，炸毁发射药，快点四散各自回家。
但是火枪仍旧是装着弹药。房屋和防御工事里的枪眼仍然像从前那样威严地正视前方，卸下前车的大炮仍然互相对准着敌方。
Book 2 Chapter 16
AFTER MAKING A CIRCUIT round the whole line of the army, from the right flank to the left, Prince Andrey rode up to that battery from which the staff-officer told him that the whole field could be seen. Here he dismounted and stood by the end of one of the four cannons, which had been taken off their platforms. An artilleryman on sentinel duty in front of the cannons was just confronting the officer, but at a sign being made to him, he renewed his regular, monotonous pacing. Behind the cannons stood their platforms, and still further behind, the picket-ropes and camp-fires of the artillerymen. To the left, not far from the end cannon, was a little newly rigged-up shanty, from which came the sounds of offices' voices in eager conversation. From the battery there was in fact a view of almost the whole disposition of the Russian forces, and the greater part of the enemy's. Directly facing the battery on the skyline of the opposite hill could be seen the village of Sch?ngraben; to the left and to the right could be discerned in three places through the smoke of the camp-fires masses of the French troops, of which the greater number were undoubtedly in the village itself and behind the hill. To the left of the village there was something in the smoke that looked like a battery, but it could not be made out clearly by the naked eye. Our right flank was stationed on a rather steep eminence, which dominated the French position. About it were disposed our infantry regiments, and on the very ridge could be seen dragoons. In the centre, where was placed Tushin's battery, from which Prince Andrey was surveying the position, there was the most sloping and direct descent to the stream that separated us from Sch?ngraben. On the left our troops were close to a copse, where there was the smoke of the camp-fires of our infantry, chopping wood in it. The French line was wider than ours, and it was obviously easy for the French to outflank us on both sides. Behind our position was a precipitous and deep ravine, down which it would be difficult to retreat with artillery and cavalry. Prince Andrey leaned his elbow on the cannon, and taking out a note-book, sketched for himself a plan of the disposition of the troops. In two places he made notes with a pencil, intending to speak on the points to Bagration. He meant to suggest first concentrating all the artillery in the centre, and secondly drawing the cavalry back to the further side of the ravine. Prince Andrey, who was constantly in attendance on the commander-in-chief, watching the movements of masses of men and man?uvring of troops, and also continually studying the historical accounts of battles, could not help viewing the course of the military operations that were to come only in their general features. His imagination dwelt on the broad possibilities, such as the following: “If the enemy makes the right flank the point of attack,” he said to himself, “the Kiev grenadiers and Podolosky Chasseurs will have to defend their position, till the reserves from the centre come to their support. In that case the dragoons can get them in the flank and drive them back. In case of an attack on the centre, we station on this height the central battery, and under its cover we draw off the left flank and retreat to the ravine by platoons,” he reasoned. … All the while he was on the cannon, he heard, as one often does, the sounds of the voices of the officers talking in the shanty, but he did not take in a single word of what they were saying. Suddenly a voice from the shanty impressed him by a tone of such earnestness that he could not help listening.
“No, my dear fellow,” said a pleasant voice that seemed somehow familiar to Prince Andrey. “I say that if one could know what will happen after death, then not one of us would be afraid of death. That's so, my dear fellow.”
Another younger voice interrupted him: “But afraid or not afraid, there's no escaping it.”
‘Why, you're always in fear! Fie on you learned fellows,” said a third, a manly voice, interrupting both. “To be sure, you artillerymen are clever fellows, because you can carry everything with you to eat and to drink.”
And the owner of the manly voice, apparently an infantry officer, laughed.
“Still one is in fear,” pursued the first voice, the one Prince Andrey knew. “One's afraid of the unknown, that's what it is. It's all very well to say the soul goes to heaven … but this we do know, that there is no heaven, but only atmosphere.”
Again the manly voice interrupted.
“Come, give us a drop of your herb-brandy, Tushin,” it said.
“Oh, it's the captain, who had his boots off in the booth,” thought Prince Andrey, recognising with pleasure the agreeable philosophising voice.
“Herb-brandy by all means,” said Tushin; “but still to conceive of a future life …” He did not finish his sentence.
At that moment there was a whiz heard in the air: nearer, nearer, faster and more distinctly, and faster it came; and the cannon-ball, as though not uttering all it had to say, thudded into the earth not far from the shanty, tearing up the soil with superhuman force. The earth seemed to moan at the terrible blow. At the same instant there dashed out of the shanty, before any of the rest, little Tushin with his short pipe in his mouth; his shrewd, good-humoured face was rather pale. After him emerged the owner of the manly voice, a stalwart infantry officer, who ran off to his company, buttoning his coat as he ran.
安德烈公爵从左右两翼绕过军队的整条战线之后，便登上校官谈话中提到的那座可以纵观整个战场的炮台。他在这里下了马，面前有四门大炮已卸去前车，他在那尊紧靠边上的大炮边旁停下来。炮队的一名哨兵在大炮前面踱来踱去，本来他在军官面前总要挺直胸膛立正，但是安德烈公爵向他做了个手势，他于是继续没精打采地、步速均匀地踱来踱去。前车停在大炮后面，再往后走就可以看见系马桩和炮兵生起的篝火。在离那尊紧靠边上的大炮不远的左前方，可以看见一座用树条编就的新棚子，棚子里传出军官们热闹的谈话声。 
诚然，从那座炮台上庶几展现出俄军和大部分敌军驻地的全貌。在对面山岗的地平线上，正好面对炮台，可以望见申格拉本村，在离本村两侧不远的地方，在法军生起篝火的滚滚黑烟中已有三处可以分辨清一大批法军，显然大部分法军都在本村和山后设营。村子左边，在一股浓烟中似乎可以看见某种形似炮台的东西，可是用肉眼就分辨不清楚了。我军的右翼位于颇为陡峭的高地，它耸立于法军阵地之上。高地上分布着我军的步兵，紧靠边缘的地方可以看见龙骑兵。图申主管的炮台位于中央，安德烈公爵从炮台上观察阵地，中央地带有一条笔直的缓坡路和通往小河的上坡路，这条小河把我们和申格拉本村分隔开来。我军右方与森林毗连，砍伐木柴的步兵生起的篝火冒着一股轻烟。法军的战线比我军的战线更宽，一目了然，法国官兵不难从两面包抄我们。我军阵地后面有一座陡峭的万仞深谷，炮兵和骑兵很难从峡谷退却。安德烈公爵用臂肘支撑着炮身，他取出记事簿，给自己画了一张军队部署图。他用铅笔在两处作了记号，打算向巴格拉季翁汇报一番。他想，首先把全部炮兵集中在中央阵地，其二，朝峡谷方向调回骑兵部队。安德烈公爵常在总司令近侧，注意群众的运作和一般的指令，并经常研究战争史文献，对行将爆发的战斗，情不自禁地想到军事行动进程的梗概。他脑海中只是浮现出如下严重的偶然事件：“如果敌军攻打右翼，”他自言自语地说，“基辅掷弹兵团和波多尔斯克猎骑兵团就要在中央援军尚未抵达之前坚守阵地。在这种情况下，龙骑兵可能要打击侧翼部队，把他们粉碎。敌人一旦进攻中央阵地，我们就要在这个高地上布置中央炮台，并且在炮台掩护下集结左翼部队，列成梯队撤退到峡谷。”他自言自语地评论……
当他在炮台上一门大炮旁边停留的时候，他便像平常那样不断地听见那些在棚子里说话的军官的嗓音，但是他们说什么，他连一个词也不明白。突然棚子里传来几个人的嗓音，这使他感到惊奇，他们说话的声调十分亲切，扣人心弦，以致他情不自禁地倾听起来。
“不，亲爱的，”传来一阵悦耳的好像是安德烈公爵熟悉的话语声，“我是说，假如有办法知道未来的事，那末我们之中就没有人会怕死了。亲爱的，的确如此。”
另外一个更加年轻的汉子的嗓音打断了他的话。
“怕也好，不怕也好，横竖一样——死是不可避免的。”
“不过还是害怕啊！嗨，你们都是很有阅历的人，”又传来一阵勇敢者的话语声，把前二者的话打断了，“真的，你们这些炮兵之所以很有阅历，是因为你们把样样东西随身带来了：伏特加酒呀，小菜呀，要什么有什么。”
嗓音雄厚的汉子显然是步兵军官，他大声笑起来了。
“不过还是害怕啊！”头一位带有熟悉的嗓音的人继续说下去，“害怕未知的事事物物，真是如此。无论怎么说，灵魂终有一日要升天……我们本来就知道，上天是不存在的，只有大气层而已。”
勇敢者的嗓音又把炮兵的话打断了。
“喂，图申，请我喝点您的草浸酒吧。”他说道。
“他就是那个不穿皮靴站在随军商贩身边的上尉。”安德烈公爵思忖了片刻，高兴地听出令人悦意的富有抽象推理意味的发言。
“可以请您喝一点草浸酒，”图申说道，“还是要明了未来的人生……”他没有把话说完。
这时候空中传来一片呼啸声。愈来愈近，愈快，愈清晰，愈清晰，愈快，一枚炮弹好像没有把要说的话全部说完，就带着非人的威力炸成了碎片，在离棚子不远的地方轰隆一声落在地上。大地因为遭受到可怖的打击而发出一声叹息。
就在这一刹那间，身材矮小的图申歪歪地叼着一根烟斗第一个从棚子里急忙跑出来，他那善良而聪明的面孔显得有几分苍白。嗓音雄厚的汉子，英姿勃勃的步兵军官跟在他后面走出来，向他自己的连队迅跑而去，跑步时，扣上军衣的钮扣。
Book 2 Chapter 17
PRINCE ANDREY mounted his horse but lingered at the battery, looking at the smoke of the cannon from which the ball had flown. His eyes moved rapidly over the wide plain. He only saw that the previously immobile masses of the French were heaving to and fro, and that it really was a battery on the left. The smoke still clung about it. Two Frenchmen on horseback, doubtless adjutants, were galloping on the hill. A small column of the enemy, distinctly visible, were moving downhill, probably to strengthen the line. The smoke of the first shot had not cleared away, when there was a fresh puff of smoke and another shot. The battle was beginning. Prince Andrey turned his horse and galloped back to Grunte to look for Prince Bagration. Behind him he heard the cannonade becoming louder and more frequent. Our men were evidently beginning to reply. Musket shots could be heard below at the spot where the lines were closest. Lemarrois had only just galloped to Murat with Napoleon's menacing letter, and Murat, abashed and anxious to efface his error, at once moved his forces to the centre and towards both flanks, hoping before evening and the arrival of the Emperor to destroy the insignificant detachment before him.
“It has begun! Here it comes!” thought Prince Andrey, feeling the blood rush to his heart. “But where? What form is my Toulon to take?” he wondered.
Passing between the companies that had been eating porridge and drinking vodka a quarter of an hour before, he saw everywhere nothing but the same rapid movements of soldiers forming in ranks and getting their guns, and on every face he saw the same eagerness that he felt in his heart. “It has begun! Here it comes! Terrible and delightful!” said the face of every private and officer. Before he reached the earthworks that were being thrown up, he saw in the evening light of the dull autumn day men on horseback crossing towards him. The foremost, wearing a cloak and an Astrachan cap, was riding on a white horse. It was Prince Bagration. Prince Andrey stopped and waited for him to come up. Prince Bagration stopped his horse, and recognising Prince Andrey nodded to him. He still gazed on ahead while Prince Andrey told him what he had been seeing.
The expression: “It has begun! it is coming!” was discernible even on Prince Bagration's strong, brown face, with his half-closed, lustreless, sleepy-looking eyes. Prince Andrey glanced with uneasy curiosity at that impassive face, and he longed to know: Was that man thinking and feeling, and what was he thinking and feeling at that moment? “Is there anything at all there behind that impassive face?” Prince Andrey wondered, looking at him. Prince Bagration nodded in token of his assent to Prince Andrey's words, and said: “Very good,” with an expression that seemed to signify that all that happened, and all that was told him, was exactly what he had foreseen. Prince Andrey, panting from his rapid ride, spoke quickly. Prince Bagration uttered his words in his Oriental accent with peculiar deliberation, as though impressing upon him that there was no need of hurry. He did, however, spur his horse into a gallop in the direction of Tushin's battery. Prince Andrey rode after him with his suite. The party consisted of an officer of the suite, Bagration's private adjutant, Zherkov, an orderly officer, the staff-officer on duty, riding a beautiful horse of English breed, and a civilian official, the auditor, who had asked to be present from curiosity to see the battle. The auditor, a plump man with a plump face, looked about him with a na?ve smile of amusement, swaying about on his horse, and cutting a queer figure in his cloak on his saddle among the hussars, Cossacks, and adjutants.
“This gentleman wants to see a battle,” said Zherkov to Bolkonsky, indicating the auditor, “but has begun to feel queer already.”
“Come, leave off,” said the auditor, with a beaming smile at once na?ve and cunning, as though he were flattered at being the object of Zherkov's jests, and was purposely trying to seem stupider than he was in reality.
“It's very curious, mon Monsieur Prince,” said the staff-officer on duty. (He vaguely remembered that the title prince was translated in some peculiar way in French, but could not get it quite right.) By this time they were all riding up to Tushin's battery, and a ball struck the ground before them.
“What was that falling?” asked the auditor, smiling na?vely.
“A French pancake,” said Zherkov.
“That's what they hit you with, then?” asked the auditor. “How awful!” And he seemed to expand all over with enjoyment. He had hardly uttered the words when again there was a sudden terrible whiz, which ended abruptly in a thud into something soft, and flop—a Cossack, riding a little behind and to the right of the auditor, dropped from his horse to the ground. Zherkov and the staff-officer bent forward over their saddles and turned their horses away. The auditor stopped facing the Cossack, and looking with curiosity at him. The Cossack was dead, the horse was still struggling.
Prince Bagration dropped his eyelids, looked round, and seeing the cause of the delay, turned away indifferently, seeming to ask, “Why notice these trivial details?” With the ease of a first-rate horseman he stopped his horse, bent over a little and disengaged his sabre, which had caught under his cloak. The sabre was an old-fashioned one, unlike what are worn now. Prince Andrey remembered the story that Suvorov had given his sabre to Bagration in Italy, and the recollection was particularly pleasant to him at that moment. They had ridden up to the very battery from which Prince Andrey had surveyed the field of battle.
“Whose company?” Prince Bagration asked of the artilleryman standing at the ammunition boxes.
He asked in words: “Whose company?” but what he was really asking was, “You're not in a panic here?” And the artilleryman understood that.
“Captain Tushin's, your excellency,” the red-haired, freckled artilleryman sang out in a cheerful voice, as he ducked forward.
“To be sure, to be sure,” said Bagration, pondering something, and he rode by the platforms up to the end cannon. Just as he reached it, a shot boomed from the cannon, deafening him and his suite, and in the smoke that suddenly enveloped the cannon the artillerymen could be seen hauling at the cannon, dragging and rolling it back to its former position. A broad-shouldered, gigantic soldier, gunner number one, with a mop, darted up to the wheel and planted himself, his legs wide apart; while number two, with a shaking hand, put the charge into the cannon's mouth; a small man with stooping shoulders, the officer Tushin, stumbling against the cannon, dashed forward, not noticing the general, and looked out, shading his eyes with his little hand.
“Another two points higher, and it will be just right,” he shouted in a shrill voice, to which he tried to give a swaggering note utterly out of keeping with his figure. “Two!” he piped. “Smash away, Medvyedev!”
Bagration called to the officer, and Tushin went up to the general, putting three fingers to the peak of his cap with a timid and awkward gesture, more like a priest blessing some one than a soldier saluting. Though Tushin's guns had been intended to cannonade the valley, he was throwing shells over the village of Sch?ngraben, in part of which immense masses of French soldiers were moving out.
No one had given Tushin instructions at what or with what to fire, and after consulting his sergeant, Zaharchenko, for whom he had a great respect, he had decided that it would be a good thing to set fire to the village. “Very good!” Bagration said, on the officer's submitting that he had done so, and he began scrutinising the whole field of battle that lay unfolded before him. He seemed to be considering something. The French had advanced nearest on the right side. In the hollow where the stream flowed, below the eminence on which the Kiev regiment was stationed, could be heard a continual roll and crash of guns, the din of which was overwhelming. And much further to the right, behind the dragoons, the officer of the suite pointed out to Bagration a column of French outflanking our flank. On the left the horizon was bounded by the copse close by. Prince Bagration gave orders for two battalions from the centre to go to the right to reinforce the flank. The officer of the suite ventured to observe to the prince that the removal of these battalions would leave the cannon unprotected. Prince Bagration turned to the officer of the suite and stared at him with his lustreless eyes in silence. Prince Andrey thought that the officer's observation was a very just one, and that really there was nothing to be said in reply. But at that instant an adjutant galloped up with a message from the colonel of the regiment in the hollow that immense masses of the French were coming down upon them, that his men were in disorder and retreating upon the Kiev grenadiers. Prince Bagration nodded to signify his assent and approval. He rode at a walking pace to the right, and sent an adjutant to the dragoons with orders to attack the French. But the adjutant returned half an hour later with the news that the colonel of the dragoons had already retired beyond the ravine, as a destructive fire had been opened upon him, and he was losing his men for nothing, and so he had concentrated his men in the wood.
“Very good!” said Bagration.
Just as he was leaving the battery, shots had been heard in the wood on the left too; and as it was too far to the left flank for him to go himself, Prince Bagration despatched Zherkov to tell the senior general—the general whose regiment had been inspected by Kutuzov at Braunau—to retreat as rapidly as possible beyond the ravine, as the right flank would probably not long be able to detain the enemy. Tushin, and the battalion that was to have defended his battery, was forgotten. Prince Andrey listened carefully to Prince Bagration's colloquies with the commanding officers, and to the orders he gave them, and noticed, to his astonishment, that no orders were really given by him at all, but that Prince Bagration confined himself to trying to appear as though everything that was being done of necessity, by chance, or at the will of individual officers, was all done, if not by his order, at least in accordance with his intentions. Prince Andrey observed, however, that, thanks to the tact shown by Prince Bagration, notwithstanding that what was done was due to chance, and not dependent on the commander's will, his presence was of the greatest value. Commanding officers, who rode up to Bagration looking distraught, regained their composure; soldiers and officers greeted him cheerfully, recovered their spirits in his presence, and were unmistakably anxious to display their pluck before him.
安德烈公爵骑着马站在炮台上，抬眼望着大炮的硝烟，一枚炮弹飞也似地射出去了。他心不在焉地端详着广阔的空间。他只看见，先前驻守原地不动的成群结队的法国官兵动弹起来了。诚然，左前方出现了一座炮台。炮台上的硝烟还没有消散。两名骑马的法国人大概是副官，他们从山上疾驰而过。可以清楚地看见敌军的一个小纵队大概要增强散兵线朝山下推进。头一炮的硝烟还没有消散，就已冒出另一股硝烟，响起了炮声。战斗开始了。安德烈公爵拨马回头，前往格伦特寻觅巴格拉季翁公爵。他听见身后传来的炮声愈来愈急速，愈来愈响亮。看来我军在开始回击。在山下，在军使走过的地方，可以听见砰砰的枪声。 
勒马鲁瓦携带着波拿巴的一封望而生畏的书信刚刚驰至缪拉处，心中有愧的缪拉想痛改前非，于是立刻将部队调至中央阵地，并向左右两翼迂回，希望在傍晚皇帝驾到之前粉碎自己面前的一小股敌军。
“你瞧，战斗开始了！”安德烈公爵想道，他觉得身上的血液开始更急速地涌上心房。“可是在哪里战斗？怎样才能把我的‘土伦'表现出来呢？”他想道。
他从一刻钟以前还在吃稀饭、喝伏特加酒的那几个连队中间经过时，他到处看见正在排队和拿起火枪的士兵们的同样敏捷的动作，他从大家的脸上发觉他心中体察到的那种兴奋的感情。“你瞧，战斗开始了！既可怕，又快活！”每一名士兵和军官的面部表情都证明了这一层。
他还没有走到修筑防御工事的地方，他就在那阴沉沉的秋日的夕照中看见向他迎面走来的几个骑马的人。领头的人披着斗篷，戴着羔皮阔边帽，正骑着一匹白马。他是巴格拉季翁公爵。安德烈公爵停下，等候他。巴格拉季翁公爵勒住马，认出安德烈公爵，向他点头致意。当安德烈公爵把目睹的情形告诉他时，他继续观察前方。
“战斗开始了”这句话甚至在巴格拉季翁那副坚定的棕色的面孔上表露出来了，他的一双不明亮的眼睛半睁半瞌，仿佛没有睡够似的。安德烈公爵焦急不安地好奇地凝视着这副呆板的面孔，他很想弄明白，他是否在思考，是否在体察，这个人在这种时刻会思索什么，产生什么感觉？“总而言之，在这副呆板的面孔后面是否隐藏着什么？”安德烈公爵一面望着他，一面向自己提出这个问题。巴格拉季翁公爵颔颔首，表示赞同安德烈公爵的话，他接着说道：“很好。”这种神态就像这里发生的一切、向他汇报的一切，正是他已经预见到的。安德烈公爵说得很快，但由于急速的骑行，气喘吁吁。巴格拉季翁公爵带着俄国东部的口音说话，说得特别慢，好像向人家暗示，用不着赶到什么地方去。但是他仍向图申主管的炮台策马疾驰。安德烈公爵偕同侍从们跟在他后面骑行。跟随巴格拉季翁公爵身后的有下列人员：侍从武官——公爵的私人副官热尔科夫、传令军官、骑一匹英国式的短尾良驹的值日校官、一名文官——检察官。此人出于好奇而请求参战，奔赴前线。检察官是个肥胖的男子汉，圆圆的脸膛，带着天真而快活的微笑，他环顾四遭，骑着马儿晃晃悠悠，在那辎重兵团的鞍子上露出他的一件有条纹的细丝厚毛军大衣，他正置身于骠骑兵、哥萨克兵和副官之中，现出一副怪模样。
“瞧，他想看看打仗，”热尔科夫指着检察官，对博尔孔斯基说道，“可是他的心窝上痛起来了。”
“得啦吧，你甭说了。”检察官面露喜悦、天真而狡黠地微笑，说道，仿佛他感到荣幸的是，他已成为热尔科夫谈笑的对象，仿佛他故意装出一副比他实际上更愚蠢的样子。
“Tresdrole，monmonsieurprince，”①值日校官说道。 
①法语：我的公爵先生，真够开心啊。
（他还记得，公爵这个爵位在法国话中似乎有种特殊的讲法，可是他无论如何也讲不准确。）
这时候他们都已驶近图申主管的炮台，一枚炮弹落在他们前面了。
“什么东西落下来了？”检察官幼稚地微露笑容，问道。
“法国薄饼。”热尔科夫说。
“就是说，用这个东西打吗？”检察官问道，“厉害极了！”
他好像高兴得快要丧失自制力了。他话音刚刚落地，忽然又响起一阵可怕的呼啸，不知撞着什么不结实的东西，呼啸声停止了，在离检察官左后方不远的地方，一名骑马的哥萨克兵扑通一声，连人带马倒在地上了。热尔科夫和值日校官贴近马鞍弯下腰来，调转马头跑开了。检察官在哥萨克兵对面停下来，集中注意力、好奇地审视着他。哥萨克兵死去了，马还在挣扎。
巴格拉季翁公爵眯缝起眼睛，环顾四周，发现了慌乱的原因之后，便漠不关心地转过身去，他仿佛在说：“不值得去干蠢事！”他勒住马，做出善骑者的姿势，微微地弯下身子，把那挂住斗篷的长剑弄正。长剑是古式的，而不是目前军人佩戴的长剑。安德烈公爵想起苏沃洛夫在意大利把长剑赠送巴格拉季翁的故事，这时回想起来他觉得特别高兴。他们向炮台前面驰去，博尔孔斯基甫才瞭望战场时，就站在炮台的近旁。
“是谁的连队？”巴格拉季翁公爵问一个站在炮弹箱旁边的炮兵士官。
他问道：“谁的连队？”其实他要问的是：“你们在这儿是不是胆怯呢？”炮兵士官懂得他的意思。
“大人，这是图申上尉的连队。”棕红色头发、满脸雀斑的炮兵士官挺直胸膛，带着愉快的嗓音喊道。
“好，好。”巴格拉季翁说道，心中琢磨着什么事，经过前车向紧靠边上的那门大炮驰去。
当他快要走到时，这门大炮中传出隆隆的炮声，把他和侍从们震得发聋，在那骤然缭绕大炮的硝烟中，可以看见，几名托着大炮的炮兵，他们急忙地使尽全力，将大炮推回原位。肩膀宽阔的魁梧的一号炮手拿着洗膛杆，两腿叉得很宽，跳到轮子前面；二号炮手伸出巍颤颤的手将火药装入炮筒。身材矮小、有点佝偻的图申军官，在炮尾架上绊了一跤，他向前跑去，没有注意将军用一只小手搭起凉棚，不时地向外张望。
“再加两俄分，这样就恰恰适合了，”他用尖细的嗓音喊道，竭力地使他的嗓音富有与其体型不相称的英雄气概，“第二号，”他尖声地说，“梅德韦杰夫，歼灭敌人！”
巴格拉季翁把那名军官喊过来，图申的动作显得胆怯而且笨拙，根本不像军人那样行礼，却像神甫祝福一般，他将三个指头贴近帽檐，向将军面前走去。虽然图申的大炮是用以扫射细谷的，但是他却用燃烧弹射击前面望得见的申格拉本村，那是因为有大批大批的法军在村前挺进的缘故。
没有人命令图申应向何方射击用什么射击，他只是同他所尊重的上士扎哈尔琴科商量了一下，便拿定主意：焚烧村庄是上策。“很好！”巴格拉季翁听了军官的汇报后说道，他开始仔细地观察在他面前展现的战场，仿佛心中琢磨着什么。法国官兵从右边推进，离他们最近。基辅兵团驻守于高地，高地下面的河谷中可以听见令人心惊胆战的时断时续的噼噼啪啪的枪声，右面很远的地方，在龙骑兵后面，一名侍从军官向公爵指着包抄我军侧翼的法军纵队。左边的地平线上可以望见附近的森林边缘地带。巴格拉季翁公爵命令两个营从中央阵地向右面推进，去救援兄弟部队。一名侍从军官敢于批评公爵，指出两个营队调走之后，大炮势必缺乏掩护了。巴格拉季翁公爵把脸转向侍从军官，用那无神的目光默默地朝他瞥了一眼。安德烈公爵仿佛觉得，侍从军官的意见提得正确，确实无二话可说。但在这时候，一名副官从驻守谷地的团长那里疾驰而至，带来了消息：大批大批的法军从山下推进，一个兵团已经崩溃，正向基辅掷弹兵部队方向撤退。巴格拉季翁公爵颔颔首，表示赞许。他向右方骑马缓行，将一名副官派至龙骑兵部队，并下令进攻法国军队。但是派往那处的副官过了半个小时就回头，传来了信息：龙骑兵团团长已经撤退到峡谷后面去了，因为他面对猛烈的火力，白白地丧失人丁，因此命令步兵下马进入森林中。
“很好！”巴格拉季翁说道。
当他骑马离开炮台时，左边森林中也可以听见枪炮声，因为离左翼太远，连他自己也来不及准时到达，他——巴格拉季翁公爵便派热尔科夫到那里去告知那个在布劳瑙请求库图佐夫给予兵团奖励的老将军，叫他尽快撤退到峡谷后面去，因为右翼大概不能长久地阻击敌军的缘故。图申和掩护他的一个营已被置于脑后了。安德烈公爵仔细地倾听巴格拉季翁公爵和首长们的谈话，倾听他所颁布的命令，值得惊讶的是，他已经发现，没有颁布任何命令，巴格拉季翁公爵只是极力地装出，仿佛这一切事情的发生都是出于必然或偶然，或出于个别首长的意志，这种种事情的发生虽未遵照他的命令，却是符合他的意愿的。因为巴格拉季翁公爵待人接物有分寸，所以安德烈公爵注意到，各种事件的发生都带有偶然性，是不以首长的意志为转移的，但是首长的出席带来了许多裨益。首长们流露出惊惶的面部表情，但是一走到巴格拉季翁公爵面前时，都变得很镇静了。士兵和军官们高高兴兴地向他致意，在他眼前，都变得更有活力了，显然他们都要向他炫示一下自己的勇敢。
Book 2 Chapter 18
AFTER RIDING up to the highest point of our right flank, Prince Bagration began to go downhill, where a continuous roll of musketry was heard and nothing could be seen for the smoke. The nearer they got to the hollow the less they could see, and the more distinctly could be felt the nearness of the actual battlefield. They began to meet wounded men. Two soldiers were dragging one along, supporting him on each side. His head was covered with blood; he had no cap, and was coughing and spitting. The bullet had apparently entered his mouth or throat. Another one came towards them, walking pluckily alone without his gun, groaning aloud and wringing his hands from the pain of a wound from which the blood was flowing, as though from a bottle, over his greatcoat. His face looked more frightened than in pain. He had been wounded only a moment before. Crossing the road, they began going down a deep descent, and on the slope they saw several men lying on the ground. They were met by a crowd of soldiers, among them some who were not wounded. The soldiers were hurrying up the hill, gasping for breath, and in spite of the general's presence, they were talking loudly together and gesticulating with their arms. In the smoke ahead of them they could see now rows of grey coats, and the commanding officer, seeing Bagration, ran after the group of retreating soldiers, calling upon them to come back. Bagration rode up to the ranks, along which there was here and there a rapid snapping of shots drowning the talk of the soldiers and the shouts of the officers. The whole air was reeking with smoke. The soldiers' faces were all full of excitement and smudged with powder. Some were plugging with their ramrods, others were putting powder on the touch-pans, and getting charges out of their pouches, others were firing their guns. But it was impossible to see at whom they were firing from the smoke, which the wind did not lift. The pleasant hum and whiz of the bullets was repeated pretty rapidly. “What is it?” wondered Prince Andrey, as he rode up to the crowd of soldiers. “It can't be the line, for they are all crowded together; it can't be an attacking party, for they are not moving; it can't be a square, they are not standing like one.”
A thin, weak-looking colonel, apparently an old man, with an amiable smile, and eyelids that half-covered his old-looking eyes and gave him a mild air, rode up to Prince Bagration and received him as though he were welcoming an honoured guest into his house. He announced to Prince Bagration that his regiment had had to face a cavalry attack of the French, that though the attack had been repulsed, the regiment had lost more than half of its men. The colonel said that the attack had been repulsed, supposing that to be the proper military term for what had happened; but he did not really know himself what had been taking place during that half hour in the troops under his command, and could not have said with any certainty whether the attack had been repelled or his regiment had been beaten by the attack. All he knew was that at the beginning of the action balls and grenades had begun flying all about his regiment, and killing men, that then some one had shouted “cavalry,” and our men had begun firing. And they were firing still, though not now at the cavalry, who had disappeared, but at the French infantry, who had made their appearance in the hollow and were firing at our men. Prince Bagration nodded his head to betoken that all this was exactly what he had desired and expected. Turning to an adjutant, he commanded him to bring down from the hill the two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs, by whom they had just come. Prince Andrey was struck at that instant by the change that had come over Prince Bagration's face. His face wore the look of concentrated and happy determination, which may be seen in a man who in a hot day takes the final run before a header into the water. The lustreless, sleepy look in the eyes, the affectation of profound thought had gone. The round, hard, eagle eyes looked ecstatically and rather disdainfully before him, obviously not resting on anything, though there was still the same deliberation in his measured movements.
The colonel addressed a protest to Prince Bagration, urging him to go back, as there it was too dangerous for him. “I beg of you, your excellency, for God's sake!” he kept on saying, looking for support to the officer of the suite, who only turned away from him.
“Only look, your excellency!” He called his attention to the bullets which were continually whizzing, singing, and hissing about them. He spoke in the tone of protest and entreaty with which a carpenter speaks to a gentleman who has picked up a hatchet. “We are used to it, but you may blister your fingers.” He talked as though these bullets could not kill him, and his half-closed eyes gave a still more persuasive effect to his words. The staff-officer added his protests to the colonel, but Bagration made them no answer. He merely gave the order to cease firing, and to form so as to make room for the two battalions of reinforcements. Just as he was speaking the cloud of smoke covering the hollow was lifted as by an unseen hand and blown by the rising wind from right to left. and the opposite hill came into sight with the French moving across it. All eyes instinctively fastened on that French column moving down upon them and winding in and out over the ups and downs of the ground. Already they could see the fur caps of the soldiers, could distinguish officers from privates, could see their flag flapping against its staff.
“How well they're marching,” said some one in Bagration's suite.
The front part of the column was already dipping down into the hollow. The engagement would take place then on the nearer side of the slope…
The remnants of the regiment that had already been in action, forming hurriedly, drew off to the right; the two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs marched up in good order, driving the last stragglers before them They had not yet reached Bagration, but the heavy, weighty tread could be heard of the whole mass keeping step. On the left flank, nearest of all to Bagration, marched the captain, a round-faced imposing-looking man, with a foolish and happy expression of face. It was the same infantry officer who had run out of the shanty after Tushin. He was obviously thinking of nothing at the moment, but that he was marching before his commander in fine style. With the complacency of a man on parade, he stepped springing on his muscular legs, drawing himself up without the slightest effort, as though he were swinging, and this easy elasticity was a striking contrast to the heavy tread of the soldiers keeping step with him. He wore hanging by his leg an unsheathed, slender, narrow sword (a small bent sabre, more like a toy than a weapon), and looking about him, now at the commander, now behind, he turned his whole powerful frame round without getting out of step. It looked as though all the force of his soul was directed to marching by his commander in the best style possible. And conscious that he was accomplishing this, he was happy. “Left … left … left …” he seemed to be inwardly repeating at each alternate step. And the wall of soldierly figures, weighed down by their knapsacks and guns, with their faces all grave in different ways, moved by in the same rhythm, as though each of the hundreds of soldiers were repeating mentally at each alternate step, “Left … left … left …” A stout major skirted a bush on the road, puffing and shifting his step. A soldier, who had dropped behind, trotted after the company, looking panic-stricken at his own defection. A cannon ball, whizzing through the air, flew over the heads of Prince Bagration and his suite, and in time to the same rhythm, “Left … left …” it fell into the column.
“Close the ranks!” rang out the jaunty voice of the captain. The soldiers marched in a half circle round something in the place where the ball had fallen, and an old cavalryman, an under officer, lingered behind near the dead, and overtaking his line, changed feet with a hop, got into step, and looked angrily about him. “Left … left … left …” seemed to echo out of the menacing silence and the monotonous sound of the simultaneous tread of the feet on the ground.
“Well done, lads!” said Prince Bagration.
“For your ex … slen, slen, slency!” rang out along the ranks. A surly-looking soldier, marching on the left, turned his eyes on Bagration as he shouted, with an expression that seemed to say, “We know that without telling.” Another, opening his mouth wide, shouted without glancing round, and marched on, as though afraid of letting his attention stray. The order was given to halt and take off their knapsacks.
Bagration rode round the ranks of men who had marched by him, and then dismounted from his horse. He gave the reins to a Cossack, took off his cloak and handed it to him, stretched his legs and set his cap straight on his head. The French column with the officers in front came into sight under the hill.
“With God's help!” cried Bagration in a resolute, sonorous voice. He turned for one instant to the front line, and swinging his arms a little, with the awkward, lumbering gait of a man always on horseback, he walked forward over the uneven ground. Prince Andrey felt that some unseen force was drawing him forward, and he had a sensation of great happiness.
The French were near. Already Prince Andrey, walking beside Bagration, could distinguish clearly the sashes, the red epaulettes, even the faces of the French. (He saw distinctly one bandy-legged old French officer, wearing Hessian boots, who was getting up the hill with difficulty, taking hold of the bushes.) Prince Bagration gave no new command, and still marched in front of the ranks in the same silence. Suddenly there was the snap of a shot among the French, another and a third … and smoke rose and firing rang out in all the broken-up ranks of the enemy. Several of our men fell, among them the round-faced officer, who had been marching so carefully and complacently. But at the very instant of the first shot, Bagration looked round and shouted, “Hurrah!” “Hurra … a … a … ah!” rang out along our lines in a prolonged roar, and out-stripping Prince Bagration and one another, in no order, but in an eager and joyous crowd, our men ran downhill after the routed French.
巴格拉季翁骑马走到我军右翼的最高点，开始沿着下坡驰去，从那里可以听见若断若续的枪炮声，硝烟弥漫，遮蔽得什么也看不见。他们越走近谷地，就越看不清楚，但越感觉到临近真正的战场。他们遇见一些伤员。两名士兵从两边搀着一个头部鲜血淋漓的未戴军帽的伤员。他声音嘶哑，口吐血水。看来有一颗子弹打中了嘴巴或喉咙。他们遇见的另一个伤员，没有带枪，强打精神，独自步行，哼哼地大声喊叫，新伤口使他痛得不住地晃动手臂，手上的鲜血像从玻璃瓶中溢出似地流到他的大衣上。从他脸上看出，与其说他感到痛苦，毋宁说他心惊胆战。他是一分钟以前负伤的。他们穿过了大路，就沿着陡坡走下去，在斜坡上看见几个躺在地上的人；他们还碰见一群士兵，其中也有一些没有负伤的人。士兵们呼吸困难地登上山去，都在看看将军的面色，大声地谈话，挥动着手臂。在前面的硝烟中可以望得清一排排身穿灰色大衣的军人；有一名军官看见巴格拉季翁之后，大喊大叫地跟在成群结队的士兵后面飞奔，叫他们回头。巴格拉季翁骑马走到队列面前，队列中时而这里时而那里急骤地响起噼噼啪啪的枪声，它把谈话声和口令声淹没了。空气中充满着硝烟。士兵们的脸孔都给薰黑了，但还显得富有活力。有一些人正在用通条捣碎火药，有一些人正在把火药装进火枪药池里，从袋子里取出火药，还有一些人正在射击。但是，硝烟没有被风吹散，他们向谁射击，看不清楚。可以不时地听见一阵阵悦耳的嗡嗡声和呼啸声。“这是什么名堂呢？”安德烈公爵骑马走到这群士兵前面，心中想道，“这不能算是散兵线，因为他们挤成一堆了！这不能算是进攻，因为他们没有向前推进；也不能算是方阵，因为他们站得不对劲。” 
瘦削的、看样子虚弱的小老头——团长，面露快活的微笑，一对眼睑把他那老年人的眼睛遮着一大半，使他富有温顺的样子，他骑马走到巴格拉季翁公爵跟前，像主人招待贵宾那样接待他。他向巴格拉季翁公爵报告，说法国骑兵曾向他的兵团发动进攻，虽然这次进攻已被击退，但是兵团损失了半数以上的人员。团长说，进攻已被击退了，他臆想出这个军用术语，用以表明他的兵团中发生的事件；但是他本人的确不知道，他所负责统率的军队在这半个小时内发生了什么事件，因此他无法确切地说，进攻已被击退了，或是说兵团已被进攻所粉碎。开战的时候，他只知道，炮弹和榴弹开始发射到他的兵团所在地，击中一些人。后来有个人喊道：“骑兵，”我们的士兵于是开始射击。在此之前，骑兵业已隐藏，射击的对象不是骑兵，而是在谷地露面并向我军扫射的法国步兵。巴格拉季翁公爵颔颔首，心里表示，这全部事态和他预料的情况完全一样。他把脸转向副官，命令他将他们甫才从近旁经过的第六猎骑兵团的两个营从山上调来。这时候，巴格拉季翁公爵脸上发生的变化使安德烈公爵感到惊讶。他脸上流露着聚精会神、愉快而坚定的表情，就像某人在炎热的日子准备跳水时正跑最后几步似的。但是，既无睡眠不足的暗淡的目光，亦无假装的陷入沉思的样子；一对坚定的浑圆的鹰眼热情洋溢地、略微轻蔑地向前望去，显然，他的目光没有停留在任何东西上，虽然他的动作和从前一样，既迟缓，又有节奏。
团长把脸转向巴格拉季翁公爵，恳求他撤退，因为这里太危险了。“大人，看在上帝份上，赏个光吧！”他说道，一面望着侍从军官，乞求他证明他说的话是真实的，可是侍从军官转过脸去，不理睬他。“看，请您注意！”他叫他注意在他们身边不住地呼啸的子弹。他带着请求和责备的口气说道，就像木匠带着同样的口气对拿起斧头的老爷说：“我们的事儿是干惯了的，您会把手上磨出茧子来。”他这样说话，就像子弹打不死他自己似的，他那对半开半合的眼睛赋予他以更强的说服力。校官附和团长，也来规劝，但是巴格拉季翁公爵不回答他们的话，只是下命令停止射击，整理队伍，给行将到达的两个营让路。当他说话时，起了一阵风，遮掩谷地的烟幕被一只看不见的手从右边拉到左边去。对面一座山在他们面前展现了，山上的法国官兵渐渐地向前推进。大家的目光不由地望着那支沿着阶地蜿蜒曲折地行进、并向他们步步逼近的法国纵队。可以望得见士兵戴的毛茸茸的帽子，可以分辨清军官和普通士兵，也可以望见军旗拍打着旗杆。
“他们走得挺不错。”巴格拉季翁的侍从中的一个人说道。
纵队的先头部分已经下去，进入谷地。武装冲突应当在这边斜坡上发生。
投入战斗的我团残部急忙整理队伍，向右边走去。第六猎骑兵团的两个营以整齐的队形从他们身后走来，一面赶开掉队的人员。他们还没有走到巴格拉季翁身边，就已经听见一大群人齐步走的沉重的脚步声。一名连长从左翼走来，他离巴格拉季翁最近；连长的面部浑圆，身材端正，脸上流露着愚蠢而欣喜的表情，他就是从随军商贩棚子里跑出来的那个人。看来在这个时刻，他除了雄赳赳气昂昂地从首长身边走过而外，心里什么也不想。
他怀着置身于前线使他觉得洋洋自得的心情，迈开肌肉健壮的两腿，像泅水那样轻松愉快地走着，毫不费劲地挺直身子，他那轻快的步子和合着他的步调的士兵们的沉重的脚步迥然不同。他的大腿旁挎着一柄出鞘的又细又窄的长剑（不像兵器的弯曲的小剑），他时而望望首长们，时而向后张望；灵活地转动他那强而有力的身躯，为了不走乱脚步。看样子，他正集中全部精力，以最优美的姿势从首长们身边过去，心里体会到，他能够出色地完成任务，因而感到非常愉快。他每隔一步心里似乎在说：“左……左……左……，”密密麻麻的士兵的脸上流露着各种不同的严肃的神态，他们都合着这个节拍前进，背囊和枪支的重荷使他们感到不方便，就好像这几百士兵中的每个人每隔一步心里就会说：“左……左……左……”肥胖的少校，喘着粗气，走乱了脚步，从大路上的一棵灌木旁边绕过去。一名掉队的士兵气喘吁吁，因为不守纪律而面露惊恐的神情，快步流星地走去，赶上了连队。一颗炮弹挤压着空气，从巴格拉季翁公爵和侍从们头上飞过，也合着“左——左！”的节拍，命中了纵队。可以听见连长夸耀的嗓音：“靠拢！”士兵们从炮弹落下的地方呈弧形绕过去，年老的骑兵，侧翼的士官，在阵亡的人员附近掉队了，后来又赶上自己的队伍，跳一跳，换一下脚步，合着队伍行进的脚步，他很气忿地回顾一下。在令人恐惧的沉寂中，在脚步同时落地的单调的响声中，似乎还可以听见“左……左……
左……”的声音。
“好样的，伙伴们啊！”巴格拉季翁公爵说道。
“为——大——人！……”这一喊声响彻了队伍之中。满面愁容的士兵从左边走来，不住地喊叫，他朝巴格拉季翁望了一眼，那神色就像在说：“我们自己都知道。”另一名士兵没有回顾，仿佛害怕分散注意力，他张开口，叫叫喊喊，徒步走过去。
发出了停止前进，取下背囊的命令。
巴格拉季翁绕过从他旁边走去的队伍之后，下了马。他把缰绳交给哥萨克兵，脱下披肩也交给他，伸开两腿，把头上的帽子弄平整。由军官们率领的法国纵队的先头部分从山下走出来了。
“愿上帝保佑！”巴格拉季翁用坚定的听得见的嗓音说道，一刹那，把脸转向战线的正面，两手轻轻地来回摆动，似乎很费劲地迈开骑士的笨拙的脚步，沿着凹凸不平的战场走去了。安德烈公爵心里觉得似乎有某种不可克服的力量拖着他朝前走，他感到非常幸运。① 
①这里举行了一次进攻，梯也尔提及进攻时说：“Lesrusssseconduisirent，vailla－ment，etchoserateálaguerre，onvitdeuxmassesdinfanteriemarcherresolumentl'unecontrelautresansqu'ancunedesdeuxdédaavantd'êtreabordeé，”（俄国人表现得英勇豪迈，这是战争中罕见的事。两队步兵坚毅地以白刃相迎，无一方作出让步，直至决一死战。）拿破仑在圣赫勒拿岛上曾说：“Quelquesbataillonsrussesmontrèrentdel'intrépidites．”——作者注。（俄国有几个营队表现了大无畏精神。——俄编者注。）
法国人已经走得很近了，安德烈公爵与巴格拉季翁并排地走着，能够辨别出法国人的肩带、红色的肩章，甚至连面孔也看得清楚。（他清楚地看见一个年老的法国军官，他迈开套着鞋罩的外八字脚攀缘着灌木，费劲地登上山坡。）巴格拉季翁公爵没有发出新命令，仍旧沉默地在队列前面走着。忽然法国人之中响起了枪声，第二声，第三声……在那溃乱的敌军队伍中冒起了一阵硝烟，响起噼啪的射击声。有几个我们的人倒下了，其中有那个快活地、劲儿十足地行进的圆脸的军官。但是正当响了第一枪的那一瞬间，巴格拉季翁回头一看，大声喊道：“乌拉！”
我们的队列之中响起一片拖长的“乌拉——拉”的呐喊声。我们的官兵，你追我赶，并且赶上了巴格拉季翁公爵；这一队列虽然不整齐，但是人人欢喜，十分活跃，开始成群地跑下山去，追击溃不成军的法国人。
Book 2 Chapter 19
THE ATTACK of the Sixth Chasseurs covered the retreat of the right flank. In the centre Tushin's forgotten battery had succeeded in setting fire to Sch?ngraben and delaying the advance of the French. The French stayed to put out the fire, which was fanned by the wind, and this gave time for the Russians to retreat. The retreat of the centre beyond the ravine was hurried and noisy; but the different companies kept apart. But the left flank, which consisted of the Azovsky and Podolosky infantry and the Pavlograd hussars, was simultaneously attacked in front and surrounded by the cream of the French army under Lannes, and was thrown into disorder. Bagration had sent Zherkov to the general in command of the left flank with orders to retreat immediately.
Zherkov, keeping his hand still at his cap, had briskly started his horse and galloped off. But no sooner had he ridden out of Bagration's sight than his courage failed him. He was overtaken by a panic he could not contend against, and he could not bring himself to go where there was danger.
After galloping some distance towards the troops of the left flank, he rode not forward where he heard firing, but off to look for the general and the officers in a direction where they could not by any possibility be; and so it was that he did not deliver the message.
The command of the left flank belonged by right of seniority to the general of the regiment in which Dolohov was serving—the regiment which Kutuzov had inspected before Braunau. But the command of the extreme left flank had been entrusted to the colonel of the Pavlograd hussars, in which Rostov was serving. Hence arose a misunderstanding. Both commanding officers were intensely exasperated with one another, and at a time when fighting had been going on a long while on the right flank, and the French had already begun their advance on the left, these two officers were engaged in negotiations, the sole aim of which was the mortification of one another. The regiments—cavalry and infantry alike—were by no means in readiness for the engagement. No one from the common soldier to the general expected a battle; and they were all calmly engaged in peaceful occupations—feeding their horses in the cavalry, gathering wood in the infantry.
“He is my senior in rank, however,” said the German colonel of the hussars, growing very red and addressing an adjutant, who had ridden up. “So let him do as he likes. I can't sacrifice my hussars. Bugler! Sound the retreat!”
But things were becoming urgent. The fire of cannon and musketry thundered in unison on the right and in the centre, and the French tunics of Lannes's sharpshooters had already passed over the milldam, and were forming on this side of it hardly out of musket-shot range.
The infantry general walked up to his horse with his quivering strut, and mounting it and drawing himself up very erect and tall, he rode up to the Pavlograd colonel. The two officers met with affable bows and concealed fury in their hearts.
“Again, colonel,” the general said, “I cannot leave half my men in the wood. I beg you, I beg you,” he repeated, “to occupy the position, and prepare for an attack.”
“And I beg you not to meddle in what's not your business,” answered the colonel, getting hot. “If you were a cavalry officer …”
“I am not a cavalry officer, colonel, but I am a Russian general, and if you are unaware of the fact …”
“I am fully aware of it, your excellency,” the colonel screamed suddenly, setting his horse in motion and becoming purple in the face. “If you care to come to the front, you will see that this position cannot be held. I don't want to massacre my regiment for your satisfaction.”
“You forget yourself, colonel. I am not considering my own satisfaction, and I do not allow such a thing to be said.”
Taking the colonel's proposition as a challenge to his courage, the general squared his chest and rode scowling beside him to the front line, as though their whole difference would inevitably be settled there under the enemy's fire. They reached the line, several bullets flew by them, and they stood still without a word. To look at the front line was a useless proceeding, since from the spot where they had been standing before, it was clear that the cavalry could not act, owing to the bushes and the steep and broken character of the ground, and that the French were out-flanking the left wing. The general and the colonel glared sternly and significantly at one another, like two cocks preparing for a fight, seeking in vain for a symptom of cowardice. Both stood the test without flinching. Since there was nothing to be said, and neither was willing to give the other grounds for asserting that he was the first to withdraw from under fire, they might have remained a long while standing there, mutually testing each other's pluck, if there had not at that moment been heard in the copse, almost behind them, the snap of musketry and a confused shout of voices. The French were attacking the soldiers gathering wood in the copse. The hussars could not now retreat, nor could the infantry. They were cut off from falling back on the left by the French line. Now, unfavourable as the ground was, they must attack to fight a way through for themselves.
The hussars of the squadron in which Rostov was an ensign had hardly time to mount their horses when they were confronted by the enemy. Again, as on the Enns bridge, there was no one between the squadron and the enemy, and between them lay that terrible border-line of uncertainty and dread, like the line dividing the living from the dead. All the soldiers were conscious of that line, and the question whether they would cross it or not, and how they would cross it, filled them with excitement.
The colonel rode up to the front, made some angry reply to the questions of the officers, and, like a man desperately insisting on his rights, gave some command. No one said anything distinctly, but through the whole squadron there ran a vague rumour of attack. The command to form in order rang out, then there was the clank of sabres being drawn out of their sheaths. But still no one moved. The troops of the left flank, both the infantry and the hussars, felt that their commanders themselves did not know what to do, and the uncertainty of the commanders infected the soldiers.
“Make haste, if only they'd make haste,” thought Rostov, feeling that at last the moment had come to taste the joys of the attack, of which he had heard so much from his comrades.
“With God's help, lads,” rang out Denisov's voice, “forward, quick, gallop!”
The horses' haunches began moving in the front line. Rook pulled at the reins and set off of himself.
On the right Rostov saw the foremost lines of his own hussars, and still further ahead he could see a dark streak, which he could not distinguish clearly, but assumed to be the enemy. Shots could be heard, but at a distance.
“Quicker!” rang out the word of command, and Rostov felt the drooping of Rook's hindquarters as he broke into a gallop. He felt the joy of the gallop coming, and was more and more lighthearted. He noticed a solitary tree ahead of him. The tree was at first in front of him, in the middle of that border-land that had seemed so terrible. But now they had crossed it and nothing terrible had happened, but he felt more lively and excited every moment. “Ah, won't I slash at him!” thought Rostov, grasping the hilt of his sabre tightly. “Hur … r … a … a!” roared voices.
“Now, let him come on, whoever it may be,” thought Rostov, driving the spurs into Rook, and outstripping the rest, he let him go at full gallop. Already the enemy could be seen in front. Suddenly something swept over the squadron like a broad broom. Rostov lifted his sabre, making ready to deal a blow, but at that instant the soldier Nikitenko galloped ahead and left his side, and Rostov felt as though he were in a dream being carried forward with supernatural swiftness and yet remaining at the same spot. An hussar, Bandartchuk, galloped up from behind close upon him and looked angrily at him. Bandartchuk's horse started aside, and he galloped by.
“What's the matter? I'm not moving? I've fallen, I'm killed …” Rostov asked and answered himself all in one instant. He was alone in the middle of the field. Instead of the moving horses and the hussars' backs, he saw around him the motionless earth and stubblefield. There was warm blood under him.
“No, I'm wounded, and my horse is killed.” Rook tried to get up on his forelegs, but he sank again, crushing his rider's leg under his leg. Blood was flowing from the horse's head. The horse struggled, but could not get up. Rostov tried to get up, and fell down too. His sabretache had caught in the saddle. Where were our men, where were the French, he did not know. All around him there was no one.
Getting his leg free, he stood up. “Which side, where now was that line that had so sharply divided the two armies?” he asked himself, and could not answer. “Hasn't something gone wrong with me? Do such things happen, and what ought one to do in such cases?” he wondered as he was getting up. But at that instant he felt as though something superfluous was hanging on his benumbed left arm. The wrist seemed not to belong to it. He looked at his hand, carefully searching for blood on it. “Come, here are some men,” he thought joyfully, seeing some men running towards him. “They will help me!” In front of these men ran a single figure in a strange shako and a blue coat, with a swarthy sunburnt face and a hooked nose. Then came two men, and many more were running up behind. One of them said some strange words, not Russian. Between some similar figures in similar shakoes behind stood a Russian hussar. He was being held by the arms; behind him they were holding his horse too.
“It must be one of ours taken prisoner.… Yes. Surely they couldn't take me too? What sort of men are they?” Rostov was still wondering, unable to believe his own eyes. “Can they be the French?” He gazed at the approaching French, and although only a few seconds before he had been longing to get at these Frenchmen and to cut them down, their being so near seemed to him now so awful that he could not believe his eyes. “Who are they? What are they running for? Can it be to me? Can they be running to me? And what for? To kill me? Me, whom every one's so fond of?” He recalled his mother's love, the love of his family and his friends, and the enemy's intention of killing him seemed impossible. “But they may even kill me.” For more than ten seconds he stood, not moving from the spot, nor grasping his position. The foremost Frenchman with the hook nose was getting so near that he could see the expression of his face. And the excited, alien countenance of the man, who was running so lightly and breathlessly towards him, with his bayonet lowered, terrified Rostov. He snatched up his pistol, and instead of firing with it, flung it at the Frenchman and ran to the bushes with all his might. Not with the feeling of doubt and conflict with which he had moved at the Enns bridge, did he now run, but with the feeling of a hare fleeing from the dogs. One unmixed feeling of fear for his young, happy life took possession of his whole being. Leaping rapidly over the hedges with the same impetuosity with which he used to run when he played games, he flew over the field, now and then turning his pale, good-natured, youthful face, and a chill of horror ran down his spine. “No, better not to look,” he thought, but as he got near to the bushes he looked round once more. The French had given it up, and just at the moment when he looked round the foremost man was just dropping from a run into a walk, and turning round to shout something loudly to a comrade behind. Rostov stopped. “There's some mistake,” he thought; “it can't be that they meant to kill me.” And meanwhile his left arm was as heavy as if a hundred pound weight were hanging on it. He could run no further. The Frenchman stopped too and took aim. Rostov frowned and ducked. One bullet and then another flew hissing by him; he took his left hand in his right, and with a last effort ran as far as the bushes. In the bushes there were Russian sharpshooters.
第六猎骑兵团的进攻，保证了右翼的撤退。已被遗忘的图申（点火烧毁了申格拉本村）主管的炮台在中央阵地采取军事行动，阻止了法国军队的前进。法国人扑灭被风蔓卷而来的烈火，使俄国军队赢得向后撤退的时间。中央阵地的军队向后撤退，仓促而忙乱，但是各个部队在撤退时并没有乱成一团。左翼是由亚速和波多尔斯克两个步兵团以及保罗格勒骠骑兵团所组成，但因法军拉纳带领的优势兵力的进攻和包抄而处于溃乱之中。巴格拉季翁派热尔科夫去见左翼将军，向他转交火速退却的命令。 
热尔科夫没有把行礼时举到帽檐边的手放下，就动作迅速地拨马疾驰而去，但是一当他离开巴格拉季翁，就力不从心，一种不可克服的恐惧把他控制住了，他不能到那个危险的地方去。当他向左翼的军队驰近后，他没有向那枪林弹雨的前方走去，而是在将军和首长们不会露面的地方去寻找他们，所以他没有传达命令。
左翼是由资历深的在布劳瑙城下晋谒库图佐夫的即是多洛霍夫在其手下当兵的那个兵团的团长指挥。罗斯托夫在保罗格勒兵团服役，该团团长受命指挥边远的左翼，因此这种事发生了误会。两个首长反目，仇恨很深，正当左翼早已发生战事，法国军队开始进攻之际，两个首长竟忙于旨在互相侮辱的谈判。无论是骑兵团，抑或是步兵团，对行将爆发的战斗都很少作出准备。两个兵团的人员，从士兵到将军，都没有料到要会战，竟泰然自若地从事和平劳动：骑兵喂马，步兵收拾木柴。
“他到底比我的军阶更高，”德国佬——骠骑兵团团长，涨红了脸，对着向前走来的副官说道，“他愿意干什么事，就让他干什么事。我不能牺牲自己的骠骑兵。司号兵，吹退却号！”
然而，战事急如星火。排炮声和步枪声互相交融，响彻了左翼和中央阵地，拉纳带领的身穿外套的法国步兵越过了磨坊的堤坝，在堤坝这边的两射程远的地方排队了。步兵上校迈着颤抖的脚步走到马前面，翻身上马，骑在马上时身材显得端正而高大，他走到保罗格勒兵团团长跟前，两个团长相会了，他们恭恭敬敬地点头行礼，可是心中隐藏着仇恨。
“上校，再一次，”将军说道，“可是我不能把一半人员留在森林中。我请求您，我请求您，”他重说一遍，“占领阵地，准备进攻。”
“我请求您不要干预别人的事，”上校急躁地答道，“既然您是个骑兵……”
“上校，我不是骑兵，而是俄国将军，既然您不清楚……”
“大人，我很清楚，”上校拨着马，涨红了脸，忽然喊道，“您光顾一下散兵线，行不行？那您将会看到，这个阵地毫无用处。我不想花掉自己的兵团来博取您的欢心。”
“上校，您忘乎所以了。我并不注重自己的欢乐，而且不容许说这种话。”
将军接受了上校所提出的比赛勇气的邀请，他挺直胸膛，皱起眉头，和他一同向散兵线走去，好像他们的全部分歧应当在那枪林弹雨下的散兵线上获得解决。他们到达散兵线，有几颗子弹从他们头上飞过，他们沉默地停下来，可是散兵线没有什么可看的，因为从他们原先站过的地方可以清楚地看见，骑兵不能在灌木林和峡谷中作战，法国人正向左翼绕过去。将军和上校像两只准备格斗的公鸡，严肃地意味深长地怒目相视，白白地守候对方露出胆怯的神态。两个人经受住了考验。因为没有什么话可说，两个人都不愿意使对方有所借口，说他头一个走出了子弹的射程，若不是这时在森林中，几乎是在他们身后传来了噼噼啪啪的枪声和汇成一片的低沉的喊声，他们就要长久地站在那里比赛勇气。法国人攻击一名在森林中拾起木柴的士兵。骠骑兵已经没法和步兵一道撤退了。他们被法军散兵线截断了向左面撤退的道路。现在无论地形怎样不方便，为了要给自己开辟一条道路，就必须发动进攻。
罗斯托夫所服役的那个骑兵连的官兵刚刚骑上战马，就迎头遇见敌人，于是停了下来。又像在恩斯河桥上的情形那样，在骑兵连和敌人之间空无一人；他们之间隔着一条危险的未知的恐怖的界线，好像是一条分隔生者和死者的界线。所有的人都觉察到这条界线。他们是否能够越过这条界线，如何越过这条界线的问题，使他们颇为不安。
上校已驰至战线的正面，气忿地回答军官们提出的一些问题，就像一个拼命地固执己见的人那样，发布了一项命令。没有人说过什么明确的话，但是进攻的消息传遍了骑兵连。发出了排队的口令，随后可以听见出鞘的马刀铿锵作响。但是谁也没有前进一步。左翼的部队，无论是步兵，抑或是骠骑兵，都感觉到，首长们自己也不知道应该怎么办，因此首长们的犹豫不决的心情感染了整个部队。
“快一点，要快一点。”罗斯托夫想道，心里觉得，享受进攻的乐趣的时刻终于来到了，关于这种事他从骠骑兵战友那里听得可多哩。
“伙伴们，愿上帝保佑，”传来杰尼索夫的嗓音，“跑步走！”
前列中的一匹匹马的臀部微微摆动起来了。“白嘴鸦”拽了拽缰绳，就自己上路了。
罗斯托夫从右边望见他自己的前几列骠骑兵，前面稍远的地方，他可以望见他原来望不清的黑魆魆的地带，不过他认为这就是敌军，可以听见一阵阵枪声，不过是从远处传来的。
“要加快马的步速！”发出了口令，罗斯托夫觉察到，他的“白嘴鸦”尥了一下马蹶子，疾驰起来了。
他预先猜测到它的动作，他于是变得越发高兴了。他发现了前面的一棵孤零零的树。这棵树始终位于前面那条显得多么可怕的界线的中间。可是当他们越过了这条界线，就非但没有什么可怕而且变得越发愉快，越发活跃了。“啊呀，我真要把它砍掉。”罗斯托夫手中握着马刀刀柄，心中想道。
“乌——拉——拉——拉！”响起了一片喊声。
“欸，无论是谁，现在落到我手上来吧。”罗斯托夫一面想道，一面用马刺刺着“白嘴鸦”，要赶上其他人员，便让它袭步奔驰起来。前面已经望得见敌人。忽然骑兵连像给宽扫把鞭挞了一下。罗斯托夫举起了马刀，准备砍杀，但这时正在前面疾驰的士兵尼基琴科从他身边走开了；罗斯托夫如入梦乡，他心中觉得，还在神速地向前飞奔，同时又觉得停滞不前。一名熟悉的骠骑兵邦达尔丘克从后面疾驰着赶上来了，他恼火地瞟了一眼。邦达尔丘克的马猛地往旁边一蹿，绕过去了。
“这是怎么回事？我没有前进？——我已经倒下，被打死了……”罗斯托夫在一瞬间自问自答。他独自一人置身于战场。他从自己周围看见的不是驰骋的战马和一闪而过的骠骑兵的背脊，而是一动不动的土地和已经收割的庄稼地。热血在他的身上流淌着。“不，我负了伤，马被打死了。”“白嘴鸦”正要伸出前腿，支撑起来，可是它倒下了，压伤了乘马者的一条腿。马头正流着鲜血。马在挣扎，站不起来了。罗斯托夫想站起来，也倒下了，皮囊挂住了马鞍。我们的人在哪儿，法国人在哪儿——他不知道。周围没有一个人了。
他抽出一只腿，站立起来。“那条把两军明显地分开的界线如今在何方？！”他向自己问道，并没有回答出来。“我是否发生了什么不好的事情？是不是常有这种情形呢？在这种情形下应当怎样办呢？”他在站立的时候，向自己问道。这时他觉得，他那只失去知觉的左手上悬着什么多余的东西。手腕已经麻木，仿佛它不是他自己的。他一面望着手臂，一面徒劳地寻觅手上的血迹。“你看，这些人终于来了。”他看见有几个人向他跑来，他很高兴地思忖一下，“他们是来帮助我的！”有个人在这些人前面跑着，他头戴古怪的高筒军帽，身穿蓝色大衣，长着鹰钩鼻子，黑头发，晒得黝黑。还有两个人，还有许多人从后面跑来。其中有个人说了什么不是俄国人通常说的怪话。在这样一些头戴高筒军帽跟在后面奔跑的人中间夹杂着一个俄国骠骑兵。有人抓着他的一双手，有人在他身后抓着他的马。
“想必是我们的人被虏去当战俘……对了。他们难道要把我也抓起来？他们是一些什么人呢？”罗斯托夫不相信自己的眼睛，心里总是这么思忖着，“他们难道是法国人？”他端详着向他渐渐靠近的法国人。虽然在一瞬间他所说的不过是想追上法国人，把他们砍成肉酱，现在他仿佛觉得，他们的逼近非常可怖，致使他不相信自己的眼睛。“他们是谁呢？他们为什么跑来？难道是跑到我这里来吗？他们难道是跑到我这里来吗？为什么？要杀死我吗？杀死大家都很疼爱的我吗？”他想起他的母亲、一家人、朋友们都很爱他，因此，敌人杀害他的意图是难以想象的。“也许——真会把我杀死的！”因为不领会自己的处境，他有十多秒钟站在原地不动。那个领头的长着鹰钩鼻的法国人跑得离他很近，已经望得见他的面部表情。这个人端着刺刀，微微地屏住呼吸，轻快地朝他跑来，他那急躁的陌生的面孔使罗斯托夫感到惊恐，他抓起手枪，没有向法国人开枪，把手枪扔到他身上，使尽全力地向灌木林边跑去了。他奔跑着，他已经没有他在恩斯河桥上行走时所怀有的犹疑不决和内心斗争的感觉，但却怀有那野兔从狼犬群中逃跑时的感觉。一种无可摆脱的为其青春时代的幸福生活而担忧的感情控制着他的整个身心。他很快地跳过田塍，在田野中飞奔，动作是那样敏捷，就像他玩逮人游戏时迅速地奔跑似的。有时候他把那苍白的善良的年轻人的面孔转过来，他的脊背上起了一阵寒栗。“不，最好不要看，”他想了一下，但跑到灌木林前又掉过头来看看。一些法国官兵掉队了。甚至在他回顾的这一瞬间，领头的法国人才刚把快步改成整步，并回头对那走在后面的伙伴大声吆喝着什么。罗斯托夫停步不前。“有点儿不大对头，”他想了想，“他们想把我杀死，这是不可能的。”同时他的左手觉是沉甸甸的，好像有两普特重的哑铃悬挂在手上似的。他再也不能跑下去，法国人也停止前进，并且向他瞄准。罗斯托夫眯缝起眼睛，弯下身子。一颗又一颗子弹咝咝作响地从他身边飞过去了。他鼓足最后的力气，用右手抓住左手，向灌木林疾速地跑去。俄国步兵都呆在灌木林中。
Book 2 Chapter 20
THE INFANTRY, who had been caught unawares in the copse, had run away, and the different companies all confused together had retreated in disorderly crowds. One soldier in a panic had uttered those words—terrible in war and meaningless: “Cut off!” and those words had infected the whole mass with panic. 
“Outflanked! Cut off! Lost!” they shouted as they ran.
When their general heard the firing and the shouts in the rear he had grasped at the instant that something awful was happening to his regiment; and the thought that he, an exemplary officer, who had served so many years without ever having been guilty of the slightest shortcoming, might be held responsible by his superiors for negligence or lack of discipline, so affected him that, instantly oblivious of the insubordinate cavalry colonel and his dignity as a general, utterly oblivious even of danger and of the instinct of self-preservation, he clutched at the crupper of his saddle, and spurring his horse, galloped off to the regiment under a perfect hail of bullets that luckily missed him. He was possessed by the one desire to find out what was wrong, and to help and correct the mistake whatever it might be, if it were a mistake on his part, so that after twenty-two years of exemplary service, without incurring a reprimand for anything, he might avoid being responsible for this blunder.
Galloping successfully between the French forces, he reached the field behind the copse across which our men were running downhill, not heeding the word of command. That moment had come of moral vacillation which decides the fate of battles. Would these disorderly crowds of soldiers hear the voice of their commander, or, looking back at him, run on further? In spite of the despairing yell of the commander, who had once been so awe-inspiring to his soldiers, in spite of his infuriated, purple face, distorted out of all likeness to itself, in spite of his brandished sword, the soldiers still ran and talked together, shooting into the air and not listening to the word of command. The moral balance which decides the fate of battle was unmistakably falling on the side of panic.
The general was choked with screaming and gunpowder-smoke, and he stood still in despair. All seemed lost; but at that moment the French, who had been advancing against our men, suddenly, for no apparent reason, ran back, vanished from the edge of the copse, and Russian sharp-shooters appeared in the copse. This was Timohin's division, the only one that had retained its good order in the copse, and hiding in ambush in the ditch behind the copse, had suddenly attacked the French. Timohin had rushed with such a desperate yell upon the French, and with such desperate and drunken energy had he dashed at the enemy with only a sword in his hand, that the French flung down their weapons and fled without pausing to recover themselves. Dolohov, running beside Timohin, killed one French soldier at close quarters, and was the first to seize by the collar an officer who surrendered. The fleeing Russians came back; the battalions were brought together; and the French, who had been on the point of splitting the forces of the left flank into two parts, were for the moment held in check. The reserves had time to join the main forces, and the runaways were stopped. The general stood with Major Ekonomov at the bridge, watching the retreating companies go by, when a soldier ran up to him, caught hold of his stirrup, and almost clung on to it. The soldier was wearing a coat of blue fine cloth, he had no knapsack nor shako, his head was bound up, and across his shoulders was slung a French cartridge case. In his hand he held an officer's sword. The soldier was pale, his blue eyes looked impudently into the general's face, but his mouth was smiling. Although the general was engaged in giving instructions to Major Ekonomov, he could not help noticing this soldier.
“Your excellency, here are two trophies,” said Dolohov, pointing to the French sword and cartridge case. “An officer was taken prisoner by me. I stopped the company.” Dolohov breathed hard from weariness; he spoke in jerks. “The whole company can bear me witness. I beg you to remember me, your excellency!”
“Very good, very good,” said the general, and he turned to Major Ekonomov. But Dolohov did not leave him; he undid the bandage, and showed the blood congealed on his head.
“A bayonet wound; I kept my place in the front. Remember me, your excellency.”
Tushin's battery had been forgotten, and it was only at the very end of the action that Prince Bagration, still hearing the cannonade in the centre, sent the staff-officer on duty and then Prince Andrey to command the battery to retire as quickly as possible. The force which had been stationed near Tushin's cannons to protect them had by somebody's orders retreated in the middle of the battle. But the battery still kept up its fire, and was not taken by the French simply because the enemy could not conceive of the reckless daring of firing from four cannons that were quite unprotected. The French supposed, on the contrary, judging from the energetic action of the battery, that the chief forces of the Russians were concentrated here in the centre, and twice attempted to attack that point, and both times were driven back by the grapeshot fired on them from the four cannons which stood in solitude on the heights. Shortly after Prince Bagration's departure, Tushin had succeeded in setting fire to Sch?ngraben.
“Look, what a fuss they're in! It's flaming! What a smoke! Smartly done! First-rate! The smoke! the smoke!” cried the gunners, their spirits reviving.
All the guns were aimed without instructions in the direction of the conflagration. The soldiers, as though they were urging each other on, shouted at every volley: “Bravo! That's something like now! Go it!… First-rate!” The fire, fanned by the wind, soon spread. The French columns, who had marched out beyond the village, went back, but as though in revenge for this mischance, the enemy stationed ten cannons a little to the right of the village, and began firing from them on Tushin.
In their childlike glee at the conflagration of the village, and the excitement of their successful firing on the French, our artillerymen only noticed this battery when two cannon-balls and after them four more fell among their cannons, and one knocked over two horses and another tore off the foot of a gunner. Their spirits, however, once raised, did not flag; their excitement simply found another direction. The horses were replaced by others from the ammunition carriage; the wounded were removed, and the four cannons were turned facing the ten of the enemy's battery. The other officer, Tushin's comrade, was killed at the beginning of the action, and after an hour's time, of the forty gunners of the battery, seventeen were disabled, but they were still as merry and as eager as ever. Twice they noticed the French appearing below close to them, and they sent volleys of grapeshot at them.
The little man with his weak, clumsy movements, was continually asking his orderly for just one more pipe for that stroke, as he said, and scattering sparks from it, he kept running out in front and looking from under his little hand at the French.
“Smash away, lads!” he was continually saying, and he clutched at the cannon wheels himself and unscrewed the screws. In the smoke, deafened by the incessant booming of the cannons that made him shudder every time one was fired, Tushin ran from one cannon to the other, his short pipe never out of his mouth. At one moment he was taking aim, then reckoning the charges, then arranging for the changing and unharnessing of the killed and wounded horses, and all the time shouting in his weak, shrill, hesitating voice. His face grew more and more eager. Only when men were killed and wounded he knitted his brows, and turning away from the dead man, shouted angrily to the men, slow, as they always are, to pick up a wounded man or a dead body. The soldiers, for the most part fine, handsome fellows (a couple of heads taller than their officer and twice as broad in the chest, as they mostly are in the artillery), all looked to their commanding officer like children in a difficult position, and the expression they found on his face was invariably reflected at once on their own.
Owing to the fearful uproar and noise and the necessity of attention and activity, Tushin experienced not the slightest unpleasant sensation of fear; and the idea that he might be killed or badly wounded never entered his head. On the contrary, he felt more and more lively. It seemed to him that the moment in which he had first seen the enemy and had fired the first shot was long, long ago, yesterday perhaps, and that the spot of earth on which he stood was a place long familiar to him, in which he was quite at home. Although he thought of everything, considered everything, did everything the very best officer could have done in his position, he was in a state of mind akin to the delirium of fever or the intoxication of a drunken man.
The deafening sound of his own guns on all sides, the hiss and thud of the enemy's shells, the sight of the perspiring, flushed gunners hurrying about the cannons, the sight of the blood of men and horses, and of the puffs of smoke from the enemy on the opposite side (always followed by a cannon-ball that flew across and hit the earth, a man, a horse, or a cannon)—all these images made up for him a fantastic world of his own, in which he found enjoyment at the moment. The enemy's cannons in his fancy were not cannons, but pipes from which an invisible smoker blew puffs of smoke at intervals.
“There he's puffing away again,” Tushin murmured to himself as a cloud of smoke rolled downhill, and was borne off by the wind in a wreath to the left. “Now, your ball—throw it back.”
“What is it, your honour?” asked a gunner who stood near him, and heard him muttering something.
“Nothing, a grenade…” he answered. “Now for it, our Matvyevna,” he said to himself. Matvyevna was the name his fancy gave to the big cannon, cast in an old-fashioned mould, that stood at the end. The French seemed to be ants swarming about their cannons. The handsome, drunken soldier, number one gunner of the second cannon, was in his dreamworld “uncle”; Tushin looked at him more often than at any of the rest, and took delight in every gesture of the man. The sound— dying away, then quickening again—of the musketry fire below the hill seemed to him like the heaving of some creature's breathing. He listened to the ebb and flow of these sounds.
“Ah, she's taking another breath again,” he was saying to himself. He himself figured in his imagination as a mighty man of immense stature, who was flinging cannon balls at the French with both hands.
“Come, Matvyevna, old lady, stick by us!” he was saying, moving back from the cannon, when a strange, unfamiliar voice called over his head. “Captain Tushin! Captain!”
Tushin looked round in dismay. It was the same staff-officer who had turned him out of the booth at Grunte. He was shouting to him in a breathless voice:
“I say, are you mad? You've been commanded twice to retreat, and you…”
“Now, what are they pitching into me for?” … Tushin wondered, looking in alarm at the superior officer.
“I…don't…” he began, putting two fingers to the peak of his cap. “I…”
But the staff-officer did not say all he had meant to. A cannon ball flying near him made him duck down on his horse. He paused, and was just going to say something more, when another ball stopped him. He turned his horse's head and galloped away.
“Retreat! All to retreat!” he shouted from a distance.
The soldiers laughed. A minute later an adjutant arrived with the same message. This was Prince Andrey. The first thing he saw, on reaching the place where Tushin's cannons were stationed, was an unharnessed horse with a broken leg, which was neighing beside the harnessed horses. The blood was flowing in a perfect stream from its leg. Among the platforms lay several dead men. One cannon ball after another flew over him as he rode up, and he felt a nervous shudder running down his spine. But the very idea that he was afraid was enough to rouse him again. “I can't be frightened,” he thought, and he deliberately dismounted from his horse between the cannons. He gave his message, but he did not leave the battery. He decided to stay and assist in removing the cannons from the position and getting them away. Stepping over the corpses, under the fearful fire from the French, he helped Tushin in getting the cannons ready.
“The officer that came just now ran off quicker than he came,” said a gunner to Prince Andrey, “not like your honour.”
Prince Andrey had no conversation with Tushin. They were both so busy that they hardly seemed to see each other. When they had got the two out of the four cannons that were uninjured on to the platforms and were moving downhill (one cannon that had been smashed and a howitzer were left behind), Prince Andrey went up to Tushin.
“Well, good-bye till we meet again,” said Prince Andrey, holding out his hand to Tushin.
“Good-bye, my dear fellow,” said Tushin, “dear soul! good-bye, my dear fellow,” he said with tears, which for some unknown reason started suddenly into his eyes.
几个步兵团在森林中给弄得措手不及，于是从森林中跑出去；有几个连队与其他连队混合在一起，就像秩序混乱的人群似地逃出去了。有一名士兵在恐惧中说出了一个战时听来骇人的毫无意义的词：“截断联系，”这个词和恐惧心理感染了群众。 
“迂回！截断联系！完蛋！”奔跑的人们喊道。
正当团长听到后面传来的枪声和呐喊声之际，他心里明白，他的兵团中发生了什么可怕的事情，他想道，他是一名供职多年、毫无过错的模范军官，他因工作疏忽或指挥不力，对不起列位首长，他这种想法使他大为惊讶，同时他已经忘却那个不驯服的骑兵上校和他这个将军应有的尊严，而重要的是，完全忘记了战争的危险和自我保全的本能。他用手抓住鞍桥，用马刺刺马，在他幸免于难的枪林弹雨下，向兵团疾驰而去。他只有一个意愿：要了解真相，假如错误是他所引起的，无论如何都要补救和纠正错误，他这个供职二十二载、从未受过任何指责的模范军官，决不应该犯有过失。
他很幸运地从法军中间疾驰而过，已经驰近森林之后的田野，我军官兵正穿过森林逃跑，他们不听口令，迳直往山下走去。决定战役命运的士气动摇的时刻已经来到了，这一群群溃乱的士兵或者听从指挥官的口令，或者向他回顾一下，继续往前逃跑。尽管原先在士兵心目中多么威严的团长怎样拼命叫喊，尽管团长的面孔显得多么激怒，涨得通红，与原形迥异，尽管他扬起一柄长剑，士兵们还在继续逃跑，大声地讲话，朝天放空枪，不听口令。决定战役命运的士气动摇，显然造成了极度恐怖的气氛。
将军因呐喊和硝烟呛得大声咳嗽起来，在绝望中停步了。似乎一切都已丧失殆尽了，而在这时，曾向我军进攻的法国官兵忽然间在无明显缘由的境况下向后方拔腿而逃，隐没在森林的边缘，俄国步兵于是在森林中出现了。这是季莫欣指挥的连队，惟有这个连队在森林中顺利地坚守阵地，埋伏在森林附近的沟渠，突然向法军官兵发动进攻。季莫欣大喝一声，冲向法国官兵，他怀有醉翁般的奋不顾身的勇敢精神，手持一柄军刀，向敌军横冲直撞，法国官兵还没有醒悟过来，就扔下武器，逃走了。多洛霍夫和季莫欣并排地跑着，抵近射击，击毙了一名法国人，并且头一个抓住投降的军官的衣领。逃跑者都回来了，几个兵营集合起来，法国人原来想把左翼部队分成两部分，瞬息间都被击退了。后备部队已经会师，逃跑的人们停步不前。团长和少校埃科诺莫夫都站在桥边，让那撤退的各个连队从身边过去，这时分一名士兵走到他跟前，抓住他的马镫，险些儿靠在他身上。士兵穿着一件浅蓝色的厂呢军大衣，没有背包和高筒军帽，裹着头，肩上斜挎着法国式的子弹袋。他手上拿着一柄军官的长枪。士兵的脸色苍白，一双蓝眼睛无耻地望着团长的面孔，嘴上露出一丝微笑。虽然团长正忙着没空，要给少校埃科诺莫夫作指示，但是不能不注意这个士兵。
“大人，这里是两件战利品，”多诺霍夫说道，指着法国的军刀和子弹袋。“这个军官是被我俘虏的。我把一连人拦住了，”多洛霍夫因为疲倦而觉得呼吸困难；他说话时不止一次地停顿，“整个连队都可以作证。大人，我请您记住！”
“好，好。”团长说道，向少校埃科诺莫夫转过脸来。
然而多洛霍夫并没有走开，他解开手巾，猛地一拉，让团长看看头发上凝结的一层血污。
“是刺刀戳的伤口，我在前线滞留下来了。大人，请牢记不忘。
图申主管的炮台已经被遗忘，巴格拉季翁公爵仍然听见中央阵地的炮声，只是在战事行将结束时，他才派一名值日校官到那里去，之后又派安德烈公爵去吩咐炮兵队尽快地撤退。在这次战役之中，不知是听从谁的命令，驻扎在图申主管的大炮附近的掩护部队离开了，但是炮台还继续开炮，它之所以未被法军占领，仅只因为敌军不能推测出这四门无人护卫的大炮具有勇猛射击的威力。相反地，敌军根据这个炮台的十分猛烈的射击来推测，认为俄军主力集中在这里的中央阵地，因此曾二度试图攻打这个据点，但二度均被孑然耸立于高地的四门大炮发射的霰弹所驱散。
巴格拉季翁公爵离开后不久，图申得以烧毁申格拉本村。
“你看，乱成一团了！着火了！你看，一股浓烟啊！真妙！呱呱叫！一股浓烟，一股浓烟啊！”炮手兴奋地说起话来。
全部大炮在未接到命令的情况下朝着起火的方向放炮。好像是催促似的，士兵们每放一炮就大声喊叫：“真妙！对，就这么放！你看……呱呱叫！”大火被风卷起来，很快就蔓延开了。走到村庄外面的法军纵队已经回到原处了，但是敌人吃了败仗，仿佛是为报复起见，在村庄右面架起了十门大炮，开始向图申放炮。
因为村庄着火，我军的炮手都像儿童似地觉得快活，因为炮打法国人打得成功，他们都很激动；因此，当两颗炮弹、紧接着还有四颗炮弹在几门大炮中间落地，其中一颗掀倒两匹马，另一颗炸掉弹药车车夫的一条腿的时候，我军的炮手才发现敌军的这座炮台，然而兴奋的心情既已稳定，就不会冷淡，只是改变了意境而已。驮着备用炮架的其他几匹马取代了这两匹马，送走了伤员，四门大炮转过来瞄准那座十门炮的炮台。一名军官，图申的战友，在战役开始时就阵亡了，在一小时内，四十名炮手中就有十七名退下阵来，但是炮手们仍然觉得愉快，富有活力。他们曾两次发现，法国官兵在山下离他们很近的地方出现了，他们于是向法国佬发射霰弹。
一个身材矮小的军官动作很笨拙，软弱无力，不停地要求勤务兵为这次射击再装一袋烟，当他说话时，他磕出烟斗里的火星，向前跑去，用那只小手搭个凉棚注视着法国官兵。
“伙伴们，歼灭敌人！”他一面说话，一面托着大炮的轮子，旋动螺丝钉。
不断地隆隆作响的炮声震耳欲聋，每一次射击都使图申颤栗，在这一股硝烟中，他没有放下他的小烟斗，从一门炮跑到另一门炮，时而瞄准，时而数数发射药，时而吩咐换掉死马和负伤的战马，重新套上战马；用他那微弱而尖细、缺乏果断的嗓音不断地喊叫。他脸上流露着越来越兴奋的神色。只有当他们杀死或杀伤一些人的时候，他才皱起眉头，转过脸去，不看死者，气忿地吆喝那些老是磨磨蹭蹭，不肯抬起伤者或尸体的人。士兵们大部分都是长得漂亮的小伙子（正如炮兵连里常见的情形，小伙子都比军官高出两个头，身量比他宽两倍），都像处境尴尬的儿童似的，凝视着自己的连长。
连长的面部表情通常反映在他们的脸上。
由于图申听见这种可怖的轰鸣与喧嚣，并且需要关心弟兄、增强活动能力，所以他没有体会到一点不愉快的恐怖感，也没有想到，有人会把他杀掉或者使他身负重伤。相反，他变得越来越快活了。他仿佛觉得，他从看见敌军并放第一炮的那一瞬间到现在似乎已经隔了很久，几乎是昨日发生的事，他所站的一小块场地，也仿佛是他早就熟悉的亲如故土的地方。虽然他什么都记得，什么都考虑，一个处于他的地位的最优秀的军官能够做到的事。他都能做到，但是他却处于类似冷热病的谵妄状态中，或者处于醉汉的神魂颠倒的状态中。
因为从四面传来他的大炮发出的震耳欲聋的响声，因为敌军的炮弹发出呼啸声和射击声，因为看见炮手们汗水直流，满面通红，在大炮周围忙忙碌碌，因为看见人们和战马流淌着鲜血，因为看见敌人的那边阵地上冒出的硝烟（每次冒出硝烟之后跟着就飞来一颗炮弹，命中了土地、人、大炮或者是战马），——因为他看见这种种现象，所以他的脑海中形成了他自己的幻想世界，这个世界使他在这个时刻享受到一种喜悦。在他的想象之中，敌人的大炮不是大炮，而是烟斗，有一个望不见的吸烟者从烟斗中断断续续地吐出一串串烟圈。
“瞧，又喷烟了，”图申轻声地自言自语，这时分，山上已经冒出了一团硝烟，大风把一条带状的烟幡吹到左边去了，“现在请等着射出的小球——给他送回去。”
“大人，有何吩咐？”站在他近旁的炮兵士官听见他喃喃地说话，便问道。
“没有什么，要一颗榴弹……”他答道。
“我们的马特维夫娜，喂，露一手。”他自言自语。在他想象中，那门紧靠边上的旧式大炮仿佛是马特维夫娜。他觉得栖在大炮周围的法国官兵他一群蚂蚁。古他的幻想世界里，那个美男子，醉汉，第二门大炮的第一号炮手就是大叔，图申对他另眼相看，他的每一个动作都使他觉得高兴。山下传来的步枪的互相射击声，时而停息，时而剧烈，他觉得这好像是某人在那里呼吸。他倾听着时而停息时而激烈的互相射击声。
“听，又喘气了，喘气了。”他自言自语。
他觉得自己像个身材高大、强而有力，能用一双手捧着炮弹向法国官兵扔去的男子汉。
“喂，马特维夫娜，亲爱的，不要出卖我们吧！”当他头顶上传来一个陌生的不熟悉的嗓音的时候，他说道，并且走到大炮旁边去。
“图申上尉！上尉！”
图申惊恐地回头望了一眼。这就是那个从格伦特随军商贩帐篷中把他撵出来的校官。他用气喘吁吁的嗓音对他喊道：
“您怎么啦，发疯了吗？两次命令您撤退，而您……”
“得啦吧，他们干嘛对我这样？……”图申惊恐地望着首长，暗自想道。
“我……没什么……”他把两个指头伸到帽檐边，说道，“……”
但是上校没有说完他要说的话。从近旁飞过的一颗炮弹迫使他在马背上潜避之后弯下腰来。他沉默不言，刚刚想说些什么，又有一颗炮弹制止了他。他拨转马头飞也似地跑开了。
“撤退！统统撤退！”他从远处大声地喊道。
士兵们笑起来了。过了一分钟，副官捎着同样的命令走来了。
他是安德烈公爵。当他走到图申的大炮驻守的那片空地的时候，他首先看见的便是已被打断一条腿的卸了套的马，它在那些上了套的马旁边不断地嘶叫，鲜血像喷泉似地从它的腿上流出来了。数名阵亡者横卧在前车之间。炮弹一颗接着一颗在他头顶上飞过，当他驰近的时候，他觉得，他的脊梁上掠过一阵神经质的冷战。但是一想到他胆怯，他又振作起来。“我不能害怕。”他想到，在几门大炮之间慢慢地下马。他传达了命令，还没有离开炮台。他决定，在他监督下从阵地上卸下几门大炮，然后把大炮运走。他和图申一起，跨过了多具尸体，在法军的可怖的火力下撤走大炮。
“首长刚才来过一趟了，可是很快就跑了，”炮兵士官对安德烈公爵说道，“不像您大人这样。”
安德烈公爵没有和图申说什么话。他们两个都很忙，好像没有会过面似的。当他们把四门大炮中没有损坏的两门装进前车后，便向山下走去了（一门业已损坏的大炮和独角兽大炮留在原地），安德烈公爵走到了图申跟前。
“喂，再见吧。”安德烈公爵把手伸向图申时说道。
“亲爱的，再见，”图申说道，“亲爱的心肝！”再见，亲爱的。”图申的眼泪不知怎的忽然夺眶而出，他眼中含着泪水说。
Book 2 Chapter 21
THE WIND had sunk, black storm-clouds hung low over the battlefield, melting on the horizon into the clouds of smoke from the powder. Darkness had come, and the glow of conflagrations showed all the more distinctly in two places. The cannonade had grown feebler, but the snapping of musketry-fire in the rear and on the right was heard nearer and more often. As soon as Tushin with his cannons, continually driving round the wounded and coming upon them, had got out of fire and were descending the ravine, he was met by the staff, among whom was the staff-officer and Zherkov, who had twice been sent to Tushin's battery, but had not once reached it. They all vied with one another in giving him orders, telling him how and where to go, finding fault and making criticisms. Tushin gave no orders, and in silence, afraid to speak because at every word he felt, he could not have said why, ready to burst into tears, he rode behind on his artillery nag. Though orders were given to abandon the wounded, many of them dragged themselves after the troops and begged for a seat on the cannons. The jaunty infantry-officer—the one who had run out of Tushin's shanty just before the battle—was laid on Matvyevna's carriage with a bullet in his stomach. At the bottom of the hill a pale ensign of hussars, holding one arm in the other hand, came up to Tushin and begged for a seat.
“Captain, for God's sake. I've hurt my arm,” he said timidly. “For God's sake. I can't walk. For God's sake!” It was evident that this was not the first time the ensign had asked for a lift, and that he had been everywhere refused. He asked in a hesitating and piteous voice, “Tell them to let me get on, for God's sake!”
“Let him get on, let him get on,” said Tushin. “Put a coat under him, you, uncle.” He turned to his favourite soldier. “But where's the wounded officer?”
“We took him off; he was dead,” answered some one.
“Help him on. Sit down, my dear fellow, sit down. Lay the coat there, Antonov.”
The ensign was Rostov. He was holding one hand in the other. He was pale and his lower jaw was trembling as though in a fever. They put him on Matvyevna, the cannon from which they had just removed the dead officer. There was blood on the coat that was laid under him, and Rostov's riding-breeches and arm were smeared with it.
“What, are you wounded, my dear?” said Tushin, going up to the cannon on which Rostov was sitting.
“No; it's a sprain.”
“How is it there's blood on the frame?” asked Tushin.
“That was the officer, your honour, stained it,” answered an artillery-man, wiping the blood off with the sleeve of his coat, and as it were apologising for the dirty state of the cannon.
With difficulty, aided by the infantry, they dragged the cannon uphill, and halted on reaching the village of Guntersdorf. It was by now so dark that one could not distinguish the soldiers' uniforms ten paces away, and the firing had begun to subside. All of a sudden there came the sound of firing and shouts again close by on the right side. The flash of the shots could be seen in the darkness. This was the last attack of the French. It was met by the soldiers in ambush in the houses of the village. All rushed out of the village again, but Tushin's cannons could not move and the artillerymen, Tushin, and the ensign looked at one another in anticipation of their fate. The firing on both sides began to subside, and some soldiers in lively conversation streamed out of a side street.
“Not hurt, Petrov?” inquired one.
“We gave it them hot, lads. They won't meddle with us now,” another was saying.
“One couldn't see a thing. Didn't they give it to their own men! No seeing for the darkness, mates. Isn't there something to drink?”
The French had been repulsed for the last time. And again, in the complete darkness, Tushin's cannons moved forward, surrounded by the infantry, who kept up a hum of talk.
In the darkness they flowed on like an unseen, gloomy river always in the same direction, with a buzz of whisper and talk and the thud of hoofs and rumble of wheels. Above all other sounds, in the confused uproar, rose the moans and cries of the wounded, more distinct than anything in the darkness of the night. Their moans seemed to fill all the darkness surrounding the troops. Their moans and the darkness seemed to melt into one. A little later a thrill of emotion passed over the moving crowd. Some one followed by a suite had ridden by on a white horse, and had said something as he passed.
“What did he say? Where we are going now? to halt, eh? Thanked us, what?” eager questions were heard on all sides, and the whole moving mass began to press back on itself (the foremost, it seemed, had halted), and a rumour passed through that the order had been given to halt. All halted in the muddy road, just where they were.
Fires were lighted and the talk became more audible. Captain Tushin, after giving instructions to his battery, sent some of his soldiers to look for an ambulance or a doctor for the ensign, and sat down by the fire his soldiers had lighted by the roadside. Rostov too dragged himself to the fire. His whole body was trembling with fever from the pain, the cold, and the damp. He was dreadfully sleepy, but he could not go to sleep for the agonising pain in his arm, which ached and would not be easy in any position. He closed his eyes, then opened them to stare at the fire, which seemed to him dazzling red, and then at the stooping, feeble figure of Tushin, squatting in Turkish fashion near him. The big, kindly, and shrewd eyes of Tushin were fixed upon him with sympathy and commiseration. He saw that Tushin wished with all his soul to help him, but could do nothing for him.
On all sides they heard the footsteps and the chatter of the infantry going and coming and settling themselves round them. The sounds of voices, of steps, and of horses' hoofs tramping in the mud, the crackling firewood far and near, all melted into one fluctuating roar of sound.
It was not now as before an unseen river flowing in the darkness, but a gloomy sea subsiding and still agitated after a storm. Rostov gazed vacantly and listened to what was passing before him and around him. An infantry soldier came up to the fire, squatted on his heels, held his hands to the fire, and turned his face.
“You don't mind, your honour?” he said, looking inquiringly at Tushin. “Here I've got lost from my company, your honour; I don't know myself where I am. It's dreadful!”
With the soldier an infantry officer approached the fire with a bandaged face. He asked Tushin to have the cannon moved a very little, so as to let a store waggon pass by. After the officer two soldiers ran up to the fire. They were swearing desperately and fighting, trying to pull a boot from one another.
“No fear! you picked it up! that's smart!” one shouted in a husky voice.
Then a thin, pale soldier approached, his neck bandaged with a bloodstained rag. With a voice of exasperation he asked the artillerymen for water.
“Why, is one to die like a dog?” he said.
Tushin told them to give him water. Next a good-humoured soldier ran up, to beg for some red-hot embers for the infantry.
“Some of your fire for the infantry! Glad to halt, lads. Thanks for the loan of the firing; we'll pay it back with interest,” he said, carrying some glowing firebrands away into the darkness.
Next four soldiers passed by, carrying something heavy in an overcoat. One of them stumbled.
“Ay, the devils, they've left firewood in the road,” grumbled one.
“He's dead; why carry him?” said one of them.
“Come on, you!” And they vanished into the darkness with their burden.
“Does it ache, eh?” Tushin asked Rostov in a whisper.
“Yes, it does ache.”
“Your honour's sent for to the general. Here in a cottage he is,” said a gunner, coming up to Tushin.
“In a minute, my dear.” Tushin got up and walked away from the fire, buttoning up his coat and setting himself straight.
In a cottage that had been prepared for him not far from the artillerymen's fire, Prince Bagration was sitting at dinner, talking with several commanding officers, who had gathered about him. The little old colonel with the half-shut eyes was there, greedily gnawing at a mutton-bone, and the general of twenty-two years' irreproachable service, flushed with a glass of vodka and his dinner, and the staff-officer with the signet ring, and Zherkov, stealing uneasy glances at every one, and Prince Andrey, pale with set lips and feverishly glittering eyes.
In the corner of the cottage room stood a French flag, that had been captured, and the auditor with the na?ve countenance was feeling the stuff of which the flag was made, and shaking his head with a puzzled air, possibly because looking at the flag really interested him, or possibly because he did not enjoy the sight of the dinner, as he was hungry and no place had been laid for him. In the next cottage there was the French colonel, who had been taken prisoner by the dragoons. Our officers were flocking in to look at him. Prince Bagration thanked the several commanding officers, and inquired into details of the battle and of the losses. The general, whose regiment had been inspected at Braunau, submitted to the prince that as soon as the engagement began, he had fallen back from the copse, mustered the men who were cutting wood, and letting them pass by him, had made a bayonet charge with two battalions and repulsed the French.
“As soon as I saw, your excellency, that the first battalion was thrown into confusion, I stood in the road and thought, ‘I'll let them get through and then open fire on them'; and that's what I did.”
The general had so longed to do this, he had so regretted not having succeeded in doing it, that it seemed to him now that this was just what had happened. Indeed might it not actually have been so? Who could make out in such confusion what did and what did not happen?
“And by the way I ought to note, your excellency,” he continued, recalling Dolohov's conversation with Kutuzov and his own late interview with the degraded officer, “that the private Dolohov, degraded to the ranks, took a French officer prisoner before my eyes and particularly distinguished himself.”
“I saw here, your excellency, the attack of the Pavlograd hussars,” Zherkov put in, looking uneasily about him. He had not seen the hussars at all that day, but had only heard about them from an infantry officer. “They broke up two squares, your excellency.”
When Zherkov began to speak, several officers smiled, as they always did, expecting a joke from him. But as they perceived that what he was saying all redounded to the glory of our arms and of the day, they assumed a serious expression, although many were very well aware that what Zherkov was saying was a lie utterly without foundation. Prince Bagration turned to the old colonel.
“I thank you all, gentlemen; all branches of the service behaved heroically—infantry, cavalry, and artillery. How did two cannons come to be abandoned in the centre?” he inquired, looking about for some one. (Prince Bagration did not ask about the cannons of the left flank; he knew that all of them had been abandoned at the very beginning of the action.) “I think it was you I sent,” he added, addressing the staff-officer.
“One had been disabled,” answered the staff-officer, “but the other, I can't explain; I was there all the while myself, giving instructions, and I had scarcely left there.… It was pretty hot, it's true,” he added modestly.
Some one said that Captain Tushin was close by here in the village, and that he had already been sent for.
“Oh, but you went there,” said Prince Bagration, addressing Prince Andrey.
“To be sure, we rode there almost together,” said the staff-officer, smiling affably to Bolkonsky.
“I had not the pleasure of seeing you,” said Prince Andrey, coldly and abruptly. Every one was silent.
Tushin appeared in the doorway, timidly edging in behind the generals' backs. Making his way round the generals in the crowded hut, embarrassed as he always was before his superior officers, Tushin did not see the flag-staff and tumbled over it. Several of the officers laughed.
“How was it a cannon was abandoned?” asked Bagration, frowning, not so much at the captain as at the laughing officers, among whom Zherkov's laugh was the loudest. Only now in the presence of the angry-looking commander, Tushin conceived in all its awfulness the crime and disgrace of his being still alive when he had lost two cannons. He had been so excited that till that instant he had not had time to think of that. The officers' laughter had bewildered him still more. He stood before Bagration, his lower jaw quivering, and could scarcely articulate:
“I don't know … your excellency … I hadn't the men, your excellency.”
“You could have got them from the battalions that were covering your position!” That there were no battalions there was what Tushin did not say, though it was the fact. He was afraid of getting another officer into trouble by saying that, and without uttering a word he gazed straight into Bagration's face, as a confused schoolboy gazes at the face of an examiner.
The silence was rather a lengthy one. Prince Bagration, though he had no wish to be severe, apparently found nothing to say; the others did not venture to intervene. Prince Andrey was looking from under his brows at Tushin and his fingers moved nervously.
“Your excellency,” Prince Andrey broke the silence with his abrupt voice, “you sent me to Captain Tushin's battery. I went there and found two-thirds of the men and horses killed, two cannons disabled and no forces near to defend them.”
Prince Bagration and Tushin looked now with equal intensity at Bolkonsky, as he went on speaking with suppressed emotion.
“And if your excellency will permit me to express my opinion,” he went on, “we owe the success of the day more to the action of that battery and the heroic steadiness of Captain Tushin and his men than to anything else,” said Prince Andrey, and he got up at once and walked away from the table, without waiting for a reply.
Prince Bagration looked at Tushin and, apparently loath to express his disbelief in Bolkonsky's off-handed judgment, yet unable to put complete faith in it, he bent his head and said to Tushin that he could go. Prince Andrey walked out after him.
“Thanks, my dear fellow, you got me out of a scrape,” Tushin said to him.
Prince Andrey looked at Tushin, and walked away without uttering a word. Prince Andrey felt bitter and melancholy. It was all so strange, so unlike what he had been hoping for.
“Who are they? Why are they here? What do they want? And when will it all end?” thought Rostov, looking at the shadowy figures that kept flitting before his eyes. The pain in his arm became even more agonising. He was heavy with sleep, crimson circles danced before his eyes, and the impression of these voices and these faces and the sense of his loneliness all blended with the misery of the pain. It was they, these soldiers, wounded and unhurt alike, it was they crushing and weighing upon him, and twisting his veins and burning the flesh in his sprained arm and shoulder. To get rid of them he closed his eyes.
He dozed off for a minute, but in that brief interval he dreamed of innumerable things. He saw his mother and her large, white hand; he saw Sonya's thin shoulders, Natasha's eyes and her laugh, and Denisov with his voice and his whiskers, and Telyanin, and all the affair with Telyanin and Bogdanitch. All that affair was inextricably mixed up with this soldier with the harsh voice, and that affair and this soldier here were so agonisingly, so ruthlessly pulling, crushing, and twisting his arm always in the same direction. He was trying to get away from them, but they would not let go of his shoulder for a second. It would not ache, it would be all right if they wouldn't drag at it; but there was no getting rid of them.
He opened his eyes and looked upwards. The black pall of darkness hung only a few feet above the light of the fire. In the light fluttered tiny flakes of falling snow. Tushin had not returned, the doctor had not come. He was alone, only a soldier was sitting now naked on the other side of the fire, warming his thin, yellow body.
“Nobody cares for me!” thought Rostov. “No one to help me, no one to feel sorry for me. And I too was once at home, and strong, and happy and loved,” he sighed, and with the sigh unconsciously he moaned.
“In pain, eh?” asked the soldier, shaking his shirt out before the fire, and without waiting for an answer, he added huskily: “Ah, what a lot of fellows done for to-day—awful!”
Rostov did not hear the soldier. He gazed at the snowflakes whirling over the fire and thought of the Russian winter with his warm, brightly lighted home, his cosy fur cloak, his swift sledge, his good health, and all the love and tenderness of his family. “And what did I come here for!” he wondered.
On the next day, the French did not renew the attack and the remnant of Bagration's detachment joined Kutuzov's army.
风停息了，乌云低垂于战地的上空，在地平线上和硝烟连成一片了。天渐渐黑了，两地的火光显得更加明亮。炮声变得低沉了，可是后面和右面越近越密地听见噼噼啪啪的枪声。图申伴随着自己的大炮绕过伤员，也碰上伤员；一当他走出火线，并且沿着下坡道走到冲沟，就遇见首长和副官们，其中有校官和两次曾被派遣、没有一次到达图申的炮台的热尔科夫。他们个个都抢先开腔，给他发布命令，传达命令，指明行进的方式与方向，责备他而且呵斥他。图申未曾作出任何安排，默不作声地骑着炮兵连的一匹劣马，跟在后面走，他害怕开口，因为每说一句话自己不知道为什么总要大哭一场。虽然发布了抛弃伤员的命令，但是其中还有许多人勉强挣扎着跟在部队后面走，恳求容许他们坐在炮身上。那名在战前曾经从图申的茅棚中飞快跑出来的英姿勃勃的步兵军官，腹部中了一颗子弹，躺在马特维夫娜大炮的拖车上。在山下，脸色苍白的骠骑兵士官生，把一只手托着另一只手，走到了图申跟前，恳求准许他坐在炮身上。 
“上尉，看在上帝份上，我的手给震伤了，”他胆怯地说，“看在上帝份上，我没法子走下去。看在上帝份上！”
显然，这个士官生不止一次地恳求首长允许他在什么地方坐下，他到处遭到拒绝。他用诉苦的犹豫不决的嗓音哀求。
“请您吩咐，让我坐上去，看在上帝份上。”
“让他坐上去，让他坐上去，”图申说道，“大叔，你垫上大衣，”他把脸对着一个可爱的士兵，说道，“负伤的军官在哪儿？”
“把他扛下去了，已经死了。”有个人答道。
“让他坐吧。亲爱的，请坐，请坐。安东诺夫，给垫上大衣。”
士官生就是罗斯托夫。他用一只手托着另一只手，脸色苍白，发冷发热，下颌颤抖着。人家让他坐在马特维夫娜大炮身上，一名死去的军官就是从这门大炮上打下去的。那件垫坐的大衣沾满了鲜血，弄脏了罗斯托夫的紧腿裤和两只手。
“亲爱的，怎么？您负伤了吗？”图申向罗斯托夫所坐的那门大炮炮身前面走去时说道。
“不，我是给震伤的。”
“那炮架上为什么有血呢？”图申问道。
“大人，是那个军官沾上血污的。”炮兵用大衣袖子揩拭血污时答道，仿佛是因为大炮不干净而请求原谅似的。
他们在步兵帮助下好不容易才把大炮搬运到山上，抵达贡台斯多尔夫村停止前进。天很黑了，距离十步路就看不清楚士兵的制服，互相射击声开始停息。忽然从右面不远的地方又传来呐喊声和枪炮声。由于射击的关系，黑暗中火光闪耀。这是法军最后一次进攻，埋伏于村舍中的士兵迎击敌人的进攻，群众又从村子里冲出来，他是图申的大炮不能移动了，炮手们、图申和士官生沉默地面面相觑，等待厄运的降临。互相射击声开始停息，谈得正欢的士兵从侧面街上蜂拥而出。
“彼得罗夫，安然无恙吗？”有一名士兵问道。
“老兄，收拾他们了。现在决不会过来。”另一名士兵说道。
“什么都看不见。他们收拾自己人了！弟兄们，黑洞洞的，什么都看不见。没有什么可喝的吗？”
法国人最后一次被击退了。在伸手不见五指的昏暗中，图申的大炮宛如镶嵌着框架似的，四周簇拥着喧嚣的步兵，又向前方挺进了。
在黑暗中，有一条看不见的黑魆魆的大河，仿佛朝着一个方向平缓地流动。絮语声和说话声、马蹄声和车轮声互相交织成一片。在那昏暗的深夜里，伤员的呻吟声和说话声，透过这一片嘈杂的响声，清晰可闻。他们的呻吟声中好像充满了笼罩军队的一片黑暗。他们的呻吟和这深夜的昏暗被视若等同。少顷，前进的人群骚动起来。一个骑着白马的人偕同侍从从一旁经过。行走的时候，不知他说了什么话。
“他说了什么？现在要到哪儿去？是不是站着不动呢？是不是表示谢意？”从四面传来贪婪地问长问短的话语声，正在行走的人群互相挤挤插插（看起来，先头部队停止前进了，）停止前进的风闻传开了。行走的时候，大家都在泥泞的道路中间停步了。
火光通明，谈话声听得更加清晰了。图申向全连作出指示后，派出一名士兵替士官生寻找裹伤站或军医，士兵们在路上生起篝火，图申便在篝火旁坐下。罗斯托夫举步维艰，也走到篝火面前。由于疼痛、寒冷和潮湿，他浑身像发疟疾似的直打哆嗦。他很想睡觉，可是折磨人的疼痛使他不能入睡，那只隐隐作痛的臂膀，不知道摆在哪里才好。他时而合上眼睛，时而注视似乎烧得通红的篝火，时而注视盘腿坐在身旁的图申，注视他那有点伛偻而虚弱的身体。图申那一对仁慈而聪明的大眼睛怜悯地凝视着他。他看出，图申真心实意地愿意帮助他，可是他无能为力。
从四面传来步行者、骑行者和在四周驻扎的步兵的脚步声和说话声。说话声、脚步声和在泥泞中移步的马蹄的响声、近处和远处的柴火的噼啪声，融汇成一片振荡的嗡嗡声。
一条在黑暗中看不见的大河现在不像从前那样奔流，而像暴风雨之后，昏暗的大海渐渐趋于平静，但海面还在荡漾。罗斯托夫茫然地望着而且听着他面前和四周发生的情况。一名步兵走到篝火前，蹲下来，伸出手来炙火，把脸转过来。
“大人，炙炙火不要紧吧？”他带着疑惑的样子把脸转向图申，说道，“大人，您看，和连队失散了，我自己也不知道，呆在啥地方。真糟糕！”
一名裹着面颊的步兵军官和一名士兵走到篝火前，把脸转向图申，请他下命令将大炮移开一点，好让车子开过去。两名士兵跟在连长后面跑着，撞上了篝火。他们拖着一只皮靴，拼命地相骂和殴斗。
“怎么，是你捡起来的吗？瞧，你很机智啊！”有一名士兵用嘶哑的嗓音喊道。
之后有一名士兵颈上裹着血迹斑斑的包脚布，很瘦，面色苍白，向前面走来，他带着愤怒的嗓音向炮手们要点水喝。
“干嘛我要像狗那样死掉，是不是？”他说。
图申下命令给他一点水。然后有一名愉快的士兵跑到面前来，给步兵要一点炭火。
“给步兵一点炽热的炭火！乡亲们，祝你们幸福地留在此地，谢谢你们的炭火，我们偿还时要加上利息。”他一面说道，一面拿着通红的炭火块，送往昏暗的地方去。
有四名士兵用大衣兜着一件沉重的东西，跟在这名士兵后面，从篝火旁边走过去了。其中有一人绊得要跌倒了。
“你瞧，这些鬼家伙，把木柴摆在路上了。”他说了一句牢骚话。
“他死了，干嘛还要抬他？”其中有一人说道。
“您得啦吧！”
他们于是挑着自己的担子在黑暗中隐没不见了。
“怎么？疼痛吗？”图申轻声地问罗斯托夫。
“疼痛。”
“大人，请到将军那里去他在此地的一间农舍里。”炮兵士官走到图申跟前，说道。
“亲爱的，马上就去。”
图申站起来，扣上大衣，整理一下，从篝火旁边走开了……
在离炮手们生起的篝火不远的地方，巴格拉季翁公爵坐在给他准备的一间农舍中吃午饭，并同聚集在他那里的部队中的几个首长谈话。其中包括：眼睛半开半合的小老头，他贪婪地啃着羊骨头；军龄二十二年的无可指责的将军，他一面用餐，一面喝伏特加酒佐餐，满面红光；校官戴着一只刻有名字的戒指；热尔科夫惴惴不安地望着众人；安德烈公爵脸色苍白，紧闭嘴唇，一对冷热病的眼睛发亮。
一面夺得的法国军旗倾斜地靠在农舍的角落里，军法检察官面露稚气的神情用手抚摸着军旗的布面，困惑不安地摇头，也许是因为军旗的外形真的使他感兴趣，也许是因为他缺少餐具，饿着肚皮望望别人吃饭时心里觉得难过。一名被龙骑兵俘虏的法国上校呆在隔壁的农舍里。我们的军官围在他身边，注视着他。巴格拉季翁公爵感谢某些部队的首长，并询及战事的详情、伤亡的实情。那个曾经在布劳瑙请功的团长向公爵报告，说战斗一开始，他便从森林中撤退，召集了采伐林木的人，让他们从自己身旁过去，之后带领两个营打了一场白刃战，粉碎了法国官兵。
“大人，当我看见第一营已经失去战斗力，我便在路上停步不前了，”我心里想道：‘让这些人撤走，用另一营的火力去迎战。'我就是这样做的。”
团长极欲做到这一点，而他觉得极为遗憾的是，未能做到这一点，他以为这一切确乎如此，但是也许真有这种情形吧？难道在这一片混乱中分辨得清真有其事和确无其事呢？
“大人，而且我应当提到，”他继续说道，一面回想多洛霍夫和库图佐夫的谈话、他和受到降级处分的人最后一次的相会，“我亲眼看到，受处分降为列兵的多洛霍夫俘虏了一名法国军官，表现得特别突出。”
“大人，在这儿我看见保罗格勒兵团的官兵冲锋陷阵，”热尔科夫神情不安地向四下张望，插了一句话，其实在这天他根本没有看见骠骑兵，只是从一名步兵军官那里听到他们的消息，“大人，打败了两个方阵。”
有些人听见热尔科夫的话微微一笑，像平日那样，等待他来说句笑话，但是他们发现，他说的话也涉及我们的武装力量和今天战斗的光荣；虽然有许多人非常清楚地知道，热尔科夫所说的话是毫无根据的谎话，但是他们还是流露出严肃的神态。巴格拉季翁公爵把脸转向年老的上校。
“各位先生，我感谢大家。各种部队——步兵、骑兵和炮兵，英勇地战斗。两门大炮怎么被抛弃在中央阵地呢？”他问道，一面用目光寻觅着什么人。（巴格拉季翁公爵没有去问左翼的大炮，他已经知道，战争一爆发，那里的大炮全都扔下了。）“我好像是请您去办事的。”他把脸对着值日校官说道。
“有一门炮被摧毁了，”值日校官回答，“另一门炮我没法了解，我自己始终呆在那里，负责指挥，刚刚才离开……说实在的，战斗很激烈。”他谦虚地补充说。
有人说图申上尉驻扎在此地的一个村子附近，派人去找他了。
“就是您到过那里。”巴格拉季翁公爵把脸转向安德烈公爵，说道。
“可不是，我们差一点儿相会了。”值日校官对博尔孔斯基露出愉快的微笑，说道。
“我没有看见您的机会。”安德烈公爵冷淡地若断若续地说。大家都沉默下来。
图申在门槛前露面，从几个将军背后窜进来，在这间拥挤的农舍里，图申从将军们身边绕过去，像平时那样，看见首长们觉得局促不安。图申没有看清旗杆，绊了一跤。有几个人大声地笑起来了。
“怎么放弃了一门大炮呢？”巴格拉季翁问道，与其说对着上尉，莫如说对着几个发笑的人（其中以热尔科夫的笑声最响亮）皱起眉头。
此刻，在图申看见威严的首长们时，他才想到自己的过失和耻辱，因为他失掉两门大炮，竟然还活着。使他激动不安的是，直至此时还没有想到这件事。军官们的哄堂大笑把他弄得更糊涂了。他站在巴格拉季翁面前，下颌不住地颤抖，勉强开口说了话：
“大人……我不知道……大人，身边没有人。”
“您可以从掩护部队中弄到几个人！”
至于掩护部队已经撤走这一点，图申只字未提，不过这是颠扑不破的事实。他害怕说出这句话会给别的首长造成麻烦，于是就沉默不言，他用那停滞的目光盯着巴格拉季翁的面孔，有如答错题的小学生注视主考人的眼睛。
沉默持续了很长的时间。巴格拉季翁公爵显然不愿意装出严厉的样子，不知道该说什么话；其余的人都不敢在谈话时插嘴。安德烈公爵皱起眉头望着图申，手指头神经质地颤动着。
“大人，”安德烈公爵用尖锐的声音打破了沉默，“您把我派到图申上尉的炮台。我到了那儿，发现三分之二的人马被打死，两门大炮被摧毁，没有什么掩护部队。”
此刻，巴格拉季翁公爵和图申均以逼视的目光望着拘谨而激动地说话的博尔孔斯基。
“大人，如果您允许我说出自己的意见，”他继续说下去，“我们今日的成就应当归功于这个炮台的军事行动和图申上尉及其连队的百折不回的英勇行为，”安德烈公爵说道，不等他回答便立刻站立起来，从桌子旁边走开。
巴格拉季翁公爵向图申瞥了一眼，他显然不想对博尔孔斯基的尖刻的意见持不信任的态度，同时他觉得自己不能完全相信他的话，他低下头来对图申说，他可以走了。安德烈公爵跟在他后面走出门来。
“亲爱的，谢谢，你搭救我了。”图申对他说。
安德烈公爵回头望一望图申，没有说什么，便从他身旁走开了。安德烈公爵觉得愁闷而且很难受。这一切多么离奇，和他所冀望的迥然不同。
“他们是谁？他们干什么？他们要什么？这一切要到什么时候才会结束？”罗斯托夫一面想，一面观看在他面前更迭着的人影。手臂的疼痛变得更难受。他昏昏欲睡，红圈在他眼前蹦蹦跳跳；这些噪音、面孔所造成的印象、孤独的感觉都和疼痛的感觉汇成一片。就是他们，这些负伤的和未负伤的士兵，在挤压和扭脱他那只断臂和肩膀的肌腱，烧毁他那只折断的手臂和肩膀上的肌肉。他闭起眼睛，以便摆脱它们。
他微睡片刻，在这短暂的朦胧状态中，他梦见数不清的事事物物：他梦见母亲和她的洁白的大手、梦见索尼娅的瘦削的双肩、娜塔莎的眼睛和笑容、杰尼索夫、他的嗓音和胡髭，还梦见捷利亚宁、他和捷利亚宁、波格丹内奇经历的往事。这全部经历和这个带着尖细嗓音的士兵都是同一回事。这全部经历和这个士兵如此折磨人地、无休无止地抓着、挤压着他的手臂，一个劲儿地向一边拉拽。他试图摆脱他们，可是它们根本不放开、须臾也不放开他的肩膀。如果他们不拉扯他的肩膀，肩膀就不会疼痛，它就会结结实实的，可是他不能摆脱它们。
他睁开两眼望望上方。高出炭火一俄尺的地方悬挂着黑暗的夜幕。在这一片光亮中，粉末般的雪花纷纷飞下。军医没有来，图申也没有回去。他独自一人呆着，这时分只有那名小兵一丝不挂地坐在炭火对面，烘烤他那瘦黄的身体。
“没有人需要我啊！”罗斯托夫想道，“没有人来援助我，没有人来怜悯我。有个时候我在家里呆着，强壮、快活，是个宠儿。”他叹了一口气，不由地呻吟起来。
“哎哟，疼痛吗？”他问道，一面在炭火上面抖着自己的衬衫，没有等他回答，就咯咯地叫了一声，接着补充说：“一天之内遭受损害的人还少吗？——太可怕！”
罗斯托夫不听士兵的话。他望着炭火上方纷飞的雪花，回想起俄罗斯的冬天，暖和而明亮的住房、毛茸茸的皮袄、飞奔的雪橇、健康的体魄、家庭的抚爱和关心。“我干嘛走到这里来了！”他想道。
翌日，法国人没有再次发动进攻，巴格拉季翁的残部与库图佐夫的军队会合起来了。
Book 3 Chapter 1
PRINCE VASSILY used not to think over his plans. Still less did he think of doing harm to others for the sake of his own interest. He was simply a man of the world, who had been successful in the world, and had formed a habit of being so. Various plans and calculations were continually forming in his mind, arising from circumstances and the persons he met, but he never deliberately considered them, though they constituted the whole interest of his life. Of such plans and calculations he had not one or two, but dozens in train at once, some of them only beginning to occur to him, others attaining their aim, others again coming to nothing. He never said to himself, for instance: “That man is now in power, I must secure his friendship and confidence, and through him obtain a grant from the Single-Assistance Fund”; nor, “Now Pierre is a wealthy man, I must entice him to marry my daughter and borrow the forty thousand I need.” But the man in power met him, and at the instant his instinct told him that that man might be of use, and Prince Vassily made friends with him, and at the first opportunity by instinct, without previous consideration, flattered him, became intimate with him, and told him of what he wanted.
Pierre was ready at hand in Moscow, and Prince Vassily secured an appointment as gentleman of the bedchamber for him, a position at that time reckoned equal in status to that of a councillor of state, and insisted on the young man's travelling with him to Petersburg, and staying at his house. Without apparent design, but yet with unhesitating conviction that it was the right thing, Prince Vassily did everything to ensure Pierre's marrying his daughter. If Prince Vassily had definitely reflected upon his plans beforehand, he could not have been so natural in his behaviour and so straightforward and familiar in his relations with every one, of higher and of lower rank than himself. Something drew him infallibly towards men richer or more powerful than himself, and he was endowed with a rare instinct for hitting on precisely the moment when he should and could make use of such persons.
Pierre, on unexpectedly becoming rich and Count Bezuhov, after his lonely and careless manner of life, felt so surrounded, so occupied, that he never succeeded in being by himself except in his bed. He had to sign papers, to present himself at legal institutions, of the significance of which he had no definite idea, to make some inquiry of his chief steward, to visit his estate near Moscow, and to receive a great number of persons, who previously had not cared to be aware of his existence, but now would have been hurt and offended if he had not chosen to see them. All these various people, business men, relations, acquaintances, were all equally friendly and well disposed towards the young heir. They were all obviously and unhesitatingly convinced of Pierre's noble qualities. He was continually hearing phrases, such as, “With your exceptionally kindly disposition”; or, “Considering your excellent heart”; or, “You are so pure-minded yourself, count …” or, “If he were as clever as you,” and so on, so that he was beginning genuinely to believe in his own exceptional goodness and his own exceptional intelligence, the more so, as at the bottom of his heart it had always seemed to him that he really was very good-natured and very intelligent. Even people, who had before been spiteful and openly hostile to him, became tender and affectionate. The hitherto ill-tempered, eldest princess, with the long waist and the hair plastered down like a doll, had gone into Pierre's room after the funeral. Dropping her eyes and repeatedly turning crimson, she said that she very much regretted the misunderstanding that had arisen between them, and that now she felt she had no right to ask him for anything except permission, after the blow that had befallen her, to remain for a few weeks longer in the house which she was so fond of, and in which she had made such sacrifices. She could not control herself, and wept at these words. Touched at seeing the statue-like princess so changed, Pierre took her by the hand and begged her pardon, though he could not have said what for. From that day the princess began knitting a striped scarf for Pierre, and was completely changed towards him.
“Do this for my sake, my dear boy; she had to put up with a great deal from the deceased, any way,” Prince Vassily said to him, giving him some deed to sign for the princess's benefit. Prince Vassily reflected that this note of hand for thirty thousand was a sop worth throwing to the poor princess, that it might not occur to her to gossip about Prince Vassily's part in the action taken with the inlaid portfolio. Pierre signed the note, and from that time the princess became even more amiable. The younger sisters became as affectionate too, especially the youngest one, the pretty one with the mole, who often disconcerted Pierre with her smiles and her confusion at the sight of him.
To Pierre it seemed so natural that every one should be fond of him, it would have seemed to him so unnatural if any one had not liked him, that he could not help believing in the sincerity of the people surrounding him. Besides, he had no time to doubt their sincerity or insincerity. He never had a moment of leisure, and felt in a continual state of mild and agreeable intoxication. He felt as though he were the centre of some important public function, felt that something was continually being expected of him; that if he did this and that, all would be well, and he did what was expected of him, but still that happy result loomed in the future.
In these early days Prince Vassily, more than all the rest, took control of Pierre's affairs, and of Pierre himself. On the death of Count Bezuhov he did not let Pierre slip out of his hands. Prince Vassily had the air of a man weighed down by affairs, weary, worried, but from sympathetic feeling, unable in the last resort to abandon this helpless lad, the son, after all, of his friend, and the heir to such an immense fortune, to leave him to his fate to become a prey to plotting knaves. During the few days he had stayed on in Moscow after Count Bezuhov's death, he had invited Pierre to him, or had himself gone to see Pierre, and had dictated to him what he was to do in a tone of weariness and certainty which seemed to be always saying: “You know that I am overwhelmed with business and that it is out of pure charity that I concern myself with you, and moreover you know very well that what I propose to you is the only feasible thing.”
“Well, my dear boy, to-morrow we are off at last,” he said one day, closing his eyes, drumming his fingers on his elbow, and speaking as though the matter had long ago been settled between them, and could not be settled in any other way.
“To-morrow we set off; I'll give you a place in my coach. I'm very glad. Here all our important business is settled. And I ought to have been back long ago. Here, I have received this from the chancellor. I petitioned him in your favour, and you are put on the diplomatic corps, and created a gentleman of the bedchamber. Now a diplomatic career lies open to you.”
Notwithstanding the effect produced on him by the tone of weariness and certainty with which these words were uttered, Pierre, who had so long been pondering over his future career, tried to protest. But Prince Vassily broke in on his protest in droning, bass tones, that precluded all possibility of interrupting the flow of his words; it was the resource he fell back upon when extreme measures of persuasion were needed.
“But, my dear boy, I have done it for my own sake, for my conscience' sake, and there is no need to thank me. No one has ever complained yet of being too much loved; and then you are free, you can give it all up to-morrow. You'll see for yourself in Petersburg. And it is high time you were getting away from these terrible associations.” Prince Vassily sighed. “So that's all settled, my dear fellow. And let my valet go in your coach. Ah, yes, I was almost forgetting,” Prince Vassily added. “You know, my dear boy, I had a little account to settle with your father, so as I have received something from the Ryazan estate, I'll keep that; you don't want it. We'll go into accounts later.”
What Prince Vassily called “something from the Ryazan estate” was several thousands of roubles paid in lieu of service by the peasants, and this sum he kept for himself.
In Petersburg, Pierre was surrounded by the same atmosphere of affection and tenderness as in Moscow. He could not decline the post, or rather the title (for he did nothing) that Prince Vassily had obtained for him, and acquaintances, invitations, and social duties were so numerous that Pierre was even more than in Moscow conscious of the feeling of stupefaction, hurry and continued expectation of some future good which was always coming and was never realised.
Of his old circle of bachelor acquaintances there were not many left in Petersburg. The Guards were on active service, Dolohov had been degraded to the ranks; Anatole had gone into the army and was somewhere in the provinces; Prince Andrey was abroad; and so Pierre had not the opportunity of spending his nights in the way he had so loved spending them before, nor could he open his heart in intimate talk with the friend who was older than himself and a man he respected. All his time was spent at dinners and balls, or at Prince Vassily's in the society of the fat princess, his wife, and the beauty, his daughter Ellen.
Like every one else, Anna Pavlovna Scherer showed Pierre the change that had taken place in the attitude of society towards him.
In former days, Pierre had always felt in Anna Pavlovna's presence that what he was saying was unsuitable, tactless, not the right thing; that the phrases, which seemed to him clever as he formed them in his mind, became somehow stupid as soon as he uttered them aloud, and that, on the contrary, Ippolit's most pointless remarks had the effect of being clever and charming. Now everything he said was always “delightful.” Even if Anna Pavlovna did not say so, he saw she was longing to say so, and only refraining from doing so from regard for his modesty.
At the beginning of the winter, in the year 1805, Pierre received one of Anna Pavlovna's customary pink notes of invitation, in which the words occurred: “You will find the fair Hélène at my house, whom one never gets tired of seeing.”
On reading that passage, Pierre felt for the first time that there was being formed between himself and Ellen some sort of tie, recognised by other people, and this idea at once alarmed him, as though an obligation were being laid upon him which he could not fulfil, and pleased him as an amusing supposition.
Anna Pavlovna's evening party was like her first one, only the novel attraction which she had provided for her guests was not on this occasion Mortemart, but a diplomat, who had just arrived from Berlin, bringing the latest details of the Emperor Alexander's stay at Potsdam, and of the inviolable alliance the two exalted friends had sworn together, to maintain the true cause against the enemy of the human race. Pierre was welcomed by Anna Pavlovna with a shade of melancholy, bearing unmistakable reference to the recent loss sustained by the young man in the death of Count Bezuhov (every one felt bound to be continually assuring Pierre that he was greatly afflicted at the death of his father, whom he had hardly known). Her melancholy was of precisely the same kind as that more exalted melancholy she always displayed at any allusion to Her Most August Majesty the Empress Marya Fyodorovna. Pierre felt flattered by it. Anna Pavlovna had arranged the groups in her drawing-room with her usual skill. The larger group, in which were Prince Vassily and some generals, had the benefit of the diplomat. Another group gathered about the tea-table. Pierre would have liked to join the first group, but Anna Pavlovna, who was in the nervous excitement of a general on the battlefield, that mental condition in which numbers of brilliant new ideas occur to one that one has hardly time to put into execution—Anna Pavlovna, on seeing Pierre, detained him with a finger on his coat sleeve: “Wait, I have designs on you for this evening.”
She looked round at Ellen and smiled at her.
“My dear Hélène, you must show charity to my poor aunt, who has an adoration for you. Go and keep her company for ten minutes. And that you may not find it too tiresome, here's our dear count, who certainly won't refuse to follow you.”
The beauty moved away towards the old aunt; but Anna Pavlovna still detained Pierre at her side, with the air of having still some last and essential arrangement to make with him.
“She is exquisite, isn't she?” she said to Pierre, indicating the majestic beauty swimming away from them. “And how she carries herself! For such a young girl, what tact, what a finished perfection of manner. It comes from the heart. Happy will be the man who wins her. The most unworldly of men would take a brilliant place in society as her husband. That's true, isn't it? I only wanted to know your opinion,” and Anna Pavlovna let Pierre go.
Pierre was perfectly sincere in giving an affirmative answer to her question about Ellen's perfection of manner. If ever he thought of Ellen, it was either of her beauty that he thought, or of her extraordinary capacity for serene, dignified silence in society.
The old aunt received the two young people in her corner, but appeared anxious to conceal her adoration of Ellen, and rather to show her fear of Anna Pavlovna. She glanced at her niece, as though to inquire what she was to do with them. Anna Pavlovna again laid a finger on Pierre's sleeve and said: “I hope you will never say in future that people are bored at my house,” and glanced at Ellen. Ellen smiled with an air, which seemed to say that she did not admit the possibility of any one's seeing her without being enchanted. The old aunt coughed, swallowed the phlegm, and said in French that she was very glad to see Ellen; then she addressed Pierre with the same greeting and the same grimace. In the middle of a halting and tedious conversation, Ellen looked round at Pierre and smiled at him with the bright, beautiful smile with which she smiled at every one. Pierre was so used to this smile, it meant so little to him, that he did not even notice it. The aunt was speaking at that moment of a collection of snuff-boxes belonging to Pierre's father, Count Bezuhov, and she showed them her snuff-box. Princess Ellen asked to look at the portrait of the aunt's husband, which was on the snuff-box.
“It's probably the work of Vines,” said Pierre, mentioning a celebrated miniature painter. He bent over the table to take the snuff-box, listening all the while to the conversation going on in the larger group. He got up to move towards it, but the aunt handed him the snuff-box, passing it across Ellen, behind her back. Ellen bent forward to make room, and looked round smiling. She was, as always in the evening, wearing a dress cut in the fashion of the day, very low in the neck both in front and behind. Her bust, which had always to Pierre looked like marble, was so close to his short-sighted eyes that he could discern all the living charm of her neck and shoulders, and so near his lips that he need scarcely have stooped to kiss it. He felt the warmth of her body, the fragrance of scent, and heard the creaking of her corset as she moved. He saw not her marble beauty making up one whole with her gown; he saw and felt all the charm of her body, which was only veiled by her clothes. And having once seen this, he could not see it otherwise, just as we cannot return to an illusion that has been explained.
“So you have never noticed till now that I am lovely?” Ellen seemed to be saying. “You haven't noticed that I am a woman? Yes, I am a woman, who might belong to any one—to you, too,” her eyes said. And at that moment Pierre felt that Ellen not only could, but would become his wife, that it must be so.
He knew it at that moment as surely as he would have known it, standing under the wedding crown beside her. How would it be? and when? He knew not, knew not even if it would be a good thing (he had a feeling, indeed, that for some reason it would not), but he knew it would be so.
Pierre dropped his eyes, raised them again, and tried once more to see her as a distant beauty, far removed from him, as he had seen her every day before. But he could not do this. He could not, just as a man who has been staring in a fog at a blade of tall steppe grass and taking it for a tree cannot see a tree in it again, after he has once recognised it as a blade of grass. She was terribly close to him. Already she had power over him. And between him and her there existed no barriers of any kind, but the barrier of his own will.
“Very good, I will leave you in your little corner. I see you are very comfortable there,” said Anna Pavlovna's voice. And Pierre, trying panic-stricken to think whether he had done anything reprehensible, looked about him, crimsoning. It seemed to him as though every one knew, as well as he did, what was passing in him. A little later, when he went up to the bigger group, Anna Pavlovna said to him:
“I am told you are making improvements in your Petersburg house.” (This was the fact: the architect had told him it was necessary, and Pierre, without knowing with what object, was having his immense house in Petersburg redecorated.) “That is all very well, but do not move from Prince Vassily's. It is a good thing to have such a friend as the prince,” she said, smiling to Prince Vassily. “I know something about that. Don't I? And you are so young. You need advice. You mustn't be angry with me for making use of an old woman's privileges.” She paused, as women always do pause, in anticipation of something, after speaking of their age. “If you marry, it's a different matter.” And she united them in one glance. Pierre did not look at Ellen, nor she at him. But she was still as terribly close to him.
He muttered something and blushed.
After Pierre had gone home, it was a long while before he could get to sleep; he kept pondering on what was happening to him. What was happening? Nothing. Simply he had grasped the fact that a woman, whom he had known as a child, of whom he had said, without giving her a thought, “Yes, she's nice-looking,” when he had been told she was a beauty, he had grasped the fact that that woman might belong to him. “But she's stupid, I used to say myself that she was stupid,” he thought. “There is something nasty in the feeling she excites in me, something not legitimate. I have been told that her brother, Anatole, was in love with her, and she in love with him, that there was a regular scandal, and that's why Anatole was sent away. Her brother is Ippolit.…Her father is Prince Vassily.…That's bad,” he mused; and at the very moment that he was reflecting thus (the reflections were not followed out to the end) he caught himself smiling, and became conscious that another series of reflections had risen to the surface across the first, that he was at the same time meditating on her worthlessness, and dreaming of how she would be his wife, how she might love him, how she might become quite different, and how all he had thought and heard about her might be untrue. And again he saw her, not as the daughter of Prince Vassily, but saw her whole body, only veiled by her grey gown. “But, no, why didn't that idea ever occur to me before?” And again he told himself that it was impossible, that there would be something nasty, unnatural, as it seemed to him, and dishonourable in this marriage. He recalled her past words and looks, and the words and looks of people, who had seen them together. He remembered the words and looks of Anna Pavlovna, when she had spoken about his house, he recollected thousands of such hints from Prince Vassily and other people, and he was overwhelmed with terror that he might have bound himself in some way to do a thing obviously wrong, and not what he ought to do. But at the very time that he was expressing this to himself, in another part of his mind her image floated to the surface in all its womanly beauty.
瓦西里公爵不去周密地考虑自己的计划，他更少地想到谋求私利和作出危害他人的事。他不过是个上流社会人士，在上流社会中颇有造诣，并且习惯于借取这样的成就。他经常斟酌情形，在与人们建立密切关系时拟订出各种计划，提出自己的见解，他自己虽然不太了解，但是它们却已构成他的生活中的一种情趣。不是一两个，而是几十个这样的计划和设想常常付诸实施，其中有一些在他脑际开始浮现，另一些正在实行，还有一些要被废除。比如，他没有对自己说过这种话：“目前这个人有权有势，我应该获得他的信任，与他建立友谊关系，借助于他捞到一笔津贴；”或者说，他没有对自己说过这种话：“皮埃尔十分富有，我应该勾引他来娶我的幼女，借到我所需要的四万卢布”但他遇见这个有权有势的人时，人的本能就向他暗示，这个人可能大有用途，于是瓦西里公爵就同他接近，他在这方面，精神上毋须乎有所准备，只要一遇有机会，就本能地百般阿谀奉承，对他持有十分亲热的态度，开口说几句应该说的话。 
在莫斯科，皮埃尔和瓦西里公爵十分接近，他替皮埃尔谋到一个低级侍从的差事，当时那官阶等于五等文官，他便坚持己见，要皮埃尔和他一道到彼得堡去，住在他家里。瓦西里公爵促使皮埃尔娶他的女儿为妻所必须做的事情，他样样都做，这样行事仿佛是因为他颟颟顸顸，但同时他又显得信心十足。假如瓦西里公爵事先周密地考虑自己的计划，他在态度上就不会这样自然，在对待比他地位更高或更低的人们就不会这样浑厚和亲切。有某种东西经常吸引他趋向那些比他更有权势、更加富有的人；他在把握什么时候必须、什么时候可以利用别人的时机方面，富有非凡的本事。
不久以前，皮埃尔过着无忧无虑的孤寂的生活，他出乎意料地变成了财主和别祖霍夫伯爵，在此之后他觉得自己被杂事纠缠，忙得不可开交，只有躺在床上时才能独自一人安享清闲。他得签署多种公文，和他不熟悉的办公场所打交道，向总管家询问某些事情，去莫斯科附近的领地走走，接见许多人士，他们从前甚至不想知道他的生活情况，如果现在他不想和他们会面，他们就会感到屈辱和痛心。这些形形色色的人士：实业家、亲戚、熟人，都很和善而温柔地对待年轻的继承人，博取他的欢心，显然他们都对皮埃尔的高尚的品格深信不疑。他不时地听到这些话：“以您的分外的仁慈”，或则：“以您的善心”，或则，“伯爵，您本人如此纯洁……”或则：“如果他像您这样聪明”诸如此类，因此他真的相信自己那种分外的仁慈，相信自己与众不同的智慧，而且在灵魂深处，他经常觉得他确实非常仁慈，非常聪明。甚至连那些过去凶狠、显然怀有敌意的人也对他和和气气，爱抚备至。好生气的大公爵小姐，身腰修长，头发弄得很服贴，像个洋娃娃似的。在安葬别祖霍夫之后，她走进皮埃尔的房间。她垂下眼帘，满面通红，对他说，她对过去他们之间的误会深表遗憾，现在她觉得没有理由奢求什么，只请求在她遭受打击之后准许她在这栋住宅中逗留几个星期，因为她深深地爱着这栋住宅，在这里作出了许多贡献。她说这番话时不禁大哭起来。这个雕像似的公爵小姐发生了很大的变化，这使皮埃尔颇为感动，他一把抓住她的手，请求她宽恕，连他自己也不明白为什么要央求她宽恕。从这天起，公爵小姐便替皮埃尔编织有条纹的围巾，她对他的态度完全变了。
“moncher（我亲爱的），你替她办妥这件事吧，她毕竟为死者吃了许多苦啊，”瓦西里公爵对他说，一面要他在一张对公爵小姐有利的文据上签字。
瓦西里公爵拿定了主意，认为这块骨头——三万卢布的期票——还是要扔给可怜的公爵小姐，要她死了心眼，不去谈论瓦西里公爵参与抢夺嵌花皮包的丑事。皮埃尔在期票上签了字，从那时起，公爵小姐变得更加和善了。她的几个妹妹也对他亲热起来，尤其是那个年纪最小、脸上有颗胎痣。长得俊俏的公爵小姐；她笑容可掬，一看见他就觉得不好意思，这常常使得皮埃尔困窘不安。
皮埃尔觉得，大家喜爱他是顺应自然的事情，如果有人不爱他，他就会觉得异乎寻常了，因此，他不能不相信他周围的人都怀有一片诚心。而且他没有功夫去问自己，这些人是否真无二心。他经常忙得不亦乐乎，经常觉得自己处于温柔和欢愉的陶醉之中。他觉得自己是某种重要的公共活动的中心人物，他觉得经常有人对他有所期待，如果不办妥某件事，就会使许多人痛心，就会使他们失望，如果能办妥某件事，那么一切都顺利，因此，如有求于他，他尽力而为，但是这种“顺利”始终是一句后话而已。
起初，瓦西里公爵较诸其他人更多地支配皮埃尔本人和他的各种事情。自从别祖霍夫伯爵去世后，他一直管着皮埃尔，没有放松过。瓦西里公爵摆出那副样子，就像某人负担沉重、精疲力尽似的，但出于怜悯，他终究不能抛弃这个孤立无援的少年，听凭命运和骗子们的摆布，皮埃尔毕竟是他的朋友的儿子，aprèstout①他拥有这么一大笔财富。别祖霍夫伯爵辞世后，他在莫斯科逗留过几天，在这几天中，他常把皮埃尔喊到身边，他也亲自去找皮埃尔，嘱咐他要做什么事，那口气中含有倦意和自信，仿佛他每次都附带说过这席话似的：
“Voussavez，quejesuisaccabléd'affairesetquecen'estqueparpurecharitè，quejem'occupedevous，etpuisvoussavezbien，quecequejevousproposeestlaseulchosefaisable．”② 
①法语：归根结底。
②法语：你知道，我负担过重的工作，但把你丢开不管，是冷酷无情的。你也知道，我对你所说的话是唯一可行的。
“喂，我的朋友，我们明日终于要走了。”有一次他闭上眼睛，用指头逐个地抚摸他的胳膊时，对他说，那腔调好像他所说的话是他们之间很早很早以前决定要说的，并且不可能作出别的决定。
“我们明天要走了，我让你坐上我的马车。我感到非常高兴。我们这儿的重要事情都干完了。我早就应当走了。你看，我收到大臣的来信。我为你向他求情，你被编入外交使团，录用为低级侍从。现今你面前展现了一条外交上的康庄大道。”
尽管皮埃尔说了这些话，他那疲倦而自信的腔调强而有力，但是他对自己的功名利禄考虑了很久，心里还想提出异议。可是瓦西里公爵用那低沉的嘟嘟囔囔的声调打断他的话，这种声调排除了别人打断他的话的可能性，通常他是在劝说他人的情况下才应用这种腔调的。
“mais，moncher①我为自己，为我自己的良心才办了这件事，所以，用不着感谢我。从来没有任何人抱怨，说人家溺爱他了，以后你没事了，即使明天不干也行。你在彼得堡什么都会看得一清二楚的。你老早就得摆脱这些可怕的回忆，”瓦西里公爵叹了一口气，“我亲爱的，就是这样的。让我的近侍坐你的车子一同去吧。哎呀，对了，我原来忘记了，”瓦西里公爵又补充地说，“moncher，”②你晓得，我和死者有一笔旧帐，梁赞寄来的一笔钱，我收到了，把它留下来，你眼下不缺钱用，我们以后会把帐目算清的。” 
①法语：可是，我亲爱的。
②法语：我的朋友。
瓦西里公爵所提到的“梁赞寄来的一笔钱”，是几千卢布的代役租金，瓦西里公爵把这笔钱留在自己身边了。
在彼得堡像在莫斯科一样，那些宠爱皮埃尔的性情温和的人们所造成的气氛笼罩着他。他不能拒绝瓦西里公爵给他谋到的差事，或者莫如说职位（因为他无所事事），而交游、邀请和社会活动竟是那么多，以致皮埃尔比在莫斯科更多地体会到一种迷迷糊糊的忙忙碌碌的感觉，一种即将来临而尚未实现的幸福的感觉。
他从前那些未婚的伙伴中，许多人都不在彼得堡。近卫军远征去了。多洛霍夫已受到降级处分，阿纳托利在外省军队里服役，安德烈公爵在国外，因此皮埃尔既不能像从前那样喜欢消度良霄，也不能和年纪大的受人尊敬的朋友在畅谈中排解愁闷了。他在午宴上、舞会上，主要是在瓦西里公爵家中——在肥胖的公爵夫人、即是他的妻子和美丽的女郎海伦这个小团体中，消度他的全部时光。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜·舍利尔，也像其他人一样，对皮埃尔改变了态度，发生了社会对他的看法上所发生的那种变化。
以前，皮埃尔在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜面前经常觉得他所说的话失礼、无分寸，说出一些不宜于说出的话。他在脑海中酝酿发言的时候，总觉得他要说的话都是明智的，可是一当他大声说出来，这些话就变得愚蠢了。与之相反，伊波利特说的至为愚蠢的话，却被人看成是明智而且动听的。而今，无论他说什么话，都被认为charmant①。即令安娜·帕夫洛夫娜不开口，他也会发觉，她想说出这一点，为尊重他的谦逊起见，她才忍住没有把话说出来。
从一八○五年冬季之初至一八○六年，皮埃尔接获安娜·帕夫洛夫娜寄来的一封普通的玫瑰色的请帖，请帖上并有补充的话：“VoustrouverezchezmoilabelleHéléne，qu'onneselassejamaisvoir．”② 
①法语：十分动听。
②法语：“有个百看不厌的十分标致的海伦要到我这里来。”
皮埃尔念到这个地方的时候，头一次感到他和海伦之间日渐形成别人公认的某种关系。这个念头使他胆寒，好像他正承担着一种他不能履行的义务似的，与此同时，它作为一种有趣的设想，又使他欢喜起来。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办的晚会还和第一次晚会一样，只是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜用以款待客人的一道新菜，现在已经不是莫特马尔，而是一位来自柏林的外交官，他捎来了详细的新闻——亚历山大皇帝在波茨坦逗留、两位至为高贵的朋友在那里立誓永缔牢不可破的联盟，为维护正义事业而反对人类的敌人。皮埃尔受到安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的接待，她流露着一点忧愁，这显然是年轻人不久以前丧父——别祖霍夫伯爵去世之事牵动了安娜的心（大家总是认为，说服皮埃尔，要他对他几乎不认识的父亲的去世深表哀恸，是他们自己的天职），而她流露的一点忧愁宛如她一提到至尊的玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜皇太后时流露的哀思一样。这使皮埃尔深感荣幸。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜用她那惯用的方法把她的客厅中的客人编成几个组。瓦西里公爵和几位将军的那个大组用上了一名外交官。另一组人在茶几旁边就座，皮埃尔想加入第一组，可是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜处于激动不安的状态中，就像战场上的将领此时脑海中浮现出千万种上策，但尚未一一实现似的。她望见皮埃尔后，便用指头摸了摸他的袖筒。
“Attendezjáidesvuessurvouspourcesoir．”①她望望海伦，对她微露笑容。 
①法语：等一等，今天晚上我打算找您聊聊。
“MabonneHélène，ilfaut，quevoussoyezcharitablepourmapauvretante，quiauneadorationpourvous，Allezluitenircompagniepour10minutes．①为了让您不感到寂寞，这里有个可爱的伯爵，他是乐意关照您的。”
美丽的女郎向姑母跟前走去了，但是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜还把皮埃尔留在自己身边，装出那副样子，好像她还要作出最后一次必要的嘱咐似的。
“她多么惹人喜欢，不是吗？”她对皮埃尔说道，一面指着庄重地慢慢走开的美妙的女郎，“Etquelletenue！②这样年轻的姑娘善长于保持有分寸的态度！这是一种出自内心的表现！谁能占有她，谁就会无比幸福。一个非交际场中的丈夫有了她无形中就会在上流社会占有至为显赫的地位。是不是？我只想知道您的意见。”于是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜让皮埃尔走开了。 
①法语：我亲爱的海伦，您要仁慈地对待我可怜的姑母吧，她是宠爱您的。您和她一块呆上十来分钟吧。
②法语：她的举止多么优雅啊！
皮埃尔十分真诚而且肯定地回答了安娜·帕夫洛夫娜有关海伦的行为方式问题。如果他曾经想到海伦，那他所想到的正是她的姿色、她在上流社会中那种十分宁静、保持缄默自尊的本领。
姑母在一个角落里接待了两个年轻人，但是看起来她想隐瞒她对海伦的宠爱，在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜面前她想更多地流露她的惊恐的神态。她注视着她的侄女，仿佛心里在问，她应当怎样对付这几个人。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在离开他们的当儿，又用指头摸摸皮埃尔的袖筒，说道：
“J'espére，quevousnedirezplusqu'ons'ennuiechezmoi．”①她望了海伦一眼。 
①法语：我希望下次您不要再说，在我这儿觉得寂寞无聊。
海伦嫣然一笑，那样子表示，她不容许任何人看见她而有不被勾魂的可能。姑母干咳了几声，清清嗓子，吞下口水，用法国话发言，她看见海伦觉得很高兴，之后把脸转向皮埃尔，用同样的言词问寒问暖，流露着同样的神色。在那枯燥无味、不能继续下去的谈话中间，海伦回头望了望皮埃尔，对他微微一笑，这种微笑安然而妩媚，她在人人面前都这样笑容可掬。皮埃尔看惯了这种微笑，他认为微笑的含义甚微，因此他不予以注意。姑母这时分正在谈论皮埃尔的亡父——别祖霍夫伯爵收集烟壶的事情，并且拿出自己的烟壶给大家瞧瞧。公爵小姐海伦要瞧瞧嵌在这个烟壶上面的姑父的画像。
“这想必是维涅斯所创作的，'皮埃尔说道，同时提到著名的小型彩画家的名字，他向桌前俯下身去，拿起鼻烟壶，继续倾听另外一张桌上的闲谈。
他欠一欠身，想绕过去，可是姑母正从海伦背后把烟壶递过来了。海伦向前弯下腰去让开一下，面露微笑回头看看。她和平素在晚会上那样，穿着一件时髦的袒胸露背的连衣裙，皮埃尔向来认为她的胸部像大理石那样又白又光滑，它现在离他的眼睛很近，所以他情不自禁地用他那对近视眼看清她那十分迷人的肩膀和颈项，并且离她的嘴唇很近，他只要略微弯下腰来，就会碰到他了。他闻到她的身躯的热气、香水味，听到她上身动弹时束腰发出窸窣的响声。他所看见的不是和她那件连衣裙合成一体的大理石般的俊美，他所看见的和所体察到的是她那仅仅散以衣腋的身体的迷人的姿色，他既然看见这一层，就不能去看别的了，就像骗局已被查明，我们不能再上当了。
“您到现在还没发现我长得多么漂亮吗？”海伦好像在说话。“您没发现我是一个女人吗？是的，我是一个女人，可以属于任何人，也可以属于您，”她的目光这样说。也就在这一瞬间，皮埃尔心中觉得，海伦不仅能够，而且应当成为他的妻子，并没有别的可能性。
在这个时候，他很确切地知道这一点，就像他和她正在教堂里举行婚礼似的。这件事应如何办理？何时办理？他不知道，他甚至不知道，这件事是否可取（他甚至感到，这件事不知怎的是不可取的），但是他知道，这件事是要办理的。
皮埃尔垂下眼睛，又抬起眼睛，心里重新想把她看作是一个相距遥远的，使他觉得陌生的美女，正如以前他每天看见的她那样，但是他现在已经不能这样办了。就像某人从前在雾霭中观看野蒿中的一株草，把它看作是一棵树，当他看清这株草以后，再也不能把它看作一棵树了。她和他太接近了。她已经在主宰着他。除开他自己的意志力的障碍而外，他和她之间已经没有任何障碍了。
“Bon，jevouslaissedansvotrepetitcoin．Jevois，quevousyêtestrèsbien．”①可以听见安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的话语声。 
①法语：好的，我就把你们留在你们的角落里。我看见，你们在那里觉得蛮好。
皮埃尔很惊恐地回想起，他是否做了什么不体面的事，他满面通红，向四周环顾。他似乎觉得，大家都像他那样，知道他发生了什么事。
俄而，他走到那个大组的客人跟前时，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对他说道：
“OnditquevousembellissezvotremaisondePétersbourg．”①
（这是实话：建筑师说，他正要办这件事，就连皮埃尔本人也不知道为什么他要装修他在彼得堡的一栋高大的住宅。）
“cestbien，maisnedéménagezpasdechezleprinceBasile．Ilestbond'avoirunamicommeleprince，”她面露笑容对瓦西里公爵说。“J'ensaisquelquechoseN'est－cepas？②可是您这么年轻。您所需要的是忠告。您不要生我的气，说我滥用了老太婆的权利。”她默不作声，就像妇女们平素在谈到自己的年纪之后，想等待什么似的，都不愿开口。
“如果您结婚，那是另一回事。”她于是把他们的视线连接起来。皮埃尔不看海伦，她也不看他。可是她和他的距离还是很近。他发出哞哞声，满面通红。 
①法语：据说，您在装修您的彼得堡的住宅。
②法语：这很好。可是您不要从瓦西里公爵家中迁走。有这样一个朋友是件好事。这件事我略知一二。您说说看，是不是？
皮埃尔回家以后，他久久地不能入睡，心里思忖，他出了什么事。他究竟出了什么事呢？没有出什么事。他所明白的只是，在儿时他就认识一个女人，关于这个女人，他漫不经心地说：“是的，很标志。”当别人对他说，海伦是个美妙的女郎，他心里明了，这个女人可能属于他。
“可是她很傻，我自己也说过她很傻，”他心中想道，“她使我产生的一种情感中含有某种鄙劣的应被取缔的东西。有人对我说，她的哥哥阿纳托利钟情于她，她也钟情于他，他们之间有一整段恋爱史，正因为这件事阿纳托利才被逐出家门，伊波利特是她的哥哥……瓦西里公爵是她的父亲……真糟糕……”他想，正当他这样发表议论的时候（这些议论还没有结束），他发觉自己面露微笑，并且意识到，从前面的一系列议论中正在浮现出另一系列议论，他同时想到她的渺小，幻想着她将成为他的妻子，她会爱他，她会变成一个截然不同的女人，他所想到和听到的有关她的情形可能是一派谎言。他又不把她视为瓦西里公爵的女儿，而他所看见的只是她那蔽以灰色连衣裙的躯体。“不对，为什么我脑海中从前没有这种想法呢？”他又对他自己说，这是不可能的事，他仿佛觉得，在这门婚事中含有一种鄙劣的、违反自然的、不正直的东西。他回想起她从前所说的话、所持的观点，他们两人在一起时那些看见他们的人所说的话、所持的观点。他回想起安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对他谈到住宅时所说的话、所持的观点，回想起瓦西里公爵和其他人所作的千万次的这类的暗示，他感到恐怖万分，他是否凭藉什么把自己捆绑起来，去做一件显然是卑劣的、他理应不做的事。但是在他向自己表白这一决心时，从她的灵魂的另一面正浮现出她的整个女性美的形象。
Book 3 Chapter 2
IN THE DECEMBER of 1805, the old Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky received a letter from Prince Vassily, announcing that he intended to visit him with his son. (“I am going on an inspection tour, and of course a hundred versts is only a step out of the way for me to visit you, my deeply-honoured benefactor,” he wrote. “My Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, and I hope you will permit him to express to you in person the profound veneration that, following his father's example, he entertains for you.”)
“Well, there's no need to bring Marie out, it seems; suitors come to us of themselves,” the little princess said heedlessly on hearing of this. Prince Nikolay Andreitch scowled and said nothing.
A fortnight after receiving the letter, Prince Vassily's servants arrived one evening in advance of him, and the following day he came himself with his son.
Old Bolkonsky had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vassily's character, and this opinion had grown stronger of late since Prince Vassily had, under the new reigns of Paul and Alexander, advanced to high rank and honours. Now from the letter and the little princess's hints, he saw what the object of the visit was, and his poor opinion of Prince Vassily passed into a feeling of ill-will and contempt in the old prince's heart. He snorted indignantly whenever he spoke of him. On the day of Prince Vassily's arrival, the old prince was particularly discontented and out of humour. Whether he was out of humour because Prince Vassily was coming, or whether he was particularly displeased at Prince Vassily's coming because he was out of humour, no one can say. But he was out of humour, and early in the morning Tihon had dissuaded the architect from going to the prince with his report.
“Listen how he's walking,” said Tihon, calling the attention of the architect to the sound of the prince's footsteps. “Stepping flat on his heels … then we know …”
At nine o'clock, however, the old prince went out for a walk, as usual, wearing his short, velvet, fur-lined cloak with a sable collar and a sable cap. There had been a fall of snow on the previous evening. The path along which Prince Nikolay Andreitch walked to the conservatory had been cleared; there were marks of a broom in the swept snow, and a spade had been left sticking in the crisp bank of snow that bordered the path on both sides. The prince walked through the conservatories, the servants' quarters, and the out-buildings, frowning and silent.
“Could a sledge drive up?” he asked the respectful steward, who was escorting him to the house, with a countenance and manners like his own.
“The snow is deep, your excellency. I gave orders for the avenue to be swept too.”
The prince nodded, and was approaching the steps. “Glory to Thee, O Lord!” thought the steward, “the storm has passed over!”
“It would have been hard to drive up, your excellency,” added the steward. “So I hear, your excellency, there's a minister coming to visit your excellency?” The prince turned to the steward and stared with scowling eyes at him.
“Eh? A minister? What minister? Who gave you orders?” he began in his shrill, cruel voice. “For the princess my daughter, you do not clear the way, but for the minister you do! For me there are no ministers!”
“Your excellency, I supposed …”
“You supposed,” shouted the prince, articulating with greater and greater haste and incoherence. “You supposed … Brigands! blackguards! … I'll teach you to suppose,” and raising his stick he waved it at Alpatitch, and would have hit him, had not the steward instinctively shrunk back and escaped the blow. “You supposed … Blackguards! …” he still cried hurriedly. But although Alpatitch, shocked at his own insolence in dodging the blow, went closer to the prince, with his bald head bent humbly before him, or perhaps just because of this, the prince did not lift the stick again, and still shouting, “Blackguards! … fill up the road …” he ran to his room.
Princess Marya and Mademoiselle Bourienne stood, waiting for the old prince before dinner, well aware that he was out of temper. Mademoiselle Bourienne's beaming countenance seemed to say, “I know nothing about it, I am just the same as usual,” while Princess Marya stood pale and terrified with downcast eyes. What made it harder for Princess Marya was that she knew that she ought to act like Mademoiselle Bourienne at such times, but she could not do it. She felt, “If I behave as if I did not notice it, he'll think I have no sympathy with him. If I behave as if I were depressed and out of humour myself, he'll say (as indeed often happened) that I'm sulky …” and so on.
The prince glanced at his daughter's scared face and snorted.
“Stuff!” or perhaps “stupid!” he muttered. “And the other is not here! they've been telling tales to her already,” he thought, noticing that the little princess was not in the dining-room.
“Where's Princess Liza?” he asked. “In hiding?”
“She's not quite well,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne with a bright smile; “she is not coming down. In her condition it is only to be expected.”
“H'm! h'm! kh! kh!” growled the prince, and he sat down to the table. He thought his plate was not clean: he pointed to a mark on it and threw it away. Tihon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little princess was quite well, but she was in such overwhelming terror of the prince, that on hearing he was in a bad temper, she had decided not to come in.
“I am afraid for my baby,” she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne; “God knows what might not be the result of a fright.”
The little princess, in fact, lived at Bleak Hills in a state of continual terror of the old prince, and had an aversion for him, of which she was herself unconscious, so completely did terror overbear every other feeling. There was the same aversion on the prince's side, too; but in his case it was swallowed up in contempt. As she went on staying at Bleak Hills, the little princess became particularly fond of Mademoiselle Bourienne; she spent her days with her, begged her to sleep in her room, and often talked of her father-in-law, and criticised him to her.
“We have company coming, prince,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, her rosy fingers unfolding her dinner-napkin. “His excellency Prince Kuragin with his son, as I have heard say?” she said in a tone of inquiry.
“H'm! … his excellence is an upstart. I got him his place in the college,” the old prince said huffily. “And what his son's coming for, I can't make out. Princess Lizaveta Karlovna and Princess Marya can tell us, maybe; I don't know what he's bringing his son here for. I don't want him.” And he looked at his daughter, who turned crimson.
“Unwell, eh? Scared of the minister, as that blockhead Alpatitch called him to-day?”
“Non, mon père.”
Unsuccessful as Mademoiselle Bourienne had been in the subject she had started, she did not desist, but went on prattling away about the conservatories, the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and after the soup the prince subsided.
After dinner he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess was sitting at a little table gossiping with Masha, her maid. She turned pale on seeing her father-in-law.
The little princess was greatly changed. She looked ugly rather than pretty now. Her cheeks were sunken, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes were hollow.
“Yes, a sort of heaviness,” she said in answer to the prince's inquiry how she felt.
“Isn't there anything you need?”
“Non, merci, mon père.”
“Oh, very well then, very well.”
He went out and into the waiting-room. Alpatitch was standing there with downcast head.
“Filled up the road again?”
“Yes, your excellency; for God's sake, forgive me, it was simply a blunder.”
The prince cut him short with his unnatural laugh.
“Oh, very well, very well.” He held out his hand, which Alpatitch kissed, and then he went to his study.
In the evening Prince Vassily arrived. He was met on the way by the coachmen and footmen of the Bolkonskys, who with shouts dragged his carriages and sledge to the lodge, over the road, which had been purposely obstructed with snow again.
Prince Vassily and Anatole were conducted to separate apartments.
Taking off his tunic, Anatole sat with his elbows on the table, on a corner of which he fixed his handsome, large eyes with a smiling, unconcerned stare. All his life he had looked upon as an uninterrupted entertainment, which some one or other was, he felt, somehow bound to provide for him. In just the same spirit he had looked at his visit to the cross old gentleman and his rich and hideous daughter. It might all, according to his anticipations, turn out very jolly and amusing. “And why not get married, if she has such a lot of money? That never comes amiss,” thought Anatole.
He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance that had become habitual with him, and with his characteristic expression of all-conquering good-humour, he walked into his father's room, holding, his head high. Two valets were busily engaged in dressing Prince Vassily; he was looking about him eagerly, and nodded gaily to his son, as he entered with an air that said, “Yes, that's just how I wanted to see you looking.”
“Come, joking apart, father, is she so hideous? Eh?” he asked in French, as though reverting to a subject more than once discussed on the journey.
“Nonsense! The great thing for you is to try and be respectful and sensible with the old prince.”
“If he gets nasty, I'm off,” said Anatole. “I can't stand those old gentlemen. Eh?”
“Remember that for you everything depends on it.”
Meanwhile, in the feminine part of the household not only the arrival of the minister and his son was already known, but the appearance of both had been minutely described. Princess Marya was sitting alone in her room doing her utmost to control her inner emotion.
“Why did they write, why did Liza tell me about it? Why, it cannot be!” she thought, looking at herself in the glass. “How am I to go into the drawing-room? Even if I like him, I could never be myself with him now.” The mere thought of her father's eyes reduced her to terror. The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already obtained all necessary information from the maid, Masha; they had learned what a handsome fellow the minister's son was, with rosy cheeks and black eye-brows; how his papa had dragged his legs upstairs with difficulty, while he, like a young eagle, had flown up after him three steps at a time. On receiving these items of information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose eager voices were audible in the corridor, went into Princess Marya's room.
“They are come, Marie, do you know?” said the little princess, waddling in and sinking heavily into an armchair. She was not wearing the gown in which she had been sitting in the morning, but had put on one of her best dresses. Her hair had been carefully arranged, and her face was full of an eager excitement, which did not, however, conceal its wasted and pallid look. In the smart clothes which she had been used to wear in Petersburg in society, the loss of her good looks was even more noticeable. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, had put some hardly perceptible finishing touches to her costume, which made her fresh, pretty face even more attractive.
“What, and you are staying just as you are, dear princess. They will come in a minute to tell us the gentlemen are in the drawing-room,” she began. “We shall have to go down, and you are doing nothing at all to your dress.”
The little princess got up from her chair, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and eagerly began to arrange what Princess Marya was to wear, and to put her ideas into practice. Princess Marya's sense of personal dignity was wounded by her own agitation at the arrival of her suitor, and still more was she mortified that her two companions should not even conceive that she ought not to be so agitated. To have told them how ashamed she was of herself and of them would have been to betray her own excitement. Besides, to refuse to be dressed up, as they suggested, would have been exposing herself to reiterated raillery and insistence. She flushed; her beautiful eyes grew dim; her face was suffused with patches of crimson; and with the unbeautiful, victimised expression which was the one most often seen on her face, she abandoned herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Liza. Both women exerted themselves with perfect sincerity to make her look well. She was so plain that the idea of rivalry with her could never have entered their heads. Consequently it was with perfect sincerity, in the na?ve and unhesitating conviction women have that dress can make a face handsome, that they set to work to attire her.
“No, really, ma bonne amie, that dress isn't pretty,” said Liza, looking sideways at Princess Marya from a distance; “tell her to put on you your maroon velvet there. Yes, really! Why, you know, it may be the turning-point in your whole life. That one's too light, it's not right, no, it's not!”
It was not the dress that was wrong, but the face and the whole figure of the princess, but that was not felt by Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess. They still fancied that if they were to put a blue ribbon in her hair, and do it up high, and to put the blue sash lower on the maroon dress and so on, then all would be well. They forgot that the frightened face and figure of Princess Marya could not be changed, and therefore, however presentable they might make the setting and decoration of the face, the face itself would still look piteous and ugly. After two or three changes, to which Princess Marya submitted passively, when her hair had been done on the top of her head (which completely changed and utterly disfigured her), and the blue sash and best maroon velvet dress had been put on, the little princess walked twice round, and with her little hand stroked out a fold here and pulled down the sash there, and gazed at her with her head first on one side and then on the other.
“No, it won't do,” she said resolutely, throwing up her hands. “No, Marie, decidedly that does not suit you. I like you better in your little grey everyday frock. No, please do that for me. Katya,” she said to the maid, “bring the princess her grey dress, and look, Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I'll arrange it,” she said, smiling with a foretaste of artistic pleasure. But when Katya brought the dress, Princess Marya was still sitting motionless before the looking-glass, looking at her own face, and in the looking-glass she saw that there were tears in her eyes and her mouth was quivering, on the point of breaking into sobs.
“Come, dear princess,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, “one more little effort.”
The little princess, taking the dress from the hands of the maid, went up to Princess Marya.
“Now, we'll try something simple and charming,” she said. Her voice and Mademoiselle Bourienne's and the giggle of Katya blended into a sort of gay babble like the twitter of birds.
“No, leave me alone,” said the princess; and there was such seriousness and such suffering in her voice that the twitter of the birds ceased at once. They looked at the great, beautiful eyes, full of tears and of thought, looking at them imploringly, and they saw that to insist was useless and even cruel.
“At least alter your hair,” said the little princess. “I told you,” she said reproachfully to Mademoiselle Bourienne, “there were faces which that way of doing the hair does not suit a bit. Not a bit, not a bit, please alter it.”
“Leave me alone, leave me alone, all that is nothing to me,” answered a voice scarcely able to struggle with tears.
Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess could not but admit to themselves that Princess Marya was very plain in this guise, far worse than usual, but it was too late. She looked at them with an expression they knew well, an expression of deep thought and sadness. That expression did not inspire fear. (That was a feeling she could never have inspired in any one.) But they knew that when that expression came into her face, she was mute and inflexible in her resolutions.
“You will alter it, won't you?” said Liza, and when Princess Marya made no reply, Liza went out of the room.
Princess Marya was left alone. She did not act upon Liza's wishes, she did not re-arrange her hair, she did not even glance into the looking-glass. Letting her eyes and her hands drop helplessly, she sat mentally dreaming. She pictured her husband, a man, a strong, masterful, and inconceivably attractive creature, who would bear her away all at once into an utterly different, happy world of his own. A child, her own, like the baby she had seen at her old nurse's daughter's, she fancied at her own breast. The husband standing, gazing tenderly at her and the child. “But no, it can never be, I am too ugly,” she thought.
“Kindly come to tea. The prince will be going in immediately,” said the maid's voice at the door. She started and was horrified at what she had been thinking. And before going downstairs she went into the oratory, and fixing her eyes on the black outline of the great image of the Saviour, she stood for several minutes before it with clasped hands. Princess Marya's soul was full of an agonising doubt. Could the joy of love, of earthly love for a man, be for her? In her reveries of marriage, Princess Marya dreamed of happiness in a home and children of her own, but her chief, her strongest and most secret dream was of earthly love. The feeling became the stronger the more she tried to conceal it from others, and even from herself. “My God,” she said, “how am I to subdue in my heart these temptings of the devil? How am I to renounce for ever all evil thoughts, so as in peace to fulfil Thy will?” And scarcely had she put this question than God's answer came to her in her own heart. “Desire nothing for thyself, be not covetous, anxious, envious. The future of men and thy destiny too must be unknown for thee; but live that thou mayest be ready for all. If it shall be God's will to prove thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to obey His will.” With this soothing thought (though still she hoped for the fulfilment of that forbidden earthly dream) Princess Marya crossed herself, sighing, and went downstairs, without thinking of her dress nor how her hair was done; of how she would go in nor what she would say. What could all that signify beside the guidance of Him, without Whose will not one hair falls from the head of man?
一八○五年十一月，瓦西里公爵要到四个省份去视察。他给自己布置了这项任务，目的是要顺便去看看他那衰败的领地。他带着儿子阿纳多利（在他的兵团的驻地），和他一道去拜看尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基公爵，目的是要儿子娶到这个有钱的老头的女儿。但是在启行去办理这几件新事以前，瓦西里公爵务必要为皮埃尔处理一些事情。迩来皮埃尔整天价呆在家中，即是呆在他所居住的瓦西里公爵家中，消磨时光。海伦在场的时候，他显得荒唐可笑、激动而愚蠢（热恋的人自然会露出这副样子），但是他还没有提出求婚的事。 
“Toutcaestleeletbon，maisilfautquecaJinisse，”①有一天早上，瓦西里公爵愁闷地叹息，喃喃自语地说，他意识到，皮埃尔感谢他的隆情厚意（但愿基督保佑他！），他没有办妥这件事。“青春年少……轻举妄动……得啦，愿上帝保佑。”瓦西里公爵想了想，因为他待人和善而感到高兴。“maisilfautquecafinisse，②后天是海伦的命名日，我得请客，如果他不懂得应该怎样应付，那就是我的责任。是的，我有责任。我是父亲啊！” 
①法语：这一切都很美妙，但是，任何事必有结局。
②法语：必须、必须了结这件事。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办晚会之后，皮埃尔熬过了一个心情激动的不眠之夜，夜里他断定，娶海伦为妻是一件不幸的事，他要避开海伦，远走高飞，皮埃尔作出这一决定后度过了一个半月，他没有从瓦西里公爵家里迁走，他很恐惧地感到在人们的眼睛里，他和海伦的关系日甚一日地暧昧，他无论怎样都不能恢复他以前对她的看法，他也不能离开她，他觉得多么可怕，可是他应当把自己的命运和她联系起来。也许，他本可克制自己，但是瓦西里公爵家里没有一天不举办晚会（以前他家里很少举行招待会），如果他不想使得众人扫兴，不想使得等候他的众人失望，他就不得不出席晚会。瓦西里公爵在家时，他偶尔会从皮埃尔身边走过，拉着他的一只手，往下按，心不在焉地把他那刮得光光的布满皱纹的面颊伸给他亲吻，并且说：“明天见”，或者说：“来吃顿午饭，要不然我就看不见你了”，或者说：“我为你特地留在家里”以及其他诸如此类的话。虽然瓦西里公爵为皮埃尔而特地留在家里（正如他所说的），但是他和他说不上两句话。皮埃尔觉得不能辜负他的期望。他每天都对自己说着同样的话：“总得了解她，弄个明白，她是个怎样的人？我以前出了差错，还是现在出了差错？不，她并不傻，不，她是一个顶好的女郎！”他有时自言自语地说。“她从来没有出过什么差错，她从来没有说过什么蠢话。他少于言谈，可是她说的话总是言简意赅。她并不愚蠢。她从来不会忸怩不安，现在也不会忸怩不安。她真的不是坏女人啊！”他常常遇到和她交谈的机会，她每次都回答他的话：或者随便说句简短的话，表示她不感兴趣；或者报以沉默的笑意和眼神，极其明显地向皮埃尔显示她的优越性。她认为，同她的微笑相比，一切议论都是胡诌，她的看法是对的。
她对他总是露出欢快而信赖的微笑，这是在他一人面前流露的微笑，比起她平素为美容而露出的纯朴的微笑，含有更为深长的意味。皮埃尔知道，众人等待的只是，他临了说出一句话，越过已知的界线，他也知道，他迟早要越过这条界线。可是一当他想到这可怕的步骤，就有一种不可思议的恐惧把他笼罩住了。在这一个半月当中，皮埃尔自己觉得越来越远地被拖进那个使他害怕的深渊。他曾千次地对自己说：“这究竟是怎么回事？要有决心啊！难道我没有决心么？”
他想下定决心，但是他惊恐地感觉到，在这种场合下他竟缺乏他认为自己怀有、从前确实怀有的决心。他属于那些人之列，只有当那些人觉得自己完全纯洁的时候，他们才是强而有力的。他向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜弯下腰来拿鼻烟壶时所体会到的那种渴望的感觉把他控制住了，从那天起，这种渴望造成了他的不自觉的愧悔之感，麻痹了他的决心。
海伦的命名日的那一天，瓦西里公爵的几个最亲近的人——如公爵夫人所云，几个亲戚和友人，在瓦西里公爵家中用晚餐。所有这些亲戚和朋友都明白，这一天应当决定过命名日的女郎的命运。客人们正在吃晚饭。那个身材高大、从前长得俊俏而今仍然庄重的叫做库拉金娜的公爵夫人，在主人席上就坐。贵宾们——老将军和他的夫人以及安娜·帕夫洛夫娜、舍列尔在女主人两旁就坐；不太年老的贵宾们在餐桌末端就座，家里人也坐在那里作陪，皮埃尔和海伦并排坐着。瓦西里公爵不吃晚饭，他在餐桌近旁踱着方步，心情愉快地时而挨近这个客人坐下，时而挨近那个客人坐下。他漫不经心地对每个人说句动听的话，只有皮埃尔和海伦除外，他好像没有发觉他们在出席晚宴似的。瓦西里公爵使大家活跃起来。烛光璀璨，银质器皿和水晶玻璃器皿、女人们的服装和将军们的金银肩章闪烁着光辉。身穿红色长衫的仆人穿梭似地走来走去。可以听见刀子、酒杯、餐盘碰击的响声，这张餐桌的周围有几伙人正在热烈地交谈。可以听见，在餐桌的一端，有个年老的宫廷高级侍从硬要一个年老的男爵夫人相信他怀有热爱她的诚心，她听后哈哈大笑。另一端，有人在叙述某个玛丽亚·维克托罗夫娜遭受挫折的故事。靠近餐桌的中间，瓦西里公爵把听众聚集在他的身旁。他的嘴角上流露着诙谐的微笑，叙述最近一次（星期三）国务院会议的情形，在会议上彼得堡新任总督谢尔盖·库兹米奇·维亚济米季诺夫接获亚历山大·帕夫洛维奇皇帝从军队中发布并转交给他的著称于当时的圣旨，他宣读圣旨，皇帝在圣旨中告知谢尔盖·库兹米奇：他从四方接获百姓效忠皇上的宣言，彼得堡的宣言使他特别高兴。他引以自豪的是，他荣幸地担任这样一个国家的元首，他要竭力而为，使自己无愧于国家。圣旨开头写的是：“谢尔盖·库兹米奇！据各方传闻……”等等。
“念到‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇，'真的没有继续念下去吗？”
一个女士问道。
“是的，是的，一个字也没有多念，”瓦西里公爵一面发笑，一面回答。‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇……据各方传闻。据各方传闻。谢尔盖·库兹米奇……'可怜的维亚济米季诺夫无论怎样也没法念下去了。接连有几次他从头念起。但是一念到谢尔盖……就哽咽起来……库……兹米……奇，就眼泪长流……据各方传闻，语声就被哭声淹没了，他不能念下去了。又用手帕揩眼泪，又念‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇，据各方传闻'，又眼泪长流……于是请别人把它念完。”
“库兹米奇……据各方传闻……又眼泪长流……”有个什么人笑着重复这句话。
“不要狠毒啊，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜从餐桌的另一头伸出一个指头，装出威吓的样子，说道，“C'estunsibraveetexBcellenthommenotrebonViasmitinoff…”① 
①法语：我们的心地善良的维亚济米季洛夫，他是个挺好的人。
传来了一阵哄堂大笑。坐在贵宾席上的人们在各种不同的兴奋心情的影响下，看来都很愉快，只有皮埃尔和海伦沉默不言，几乎在餐桌的末端并排坐着，这两个人勉强忍住，没有流露出与谢尔盖·库兹米奇无关的喜洋洋的微笑，一种为自己的感情自觉得羞惭的微笑。无论人们谈论什么，怎样发笑，无论人们怎样津津有味地喝莱茵葡萄洒、吃软炸肉、吃冰激凌、吃浇汁菜，无论人们的目光怎样避开这对恋人，好像对他们冷漠无情，不予理睬，但不知怎的，从频频投向他们的目光来看，却使客人感觉到，谢尔盖·库兹米奇无论是打诨、发笑，还是狼吞虎咽，——全是装模作样的，这帮人的注意力都贯注在皮埃尔和海伦这对恋人身上。瓦西里公爵一面效法谢尔盖·库兹米奇呜咽的样子，一面向女儿瞟了一眼，在他发笑的时候，他的面部表情好像在说：“是的，是的，事事都很顺遂，今儿一切都能解决。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜为心地善良的维亚济米季诺夫鸣不平，而向他做出威吓的姿势，这时她用闪闪发亮的眼睛望望皮埃尔，瓦西里公爵从她的目光中看出这是向他未来的女婿和女儿的幸福所表示的祝贺。年老的公爵夫人气忿地向她女儿瞥了一眼，愁闷地叹一口气，向邻坐的女客敬酒，这声叹息似乎是说：“是的，我亲爱的，如今我和您只有喝杯甜酒了；如今是这些年轻人大胆挑衅的幸福时刻。”那个外交官望着一对恋人的幸福的面容，心里想道：“我所讲的都是些蠢话，仿佛这会使我很感兴趣似的。看，这就是幸福啊！”
在把这群人一个个联系起来的人为的趣味之中，夹进了一对清秀而健康的男女青年互相倾心的纯朴的感情。这种人类的感情压倒了一切，支配着他们的虚伪的空谈。笑谑听来令人愁闷，新闻显得索然无味，热闹的景象原来是伪装的。不仅是他们，就连侍候饭桌的仆人仿佛也具有同样的感觉。他们入迷地望着美人儿海伦和她那容光焕发的脸盘，望着皮埃尔那副红彤彤的、肥胖的、显得幸福而心神不定的面孔，以致于忘记侍候客人。一支支烛光仿佛也只凝聚在这两张显得幸福的脸上。
皮埃尔觉得他自己是一切事物的中心，这种地位既使他高兴，又使他腼腆。他处于那种状态，就像某人埋头于一种业务似的。他什么也看不清楚，什么也不明白，什么也听不真切。他的心灵中只是有时意外地闪现出片断的思绪和现实的印象。
“一切就是这样完了吗！”他想道，“这一切都是怎样弄成的呢？真是太快了！我现在知道，不只是为了她一个人，也不是为了我一个人，而是为了众人，这件事情必然会实现。他们预料这件事必将出现，而且相信，这件事将能实现，所以我不能使他们失望。但是这件事将要怎样实现呢？我不知道，但它一定会实现！”皮埃尔想道，一面瞅着他眼睛旁边露出的她那发亮光滑的肩头。
时而他忽然不知为什么而感到害羞。他觉得不自在的是，他一个人吸引众人的注意，他在别人的眼睛中是个幸运的人，他的相貌长得丑陋，却成为占有海伦的帕里斯。“想必这总是常有的事，应当这样做，”他安慰自己，“但是我为这件事做了什么呢？这是什么时候开始的呢？我是和瓦西里公爵一起从莫斯科启程的。当时什么事都没有发生。后来我为什么没有在他家里居住？后来我和她一同打纸牌，替她拾起一个女式手提包，和她一道坐马车游玩。这是什么时候开始的，这一切是什么时候实现的？你看他现在成了未婚夫坐在她身旁，听见，看见，觉察到她的亲近，她的呼吸，她的一举一动，她的优美。时而他忽然觉得，不是她，而是他自己长得异常俊美，所以人们才这样注视他，于是，他因为引起众人的惊奇而深感幸福，他挺起胸，昂起头，为自己的幸福而高兴。忽然他听到一种声音，熟悉的声音，这种声音又对他说着什么话。可是皮埃尔着了迷，因此不明了别人对他说着什么话。
“我问你，什么时候你收到博尔孔斯基的信，”瓦西里公爵第三次重复地说，“我亲爱的，你是多么漫不经心啊。”
瓦西里公爵面露微笑，皮埃尔看见，大家都对他和海伦微露笑容。“既然你们都知道，那也没有什么，”皮埃尔自言自语地说，“这是实情，那又怎样呢？”他独自露出温顺而稚气的微笑，海伦也面露微笑。
“你究竟是什么时候接到的？是从奥尔米茨寄来的吧？”瓦西里公爵重说了一遍，他仿佛是要知道这件事才能调停论争似的。
“是不是可以考虑和谈论这种琐碎事呢？”皮埃尔想道。
“是的，信是从奥尔米茨寄来的。”他叹口气答道。
吃罢晚饭，皮埃尔带着他的女伴跟随其他来客步入客厅。客人们开始四散，有些人未向海伦告辞就乘车走了。有些人到她跟前呆一会儿，就连忙离开，不让海伦送他们，好像不想打断她干的正经事。那个外交官忧悒地默不作声，从客厅中走出来。他脑海中想到，他在外交场中的升迁，和皮埃尔的幸福相对比，不过是泡影。年老的将军的太太问到将军的腿病的时候，他愤怒地向她发了一顿牢骚。“啊唷，你这个老傻瓜，”他想了一下，“你看叶连娜·瓦西里耶夫娜（即海伦）就是到了五十岁还是个美人儿。”
“我好像可以向您道贺了，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜向公爵夫人一面轻言细语地说，一面用劲地吻吻她。“若不是偏头痛，我就会留下来的。”
公爵夫人什么都不回答，她对自己女儿的幸福的妒嫉使她觉得苦恼。
送客出门时，皮埃尔一人和海伦在他们就坐的小客厅里呆了很久。此时以前，在最近一个半月里，他也时常一个人陪伴着海伦，但他从未向她吐露爱情。此时他觉得他非这样做不可。但是他无论怎样都拿不定主意去走最后一步路。他十分羞愧，仿佛觉得他在海伦身边占据别人的地位。“这种幸福不为我所有，”一种内心的声音告诉他，“这种幸福应为那些缺少你所占有之物的人所享受。”可是应该讲点什么话，他于是开口说了。他问她对今天的晚会是否感到满意。她仍然像平时那样，简简单单地作答，对她来说，今天的命名日是一次至为愉快的命名日。
近亲之中有些人还没有走。他们坐在大客厅里。瓦西里公爵拖着懒洋洋的步子走到皮埃尔跟前。皮埃尔站立起来，说天已经很晚了。瓦西里公爵用严肃而疑惑的目光望望他，好像他说的话很古怪，简直没法听进去。但是紧接着严肃的表情改变了，瓦西里公爵拉了拉皮埃尔的手，往下一按，让他坐下，亲切地微微一笑。
“啊，廖莉娅（海伦的爱称），怎么啦？”他立刻把脸转向女儿，带着他那温和而漫不经心的口吻说，那口吻是父母从儿女童年时代起就疼爱儿女所习惯用的，不过瓦西里公爵是从模仿别的父母中才领会到这种口吻的。
他又把脸转向皮埃尔，说道：
“谢尔盖·库兹米奇，据各方传闻。”他在扣紧背心最上面的一个钮扣时说道。
皮埃尔微微一笑，但是从他的微笑可以看出，他懂得，瓦西里公爵这时对谢尔盖·库兹米奇的笑话并不发生兴趣，瓦西里公爵也明白，皮埃尔了解这一点。瓦西里公爵忽然嘟哝了一阵，便走出去。皮埃尔仿佛觉得，就连瓦西里公爵也困惑不安。这个年老的上流社会人士的窘态感动了皮埃尔；他向海伦望了一眼，好像她也惶恐起来，她那眼神在说：“也没有什么，您自己有过错。”
“一定要跨越过去，可是我不能，我不能。”皮埃尔想道，又开口说到旁人，说到谢尔盖·库兹米奇，问到这是个什么笑话：
因为他没有听进去。海伦微露笑容回答，说她也不知道。
当瓦西里公爵向客厅走去时，公爵夫人向一个年迈的太太轻言细语地谈论皮埃尔的事情。
“当然罗，C'estunpartitrèsbrillant，maisleboenheur，machère…”
“Lesmariagessefontdanslescieux”，①年迈的太太答道。
瓦西里公爵好像没有去听太太们说话，他向远处的屋角走去，在一张长沙发上坐下。他闭上眼睛，好像在打瞌睡。他的头垂到胸前，可是接着醒过来了。
“Aline，”他对妻子说：“Allezvoircequ'ilsfont．”② 
①法语：“当然罗，这是非常出色的配偶，我亲爱的，但是幸福……”“大凡婚事均为天作之合。”
②法语：阿琳娜，你去看看他们在做什么。
公爵夫人走到了门前，她装出一副意味深长而又冷漠的样子从门旁走过，向客厅瞥了一眼。皮埃尔和海伦还坐在那里聊天。
“还是那个样子。”她回答丈夫。
瓦西里公爵蹙起额角，把嘴巴撇到一边，脸上起了皱纹，他的两颊颤动起来，现出他所固有的令人厌恶的粗暴表情。他振作精神，站立起来，迈着坚定的脚步从太太们身边向小客厅走去。他很高兴地快步流星地走到皮埃尔跟前。公爵脸上流露出非常激昂的神情，皮埃尔望见他，吓了一跳，站起来。
“谢天谢地！”他说道，“妻子把什么都对我说了！”他用一只手抱住皮埃尔，用另一只手抱住女儿。“廖莉娅，我的亲人！我感到非常、非常高兴。”他的声音颤栗起来，“我热爱你的父亲……她将是你的好妻子……愿上帝为你们祝福！
……”
他抱住女儿，然后又抱住皮埃尔，用他那老年人的嘴吻吻他。他的眼泪真的浸湿了皮埃尔的面颊。
“我的公爵夫人，到这里来。”他喊道。
公爵夫人走出来，也哭起来了。这个年迈的太太也用手绢揩干眼泪。他们都吻了皮埃尔，他也吻了几次标致的海伦的手。过了一阵子，又让他们俩呆在一起了。
“这一切应当是这样的，不可能是另一个样子。”皮埃尔想道，因此这件事是好还是坏，没有什么可问的。好就好在事情决定了，以前折磨他的疑团消失了。皮埃尔沉默地握着未婚妻的手，注视着她那美丽的一起一伏的胸脯。
“海伦！”他大声地说，随即停住了。
“在这些场合人们会说些什么特别的话。”他想道，但是他无论怎样也没法想起，在这些场合人们究竟会说些什么话。他望望她的脸色。她愈加靠近他了。她的脸上泛起了红晕。
“嗐，摘下这个……就是这个……”她指着他的眼镜。
皮埃尔摘下眼镜，他的眼睛除开具有人们摘下眼镜后常有的怪相之外，它还惊慌而疑惑地张望。他想向她手边弯下腰来，吻吻她的手，可是她飞快地粗鲁地将脑袋向前移近，截住他的嘴唇，让它和自己的嘴唇相吻合。她的脸色变了，那种不愉快的、心慌意乱的表情使皮埃尔颇为惊讶。
“现在已经太晚了，一切都完了；不过我爱她。”皮埃尔想了想。
“Jevousaime！”①他说道，想起了在这些场合要说什么话；但是这句话听来贫乏无味，以致他为自己羞愧。 
①法语：我爱您！
过了一个半月，他结婚了，人人都说他是个拥有美丽的妻子和数百万家财的幸运者，他在彼得堡的一栋重新装修的别祖霍夫伯爵大楼中住下来。
Book 3 Chapter 3
IN THE DECEMBER of 1805, the old Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky received a letter from Prince Vassily, announcing that he intended to visit him with his son. (“I am going on an inspection tour, and of course a hundred versts is only a step out of the way for me to visit you, my deeply-honoured benefactor,” he wrote. “My Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, and I hope you will permit him to express to you in person the profound veneration that, following his father's example, he entertains for you.”)
“Well, there's no need to bring Marie out, it seems; suitors come to us of themselves,” the little princess said heedlessly on hearing of this. Prince Nikolay Andreitch scowled and said nothing.
A fortnight after receiving the letter, Prince Vassily's servants arrived one evening in advance of him, and the following day he came himself with his son.
Old Bolkonsky had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vassily's character, and this opinion had grown stronger of late since Prince Vassily had, under the new reigns of Paul and Alexander, advanced to high rank and honours. Now from the letter and the little princess's hints, he saw what the object of the visit was, and his poor opinion of Prince Vassily passed into a feeling of ill-will and contempt in the old prince's heart. He snorted indignantly whenever he spoke of him. On the day of Prince Vassily's arrival, the old prince was particularly discontented and out of humour. Whether he was out of humour because Prince Vassily was coming, or whether he was particularly displeased at Prince Vassily's coming because he was out of humour, no one can say. But he was out of humour, and early in the morning Tihon had dissuaded the architect from going to the prince with his report.
“Listen how he's walking,” said Tihon, calling the attention of the architect to the sound of the prince's footsteps. “Stepping flat on his heels … then we know …”
At nine o'clock, however, the old prince went out for a walk, as usual, wearing his short, velvet, fur-lined cloak with a sable collar and a sable cap. There had been a fall of snow on the previous evening. The path along which Prince Nikolay Andreitch walked to the conservatory had been cleared; there were marks of a broom in the swept snow, and a spade had been left sticking in the crisp bank of snow that bordered the path on both sides. The prince walked through the conservatories, the servants' quarters, and the out-buildings, frowning and silent.
“Could a sledge drive up?” he asked the respectful steward, who was escorting him to the house, with a countenance and manners like his own.
“The snow is deep, your excellency. I gave orders for the avenue to be swept too.”
The prince nodded, and was approaching the steps. “Glory to Thee, O Lord!” thought the steward, “the storm has passed over!”
“It would have been hard to drive up, your excellency,” added the steward. “So I hear, your excellency, there's a minister coming to visit your excellency?” The prince turned to the steward and stared with scowling eyes at him.
“Eh? A minister? What minister? Who gave you orders?” he began in his shrill, cruel voice. “For the princess my daughter, you do not clear the way, but for the minister you do! For me there are no ministers!”
“Your excellency, I supposed …”
“You supposed,” shouted the prince, articulating with greater and greater haste and incoherence. “You supposed … Brigands! blackguards! … I'll teach you to suppose,” and raising his stick he waved it at Alpatitch, and would have hit him, had not the steward instinctively shrunk back and escaped the blow. “You supposed … Blackguards! …” he still cried hurriedly. But although Alpatitch, shocked at his own insolence in dodging the blow, went closer to the prince, with his bald head bent humbly before him, or perhaps just because of this, the prince did not lift the stick again, and still shouting, “Blackguards! … fill up the road …” he ran to his room.
Princess Marya and Mademoiselle Bourienne stood, waiting for the old prince before dinner, well aware that he was out of temper. Mademoiselle Bourienne's beaming countenance seemed to say, “I know nothing about it, I am just the same as usual,” while Princess Marya stood pale and terrified with downcast eyes. What made it harder for Princess Marya was that she knew that she ought to act like Mademoiselle Bourienne at such times, but she could not do it. She felt, “If I behave as if I did not notice it, he'll think I have no sympathy with him. If I behave as if I were depressed and out of humour myself, he'll say (as indeed often happened) that I'm sulky …” and so on.
The prince glanced at his daughter's scared face and snorted.
“Stuff!” or perhaps “stupid!” he muttered. “And the other is not here! they've been telling tales to her already,” he thought, noticing that the little princess was not in the dining-room.
“Where's Princess Liza?” he asked. “In hiding?”
“She's not quite well,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne with a bright smile; “she is not coming down. In her condition it is only to be expected.”
“H'm! h'm! kh! kh!” growled the prince, and he sat down to the table. He thought his plate was not clean: he pointed to a mark on it and threw it away. Tihon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little princess was quite well, but she was in such overwhelming terror of the prince, that on hearing he was in a bad temper, she had decided not to come in.
“I am afraid for my baby,” she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne; “God knows what might not be the result of a fright.”
The little princess, in fact, lived at Bleak Hills in a state of continual terror of the old prince, and had an aversion for him, of which she was herself unconscious, so completely did terror overbear every other feeling. There was the same aversion on the prince's side, too; but in his case it was swallowed up in contempt. As she went on staying at Bleak Hills, the little princess became particularly fond of Mademoiselle Bourienne; she spent her days with her, begged her to sleep in her room, and often talked of her father-in-law, and criticised him to her.
“We have company coming, prince,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, her rosy fingers unfolding her dinner-napkin. “His excellency Prince Kuragin with his son, as I have heard say?” she said in a tone of inquiry.
“H'm! … his excellence is an upstart. I got him his place in the college,” the old prince said huffily. “And what his son's coming for, I can't make out. Princess Lizaveta Karlovna and Princess Marya can tell us, maybe; I don't know what he's bringing his son here for. I don't want him.” And he looked at his daughter, who turned crimson.
“Unwell, eh? Scared of the minister, as that blockhead Alpatitch called him to-day?”
“Non, mon père.”
Unsuccessful as Mademoiselle Bourienne had been in the subject she had started, she did not desist, but went on prattling away about the conservatories, the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and after the soup the prince subsided.
After dinner he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess was sitting at a little table gossiping with Masha, her maid. She turned pale on seeing her father-in-law.
The little princess was greatly changed. She looked ugly rather than pretty now. Her cheeks were sunken, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes were hollow.
“Yes, a sort of heaviness,” she said in answer to the prince's inquiry how she felt.
“Isn't there anything you need?”
“Non, merci, mon père.”
“Oh, very well then, very well.”
He went out and into the waiting-room. Alpatitch was standing there with downcast head.
“Filled up the road again?”
“Yes, your excellency; for God's sake, forgive me, it was simply a blunder.”
The prince cut him short with his unnatural laugh.
“Oh, very well, very well.” He held out his hand, which Alpatitch kissed, and then he went to his study.
In the evening Prince Vassily arrived. He was met on the way by the coachmen and footmen of the Bolkonskys, who with shouts dragged his carriages and sledge to the lodge, over the road, which had been purposely obstructed with snow again.
Prince Vassily and Anatole were conducted to separate apartments.
Taking off his tunic, Anatole sat with his elbows on the table, on a corner of which he fixed his handsome, large eyes with a smiling, unconcerned stare. All his life he had looked upon as an uninterrupted entertainment, which some one or other was, he felt, somehow bound to provide for him. In just the same spirit he had looked at his visit to the cross old gentleman and his rich and hideous daughter. It might all, according to his anticipations, turn out very jolly and amusing. “And why not get married, if she has such a lot of money? That never comes amiss,” thought Anatole.
He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance that had become habitual with him, and with his characteristic expression of all-conquering good-humour, he walked into his father's room, holding, his head high. Two valets were busily engaged in dressing Prince Vassily; he was looking about him eagerly, and nodded gaily to his son, as he entered with an air that said, “Yes, that's just how I wanted to see you looking.”
“Come, joking apart, father, is she so hideous? Eh?” he asked in French, as though reverting to a subject more than once discussed on the journey.
“Nonsense! The great thing for you is to try and be respectful and sensible with the old prince.”
“If he gets nasty, I'm off,” said Anatole. “I can't stand those old gentlemen. Eh?”
“Remember that for you everything depends on it.”
Meanwhile, in the feminine part of the household not only the arrival of the minister and his son was already known, but the appearance of both had been minutely described. Princess Marya was sitting alone in her room doing her utmost to control her inner emotion.
“Why did they write, why did Liza tell me about it? Why, it cannot be!” she thought, looking at herself in the glass. “How am I to go into the drawing-room? Even if I like him, I could never be myself with him now.” The mere thought of her father's eyes reduced her to terror. The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already obtained all necessary information from the maid, Masha; they had learned what a handsome fellow the minister's son was, with rosy cheeks and black eye-brows; how his papa had dragged his legs upstairs with difficulty, while he, like a young eagle, had flown up after him three steps at a time. On receiving these items of information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose eager voices were audible in the corridor, went into Princess Marya's room.
“They are come, Marie, do you know?” said the little princess, waddling in and sinking heavily into an armchair. She was not wearing the gown in which she had been sitting in the morning, but had put on one of her best dresses. Her hair had been carefully arranged, and her face was full of an eager excitement, which did not, however, conceal its wasted and pallid look. In the smart clothes which she had been used to wear in Petersburg in society, the loss of her good looks was even more noticeable. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, had put some hardly perceptible finishing touches to her costume, which made her fresh, pretty face even more attractive.
“What, and you are staying just as you are, dear princess. They will come in a minute to tell us the gentlemen are in the drawing-room,” she began. “We shall have to go down, and you are doing nothing at all to your dress.”
The little princess got up from her chair, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and eagerly began to arrange what Princess Marya was to wear, and to put her ideas into practice. Princess Marya's sense of personal dignity was wounded by her own agitation at the arrival of her suitor, and still more was she mortified that her two companions should not even conceive that she ought not to be so agitated. To have told them how ashamed she was of herself and of them would have been to betray her own excitement. Besides, to refuse to be dressed up, as they suggested, would have been exposing herself to reiterated raillery and insistence. She flushed; her beautiful eyes grew dim; her face was suffused with patches of crimson; and with the unbeautiful, victimised expression which was the one most often seen on her face, she abandoned herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Liza. Both women exerted themselves with perfect sincerity to make her look well. She was so plain that the idea of rivalry with her could never have entered their heads. Consequently it was with perfect sincerity, in the na?ve and unhesitating conviction women have that dress can make a face handsome, that they set to work to attire her.
“No, really, ma bonne amie, that dress isn't pretty,” said Liza, looking sideways at Princess Marya from a distance; “tell her to put on you your maroon velvet there. Yes, really! Why, you know, it may be the turning-point in your whole life. That one's too light, it's not right, no, it's not!”
It was not the dress that was wrong, but the face and the whole figure of the princess, but that was not felt by Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess. They still fancied that if they were to put a blue ribbon in her hair, and do it up high, and to put the blue sash lower on the maroon dress and so on, then all would be well. They forgot that the frightened face and figure of Princess Marya could not be changed, and therefore, however presentable they might make the setting and decoration of the face, the face itself would still look piteous and ugly. After two or three changes, to which Princess Marya submitted passively, when her hair had been done on the top of her head (which completely changed and utterly disfigured her), and the blue sash and best maroon velvet dress had been put on, the little princess walked twice round, and with her little hand stroked out a fold here and pulled down the sash there, and gazed at her with her head first on one side and then on the other.
“No, it won't do,” she said resolutely, throwing up her hands. “No, Marie, decidedly that does not suit you. I like you better in your little grey everyday frock. No, please do that for me. Katya,” she said to the maid, “bring the princess her grey dress, and look, Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I'll arrange it,” she said, smiling with a foretaste of artistic pleasure. But when Katya brought the dress, Princess Marya was still sitting motionless before the looking-glass, looking at her own face, and in the looking-glass she saw that there were tears in her eyes and her mouth was quivering, on the point of breaking into sobs.
“Come, dear princess,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, “one more little effort.”
The little princess, taking the dress from the hands of the maid, went up to Princess Marya.
“Now, we'll try something simple and charming,” she said. Her voice and Mademoiselle Bourienne's and the giggle of Katya blended into a sort of gay babble like the twitter of birds.
“No, leave me alone,” said the princess; and there was such seriousness and such suffering in her voice that the twitter of the birds ceased at once. They looked at the great, beautiful eyes, full of tears and of thought, looking at them imploringly, and they saw that to insist was useless and even cruel.
“At least alter your hair,” said the little princess. “I told you,” she said reproachfully to Mademoiselle Bourienne, “there were faces which that way of doing the hair does not suit a bit. Not a bit, not a bit, please alter it.”
“Leave me alone, leave me alone, all that is nothing to me,” answered a voice scarcely able to struggle with tears.
Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess could not but admit to themselves that Princess Marya was very plain in this guise, far worse than usual, but it was too late. She looked at them with an expression they knew well, an expression of deep thought and sadness. That expression did not inspire fear. (That was a feeling she could never have inspired in any one.) But they knew that when that expression came into her face, she was mute and inflexible in her resolutions.
“You will alter it, won't you?” said Liza, and when Princess Marya made no reply, Liza went out of the room.
Princess Marya was left alone. She did not act upon Liza's wishes, she did not re-arrange her hair, she did not even glance into the looking-glass. Letting her eyes and her hands drop helplessly, she sat mentally dreaming. She pictured her husband, a man, a strong, masterful, and inconceivably attractive creature, who would bear her away all at once into an utterly different, happy world of his own. A child, her own, like the baby she had seen at her old nurse's daughter's, she fancied at her own breast. The husband standing, gazing tenderly at her and the child. “But no, it can never be, I am too ugly,” she thought.
“Kindly come to tea. The prince will be going in immediately,” said the maid's voice at the door. She started and was horrified at what she had been thinking. And before going downstairs she went into the oratory, and fixing her eyes on the black outline of the great image of the Saviour, she stood for several minutes before it with clasped hands. Princess Marya's soul was full of an agonising doubt. Could the joy of love, of earthly love for a man, be for her? In her reveries of marriage, Princess Marya dreamed of happiness in a home and children of her own, but her chief, her strongest and most secret dream was of earthly love. The feeling became the stronger the more she tried to conceal it from others, and even from herself. “My God,” she said, “how am I to subdue in my heart these temptings of the devil? How am I to renounce for ever all evil thoughts, so as in peace to fulfil Thy will?” And scarcely had she put this question than God's answer came to her in her own heart. “Desire nothing for thyself, be not covetous, anxious, envious. The future of men and thy destiny too must be unknown for thee; but live that thou mayest be ready for all. If it shall be God's will to prove thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to obey His will.” With this soothing thought (though still she hoped for the fulfilment of that forbidden earthly dream) Princess Marya crossed herself, sighing, and went downstairs, without thinking of her dress nor how her hair was done; of how she would go in nor what she would say. What could all that signify beside the guidance of Him, without Whose will not one hair falls from the head of man?
一八○五年十二月间，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇·博尔孔斯基老公爵接到瓦西里公爵一封信，通知他，说他将偕同儿子前来造访。“我去各地视察，为晋谒您——晋谒至为尊敬的恩人，我认为走一百俄里路，自然不是走冤枉路，”他写道，“我的阿纳托利陪我同行，他就要入伍了。我希望，您能允许他亲自向您表示深厚的敬意。因为他效法父亲，所以他对您怀有深厚的敬意。” 
“用不着把玛丽（即是玛丽亚）送到门外去，求婚的男子亲自会走到我们家里来。”矮小的公爵夫人听到这席话后，冒失地说道。
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵蹙了蹙额角，什么话也没有说。
接到信后过了两个礼拜，一天晚上，瓦西里公爵的仆人先到了，翌日，他本人偕同儿子也到了。
博尔孔斯基老头子总是对瓦西里公爵的性格给予很低的评价，尤其是近来，当瓦西里公爵在保罗和亚历山大两个新朝代当政时期身任要职、光门耀祖之后，就愈加贬低他了。而目下，他从这封信和矮小的公爵夫人的暗示中明白了这是怎么一回事，他就由心灵深处对瓦西里公爵的非议转变为恶意的轻蔑。他谈论他时经常嗤之以鼻。在瓦西里公爵就要来临的那天，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵特别感到不满，心绪也不佳。是否因为瓦西里公爵就要来临，他才心情不佳，还是因为他心绪不佳，所以对瓦西里公爵的来临才特别感到不满，不过，他心绪确乎不佳。吉洪清早就劝告建筑师不要随带报告到公爵跟前去。
“您总听见，他走来走去，”吉洪说道，要建筑师注意听公爵的步履声。“他踮着整个后跟走路，我们就知道……”
但是，公爵像平时一样，八点多钟就穿着一件缝有黑貂皮领的天鹅绒皮袄，戴着一顶黑貂皮帽出去散步。前一天夜里下了一场雪。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇经常走的那条通往暖房的小路打扫得干干净净，在扫开的雪地上可以看见扫帚的痕迹，一把铁锹被插在小路两旁松散的雪堤上。老公爵走到暖房，之后又走到下房和木房，他蹙起额角，沉默不言。
“雪橇可以通行吗？”他向那个送他回家的相貌和风度俨像主人的受人敬爱的管家问道。
“大人，雪很深。我已经吩咐仆人把大马路打扫干净。”
公爵垂下头，走到台阶前。“谢天谢地，”管家想了想，“乌云过去了！”
“大人，通行是有困难的，”管家补充一句话。“大人，听说有一位大臣要来拜看大人，是吗？”
公爵把脸转向管家，用那阴沉的目光盯着他。
“怎么？有一位大臣？啥样的大臣？是谁吩咐的？”他用生硬而刺耳的嗓音说道。“没有给公爵小姐——我的女儿打扫马路，而要给这位大臣打扫马路！我这儿没有什么大臣啊！”
“大人，我以为……”
“你以为！”公爵喊道，他说话越来越急促，前言越来越搭不上后语。“你以为……土匪！骗子！我就来教你以为。”他抡起手杖，要向阿尔帕特奇打去，如果管家不是本能地闪开，他就打过来了。“你以为！……骗子手！”他急忙喊道。阿尔帕特奇竟敢躲避向他打来的一棍，大吃一惊，他向公爵近旁走去，服服帖帖地低下他的秃头，也许正因为这一点，公爵才继续叫喊：“骗子手！……填好这条路！”虽然如此，可是他再也没有抡起他的手杖，向屋里跑去。
午饭前，公爵小姐和布里安小姐都知道公爵的心绪恶劣，于是站在那儿恭候他。布里安小姐容光焕发，喜气洋洋，仿佛在说：“我一如平日，什么事情都不晓得。”玛丽亚公爵小姐面色惨白，心惊胆战，一对眼睛低垂着。玛丽亚公爵小姐觉得最苦恼的是：她知道在这种场合应当像布里安小姐那样处理事情，但是他没法做到。她仿佛觉得，“假若我装出一副不理会的样子，他就会以为我对他缺乏同情心，如果我觉得烦闷，情绪恶劣，他就会说（这是从前常有的情形），我垂头丧气。”其余可从此类推。
公爵望了望女儿惶恐的神态，气冲冲地开口说：
“废料……或者是个傻瓜！……”他说道。
“那一个没有到！她们真的诽谤她了。”他心中想到那个没有到餐厅来的矮小的公爵夫人。
“公爵夫人在哪里？”他问道。“躲起来了吗？……”
“她不太舒服，”布里安小姐面露愉快的微笑，说道，“她不会出来。在她那种情况下，这是可以理解的。”
“呣！呣！呣！呣！”公爵说道，在桌旁坐下。
他觉得盘子不干净，指了指盘子上的污点，把它扔了。吉洪接住盘子，递给小菜间的侍者。矮小的公爵夫人不是身体不舒服，而是她心里害怕公爵已经达到难以克服的地步，她一听见公爵的情绪恶劣，就决定闭门不出。
“我替孩子担心，”她对布里安小姐说道，“惶恐不安，天知道会出什么事。”
一般地说，矮小的公爵夫人住在童山，经常惶恐不安，对老公爵怀有一种她所意识不到的厌恶感，因为恐惧占了上风，所以她没有这种体会。从老公爵而言，他也怀有厌恶感，但是它被蔑视感冲淡了。矮小的公爵夫人在童山住惯了，特别疼爱布里安小姐，和她在一起过日子，请她在自己身边过夜，常常和她谈到老公公，将他评论一番。
“Ilnousarrivedumonde，monprince，”①布思安小姐用她那白里泛红的小手打开白餐巾时，说道，“SonexcellenceleprinceHenKouraguineavecavecsonfils，àcequej'aientenBdudire．”②她带着疑问的语调说。 
①法语：公爵，客人要到我们这里来。
②法语：据我所听说的，是库拉金公爵大人偕同他的儿子。
“呣……这个excellence是小孩……我把他安排在委员会里供职，”老公爵带着蒙受屈辱的样子说。“儿子来干啥，我简直弄不明白。丽莎韦塔·卡尔洛夫娜（即是矮小的公爵夫人）和玛丽亚公爵小姐也许知道。我不知道他干嘛把儿子带到这里来。我用不着。”他望了望满面通红的女儿。
“你不舒服，是不是？就像今日阿尔帕特奇这个笨蛋所说的，你给大臣吓坏了。”
“不是的，monpère．”①
不管布里安小姐的话题怎样不妥当，但她并没有停住，还是喋喋不休地谈论暖房，谈论刚刚绽开的一朵鲜花的优美，公爵喝过汤之后，变得温和了。
午饭后，他去儿媳妇那儿走走。矮小的公爵夫人坐在小茶几旁和侍女玛莎絮絮叨叨地谈话。她看见老公公后，脸色变得苍白了。
矮小的公爵夫人变得很厉害了。现在与其说她好看，莫如说她丑陋。她两颊松垂，嘴唇翘起，眼皮耷拉着。
“是的，真难受。”公爵问她有什么感觉，她这样回答。
“需要什么吗？”
“merci，monpère，②不需要什么。” 
①法语：爸爸。
②法语：爸爸，谢谢你。
“嗯，好，好。”
他走出来，走到堂倌休息室。阿尔帕特奇低下头来，在堂倌休息室里站着。
“把马路填好了吗？”
“大人，填好了。看在上帝份上，请原谅我这个糊涂人。”
公爵打断他的话，不自然地大笑起来。
“嗯，好，好。”
他伸出手来，阿尔帕特奇吻吻他的手，之后他走进了书斋。
傍晚，瓦西里公爵到了。车夫和堂倌们在大道上（大路被称为大道）迎接他。他们在故意撒上雪花的路上大喊大叫地把他的马车和雪橇拉到耳房前面。
他们拨给瓦西里公爵和阿纳托利两个单独的房间。
阿纳托利脱下无袖上衣，双手叉腰坐在桌前，面露微笑，瞪着他那双好看的大眼睛，目不转睛地心不在焉地凝视着桌子的一角。他把他的一辈子视为某人不知为什么应该给他安排的无休无止的纵情作乐。他也是这样看待他对这个凶狠的老头子和很有钱的丑陋的女继承人的走访的。照他的推测，这一切都会导致顺利的极为有趣的结局。“既然她很富有，干嘛不娶她为妻？这决不会造成障碍。”阿纳托利想道。
他刮了脸，照老习惯细心而讲究地给自己身上洒香水，带着他那生来如此的和善和洋洋自得的神态，高高地昂着漂亮的头，走进父亲的住房。两个老仆人给瓦西里公爵穿衣裳，在他身旁忙碌地干活。他兴致勃勃地向四周环顾，向走进来的儿子愉快地点点头，仿佛在说：“是的，我所需要的正是你这副样子！”
“爸爸，不，真的，她很丑陋吗？啊？”他用法国话问道，好像继续在谈旅行时不止一次地谈过的话题。
“够了，甭再说蠢话！主要的是，对老公爵要极力表示尊敬，言行要慎重。”
“如果他开口骂人，我就走开，”阿纳托利说道。“这些老头子我不能容忍。啊？”
“你要记住，对你来说，一切以此为转移。”
这时，女仆居住的房里不仅获悉大臣偕同儿子光临的消息，而且对他们二人的外貌描述得详详细细。公爵小姐玛丽亚一人坐在自己房里，枉然地试图克制自己内心的激动。
“他们干嘛要写信，丽莎干嘛要对我谈到这件事呢？要知道这是不可能的！”她一面照镜子，一面自言自语地说。“我怎么走到客厅里去呢？如果我真的喜欢他，我此刻也不能独个儿和他在一块啦。”一想到父亲的目光，就使她胆寒。
矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐从侍女玛莎那里接获各种有用的情报，谈到某个面颊绯红、眉毛乌黑的美男子就是大臣的儿子，他父亲拖着两腿费劲地登上阶梯，而他竟像一只苍鹰，一举步就登上三级梯子，跟在他身后走去，矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐从走廊里就听见他们兴致勃勃的谈话声，获得这些情报后，就走进公爵小姐的房间。
“Ilssontarrivés，Marie，①您知道吗？”矮小的公爵夫人说道，她步履维艰，摇晃着她那大肚子，身子沉甸甸地坐到安乐椅上。 
①法语：玛丽，他们到了。
她已经不穿早晨穿过的那件短上衣了，而是穿着一件挺好的连衣裙。她的头部经过细心梳理，神采奕奕，但仍旧遮掩不住邋遢的毫无生气的外貌。从她穿的这件在彼得堡交际场中常穿的服装来看，更显得难看多了。布里安小姐身上的服装也不易觉察地改观了，使她那美丽而鲜嫩的脸蛋平添上几分魅力。
“Ehbien，etvousrestezcommevousètes，chère
privncesse？”她说，“Onvavenivannoncer，quecesmessieurssontausalon，ilfaudradescendre，etvousnefaitespasunpetitbrindétoilette！①”
矮小的公爵夫人从安乐椅上站立起来，按铃呼唤侍女，急忙而又愉快地给公爵小姐玛丽亚的衣着出点子，并且着手给她穿衣服。公爵小姐玛丽亚觉得受委屈，有损她的自尊心，那个许配给她的未婚夫的来临，弄得她心情激动，使她更受委屈的是，她的两个女友预测这件事只能这样办，如果告诉她们说她为自己也为她们而感到羞愧的话，那就是说暴露了她自己的激动心情，如果拒绝她们给她穿着，势必会导致长时间的取笑和聒絮。她面红耳赤，一对美丽的眼睛变得无神了，脸上尽是红斑，她带着她脸上时常流露的牺牲者的难看的表情，受制于布里安小姐和丽莎。这两个女人十分真诚地想使她变得漂亮。她长得非常丑陋，她们之中谁也不会产生和她争妍斗艳的念头，因此她们是出自一片诚心，而且怀有女人们那种天真而坚定的信念，认为衣着可以使面容变得美丽，于是她们就着手给她穿上衣服。
“Malonneamie②，说实话，不行，这件连衣裙不美观，”丽莎说道，她从侧面远远地望着公爵小姐，“你那里有一件紫红色的连衣裙，吩咐人拿来！好吧，要知道，也许这就能决定一生的命运。可是这件连衣裙颜色太浅，不美观，不行，不美观！” 
①法语：欸，您怎么还是穿着以前穿的那件衣服？马上就有人来说话，他们走出来了。得到楼下去，您略微打扮一下也好啊。
②法语：我的朋友。
不是连衣裙不美观，而是公爵小姐的脸盘和身材不美观，可是布里安小姐和矮小的公爵夫人没有觉察到这点。她们总是觉得，如果把一条天蓝色的绸带系在向上梳的头发上，并从棕色的连衣裙上披下一条天蓝色的围巾，等等，一切就会显得美观了。她们忘记，她那副惊恐的面孔和身体是无法改变的。所以，无论她们怎样改变外表并且加以修饰，但是她的面孔仍然显得难看，很不美观。公爵小姐玛丽亚温顺地听从她们三番两次地给她调换服装，然后把头发往上梳平（这个发式完全会改变并且影响她的脸型），披上一条天蓝色的围巾，穿上华丽的紫红色的连衣裙，这时矮小的公爵夫人在她周围绕了两圈左右，用一只小手弄平连衣裙上的皱褶，轻轻拽一拽围巾，时而从那边，时而从这边侧着头看看。
“不，还是不行的，”她两手举起轻轻一拍，坚决地说。
“Non，Marie，décidémentcanevousvapas．Jevousaimemieuxdansvotrepetiterobegrvisedetouslesjours．Non，degrace，faitescelapourmoi。①卡佳，”她对侍女说。“你给公爵小姐把那件浅灰色的连衣裙拿来，布里安小姐，您再看看我怎么安排这件事吧。”她带着一个演员预感到欢乐而流露的微笑，说道。 
①法语：玛丽，不行，这件您穿来根本不合适。您穿您每日穿的那件浅灰色的连衣裙，我就更喜欢您了。请您为了我就这么办吧。
可是当卡佳把那件需要的连衣裙拿来的时候，公爵小姐玛丽亚还是一动不动地坐在镜台前面，端详着自己的脸蛋，卡佳从镜中望见，她的眼睛里噙满着泪水，她的嘴巴颤栗着，快要嚎啕大哭了。
“Voyons，chèreprincesse，”布里安小姐说道。“encoreunpetiteffort．”①
矮小的公爵夫人从侍女手中取来连衣裙，向公爵小姐玛丽亚面前走去。
“那样不行，现在我们要打扮得既简朴又好看。”她说道。
她的嗓音、布里安小姐的嗓音、还有那个因某事而发笑的卡佳的嗓音，汇合成类似鸟鸣的欢乐的呢喃声。
“Non，laissez－moi．”②公爵小姐说。
她的嗓音听来如此严肃、令人难受，飞鸟的呢喃声顿时停止了。她们望了望她那对美丽的大眼睛，眼睛噙满着泪水，深思熟虑地，炯炯有神地、恳求地望着她们，她们心里明白，继续坚持非但无益，反而残忍。
“Aumoinschangezdecoiffure．”矮小的公爵夫人说道，“Jeuousdissais，”她把脸转向布里安小姐，带着责备的腔调说，“Marieaunedecesfigures，auxquellesgenredecoffurenevapasdutout，Maisdutout，dutout．Changezdegrace．”③Laissez－moi，laissez－moi，toutcam'estparfaitementégal．”④可以听见勉强忍住眼泪的人回答的声音。 
①法语：唉，公爵小姐，再克制一下自己吧。
②法语：不，请别管我好了。
③法语：“至少要改变发式。我对您说过。”“这种发式根本不适合玛丽这一类人的脸型。请您改变发式吧。”
④法语：别管我吧，我横竖一样。
布里安小姐和矮小的公爵夫人应当自己承认，公爵小姐玛丽亚这副样子很难看，较之平日更丑陋，可是已经太晚了。她脸上带有她们所熟悉的那种独立思考而又悲伤的表情不停地注视她们。这种表情并没有使她们产生对公爵玛丽亚小姐的畏惧心理。（她没有使任何人产生这种感觉。）但是她们知道，一当她脸上带有这种神态，她就会沉默不言，她一下定决心，就毫不动摇。
“Vouschangerez，n'est－cePas？”①丽莎说道，当玛丽亚公爵小姐一言未答的时候，丽莎从房里走出来了。 
①法语：您准会换个发式的，是不是？
公爵小姐玛丽亚独自一人留下来了。她没有履行丽莎的意愿，不仅没有改变发式，而且没有对着镜子瞧瞧自己。她软弱无力地垂下眼帘和胳膊，默不作声地坐着，暗自思量着。她脑海中想象到一个丈夫，一个强而有力的男人，一个居于高位、具有不可思议的魅力的人士，他忽然把她带进一个完全不同的幸福的世界。她脑海中想象到她怀有一个自己的孩子，就是她昨日在乳妈的女儿那里看见的那个模样的孩子。丈夫在面前站着，温柔地望着她和孩子。“可是我想得不对，这是不可能的，我的相貌太丑了。”她心中想道。
“请您去饮茶。公爵马上要出来会客。”从门后可以听见侍女的说话声。
她清醒了，她对自己想到的事情大吃一惊。在下楼之前，她站立起来，走进供神像的礼拜室，她把视线集中在长明灯照耀的大型神像的黑脸膛上，把双手交叉起来，在神像面前站立几分钟。公爵小姐玛丽亚心头充满着痛楚的疑虑。她是否能够享受爱情的欢乐，人世间爱慕男人的欢乐？玛丽亚公爵小姐在产生结婚的念头之际，她心中所想望的是家庭的幸福和儿女，但是主要的至为强烈的宿愿，那就是人世间的爱情。她越是对旁人，甚至对她自己隐瞒感情，这种感情就越发强烈。“我的天啦，”她说道，“我怎么能够抑制我内心的这些魔鬼一般可怕的念头？我怎么能够永远抛弃这种坏主意？俾使我能心平气和地实现你的意愿？”她刚刚提出这个问题，上帝就在她心中作出了答复：“别为自己希图任何东西，用不着探求，用不着激动，更不宜嫉妒。对你来说，人们的未来和你的命运都不是应当知道的，为了不惜付出一切，你就得这样话下去。如果上帝要考验你对婚姻的责任心，你就得乐意去履行他的旨意。”公爵小姐玛丽亚怀有这种安于现状的思想（但仍旧指望她能够实现她得到已被封禁的尘世爱情的宿愿），她叹了一口气，在胸前画了十字，就走下楼去。她既不考虑连衣裙，也不考虑发式，更不考虑她怎样走进门去，说些什么话。因为没有上帝的旨意，就连一根毛发也不会从人的头上掉下来，这一切比起上帝的预先裁定，究竟能够意味着什么呢。
Book 3 Chapter 4
WHEN PRINCESS MARYA went into the room, Prince Vassily and his son were already in the drawing-room, talking to the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne. When she walked in with her heavy step, treading on her heels, the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose, and the little princess, with a gesture indicating her to the gentlemen, said: “Here is Marie!” Princess Marya saw them all and saw them in detail. She saw the face of Prince Vassily, growing serious for an instant at the sight of her, and then hastily smiling, and the face of the little princess, scanning the faces of the guests with curiosity to detect the impression Marie was making on them. She saw Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, with her ribbon and her pretty face, turned towards him with a look of more eagerness than she had ever seen on it. But him she could not see, she could only see something large, bright-coloured, and handsome moving towards her, as she entered the room. Prince Vassily approached her first; and she kissed his bald head, as he bent over to kiss her hand, and in reply to his words said, that on the contrary, she remembered him very well. Then Anatole went up to her. She still could not see him. She only felt a soft hand taking her hand firmly, and she touched with her lips a white forehead, over which there was beautiful fair hair, smelling of pomade. When she glanced at him, she was impressed by his beauty. Anatole was standing with the thumb of his right hand at a button of his uniform, his chest squared and his spine arched; swinging one foot, with his head a little on one side, he was gazing in silence with a beaming face on the princess, obviously not thinking of her at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, he was not ready, not eloquent in conversation, but he had that faculty, so invaluable for social purposes, of composure and imperturbable assurance. If a man of no self-confidence is dumb at first making acquaintance, and betrays a consciousness of the impropriety of this dumbness and an anxiety to find something to say, the effect will be bad. But Anatole was dumb and swung his leg, as he watched the princess's hair with a radiant face. It was clear that he could be silent with the same serenity for a very long while. “If anybody feels silence awkward, let him talk, but I don't care about it,” his demeanour seemed to say. Moreover, in his manner to women, Anatole had that air, which does more than anything else to excite curiosity, awe, and even love in women, the air of supercilious consciousness of his own superiority. His manner seemed to say to them: “I know you, I know, but why trouble my head about you? You'd be pleased enough, of course!” Possibly he did not think this on meeting women (it is probable, indeed, that he did not, for he thought very little at any time), but that was the effect of his air and his manner. Princess Marya felt it, and as though to show him she did not even venture to think of inviting his attention, she turned to his father. The conversation was general and animated, thanks to the voice and the little downy lip, that flew up and down over the white teeth of the little princess. She met Prince Vassily in that playful tone so often adopted by chatty and lively persons, the point of which consists in the assumption that there exists a sort of long-established series of jokes and amusing, partly private, humorous reminiscences between the persons so addressed and oneself, even when no such reminiscences are really shared, as indeed was the case with Prince Vassily and the little princess. Prince Vassily readily fell in with this tone, the little princess embellished their supposed common reminiscences with all sorts of droll incidents that had never occurred, and drew Anatole too into them, though she had scarcely known him. Mademoiselle Bourienne too succeeded in taking a part in them, and even Princess Marya felt with pleasure that she was being made to share in their gaiety.
“Well, anyway, we shall take advantage of you to the utmost now we have got you, dear prince,” said the little princess, in French, of course, to Prince Vassily. “Here it is not as it used to be at our evenings at Annette's, where you always ran away. Do you remember our dear Annette?”
“Ah yes, but then you mustn't talk to me about politics, like Annette!”
“And our little tea-table?”
“Oh yes!”
“Why is it you never used to be at Annette's?” the little princess asked of Anatole. “Ah, I know, I know,” she said, winking; “your brother, Ippolit, has told me tales of your doings. Oh!” She shook her finger at him. “I know about your exploits in Paris too!”
“But he, Ippolit, didn't tell you, did he?” said Prince Vassily (addressing his son and taking the little princess by the arm, as though she would have run away and he were just in time to catch her); “he didn't tell you how he, Ippolit himself, was breaking his heart over our sweet princess, and how she turned him out of doors.”
“Oh! she is the pearl of women, princess,” he said, addressing Princess Marya. Mademoiselle Bourienne on her side, at the mention of Paris, did not let her chance slip for taking a share in the common stock of recollections.
She ventured to inquire if it were long since Anatole was in Paris, and how he had liked that city. Anatole very readily answered the Frenchwoman, and smiling and staring at her, he talked to her about her native country. At first sight of the pretty Mademoiselle, Anatole had decided that even here at Bleak Hills he should not be dull. “Not half bad-looking,” he thought, scrutinising her, “she's not half bad-looking, that companion! I hope she'll bring her along when we're married,” he mused; “she is a nice little thing.”
The old prince was dressing deliberately in his room, scowling and ruminating on what he was to do. The arrival of these visitors angered him. “What's Prince Vassily to me, he and his son? Prince Vassily is a braggart, an empty-headed fool, and a nice fellow the son is, I expect,” he growled to himself. What angered him was that this visit revived in his mind the unsettled question, continually thrust aside, the question in regard to which the old prince always deceived himself. That question was whether he would ever bring himself to part with his daughter and give her to a husband. The prince could never bring himself to put this question directly to himself, knowing beforehand that if he did he would have to answer it justly, but against justice in this case was ranged more than feeling, the very possibility of life. Life without Princess Marya was unthinkable to the old prince, little as in appearance he prized her. “And what is she to be married for?” he thought; “to be unhappy, beyond a doubt. Look at Liza with Andrey (and a better husband, I should fancy, it would be difficult to find nowadays), but she's not satisfied with her lot.
And who would marry her for love? She's plain and ungraceful. She'd be married for her connections, her wealth. And don't old maids get on well enough? They are happier really!” So Prince Nikolay Andreivitch mused, as he dressed, yet the question constantly deferred demanded an immediate decision. Prince Vassily had brought his son obviously with the intention of making an offer, and probably that day or the next he would ask for a direct answer. The name, the position in the world, was suitable. “Well, I'm not against it,” the prince kept saying to himself, “only let him be worthy of her. That's what we shall see. That's what we shall see,” he said aloud, “that's what we shall see,” and with his usual alert step he walked into the drawing-room, taking in the whole company in a rapid glance. He noticed the change in the dress of the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon, and the hideous way in which Princess Marya's hair was done, and the smiles of the Frenchwoman and Anatole, and the isolation of his daughter in the general talk. “She's decked herself out like a fool!” he thought, glancing vindictively at his daughter. “No shame in her; while he doesn't care to speak to her!”
He went up to Prince Vassily.
“Well, how d'ye do, how d'ye do, glad to see you.”
“For a friend that one loves seven versts is close by,” said Prince Vassily, quoting the Russian proverb, and speaking in his usual rapid, self-confident, and familiar tone. “This is my second, I beg you to love him and welcome him, as they say.”
Prince Nikolay Andreivitch scrutinised Anatole.
“A fine fellow, a fine fellow!” he said. “Well, come and give me a kiss,” and he offered him his cheek. Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity and perfect composure, waiting for some instance of the eccentricity his father had told him to expect.
The old prince sat down in his customary place in the corner of the sofa, moved up an armchair for Prince Vassily, pointed to it, and began questioning him about political affairs and news. He seemed to be listening with attention to what Prince Vassily was saying, but glanced continually at Princess Marya.
“So they're writing from Potsdam already?” He repeated Prince Vassily's last words, and suddenly getting up, he went up to his daughter.
“So it was for visitors you dressed yourself up like this, eh?” he said. “Nice of you, very nice. You do your hair up in some new fashion before visitors, and before visitors, I tell you, never dare in future to change your dress without my leave.”
“It was my fault…” stammered the little princess, flushing.
“You are quite at liberty,” said the old prince, with a scrape before his daughter-in-law, “but she has no need to disfigure herself—she's ugly enough without that.” And he sat down again in his place, taking no further notice of his daughter, whom he had reduced to tears.
“On the contrary, that coiffure is extremely becoming to the princess,” said Prince Vassily.
“Well, my young prince, what's your name?” said the old prince, turning to Anatole. “Come here, let us talk to you a little and make your acquaintance.”
“Now the fun's beginning,” thought Anatole, and with a smile he sat down by the old prince.
“That's it; they tell me, my dear boy, you have been educated abroad. Not taught to read and write by the deacon, like your father and me. Tell me, are you serving now in the Horse Guards?” asked the old man, looking closely and intently at Anatole.
“No, I have transferred into the line,” answered Anatole, with difficulty restraining his laughter.
“Ah! a good thing. So you want to serve your Tsar and your country, do you? These are times of war. Such a fine young fellow ought to be on service, he ought to be on service. Ordered to the front, eh?”
“No, prince, our regiment has gone to the front. But I'm attached. What is it I'm attached to, papa?” Anatole turned to his father with a laugh.
“He is a credit to the service, a credit. What is it I'm attached to! Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the old prince, and Anatole laughed still louder. Suddenly the old prince frowned. “Well, you can go,” he said to Anatole. With a smile Anatole returned to the ladies.
“So you had him educated abroad, Prince Vassily? Eh?” said the old prince to Prince Vassily.
“I did what I could, and I assure you the education there is far better than ours.”
“Yes, nowadays everything's different, everything's new-fashioned. A fine fellow! a fine fellow! Well, come to my room.” He took Prince Vassily's arm and led him away to his study.
Left alone with the old prince, Prince Vassily promptly made known to him his wishes and his hopes.
“Why, do you imagine,” said the old prince wrathfully, “that I keep her, that I can't part with her? What an idea!” he protested angrily. “I am ready for it to-morrow! Only, I tell you, I want to know my future son-in-law better. You know my principles: everything open! To-morrow I will ask her in your presence; if she wishes it, let him stay on. Let him stay on, and I'll see.” The prince snorted. “Let her marry, it's nothing to me,” he screamed in the piercing voice in which he had screamed at saying good-bye to his son.
“I will be frank with you,” said Prince Vassily in the tone of a crafty man, who is convinced of the uselessness of being crafty with so penetrating a companion. “You see right through people, I know. Anatole is not a genius, but a straightforward, good-hearted lad, good as a son or a kinsman.”
“Well, well, very good, we shall see.”
As is always the case with women who have for a long while been living a secluded life apart from masculine society, on the appearance of Anatole on the scene, all the three women in Prince Nikolay Andreivitch's house felt alike that their life had not been real life till then. Their powers of thought, of feeling, of observation, were instantly redoubled. It seemed as though their life had till then been passed in darkness, and was all at once lighted up by a new brightness that was full of significance.
Princess Marya did not remember her face and her coiffure. The handsome, open face of the man who might, perhaps, become her husband, absorbed her whole attention. She thought him kind, brave, resolute, manly, and magnanimous. She was convinced of all that. Thousands of dreams of her future married life were continually floating into her imagination. She drove them away and tried to disguise them.
“But am I not too cold with him?” thought Princess Marya. “I try to check myself, because at the bottom of my heart I feel myself too close to him. But of course he doesn't know all I think of him, and may imagine I don't like him.”
And she tried and knew not how to be cordial to him.
“The poor girl is devilish ugly,” Anatole was thinking about her.
Mademoiselle Bourienne, who had also been thrown by Anatole's arrival into a high state of excitement, was absorbed in reflections of a different order. Naturally, a beautiful young girl with no defined position in society, without friends or relations, without even a country of her own, did not look forward to devoting her life to waiting on Prince Nikolay Andreivitch, to reading him books and being a friend to Princess Marya. Mademoiselle Bourienne had long been looking forward to the Russian prince, who would have the discrimination to discern her superiority to the ugly, badly dressed, ungainly Russian princesses—who would fall in love with her and bear her away. And now this Russian prince at last had come. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew a story she had heard from her aunt, and had finished to her own taste, which she loved to go over in her own imagination. It was the story of how a girl had been seduced, and her poor mother (sa pauvre mère) had appeared to her and reproached her for yielding to a man's allurements without marriage. Mademoiselle was often touched to tears, as in imagination she told “him,” her seducer, this tale. Now this “he,” a real Russian prince, had appeared. He would elope with her, then “my poor mother” would come on the scene, and he would marry her. This was how all her future history shaped itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's brain at the very moment when she was talking to him of Paris. Mademoiselle Bourienne was not guided by calculations (she did not even consider for one instant what she would do), but it had all been ready within her long before, and now it all centred about Anatole as soon as he appeared, and she wished and tried to attract him as much as possible.
The little princess, like an old warhorse hearing the blast of the trumpet, was prepared to gallop off into a flirtation as her habit was, unconsciously forgetting her position, with no ulterior motive, no struggle, nothing but simple-hearted, frivolous gaiety in her heart.
Although in feminine society Anatole habitually took up the attitude of a man weary of the attentions of women, his vanity was agreeably flattered by the spectacle of the effect he produced on these three women. Moreover, he was beginning to feel towards the pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bourienne that violent, animal feeling, which was apt to come upon him with extreme rapidity, and to impel him to the coarsest and most reckless actions.
After tea the party moved into the divan-room, and Princess Marya was asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole leaned on his elbow facing her, and near Mademoiselle Bourienne, and his eyes were fixed on Princess Marya, full of laughter and glee. Princess Marya felt his eyes upon her with troubled and joyful agitation. Her favourite sonata bore her away to a world of soul-felt poetry, and the feeling of his eyes upon her added still more poetry to that world. The look in Anatole's eyes, though they were indeed fixed upon her, had reference not to her, but to the movements of Mademoiselle's little foot, which he was at that very time touching with his own under the piano. Mademoiselle Bourienne too was gazing at Princess Marya, and in her fine eyes, too, there was an expression of frightened joy and hope that was new to the princess.
“How she loves me!” thought Princess Marya. “How happy I am now and how happy I may be with such a friend and such a husband! Can he possibly be my husband?” she thought, not daring to glance at his face, but still feeling his eyes fastened upon her.
When the party broke up after supper, Anatole kissed Princess Marya's hand. She was herself at a loss to know how she had the hardihood, but she looked straight with her short-sighted eyes at the handsome face as it came close to her. After the princess, he bent over the hand of Mademoiselle Bourienne (it was a breach of etiquette, but he did everything with the same ease and simplicity) and Mademoiselle Bourienne crimsoned and glanced in dismay at the princess.
“Quelle délicatesse!” thought Princess Marya. “Can Amélie” (Mademoiselle's name) “suppose I could be jealous of her, and fail to appreciate her tenderness and devotion to me?” She went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne and kissed her warmly. Anatole went to the little princess.
“No, no, no! When your father writes me word that you are behaving well, I will give you my hand to kiss.” And shaking her little finger at him, she went smiling out of the room.
当公爵玛丽亚小姐走进屋里来的时候，瓦西里公爵和他的儿子已经呆在客厅里了，他们父子正跟矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐交谈。当她踮着后跟、拖着沉重的脚步走进来的时候，男人们和布里安小姐都欠起身子，矮小的公爵夫人在男人们面前指着她，说道：“VoilàMarie！”①公爵小姐玛丽亚看见众人，她看得非常仔细。她看见瓦西里公爵的面孔，在他看见她的时候，他脸上有一阵子显得严肃，但立即微微一笑。她还看见矮小的公爵夫人的面庞，公爵夫人怀着好奇的心情从客人们的脸上观察到玛丽给客人们造成的印象。她看见布里安小姐系着绸带，面容俊俏，把她那前所未有的兴奋的目光集中在他身上；但是公爵小姐没法看见他，她所看见的只是一个耀眼而漂亮的大块头，正当她走进来时向她身边靠拢。瓦西里公爵先走到她身边，她在他弯下腰来吻吻她的手的时候，吻了吻他的秃头，对他问的话作了回答，说她非但没有把他忘却，反而记得一清二楚。后来阿纳托利走到她跟前。她还没有望见他。她只感觉到一只温柔的手用力地握住她的手，她轻轻地碰了碰他那洁白的前额，额头上的淡褐色的秀发抹上了一层发蜡。当她望望他的时候，他的俊美的相貌使她大为惊讶。阿纳托利把右手的大拇指夹在制服钮扣后面，胸部向前挺起，背脊向后微倾，摇晃着一只伸出的腿，略微垂下头，默不作声，快活地望着公爵小姐，他显然完全没有去想她。阿纳托利在言谈方面并不机智，也不能言善辩，但是他倒具有交际场中认为可贵的那种泰然自若和以不变应万变的自信的本能。一个缺乏自信心的人初次与人结识时如果不作声，而又意识到沉默很不体面，想随便说说，那末，到头来一定不妙。但是阿纳托利沉默不言，摇晃着他的一条腿，喜悦地观赏公爵小姐的发型。可以看出，他能够这样久久地保持镇静和沉默。“假如这种沉默会使谁觉得很不自在，那就让他开腔吧，我可不愿意说话。”他那副模样仿佛这样说。除此而外，在与女人交往方面，阿纳托利具有一种轻视一切、凌驾于他人之上的派头。他这种派头最容易引起女人的好奇、恐惧、甚至爱慕。他那副模样仿佛在对她们说：“我知道你们，我知道，干嘛要跟你们打交道？你们可真会高兴极了！”也许他遇见女人时并没有想到这一点（十之八九他没有这种思想，因为他很少动脑筋思考），可是他竟有这样的神态，这样的派头。公爵小姐已经有了这种感觉，她仿佛要向他表白，她并没有想把他迷住的勇气，于是向老公爵转过脸去。大家都兴致勃勃地谈着一般的话题，这多亏矮小的公爵夫人的动听的嗓音和她那翘在洁白的牙齿外面的长着茸毛的小嘴唇，她用爱说话的快活人常用的戏谑方式接待瓦西里公爵，使用这种方式的先决条件是，交谈者之间具有一套早已定型的笑话，以及令人愉快的不为尽人皆知的可笑的回忆，而在事实上这种回忆是没有的，矮小的公爵夫人和瓦西里公爵之间也没有这样的回忆。瓦西里公爵心甘情愿地听从这种腔调的摆布，矮小的公爵夫人也引诱庶几不认识的阿纳托利来回忆一些从未发生的滑稽可笑的事情。布里安小姐也一同回忆这些虚构的往事，就连公爵小姐玛丽亚也高兴地感觉到她自己已被卷入这些令人愉快的回忆中了。 
①法语：这就是玛丽。
“您看，亲爱的公爵，我们现在至少要充分地享受您带来的欢乐，”矮小的公爵夫人对瓦西里公爵说，不言而喻，是用法国话说的，“这可不会像在安内特家中举办的晚会上那样了，您在那里总是溜之大吉，您还记得cettechereAnBnette！”①
“哎，您不要像安内特那样对我谈论政治啊！”
“可是，我们那张茶几呢？”
“噢，是的！”
“您干嘛从来不到安内特那里去呢？”矮小的公爵夫人向阿纳托利问道。“啊，我知道，我知道，”她使个眼色，说着，“您哥哥伊波利特把您的事讲给我听了。噢！”她伸出指头来威吓他。“我还知道您在巴黎闹的恶作剧啊！”
“而他——伊波利特没有告诉你吗？”瓦西里公爵说道（把脸转向儿子，一把抓住公爵夫人的手），仿佛她想溜掉，仿佛她想溜掉，他差点儿没有把她留住似的，“他却没有告诉你，他自己——伊波利特，想这个可爱的公爵夫人想得苦恼不堪，而她lemettaitlaote？”②”？
“Oh！C'estlaperledesfemmes，princesse！”③他把脸转向公爵小姐说道。 
①法语：这个可爱的安内特吧。
②法语：把他赶出家门了。
③法语：公爵小姐，咳，这是妇女中的一个最可贵的人。
布里安小姐一听到巴黎这个词，就不放过机会，也参与大家回忆往事的谈话。
她竟敢问到阿纳托利是不是离开巴黎很久了，他喜不喜欢这个城市。阿纳托利很乐意地回答这个法国女人提出的问题，他面露微笑地打量着她。和她谈论有关她祖国的情形。阿纳托利看见貌美的布里安小姐之后，心中就断定，童山这个地方是不会令人感到寂寞的。“长得很不错！”他一面想道，一面望着她。“这个demoiselledécompagnie①长得很不错。我希望在她嫁给我时，把她带到身边来，”他想了想，“lapetiteestgentille。”② 
①法语：女伴。
②法语：长得很不错，很不错。
老公爵在书斋里不慌不忙地穿上衣服，蹙起额角，周密地考虑他要怎样对付。这些客人的到来使他恼怒了。“瓦西里公爵和他的爱子与我何干？瓦西里公爵是个胸无点墨的吹牛家，儿子，得啦，未必能成材。”他暗自唠叨地说。惹他生气的是，这些客人的到来在他心灵中掀起一个悬而未决的经常搁置的问题，即是老公爵一贯自我欺骗的那个问题。这个问题就在于，他是否有决心在某个时候和公爵小姐玛丽亚断绝来往，让她出阁。公爵从来下不了决心向自己直截了当地提出这个问题，因为他事先知道，他会公平合理地回答这个问题，而公平合理的做法和他的感情相抵触，尤其是和他的谋生的才能相抵触。虽然他似乎不太珍惜公爵小姐玛丽亚，但是缺乏她，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵的生活是不可思议的。
“她为什么要嫁人呢？”他想，“想必是个不幸的女人。你看，丽莎嫁给安德烈（目下似乎很难找到更好的丈夫），她满意她自己的命运么？谁会出于爱慕而娶她为妻呢？她长得难看，又笨拙。有人准会为了关系和财富而娶她为妻的。难道就不能继续过处女生活吗？那更幸福啊！”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵一面穿衣服，一面这么想。可是那个束之高阁的问题却要求立刻加以解决。瓦西里公爵把他的儿子带来了，很明显是有求婚的打算，也许就是今天或明天要求率直的回答。名望和社会地位还不错。“好吧，我就不反对，”老公爵喃喃自语地说，“但愿他配得上她。我们要看的正是这一层。”
“我们要看的正是这一层，”他大声地说，“我们要看的正是这一层。”
他像平日那样，迈着矫健的脚步走进客厅，飞快地向众人扫了一眼，他看见矮小的公爵夫人的一件换了的连衣裙、布里安系着的绸带、玛丽亚公爵小姐的难看的发式、布里安和阿纳托利流露的微笑、他自己的公爵小姐在众人谈话中的孤独。“她打扮得像个蠢货！”他愤恨地朝女儿瞟了一眼，心里想了想，“毫无廉耻！他根本不想和她交往！”
他走到瓦西里公爵面前。
“啊，你好，你好，看见你，我真高兴。”
“为了看看好朋友，多绕七里路也不嫌远，”瓦西里公爵开口说道，像平常那样，他说得很快，充满自信，而且亲切。
“这是我的第二个儿子，请您垂爱照拂。”
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵望了望阿纳托利。
“好样的，好样的！”他说道，“喂，你来吻吻我吧。”他于是向他伸出面颊。
阿纳托利吻了吻老头，好奇地、十分冷静地望着他，等待着，看他父亲的怪脾气会不会马上发作。
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵坐在他平常坐的长沙发角上，替瓦西里公爵把安乐椅移到自己身边，指了指安乐椅，便开始询问政治事件和新闻。他仿佛聚精会神地聆听瓦西里公爵的讲话，但又不停地注视公爵小姐玛丽亚。
“这么说，是从波茨坦写来的信吗？”他重复瓦西里公爵最后说的一句话，忽然站立起来，走到他女儿面前。
“你为客人们才这样打扮，是吗？”他说道，“好看，很好看。客人们在场，看见你梳个新颖的发式，我却要在客人面前告诉你，未经我许可，你以后不得擅自改变衣着。”
“monpeve，①这是我的罪过。”矮小的公爵夫人面红耳赤，为她鸣不平。 
①法语：爸爸。
“随您的便，”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵说道，在儿媳妇面前并足致礼，“她用不着丑化自己，本来就够丑的了。”
他又坐到原来的位子上，不再去理会给惹得双眼流泪的女儿。
“对公爵小姐来说，这个发式倒是很合适的。”瓦西里公爵说道。
“啊，老兄，年轻的公爵叫什么名字？”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇把脸转向阿纳托利，说道，“请到这里来，我们谈谈，认识一下。”
“是开始娱乐的时候了。”阿纳托利想了想，面露微笑，在老公爵身边坐下来。
“听我说，我亲爱的，据说您是在国外接受教育的。我和您父亲不一样，教我们识字的是个教堂的执事。我亲爱的，请您说给我听，您今儿在骑兵近卫军供职吗？”老头子靠近阿纳托利，目不转睛地望着他，问道。
“不，我已经调到陆军来了。”阿纳托利答道，勉强忍住了，没有笑出声来。
“啊！这是件好事。我亲爱的，怎么样？您愿意为沙皇和祖国效劳吗？目前是战争时期。这样一个英俊的小伙子应当服役，应当服役。上前线，怎样？”
“不，公爵。我们的兵团出动了。可我只是挂个名。爸爸，我在哪个编制内挂名呀？”阿纳托利放声大笑，把脸转向父亲，说道。
“干得挺不错，挺不错。我在哪个编制内挂名呀！哈——
哈——哈！”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵笑了起来。
阿纳托利的笑声更响亮。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵忽然皱起了眉头。
“也好，你去吧。”他对阿纳托利说。
阿纳托利含着笑意又走到女士们跟前。
“瓦西里公爵，要知道你是在国外培养他们的，是吗？”老公爵把脸转向瓦西里公爵时，说道。
“当时我尽力而为，我告诉您，那里的教育比我们的教育办得好得多。”
“是啊，现在什么都不一样了，什么都要按新方式来办理。
英俊的小伙子，棒小伙子！喂，到我那里去吧。”
他挽着瓦西里公爵的手，把他领进了书斋。
瓦西里公爵和老公爵单独留下来之后，他马上向他表明自己的意向和希望。
“你竟以为，”老公爵气忿地说，“我把她留在身边，不能和她断绝往来吗？有人会这样想象！”他怒气冲冲地说。“即令是明天分手我也不在乎！我告诉你的只是，我要熟悉女婿的情形。你知道我的规矩：一切都直言不讳！我明日在你面前来问问，只要她愿意，就让他多住些日子。让他多住些日子，我看个究竟。”公爵气呼呼地说。“让她嫁出去，我横竖一样。”他用他和儿子离别时常用的刺耳的嗓音喊道。
“我率直地告诉您，”瓦西里公爵说道，那腔调就像一个狡猾的人确信他在交谈者的洞察之下用不着耍滑头似的。“您真是把人看透了。阿纳托利并不是天才，却是个诚实而善良的小伙子，挺好的儿子和亲人。”
“嗯，嗯，好的，我们以后看得出来。”
正如孤单的女人长期在缺少男伴的生活中常见的情形那样，阿纳托利一出现，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵家中的三个女人都同样地感觉到，在这时以前她们的生活简直不是生活。她们的思考、感觉和洞察能力顿时增强了十倍，她们以前仿佛在黑暗中度过的生活忽然被那前所未有的充满现实意义的光辉照亮了。
公爵小姐玛丽亚根本不在思忖，也不记得她自己的面孔和发式。那个未来也许是她的丈夫的人的俊美而且显得坦率的面孔吸引着她的全部注意力。她仿佛觉得他很慈善、英勇、坚定、豁达，而且富有男子气概。她对这一点是坚信不疑的。千个未来家庭生活的幻影在她想象中不断地出现。她驱散这些幻影，极力把它们隐藏起来。
“不过我对他是不是太冷淡了？”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道，“我极力地克制自己，因为我在灵魂深处觉得自己和他太接近了，可是他真的不知道我对他有什么想法，他可能在想象中以为我很讨厌他。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚尽力地盛情招待新来的客人，可是她不在行。
“Lapauvrvefille！Elleestdiablementlaide，”①阿纳托利心中想着她。 
①法语：可怜的女郎！长得像鬼一般丑陋。
阿纳托利的来临也使得布里安小姐极度兴奋，不过她的想法有所不同了。当然，这个年轻而貌美的女郎没有一定的社会地位，没有亲戚朋友，甚至没有自己的祖国，她不想献出她的一生去侍候尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵，替他朗读一本一本的书，并与公爵小姐玛丽亚结成知己。布里安小姐很早就在等待一个俄国公爵，这个俄国公爵立即看清她优越于那帮丑陋、衣着不美观、笨手笨脚的俄国公爵小姐，他必将钟情于她，并且将她带走。现在这个俄国公爵终于来到了。布里安小姐曾经听她姑母叙述一段故事，故事是由她亲自续完的，她喜欢在想象中重述这个故事。故事中提到一个受引诱的女郎，她那可怜的母亲（sapauvremère）在她眼前出现，责备她，因为她未经结婚就与一个男人发生性关系。布里安小姐在想象中给他——勾引者——叙述这段故事时，时常感动得双眼流泪。此刻这个他，真正的俄国公爵，出现了。他要将她带走，后来mapauvremère来了，他于是娶她为妻。当布里安小姐跟他谈论巴黎时，在她头脑中逐渐地形成她的未来的全部经历。不是有什么打算指引着布里安小姐（她甚至连一分钟也没有考虑她要怎么办），而是这一切早已在她心灵中酝酿成熟了，现在只须在眼前出现的阿纳托利周围加以集中起来，她希望他会喜欢她，而且尽可能地引起他的爱慕。
矮小的公爵夫人就像兵团的一匹老马似的，一听见号声，就不自觉地习惯于准备飞奔，她连自己怀孕的事也置之脑后，很快就卖弄起风骚来了，好在她别无用心，亦无内在的斗争，只是怀有一种轻浮而稚气的愉快情绪而已。
虽然阿纳托利在这帮女人中常使他自己处于那样一种地位，就像某人被女人追逐而觉得厌烦一样，但是他看见他对这三个女人已产生影响，于是感到虚荣心的满足。此外，他开始对这个俊俏而爱挑衅的布里安怀有一种狂热的兽性的感觉，这种感觉产生得异常神速，促使他采取最大胆的粗暴的行动。
饮茶完毕，这群人走进休息室，他们都请公爵小姐弹弹击弦古钢琴，阿纳托利靠近布里安小姐，他在公爵小姐玛丽亚面前支撑着臂肘，一对眼睛含着笑意，欢快地注视着她。公爵小姐玛丽亚怀着痛楚、喜悦而又激动的心情，觉察到向她投射的目光。一支她所喜爱的奏鸣曲把她带进沁人肺腑的诗的领域，而那个被她觉察到的向她投射的目光，却给这个领域增添了更多的诗情。但是阿纳托利的视线虽说是集中在她身上，被注意的却不是她，而是布里安小姐那只小脚的动作，他正用他的一只脚在击弦古钢琴下面碰碰她的那只小脚。布里安小姐也瞅着公爵小姐，公爵小姐玛丽亚在她那对美丽的眸子里觉察到也有一种前所未有的惊喜而又充满希望的表情。
“她多么爱我！”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道。“现在我多么幸福，我有这样一个朋友和这样一个丈夫会是多么幸福！难道他会成为丈夫吗？”她想道，却不敢朝他脸上望一眼，老是觉察到那种凝视她的目光。
夜晚，晚饭后大家开始四散的时候，阿纳托利吻了吻公爵小姐的手。她自己并不知道，她怎么能够鼓足勇气，直勾勾地望望凑近她那对近视眼的美丽的面孔。他从公爵小姐身边走开后，又前去吻吻布里安小姐的手（这是不够体面的，但他却随便而又自信地这样做了），布里安小姐涨红了脸，惊恐地瞧瞧公爵小姐。
“Quelledelicatesse，”①公爵小姐想了想。“难道阿梅莉（有人这样称呼布里安小姐）以为，我会吃她的醋，就不去赏识她对我的纯洁的温情和忠诚吗？”她走到布里安小姐面前，使劲地吻吻她。阿纳托利向前走去吻吻矮小的公爵夫人的手。
“Non，non，non！Quandvotrepèrem'écriraque
vousvousconduisezbien，jevousdonneraimamainàbaiser，Pasavant。”② 
①法语：多么和蔼可亲。
②法语：不，不，不！当您父亲写信告诉我，说您表现得蛮好，我才让您吻吻我的手。先吻就不行。
她向上伸出指头，微露笑容，从房里走出去了。
Book 3 Chapter 5
THEY ALL WENT to their rooms, and except Anatole, who fell asleep the instant he got into bed, no one could get to sleep for a long while that night. “Can he possibly be—my husband, that stranger, that handsome, kind man; yes, he is certainly kind,” thought Princess Marya, and a feeling of terror, such as she scarcely ever felt, came upon her. She was afraid to look round; it seemed to her that there was some one there—the devil, and he was that man with his white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips.
She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her room.
Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and down the winter garden for a long while that evening, in vain expectation of some one; at one moment she was smiling at that some one, the next, moved to tears by an imaginary reference to ma pauvre mère reproaching her for her fall.
The little princess kept grumbling to her maid that her bed had not been properly made. She could not lie on her side nor on her face. She felt uncomfortable and ill at ease in every position. Her burden oppressed her, oppressed her more than ever that night, because Anatole's presence had carried her vividly back to another time when it was not so, and she had been light and gay. She sat in a low chair in her nightcap and dressing-jacket. Katya, sleepy and dishevelled, for the third time beat and turned the heavy feather bed, murmuring something.
“I told you it was all in lumps and hollows,” the little princess repeated; “I should be glad enough to go to sleep, so it's not my fault.”
And her voice quivered like a child's when it is going to cry.
The old prince too could not sleep. Tihon, half asleep, heard him pacing angrily up and down and blowing his nose. The old prince felt as though he had been insulted through his daughter. The insult was the more bitter because it concerned not himself, but another, his daughter, whom he loved more than himself. He said to himself that he would think the whole matter over thoroughly and decide what was right and what must be done, but instead of doing so, he only worked up his irritation more and more.
“The first stray comer that appears! and father and all forgotten, and she runs upstairs, and does up her hair, and rigs herself out, and doesn't know what she's doing! She's glad to abandon her father! And she knew I should notice it. Fr…fr…fr…And don't I see the fool has no eyes but for Bourienne (must get rid of her). And how can she have so little pride, as not to see it? If not for her own sake, if she has no pride, at least for mine. I must show her that the blockhead doesn't give her a thought, and only looks at Bourienne. She has no pride, but I'll make her see it…”
By telling his daughter that she was making a mistake, that Anatole was getting up a flirtation with Mademoiselle Bourienne, the old prince knew that he would wound her self-respect, and so his object (not to be parted from his daughter) would be gained, and so at this reflection he grew calmer. He called Tihon and began undressing.
“The devil brought them here!” he thought, as Tihon slipped his nightshirt over his dried-up old body and his chest covered with grey hair.
“I didn't invite them. They come and upset my life. And there's not much of it left. Damn them!” he muttered, while his head was hidden in the nightshirt. Tihon was used to the prince's habit of expressing his thoughts aloud, and so it was with an unmoved countenance that he met the wrathful and inquiring face that emerged from the nightshirt.
“Gone to bed?” inquired the prince.
Tihon, like all good valets, indeed, knew by instinct the direction of his master's thoughts. He guessed that it was Prince Vassily and his son who were meant.
“Their honours have gone to bed and put out their lights, your excellency.”
“They had no reason, no reason…” the prince articulated rapidly, and slipping his feet into his slippers and his arms into his dressing-gown, he went to the couch on which he always slept.
Although nothing had been said between Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne, they understood each other perfectly so far as the first part of the romance was concerned, the part previous to the pauvre mère episode. They felt that they had a great deal to say to each other in private, and so from early morning they sought an opportunity of meeting alone. While the princess was away, spending her hour as usual with her father, Mademoiselle Bourienne was meeting Anatole in the winter garden.
That day it was with even more than her usual trepidation that Princess Marya went to the door of the study. It seemed to her not only that every one was aware that her fate would be that day decided, but that all were aware of what she was feeling about it. She read it in Tihon's face and in the face of Prince Vassily's valet, who met her in the corridor with hot water, and made her a low bow.
The old prince's manner to his daughter that morning was extremely affectionate, though strained. That strained expression Princess Marya knew well. It was the expression she saw in his face at the moments when his withered hands were clenched with vexation at Princess Marya's not understanding some arithmetical problem, and he would get up and walk away from her, repeating the same words over several times in a low voice.
He came to the point at once and began talking. “A proposal has been made to me on your behalf,” he said, with an unnatural smile. “I dare say, you have guessed,” he went on “that Prince Vassily has not come here and brought his protégé” (for some unknown reason the old prince elected to refer to Anatole in this way) “for the sake of my charms. Yesterday, they made me a proposal on your behalf. And as you know my principles, I refer the matter to you.”
“How am I to understand you, mon père?” said the princess, turning pale and red.
“How understand me!” cried her father angrily. “Prince Vassily finds you to his taste as a daughter-in-law, and makes you a proposal for his protégé. That's how to understand it. How understand it!… Why, I ask you.”
“I don't know how you, mon père…” the princess articulated in a whisper.
“I? I? what have I to do with it? leave me out of the question. I am not going to be married. What do you say? that's what it's desirable to learn.”
The princess saw that her father looked with ill-will on the project, but at that instant the thought had occurred to her that now or never the fate of her life would be decided. She dropped her eyes so as to avoid the gaze under which she felt incapable of thought, and capable of nothing but her habitual obedience: “My only desire is to carry out your wishes,” she said; “if I had to express my own desire…”
She had not time to finish. The prince cut her short. “Very good, then!” he shouted. “He shall take you with your dowry, and hook on Mademoiselle Bourienne into the bargain. She'll be his wife, while you…” The prince stopped. He noticed the effect of these words on his daughter. She had bowed her head and was beginning to cry.
“Come, come, I was joking, I was joking,” he said. “Remember one thing, princess; I stick to my principles, that a girl has a full right to choose. And I give you complete freedom. Remember one thing; the happiness of your life depends on your decision. No need to talk about me.”
“But I don't know…father.”
“No need for talking! He's told to, and he's ready to marry any one, but you are free to choose.… Go to your own room, think it over, and come to me in an hour's time and tell me in his presence: yes or no. I know you will pray over it. Well, pray if you like. Only you'd do better to think. You can go.”
“Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!” he shouted again as the princess went out of the room, reeling in a sort of fog. Her fate was decided, and decided for happiness. But what her father had said about Mademoiselle Bourienne, that hint was horrible. It was not true, of course, but still it was horrible; she could not help thinking of it. She walked straight forward through the winter garden, seeing and hearing nothing, when all of a sudden she was roused by the familiar voice of Mademoiselle Bourienne. She lifted her eyes, and only two paces before her she saw Anatole with his arms round the Frenchwoman, whispering something to her. With a terrible expression on his handsome face, Anatole looked round at Princess Marya, and did not for the first second let go the waist of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who had not seen her.
“Who's there? What do you want? Wait a little!” was what Anatole's face expressed. Princess Marya gazed blankly at them. She could not believe her eyes. At last Mademoiselle Bourienne shrieked and ran away. With a gay smile Anatole bowed to Princess Marya, as though inviting her to share his amusement at this strange incident, and with a shrug of his shoulders he went to the door that led to his apartment.
An hour later Tihon came to summon Princess Marya to the old prince, and added that Prince Vassily was with him. When Tihon came to her, Princess Marya was sitting on the sofa in her own room holding in her arms the weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Marya was softly stroking her head. Her beautiful eyes had regained all their luminous peace, and were gazing with tender love and commiseration at the pretty little face of Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“Oh, princess, I am ruined for ever in your heart,” Mademoiselle Bourienne was saying.
“Why? I love you more than ever,” said Princess Marya, “and I will try to do everything in my power for your happiness.”
“But you despise me, you who are so pure, you will never understand this frenzy of passion. Ah, it is only my poor mother …”
“I understand everything,” said Princess Marya, smiling mournfully. “Calm yourself, my dear. I am going to my father,” she said, and she went out.
When the princess went in, Prince Vassily was sitting with one leg crossed high over the other, and a snuff-box in his hand. There was a smile of emotion on his face, and he looked as though moved to such an extreme point that he could but regret and smile at his own sensibility. He took a hasty pinch of snuff.
“Ah, my dear, my dear!” he said, getting up and taking her by both hands. He heaved a sigh, and went on: “My son's fate is in your hands. Decide, my good dear, sweet Marie, whom I have always loved like a daughter.” He drew back. There was a real tear in his eye.
“Fr … ffr …” snorted the old prince. “The prince in his protégé's … his son's name makes you a proposal. Are you willing or not to be the wife of Prince Anatole Kuragin? You say: yes or no,” he shouted, “and then I reserve for myself the right to express my opinion. Yes, my opinion, and nothing but my opinion,” added the old prince, to Prince Vassily in response to his supplicating expression, “Yes or no!”
“My wish, mon père, is never to leave you; never to divide my life from yours. I do not wish to marry,” she said resolutely, glancing with her beautiful eyes at Prince Vassily and at her father.
“Nonsense, fiddlesticks! Nonsense, nonsense!” shouted the old prince, frowning. He took his daughter's hand, drew her towards him and did not kiss her, but bending over, touched her forehead with his, and wrung the hand he held so violently that she winced and uttered a cry. Prince Vassily got up.
“My dear, let me tell you that this is a moment I shall never forget, never; but, dear, will you not give us a little hope of touching so kind and generous a heart. Say that perhaps.… The future is so wide.… Say: perhaps.”
“Prince, what I have said is all that is in my heart. I thank you for the honour you do me, but I shall never be your son's wife.”
“Well, then it's all over, my dear fellow. Very glad to have seen you, very glad to have seen you. Go to your room, princess; go along now,” said the old prince. “Very, very glad to have seen you,” he repeated, embracing Prince Vassily.
“My vocation is a different one,” Princess Marya was thinking to herself; “my vocation is to be happy in the happiness of others, in the happiness of love and self-sacrifice. And at any cost I will make poor Amélie happy. She loves him so passionately. She is so passionately penitent. I will do everything to bring about their marriage. If he is not rich I will give her means, I will beg my father, I will beg Andrey. I shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is so unhappy, a stranger, solitary and helpless! And, my God, how passionately she must love him to be able to forget herself so. Perhaps I might have done the same!…” thought Princess Marya.
大家都四散了，除开阿纳托利一上床就立刻睡着而外，这一夜没有谁不是很久才入睡的。 
“难道他——这个陌生、貌美而又慈善的男人就是我的丈夫吗？主要的是，他很慈善，”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道，一种她几乎从未感觉到的恐惧把她控制住了。她害怕向四面打量，她仿佛觉得有人站帏围屏后面昏暗的角落。而这个人就是他——魔鬼，而他就是这个额头雪白、眉毛乌黑、嘴唇绯红的男人。
她按铃把侍女喊来，要侍女在她房里睡觉。
这天夜里布里安小姐在花房里来回地踱了很久，徒然地等待某人，她时而面对某人微笑，时而竟被想象中的pauvremere（可怜的母亲）责备她堕落的话语感动得双眼流泪。
矮小的公爵夫人对着侍女说埋怨话，埋怨她没有把床铺好，她觉得侧卧不行，仰卧也不行，睡起来总是难受，很不自在。她的怀孕的肚子妨碍她了。现在比任何时候更加碍事，阿纳托利在她面前，使她更为生动地回想起往日的韶光，当时她身未怀胎，觉得什么都轻松愉快。她穿着一件短上衣，戴着一顶睡帽，坐在安乐椅上。卡佳的辫发散乱，睡意正浓，一面嘟哝着，一面第三次抖松和翻转沉重的绒毛褥子。
“我跟你说过，到处都是凹凸不平的，”矮小的公爵夫人反复地说，“我倒高高兴兴地睡着哩，可见不是我的过失。”她像个想哭的儿童似的，嗓音颤抖起来了。
老公爵也没有睡觉。吉洪在睡梦中听见他很愤怒地踱着方步，发出鼻嗤声。老公爵觉得他为女儿蒙受屈辱。这是最大的屈辱，因为蒙受屈辱的不是他自己，而是别人，是他疼爱得甚于他自己的女儿。他对自己说，他要反复思量这整个问题，如发现它是正确的，就应该处理，可是他没有这样做，他只是使他自己更加忿怒而已。
“只要遇见头一个男人，就把父亲，把一切忘得干干净净，她跑着，梳好头发，摇动尾巴，不成样子了！抛弃父亲才高兴啦！她明明知道，我会看得出来的。呸……呸……呸……我难道看不见，这个笨蛋只是盯着布里安（应当把她撵走）！缺乏自尊感，哪能明白这一点！既然没有自尊感，顾不着自己也罢，至少也要顾全我的人格。应当给她讲明白，这个笨蛋没有去想她，只是盯着布里安。她没有自尊感，可我要给她讲明这一点……”
老公爵告诉女儿，说她正误入歧途，阿纳托利存心追求布里安，老公爵知道，他将会损害公爵小姐玛丽亚的自尊心，他的事儿（不愿离开他女儿）也就能办成，因此他就安下心来。他喊了一声吉洪，开始脱衣裳。
“鬼让他们到这里来！”当吉洪给他这个干瘦的胸前长满斑白汗毛的老头身上披起一件睡衣的时候，他心中想道。“我没有邀请他们。他们来破坏我的生活，我所剩下的日子并不多了。”
“见鬼去吧！”当他的头还套在睡衣里的时候，他说道。
吉洪知道公爵有时候会有出声地表达思维的习惯，所以在公爵把脸从睡衣里露出来时，他仍然面不变色，与他那疑问而恼怒的目光相遇。
“他们都睡了吗？”公爵问道。
吉洪就像所有的好仆役那样，专凭嗅觉就知道老爷的思想倾向。他已猜中老爷要问的就是瓦西里公爵和他的儿子。
“大人，他们都睡了，连灯也熄了。”
“不必，不必……”公爵很快地说道，他把脚伸进便鞋里，把手伸进长衫里，向他睡的长沙发走去。
虽然阿纳托利和布里安小姐之间什么都没有谈妥，但是在那pauvremere抵达之前，他们对恋爱初阶的意义，彼此都是完全了解的，他们心里也了解，他们要在私下多多交谈，因此从清晨起他们就去寻找两人单独会面的机会。而当公爵小姐在平时规定的时刻去看父亲的时候，布里安小姐便和阿纳托利在温室里相会。
是日，公爵小姐玛丽亚不寻常地哆嗦着走到书斋门口。她仿佛觉得，不仅人人都晓得今日就要决定她的命运，而且都晓得她对这件事有什么想法。从吉洪的脸上，从瓦西里公爵的近侍的脸上，她都能看到这种表情，正在此时瓦西里公爵的近侍手上提着热水在走廊里遇见她，并且向她深深地行了一鞠躬礼。
这天早上老公爵对女儿表示特别殷勤和关心的态度。这是公爵小姐玛丽亚心里十分清楚的。每逢公爵小姐玛丽亚不懂算术题，公爵烦恼得把那双干瘦的手紧紧地握成拳头，站立起来，从她身边走开，并且用他那低沉的嗓音将一句同样的话重说数遍的时候，他脸上才流露出这种表情。
他立刻开始谈论正经事，说话时用“您”称呼。
“有人在我面前向您求婚，”他说道，不自然地露出微笑。
“我想，您猜中了，”他继续说，“瓦西里公爵到这里来了，随身带来一个他培养的人（尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵不知怎的竟然把阿纳托利称为接受培养的人），目的不是一饱我的眼福。昨天他们在我面前向您求过婚。因为您知道我的规矩，所以我就来跟您商量一下。”
“monpeve（父亲），我怎样才能理解您的意思？”公爵小姐脸上红一阵，白一阵，她这样说。
“怎样才能理解呀！”父亲怒气冲冲地喊道。“瓦西里公爵照他自己的口味找你做个儿媳妇，替他培养的人向你求婚。就是要这么理解。怎么理解吗？！由我来问你。”
“monpeve，我不知道您要怎么样。”公爵小姐轻言细语地说。
“我？我？我怎么样？甭管我吧。又不是我要嫁人。您怎么样，就是要知道这点。”
公爵小姐看见父亲不怀好意地看待这件事，但是就在那同一瞬间她心中想到，她一生的命运或者是现在决定，或者是永远不能决定。她垂下眼帘，想不和父亲的目光相遇，在他的目光影响下，他觉得她不能思索，只能习惯地唯唯诺诺，她说道：
“我所希望的只有一点——履行您的意旨，”她说。“假如要我表示自己的愿望……”
她还没有来得及说完，公爵就打断了她的话。
“妙极了！”他喊道。“他要把你连同嫁妆一起带走，顺带也把布里安小姐带走。她以后当个太太，而你……”
公爵停了下来。他发现这席话对女儿所产生的影响。她低下头，想要哭出声来。
“也罢，也罢，我在开玩笑，我在开玩笑，”他说。“要记住一点，公爵小姐，我遵守那种做人的原则，少女有选择对象的充分权利。我赐予你以自由。要记住一点：你一生的幸福有赖于你作出的决定。关于我是没有什么可说的。”
“monpeve，不过我不知道……”
“没有什么可说的！他由他们吩咐，他不仅可以娶你为妻，也可以娶他想娶的任何人为妻，而你有选择对象的自由……你回到自己房间里去，慎重地考虑考虑，一小时之后到我这里来，当他的面说给他听：嫁还是不嫁。我知道你将要祈祷，好吧，你就祈祷吧。只不过要好好考虑。你去吧。”
“嫁还是不嫁，嫁还是不嫁，嫁还是不嫁！”公爵小姐俨如置身迷雾之中，摇摇晃晃地走出了书斋，这时他还在大声喊着。
她的命运已经决定了，而且是福星高照。但是关于布里安小姐，父亲说了一席话，这是令人生畏的暗示。假定说，这不是实话，但毕竟令人生畏，她不能不想这件事。她穿过温室迳直地向前走去，什么也望不见，什么也听不见，可是骤然间，她所熟悉的布里安小姐的耳语声把她惊醒了。她抬起眼睛，在离自己身边两步路远的地方望见了阿纳托利，他正在拥抱那个法国女郎，对她轻声说了些什么。阿纳托利的清秀的脸上流露着可怖的神态，他回头望望公爵小姐玛丽亚，那一瞬间他没有松开搂抱布里安小姐腰部的手，她没有望见公爵小姐玛丽亚。
“谁在这儿？为什么？请您等一下！”阿纳托利那张脸仿佛在说话。公爵小姐玛丽亚沉默地望着他们。她不能明白这一点。布里安小姐终于惊叫一声，跑开了。阿纳托利愉快地微笑，向公爵小姐玛丽亚行个鞠躬礼，仿佛要请她嘲笑这件怪事似的，他耸了耸肩，便向通往他的卧室的门口走去。
一小时之后，吉洪来喊公爵小姐玛丽亚。他喊她去见公爵，并且补充说瓦西里·谢尔盖伊奇公爵也在那里。正当吉洪走来的时候，公爵小姐坐在自己房里的长沙发上，拥抱着嚎啕大哭的布里安小姐。公爵小姐玛丽亚轻轻抚摸着她的头。公爵小姐那对美丽的眼睛炯炯发光，像从前一样十分恬静，含有温存的爱抚和惋惜之情，注视着布里安小姐那美丽的小脸蛋。
“Non，Privncesse，jesuisperduepourtoujoursdansvotrecoeur．”①布里安小姐说道。
“pourquoi？Jevousaimeplus，quejamais．”公爵小姐玛丽亚说道，“etjetacheraidefairetoutcequiestenmonpouvoirpourvotrebonheur．”②
“Maisvousmeméprisez，voussipure，vousnecomprendrezjamaiscete'garementdelapassionAh，cenéstquemapauvremère…”③
“Jecomprendstout，”④公爵小姐玛丽亚一面愁闷地微笑，一面答道，“我的朋友，您放心。我到父亲那里去。”她说完这句话，就出去了。 
①法语：公爵小姐，我永远丧失了您的欢心。
②法语：究竟为什么？我比以前任何时候都更爱您，我要为您的幸福竭力地做到取决于我的一切。
③法语：可是您会蔑视我的，您如此纯洁，您永远不能明白这种强烈的情欲的诱惑。啊，我可怜的母亲……
④我明白一切。
公爵小姐玛丽亚走进屋里来的时候，瓦西里公爵脸上流露着深受感动的微笑，坐在那里，高高地架起一条腿，手中拿着鼻烟壶，好像他深深地动了感情，好像他对自己的多愁善感表示遗憾，付之一笑。他连忙抓起一撮烟，搁进鼻孔里。
“Ah，mabonne，mabonne，”①他说道，站立起来，一把抓住她的两只手。他叹口气，补充说了一句：“Lesortdemonfilsestenvosmains．Decidez，mabonne，machère，madouceMarie，quej'aitoujoursaimée，commema
fille．”② 
①法语：啊，亲爱的，亲爱的。
②法语：您掌握我儿子的命运。我的可爱的、亲爱的、温柔的玛丽，您拿定主意，我总是像爱自己的女儿那样爱您。
他走开了。汪汪的泪水真从他的眼睛里流出来了。
“呸……呸……”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵发出鼻嗤声。
“公爵代表他培养的人……儿子，向你求婚。你愿意还是不愿意做阿纳托利·库拉金公爵的妻子？你开口说：嫁还是不嫁！”他高声喊道，“然后我保留发表我的意见的权利。是啊，我的意见也只是我的意见，”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵把脸转向瓦西里公爵，补充说一句，藉以回答他那央求的表情，“嫁还是不嫁？”
“monpéve，我的意愿是——永远不离开您，永远和您共同生活，不分家。我不想出嫁。”她睁着一对美丽的眼睛望望瓦西里公爵和父亲，坚定地说。
“胡说八道，蠢话！胡说八道，胡说八道，胡说八道！”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵蹙起额角，大声喊道。他一把抓住她的手，拉到自己身边来，没有吻它，只是把他自己的前额凑近她的前额，碰她一下，他握紧他正握着的那只手，她皱起眉头，尖叫一声。
瓦西里公爵站立起来。
“Machere，jevousdirai，quec'estunmonentquejen'oublieraijamais，jamais，mais，mabonne，est－cequevousnenousdonnerezpasunpeud'esperancedetouchercecoeursibon，sigénéreux．Dites，quepeut－être…L'avenirestsigrand．Ditespeut－être．”① 
①法语：亲爱的，我告诉您，我永远不能忘记这个时刻，但是，我的最慈爱的，让我们即令怀有一线希望去触动这颗仁慈而宽厚的心吧。您告诉我，也许……前途无量。您告诉我，也许。
“公爵，我所说的就是我心里要说的一切。我感谢您的诚意，赐予我荣幸，可是我永远不会做您儿子的妻子。”
“我亲爱的，得啦吧，要说的话说完了。看见你我很高兴，看见你我很高兴。到自己房里去吧，公爵小姐，去吧，”老公爵说道。“看见你我很——很高兴。”他一面拥抱瓦西里公爵，一面重说这句话。
“我的使命是另一种使命，”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道，“我的使命是借助另一种幸福，借助仁爱和自我牺牲的幸福使自己成为幸福的人。无论我付出何种代价，我都要替可怜的阿梅莉缔造幸福。她是那样酷爱他。她是那样沉痛地懊悔。我要竭尽全力为他们安排婚事。假如他不富裕，我就给她金钱，我要乞求于父亲，乞求于安德烈。假如她会成为他的妻子，我是何等幸福。她那样不幸，身居异地，孤立无援！我的天啊，既然她会把自己遗忘，可见她多么爱他。说不定，我也会做出同样的事！……”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道。
Book 3 Chapter 6
IT was a long while since the Rostovs had had news of their Nikolushka. But in the middle of the winter a letter was handed to Count Rostov, on the envelope of which he recognised his son's handwriting. On receiving the letter the count, in alarm and in haste, ran on tiptoe to his room, trying to escape notice, shut himself in and read the letter. Anna Mihalovna had learned (as she always did learn all that passed in the house) that he had received a letter, and treading softly, she went in to the count and found him with the letter in his hand, sobbing and laughing at once. Anna Mihalovna, though her fortunes had been looking up, was still an inmate of the Rostov household.
“My dear friend?” Anna Mihalovna brought out in a voice of melancholy inquiry, equally ready for sympathy in any direction. The count sobbed more violently
“Nikolushka … letter … wounded … he would … my dear … wounded … my darling boy … the little countess … promoted … thank God … how are we to tell the little countess?”
Anna Mihalovna sat down by his side, with her own handkerchief wiped the tears from his eyes and from the letter, then dried her own tears, read the letter, soothed the count, and decided that before dinner and before tea she would prepare the countess; and after tea, with God's help, tell her all. During dinner Anna Mihalovna talked of the rumours from the war, of dear Nikolay, inquired twice when his last letter had been received, though she knew perfectly well, and observed that they might well be getting a letter from him to-day. Every time that the countess began to be uneasy under these hints and looked in trepidation from the count to Anna Mihalovna, the latter turned the conversation in the most unnoticeable way to insignificant subjects. Natasha, who was of all the family the one most gifted with the faculty of catching the shades of intonations, of glances, and expressions, had been on the alert from the beginning of dinner, and was certain that there was some secret between her father and Anna Mihalovna, and that it had something to do with her brother, and that Anna Mihalovna was paving the way for it. Natasha knew how easily upset her mother was by any references to news from Nikolushka, and in spite of all her recklessness she did not venture at dinner to ask a question. But she was too much excited to eat any dinner and kept wriggling about on her chair, regardless of the protests of her governess. After dinner she rushed headlong to overtake Anna Mihalovna, and in the divan-room dashed at her and flung herself on her neck: “Auntie, darling, do tell me what it is.”
“Nothing, my dear.”
“No, darling, sweet, precious peach, I won't leave off; I know you know something.”
Anna Mihalovna shook her head. “You are sharp, my child!” she said.
“A letter from Nikolinka? I'm sure of it!” cried Natasha, reading an affirmative answer on the face of Anna Mihalovna.
“But, for God's sake, be more careful; you know what a shock it may be to your mamma.”
“I will be, I will, but tell me about it. You won't? Well, then, I'll run and tell her this minute.”
Anna Mihalovna gave Natasha a brief account of what was in the letter, on condition that she would not tell a soul.
“On my word of honour,” said Natasha, crossing herself, “I won't tell any one,” and she ran at once to Sonya. “Nikolinka … wounded … a letter …” she proclaimed in gleeful triumph
“Nikolinka!” was all Sonya could articulate, instantly turning white. Natasha seeing the effect of the news of her brother's wound on Sonya, for the first time felt the painful aspect of the news.
She rushed at Sonya, hugged her, and began to cry. “A little wounded, but promoted to be an officer; he's all right now, he writes himself,” she said through her tears.
“One can see all you women are regular cry-babies,” said Petya, striding with resolute steps up and down the room; “I'm very glad, really very glad, that my brother has distinguished himself so. You all start blubbering! you don't understand anything about it.” Natasha smiled through her tears.
“You haven't read the letter?” asked Sonya
“No; but she told me it was all over, and that he's an officer now …”
“Thank God,” said Sonya, crossing herself. “But perhaps she was deceiving you. Let us go to mamma.”
Petya had been strutting up and down in silence
“If I were in Nikolinka's place, I'd have killed a lot more of those Frenchmen,” he said, “they're such beasts! I'd have killed them till there was a regular heap of them,” Petya went on.
“Hold your tongue, Petya, what a silly you are! …”
“I'm not a silly; people are silly who cry for trifles,” said Petya.
“Do you remember him?” Natasha asked suddenly, after a moment's silence. Sonya smiled.
“Do I remember Nikolinka?”
“No, Sonya, but do you remember him so as to remember him thoroughly, to remember him quite,” said Natasha with a strenuous gesture, as though she were trying to put into her words the most earnest meaning. “And I do remember Nikolinka, I remember him,” she said. “But I don't remember Boris. I don't remember him a bit …”
“What? You don't remember Boris?” Sonya queried with surprise.
“I don't mean I don't remember him. I know what he's like, but not as I remember Nikolinka. I shut my eyes and I can see him, but not Boris” (she shut her eyes), “no, nothing!”
“Ah, Natasha!” said Sonya, looking solemnly and earnestly at her friend, as though she considered her unworthy to hear what she meant to say, and was saying it to some one else with whom joking was out of the question. “I have come to love your brother once for all, and whatever were to happen to him and to me, I could never cease to love him all my life.”
With inquisitive, wondering eyes, Natasha gazed at Sonya, and she did not speak. She felt that what Sonya was saying was the truth, that there was love such as Sonya was speaking of. But Natasha had never known anything like it. She believed that it might be so, but she did not understand it.
“Shall you write to him?” she asked. Sonya sank into thought. How she should write to Nikolay, and whether she ought to write to him, was a question that worried her. Now that he was an officer, and a wounded hero, would it be nice on her part to remind him of herself, and as it were of the obligations he had taken on himself in regard to her. “I don't know. I suppose if he writes to me I shall write,” she said, blushing.
“And you won't be ashamed to write to him?”
Sonya smiled.
“No.”
“And I should be ashamed to write to Boris, and I'm not going to write.”
“But why should you be ashamed?”
“Oh, I don't know. I feel awkward, ashamed.”
“I know why she'd be ashamed,” said Petya, offended at Natasha's previous remark, “because she fell in love with that fat fellow in spectacles” (this was how Petya used to describe his namesake, the new Count Bezuhov); “and now she's in love with that singing fellow” (Petya meant Natasha's Italian singing-master), “that's why she's ashamed.”
“Petya, you're a stupid,” said Natasha.
“No stupider than you, ma'am,” said nine-year-old Petya, exactly as though he had been an elderly brigadier.
The countess had been prepared by Anna Mihalovna's hints during dinner. On returning to her room she had sat down in a low chair with her eyes fixed on the miniature of her son, painted on the lid of her snuff-box, and the tears started into her eyes. Anna Mihalovna, with the letter, approached the countess's room on tiptoe, and stood still at the door.
“Don't come in,” she said to the old count, who was following her; “later,” and she closed the door after her. The count put his ear to the keyhole, and listened.
At first he heard the sound of indifferent talk, then Anna Mihalovna's voice alone, uttering a long speech, then a shriek, then silence, then both voices talking at once with joyful intonations, then there were steps, and Anna Mihalovna opened the door. Her face wore the look of pride of an operator who has performed a difficult amputation, and invites the public in to appreciate his skill.
“It is done,” she said to the count triumphantly, motioning him to the countess, who was holding in one hand the snuff-box with the portrait, in the other the letter, and pressing her lips first to one and then to the other. On seeing the count, she held out her arms to him, embraced his bald head, and looked again over the bald head at the letter and the portrait, and in order again to press them to her lips, slightly repelled the bald head from her. Vera, Natasha, Sonya, and Petya came into the room, and the reading of the letter began. The letter briefly described the march and the two battles in which Nikolushka had taken part, and the receiving of his commission, and said that he kissed the hands of his mamma and papa, begging their blessing, and sent kisses to Vera, Natasha, and Petya. He sent greetings, too, to Monsieur Schelling and Madame Schoss, and his old nurse, and begged them to kiss for him his darling Sonya, whom he still loved and thought of the same as ever. On hearing this, Sonya blushed till the tears came into her eyes. And unable to stand the eyes fixed upon her, she ran into the big hall, ran about with a flushed and smiling face, whirled round and round and ducked down, making her skirts into a balloon. The countess was crying.
“What are you crying about, mamma?” said Vera. “From all he writes, we ought to rejoice instead of crying.”
This was perfectly true, but the count and the countess and Natasha all looked at her reproachfully. “And who is it that she takes after!” thought the countess.
Nikolushka's letter was read over hundreds of times, and those who were considered worthy of hearing it had to come in to the countess, who did not let it go out of her hands. The tutors went in, the nurses, Mitenka, and several acquaintances, and the countess read the letter every time with fresh enjoyment and every time she discovered from it new virtues in her Nikolushka. How strange, extraordinary, and joyful it was to her to think that her son—the little son, whose tiny limbs had faintly stirred within her twenty years ago, for whose sake she had so often quarrelled with the count, who would spoil him, the little son, who had first learnt to say grusha, and then had learnt to say baba—that that son was now in a foreign land, in strange surroundings, a manly warrior, alone without help or guidance, doing there his proper manly work. All the world-wide experience of ages, proving that children do imperceptibly from the cradle grow up into men, did not exist for the countess. The growth of her son had been for her at every stage of his growth just as extraordinary as though millions of millions of men had not grown up in the same way. Just as, twenty years before, she could not believe that the little creature that was lying somewhere under her heart, would one day cry and suck her breast and learn to talk, now she could not believe that the same little creature could be that strong, brave man, that paragon of sons and of men that, judging by this letter, he was now.
“What style, how charmingly he describes everything!” she said, reading over the descriptions in the letter. “And what soul! Of himself not a word … not a word! A great deal about a man called Denisov, though he was himself, I dare say, braver than any one. He doesn't write a word about his sufferings. What a heart! How like him it is! How he thinks of every one! No one forgotten. I always, always said, when he was no more than that high, I always used to say …”
For over a week they were hard at work preparing a letter to Nikolushka from all the household, writing out rough copies, copying out fair copies. With the watchful care of the countess, and the fussy solicitude of the count, all sorts of necessary things were got together, and money, too, for the equipment and the uniform of the young officer. Anna Mihalovna, practical woman, had succeeded in obtaining special patronage for herself and her son in the army, that even extended to their correspondence. She had opportunities of sending her letters to the Grand Duke Konstantin Pavlovitch, who was in command of the guards. The Rostovs assumed that “The Russian Guards Abroad,” was quite a sufficiently definite address, and that if a letter reached the grand duke in command of the guards, there was no reason why it should not reach the Pavlograd regiment, who were presumably somewhere in the same vicinity. And so it was decided to send off their letters and money by the special messenger of the grand duke to Boris, and Boris would have to forward them to Nikolushka. There were letters from the count, the countess, Petya, Vera, Natasha, and Sonya, a sum of six thousand roubles for his equipment, and various other things which the count was sending to his son.
罗斯托夫一家人许久没有获得尼古卢什卡的消息，时值仲冬，伯爵才收得一封来信，他从来信的地址上认出了儿子的笔迹。伯爵接到这封信之后，惊恐万状，极力地做出不被人发现的样子，他踮起脚尖跑进自己的书斋，关上房门，念起信来。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜知道家里接到一封信（家中发生什么事，她全知道），就悄悄地移动脚步走到伯爵跟前，碰见他手中拿着一封信，又哭又笑很狼狈。 
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜虽然景况有所好转，但她还继续住在罗斯托夫家中。
“monbonami？”①安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜忧愁地问道，无论发生什么事，她都愿意同情他。 
①法语：我的好朋友。
伯爵哭得更厉害了。
“尼古卢什卡……一封信……负伤了……macherve，……负伤了……我亲爱的……伯爵夫人……他升为军官了……谢天谢地……怎样对伯爵夫人说才好？……”
午宴间，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜不断地谈到战争的消息，谈到尼古卢什卡的情况，虽然她早就心中有数，但还接连两次问到是在什么时候接到他的一封最近的来信，她说，也许不打紧，就是今日又会接到一封信。每当公爵夫人得到这些暗示总觉得心慌意乱、惶恐地时而望望伯爵，时而望望安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的时候，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜就不引人注目地把话题转到无关紧要的事情上。娜塔莎在全家人之中最富有才华，她善于体会人们的语调、眼神和面部表情的细微差别，午宴一开始她就竖起耳朵，她了解她的父亲和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜之间发生了什么事情，发生了什么涉及哥哥的事情，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜正在筹备什么事情。娜塔莎虽然很有胆量（她知道她的母亲对涉及尼古卢什卡的消息的一切都很敏感），但是她不敢在午宴间提出问题，并且因为焦急不安，在午宴间什么都不吃，在椅子上坐不安定，也不去听家庭女教师的责备。午宴后她拼命地跑去追赶安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，并在休息室跑着冲上去搂住她的颈项。
“好大妈，我亲爱的，说给我听，是怎么回事？”
“我的朋友，没有什么事。”
“不，我的心肝，我亲爱的，不说的话，我决不罢休，我知道您所知道的事。”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜摇摇头。
“Vousêtesunefinemouche，monenfant．”①她说道。 
①法语：嘿，你真是个滑头啊。
“尼古连卡寄来的信吗？想必是的！”“娜塔莎从安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的脸色看出了肯定的回答，她于是大声喊道。
“不过看在上帝份上，你要小心点儿，你知道这可能会使你妈妈感到惊讶的。”
“我会小心的，我会小心的，可是，说给我听吧。您不说吗？也罢，我马上去说。”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜三言两语就把这封信的内容讲给娜塔莎听了，不过有个附带条件：不要告诉任何人。
“决不食言，”娜塔莎一面画十字，一面说道，“我决不告诉任何人。”她立即跑去见索尼娅。
“尼古连卡……负了伤……有一封信……”她激动而高兴地说。
“尼古拉！”索尼娅刚刚开口说话，脸色顿时变得苍白了。
娜塔莎亲眼看见哥哥负伤的消息对索尼娅产生影响，她才头一回感到这个消息充满着悲伤。
她向索尼娅挤过去，把她抱住，大哭起来。
“负了一点伤，但是升为军官了，他自己在信中写道，目前身体很健康。”她透过眼泪说道。
“由此可见，你们这些妇女都是哭鬼，”彼佳说，一边迈着坚定的脚步在房间里走来走去。“哥哥出类拔萃，我很高兴，说真的，我很高兴。你们都哭哭啼啼！什么都不懂得。”娜塔莎透过眼泪，微微一笑。
“你没有看过信吗？”索尼娅问道。
“我没有看过，可是她说，一切都过去了，他已经当上军官了……”
“谢天谢地，”索尼娅用手画十字时说道。“可是，她也许欺骗你了。我们到妈妈那里去吧。”
彼佳沉默地在房里踱来踱去。
“如果我处于尼古卢什卡的地位，我就会杀死更多的法国人，”他说，“他们多么卑鄙啊！我真要把他们杀光，让那尸骨堆积成山。”彼佳继续说道。
“彼佳，你住口，你真是个傻瓜啊！……”
“我不是傻瓜，而那些因为一些小事而哭的人才是傻瓜。”
彼佳说。
“你记得他吗？”沉默片刻之后娜塔莎忽然问道。索尼娅微微一笑。
“我是不是还记得尼古拉么？”
“不，索尼娅，你记不记得他，要记得清清楚楚，什么都要记得清清楚楚，”娜塔莎做个亲热的手势说，很明显，想使她的话语赋有最严肃的意义。“我也记得尼古连卡，我记得他，”她说道“可我记不得鲍里斯。根本记不得。……”
“怎么？记不得鲍里斯吗？”索尼娅惊奇地发问。
“不是说我记不得，我知道他是什么模样，可是不像记得尼古连卡那样记得一清二楚。我闭上眼睛都记得他，可是记不得鲍里斯（她闭上眼睛），真的，不记得，一点也不记得啊！”
“唉，娜塔莎！”索尼娅欣喜而严肃地望着她的女友时说道，仿佛她认为她不配去听她想说的话，又仿佛她把这件事告诉另外一个不能打趣的人似的。“既然我爱上你的哥哥，无论是他还是我发生什么事，我一辈子永远都会爱他的。”
娜塔莎睁开一对好奇的眼睛，惊讶地瞧着索尼娅，沉默不言。她觉得，索尼娅说的是真心话，索尼娅说的那种爱情也是有的，可是娜塔莎毫无这种体验。她相信，这种事可能会有的，但是她不明白。
“你要给他写信吗？”她问道。
索尼娅沉默起来。要怎样给尼古拉写信，有没有写信的必要，是个使她苦恼的问题。现在他已经当上军官，是负伤的英雄，她要他想到她自己，好像他对她担负有那种责任似的，这样做是否恰当呢。
“我不知道，我想，假如他写信，我也写信。”她涨红着脸，说道。
“你给他写信就不觉得羞耻吗？”
索尼娅微微一笑。
“不觉得。”
“可是我觉得给鲍里斯写信是可耻的，所以我不写给他。”
“究竟为什么会觉得可耻呢？”
“是这么回事，我不知道。我觉得可耻，不好意思。”
“可是我晓得，为什么她会觉得可耻，”娜塔莎的开初的责备使得彼佳受委屈，他说，“因为她爱上这个戴眼镜的胖子（彼佳这样称呼他的同名人——新伯爵别祖霍夫），现在又爱上这个歌手（彼佳说的是那个教娜塔莎唱歌的意大利教师），所以她觉得可耻。”
“彼佳，你太傻了。”娜塔莎说。
“亲爱的，我不比你更愚蠢。”九岁的彼佳像个年老的准将似的，他说。
午宴间安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜作了暗示，伯爵夫人在精神上有所准备。她回到自己房里以后，坐在安乐椅上，目不转睛地望着镶嵌在烟壶上的儿子的微型肖像，泪水涌上眼眶，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜携带信件踮着脚尖走到伯爵夫人门口，她停步了。
“请您不要走进来，”她对跟在安娜后面走的老伯爵说，“一会儿以后。”她随手把门关上了。
伯爵把耳朵贴在锁上，谛听起来了。
开先他听见冷淡的谈话声，之后听见安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜一个人的冗长的说话声，接着是一声喊叫，然后是鸦雀无声，然后又是两个人都用欢快的语调谈话，接着他听见脚步声，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜给他打开了房门。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脸上流露着骄傲的表情，就像施行手术的医师完成一次困难的截肢手术后，把观众带进手术室来赏识他的技术似的。
“C'estfait！”①她用激动的手势指着伯爵夫人对伯爵说，伯爵夫人一手拿着嵌有肖像的烟壶，一手拿着书函，把嘴唇时而贴在烟壶上，时而贴在书函上。 
①法语：成了。
她看见伯爵之后，便向他伸出手来，抱住他的秃头，她隔着秃头又看看书函和肖像，她轻轻地把秃头推开，又吻吻书函和肖像。薇拉、娜塔莎、索尼娅和彼佳走进房里来，开始念信了。信上简略地描述行军的情形、尼古卢什卡参与的两次战斗，他被提升为军官，还提到他吻双亲的手，请他们祝福他，还吻薇拉、娜塔莎、彼佳，除此而外，他向谢林先生致意，向肖斯太太、保姆致意，除此而外，他祈求代他吻吻亲爱的索尼娅，他至今还是那样爱她，还是那样惦记她。索尼娅听到这句话，涨红了脸，泪水涌出了眼眶。她没法忍受向她投射的目光，跑到大厅里去了，她越来越快地跑起来，旋转得头晕目眩，连衣裙鼓得像气球似的，满面通红，微露笑容，在地板上坐下来。伯爵夫人悲痛地啼哭。
“maman，您哭什么呀？”薇拉说道，“从他写的信来看，应当高兴，不要哭啊。”
这是完全对的，但是伯爵、伯爵夫人和娜塔莎都带着责备的神态望望她。“她这副模样究竟像谁呀！”伯爵夫人想了想。
尼古卢什卡的信被念了几百遍，那些认为自己理应前去细听来信内容的人，都走到那个把信拿在手上不放的伯爵夫人面前来。家庭教师、保姆、米坚卡，几个熟人都来到她跟前，伯爵夫人反复多次地念信，每次都感到一种新的快慰，每次都从信上发现尼古卢什卡的新美德。她觉得多么奇怪，多么不平凡，多么令人欢快，她的儿子——二十年前在她腹中微微移动细小的四肢的儿子，为了他，她和胡作非为的伯爵多次发生口角，他就是那个先学会说“梨”，后学会喊“婆婆”的儿子，现在他身居异地，环境生疏，他居然是个英勇的战士，独自一人在既无援助又无指导的条件下做出了一番须眉大丈夫的事业。亘古以来全世界的经验表明，儿童自幼年开始，就不知不觉地逐渐地长大成人，对伯爵夫人来说这个经验是不存在的。对她来说她的儿子每个时期的发育成长都不平凡，正像千千万万人从来没有这样发育成长似的。二十年前她怎么会相信那个在她心脏下面的什么地方生存的小生物，竟会啼哭起来，竟会吸奶和说话，现在从这封信来看，她同样不会相信那个小生物现在竟成为身强体壮的勇敢的男人，竟是众人和子孙的楷模。
“他叙述得多么动人，多么优美的·文·体！”当她念到信中的描述部分时说道。“多么纯洁的灵魂！他丝毫没有提到自己……丝毫没有！他提到某个叫做杰尼索夫的人，想必他自己比大家更勇敢。他丝毫没有写到自己的苦难，多么好的心肠啊！我非常熟悉他的情况啊！所有的人他都记得清清楚楚！他没有忘记任何人。当他还是这么点点大的时候，我经常——
经常说，我经常说……”
他们准备一个多礼拜了，打好了书信的草稿，并且把全家写给尼古卢什卡的几封书信誊了一遍，在伯爵夫人的监督和伯爵的关照下，筹措一些必需品和钱款，为已擢升的军官置备军服和生活用具。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜是个办事讲究实际的女人，她甚至连和儿子通信的事也能在军队中托人求情。
她就乘机向指挥近卫军的康斯坦丁·帕夫洛维奇大公处寄信。罗斯托夫一家人推测，·国·外·俄·国·近·卫·军是一个完全固定的通信地址，假如信件投寄到指挥近卫军的康斯坦丁大公处，就无理由不寄到附近的保罗格勒兵团团部。因此他们决定借助于大公的信使将信件和金钱送至鲍里斯处，鲍里斯定当转送尼古卢什卡。老伯爵、伯爵夫人的信、彼佳、薇拉、娜塔莎、索尼娅的信都寄到了，还有伯爵寄给儿子置备军服和各种用品的六千卢布也寄到了。
Book 3 Chapter 7
That day Nikolay Rostov had received a note from Boris informing him that the Ismailovsky regiment was quartered for the night fifteen versts from Olmütz, and that he wanted to see him to give him a letter and some money. The money Rostov particularly needed just now, when the troops after active service were stationed near Olmütz, and the camp swarmed with well-equipped canteen keepers and Austrian Jews, offering all kinds of attractions. The Pavlograd hussars had been keeping up a round of gaiety, fêtes in honour of the promotions received in the field, and excursions to Olmütz to a certain Caroline la Hongroise, who had recently opened a restaurant there with girls as waiters. Rostov had just been celebrating his commission as a cornet; he had bought Denisov's horse Bedouin, too, and was in debt all round to his comrades and the canteen keepers. On getting the note from Boris, Rostov rode into Olmütz with a comrade, dined there, drank a bottle of wine, and rode on alone to the guards' camp to find the companion of his childhood. Rostov had not yet got his uniform. He was wearing a shabby ensign's jacket with a private soldier's cross, equally shabby riding-trousers lined with worn leather, and an officer's sabre with a sword knot. The horse he was riding was of the Don breed, bought of a Cossack on the march. A crushed hussar cap was stuck jauntily back on one side of his head. As he rode up to the camp of the Ismailovsky regiment, he was thinking of how he would impress Boris and all his comrades in the guards by looking so thoroughly a hussar who has been under fire and roughed it at the front.
The guards had made their march as though it were a pleasure excursion, priding themselves on their smartness and discipline. They moved by short stages, their knapsacks were carried in the transport waggons, and at every halt the Austrian government provided the officers with excellent dinners. The regiments made their entry into towns and their exit from them with bands playing, and, according to the grand duke's order, the whole march had (a point on which the guards prided themselves) been performed by the soldiers in step, the officers too walking in their proper places. Boris had throughout the march walked and stayed with Berg, who was by this time a captain. Berg, who had received his company on the march, had succeeded in gaining the confidence of his superior officers by his conscientiousness and accuracy, and had established his financial position on a very satisfactory basis. Boris had during the same period made the acquaintance of many persons likely to be of use to him, and by means of a letter of recommendation brought from Pierre, had made the acquaintance of Prince Andrey Bolkonsky, through whom he had hopes of obtaining a post on the staff of the commander-in-chief. Berg and Boris, who had rested well after the previous day's march, were sitting smartly and neatly dressed, in the clean quarters assigned them, playing draughts at a round table. Berg was holding between his knees a smoking pipe. Boris, with his characteristic nicety, was building the draughts into a pyramid with his delicate, white fingers, while he waited for Berg to play. He was watching his partner's face, obviously thinking of the game, his attention concentrated, as it always was, on what he was engaged in.
“Well, how are you going to get out of that?” he said.
“I am going to try,” answered Berg, touching the pieces, and taking his hand away again.
At that instant the door opened.
“Here he is at last!” shouted Rostov. “And Berg too. Ah, petisanfan, alley cooshey dormir!” he cried, repeating the saying of their old nurse's that had once been a joke with him and Boris.
“Goodness, how changed you are!” Boris got up to greet Rostov, but as he rose, he did not forget to hold the board, and to put back the falling pieces. He was about to embrace his friend, but Nikolay drew back from him. With that peculiarly youthful feeling of fearing beaten tracks, of wanting to avoid imitation, to express one's feelings in some new way of one's own, so as to escape the forms often conventionally used by one's elders, Nikolay wanted to do something striking on meeting his friend. He wanted somehow to give him a pinch, to give Berg a shove, anything rather than to kiss, as people always did on such occasions. Boris, on the contrary, embraced Rostov in a composed and friendly manner, and gave him three kisses.
It was almost six months since they had seen each other. And being at the stage when young men take their first steps along the path of life, each found immense changes in the other, quite new reflections of the different society in which they had taken those first steps. Both had changed greatly since they were last together, and both wanted to show as soon as possible what a change had taken place.
“Ah, you damned floor polishers! Smart and clean, as if you'd been enjoying yourselves; not like us poor devils at the front,” said Rostov, with martial swagger, and with baritone notes in his voice that were new to Boris. He pointed to his mud-stained riding-breeches. The German woman of the house popped her head out of a door at Rostov's loud voice.
“A pretty woman, eh?” said he, winking.
“Why do you shout so? You are frightening them,” said Boris. “I didn't expect you to-day,” he added. “I only sent the note off to you yesterday—through an adjutant of Kutuzov's, who's a friend of mine—Bolkonsky. I didn't expect he would send it to you so quickly. Well, how are you? Been under fire already?” asked Boris.
Without answering, Rostov, in soldierly fashion, shook the cross of St. George that hung on the cording of his uniform, and pointing to his arm in a sling, he glanced at Berg.
“As you see,” he said.
“To be sure, yes, yes,” said Boris, smiling, “and we have had a capital march here too. You know his Highness kept all the while with our regiment, so that we had every convenience and advantage. In Poland, the receptions, the dinners, the balls!—I can't tell you. And the Tsarevitch was very gracious to all our officers.” And both the friends began describing; one, the gay revels of the hussars and life at the front; the other, the amenities and advantages of service under the command of royalty.
“Oh, you guards,” said Rostov. “But, I say, send for some wine.”
Boris frowned.
“If you really want some,” he said. And he went to the bedstead, took a purse from under the clean pillows, and ordered some wine. “Oh, and I have a letter and money to give you,” he added.
Rostov took the letter, and flinging the money on the sofa, put both his elbows on the table and began reading it. He read a few lines, and looked wrathfully at Berg. Meeting his eyes, Rostov hid his face with the letter.
“They sent you a decent lot of money, though,” said Berg, looking at the heavy bag, that sank into the sofa. “But we manage to scrape along on our pay, count, I can tell you in my own case. …”
“I say, Berg, my dear fellow,” said Rostov; “when you get a letter from home and meet one of your own people, whom you want to talk everything over with, and I'm on the scene, I'll clear out at once, so as not to be in your way. Do you hear, be off, please, anywhere, anywhere … to the devil!” he cried, and immediately seizing him by the shoulder, and looking affectionately into his face, evidently to soften the rudeness of his words, he added: “you know, you're not angry, my dear fellow, I speak straight from the heart to an old friend like you.”
“Why, of course, count, I quite understand,” said Berg, getting up and speaking in his deep voice.
“You might go and see the people of the house; they did invite you,” added Boris.
Berg put on a spotless clean coat, brushed his lovelocks upwards before the looking-glass, in the fashion worn by the Tsar Alexander Pavlovitch, and having assured himself from Rostov's expression that his coat had been observed, he went out of the room with a bland smile.
“Ah, what a beast I am, though,” said Rostov, as he read the letter.
“Oh, why?”
“Ah, what a pig I've been, never once to have written and to have given them such a fright. Ah, what a pig I am!” he repeated, flushing all at once. “Well, did you send Gavrila for some wine? That's right, let's have some!” said he.
With the letters from his family there had been inserted a letter of recommendation to Prince Bagration, by Anna Mihalovna's advice, which Countess Rostov had obtained through acquaintances, and had sent to her son, begging him to take it to its address, and to make use of it.
“What nonsense! Much use to me,” said Rostov, throwing the letter under the table.
“What did you throw that away for?” asked Boris.
“It's a letter of recommendation of some sort; what the devil do I want with a letter like that!”
“What the devil do you want with it?” said Boris, picking it up and reading the address; “that letter would be of great use to you.”
“I'm not in want of anything, and I'm not going to be an adjutant to anybody.”
“Why not?” asked Boris.
“A lackey's duty.”
“You are just as much of an idealist as ever, I see,” said Boris, shaking his head.
“And you're just as much of a diplomat. But that's not the point. … Come, how are you?” asked Rostov.
“Why, as you see. So far everything's gone well; but I'll own I should be very glad to get a post as adjutant, and not to stay in the line.”
“What for?”
“Why, because if once one goes in for a military career, one ought to try to make it as successful a career as one can.”
“Oh, that's it,” said Rostov, unmistakably thinking of something else. He looked intently and inquiringly into his friend's eyes, apparently seeking earnestly the solution of some question.
Old Gavrila brought in the wine.
“Shouldn't we send for Alphonse Karlitch now?” said Boris. “He'll drink with you, but I can't.”
“Send for him, send for him. Well, how do you get on with the Teuton?” said Rostov, with a contemptuous smile.
“He's a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant fellow,” said Boris.
Rostov looked intently into Boris's face once more and he sighed. Berg came back, and over the bottle the conversation between the three officers became livelier. The guardsmen told Rostov about their march and how they had been fêted in Russia, in Poland, and abroad. They talked of the sayings and doings of their commander, the Grand Duke, and told anecdotes of his kind-heartedness and his irascibility. Berg was silent, as he always was, when the subject did not concern him personally, but à propos of the irascibility of the Grand Duke he related with gusto how he had had some words with the Grand Duke in Galicia, when his Highness had inspected the regiments and had flown into a rage over some irregularity in their movements. With a bland smile on his face he described how the Grand Duke had ridden up to him in a violent rage, shouting “Arnauts!” (“Arnauts” was the Tsarevitch's favourite term of abuse when he was in a passion), and how he had asked for the captain. “Would you believe me, count, I wasn't in the least alarmed, because I knew I was right. Without boasting, you know, count, I may say I know all the regimental drill-book by heart, and the standing orders, too, I know as I know ‘Our Father that art in Heaven.' And so that's how it is, count, there's never the slightest detail neglected in my company. So my conscience was at ease. I came forward.” (Berg stood up and mimicked how he had come forward with his hand to the beak of his cap. It would certainly have been difficult to imagine more respectfulness and more self-complacency in a face.) “Well, he scolded, and scolded, and rated at me, and shouted his ‘Arnauts,' and damns, and ‘to Siberia,' ” said Berg, with a subtle smile. “I knew I was right, and so I didn't speak; how could I, count? ‘Why are you dumb?' he shouted. Still I held my tongue, and what do you think, count? Next day there was nothing about it in the orders of the day; that's what comes of keeping one's head. Yes, indeed, count,” said Berg, pulling at his pipe and letting off rings of smoke.
“Yes, that's capital,” said Rostov, smiling; but Boris, seeing that Rostov was disposed to make fun of Berg, skilfully turned the conversation. He begged Rostov to tell them how and where he had been wounded. That pleased Rostov, and he began telling them, getting more and more eager as he talked. He described to them his battle at Sch?ngraben exactly as men who have taken part in battles always do describe them, that is, as they would have liked them to be, as they have heard them described by others, and as sounds well, but not in the least as it really had been. Rostov was a truthful young man; he would not have intentionally told a lie. He began with the intention of telling everything precisely as it had happened, but imperceptibly, unconsciously, and inevitably he passed into falsehood. If he had told the truth to his listeners, who, like himself, had heard numerous descriptions of cavalry charges, and had formed a definite idea of what a charge was like and were expecting a similar description, either they would not have believed him, or worse still, would have assumed that Rostov was himself to blame for not having performed the exploits usually performed by those who describe cavalry charges. He could not tell them simply that they had all been charging full gallop, that he had fallen off his horse, sprained his arm, and run with all his might away from the French into the copse. And besides, to tell everything exactly as it happened, he would have had to exercise considerable self-control in order to tell nothing beyond what happened. To tell the truth is a very difficult thing; and young people are rarely capable of it. His listeners expected to hear how he bad been all on fire with excitement, had forgotten himself, had flown like a tempest on the enemy's square, had cut his way into it, hewing men down right and left, how a sabre had been thrust into his flesh, how he had fallen unconscious, and so on. And he described all that. In the middle of his tale, just as he was saying: “You can't fancy what a strange frenzy takes possession of one at the moment of the charge,” there walked into the room Prince Andrey Bolkonsky, whom Boris was expecting. Prince Andrey liked to encourage and assist younger men, he was flattered at being applied to for his influence, and well disposed to Boris, who had succeeded in making a favourable impression on him the previous day; he was eager to do for the young man what he desired. Having been sent with papers from Kutuzov to the Tsarevitch, he called upon Boris, hoping to find him alone. When he came into the room and saw the hussar with his soldierly swagger describing his warlike exploits (Prince Andrey could not endure the kind of men who are fond of doing so), he smiled cordially to Boris, but frowned and dropped his eyelids as he turned to Rostov with a slight bow. Wearily and languidly he sat down on the sofa, regretting that he had dropped into such undesirable society. Rostov, perceiving it, grew hot, but he did not care; this man was nothing to him. Glancing at Boris, he saw, however, that he too seemed ashamed of the valiant hussar. In spite of Prince Andrey's unpleasant, ironical manner, in spite of the disdain with which Rostov, from his point of view of a fighting man in the regular army, regarded the whole race of staff-adjutants in general—the class to which the new-comer unmistakably belonged—he yet felt abashed, reddened, and subsided into silence. Boris inquired what news there was on the staff and whether he could not without indiscretion tell them something about our plans.
“Most likely they will advance,” answered Bolkonsky, obviously unwilling to say more before outsiders. Berg seized the opportunity to inquire with peculiar deference whether the report was true, as he had heard, that the allowance of forage to captains of companies was to be doubled. To this Prince Andrey replied with a smile that he could not presume to offer an opinion on state questions of such gravity, and Berg laughed with delight.
“As to your business,” Prince Andrey turned back to Boris, “we will talk of it later,” and he glanced at Rostov. “You come to me after the review, and we'll do what we can.” And looking round the room he addressed Rostov, whose childish, uncontrollable embarrassment, passing now into anger, he did not think fit to notice: “You were talking, I think, about the Sch?ngraben action? Were you there?”
“I was there,” Rostov said in a tone of exasperation, which he seemed to intend as an insult to the adjutant. Bolkonsky noticed the hussar's state of mind, and it seemed to amuse him. He smiled rather disdainfully.
“Ah! there are a great many stories now about that engagement.”
“Yes, stories!” said Rostov loudly, looking from Boris to Bolkonsky with eyes full of sudden fury, “a great many stories, I dare say, but our stories are the stories of men who have been under the enemy's fire, our stories have some weight, they're not the tales of little staff upstarts, who draw pay for doing nothing.”
“The class to which you assume me to belong,” said Prince Andrey, with a calm and particularly amiable smile.
A strange feeling of exasperation was mingled in Rostov's heart with respect for the self-possession of this person.
“I'm not talking about you,” he said; “I don't know you, and, I'll own, I don't want to. I'm speaking of staff-officers in general.”
“Let me tell you this,” Prince Andrey cut him short in a tone of quiet authority, “you are trying to insult me, and I'm ready to agree with you that it is very easy to do so, if you haven't sufficient respect for yourself. But you will agree that the time and place is ill-chosen for this squabble. In a day or two we have to take part in a great and more serious duel, and besides, Drubetskoy, who tells me he is an old friend of yours, is in no way to blame because my physiognomy is so unfortunate as to displease you. However,” he said, getting up, “you know my name, and know where to find me; but don't forget,” he added, “that I don't consider either myself or you insulted, and my advice, as a man older than you, is to let the matter drop. So on Friday, after the review, I shall expect you, Drubetskoy; good-bye till then,” cried Prince Andrey, and he went out, bowing to both.
Rostov only bethought him of what he ought to have answered when he had gone. And he was more furious still that he had not thought of saying it. He ordered his horse to be brought round at once, and taking leave of Boris coldly, he rode back. Whether to ride to-morrow to head-quarters and challenge that conceited adjutant, or whether really to let the matter drop, was the question that worried him all the way. At one moment he thought vindictively how he would enjoy seeing the fright that feeble, little, conceited fellow would be in, facing his pistol, at the next he was feeling with surprise that, of all the men he knew, there was no one he would be more glad to have for his friend than that detested little adjutant.
十一月十二日，驻扎在奥尔米茨附近的库图佐夫的战斗部队，准备于翌日接受两位皇席——俄皇和奥皇——的检阅。刚从俄国开到的近卫军在离奥尔米茨十五俄里的地方歇宿，于翌日上午十时以前径赴奥尔米茨阅兵场接受检阅。 
这天，尼古拉·罗斯托夫接到鲍里斯的便函，通知他说，伊兹梅洛夫兵团在离奥尔米茨十五俄里的地方歇宿，鲍里斯正在等候他，以便把金钱和信件转交给他。正当部队出征归来、在奥尔米茨近郊扎营的时候，罗斯托夫特别需要钱用。一些随军商贩和奥籍犹太商人充分供应各种富有诱惑力的商品，挤满了营盘。保罗格勒兵团的官兵相继举行宴会，（藉以）庆贺出征立功受奖，他们骑马前往奥尔米茨探望新来的匈牙利女人卡罗利娜，她和一名厨娘在那里开设一间酒肆。不久前罗斯托夫庆贺他提升为骑兵少尉，他向杰尼索夫买到一匹叫做“贝杜英”的战马，欠了伙伴和随军商贩的钱，浑身是债。罗斯托夫接到了鲍里斯的便函，随同一名伙伴骑马前赴奥尔米茨，在那里用了一顿午饭，喝了一瓶葡萄酒，之后独自一人驰到近卫军营寻找他的童年时代的伙伴。罗斯托夫没有来得及置备军服，他穿的是一件破烂的佩戴有十字肩章的士官生上衣，一条同样破烂的，皮衬磨光了的紧腿马裤，腰间挂着一柄饰以刀穗的军刀。他骑的那匹马是他在行军时从一个哥萨克手上买来的顿河马，他很神气地向后歪戴着一顶弄皱了的骠骑兵帽。当他驰近伊兹梅洛夫兵团的营盘时，心中想道，他这副身经百战的骠骑兵模样会使鲍里斯和他的伙伴大为惊讶。
在行军的全程中，近卫军犹如游园一般，炫耀着它自己的整洁和纪律。每昼夜的行程很短，他们便用大车运载行囊；奥国的首长在行军途中给军官们准备十分可口的食物。各个兵团在一片军乐声中出入于城市。军人们遵循大公的命令，在全程中（近卫军军人引以自豪）自始至终地合着脚步行进，各个岗位的军官徒步行进。在行军期间，鲍里斯始终都在现已担任连长的贝格身边。贝格在行军期间接管一个连，他善于执行命令，谨慎行事，已赢得首长们的信任，他在办理经济事务上也处于有利地位。在行军中鲍里斯广于交际，结识了一些有助于他的人，他凭藉皮埃尔的介绍信，结识了安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵，他希望借助于他在总司令部谋得一个职位。贝格和鲍里斯在最后一天行军结束后，得到了充分的休息，他们穿得十分整洁，坐在拨给他们的住房中的一张圆桌前面下棋。贝格在他的双膝之间拿着一根点燃的烟斗。鲍里斯装出一副他特有的谨小慎微的样子，用他那又白又细的手把棋子摆成小金字塔形，等待着对手走棋，一面望着贝格的面孔，显然他在思忖下棋的游戏，他一向只是想到他所做的事情。
“喂，你怎么走得出来？”他说道。
“要尽力而为。”贝格回答，他用手拨动卒子，又把手放下来了。
这时候，门敞开了。
“他毕竟在这儿露面了！”罗斯托夫喊道。“贝格也在这儿！哎，你这个人真是，nemuzahcpah，anenyweqorwnup！①他喊道，重复着他和鲍里斯从前用以取笑的保姆说的话。 
①保姆说的不通的法语：孩子们，去睡觉吧。
“我的老天爷！你变得很厉害啊！”鲍里斯站立起来，向前走去迎接罗斯托夫，但是在他站立的当儿，他没有忘记把倒下的棋子扶起来，放回原处；他想去拥抱自己的朋友，可是尼古拉回避他了。尼古拉怀有青春时代害怕因循守旧的生活道路的特殊情感。他不愿意模仿别人，而想按照新的方式，按照自己的方式来表达情感，只是不要像长辈那样虚伪地表达情感。因此尼古拉和朋友相会时想做个什么特别的动作。他想捏捏鲍里斯，推推鲍里斯，可是他无论怎样都不像大家相会时那样接个吻。而鲍里斯则相反，他安详而友善地拥抱罗斯托夫，吻了他三次。
他们有半年几乎没有见面了，在他们这个年纪的时候，年轻人正在生活道路上迈出第一步，他们二人发现彼此都有很大的变化，那即是他们在生活上迈出第一步的那个崭新社会的面貌的反映。从他们最后一次相会以来，他们二人都有许多变化，因此他们都想尽快地互相吐露内心发生的变化。
“咳，你们都是可诅咒的不务正业的人！穿得很鲜艳，干干净净，好像从游园会上回来似的，并不是说我们都是有罪的丘八长官。”罗斯托夫用那使鲍里斯听来觉得不熟悉的男中音说道，一面摆出军人的架势，指指他自己穿的那条尽是污泥的紧腿马裤。
德国女老板听见罗斯托夫的响亮的嗓音，便从半开着的门内探出头来。
“怎么样，长得标致吗？”他丢个眼色，说道。
“你干嘛这样大喊大叫！你会吓倒他们的，”鲍里斯说道。
“我今天没有料到你会来，”他补充地说。“我昨日只是通过一个熟悉的库图佐夫的副官博尔孔斯基把一封便函转交给你了。我没有想到，他这么快就把……送到你手上了。啊，你怎么样？经过战斗锻炼吗？”鲍里斯问道。
罗斯托夫没有作答，他晃了晃挂在制服滚绦上的士兵圣乔治十字勋章，用手指着他那只缠上绷带的手臂，面露微笑，望了望贝格。
“你看得见啦。”他说。
“原来是这样，不错，不错！”鲍里斯微露笑意，说道，“我们这次出征也享有荣誉。你本就知道，皇太子经常伴随我们兵团驶行，因此我们得到各种优惠和便利。我们在波兰受到多么热情的接待，出席多么丰盛的午宴和舞会——我不能全都讲给你听。皇太子对待我们军官是够慈善的。”
这两个朋友于是交谈起来，其中一人讲到骠骑兵的饮宴作乐和战斗生涯，另一人讲到在上层人士率领下服役的欣喜和收益。等等。
“啊！近卫军啊！”罗斯托夫说。“你听我说，派人去打酒吧。”
鲍里斯皱起眉头。
“如果你非喝不可。”他说道。
他于是走到床边，从干净的枕头下面掏出钱包，吩咐手下人去把酒端来。
“对，把钱和信都交给你吧。”他补充一句。
罗斯托夫拿起一封信，把钱扔在沙发上，两只胳膊支撑着桌子，开始念信。他念了几行，便凶狠地瞟了贝格一眼。罗斯托夫和他的目光相遇之后，用信把脸捂住了。
“真给您寄来这么多的钱，”贝格说，一面望着陷进沙发的沉重的钱包，“伯爵，我们本来就靠薪俸勉强对付着过活。
我对您说的是我自己的情形……”
“贝格，亲爱的，您听我说吧，”罗斯托夫说，“当您接到一封家信，要和自己人会面，您想向他详细打听各种情况，那时候若是我也在这儿，我就会立刻走开，省得妨碍你们。请您听我说，您随便走到那里去吧……见鬼去吧！”他喊道，即刻抓住他的肩膀，亲热地瞧着他的面孔，看样子，想竭力使他说的粗鲁话不太刺耳，他于是补充一句：“我亲爱的，您知道，不要生气吧，我是向我们的老朋友打心眼里说的话啊。”
“哦，得了吧，伯爵，我完全明白。”贝格站起来，用尖细刺耳的嗓音说道。
“您到主人们那里去吧，他们请您了。”鲍里斯补充地说。
贝格穿着一件挺干净的既无污点又无尘屑的常礼服，在镜子前面把鬓发弄得蓬松，就像亚历山大一世的鬓发那样向上翘起来，他从罗斯托夫的目光中深信不疑地看出，他的常礼服引人瞩目，于是流露出愉快的微笑，从房里走了出来。
“哎呀，我真是畜生！”罗斯托夫一面念信，一面说。
“怎么？”
“哎呀，我真是猪猡。我一封信都没有写过，真把他们吓坏了。咳，我真是猪猡！”他忽然涨红了脸，重复地说。“喂，你派加夫里洛去打酒吧！也好，我们喝他个痛快！……”他说。
在双亲的信函中，附有一封呈送巴格拉季翁公爵的介绍信，老伯爵夫人依照安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的忠告借助于熟人弄到这封介绍信，并且寄给她儿子，要他把信件送至指定的收件人，充分加以利用。
“真是愚蠢！我才不需要哩。”罗斯托夫把信扔到桌子底下时，说道。
“你为什么把它扔掉呀？”鲍里斯问道。
“一封什么介绍信，我要它有什么用！”
“这封信怎么会没有用呢？”鲍里斯一边拾起信来，一边念着署名，他说道。“这封信对你很有用处。”
“我并不需要什么，我不去当任何人的副官。”
“究竟为什么？”鲍里斯问道。
“奴才般的差事啊！”
“我看，你还是这样一个幻想家。”鲍里斯摇摇头，说道。
“你还是这样一个外交家。可是问题不在于此……你怎么？”罗斯托夫问道。
“是的，正像你看见的这样。直到现在一切都蛮好，可是，说实在的，我很想当个副官，不想老呆在前线。”
“为什么？”
“既然在服兵役，就要尽可能争个锦绣前程，飞黄腾达，目的正在于此。”
“是啊，原来是这样！”罗斯托夫说道，看起来，他正在想着别的什么。
他怀着疑惑的心情，目不转睛地望着自己的朋友，显然他在枉费心机地寻找某个问题的解答。
加夫里洛老头把酒带来了。
“现在要不要派人去把阿尔方斯·卡尔雷奇喊来？①”鲍里斯说道，“他和你一块儿喝酒，我不能喝了。” 
①阿尔方斯·卡尔雷奇是贝格的名字和父称。
“派人去喊他，派人去喊他。这个德国鬼子怎么样？”罗斯托夫面露轻蔑的微笑，说道。
“他是个挺好、挺好的人，既正派而又令人喜爱。”鲍里斯说道。
罗斯托夫又一次目不转睛地望望鲍里斯，叹了一口气。贝格回来了，三名军官同饮一瓶酒时兴致勃勃地交谈起来。这两名近卫军军人把他们出征的情形讲给罗斯托夫听，讲到他们在俄国、波兰，在国外受到殷勤的招待，讲到他们的指挥官——大公的言行，讲到他仁慈而又急躁的趣闻。当话题没有涉及贝格本人时，他像平时一样默不作声，可是一提及大公忿怒的趣闻，他就高高兴兴地谈到他在加利西亚和大公谈过一次话，那时候大公巡视各兵团，看见军人行为不轨因而暴怒起来。他面露愉快的笑意时讲到大公大发雷霆，骑马走到他跟前，大声喊道：“阿尔瑙特人①！”（这是皇太子忿怒时爱用的口头禅）他于是传唤连长。 
①土耳其人把阿尔巴尼亚人称为阿尔瑙特人。
“伯爵，我什么也不怕，信不信，因为我知道我是对的。伯爵，你要知道，我可以毫不夸口地说，我把兵团的命令背得滚瓜烂熟，我把操典也背得滚瓜烂熟，就像背‘我们在天上的父'似的。因此，伯爵，我在全连中是没有什么过失的。我觉得问心无愧。我来报到了，（贝格欠起身子，惟妙惟肖地行举手礼。是的，难以表现出更加恭敬和得意的样子了。）正如常言所说的，他在呵斥我，呵斥呀，呵斥呀，正如常言所说的，呵斥得狗血喷头，还说‘阿尔瑙特人'，还说‘鬼家伙'，还说‘放逐到西伯利亚'。”贝格面露诚挚的笑容，说道。“我知道，我是对的，所以我默不作声，伯爵，难道不是这样吗？第二天在命令中没有提到这件事，这就是沉着的真谛所在！伯爵，就是这样。”贝格说道，一面点燃烟斗，一面吐出烟圈来。
“是的，真是妙极了。”罗斯托夫微露笑容，说道。
但是鲍里斯发现罗斯托夫想嘲笑贝格了，于是巧妙地引开话头。他请求罗斯托夫述说他是在什么地方、怎样负伤的，这就使罗斯托夫觉得愉快，他开始讲话，在讲的时候他的精神显得越来越振奋。他向他们讲到申格拉本之战，完全像那些参加战斗的人平常讲到战斗的情况那样，即是说，他们讲到的都是他们希望发生的事件，都是他们从别的讲述人那里听来的事件，都是讲得娓娓动听的但全非真实的事件。罗斯托夫是一个老老实实的青年，他无论怎样都不会存心说谎话。他开始讲的时候，力求讲得恰如其分，可是情不自禁地、不知不觉地而且不可避免地说起假话来。这些听众和他自己一样多次听过冲锋陷阵的故事，对何谓冲锋陷阵一事已构成一定的概念，他们正等着要听这样的故事，如果对这些听众述说真实情况，他们就会不相信他讲的话，或则更糟的是，他们会以为罗斯托夫的过失在于，他没有遇到讲述骑兵冲锋陷阵的人通常遇到的情况。他不能这样简单地讲给他们听，讲什么个个骑兵纵马飞奔，他跌下马来，扭伤了手臂，使尽全力地跑进森林，躲避法国人。而且，他想把发生的情况全都讲出来，那就非得克制自己不可，只宜叙述当时发生的事情的梗概。叙述真情实况是很困难的，真有这种本领的年轻人寥寥无几。他们指望能听到这样的故事：他忘我地赴汤蹈火，就像在烈火中燃烧，就像一阵暴风袭击敌人的方阵，他杀入腹地，左一刀右一刀砍杀敌人，军刀已经饱尝人肉的滋味，他精疲力竭，从战马上摔下来，等等。他把这一切讲给他们听了。
讲到半中间，正当地说“你不能设想，在冲锋陷阵时你竟会体验到一种多么奇怪的疯狂的感觉”的时候，鲍里斯所等候的安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵走进房里来了。安德烈公爵喜欢庇护青年，别人向他求情使他感到荣幸。他对昨天那个善于使他喜悦的鲍里斯怀有好感，想满足这个青年的心愿。库图佐夫委派他随带公文去见皇太子，他顺路去看这个年轻人，希望和他单独会面。他走进房里来，看见一名正在叙述作战中建立奇绩的集团军直属骠骑兵（安德烈公爵不能容忍这种人），他向鲍里斯露出和蔼的笑容，皱起眉头，眯缝起眼睛，望了望罗斯托夫，微微地鞠躬行礼，倦怠而迟缓地坐到沙发上。他碰见一群讨厌的人，心里很不高兴。罗斯托夫明白这一点，于是涨红了脸。但他觉得满不在乎，因为这是一个陌生人，可是他朝鲍里斯瞥了一眼，看见鲍里斯好像替他这个集团军直属骠骑兵难为情似的。虽然安德烈公爵的腔调含有讥讽意味，令人厌恶，虽然罗斯托夫持有作战部队的观点，一向瞧不起司令部里的芝麻副官（这个走进来的人显然属于这一流），罗斯托夫却感到局促不安，涨红了脸，沉默不言了。鲍里斯探问司令部里有什么消息，是否可于便中打听到我们拟订的军事计划。
“他们想必要向前推进。”博尔孔斯基答道，很明显，他不愿在旁人面前多说话。
贝格趁此机会十分恭敬地询问，他们会不会正像传闻所说的那样，要把双倍的饲料发给各连的连长？安德烈公爵面露微笑地回答了这个问题，他说他不能评论这样重大的国家法令，贝格于是很高兴地哈哈大笑。
“关于您的那桩事，”安德烈公爵又把脸转向鲍里斯说道，“我们以后再说，”他回头望望罗斯托夫。“检阅完毕后请您到我这儿来，我们能够办到的样样都办到。”
他朝屋里扫了一眼，就把脸儿转向罗斯托夫，罗斯托夫那副不可克服的稚气的窘态变为忿怒，他简直不屑去理会，他说：
“您好像谈过申格拉本之战，是吗？您到过那里吧？”
“我到过那里。”罗斯托夫气忿地说道，仿佛通过这句话来侮辱这个副官。
博尔孔斯基发现骠骑兵的窘态，觉得非常可笑。他略带轻蔑的样子，微微一笑。
“是啊，现在编造了许多有关这次战役的故事。”
“是的，有许多故事！”罗斯托夫高声地说道，忽然间用那变得疯狂的眼睛时而盯着鲍里斯，时而盯着博尔孔斯基，“是的，有许多故事，不过我们的故事统统是那样一些冒着敌人的炮火前进的人的故事，我们的故事是有分量的，而不是那些无所事事、竟获奖励的司令部里的花花公子的故事。”
“您认为我属于那种人，是吗？”安德烈公爵心平气和地特别愉快地微笑着说道。
这时一种奇异的忿怒的感觉随同他对此人的镇静的尊重在罗斯托夫的心灵中融合起来了。
“我所说的不是您，”他说道，“我不知道您这个人，老实说，我不想知道您这个人。总之，我所说的就是司令部的人员。”
“不过我得告诉您，”安德烈公爵带着恬静而威严的嗓音打断他的话。“您想侮辱我，我愿意表示赞同。只要您对您自己不太尊重，侮辱我一事是很容易做到的。可是您得承认，在这件事上，时间和地点都选得很不适宜。最近几天内，我们不得不举行一次更为严重的大决斗，此外，德鲁别茨科伊（鲍里斯的姓氏）说到，他是您的老相识，可惜我的面孔使您厌恶，这根本不是他的过失。不过，”他在站立时说道，“您知道我的姓氏，您也知道在什么地方能找到我。可是，您不要忘记，”他补充地说，“我认为，无论是您，还是我都没有受人欺侮，我是个比您年纪更大的人，所以我劝您放弃这件事。好吧，星期五检阅完毕以后，我来等您。德鲁别茨科伊，再见吧。”安德烈公爵说了一句收尾的话，对两个人行了一鞠躬礼，就走出去了。
只是在他走出去以后，罗斯托夫才想到他要向他回答什么话。因为他忘了说出这句话，所以他更加恼怒了。罗斯托夫立刻吩咐仆人备马，冷淡地向鲍里斯告辞之后，便回到自己的住宅去了。他明日是否到大本营去向这个出洋相的副官挑战，抑或是真的放弃这件事？这个问题使他一路上感到苦恼。他时而忿恨地想到，他会多么高兴地看见这个身材矮小的体力衰弱而骄傲的人在他的手枪之下露出惶恐的神态，他时而惊讶地感觉到，在他所认识的人之中，没有什么人会像这个他非常仇视的小小副官那样使他多么希望和他结为知交的。
Book 3 Chapter 8
THE DAY AFTER ROSTOV'S VISIT to Boris, the review took place of the Austrian and Russian troops, both the reinforcements freshly arrived from Russia and the troops that had been campaigning with Kutuzov. Both Emperors, the Russian Emperor with the Tsarevitch, and the Austrian with the archduke, were to assist at this review of the allied forces, making up together an army of eighty thousand men. From early morning the troops, all smart and clean, had been moving about the plain before the fortress. Thousands of legs and bayonets moved with flags waving, and halted at the word of command, turned and formed at regular intervals, moving round other similar masses of infantry in different uniforms. With the rhythmic tramp of hoofs, the smartly dressed cavalry in blue, and red, and green laced uniforms rode jingling by on black and chestnut and grey horses, the bandsmen in front covered with embroidery. Between the infantry and the cavalry the artillery, in a long line of polished, shining cannons quivering on their carriages, crawled slowly by with their heavy, brazen sound, and their peculiar smell from the linstocks, and ranged themselves in their places. Not only the generals in their full parade uniform, wearing scarves and all their decorations, with waists, portly and slim alike, pinched in to the uttermost, and red necks squeezed into stiff collars, not only the pomaded, dandified officers, but every soldier, with his clean, washed, and shaven face, and weapons polished to the utmost possibility of glitter, every horse rubbed down till its coat shone like satin, and every hair in its moistened mane lay in place—all alike felt it no joking matter, felt that something grave and solemn was going forward. Every general and every soldier was conscious of his own significance, feeling himself but a grain of sand in that ocean of humanity, and at the same time was conscious of his might, feeling himself a part of that vast whole. There had been strenuous exertion and bustle since early morning, and by ten o'clock everything was in the required order. The rows of soldiers were standing on the immense plain. The whole army was drawn out in three lines. In front was the cavalry; behind, the artillery; still further back, the infantry.
Between each two ranks of soldiery there was as it were a street. The army was sharply divided into three parts: Kutuzov's army (on the right flank of which stood the Pavlograd hussars in the front line), the regiments of the line and the guards that had arrived from Russia, and the Austrian troops. But all stood in one line, under one command, and in similar order.
Like a wind passing over the leaves, the excited whisper fluttered over the plain: “They are coming! they are coming!” There was a sound of frightened voices, and the hurried men's fuss over the last finishing touches ran like a wave over the troops.
A group came into sight moving towards them from Olmütz in front of them. And at the same moment, though there had been no wind, a faint breeze fluttered over the army, and stirred the streamers on the lances, and sent the unfurled flags flapping against their flagstaffs. It looked as though in this slight movement the army itself were expressing its joy at the approach of the Emperors. One voice was heard saying: “Steady!” Then like cocks at sunrise, voices caught up and repeated the sound in different parts of the plain. And all sank into silence.
In the deathlike stillness, the only sound was the tramp of hoofs. It was the Emperors' suite. The Emperors rode towards the flank, and the trumpets of the first cavalry regiment began playing a march. It seemed as though the sound did not come from the trumpeters, but that the army itself was naturally giving forth this music in its delight at the Emperors' approach. Through the music could be distinctly heard one voice, the genial, youthful voice of the Emperor Alexander. He uttered some words of greeting, and the first regiment boomed out: “Hurrah!” with a shout so deafening, so prolonged, so joyful, that the men themselves felt awestruck at the multitude and force of the mass they made up.
Rostov, standing in the foremost ranks of Kutuzov's army, which the Tsar approached first of all, was possessed by the feeling, common to every man in that army—a feeling of self-oblivion, of proud consciousness of their might and passionate devotion to the man who was the centre of that solemn ceremony.
He felt that at one word from that man all that vast mass (and he, an insignificant atom bound up with it) would rush through fire and water, to crime, to death, or to the grandest heroism, and so he could not but thrill and tremble at the sight of the man who was the embodiment of that word.
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” thundered on all sides, and one regiment after another greeted the Tsar with the strains of the march, then hurrah!…then the march, and again hurrah! and hurrah! which growing stronger and fuller, blended into a deafening roar.
Before the Tsar had reached it, each regiment in its speechless immobility seemed like a lifeless body. But as soon as the Tsar was on a level with it, each regiment broke into life and noise, which joined with the roar of all the line, by which the Tsar had passed already. In the terrific, deafening uproar of those voices, between the square masses of troops, immobile as though turned to stone, moved carelessly, but symmetrically and freely, some hundreds of men on horseback, the suite, and in front of them two figures—the Emperors. Upon these was entirely concentrated the repressed, passionate attention of all that mass of men.
The handsome, youthful Emperor Alexander, in the uniform of the Horse Guards, in a triangular hat with the base in front, attracted the greater share of attention with his pleasant face and sonorous, low voice.
Rostov was standing near the trumpeters, and with his keen eyes he recognised the Tsar from a distance and watched him approaching. When the Tsar was only twenty paces away, and Nikolay saw clearly in every detail the handsome, young, and happy face of the Emperor, he experienced a feeling of tenderness and ecstasy such as he had never known before. Everything in the Tsar—every feature, every movement—seemed to him full of charm.
Halting before the Pavlograd regiment, the Tsar said something in French to the Austrian Emperor and smiled.
Seeing that smile, Rostov unconsciously began to smile himself and felt an even stronger rush of love for his Emperor. He longed to express his love for the Tsar in some way. He knew it was impossible, and he wanted to cry. The Tsar called up the colonel of the regiment and said a few words to him.
“By God! what would happen to me if the Emperor were to address me!” thought Rostov; “I should die of happiness.”
The Tsar addressed the officers, too.
“All of you, gentlemen” (every word sounded to Rostov like heavenly music), “I thank you with all my heart.”
How happy Rostov would have been if he could have died on the spot for his Emperor.
“You have won the flags of St. George and will be worthy of them.”
“Only to die, to die for him!” thought Rostov.
The Tsar said something more which Rostov did not catch, and the soldiers, straining their lungs, roared “hurrah!”
Rostov, too, bending over in his saddle, shouted with all his might, feeling he would like to do himself some injury by this shout, if only he could give full expression to his enthusiasm for the Tsar.
The Tsar stood for several seconds facing the hussars, as though he were hesitating.
“How could the Emperor hesitate?” Rostov wondered; but then, even that hesitation seemed to him majestic and enchanting, like all the Tsar did.
The Tsar's hesitation lasted only an instant. The Tsar's foot, in the narrow-pointed boot of the day, touched the belly of the bay English thoroughbred he was riding. The Tsar's hand in its white glove gathered up the reins and he moved off, accompanied by the irregularly heaving sea of adjutants. Further and further he rode away, stopping at the other regiments, and at last the white plume of his hat was all that Rostov could see above the suite that encircled the Emperors.
Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rostov noticed Bolkonsky, sitting his horse in a slack, indolent pose. Rostov remembered his quarrel with him on the previous day and his doubt whether he ought or ought not to challenge him. “Of course, I ought not,” Rostov reflected now.…”And is it worth thinking and speaking of it at such a moment as the present? At the moment of such a feeling of love, enthusiasm, and self-sacrifice, what are all our slights and squabbles? I love every one, I forgive every one at this moment,” thought Rostov.
When the Tsar had made the round of almost all the regiments, the troops began to file by him in a parade march, and Rostov on Bedouin, which he had lately bought from Denisov, was the officer at the rear, that is, had to pass last, alone, and directly in view of the Tsar.
Before he reached the Tsar, Rostov, who was a capital horseman, set spurs twice to his Bedouin, and succeeded in forcing him into that frantic form of gallop into which Bedouin always dropped when he was excited. Bending his foaming nose to his chest, arching his tail, and seeming to skim through the air without touching the earth, Bedouin, as though he, too, were conscious of the Tsar's eye upon him, flew by in superb style, with a graceful high action of his legs.
Rostov himself drew back his legs and drew in his stomach, and feeling himself all of a piece with his horse, rode by the Tsar with a frowning but blissful face, looking a regular devil, as Denisov used to say.
“Bravo, Pavlograds!” said the Tsar.
“My God! shouldn't I be happy if he bade me fling myself into fire this instant,” thought Rostov.
When the review was over, the officers, both of the reinforcements and of Kutuzov's army, began to gather together in groups. Conversations sprang up about the honours that had been conferred, about the Austrians and their uniforms, and their front line, about Bonaparte and the bad time in store for him now, especially when Essen's corps, too, should arrive, and Prussia should take our side. But the chief subject of conversation in every circle was the Emperor Alexander; every word he had uttered, every gesture was described and expatiated upon with enthusiasm.
There was but one desire in all: under the Emperor's leadership to face the enemy as soon as possible. Under the command of the Emperor himself they would not fail to conquer any one whatever: so thought Rostov and most of the officers after the review.
After the review they all felt more certain of victory than they could have been after two decisive victories.
鲍里斯和罗斯托夫会面的翌日，奥国部队和俄国部队举行了一次阅兵式。接受检阅的俄国部队包括新近从俄国开来的部队和随同库图佐夫出征归来的部队。两位皇帝——俄皇偕同皇储、奥皇偕同大公，检阅了八万盟军。 
从清早起，穿着得考察而且整洁的部队动弹起来了，在要塞前面的场地上排队。时而可以看见千千万万只脚和刺刀随同迎风飘扬的旗帜向前移动着，听从军官的口令或停步，或转弯，或保持间隔排成队列，绕过身穿另一种军装的步兵群众。时而可以听见节奏均匀的马蹄声和马刺的碰击声，这些穿着蓝色、红色、绿色的绣花制服的骑兵骑在乌黑色、棕红色、青灰色的战马上，一些穿着绣花衣服的军乐乐师站在队列的前面。时而可以看见炮队拉长了距离，一门门擦得闪闪发亮的大炮在炮架上颤动着，可以听见铜件震动的响声，可以闻见点火杆散发的气味，炮队在步兵和骑兵之间爬行前进，在指定的地点拉开距离停下来。不仅是将军都全身穿着检阅制服，他们那粗大的或是细小的腰身都束得很紧，衣领衬托着脖子，托得通红，腰间都系着武装带，胸前佩戴着各种勋章；不仅是军官抹了发油，穿戴得时髦，而且每个士兵都露出一副精神充沛的洗得干干净净的刮得光光的面孔，每个士兵都把装具擦得锃亮，每匹战马都受到精心饲养，毛色像绸缎般闪耀着光彩，湿润的马鬃给梳得一丝不紊。人人都觉得正在完成一项非同儿戏的意义重大而庄严的事业。每个将军和士兵都觉得自己非常渺小，也意识到自己只是这个人海之中的一粒沙土，而且也觉得自己强而有力，也意识到自己是这个浩大的整体中的一部分。
从清早起，就开始非常紧张地张罗要办的事，可谓为全力以赴。到了十点钟，一切都如愿地准备就绪。一列一列的官兵都在宽阔的场地上站到队里了。全军排列成三行：骑兵排在前头，炮兵排在骑兵后面，步兵尾随于其后。
队列之间保留有街道一般的间隔。军队的三个部分——库图佐夫的战斗部队（保罗格勒兵团的官兵站在前面一行的右翼），刚从俄国开来的集团军直属兵团和近卫兵团以及奥国的部队，明显地分隔开来。但是他们都站在同一行列中，均由同一的首长指挥，具有同一的队形。
一阵激动不安的絮语有如风扫落叶似地传来了：“他们来了！他们来了！”可以听见惊恐的语声，一阵忙乱的高潮——
最后的准备工作——冲进了各支部队。
一群渐渐移近的官兵在前面的奥尔米茨那边出现了。这天虽是风平浪静，然而就在这时候军队中起了一阵微风，轻轻地拂动矛上的小旗，迎风招展的军旗拍打着旗杆。在两位国王驾到的时候，军队的这个细微的动作仿佛显示了自己的喜悦。传出了一声口令：“立正！”紧接着就像公鸡报晓似的，各个角落里重复着相同的口令。这之后一切都沉默下来。
在死一般的沉寂中，可以听见得得的马蹄声。他们是二位国王的侍从武官。二位国王向侧翼奔驰而至，第一骑兵团的司号员吹奏大进行曲。吹奏军号的仿佛不是司号员，而是军队本身自然而然地发出的乐声，国王的驾临真使他们感到非常高兴。从这些声音中，可以清晰地听见年轻的亚历山大皇帝的亲热的语声。他致了祝词，接着第一兵团高呼：“乌拉！”那呼声震耳欲聋，经久不息，令人欢欣鼓舞。众人本身所构成的这个庞大的队伍的人数和威力使他们自己大吃一惊。
罗斯托夫站在库图佐夫统率的军队的前列，国王先向这支军队奔驰而来。罗斯托夫体验到这支军队中每个人所体验到的那种感情——忘我的感情、国家强盛引起的自豪以及对那个为之而举行大典的人的强烈的爱戴。
他感觉到，这个人只要说出一句话，这支庞大的军队（他自己虽是微不足道的一粒砂，但是他和这支军队息息相关）就要去赴汤蹈火，去犯罪，去拼死，或者去建立伟大而英勇的业绩，所以一知道这个人就要说出这句话，他不能不颤栗，不能不为之心悸。
“乌拉！乌拉！乌拉！”从四面传来雷鸣般的欢呼声，一个兵团接着一个兵团鸣奏大进行曲来迎接国王，然后传来“乌拉”声，大进行曲的乐音，又响起“乌拉！”，欢呼声“乌拉！”越来越高，越来越强烈，终于汇成一片震耳欲聋的轰鸣。
在国王还没有驰近的时候，每个兵团沉默不言，毫不动弹，俨像没有生命的物体一般；国王一走到他们近旁的时候，兵团就活跃起来，喧哗起来，和国王走过的队列中的官兵的高喊声汇合起来。在这可怕的震耳欲聋的高喊声中，在这变成石头般的一动不动的方形队列的人群中，有几百个骑马的侍从武官漫不经心地、但却保持对称地，总之是畅快地骑行，两位皇帝在前面率领他们。这一群人的抑制住的强烈的注意力集中在他们身上。
俊美而年轻的亚历山大皇帝身穿骑兵近卫军制服，头戴一顶宽檐伸出的三角帽，他那喜悦的脸色、清晰而低沉的嗓音吸引了众人的注意。
罗斯托夫站在离司号员不远的地方，他用他那锐利的目光很远就认出了国王，注视着他的莅临。当国王向尼古拉身边走来，在离他二十步远的地方，他清晰地、仔细地观看皇帝的清秀的年轻而显得幸福的面孔，他觉察到一种他未曾觉察的温情和欣喜。尼古拉似乎觉得国王的一切——每个动作和每个特征都富有魅力。
国王在保罗格勒兵团前面停步了，他用法语向奥国皇帝说了一句什么话，脸上露出了微笑。
罗斯托夫看见这种微笑后，他自己也禁不住微笑起来，并且体察到他对国王的那种有如潮水般涌来的至为强烈的爱戴之感。他想借助于某种方式来表达他对国王的爱戴之感。他知道，这是不可能的，他真想哭出声来。国王传唤了团长，并且对他说了几句话。
“我的天呀，如果国王会对我讲话，我会怎么样啊！”罗斯托夫想道，“我真会幸福得要命。”
国王也对军官们讲话：
“我衷心地感谢诸位（每个词罗斯托夫都听见了，仿佛这是来自上天的声音）。”
如果罗斯托夫现在能够为他自己的沙皇献身，他就会多么幸福啊！
“你们赢得了圣乔治军旗，今后你们要受之无愧啊。”
“只要为他而献身，为他而献身！”罗斯托夫想道。
国王还说了什么话，可是罗斯托夫没有听清楚，接着士兵们声嘶力竭地高呼：“乌拉！”
罗斯托夫弯下身子，贴在马鞍上，也使出全力去喊叫，只要他能够充分地表达他对国王的喜悦心情，他就想喊破喉咙来。
国王在骠骑兵对面站了几秒钟，仿佛有点踌躇的样子。
“国王怎么会踌躇不前呢？”罗斯托夫想了想，可是后来，他认为，就连这种踌躇的样子也像国王的所作所为那样，是庄严的，令人赞叹的。
国王踌躇的神态延续了片刻。他脚上穿着当时流行的狭窄的尖头皮靴，轻轻地踢了一下他所骑的那匹英国式的枣红大马的腹股沟，又用那只戴着白手套的手拉紧了缰绳，于是在微波荡漾的海洋般的副官伴随之下策马上路了。他在其他的几个兵团附近停留半晌，越来越远了，后来罗斯托夫只能从簇拥着国王的侍从们后面看见他的皇冠的羽饰。
罗斯托夫在侍从先生中也发现那个懒洋洋的放荡不羁的博尔孔斯基，这时他正在骑行。罗斯托夫回想起昨日他们发生的口角，他脑海中浮现出一个问题：是不是要把他叫出来。
“不消说，用不着啊，”罗斯托夫这时候想了一下……“在眼前这个时刻，这件事值不值得去考虑，去谈论呢？在充满爱心、欣悦和为国王献身之感的时刻，我们之间发生的口角和屈辱具有什么意义呢？！而今我要爱大家，宽恕大家。”罗斯托夫想道。
国王巡视了几乎所有的兵团之后，部队开始以分列式从国王面前走过去。罗斯托夫骑着一匹他刚向杰尼索夫买下的贝杜英，处在骑兵连的队列末尾，就是说，他单独一人，在国王眼前走过去了。
当罗斯托夫这个优秀的骑手还没有走到国王面前的时候，他便用马刺刺了贝杜英两下，很幸运地促使贝杜英迈出它那急躁时所迈出的猛烈的迅步。贝杜英把那吐出白沫的马嘴低垂到胸前，翘起尾巴，仿佛脚不沾地地腾空飞奔似的，动作很优美，它高高地抬起四脚，变换步法，好像它也觉察到国王向它投射的目光，它于是威风凛凛地走过去了。
罗斯托夫本人，把腿向后伸，收缩腹部，他觉得自己和马合为一体，他蹙起了额角，显露出怡然自得的神色，就像杰尼索夫所说的那样，魔鬼一般地从国王身边奔驰过去了。
“保罗格勒兵团的官兵，呱呱叫！”国王说道。
“我的天呀！假如他吩咐我马上去赴汤蹈火，我该多么幸运啊！”罗斯托夫想了想。
检阅完毕的时候，新近开来的军官和库图佐夫手下的军官成群结队地聚拢起来，开始谈论各种奖励，谈论奥军官兵和官兵的军装、奥军的战场、谈论波拿巴，特别是在埃森军团行将逼近、普鲁士加入我方的时候，波拿巴转眼就要遭殃了。
但在各个小组中，谈论得最多的是有关亚历山大皇帝的事迹，众人传达他的一言一行，为之而感到高兴。
大家所希望的只有一条：在国王统率下尽快去歼击敌军。由国君亲临指挥，战无不胜，所向披靡，阅兵之后罗斯托夫和多数军官都是这样想的。
阅兵之后，大家都比打赢两仗后更加充满胜利的信心。
Book 3 Chapter 9
THE DAY AFTER THE REVIEW Boris Drubetskoy put on his best uniform, and accompanied by his comrade Berg's good wishes for his success, rode to Olmütz to see Bolkonsky, in the hope of profiting by his friendliness to obtain a better position, especially the position of an adjutant in attendance on some personage of importance, a post which seemed to him particularly alluring.
“It's all very well for Rostov, whose father sends him ten thousand at a time, to talk about not caring to cringe to any one, and not being a lackey to any man. But I, with nothing of my own but my brains, have my career to make, and mustn't let opportunities slip, but must make the most of them.”
He did not find Prince Andrey at Olmütz that day. But the sight of Olmütz—where were the headquarters and the diplomatic corps, and where both Emperors with their suites, their households, and their court, were staying—only strengthened his desire to belong to this upper world.
He knew no one; and in spite of his smart guardsman's uniform, all these exalted persons, racing to and fro about the streets in their elegant carriages, plumes, ribbons, and orders, courtiers and military alike, all seemed to be so immeasurably above him, a little officer in the Guards, as to be not simply unwilling, but positively unable to recognise his existence. At the quarters of the commander-in-chief, Kutuzov, where he asked for Bolkonsky, all the adjutants and even the orderlies looked at him as though they wished to impress on him that a great many officers of his sort came hanging about here, and that they were all heartily sick of seeing them. In spite of this, or rather in consequence of it, he went again the following day, the 15th, after dinner, to Olmütz, and going into the house occupied by Kutuzov, asked for Bolkonsky. Prince Andrey was at home, and Boris was ushered into a large room, probably at some time used for dancing. Now there were five bedsteads in it and furniture of various kinds: a table, chairs, a clavichord. One adjutant was sitting in a Persian dressing-gown writing at a table near the door. Another, the stout, red-faced Nesvitsky, was lying on a bed, his arms under his head, laughing with an officer sitting by the bedside. A third was playing a Vienna waltz on the clavichord, while a fourth lay on the clavichord, humming to the tune. Bolkonsky was not in the room. Not one of these gentlemen changed his position on observing Boris. The one who was writing, on being applied to by Boris, turned round with an air of annoyance, and told him that Bolkonsky was the adjutant on duty, and that he should go to the door to the left, into the reception-room, if he wanted to see him. Boris thanked him, and went to the reception-room. There he found some ten officers and generals.
At the moment when Boris entered, Prince Andrey dropping his eye-lids disdainfully (with that peculiar air of courteous weariness which so distinctly says, “If it were not my duty, I would not stay talking to you for a minute”), was listening to an old Russian general with many decorations, who, rigidly erect, almost on tiptoe, was laying some matter before Prince Andrey with the obsequious expression of a common soldier on his purple face.
“Very good, be so kind as to wait a moment,” he said to the general in Russian, with that French accent with which he always spoke when he meant to speak disdainfully, and noticing Boris, Prince Andrey took no further notice of the general (who ran after him with entreaties, begging him to hear something more), but nodded to Boris with a bright smile, as he turned towards him. At that moment Boris saw distinctly what he had had an inkling of before, that is, that quite apart from that subordination and discipline, which is written down in the drill-book, and recognised in the regiment and known to him, there was in the army another and more actual subordination, that which made this rigid, purple-faced general wait respectfully while Prince Andrey—of captain's rank—found it more in accordance with his pleasure to talk to Lieutenant Drubetskoy. Boris felt more than ever determined to follow in future the guidance not of the written code laid down in the regulations, but of this unwritten code. He felt now that simply because he had been recommended to Prince Andrey, he had become at one step superior to the general, who in other circumstances, at the front, could annihilate a mere lieutenant in the guards like him. Prince Andrey went up to him and shook hands.
“Very sorry you didn't find me in yesterday. I was busy the whole day with the Germans. We went with Weierother to survey the disposition. When Germans start being accurate, there's no end to it!”
Boris smiled, as though he understood, as a matter of common knowledge, what Prince Andrey was referring to. But it was the first time he had heard the name of Weierother, or even the word “disposition” used in that sense.
“Well, my dear boy, you still want an adjutant's post? I have been thinking about you since I saw you.”
“Yes,” said Boris, involuntarily flushing for some reason, “I was thinking of asking the commander-in-chief; he has had a letter about me from Prince Kuragin; and I wanted to ask him simply because,” he added, as though excusing himself, “I am afraid the guards won't be in action.”
“Very good, very good! we will talk it over later,” said Prince Andrey, “only let me report on this gentleman's business and I am at your disposal.” While Prince Andrey was away reporting to the commander-in-chief on the business of the purple-faced general, that general, who apparently did not share Boris's views as to the superior advantages of the unwritten code, glared at the insolent lieutenant, who had hindered his having his say out, so that Boris began to be uncomfortable. He turned away and waited with impatience for Prince Andrey to come out of the commander-in-chief's room.
“Well, my dear fellow, I have been thinking about you,” said Prince Andrey, when they had gone into the big room with the clavichord in it. “It's no use your going to the commander-in-chief; he will say a lot of polite things to you, will ask you to dine with him” (“that wouldn't come amiss in the service of that unwritten code,” thought Boris), “but nothing more would come of it; we shall soon have a complete battalion of adjutants and orderly officers. But I tell you what we will do: I have a friend, a general adjutant and an excellent fellow, Prince Dolgorukov. And though you may not be aware of it, the fact is that Kutuzov and his staff and all of us are just now of no account at all. Everything now is concentrated about the Emperor, so we'll go together to Dolgorukov. I have to go to see him, and I have already spoken of you to him. So we can see whether he may not think it possible to find a post for you on his staff, or somewhere there nearer to the sun.”
Prince Andrey was always particularly keen over guiding a young man and helping him to attain worldly success. Under cover of this help for another, which he would never have accepted for himself, he was brought into the circle which bestowed success, and which attracted him. He very readily took up Boris's cause, and went with him to Prince Dolgorukov.
It was late in the evening as they entered the palace at Olmütz, occupied by the Emperors and their retinues.
There had been on that same day a council of war, at which all the members of the Hofkriegsrath and the two Emperors had been present. At the council it had been decided, contrary to the advice of the elder generals, Kutuzov and Prince Schwarzenberg, to advance at once and to fight a general engagement with Bonaparte. The council of war was only just over when Prince Andrey, accompanied by Boris, went into the palace in search of Prince Dolgorukov. Every one at headquarters was still under the spell of the victory gained that day by the younger party at the council of war. The voices of those who urged delay, and counselled waiting for something and not advancing, had been so unanimously drowned and their arguments had been confuted by such indubitable proofs of the advantages of advancing, that what had been discussed at the council, the future battle and the victory certain to follow it, seemed no longer future but past. All the advantages were on our side. Our immense forces, undoubtedly superior to those of Napoleon, were concentrated in one place; the troops were encouraged by the presence of the two Emperors, and were eager for battle. The strategic position on which they were to act was to the minutest detail known to the Austrian general Weierother, who was at the head of the troops (as a lucky chance would have it, the Austrian troops had chosen for their man?uvres the very fields in which they had now to fight the French). Every detail of the surrounding neighbourhood was known and put down on maps, while Bonaparte, apparently growing feebler, was taking no measures.
Dolgorukov, who had been one of the warmest advocates of attack, had just come back from the council, weary, exhausted, but eager and proud of the victory he had gained. Prince Andrey presented the officer for whom he was asking his influence, but Prince Dolgorukov, though he shook hands politely and warmly, said nothing to Boris. Obviously unable to restrain himself from uttering the thoughts which were engrossing him at that moment, he addressed Prince Andrey in French.
“Well, my dear fellow, what a battle we have won! God only grant that the one which will be the result of it may be as victorious. I must own, though, my dear fellow,” he said jerkily and eagerly, “my short-comings compared with the Austrians and especially Weierother. What accuracy, what minuteness, what knowledge of the locality, what foresight of every possibility, every condition, of every minutest detail! No, my dear boy, anything more propitious than the circumstance we are placed in could not have been found, if one had arranged it purposely. The union of Austrian exactitude with Russian valour—what could you wish for more?”
“So an attack has been finally decided upon?” said Bolkonsky.
“And do you know, I fancy, Bonaparte really has lost his head. You know that a letter came from him to-day to the Emperor.” Dolgorukov smiled significantly.
“You don't say so! What does he write?” asked Bolkonsky.
“What can he write? Tradi-ri-di-ra—all simply to gain time. I tell you he's in our hands; that's the fact! But the most amusing part of it all,” he said, breaking all at once into a good-natured laugh, “is that they couldn't think how to address an answer to him. If not ‘consul,' and of course not ‘emperor,' it should be ‘general' Bonaparte, it seemed to me.”
“But between not recognising him as emperor and calling him General Bonaparte, there's a difference,” said Bolkonsky.
“That's just the point,” Dolgorukov interrupted quickly, laughing. “You know Bilibin, he's a very clever fellow; he suggested addressing it, ‘To the Usurper and Enemy of the Human Race,' ” Dolgorukov chuckled merrily.
“And nothing more?” observed Bolkonsky.
“But still it was Bilibin who found the suitable form of address in earnest. He's both shrewd and witty…”
“How was it?”
“To the Chief of the French Government: au chef du gouvernement fran?ais,” Dolgorukov said seriously and with satisfaction. “That was the right thing, wasn't it?”
“It was all right, but he will dislike it extremely,” observed Bolkonsky.
“Oh, extremely! My brother knows him; he's dined more than once with him—nowadays the emperor—in Paris, and used to tell me that he'd never seen a subtler and more crafty diplomat; you know, a combination of French adroitness and the Italian actor-faculty! You know the anecdote about Bonaparte and Count Markov? Count Markov was the only person who knew how to treat him. You know the story of the handkerchief? It's a gem!” And the talkative Dolgorukov turning from Boris to Prince Andrey told the story of how Bonaparte, to test Markov, our ambassador, had purposely dropped his handkerchief before him, and had stood looking at him, probably expecting Markov to pick it up for him, and how Markov promptly dropped his own beside it, and had picked up his own without touching Bonaparte's.
“Capital,” said Bolkonsky. “But, prince, I have come to you as a petitioner in behalf of this young friend. You see …” But before Prince Andrey could finish, an adjutant came into the room to summon Prince Dolgorukov to the Emperor.
“Ah, how annoying!” said Dolgorukov, getting up hurriedly and shaking hands with Prince Andrey and Boris. “You know I shall be very glad to do all that depends on me both for you and for this charming young man.” Once more he shook hands with Boris with an expression of good-natured, genuine, heedless gaiety. “But you see … another time!”
Boris was excited by the thought of being so close to the higher powers, as he felt himself to be at that instant. He was conscious here of being in contact with the springs that controlled all those vast movements of the masses, of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny, humble, and insignificant part. They followed Prince Dolgorukov out into the corridor and met (coming out of the door of the Tsar's room at which Dolgorukov went in) a short man in civilian dress with a shrewd face and a sharply projecting lower jaw, which, without spoiling his face, gave him a peculiar alertness and shiftiness of expression. This short man nodded to Dolgorukov, as if he were an intimate friend, and stared with an intently cold gaze at Prince Andrey, walking straight towards him and apparently expecting him to bow or move out of his way. Prince Andrey did neither; there was a vindictive look on his face, and the short young man turned away and walked at the side of the corridor.
“Who's that?” asked Boris.
“That's one of the most remarkable men—and the most unpleasant to me. The minister of foreign affairs, Prince Adam Tchartorizhsky.”
“Those are the men,” added Bolkonsky with a sigh which he could not suppress, as they went out of the palace, “those are the men who decide the fates of nations.”
Next day the troops set off on the march, and up to the time of the battle of Austerlitz, Boris did not succeed in seeing Bolkonsky or Dolgorukov again, and remained for a while in the Ismailov regiment.
阅兵之后的翌日，鲍里斯穿着顶好的军服，领受贝格同志赐予他的事业成功的临别赠言，前往奥尔米茨拜访博尔孔斯基。他翼望享用博尔孔斯基的垂照，为自己谋求一个极好的职位，尤其冀望谋求一个他认为颇具吸引力的军中显要名下的副官职位。“罗斯托夫的父亲一次就给他汇寄万把块卢布，他轻松愉快，说他不在任何人面前低三下四，决不去做任何人的仆役；而我除去自己的头颅以外，一无所有，不得不给自己谋求锦绣前程，获取功名利禄，时机不可错失，而应充分利用它。” 
是日，他在奥尔米茨没有碰见安德烈公爵。大本营和外交使团驻扎在奥尔米茨，两位皇帝随同侍从——廷臣和近臣均在此地居住。然而奥尔米茨的美景愈益加深了他想属于这个上层世界的心愿。
他不认识什么人，虽然他穿着讲究的近卫军军服，但是那些在街上来来往往的高级官员——廷臣和军人却坐着豪华的马车，佩戴着羽饰、绶带和勋章，他们比这个近卫军的小军官的地位看来要高得多，他们不仅不愿意，而且不会去承认他的存在。他在库图佐夫总司令的住宅打听博尔孔斯基，所有这些副官，甚至连勤务兵都轻蔑地望着他，仿佛向他示意；许多像他这样的军官都到这里来闲逛，他们真厌烦极了。尽管如此，或者毋宁说正因为如此，次日，即是十五日，午膳后他又前往奥尔米茨。当他走进库图佐夫的住宅时，他又打听博尔孔斯基。这时安德烈公爵在家，有人把鲍里斯带进一间大客厅，从前这里大概是跳舞的地方，而今这个大厅里摆着五张床、各种各样的家具、一张桌子、几把椅子和一架击弦古钢琴。一名穿波斯式长衫的副官坐在靠近房门的桌旁写字。另一名副官，面放红光的胖乎乎的涅斯维茨基枕着自己的手臂，躺在床上，正和一名坐在他身边的军官说笑话。第三名副官用击弦古钢琴弹奏维也纳圆舞曲，第四名副官靠在钢琴上随声和唱。博尔孔斯基不在场。这些先生们中谁也没有注意鲍里斯，他们并没有改变自己的姿态。有个人正在写字，鲍里斯向他打听情形，那人厌烦地把脸转向他，说博尔孔斯基正在执勤，如果要见他，就得从左边那道门进去，到接待室去。鲍里斯道一声谢，便朝接待室走去。这时有十来名军官和将军呆在接待室里。
当鲍里斯走进房间时，安德烈公爵正在听取那个胸前戴满了勋章的年老的将军的汇报，他鄙薄地眯缝起眼睛，这种特别谦虚而又疲倦的神态，很明显地表示：“如果不是我的职责所在，我连一分钟也不愿意和您交谈。”那位年老的将军几乎踮着脚尖，挺直着腰身，赤红的脸上流露着军人低三下四的表情，他向安德烈公爵禀告一件什么事。
“很好，请等一下吧。”他用他想轻蔑地说话时所带有的法国口音操着俄国话对将军说道。当安德烈公爵看见鲍里斯以后，他就不再听取将军的汇报（那位将军现出苦苦哀求的样子跟在他背后跑，请他再听他汇报），他面露愉快的微笑，点点头，向鲍里斯转过脸来。
这时候鲍里斯已经明白，他从前所预见的正是这种情形：除开操典中明文规定、兵团中人人熟悉他也熟悉的等级服从制度和纪律而外，军队中还有另外一种更为实际的等级服从制度，这种制度能够迫使这个束紧腰带、面露紫色的将军恭敬地等候，而骑兵上尉安德烈公爵认为他可任意同准尉德鲁别茨科伊畅谈一番。鲍里斯比任何时候都更坚决，他拿定主意：今后不必遵照操典中明文规定的等级服从制度，而应遵照这种不成文的等级服从制度服务。如今他觉得，仅仅因为他经由介绍已经认识安德烈公爵，他就立刻凌驾于这位将军之上了，这位将军在其他场合，在前线都有可能迫使他这个近卫军准尉无地自容。安德烈公爵向他面前走去，一把握住他的手。
“昨日您没有碰见我，十分抱歉。我整天价和德国人周旋。我同魏罗特尔曾去检查作战部署。德国人若要认真干起来，那就没完没了。”
鲍里斯微微一笑，仿佛他心中明白安德烈暗示的众人之事。不过魏罗特尔这个姓，甚至连“部署”这个词，他还是头一回才听说的。
“啊，亲爱的，怎么样？您总是想当副官吗？我近来已经考虑了您的事情。”
“是的！”鲍里斯说道，不知怎的不由地涨红了脸，“我想有求于总司令。关于我的事，库拉金给他的信中提到了，我所以想去求他，”他补充地说，仿佛是道歉似的，“只是因为我怕近卫军不会去参战。”
“很好，很好！我们来商谈这件事吧，”安德烈公爵说道，“您只要让我把这位先生的情况向上级禀报一下，然后我就听任您的摆布了。”
当安德烈公爵去禀告那个面露紫色的将军的情况的时候，这位将军显然不赞同鲍里斯认为无明文规定的等级从属制度有益的观点，他双眼死死盯着那个妨碍他和副官将话说完的鲁莽的准尉，鲍里斯觉得不好意思。他转过脸来，不耐烦地等待安德烈公爵从总司令办公室回来。
“我亲爱的，听我说，关于您的情况，我考虑过了，”当他们走进那间摆着击弦古钢琴的大厅的时候，安德烈公爵说道。“您用不着到总司令那里去了，”安德烈公爵说道，“他会对您说出一大堆客套话来，要您到他那里去吃午饭（就遵照那种等级服从制度供职而论，这算是不错的，鲍里斯想了想），可是到头来这不会有什么进展，我们这些人，副官和传令武官快要凑成一个营了。我们就这样办吧：我有个好友多尔戈鲁科夫公爵，他是一名副官总长，人品蛮好。尽管这一点您没法知道，但是问题却在于，库图佐夫随同他的司令部，还有我们这些人横竖不起什么作用。现在国王包办一切。我们就到多尔戈鲁科夫那里去吧，我也应当上他那儿去。关于您的事，我已经向他谈过了，那末，我们去看看他是否能够把您安插在他自己身边供职，或者在离太阳更近的什么地方谋个职位也行。”
当安德烈公爵有机会指导年轻人并且帮助他们在上流社会取得成就的时候，他就显得特别高兴了。因为高傲自负，他从来不会接受别人的帮助，但却在帮助别人的借口下，去接近那些获得成就并且吸引他的人。他很乐意一手包办鲍里斯的事，于是就和他一起到多尔戈鲁科夫公爵那里去了。
当他们走进二位皇帝及其亲信驻跸的奥尔米茨皇宫的时候，天色已经很晚了。
军事会议就是在这天举行的，军事参议院的全体议员和二位皇帝都参与会议。军事会议反对库图佐夫和施瓦岑贝格公爵两位老人的意见，决定立刻发动进攻，和波拿巴大战一场。安德烈公爵在鲍里斯陪伴下来到皇宫寻找多尔戈鲁科夫公爵的时候，军事会议刚刚结束了。大半营的人员为青年党今天胜利举行的军事会议而陶醉。一些行动迟慢的人员建议等待时机，暂不发动进攻，他们的呼声被人们异口同声地压住了，他们的论据已被进攻有利的无容置疑的证据所驳斥，会议上谈论的行将发生的战斗，无可置疑的凯旋，似乎不是未来的事，而是已经逝去的往事。我方已拥有各种有利的因素。雄厚的兵力，毋可置疑优越于波拿巴的兵力，已经集结于某一地区。两位皇帝亲临督阵。军心受到鼓舞，官兵急切地想投入战斗。指挥部队的奥国将军魏罗特尔对要采取军事行动的战略要地一目了然（旧年奥国军队碰巧在行将与法军交锋的战场举行过演习），对毗连前沿的地形也十分熟悉，而且都一一详载于地图。显然，波拿巴狂怒起来了，但却未采取任何行动。
多尔戈鲁科夫是个最热心地拥护进攻的人，他刚从委员会回来，虽然疲惫不堪，但是精神饱满，为赢得胜利而感到骄傲。安德烈公爵介绍了他所庇护的那个军官，但是多尔戈鲁科夫公爵却装出一副恭敬的样子，紧紧地握了一下鲍里斯的手，什么话也没有对他说。显然他没法忍耐下去，要把这时候使他最感兴趣的想法表白一下，他于是把脸转向安德烈公爵说起法国话来了。
“嗬！我亲爱的，我们经受了怎样的战斗考验啊！但愿上帝保佑，日后的战事同样会胜利结束。不过，我亲爱的，”他若断若续地兴致勃勃地说，“我应当在奥国人面前，特别是在魏罗特尔面前承认我的过错。多么精细，多么周密，对地形多么熟悉，对一切可能性，一切条件，一切详情细节都要有先见之明啊！不过，我亲爱的，比我们目前更为有利的条件是无法故意虚构出来的。奥国人的精密和俄国人的勇敢相结合，所向无敌，您还要怎样呢？”
“要是这样，发动进攻是最后的决定吗？”博尔孔斯基说道。
“您是否知道，我亲爱的，我似乎觉得，波拿巴简直白费口舌。您知道，今日收到他给皇帝寄来的一封信。”多尔戈鲁科夫意味深长地微微一笑。
“真有这么回事！他究竟写了什么呢？”博尔孔斯基问道。
“他能写什么？还不是老生常谈，其目的只是赢得时间。我对您说，他落在我们手上了，这是真话！可是至为有趣的是，”他忽然和善地笑了起来，说道，“无论怎样也想不出用什么称呼给他回信。如果不把收件人称为执政官，当然也不能称为皇帝，我觉得可以把他称为波拿巴将军。”
“但是，不承认波拿巴是皇帝和把他称为将军，这二者之间是有差别的。”博尔孔斯基说道。
“问题就在那一点上，”多尔戈鲁科夫飞快地说，他一面发笑，一面打断他的话。“您可认识比利宾，他是个十分聪明的人，他建议这样称呼收件人：‘篡夺王位者和人类的公敌'。”
多尔戈鲁科夫愉快地哈哈大笑。
“再没有别的称呼吗？”博尔孔斯基说道。
“比利宾毕竟想出了一个用于通信的头衔。他是一个既机智而又敏锐的人……”
“可不是？什么头衔？”
“法国政府首脑，Auchefdugouvernementfrancais，”多尔戈鲁科夫公爵严肃而又高兴地说。“很妙，是不是？”
“很妙，他可真会很不乐意的。”博尔孔斯基说道。
“噢，会很不乐意的！我的哥哥认识他，我哥哥不止一次在他（当今的皇上）那里用膳，那时候他们都在巴黎，我哥哥对我说，他没有见过比波拿巴更加机灵而且敏锐的外交家。您知道，他是一个既有法国人的灵活，又有意大利人的虚情假意的外交家！您知道他和马尔科夫伯爵之间的趣闻吗？只有马尔科夫伯爵一人擅长于同他打交道。您知道手绢的故事吗？妙不可言！”
喜欢谈话的多尔戈鲁科夫时而把脸转向鲍里斯，时而把脸转向安德烈公爵，叙述波拿巴试图考验一下我们的公使马尔科夫。波拿巴在他面前故意扔下一条手绢，他停步了，瞪着眼睛望着他，大概是等待马尔科夫帮忙，替他捡起手绢来，马尔科夫马上也在身边扔下一条自己的手绢，他捡起自己的手绢，没有去捡波拿巴的手绢。”
“Charmant．”①博尔孔斯基说道，“公爵，请您听我说，我到您这里来是替这个年轻人求情的。您知不知道这是怎么回事吗？……” 
①法语：妙不可言。
可是安德烈公爵来不及把话说完，就有一名副官走进房里来，喊多尔戈鲁科夫去觐见皇帝。
“唉，多么懊恼！”多尔戈鲁科夫连忙站起来，握着安德烈公爵和鲍里斯的手，说，“您知道，我为您和这个可爱的年轻人办到由我决定的一切事情，我感到非常高兴。”他带着温和而诚挚、活泼而轻率的表情，再一次地握握鲍里斯的手。
“可是你们都明白，下次再见吧！”
鲍里斯感到，这时候他正处在当权的上层人士的控制下，他想到要和这些当权人士接近，心里十分激动。他意识到他自己在这里要跟那指挥广大群众活动的发条打交道，他觉得他在自己的兵团里只是群众之中的一个唯命是从的微不足道的小零件。他们跟在多尔戈鲁科夫公爵后面来到走廊上，遇见一个从房门里走出来的（多尔戈鲁科夫正是走进国王的这道房门的）身材矮小的穿着便服的人，他长着一副显得聪颖的面孔，颌骨明显地向前突出，不过无损于他的面容，它反而使他赋有一种特别灵活的面部表情。这个身材矮小的人就像对自己人那样，对多尔戈鲁科夫点点头，他用他那冷淡的目光开始凝视安德烈公爵，一面径直地向他走去，看样子他在等待安德烈公爵向他鞠躬行礼，或者给他让路。安德烈公爵既没有鞠躬，也没有让路，他脸上流露着愤恨的表情，于是这个年轻人转过身去，紧靠着走廊边上走过去了。
“他是谁呀？”鲍里斯问道。
“他是个最出色的，但却是我最厌恶的人。他是外交大臣亚当·恰尔托里日斯基公爵。正是这些人，”他们走出皇宫时，博尔孔斯基禁不住叹了口气，说道，“正是这些人来决定各族人民命运的。”
翌日，部队出征了。在奥斯特利茨战役结束之前，鲍里斯既来不及访问博尔孔斯基，也来不及访问多尔戈鲁科夫，他在伊兹梅洛夫兵团还呆了一段时间。
Book 3 Chapter 10
AT DAWN on the 16th, Denisov's squadron, in which Nikolay Rostov was serving, and which formed part of Prince Bagration's detachment, moved on from its halting place for the night—to advance into action, as was said. After about a mile's march, in the rear of other columns, it was brought to a standstill on the high-road. Rostov saw the Cossacks, the first and second squadrons of hussars, and the infantry battalions with the artillery pass him and march on ahead; he also saw the Generals Bagration and Dolgorukov ride by with their adjutants. All the panic he had felt, as before, at the prospect of battle, all the inner conflict by means of which he had overcome that panic, all his dreams of distinguishing himself in true hussar style in this battle—all were for nothing. His squadron was held back in reserve, and Nikolay Rostov spent a tedious and wretched day. About nine o'clock in the morning he heard firing ahead of him, and shouts of hurrah, saw the wounded being brought back (there were not many of them), and finally saw a whole detachment of French cavalry being brought away in the midst of a company of Cossacks. Obviously the action was over, and the action had, obviously, been a small one, but successful. The soldiers and officers as they came back were talking of a brilliant victory, of the taking of the town of Vishau, and a whole French squadron taken prisoners. The day was bright and sunny after a sharp frost at night, and the cheerful brightness of the autumn day was in keeping with the news of victory, which was told not only by the accounts of those who had taken part in it, but by the joyful expression of soldiers, officers, generals, and adjutants, who rode to and fro by Rostov. All the greater was the pang in Nikolay's heart that he should have suffered the dread that goes before the battle for nothing, and have spent that happy day in inactivity.
“Rostov, come here, let's drink ‘begone, dull care!' ” shouted Denisov, sitting at the roadside before a bottle and some edibles. The officers gathered in a ring, eating and talking, round Denisov's wine-case.
“Here they're bringing another!” said one of the officers, pointing to a French prisoner, a dragoon, who was being led on foot by two Cossacks. One of them was leading by the bridle the prisoner's horse, a tall and beautiful French beast.
“Sell the horse?” Denisov called to the Cossacks.
“If you will, your honour.”
The officers got up and stood round the Cossacks and the prisoner. The French dragoon was a young fellow, an Alsatian who spoke French with a German accent. He was breathless with excitement, his face was red, and hearing French spoken he began quickly speaking to the officers, turning from one to another. He said that they wouldn't have taken him, that it wasn't his fault he was taken, but the fault of the corporal, who had sent him to get the horsecloths, that he had told him the Russians were there. And at every word he added: “But don't let anybody hurt my little horse,” and stroked his horse. It was evident that he did not quite grasp where he was. At one moment he was excusing himself for having been taken prisoner, at the next, imagining himself before his superior officers, he was trying to prove his soldierly discipline and zeal for the service. He brought with him in all its freshness into our rearguard the atmosphere of the French army, so alien to us.
The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, and Rostov, being the richest of the officers since he had received money from home, bought it.
“Be good to the little horse!” the Alsatian said with simple-hearted good-nature to Rostov, when the horse was handed to the hussar.
Rostov smiling, soothed the dragoon, and gave him money.
“Alley! Alley!” said the Cossack, touching the prisoner's arm to make him go on.
“The Emperor! the Emperor!” was suddenly heard among the hussars. Everything was bustle and hurry, and Rostov saw behind them on the road several horsemen riding up with white plumes in their hats. In a single moment all were in their places and eagerly expectant.
Rostov had no memory and no consciousness of how he ran to his post and got on his horse. Instantly his regret at not taking part in the battle, his humdrum mood among the men he saw every day—all was gone; instantly all thought of self had vanished. He was entirely absorbed in the feeling of happiness at the Tsar's being near. His nearness alone made up to him by itself, he felt, for the loss of the whole day. He was happy, as a lover is happy when the moment of the longed-for meeting has come. Not daring to look round from the front line, by an ecstatic instinct without looking round, he felt his approach. And he felt it not only from the sound of the tramping hoofs of the approaching cavalcade, he felt it because as the Tsar came nearer everything grew brighter, more joyful and significant, and more festive. Nearer and nearer moved this sun, as he seemed to Rostov, shedding around him rays of mild and majestic light, and now he felt himself enfolded in that radiance, he heard his voice—that voice caressing, calm, majestic, and yet so simple. A deathlike silence had come—as seemed to Rostov fitting—and in that silence he heard the sound of the Tsar's voice.
“The Pavlograd hussars?” he was saying interrogatively
“The reserve, sire,” replied a voice—such a human voice, after the superhuman voice that had said: “Les hussards de Pavlograd?”
The Tsar was on a level with Rostov, and he stood still there. Alexander's face was even handsomer than it had been at the review three days before. It beamed with such gaiety and youth, such innocent youthfulness, that suggested the playfulness of a boy of fourteen, and yet it was still the face of the majestic Emperor. Glancing casually along the squadron, the Tsar's eyes met the eyes of Rostov, and for not more than two seconds rested on them. Whether it was that the Tsar saw what was passing in Rostov's soul (it seemed to Rostov that he saw everything), any way he looked for two seconds with his blue eyes into Rostov's face. (A soft, mild radiance beamed from them.) Then all at once he raised his eyebrows, struck his left foot sharply against his horse, and galloped on.
The young Emperor could not restrain his desire to be present at the battle, and in spite of the expostulations of his courtiers, at twelve o'clock, escaping from the third column which he had been following, he galloped to the vanguard. Before he reached the hussars, several adjutants met him with news of the successful issue of the engagement.
The action, which had simply consisted in the capture of a squadron of the French, was magnified into a brilliant victory over the enemy, and so the Tsar and the whole army believed, especially while the smoke still hung over the field of battle, that the French had been defeated, and had been forced to retreat against their will. A few minutes after the Tsar had galloped on, the division of the Pavlograd hussars received orders to move forward. In Vishau itself, a little German town, Rostov saw the Tsar once more. In the market-place of the town where there had been rather a heavy firing before the Tsar's arrival, lay several dead and wounded soldiers, whom there had not been time to pick up. The Tsar, surrounded by his suite of officers and courtiers, was mounted on a different horse from the one he had ridden at the review, a chestnut English thoroughbred. Bending on one side with a graceful gesture, holding a gold field-glass to his eyes, he was looking at a soldier lying on his face with a blood-stained and uncovered head. The wounded soldier was an object so impure, so grim, and so revolting, that Rostov was shocked at his being near the Emperor. Rostov saw how the Tsar's stooping shoulders shuddered, as though a cold shiver had passed over them, how his left foot convulsively pressed the spur into the horse's side, and how the trained horse looked round indifferently and did not stir. An adjutant dismounting lifted the soldier up under his arms, and began laying him on a stretcher that came up. The soldier groaned.
“Gently, gently, can't you do it more gently?” said the Tsar, apparently suffering more than the dying soldier, and he rode away.
Rostov saw the tears in the Tsar's eyes, and heard him say in French to Tchartorizhsky, as he rode off: “What an awful thing war is, what an awful thing!”
The forces of the vanguard were posted before Vishau in sight of the enemy's line, which had been all day retreating before us at the slightest exchange of shots. The Tsar's thanks were conveyed to the vanguard, rewards were promised, and a double allowance of vodka was served out to the men. Even more gaily than on the previous night the bivouac fires crackled, and the soldiers sang their songs. Denisov on that night celebrated his promotion to major, and, towards the end of the carousal, after a good deal of drinking, Rostov proposed a toast to the health of the Emperor, but “not our Sovereign the Emperor, as they say at official dinners,” said he, “but to the health of the Emperor, the good, enchanting, great man, let us drink to his health, and to a decisive victory over the French!”
“If we fought before,” said he, “and would not yield an inch before the French, as at Sch?ngraben, what will it be now when he is at our head? We will all die, we will gladly die for him. Eh, gentlemen? Perhaps I'm not saying it right. I've drunk a good deal, but that's how I feel, and you do too. To the health of Alexander the First! Hurrah!”
“Hurrah!” rang out the cheery voices of the officers. And the old captain Kirsten shouted no less heartily and sincerely than Rostov, the boy of twenty.
When the officers had drunk the toast and smashed their glasses, Kirsten filled some fresh ones, and in his shirt-sleeves and riding-breeches went out to the soldiers' camp-fires, glass in hand, and waving his hand in the air stood in a majestic pose, with his long grey whiskers and his white chest visible through the open shirt in the light of the camp-fire.
“Lads, to the health of our Sovereign the Emperor, to victory over our enemies, hurrah!” he roared in his stalwart old soldier's baritone. The hussars thronged about him and responded by a loud shout in unison.
Late at night, when they had all separated, Denisov clapped his short hand on the shoulder of his favourite Rostov. “To be sure he'd no one to fall in love with in the field, so he's fallen in love with the Tsar,” he said.
“Denisov, don't joke about that,” cried Rostov, “it's such a lofty, such a sublime feeling, so…”
“I believe you, I believe you, my dear, and I share the feeling and approve…”
“No, you don't understand!” And Rostov got up and went out to wander about among the camp-fires, dreaming of what happiness it would be to die—not saving the Emperor's life—(of that he did not even dare to dream), but simply to die before the Emperor's eyes. He really was in love with the Tsar and the glory of the Russian arms and the hope of coming victory. And he was not the only man who felt thus in those memorable days that preceded the battle of Austerlitz: nine-tenths of the men in the Russian army were at that moment in love, though less ecstatically, with their Tsar and the glory of the Russian arms.
十六日凌晨，尼古拉·罗斯托夫所服役的那个隶属于巴格拉季翁公爵的队伍的杰尼索夫所指挥的骑兵连从宿营地点启行，参与一次战役，据说，骑兵连追随其他纵队之后已骑行一俄里左右，在大路上遇阻，停止前进了。罗斯托夫看见，哥萨克兵、第一第二骠骑兵连和配备有炮队的步兵营从他身边向前推进。巴格拉季翁和多尔戈鲁科夫二位将军偕同副官骑着战马走过去了。像从前那样在战斗前所经受的恐惧、他用以克服这种恐惧的内心斗争、他以骠骑兵的姿态在这次战役中荣立战功的理想，这一切成了泡影。他们的骑兵连被留下来充当后备，尼古拉·罗斯托夫愁闷地过了一天。上午八点多钟，他听见前面的枪声、“乌拉”声，他看见从前线送回的伤兵（他们为数不多），最后他看见，数以百计的哥萨克在中途押送一队法国骑兵。显然这次战斗结束了，显然战斗的规模不大，但是可谓马到成功。前线回来的官兵述说辉煌的胜利、维绍市的攻克、整整一个法国骑兵连的被俘。在一夜的霜冻之后，白昼的天气明朗，阳光灿烂令人愉快的秋日和胜利的佳音融合为一体了，不仅是参加战斗的官兵传播胜利的佳音，而且那些骑着战马在罗斯托夫身边来回地奔走的士兵、军官、将军和副官的面部表情也透露了这个消息。这就使得尼古拉的内心疼痛得更为剧烈，他徒然地经受了一次战斗前的恐惧，在这个愉快的日子他消极无为。 
“罗斯托夫，请到这里来，我们干一杯，解解愁吧！”杰尼索夫喊道，在路边上坐下来，他面前摆着军用水壶和下酒的冷菜。
几个军官在杰尼索夫的路菜筒旁边围成一圈，一面用冷菜下酒，一面聊天。
“瞧，又押来一个啊！”有一名军官指着由两个哥萨克兵步押送的一个被俘的法国龙骑兵时，说道。
其中一人牵着一匹从俘虏手上夺来的肥大而美丽的法国战马。
“把这匹马卖掉吧！”杰尼索夫对那个哥萨克兵大声喊道。
“大人，好吧……”
军官们站立起来，把几个哥萨克兵和一个被俘的法国人围在中间。法国龙骑兵是个挺棒的小伙子，阿尔萨斯人，带着德国口音说法国话。他激动得上气不接下气，满脸通红，一听见法国话，就忽而把脸转向这个军官，忽而把脸转向那个军官，匆促地讲起话来。他说本来抓不到他，他被人抓到不是他的过错，而是那个派他去取马被的Lecapoval（班长）的过错，他对他说，俄国人已经呆在那里了。他在每句话上补充一句话：Maisqu'onnefassepasdemalamonpetit
cheval，①一面抚摩自己的马。由此可见，他不太明白，他置身于何处。他时而认为他被俘的事是可以原谅的，时而以为自己的首长就在面前，并且向首长表白他那大兵的勤恳和对执勤的关心。他把我们感到陌生的法国军队的新气氛带到了我们的后卫部队。 
①法语：怜悯怜悯我的小马吧。
几个哥萨克卖掉一匹马，挣到两枚金卢布。罗斯托夫收到家中寄来的钱，现在是军官中的一个最富有的人，他买下了这匹马。
“Maisqu'onnefassepasdemalamonpetitcheval”①当这匹马转交给骠骑兵后，阿尔萨斯人和善地对罗斯托夫说。 
①法语：可得怜悯怜悯小马啊。
罗斯托夫面露笑容，安慰这个龙骑兵，把钱给他了。
“喂，喂，走吧！”哥萨克兵说道，一面触动着俘虏的手臂，要他继续向前走。
“国王！国王！”忽然，骠骑兵之间传来一阵呼喊声。
大伙儿开始跑步，手忙脚乱，罗斯托夫看见他后面的大路上有几个戴着白色帽缨的渐渐驰近的骑者。大伙儿呆在原地等候着。
罗斯托夫不记得也不觉得，他是怎样跑至原处并且骑上战马的。他因为没有参加战斗而产生的遗憾、他在看腻了的人们中间产生的枯燥情绪霎时间消失殆尽，一切只顾自己的想法也转瞬间消逝了。一种因为国王行将驾临而产生的幸福之感几乎把他吞没了。他觉得他消磨了当天的时光，而仅因国王行将驾临而获得抵偿。他觉得非常幸福，就像个情夫等到了期待已久的约会似的。他不敢在队列中环顾，虽然他并未左顾右盼，而他却以狂欢的嗅觉闻到了他的驾临。他所以具有这样的感觉，不仅仅因为他听见渐渐驰近的骑行者的得得的马蹄声，而且因为随着国王的驾临，他的四遭显得更加亮堂，更加欢快，更加富有重大意义，而且更加带有节日的气氛。罗斯托夫心目中的这轮太阳离他越来越近，它在自己的四周放射出温和的壮丽的光芒，他终于觉得他自己已被这种光芒笼罩住了，他听见国王的声音，这种既温和而又平静，既庄严而又纯朴的声音。正与罗斯托夫的预感相符合，死一般的沉寂降临了，并且在这一片沉寂中可以听见国王的声音。
“LeshuzavdsdePavlograd？”①他疑惑地说。
“Larèsrve，sire！”②可以听见某人回答的语声，在那个非凡的人说了“LeshuzaidsdePanluqvad？”这句话之后，这个人的回答的语声是多么平凡。 
①法语：是保罗格勒兵团的骠骑兵吗？
②法语：陛下，是后备队啊。
国王走到罗斯托夫附近的地方，停止脚步了。亚历山大的气色比三天前检阅时更加好看。这张面孔焕发着欢乐的青春的光辉，这种纯洁无瑕的青春的光辉使人想起一个年方十四岁的儿童爱玩爱闹的样子，而这毕竟还是一个庄严的皇帝的面孔。皇帝的眼睛偶而打量骑兵连，他的目光和罗斯托夫的目光相遇了，充其量凝视了两秒钟。国王是否明了罗斯托夫的心态（罗斯托夫觉得他明了一切），但他用那蔚蓝色的眼睛朝罗斯托夫的面孔看了两秒钟左右（他的眼睛流露出温柔的光辉）。后来他忽然扬起双眉，用左腿猛然踢了一下战马，向前奔驰起来。
年青的皇帝按捺不住，他很想参加战斗，不顾廷臣的一再进谏，十二点钟离开了他所殿后的第三纵队，向后卫部队疾驰而去。在几名副官尚未追上骠骑兵之际，他们便带着战斗顺利结束的消息来迎接国王。
这次仅仅俘获一个法军骑兵连的战役，被认为是击溃法军的一次辉煌的胜利，因此国君和全军，尤其是在战场上的硝烟尚未消散的时候，都深信法军败北，不得不撤退。国王走过之后几分钟内，他们要求保罗格勒兵团的骑兵营向前推进。在维绍——德意志的小市镇，罗斯托夫又一次看见国王。国王到达前，市镇广场上发生过相当猛烈的对射，那里躺着几具来不及运走的尸体和几个伤兵。国王被一群文武侍从簇拥着，他骑着一匹和阅兵时所骑的不同的英国式的枣红色母马，他侧着身子，用那优美的姿势执着单目眼镜，把它举到眼前，不停地望着那个匍匐于地、未戴高筒军帽、头上鲜血淋漓的士兵。这个伤兵非常邋遢、粗野、可恶，他置身于国王附近，这使罗斯托夫深感委屈。罗斯托夫看见国王的微微向前弯下的肩头颤栗了一下，仿佛打了个寒噤，看见他的左脚开始痉挛地用马刺刺着马的肋部，这匹受了训练的战马冷淡地东张西望，它呆在原地不动。一名副官下了马，搀扶起这个士兵，把他放在他面前的担架上，士兵呻吟起来了。
“静一点，静一点，难道不能安静一点么？”国王看起来比这个行将就木的士兵更难受，于是骑马走开了。
罗斯托夫看见国王的眼睛里噙满着泪水，并听见他在走开的时候，用法国话对恰尔托里日斯基说：
“战争是一件多么可怖的事啊，多么可怖的事啊！quelleter－riblechosequelaguerre！”① 
①法语：战争是一件多么可怖的事啊。
一天之内，敌方的散兵线在不剧烈的对射时向我方让步，因此，我方的前卫部队就在维绍市前面扎营。国王向前卫部队表示谢意，并且答应授奖，给每人都发两份伏特加酒。这时分人人觉得比前夕更加开心，营火发出噼啪的响声，传来士兵的歌声。杰尼索夫这天夜里庆祝他被提升为少校军官，罗斯托夫已经喝得相当多了，酒宴结束时他为祝贺国王（而不是皇帝陛下）健康而干杯，这和正式宴会上大家的说法有所不同，他说道，“为祝贺仁慈、伟大、令人赞赏的国王健康而干杯，我们为他的健康而干杯，为我军必胜法军必败而干杯！”
“既然我们从前打过仗，”他说，“而且没有放走法国佬，正像申格拉本市郊之战那样。国王正在前面督阵，眼前会出现什么局面呢？我们都去捐躯，高兴地为他而捐躯。先生们，对吗？也许我不要这样说，我喝得太多了，不过我有这种感觉，你们也有这种感觉。为亚历山大一世的健康干杯！乌拉！”
“乌拉！”可以听见军官们的热情洋溢的叫喊声。
年老的骑兵大尉基尔斯坚热情洋溢地叫喊，比二十岁的罗斯托夫的喊声听起来更加诚挚。
军官们喝完了酒，打碎了酒杯，基尔斯坚斟满另外几杯酒，他只穿着一件衬衣、一条紧腿马裤，手上捧着酒杯，向士兵的篝火前面走去，装出一副庄重的姿势，挥挥手，他的脸上长着长长的斑白的胡髭，从一件敞开的衬衣里面露出洁白的胸脯，在篝火的照耀下停住了。
“伙伴们，为皇帝陛下的健康，为战胜敌人而干杯，乌拉！”
他用地那豪壮的老年骠骑兵的男中音喊道。
骠骑兵们都聚集起来，一齐用洪亮的喊声回报。
夜深时大家都已经四散了，杰尼索夫用一只短短的手拍了拍他的爱友罗斯托夫的肩膀。
“征途上没人可爱，他就爱上沙皇了。”他说。
“朋友，我相信，我相信，我有同感，表示赞许……”
“不，你不明白！”
罗斯托夫站立起来，向前走去，在篝火之间徘徊游荡，他心里想到，如能为国王捐躯，不是在拯救国王时（他不敢想到这件事），而干脆在国王眼前献身，那该是何等幸福。他的确爱上了沙皇，珍视俄国武装力量的光荣，珍视未来的凯旋的希望。在奥斯特利茨战役前的那些值得纪念的日子里，不仅他一人体验到这种感情，俄国军队中十分之九的军人都爱上他们自己的沙皇，珍视俄国武装力量的光荣，尽管没有达到那样狂热的程度。
Book 3 Chapter 11
THE FOLLOWING DAY the Tsar stayed in Vishau. His medical attendant, Villier, was several times summoned to him. At headquarters and among the troops that were nearer, the news circulated that the Tsar was unwell. He was eating nothing and had slept badly that night, so those about him reported. The cause of this indisposition was the too violent shock given to the sensitive soul of the Tsar by the sight of the killed and wounded.
At dawn on the 17th, a French officer was conducted from our outposts into Vishau. He came under a flag of truce to ask for an interview with the Russian Emperor. This officer was Savary. The Tsar had only just fallen asleep, and so Savary had to wait. At midday he was admitted to the Emperor, and an hour later he rode away accompanied by Prince Dolgorukov to the outposts of the French army. Savary's mission was, so it was rumoured, to propose a meeting between Alexander and Napolean. A personal interview was, to the pride and rejoicing of the whole army, refused, and instead of the Tsar, Prince Dolgorukov, the general victorious in the action at Vishau, was despatched with Savary to undertake negotiations with Napoleon, if these negotiations—contrary to expectation—were founded on a real desire for peace. In the evening Dolgorukov came back, went straight to the Tsar and remained a long while alone with him.
On the 18th and 19th the troops moved forward two days' march, and the enemy's outposts, after a brief interchange of shots, retired. In the higher departments of the army an intense, bustling excitement and activity prevailed from midday of the 19th till the morning of the following day, the 20th of November, on which was fought the memorable battle of Austerlitz. Up to midday of the 19th the activity, the eager talk, the bustle, and the despatching of adjutants was confined to the headquarters of the Emperors; after midday the activity had reached the headquarters of Kutuzov and the staff of the commanding officers of the columns. By evening this activity had been carried by the adjutants in all directions into every part of the army, and in the night of the 19th the multitude of the eighty thousands of the allied army rose from its halting-place, and with a hum of talk moved on, a heaving mass nine versts long.
The intense activity that had begun in the morning in the headquarters of the Emperors, and had given the impetus to all the activity in remoter parts, was like the first action in the centre wheel of a great tower clock. Slowly one wheel began moving, another began turning, and a third, and more and more rapidly, levers, wheels, and blocks began to revolve, chimes began playing, figures began to pop out, and the hands began moving rhythmically, as a result of that activity.
Just as in the mechanism of the clock, in the mechanism of the military machine too, once the impetus was given, it was carried on to the last results, and just as unsympathetically stationary were the parts of the machinery which the impulse had not yet reached. Wheels creak on their axles, and teeth bite into cogs, and blocks whir in rapid motion, while the next wheel stands as apathetic and motionless as though it were ready to stand so for a hundred years. But the momentum reaches it—the lever catches, and the wheel, obeying the impulse, creaks and takes its share in the common movement, the result and aim of which are beyond its ken.
Just as in the clock, the result of the complex action of countless different wheels and blocks is only the slow, regular movement of the hand marking the time, so the result of all the complex human movement of those 160,000 Russians and Frenchmen—of all the passions, hopes, regrets, humiliations, sufferings, impulses of pride, of fear, and of enthusiasm of those men—was only the loss of the battle of Austerlitz, the so-called battle of the three Emperors, that is, the slow shifting of the registering hand on the dial of the history of mankind.
Prince Andrey was on duty that day, and in close attendance on the commander-in-chief. At six o'clock in the evening Kutuzov visited the headquarters of the Emperors, and after a brief interview with the Tsar, went in to see the Ober-Hofmarschall Count Tolstoy.
Bolkonsky took advantage of this interval to go in to Dolgorukov to try and learn details about the coming action. Prince Andrey felt that Kutuzov was disturbed and displeased about something, and that they were displeased with him at headquarters, and that all the persons at the Emperor's headquarters took the tone with him of people who knew something other people are not aware of; and for that reason he wanted to have some talk with Dolgorukov.
“Oh, good evening, my dear boy,” said Dolgorukov, who was sitting at tea with Bilibin. “The fête's for to-morrow. How's your old fellow? out of humour?”
“I won't say he's out of humour, but I fancy he would like to get a hearing.”
“But he did get a hearing at the council of war, and he will get a hearing when he begins to talk sense. But to delay and wait about now when Bonaparte fears a general engagement more than anything—is out of the question.”
“Oh yes, you have seen him,” said Prince Andrey. “Well, what did you think of Bonaparte? What impression did he make on you?”
“Yes, I saw him, and I'm persuaded he fears a general engagement more than anything in the world,” repeated Dolgorukov, who evidently attached great value to this general deduction he had made from his interview with Napoleon. “If he weren't afraid of an engagement what reason has he to ask for this interview, to open negotiations, and, above all, to retreat, when retreat is contrary to his whole method of conducting warfare? Believe me, he's afraid, afraid of a general engagement; his hour has come, mark my words.”
“But tell me what was he like, how did he behave?” Prince Andrey still insisted.
“He's a man in a grey overcoat, very anxious to be called ‘your majesty,' but disappointed at not getting a title of any kind out of me. That's the sort of man he is, that's all,” answered Dolgorukov, looking round with a smile at Bilibin.
“In spite of my profound respect for old Kutuzov,” he pursued, “a pretty set of fools we should be to wait about and let him have a chance to get away or cheat us, when as it is he's in our hands for certain. No, we mustn't forget Suvorov and his rule—never to put oneself in a position to be attacked, but to make the attack oneself. Believe me, the energy of young men is often a safer guide in warfare than all the experience of the old cunctators.”
“But in what position are you going to attack him? I have been at the outposts to-day, and there was no making out where his chief forces are concentrated,” said Prince Andrey. He was longing to explain to Dolgorukov his own idea, the plan of attack he had formed.
“Ah, that's a matter of no consequence whatever,” Dolgorukov said quickly, getting up and unfolding a map on the table. “Every contingency has been provided for; if he is concentrated at Brünn.…” And Prince Dolgorukov gave a rapid and vague account of Weierother's plan of a flank movement.
Prince Andrey began to make objections and to explain his own plan, which may have been as good as Weierother's, but had the fatal disadvantage that Weierother's plan had already been accepted. As soon as Prince Andrey began to enlarge on the drawbacks of the latter and the advantages of his own scheme, Prince Dolgorukov ceased to attend, and looked without interest not at the map, but at Prince Andrey's face.
“There is to be a council of war at Kutuzov's to-night, though; you can explain all that then,” said Dolgorukov.
“That's what I am going to do,” said Prince Andrey, moving away from the map.
“And what are you worrying yourselves about, gentlemen?” said Bilibin, who had till then been listening to their talk with a beaming smile, but now unmistakably intended to make a joke. “Whether there is victory or defeat to-morrow, the glory of the Russian arms is secure. Except your Kutuzov, there's not a single Russian in command of a column. The commanders are: Herr General Wimpfen, le comte de Langeron, le prince de Lichtenstein, le prince de Hohenlohe and Prishprshiprsh, or some such Polish name.”
“Hold your tongue, backbiter,” said Dolgorukov. “It's not true, there are two Russians: Miloradovitch and Dohturov, and there would have been a third, Count Araktcheev, but for his weak nerves.”
“Mihail Ilarionovitch has come out, I think,” said Prince Andrey. “Good luck and success to you, gentlemen,” he added, and went out, after shaking hands with Dolgorukov and Bilibin.
On returning home Prince Andrey could not refrain from asking Kutuzov, who sat near him in silence, what he thought about the coming battle. Kutuzov looked sternly at his adjutant, and after a pause, answered: “I think the battle will be lost, and I said so to Count Tolstoy and asked him to give that message to the Tsar. And what do you suppose was the answer he gave me? ‘Eh, mon cher général, je me mêle de riz et de c?telettes, mêlez-vous des affaires de la guerre.' Yes.… That's the answer I got!”
翌日，国王在维绍市下榻。国王曾数次召唤御医维利埃。大本营和附近的部队中传出国王圣体欠适的消息。他未曾进食，夜里不能安寝，亲信均提及此事。国王圣体欠适的原因在于，他看见伤亡士兵，内心深受感动，因而留下强烈的印象。 
十七日拂晓，一名法国军官从前哨押送到维绍市，他打着军使的旗帜走来，要求觐见国王。这名军官就是萨瓦里。国王刚刚睡熟了，因此，萨瓦里不得不等候。正午时他被应允觐见皇帝，一小时后他和多尔戈鲁科夫公爵一起动身到法军前哨去了。
据闻，萨瓦里被派往俄方的目的在于建议亚历山大皇帝与拿破仑会面。私下会面的建议已遭到拒绝，这使全军感到高兴和骄傲。维绍之战的胜利者多尔戈鲁科夫公爵接受派遣的命令，偕同萨瓦里替代俄皇去见拿破仑，举行谈判，但愿这次谈判与预料相反，双方能具有媾和诚意。
夜晚，多尔戈鲁科夫回来了，他径直地去觐见国王，单独一人在国王那里待了很久。
十一月十八日和十九日，部队又在行军中连续不停地走了两昼夜，在短暂的对射之后，敌军的前哨部队撤退了。从十九日中午起，军队上层中开始十分紧张而忙碌地进行活动，延续至次日——十一月二十日早晨，是日他们发动了一次非常值得纪念的奥斯特利茨战役。
直至十九日正午，人们只是在两位皇帝的大本营内开展活动，他们兴致勃勃地谈话，或者东奔西跑，或者将若干名副官派遣出去。当天晌午之后，活动传布到库图佐夫的大本营和纵队长官的司令部。晚间这项活动就由副官传布到军队的各个部门。十九日更残漏尽，八万人马的联军部队从宿营地起身，笑语喧阗，人头攒动，有如一幅十里路长的巨型油画，浩浩荡荡地出发了。
二位皇帝的大本营从大清早就开始的戮力同心的活动，就像塔楼上的巨钟的中心主轮所开始的第一次活动，它推动了以后的各种活动。一个主轮慢慢地转动一下，第二个、第三个就跟着转动起来，这些大齿轮、滑轮、小齿轮愈转愈迅速，自鸣钟于是开始鸣乐报时，跳出针盘的数字，指针开始均匀地移动，显示运转的结果。
无论是钟表的机件，还是军事机器，一开动就难以止住，必然会获得最后的结果，一些还没有运转的机件在传动之前同样是滞然不动的。轮轴上的齿轮发出吱吱的响声，旋转的滑轮因为迅速转动而发出咝咝的响声，邻近的齿轮却静止不动，就像它会静止几百年似的，但到了开动的时刻，它被杠杆抓住了，于是就听从运转规律的支配，转动时发出轧轧的响声，融汇成一种它不理解其结果和目的的共同的转动。
钟表里的无数不同的齿轮和滑轮的配合转动的结果只会导致时针的徐缓而均匀的移动，同样地，这十六万俄国军人和法国军人的各种复杂的活动——这些人所有的激情、心愿、懊悔、屈辱、痛苦、傲气、惊恐和狂喜——其结果只会导致奥斯特利茨战役，即所谓三位皇帝发动的战役的失败，也就是世界历史的时针在人类历史的表盘上的徐缓的移动。
这天安德烈公爵值勤，寸步不离总司令。
下午五点多钟，库图佐夫到了皇帝大本营，在国王那里待了不多久，便到宫廷事务大臣托尔斯泰伯爵那里去了。
博尔孔斯基藉此时机顺便到多尔戈鲁科夫那里去打听一下战事的详细情况。安德烈公爵觉得，库图佐夫不知怎的非常扫兴，他心里很不满意。大本营的人个个对他表示不满，皇帝大本营的人员和他打交道时用的都是那种腔调，听起来就像某些人知道别人所不知道的事情那样，因此他想和多尔戈鲁科夫谈谈。
“亲爱的，您好，”多尔戈鲁科夫和比利宾坐在一起用茶时说道：“明儿是节日，您的老头子怎样了？情绪不好吗？”
“我不是说他情绪不好，而是说他想要人家听听他讲话。”
“不过军事会议上大家听过他讲话，只要他讲的是正经话，大家还是会听的；但当波拿巴现在最怕大战的时候，拖延、等待都是不行的。”
“是啊，您看见他吗？”安德烈公爵说道，“啊，波拿巴怎么样？他给您留下什么印象？”
“是啊，我见过，而且相信，他在这个世界上最害怕的是大战，”多尔戈鲁科夫重复了一句，显然他珍惜他和拿破仑会面时他所作出的这个一般的结论。“如果他不怕大战，他干嘛要提出这次会面的要求，干嘛要举行谈判；主要是为什么撤退，而撤退是违背他的整个作战方式的，是吗？您相信我吧，他害怕、害怕大战，他要遭殃的时刻来到了。我要对您说的就是这些话。”
“可是请您讲给我听吧，他是个怎样的人呀？”安德烈公爵又问了一句。
“他这个身穿灰色常礼服的人很想我对他说一声‘陛下'，使他不痛快的是，他没有得到我赐予他的任何头衔。他是个这样的人，没有什么别的要说的了。”多尔戈鲁科夫回答，含笑地望着比利宾。
“虽然我十分尊重年老的库图佐夫，”他继续说下去，“如果我们只是等待时机，让波拿巴乘机逃走或则欺骗我们，那才叫人难受呢，而今他确实落在我们手上了。不，不应当忘记苏沃洛夫及其行为准则：不要使自己处于遭受进攻的地位，自己要发动进攻。请您相信，年轻人的精力在战争中常比优柔寡断的老年人的经验能更稳当地指明道路。”
“可是我们究竟在哪个阵地向他发动进攻呢：我今天到前哨走过一趟，不能断定他的主力布置在何处。”安德烈公爵说。
他想对多尔戈鲁科夫说出他所拟就的计划。
“唉，横竖一样，”多尔戈鲁科夫站立起来，打开桌上的地图，匆促地说，“各种情况都预见到了，假如他驻扎在布吕恩附近……”
多尔戈鲁科夫公爵急促而不清晰地叙述了魏罗特尔的侧翼迂回运动计划。
安德烈公爵开始表示异议，证明他的计划能与魏罗特尔的计划媲美，而美中不足的是，魏罗特尔的计划已经通过了。安德烈公爵一开始就证明那个计划的缺陷、他的计划的优越，多尔戈鲁科夫就不再听他讲话了，他心不在焉，抬眼望的不是地图，而是安德烈公爵的面孔。
“不过，库图佐夫今天要召开军事会议，您可以在那里把全部情况说出来。”多尔戈鲁科夫说。
“我准会办妥这件事。”安德烈公爵从地图旁边走开时说道。
“先生们，你们关心的是什么呢？”比利宾说道，一直到现在他还面露愉快的微笑，静听他们谈话，显然他现在想开玩笑了。“明天打胜仗，或者吃败仗，俄国武装力量的光荣是有保证的。除开你们的库图佐夫，再也没有一个俄国的纵队长官了。有这么几个长官：HerrgeneralWimpfen，lecomtedeLangeron，leprincedeLichtenstein，leprincedeHohenloeetenfinPrsch…prsch…etainsidesuite，commetouslesnomspolonais．”①
“Taisezvous，mauvaiselangue．”②多尔戈鲁科夫说，“您所说的是假话，现在已经有两个俄国人了：米洛拉多维奇和多赫图罗夫，可能会有第三个，那就是阿拉克切耶夫伯爵，不过他的神经很脆弱。”
“可是，我想米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇已经出来了，”安德烈公爵说道。“先生们，祝你们幸福、成功。”他握了握多尔戈鲁科夫和比利宾的手，补充了一句，便走出去了。
安德烈公爵回去的时候，心中按捺不住，便向沉默地坐在身旁的库图佐夫问到他对明天的战斗抱有什么想法？
库图佐夫严肃地望望他的副官，沉默了片刻，答道：
“我想这一场战斗是输定了，我对托尔斯泰伯爵也是这样说的，并且请他把这句话转告国王。你想，他对我回答了什么话呢？Eh，monchergénéral，Jememelederizetdescotelettes，melezvousdesaffairesdelaguerre，③是的，他就是这样回答我的！” 
①法语和德语：温普芬将军先生、朗热隆伯爵、利希滕施泰因公爵、霍恩洛厄公爵和普尔什……普尔什……全是一些波兰名字。
②法语：爱搬弄是非的人，请您住嘴。
③法语：可爱的将军！我忙着做饭，做肉丸子，而您研究的却是军事。
Book 3 Chapter 12
AT TEN O'CLOCK in the evening, Weierother with his plans rode over to Kutuzov's quarters, where the council of war was to take place. All the commanders of columns were summoned to the commander-in-chief's, and with the exception of Prince Bagration, who declined to come, all of them arrived at the hour fixed.
Weierother, who was entirely responsible for all the arrangements for the proposed battle, in his eagerness and hurry, was a striking contrast to the ill-humoured and sleepy Kutuzov, who reluctantly played the part of president and chairman of the council of war. Weierother obviously felt himself at the head of the movement that had been set going and could not be stopped. He was like a horse in harness running downhill with a heavy load behind him. Whether he were pulling it or it were pushing him, he could not have said, but he was flying along at full speed with no time to consider where this swift motion would land him. Weierother had been twice that evening to make a personal inspection up to the enemy's line, and twice he had been with the Emperors, Russian and Austrian, to report and explain, and to his office, where he had dictated the disposition of the German troops. He came now, exhausted, to Kutuzov's.
He was evidently so much engrossed that he even forgot to be respectful to the commander-in-chief. He interrupted him, talked rapidly and indistinctly, without looking at the person he was addressing, failed to answer questions that were put to him, was spattered with mud, and had an air pitiful, exhausted, distracted, and at the same time self-confident and haughty.
Kutuzov was staying in a small nobleman's castle near Austerlitz. In the drawing-room, which had been made the commander-in-chief's study, were gathered together: Kutuzov himself, Weierother, and the members of the council of war. They were drinking tea. They were only waiting for Prince Bagration to open the council. Presently Bagration's orderly officer came with a message that the prince could not be present. Prince Andrey came in to inform the commander-in-chief of this; and, profiting by the permission previously given him by Kutuzov to be present at the council, he remained in the room.
“Well, since Prince Bagration isn't coming, we can begin,” said Weierother, hastily getting up from his place and approaching the table, on which an immense map of the environs of Brünn lay unfolded.
Kutuzov, his uniform unbuttoned, and his fat neck as though set free from bondage, bulging over the collar, was sitting in a low chair with his podgy old hands laid symmetrically on the arms; he was almost asleep.
At the sound of Weierother's voice, he made an effort and opened his solitary eye.
“Yes, yes, please, it's late as it is,” he assented, and nodding his head, he let it droop and closed his eyes again.
If the members of the council had at first believed Kutuzov to be shamming sleep, the nasal sounds to which he gave vent during the reading that followed, proved that the commander-in-chief was concerned with something of far greater consequence than the desire to show his contempt for their disposition of the troops or anything else whatever; he was concerned with the satisfaction of an irresistible human necessity—sleep. He was really asleep. Weierother, with the gesture of a man too busy to lose even a minute of his time, glanced at Kutuzov and satisfying himself that he was asleep, he took up a paper and in a loud, monotonous tone began reading the disposition of the troops in the approaching battle under a heading, which he also read.
“Disposition for the attack of the enemy's position behind Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz, November 20, 1805.”
The disposition was very complicated and intricate.
“As the enemy's left wing lies against the wooded hills and their right wing is advancing by way of Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz behind the swamps that lie there, while on the other hand our left wing stretches far beyond their right, it will be advantageous to attack this last-named wing, especially if we have possession of the villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, by which means we can at once fall on them in the rear and pursue them in the open between Schlapanitz and the Thuerassa-Wald, thereby avoiding the defiles of Schlapanitz and Bellowitz, which are covered by the enemy's front. With this ultimate aim it will be necessary … The first column marches … The second column marches … The third column marches” … read Weierother.
The generals seemed to listen reluctantly to the intricate account of the disposition of the troops. The tall, fair-haired general, Buxhevden, stood leaning his back against the wall, and fixing his eyes on a burning candle, he seemed not to be listening, not even to wish to be thought to be listening. Exactly opposite to Weierother, with his bright, wide-open eyes fixed upon him, was Miloradovitch, a ruddy man, with whiskers and shoulders turned upwards, sitting in a military pose with his hands on his knees and his elbows bent outwards. He sat in obstinate silence, staring into Weierother's face, and only taking his eyes off him when the Austrian staff-commander ceased speaking. Then Miloradovitch looked round significantly at the other generals. But from that significant glance it was impossible to tell whether he agreed or disagreed, was pleased or displeased, at the arrangements. Next to Weierother sat Count Langeron, with a subtle smile that never left his Southern French face during the reading; he gazed at his delicate fingers as he twisted round a golden snuff-box with a portrait on it. In the middle of one of the lengthy paragraphs he stopped the rotatory motion of the snuff-box, lifted his head, and with hostile courtesy lurking in the corners of his thin lips, interrupted Weierother and would have said something. But the Austrian general, continuing to read, frowned angrily with a motion of the elbows that seemed to say: “Later, later, you shall give your opinion, now be so good as to look at the map and listen.” Langeron turned up his eyes with a look of bewilderment, looked round at Miloradovitch, as though seeking enlightenment, but meeting the significant gaze of Miloradovitch, that signified nothing, he dropped his eyes dejectedly, and fell to twisting his snuff-box again.
“A geography lesson,” he murmured as though to himself, but loud enough to be heard.
Przhebyshevsky, with respectful but dignified courtesy, put his hand up to his ear on the side nearest Weierother, with the air of a man absorbed in attention. Dohturov, a little man, sat opposite Weierother with a studious and modest look on his face. Bending over the map, he was conscientiously studying the arrangement of the troops and the unfamiliar locality. Several times he asked Weierother to repeat words and difficult names of villages that he had not caught. Weierother did so, and Dohturov made a note of them.
When the reading, which lasted more than an hour, was over, Langeron, stopping his twisting snuff-box, began to speak without looking at Weierother or any one in particular. He pointed out how difficult it was to carry out such a disposition, in which the enemy's position was assumed to be known, when it might well be uncertain seeing that the enemy was in movement. Langeron's objections were well founded, yet it was evident that their principal object was to make Weierother, who had read his plans so conceitedly, as though to a lot of schoolboys, feel that he had to deal not with fools, but with men who could teach him something in military matters.
When the monotonous sound of Weierother's voice ceased, Kutuzov opened his eyes, as the miller wakes up at any interruption in the droning of the mill-wheels, listened to what Langeron was saying, and as though saying to himself: “Oh, you're still at the same nonsense!” made haste to close his eyes again, and let his head sink still lower.
Langeron, trying to deal the most malignant thrusts possible at Weierother's military vanity as author of the plan, showed that Bonaparte might easily become the attacking party instead of waiting to be attacked, and so render all this plan of the disposition of the troops utterly futile. Weierother met all objections with a confident and contemptuous smile, obviously prepared beforehand for every objection, regardless of what they might say to him.
“If he could have attacked us, he would have done so to-day,” he said.
“You suppose him, then, to be powerless?” said Langeron.
“I doubt if he has as much as forty thousand troops,” answered Weierother with the smile of a doctor to whom the sick-nurse is trying to expound her own method of treatment.
“In that case, he is going to meet his ruin in awaiting our attack,” said Langeron with a subtle, ironical smile, looking round again for support to Miloradovitch near him. But Miloradovitch was obviously thinking at that instant of anything in the world rather than the matter in dispute between the generals.
“Ma foi,” he said, “to-morrow we shall see all that on the field of battle.”
Weierother smiled again, a smile that said that it was comic and queer for him to meet with objections from Russian generals and to have to give proofs to confirm what he was not simply himself convinced of, but had thoroughly convinced their majesties the Emperors of too.
“The enemy have extinguished their fires and a continual noise has been heard in their camp,” he said. “What does that mean? Either they are retreating—the only thing we have to fear, or changing their position” (he smiled ironically). “But even if they were to take up their position at Turas, it would only be saving us a great deal of trouble, and all our arrangements will remain unchanged in the smallest detail.”
“How can that be?…” said Prince Andrey, who had a long while been looking out for an opportunity of expressing his doubts. Kutuzov waked up, cleared his throat huskily, and looked round at the generals.
“Gentlemen, the disposition for to-morrow, for to-day indeed (for it's going on for one o'clock), can't be altered now,” he said. “You have heard it, and we will all do our duty. And before a battle nothing is of so much importance…” (he paused) “as a good night's rest.”
He made a show of rising from his chair. The generals bowed themselves out. It was past midnight. Prince Andrey went out.
The council of war at which Prince Andrey had not succeeded in expressing his opinion, as he had hoped to do, had left on him an impression of uncertainty and uneasiness. Which was right—Dolgorukov and Weierother? or Kutuzov and Langeron and the others, who did not approve of the plan of attack—he did not know. But had it really been impossible for Kutuzov to tell the Tsar his views directly? Could it not have been managed differently? On account of personal and court considerations were tens of thousands of lives to be risked—“and my life, mine?” he thought.
“Yes, it may well be that I shall be killed to-morrow,” he thought.
And all at once, at that thought of death, a whole chain of memories, the most remote and closest to his heart, rose up in his imagination. He recalled his last farewell to his father and his wife; he recalled the early days of his love for her, thought of her approaching motherhood; and he felt sorry for her and for himself, and in a nervously overwrought and softened mood he went out of the cottage at which he and Nesvitsky were putting up, and began to walk to and fro before it. The night was foggy, and the moonlight glimmered mysteriously through the mist. “Yes, to-morrow, to-morrow!” he thought. “To-morrow, maybe, all will be over for me, all these memories will be no more, all these memories will have no more meaning for me. To-morrow, perhaps—for certain, indeed—to-morrow, I have a presentiment, I shall have for the first time to show all I can do.” And he pictured the engagement, the loss of it, the concentration of the fighting at one point, and the hesitation of all the commanding officers. And then the happy moment—that Toulon he had been waiting for so long—at last comes to him. Resolutely and clearly he speaks his opinion to Kutuzov and Weierother, and the Emperors. All are struck by the justness of his view, but no one undertakes to carry it into execution, and behold, he leads the regiment, only making it a condition that no one is to interfere with his plans, and he leads his division to the critical point and wins the victory alone. “And death and agony!” said another voice. But Prince Andrey did not answer that voice, and went on with his triumphs. The disposition of the battle that ensues is all his work alone. Nominally, he is an adjutant on the staff of Kutuzov, but he does everything alone. The battle is gained by him alone. Kutuzov is replaced, he is appointed.… “Well, and then?” said the other voice again, “what then, if you do a dozen times over escape being wounded, killed, or deceived before that; well, what then?” “Why, then…” Prince Andrey answered himself, “I don't know what will come then, I can't know, and don't want to; but if I want that, if I want glory, want to be known to men, want to be loved by them, it's not my fault that I want it, that it's the only thing I care for, the only thing I live for. Yes, the only thing! I shall never say to any one, but, my God! what am I to do, if I care for nothing but glory, but men's love? Death, wounds, the loss of my family—nothing has terrors for me. And dear and precious as many people are to me: father, sister, wife—the people dearest to me; yet dreadful and unnatural as it seems, I would give them all up for a moment of glory, of triumph over men, of love from men whom I don't know, and shall never know, for the love of those people there,” he thought, listening to the talk in the courtyard of Kutuzov's house. He could hear the voices of the officers' servants packing up; one of them, probably a coachman, was teasing Kutuzov's old cook, a man called Tit, whom Prince Andrey knew. He kept calling him and making a joke on his name.
“Tit, hey, Tit?” he said.
“Well?” answered the old man.
“Tit, stupay molotit” (“Tit, go a-thrashing”), said the jester.
“Pooh, go to the devil, do,” he heard the cook's voice, smothered in the laughter of the servants.
“And yet, the only thing I love and prize is triumph over all of them, that mysterious power and glory which seems hovering over me in this mist!” 
晚上九点多钟，魏罗特尔随身带着他的计划走了一段路来到预定召开军事会议的库图佐夫驻地。总司令传唤纵队的各个长官，除去拒绝出席会议的巴格拉季翁公爵而外，所有的人都按时到会了。 
魏罗特尔是预定的战役的干事长，他那活泼而匆忙的样子和心怀不满、死气沉沉的库图佐夫截然相反，库图佐夫不愿发挥军事会议主席和领导的作用。魏罗特尔显然觉得他自己正在领导一次不可遏止的迂回运动。他俨像一匹上套的马，载着一车物品向山下疾驰而去。他在运载，或者被驱赶，他不知道，但是他尽量快地飞奔着，没有时间来讨论这次运动会带来什么后果。这天夜晚，魏罗特尔两次亲自察看敌军的散兵线，两次觐见俄皇和奥皇，汇报和说明军事动态，并在自己的办公室内口授德文的进军命令。他已经精疲力尽，此刻正前来晋谒库图佐夫。
他显然很忙，甚至于忘记对总司令要表示尊敬，他不时地打断他的话，匆促而不清晰地发言，连眼睛也不瞧着对话人的面孔，不回答他所提出的问题，他身上给泥土弄得脏透了，那样子显得可怜、精疲力竭、怅然若失，同时又显得过分自信和骄傲。
库图佐夫在奥斯特利茨附近占用一座不大的贵族城堡。这几个人：库图佐夫本人、魏罗特尔和军委会的几个成员在一间变成总司令办公室的大客厅中聚集起来。他们正在喝茶。他们所等候的只有巴格拉季翁公爵，一俟他抵达，就召开军事会议。七点多钟，巴格拉季翁的传令军官来到了，他告知公爵不能出席会议。安德烈公爵闻讯后前来禀告总司令。因此，事前他得到总司令许可，有出席这次军事会议的权利，他于是在房里留下来了。
“因为巴格拉季翁公爵不会来，所以我们可以开会了。”魏罗特尔连忙从座位上站立起来，向一张摆着布吕恩郊区大地图的桌子近旁走去时说道。
库图佐夫身穿一件没有扣上钮扣的制服，他那肥胖的颈项仿佛得到解救似的，从制服中伸出来，他坐在伏尔泰椅上，把那胖乎乎的老人的手对称地放在伏尔泰椅扶手上，几乎快要睡着了。他一听见魏罗特尔的声音，就勉强睁开那只独眼睛。
“对，对，请吧，要不然就太晚了。”他说道，点点头后，低下头来，又闭上眼睛。
如果军委会的成员最初都以为库图佐夫装出仿佛睡着的样子，那末后来在宣读进军部署时，他发出的鼻息声就证明，总司令这时看来有一件事极为重要，比那轻视进军部署的意图或者轻视任何事物的意图都重要得多，这就是在满足一种非满足不可的人的需要——睡眠。他的确睡熟了。魏罗特尔的动作，看起来就像某人太忙、即令一分钟也不能浪费似的，他瞧瞧库图佐夫，心里相信他真的睡熟了，于是拿起文件，用那单调而洪亮的声音开始宣读未来的进军部署，连标题也宣读了一遍。
《关于进攻科尔别尼茨与索科尔尼茨后面的敌军阵地的作战部署，一八○五年十一月二十目。》
这项进军部署非常复杂，非常难懂，进军部署的如下：
因为敌军的左翼依傍森林覆盖的山地，右翼沿着其后布满池塘的科别尔尼茨村和索科尔尼茨村徐徐地向前推进，与之相反，我军的左翼优越于敌军的右翼。进攻敌军的右翼于我军有利，如果我军攻克索科尔尼茨村和科尔别尼茨村，势必尤为有利，我军从而得以进攻敌军的侧翼，避开施拉帕尼茨和借以掩蔽敌军阵线的贝洛维茨之间的隘路，在施拉帕尼茨和图拉斯森林之间的平原上追击敌人。为臻达此一目的，务须……第一纵队向前挺进……第二纵队向前挺进……第三纵队向前挺进……等等。
魏罗特尔还在宣读作战部署。将军们似乎不愿意倾听难懂的作战部署。布克斯格夫登将军身材魁梧，头发淡黄，把背靠在墙上站着，他的视线停留在点燃着的蜡烛上，看来他不听，甚至不希望别人以为他正在倾听。脸色绯红的米洛拉多维奇微微地翘起胡子，耸起肩膀坐在魏罗特尔对面，他睁开闪闪发光的眼睛注视他，摆出一副寻衅斗殴的架势，胳膊肘向外弯屈，两只手撑在膝盖上。他久久地默不作声，一面瞅着魏罗特尔的面孔，在奥国参谋长没有开腔的时候，才从他脸上移开自己的目光。这时米洛拉多维奇意味深长地环顾其他几位将军。但从这种意味深长的眼神来看，尚且无法明了他同意抑或不同意，他满意抑或不满意进军部署。朗热隆伯爵坐在离魏罗特尔最近的地方，在宣读作战部署的时候，他那法国南方人的脸上露出含蓄的微笑，一面瞧着自己的纤细的指头，他的指头捏着镶嵌有肖像的金质鼻烟壶的两角，把它迅速地翻过来，转过去。读到一个圆周句的半中间，他停止转动鼻烟壶，把头抬起来，他那薄薄的嘴唇角上带着不愉快的，但却恭敬的表情打断魏罗特尔的宣读，心里想说点什么话，但是奥国将军并没有停止宣读，愤怒地蹙起额角，挥了挥臂肘，仿佛在说：以后，以后您会把您自己的想法告诉我的，现在请您观看这张地图，听我宣读进军部署。朗热隆抬起眼睛，带着困惑不安的表情，朝米洛拉多维奇瞥了一眼，仿佛在寻找解释，但一遇见米洛拉多维奇的意味深长的，但却毫无含义的眼神，他就忧愁地垂下眼睛，又开始转动鼻烟壶了。
“Unelecondegéographie．”①他仿佛自言自语地说，但嗓音相当洪亮，使大家都能听见他的话。 
①法语：一堂地理课。
普热贝舍夫斯基装出一副恭恭敬敬、而又彬彬有礼的样子，他用一只手折弯耳朵，将身子凑近魏罗特尔，那样子就像某人的注意力被人吸引住似的。身材矮小的多赫图罗夫坐在魏罗特尔对面，现出勤奋而谦逊的样子，在一张摊开的地图前面俯下身子，认真地研究进军部署和他不熟悉的地形。他有几次请求魏罗特尔重复他没有听清的词语和难以记忆的村名。魏罗特尔履行了他的意愿，多赫图罗夫记录下来。
宣读进军部署延续一个多小时才结束，这时分朗热隆又停止转动鼻烟壶，他不注意魏罗特尔，也不特意地注视任何人，他开始说到，执行这样的进军部署是很困难的，熟悉敌情只是假设而已，而我们也许不熟悉敌情，因为敌军在向前推进的缘故。朗热隆的异议是有根据的，显然，异议的目的主要是，他想使这个满怀自信的、像对小学生宣读他的进军部署的魏罗特尔将军感到，他不是和一些笨蛋打交道，而是和一些在军事方面可以教教他的人打交道。魏罗特尔的单调的语声停息后，库图佐夫睁开了眼睛，就像令人昏昏欲睡的磨坊中的轮盘转动声暂停时、磨坊主从睡梦中醒来一样，他倾听朗热隆说话，那神态仿佛在说：“你们还在说这些蠢话啊！”又急忙合上眼睛，把头垂得更低了。
朗热隆想尽量恶毒地凌辱魏罗特尔这个进军部署的作者在军事上的自尊心，他于是证明，波拿巴不会挨打，而会轻而易举地发动进攻，他因此要把这项部署变成毫无用处的东西。魏罗特尔对各种异议都坚定地报以轻蔑的微笑，显然于事前有所准备，无论别人对他提出任何异议，都付之一笑。
“如果他会向我们发动进攻，他现在就进攻了。”他说道。
“您因此以为，他软弱无力吗？”朗热隆说道。
“他充其量只有四万军队。”魏罗特尔说，他面露微笑，巫婆向医生指示医疗方法时医生也会露出同样的微笑。
“在这种场合，只要他等待我们的进攻，他就要一命呜呼。”朗热隆露出含蓄的讥讽的微笑说，又回头望着离他最近的米洛拉多维奇，求他证实他的观点的正确。
但是，这时候米洛拉多维奇显然不太去考虑将军们辩论的事情。
“mafoi．”①他说道，“明天我们在战场上见分晓。” 
①法语：真的。
魏罗特尔又面露冷笑，这表明，遇到来自俄国将军们提出的异议，证实那不仅他本人极为相信，而且二位皇帝陛下也都相信的事情，使他觉得荒谬可笑而且古怪。
“敌人熄灭了灯火，敌营中传来不断的喧哗，”他说，“这意味着什么？也许敌人渐渐走远了，我们不得不担心这一点，也许敌人正在改变阵地（他冷冷一笑）。但是那使敌人占领了图拉斯阵地，只不过会使我们摆脱许多麻烦的事情，各种详细的指示仍旧可以原封不动。”
“究竟怎么样？……”安德烈公爵老早就在等待时机，借以表白自己的疑虑，他说道。
库图佐夫睡醒了，他吃力地咳了几声清清嗓子，并向将军们环视一周。
“先生们，明天，甚至是今天（因为已经十二点多了）的进军部署不能变动，”他说道，“你们都听过了，我们大家都要履行我们的天职。而在作战前……（他沉默片刻）没有比睡好一觉更重要的事了。”
他做出微微欠身的样子。将军们鞠了一躬，都离开了。已经是更残漏尽。安德烈公爵走出去了。
正如他所期望的那样，安德烈公爵未能发表意见的军事会议给他留下了模糊不清而又令人不安的印象。是谁说得对：是多尔戈鲁科夫和魏罗特尔呢，还是库图佐夫、朗热隆和其他不赞成进攻计划的人呢，他不知道。“难道库图佐夫不能向国王直接说出自己的想法吗？难道不能有其他方式吗？难道因为朝廷和个人的意图而要几万人和我——去冒生命危险吗？”他想道。
“是的，十之八九，明天会被打死的。”他想了想。一想到死亡，他脑海中忽然浮现出一系列的回忆：久远的往事的回忆，内心隐秘的回忆；他回忆他和父亲、妻子最后的告别，他回忆他和她初恋的时光，回忆起她的妊娠，他很怜悯她和他自己，他于是处于神经有几分过敏和激动不安的状态中，从他和涅斯维茨基暂时居住的木房中走出来，在屋子前面踱来踱去。
夜间大雾弥天，月牙儿神秘莫测地穿过雾霭闪闪发光。
“是啊，明天，明天！”他心中想道。“对我来说，明天也许一切都完了，这一切回忆再也不会浮现出来，这一切回忆再也没有任何意义了。大概就是在明天，甚至，一定就在明天，这一点我预感到了，我总算遇到机会，藉以表现我能做到的一切。”他想象到一场战斗，战斗中军队的死亡、兵力集中在一个点上的战斗、全体长官的仓皇失措。他终于想到那个幸福的时刻、那个他长久地期待的土伦之战。他把自己的意见坚定而明确地告诉库图佐夫、魏罗特尔和二位皇帝。大家都对他的见解的正确感到惊讶，但是谁也不着手执行，他于是带领一个团、一个师，讲定条件，任何人不得干预他的号令，他领导一师人前往决战的地点，独自一人赢得胜利。而死亡和苦难呢？另一种心声这样说。但是安德烈公爵对这种心声没有作出回答，他继续想象他的战功。他一个人来拟订下一次的作战部署。他在库图佐夫部下获得军内值勤官的称号，可是一切事务由他一人承担。他独自一人赢得下次战役的胜利。库图佐夫被撤掉，由他来接受委任……那以后怎么样呢？又有一个心声说，那以后呢，如果在这之前你十次都未负伤，未阵亡，或未受人欺骗，那以后怎么样呢？“那以后……”安德烈公爵回答自己提出的问题，“我不知道以后会怎样，我不想知道，也无法知道，设若我有这种心愿，我希望获得光荣，希望成为一个知名人士，成为一个备受爱戴的人士，我怀有这个心愿，唯一的心愿，我为这一心愿而生，要知道，我并无过错。是啊，为这一心愿而生！我永远不向任何人说出这番话，我的天啊！如果除开光荣、仁爱而外，我一无所爱，那我应该怎么办呢。死亡、创伤、家庭的丧失，我觉得毫不足畏。许多人——父亲、妹妹、妻子，最亲爱的人，无论我觉得他们多么可爱，多么可亲，但在追求荣誉、取胜于人的时刻，为博得不认识的，以后也不认识的人对我的爱戴，为博得这些人的爱戴，无论这看来多么可怕，多么不寻常，我也要立刻把他们一个个全都割舍。”他在倾听库图佐夫门外的说话声时思考了一下。库图佐夫的门户外面可以听见收拾行装的勤务兵的说话声。马车夫大概在逗弄库图佐夫的老伙夫，安德烈公爵认识他，他叫作季特；这时只听见马车夫一人的说话声：“季特，季特呢？”
“嗯。”这个老人回答。
“季特，去打小麦吧。”这个诙谐的人说道。
“呸，见鬼去吧。”可以听见被勤务兵和仆役们的哈哈大笑声掩盖的说话声。
“我仍旧喜爱，而且只是爱惜我对一切人的胜利，爱惜这种神秘的威力和荣誉，因为它正萦绕在我上方的雾霭之中！”
Book 3 Chapter 13
ROSTOV had been sent that night with a platoon on picket duty to the line of outposts in the foremost part of Bagration's detachment. His hussars were scattered in couples about the outposts; he himself rode about the line of the outposts trying to struggle against the sleepiness which kept overcoming him. Behind him could be seen the immense expanse of the dimly burning fires of our army; before him was the misty darkness. However intently Rostov gazed into this misty distance, he could see nothing; at one moment there seemed something greyish, at the next something blackish, then something like the glimmer of a fire over there where the enemy must be, then he fancied the glimmer had been only in his own eyes. His eyes kept closing, and there floated before his mind the image of the Emperor, then of Denisov, and Moscow memories, and again he opened his eyes and saw close before him the head and ears of the horse he was riding, and sometimes black figures of hussars, when he rode within six paces of them, but in the distance still the same misty darkness. “Why? it may well happen,” mused Rostov, “that the Emperor will meet me and give me some commission, as he might to any officer; he'll say, “Go and find out what's there.” There are a lot of stories of how quite by chance he has made the acquaintance of officers and given them some place close to him too. Oh, if he were to give me a place in attendance on him! Oh, what care I would take of him, how I would tell him the whole truth, how I would unmask all who deceive him!” And to picture his love and devotion to the Tsar more vividly, Rostov imagined some enemy or treacherous German, whom he would with great zest not simply kill, but slap in the face before the Tsar's eyes. All at once a shout in the distance roused Rostov. He started and opened his eyes. “Where am I? Yes, in the picket line; the pass and watchword—shaft, Olmütz. How annoying that our squadron will be in reserve …” he thought. “I'll ask to go to the front. It may be my only chance of seeing the Emperor. And now it's not long before I'm off duty. I'll ride round once more, and as I come back, I'll go to the general and ask him.” He sat up straight in the saddle and set off to ride once more round his hussars. It seemed to him that it was lighter. On the left side he could see a sloping descent that looked lighted up and a black knoll facing it that seemed steep as a wall. On this knoll was a white patch which Rostov could not understand; was it a clearing in the wood, lighted up by the moon, or the remains of snow, or white horses? It seemed to him indeed that something was moving over that white spot. “It must be snow—that spot: a spot—une tache,” Rostov mused dreamily. “But that's not a tache … Na … tasha, my sister, her black eyes. Na … tasha (won't she be surprised when I tell her how I've seen the Emperor!) Natasha … tasha … sabretache.…” “Keep to the right, your honour, there are bushes here,” said the voice of an hussar, by whom Rostov was riding as he fell asleep. Rostov lifted his head, which had dropped on to his horse's mane, and pulled up beside the hussar. He could not shake off the youthful, childish drowsiness that overcame him. “But, I say, what was I thinking? I mustn't forget. How I am going to speak to the Emperor? No, not that—that's to-morrow. Yes, yes! Natasha, attacks, tacks us,—whom? The hussars. Ah, the hussars with their moustaches … Along the Tversky boulevard rode that hussar with the moustaches, I was thinking of him too just opposite Guryev's house.… Old Guryev.… Ah, a fine fellow, Denisov! But that's all nonsense. The great thing is that the Emperor's here now. How he looked at me and longed to say something, but he did not dare.… No, it was I did not dare. But that's nonsense, and the great thing is not to forget something important I was thinking of, yes. Natasha, attacks us, yes, yes, yes. That's right.” And again he dropped with his head on his horse's neck. All at once it seemed to him that he was being fired at. “What? what?… Cut them down! What?” Rostov was saying, as he wakened up. At the instant that he opened his eyes, Rostov heard in front, over where the enemy were, the prolonged shouting of thousands of voices. His horse and the horse of the hussar near him pricked up their ears at these shouts. Over where the shouts came from, a light was lighted and put out, then another, and all along the line of the French troops on the hillside fires were lighted and the shouts grew louder and louder. Rostov heard the sound of French words though he could not distinguish them. He could only hear: aaaa! and rrrr!
“What is it? What do you think?” Rostov said to the hussar near him. “That's in the enemy's camp surely?”
The hussar made no reply.
“Why, don't you hear it?” Rostov asked again, after waiting some time for a reply.
“Who can tell, your honour?” the hussar answered reluctantly.
“From the direction it must be the enemy,” Rostov said again.
“May be 'tis, and may be not,” said the hussar; “it's dark. Now! steady,” he shouted to his horse, who fidgeted. Rostov's horse too was restless, and pawed the frozen ground as it listened to the shouts and looked at the lights. The shouting grew louder and passed into a mingled roar that could only be produced by an army of several thousands. The lights stretched further and further probably along the line of the French camp. Rostov was not sleepy now. The gay, triumphant shouts in the enemy's army had a rousing effect on him. “Vive l'Empereur! l'Empereur!” Rostov could hear distinctly now.
“Not far off, beyond the stream it must be,” he said to the hussar near him.
The hussar merely sighed without replying, and cleared his throat angrily. They heard the thud of a horse trotting along the line of hussars, and there suddenly sprang up out of the night mist, looking huge as an elephant, the figure of a sergeant of hussars.
“Your honour, the generals!” said the sergeant, riding up to Rostov. Rostov, still looking away towards the lights and shouts, rode with the sergeant to meet several men galloping along the line. One was on a white horse. Prince Bagration with Prince Dolgorukov and his adjutant had ridden out to look at the strange demonstration of lights and shouts in the enemy's army. Rostov, going up to Bagration, reported what he had heard and seen to him, and joined the adjutants, listening to what the generals were saying.
“Take my word for it,” Prince Dolgorukov was saying to Bagration, “it's nothing but a trick; they have retreated and ordered the rearguard to light fires and make a noise to deceive us.”
“I doubt it,” said Bagration; “since evening I have seen them on that knoll; if they had retreated, they would have withdrawn from there too. Monsieur l'officier,” Prince Bagration turned to Rostov, “are the enemy's pickets still there?”
“They were there this evening, but now I can't be sure, your excellency. Shall I go with some hussars and see?” said Rostov.
Bagration stood still, and before answering, tried to make out Rostov's face in the mist.
“Well, go and see,” he said after a brief pause.
“Yes, sir.”
Rostov put spurs to his horse, called up the sergeant Fedtchenko, and two other hussars, told them to ride after him, and trotted off downhill in the direction of the shouting, which still continued. Rostov felt both dread and joy in riding alone with three hussars into that mysterious and dangerous, misty distance, where no one had been before him. Bagration shouted to him from the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostov made as though he had not heard his words, and rode on without stopping, further and further, continually mistaking bushes for trees and ravines for men, and continually discovering his mistakes. As he galloped downhill he lost sight both of our men and the enemy, but more loudly and distinctly he heard the shouts of the French. In the valley he saw ahead of him something that looked like a river, but when he had ridden up to it, he found out it was a road. As he got out on the road he pulled up his horse, hesitating whether to go along it or to cut across it, and ride over the black field up the hillside. To follow the road, which showed lighter in the mist, was more dangerous, because figures could be more easily descried upon it. “Follow me,” he said, “cut across the road,” and began galloping up the hill towards the point where the French picket had been in the evening.
“Your honour, here he is!” said one of the hussars behind; and before Rostov had time to make out something that rose up suddenly black in the mist, there was a flash of light, the crack of a shot and a bullet, that seemed whining a complaint, whizzed high in the air and flew away out of hearing. Another shot missed fire, but there was a flash in the pan. Rostov turned his horse's head and galloped back. He heard four more shots at varying intervals, and four more bullets whistled in varying tones somewhere in the mist. Rostov held in his horse, who seemed inspirited, as he was himself by the shots, and rode back at a walkingpace. “Now, then, some more; now then, more!” a sort of light-hearted voice murmured in his soul. But there were no more shots. Only as he approached Bagration, Rostov put his horse into a gallop again, and with his hand to his cap, rode up to him.
Dolgorukov was still insisting on his opinion that the French were retreating, and had only lighted fires to mislead them. “What does it prove?” he was saying, as Rostov rode up to them. “They might have retreated and left pickets.”
“It's clear they have not all retired, prince,” said Bagration. “We must wait till morning; to-morrow we shall know all about it.”
“The picket's on the hill, your excellency, still where it was in the evening,” Rostov announced, his hand to his cap, unable to restrain the smile of delight that had been called up by his expedition and the whiz of the bullets.
“Very good, very good,” said Bagration, “I thank you, monsieur l'officier.”
“Your excellency,” said Rostov, “may I ask a favour?”
“What is it?”
“To-morrow our squadron is ordered to the rear; may I beg you to attach me to the first squadron?”
“What's your name?”
“Count Rostov.”
“Ah, very good! You may stay in attendance on me.”
“Ilya Andreitch's son?” said Dolgorukov. But Rostov made him no reply.
“So I may reckon on it, your excellency.”
“I will give the order.”
“To-morrow, very likely, they will send me with some message to the Emperor,” he thought. “Thank God!”
The shouts and lights in the enemy's army had been due to the fact that while Napoleon's proclamation had been read to the troops, the Emperor had himself ridden among the bivouacs. The soldiers on seeing the Emperor had lighted wisps of straw and run after him, shouting, “Vive l'Empereur!” Napoleon's proclamation was as follows:—
“Soldiers! The Russian army is coming to meet you, to avenge the Austrian army, the army of Ulm. They are the forces you have defeated at Hollabrunn, and have been pursuing ever since up to this place. The position we occupy is a powerful one, and while they will march to out-flank me on the right, they will expose their flank to me! Soldiers! I will myself lead your battalions. I will keep out of fire, if you, with your habitual bravery, carry defeat and disorder into the ranks of the enemy. But if victory is for one moment doubtful, you will see your Emperor exposed to the enemy's hottest attack, for there can be no uncertainty of victory, especially on this day, when it is a question of the honour of the French infantry, on which rests the honour of our nation. Do not, on the pretext of removing the wounded, break the order of the ranks! Let every man be fully penetrated by the idea that we must subdue these minions of England, who are inspired by such hatred of our country. This victory will conclude our campaign, and we can return to winter quarters, where we shall be reinforced by fresh forces now being formed in France; and then the peace I shall conclude will be one worthy of my people, of you and me.
这天夜里，罗斯托夫到了巴格拉季翁的部队前面的侧防散兵线上。他的骠骑兵成对地分布在这条散兵线上；他本人沿着散兵线来回地骑行，极力地克服难以克服的睡意。在他后面可以看见我军的半明不灭的篝火在雾霭中占有一大片空地；他前面弥漫着昏暗的雾霭。不管罗斯托夫怎样仔细察看雾气沉沉的远方，他什么也看不见。那里时而是露出灰蒙蒙的东西，时而仿佛显露出黑乎乎的东西，时而在敌人盘踞的那个地方仿佛火光闪烁，时而他心中想到，这不过是他的眼睛在闪闪发光。他闭上眼睛，脑海中时而想到国王，时而想到杰尼索夫，时而浮现出莫斯科的回忆，他又赶快睁开眼睛，在自己前面不远的地方看见他骑的那匹战马的头颅和耳朵，在六步路远的地方他快要碰上骠骑兵，他有时看见他们的黑乎乎的身影；而在远处看见的仍然是昏暗的雾霭。“究竟为什么？”罗斯托夫想道，“可能是国王遇见我，就像遇见任何一个军官那样，交给我一项任务，”他说：“你去打听那里的情况。他们讲过许多话，说他全属偶然地认识了某个军官，并使他成为自己的亲信。如果他把我变成他的亲信，那会怎样啊！啊，我真要捍卫他，我真要向他说出全部实话，我真要揭露那些和他作对的骗子手！”罗斯托夫为了要生动地想象他对国王的爱戴和忠诚，于是脑海中想象到一个敌人或是德国骗子手出现的情景。他不仅要痛快地把他杀死，而且要在国王眼前提他的耳光。忽然一阵远方的喊声惊醒了罗斯托夫，他哆嗦一下，睁开了眼睛。 
“我在哪里啊！是的，在散兵线上，口号和暗号是‘车辕杆，奥尔米茨。'令人多么懊丧，我们的骑兵连明日要充当后备队了。”他想了想，“我请求参战。这也许是拜见国王的唯一的机会。是的，从现在算起，不要过多久就得换班了。我再去巡逻一遍，回来以后立即到将军那里去，向他提出请求。”他在马鞍上纠正了姿势，就策马放行，再去巡视自己的骠骑兵。他似乎觉得天更亮了。在左方可以看见被月亮照耀的慢坡，像垣墙一般陡峭，耸立于对方的黑魆魆的山岗。这个山岗上有个罗斯托夫根本没法弄明白的白点，是否是被月牙儿照亮的林间空地，抑或是一堆残留的积雪，抑或是白垩垩的房屋？他甚至觉得，有什么东西开始沿着这个白点慢慢地移动。“这个白点也许是积雪，”法文的“点子”是“unetache，”
罗斯托夫想道。“这不是塔什……”
“娜塔莎，妹妹，一双乌黑的眼睛，娜……塔什卡，（当我告诉她我看见国王，她会多么惊讶啊！）带上娜塔什卡……图囊……“阁下，靠右边点儿，要不然，真会碰着这儿的灌木林，”传来骠骑兵的说话声，罗斯托夫昏昏欲睡地从他身边走过去。罗斯托夫抬起他那低垂在马鬃上的头，在骠骑兵身边停步了。这个孩提般的年轻人非常想睡觉。“哦，我究竟想什么呀？——可不要忘记。我将要怎样和国王谈话？不是，不是这码事，是明天的事。是的，是的，踩踩塔什卡……使我们迟钝——使谁迟钝啊？使骠骑兵迟钝。骠骑兵和大胡子……这个蓄着胡髭的骠骑兵沿着特维尔大街骑行，我还想起他来了，就在古里耶夫的住宅对面……古里耶夫老头子……嗨，杰尼索夫是个很不错的人！不过这全是废话。主要的是，现在国王就在这儿。他是怎样看待我的，我心里很想对他说点什么话，可是他不敢……不对，是我不敢。这都是废话，主要的是，可不要忘记我心里想的要紧的事，这没有错。踩踩塔什卡，使我们迟钝，对，对，对。这很妙。”他又把头低垂在战马的颈上。他突然觉得，有人在向他射击。“是怎么回事？是怎么回事？是怎么回事？……杀吧！是怎么回事？……”罗斯托夫清醒后说道。在罗斯托夫睁开眼睛的那转瞬之间，他听见前面的敌军那边的千千万万人的曼声的叫喊。他的一匹马、站在他身边的骠骑兵的一匹马都竖起耳朵来倾听这一片喊声。在喊声传来的那个地方，火光闪耀，旋即熄灭，然后又点起火来，火光在那山头上的法军的全线闪耀起来，喊声愈加响亮。罗斯托夫听见法国人的说话声，但他没法听清晰。许多人正在叽叽喳喳地谈话。现在可以听见“啊啊啊、啦啦啦”的声音。
“这是什么声音？你意下如何？”罗斯托夫把脸转向站在他身边的骠骑兵，说道，“要知道，这是敌人那边的说话声，是吗？”
“怎么，难道你听不见吗？”罗斯托夫等他回答，等了很久，又提问了。
“阁下，谁知道啊。”骠骑兵不乐意地回答。
“从地点来看，也许是敌人吧？”罗斯托夫又重复一句。
“也许是敌人，也许不是敌人，”骠骑兵说道，“晚上发生的事情。喂，乱搞不行！”他对他骑的那匹微微骚动的马嚷道。
罗斯托夫的马也性急起来了，它用一只蹄子踢着冰冻的土地，倾听着嘈杂的声音，出神地望着火光。喊声越来越响亮，汇成数千人的军队才能发出的轰鸣。火光蔓延的范围越来越大，大概在法军营盘的全线扩展开来。罗斯托夫已经睡不着了。敌军得意洋洋的欢呼声使他感到激动不安。现在罗斯托夫已经清晰地听见“Vivel'empereur，l'empereur”！①的呼声。 
①法语：皇帝万岁，皇帝！
“可是离这里不远，——大概在小河那边？”他对站在身边的骠骑兵说。
骠骑兵只得叹口气，什么都不回答，愤怒地咳嗽几声清清嗓子。骠骑兵的全线都能听见疾速前进的骑士的马蹄声，一名骠骑兵士官的身躯俨如一头巨象忽然从黑夜的雾霭中闪现出来了。
“阁下，将军们到了！”骠骑兵士官走到罗斯托夫跟前时说道。
罗斯托夫继续观看火光、静听呐喊声，他随同这名士官前去迎接几位沿着散兵线奔驰而至的骑者。其中一位骑着白马。巴格拉季翁公爵、多尔戈鲁科夫公爵和几名副官出来观察敌军的火光和喊声这一奇特的现象。罗斯托夫走到巴格拉季翁跟前，向他汇报了情况，接着加入了副官的队列，谛听将军们讲话。
“请您相信我，”多尔戈鲁科夫公爵把脸转向巴格拉季翁时说，“这无非是阴谋诡计：他已经撤退，吩咐在后卫中点火、鼓噪，目的是欺骗我们。”
“未必如此，”巴格拉季翁说，“一入夜我就看见他们盘踞在那座小丘上，如果他们走了，那末就从那里拔营了。军官先生，”巴格拉季翁公爵把脸转向罗斯托夫说，“那里还有他的侧翼防御者吗？”
“大人，入夜时还有，现在我无从知道。请您下命令，我就带领骠骑兵去跟踪追击。”罗斯托夫说。
巴格拉季翁停下来，不回答，极力地从雾霭中看清罗斯托夫的面孔。
“怎么样，去看看吧。”他沉默片刻后说道。
“大人，遵命。”
罗斯托夫用马刺刺马，把士官费德琴科和两名骠骑兵喊来，命令他们在后面骑行，向那不断传来呐喊声的山下疾驰而去。罗斯托夫一人带领三名骠骑兵，朝着尚无一人先行到达的神秘莫测的万分危险的雾气沉沉的远方走去，他觉得可怕而又高兴。巴格拉季翁从山上大声对他说，叫他不要向小河对岸的远方走去，可是罗斯托夫装作好像他没有听见他说的话似的，他不停地前进，越走越远了，不断地上当，把灌木林当作树林，又把土坎当作人，不断地领悟到自己受骗。他快步走到山下后，已经看不见我方的，也看不见敌方的火光，但是可以听见法国官兵的呐喊声越来越响亮，越来越清晰。在谷地里他看见自己前面有什么如同河流的东西，但当他驰到地头，他发现一条满布车辙的马路。他走上马路，犹豫不决地轻轻勒住马，沿着马路向前走呢，还是穿过马路沿着黑色的田野向山下走去呢。沿着那雾霭中发亮的马路骑行比较安全，因为一眼就能看清路上的行人。“跟在我后面走。”他说道，穿过了马路，开始迅速地登山，向法军步哨晚上驻守的地方走去。
“大人，这就是敌人！”一名骠骑兵在后面说。
罗斯托夫还没有来得及看清突然在雾霭中闪现出来的漆黑的东西，就有一道火光闪耀，砰然响了一枪。那颗子弹仿佛抱怨什么似的，在那高高的雾霭中发出飕飕的响声，顷刻间听不见了。另一枪没有射出去，火花在火药池上闪烁了一下。罗斯托夫拨转马头，快步地走回去了。在不同的时间间隔又响了四枪，子弹在雾霭中的什么地方各唱各的调子。罗斯托夫听见枪声，微微地勒住那匹像他一样快乐的马，一步一步地慢行。“喂，再鸣一枪，喂，再鸣一枪！”他的愉快的心声在说，可是再也没有听见枪声了。
当罗斯托夫驰近巴格拉季翁时，他才又让马儿奔驰起来，罗斯托夫向他跟前走去，举手行礼。
多尔戈鲁科夫一直坚持自己的意见，硬说法军撤退了，他们四处点火，只是妄想欺骗我们罢了。
“这究竟能够证明什么呢？”当罗斯托夫走到他们面前时，说道，“他们也许已经退却，留下了步哨。”
“公爵，看来还没有走光，”巴格拉季翁说道，“到明天早上，明天就会见分晓。”
“大人，山上还有步哨，他们一直待在夜晚盘踞的那个地方。”罗斯托夫禀告，他向前弯下腰去，举手敬礼，禁不住流露出愉快的微笑。他这次骑行，主要是子弹的呼啸声，使他心中产生这种愉快的感觉。
“好，好，”巴格拉季翁说，“军官先生，谢谢您。”
“大人，”罗斯托夫说，“有求于您。”
“怎么回事？”
“明天我们的骑兵连被派去充当后备队，我求您把我暂时调到第一骑兵连。”
“贵姓？”
“罗斯托夫伯爵。”
“好！你就留在我这里当个传令军官吧。”
“伊利亚·安德烈伊奇的儿子吗？”多尔戈鲁科夫说。
但是罗斯托夫没有回答他。
“大人，那末我就待命啦。”
“我来下命令。”
“明天很可能要派人带一项命令去觐见国王，”他想了想，“谢天谢地！”
敌军中所以发出喊声，燃起火把，是因为他们向部队宣读拿破仑的圣旨，这时皇帝正骑马亲自巡视自己的野营地。士兵们看见皇帝，点燃一捆捆麦秆，跟在皇帝后面奔走，高呼：
“皇帝万岁”。拿破仑的圣旨如下：
士兵们！俄国军队为奥军、乌尔姆军复仇，现正攻击你们。这几个营队正是你们在霍拉布伦近郊打败，并从那时起跟踪追逐到该地的军队。我们占领的阵地具有极大的威力，故当他们向前推进，妄图从右面包抄我军之际，他们势必会向我军暴露其侧翼！士兵们！我亲自领导你们的营队。倘使你们怀有一般的勇敢精神，就能在敌人的队伍中引起惊惶失措，我则可远离火线；但若胜利即使有一瞬间令人担心，你们就会看见你们的皇帝遭受到敌人的第一次打击，因为胜利无可动摇，尤当事关法国步兵的荣誉之日，法国步兵则是为民族荣誉而战的一支必不可少的武装力量。
不应在送走伤员的借口下使部队陷于瘫痪！每个人都要满怀这样一种观念：务必打败这些极度仇恨我们民族的英国雇佣兵。这次胜利将结束我们的出征，我们就能回到冬季驻扎地，在此处遇见法国组建的新近到达的法国军队，届时我所签订的和约将不辜负我的人民，不辜负你们，也不辜负我。
Book 3 Chapter 14
AT FIVE O'CLOCK in the morning it was still quite dark. The troops of the centre, of the reserves, and of Bagration's right flank, were still at rest. But on the left flank the columns of the infantry, cavalry, and artillery, destined to be the first to descend from the heights, so as to attack the French right flank, and, according to Weierother's plan, to drive it back to the Bohemian mountains, were already up and astir. The smoke from the camp-fires, into which they were throwing everything superfluous, made the eyes smart. It was cold and dark. The officers were hurriedly drinking tea and eating breakfast; the soldiers were munching biscuits, stamping their feet rhythmically, while they gathered about the fires warming themselves, and throwing into the blaze remains of shanties, chairs, tables, wheels, tubs, everything superfluous that they could not take away with them. Austrian officers were moving in and out among the Russian troops, coming everywhere as heralds of their advance. As soon as an Austrian officer appeared near a commanding officer's quarters, the regiment began to bestir themselves; the soldiers ran from the fires, thrust pipes into boot-legs, bags into waggons, saw to their muskets, and formed into ranks. The officers buttoned themselves up, put on their sabres and pouches, and moved up and down the ranks shouting. The commissariat men and officers' servants harnessed the horses, packed and tied up the waggons. The adjutants and the officers in command of regiments and battalions got on their horses, crossed themselves, gave final orders, exhortations and commissions to the men who remained behind with the baggage, and the monotonous thud of thousands of feet began. The columns moved, not knowing where they were going, and unable from the crowds round them, the smoke, and the thickening fog, to see either the place which they were leaving, or that into which they were advancing.
The soldier in movement is as much shut in, surrounded, drawn along by his regiment, as the sailor is by his ship. However great a distance he traverses, however strange, unknown, and dangerous the regions to which he penetrates, all about him, as the sailor has the deck and masts and rigging of his ship, he has always everywhere the same comrades, the same ranks, the same sergeant Ivan Mitritch, the same regimental dog Zhutchka, the same officers. The soldier rarely cares to know into what region his ship has sailed; but on the day of battle—God knows how or whence it comes—there may be heard in the moral world of the troops a sterner note that sounds at the approach of something grave and solemn, and rouses them to a curiosity unusual in them. On days of battle, soldiers make strenuous efforts to escape from the routine of their regiment's interests, they listen, watch intently, and greedily inquire what is being done around them.
The fog had become so thick that though it was growing light, they could not see ten steps in front of them. Bushes looked like huge trees, level places looked like ravines and slopes. Anywhere, on any side, they might stumble upon unseen enemies ten paces from them. But for a long while the columns marched on in the same fog, going downhill and uphill, passing gardens and fences, in new and unknown country, without coming upon the enemy anywhere. On the contrary, the soldiers became aware that in front, behind, on all sides, were the Russian columns moving in the same direction. Every soldier felt cheered at heart by knowing that where he was going, to that unknown spot were going also many, many more of our men.
“I say, the Kurskies have gone on,” they were saying in the ranks.
“Stupendous, my lad, the forces of our men that are met together! Last night I looked at the fires burning, no end of them. A regular Moscow!”
Though not one of the officers in command of the columns rode up to the ranks nor talked to the soldiers (the commanding officers, as we have seen at the council of war, were out of humour, and displeased with the plans that had been adopted, and so they simply carried out their orders without exerting themselves to encourage the soldiers), yet the soldiers marched on in good spirits, as they always do when advancing into action, especially when on the offensive.
But after they had been marching on for about an hour in the thick fog, a great part of the troops had to halt, and an unpleasant impression of mismanagement and misunderstanding spread through the ranks. In what way that impression reached them it is very difficult to define. But there is no doubt that it did reach them, and with extraordinary correctness and rapidity, and spread imperceptibly and irresistibly, like water flowing over a valley. Had the Russian army been acting alone, without allies, possibly it would have taken a long time for this impression of mismanagement to become a general conviction. But as it was, it was so particularly pleasant and natural to ascribe the mismanagement to the senseless Germans, and all believed that there was some dangerous muddle due to a blunder on the part of the sausage-makers.
“What are they stopping for? Blocked up the way, eh? Or hit upon the French at last?”
“No, not heard so. There'd have been firing. After hurrying us to march off, and we've marched off—to stand in the middle of a field for no sense—all the damned Germans making a muddle of it. The senseless devils! I'd have sent them on in front. But no fear, they crowd to the rear. And now one's to stand with nothing to eat.”
“I say, will they be quick there?”
“The cavalry is blocking up the road, they say,” said an officer.
“Ah, these damned Germans, they don't know their own country,” said another.
“Which division are you?” shouted an adjutant, riding up.
“Eighteenth.”
“Then why are you here? You ought to have been in front long ago; you won't get there now before evening.”
“The silly fools' arrangements, they don't know themselves what they're about,” said the officer, and he galloped away. Then a general trotted up, and shouted something angrily in a foreign tongue.
“Ta-fa-la-fa, and no making out what he's jabbering,” said a soldier, mimicking the retreating general. “I'd like to shoot the lot of them, the blackguards!”
“Our orders were to be on the spot before ten o'clock, and we're not halfway there. That's a nice way of managing things!” was repeated on different sides, and the feeling of energy with which the troops had started began to turn to vexation and anger against the muddled arrangements and the Germans.
The muddle originated in the fact that while the Austrian cavalry were in movement, going to the left flank, the chief authorities had come to the conclusion that our centre was too far from the right flank, and all the cavalry had received orders to cross over to the right. Several thousands of mounted troops had to cross in front of the infantry, and the infantry had to wait till they had gone by.
Ahead of the troops a dispute had arisen between the Austrian officer and the Russian general. The Russian general shouted a request that the cavalry should stop. The Austrian tried to explain that he was not responsible, but the higher authorities. The troops meanwhile stood, growing listless and dispirited. After an hour's delay the troops moved on at last, and began going downhill. The fog, that overspread the hill, lay even more densely on the low ground to which the troops were descending. Ahead in the fog they heard one shot, and another, at first at random, at irregular intervals; tratta-tat, then growing more regular and frequent, and the skirmish of the little stream, the Holdbach, began.
Not having reckoned on meeting the enemy at the stream, and coming upon them unexpectedly in the fog, not hearing a word of encouragement from their commanding officers, with a general sense of being too late, and seeing nothing before or about them in the fog, the Russians fired slowly and languidly at the enemy, never receiving a command in time from the officers and adjutants, who wandered about in the fog in an unknown country, unable to find their own divisions. This was how the battle began for the first, the second, and the third columns, who had gone down into the low-lying ground. The fourth column, with which Kutuzov was, was still on the plateau of Pratzen.
The thick fog still hung over the low ground where the action was beginning; higher up it was beginning to clear, but still nothing could be seen of what was going on in front. Whether all the enemy's forces were, as we had assumed, ten versts away from us, or whether they were close by in that stretch of fog, no one knew till nine o'clock.
Nine o'clock came. The fog lay stretched in an unbroken sea over the plain, but at the village of Schlapanitz on the high ground where Napoleon was, surrounded by his marshals, it was now perfectly clear. There was bright blue sky over his head, and the vast orb of the sun, like a huge, hollow, purple float, quivered on the surface of the milky sea of fog. Not the French troops only, but Napoleon himself with his staff were not on the further side of the streams, and the villages of Sokolnitz and Schlapanitz, beyond which we had intended to take up our position and begin the attack, but were on the nearer side, so close indeed to our forces that Napoleon could distinguish a cavalry man from a foot soldier in our army with the naked eye. Napoleon was standing a little in front of his marshals, on a little grey Arab horse, wearing the same blue overcoat he had worn through the Italian campaign. He was looking intently and silently at the hills, which stood up out of the sea of mist, and the Russian troops moving across them in the distance, and he listened to the sounds of firing in the valley. His face—still thin in those days—did not stir a single muscle; his gleaming eyes were fixed intently on one spot. His forecasts were turning out correct. Part of the Russian forces were going down into the valley towards the ponds and lakes, while part were evacuating the heights of Pratzen, which he regarded as the key of the position, and had intended to take. He saw through the fog, in the dip between two hills near the village of Pratzen, Russian columns with glittering bayonets moving always in one direction towards the valleys, and vanishing one after another into the mist. From information he had received over night, from the sounds of wheels and footsteps he had heard in the night at the outposts, from the loose order of the march of the Russian columns, from all the evidence, he saw clearly that the allies believed him to be a long way in front of them, that the columns moving close to Pratzen constituted the centre of the Russian army, and that the centre was by this time too much weakened to be able to attack him successfully. But still he delayed beginning the battle.
That day was for him a day of triumph—the anniversary of his coronation. He had slept for a few hours in the early morning, and feeling fresh, and in good health and spirits, in that happy frame of mind in which everything seems possible and everything succeeds, he got on his horse and rode out. He stood without stirring, looking at the heights that rose out of the fog, and his cold face wore that peculiar shade of confident, self-complacent happiness, seen on the face of a happy boy in love. The marshals stood behind him, and did not venture to distract his attention. He looked at the heights of Pratzen, then at the sun floating up out of the mist.
When the sun had completely emerged from the fog, and was glittering with dazzling brilliance over the fields and the mist (as though he had been waiting for that to begin the battle), he took his glove off his handsome white hand, made a signal with it to his marshals, and gave orders for the battle to begin. The marshals, accompanied by adjutants, galloped in various directions, and in a few minutes the chief forces of the French army were moving towards those heights of Pratzen, which were left more and more exposed by the Russian troops as the latter kept moving to the left towards the valley.  早晨五点钟，天还很黑。中央阵地的军队、后备队和巴格拉季翁的右翼均未出动，但是左翼的步兵、骑兵和炮兵纵队都从宿营地起身，开始动弹起来了，他们务必要离开高地，前去进攻法军的右翼，根据进军部署迫使其右翼溃退至波希米亚山区。他们把各种用不着的东西扔进篝火中，一阵冒出的浓烟刺激着他们的眼睛。这时分天气很冷，四下里一片漆黑。军官们急急忙忙地饮茶，用早餐，士兵们嘴嚼干面包，急促地顿足，聚集在篝火对面取暖，他们把剩下的货棚、桌椅、车轮、木桶，凡是不能随身带走的用不着的东西都抛进木柴堆，一起烧掉。奥军的纵队长在俄国部队之间来来往往，充当进军的前驱和先知。一当奥国军官在团长的驻地附近出现，兵团就动弹起来：士兵们从篝火旁边跑开，把烟斗藏在靴筒中，把袋子藏在大车上，各人拿起火枪来排队。军官们扣上制服的钮扣，佩戴军刀，挎起背包，一面吆喝，一面巡视队列，辎重兵和勤务兵都在套车、装好行囊、扎好车子。副官、营长和团长都骑上战马，在胸前画着十字，向留下来的辎重兵发出最后的命令、训令，委托他们办理各项事务；这时候可以听见几千人的单调的脚步声。纵队正在启程，不知去向，因为四周挤满了许多人，因为篝火在冒烟，因为雾气越来越浓，所以他们非但看不见出发的地点，而且也看不见纵队开进的地点。 
行进中的士兵就像战船上的水兵似的，被他自己的兵团所围住、所限制、所领导。无论他走了多么远的路，无论他进入多么奇怪的、人所不知而且危险的纬度地带，随时随地在他周围出现的总是那些同事、那些队伍、那个叫做伊万·米特里奇的上士、那只叫做茹奇卡的连队的军犬、那些首长，就像水兵那样，随时随地在他周围出现的总是兵船上的那些甲板、桅杆和缆绳。士兵不常想知道他的战船所处的纬度地带，但在作战的日子，天晓得是怎么回事，在军队的精神世界里不知从哪里传来一种大家都觉得严肃的声调，它意味着具有决定意义的、欢天喜地的时刻的临近，引起一种不符合军人本性的好奇心。士兵们在作战的日子心情激动而兴奋，极力地越出自己兵团的志趣范围，他们静听、谛视、贪婪地打听周围发生的情况。
雾气很浓，虽已黎明，而在十步路以外什么都看不清。一株株灌木仿佛是一头头大树，平地仿佛是陡岸或坡道。到处，从四面八方都有可能碰上十步路以外看不清的敌人。但是纵队还是在雾气沉沉的不熟悉的新地方走了很久，一会儿下山或上山，一会儿绕过花园和院墙，不过到处都没有碰见敌人。相反，时而在前面，时而在后面，士兵们从四面发现，我们俄国的纵队也沿着那个方向前进。每个士兵心里都觉得高兴，因为他知道，还有许多、许多我们的官兵也朝他走的那个方向，即是朝那未知的方向前进。
“你瞧，库尔斯克兵团的人也走过去了。”有人在队伍中说。
“我的老弟，我们的许多军队被募集起来，多极了！昨天晚上我瞧了一下，大家生火了，简直看不见尽头。总而言之，真像莫斯科！”
虽然纵队的首长之中没有任何人走到队伍前面去和士兵们谈话（正像我们在军事会议上看见的那样，纵队的列位首长心绪欠佳，并对他们采取的军事行动表示不满，因此只是执行命令而已，虽然士兵们像平时一样都很愉快地去参加战斗，特别是去参加进攻的战斗，但是首长们都不去关心使士兵开心的事）。大部分军队在浓雾之中行走了一小时左右后，应当停止前进，但在各个队列中蔓延一种令人厌恶的极为紊乱的意识。这种意识是怎样传播的，很难断定，不过这种意识一成不变地、异常迅速地泛滥着，就像谷地的流水难以发觉地、不可抗拒地奔流不息。这一点是无容置疑的。如果俄国的军队缺乏盟邦，孤军作战，那末，十之八九，在这种所谓紊乱的感觉变成共信之前，还要度过漫长的时间，但是现在大家都怀着诚挚的异常高兴的心情把这种紊乱的原因归咎于头脑不清的德国人，大家都深信，这种有害的紊乱是香肠商人（辱骂德国人的外号）一手制造的。
“干嘛停止前进了？是不是给挡住了？是不是碰到法国佬？”
“不是的，没听见什么。要不然，会放枪的。”
“可不是，催促别人出动，出动了，又没头没脑地站在战地中间，——这些可恶的德国人把什么都搞混了。真是一帮头脑不清的鬼东西！”
“我真想把他们送到前头去。要不然，他们恐怕会蜷缩在后头。瞧，现在空着肚皮栖在这儿哩。”
“怎么？快走到那儿吗？据说，那些骑兵挡住了道路。”军官说。
“咳，可恶的德国人连自己的土地都不熟悉哩。”另一名军官说道。
“你们是哪一师的？”副官驰近时喊道。
“第十八师的。”
“那你们干嘛待在这里呀！你们早就应该走到前面去，现在这样子到夜晚也走不过去的。”
“瞧，这真是愚蠢的命令；他们自己也不知道在做什么。”
这名军官走开时说道。
然后这名军官走过去了，他忿怒地喊叫，说的不是俄国话。
“塔法——拉法，他喃喃地说，根本听不清他说的话，”士兵模仿走开的将军时说，“我真要把他们这些卑鄙的家伙枪毙掉！”
“吩咐在八点多钟到达目的地，可是我们还没有走完一半路。这算什么命令啊！”四面传来重复的话语声。
部队满怀着强烈的感情去作战，这种感情开始转变成懊丧，转变成仇恨；痛恨糊涂的命令，痛恨德国人。
一片混乱的原因在于，左翼的奥国骑兵行进时，最高首长认为，我们的中心阵地离右翼太远，于是吩咐全部骑兵向右方转移。几千人的骑兵在步兵前面推进，步兵不得不等待。
奥国纵队长和俄国将军在前方发生冲突。俄国将军大声吆喝，要求骑兵部队停止前进，奥国人极力地证明，犯有过失的不是他，而是最高首长。当时，部队感到苦闷，垂头丧气，于是停在原地不动。耽搁一小时以后，部队向前推进，终于向山下走去。山上的雾霭渐渐地散开，而在部队经过的山下，雾气显得更浓了。在雾气弥漫的前方传来一阵又一阵枪声，在不同的间隔中，最初的枪声没有节奏。特啦哒……哒哒，之后越来越有节奏，频率也越来越大，霍尔德巴赫河上开始交战了。
因为俄国人没有预料到在山下的河上会遇见敌人，他们在大雾之中意外地碰上敌人了，他们没有听到最高首长激励士兵的话，部队中普遍存在着一种意识：已经迟到了。主要是，在浓雾之中看不见自己前面和周围的任何东西，俄国人懒洋洋地、行动迟缓地和敌人对射，向前推进一点，又停下来，没有及时地接到首长和副官的命令，他们没有去找自己的部队，却在雾气沉沉的不熟悉的地区徘徊寻路。走下山去的第一、第二、第三纵队就是这样开始战斗的。库图佐夫本人待在第四纵队，它驻扎于普拉茨高地。
浓雾依然弥漫于山下，这里开始战斗了。山上天气晴朗，但是一点也看不见前面的动静。正如我们推测的那样，敌人的全部兵力是否盘踞在十俄里以外的地方，抑或滞留在这一片雾霭之中，——八点多钟以前谁也不知道实情。
时值早晨九点钟。雾霭犹如一片汪洋大海弥漫于山下的洼地，但是在高地上的施拉帕尼茨村，天气十分晴朗。由数位元帅陪伴的拿破仑驻扎在这个高地上。雾霭的上方，晴朗的天空一片蔚蓝。圆球状的太阳就像深红色的空心的大浮标，在乳白色的雾海海面上荡漾。非但所有法国部队，而且拿破仑本人及其司令部都未驻扎在那几条小河的对面，都未驻扎在索科尔尼茨村和施拉帕尼茨村洼地对面，当时我们打算占领村后的阵地，并在该地开战；他们驻扎在小河的这边，离我军很近，因此拿破仑用肉眼都能把我军的骑兵和步兵分辨清楚。拿破仑骑着一匹阿拉伯的灰色的小马，身穿一件他在意大利作战时穿的蓝色军大衣，站在他的元帅们前面几步路远的地方。他默默无言地凝视那几座宛如雾海中浮现的山岗，俄国部队远远地沿着山岗向前推进；他并倾听谷地传来的枪声。那时他的消瘦的脸上，没有一块肌肉在颤动，闪闪发亮的眼睛一动不动地凝视着一个地方。他的设想原来是正确的。俄国部队部分地沿着下坡路走进了毗连沼泽和湖泊的谷地，朝着沼泽湖泊的方向推移，一部分官兵空出他打算进攻并且认为是阵地的关键的普拉茨高地。他在雾霭中望见，普拉茨村附近的两座大山之间形成的洼地上，俄国纵队都朝着一个方向向谷地前进，刺刀闪烁着亮光，他们一个跟着一个在雾海中逐渐地消失。他昨日夜晚接到了情报，前哨在深夜听见车轮声和脚步声，俄国纵队没有秩序地行进，依据这种种情形来推测，他清楚地看出，盟军都认为他正位于自己的远前方，在普拉茨高地附近向前推进的几个纵队构成俄国军队的中心，这个中心削弱到这种程度，以致足以顺利地予以攻击，但是他尚未开始战斗。
今日是他的一个隆重的纪念日——加冕周年纪念日。黎明前，他微睡数小时，觉得心旷神怡，精力充沛，他怀着万事亨通的幸福心情，纵身上马，向田野驰去。他一动不动地停在那里，观看从雾霭里显露出来的高地，他那冷淡的脸上有一种理应享受人间幸福的、特别自信的神情，就像是处于热恋之中的幸福少年脸上常有的表情。元帅们站在他身后，不敢分散他的注意力。他时而观看普拉茨高地，时而观看一轮从雾霭里浮现出来的太阳。
当太阳完全从雾霭中探出头来并用它那耀眼的光芒照射田野和雾霭的时候（仿佛他所期待的只是开战的这一天），他从美丽而洁白的手上脱下一只手套，用它给几个元帅打个手势，发出开战的命令。几个元帅在副官们的伴随下朝着不同的方向疾驰而去，几分钟以后法国军队的主力便向普拉茨高地迅速地挺进，俄国部队正向左边的谷地走去，普拉茨高地显得愈益空旷了。
Book 3 Chapter 15
AT EIGHT O'CLOCK Kutuzov rode out to Pratzen at the head of Miloradovitch's fourth column, the one which was to occupy the place left vacant by the columns of Przhebyshevsky and Langeron, who had by this time gone down to the plain. He greeted the men of the foremost regiment, and gave them the command to march, showing thereby that he meant to lead that column himself. On reaching the village of Pratzen he halted. Prince Andrey was behind among the immense number of persons who made up the commander-in-chief's suite. Prince Andrey was in a state of excitement, of irritation, and at the same time of repressed calm, as a man often is on attaining a long-desired moment. He was firmly convinced that to-day would be the day of his Toulon or his bridge of Arcola. How it would come to pass he knew not, but he was firmly convinced that it would be so. The locality and the position of our troops he had mastered to the minutest detail, so far as they could be known to any one in our army. His own strategic plan, which obviously could not conceivably be carried out now, was forgotten by him. Throwing himself into Weierother's plan, Prince Andrey was now deliberating over the contingencies that might arise, and inventing new combinations, in which his rapidity of resource and decision might be called for.
On the left, below in the fog, could be heard firing between unseen forces. There, it seemed to Prince Andrey, the battle would be concentrated, there “the difficulty would arise, and there I shall be sent,” he thought, “with a brigade or a division, and there, flag in hand, I shall march forward and shatter all before me.”
Prince Andrey could not look unmoved upon the flags of the passing battalions. Looking at the flag, he kept thinking: perhaps it is that very flag with which I shall have to lead the men. Towards morning nothing was left of the fog on the heights but a hoar frost passing into dew, but in the valleys the fog still lay in a milky-white sea. Nothing could be seen in the valley to the left into which our troops had vanished, and from which sounds of firing were coming. Above the heights stood a clear, dark blue sky, and on the right the vast orb of the sun. In the distance in front, on the coast of that sea of mist, rose up the wooded hills, on which the enemy's army should have been, and something could be descried there. On the right there was the tramp of hoofs and rumble of wheels, with now and then the gleam of bayonets, as the guards plunged into the region of mist; on the left, behind the village, similar masses of cavalry were moving and disappearing into the sea of fog. In front and behind were the marching infantry. The commander-in-chief was standing at the end of the village, letting the troops pass before him. Kutuzov seemed exhausted and irritable that morning. The infantry marching by him halted without any command being given, apparently because something in front blocked up the way.
“Do tell the men to form in battalion columns and go round the village,” said Kutuzov angrily to a general who rode up. “How is it you don't understand, my dear sir, that it's out of the question to let them file through the defile of the village street, when we are advancing to meet the enemy.”
“I had proposed forming beyond the village, your most high excellency,” replied the general.
Kutuzov laughed bitterly.
“A nice position you'll be in, deploying your front in sight of the enemy—very nice.”
“The enemy is a long way off yet, your most high excellency. According to the disposition. …”
“The disposition!” Kutuzov cried with bitter spleen; “but who told you so? … Kindly do as you are commanded.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My dear boy,” Nesvitsky whispered to Prince Andrey, “the old fellow is in a vile temper.”
An Austrian officer wearing a white uniform and green plumes in his hat, galloped up to Kutuzov and asked him in the Emperor's name: Had the fourth column started?
Kutuzov turned away without answering, and his eye fell casually on Prince Andrey, who was standing near him. Seeing Bolkonsky, Kutuzov let his vindictive and bitter expression soften, as though recognising that his adjutant was not to blame for what was being done. And still not answering the Austrian adjutant, he addressed Bolkonsky.
“Go and see, my dear fellow, whether the third division has passed the village. Tell them to stop and wait for my orders.”
Prince Andrey had scarcely started when he stopped him.
“And ask whether the sharpshooters are posted,” he added. “What they are doing, what they are doing!” he murmured to himself, still making no reply to the Austrian.
Prince Andrey galloped off to do his bidding. Overtaking all the advancing battalions, he stopped the third division and ascertained that there actually was no line of sharpshooters in advance of our columns. The officer in command of the foremost regiment was greatly astounded on the order being brought him from the commander-in-chief to send a flying line of sharpshooters in advance. The officer had been resting in the full conviction that there were other troops in front of him, and that the enemy could not be less than ten versts away. In reality there was nothing in front of him but an empty stretch of ground, sloping downhill and covered with fog. Giving him the commander-in-chief's order to rectify the omission, Prince Andrey galloped back. Kutuzov was still at the same spot; his bulky frame drooped in the saddle with the lassitude of old age, and he was yawning wearily with closed eyes. The troops had not yet moved on, but were standing at attention.
“Good, good,” he said to Prince Andrey, and he turned to the general who, watch in hand, was saying that it was time they started, as all the columns of the left flank had gone down already.
“We have plenty of time yet, your excellency,” Kutuzov interpolated between his yawns. “Plenty of time!” he repeated.
At that moment in the distance behind Kutuzov there were sounds of regiments saluting; the shouts came rapidly nearer along the whole drawn-out line of the advancing Russian columns. Clearly he who was the object of these greetings was riding quickly. When the soldiers of the regiment, in front of which Kutuzov was standing, began to shout, he rode off a little on one side, and wrinkling up his face, looked round. Along the road from Pratzen, galloped what looked like a whole squadron of horsemen of different colours. Two of them galloped side by side ahead of the rest. One was in a black uniform with a white plume, on a chestnut English thoroughbred, the other in a white uniform on a black horse. These were the two Emperors and their suites. With a sort of affectation of the manner of an old soldier at the head of his regiment, Kutuzov gave the command, “Steady,” to the standing troops and rode up to the Emperors, saluting. His whole figure and manner were suddenly transformed. He assumed the air of a subordinate, a man who accepts without criticism. With an affectation of respectfulness which unmistakably made an unpleasant impression on Alexander, he rode up and saluted him.
The unpleasant impression, like the traces of fog in a clear sky, merely flitted across the young and happy face of the Emperor and vanished. He looked that day rather thinner after his illness than he had been at the review of Olmütz, where Bolkonsky had seen him for the first time abroad. But there was the same bewitching combination of majesty and mildness in his fine, grey eyes, and on his delicate lips the same possibility of varying expressions and the predominant expression of noble-hearted, guileless youth.
At the Olmütz review he had been more majestic, here he was livelier and more energetic. He was flushed a little from the rapid three-verst gallop, and as he pulled up his horse, he breathed a sigh of relief, and looked round at those among the faces of his suite that were as young and eager as his own. Behind the Tsar were Tchartorizhsky, and Novosiltsov, and Prince Bolkonsky, and Stroganov, and the rest, all richly dressed, gay young men on splendid, well-groomed, fresh horses, slightly heated from the gallop. The Emperor Francis, a rosy, long-faced young man, sat excessively erect on his handsome sable horse, casting deliberate and anxious looks around him. He beckoned one of his white adjutants and asked him a question. “Most likely at what o'clock they started,” thought Prince Andrey, watching his old acquaintance with a smile, which he could not repress, as he remembered his audience with him. With the Emperors' suite were a certain number of fashionable young aristocrats—Russians and Austrians selected from the regiments of the guards and the line. Among them were postillions leading extra horses, beautiful beasts from the Tsar's stables, covered with embroidered horsecloths.
Like a breath of fresh country air rushing into a stuffy room through an open window was the youth, energy, and confidence of success that the cavalcade of brilliant young people brought with them into Kutuzov's cheerless staff.
“Why aren't you beginning, Mihail Larionovitch?” the Emperor Alexander said hurriedly, addressing Kutuzov, while he glanced courteously towards the Emperor Francis.
“I am waiting to see, your majesty,” Kutuzov answered, bowing reverentially.
The Emperor turned his ear towards him, with a slight frown and an air of not having caught his words.
“I'm waiting to see, your majesty,” repeated Kutuzov (Prince Andrey noticed that Kutuzov's upper lip quivered unnaturally as he uttered that: “I'm waiting”). “Not all the columns are massed yet, your majesty.”
The Tsar heard him, but the answer apparently did not please him; he shrugged his sloping shoulders, and glanced at Novosiltsov, who stood near, with a look that seemed to complain of Kutuzov.
“We are not on the Tsaritsin field, you know, Mihail Larionovitch, where the parade is not begun till all the regiments are ready,” said the Tsar, glancing again at the Emperor Francis as though inviting him, if not to take part, at least to listen to what he was saying. But the Emperor Francis still gazed away and did not listen.
“That's just why I'm not beginning, sire,” said Kutuzov in a resounding voice, as though foreseeing a possibility his words might be ignored, and once more there was a quiver in his face. “That's why I am not beginning, sire; because we are not on parade and not on the Tsaritsin field,” he articulated clearly and distinctly.
All in the Tsar's suite exchanged instantaneous glances with one another, and every face wore an expression of regret and reproach. “However old he may be, he ought not, he ought never to speak like that,” the faces expressed.
The Tsar looked steadily and attentively into Kutuzov's face, waiting to see if he were not going to say more. But Kutuzov too on his side, bending his head respectfully, seemed to be waiting. The silence lasted about a minute.
“However, if it's your majesty's command,” said Kutuzov, lifting his head and relapsing into his former affectation of the tone of a stupid, uncritical general, who obeys orders. He moved away, and beckoning the commanding officer of the column, Miloradovitch, gave him the command to advance.
The troops began to move again, and two battalions of the Novgorod regiment and a battalion of the Apsheron regiment passed before the Tsar.
While the Apsheron battalion was marching by, Miloradovitch, a red-faced man, wearing a uniform and orders, with no overcoat, and a turned-up hat with huge plumes stuck on one side, galloped ahead of them, and saluting in gallant style, reined up his horse before the Tsar.
“With God's aid, general,” said the Tsar.
“Ma foi, sire, we will do whatever is in our power to do,” he answered gaily, arousing none the less an ironical smile among the gentlemen of the Tsar's suite by his bad French accent. Miloradovitch wheeled his horse round sharply, and halted a few steps behind the Tsar. The Apsheron men, roused by the presence of the Tsar, stepped out gallantly as they marched by the Emperors and their suites.
“Lads!” shouted Miloradovitch in his loud, self-confident, and cheery voice. He was apparently so excited by the sounds of the firing, the anticipation of battle, and the sight of the gallant Apsheron men, his old comrades with Suvorov, that he forgot the Tsar's presence. “Lads! it's not the first village you've had to take!” he shouted.
“Glad to do our best,” roared the soldiers. The Tsar's horse reared at the unexpected sound. This horse, who had carried the Tsar at reviews in Russia, bore his rider here on the field of Austerlitz, patiently enduring the heedless blows of his left foot, and pricked up his ears at the sound of shots as he had done on the review ground with no comprehension of the significance of these sounds, nor of the nearness of the raven horse of Emperor Francis, nor of all that was said and thought and felt that day by the man who rode upon his back.
The Tsar turned with a smile to one of his courtiers, pointing to the gallant-looking Apsheron regiment, and said something to him.
八点钟，库图佐夫骑马前赴米洛拉多维奇的第四纵队前面的普拉茨村，第四纵队必须接替已经下山的普热贝舍夫斯基纵队和朗热隆纵队。他向前面的兵团官兵打招呼，发出前进的命令，并且表明他本人试图统率这个纵队。他驰至普拉茨村之前，停止前进。总司令的许多侍从中包括安德烈公爵，他站在总司令后面。安德烈公爵觉得自己既激动又兴奋，既稳重又沉着。这是一个人在他期待已久的时刻来临时常有的一种感觉。他坚信今天正是他的土伦之战的日子或者是阿尔科拉桥之战的日子。这事件是怎样发生的，他不知道，但是他坚信事件是会发生的。他熟悉我军的地形和处境，就像我军之中的任何一人也同样熟悉这些情形。现在显然用不着考虑应怎样实行他个人的战略计划，它已经被他遗忘了。安德烈公爵已经在领会魏罗特尔的计划，他一面考虑那可能发生的意外事件，还提出一些新见解，这是一些要求他具备敏锐的理想力和坚毅的性格的见解。 
在雾蒙蒙的左边的洼地上，传来了望不见的军队之间的互相射击声。安德烈公爵仿佛觉得，有一场集中火力的战斗将在那里爆发，那里会遇到阻碍，“我将被派往某地，”他想道，“我将要带着一个旅，或者一个师在那里举着战旗前进，摧毁我面前的一切障碍。”
安德烈公爵不能漠不关心地望着从他身旁走过的各营官兵的旗帜。他望着旗帜，心里总是想着，这也许正是那面旗帜，我必须举着它走在我们部队的前头。
黎明前，夜里的雾霭在高地上只留下一层转化为露水的白霜，那雾霭还像乳白色的海洋一般弥漫于谷地之中。左边的谷地里什么都看不清楚，我们的部队沿着下坡路走进谷地，从那里传来一阵射击声。昏暗而清净的苍穹悬挂在高地的上方，右面是巨大的球状的太阳。远前方，雾海的彼岸可以望见林木茂盛的山岗，敌军想必驻扎在这几座山岗上，不知道是什么东西隐约可见。近卫军正向右边走进雾气腾腾的地方，那里传来马蹄声和车轮声，刺刀有时分闪闪发光；在左边的村庄后面，许多一模一样的骑兵向附近驰来，又在雾海之中隐没了。步兵在前前后后推进。总司令站在村口，让部队从他身边走过去。是日早晨，库图佐夫显得疲惫不堪，有几分怒色。从他身旁走过的步兵没有接到命令就停止前进，显然不知是什么在前面把它挡住了。
“请您干脆说一声，将部队排成几个营纵队，迂回到村庄后面去，”库图佐夫对那个驰近的将军愤怒地说，“将军大人，阁下，您怎么不明白，当我们走去攻击敌人的时候，在村庄的这条街上的狭窄的地方是不能拉开队伍的。”
“大人，我原来打算在村后排队。”将军答道。
库图佐夫愤怒地笑了起来。
“您要在敌人眼前展开纵队，这样做那太好了，那太好了！”
“大人，敌人还离得很远。根据进军部署……”
“进军部署，”库图佐夫气忿地喊道，“是谁说给您听的？
……给您什么命令，请您照办吧。”
“是的，遵命。”
“monchev”涅斯维茨基轻言细语地对安德烈公爵说，“levieuxestd'unehumeurdechien．”①
一名奥国军官戴着一顶绿色羽饰宽边帽，穿着一套白色制服，骑马走到库图佐夫面前，他代表皇帝向他提问：“第四纵队是不是已经参战了？”
库图佐夫不回答他，转过脸去，他的视线无意中落在他旁边站着的安德烈公爵身上。库图佐夫看见博尔孔斯基，他那讥刺而凶狠的眼神变得柔和起来，好像意识到，他的副官对发生的事件没有什么过失。他不回答奥国副官的问话，却把脸转向博尔孔斯基，说道：
“Allezvoir，moncher，silatroisiemedivisionadepasselevil－lage．Dites－luides'arreteretd'attendremesorBdres．”②
安德烈公爵刚刚走开，他就叫他停下来。
“Etdemandezlui，silestirailleurssontpostes，”他补充说，“Cequ'ilsfontcequ'ilsfont！”③他自言自语地说，一直不回答奥地利人。 
①法语：喂，亲爱的，老头子的情绪很不好。
②法语：我亲爱的，听我说，看看第三师是不是从村子里走过去了。吩咐它停止前进，听候我的命令。
③法语：“您问问，是否已布置尖兵。他们在做什么事呀，在做什么事呀！”
安德烈公爵骑着马跑去执行被委托的事务。
他赶过了在前面走的几个营，就叫第三师停止前进，他相信，我们的纵队前面的确没有散兵线。在前面行进的兵团的团长对总司令命令布成散兵线一事感到非常诧异。团长满怀信心，自以为前面还有部队，敌人不会盘踞在近于十俄里的地方。真的，前面除了空旷的被浓雾遮蔽的、向前倾斜的地段而外，什么也望不见。安德烈公爵代表总司令命令下级弥补过失之后，便骑马跑回去了。库图佐夫还站在原地不动，现出衰迈的老态，将他那肥胖的身躯俯在马鞍上，合上眼睛，沉重地打着哈欠。部队已经不向前推进了，士兵们把枪托放下站着。
“好，好，”他对安德烈公爵说，又把脸转向将军，这位将军手里拿着一只表，他说左翼的各个纵队已从坡地走下来，应该向前推进了。
“大人，我们还来得及，”库图佐夫打哈欠时说道，“我们还来得及！”他重说一遍。
这时候，库图佐夫后面可以听见远处传来的各个兵团请安的声音，这种声音开始迅速地临近于进军中排成一字长蛇阵的俄国纵队的全线。可以看见那个领受叩安的人快要来了。当库图佐夫领头的那个兵团的士兵高声呼喊的时候，他骑在马上向一旁走了几步，蹙起额角，回头看看。有一连穿着五颜六色的服装的骑士好像在普拉茨村村外的路上奔驰而来。其中二人在其余的骑士前面并骑地大步驰骋着。一人身穿黑制服，头上露出白帽缨，骑在一匹英国式的枣红马背上，另一人身穿白制服，骑着一匹乌骓。这就是两位由侍从伴随的皇帝。库图佐夫站在队列中，做出老兵的样子，向站着的部队官兵发出“立正！”的口令并且举手行礼，向皇帝面前走去。他的整个外貌和气派蓦地改变了。他带着一副唯唯诺诺、不明事理的下属的模样，流露出装模作样的恭敬的神态向皇帝面前走来，举手行礼，显然令人厌恶，亚历山大皇帝感到十分诧异。
令人不悦意的印象仅似晴空的残云，掠过了皇帝那年轻而且显得幸福的面孔，旋即消逝了。微恙痊愈之后，他今天比博尔孔斯基首次在国外奥尔米茨阅兵场上，看见他时更瘦弱，但在他那俊秀的灰色眼睛中，令人惊叹的庄重与温厚的神情兼而有之，他那薄薄的嘴唇上现出他能流露的各种表情，主要是心地善良而且天真无邪的青年的表情。
在奥尔米茨阅兵式上，他比较威严，而在这里他比较愉快而且刚健。在疾驰三俄里之后，他的面部有点儿发红，他勒住战马，缓了一口气，掉转头来望望他的侍从们和他一样年轻、一样兴致勃勃的面孔。恰尔托里日斯基、诺沃西利采夫、博尔孔斯基公爵、斯特罗加诺夫和另外一些侍从，个个都是衣着华丽、心情愉快的青年。他们骑着被精心饲养、不同凡俗、微微冒汗的骏马在皇帝背后停步了，他们面露微笑，彼此交谈着。费朗茨皇帝是个长脸的、面颊绯红的青年，身子挺直地骑着一匹标致的乌骓。他忧虑地、从容不迫地向四周环顾。他把一名身穿白色制服的副官喊到自己身边，不知向他问了一句什么话。“他们大概是在几点钟动身的。”安德烈公爵在观察自己的老友时，面露笑容，他心里这样想了一阵，每当回忆国王接见他的情景时，他不禁流露出这种微笑。在二位皇帝的侍从中，有近卫军和兵团中精选出来的俄奥两国的英姿勃勃的传令军官。调马师们在他们中间牵着若干匹沙皇备用的、披上绣花马被的标致的御马。
这些疾驰而至的出色的青年，使那闷闷不乐的库图佐夫的司令部焕发出青春、活力和对胜利的自信，正如一股田野的清新空气忽然被吹进令人窒闷的房间一样。
“米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇，您干嘛还不开始？”亚历山大皇帝急忙把脸转向库图佐夫，说道，他同时毕恭毕敬地望望弗郎茨皇帝。
“陛下，我正在等待。”库图佐夫一面回答，一面恭恭敬敬地向前弯下腰来。
皇帝侧起耳朵，微微地皱起眉头，表示他还没有听清楚。
“陛下，我正在等待，”库图佐夫重复自己说的话（当库图佐夫在说“我正在等待”这句话的时候，安德烈公爵发现，库图佐夫的上唇不自然地颤栗了一下），“陛下，各个纵队还没有集合起来。”
国王听见了，可是看起来，他不喜欢这句回答的话；他耸耸微微拱起的肩膀，向站在身旁的诺沃西利采夫瞥了一眼，这种眼神仿佛在埋怨库图佐夫似的。
“米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇，要知道，我们不是在皇后操场，各个兵团没有来齐以前，那里不会开始检阅的。”国王又望望弗朗茨皇帝的眼睛说道，仿佛是邀请他参加阅兵，否则就请他听听他讲话，但是弗朗茨皇帝继续朝四下张望，没有去听他讲话。
“国王，因此就没有开始，”库图佐夫用洪亮的嗓音说道，仿佛预防可能听不清楚他说的话，这时候，他脸上有个地方又颤栗了一下。“国王，之所以没有开始，是因为我们不在阅兵式上，也不在皇后操场上。”地清晰而明确地说。
国王的侍从霎时间互使眼色，他们的脸上流露着不满和责备的神态。“无论他多么老迈，他不应当，决不应当那样说话。”这些面孔表达了这种思想。
国王聚精会神地凝视库图佐夫的眼睛，等待他是否还要说些什么话。而库图佐夫恭恭敬敬地低下头来，看样子也在等待。沉默延续了将近一分钟。
“但是，陛下，只要发出命令。”库图佐夫抬起头来，说道，又把语调变成迟钝的不很审慎的唯命是从的将军原有的语调。
他驱马上路，一面把纵队司令米洛拉多维奇喊到跟前，把进攻的命令交给他了。
部队又行动起来，诺夫戈罗德兵团的两个营和阿普舍龙兵团的一个营从国王身旁开走了。
当阿普舍龙的一营人走过的时候，面色绯红的米洛拉多维奇没有披军大衣，穿着一身制服，胸前挂满了勋章，歪歪戴着一顶大缨帽，疾速地向前驰骋，在皇帝面前猛然勒住战马，英姿勃勃地举手敬礼。
“将军，上帝保佑您。”国王对他说。
“Mafoi，sire，nousferonscequequiseradansnotrepossibilite，sire，”①他愉快地回答，但是他那蹩脚的法国口音，引起皇帝的侍从先生们的一阵讥笑。 
①法语：陛下，我们要办到可能办到的一切事情。
米洛拉多维奇急剧地拨转马头，站在国王背后几步路远的地方。国王的在场使得阿普舍龙兵团的官兵感到激动和兴奋，他们步调一致，雄赳赳地、轻快地从两位皇帝及其侍从身边走过去。
“伙伴们！”米洛拉多维奇用那洪亮、充满自信而且愉快的嗓音高喊了一声，显然，这一阵阵的射击声、战斗的期待、英姿飒爽的阿普舍龙兵团官兵的外表、以及动作敏捷地从两位皇帝身边经过的苏沃洛夫式的战友们的外貌，使他感到极度兴奋，以致忘记了国王在场，“伙伴们，你们现在要攻占的不是第一个村庄啊！”他高声喊道。
“我们都乐于效命！”士兵们高呼。
国王的御马听见突然的呐喊，猛地往旁边一窜。这匹早在俄国就驮着国王检阅的御马，在奥斯特利茨这个战场上忍受着国王用左脚心不在焉的踢蹬，如同在玛斯广场一样，它听见射击声就竖起耳朵，它既不明了它所听见的射击声的涵义，也不明了弗朗茨皇帝乘坐的乌骓与它相邻的涵义，也不明了骑者是日所说的话语、所想的事题、所感觉到的一切的涵义。
国王面露笑容，指着英姿飒爽的阿普舍龙兵团的官兵，把脸转向一位近臣，不知说了什么话。
Book 3 Chapter 16
KUTUZOV, accompanied by his adjutants, followed the carabineers at a walking pace.
After going on for half a mile at the tail of the column, he stopped at a solitary, deserted house (probably once an inn), near the branching of two roads. Both roads led downhill, and troops were marching along both.
The fog was beginning to part, and a mile and a half away the enemy's troops could be indistinctly seen on the opposite heights. On the left below, the firing became more distinct. Kutuzov stood still in conversation with an Austrian general. Prince Andrey standing a little behind watched them intently, and turned to an adjutant, meaning to ask him for a field-glass.
“Look, look!” this adjutant said, looking not at the troops in the distance, but down the hill before him. “It's the French!”
The two generals and the adjutant began snatching at the field-glass, pulling it from one another. All their faces suddenly changed, and horror was apparent in them all. They had supposed the French to be over a mile and a half away, and here they were all of a sudden confronting us.
“Is it the enemy? … No. … But, look, it is … for certain.… What does it mean?” voices were heard saying.
With the naked eye Prince Andrey saw to the right, below them, a dense column of French soldiers coming up towards the Apsheron regiment, not over five hundred paces from where Kutuzov was standing.
“Here it is, it is coming, the decisive moment! My moment has come,” thought Prince Andrey, and slashing his horse, he rode up to Kutuzov.
“We must stop the Apsheron regiment,” he shouted, “your most high excellency.”
But at that instant everything was lost in a cloud of smoke, there was a sound of firing close by, and a voice in na?ve terror cried not two paces from Prince Andrey: “Hey, mates, it's all up!” And this voice was like a command. At that voice there was a general rush, crowds, growing larger every moment, ran back in confusion to the spot where five minutes before they had marched by the Emperors. It was not simply difficult to check this rushing crowd, it was impossible not to be carried back with the stream oneself. Bolkonsky tried only not to be left behind by it, and looked about him in bewilderment, unable to grasp what was taking place. Nesvitsky, with an exasperated, crimson face, utterly unlike himself, was shouting to Kutuzov that if he didn't get away at once he'd be taken prisoner to a certainty. Kutuzov was standing in the same place: he was taking out his handkerchief, and did not answer. The blood was flowing from his cheek. Prince Andrey forced his way up to him.
“You are wounded?” he asked, hardly able to control the quivering of his lower jaw.
“The wound's not here, but there, see!” said Kutuzov, pressing the handkerchief to his wounded cheek, and pointing to the running soldiers.
“Stop them!” he shouted, and at the same time convinced that it was impossible to stop them, he lashed his horse and rode to the right. A fresh rush of flying crowds caught him up with it and carried him back.
The troops were running in such a dense multitude, that once getting into the midst of the crowd, it was a hard matter to get out of it. One was shouting: “Get on! what are you lagging for?” Another was turning round to fire in the air; another striking the very horse on which Kutuzov was mounted. Getting out with an immense effort from the stream on the left, Kutuzov, with his suite diminished to a half, rode towards the sounds of cannon close by. Prince Andrey, trying not to be left behind by Kutuzov, saw, as he got out of the racing multitude, a Russian battery still firing in the smoke on the hillside and the French running towards it. A little higher up stood Russian infantry, neither moving forward to the support of the battery, nor back in the same direction as the runaways. A general on horseback detached himself from the infantry and rode towards Kutuzov. Of Kutuzov's suite only four men were left. They were all pale and looking at one another dumbly.
“Stop those wretches!” Kutuzov gasped to the officer in command of the regiment, pointing to the flying soldiers. But at the same instant, as though in revenge for the words, the bullets came whizzing over the regiment and Kutuzov's suite like a flock of birds. The French were attacking the battery, and catching sight of Kutuzov, they were shooting at him. With this volley the general clutched at his leg; several soldiers fell, and the second lieutenant standing with the flag let it drop out of his hands. The flag tottered and was caught on the guns of the nearest soldiers. The soldiers had begun firing without orders.
“Ooogh!” Kutuzov growled with an expression of despair, and he looked round him. “Bolkonsky,” he whispered in a voice shaking with the consciousness of his old age and helplessness. “Bolkonsky,” he whispered, pointing to the routed battalion and the enemy, “what's this?”
But before he had uttered the words, Prince Andrey, feeling the tears of shame and mortification rising in his throat, was jumping off his horse and running to the flag.
“Lads, forward!” he shrieked in a voice of childish shrillness. “Here, it is come!” Prince Andrey thought, seizing the staff of the flag, and hearing with relief the whiz of bullets, unmistakably aimed at him. Several soldiers dropped.
“Hurrah!” shouted Prince Andrey, and hardly able to hold up the heavy flag in both his hands, he ran forward in the unhesitating conviction that the whole battalion would run after him. And in fact it was only for a few steps that he ran alone. One soldier started, then another, and then the whole battalion with a shout of “hurrah!” was running forward and overtaking him. An under-officer of the battalion ran up and took the flag which tottered from its weight in Prince Andrey's hands, but he was at once killed. Prince Andrey snatched up the flag again, and waving it by the staff, ran on with the battalion. In front of him he saw our artillery men, of whom some were fighting, while others had abandoned their cannons and were running towards him. He saw French infantry soldiers, too, seizing the artillery horses and turning the cannons round. Prince Andrey and the battalion were within twenty paces of the cannons. He heard the bullets whizzing over him incessantly, and continually the soldiers moaned and fell to the right and left of him. But he did not look at them; his eyes were fixed on what was going on in front of him—at the battery. He could now see distinctly the figure of the red-haired artilleryman, with a shako crushed on one side, pulling a mop one way, while a French soldier was tugging it the other way. Prince Andrey could see distinctly now the distraught, and at the same time exasperated expression of the faces of the two men, who were obviously quite unconscious of what they were doing.
“What are they about?” wondered Prince Andrey, watching them; “why doesn't the red-haired artilleryman run, since he has no weapon? Why doesn't the Frenchman stab him? He won't have time to run away before the Frenchman will think of his gun, and knock him on the head.” Another Frenchman did, indeed, run up to the combatants with his gun almost overbalancing him, and the fate of the red-haired artilleryman, who still had no conception of what was awaiting him, and was pulling the mop away in triumph, was probably sealed. But Prince Andrey did not see how it ended. It seemed to him as though a hard stick was swung full at him by some soldier near, dealing him a violent blow on the head. It hurt a little, but the worst of it was that the pain distracted his attention, and prevented him from seeing what he was looking at.
“What's this? am I falling? my legs are giving way under me,” he thought, and fell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggle of the French soldiers with the artilleryman was ending, and eager to know whether the red-haired artilleryman was killed or not, whether the cannons had been taken or saved. But he saw nothing of all that. Above him there was nothing but the sky—the lofty sky, not clear, but still immeasurably lofty, with grey clouds creeping quietly over it. “How quietly, peacefully, and triumphantly, and not like us running, shouting, and fighting, not like the Frenchman and artilleryman dragging the mop from one another with frightened and frantic faces, how differently are those clouds creeping over that lofty, limitless sky. How was it I did not see that lofty sky before? And how happy I am to have found it at last. Yes! all is vanity, all is a cheat, except that infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing but that. But even that is not, there is nothing but peace and stillness. And thank God! …”
库图佐夫在副官们的伴随下跟在卡宾枪手背后一步一步地缓行。 
他尾随于纵队之后骑行半俄里左右，便在两条大路岔道口附近的一幢孤零零的无人管理的房子旁边止步了（大概是从前的酒馆）。两条大路向山下延伸，部队都沿着两条大路向前推进。
雾霭开始渐渐地散开，莫约在两俄里以外的地方，可以看见对面高地上的敌军。山下的左方，射击声听来更加清晰了。库图佐夫停住了脚步，和一位奥国将军谈话。安德烈公爵站在他们背后稍远的地方，凝视着他们，他把脸转向一名副官，想向他要台望远镜。
“您瞧瞧，您瞧瞧，”这个副官说着，他不望那远方的部队却沿着他前面的一座大山向下望去。“这是法国人啊！”
两位将军和几名副官互相争夺，抓起了一台望远镜。大家的脸色忽然变了，个个流露着惊骇的神态。大家原以为法国人在二俄里以外，可是出乎意外，他们忽然在我们面前出现了。
“这是敌人吗？……不是啊！是的，您看，敌人……一定是……这是怎么回事？”可以听见众人的说话声。
安德烈公爵在右下方，离库图佐夫至多五百步远的地方，用肉眼望见冲上山来迎击阿普舍龙兵团官兵的密密麻麻的法国纵队。
“看，法国纵队，紧要关头来到了！这事儿与我有关。”安德烈公爵想了想，于是策马走到库图佐夫跟前。
“应当阻止阿普舍龙兵团的人马，”他大声喊道，“大人！”
但是就在这一瞬间，一切都被硝烟遮蔽了，传来近处的枪声。离安德烈公爵两步路远的地方可以听见一声幼稚的惊惶失措的喊叫：“喂，弟兄们，停下来！”这一声喊叫仿佛是一道口令。大家一听见喊声就急忙逃命。
混乱的人群愈益增多，一齐向后退却，跑至五分钟以前部队从两位皇帝身边走过的那个地方。叫这一群人站住不仅十分困难，而且本人也不能不随同人群退却。博尔孔斯基只是力求不落在人群背后，他不停地向四下张望，感到困窘不安，他无法了解他面前发生的情况。涅斯维茨基装出一副凶恶的样子，满脸通红，相貌完全变了，他向库图佐夫大声喊道，如果他不马上离开，他必将被俘。库图佐夫还站在原来的地方，他取出一条手帕，没有回答。他的面颊上流出了鲜血。安德烈公爵从人群中挤过去，走到他跟前。
“您负伤了么？”他问道，勉强忍住了，下颌才没有颤抖。
“伤口不在这里，而是在那里！”库图佐夫说，一面用手帕紧紧按着受伤的面颊，一面指着奔跑的官兵。
“叫他们站住！”他喊了一声，同时他也许深信，叫他们站住是不可能的，于是驱马向右边疾驰而去。
又蜂拥而至的一群逃跑者，把他拖在一起向后撤退了。
密密麻麻的部队拼命地奔跑，只要窜进了人群中间，就很难走出来。有个什么人喊道：“走吧！干嘛要磨磨蹭蹭！”就在这时，有个人转过头来对天开枪，有个人鞭挞库图佐夫本人乘坐的战马。侍从的人数少了一半以上，库图佐夫和他们很费劲地才从左面的人流中钻出来，朝着近处隐约可闻的炮声隆隆的地方驰去。安德烈公爵好不容易才从奔跑的人群中挤出来，力图不落在库图佐夫背后，他从硝烟弥漫的山坡上看见了还在射击的俄国炮台和向它附近跑来的法国官兵。俄国步兵驻守在地势略高的地方，他们既没有前去支援炮队，也没有随着奔跑的士兵朝一个方向退却。有一位将军骑着战马离开了步兵，向库图佐夫跟前走去。库图佐夫的侍从只剩下四人，个个都脸色苍白，沉默地彼此对看着。
“叫这些坏蛋站住！”库图佐夫指着奔跑的士兵，气喘吁吁地对团长说，但是就在这一瞬间，仿佛是对这些话的报应似的，一枚枚子弹有如一群雏鸟掠过兵团和库图佐夫的侍从的上空，发出嗖嗖的响声。
法国人攻打炮台，看见库图佐夫之后，对他开枪射击，随着这一阵齐射，团长急忙抓住自己一条腿，几名士兵倒下了，一名举看军旗站立的下级准尉，放开手里的军旗，这面军旗摇摇晃晃，倒下了，架在邻近的士兵的枪上。士兵们没有听见口令就开始射击。
“啊呀！”库图佐夫露出绝望的神情闷声闷气地说，他回头看了一下。“博尔孔斯基，”他低声地说，因为意识到自己年老体弱，声音颤抖了。“博尔孔斯基，”他指着溃散的营队，又指着敌人，低声地说，“这是怎么回事啊？”
可是，当他还没有说完这句话，安德烈公爵就感觉到羞愧和愤怒的眼泪涌进了他的喉头，于是他翻身下马，向军旗面前走去。
“伙伴们，前进！”他用儿童般的尖锐的嗓音喊了一声。
“你看，这就是军旗！”安德烈公爵心中想着，他抓起旗杆，高兴地听着想必正是向他射来的子弹的啸声。有几个士兵倒下了。
“乌拉！”安德烈公爵喊道，他勉强擎起一面沉重的军旗，向前跑去，他心中坚信，全营都会跟随着他跑步前进。
诚然，他独自一人仅仅跑了几步路。一个士兵，又一个士兵行动起来了。全营都高喊“乌拉”，跑步前进，并且赶到他前面去了。这个兵营的士官跑到了前面，他拿起那面因为太重而在安德烈公爵手中摇摇晃晃的军旗，但是他马上就被击毙了。安德烈公爵又急忙拿起军旗，拖着旗杆，带领一营人跑步前进。他看见前面有我们的炮兵，其中一些人正在战斗，另一些人抛弃大炮，向他迎面跑来；他也看见法国的步兵，他们正在抓着炮兵的马，掉转那大炮。安德烈公爵带领一营人走到了离大炮二十步远的地方。他听见上空的子弹不停地呼啸，他的左右两旁的士兵不住地呻吟，一个个都倒下来。但是他不观望他们，他所凝视的只是在他前面——炮台上发生的事情。他清晰地看见一个歪歪戴着高筒军帽的头发棕红的炮兵的身影，他从一端拖着洗膛杆，而法国士兵却抓着另一端把它拖过去。安德烈公爵清楚地看见这两个人的不知所措而又凶恶的面部表情，看起来，他们并不明白他们在干什么。
“他们在干什么？”安德烈公爵一面想道，一面瞧着他们。
“既然这个棕红色头发的炮兵没有武器，他为什么不跑呢？为什么法国人不刺杀他呢？如果法国人想起自己的枪，用刺刀刺杀他的话，他连跑都来不及了。”
诚然，另一个法国人向前斜提着枪，朝这两个拼搏的人面前跑来，头发棕红的炮兵怀着夺得洗膛杆的胜利者的喜悦心情，还不明了等待他的是什么，他的命运已被决定了。但是安德烈公爵没有看见这件事怎样结束。他仿佛觉得，近在咫尺的某个士兵好像抡起胳臂将一根坚硬的棍子朝他头部使劲地打去。虽然疼痛得不太厉害，但是主要的是，他觉得很不好受，因为这一阵疼痛分散了他的注意力，妨碍他去望清他所观看的东西。
“这是怎么回事啊？我倒了吗？我的两腿发软了。”他想了一会儿，仰面倒下了。他睁开眼睛，希望看清楚，两个法国人和一名炮兵的搏斗有什么结局，也想知道，这个头发棕红的炮兵是否被打死，几门大炮是否被夺走，抑或保存下来。但是他什么都看不见。除开天空——高高的天空，虽不太明朗，但毕竟是广阔无垠的高空，此外他的上方什么都没有了，灰色的云彩在天际慢慢移动。“多么寂静，多么雄伟，完全不是我跑步前进时那个样子，”安德烈公爵想了想，“不是我们奔跑、喊叫和战斗时那个样子，完全不是两个法国人和一个炮兵脸上流露出凶恶和惊惶失措、互相拉扯洗膛杆时那个样子，完全不是广阔无垠的高空里的云彩慢慢移动时那个样子。我原先怎么看不见这一片高空呢？我终于认识它了，我觉得自己多么幸福。是啊！除开这广阔无垠的天空而外，什么都是虚幻，什么都是欺骗。除开它，什么，什么都没有了。但是除开静寂和安宁，甚至连天空也没有，什么都没有。谢天谢地！……”
Book 3 Chapter 17
ON THE RIGHT FLANK in Bagration's detachment, at nine o'clock the battle had not yet begun. Not caring to assent to Dolgorukov's request that he should advance into action, and anxious to be rid of all responsibility, Prince Bagration proposed to Dolgorukov to send to inquire of the commander-in-chief. Bagration was aware that as the distance between one flank and the other was almost eight miles, if the messenger sent were not killed (which was highly probable), and if he were to succeed in finding the commander-in-chief (which would be very difficult), he would hardly succeed in making his way back before the evening.
Bagration looked up and down his suite with his large, expressionless, sleepy eyes, and the childish face of Rostov, unconsciously all a-quiver with excitement and hope, was the first that caught his eye. And he sent him.
“And if I meet his majesty before the commander-in-chief, your excellency?” said Rostov, with his hand to the peak of his cap.
“You can give the message to his majesty,” said Dolgorukov, hurriedly interposing before Bagration.
On being relieved from picket duty, Rostov had managed to get a few hours' sleep before morning, and felt cheerful, bold, and resolute, with a peculiar springiness in his movements, and confidence in his luck, and in that frame of mind in which everything seems easy and possible.
All his hopes had been fulfilled that morning: there was to be a general engagement, he was taking part in it; more than that, he was in attendance on the bravest general; more than that, he was being sent on a commission to Kutuzov, perhaps even to the Tsar himself. It was a fine morning, he had a good horse under him, his heart was full of joy and happiness. On receiving his orders, he spurred his horse and galloped along the line. At first he rode along the line of Bagration's troops which had not yet advanced into action, and were standing motionless, then he rode into the region occupied by Uvarov's cavalry, and here he began to observe activity and signs of preparation for battle. After he had passed Uvarov's cavalry, he could distinctly hear the sound of musket-fire and the booming of cannons ahead of him. The firing grew louder and more intense.
The sound that reached him in the fresh morning air was not now, as before, the report of two or three shots at irregular intervals, and then one or two cannons booming. Down the slopes of the hillsides before Pratzen, he could hear volleys of musketry, interspersed with such frequent shots of cannon that sometimes several booming shots could not be distinguished from one another, but melted into one mingled roar of sound.
He could see the puffs of musket smoke flying down the hillsides, as though racing one another, while the cannon smoke hung in clouds, that floated along and melted into one another. He could see, from the gleam of bayonets in the smoke, that masses of infantry were moving down, and narrow lines of artillery with green caissons.
On a hillock Rostov stopped his horse to try and make out what was going on. But however much he strained his attention, he could not make out and understand what he saw; there were men of some sort moving about there in the smoke, lines of troops were moving both backwards and forwards; but what for? Who? where were they going? it was impossible to make out. This sight, and these sounds, so far from exciting any feeling of depression or timidity in him, only increased his energy and determination.
“Come, fire away, at them again!” was his mental response to the sounds he heard. Again he galloped along the line, penetrating further and further into the part where the troops were already in action.
“How it will be there, I don't know, but it will all be all right!” thought Rostov.
After passing Austrian troops of some sort, Rostov noticed that the next part of the forces (they were the guards) had already advanced into action.
“So much the better! I shall see it close,” he thought.
He was riding almost along the front line. A body of horsemen came galloping towards him. They were a troop of our Uhlans returning in disorder from the attack. Rostov, as he passed them, could not help noticing one of them covered with blood, but he galloped on.
“That's no affair of mine!” he thought.
He had not ridden on many hundred paces further when there came into sight, on his left, across the whole extent of the field, an immense mass of cavalry on black horses, in dazzling white uniforms, trotting straight towards him, cutting off his advance. Rostov put his horse to his utmost speed to get out of the way of these cavalrymen, and he would have cleared them had they been advancing at the same rate, but they kept increasing their pace, so that several horses broke into a gallop. More and more loudly Rostov could hear the thud of their horses' hoofs, and the jingle of their weapons, and more and more distinctly he could see their horses, their figures, and even their faces. These were our horse-guards, charging to attack the French cavalry, who were advancing to meet them.
The cavalry guards were galloping, though still holding in their horses. Rostov could see their faces now, and hear the word of command, “Charge!” uttered by an officer, as he let his thoroughbred go at full speed. Rostov, in danger of being trampled underfoot or carried away to attack the French, galloped along before their line as fast as his horse could go, and still he was not in time to escape them.
The last of the line of cavalry, a pock-marked man of immense stature, scowled viciously on seeing Rostov just in front of him, where he must inevitably come into collision with him. This horse-guard would infallibly have overturned Rostov and his Bedouin (Rostov felt himself so little and feeble beside these gigantic men and horses) if he had not bethought himself of striking the horse-guard's horse in the face with his riding-whip. The heavy, black, high horse twitched its ears and reared, but its pock-marked rider brought it down with a violent thrust of the spurs into its huge sides, and the horse, lashing its tail and dragging its neck, flew on faster than ever. The horse-guard had hardly passed Rostov when he heard their shout, “Hurrah!” and looking round saw their foremost ranks mixed up with some strange cavalry, in red epaulettes, probably French. He could see nothing more, for immediately after cannons were fired from somewhere, and everything was lost in the smoke.
At the moment when the horse-guards passing him vanished into the smoke, Rostov hesitated whether to gallop after them or to go on where he had to go. This was the brilliant charge of the horse-guards of which the French themselves expressed their admiration. Rostov was appalled to hear afterwards that of all that mass of huge, fine men, of all those brilliant, rich young officers and ensigns who had galloped by him on horses worth thousands of roubles. only eighteen were left after the charge.
“I have no need to envy them, my share won't be taken from me, and may be I shall see the Emperor in a minute!” thought Rostov, and he galloped on.
When he reached the infantry of the guards, he noticed that cannon balls were flying over and about them, not so much from the sound of the cannon balls, as from the uneasiness he saw in the faces of the soldiers and the unnatural, martial solemnity on the faces of the officers.
As he rode behind one of the lines of the regiments of footguards, he heard a voice calling him by name: “Rostov!”
“Eh?” he called back, not recognising Boris.
“I say, we've been in the front line! Our regiment marched to the attack!” said Boris, smiling that happy smile that is seen in young men who have been for the first time under fire. Rostov stopped.
“Really!” he said. “Well, how was it?”
“We beat them!” said Boris, growing talkative in his eagerness. “You can fancy …” And Boris began describing how the guards having taken up their position, and seeing troops in front of them had taken them for Austrians, and all at once had found out from the cannon balls aimed at them from those troops that they were in the front line, and had quite unexpectedly to advance to battle. Rostov set his horse moving without waiting to hear Boris to the end.
“Where are you off to?” asked Boris.
“To his majesty with a commission.”
“Here he is!” said Boris, who had not caught what Rostov said, and thinking it was the grand duke he wanted, he pointed him out, standing a hundred paces from them, wearing a helmet and a horse-guard's white elk tunic, with his high shoulders and scowling brows, shouting something to a pale, white-uniformed Austrian officer.
“Why, that's the grand duke, and I must see the commander-in-chief or the Emperor,” said Rostov, and he was about to start again.
“Count, count!” shouted Berg, running up on the other side, as eager as Boris. “I was wounded in my right hand” (he pointed to his blood-stained hand, bound up with a pocket-handkerchief), “and I kept my place in the front. Count, I held my sabre in my left hand. All my family, count, the Von Bergs, have been knights.” Berg would have said more, but Rostov rode on without listening.
After riding by the guards, and on through an empty space, Rostov rode along the line of the reserves for fear of getting in the way of the front line, as he had done in the charge of the horse-guards, and made a wide circuit round the place where he heard the hottest musket-fire and cannonade. All of a sudden, in front of him and behind our troops, in a place where he could never have expected the enemy to be, he heard the sound of musket-fire quite close
“What can it be?” thought Rostov. “The enemy in the rear of our troops? It can't be,” thought Rostov, but a panic of fear for himself and for the issue of the whole battle came over him all at once. “Whatever happens, though,” he reflected, “it's useless to try and escape now. It's my duty to seek the commander-in-chief here, and if everything's lost, it's my duty to perish with all the rest.”
The foreboding of evil that had suddenly come upon Rostov grew stronger and stronger the further he advanced into the region behind the village of Pratzen, which was full of crowds of troops of all sorts.
“What does it mean? What is it? Whom are they firing at? Who is firing?” Rostov kept asking, as he met Austrian and Russian soldiers running in confused crowds across his path.
“Devil knows! Killed them all! Damn it all,” he was answered in Russian, in German, and in Czech, by the hurrying rabble, who knew no more than he what was being done.
“Kill the Germans!” shouted one.
“To hell with them—the traitors.”
“Zum Henker diese Russen,” muttered a German.
Several wounded were among the crowds on the road. Shouts, oaths, moans were mingled in the general hubbub. The firing began to subside, and, as Rostov found out later, the Russian and Austrian soldiers had been firing at one another.
“My God! how can this be?” thought Rostov. “And here, where any minute the Emperor may see them.… No, these can only be a few wretches. It will soon be over, it's not the real thing, it can't be,” he thought. “Only to make haste, make haste, and get by them.”
The idea of defeat and flight could not force its way into Rostov's head. Though he saw the French cannons and troops precisely on Pratzen hill, the very spot where he had been told to look for the commander-in-chief, he could not and would not believe in it.
九点钟，巴格拉季翁的右翼还没有开始战斗。巴格拉季翁公爵不想同意多尔戈鲁科夫开始一场战斗的要求，并想推卸自己的责任，他因此建议多尔戈鲁科夫派人前去请示总司令。巴格拉季翁知道，假如被派出的人员没有被打死（被打死的可能性很大），假如他甚至能够找到总司令，这也是一件非常困难的事，那么从分隔左右两翼的约莫七俄里的间距来看，被派出的人员在傍晚以前也赶不回来。 
巴格拉季翁用他那毫无表情的睡眠不足的大眼睛望望他的侍从们，罗斯托夫因为激动和期待而不由地楞住的那张童稚的脸首先引起了他的注目。他于是派他去见总司令。
“大人，如果我在遇见总司令以前先遇见陛下，那要怎样呢？”罗斯托夫举手敬礼时说道。
“您可以禀告陛下。”多尔戈鲁科夫连忙打断巴格拉季翁的话，说道。
罗斯托夫交接了值班工作后，黎明前睡了几个钟头，觉得自己很愉快、勇敢、坚定，他的动作强劲而有力，他对自己的幸福充满信心，生气勃勃，仿佛一切都轻松愉快，一切都可以付诸于实现。
这天早上他的一切愿望都实现了，打了一场大仗，他参加了战斗，而且还在骁勇的将军麾下充任传令军官，不仅如此，他还受托前往库图佐夫驻扎地，或则觐见国王陛下。早晨的天气晴朗，他的坐骑很听使唤。他心中感到愉快和幸福。接获命令后，他便驱马沿着一条阵线奔驰而去。巴格拉季翁的部队还没有投入战斗，停留在原地不动，罗斯托夫起初沿着巴格拉季翁的部队据守的阵线骑行，他后来驰进乌瓦罗夫骑兵部队占据的空地，并在这里发现了军队调动和准备战斗的迹象，他走过乌瓦罗夫骑兵部队驻扎地之后，已经清晰地听见自己前面传来的阵阵炮声。炮声越来越响亮。
在那早晨的清新空气中，现已不像从前那样在不同的时间间隔里传来两三阵枪声，接着就听见一两阵炮声；而在普拉茨高地前面的山坡上可以听见被那频频的炮声打断的此起彼伏的枪声，炮声的频率很大，有时候没法分辨清这几阵炮声的差别，炮声融汇成一片隆隆的轰鸣。
可以看见，火枪的硝烟仿佛沿着山坡互相追逐，来回地奔腾，火炮的浓烟滚滚，渐渐散开，连成一片了。可以看见在硝烟中刺刀闪耀的地方，一群群步兵和随带绿色弹药箱的炮兵的细长的队伍行进着。
站在小山岗上的罗斯托夫将战马勒住片刻，以便仔细观察前面发生的情况，可是不管他怎样集中注意力，他丝毫也没法明白，也不能分析发生的情况；不知是些什么人在那硝烟弥漫的地方不停地向前移动，不知是些什么部队正在前前后后不断地推进；但是为什么？他们是些什么人？到哪里去？简直没法弄明白。这种情景、这些声音不仅在他身上没有引起任何泄气或胆怯的感觉，相反地给他增添了坚毅和精力。
“喂，再加点——再加点劲呀！”他在思想中面对这些声音说，继而策马沿着战线奔驰而去，愈益深入已经投入战斗的军队之中。
“那里将要发生什么情况，我不知道，可是一切都很顺利啊！”罗斯托夫想道。
罗斯托夫从某些奥国的部队近旁驰过后，就已发现，下一段战线的部队（这是近卫军）已经投入战斗了。
“那样做岂不更妙！我在附近的地方观察一下。”他想了想。
他几乎沿着前沿阵线骑行前进。有几个骑者向他奔驰而来。这是我们的枪骑兵，他们溃不成军，从进攻中败退下来。罗斯托夫从他们身边走过去，无意中发现一个鲜血淋漓的枪骑兵，他继续疾驰而去。
“这件事与我无关！”他想了想。他还没有走到几百步远，就有一大帮骑着黑马、身穿闪闪发亮的白色军装的骑兵在一整片田野里出现了，他们从左面截断他的去路，迳直地向他奔驰而来。罗斯托夫纵马全速地飞跑，想从这些骑兵身旁走开，如果他们仍以原速骑行，他就能够躲开他们，但是他们正在加快步速，有几匹战马飞速地奔驰起来了。罗斯托夫愈益清晰地听见他们的马蹄声和那兵器的铿锵声，愈益清晰地看见他们的马匹、身形、甚至于面孔。这是我们的近卫重骑兵，他们去进攻迎面走来的法国骑兵。
近卫重骑兵一面驰骋，一面微微地勒住战马。罗斯托夫已经望见他们的面孔，并且听见那个骑着一匹纯种马全速迅驰的军官发出的口令：“快步走，快步走！”罗斯托夫担心自己会被压倒，或被拖进一场攻击法军的战斗中，于是沿着战线使尽全力地催马疾驰，仍旧来不及避开他们这些人。
靠边站的近卫重骑兵是个身材魁梧的麻面的男人，他看见自己面前那个难免要相撞的罗斯托夫之后，便凶狠狠地皱起眉头。如果罗斯托夫没有想到挥起马鞭抽打重骑兵的战马的眼睛，他准会把罗斯托夫随同他的贝杜英打翻在地的（和这些高大的人与马相比，罗斯托夫觉得自己身材矮小而且软弱无力）。这匹沉甸甸的身长二俄尺又五俄寸的黑马抿起耳朵，猛然往一边窜去，可是麻脸的重骑兵用那巨大的马刺使劲地朝它肋部刺去，战马摇摇尾巴，伸直脖子，更快地奔跑起来了。几名重骑兵一从罗斯托夫身边过去，他就听见他们的喊声：“乌拉！”他回头一看，望见他们前面的队伍和那些陌生的大概佩戴有红色肩章的法国骑兵混杂在一起。再往后，什么都看不见了，因为炮队立刻从某处开始射击，一切被烟雾笼罩住了。
当这几名重骑兵从他身旁走过、隐没在烟雾中时，罗斯托夫心中犹豫不决，他是否跟在他们背后疾速地骑行，或是向他需要去的地方驰去。这是一次使法国人自己感到惊奇的重骑兵发动的十分顺利的进攻。罗斯托夫觉得可怖的是，他过后听到，此次进攻之后，这一大群身材魁梧的美男子，这些骑着千匹战马从他身旁走过的极为卓越的富豪子弟、年轻人、军官和士官生只剩下十八人了。
“为什么我要羡慕，我的机运走不掉，我也许立刻就会看见国王！”罗斯托夫想了想，就继续向前疾驰而去。
他走到步兵近卫军近旁时，发现一枚枚炮弹飞过了步兵的队列和它周围的地方，之所以有此发现，与其说是因为他听见炮弹的啸声，毋宁说是因为他看见士兵们脸上流露出惊慌不安的神色，军官们脸上流露出不自然的威风凛凛的表情。
他从步兵近卫军兵团的一条阵线后面驰过的时候，他听见有个什么人喊他的名字。
“罗斯托夫！”
“什么？”他没有认出鲍里斯时，应声喊道。
“怎么样，我们到了第一线！我们的兵团发动过进攻！”鲍里斯说道，脸上流露着幸福的微笑，这是头一次上火线的年轻人时常流露的微笑。
罗斯托夫停下来了。
“原来是这么回事！”他说道，“怎么样了？”
“击退了！”鲍里斯兴奋地说，变得健谈了。“你可以设想一下吗？”
鲍里斯开始讲到，近卫军官兵在某处停留，看见自己前面的部队，以为是奥军，这些部队突然间发射出一枚枚炮弹，近卫军才知道，他们已经到达第一线，出乎意料地投入战斗。
罗斯托夫没有听完鲍里斯说话，就驱马上路。
“你上哪里去？”鲍里斯问道。
“受托去觐见陛下。”
“瞧，他在这儿！”鲍里斯说道，他仿佛听见，罗斯托夫要拜看“殿下”，而不是“陛下”。
他向他指了指站在离他们百步路远的大公，他头戴钢盔，身穿骑兵制服上装，拱起双肩，蹙起额角，对那面色苍白的奥国军官大声呵斥一通。
“要知道这是大公，而我要叩见总司令或国王。”罗斯托夫说完这句话，就策马出发。
“伯爵，伯爵！”贝格喊着，他和鲍里斯一样兴致勃勃，从另一边跑到前面来，“伯爵，我的右手负伤了（他说着，一面伸出血淋淋的、用手帕包扎的手腕给他看），我还是留在队伍里。伯爵，我左手能持军刀，我们姓冯·贝格的一族，个个是英雄豪杰。”
贝格还想说些什么话，但是罗斯托夫没有把话听完，便继续骑行。
罗斯托夫走过了近卫军驻地和一片空地，为了不致于遭遇重骑兵进攻那样的事情，他不再窜入第一线，而是远远绕过那个可以听见至为剧烈的枪炮射击声的地点，沿着预备队的阵线向前驰去。骤然在他自己前面，在我们的部队的后面，在他无论怎样也料想不到会有敌人出现的地方，他听见了近处的枪声。
“有这种可能吗？”罗斯托夫想了想，“敌人在我军的后方么？不可能，”罗斯托夫想了想，忽然他为自己、为战事的结局而感到惊恐。“可是，无论怎么样。”他想了想，“现在用不着迂回前进。我应当去找这里的总司令，假如一切已经毁灭了，那末我的事业也就随着大家一起毁灭了。”
罗斯托夫向普拉茨村后被各兵种占据的空地越往前走，他心里突然产生的不祥的预感就越应验了。
“这是怎么回事？这是怎么回事？向谁射击呢？谁在射击呢？”罗斯托夫站在俄奥两国的士兵身旁时问道，这一群群混成一团的士兵奔跑着，截断了他的去路。
“鬼才知道他们呢？把他们统统揍死！全完蛋啦！”一群群逃跑的士兵和他一样不能确切地明了这里发生了什么事情，都用俄国话、德国话和捷克话回答他。
“打德国鬼子！”有一人吼道。
“让他们这帮叛徒见鬼去吧！”
“ZumHenkerdieseRussen！…”①这个德国人嘟哝着什么。 
①德语：这些俄国人见鬼去吧！
有几个伤兵在路上行走。咒骂声、喊声、呻吟声汇合成一片轰鸣。枪声停息了，后来罗斯托夫才知道，俄国士兵和奥国士兵对射了一阵。
“我的天啊！这是怎么回事？”罗斯托夫想道，“这里是国王每时每刻都可能看见他们的地方……不是的，想必只是几个坏蛋干的。这会过去的，不是那么回事，不可能，”他想道，“不过，要快点、快点从他们这里走过去！”
罗斯托夫脑海中不会想到失败和逃亡的事情。虽然他也看见，正是在普拉茨山上，在他奉命去寻找总司令的那座山上还有法国的大炮和军队，但是他不能，也不愿意相信这种事。
Book 3 Chapter 18
NEAR THE VILLAGE of Pratzen Rostov had been told to look for Kutuzov and the Emperor. But there they were not, nor was there a single officer to be found in command, nothing but disorderly crowds of troops of different sorts. He urged on his weary horse to hasten through this rabble, but the further he went the more disorderly the crowds became. The high road along which he rode, was thronged with carriages, with vehicles of all sorts, and Austrian and Russian soldiers of every kind, wounded and unwounded. It was all uproar and confused bustle under the sinister whiz of the flying cannon balls from the French batteries stationed on the heights of Pratzen.
“Where's the Emperor? Where's Kutuzov?” Rostov kept asking of every one he could stop, and from no one could he get an answer.
At last clutching a soldier by the collar, he forced him to answer him.
“Aye! brother! they've all bolted long ago!” the soldier said to Rostov, laughing for some reason as he pulled himself away. Letting go that soldier, who must, he thought, be drunk, Rostov stopped the horse of a groom or postillion of some personage of consequence, and began to cross-question him. The groom informed Rostov that an hour before the Tsar had been driven at full speed in a carriage along this very road, and that the Tsar was dangerously wounded.
“It can't be,” said Rostov; “probably some one else.”
“I saw him myself,” said the groom with a self-satisfied smirk; “it's high time I should know the Emperor, I should think, after the many times I've seen him in Petersburg; I saw him as it might be here. Pale, deadly pale, sitting in the carriage. The way they drove the four raven horses! my goodness, didn't they dash by us! It would be strange, I should think, if I didn't know the Tsar's horses and Ilya Ivanitch; why, Ilya never drives any one else but the Tsar.”
Rostov let go of the horse and would have gone on. A wounded officer passing by addressed him. “Why, who is it you want?” asked the officer, “the commander-in-chief? Oh, he was killed by a cannon ball, struck in the breast before our regiment.”
“Not killed—wounded,” another officer corrected him.
“Who? Kutuzov?” asked Rostov.
“Not Kutuzov, but what's his name—well, it's all the same, there are not many left alive. Go that way, over there to that village, all the commanding officers are there,” said the officer, pointing to the village of Gostieradeck, and he walked on.
Rostov rode on at a walking pace, not knowing to whom and with what object he was going now. The Tsar was wounded, the battle was lost. There was no refusing to believe in it now. Rostov rode in the direction which had been pointed out to him, and saw in the distance turrets and a church. What had he to hasten for now? What was he to say now to the Tsar or to Kutuzov, even if they were alive and not wounded?
“Go along this road, your honour, that way you will be killed in a trice!” a soldier shouted to him. “You'll be killed that way!”
“Oh! what nonsense!” said another. “Where is he to go? That way's nearest.” Rostov pondered, and rode off precisely in the direction in which he had been told he would be killed.
“Now, nothing matters; if the Emperor is wounded, can I try and save myself?” he thought. He rode into the region where more men had been killed than anywhere, in fleeing from Pratzen. The French had not yet taken that region, though the Russians—those who were slightly wounded or unhurt—had long abandoned it. All over the field, like ridges of dung on well-kept plough-land, lay the heaps of dead and wounded, a dozen or fifteen bodies to every three acres. The wounded were crawling two or three together, and their shrieks and groans had a painful and sometimes affected sound, it seemed to Rostov. Rostov put his horse to a trot to avoid the sight of all those suffering people, and he felt afraid. He was afraid of losing not his life, but his pluck, which he needed so much, which he knew would not stand the sight of those luckless wretches. The French had ceased firing at this field that was dotted over with dead and wounded, because there seemed no one living upon it, but seeing an adjutant trotting across it, they turned a cannon upon him and shot off several cannon balls. The sense of those whizzing, fearful sounds, and of the dead bodies all round him melted into a single impression of horror and pity for himself in Rostov's heart. He thought of his mother's last letter. “What would she be feeling now,” he thought, “if she could see me here now on this field with cannons aimed at me?”
In the village of Gostieradeck there were Russian troops, in some confusion indeed, but in far better discipline, who had come from the field of battle. Here they were out of range of the French cannons, and the sounds of firing seemed far away. Here every one saw clearly that the battle was lost, and all were talking of it. No one to whom Rostov applied could tell him where was the Tsar, or where was Kutuzov. Some said that the rumour of the Tsar's wound was correct, others said not, and explained this widely spread false report by the fact that the Ober-Hofmarschall Tolstoy, who had come out with others of the Emperor's suite to the field of battle, had been seen pale and terrified driving back at full gallop in the Tsar's carriage. One officer told Rostov that, behind the village to the left, he had seen some one from headquarters, and Rostov rode off in that direction, with no hope now of finding any one, but simply to satisfy his conscience. After going about two miles and passing the last of the Russian troops, Rostov saw, near a kitchen-garden enclosed by a ditch, two horsemen standing facing the ditch. One with a white plume in his hat seemed somehow a familiar figure to Rostov, the other, a stranger on a splendid chestnut horse (the horse Rostov fancied he had seen before) rode up to the ditch, put spurs to his horse, and lightly leaped over the ditch into the garden. A little earth from the bank crumbled off under his horse's hind hoofs. Turning the horse sharply, he leaped the ditch again and deferentially addressed the horseman in the white plume, apparently urging him to do the same. The rider, whose figure seemed familiar to Rostov had somehow riveted his attention, made a gesture of refusal with his head and his hand, and in that gesture Rostov instantly recognised his lamented, his idolised sovereign.
“But it can't be he, alone, in the middle of this empty field,” thought Rostov. At that moment Alexander turned his head and Rostov saw the beloved features so vividly imprinted on his memory. The Tsar was pale, his cheeks looked sunken, and his eyes hollow, but the charm, the mildness of his face was only the more striking. Rostov felt happy in the certainty that the report of the Emperor's wound was false. He was happy that he was seeing him. He knew that he might, that he ought, indeed, to go straight to him and to give him the message he had been commanded to give by Dolgorukov.
But, as a youth in love trembles and turns faint and dares not utter what he has spent nights in dreaming of, and looks about in terror, seeking aid or a chance of delay or flight, when the moment he has longed for comes and he stands alone at her side, so Rostov, now when he was attaining what he had longed for beyond everything in the world, did not know how to approach the Emperor, and thousands of reasons why it was unsuitable, unseemly, and impossible came into his mind.
“What! it's as though I were glad to take advantage of his being alone and despondent. It may be disagreeable and painful to him, perhaps, to see an unknown face at such a moment of sadness; besides, what can I say to him now, when at the mere sight of him my heart is throbbing and leaping into my mouth?” Not one of the innumerable speeches he had addressed to the Tsar in his imagination recurred to his mind now. These speeches for the most part were appropriate to quite other circumstances; they had been uttered for the most part at moments of victory and triumph, and principally on his deathbed when, as he lay dying of his wounds, the Emperor thanked him for his heroic exploits, and he gave expression as he died to the love he had proved in deeds. “And then, how am I to ask the Emperor for his instructions to the right flank when it's four o'clock in the afternoon and the battle is lost? No, certainly I ought not to ride up to him, I ought not to break in on his sorrow. Better die a thousand deaths than that he should give me a glance, a thought of disapproval,” Rostov decided, and with grief and despair in his heart he rode away, continually looking back at the Tsar, who still stood in the attitude of indecision.
While Rostov was making these reflections and riding mournfully away from the Tsar, Captain Von Toll happened to ride up to the same spot, and seeing the Emperor, went straight up to him, offered him his services, and assisted him to cross the ditch on foot. The Tsar, feeling unwell and in need of rest, sat down under an apple-tree, and Von Toll remained standing by his side. Rostov from a distance saw with envy and remorse how Von Toll talked a long while warmly to the Emperor, how the Emperor, apparently weeping, hid his face in his hand, and pressed Von Toll's hand.
“And it might have been I in his place?” Rostov thought, and hardly restraining his tears of sympathy for the Tsar, he rode away in utter despair, not knowing where and with what object he was going now.
His despair was all the greater from feeling that it was his own weakness that was the cause of his regret.
He might…not only might, but ought to have gone up to the Emperor. And it was a unique chance of showing his devotion to the Emperor. And he had not made use of it.… “What have I done?” he thought. And he turned his horse and galloped back to the spot where he had seen the Emperor; but there was no one now beyond the ditch. There were only transport waggons and carriages going by. From one carrier Rostov learned that Kutuzov's staff were not far off in the village towards which the transport waggons were going. Rostov followed them.
In front of him was Kutuzov's postillion leading horses in horse-cloths. A baggage waggon followed the postillion, and behind the waggon walked an old bandy-legged servant in a cap and a cape.
“Tit, hey. Tit!” said the postillion.
“Eh,” responded the old man absent-mindedly.
“Tit! Stupay molotit!” (“Tit, go a-thrashing!”)
“Ugh, the fool, pugh!” said the old man, spitting angrily. A short interval of silence followed, and then the same joke was repeated.
By five o'clock in the evening the battle had been lost at every point. More than a hundred cannons were in the possession of the French. Przhebyshevsky and his corps had surrendered. The other columns had retreated, with the loss of half their men, in confused, disorderly masses. All that were left of Langeron's and Dohturov's forces were crowded together in hopeless confusion on the dikes and banks of the ponds near the village of Augest.
At six o'clock the only firing still to be heard was a heavy cannonade on the French side from numerous batteries ranged on the slope of the table-land of Pratzen, and directed at our retreating troops.
In the rearguard Dohturov and the rest, rallying their battalions, had been firing at the French cavalry who were pursuing them. It was begining to get dark. On the narrow dam of Augest, where the old miller in his peaked cap had sat for so many years with his fishing tackle, while his grandson, with tucked-up shirt-sleeves, turned over the silvery, floundering fish in the net; on that dam where the Moravians, in their shaggy caps and blue jackets, had for so many years peacefully driven their horses and waggons, loaded with wheat, to the mill and driven back over the same dam, dusty with flour that whitened their waggons—on that narrow dam men, made hideous by the terror of death, now crowded together, amid army waggons and cannons, under horses' feet and between carriage-wheels, crushing each other, dying, stepping over the dying, and killing each other, only to be killed in the same way a few steps further on.
Every ten seconds a cannon ball flew lashing the air and thumped down, or a grenade burst in the midst of that dense crowd, slaying men and splashing blood on those who stood near. Dolohov, wounded in the hand, with some dozen soldiers of his company on foot (he was already an officer) and his general on horseback, were the sole representatives of a whole regiment. Carried along by the crowd, they were squeezed in the approach to the dam and stood still, jammed in on all sides because a horse with a cannon had fallen, and the crowd were dragging it away. A cannon ball killed some one behind them, another fell in front of them and spurted the blood upon Dolohov. The crowd moved forward desperately, was jammed, moved a few steps and was stopped again. “Only to get over these hundred steps and certain safety: stay here two minutes and death to a certainty,” each man was thinking.
Dolohov standing in the centre of the crowd, forced his way to the edge of the dam, knocking down two soldiers, and ran on to the slippery ice that covered the millpond.
“Turn this way!” he shouted, bounding over the ice, which cracked under him. “Turn this way!” he kept shouting to the cannon. “It bears!…” The ice bore him, but swayed and cracked, and it was evident that, not to speak of a cannon or a crowd of people, it would give way in a moment under him alone. Men gazed at him and pressed to the bank, unable to bring themselves to step on to the ice. The general of his regiment on horseback at the end of the dam lifted his hand and opened his mouth to speak to Dolohov. Suddenly one of the cannon balls flew so low over the heads of the crowd that all ducked. There was a wet splash, as the general fell from his horse into a pool of blood. No one glanced at the general, no one thought of picking him up.
“On to the ice! Get on the ice! Get on! turn! don't you hear! Get on!” innumerable voices fell to shouting immediately after the ball had struck the general, not knowing themselves what and why they were shouting.
One of the hindmost cannons that had been got on to the dam was turned off upon the ice. Crowds of soldiers began running from the dam on to the frozen pond. The ice cracked under one of the foremost soldiers, and one leg slipped into the water. He tried to right himself and floundered up to his waist. The soldiers nearest tried to draw back, the driver of the cannon pulled up his horse, but still the shouts were heard from behind: “Get on to the ice, why are you stopping? go on! go on!” And screams of terror were heard in the crowd. The soldiers near the cannon waved at the horses, and lashed them to make them turn and go on. The horses moved from the dam's edge. The ice that had held under the foot-soldiers broke in a huge piece, and some forty men who were on it dashed, some forwards, some backwards, drowning one another.
Still the cannon balls whizzed as regularly and thumped on to the ice, into the water, and most often into the crowd that covered the dam, the pond and the bank.
罗斯托夫奉命在普拉茨村附近寻找库图佐夫和国王。但是他们非但不在此地，甚至连一位首长亦无踪影，此地只有一群群溃散的各种部队的官兵。他驱赶着已经疲惫的马，想快点穿过这些人群，但是他越往前走，这些人群就显得更加紊乱。他走到一条大路上，各种四轮马车、轻便马车、俄奥两军各个兵种的伤兵和未受伤的士兵都在这条大路上挤来挤去。这一切在法国炮队从普拉茨高地发射的炮弹的异常沉闷的隆隆声中，发出嗡嗡的响音，混成一团，蠕动着。 
“国王在哪里？库图佐夫在哪里？”罗斯托夫拦住什么人，就问什么人，可是没有获得任何人的回答。
最后他抓住一个士兵的衣领，强迫他回答。
“哎，老兄！大家早就跑了，向前面溜跑了！”士兵对罗斯托夫说，一面挣脱，一面在笑着什么。
罗斯托夫放开这个显然喝得酩酊大醉的士兵之后，便拦住一位长官的勤务兵或是调马师牵着的马，开始诘问勤务兵。勤务兵告知罗斯托夫，大约一小时前有人让国王乘坐四轮轿式马车沿着这条大路拼命地疾驰而去，国王负了伤，很危险。
“不可能，”罗斯托夫说，“想必是别人。”
“我亲眼见过，”勤务兵说道，脸上流露出自信的冷笑。
“我该认得国王了；我在彼得堡看见他多少次啊。他坐在四轮轿式马车上，看上去脸色太苍白。只要他将那四匹乌骓套上马车，我的爷啊，他就轰隆轰隆地从我们身边疾驰而去。好像我应该认得这几匹御马和马车夫伊利亚·伊万诺维奇，好像他除开沙皇而外，就不替他人赶车。”
罗斯托夫催马想继续往前驰骋。一名从他身旁走过的负伤的军官转过脸来和他谈话。
“您要找谁呀？”军官问道，“找总司令吗？他被炮弹炸死了，他就在我们团里，他的胸部中弹了。”
“没有给炸死，负伤了。”另一名军官改正了他说的话。
“是谁呀？库图佐夫吗？”罗斯托夫问道。
“不是库图佐夫，哦，想不起他是什么人。横竖一样，幸存的人不多了。瞧，您到那里去吧，到首长们集合的那个村子去吧。”这名军官指着霍斯蒂拉德克村时说道，旋即从身旁走过去了。
罗斯托夫一步一步地缓行，他不知道，现在要找什么人，目的何在。国王负伤了，这一仗可打输了。眼下不能不相信这件事。罗斯托夫朝着人家指给他看的那个方向驰去，在远处可以望见塔楼和教堂。他急急忙忙赶到哪里去呢？“若是国王和库图佐夫甚至还活着，没有负伤，那么要对他们说些什么话呢？”
“大人，请您从这条路去吧，在那条路上走真会给打死的，”这个士兵对他喊道，“在那条路上走会被打死的！”
“噢，你说什么话！”另一名士兵说道，“他要到哪儿去呀？
从那条路上走更近。”
罗斯托夫思忖了一会，朝着人家告诉他会被打死的那个方向疾驰而去。
“现在横竖一样：既然国王负了伤，难道我还要保护自己么？”他想道。他驰入那个从普拉茨高地跑下来的人员死亡最多的空地。法国官兵还没有占领这个地方，而那些还活着或已负伤的俄国官兵老早就放弃了这个地方。每俄亩就有十至十五名伤亡人员，就像良田中的一垛垛小麦似的，躺在战场上。伤员二三人一道慢慢地爬行，可以听见他们那逆耳的、罗斯托夫有时认为是假装的喊叫和呻吟。罗斯托夫纵马飞奔，以免看见这些受苦受难的人，他觉得胆寒起来。他所担心的不是自己的性命，而是他所需要的勇敢精神，他知道，看见这些不幸者的情状，他的勇敢豪迈必将动摇不定。
因为战场上已经没有一个活着的人了，法军于是对这个布满伤亡战士的疆场停止射击了，在看见那个沿着战场骑行的副官之后，便用大炮对他瞄准，扔出了几枚炮弹。他因为听见可怕的呼啸，因为看见周围的一具具死尸的惨状，给他造成了恐怖的印象，并且使他怜惜自己。他心中想起母亲最近写的一封信。“设若她现在看见我在这儿，在这个战场上，几门大炮对着我瞄准，她会产生何种感想？”他想道。
从战场上退下来的俄国部队驻扎在霍斯蒂拉德克村，即使紊乱，但秩序大有改善。法军的炮弹已经不会落到这里来了，射击声好像隔得很远了。这里的人们清楚地看见，而且都在谈论，这一仗是打输了。无论罗斯托夫去问什么人，谁也没法告诉他，国王在哪里，库图佐夫在哪里。有些人说，国王负伤的消息是真实的，另一些人说，这个消息不符合事实，可以说，所以会有这一则虚假的消息，是因为那个随同皇帝的其他侍从走上战场、惊惶失措、面色惨白的宫廷首席事务大臣托尔斯泰伯爵确实乘坐国王的四轮轿式马车，离开战场，向后撤退了。有一名军官对罗斯托夫说，在那村后的左方，他看见一位高级首长，他于是便往那里去了，他并不指望找到什么人，只是为了使他自己的良心纯洁罢了。罗斯托夫大约走了三俄里，并且绕过了最后一批俄国部队，他在四周围以水沟的菜园附近看见两位站在水沟对面的骑士。其中一人头戴白缨帽，不知怎的罗斯托夫心里觉得这人很面熟，另一位不相识的骑士正骑着一匹枣红色的骏马（罗斯托夫仿佛认识这匹骏马）走到了水沟前面，他用马刺刺马，放松缰绳，轻快地跃过菜园的水沟。一片片尘土从那匹马的后蹄踩过的路堤上塌落下来。他猛然调转马头，又跳回水沟对面去了，他毕恭毕敬地把脸转向头戴白缨帽的骑士，和他谈话，显然想请他如法炮制一番。罗斯托夫仿佛认得骑士的身形，骑士不知怎的吸引了罗斯托夫的注意力，他否定地摇摇头，摆摆手，罗斯托夫只凭这个姿势就立刻认出他正是他为之痛哭的、令人崇拜的国王。
“可是他不能独自一人置身于空旷的田野之中，”罗斯托夫想了想。这时候亚历山大转过头来，罗斯托夫看见了深深印入他脑海中的可爱的面容。国王脸色苍白，两腮塌陷，一对眼睛眍进去，尽管如此，他的面庞倒显得更加俊秀，更加温顺了。罗斯托夫感到幸运，因为他确信，国王负伤的谣言并非事实。他看见皇帝，感到无比幸福。他知道，他能够，甚至应当径直地去叩见国王，把多尔戈鲁科夫命令他传达的事情禀告国王。
可是他像个谈情说爱的青年，当那朝思暮想的时刻已经来临他得以单独和她约会时，他浑身颤抖，呆若木鸡，竟不敢说出夜夜梦想的心事，他惊惶失措地向四下张望，寻找援助，或者觅求拖延时日和逃走的机会，而今罗斯托夫已经达到了他在人世间渴望达到的目标，他不知道怎样前去叩见国王，他脑海中浮现出千万种心绪，他觉得这样觐见不很适宜，有失礼仪，令人受不了。
“怎么行呢！趁他独自一人心灰意冷之时，我前去叩见他陛下，竟然感到高兴似的。在这悲哀的时刻，一张陌生的面孔想必会使他感到厌恶和难受，而且现在，当我朝他望一眼就会感到心悸、口干舌燥的时候，我能够对他说些什么话！”在他为叩见国王原想表达的千言万语中，现在就连一句话也想不到了。那些言词多半是在其他场合下才倾吐出来，多半是在凯旋和举行盛典的时刻才倾吐出来，而主要是在他一旦身受重创、生命垂危，国王感谢他的英勇业绩，即是说在他行将就木，要向国王表示他以实际行动证明他的爱戴之忱时，他才倾吐这番言词。
“而且，现在已经是下午三点多钟了，这一仗也打败了，至于向右翼发布命令的事情，我要向国王请示什么呢？不对，我根本就不应该走到国王面前去，不应该破坏他的沉思状态。我与其遇见他那忧郁的目光，听见他那厉声的责备，我毋宁千死而不顾。罗斯托夫拿定了主意，怀着忧悒和绝望的心情走开了，但仍不断地回头望着那位踌躇不前的国王。
当罗斯托夫前思后想，悲伤地离开国王的时候，上尉冯·托尔无意中走到那个地方，看见了国王，他径直地向他跟前走去，替他效劳，帮助他徒步越过水沟。国王想休息片刻，他觉得身体欠适，于是坐在苹果树下，托尔在他身边停步了。罗斯托夫怀着妒嫉和懊悔的心情从远处看见，冯·托尔心情激动地对国王说了很久的话，国王显然大哭了一场，他用一只手捂住眼睛，握了握托尔的手。
“我原来也可以处在他的地位啊！”罗斯托夫暗自思量，好不容易他才忍住了他对国王的遭遇深表同情的眼泪，他完全失望地继续向前走，他不知道现在要往何处去，目的何在。
他那绝望的心情之所以更加强烈，是因为他觉得，他本身的软弱是他痛苦的原因。
他原来可以……不仅仅可以，而且应该走到国王跟前去。这是他向国王表示忠诚的唯一的机会。可是他没有利用这个机会……“我干了什么事啊？”他想了想。他于是拨转马头，朝他看见皇帝的那个地方跑回去了，可是在水沟对面，现已空无人影了。只有一辆辆四轮马车和轻便马车在路上行驶着。罗斯托夫从一个带篷马车车夫那里打听到，库图佐夫的司令部驻扎在辎重车队驶去的那个离这里不远的村子里。罗斯托夫跟在车队后面走去了。
库图佐夫的调马师牵着几匹披着马被的战马在罗斯托夫前面走。一辆大板车跟在调马师后面驶行，一个老仆人头戴宽边帽、身穿短皮袄、长着一双罗圈腿尾随于车后。
“季特，季特啊！”调马师说道。
“干嘛？”老头儿心不在焉地答道。
“季特！去打小麦吧。”
“嗳，傻瓜，呸！”老头儿怒气冲冲地吐了一口唾沫，说道。沉默地走了半晌，又同样地开起玩笑来了。
下午四点多钟，各个据点都打了败仗。一百多门大炮均已落入法军手中。
普热贝舍夫斯基及其兵团已经放下武器。其他纵队的伤亡人数将近一半，溃不成军，混作一团地退却了。
朗热隆和多赫图罗夫的残馀部队，在奥格斯特村的池塘附近和堤岸上，人群混杂地挤来挤去。
下午五点多钟，只有奥格斯特堤坝附近才能听见剧烈的炮声，法国官兵在普拉茨高地的侧坡上布置了许多炮队，向撤退的我军鸣炮射击。
后卫部队的多赫图罗夫和其他人，聚集了几个营的官兵，正在回击那些跟踪追逐我军的法国骑兵。暮色开始降临了。多少年来磨坊主老头戴着尖顶帽，持着钓鱼杆，坐在这条狭窄的奥格斯特堤岸上安闲地钓鱼，他的孙子卷起衬衣的袖口，把手伸进坛子里逐一地翻转挣扎着的银光闪闪的鲜鱼；多少年来，摩拉维亚人头戴毛茸茸的皮帽，身穿蓝色短上装，坐在满载小麦的双套马车上，沿着这条堤岸安闲地驶行，这些人身上粘满了面粉，赶着装满白面的大车又沿着这条堤岸驶去，——而今在这条狭窄的堤岸上，那些由于死亡的恐惧而变得面目可憎的人们在载货大车和大炮之间、马蹄之下和车轮之间挤挤擦擦地走动，互相践踏，直至死亡，他们踩在行将死去的人们身上往前走，互相残杀，仅仅是为着走完几步后也同样被人击毙。
每隔十秒钟就有一颗炮弹挤压着空气，发出隆隆的响声，或者有颗手榴弹在这密集的人群中爆炸，杀死那些站在附近的人，把鲜血溅在他们身上。多洛霍夫的一只手负了伤，他带着十个自己连队的士兵步行着（他已经晋升为军官），他的团长骑在马上，这些人就代表了全团的残部。四周的人群蜂拥而来，把他们卷走，排挤到堤坝前面，停止前进了，因为前面有匹马倒在大炮下面，一群人正在把它拖出来。还有一颗炮弹击毙了他们后面的人，另一颗落在前面，竟把鲜血溅在多洛霍夫身上。一群人绝望地向前靠拢，蜷缩在一起，移动了几步，又停止下来。
“走完这一百步，想必就能得救；再站两分钟，想必会丧命。”每个人都是这样想的。
多洛霍夫站在一群人中间，向堤坝边上直冲过去，打倒了两个士兵，他奔跑到池塘的滑溜溜的冰面上。
“转个弯！”地在脚底下噼啪作响的冰上蹦蹦跳跳时喊道，“转个弯！”地向着大炮喊道，“冰经得住！……”
他站在冰上，冰经住了，但是塌陷了一点，而且发出噼啪的响声，快要迸裂了。显然，它不仅在大炮底下或是人群的脚下，甚至在他一个人的脚下都会陷下去。人们注视着他，蜷缩在岸边，还不敢走下去。团长骑着战马停在堤岸前面，面对多洛霍夫举起手，张开口。骤然间有颗炮弹在人群的上方低低地飞来，发出一阵呼啸声，人们个个都弯下腰去。有样什么东西扑通一声落到潮湿的地方，那位将军和他的战马一同倒在血泊里。谁也没有朝将军瞥上一眼，谁也没有想到把他扶起来。
“走到冰上去！沿着冰面走去！走吧！转向一旁吧！还是没有听见呀！走吧！”一枚炮弹击中将军后，可以听见无数人在叫喊，他们自己并不知道在喊叫什么，为什么喊叫。
最后一排大炮中有一门登上了堤岸，拐了个弯，开到冰上去了。一群群士兵开始从堤岸上跑到冰冻的池塘里去。那些在前面行走的士兵中，有一人的脚下的冰块破裂了，一条腿落进水里，他原想站稳身子，但却陷入了齐腰深的水中。几个站在他附近的士兵趑趄不前了，炮车的驭手勒住了马，但是从后面还可以听见一片呐喊声：“走到冰上去，干嘛站住，走啊，走啊！”人群中也传来可怕的喊声。那些站在大炮周围的士兵向战马挥动着手臂，鞭打着马匹，叫它们拐弯，向前推进。那些马儿都离开堤岸，起步了。原先经得住步兵践踏的冰面塌陷了一大块，沿着冰面行走的四十来个人，有的前倾，有的后仰，互相推挤地落入水中，快要淹死了。
一颗颗炮弹仍然发出均匀的啸声，扑通扑通地落在冰上、水中，不断地落在挤满堤坝、池塘和池岸的人群中。
Book 3 Chapter 19
PRINCE ANDREY BOLKONSKY was lying on the hill of Pratzen, on the spot where he had fallen with the flagstaff in his hands. He was losing blood, and kept moaning a soft, plaintive, childish moan, of which he himself knew nothing. Towards evening he ceased moaning and became perfectly still. He did not know how long his unconsciousness lasted. Suddenly he felt again that he was alive and suffering from a burning, lacerating pain in his head.
“Where is it, that lofty sky that I knew not till now and saw to-day?” was his first thought. “And this agony I did not know either,” he thought. “Yes, I knew nothing, nothing till now. But where am I?”
He fell to listening, and caught the sound of approaching hoofs and voices speaking French. He opened his eyes. Above him was again the same lofty sky, with clouds higher than ever floating over it, and between them stretches of blue infinity. He did not turn his head and did not see the men who, judging from the voices and the thud of hoofs, had ridden up to him and stopped.
They were Napoleon and two adjutants escorting him. Bonaparte, making a tour of the field of battle, had been giving his last instructions for the strengthening of the battery firing at the Augest dam, and was inspecting the dead and wounded on the field of battle.
“Fine men!” said Napoleon, looking at a dead Russian grenadier, who with his face thrust into the earth and blackened neck lay on his stomach, one stiff arm flung wide.
“The field-guns have exhausted their ammunition,” said an adjutant, arriving that moment from the battery that was firing at Augest.
“Bring up more from the reserve,” said Napoleon, and riding a few steps away stood still, looking at Prince Andrey, who lay on his back with the abandoned flagstaff beside him (the flag had been taken by the French as a trophy).
“That's a fine death!” said Napoleon, looking at Bolkonsky. Prince Andrey knew that it was said of him, and that it was Napoleon saying it. He heard the speaker of those words addressed as “your majesty.” But he heard the words as he heard the buzzing of flies. It was not merely that he took no interest in them, but he did not attend to them and at once forgot them. There was a burning pain in his head; he felt he was losing blood, and he saw above him the high, far-away, everlasting sky. He knew it was Napoleon—his hero—but at that moment Napoleon seemed to him such a small, insignificant creature in comparison with what was passing now between his soul and that lofty, limitless sky with the clouds flying over it. It meant nothing to him at that moment who was standing over him, what was being said of him. He was only glad that people were standing over him, and his only desire was that these people should help him and bring him back to life, which seemed to him so good, because he saw it all quite differently now. He made a supreme effort to stir and utter some sound. He moved his leg faintly, and uttered a weak, sickly moan that touched himself. “Ah, he's alive,” said Napoleon. “Pick up this young man and carry him to an ambulance!” Saying this, Napoleon rode on to meet Marshal Lannes, who rode up to meet the conqueror, smiling, taking off his hat and congratulating him on his victory.
Prince Andrey remembered nothing more; he lost consciousness from the excruciating pain caused by being laid on the stretcher, the jolting while he was being moved, and the sounding of his wound at the ambulance. He only regained consciousness towards the end of the day when with other Russian officers, wounded and prisoners, he was being taken to the hospital. On this journey he felt a little stronger, and could look about him and even speak.
The first words he heard on coming to himself were from a French convoy officer who was saying hurriedly: “They must stop here; the Emperor will be here directly; it will be a pleasure for him to see these prisoners.”
“There are such a lot of prisoners to-day, almost the whole of the Russian army, that he is probably weary of seeing them,” said another officer.
“Well, but this one, they say, is the commander of all the Emperor Alexander's guards,” said the first speaker, pointing to a wounded Russian officer in the white uniform of the horse-guards. Bolkonsky recognised Prince Repnin, whom he had met in Petersburg society. Beside him stood another officer of the horse-guards, a lad of nineteen, also wounded.
Bonaparte rode up at a gallop and pulled up. “Who is the senior officer?” he said, on seeing the prisoners.
They named the colonel, Prince Repnin.
“Are you the commander of the regiment of Emperor Alexander's horse-guards?” asked Napoleon.
“I was in command of a squadron,” replied Repnin.
“Your regiment did its duty honourably,” said Napoleon.
“The praise of a great general is a soldier's best reward,” said Repnin.
“I bestow it upon you with pleasure,” said Napoleon. “Who is this young man beside you?” Prince Repnin gave his name, Lieutenant Suhtelen.
Looking at him, Napoleon said with a smile: “He has come very young to meddle with us.”
“Youth is no hindrance to valour,” said Suhtelen in a breaking voice.
“A fine answer,” said Napoleon; “young man, you will go far.”
Prince Andrey, who had been thrust forward under the Emperor's eyes to complete the show of prisoners, could not fail to attract his notice. Napoleon apparently remembered seeing him on the field, and addressing him he used the same epithet, “young man,” with which his first sight of Bolkonsky was associated in his memory.
“And you, young man,” he said to him, “how are you feeling, mon brave?”
Although five minutes previously Prince Andrey had been able to say a few words to the soldiers who were carrying him, he was silent now, with his eyes fastened directly upon Napoleon. So trivial seemed to him at that moment all the interests that were engrossing Napoleon, so petty seemed to him his hero, with his paltry vanity and glee of victory, in comparison with that lofty, righteous, and kindly sky which he had seen and comprehended, that he could not answer him. And all indeed seemed to him so trifling and unprofitable beside the stern and solemn train of thought aroused in him by weakness from loss of blood, by suffering and the nearness of death. Gazing into Napoleon's eyes, Prince Andrey mused on the nothingness of greatness, on the nothingness of life, of which no one could comprehend the significance, and on the nothingness—still more—of death, the meaning of which could be understood and explained by none of the living.
The Emperor, after vainly pausing for a reply, turned away and said to one of the officers in command—
“See that they look after these gentlemen and take them to my bivouac; let my doctor Larrey attend to their wounds. Au revoir, Prince Repnin,” and he galloped away.
His face was radiant with happiness and self-satisfaction.
The soldiers, who had been carrying Prince Andrey, had come across the golden relic Princess Marya had hung upon her brother's neck, and taken it off him, but seeing the graciousness the Emperor had shown to the prisoners, they made haste to restore the holy image.
Prince Andrey did not see who put it on him again, nor how it was replaced, but all at once he found the locket on its delicate gold chain on his chest outside his uniform.
“How good it would be,” thought Prince Andrey, as he glanced at the image which his sister had hung round his neck with such emotion and reverence, “how good it would be if all were as clear and simple as it seems to Marie. How good to know where to seek aid in this life and what to expect after it, there, beyond the grave!”
“How happy and at peace I should be, if I could say now, ‘Lord, have mercy on me!…' But to whom am I to say that? Either a Power infinite, inconceivable, to which I cannot appeal, which I cannot even put into words, the great whole, or nothing,” he said to himself, “or that God, who has been sewn up here in this locket by Marie? There is nothing, nothing certain but the nothingness of all that is comprehensible to us, and the grandeur of something incomprehensible, but more important!”
The stretchers began to be moved. At every jolt he felt intolerable pain again. The fever became higher, and he fell into delirium. Visions of his father, his wife, his sister, and his future son, and the tenderness he had felt for them on the night before the battle, the figure of that little, petty Napoleon, and over all these the lofty sky, formed the chief substance of his delirious dreams. The quiet home life and peaceful happiness of Bleak Hills passed before his imagination. He was enjoying that happiness when suddenly there appeared that little Napoleon with his callous, narrow look of happiness in the misery of others, and there came doubts and torments, and only the sky promised peace. Towards morning all his dreams mingled and melted away in the chaos and darkness of unconsciousness and oblivion, far more likely, in the opinion of Napoleon's doctor, Larrey, to be ended by death than by recovery.
“He is a nervous, bilious subject,” said Larrey; “he won't recover.”
Prince Andrey, with the rest of the hopeless cases, was handed over to the care of the inhabitants of the district.
安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵正躺在普拉茨山上他拿着旗杆倒下的那个地方，身上流淌着鲜血，连他自己也不知道他正在轻声地、凄厉地、孩提般地呻吟。 
时近黄昏，他不再呻吟，完全安静下来了。他不知道他那不省人事的状态持续了多久。忽然他觉得自己还活着，他的头颅像炸碎似地剧痛，十分难受。
“这个高高的天空在哪里，这个我至今还不知道，现时才看见的高高的天空在哪里？”这是他脑海中首先想到的事情。
“这种痛苦，我并不晓得。”他想了想。“是的，我迄今一无所知，一无所知。可是我在哪里呢？”
他开始谛听并且听见渐渐临近的马蹄声和用法语说话的声音。他张开了眼睛。他的上方仍旧是那高高的天空和飘浮得更高的云彩，透过云彩可以看见蔚蓝的无边无际的天空。他没有转过头来，没有望见那些只凭马蹄声和谈话声就能判明已经向他驰近、停止前进的人们。
向他驰近的骑者是拿破仑和随行的两名副官。波拿巴在视察战场时发出最后的命令：加强那射击奥格斯特堤坝的炮台，并且审视战场上的伤亡战士。
“Debeauxhommes！”①拿破仑瞧着一名战死的掷弹兵说。他俯卧着，后脑勺发黑，脸埋在土里，一只已经变得僵硬的手伸得很远很远。
“Lesmunitionsdespiecesdepositionsontépuiseés，sire！②”这时有一名从射击奥格斯特村的炮台所在地驰来的副官说道。 
①法语：光荣的人民！
②法语：陛下，再也没有炮弹了！
“Faitesavancercellesdelareserve，”①拿破仑说道，向一旁走了几步，在那仰卧的安德烈公爵跟前停步了，旗杆被扔在安德烈公爵的身边（法军已夺去军旗，将它作为战利品）。
“Voilaunelellemost，”②拿破仑瞧着博尔孔斯基说。
安德烈公爵心中明白，这正是指他而言，拿破仑说了这番话。他听见有人把这个说话的人称为sive。③但是这些话他听起来就像听见苍蝇发出嗡嗡的声音，他非但不感兴趣，而且不予以理会，听后立刻忘记得一干二净。他的头部感到一阵灼痛，他觉得他的血液快要流完了，他看见他的上方的遥远的高高的永恒的天空。他知道这是拿破仑——他心目中的英雄，但是在这个时刻，与他的内心和那一望无垠的高空以及空际的翔云之间所发生的各种情况相比较，他仿佛觉得拿破仑是如此渺小，如此微不足道。在这个时刻，不管什么人站在他跟前，不管谈到什么有关他的事情，他都满不在乎，他感到高兴的只是，人们都在他面前停步，他所冀望的只是，人们都来援救他，使他得以复生，他觉得生命是如此宝贵，因为地现在对它的理解有所不同了。他鼓足了全身的力气，想使自己的身体微微地移动一下，发出一个什么音来。他软弱无力地移动一下脚，发出怜悯他自己的微弱而痛苦的呻吟。
“哦！他还活着，”拿破仑说，“把这个青年抬起来，（Cejeunehomme）送到裹伤站去！” 
①法语：吩咐从后备队中把炮弹运去。
②法语：这才是善终。
③法语：陛下。
说完这句话，拿破仑便迎着拉纳元帅走去，这位元帅脱下礼帽，向皇帝面前驰来，一面微露笑容，一面恭贺胜利。
后来安德烈什么都不记得了，因为有人把他搁在担架上，担架员行走时引起的震荡和在裹伤站探测伤口，使他感到阵阵剧痛，他因此失去知觉。到了白昼的尽头，他才苏醒过来了，这时候他和其他一些俄国的负伤军官、被俘军官一并被送到野战医院。在转移时他觉得自己的精力已稍事恢复，已经能够环顾四周，甚至能够开口说话了。
在他苏醒后他首先听到的是法国护卫军官讲的几句话，他急急忙忙地说：
“要在这儿停下来，皇帝马上驾临了，目睹这些被俘的先生会使他感到高兴的。”
“现在，俘虏太多了，俄国的军队几乎全部被俘了，这事儿大概会使他厌烦的。”另一名军官说道。
“啊，竟有这样的事！据说，这位是亚历山大皇帝的整个近卫军的指挥官。”第一名军官指着那个身穿重骑兵白色制服的被俘的俄国军官时说道。
博尔孔斯基认出了他在彼得堡上流社会中遇见的列普宁公爵。另一名年方十九岁的男孩站在他身旁，他也是一名负伤的重骑兵军官。
波拿巴策马疾驰而来，他勒住战马。
“谁是长官？”他看见这些俘虏后说道。
有人说出了上校列普宁公爵的名字。
“您是亚历山大皇帝的重骑兵团团长吗？”拿破仑问道。
“我指挥过骑兵连。”列普宁回答。
“伟大统率的赞扬是对士兵的最佳奖赏。”列普宁说。
“我很高兴地给予您奖赏，”拿破仑说，“这个站在您身边的年轻人是谁？”
列普宁公爵说出中尉苏赫特伦的名字。
拿破仑朝他瞥了一眼，面露微笑地说道：
“Ilestvenubienjeunesefrotteranous。”① 
①法语：他硬要闯来和我们打仗，太年轻了。
“年轻并不妨碍我当一名勇士，”苏赫特伦用那若断若续的嗓音说。
“回答得很好，”拿破仑说道，“年轻人，前程远大。”
为了充分展示战利品——俘虏，安德烈公爵也被摆到前面来，让皇帝亲眼瞧瞧，他不能不引起皇帝的注意。看来拿破仑想起他在战场上见过他，于是向他转过脸来说话，说话时使用的正是“青年”（jeunehomme）这个称呼，博尔孔斯基衬托以“青年”二字头一次映入他的记忆中。
“唔，是您，青年人？”他把脸转向他，说道。“您觉得怎样？我的勇士。”
虽然，五分钟以前安德烈公爵可以对抬他的士兵们说几句话，但是，现在他两眼直勾勾地望着拿破仑，沉默无言了……他仿佛觉得，在这个时刻，与他所看见和所理解的正直而仁慈的高空相比较，那使拿破仑着迷的各种利益是如此微不足道，他仿佛觉得，他心目中的英雄怀有卑鄙的虚荣和胜利的欢愉，竟是如此渺小，——以致使他不能回答他的问题。
而且，因为流尽了鲜血，他虚弱无力，痛苦不堪，等待即将来临的死亡，这在他心中产生了严肃而宏伟的思想，而这一切与之相比照，显得如此无益和微不足道。安德烈公爵端详着拿破仑的一双眼睛，心里想到丰功伟绩的渺小，谁也不能弄明白其涵义的生命的渺小，而且想到死亡的毫无价值，事实上在活人当中谁也不能理解和说明死亡的意义。
皇帝没有等他回答，就扭过脸去，临行时他对一名长官说：“叫他们照料这些先生，把他们送到我的野营地去，叫我的医生拉雷给他们检查伤口。列普宁公爵，再见。”于是他驱马向前奔驰而去。
他的脸上流露着自满和幸福的光彩。
这几名抬安德烈公爵的士兵摘下了那尊公爵小姐玛丽亚挂在哥哥身上的、偶然被他们发现的金质小神像，但是他们看见皇帝温和地对待战俘，于是就急忙把小神像还给他了。
安德烈公爵没有看见是谁怎样地又把小神像挂在他身上了，但是那尊系有细金链的神像忽然悬挂在他胸前的制服上。
“那就太好了，”安德烈公爵望了望那尊他妹妹满怀厚意和敬慕的心情给他挂在胸前的小神像，心中思忖了一下，“如果一切都像公爵小姐玛丽亚脑海中想象的那样简单而明了，那就太好了。假如知道，在这一生要在何方去寻找帮助，在盖棺之后会有什么事件发生，那就太好了！如果我目前能够这样说：老天爷，饶了我吧！……那么我会感到何等幸福和安宁！可是我向谁说出这句话呢？或则向那个不明确的、不可思议的力量诉说——我不仅不能诉诸于它，而且不能用言词向它表达：这一切至为伟大，抑或渺小，”他喃喃自语，“或则向公爵小姐玛丽亚缝在这个护身香囊里的上帝诉说吗？除开我所明了的各种事物的渺小和某种不可理解的、但却至为重要的事物的伟大而外，并无任何事物，并无任何事物值得坚信不移啊！”
担架被抬了起来，出发了。担架一颠簸，他又会感到难以忍受的疼痛，发冷发热的状态更加剧烈了，他开始发谵语。对父亲、妻子和妹妹的叨念、对未来的想望，作战前夕他所体验到的温情、矮小的、微不足道的拿破仑的身躯和位于这一切之上的高空——便构成他在热病状态中所产生的模糊观念的主要基础。
他脑海中浮现出童山的幽静生活和安逸的家庭幸福。他已经在享受这种幸福了，忽然间那个身材矮小的拿破仑在面前出现了，他流露出冷漠无情、愚昧平庸、因为别人不幸而显得幸运的眼神，于是痛苦和疑惑开始随之而生，唯有天空才应允赐予人以慰藉。这种种幻觉在凌晨之前已混为一团，继之汇合成朦胧的不省人事的昏厥状态，依据拿破仑的御医拉雷的意见，这种病情的结局十之八九是死亡，而不是痊愈。
“C'estunsujetnerveuxetbilieux，”拉雷说。“Iln'enrechapperapas．”① 
①法语：这是个神经质的，易动肝火的人，他是不会复元的。
安德烈公爵属于其他无可挽救的伤员之列，他已被交给当地居民照应去了。
Book 4 Chapter 1
AT THE BEGINNING of the year 1806, Nikolay Rostov was coming home on leave. Denisov, too, was going home to Voronezh, and Rostov persuaded him to go with him to Moscow and to pay him a visit there. Denisov met his comrade at the last posting station but one, drank three bottles of wine with him, and, in spite of the jolting of the road on the journey to Moscow, slept soundly lying at the bottom of the posting sledge beside Rostov, who grew more and more impatient, as they got nearer to Moscow.
“Will it come soon? Soon? Oh, these insufferable streets, bunshops, street lamps, and sledge drivers!” thought Rostov, when they had presented their papers at the town gates and were driving into Moscow.
“Denisov, we're here! Asleep!” he kept saying, flinging his whole person forward as though by that position he hoped to hasten the progress of the sledge. Denisov made no response.
“Here's the corner of the cross-roads, where Zahar the sledge-driver used to stand; and here is Zahar, too, and still the same horse. And here's the little shop where we used to buy cakes. Make haste! Now!”
“Which house is it?” asked the driver.
“Over there, at the end, the big one; how is it you don't see it? That's our house,” Rostov kept saying; “that's our house, of course.”
“Denisov! Denisov! we shall be there in a minute.”
Denisov raised his head, cleared his throat, and said nothing.
“Dmitry,” said Rostov to his valet on the box, “surely that light is home?”
“To be sure it is; it's the light in your papa's study, too.”
“They've not gone to bed yet? Eh? What do you think?”
“Mind now, don't forget to get me out my new tunic,” added Rostov, fingering his new moustaches.
“Come, get on,” he shouted to the driver. “And do wake up, Vasya,” he said to Denisov, who had begun nodding again.
“Come, get on, three silver roubles for vodka—get on!” shouted Rostov, when they were only three houses from the entrance. It seemed to him that the horses were not moving. At last the sledge turned to the right into the approach, Rostov saw the familiar cornice with the broken plaster overhead, the steps, the lamp-post. He jumped out of the sledge while it was moving and ran into the porch. The house stood so inhospitably, as though it were no concern of its who had come into it. There was no one in the porch. “My God! is everything all right?” wondered Rostov, stopping for a moment with a sinking heart, and then running on again along the porch and up the familiar, crooked steps. Still the same door handle, the dirtiness of which so often angered the countess, turned in the same halting fashion. In the hall there was a single tallow candle burning.
Old Mihailo was asleep on his perch.
Prokofy, the footman, a man so strong that he had lifted up a carriage, was sitting there in his list shoes. He glanced towards the opening door and his expression of sleepy indifference was suddenly transformed into one of frightened ecstasy.
“Merciful Heavens! The young count!” he cried, recognising his young master. “Can it be? my darling?” And Prokofy, shaking with emotion, made a dash towards the drawing-room door, probably with the view of announcing him; but apparently he changed his mind, for he came back and fell on his young master's shoulder.
“All well?” asked Rostov, pulling his hand away from him.
“Thank God, yes! All, thank God! Only just finished supper! Let me have a look at you, your excellency!”
“Everything perfectly all right?”
“Thank God, yes, thank God!”
Rostov, completely forgetting Denisov, flung off his fur coat and, anxious that no one should prepare the way for him, he ran on tip-toe into the big, dark reception-hall. Everything was the same, the same card-tables, the same candelabra with a cover over it, but some one had already seen the young master, and he had not reached the drawing-room when from a side door something swooped headlong, like a storm upon him, and began hugging and kissing him. A second and a third figure dashed in at a second door and at a third; more huggings, more kisses, more outcries and tears of delight. He could not distinguish where and which was papa, which was Natasha, and which was Petya. All were screaming and talking and kissing him at the same moment. Only his mother was not among them, that he remembered.
“And I never knew… Nikolenka … my darling!”
“Here he is … our boy … my darling Kolya.… Isn't he changed! Where are the candles? Tea!”
“Kiss me too!”
“Dearest … and me too.”
Sonya, Natasha, Petya, Anna Mihalovna, Vera, and the old count were all hugging him; and the servants and the maids flocked into the room with talk and outcries.
Petya hung on his legs.
“Me too!” he kept shouting.
Natasha, after pulling him down to her and kissing his face all over, skipped back from him and, keeping her hold of his jacket, pranced like a goat up and down in the same place uttering shrill shrieks of delight.
All round him were loving eyes shining with tears of joy, all round were lips seeking kisses.
Sonya too, as red as crimson baize, clung to his arm and beamed all over, gazing blissfully at his eyes for which she had so long been waiting. Sonya was just sixteen and she was very pretty, especially at this moment of happy, eager excitement. She gazed at him, unable to take her eyes off him, smiling and holding her breath. He glanced gratefully at her; but still he was expectant and looking for some one, and the old countess had not come in yet. And now steps were heard at the door. The steps were so rapid that they could hardly be his mother's footsteps.
But she it was in a new dress that he did not know, made during his absence. All of them let him go, and he ran to her. When they came together, she sank on his bosom, sobbing. She could not lift up her face, and only pressed it to the cold braiding of his hussar's jacket. Denisov, who had come into the room unnoticed by any one, stood still looking at them and rubbing his eyes.
“Vassily Denisov, your son's friend,” he said, introducing himself to the count, who looked inquiringly at him.
“Very welcome. I know you, I know you,” said the count, kissing and embracing Denisov. “Nikolenka wrote to us … Natasha, Vera, here he is, Denisov.”
The same happy, ecstatic faces turned to the tousled figure of Denisov and surrounded him.
“Darling Denisov,” squealed Natasha, and, beside herself with delight she darted up to him, hugging and kissing him. Every one was disconcerted by Natasha's behaviour. Denisov too reddened. but he smiled, took Natasha's hand and kissed it.
Denisov was conducted to the room assigned him, while the Rostovs all gathered about Nikolenka in the divan-room.
The old countess sat beside him, keeping tight hold of his hand, which she was every minute kissing. The others thronged round them, gloating over every movement, every glance, every word he uttered, and never taking their enthusiastic and loving eyes off him. His brother and sisters quarrelled and snatched from one another the place nearest him and disputed over which was to bring him tea, a handkerchief, a pipe.
Rostov was very happy in the love they showed him. But the first minute of meeting them had been so blissful that his happiness now seemed a little thing, and he kept expecting something more and more and more.
Next morning after his journey he slept on till ten o'clock.
The adjoining room was littered with swords, bags, sabretaches, open trunks, and dirty boots. Two pairs of cleaned boots with spurs had just been stood against the wall. The servants brought in wash-hand basins, hot water for shaving, and their clothes well brushed. The room was full of a masculine odour and reeked of tobacco.
“Hi, Grishka, a pipe!” shouted the husky voice of Vaska Denisov. “Rostov, get up!”
Rostov, rubbing his eyelids that seemed glued together, lifted his tousled head from the warm pillow.
“Why, is it late?”
“It is late, nearly ten,” answered Natasha's voice, and in the next room they heard the rustle of starched skirts and girlish laughter. The door was opened a crack, and there was a glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, black hair and merry faces. Natasha with Sonya and Petya had come to see if he were not getting up.
“Nikolenka, get up!” Natasha's voice was heard again at the door.
“At once!” Meanwhile in the outer room Petya had caught sight of the swords and seized upon them with the rapture small boys feel at the sight of a soldier brother, and regardless of its not being the proper thing for his sisters to see the young men undressed, he opened the bedroom door.
“Is this your sword?” he shouted.
The girls skipped away. Denisov hid his hairy legs under the bed-clothes, looking with a scared face to his comrade for assistance. The door admitted Petya and closed after him. A giggle was heard from outside.
“Nikolenka, come out in your dressing-gown,” cried Natasha's voice.
“Is this your sword?” asked Petya, “or is it yours?” he turned with deferential respect to the swarthy, whiskered Denisov.
Rostov made haste to get on his shoes and stockings, put on his dressing-gown and went out. Natasha had put on one spurred boot and was just getting into the other. Sonya was “making cheeses,” and had just whirled her skirt into a balloon and was ducking down, when he came in. They were dressed alike in new blue frocks, both fresh, rosy, and good-humoured. Sonya ran away, but Natasha, taking her brother's arm, led him into the divan-room, and a conversation began between them. They had not time to ask and answer all the questions about the thousand trifling matters which could only be of interest to them. Natasha laughed at every word he said and at every word she said, not because what they said was amusing, but because she was in high spirits and unable to contain her joy, which brimmed over in laughter.
“Ah, isn't it nice, isn't it splendid!” she kept saying every moment. Under the influence of the warm sunshine of love, Rostov felt that for the first time for a year and a half his soul and his face were expanding in that childish smile, he had not once smiled since he left home.
“No, I say,” she said, “you're quite a man now, eh? I'm awfully glad you're my brother.” She touched his moustache. “I do want to know what sort of creatures you men are. Just like us? No.”
“Why did Sonya run away?” asked Rostov.
“Oh, there's a lot to say about that! How are you going to speak to Sonya? Shall you call her ‘thou' or ‘you'?”
“As it happens,” said Rostov.
“Call her ‘you,' please; I'll tell you why afterwards.”
“But why?”
“Well, I'll tell you now. You know that Sonya's my friend, such a friend that I burnt my arm for her sake. Here, look.” She pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed him on her long, thin, soft arm above the elbow near the shoulder (on the part which is covered even in a ball-dress) a red mark.
“I burnt that to show her my love. I simply heated a ruler in the fire and pressed it on it.”
Sitting in his old schoolroom on the sofa with little cushions on the arms, and looking into Natasha's wildly eager eyes, Rostov was carried back into that world of home and childhood which had no meaning for any one else but gave him some of the greatest pleasures in his life. And burning one's arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not strike him as pointless; he understood it, and was not surprised at it.
“Well, is that all?” he asked.
“Well, we are such friends, such great friends! That's nonsense—the ruler; but we are friends for ever. If she once loves any one, it's for ever; I don't understand that, I forget so quickly.”
“Well, what then?”
“Yes, so she loves me and you.” Natasha suddenly flushed. “Well, you remember before you went away … She says you are to forget it all… She said, I shall always love him, but let him be free. That really is splendid, noble! Yes, yes; very noble? Yes?” Natasha asked with such seriousness and emotion that it was clear that what she was saying now she had talked of before with tears. Rostov thought a little.
“I never take back my word,” he said. “And besides, Sonya's so charming that who would be such a fool as to renounce his own happiness?”
“No, no,” cried Natasha. “She and I have talked about that already. We knew that you'd say that. But that won't do, because, don't you see, if you say that—if you consider yourself bound by your word, then it makes it as though she had said that on purpose. It makes it as though you were, after all, obliged to marry her, and it makes it all wrong.”
Rostov saw that it had all been well thought over by them. On the previous day, Sonya had struck him by her beauty; in the glimpse he had caught of her to-day, she seemed even prettier. She was a charming girl of sixteen, obviously passionately in love with him (of that he could not doubt for an instant). “Why should he not love her now, even if he did not marry her,” mused Rostov, “but … just now he had so many other joys and interests!”
“Yes, that's a very good conclusion on their part,” he thought; “I must remain free.”
“Well, that's all right, then,” he said; “we'll talk about it later on. Ah, how glad I am to be back with you!” he added. “Come, tell me, you've not been false to Boris?”
“That's nonsense!” cried Natasha, laughing. “I never think of him nor of any one else, and don't want to.”
“Oh, you don't, don't you! Then what do you want?”
“I?” Natasha queried, and her face beamed with a happy smile. “Have you seen Duport?”
“No.”
“Not seen Duport, the celebrated dancer? Oh, well then, you won't understand. I—that's what I am.” Curving her arms, Natasha held out her skirt, as dancers do, ran back a few steps, whirled round, executed a pirouette, bringing her little feet together and standing on the very tips of her toes, moved a few steps forward.
“You see how I stand? there, like this,” she kept saying; but she could not keep on her toes. “So that's what I'm going to be! I'm never going to be married to any one; I'm going to be a dancer. Only, don't tell anybody.”
Rostov laughed so loudly and merrily that Denisov in his room felt envious, and Natasha could not help laughing with him.
“No, isn't it all right?” she kept saying.
“Oh, quite. So you don't want to marry Boris now?”
Natasha got hot.
“I don't want to marry any one. I'll tell him so myself when I see him.”
“Oh, will you?” said Rostov.
“But that's all nonsense,” Natasha prattled on. “And, I say, is Denisov nice?” she asked.
“Yes, he's nice.”
“Well, good-bye, go and dress. Is he a dreadful person — Denisov?”
“How, dreadful?” asked Nikolay. “No, Vaska's jolly.”
“You call him Vaska? … that's funny. Well, is he very nice?”
“Very nice.”
“Make haste and come to tea, then. We are all going to have it together.”
And Natasha rose on to her toes and stepped out of the room, as dancers do, but smiling as only happy girls of fifteen can smile. Rostov reddened on meeting Sonya in the drawing-room. He did not know how to behave with her. Yesterday they had kissed in the first moment of joy at meeting, but to-day they felt that out of the question. He felt that every one, his mother and his sisters, were looking inquiringly at him, and wondering how he would behave with her. He kissed her hand, and called her you and Sonya. But their eyes when they met spoke more fondly and kissed tenderly. Her eyes asked his forgiveness for having dared, by Natasha's mediation, to remind him of his promise, and thanked him for his love. His eyes thanked her for offering him his freedom, and told her that whether so, or otherwise, he should never cease to love her, because it was impossible not to love her.
“How queer it is, though,” said Vera, selecting a moment of general silence, “that Sonya and Nikolenka meet now and speak like strangers.”
Vera's observation was true, as were all her observations; but like most of her observations it made every one uncomfortable—not Sonya, Nikolay, and Natasha only crimsoned; the countess, too, who was afraid of her son's love for Sonya as a possible obstacle to his making a brilliant marriage, blushed like a girl.
To Rostov's surprise, Denisov in his new uniform, pomaded and perfumed, was quite as dashing a figure in a drawing-room as on the field of battle, and was polite to the ladies and gentlemen as Rostov had never expected to see him.
一八○六年初，尼古拉·罗斯托夫回家休假。杰尼索夫也正前往沃罗涅日城家中，罗斯托夫劝他同去莫斯科，并在他们家中住下。杰尼索夫在倒数第二站遇见一位同事，和他一起喝了三瓶葡萄酒，于是就挨近罗斯托夫，躺在驿用雪橇底部。虽然道路坎坷不平，但是当他驶近莫斯科时，他还没有睡醒。罗斯托夫愈益趋近莫斯科，他就愈益失去耐心了。 
“快到了吗？快到了吗？哎呀，这些讨厌的街道、小商店、白面包、路灯和出租马车！”当他们已经在边防哨所登记了假条，驶入莫斯科时，罗斯托夫想道。
“杰尼索夫，我们已经到了！他还在睡呀！”他说道，把全身向前探出来，好像他希望用这个姿势来加快雪橇行驶的速度。杰尼索夫并没有回答。
“你看，这就是十字路拐角，车夫扎哈尔时常在这里停车。你看，他就是扎哈尔，还是那匹马。这就是大家常去购买蜜糖饼干的铺子。喂！快到了吗？”
“朝哪幢大楼走呢？”驿站马车夫问。
“就是街道的尽头，向那幢大楼走过去，怎么看不见！这就是我们的楼房。”罗斯托夫说道，“这不就是我们的楼房么！”
“杰尼索夫！杰尼索夫！马上就到了。”
杰尼索夫抬起头，咳嗽几声清清喉咙，什么话也没有回答。
“德米特里，”罗斯托夫把脸转向那个坐在车夫座上的仆人说，“这不就是我们家里的灯光么？”
“是的，少爷。老爷书斋里射出了灯光。”
“还没有睡吗？啊？你认为怎样？”
“留神，你别忘了，你马上给我拿件骠骑兵穿的新上衣来。”罗斯托夫抚摸着最近蓄起来的胡髭，补充说。
“喂，你快赶吧，”他对驿站马车夫喊道。“瓦夏，醒醒吧。”
他把脸转向那个又低下头来打着盹儿的杰尼索夫说。
“喂，你快赶吧，给你三个卢布喝酒，快赶吧！”当那雪橇开到离门口只有三幢房子那样远的地方，罗斯托夫喊道。他好像觉得，那几匹马还没有起步。后来那辆雪橇向右转，开到了门口，罗斯托夫看见了灰泥已经脱落的屋檐、台阶、人行道上的柱子。他在驶行时就从雪橇中跳了出来，向门斗跑去。屋子不动地屹立着，现出漠不关心的样子，仿佛无论什么人走进屋里来都与它毫不相干似的。门斗里没有人影了。
“我的天啊！一切都顺遂吧？”罗斯托夫想了想，心里极度紧张地停了片刻，旋即经过门斗和他熟悉的、歪歪斜斜的梯子拼命地往前跑。门拉手很不干净，伯爵夫人因此时常大发雷霆，然而就是那个门拉手，仍然是那样轻而易举地给拉开了。
接待室里点着一根很明亮的蜡烛。
米哈伊洛老头儿睡在大木箱上。随从的仆役普罗科菲力气很大，掀得起马车的尾部，他坐着，用布条编织着鞋子。他望望敞开的那扇门，他的冷淡的昏昏欲睡的表情忽然变得又惊恐又喜悦了。
“我的老天爷！年轻的伯爵！”他认出年轻的伯爵后大声喊道。“这是怎么回事？我亲爱的！”普罗科菲激动得浑身颤栗，急忙地向客厅门前冲去，也许是想去禀告，但看来他又改变了主意，走了回来，就俯在少爷的肩膀上。
“大家都很健康吗？”罗斯托夫挣脱他的一只手问道。
“谢天谢地！还是要谢天谢地！刚才吃过了饭啊！大人，让我来看看您！”
“都很顺遂么？”
“谢天谢地，谢天谢地！”
罗斯托夫完全忘记了杰尼索夫，他并不希望有人抢在前头去禀告，于是脱下皮袄，踮着脚尖跑进这个昏暗的大厅。样样东西还是老样子，还是那几张铺着绿呢面的牌桌，还是那个带有灯罩的枝形吊灯架，但是有人看见少爷了，他还没有来得及跑到客厅，就有什么人风驰电掣似的从侧门飞奔出来，拥抱他亲吻他。还有另一个、第三个这样的人从另一扇、从第三扇门里跳出来，仍然是拥抱，仍然是接吻，可以听见叫喊，可以看见愉快的眼泪。他不能分辨哪个人是父亲，他在哪里，哪个人是娜塔莎，哪个人是彼佳。大家同时叫喊，说话，同时吻他。只有母亲一人不在他们之中，这一点他是想到了。
“可是我呢，不晓得……尼古卢什卡……我的亲人！”“瞧，他……我们的……我的亲人，科利亚①……全变了！
……没有蜡烛啊！把茶端来！” 
①科利亚和尼古卢什卡都是尼古拉的爱称。
“你要吻吻我吧！”
“我的心肝……吻吻我吧。”
索尼娅、娜塔莎、彼佳、安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜、薇拉、老伯爵都在拥抱他，男女仆人挤满了几个房间，说东道西，高兴得叫起来了。
彼佳紧紧搂住他的一双腿，悬起来了。
“吻吻我吧！”他喊道。
娜塔莎叫他稍稍弯下腰来凑近她，在他脸上热烈地吻了好几下，然后跳到旁边去，她拉着他的骠骑兵上装的下摆，像只山羊似的在原地蹦蹦跳跳，发出刺耳的尖叫声。
四面都是闪烁着愉快的眼泪的、爱抚的眼睛，四面都是寻找接吻的嘴唇。
索尼娅满面通红，俨如大红布一般，她也握着他的手，喜形于色，幸福的目光投射于她所企盼的他那对一睹为快的眼睛。索尼娅今年已满十六岁了，她的相貌非常俊美，尤其是在这个幸福的、热情洋溢的时刻。她目不转睛地瞧着他，面露微笑，快要屏住呼吸了。他怀着感谢的心情望望她，但是他还在等待和寻找什么人。老伯爵夫人尚未走出门，一阵步履声终于从门里传出来了。脚步是那么迅速，这不可能是他的母亲的脚步。
但是她穿上一件他不在家时缝制的他还没有见过的新连衣裙。大家都从他身边走开，于是他向她跟前跑去。当他们迎面走近的时候，她嚎啕大哭，倒在他怀里。她抬不起头来，只是把脸贴在他那件骠骑兵制服的冷冰冰的绶带上。没有人注意杰尼索夫、他走进房来，伫立着，一面注视母子二人，一面不停地揩拭眼泪。
“我叫做瓦西里·杰尼索夫，是您儿子的朋友。”他向那个疑惑地打量着他的伯爵自我介绍时说道。
“欢迎光临，晓得，晓得，”伯爵在抱着杰尼索夫亲吻时说，“尼古卢什卡写了信……娜塔莎，薇拉，他就是杰尼索夫。”
还是那几张幸福的、热情洋溢的面孔朝那毛茸茸的杰尼索夫的身躯转过来，把他围在中间了。
“亲爱的，杰尼索夫！”娜塔莎得意忘形，发出刺耳的尖声，一下子跑到杰尼索夫跟前，抱住他吻了吻。大家都对娜塔莎的举止感到困惑不解。杰尼索夫也涨红了脸，但他微微一笑，握住了娜塔莎的手吻了吻。
杰尼索夫被领到给他准备的房里，而罗斯托夫一家人围住尼古卢什卡聚集在摆有沙发的休息室里。
老伯爵夫人坐在他身旁，没有松开她每分钟要吻的他的一只手，聚集在他们周围的其他人正在观察他的每个动作，谛听他的每句话，寻视他的目光，并用欣喜而爱抚的眼睛直盯着他。小弟弟和姐姐们正在争论，他们争先恐后地要坐在靠近他的地方，只为着端茶、拿手帕和烟斗的事而争夺不休。
罗斯托夫受到众人的爱抚，因而感到无比幸福，但是他们会面的第一瞬间是那样欢乐，以致现在他觉得幸福还不足，他还在、还在、还在期待着什么。
翌日早晨，旅途劳累的人都睡到九点多钟。
前面的房间里，乱七八糟地放着马刀、手提包、图囊、打开的箱笼、邋遢的靴子。两双擦得干干净净的带有马刺的皮靴刚刚摆放在墙边。几个仆人端来了脸盆、刮脸用的热水和几件洗刷干净的衣裳。房里发散着烟草和男人的气息。
“嗨，格里什卡，把烟斗拿来！”瓦西里·杰尼索夫用那嘶哑的嗓音喊道，“罗斯托夫，起床吧！”
罗斯托夫揩着困得睁不开的眼睛，从那睡得热呼呼的枕头上抬起他那蓬乱的头。
“怎么，太晚了吗？”
“很晚了，九点多钟了。”娜塔莎拉大嗓门回答，隔壁房里传来了浆硬的衣裳发出的沙沙响声、低语声和少女的笑声，在略微敞开的房里闪现出什么蔚蓝色的东西、绦带、黑色的头发和愉快的面孔。这就是娜塔莎、索尼娅和彼佳，他们来看看他是否起床。
“尼古连卡，起床吧！”房门口又传来娜塔莎的说话声。
“我马上起来！”
这时候彼佳在第一个房间里看见了几柄马刀，就急忙拿了起来，他感到异常高兴，平常孩子们看见威武的长兄时也有同样的感受，他打开房门，竟然忘记姐姐们在看见脱光衣服的男人时会觉得有失体统呢。
“这是你的马刀吗？”他喊道。少女们躲到一边去。杰尼索夫睁大了一双惊恐的眼睛，把他自己的毛茸茸的脚藏进被窝里，他看着同事的眼色，求他帮个忙。门打开了，把彼佳放进来了，门又合上了。门后可以听见一阵笑声。
“尼古连卡，穿上长罩衫出来吧。”传来娜塔莎的说话声。
“这是你的马刀吗？”彼佳问道，“要不然，这柄是您的？”他露出低三下四而且恭敬的神情向面目黧黑的大胡子杰尼索夫说。
罗斯托夫赶快穿起皮靴，披上长罩衫，走出去了。娜塔莎穿上一只带有马刺的皮靴，又把脚伸进另一只皮靴中。当他走出去的时候，索尼娅正在转圈子，刚刚想鼓起连衣裙行个屈膝礼。这两个女人穿着同样的天蓝色的新连衣裙，都显得娇嫩，面露红晕，十分高兴。索尼娅跑开了，娜塔莎挽着哥哥的手，把他领到摆满沙发的休息室，二人开始聊天了。他们来不及互相询问和回答千万个只有他们二人才关心的琐碎问题。娜塔莎听见他说的和她说的每一句话都露出笑意，之所以如此，不是因为他们说的话滑稽可笑，而是因为她心中觉得高兴，她禁不住乐得放声大笑了。
“啊，多么美妙，太美妙了！”对她听到的一切，她都附带这么说。罗斯托夫感觉到，在热烈的抚爱之光的影响下，一年半以后头一次在他的心中和脸上流露着自从他走出家门后未曾流露的童稚的微笑。
“不，听听吧，”她说道，“你现在完全是个男人么？你是我的哥哥，使我感到无比高兴，”她摸了摸他的胡髭，“我很想知道，你们男子汉是怎么样的？是不是都像我们这个样子呢？不是一样吗？”
“索尼娅干嘛跑掉了？”罗斯托夫问道。
“是的，说来话长了！你跟索尼娅交谈称呼‘你'还是称呼‘您'？”
“看情形。”罗斯托夫说。
“请你称呼她‘您'，以后告诉你。”
“这是怎么回事？”
“喏，我现在就来说给你听。你晓得，索尼娅是我的朋友，是那样一个挚友，我为她宁可烧伤自己的胳膊。请你看看，”她卷起细纱布袖筒，让他看看她那瘦长而柔软的小手臂上，即是在肩膀以下，比肘弯高得多的部位上的一块红印（这个部位常被舞会服装遮蔽着）。
“我烧伤这个地方，是为着向她证明我的爱心。就是把那直尺搁在火上烧红，向这个部位一按！”
在从前作过教室的房间里，罗斯托夫坐在扶手带有弹簧垫的沙发上，两眼望着娜塔莎的极为活泼的明眸，他又进入了他自己家庭的儿童世界，这个世界除他而外对任何人都毫无意义，而他觉得这是人生的最佳享受，至于借助直尺烙伤手臂藉以表明爱心一事，他也觉得不无好处。他明白这一点并不因此而感到惊奇。
“那又怎样呢？只有这些么？”他问道。
“嘿，我们都很和睦，都很和睦！用直尺烙伤手臂，这要什么紧，虽是愚蠢的事情，但是我们永远是朋友。她一爱上什么人，就会爱上一辈子；可是我不明白这一点，我就立刻置之脑后了。”
“那怎样呢？”
“是啊，她这样爱我，也爱你。”娜塔莎忽然涨红了脸，“你还记得，离别之前……她说，要你忘记这一切……她说：我永远爱他，但愿他自由安乐。要知道，真是太妙了，太高尚了！对吗？太高尚了？对吗？”娜塔莎这么严肃而且激动地询问他，由此可见，她从前诉说这番话时她眼睛里噙满着泪水。罗斯托夫陷入沉思了。
“我无论如何也不会收回自己的诺言，”他说，“以后也不会这样做的，索尼娅长得这样美丽，什么样的蠢人想要放弃自己的幸福呢？”
“不，不，”娜塔莎喊道，“这件事我和她已经谈过了。我们知道你会说出这番话。但是不能这样做，你要明白，假如你要这么说——认为你自己受到诺言的束缚，那么就好像她是存心说出这番话的。由此可见，你毕竟是迫不得已才娶她为妻的，那就完全不像话了。”
罗斯托夫看见，这一切都是他们别具心裁构想出来的。索尼娅昨天就凭她的姿色使他惊倒。今天瞥见她之后，他觉得她更漂亮了。显然她是个狂热地爱他的（对于这一点他毫不怀疑）年方十六岁的富有迷力的姑娘。干嘛他现在能不爱她，甚至于能不娶她，罗斯托夫这样想，但是……但是……现在还有多少其他乐事和活动啊！“是的，她们构想得多么美妙。”
他思忖了一下，“仍然要做个自由人。”
“啊，太美妙了。”他说，“我们以后再谈吧。啊，看见你我多么高兴！”他补充一句话。
“嗯，你为什么没有在鲍里斯面前变节呢？”哥哥问道。
“这是愚蠢的事啊！”娜塔莎含着笑意喊道，“无论是他，还是什么人，我既不考虑，也不想知道。”
“原来是这么一回事！那你要怎么样呢？”
“我吗？”娜塔莎再问一遍，幸福的微笑使她容光焕发。
“你看见迪波尔了么？”
“没有。”
“你见过闻名的舞蹈家迪波尔么？那你就没法弄明白。你看，我是这么跳的。”娜塔莎像跳舞那样撩起裙子，把双臂蜷曲成圆形，跑开几步，转过来，身体腾空跃起，两脚互相拍击，踮着脚尖儿走了几步。
“瞧，我不是站住了么？”她说，但是她踮着脚尖站不稳了。“你看我就是这样跳的！我永远不嫁给任何人，我要当个舞蹈家。不过我请你不要告诉任何人。”
罗斯托夫嗓音洪亮地、欢快地哈哈大笑，致使隔壁房里的杰尼索夫忌妒起来，娜塔莎忍耐不住了，于是和他一块放声大笑。
“不，你看妙不妙？”她总是这样说。
“很妙。你已经不愿嫁给鲍里斯吧？”
娜塔莎涨红了脸。
“我不愿意嫁给任何人。当我看见他时，我要对他说的也是同样的话。”
“原来是这样！”罗斯托夫说道。
“是呀，这全是废话，”娜塔莎继续说些没意思的话，“怎么，杰尼索夫是个好人吧？”她问道。
“他是个好人。”
“嗯，再见，去穿衣服吧。杰尼索夫，他是个可怕的人？”
“为什么可怕呢？”尼古拉问，“不，瓦西卡是个很好的人。”
“你把他叫做瓦西卡吗？……真奇怪。怎么，他挺好吗？”
“挺好。”
“喂，快点来喝茶。大伙儿一块喝茶。”
娜塔莎就像舞蹈家一样，踮起脚尖儿从房间里走过来，她面露笑容，只有年方十五岁的幸福的少女才是这样笑容可掬的。罗斯托夫在客厅里遇见索尼娅后，他的脸涨得通红了。他不知道怎样对待她。昨天在会面的欢天喜地的第一瞬间他们互相接吻了，但是今天他们觉得这样做是不行的，他觉得母亲、姐妹们，大家都带着疑惑的目光注视着他，等待他用什么方式对待她。他吻了一下她的手，对她称谓“您”——“索尼娅”。但是他们的目光相遇之后，却互相称谓“你”，目光温存地接吻。她借助目光请求他原谅，因为她敢于通过使者娜塔莎向他提及他的承诺，并且感谢他的眷恋。他也用目光感谢她，因为她同意他所提出的个人自由的建议，并且说，无论情况怎么样，他将永远地爱她，不能不爱她。
“可是这多么古怪，”薇拉选择大家沉默的时刻说，“索尼娅和尼古连卡现在如同陌生人，会面时称呼‘您'。”薇拉的评论有如她所有的评论，都是合乎情理的，可是也正如她的大部分评论一样，大家听来都觉得很不自在，不仅索尼娅、尼古拉和娜塔莎，而且连老伯爵夫人也像个少女一样涨红了脸，因为她害怕儿子去爱索尼娅，会使他失去名门望族的配偶。罗斯托夫感到惊奇的是，杰尼索夫穿着一身新制服，涂了发油，喷了香水，就像上阵似的，穿着得十分考究，他摆出这个样子，在客厅里出现了，他对女士和男子都献殷勤，以致罗斯托夫怎么也没料到他竟有这副样子。
Book 4 Chapter 2
ON HIS RETURN to Moscow from the army, Nikolay Rostov was received by his family as a hero, as the best of sons, their idolised Nikolenka; by his relations, as a charming, agreeable, and polite young man; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good dancer, and one of the best matches in Moscow.
All Moscow was acquainted with the Rostovs; the old count had plenty of money that year, because all his estates had been mortgaged, and so Nikolenka, who kept his own racehorse, and wore the most fashionable riding-breeches of a special cut, unlike any yet seen in Moscow, and the most fashionable boots, with extremely pointed toes, and little silver spurs, was able to pass his time very agreeably. After the first brief interval of adapting himself to the old conditions of life, Rostov felt very happy at being home again. He felt that he had grown up and become a man. His despair at failing in a Scripture examination, his borrowing money from Gavrilo for his sledge-drivers, his stolen kisses with Sonya—all that he looked back upon as childishness from which he was now immeasurably remote. Now he was a lieutenant of hussars with a silver-braided jacket, and a soldier's cross of St. George, he had a horse in training for a race, and kept company with well-known racing men, elderly and respected persons. He had struck up an acquaintance too, with a lady living in a boulevard, whom he used to visit in the evening. He led the mazurka at the Arharovs' balls, talked to Field-Marshal Kamensky about the war, and used familiar forms of address to a colonel of forty, to whom he had been introduced by Denisov.
His passion for the Tsar flagged a little in Moscow, as he did not see him, and had no chance of seeing him all that time. But still he often used to talk about the Emperor and his love for him, always with a suggestion in his tone that he was not saying all that there was in his feeling for the Emperor, something that every one could not understand; and with his whole heart he shared the general feeling in Moscow of adoration for the Emperor Alexander Pavlovitch, who was spoken of at that time in Moscow by the designation of the “angel incarnate.”
During this brief stay in Moscow, before his return to the army, Rostov did not come nearer to Sonya, but on the contrary drifted further away from her. She was very pretty and charming, and it was obvious that she was passionately in love with him. But he was at that stage of youth when there seems so much to do, that one has not time to pay attention to love, and a young man dreads being bound, and prizes his liberty, which he wants for so much else. When he thought about Sonya during this stay at Moscow, he said to himself: “Ah! there are many, many more like her to come, and there are many of them somewhere now, though I don't know them yet. There's plenty of time before me to think about love when I want to, but I have not the time now.” Moreover, it seemed to him that feminine society was somewhat beneath his manly dignity. He went to balls, and into ladies' society with an affection of doing so against his will. Races, the English club, carousals with Denisov, and the nocturnal visits that followed—all that was different, all that was the correct thing for a dashing young hussar.
At the beginning of March the old count, Ilya Andreivitch Rostov, was very busily engaged in arranging a dinner at the English Club, to be given in honour of Prince Bagration.
The count, in his dressing-gown, was continually walking up and down in the big hall, seeing the club manager, the celebrated Feoktista, and the head cook, and giving them instructions relative to asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal, and fish, for Prince Bagration's dinner. From the day of its foundation, the count had been a member of the club, and was its steward. He had been entrusted with the organisation of the banquet to Bagration by the club, because it would have been hard to find any one so well able to organise a banquet on a large and hospitable scale, and still more hard to find any one so able and willing to advance his own money, if funds were needed, for the organisation of the fête. The cook and the club manager listened to the count's orders with good-humoured faces, because they knew that with no one better than with him could one make a handsome profit out of a dinner costing several thousands.
“Well, then, mind there are scallops, scallops in pie-crust, you know.”
“Cold entrées, I suppose—three? …” questioned the cook.
The count pondered.
“Couldn't do with less, three … mayonnaise, one,” he said, crooking his finger.
“Then it's your excellency's order to take the big sturgeons?” asked the manager.
“Yes; it can't be helped, we must take them, if they won't knock the price down. Ah, mercy on us, I was forgetting. Of course we must have another entrée on the table. Ah, good heavens!” he clutched at his head. “And who's going to get me the flowers? Mitenka! Hey, Mitenka! You gallop, Mitenka,” he said to the steward who came in at his call, “you gallop off to the Podmoskovny estate” (the count's property in the environs of Moscow), “and tell Maksimka the gardener to set the serfs to work to get decorations from the greenhouses. Tell him everything from his conservatories is to be brought here, and is to be packed in felt. And that I'm to have two hundred pots here by Friday.”
After giving further and yet further directions of all sorts, he was just going off to the countess to rest from his labours, but he recollected something else, turned back himself, brought the cook and manager back, and began giving orders again. They heard in the doorway a light, manly tread and a jingling of spurs, and the young count came in, handsome and rosy, with his darkening moustache, visibly sleeker and in better trim for his easy life in Moscow.
“Ah, my boy! my head's in a whirl,” said the old gentleman, with a somewhat shamefaced smile at his son. “You might come to my aid! We have still the singers to get, you see. The music is all settled, but shouldn't we order some gypsy singers? You military gentlemen are fond of that sort of thing.”
“Upon my word, papa, I do believe that Prince Bagration made less fuss over getting ready for the battle of Sch?ngraben than you are making now,” said his son, smiling.
The old count pretended to be angry.
“Well, you talk, you try!” And the count turned to the cook, who with a shrewd and respectful face looked observantly and sympathetically from father to son.
“What are the young people coming to, eh, Feoktista?” said he; “they laugh at us old fellows!”
“To be sure, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a good dinner, but to arrange it all and serve it up, that's no affair of theirs!”
“True, true!” cried the count; and gaily seizing his son by both hands, he cried: “Do you know now I've got hold of you! Take a sledge and pair this minute and drive off to Bezuhov, and say that Count Ilya Andreivitch has sent, say, to ask him for strawberries and fresh pineapples. There's no getting them from any one else. If he's not at home himself, you go in and give the message to the princesses; and, I say, from there you drive off to the Gaiety—Ipatka the coachman knows the place—and look up Ilyushka there, the gypsy who danced at Count Orlov's, do you remember, in a white Cossack dress, and bring him here to me.”
“And bring his gypsy girls here with him?” asked Nikolay, laughing.
“Come, come! …”
At this moment Anna Mihalovna stepped noiselessly into the room with that air of Christian meekness, mingled with practical and anxious preoccupation, that never left her face. Although Anna Mihalovna came upon the count in his dressing-gown every day, he was invariably disconcerted at her doing so, and apologised for his costume.
“Don't mention it, my dear count,” she said, closing her eyes meekly. “I am just going to see Bezuhov,” she said. “Young Bezuhov has arrived, and now we shall get all we want, count, from his greenhouses. I was wanting to see him on my own account, too. He has forwarded me a letter from Boris. Thank God, Boris is now on the staff.”
The count was overjoyed at Anna Mihalovna's undertaking one part of his commissions, and gave orders for the carriage to be brought round for her.
“Tell Bezuhov to come. I'll put his name down. Brought his wife with him?” he asked.
Anna Mihalovna turned up her eyes, and an expression of profound sadness came into her face.
“Ah, my dear, he's very unhappy,” she said. “If it's true what we have been hearing, it's awful. How little did we think of this when we were rejoicing in happiness! and such a lofty, angelic nature, that young Bezuhov! Yes, I pity him from my soul, and will do my utmost to give him any consolation in my power.”
“Why, what is the matter?” inquired both the Rostovs, young and old together.
Anna Mihalovna heaved a deep sigh.
“Dolohov, Marya Ivanovna's son,” she said in a mysterious whisper, “has, they say, utterly compromised her. He brought him forward, invited him to his house in Petersburg, and now this! … She has come here, and that scapegrace has come after her,” said Anna Mihalovna. She wished to express nothing but sympathy with Pierre, but in her involuntary intonations and half smile, she betrayed her sympathy with the scapegrace, as she called Dolohov. “Pierre himself, they say, is utterly crushed by his trouble.”
“Well, any way, tell him to come to the club—it will divert his mind. It will be a banquet on a grand scale.”
On the next day, the 3rd of March, at about two in the afternoon, the two hundred and fifty members of the English Club and fifty of their guests were awaiting the arrival of their honoured guest, the hero of the Austrian campaign, Prince Bagration.
On receiving the news of the defeat of Austerlitz, all Moscow had at first been thrown into bewilderment. At that period the Russians were so used to victories, that on receiving news of a defeat, some people were simply incredulous, while others sought an explanation of so strange an event in exceptional circumstances of some kind. At the English Club, where every one of note, every one who had authentic information and weight gathered together, during December, when the news began to arrive, not a word was said about the war and about the last defeat; it was as though all were in a conspiracy of silence. The men who took the lead in conversation at the club, such as Count Rostoptchin, Prince Yury Vladimirovitch Dolgoruky, Valuev, Count Markov, and Prince Vyazemsky, did not put in an appearance at the club, but met together in their intimate circles at each other's houses.
That section of Moscow society which took its opinions from others (to which, indeed, Count Ilya Andreivitch Rostov belonged) remained for a short time without leaders and without definite views upon the progress of the war. People felt in Moscow that something was wrong, and that it was difficult to know what to think of the bad news, and so better to be silent. But a little later, like jurymen coming out of their consultation room, the leaders reappeared to give their opinion in the club, and a clear and definite formula was found. Causes had been discovered to account for the fact—so incredible, unheard-of, and impossible—that the Russians had been beaten, and all became clear, and the same version was repeated from one end of Moscow to the other. These causes were: the treachery of the Austrians; the defective commissariat; the treachery of the Pole Przhebyshevsky and the Frenchman Langeron; the incapacity of Kutuzov; and (this was murmured in subdued tones) the youth and inexperience of the Emperor, who had put faith in men of no character and ability. But the army, the Russian army, said every one, had been extraordinary, and had performed miracles of valour. The soldiers, the officers, the generals—all were heroes. But the hero among heroes was Prince Bagration, who had distinguished himself in his Sch?ngraben engagement and in the retreat from Austerlitz, where he alone had withdrawn his column in good order, and had succeeded in repelling during the whole day an enemy twice as numerous. What contributed to Bagration's being chosen for the popular hero at Moscow was the fact that he was an outsider, that he had no connections in Moscow. In his person they could do honour to the simple fighting Russian soldier, unsupported by connections and intrigues, and still associated by memories of the Italian campaign with the name of Suvorov. And besides, bestowing upon him such honours was the best possible way of showing their dislike and disapproval of Kutuzov.
“If there had been no Bagration, somebody would have to invent him,” said the wit, Shinshin, parodying the words of Voltaire.
Of Kutuzov people did not speak at all, or whispered abuse of him, calling him the court weathercock and the old satyr.
All Moscow was repeating the words of Prince Dolgorukov: “Chop down trees enough and you're bound to cut your finger,” which in our defeat suggested a consolatory reminder of former victories, and the saying of Rostoptchin, that French soldiers have to be excited to battle by high-sounding phrases; that Germans must have it logically proved to them that it is more dangerous to run away than to go forward; but that all Russian soldiers need is to be held back and urged not to be too reckless! New anecdotes were continually to be heard on every side of individual feats of gallantry performed by our officers and men at Austerlitz. Here a man had saved a flag, another had killed five Frenchmen, another had kept five cannons loaded single-handed. The story was told of Berg, by those who did not know him, that wounded in his right hand, he had taken his sword in his left and charged on the enemy. Nothing was said about Bolkonsky, and only those who had known him intimately regretted that he had died so young, leaving a wife with child, and his queer old father.
尼古拉·罗斯托夫从部队回到莫斯科以后，家里人把他看作是一个最优秀的儿子、英雄和最心爱的尼古卢什卡；亲戚们把他看作是一个可爱的、招人喜欢的、孝敬的青年；熟人们把他看作是一个俊美的骠骑兵中尉、熟练的舞蹈家、莫斯科的最优秀的未婚夫之一。 
莫斯科全市的人都是罗斯托夫之家的熟人，今年老伯爵的进款足够开销了，因为他的地产全部重新典当了，所以尼古卢什卡买进了一匹个人享用的走马、一条最时髦的紧腿马裤，这是一种在莫斯科还没有人穿过的式样特殊的马裤，还添置一双最时髦的带有小银马刺的尖头皮靴，他极为愉快地消度时光。罗斯托夫回家了，在他为了适应旧的生活环境而度过一段时光后，他已体验到那种非常惬意的感觉。他仿佛觉得，他已经长大成人了。他因神学考试不及格而感到失望、向加夫里洛借钱偿还马车夫、和索尼娅偷偷地接吻，他回想起这一切，就像回想起时隔多年的久远的儿童时代的往事一般。现在他——一个骠骑兵中尉，身披一件银丝镶边的披肩，佩戴军人的乔治十字勋章，和几个知名的备受尊敬的老猎手一起训练走马。在林荫路上，他有个交往甚笃的女伴、夜晚他常到她家里去。他在阿尔哈罗夫家里举办的舞会上指挥马祖尔卡舞，和卡缅斯基元帅谈及战事，他常到英国俱乐部去，与杰尼索夫给他介绍的那个四十岁的上校交朋友，亲热地以“你”相称。
在莫斯科城，他对国王的热烈的感情稍微减弱了，因为他在这个期间没有看见他的缘故。不过他仍旧常常谈到国君，谈到他对国君的爱戴，他要大家感觉到，他没有把话全部说完，他对国王的热情中尚且存在某种不为尽人所能明了的东西；他由衷地随同当时的莫斯科公众共同体验他们对亚历山大·帕夫洛维奇皇帝的崇敬之情，莫斯科当时把他称做“天使的化身”。
罗斯托夫在动身回部队以前，在莫斯科的短暂逗留期间，他没有和索尼娅接近，相反地，和她断绝往来了。她长得标致，而且可爱，很明显，她已经爱上他了，可是他处在风华正茂的年代，看来还有许多事业要完成，没有闲暇去干这种勾当，年轻人害怕拘束，但却珍惜那种从事多项事业所必需的自由。这次他在莫斯科逗留期间，每当想到索尼娅，他总要自言自语地说：“嗳，像这样的姑娘可真多啊，在某个地方还有许多我不熟悉的姑娘呢。只要我愿意，我总来得及谈情说爱，可是现在没有闲功夫了。”此外，他出没于妇女交际场所，有损于他的英勇气概。他装作违反意志的样子，常去妇女交际场所参加舞会。而驾车赛马、英国俱乐部、与杰尼索夫纵酒、赴某地旅行——这倒是另一码事。而这对一个英姿勃勃的骠骑兵来说是很体面的。
三月初，老伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇在英国俱乐部张罗筹办一次欢迎巴格拉季翁公爵的宴会。
伯爵穿一种长罩衫在大厅中踱来踱去，并且吩咐俱乐部的管事人和闻名的英国俱乐部的大厨师费奥克蒂斯特地为迎接巴格拉季翁公爵的宴会备办龙须菜、鲜黄瓜、草莓、小牛肉和鱼。自从俱乐部成立以来，伯爵就是成员和主任。他接受俱乐部的委托，为迎接巴格拉季翁筹办一次盛大的酒会，因为很少有人这样慷慨待客，他竟能举办豪华的宴会，尤其是因为很少有人为举办华筵需要耗费金钱时能够而且愿意掏出腰包。俱乐部的厨师和管事人满面春风，听候伯爵的吩咐，因为他们知道，在任何人手下都不如在他手下筹办一回耗费几千卢布的酒会中更加有利可图了。
“看着点，甲鱼汤里放点儿鸡冠子，鸡冠子，你知道么？”
“这么说来，要三个冷盘？……”厨师问道。
伯爵沉思了片刻。
“要三个……不能少于三个，一盘沙粒子油凉拌菜。”他屈着指头说道……
“那么，吩咐人去买大鲟鱼罗？”管事人问道。
“既然不让价，有什么办法，去买吧。是啊，我的老天爷啊！我本来快要忘记了。瞧，还有一盘冷菜要端上餐桌。哎呀，我的老天爷啊！”他抓住自己的脑袋，心惊胆战起来，“谁给我把花卉运来？米坚卡！啊，米坚卡！米坚卡，你快马加鞭到莫斯科郊外田庄去一趟，”他把脸转向应声走进来的管理员说，“你快马加鞭到莫斯科郊外田庄去，吩咐园丁马克西姆卡，叫他马上派人服劳役。对他说，用毡子把暖房的花统统包好，运到这里来。叫人在礼拜五以前将两百盆花给我送来。”
他又发出了一连串的指示，正走出门，要去伯爵小姐那里休息休息，可是又想起一件紧要的事情，他走回去，把管事人和厨师召回，又作出了一些指示。从门口可以听见男人的轻盈的步履声，年轻的伯爵走进来了，他长得漂亮，脸色红润，蓄起一撮黑色的胡髭。显然，莫斯科的安逸的生活使他得到充分的休息和精心的照料。
“啊，我的伙计啊！我简直晕头转向了，”老头子说，他面露微笑，好像在儿子面前有点害臊似的。“你来帮个忙也好！要知道，还得用上大批歌手啊。我有一个乐队，把那些茨冈人叫来，还是怎么样？你们军人兄弟喜欢这事儿。”
“爸爸，说实话，我想，巴格拉季翁公爵在准备申格拉本战役时还没有你们目前这样忙碌哩。”儿子面露笑意，说。
老伯爵装作怒气冲冲的样子。
“既然你会说，你来试试吧。”
厨师露出聪颖而可敬的神情，用细心观察的亲热的目光打量着父亲和儿子。
“啊，费奥克蒂斯特，年轻人是个啥样子？”他说，“居然嘲笑我们自己的兄弟——嘲笑老头子来了。”
“大人，也罢，他们只会痛痛快快地吃，而怎样收拾、怎样摆筵席，他们就不管了。”
“是啊，是啊！”伯爵大声喊道，他抓住儿子的一双手，大声喊道：“你听我说，你落到我手上来了！你立刻驾起双套雪橇，到别祖霍夫那里去走一趟，告诉他，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇派我来向您要些草莓和新鲜菠萝。再也没法向谁弄到这些东西。如果他不在家，就去告诉那几个公爵小姐。你听我说，从那里出来，你就到拉兹古利阿伊去——马车夫伊帕特卡知道怎样走，——你在那里找到茨冈人伊柳什卡，你记得吧，就是那个在奥尔洛夫伯爵家中跳舞的、身穿白色卡萨金服装的人，你把他拖到我这里来。”
“把他和几个茨冈女郎都送到这里来吗？”尼古拉面露微笑，说道。
“嗯，嗯！……”
这时候，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脸上流露着她所固有的、作事过分认真、忧虑不安和基督式的温顺的神情，悄悄地走进屋里来。虽然安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜每天碰见伯爵穿着一件长罩衫，但是他每次在她面前都觉得十分腼腆，请她原宥他的衣服不像样子。
“伯爵，没关系，亲爱的，”她温顺地合上眼睛时说，“我到别祖霍夫那里去走一趟，”她说，“年轻的伯爵来了，伯爵，我们现在可以从他的暖房里弄到各种花。我也要见见他。他把鲍里斯的一封信寄给我了。谢天谢地，目前鲍里斯正在司令部里供职哩。”
伯爵很高兴，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜能承担他的一部分任务，于是他吩咐给她套一辆四轮轿式小马车。
“您告诉别祖霍夫，要他到我这里来。我要把他的名字写在请帖上面。怎么，他跟他老婆一道来吗？”他问道。
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜翻了翻白眼，脸上露出了深深的悲痛。
“唉，我的亲人，他很不幸啊。”她说，“如果我们听到的是真情实况，这就太骇人了。当我们为他的幸福而感到非常高兴的时候，我们是否想到有这么一天！这样崇高的天使般纯洁的灵魂，年轻的别祖霍夫啊！是的，我由衷地替他惋惜，我要尽可能地赐予他以安慰。”
“是怎么回事？”罗斯托夫父子二人——一老一少，异口同声地问道。
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜深深地叹一口气。
“玛丽亚·伊万诺夫娜的儿子多洛霍夫，”她用神秘的低声说道，“据说，完全使她声名狼藉。他领他出来，请他到彼得堡家里住下，你看……她到这里来了，这个不顾死活的家伙也跟踪而来，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说，她想同情皮埃尔，但是在她自己意识不到的语调中和那微露笑意的表情中却显示出她所同情的正是她称为“不顾死活的家伙”的多洛霍夫。
“据说，皮埃尔受尽了痛苦的折磨。”
“喂，您还是告诉他，叫他到俱乐部里来，一切都会烟消云散的。宴会是丰盛无比的。”
翌日，三月三日，下午一点多钟，二百五十名英国俱乐部成员和五十位客人正在等候贵宾、奥国远征的英雄巴格拉季翁公爵莅临盛宴。刚刚接到奥斯特利茨战役的消息之后，莫斯科陷入困惑不安的状态。那时俄国人习惯于百战百胜，在获得败北的消息之后，有些人简直不相信，另一些人便在异乎寻常的原因中探求解释这一奇怪事件的根据。在贵族、拥有可靠信息的、有权有势的人士集中的英国俱乐部里，在消息开始传来的十二月份，缄口不谈论战争和迩近的一次战役，好像是众人串通一气心照不宣似的。指导言论的人们，比如：拉斯托普钦伯爵、尤里·弗拉基米罗维奇、多尔戈鲁基公爵、瓦卢耶夫、马尔科夫伯爵、维亚泽姆斯基公爵都不在俱乐部抛头露面，而在自己家中、亲密的小圈子里集会。莫斯科人一味地随声附和（伊利亚·安德烈伊奇·罗斯托夫也属于他们之列），在一段短时间内，缺乏言论的领导者，对于战争尚无明确的见解。莫斯科人都觉得，形势中有点不祥的征兆，评论这些坏消息委实令人难受，所以最好是闭口不说。可是过了一些时日，那帮在俱乐部发表意见的著名人物就像陪审官走出议事厅那样，又出现了，于是话题又很明确了。俄国人已被击溃，这一难以置信的前所未闻的令人不能容忍的重大事件的肇因已被找出了，于是一切真相大白，莫斯科的各个角落开始谈论同样的话题。这些肇因如下：奥国人的背叛、军粮供应的不景气、波兰人普热贝舍夫斯基和法国人朗热隆的变节、库图佑夫的无能、“悄悄谈论“国王因年轻、经验不足而轻信一班卑鄙之徒。但是人人都说，军队，俄国部队很不平凡，创造了英勇的奇迹。士兵、军官、将军都是英雄人物，巴格拉季翁公爵就是英雄中的英雄，他凭藉申格拉本之战和奥斯特利茨撤退二事而名扬天下，他在奥斯特利茨独自一人统率一支井井有序的纵队，而且整天价不断地击退兵力强于一倍的敌人。巴格拉季翁在莫斯科没有交情联系，是个陌生人，而这一点却有助于他被选为莫斯科的英雄。尊敬他，就是尊敬战斗的、普通的、既无交情联系又无阴谋诡计的俄国军人，人们回顾意大利出征时常把他和苏沃洛夫的名字联系在一起。此外，从对他论功行奖、表示敬意一事中可以至为明显地看出库图佐夫的受贬和失宠。
“如果没有巴格拉季蓊，il　faudrait　l'inventer。①”诙谐的申申滑稽地模仿伏尔泰的话说。没有人说过什么关于库图佐夫的事情。有些人轻声地责骂他，说他是个宫廷中的轻浮者和耽于酒色的老家伙。 
①法语：那就应当把他虚构出来。
全莫斯科都在反复地传诵多尔戈鲁科夫说过的话：“智者千虑，必有一失”，他从过去胜利的回忆中，为我们的失败寻找慰藉，而且反复地传诵拉斯托普钦说过的话：对法国士兵，宜用高雅的词句去激励他们参与战斗；对德国士兵，要跟他们说明事理，使他们坚信，逃走比向前冲锋更危险；对俄国士兵，只有拦住他们，说一声：“慢点走！”从四面八方传来一桩桩一件件有关我们的官兵在奥斯特利茨战役中作出的英勇模范事迹。有谁保全了军旗，有谁杀死了五个法国人，有谁独自一人给五门大炮装好炮弹。那些不认识贝格的人也在谈论贝格，说他右手负伤了，便用左手紧握军刀冲锋陷阵。谁也没有说一句关于博尔孔斯基的话，只有熟谙他的身世的人才怜悯他，说他死得太早了，留下了怀孕的妻子和脾气古怪的父亲。
Book 4 Chapter 3
ON THE 3RD OF MARCH all the rooms of the English Club were full of the hum of voices, and the members and guests of the club, in uniforms and frock-coats, some even in powder and Russian kaftans, were standing meeting, parting, and running to and fro like bees swarming in spring. Powdered footmen in livery, wearing slippers and stockings, stood at every door, anxiously trying to follow every movement of the guests and club members, so as to proffer their services. The majority of those present were elderly and respected persons, with broad, self-confident faces, fat fingers, and resolute gestures and voices. Guests and members of this class sat in certain habitual places, and met together in certain habitual circles. A small proportion of those present were casual guests—chiefly young men, among them Denisov, Rostov, and Dolohov, who was now an officer in the Semyonovsky regiment again. The faces of the younger men, especially the officers, wore that expression of condescending deference to their elders which seems to say to the older generation, “Respect and deference we are prepared to give you, but remember all the same the future is for us.” Nesvitsky, an old member of the club, was there too. Pierre, who at his wife's command had let his hair grow and left off spectacles, was walking about the rooms dressed in the height of the fashion, but looking melancholy and depressed. Here, as everywhere, he was surrounded by the atmosphere of people paying homage to his wealth, and he behaved to them with the careless, contemptuous air of sovereignty that had become habitual with him.
In years, he belonged to the younger generation, but by his wealth and connections he was a member of the older circles, and so he passed from one set to the other. The most distinguished of the elder members formed the centres of circles, which even strangers respectfully approached to listen to the words of well-known men. The larger groups were formed round Count Rostoptchin, Valuev, and Naryshkin. Rostoptchin was describing how the Russians had been trampled underfoot by the fleeing Austrians, and had had to force a way with the bayonet through the fugitives. Valuev was confidentially informing his circle that Uvarov had been sent from Petersburg to ascertain the state of opinion in Moscow in regard to Austerlitz.
In the third group Naryshkin was repeating the tale of the meeting of the Austrian council of war, at which, in reply to the stupidity of the Austrian general, Suvorov crowed like a cock. Shinshin, who stood near, tried to make a joke, saying that Kutuzov, it seemed, had not even been able to learn from Suvorov that not very difficult art of crowing like a cock—but the elder club members looked sternly at the wit, giving him thereby to understand that even such a reference to Kutuzov was out of place on that day.
Count Ilya Andreitch Rostov kept anxiously hurrying in his soft boots to and fro from the dining-room to the drawing-room, giving hasty greetings to important and unimportant persons, all of whom he knew, and all of whom he treated alike, on an equal footing. Now and then his eyes sought out the graceful, dashing figure of his young son, rested gleefully on him, and winked to him. Young Rostov was standing at the window with Dolohov, whose acquaintance he had lately made, and greatly prized. The old count went up to them, and shook hands with Dolohov.
“I beg you will come and see us; so you're a friend of my youngster's … been together, playing the hero together out there.… Ah! Vassily Ignatitch … a good day to you, old man,” he turned to an old gentleman who had just come in, but before he had time to finish his greetings to him there was a general stir, and a footman running in with an alarmed countenance, announced: “He had arrived!”
Bells rang; the stewards rushed forward; the guests, scattered about the different rooms, gathered together in one mass, like rye shaken together in a shovel, and waited at the door of the great drawing-room.
At the door of the ante-room appeared the figure of Bagration, without his hat or sword, which, in accordance with the club custom, he had left with the hall porter. He was not wearing an Astrachan cap, and had not a riding-whip over his shoulder, as Rostov had seen him on the night before the battle of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign orders and the star of St. George on the left side of his chest. He had, obviously with a view to the banquet, just had his hair cut and his whiskers clipped, which changed his appearance for the worse. He had a sort of na?vely festive air, which, in conjunction with his determined, manly features, gave an expression positively rather comic to his face. Bekleshov and Fyodor Petrovitch Uvarov, who had come with him, stood still in the doorway trying to make him, as the guest of most importance, precede them. Bagration was embarrassed, and unwilling to avail himself of their courtesy; there was a hitch in the proceedings at the door, but finally Bagration did, after all, enter first. He walked shyly and awkwardly over the parquet of the reception-room, not knowing what to do with his hands. He would have been more at home and at his ease walking over a ploughed field under fire, as he had walked at the head of the Kursk regiment at Sch?ngraben. The stewards met him at the first door, and saying a few words of their pleasure at seeing such an honoured guest, they surrounded him without waiting for an answer, and, as it were, taking possession of him, led him off to the drawing-room. There was no possibility of getting in at the drawing-room door from the crowds of members and guests, who were crushing one another in their efforts to get a look over each other's shoulders at Bagration, as if he were some rare sort of beast. Count Ilya Andreitch laughed more vigorously than any one, and continually repeating, “Make way for him, my dear boy, make way, make way,” shoved the crowd aside, led the guests into the drawing-room, and seated them on the sofa in the middle of it. The great men, and the more honoured members of the club, surrounded the newly arrived guests. Count Ilya Andreitch, shoving his way again through the crowd, went out of the drawing-room, and reappeared a minute later with another steward carrying a great silver dish, which he held out to Prince Bagration. On the dish lay a poem, composed and printed in the hero's honour. Bagration, on seeing the dish, looked about him in dismay, as though seeking assistance. But in all eyes he saw the expectation that he would submit. Feeling himself in their power, Bagration resolutely took the dish in both hands, and looked angrily and reproachfully at the count, who had brought it. Some one officiously took the dish from Bagration (or he would, it seemed, have held it so till nightfall, and have carried it with him to the table), and drew his attention to the poem. “Well, I'll read it then,” Bagration seemed to say, and fixing his weary eyes on the paper, he began reading it with a serious and concentrated expression. The author of the verses took them, and began to read them aloud himself. Prince Bagration bowed his head and listened.
“Be thou the pride of Alexander's reign!And save for us our Titus on the throne!Be thou our champion and our country's stay!A noble heart, a Caesar in the fray!Napoleon in the zenith of his fameLearns to his cost to fear Bagration's name,Nor dares provoke a Russian foe again,” etc. etc.But he had not finished the poem, when the butler boomed out sonorously: “Dinner is ready!” The door opened, from the dining-room thundered the strains of the Polonaise: “Raise the shout of victory, valiant Russian, festive sing,” and Count Ilya Andreitch, looking angrily at the author, who still went on reading his verses, bowed to Bagration as a signal to go in. All the company rose, feeling the dinner of more importance than the poem, and Bagration, again preceding all the rest, went in to dinner. In the place of honour between two Alexanders— Bekleshov and Naryshkin—(this, too, was intentional, in allusion to the name of the Tsar) they put Bagration: three hundred persons were ranged about the tables according to their rank and importance, those of greater consequence, nearer to the distinguished guest—as naturally as water flows to find its own level.
Just before dinner, Count Ilya Andreitch presented his son to the prince. Bagration recognised him, and uttered a few words, awkward and incoherent, as were indeed all he spoke that day. Count Ilya Andreitch looked about at every one in gleeful pride while Bagration was speaking to his son.
Nikolay Rostov, with Denisov and his new acquaintance Dolohov, sat together almost in the middle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre with Prince Nesvitsky. Count Ilya Andreitch was sitting with the other stewards facing Bagration, and, the very impersonation of Moscow hospitality, did his utmost to regale the prince.
His labours had not been in vain. All the banquet—the meat dishes and the Lenten fare alike—was sumptuous, but still he could not be perfectly at ease till the end of dinner. He made signs to the carver, gave whispered directions to the footmen, and not without emotion awaited the arrival of each anticipated dish. Everything was capital. At the second course, with the gigantic sturgeon (at the sight of which Ilya Andreitch flushed with shamefaced delight), the footman began popping corks and pouring out champagne. After the fish, which made a certain sensation, Count Ilya Andreitch exchanged glances with the other stewards. “There will be a great many toasts, it's time to begin!” he whispered, and, glass in hand, he got up. All were silent, waiting for what he would say.
“To the health of our sovereign, the Emperor!” he shouted, and at the moment his kindly eyes grew moist with tears of pleasure and enthusiasm. At that instant they began playing: “Raise the shout of victory!” All rose from their seats and shouted “Hurrah!” And Bagration shouted “Hurrah!” in the same voice in which he had shouted it in the field at Sch?ngraben. The enthusiastic voice of young Rostov could be heard above the three hundred other voices. He was on the very point of tears. “The health of our sovereign, the Emperor,” he roared, “hurrah!” Emptying his glass at one gulp, he flung it on the floor. Many followed his example. And the loud shouts lasted for a long while. When the uproar subsided, the footmen cleared away the broken glass, and all began settling themselves again; and smiling at the noise they had made, began talking. Count Ilya Andreitch rose once more, glanced at a note that lay beside his plate, and proposed a toast to the health of the hero of our last campaign, Prince Pyotr Ivanovitch Bagration, and again the count's blue eyes were dimmed with tears. “Hurrah!” was shouted again by the three hundred voices of the guests, and instead of music this time a chorus of singers began to sing a cantata composed by Pavel Ivanovitch Kutuzov:
“No hindrance bars a Russian's way,Valour's the pledge of victory,We have our Bagrations.Our foes will all be at our feet,” etc. etc.As soon as the singers had finished, more and more toasts followed, at which Count Ilya Andreitch became more and more moved, and more glass was broken and even more uproar was made. They drank to the health of Bekleshov, of Naryshkin, of Uvarov, of Dolgorukov, of Apraxin, of Valuev, to the health of the stewards, to the health of the committee, to the health of all the club members, to the health of all the guests of the club, and finally and separately to the health of the organiser of the banquet, Count Ilya Andreitch. At that toast the count took out his handkerchief and, hiding his face in it, fairly broke down.
三月三日，英国俱乐部的各个厅中都听见一片嘈杂声，俱乐部的成员和客人们穿着制服、燕尾服，有些人穿着束有腰带的长衫，假发上扑了香粉，就像一群在春季迁徙时节纷飞的蜜蜂似的往来穿梭，一会儿坐着或站着，一会儿集合或散开。假发上扑有香粉的仆人，都穿着仆役制服、长袜和矮靿皮鞋，伫立在每一道门旁，很紧张地注意观察俱乐部的客人和成员的每个动作，以便上前侍候。出席者之中多数是年高望重的人士，他们都长着宽宽的充满自信的面孔、粗大的手指，脚步稳健，嗓音清晰。这一类来客和俱乐部的成员坐在他们习惯坐的某个位子上，他们在惯常团聚的某些小组中碰头。出席者之中有一小部分是由偶然来的客人组合而成的——主要是年轻人，其中包括杰尼索夫、罗斯托夫和多洛霍夫，多洛霍夫又当上谢苗诺夫兵团的军官了。在青年人、特别是青年军人脸上都流露着轻视而又尊重老人的表情，它仿佛在告诉老前辈：“我们愿意尊敬你们，但是你们要记住，未来毕竟是属于我们的。” 
涅斯维茨基是俱乐部的老成员，他也待在这个地方。皮埃尔遵照妻子的吩咐，蓄一头长发，摘下了眼镜，穿着得合乎时尚，但是他却流露着忧郁而沮丧的神色，在几个大厅里踱来踱去。他在到处都是那个样子，凡是崇拜他的财富的人都把他围住，他于是摆出一副习以为常的作威作福的姿态，带着漫不经心的蔑视的表情对待他们。
论年龄，他应该和年轻人在一起，论个人财富和人情关系，他却是年高望重的客人们的几个小组的成员，因此他经常在这个小组和那个小组之间来来往往。最有威望的客人们中的老年人成为这几个小组的中心人物，甚至陌生的客人也毕恭毕敬地与他们接近，以便听取知名人士的发言。几个较大的小组安插在拉斯托普钦伯爵、瓦卢耶夫和纳雷什金的左近。拉斯托普钦谈到俄国官兵遭受逃跑的奥国官兵的践踏，溃不成军，不得不用刺刀穿过逃跑的人群给自己开辟一条道路。
瓦卢耶夫机密地谈到，乌瓦罗夫由彼得堡派来了解莫斯科人对奥斯特利茨战役的意见。
纳雷什金在第三组中谈到苏沃洛夫曾在奥国军委会会议中像公鸡似的发出尖叫声，用以回答奥国将军们说的蠢话。这时分申申站在这里，想开开玩笑，他说，看来库图佐夫没法学到苏沃洛夫这套简易的本领——像公鸡似的发出尖叫声；但是老人们严肃地看看这个爱戏谑的人，让他感觉到今天在这儿谈论库图佐夫是不体面的。
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇·罗斯托夫伯爵忧虑不安，他穿着一双软底皮靴仓促地从餐厅慢慢走进客厅，又从客厅慢慢走回来，神色慌张，和他全都认识的达官显要、地位低微的人物一视同仁地打着招呼，有时用目光搜寻身材匀称的英姿勃勃的儿子，兴高采烈地把那目光停留在他身上，向他使个眼色。年轻的罗斯托夫和多洛霍夫都站在窗口，他在不久前结识了多洛霍夫并很珍视他们的交情。老伯爵走到他们面前，握了握多洛霍夫的手。
“请光临，你跟我的棒小子交上朋友了……你们在那儿并肩作战，共同建立英雄功绩……啊！瓦西里·伊格纳季奇……，老伙计，您好，”他把脸转向从一旁走过的小老头，说道，但是他还来不及寒暄完毕，周围的一切就动弹起来，一个跑来的仆人面露惊恐的表情，他面禀：“贵宾已光临！”
铃响了，几个领导者冲上前来，分布在各个房里的客人，就像用木锹扬开的黑麦似的，聚集成一堆，在大客厅前的舞厅门旁停步了。
巴格拉季翁在接待室门口出现了，他没有戴上军帽，也没有佩带单刀，按照俱乐部的惯例，他把这些东西存放在阍者那里了。他没有戴羔皮军帽，肩上也没有挎着马鞭，有像罗斯托夫在奥斯特利茨战役前夜看见他时那个样子，而是身穿一件紧身的新军服，佩戴有俄国以及外国的各种勋章，左胸前戴着圣乔治金星勋章。看来他在午宴之前剪了头发，剃了连鬓胡子，这使他的脸型变得难看了。他脸上流露着某种童稚而欢愉的表情，加上他那刚勇而坚定的特征，甚至于给人造成有几分滑稽可爱的印象。和他同路前来的别克列绍夫和费奥多尔·彼得罗维奇·乌瓦罗夫都在门口停步了，想让他这位主要来宾在他们前面走。巴格拉季翁慌里慌张，他不想心领他们的敬意，停在门口，最后巴格拉季翁还是走到前面去了。他在招待室的镶木地板上走着，他感到腼腆，不灵活，真不知道把手放在何处才好。申格拉本战役中，他在库尔斯克兵团前面，置身于枪林弹雨之下，沿着耕过的麦田行走时，他心里反而觉得更习惯，更轻快。几个领导骨干在第一道门口迎迓，向他道出了几句欢迎贵宾的话，不等他回答，仿佛吸引了他的注意力，把他围在中间，领他进客厅。俱乐部的成员和客人把那客厅门口拉得水泄不通，你推我撞，力图超过他人的肩头把巴格拉季翁这头稀奇的野兽打量一番。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵精力至为充沛，他含笑着说：“亲爱的，让路，让路，让路！”推开一群人，把客人们领进客厅，请他们在中间的长沙发上入座。知名人士，最受尊重的俱乐部的成员们，又把来宾围在自己中间。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵又从人群中挤过去，步出客厅，俄而，他又和另一名理事走来，手里托着一只大银盘，端到巴格拉季翁公爵面前。银盘中摆着一首为欢迎英雄而编印的诗。巴格拉季翁看了银盘，便惊惶不安地东张西望，仿佛在寻求援救似的。但是众人的眼神都要求他听从他们的意见。巴格拉季翁觉得自己已经遭受众人的控制，他于是断然地将那银盘捧在手中，他用气忿的责备的目光望了望端来银盘的伯爵。有个人怀有奉承的心情拿走巴格拉季翁手里的银盘（要不然，他好像就要这样不停地端到晚上，并且端着银盘上餐桌），这个人请他注意那首诗。“喏，让我来朗诵，”巴格拉季翁好像说了这句话，他于是把那疲倦的目光集中在一张纸上，他装出聚精会神的严肃认真的样子朗诵起来。但是这首诗的作者把诗拿在手中，开始亲自朗诵。巴格拉季翁公爵低下头来，倾听着。
歌颂亚历山大的时代！
捍卫我们的泰塔斯皇上。
祝愿他成为威严可畏的领袖和仁者，
祖国的里费，战场的凯撒！
侥幸的拿破仑
叫他尝尝
巴格拉季翁的拳头，
再不敢刁难俄国人……
但是他还没有念完这首诗，那个嗓音洪亮的管家便宣告：“菜肴已经做好了！”房门敞开了，餐厅里响起了波洛涅兹舞曲：“胜利的霹雳轰鸣，勇敢的俄罗斯人尽情地欢腾”，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵气忿地望望那个继续朗诵诗篇的作者，并向巴格拉季翁鞠躬行礼。众人起立，心里觉得酒会总比诗更重要，于是巴格拉季翁又站在众人前面向餐桌走去。众人请巴格拉季翁在二位名叫亚历山大的客人——别克列绍夫和纳雷什金之间的首席入座；与国王同名，其用意实与圣讳有关，三百人均按官阶和职位高低在餐厅里入座，客人中间谁的职位愈高谁就离那备受殷勤款待的贵宾愈近，正如水向深处、向低处流一样，是理所当然的事。
酒宴之前，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵向公爵介绍了他的儿子。巴格拉季翁在认出他之后，说了几句如同他今日所说的不连贯的表达不恰当的话。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵正当巴格拉季翁跟他儿子谈话时，他把那欣喜而矜持的目光朝着大家环视一番。
尼古拉·罗斯托夫和杰尼索夫以及一位新相识多洛霍夫一起差不多坐在餐桌正中间。皮埃尔和涅斯维茨基公爵，并排坐在他们对面。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵和其他几个领导骨干坐在巴格拉季翁对面，因而表现了莫斯科殷勤好客、亲热款待公爵的热忱。
他的劳动并没有白费。他所备办的肴馔，素菜和荤菜全都味美，十分可取，但在酒会结束之前，他依旧不能十分平静。他不时地向餐厅的侍者使眼色，轻声地吩咐仆人，他以不无激动心情，等待他所熟悉的每一道菜。全部菜肴都精美可口。在端出第二道菜——大鲟鱼拼盘时，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇看见鲟鱼，欢喜而又腼腆得面红耳赤，仆人开始砰砰地打开瓶塞，在斟香槟酒了。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵和其他几个理事互使眼色，“还要喝很多杯哩，应该开始了！”他轻声地说了一句什么话，便捧起高脚酒杯，站立起来。众人都沉默不言，等待他说话。
“祝愿国王健康长寿！”他高呼一声，就在这一瞬间，他那双和善的眼睛被狂喜与异常兴奋的泪水润湿了。就在此时奏起了乐曲：“胜利的霹雳轰鸣”。众人都从位子上站立起来，高呼“乌拉！”巴格拉季翁就像他在申格拉本战场上呐喊时那样高呼“乌拉！”从三百客人的呼声中传来年轻的罗斯托夫的热情洋溢的欢呼声。他几乎要哭出声来。“祝愿国王健康长寿！”他高声喊道。“乌拉！”他一口气喝干一杯酒，把杯子掷在地板上。很多人仿效他的榜样。一片嘹亮的欢呼声持续了很久。呼声一停息，仆人就拣起打碎的杯子，众人都各自入座，对他们自己的欢呼报以微笑，彼此间攀谈起来。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵又站立起来，瞧了瞧搁在他餐盘旁边的纸条，他为祝愿我们最后一次战役的英雄彼得·伊万诺维奇·巴格拉季翁的健康而举杯，伯爵那双蓝色的眼睛又被泪水润湿了。三百位客人又在高呼“乌拉！”，这时可以听见的不是音乐，而是歌手们吟唱的、由帕维尔·伊万诺维奇·库图佐夫撰写的大合唱。
俄罗斯人不可阻挡，
勇敢乃是胜利的保证，
而我们拥有无数位巴格拉季翁，
一切敌人将在我们脚下跪倒。
……
歌手们刚刚吟唱完毕，人们就接着一次又一次地举杯祝酒，此时伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵越来越受感动，越来越多的酒樽被打碎了，欢呼声也越来越响亮。人们为别克列绍夫、纳雷什金、乌瓦罗夫、多尔戈鲁科夫、阿普拉克辛、瓦卢耶夫的健康，为理事们的健康、为管事人的健康，为俱乐部全体成员的健康、为俱乐部的列位来宾的健康干杯，末了，单独为宴会筹办人伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵的健康干杯。在举杯时，伯爵取出手帕，捂住脸，放声大哭起来。
Book 4 Chapter 4
PIERRE was sitting opposite Dolohov and Nikolay Rostov. He ate greedily and drank heavily, as he always did. But those who knew him slightly could see that some great change was taking place in him that day. He was silent all through dinner, and blinking and screwing up his eyes, looked about him, or letting his eyes rest on something with an air of complete absent-mindedness, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger. His face was depressed and gloomy. He seemed not to be seeing or hearing what was passing about him and to be thinking of some one thing, something painful and unsettled.
This unsettled question that worried him was due to the hints dropped by the princess, his cousin, at Moscow in regard to Dolohov's close intimacy with his wife, and to an anonymous letter he had received that morning, which, with the vile jocoseness peculiar to all anonymous letters, had said that he didn't seem to see clearly through his spectacles, and that his wife's connection with Dolohov was a secret from no one but himself. Pierre did not absolutely believe either the princess's hints, or the anonymous letter, but he was afraid now to look at Dolohov, who sat opposite him. Every time his glance casually met Dolohov's handsome, insolent eyes, Pierre felt as though something awful, hideous was rising up in his soul, and he made haste to turn away. Involuntarily recalling all his wife's past and her attitude to Dolohov, Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the letter might well be true, might at least appear to be the truth, if only it had not related to his wife. Pierre could not help recalling how Dolohov, who had been completely reinstated, had returned to Petersburg and come to see him. Dolohov had taken advantage of his friendly relations with Pierre in their old rowdy days, had come straight to his house, and Pierre had established him in it and lent him money. Pierre recalled how Ellen, smiling, had expressed her dissatisfaction at Dolohov's staying in their house, and how cynically Dolohov had praised his wife's beauty to him, and how he had never since left them up to the time of their coming to Moscow.
“Yes, he is very handsome,” thought Pierre, “and I know him. There would be a particular charm for him in disgracing my name and turning me into ridicule, just because I have exerted myself in his behalf, have befriended him and helped him. I know, I understand what zest that would be sure to give to his betrayal of me, if it were true. Yes, if it were true, but I don't believe it. I have no right to and I can't believe it.” He recalled the expression on Dolohov's face in his moments of cruelty, such as when he was tying the police officer on to the bear and dropping him into the water, or when he had utterly without provocation challenged a man to a duel or killed a sledge-driver's horse with a shot from his pistol. That expression often came into Dolohov's face when he was looking at him. “Yes, he's a duelling bully,” thought Pierre; “to him it means nothing to kill a man, it must seem to him that every one's afraid of him. He must like it. He must think I am afraid of him. And, in fact, I really am afraid of him,” Pierre mused; and again at these thoughts he felt as though something terrible and hideous were rising up in his soul. Dolohov, Denisov, and Rostov were sitting facing Pierre and seemed to be greatly enjoying themselves. Rostov talked away merrily to his two friends, of whom one was a dashing hussar, the other a notorious duellist and scapegrace, and now and then cast ironical glances at Pierre, whose appearance at the dinner was a striking one, with his preoccupied, absent-minded, massive figure. Rostov looked with disfavour upon Pierre. In the first place, because Pierre, in the eyes of the smart hussar, was a rich civilian, and husband of a beauty, was altogether, in fact, an old woman. And secondly, because Pierre in his preoccupation and absent-mindedness had not recognised Rostov and had failed to respond to his bow. When they got up to drink the health of the Tsar, Pierre, plunged in thought, did not rise nor take up his glass.
“What are you about?” Rostov shouted to him, looking at him with enthusiastic and exasperated eyes. “Don't you hear: the health of our sovereign the Emperor!”
Pierre with a sigh obeyed, got up, emptied his glass, and waiting till all were seated again, he turned with his kindly smile to Rostov. “Why, I didn't recognise you,” he said. But Rostov had no thoughts for him, he was shouting “Hurrah!”
“Why don't you renew the acquaintance?” said Dolohov to Rostov.
“Oh, bother him, he's a fool,” said Rostov.
“One has to be sweet to the husbands of pretty women,” said Denisov. Pierre did not hear what they were saying, but he knew they were talking of him. He flushed and turned away. “Well, now to the health of pretty women,” said Dolohov, and with a serious expression, though a smile lurked in the corners of his mouth, he turned to Pierre.
“To the health of pretty women, Petrusha, and their lovers too,” he said.
Pierre, with downcast eyes, sipped his glass, without looking at Dolohov or answering him. The footman, distributing copies of Kutuzov's cantata, laid a copy by Pierre, as one of the more honoured guests. He would have taken it, but Dolohov bent forward, snatched the paper out of his hands and began reading it. Pierre glanced at Dolohov, and his eyes dropped; something terrible and hideous, that had been torturing him all through the dinner, rose up and took possession of him. He bent the whole of his ungainly person across the table. “Don't you dare to take it!” he shouted.
Hearing that shout and seeing to whom it was addressed, Nesvitsky and his neighbour on the right side turned in haste and alarm to Bezuhov.
“Hush, hush, what are you about?” whispered panic-stricken voices. Dolohov looked at Pierre with his clear, mirthful, cruel eyes, still with the same smile, as though he were saying: “Come now, this is what I like.”
“I won't give it up,” he said distinctly.
Pale and with quivering lips, Pierre snatched the copy.
“You…you…blackguard!…I challenge you,” he said, and moving back his chair, he got up from the table. At the second Pierre did this and uttered these words he felt that the question of his wife's guilt, that had been torturing him for the last four and twenty hours, was finally and incontestably answered in the affirmative. He hated her and was severed from her for ever. In spite of Denisov's entreaties that Rostov would have nothing to do with the affair, Rostov agreed to be Dolohov's second, and after dinner he discussed with Nesvitsky, Bezuhov's second, the arrangements for the duel. Pierre had gone home, but Rostov with Dolohov and Denisov stayed on at the club listening to the gypsies and the singers till late in the evening.
“So good-bye till to-morrow, at Sokolniky,” said Dolohov, as he parted from Rostov at the club steps.
“And do you feel quite calm?” asked Rostov.
Dolohov stopped.
“Well, do you see, in a couple of words I'll let you into the whole secret of duelling. If, when you go to a duel, you make your will and write long letters to your parents, if you think that you may be killed, you're a fool and certain to be done for. But go with the firm intention of killing your man, as quickly and as surely as may be, then everything will be all right. As our bear-killer from Kostroma used to say to me: ‘A bear,' he'd say, ‘why, who's not afraid of one? but come to see one and your fear's all gone, all you hope is he won't get away!' Well, that's just how I feel. A demain, mon cher.”
Next day at eight o'clock in the morning, Pierre and Nesvitsky reached the Sokolniky copse, and found Dolohov, Denisov, and Rostov already there. Pierre had the air of a man absorbed in reflections in no way connected with the matter in hand. His face looked hollow and yellow. He had not slept all night. He looked about him absent-mindedly, and screwed up his eyes, as though in glaring sunshine. He was exclusively absorbed by two considerations: the guilt of his wife, of which after a sleepless night he had not a vestige of doubt, and the guiltlessness of Dolohov, who was in no way bound to guard the honour of a man, who was nothing to him. “Maybe I should have done the same in his place,” thought Pierre. “For certain, indeed, I should have done the same; then why this duel, this murder? Either I shall kill him, or he will shoot me in the head, in the elbow, or the knee. To get away from here, to run, to bury myself somewhere,” was the longing that came into his mind. But precisely at the moments when such ideas were in his mind, he would turn with a peculiarly calm and unconcerned face, which inspired respect in the seconds looking at him, and ask: “Will it be soon?” or “Aren't we ready?”
When everything was ready, the swords stuck in the snow to mark the barrier, and the pistols loaded, Nesvitsky went up to Pierre.
“I should not be doing my duty, count,” he said in a timid voice, “nor justifying the confidence and the honour you have done me in choosing me for your second, if at this grave moment, this very grave moment, I did not speak the whole truth to you. I consider that the quarrel has not sufficient grounds and is not worth shedding blood over.… You were not right, not quite in the right; you lost your temper.…”
“Oh, yes, it was awfully stupid,” said Pierre.
“Then allow me to express your regret, and I am convinced that our opponents will agree to accept your apology,” said Nesvitsky (who, like the others assisting in the affair, and every one at such affairs, was unable to believe that the quarrel would come to an actual duel). “You know, count, it is far nobler to acknowledge one's mistake than to push things to the irrevocable. There was no great offence on either side. Permit me to convey…”
“No, what are you talking about?” said Pierre; “it doesn't matter.… Ready then?” he added. “Only tell me how and where I am to go, and what to shoot at?” he said with a smile unnaturally gentle. He took up a pistol, and began inquiring how to let it off, as he had never had a pistol in his hand before, a fact he did not care to confess. “Oh, yes, of course, I know, I had only forgotten,” he said.
“No apologies, absolutely nothing,” Dolohov was saying to Denisov, who for his part was also making an attempt at reconciliation, and he too went up to the appointed spot.
The place chosen for the duel was some eighty paces from the road, on which their sledges had been left, in a small clearing in the pine wood, covered with snow that had thawed in the warmer weather of the last few days. The antagonists stood forty paces from each other at the further edge of the clearing. The seconds, in measuring the paces, left tracks in the deep, wet snow from the spot where they had been standing to the swords of Nesvitsky and Denisov, which had been thrust in the ground ten paces from one another to mark the barrier. The thaw and mist persisted; forty paces away nothing could be seen. In three minutes everything was ready, but still they delayed beginning. Every one was silent.
皮埃尔坐在多洛霍夫和尼古拉·罗斯托夫对面，像平常一样，他贪婪地大吃大喝。但是那些熟悉他的人，今天看见他身上发生了某种巨大的变化。他在宴会上蹙起额角，眯缝起眼睛，自始至终地默不作声，他集中呆滞的目光环顾四周，用手指轻轻地揉着鼻梁，显示着漫不经心的样子。他的面孔变得沮丧而阴郁。看来，他好像没有看见，也没有听见在他周围发生的任何事情，心里总是思忖着一个沉重的悬而未决的问题。 
这个悬而未决的，使他受到折磨的问题，就是那个住在莫斯科的公爵小姐向他暗示，说多洛霍夫和他妻子的关系密切，他今天早上收到一封匿名信，这封信含有十分可鄙的戏谑的意味，这正是所有匿名信固有的特点，信中说他戴着眼镜，视力很差；他妻子和多洛霍夫的关系，对他一个人来说，才是秘密。皮埃尔根本不相信公爵小姐的暗示，也不相信信中的内容，而在此时他看见坐在他面前的多洛霍夫，却使地觉得害怕。每逢他的目光和多洛霍夫的美丽动人的、放肆无礼的眼神无意中相遇时，皮埃尔就觉得，他心灵上常常浮现着一种可怕的、难以名状的东西，于是他立即转过脸去，不理睬他了。皮埃尔情不自禁地想起他妻子的往事、妻子和多洛霍夫的关系，并且他清楚地看出，假如这件事和他妻子无关，那末在信中说到的情形可能是真的，至少可能像是真的。皮埃尔情不自禁地想起，在这次战役之后多洛霍夫恢复原职了，他回到彼得堡来见他。多洛霍夫借助于他自己和皮埃尔之间的酒肉朋友关系，径直地走进他的住宅，皮埃尔安置他住下，借钱给他用。皮埃尔想起海伦怎样微露笑意，对多洛霍夫在他们家中居住表示不满，多洛霍夫厚颜无耻地向他夸奖他的妻子的姿色，他从那时起直到他抵达莫斯科以前，他须臾也没有离开他们。
“是的，他长得非常英俊，”皮埃尔心中思忖着，“我洞悉他的底细。他所以觉得玷辱我的名声并且嘲笑我是一件分外有趣的事，就是因为我替他奔走过，抚养过他、帮助他的缘故。我熟谙而且明了，假如真有其事，在他心目中，这就会给他的骗术增添一分风趣。假如真有其事，自然无可非议。但是我不相信，我无权利去相信，也不能相信这等事。”他回想起当多洛霍夫干残忍勾当的时候，他脸上所流露的那种表情，例如，他把警察分局局长和一头狗熊捆绑在一起扔进水里；或则无缘无故要求与人决斗；或则用手枪打死马车夫的驿马的时候，当他注视皮埃尔时，他脸上也常常带有这样的表情。
“是的，他是个好决斗的人，”皮埃尔想道。“在他看来，杀死一个人毫无关系，他一定觉得大家都害怕他，这一定使他觉得高兴。他一定也会想到，我也是害怕他的。我真的害怕他，”皮埃尔想道，在出现这些念头时，他又感觉到，他心灵深处浮现出某种可怕的、难以名状的东西。现在多洛霍夫、杰尼索夫和罗斯托夫坐在皮埃尔对面，似乎都非常高兴。罗斯托夫和他的两个朋友愉快地交谈，其中一人是骁勇的骠骑兵，另一人是众所周知的决斗家和浪荡公子，他有时讥讽地望着皮埃尔，而皮埃尔在这次宴会上六神无主，沉溺于自己的思想感情中，此外，他那高大的身材也使大家惊讶不已。罗斯托夫不友善地看着皮埃尔，其一是因为皮埃尔在他那骠骑兵心目中是个身无军职的富翁，美女的丈夫，总之是个懦弱的男人；其次是因为皮埃尔心不在焉，沉溺在自己的思想感情中，以致于认不得罗斯托夫，也没有向他鞠躬回礼。当众人为皇上的健康开始干杯的时候，皮埃尔陷入沉思状态中，他没有举起酒杯站立起来。
“您怎么啦？”罗斯托夫向他喊道，把那兴高采烈的、凶狠的目光投射在他身上。“您难道没有听见：为皇上的健康干杯吗！”皮埃尔叹了一口气，温顺地站起来，喝了一杯酒，等待他们坐定后，他脸上便流露着和善的微笑并且转过头去跟罗斯托夫谈话。
“我竟没有把您认出来。”他说。但是罗斯托夫哪能顾得这么多，他在高呼“乌拉！”
“你干嘛不重归旧好。”多洛霍夫向罗斯托夫说。
“傻瓜，去他的吧！”罗斯托夫说。
“应当爱护好女人的丈夫们。”杰尼索夫说。
皮埃尔没有听见他们说什么，但是他知道，他们正在谈论他。他涨红了脸，转过身去。
“唉，现在为美女们的健康干杯。”多洛霍夫说，面露严厉的表情，但他嘴角边含着微笑，他举起酒杯，把脸转向皮埃尔。
“彼得鲁沙，为美女们和她们的情夫干杯。”他说道。
皮埃尔垂下眼帘，正在喝着自己杯中的酒，他不去瞧多洛霍夫，也不回答他的话。仆人正在把那库图佐夫的大合唱曲分发给客人，把一张搁在更受人尊重的贵宾皮埃尔面前。他正想把它拿起来，可是多洛霍夫弯下腰去，从他手里把它夺走，开始朗诵大合唱。皮埃尔向多洛霍夫瞟了一眼，又垂下眼来，在整个宴会中间有一种使他心绪不安的可怕的、难以名状的东西在他心灵中浮现，把他控制住了。他把那肥大的身体探过桌子弯下来。
“您胆敢拿走！”他高喊一声。
涅斯维茨基和右面毗邻的旁人听见喊声并且看见他站在什么人面前，吓了一跳，他们赶快把脸转向别祖霍夫说道：“够了，够了，您干嘛？”可以听见惊恐而低沉的语声。多洛霍夫把那明亮、快活、残忍无情的目光朝着皮埃尔扫了一眼，含着微笑，仿佛在说：“啊，这就是我所喜爱的。”
“我不给。”他斩钉截铁地说。
皮埃尔脸色苍白，嘴唇颤抖，夺回那张纸。
“您……您……这个恶棍！……我向您提出决斗。”他说道，推开椅子，从桌子后面站起来。就在他做这件事并说这些话的那一瞬间，他觉得他妻子犯罪的问题，近日以来一直折磨他，现在已经确信无疑地、彻底地解决了。他痛恨她，永远和她断绝关系了。虽然杰尼索夫要求罗斯托夫不要干预这件事，但是罗斯托夫同意充当多洛霍夫决斗的证人，酒会结束后他和别祖霍夫决斗的证人涅斯维茨基商谈了决斗的条件。皮埃尔回家去了，罗斯托夫和多洛霍夫、杰尼索夫想听茨冈人和歌手唱歌，于是在俱乐部坐到深夜。
“那末，明天在索科尔尼克森林会面吧。”多洛霍夫在俱乐部台阶上和罗斯托夫告别时说道。
“你心情安宁吗？”罗斯托夫问道。
多洛霍夫停步了。
“你要明白，我用三言两语来把决斗的全部秘密如实地说给你听。如果你要去决斗，写下遗嘱，并且向父母写几封温情的信，如果你以为你会被人打死，那末，你就是个傻瓜，你真要完蛋；若是你很坚定，尽可能迅速而且准确地把他杀掉，那就会平安无事。我们有个科斯特罗马的猎狗熊的人多次对我说过：那个人说，怎么能不怕狗熊呢？可是一看见狗熊，就不再害怕它了，只希望它不要跑掉才好！嗬，我也是这样的。
A　demain，mon　cher！①” 
①法语：我亲爱的，明天见。
次日，上午八点钟，皮埃尔和涅斯维茨基来到了索科尔尼克森林中，并且在那里发现多洛霍夫、杰尼索夫和罗斯托夫。皮埃尔露出那副样子，就像某人凝神思索着一些与即将发生的事情根本不相干的问题。他那深陷的脸孔变黄了。看来他一夜没有睡觉。他心不在焉地环顾四方，好像耀眼的阳光把他照射得蹙起了额角。他只是凝神地思索着两个问题：他的妻子有罪，经过不眠之夜他丝毫不怀疑这个问题了；再则是多洛霍夫无罪，因为他没有任何缘由去顾全异己者的荣誉。“我若是处在他的地位，大概我也会干出同样的事来，”皮埃尔想道，“甚至我真会干出同样的事来；为什么要决斗，为什么要残杀？要不就是我把他杀掉，要不就是他射中我的头部、胳膊肘、膝盖。他想从这儿走掉、跑掉、到什么地方去躲蔽起来。但是正当他脑海中出现这种想法时，他装出一副特别镇静、漫不经心的样子，他这副样子引起旁观者肃然起敬，他于是问：“时间快到了？准备好了吧？”
一切都准备停妥，马刀都插在雪地里，标致着双方相遇的界线，手枪装上子弹了。涅斯维茨基走到皮埃尔面前。
“伯爵，如果我在这个重要的时刻，非常重要的时刻，不把全部实情告诉您，我就没有履行自己的职责，我就会辜负了您挑选我当决斗见证人所给予我的信任和荣誉！”他用胆怯的嗓音说。“我认为决斗这件事没有充分的理由，不值得为决斗而流血……您做得不对，您未免太急躁了……”
“是啊，糊涂透了……”皮埃尔说。
“那么就让我转达您的歉意吧，我相信我们的敌手是会同意接受您的道歉的，”涅斯维茨基说（就像其他参与此事的人一样，也像所有参与此类事情的人一样，还不相信，这件事已经弄到非决斗不可的地步），“伯爵，您知道，意识到自己的错误，总比把事情弄到不可挽救的地步要高尚得多。任何一方都不会受到委屈。请允许我去举行谈判吧……”
“不，有什么可说的！”皮埃尔说，“横竖一样……准备好了吗？”他补充说。“您只要说给我听，向哪里走去，向哪里射击？”他说，脸上流露着不自然的温顺的微笑。他拿起手枪，开始问清楚使用扳机的方法，因为他直至此时还没有拿过手枪，这一点他是不想承认的，“啊，对了，就是这样开枪的，我知道，我只是忘了。”他说道。
“没有任何道歉的必要，根本没有必要。”多洛霍夫对杰尼索夫说，尽管杰尼索夫也试图讲和，也走到规定的地点。
决斗的地点选择在距离那停放雪橇的大路约莫八十步远的地方，那里有一小松林空地，近日来天气转暖，开始融化的残雪覆盖着松林空地。两个敌手站在距离四十步左右的松林空地的两边。决斗者的证人们用步子量出距离，从他们站的地方，直至距离十步远拖着涅斯维茨基和杰尼索夫的两柄马刀表示界线的地方，在很潮湿的深深的积雪上留下了脚印。冰雪继续不断地消融，雾气不停地上升，四十步以外什么也望不清楚。莫约过了三分钟，一切都准备好了，但是他们还是迟迟没有开始。众人都默不作声。
Book 4 Chapter 5
“WELL, let us begin,” said Dolohov.
“To be sure,” said Pierre, still with the same smile.
A feeling of dread was in the air. It was obvious that the affair that had begun so lightly could not now be in any way turned back, that it was going forward of itself, independently of men's will, and must run its course. Denisov was the first to come forward to the barrier and pronounce the words:
“Since the antagonists refuse all reconciliation, would it not be as well to begin? Take your pistols, and at the word ‘three' begin to advance together. O … one! Two! Three! …” Denisov shouted angrily, and he walked away from the barrier. Both walked along the trodden tracks closer and closer together, beginning to recognise one another in the mist. The combatants had the right to fire when they chose as they approached the barrier. Dolohov walked slowly, not lifting his pistol, and looking intently with his clear, shining eyes into the face of his antagonist. His mouth wore, as always, the semblance of a smile.
“So when I like, I can fire,” said Pierre, and at the word three, he walked with rapid steps forward, straying off the beaten track and stepping over the untrodden snow. Pierre held his pistol at full length in his right hand, obviously afraid of killing himself with that pistol. His left arm he studiously held behind him, because he felt inclined to use it to support his right arm, and he knew that was not allowed. After advancing six paces, and getting off the track into the snow, Pierre looked about under his feet, glancing rapidly again at Dolohov, and stretching out his finger, as he had been shown, fired. Not at all expecting so loud a report, Pierre started at his own shot, then smiled at his own sensation and stood still. The smoke, which was made thicker by the fog, hindered him from seeing for the first moment; but the other shot that he was expecting did not follow. All that could be heard were Dolohov's rapid footsteps, and his figure came into view through the smoke. With one hand he was clutching at his left side, the other was clenched on the lower pistol. His face was pale. Rostov was running up and saying something to him.
“N…no,” Dolohov muttered through his teeth, “no, it's not over”; and struggling on a few sinking, staggering steps up to the sword, he sank on to the snow beside it. His left hand was covered with blood, he rubbed it on his coat and leaned upon it. His face was pale, frowning and trembling.
“Co…” Dolohov began, but he could not at once articulate the words: “come up,” he said, with an effort. Pierre, hardly able to restrain his sobs, ran towards Dolohov, and would have crossed the space that separated the barriers, when Dolohov cried: “To the barrier!” and Pierre, grasping what was wanted, stood still just at the sword. Only ten paces divided them. Dolohov putting his head down, greedily bit at the snow, lifted his head again, sat up, tried to get on his legs and sat down, trying to find a secure centre of gravity. He took a mouthful of the cold snow, and sucked it; his lips quivered, but still he smiled; his eyes glittered with the strain and exasperation of the struggle with his failing forces. He raised the pistol and began taking aim.
“Sideways, don't expose yourself to the pistol,” said Nesvitsky.
“Don't face it!” Denisov could not help shouting, though it was to an antagonist.
With his gentle smile of sympathy and remorse, Pierre stood with his legs and arms straddling helplessly, and his broad chest directly facing Dolohov, and looked at him mournfully. Denisov, Rostov, and Nesvitsky screwed up their eyes. At the same instant they heard a shot and Dolohov's wrathful cry.
“Missed!” shouted Dolohov, and he dropped helplessly, face downwards, in the snow. Pierre clutched at his head, and turning back, walked into the wood, off the path in the snow, muttering aloud incoherent words.
“Stupid…stupid! Death…lies…” he kept repeating, scowling. Nesvitsky stopped him and took him home.
Rostov and Denisov got the wounded Dolohov away.
Dolohov lay in the sledge with closed eyes, in silence, and uttered not a word in reply to questions addressed to him. But as they were driving into Moscow, he suddenly came to himself, and lifting his head with an effort, he took the hand of Rostov, who was sitting near him. Rostov was struck by the utterly transformed and unexpectedly passionately tender expression on Dolohov's face.
“Well? How do you feel?” asked Rostov.
“Bad! but that's not the point. My friend,” said Dolohov, in a breaking voice, “where are we? We are in Moscow, I know. I don't matter, but I have killed her, killed her.…She won't get over this. She can't bear…”
“Who?” asked Rostov.
“My mother. My mother, my angel, my adored angel, my mother,” and squeezing Rostov's hand, Dolohov burst into tears. When he was a little calmer, he explained to Rostov that he was living with his mother, that if his mother were to see him dying, she would not get over the shock. He besought Rostov to go to her and prepare her.
Rostov drove on ahead to carry out his wish, and to his immense astonishment he learned that Dolohov, this bully, this noted duellist Dolohov, lived at Moscow with his old mother and a hunchback sister, and was the tenderest son and brother.
“喂，开始吧！”多洛霍夫说。 
“也好。”皮埃尔说，仍然面露微笑。
那情景逐渐令人觉得可怕。很明显，极为容易就着手做的事情，已经无法加以遏止了，它不以人们的意志为转移，自然正在持续进行，而且要干到底才好。杰尼索夫头一人走到界线面前，他宣布：
“因为敌手们拒绝调停，所以就开始，行不行，拿起手枪，听到喊‘三'时，就向决斗地点开始前进。”
“一！二！三！……”杰尼索夫恼怒地高呼，之后他就走开了。二人都沿着踩出来的小路越走越近，在那雾霭中渐渐地认清自己的敌手。两个敌手在走到决斗的界线前面的时候，假如有一方愿意，就有权开枪射击。多洛霍夫并没有举起手枪，走得很慢，他用那闪闪发亮的蓝眼睛盯着敌手的面孔。他的嘴角边一如平日带有近似微笑的表情。
皮埃尔听见喊“三”时，就迈开脚步，飞快地往前走去，他离开踩出的小径，沿着没有人走过的雪地大踏步前进。皮埃尔握着手枪，向前伸出自己的右手，显然他害怕他会用这支手枪打死他自己。他极力地把左手向后伸出一些，因为他想用它来托住右手，同时他也晓得这样做是不行的。皮埃尔大约走了六步路，就离开小径，向那雪地里走去。皮埃尔望望脚下，又飞快地瞟了多洛霍夫一眼，便像人家教他那样用指头勾了一下扳机，开了一枪。皮埃尔无论怎样都不会料到枪声竟有这么响亮，他听见自己的枪声时哆嗦了一下，这之后便对自己的这一印象微微一笑，他停住了。在雾气中，硝烟分外浓，起初一刹那妨碍他看东西，但是他所等待的另一声回击，并没有继之而至。仅仅听见多洛霍夫的急促的脚步声，他的身形从烟雾中显露出来。他用一只手按着左边的肋部，用另一只手紧紧地握着垂下的手枪。他脸色惨白。罗斯托夫向他跟前跑去，对他道出一句话。
“不……”多洛霍夫透过牙缝说，“不，还没有完，”他跌跌撞撞，一瘸一拐地走了几步，走到一柄马刀前面，就倒在马刀旁边的雪地上。他的左手沾满了鲜血，他在常礼服上揩了揩手，用那只手支撑着身体。他脸色惨白，蹙着额角，不住地颤栗。
“请……”多洛霍夫开了腔，但是不能一下子把话说出来……“请吧，”他费劲地说完了这句话。皮埃尔好容易才忍住，没有大哭起来，他向多洛霍夫面前跑去，已经要越过界线之间的空地了，多洛霍夫喊了一声：“回到决斗时设定双方距离的界线上去！”皮埃尔明了是怎么回事，就在自己的马刀旁边停步了……他们之间的间隔只有十步路之遥。多洛霍夫低下头，靠在雪地上，贪婪地吃了几口雪，又抬起头来，抖擞一下精神，蜷曲起两腿，寻找稳定的身体重心，坐了起来。他大口大口地吞咽冰冷的雪，吸吮雪水，他的嘴唇不住的颤栗，但仍旧面露微笑，他鼓足最后的力气，眼睛里闪烁出拼搏和凶恶的光泽。他举起手枪，开始瞄准了。
“侧着身子，用手枪挡住身体。”涅斯维茨基说道。
“您挡住吧，”甚至连杰尼索夫也忍耐不住了，他向自己的敌手喊了一声。
皮埃尔面露遗憾、后悔和温顺的微笑，束手无策地叉开两腿，张开两臂，挺起宽阔的胸膛，笔直地站在多洛霍夫面前，忧郁地望着他。杰尼索夫、罗斯托夫和涅斯维茨基眯缝起眼睛。与此同时，他们听见了枪声和多洛霍夫的凶恶的喊声。
“没有射中！”多洛霍夫喊了一声，软弱无力地俯卧在雪上。皮埃尔猛然抱住自己的脑袋，向后转，踩着深雪往森林里走去，大声说出令人不懂的话。
“糊里糊涂……糊里糊涂……！死亡，……与谎言……”他皱着眉头重复地说。涅斯维茨基叫他停住，把他送回家去。
罗斯托夫和杰尼索夫把负伤的多洛霍夫送走了。
多洛霍夫合上眼睛，默不作声地躺在雪橇中，对人家所提出的问题，他一言不答；但是驶入莫斯科后，他忽然苏醒过来，很费劲地微微抬起了头，一把抓住坐在他身旁的罗斯托夫的手。多洛霍夫那完全改变了的、突然显得非常兴奋而温和的面部表情使罗斯托夫大吃一惊。
“嘿，怎么啦？你觉得身上怎样？”罗斯托夫问道。
“很糟！可是问题不在那里。我的朋友，”多洛霍夫用若断若续的嗓音说道。“我们在哪儿？我们在莫斯科，我知道。我没有什么，不过我把她害死了，害死了……这一点她经受不了。她经受不了……”
“是谁呢？”罗斯托夫问。
“我的母亲。我的母亲，我的天使，我所崇拜的天使，母亲。”多洛霍夫紧紧地握住罗斯托夫的手，哭起来了。当他稍微安静后，他对罗斯托夫详细说，他和母亲住在一起，如果母亲看见他死在旦夕，她是受不了的。他恳求罗斯托夫到她那里去，叫她思想上有所准备。
罗斯托夫先一步去履行他所接受的委托，使他大为惊讶的是，他了解到多洛霍夫这个好惹事的人，多洛霍夫这个决斗家在莫斯科和他的老母与那个佝偻的姐姐一同居住，他是个非常和顺的儿子和弟弟。
Book 4 Chapter 6
PIERRE had of late rarely seen his wife alone. Both at Petersburg and at Moscow their house had been constantly full of guests. On the night following the duel he did not go to his bedroom, but spent the night, as he often did, in his huge study, formerly his father's room, the very room indeed in which Count Bezuhov had died.
He lay down on the couch and tried to go to sleep, so as to forget all that had happened to him, but he could not do so. Such a tempest of feelings, thoughts, and reminiscences suddenly arose in his soul, that, far from going to sleep, he could not even sit still in one place, and was forced to leap up from the couch and pace with rapid steps about the room. At one moment he had a vision of his wife, as she was in the first days after their marriage, with her bare shoulders, and languid, passionate eyes; and then immediately by her side he saw the handsome, impudent, hard, and ironical face of Dolohov, as he had seen it at the banquet, and again the same face of Dolohov, pale, quivering, in agony, as it had been when he turned and sank in the snow.
“What has happened?” he asked himself; “I have killed her lover; yes, killed the lover of my wife. Yes, that has happened. Why was it? How have I come to this?” “Because you married her,” answered an inner voice.
“But how am I to blame?” he asked. “For marrying without loving her, for deceiving yourself and her.” And vividly he recalled that minute after supper at Prince Vassily's when he had said those words he found so difficult to utter: “I love you.” “It has all come from that. Even then I felt it,” he thought; “I felt at the time that it wasn't the right thing, that I had no right to do it. And so it has turned out.” He recalled the honeymoon, and blushed at the recollection of it. Particularly vivid, humiliating, and shameful was the memory of how one day soon after his marriage he had come in his silk dressing-gown out of his bedroom into his study at twelve o'clock in the day, and in his study had found his head steward, who had bowed deferentially, and looking at Pierre's face and his dressing-gown, had faintly smiled, as though to express by that smile his respectful sympathy with his patron's happiness. “And how often I have been proud of her, proud of her majestic beauty, her social tact,” he thought; “proud of my house, in which she received all Petersburg, proud of her unapproachability and beauty. So this was what I prided myself on. I used to think then that I did not understand her. How often, reflecting on her character, I have told myself that I was to blame, that I did not understand her, did not understand that everlasting composure and complacency, and the absence of all preferences and desires, and the solution of the whole riddle lay in that fearful word, that she is a dissolute woman; I have found that fearful word, and all has become clear.
“Anatole used to come to borrow money of her, and used to kiss her on her bare shoulders. She didn't give him money; but she let herself be kissed. Her father used to try in joke to rouse her jealousy; with a serene smile she used to say she was not fool enough to be jealous. Let him do as he likes, she used to say about me. I asked her once if she felt no symptoms of pregnancy. She laughed contemptuously, and said she was not such a fool as to want children, and that she would never have a child by me.”
Then he thought of the coarseness, the bluntness of her ideas, and the vulgarity of the expressions that were characteristic of her, although she had been brought up in the highest aristocratic circles. “Not quite such a fool…you just try it on…you clear out of this,” she would say. Often, watching the favourable impression she made on young and old, on men and women, Pierre could not understand why it was he did not love her. “Yes; I never loved her,” Pierre said to himself; “I knew she was a dissolute woman,” he repeated to himself; “but I did not dare own it to myself.
“And now Dolohov: there he sits in the snow and forces himself to smile; and dies with maybe some swaggering affectation on his lips in answer to my remorse.”
Pierre was one of those people who in spite of external weakness of character—so-called—do not seek a confidant for their sorrows. He worked through his trouble alone.
“She, she alone is to blame for everything,” he said to himself; “but what of it? Why did I bind myself to her; why did I say to her that ‘I love you,' which was a lie, and worse than a lie,” he said to himself; “I am to blame, and ought to bear … What? The disgrace to my name, the misery of my life? Oh, that's all rubbish,” he thought, “disgrace to one's name and honour, all that's relative, all that's apart from myself.
“Louis XVI was executed because they said he was dishonourable and a criminal” (the idea crossed Pierre's mind), “and they were right from their point of view just as those were right too who died a martyr's death for his sake, and canonised him as a saint. Then Robespierre was executed for being a tyrant. Who is right, who is wrong? No one. But live while you live, to-morrow you die, as I might have died an hour ago. And is it worth worrying oneself, when life is only one second in comparison with eternity?” But at the moment when he believed himself soothed by reflections of that sort, he suddenly had a vision of her, and of her at those moments when he had most violently expressed his most insincere love to her, and he felt a rush of blood to his heart, and had to jump up again, and move about and break and tear to pieces anything that his hands came across. “Why did I say to her ‘I love you'?” he kept repeating to himself. And as he repeated the question for the tenth time the saying of Molière came into his head: “But what the devil was he doing in that galley?” and he laughed at himself.
In the night he called for his valet and bade him pack up to go to Petersburg. He could not conceive how he was going to speak to her now. He resolved that next day he would go away, leaving her a letter, in which he would announce his intention of parting from her for ever.
In the morning when the valet came into the study with his coffee, Pierre was lying on an ottoman asleep with an open book in his hand.
He woke up and looked about him for a long while in alarm, unable to grasp where he was.
“The countess sent to inquire if your excellency were at home,” said the valet.
But before Pierre had time to make up his mind what answer he would send, the countess herself walked calmly and majestically into the room. She was wearing a white satin dressing-gown embroidered with silver, and had her hair in two immense coils wound like a coronet round her exquisite head. In spite of her calm, there was a wrathful line on her rather prominent, marble brow. With her accustomed self-control and composure she did not begin to speak till the valet had left the room. She knew of the duel and had come to talk of it. She waited till the valet had set the coffee and gone out. Pierre looked timidly at her over his spectacles, and as the hare, hemmed in by dogs, goes on lying with its ears back in sight of its foes, so he tried to go on reading. But he felt that this was senseless and impossible, and again he glanced timidly at her. She did not sit down, but stood looking at him with a disdainful smile, waiting for the valet to be gone.
“What's this about now? What have you been up to? I'm asking you,” she said sternly.
“I? I? what?” said Pierre.
“You going in for deeds of valour! Now, answer me, what does this duel mean? What did you want to prove by it? Eh! I ask you the question.” Pierre turned heavily on the sofa, opened his mouth but could not answer.
“If you won't answer, I'll tell you …” Ellen went on. “You believe everything you're told. You were told …” Ellen laughed, “that Dolohov was my lover,” she said in French, with her coarse plainness of speech, uttering the word “amant” like any other word, “and you believed it! But what have you proved by this? What have you proved by this duel? That you're a fool; but every one knew that as it was. What does it lead to? Why, that I'm made a laughing-stock to all Moscow; that every one's saying that when you were drunk and didn't know what you were doing, you challenged a man of whom you were jealous without grounds,” Ellen raised her voice and grew more and more passionate; “who's a better man than you in every respect. …”
“Hem … hem …” Pierre growled, wrinkling up his face, and neither looking at her nor stirring a muscle.
“And how came you to believe that he's my lover? … Eh? Because I like his society? If you were cleverer and more agreeable, I should prefer yours.”
“Don't speak to me … I beseech you,” Pierre muttered huskily.
“Why shouldn't I speak? I can speak as I like, and I tell you boldly that it's not many a wife who with a husband like you wouldn't have taken a lover, but I haven't done it,” she said. Pierre tried to say something, glanced at her with strange eyes, whose meaning she did not comprehend, and lay down again. He was in physical agony at that moment; he felt a weight on his chest so that he could not breathe. He knew that he must do something to put an end to this agony but what he wanted to do was too horrible.
“We had better part,” he articulated huskily.
“Part, by all means, only if you give me a fortune,” said Ellen. … “Part—that's a threat to frighten me!”
Pierre leaped up from the couch and rushed staggering towards her.
“I'll kill you!” he shouted, and snatching up a marble slab from a table with a strength he had not known in himself till then, he made a step towards her and waved it at her.
Ellen's face was terrible to see; she shrieked and darted away from him. His father's nature showed itself in him. Pierre felt the abandonment and the fascination of frenzy. He flung down the slab, shivering it into fragments, and with open arms swooping down upon Ellen, screamed “Go!” in a voice so terrible that they heard it all over the house with horror. God knows what Pierre would have done at that moment if Ellen had not run out of the room.
A week later Pierre had made over to his wife the revenue from all his estates in Great Russia, which made up the larger half of his property, and had gone away alone to Petersburg.
皮埃尔近来很少单独地和妻子会面。无论在彼得堡，抑或在莫斯科，他们的住宅中经常挤满了来宾。决斗后的次日晚上，他像平常一样，没有走到卧室里去，而是留在他父亲的那间大书斋里，伯爵别祖霍夫就是在这里逝世的。 
他半躺半卧地倚靠在长沙发上想睡一觉，好忘掉他所发生的事情，但是他却办不到。那种思想、感情和对往事的回忆忽然在他心中涌现出来，以致于他非但不能入睡，而且不能坐在原地不动，他不得不从长沙发上一跃而起，迈着疾速的步子在房里踱来踱去。时而他脑海中想到，在结婚之后，初时她常袒露双肩，疲倦的眼神充满着激情，但是他同时想到，多洛霍夫在宴会上露出的那张俊美的放肆无礼的分明地含有讥讽意味的面孔顿时在她近侧显露出来，他脑海中又想到，当多洛霍夫转过身来倒在雪地上时，他的那张面孔依然如故，只不过显得惨白、颤栗、极为痛苦而已。
“究竟发生过什么事呢？”他扪心自问，“我打死了一个情夫，是的，我妻子的情夫。是的，真有其事。为什么？我怎么会落到这个地步？因为你娶她为妻的缘故。”内在的声音答道。
“可是我有什么过失呢？”他问，“过失就在于你不爱她而娶她为妻，你既欺骗了自己，也欺骗了她。”于是他清楚地回忆起在瓦西里公爵家里举办的晚宴结束后的那个时刻，那时他说了一句不是出自内心的话：“Je　vous　aime．①一切都是由此而引起的！那时候我感觉到，”他想道，“那时候我感觉到，这不是那么回事，我还没有说这句话的权利。其结果真是如此。”他想起他度蜜月的光景，一回忆往事就涨红了脸。尤其使他感到沉痛、委屈和可耻的是，他回想起在婚后不久，有一次，上午十一点多钟，他穿着一身丝绸的长罩衫，从卧室走进书斋，他在书斋里碰见总管家，总管家恭恭敬敬地鞠躬行礼，他向皮埃尔面孔、他的长罩衫瞥了一眼，微微一笑，仿佛在这微笑中表示他对主人的幸福深为赞美。 
①法语：我爱你。
“我多少次为她而感到骄傲，为她的容貌端庄、为她在社交场合保持有分寸的态度而感到骄傲，”他想。“我为自己的家而感到骄傲，她在家中接待整个彼得堡的人士，为她那傲慢不可接近的神态和美貌而感到自豪，我所感到自豪的原来就是这些么？那时候我想，我不了解她，我时常仔细推敲她的性格，我对自己说，我是有过错的，我不了解她，不了解她这种一向固有的泰然自若、心满意足、缺乏任何嗜欲的天性，而全部谜底乃在于她是‘淫妇'这个令人生畏的词：他对自己说出了这个令人生畏的词，于是一切真相大白了！”
阿纳托利常常到她那里去，向她借钱，吻她裸露的肩头。她不把钱借给他，但却允许他去吻她。父亲的戏谑引起她的醋意，她含着宁静的微笑说道，她不会那么愚蠢，以致于吃醋，她谈论我的时候这么说：他愿意干什么，就让他干什么。有一回我问她，她是否感到她有怀孕的征状。她轻蔑地大笑，并且说她不会那么愚蠢，以致于希冀生儿育女，她不会为我生几个孩子的。
后来他回想起，虽然她在上层贵族社会中受过教育，但是她的思想却很粗陋而且简单，她所惯用的言词庸俗而不可耐。“我不是一个微贱的傻瓜……不信的话，试试看……allez　vous　promen－er。”①她说。皮埃尔常常看见她在男女老少心目中取得的成就，但是他无法明白他为什么不爱她。“可是我从来没有爱过她，”皮埃尔对自己说，“我知道她是一个淫荡的女人，”他重复地说，可是这一点他不敢承认。
“你看，多洛霍夫正坐在雪地上，强颜微笑，他行将死去，大概还装作逞英雄的样子，想用以回答我的忏悔！”
从外表看来，有些人的性格可以说是很软弱，但是他们却不寻找别人来分担自己的痛苦，皮埃尔就是他们之中的一人。他独自一人体会自己的痛苦。
“她在各个方面，在各个方面都是有过错的，”他自言自语地说，“那末，要怎么样呢？我为什么把我自己和她结合在一起呢？我为什么对她说出这句话：‘Je　vous　aime'②，这是句谎话，甚至比谎话更坏，”他自言自语地说，“我有过错，应当来承担……甚么？声名狼藉吗？生活不幸吗？唉，这全是废话，”他想了想，“无论是玷辱名声，抑或是享有殊荣，全是相对而论，一切都不以我为转移。” 
①法语：滚开。
②法语：我爱您。
“路易十六被处以死刑，是因为他们说他寡廉鲜耻，罪恶累累（皮埃尔忽然想起这件事），他们从自己的观点看来是对的，正如那些为他而折磨致死，将他奉为神圣的人，也是对的。后来罗伯斯庇尔因是暴君而被处以极刑。谁无辜，谁有罪？莫衷一是。你活着，就活下去：说不定你明天就死去，正如一小时前我也可能死去一样。人生与永恒相比较只是一瞬间，值得遭受折磨吗？”但是在他认为这种论断使他自己得到安慰的时候，她忽然在他脑海中浮现出来，在他至为强烈地向她表白虚伪的爱情时，他感觉到一股热血涌上心头，又不得不站立起来，举步向前，他在手边随便碰到什么东西，就把它折断、撕破。“我为什么对她说：‘我爱您？'”他还在自言自语地重复这句话。这个问题重提了十次，他忽然想到莫里哀的台词：“Mais　que　diable　allait－il　faire　dans　cette　qalère？”①他于是嘲笑自己来了。
晚上他把侍仆喊来，吩咐他准备行装，到彼得堡去。他不能跟她住在同一栋屋里了。他不能想象他现在应该怎样和她谈话。他决定明天启程，给她留下一封信，他在信中把他要跟她永远分离的打算告诉她了。
清晨当侍仆端着咖啡走进书斋的时候，皮埃尔躺在土耳其式沙发上，手中拿着一本打开的书睡着了。
他睡醒了，睁开一对惊惶失措的眼睛久久地环顾四周，没法明了他待在什么地方。
“伯爵夫人命令我来问问，大人是不是还待在家里。”侍仆问。
可是皮埃尔心里还没有决定回答他的话，伯爵夫人就亲自走进房里来，神态安静而庄严，穿着一种滚银边的白绸长罩衫，梳着普通的发型（两条粗大的辫子在她那漂亮的头上盘了两盘成了diadéme②，不过在稍微突出的大理石般光滑的额头上有一条愤怒的皱纹。她露出沉着的神情，不肯在仆人面前开腔。她知道决斗的情况，走来谈论这件事。她正在等着仆人摆上咖啡之后走出门去。皮埃尔戴着眼镜很胆怯地望望她，就像被猎狗围住的野兔一般，抿起耳朵，在敌人眼前继续躺着，他就这样试着继续看书，但是心里觉得，这样做毫无意义，令人受不了，于是又胆怯地望望她。她没有坐下来。脸上流露着蔑视的微笑，不停地注视着他，一面等待仆人走出门去。 
①法语：干嘛冒失地上那条船呢？
②法语：冠状头饰。
“又怎么啦？您干了什么鬼名堂？我问您。”她严厉地说。
“我？我干了什么？”皮埃尔说。
“你瞧，一个勇士自己找上来了！喂，您回答，决斗是怎么回事？您想凭藉这件事证明什么呢？什么？我问您。”皮埃尔在沙发上吃力地转过身来，张开口，可是没法子回答。
“既然您不回答，那么我就对您说……”海伦继续说下去。
“您相信人家对您说的一切。有人对您说了……”海伦大笑起来，“多洛霍夫是我的情夫，”她用法国话说，藉以明确地指出这句话所包含的粗俗意味，“情夫”这个词也像任何别的词一样，在强调其含义时，她就这样说，“您真的相信！您凭这件事证明了什么呢？您凭藉这次决斗证明了什么呢？证明您是个蠢东西，que　vous　êtes　un　sot①，这是众所周知的事！这会弄到什么地步呢？这会使我成为全莫斯科人取笑的对象，到头来每个人都会说您烂醉如泥，忘乎所以，居然把那个您毫无根据地嫉妒的人喊出来决斗，”海伦把嗓门越抬越高，越来越兴奋，“其实那个人在各个方面都比您优越……” 
①法语：您是个蠢东西。
“哼……哼，”皮埃尔皱着眉头，不去看她，四肢丝毫也不动弹，含糊不清地说话。
“您为什么竟会相信他是我的情夫呢？……为什么？因为我喜欢和他交往吗？如果您会更聪明，更可爱，我就宁愿和您在一起。”
“甭跟我说吧……我恳求您。”皮埃尔嘶哑地轻声说。
“我为什么不说话呢？我可以说话，而且要大胆地说话，凡是有您这样的丈夫的妻子，很少有人不找到几个情夫的（法语为：des　amants），可是我没有干这种勾当。”她说道。皮埃尔想说句什么话，他用她无法理解的奇异的眼神望望她，又躺下来。这时候他在肉体上遭受痛苦，他觉得胸口发闷，几乎不能呼吸。他知道他应当拿出一点办法来制止肉体上的痛苦，但是他想做的事情太骇人了。
“我们最好分手吧。”他若断若续地说。
“分手就分手，也好，您只要给我一份家产，”海伦说，“分手，您用这一手来吓唬我！”
皮埃尔从沙发上跳起来，踉踉跄跄地向她扑过去。
“我打死你！”他大声喊道，迅猛地从桌上拿起一块大理石板，使出他前所未有的气力，向她迈出一步，举起大理石板，做出要打她的样子。
海伦的脸色变得惨白，她突然尖叫一声，从他身边跳开了。有其父必有其子，从他身上可以看出他属于父亲同一类型的人。皮埃尔感觉到疯狂的吸引和迷力。他把石板扔过去，打得粉碎，张开两臂向海伦面前跑去，大喊一声：“滚开！”那嗓音非常骇人，全家人都胆寒地听到这一声喊叫。如果海伦不从房里跑出去，天晓得皮埃尔在这时会干出什么恶事来。
过一周后，皮埃尔让他妻子管理全部大俄罗斯领地，这些领地占他家产的一半以上，皮埃尔独自一人驱车到彼得堡去了。
Book 4 Chapter 7
TWO MONTHS had passed since the news of the defeat of Austerlitz and the loss of Prince Andrey had reached Bleak Hills. In spite of all researches and letters through the Russian embassy, his body had not been found, nor was he among the prisoners. What made it worst of all for his father and sister was the fact that there was still hope that he might have been picked up on the battlefield by the people of the country, and might perhaps be lying, recovering, or dying somewhere alone, among strangers, incapable of giving any account of himself. The newspapers, from which the old prince had first heard of the defeat at Austerlitz, had, as always, given very brief and vague accounts of how the Russians had been obliged after brilliant victories to retreat and had made their withdrawal in perfect order. The old prince saw from this official account that our army had been defeated. A week after the newspaper that had brought news of the defeat of Austerlitz, came a letter from Kutuzov, who described to the old prince the part taken in it by his son.
“Before my eyes,” wrote Kutuzov, “your son with the flag in his hands, at the head of a regiment, fell like a hero, worthy of his father and his fatherland. To my regret and the general regret of the whole army it has not been ascertained up to now whether he is alive or dead. I comfort myself and you with the hope that your son is living, as, otherwise, he would have been mentioned among the officers found on the field of battle, a list of whom has been given me under flag of truce.”
After receiving this letter, late in the evening when he was alone in his study, the old prince went for this morning walk as usual next day. But he was silent with the bailiff, the gardener, and the architect, and though he looked wrathful, said nothing to them. When Princess Marya went in to him at the usual hour, he was standing at the lathe and went on turning as usual, without looking round at her. “Ah? Princess Marya!” he said suddenly in an unnatural voice, and he let the lathe go. (The wheel swung round from the impetus. Long after, Princess Marya remembered the dying creak of the wheel, which was associated for her with what followed.)
Princess Marya went up to him; she caught sight of his face, and something seemed suddenly to give way within her. Her eyes could not see clearly. From her father's face—not sad nor crushed, but vindictive and full of unnatural conflict—she saw that there was hanging over her, coming to crush her, a terrible calamity, the worst in life, a calamity she had not known till then, a calamity irrevocable, irremediable, the death of one beloved.
“Father! Andrey? …” said the ungainly, awkward princess with such unutterable beauty of sorrow and self-forgetfulness that her father could not bear to meet her eyes and turned away sobbing.
“I have had news. Not among the prisoners, not among the killed, Kutuzov writes,” he screamed shrilly, as though he would drive his daughter away with that shriek. “Killed!”
The princess did not swoon, she did not fall into a faint. She was pale, but when she heard those words her face was transformed, and there was a radiance of something in her beautiful, luminous eyes. Something like joy, an exalted joy, apart from the sorrows and joys of this world, flooded the bitter grief she felt within her. She forgot all her terror of her father, went up to him, took him by the hand, drew him to her, and put her arm about his withered, sinewy neck.
“Father,” she said, “do not turn away from me, let us weep for him together.”
“Blackguards, scoundrels!” screamed the old man, turning his face away from her. “Destroying the army, destroying men! What for? Go, go and tell Liza.”
Princess Marya sank helplessly into an armchair beside her father and burst into tears. She could see her brother now at the moment when he parted from her and from Liza with his tender and at the same time haughty expression. She saw him at the moment when tenderly and ironically he had put the image on. “Did he believe now? Had he repented of his unbelief? Was he there now? There in the realm of eternal peace and blessedness?” she wondered. “Father, tell me how it was,” she asked through her tears.
“Go away, go,—killed in a defeat into which they led the best men of Russia and the glory of Russia to ruin. Go away, Princess Marya. Go and tell Liza. I will come.” When Princess Marya went back from her father, the little princess was sitting at her work, and she looked up with that special inward look of happy calm that is peculiar to women with child. It was clear that her eyes were not seeing Princess Marya, but looking deep within herself, at some happy mystery that was being accomplished within her.
“Marie,” she said, moving away from the embroidery frame and leaning back, “give me your hand.” She took her sister-in-law's hand and laid it below her waist. Her eyes smiled, expectant, her little dewy lip was lifted and stayed so in childlike rapture. Princess Marya knelt down before her, and hid her face in the folds of her sister-in-law's dress. “There—there—do you feel it? I feel so strange. And do you know, Marie, I am going to love him very much,” said Liza, looking at her sister-in-law with shining, happy eyes. Princess Marya could not lift her head; she was crying.
“What's the matter with you, Marie?”
“Nothing … only I felt sad … sad about Andrey,” she said, brushing away the tears on the folds of her sister-in-law's dress. Several times in the course of the morning Princess Marya began trying to prepare her sister-in-law's mind, and every time she began to weep. These tears, which the little princess could not account for, agitated her, little as she was observant in general. She said nothing, but looked about her uneasily, as though seeking for something. Before dinner the old prince, of whom she was always afraid, came into her room, with a particularly restless and malignant expression, and went out without uttering a word. She looked at Princess Marya with that expression of attention concentrated within herself that is only seen in women with child, and suddenly she burst into tears.
“Have you heard news from Andrey?” she said.
“No; you know news could not come yet; but father is uneasy, and I feel frightened.”
“Then you have heard nothing?”
“Nothing,” said Princess Marya, looking resolutely at her with her luminous eyes. She had made up her mind not to tell her, and had persuaded her father to conceal the dreadful news from her till her confinement, which was expected before many days. Princess Marya and the old prince, in their different ways, bore and hid their grief. The old prince refused to hope; he made up his mind that Prince Andrey had been killed, and though he sent a clerk to Austria to seek for traces of his son, he ordered a monument for him in Moscow and intended to put it up in his garden, and he told every one that his son was dead. He tried to keep up his old manner of life unchanged, but his strength was failing him: he walked less, ate less, slept less, and every day he grew weaker. Princess Marya went on hoping. She prayed for her brother, as living, and every moment she expected news of his return.
自从童山接获有关奥斯特利茨战役以及安德烈公爵捐躯的消息之后已经两个月了，虽然经由大使馆致函询问并竭尽全力侦查，但是公爵的尸体未能找到，在俘虏之中也没有他的踪影。使他的亲属感到至为难受的是，他们仍旧抱有一线希望，认为当地居民把他从战场上抬走，现在地也许置身于陌生人之中，独自一人躺在什么地方，身体日渐康复，或则行将死去，没法将他自己的消息传递出去。老公爵首次从报纸上得悉奥斯特利茨战败的消息，但是报纸上照常报道得非常简短而且很不明确，报纸上说俄国官兵在几次辉煌战役后不得不撤退，他们撤退时遵守严格的秩序。从这则官方消息上老公爵获悉我军已被粉碎了。在报上登载奥斯特利茨战役的消息后过了一个礼拜，库图佐夫寄来一封信，他在信中告知公爵有关他儿子的遭遇。 
“我亲眼看见令郎，”库图佐夫写道，“手中擎着一面军旗在兵团前面倒下了，他不愧为他父亲和祖国的英雄。令我和全军感到遗憾的是，直至现在依旧不知道，他是活着，还是牺牲了，否则，在由军使递交给我的战地伤亡军官名单中，必定会列入他的姓名。”
夜晚老公爵接到了这个消息，是时他独自一人呆在书斋里。第二天清晨，他一如平时又外出散步，而他在管事、园丁和建筑师当中默不作声，虽然他怒形于色，但他未对任何人道出一句话来。
在平时规定的时刻，叫做玛丽亚的公爵小姐走进屋里来看他，他正在车床旁边站着，做镟工活儿，他像平常一样没有掉过头来望望她。
“啊！公爵小姐玛丽亚！”他突然不自然地说道，扔下了凿子。车床的轮子由于冲力的关系仍在转动着，公爵小姐玛丽亚长久地记得逐渐停息的轮子的吱吱声，和接踵而至的事情在她心目中融合起来了。
公爵小姐玛丽亚移动脚步，走到他跟前，一望见他的脸色，她身上便像有件什么东西忽然沉下去了。她的两眼看不清楚了。父亲的面色既不忧愁，也不沮丧，而是凶神恶煞，很不自然，她从父亲的面色看出，一种可怕的不幸，她从未经历的生活中的莫大的不幸，无可挽救的毋容思议的不幸威胁着她，使她精神上感到压抑，而这种不幸指的是亲人的寿终正寝。
“Mon　père！①是安德烈吗？”姿色不美丽、笨手笨脚的公爵小姐说，她那无法用言语形容的悲痛的魅力和难以控制自己的神情，使父亲经受不住她的目光，哽咽了一阵，转过身去。 
①法语：爸爸。
“我得到消息了。在俘虏名单中没有他，在阵亡官兵名单中也没有他。库图佐夫在信中写到，”他刺耳地尖叫一声，好像想用这种尖叫声来驱逐公爵小姐似的，“给打死了！”
公爵小姐并没有倒下去，她没有感到头晕。她的脸色显得惨白，但是她听了这几句话后，她的面容全变了，她那美丽迷人的明眸中闪烁着光辉。仿佛有一种欢乐，一种不以这个世界的悲欢为转移的莫大的欢乐，透过她那极度悲痛的心情浮现出来。她对父亲的畏惧已经忘记得一干二净，她走到他跟前，一把抓住他的手，拉到自己身边来，抱住他那干瘦的青筋赤露的脖子。
“Mon　pére，”她说道，“不要离开我吧，让我俩在一块儿痛哭吧。”
“这些坏蛋，卑鄙的家伙！”老头儿喊道，把脸移开，躲避她。“葬送了军队，葬送了人们！为了什么？你去，你去，去告诉丽莎。”
公爵小姐软弱无力地坐到父亲旁边的安乐椅上嚎啕大哭起来。现在她好像看见哥哥带着他那温和而傲慢的神态跟她和丽莎告别。她好像看见他温和地、讥讽地给自己戴上小神像。“他是否信教呢？他是否对他不信教而感到后悔呢？他现在是否在那里？是否在那永恒的静谧与极乐的天宫？”她想道。
“Mon　pére，请您把这件事的经过告诉我吧。”她眼泪汪汪地问道。
“你去吧，你去吧，他在战斗中给打死了，在那场战斗中打死了许多优秀的俄国人，玷污了俄国的荣誉。公爵小姐玛丽亚，您去吧。去告诉丽莎。我马上就来。”
当公爵小姐从父亲那里回来的时候，矮小的公爵夫人正坐着做针线活儿，她用那只有孕妇们才特具的内心平静与幸福的眼神望了望公爵小姐玛丽亚。很明显，她的眼睛没有望见公爵小姐玛丽亚，而是向自己体内望去，向她腹内的幸福而神秘的东西望去。
“玛丽（玛丽亚的法语称谓），”她说道，从绣花架子移开身子，向后靠着，“把你的手向我伸出来。”她一把抓住公爵小姐的手，把它放在自己的肚子上。
她的一对眼睛微露笑意，等待着她那长满茸毛的嘴唇翘起来，像那幸运的儿童不停地翘着嘴唇似的。
公爵小姐玛丽亚跪在她面前，把脸蛋藏在嫂嫂的连衣裙的皱襞里。
“诺，诺，你听见吗？我觉得非常奇怪。玛丽，你要晓得，我是很爱他的，”丽莎说，她用那闪闪发光的幸福的眼睛望着小姑子。公爵小姐玛丽亚没法抬起头来，她哭泣着。
“玛莎，你怎么？”
“没有什么……我很悲伤……为安德烈而悲伤。”她说道，一面在嫂嫂的膝头上揩干眼泪。公爵小姐玛丽亚在整个早上接连好几次叫她嫂嫂在思想上要做好准备，而每一次她都哭泣起来，无论矮小的公爵夫人怎样缺乏敏锐的观察力，没法明白她哭泣的原因，但是她的泪水仍旧使她惊恐不已。她不发一言，但却心慌意乱地环顾四周，正在寻找着什么东西。她一向害怕的老公爵在午饭前走进她房里来了，现在他的脸色显得很凶恶，他的心情异常不安定，没有说出一句话便走出去了。她望望公爵小姐玛丽亚，然后就带着孕妇们常有的、凝视自己体内的眼神陷入沉思，她大哭起来。
“从安德烈那儿得到什么消息吗？”她说。
“没有，你知道还不会传来什么消息，不过爸爸的心情很不安定，我也就害怕起来。”
“这么说，没有什么事吗？”
“没有什么，”公爵小姐玛丽亚说，她把那亮晶晶的眼睛盯着她嫂嫂。嫂嫂在最近几天内要分娩，她决意不向她说什么，并劝父亲在她分娩前也向她隐瞒有关他接到可怕的消息这种事。公爵小姐玛丽亚和老公爵各自忍受和隐瞒自己的悲痛。老公爵不想抱有任何希望，他断言安德烈公爵已被打死了，虽然他派遣一名官吏去奥地利寻找儿子的行踪，但是他仍旧在莫斯科给儿子订购了一块墓碑，打算把它树立在自己的花园里，他告诉大家，说他儿子已被打死了。他竭力地不改变从前的生活方式，但是已经力不从心了，他很少步行，吃得更少，睡得也更少，身体一天天衰弱下去。公爵小姐玛丽亚还抱有一线希望。她把哥哥看作活着的人，替他祈祷，每时每刻等待哥哥回家的消息。
Book 4 Chapter 8
Ma bonne amie,” said the little princess, after breakfast, on the morning of the 19th of March, and her little downy lip was lifted as of old; but as in that house since the terrible news had come, smiles, tones of voice, movements even bore the stamp of mourning, so now the smile of the little princess, who was influenced by the general temper without knowing its cause, was such that more than all else it was eloquent of the common burden of sorrow.
“My dear, I am afraid that this morning's fruschtique (as Foka calls it) has disagreed with me.”
“What is the matter with you, my darling? You look pale. Oh, you are very pale,” said Princess Marya in alarm, running with her soft, ponderous tread up to her sister-in-law.
“Shouldn't we send for Marya Bogdanovna, your excellency?” said one of the maids who was present. Marya Bogdanovna was a midwife from a district town, who had been for the last fortnight at Bleak Hills.
“Yes, truly,” assented Princess Marya, “perhaps it is really that. I'll go and get her. Courage, my angel.” She kissed Liza and was going out of the room.
“Oh, no, no!” And besides her pallor, the face of the little princess expressed a childish terror at the inevitable physical suffering before her.
“No, it is indigestion, say it is indigestion, say so, Marie, say so!” And the little princess began to cry, wringing her little hands with childish misery and capriciousness and affected exaggeration too. Princess Marya ran out of the room to fetch Marya Bogdanovna.
“Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Oh!” she heard behind her. The midwife was already on her way to meet her, rubbing her plump, small white hands, with a face of significant composure.
“Marya Bogdanovna! I think it has begun,” said Princess Marya, looking with wide-open, frightened eyes at the midwife.
“Well, I thank God for it,” said Marya Bogdanovna, not hastening her step. “You young ladies have no need to know anything about it.”
“But how is it the doctor has not come from Moscow yet?” said the princess. (In accordance with the wishes of Liza and Prince Andrey, they had sent to Moscow for a doctor, and were expecting him every minute.)
“It's no matter, princess, don't be uneasy,” said Marya Bogdanovna; “we shall do very well without the doctor.”
Five minutes later the princess from her room heard something heavy being carried by. She peeped out; the footmen were for some reason moving into the bedroom the leather sofa which stood in Prince Andrey's study. There was a solemn and subdued look on the men's faces.
Princess Marya sat alone in her room, listening to the sounds of the house, now and then opening the door when any one passed by and looking at what was taking place in the corridor. Several women passed to and fro treading softly; they glanced at the princess and turned away from her. She did not venture to ask questions, and going back to her room closed the door and sat still in an armchair, or took up her prayer-book, or knelt down before the shrine. To her distress and astonishment she felt that prayer did not soothe her emotion. All at once the door of her room was softly opened, and she saw on the threshold her old nurse, Praskovya Savvishna, with a kerchief over her head. The old woman hardly ever, owing to the old prince's prohibition, came into her room.
“I've come to sit a bit with thee, Mashenka,” said the nurse; “and here I've brought the prince's wedding candles to light before his saint, my angel,” she said, sighing.
“Ah, how glad I am, nurse!”
“God is merciful, my darling.” The nurse lighted the gilt candles before the shrine, and sat down with her stocking near the door. Princess Marya took a book and began reading. Only when they heard steps or voices, the princess and the nurse looked at one another, one with alarmed inquiry, the other with soothing reassurance in her face. The feeling that Princess Marya was experiencing as she sat in her room had overpowered the whole house and taken possession of every one. Owing to the belief that the fewer people know of the sufferings of a woman in labour, the less she suffers, every one tried to affect to know nothing of it; no one talked about it, but over and above the habitual staidness and respectfulness of good manners that always reigned in the prince's household, there was apparent in all a sort of anxiety, a softening of the heart, and a consciousness of some great, unfathomable mystery being accomplished at that moment. There was no sound of laughter in the big room where the maids sat. In the waiting-room the men all sat in silence, as it were on the alert. Torches and candles were burning in the serfs' quarters, and no one slept. The old prince walked about his study, treading on his heels, and sent Tihon to Marya Bogdanovna to ask what news.
“Only say: the prince has sent to ask, what news and come and tell me what she says.”
“Inform the prince that the labour has commenced,” said Marya Bogdanovna, looking significantly at the messenger. Tihon went and gave the prince that information.
“Very good,” said the prince, closing the door behind him, and Tihon heard not the slightest sound in the study after that. After a short interval Tihon went into the study, as though to attend to the candles. Seeing the prince lying on the couch, Tihon looked at him, looked at his perturbed face, shook his head, and went up to him dumbly and kissed him on the shoulder, then went out without touching the candles or saying why he had come. The most solemn mystery in the world was being accomplished. Evening passed, night came on. And the feeling of suspense and softening of the heart before the unfathomable did not wane, but grew more intense. No one slept.
It was one of those March nights when winter seems to regain its sway, and flings its last snows and storms with malignant desperation. A relay of horses had been sent to the high-road for the German doctor who was expected every minute, and men were despatched on horseback with lanterns to the turning at the cross-roads to guide him over the holes and treacherous places in the ice.
Princess Marya had long abandoned her book; she sat in silence, her luminous eyes fixed on the wrinkled face of her old nurse (so familiar to her in the minutest detail), on the lock of grey hair that had escaped from the kerchief, on the baggy looseness of the skin under her chin.
The old nurse, with her stocking in her hand, talked away in a soft voice, not hearing it herself nor following the meaning of her own words; telling, as she had told hundreds of times before, how the late princess had been brought to bed of Princess Marya at Kishinyov, and had only a Moldavian peasant woman instead of a midwife.
“God is merciful, doctors are never wanted,” she said.
Suddenly a gust of wind blew on one of the window-frames (by the prince's decree the double frames were always taken out of every window when the larks returned), and flinging open a badly fastened window bolt, set the stiff curtain fluttering; and the chill, snowy draught blew out the candle. Princess Marya shuddered; the nurse, putting down her stocking, went to the window, and putting her head out tried to catch the open frame. The cold wind flapped the ends of her kerchief and the grey locks of her hair.
“Princess, my dearie, there's some one driving up the avenue!” she said, holding the window-frame and not closing it. “With lanterns; it must be the doctor.…”
“Ah, my God! Thank God!” said the Princess Marya. “I must go and meet him; he does not know Russian.”
Princess Marya flung on a shawl and ran to meet the stranger. As she passed through the ante-room, she saw through the window a carriage and lanterns standing at the entrance. She went out on to the stairs. At the post of the balustrade stood a tallow-candle guttering in the draught. The footman Filipp, looking scared, stood below on the first landing of the staircase, with another candle in his hand. Still lower down, at the turn of the winding stairs, steps in thick overshoes could be heard coming up. And a voice—familiar it seemed to Princess Marya—was saying something.
“Thank God!” said the voice. “And father?”
“He has gone to bed,” answered the voice of the butler, Demyan, who was below.
Then the voice said something more, Demyan answered something, and the steps in thick overshoes began approaching more rapidly up the unseen part of the staircase.
“It is Andrey!” thought Princess Marya. “No, it cannot be, it would be too extraordinary,” she thought; and at the very instant she was thinking so, on the landing where the footman stood with a candle, there came into sight the face and figure of Prince Andrey, in a fur coat, with a deep collar covered with snow. Yes, it was he, but pale and thin, and with a transformed, strangely softened, agitated expression on his face. He went up the stairs and embraced his sister.
“You did not get my letter, then?” he asked; and not waiting for an answer, which he would not have received, for the princess could not speak, he turned back, and with the doctor who was behind him (they had met at the last station), he ran again rapidly upstairs and again embraced his sister.
“What a strange fate!” he said, “Masha, darling!” And flinging off his fur coat and overboots, he went towards the little princess's room.
“Ma　bonne　amie，”①三月十九日早上，吃罢早饭后，矮小的公爵夫人说道。她那长满茸毛的嘴唇依然像惯常那样向上翘起来，但是从接到可怕的消息后，这栋屋里的所有的人，不仅在微笑之中，而且在说话声中，甚至在步态中，都充满着悲伤，矮小的公爵夫人的微笑也是如此，虽然她不晓得内中的缘由，但是因为受到共同的情绪的支配、她的微笑更令人想到共同的悲痛。 
①法语：亲爱的朋友。
“Ma　bonne　amie，je　crains　que　le　fruschAtique—（comme　dit）de　ce　matin　ne　m'aie　pas　fait　du　mal．”①
“我的心肝，你怎么了？你的脸色惨白。哎呀，你的脸色太苍白。”公爵小姐玛丽亚惶恐不安地说，她迈着沉重而柔和的脚步朝她面前跑去。
“公爵小姐，要不要派人去把玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜叫来？”一个在这里侍候的女仆说。（玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜是县城里的产科女医生，她来童山已经一个多礼拜了。）“真是如此，”公爵小姐玛丽亚附和着说，“也许是真的。我非去不可。Courage　mon　ange！②”她吻吻丽莎，想从房里走出去。
“唉，不，不！”矮小的公爵夫人的脸色显得苍白，此外，她因为感到不可避免的肉体上的痛苦而流露出稚气的恐惧的表情。
“Non　c'est　l'estomac…dites　que　c'est　l'esAtomac，dites，Marie，dites…”③于是矮小的公爵夫人任性地、甚至有几分虚情假意地、俨像儿童般地痛哭起来，她一面拧着自己的小手。公爵小姐跑出去叫玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜。 
①法语：好朋友，我怕今天我吃了这顿早餐（厨师福卡是这样说的）会头昏目眩。
②法语：我的天使，你甭怕！
③法语：不，这是胃……玛莎，请你说说，是胃……
“哦！Mon　Dieu！Mon　Dieu！”①她听见自己身后传来的喊声。 
①法语：天啊！天啊！
产科女医生向她迎面走来，她搓着一双白白胖胖的小手，脸上流露出十分镇静的神情。
“玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜！好像开始解怀了。”公爵小姐玛丽亚惊恐地睁开眼睛望着老太婆，说道。
“啊，谢天谢地，公爵小姐，”玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜在没有加快脚步时说道，“你们这些小姑娘，不应该知道这种事情。”
“医生怎么还没有从莫斯科来啊？”公爵小姐说。（遵照丽莎和安德烈公爵的意图，在她分娩前派人到莫斯科请产科医生去了，现在大家每时每刻都在等候她。）
“没关系，公爵小姐，您不用担心。”玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜说道，“没有医生在身边什么也会搞好的。”
过了五分钟，公爵小姐从自己房里听见有人抬着什么笨重的东西。她看了看，有几个堂倌不知为什么把安德烈公爵书斋里的皮沙发抬到寝室里去。抬东西的人们的脸上流露着一种激动和冷静的神情。
公爵小姐玛丽亚独自一人坐在房里谛听住宅中传来的响声，有时候有人从近旁过去，就打开房门，仔细观察走廊里发生的事情。有几个女人迈着徐缓的步子走来走去，回头看看公爵小姐，然后转过脸去不望她了。她不敢打听情况，关起门来，回到自己房里去，她时而坐在安乐椅上，时而捧着“祷告书”，时而在神龛前面跪下来。使她感到不幸和诧异的是，她觉得祈祷并不能平息她的激动心情。突然她的房门轻轻地被推开了，她那个包着头巾的老保姆普拉斯科维亚·萨维什娜在门槛上出现了，鉴于公爵的禁令，她几乎从来没有走进她的房间里去。
“玛申卡（玛丽亚的爱称），我到这里来和你在一起坐一会儿。”保姆说，“你看，在主的仆人面前点起公爵结婚的蜡烛，我的天使，这几支蜡烛是我带来的。”她叹了一口气，说道。
“啊，保姆，我多么高兴。”
“亲爱的，上帝是大慈大悲的。”保姆在神龛前面点起几支涂上一层金色的蜡烛，之后在门旁坐下来编织长袜子。公爵小姐玛丽亚拿起一本书来阅读。只是在听见步履声或者说话声时，公爵小姐才惊恐地、疑惑地看看保姆，而保姆却安抚地看看公爵小姐。这栋住宅的每个角落的人们都满怀着公爵小姐在自己房里体验到的那种情感，大家都被它控制住了。根据迷信思想，知道产妇痛苦的人越少，她遭受的痛苦也就越少，因此大家都极力地装作一无所知的样子，谁也不谈这件事，除了在公爵家中起着支配作用的那种持重和谦恭的优良作风之外，在所有人的脸上可以看出一种共同的忧虑、心田的温和以及当时对一件不可思议的大事的认识。
女仆人居住的大房间里听不见笑声。侍者堂倌休息室里所有的人都坐着，默不作声，做好准备。仆人休息室点燃着松明和蜡烛，都没有就寝。老公爵跷着脚尖，脚后跟着地，在书斋里踱来踱去，派吉洪到玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜那里去问问：情况怎样？
“只要说一声：公爵吩咐你来问问：情况怎样？再回来告诉我说些什么话。”
“你禀告公爵：开始临盆了。”玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜意味深长地望望派来的仆人，说道。吉洪走去，并且禀告公爵。
“好。”公爵说了一声，随手关上房门，之后吉洪再也没有听见书斋里的一点声音。过了片刻，吉洪走进书斋，仿佛是来看管蜡烛的照明。吉洪看见公爵躺在长沙发上，他望望公爵，望望他心绪不安的面容，禁不住摇摇头，沉默无言地走到他近旁，吻了吻他的肩膀，他没有剔除烛花，也没有说一声为何目的而来，就走出去了。人世上至为庄严的奥秘之事在继续进行。薄暮过去了，黑夜来临了。对毋庸思议的事物的期待和心地温柔的感觉并没有迟钝，反而更为敏锐了。这天夜里谁也没有就寝。
这是三月间的一个夜晚，好像冬天还在当令，狂暴地撒下最后的雪花，刮起一阵阵暴风。他们随时都在等候从莫斯科到来的德国医生，已经派出了备换乘的马匹到大路上准备迎接，在通往乡间土道的拐角上，派出了提着灯笼的骑者，在坎坷不平的、积雪尚未全融的路上，为即将来临的德国医生带路。
公爵小姐玛丽亚已经把书本搁下很久了，她默不作声地坐着，把那闪闪发光的眼睛凝视着布满皱纹的、她了若指掌的保姆的面孔，凝视着从头巾下面露出的一绺斑白的头发，凝视着下巴底下垂着的小袋形的松肉。
保姆萨维什娜手里拿着一只长袜，她一面编织，一面讲话，那嗓音非常低沉，连她自己也听不见，也听不懂她讲述过数百次的话语：已故的公爵夫人在基什涅沃生下公爵小姐玛丽亚，接生的是个农妇，摩尔达维亚人，替代了产婆。
“上帝会保佑，医生是从来都不需要的。”她说。忽然一阵风朝房里一扇卸下窗框的窗户袭来（遵从老公爵的意图，在百灵鸟飞来的季节，每间房里的窗框都要卸下一扇），吹开了闩得不紧的窗框，拂动着绸制的窗帘，一股含雪的冷气袭来，吹熄了蜡烛。公爵小姐玛丽亚打了个哆嗦；保姆把长袜放下来，她走到窗前，探出身子，一把抓住被风掀开的窗框。寒风吹拂着她的头巾角儿和露出来的一绺绺白发。
“公爵小姐，天啦，有人沿着大路走来了！”她说道，用手拿着窗框，没有把窗户关上。“有人提着灯笼呢，想必是医生……”
“唉，我的天呀！谢天谢地！”公爵小姐玛丽亚说，“应当去迎接，他不懂得俄国话。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚披上肩巾，向来者迎面跑去。当她穿过接待室，从窗口望见，一辆轻便马车停在大门口，灯火辉煌。她走到楼梯口。栏杆柱子上放着一支脂油制的蜡烛，风吹得烛油向下直流。餐厅侍者菲利普露出惊恐的神情，他手中拿着另一支蜡烛，站在更低的地方——楼梯的第一个平台上。在那更低一点的地方，楼梯转弯的角上，可以听见穿着厚皮靴的人渐渐走近的脚步声。公爵小姐玛丽亚仿佛听见一个熟人的说话声。
“谢天谢地！”可以听见说话声，“爸爸呢？”
“他睡觉了。”可以听见已经站在下面的管家杰米扬在开口回答。
后来还听见某人说了一句什么话，杰米扬应声回答，穿着厚皮靴的脚步声沿着望不见的楼梯转弯的地方更快地向近处传来。“这是安德烈吧！”公爵小姐玛丽亚想了想。“不，这不可能，这太异乎寻常了。”她想了想，当她思忖的时候，安德烈的面孔和身影在侍者举着蜡烛站在那里的楼梯平台上出现了，他穿着一件皮袄，衣领上撒满了雪。是的，这就是他，但面色苍白、瘦弱，脸部表情也变了，显得奇特的柔和，然而心神不宁。他走进来，登上楼梯，双手抱住了妹妹。
“您没有接到我的信吗？”他问道，他不等待她回答，他也得不到她的回答，因为公爵小姐简直说不出话来，他是和那个跟在他后面走进来的产科医生一同回来的（他们在最后一站相遇了），他迈开飞快的步子，又走上楼去，又把他妹妹抱在怀里。
“多么变幻的命运！”他说。“亲爱的玛莎！”他把皮袄和皮靴脱下来，便到公爵夫人的住宅中去了。
Book 4 Chapter 9
THE LITTLE PRINCESS was lying on the pillows in her white nightcap (the agony had only a moment left her). Her black hair lay in curls about her swollen and perspiring cheeks; her rosy, charming little mouth, with the downy lip, was open, and she was smiling joyfully. Prince Andrey went into the room, and stood facing her at the foot of the bed on which she lay. The glittering eyes, staring in childish terror and excitement, rested on him with no change in their expression. “I love you all, I have done no one any harm; why am I suffering? help me,” her face seemed to say. She saw her husband, but she did not take in the meaning of his appearance now before her. Prince Andrey went round the bed and kissed her on the forehead.
“My precious,” he said, a word he had never used speaking to her before. “God is merciful.…” She stared at him with a face of inquiry, of childish reproach.
“I hoped for help from you, and nothing, nothing, you too!” her eyes said. She was not surprised at his having come; she did not understand that he had come. His coming had nothing to do with her agony and its alleviation. The pains began again, and Marya Bogdanovna advised Prince Andrey to go out of the room.
The doctor went into the room. Prince Andrey came out, and, meeting Princess Marya, went to her again. They talked in whispers, but every moment their talk was hushed. They were waiting and listening.
“Go, mon ami,” said Princess Marya. Prince Andrey went again to his wife and sat down in the adjoining room, waiting. A woman ran out of the bedroom with a frightened face, and was disconcerted on seeing Prince Andrey. He hid his face in his hands and sat so for some minutes. Piteous, helpless, animal groans came from the next room. Prince Andrey got up, went to the door, and would have opened it. Some one was holding the door.
“Can't come in, can't!” a frightened voice said from within. He began walking about the room. The screams ceased; several seconds passed. Suddenly a fearful scream—not her scream, could she scream like that?—came from the room. Prince Andrey ran to the door; the scream ceased; he heard the cry of a baby.
“What have they taken a baby in there for?” Prince Andrey wondered for the first second. “A baby? What baby? … Why a baby there? Or is the baby born?”
When he suddenly realised all the joyful significance of that cry, tears choked him, and leaning both elbows on the window-sill he cried, sobbing as children cry. The door opened. The doctor with his shirt sleeves tucked up, and no coat on, came out of the room, pale, and his lower jaw twitching. Prince Andrey addressed him, but the doctor, looking at him in a distracted way, passed by without uttering a word. A woman ran out, and, seeing Prince Andrey, stopped hesitating in the door. He went into his wife's room. She was lying dead in the same position in which he had seen her five minutes before, and in spite of the fixed gaze and white cheeks, there was the same expression still on the charming childish face with the little lip covered with fine dark hair. “I love you all, and have done no harm to any one, and what have you done to me?” said her charming, piteous, dead face. In a corner of the room was something red and tiny, squealing and grunting in the trembling white hands of Marya Bogdanovna.
Two hours later Prince Andrey went with soft steps into his father's room. The old man knew everything already. He was standing near the door, and, as soon as it opened, his rough old arms closed like a vice round his son's neck, and without a word he burst into sobs like a child.
Three days afterwards the little princess was buried; and Prince Andrey went to the steps of the tomb to take his last farewell of her. Even in the coffin the face was the same, though the eyes were closed. “Ah, what have you done to me?” it still seemed to say; and Prince Andrey felt that something was being torn out of his soul, that he was guilty of a crime that he could never set right nor forget. He could not weep. The old man, too, went in and kissed the little waxen hand that lay so peacefully crossed over the other, and to him, too, her face said: “Ah, what have you done to me, and why?” And the old man turned angrily away, when he caught sight of the face.
In another five days there followed the christening of the young prince, Nikolay Andreitch. The nurse held the swaddling clothes up to her chin, while the priest with a goose feather anointed the baby's red, wrinkled hands and feet.
His grandfather, who was his godfather, trembling and afraid of dropping the baby, carried him round the battered tin font, and handed him over to the godmother, Princess Marya. Faint with terror that they would let the baby drown in the font, Prince Andrey sat in an adjoining room, waiting for the conclusion of the ceremony. He looked joyfully at the baby when the nurse brought him out, and nodded approvingly when the nurse told him that a bit of wax with the baby's hairs in it, thrown into the font, had not sunk in the water but floated on the surface.
矮小的公爵夫人戴着白色的寝帽靠在枕头上（她的阵痛刚刚减轻了）。她那发烧的冒汗的面颊两边露出一绺绺卷曲的黑发，她张开一张好看的绯红的小嘴，上唇长满了黑色的茸毛，她脸上含着愉快的微笑。安德烈公爵走进房里来，在她面前停步了，在靠近她睡的沙发末端站着。她的一双亮晶晶的眼睛，没有改变表情，露出孩子似的惶恐不安的样子望着他。“我爱你们大家，我未曾危害任何人，为什么我要受苦？助我一臂之力吧。”她的表情在说话。她看见丈夫，但是她弄不清他此时在她面前出现有什么意义。安德烈公爵从沙发一旁绕过去，吻了吻她的额角。 
“我的心肝，”他说，他从来没有对她说过这句话。“上帝是大慈大悲的……”她把那疑惑的、儿童般责备的目光朝他瞥一眼。
“我曾经期待你的救援，我没有得到什么，没有得到什么，你也是这样啊！”她的眼神这样说。他来了，她不感到惊讶，她不明白，他已经回家了。他的到来对她的痛苦与减轻痛苦无任何关系。难忍的阵痛又发作了，玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜于是劝说安德烈公爵从房里出去。
产科医生走进房里来了。安德烈公爵从房里出来，遇见了公爵小姐玛丽亚，他又走到她跟前来了。他们开始低声地讲话，但是谈话常常中断。他们等待着，他们倾听着。
“Allez，mon　ami．①”公爵小姐玛丽亚说道。安德烈公爵又往妻子那儿去了，他在隔壁房里坐下来，等待着。有一个女人看见安德烈公爵后，面带惶恐的神情，困惑不安地从她房里走出来。她用手把脸捂住，就这样坐了几分钟。从门后可以听见悲惨的孤立无援的动物的呻吟。安德烈公爵站起来，走到了门前，想把门打开。不知道是谁抓着门把手。 
①法语：我的朋友，你去吧。
 
“不准进去，不准进去！”从那里传来惊恐的话语声。他开始在房里踱来踱去。喊声停住了，又过了几秒钟。忽然间隔壁房里传来一声可怕的叫喊，这不是她的喊声，她是不会这样叫喊的。安德烈公爵向门前跑去，叫喊声停息了，可以听见婴孩的啼声。
“干嘛把小孩带到那里去呢？”安德烈公爵起初这样思忖了一会。“小孩子？什么样的小孩子？……为什么这里会有小孩呢？也许是生了一个小孩吧？”
当他忽然间明白这一啼声含有喜悦的意义时，眼泪就把他憋得喘不过气来，他将两只胳膊肘支撑在窗台上，有如儿童般地抽抽嗒嗒地啼哭起来。房门开了。医生没有穿常礼服，卷起衬衫的袖口，脸色苍白，下颌颤栗着，他从房里走出来。安德烈公爵向他转过脸来。可是医生惘然若失地朝他望了一眼，没有开口说出一句话来，就从他身旁走过去了。有个妇女跑出来，她看见安德烈公爵，就在门槛上踌躇不前。他走进他妻子的房里。她躺着不动，已经死去了，仍旧像五分钟以前他看见她时那个样了，虽然她的眼睛滞然不动，两颊惨白，但是她那美丽的孩子般的脸蛋上，长满黑色茸毛的嘴唇上依然流露出同样的表情。
“我爱你们所有的人，没有危害过任何人，而你们怎样对待我呢？”她那美丽迷人的、可怜的死者的面孔在说话。在房间的角落里，玛丽亚·波格丹诺夫娜的一双颤栗的白净的手中抱过一样红彤彤的小东西，他哼了哼，哇地一声哭起来。
隔了两小时之后，安德烈公爵悄悄地走进父亲的书斋。老头子已经知道全部情形。他紧靠门站着，房门一打开，老头子就默不作声地伸出一双像虎钳般粗硬的老人的手搂住儿子的脖子，如同孩子似的痛哭起来。
隔了三天他们给矮小的公爵夫人举行安魂祈祷，安德烈公爵和她的遗体告别时，走上了灵柩的阶梯。在灵柩中她虽已闭上眼睛，但是她的脸孔还是原来那个样子。“唉，你们怎么这样对待我呢？”她的面孔仿佛仍旧在说话，安德烈公爵于是感觉到，他的心灵中有一样东西猝然脱落了，他犯了无可挽救的也无法忘记的罪过。他哭不出来。老头子也走进来，吻了吻她那只平静地高高地摆在另一只手上的蜡黄的小手，她的面孔也仿佛对他说：“你们为什么这样对待我呢？”老头子看见了这副面孔，气忿地转过身去。
又过了五日，他们给小公爵尼古拉·安德烈伊奇举行洗礼仪式。当神父用一根鹅毛给男孩的布满皱纹的红红的小手掌和小脚掌涂上圣油时，保姆用下巴压着包布。
充当教父的祖父颤栗地抱着婴儿，害怕把他掉下去，他绕着尽是瘪印的洋铁洗礼盒走过去，把婴儿交给教母公爵小姐玛丽亚。安德烈公爵担心孩子会被淹死，吓得几乎要屏住呼吸，他于是坐在另一间房里，等洗礼完毕。当保姆抱出婴儿时，他高兴地望望他。当保姆告诉他：一块粘有婴儿头发的蜂蜡扔进了洗礼盒，没有沉没，浮了起来。他听了点点头，表示赞许。
Book 4 Chapter 10
ROSTOV'S SHARE in the duel between Dolohov and Bezuhov bad been hushed up by the efforts of the old count and instead of being degraded to the ranks, as Nikolay had expected, he had been appointed an adjutant to the governor of Moscow. In consequence of this, he could not go to the country with the rest of the family, but was kept by his new duties all the summer in Moscow. Dolohov recovered, and Rostov became particularly friendly with him during his convalescence. Dolohov lay ill in the house of his mother, who was tenderly and passionately devoted to him. Marya Ivanovna, who had taken a fancy to Rostov, seeing his attachment to her Fedya, often talked to him about her son.
“Yes, count, he is too noble, too pure-hearted,” she would say, “for the corrupt society of our day. Virtue is in favour with no one; it is apt to be a reproach to everybody. Come, tell me, count, was it right, was it honourable on Bezuhov's part? Fedya in his noble-hearted way loved him, and even now he never says a word against him. In Petersburg those pranks with the police constables, those practical jokes they played there, didn't they do everything together? And Bezuhov got nothing for it, while Fedya took all the blame on his shoulders. What he has had to go through! He has been reinstated, I know, but how could they help reinstating him? I don't suppose there were many such gallant, true sons of their fatherland out there! And now, what?—this duel! Is there any feeling, any honour left in men? Knowing he was the only son, to call him out and aim so straight at him! We may be thankful God has been merciful to us. And what was it all for? Why, who hasn't intrigues nowadays? Why, if he were so jealous—I can understand it—he ought to have let it be seen long before, you know, and it had been going on for a year. And then to call him out, reckoning on Fedya's not fighting him because he was indebted to him. What baseness! What vileness! I know you understand Fedya, my dear count, and that's why I love you, believe me, from my heart. Few do understand him. His is such a lofty, heavenly nature!”
Dolohov himself, during his convalescence, often said to Rostov things which could never have been expected from him.
“People think me a wicked man, I know,” he would say; “and they're welcome to think so. I don't care to know any one except those whom I love. But those I do love, I love in such a way that I would give my life for them, and all the rest I will crush if they get in my way. I have a precious and adored mother, and two or three friends, you among them; and as to the rest, I only pay attention to them in so far as they are useful or mischievous. And almost all are mischievous, especially the women. Yes, my dear,” he went on, “men I have met who were loving, noble, and lofty-minded. But women that were not cattle for sale—countesses and cooks, they're all alike—I have not come across yet. I have not yet met the angelic purity and devotion which I look for in woman. If I could find such a woman, I would give my life for her! But these creatures!…” He made a gesture of contempt. “But believe me, if I still care for life, I care for it because I still hope to meet such a heavenly creature, who would regenerate and purify and elevate me. But you don't understand that.”
“Yes, I quite understand,” answered Rostov, who was very much under the influence of his new friend.
In the autumn the Rostov family returned to Moscow. At the beginning of the winter Denisov too came back and stayed again with the Rostovs. The early part of the winter of 1806 spent by Nikolay Rostov in Moscow, was one of the happiest and liveliest periods for him and all the family. Nikolay brought a lot of young men about him into his parents' house. Vera was a handsome girl of twenty; Sonya, a girl of sixteen, with all the charm of an opening flower; Natasha, half grown up, half a child, at one time childishly absurd, and at another fascinating with the charm of a young girl.
The Rostovs' house was at that time full of a sort of peculiar atmosphere of love-making, as commonly happens in a household where there are very young and very charming girls. Among those young girls' faces, impressionable and always smiling (probably at their own happiness), in that whirl of eager bustle, amid that young feminine chatter, so inconsequent, but so friendly to every one, so ready for anything, so full of hope, and the inconsequent sound of singing and of music, any young man who came into the house felt the same sensation of readiness to fall in love and longing for happiness, that the younger members of the Rostov household were feeling themselves.
Among the young men Rostov brought to the house, one of the foremost was Dolohov, who was liked by every one in the house except Natasha. She almost had a quarrel with her brother over Dolohov. She persisted that he was a spiteful man; that in the duel with Bezuhov, Pierre had been in the right and Dolohov in the wrong, and that he was horrid and not natural.
“I know nothing about it, indeed,” Natasha would cry with self-willed obstinacy; “he's spiteful and heartless. Your Denisov now, you see, I like; he's a rake, and all that, but still I like him, so I do understand. I don't know how to tell you; with him everything is done on a plan, and I don't like that. Denisov, now…”
“Oh, Denisov's another matter,” answered Nikolay, in a tone that implied that in comparison with Dolohov even Denisov was not of much account. “One must understand what soul there is in that Dolohov; one must see him with his mother; such a noble heart!”
“I know nothing about that, but I don't feel at home with him. And do you know he's falling in love with Sonya?”
“What nonsense!”
“I am sure, you will see he is.”
Natasha's prediction was fulfilled. Dolohov, who did not as a rule care for ladies, began to come often to the house; and the question, for whose sake he came, was soon (though no one spoke of it) decided—it was on Sonya's account. And though Sonya would never have ventured to say so, she knew it, and blushed scarlet every time Dolohov made his appearance.
Dolohov often dined at the Rostovs', never missed a performance at which they were to be present, and attended Iogel's balls “for the boys and girls,” at which the Rostovs were always to be found. He showed marked attention to Sonya, and looked at her with such an expression in his eyes that Sonya could not bear his eyes on her without turning crimson, and even the old countess and Natasha blushed when they saw that look.
It was evident that this strong, strange man could not shake off the impression made on him by the dark, graceful young girl, who was in love with another man.
Rostov noticed something new between Dolohov and Sonya, but he did not define to himself precisely what that new attitude was. “They are all in love with some one,” he thought of Sonya and Natasha. But he did not feel quite at his ease as before with Sonya and Dolohov, and he began to be less often at home.
In the autumn of 1806 every one was beginning to talk again of war with Napoleon, and with even greater fervour than in the previous year. A levy was decreed, not only of ten recruits for active service, but of nine militiamen for the reserve as well, from every thousand of the population. Everywhere Bonaparte was anathematised, and the only thing talked of in Moscow was the impending war. To the Rostov family the interest of these preparations for war was entirely centered in the fact that Nikolushka refused to remain longer in Moscow, and was only waiting for the end of Denisov's leave to rejoin his regiment with him after the holidays. His approaching departure, far from hindering him from enjoying himself, gave an added zest to his pleasures. The greater part of his time he spent away from home, at dinners, parties, and balls.
罗斯托夫参与多洛霍夫和别祖霍夫决斗的事件，因为老伯爵尽了最大的努力，总算了结了。不像罗斯托夫预料的那样，他非但未被降级，反而被派至莫斯科总督名下当副官。因此他未能偕同全家人到农村里去，整个夏天只得留在莫斯科履行新职务。多洛霍夫的伤已经养好了，在他逐渐康复的时候，罗斯托夫和他特别要好。多洛霍夫在那个深情地、体贴入微地疼爱他的母亲身边卧床养伤。老太太玛丽亚·伊万诺夫娜鉴于罗斯托夫和费佳（费奥多尔的小名）要好，很喜欢罗斯托夫，她常常对他谈到儿子的事情。 
“是啊，伯爵，对我们现在这个淫乱的世界来说，他的心灵太高尚、太纯洁了。”她说道，高尚的品德，谁也不喜欢，它会刺伤大家的眼睛。啊，伯爵，请您说说，别祖霍夫的行为对吗？正当吗？费佳的品质高尚，很喜爱他，从来都不会说他一句坏话。有人在彼得堡跟警察分局长胡闹，乱开心，岂不是他们一伙干的么？那又怎样呢，别祖霍夫无所谓，费佳却承担全部责任！要知道，他一人承担全部罪责啊！就算是恢复了原职吧，怎能不恢复原职呢？我以为像他这样的祖国的勇士和男儿，还不太多呢。现在干嘛要决斗？这些人是否有情感，是否有人格！分明知道他是个独生子，硬要挑起决斗，正好把他击中了！好在老天爷饶恕了我们。究竟是为什么呢？嘿，我们这个时代，谁不搞阴谋诡计啊？即使他的醋意很浓，也没有什么？我明白，先前他就得通通气，谁知道竟然拖上一年了。他要求决斗，也没有什么，却自以为费佳不会来吵架，因为他欠他的债。多么卑鄙啊！多么龌龊啊！我知道您了解费佳，亲爱的伯爵，所以我由衷地疼爱您，您相信我吧。很少有人了解他。这是个多么高尚的、纯洁的灵魂。”
在多洛霍夫逐渐康复时，他本人时常对罗斯托夫说些他决没法料到他会说的话。
“人家把我看成是凶恶的人，我是知道的，”他说，“就让他们自以为是吧。除开我所爱的人而外，我不愿意知道任何人，但是我爱着什么人，就会强烈地爱，以致于献出我的生命，而所有其他人只要拦住我的去路，我就会压死他们。我有个我所崇拜的、非常可贵的母亲、两三个朋友，其中包括你，而对其他人，只看他们对我有益或有害的程度而定。所有的人，特别是妇女，几乎都是对我有害的。是啊，我的心肝，”他继续说，“我碰到一些令人可爱的、光明正大的、崇高的男人，但是除开卖身的娼妓——无论是伯爵夫人，抑或是厨娘（横竖都一样）——我还没有遇见别的妇女。我还没有遇见我在妇女身上探寻的那种圣洁和忠诚的品质。假使我能够找到一个这样的女人，我愿意为她献出自己的生命。而这些女人！……”他做出轻蔑的手势。“你是否相信我，只要我还珍惜我的生命，那末我之所以珍惜它，只是因为我还希望遇见一个这样圣洁的生灵，她会使我变得光明正大、纯洁而高尚，使我重新振奋起来。可是你不明白这一点。”
“不，我十分明白。”罗斯托夫受到他的新朋友的影响，于是这样回答。
秋天，罗斯托夫一家人回到莫斯科。冬季之初杰尼索夫也回来了，他暂时住在罗斯托夫家中。这是尼古拉·罗斯托夫在莫斯科消度的一八○六年的初冬，这对他和全家人来说都是最幸福的、最愉快的。尼古拉把许多年轻人领到父母的住所。薇拉是一个二十岁的美丽的少女；索尼娅是个十六岁的姑娘，像一朵刚刚绽开的娇艳的鲜花。娜塔莎既是半个小姐，又是半个小姑娘，她时而像那儿童似的令人好笑，时而像那少女似的富有魅力。
这时候在罗斯托夫家中形成了一种特别亲热的气氛，正如那拥有很可爱和很年轻的姑娘的家中常有的气氛一样。前来罗斯托夫家的每个年轻人都望着这些年轻的十分敏感的不知为什么（也许是为自己的幸福）而露出笑容的少女的面孔，望着欢腾的奔忙，听着青年妇女的这些前后不相连贯的，但是大家听来，觉得亲热的，对一切乐于效劳而且满怀希望的窃窃私语，时而听见若断若续的歌声，时而听见若断若续的乐声，都体会到同样的情欲和对幸福期待的感觉，而这也正是罗斯托夫家里的年轻人自己体会到的感觉。
罗斯托夫领进家里来的年轻人之中头一批里头有个多洛霍夫，家里所有的人都喜欢他，只有娜塔莎不在其列。为了多洛霍夫的事情，她几乎要和哥哥争吵起来。她固执己见，认为他是个凶恶的人，至于他和别祖霍夫决斗一事，皮埃尔是对的，多洛霍夫有过错，认为他令人厌恶，装腔作势。
“我没有什么可了解的！”娜塔莎倔强而任性地喊道，“他是个凶狠的、没有感情的人。我倒喜欢你的杰尼索夫，他是个酒鬼，样样都来一手，不过我还是爱他，因此他的情况我是了解的。怎么对你说呢，我不在行，而他的一言一行却抱有特殊目的，这一点我不喜欢。杰尼索夫……”
“喏，杰尼索夫是另一回事，”尼古拉一边回答，一边要让人家感觉到，与多洛霍夫比较时，甚至连杰尼索夫也是微不足道的，“应当了解，这个多洛霍夫的灵魂是多么纯洁，应当看见他是怎样对待母亲的，这才是善良的心肠啊！”
“这一点我就不知道了，可是和他相处的时候，我感到不好意思。你是否知道，他已经爱上索尼娅？”
“这真是一派胡言……”
“我相信，你以后是会看出来的……”娜塔莎的预言应验了。这个不喜欢和女士社交的多洛霍夫开始时常走到家里来，他为了谁才到这里来的问题（虽然没有人提起这件事）很快就获得解答：他是为了索尼娅才常到这里来的。索尼娅虽然总不敢把这话儿说出来，但是她心里知道，所以每当多洛霍夫出现的时候，她就像一块鲜艳的红布一样，满脸绯红。
多洛霍夫常常在罗斯托夫家里吃午饭，从来不放过有罗斯托夫家里人观看的日场戏剧，常常出席在约格尔家里举办的adolescentes①舞会，罗斯托夫家里人也常常出席舞会。他多半是向索尼娅献献殷勤，两只眼睛盯着她，她不能经受他的目光，满面通红，不仅如此，就连老伯爵夫人和娜塔莎看见这种目光后也涨红了脸。 
①法语：青少年。
显然，这个有点儿黧黑的、风采优美的、疼爱别人的小姑娘对这个强而有力的脾气古怪的男人产生了一种令他倾倒的影响。
罗斯托夫发现，多洛霍夫和索尼娅之间存在着某种新关系，但是他不能确定这是一种怎样的新关系。“她们在那儿不知道爱上什么人了”，他想到索尼娅和娜塔莎。但是他跟索尼娅和多洛霍夫在一块儿时没有从前那样自在了，他于是更少地待在家里。
自从一八○六年秋季以来，大家又谈到俄国和拿破仑交战的问题，谈论的气氛与旧年相比较更加热烈。不仅规定从千人中募集十名新兵，而且还要募集九名民兵。到处都在诅咒万恶的波拿巴。莫斯科市议论纷纷，所谈的只是即将爆发的战争。罗斯托夫一家人对准备战争表示关心，他们关心的只是一件事：尼古卢什卡无论如何也不会同意留在莫斯科，他只有等到杰尼索夫休假期满，欢度佳节之后和他一起回到兵团里去。行将启程这件事不仅没有妨碍他消遣作乐，反而激发了他的兴头。他在户外，宴会上、晚会上、舞会上消磨了大部分时光。
Book 4 Chapter 11
ON THE THIRD DAY after Christmas Nikolay dined at home, which he had rarely done of late. This was a farewell dinner in Nikolay's honour, as he was to set off with Denisov after the baptism festival to rejoin his regiment. Twenty persons were dining, among them Dolohov and Denisov.
Never had the love in the air of the Rostovs' house, never had the atmosphere of being in love, made itself so strongly felt as during those Christmas holidays. “Seize the moment of happiness, love and be loved! That is the only thing real in the world; the rest is all nonsense. And that is the one thing we are interested in here,” was the sentiment that atmosphere was eloquent of.
After exhausting two pairs of horses, as he did every day without having been everywhere he ought to have been, and everywhere he had been invited, Nikolay reached home just at dinner-time. As soon as he went in he felt that intense atmosphere of love in the house, but in addition to that he became conscious of a strange embarrassment that seemed to prevail between certain persons in the company. Sonya seemed particularly disturbed, so did Dolohov and the old countess, and in a lesser degree Natasha. Nikolay saw that something must have passed before dinner between Sonya and Dolohov, and with the delicate instinct characteristic of him, he was very sympathetic and wary with both of them during dinner. On that evening there was to be one of the dances given by Iogel, the dancing-master, during the holidays to his pupils.
“Nikolenka, are you going to Iogel's? Please, do go,” said Natasha; “he particularly begged you to, and Vassily Dmitritch” (this was Denisov) “is going.”
“Where would I not go at the countess's commands!” said Denisov, who had jestingly taken up the role of Natasha's knight in the Rostov household. “I am ready to dance the pas de chale.”
“If I have time! I promised the Arharovs; they have a party,” said Nikolay.
“And you? …” he turned to Dolohov. And as soon as he had asked the question, he saw that he should not have asked it.
“Yes, possibly …” Dolohov answered coldly and angrily, glancing at Sonya; and he glanced again, scowling at Nikolay with exactly the same look with which he had looked at Pierre at the club dinner.
“There's something wrong,” thought Nikolay; and he was still more confirmed in that surmise, when immediately after dinner Dolohov went away. He beckoned Natasha, and asked her what had happened.
“I was looking for you,” said Natasha, running out to him. “I told you so, and still you wouldn't believe me,” she said triumphantly; “he has made Sonya an offer.”
Little as Nikolay had been thinking of Sonya of late, he felt as if something were being torn from him when he heard this. Dolohov was a good, and in some respects a brilliant, match for the portionless orphan Sonya. From the point of view of the countess and of society it was out of the question for her to refuse him. And so Nikolay's first feeling when he heard of it was one of exasperation against Sonya. He braced himself up to say, “And a capital thing, too; of course she must forget her childish promises and accept the offer”; but he had not succeeded in saying this when Natasha said:
“Only fancy! she has refused him, absolutely refused him! She says she loves some one else,” she added after a brief pause.
“Yes, my Sonya could not do otherwise!” thought Nikolay.
“Mamma begged her ever so many times not to, but she refused; and I know she won't change, if she has said a thing.…”
“And mamma begged her not to!” Nikolay said reproachfully.
“Yes,” said Natasha. “Do you know, Nikolenka—don't be angry— but I know you won't marry her. I know—I don't know why—but I know for certain that you won't marry her.”
“Well, you can't know that,” said Nikolay; “but I want to talk to her. How charming Sonya is!” he added, smiling.
“Yes, she is so charming! I'll send her in to you.” And Natasha kissed her brother and ran away.
A minute later Sonya came in, looking frightened, distraught, and guilty. Nikolay went up to her and kissed her hand. It was the first time since his return that they had talked alone and of their love.
“Sophie,” he said to her, at first timidly, but more and more boldly as he went on, “if you were simply refusing a brilliant, an advantageous match—but he's a splendid, noble fellow … he's my friend…”
Sonya interrupted him.
“I have refused him,” she said hastily.
“If you are refusing him for my sake, I am afraid that I…”
Sonya again cut him short. With frightened, imploring eyes she looked at him.
“Nikolenka, don't say that to me,” she said.
“No, I must. Perhaps it's suffisance on my part, but still it's better to say it. If you are refusing him on my account, I ought to tell you the whole truth. I love you, I believe, more than any one …”
“That's enough for me,” said Sonya, flushing crimson.
“No; but I have been in love a thousand times, and I shall fall in love again, though such a feeling of affection, confidence and love I have for no one as for you. Then I am young. Mamma does not wish it. Well—in fact—I can make no promise. And I beg you to consider the offer of Dolohov,” he said, with an effort articulating the name of his friend.
“Don't speak to me of it. I want nothing. I love you as a brother, and shall always love you, and I want nothing more.”
“You are an angel; I'm not worthy of you, but I am only afraid of deceiving you.”
Nikolay kissed her hand once more.
圣诞节后的第三天，尼古拉在家中用午餐，这是他迩来少有的事儿。这是一次正式的告别午宴，因为他和杰尼索夫在主显节后就要动身回到兵团里去。二十人左右出席午宴，其中包括多洛霍夫和杰尼索夫。 
在罗斯托夫家中，从来不像这几天过节那样强烈地令人感到爱情的空气、迷恋的气氛。“抓紧幸福的时刻，迫使你自己和他人发生爱情，让你自己陶醉于爱情之中！只有这一点才是尘世上的真正的人生，其馀一切都是无稽之谈。我们在这里忙着做的正是这件事。”这种气氛仿佛在说话。
像平常一样，尼古拉把四匹马累得疲惫不堪了，也来不及遍访他要去和邀请他去做客的地方，他回到家里正赶上吃午饭。他刚走进来，就发现并且感觉到家里有一种紧张的恋爱的气氛，此外，他还发现在几个社交界人士之间充分显露出一种奇怪的仓惶失措的神态。索尼娅、多洛霍夫、老伯爵夫人特别焦急，娜塔莎也略微不安。尼古拉明白，索尼娅和多洛霍夫之间在午饭前想必发生了什么事情，在吃午饭时，他满怀着他所固有的体贴别人的心情，非常温柔地、谨慎地对待他们二人。佳节的第三天晚上，约格尔（教跳舞的师座）家中必然要举行一次舞会，他每逢佳节必然为男女学生举办舞会。
“尼古连卡，你到约格尔那里去吗？请你去吧。”娜塔莎对他说道，“他特意邀请你去，瓦西里·德米特里奇（他就是杰尼索夫）也去。”
“遵照伯爵夫人的命令，我哪儿不敢去呢！”杰尼索夫说，在罗斯托夫家里他诙谐地把他自己装扮成娜塔莎的骑士，“我准备跳pas　de　chaBle①。” 
①法语：披巾舞。
“只要来得及！我答应了阿尔哈罗夫了，他们那里要举行一次晚会。”尼古拉说道。
“你呢？……”他把脸转向多洛霍夫，说道。他刚刚开口问到这件事，就发现，没有必要去问它。
“是的，也许是这样……”多洛霍夫看了看索尼娅，他恼怒地、冷漠地回答，蹙起额角，那目光俨像在俱乐部举办的宴会上打量皮埃尔似的，他又用这种目光向尼古拉瞥了一眼。
“弄出了什么名堂，”尼古拉想了想。多洛霍夫在午饭后马上就走了。这就使得尼古拉更加坚信自己的推测。他把娜塔莎喊来，并且问她这是怎么回事。
“我找过你了，”娜塔莎跑到他跟前说道，“我多次地说，你老是不愿意相信，”她洋洋得意地说，“他向索尼娅求婚了。”
不管尼古拉这一段时间怎样不太关心索尼娅，但当他听到这件事以后，他身上好像失去了一件什么东西。多洛霍夫对没有嫁妆的而且孤独无依的索尼娅来说，是个体面的、在某些方面可以说是杰出的配偶。从老伯爵夫人和上流社会人士的观点出发，拒绝他是不行的。因此，当他听到这件事以后，最初的感觉是对索尼娅的愤恨。他在思想上准备说出这些话：“当然，最好要忘怀儿时的诺言，接受求婚才行。”但是他还没有来得及说完这句话……
“你可以设想！她拒绝了，完全拒绝了！”娜塔莎开了腔，“她说，她爱着另外一个人。”她沉默半晌，补充一句话。
“我的索尼娅不会有别的做法啊！”尼古拉想了片刻。
“无论妈妈总样求她，她还是拒绝了，所以我知道，假使她说了什么话，她决不会改口的……”
“妈妈求过她呀？”尼古拉责备地说。
“是啊，”娜塔莎说，“尼古连卡，你要知道，甭生气吧，但是我知道你是不会娶她的。我知道，天知道是什么缘故，我的确知道，你不会娶她为妻的。”
“得了，这一点你是决不会知道的，”尼古拉说，“可是我应当跟她谈谈。这个索尼娅长得多么漂亮啊！”他面露微笑，补充一句话。
“她漂亮极了！我把她送到你面前来，”于是娜塔莎吻吻哥哥，就跑开了。
一分钟后，索尼娅走进来，惶恐不安，六神无主，露出认罪的样子。尼古拉走到她跟前，吻吻她的手。这是他回家以后他们两人头一回单独地倾吐爱慕之情。
“索菲（索尼娅的法语称谓），”他说道，开头他胆怯，后来就越来越勇敢了，“既然您要拒绝他这个不仅杰出，而且对您有益的配偶，他是一个完美的、高尚的人……他是我的朋友……”
索尼娅打断他的话。
“我已经拒绝了。”她连忙说。
“如果您为我而拒绝的话，那么我怕我……”
索尼娅又打断他的话。她用那恳求的惶恐不安的目光望望他。
“尼古拉，不要向我提到这件事。”她说。
“不，我应该说。也许这是我的suffisance①，但是最好把全部情况说出来。如果您为我而拒绝的话，那么我应该把全部真相说给您听。我爱您，我想，我最爱您……” 
①法语：过于自信的表现。
“我感到满足。”索尼娅满面通红地说。
“不，虽然我对任何人不像对您这样，谈不上友谊、信任和爱情，但是我恋爱过一千次了，以后还会恋爱。而且我太年轻，妈妈并不希望我这样做。我索兴什么都不答应。我要请您考虑多洛霍夫求婚的事。”他道出这句话，很费劲地说出自己的朋友的姓。
“请您不要对我谈论这件事吧。我什么都不想要。我像爱哥哥一样爱您，将永远爱您，我再不需要什么别的了。”
“您是个天使，我配不上您，不过，我只是害怕欺骗您。”
尼古拉又一次地吻吻她的手。
Book 4 Chapter 12
IOGEL'S were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So the mammas said as they looked at their boys and girls executing the steps they had only lately learnt. So too said the boys and girls themselves, who danced till they were ready to drop; so too said the grown-up girls and young men, who came to those dances in a spirit of condescension, and found in them the greatest enjoyment. That year two matches had been made at those dances. The two pretty young princesses Gortchakov had found suitors there, and had been married, and this had given the dances even greater vogue than before. What distinguished these dances from others was the absence of host and hostess, and the presence of the good-humoured Iogel, who had sold tickets for lessons to all his guests, and fluttered about like a feather, bowing and scraping in accordance with the rules of his art. Another point of difference, too, was that none came to these dances but those who really wanted to dance and enjoy themselves, in the way that girls of thirteen and fourteen do, putting on long dresses for the first time. All with rare exceptions were or looked pretty, so ecstatically they smiled and so rapturously their eyes sparkled. The pas de chale even was sometimes danced by the best pupils, among whom Natasha was the best of all, and conspicuous for her gracefulness. But at this last ball they only danced ecossaises, anglaises, and a mazurka that was just coming into fashion. A great hall had been taken by Iogel in the house of Bezuhov, and the ball, as every one said, was a great success. There were many pretty girls, and the Rostov girls were among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay. That evening Sonya, elated by Dolohov's offer, her refusal, and her interview with Nikolay, had kept whirling round at home, not letting her maid have a chance of doing her hair, and now at the dance she was transparently radiant with impulsive happiness.
Natasha, no less elated at being for the first time at a real ball in a long skirt, was even happier. Both the girls wore white muslin dresses with pink ribbons.
Natasha fell in love the moment she walked into the ballroom. She was not in love with any one in particular, but in love with every one. Whomever she looked at, for the moment that she was looking at him, she was in love with.
“Oh, how nice it is!” she kept saying, running up to Sonya.
Nikolay and Denisov walked about the room and looked with friendly patronage at the dancers.
“How sweet she is; she will be a beauty,” said Denisov.
“Who?”
“Countess Natasha,” answered Denisov.
“And how she dances; what grace!” he said again, after a short pause.
“Of whom are you speaking?”
“Why, of your sister,” cried Denisov angrily.
Rostov laughed.
“My dear count, you are one of my best pupils, you must dance,” said little Iogel, coming up to Nikolay. “Look at all these pretty young ladies!” He turned with the same request to Denisov, who had also at one time been his pupil.
“No, my dear fellow, I will be a wallflower,” said Denisov. “Don't you remember how little credit I did to your teaching?”
“Oh no!” said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. “You were only inattentive, but you had talent, you had talent.”
They began to play the new mazurka. Nikolay could not refuse Iogel, and asked Sonya to dance. Denisov sat down by the elderly ladies, and leaning his elbow on his sword, and beating time with his foot, he began telling something amusing and making the old ladies laugh, while he watched the young ones dancing. Iogel was dancing in the first couple with Natasha, his best pupil and his pride. With soft and delicate movements of his little slippered feet, Iogel first flew across the room with Natasha—shy, but conscientiously executing her steps. Denisov did not take his eyes off her, and beat time with his sword with an air that betrayed, that if he were not dancing it was because he would not, and not because he could not, dance. In the middle of a figure he beckoned Rostov to him.
“That's not the right thing a bit,” he said. “Is that the Polish mazurka? But she does dance splendidly.”
Knowing that Denisov had been renowned even in Poland for his fine dancing of the Polish mazurka, Nikolay ran up to Natasha.
“Go and choose Denisov. He does dance. It's a marvel!” he said.
When it was Natasha's turn again, she got up, and tripping rapidly in her ribbon-trimmed dancing-shoes, she timidly ran alone across the room to the corner where Denisov was sitting. She saw that every one was looking at her, waiting to see what she would do. Nikolay saw that Denisov and Natasha were carrying on a smiling dispute, and that Denisov was refusing, though his face wore a delighted smile. He ran up.
“Please do, Vassily Dmitritch,” Natasha was saying; “come please.”
“Oh, have mercy on me, countess,” Denisov was saying jocosely.
“Come now, nonsense, Vaska,” said Nikolay.
“They coax me like the pussy-cat Vaska,” said Denisov good-humouredly.
“I'll sing to you a whole evening,” said Natasha.
“The little witch, she can do anything with me!” said Denisov; and he unhooked his sword. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped his partner firmly by the hand, raised his head and stood with one foot behind the other, waiting for the time. It was only on horseback and in the mazurka that Denisov's low stature was not noticeable, and that he looked the dashing hero he felt himself to be. At the right bar in the time he glanced sideways with a triumphant and amused air at his partner, and making an unexpected tap with one foot he bounded springily like a ball from the floor and flew round, whirling his partner round with him. He flew inaudibly across the hall with one leg forward, and seemed not to see the chairs standing before him, darting straight at them; but all at once with a clink of his spurs and a flourish of his foot he stopped short on his heels, stood so a second, with a clanking of spurs stamped with both feet, whirled rapidly round, and clapping the left foot against the right, again he flew round. Natasha's instinct told her what he was going to do, and without herself knowing how she did it, she followed his lead, abandoning herself to him. At one moment he spun her round, first on his right arm, then on his left arm, then falling on one knee, twirled her round him and again galloped, dashing forward with such vehemence that he seemed to intend to race through the whole suite of rooms without taking breath. Then he stopped suddenly again and executed new and unexpected steps in the dance. When after spinning his partner round before her seat he drew up smartly with a clink of his spurs, bowing to her, Natasha did not even make him a curtsey. She looked at him smiling with a puzzled face, as though she did not recognise him.
“What does it mean?” she said.
Although Iogel would not acknowledge this mazurka as the real one, every one was enchanted with Denisov's dancing of it, and he was continually being chosen as partner; while the old gentlemen, smiling, talked about Poland and the good old days. Denisov, flushed with his exertions and mopping his face with his handkerchief, sat by Natasha and would not leave her side all the rest of the ball.
约格尔家里举办的舞会是莫斯科的最快乐的舞会。娘儿们看见自己的adolescentes①跳着刚刚学会的舞步时都这么说；跳舞跳得累倒的男女少年也都这么说；已经长大的少女和青年同样说出这句话，他们怀有屈尊俯就的心绪前来出席舞会，从中寻求令人消魂的乐趣。是年，舞会上办成了两件婚事。戈尔恰科夫家的两个俊美的公爵小姐觅得未婚夫，并已出嫁，这个舞会因而享有盛誉。男女主人均不在场，乃是舞会的特点：善良心肠的约格尔就像飞扬的羽毛，飘飘然，十分内行地并脚致礼，他向所有的客人收取授课的酬金。而且只有想要跳舞和寻欢作乐的人才来出席舞会，就像十三四岁的小姑娘头一回穿上长长的连衣裙也有这样的兴头似的，此其二。除了少数几个人例外，个个都漂漂亮亮，或者看起来漂漂亮亮，他们都兴高采烈地微笑，两眼闪烁着明亮的光辉。优秀的女生有时候甚至跳着pas　de　chaBle①，在这里，婀娜多姿的娜塔莎出类拔萃；在这最后一次舞会上他们只跳苏格兰舞、英吉利兹舞、刚刚流行的玛祖尔卡舞。约格尔占用了别祖霍夫家里的大厅，正像大家所说的那样，舞会举办得很成功。舞会上有许多漂亮的小姑娘，罗斯托夫家里的小姐都是佼佼者。她们俩人都特别幸福和愉快。这天晚上，索尼娅显得骄傲的是，多洛霍夫向她求婚，她已经拒绝，并向尼古拉表白爱情，她在家里不停地旋舞，女仆给弄得没法替她梳完发辫，这时她由于激动和欣喜而容光焕发。 
①法语：少年。
娜塔莎也同样地感到自豪的是，她头一次穿着长长的连衣裙出席真正的舞会，她觉得更加幸福。她们都穿着白纱连衣裙，裙上系着玫瑰色的绦带。
从娜塔莎走进来出席舞会那时起，她就沉浸在爱情中了。她没有特地爱上什么人，但是她爱上大家了。她凡是望着什么人，在她打量他的时候，她也就爱上他了。
“啊，好极了！”当她跑到索尼娅面前时，她说。
尼古拉和杰尼索夫在几个大厅里逛来逛去，带着温和和庇护的神情环顾跳舞的人们。
“她多么可爱，将来是一个美人儿。”杰尼索夫说。
“是谁？”
“伯爵小姐娜塔莎。”杰尼索夫答道。 
①法语：披巾舞。
“她跳得很好，多么优雅！”他沉默了片刻后又说。
“你说的是谁？”
“是你的妹妹，”杰尼索夫气忿地喊了一声。
罗斯托夫冷冷一笑。
“Mon　cher　comte，vous　êtes　l'un　de　mes　meilleurs　écoliers，il　faut　que　vous　danisiez．”①矮小的约格尔走到尼古拉跟前，说道，“Voyez　combien　de　jolies　demoiselles．②”他同样地邀请杰尼索夫，杰尼索夫从前也是他的学生。
“Non，mon　cher，je　ferai　tapisserie③，”杰尼索夫说， 
①法语：亲爱的伯爵，您是我的优等生之一。您应当跳舞。
②法语：您瞧，有许多美丽的姑娘。
③法语：不，我亲爱的，我最好坐下来看一会儿。
“现在您难道记不得，我不会应用您教的这门课吗？……”
“噢，不对！”约格尔连忙安慰他说，“您只是不大用心，而您是有才华的，是啊，您是有才华的。”
他们又奏起广为流行的玛祖尔卡曲。尼古拉未能拒绝约格尔，于是邀请索尼娅跳舞。杰尼索夫在老太婆们旁边坐下来，用臂肘支在马刀上，合着拍子跺脚，他愉快地讲着什么，惹得老太太们发笑，他不时地看看跳舞的青年。约格尔和他引以为自豪的优等生娜塔莎结成第一对舞伴跳舞。约格尔从容而且柔和地移动那双穿着短靴皮鞋的小脚，随同那胆怯、却尽力跳出各种舞步的娜塔莎，首先在舞厅中翩翩起舞。杰尼索夫目不转睛地望着她，一面用马刀打拍子，那模样表明，他本人不去跳舞只是因为他不愿跳舞，而不是因为他不会跳舞。在跳舞跳到一半的时候，他把从他身边走过的罗斯托夫喊到面前来。
“这根本不是那么回事，”他说，“难道这是波兰玛祖尔卡舞么？不过她跳得真妙。”
尼古拉知道杰尼索夫甚至在波兰亦以跳波兰玛祖尔卡舞的技能而遐尔闻名，他跑到娜塔莎跟前说：
“你去挑选杰尼索夫吧。他跳得很棒！妙极了！”他说。
当又轮到娜塔莎的时候，她站立起来，迅速地移动她那双穿着带有花结的短靴皮鞋的小脚，她独自一人羞答答地穿过舞厅跑到杰尼索夫所坐的那个角落。她看见，大家都朝她望着，等待着。尼古拉看见杰尼索夫和娜塔莎微露笑容，争吵着什么，杰尼索夫表示拒绝，可是他还流露着愉快的微笑。
他向前跑去。
“瓦西里·德米特里奇，请吧，”娜塔莎说道，“我们一块儿跳舞，请吧。”
“怎么，伯爵小姐，免了吧，别给我添麻烦。”杰尼索夫说。
“得啦，够了，瓦夏。”尼古拉说。
“简直像劝只公猫瓦西卡似的。”杰尼索夫诙谐地说。
“以后我整个夜晚给您唱歌。”娜塔莎说道。
“女魔法师，想对我怎么办就怎么办吧！”杰尼索夫说，他摘下马刀。杰尼索夫从几把椅子后面走出来，紧紧地握住女舞伴的手，稍微抬起头，伸出一条腿，等待着音乐的拍节。只有在骑马和跳玛祖尔卡舞的时候，才看不清杰尼索夫那矮小的身材，于是他装出像个连他自己也感觉得到的英姿飒爽的小伙子，他等待着音乐的拍节，得意洋洋地、诙谐地从侧面看看自己的舞伴，忽然间，他用一只脚轻轻一顿，便像小皮球似的富有弹力，从地板上跳起来，他带着女舞伴沿着那圆形舞池，飞也似地旋转起来。他用一只脚一声不响地从半个舞厅跑过去，好像没有看见摆在面前的几把椅子似的，他于是劲直地向前冲去，可是，忽然间两只马刺给撞得叮当地响了一声，他叉开两腿，后跟落地，站着不动，站了一秒钟。就在马刺的撞击声中，他的两脚在原地跺得咚咚响，一面疾速地转动，一面用左脚轻轻地磕打着右脚，又沿着圆形舞池飞快地旋舞。娜塔莎正在猜着他打算做点什么事，而她自己竟然不知道，怎么会听任他摆布，跟在他后面走去，时而他带着她旋转，时而用右手，时而用左手，时而弯屈膝头，引导她绕着自己转动，又霍然站立起来，飞速地向前冲去，就好像他要不喘气地跑过这几个房间似的，时而他又忽然停下来，出人意外地跳出一个新花样。当他在舞伴的座位前面活泼地带着她转动的时候，他碰击一下马刺，向她鞠躬了。娜塔莎甚至没有向他行个屈膝礼。她困惑不安地把她的目光凝聚在他身上，面露微笑，仿佛不认得他似的。
“这究竟是怎么回事呢？”她说。
尽管约格尔不认为这是地道的玛祖尔卡舞，但是人人都赞赏杰尼索夫的技巧，开始不断地挑选他做舞伴，老头子也面露微笑，开始谈论波兰和美好的旧时代。杰尼索夫因跳玛祖尔卡舞而累得满面通红，他用手绢揩干脸上的汗。在娜塔莎旁边坐下，舞会上的人都没有离开她。
Book 4 Chapter 13
FOR TWO DAYS after the dance, Rostov had not seen Dolohov at his people's house nor found him at home; on the third day he received a note from him.
“As I do not intend to be at your house again owing to causes of which you are aware, and am going to rejoin the regiment, I am giving a farewell supper to my friends—come to the English Hotel.” On the day fixed Rostov went at about ten o'clock, from the theatre where he had been with his family and Denisov, to the English Hotel. He was at once conducted to the best room in the hotel, which Dolohov had taken for the occasion.
Some twenty men were gathered about a table before which Dolohov was sitting between two candles. On the table lay money and notes, and Dolohov was keeping the bank. Nikolay had not seen him again since his offer and Sonya's refusal, and he felt uneasy at the thought of meeting him.
Dolohov's clear, cold glance met Rostov in the doorway as though he had been expecting him a long while.
“It's a long while since we've met,” said he; “thanks for coming. I'll just finish dealing here, and Ilyushka will make his appearance with his chorus.”
“I did go to see you,” said Rostov, flushing.
Dolohov made him no reply.
“You might put down a stake,” he said.
Rostov recalled at that instant a strange conversation he once had with Dolohov. “None but fools trust to luck in play,” Dolohov had said then. “Or are you afraid to play with me?” Dolohov said now, as though divining Rostov's thought; and he smiled. Behind his smile Rostov saw in him that mood which he had seen in him at the club dinner and at other times, when Dolohov seemed, as it were, weary of the monotony of daily life, and felt a craving to escape from it by some strange, for the most part cruel, act.
Rostov felt ill at ease; he racked his brain and could not find in it a joke in which to reply to Dolohov's words. But before he had time to do so, Dolohov, looking straight into Rostov's face, said to him slowly and deliberately so that all could hear: “Do you remember, I was talking to you about play…he's a fool who trusts to luck in play; one must play a sure game, and I want to try.”
“Try his luck, or try to play a sure game?” wondered Rostov.
“Indeed, and you'd better not play,” he added; and throwing down a pack he had just torn open, he said, “Bank, gentlemen!”
Moving the money forward, Dolohov began dealing.
Rostov sat near him, and at first he did not play. Dolohov glanced at him.
“Why don't you play?” said Dolohov. And strange to say, Nikolay felt that he could not help taking up a card, staking a trifling sum on it, and beginning to play.
“I have no money with me,” said Rostov.
“I'll trust you!”
Rostov staked five roubles on a card and lost it, staked again and again lost. Dolohov “killed,” that is, beat ten cards in succession from Rostov.
“Gentlemen,” he said, after dealing again for a little while, “I beg you to put the money on the cards or else I shall get muddled over the reckoning.”
One of the players said that he hoped he could trust him.
“I can trust you, but I'm afraid of making mistakes; I beg you to lay the money on the cards,” answered Dolohov. “You needn't worry, we'll settle our accounts,” he added to Rostov.
The play went on; a footman never ceased carrying round champagne.
All Rostov's cards were beaten, and the sum of eight hundred roubles was scored against him. He wrote on a card eight hundred roubles, but while champagne was being poured out for him, he changed his mind and again wrote down the usual stake, twenty roubles.
“Leave it,” said Dolohov, thought he did not seem to be looking at Rostov; “you'll win it back all the sooner. I lose to the rest, while I win from you. Or perhaps you are afraid of me,” he repeated.
Rostov excused himself, left the stake of eight hundred and laid down the seven of hearts, a card with a corner torn, which he had picked up from the ground. Well he remembered that card afterwards. He laid down the seven of hearts, wrote on it with a broken piece of chalk 800 in bold round figures; he drank the glass of warmed champagne that had been given him, smiled at Dolohov's words, and with a sinking at his heart, waiting for the seven of hearts, he watched Dolohov's hands that held the pack. The loss or gain of that card meant a great deal for Rostov. On the previous Sunday Count Ilya Andreitch had given his son two thousand roubles, and though he never liked speaking of money difficulties, he told him that this money was the last they would get till May, and so he begged him to be a little more careful. Nikolay said that that was too much really for him, and that he would give him his word of honour not to come for more before May. Now there was only twelve hundred out of that two thousand left. So that on the seven of hearts there hung not merely the loss of sixteen hundred roubles, but the consequent inevitable betrayal of his word. With a sinking heart he watched Dolohov's hands and thought: “Well, make haste and deal me that card and I'll take my cap and drive home to supper with Denisov, Natasha, and Sonya, and I'm sure I'll never take a card in my hand again.” At that moment his home life, his jokes with Petya, his talks with Sonya, his duets with Natasha, his game of picquet with his father, even his comfortable bed in the house in Povarsky, rose before his imagination with such vividness, such brightness, and such charm, that it seemed as though it were all some long past, lost, and hitherto unappreciated happiness. He could not conceive that a stupid chance, leading the seven to the right rather than to the left, could deprive him of all that happiness felt now with new comprehension and seen in a new radiance, could hurl him into the abyss of unknown and undefined misery. It could not be; but yet it was with a thrill of dread that he waited for the movement of Dolohov's hands. Those broad-boned, reddish hands, with hairs visible under the shirt-cuffs, laid down the pack of cards and took up the glass and pipe that had been handed him.
“So you're not afraid to play with me?” repeated Dolohov; and as though he were about to tell a good story, he laid down the cards, leaned back in his chair, and began deliberately with a smile:
“Yes, gentlemen, I have been told there's a story going about Moscow that I'm too sharp with cards, so I advise you to be a little on your guard with me.”
“Come, deal away!” said Rostov.
“Ugh, these Moscow gossips!” said Dolohov, and he took up the cards with a smile.
“Aaah!” Rostov almost screamed, putting both his hands up to his hair. The seven he needed was lying uppermost, the first card in the pack. He had lost more than he could pay.
“Don't swim beyond your depth, though,” said Dolohov, with a passing glance at Rostov, and he went on.
这次舞会之后过了两天，罗斯托夫在自己家里没有看见多洛霍夫，在他家里也没有碰到他，第三天接到他的一封便函。 
“鉴于你所熟知的种种原因，我再也不欲登门拜访，我瞬将重返部队，是以特为各位友人举行告别酒会，敬祈莅临英吉利饭店。”罗斯托夫同自己家里人和杰尼索夫在剧院里看过戏了，九点多钟离开剧院，在这个约定的日子来到了英吉利饭店。他立刻被人领到多洛霍夫于是夜租用的上等客房里去。
约计二十人聚集在桌子周围，多洛霍夫坐在桌前，左右两旁都点着一支蜡烛。桌子上摆着金币和纸币，多洛霍夫正在分牌。在他求婚和索尼娅拒绝之后，尼古拉尚未同他见面，每当想到他们相会这件事，他总会心慌意乱。
多洛霍夫那冷淡而明亮的目光投射到站在门旁的罗斯托夫身上，仿佛他老早就在等候他似的。
“许久不见面了，”他说，“你来了，表示感谢。我分完纸牌，一会儿伊柳什卡带着合唱队也要来的。”
“我去过你那里了。”罗斯托夫满面通红地说道。
多洛霍夫没有回答他的话。
“你可以下赌注。”他说。
这时分罗斯托夫回想起他和多洛霍夫的一次奇怪的谈话。“只有笨蛋们才靠牌运来赌钱。”那时多洛霍夫这样说。
“也许你害怕和我赌博吧？”现在多洛霍夫这样说，仿佛猜中了罗斯托夫的想法，他于是微微一笑。罗斯托夫从他的微笑中看出他还怀有他在俱乐部午宴上怀有的那种心情，总之在那时，多洛霍夫似乎讨厌日常生活，他觉得必须做件奇特的多半是残忍的事来排除苦闷。
罗斯托夫感到尴尬万分，他在脑海中寻思，却未想出一句戏谑的话来回答多洛霍夫。但在多洛霍夫还来得及这样做的时候，他两眼直勾勾地望着罗斯托夫的脸，慢条斯理地一字一板地对他说，让大家都能听见他说的话。
“不过，你总会记得，我和你谈过赌博的事……笨蛋，谁想靠运气来赌博，要有把握才来赌博，我想试试看。”
“是靠运气来试试，还是有把握才来试验？”罗斯托夫想了想。
“最好不要赌，”他补充一句，把启了封的一副纸牌往桌上一磕，补充地说：“诸位，下赌注！”
多洛霍夫把钱向自己身前推一推，准备发牌。罗斯托夫在他身边坐下来，他最初没有赌钱。多洛霍夫不时地注视着他。
“你怎么不赌钱呀？”多洛霍夫说。多么奇怪，尼古拉觉得非拿牌不可，押下一小笔赌注，开始赌起来。
“我身上没有带钱。”罗斯托夫说。
“可以赊帐！”
罗斯托夫押下了五个卢布，输了钱，再押下赌注，又输了。多洛霍夫凭大牌盖过了小牌，即是说接连赢了罗斯托夫十张牌。
“诸位，”他做庄做了一阵子以后，说道，“请诸位把钱放在牌上，要不然我会算错帐的。”
赌徒中有一人说，他希望能给他赊帐。
“可以赊帐，但我害怕会把帐算错，请把钱放在牌上，”多洛霍夫回答，“你不要怕难为情，以后我同你清帐。”他对罗斯托夫补充地说。
赌博正在持续着，仆人不断地给每个赌徒送来香槟酒。
罗斯托夫的牌张张给盖过了，他欠的帐上记下了八百卢布。他本来要在一张牌上押下八百卢布，但在人家给他送上香槟酒的时候，他改变了主意，又押下一笔一般的赌注——
二十个卢布。
“别管它吧，”虽然多洛霍夫没有去望罗斯托夫一眼，但是他这样对他说，“你快点儿赢回输掉的钱吧。我输给人家，可是我总要赚你的钱。也许你害怕我吧？”他重复地说。
罗斯托夫听从他的话，不更改写下的八百卢布，押在那张他从地上拾起来的破了角的红桃七点上。后来他还清楚地记得这张牌。他押在红桃七点上，拿起一截断了的粉笔在这张牌上端端正正地写下数目字“800”；喝了一杯给他端来的烤热的香槟，对多洛霍夫的话付之一笑，心里发慌，极度紧张地注视多洛霍夫那双拿牌的手，等待着翻开一张红桃七点来。这张红桃七点的赢或者是输，对罗斯托夫具有重大意义。上周星期天，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵给了他儿子两千卢布，他从来不喜欢谈起金钱上的困难，可是现在伯爵对他说，这笔钱在五月份以前是最后的一笔钱了。因此他叫儿子这回要节省一点，尼古拉说，他觉得这些钱太多了，他保证他在入春以前不再拿钱了。现在这笔款项中只剩下一千二百卢布。因此红桃七点这张牌不仅意味着他输掉一千六百卢布，而且意味着他必须违背诺言。他心里发慌，极度紧张地注视多洛霍夫的手并且思忖着：“嘿，快点儿吧，把这张纸牌交给我，我就可以乘车回到家里去，跟杰尼索夫、娜塔莎和索尼娅一起吃晚饭，说真话，我永远不再摸牌了。”在这个时刻，他头脑中浮现出他的家庭生活：他和彼佳开玩笑，他和索尼娅谈话，他和娜塔莎表演二重奏，他和父亲玩“辟开”牌，甚至在波瓦尔大街的住宅中躺在一张舒适的床上，这一切在他的想象中清晰而迷人，洋溢着激情，仿佛这一切是久已逝去的、不可复得的、至为宝贵的幸福。他不能容忍无聊的运气竟使红桃七点先置于右边，而不是先置于左边，以致使他丧失重新享受的、重现异彩的幸福，使他陷入从未经历的未知的灾难的深渊。这是不可能的，他仍旧心悸，几乎要屏住气息，等待着多洛霍夫的两只手的动作。他那双大骨骼的、有点发红的、从衬衣袖筒下面露出汗毛的手，把一副纸牌放在桌上，拿起仆人给他送来的玻璃杯和烟斗。
“你真的不怕和我一块赌钱吗？”多洛霍夫重复地说，他好像要讲一个令人听来愉快的故事，他把牌放下，靠在椅子背上，面露微笑，慢吞吞地讲起来。
“对了，诸位，有人告诉我说，莫斯科传出了谣言，好像说我是一个赌棍，因此我奉劝你们对我要提防点儿。”
“喂，你发牌吧！”罗斯托夫说。
“噢，莫斯科的娘儿们！”多洛霍夫说道，面露笑容地抓起了纸牌。
“哎——呀！”罗斯托夫伸出一双手，托住了头发，几乎喊了一声。他所要的红桃七点居然放在上头，成了这副牌的第一张。他所输的钱超出他的偿付能力了。
“不过你不要豁出命来碰运气。”多洛霍夫说，匆匆地瞥了罗斯托夫一眼，又继续发牌。
Book 4 Chapter 14
WITHIN AN HOUR AND A HALF the greater number of the players were no longer seriously interested in their own play.
The whole interest of the game was concentrated on Rostov. Instead of a mere loss of sixteen hundred roubles he had by now scored against him a long column of figures, which he had added up to the tenth thousand, though he vaguely supposed that by now it had risen to fifteen thousand. In reality the score already exceeded twenty thousand roubles. Dolohov was not now listening to stories, or telling them, he followed every movement of Rostov's hands, and from time to time took a cursory survey of his score with him. He had resolved to keep the play up till that score had reached forty-three thousand. He had fixed on that number because it represented the sum of his and Sonya's ages. Rostov sat with his head propped in both hands, before the wine-stained table scrawled over with scorings and littered with cards. One torturing sensation never left him; those broad-boned, reddish hands, with the hairs visible under the shirt-cuffs, those hands which he loved and hated, held him in their power.
“Six hundred roubles, ace, corner, nine; winning it back's out of the question!…And how happy I should be at home.…The knave double or quits, it can't be!…And why is he doing this to me?…” Rostov pondered and thought. Sometimes he put a higher stake on a card; but Dolohov refused it and fixed the stake himself. Nikolay submitted to him, and at one moment he was praying to God, as he had prayed under fire on the bridge of Amschteten; at the next he tried his fortune on the chance that the card that he would first pick up among the heap of crumpled ones under the table would save him; then he reckoned up the rows of braidings on his coat, and tried staking the whole amount of his losses on a card of that number, then he looked round for help to the others playing, or stared into Dolohov's face, which looked quite cold now, and tried to penetrate into what was passing within him.
“He knows, of course, what this loss means to me. Surely he can't want me to be ruined? Why, he was my friend. I loved him.… But, indeed, it's not his fault; what's he to do, if he has all the luck? And it's not my fault,” he kept saying to himself. “I have done nothing wrong. I haven't murdered or hurt any one, or wished any one harm, have I? What is this awful calamity for? And when did it begin? Such a little while ago I came to this table with the idea of winning a hundred roubles, and buying mamma that little casket for her name-day, and going home. I was so happy, so free, so light-hearted. And I didn't even know then how happy I was. When did all that end, and when did this new awful state of things begin? What was the outward token of that change? I still went on sitting in the same place at this table, and in the same way picking out cards and putting them forward, and watching those deft, broad-boned hands. When did it come to pass, and what has come to pass? I am strong and well, and still the same, and still in the same place. No; it cannot be. It will all be sure to end in nothing.”
He was all red and in a sweat though the room was not hot. And his face was painful and piteous to see, particularly from its helpless efforts to seem calm.
The score reached the fateful number of forty-three thousand roubles. Rostov already had the card ready which he meant to stake for double or quits on the three thousand, that had just been put down to his score, when Dolohov slapped the pack of cards down on the table, pushed it away, and taking the chalk began rapidly in his clear, strong hand, writing down the total of Rostov's losses, breaking the chalk as he did so.
“Supper, supper-time. And here are the gypsies.” And some swarthy men and women did in fact come in from the cold outside, saying something with their gypsy accent. Nikolay grasped that it was all over; but he said in an indifferent voice:
“What, won't you go on? And I have such a nice little card all ready.” As though what chiefly interested him was the game itself.
“It's all over, I'm done for,” he thought. “Now a bullet through the head's the only thing left for me,” and at the same time he was saying in a cheerful voice:
“Come, just one more card.”
“Very good,” answered Dolohov, finishing his addition. “Very good. Twenty-one roubles…done,” he said, pointing to the figure 21, over and above the round sum of forty-three thousand, and taking a pack, he made ready to deal, Rostov submissively turned down the corner, and instead of the 8000 he had meant to write, noted down 21.
“It's all the same to me,” he said; “only it's interesting to me to know whether you will win on that ten or let me have it.”
Dolohov began seriously dealing. Oh, how Rostov hated at that moment those reddish hands, with their short fingers and the hairs visible under the shirt sleeves, those hands that held him in their clutches.…The ten was not beaten. “Forty-three thousand to your score, count,” said Dolohov, and he got up from the table stretching. “One does get tired sitting so long,” he said.
“Yes, I'm tired too,” said Rostov.
Dolohov cut him short, as though to warn him it was not for him to take a light tone.
“When am I to receive the money, count?”
Rostov flushing hotly drew Dolohov away into the other room.
“I can't pay it all at once, you must take an I.O.U.,” said he
“Listen, Rostov,” said Dolohov, smiling brightly, and looking straight into Nikolay's eyes, “you know the saying: ‘Lucky in love, unlucky at cards.' Your cousin is in love with you. I know it.”
“Oh! this is awful to feel oneself in this man's power like this,” thought Rostov. He knew the shock the news of this loss would be to his father and mother; he knew what happiness it would be to be free of it all, and felt that Dolohov knew that he could set him free from this shame and grief, and wanted now to play cat and mouse with him.
“Your cousin…” Dolohov would have said, but Nikolay cut him short.
“My cousin has nothing to do with the matter, and there is no need to mention her!” he cried, with fury.
“Then, when am I to receive it?” asked Dolohov.
“To-morrow,” said Rostov, and went out of the room.
过了一个半钟头，多数赌徒都在开玩笑地瞧着自己的牌儿。 
赌局的焦点凝聚在罗斯托夫一个人身上。他欠的帐上写下了一长列数字，而不是一千六百卢布，他数数，计有上万卢布了，可是到目前他模糊地意识到，这个数目字已经高达一万五千卢布。而实际上他所欠的赌帐已经超过两万了。多洛霍夫不去听、也不去讲故事了，他注意罗斯托夫两只手的每个动作，有时候迅速地回头望望他欠的赌帐。他坚决地继续赌下去，直到这笔欠帐增加到四万三千卢布。他选定这个数目，是因为“四十三”正是他的年龄和索尼娅的年龄的总和。罗斯托夫把两只手托着头，坐在那写满数字、溅满葡萄酒、堆满纸牌的桌前。一种令人痛苦的印象保留在他的脑际：这两只骨骼大的、有点发红的、从衬衣袖筒下面露出来的长满汗毛的手，这两只他既爱且恨的手支配着他。“六百卢布、爱司、角、九点……赢回钱来是不可能的！……呆在家里多么愉快啊……杰克上要加倍下赌注……这是不可能的啊！……他干嘛硬要这样对待我呢？……”罗斯托夫一面想着，一面回忆着。他有时候押下一笔大赌注，可是多洛霍夫拒绝吃他的牌，并且给他定赌注。尼古拉屈从于他，他时而祷告上帝，如同他在战场上，在阿姆施特滕桥上祷告一般；他时而猜想，桌子底下的一堆折坏的纸牌中随便一张落到他手上，就可以救他一把，他时而算算，他穿的制服上有几根绦带，试图把全部输掉的钱都押在和绦带总数相同的纸牌上，他时而环顾其他的赌徒，向他们求救，时而睇睇多洛霍夫那副现在变得冷漠的面孔，极力地想弄明白，他在搞什么名堂。
“他不是不晓得，赌博输钱对我意味着什么。他不会希望我趋于毁灭吧？要知道，他是我的朋友。要知道我疼爱过他……但是他没有过错，在他走运的时候，有什么办法呢？我也是没有过失的，”他自言自语地说，“我没有做出什么害人的事。我难道杀了什么人？难道侮辱了什么人？想要危害什么人？为什么竟会面临这种可怕的灾难？这是在什么时候开始的？就是在不久以前，当我走到这张牌桌面前的时候，我想赢它一百卢布，够买一个首饰匣送给我妈妈过命名日，然后就回家去。我那时多么幸福，多么自由，多么快活啊！那时候我也不明白我怎么竟会那样幸福啊！这是在什么时候结束的？而这种前所未有的可怕的处境是在什么时候开始出现的？这种变化是以什么作为标志的？我还是这样坐在这个地方，坐在这张牌桌旁边，还是这样选牌和出牌，而且还望着这双骨骼大的灵巧的手。这究竟是在什么时候发生的？发生了一件什么事？我身强体壮，还是那个样子，还呆在这个地方。不，这是不可能的！结局想必不会有什么事的。”
虽然这个房间里不太炎热，但是他满面通红，浑身出汗，他的面孔显得可怕而且可怜；尤其是力不从心，想装出沉着的样子，那就更加可怕，而且可怜了。
欠帐已高达四万三千这个命中注定不祥的数目。罗斯托夫刚刚输掉三千卢布，他挑选一张牌，折上纸牌的一角，再下四分之一的赌注，这时多洛霍夫把纸牌往桌上一磕，挪到一边，拿起一根粉笔把它摁断，用那容易辨认的雄健的笔迹开始给罗斯托夫结帐。
“该吃晚饭了，该吃晚饭了！你看，茨冈人来了！”几个面目黧黑的男女真从寒冷的户外走进来，带着茨冈人的口音说话。尼古拉明白，一切都完了，可是他冷漠地说：
“怎么，你不再赌了？我选好了一张好牌。”好像赌博这一娱乐使他最感兴趣似的。
“一切都完了，我完蛋了！”他想道，“现在只有一条路，对准额头开一枪自杀吧。”同时他又愉快地说。
“喂，再来一张牌吧。”
“很好，”多洛霍夫结完帐，说道，“很好！押二十一卢布的赌注，”他指着四万三千一笔整数的零头“二十一”这个数字说，他拿起一副纸牌，准备发牌。罗斯托夫顺从地折上纸牌的一角，用心地写上二十一，以取代原来准备押的六千。
“我横竖一样，”他说道，“我很想知道的只是，你要把这个十点‘吃'掉，还是让给我。”
多洛霍夫开始认真地发牌。哦，罗斯托夫这时分多么痛恨那双支配他的手，那双稍微发红的、从衬衣袖筒下面露出来的、指头短短的、长满汗毛的手……十点赢了。
“您欠四万三千，伯爵，”多洛霍夫从桌后站起来，伸伸懒腰时说道，“不过，坐得太久了，会疲倦的。”他说道。
“是的，我也疲倦了。”罗斯托夫说。
多洛霍夫打断他的话，好像在提醒他，开玩笑对他是不体面的。
“什么时候叫我来拿钱，伯爵？”
罗斯托夫面红耳赤，把多洛霍夫喊到另一间房里。
“我不能马上全数偿付，你可以拿张期票。”他说道。
“罗斯托夫，请你听听，”多洛霍夫说，明显地露出微笑，不住地盯着尼古拉的眼睛，“你知道有句俗话：‘在恋爱中走运，在赌博中就倒霉。'你的表妹爱上你了。我知道。”
“噢！我觉得自己受到这个人的支配，这多么可怕。”罗斯托夫想。罗斯托夫明白，公开说出这次输钱的事，会使他父母遭受到多么大的打击，他明白，摆脱这一切是多么幸运，他也明白，多洛霍夫知道，他能够使他摆脱这种耻辱和痛苦，而他现在像猫儿玩弄耗子那样，竟想玩弄他。
“你的表妹……”多洛霍夫想说一句话，可是尼古拉打断他的话。
“我的表妹与此事毫不相干，用不着谈论她！”他疯狂地喊道。
“那末什么时候可以拿到钱？”多洛霍夫问道。
“明天。”罗斯托夫说完这句话，便从房里走出去了。
Book 4 Chapter 15
TO SAY “TO-MORROW,” and maintain the right tone was not difficult, but to arrive home alone, to see his sisters and brother, his mother and father, to confess and beg for money to which he had no right after giving his word of honour, was terrible.
At home they had not yet gone to bed. The younger members of the family after coming home from the theatre had had supper, and were now in a group about the clavichord. As soon as Nikolay entered the hall, he felt himself enfolded in the poetic atmosphere of love which dominated their household that winter; and now, since Dolohov's proposal and Iogel's ball, seemed to have grown thicker about Sonya and Natasha, like the air before a storm. Sonya and Natasha, wearing the light blue dresses they had put on for the theatre, stood at the clavichord, pretty and conscious of being so, happy and smiling. Vera was playing draughts with Shinshin in the drawing-room. The old countess, waiting for her son and her husband to come in, was playing patience with an old gentlewoman, who was one of their household. Denisov, with shining eyes and ruffled hair, was sitting with one leg behind him at the clavichord. He was striking chords with his short fingers, and rolling his eyes, as he sang in his small, husky, but true voice a poem of his own composition, “The Enchantress,” to which he was trying to fit music.
“Enchantress, say what hidden fireDraws me to my forsaken lyre?What rapture thrills my fingers slow,What passion sets my heart aglow?”he sang in his passionate voice, his black, agate eyes gleaming at the frightened and delighted Natasha.
“Splendid, capital!” Natasha cried. “Another couplet,” she said, not noticing Nikolay.
“Everything's just the same with them,” thought Nikolay, peeping into the drawing-room, where he saw Vera and his mother and the old lady playing patience with her.
“Ah, and here's Nikolenka.” Natasha ran up to him. “Is papa at home?” he asked.
“How glad I am that you have come,” said Natasha, not answering his question, “we are having such fun. Vassily Dmitritch is staying a day longer for me, do you know?”
“No, papa has not come in yet,” answered Sonya.
“Kolya, you there? Come to me, darling,” said the voice of the countess from the drawing-room. Nikolay went up to his mother, kissed her hand, and sitting down by her table, began silently watching her hands as they dealt the cards. From the hall he kept hearing the sound of laughter and merry voices, persuading Natasha to do something.
“Oh, very well, very well!” Denisov cried; “now it's no use crying off, it's your turn to sing the barcarolle, I entreat you.”
The countess looked round at her silent son.
“What's the matter?” his mother asked Nikolay.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, as though sick of being continually asked the same question: “Will papa soon be in?”
“I expect so.”
“Everything's the same with them. They know nothing about it. What am I to do with myself?” thought Nikolay, and he went back to the hall, where the clavichord was.
Sonya was sitting at the clavichord, playing the prelude of the barcarolle that Denisov particularly liked. Natasha was preparing to sing. Denisov was watching her with impassioned eyes.
Nikolay began walking to and fro in the room.
“What can induce her to want to sing? What can she sing? And there's nothing to be so happy about in it,” thought Nikolay.
Sonya struck the first chord of the prelude. “My God, I'm ruined, I'm a dishonoured man. Bullet through my head, that's the only thing left for me, and not singing,” he thought. “Go away? But where? It makes no difference, let them sing.”
Still walking about the room, Nikolay glanced gloomily at Denisov and the girls, avoiding their eyes.
“Nikolenka, what's the matter?” Sonya's eyes asked, looking intently at him. She saw at once that something had happened to him.
Nikolay turned away from her. Natasha, too, with her quick instinct instantly detected her brother's state of mind. She noticed him, but she was herself in such high spirits at that moment, she was so far from sorrow, from sadness, from reproaches, that purposely she deceived herself (as young people so often do). “No, I'm too happy just now to spoil my enjoyment by sympathy with any one's sorrow,” she felt, and she said to herself: “No, I'm most likely mistaken, he must be happy, just as I am.”
“Come, Sonya,” she said. walking into the very middle of the room, where to her mind the resonance was best of all. Holding her head up, letting her arms hang lifelessly as dancers do, Natasha, with a vigorous turn from her heel on to her toe, walked over to the middle of the room and stood still.
“Behold me, here I am!” she seemed to say, in response to the enthusiastic gaze with which Denisov followed her. “And what can she find to be so pleased at!” Nikolay wondered, looking at his sister. “How is it she isn't feeling dull and ashamed!” Natasha took the first note, her throat swelled, her bosom heaved, a serious expression came into her face. She was thinking of no one and of nothing at that moment, and from her smiling mouth poured forth notes, those notes that any one can produce at the same intervals, and hold for the same length of time, yet a thousand times they leave us cold, and the thousand and first time they set us thrilling and weeping.
Natasha had for the first time begun that winter to take singing seriously, especially since Denisov had been so enthusiastic over her singing. She did not now sing like a child; there was not now in her singing that comical childish effort which used to be perceptible in it. But she did not yet sing well, said the musical connoisseurs who heard her. “Not trained: a fine voice, it must be trained,” every one said. But this was usually said a good while after her voice was hushed. While that untrained voice, with its irregular breathing and its strained transitions sounded, even connoisseurs said nothing, and simply enjoyed that untrained voice, and simply longed to hear it again. Her voice had a virginal purity, an ignorance of its capacities, and an unlaboured velvety softness, so closely connected with its lack of art in singing, that it seemed as though nothing could be changed in that voice without spoiling it.
“How is it?” thought Nikolay, hearing her voice and opening his eyes wide; “what has happened to her? How she is singing to-day!” he thought. And all at once the whole world was for him concentrated into anticipations of the next note, the next bar, and everything in the world seemed divided up into three motives: “Oh, mio crudele affetto … One, two, three…one…Oh, mio crudele affetto … One, two, three … one. Ugh, this senseless life of ours!” thought Nikolay. “All that, this calamity, and money, and Dolohov, and anger, and honour—it's all nonsense … and this is what's the real thing…Now, Natasha! now, darling! now, my girl! … how will she take that si? taken it! thank God!” and without being conscious that he was singing, he himself sung a second to support her high note. “My God! how fine! Can I have taken that note? how glorious!” he thought.
Oh, how that note had thrilled, and how something better that was in Rostov's soul began thrilling too. And that something was apart from everything in the world, and above everything in the world. What were losses, and Dolohovs, and honour beside it! … All nonsense! One might murder, and steal, and yet be happy.…
说一声“明天”并且保持得体的腔调，并不是一件困难的事，他独自一人走回家去，看见妹妹、弟弟、母亲和父亲，承认错误，并向家里的人要钱，这倒是一件可怕的事，因为他在许下诺言之后没有权利再要钱了。 
家里的人都还没有睡觉。罗斯托夫家里的青年已经从剧院里回来，吃罢晚饭，便坐在击弦古钢琴旁边。尼古拉刚刚走进大厅，一种抚爱的、诗意的气氛笼罩住了，这年冬天他们家中经常洋溢着这种气氛，在多洛霍夫求婚和约格尔举办舞会之后，而今迷漫于索尼娅和娜塔莎的上方的气氛，看来就像雷雨前的空气一样变得更浓了。索尼娅和娜塔莎穿着那件他们上戏院时穿的天蓝色的连衣裙，显得非常迷人，而且她们也知道自己的俊俏，于是带着惹人喜爱的微笑伫立于击弦古钢琴旁边，薇拉和申申在客厅中下象棋。老伯爵夫人等候着儿子和丈夫，正和住在他们家里的贵族老太太一块摆纸牌猜卦。杰尼索夫的两眼闪闪发亮，头发蓬乱，他把一只脚向后伸出来，在击弦古钢琴旁边坐着，他那短短的指头拍击着琴弦，弹出和弦，眼珠儿骨碌地乱转，并用他那尖细、嘶哑、然而准确的声音吟唱着他所创作的诗歌《神奇的仙女》，正试图为其歌词配曲。
神奇的仙女，
请你告诉我：
是什么力量
吸引我拨弄
遗弃的琴弦？
你在我心中
播下了火种，
是什么灵感
洋溢于指头？
他很热情地唱歌，他那双玛瑙般乌黑的眼睛闪闪发光地望着惊惶失措的、深感幸福的娜塔莎。
“美极了！妙极了！”娜塔莎喊道，“再唱一段吧。”她说着，没有发觉尼古拉走进来了。
“他们那里还是那个样子。”尼古拉想了想，他朝客厅里张望，望见了薇拉、母亲和老妇人。
“啊，你瞧，尼古连卡来了！”娜塔莎跑到他跟前。
“爸爸在家吗？”他问道。
“你回来了，我多么高兴！”娜塔莎说道，没有回答他的话。“我们都很快活哩。瓦西里·德米特里奇为我多待了一天，你知道吗？”
“爸爸不在家，还没有回来过啦。”索尼娅说道。
“真想不到，聪明人，你回来了，你到我这里来，我的亲人。”从客厅里传来伯爵夫人的语声。尼古拉走到母亲面前，吻吻她的手，一声不响地坐在她的桌子旁边，看看她那双摆纸牌卜卦的手。从大厅里传来一片笑声和劝说娜塔莎的愉快的谈话声。
“得啦吧，好，好，”杰尼索夫喊道，“现在用不着托词推卸，该您唱Barcarolla①了，我央求您。” 
①意大利威尼斯的船歌。
伯爵夫人掉过头来望望默不作声的儿子。
“你怎么啦？”母亲问尼古拉。
“哦，没有什么，”他说道，好像他厌烦这个提来提去的问题，“爸爸快回来了吧？”
“我想，快回来了。”
“他们还是那个样子。他们什么也不知道啊！我要到哪里去才好？”尼古拉想了想，又到那摆放击弦古钢琴的大厅里去了。
索尼娅坐在击弦古钢琴旁边，弹奏着杰尼索夫特别爱听的船夫曲的序曲。娜塔莎想要唱歌了。杰尼索夫用得意洋洋的目光望着她。
尼古拉开始在房里走来走去。
“何苦强迫她唱歌！她会唱什么歌？这是没有什么令人高兴的事儿。”尼古拉想道。
索尼娅弹奏了序曲的第一个和弦。
“我的天，我毁灭了，我是个无耻的人。只有一条路，对准自己的额角，开枪自杀，不要唱歌吧，”他想了想，“走开吗？可是到哪里去呢？横竖无所谓，让他们唱吧！”
尼古拉阴郁起来，继续在房里踱来踱去，不时地看看杰尼索夫和几个小姑娘，想避开他们的目光。
“尼古连卡，您怎么啦？”索尼娅目不转睛地注视他，她的目光仿佛在问他似的。她立刻看出，他出了什么事。
尼古拉把脸转过去，不看她。娜塔莎也非常敏感，她一下子觉察出哥哥神态。她尽管看出了，但是在这个时刻，她非常快活，根本没有想到什么悲哀、忧伤和内疚，她（这是年轻人常有的情形）存心哄骗自己，“不，我现在太快活了，不能因为同情别人的痛苦而伤害自己的快乐心情。”她有这种感觉，并且对自己说：“不，我也许是弄错了，他应当像我这样快活。”
“喂，索尼娅。”她说了一声，便走到大厅中央，在她看来，那里的回音最响。像舞蹈家一样，娜塔莎稍微抬起头，放下她那双呆板地悬着的手，她用力地把重心从后跟换到脚尖上，在房间中央走了一圈，就停下来。
“你瞧，我就是这个样子！”她在回答那跟随着她的杰尼索夫的得意洋洋的目光时，仿佛是这样说的。
“她因为什么而高兴啊！”尼古拉瞧着他的妹妹时，思忖了一会，“她怎么不感到寂寞，不感到羞耻！”娜塔莎唱出了第一个音，拉开了嗓门，挺起了胸脯，眼睛里露出严肃的表情。这个时分她既不想到任何人，也不想到任何事，一个一个的音从嘴中滔滔不绝地吐出来，嘴角上流露微笑，任何人在同样的时间距离和同样的音程中都能发出这些音来，声音千次地使您无动于衷，但到一千零一次时它却使您颤栗，使您涕泪横流。
这年冬天，娜塔莎破天荒地非常认真地唱起歌来，她所以这样做，特别是因为她的歌声能使杰尼索夫心旷神怡。现在她不像儿童那样唱歌了，在她的歌唱中已经没有从前那种滑稽可笑的、儿童般卖力的感觉，但是，那些听过她唱歌的内行的裁判员都说，她还唱得不太好。“虽然还没有训练，但是嗓子倒很好，应当训练一番。”人人都这么说。但是平常大家却是在她的歌声停止后过了很久才说出这番话的。在这个送气不正确、换气费力、没有训练好的歌喉正在唱歌的时候，就连这些内行的裁判员也不开腔说话，而只是欣赏这个没有训练好的歌喉，只是希望再听她唱一遍。在她的歌喉中含有少女的纯真、对歌声迷力的无自知之明以及尚未训练的歌喉的柔和悦耳，这一切与歌咏技巧的缺乏联系起来看，使人感到，如果你不去毁坏这个歌喉，那末，这一切丝毫也不能改变她的歌喉。
“这究竟是怎么回事？”尼古拉听见她的嗓音，瞪大眼睛，想了想。“她发生了什么事？她今天唱得怎么样？”他想了想。在他看来，全世界的人们忽然都在聚精会神地等待下一个音符、下一个歌句，世界上的一切被分成三拍：“Oh，mio　crudele　affetto…①一、二、三、……一、二……三……一……Oh　mio　crudele　affetto…一、二、三……一。唉，我们的生活多么荒谬啊！”尼古拉想道。“所有这一切，不幸也好，金钱也好，多洛霍夫也好，愤恨也好，荣誉也好，这一切全是废话……只有这才是真正的东西。嗬，娜塔莎，嗬，亲爱的！啊，吗呀！……她怎样唱好这个si？唱好了！谢天谢地！”他自己也没有发觉他在唱歌，为着要加强这个si，他用了高三度的第二音。“我的天！多么好！我难道唱出来了？多么幸运！”
他想了想。 
①意大利语：啊，我的残酷的爱情……
啊，这个三度音颤动得多么厉害，罗斯托夫心灵中至为美好的东西被触动了。它不以世界上的一切为转移，它高于世界上的一切！赌场上的输钱、多洛霍夫之流、谎言，可是不成！……全是废话！即使杀人、偷窃，在听到歌声时，仍旧觉得幸福……
Book 4 Chapter 16
IT was long since Rostov had derived such enjoyment from music as on that day. But as soon as Natasha had finished her barcarolle, the reality forced itself upon his mind again. Saying nothing, he went out, and went down stairs to his own room. A quarter of an hour later, the old prince came in, good-humoured and satisfied from his club. Nikolay heard him come in, and went in to him.
“Well, had a good time?” said Ilya Andreivitch, smiling proudly and joyfully to his son. Nikolay tried to say “Yes,” but could not; he was on the point of sobbing. The count was lighting his pipe, and did not notice his son's condition.
“Ugh, it's inevitable!” thought Nikolay, for the first and last time. And all at once, as though he were asking for the carriage to drive into town, he said to his father in the most casual tone, that made him feel vile to himself:
“Papa, I have come to you on a matter of business I was almost forgetting. I want some money.”
“You don't say so?” said his father, who happened to be in particularly good spirits. “I told you that we shouldn't be having any. Do you want a large sum?”
“Very large,” said Nikolay, flushing and smiling a stupid, careless smile, for which long after he could not forgive himself. “I have lost a little at cards, that is, a good deal, really, a great deal, forty-three thousand.”
“What! To whom? … You're joking!” cried the count, flushing, as old people flush, an apoplectic red over his neck and the back of his head.
“I have promised to pay it to-morrow,” said Nikolay.
“Oh!” … said the count, flinging up his arms; and he dropped helplessly on the sofa.
“It can't be helped! It happens to every one,” said his son in a free and easy tone, while in his heart he was feeling himself a low scoundrel, whose whole life could not atone for his crime. He would have liked to kiss his father's hands, to beg his forgiveness on his knees, while carelessly, rudely even, he was telling him that it happened to every one.
Count Ilya Andreivitch dropped his eyes when he heard those words from his son, and began moving hurriedly, as though looking for something.
“Yes, yes,” he brought out, “it will be difficult, I fear, difficult to raise …happens to every one! yes, it happens to every one …” And the count cast a fleeting glance at his son's face and walked out of the room.… Nikolay had been prepared to face resistance, but he had not expected this.
“Papa! pa … pa!” he cried after him, sobbing; “forgive me!” And clutching at his father's hand, he pressed it to his lips and burst into tears.
While the father and son were having this interview, another, hardly less important, was taking place between the mother and daughter. Natasha, in great excitement, had run in to her mother.
“Mamma! … Mamma!… he has made me …”
“Made you what?”
“He's made, made an offer. Mamma! Mamma!” she kept crying.
The countess could not believe her ears. Denisov had made an offer … to whom? … To this chit of a girl Natasha, who had only just given up playing with dolls, and was still having lessons.
“Natasha, enough of this silliness!” she said, hoping it was a joke.
“Silliness indeed! I am telling you the fact,” said Natasha angrily. “I have come to ask you what to do, and you talk to me of ‘silliness' …”
The countess shrugged her shoulders.
“If it is true that Monsieur Denisov has made you an offer, then tell him he is a fool, that's all.”
“No, he's not a fool,” said Natasha, resentfully and seriously.
“Well, what would you have, then? You are all in love, it seems, nowadays. Oh, well, if you're in love with him, better marry him,” said the countess, laughing angrily, “and God bless you.”
“No, mamma, I'm not in love with him. I suppose I'm not in love with him.”
“Well, then, tell him so.”
“Mamma, are you cross? Don't be cross, darling; it's not my fault, is it?”
“No, but upon my word, my dear, if you like, I will go and tell him so,” said the countess, smiling.
“No, I'll do it myself; only tell me how to say it. Everything comes easy to you,” she added, responding to her smile. “And if you could have seen how he said it to me! I know he did not mean to say it, but said it by accident.”
“Well, any way you must refuse him.”
“No, I mustn't. I feel so sorry for him! He's so nice.”
“Oh, well, accept his proposal, then. High time you were married, I suppose,” said her mother angrily and ironically.
“No, mamma, but I'm so sorry for him. I don't know how to say it.”
“Well, there's no need for you to say anything. I'll speak to him myself,” said the countess, indignant that any one should have dared to treat this little Natasha as grown up.
“No, not on any account; I'll go myself, and you listen at the door,”— and Natasha ran across the drawing-room to the hall, where Denisov, his face in his hands, was still sitting in the same chair at the clavichord. He jumped up at the sound of her light footsteps.
“Natalie,” he said, moving with rapid steps towards her, “decide my fate. It is in your hands!”
“Vassily Dmitritch, I'm so sorry for you! … No, but you are so nice … but it won't do … that … but I shall always love you as I do now.”
Denisov bent over her, and she heard strange sounds that she did not understand. She kissed his tangled curly black head. At that moment they heard the hurried rustle of the countess's skirts. She came up to them.
“Vassily Dmitritch, I thank you for the honour you do us,” said the countess, in an embarrassed voice, which sounded severe to Denisov, “but my daughter is so young, and I should have thought that as my son's friend you would have come first to me. In that case you would not have forced me to make this refusal.”
“Countess! …” said Denisov, with downcast eyes and a guilty face; he tried to say more, and stammered.
Natasha could not see him in such a piteous plight without emotion. She began to whimper loudly.
“Countess, I have acted wrongly,” Denisov went on in a breaking voice, “but believe me, I so adore your daughter and all your family that I'd give my life twice over …” He looked at the countess and noticed her stern face.… “Well, good-bye, countess,” he said, kissing her hand, and without glancing at Natasha he walked with rapid and resolute steps out of the room.
Next day Rostov saw Denisov off, as he was unwilling to remain another day in Moscow. All his Moscow friends gave him a farewell entertainment at the Gypsies', and he had no recollection of how they got him into his sledge, or of the first three stations he passed.
After Denisov's departure Rostov spent another fortnight in Moscow, waiting for the money to pay his debt, which the count was unable to raise all at once. He hardly left the house, and spent most of his time in the young girls' room.
Sonya was more affectionate and devoted to him then ever. She seemed to want to show him that his loss at cards was an exploit for which she loved him more than ever. But now Nikolay regarded himself as unworthy of her.
He copied music for the girls, and wrote verses in their albums, and after at last sending off all the forty-three thousand roubles, and receiving Dolohov's receipt for it, he left Moscow towards the end of November without taking leave of any of his acquaintances, and overtook his regiment, which was already in Poland.
罗斯托夫许久都没有像今日这样享受音乐的这种乐趣。但当娜塔莎一唱完船夫曲，他又想起了现实生活。他一言不发，便走出门，下楼回到自己房里去了。一刻钟之后，老伯爵怀着快乐和满意的心情从俱乐部回来了。尼古拉听到他回来，便去看他。 
“怎么样，快活了一阵吧？”伊利亚·安德烈伊奇说，他对儿子很高兴地、骄傲地微笑。尼古拉想说一声“是的”，但是说不出口，几乎要痛哭起来。伯爵抽抽烟斗闲呆着，没有看出儿子的神态。
“唉，不可避免的事啊！”尼古拉头一回，也是最后一回这样想。突然他用那漫不经心的口气对父亲说话，那口气使他自己显得卑鄙，仿佛是他向父亲要一辆轻便马车进城走一趟似的。
“爸爸，我有事情来找您。我险些儿忘记了。我要用钱。”
“原来是这么一回事，”父亲怀着特别愉快的心情说，“我对你说过，钱不够用的。要很多钱吗？”
“要很多钱，”尼古拉面红耳赤，流露出愚蠢的、漫不经心的微笑，说道，他对自己的这种微笑，后来长久地都不能宽恕，“我赌博输了一点钱，即是说，甚至可以说，输了很多，很多，四万三千卢布。”
“什么？输给谁？……你开玩笑！”伯爵大声喊道，忽然像老年人那样，中风似地涨红了脖子和后脑勺。
“我答应明天付款。”尼古拉说。
“真的吗？……”老伯爵说，摊开两手，软弱无力地坐到沙发上。
“究竟要怎么办啊！谁不会发生这种事。”儿子用放肆的、大胆的口气说，而他心里却认为自己是个一辈子也不能赎罪的坏蛋、下流人。他很想吻吻父亲的手，跪下来请求他原谅，但他却用漫不经心的、甚至粗鲁的口气说，谁都会发生这种事。
“是的，是的，”他说道，“很难，我怕很难搞到这笔钱……谁都是遇到这种事！是的，谁都会遇到这种事……”伯爵于是向儿子脸上匆匆一瞥，他从房里走出去了……尼古拉准备受责备，但他心中决不会料到有这种事。
“爸爸！爸……爸！”他在父亲背后痛哭流涕，大声喊道，“饶了我吧！”他一把抓住父亲的手，用他的嘴唇紧紧地亲吻，大哭起来。
当父亲和儿子正在详谈的时候，母亲和女儿也在说明一件同样重要的事情。娜塔莎很紧张地跑到母亲面前。
“妈妈！……妈妈！……他向我求……”
“求什么？”
“求，求婚，妈妈！妈妈！”她大声喊道。
伯爵夫人不相信自己的耳朵。杰尼索夫求婚了。向谁求婚？向这个小姑娘娜塔莎求婚，她在不久前还玩洋娃娃，而现在尚在学习课程呢。
“娜塔莎，够了，甭说蠢话了！”她说道，仍然希望，这只是开玩笑罢了。
“你看，哪里是说蠢话！我跟您说正经话，”娜塔莎气氛地说，“我来问问，该怎么办，可是您对我说：‘一派胡言'
……”
伯爵夫人耸耸肩膀。
“如果杰尼索夫先生向你求婚是真有其事，那么你就对他说，他是个傻瓜，也就算了。”
“不，他不是傻瓜。”娜塔莎抱怨地、严肃地说。
“好，那你想要怎么样？你们今天真的在恋爱。好，你爱上他了，那么你就嫁给他吧，”伯爵夫人生气地发笑，开口说，“上帝保佑吧！”
“不，妈妈，我没有爱上他，也许并没有爱上。”
“好，那你就这样告诉他。”
“妈妈，您在生气吗？您不要生气，亲爱的，我到底有什么过失呢？”
“不，我的亲人，没有什么，是不是？若是你愿意，我就去说给他听。”伯爵夫人面露微笑地说。
“不，我自己去说，只请您教教我吧。您心里总是觉得轻松，”娜塔莎回答她的笑容时补充地说，“如果您知道他对我怎样说就好了！我原来就晓得，他不愿意提起这件事，不过他是无意中提出来的。”
“嗯，还是应当拒绝他。”
“不，不应当。我太怜悯他啊！他多么可爱。”
“嗯，那你就接受求婚吧，而且也该嫁人了。”母亲气忿地、嘲笑地说。
“不，妈妈，我太怜悯他了。我不晓得要怎样对他说。”
“你用不着说，我亲自去说。”伯爵夫人说，她感到愤慨地是，有人竟敢把这个小小的娜塔莎当大人看待。
“不，您决不要去，我自己去，您就在门边听吧。”娜塔莎穿过客厅向大厅跑去，杰尼索夫用手捂住脸，还坐在击弦古钢琴旁边的那张椅子上。他听见她那轻盈的步履声便一跃而起。
“娜塔莎，”他脚步飞快地朝她跟前走去时说道，“您决定我的命运吧。您已经掌握它了！”
“瓦西里·德米特里奇，我太怜悯您啊！……不，不过，您是个好人……可是不应当……这样……我将会永远疼爱您的。”
杰尼索夫朝她手边弯下腰来，她于是听到那古怪的、她听不懂的声音。她吻了吻他那黑发卷曲而蓬乱的头。这时可以听见伯爵夫人仓促地摆动连衣裙时发出的沙沙响声。她走到他们跟前。
“瓦西里·德米特里奇，我感谢您的垂爱，”伯爵夫人用困窘不安的，但杰尼索夫听来觉得严肃的声音说道，“可是我女儿太年轻了，我以为，您是我儿子的朋友，您得首先跟我讲讲。那您在这种场合下就不会使我非拒绝您不可了。”
“伯爵夫人……”杰尼索夫开了腔，低垂着眼睛，流露出愧悔的神情，心里还想吐出什么话，但是讷讷不出于口。
娜塔莎不能心平气和地望见他那副惨样子。她开始大声地哽咽起来。
“伯爵夫人，我得罪您了，”杰尼索夫用若断若续的嗓音继续说下去，“不过您知道，我非常喜爱您的女儿和你们全家人，为了……我宁可献出两次生命。”他瞧瞧伯爵夫人，看出她那副严肃的面孔……“伯爵夫人，好，再见吧。”他说，吻吻她的手，没有瞧娜塔莎一眼，便迈开飞快的、坚定的脚步从房里走出去了。
次日，罗斯托夫送走了杰尼索夫，因为他不愿在莫斯科多呆一天了。杰尼索夫的莫斯科的朋友们都在茨冈人那里为他饯行，他简直记不得，人们怎样把他送上雪橇，怎样驶过了头三站驿道。
杰尼索夫离开后，罗斯托夫等着要钱，可是老伯爵不能一下子收到这笔钱，于是罗斯托夫在莫斯科又待了两个礼拜，足不出户，多半是呆在小姐们房里。
索尼娅对他比以前更温柔、更忠诚了。显然她是想向他表明，他赌博输钱，这件事是至为伟大的英勇行为，为此她如今更爱他了。但是尼古拉却认为他自己配不上她了。
他在小姑娘们的纪念册上写满了诗和乐谱，在终于寄出四万三千卢布。并且接到多洛霍夫的收条后，未与任何熟人辞行，便在十一月底启程去赶上业已抵达波兰的兵团。
Book 5 Chapter 1
AFTER HIS INTERVIEW with his wife, Pierre had set off for Petersburg. At the station of Torzhok there were no horses, or the overseer was unwilling to let him have them. Pierre had to wait. Without removing his outdoor things, he lay down on a leather sofa, in front of a round table, put up his big feet in their thick overboots on this table and sank into thought.
“Shall I bring in the trunks? Make up a bed? Will you take tea?” the valet kept asking.
Pierre made no reply, for he heard nothing and said nothing. He had been deep in thought since he left the last station, and still went on thinking of the same thing—of something so important that he did not notice what was passing around him. Far from being concerned whether he reached Petersburg sooner or later, or whether there would or would not be a place for him to rest in at this station, in comparison with the thoughts that engrossed him now, it was a matter of utter indifference to him whether he spent a few hours or the rest of his life at that station.
The overseer and his wife, his valet, and a peasant woman with Torzhok embroidery for sale, came into the room, offering their services. Without changing the position of his raised feet, Pierre gazed at them over his spectacles, and did not understand what they could want and how they all managed to live, without having solved the questions that absorbed him. These same questions had possessed his mind ever since that day when he had come back after the duel from Sokolniky and had spent that first agonising, sleepless night. But now in the solitude of his journey they seized upon him with special force. Of whatever he began thinking he came back to the same questions, which he could not answer, and from which he could not escape. It was as though the chief screw in his brain upon which his whole life rested were loose. The screw moved no forwarder, no backwarder, but still it turned, catching on nothing, always in the same groove, and there was no making it cease turning.
The overseer came in and began humbly begging his excellency to wait only a couple of hours, after which he would (come what might of it) let his excellency have the special mail service horses. The overseer was unmistakably lying, with the sole aim of getting an extra tip from the traveller. “Was that good or bad?” Pierre wondered. “For me good, for the next traveller bad, and for himself inevitable because he has nothing to eat; he said that an officer had thrashed him for it. And the officer thrashed him because he had to travel in haste. And I shot Dolohov because I considered myself injured. Louis XVI. was executed because they considered him to be a criminal, and a year later his judges were killed too for something. What is wrong? What is right? What must one love, what must one hate? What is life for, and what am I? What is life? What is death? What force controls it all?” he asked himself. And there was no answer to one of these questions, except one illogical reply that was in no way an answer to any of them. That reply was: “One dies and it's all over. One dies and finds it all out or ceases asking.” But dying too was terrible.
The Torzhok pedlar woman in a whining voice proffered her wares, especially some goatskin slippers. “I have hundreds of roubles I don't know what to do with, and she's standing in her torn cloak looking timidly at me,” thought Pierre. “And what does she want the money for? As though the money could give her one hairsbreadth of happiness, of peace of soul. Is there anything in the world that can make her and me less enslaved to evil and to death? Death, which ends all, and must come to-day or to-morrow—which beside eternity is the same as an instant's time.” And again he turned the screw that did not bite in anything, and the screw still went on turning in the same place.
His servant handed him a half-cut volume of a novel in the form of letters by Madame Suza. He began reading of the sufferings and the virtuous struggles of a certain “Amélie de Mansfeld.” “And what did she struggle against her seducer for?” he thought, “when she loved him. God could not have put in her heart an impulse that was against His will. My wife—as she was once—didn't struggle, and perhaps she was right. Nothing has been discovered,” Pierre said to himself again, “nothing has been invented. We can only know that we know nothing. And that's the highest degree of human wisdom.”
Everything within himself and around him struck him as confused, meaningless, and loathsome. But in this very loathing of everything surrounding him Pierre found a sort of tantalising satisfaction.
“I make bold to beg your excellency to make room the least bit for this gentleman here,” said the overseer, coming into the room and ushering in after him another traveller, brought to a standstill from lack of horses. The traveller was a thickset, square-shouldered, yellow, wrinkled old man, with grey eyelashes overhanging gleaming eyes of an indefinite grey colour.
Pierre took his feet off the table, stood up and went to lie down on the bed that had been made ready for him, glancing now and then at the newcomer, who, without looking at Pierre, with an air of surly fatigue was wearily taking off his outer wraps with the aid of his servant. The traveller, now clothed in a shabby nankin-covered sheepskin coat with felt highboots on his thin bony legs, sat down on the sofa, and leaning on its back his close-cropped head, which was very large and broad across the temples, he glanced at Bezuhov. The stern, shrewd, and penetrating expression in that glance impressed Pierre. He felt disposed to speak to the traveller, but by the time he had ready a question about the road with which to address him, the traveller had closed his eyes, and folded his wrinkled old hands, on one finger of which there was a large iron ring with a seal representing the head of Adam. He sat without stirring, either resting or sunk, as it seemed to Pierre, in profound and calm meditation. The newcomer's servant was also a yellow old man, covered with wrinkles. He had neither moustache nor beard, not because he was shaved, but obviously had never had any. The old servant was active in unpacking a travelling-case, in setting the tea-table and in bringing in a boiling samovar. When everything was ready, the traveller opened his eyes, moved to the table, and pouring out a glass of tea for himself, poured out another for the beardless old man and gave it him. Pierre began to feel an uneasiness and a sense of the necessity, of the inevitability of entering into conversation with the traveller.
The servant brought back his empty glass turned upside down with an unfinished piece of nibbled sugar beside it, and asked if anything were wanted.
“Nothing. Give me my book,” said the traveller. The servant gave him a book, which seemed to Pierre to be of a devotional character, and the traveller became absorbed in its perusal. Pierre looked at him. All at once the stranger laid down the book, and putting a mark in it, shut it up. Then closing his eyes and leaning his arms on the back of the sofa, he fell back into his former attitude. Pierre stared at him, and had not time to look away when the old man opened his eyes and bent his resolute and stern glance upon Pierre. Pierre felt confused and tried to turn away from that glance, but the gleaming old eyes drew him irresistibly to them.
皮埃尔和妻子反目并且表明态度之后，就启程前往彼得堡。那时托尔若克驿站上没有驿用马匹，也许是驿站站长不愿意供应。皮埃尔不得不等候。他和衣躺在圆桌前面的皮革沙发上，把那双穿着厚皮靴的大腿伸到这张桌子上，沉思起来了。 
“请问，要把箱子搬进来吗？请问，要铺床、沏茶吗？”仆人问道。
皮埃尔不回答，因为他什么都听不见，什么都看不见。他在前一站就已陷入沉思状态中，还在继续想到一桩如此重要的事情，以致于丝毫没有注意他周围发生的一切。他不仅漠不关心，是早一点还是迟一点抵达彼得堡，或则是这个驿站是否有他得以休息的地方，而且他在比较那些萦回于脑际的想法的时候：在这个驿站他呆几个钟头，还是呆它一辈子，他也同样是满不在乎的。
驿站长、驿站长夫人、仆役、卖托尔若克刺绣品的农妇，都走进来向他提供帮助。皮埃尔没有改变两腿向上跷起的姿势，他透过眼镜睇着他们，心里不明了他们需要什么，他们尚未解决他所关心的那些问题又怎么能够熬得下去。可是在决斗后，他从索科尔尼克森林走回家去，度过了一个折磨他的不眠之夜，从那天起，萦回于脑际的还是那些老问题，而此时，在孤独而又寂寞的旅行中，这些问题就更加强有力地把他控制住了。无论他开始想到什么事情，他总会回到那些他无法解决，也无法停止向自己提出的问题上来。好像他的头脑中有一颗用以支撑他整个生命的主要螺丝给拧坏了。这颗螺丝钉既拧不进去，也旋不出来，它总是在同一个螺纹中空打转儿，而且不能使它停止旋转。
驿站长走进来了，低首小心地请他大人只消等候两小时，然后拨给大人（听凭命运吧）特快驿马。驿站长显然是在撒谎，他只想向过路旅客索取更多的钱罢了。“这是好，还是坏？”皮埃尔向他自己提问。“对我来说，这是好事，对别的过路旅客来说，这是坏事，对他本人来说，这是不可避免的事，因为他一无所有。他说，为了这一点有个军官揍了他一顿。军官揍他，因为他应该赶路。而我向多洛霍夫开了一枪是因为我认为我自己遭受了侮辱。路易十六被处以死刑，因为人们都认为他是罪人，时隔一年，人们就把处死他的人杀了，也是因为某种缘由吧。什么是好事？什么是坏事？应该爱什么？应该恨什么？为什么而生，我是什么人？何谓生？何谓死？是什么势力支配着一切？”他问自己。在这些问题之中，没有一个得到了解答，只有一个根本不是针对这些问题的、不合乎逻辑的解答不在此列。这个解答如下：“你死了，一切都宣告结束。你死了，一切真相都大白，或则说，你停止发问了。”
但是死也是很可怕的。
托尔若克的女商贩用小尖嗓子兜售自己的商品，特别是兜售山羊皮便鞋。“我有几百卢布，无处可花，可是她穿着一件破皮袄站在这里，畏葸地望着我，”皮埃尔想道，“干嘛需要这些钱？这些钱的确可以给她增添一丁点儿幸福和心灵上的安慰吗？难道尘世上有什么东西能够使她和我少受一点灾难和死亡的摆布吗？死亡将一切归于终结，死亡不是今天就是明天将要来临，它和永恒相比，反正是瞬息间的经历而已。于是我又使劲地按着那个空转的螺旋，它还在原来那个地方转动着。”
他的仆人给他递上一本裁开一半的书——苏扎夫人的书信体长篇小说。他开始浏阅关于阿梅莉·德芒费尔德的痛苦、为维护高尚品德而奋斗的叙述。“当她正爱着那个引诱她的男人的时候，干嘛她又要和他作斗争？”他想道，“上帝不会赋予她的灵魂以违背他的意志的欲望。我从前的妻子不作斗争，大概她的做法是对的。没有发现什么，”皮埃尔又对自己说，“什么也没有想出来。我们只知道，我们一无所知。这就是人类智慧的高度表现。”
在他看来，他自己身上和他周围的一切都是紊乱的、毫无意义的、令人厌恶的。但是皮埃尔在他对周围一切事物的厌恶情绪中，却发现一种令人激动的喜悦。
“我冒昧请求您大人稍微靠拢些，这是他老人家的位子，”驿站长说道，走进房里来，领着一位因为缺乏马匹而滞留的过路客人。过路客人是个骨骼宽大、皮肤发黄、满面皱纹、敦敦实实的老头，他那炯炯有神的浅灰色的眼睛上面垂下斑白的眉毛。
皮埃尔把他自己的一双腿从桌上移开，站起来，走过去，睡到给他预备的一张床上，不时地望望走进来的人，这个人带着阴沉的、疲惫的面容，不去端详皮埃尔，便在仆人的帮助下很费劲地脱下衣裳。过路客人还披着一件破旧的南京土布吊面的皮袄，瘦骨嶙峋的脚上穿着一双毡靴，他在沙发上坐下来，把那两鬓宽阔的、留有短发的、硕大的脑袋靠在沙发背上，朝别祖霍夫瞥了一眼。严肃、聪明、锐利的眼神，使皮埃尔惊讶不已。他很想和过路客人谈话，但当他要向他问问旅途情况的时候，过路客人闭上了眼睛，叠起他那双满是皱纹的老头儿的手，有个指头上戴着一只刻有骷髅图样的生铁制的大戒指，一动不动地坐着，也许是休息，皮埃尔觉得，过路人也许正在安闲地深思熟虑着什么事。过路客人的仆人满面皱纹，也是个皮肤发黄的老头，他没有胡髭和髯须，看起来不是剃过，而是从来都没有长过胡须。手脚灵便的老仆人打开路上用的食品箱，摆好茶桌，端来沸腾的茶炊。当一切准备停妥，这个年老的过路客人睁开了眼睛，移动脚步，走到桌前，给他自己一杯茶，又给另一位没有胡须的老年人斟一杯茶，把茶递给他。皮埃尔开始感到心情不安，他不得不跟这位过路客人谈谈话，他甚至觉得这是一件少不了的事。
仆人把那只翻过来的空茶杯和没有吃完的糖块端回去，问了问他还要什么。
“不要什么。把书递过来，”过路客人说。仆人递上一本书，皮埃尔觉得这是一部教会的书，过路客人于是埋头于阅读。皮埃尔注视着他。过路客人忽然把书本挪开，夹上书签，合起来，又闭上眼睛，胳膊肘支撑在沙发背上，保持原有的姿势坐下来。皮埃尔望着他，还没有把脸转过来，老头就睁开眼睛，用那坚定而严肃的目光逼视着皮埃尔的面孔。
皮埃尔觉得自己不好意思，想避开这种目光，但是老年人的炯炯有神的眼睛强烈地吸引着他。
Book 5 Chapter 2
“I HAVE THE PLEASURE of speaking to Count Bezuhov, if I am not mistaken,” said the stranger, in a loud deliberate voice. Pierre looked in silence and inquiringly over his spectacles at the speaker. “I have heard of you,” continued the stranger, “and I have heard, sir, of what has happened to you, of your misfortune.” He underlined, as it were, the last word, as though to say: “Yes, misfortune, whatever you call it, I know that what happened to you in Moscow was a misfortune.”
“I am very sorry for it, sir.” Pierre reddened, and hurriedly dropping his legs over the edge of the bed, he bent forward towards the old man, smiling timidly and unnaturally.
“I have not mentioned this to you, sir, from curiosity, but from graver reasons.” He paused, not letting Pierre escape from his gaze, and moved aside on the sofa, inviting him by this movement to sit beside him. Pierre disliked entering into conversation with this old man, but involuntarily submitting to him, he came and sat down beside him.
“You are unhappy, sir,” he went on, “you are young, and I am old. I should like, as far as it is in my power, to help you.”
“Oh, yes,” said Pierre, with an unnatural smile. “Very much obliged to you … where have you been travelling from?” The stranger's face was not cordial, it was even cold and severe, but in spite of that, both the speech and the face of his new acquaintance were irresistibly attractive to Pierre.
“But if for any reason you dislike conversing with me,” said the old man, “then you say so, sir.” And suddenly he smiled a quite unexpected smile of fatherly kindliness.
“Oh, no, not at all; on the contrary, I am very glad to make your acquaintance,” said Pierre, and glancing once more at the stranger's hands, he examined the ring more closely. He saw the head of Adam, the token of masonry.
“Allow me to inquire,” he said, “are you a mason?”
“Yes, I belong to the brotherhood of the freemasons,” said the stranger, looking now more searchingly into Pierre's eyes. “And from myself and in their name I hold out to you a brotherly hand.”
“I am afraid,” said Pierre, smiling and hesitating between the confidence inspired in him by the personality of the freemason and the habit of ridiculing the articles of the masons' creed; “I am afraid that I am very far from a comprehension—how shall I say—I am afraid that my way of thinking in regard to the whole theory of the universe is so opposed to yours that we shall not understand one another.”
“I am aware of your way of thinking,” said the freemason, “and that way of thinking of which you speak, which seems to you the result of your own thought, is the way of thinking of the majority of men, and is the invariable fruit of pride, indolence, and ignorance. Excuse my saying, sir, that if I had not been aware of it, I should not have addressed you. Your way of thinking is a melancholy error.”
“Just as I may take for granted that you are in error,” said Pierre, faintly smiling.
“I would never be so bold as to say I know the truth,” said the mason, the definiteness and decision of whose manner of speaking impressed Pierre more and more. “No one alone can attain truth; only stone upon stone, with the co-operation of all, by the millions of generations from our first father Adam down to our day is that temple being reared that should be a fitting dwelling-place of the Great God,” said the freemason, and he shut his eyes.
“I ought to tell you that I don't believe, don't … believe in God,” said Pierre regretfully and with effort, feeling it essential to speak the whole truth.
The freemason looked intently at Pierre and smiled as a rich man, holding millions in his hands, might smile to a poor wretch, who should say to him that he, the poor man, has not five roubles that would secure his happiness.
“Yes, you do not know Him, sir,” said the freemason. “You cannot know Him. You know not Him, that is why you are unhappy.”
“Yes, yes, I am unhappy,” Pierre assented; “but what am I to do?”
“You know not Him, sir, and that's why you are very unhappy. You know not Him, but He is here, He is within me, He is in my words, He is in thee, and even in these scoffing words that thou hast just uttered,” said the mason in a stern, vibrating voice.
He paused and sighed, evidently trying to be calm.
“If He were not,” he said softly, “we should not be speaking of Him, sir. Of what, of whom were we speaking? Whom dost thou deny?” he said all at once, with enthusiastic austerity and authority in his voice. “Who invented Him, if He be not? How came there within thee the conception that there is such an incomprehensible Being? How comes it that thou and all the world have assumed the existence of such an inconceivable Being, a Being all powerful, eternal and infinite in all His qualities? …” He stopped and made a long pause.
Pierre could not and would not interrupt this silence.
“He exists, but to comprehend Him is hard,” the mason began again, not looking into Pierre's face, but straight before him, while his old hands, which could not keep still for inward emotion, turned the leaves of the book. “If it had been a man of whose existence thou hadst doubts, I could have brought thee the man, taken him by the hand, and shown him thee. But how am I, an insignificant mortal, to show all the power, all the eternity, all the blessedness of Him to one who is blind, or to one who shuts his eyes that he may not see, may not understand Him, and may not see, and not understand all his own vileness and viciousness.” He paused. “Who art thou? What art thou? Thou dreamest that thou art wise because thou couldst utter those scoffing words,” he said, with a gloomy and scornful irony, “while thou art more foolish and artless than a little babe, who, playing with the parts of a cunningly fashioned watch, should rashly say that because he understands not the use of that watch, he does not believe in the maker who fashioned it. To know Him is a hard matter. For ages, from our first father Adam to our day, have we been striving for this knowledge, and are infinitely far from the attainment of our aim; but in our lack of understanding we see only our own weakness and His greatness …”
Pierre gazed with shining eyes into the freemason's face, listening with a thrill at his heart to his words; he did not interrupt him, nor ask questions, but with all his soul he believed what this strange man was telling him. Whether he believed on the rational grounds put before him by the freemason, or believed, as children do, through the intonations, the conviction, and the earnestness, of the mason's words, the quiver in his voice that sometimes almost broke his utterance, or the gleaming old eyes that had grown old in that conviction, or the calm, the resolution, and the certainty of his destination, which were conspicuous in the whole personality of the old man, and struck Pierre with particular force, beside his own abjectness and hopelessness,—any way, with his whole soul he longed to believe, and believed and felt a joyful sense of soothing, of renewal, and of return to life.
“It is not attained by the reason, but by life,” said the mason.
“I don't understand,” said Pierre, feeling with dismay that doubt was stirring within him. He dreaded obscurity and feebleness in the freemason's arguments, he dreaded being unable to believe in him. “I don't understand,” he said, “in what way human reason cannot attain that knowledge of which you speak.”
The freemason smiled his mild, fatherly smile.
“The highest wisdom and truth is like the purest dew, which we try to hold within us,” said he. “Can I hold in an impure vessel that pure dew and judge of its purity? Only by the inner purification of myself can I bring that dew contained within me to some degree of purity.”
“Yes, yes; that's so,” Pierre said joyfully.
“The highest wisdom is founded not on reason only, not on those worldly sciences, of physics, history, chemistry, etc., into which knowledge of the intellect is divided. The highest wisdom is one. The highest wisdom knows but one science—the science of the whole, the science that explains the whole creation and the place of man in it. To instil this science into one's soul, it is needful to purify and renew one's inner man, and so, before one can know, one must believe and be made perfect. And for the attainment of these aims there has been put into our souls the light of God, called the conscience.”
“Yes, yes,” Pierre assented.
“Look with the spiritual eye into thy inner man, and ask of thyself whether thou art content with thyself. What hast thou attained with the guidance of the intellect alone? What art thou? You are young, you are wealthy, you are cultured, sir. What have you made of all the blessings vouchsafed you? Are you satisfied with yourself and your life?”
“No, I hate my life,” said Pierre, frowning.
“Thou hatest it; then change it, purify thyself, and as thou art purified, thou wilt come to know wisdom. Look at your life, sir. How have you been spending it? In riotous orgies and debauchery, taking everything from society and giving nothing in return. You have received wealth. How have you used it? What have you done for your neighbour? Have you given a thought to the tens of thousands of your slaves, have you succoured them physically and morally? No. You have profited by their toil to lead a dissipated life. That's what you have done. Have you chosen a post in the service where you might be of use to your neighbour? No. You have spent your life in idleness. Then you married, sir, took upon yourself the responsibility of guiding a young woman in life, and what have you done? You have not helped her, sir, to find the path of truth, but have cast her into an abyss of deception and misery. A man injured you, and you have killed him, and you say you do not know God, and that you hate your life. There is no wisdom in all that, sir.”
After these words the freemason leaned his elbow again on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes, as though weary of prolonged talking. Pierre gazed at that stern, immovable, old, almost death-like face, and moved his lips without uttering a sound. He wanted to say, “Yes, a vile, idle, vicious life,” and he dared not break the silence. The freemason cleared his throat huskily, as old men do, and called his servant.
“How about horses?” he asked, without looking at Pierre.
“They have brought round some that were given up,” answered the old man. “You won't rest?”
“No, tell them to harness them.”
“Can he really be going away and leaving me all alone, without telling me everything and promising me help?” thought Pierre, getting up with downcast head, beginning to walk up and down the room, casting a glance from time to time at the freemason. “Yes, I had not thought of it, but I have led a contemptible, dissolute life, but I did not like it, and I didn't want to,” thought Pierre, “and this man knows the truth, and if he liked he could reveal it to me.” Pierre wanted to say this to the freemason and dared not. After packing his things with his practised old hands, the traveller buttoned up his sheepskin. On finishing these preparations, he turned to Bezuhov, and in a polite, indifferent tone, said to him:
“Where are you going now, sir?”
“I? … I'm going to Petersburg,” answered Pierre in a tone of childish indecision. “I thank you. I agree with you in everything. But do not suppose that I have been so bad. With all my soul I have desired to be what you would wish me to be; but I have never met with help from any one.… Though I was myself most to blame for everything. Help me, instruct me, and perhaps I shall be able …”
Pierre could not say more; his voice broke and he turned away.
The freemason was silent, obviously pondering something.
“Help comes only from God,” he said, “but such measure of aid as it is in the power of our order to give you, it will give you, sir. You go to Petersburg, and give this to Count Villarsky” (he took out his notebook and wrote a few words on a large sheet of paper folded into four). “One piece of advice let me give you. When you reach the capital, devote your time at first there to solitude and to self-examination, and do not return to your old manner of life. Therewith I wish you a good journey, sir,” he added, noticing that his servant had entered the room, “and all success …”
The stranger was Osip Alexyevitch Bazdyev, as Pierre found out from the overseer's book. Bazdyev had been one of the most well-known freemasons and Martinists even in Novikov's day. For a long while after he had gone, Pierre walked about the station room, neither lying down to sleep nor asking for horses. He reviewed his vicious past, and with an ecstatic sense of beginning anew, pictured to himself a blissful, irreproachably virtuous future, which seemed to him easy of attainment. It seemed to him that he had been vicious, simply because he had accidentally forgotten how good it was to be virtuous. There was left in his soul not a trace of his former doubts. He firmly believed in the possibility of the brotherhood of man, united in the aim of supporting one another in the path of virtue. And freemasonry he pictured to himself as such a brotherhood. 
“如果我没有出差错，我有幸正在和别祖霍夫伯爵攀谈。”过路客人从容不迫地大声地说。皮埃尔沉默不言，用那疑问的目光透过眼镜注视着他的对话人。 
“久闻大名，”过路客人继续说，“我也听说阁下遭遇不幸，”他好像强调最后一个词，好像他说了一句：“是的，不幸，不管您是怎样说，我还是知道，您在莫斯科发生的事，是一大不幸，”“阁下，对此我深表遗憾。”
皮埃尔面红耳赤，急忙从床上放下一双脚，向老头弯下腰来，不自然地、畏葸地露出微笑。
“阁下，我不是出于好奇而向您提到这件事情，而是因为更重要的缘由。”他沉默半晌，一直盯着皮埃尔，坐在沙发上向前移动一下身子，用这个姿势请皮埃尔在他身旁坐下来。皮埃尔很不愿意和这个老头谈话，但他情不自禁地顺从他的意思，走过去，在他身旁坐下来。
“阁下，您很不幸，”他继续说道，“您很年轻，我已经老了。我愿意竭尽全力地帮助您。”
“哎呀，”皮埃尔面露不自然的微笑说，“我很感谢您……请问您从哪里来？”过路客人的面容显得不和蔼，甚至冷漠而严峻，虽然如此，但是新相识的言谈和面容却对皮埃尔产生强烈的魅力。
“但是，如果我们之间的谈话因为某种缘故会使您感到不愉快的话，”老头子说，“那末，阁下，就请您率直地说。”于是他忽然出乎意外地流露出父亲般温柔的微笑。
“啊，不是这么回事，根本不是这么回事，相反地，和您交朋友我很高兴。”皮埃尔说，他又向新相识的手上瞥了一眼，距离更近地仔细瞧了一下他的戒指，他看见了戒指上刻出的骷髅图样——共济会的标志。
“请您允许我问问，”他说道，“您是共济会员吗？”
“是的，我属于共济会，”过路客人说，越来越深情地谛视皮埃尔的眼睛。“我代表我自己，并且代表他们向您伸出友谊的手。”
“我怕，”皮埃尔说，流露出微笑，在共济会员个人对他的信任和他对共济会员信仰的嘲笑这一习惯之间，他摇摆不定，“我怕我头脑简单，难以理解，怎么说呢，我怕我对整个宇宙的观点和您大有径庭，我们是不能相互理解的。”
“我熟悉您的观点，”共济会员说，“您所说的那种观点对于您仿佛是思维活动的产物，这是大多数人的观点，也就是骄傲、懒惰和愚昧造成的同样的后果。阁下，请您原谅我，如果我不熟悉它，我就不会跟您谈话了。您的观点是一种可悲的谬见。”
“正如我所能推断的那样，您也陷入了谬误之中。”皮埃尔面露微笑时说。
“我决不敢说，我洞悉真理，”共济会员说，他以那明确而坚定的言词越来越使皮埃尔感到惊讶。“谁也不能独自一人获得真理，从我们的始祖亚当到我们当代，只有依靠千百万代人的共同参与，才能一砖一瓦地兴建起不愧称为伟大上帝所在地的庙堂。”共济会员把话说完后，闭起了眼睛。
“我应当对您说，我不信仰，不……信仰上帝。”皮埃尔深感遗憾地、吃力地说，他觉得必须把真情全部说出来。
共济会员仔细地瞧瞧皮埃尔，微微一笑，那神态就像拥有百万家财的富翁对一个穷人露出微笑似的，穷人想对富翁说，他这个穷人缺乏能够使他幸福的五个卢布。
“是的，阁下，您不知道他，”共济会员说，“您不可能知道他。您不知道他，所以您也不幸。”
“是啊，是啊，我不幸，”皮埃尔承认，“可是，我应该怎么办呢？”
“您不知道他，阁下，所以您很不幸。您不知道他，不过他就开这儿，他在我心中，他在我的话语中，他在你心中，甚至在你甫才说的那些亵渎的话语中。”共济会员用那严肃的、颤抖的声音说。
他沉默片刻，叹了一口气，看来他力图镇静下来。
“如果他不存在，”他轻声地说，“我和您就不会谈到他，阁下，我们谈到的是什么？是谁？你否定谁呢？”他忽然说道，话音中带有极度兴奋的威严的意味。“既然他不存在，是谁臆想出来的？为什么在你身上会有一个假设；有这么样的不可理解的内心世界？为什么你和全世界已经推测出这种不可思议的内心世界——具有万能、永恒和无限这些特性的内心世界的存在？……”他停下来，很久地沉默不言。
皮埃尔不能，也不愿意打破这种沉默。
“他是存在的，可是难以理解他。”共济会员又说起话来，他的眼睛不是向皮埃尔的面庞，而是向他自己前面望去，那两只老年人的手翻动着书页，由于内心的激动，这双手不能静止不动。“如果他是一个人，你怀疑这个人的存在，我可以把他领到你身边来，一把抓住他的手，给你瞧瞧。但是我这个微不足道的凡人怎么能向那个盲目的、或者熟视无睹的、不去理解他而且有目也看不清也不明了自己的肮脏行为和缺陷的人展示他的万能、永恒和仁慈呢？他沉默一会儿，“你是什么人？你是什么东西？你自命不凡，认为你是个贤人，因为你会道出这些亵渎的话，”他含着阴悒的讥笑说。“你比小孩更愚蠢、更不明事理，小孩玩耍精工钟表零件时，会冒失地说他不信任制造钟表的师傅，其原因是，他不明了钟表的用途。认识上帝是很困难的。从始祖亚当到我们今天，许多个世纪以来，我们一直为这种认识而进行工作，但是我们还远远未能达到目的，我们都认为，不理解上帝只是我们的弱点和他的伟大……”
皮埃尔极度紧张，用那明亮的眼睛瞅着共济会员的面孔，听他说下去，没有打断他的话，也不问什么，而是诚心地相信这个陌生人对他说的话。他是否相信共济会员言谈中合乎情理的论据，或者像儿童一样相信共济会员发言的语调、坚强信念和热忱、相信嗓音的颤抖有时几乎会打断共济会员的发言，或者相信老年人这对由于信仰而变得衰老的闪闪发亮的眼睛，或者相信从共济会员整个内心世界中闪耀出光辉的那种沉着和坚定以及对自己使命的认识；与皮埃尔的颓丧和失望相比照，共济会员的这些特点使皮埃尔大为惊讶，他诚心地希望确立自己的信念，而且也这样做了，他体会到一种安泰、更新和复活的快感。
“上帝不是靠智慧所能理解的，而是要在生活中去理解。”
共济会员说。
“我不明白，”皮埃尔说，他恐惧地感觉到自己心中升起了疑团。他害怕对话人的模糊不清的、难以令人信服的论据，他害怕不相信他，“我不明白，”他说道，“人类的智慧怎么不能领悟您所说的知识。”
共济会员流露出慈父般的温顺的微笑。
“至高的智慧和真理仿佛是我们要吸收的最清洁的水分，”他说，“我是否能把这种清洁的水分装进不清洁的器皿，再来评论它的洁净呢？只有从内心洗涤我自己，才能使吸收的水分达到某种洁净的程度。”
“是啊，是啊，正是这样！”皮埃尔高兴地说。
“至高的智慧的根基不光是理性，也不是理性知识所划分的世俗的物理学、历史学、化学及其他。至高的智慧是独一无二的。至高智慧包含有一门科学，即是包罗万象的科学、解释整个宇宙和人类在宇宙中所占地位的科学。为了给自己灌输这门科学，就必须洗净和刷新人的内心，因此在汲取知识之前，务必要有所信仰，对自己加以改造。为了达到这种目的，我们的灵魂中容纳了所谓良心的上帝之光。”
“对，对。”皮埃尔承认他说的话是对的。
“请你用精神的眼睛望望自己的内心，问问你自己，你是否满意自己？你单凭智慧获得了什么成就？你是个什么样的人呢？阁下，您非常年轻、您非常富有、您非常聪明而且有学问。您凭赐予您的这些财富做出了什么事业？您是否满意自己和您自己的生活？”
“不，我仇恨自己的生活。”皮埃尔皱着眉头说。
“你仇恨生活，那末你就改变它吧，你净化自己吧，在你净化的时候，你就会认识智慧。阁下，您看看自己的生活吧。您是怎样过活的？在狂欢暴饮和淫逸的生活中，您向社会得到一切，却未为它作出任何贡献。您得到了财富。您是怎样花掉的？您为他人作了什么？您是否为几万奴隶着想？您是否在智力和体力上帮了他们的忙？并没有。您享用他们的劳动，过着淫荡的生活。您就是干了这种勾当。您是否已经选择了一个服务地点，在那里您可以给他人带来好处？并没有。您是过着游手好闲的生活。您后来结婚了，阁下，承担了教导年轻妇女的责任，您究竟做了什么呢？您没有帮助她寻找真理的道路，却使她陷入虚伪和不幸的深渊。有个人侮辱您，您竟然把他打死，您说您不知道上帝，您仇视自己的生活。阁下，这里头没有什么不易于了解的东西！”
说完这些话之后，共济会员好像由于不停地谈天，谈得太久，谈疲倦了，他又把胳膊肘支撑在沙发背上，合拢了眼睛。皮埃尔注视这个老年人的很严肃的、一动不动的、几乎露出死色的面孔，他的嘴唇不出声地颤动着。他想这样说：是的，这是令人厌恶的、淫荡的、闲逸的生活，——他不敢打破沉默。
共济会员老态龙钟地、嗓子嘶哑地咳嗽几声，清清喉咙，又向仆人喊了一声。
“驿马怎么样了？”他不看皮埃尔一眼，便问道。
“牵来了驿马，”仆人回答，“您不再休息吗？”
“不，去吩咐驾马。”
“他难道真要离开了，不把话说完，也没有答应帮助我，就把我一人留在这儿吗？”皮埃尔一面想道，一面站起来，低下头，有时候看看共济会员，开始在房里踱来踱去。“是的，我未曾想到这一点，但是我过着令人蔑视的淫荡的生活，不过我不喜欢这种生活，也不希望有这种生活。”皮埃尔想道，“这个人知道真理，只要他乐意，他是会向我揭示真理的。”皮埃尔想说这句话，但是不敢把它说给共济会员听。过路客人用那老年人习惯做事的手收拾好东西，扣上皮袄。他做完这几件事以后就向别祖霍夫转过脸去，用那冷淡的恭敬的口吻对他说：
“阁下，请问您现在到哪里去？”
“我？……我到彼得堡去，”皮埃尔用童稚的不坚定的嗓音回答。“我对您表示感谢。我在各方面同意您的看法。但是您不要以为我很坏。我诚心地希望做一个您希望我做的那样的人，但是我从来没有获得任何人的帮助……其实，首先要说的是，我本人在各方面都有过错。您帮助我吧，您教教我吧，说不定，我将是……”皮埃尔不能继续说下去，他从鼻子里发出喘息声，转过身去。
“只有上帝才会助人，”他说，“但是阁下，上帝赐予您的，却是我们共济会有权赐予的帮助。您到彼得堡去，把这样东西交给维拉尔斯基伯爵（他掏出一个公文夹，在一大张四折纸上写了几个字）。请允许我给您一个忠告。到达首都后，初时要闭门幽居，检讨自己，不宜走上从前的生活道路。然后祝您一路福星，事业成功……阁下。”他发觉他的仆人走进房里以后，说了这句话。
皮埃尔从驿站长的旅客登记簿上获悉，这个过路客人就是奥西普·阿列克谢耶维奇·巴兹杰耶夫。巴兹杰耶夫早在诺维科夫时期就是最闻名的共济会员和马工派神秘教徒。他走后过了很久，皮埃尔并没有就寝，也没有去要换乘的马匹，就在驿站上的房间里踱来踱去，回想（他自己耽于淫逸的往事，并且怀着革新的喜悦，想象到那个他认为惬意的、安乐的、无瑕可剔的、注重德行的未来。他仿佛觉得，他之所以行为不端，只是因为他偶尔忘却做一个道德高尚的人是多么优秀罢了。他的心灵中不再残存有以前那种怀疑的印迹了。他坚信，人们在通往美德的途中，以互相扶持为目的而和衷共济是切实可行的，他想象中的共济会就是如此的。
Book 5 Chapter 3
ON REACHING PETERSBURG, Pierre let no one know of his arrival, went out to see nobody, and spent whole days in reading Thomas à Kempis, a book which had been sent him, he did not know from whom. One thing, and one thing only, Pierre thoroughly understood in reading that book; he understood what he had hitherto known nothing of, all the bliss of believing in the possibility of attaining perfection, and in the possibility of brotherly and active love between men, revealed to him by Osip Alexyevitch. A week after his arrival, the young Polish count, Villarsky, whom Pierre knew very slightly in Petersburg society, came one evening into his room with the same official and ceremonious air with which Dolohov's second had called on him. Closing the door behind him, and assuring himself that there was nobody in the room but Pierre, he addressed him:
“I have come to you with a message and a suggestion, count,” he said to him, not sitting down. “A personage of very high standing in our brotherhood has been interceding for you to be admitted into our brotherhood before the usual term, and has asked me to be your sponsor. I regard it as a sacred duty to carry out that person's wishes. Do you wish under my sponsorship to enter the brotherhood of freemasons?”
Pierre was impressed by the cold and austere tone of this man, whom he had almost always seen before at balls wearing an agreeable smile, in the society of the most brilliant women.
“Yes, I do wish it,” said Pierre.
Villarsky bent his head.
“One more question, count,” he said, “to which I beg you, not as a future mason, but as an honest man (galant homme) to answer me in all sincerity: have you renounced your former convictions? do you believe in God?”
Pierre thought a moment.
“Yes … yes, I do believe in God,” he said.
“In that case…” Villarsky was beginning, but Pierre interrupted him.
“Yes, I believe in God,” he said once more.
“In that case, we can go,” said Villarsky. “My carriage is at your disposal.”
Throughout the drive Villarsky was silent. In answer to Pierre's inquiries, what he would have to do, and how he would have to answer, Villarsky simply said that brothers, more worthy than he, would prove him, and that Pierre need do nothing but tell the truth.
They drove in at the gates of a large house, where the lodge had its quarters, and, passing up a dark staircase, entered a small, lighted ante-room, where they took off their overcoats without the assistance of servants. From the ante-room they walked into another room. A man in strange attire appeared at the door. Villarsky, going in to meet him, said something to him in French in a low voice, and went up to a small cupboard, where Pierre noticed garments unlike any he had seen before. Taking a handkerchief from the cupboard, Villarsky put it over Pierre's eyes and tied it in a knot behind, catching his hair painfully in the knot. Then he drew him towards himself, kissed him, and taking him by the hand led him away somewhere. Pierre had been hurt by his hair being pulled in the knot: he puckered up his face from the pain, and smiled with vague shame. His huge figure with his arms hanging at his sides, and his face puckered up and smiling, moved after Villarsky with timid and uncertain steps.
After leading him for about ten steps, Villarsky stopped.
“Whatever happens to you,” said he, “you must endure all with good courage if you are firmly resolved to enter our brotherhood.” (Pierre answered affirmatively by an inclination of his head.) “When you hear a knock at the door, you may uncover your eyes,” added Villarsky; “I wish you good courage and success,” and, pressing Pierre's hand, Villarsky went away.
When he was left alone, Pierre still went on smiling in the same way. Twice he shrugged his shoulders and raised his hand to the handkerchief, as though he would have liked to take it off, but he let it drop again. The five minutes he had spent with his eyes bandaged seemed to him an hour. His arms felt numb, his legs tottered, he felt as though he were tired out. He was aware of the most complex and conflicting feelings. He was afraid of what would be done to him, and still more afraid of showing fear. He felt inquisitive to know what was coming, what would be revealed to him; but above everything, he felt joy that the moment had come when he would at last enter upon that path of regeneration and of an actively virtuous life, of which he had been dreaming ever since his meeting with Osip Alexyevitch.
There came loud knocks at the door. Pierre took off the bandage and looked about him. It was black darkness in the room; only in one spot there was a little lamp burning before something white. Pierre went nearer and saw that the little lamp stood on a black table, on which there lay an open book. The book was the gospel: the white thing in which the lamp was burning was a human skull with its eyeholes and teeth. After reading the first words of the gospel, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God,” Pierre went round the table and caught sight of a large open box filled with something. It was a coffin full of bones. He was not in the least surprised by what he saw. Hoping to enter upon a completely new life, utterly unlike the old life, he was ready for anything extraordinary, more extraordinary indeed than what he was seeing. The skull, the coffin, the gospel—it seemed to him that he had been expecting all that; had been expecting more, indeed. He tried to stir up a devotional feeling in himself; he looked about him. “God, death, love, the brotherhood of man,” he kept saying to himself, associating with those words vague but joyful conceptions of some sort. The door opened and some one came in. In the faint light, in which Pierre could, however, see a little by this time, a short man approached. Apparently dazed by coming out of the light into the darkness, the man stopped, then with cautious steps moved again towards the table, and laid on it both his small hands covered with leather gloves.
This short man was wearing a white leather apron, that covered his chest and part of his legs; upon his neck could be seen something like a necklace, and a high white ruffle stood up from under the necklace, framing his long face, on which the light fell from below.
“For what are you come hither?” asked the newcomer, turning towards Pierre at a faint rustle made by the latter. “For what are you, an unbeliever in the truth of the light, who have not seen the light, for what are you come here? What do you seek from us? Wisdom, virtue, enlightenment?”
At the moment when the door opened and the unknown person came in, Pierre had a sensation of awe and reverence, such as he had felt in childhood at confession; he felt himself alone with a man who was in the circumstances of life a complete stranger, and yet through the brotherhood of men so near. With a beating heart that made him gasp for breath, Pierre turned to the rhetor, as in the phraseology of freemasonry the man is called who prepares the seeker for entering the brotherhood. Going closer, Pierre recognised in the rhetor a man he knew, Smolyaninov, but it was mortifying to him to think that the newcomer was a familiar figure; he was to him only a brother and a guide in the path of virtue. For a long while Pierre could not utter a word, so that the rhetor was obliged to repeat his question.
“Yes; I…I… wish to begin anew,” Pierre articulated with difficulty.
“Very good,” said Smolyaninov, and went on at once.
“Have you any idea of the means by which our holy order will assist you in attaining your aim?…” said the rhetor calmly and rapidly.
“I…hope for…guidance…for help…in renewing…” said Pierre, with a tremble in his voice and a difficulty in utterance due both to emotion and to being unaccustomed to speak of abstract subjects in Russian.
“What idea have you of freemasonry?”
“I assume that freemasonry is the fraternité and equality of men with virtuous aims,” said Pierre, feeling ashamed as he spoke of the incongruity of his words with the solemnity of the moment. “I assume …”
“Very good,” said the rhetor hastily, apparently quite satisfied with the reply. “Have you sought the means of attaining your aim in religion?”
“No; I regarded it as untrue and have not followed it,” said Pierre, so softly that the rhetor did not catch it, and asked him what he was saying. “I was an atheist,” answered Pierre.
“You seek the truth in order to follow its laws in life; consequently, you seek wisdom and virtue, do you not?” said the rhetor, after a moment's pause.
“Yes, yes,” assented Pierre.
The rhetor cleared his throat, folded his gloved hands across his chest, and began speaking.
“Now I must reveal to you the chief aim of our order,” he said, “and if that aim coincides with yours, you may with profit enter our brotherhood. The first and greatest aim and united basis of our order, on which it is established and which no human force can destroy, is the preservation and handing down to posterity of a certain important mystery … that has come down to us from the most ancient times, even from the first man—a mystery upon which, perhaps, the fate of the human race depends. But since this mystery is of such a kind that no one can know it and profit by it if he has not been prepared by a prolonged and diligent self-purification, not every one can hope to attain it quickly. Hence we have a second aim, which consists in preparing our members, as far as possible reforming their hearts, purifying and enlightening their intelligence by those means which have been revealed to us by tradition from men who have striven to attain this mystery, and thereby to render them fit for the reception of it. Purifying and regenerating our members, we endeavor, thirdly, to improve the whole human race, offering it in our members an example of piety and virtue, and thereby we strive with all our strength to combat the evil that is paramount in the world. Ponder on these things, and I will come again to you,” he said, and went out of the room.
“To combat the evil that is paramount in the world …” Pierre repeated, and a mental image of his future activity in that direction rose before him. He seemed to see men such as he had been himself a fortnight ago, and he was mentally addressing an edifying exhortation to them. He pictured to himself persons vicious and unhappy, whom he would help in word and in deed; he pictured oppressors whose victims he would rescue. Of the three aims enumerated by the rhetor the last— the reformation of the human race—appealed particularly to Pierre. The great mystery of which the rhetor had made mention, though it excited his curiosity, did not strike his imagination as a reality; while the second aim, the purification and regeneration of himself, had little interest for him, because at that moment he was full of a blissful sense of being completely cured of all his former vices, and being ready for nothing but goodness.
Half an hour later the rhetor returned to enumerate to the seeker the seven virtues corresponding to the seven steps of the temple of Solomon, in which every freemason must train himself. Those virtues were: (1) discretion, the keeping of the secrets of the order; (2) obedience to the higher authorities of the order; (3) morality; (4) love for mankind; (5) courage; (6) liberality; and (7) love of death.
“Seventhly, strive,” said the rhetor, “by frequent meditation upon death to bring yourself to feel it not an enemy to be dreaded, but a friend … which delivers the soul grown weary in the labours of virtue from this distressful life and leads it to its place of recompense and peace.”
“Yes, that's as it should be,” thought Pierre, when the rhetor after these words left him again to solitary reflection; “that's as it ought to be, but I'm still so weak as to love this life, the meaning of which is only now by degrees being revealed to me.” But the other five virtues which Pierre recalled, reckoning them on his fingers, he felt already in his soul; courage and liberality, morality and love for mankind, and above all obedience, which seemed to him not to be a virtue, indeed, but a happiness. (It was such a joy to him now to be escaping from the guidance of his own caprice, and to be submitting his will to those who knew the absolute truth.) The seventh virtue Pierre had forgotten, and he could not recall it.
The third time the rhetor came back sooner, and asked Pierre whether he were still resolute in his intention, and whether he were prepared to submit to everything that would be demanded of him.
“I am ready for anything,” said Pierre.
“I must inform you further,” said the rhetor, “that our order promulgates its doctrine not by word only, but by certain means which have perhaps on the true seeker after wisdom and virtue a more potent effect than merely verbal explanations. This temple, with what you see therein, should shed more light on your heart, if it is sincere, than any words can do. You will see, maybe, a like method of enlightenment in the further rites of your admittance. Our order follows the usage of ancient societies which revealed their doctrine in hieroglyphs. A hieroglyph,” said the rhetor, “is the name given to a symbol of some object, imperceptible to the senses and possessing qualities similar to those of the symbol.”
Pierre knew very well what a hieroglyph was, but he did not venture to say so. He listened to the rhetor in silence, feeling from everything he said that his ordeal was soon to begin.
“If you are resolved, I must proceed to your initiation,” said the rhetor, coming closer to Pierre. “In token of liberality I beg you to give me everything precious you have.”
“But I have nothing with me,” said Pierre, supposing he was being asked to give up all his possessions.
“What you have with you: watch, money, rings…”
Pierre made haste to get out his purse and his watch, and was a long time trying to get his betrothal ring off his fat finger. When this had been done, the freemason said:
“In token of obedience I beg you to undress.” Pierre took off his coat and waistcoat and left boot at the rhetor's instructions. The mason opened his shirt over the left side of his chest and pulled up his breeches on the left leg above the knee. Pierre would hurriedly have taken off the right boot and tucked up the trouser-leg, to save this stranger the trouble of doing so, but the mason told him this was not necessary and gave him a slipper to put on his left foot. With a childish smile of embarrassment, of doubt, and of self-mockery, which would come into his face in spite of himself, Pierre stood with his legs wide apart and his hands hanging at his sides, facing the rhetor and awaiting his next commands.
“And finally, in token of candour, I beg you to disclose to me your chief temptation,” he said.
“My temptation! I had so many,” said Pierre.
“The temptation which does more than all the rest to make you stumble on the path of virtue,” said the freemason.
Pierre paused, seeking a reply.
“Wine? gluttony? frivolity? laziness? hasty temper? anger? women?” he went through his vices, mentally balancing them, and not knowing to which to give the pre-eminence.
“Women,” said Pierre in a low, hardly audible voice. The freemason did not speak nor stir for a long while after that reply. At last he moved up to Pierre, took the handkerchief that lay on the table, and again tied it over his eyes.
“For the last time I say to you: turn all your attention upon yourself, put a bridle on your feelings, and seek blessedness not in your passions, but in your own heart. The secret of blessing is not without but within us.…”
Pierre had for a long while been conscious of this refreshing fount of blessing within him that now flooded his heart with joy and emotion.
皮埃尔抵达彼得堡以后，不把他到达这件事告知任何人，足不出户，整天价阅读一部不知道是何人送到他手上来的托马斯·肯庇斯的书。皮埃尔阅读这部书时，他再三地领悟到的只有这么一点，领会到他尚未体验到的乐趣：深信人们有可能臻达尽善尽美的境地，人们有可能实现坚贞不移的博爱，这是奥西普·阿列克谢耶维奇向他揭示的道理。在他抵达后过了一个礼拜，有一天晚上，年轻的波兰伯爵维拉尔斯基走进他房里来，皮埃尔在彼得堡社交界和他曾有一面之交，这个人装出一本正经的庄重的模样，有如多洛霍夫的决斗见证人走进房里来和他见面似的，他随手关上房门，心里摸清了屋子里除开皮埃尔而外没有其他人时，才向他转过脸来开口说话。 
“伯爵，我承接委托和建议前来求见于您，”他不就坐，对他说道。“我们共济会有个地位很高的要人出面申请，旨在提前接纳您入会，并且建议我担任您的保证人。我把履行这位要员的意志看作是一项神圣的天职。您是否愿意在我保证下加入共济会？”
皮埃尔几乎经常在舞会上，即是在那些容貌出众的妇女们中间看见他脸上流露着善意的微笑，但是此刻他那冷淡而严峻的腔调，却使皮埃尔感到惊讶。
“是啊，我希望。”皮埃尔说道。
维拉尔斯基低下头来。
“伯爵，还有个问题，”他说，“我请求您并非作为未来的共济会员，而是作为一个老实人（galanth　omme），诚心诚意地回答我，您是否抛弃您从前的信念，您是否信仰上帝？”
皮埃尔沉吟起来。
“是……是啊，我信仰上帝。”他说。
“在这种情况下……”维拉尔斯基开腔了，皮埃尔打断他的话。
“是啊，我信仰上帝。”他再次地说。
“在这种情况下，我们可以上路了，”维拉尔斯基说，“我的四轮轻便马车由您享用好了。”
维拉尔斯基一路上沉默不言，他对皮埃尔所提出的问题：他应该怎么办，应该怎么回答。维拉尔斯基只是这么说：比他更受人尊敬的师兄师弟要考验他，皮埃尔只有说老实话，别无他途。
他们驶入共济会分会大厦的大门，沿着昏暗的楼梯穿过去，走进有照明设备的小前厅，在没有女仆的帮助下二人脱下皮袄。他们从前厅走进另一个房间。不知是个什么人穿着奇特的衣裳在门旁出现。维拉尔斯基向他迎面走去，用法语轻声地对他说了什么话，就走到衣柜前面，皮埃尔发现衣柜里摆着一些他从未见过的服装。维拉尔斯基从衣柜中拿出一条手绢，捂住皮埃尔的眼睛，从脑后打了一个结，抓住他的头发塞进结子里，头发被夹得很疼。然后他叫皮埃尔靠近他身边稍微弯下身子，吻了吻他，抓住他的手，把他领到什么地方去。皮埃尔觉得头发给结子扯得很疼，疼得他蹙起额角，因为他有点羞愧而面露微笑。他的身材高大，垂着一双手，满布皱纹的脸上微露笑意，他跟随维拉尔斯基迈着不稳的畏葸的脚步向前走去。
维拉尔斯基领他走了十步左右，便停住了。
“您无论发生什么事，”他说，“如果您毅然加入我们共济会，您就应当勇敢地经得住一切考验。（皮埃尔低下头，作了肯定的回答）当您听见叩门声，您就给自己解开蒙住眼睛的手绢，”维拉尔斯基补充地说：“我祝您敢作敢为，马到成功。”
于是维拉尔斯基握握皮埃尔的手，走出去了。
皮埃尔一个人留下，他仍然面带微笑。他莫约两次耸耸肩膀，把手伸去摸手绢，仿佛要把它解开，然后又放下手来。他蒙上眼睛待了五分钟，他似乎觉得过了一小时，他两手浮肿，两腿发软，好像疲倦了。他体验到各种各样的、至为复杂的感觉。他很害怕他会发生什么事，更害怕他会流露出恐惧。他好奇地想知道，他会发生什么事，有什么奥秘在他面前将被揭示出来；但是，使他至为得意的是，他终于走上革新的、热衷于道德修养的生活道路，这个时刻来临了，这是他从遇见奥西普·阿列克谢耶维奇以来日夜思慕的事情。就在此时，可以听见几阵强烈的叩门声。皮埃尔解开了绑住眼睛的手绢，环顾了四周。房间里一片漆黑：只有一处闪现出一件白色的东西，里面点燃着一盏长明灯摆在一张黑色的桌子上，一本翻开来的书放在它上头。这本书是福音书；盛着长明灯的白色的东西是带有窟窿和牙齿的颅骨。皮埃尔念完《福音书》上的头几句话以后，便从桌子旁边绕过去，看见一个装满东西的打开的大箱子。这就是装着骨头的寿坊。他所看见的东西丝毫没有使他感到惊奇。他希望进入崭新的生活领域，和过去迥然不同的生活领域，他期待着不平凡的事物，比他所看见的更不平凡的事物。颅骨、寿坊、福音书——他觉得这一切都是他所预料到的东西，他还期待着更多的东西。他环顾四周，极力地想引起他自己的怜悯心。“上帝、死亡、爱情、人们的兄弟情谊。”他对自己说，并且把这几个词和对某种事物的模糊不清的、但却令人悦意的观念联系起来。门打开了，不知是什么人走进门来。
但在皮埃尔看得习以为常的微弱的灯光下，有一个身材不高的人走进来了。显然这个人从光亮的地方走进房间后，便停步了，然后他迈开步子，小心翼翼地走到桌前，把那双戴着皮手套的小手放在桌子上。
这个身材不高的人穿着一条围住胸前和一部分下肢的白皮围裙，颈上戴着一串类似项链的东西，项链旁边露出白色的高硬领子，衬托着他那从下面被照亮的长方脸。
“您为什么走到这里来？”走进来的人听见皮埃尔的沙沙脚步声，便向他转过脸去，问道，“您这个不相信神光的真理、看不见神光的人为什么走到这里来，您向我们要什么？卓越的智慧、高尚品德、教育吗？”
当门已敞开，一个不相识的人走进来的时候，皮埃尔体验到一种恐惧和敬慕的心情，就像他在儿童时代忏悔时所体验到的心情一样：他觉得他自己和一个人单独打交道，就生活环境而论，他是陌生的，而就人的兄弟情谊而论，他是亲近的。皮埃尔的心脏跳动得几乎要屏住呼吸，他移动脚步，向修辞班教师（共济会中为求道者办理入会手续的师兄称为教师）跟前走去。皮埃尔走得更近时，认出修辞班教师就是他的熟人斯莫利亚尼诺夫，但是他想到那个走进来的人竟是熟人，心里就觉得受了侮辱，这个走进来的人只是一个师兄和有德行的教师而已。皮埃尔久久地说不出话，修辞班教师不得不重复地提出问题。
“是啊，我……我……想洗身革面，弃旧图新。”皮埃尔很费劲地说出这句话。
“很好，”斯莫利亚尼诺夫说，他立刻继续说下去，“您对我们神圣的共济会赖以帮助您达到您的目的的手段，有没有概念？……”修辞班教师心平气和地、迅速地说。
“我……希望……指导……帮助……革新，”皮埃尔说，由于心情激动，不习惯用俄国话来谈论抽象的事物，他的嗓音颤栗着，说话时觉得吃力。
“您对共济会有什么概念？”
“我的意思是说，‘共济'是有美德的人们的bratez　nité①和平等，”皮埃尔说，在他说话的时候，由于他的话和庄严的时刻不相宜而感到害羞，“我的意思是……” 
①法语：友爱。
“很好，”修辞班教师连忙说，看来他很满意这种回答，“您是否曾在宗教上寻找达到您的目的底方法？”
“没有，我当时认为宗教是非正义的，所以没有信奉宗教。”皮埃尔说话的声音很低，以致修辞班教师听不清楚，于是问他说什么，“我曾是一个无神论者。”皮埃尔回答。
“您寻求真理是为了在生活中遵循真理的规律，因此，您就得寻求智慧和高尚品德，是这样吗？”修辞班教师沉默半晌之后说。
“是啊，是啊。”皮埃尔承认他的话没有错。
修辞班教师咳嗽了几声，清清嗓子，把两只戴着手套的手交叉在胸前，开始说话。
“现在我应当向您坦白说出我们共济会的主旨，”他说，“如果这个宗旨符合您的目的，那末您加入我们共济会才对您有益。人类的任何力量都不能推翻我们共济会赖以建立的根基，我会的首要宗旨和根基乃在于保存并向后裔传授某种重要的玄理……从亘古，甚至从宇宙中的第一个人一直传给我们，人类的命运也许以这一玄理为转移。但因这一玄理具备有这样的特性，以致任何人都不能认识它，应用它，除非他长期地、勤奋地净化自己，努力修身养性，即使如此，亦非人人都能期待火速获致此一玄理。因此，我们具备有第二目的，此一目的乃在于，借助于那些费尽心力以探求这一玄理的社会人士所传授给我们的方法，尽可能地训练我们的会员，纠正他们的内心，净化和启迪他们的理智，从而导致他们具备领悟这一玄理的能力。第三，在净化和改造我们的会员时，我们还要千方百计地改造全人类，在我们的会员中给全人类树立虔诚和美德的典范，从而竭尽全力去反对那种把持世界的邪恶。您考虑考虑这一点，等一下我再来看您。”他说完这句话，便从房里走出去了。
“反对那种把持世界的邪恶……”皮埃尔重复地说，他脑海中想象到未来他在这个领域的活动。他也想象到那些像他自己两周以前那样的人们，他在内心中向他们道出了教训的话。他想象到那些他以言行给予帮助的有缺点的不幸的人们，他想象到那些压迫者，他从他们手上把受害者拯救出来。修辞班教师所列举的三大目的中，拯救全人类这个最终目的，皮埃尔觉得特别亲切。修辞班教师提到的一条重要玄理虽然引起他的好奇心，但是他不认为这是本质的东西，第二个目的：净化和改造自己，使他不太感兴趣，因为他在这时分高兴地感到自己完全纠正了从前的恶习，只要全心全意去行善就行。
隔了半小时，修辞班教师回来了，向求道者传达与所罗门神殿的阶梯总数相符的七条高尚品德。这七条高尚品德就是：（一）·谦·虚，保守共济会的机密；（二）·服·从本会的上级；（三）品行端正；（四）爱人类；（五）勇敢；（六）慷慨；
（七）爱献身。
“·第·七·条，”修辞班教师说，“要时常想到献身，极力地设法使您自己觉得死亡不再是可怕的敌人，而是朋友……它能把您由于修行而遭受折磨的灵魂从灾难深重的生活中解脱出来，把它领进天主赏赐的安息的场所。”
“是的，一定是这样的，”皮埃尔想，修辞班教师说完这些话后就走开了，让他独自思考一番。“一定是这样的，但是我还太脆弱，我喜爱自己的生活，我只是现在才略微领悟到生活的意义。”皮埃尔扳着指头想起了其余五条高尚品德，他心里觉得：·勇·敢、·慷·慨、·品·行·端·正、·爱·人·类、特别是·服·从，他甚至以为，服从并不是高尚品德，而是幸福。（他感到非常高兴的是，他现在能够摆脱恣意妄为的缺点，并且使他自己的意志服从于洞悉无可怀疑的真理的人们。）皮埃尔忘记了第七条高尚品德，他怎么也想不起来。
修辞班教师第三次回来得更快，他问皮埃尔，他的志向是否仍旧不变，对他要求的一切，他是否坚决服从。
“我准备贡献一切。”皮埃尔说。
“我还应当告诉您，”修辞班教师说，“我们共济会不仅是凭藉言语，而且还凭藉别的方法来传授自己的教理，这些手段比口头讲解对于真诚地寻求智慧和美德的人也许能够发挥更大的作用。如果您的心是很诚挚的，那么您所看见的这座富丽堂皇的大房子里的陈设，就比语言更有力地能向您的心灵说明一切。在今后接受您入共济会的过程中，您也许会亲眼看到这类说明问题的方式。我们共济会模仿古代会社借助于象形符号揭示教理。”修辞班教师说，“象形符号是一种不受制于情感的事物名称，它本身包函类似象征的性能。”
皮埃尔十分清楚地知道，“象形符号”指的是什么，但是他不敢说话。他沉默地倾听修辞班教师讲解，他凭各种迹象预感到考验就要开始了。
“如果您坚定不移，那末我就要开始引导您了，”修辞班教师走到皮埃尔近旁时说道，“我请您向我交出全部贵重的物品以示慷慨。”
“可是我身边没有什么东西。”皮埃尔说，他以为要他交出他所拥有的一切。
“交出您随身带着的东西：怀表、金钱、戒指……”
皮埃尔连忙掏出钱包、怀表，好大一阵子都没法从那胖乎乎的指头上取下订婚戒指。当他做完这件事，共济会员说道：
“我请您脱下衣服以示服从，”皮埃尔遵从修辞班教师的指示脱下燕尾服、坎肩和左脚穿的皮靴。共济会员掀开他的左胸前的衬衣，弯下身子，把他的左裤腿卷到膝盖以上的部位。皮埃尔想连忙脱下右脚穿的皮靴，卷起裤腿，以免让陌生人苦费这份劲儿，但是共济会员对他说，这没有必要，他于是把左脚穿的便鞋递给他了。皮埃尔脸上情不自禁地流露出儿童似的害羞、疑惑和自嘲的微笑。皮埃尔垂下双手，叉开两腿，在修辞班教师这位师兄面前站着，听候他作出新的吩咐。
“最后，我请您向我坦白地说出您的主要嗜好，藉以表示心胸坦荡。”他说。
“我的嗜好呀！·从·前我的嗜好多极了。”皮埃尔说。
“您说出那种最能使您在通往美德的道路上摇摆不定的嗜好。”共济会员说。
皮埃尔沉默半晌，思索着要说什么话。
“酗酒？饮食无度？游手好闲？懒惰？急躁？愤恨？女人？”他一面列举他自己的缺点，一面在心里加以衡量，不知道哪一点是主要缺点。
“女人，”皮埃尔用低沉的、几乎听不见的嗓音说。共济会员听见这一声回答后，他一动不动，没有开口说什么。最后他移动脚步，走到皮埃尔面前，拿起摆在桌上的手绢，又把他的眼睛蒙起来。
“我最后一次把话对您说：要将全部注意力移向您自己身上，控制自己的感情，不是在情欲之中，而是在自己内心寻找无上幸福。无上幸福的源泉不在外方，而在我们的内心……”
皮埃尔已经感觉到这种无上幸福的清泉，而今他的心灵中充满着欣喜和柔情。
Book 5 Chapter 4
SHORTLY AFTER THIS, there walked into the dark temple to fetch Pierre not the rhetor, but his sponsor Villarsky, whom he recognised by his voice. In reply to fresh inquiries as to the firmness of his resolve, Pierre answered:
“Yes, yes, I agree,” and with a beaming, childlike smile he walked forward, stepping timidly and unevenly with one booted and one slippered foot, while Villarsky held a sword pointed at his fat, uncovered chest. He was led out of the room along corridors, turning backwards and forwards, till at last he was brought to the doors of the lodge. Villarsky coughed; he was answered by masonic taps with hammers; the door opened before them. A bass voice (Pierre's eyes were again bandaged) put questions to him, who he was, where and when he was born, and so on. Then he was again led away somewhere with his eyes still bandaged, and as he walked they spoke to him in allegories of the toils of his pilgrimage, and of holy love, of the Eternal Creator of the world, of the courage with which he was to endure toils and dangers. During this time Pierre noticed that he was called sometimes the seeker, sometimes the sufferer, and sometimes the postulant, and that they made various tapping sounds with hammers and with swords. While he was being led up to some object, he noticed that there was hesitation and uncertainty among his conductors. He heard a whispered dispute among the people round him, and one of them insisting that he should be made to cross a certain carpet. After this they took his right hand, laid it on something, while they bade him with the left hold a compass to his left breast, while they made him repeat after some one who read the words aloud, the oath of fidelity to the laws of the order. Then the candles were extinguished and spirit was lighted, as Pierre knew from the smell of it, and he was told that he would see the lesser light. The bandage was taken off his eyes, and in the faint light of the burning spirit Pierre saw, as though it were in a dream, several persons who stood facing him in aprons like the rhetor's, and held swords pointed at his breast. Among them stood a man in a white shirt stained with blood. On seeing this, Pierre moved with his chest forward towards the swords, meaning them to stab him. But the swords were drawn back, and the bandage was at once replaced on his eyes.
“Now you have seen the lesser light,” said a voice. Then again they lighted the candles, told him that he had now to see the full light, and again removed the bandage, and more than ten voices said all at once: “Sic transit gloria mundi.”
Pierre gradually began to regain his self-possession, and to look about at the room and the people in it. Round a long table covered with black were sitting some dozen men, all in the same strange garment that he had seen before. Several of them Pierre knew in Petersburg society. In the president's chair sat a young man, with a peculiar cross on his neck, whom he did not know. On his right hand sat the Italian abbé whom Pierre had seen two years before at Anna Pavlovna's. There were among them a dignitary of very high standing and a Swiss tutor, who had once been in the Kuragin family. All preserved a solemn silence, listening to the president, who held a hammer in his hand. In the wall was carved a blazing star; on one side of the table was a small rug with various figures worked upon it; on the other was something like an altar with the gospel and a skull on it. Round the table stood seven big ecclesiastical-looking candlesticks. Two of the brothers led Pierre up to the altar, set his feet at right angles and bade him lie down, saying that he would be casting himself down at the gates of the temple.
“He ought first to receive the spade,” said one of the brothers in a whisper.
“Oh! hush, please,” said another.
Pierre did not obey, but with uneasy short-sighted eyes looked about him, and suddenly doubt came over him. “Where am I? What am I doing? Aren't they laughing at me? Shan't I be ashamed to remember this?” But this doubt only lasted a moment. Pierre looked round at the serious faces of the people round him, thought of all he had just been through, and felt that there was no stopping half-way. He was terrified at his own hesitation, and trying to arouse in himself his former devotional feeling, he cast himself down at the gates of the temple. And the devotional feeling did in fact come more strongly than ever upon him. When he had lain there some time, he was told to get up, and a white leather apron such as the others wore was put round him, and a spade and three pairs of gloves were put in his hands; then the grand master addressed him. He told him that he must try never to stain the whiteness of that apron, which symbolised strength and purity. Then of the unexplained spade he told him to toil with it at clearing his heart from vice, and with forbearing patience smoothing the way in the heart of his neighbour. Then of the first pair of gloves he said that he could not know yet their significance, but must treasure them; of the second pair he said that he must put them on at meetings; and finally of the third pair—they were women's gloves—he said:
“Dear brother, and these woman's gloves are destined for you too. Give them to the woman whom you shall honour beyond all others. That gift will be a pledge of your purity of heart to her whom you select as a worthy helpmeet in masonry.” After a brief pause, he added: “But beware, dear brother, that these gloves never deck hands that are impure.”
While the grand master uttered the last words it seemed to Pierre that he was embarrassed. Pierre was even more embarrassed; he blushed to the point of tears, as children blush, looking about him uneasily, and an awkward silence followed.
This silence was broken by one of the brothers who, leading Pierre to the rug, began reading out of a manuscript book the interpretation of all the figures delineated upon it: the sun, the moon, the hammer, the balance, the spade, the rough stone and the shaped stone, the past, the three windows, etc. Then Pierre was shown his appointed place, he was shown the signs of the lodge, told the password, and at last permitted to sit down. The grand master began reading the exhortation. The exhortation was very long, and Pierre in his joy, his emotion, and his embarrassment was hardly in a condition to understand what was read. He only grasped the last words of the exhortation, which stuck in his memory.
“In our temples we know of no distinctions,” read the grand master, “but those between virtue and vice. Beware of making any difference that may transgress against equality. Fly to the succour of a brother whoever he may be, exhort him that goeth astray, lift up him that falleth, and cherish not malice nor hatred against a brother. Be thou friendly and courteous. Kindle in all hearts the fire of virtue. Share thy happiness with thy neighbour, and never will envy trouble that pure bliss. Forgive thy enemy, revenge not thyself on him but by doing him good. Fulfilling in this wise the highest law, thou wilt regain traces of the ancient grandeur thou hadst lost,” he concluded, and getting up he embraced Pierre and kissed him.
Pierre looked round with tears of joy in his eyes, not knowing how to answer the congratulations and greetings from acquaintances with which he was surrounded. He did not recognise any acquaintances; in all these men he saw only brothers, and he burned with impatience to get to work with them. The grand master tapped with his hammer, all sat down in their places, and one began reading a sermon on the necessity of meekness.
The grand master proposed that the last duty be performed, and the great dignitary whose duty it was to collect the alms began making the round of all the brothers. Pierre would have liked to give to the list of alms all the money he had in the world, but he feared thereby to sin by pride, and only wrote down the same sum as the others.
The sitting was over, and it seemed to Pierre on returning home that he had come back from a long journey on which he had spent dozens of years, and had become utterly changed, and had renounced his old habits and manner of life.
嗣后不久，已经不是以前的修辞班教师，而是保证人维拉尔斯基走到了这座昏暗的富丽堂皇的宫殿来寻找皮埃尔，皮埃尔一听见保证人的嗓音就认出他了。皮埃尔对再次提出有关他的志向是否坚定的问题，他作了如下的答复： 
“是的，是的，我同意，”他像儿童似的笑容可掬，露出肥胖的胸脯，一只脚穿着皮靴，另一只脚没有穿，他迈着不平稳的、畏葸的步子，挨近维拉尔斯基对准他那裸露的胸前伸出的长剑走去。有人把他从房里领出来，在走廊上转来转去，最后把他领到分会的门口。维拉尔斯基咳嗽了一声，有人用共济会特制的槌子咚咚地敲打几下，作为对他的回答，他们前面的那扇门敞开了。有个具有男低音嗓子的人（皮埃尔的眼睛仍旧被蒙着）向他提出几个问题：他是什么人、在何处定居、在何时出生等等。后来又把他领到什么地方，没有给他解开蒙住眼睛的手绢，在他行走的时候，有人对他说几句含有寓意的话：巡礼中的艰苦、神圣的友谊、亘古永存的创世主，勇敢（他应该勇敢地忍受艰苦和危险）。这次巡礼时，皮埃尔发现，有人时而称他为·求·道·者，时而称他为·受·难·者，时而称他为·请·愿·者，称呼他时，有人用槌子和长剑敲出各种不同的响声。当人家把他领到一件东西前面时，他发觉引导人之间发生慌乱。他听见周围的人低声地争论起来，有一人固执己见，硬要领着他从地毯上走过去。之后他们握住他的右手，把它放在一件什么东西上面，叫他用左手把一只圆规紧紧地贴在左胸上，吩咐他重复地说出别人念的忠于共济会法规的誓言。然后吹熄了几根蜡烛，点燃了酒精（皮埃尔闻到了气味），他们并且说，他将能看见一小束光线。他们取下了蒙住他眼睛的手绢，皮埃尔犹如在梦中一样，在那微弱的酒精火焰的光线照耀下，看见几个人，他们就像修辞班教师那样，都穿着围裙，站在他对面，手里拿着几柄对准他的胸膛的长剑。有一人穿着一件血迹斑斑的白衬衫，站在他们之间。皮埃尔见状，挺起胸膛，移动脚步，迎着几柄长剑走去，想让那长剑刺入他的胸膛。但是那把长剑避开他了，有人又立即给他蒙上眼睛。
“现在你看见了一小束光线，”可以听见某人对他说。然后他们又点燃蜡烛，并且对他说，要他看见充足的光线，他们又给他拿下蒙住眼睛的手绢，并有十多个人忽然齐声地说：
“sic　transit　gloria　mandi。”① 
①拉丁语：尘世的光荣就这样渐渐消逝。
皮埃尔开始逐渐地恢复知觉，环顾他所呆的那个房间以及房间里的人们。莫约有十二个人坐在一张蒙上黑布的长桌的周围，就像他先前看见的人们一样，还是穿着那种服装。有几个人是皮埃尔在彼得堡交际场合中认识的。一个不相识的年青人坐在主席座位上，他的颈上挂着一个特殊的十字架。两年前皮埃尔在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜家里见过的意大利神甫坐在右边的席位上。这儿还有一位至为显要的官员和一位从前住在库拉金家里的瑞士籍家庭教师。大家都庄严地沉默不言，谛听那个手中拿着槌子的主席发言。一颗燃烧着的星星镶嵌在墙上，一块带有各种图案的地毯铺在桌子旁边，桌子另一旁有一样状如祭坛的物体，祭坛上放着《福音书》和颅骨。有七件状如教堂里的大烛台的物体摆在桌子周围。有两个师兄把皮埃尔领到祭坛前，把他的两腿摆成直角形，命令他躺下，并且说，要他拜倒在神殿门前。
“他先得领到一把铲子。”有个师兄轻言细语地说。
“啊！够了，别再说了。”另一个说。
皮埃尔没有听从，他用心慌意乱的近视眼睛环顾四周，心里忽然感到怀疑：“我在哪儿？我在做什么？他们是不是嘲笑我呢？我想起这一点会不觉得可耻吗？”可是这种疑惑只持续了片刻。皮埃尔环顾了他周围的人们的严肃的面孔，回想起他经历的一切，他心里明白，不能半途而废。他想到自己多疑，大吃一惊，极欲使他自己产生从前的怜悯心，于是乎拜倒在神殿门前。他脑海中确乎产生了那种较诸从前更为强烈的怜悯心。他仰卧不多时，就有人吩咐他站起身来，给他围上一条别人那样的白皮围裙，将一把铲子和三双手套送到他手上，这时候共济会分会会长才对他讲话。他对他说，要他尽力设法不让任何东西沾污这条表示坚贞和纯洁的围裙的白色，然后对他讲到这把用途不明的铲子，叫他付出劳动，用它来净化自己的内心，剔除种种恶习，用以宽厚地抚慰他人的内心。然后他讲到第一双男式手套，说他不知道它的意义何在，但是皮埃尔应当保存它，至于另一双男式手套，他说他应当戴上这双手套参加会议，末了他就第三双女式手套说明如下：
“亲爱的师弟，这双女式手套是送给您的。请您转送给您最尊重的女人。您将来给您自己选择一位贤淑的共济会员太太，您通过这件礼物使她相信您的内心的纯洁。”他沉默片刻，补充说，“但是亲爱的师弟，要遵守一条规定，不能让这双手套去美化不干净的手。”当分会会长说出最后这几句话的时候，皮埃尔仿佛觉得，主席困惑不安。皮埃尔更不好意思，他像孩子似的脸红得连眼泪都夺眶而出，他开始不安地环顾四周，出现了令人困窘的沉寂。
有个师兄打破了这一阵沉默，他把皮埃尔领到地毯前面，开始从笔记本中给他念出地毯上绘制的图形（日、月、槌子、铅锤、铲子、立方形奇石、柱子、三扇窗子等）的说明文字。之后他们给他指定一个座位，把分会证章拿给他看，告诉他入门的暗语，最后允许他坐下。分会会长开始宣读分会章程。章程很长，皮埃尔由于欢喜、激动和羞愧，不能听懂所念的内容，他只谛听了章程的最后几句，并且铭记于心。
“我们的神殿里，”分会会长宣读，“除开位于美德和恶德之间的等级而外，我们不承认任何其他等级。当心不要造成损害平等的某种差别。务须飞奔去帮助师兄师弟，不论他是什么人，必须训导误入迷途的人，扶起跌倒的人，永远不应怀恨或敌视师兄师弟。人人要和蔼可亲。在人人心中点燃起美德的火焰。并与他人分享幸福，永远不让妒嫉扰乱这种纯洁的乐事。”
“请宽恕你的敌人，不要复仇，你只有对他行善，以这种方式执行至高无上的教规，你就能遍寻你所失去的古代庄严和雄伟的遗迹。”他说完这些话后，欠了欠身，拥抱皮埃尔，吻吻他。
皮埃尔的眼睛里含着喜悦的泪水，环顾四周，不知道怎样回答他周围的人们的祝贺，不知道怎样回答从新结识之后有何印象。他不去承认任何相识，只把一切人看作师兄师弟，并且急不可待地要和他们一道着手工作。
分会会长敲了一下槌子，大家都各自入座，其中一人宣读有关谦逊的必要性的训词。
分会会长建议大家履行最后的义务，那个号称为布施募集人的显要官吏从师兄师弟身边绕了一圈。皮埃尔很想把他拥有的全部钱财写在布施名册上，但是他怕这样做会显得个人高傲，他于是写了和别人同样多的捐款。
会议结束了，皮埃尔回家后仿佛觉得他从一次远途旅行归来，仿佛在途中过了几十年，他完全变了，落后于从前的生活秩序和习惯。
Book 5 Chapter 5
THE DAY after his initiation at the Lodge, Pierre was sitting at home reading a book, and trying to penetrate to the significance of the square, which symbolised by one of its sides, God, by another the moral, by the third the physical, by the fourth the nature of both mingled. Now and then he broke off from the book and the symbolic square, and in his imagination shaped his new plan of life. On the previous day he had been told at the lodge that the rumour of the duel had reached the Emperor's ears, and that it would be more judicious for him to withdraw from Petersburg. Pierre proposed going to his estates in the south, and there occupying himself with the care of his peasants. He was joyfully dreaming of this new life when Prince Vassily suddenly walked into his room.
“My dear fellow, what have you been about in Moscow? What have you been quarrelling over with Ellen, my dear boy? You have been making a mistake,” said Prince Vassily, as he came into the room. “I have heard all about it; I can tell you for a fact that Ellen is as innocent in her conduct towards you as Christ was to the Jews.”
Pierre would have answered, but he interrupted him.
“And why didn't you come simply and frankly to me as to a friend? I know all about it; I understand it all,” said he. “You have behaved as was proper for a man who valued his honour, too hastily, perhaps, but we won't go into that. One thing you must think of, the position you are placing her and me in, in the eyes of society and even of the court,” he added, dropping his voice. “She is in Moscow, while you are here. Think of it, my dear boy.” He drew him down by the arm. “It's simply a misunderstanding; I expect you feel it so yourself. Write a letter with me now at once, and she'll come here, and everything will be explained, or else, I tell you plainly, my dear boy, you may very easily have to suffer for it.”
Prince Vassily looked significantly at Pierre.
“I have learned from excellent sources that the Dowager Empress is taking a keen interest in the whole affair. You know she is very graciously disposed to Ellen.”
Several times Pierre had prepared himself to speak, but on one hand Prince Vassily would not let him, and on the other hand Pierre himself was loath to begin to speak in the tone of resolute refusal and denial, in which he was firmly resolved to answer his father-in-law. Moreover the words of the masonic precept: “Be thou friendly and courteous,” recurred to his mind. He blinked and blushed, got up and sank back again, trying to force himself to do what was for him the hardest thing in life—to say an unpleasant thing to a man's face, to say what was not expected by that man, whoever he might be. He was so much in the habit of submitting to that tone of careless authority in which Prince Vassily spoke, that even now he felt incapable of resisting it. But he felt, too, that on what he said now all his future fate would depend; that it would decide whether he continued along the old way of his past life, or advanced along the new path that had been so attractively pointed out to him by the masons, and that he firmly believed would lead him to regeneration in a new life.
“Come, my dear boy,” said Prince Vassily playfully, “simply say ‘yes,' and I'll write on my own account to her, and we'll kill the fatted calf.” But before Prince Vassily had finished uttering his playful words, Pierre not looking at him, but with a fury in his face that made him like his father, whispered, “Prince, I did not invite you here: go, please, go!” He leaped up and opened the door to him. “Go!” he repeated, amazed at himself and enjoying the expression of confusion and terror in the countenance of Prince Vassily.
“What's the matter with you? are you ill?”
“Go!” the quivering voice repeated once more. And Prince Vassily had to go, without receiving a word of explanation.
A week later Pierre went away to his estates, after taking leave of his new friends, the freemasons, and leaving large sums in their hands for alms. His new brethren gave him letters for Kiev and Odessa, to masons living there, and promised to write to him and guide him in his new activity.
皮埃尔加入共济会分会后第二天，坐在家中看书，力图弄清四方形的意义，四方形的一边描绘着上帝，另一边标志着精神，第三边标志着肉体，第四边标志着混合物。有时他放下书本和四方形，脑海中拟订新生活计划。昨日在共济会分会有人对他谈到，国王获悉有关决斗的事件，皮埃尔及时离开彼得堡，是更明智的。皮埃尔意欲前往南方领地，料理一下农民的事情。当瓦西里公爵突然走进房间的时候，他正在高兴地考虑这种新生活的蓝图。 
“我的亲人，你在莫斯科干了什么名堂？你为什么跟海伦争吵，mon　cher？①你误入迷途，”瓦西里公爵走进房里时说，“我什么都晓得，我可以如实地告诉你，海伦并没有得罪你，就像基督没有得罪犹太人似的。” 
①法语：我亲爱的。
皮埃尔想回答，可是公爵打断他的话。
“你为什么不直截了当地对我，像对个朋友那样，坦率地谈谈？我什么都知道，我什么都明白，”他说，“你要作为一个珍惜自己荣誉的人体面地行事，也许太性急了，不过我们不去评论这件事。请你记住一点，你在整个社会，甚至在朝廷心目中使她和我处于何种地位，”他降低嗓门，补充地说。
“她住在莫斯科，你在这儿。我亲爱的，请你记住。”他拉着他的手，按了一下，“这只不过是一个误会：我想，你自己是有所体会的。你我俩人马上就给她写封信，她准会到这里来的，什么都可以解释清楚，否则，亲爱的，我告诉你，你会很容易吃到苦头的。”
瓦西里公爵很威严地向皮埃尔瞥了一眼。
“我从可靠消息得知，孀居的皇太后非常关心这件事，你晓得，她是很宠爱海伦的。”
皮埃尔曾有几次准备说话，但是，一方面，瓦西里公爵不准他开口，另一方面，皮埃尔本人害怕用那种坚决拒绝和不同意的口吻果断地回答他的丈人。此外，他回想起共济会章程中的词句“人人要和蔼可亲”。他皱起眉头、满面通红，一会儿站起来，一会儿又坐下去，极力地琢磨他生活中的最难的问题——当着某人的面说出令人厌恶的话，无论他是什么人，说出这个人意料不到的话。他很习惯于听从瓦西里公爵漫不经心的充满自信的腔调，致使他现在感觉到他不能对它表示反对，但他还觉得，他今后的整个命运取决于他即将说出的话：他是否沿着从前的老路向前走，或者沿着共济会员们给他指明的一条颇具魅力的新路向前走，他在这条新路上坚决地相信，他必将获得新生。
“喂，我亲爱的，”瓦西里公爵诙谐地说，“请你说一声‘是'，我就给她写信，然后我们就宰一头肥肥的牛犊。”瓦西里公爵还没有把笑话讲完，皮埃尔就像他父亲那样露出狂怒的神色，他不看对话人的眼睛，却用耳语说：
“公爵，我没有把您喊来，请您走吧，您走吧！”他跳了起来，给他打开了房门。“您走开。”他重复地说，自己不相信自己会变成这个样子，同时瓦西里公爵脸上流露的困窘和惶恐的神情，又使他觉得高兴。
“你怎么啦？你生病了？”
“您走吧！”又一次听见颤栗的说话声。瓦西里公爵因为没有得到皮埃尔的任何解释性的答复，所以他只得走了。
过了一个礼拜，皮埃尔向新朋友们——共济会员们告别，给他们留下了一大笔施舍的钱，之后启程前往自己的领地。他的新师兄、新师弟交给他几封写给基辅和敖德萨当地的共济会员的书信，还答应给他写信，并且指导他从事新活动。
Book 5 Chapter 6
PIERRE'S DUEL with Dolohov was smoothed over, and in spite of the Tsar's severity in regard to duels at that time, neither the principals nor the seconds suffered for it. But the scandal of the duel, confirmed by Pierre's rupture with his wife, made a great noise in society. Pierre had been looked upon with patronising condescension when he was an illegitimate son; he had been made much of and extolled for his virtues while he was the wealthiest match in the Russian empire; but after his marriage, when young ladies and their mothers had nothing to hope from him, he had fallen greatly in the opinion of society, especially as he had neither the wit nor the wish to ingratiate himself in public favour. Now the blame of the whole affair was thrown on him; it was said that he was insanely jealous, and subject to the same fits of blood-thirsty fury as his father had been. And when, after Pierre's departure, Ellen returned to Petersburg, she was received by all her acquaintances not only cordially, but with a shade of deference that was a tribute to her distress. When the conversation touched upon her husband, Ellen assumed an expression of dignity, which her characteristic tact prompted her to adopt, though she had no conception of its significance. That expression suggested that she had resolved to bear her affliction without complaint, and that her husband was a cross God had laid upon her. Prince Vassily expressed his opinion more openly. He shrugged his shoulders when the conversation turned upon Pierre, and pointing to his forehead, said:
“Crackbrained, I always said so.”
“I used to say so even before,” Anna Pavlovna would say of Pierre, “at the time I said at once and before every one” (she insisted on her priority) “that he was an insane young man, corrupted by the dissolute ideas of the age. I used to say so at the time when every one was in such ecstasies over him; and he had only just come home from abroad, and do you remember at one of my soirées he thought fit to pose as a sort of Marat? And how has it ended? Even then I was against this marriage, and foretold all that has come to pass.”
Anna Pavlovna used still to give soirées on her free days as before, soirées such as only she had the gift of arranging, soirées at which were gathered “the cream of really good society, the flower of the intellectual essence of Petersburg society,” as Anna Pavlovna herself used to say. Besides this fine sifting of the society, Anna Pavlovna's soirées were further distinguished by some new interesting person, secured by the hostess on every occasion for the entertainment of the company. Moreover, the point on the political thermometer, at which the temperature of loyal court society stood in Petersburg, was nowhere so clearly and unmistakably marked as at these soirées.
Towards the end of the year 1806, when all the melancholy details of Napoleon's destruction of the Prussian army at Jena and Auerstadt, and the surrender of the greater number of the Prussian forts, had arrived, when our troops were already entering Prussia, and our second war with Napoleon was beginning, Anna Pavlovna was giving one of her soirées. “The cream of really good society” consisted of the fascinating and unhappy Ellen, abandoned by her husband; of Mortemart; of the fascinating Prince Ippolit, who had just come home from Vienna; of two diplomats, of the old aunt; of a young man, always referred to in that society by the designation, “a man of a great deal of merit …”; of a newly appointed maid of honour and her mother, and several other less noteworthy persons.
The novelty Anna Pavlovna was offering her guests for their entertainment that evening was Boris Drubetskoy, who had just arrived as a special messenger from the Prussian army, and was in the suite of a personage of very high rank.
What the political thermometer indicated at that soirée was something as follows: All the European rulers and generals may do their utmost to flatter Bonaparte with the object of causing me and us generally these annoyances and mortifications, but our opinion in regard to Bonaparte can undergo no change. We do not cease giving undisguised expression to our way of thinking on the subject, and can only say to the Prussian king and others: “So much the worse for you.” “Tu l'as voulu, George Dandin,” that's all we can say. This was what the political thermometer indicated at Anna Pavlovna's soirée. When Boris, who was to be offered up to the guests, came into the drawing-room, almost all the company had assembled, and the conversation, guided by Anna Pavlovna, was of our diplomatic relations with Austria, and the hope of an alliance with her.
Boris, fresh, rosy, and manlier looking, walked easily into the drawing-room, wearing the elegant uniform of an adjutant. He was duly conducted to pay his respects to the aunt, and then joined the general circle.
Anna Pavlovna gave him her shrivelled hand to kiss, introduced him to several persons whom he did not know, and gave him a whispered description of each of them. “Prince Ippolit Kuragin, M. Krug, chargé d'affaires from Copenhagen, a profound intellect and simple, M. Shitov, a man of a great deal of merit …” this of the young man always so spoken of.
Thanks to the efforts of Anna Mihalovna, his own tastes and the peculiarities of his reserved character, Boris had succeeded by that time in getting into a very advantageous position in the service. He was an adjutant in the suite of a personage of very high rank, he had received a very important commission in Prussia, and had only just returned thence as a special messenger. He had completely assimilated that unwritten code which had so pleased him at Olmütz, that code in virtue of which a lieutenant may stand infinitely higher than a general, and all that is needed for success in the service is not effort, not work, not gallantry, not perseverance, but simply the art of getting on with those who have the bestowal of promotion, and he often himself marvelled at the rapidity of his own progress, and that others failed to grasp the secret of it. His whole manner of life, all his relations with his old friends, all his plans for the future were completely transformed in consequence of this discovery. He was not well off, but he spent his last copeck to be better dressed than others. He would have deprived himself of many pleasures rather than have allowed himself to drive in an inferior carriage, or to be seen in the streets of Petersburg in an old uniform. He sought the acquaintance and cultivated the friendship only of persons who were in a higher position, and could consequently be of use to him. He loved Petersburg and despised Moscow. His memories of the Rostov household and his childish passion for Natasha were distasteful to him, and he had not once been at the Rostovs' since he had entered the army. In Anna Pavlovna's drawing-room, his entry into which he looked upon as an important step upward in the service, he at once took his cue, and let Anna Pavlovna make the most of what interest he had to offer, while himself attentively watching every face and appraising the advantages and possibilities of intimacy with every one of the persons present. He sat on the seat indicated to him beside the fair Ellen and listened to the general conversation.
“Vienna considers the bases of the proposed treaty so unattainable that not even a continuance of the most brilliant successes would put them within reach, and doubts whether any means could gain them for us. These are the actual words of the ministry in Vienna,” said the Danish chargé d'affaires.
“It is polite of them to doubt,” said the man of profound intellect with a subtle smile.
“We must distinguish between the ministry in Vienna and the Emperor of Austria,” said Mortemart. “The Emperor of Austria can never have thought of such a thing; it is only the ministers who say it.”
“Ah, my dear vicomte,” put in Anna Pavlovna; “Europe will never be our sincere ally.”
Then Anna Pavlovna turned the conversation upon the courage and firmness of the Prussian king, with the object of bringing Boris into action.
Boris listened attentively to the person who was speaking, and waited for his turn, but meanwhile he had leisure to look round several times at the fair Ellen, who several times met the handsome young adjutant's eyes with a smile.
Very naturally, speaking of the position of Prussia, Anna Pavlovna asked Boris to describe his journey to Glogau, and the position in which he had found the Prussian army. Boris in his pure, correct French, told them very deliberately a great many interesting details about the armies, and the court, studiously abstaining from any expression of his own opinion in regard to the facts he was narrating. For some time Boris engrossed the whole attention of the company, and Anna Pavlovna felt that the novelty she was serving her guests was being accepted by them all with pleasure. Of all the party, the person who showed most interest in Boris's description was Ellen. She asked him several questions about his expedition, and seemed to be extremely interested in the position of the Prussian army. As soon as he had finished, she turned to him with her habitual smile.
“You absolutely must come and see me,” she said in a tone that suggested that for certain considerations, of which he could have no knowledge, it was absolutely essential. “On Tuesday between eight and nine. It will give me great pleasure.”
Boris promised to do so, and was about to enter into conversation with her, when Anna Pavlovna drew him aside on the pretext that her aunt wished to hear his story.
“You know her husband, of course?” said Anna Pavlovna, dropping her eyelids, and with a melancholy gesture indicating Ellen. “Ah, such an unhappy and exquisite woman! Don't speak of him before her; pray, don't speak of him. It's too much for her!”
虽然皇上当时对决斗施行严格措施，但是皮埃尔和多洛霍夫的事件已经私下了结了，无论是决斗的双方，还是他们的证人都没有尝到苦头。决斗这件事在社会上传开了，皮埃尔跟妻子闹翻也证实了这一点。当皮埃尔曾经是个私生子的时候，大家都用宽厚的保护的眼光看待他，当他曾是俄罗斯帝国的优秀未婚夫时，大家都抚爱和赞扬他，他结婚之后，未婚妻们和母亲们对他已无可期待，从此皮埃尔在社会舆论中黯然失色，而且他不擅长也不希望博取公众的赏识。现在大家把所发生的事件归咎于他一个人，都说他是个头脑不清的、醋劲大的人，还说他像父亲那样，容易猝发残忍狂。在皮埃尔动身后，海伦回到彼得堡，她的熟人们不仅殷勤地接待她，而且对她的不幸怀有敬意。当谈话涉及她的丈夫时，海伦流露出庄重的表情，尽管她并非明白这种表情的意义，但海伦在待人接物方面颇知轻重，已养成习惯，自然她就会流露出这种表情。这种表情正说明，她决定毫无怨艾地忍受自己的不幸，她的丈夫是上帝送来的十字架。瓦西里公爵更为坦率地说出了他的意见。当谈话涉及皮埃尔的时候，他耸耸肩膀，指着额头说： 
“Un　cerveau　fê'lé－je　le　diasais　toujours．①”
“我事先说了，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜论及皮埃尔时说，“那时候我最先讲话（她坚决要求领先发言），这是个狂妄的、被时代的淫乱思想毁坏了的青年人。当大家都在赞扬他时，他刚从国外回来，你们还记得，有一天晚上他在我那儿把自己装成马拉（雅各宾派的领袖之一）模样的时候，我就说了这番话。结果怎样呢？我那时还不希望办成这件婚事，我把以后发生的事预先说了。”
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在空闲的日子照旧在自己家里举办晚会，像从前一样，举办那唯独她一人具有才华去举办的晚会，正像安娜·帕夫洛夫娜所说的那样，在晚会上聚会的，首先有：La　creme　de　la　véritalle　bonne　sociéte，la　fine　fleur　de　l'essence　intellectuelle　de　la　société　de　Pétersbourg．②除开人物的细致挑选而外，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办的晚会还有一个特点，那就是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在每次晚会上都要向她的团体介绍一位挺有趣的新人物，在任何场所都不像在这些晚会上那样，政治寒暑表指示的度数极为明晰和准确，在寒暑表上可以观察到彼得堡正统宫廷社会的情绪。 
①法语：他是半个疯子，——我总是这样说的。
②法语：真正的上流社会的精华，彼得堡社会知识界的优秀人物。
一八○六年年后，当我们获得有关拿破仑在那拿和奥尔施泰特两地歼灭普鲁士军队、普军放弃大部分要塞的可悲的详细情报的时候，当我国部队已经开进普鲁士并且对拿破仑发动第二次战争的时候，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在自己家中举办了一次晚会。出席晚会的la　crême　de　la　véritable　bonne　sociéte①，包括有颇具迷力的、不幸的、被丈夫遗弃的海伦、莫特马尔、刚从维也纳回来的令人赞美的伊波利特公爵、两个外交官、姑母、一个在客厅中被称为un　homme　de　beaucoup　de　mérite②的青年人，一个新近被提拔的宫廷女官和她的母亲、以及其他几个不太出名的人物。 
①法语：真正的上流社会的精华。
②法语：品格高尚的。
这天晚上安娜·帕夫洛夫娜用以飨客（给客人开开心）的新人物是鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊，他充当信差刚从普鲁士军队中归来，正在一位极为显要的官员名下担任副官。
在这次晚会上，政治寒暑表向这个团体指示的度数如下：
无论欧洲的国王和战略家们怎样想方设法地纵容波拿巴给我，总的说来也就是给·我·们制造麻烦和苦恼，但是我们对波拿巴的看法是不会改变的。我们在这方面不会不说出自己的真正的想法，我们对普鲁士国王及其他国王只能这样说：“那样对你们更糟。Tu　l'as　voulu，George　Dandin①，这就是我们所能说的。”这就是政治寒暑表在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办的晚会上所能指示的内容。当被献给客人们的新人物鲍里斯走进客厅的时候，出席晚会的全体人员差不多都来齐了，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜引导的谈话涉及到我国和奥国的外交关系，涉及我国与奥国结盟的展望。
鲍里斯穿着一身考究的副官制服，他长得健壮、结实，精神充沛，面颊绯红，轻松愉快地走进客厅，照例先去问候姑母，随后又加入交谈的集体。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜让他吻吻她那只干瘦的手，给他介绍了几个他不认识的人，并且轻言细语地把各人的特征描述一番。
“Le　prince　Hippolyte　Kouraguine－charmant　jeAune　homme．M－r　Krong　chargé　d'affaires　d　Kopenhague－un　esprit　profond，索兴说：M－r　Shitltoff，un　homme　de　beaucoup　de　mérite．②”即指那位有这个称号的人。 
①法语：莫里哀引言，已变成谚语，其含义是：你自作自受。
②法语：伊波利特·库拉金公爵是一个可爱的青年，克鲁格先生是哥本哈根驻俄使馆代办，一位才智卓越的人……索兴说：希托夫先生是个品格高尚的人。
在任职期间，鲍里期多亏安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的关照，也因工作适合他自己的志趣和拘谨的性格，所以他已经谋得最有利的职位。他在一位颇为显要的官员名下担任副官，前赴普鲁士执行被委托的事务，并以信使身份从普鲁士回来。他完全领会了奥尔米茨实行的那种使他悦意的无明文规定的等级服从制度，遵照这种制度，一名准尉竟能无比地高于一名将领，遵照这种制度，要想求得功名利禄，飞黄腾达，不必要努力和劳累，不必要刚勇，也毋须忠贞不渝，只要擅长于应酬那些论功行赏的人就行了，因此他常因自己迅速获得成就而感到诧异，并因他人无法明了这种奥妙而感到惊讶。他发现这种奥妙，他的整个生活方式、他和从前的熟人的各种关系、他对未来的各种计划彻底改变了。他不很富有，但是他花掉最后一笔钱、让他自己穿得比别人考究，他宁可抛弃许多娱乐，而不让他自己乘坐劣等轻便马车或者穿上旧制服在彼得堡街头露面。他只和那些地位比他高、因而对他有益的人接近和交往。他喜欢彼得堡、藐视莫斯科。他回想起罗斯托夫家的住宅、他在童年时代对娜塔莎的爱慕，——心里就不高兴，因此他自从入伍以后，一次也没有登上罗斯托夫之家的大门。他从前认为呆在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的客厅中是职位上的一大升迁，而今他立即明了他所充当的角色了，他让安娜·帕夫洛夫娜享用他身上能够引起兴趣的东西，他用心观察每一张面孔，并且估计他接近每一个人会带来什么益处和机会。他坐在给他指定的、俊俏的海伦身边的位子上，谛听大家的谈话。
“Vienne　trouve　les　bases　du　trait'
proposétellement　hors　d'atteinte，qu'on　ne　saurait　y　parvenir　même　par　une　continuite　de　succés　les　plus　brillants，et　elle　mêt　en　doute　les　moyens　qui　pourraient　nous　les　procurev，C'est　la　phrase　authentique　du　cabi－net　de　Vienne，”①丹麦使馆代办说。“C'est　le　doute　qui　est　flatteur！”l'homme　a　l'esprit　profond．”②带着含蓄的微笑说。
“Il　faut　distinguer　entre　le　cabinet　de　ViAenne　et　l'Empereur　d'Autriche，”莫特马尔说。“L'EmApereur　d'Autrichen'a　jamais　pu　penser　à　une　chose　pareille，ce　n'est　que　le　cabinet　qui　le　dit．③”
“Eh，mon　cher　vicomte，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜插嘴了，“l'Urope（她不知怎的竟把欧洲读作l'Urope，这是她跟法国人说话时着重强调的法语发音上的细微特点），l'Urope　ne　sera　jamais　notre　alliée　sincère．④” 
①法语：维也纳认为正拟缔结的条约的根据仍然超出可能限度，只有凭藉一系列的辉煌成就才能获得这些根据，维也纳对我们是否有取得成就的办法表示怀疑，这是维也纳内阁所说的实话。
②法语：“这种怀疑值得赞颂！”才智卓越的人说。
③法语：务必要把维也纳内阁和奥国皇帝区别开来，”莫特马尔说。“奥国皇帝”决不会这样想，只有内阁才这样说。”
④法语：哎呀，我亲爱的子爵，欧洲决不会成为我们忠实的盟邦。
接着，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜把话题转到普鲁士国王的刚毅和坚定的信念上，目的是要引导鲍里斯参加谈话。
鲍里斯谛听旁人说话，等着轮到他发言，但在这时，他有好几次回头看看邻座的美女海伦，海伦面露笑容，她的目光有几次和年轻貌美的副官的目光相遇。
很自然，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在说到普鲁士的局势时，她请鲍里斯谈谈他在格洛高的旅行、谈谈他发现普鲁士军队处于怎样的状态。鲍里斯不慌不忙，用那纯正的法国话讲了许多关于军队和朝廷中的饶有趣味的详情细节，在他讲话的时候，他想方设法避免对他所摆的事实发表各人自己的见解。有一阵子鲍里斯吸引住了大家的注意力，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜心里也觉得，她以新人物飨客受到全体客人的欢迎。海伦比什么人都更聚精会神地听鲍里斯讲话。她有几次问到他旅行中的详细情形，她似乎非常关心普鲁士军队的局势。当他一把话说完，她就带着平常流露的微笑，把脸向他转过来。
“Il　faut　absolument　que　vous　veniez　me　voir，”①她对他说道，那语调就好像根据那些他没法知道的想法来推敲，这是完全必要的。“Mardi　entre　les　8　et　9　heures．Vous　me　ferez　grand　plaisir．”② 
①法语：您一定要来跟我见面。
②法语：礼拜二，八点钟至九点钟。您将给我带来极大的愉快。
鲍里斯答应履行她的愿望，正想和她开始谈话，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜托词姑母想听听他讲话，便把他喊去了。
“您不是知道她的丈夫吗？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜闭上眼睛，装出一副忧愁的样子，指着海伦说，“哎呀！这是个多么不幸而又迷人的妇女啊！别当着她的面说她丈夫，您不要说吧。她太难受了。”
Book 5 Chapter 7
WHEN BORIS AND ANNA PAVLOVNA returned to the rest, Prince Ippolit was in possession of the ear of the company. Bending forward in his low chair, he was saying:
“The King of Prussia!” and as he said it, he laughed. Every one turned towards him. “The King of Prussia,” Ippolit said interrogatively, and again he laughed and again settled himself placidly and seriously in the depths of his big, low chair. Anna Pavlovna paused a little for him, but as Ippolit seemed quite certainly not intending to say more, she began to speak of how the godless Bonaparte had at Potsdam carried off the sword of Frederick the Great.
“It is the sword of Frederick the Great, which I …” she was beginning, but Ippolit interrupted her with the words:
“The King of Prussia …” and again as soon as all turned to listen to him, he excused himself and said no more. Anna Pavlovna frowned. Mortemart, Ippolit's friend, addressed him with decision:
“Come, what are you after with your King of Prussia?”
Ippolit laughed as though he were ashamed of his own laughter.
“No, it's nothing. I only meant …” (He had intended to repeat a joke that he had heard in Vienna and had been trying all the evening to get in.) “I only meant that we are wrong to make war for the King of Prussia.”
Boris smiled circumspectly, a smile that might do duty either for a sneer or a tribute to the jest, according to the way it was received. Every one laughed.
“It is too bad, your joke, very witty but unjust,” said Anna Pavlovna, shaking her little wrinkled finger at him. “We are not making war for the sake of the King of Prussia, but for the sake of right principles. Ah, le méchant, ce Prince Hippolyte!” she said.
The conversation did not flag all the evening, and turned principally upon the political news. Towards the end of the evening it became particularly eager, when the rewards bestowed by the Tsar were the subjects of discussion.
“Why, last year N.N. received the snuff-box with the portrait,” said the man of profound intellect. “Why shouldn't S. S. receive the same reward?”
“I beg your pardon, a snuff-box with the Emperor's portrait is a reward, but not a distinction,” said a diplomatist. “A present, rather.”
“There are precedents. I would instance Schwartzenberg.”
“It is impossible,” retorted another.
“A bet on it. The ribbon of the order is different.”
When every one got up to take leave, Ellen, who had said very little all the evening, turned to Boris again with a request, and a caressing, impressive command that he would come to her on Tuesday.
“It is of great importance to me,” she said with a smile, looking round at Anna Pavlovna, and Anna Pavlovna, with the same mournful smile with which she accompanied any reference to her royal patroness, gave her support to Ellen's wishes. It appeared that from some words Boris had uttered that evening about the Prussian army Ellen had suddenly discovered the absolute necessity of seeing him. She seemed to promise him that when he came on Tuesday she would disclose to him that necessity. When Boris entered Ellen's magnificent reception-room on Tuesday evening he received no clear explanation of the urgent reasons for his visit. Other guests were present, the countess talked little to him, and only as he kissed her hand at taking leave, with a strangely unsmiling face, she whispered to him unexpectedly:
“Come to dinner to-morrow … in the evening … you must come … come.”
During that stay in Petersburg Boris was constantly at the house of the Countess Bezuhov on a footing of the closest intimacy.
当鲍里斯和安娜·帕夫洛夫娜回到公共小组后，伊波利特公爵控制住了小组的谈话线索。他在安乐椅上向前探出身子说： 
“Le　Roi　de　Prusse！”①他说完这句话，笑起来了。大家都向他转过身去：“Le　Roi　de　Prusse？”伊波利特问道，又笑了起来，又心平气和地、严肃地坐在自己的安乐椅中。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜等了一气儿，但因伊波利特好像坚决不想再说下去，所以她就打开话匣子，说不信神的波拿巴在波茨坦偷走了腓特烈大帝的宝剑。
“C'est　l'épée　de　Frèdéric　le　Grand，que　je…”②她正要开始说，可是伊波利特打断她的话。
“Le　Roi　de　Prusse……”大家刚一向他转过身来，他又道歉了，有半晌没有开口。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜皱了皱眉头。
伊波利特的朋友莫特马尔把脸转向他，坚决地说。
“Voyons　à　qui　en　avez－vous　avec　votre　Roi　de　Prusse？”③ 
①法语：普鲁士国王。
②法语：这是腓特烈大帝的宝剑，我把它……
③法语：普鲁士国王那又能怎样呢？
伊波利特笑起来了，好像他为自己的笑声而感到害羞。
“Non，ce　n'est　rien，je　voulais　dire　seulement…①（他想把他在维也纳听到的笑话重说一遍，他整个晚上都想把它说出来。）Je　voulais　dire　seulement，que　nous　avons　tort　de　faie　la　guerre　pour　le　roi　de　Prusse．②”
鲍里斯谨慎地微微一笑，他的微笑可能被看成是对笑话的讥笑或者是赞赏，这要看大家怎样对待它了。个个都放声大笑。
“Il　est　très　mauvais　votre　jeu　de　mot，trés　spirituel，mais　injuste，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜用布满皱纹的指头威胁他说，“Nous　ne　faisons　pas　la　guerre　pour　le　roi　de　Prusse，mais　pour　les　bon　principes．Ah，le　méchant，ce　prince，Hippolyte！”③她说。
整个夜晚谈话没有停止，话题主要是以政治新闻为轴心。在晚会快要结束时，谈话涉及到国王的赏赐，它因而显得分外热烈：
“要知道‘NN'去年获得一个嵌有肖像的鼻烟壶，”l'hom　me　a　l'ésprit　profond④说，“为什么‘SS'不能获得同样的奖品呢？” 
①法语：没有什么，不过我想说……
②法语：不过我想说，我们替普鲁士国王打仗是无济于事的。
③法语：您的双关语很不优美，太俏皮，可是不真实。我们为美好的原则，而不是为普鲁士国王而战。哦，这个伊波利特公爵多么恶毒啊！
④法语：才智卓越的人。
“Je　vous　demande　pardon，une　tabatière　avec　le　portrait　de　l'Empereur　est　une　récompense，mais　point　une　distinction，”外交官说，“un　cadeau　plutot．”①
“Il　y　eu　plutot　des　antécédents，je　vous　citAerai　Schw　arzenberg．”②
“C'est　impossible．”③另一人反驳。
“打个赌。Le　grand　cordon，c'est　différent…”④ 
①法语：对不起，镶嵌有皇帝肖像的鼻烟壶是赏赐，而不是奖章，毋宁说它是赠品。
②法语：有这种范例，施瓦岑贝格曾经获得赏赐。
③法语：这是不可能的。
④法语：绶带，那是另一码事。
当大家都站起身来要走的时候，整个夜晚寡于言谈的海伦又向鲍里斯提出邀请，她亲切地意味深长地吩咐他礼拜二到她那里去。
“这对我很有必要，”她回头望着安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，含着微笑说，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜也带着她在谈论她的崇高的保护人时常会露出的忧郁的微笑，她肯定地认为海伦怀有这个心愿。这天晚上好像海伦忽然从鲍里斯谈论普鲁士军队时说出的某些话语中发现她有见他的必要。她好像已经答应在礼拜二他来的时候，她要向他说明一下，为什么她有见他的必要。
礼拜二晚上，鲍里斯来到海伦的富丽堂皇的客厅时，海伦并没有明确地向他说明，为什么要他到她这里来。客厅里还有别的几位客人，伯爵夫人很少跟他谈话，只是在他吻着她的手向她告别时，她才显露出一副古怪的样子，面无笑意，她突然低声地对他说：
“Venez　demain　diner　le　soir．Il　faut　que　vous　veniez…venez．”① 
①法语：明天来出席宴会……晚上，您要来……请您来吧。
鲍里斯这次来到彼得堡，成为伯爵夫人别祖霍娃家中亲密的朋友。
Book 5 Chapter 8
WAR had broken out and the theatre of it was closer to the borders of Russia. On all sides could be heard curses upon the enemy of the human race, Bonaparte; in the villages there were levies of recruits and reserve men, and from the theatre of war came news of the most conflicting kind, false as usual, and hence variously interpreted.
The life of the old Prince Bolkonsky, of Prince Andrey, and of Princess Marya was greatly changed since the year 1805.
In 1806 the old prince had been appointed one of the eight commanders-in-chief, created at that time for the equipment of the militia throughout all Russia. In spite of his weakness and age, which had been particularly noticeable during the time when he believed his son to have been killed, the old prince did not think it right to refuse a duty to which he had been appointed by the Emperor himself, and this new field for his activity gave him fresh energy and strength. He was continually away on tours about the three provinces that were put under his command; he was punctilious to pedantry in the performance of his duties, severe to cruelty with his subordinates, and entered into the minutest details of the work himself. Princess Marya no longer took lessons in mathematics from her father, and only went into her father's room on the mornings when he was at home, accompanied by the wet nurse and little Prince Nikolay (as his grandfather called him). The baby, Prince Nikolay, with his wet nurse and the old nurse Savishna, occupied the rooms that had been his mother's, and Princess Marya spent most of her time in the nursery taking a mother's place to her little nephew, to the best of her powers. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, appeared to be passionately fond of the child, and Princess Marya often sacrificed herself by giving up to her friend the pleasure of dandling and playing with the little angel (as she called the baby).
Near the altar of the church at Bleak Hills was a little chapel over the tomb of the little princess, and in the chapel had been placed a marble monument brought from Italy, representing an angel with its wings parted about to take flight for heaven. The angel had the upper lip lifted as though about to smile, and one day Prince Andrey and Princess Marya, as they came out of the chapel, confessed to one another that, strange to say, the face of the angel reminded them of the face of the little princess. But what was stranger, though this Prince Andrey did not confess to his sister, was that in the expression the sculptor had chanced to put into the angel's face, Prince Andrey read the same words of reproach which he had read then on the face of his dead wife: “Ah, why have you done this to me? …”
Soon after Prince Andrey's return, the old prince made over a part of the property to him, giving him Bogutcharovo, a large estate about thirty miles from Bleak Hills. Partly to escape the painful memories associated with Bleak Hills, partly because Prince Andrey did not always feel equal to bearing with his father's peculiarities, and partly from a craving for solitude, Prince Andrey made use of Bogutcharovo, established himself there and spent the greater part of his time there.
After the Austerlitz campaign, Prince Andrey had grimly resolved never to serve again in the army. And when war broke out and all were bound to serve, he took service under his father in the levying of the militia, so as to escape active service. Since the campaign of 1805 the old prince and his son had as it were exchanged parts. The old prince, stimulated by activity, expected the best results from the present campaign. Prince Andrey, on the contrary, taking no part in the war, and secretly regretting his inaction, saw in it nothing but what was bad.
On the 26th of February, 1807 the old prince set off on a tour of inspection. Prince Andrey was staying at Bleak Hills, as he usually did in his father's absence. Little Nikolushka had been ill for the last three days. The coachman, who had driven the old prince away, returned bringing papers and letters from the town for Prince Andrey. The valet with the letters not finding the young prince in his study, went to Princess Marya's apartments, but he was not there either. The valet was told that the prince had gone to the nursery. “If you please, your excellency, Petrusha has come with some papers,” said one of the nursery maids, addressing Prince Andrey, who was sitting on a child's little chair. Screwing up his eyes, he was with trembling hands pouring drops from a medicine bottle into a glass half full of water.
“What is it?” he said angrily, and his hand shaking, he accidentally poured too many drops from the bottle into the glass. He tipped the medicine out of the glass on to the floor and asked for some more water. The maid gave it him.
In the room were a couple of armchairs, a child's crib, a table and a child's table and a little chair, on which Prince Andrey was sitting. The windows were curtained, and on the table a single candle was burning, screened by a note-book, so that the light did not fall on the crib.
“My dear,” said Princess Marya, turning to her brother from beside the crib where she was standing, “it would be better to wait a little…later.”
“Oh, please, do as I say, what nonsense you keep talking, you have kept putting things off, and see what's come of it!” said Prince Andrey in an exasperated whisper, evidently meaning to wound his sister.
“My dear, it's really better not to wake him, he has fallen asleep,” said the princess in a voice of entreaty.
Prince Andrey got up and went on tiptoe to the crib with the glass in his hand.
“Should we really not wake him?” he said, hesitating.
“As you think—really…I believe so…but as you think,” said Princess Marya, obviously intimidated and ashamed that her opinion should triumph. She drew her brother's attention to the maid, who was summoning him in a whisper.
It was the second night that they had been without sleep looking after the baby, who was feverish. Mistrusting their own household doctor and expecting the doctor they had sent from the town, they had spent all that time trying first one remedy and then another. Agitated and worn out by sleeplessness, they vented their anxiety on each other, found fault with each other, and quarrelled.
“Petrusha with papers from your papa,” whispered the maid. Prince Andrey went out.
“Damn them all!” he commented angrily, and after listening to the verbal instructions sent him from his father, and taking the correspondence and his father's letter, he went back to the nursery. “Well?” queried Prince Andrey.
“No change, wait a little, for God's sake. Karl Ivanitch always says sleep is better than anything,” Princess Marya whispered with a sigh. Prince Andrey went up to the baby and felt him. He was burning hot. “Bother you and your Karl Ivanitch!” He took the glass with the drops of medicine in it and again went up to the crib.
“Andryusha, you shouldn't!” said Princess Marya. But he scowled at her with an expression of anger and at the same time of anguish, and bent over the child with the glass.
“But I wish it,” he said. “Come, I beg you, give it him…”
Princess Marya shrugged her shoulders but obediently she took the glass, and calling the nurse, began giving the child the medicine. The baby screamed and wheezed. Prince Andrey, scowling and clutching at his head, went out of the room and sat down on the sofa in the adjoining one.
The letters were still in his hand. Mechanically he opened them and began to read. The old prince in his big, sprawling hand, making use of occasional abbreviations, wrote on blue paper as follows:
“I have this moment received, through a special messenger, very joyful news, if it's not a falsehood. Bennigsen has gained it seems a complete victory over Bonaparte near Eylau. In Petersburg every one's jubilant and rewards have been sent to the army without stint. Though he's a German—I congratulate him. Commander in Kortchevo, a certain Handrikov, I can't make out what he's about; full contingent of men and regulation provision not yet arrived. Gallop over at once and say I'll have his head off if it's not all here within the week. I have a letter too about the Prussian battle at Preussisch-Eylau from Petenka, he took part in it,—it's true. If people don't meddle who've no business to meddle, even a German beats Bonaparte. They say he's running away in great disorder. Mind you gallop over to Kortchevo and do the business without delay!”
Prince Andrey sighed and broke open the other letter. It was a letter from Bilibin, two sheets covered with fine handwriting. He folded it up without reading it, and read through once more his father's letter, ending with the words: “Mind you gallop over to Kortchevo and do the business without delay!”
“No, excuse me, I'm not going now till the child is better,” he thought, and going to the door he glanced into the nursery. Princess Marya was still standing at the crib, softly rocking the baby. “Oh, and what was the other unpleasant thing he writes about?” Prince Andrey thought of the contents of his father's letter. “Yes. Our troops have gained a victory over Bonaparte precisely when I'm not in the army. Yes, yes, everything mocks at me…well and welcome too…” and he began reading the letter in French from Bilibin. He read, not understanding half of it, read simply to escape for one moment from thinking of what he had too long, too exclusively and too anxiously been dwelling upon.
战事剧烈起来了，战区已接近俄国近界。到处都可以听见诅咒人类公敌波拿巴的怨声、农村正募集民兵和新兵，从战区传来互相矛盾的消息，一如平日，消息与事实不符，因此众说纷纭，莫衷一是。 
自从一八○五年以来，博尔孔斯基老公爵、安德烈公爵和公爵小姐玛丽亚的生活发生了许多变化。
一八○六年，老公爵被任命为当时俄国后备军八大总司令之一。老公爵虽然年老体弱，在他以为儿子阵亡的那段时间，他显得分外衰老，但他认为地自己无权去拒绝国王委派的职务。重新从事活动使他倍觉兴奋，身体也变得健壮起来。他经常出巡由他负责管辖的三个省份，执行任务时极为认真，对待部属严厉到残忍的程度，而且事事都亲自办理，不疏忽最为微末的细节。公爵小姐玛丽亚已不再向父亲学习数学课程了，只是当父亲在家的时候，每天早上她才由奶母陪伴，带着小公爵尼古拉（公公这样称呼他）到父亲书斋去走走。吃奶的公爵尼古拉和奶母及保姆萨维什娜一同住在已故的公爵夫人房里，公爵小姐玛丽亚常在儿童室度过大半天时间，尽力地代替小侄的去世的母亲。布里安小组似乎也热爱小孩，公爵小姐玛丽亚常常放弃自己的权利，让她的女友也享受一下照看小天使（她这样称呼小侄儿）和同他嬉戏的乐趣。
矮小的公爵夫人坟墓上方的小礼拜堂坐落在童山教堂的祭坛旁边，小礼拜堂里竖立着一块从意大利运来的大理石纪念碑，上面镌刻着展翅欲飞的天使图。天使的上嘴唇微微翅起，仿佛要微笑似的。有一次，安德烈公爵和公爵小姐玛丽亚从小礼拜堂走出来，二人心里都承认，令人奇怪的是，这个天使的面孔使他们想起这个死者的面孔。但是，从那个艺术家无意中给天使的面孔塑造的表情中，安德烈公爵看出他那时从死去的妻子脸上看出的既温顺又含有责备意味的言语：“唉，为什么你们这样对待我呢？……”这也就令人觉得更加奇特了，关于此事安德烈公爵没有告诉他妹妹。
安德烈公爵回来后不久，老公爵让儿子分开来过，把博古恰罗沃、离童山四十俄里的一大片领地分给他了。部分地由于与童山有关的沉痛的回忆，部分地由于安德烈公爵并非经常觉得自己能够忍受父亲的脾气，部分地由于他需要一个僻静的环境，因此安德烈公爵充分利用博古恰罗沃，在那里兴建房屋，在博古恰罗沃度过了大部分时光。
奥斯特利茨战役后，安德烈公爵毅然决定永远不再服兵役，战争爆发的时候，人人都要服兵役，为了避免服现役，他在父亲领导下担任募集民兵的职务。一八○五年的战役后，老公爵和儿子好像交换了角色。老公爵在工作中显得精神振奋，他期待目前的战役一切顺利；安德烈公爵却相反，他没有参战，在他隐秘的灵魂深处，为他所看见的不良景象而感到遗憾。
一八○七年二月二十六日，老公爵离开家园乘车前往管辖区视察，在父亲离开的时候，安德烈公爵多半待在童山。小尼古卢什卡已有四天身体不舒服。送走老公爵的马车夫已从城里回来，他给安德烈公爵带来了公文及信件。
老仆人拿着信在书斋里没有碰见年轻的公爵，他走进公爵小姐玛利亚的房间，但是他也不在那儿。有人对老仆人说，公爵到儿童室去了。
“大人，请看，彼得鲁沙把公文给带来了，”一个女仆——保姆的助手，把脸转向安德烈公爵说，他坐在一张儿童坐的小椅子上，皱起眉头，他用两只巍颠颠的手从玻璃瓶里把药水滴入盛着一半水的高脚杯里。
“是怎么回事？”他怒气冲冲地说，一个不小心，手抖动了一下往高脚杯里多倒了一点药水。他把高脚杯里的药水洒在地板上，又要一点水。女仆把水递给他了。
房间里摆着一张儿童床、两只箱笼、两把安乐椅、桌子、儿童茶几，还有一把安德烈公爵正坐着的小椅子。窗户已经挂上窗帘了，桌上点燃着一支蜡烛，用已装钉的乐谱挡住烛光，省得光线投射到小床上。
“我的亲人，”公爵小姐玛丽亚站在小床旁边，把脸转向哥哥说，“最好等一下……以后……”
“哎呀，行个好，你总是说些蠢话，你总是叫我一个劲儿等，你看等着倒霉啦。”安德烈公爵恶狠狠地轻声说，显然他想刺激妹妹的痛处。
“我的亲人，说真的，最好你不要吵醒他，他睡熟了。”公爵小姐用央求的声音说。
安德烈公爵站起来，拿着高脚杯，踮起脚尖走到小床前。
“也许真的不要把他吵醒吗？”他犹豫不决地说。
“听你的便，——说真的……我想……随你的便。”公爵小姐玛丽亚说，显然是因为她的看法占了上风，她感到腼腆和害臊似的。她向她哥哥指指那个轻声喊他的女仆。
他们俩接连两夜没有睡觉，照料着发烧的男孩。这几个昼夜他们不信任自己的家庭医生，等候着派人进城去请来的医生，他们一会儿采用这种药，一会儿采用那种药。他们由于不眠而疲惫不堪，胆战心惊，彼此把痛苦推在对方身上，彼此非难，吵起来了。
“彼德鲁沙带来公爵的公文。”女仆低声地说。安德烈公爵走出去。
“那儿怎么啦！”他气忿地说，听了父亲发出的口头命令，拿起递给他的公文封套和一封父亲的信，回到儿童室去了。
“怎么啦？”安德烈公爵问道。
“还是那个样子，请看在上帝份上，等等吧。卡尔·伊万内奇总是这么说：睡眠最可贵。”公爵小姐玛丽亚叹息着，放低嗓门说。
安德烈公爵走到小孩跟前，摸了摸他。他还在发烧。
“您和您的卡尔·伊万内奇都滚开吧！”他拿起一只滴满药水的高脚杯，又向面前走来了。
“安德烈，用不着啦！”公爵小姐玛丽亚说。
可是他凶狠地、同时苦恼地对着她现出阴郁的神色，拿着高脚杯向孩子弯下腰来。
“可是我想这样做，”他说，“喂，我请求你，让他把药喝下去。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚耸耸肩，但是顺从地拿起一只高脚杯，把保姆叫来，开始让小孩喝药。这孩子哭喊起来，发出了嘶哑的声音。安德烈公爵蹙起额角，双手抱着头，走出房门，在隔壁房里的沙发上坐下来。
他手里还拿着几封信。他机械地拆开信来看。老公爵在那蓝色的纸上用粗而长的字体，有几处还用略语符号，书写如后：
“若非谎言与虚构，我刻正通过信使获得一则极大喜讯。贝尼格森在普鲁士——艾劳大捷，仿佛已彻底战败波拿巴。彼得堡上上下下都在狂欢。奖赏源源不断送往军中。贝尼格森虽系德意志人，予亦祝贺之。某个自称为汉德里科夫的科尔切瓦区首长，不了解他做什么，补充人员暨食粮至今尚未一一交清。你瞬即疾驰前去，并且告知，于一周之内准备就绪，否则即以斩首论处。我尚且获得彼坚卡的（彼得的小名）来函，言及他曾参与普鲁士——艾劳战役，——诚然与事实相符。如果确无一人干预不宜干预的事情，那末德意志人亦可歼灭波拿巴。据闻波拿巴溃乱不堪，正在仓皇逃命中。你酌情立即驰往科尔切瓦执行使命！”
安德烈公爵叹一口气，拆开另一个封套。这是比利宾寄来的一封用蝇头小字写满两小页的信。他没有看这封信，把它折起来，又看了他父亲写的信，信的末尾有一句这样的话：
“驰往科尔切瓦，执行使命！”
“不，请您原谅，小孩还没有复原，现在我不能离开他。”他走到门边，想了想，朝儿童室瞥了一眼。公爵小姐玛丽亚还站在床前，轻轻地摇着小孩让他安睡。
“是啊，他究竟写了什么讨厌的话？”安德烈公爵想起他父亲信中的内容。“是啊，正是在我不服兵役的时候，我军打败了波拿巴。是啊，是啊，他还在开我的玩笑……得啦，随便怎么样……”于是他开始念比利宾的法文信。他念着，有一半没有看懂，他念信只是为了要自己不再去想他太长久地、异常痛苦地想起的事情，即使有一分钟不想也行。
Book 5 Chapter 9
BILIBIN was now in a diplomatic capacity at the headquarters of the army, and though he wrote in French, with French jests, and French turns of speech, he described the whole campaign with an impartial self-criticism and self-mockery exclusively Russian. Bilibin wrote that the obligation of diplomatic discretion was a torture to him, and that he was happy to have in Prince Andrey a trustworthy correspondent to whom he could pour out all the spleen that had been accumulating in him at the sight of what was going on in the army. The letter was dated some time back, before the battle of Eylau.
“Since our great success at Austerlitz, you know, my dear prince,” wrote Bilibin, “that I have not left headquarters. Decidedly I have acquired a taste for warfare, and it is just as well for me. What I have seen in these three months is incredible.
“I will begin ab ovo. ‘The enemy of the human race,' as you know, is attacking the Prussians. The Prussians are our faithful allies, who have only deceived us three times in three years. We stand up for them. But it occurs that the enemy of the human race pays no attention to our fine speeches, and in his uncivil and savage way flings himself upon the Prussians without giving them time to finish the parade that they had begun, and by a couple of conjuring tricks thrashes them completely, and goes to take up his quarters in the palace of Potsdam.
“ ‘I most earnestly desire,' writes the King of Prussia to Bonaparte, ‘that your majesty may be received and treated in my palace in a manner agreeable to you, and I have hastened to take all the measures to that end which circumstances allowed. May I have succeeded!' The Prussian generals pride themselves on their politeness towards the French, and lay down their arms at the first summons.
“The head of the garrison at Glogau, who has ten thousand men, asks the King of Prussia what he is to do if he is summoned to surrender.…All these are actual facts.
“In short, hoping only to produce an effect by our military attitude, we find ourselves at war in good earnest, and, what is more, at war on our own frontiers with and for the King of Prussia. Everything is fully ready, we only want one little thing, that is the commander-in-chief. As it is thought that the successes at Austerlitz might have been more decisive if the commander-in-chief had not been so young, the men of eighty have been passed in review, and of Prosorovsky and Kamensky the latter is preferred. The general comes to us in a k?bik after the fashion of Suvorov, and is greeted with acclamations of joy and triumph.
“On the 4th comes the first post from Petersburg. The mails are taken to the marshal's room, for he likes to do everything himself. I am called to sort the letters and take those meant for us. The marshal looks on while we do it, and waits for the packets addressed to him. We seek—there are none. The marshal gets impatient, sets to work himself, and finds letters from the Emperor for Count T., Prince V., and others. Then he throws himself into one of his furies. He rages against everybody, snatches hold of the letters, opens them, and reads those from the Emperor to other people.
“ ‘Ah, so that's how I'm being treated! No confidence in me! Oh, ordered to keep an eye on me, very well; get along with you!'
“And then he writes the famous order of the day to General Bennigsen:
“ ‘I am wounded, I cannot ride on horseback, consequently cannot command the army. You have led your corps d'armée defeated to Pultusk! Here it remains exposed and destitute of wood and of forage, and in need of assistance, and so, as you reported yourself to Count Buxhevden yesterday, you must think of retreat to our frontier, and so do today.'
“ ‘All my expeditions on horseback,' he writes to the Emperor, ‘have given me a saddle sore, which, after my former journeys, quite prevents my sitting a horse, and commanding an army so widely scattered; and therefore I have handed over the said command to the general next in seniority to me, Count Buxhevden, having despatched to him all my suite and appurtenances of the same, advising him, if bread should run short, to retreat further into the interior of Prussia, seeing that bread for one day's rations only is left, and some regiments have none, as the commanders Osterman and Sedmoretsky have reported, and the peasantry of the country have had everything eaten up. I shall myself remain in the hospital at Ostrolenka till I am cured. In regard to which I must humbly submit the report that if the army remains another fortnight in its present bivouac, by spring not a man will be left in health.
“ ‘Graciously discharge from his duty an old man who is sufficiently disgraced by his inability to perform the great and glorious task for which he was chosen. I shall await here in the hospital your most gracious acceptance of my retirement, that I may not have to act the part of a secretary rather than a commander. My removal is not producing the slightest sensation—a blind man is leaving the army, that is all. More like me can be found in Russia by thousands!'
“The marshal is angry with the Emperor and punishes all of us; isn't it logical!
“That is the first act. In the next the interest and the absurdity rise, as they ought. After the marshal has departed it appears that we are within sight of the enemy and shall have to give battle. Buxhevden is commanding officer by right of seniority, but General Bennigsen is not of that opinion, the rather that it is he and his corps who face the enemy, and he wants to seize the opportunity to fight a battle ‘on his own hand,' as the Germans say. He fights it. It is the battle of Pultusk, which is counted a great victory, but which in my opinion is nothing of the kind. We civilians, you know, have a very ugly way of deciding whether battles are lost or won. The side that retreats after the battle has lost, that is what we say, and according to that we lost the battle of Pultusk. In short, we retreat after the battle, but we send a message to Petersburg with news of a victory, and the general does not give up the command to Buxhevden, hoping to receive from Petersburg the title of commander-in-chief in return for his victory. During this interregnum we begin an excessively interesting and original scheme of man?uvres. The aim does not, as it should, consist in avoiding or attacking the enemy, but solely in avoiding General Buxhevden, who by right of seniority should be our commanding officer. We pursue this object with so much energy that even when we cross a river which is not fordable we burn the bridges in order to separate ourselves from our enemy, who, at the moment, is not Bonaparte but Buxhevden. General Buxhevden was nearly attacked and taken by a superior force of the enemy, in consequence of one of our fine man?uvres which saved us from him. Buxhevden pursues us; we scuttle. No sooner does he cross to our side of the river than we cross back to the other. At last our enemy Buxhevden catches us and attacks us. The two generals quarrel. There is even a challenge on Buxhevden's part and an epileptic fit on Bennigsen's. But at the critical moment the messenger who carried the news of our Pultusk victory brings us from Petersburg our appointment as commander-in-chief, and the first enemy, Buxhevden, being overthrown, we are able to think of the second, Bonaparte. But what should happen at that very moment but the rising against us of a third enemy, which is the ‘holy armament' fiercely crying out for bread, meat, biscuits, hay, and I don't know what else! The storehouses are empty, the roads impassable. The ‘holy armament' sets itself to pillage, and that in a way of which the last campaign can give you no notion. Half the regiments have turned themselves into free companies, and are overrunning the country with fire and sword. The inhabitants are totally ruined, the hospitals are overflowing with sick, and famine is everywhere. Twice over the headquarters have been attacked by bands of marauders, and the commander-in-chief himself has had to ask for a battalion to drive them off. In one of these attacks my empty trunk and my dressing-gown were carried off. The Emperor proposes to give authority to all the commanders of divisions to shoot marauders, but I greatly fear this will oblige one half of the army to shoot the other.”
Prince Andrey at first read only with his eyes, but unconsciously what he read (though he knew how much faith to put in Bilibin) began to interest him more and more. When he reached this passage, he crumpled up the letter and threw it away. It was not what he read that angered him; he was angry that the far-away life out there—in which he had no part—could trouble him. He closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead with his hand, as though to drive out all interest in what he had been reading, and listened to what was passing in the nursery. Suddenly he fancied a strange sound through the door. A panic seized him; he was afraid something might have happened to the baby while he was reading the letter. He went on tiptoe to the door of the nursery and opened it.
At the instant that he went in, he saw that the nurse was hiding something from him with a scared face, and Princess Marya was no longer beside the crib.
“My dear,” he heard behind him Princess Marya whisper—in a tone of despair it seemed to him. As so often happens after prolonged sleeplessness and anxiety, he was seized by a groundless panic; the idea came into his mind that the baby was dead. All he saw and heard seemed a confirmation of his terror.
“All is over,” he thought, and a cold sweat came out on his forehead. He went to the crib, beside himself, believing that he would find it empty, that the nurse had been hiding the dead baby. He opened the curtains, and for a long while his hurrying, frightened eyes could not find the baby. At last he saw him. The red-cheeked child lay stretched across the crib, with its head lower than the pillow; and it was making a smacking sound with its lips in its sleep and breathing evenly.
Prince Andrey rejoiced at seeing the child, as though he had already lost him. He bent down and tried with his lips whether the baby was feverish, as his sister had shown him. The soft forehead was moist; he touched the head with his hand—even the hair was wet: the child was in such a thorough perspiration. He was not dead; on the contrary, it was evident that the crisis was over and he was better. Prince Andrey longed to snatch up, to squeeze, to press to his heart that little helpless creature; he did not dare to do so. He stood over him, gazing at his head and his little arms and legs that showed beneath the quilt. He heard a rustle beside him, and a shadow seemed to come under the canopy of the crib. He did not look round, and still gazing at the baby's face, listened to his regular breathing. The dark shadow was Princess Marya, who with noiseless steps had approached the crib, lifted the canopy, and let it fall again behind her. Prince Andrey knew it was she without looking round, and held out his hand to her. She squeezed his hand.
“He is in a perspiration,” said Prince Andrey.
“I was coming to tell you so.”
The baby faintly stirred in its sleep, smiled and rubbed its forehead against the pillow.
Prince Andrey looked at his sister. In the even half light under the hanging of the crib, Princess Marya's luminous eyes shone more than usual with the happy tears that stood in them. She bent forward to her brother and kissed him, her head catching in the canopy of the crib. They shook their fingers at one another, and still stood in the twilight of the canopy, as though unwilling to leave that seclusion where they three were alone, shut off from all the world. Prince Andrey, ruffling his hair against the muslin hangings, was the first to move away. “Yes, that is the one thing left me now,” he said with a sigh.
此时，比利宾作为一名外交官待在本军的大本营内，他的这封信虽然是用法文写的，文内包含有法国的戏言和特殊表现法，但是在自我谴责和自我嘲笑方面，他却怀着俄国所固有的无所畏惧的态度来描述整个战役。比利宾写道：外交官的discretion①使他痛苦，他身边能有安德烈公爵这么一个忠实可靠的通讯员，他感到无比幸福。他可以向他倾吐他由于目睹军内发生的事情而积累的生活感受。这封信是在普鲁士——艾劳战役之前写就的，现在已经是一封旧信了。 
①法语：谦逊。
比利宾写道：
“自从我军在奥斯特利茨赢得辉煌胜利以来，我可爱的公爵，您知道，我始终没有离开大本营。无可置疑，战争使我入迷，而且为此我深感满意，三个月以来的观感，真令人难以置信。
“我alovo（拉丁语：从头）讲起。您所知道的人类
的公敌向普鲁士人发动进攻，普鲁士人是我们志实的盟友，他们在三年之内只骗过我们三次。我们都是庇护他们的。可是，·人·类·的·公·敌对我们具有魅力的话语丝毫不理睬，竟然不让普鲁士人结束他们已经开始的阅兵式，就以野蛮无礼的方式向普鲁士人发动猛攻，击溃他们，并且进驻波茨坦皇宫。
“普鲁士国王在给波拿巴的书函中写道，我深切地希望，让陛下在我皇宫受到心悦神怡的接待，我怀着分外关切的心情，在环境许可下发出各种相应的命令。啊，我唯愿能够达到这个目的！普鲁士的将军们都在法国人面前说些恭维话，引以为荣。只要一开口提出要求，就向敌人投降。警备司令格洛高领着一万人询问普鲁士国王，他应该怎么办。这一切都是千真万确的。总而言之，我们只想凭藉我们的军事态势使他们望而生畏，但我们终于被卷入战争，就是在我们的边境线上打仗，主要是，我们·为·普·鲁·士·国·王而战，我们和他协同作战。我们拥有的东西绰绰有馀，只缺一个小滑头，即是缺少一个总司令。
如果总司令原来不是那样年轻的人，奥斯特利茨战役的胜利可能更具有决定性意义，因此我们逐一评审八十岁的将领们，在普罗佐罗夫斯基和卡缅斯基二人之间挑选了后者。这位将领装出苏沃洛夫的姿态坐着带篷马车向我们驶来，迎接他的是一片欢呼声和隆重仪式。”
“四日，第一个信使从彼得堡到这里来。他把信箱送进元帅办公厅，元帅喜欢亲自办理一切事务。有人叫我去帮助整理信件，把给我们的信件统统拿出来。元帅叫我们干这个活儿，一面瞧着我们，等候寄给他的信。我们找着，找着，可是没有他的信。元帅着急了，他亲自动手干活儿，他找到国王寄给伯爵T．和伯爵B．以及其他人的信件。他怒不可遏，失去自制力，拿着几封寄给他人的信，拆开来看，‘啊，这样对待我，不信任我！吩咐他们监视我。好，滚开吧！'于是他就给贝尼格森伯爵写了一道有名的命令。
“‘我负了伤，不能骑行，因此不能指挥军队。您把您的被击溃的兵团带领到普图斯克去了，在这里暴露自己，既没有木柴，也没有粮秣，不得不加以补助，您昨日给布克斯格夫登伯爵发出了公函，就应当想到向我国边境退却的事，您今日务必履行使命。'
“‘由于四处奔波，'écritil　á　l'Empereur，①‘我给马鞍擦伤了，再与上几处旧伤，这就完全妨碍我骑马和指挥这支规模庞大的军队，所以我把指挥军队的权力推卸给职位比我略低的将领——布克斯格夫登伯爵，还把司令部的执勤及其所属一切都移交给这位将领，并且给予忠告，如果粮食短缺，就向普鲁士内陆附近撤退，因为只剩下一日的粮食，正如奥斯特曼师长和谢德莫列茨基师长报告中所云，有几个兵团已无一粒口粮。农民的粮食快被吃光了；在擦伤仍未痊愈时，我在奥斯特罗连卡野战医院留医。我诚惶诚恐地呈上这个表报，并且禀奏，如果军队在目前的野营地再待十五天，来春就连一个健康的人都剩不下来。' 
①法语：他在给国王的信上写道。
“‘请您免去我这个老头的职务，把我送到农村去，我本来就已名誉扫地，不能完成推选我去完成的伟大而光荣的使命。我在野战医院听候您最仁慈的核准，以免我充当一名·录·事的角色，而不是在军队中充当一名·指·挥·官的角色。我从军队中离职，无非是一个盲人离开军队，决不会造成丝毫轰动，我这样的人，在俄国俯拾可得，岂止数千名。'
“元帅生国王的气，并且惩罚我们所有的人，这是完全合乎逻辑的！
“这就是喜剧的第一幕。不消说，以后几幕越来越有趣和可笑了。元帅离开后，敌人在我们眼前出现，不得不展开战斗。布克斯格夫登按职位是总司令，但是贝尼格森将军持有不同的意见，而且他和他的一军人正处于敌军的视线范围内，他想借此机会打一仗。他于是打了一仗。这就是被认为赢得一次伟大胜利的普图斯克战役，但是依我看，根本不是那么回事。您知道，我们文职人员有一种解决会战胜负问题的不良习惯。凡是在战后退下来的人，就是吃了败仗的人，这就是我们要说的话，据此看来，普图斯克之战，我们是打输了。一言以蔽之，我们在战后撤退，但同时又派遣信使向彼得堡告捷，而且贝尼格森将军在指挥军队方面不把权柄让给布克斯格夫登将军，他指望从彼得堡获得总司令头衔，俄国朝廷以此表示感谢他所获得的胜利。在领导空缺期间，我们发动了一系列很奇特的有趣的机动战。我们的计划不再是它似乎应有的那样——避开或进攻敌军，而只是避开布克斯格夫登将军，论职位高低他应当是我们的首长。我们正集中全副精力来追求这个目的，甚至在我们横渡没有浅滩的河面时烧毁桥梁，其目的也是要我们自己摆脱敌人，此刻我们的敌人不是波拿巴，而是布克斯格夫登。
因为我们采取了一次旨在拯救我们、排斥布克斯格夫登的机动，所以布克斯格夫登将军几乎遭到拥有优势兵力的敌军的袭击和俘获。布克斯格夫登追过来，我们就跑开。他刚刚渡河到了河这边，我们又渡河到了河那边。最后我们的敌人布克斯格夫登不肯放过我们，并且发动一次进攻。这时双方进行对话，想消除误会。两个将军火冒三丈，几乎要闹到两个总司令决斗的地步。幸而在此紧急关头，那个将普图斯克大捷的消息送至彼得堡的信使已返回原地，给我们带来总司令委任状，于是头号敌人布克斯格夫登被挫败了。我们此刻可以考虑第二号敌人——波拿巴。但是正在这个时候，第三号敌人——信奉正教的军人在我们面前出现了，他们大声疾呼，要面包、牛肉、面包干、干草、燕麦，——随便什么都要啊！
商店都是空荡荡的，道路难以通行。信奉正教的军人开始抢劫，这场抢劫到达骇人的程度，就连上次战役也不能使您产生一点同样的观念。有半数兵团组成自由帮会，脚迹遍布各地，极尽烧杀之能事。居民已沦为赤贫，病人充斥于医院，到处在闹饥荒。那些掠夺兵甚至有两次袭击大本营，总司令只得带领一管士兵把他们赶走。在一次这样的袭击中，他们夺走了我的一只空箱笼和一件长罩衫。国王意欲授权各师师长就地枪决掠夺兵，但是我很担心，这样势必迫使一半军队去枪毙另一半军
队。”① 
①这封信是用法文写的。
开初安德烈公爵只是用两只肉眼睛念信，但是后来他念到的内涵不由地越来越使他发生兴趣（尽管他晓得比利宾的话只有几分可信）。他读到此处，把信揉皱，扔开了。使他生气的不是他在信中念到的内容，而是他觉得陌生的当地的生活可能会使他焦虑不安。他闭上眼睛，用手揩了揩额头，仿佛在驱散他对他念到的内容的任何兴趣，他倾听儿童室里发生的什么事情。忽然他仿佛觉得门后有什么奇怪的声音。他觉得非常害怕，他害怕当他念信的时候，婴孩发生了什么事情。他踮起脚尖，走到儿童室门前，把门打开了。
当他走进来的时候，他望见保姆带着惶恐的神态藏着什么不让他瞧见，公爵小姐玛丽亚已经不在小床旁边了。
“我的亲人，”他仿佛觉得从后面传来公爵小姐玛利亚绝望的耳语声。这是在长期失眠和心绪不安之后常有的现象，他感到一种无缘无故的恐惧向他袭来，他忽然想到，这婴孩死了。他觉得好像他的所见所闻证实了他的恐惧是有缘由的。
“一切都完了。”他想了想，他那额角上冒出了一阵冷汗。他张皇失措地走到小床前，心里相信，他将会发现那是一张空床，保姆把死去了的婴孩藏起来了。他打开帘子，他那惊恐的散光眼睛很久都没有找到孩子。他终于看见他了，红脸蛋的男孩四仰八叉地横卧在小床上，他把头低低地放在枕头下面，在梦中吧嗒有声，逐一地掀动嘴唇，均匀地呼吸。
安德烈公爵看见了男孩，非常快活，他还觉得他好像失去了他似的。正像他妹妹教他那样，他俯下身去，用嘴唇试试婴孩是不是还在发烧。细嫩的额角是湿润的，他用手摸了一下头，连头发也是湿的，这孩子冒出一身大汗了。他不仅没有死，而且很明显，疾病的极期过去了，他在复原了。安德烈公爵很想把这个无能为力的小生物抱起来，揉一揉，紧紧地偎在自己怀里，但是他不敢这样做。他在他身前站着，注视他的头和在被子底下显露出轮廓的小手和小脚。从他旁边传来沙沙的响声，他觉得小床的帐子下面露出了一个影子。他没有环顾四周，只是看着婴孩的面孔，仍然倾听他的均匀的呼吸。那个黑影是公爵小姐玛丽亚，她悄悄地走到小床前，撩起帐子，又随手把它放下来。安德烈公爵没有回头看看，就知道是她，于是向她伸出手来。她紧紧握住他的手。
“他出汗了。”安德烈公爵说。
“我到你身边来，就是要向你说出这句话的。”
婴孩在梦中稍微动了一动，流露出笑容，用额头擦了一下枕头。
安德烈公爵看了看妹妹。公爵小姐玛丽亚那双闪闪发光的眼睛噙满着幸福的眼泪，在光线暗淡的帐子里面显得异常明亮了。公爵小姐玛丽亚向哥哥探过身子，吻了吻他，略微碰了一下小床的帐子。他们互相威吓了一下，在光线暗淡的帐子里面站了一阵子，好像不愿意离开这个小世界，他们三个人在这里仿佛与整个世界隔绝了。安德烈公爵的头发碰着细纱帐子，给弄得蓬乱不堪，头一个从床边走开，“是的，这是现在留给我的唯一的东西。”他叹一口气说。
Book 5 Chapter 10
SHORTLY after his reception into the brotherhood of the freemasons, Pierre set off to the Kiev province, where were the greater number of his peasants, with full instructions written for his guidance in doing his duty on his estates.
On reaching Kiev, Pierre sent for all his stewards to his head counting-house, and explained to them his intentions and his desires. He told them that steps would very shortly be taken for the complete liberation of his peasants from serfdom, that till that time his peasants were not to be overburdened with labour, that the women with children were not to be sent out to work, that assistance was to be given to the peasants, that wrong-doing was to be met with admonishment, and not with corporal punishment; and that on every estate there must be founded hospitals, almshouses, and schools. Several of the stewards (among them were some bailiffs barely able to read and write) listened in dismay, supposing the upshot of the young count's remarks to be that he was dissatisfied with their management and embezzlement of his money. Others, after the first shock of alarm, derived amusement from Pierre's lisp and the new words he used that they had not heard before. Others again found a simple satisfaction in hearing the sound of their master's voice. But some, among them the head steward, divined from this speech how to deal with their master for the attainment of their own ends.
The head steward expressed great sympathy with Pierre's projects; but observed that, apart from these innovations, matters were in a bad way and needed thoroughly going into.
In spite of Count Bezuhov's enormous wealth, Pierre ever since he had inherited it, and had been, as people said, in receipt of an annual income of five hundred thousand, had felt much less rich than when he had been receiving an allowance of ten thousand from his father. In general outlines he was vaguely aware of the following budget. About eighty thousand was being paid into the Land Bank as interest on mortgages on his estates. About thirty thousand went to the maintenance of his estate in the suburbs of Moscow, his Moscow house, and his cousins the princesses. About fifteen thousand were given in pensions, and as much more to benevolent institutions. One hundred and fifty thousand were sent to his countess, for her maintenance. Some seventy thousand were paid away as interest on debts. The building of a new church had for the last two years been costing about ten thousand. The remainder—some one hundred thousand—was spent—he hardly knew how—and almost every year he was forced to borrow. Moreover every year the head steward wrote to him of conflagrations, or failures of crops, or of the necessity of rebuilding factories or workshops. And so the first duty with which Pierre was confronted was the one for which he had the least capacity and inclination—attention to practical business.
Every day Pierre went into things with the head steward. But he felt that what he was doing did not advance matters one inch. He felt that all he did was quite apart from the reality, that his efforts had no grip on the business, and would not set it in progress. On one side the head steward put matters in their worst light, proving to Pierre the necessity of paying his debts, and entering upon new undertakings with the labour of his serf peasants, to which Pierre would not agree. On the other side, Pierre urged their entering upon the work of liberation, to which the head steward objected the necessity of first paying off the loans from the Land Bank, and the consequent impossibility of haste in the matter. The head steward did not say that this was utterly impossible; he proposed as the means for attaining this object, the sale of the forests in the Kostroma province, the sale of the lands on the lower Volga, and of the Crimean estate. But all these operations were connected in the head steward's talk with such a complexity of processes, the removal of certain prohibitory clauses, the obtaining of certain permissions, and so on, that Pierre lost the thread, and could only say: “Yes, yes, do so then.”
Pierre had none of that practical tenacity, which would have made it possible for him to undertake the business himself, and so he did not like it, and only tried to keep up a pretence of going into business before the head steward. The steward too kept up a pretence before the count of regarding his participation in it as of great use to his master, and a great inconvenience to himself.
In Kiev he had acquaintances: persons not acquaintances made haste to become so, and gave a warm welcome to the young man of fortune, the largest landowner of the province, who had come into their midst. The temptations on the side of Pierre's besetting weakness, the one to which he had given the first place at his initiation into the lodge, were so strong that he could not resist them. Again whole days, weeks, and months of his life were busily filled up with parties, dinners, breakfasts, and balls, giving him as little time to think as at Petersburg. Instead of the new life Pierre had hoped to lead, he was living just the same old life only in different surroundings.
Of the three precepts of freemasonry, Pierre had to admit that he had not fulfilled that one which prescribes for every mason the duty of being a model of moral life; and of the seven virtues he was entirely without two—morality and love of death. He comforted himself by reflecting that, on the other hand, he was fulfilling the other precept—the improvement of the human race; and had other virtues, love for his neighbour and liberality.
In the spring of 1807, Pierre made up his mind to go back again to Petersburg. On the way back he intended to make the tour of all his estates, and to ascertain personally what had been done of what had been prescribed by him, and in what position the people now were who had been entrusted to him by God, and whom he had been striving to benefit.
The head steward, who regarded all the young count's freaks as almost insanity—disastrous to him, to himself, and to his peasants—made concessions to his weaknesses. While continuing to represent the liberation of his serfs as impracticable, he made arrangements on all his estates for the building of schools, hospitals, and asylums on a large scale to be begun ready for the master's visit, prepared everywhere for him to be met, not with ceremonious processions, which he knew would not be to Pierre's taste, but with just the devotionally grateful welcomes, with holy images and bread and salt, such as would, according to his understanding of the count, impress him and delude him.
The southern spring, the easy, rapid journey in his Vienna carriage and the solitude of the road, had a gladdening influence on Pierre. The estates, which he had not before visited, were one more picturesque than the other; the peasantry seemed everywhere thriving, and touchingly grateful for the benefits conferred on them. Everywhere he was met by welcomes, which though they embarrassed Pierre, yet at the bottom of his heart rejoiced him. At one place the peasants had brought him bread and salt and the images of Peter and Paul, and begged permission in honour of his patron saints, Peter and Paul, and in token of love and gratitude for the benefits conferred on them, to erect at their own expense a new chapel in the church. At another place he was welcomed by women with babies in their arms, who came to thank him for being released from the obligation of heavy labour. In a third place he was met by a priest with a cross, surrounded by children, whom by the favour of the count he was instructing in reading and writing and religion. On all his estates Pierre saw with his own eyes stone buildings erected, or in course of erection, all on one plan, hospitals, schools, and almshouses, which were in short time to be opened. Everywhere Pierre saw the steward's reckoning of service due to him diminished in comparison with the past, and heard touching thanks for what was remitted from deputations of peasants in blue, full-skirted coats.
But Pierre did not know that where they brought him bread and salt and were building a chapel of Peter and Paul there was a trading village, and a fair on St. Peter's day, that the chapel had been built long ago by wealthy peasants of the village, and that nine-tenths of the peasants of that village were in the utmost destitution. He did not know that since by his orders nursing mothers were not sent to work on their master's land, those same mothers did even harder work on their own bit of land. He did not know that the priest who met him with the cross oppressed the peasants with his exactions, and that the pupils gathered around him were yielded up to him with tears and redeemed for large sums by their parents. He did not know that the stone buildings were being raised by his labourers, and increased the forced labour of his peasants, which was only less upon paper. He did not know that where the steward pointed out to him in the account book the reduction of rent to one-third in accordance with his will, the labour exacted had been raised by one half. And so Pierre was enchanted by his journey over his estates, and came back completely to the philanthropic frame of mind in which he had left Petersburg, and wrote enthusiastic letters to his preceptor and brother, as he called the grand master.
“How easy it is, how little effort is needed to do so much good,” thought Pierre, “and how little we trouble ourselves to do it!”
He was happy at the gratitude shown him, but abashed at receiving it. That gratitude reminded him how much more he could do for those simple, good-hearted people.
The head steward, a very stupid and crafty man, who thoroughly understood the clever and na?ve count, and played with him like a toy, seeing the effect produced on Pierre by these carefully arranged receptions, was bolder in advancing arguments to prove the impossibility, and even more, the uselessness of liberating the peasants, who were so perfectly happy without that.
In the recesses of his own heart, Pierre agreed with the steward that it was difficult to imagine people happier, and that there was no knowing what their future would be in freedom. But though reluctantly, he stuck to what he thought the right thing. The steward promised to use every effort to carry out the count's wishes, perceiving clearly that the count would never be in a position to verify whether every measure had been taken for the sale of the forests and estates for the repayment of loans from the bank, would never probably even inquire, and would certainly never find out that the buildings, when finished, stood empty, and that the peasants were giving in labour and money just what they gave with other masters, that is, all that could be got out of them.
加入共济会之后不久，皮埃尔持有给自己写的一整套领地办事守则，前往基辅省，他的大部分农民在那里种田。 
到达基辅后，皮埃尔便在总办事处召集全体管事人，向他们说明他的意图和愿望。他对他们说，应该即将采取措施，以彻底解放农民，使其摆脱农奴制的依赖关系，届时不应加重农民的劳动负担，不宜将妇女、儿童送去从事劳动，务宜给予农民以帮助，处罚应用以规劝，而不应采用肉刑，于各个领地设立医院、孤儿院、养老院和学校。一些管事人（这里头包括识字不多的管家）吃惊地听他说话，揣测说话的涵义在于，年轻的伯爵对他们管事和隐藏金钱表示不满，另一些管事人感受到初悸之后，认为皮埃尔把“C”、“C”音发得有点像“D”、“E”音、认为那些他们未尝听到的新名词都是挺有趣的，第三种管事人认为听听老爷讲话简直是一件乐事，第四种管事人都是聪明人，其中包括总管事人，他们从这次讲话中明白了，要如何对待老爷，藉以达到自己的目的。
总管事对皮埃尔的意向深表同情，但他注意到，除开这些改革而外，还必须认真从事那些一团糟的业务研究。
别祖霍夫伯爵获得了巨大的财富，据云每年均有五十万卢布的收入，但较诸以前他从已故的老伯爵手上获得一万卢布的时候，反而觉得很不富裕。他模糊地意识到他有如下一笔大致的预算。各领地要向管理局缴纳八万卢布；莫斯科近郊、莫斯科市内的住宅的消费和几位公爵小姐的生活费用约占三万卢布；支付养老金和拨给慈善机关的款项各占一万五千卢布左右；拨给伯爵夫人的生活费占十五万卢布；支付债务的利金约七万卢布；这两年用在业已着手兴建的教堂上的款子约一万卢布；其余十万卢布连他自己也不晓得是怎样开销的，因此他年年不得不借钱。除此而外，每年之内总管事人时而在信中禀告大灾，时而禀告歉收，时而禀告作坊、工厂改进的必要。因此皮埃尔觉得，头一件大事，是他最缺乏志趣和能力去应付的事情——·研·究·业·务。
皮埃尔和总管事人每天都要研究业务。但是他感到，他的研究不能把业务向前推进一步。他也感觉到，他的研究并不以业务为转移，他们没有抓紧业务，没有使它向前推进。一方面，总管事人把业务看得很糟，并向皮埃尔表明，务必要偿清债务，凭藉农奴的劳力从事新活动，皮埃尔却不同意；另一面，皮埃尔要求着手解放农奴，管事人却向他表明，首先要向管理局偿还债务，因此不能从速执行解放农奴的使命。
管事人不说解放农奴是完全不可能的，为了达到此一目的，他建议出售科斯特罗马省的森林，出售洼地和克里木的领地。但是管事人说，这些交易上的手续非常复杂，不仅要撤消禁令，而且要申请，听候批准，等等，以致皮埃尔惘然若失，只有对他说，“是的，是的，您就这么办。”
皮埃尔缺乏那种认真办事的百折不回的实干能力，所以他不喜欢业务，而只是在管事人面前极力装出一副忙着办事的样子。管事人在伯爵面前也竭力装出好像办理这些业务对主人极为有利，而对他自己却是件为难的事。
一些熟人在大城市里碰头了，不认识的人也忙着和他交朋友，热情地欢迎新到的富翁，本省最大的地主。皮埃尔在加入共济会分会时坦白承认他有易受引诱这个主要弱点，而今诱惑力是那样强烈，以致他无力控制住自己。皮埃尔的生涯又如在彼得堡一般，整天整天地、整周整周地、整月整月地在晚会、舞会、早饭和午宴当中度过，好不忙碌，好不心焦，哪里有时间让他醒悟过来。皮埃尔只是在另一种环境中过着从前那样的生活，而不是他希望过的新生活。
共济会的三大宗旨中，皮埃尔意识到，他没有去履行每个共济会员根据规定必须成为精神生活楷模的使命。七条美德中，他本身缺少两条：品行端正、爱献身。他可以安慰自己的是，他履行了另一项使命：改造人类，并且具备有另外两条美德：爱他人，特别是慷慨。
一八○七年春季，皮埃尔决定回到彼得堡。在归途中，他想访遍他的领地，并使他自己确信，按照规定完成了什么使命，检查一下他受托于上帝并力图施以恩泽的良民现在处于何种境地。
总管事人认为年轻的伯爵的各种意图几乎是丧失理智的表现，对自己，对他，对农民都是不利的，但是他还是作出了让步。他仍旧认为解放农奴是办不到的事，他于是吩咐在各领地修建学校、医院、孤儿院、养老院的高大房屋；在各处做好欢迎老爷的准备，他知道皮埃尔不喜欢大肆铺张的隆重仪式，但是照他对老爷的了解，正如献神像、献面包和盐等宗教感恩之类的仪式却能影响伯爵，把他哄骗一阵子。
南方的春天，乘坐维也纳式四轮马车平静的飞奔、旅途的独处，在在都使皮埃尔感到心旷神怡。那些他未曾驻足的领地富有画意，一个比一个优美；他似乎觉得到处的平民都很幸福，对他的恩惠深表谢忱。到处都举行欢迎仪式，虽使皮埃尔觉得不好意思，但是在他的灵魂深处引起一种快感。有个地方的农民向他献出面包、食盐和彼得与保罗圣像，请求他允许他们自筹经费在教堂营建新侧祭坛，藉以纪念他的彼得天使和保罗天使，爱戴皮埃尔并对他的恩典表示感激。在另一领地，携带婴孩的妇女门都来迎接他，因为他使她们摆脱沉重的劳动而向他表示感谢。在第三领地，迎接他的是儿童簇拥的手捧十字架的神甫，他承蒙伯爵宠信，教儿童识字、信奉宗教。在各个领地皮埃尔亲眼看见那些按照一个计划正在兴建和业已兴建的医院、学校、养老院的砖石结构的楼房，它们即将交付使用。皮埃尔处处看到管事人关于减少劳役的报告书，并且听到那些身穿蓝色长衫的农民代表为此而道出的深深感激的话语。
皮埃尔只是不知道，那个向他献面包和盐并且兴建彼得与保罗侧祭坛的地方，是一个商业村镇、每逢圣彼得节开集的市场，这个村镇的富裕农民都去见他，他们老早就在兴建侧祭坛了，而占村镇十分之九的农民却沦为赤贫。他不知道，遵照他的命令已不再把·哺·乳妇女——随带婴孩的妇女送去服劳役，这些哺乳妇女于是在自己屋里承担极其艰苦的家务劳动。他不知道，那个拿着十字架来迎接他的神甫向农民征收苛捐杂税，加重农民的负担，他所招收的学生都是由家长含着泪水把他们送到他跟前，又花掉一大笔钱赎回来的。他不晓得，砖石结构的房屋是由农民自己的劳工按照计划兴建的，因而加重了农民的劳役，减轻劳役只是一纸空文。他不知道，管事人凭本子向他表明，依照他的意志租金已减少三分之一，同时本地的赋役却增加了一半。因此皮埃尔对游历领地一事感到十分满意，完全恢复了他离开彼得堡时那种慈善事业家的心情，于是给他称为会长的师兄写了一封热情洋溢的信。
“多么轻易，不太费劲，就做成了这么多善事，”皮埃尔想道，“我们对这种事关心得多么不够啊　”
别人对他表示感谢使他觉得非常幸福，但在接受感谢时，他又觉得汗颜。这种感谢使他想到，他最好能够替这些平凡而善良的人做更多的事。
总管事人是一个极为愚庸而且滑头的人，他完全了解这个既聪颖而又幼稚的伯爵，他就像耍着玩具似的玩弄他，他看到事前筹备的招待对皮埃尔产生了影响，便更加坚决地向他提出种种理由，说什么解放农奴是办不成的，主要是不必要的，因为农奴不解放原来就非常幸福。
皮埃尔在隐秘的内心也同意总管事人的看法，认为难以想象出有比农奴更幸福的人，天晓得什么前程等待着获得自由的农奴，虽然皮埃尔不是有此心愿，但仍然坚持他认为合乎正义的事情。管事人答应使用一切实力去履行伯爵的意志，而且十分明白，伯爵不仅永远无法检查他是否采取措施售出森林和领地，是否已还清管理局的债务，而且十之八九永远不会询问和打听业已兴建的房舍怎么空着不交付使用，农民怎么还像别的农奴一样继续以劳役和金钱的形式交出他们所能提供的一切。
Book 5 Chapter 11
RETURNING from his southern tour in the happiest frame of mind, Pierre carried out an intention he had long had, of visiting his friend Bolkonsky, whom he had not seen for two years.
Bogutcharovo lay in a flat, ugly part of the country, covered with fields and copses of fir and birch-trees, in parts cut down. The manor house was at the end of the straight village that ran along each side of the high road, behind an overflowing pond newly dug, and still bare of grass on its banks in the midst of a young copse, with several large pines standing among the smaller trees.
The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, serfs' quarters, stables, bath-houses, lodges, and a large stone house with a semicircular fa?ade, still in course of erection. Round the house a garden had been newly laid out. The fences and gates were solid and new; under a shed stood two fire-engines and a tub painted green. The paths were straight, the bridges were strong and furnished with stone parapets. Everything had an air of being cared for and looked after. The house serfs on the way, in reply to inquiries where the prince was living, pointed to a small new lodge at the very edge of the pond. Prince Andrey's old body-servant, Anton, after assisting Pierre out of his carriage, said that the prince was at home, and conducted him into a clean little lobby.
Pierre was struck by the modesty of this little, clean house, after the splendid surroundings in which he had last seen his friend in Petersburg.
He went hurriedly into the little parlour, still unplastered and smelling of pine wood, and would have gone further, but Anton ran ahead on tip-toe and knocked at the door.
“What is it?” he heard a harsh, unpleasant voice.
“A visitor,” answered Anton.
“Ask him to wait”; and there was the sound of a chair being pushed back.
Pierre went with rapid steps to the door, and came face to face with Prince Andrey, who came out frowning and looking older. Pierre embraced him, and taking off his spectacles, kissed him and looked close at him.
“Well, I didn't expect you; I am glad,” said Prince Andrey.
Pierre said nothing; he was looking in wonder at his friend, and could not take his eyes off him. He was struck by the change in Prince Andrey. His words were warm, there was a smile on the lips and the face, but there was a lustreless, dead look in his eyes, into which, in spite of his evident desire to seem glad, Prince Andrey could not throw a gleam of happiness. It was not only that his friend was thinner, paler, more manly looking, but the look in his eyes and the line on his brow, that expressed prolonged concentration on some one subject, struck Pierre and repelled him till he got used to it.
On meeting after a long separation, the conversation, as is always the case, did not for a long while rest on one subject. They asked questions and gave brief replies about things of which they knew themselves they must talk at length. At last the conversation began gradually to revolve more slowly about the questions previously touched only in passing, their life in the past, their plans for the future, Pierre's journeys, and what he had been doing, the war, and so on. The concentrated and crushed look which Pierre had noticed in Prince Andrey's eyes was still more striking now in the smile with which he listened to him, especially when he was telling him with earnestness and delight of his past or his future. It was as though Prince Andrey would have liked to take interest in what he was telling him, but could not. Pierre began to feel that to express enthusiasm, ideals, and hopes of happiness and goodness was unseemly before Prince Andrey. He felt ashamed of giving expression to all the new ideas he had gained from the masons, which had been revived and strengthened in him by his last tour. He restrained himself, afraid of seeming na?ve. At the same time he felt an irresistible desire to show his friend at once that he was now a quite different Pierre, better than the one he had known in Petersburg.
“I can't tell you how much I have passed through during this time. I shouldn't know my old self.”
“Yes, you are very, very much changed since those days,” said Prince Andrey.
“Well, and what of you?” asked Pierre. “What are your plans?”
“Plans?” repeated Prince Andrey ironically. “My plans?” he repeated, as though wondering what was the meaning of such a word. “Why, you see, I am building; I want next year to settle in here altogether …”
Pierre looked silently and intently into the face of Prince Andrey, which had grown so much older.
“No, I'm asking about …” Pierre began, but Prince Andrey interrupted him.
“But why talk about me … talk to me, and tell me about your journey, about everything you have been doing on your estates.”
Pierre began describing what he had been doing on his estates, trying as far as he could to disguise his share in the improvements made on them. Prince Andrey several times put in a few words before Pierre could utter them, as though all Pierre's doings were an old, familiar story, and he were hearing it not only without interest, but even as it were a little ashamed of what was told him.
Pierre began to feel awkward and positively wretched in his friend's company. He relapsed into silence.
“I tell you what, my dear fellow,” said Prince Andrey, who was unmistakably dreary and ill at ease with his visitor, “I'm simply bivouacking here; I only came over to have a look at things. I'm going back again to my sister to-day. I will introduce you to her. But I think you know her, though,” he added, obviously trying to provide entertainment for his guest, with whom he now found nothing in common. “We will set off after dinner. And now would you care to see my place?” They went out and walked about till dinner time, talking of political news and common acquaintances, like people not very intimate. The only thing of which Prince Andrey now spoke with some eagerness and interest was the new buildings and homestead he was building; but even in the middle of a conversation on this subject, on the scaffolding, when Prince Andrey was describing to Pierre the plan of the house, he suddenly stopped. “There's nothing interesting in that, though, let us go in to dinner and set off.”
At dinner the conversation fell on Pierre's marriage.
“I was very much surprised when I heard of it,” said Prince Andrey.
Pierre blushed as he always did at any reference to his marriage, and said hurriedly: “I'll tell you one day how it all happened. But you know that it's all over and for ever.”
“For ever?” said Prince Andrey; “nothing's for ever.”
“But do you know how it all ended? Did you hear of the duel?”
“Yes, you had to go through that too!”
“The one thing for which I thank God is that I didn't kill that man,” said Pierre.
“Why so?” said Prince Andrey. “To kill a vicious dog is a very good thing to do, really.”
“No, to kill a man is bad, wrong …”
“Why is it wrong?” repeated Prince Andrey; “what's right and wrong is a question it has not been given to men to decide. Men are for ever in error, and always will be in error, and in nothing more than in what they regard as right and wrong.”
“What does harm to another man is wrong,” said Pierre, feeling with pleasure that for the first time since his arrival Prince Andrey was roused and was beginning to speak and eager to give expression to what had made him what he now was.
“And who has told you what is harm to another man?” he asked.
“Harm? harm?” said Pierre; “we all know what harms ourselves.”
“Yes, we know that, but it's not the same harm we know about for ourselves that we do to another man,” said Prince Andrey, growing more and more eager, and evidently anxious to express to Pierre his new view of things. He spoke in French. “I only know two very real ills in life, remorse and sickness. There is no good except the absence of those ills. To live for myself so as to avoid these two evils: that's the sum of my wisdom now.”
“And love for your neighbour, and self-sacrifice?” began Pierre. “No, I can't agree with you! To live with the sole object of avoiding doing evil, so as not to be remorseful, that's very little. I used to live so, I used to live for myself, and I spoilt my life. And only now, when I'm living, at least trying to live” (modesty impelled Pierre to correct himself) “for others, only now I have learnt to know all the happiness of life. No, I don't agree with you, and indeed, you don't believe what you're saying yourself.”
Prince Andrey looked at Pierre without speaking, and smiled ironically. “Well, you'll see my sister Marie. You will get on with her,” said he. “Perhaps you are right for yourself,” he added, after a brief pause, “but every one lives in his own way; you used to live for yourself, and you say that by doing so you almost spoiled your life, and have only known happiness since you began to live for others. And my experience has been the reverse. I used to live for glory. (And what is glory? The same love for others, the desire to do something for them, the desire of their praise.) In that way I lived for others, and not almost, but quite spoilt my life. And I have become more peaceful since I live only for myself.”
“But how are you living only for yourself?” Pierre asked, getting hot. “What of your son, your sister, your father?”
“Yes, but that's all the same as myself, they are not others,” said Prince Andrey; “but others, one's neighbours, as you and Marie call them, they are the great source of error and evil. One's neighbours are those—your Kiev peasants—whom one wants to do good to.”
And he looked at Pierre with a glance of ironical challenge. He unmistakably meant to draw him on.
“You are joking,” said Pierre, getting more and more earnest. “What error and evil can there be in my wishing (I have done very little and done it very badly), but still wishing to do good, and doing indeed something any way? Where can be the harm if unhappy people, our peasants, people just like ourselves, growing up and dying with no other idea of God and the truth, but a senseless prayer and ceremony, if they are instructed in the consoling doctrines of a future life, of retribution, and recompense and consolation? What harm and error can there be in my giving them doctors, and a hospital, and a refuge for the aged, when men are dying of disease without help, and it is so easy to give them material aid? And isn't there palpable, incontestable good, when the peasants and the women with young children have no rest day or night, and I give them leisure and rest? …” said Pierre, talking hurriedly and lisping. “And I have done that; badly it's true, and too little of it, but I have done something towards it, and you'll not only fail to shake my conviction that I have done well, you'll not even shake my conviction that you don't believe that yourself. And the great thing,” Pierre continued, “is that I know this and know it for a certainty—that the enjoyment of doing this good is the only real happiness in life.”
“Oh, if you put the question like that, it's a different matter,” said Prince Andrey. “I'm building a house and laying out a garden, while you are building hospitals. Either occupation may serve to pass the time. But as to what's right and what's good—leave that to one who knows all to judge; it's not for us to decide. Well, you want an argument,” he added; “all right, let us have one.” They got up from the table and sat out on the steps in default of a balcony. “Come, let us argue the matter,” said Prince Andrey. “You talk of schools,” he went on, crooking one finger, “instruction, and so forth, that is, you want to draw him” (he pointed to a peasant who passed by them taking off his cap), “out of his animal condition and to give him spiritual needs, but it seems to me that the only possible happiness is animal happiness, and you want to deprive him of it. I envy him, while you are trying to make him into me, without giving him my circumstances. Another thing you speak of is lightening his toil. But to my notions, physical labour is as much a necessity for him, as much a condition of his existence, as intellectual work is for me and for you. You can't help thinking. I go to bed at three o'clock, thoughts come into my mind, and I can't go to sleep; I turn over, and can't sleep till morning, because I'm thinking, and I can't help thinking, just as he can't help ploughing and mowing. If he didn't, he would go to the tavern, or become ill. Just as I could not stand his terrible physical labour, but should die of it in a week, so he could not stand my physical inactivity, he would grow fat and die. The third thing—what was it you talked about?”
Prince Andrey crooked his third finger.
“Oh, yes, hospitals, medicine. He has a fit and dies, but you have him bled and cure him. He will drag about an invalid for ten years, a burden to every one. It would be ever so much simpler and more comfortable for him to die. Others are born, and there are always plenty. If you grudge losing a labourer—that's how I look at him—but you want to cure him from love for him. But he has no need of that. And besides, what a notion that medicine has ever cured any one! Killed them—yes!” he said, scowling and turning away from Pierre.
Prince Andrey gave such a clear and precise utterance to his ideas that it was evident he had thought more than once of this already, and he talked rapidly and eagerly, as a man does who has long been silent. His eyes grew keener, the more pessimistic were the views he expressed.
“Oh, this is awful, awful!” said Pierre. “I don't understand how one can live with such ideas. I have had moments of thinking like that; it was not long ago at Moscow and on a journey, but then I become so abject that I don't live at all, everything's hateful to me … myself, most of all. Then I don't eat, I don't wash … how can you go on? …”
“Why not wash, that's not clean,” said Prince Andrey; “on the contrary, one has to try and make one's life more agreeable as far as one can. I'm alive, and it's not my fault that I am, and so I have to try without hurting others to get on as well as I can till death.”
“But what impulse have you to live with such ideas? You would sit still without stirring, taking no part in anything.…”
“Life won't leave you in peace even so. I should be glad to do nothing, but here you see on one side, the local nobility have done me the honour of electing me a marshal; it was all I could do to get out of it. They could not understand that I haven't what's needed, haven't that good-natured, fussy vulgarity we all know so well, that's needed for it. Then there's this house here, which had to be built that I might have a nook of my own where I could be quiet. Now there's the militia.”
“Why aren't you serving in the army?”
“After Austerlitz!” said Prince Andrey gloomily. “No, thank you; I swore to myself that I would never serve in the Russian army again. And I will not, if Bonaparte were stationed here at Smolensk, threatening Bleak Hills! even then I wouldn't serve in the Russian army. Well, so I was saying,” Prince Andrey went on, regaining his composure. “Now, there's the militia; my father's commander-in-chief of the third circuit, and the only means for me to escape from active service is to serve under him.”
“So you are in the service, then?”
“Yes.” He was silent for a while.
“Then why do you serve?”
“I'll tell you why. My father is one of the most remarkable men of his time. But he's grown old, and he's not cruel exactly, but he's of too energetic a character. He's terrible from his habit of unlimited power, and now with this authority given him by the Emperor as a commander-in-chief in the militia. If I had been two hours later a fortnight ago, he would have hanged the register-clerk at Yuhnovo,” said Prince Andrey with a smile. “So I serve under him now because no one except me has any influence over my father, and I sometimes save him from an act which would be a source of misery to him afterwards.”
“Ah, there you see!”
“Yes, it is not as you think,” Prince Andrey continued. “I didn't, and I don't wish well in the slightest to that scoundrelly register-clerk who had stolen boots or something from the militiamen; indeed, I would have been very glad to see him hanged, but I feel for my father, that is again myself.”
Prince Andrey grew more and more eager. His eyes glittered feverishly, as he tried to prove to Pierre that there was never the slightest desire to do good to his neighbour in his actions.
“Well, you want to liberate your serfs, too,” he pursued; “that's a very good thing, but not for you—I expect you have never flogged a man nor sent one to Siberia—and still less for your peasants. If a peasant is beaten, flogged, sent to Siberia, I dare say he's not a bit the worse for it. In Siberia he can lead the same brute existence; the stripes on the body heal, and he's as happy as before. But it's needed for the people who are ruined morally, who are devoured by remorse, who stifle that remorse and grow callous from being able to inflict punishment all round them. Perhaps you have not seen it, but I have seen good men, brought up in the traditions of unlimited power with years, as they grew more irritable, become cruel and brutal, conscious of it, and unable to control themselves, and growing more and more miserable.”
Prince Andrey spoke with such earnestness that Pierre could not help thinking those ideas were suggested to him by his father. He made him no reply.
“So that's what I grieve for—for human dignity, for peace of conscience, for purity, and not for their backs or their heads, which always remain just the same backs and heads, however you thrash or shave them.”
“No, no, a thousand times no! I shall never agree with you,” said Pierre.
皮埃尔怀着非常幸运的心情从南方游历归来，他实现了他自己的宿愿——驱车去访问他两年未曾见面的友人博尔孔斯基。 
博古恰罗沃村位于风景不优美的平坦地带，这里满布着田地、已被砍伐和未被砍伐的枞树林和桦树林。老爷的庭院在村庄尽头的大路边上，后面有一个不久前掘成的灌满水的池塘，沿岸还没有长满野草，一片幼林散布在周围，其间耸立着几棵高大的松树。
老爷的庭院里有个打谷场、院内建筑物、马厩、澡堂、厢房和一幢正在兴建的带有半圆形三角墙的砖石结构的大楼房。住宅周围有一个不久前种有树木的花园。围墙和大门都是崭新的、很牢固的；屋檐底下放着两条消防水龙和涂有绿漆的大圆桶；几条路都是笔直的，几座桥都是很坚固的，桥两边添建上栏杆。样样东西带有精心制造、善于经营的印记。皮埃尔向遇见的仆人询问公爵住在何处时，他们指了指位于池塘边上的一栋新盖的小厢房。安德烈公爵的老仆人安东搀扶皮埃尔下马车，并对他说公爵在家，之后便把他领进一间干净的小前厅。
皮埃尔最后一次在彼得堡看见他的朋友住在富丽堂皇的大楼之后，眼前这栋虽然干净、但却质朴的小房子，使他惊讶不已。他急急忙忙走进一间还在散发松枝气味的、尚未抹灰泥的小客厅，他本想继续往前走，但是安东踮着脚尖儿向前跑去，叩了叩房门。
“喂，那里怎么啦？”传来刺耳的令人厌恶的嗓音。
“是客人。”安东回答。
“请你等一等，”可以听见搬动椅子的响声。皮埃尔迈着飞快的脚步走到门边，面对面撞上向他走来的安德烈公爵，安德烈公爵蹙起额角，显得衰老了。皮埃尔拥抱他，提起眼镜，吻他的两颊，在近侧注视着他。
“真没有料到，我很高兴。”安德烈公爵说。皮埃尔没有说什么话，他很惊讶，目不转睛地望着自己的朋友。安德烈公爵身上发生的变化使他诧异。安德烈公爵说的话非常亲热，他嘴角上和脸上流露着微笑，但是目光暗淡、毫无表情，虽然他看来很想、但却不能给目光增添愉快的光辉。那使皮埃尔惊异而且感到疏远的，不是他的朋友变瘦了，脸色苍白了，长得更结实，而是这种眼神和额头上的皱纹，这些足以表明他长久地聚精会神地考虑着某个问题，不过皮埃尔一时还不习惯他的眼神和皱纹罢了。
正如在长期离别后重逢时常有的情形那样，话题久久地不能确定下来，他们总是三言两语地发问和回答那些他们自己才知道的、需要长久地交谈的事题。最后，他们的谈话开始逐渐地涉及以前中断的讲话、过去的生活、未来的规划、皮埃尔的游历、他的业务、战争问题等等。皮埃尔在安德烈公爵的眼神中发现的那种凝思和阴悒的神情，在他微露笑容倾听皮埃尔讲话的时候，尤其是在皮埃尔精神振奋、心情愉快地谈论过去和未来的时候，表露得更加强烈了。安德烈公爵仿佛希望、但却不能参与他所讲到的那种活动。皮埃尔开始感觉到，在安德烈公爵面前，凡是喜悦的心情、幻想、对幸福和善行的冀望，都是不适宜的。他感到羞惭的是，他表露他这个共济会员的新思想，特别是最近一次旅行使他脑海中重现和产生的各种思想。他克制自己，害怕自己成为一个幼稚的人，同时他禁不住想尽快地向自己的朋友表示，他现在完全不同了，变成一个比在彼得堡时更好的皮埃尔了。
“我没法对您说，在这段时间我所经历的事情可真多。就连我自己也不认识自己了。”
“是的，从那时起，我们都有很多、很多的变化。”安德烈公爵说。
“可是您怎样呢？”皮埃尔问，“您有哪些计划？”
“计划吗？”安德烈公爵讽刺地重说了一遍，“我的计划吗？”他重复地说，仿佛对这种词的意义感到惊讶，“你不是看得见，我在盖房子，想在明年全部搬迁……”
皮埃尔默不作声，目不转睛地瞅着安德烈公爵见老的面孔。
“不，我是问你……”皮埃尔说，可是安德烈公爵打断他的话。
“关于我，有什么可说的……你讲讲，讲讲你的旅行，讲讲你在自己领地上所做的一切吧　”
皮埃尔开始讲到他在自己领地上所做的事情，尽可能瞒住他参与改革这件事。安德烈公爵有几次事先向皮埃尔提到他要讲的事情，好像皮埃尔所做的事情是众人早已熟知的，不仅听来乏味，甚至于听到皮埃尔讲话，就觉得不好意思。
皮埃尔觉得和这个朋友交际很不自在，甚至是怪难受的。
他不吭声了。
“我的心肝，你听着，”安德烈公爵说道，显然他也觉得难过，和客人在一起非常腼腆，“我在这里露宿，不过是来看看动静。我今日又要到妹妹那里去。我把你介绍给他们认识一下。对了，你好像认识他们，”他说道，显然是要吸引这位客人，尽管他觉得现在和他没有什么共同语言了。“我们在吃罢午饭后一同去吧。你现在想看看我的庄园吗？”他们走出门去，一直蹓跶到吃午饭的时候，他们就像不太亲密的人那样，光谈论政治新闻和普通的熟人。安德烈公爵只是在讲到他所兴建的新庄园和建筑工程的时候，才有一点儿兴致，但是在谈到半中间，即是当安德烈公爵向皮埃尔描绘未来的住房布局的时候，他忽然在那临时搭起的木板台上停住了。“不过这里头没有什么能引起兴趣的东西，我们同去吃午饭，然后出发吧。”午宴间，话题转到皮埃尔的婚事上。
“当我听到这件事，我觉得非常诧异。”安德烈公爵说道。
皮埃尔涨红了脸，就像他平常提起这件事时总会脸红那样，他急急忙忙地说：
“我以后什么时候把这一切是怎样发生的讲给您听。不过您知道，这一切都结束了，永远结束了。”
“永远吗？”安德烈公爵说，“根本不会有永远的事情。”
“不过您知道，这一切是怎样了结的吗？您听过有关决斗的事么？”
“是的，你也经历过这种事。”
“我感谢上帝的惟有一点，就是我没有打死这个人。”皮埃尔说。
“究竟为什么？”安德烈公爵说，“打死一只凶恶的狗甚至是件好事情。”
“不，打死人不好，没有道理……”
“为什么没有道理？”安德烈公爵又说，“人们并没有判断是非的天赋。人们经常会犯错误，将来也会犯错误，无非是错在他们认为对与不对的问题上。”
“危害他人就是不对的。”皮埃尔说，他蛮高兴地感到，自从他到达此地之后，安德烈公爵头一次振奋起来，开始说话，想把是什么使他变成现在这个样子的话全都说出来。
“是谁告诉你，什么叫做危害他人？”他问。
“恶事？恶事？”皮埃尔说。“我们大家都知道，什么是别人危害自己。”
“我们知道，我本人意识到的那种恶事，我不能用以危害他人，”安德烈公爵越来越觉得兴奋，看样子他想对皮埃尔说出他自己对事物的新观点。他用法语说，“Je　ne　connais　dansla　vie　que　deux　maux　bien　réels：c'est　le　remord　et　la　maladie．Il　n'est　de　bien　que　l'abAsence　de　ces　maux．①为自己而生活，只有避免这两大祸患，而今这就是我的全部哲理。” 
①法语：我知道，生活上只有两种真正的不幸：良心的谴责和疾病，只要没有这两大祸患，就是幸福。
“对人仁爱吗，自我牺牲吗？”皮埃尔说，“不，我并不能赞同您的观点！生活的目的只是为了不做恶事，不追悔，这还是很不够的。我曾经这样生活，我为我自己而生活，并且毁灭了自己的生活，只有现在，当我为他人而活着的时候，至少我是竭力地（皮埃尔出自谦虚，作了修正）为他人而活着的时候，只有现在我才明白生活的种种幸福。不，我并不赞同您的观点，而且您心里并没有想到您口里所说的话。”安德烈公爵默不作声地望着皮埃尔，流露出讥讽的微笑。
“你将会见到我妹妹公爵小姐玛丽亚，你和她是合得来的。”他说，“大概，对你来说，你是对的。”他沉默片刻，继续说，“可是每个人都按照自己的方式生活，你以前为自己而生活，你说你几乎因此而毁灭了自己的生活，只有当你开始为他人而生活的时候，你才知道什么是幸福。可是我的感受恰好相反。我以前为荣耀而生活（到底什么是荣耀？还不就是爱他人，希望为他人做点事情，希望博得他人的赞扬。），我这样为他人而生活，到头来不是差不多，而是完全毁灭了我自己的生活。自从我只为我一人而生活以来，我的心情变得更平静了。”
“怎么能够只为自己而生活啊？”皮埃尔激昂起来，他问道。“可是儿子呢？妹妹呢？父亲呢？”
“但是这一切还依旧是我，而不是其他人，”安德烈公爵说，“而其他人，他人，您和公爵小姐称之为le　prochain①，这就是谬误和祸患的主要根源。Le　prochain，这就是您想对他们行善的基辅农民。” 
①法语：他人。
他用讥讽和挑衅的目光朝皮埃尔瞟了一眼。显然他在向皮埃尔挑衅。
“您在开玩笑，”皮埃尔说，越来越兴奋。“我愿意行善，尽管做得很少，做得很不好，但是我多少做了一点善事，这能算是什么谬误，什么恶事啊？那些不幸的人，我们的农民，也像我们一样，从成长到死亡，他们对上帝和真理的知识只囿于宗教仪式和于事无益的祈祷，他们要在来生、报应、奖赏、慰藉这些令人安心的信念上接受教益，这能算是什么恶事吗？在提供物质援助毫不困难的时候，却有一些人因缺乏救助而病死，在这种情况下我向他们提供医生和医院，向老年人提供养老院，这能算是什么谬误，什么恶事吗？农夫、携带婴孩的农妇，日夜不得安宁，我让他们有空闲，得到休息，这难道不是意识得到的毫无疑义的福利事业吗……”皮埃尔急促地说，连“c”、“W”音也分不清了。“我做了这件事，尽管做得不好，做得不够，但多少做了一点事情，您不仅未能使我相信我所做的事并非善事，而且也未能使我相信您自己有这样的想法。主要是，”皮埃尔继续说话，“我知道，而且确切地知道，行善这一乐趣是生活上唯一靠得住的幸福。”
“是啊，如果这样提出问题，那就是另一回事了，”安德烈公爵说，“我盖房子，开辟一个种植树木的花园，你兴建医院。这二者都能成为一种消遣。至于说什么是公允，什么是善举，不是让我们，而是让那个通晓一切的人来判断。啊，你想争论，”他补充一句，“那么你就来争论吧。”他们从桌子后面走出来，在那代替阳台的门廊上坐下来。
“啊，那就来争论吧，”安德烈公爵说，“你谈到学校，”他弯屈着一个指头，继续说，“教导等，你想把他，”他指着一个摘下帽子从他们身边走过去的农夫，说，“从牲畜状态中拯救出来，使他感到精神上有一种需要，可是我觉得，唯一有可能得到的幸福就是牲畜的幸福，可是你想夺去他这种幸福。我羡慕他，而你却不把我的资财交给他，就想把他变成我这个模样的人，你说到另一件事：减轻他的劳动。可是依我看，体力劳动对于他，就像脑力劳动对于你和我那样，是一种需要，是他生存的条件。你不能不考虑。我在两点多钟上床睡觉，忽然我的脑海中浮现出各种心事，辗转于床褥，不能成眠，一直到早上都没有睡着，所以这样，是因为我在思考，不能不思考，就像他不能不耕田，不能不割草一样，否则他就会走进酒馆，或者害病了。就像我经受不了他那可怕的体力劳动，过了一周以后就会归西天，他也经受不了我这游手好闲、四体不勤的生活，他会变得非常肥胖，活不成了。第三，你到底还说了什么？”
安德烈公爵屈起了第三个指头。
“哦，是的，医院、药剂。他中风了，濒临于死亡，而你给他放血，把他治好了。他这个残废还要走来走去，拖上十载，成为众人的累赘。死亡对于他，反而简单得多，舒适得多。另一些不断地出生，数量可真多。如果你会舍不得断送一个多余的劳工，那还算好，我是这样看待他的，其实你是出于爱护他才给他医治的。可是这不是他所需要的。再则，认为医生曾经医治好什么人，简直是痴心妄想！会把人杀死，的确如此！”他说，凶狠地蹙起额角，把脸转过去，不再理睬皮埃尔。
安德烈公爵十分清晰而且明确地表达自己的想法，由此可见他不止一次想过这件事，他很乐意地而且急促地说着，就像某人长久地不开口谈话似的。他的见地越不可信，他的目光就越兴奋。
“哎呀，这多么可怕，多么可怕！”皮埃尔说，“我只是不明白，怀有这样的思想怎么能够过日子。我也有过这样的时候，这是在不久以前的事，在莫斯科和在路途上的事，不过那时候我堕落到这种地步，以致不能生活下去，一切都使我觉得可憎，……主要是，我憎恶自己，那时候我不吃饭，不洗面……欸，你怎么样？……”
“干嘛不洗面，这很邋遢，”安德烈公爵说，“相反要尽量想办法使自己的生活变得更愉快。我活着，我在这方面没有过错，因此要想个办法活得更好，不妨碍他人，一直到寿终正寝。”
“可是到底是什么促使您怀有这样的思想过日子？你以后坐着不动，无所事事……”
“就是这样我也得不到安闲。我情愿不干什么事情。且看，一方面，本地的贵族们赐以我荣幸，推选我担任首席贵族，我好不容易摆脱开了。他们没法了解，我身上缺乏这种能力，没有担任这种职务所必须具备的伪善、潜心钻营、卑鄙庸俗的本领。再则，为了要有一个悠闲度日的栖身之处，还得盖起这幢屋子。目前还有民兵的事情。”
“干嘛您不在军队里服役呢？”
“这是奥斯特利茨战役以后的事啊！”安德烈公爵阴郁地说。“不，太感谢啦，我许下诺言，将不在作战部队中服役。即使波拿巴盘踞在这儿，在斯摩棱斯克附近，威胁童山，我也不会在俄国军队中服役。喏，我对你说了，”安德烈公爵心平气和地继续说下去。“现在又有民兵的事情，我父亲被任命为第三军区总司令，在他部下服务，是我避免服役的唯一手段。”
“这么说，您还是在服役罗？”
“我正在服役。”他沉默片刻后说道。
“那么您干嘛要服役呢？”
“就是为了这个缘故。我父亲是当代最杰出的人物之一。但是他渐入老境，并不能说他禀性残忍，不过他太活跃了。他已习惯于掌握无限权力，令人生畏，目前他拥有国王赐予民兵总司令的这种权力。两个礼拜前，如果我迟到两个钟头，他就会把尤赫诺夫的录事处以绞刑的，”安德烈公爵含着微笑说。“我之所以服兵役，是因为除我而外，没有什么人能够影响他，在某些场合我可以使他不干那种日后使他感到痛苦的事情。”
“啊，您这就明白了嘛！”
“嗯，mais　ce　n'est　pas　comme　vous　l'entenAdez，”①安德烈公爵继续说，“我过去和现在都丝毫不想对这个盗窃民兵靴子的录事坏蛋行善，我看见他被绞死，甚至会感到悦意的。但是我怜悯父亲，即是说，又是怜悯自己。” 
①法语：但这并不像你想的那样。
安德烈公爵越来越兴奋。当他力图向皮埃尔证明在他的行动中从来看不出他有对他人行善的意愿的时候，他的眼睛非常兴奋地闪闪发光。
“嗯，你想解放农民，”他继续说下去。“这好极了，但是这不是为了你自己（我想你从来没有鞭笞任何人，从来没有把什么人流放到西伯利亚去），相对地说，更不是为了农民。如果打他们、鞭笞他们，把他们放逐到西伯利亚去，我想，他们不觉得这有什么不妙。他们在西伯利亚过着同样的牲畜般的生活，身上的伤疤愈合了，他们又像从前那样觉得很幸福了。解放农民这件事对于那些人才是必要的，他们已道德沦丧，给自己招致悔恨，又常常抑制这种心情，但因他们能够施以公正和不公正的惩罚，而渐渐变得冷酷无情。我所怜悯的正是这些人，为了这些人，我极欲解放农民。你也许未曾目睹，我却目睹此情，那些在传统的无限权力之下受到薰陶的好人，随着年岁的增长，渐渐变得易于恼怒，变得更残酷、更粗暴，虽然他们也知道这一点，但是不能克制住自己，于是变得越来越不幸了。”
安德烈公爵津津有味地说着这席话，以致皮埃尔不由地想起他父亲使他产生这些思想。他什么话也没有回答他。
“那末我所怜悯的就是这种人——具有人类的尊严、宁静的良心、纯洁而高贵的人，而不以他们的背脊和前额为转移，背脊与前额不管你怎样抽、怎样剃，仍然是背脊和前额。”
“不，不，要说出一千个不！我决不同意您的看法。”皮埃尔说。
Book 5 Chapter 12
IN THE EVENING Prince Andrey and Pierre got into the coach and drove to Bleak Hills. Prince Andrey watched Pierre and broke the silence from time to time with speeches that showed he was in a good humour.
Pointing to the fields, he told him of the improvements he was making in the management of his land.
Pierre preserved a gloomy silence, replying only by monosyllables, and apparently plunged in his own thoughts.
Pierre was reflecting that Prince Andrey was unhappy, that he was in error, that he did not know the true light, and that he ought to come to his aid; enlighten him and lift him up. But as soon as he began to deliberate on what he would say, he foresaw that Prince Andrey with one word, one argument, would annihilate everything in his doctrine; and he was afraid to begin, afraid of exposing his most cherished and holiest ideas to possible ridicule.
“No, what makes you think so?” Pierre began all at once, lowering his head and looking like a butting bull; “what makes you think so? You ought not to think so.”
“Think so, about what?” asked Prince Andrey in surprise.
“About life. About the destination of man. It can't be so. I used to think like that, and I have been saved, do you know by what?—freemasonry. No, you must not smile. Freemasonry is not a religious sect, nor mere ceremonial rites, as I used to suppose; freemasonry is the best, the only expression of the highest, eternal aspects of humanity.” And he began expounding to Prince Andrey freemasonry, as he understood it.
He said that freemasonry is the teaching of Christianity, freed from its political and religious fetters; the teaching of equality, fraternity, and love.
“Our holy brotherhood is the only thing that has real meaning in life; all the rest is a dream,” said Pierre. “You understand, my dear fellow, that outside this brotherhood all is filled with lying and falsehood, and I agree with you that there's nothing left for an intelligent and good-hearted man but, like you, to get through his life, only trying not to hurt others. But make our fundamental convictions your own, enter into our brotherhood, give yourself up to us, let us guide you, and you will at once feel yourself, as I felt, a part of a vast, unseen chain, the origin of which is lost in the skies,” said Pierre, looking straight before him.
Prince Andrey listened to Pierre's words in silence. Several times he did not catch words from the noise of the wheels, and he asked Pierre to repeat what he had missed. From the peculiar light that glowed in Prince Andrey's eyes, and from his silence, Pierre saw that his words were not in vain, that Prince Andrey would not interrupt him nor laugh at what he said.
They reached a river that had overflowed its banks, and had to cross it by a ferry. While the coach and horses waited they crossed on the ferry. Prince Andrey with his elbow on the rail gazed mutely over the stretch of water shining in the setting sun.
“Well, what do you think about it?” asked Pierre. “Why are you silent?”
“What do I think? I have heard what you say. That's all right,” said Prince Andrey. “But you say, enter into our brotherhood, and we will show you the object of life and the destination of man, and the laws that govern the universe. But who are we?—men? How do you know it all? Why is it I alone don't see what you see? You see on earth the dominion of good and truth, but I don't see it.”
Pierre interrupted him. “Do you believe in a future life?” he asked.
“In a future life?” repeated Prince Andrey.
But Pierre did not give him time to answer, and took this repetition as a negative reply, the more readily as he knew Prince Andrey's atheistic views in the past. “You say that you can't see the dominion of good and truth on the earth. I have not seen it either, and it cannot be seen if one looks upon our life as the end of everything. On earth, this earth here” (Pierre pointed to the open country), “there is no truth—all is deception and wickedness. But in the world, the whole world, there is a dominion of truth, and we are now the children of earth, but eternally the children of the whole universe. Don't I feel in my soul that I am a part of that vast, harmonious whole? Don't I feel that in that vast, innumerable multitude of beings, in which is made manifest the Godhead, the higher power—what you choose to call it—I constitute one grain, one step upward from lower beings to higher ones? If I see, see clearly that ladder that rises up from the vegetable to man, why should I suppose that ladder breaks off with me and does not go on further and further? I feel that I cannot disappear as nothing does disappear in the universe, that indeed I always shall be and always have been. I feel that beside me, above me, there are spirits, and that in their world there is truth.”
“Yes, that's Herder's theory,” said Prince Andrey. “But it's not that, my dear boy, convinces me; but life and death are what have convinced me. What convinces me is seeing a creature dear to me, and bound up with me, to whom one has done wrong, and hoped to make it right” (Prince Andrey's voice shook and he turned away), “and all at once that creature suffers, is in agony, and ceases to be.… What for? It cannot be that there is no answer! And I believe there is.… That's what convinces, that's what has convinced me,” said Prince Andrey.
“Just so, just so,” said Pierre; “isn't that the very thing I'm saying?”
“No. I only say that one is convinced of the necessity of a future life, not by argument, but when one goes hand-in-hand with some one, and all at once that some one slips away yonder into nowhere, and you are left facing that abyss and looking down into it. And I have looked into it …”
“Well, that's it then! You know there is a yonder and there is some one. Yonder is the future life; Some One is God.”
Prince Andrey did not answer. The coach and horses had long been taken across to the other bank, and had been put back into the shafts, and the sun had half sunk below the horizon, and the frost of evening was starring the pools at the fording-place; but Pierre and Andrey, to the astonishment of the footmen, coachmen, and ferrymen, still stood in the ferry and were still talking.
“If there is God and there is a future life, then there is truth and there is goodness; and the highest happiness of man consists in striving for their attainment. We must live, we must love, we must believe,” said Pierre, “that we are not only living to-day on this clod of earth, but have lived and will live for ever there in everything” (he pointed to the sky). Prince Andrey stood with his elbow on the rail of the ferry, and as he listened to Pierre he kept his eyes fixed on the red reflection of the sun on the bluish stretch of water. Pierre ceased speaking. There was perfect stillness. The ferry had long since come to a standstill, and only the eddies of the current flapped with a faint sound on the bottom of the ferry boat. It seemed to Prince Andrey that the lapping of the water kept up a refrain to Pierre's words: “It's the truth, believe it.”
Prince Andrey sighed, and with a radiant, childlike, tender look in his eyes glanced at the face of Pierre—flushed and triumphant, though still timidly conscious of his friend's superiority.
“Yes, if only it were so!” he said. “Let us go and get in, though,” added Prince Andrey, and as he got out of the ferry he looked up at the sky, to which Pierre had pointed him, and for the first time since Austerlitz he saw the lofty, eternal sky, as he had seen it lying on the field of Austerlitz, and something that had long been slumbering, something better that had been in him, suddenly awoke with a joyful, youthful feeling in his soul. That feeling vanished as soon as Prince Andrey returned again to the habitual conditions of life, but he knew that that feeling—though he knew not how to develop it—was still within him. Pierre's visit was for Prince Andrey an epoch, from which there began, though outwardly unchanged, a new life in his inner world.
夜间，安德烈公爵和皮埃尔乘坐四轮马车前往童山。安德烈公爵不时地观察皮埃尔，有时候说几句话来，打破沉默藉以证明一下他的心绪甚佳。 
他指着一片田野，向皮埃尔讲述他在经营方面的改善。皮埃尔一声不响，面露忧愁的神色，简短地回答他的话，仿佛陷入了沉思状态。
皮埃尔心中想到，安德烈公爵是很不幸福的，他正误入迷途了，不熟知真理的光明，皮埃尔必须帮助他，启迪他，使他振作起来。但是皮埃尔心里一想到他将要怎样开口说话，说些什么话的时候，他就预感到，安德烈公爵只消说一句话，摆出一个论据，就会贬低他的教义中的一切，因此他害怕开腔，害怕他所喜爱的神圣教义受到嘲弄。
“不，您干嘛会这样想呢，”皮埃尔低着头，忽然开口说话，装出一副牴牛的样子，“您干嘛会这样想呢？您不应当这样想。”
“我想什么呀？”安德烈公爵诧异地问。
“想的是生活、人的使命。并非如此。我曾经也是这么想，您知道是什么拯救我吗？是共济会。不，您甭发笑。共济会不是我过去想象中的那种拘于仪式的教派；共济会是人类永恒的美德的唯一表现者。”于是他开始向安德烈公爵叙述他所了解的共济会。
他说，共济会的观点是从国家和宗教桎梏中解放出来的基督的教理，是关于平等、兄弟情谊、仁爱的教理。
“只有我们神圣的兄弟情谊才有真正的人生的意义，其余一切都是幻梦，”皮埃尔说，“我的朋友，您会弄清楚，在共济会以外的一切充满着虚伪和谎言，我赞同您的意见，聪明而善良的人，只有尽可能像您一样不妨碍别人过他自己的日子，并无其他途径可循。但是您得接受我们的基本信念，加入我们的兄弟会，把您自己交给我们，让我们来引导您前进，这样，您马上就会像我从前那样觉得自己是这根巨大的看不见的链条的一部分，链条的头一端隐藏在天国之中。”皮埃尔说。
安德烈公爵注视着前面，不吭一声地倾听皮埃尔发言。由于马车辚辚的响声，他有几回没有听清楚，于是向皮埃尔重问没有听清的词。从安德烈公爵眼睛里闪耀的特殊的光辉、从他的缄默当中，皮埃尔看出他说的话不是毫无裨益的，安德烈公爵不会再打断他的话，不会再嘲笑他的言论了。
他们驶近洪水泛滥的河边，在安置马车和马匹的当儿，他们登上渡船。
安德烈公爵把臂肘撑在栏杆上，向那夕阳映照得闪闪发亮的泛出河岸的水面一声不响地张望。
“喂，您对这桩事是怎么想的？”皮埃尔问，“您为什么不吭一声啊？”
“我想什么啊？我听你说话。这一切都是对的，”安德烈公爵说，“但是你对我说：加入我们的兄弟会，我们就会给你指明生活的目的和人的使命以及统治世界的规律。我们究竟是谁呢？是人们。为什么你们洞悉一切呢？为什么我一个人看不见你们看见的东西？你们看见地球上的真与善的王国，而我却看不见它。”
皮埃尔打断他的话。
“您相信来生吗？”他问道。
“相信来生吗？”安德烈公爵重复地说，但是皮埃尔不让他有时间来回答，他把他重复这句话看成是否定的表示，况且他知道安德烈公爵以前就有无神论的见解。
“您说您没法看见地球上的真与善的王国，我也未曾看见它，如果把我们的生命看成是一切的终极，那是没法看见它的。在·地·球·上，正是在这个地球上（皮埃尔指着田野）没有真理——一切都是虚伪与邪恶，但是在宇宙中，在整个宇宙中却有真理的王国，现在我们是地球的儿女，就永恒而论，我们是整个宇宙的儿女。难道我心中感觉不到，我是这个庞大的和谐的整体的一部分吗？难道我感觉不到我是在这体现上帝的无数多的生物中（您可以随心所欲，认为上帝是至高无上的力量），从最低级生物转变为最高级生物中间的一个环节，一个梯级吗？如果我看见，清楚地看见植物向人演变的这个阶梯，为什么我还要假定这个阶梯从我处忽然中断，而不是通向更远更远的地方呢？我觉得，就像宇宙间没有什么会消逝一样，我不仅现在不会消失，而且在过去和未来也是永远存在的。我觉得，除我而外，神灵存在于我的上空，真理存在于这个宇宙之中。”
“是的，这就是赫尔德①的学说，”安德烈公爵说，“可是，我的心肝，不是这个能使我信服，而是生与死，这就是使我信服的事实。你看见一个你认为可贵的、与你联系在一起的人，你在他面前犯有过错，希望能够证实自己无罪（安德烈公爵的嗓音颤抖了一下，把脸转过去），这个人忽然感到痛苦，遭受折磨，不再存在了……为什么？得不到答案，这是不可能的！我深信，答案是存在的……就是这件事才使我信服，就是这件事使我信服了。”安德烈公爵说。 
①约翰·戈特弗里德·赫尔德（1714～1803），18世纪德意志资产阶级启蒙运动时期的一大思想家。
“是啊，是啊，”皮埃尔说，“难道这不就是我所说的么？”
“不，我只是说，使我相信来生之必要性的，不是论据，而是如下的实例，当你和某人手牵手在生活领域里前进时，这个人忽然在那里消失了，在乌有之地消失了，而你自己却在这深渊前面停步了，然后你朝那里张望。我于是望了一眼……”
“啊，那又怎么样呢？您是否知道有一个那里，有某人存在？那里就是来生，某人就是上帝。”
安德烈公爵没有去回答。四轮马车和马匹早已登上了彼岸，把马套上车了，夕阳已经西沉了一半，薄暮的寒气袭来，摆渡口上的水洼覆盖着点缀有星星的薄冰，使仆人、马车夫、渡船夫觉得惊奇的是，皮埃尔和安德烈还站在渡船上聊天。
“假如有上帝，有来生，那么就会有真理和美德，人的至高无上的幸福乃在于竭力追求真理和美德。要活下去，要爱，要有信仰，”皮埃尔说，“我们不仅是今天在这一小片土地上生活，而且曾经生活过，将来要永恒地在那里，在一切领域里（他指指天上）生活。”
安德烈公爵用臂肘撑着渡船的栏杆，栖在那里，倾听皮埃尔讲话，目不转睛地望着一轮夕阳的红光映照在泛出河岸的湛蓝的水面。皮埃尔沉默不言。四下里一片寂然。渡船早已靠岸了，只有波浪拍打着船底，发出微弱的响声。安德烈公爵仿佛觉得，水浪的拍击声正在附和皮埃尔说话：“老实说，你相信这一点吧。”
安德烈公爵叹了一口气，用童稚的、温柔的、闪闪发亮的目光望了望皮埃尔的通红的面孔，他情绪激昂，但在那首屈一指的朋友面前还是觉得羞怯。
“是啊，惟愿是这样！”他说，“我们上岸去坐车吧。”安德烈公爵补充地说，于是他走下船来，向皮埃尔指给他看的天空扫了一眼，在奥斯特利茨战役后，他头一次看见他躺在奥斯特利茨战场上所看见的那个永恒的高高的天空，那种在他心中沉睡已久的美好的情思，忽然欣喜地、青春洋溢地在他心灵中复苏。一当安德烈公爵又进入他所习惯的生活环境，这种感情就消逝了，但是他知道，他不善于发挥的这种感情还保存在他心中。对于安德烈公爵来说，与皮埃尔的会面标志着一个时代，从表面看来他虽然过着原来的生活，但是在他的内心世界，新生活已从这个时代开始了。
Book 5 Chapter 13
IT WAS DARK by the time Prince Andrey and Pierre drove up to the principal entrance of the house at Bleak Hills. While they were driving in, Prince Andrey with a smile drew Pierre's attention to a commotion that was taking place at the back entrance. A bent little old woman with a wallet on her back, and a short man with long hair, in a black garment, ran back to the gate on seeing the carriage driving up. Two women ran out after them, and all the four, looking round at the carriage with scared faces, ran in at the back entrance.
“Those are Masha's God's folk,” said Prince Andrey. “They took us for my father. It's the one matter in which she does not obey him. He orders them to drive away these pilgrims, but she receives them.”
“But what are God's folk?” asked Pierre.
Prince Andrey had not time to answer him. The servants came out to meet them, and he inquired where the old prince was and whether they expected him home soon. The old prince was still in the town, and they were expecting him every minute.
Prince Andrey led Pierre away to his own suite of rooms, which were always in perfect readiness for him in his father's house, and went off himself to the nursery.
“Let us go to my sister,” said Prince Andrey, coming back to Pierre; “I have not seen her yet, she is in hiding now, sitting with her God's folk. Serve her right; she will be put to shame, and you will see God's folk. It's curious, upon my word.”
“What are ‘God's folk'?” asked Pierre.
“You shall see.”
Princess Marya certainly was disconcerted, and reddened in patches when they went in. In her snug room, with lamps before the holy picture stand, there was sitting, behind the samovar, on the sofa beside her, a young lad with a long nose and long hair, wearing a monk's cassock. In a low chair near sat a wrinkled, thin, old woman, with a meek expression on her childlike face.
“Andrey, why did you not let me know?” she said with mild reproach, standing before her pilgrims like a hen before her chickens.
“Delighted to see you. I am very glad to see you,” she said to Pierre, as he kissed her hand. She had known him as a child, and now his friendship with Andrey, his unhappy marriage, and above all, his kindly, simple face, disposed her favourably to him. She looked at him with her beautiful, luminous eyes, and seemed to say to him: “I like you very much, but, please, don't laugh at my friends.”
After the first phrases of greeting, they sat down
“Oh, and Ivanushka's here,” said Prince Andrey with a smile, indicating the young pilgrim.
“Andryusha!” said Princess Marya imploringly.
“You must know, it is a woman,” said Andrey to Pierre in French.
“Andrey, for heaven's sake!” repeated Princess Marya.
It was plain that Prince Andrey's ironical tone to the pilgrims, and Princess Marya's helpless championship of them, were their habitual, long-established attitudes on the subject.
“Why, my dear girl,” said Prince Andrey, “you ought to be obliged to me, on the contrary, for explaining your intimacy with this young man to Pierre.”
“Indeed?” said Pierre, looking with curiosity and seriousness (for which Princess Marya felt particularly grateful to him) at the face of Ivanushka, who, seeing that he was the subject under discussion, looked at all of them with his crafty eyes.
Princess Marya had not the slightest need to feel embarrassment on her friends' account. They were quite at their ease. The old woman cast down her eyes, but stole sidelong glances at the new-comers, and turning her cup upside down in the saucer, and laying a nibbled lump of sugar beside it, sat calmly without stirring in her chair, waiting to be offered another cup. Ivanushka, sipping out of the saucer, peeped from under his brows with his sly, feminine eyes at the young men.
“Where have you been, in Kiev?” Prince Andrey asked the old woman.
“I have, good sir,” answered the old woman, who was conversationally disposed; “just at the Holy Birth I was deemed worthy to be a partaker in holy, heavenly mysteries from the saints. And now, good sir, from Kolyazin a great blessing has been revealed.”
“And Ivanushka was with you?”
“I go alone by myself, benefactor,” said Ivanushka, trying to speak in a bass voice. “It was only at Yuhnovo I joined Pelageyushka …”
Pelageyushka interrupted her companion; she was evidently anxious to tell of what she had seen. “In Kolyazin, good sir, great is the blessing revealed.”
“What, new relics?” asked Prince Andrey.
“Hush, Andrey,” said Princess Marya. “Don't tell us about it, Pelageyushka.”
“Not … nay, ma'am, why not tell him? I like him. He's a good gentleman, chosen of God, he's my benefactor; he gave me ten roubles, I remember. When I was in Kiev, Kiryusha, the crazy pilgrim, tells me—verily a man of God, winter and summer he goes barefoot—why are you not going to your right place, says he; go to Kolyazin, there a wonder-working ikon, a holy Mother of God has been revealed. On these words I said good-bye to the holy folk and off I went …”
All were silent, only the pilgrim woman talked on in her measured voice, drawing her breath regularly. “I came, good sir, and folks say to me: a great blessing has been vouchsafed, drops of myrrh trickle from the cheeks of the Holy Mother of God …”
“Come, that will do, that will do; you shall tell me later,” said Princess Marya, flushing.
“Let me ask her a question,” said Pierre. “Did you see it yourself?” he asked.
“To be sure, good sir, I myself was found worthy. Such a brightness overspread the face, like the light of heaven, and from the Holy Mother's cheeks drops like this and like this …”
“Why, but it must be a trick,” said Pierre na?vely, after listening attentively to the old woman.
“Oh, sir, what a thing to say!” said Pelageyushka with horror, turning to Princess Marya for support.
“They impose upon the people,” he repeated.
“Lord Jesus Christ!” said the pilgrim woman, crossing herself. “Oh, don't speak so, sir. There was a general did not believe like that, said ‘the monks cheat,' and as he said it, he was struck blind. And he dreamed a dream, the holy mother of Petchersky comes to him and says: ‘Believe in me and I will heal thee.' And so he kept beseeching them: ‘Take me to her, take me to her.' It's the holy truth I'm telling you, I've seen it myself. They carried him, blind as he was, to her; he went up, fell down, and said: ‘Heal me! I will give thee,' says he, ‘what the Tsar bestowed on me.' I saw it myself—a sort of star carved in it. Well—he regained his sight! It's a sin to speak so. God will punish you,” she said admonishingly to Pierre.
“How? Was the star in the holy image?” asked Pierre.
“And didn't they make the holy mother a general?” said Prince Andrey, smiling.
Pelageyushka turned suddenly pale and flung up her hands.
“Sir, sir, it's a sin of you, you've a son!” she said, suddenly turning from white to dark red. “Sir, for what you have said, God forgive you.” She crossed herself. “Lord, forgive him. Lady, what's this? …” she turned to Princess Marya. She got up, and almost crying began gathering up her wallet. Plainly she was both frightened and ashamed at having accepted bounty in a house where they could say such things, and sorry that she must henceforth deprive herself of the bounty of that house.
“What did you want to do this for?” said Princess Marya. “Why did you come to me? …”
“No, I was joking really, Pelageyushka,” said Pierre. “Princess, ma parole, je n'ai pas voulu l'offenser. I said it, meaning nothing. Don't think of it, I was joking,” he said, smiling timidly and trying to smooth over his crime. “It was all my fault; but he didn't mean it, he was joking.”
Pelageyushka remained distrustful; but Pierre's face wore a look of such genuine penitence, and Prince Andrey looked so mildly from Pelageyushka to Pierre, that she was gradually reassured.
当安德烈公爵和皮埃尔驶近童山的住宅大门口的时候，天渐渐黑了。他们快要驶近大门口，安德烈公爵面露微笑，要皮埃尔注意后面台阶附近发生的一阵混乱。有一个背着背囊的驼背的老太婆和一个身穿黑色衣裳、蓄着长发的身材不高的男人看见一辆驶进宅院的四轮马车，急忙向后转，往大门里跑。有两个女人跟在后面跑，总共四个人都很惊恐地向后门台阶上跑，一面回头望望四轮马车。 
“这是玛丽亚的神亲，”安德烈公爵说，“他们竟把我们之中的一人看作父亲了。这就是她不听从父亲的一件事情；他吩咐把朝圣者赶开，可是她偏要接待他们。”
“什么叫做神亲呀？”皮埃尔问。
安德烈公爵没有来得及回答。仆人们迎面走来，他问他们老公爵在哪里，是不是要等很久。
老公爵还在城里，他们每时每刻都在等候他。
安德烈公爵把皮埃尔带到自己的卧室，他在父亲住宅中的这屋子总是收拾得齐齐整整，适宜于居住，之后他亲自到儿童室去了。
“我们到妹妹那里去吧。”安德烈公爵回到皮埃尔身边的时候，这样说：“我还没有看见她，她现在躲藏起来了，她和几个神亲待在一起。她在我们面前觉得腼腆，她活该，你准能见到他们这几个神亲。C'　est　curieux，ma　parole．①” 
①法语：真的，这很有趣。
“Qu'est　ce　que　c'est　que①神亲。”皮埃尔问。
“你就会看见他们的。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚果然觉得局促不安，他们走到她跟前的时候，她涨红了脸。她那很舒适的房间里，一盏长明灯摆在神龛前面，有一个头发很长、鼻子也长、穿着正教僧侣长袍的男孩和她并排地坐在茶炊后面的长沙发上。
一个满脸皱纹的瘦骨嶙峋的老太婆带着儿童般温和的面部表情坐在旁边的安乐椅上。
“André　pourquoi　ne　pas　m'avoir　prévenu？”②她用温和的责备的口气说，就像站在小鸡前面的母鸡那样站在那些朝圣者前面。
“Charmée　de　vous　roir．Je　suis　très　contente　de　vous　voir．③”当皮埃尔吻她的手的时候，她对他说。 
①法语：什么是。
②法语：安德烈，干嘛不事先通知我呢？
③法语：看见您我非常高兴，非常高兴。
皮埃尔还是儿童的时候，她就认识他，而目前，他和安德烈的交情，他和妻子之间发生的不幸，主要是，他那和善的、显得朴实的面孔，博得了她对他的好感。她用那十分美丽的、闪闪发亮的眼睛注视他，仿佛对他说：“我非常爱您，但是请您不要讥笑我的人。”他们寒暄了几句之后，便坐下来了。
“啊，伊万努什卡也在这里。”安德烈公爵面露微笑地指着那个年轻的朝圣者说道。
“安德烈！”公爵小姐玛丽亚恳求地说。
“Il　faut　que　vous　sachiez　que　c'est　une　femme．①”安德烈对皮埃尔说。
“André，au　nom　de　Dieu！②”公爵小姐玛丽亚重复地说。
看来，安德烈公爵对朝圣者的嘲弄态度和公爵小姐玛丽亚枉费心机的庇护，是他们之间业已形成的、习以为常的相互关系。
“Mais，ma　bonne　amie，”安德烈公爵说，“Vous　deAvriez　au　contraire　m'etre　reconnaissante　de　ce　que　j'explique　a　Pierre　votre　intimité　avec　ce　jeune　homme．③”
“Vraiment？④”皮埃尔好奇而认真地说（公爵小姐玛丽亚为此而特别感激皮埃尔），他透过眼镜很仔细地瞧着伊万努什卡的面孔，伊万努什卡心里明白人们正在议论他，就用狡黠的目光环顾着大家。 
①法语：你知道，这是个女人。
②法语：安德烈，看在上帝份上。
③法语：我的仁慈的朋友，你必须感激我才好，我向皮埃尔解释你和这个年轻人之间的亲密关系。
④法语：当真吗？
公爵小姐玛丽亚为她自己人而局促不安是毫无裨益的。他们一点也不羞怯。老太婆垂下眼帘，斜视着进来的人，她把茶碗翻过来，扣在碟子上，把吃剩的一块糖搁在碗旁边，心情宁静地、一动不动地坐在安乐椅上，等人家给她再斟一杯茶。伊万努什卡慢慢地饮着碟子里的茶，一面皱起眉头，把那调皮的女人眼睛打量几个年轻人。
“你到过哪里，到过基辅吗？”安德烈公爵问老太婆。
“去过，老爷子，”爱说话的老太婆回答，“圣诞节，我在上帝的侍者中已获致神圣的上天的奥秘。老爷子，甫才我自科利亚津来，那里揭示了伟大的神赐……”
“伊万努什卡和你同去的吧？”
“施主，我是独自去的，”伊万努什卡竭力地用男低音说，“在尤赫诺沃才和佩拉格尤什卡相遇了……”
佩拉格尤什卡打断伙友的话，显然她很想把她目睹的情形讲给他听。
“老爷子，在科利亚津揭示了伟大的神赐。”
“怎么，又发现圣尸了吗？”安德烈公爵问。
“安德烈，够了，”公爵小姐玛丽亚说。“佩拉格尤什卡，别讲下去了。”
“不……怎么，小姐，为什么不能讲下去呢？我喜欢他。他这个行善的人，上帝的宠儿，给了我十个卢布，我还记得。当我待在基辅的时候，有个痴呆的基留沙对我说，他是地道的神亲，不论是冬天还是夏天，总是光着脚步行。他说，你所去的不是应该去的地方，你去科利亚津吧，那里有一座有灵的神像，圣母在那里显圣了。我听了那些话，就和这几个朝圣者告别，于是到那里去了……”
大家都默不作声，只有一个女朝圣者吸了一口气，用那均匀的嗓音说话。
“老爷子，我到了那里，人们告诉我：发现了伟大的神赐，圣油从圣母脸上往下滴……”
“啊，很好，很好，你以后再讲。”公爵小姐玛丽亚涨红着脸，说。
“请让我来问问她，”皮埃尔说，“是你亲自看见的吗？”他问。
“老爷子，可不是，是我亲自受到神赐的。她那脸上的先轮就像上天之光，灿烂辉煌，圣油从圣母脸上不住地往下滴，不住地往下滴……”
“要知道这是一种欺骗。”皮埃尔天真地说，又仔细听着朝圣者讲话。
“哎呀，老爷子，你说什么呀！”佩拉格尤什卡十分惊恐地说，她把脸转向公爵小姐玛丽亚，请求她庇护。
“他们在哄骗老百姓。”他重复地说一句话。
“耶稣基督保佑，”女朝圣者在胸前画十字时说，“唉，老爷子，你甭说。有个将军硬不相信，他说道：‘僧侣们都在骗人，'他的话音一落地，眼睛就瞎了。于是他梦见洞穴圣母向他走来，对他说：‘你要相信我，我可以给你治好眼疾。'他开始恳求：把我送到、送到圣母那里去。我对你说的是实话；是亲眼看见的。人们把他这个瞎子送到圣母那里，他向她跟着走去，跪倒在地上，乞求地说：‘给我把眼睛治好。我把沙皇赏给我的，全都奉献给你。'是亲眼看见的，老爷子，我就把金星勋章嵌在她身上。没啥可说的，双目复明了！这样说是不应该的，上帝会来惩罚的。”她用教诫的口气对皮埃尔说。
“神像怎么挂上了金星勋章？”皮埃尔问。
“圣母也擢升为将军了吗？”安德烈公爵面露微笑地说。
佩拉格尤什卡的面色忽然变得苍白了，她举起双手轻轻一拍。
“老爷子，老爷子，你有罪，你有个儿子！”她说起话来，苍白的脸色忽然间变得通红。
“老爷子，你说这样的话，上帝原谅你吧。”她在胸前画了十字。“老天爷啊，原谅他吧。小姐，这是怎么回事呢？……”她把脸转向公爵小姐玛丽亚，说。她站立起来，开始收拾自己的背囊，几乎要哭出声来。很明显，她觉得可怕又可耻的是，她竟然在这个会说出这等话的家庭中受到了恩惠，她又觉得可惜的是，现在不得不抛弃这家的恩赐。
“您何苦呢？”公爵小姐玛丽亚说，“您为什么到我这里来？ …
“不，佩拉格尤什卡，要知道，我是开玩笑的，”皮埃尔说。
“Princesse，ma　parole，je　n'ai　pas　voulu　l'ofAfenver，①我只有这个想法罢了。你甭多想，我不过是开了个玩笑。”他说，畏葸葸地微笑着，想改正过错。 
①法语：公爵小姐，说实话，我不想使她感到委屈。
佩拉格尤什卡停住了，流露出怀疑的样子，可是从皮埃尔脸上可以看出真诚悔改的表情，安德烈公爵时而温顺地看看佩拉格尤什卡，时而看看皮埃尔，他因此渐渐安静下来。
Book 5 Chapter 14
THE PILGRIM WOMAN was appeased, and being drawn into conversation again, told them a long story again of Father Amfilohey, who was of so holy a life that his hands smelt of incense, and how some monks of her acquaintance had, on her last pilgrimage to Kiev, given her the keys of the catacombs, and how taking with her some dry bread she had spent two days and nights in the catacombs with the saints. “I pray a bit in one, chant a hymn, and go into another. I fall asleep, again I go and kiss the holy relics; and such peace, ma'am, such blessedness, that one has no wish to come out into God's world again.”
Pierre listened to her attentively and seriously. Prince Andrey went out of the room. And leaving God's folk to finish their tea, Princess Marya followed him with Pierre to the drawing-room. “You are very kind,” she said to him.
“Ah, I really didn't mean to hurt her feelings; I so well understand those feelings, and prize them so highly.”
Princess Marya looked mutely at him, and smiled affectionately.
“I have known you for a long time, you see, and I love you like a brother,” she said. “How do you think Andrey is looking?” she asked hurriedly, not letting him have time to say anything in reply to her affectionate words. “He makes me very uneasy. His health was better in the winter, but last spring the wound reopened, and the doctor says he ought to go away for proper treatment. And I feel afraid for him morally. He has not a character like us women, to suffer and find relief for sorrow in tears. He keeps it all within him. To-day he is lively and in good spirits. But that's the effect of your being with him; he is not often like this. If only you could persuade him to go abroad. He needs activity, and this quiet, regular life is bad for him. Others don't notice it, but I see it.”
Towards ten o'clock the footmen rushed to the steps, hearing the bells of the old prince's carriage approaching. Prince Andrey and Pierre, too, went out on to the steps.
“Who's that?” asked the old prince, as he got out of the carriage and saw Pierre.
“Ah! very glad! kiss me!” he said, on learning who the young stranger was.
The old prince was in good humour and very cordial to Pierre.
Before supper, Prince Andrey, on coming back into his father's study, found the old prince in hot dispute with Pierre. The latter was maintaining that a time would come when there would be no more war. The old prince was making fun of him but with good humour.
“Let off blood from men's veins and fill them up with water, then there'll be no more war. Old women's nonsense, old women's nonsense,” he was saying, but still he slapped Pierre affectionately on the shoulder, and went up to the table where Prince Andrey, evidently not caring to take part in the conversation, was looking through the papers the old prince had brought from the town. The old prince went up to him and began to talk of business.
“The marshal, a Count Rostov, hasn't sent half his contingent. Came to the town and thought fit to invite me to dinner—a pretty dinner I gave him; … And here, look at this.… Well, my boy,” said the old prince to his son, clapping Pierre on the shoulder, “your friend is a capital fellow; I like him! He warms me up. Other people will talk sense and one doesn't care to listen, and he talks nonsense, but it does an old man like me good. There, run along,” he said; “maybe I'll come and sit with you at your supper. We'll have another dispute. Make friends with my dunce, Princess Marya,” he shouted to Pierre from the door.
It was only now on his visit to Bleak Hills that Pierre appreciated fully all the charm of his friendship with Prince Andrey. The charm was not so manifest in his relations with his friend himself as in his relations with all his family and household. Though he had hardly known them, Pierre felt at once like an old friend both with the harsh old prince and the gentle, timid Princess Marya. They all liked him. Not only Princess Marya, who had been won by his kindliness with the pilgrims, looked at him with her most radiant expression, little Prince Nikolay, as the old prince called the year-old baby, smiled at Pierre and went to him. Mihail Ivanitch and Mademoiselle Bourienne looked at him with smiles when he talked to the old prince.
The old prince came in to supper; it was obviously on Pierre's account. He was extremely warm with him both days of his stay at Bleak Hills, and asked him to come and stay with him again.
When Pierre had gone, and all the members of the family were met together, they began to criticise him, as people always do after a new guest has left, and as rarely happens, all said nothing but good of him.
女朝圣者安静下来了，又参加谈话，她讲到阿姆菲洛希神甫的事情，讲了很久，这个神甫过着圣洁的生活，他的一只手也发散着神香的气息，又讲她认识的几个僧侣，在她最近一次漫游基辅的时候，给了她一把打开洞穴的钥匙，她随身带着面包干，和几个朝圣者在洞穴里待了两天两夜。“我向一具圣尸祈祷，念念祷告词，又向另一具圣尸走去。我小睡片刻，又怀着敬意地去吻圣物，妈呀，那里多么寂静，多么爽适，简直使人不想走回外界去。” 
皮埃尔很仔细地、认真地听她讲话。安德烈公爵从房里走出去了，在他走后公爵小姐玛丽亚留下那些神亲，让他们慢慢饮茶，她把皮埃尔带到客厅里去。
“您很慈善。”她对他说道。
“咳，我真的不想侮辱她，我非常理解而且珍惜这种感情。”
公爵小姐玛丽亚沉默无言地瞥他一眼，露出温柔的微笑。
“我知道我早就认识您了，我像疼爱哥哥一样爱您，”她说，“您认为安德烈怎么样？”她连忙问道，不让他有时间来说些什么回答她所说的亲热的话，“他使我感到非常不安。他的健康情况冬天有所改善，但去年春天他的旧伤复发了，医生说他应当去治疗。因此我在精神上很替他担心。他的性情和我们女人不同，他不擅长在忧患中煎熬，用哭来发泄自己的痛苦。他在内心中承受着痛苦。今天他的精神振奋，心情也很愉快，这是您的到来对他产生的影响，他很少是这个样子。若是您能劝他出国该多好啊！他所需要的是工作，而这种平静的生活会把他毁掉的，这一点其他人并没有发觉，我可是看得出来的。”
九点多种，几个侍者听见老公爵开来的轻便马车的铃铛声，就急忙奔向台阶。安德烈公爵和皮埃尔也登上台阶。
“这是谁啊？”老公爵走下马车，看见皮埃尔后问道。
“啊！我很高兴！来亲吻吧。”他知道这个不认识的年轻人是谁之后说道。
老公爵情绪很好，亲热地对待皮埃尔。
晚饭前安德烈公爵回到父亲书斋，正遇见老公爵和皮埃尔在热烈争辩。皮埃尔证明，不再有战争的时日必将来临。老公爵开点儿玩笑，没有发脾气，对他说的话提出了异议。
“把血管里的血放出来，灌进一点水，那时就没有战争了。女人的呓语，女人的呓语。”他说，但仍然和蔼地拍拍皮埃尔的肩膀，他走到桌前，看来安德烈公爵不想参加谈话，正在桌旁翻阅父亲从城里带来的文件。老公爵走到他跟前，开始谈论一些事情。
“首席贵族罗斯托夫伯爵没有把一半人马送来。他抵达城里了，忽然想请我出席午宴，我为他举办了一次午宴……请看看这份文件……喂，自己人，”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵拍了拍皮埃尔的肩膀，把脸转向儿子说，“你的友人是好样的，我真喜欢他！他使我激昂起来。别人也会说俏皮话，但是我不愿意听，他就是撒谎，也会使我这个老头子激动起来。喂，去吧，去吧，”他说道，“我大概要来出席你们的晚宴。我还要争辩争辩。你爱爱我的傻姑娘公爵小姐玛丽亚。”他从门里向皮埃尔喊道。
目前皮埃尔到了童山才赏识他和安德烈公爵的友谊的全部魅力和作用。这种魅力与其说是表现在他和他本人的关系上，毋宁说是表现在他和他的亲人和家人的关系上。皮埃尔和严厉的老公爵以及温顺的畏葸的公爵小姐玛丽亚相处时，虽然他几乎不熟悉他们的情形，但是他立刻觉得自己是他们的老友。他们都很喜爱他。他对女朝圣者的温和态度赢得了公爵小姐玛丽亚的好感，公爵小姐用炯炯的目光谛视他；一岁的尼古拉小公爵（正如祖父这样叫他）向皮埃尔微微一笑，向他走去，让他抱抱他。当他和老公爵交谈的时候，米哈伊尔·伊万内奇和布里安小姐都面带愉快的微笑端详着他。
老公爵出来吃夜饭，显然是为了招待皮埃尔的缘故。在童山逗留的这两天，老公爵对皮埃尔很亲热，还请他以后常到他这里来。
皮埃尔离开以后，他们全家人聚集起来评论他，这就像新客离开后常有的情形那样。而全家都说他的好话，这倒是罕见的事。
Book 5 Chapter 15
ON RETURNING this time from his leave, Rostov for the first time felt and recognised how strong was the tie that bound him to Denisov and all his regiment.
When Rostov reached the regiment, he experienced a sensation akin to what he had felt on reaching his home at Moscow. When he caught sight of the first hussar in the unbuttoned uniform of his regiment, when he recognised red-haired Dementyev, and saw the picket ropes of the chestnut horses, when Lavrushka gleefully shouted to his master, “The count has come!” and Denisov, who had been asleep on his bed, ran all dishevelled out of the mud-hut, and embraced him, and the officers gathered around to welcome the newcomer—Rostov felt the same sensation as when his mother had embraced him, and his father and sisters, and the tears of joy that rose in his throat prevented his speaking. The regiment was a home, too, and a home as unchangeably dear and precious as the parental home.
After reporting himself to his colonel, being assigned to his own squadron, and serving on orderly duty and going for forage, after entering into all the little interests of the regiment, and feeling himself deprived of liberty and nailed down within one narrow, unchangeable framework, Rostov had the same feeling of peace and of moral support and the same sense of being at home here, and in his proper place, as he had once felt under his father's roof. Here was none of all that confusion of the free world, where he did not know his proper place, and made mistakes in exercising free choice. There was no Sonya, with whom one ought or ought not to have a clear understanding. There was no possibility of going to one place or to another. There were not twenty-four hours every day which could be used in so many different ways. There were not those innumerable masses of people of whom no one was nearer or further from one. There were none of those vague and undefined money relations with his father; no memories of his awful loss to Dolohov. Here in the regiment everything was clear and simple. The whole world was divided into two unequal parts: one, our Pavlograd regiment, and the other—all the remainder. And with all that great remainder one had no concern. In the regiment everything was well known: this man was a lieutenant, that one a captain; this was a good fellow and that one was not; but most of all, every one was a comrade. The canteen keeper would give him credit, his pay would come every four months. There was no need of thought or of choice; one had only to do nothing that was considered low in the Pavlograd regiment, and when occasion came, to do what was clear and distinct, defined and commanded; and all would be well.
On becoming subject again to the definite regulations of regimental life, Rostov had a sense of pleasure and relief, such as a weary man feels in lying down to rest. The regimental life was the greater relief to Rostov on this campaign, because after his loss to Dolohov (for which, in spite of his family's efforts to console him, he could not forgive himself), he had resolved not to serve as before, but to atone for his fault by good conduct, and by being a thoroughly good soldier and officer, that is a good man, a task so difficult in the world, but so possible in the regiment.
Rostov had determined to repay his gambling debt to his parents in the course of five years. He had been sent ten thousand a year; now he had made up his mind to take only two thousand, and to leave the remainder to repay the debt to his parents.
After continual retreats, advances, and engagements at Pultusk and Preussisch-Eylau, our army was concentrated about Bartenstein. They were waiting for the arrival of the Tsar and the beginning of a new campaign.
The Pavlograd regiment, belonging to that part of the army which had been in the campaign of 1805, had stayed behind in Russia to make up its full complement of men, and did not arrive in time for the first actions of the campaign. It took no part in the battles of Pultusk and of Preussisch-Eylau, and joining the army in the field, in the second half of the campaign, was attached to Platov's detachment.
Platov's detachment was acting independently of the main army. Several times the Pavlograd hussars had taken part in skirmishes with the enemy, had captured prisoners, and on one occasion had even carried off the carriages of Marshal Oudinot. In April the Pavlograd hussars had for several weeks been encamped near an utterly ruined, empty German village, and had not stirred from that spot.
It was thawing, muddy, and cold, the ice had broken upon the river, the roads had become impassable; for several days there had been neither provender for the horses nor provisions for the men. Seeing that the transport of provisions was impossible, the soldiers dispersed about the abandoned and desert villages to try and find potatoes, but very few were to be found even of these.
Everything had been eaten up, and all the inhabitants of the district had fled; those that remained were worse than beggars, and there was nothing to be taken from them; indeed, the soldiers, although little given to compassion, often gave their last ration to them.
The Pavlograd regiment had only lost two men wounded in action, but had lost almost half its men from hunger and disease. In the hospitals they died so invariably, that soldiers sick with fever or the swelling that came from bad food, preferred to remain on duty, to drag their feeble limbs in the ranks, rather than to go to the hospitals. As spring came on, the soldiers found a plant growing out of the ground, like asparagus, which for some reason they called Mary's sweet-root, and they wandered about the fields and meadows seeking this Mary's sweet-root (which was very bitter). They dug it up with their swords and ate it, in spite of all prohibition of this noxious root being eaten. In the spring a new disease broke out among the soldiers, with swelling of the hands, legs, and face, which the doctors attributed to eating this root. But in spite of the prohibition, the soldiers of Denisov's squadron in particular ate a great deal of the Mary's sweet-root, because they had been for a fortnight eking out the last biscuits, giving out only half a pound a man, and the potatoes in the last lot of stores were sprouting and rotten.
The horses, too, had for the last fortnight been fed on the thatched roofs of the houses; they were hideously thin, and still covered with their shaggy, winter coats, which were coming off in tufts.
In spite of their destitute condition, the soldiers and officers went on living exactly as they always did. Just as always, though now with pale and swollen faces and torn uniforms, the hussars were drawn up for calling over, went out to collect forage, cleaned down their horses, and rubbed up their arms, dragged in straw from the thatched roofs in place of fodder, and assembled for dinner round the cauldrons, from which they rose up hungry, making jokes over their vile food and their hunger. Just as ever, in their spare time off duty the soldiers lighted camp-fires, and warmed themselves naked before them, smoked, picked out and baked the sprouting, rotten potatoes, and told and heard either stories of Potyomkin's and Suvorov's campaigns or popular legends of cunning Alyoshka, and of the priests' workman, Mikolka.
The officers lived as usual in twos and threes in the roofless, broken-down houses. The senior officers were busily engaged in trying to get hold of straw and potatoes, and the means of sustenance for the soldiers generally, while the younger ones spent their time as they always did, some over cards (money was plentiful, though there was nothing to eat), others over more innocent games, a sort of quoits and skittles. Of the general cause of the campaign little was said, partly because nothing certain was known, partly because there was a vague feeling that the war vas not going well.
Rostov lived as before with Denisov, and the bond of friendship between them had become still closer since their furlough. Denisov never spoke of any of Rostov's family, but from the tender affection the senior officer showed his junior, Rostov felt that the older hussar's luckless passion for Natasha had something to do with the strengthening of their friendship. There was no doubt that Denisov tried to take care of Rostov, and to expose him as rarely as possible to danger, and after action it was with unmistakable joy that he saw him return safe and sound. On one of his foraging expeditions in a deserted and ruined village to which he had come in search of provisions, Rostov found an old Pole and his daughter with a tiny baby. They were without clothes or food; they had not the strength to go away on foot, and had no means of getting driven away. Rostov brought them to his camp, installed them in his own quarters, and maintained them for several weeks till the old man was better. One of Rostov's comrades, talking of women, began to rally him on the subject, declaring that he was the slyest fellow of the lot, and that he ought to be ashamed not to have introduced his comrades, too, to the pretty Polish woman he had rescued. Rostov took the jest as an insult, and firing up, said such unpleasant things to the officer, that Denisov had much ado to prevent a duel. When the officer had gone away, and Denisov, who knew nothing himself of Rostov's relations with the Polish woman, began to scold him for his hastiness, Rostov said to him: “Say what you like.… She was like a sister to me, and I can't tell you how sick it made me … because … well, just because …”
Denisov slapped him on the shoulder, and fell to walking rapidly up and down the room not looking at Rostov, which was what he always did at moments of emotional excitement. “What a jolly lot of fools all you Rostovs are,” he said, and Rostov saw tears in Denisov's eyes.
罗斯托夫这次休假回来以后，头一次感到和意识到他与杰尼索夫和整个兵团的关系是何等巩固。 
当罗斯托夫驶近兵团驻地的时候，他体验到他驶近波瓦尔大街的住宅时所体验到的那种感情。当他头一眼看见穿着兵团制服连扣子也没扣的骠骑兵的时候，当他认出这是棕红头发的捷缅季耶夫，看见枣红色战马的系马桩的时候，当拉夫鲁什卡（拉夫尔的小名）欣喜地向着自己的老爷叫喊：“伯爵来了！”——睡在床上的、满头乱发的杰尼索夫就起床，从土窑里跑出来拥抱他，当军官们向刚刚抵达的人身边走去的时候，罗斯托夫体验到他的父母、姐妹拥抱他时所体验到的那种感情，欣喜的眼泪涌向喉头，妨碍他讲话。兵团也是他的家，也像双亲的家一样始终是可爱的、可贵的。
罗斯托夫晋谒了团长，接到去原先的骑兵连服务的任命，照常值勤，采办饲料，深入了解兵团的种种需求，觉得自己丧失了自由，被禁闭在一成不变的狭小的柜子里，他于是又体验到在双亲家里所体验到的那种令人安慰的有所依靠的并以此地为家的舒适之感。这里根本没有使人坐立不安的、使人作出错误选择的那种自由社会的混乱现象；没有不知要不要对方作一番解释的索尼娅；没有是否有可能到哪里去的问题；没有可借助各种方式来消磨昼夜二十四小时的问题；没有既不亲近，亦不疏远的无数多的人们；没有与家父的不明不白的金钱关系；没有在骇人的赌博中输给多洛霍夫一大笔钱的回忆！在这里，在兵团里，一切都是简而明的。全世界分成两个相差悬殊的部分：一部分是我们的保罗格勒兵团，而另一部分则是其余的一切。这另外的部分，与他毫不相干。在兵团中一切都是众所周知的：谁是中尉、谁是大尉、谁是好人，谁是坏人，主要是，什么人是同志。随军商贩在赊卖货物，每四个月领到一次薪水。没有什么可用心计的，没有什么可资选择的，只要不做保罗格勒兵团认为卑下的事情。如果派你执行任务，只要去做明确规定的、吩咐你做的事情，那就会百事顺遂。
罗斯托夫又进入兵团所固有的生活环境，他犹如困倦的人躺下来休息一样，感到愉快和慰藉。在这次战役中，兵团的生活使罗斯托夫感到更加愉快，因为他输给多洛霍夫许多钱以后（虽然他父母多么安慰他，他仍然没法宽恕这种行为），他痛下决心，不像从前那样服兵役，为了纠正自己的过失，就应出色地服役，做一个优秀的同志和军官，也就是做个完美的人。这件事在那个领域里是难以做到的，而在兵团里却是可以做到的。
罗斯托夫自从赌博输钱以来，便下定决心，在五年之内偿还父母这笔债务。他父母每年寄给他壹万卢布，他现在决定只取用两千卢布，其余的钱都用以偿还父母的债。
我军经过几次撤退和进攻，并在普图斯克、普鲁士——艾劳战役之后，在巴滕施泰因附近集结等候国王驾临，开始一场新的战役。
保罗格勒兵团是曾参与一八○五年出征的俄军中的一支部队，因为在俄国养精蓄锐，充实兵力，所以已经迟到，赶不上头几次战斗。兵团既未参与普图斯克战役，亦未参与普鲁士——艾劳战役。在这次战役的后半期加入作战部队，从属于普拉托夫部队。
普拉托夫部队不依赖俄军，单独作战。保罗格勒兵团的各部曾与敌军对射，捕获了许多俘虏，有一次甚至夺取了乌迪诺元帅的几辆轻便马车。四月份，保罗格勒兵团的官兵一连有几周原地不动，驻扎在一个已被彻底摧毁的荒无人烟的德国村庄。
正值冰消雪融的天气，泥泞路滑，寒风刺骨，河上的冰层破开了，道路不能通行。一连数日，人和马匹都得不到粮秣供应。因为运输受阻，人们分布于满目荒凉的、空空荡荡的村落，四出寻找马铃薯，可是能够寻觅到的马铃薯为数甚少。
什么都给吃光了，居民都四散而逃，留下来的人还不如乞丐，从他们身上没有什么可捞了，甚至连不太富有同情心的士兵也不仅不在他们身上赚钱，反而把自己剩下的食粮送给他们。
保罗格勒兵团在几次战斗中只有二人负伤，但是因为严寒和疾病，伤亡的人数几达一半。凡是被送进野战医院的人必死无疑，因此那些由于营养不良而患热病和浮肿病的大兵宁愿用尽最后一点力量勉强地伸着两腿在前线执勤，而不愿意走进医院里去。开春时，士兵已发现从土里钻出一种状如龙须菜的植物，他们不知怎的把它叫做玛莎甜根。上级虽已下令，不准食用有害的植物，但是士兵们仍旧在草地和田野里散布开来，寻找玛莎甜根（这种甜根是很差的），用马刀掘出来吃。春季里，士兵之中出现了一种疾病——手、足和脸浮肿，医生认为，食用这种甜根是发病的原因。虽有禁令在，保罗格勒兵团杰尼索夫骑兵连的士兵仍以这种甜根作为主食，因为最后一回只发给每人半俄磅面包干、大家慢慢啃着，熬了一个多礼拜，最近运来的马铃薯都冻坏了，发芽了。
战马也有一个多礼拜靠房顶上的干草充饥，瘦得很难看了，身上的毛自入冬以来就给磨成一团一团的。
士兵和军官们虽说是遭难，但是现在仍然照常过日子，虽说是两脸苍白、浮肿，衣衫褴褛，但是骠骑兵依然排队点名，收拾屋子，刷洗马匹和驮具，缺乏饲料时便拿房顶上的干草喂马，走到大锅前面用饭，吃完之后站起来，仍然觉得没有饱，他们嘲笑令人厌恶的伙食，嘲笑自己饥肠辘辘。一如平日，士兵们在瞬时生起篝火，烤火，抽烟、挑选和烘烤发了芽的、生霉的土豆，倾听和叙述有关波将金与苏沃洛夫出征的故事，或者有关奸滑的阿廖沙和神甫的雇工米科尔卡的故事。
军官们像平时一样，三人一群、两人一伙地住在大敞着门的、半破坏的房子里。年纪比较大的军官都在关心如何获得麦秸和土豆的事，总之是关心官兵的给养，年纪比较轻的军官还像平时一样，有的人打牌（虽然缺少食粮，但是钱却很多），有的人耍着无害的游戏——投钉戏和击木游戏。人们都很少谈论战事的进程，部分地因为不熟悉确实的情况，部分地因为人们模糊地意识到，整个战事进展得不利。
罗斯托夫仍旧和杰尼索夫住在一起，自从这二人休假以来，他们的友谊关系变得更加密切了。杰尼索夫从未言及罗斯托夫的家里人，可是从这名连长对他自己部下的军官如此和蔼可亲来看，罗斯托夫意识到，这个老骠骑兵对娜塔莎的不幸的爱情，在增强他们的友谊方面发挥了促进作用。杰尼索夫显然竭尽全力地使罗斯托夫少遇危险，爱护他，在战役结束之后，特别高兴地迎接他这个平安归来的人。一次出差时，罗斯托夫来到一个满目荒凉的、破坏无遗的村子寻觅食物，在这里发现了一家人——波兰籍的老头子和他那来抱婴儿的女儿。他们都赤身露体，饿得要死，无法走开，也没有行驶的工具。罗斯托夫把他们送到他的驻扎地，让他们住在自己的房子里，在老头子尚未复原时，一连有几周维持他们的生活费用。罗斯托夫的一个同事兴致勃勃地谈论女人，一面讥笑罗斯托夫，说他顶滑头，说他应该把那个被他搭救的长得漂亮的波兰女人介绍给同事们认识认识。罗斯托夫认为开这种玩笑，简直是侮辱，他怒不可遏，对那个军官说了一堆听来刺耳的话。杰尼索夫好不容易才制止他们二人的决斗。那名军官走开后，杰尼索夫指责他脾气急躁，而他自己却不知道罗斯托夫对那个波兰女人抱有什么态度。罗斯托夫对他说：
“你怎么竟想……她对于我就像个妹妹一样，我无法向你描写，他说的话使我多么委屈……因为……就是因为……”
杰尼索夫拍打他的肩膀，在房间里疾速地走来走去，没有看罗斯托夫一眼，他在心情激动时总会做出这副样子来。
“你们罗斯托夫家族都有这样的傻劲。”他说，罗斯托夫发觉杰尼索夫的眼睛里噙满着泪水。
Book 5 Chapter 16
IN APRIL the army was excited by the news of the arrival of the Tsar. Rostov did not succeed in being present at the review the Tsar held at Bartenstein; the Pavlograd hussars were at the advance posts, a long way in front of Bartenstein.
They were bivouacking. Denisov and Rostov were living in a mud hut dug out by the soldiers for them, and roofed with branches and turf. The hut was made after a pattern that had just come into fashion among the soldiers. A trench was dug out an ell and a half in breadth, two ells in depth, and three and a half in length. At one end of the trench steps were scooped out, and these formed the entrance and the approach. The trench itself was the room, and in it the lucky officers, such as the captain, had a plank lying on piles at the further end away from the steps—this was the table. On both sides of the trench the earth had been thrown up, and these mounds made the two beds and the sofa. The roof was so constructed that one could stand upright in the middle, and on the beds it was possible to sit, if one moved up close to the table. Denisov, who always fared luxuriously, because the soldiers of his squadron were fond of him, had a board nailed up in the front part of the roof, and in the board a broken but cemented window pane. When it was very cold, they used to bring red-hot embers from the soldiers' camp-fires in a bent sheet of iron and set them near the steps (in the drawing-room, as Denisov called that part of the hut), and this made it so warm that the officers, of whom there were always a number with Denisov and Rostov, used to sit with nothing but their shirts on.
In April Rostov had been on duty. At eight o'clock in the morning, on coming home after a sleepless night, he sent for hot embers, changed his rain-soaked underclothes, said his prayers, drank some tea, warmed himself, put things tidy in his corner and on the table, and with a wind-beaten, heated face, and with only his shirt on, lay down on his back, folding his hands behind his head. He was engaged in agreeable meditations, reflecting that he would be sure to be promoted for the last reconnoitring expedition, and was expecting Denisov to come in. He wanted to talk to him.
Behind the hut he heard the resounding roar of Denisov, unmistakably irritated. Rostov moved to the window to see to whom he was speaking, and saw the quartermaster, Toptcheenko.
“I told you not to let them stuff themselves with that root—Mary's what do you call it!” Denisov was roaring. “Why, I saw it myself, Lazartchuk was pulling it up in the field.”
“I did give the order, your honour; they won't heed it,” answered the quartermaster.
Rostov lay down again on his bed, and thought contentedly: “Let him see to things now; he's fussing about while I have done my work, and I am lying here—it's splendid!” Through the wall he could hear now some one besides the quartermaster speaking. Lavrushka, Denisov's smart rogue of a valet, was telling him something about some transports, biscuits and oxen, he had seen, while on the look-out for provisions.
Again he heard Denisov's shout from further away, and the words: “Saddle! second platoon!”
“Where are they off to?” thought Rostov.
Five minutes later Denisov came into the hut, clambered with muddy feet on the bed, angrily lighted his pipe, scattered about all his belongings, put on his riding-whip and sword, and was going out of the hut. In reply to Rostov's question, where was he going? he answered angrily and vaguely that he had business to see after.
“God be my judge, then, and our gracious Emperor!” said Denisov, as he went out. Outside the hut Rostov heard the hoofs of several horses splashing through the mud. Rostov did not even trouble himself to find out where Denisov was going. Getting warm through in his corner, he fell asleep, and it was only towards evening that he came out of the hut. Denisov had not yet come back. The weather had cleared; near the next hut two officers were playing quoits, with a laugh sticking big radishes for pegs in the soft muddy earth. Rostov joined them. In the middle of a game the officers saw transport waggons driving up to them, some fifteen hussars on lean horses rode behind them. The transport waggons, escorted by the hussars, drove up to the picket ropes, and a crowd of hussars surrounded them.
“There, look! Denisov was always fretting about it,” said Rostov; “here are provisions come at last.”
“High time, too!” said the officers. “Won't the soldiers be pleased!”
A little behind the hussars rode Denisov, accompanied by two infantry officers, with whom he was in conversation. Rostov went to meet them.
“I warn you, captain,” one of the officers was saying, a thin, little man, visibly wrathful.
“Well, I have told you, I won't give them up,” answered Denisov.
“You will have to answer for it, captain. It's mutiny—carrying off transports from your own army! Our men have had no food for two days.”
“Mine have had nothing for a fortnight,” answered Denisov.
“It's brigandage; you will answer for it, sir!” repeated the infantry officer, raising his voice.
“But why do you keep pestering me? Eh?” roared Denisov, suddenly getting furious. “It's I will have to answer for it, and not you; and you'd better not cry out till you're hurt. Be off!” he shouted at the officers.
“All right!” the little officer responded, not the least intimidated, and not moving away. “It's robbery, so I tell you.…”
“Go to the devil, quick march, while you're safe and sound.” And Denisov moved towards the officer.
“All right, all right,” said the officer threateningly; and he turned his horse and trotted away, swaying in the saddle.
“A dog astride a fence, a dog astride a fence to the life!” Denisov called after him—the bitterest insult a cavalry man can pay an infantry man on horseback; and riding up to Rostov he broke into a guffaw.
“Carried off the transports, carried them off from the infantry by force!” he said. “Why, am I to let the men die of hunger?”
The stores carried off by the hussars had been intended for an infantry regiment, but learning from Lavrushka that the transport was unescorted, Denisov and his hussars had carried off the stores by force. Biscuits were dealt out freely to the soldiers; they even shared them with the other squadrons.
Next day the colonel sent for Denisov, and putting his fingers held apart before his eyes, he said to him: “I look at the matter like this; see, I know nothing, and will take no steps; but I advise you to ride over to the staff, and there, in the commissariat department, to smooth the thing over, and if possible give a receipt for so much stores. If not, and a claim is entered for the infantry regiments, there will be a fuss, and it may end unpleasantly.”
Denisov went straight from the colonel to the staff with a sincere desire to follow his advice.
In the evening he came back to his hut in a condition such as Rostov had never seen his friend in before. Denisov could not speak, and was gasping for breath. When Rostov asked him what was wrong with him, he could only in a faint and husky voice utter incoherent oaths and threats.
Alarmed at Denisov's condition, Rostov suggested he should undress, drink some water, and sent for the doctor.
“Me to be court-martialled for brigandage—oh! some more water!—Let them court-martial me; I will, I always will, beat blackguards, and I'll tell the Emperor.—Ice,” he kept saying.
The regimental doctor said it was necessary to bleed him. A deep saucer of black blood was drawn from Denisov's hairy arm, and only then did he recover himself sufficiently to relate what had happened.
“I got there,” Denisov said. “ ‘Well, where are your chief's quarters?' I asked. They showed me. ‘Will you please to wait?' ‘I have come on business, and I have come over thirty versts, I haven't time to wait; announce me.' Very good; but the over-thief appears; he, too, thought fit to lecture me. ‘This is robbery!' says he. ‘The robber,' said I, ‘is not the man who takes the stores to feed his soldiers, but the man who takes them to fill his pockets.' ‘Will you please to be silent?' Very good. ‘Give a receipt,' says he, ‘to the commissioner, but the affair will be reported at headquarters.' I go before the commissioner. I go in. Sitting at the table … Who? No, think of it!… Who is it that's starving us to death?” roared Denisov, bringing the fist of his lanced arm down so violently that the table almost fell over, and the glasses jumped on it “Telyanin! … ‘What, it's you that's starving us to death?' said I, and I gave him one on the snout, and well it went home, and then another, so … ‘Ah! … you so-and-so …' and I gave him a thrashing. But I did have a bit of fun, though, I can say that,” cried Denisov, his white teeth showing in a smile of malignant glee under his black moustaches. “I should have killed him, if they hadn't pulled me off.”
“But why are you shouting; keep quiet,” said Rostov; “it's bleeding again. Stay, it must be bound up.”
Denisov was bandaged up and put to bed. Next day he waked up calm and in good spirits.
But at midday the adjutant of the regiment came with a grave and gloomy face to the hut shared by Denisov and Rostov, and regretfully showed them a formal communication to Major Denisov from the colonel, in which inquiries were made about the incidents of the previous day. The adjutant informed them that the affair seemed likely to take a very disastrous turn; that a court-martial was to be held; and that, with the strictness now prevailing as regards pillaging and breach of discipline, it would be a lucky chance if it ended in being degraded to the ranks.
The case, as presented by the offended parties, was that Major Denisov, after carrying off the transports, had without any provocation come in a drunken condition to the chief commissioner of the commissariat, had called him a thief, threatened to beat him; and, when he was led out, had rushed into the office, attacked two officials, and sprained the arm of one of them.
In response to further inquiries from Rostov, Denisov said, laughing, that it did seem certainly as though some other fellow had been mixed up in it, but that it was all stuff and nonsense; that he would never dream of being afraid of courts of any sort, and that if the scoundrels dared to pick a quarrel with him, he would give them an answer they wouldn't soon forget.
Denisov spoke in this careless way of the whole affair. But Rostov knew him too well not to detect that in his heart (though he hid it from others) he was afraid of a court-martial, and was worrying over the matter, which was obviously certain to have disastrous consequences. Documents began to come every day, and notices from the court, and Denisov received a summons to put his squadron under the command of the officer next in seniority, and on the first of May to appear before the staff of the division for an investigation into the row in the commissariat office. On the previous day Platov undertook a reconnaissance of the enemy with two regiments of Cossacks and two squadrons of hussars. Denisov, with his usual swaggering gallantry, rode in the front of the line. One of the bullets fired by the French sharpshooters struck him in the fleshy upper part of the leg. Possibly at any other time Denisov would not have left the regiment for so slight a wound, but now he took advantage of it to excuse himself from appearing before the staff, and went into the hospital.
四月份，国君驾临军中的喜讯使部队十分振奋。国君在巴滕施泰因举行阅兵式，罗斯托夫未能出席；保罗格勒兵团驻扎在离前面的巴滕施泰因很远的前哨阵地。 
他们在宿营。杰尼索夫和罗斯托夫住在士兵替他们挖掘的土窑里，土窑覆盖有树枝和草皮。土窑是采用当时合乎时尚的方法筑成的：挖出一条沟——一俄尺半宽，二俄尺深，三俄尺半长。沟的一端做成梯蹬，这就是斜坡和台阶，沟本身就是一个房间：幸运者（如同骑兵连连长）的房间里，在那梯蹬对面的另一端，有一块木板搁在几根木桩上，这就是桌子。沿着沟的两边，挖掉一立方俄尺的土，这就是两张床和长沙发。土窑窑顶要做得那样高，人在土窑中可以站起来，如果把身子靠近桌子的一端，甚至可以在床上坐起来，杰尼索夫的日子过得挺阔气，因为连里的士兵都喜爱他。窑顶的山墙是一块木板，木板上面嵌有一块破了的、但却被粘起来的玻璃。当天气非常寒冷的时候，人们从士兵的篝火中用弯弯的铁片舀取烧红的炭火放在梯蹬前面（杰尼索夫把土窑的这个部分称为接待室），土窑里变得暖和起来了，杰尼索夫和罗斯托夫身边经常有许多军官，他们都觉得暖和，只要穿一件衬衫坐在那儿就行了。
四月间，罗斯托夫值勤。早晨七点多种，他熬过一个不眠之夜后走回来了，吩咐把烧红的炭火拿来，换下一套被雨淋湿的衣裳，祈祷了上帝，喝足了茶，烤烤火取暖，把他自己的角落和桌上的东西收拾得整整齐齐，之后他就穿着一件衬衫，仰卧下来，把两只手放在脑袋下面，露出一张风吹日晒变得粗糙的脸。他一边愉快地想到，他因最近一次现地侦察有功，将于几天之内晋升官阶，一边等待着不知前往何地的杰尼索夫。罗斯托夫想和他谈谈。
土窑外面可以听见杰尼索夫时断时续的叫喊声，他显然在发脾气，罗斯托夫移动脚步，向窗口走去，看看他和什么人打交道，他看见骑兵连司务长托普琴科。
“我已经命令你不让他们吃甜根，叫什么玛莎甜根啊！”杰尼索夫喊道，“我亲眼看见拉扎丘克从田里把这种甜根抱来了。”
“大人，我下了命令，他们都不听。”骑兵连司务长回答。
罗斯托夫又躺在自己床上，心里高兴地想想：“现在让他来磨蹭，让他来忙合，我干完了我的活，躺在床上——妙极了！”他听见土墙外面除了骑兵连司务长，还有拉夫鲁什卡说话的声音，拉夫鲁什卡是个机灵的、有几分狡猾的听差——杰尼索夫的听差。他不知因为什么正在讲他外出寻找食物时，看见几辆大车、面包干和几头公牛。
土窑外面又传来渐向远处消逝的杰尼索夫的叫喊声和话语声：“备马鞍，第二排！”
“打算到哪里去啊？”罗斯托夫想了想。
隔了五分钟，杰尼索夫走进临时建筑的土窑里，两腿粘满了污泥，但是他仍然爬上床去，愤懑地抽完一袋烟，把他自己的东西向四处乱扔，把马鞭插在腰间，佩戴马刀，便从土窑里走出去了。罗斯托夫发问：“到哪里去了？”他气忿地、含糊其词地回答，说有点事情。
“让上帝和国君审判我吧！”杰尼索夫走出土窑时说，罗斯托夫听见土窑外面有几匹马在烂泥路上走着，发出啪嗒啪嗒的响声。罗斯托夫甚至不想知道杰尼索夫骑马到何处去。他使他自己的角落变得暖和后，便睡熟了，到傍晚以前才起床，走出了土窑。杰尼索夫还没有回来。黄昏时分天放晴。有两个军官和一名士官生在邻近的土窑旁边玩投钉游戏。他们哈哈大笑地把萝卜裁在疏松的泥地里。罗斯托夫也加入他们一伙了。玩到半中间的时候，军官们看见几辆向他们驶来的大车，莫约十五名骠骑兵骑着瘦马尾随于车后。由几名骠骑兵押送的大车驶近了系马桩，一群骠骑兵把几辆大车围起来了。
“你看，杰尼索夫还很悲哀，”罗斯托夫说，“军用食粮还是运来了。”
“果然运到了！”军官们说，“士兵们可真高兴啊！”在骠骑兵后面不太远的地方，杰尼索夫由两名步兵军官陪同，骑着马走过来了，杰尼索夫和他们谈论着什么事情。罗斯托夫向他迎面走来。
“大尉，我要向您提出警告。”一名军官说，这个人身体消瘦，个子矮小，看样子，是很愠怒的。
“要知道我说了，决不交出去。”杰尼索夫回答。
“要由您负责，大尉，这是横行霸道——掠夺自己人的交能工具！我们的人有两天没有吃食物了。”
“而我的人有两个星期没有吃食物了。”杰尼索夫回答。
“阁下，这是抢劫行径，您要负责的！”这个步兵军官提高嗓音重复地说。
“可是您干嘛纠缠着我呢？啊？”杰尼索夫勃然大怒，高声喊道，“是由我，不是由您负责，您不要在这里讨厌地叨叨，还是好好的走开！”他对着那些军官喊道。
“好啦！”那个身材矮小的军官不畏葸，也不走开，大声嚷道：“抢劫，我叫您晓得……”
“你还是好好的，赶快走开，你见鬼去吧。”杰尼索夫于是向那名军官掉转马头。
“好，好，”那名军官用威胁的口吻说，他颠簸着坐在马鞍上，纵马疾速地驰去。
“板墙上的狗，板墙上的活狗。”杰尼索夫朝他身后说出了骑兵嘲笑骑马的步兵的最恶毒的话。他奔驰到罗斯托夫跟前，哈哈大笑起来。
“你从步兵手里夺来了，用武力夺来了运输车！”他说道。
“怎么，大伙儿不会饿死吧？”
那几辆向骠骑兵驶近的大车，是给步兵团用的，杰尼索夫从拉夫鲁什卡处得知运输车单独驶行，于是带领骠骑兵把它夺过来。他们把相当多的面包干分发给士兵，他们甚至与其他连队共享一顿饱餐。
翌日团长已传唤杰尼索夫，团长伸开手指蒙着自己的眼睛，对他说：“我对这件事有这种看法：我什么都不知道，我不着手办理这件事，但是要劝您去司令部走一趟，就在那个军粮管理处办好这件事，假如有可能的话，要签个字，证明收到多少军粮，否则，就得写在步兵团的帐上，会引起诉讼的，结果可能很不利。”
杰尼索夫从团长那里迳直地到司令部去了，真诚地履行团长的忠告。夜晚他回到自己的土窑，罗斯托夫从来没有看见自己的朋友会露出这种神态。杰尼索夫说不出话，喘不上气来。罗斯托夫问他出了什么事，他只用嘶哑而微弱的嗓音破口大骂，说一些恫吓的话。
罗斯托夫被杰尼索夫的狼狈相吓了一跳，便叫他脱下衣裳，喝一点水，然后就着人去延请医生。
“审判我，因为犯有抢劫罪，哎呀！再给我一点儿水。就让他们审判吧。可是我要，永远要揍这些卑鄙家伙，我要向国王禀告。给我一点冰。”他说。
前来治病的兵团的医师说要放血。从杰尼索夫毛茸茸的手臂上放出一深盘黑血，只有在这种场合他才能讲出他所发生的一切情况。
“我到了，”杰尼索夫讲，“喂，你们这里的长官在哪里？”他们指给我看了。稍微等一等，好不好？我有任务，我走到三十俄里以外的地方来，我没有时间等候，你去报告。好，这个贼王走出来了，他也想教训我了：这是抢劫啊！我说，干抢劫勾当的不是拿军粮来维持士兵伙食的人，而是把军粮塞进自己腰包的人！'好，他说，‘您到代理人那里去签个字，不过您的案子要转送上级。'我走到代理人那里。我一进门，在桌旁坐的……究竟是谁呢？你想想！……是谁使我们挨饿，”杰尼索夫大声喊道，握紧他那个病人的拳头在桌上捶了一下，用力过猛，险些儿把桌子捶倒了，桌上的几只茶杯给捶得跳了起来，“捷利亚宁啊！‘怎么，你使我们挨饿吗？'那回子我打了他一下嘴巴，真利落……‘啊，没出息的家伙……'我于是把他推倒，让他滚来滚去！揍得真痛快，可以说，”杰尼索夫大声嚷着，在他那乌黑的胡子下面愉快而凶狠地露出洁白的牙齿。“要不是他人把我拖开，我真会把他揍死的。”
“你为什么总要大声喊叫，安静下来吧，”罗斯托夫说，“你瞧，又出血了。等一等，要重新包扎一下。”
有人给杰尼索夫重新包扎好伤口，让他上床睡觉。第二天醒来，他心地平和，看起来非常高兴。
但在正午的时候，一名团部副官带着严肃而忧愁的面容来到杰尼索夫和罗斯托夫的公共土窑里，十分惋惜地拿出团长给少校杰尼索夫的正式公文，其中说到查问昨天的事件，这名副官通知说，案情必定会急剧地恶化，目前已经成立军事法庭，对军队抢劫与肆虐行为实行严厉制裁，遇机运时，亦应遭受降级处分，才能了结这个案子。
从受委屈者方面看来，案子是这样的：杰尼索夫少校抢走运输车之后，酩酊大醉，未经传唤贸然去见军粮管理委员会主席，谩骂他是窃贼，且以斗殴相威胁，有人把他拖出去了，他就闯进办公厅，痛殴两名官吏，把其中一人的手弄脱臼了。
在回答罗斯托夫一再提出的各种问题时，杰尼索夫笑着说，仿佛有个人给扭伤了，不过这全是无稽之谈，是废话，他根本不会想到害怕什么法庭，如果这些卑鄙家伙胆敢动他一根汗毛，他就要报复，让他们永远记得他的厉害。
杰尼索夫虽然轻蔑地谈起这件案子，但是罗斯托夫知之甚稔，不会发觉不出他内心害怕法庭，并且为其后果显然不利的案子而遭受折磨，不过他瞒着不让他人知道罢了。每日均有调查公文和传票送来，五月一号，首长命令杰尼索夫将骑兵连移交给比他低一级的军官，然后到师司令部去说明他在军粮管理委员会的肆虐行为。前一天，普拉托夫率领两个哥萨克兵团和两个骠骑兵连对敌军作了一次现地侦察。像平时一样，杰尼索夫疾驰于散兵线之前，藉以炫耀自己的英勇果断。法国步兵发射的一颗子弹打中了他的大腿。也许在别的时候，杰尼索夫负了这一点轻伤，不会离开兵团，可是现在他借此机会不到师部去，而进了野战医院。
Book 5 Chapter 17
IN THE MONTH of June was fought the battle of Friedland, in which the Pavlograd hussars did not take part. It was followed by a truce. Rostov, who sorely felt his friend's absence, and had had no news of him since he left, was uneasy about his wound and the course his difficulties might be taking, and he took advantage of the truce to get leave to visit Denisov at the hospital.
The hospital was in a little Prussian town, which had twice been sacked by Russian and French troops. In the summer weather, when the country looked so pleasant, this little town presented a strikingly melancholy contrast, with its broken roofs and fences, its foul streets and ragged inhabitants, and the sick and drunken soldiers wandering about it.
The hospital was a stone house with remnants of fence torn up in the yard, and window frames and panes partly broken. Several soldiers bandaged up, and with pale and swollen faces, were walking or sitting in the sunshine in the yard.
As soon as Rostov went in at the door, he was conscious of the stench of hospital and putrefying flesh all about him. On the stairs he met a Russian army doctor with a cigar in his mouth. He was followed by a Russian trained assistant.
“I can't be everywhere at once,” the doctor was saying; “come in the evening to Makar Alexyevitch's, I shall be there.” The assistant asked some further question. “Oh! do as you think best! What difference will it make?”
The doctor caught sight of Rostov mounting the stairs.
“What are you here for, your honour?” said the doctor. “What are you here for? Couldn't you meet with a bullet that you want to pick up typhus? This is a pest-house, my good sir.”
“How so?” asked Rostov.
“Typhus, sir. It's death to any one to go in. It's only we two, Makeev and I” (he pointed to the assistant) “who are still afoot here. Five of us, doctors, have died here already. As soon as a new one comes, he's done for in a week,” said the doctor with evident satisfaction. “They have sent for Prussian doctors, but our allies aren't fond of the job.”
Rostov explained that he wanted to see Major Denisov of the hussars, who was lying wounded here.
“I don't know, can't tell you, my good sir. Only think, I have three hospitals to look after alone—over four hundred patients. It's a good thing the Prussian charitable ladies send us coffee and lint—two pounds a month—or we should be lost.” He laughed. “Four hundred, sir; and they keep sending me in fresh cases. It is four hundred, isn't it? Eh?” He turned to the assistant.
The assistant looked worried. He was unmistakably in a hurry for the talkative doctor to be gone, and was waiting with vexation.
“Major Denisov,” repeated Rostov; “he was wounded at Moliten.”
“I believe he's dead. Eh, Makeev?” the doctor queried of the assistant carelessly.
The assistant did not, however, confirm the doctor's words.
“Is he a long, red-haired man?” asked the doctor.
Rostov described Denisov's appearance.
“He was here, he was,” the doctor declared, with a sort of glee. “He must be dead, but still I'll see. I have lists. Have you got them, Makeev?”
“The lists are at Makar Alexyevitch's,” said the assistant. “But go to the officers' ward, there you'll see for yourself,” he added, turning to Rostov.
“Ah, you'd better not, sir!” said the doctor, “or you may have to stay here yourself.” But Rostov bowed himself away from the doctor, and asked the assistant to show him the way.
“Don't blame me afterwards, mind!” the doctor shouted up from the stairs below.
Rostov and the assistant went into the corridor. The hospital stench was so strong in that dark corridor that Rostov held his nose, and was obliged to pause to recover his energy to go on. A door was opened on the right, and there limped out on crutches a thin yellow man with bare feet, and nothing on but his underlinen. Leaning against the doorpost, he gazed with glittering, anxious eyes at the persons approaching. Rostov glanced in at the door and saw that the sick and wounded were lying there on the floor, on straw and on overcoats.
“Can one go in and look?” asked Rostov.
“What is there to look at?” said the assistant. But just because the assistant was obviously disinclined to let him go in, Rostov went into the soldiers' ward. The stench, to which he had grown used a little in the corridor, was stronger here. Here the stench was different; it was more intense; and one could smell that it was from here that it came. In the long room, brightly lighted by the sun in the big window, lay the sick and wounded in two rows with their heads to the wall, leaving a passage down the middle. The greater number of them were unconscious, and took no notice of the entrance of outsiders. Those who were conscious got up or raised their thin, yellow faces, and all gazed intently at Rostov, with the same expression of hope of help, of reproach, and envy of another man's health. Rostov went into the middle of the room, glanced in at the open doors of adjoining rooms, and on both sides saw the same thing. He stood still, looking round him speechless. He had never expected to see anything like this. Just before him lay right across the empty space down the middle, on the bare floor, a sick man, probably a Cossack, for his hair was cut round in basin shape. This Cossack lay on his back, his huge arms and legs outstretched. His face was of a purple red, his eyes were quite sunk in his head so that only the whites could be seen, and on his legs and on his hands, which were still red, the veins stood out like cords. He was knocking his head against the floor, and he uttered some word and kept repeating it. Rostov listened to what he was saying, and distinguished the word he kept repeating. That word was “drink—drink—drink!” Rostov looked about for some one who could lay the sick man in his place and give him water.
“Who looks after the patients here?” he asked the assistant. At that moment a commissariat soldier, a hospital orderly, came in from the adjoining room, and, marching in drill step, drew himself up before him.
“Good day, your honour!” bawled this soldier, rolling his eyes at Rostov, and obviously mistaking him for one in authority.
“Take him away, give him water,” said Rostov, indicating the Cossack.
“Certainly, your honour,” the soldier replied complacently, rolling his eyes more strenuously than ever. and drawing himself up, but not budging to do so.
“No, there's no doing anything here,” thought Rostov, dropping his eyes; and he wanted to get away, but he was aware of a significant look bent upon him from the right side, and he looked round at it. Almost in the corner there was, sitting on a military overcoat, an old soldier with a stern yellow face, thin as a skeleton's, and an unshaved grey beard. He was looking persistently at Rostov. The man next the old soldier was whispering something to him, pointing to Rostov. Rostov saw the old man wanted to ask him something. He went closer and saw that the old man had only one leg bent under him, the other had been cut off above the knee. On the other side of the old man, at some distance from him, there lay with head thrown back the motionless figure of a young soldier with a waxen pallor on his snub-nosed and still freckled face, and eyes sunken under the lids. Rostov looked at the snub-nosed soldier and a shiver ran down his back.
“Why, that one seems to be …” he said to the assistant.
“We've begged and begged, your honour,” said the old soldier with a quiver in his lower jaw. “He died early in the morning. We're men, too, not dogs.…”
“I'll see to it directly; they shall take him, they shall take him away,” said the assistant hurriedly. “Come, your honour.”
“Let us go, let us go,” said Rostov hastily; and dropping his eyes and shrinking together, trying to pass unnoticed through the lines of those reproachful and envious eyes fastened upon him, he went out of the room.
六月份，弗里德兰爆发了一场战斗，保罗格勒兵团没有参与这次战役，紧接着宣布休战。罗斯托夫因为朋友不在身边而觉得难受，自从他走后没有接到他的任何消息，对他的案件的进程和伤势感到担心，于是他就利用休战的机会请假到医院去探望杰尼索夫。 
医院位于普鲁士的一个小镇，这个小镇有两次遭到俄军和法军的摧毁。正因时值夏季，田野里十分爽适，而这个小镇上到处都是残垣断壁、毁坏的屋顶、污秽的街道、鹑衣百结的居民、流落于街头的醉醺醺的、病魔缠身的士兵，这就构成了分外阴暗的景象。
医院里一栋砖石结构的房子，庭院里可以看见拆掉的围墙的残迹，门窗与玻璃部分地遭受摧毁。有几个绑着绷带、脸色惨白、遍身浮肿的士兵时而踱来踱去，时而坐在庭院中晒晒太阳。
罗斯托夫刚刚走进屋门，就有一股腐烂的肉体和医院的气味向他袭来。他在楼梯上遇见一个叨着雪茄烟的俄国军医。
俄国医士跟在他后面。
“我不会分身似的同时抓许多事，”医生说道，“你晚上到马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇那里去，我也到那里去。”医士还向他问了什么话。
“咳！你知道怎么办，就怎么办吧！岂不都是一样的吗？”
医生看见走上楼来的罗斯托夫。
“大人，您干嘛要来？”医生说道，“您干嘛要来？也许子弹没有打中您，您要传染上伤寒吗？老兄，这里是麻风病院。
“为什么不能来呢？”罗斯托夫问道。
“伤寒病，老兄。无论是谁走进来，只有死路一条。唯有我和马克耶夫（他指指医士）在这儿拖着干活儿。我们医生兄弟在这里莫约死了五个了。新来的人隔了一个星期就要完蛋的，”医生显然觉得高兴地说，“有人延请普鲁士医师，可是我们的盟友都不喜欢到这里来。”
罗斯托夫向他说明，他想探视住在这里的骠骑兵少校杰尼索夫。
“老兄，不晓得，不知道，您想想吧，我一个人干三家医院的工作，四百多个病号！还好，行善的普鲁士太太每月给我们寄送两俄磅咖啡和两俄磅绒布，不然的话，真会完蛋的。”他笑了起来。“老兄，四百病人，还经常给我送来新的哩。有没有四百呢？嗯？”他问医士。
医士现出疲惫不堪的样子。显然他在懊恼地等待聊得太久的医生赶快走开。
“杰尼索夫少校，”罗斯托夫重复地说，“他是在莫利坦负伤的。”
“他好像死了。是吗？马克耶夫，”医生冷淡地问医士。
但这名医士并没有证实医士的话。
“他是啥样子，高高的个子、棕红头发的吗？”医生问。
罗斯托夫描述了杰尼索夫的外表。
“有过，有过这样的人”这位医生仿佛挺高兴地说，“这个人也许死了，不过我来查一下，我这儿有名单。马克耶夫，你有名单吗？”
“名单在马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇那里，”医生说，“请您到军官病房里去吧，在那儿您能亲眼看见的。”他把脸转向罗斯托夫，补充地说了一句话。
“咳，老兄，最好不要去！”医生说，“要不然，好像您自己也会留在那里的。”但是罗斯托夫向医师鞠了一个躬，告辞之后就请医士领他去。
“一言为定，甭埋怨我吧。”医生从楼梯下面大声喊道。
罗斯托夫和医土走进了走廊。在这个昏暗的走廊里，医院的气味十分浓，以致罗斯托夫捂住自己的鼻子，不得不停步，好鼓足劲来往前走。右边的房门打开了，一个面黄肌瘦的人拄着双拐杖、赤着脚、穿一套内衣从那里探出身子来。他依靠着门楣，用妒嫉的、炯炯发亮的眼睛不时地望望从身旁走过去的人们。罗斯托夫朝门里一瞧，瞧见了那些病号和伤员都躺在铺了一层干草和军大衣的地板上。
“可以进去看看吗？”罗斯托夫问道。
“究竟要看什么呀？”医士说。但是正因为医士显然不愿意让他走进病房，罗斯托夫硬要走进士兵的病房。他已经闻惯了走廊里的气味，这里的气味更浓。这里的气味稍微有点不同，更令人觉得冲鼻子。可以敏锐地感到，走廊的气味正是从这里发散出去的。
太阳透过大窗户把长长的房间照得很明亮，在这个房间里头，病号和伤员把头靠着墙分成二排躺着，房中间留了一条过道。他们大部分人昏迷不醒，都没有注意走进来的人。那些神志清醒的人欠起身子，或则抬起他们那消瘦的发黄的脸，目不转睛地望着罗斯托夫，个个都流露出同样的表情——指望帮助、责备和嫉妒他人的健康。罗斯托夫走到这个病房中间，望望隔壁的房门口（几扇门都是敞开的），他从房间的两边看见了同样的情景。他停步了，默默不语地环顾四周。他决没有料到会目睹这种情状。就在他面前，有一个病人横卧在过道中间的光地板上，大概是个哥萨克，剪了一个童化头。这个哥萨克伸开粗大的手脚，仰卧着。他的脸色赤红，两只眼睛往上翻，只能看见眼白了，他的赤脚上，发红的手上，一条条青筋像细绳似的绷得紧紧的。他的后脑勺碰了碰地板，嗓音嘶哑地说了一句什么话，又开始重复说出这句话。罗斯托夫仔细地听他说话，听清了他重复说的这句话。这句话是：喝点水，喝水，喝点水啊！罗斯托夫向四周环视，想找人帮忙，让这个病号躺好，让他喝点水。
“谁在这里照顾病人呢？”他问医士。这时有个辎重兵，医院的工友从隔壁房里走出来，他退后一步，直挺挺地站在罗斯托夫面前。
“您好，大人！”这个士兵瞪大眼睛望着罗斯托夫，喊道，他显然是把他看作医院的首长。
“要他躺好，让他喝点水。”罗斯托夫指着哥萨克兵，说道。
“大人，是。”这名士兵蛮高兴地说，他把眼睛瞪得更大，身子也挺得更直，可是还呆在原地不动。
“不，这里毫无办法，”罗斯托夫想了想，垂下眼睛，希望走出去，但是他觉得有一种意味深长的目光从右边向他凝视，他于是回头望望。差不多紧靠屋角，有个老兵坐在军大衣上面，露出一副骷髅般瘦黄的、严肃的面孔、没有剃过的苍白的髯须，他目不转睛地望着罗斯托夫。坐在老兵身旁的人从一边指着罗斯托夫，对他低声地说了些什么。罗斯托夫明白，老年人想向他提出什么请求。他向这位老人近旁走去，看见他只弯着一条腿，另一条腿从膝头以上完全没有了。老头子身旁的另一个人离得相当远，他头往后仰，一动不动地躺着，这是个年轻的士兵，翘起鼻子，苍白如蜡的脸上长满了雀斑，翻着白眼，罗斯托夫望了望这个翘鼻子的士兵，一阵寒凉掠过他的脊背。
“瞧，这个士兵看来是……”他把脸对着医士说。
“大人，我们请求过了，”老兵的下颏颤栗着说，“早上就有个人死了。要知道，我们也是人，而不是狗……”
“我马上派人把他抬走，抬走，”医士连忙说，“大人，我请您离开这里。”
“我们走吧，我们走吧。”罗斯托夫连忙说，他垂下眼睛，缩成一团，极力不让人发现，从这排向他凝视的、责备而嫉妒的目光中穿过去，他走出这间屋子。
Book 5 Chapter 18
THE ASSISTANT walked along the corridor and led Rostov to the officers' wards, three rooms with doors opening between them. In these rooms there were bedsteads; the officers were sitting and lying upon them. Some were walking about the room in hospital dressing-gowns. The first person who met Rostov in the officers' ward was a thin little man who had lost one arm. He was walking about the first room in a nightcap and hospital dressing-gown, with a short pipe between his teeth. Rostov, looking intently at him, tried to recall where he had seen him.
“See where it was God's will for us to meet again,” said the little man. “Tushin, Tushin, do you remember I brought you along after Sch?ngraben? They have sliced a bit off me, see,…” said he smiling, and showing the empty sleeve of his dressing-gown. “Is it Vassily Dmitryevitch Denisov you are looking for—a fellow-lodger here?” he said, hearing who it was Rostov wanted. “Here, here,” and he led him into the next room, from which there came the sound of several men laughing. “How can they live in this place even, much less laugh?” thought Rostov, still aware of that corpse-like smell that had been so overpowering in the soldiers' ward, and still seeing around him those envious eyes following him on both sides, and the face of that young soldier with the sunken eyes.
Denisov, covered up to his head with the quilt, was still in bed, though it was twelve o'clock in the day.
“Ah, Rostov! How are you, how are you?” he shouted, still in the same voice as in the regiment. But Rostov noticed with grief, behind this habitual briskness and swagger, some new, sinister, smothered feeling that peeped out in the words and intonations and the expression of the face of Denisov.
His wound, trifling as it was, had still not healed, though six weeks had passed since he was wounded. His face had the same swollen pallor as all the faces in the hospital. But that was not what struck Rostov: what struck him was that Denisov did not seem pleased to see him, and his smile was forced. Denisov asked him nothing either of the regiment or of the general progress of the war. When Rostov talked of it, Denisov did not listen.
Rostov even noticed that Denisov disliked all reference to the regiment, and to that other free life going on outside the hospital walls. He seemed to be trying to forget that old life, and to be interested only in his quarrel with the commissariat officials. In reply to Rostov's inquiry as to how this matter was going, he promptly drew from under his pillow a communication he had received from the commissioner, and a rough copy of his answer. He grew more eager as he began to read his answer, and specially called Rostov's attention to the biting sarcasm with which he addressed his foes. Denisov's companions in the hospital, who had gathered round Rostov, as a person newly come from the world of freedom outside, gradually began to move away as soon as Denisov began reading his answer. From their faces Rostov surmised that all these gentlemen had more than once heard the whole story, and had had time to be bored with it. Only his nearest neighbour, a stout Uhlan, sat on his pallet-bed, scowling gloomily and smoking a pipe, and little one-armed Tushin still listened, shaking his head disapprovingly. In the middle of the reading the Uhlan interrupted Denisov.
“What I say is,” he said, turning to Rostov, “he ought simply to petition the Emperor for pardon. Just now, they say, there will be great rewards given and they will surely pardon.”
“Me petition the Emperor!” said Denisov in a voice into which he tried to throw his old energy and fire, but which sounded like the expression of impotent irritability. “What for? If I had been a robber, I'd beg for mercy; why, I'm being called up for trying to show up robbers. Let them try me, I'm not afraid of any one; I have served my Tsar and my country honestly, and I'm not a thief! And degrade me to the ranks and … Listen, I tell them straight out, see, I write to them, ‘If I had been a thief of government property…' ”
“It's neatly put, no question about it,” said Tushin. “But that's not the point, Vassily Dmitritch,” he too turned to Rostov, “one must submit, and Vassily Dmitritch here won't do it. The auditor told you, you know, that it looks serious for you.”
“Well, let it be serious,” said Denisov.
“The auditor wrote a petition for you,” Tushin went on, “and you ought to sign it and despatch it by this gentleman. No doubt he” (he indicated Rostov) “has influence on the staff too. You won't find a better opportunity.”
“But I have said I won't go cringing and fawning,” Denisov interrupted, and he went on reading his answer.
Rostov did not dare to try and persuade Denisov, though he felt instinctively that the course proposed by Tushin and the other officers was the safest. He would have felt happy if he could have been of assistance to Denisov, but he knew his stubborn will and straightforward hasty temper.
When the reading of Denisov's biting replies, which lasted over an hour, was over, Rostov said nothing, and in the most dejected frame of mind spent the rest of the day in the society of Denisov's companions, who had again gathered about him. He told them what he knew, and listened to the stories told by others. Denisov maintained a gloomy silence the whole evening.
Late in the evening, when Rostov was about to leave, he asked Denisov if he had no commission for him.
“Yes, wait a bit,” said Denisov. He looked round at the officers, and taking his papers from under his pillow, he went to the window where there was an inkstand, and sat down to write.
“It seems it's no good knocking one's head against a stone wall,” said he, coming from the window and giving Rostov a large envelope. It was the petition addressed to the Emperor that had been drawn up by the auditor. In it Denisov, making no reference to the shortcoming of the commissariat department, simply begged for mercy. “Give it, it seems…” He did not finish, and smiled a forced and sickly smile.
穿过走廊后，医士把罗斯托夫领进军官病房，病房有三个房间，房门都是敞开的。在这些房间里摆着几张床铺，负伤的和生病的军官在床上躺着或坐着。有几个人身穿病人服在房里踱来踱去。罗斯托夫在军官病房里遇见的头一个人是个身材矮小的瘦骨嶙峋的独臂的人，他戴着睡帽、穿着病人服，嘴角上叨着烟斗，在第一间房里踱来踱去。罗斯托夫详察着他，极力地想回忆起他在什么地方见过他。 
“没有料到在这儿遇见啦，”身材矮小的人说，“您还记得图申、图申是我把您领到申格拉本吗？您瞧，砍掉了我这一小块……”他面露微笑，把那只空空的袖筒拿给罗斯托夫看时这样说，“您是找瓦西里·德米特里耶维奇·杰尼索夫吗？——住在一起的人啊！”他知道罗斯托夫要找谁时说，“在这儿，在这儿。”于是图申就把他领进另一间房里，从房里传出几个人的哈哈大笑声。
“他们怎么能够在这儿不仅哈哈大笑，而且活得下去呢？”罗斯托夫想道，他还闻到在士兵病院闻够了的尸体的气味，他还从周围望见那两边伴送他的妒嫉的目光和这个痛苦得翻白眼的青年士兵的面孔。
虽然是上午十一点多钟，但杰尼索夫还用被子蒙着头，睡在床上。
“啊，罗斯托夫！你好，你好！”他喊道，那嗓音仍像平常他在兵团中说话时用的嗓音一样，但罗斯托夫忧愁地觉察到，他还怀有地所惯有的放肆而活跃的心态，但是他的面部表情、语调和谈吐却流露出前所未有的、隐藏在内心深处的难堪的情感。
尽管他负伤以后已经过了六个礼拜，伤势并不太严重，但是还没有愈合。他的脸苍白而且浮肿，住军医院的伤病员都和他一样。但使罗斯托夫感到惊奇的不是这件事，使他感到惊奇的是，杰尼索夫看见他，好像很不高兴，对他流露出不自然的微笑。杰尼索夫既不询问兵团的情形，也不询问战事的进程。当罗斯托夫谈论此事的时候，杰尼索夫不听他说话。
罗斯托夫甚至发现，在向杰尼索夫提起兵团的情形，总之是向他提起军医院以外的另一种自由生活的时候，他就觉得很不高兴。他好像力图忘怀过去的生活，只是关心他和军粮官的那个案子。为了回答罗斯托夫询及的案情，他立即从枕头下面拿出一份他从委员会方面接到的公文和他草拟的答复。他变得兴奋起来，开始念这份公文，尤其是要罗斯托夫注意他在公文中对自己敌人说的这些讽刺的话。那些住院的杰尼索夫的伙伴，原先把罗斯托夫——新近从自由世界走来的人物——围在中间，但一当杰尼索夫开始念他的这份公文，他们就渐渐走开。罗斯托夫凭他们的脸色心里就明白，这些先生不止一次地听过使他们厌恶的整个故事。只有邻床的十分肥胖的枪骑兵阴郁地皱起眉头，坐在自己的病床上抽烟斗，身材矮小的独臂的图申继续听他讲故事，不以为然地摇摇头，念到半中间的时候，枪骑兵打断杰尼索夫的话。
“在我看来，”他把脸转向罗斯托夫说，“索性请求国王赦免。听说，眼前颁发的奖赏更多，大概能够得到饶恕的……”
“我要去请求国王！”杰尼索夫说，他本想使他自己的嗓音赋有从前的激昂和劲头，但是听来却是无益的急躁。“请求什么呢？如果我是个土匪，我是会请求施恩的，可是我受到审判是因为我揭露了一些土匪。让他们公审，我不畏惧什么人；我诚实地为沙皇、为祖国效劳，没有盗窃行为！竟把我革职……你听着，我就直言不讳地禀奏，我禀奏：如果我是盗窃国库者……”
“写得真妙，没有什么可说的，”图申说，“可是问题不在那里，瓦西里，德米特里奇，”他也对罗斯托夫说，“应当顺从，您瞧，瓦西里·德米特里奇不愿意。要知道，检察官对您说过，您的案情很糟糕。”
“让它糟糕吧。”杰尼索夫说。
“检察官替您写了奏帖。”图申继续说，“总得签个字，就由他送去。想必（他指了指罗斯托夫）他在司令部也有靠山。
您找不到更好的机会。”
“我不是说了，我不想卑躬屈节。”杰尼索夫打断他的话，又继续念他自己的那份公文。
罗斯托夫不敢规劝杰尼索夫，虽然他本能地感觉到，图申和其他几名军官提出的途径是最正确的，只要他能够帮助杰尼索夫，他就会认为自己是幸福的，因为他知道杰尼索夫的百折不回的意志和他这个老实人的急躁脾气。
杰尼索夫连续读了一个多钟头才把这几份写得恶毒的公文读完了，罗斯托夫怀着愁闷的心情，没有说什么，好几个住院的杰尼索夫的伙伴又在他周围聚集起来，罗斯托夫一面叙述他所知道的情形，一面倾听旁人的叙述，在他们之中度过了这天剩下的时光。杰尼索夫整个晚上心情忧悒，不吭一声。
罗斯托夫深夜想启程，问了问杰尼索夫，有没有委托他办的事情？
“是啊，请你等一下。”杰尼索夫朝着军官们瞥了一眼，说道，他从自己枕头下面拿出公文来，走到那摆着他的墨水瓶的窗前，坐下来写呈文。
“看来，鞭子是打不断斧头背的。”他从窗前走开，把一个大信封交给罗斯托夫时说道。这是检察官拟就的送呈国王的禀帖，杰尼索夫在其禀帖中只字未提及军粮管理处的过失，只是请求予以赦免。
“请你转交吧，看来……”他没有把话说完，病态地虚伪地微微一笑。
Book 5 Chapter 19
AFTER GOING BACK to the regiment and reporting to the colonel the position of Denisov's affairs, Rostov rode to Tilsit with the letter to the Emperor.
On the 13th of June the French and Russian Emperors met at Tilsit. Boris Drubetskoy had asked the personage of high rank on whom he was in attendance to include him in the suite destined to be staying at Tilsit.
“I should like to see the great man,” he said, meaning Napoleon, whom he had hitherto, like every one else, always spoken of as Bonaparte.
“You are speaking of Buonaparte?” the general said to him, smiling.
Boris looked inquiringly at his general, and immediately saw that this was a playful test.
“I am speaking, prince, of the Emperor Napoleon,” he replied. With a smile the general clapped him on the shoulder
“You will get on,” said he, and he took him with him. Boris was among the few present at Niemen on the day of the meeting of the Emperors. He saw the raft with the royal monograms, saw Napoleon's progress through the French guards along the further bank, saw the pensive face of the Emperor Alexander as he sat silent in the inn on the bank of the Niemen waiting for Napoleon's arrival. He saw both the Emperors get into boats, and Napoleon reaching the raft first, walked rapidly forward, and meeting Alexander, gave him his hand; then both the Emperors disappeared into a pavilion. Ever since he had entered these higher spheres, Boris had made it his habit to keep an attentive watch on what was passing round him, and to note it all down. During the meeting of the Emperors at Tilsit, he asked the names of the persons accompanying Napoleon, inquired about the uniforms they were wearing, and listened carefully to the utterances of persons of consequence. When the Emperors went into the pavilion, he looked at his watch, and did not forget to look at it again when Alexander came out. The interview had lasted an hour and fifty-three minutes; he noted this down that evening among other facts, which he felt were of historical importance. As the Emperors' suite were few in number, to be present at Tilsit at the meeting of the Emperors was a matter of great consequence for a man who valued success in the service, and Boris, when he succeeded in obtaining this privilege, felt that his position was henceforth perfectly secure. He was not simply known, he had become an observed and familiar figure. On two occasions he had been sent with commissions to the Emperor himself, so that the Emperor knew him personally, and all the court no longer held aloof from him, as they had done at first, considering him a new man, and would even have noticed his absence with surprise if he had been away.
Boris was lodging with another adjutant, the Polish count, Zhilinsky. Zhilinsky, a Pole educated in Paris, was a wealthy man, devotedly attached to the French, and almost every day of their stay in Tilsit, French officers of the Guards and of the French head staff were dining and breakfasting with Zhilinsky and Boris.
On the 24th of June Zhilinsky, with whom Boris shared quarters, was giving a supper to his French acquaintances. At this supper there were present one of Napoleon's adjutants—the guest of honour—several officers of the French Guards, and a young lad of an aristocratic old French family, a page of Napoleon's. On the same evening Rostov, taking advantage of the darkness to pass through unrecognised, came to Tilsit in civilian dress, and went to the quarters of Zhilinsky and Boris.
Rostov, like the whole army indeed, was far from having passed through that revolution of feeling in regard to Napoleon and the French—transforming them from foes into friends—that had taken place at headquarters and in Boris. In the army every one was still feeling the same mingled hatred, fear, and contempt for Bonaparte and the French. Only recently Rostov had argued with an officer of Platov's Cossacks the question whether if Napoleon was taken prisoner he was to be treated as an emperor or as a criminal. Only a little while previously Rostov had met a wounded French colonel on the road, and had maintained to him with heat that there could be no peace concluded between a legitimate emperor and the criminal Bonaparte. Consequently it struck Rostov as strange to see French officers in Boris's quarters wearing the uniforms at which he was used to looking with very different eyes from the line of pickets. As soon as he caught sight of a French officer, that feeling of war, of hostility, which he always experienced at the sight of the enemy, came upon him at once. He stood still on the threshold and asked in Russian whether Drubetskoy lived there. Boris, hearing a strange voice in the passage, went out to meet him. For the first moment when he recognised Rostov, his face betrayed his annoyance.
“Ah, that's you, very glad, very glad to see you,” he said, however, smiling and moving towards him. But Rostov had detected his first impulse.
“I have come at a bad time, it seems,” said he; “I shouldn't have come, but it's on a matter of importance,” he said coldly.…
“No, I was only surprised at your getting away from the regiment. I will be with you in a moment,” he said in reply to a voice calling him.
“I see I have come at a bad time,” repeated Rostov.
The expression of annoyance had by now vanished from Boris's face; evidently having reflected and made up his mind how to act, he took him by both hands with marked composure and led him into the next room. Boris's eyes, gazing serenely and unflinchingly at Rostov, seemed as it were veiled by something, as though a sort of screen—the blue spectacles of conventional life—had been put over them. So it seemed to Rostov.
“Oh, please, don't talk nonsense, as if you could come at a wrong time,” said Boris. Boris led him into a room where supper was laid, introduced him to his guests, mentioning his name, and explaining that he was not a civilian, but an officer in the hussars, and his old friend. “Count Zhilinsky, Count N. N., Captain S. S.,” he said, naming his guests. Rostov looked frowning at the Frenchmen, bowed reluctantly, and was mute.
Zhilinsky was obviously not pleased to receive this unknown Russian outsider into his circle, and said nothing to Rostov. Boris appeared not to notice the constraint produced by the newcomer, and with the same amiable composure and the same veiled look in his eyes with which he had welcomed Rostov, he endeavoured to enliven the conversation. With characteristic French courtesy one of the French officers turned to Rostov, as he sat in stubborn silence, and said to him that he had probably come to Tilsit to see the Emperor.
“No, I came on business,” was Rostov's short reply. Rostov had been out of humour from the moment when he detected the dissatisfaction on the face of Boris, and as is always the case with persons who are ill-humoured, it seemed to him that every one looked at him with hostile eyes, and that he was in every one's way. And in fact he was in every one's way, and he was the only person left out of the general conversation, as it sprang up again. And what is he sitting on here for? was the question asked by the eyes of the guests turned upon him. He got up and went up to Boris.
“I'm in your way, though,” he said to him in an undertone; “let us have a talk about my business, and I'll go away.”
“Oh, no, not the least,” said Boris. “But if you are tired, come to my room and lie down and rest.”
“Well, really…”
They went into the little room where Boris slept. Rostov, without sitting down, began speaking at once with irritation—as though Boris were in some way to blame in the matter. He told him of Denisov's scrape, asking whether he would and could through his general intercede with the Emperor in Denisov's favour, and through him present the letter. When they were alone together, Rostov was for the first time distinctly aware that he felt an awkwardness in looking Boris in the face. Boris crossing one leg over the other, and stroking the slender fingers of his right hand with his left, listened to Rostov, as a general listens to a report presented by a subordinate, at one time looking away, at the next looking Rostov straight in the face with the same veiled look in his eyes. Every time he did so, Rostov felt ill at ease, and dropped his eyes.
“I have heard of affairs of the sort, and I know that the Emperor is very severe in such cases. I think it had better not be taken before his majesty. To my mind, it would be better to apply directly to the commander of the corps.… But generally speaking, I believe…”
“Then you don't care to do anything, so say so!” Rostov almost shouted, not looking Boris in the face.
Boris smiled.
“On the contrary, I will do what I can, only I imagine…”
At that moment they heard the voice of Zhilinsky at the door, calling Boris.
“Well, go along, go, go…” said Rostov, and refusing supper and remaining alone in the little room, he walked up and down for a long while, listening to the light-hearted French chatter in the next room.  罗斯托夫回到自己的兵团，向指挥官转告杰尼索夫的案情之后，便携带禀帖前往蒂尔西特觐见国王。 
六月十三日，法国皇帝和俄国皇帝在蒂尔西特聚会。鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊向他所依附的要人请求将他编入驻扎于蒂尔西特的随员之列。
“Je　voudrail　voir　le　grand　homme。”①他说到拿破仑，直到目前，他像大伙儿一样，总把拿破仑称为波拿巴。
“Vous　parlez　de　Buonaparte？”②那位将军面露微笑地对他说。
鲍里斯疑惑地望望自己的将军，他立刻明白，这是一种幽默的刺探。
“Mon　prince，je　parle　de　l'empeneur　
Napoléon．”③他回答。将军微笑地拍拍他的肩膀。 
①法语：我希望会见一位伟人。
②法语：您说的是波拿巴吗？
③法语：公爵，我是说拿破仑皇帝。
“你大有作为。”他对他说，并且把他带在身边了。
在觐见二位皇帝的那天，为数不多的人员到了涅曼，其中包括鲍里斯。他看见带花字头的一排排木筏，看见拿破仑在河对岸从法国近卫军近旁驶过，当亚历山大皇帝在涅曼河岸上的一家酒肆中等候拿破仑驾临的时候，他看见亚历山大皇帝陷入沉思的面容；他看见两位皇帝上了小船，拿破仑首先靠拢木筏，他迈着飞快的脚步前去迎接亚历山大，向他伸出手来，他们二人在幔帐中消失不见了。鲍里斯自从进入上层社会的活动范围以来，他就使他自己养成仔细观察周围的动静并且一一记录的习惯。他在蒂尔西特觐见二位皇帝的时候，详细地打听那些随同拿破仑抵达的人员的名字，打听他们所穿的制服，留心地听取要人的讲话。当二位皇帝走进幔帐的时候，他看看怀表，当亚历山大走出幔帐的时候，他没有忘记再看一次怀表。会见延续一小时零五十三分，当天晚上他把这件事记载在他认为具有历史意义的其他事实中。因为皇帝的侍从寥寥无几，所以对一个珍视事业成就的人来说，二位皇帝见面时能在蒂尔西特逗留是一件十分重要的事，鲍里斯来到蒂尔西特后感觉到，从这个时候起他的地位完全确立了。人人不仅认识他，而且看惯了他。他曾有两回奉命觐见国王，因此国王认识他的面貌，国王的亲信们不仅不像从前那样认为他是个新来的人而怕和他见面，而且，假如他不在场，他们反而会感到惊奇的。
鲍里斯和另一名副官、波兰伯爵日林斯基住在一起。日林斯基是在巴黎受过教育的波兰人，很有钱，热爱法国人，法国近卫军和司令部的军官在蒂尔西特逗留期间，几乎每天都在日林斯基和鲍里斯那里集合，共进早餐和午餐。
六月二十四日晚上，日林斯基伯爵，和鲍里斯住在一起的人，为他自己的法国熟人举办了一次晚宴。一名贵宾——拿破仑的副官、几名法国近卫军军官、法国老贵族出身的少年，拿破仑的少年侍从出席了这次晚宴。就在这一天，罗斯托夫趁黑夜不被人认出的机会，穿着一身便服，驶至蒂尔西特，走进了日林斯基和鲍里斯的住所。
罗斯托夫如同整个军队（他是从军队中来的），在对待由敌人转变成朋友的拿破仑和法国人的态度上，还远未发生大本营和鲍里斯身上所发生的这种巨大变化。军队中仍能体验到仇视、轻蔑和畏惧波拿巴与法国人的掺杂在一起的情绪。还在不久前，罗斯托夫和普拉托夫师的一名哥萨克军官谈话时，这样争论：如果拿破仑被俘，他们不会把他看作国王，而会把他看作罪人。不久以前罗斯托夫在途中遇见一名负伤的法国上校，罗斯托夫急躁起来，他向这名上校证明，在合法的国王和罪犯波拿巴之间不可能有媾和之事。罗斯托夫习惯用迥异的眼光从侧翼防御散兵线上观看法国军官的军装，因此鲍里斯住宅中的法国军官们的外貌竟使罗斯托夫感到惊讶。他一看见从门内探出身子的法国军官，那种看见敌人时经常体验到的战斗的敌对情绪忽然把他控制住了。他在门坎上停步，用俄国话问他，德鲁别茨科伊是不是住在这里。鲍里斯在接待室听见陌生人的嗓音，就走出去迎接他。当他乍见罗斯托夫时，他脸上流露出懊恼的神情。
“啊，是你，看见你我很高兴，我很高兴。”他说，不过面露微笑，移动脚步，向他走去。但是罗斯托夫发现了他最初的内心活动。
“我好像来得不是时候，”他说道，“我原想不来，可是我有桩事情。”他冷淡地说……
“不，我感到惊讶的只是，你怎么从兵团走到这里来了，Dans　un　moment　je　suis　à　vous①。”他听见喊他的声音就转过头来回答。
“我知道，我来得不是时候。”罗斯托夫重复地说。
鲍里斯脸上懊恼的表情已经消失了，显然，经过考虑后决定他该怎么办，他特别沉着地握住他的两只手，把他领到隔壁房里。鲍里斯的眼睛平静而坚定地望着罗斯托夫，它仿佛被什么东西蒙着，仿佛被日常生活所必需的蓝色眼镜遮住了。罗斯托夫好像有这种感觉。
“噢，真的，得啦，你哪里会来得不是时候。”鲍里斯说道。鲍里斯把他领进房里来，这里摆好了桌子开晚饭，他喊了一声罗斯托夫的姓名并说明他不是文官，而是骠骑兵军官，是他的老友。“这位是日林斯基伯爵。le　comte　N．N．，le　Capitaine　S．S．②。”他说出客人们的姓名。罗斯托夫皱起眉头望着几个法国人，不乐意地鞠躬行礼，一直沉默着。 
①法语：我愿意马上为您效劳。
②法语：这位是N．N．伯爵，这位是S．S．上尉。
日林斯基看来不乐于接受新来的俄国人加入他的小团体，他没有对罗斯托夫说句什么话。鲍里斯好像没有去注意由于新来的人而造成的窘态，他仍旧带着平静的喜悦的神色，他的眼睛中还像他遇见罗斯托夫时那样蒙着什么东西，他力图使这次谈话变得热闹起来。一个法国人流露出法国人常有的毕恭毕敬的样子，把脸转向保持沉默的罗斯托夫，同他搭话，说他来到蒂尔西特大概是要觐见皇帝的。
“不，我有我自己的事。”罗斯托夫简短地回答。
罗斯托夫在发现鲍里斯面露不满的神色后，他立刻显得心情不舒畅，他好像觉得，大家恶意地望着他，他正在妨碍大家，这是心绪不佳的人们常有的情形。他确乎妨碍大家。虽然大家又交谈起来，惟独他一人置身于局外。“他干嘛坐在这儿呢？”客人们向他投射的目光仿佛这样说。他站了起来，走到鲍里斯面前。
“不过，我使你觉得不自在，”他对他轻声地说，“我们同去谈谈一件事儿，谈完之后我就要走了。”
“不，根本不是这么回事，”鲍里斯说道，“如果疲倦了，就到我房里去吧，躺下来休息休息。”
“果然是……”
他们走进鲍里斯睡觉的一个小房间。罗斯托夫还没有坐下来，就感到非常忿恨，好像鲍里斯对不起他似的，他立刻向他谈起杰尼索夫的事，他问到，他是否愿意，是否能够通过自己的将军替杰尼索夫向国王求情，并且通过将军转交一封信。当他们二人留下的时候，罗斯托夫第一次证实，他不好意思去望鲍里斯的眼睛。鲍里斯跷起二郎腿，一面用左手抚摸右手的纤细的指头，一面细听罗斯托夫讲话，如同将军细听手下人汇报一般，他时而向一旁观看，时而他的目光中也像蒙着一层什么东西，而眼直勾勾地盯着罗斯托夫的眼睛，每当鲍里斯这样注视罗斯托夫的时候，他总觉得不好意思，于是就垂下眼帘。
“我听过这种案件，并且知道，国王严厉地对待这种案件。我想莫如不让他陛下知道。依我看，最好干脆向军长求情……
但一般说来，我想……”
“那么你什么也不愿意办．你就照直说！”罗斯托夫不望鲍里斯的眼睛，差不多叫喊起来。
鲍里斯微微一笑。
“我倒是要尽力去办，不过我想到……”
这时门内传来了日林斯基呼喊鲍里斯的声音。
“喂，走吧，走吧，走吧……”罗斯托夫说，他拒绝了晚饭，独自一人留在小房间里，他在房间里踱来踱去，踱了很久，倾听隔壁房里法国人的快活的谈话声。
Book 5 Chapter 20
ROSTOV had arrived at Tilsit on the day least suitable for interceding in Denisov's behalf. It was out of the question for him to go himself to the general in attendance, since he was wearing civilian dress, and had come to Tilsit without permission to do so, and Boris, even had he been willing, could not have done so on the day following Rostov's arrival. On that day, the 27th of June, the preliminaries of peace were signed. The Emperors exchanged orders: Alexander received the Legion of Honour, and Napoleon the Order of St. Andrey of the first degree, and that day had been fixed for the dinner to be given by a battalion of French guards to the Preobrazhensky battalion. The Emperors were to be present at this banquet. Rostov felt so uncomfortable and ill at ease with Boris, that when the latter peeped in at him after supper he pretended to be asleep, and the next day he left early in the morning to avoid seeing him. In a frock coat and round hat, Nikolay strolled about the town, staring at the French and their uniforms, examining the streets and the houses where the Russian and the French Emperors were staying. In the market-place he saw tables set out and preparations for the banquet; in the streets he saw draperies hung across with flags of the Russian and French colours, and huge monograms of A and N. In the windows of the houses, too, there were flags and monograms.
“Boris doesn't care to help me, and I don't care to apply to him. That question's closed,” thought Nikolay; “everything's over between us, but I'm not going away from here without having done all I can for Denisov, and, above all, getting the letter given to the Emperor. To the Emperor? … He is here!” thought Rostov, who had unconsciously gone back to the house occupied by Alexander.
Saddle horses were standing at the entrance, and the suite were riding up, evidently getting ready for the Emperor to come out.
“Any minute I may see him,” thought Rostov. “If only I could give him the letter directly, and tell him all … could they really arrest me for my frock coat? Impossible. He would understand on which side the truth lay. He understands everything, he knows everything. Who can be juster and more magnanimous than he? Besides, even if they were to arrest me for being here, what would it matter?” he thought, looking at an officer who was going into the house. “Why, people go in, I see. Oh! it's all nonsense. I'll go and give the letter to the Emperor myself; so much the worse for Drubetskoy who has driven me to it.” And all at once, with a decision he would never have expected of himself, Rostov, fingering the letter in his pocket, went straight into the house where the Emperor was staying.
“No, this time I won't miss my opportunity as I did after Austerlitz,” he thought, expecting every minute to meet the Emperor, and feeling a rush of blood to the heart at the idea. “I will fall at his feet and will beseech him. He will lift me up, hear me out, and thank me too. ‘I am happy when I can do good, but to cancel injustice is the greatest happiness,' ” Rostov fancied the Emperor would say to him. And he passed up the stairs regardless of the inquisitive eyes that were turned upon him. The broad staircase led straight upwards from the entry; on the right was a closed door. Below, under the stairs, was a door to the rooms on the ground floor.
“Whom are you looking for?” some one asked him.
“To give a letter, a petition, to his majesty,” said Nikolay, with a quiver in his voice.
“A petition—to the officer on duty, this way; please” (he was motioned to the door below). “Only it won't receive attention.”
Hearing this indifferent voice, Rostov felt panic-stricken at what he was doing; the idea that he might meet the Emperor at any minute was so fascinating and consequently so terrible, that he was ready to fly; but an attendant meeting him opened the door to the officer's room for him, and Rostov went in.
A short, stout man of about thirty in white breeches, high boots, and in a batiste shirt, apparently only just put on, was standing in this room. A valet was buttoning behind him some fine-looking, new, silk-embroidered braces, which for some reason attracted Rostov's notice. The stout man was conversing with some one in the adjoining room.
“A good figure and in her first bloom,” he was saying, but seeing Rostov he broke off and frowned.
“What do you want? A petition? …”
“What is it?” asked some one in the next room.
“Another petition,” answered the man in the braces.
“Tell him to come later. He'll be coming out directly; we must go.”
“Later, later, to-morrow. It's too late.…”
Rostov turned away and would have gone out, but the man in the braces stopped him.
“From whom is it? Who are you?”
“From Major Denisov,” answered Rostov.
“Who are you—an officer?”
“A lieutenant, Count Rostov.”
“What audacity! Send it through the proper channel. And go along with you, go.…” And he began putting on the uniform the valet handed him.
Rostov went out into the hall again, and noticed that by this time there were a great many officers and generals in full dress, and he had to pass through their midst.
Cursing his temerity, ready to faint at the thought that he might any minute meet the Emperor and be put to shame before him and placed under arrest, fully aware by now of all the indecorum of his action, and regretting it, Rostov was making his way out of the house with downcast eyes, through the crowd of the gorgeously dressed suite, when a familiar voice called to him, and a hand detained him.
“Well, sir, what are you doing here in a frock coat?” asked the bass voice.
It was a cavalry general who had won the Emperor's special favour during this campaign, and had formerly been in command of the division in which Rostov was serving.
Rostov began in dismay to try and excuse himself, but seeing the good-naturedly jocose face of the general, he moved on one side, and in an excited voice told him of the whole affair, begging him to intercede for Denisov, whom the general knew.
The general on hearing Rostov's story shook his head gravely. “I'm sorry, very sorry for the gallant fellow; give me the letter.”
Rostov had scarcely time to give him the letter and tell him all about Denisov's scrape, when the clank of rapid footsteps with spurs was heard on the stairs, and the general left his side and moved up to the steps. The gentlemen of the Emperor's suite ran downstairs and went to their horses. The postillion, the same one who had been at Austerlitz, led up the Emperor's horse, and on the stairs was heard a light footstep which Rostov knew at once. Forgetting the danger of being recognised, Rostov moved right up to the steps together with some curious persons from the town; and again after two years he saw the features he adored: the same face, the same glance, the same walk, the same combination of majesty and mildness.… And the feeling of enthusiasm and devotion to the Emperor rose up again in Rostov's heart with all its old force. The Emperor wore the uniform of the Preobrazhensky regiment, white elk-skin breeches and high boots, and a star which Rostov did not recognise (it was the star of the Legion of Honour). He came out on the steps, holding his hat under his arm, and putting on his glove. He stopped, looking round and seeming to shed brightness around him with his glance. To some one of the generals he said a few words. He recognised, too, the former commander of Rostov's division, smiled to him, and summoned him to him.
All the suite stood back, and Rostov saw the general talking at some length to the Emperor.
The Emperor said a few words to him, and took a step towards his horse. Again the crowd of the suite and the street gazers, among whom was Rostov, moved up closer to the Emperor. Standing still with his hand on the saddle, the Emperor turned to the cavalry general and said aloud with the obvious intention of being heard by all: “I cannot, general, and I cannot because the law is mightier than I am,” and he put his foot in the stirrup. The general bent his head respectfully; the Emperor took his seat and galloped up the street. Rostov, wild with enthusiasm, ran after him with the crowd.
罗斯托夫在替杰尼索夫求情感到棘手的那天来到蒂尔西特。因为他穿着一身燕尾服，未经上级允准擅自来到蒂尔西特，所以他本人不能去见执勤的将军；鲍里斯即使愿意，也不能在罗斯托夫抵达后次日办妥这件事，六月二十七日之天，签订了最初的和约条款。二位皇帝互换了勋章：亚历山大获得荣誉团勋章，拿破仑获得圣安德烈一级勋章，是日法国近卫营为普列奥布拉任斯基营举办了一次宴会。两位国王均须出席这次盛大的宴会。 
罗斯托夫和鲍里斯在一起时，觉得不好意思，很不舒服，晚餐之后鲍里斯顺便来看他，他假装睡着了，第二天清早，他尽力设法不和他见面，离开了住宅。尼古拉穿着燕尾服，戴着礼帽，在城里徘徊游荡，仔细地观看法国人和他们穿的制服，仔细地观察街道和俄皇、法皇居住的楼房。他在广场上看见摆好的餐桌，正准备饮宴。在街上他看见悬挂的帷幕和不同色彩的俄法两国国旗以及A（亚历山大的第一个字母）N（拿破仑的第一个字母）大型花字头。家家户户的窗子上也悬挂着两面国旗和花字。
“鲍里斯不愿帮助我，我也不愿和他打交道。这个案子判决了，”尼古拉想道，“我们之间一切都已完结，不过在没有办妥我能替杰尼索夫办到的事情之前，主要是，当我没有把呈文转交国王，国王之前，我万万不能从这儿走开！……他就在这儿！”正当罗斯托夫情不自禁地又向亚历山大占用的楼房走去时，想道。
有几匹用以乘骑的马停在这栋楼房门口，侍从们正在集合，显然是为国王出巡作准备。
“我随时有可能看见他，”罗斯托夫想道，“我只要能把呈文直接转交给他，说出全部情况就行了……难道仅为燕尾服一事就会把我逮捕吗？这没有可能！他会明白，正义在谁一边。他什么都明白，什么都知晓。究竟有谁比他更公允，更宽宏大量呢？倘若因为我待在这里而把我逮捕起来，那不算倒霉！”他一面想着，一面望着那个走进国王占用的楼房的军官。“岂不是可以进去。哎，全是废话。我走去把这份呈文亲自交给国王，这样对德鲁别茨科伊更糟，不过是他把我弄到这个地步的。”忽然罗斯托夫摸了摸口袋中的呈文，出乎意料地毅然启步，径直地向国王占用的楼房走过去。
“不，我现在不能像在奥斯特科茨战役后那样放过这个好机会，”他想道，时刻期待着遇见国王，一出现这个念头，他就觉得热血涌上心头。“我跪倒在国王脚下，恳求他施恩，他扶起我来，听我直言，还要感激我。”“当我能够行善的时候，我感到幸福，能够纠正不公平的事情才是最大的幸福。”罗斯托夫脑海中想象到国王将要对他说出这番话。他于是从那些好奇地观望他的人身旁走过去，登上国王临时占用的住宅的台阶。
宽大的楼梯从门廊一直通到楼上，右边可以看见一扇关上的门，楼梯下面有一扇门，通往楼房的底层。
“您要找谁？”有人问。
“将呈文、禀帖递给他陛下。”尼古拉带着颤抖的嗓音说。
“禀帖——请交到值日这里来（有人向他指了指楼下的门），不过他们不会接受的。”
罗斯托夫听见了这种冷淡的嗓音之后，心里害怕他所作的事情，每一瞬间都可能遇见国王的念头具有强烈的诱惑力，因此他感到非常可怕，以致于打算逃走，但是那个遇见他的宫廷侍仆给他打开了通往值日室的门，于是罗斯托夫走进去了。
一个三十来岁的身材不高的长得肥胖的人穿的是一条白色的衬裤，一双高筒皮靴和一件看来是刚刚穿在身上的细麻纱布衬衫，他站在这个房间里；侍仆在他背后给他扣上非常漂亮的用丝线刺绣的新背带，罗斯托夫不知怎的注意到了他的新背带。这个人正和另一间房里的某人说话。
“Bien　faite　et　la　beauté　du　diable．”①这个人说，他看见罗斯托夫之后，停止说话，蹙起了额角。 
①法语：姿色娇嫩，体态迷人。
“您有什么事？交呈文？……”
“Qu'est　ce　que　c'est？”①另一间房里的某人发问。
“Encore　un　petitionnaire”②．那个系背带的人回答。 
①法语：什么事情？
②法语：又是一个请愿的人。
“请您告诉他，以后来好了。他马上出门，要动身了。”
“以后，以后，明天吧。太晚了……”
罗斯托夫转过身子，正想走出去，可是那个系背带的人把他拦住了。
“您是从谁那里来的？您是谁？”
“我是从杰尼索夫少校那里来的，”罗斯托夫回答。
“军官，您是谁？”
“中尉，罗斯托夫伯爵。”
“好大的胆子！要经由上级递来。您走吧，走吧……”他开始穿上侍仆递给他的制服。
罗斯托夫又走到外屋并且发现，有许多军官和将军穿着整套阅兵服站在台阶下，罗斯托夫应当从他们身边走去。
罗斯托夫责骂自己鲁莽，当他想到随时有可能遇见国王，在他面前丢脸，还要给人逮捕起来的时候，他就紧张得几乎要屏住气息，他十分明白自己的行为很不光彩，感到懊恼，于是他垂下眼帘，从这幢楼房中钻了出来，一大群穿着华丽的侍从站在楼房的周围，正在这时有一个熟人喊了他一声，这个人的手把他拦了。
“我的老天，您身穿燕尾服待在这里做什么？”具有男低音嗓子的人问他。
这是个骑兵将军，在这次战役中得到国王的特殊宠信，罗斯托夫过去在他的师部里服役时，他是个师长。
罗斯托夫大吃一惊，开始替自己辩护，可是他看见将军的和善的戏谑的面孔之后，便走到一边去了，他带着激动的嗓音向将军转向了全部案情，并请求将军为他所熟悉的杰尼索夫鸣不平。将军听了罗斯托夫说的话，很严肃地摇摇头。
“替这个很英俊的小伙子惋惜，惋惜，把禀帖交给我吧。”
罗斯托夫刚刚交出了禀帖，叙述了杰尼索夫的全部案情，就从楼梯口传来疾速的步履声和马刺声，于是将军从他身边走开，步入门廊。国王的侍从先生们从楼梯上跑下，向马匹面前走去。那个曾经参加奥斯特利茨战役的驯马师海涅牵来了国王骑的马，楼梯上传来了轻盈的步履声，罗斯托夫一下子就识出了是谁的步履声。罗斯托夫忘记了他自己有被人认出的危险，于是跟随着几个充满好奇心的居民向台阶走去；在两年之后他又看见了他所崇拜的仪容、面孔、目光、走路姿式，他又看见了那种伟大和温顺的结合……罗斯托夫的心灵中复苏了往昔一样强烈的喜悦和对国王的爱戴。国王穿着普列奥布拉任斯基兵团的制服——白色的驼鹿皮裤和高筒皮靴，佩戴着一枚罗斯托夫不熟悉的勋章（这就是légion　d'lhonneur①），走上了台阶，手臂夹着礼帽，戴上手套。他已停步，环顾四周，并用自己的目光照耀着周围的一切。他对某个将军说了几句话。他也认出了罗斯托夫从前的师长并对他微露笑容，把他喊到自己身边来。 
①法语：荣誉团勋章。
侍从们后退一步，罗斯托夫看见了这位将军和国王说了相当久的话。
国王对他说了几句话，跨了一步，走到那匹马前面。一群侍从和街上的人群（罗斯托夫也在人群中）又向国王身边走过来。国王站在马旁边，用手握住马鞍，把脸转向骑兵将军，声音洪亮地讲话，显然是想要大家都听见。
“将军，我不能，我不能处理这件事，因为法律比我更强而有力，”国王说，把脚踏进了马镫。将军十分恭敬地低下头。国王骑上马。在街上奔驰起来。罗斯托夫得意忘形，和人群一起跟在他后面跑。
Book 5 Chapter 21
IN THE PUBLIC SQUARE towards which the Tsar rode there stood, facing each other, the battalion of the Preobrazhensky regiment on the right, and the battalion of the French guards in bearskin caps on the left.
While the Emperor was riding up to one flank of the battalions, who presented arms, another crowd of horsemen was galloping up to the opposite flank, and at the head of them Rostov recognised Napoleon. That figure could be no one else. He galloped up, wearing a little hat, the ribbon of St. Andrey across his shoulder, and a blue uniform open over a white vest. He was riding a grey Arab horse of extremely fine breed, with a crimson, gold-embroidered saddle-cloth. Riding up to Alexander, he raised his hat, and at that moment Rostov, with his cavalryman's eye, could not help noticing that Napoleon had a bad and uncertain seat on horseback. The battalions shouted hurrah, and vive l'Empereur! Napoleon said something to Alexander. Both Emperors dismounted from their horses and took each other by the hands. Napoleon's face wore an unpleasantly hypocritical smile. Alexander was saying something to him with a cordial expression.
In spite of the kicking of the horses of the French gendarmes, who were keeping back the crowd, Rostov watched every movement of the Emperor Alexander and of Bonaparte, and never took his eyes off them. What struck him as something unexpected and strange was that Alexander behaved as though Bonaparte were his equal, and that Bonaparte in his manner to the Russian Tsar seemed perfectly at ease, as though this equal and intimate relation with a monarch were something natural and customary with him.
Alexander and Napoleon, with a long tail of suite, moved towards the right flank of the Preobrazhensky battalion, close up to the crowd which was standing there. The crowd found itself unexpectedly so close to the Emperors, that Rostov, who stood in the front part of it, began to be afraid he might be recognised.
“Sire, I ask your permission to give the Legion of Honour to the bravest of your soldiers,” said a harsh, precise voice, fully articulating every letter.
It was little Bonaparte speaking, looking up straight into Alexander's eyes. Alexander listened attentively to what was said to him, and bending his head smiled amiably.
“To him who bore himself most valiantly in this last war,” added Napoleon, emphasising each syllable, and with an assurance and composure, revolting to Rostov, scanning the rows of Russian soldiers drawn up before him, all presenting arms, and all gazing immovably at the face of their own Emperor.
“Will your majesty allow me to ask the opinion of the colonel?” said Alexander, and he took a few hurried steps towards Prince Kozlovsky, the commander of the battalion. Bonaparte was meanwhile taking the glove off his little white hand, and, tearing it, he threw it away. An adjutant, rushing hurriedly forward from behind, picked it up. “Give it to whom?” the Emperor Alexander asked of Kozlovsky in Russian, in a low voice.
“As your majesty commands.”
The Emperor frowned, with a look of displeasure, and, looking round, said: “Well, we must give him an answer.”
Kozlovsky scanned the ranks with a resolute air, taking in Rostov too, in that glance.
“Won't it be me!” thought Rostov.
“Lazarev!” the colonel called with a scowling face; and Lazarev, the soldier who was the best shot in firing at the range, stepped smartly forward.
“Where are you off to? Stand still!” voices whispered to Lazarev, who did not know where he was to go. Lazarev stopped short, with a sidelong scared look at his colonel, and his face quivered, as one so often sees in soldiers called up in front of the ranks.
Napoleon gave a slight backward turn of his head, and a slight motion of his little fat hand, as though seeking something with it. The members of his suite, who guessed the same second what was wanted, were all in a bustle; they whispered together, passing something from one to another, and a page—the same one Rostov had seen the previous evening at Boris's quarters—ran forward, and respectfully bowing over the outstretched hand and not keeping it one instant waiting, put in it an order on a red ribbon. Napoleon, without looking at it, pressed two fingers together; the order was between them. Napoleon approached Lazarev, who stood rolling his eyes, and still gazing obstinately at his own Emperor only. Napoleon looked round at the Emperor Alexander, as though to show that what he was doing now he was doing for the sake of his ally. The little white hand, with the order in it, just touched the button of the soldier Lazarev. It was as though Napoleon knew that it was enough for his, Napoleon's, hand to deign to touch the soldier's breast, for that soldier to be happy, rewarded, and distinguished from every one in the world. Napoleon merely laid the cross on Lazarev's breast, and, dropping his hand, turned to Alexander, as though he knew that cross would be sure to stick on Lazarev's breast. The cross did, in fact, stick on.
Officious hands, Russian and French, were instantaneously ready to support it, to fasten it to his uniform.
Lazarev looked darkly at the little man with white hands who was doing something to him, and still standing rigidly, presenting arms, he looked again straight into Alexander's face, as though he were asking him: “Was he to go on standing there, or was it his pleasure for him to go now, or perhaps to do something else?” But no order was given him, and he remained for a good while still in the same rigid position.
The Emperors mounted their horses and rode away. The Preobrazhensky battalion broke up, and, mingling with the French guards, sat down to the tables prepared for them.
Lazarev was put in the place of honour. French and Russian officers embraced him, congratulated him, and shook hands with him. Crowds of officers and common people flocked up simply to look at Lazarev. There was a continual hum of laughter and French and Russian chatter round the tables in the square. Two officers with flushed faces passed by Rostov, looking cheerful and happy.
“What do you say to the banquet, my boy? All served on silver,” one was saying. “Seen Lazarev?”
“Yes.”
“They say the Preobrazhenskies are to give them a dinner tomorrow.”
“I say, what luck for Lazarev! Twelve hundred francs pension for life.”
“Here's a cap, lads!” cried a Preobrazhensky soldier, putting on a French soldier's fur cap.
“It's awfully nice, first-rate!”
“Have you heard the watchword?” said an officer of the guards to another. “The day before yesterday it was ‘Napoléon, France, bravoure'; to-day it's ‘Alexandre, Russie, grandeur.” One day our Emperor gives it, and next day Napoleon. To-morrow the Emperor is to send the St. George to the bravest of the French guards. Can't be helped! Must respond in the same way.”
Boris, with his comrade Zhilinsky, had come too to look at the banquet. On his way back Boris noticed Rostov, who was standing at the corner of a house. “Rostov! good day; we haven't seen each other,” he said, and could not refrain from asking him what was the matter, so strangely gloomy and troubled was the face of Rostov.
“Nothing, nothing,” answered Rostov.
“Are you coming in?”
“Yes.”
Rostov stood a long while in the corner, looking at the fête from a distance. His brain was seething in an agonising confusion, which he could not work out to any conclusion. Horrible doubts were stirring in his soul. He thought of Denisov with his changed expression, his submission, and all the hospital with torn-off legs and arms, with the filth and disease. So vividly he recalled that hospital smell of corpse that he looked round to ascertain where the stench came from. Then he thought of that self-satisfied Bonaparte, with his white hands—treated now with cordiality and respect by the Emperor Alexander. For what, then, had those legs and arms been torn off, those men been killed? Then he thought of Lazarev rewarded, and Denisov punished and unpardoned. He caught himself in such strange reflections that he was terrified at them.
Hunger and the savoury smell of the Preobrazhensky dinner roused him from this mood; he must get something to eat before going away. He went to an hotel which he had seen in the morning. In the hotel he found such a crowd of people, and of officers who had come, as he had, in civilian dress, that he had difficulty in getting dinner. Two officers of his own division joined him at table. The conversation naturally turned on the peace. The two officers, Rostov's comrades, like the greater part of the army, were not satisfied with the peace concluded after Friedland. They said that had they kept on a little longer it would have meant Napoleon's downfall; that his troops had neither provisions nor ammunition. Nikolay ate in silence and drank heavily. He finished two bottles of wine by himself. The inward ferment working within him still fretted him, and found no solution. He dreaded giving himself up to his thoughts, and could not get away from them. All of a sudden, on one of the officers saying that it was humiliating to look at the French, Rostov began shouting with a violence that was quite unprovoked, and consequently greatly astounded the officers.
“And how can you judge what would be best!” he shouted, with his face suddenly suffused with a rush of blood. “How can you judge of the action of the Emperor? What right have we to criticise him? We cannot comprehend the aims or the actions of the Emperor!”
“But I didn't say a word about the Emperor,” the officer said in justification of himself, unable to put any other interpretation on Rostov's violence than that he was drunk.
But Rostov did not heed him.
“We are not diplomatic clerks, we are soldiers, and nothing more,” he went on. “Command us to die—then we die. And if we are punished, it follows we're in fault; it's not for us to judge. If it's his majesty the Emperor's pleasure to recognise Bonaparte as emperor, and to conclude an alliance with him, then it must be the right thing. If we were once to begin criticising and reasoning about everything, nothing would be left holy to us. In that way we shall be saying there is no God, nothing,” cried Nikolay, bringing his fist down on the table. His remarks seemed utterly irrelevant to his companions, but followed quite consistently from the train of his own ideas. “It's our business to do our duty, to hack them to pieces, and not to think; that's all about it,” he shouted.
“And to drink,” put in one of the officers, who had no desire to quarrel.
“Yes, and to drink,” assented Nikolay. “Hi, you there! Another bottle!” he roared.
在国王奔驰而去的广场上，右边有普列奥布拉任斯基兵团的一个营，左边有戴着熊皮帽子的法国近卫军的一个营，两营人面对面地伫立着。 
在国王驰近举枪敬礼的两营官兵的一个侧翼时，另一群骑士驰近对面的侧翼，罗斯托夫认出了领头的是拿破仑。这不可能是任何其他人。他头上戴着小礼帽，肩上横挎着安德烈勋章绶带，身穿白色的无袖上衣，外面罩着敞开扣子的蓝色制服，骑着一匹不同于一般的阿拉伯良种灰马，马鞍上垫着用金色丝线刺绣的绛红鞍韂，他奔驰而来，到了亚历山大面前，微微地举起礼帽。罗斯托夫这个骑兵的眼睛一望见这个动作，就不能不发觉，拿破仑笨拙地、不平稳地骑行。两营官兵都高呼：“乌拉”和“Vive　l'Empereur！”①拿破仑对亚历山大说了一句什么话。二位皇帝下了马、手牵手。拿破仑脸上流露出不悦意的佯装的微笑。亚历山大带着亲热的表情对他谈论着什么事。
虽然那些驱使人群后退的法国宪兵的马匹在肆意践踏，但是罗斯托夫仍然目不转睛地注视亚历山大皇帝和波拿巴的每个动作。使他觉得惊奇的意外情形是，亚历山大竟以平等地位对待波拿巴，波拿巴也以平等地位对待俄国沙皇，波拿巴感到毫无拘束，他仿佛认为和国王接近是很自然的习以为常的事情。
亚历山大、拿破仑和一长列跟随着他们的侍从走到了普列奥布拉任斯基营的右翼前面，径直地向站在那儿的人群身边走去。忽然一群人不知不觉地在二位皇帝近旁出现了，以致于站在这群人前排的罗斯托夫害怕有人会把他认出来。
“Sire，je　vous　demande　la　permission　de　donAner　la　légion　d′honneur　au　plus　brave　de　vos　soldats．”②一个具有刺耳的尖细嗓音的人开腔了，把个个字母全都说出来了。 
①法语：皇帝万岁！
②法语：国王，请让我把荣誉团勋章发给您的最勇敢的士兵。
身材矮小的波拿巴说了这席话，他从下向上直勾勾地盯着亚历山大的眼睛。亚历山大用心地听他说话，低下头，快活地微微一笑。
“A　celui　qui　s'est　le　plus　vaillament　conduit　dans　cette　derni－er　guerre．”①拿破仑补充说，清楚地说出每个音节，他带着罗斯托夫觉得气忿的沉着和自信的神情环顾挺直身子站在他面前，举枪敬礼，凝神注视皇帝面容的俄国士兵的队列。
“Votre　majesté　me　permettra－t－elle　de　deAmander　l'avis　du　colonel？”②亚历山大说，并向营长科兹洛夫斯基公爵急促地迈出几步。与此同时，波拿巴从洁白的小手上取下一只手套，把它撕破，抛在地上。一名副官急忙地向前奔去，把它拣起来。 
①法语：发给在这次战争中表现得最勇敢的人。
②法语：陛下，请允许我问问上校的意见，好吗？
“发给什么人？”亚历山大皇帝用俄语低声地问科兹洛夫斯基。
“陛下，请吩咐。”
国王不满地皱了皱眉头，环顾四周后说道：
“真要答复他呀。”
科兹洛夫斯基神情坚定地环视自己的队伍，连罗斯托夫也被囊括在他的视线中。
“真的在注意我吗？”罗斯托夫想了想。
“拉扎列夫！”上校皱了皱眉头，喊出了口令，按高矮顺序排在第一的士兵拉扎列夫勇敢地向前走去。
“你到哪里去？在这里站住！”拉扎列夫因不知道要往哪里走，众人低声地对他说。拉扎列夫停步了，露出惊惶的样子，朝上校斜视一眼，便像士兵们被喊到队列前面时常有的情形那样，他的面孔颤动了一下。
拿破仑稍微扭转头，把那胖乎乎的小手向后伸，好像想拿件什么东西似的。就在这时候他的侍从们猜中了是怎么回事，开始慌乱起来，动弹起来，互相传递着一样东西；罗斯托夫昨天在鲍里斯那儿看见的那个少年侍从向前跑去，毕恭毕敬地向那只伸出的手弯下身子，省得它多等一秒钟，他将一枚系有红色绶带的勋章搁在他手上。拿破仑瞧也不瞧，就用两个指头夹住，勋章不知不觉地就夹在两个指头之间。拿破仑走到拉扎列夫面前，拉扎列夫瞪大眼睛，目不转睛地望着自己的国王，拿破仑回头望望亚历山大皇帝，心里表示，他现在所做的事情都是为了他的同盟军。他那只拿着勋章的雪白的小手碰了碰士兵拉扎列夫的钮扣。拿破仑好像知道，只要他拿破仑的手碰一碰士兵的胸部，这个士兵就会永远走运，得到奖励，就会在尘世上出类拔萃。拿破仑刚刚把十字勋章贴在拉扎列夫胸前，就放下手来，把脸转向亚历山大，仿佛他知道，十字勋章必须粘在拉扎列夫胸前。十字勋章真的粘上了。
几只俄国的和法国的殷勤的手，霎时间接住十字勋章，把它别在制服上。拉扎列夫阴郁地望望那个在他身上碰了碰、长着两只雪白的小手的、身材矮小的人，拉扎列夫仍旧一动不动地举枪敬礼，又直勾勾地盯着亚历山大的眼睛，好像他在向亚历山大发问：他是否还要站下去？是否让他现在走动一下？或者还要他做点什么事情？但是没有对他作出任何吩咐，他于是一动不动地呆了相当久。
两位皇帝都骑马走了。普列奥布拉任斯基营的官兵使队列陷于紊乱状态后便和法国近卫军混合起来，在给他们预备的餐桌旁就坐。
拉扎列夫坐在贵宾席上，俄国军官和法国军官都拥抱他，祝贺他，和他握手。一群群军官和百姓走过来了，只不过想亲眼瞧瞧拉扎列夫。餐桌周围的广场上洋溢着俄国人和法国人的嘈杂的说话声和哈哈大笑声。两个军官满面通红，高高兴兴地从罗斯托夫身边走过去。
“老弟，酒宴还丰盛吧？清一色的银器，”一名军官说，“看见拉扎列夫吗？”
“看见了。”
“据说明天普列奥布拉任斯基营的官兵要款待他们。”
“不过，拉扎列夫多么幸运！他获得一千二百法郎的终身恤金。”
“弟兄们，瞧瞧，一顶好帽子！”一个普列奥布拉任斯基营的人戴上法国人的毛茸茸的帽子，高声喊叫。
“好极了，妙极了！”
“你听到口令吗？”一名近卫军军官对另一名军官说，“前天是Napoléon，France，bravoure①，昨天是Alexandre，Russie，gran－deur②，一天由我国国王发出口令，另一天就由拿破仑发出口令。明天我们的国王给法国近卫军军人中最勇敢的人颁发乔治十字勋章。不能不如此！应当回敬嘛。” 
①法语：拿破仑，法国，勇敢。
②法语：亚历山大，俄国，伟大。
鲍里斯和自己的伙伴日林斯基也来观看普列奥布拉任斯基营的官兵举办的宴会。鲍里斯在他回去的路上发现站立在屋角上的罗斯托夫。
“罗斯托夫！你好！我们没有会面啊。”他对他说，而且忍不住，要问问他出了什么事；因为罗斯托夫的脸色阴郁，现出不愉快的样子。
“没有什么，没有什么。”罗斯托夫答道。
“你顺路来一趟吗？”
“嗯，我会来的。”
罗斯托夫在屋角里站了很久，从远外窥视参加盛宴的人们。他脑海中产生了无法忍受的痛苦，他的心灵中出现了可怕的疑团。他时而回想杰尼索夫那种改变了的面部表情，他的温顺的样子，整个医院的气氛，那些已被截除的手足，污秽与疾病。他仿佛现在深深感觉到医院里的死尸的气味，他环顾四周，想要弄清楚这种气味是从哪里传来的。他时而回想这个沾沾自喜的波拿巴，他那洁白的小手，他如今正是亚历山大皇帝所喜爱和崇敬的皇帝。截断手和脚，把人们打死，这到底是为了什么呢？他时而回想获得奖赏的拉扎列夫和遭到惩罚的未受宽容的杰尼索夫。他常常发现自己产生这种古怪的念头，以致于害怕起来。
普列奥布拉任斯基营官兵们吃的食物的香气和罗斯托夫的饥饿，把他从这种停滞状态中唤醒过来，应当在动身之前吃点东西。他到早晨他看见的那家饭店去了。在饭店里他碰见许多老百姓和军官，他们也和他一样，穿着便服来到了本地，他好不容易才弄到一顿午饭。两个和他同在一个师部服务的军官跟他结伴了。不消说，话题涉及到和平。军官们，即是罗斯托夫的同志们，正如军队中的大多数人，都不满意弗里德兰战役后缔结的和平。据说，拿破仑再坚持一些时日，就要完蛋的，他的部队中既没有面包，也没有弹药。尼古拉不吭一声地吃着，主要是喝酒。他一个人就喝了两瓶酒，他内心出现的痛苦的心事没有化除，总是没完没了地使他难受。他害怕沉沦于自己的思想，可是又不能把它摒弃。忽然有一名军官说，一看见法国官兵就令人难受，罗斯托夫听见这些话毫无缘由地、急躁地喊叫起来，使两名军官大为惊讶。
“您怎么能够判断，什么举动更恰当！”他忽然涨红了脸，大声叫喊，“您怎么能够判断国王的所作所为，我们有什么评论的权利？！我们既没法了解国王的意旨，也没法了解国王的行为！”
“有关国王的事情，我只字未提。”军官替自己辩护，除了说罗斯托夫烂醉如泥，并无其他理由对自己解释他的急躁脾气。
但是罗斯托夫不听他的话。
“我们不是外交官，而是大兵，无二话可说，”他继续讲下去，“命令我们去死，那就去死。假如要处罚，那就是说，犯有过失；我们没法子评论。皇帝陛下愿意承认波拿巴是个皇帝并且和他缔结联盟，那就是说，应当这样做。否则，如果我们评论一切，议论一切，那么就没有什么神圣的东西了。那末我们就会说，没有上帝，什么都没有。”尼古拉一面捶桌子，一面叫喊，根据交谈者的见解，这是很不相宜的，但根据他的思路来看，这是很合乎逻辑的。
“我们的事业是履行天职，互相厮杀，不用思索，再没有别的。”他作结论说。
“喝吧。”有个不愿意争吵的军官说。
“对，就来喝吧，”尼古拉附和地说，“喂，你呀！再喝一瓶！”他喊了一声。
Book 6 Chapter 1
IN THE year 1808 the Emperor Alexander visited Erfurt for another interview with the Emperor Napoleon; and in the highest Petersburg society a great deal was said of the great significance of this meeting.
In 1809 the amity between the two sovereigns of the world, as Napoleon and Alexander used to be called, had become so close that when Napoleon declared war that year with Austria, a Russian corps crossed the frontier to co-operate with their old enemy Bonaparte against their old ally, the Austrian Emperor; so close that in the highest society there was talk of a possible marriage between Napoleon and one of the sisters of the Emperor Alexander. But, apart from foreign policy, the attention of Russian society was at that time drawn with special interest to the internal changes taking place in all departments of the government.
Life meanwhile, the actual life of men with their real interests of health and sickness, labour and rest, with their interests of thought, science, poetry, music, love, affection, hatred, passion, went its way, as always, independently, apart from the political amity or enmity of Napoleon Bonaparte, and apart from all possible reforms.
Prince Andrey had spent two years without a break in the country. All those projects which Pierre had attempted on his estates, and changing continually from one enterprise to another, had never carried out to any real result—all those projects had been carried out by Prince Andrey without display to any one and without any perceptible exertion. He possessed in the highest degree the quality Pierre lacked, that practical tenacity which, without fuss or any great effort on his part, set things in working order.
On one estate of his, three hundred serfs were transformed into free cultivators (it was one of the first examples in Russia), in others forced labour was replaced by payment of rent. On Bogutcharovo a trained midwife had been engaged at his expense to assist the peasant-women in childbirth, and a priest, at a fixed salary, was teaching the children of the peasants and house servants to read and write.
Half his time Prince Andrey spent at Bleak Hills with his father and his son, who was still in the nursery. The other half he passed at his Bogutcharovo retreat, as his father called his estate. In spite of the indifference to all the external events of the world that he had shown to Pierre, he studiously followed them, received many books, and, to his own surprise, when people coming fresh from Petersburg, the very vortex of life, visited him or his father, he noticed that those people, in knowledge of all that was passing in home and foreign politics, were far behind him, though he had never left the country.
Besides looking after his estates, and much general reading of the most varied kind, Prince Andrey was busily engaged at this time upon a critical survey of our two late disastrous campaigns and the composition of a proposal for reforms in our army rules and regulations.
In the spring of 1809 Prince Andrey set off to visit the Ryazan estates, the heritage of his son, whose trustee he was.
Warmed by the spring sunshine he sat in the carriage, looking at the first grass, the first birch leaves and the first flecks of white spring clouds floating over the bright blue of the sky. He was thinking of nothing, but looking about him, light-hearted and thoughtless.
They crossed the ford where he had talked with Pierre a year before. They drove through a muddy village, by threshing floors, and patches of green corn; down hill by a drift of snow still lying near the bridge, up hill along a clay road hollowed out by the rain, by strips of stubble-field, with copse turning green here and there; and drove at last into a birch forest that lay on both sides of the road. In the forest it was almost hot, the wind could not be felt. The birches, all studded with sticky, green leaves, did not stir, and lilac-coloured flowers and the first grass lifted the last year's leaves and peeped out green from under them. Tiny fir-trees, dotted here and there among the birches, brought a jarring reminder of winter with their coarse, unchanging green. The horses neighed as they entered the forest and were visibly heated.
Pyotr the footman said something to the coachman; the coachman assented. But apparently the coachman's sympathy was not enough for Pyotr. He turned round on the box to his master.
“Your excellency, how soft it is!” he said, smiling respectfully.
“Eh?”
“It is soft, your excellency.”
“What does he mean?” wondered Prince Andrey. “Oh, the weather, most likely,” he thought, looking from side to side. “And, indeed, everything's green already…how soon! And the birch and the wild cherry and the alder beginning to come out.…But I haven't noticed the oak. Yes, here he is, the oak!”
At the edge of the wood stood an oak. Probably ten times the age of the birch-trees that formed the bulk of the forest, it was ten times the thickness and twice the height of any birch-tree. It was a huge oak, double a man's span, with branches broken off, long ago it seemed, and with bark torn off, and seared with old scars. With its huge, uncouth, gnarled arms and fingers sprawling unsymmetrically, it stood an aged, angry, and scornful monster among the smiling birches. Only the few dead-looking, evergreen firs dotted about the forest, and this oak, refused to yield to the spell of spring, and would see neither spring nor sunshine.
“Spring and love and happiness!” that oak seemed to say. “Are you not sick of that ever-same, stupid, and meaningless cheat? Always the same, and always a cheat! There is no spring, nor sunshine, nor happiness. See yonder stand the cramped, dead fir-trees, ever the same, and here I have flung my torn and broken fingers wherever they have grown out of my back or my sides. As they have grown, so I stand, and I put no faith in your hopes and deceptions.”
Prince Andrey looked round several times at that oak as though he expected something from it. There were flowers and grass under the oak too, but still it stood, scowling, rigid, weird and grim, among them.
“Yes, he's right, a thousand times right, the old oak,” thought Prince Andrey. “Others, young creatures, may be caught anew by that deception, but we know life—our life is over!” A whole fresh train of ideas, hopeless, but mournfully sweet, stirred up in Prince Andrey's soul in connection with that oak. During this journey he thought over his whole life as it were anew, and came to the same hopeless but calming conclusion, that it was not for him to begin anything fresh, that he must live his life, content to do no harm, dreading nothing and desiring nothing.
一八○八年，亚历山大皇帝去埃尔富特城和拿破仑皇帝再次会晤，因此彼得堡上流社会中谈论许多关于这次隆重会晤的伟大意义。 
一八○九年，拿破仑和亚历山大宣称，世界的两位主宰的密切联系已经达到那种程度，致使拿破仑于是年对奥宣战时，俄国军团竟前往境外协助从前的敌人波拿巴以反对从前的盟友奥地利皇帝，而且上流社会正在谈论拿破仑和亚历山大皇帝的一个妹妹可能成婚的事。但是除开对外政策而外，当时俄国社会特别深切地关注这个时期国家行政管理的各个部门中所实施的内部改革。
与此同时，生活，人们的真正生活，他们对健康、疾病、劳动、休息这些实际利益的关注，他们对思想、科学、诗歌、音乐、爱情、友谊、仇恨、激情的关注，——一切与平日无异，不以政治上与拿破仑·波拿巴亲近或敌对为转移，也不以各种可能实行的改革为转移。
安德烈公爵从不外出，在农村定居已两年。皮埃尔意欲做的那些经营领地的事业，因为不断地转换工种，没有取得任何成果，而安德烈公爵不向任何人声张，也没有花费多大的劳力，就完成了这全部事业。
他在颇大程度上赋有皮埃尔所缺乏的百折不回的实干能力，凭藉这种能力可以不吃力地促使事业进展。
他的一个拥有三百农奴的领地被改革了，农奴都变成自由庄稼人（这是俄国最初的范例之一），在其他领地，代役租制已取代徭役租制。在博古恰罗沃，他出钱函请一位有文化的接生婆，替产妇助产，神甫也领取薪水，教农民子女和仆人子女识字。
安德烈公爵在童山和父亲以及尚在保姆身边抚养的儿子一块消磨自己的一半时间，在博古恰罗沃（他父亲把它称为农村）修道院消磨自己的另一半时间。尽管他对皮埃尔表示，他对外界发生的各种重大事件漠不关心，但是他仍然尽心竭力地注视着发生的一切，他经常接到许多书籍，使他觉得惊奇的是，他发现那些于新近自彼得堡，即是从生活的漩涡中前来访问他或者访问他父亲的人，在熟谙对内对外政策方面，远远落后于他这个待在农村足不出户的人。
除开领地方面的业务之外，除开浏阅各种书籍之外，这时安德烈公爵还批判地分析我军最近两次不利的战役，并且制订有关修改我们的军事条令和决议的草案。
一八○九年春天，安德烈公爵前往由他监护的儿子名下的梁赞领地。
他坐在四轮马车上，晒晒初春的太阳，不时地望望最早放青的野草，最先出现的白桦树叶和一团团在明朗的蔚蓝色的天空中飘浮的初春的白云。他什么也不思考，只是用那愉快的茫然目光向四下观望。
他们驶过了渡口，即是他和皮埃尔一年前在那里谈话的渡口。他们驶过了肮脏的村庄、打谷场、绿荫、下坡路、桥边的积雪、一层粘土已被冲洗的上坡路、一段段茬地、有的地方已经发绿的灌木林，驶进了沿着道路两旁蔓生的白桦树林。树林里几乎很热，听不到一点风声。白桦树长满粘粘的绿叶，没有在风中颤动，最早发青的小草和浅紫色的花朵从去年的败叶底下钻出来了。矮小的枞树不知散布在桦树林中的什么地方，长出一簇簇常绿的粗粗的叶子，令人不悦意地联想起冬天。几匹马儿走进树林里，都打着响鼻，可以更加明显地看出，身上开始出汗了。
仆役彼得对马车夫说了一句什么话，马车夫作了肯定的回答。看来彼得心里觉得马车夫光表示赞同还是不够的，他在马车夫的坐位上向老爷转过身来。
“大人，这多么畅快！”他恭敬地面露笑容说。
“什么！”
“大人，这多么畅快。”
“他在说什么？”安德烈公爵想了想。“对，他想必是说春天，”他环顾四周，想道，“而且什么都放青了……多么快啊！无论是桦树、稠李、还是赤杨都已经开始……可是没有看见橡树，瞧，这就是橡树。”
路边有一株橡树。它大概比那长成树林的桦树老九倍，粗九倍，比每株桦树高一倍。这是一棵两抱粗的大橡树，有许多树枝看来早就折断了，裂开的树皮满布着旧的伤痕。它那弯曲多节的笨拙的巨臂和手指不对称地伸开，它这棵老气横秋的、鄙夷一切的畸形的橡树耸立在笑容可掬的桦树之间。唯独它不欲屈从于春日的魅力，不欲目睹春季，亦不欲目睹旭日。
“春季、爱情和幸福呀！”这棵橡树好像在说话，“总是一样愚蠢的毫无意义的欺骗，怎能不使您们觉得厌恶啊！总是老样子，总是骗局！既没有春季，也没有旭日，也没有幸福啊！你们看，那些永远是孤单的被压死的枞树还栖在那里，我也在那里伸开我那被折断的、被剥皮肤的手指，无论手指从哪里——从背脊或从肋部——长出来，不管怎样长出来，我还是那个样子，我不相信你们的冀望和欺骗。”
安德烈公爵在经过森林时，接连有几次回过头来看这棵橡树，好像对它有所期待似的。橡树底下也长着花朵和野草，但是它仍然皱着眉头，一动不动地，像个畸形儿屹立在它们中间。
“是啊，它是正确的，这颗橡树千倍地正确，”安德烈公爵想道。“让其他的年轻人又去受骗吧，不过我们是知道人生的，——我们的一生已经完结了！”由于这棵老橡树的关系，又有一序列绝望的、但都是忧喜掺半的思想在安德烈公爵的心灵中出现了。在这次旅行中，他仿佛又考虑到自己的一生，并得出从前那种于心无愧的、无所指望的结论，他无须从头做起，既不为非作歹，也不自我惊扰，不怀抱任何欲望，应该好好地度过一辈子。
Book 6 Chapter 2
PRINCE ANDREY'S DUTIES as trustee of his son's Ryazan estates necessitated an interview with the marshal of the district. This marshal was Count Ilya Andreivitch Rostov, and in the middle of May Prince Andrey went to see him.
It was by now the hot period of spring. The forest was already in full leaf. It was dusty, and so hot that at the sight of water one longed to bathe.
Prince Andrey drove along the avenue leading to the Rostovs' house at Otradnoe, depressed and absorbed in considering what questions he must ask the marshal about his business. Behind some trees on the right he heard merry girlish cries, and caught sight of a party of girls running across the avenue along which his coach was driving. In front of all the rest there ran towards the coach a black-haired, very slender, strangely slender, black-eyed girl in a yellow cotton gown. On her head was a white pocket-handkerchief, from under which strayed locks of her loose hair. The girl was shouting something, but perceiving a stranger, she ran back laughing, without glancing at him.
Prince Andrey for some reason felt a sudden pang. The day was so lovely, the sun so bright, everything around him so gay, and that slim and pretty girl knew nothing of his existence, and cared to know nothing, and was content and happy in her own life—foolish doubtless—but gay and happy and remote from him. What was she so glad about? What was she thinking of? Not of army regulations; not of the organisation of the Ryazan rent-paying peasants. “What is she thinking about, and why is she so happy?” Prince Andrey could not help wondering with interest.
Count Ilya Andreivitch was living in the year 1809 at Otradnoe, exactly as he had always done in previous years; that is to say, entertaining almost the whole province with hunts, theatricals, dinner parties and concerts. He was delighted to see Prince Andrey, as he always was to see any new guest, and quite forced him to stay the night.
Prince Andrey spent a tedious day, entertained by his elderly host and hostess and the more honoured among the guests, of whom the count's house was full in honour of an approaching name-day. Several times in the course of it, Bolkonsky glanced at Natasha, continually laughing and full of gaiety among the younger members of the company, and asked himself each time, “What is she thinking of? What is she so glad about?”
In the evening, alone in a new place, he was for a long while unable to sleep. He read for a time, then put out his candle, and afterwards lighted it again. It was hot in the bedroom with the shutters closed on the inside. He felt irritated with this foolish old gentleman (so he mentally called Count Rostov) who had detained him, declaring that the necessary deeds had not yet come from the town, and he was vexed with himself for staying.
Prince Andrey got up and went to the window to open it. As soon as he opened the shutter, the moonlight broke into the room as though it had been waiting a long while outside on the watch for this chance. He opened the window. The night was fresh and bright and still. Just in front of the window stood a row of pollard-trees, black on one side, silvery bright on the other. Under the trees were rank, moist, bushy, growing plants of some kind, with leaves and stems touched here and there with silver. Further away, beyond the black trees, was the roof of something glistening with dew; to the right was a great, leafy tree, with its trunk and branches brilliantly white, and above it the moon, almost full, in a clear, almost starless, spring sky. Prince Andrey leaned his elbow on the window, and his eyes rested on that sky.
His room was on the second story; there were people in the room over his head, and awake too. He heard girls' chatter overhead.
“Only this once more,” said a girlish voice, which Prince Andrey recognised at once.
“But when are you coming to bed?” answered another voice.
“I'm not coming! I can't sleep; what's the use? Come, for the last time.…”
Two feminine voices sang a musical phrase, the finale of some song.
“Oh, it's exquisite! Well, now go to sleep, and there's an end of it.”
“You go to sleep, but I can't,” responded the first voice, coming nearer to the window. She was evidently leaning right out of the window, for he could hear the rustle of her garments and even her breathing. All was hushed and stonily still, like the moon and its lights and shadows. Prince Andrey dared not stir for fear of betraying his unintentional presence.
“Sonya! Sonya!” he heard the first voice again. “Oh, how can you sleep! Do look how exquisite! Oh, how exquisite! Do wake up, Sonya!” she said, almost with tears in her voice. “Do you know such an exquisite night has never, never been before.”
Sonya made some reluctant reply.
“No, do look what a moon!…Oh, how lovely it is! Do come here. Darling, precious, do come here. There, do you see? One has only to squat on one's heels like this—see—and to hold one's knees—as tight, as tight as one can—give a great spring and one would fly away.… Like this—see!”
“Mind, you'll fall.”
He heard sounds of a scuffle and Sonya's voice in a tone of vexation: “Why, it's past one o'clock.”
“Oh, you only spoil it all for me. Well, go to bed then, go along.”
All was hushed again; but Prince Andrey knew she was still sitting there. He heard at times a soft rustle, and at times a sigh.
“O my God! my God! what does it mean?” she cried suddenly. “To bed then, if it must be so!” and she closed the window with a slam.
“And nothing to do with my existence!” thought Prince Andrey while he had been listening to her talk, for some reason hoping and dreading she might say something about him. “And she again! As though it were on purpose!” he thought. All at once there stirred within his soul such a wholly unexpected medley of youthful hopes and ideas, running counter to the whole tenor of his life, that he made haste to fall asleep, feeling incapable of seeing clearly into his own state of mind.  安德烈公爵因承办梁赞领地的监护事宜，不得不与本县首席贵族会面。首席贵族就是伊利亚·安德烈伊奇·罗斯托夫伯爵。安德烈公爵遂于五月中旬前去拜访他。 
已经是春季里的炎热的时节。林中的树木长满了叶子，路上的灰尘四扬，热气逼人，经过有水的地方，禁不住想沐浴一番。
安德烈公爵在沿着花园的林荫道驶近奥特拉德诺耶村罗斯托夫家的寓所时，觉得不高兴，忧心忡忡，想到他应该向首席贵族问清一些事情。他从右边树林中听见妇人愉快的喊声，看见挡住他的马车的一群飞奔而来的姑娘。一个苗条的、苗条得出奇的、黑头发、黑眼睛、穿着一身黄色印花布连衣裙的姑娘领头向四轮马车近旁跑来，她头上裹着一条白手绢，手绢下面露出一绺绺梳平的头发。这个姑娘大声说了什么话，但是当她认出那个陌生人的时候，她没有仔细打量，就哈哈大笑地跑回去了。
安德烈公爵不知因为什么忽然觉得心里很难受。日子是如此美妙，太阳是如此灿烂，四周的一切是如此欢腾；而这个苗条的漂亮的姑娘却不知道，也不想知道他的存在，他的单独的，想必是愚昧的、然而是快活的幸福的生活，使她感到心满意足，无比幸福。“她因为什么如此地心欢？她在想什么？她没有想到军事条令，没有想到梁赞的代役租制。她究竟在想什么？她为什么感到幸福？”安德烈公爵情不自禁地怀着好奇的心情问自己。
一八○九年，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵像从前一样，还住在奥特拉德诺耶，差不多接待了全省的客人，请他们打猎，看戏，出席宴会，听乐师演奏。安德烈公爵像每个新客一样，使他觉得很高兴，他几乎很费劲地才把他留下来住宿。
在那寂寞无聊的白昼，二位年长的主人和一些城里的贵宾接待安德烈公爵，适逢临近命名日，老伯爵的住宅中挤满了城里的贵宾。博尔孔斯基一连有几回盯住娜塔莎，不知为什么她开心地笑，在另一半青年之间娱乐消遣，他一直在询问自己：“她思忖什么？为什么她如此心欢？”
晚上他独自一人留在新住处，久久地不能入睡。他阅读书籍，读了一阵子以后吹熄蜡烛，又把它点亮。房里的百叶窗从里面关上了，十分闷热。他埋怨这个愚蠢的老头（他这样称呼罗斯托夫），因为这个老头把他耽搁了，要他相信，城里所必需的公文还没有送到，他也埋怨自己不该留下来。
安德烈公爵站起来，走到窗前，打开窗子，他一打开百叶窗，月光就闯到房里来，好像它老早呆在窗边等待一般。他打开窗子。夜里很冷，静谧而明亮。紧靠着窗前有一排已经修剪的树木，一边呈露暗黑色，另一边闪耀着银光。这些树木下面生长着一种多汁的、潮湿的、蓊郁的、有的叶子和细枝呈现银白色的植物。在距离更远的黑色的树木后面，有一个被露水映照得闪闪发亮的屋顶，右面有一棵枝叶繁茂的、树干和树枝白得耀眼的大树，一轮将近浑圆的皓月悬挂在大树的上方，悬挂在明朗的、几乎看不见星星的春日的天空中。安德烈公爵用臂肘支撑着窗台，他的目光盯住天空。
安德烈公爵的房间在中层，也有人住在他的上层，他们还没有睡觉。他从上方听见妇人的说话声。
“只要再来一回。”从上方传来一个妇人的语声，安德烈公爵即刻识出了这个人的嗓音。
“你究竟什么时候才睡觉？”可以听见另一个人回答的声音。
“我不睡，没法睡着，我该怎么办！喂，最后一次……”
两个妇人拉开嗓门唱了一个乐句——一首歌的尾声。
“啊，真是妙极了！得啦，现在睡觉吧，完了。”
“你睡吧，我可睡不着。”可以听见靠近窗口的头一个人回答的声音。显然她把身子完全探出窗口了，因为可以听见她的连衣裙的窸窣声，甚至可以听见她呼吸的声音。一切都寂然无声，滞然不动，就像月亮、月光和它的阴影一样。安德烈公爵也不敢微微动弹，想不暴露他的偶然的出现。
“索尼娅！索尼娅！”又听见头一个人的说话声，“喂，怎么可以睡呀！你看看，多么迷人啊！嗬，多么迷人啊！索尼娅，让你醒过来吧。”她几乎带着哭泣的嗓音说，“要晓得，从来从来都没有这样迷人的夜晚。”
索尼娅不乐意地回答了什么话。
“不过，你瞧瞧，多么迷人的月光！……嗬，多么迷人啊！你到这儿来吧。亲爱的，心肝，你到这儿来，喂，你看见吗？你最好这样蹲下来，你最好这样托住自己的膝盖，托紧一点儿，尽量托紧一点儿，要鼓足力气，才会飞起来。瞧，就这样吧！”
“够啦，你会摔倒的。”
可以听见挣扎的响声和索尼娅的不满意的话语声：
“瞧，已经一点多了。”
“唉，你只会伤害我。得啦，你走吧，你走吧。”
四周的一切又寂静下来，可是安德烈公爵知道，她还坐在这儿不动，他有时听见微微动弹的声音，有时听见一声声叹息。
“啊，我的天呀！我的天呀！这到底是怎么回事啊！”她突然喊叫一声，“睡就睡吧！”她于是砰然一声关上了窗户。
“不关心我的存在呀！”安德烈公爵细听她说话时想了想，不知为什么他期待然而又害怕她提到有关他的什么事情。“又是她！仿佛故意似的！”他思忖着。他的心灵中忽然涌现出年青人的意料不到的乱七八糟的思想和希望，这和他的全部生活是相抵触的，他觉得不能向自己阐明他这种心态，于是立刻睡着了。
Book 6 Chapter 3
NEXT DAY Prince Andrey took leave of the count alone and set off on his way home, without waiting for the ladies to appear.
It was the beginning of June when Prince Andrey, on his return journey, drove again into the birch forest, in which the old, gnarled oak had made upon him so strange and memorable an impression. The ringing of the bells did not carry so far now in the forest as six weeks before. Everything was fully out, thick, and shut in. And the young firs, dotted about the forest, did not break the general beauty, but, subdued to the same character as the rest, were softly green with their feathery bunches of young needles.
The whole day had been hot; a storm was gathering, but only a small rain-cloud had sprinkled the dust of the road and the sappy leaves. The left side of the forest was dark, lying in shadow. The right side, glistening with the raindrops, gleamed in the sunlight, faintly undulating in the wind. Everything was in flower, the nightingales twittered and carolled, now close, now far away.
“Yes, it was here, in this forest, I saw that oak, with whom I was in sympathy,” thought Prince Andrey. “But where is he?” he thought again as he gazed at the left side of the road, and, all unaware and unrecognising, he was admiring the very oak he was seeking. The old oak, utterly transformed, draped in a tent of sappy dark green, basked faintly, undulating in the rays of the evening sun. Of the knotted fingers, the gnarled excrescences, the aged grief and mistrust—nothing was to be seen. Through the rough, century-old bark, where there were no twigs, leaves had burst out so sappy, so young, that it was hard to believe that aged creature had borne them.
“Yes, that is the same tree,” thought Prince Andrey, and all at once there came upon him an irrational, spring feeling of joy and of renewal. All the best moments of his life rose to his memory at once. Austerlitz, with that lofty sky, and the dead, reproachful face of his wife, and Pierre on the ferry, and the girl, thrilled by the beauty of the night, and that night and moon—it all rushed at once into his mind.
“No, life is not over at thirty-one,” Prince Andrey decided all at once, finally and absolutely. “It's not enough for me to know all there is in me, every one must know it too; Pierre and that girl, who wanted to fly away into the sky; every one must know me so that my life may not be spent only on myself; they must not live so apart from my life, it must be reflected in all of them and they must all share my life with me!”
On getting home after his journey, Prince Andrey made up his mind to go to Petersburg in the autumn, and began inventing all sorts of reasons for this decision. A whole chain of sensible, logical reasons, making it essential for him to visit Petersburg, and even to re-enter the service, was at every moment ready at his disposal. He could not indeed comprehend now how he could ever have doubted of the necessity of taking an active share in life, just as a month before he could not have understood how the idea of leaving the country could ever occur to him. It seemed clear to him that all his experience of life would be wasted and come to naught, if he did not apply it in practice and take an active part in life again. He could not understand indeed how on a basis of such poor arguments it could have seemed so incontestable to him that he would be lowering himself, if after the lessons he had received from life, he were to put faith again in the possibility of being useful and in the possibility of happiness and of love. Reason now gave its whole support to the other side. After his journey to Ryazan, Prince Andrey began to weary of life in the country; his former pursuits ceased to interest him, and often sitting alone in his study, he got up, went to the looking-glass and gazed a long while at his own face. Then he turned away to the portrait of Liza, who, with her curls tied up à la grecque, looked gaily and tenderly out of the gold frame at him. She did not say those terrible words to him; she looked curiously and merrily at him. And, clasping his hands behind him, Prince Andrey would walk a long while up and down his room, frowning and smiling by turns, as he brooded over those irrational ideas, that could not be put into words, and were secret as a crime—the ideas connected with Pierre, with glory, with the girl at the window, with the oak, with woman's beauty, and love, which had changed the whole current of his life. And if any one came into his room at such moments, he would be particularly short, severely decided and disagreeably logical.
“Mon cher,” Princess Marya would say coming in at such a moment, “Nikolushka cannot go out for a walk to-day; it is very cold.”
“If it were hot,” Prince Andrey would answer his sister with peculiar dryness on such occasions, “then he would go out with only his smock on; but as it is cold, you must put on him warm clothes that have been designed for that object. That's what follows from its being cold, and not staying at home when the child needs fresh air,” he would say, with an exaggerated logicality, as it were punishing some one for that secret, illogical element working within him.
On such occasions Princess Marya thought what a chilling effect so much intellectual work had upon men.
翌日，安德烈公爵只向伯爵一人告别，不等候女士们出来，就动身回家了。 
已经是六月之初，正当安德烈公爵快要回到家中时，他又驶进那座白桦树林，林中的这棵弯曲多节的老橡树呈现着很古怪的模样，令人难忘，真使他感到惊奇。在森林中，铃铛的响声比一个半月以前更低沉，那时处处是绿树浓荫，枝繁叶茂，那些散布在森林中的小枞树没有损害共有的优美环境，却为迎合树木共有的特点，都发绿了，长出毛茸茸的嫩枝。
整天都很炎热，有的地方雷雨快要来临，但是只有一小片乌云往路上的灰尘和多汁的叶子上喷洒了几滴雨水。森林的左边很昏暗，光线不充足，森林的右边潮湿，明亮，在阳光下闪耀，给风吹得微微摇动。树木都开花了，夜莺鸣啭，悠扬悦耳，时而在近处，时而在远处发出回响。
“是的，在这里，这棵橡树在这座森林里，我们是志同道合的，”安德烈公爵想了想。“可是它在哪里呢？”安德烈公爵在观看道路的左边的时候，心里又想了想，他自己并没有意识到，也没有把它认出来，不过他正在欣赏他所寻找的那棵橡树。完全变了样的老橡树荫覆如盖，暗绿色的多汁的叶子郁郁葱葱，麻木地立着，在夕阳的余晖中微微摇动。无论是弯曲多节的指头，无论是伤痕，无论是昔日的怀疑和哀愁，都看不见了。透过坚硬的百年的老树皮，在无树枝处居然钻出了一簇簇嫩绿的树叶，因此真令人没法相信，这棵老头般的橡树竟能长出嫩绿的树叶来。“这正是那棵老橡树。”安德烈公爵想了想，他的心灵中忽然产生一种快乐的感觉，万象更新的感觉。他一下子回忆起他一生中的那些最美好的瞬间。奥斯特利茨战场和那高悬的天空、已故妻子含有责备神情的面孔，渡船上的皮埃尔，因为夜色美丽而深有感触的少女，还有这个夜晚和月色——她突然把这一切回想起来。
“不，人在三十一岁时生命没有终结，”安德烈公爵忽然坚决地斩钉截铁地断送说，“我只是知道我心中的一切还是不够的，而且要大家——无论是皮埃尔；还是这个想飞上天空的少女——都知道这一点，要让大家知道我，我不是为了我一个人而生活，不让他们的生活和我的生活毫无关联，要让我的生活对大家产生影响，他们大家和我一同生活！”
安德烈公爵在旅行归来以后，拿定主意，要在秋天到彼得堡去，并且想到作出这个决定的各种原因。他时时刻刻都能琢磨出一系列合情合理的论据——他为什么要到彼得堡去，甚至在那里服役。他甚至在目前还不明白，他对他要积极参与生活一事怎么会犹豫不决，恰如一个月以前他不明白怎么会想到离开村庄一样。他明显地觉得，如果他不把他在生活上积累的全部经验应用于事业上，不再积极参与生活，那末他的全部经验必定是毫无稗益的，毫无意义的。他甚至不明白，从前根据这样一些乏于情理的论据怎么能够明显地看出：如果在受到生活教训之后，又深信自己能够给事业带来利益，深信自己能够获得幸福和爱情，这样，就会有失身份了。而今理智提示了截然不同的内容。在这次旅行之后，安德烈公爵开始觉得在乡下寂寞，他对以前的业务不感兴趣，常常一个人坐在书斋里，常常站起来，走到镜台前，久久地注视自己的面孔。然后他转过头来，注视着亡妻丽莎的画像，他留着一头蓬松的a　la　grecque①卷发，温存地快活地从金色的框子里望着他。她已经不向丈夫说些从前那样可怕的话，她带着好奇的神态朴直地快活地望着他。安德烈公爵背着手在房里走来走去，走了很久，时而皱起眉头，时而微露笑容，他反复琢磨那些不合时宜的、非言语所能形容的、像罪行一样隐秘的思想，这些思想牵连到皮埃尔、荣誉、呆在窗口的女郎、橡树、妇人的美貌和爱情，这些思想改变了他的整个生活。在这种时刻，有人进门来走到他跟前，他往往分外冷漠，严肃而果断尤其是讲些令人听来不悦意的大道理。 
①法语：希腊式。
“Mon　cher，”①公爵小姐玛丽亚常在这时候走进来，她说：“尼古卢什卡今儿不能去散步：天气很冷。” 
①法语：亲爱的朋友。
“如果天气暖和，”这时安德烈特别冷漠地回答妹妹说，“他只要穿件衬衫就行了，因为天气很冷，就应当给他穿件暖和的衣裳，就是为了这个缘故才有人想到给他做件暖和的衣裳。因为天气很冷，所以才要这样做，而不是说，当孩子需要新鲜空气的时候硬要他留在家里。”他说得特别合乎情理，就仿佛为了他内心产生这种隐秘的不合乎情理的智力活动而处罚某人似的。在这种情况下公爵小姐玛丽亚往往想到智力活动会使男人们面容憔悴，使他们变得冷漠无情。
Book 6 Chapter 4
PRINCE ANDREY arrived in Petersburg in the August of 1809. It was the period when the young Speransky was at the zenith of his fame and his reforms were being carried out with the utmost vigour. In that very month the Tsar was thrown out of his carriage, hurt his foot, and was laid up for three weeks at Peterhof, seeing Speransky every day and no one else. At that period there were in preparation the two famous decrees that so convulsed society, abolishing the bestowal of grades by court favour and establishing examinations for obtaining the ranks of collegiate assessors and state councillors. But besides these reforms, a whole political constitution was under discussion destined to transform the whole legal, administrative and financial system of government from the Privy Council to the district tribunals. At this time the vague, liberal ideals with which the Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne were taking shape and being carried into practice. Those ideals he had striven to realise with the aid of Tchartorizhsky, Novosiltsov, Kotchubey, and Stroganov, whom he used himself to call in fun his “comité du salut publique.” Now all were replaced by Speransky on the civil side and Araktcheev on the military.
Soon after his arrival, Prince Andrey, as a kammerherr, presented himself at court and at a levée. The Tsar, meeting him on two occasions, did not deign to bestow a single word upon him. Prince Andrey had fancied even before then that he was antipathetic to the Tsar; that the Tsar disliked his face and his whole personality. In the cold, repellent glance with which the Tsar looked at him, Prince Andrey found further confirmation of this supposition. Courtiers explained the Tsar's slight to Prince Andrey by saying that his majesty was displeased at Bolkonsky's having retired from active service since 1805.
“I know myself that one has no control over one's likes and dislikes,” thought Prince Andrey, “and so it is of no use to think of presenting my note on army reform in person to the Tsar, but the thing will speak for itself.” He sent word about his note to an old field-marshal, a friend of his father's. The field-marshal fixed an hour to see him, received him cordially, and promised to lay it before the Tsar. A few days later, Prince Andrey received notice that he was to call upon the minister of war, Count Araktcheev.
At nine o'clock in the morning on the day appointed, Prince Andrey entered Count Araktcheev's reception-room.
Prince Andrey did not know Araktcheev personally and had never seen him, but all that he knew about him had inspired him with little respect for the man.
“He is the minister of war, a person the Tsar trusts, and no one need have any concern with his personal qualities; he has been commissioned to look at my note, consequently he is the only person who can get it adopted,” thought Prince Andrey, as he waited among many persons of importance and unimportance in Count Araktcheev's anteroom.
During the years of his service—for the most part as an adjutant—Prince Andrey had seen the anterooms of many great personages, and the various characteristic types of such anterooms were very readily recognised by him. Count Araktcheev's anteroom had quite a special character. The faces of the persons of no consequence who were awaiting their turns for an audience with Count Araktcheev betrayed a feeling of humiliation and servility; the faces of those of superior rank all wore an expression of general discomfort, concealed under a mask of ease and ridicule, of themselves and their position and the person they were waiting to see. Some of them walked up and down plunged in thought; others were laughing and whispering together, and Prince Andrey caught the nickname Sila Andreitch (Sila meaning Force or Violence), and the words “the governor'll give it you,” referring to Count Araktcheev. One general (a person of great consequence), unmistakably chagrined at being kept waiting so long, sat with crossed legs, disdainfully smiling to himself.
But as soon as the door opened, all faces instantly betrayed one feeling only—terror.
Prince Andrey asked the adjutant on duty to mention his name again, but he received a sarcastic stare, and was told his turn would come in due course. After several persons had been let in and let out of the minister's room by the adjutant, an officer was admitted at the dreadful door, whose abject and panic-stricken face had struck Prince Andrey. The officer's audience lasted a long while. Suddenly the roar of a harsh voice was heard through the door, and the officer, with a white face and trembling lips, came out, and clutching at his head, crossed the anteroom. After that, Prince Andrey was conducted to the door, and the adjutant in a whisper said: “To the right, at the window.”
Prince Andrey went into a plain, neat study, and saw at the table a man of forty with a long waist, with a long, closely-cropped head, deep wrinkles, scowling brows over brown-green, dull eyes, and a red, over-hanging nose. Araktcheev turned his head towards him, without looking at him.
“What is it you are petitioning for?” asked Araktcheev.
“There is nothing that I am…petitioning for, your excellency,” Prince Andrey pronounced softly. Araktcheev's eyes turned to him.
“Sit down,” said Araktcheev. “Prince Bolkonsky?”
“I have no petition to make, but his majesty the Tsar has graciously sent to your excellency a note submitted by me—”
“Be so good as to see, my dear sir; I have read your note,” Araktcheev interrupted, uttering only the first words civilly, again looking away from him, and relapsing more and more into a tone of grumbling contempt. “Is it new army regulations you propose? There are regulations in plenty; no one will carry out the old ones. Nowadays every one's drawing up regulations; it's easier writing than doing.”
“I have come by the desire of his majesty the Tsar to learn from your excellency how you propose to deal with my project,” said Prince Andrey courteously.
“I have proposed a resolution in regard to your note, and have forwarded it to the committee. I do not approve,” said Araktcheev, getting up and taking a paper out of the writing-table. “Here.” He gave it to Prince Andrey. Right across the note had been scrawled, without punctuation or capital letters and with words misspelt: “Superficially compiled seeing that it's drawn up in imitation of the French army regulations and needlessly departing from the standing orders.”
“To what committee has the note been referred?” asked Prince Andrey.
“To the Committee on Army Regulations, and I have proposed your honour being enrolled among its members. Only without salary.”
Prince Andrey smiled.
“I am not seeking a salary.”
“A member without salary,” repeated Araktcheev. “I wish you good day. Hey! call! who's the next?” he shouted, as he bowed to Prince Andrey.
一八○九年八月，安德烈公爵已抵达彼得堡。时值年轻的斯佩兰斯基①的声誉已臻达顶峰，他正如火如荼地实行社会变革。就在八月份，国王乘坐四轮马车时翻车，跌伤一条腿，他在彼得霍夫市停留三周，这期间国王每天只与斯佩兰斯基一人会面。这时候不仅正在准备拟订两道如此著名而且惊动社会的命令——取消宫廷官衔、八等文官和五等文官举行考试的命令，除此之外，还准备拟订一整套国家宪法，这部宪法中规定，自乡政府直至国务院必须改变现有的俄国司法、行政和财政制度。亚历山大皇帝即位时怀抱的不明确的自由主义理想刻正付诸实现，他渴望凭藉如下的助手以实现这些理想：恰托里日斯基、诺沃西利采夫、科丘别伊和斯特罗加诺夫，他将这些人诙谐地称为comitédu　salut　pulique②。 
①斯佩兰斯基（1772～1839），俄国改良派政治活动家，欲使俄国农奴制度迎合资本主义发展的需要，在封建贵族高压之下，他无法施展个人的才略，备受奚落，遂于一八一二年被逐。
②法语：社会救济委员会。
目前在民政部门由斯佩兰斯基、在军政部门由阿拉克切耶夫取代所有这些人。安德烈公爵抵达后不久，担任宫廷高级侍从，进入宫廷，参加朝觐时的活动。国王遇见他，有两次没有对他说一句话。安德烈公爵一向就仿佛觉得，国王憎恶他，他的面孔和他整个身心都令国王望而生厌。国王用那冷淡而疏远的目光望望他，安德烈公爵凭他这种目光就比以前更加肯定地证实了这种推测。廷臣们向安德烈公爵解释说，国王不重视他是因为陛下对他——博尔孔斯基从一八○五年以来未曾服役表示不满。
“我本人知道，人人都会对别人产生好感，或者产生反感，不过我们无可奈何，”安德烈公爵想道，“因此用不着想到关于亲自向国王送交军事条令呈文的事情，但事情本身是会说明问题的。”他把有关他的呈文的内容转告父亲的友人——老元帅。元帅约定了一个时间，亲切地接见他，并且答应把这件事禀告国王。过了几天有人告知安德烈公爵：他应当去见军政大臣阿拉克切耶夫伯爵。
在约定的那天，上午九点钟，安德烈公爵来到接待室求见阿拉克切耶夫伯爵。
安德烈公爵本人不认识阿拉克切耶夫，从来没有见过他，但是他知道的有关他的一切情形，不太会引起他对这个人的尊敬。
“他是军政大臣，皇帝陛下的代理人，谁也不应该去管他个人的品质，他接受委托来审理我的呈文，因此只有他一人才能把它送去办理。”安德烈公爵想道，在接待室介乎许多显要的、非显要的官员之间等候阿拉克切耶夫伯爵。
安德烈公爵在他担任职务、多半是担任副官职务期间，看见过许多显要官员的接待室，因此这些接待室的各种不同的特征，他一清二楚，了若指掌。阿拉克切耶夫伯爵的接待室是十分特殊的。在阿拉克切耶夫伯爵接待室里，在依次等待接见的非显要官员的脸上，可以看到一种羞愧和恭顺的表情，在较为显要的官员的脸上，可以普遍地看出困窘不安的表情，官员的假像遮盖了不安的表情，他们假装出毫无拘束的样子，假装出嘲笑自己，嘲笑自己的地位，也嘲笑他们所等待的官员。有的人若有所思地踱来踱去，有的人窃窃私语，嘻皮笑脸，安德烈公爵听见那针对阿拉克切耶夫伯爵喊出的“西拉（意指权势）·安德烈伊奇”这个绰号（sobriquet①）和针对他说的“大叔给你点厉害瞧”这句话。有一个将军（显要人物）很明显是因为等候得太久而感到十分委屈，他坐在那里，交替地架起二郎腿，暗自轻蔑地微笑。 
①法语：绰号。
但是一当房门打开了，大伙儿的脸上顿时流露出一种表情——恐惧。安德烈公爵请求值班人员下次替他禀报，但是大伙儿带着嘲笑的神态瞥了他一眼，并对他说，到适当的时候就轮到他了。当副官把这几个人从大臣办公室领进来又把他们领出去以后，有人让一个军官走进一扇可怕的房门里来，军官那低首下心的惊惶的样子使安德烈公爵大为愕异。这个军官的接见延续了很长的时间。忽然从门后传来令人生厌的时断时续的说话声，这个军官脸色苍白，双唇颤抖着，从那里走了出来，抱住头从接待室走过去了。
紧接着，安德烈公爵被领到门口，值班人员轻声地说：
“右边，向那个窗口走去吧。”
安德烈公爵走进一间陈设简单而整洁的办公室，他在桌旁看见一个四十岁的人，长长的腰身，长长的脑袋，头发剪得短短的，脸上的皱纹很深，紧皱的双眉下面露出绿褐色的眼睛，红红的鼻子半悬垂着。阿拉克切耶夫向他转过头来，眼睛却没有看着他。
“您有何请求？”阿拉克切耶夫问道。
“大人，我什么都不……请求。”安德烈公爵低声地说。阿拉克切耶夫向他转过脸来。
“请坐，”阿拉克切耶夫说，“博尔孔斯基公爵。”
“我什么也不请求，皇帝陛下叫我把递上的呈文转送给大人……”
“我亲爱的，请注意，我看过您的禀奏了，”阿拉克切耶夫打断他的话，只是头几句话倒说得亲切，他这次又不看他的面孔了，腔调儿显得越来越不满而且轻蔑，“您提出新的军事条令吗？法令多得很，无人可来执行旧法令。目前都在写法令，写比做更为容易。”
“我遵照陛下的旨意前来向大人打听，您打算怎样处理递上的呈文？”安德烈公爵毕恭毕敬地说。
“我对您的禀奏作出了批示并转送委员会。我不赞成，”阿拉克切耶夫站立起来，从写字台上拿起一份公文时说道，“瞧。”他把公文递给安德烈公爵。
公文纸上用铅笔横着写了一行字，没有大写字母，没有拼写错误，也没有标点符号：“毫无理由抄袭法国军事条令，毋需放弃军法条例。”
“呈文究竟转交给什么委员会？”安德烈公爵问道。
“转交给军事条令委员会，我推荐阁下担任委员。只是没有薪金。”
安德烈公爵微微一笑。
“我没有这种愿望。”
“没有薪金当委员，”阿拉克切耶夫重复地说。“我与阁下结识，深感荣幸。喂！请把名字说声来！还有什么人？”他向安德烈公爵鞠躬行礼时大声喊道。
Book 6 Chapter 5
WHILE AWAITING THE ANNOUNCEMENT of his name having been put on the committee, Prince Andrey looked up old acquaintances, especially among those persons whom he knew to be in power, and so able to be of use to him. He experienced now in Petersburg a sensation akin to what he had known on the eve of a battle, when he was fretted by restless curiosity and irresistibly attracted to those higher spheres, where the future was in preparation, that future on which hung the fate of millions. From the angry irritability of the elder generation, from the curiosity of the uninitiated and the reserve of the initiated, from the hurry and anxious absorption of every one, from the multiplicity of committees and commissions—he was learning of new ones every day—he felt that now, in the year 1809, there was in preparation here in Petersburg some vast political contest, and the commander-in-chief in it was a mysterious personage whom he did not know, but imagined to be a man of genius—Speransky.
And this movement of reform, of which he knew vaguely, and Speransky, the moving spirit of it, began to interest him so keenly that his proposed reform of the army regulations very soon fell into a subordinate position in his mind.
Prince Andrey happened to be most favourably placed for obtaining a good reception in the highest and most various circles of the Petersburg society of that day. The reforming party welcomed him warmly, and sought him out, in the first place, because he had the reputation of being clever and very well read, and secondly because he had already gained the reputation of being a liberal by the emancipation of his serfs. The party of the dissatisfied older generation welcomed him simply as the son of his father, and reckoned upon his sympathy in their disapproval of the reforms. The feminine world, society, received him cordially because he was a wealthy match of high rank, and a person almost new, encircled by a halo of romance from his narrow escape from death and the tragic loss of his young wife. Moreover the general verdict of all who had known him previously was that he had greatly changed for the better during the last five years, had grown softer and more manly, that he had lost his old affectation, pride, and sarcastic irony, and had gained the serenity that comes with years. People talked of him, were interested in him, and eager to see him
The day after his interview with Count Araktcheev, Prince Andrey was at a soirée at Count Kotchubey's. He described to the latter his interview with Sila Andreitch. (This was the name by which Kotchubey spoke of Araktcheev with that vague note of jeering in his voice which Prince Andrey had noticed in the anteroom of the minister of war.)
“Mon cher, even in this affair you can't do without Mihail Mihalovitch. He has a hand in everything. I'll speak to him. He promised to come in the evening…”
“But what has Speransky to do with the army regulations?” asked Prince Andrey.
Kotchubey shook his head, smiling, as though wondering at Bolkonsky's simplicity.
“We were talking to him about you the other day,” Kotchubey continued; “about your free cultivators…”
“Yes, so it was you, prince, who freed your serfs?” said an old gentleman of Catherine's court, turning disdainfully to Bolkonsky.
“The little estate brought me no income as it was,” answered Bolkonsky, trying to minimise what he had done to the old gentleman, to avoid irritating him needlessly.
“You are afraid of being late,” said the old gentleman, looking at Kotchubey.
“There's one thing I don't understand,” pursued the old gentleman. “Who is to till the land if they are set free? It's easy to pass laws, but hard work to govern. It's just the same as now; I ask you, count, who will preside over the courts when all have to pass examinations?”
“Those who pass the examinations, I suppose,” answered Kotchubey, crossing his legs and looking about him.
“Here I have Pryanitchnikov in my department, a capital man, a priceless man, but he is sixty; how is he to go in for examinations?…”
“Yes, that's a difficult question, considering that education is so restricted, but…”
Count Kotchubey did not finish his sentence; he got up, and taking Prince Andrey by the arm, went to meet a tall, bald, fair-haired man of forty, who had just come in. He had a large, open forehead, and his long face was of a strange, exceptional whiteness; he wore a blue frock coat and had a cross at his neck and a star on the left side of his breast. It was Speransky. Prince Andrey recognised him at once, and that thrill passed through him that comes at the great moments of one's life. Whether it was a thrill of respect, of envy, of anticipation, he did not know. Speransky's whole figure had a peculiar character by which he could be distinguished immediately. Never in any one of the circles in which Prince Andrey had moved had he seen such calm and self-confidence as was manifest in this man's heavy and ungainly movements. Never in any one had he seen a glance so resolute, and yet so soft, as now in those half-closed and moist-looking eyes; never had he seen such firmness as in that smile that meant nothing. Never had he heard a voice so delicate, smooth, and soft; but what struck him most of all was the tender whiteness of the face, and still more the hands, which were rather broad, but extremely plump, soft, and white. Such whiteness and softness Prince Andrey had seen only in the faces of soldiers who had been a long while in hospital.
This was Speransky, the secretary of state, the Tsar's confidential adviser, who had accompanied him to Erfurt, and there had more than once seen and talked with Napoleon. Speransky's eyes did not shift from one face to another, as one's eyes unconsciously do on first coming into a large company, and he was in no hurry to speak. He spoke slowly, with conviction that he would be listened to, and looked only at the person to whom he was speaking. Prince Andrey watched every word and gesture of Speransky's with peculiar intentness. As is often the case with men, particularly with those who criticise their fellows severely, Prince Andrey on meeting a new person, especially one like Speransky, whom he knew by reputation, had always a hope of finding in him a full perfection of human qualities.
Speransky said to Kotchubey that he was sorry that he had not been able to come earlier, because he had been detained at the palace. He did not say that the Tsar had kept him. And this affectation of modesty did not escape Prince Andrey. When Kotchubey mentioned Prince Andrey's name to him, Speransky slowly transferred his eyes to Bolkonsky, with the same smile on his face, and gazed for a moment at him in silence.
“I am very glad to make your acquaintance; I have heard of you, as every one has,” said he.
Kotchubey said a few words about the reception Araktcheev had given Bolkonsky. Speransky's smile broadened.
“The chairman of the Committee of Army Regulations is a friend of mine—M. Magnitsky,” he said, articulating fully every word and every syllable, “and, if you wish it, I can make you acquainted with him.” (He paused at the full stop.) “I expect that you would meet with sympathy in him and a desire to assist in anything reasonable.”
A circle formed at once round Speransky, and the same old gentleman, who had talked of his clerk, Pryanitchnikov, addressed a question to Speransky.
Taking no part in the conversation, Prince Andrey watched every gesture of Speransky—this man, only a little time before an insignificant divinity student, who now held in his hands—those plump white hands—the fate of Russia, as Bolkonsky thought. Prince Andrey was struck by the extraordinarily contemptuous composure with which Speransky answered the old gentleman. He seemed to drop him his condescending words from an immeasurable height above him. When the old gentleman began talking too loud, Speransky smiled and said that he could not judge of the advantage or disadvantage of what the Tsar saw fit to command.
After talking for a little while in the general circle, Speransky got up, and going to Prince Andrey, drew him away to the other end of the room. It was evident that he thought it well to interest himself in Bolkonsky.
“I have not had time for a word with you, prince, in the engrossing conversation into which I was dragged by that excellent old gentleman,” he said, with a smile of bland contempt, by which he seemed to take for granted that Prince Andrey and himself were at one in recognising the insignificance of the people with whom he had just been talking. This flattered Prince Andrey. “I have known you for a long while: first from your action with the serfs, the first instance of the kind among us, an example which one would desire to find many following; and, secondly, from your being one of those kammerherrs who have not considered themselves wronged by the new decree in regard to promotion by court favour, that has provoked so much criticism and censure.”
“Yes,” said Prince Andrey, “my father did not care for me to take advantage of that privilege; I began the service from the lower grades.”
“Your father, a man of the older generation, is undoubtedly above the level of our contemporaries, who condemn this measure, though it is simply an act of natural justice.”
“I imagine there is some basis though even for that condemnation,” said Prince Andrey, trying to resist the influence of Speransky, of which he began to be aware. He disliked agreeing with him in everything; he tried to oppose him. Prince Andrey, who usually spoke so well and so readily, felt a difficulty even in expressing himself as he talked with Speransky. He was too much occupied in observing the personality of the celebrated man.
“In the interests of personal ambition perhaps,” Speransky slowly put in his word.
“And to some extent in the interests of the state,” said Prince Andrey.
“How do you mean?…” said Speransky slowly, dropping his eyes.
“I am an admirer of Montesquieu,” said Prince Andrey. “And his theory that the principle of monarchies is honour seems to me incontestable. Certain rights and privileges of the nobility appear to me to be means of maintaining that sentiment.”
The smile vanished from Speransky's white face, and his countenance gained greatly by its absence. Probably Prince Andrey's idea seemed to him an interesting one.
“If you look at the question from that point of view,” he began, pronouncing French with obvious difficulty, and speaking even more deliberately than he had done when speaking Russian, but still with perfect composure. He said that honour, l'honneur, cannot be supported by privileges prejudicial to the working of the government; that honour, l'honneur, is either a negative concept of avoidance of reprehensible actions or a certain source of emulation in obtaining the commendation and rewards in which it finds expression.
His arguments were condensed, simple, and clear. “The institution that best maintains that honour, the source of emulation, is an institution akin to the Legion of Honour of the great Emperor Napoleon, which does not detract from but conduces to the successful working of the government service, and not a class or court privilege.”
“I do not dispute that, but there is no denying that the court privileges did attain the same object,” said Prince Andrey. “Every courtier thought himself bound to do credit to his position.”
“But you did not care to profit by it, prince,” said Speransky, showing with a smile that he wished to conclude with civility an argument embarrassing for his companion. “If you will do me the honour to call on Wednesday, then I shall have seen Magnitsky, and shall have something to tell you that may interest you, and besides I shall have the pleasure of more conversation with you.” Closing his eyes, he bowed, and trying to escape unnoticed, he went out of the drawing-room without saying good-bye, à la fran?aise.
安德烈公爵在等候录取他为委员会委员的通知书时，与一些老友从新建立情谊，尤其是与他所熟知的大权在握的人和对他大有用途的人重建情谊。此时他在彼得堡的感受，就好像战斗前夜的感受一样，令人不安的好奇心使他痛苦不堪，不可克服地吸引他置身于上层社会，那里勾画出一副前景，千百万人的命运以它为转移。从老年人的忿恨，从不知情者的好奇，从内行人的稳重，从人们的忙乱和忧患，从他每日探听到的多得不可胜数的委员会的成立，他感觉到，眼前，一八○九年，在彼得堡这个地方，一场大规模的国内战争正在酝酿中。指挥这场战争的总司令是他不熟悉的、神秘的、在他看来是颇有天才的人物——斯佩兰斯基。无论是他不太熟悉的改革之举，抑或是斯佩兰斯基——主要活动家，都使他产生强烈的兴趣，军事条令问题在他意识中瞬即退居于次要地位。 
安德烈公爵处于至为有利的地位，他在当时的彼得堡上层社会各界都受到厚意的接待。革新派盛情招待他，应酬他，其一是因为他聪颖过人，学识渊博，著称于世，其二是因为他解放农民，博得自由思想者的名声。怀有不满情绪的老人派，谴责其改革措施，干脆要他这个老博尔孔斯基的儿子表示同情。妇女界和交际界盛情接待他，因为他是个未婚男子，既富有，而且显贵，兼以讹传他已阵亡、妻子身罹惨死，他几乎被人视为享有浪漫史荣耀的新颖人物。此外，所有从前认识他的人，都异口同声地说，在这五年间，他已有好转，性格变温和了，更加老练了，他身上已经没有从前那样的虚假、高傲和讪笑的缺点，现在他身上有一种与岁月俱增的宁静的态度。大家都在谈论他，对他表示关心，并且希望和他会面。
第二天，安德烈公爵拜谒阿拉克切耶夫伯爵后，晚间他到过科丘别伊伯爵家中。他把晋谒西拉·安德烈伊奇的情形讲给科丘别伊伯爵听（科丘别伊流露着安德烈公爵在军政大臣接待室里所察觉的那种含蓄的嘲笑时，也这样称呼阿拉克切耶夫）。
“Mon　cher①，甚至在这件事情上，您也不能不牵涉到米哈伊尔·米哈伊洛维奇（斯佩兰斯基的名字和父称）。C'est　le　grand　faiseur②，我告诉他吧。他答应今天晚上到这里来……”
“军事条令与斯佩兰斯基何干？”安德烈公爵问道。
科丘别伊微微一笑，摇摇头，好像他对博尔孔斯基的幼稚感到诧异。
“前几天我和他谈到您了，”科丘别伊继续说，“谈到您的自由农民……”
“对，您，公爵解放了您的农民吗？”一个叶卡捷琳娜女皇时代的老人轻蔑地把脸转向博尔孔斯基，说道。
“小领地不会有什么收入。”博尔孔斯基回答，力图在他面前使自己的作为不引人瞩目，省得平白地激怒这个老人。
“Vous　craignez　d'eBtre　en　retard．”③老头瞧着科丘别伊时说。 
①法语：我亲爱的。
②法语：他是个总管。
③法语：您害怕赶不上去。
“有一点我不明白，”老头继续说，“如果给予他们自由，那末谁来耕地呢？拟订法律很容易，管理事务就很困难。伯爵，横直现在我要问您，如果人人都参加考试，那末谁来当院的首长呢？”
“我想，由那些考试及格的人来当首长。”科丘别伊跷起二郎腿，环顾四周时答道。
“瞧，普里亚尼奇尼科夫在我这里供职，是个极好的人，出类拔萃的人，可是他有六十岁了，难道他也要去参加考试吗？……”
“对的，这是棘手的，因为教育还很不普及，但是……”科丘别伊伯爵没有把话说完，就一把抓住安德烈公爵的手，走去迎接进来的人，这个人身材魁梧，谢顶，头发浅黄，莫约四十岁，前额宽大而凸出长方脸，脸色雪白，白得出奇。这个走进来的人身穿蓝色燕尾服，脖子上挂着十字架，左胸前佩戴金星勋章。他就是斯佩兰斯基。安德烈公爵立即就认出他了，他的心颤动了一下，这是在他生命的紧要时刻常有的情形。这是否是敬意，妒嫉，或者是期待——他无从知道。斯佩兰斯基的整个身躯属于特殊的类型，从这种体型一下子就能把他认出来。在安德烈公爵所生活的那个社会里，他没有见过谁有这样宁静而自信的笨拙而迟钝的动作，他没有见过谁的那对半开半阖的有点潮湿的眼睛里会流露出这样坚定而且温和的目光，没有见过谁有这样爽朗的毫无含义的微笑，谁也没有这样平静的低沉的尖细的嗓音，主要是没有这样细嫩的雪白的面孔，尤其是没有那双略嫌宽大而异常肥胖的、柔嫩而白净的手臂。安德烈公爵只是看见那些长期住院的士兵才有这样白皙的柔嫩的面孔。这就是斯佩兰斯基，国务大臣，向国王禀告国情的人，国王在埃尔富特的同行者，在那里他不止一次地觐见国王，和国王畅谈。
斯佩兰斯基没有把目光从一个人身上一下子移到另一个人身上，并不像进入大庭广众中时情不自禁地用视线扫视那样，他也不急忙开口说话。他低声地说，心里相信大家都会听他说下去，他只注视交谈者的面孔。
安德烈公爵特别仔细地观察斯佩兰斯基的每句话和每个动作。就像人们常有的情形那样，特别是像那些对别人严加指摘的人那样，安德烈公爵遇见一个新来的人，尤其是遇见这位他所熟知的大名鼎鼎的斯佩兰斯基时，他总是期待在他身上发现完美的人格。
斯佩兰斯基告诉科丘别伊，说他对未能更早抵达一事深表遗憾，因为在皇宫里给耽搁了。他没有说国王把他耽搁了。安德烈公爵看出了这种矫揉造作的谦逊。当科丘别伊向他喊出安德烈公爵的名字时，斯佩兰斯基仍然面露笑容，把目光慢慢地移到博尔孔斯基身上，他开始沉默地打量他。
“我和您认识，感到很高兴，我也像大家一样，久闻大名。”
他说道。
科丘别伊说了几句有关阿拉克切耶夫接见博尔孔斯基的话。斯佩兰斯基又微微一笑。
“军事条令委员会主任是我的一位好朋友——马格尼茨基先生，”他说，他把每个音节和每个词都说得清清楚楚，“若是您愿意，我可以领您去和他认识一下。（他沉默片刻。）我希望，您能得到他的同情，他愿意促进一切合理的事业。”
斯佩兰斯基周围立即形成了一个小圈子。那个讲他的官吏普里亚尼奇尼科夫的老头子也向斯佩兰斯基提出问题。
安德烈公爵没有参加谈话，他在观察斯佩兰斯基的各种动作，这个人不久以前是个微不足道的学员，而今他的这双又白又肥的手掌握着俄国的命运，博尔孔斯基心里思忖着。斯佩兰斯基怀着蔑视他人的、异乎寻常的冷静的态度回答老人的问话，他这种态度竟使安德烈公爵大为惊讶。他好像从那无可估量的高处对他说了一句宽容的话。当这个老头开始大声说话时，斯佩兰斯基微微一笑，并且说他没法评判国王喜欢的事情是有利，或有弊。
斯佩兰斯基在公共小组中讲了一会儿之后，便站立起来，走到安德烈公爵跟前，把他喊到房间的另一头。看来他认为应当应酬应酬博尔孔斯基。
“这个可敬的老头硬把我拖去参与一次令人兴奋的谈话，公爵，在谈话当中我来不及同您谈谈，”他说道，脸上流露着温和而轻蔑的微笑，仿佛在微笑之中承认，他和安德烈公爵都明白，他甫才与之交谈的那些人都是小人物。这种态度使安德烈公爵心里得到满足。“我是老早就知道您的：其一，是因为您在解决您的农民问题上为我们树立第一个典范，希望有更多的追随者拥护这个典范；其二，是因为您是宫廷高级侍从之一，关于宫廷中的官衔的新指示正引起流言闲语，而宫廷高级侍从们不认为他们自己因此而蒙受屈辱。”
“是的，”安德烈公爵说，“我父亲不想要我享有这样的权利，我是从低级官阶开始供职的。”
“令尊是老一辈的人，显然比极力谴责这种措施的我们同时代人的地位更高，可是这种措施只是恢复原有的正义而已。”
“不过我以为，这种谴责也是有理由的。”安德烈公爵说，他开始感觉到斯佩兰斯基对他产生的影响，他于是力图反对它。他不愿意在各个方面赞同他的意见，他意欲反驳。安德烈公爵平时说得很流畅，善于辞令，现在他和斯佩兰斯基谈话时竟然感到难以表达思想。他对这个著名人士的个性的观察太感兴趣了。
“也许是一种维护个人虚荣的理由。”斯佩兰斯基轻言细语地插了一句话。
“一部分是为了国家。”安德烈公爵说道。
“您指的是什么意思？……”斯佩兰斯基悄悄地垂下眼睛，说道。
“我是孟德斯鸠的崇拜者，”安德烈公爵说，“他的思想是le　principe　des　monarchies　est　I'nonneur，me　parait　incontestable．Certains　droits　et　privilèges　de　la　noblesse　me　paraissent　eBtre　des　moyens　de　soutenir　ce　sentiment”。①
斯佩兰斯基白皙的脸上原有的笑容消失了，因此他的脸孔就显得更好看了。也许他觉得，安德烈公爵的思想是很有趣的。
“Si　vous　envisagez　la　question　sous　ce　point　de　vue．”②他开始说，显然，法国话难说，比说俄国话更慢，但是他非常镇静。他说，荣誉，l′honneur，不可能受到对供职有害的优越地位的维护，荣誉，l′honneur，或者是不做应受指责的行为的消极概念，或者是为赢得赞许和奖赏而热心进取的一种源泉。 
①法语：荣誉是帝制的基础，我觉得这是毫无疑义的。我以为贵族的某些权利和优越地位是维护这种虚荣心的手段。
②法语：如果您从这个观点看问题。
他的论据简明而扼要。
“这个维护荣誉、维护热心进取的源泉的制度，是类似伟大的拿破仑皇帝的Légion　l'honneur①的制度，它不仅无害，而且有助于事业成就，不过它不是阶层或宫廷的优越地位和权力。”
“我不争辩，但不能否认，宫廷的优越地位和权力达到了同样的目的，”安德烈公爵说，“每个朝臣都认为自己应当名副其实地履行职务。”
“公爵，可是您不想利用优越的职位，”斯佩兰斯基说，面露微笑，借以表示他想客客气气地结束这场使对话人感到尴尬的辩论。“如果您在礼拜三光临敝舍，”他补充说，“我和马格尼茨基磋商之后，便把使您感兴趣的事情告诉您，此外，我将有机会更详细地和您谈谈。”他闭上眼睛，行鞠躬礼，à　la　francaise②，不辞而退，极力不引人注意，走出了大厅。 
①法语：荣誉团。
②法语：照法国方式。
Book 6 Chapter 6
DURING THE FIRST PART of his stay in Petersburg, Prince Andrey found all the habits of thought he had formed in his solitary life completely obscured by the trifling cares which engrossed him in Petersburg.
In the evening on returning home he noted down in his memorandum-book four or five unavoidable visits or appointments for fixed hours. The mechanism of life, the arrangement of his day, so as to be in time everywhere, absorbed the greater part of his vital energy. He did nothing, thought of nothing even, and had no time to think, but only talked, and talked successfully, of what he had had time to think about in the past in the country.
He sometimes noticed with dissatisfaction that it happened to him to repeat the same remarks on the same day to different audiences. But he was so busy for whole days together that he had no time to reflect that he was thinking of nothing. Just as at their first meeting at Kotchubey's, Speransky had a long and confidential talk with Prince Andrey on Wednesday at his own home, where he received Bolkonsky alone and made a great impression on him.
Prince Andrey regarded the immense mass of men as contemptible and worthless creatures, and he had such a longing to find in some other man the living pattern of that perfection after which he strove himself, that he was ready to believe that in Speransky he had found this ideal of a perfectly rational and virtuous man. Had Speransky belonged to the same world as Prince Andrey, had he been of the same breeding and moral traditions, Bolkonsky would soon have detected the weak, human, unheroic sides of his character; but this logical turn of mind was strange to him and inspired him with the more respect from his not fully understanding it. Besides this, Speransky, either because he appreciated Prince Andrey's abilities or because he thought it as well to secure his adherence, showed off his calm, impartial sagacity before Prince Andrey, and flattered him with that delicate flattery that goes hand in hand with conceit, and consists in a tacit assumption that one's companion and oneself are the only people capable of understanding all the folly of the rest of the world and the sagacity and profundity of their own ideas.
In the course of their long conversation on Wednesday evening Speransky said more than once: “Among us everything that is out of the common rut of tradition is looked at,” … or with a smile: “But we want the wolves to be well fed and the sheep to be unhurt.” … or: “They can't grasp that” … and always with an expression that said. “We, you and I, we understand what they are and who we are.”
This first long conversation with Speransky only strengthened the feeling with which Prince Andrey had seen him for the first time. He saw in him a man of vast intellect and sober, accurate judgment, who had attained power by energy and persistence, and was using it for the good of Russia only. In Prince Andrey's eyes Speransky was precisely the man—finding a rational explanation for all the phenomena of life, recognising as of importance only what was rational and capable of applying the standard of reason to everything—that he would have liked to be himself. Everything took a form so simple, so clear in Speransky's exposition of it that Prince Andrey could not help agreeing with him on every subject. If he argued and raised objections it was simply with the express object of being independent and not being entirely swayed by Speransky's ideas. Everything was right, everything was as it should be, yet one thing disconcerted Prince Andrey. That was the cold, mirror-like eye of Speransky, which seemed to refuse all admittance to his soul, and his flabby, white hand, at which Prince Andrey instinctively looked, as one usually does look at the hands of men who have power. That mirror-like eye and that flabby hand vaguely irritated Prince Andrey. He was disagreeably struck too by the excessive contempt for other people that he observed in Speransky, and by the variety of the lines of argument he employed in support of his views. He made use of every possible weapon of thought, except analogy, and his transitions from one line of defence to another seemed to Prince Andrey too violent. At one time he took his stand as a practical man and found fault with idealists, then he took a satirical line and jeered sarcastically at his opponents, then maintained a strictly logical position, or flew off into the domain of metaphysics. (This last resource was one he was particularly fond of using in argument.) He raised the question into the loftiest region of metaphysics, passed to definitions of space, of time, and of thought, and carrying off arguments to confute his opponent, descended again to the plane of the original discussion. What impressed Prince Andrey as the leading characteristic of Speransky's mind was his unhesitating, unmovable faith in the power and authority of the reason. It was plain that Speransky's brain could never admit the idea—so common with Prince Andrey—that one can never after all express all one thinks. It had never occurred to him to doubt whether all he thought and all he believed might not be meaningless nonsense. And that peculiarity of Speransky's mind was what attracted Prince Andrey most.
During the first period of his acquaintance with Speransky, Prince Andrey had a passionate and enthusiastic admiration for him, akin to what he had once felt for Bonaparte. The very fact that Speransky was the son of a priest, which enabled many foolish persons to regard him with vulgar contempt, as a member of a despised class, made Prince Andrey peculiarly delicate in dealing with his own feeling for Speransky and unconsciously strengthened it in him.
On that first evening that Bolkonsky spent with him, they talked of the commission for the revision of the legal code; and Speransky described ironically to Prince Andrey how the commission had been sitting for one hundred and fifty years, had cost millions, and had done nothing, and how Rosenkampf had pasted labels on all the various legislative codes.
“And that's all the state has got for the millions it has spent!” said he. “We want to give new judicial powers to the Senate, and we have no laws. That's why it is a sin for men like you, prince, not to be in the government.”
Prince Andrey observed that some education in jurisprudence was necessary for such work, and that he had none.
“But no one has, so what would you have? It's a circulus viciosus, which one must force some way out of.”
Within a week Prince Andrey was a member of the committee for the reconstruction of the army regulations, and—a thing he would never have expected—he was also chairman of a section of the commission for the revision of the legal code. At Speransky's request he took the first part of the civil code under revision; and with the help of the Napoleonic Code and the Code of Justinian he worked at the revision of the section on Personal Rights.
在彼得堡逗留期间，起初安德烈公爵感到，在彼得堡市他因琐事纷冗，这就把他在孤独的生活中形成的一大堆想法全弄模糊了。 
晚上回家时，他在记事手册中记下四五次必须出席的拜会，或者是定出时间的rendez－vous①。机械的生活、一日的时间的安排（务求随时随地准时办理应办的事情），耗费了他的大部分精力。他无所事事，甚至不思忖任何事情，而且也没有工夫去思忖，只是一味地叙述，巧妙地叙述他昔日在农村里深思熟虑的事情。 
①法语：约会。
他有时不满意地发觉，在同一天他在不同的交际场合反复地叙述同一件事情。但是他整天忙忙碌碌，以致于没有工夫来考虑他丝毫没有想到的事情。
嗣后于周三，斯佩兰斯基在自己家中单独地接待博尔孔斯基，这次接见也像在科丘别伊家里初次和他会面那样，斯佩兰斯基坦率地和他谈了很久的话，给安德烈公爵留下了强烈的印象。
安德烈公爵认为大多数人都是可鄙而渺小的人物，他很想在他人身上发现他所渴求的真正的美德的典范，他轻易地相信，他在斯佩兰斯基身上发现了十分明智的有美德的人的典范。如果斯佩兰斯基出身于安德烈公爵那个社会阶层，具有同样的教养和道德品质，那么博尔孔斯基很快就会发现他这个非英雄人物的、普通人固有的弱点，但现今这个令他惊异的聪明人的气质，因为未被他充分领会，所以更加引起了他的敬意。此外斯佩兰斯基是不是因为他器重安德烈公爵的才能，或者是因为他认为必须把他弄到自己手上来；所以斯佩兰斯基在安德烈公爵面前显示他那冷静而公正的理性，微妙地谄媚安德烈公爵，这种谄媚夹杂着过分的自信，即是说默认，只有对话人和自己才能理解所有其他人的愚昧，才能领会他那明智而深邃的思想。
礼拜三晚上，当他们长谈的时候，斯佩兰斯基不止一次地说：“大家都在观察我们的一切超出常轨的积习……”或者微笑着说：“不过，我们既要狼吃饱，又要羊不少……”或者说：“他们不能明白这一点……”总是流露出这样的表情，它仿佛在说：“我们就是：您和我，我们都了解，他们是什么人，我们是什么人。”
他头一次和斯佩兰斯基长谈，只会在安德烈公爵身上加强初次看见他时体会到的感觉。他认为他是一个富有理性的善于缜密思考的聪明绝顶的人，他以其全副精力和坚韧不拔的意志获得了权力，并用以仅为俄国谋求福利。斯佩兰斯基在安德烈公爵心目中是个这样的人：他能明智地说明生活中的各种现象，认为合理的现象才是真实的并善于应用理性的准则来衡量一切事物，他自己想要成为这样的人。斯佩兰斯基似乎将一切阐述得简单明了，以致安德烈公爵情不自禁地在各个方面赞同他的看法。若是他表示异议或者争论，那只是因为他想独树一帜，不想完全屈服于斯佩兰斯基的意见。这一切都是对的，一切都挺好，但是只有一点使安德烈公爵困惑不解，这就是斯佩兰斯基的目光——它显得冷漠、镜子一般清澈，使人无法洞察他的心灵，还有他那只洁白而柔嫩的手臂，安德烈公爵情不自禁地注视着它，就像人们通常观赏有权有势的人们的手臂那样。镜子般清澈的目光、这只又白又嫩的手臂不知怎的激怒了安德烈公爵。而且他发现斯佩兰斯基过分地蔑视他人，运用各种手法来论证自己的意见，这使安德烈公爵十分诧异，使他心里不高兴。除开不采用比喻而外，他采用了各种可以采用的思维手段，安德烈公爵仿佛觉得，他过分大胆地变换了一种又一种手段。他时而站在讲求实际的活动家的立场谴责幻想家，时而站在讽刺家的立场嘲笑自己的敌人，时而变得过分严谨，时而突然上升到形而上学领域（最后这一论证手段他尤为常用）。他把这一问题提到形而上学的高度，给空间、时间、思想下定义，从那里得出驳斥的论据，然后从上而下，又回到争论的范畴。
总的说来，使安德烈公爵感到惊讶的斯佩兰斯基的智慧的主要特点，是他对智慧的力量和合理性怀有无可置疑的坚定信念。由此可见，斯佩兰斯基的头脑中从来不会出现安德烈公爵认为平凡的思想，你毕竟不能表达你所想到的一切事情，也从来不会怀疑：我所想到的一切和我所相信的一切是否是无稽之谈？正是斯佩兰斯基这种特殊的思维方式最能引起安德烈公爵的注意。
安德烈公爵和斯佩兰斯基结识之初，他曾对他怀有强烈的钦佩感，如同以往他对波拿巴怀有的感情一样。斯佩兰斯基是牧师的儿子，一些愚昧的人可能会蔑视他这个替教堂跑腿的牧师的儿子，许多人都是这样的，正是这种情形迫使安德烈公爵特别珍视他对斯佩兰斯基的感情，而且不知不觉地在他内心深处加深了这种感情。
博尔孔斯基在斯佩兰斯基那里度过的头一个夜晚，斯佩兰斯基畅谈法律编辑委员会的情形，他带着讥讽的口气向他讲到，法律编辑委员会成立五十年，耗费资财几百万，毫无作为，只有罗森坎普夫在那比较法条文上贴了一张张标签。
“这就是国家花费几百万卢布所取得的全部成就啊！”他说道，“我们要赐予参政院以新的司法权，可是我们还没有法典。因此像您这种人，公爵，现在不应该不供职了。”
安德烈公爵说，干这项工作要受过法律教育，而他都没有这样的教育水准。
“谁也没有这样的教育水准，那您想怎么办呢？这是一个要费劲才能冲出去的circulus　uviciosus①。”
一星期以后，安德烈公爵竟当了军事条令编辑委员会委员，这是一件他根本意料不到的事，而且兼任法律编辑委员会中一个科的科长。根据斯佩兰斯基的要求，编辑民法第一部分，并且借助于Code　Napoléon和Justinian②，编写“人权”这一章的条文。 
①法语：魔力圈。
②法语：《拿破仑法典》和《查士丁尼法典》。
Book 6 Chapter 7
TWO YEARS BEFORE, at the beginning of 1808, Pierre had returned to Petersburg from his visits to his estates, and by no design of his own had taken a leading position among the freemasons in Petersburg. He organised dining and funeral lodges, enrolled new members, took an active part in the formation of different lodges, and the acquisition of authentic acts. He spent his money on the construction of temples, and, to the best of his powers, made up the arrears of alms, a matter in which the majority of members were niggardly and irregular. At his own expense, almost unaided, he maintained the poorhouse built by the order in Petersburg.
Meanwhile his life ran on in the old way, yielding to the same temptations and the same laxity. He liked a good dinner and he liked strong drink; and, though he thought it immoral and degrading to yield to them, he was unable to resist the temptations of the bachelor society in which he moved.
Yet even in the whirl of his active work and his dissipations, Pierre began, after the lapse of a year, to feel more and more as though the ground of freemasonry on which he had taken his stand was slipping away under his feet the more firmly he tried to rest on it. At the same time he felt that the further the ground slipped from under his feet, the more close was his bondage to the order. When he had entered the brotherhood he had felt like a man who confidently puts his foot down on the smooth surface of a bog. Having put one foot down, he had sunk in; and to convince himself of the firmness of the ground on which he stood, he had put the other foot down on it too, and had sunk in further, had stuck in the mud, and now was against his own will struggling knee-deep in the bog.
Osip Alexyevitch was not in Petersburg. (He had withdrawn from all participation in the affairs of the Petersburg lodge, and now never left Moscow.) All the brothers who were members of the lodge were people Pierre knew in daily life, and it was difficult for him to see in them simply brothers in freemasonry, and not Prince B., nor Ivan Vasilyevitch D., whom he knew in private life mostly as persons of weak and worthless character. Under their masonic aprons and emblems he could not help seeing the uniforms and the decorations they were striving after in mundane life. Often after collecting the alms and reckoning up twenty to thirty roubles promised—and for the most part left owing—from some ten members, of whom half were as well-off as Pierre himself, he thought of the masonic vow by which every brother promised to give up all his belongings for his neighbour; and doubts stirred in his soul from which he tried to escape.
He divided all the brothers he knew into four classes. In the first class he reckoned brothers who took no active interest in the affairs of the lodges nor in the service of humanity, but were occupied exclusively with the scientific secrets of the order, with questions relating to the threefold designation of God, or the three first elements of things—sulphur, mercury, and salt—or the significance of the square and all the figures of the Temple of Solomon. Pierre respected this class of masons, to which the elder brothers principally belonged—in it Pierre reckoned Osip Alexyevitch—but he did not share their interests. His heart wasn't in the mystic side of freemasonry.
In the second class Pierre included himself, and brothers like himself, wavering, seeking, and not yet finding in freemasonry a straight and fully understood path for themselves, but still hoping to find it.
In the third class he reckoned brothers—they formed the majority—who saw in freemasonry nothing but an external form and ceremonial, and valued the strict performance of that external form without troubling themselves about its import or significance. Such were Villarsky and the Grand Master of the lodge indeed.
The fourth class, too, included a great number of the brothers especially among those who had entered the brotherhood of late. These were men who, as far as Pierre could observe, had no belief in anything, nor desire of anything, but had entered the brotherhood simply for the sake of getting into touch with the wealthy young men, powerful through their connections or their rank, who were numerous in the lodge.
Pierre began to feel dissatisfied with what he was doing. Freemasonry, at least as he knew it here, seemed to him sometimes to rest simply upon formal observances. He never dreamed of doubting of freemasonry itself, but began to suspect that Russian freemasonry had got on to a false track, and was deviating from its original course. And so towards the end of the year Pierre went abroad to devote himself to the higher mysteries of the order.
It was in the summer of 1809 that Pierre returned to Petersburg. From the correspondence that passed between freemasons in Russia and abroad, it was known that Bezuhov had succeeded in gaining the confidence of many persons in high positions abroad; that he had been initiated into many mysteries, had been raised to a higher grade, and was bringing back with him much that would conduce to the progress of freemasonry in Russia. The Petersburg freemasons all came to see him, tried to ingratiate themselves with him, and all fancied that he had something in reserve that he was preparing for them.
A solemn assembly of the lodge of the second order was arranged, at which Pierre promised to communicate the message he had to give the Petersburg brothers from the highest leaders of the order abroad. The assembly was a full one. After the usual ceremonies Pierre got up and began to speak:
“Dear brothers,” he began, blushing and hesitating, with a written speech in his hand, “it is not enough to guard our secrets in the seclusion of the lodge,—what is needed is to act … to act. … We are falling into slumber, and we need to act.”
Pierre opened his manuscript and began to read.
“For the propagation of the pure truth and the attainment of virtue,” he read, “we must purify men from prejudice, diffuse principles in harmony with the spirit of the times, undertake the education of the younger generation, ally ourselves by indissoluble ties with the most enlightened men, boldly, and at the same time prudently, overcome superstition, infidelity, and folly, and form of those devoted to us men linked together by a common aim and possessed of power and authority.
“For the attainment of this aim we must secure to virtue the preponderance over vice; we must strive that the honest man may obtain his eternal reward even in this world. But in those great projects we are very gravely hindered by existing political institutions. What is to be done in the existing state of affairs? Are we to welcome revolutions, to overthrow everything, to repel violence by violence? … No, we are very far from that. Every reform by violence is to be deprecated, because it does little to correct the evil while men remain as they are, and because wisdom has no need of violence.
“The whole plan of our order should be founded on the training of men of character and virtue, bound together by unity of conviction and aim,—the aim of suppressing vice and folly everywhere by every means, and protecting talent and virtue, raising deserving persons out of the dust and enrolling them in our brotherhood. Only then will our order obtain the power insensibly to tie the hands of the promoters of disorder, and to control them without their being aware of it. In a word, we want to found a form of government holding universal sway, which should be diffused over the whole world without encroaching on civil obligations; under which all other governments could continue in their ordinary course and do all, except what hinders the great aim of our order, that is, the triumph of virtue over vice. This aim is that of Christianity itself. It has taught men to be holy and good, and for their own profit to follow the precept and example of better and wiser men.
“In times when all was plunged in darkness, exhortation alone was of course enough; the novelty of truth gave it peculiar force, but nowadays far more powerful means are necessary for us. Now a man guided by his senses needs to find in virtue a charm palpable to the senses. The passions cannot be uprooted; we must only attempt to direct them to a noble object, and so every one should be able to find satisfaction for his passions within the bounds of virtue, and our order should provide means to that end. As soon as we have a certain number of capable men in every state, each of them training again two others, and all keeping in close cooperation, then everything will be possible for our order, which has already done much in secret for the good of humanity.”
This speech did not merely make a great impression, it produced a thrill of excitement in the lodge. The majority of the brothers, seeing in this speech dangerous projects of “illuminism,” to Pierre's surprise received it coldly. The Grand Master began to raise objections to it; Pierre began to expound his own views with greater and greater heat. It was long since there had been so stormy a meeting. The lodge split up into parties; one party opposed Pierre, accusing him of “illuminism”; the other supported him. Pierre was for the first time at this meeting impressed by the endless multiplicity of men's minds, which leads to no truth being ever seen by two persons alike.
Even those among the members who seemed to be on his side interpreted him in their own way, with limitations and variations, to which he could not agree. What Pierre chiefly desired was always to transmit his thought to another exactly as he conceived it himself.
At the conclusion of the sitting, the Grand Master spoke with ill-will and irony to Bezuhov of his hasty temper; and observed that it was not love of virtue alone, but a passion for strife, that had guided him in the discussion.
Pierre made him no reply, but briefly inquired whether his proposal would be accepted. He was told that it would not be; and without waiting for the usual formalities, he left the lodge and went home. 
约于两年前，一八○八年，皮埃尔遍历领地后回到彼得堡。皮埃尔迫不得已当上了彼得堡共济会的首长。他兴办共济会分会的食堂，修建坟上的建筑物，招收新会员，关心各个分会的联系并求得真正的会约。他提供款项以兴建大厦，尽可能补足用于施舍的款子，大多数会员都很悭吝，不按时捐钱。他几乎独自一人自费维持共济会在彼得堡兴建的一座贫民院。 
与此同时，他的生活一如往常，仍旧沉溺于无度的纵欲。他爱吃美食，爱饮美酒，虽然他认为这是一种不道德的有损于自尊心的行为，但是他不能拒绝他所参与的单身汉社会的娱乐活动。
皮埃尔在忙于琐事和尽情寻欢作乐的氛围中度过一年之后，才开始觉得，他愈益想在共济会这片土地上站稳脚跟，他脚下这片土地就愈益下沉。同时他心里感到，他脚下这片被他踩着的土地陷得愈深，他就愈益不由自主地依附于它。当他着手参与共济会的活动的时候，他怀着那样一种感觉，就像某人信赖地把一只脚踩在泥沼地的平坦的表面似的。他把一只脚踩在上面，就陷下去了。为了要彻底弄清楚他所完全站的这片土地的硬度，他把另一只脚踩上去，陷得更深了，陷进泥沼里了，于是不由自主地在泥深没膝的沼泽地里走来走去。
约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇不在彼得堡。（他在近来辞去了彼得堡共济会分会的事情，在莫斯科过着深居简出的生活。）师兄师弟，共济会分会的会员都是皮埃尔平日里认识的人，他很难把他们只看成是共济会的师兄师弟，而不把他们看成是某某公爵，或某某伊凡·瓦西里耶维奇，他平日认识的这些人大部分都是软弱的微不足道的人物。在他们的围裙和会徽底下，他看见他们平日经过努力而得到的制服和十字勋章。皮埃尔常常募集施舍的款子，算算收入账目上从十个会员处得到的二十至三十卢布，大部分都是欠帐，但有一半人都像他一样有钱，因此皮埃尔想起共济会的誓词：每个共济会员起誓，为他人献出自己的全部财产，这时他心中产生一种他力求化除的疑团。
他把他所认识的师兄师弟们分成四类。他把不积极参加分会工作，也不介入世俗活动，而专门研究共济会的神秘教理，研究有关上帝的三位一体的称谓问题，或者有关三大因素：硫磺、汞与盐的问题，或者有关所罗门殿堂的正方形和各种物象的涵义问题。皮埃尔尊敬这一类师兄师弟，按照他的意见，主要是那些年老的师兄和约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇本人归属这一类，但是皮埃尔并没有他们同样的志趣。他的内心不处在共济会的神秘主义方面。
他把自己和类似自己的师兄师弟划归第二类，这些人都在探索，犹豫不决，他们在共济会中还没有找到适宜的直达的途径，但是都希望找到它。
他把这样一些师兄师弟划归第三类（他们的人数最多），这一类人只看见外部形式和仪式，在共济会中别无所睹，他们虽然珍惜这一严谨的外部形式，但不关心它的内容和意义。
维拉尔斯基，甚至连主要分会的头子均属此类。
此外，划归第四类的也有许多师兄师弟，尤其是最近加入此会的师弟。根据皮埃尔的观察，这些人既无任何信仰，亦无任何志向，他们加入共济会仅仅为与共济会中为数甚多的年轻富有的师兄师弟互相接近并与广于交际、出身于显贵门第的师兄师弟互相接近。
皮埃尔开始觉得，他不满意自己的活动。有时他仿佛觉得，共济会，至少是他在此地所熟谙的共济会只是基于表面形式而已。他根本不想怀疑共济会本身，但是他怀疑，俄国共济会在沿着一条错误的道路走下去，它已经背离自己的本源。因此皮埃尔于年底出国，藉以获得共济会上级的秘诀。
一八○九年夏天，皮埃尔回到彼得堡。根据我们共济会会员与国外通讯获悉，别祖霍夫在外国已经得到许多上层人士的信任，懂得了许多秘诀，被授予高位，并为俄国共济会的公共福利事业带回许多裨益。彼得堡的共济会员都来登门拜访，巴结他，大家都好像觉得，他在隐瞒着什么，他在筹备着什么。
二级分会的大会已确定举行，皮埃尔答应在分会作报告代替共济会最高领导人向彼得堡的师兄师弟们传达训谕的内容。出席会议的人多极了。在举行普通仪式后，皮埃尔站立起来致词。
“亲爱的师兄师弟，”他开腔了，涨红了脸，结结巴巴地说，手里拿着写好的讲演稿，“在分会的僻静之地只保守我们的秘密还是不够的，要采取行动……采取行动。我们都处在昏昏欲睡的状态，可是我们要采取行动。”皮埃尔拿起笔记本，开始念下去。
“为传播纯洁的真理并获得高尚品德，”他念着，“我们要荡涤人们的偏见，传播符合时代精神的准则，承担教育青年的义务，紧密地联合最聪明的人们，大胆地而且明智地克服迷信、无神论与愚昧现象，培养那些忠于我们的依靠共同目的互相联合的有权有势的人们。
“为臻达此一目的，应当使美德压服罪恶，应当竭尽全力使诚实的人们在今生凭藉自己的德行获得永久的赏赐。但是现时的政治机构给我们伟大的志向带来极大的障碍。在这种情况下怎么办呢？是不是应该促进革命，推翻现有的一切，用暴力驱逐暴力呢？……不行的，我们根本没有那样的意图。只要人们始终是这个样子，任何暴力改革都应当受到指责，因为它丝毫不能改掉邪恶；还因为明哲不需要暴力。
“共济会的全部计划必须建立在那种基础上：培养那些立场坚定、道德高尚并因有共同信念而互相联合的人，这种信念就在于，处处都竭尽全力去肃清罪恶和愚昧，并且庇护天才和美德，从灰烬中救出优秀人物，要他们加入我们共济会。那时候只有我们共济会才掌握权力——无情地束缚那些保护骚乱的人们的手臂，使他们不自觉地受到管制。一言以蔽之，必须确立总的治理方式，使它普及于整个世界，同时不得损害国民的相互关系；其馀一切治理机构可以继续存在，办理一切事务，只是不能阻碍我们共济会的伟大目标的实现，即是促使美德战胜罪恶。基督教本身立意实现这个目标。它教导人类要做个贤能而善良的人，为其自身的利益起见应以最优秀最贤明的人为榜样，遵循他们的教导。
“当一切沉浸于黑暗的时候，不消说，只要布道也就够了：以前不为人所共知的真理赋予它以特殊力量，但是我们现在需要的是至为有效的方法。现在要让受情欲支配的每个人在注重美德中发现肉欲的魅力。根除情欲是不可能的：只要极力地把它引向崇高的目的，因此务必使人人在德行界限内满足自己的情欲，我们共济会应为此提供各种方法。
“我们每个国家很快就会涌现某些优秀人物，他们每个人又教育另外两个人，他们紧密地互相结合起来，到那时候，对共济会来说一切都是可以实现的，因为它已经秘密地为人类的福利作出了许多贡献。”
这篇讲话在分会不仅造成强烈的印象，而且引起了波动。大多数师兄师弟在这篇讲话中看见光明教的危险企图，对他的讲演表现出那种使皮埃尔感到诧异的冷淡态度。教头开始反驳皮埃尔。皮埃尔开始发挥自己的思想，情绪越来越高涨。很久以来都没有举行这么热烈的讨论会了。这里形成了两派：有的人指责皮埃尔，批判他的光明教思想；另一些人支持他。在这次会上，使皮埃尔初次感到惊讶的是，人的智慧无穷无尽，各不相同，这就会导致，两个人对任何真理似乎都有不同的见解。甚至连那些站在他一边的会员似乎也对他有不同的理解，而理解往往受到限制，会发生变化，这是他不能赞同的，因为皮埃尔的主要的心愿正是在于将他所理解的思想如实地传授给他人。
会议结束之后，教头不怀好意地轻蔑地指责别祖霍夫，说他急躁，并且说，不是对美德的热爱，而是对争斗的浓厚兴趣在争论中支配他。皮埃尔不去回答他的话，简略地问问，是否会接受他的建议。人家告诉他，他的建议不会被采纳，于是皮埃尔不等举行例行的仪式，便走出分会，乘车回家去。
Book 6 Chapter 8
AGAIN PIERRE was overtaken by that despondency he so dreaded. For three days after the delivery of his speech at the lodge he lay on a sofa at home, seeing no one, and going nowhere.
At this time he received a letter from his wife who besought him to see her, wrote of her unhappiness on his account, and her desire to devote her whole life to him.
At the end of the letter she informed him that in a day or two she would arrive in Petersburg from abroad.
The letter was followed up by one of the freemasons whom Pierre respected least bursting in upon his solitude. Turning the conversation upon Pierre's matrimonial affairs, he gave him, by way of brotherly counsel, his opinion that his severity to his wife was wrong, and that Pierre was departing from the first principles of freemasonry in not forgiving the penitent. At the same time his mother-in-law, Prince Vassily's wife, sent to him, beseeching him to visit her, if only for a few minutes, to discuss a matter of great importance. Pierre saw there was a conspiracy against him, that they meant to reconcile him with his wife, and he did not even dislike this in the mood in which he then was. Nothing mattered to him; Pierre regarded nothing in life as a matter of great consequence, and under the influence of the despondency which had taken possession of him, he attached no significance either to his own freedom or to having his own way be punishing his wife.
“No one is right, no one is to blame, and so she, too, is not to blame,” he thought. If Pierre did not at once give his consent to being reunited to his wife, it was simply because in the despondent state into which he had lapsed, he was incapable of taking any line of action. Had his wife come to him, he could not now have driven her away. Could it matter beside the questions that were absorbing Pierre, whether he live with his wife or not?
Without answering either his wife or his mother-in-law, Pierre at once set off late in the evening and drove to Moscow to see Osip Alexyevitch.
This is what Pierre wrote in his diary.
“Moscow, November 17.—I have only just come from seeing my benefactor, and I hasten to note down all I have been feeling. Osip Alexyevitch lives in poverty, and has been for three years past suffering from a painful disease of the bladder. No one has ever heard from him a groan or a word of complaint. From morning till late at night, except at the times when he partakes of the very plainest food, he is working at science. He received me graciously, and made me sit down on the bed on which he was lying. I made him the sign of the Knights of the East and of Jerusalem; he responded with the same, and asked me with a gentle smile what I had learned and gained in the Prussian and Scottish lodges. I told him everything as best I could, repeating to him the principles of action I had proposed in our Petersburg lodge, and telling him of the unfavourable reception given me, and the rupture between me and the brothers. Osip Alexyevitch, after some silent thought, laid all his own views of the subject before me, which immediately threw light on all the past and all the course that lies before me. He surprised me by asking whether I remembered the threefold aim of the order—(1) the preservation and study of the holy mystery; (2) the purification and reformation of self for its reception; and (3) the improvement of the human race through striving for such purification. Which, he asked, was the first and greatest of those three aims? Undoubtedly self-reformation and self-purification. It is only towards that aim that we can always strive independently of all circumstances. But at the same time it is just that aim which requires of us the greatest effort, and therefore, led astray by pride, we let that aim drop, and either strive to penetrate to the mystery which we are unworthy in our impurity to receive, or seek after the reformation of the human race, while we are ourselves setting an example of vice and abomination. ‘Illuminism' is not a pure doctrine precisely because it is seduced by worldly activity and puffed up with pride. On this ground Osip Alexyevitch censured my speech and all I am doing. At the bottom of my heart I agreed with him. Talking of my domestic affairs, he said to me: ‘The first duty of a mason, as I have told you, is the perfection of himself. But often we imagine that by removing all the difficulties of our life, we may better attain this aim. It is quite the contrary, sir,' he said to me: ‘it is only in the midst of the cares of the world that we can reach the three great aims—(1) self-knowledge, for a man can know himself only by comparison; (2) greater perfection, which can only be obtained by conflict; and (3) the attainment of the chief virtue—love of death. Only the corruptions of life can show us all its vanity, and strengthen our innate love for death, or rather regeneration into new life.' These words were the more remarkable as Osip Alexyevitch, in spite of his grievous physical sufferings, is never weary of life, though he loves death, for which he does not, in spite of all the purity and loftiness of his inner man, yet feel himself prepared. Then my benefactor explained to me fully the significance of the great square of creation, and pointed out that the third and the seventh number are the basis of everything. He counselled me not to withdraw from co-operation with the Petersburg brothers, and while undertaking duties only of the second order in the lodge, to endeavour to draw the brothers away from the seductions of pride, and to turn them into the true path of self-knowledge and self-perfection. Moreover, for myself personally, he advised me first of all to keep a watch over myself, and with that aim he gave me a manuscript-book, the one in which I am writing now, and am to note down all my actions in the future.”
“Petersburg, November 23.—I am reconciled with my wife. My mother-in-law came to me in tears, and said that Ellen was here, and that she besought me to hear her; that she was innocent, that she was miserable at my desertion of her, and a great deal more. I knew that if I once let myself see her, I should not be able to refuse to accede to her wishes. In my uncertainty, I did not know to whose help and advice to have recourse. If my benefactor had been here, he would have told me what to do. I retired to my own room, read over the letters of Osip Alexyevitch, recalled my conversations with him, and from all that I reached the conclusion that I ought not to refuse a suppliant, and ought to hold out a helping hand to every one, and, above all, to a person so closely connected with me, and that I must bear my cross. But if I forgive her for the sake of doing right, at least let my reunion with her have a spiritual end only. So I decided, and so I wrote to Osip Alexyevitch. I said to my wife that I begged her to forget all the past, that I begged her to forgive whatever wrong I might have done her, and that I had nothing to forgive her. It was a joy to me to tell her that. May she never know how painful it was to me to see her again! I have installed myself in the upper rooms in this great house, and I am conscious of a happy feeling of beginning anew.”
皮埃尔心中又产生了一种他最畏惧的苦闷。他在分会讲演后，接连有三天躺在家中的长沙发上，什么人都不接见，什么地方都不去。 
这时他接到妻子的来信，她恳求和他相会并且在信中写到思念他，希望把她自己的一生奉献给他。
她在这封信的末尾通知他，在最近几天内她从国外回到彼得堡。
紧跟着妻子的来信，有个最不受皮埃尔尊敬的共济会的同参闯进了他的僻静的地方，这个人谈到皮埃尔的夫妻关系，表述了自己的看法，他以此作为师兄弟的忠告，这个人说到皮埃尔对他妻子的苛刻态度是不合理的，皮埃尔不肯宽容悔改的妻子，他就背离了共济会的首要规则。
就是在这个时候，他的岳母，瓦西里公爵的妻子派人来找他，央求他那怕费花几分钟见见她也好，她要商谈一件极为重要的事情。皮埃尔看见，这是个和他作对的阴谋，他们想要他和妻子结合在一起，而在他所处的境况下，这样做甚至不会使他觉得不痛快。他反正一样。皮埃尔并不认为生活中会有什么意义重大的事情，他受到眼前支配他的难以忍受的苦闷的影响，他既不珍视自己的自由，也不重视他顽固地惩罚妻子的傻劲。
“谁也不对，谁也无罪，因此她也无罪，”他想道。如果皮埃尔没有马上同意和妻子结合，那只是因为他陷入苦闷之中，他不能采取任何行动。如果他妻子到他身边来了，现在他是不会把她赶走的。与那吸引住皮埃尔的注意力的事情相比，与他妻子住在一起，或者不住在一起，岂不都是无所谓？
无论对妻子，抑或对岳母，皮埃尔都不答复，于一日深夜启程，前往莫斯科拜谒约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇。下面是皮埃尔写的日记。
“莫斯科，十一月十七日。
方才我从恩主那里回来，我现正急忙记下我所感受
的一切。约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇的生活贫穷，两年多以来身患令人折磨的膀胱炎。从来没有谁听见他的呻吟或怨言。从清早直至深夜，除开吃便饭花费一些时间而外，其他时间全部用来钻研科学。他亲热地接待我，请我坐在他所躺的那张床上，我向他作了个东方骑士和耶路撒冷骑士的手势，他以同样的手势作答，脸上含着温顺的微笑，问我在普鲁士分会和苏格兰分会有什么见闻，有什么收获。我尽可能把一切情形都讲给他听，把我在我们彼得堡分会提出的基本原理转告他，把我所遭受的冷遇、我和师兄师弟断绝关系的情形告诉他。约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇沉默地思忖了良久，并向我阐述他对所有这一切的观点，他的观点霎时间照亮了我的一桩桩往事和我面前的未来的道路。他使我感到诧异，问我是不是记得共济会的三大目的：（一）保守与认识秘密；
（二）为领悟第一目的而净化自己，改造自己；（三）致力于这种净化，藉之以改造全人类。在这三大目的中哪一个目的是首要目的？自然，自我净化和改造是首要目的。只不过我们经常可以不依赖各种环境去达到这个目的。但是与此同时，这个目的又要求我们付出最大的努力，如果我们由于骄傲而误入歧途，以致于放弃这个目的，我们就得为神秘的哲理而奋斗，可是我们由于心地不纯而不配去领会这个玄理，否则，如果我们自己都是卑鄙和淫荡行为的坏榜样，那末，我们就要为改造全人类而奋斗。光明教的教义不是纯洁的教理，正是因为它迷恋于社会活动，才显得傲气十足。约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇根据这个理由来谴责我的演说词和我的全部活动。我在灵魂深处是赞同他的意见的。当我们谈到我的家事的时候，他对我说：正如我对您说的，真正的共济会的主要职责乃在于自我完善。但是我常常想到，只有排除我们生活上的一切困难，我们才能更快地达到这个目的；反之，阁下，他对我说，只有在尘世的骚动中我们才能达到三大目的：（一）自我认识，盖因人类只借助于比较才能认识自己；（二）自我完善，只有借助于斗争才能达到自我完善；（三）获致主要的德行——爱死亡。
只有人生的波折才能向我们证明人生的空虚，才能有助于我们加深对死亡或新生的天赋的爱。这些话说得十分中肯，因为约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇在肉体上痛苦万分，尽管如此，他从未感到生活的苦恼，他热爱死亡，尽管他这个人的内心纯洁和高尚，但是他觉得他对死亡还没有充分的准备。后来这位恩人对我充分地说明宇宙的大正方形的意义，并且指出，三和七这两个数目是世界的基础。他劝我切莫回避彼得堡的师兄师弟，劝我在分会中只担任次要职务，极力地诱使师兄师弟戒除骄傲，把他们引向自我认识和自我完善的正路。除此之外，他规劝我检点自己，并为此给我一本笔记簿，今后我将自己的一切行为都记在这本笔记簿上。”
“彼得堡，十一月二十三日。
我又和妻子同居了。我岳母含着泪水到我这里来，并且告诉我，海伦在这里，她央求我要听她的话，她没有罪过，我把她遗弃，使她感到不幸福，她还对我说了许多别的话。我知道，如果我只让我自己去看她，那末，我再也不能拒绝她的请求了。我没有把握，不晓得要找谁帮忙，要向谁求教。如果我的恩主在这里，他就会讲给我听的。我回到自己房间里，把约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇的信件翻阅了几遍，想起了我和他的谈话，从中得出结论，我不应拒绝请求的人，我应该向每个人伸出援助的手，何况这个人和我的关系这么密切，我应当忍气吞声痛苦地度日。但若我为了德行而宽恕她，那也说得过去，我和她的结合将会具有一个精神的目的。我就是这样拿定主意的，我就是这样给约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇写信的。我对妻子说，要她忘记过去的一切，我有什么对不起她的地方，请她宽恕我，我是没有什么可宽恕她的。把这些话说给她听，我很高兴，不让她知道，我又看见她时心里多么难受。我在大住宅的楼上安顿下来，感觉到获得新生的幸福。”
Book 6 Chapter 9
AT THAT TIME, as always indeed, the exalted society that met at court and at the great balls was split up into several circles, each of which had its special tone. The largest among them was the French circle—supporting the Napoleonic alliance—the circle of Count Rumyantsev and Caulaincourt. In this circle Ellen took a leading position, as soon as she had established herself in her husband's house in Petersburg. She received the members of the French embassy, and a great number of people, noted for their wit and their politeness, and belonging to that political section.
Ellen had been at Erfurt at the time of the famous meeting of the Emperors; and had there formed close ties with all the notable figures in Europe belonging to the Napoleonic circle. In Erfurt she had been brilliantly successful. Napoleon himself, seeing her at the theatre, had asked who she was, and admired her beauty. Her triumphs in the character of a beautiful and elegant woman did not surprise Pierre, for with years she had become even more beautiful than before. But what did surprise him was that during the last two years his wife had succeeded in gaining a reputation as “a charming woman, as witty as she is beautiful,” as was said of her. The distinguished Prince de Ligne wrote her letters of eight pages. Bilibin treasured up his mots to utter them for the first time before Countess Bezuhov. To be received in Countess Bezuhov's salon was looked upon as a certificate of intellect. Young men read up subjects before one of Ellen's soirées, so as to be able to talk of something in her salon, and secretaries of the embassy, and even ambassadors, confided diplomatic secrets to her, so that Ellen was in a way a power. It was with a strange feeling of perplexity and alarm that Pierre, who knew she was very stupid, sometimes at her dinners and soirées, listened to conversation about politics, poetry, and philosophy. At these soirées he experienced a sensation such as a conjuror must feel who expects every moment that his trick will be discovered. But either because stupidity was just what was needed for the successful management of such a salon, or because those who were deceived took pleasure in the deception, the cheat was not discovered, and the reputation of “a charming woman” clung so persistently to Elena Vassilyevna Bezuhov, that she could utter the vulgarest and stupidest speeches, and every one was just as enthusiastic over every word, and eagerly found in it a profound meaning of which she did not dream herself.
Pierre was exactly the husband needed by this brilliant society woman. He was that absent-minded, eccentric, grand seigneur of a husband, who got in nobody's way and far from spoiling the general impression of the highest tone in her drawing-room, formed by his contrast with his wife's elegance and tact an advantageous foil to her. Pierre's continual concentration on immaterial interests during the last two years, and his genuine contempt for everything else, gave him in his wife's circle, which did not interest him, that tone of unconcern, indifference, and benevolence towards all alike, which cannot be acquired artificially, and for that reason commands involuntary respect. He entered his wife's drawing-room as though it were a theatre, was acquainted with every one, equally affable to all, and to all equally indifferent. Sometimes he took part in conversation on some subject that interested him, and then, without any consideration whether the “gentlemen of the embassy” were present or not, he mumbled out his opinions, which were by no means always in harmony with the received catch-words of the time. But the public estimate of the eccentric husband of “the most distinguished woman in Petersburg” was now so well established that no one took his sallies seriously.
Among the numerous young men, who were daily to be seen in Ellen's house, Boris Drubetskoy, who had by now achieved marked success in the service, was, after Ellen's return from Erfurt, the most intimate friend of the Bezuhov household. Ellen used to call him “mon page,” and treated him like a child. Her smile for him was the same smile she bestowed on all, but it was sometimes distasteful to Pierre to see that smile. Boris behaved to Pierre with a marked, dignified, and mournful respectfulness. This shade of respectfulness too disturbed Pierre. He had suffered so much three years before from the mortification caused him by his wife, that now he secured himself from all possibility of similar mortification; in the first place, by being his wife's husband only in name, and secondly, by not allowing himself to suspect anything. “No, now she has become a blue-stocking, she has renounced for ever her former errors,” he said to himself. “There has never been an instance of a blue-stocking giving way to tender passions,” he repeated to himself; a maxim he had picked up somewhere and implicitly believed. But, strange to say, the presence of Boris in his wife's drawing-room (and he was almost always there) had a physical effect on Pierre; it seemed to make all his limbs contract, and destroyed the unconsciousness and freedom of his movement.
“Such a strange antipathy,” thought Pierre; “and at one time I really liked him very much.”
In the eyes of the world, Pierre was a great lord, the rather blind and absurd husband of a distinguished wife; a clever eccentric, who did nothing but who was no trouble to any one, a good-natured, capital fellow. In Pierre's soul all this while a complex and laborious process of inner development was going on that revealed much to him and led him to many spiritual doubts and joys.
像平常一样，当时的上层社会人士在朝廷和在大型舞会上联合起来，分成几个小团体，这些小团体都有各自的特色。法国人的小团体，即是由鲁缅采夫伯爵和科兰库尔①领导的拿破仑同盟，这是其中一个人数众多的小团体。一当海伦和丈夫在彼得堡定居，海伦就在这个小团体中占有至为显著的地位。法国使馆的先生和以智慧及礼貌著称于世并属于这一派系的人士，都常到海伦家里来串门。 
适值闻名于世的两国皇帝的会晤期间，海伦在埃尔富特，她在那里就和欧洲所有亲拿破仑的著名人物建立了人际关系，从那里带来了一份交情。她在埃尔富特大受欢迎。拿破仑本人在剧院里发现她之后，便问她是谁，并且对她的美貌给予高度评价。她这个姿色优美而文雅的妇女取得的成功不会使皮埃尔感到惊奇，因为随着时间的推移，她比从前变得更美丽了。但是使他感到惊奇的是，在这两年之内她的妻子已享有名声“d'une　femme　charmante，aussi　spirituelle　que　belle”②。大名鼎鼎的prince　de　ligne③用八页纸给她写长信。比利宾正在搜集mots④，目的是要在别祖霍夫伯爵夫人露面时头一次把它说出来。在别祖霍夫伯爵夫人客厅中受到招待，被认为是聪明的证明；在海伦举办晚会前，一些年轻人阅读一本本的书，目的是要在她的客厅中有话可谈；大使馆的秘书们，甚至公使们都把外交上的秘密告诉她，因此海伦在某种程度上是个颇有势力的女人。皮埃尔知道，她非常愚昧，他有时怀有困惑和恐惧的古怪感觉去出席她的晚会和宴会，人们在那里经常谈论政治、诗歌和哲学。在这些晚会上他常常怀有那样的感觉，就像魔术家每次登台总会预料他的骗术眼看要被人揭穿时他理应体会到的那种感觉。然而，是否是因为主持这种客厅活动正需要愚昧无知，或是因为被欺骗的人们自己要在这种骗术中寻找乐趣，欺骗是不会被人揭穿的，海伦·瓦西里耶夫娜·别祖霍娃这个d'une　femme　charmante　et　spirituelle⑤的名声不可动摇地确立起来了，以致她可以说些最庸俗而愚蠢的话，大家还是会赞赏她的每句话，并且从中找到连她自己也意料不到的深刻的涵义。 
①科兰库尔（1773～1827），法国贵族，侯爵，拿破仑的追随者，1807～1811年间，驻彼得堡公使。
②法语：多么聪明，多么迷人的可爱的女人。
③法语：德利涅公爵。
④法语：俏皮话。
⑤法语：既可爱而又聪明的女人。
皮埃尔正是这个杰出的交际界的妇女所需要的丈夫。他是个心不在焉的古怪人，是身为grand　seigneur①般的丈夫，他不妨碍任何人，非但不损坏人们对高贵客厅的一般印象，而且因为他和妻子的优雅与委婉态度有所不同，反而构成了对她有利的衬景。皮埃尔在这两年以来因为经常一味地满足精神上的需求，公然蔑视其他一切，在他感到乏味的妻子的交际场所养成了一种漠不关心、疏忽大意和对一切人表示赞许的态度，这种态度并非装腔作势，因此不禁会引起人们的尊敬。他走进妻子的客厅，就像走进戏院似的，他认识所有的人，他看见所有的人时心里同样地高兴，又对所有的人同样地漠不关心。有时他参加他很感兴趣的谈话，那时候他不考虑les　messieurs　de　l'ambassade②是不是都在这里，他口齿不清地说出自己的意见，有时候这些意见完全不符合当时谈话的调子。但是，对这个de　la　femme　la　plus　disAtinguee　de　Pétersbourg③的古怪的丈夫的看法已经固定下来，以致谁也不能au　sérieux④对待他的狂妄的论调。 
①法语：贵族大老爷。
②法语：大使馆的先生们。
③法语：彼得堡的至为杰出的妇女。
④法语：认真地。
在天天都到海伦家里来串门的许多青年中，鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊在事业上已经有很大的成就，海伦从埃尔富特回来后，他是别祖霍夫家中的一个最亲近的人。海伦称他为mon　page①，像对待儿童一样对待他。她对他就像对大家一样，还是流露着同样的微笑，但是有时候皮埃尔看见这种笑容就不高兴，鲍里斯于是露出特别庄重的、忧愁而且尊敬的表情，和皮埃尔打起交道来。这种尊敬的意味也使皮埃尔感到焦灼。三年前皮埃尔的妻子使他遭受到凌辱，他觉得十分痛苦，而今他得以使他自己不再遭受类似的屈辱，首先是因为他不是他妻子的丈夫，其次是因为他不容许他自己的狐疑。
“不，她现在已经变成了ba　bleu②，永远抛弃了从前的风流韵事，”他自言自语地说，“女学究醉心于风流韵事，尚无前例。”他自言自语地重复一条不知从哪里摘出的，使他坚信不疑的行为准则。但是，真奇怪，鲍里斯在他妻子客厅中的露面（他几乎经常在那儿露面）对皮埃尔的身体产生了一种影响，他的四肢仿佛被捆绑起来，他的动作被阻碍，变得不自然，也不灵活。 
①法语：我的少年侍从官。
②法语：我的少年女学究。
“多么古怪的反感，”皮埃尔想道，“可是从前我甚至非常喜欢他。”
在上流社会人士的心目中，皮埃尔是个大老爷，是遐迩闻名的妻子的略嫌盲目而且可笑的丈夫，聪颖的怪人，又是个无所事事，但不伤害任何人的大好人。在这段时间里皮埃尔的内心经历着一个复杂而艰苦的智力发展过程，这使他获得许多启示，并且使他产生许多疑惑和快感。
Book 6 Chapter 10
HE KEPT UP his diary and this was what he was writing in it at that time:
“November 24.—I got up at eight o'clock, read the Scriptures, then went to my duties” (Pierre by the advice of Osip Alexyevitch was serving on one of the government committees), “came back to dinner, dined alone (the countess had a lot of guests whom I did not care for), ate and drank with moderation, and after dinner copied out passages for the brothers. In the evening I went down to the countess, and told a ridiculous story about B., and only bethought myself that I ought not to have done so, when every one was laughing loudly at it.
“I went to bed with a calm and happy spirit. Great Lord, help me to walk in Thy paths: (1) to flee anger by gentleness and deliberation; (2) to flee lust by self-restraint and loathing; (3) to escape from the turmoil of the world without cutting myself off from (a) the duties of my political work, (b) the cares of my household, (c) relations with my friends, and (d) the management of my finances.”
“November 27.—I got up late and lay a long while in bed after I was awake, giving way to sloth. My God, help me and strengthen me that I may walk in Thy ways. Read the Scriptures, but without proper feeling. Brother Urusov came: talked of the cares of this world. He told me of the Tsar's new projects. I was beginning to criticise them, but remembered my principles and the words of my benefactor, that a true mason ought to be zealous in working for the state, when his aid is required, but should look on quietly at what he is not called upon to assist in. My tongue is my enemy. Brothers G.V. and O. visited me; there was a conversation preliminary to the reception of a new brother. They lay upon me the duty of rhetor. I feel weak and unworthy. Then there was talk of the interpretation of the seven pillars and steps of the Temple, of the seven sciences, the seven virtues, the seven vices, the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. Brother O. was very eloquent. In the evening the reception took place. The new decoration of the building added a good deal to the magnificence of the spectacle. Boris Drubetskoy was admitted. I had proposed him, and I was the rhetor. A strange feeling troubled me all the time I was with him in the dark temple. I detected in myself a feeling of hatred, which I studiously strove to overcome. And I could sincerely have desired to save him from evil and to lead him into the way of truth, but evil thoughts of him never left me. The thought came to me that his object in entering the brotherhood was simply to gain the intimacy and favour of men in our lodge. Apart from the fact that he several times asked me whether N. or S. were not members of our lodge (a question I could not answer), he is incapable, so far as my observation goes, of feeling a reverence for our holy order, and is too much occupied, and too well satisfied with the outer man, to care much for the improvement of the spiritual man. I had no grounds for doubting of him, but he seemed to me insincere; and all the time I stood face to face with him in the dark temple I kept fancying he was smiling contemptuously at my words, and I should have liked really to stab his bare chest with the sword I held pointed at it. I could not be eloquent, and could not sincerely communicate my doubts to the brothers and the Grand Master. O Great Architect of Nature, help me to find the true path that leads out of the labyrinth of falsehood!”
After this three pages of the diary were left blank, and then had been written:
“I had a long and instructive conversation with brother V., who advised me not to abandon brother A. Much was revealed to me, unworthy as I am. Adonai is the name of the creator of worlds. Elohim is the name of the ruler of all. The third name, the name unutterable, has the significance of the All. Talks with brother V. strengthen and refresh me and confirm me in the path of virtue. In his presence there is no room for doubt. I see clearly the distinction between the poor doctrine of mundane science and our sacred, all-embracing teaching. Human sciences dissect everything to understand it, and destroy everything to analyse it. In the sacred science of our order all is one, all is known for its combination and life. The trinity—the three elements of things—are sulphur, mercury, and salt. Sulphur is of an oily and fiery nature; in its combination with salt by its fiery quality it arouses a craving in it, by means of which it attracts mercury, fastens upon it, holds it, and in combination with it forms various substances. Mercury is the unsubstantial, floating, spiritual essence—Christ, the Holy Ghost, Him.”
“December 3.—I waked up late, read the Scripture, but was unmoved by it. Afterwards I went down and walked up and down the big hall. I tried to meditate; but instead of that my imagination brought before me an incident which occurred four years ago. Dolohov, meeting me after my duel in Moscow, said to me that he hoped I was now enjoying complete mental peace in spite of my wife's absence. At the time I made him no answer. Now I recalled all the details of that interview, and in my mind made him the most vindictive and biting retorts. I recovered myself and drove away that idea, only when I had caught myself in a passion of anger; but I did not repent of it sufficiently. Afterwards Boris Drubetskoy came and began describing various incidents. The moment he came in I felt amazed at his visit and said something horrid to him. He retorted. I got hot, and said a great deal to him that was disagreeable and even rude. He did not reply, and I checked myself only when it was too late. My God, I cannot get on with him at all. It is myself too that is to blame for it. I set myself above him, and so I become far inferior to him, for he is lenient to my rudeness, while I nourish a contempt for him. My God, grant me that in his presence I may see more clearly my own vileness and act so that it may be profitable to him too. After dinner I went to sleep, and just as I was falling asleep, I distinctly heard a voice saying in my left ear: ‘Thy day.'
“I dreamed I was walking along in the dark and was all of a sudden surrounded by dogs, but I went on undismayed; all at once one small dog seized me by the thigh with its teeth and would not let go. I tried to strangle it with my hands. And as soon as I tore it off, another, a bigger one, began to bite me. I lifted it up, and the more I lifted it up, the bigger and heavier it became. And suddenly brother A. came up, and taking me by the arm, led me away with him and brought me into a building, to enter which we had to pass over a narrow plank. I stepped on it, and the plank bent and gave way, and I began clambering on the fence, which I just managed to get hold of with my hands. After great efforts I dragged my body up, so that my legs were hanging over on one side and my body on the other. I looked round and saw brother A. standing on the fence and pointing out to me a great avenue and garden, and in the garden a great and beautiful building. I waked up. Lord, Great Architect of Nature, help me to tear away these dogs—my evil passions and especially the last—that unites in itself the violence of all the former ones, and aid me to enter that temple of virtue, of which I was vouchsafed a vision in my sleep.”
“December 7.—I dreamed that Osip Alexyevitch was sitting in my house, and I was very glad to see him and eager to entertain him. But in my dream I kept chattering away incessantly with other people, and all at once I bethought myself that this could not be to his liking and I wanted to come close to him and to embrace him. But as soon as I approached him, I saw that his face was transformed, and had grown young, and he said something to me softly, some doctrine of our order, but so softly that I could not catch it. Then we all seemed to go out of the room, and something strange happened. We were sitting or lying on the floor. He was telling me something. But in my dream I longed to show him my devotional feeling, and, not listening to his words, I began picturing to myself the state of my own inner man, and the grace of God sanctifying me. And tears came into my eyes, and I was glad that he noticed it. But he glanced at me with vexation, and jumped up, breaking off his conversation with me. I was abashed and asked him whether what he had been saying did not concern me. But he made no reply, but gave me a friendly look, and then all of a sudden we found ourselves in my bedroom, where stood a big double bed. He lay down on the edge of it, and I seemed to be filled with a desire to embrace him and to lie down too. And in my dream he asked me, ‘Tell me the truth, what is your chief temptation? Do you know it? I believe that you do know it.' Abashed at this question, I answered that sloth was my besetting temptation. He shook his head incredulously. And even more abashed, I told him that though I was living here with my wife, I was not living with her as a husband. To this he replied that I had no right to deprive my wife of my embraces, and gave me to understand that this was my duty. But I answered that I should be ashamed of it, and suddenly everything vanished. And I waked up, and in my mind there was the text of scripture: ‘And the life was the light of man, and the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not.'
“The face of Osip Alexyevitch had been youthful and bright-looking. That day I received a letter from my benefactor, in which he wrote to me of my conjugal duties.
“December 9.—I had a dream from which I waked up with a throbbing heart. I dreamed I was in Moscow in my own house, in the big divan-room, and Osip Alexyevitch came out of the drawing-room. I dreamed that I knew at once that the process of regeneration had begun in him, and I rushed to meet him. I kissed his face and his hands, while he said: ‘Do you notice that my face is different?' I looked at him, still holding him in my arms, and I dreamed that I saw that his face was young, but he had no hair on his head and his features were quite different. And I dreamed that I said to him: ‘I should have recognised you if I had met you by chance'; and thought as I said it, ‘Am I telling the truth?' And all at once I saw him lying like a dead body; then he gradually came to himself again and went with me into the big study, holding a big folio book of manuscript. And I dreamed I said: ‘I wrote that.' And he answered me by an inclination of the head. I opened the book, and on all the pages were fine drawings. And in my dream I knew that these pictures depicted the soul's love adventures with its beloved. And I saw a beautiful presentment of a maiden in transparent garments and with a transparent body flying up to the clouds. And I seemed to know that this maiden was nothing else but the figure of the Song of Songs. And in my dream, as I looked at these pictures, I felt I was doing wrong and could not tear myself away from them. Lord, help me! My God, if Thy forsaking me is Thy doing, then Thy will be done; but if I am myself the cause, teach me what I am to do. I perish from my vileness as though Thou wast utterly forsaking me.”
他继续写他自己的日记，这就是他在这段时间内所写的日记： 
“十一月二十四日。
八点钟起床，读圣书，然后去上班（皮埃尔遵从恩
主的忠告，到一个委员会去供职），午饭前回家，独自一人进午餐（伯爵夫人那里有许多我所厌恶的人），饮食有节制，午餐后替师兄师弟誊写圣书。夜晚到伯爵夫人那里去，叙述JI．的荒唐可笑的经历，当众人哈哈大笑时，我才想起我不应当这样做。
我满怀幸福和平静的心情就寝。伟大的主，你帮助
我走你的人生之路：（一）以宁静、从容之心克服愤怒；
（二）以节制和厌恶之心克服淫欲；（三）回避尘世的空虚，但是不应逃避：甲、国事；乙、家务；丙、友好关系；丁、经济事务。”
“十一月二十七日。
起来得很迟，睡醒之后，现出一副懒洋洋的样子，久久地躺在床上。我的天啊！帮助我吧，让我更坚定吧，使我能够走你的人生之路。我读着圣书，但缺乏应有的感情。师兄乌鲁索夫来了，我们谈论有关尘世的空虚。他叙述的是国王的新规划。我正要开始斥责，但是想到自己的行为准则和我们恩主讲的话：当国家需要真正的共济会员参与活动的时候，他应当是个热心的国事活动家，如果他没有这样的使命，他就应当是个头脑冷静的旁观者。我的舌头是我的敌人。T．B．和O．这几个师兄弟都来探望我了，为着接纳一个新师弟，事前举行了一次会商。他们要我承担教师的职务。我觉得自己缺乏能力，不配当教师。然后我们谈到圣殿的七柱和七级阶梯的说明，圣灵的七门科学，七大美德，七大罪恶和七大赏赐。
O．师兄能言善辩。晚上举行了接纳会员的仪式。这栋屋子的新颖的布局增添了许多壮丽的景色。鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊已被接纳为会员。我推荐他，由我来充当教师。
我和他在这间黑暗的神殿中停留时，有一种奇异的感觉使我忐忑不安。我自己心中忽然产生一种徒然力图克服的对他的仇恨。我诚心地想挽救他，使他摆脱邪恶，并且引导他走上真理之路，但是我无法抛弃我对他的不良的想法。我禁不住会想到，他加入共济会的目的只是想与人们接近，想受宠于我们分会的成员而已。他几次探听我们分会中是否有N．和S．（我不能回答他这个问题），除开这些根据而外，单凭我的观察，就知道他不善于尊重我们神圣的共济会，他过分注重外表，对外表感到满意，以致缺乏精神改善的意图，我没有理由对他表示怀疑，但是我仿佛觉得他不够诚实，当我和他单独地站在黑暗的神殿中时，我始终觉得，他对我所说的话报以轻蔑的微笑，我真想用我握在手中对准他的长剑刺伤他那袒露的胸膛。我没法说得头头是道，我也没法把我疑惑的心情如实地告诉师兄师弟的教头。大自然的建筑师，请你帮助我找到脱离虚伪的迷宫的真理之路。”
在此之后，日记中空出了三页，然后写了如下一段话：
“我和师兄B．两人单独地作了一次大有教益的长谈。他劝我和师兄A．继续保持联系。他的谈话使我这个不配做会员的人明白了很多事。阿多奈是创世主的名字。埃洛因是万物的主宰的名字。第三个名字是非言语所能表达的名字，它的含义是万物。我和师兄B．的谈话使我在获致高尚品德的道路上增强力量，振作精神，坚定自己的信念。在他面前没有什么值得猜疑的地方。我可以将社会科学的贫乏理论和我们神圣的无所不包的教理分辨得一清二楚。人类的科学为了理解而把一切加以划分，为了分析而使一切遭受扼杀。在共济会的神圣学理中，一切事物都是统一的，一切事物在它的总体和生活中加以认识。三位一体即是物质的三大要素：硫磺、水银和盐。琉璜含有橄榄油和火的特性，它与盐化合，凭藉火力能引起渴望，借助于这种渴望它能够吸引水银，粘住它，加以稳定，共同产生出单个的物体。水银是液体的、易于挥发的精神实体，即是基督、圣灵、他。”
“十二月三日。
醒来得很迟，读圣书，但缺乏感情，然后走出房间
来，在大厅里踱方步。想思索一下，但在脑海中浮现的竟是四年前的一件事。多洛霍夫先生和我决斗后在莫斯科和我会面了，他对我说，他抱有一个希望：目前在我身边尽管没有妻子，但他希望我充分地享受安乐。那时候我无话作答。而今我想到这次会面的详情细节，于是在心中对他说了极其恶毒的话，作出了讽刺性的回答。在我看见自己暴跳如雷的时候，我才清醒过来，抛弃了这个念头，但是这件事不足以使我后悔。嗣后鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊来访，他开始对我叙述了各种意外的事，他一进来我就对他这次来访感到很不满，并且对他讲了一些讨厌的话，他对我所说的话表示异议。我勃然大怒，对他说了许多刺耳的、甚至是粗鲁的话。他沉默不言，当我醒悟过来的时候，已经太晚了。我的天啊，我完全不会和他打交道。这是我的过分自尊所造成的。我将我自己凌驾于他之上，因此就变得比他恶劣得多，因为他对我的粗鲁行为百般地迁就，而我相反地，一向蔑视他。我的天啊，让我在他面前更多地看见我的龌龊行为，这样做，目的是要他从中获得裨益。午饭后我睡了一觉，当我快要睡熟的时候，我清晰地听见有人对着我的左耳说话的声音：‘你的一天。'
我梦见我在黑暗中前进，忽然间我被几只狗包围住
了，但是我毫无畏惧地走着，忽然间一只小狗咬住我的左大腿不放。我开始用两只手勒它的脖子。刚刚把它拖开了，另一只更大的狗开始咬我。我把它举起来，举得越高，它就变得越大越重。忽然师兄A．走来，挽起我的一只手，领着我向前走去，又把我领到一栋楼房前面，只有沿着一条狭窄的木板才能走进这栋楼房。我踩在木板上，木板向一边歪斜，倒塌了，我开始往那堵用两手勉强够得着的围墙爬上去。我花了很大的劲才挪动身子，爬越围墙，把两只脚悬在围墙的一边，把躯干悬在围墙的另一边。我环顾四周，看见师兄A．站在围墙上，向我指着那条宽大的林荫道和一座花园，花园里面有一幢雅致而高大的楼房。我睡醒了。天主啊，大自然的建筑师啊！帮助我挣脱这几只狗——我觉得可怕的狗，帮助我挣脱它们之中的那只把原先几只狗的力量聚集于一身的狗，帮助我步入我在梦中目睹的象征美德的神殿。”
“十二月七日。
我做了一个梦，仿佛梦见约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇
坐在我家里，我非常高兴，很想款待他。我好像和几个闲人滔滔不绝地谈，我突然想到他不喜欢这一套，我想靠近他，并且拥抱他。但一向他靠近，我就望见，他的脸变样了，变得年轻了，他向我低声地说点什么引自共济会教义中的话，嗓音很低，我简直听不清楚。之后我们都好像从房里走出来了，这时候发生了一件古怪的事。
我们坐在地板上，或者躺在地板上。他对我说了几句什么话。可是我好像很想向他表示，我深受感动，我没有倾听他讲话，忽然想象到自己内心的状态以及上帝的恩典。我的泪水夺眶而出，他注意到了，我觉得满意。但他懊丧地瞟了我一眼，跳起来了，打断了谈话。我胆怯起来，问问他，那话儿是否是对我说的，但他一句话也不回答，向我显示着亲热的样子，紧接着，我们忽然不知不觉地走到我的那间放着一张双人床的卧室。他躺在床沿上，我好像充满着对他表示亲热的心情，在这儿躺下憩息一会儿。他好像问我：‘老实告诉我，您有什么主要的嗜好？您是否知道？我想，您体验到了。'这个问题使我感到困窘不安，我回答说懒惰是我的主要癖好。他不信任地摇摇头。我愈加感到不安，回答他，说我虽然根据他的忠告和妻子同居，但我不是我妻子的丈夫。他对此表示异议，说不应该使妻子得不到爱抚，让我感觉到，这是我的责任所在。但我回答说，这使我感到羞怯，忽然这一切消逝了。我睡醒了，想到了圣书上的一段话：‘·生·命·就·是·人·的·光，·光·在·黑·暗·中·照·亮，·黑·暗·笼·罩·不·住·它。'
约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇的面孔显得年轻而明朗。这天他接获恩主的来函，他在书函中写到有关夫妇的责任。”
“十二月九日。
做了一个梦，从梦中醒来我不寒而栗，心里突突跳，仿佛梦见我呆在莫斯科住宅中的一间宽大的休息室中，约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇从客厅中走出来。我好像立刻知道，他已经结束了获得新生的过程，我向前跑去迎接他。我仿佛吻了他的手，他对我说：‘你是否发觉，我的面孔已经变成了另一个样子？'我向他的面孔看了一眼，继续把他抱在自己怀里，我仿佛看见，他的面孔显得年轻，可是他头上没有头发了，而且面容完全不同了。我仿佛对他说：‘如果我虽然和您会面，我准会把您认出来。'与此同时我又想：‘我是否说了实话？'我突然看见他像死尸似的躺着，后来逐渐地恢复了知觉，他手中拿着用高级图画纸手写的一本大书，跟我一同走进大书斋。我仿佛对他说：‘这是我所素描的。'他垂下头来回答。我打开书本，在这本书里页页都素描得非常美观。我仿佛知道，这些图画的内容就是灵魂和它的情人恋爱的奇异经历。在这本书上我仿佛望见那个穿着透明的衣裳、身体也显得透明的、飞向云霄的美丽诱人的少女的画像。我仿佛知道，这个少女无非是《雅歌》的形象。我看着这些图画，我仿佛觉得我的行为恶劣，但我却不能把目光从这些图画上移开。主啊，请你帮助我吧！我的天，如果你把我抛弃，这是你所采取的行动，那就听你的便吧，如果我自己招致不幸，那么就请你指教，我该怎么办。如果你把我完全抛弃，那么我就要因为贪淫好色而毁灭。”
Book 6 Chapter 11
THE ROSTOVS' PECUNIARY POSITION had not improved during the two years they had spent in the country. Although Nikolay Rostov had kept firmly to his resolution, and was still living in a modest way in an obscure regiment, spending comparatively little, the manner of life at Otradnoe, and still more Mitenka's management of affairs, were such that debts went on unchecked, growing bigger every year. The sole resource that presented itself to the old count as the obvious thing to do was to enter the government service, and he had come to Petersburg to seek a post and at the same time, as he said, to let his poor wenches enjoy themselves for the last time.
Soon after the Rostovs' arrival in Petersburg, Berg made Vera an offer, and his offer was accepted. Although in Moscow the Rostovs belonged to the best society—themselves unaware of the fact, and never troubling themselves to consider what society they belonged to—yet in Petersburg their position was an uncertain and indefinite one. In Petersburg they were provincials; and were not visited by the very people who in Moscow had dined at the Rostovs' expense without their inquiring to what society they belonged.
The Rostovs kept open house in Petersburg, just as they used to do in Moscow; and at their suppers people of the most diverse sorts could be seen together—country neighbours, old and not well-to-do country gentlemen with their daughters, and the old maid-of-honour, Madame Peronsky, Pierre Bezuhov, and the son of their district postmaster, who was in an office in Petersburg. Of the men who were constantly at the Rostovs' house in Petersburg, the most intimate friends of the family were very soon Boris, Pierre, who had been met in the street by the old count and dragged home by him, and Berg, who spent whole days with the Rostovs, and paid the elder of the young countesses, Vera, every attention a young man can pay who intends to make a proposal.
Not in vain had Berg shown everybody his right hand that had been wounded at Austerlitz, and the sword quite unnecessarily held in his left. He had related this episode to everybody so persistently and with such an air of importance, that every one had come to believe in the utility and merit of the feat, and Berg had received two decorations for Austerlitz.
In the war in Finland, too, he had succeeded in distinguishing himself. He had picked up a fragment of a grenade, by which an adjutant had been killed close to the commander-in-chief, and had carried this fragment to his commander. Again, as after Austerlitz, he talked to every one at such length and with such persistency about this incident that people ended by believing that this, too, was something that ought to have been done, and Berg received two decorations for the Finnish war too. In 1809 he was a captain in the guards with decorations on his breast, and was filling some particularly profitable posts in Petersburg.
Though there were some sceptics who smiled when Berg's merits were mentioned before them, it could not be denied that Berg was a gallant officer, punctual in the discharge of his duties, in excellent repute with the authorities, and a conscientious young man with a brilliant career before him and a secure position, indeed, in society.
Four years before, on meeting a German comrade in the parterre of a Moscow theatre, Berg had pointed out to him Vera Rostov, and said to him in German, “That girl will be my wife.” From that moment he had made up his mind to marry her. Now in Petersburg, after duly considering the Rostovs' position and his own, he decided that the time had come and made his offer.
Berg's proposal was received at first with a hesitation by no means flattering for him. It seemed a strange idea at first that the son of an obscure Livonian gentleman should propose for the hand of a Countess Rostov. But Berg's leading characteristic was an egoism so na?ve and good-natured that the Rostovs unconsciously began to think that it must be a good thing since he was himself so firmly convinced that it would be a good thing, and indeed a very good thing. The Rostovs were, moreover, seriously embarrassed in their pecuniary affairs, a fact of which the suitor could not but be aware; and what was the chief consideration, Vera was now four-and-twenty, and had been brought out everywhere; and, in spite of the fact that she was undeniably good-looking and sensible, no one had hitherto made her an offer. The offer was accepted.
“You see,” Berg said to a comrade, whom he called his friend—only because he knew all people do have friends—“you see, I have taken everything into consideration, and I should not have got married if I had not thought it well over, or if it had been unsuitable in any way. But at present my papa and mamma are well provided for, I have secured them the lease of that place in the Ostsee district, and I can live in Petersburg with my pay and her fortune and my careful habits. We can get along nicely. I'm not marrying for money, I consider that ungentlemanly, but the wife ought to bring her share and the husband his. I have my position in the service; she has connections and some small means. That's worth something nowadays, isn't it? And what's the chief consideration, she's handsome, estimable girl, and she loves me.…”
Berg blushed and smiled.
“And I love her because she has a character that is reasonable and very nice. Her sister now—though they are of the same family—is utterly different, and her character is disagreeable, and she has none of that intelligence, but something you know … I don't like. … But my betrothed … You must come and see us; come to …” Berg, went on; he was going to say “to dinner,” but on second thoughts he said “to tea,” and putting out his tongue he blew a little ring of tobacco smoke that embodied for him all his dreams of happiness.
The first feeling of hesitation aroused in the parents by Berg's proposal had been followed by the festivity and rejoicing in the family usual on such occasions, but the rejoicing was apparent and not genuine.
A certain embarrassment and shamefacedness could be detected in the feelings of the relations in regard to this marriage. It was as though their conscience smote them for not having been very fond of Vera and of being so ready now to get her off their hands. The old count was more disconcerted over it than any one. He would most likely have been unable to say what made him feel so, but his financial difficulties were at the root of the matter. He absolutely did not know what he had, how much his debts amounted to, and what he would be in a position to give for Vera's dowry. Each of his daughters had at their birth been assigned a portion, consisting of an estate with three hundred serfs on it. But one of those estates had by now been sold, and the other had been mortgaged, and the interest was so much in arrears that it would have to be sold, so that to give this estate was impossible. There was no money either.
Berg had been betrothed more than a month, and it was only a week before the date fixed for the wedding, but the count was still unable to come to a decision on the subject of the dowry, and had not spoken of it to his wife. At one time the count thought of making over the Ryazan estate to Vera, then he thought of selling his forest, then of borrowing money on a note of hand.
A few days before the wedding, Berg went early in the morning into the count's study, and with an agreeable smile, respectfully invited his father-in-law to let him know what fortune would be given with the Countess Vera. The count was so much disconcerted by this long-foreseen inquiry that, without thinking, he said the first thing that came into his head.
“I like your being businesslike about it, I like it; you will be quite satisfied…”
And clapping Berg on the shoulder, he got up, intending to cut short the conversation. But Berg, smiling blandly, announced that if he were not to know for certain what would be given with Vera, and to receive at least part of the dowry in advance, he would be obliged to break off the marriage. “Because, you must consider, count, if I were to allow myself to marry now without having a definite security for the maintenance of my wife I should be acting like a scoundrel…”
The conversation ended by the count, in his anxiety to be generous and to avoid further requests, saying that he would give him a note of hand for eighty thousand. Berg smiled gently, kissed the count on the shoulder, and said that he was very grateful, but could not make his arrangements in his new life without receiving thirty thousand in ready money. “Twenty thousand at least, count,” he added, “and then a note of hand simply for sixty thousand.”
“Yes, yes, very good,” said the count hurriedly. “Only excuse me, my dear boy, I'll give you twenty thousand and the note of hand for eighty thousand as well. That's all right, kiss me.”
罗斯托夫家在农村居住的两年之内，他们都感到拮据，情况还没有好转。 
虽然尼古拉·罗斯托夫坚持自己的主见，在偏远的兵团里默默无闻地继续供职，花费的金钱比较少了，但是在奥特拉德诺耶过着那么恶劣的生活，特别是米坚卡那样料理事情，以致于债务与年俱增。老伯爵显然以为，唯一的接济家庭的办法，就是在机关供职，于是他来到彼得堡谋求差事，正如他所说的那样，要谋差事，同时要最后一次让姑娘们感到点快慰。
罗斯托夫家来到彼得堡后不久，贝格向薇拉求婚，他的求婚被接受了。
虽然罗斯托夫家在莫斯科属于上层社会，他们自己并不知道，也未曾想到他们属于什么样的社会，但在彼得堡，他们的社会是很混杂的，不稳定的。在彼得堡他们是外省人，那些不探听他们属于何种社会，不屈尊俯就他们的人，在莫斯科都曾受到罗斯托夫家的款待。
罗斯托夫家在彼得堡就像在莫斯科一样殷勤地接待客人，形形色色的人士都在他们的晚宴上集会：奥特拉德诺耶的邻人、不富裕的老地主及其女儿们、宫廷女官佩龙斯卡娅、皮埃尔·别祖霍夫和在彼得堡服务的县邮政支局局长的儿子。在男客之中，鲍里斯·皮埃尔和贝格很快就成了彼得堡的罗斯托夫家中亲密的客人；如果老伯爵在街上遇见皮埃尔，他就会强拉硬拽地把他请到自己家中去做客；贝格在罗斯托夫家中消度整天整天的时光，他对伯爵的大小姐非常关心，通常只有意欲求婚的年轻人才会对她这样关怀备至。
贝格并非平白地让大家看看他那只在奥斯特利茨战役负伤的右手，他用左手握着一柄毫无用途的军刀。他一个劲儿、意味深长地向大家讲述这一事件，以致大家相信，他的作为是合理的、值得称颂的，而贝格因于奥斯特利茨立功而获得两枚奖章。
他在芬兰战争中也立了功。一枚手榴弹炸死了在总司令身边的副官，贝格拣起榴弹的碎片，把它送到长官面前。就像在奥斯特利茨战役后那样，他又长久地、执着地向大家讲这一事件，以致大家同样地相信，贝格必须这样做，他于是又因于芬兰战争中立功而获得两枚奖章。一八○九年，他佩戴勋章荣任近卫军上尉，并且在彼得堡据有特别有利的地位。
虽然有些自由思想家也微露笑容，当人们对他们提起贝格的优点时，他们不得不承认，贝格已改邪归正，是个勇敢的军官，他博得长官的好感，又是个道德高尚的青年，而且具有锦绣前程，甚至在社会上已取得巩固地位。
四年前贝格在莫斯科戏院的池座中遇见一个德国籍同事，他把薇拉·罗斯托娃指给他看，并且说了一句德国话：“Das　soll　mein　Weib　werden．”①从那时起他决定娶她为妻。眼前在彼得堡，他把罗斯托夫家的和他自己的地位加以比照，于是断定，时机到了，就向她求婚。 
①德语：瞧，她将是我的妻子。
起初，人们都怀着一种使贝格觉得不愉快的疑惑心情来看待他的求婚。起初，人们都认为奇怪的是，一个利沃尼亚的愚昧无知的贵族的儿子居然向伯爵小姐罗斯托娃求婚，但是贝格主要的性格特征在于他的天真而温厚的利己主义，这使罗斯托夫一家人情不自禁地想到，既然他本人坚信，这是一件美妙的事情，甚至是一件非常美妙的事情，那末这必定是一件美妙的事情。而且罗斯托夫之家的事业遭受到很大的挫折，这种情况未婚夫不是无所知的，主要是，薇拉现年二十四岁，她常常出门做客，到外应酬，毋庸置疑她虽然长得俊俏，能明辨是非，但是直至如今还没有谁向她求婚，因此也就同意了。
“您要知道，”贝格对他的同事说，他称他做朋友只是因为他晓得所有的人都有朋友。“您要知道，我把这一切都考虑到了，假如我不考虑全部情况，假如由于某种原因不应当这样做，假如我不考虑全部情况，那么我就不会娶她了。而今适得其反，我的爹娘生活上已有保障，我给他们在波罗的海东部边区料理了地租这件事，而我自己有一份薪俸，她有一份财产，兼之我兢兢业业，可以在彼得堡活下去了。还可以活得很好。我不是为钱才娶她为妻，我认为贪钱是不高尚的行为，但是总得要妻子把她的一份财产从娘家带来，而丈夫也要拿出他自己的那一份。我有我的一份差事，她有她的人情关系，还有不多的钱财，在我们这个时代，这事儿总会起着一点什么作用，不是么？而主要是她长得非常漂亮，是个令人敬重的姑娘，而且她爱我……”
贝格涨红了脸，微微一笑。
“我之所以爱她，因为她的性格很好，偏重理性。她还有一个同姓的妹妹，就完全不同，她的性格令人厌恶，没有她那样聪明，就是这么一个人，知道么？……令人厌恶……而我的未婚妻……将来您会常常到我这儿来的……”贝格继续说，他本想说一声“吃午饭”，但是改变了主意，他说：“喝茶吧。”他飞快把舌头向前一伸，吐出一个充分体现幸福梦想的圆圆的小烟圈儿。
贝格的求婚使她的双亲头一次产生困窘的感觉之后，家庭中洋溢着常在这种场合出现的节日气氛和欢乐景象，但是这种快乐不是真实的，而是表面的。亲人们对这门婚事显然流露着一种惊惶不安和羞愧的心情。现在他们觉得好像很不好意思，因为他们很少疼爱薇拉，现在竟然甘愿把她从手上丢掉。老伯爵心里觉得最腼腆。他也许还不善于说明他困窘不安的原因，而这个原因就是他在钱财方面的拮据。他压根儿不知道，他有多少钱财，他有多少债务，他能拿出什么给薇拉作妆奁。假如生了几个女儿，按照规定要将一个具有三百农奴的村庄给每个女儿作陪嫁，可是有一个村庄已经卖掉了，另外一个业已典当，而且过了期限，只得把这个村庄卖出去，因此陪送领地的事儿就办不成了，也没有现钞。
贝格已经当了一个多月的未婚夫，离举行婚礼只有一个星期，伯爵还没有解决备办嫁妆的问题，也没有亲自和妻子提及这件事。伯爵时而想把梁赞的领地拨给薇拉，时而想卖出森林，时而想贷进一笔钱。结婚前几天，贝格一清早就走进伯爵的书斋，面露愉快的微笑，恭恭敬敬地请他未来的岳父告诉他，伯爵小姐薇拉可以得到什么妆奁。伯爵一听到这个老早就预感到的问题，觉得不好意思，他未经深思熟虑便说出他头脑首先想到的话。
“你这样关心，我很喜欢，你感到满意，我很喜欢……”
他于是拍拍贝格的肩膀，站起来，想停止谈话。但是贝格面露愉快的微笑，解释说，如果他没法确切地知道他们会拨给薇拉什么财产作嫁妆，如果他不能事先得到他们预定拨给她的陪嫁中的哪怕一部分，他就不得不拒绝这门婚事。
“原因是这样，伯爵，请您考虑一下，如果我现在没有一定数量的钱财来维持妻子的生活，就让自己来结婚，那我就算干了可鄙的勾当……”
谈来谈去，谈到最后，伯爵想对他宽宏大量，不要他一再提出要求，于是开口说，他给贝格八万卢布的期票。贝格温顺地微微一笑，吻吻伯爵的肩头，并且说，他非常感激，但在没有得到三万卢布现款以前，现在决不能安排新生活。
“伯爵，即使给两万卢布也好，”他补充说，“那末，期票只给六万卢布。”
“对，对，很好，”伯爵像放连珠炮似的说，“只不过请你原谅，朋友，我给你两万卢布，此外给你八万卢布的期票。那么你吻吻我吧。”
Book 6 Chapter 12
NATASHA was sixteen, and it was the year 1809, that year to which she had reckoned up on her fingers with Boris, after she had kissed him four years before. Since then she had not once seen him. When Boris was mentioned she would speak quite freely of it before Sonya and her mother, treating it as a settled thing that all that had passed between them was childish nonsense, not worth talking of and long ago forgotten. But in the most secret recesses of her soul the question whether her engagement to Boris were really a mere jest or a solemn, binding promise worried her.
Ever since Boris had left Moscow in 1805 to go into the army he had not once seen the Rostovs. Several times he had been in Moscow, and in travelling had passed not far from Otradnoe, but he had not once been at the Rostovs'.
It had sometimes occurred to Natasha that he did not want to see her, and her surmises had been confirmed by the mournful tone in which he was referred to by her elders.
“Old friends are soon forgotten nowadays,” the countess would say after Boris had been mentioned.
Anna Mihalovna had taken in these latter days to seeing less of the Rostovs. There was a marked dignity, too, in her manner with them, and she spoke on every occasion with thankfulness and enthusiasm of her son's great abilities and brilliant career. When the Rostovs arrived in Petersburg Boris came to call on them.
It was not without emotion that he came to see them. His reminiscences of Natasha were Boris's most poetic memories. But at the same time he came to call on them firmly resolved to make her and her relations feel that the childish vows between Natasha and him could have no binding force for her or for him. He had a brilliant position in society, thanks to his intimacy with Countess Bezuhov; a brilliant position in the service, thanks to the protection of a great person whose confidence he had completely won; and he was beginning to make plans for marrying one of the richest heiresses in Petersburg, plans which might very easily be realised. When Boris went into the Rostovs' drawing-room, Natasha was in her own room. On hearing of his arrival she almost ran with a flushed face into the drawing-room, radiant with a smile that was more than cordial.
Boris had thought of Natasha as the little girl he had known four years before in a short frock, with black eyes glancing under her curls, and a desperate, childish giggle; and so, when a quite different Natasha came in, he was taken aback and his face expressed surprise and admiration. His expression delighted Natasha.
“Well, would you know your mischievous little playmate?” said the countess. Boris kissed Natasha's hand, and said he was surprised at the change in her.
“How pretty you have grown!”
“I should hope so!” was the answer in Natasha's laughing eyes.
“And does papa look older?” she asked.
Natasha sat still, taking no part in the talk between Boris and her mother. Silently and minutely she scrutinised the young man who had been her suitor in her childhood. He felt oppressed by that persistent, friendly gaze, and glanced once or twice at her.
The uniform, the spurs, the tie, the way Boris had brushed his hair,—it was all fashionable and comme il faut. That Natasha noticed at once. He sat a little sideways on a low chair beside the countess, with his right hand smacking the exquisitely clean and perfectly fitting glove on his left. He talked with a peculiar, refined compression of the lips about the divisions of the best society in Petersburg; with faint irony referred to old days in Moscow and old Moscow acquaintances. Not unintentionally, as Natasha felt, he mentioned some of the highest aristocracy, alluded to the ambassador's ball, at which he had been present, and to invitations from N. N. and from S. S.
Natasha sat the whole time without speaking, looking up from under her brows at him. Her eyes made Boris more and more uneasy and embarrassed. He looked round more frequently at Natasha, and broke off in his sentences. After staying no more than ten minutes he got up and took leave. Still the same curious, challenging, and rather ironical eyes gazed at him. After his first visit, Boris said to himself that Natasha was as attractive to him as she had been in the past, but that he must not give way to his feelings, because to marry her—a girl almost without fortune—would be the ruin of his career, and to renew their old relations without any intention of marriage would be dishonourable. Boris resolved to avoid meeting Natasha; but in spite of this resolution he came a few days later, and began to come often, and to spend whole days at the Rostovs'. He fancied that it was essential for him to have a frank explanation with Natasha, to tell her that all the past must be forgotten, that in spite of everything…she could not be his wife, that he had no means, and that they would never consent to her marrying him. But he always failed to do so, and felt an awkwardness in approaching the subject. Every day he became more and more entangled. Natasha—so her mother and Sonya judged—seemed to be in love with Boris, as in the past. She sang for him her favourite songs, showed him her album, made him write in it, would not let him refer to the past, making him feel how delightful she considered the present; and every day he went home in a whirl without having said what he meant to say, not knowing what he was doing, why he had come, and how it would end. Boris gave up visiting Ellen, received reproachful notes every day from her, and still spent whole days together at the Rostovs'.
娜塔莎年方十六岁，时值一八○九年，正是她和鲍里斯在四年前接吻以后屈指数到的那年。从那时起她一次也没有看见鲍里斯。当话题涉及鲍里斯时，就像提起一件已经决定了的事情，她在索尼娅和母亲面前很随便地谈到这一切往事无非是孩子气的举动，不值得启齿，老早就遗忘了。但是在她那隐秘的灵魂深处，她对鲍里斯作出的保证是否是戏言，还是紧要的、具有约束力的诺言，这个问题一直使她觉得难受。 
自从一八○五年鲍里斯从莫斯科去参军以来，他就未曾和罗斯托夫一家人会面。他有几次从离奥特拉德诺耶不远的地方经过，回到莫斯科，但是一回也没有到罗斯托夫家里去。
娜塔莎有时想到，他不愿意看见她，长辈在谈到他时常用的忧愁的语调，证实了她的猜测。
“当今之世没有人会想念老朋友。”伯爵夫人在有人提到鲍里斯之后接着这样说。
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜迩来较少地到罗斯托夫家里去，不知何故她的举止也特别庄重，她每次都兴奋地、感激地谈到她儿子的长处以及他的锦绣前程。当罗斯托夫一家人来到彼得堡时，鲍里斯便去访问他们。
他的心情不无激动地走到他们那里去。鲍里斯对娜塔莎的想念是最富有诗意的。而与此同时，他在途中就怀有坚定的意图，要让她和她的父母明确地意识到，他和娜塔莎的童年时代互相许下的诺言，无论是对他，还是对她，都不可能是必须履行的义务。他因与伯爵夫人别祖霍娃有密切关系，所以他在社会上的处境十分美满，又因他有一位要人庇护他，所以他的职位十分显赫，他完全博得这位要人的信任，他于是打算娶一个彼得堡的最富有的及笄的姑娘，他的这种打算在当时是很容易实现的。当鲍里斯走进罗斯托夫家的客厅时，娜塔莎正在她自己房里。她知道他的到来之后，满面通红，喜气洋洋，流露出过分亲热的微笑，几乎是跑着走进客厅里去。
鲍里斯记得四前他认识的娜塔莎，那时她穿着短短的连衣裙，长着一对乌黑的、从卷发下面闪闪发亮的眼睛，可以听见她的无所顾忌的孩子气的笑声，因此，在这个完全不同的娜塔莎走进来的时候，他觉得腼腆起来，他的脸上显示出喜悦和惊奇。他这种脸部表情使娜塔莎感到高兴。
“怎么，你认得你的淘气的小女朋友么？”伯爵夫人说。鲍里斯吻吻娜塔莎的手，并且说，她身上发生的变化使他感到惊讶。
“您比以前好看多了！”
“当然！”娜塔莎的发笑的眼睛答道。
“可是爸爸变老了？”她问道。娜塔莎坐下来，没有参加鲍里斯和伯爵夫人的谈话，一言不发地仔细打量她的童年时代的追求者。他身上感觉到这种温和的、凝神注视他的目光的沉重的压力，有时朝她瞥上一眼。
鲍里斯的制服、马刺、领带、发式——这一切都是最时髦的，很不错的（comme　il　faut①）。娜塔莎立刻看出来了。他稍微侧着身子坐在伯爵夫人身旁的安乐椅上，用右手整一整搁在左手上的那只最干净的套得紧紧的手套，特别文雅地闭紧嘴唇，提起彼得堡上流社会的娱乐活动，带着温厚的嘲笑的意味回想起莫斯科的往日的好光景和莫斯科的熟人。他和娜塔莎的感受有所不同，他并非毫无用意地说出高级贵族的姓名，提及他曾出席的公使举办的舞会，以及赴NN和SS出席宴会的请帖。 
①法语：很不错的。
娜塔莎始终默不作声地坐着，皱起眉头望着他。这种目光使鲍里斯感到困窘不安。他更频繁地窥视娜塔莎的眼神，不止一次地使讲话中断。他坐了不到十分钟，就站起来行礼告别。依然是那双好奇的、挑衅性的、略带讥讽意味的眼睛不住地端详着他。在第一次访问后，鲍里斯对自己说，娜塔莎还像从前一样使他着迷，但他不应当沉溺于这种感情，因为娶她这个几乎没有钱财的姑娘会断送他的前程，但若无结婚目的而恢复以前的关系，是不高尚的行为。鲍里斯独自一人拿定主意，避免和娜塔沙相会，虽然他下定这个决心，经过几天后又走来了，从此时开始常来串门并在罗斯托夫家里消磨整天整天的时光。他脑海中时常想到，他必须对她表白爱情，告诉她，从前的一切必须忘却，无论如何……她也不能成为他的妻子，他没有财产，他们永远也不会让她嫁给他。但是这事心儿他总办不成，觉得表白爱情是很难为情的。他日益陷入窘境。根据母亲和索尼娅的观察，娜塔莎看来仍旧十分钟情于鲍里斯。她把他所喜爱的歌曲唱给他听，把她自己的纪念册拿给他看，叫他在纪念册上题词，不让自己向他提起往事，要他明白新鲜事物是多么美妙；他每天都是模模糊糊地离开，没有把他要说的话说完，他自己也不知道，他在干什么，为什么而来，会产生什么结果。鲍里斯不再到海伦那里去了，他每天接到她的带有责备意味的便函，他仍旧整天整天地在罗斯托夫家里消磨时光。
Book 6 Chapter 13
ONE EVENING the old countess in her bed-jacket, without her false curls and with only one poor wisp of hair peeping out from under her white cotton nightcap, was bowing down on the carpet, sighing and moaning as she repeated her evening prayers. Her door creaked, and Natasha, also in a bed-jacket, ran in, bare-legged, with her feet in slippers, and her hair in curl papers. The countess looked round and frowned. She was repeating her last prayer. “Can it be this couch will be my bier?” Her devotional mood was dispelled. Natasha, flushed and eager, stopped suddenly short in her rapid movement as she saw her mother at her prayers. She half-sat down and unconsciously put out her tongue at herself.
Seeing that her mother was still praying, she ran on tiptoe to the bed; and rapidly slipping one little foot against the other, pushed off her slippers and sprang on to that couch which the countess in her prayer feared might become her bier. That couch was a high feather-bed, with five pillows, each smaller than the one below. Natasha skipped in, sank into the feather-bed, rolled over towards the side, and began snuggling up under the quilt, tucking herself up, bending her knees up to her chin, kicking out and giving a faintly audible giggle as she alternately hid her face under the quilt and peeped out at her mother. The countess had finished her prayers, and was approaching her bed with a stern face, but seeing that Natasha was playing bo-peep with her she smiled her good-natured, weak smile.
“Come, come, come!” said the mother.
“Mamma, may I speak; yes?” said Natasha. “Come, under the chin, one, and now another, and enough.” And she clutched at her mother's neck and kissed her favourite place on her chin. In Natasha's behaviour to her mother there was a superficial roughness of manner, but she had a natural tact and knack of doing things, so that, however she snatched her mother in her arms, she always managed so that she was not hurt, nor uncomfortable, nor displeased by it.
“Well, what is it to-night?” said her mother, settling herself in the pillows and waiting for Natasha, who had already rolled over twice, to lie down by her side under the bedclothes, to put out her arms and assume a serious expression.
These visits of Natasha to her mother at night before the count came home from the club were one of the greatest pleasures both of mother and daughter.
“What is it to-night? And I want to talk to you…” Natasha put her hand on her mother's lips.
“About Boris…I know,” she said seriously; “that's what I have come about. Don't say it; I know. No, do say it!” She took her hand away. “Say it, mamma! He's nice, eh?”
“Natasha, you are sixteen! At your age I was married. You say Boris is nice. He is very nice, and I love him like a son! But what do you want? …What are you thinking about? You have quite turned his head, I can see that…”
As she said this, the countess looked round at her daughter. Natasha was lying, looking steadily straight before her at one of the mahogany sphinxes carved on a corner of the bedstead, so that the countess could only see her daughter's face in profile. Her face impressed the countess by its strikingly serious and concentrated expression.
Natasha was listening and considering.
“Well, so what then?” she said.
“You have completely turned his head, and what for? What do you want of him? You know you can't marry him.”
“Why not?” said Natasha, with no change in her attitude.
“Because he's so young, because he's poor, because he's a relation…because you don't care for him yourself.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know. It's not right, my darling.”
“But if I want to…” said Natasha.
“Leave off talking nonsense,” said the countess.
“But if I want to…”
“Natasha, I am serious…”
Natasha did not let her finish; she drew the countess's large hand to her, and kissed it on the upper side, and then on the palm, then turned it over again and began kissing it on the knuckle of the top joint of the finger, then on the space between the knuckles, then on a knuckle again, whispering: “January, February, March, April, May.”
“Speak, mamma; why are you silent? Speak,” she said, looking round at her mother, who was gazing tenderly at her daughter, and apparently in gazing at her had forgotten all she meant to say.
“This won't do, my dear. It's not every one who will understand your childish feelings for one another, and seeing him on such intimate terms with you may prejudice you in the eyes of other young men who visit us, and what is of more consequence, it's making him wretched for nothing. He had very likely found a match that would suit him, some wealthy girl, and now he's half-crazy.”
“Half-crazy?” repeated Natasha.
“I'll tell you what happened in my own case. I had a cousin…”
“I know—Kirilla Matveitch; but he's old.”
“He was not always old. But I tell you what, Natasha, I'll speak to Boris. He mustn't come so often…”
“Why mustn't he, if he wants to?”
“Because I know it can't come to anything.”
“How do you know? No, mamma, don't speak to him. What nonsense!” said Natasha, in the tone of a man being robbed of his property. “Well, I won't marry him, so let him come, if he enjoys it and I enjoy it.”
Natasha looked at her mother, smiling. “Not to be married, but—just so,” she repeated.
“How so, my dear?”
“Oh, just so. I see it's very necessary I shouldn't marry him, but…just so.”
“Just so, just so,” repeated the countess, and shaking all over, she went off into a good-natured, unexpectedly elderly laugh.
“Don't laugh, stop,” cried Natasha; “you're shaking all the bed. You're awfully like me, just another giggler…Stop…” She snatched both the countess's hands, kissed one knuckle of the little finger, for June, and went on kissing—July, August—on the other hand. “Mamma, is he very much in love? What do you think? Were men as much in love with you? And he's very nice, very, very nice! Only not quite to my liking—he's so narrow, somehow, like a clock on the wall.… Don't you understand?…Narrow, you know, grey, light-coloured…”
“What nonsense you talk!” said the countess.
Natasha went on:
“Don't you really understand? Nikolenka would understand…Bezuhov now—he's blue, dark blue and red, and he's quadrangular.”
“You're flirting with him, too,” said the countess, laughing.
“No, he's a freemason, I have heard. He's jolly, dark blue and red; how am I to explain to you…”
“Little countess,” they heard the count's voice through the door, “you're not asleep?” Natasha skipped up, snatched up her slippers, and ran barefoot to her own room. For a long while she could not go to sleep. She kept musing on no one's being able to understand all she understood and all that was in her.
“Sonya?” she wondered, looking at her friend asleep, curled up like a kitten with her great mass of hair. “No, how could she! She's virtuous. She's in love with Nikolenka and doesn't care to know anything more. Mamma, even she doesn't understand. It's wonderful how clever I am and how…she is charming,” she went on, speaking of herself in the third person, and fancying that it was some very clever, the very cleverest and finest of men, who was saying it of her… “There is everything, everything in her,” this man continued, “extraordinarily clever, charming and then pretty, extraordinarily pretty, graceful. She swims, rides capitally, and a voice!—a marvellous voice, one may say!” She hummed her favourite musical phrase from an opera of Cherubini, flung herself into bed, laughed with delight at the thought that she would soon be asleep, called to Dunyasha to blow out the candle; and before Dunyasha had left her room she had already passed into another still happier world of dreams, where everything was as easy and as beautiful as in reality, and was only better because it was all different.
Next day the countess sent for Boris, and talked to him, and from that day he gave up visiting at the Rostovs'.
有一天晚上，老伯爵夫人戴着一项寝帽，穿着一件短上衣，没有戴假发，从那白色的细棉布寝帽下面露出一个寒酸的发髻，她一面叹气，一面发出呼哧声，跪在小小的地毯上磕头做晚祷，这时她的房门吱吱响了一下，娜塔莎赤着脚穿一双便鞋，身上也穿着一件短上衣，扎着卷发纸，跑进房间里。伯爵夫人环顾四周，皱起眉头。她快要念完她的最后一句祷词：“难道这张床就是我的未来的寿坊吗？”她的祈祷的情绪被一扫而尽。娜塔莎看见祈祷的母亲后，红光满面，兴奋起来，她忽然停止跑步，蹲在地上，情不自禁地伸出舌头，吓唬着自己。她发觉母亲在继续祈祷，便踮着脚尖跑到床前，用一只小脚迅速地蹭另一只小脚，脱下了便鞋，猛地跳到那伯爵夫人害怕成为她的寿坊的卧榻上。这张卧榻很高，铺着羽毛褥子，上面摆放着五个一个比一个小的枕头。娜塔莎霍地跳起来，钻进羽毛褥子里，向墙边转过身去，在被子下面耍起来了，一面躺着，一面把膝盖弯屈到下颏边，蹬着两条腿，这时她的笑声隐约可闻；她时而把头蒙住，时而露出头来看看她的母亲。伯爵夫人做完了晚祷，走到床前，露出严肃的面孔，但在她看见娜塔莎蒙住头之后，便慈祥地微微一笑。 
“喂，喂，喂。”母亲说。
“妈妈，可以谈谈吗，行不行？”娜塔莎说，“嘿，亲一下颈窝，再亲一下，”她搂抱母亲的脖子，吻了吻她的下颏，在对母亲的态度上，娜塔莎虽然显示了表面的粗鲁，不过她很敏锐，而且灵活，她无论怎样用双手拥抱母亲，总不会使她觉得疼痛，她不会使她厌恶，也不会使她不自在。
“啊，现在谈啥呀？”母亲说，等娜塔莎莫约翻了两次身，从被底下伸出手来，装出一副严肃的表情，和她同盖一床被窝，并排躺下来。
在伯爵从俱乐部回家之前，娜塔莎在夜晚多次来玩，是母亲和女儿的一种最大的乐趣。
“现在究竟要谈啥呀？可是我应当对你说……”
娜塔莎用手捂住母亲的嘴。
“就谈谈鲍里斯吧……我知道，”她严肃地说，“我是为了这件事才来的。您不消说，我晓得。不，您就说吧！”她放下手来。“妈妈，告诉我，他热情吗？”
“娜塔莎，你十六岁了，我在你这个年纪已经出嫁了。你说鲍里斯很热情。他很热情，我像爱儿子一样爱他，可是你想怎么样？……你在想什么？你使他完全冲昏了头脑，这一点我看得清楚……”
伯爵夫人在说这些话的时候，回头望了望她的女儿。娜塔莎一动不动地一直盯着面前的床角上用红木雕刻的狮身人面像，因此伯爵夫人只看见女儿面孔的侧面。这副面孔流露着特别严肃的、凝神思索的表情，使伯爵夫人觉得惊奇。
娜塔莎一面倾听，一面思忖。
“唉，那怎样呢？”她说。
“你完全使他冲昏了头脑，为什么？你想要他怎样呢？你不能嫁给他，你是知道的。”
“为什么？”娜塔莎不改变姿势，说道。
“因为他年轻，因为他贫穷，因为他是个亲戚……因为你自己不会爱他。”
“为什么您会知道呢？”
“我是知道的，这不太好，我亲爱的。”
“如果我愿意……”娜塔莎说。
“不要再讲蠢话了。”伯爵夫人说。
“如果我愿意……”
“娜塔莎，我要一本正经地说……”
娜塔莎不让伯爵夫人说完，就把她的一只大手拉到自己身边来，吻吻她的手背，然后吻吻掌心，又把手翻过来，开始吻她的手指的上关节，然后吻关节之间的地方，然后又吻上关节，同时轻言细语地说：“一月，二月，三月，四月，五月。”
“妈妈，告诉我，您干嘛一声不响？告诉我吧。”她回头看她母亲时说，母亲用那温柔的目光望着女儿，这样一望，她好像忘记了她要说的一切。
“这怎么行，我的心肝。不是大家都了解你们在童年时代的关系，在另外些常到我们家里来的年轻人的心目中，看见他和你这样亲密，对你是很不利的，主要是，白白地使他难受。他也许给他自己找到了情投意合的有钱的配偶，他现在简直要发疯了。”
“要发疯了吗？”娜塔莎重说一句话。
“我把我自己的情况说给你听。我有个表兄……”
“我知道——基里拉·马特维奇，他是个老头子，是吗？”
“他并非从来就是老头子。你听我讲，娜塔莎，我要跟鲍里斯谈谈，他不应当来得这样勤……”
“既然他很想来，为什么他不该来？”
“因为我知道，这不会有任何结果的。”
“为什么您会知道呢？不，妈妈，您不要对他说吧。真是一派胡言！”娜塔莎说，那腔调听来就像有人要夺取某人的财产似的。“啊，我不出嫁，既然他感到快活，我也感到快活，那就让他来好了。”娜塔莎微露笑容，向母亲瞥了一眼。
“我不出嫁，·就·这·样·过·下·去。”她重说一句。
“这是怎么回事，我的亲人？”
“对，·就·这·样·过·下·去。嗯，我不出嫁，但是……就这样过下去，很有必要。”
“就这样，就这样。”伯爵夫人重复地说，她全身战栗着，突然发出了和善的老太婆的笑声。
“不应该发笑，不要再笑了，”娜塔莎喊道，“您把整张床弄得摇摇晃晃。您非常像我，也是个好高声大笑的人……等一等……”她抓起伯爵夫夫的两只手，吻一吻小指头的一个关节——六月，继而吻另一只手的七月、八月。“妈妈，他过分钟情，是吗？您的看法怎么样？从前有些人这样钟情于您吗？他很可爱，很，很可爱！不过我对他不太感兴趣——他像食堂里的钟那样非常狭窄……您不明白吗？……狭窄的，您要知道，浅灰色的……”
“你撒什么谎！”伯爵夫人说。
娜塔莎继续说：
“难道您不明白吗？尼古拉是会明白的……别祖霍夫——
是蓝色的，暗蓝色中带有红色的，他又是四角形的。”
“你也向他卖弄风情。”伯爵夫人笑着说。
“不，他是个共济会员，我探听到了。他挺好，暗蓝色中带有红颜色，要怎么向您解释……”
“我亲爱的伯爵夫人，”从门后传来伯爵的说话声，“你没有睡吗？”娜塔沙光着脚霍地跳起来，手里拿着一双便鞋，跑到自己房里去了。
她久久不能入睡，她总是这样考虑：谁也没法理解她所理解的一切和她内心包含的一切。
“索尼娅？”她想了想，睁开两眼瞧着那只有条大辫子的、缩成一团躺着睡觉的小猫。“不，她哪能明白！她是个高尚的人。她爱上了尼古拉，不再想知道什么了。妈妈心里也不明白。真奇怪，我多么聪明，而且多么……她很可爱。”她接着说，用第三人称谈论自己的事，脑子里想到，有某个很聪明的、最聪明的、最好的男人在谈论她的事情……她的内心容纳着一切，“这个男人接着说，“她异常聪明，可爱而且美丽，异常美丽而灵活——游泳、骑马，都很出色，还有一副好嗓子！可以说，非常悦耳的嗓子！”她唱了她所喜爱的凯鲁比尼歌剧中的短短的乐句，就急忙扑到床上去，当她愉快地想到她马上就会酣然入睡时，她便放声大笑，她喊杜尼亚莎吹熄蜡烛，杜尼亚莎还没有从房里去出来，她就进入了另一个更幸福的梦幻世界，那里的一切同现实一样美好，令人感到轻松愉快，只不过在那个世界另有一番景况，因而就显得更为美妙。
第二天，伯爵夫人把鲍里斯请来，和他商议一番，从那天起他就不再到罗斯托夫家里去了。
Book 6 Chapter 14
ON THE 31ST of December, on the eve of the new year 1810, a ball was given by a grand personage who had been a star of the court of Catherine. The Tsar and the diplomatic corps were to be present at this ball.
The well-known mansion of this grandee in the English Embankment was illuminated by innumerable lights. The police were standing at the lighted entry, laid with red baize; and not merely policemen, but a police commander was at the entrance, and dozens of officers of the police. Carriages kept driving away, and fresh ones kept driving up, with grooms in red livery and grooms in plumed hats. From the carriages emerged men wearing uniforms, stars, and ribbons; while ladies in satin and ermine stepped carefully out on the carriage steps, that were let down with a bang, and then walked hurriedly and noiselessly over the baize of the entry.
Almost every time a new carriage drove up, a whisper ran through the crowd and hats were taken off. “The Emperor?…No, a minister…prince…ambassador…Don't you see the plumes?…” was audible in the crowd. One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know every one, and mentioned by name all the most celebrated personages of the day.
A third of the guests had already arrived at this ball, while the Rostovs, who were to be present at it, were still engaged in hurried preparations.
Many had been the discussions and the preparations for that ball in the Rostov family; many the fears that an invitation might not arrive, that the dresses would not be ready, and that everything would not be arranged as it ought to be.
The Rostovs were to be accompanied by Marya Ignatyevna Peronsky, a friend and relation of the countess, a thin and yellow maid-of-honour of the old court, who was acting as a guide to the provincial Rostovs in the higher circles of Petersburg society.
At ten o'clock the Rostovs were to drive to Tavritchesky Garden to call for the maid-of-honour. Meantime it was five minutes to ten, and the young ladies were not yet dressed.
Natasha was going to her first great ball. She had got up at eight o'clock that morning, and had spent the whole day in feverish agitation and activity. All her energies had since morning been directed to the one aim of getting herself, her mother, and Sonya as well dressed as possible. Sonya and her mother put themselves entirely in her hands. The countess was to wear a dark red velvet dress; the two girls white tulle dresses over pink silk slips, and roses on their bodices. They were to wear their hair à la grecque.
All the essentials were ready. Feet, arms, necks, and ears had been washed, scented, and powdered with peculiar care in readiness for the ball. Openwork silk stockings and white satin shoes with ribbons had been put on. The hairdressing was almost accomplished. Sonya was finishing dressing, so was the countess; but Natasha, who had been busily looking after every one, was behindhand. She was still sitting before the looking-glass with a peignoir thrown over her thin shoulders. Sonya, already dressed, stood in the middle of the room, and was trying to fasten in a last ribbon, hurting her little finger as she pressed the pin with a scrooping sound into the silk.
“Not like that, Sonya, not like that!” said Natasha, turning her head, and clutching her hair in both hands, as the maid arranging it was not quick enough in letting it go. “The ribbon mustn't go like that; come here.” Sonya squatted down. Natasha pinned the ribbon in her own way.
“Really, miss, you mustn't do so,” said the maid, holding Natasha's hair.
“Oh, my goodness! Afterwards! There, that's right, Sonya.”
“Will you soon be ready?” they heard the countess's voice. “It will be ten in a minute.”
“Immediately, immediately.… And are you ready, mamma?”
“Only my cap to fasten on.”
“Don't do it without me,” shouted Natasha; “you don't know how to!”
“But it's ten o'clock already.”
It had been arranged to be at the ball at half-past ten, and Natasha still had to dress, and they had to drive to Tavritchesky Garden.
When her coiffure was finished, Natasha, in her mother's dressing-jacket and a short petticoat under which her dancing-shoes could be seen, ran up to Sonya, looked her over, and then ran to her mother. Turning her head round, she pinned on her cap, and hurriedly kissing her grey hair, ran back to the maids who were shortening her skirt.
All attention was now centred on Natasha's skirt, which was too long. Two maids were running it up round the edge, hurriedly biting off the threads. A third one, with pins in her teeth and lips, was running from the countess to Sonya; a fourth was holding up the whole tulle dress in her arms.
“Mavrushka, quicker, darling!”
“Give me that thimble, miss.”
“Will you be quick?” said the count from outside the door, coming in. “Here are your smelling-salts. Madame Peronsky must be tired of waiting.”
“Ready, miss,” said the maid, lifting up the shortened tulle skirt on two fingers, blowing something off it, and giving it a shake to show her appreciation of the transparency and purity of what she had in her hands.
Natasha began putting on the dress.
“In a minute, in a minute, don't come in, papa,” she shouted to her father at the door, from under the tulle of the dress that concealed all her face. Sonya slammed the door. A minute later the count was admitted. He was wearing a blue frock coat, stockings, and dancing-shoes, and was perfumed and pomaded.
“Ah, papa, how nice you look, lovely!” said Natasha, standing in the middle of the room, stroking out the folds of her tulle.
“If you please, miss, if you please…” said a maid, pulling up the skirt and turning the pins from one corner of her mouth to the other with her tongue.
“Say what you like!” cried Sonya, with despair in her voice, as she gazed at Natasha's skirt, “say what you like!—it's too long still!”
Natasha walked a little further off to look at herself in the pierglass. The skirt was too long.
“My goodness, madam, it's not a bit too long,” said Mavrushka, creeping along the floor on her knees after her young lady.
“Well, if it's long, we'll tack it up, in one minute, we'll tack it up,” said Dunyasha, a resolute character. And taking a needle out of the kerchief on her bosom she set to work again on the floor.
At that moment the countess in her cap and velvet gown walked shyly with soft steps into the room.
“Oo-oo! my beauty!” cried the count. “She looks nicer than any of you!”…He would have embraced her, but, flushing, she drew back to avoid being crumpled.
“Mamma, the cap should be more on one side,” said Natasha. “I'll pin it fresh,” and she darted forward. The maids turning up her skirt, not prepared for her hasty movement, tore off a piece of the tulle.
“Oh, mercy! What was that? Really it's not my fault…”
“It's all right, I'll run it up, it won't show,” said Dunyasha.
“My beauty, my queen!” said the old nurse coming in at the doorway. “And Sonyushka, too; ah, the beauties!…”
At a quarter past ten they were at last seated in their carriage and driving off. But they still had to drive to Tavritchesky Garden
Madame Peronsky was ready and waiting. In spite of her age and ugliness, just the same process had been going on with her as with the Rostovs, not with flurry, for with her it was a matter of routine. Her elderly and unprepossessing person had been also washed and scented and powdered; she had washed as carefully behind her ears, and like the Rostovs' nurse, her old maid had enthusiastically admired her mistress's attire, when she came into the drawing-room in her yellow gown adorned with her badge of a maid-of-honour. Madame Peronsky praised the Rostovs' costumes, and they praised her attire and her taste. Then, careful of their coiffures and their dresses, at eleven o'clock they settled themselves in the carriages and drove off.
十二月三十一日，即是一八一○年元旦的前夜，le　réveillon①，叶卡捷琳娜二世时代的一名大官举办舞会。外交使团的官员和国王都要来参加舞会。 
①法语：前夜（除夕）。
在英吉利沿岸街上，遐迩闻名的大官的楼房被无数彩灯映照得灿烂辉煌。警察站在被照得通明的、铺有红呢绒地毯的台阶上，在这里站岗的不仅有宪兵，而且有警察局长和数十名警官。许多辆轻便马车开出去，又有许多辆开到门口，轻便马车上载有一些穿红色制服或戴着羽饰帽子的仆役。一些身穿制服、佩戴星形勋章和绶带的男人从四轮轿式马车中走出来，一些身穿缎子衣裳和银鼠皮袄的女士小心翼翼地沿着哗啦一声放下来的踏板走下来，之后再沿着台阶上的红呢地毯急促地、不出声地走过去。
几乎每当一辆四轮轿式马车开到门口，人群中就会传来一阵低语声，人们都脱下自己的帽子。
“国王吗？……不是，大臣……亲王……公使……你难道看不见羽饰吗？……”可以听见人群中的说话声。人群中有个穿着最讲究的人似乎认识所有的人，喊得出当时最著名的达官贵人的名字。
三分之一的客人均已前来出席这次舞会，必须出席舞会的罗斯托夫一家，却正忙于整装待发。
罗斯托夫一家人对这次舞会发表许多议论，作了许多准备，他们对此事过多地担心，害怕得不到请帖，害怕服装办不齐全，害怕安排不好务必安排的一切。
玛丽亚·伊格纳季耶夫娜·佩龙斯卡娅随同罗斯托夫一家人出席舞会，她是伯爵夫人的友人和亲戚，是旧朝中的一个面黄肌瘦的宫廷女宫，又是外省人罗斯托夫之家在彼得堡上流社会的引路人。
晚上十点钟罗斯托夫一家人要到道利达花园去寻找宫廷女官，可是到十点只差五分钟了，小姐们都还没有着好衣裳。
娜塔莎生平第一次出席大型舞会。是日早晨八点钟，她就起床，整天价处于激动不安和忙乱的状态。从清早起，她就集中全部精力去办一件事，使她们：她自己、妈妈、索尼娅——都穿着得十分讲究。索尼娅和伯爵夫人完全靠她来照料。伯爵夫人要穿一件紫红色的丝绒连衣裙，她们俩人穿玫瑰色绸子衬裙，罩着白色的薄纱连衣裙，硬腰带上佩戴玫瑰花。发型要做成á　la　greeque①。 
①法语：希腊式。
非常重要的事情都已经办妥：手、脚、脖子和耳朵都已经特别仔细地盥洗，喷上香水，扑上香粉，合乎赴舞会的要求，都已经穿上绸子的透花长袜、带蝴蝶结的白缎子皮鞋，发型差不多做好了。索尼娅快要穿好衣裳，伯爵夫人也快要穿好衣裳，可是娜塔莎因为替大家操劳，落后了。她还坐在镜台前把一件宽大的罩衫披在自己消瘦的肩上。索尼娅穿好了衣裳，站在房间正中央，把那佩针吱吱作响地别在最后一根绦带上，结果按痛了纤细的指头。
“不是这么干的，不是这么干的，索尼娅！”娜塔莎说完这句话，把头转过来，用手抓着侍女来不及放松的头发。“你走过来，花结不是那样打的。”索尼娅蹲了下来。娜塔莎用别的方法重新打好了花结。
“不行，小姐，不是那样做的。”那个握着娜塔莎的头发的侍女说。
“唉，我的上帝，得啦，以后再说！就这样吧，索尼娅。”
“你们快搞好了吗？”可以听见伯爵夫人的说话声，“现在已经是十点钟了。”
“马上就搞好，马上就搞好，妈妈，您搞好了吗？”
“只消钉好直筒帽子了。”
“我来动手，您别瞎钉，”娜塔莎喊了一声，“您不内行！”
“已经十点了。”
她们决定在十点半参加舞会，可是娜塔莎还在打扮，她们还要到道利达花园去一趟。
娜塔莎做好了发型，穿上短短的裙子，裙子底下看得见跳舞穿的皮鞋，还穿上一件母亲的短上衣，跑到索尼娅面前，把她打量一番，然后就跑到母亲跟前。她要母亲转过头来，给她钉好直筒帽子，好不容易才吻了吻她的斑白的头发，又向那几个给她的裙子缘上边的女仆身边跑去。
为了娜塔莎那条裙子，耽搁了时间，裙子委实长了；两个女仆正把裙子缘上边，匆匆忙忙地咬断一个个线头。第三个女仆嘴里叼着几根大头针，从伯爵夫人身边跑到索尼娅身边；第四个女仆用手高高地举着一件薄纱连衣裙。
“玛夫鲁莎，快一点，亲爱的！”
“小姐，请您把顶针递给我。”
“快搞好了吧，到底怎么样？”伯爵从门外走进来说，“这是给你们的香水。佩龙斯卡娅等得过久了。”
“小姐，搞好了。”侍女一面说，一面用两个指头举着一件缘上边的薄纱连衣裙，对着它吹拂几下，抖几下，用这个动作让人意识到，她手中提的东西是薄纱的，是干净的。
娜塔莎开始穿连衣裙了。
“爸爸，别进来，马上搞好了，马上搞好子。”她从蒙住她的整个面孔的薄纱裙底下对着打开房门的父亲喊道。索尼娅砰然一声关上门。一分钟以后他们让伯爵进来。他穿着一件蓝色燕尾服，长袜子和矮靿皮鞋，喷了香水，用发蜡把头发抹平了。
“啊，爸爸，你多么漂亮，真好看！”娜塔莎说，她站在房间正中央，弄平薄纱的皱褶。
“等一等，小姐，等一等。”女仆跪着说，一面抻平整衣裙，一面用舌头把大头针从一边嘴角移到另一边嘴角。
“听便！”索尼娅望望娜塔莎的连衣裙，以那失望的音调大声喊道，“听你的便，还是太长了！”
娜塔莎向后走远些，照照窗间镜。
连衣裙是太长了。
“真的，女士，一点也不长。”玛夫鲁莎说，尾随于小姐之后在地板上爬行。
“嗯，太长了，咱们来缭上几针，一下子就缭好了。”做事果断的杜尼亚莎说，她从放在胸前的手帕中取出一根针，又跪在地板上干她的活儿。
这时候伯爵夫人头戴直筒高女帽，身穿丝绒连衣裙，迈着徐缓的脚步，羞羞涩涩地走了进来。
“嘿，我的美人儿！”伯爵大声喊道。“她比你们大家都更漂亮！……”他想搂抱她，但她满面通红，闪到一边去，省得弄皱她的连衣裙。
“妈妈，把直筒帽子戴歪一点，”娜塔莎说。“我用针来给您别好，”她猛然向前奔跑，正在缘衣边的女仆们来不及跟在她身后迅跑，扯下了一小块薄纱。
“我的上帝！这是怎么一回事！我真的没有出差错……”
“没关系啊，我来缭上几针，就会看不出来的。”杜尼亚莎说。
“美人儿，我的美女啊！”从门外走进来的女保姆说，“索尼娅，啊，这些美人儿！……”
十点一刻钟他们终于坐上了四轮轿式马车，动身了。但是还是要顺路到道利达花园去一趟。
佩龙斯卡娅已经打扮好了。虽然她衰老而且丑陋，但是她的做法却和罗斯托夫之家一样；虽然她做起事来没有那样匆忙（这对她来说是一桩习以为常的事），但是她那老年人的难看的身体却也喷了香水，扑了香粉，盥洗得很干净，耳朵背后也尽量洗得一尘不染，就像在罗斯托夫家里一样，当她穿着一件绣有花字的黄色连衣裙走到客厅的时候，那个年老的侍女甚至也乐于欣赏她这位太太的服装。佩龙斯卡娅夸奖罗斯托夫之家的打扮。
罗斯托夫一家人称赞她的鉴赏力和穿着，此外她们留意着自己的发型和衣裙，十一点钟都在四轮轿式马车上，分别就坐，启行了。
Book 6 Chapter 15
NATASHA had not had a free moment all that day, and had not once had time to think of what lay before her.
In the damp, chill air, in the closeness and half dark of the swaying carriage, she pictured to herself for the first time what was in store for her there, at the ball, in the brightly lighted halls—music, flowers, dancing, the Tsar, all the brilliant young people of Petersburg. The prospect before her was so splendid that she could not even believe that it would come to pass: so incongruous it seemed with the chilliness, darkness, and closeness of the carriage. She could only grasp all that awaited her when, walking over the red cloth, she went into the vestibule, took off her cloak, and walked beside Sonya in front of her mother between the flowers up the lighted staircase. Only then she remembered how she must behave at a ball, and tried to assume the majestic manner that she considered indispensable for a girl at a ball. But luckily she felt that there was a mist before her eyes; she could see nothing clearly, her pulse beat a hundred times a minute, and the blood throbbed at her heart. She was unable to assume the manner that would have made her absurd; and moved on, thrilling with excitement, and trying with all her might simply to conceal it. And it was just in this mood that she looked her best. In front and behind them walked guests dressed in similar ball-dresses and conversing in similarly subdued tones. The looking-glasses on the stair-cases reflected ladies in white, blue, and pink dresses, with diamonds and pearls on their bare arms and necks.
Natasha looked into the looking-glasses and could not distinguish herself from the rest. All was mingled into one brilliant procession. At the entrance into the first room, the regular hum of voices, footsteps, greetings, deafened Natasha; the light and brilliance dazzled her still more. The host and hostess who had been already standing at the door for half an hour, saying exactly the same words to every guest on arrival, Charmé de vous voir, gave the same greeting to the Rostovs and Madame Peronsky. The two young girls in their white dresses, with roses alike in their black hair, made curtsies just alike, but unconsciously the hostess's eyes rested longer on the slender figure of Natasha. She looked at her, and smiled at her a smile that was something more than the smile of welcome she had for all. Looking at her, the hostess was reminded perhaps of her golden days of girlhood, gone never to return, of her own first ball. The host too followed Natasha with his eyes, and asked the count which of the girls was his daughter.
“Charming!” he said, kissing his own finger-tips.
In the ballroom, guests stood crowding about the entry in expectation of the Tsar. The countess took up her position in the front row of this crowd. Natasha heard and felt that several voices were asking who she was, that many pairs of eyes were fixed on her. She knew that she was making a good impression on those who noticed her, and this observation calmed her somewhat.
“There are some like ourselves, and some not as good,” she thought.
Madame Peronsky was pointing out to the countess the most distinguished persons at the ball.
“That is the Dutch ambassador, do you see, the grey-haired man,” Madame Peronsky was saying, indicating an old man with a profusion of silver-grey curls, who was surrounded by ladies laughing at some story he was telling. “And here she comes, the queen of Petersburg society, Countess Bezuhov,” she said, pointing to Ellen who had just come in.
“How lovely! She's quite equal to Marya Antonovna. Look how attentive all the men are to her, young and old alike. She's both lovely and clever.… They say Prince So-and-So is wild about her. And you see these two, though they are not good-looking, they are even more run after.”
She pointed out a lady who was crossing the room accompanied by a very ugly daughter.
“That's the heiress of a million,” said Madame Peronsky. “And, look, here come her suitors.…That's Countess Bezuhov's brother, Anatole Kuragin,” she said, pointing to a handsome officer in the Horse Guards, who passed by them looking from the height of his lifted head over the ladies to something beyond them. “He is handsome, isn't he? They say he is to be married to that heiress. And your cousin, Drubetskoy, is very attentive to her too. They say she has millions. Oh, that's the French ambassador himself,” she said in answer to the countess's inquiry as to the identity of Caulaincourt. “Just look, he's like some monarch. But yet they're nice, the French are very nice. No people more charming in society. Ah, here she is! Yes, still lovelier than any one, our Marya Antonovna! And how simply dressed! Exquisite!”
“And that stout fellow in spectacles is a universal freemason,” said Madame Peronsky, indicating Bezuhov. “Set him beside his wife: he's a motley fool!”
Swinging his stout frame, Pierre slouched through the crowd, nodding to right and to left, as casually and good-naturedly as though he were walking through a crowd in a market. He made his way through the crowd unmistakably looking for some one.
Natasha looked with joy at the familiar face of Pierre, the motley fool, as Madame Peronsky called him, and knew that it was they, and she in particular, of whom Pierre was in search in the crowd. Pierre had promised her to be at the ball and to find her partners. But before reaching them, Pierre came to a standstill beside a very handsome, dark man of medium height in a white uniform, who was standing in a window talking to a tall man wearing stars and a ribbon.
Natasha at once recognised the handsome young man in the white uniform; it was Bolkonsky, who seemed to her to have grown much younger, happier, and better looking.
“There's some one else we know, Bolkonsky, do you see, mamma?” said Natasha, pointing out Prince Andrey. “Do you remember he stayed a night at home, at Otradnoe?”
“Oh, do you know him?” said Madame Peronsky. “I can't bear him. Every one is crazy over him. And his conceit! it's beyond all bounds! He takes after his worthy papa! And he's hand in glove now with Speransky, making out some sort of plans for reform. Just look how he behaves with ladies! She's speaking to him, and he has turned his back on her,” she said, pointing to him. “I would soon send him about his business if he were to treat me like those ladies.”
从这天大清早起娜塔莎就未曾有一分钟的空闲，一次也未曾想到她将要面临的景况。 
在潮湿的寒冷的空气中，在那颠簸的四轮轿式马车的拥挤和半明半暗中，她第一次深刻地想象到，在那舞会上，在灯光明亮的大厅中什么在等待着她：音乐、鲜花、舞蹈、国王、全彼得堡的杰出的青年。等待着她的前景是如此美丽，连她自己都不相信，是否真有这种事：盖因此事与寒冷、四轮轿式马车的拥挤和昏暗的印象极不相称。只是当她从台阶上的红呢地毯走过，进入外室，脱下皮袄，在母亲前面和索尼娅并排登上其间布满鲜花的灯光辉煌的梯梯的时候，她才明了等待着她的一切。只是在那时她才想起她在舞会场中应有怎样的举止，并且极力地摆出一副她认为一位女郎在舞会上必须具备的庄重的姿态。但是幸而她感到，她快要眼花缭乱，竟然把什么都看得模模糊糊，每分钟她的脉搏跳了一百次，血液突突地涌上她心头。她不能摆出一副使她变得滑稽可笑的恣态，她于是继续走着，激动得愣住了，只有竭尽全力地掩饰激动的心情。这是一种对她最适合的姿态。客人们在她们前前后后走进来，也同样轻言细语地交谈，也同样穿着舞会服装。楼梯上的几面壁镜映出了女士们的身影，她们身穿白色、天蓝色和玫瑰色的连衣裙，那裸露的手臂和脖子上戴着一颗颗钻石和珍珠。
娜塔莎照镜子，在映像中分不清自己和别人。这一切混合成五光十色的队列。在头一个大厅的入口，人们的不疾不徐的语声、嘈杂的脚步声和欢呼声把娜塔莎震得发聋，璀璨的华灯和衣饰的闪光，更加使她两眼昏花。男女主人在入口的门旁站了半个钟头，对各位来客都道出一句同样的话：“chanrmé　de　vous　voir”①，同样地欢迎罗斯托夫一家人和佩龙斯卡娅。
两个小女孩穿着白色连衣裙，在那乌黑的头发上戴着同样的玫瑰花，行了个同样的屈膝礼，但是女主人禁不住把她的视线更久地停留在苗条的娜塔莎身上。她朝她瞥了一眼，赐予她以女主人的微笑，另外赐予她以特殊的微笑。女主人注视着她，大概想起了她的一去不复返的黄金似的少女时代以及她的第一次舞会。男主人也用目光伴随着娜塔莎，问问伯爵哪个是他的女儿？
“charmante！”②他吻吻自己的指尖之后说了这句话。 
①法语：我们看见你们，非常、非常高兴。
②法语：非常可爱！
一些客人站在大厅中，有时挤在入口的门边，等候国王的驾临。伯爵夫人就在这群人的前排坐下来。娜塔莎听见而且感觉到，有几个人开口打听她，端详着她。她明白，那些注意她的人，心里是爱慕她的，这种观察使她得到一点安慰。“有一些人和我们一样，也有一些人没有我们这样好。”她想了想。
佩龙斯卡娅在伯爵夫人面前说出了参加舞会的那些最有威望的人士的名字。
“这就是荷兰公使，您看见吗？白发老人，”佩龙斯卡娅一面说，一面指着那个长满银白色鬈发的小老头，一群太太围着他，他不知怎的逗得她们都发笑。
“她是彼得堡的皇后，伯爵夫人别祖霍娃。”她指着走进来的海伦说。
“多么漂亮！她不逊色于玛丽亚·安诺夫娜①，您看，老老少少都死乞白赖地追求她。既漂亮，又聪明，据说，亲王……因为爱她而神魂颠倒。而这两位，虽然不漂亮，可是纠缠她们的人更多。” 
①亚历山大一世的情妇，素以美丽迷人而著称。
她指了指那个随带着很丑陋的女儿穿过大厅的太太。
“这是一个有百万卢布作嫁妆的及笄的姑娘，”佩龙斯卡娅说，“您瞧，这些人是求婚的男子。”
“他是别祖霍娃的哥哥，阿纳托利·库拉金。”她用手指着一个美男子——近卫重骑兵团军官时说，这名军官从她们身边经过，高昂着头，把视线越过太太小姐们，向什么地方观望。“他多么漂亮，不是吗？据说，有人要他娶这个有钱的女人。还有您的表兄德鲁别茨科伊也死乞白赖地追求她。据说，有几百万卢布作嫁妆。”“可不是，这就是法国公使本人。”当伯爵夫人询问科兰库尔是何许人时，她答道。“您瞧，他像个沙皇。法国人毕竟是可爱的，很可爱的。在交际场合没有人比他们更可爱哩。这就是她！不过我们的玛丽亚·安东诺夫娜还是最漂亮的！她穿得多么朴素。漂亮极了！”
“而这个戴眼镜的大胖子，是世界共济会会员，”佩龙斯卡娅指着别祖霍夫时说，“把他搁在他老婆旁边，真像个打诨的小丑！”
皮埃尔移动他那很胖的身体，摇摇晃晃地走路，推开人群，漫不经心地温和地向左右两旁的人们点头，就像从集上的人群中挤过去似的。他穿过人群向前走去，看来他是在寻找什么人。
娜塔莎怀着喜悦的心情望着那个她所熟悉的、被佩龙斯卡娅称为打诨的小丑的皮埃尔的面孔。她晓得皮埃尔在人群中寻找他们，特别是寻找她。皮埃尔答应她来出席舞会并且给她介绍一名舞伴。
可是别祖霍夫还没有走到她们面前，就在一个穿着白色制服的、身材不高的长得漂亮的黑发男子身旁停步了，此人站在窗口正和一个身材魁梧的佩戴勋章和绦带的男人谈话。娜塔莎立刻认出这个身材不高、穿着白色制服的青年，这就是那个她觉得好像变得很年轻、很快活、很漂亮的博尔孔斯基。
“您瞧，又有一个熟人，博尔孔斯基，您看见么？妈妈，”娜塔莎指着安德烈公爵时这样说，“您总记得，他在奥特拉德诺耶我们家里歇宿过一宵。”
“啊，我们认识他吗？”佩龙斯卡娅说，“我不能容忍他。Il　fait　à　présent　la　pluie　et　le　beau　temps①，骄傲得太过份了！他步上了他父亲的后尘，和斯佩兰斯基搭上了关系，在草拟什么方案。您瞧，他怎样对待太太们啊！她跟他说话，可是他扭过脸去，不再理睬，”她指着他说。“如果他像对待这些太太那样对待我，我就会把他骂得狗血淋头。” 
①法语：现在大家都为他而神魂颠倒。
Book 6 Chapter 16
THERE was a sudden stir, the crowd began talking, rushed forward, then moved apart again, and down the space left open through it, the Tsar walked to the strains of the band, which struck up at once. Behind him walked the host and hostess. The Tsar walked in rapidly, bowing to right and to left, as though trying to hurry over the first moments of greeting. The musicians played the polonaise in vogue at the time on account of the words set to it. The words began: “Alexander, Elisaveta, our hearts ye ravish quite.” The Tsar went into the drawing-room, the crowd made a dash for the door; several persons ran hurriedly to the door and back with excited faces. The crowd made another rush back, away from the drawing-room door at which the Tsar appeared in conversation with the hostess. A young man, looking distraught, pounced down on the ladies and begged them to move aside. Several, with faces that betrayed a total oblivion of all the rules of decorum, squeezed forward, to the destruction of their dresses. The men began approaching the ladies, and couples were formed for the polonaise.
There was a general movement of retreat, and the Tsar, smiling, came out of the drawing-room door, leading out the lady of the house, and not keeping time to the music. He was followed by the host with Marya Antonovna Narishkin; then came ambassadors, ministers, and various generals, whose names Madame Peronsky never tired of reciting. More than half the ladies had partners, and were taking part, or preparing to take part, in the polonaise.
Natasha felt that she would be left with her mother and Sonya in that minority of the ladies who were crowded back against the wall, and not invited to dance the polonaise. She stood, her thin arms hanging at her sides, and her scarcely outlined bosom heaving regularly. She held her breath, and gazed before her with shining, frightened eyes, with an expression of equal readiness for the utmost bliss or the utmost misery. She took no interest in the Tsar, nor in all the great people Madame Peronsky was pointing out; her mind was filled by one thought: “Is it possible no one will come up to me? Is it possible that I shall not dance among the foremost? Is it possible I shall not be noticed by all these men, who now don't even seem to see me, but if they look at me, look with an expression as though they would say: ‘Ah! that's not she, so it's no use looking'?” “No, it cannot be!” she thought. “They must know how I long to dance, how well I dance, and how they would enjoy dancing with me.”
The strains of the polonaise, which had already lasted some time, were beginning to sound like a melancholy reminiscence in the ears of Natasha. She wanted to cry. Madame Peronsky had left them. The count was at the other end of the ballroom, the countess, Sonya, and she stood in that crowd of strangers as lonely as in a forest, of no interest, of no use to any one. Prince Andrey with a lady passed close by them, obviously not recognising them. The handsome Anatole said something smiling to the lady on his arm, and he glanced at Natasha's face as one looks at a wall. Boris passed by them, twice, and each time turned away. Berg and his wife, who were not dancing, came towards them.
This family meeting here, in a ballroom, seemed a humiliating thing to Natasha, as though there were nowhere else for family talk but here at a ball. She did not listen, and did not look at Vera, who said something to her about her own green dress.
At last the Tsar stood still beside the last of his partners (he had danced with three), the music ceased. An anxious-looking adjutant ran up to the Rostovs, begging them to move a little further back, though they were already close to the wall, and from the orchestra came the circumspect, precise, seductively, stately rhythm of the waltz. The Tsar glanced with a smile down the ballroom. A moment passed; no one had yet begun. An adjutant, who was a steward, went up to Countess Bezuhov and asked her to dance. Smiling, she raised her hand and laid it on the adjutant's shoulder without looking at him. The adjutant-steward, a master of his art, grasped his partner firmly, and with confident deliberation and smoothness broke with her into the first gallop round the edge of the circle, then at the corner of the ballroom caught his partner's left hand, turned her; and through the quickening strains of the music nothing could be heard but the regular jingle of the spurs on the adjutant's rapid, practised feet, and at every third beat the swish of his partner's flying velvet skirt as she whirled round.
Natasha looked at them, and was ready to cry that it was not she dancing that first round of the waltz.
Prince Andrey, in his white uniform of a cavalry colonel, wearing stockings and dancing-shoes, stood looking eager and lively, in the front of the ring not far from the Rostovs. Baron Firhoff was talking to him of the proposed first sitting of the State Council to be held next day. From his intimacy with Speransky, and the part he was taking in the labours of the legislative commission, Prince Andrey was in a position to give authoritative information in regard to that sitting, about which the most diverse rumours were current. But he did not hear what Firhoff was saying to him, and looked from the Tsar to the gentlemen preparing to dance, who had not yet stepped out into the ring.
Prince Andrey was watching these gentlemen, who were timid in the presence of the Tsar, and the ladies, who were dying to be asked to dance.
Pierre went up to Prince Andrey and took him by the arm.
“You always dance. Here is my protégée, the younger Rostov girl, ask her,” he said.
“Where?” asked Bolkonsky. “I beg your pardon,” he said, turning to the baron, “we will finish this conversation in another place, but at a ball one must dance.” He went forward in the direction indicated by Pierre. Natasha's despairing, tremulous face broke upon Prince Andrey. He recognised her, guessed her feelings, saw that it was her debut, remembered what she had said at the window, and with an expression of pleasure on his face he approached Countess Rostov.
“Permit me to introduce you to my daughter,” said the countess, reddening.
“I have the pleasure of her acquaintance already, if the countess remembers me,” said Prince Andrey, with a low and courteous bow, which seemed a direct contradiction to Madame Peronsky's remarks about his rudeness. He went up to Natasha, and raised his hand to put it round her waist before he had fully uttered the invitation to dance. He proposed a waltz to her. The tremulous expression of Natasha's face, ready for despair or for ecstasy, brightened at once into a happy, grateful, childlike smile.
“I have been a long while waiting for you,” that alarmed and happy young girl seemed to say to him in the smile that peeped out through the starting tears as she raised her hand to Prince Andrey's shoulder. They were the second couple that walked forward into the ring.
Prince Andrey was one of the best dancers of his day. Natasha danced exquisitely. Her little feet in their satin dancing-shoes performed their task lightly and independently of her, and her face beamed with a rapture of happiness.
Her bare neck and arms were thin, and not beautiful compared with Ellen's shoulders. Her shoulders were thin, her bosom undefined, her arms were slender. But Ellen was, as it were, covered with the hard varnish of those thousands of eyes that had scanned her person, while Natasha seemed like a young girl stripped for the first time, who would have been greatly ashamed if she had not been assured by every one that it must be so.
Prince Andrey loved dancing. He was anxious to escape as quickly as he could from the political and intellectual conversations into which every one tried to draw him, and anxious too to break through that burdensome barrier of constraint arising from the presence of the Tsar; so he made haste to dance, and chose Natasha for a partner because Pierre pointed her out to him, and because she was the first pretty girl who caught his eyes. But he had no sooner put his arm round that slender, supple waist, and felt her stirring so close to him, and smiling so close to him, than the intoxication of her beauty flew to his head. He felt full of life and youth again as, drawing a deep breath, he brought her to a standstill and began to watch the other couples.
忽然间一切都乱腾起来，人群中一片喧哗，开始向前移动，又闪到两边，让出一条路来，国王在奏乐声中，从分成两行的人群中间走进来。男女主人跟在他身后。国王走得很快，时而向左右两旁的人们点头致意，仿佛力图尽快地回避这最初会见的时刻。乐师们奏着当时以歌词闻名于世的波兰舞曲。歌词开头的一句是：“亚历山大、伊丽莎白，你们令我们叹服。”国王走进了客厅，一群人拥向门口，有几个人变了脸色，急急忙忙地冲过去，又退回来。人群又从客厅门口向后猛退，国王与女主人谈话，在客厅里露面。有个年轻人现出心慌意乱的样子，威逼女士们，要她们让开。有一些女士露出了她们完全忘记上流社会规章的神态，她们在破坏自己的衣服，你推我挤，向前冲去。男人们开始走到女士们跟前，两人一排地站好，就要跳波兰舞了。 
大家闪到一边，让出一条路来，国王面露微笑，搀着这个女主人的手，没有合着音乐的节拍，步出了客厅。男主人和玛丽亚·安东诺夫娜·纳雷什金娜跟在他后面，公使们、大臣们、各个兵种的将军们尾随于其后，佩龙斯卡娅不停地说出他们的名字。半数以上的女士都有舞伴，一个个走出来，或者准备跳波兰舞。娜塔莎感到，她和母亲、索尼娅都被挤到墙边上，仍然呆在那些未被邀请跳波兰舞的一小部分女士中间。她站在那个地方，低垂着自己一双纤细的手，她那稍微隆起的胸脯均匀地起伏，她几乎屏住呼吸，一对吃惊的闪闪发光的眼睛注视着前方，她那表情意味着她对最大的欣悦或极度的悲哀在精神上都有所准备。无论是国王，还是佩龙斯卡娅指给她看的所有的要人，都不能使她发生兴趣，她心里想到的只有一件事：难道没有一个人会走到我跟前来，难道我不能在第一批舞伴之中跳舞，难道所有这些男人都不会注意到我，仿佛他们现在没有看见我，即令他们在看我，他们的神态也仿佛在说：“啊！这不是她，用不着去看她。不对，这不可能啊！”她想道，“他们都应当知道，我很想跳舞，我跳得最好，他们和我一块跳舞是会感到快活的。”
演奏了相当久的波兰舞曲听起来显得忧悒，在娜塔莎的耳鼓中回荡，它所留下的只是回忆而已。她很想哭出声来。佩龙斯卡娅从他们身边走开。伯爵正呆在大厅的另一头，伯爵夫人、索尼娅和她单独地站在陌生的人群中，犹如置身于森林之中，谁也不对她们发生兴趣，谁也不需要她们。安德烈公爵和某个女士从她们身边经过，显然没有把她们认出来。美男子阿纳托利微露笑容，对他自己身旁的舞伴谈着什么话，他朝娜塔莎的面孔瞟了一眼，那目光看来就像有人在望着墙壁似的。鲍里斯接连两次从她们身边经过，他每次都要把脸转过去，不理睬她们，不去跳舞的贝格偕同妻子走到她们面前来了。
娜塔莎觉得这一家人在这个舞会上团聚是一件令人屈辱的事，仿佛除了舞会之外，这家人就没有别的地方可以谈话似的。薇拉不知为什么向她谈到自己穿的绿色连衣裙，娜塔莎不听她说话，也不愿望她。
国王终于在他的最后一个舞伴（他和三个舞伴一同跳过舞）身旁停步，停止奏乐了，一个颇为操心的副官跑着碰上了罗斯托夫一家人，虽然他们都站在墙脚边，但是这个副官还请他们再让开一点，这时合唱团奏起了清晰的从容的引人入胜的富于节奏的华尔兹舞曲。国王微露笑容，看了看大厅。过了一分钟，还没有人走出来。主持舞会的副官走到伯爵夫人别祖霍娃跟前，请她跳舞。她含着微笑抬起一只手，还没有打量副官，就把一只手搁在他的肩膀上。主持舞会的副官是个内行，他紧紧地搂抱舞伴，十分自信地、不慌不忙地、富于节奏地带着他的舞伴先在圆形舞池边上滑行，后在大厅的角落，他托起舞伴的左手，转了一个弯，音乐的节奏愈益加快了。透过这一片乐音，可以听见副官那双又快又灵活的脚不时地碰着马刺，发出富于节奏的叮当的响声；每隔三拍旋转一次，旋转时，舞伴的丝绒连衣裙有如冒出的火焰，不停地飘动。娜塔莎眼巴巴地望着她们，她因为不能跳这一轮华尔兹舞，几乎要哭出声来。
安德烈公爵穿着白色（骑兵式）的上校军服，长袜和矮靿皮鞋，兴致勃勃，心地快活，站在离罗斯托夫一家人不远的舞池的前排。菲尔霍夫男爵跟他谈到预定于明日举行的国务院首次会议。安德烈公爵和斯佩兰斯基的关系密切，并且参与立法委员会的工作，可以提供明日举行的会议的可靠情极，关于这次会议已有各种传闻。但是菲尔霍夫对他说的话他不愿听，他时而望望国王，时而望望那些打算跳又不敢走进圆形舞池的男舞伴们。
安德烈公爵观察这些在国王面前胆怯的男女舞伴，他们一想到被人邀请就愣住了。
皮埃尔走到安德烈公爵面前，一把抓住他的手。
“您是经常跳舞的。这里有我的保护人，罗斯托娃她还很年轻，去邀请她吧。”他说。
“在哪里？”博尔孔斯基问道，“请原谅，”他把脸转向男爵时说道：“我们将在别的地方来结束这次谈话，不过现在要跳舞。”他向皮埃尔指给他看的方向往前走。娜塔莎的绝望的、显得心悸的面孔已经引起安德烈公爵瞩目。他认出她了，猜透了她的心思，懂得她是个初出茅庐的新手，他想起她在窗台上的谈话，便带着愉快的面部表情走到伯爵夫人罗斯托娃跟前。
“请让我介绍您和我女儿认识一下。”伯爵夫人满面通红地说。
“既然伯爵夫人还记得我，把您女儿介绍给我认识，我觉得荣幸，”安德烈公爵说完这句话，毕恭毕敬地走到娜塔莎跟前，深深地鞠躬，这一鞠躬礼与佩龙斯卡娅说他行为粗野的评语截然不同，当他还没有把邀请她跳舞的话说完，他便抬起一只手搂抱她的腰身，他请她跳一轮华尔兹舞。娜塔莎那副对绝望或喜悦均有所准备的显得心悸的面部表情起了变化，幸福、感激、稚气的微笑使她容光焕发。
“我老早就在等你。”这个惊恐的幸运的少女在抬起一只手搭在安德烈公爵肩上的时候，用她那快要含泪的笑容，好像这么说。他们是走进圆形舞池的第二对舞伴。安德烈公爵是当代的优秀舞蹈家之一。娜塔莎也跳得很出色。她那双穿着缎子制的矮靿舞鞋的小脚，急促而轻盈地、无拘无束地转动，她的脸部焕发出幸福的欣赏的光辉。她那裸露的脖子和手臂又瘦又难看。与那海伦的肩头相比，她的肩头太瘦削了，她那胸脯还没有明显地隆起，手臂太纤细，然而千百条视线从海伦身上滑过，她那肌肤宛如涂了一层油漆，而娜塔莎仿佛是个初次袒胸露臂的少女，如果不使她相信袒胸露臂是很有必要的话，她就会感到难乎为情的。
安德烈公爵喜欢跳舞，人们往往找他谈论政治问题和内容深奥的问题，他想快点儿摆脱这些谈话，而且想快点打破由于国王驾临而形成的使他苦闷的窘境，他去跳舞了，挑选娜塔莎，因为皮埃尔把她指给他看了，又因为她是落入他的眼帘的第一个美女，但是他一抱起这个苗条的灵活的身躯，她就在他身边转动起来，她就在他身边微微一笑，她那迷人的酒力冲到他头上；当他喘一口气，把她放开，停下来开始看人跳舞的时候，他觉得自己精力充沛，已经变得年轻了。
Book 6 Chapter 17
AFTER PRINCE ANDREY, Boris came up to ask Natasha to dance, and he was followed by the dancing adjutant who had opened the ball, and many other young men. Natasha, flushed and happy, passed on her superfluous partners to Sonya, and never ceased dancing all the evening, She noticed nothing and saw nothing of what was absorbing every one else at that ball. She did not notice that the Tsar talked a long time with the French ambassador, that his manner was particularly gracious to a certain lady, that Prince So-and-So and Mr. So-and-So had said and done this and that, that Ellen's success had been brilliant, and that So-and-So had paid her marked attention. She did not even see the Tsar, and was only aware that he was gone from noticing that the ball became livelier after his departure.
In one of the most enjoyable cotillions before supper, Prince Andrey danced again with Natasha. He reminded her of how he had first seen her in the avenue at Otradnoe, and how she could not sleep on that moonlight night, and told her how he had unwittingly listened to her. Natasha blushed at these recollections, and tried as it were to excuse herself, as though there were something to be ashamed of in the emotion to which Prince Andrey had unwittingly played the eavesdropper.
Like all men who have grown up in society, Prince Andrey liked meeting anything not of the conventional society stamp. And such was Natasha with her wonder, her delight, her shyness, and even her mistakes in talking French. His manner was particularly tender and circumspect as he talked to her. Sitting beside her, and talking of the simplest and most trifling subjects, Prince Andrey admired the radiant brilliance of her eyes and her smile, that had no concern with what was said but was due simply to her own happiness. When Natasha was chosen again, and she got up with a smile and was dancing, Prince Andrey particularly admired her shy grace. In the middle of the cotillion, Natasha went back to her place, breathless at the end of a figure. Another partner again chose her. She was tired and panting, and evidently she thought for an instant of refusing, but immediately she put her hand on her partner's shoulder and was off again gaily, smiling to Prince Andrey.
“I should have been glad to rest and sit by you. I'm tired; but you see how they keep asking me, and I'm glad of it, and I'm happy, and I love every one, and you and I understand all about it,” and more, much more was said in that smile. When her partner left her side, Natasha flew across the room to choose two ladies for the figure.
“If she goes first to her cousin and then to another lady, she will be my wife,” Prince Andrey—greatly to his own surprise—caught himself saying mentally, as he watched her. She did go first to her cousin.
“What nonsense does sometimes come into one's mind!” thought Prince Andrey, “but one thing's certain, that girl is so charming, so original, that she won't be dancing here a month before she will be married.… She's a rare thing here,” he thought, as Natasha settled herself beside him, sticking in the rose that was falling out of her bodice.
At the end of the cotillion, the old count in his blue frock coat went up to the young people who had been dancing. He invited Prince Andrey to come and see them, and asked his daughter whether she were enjoying herself. Natasha did not at once answer, she only smiled a smile that said reproachfully: “How can you ask such a question?”
“Enjoying myself as I never have before in my life!” she said, and Prince Andrey noticed how her thin arms were swiftly raised as though to embrace her father, and dropped again at once. Natasha was happy as she had never been in her life. She was at that highest pitch of happiness, when one becomes completely good and kind, and disbelieves in the very possibility of evil, unhappiness, and sorrow.
At that ball Pierre for the first time felt humiliated by the position his wife took in the highest court circle. He was sullen and absent-minded. There was a broad furrow right across his forehead, as he stood in a window, staring over his spectacles and seeing no one. Natasha passed close by him on her way in to supper. Pierre's gloomy, unhappy face struck her. She stopped, facing him. She longed to come to his aid, to bestow on him some of her own overflowing happiness. “How delightful it is,” she said; “isn't it?”
Pierre smiled an absent-minded smile, obviously not grasping what was said to him. “Yes, I'm very glad,” he said.
“How can people be discontented at anything!” thought Natasha. “Especially any one as nice as Bezuhov.”
In Natasha's eyes all the people at the ball were particularly kind, sweet, good people, loving one another; none were capable of wronging one another, and so all must be happy.
紧随安德烈公爵之后，鲍里斯走到娜塔莎跟前，邀请她跳舞，宣布舞会开始的副官——舞蹈家，还有一些年轻人也走到娜塔莎跟前，邀请她跳舞，娜塔莎把几个多馀的舞伴让给索尼娅，她彻夜不停地跳舞，满面通红，显得很幸运。她没有注意什么，也没有看见，舞会上有什么事情使人人发生兴趣。她不仅没有发觉国王和法国公使谈了很久的话，他特别慈祥地同某个女士交谈，某个皇储和某人做了什么，说了什么，海伦大受欢迎，博得某人的特别关顾，她甚至没有看见国王，只是在国王离开后舞会更加热闹，她才发见国王已经离开了。晚餐前，安德烈公爵又带着娜塔莎同跳那欢快的科季里昂舞。他使她想起他们在奥特拉德诺耶林荫道上首次相会的情景，她在月明之夜不能入睡，他偶尔听到她说话。一提起这些往事，她满面通红，极力地为她自己的举动辩护，在安德烈公爵意识到他无意中偷听了她的话时，心中仿佛有点儿不好意思。 
安德烈公爵像所有在上流社会成长的人那样，喜欢在上流社会中碰见那种未被打上上流社会共同烙印的东西。娜塔莎也是如此：她流露着惊奇、欣喜和畏葸的神情，说法国话时甚至有许多错误。他很温和地、小心谨慎地对待她并且怀着同样的态度同她谈话。安德烈公爵坐在她身旁，和她谈论到最平凡的、最琐细的事情，他正在欣赏她那眼睛和笑容所焕发的欣悦的光辉，她不是由于他说的话而是由于内心的幸福而流露微笑。当人家挑选娜塔莎，她面带微笑站起来，在大厅中跳舞的时候，安德烈公爵特别欣赏她那羞怯而优雅的姿态。当科季里昂舞跳到半中间的时候，娜塔莎耍完了花样，还在困难地喘气，就向自己的坐位前面走去。新舞伴又邀请她。她疲倦了，喘不过气来，看样子，她想拒绝，但是又马上快活地把手搭在舞伴的肩上，并且面向安德烈公爵微微一笑。
“我很想休息一下，和您坐在一块儿，我疲倦了，可是您知道，他们都在选我作舞伴，我感到高兴，我感到幸运，我喜爱所有的人，我和您都懂得这一切。”这种微笑仿佛说出了许多许多的话。当舞伴把她放开以后，娜塔莎跑着穿过大厅，拖到了两个女伴，一同耍花样。
“如果她首先走到她表姐面前，然后就走到另一个女伴面前，那末她将是我的妻子了。”安德烈公爵望着她，完全出乎意料地对自己说。她首先走到她表姐面前。
“有时候脑子里竟会想到多么荒诞无稽的话啊！”安德烈公爵想了想，“不过有一点倒是千真万确的：这个女郎多么可爱，多么特殊，她在这儿还不消跳满一个月，就会嫁人的……在此地她是稀有的珍宝。”当娜塔莎弄平硬腰带侧边的那朵玫瑰花、在他身旁坐下的时候，他想道。
科季里昂舞跳完之后，老伯爵穿着蓝色燕尾服走到跳舞的人跟前。他邀请安德烈公爵到他家里去做客，又问问女儿，她是否觉得快活？娜塔莎没有回答，只是微微一笑，这样的微笑带有责备的意味，仿佛在说：“这一点怎么可以问呢？”
“这一生从来没有这样快活啊！”她说道，安德烈公爵发现，她那双干瘦的手飞快地举起来抱住父亲，旋即低垂下来，娜塔莎在这一生中从来都没有这样幸福。她正处于极度的幸福之中，此时一个人会变得十分仁慈和优秀，他不相信在尘世之中会有恶事、不幸和悲痛。
皮埃尔在这个舞会上头一次感觉到，他的老婆在上层社会所占的地位使他自己蒙受屈辱。他神色郁闷，漫不经心。他的额角上横着一条深深的皱纹，他站在窗口，透过眼镜向前望去，没有望见任何人。
娜塔莎去用晚餐时，经过他身旁。
皮埃尔那副阴沉的忧愁的面孔使她大吃一惊。她在他对面停步了。她很想助他一臂之力，赐予他以剩馀的幸福。
“伯爵，多么快活，”她说，“是吗？”
“对，我很高兴。”他说。
“他们怎么会对什么事情表示不满呢？”娜塔莎想道，“尤其是像别祖霍夫这样的好人？”在娜塔莎看来，凡是出席舞会的人都同样是仁慈的、可爱的、优秀的，他们互相爱护，谁也不会使谁难受，因此人人应该是幸运的。
Book 6 Chapter 18
NEXT DAY when Prince Andrey thought of the ball it did not occupy his mind for long. “Yes, it was a very successful ball. And besides…yes, the younger Rostov is very charming. There's something fresh in her, original, unlike Petersburg.” That was all he thought about the previous day's ball, and after his morning tea he set to work.
But from fatigue and want of sleep he was not very well disposed for work, and could get nothing done. He was continually criticising his own work—a habit common with him—and was glad when he heard a visitor arrive.
The visitor was Bitsky, a man who was a member of various committees and of all the societies in Petersburg. He was a passionate adherent of the new ideas and of Speransky, and the busiest purveyor of news in Petersburg, one of those men who choose their opinions like their clothes—according to the fashion—but for that very reason seem the most vehement partisans. Scarcely waiting to remove his hat, he ran fussily up to Prince Andrey, and at once began talking. He had just learned particulars of the sitting of the State Council of that morning, opened by the Tsar, and began enthusiastically upon the subject. The Tsar's speech had been, he said, an extraordinary one. It had been a speech such as are only delivered by constitutional monarchs. “The Emperor directly asserted that the Council and the Senate are the estates of the realm; he said that government should be founded not on arbitrary authority, but on a secure basis. The Emperor said that the fiscal system must be reconstituted and the accounts must be public,” Bitsky announced, laying stress on certain words, and opening his eyes significantly. “Yes, to-day's sitting marks an epoch, the greatest epoch in our history,” he concluded.
Prince Andrey heard his account of the opening of the State Council, to which he had been looking forward with such eagerness, and to which he had attached so much consequence, and was amazed that now, when it had come to pass, this event, far from affecting him, struck him as less than insignificant. With quiet irony he listened to Bitsky's enthusiastic description. The idea in his mind was of the simplest. “What is it to me and Bitsky,” he thought, “what is it to us, whatever the Emperor is pleased to say in the Council? Can all that make me any happier or better?”
And this simple reflection suddenly destroyed all Prince Andrey's former interest in the reforms that were being made. That day Prince Andrey was to dine with Speransky, “with only a few friends,” as the host had said in inviting him. That dinner, in the intimate home circle of the man who had so fascinated him, had seemed very attractive to Prince Andrey, especially as he had not hitherto seen Speransky in his home surroundings. But now he had no wish to go to it.
At the hour fixed, however, Prince Andrey was entering the small house in Tavritchesky Garden. The little house, which was Speransky's property, was distinguished by an extraordinary cleanliness, suggestive of the cleanliness of a convent. In the parqueted dining-room, Prince Andrey, who was a little late, found all that circle of Speransky's intimate friends already gathered together at five o'clock. There were no ladies present, except Speransky's little daughter (with a long face like her father's) and her governess. The guests were Gervais, Magnitsky and Stolypin. From the vestibule Prince Andrey had caught the sound of loud voices and a ringing, staccato laugh—a laugh such as one hears on the stage. Some one—it sounded like Speransky—was giving vent to a staccato “ha…ha…ha…” Prince Andrey had never before heard Speransky laugh, and this shrill, ringing laugh from the great statesman made a strange impression on him.
Prince Andrey went into the dining-room. The whole party were standing between the two windows at a little table laid with hors d'?uvres. Speransky was standing at the table with a mirthful countenance, wearing a grey frock coat with a star, and the white waistcoat and high white stock, in which he had been at the famous sitting of the State Council. His guests formed a ring round him. Turning towards him Magnitsky was relating an anecdote. Speransky listened, laughing beforehand at what Magnitsky was going to say. Just as Prince Andrey walked into the room, Magnitsky's words were again drowned in laughter. Stolypin gave vent to a bass guffaw as he munched a piece of bread and cheese. Gervais softly hissed a chuckle, and Speransky laughed his shrill, staccato laugh.
Speransky, still laughing, gave Prince Andrey his soft, white hand. “Very glad to see you, prince,” he said. “One minute…” he turned to Magnitsky, whose tale he was interrupting. “We have made a compact to-day; this is a holiday dinner, and not one word about business.” And he turned again to the story-teller, and again he laughed.
With a sense of wondering and melancholy disillusion, Prince Andrey heard his laughter and looked at Speransky laughing. It was not Speransky, but some other man, it seemed to Prince Andrey. All that had seemed mysterious and attractive in Speransky suddenly seemed to Prince Andrey obvious and unattractive.
At dinner the conversation never paused for a moment, and consisted of something like the contents of a jest-book. Magnitsky had hardly finished his anecdote when another gentleman expressed his readiness to relate something even more amusing. The anecdotes for the most part related, if not to the service itself, to persons prominent in the service. It was as though in this circle the utter insignificance of these prominent persons was so completely accepted that the only attitude possible towards them was one of good-humoured hilarity. Speransky told them how at the council that morning a deaf statesman, on being asked his opinion, replied that he was of the same opinion. Gervais described a whole episode of the revision, only remarkable for the imbecility of all concerned in it. Stolypin, stammering, took up the conversation and began talking of the abuses of the old order of things, with a warmth that threatened to give the conversation a serious turn. Magnitsky began to make fun of Stolypin's earnestness. Gervais put in his joke, and the conversation resumed its former lively tone. It was obvious that after his labours Speransky liked to rest and be amused in the circle of his friends; and all his friends understood his tastes, and were trying to amuse him and themselves. But this kind of gaiety seemed to Prince Andrey tiresome and anything but gay. Speransky's high voice struck him unpleasantly, and his continual laugh in its high-pitched, falsetto note was for some reason an offence to Prince Andrey's feelings. Prince Andrey did not laugh, and was afraid he would be felt uncongenial by this party. But no one noticed his lack of sympathy with the general merriment. All of them appeared to be greatly enjoying themselves.
Several times he tried to enter into the conversation, but every time the word was snatched out of his mouth, like a cork out of water, and he could not bandy jokes with them. There was nothing wrong or unseemly in what they said; it was all witty, and might have been amusing, but something—that very something that makes the zest of gaiety—was wanting, and they did not even know of its existence.
After dinner Speransky's daughter and her governess rose from the table. Speransky patted his daughter with his white hand, and kissed her. And that gesture, too, seemed to Prince Andrey unnatural.
The men sat on over their port, after the English fashion. A conversation sprang up about Napoleon's doings in Spain, of which all were united in approving, while Prince Andrey attacked them. But in the middle of this discussion Speransky, obviously wishing to change the subject, began with a smile telling an anecdote, which had no connection with it. For several instants every one was silent.
As they sat at table, Speransky, corking up a bottle of wine and saying, “Nowadays good wine doesn't go a-begging!” gave it to the servant and got up. All rose, and talking just as noisily, went into the drawing-room. Speransky was handed two envelopes brought by a special courier. He took them and went into his study. As soon as he had gone, there was a lull in the general gaiety, and the guests began conversing sensibly in low tones together.
“Well, now for the recitation!” said Speransky, coming out of his study. “A marvellous talent!” he said to Prince Andrey. Magnitsky at once threw himself into an attitude, and began to recite comic French verses, a skit he had composed on various well-known persons. Several times he was interrupted by applause. At the conclusion of the recitation Prince Andrey went up to Speransky to say good-bye.
“Why so early?” said Speransky.
“I promised to be at a soirée.…”
They said no more. Prince Andrey looked at those mirror-like, impenetrable eyes, so close to his, and he felt it ludicrous that he should have expected anything from Speransky, and from all his own work connected with him, and marvelled how he could have ascribed any value to what Speransky was doing. That punctual, mirthless laugh was ringing in Prince Andrey's ears long after he had left Speransky's.
On reaching home Prince Andrey began looking at his life in Peters-burg during the last four months, as though it were something new. He thought of the efforts he had made, and the people he had tried to see, and the history of his project of army reform, which had been accepted for consideration, and had been shelved because another scheme, a very poor one, had already been worked out and presented to the Tsar. He thought of the sittings of the committee, of which Berg was a member. He thought of the conscientious and prolonged deliberations that took place at those sittings on every point relating to the formalities of the sittings themselves, and the studious brevity with which anything relating to the reality of their duties was touched on in passing. He thought of his work on the legislative reforms, of his careful translation of the Roman and French codes into Russian, and he felt ashamed of himself. Then he vividly imagined Bogutcharovo, his pursuits in the country, his expedition to Ryazan; he thought of his peasants, of Dron the village elder; and applying the section on Personal Rights, which he had divided into paragraphs, to them, he marvelled how he could have so long busied himself on work so idle.
第二天，安德烈公爵想起了昨天的舞会，但他的心绪没有长久地驻留于舞会。“是的，一次很出色的舞会。还有……是的，罗斯托娃很可爱。在她身上有一种新鲜的、特殊的、非彼得堡的、使她独具一格的东西。”这就是他所想到的昨天举办的舞会上的一切，他畅饮了一顿早茶，就坐下来工作。 
但因疲倦或失眠的关系，这天不适应于工作，安德烈公爵什么事也不能做，他自己总是批评自己的工作上的缺点，过去他常有这种事情；但当他一听到有人来访，心里很高兴。
来访的人是比茨基，他在形形色色的委员会里供职，并常在彼得堡的交际场合出现，热烈地崇拜斯佩兰斯基和新思想，也是彼得堡的一个最操劳的传播消息的人，又是一个把选择流派视如挑选时装的人，因而这种人好像是最热心的首先倡导流派的人。他一摘下宽边帽子，就顾虑重重地跑去拜访安烈公爵，马上打开话匣子。他刚刚得知国王在今天早上召开的国务会议的详情，并且极为欣喜地叙述这件事。国王的讲话不同寻常。这是只有立宪君主才会发表的一篇演说。
“国王直截了当地说，国务院和参政院均为国家·组·织，他说，治理国事不应横行霸道，而应根据·坚·实·的原则。国王说，财政必须加以改造，决算必须公开。”比茨基讲道，他把众所周知的词说得很重，意味深长地睁开眼睛。
“是的，目前的事件开辟了一个纪元，我们历史上的一个最伟大的纪元。”他说了这句收尾的话。
安德烈公爵静听有关国务会议开幕的情形，他很急切地企盼这次会议，并且认为它具有重大意义，但是使他感到诧异的是，当这一事件现在已经发生的时候，他非但未尝受到感动，而且觉得这是一件毫无意义的事。他微带嘲笑地听着比茨基的得意的叙述。他的脑海中浮现着一个最简单的想法：国王是否愿意在国务会议上发言，这与我和比茨基何干？与我们何干？这一切岂能使我变得更幸福，更美好吗？
这种简单的见解突然破坏了安德烈公爵对所实现的改革原有的兴趣。这一天安德烈公爵要在斯佩兰斯基家的“en　petit　cemité”①出席午宴，主人邀请他时说了这番话。这次午宴是在他所称赞的人士的家庭中的一个友好的圈子里举办的，这在以前会使他很感兴趣，而且直至如今他没有见过家庭生活中的斯佩兰斯基，可是他现在他根本不愿去了。 
①法语：友好的圈子里。
但是，在约定的午宴时间，安德烈公爵已经走进一幢坐落在道利达花园旁边的斯佩兰斯基的不大的私人住宅。一幢不大的住宅异常清洁（像修道士的居室那样清洁），稍微迟到的安德烈公爵在一间铺有镶木地板的餐厅里，发现了几个斯佩兰斯基的密友，他们（这个友好的圈子里的人）在五点钟都到齐了，除开斯佩兰斯基的幼女（长脸蛋，像她爸爸）和她的家庭女教师之外，这里并没有任何别的女子了。客人中有热尔韦、马格尼茨基和斯托雷平。安德烈公爵还在接待室就听见洪亮的语声、清晰响亮的笑声，就像舞台上发出来的哈哈大笑声。某人用那颇似斯佩兰斯基的嗓音一拍一拍地发出哈……哈……哈……的笑声。安德烈公爵从来都没有听见过斯佩兰斯基的笑声，这个国事活动家的响亮而微妙的笑声使他觉得古怪。
安烈公爵走进了餐厅。所有的人都站在两扇窗户之间的一张摆着冷盘的桌旁。斯佩兰斯基穿着灰色燕尾服，佩戴勋章，显然他在出席闻名的国务会议时也穿着这件白色的坎肩，系着这条高高的白领带，这会儿他带着愉快的面容站在餐桌旁。客人们站在他周围。马格尼茨基把脸转向米哈伊尔·米哈伊洛维奇，正在叙述一则趣闻。斯佩兰斯基听着，对马格尼茨基要讲的话事先就冷嘲热讽。当安德烈公爵走进房里来，马格尼茨基所讲的话又被笑声淹没了。斯托雷平一面用低沉的嗓音哈哈大笑，一面咀嚼着一块带有干酪的面包；热尔韦低声地吃吃地笑，斯佩兰斯基发出清晰而含蓄的笑声。
斯佩兰斯基还在不停地发笑，他向安德烈公爵伸出一又白又嫩的手。
“公爵，看见您，我很高兴，”他说，“等一等……”他把脸转向马格尼茨基时说，他把他的话打断了，“我们今儿约定：我们举办一次快乐的午宴，宴间切勿谈论国家大事。”接着他又把脸转向讲故事的人，又开始大笑起来。
安德烈公爵带着惊讶的、由于失望而忧郁的神态静听他的笑声，谛视哈哈大笑的他（斯佩兰斯基）。安德烈公爵仿佛觉得他不是斯佩兰斯基，而是另外一个人。从前安德烈公爵认为斯佩兰斯基神秘莫测，富有魅力，而今这一切蓦地被他看穿了，不再惹人瞩目了。
桌旁的谈话一刻也没有中断，它仿佛在于搜集笑话。马格尼茨基还没有讲完自己的故事，就有另外一个人表示愿意讲个更加可笑的故事。笑话多半涉及职务范围，否则势必涉及供职人员。这群人似乎一口断定这些公务人员都是微不足道的，对他们的唯一的态度只能是善心的讪笑。斯佩兰斯基讲到，今天早上举行的国务会议上，问一个聋子大臣有何意见，他回答，说他也有这样的意见。热尔韦讲了一件有关监察的事，这件事所以引人注目，是因为当事人的行为太荒谬了。斯托雷平结结巴巴地插话，开始急躁地谈到昔时的理所当然的舞弊行为，威吓对话人要赋予谈话以严肃认真的性质。马格尼茨基开始取笑斯托雷平的急躁情绪。热尔韦插进一个笑话，于是谈话又具有从前那种欢快的趋向。
虽然，斯佩兰斯基喜欢在工余休息一下，在朋友圈子里寻欢作乐，他所有的客人明了他的意图，极力地使他开心，也让他们自己开心。但是安德烈公爵仿佛觉得这种娱乐是沉重的，不愉快的。斯佩兰斯基的尖细的嗓音听来逆耳，使他觉得奇怪，他那经久不息的虚伪的笑声，不知为什么使安德烈公爵在感情上受到侮辱。安德烈公爵没有面露笑意，他害怕，他将会教这群人在思想上感到沉重。但是没有人发觉，他和大家的情绪相抵触。大家都觉得非常愉快。
他有几次想参加谈话，但是每次他的话溅了出去，就像软木塞从水里溅出去似的，他没法和他们一起打诨。
他们说的话没有什么粗俗和不妥之处，都是颇有心计的，滑稽可笑的，不过，这里头不仅没有什么乐趣可言，而且，他们不知道有这样一种乐趣。
午宴完毕后斯佩兰斯基的女儿和她的家庭女教师都站起来。斯佩兰斯基用他那只洁白的手抚摸自己的女儿，吻吻她。
安德烈公爵仿佛觉得这个动作不自然。
男人们按照英国方式仍然坐在餐桌旁，他们身旁摆着波尔图葡萄酒。谈话谈到半中间，话题正涉及拿破仑在西班牙的所作所为，受到众人一致的赞扬，安德烈公爵却反驳他们的意见。斯佩兰斯基微微一笑，显然他想引开话头，于是讲了一则与话题无关的趣闻。众人沉默了一会。
斯佩兰斯基在桌旁坐了一会儿，便塞住一只装着剩酒的瓶子并且开口说：“今儿好酒贵起来了，很难搞到。”他把酒瓶交给仆人，站立起来，大家都站立起来，仍然是谈东道西，唧唧喳喳，在嘈杂声中走进了客厅。有人将信使送来的两封信递给斯佩兰斯基。他拿起两封书函，走进那书斋。他刚刚走出去，大家的娱乐就停止了，客人们开始审慎地低声地彼此交谈几句。
“喂，现在朗诵诗歌吧！”斯佩兰斯基走出书斋时说。“非凡的天才！”他把脸转向安德烈公爵时说道。马格尼茨基立刻摆出一副架势，开始朗诵他为讥讽几位彼得堡的知名人士而作的法文滑稽诗，有几次被掌声打断。诗歌朗诵完毕后，安德烈公爵走到斯佩兰斯基跟前，向他告辞。
“这么早，您想走到哪里去呢？”斯佩兰斯基说。
“我答应出席……晚会。”
他们沉默了片刻。安德烈公爵从近处望着这对明净如镜的不让人逼近的眼睛，他觉得可笑，他怎么能够对斯佩兰斯基抱有什么期望，对自己与他息息相关的活动抱有什么期望，他怎么能够对斯佩兰斯基所做的事业予以重视。在他离开斯佩兰斯基以后，这种有节制的、忧郁的笑声经久不息地在安德烈公爵的耳旁发出回响。
安德烈公爵回家后，开始回忆他这四个月的彼得堡的生活，仿佛记忆尤新，往事历历在目。他回忆起他东奔西走，阿谀奉承，回忆起他草拟军事条令的经过，这份草案业已备查，但是人人避而不谈，唯一的原因是，另一份极为拙劣的草案亦已拟就，并且呈送回去了；他回想起贝格担任委员的那个委员会的几次会议；在这几次会议上人们长时间地、认真地讨论涉及委员会会议的形式和程序的各种问题，而对涉及问题实质的一切事情却很简略地加以讨论，马虎地应付过去。他回忆起他所参与的立法事宜，回忆起他很操心地把罗马法典和法国法典的条文译成俄文，他为自己而感到羞愧。后来他深刻地想象到博古恰罗沃村，他在农村的作业，他赴梁赞的一次游历，回顾一些农夫。村长德龙；并将分成章节的有关人权的条文施用于他们。他感到惊奇，他竟能如此长久地从事这种无益的工作。
Book 6 Chapter 19
THE NEXT DAY Prince Andrey paid calls on various people whom he had not visited before, and among them on the Rostovs, with whom he had renewed his acquaintance at the ball. Apart from considerations of politeness, which necessitated a call on the Rostovs, Prince Andrey wanted to see at home that original, eager girl, who had left such a pleasant recollection with him.
Natasha was one of the first to meet him. She was in a blue everyday dress, in which she struck Prince Andrey as looking prettier than in her ball-dress. She and all the family received Prince Andrey like an old friend, simply and cordially. All the family, which Prince Andrey had once criticised so severely, now seemed to him to consist of excellent, simple, kindly people. The hospitality and good-nature of the old count, particularly striking and attractive in Petersburg, was such that Prince Andrey could not refuse to stay to dinner. “Yes, these are good-natured, capital people,” thought Bolkonsky. “Of course they have no conception, what a treasure they possess in Natasha; but they are good people, who make the best possible background for the strikingly poetical figure of that charming girl, so full of life!”
Prince Andrey was conscious in Natasha of a special world, utterly remote from him, brimful of joys unknown to him, that strange world, which even in the avenue at Otradnoe, and on that moonlight night at the window had tantalised him. Now that no longer tantalised him, it seemed no longer an alien world; but he himself was stepping into it, and finding new pleasures in it.
After dinner Natasha went to the clavichord, at Prince Andrey's request, and began singing. Prince Andrey stood at the window talking to the ladies, and listened to her. In the middle of a phrase, Prince Andrey ceased speaking, and felt suddenly a lump in his throat from tears, the possibility of which he had not dreamed of in himself. He looked at Natasha singing, and something new and blissful stirred in his soul. He was happy, and at the same time he was sad. He certainly had nothing to weep about, but he was ready to weep. For what? For his past love? For the little princess? For his lost illusions? … For his hopes for the future? … Yes, and no. The chief thing which made him ready to weep was a sudden, vivid sense of the fearful contrast between something infinitely great and illimitable existing in him, and something limited and material, which he himself was, and even she was.
This contrast made his heart ache, and rejoiced him while she was singing.
As soon as Natasha had finished singing, she went up to him, and asked how he liked her voice. She asked this, and was abashed after saying it, conscious that she ought not to have asked such a question. He smiled, looking at her, and said he liked her singing, as he liked everything she did.
It was late in the evening when Prince Andrey left the Rostovs'. He went to bed from the habit of going to bed, but soon saw that he could not sleep. He lighted a candle and sat up in bed; then got up, then lay down again, not in the least wearied by his sleeplessness: he felt a new joy in his soul, as though he had come out of a stuffy room into the open daylight. It never even occurred to him that he was in love with this little Rostov girl. He was not thinking about her. He only pictured her to himself, and the whole of life rose before him in a new light as he did so. “Why do I struggle? Why am I troubled in this narrow cramped routine, when life, all life, with all its joys, lies open before me?” he said to himself. And for the first time for a very long while, he began making happy plans for the future. He made up his mind that he ought to look after his son's education, to find a tutor, and entrust the child to him. Then he ought to retire from the army, and go abroad, see England, Switzerland, Italy. “I must take advantage of my liberty, while I feel so much youth and strength in me,” he told himself. “Pierre was right in saying that one must believe in the possibility of happiness, in order to be happy, and now I do believe in it. Let us leave the dead to bury the dead; but while one is living, one must live and be happy,” he thought.
次日，安德烈公爵去访问他还没有去过的几家人，就包括在最近一次舞会上恢复旧交的罗斯托夫一家人。从礼节而论，安德烈公爵应当去罗斯托夫家里访问，此外他还想在他们家里看到这个特殊的、活泼的、给他留下愉快的回忆的姑娘。 
娜塔莎随着几个人先走出来迎接他。她身穿一件蓝色的家常连衣裙，安德烈公爵仿佛觉得她穿这件衣裳比穿舞会服装还更漂亮。她和罗斯托夫全家人接待安德烈公爵，就像接待老朋友似的，大方而亲切。安德烈公爵从前严厉地指责这家人，现在他仿佛觉得他们都是优秀的、纯朴的善良的人。老伯爵的好客和温厚曾使彼得堡人都感到异常亲切，因此安德烈公爵不能谢绝他所举办的午宴。“是的，他们是善良的可爱的人，”博尔孔斯基想到，“不消说，他们丝毫不明了娜塔莎具有丰富的内心美，但是善良的人们构成了最美的背景，在背景上，这个特别富有诗意、充满生命力、十分迷人的姑娘显得分外突出，光艳照人！”
安德烈公爵心里觉得，娜塔莎身上存在那样一个他认为完全陌生的、充满着他不熟知的欢乐的特殊世界，往昔在奥特拉德诺耶林荫道上，在窗台上，在月明之夜，这个陌生的世界曾经激起他的欲望。如今这个世界已经不再逗弄他了，已经不是陌生的世界了；可是当他亲自进入这个世界后，他已经发现其中有一种新的乐趣。
午宴后娜塔莎在安德烈公爵的请求下走到击弦古钢琴前面，唱起歌来。安德烈公爵站在窗口，和几个女士谈话，一面的听她唱歌。当她唱到一个短句的半中间，安德烈公爵不再作声了，忽然感觉到泪水涌上了他的喉头，他先前从来就不知道怎么会热泪盈眶。他望望唱歌的娜塔莎，他心灵中产生了一种新的幸福的感觉。他感到幸福，同时又觉得忧悒。他根本用不着发哭，但是他很想哭出声来。为什么而哭呢？为了从前的爱情吗？为了矮小的公爵夫人吗？为了绝望而哭吗？……为对未来的希望而哭吗？……亦是，亦非。他很想发哭，主要是因为他突然意识到他的心灵中的无穷大的、不甚分明的东西与那窄山的有形的东西之间的可怕的对立，他本人，甚至连她都是有形的东西。在她歌唱的时候，这种对立既使他痛苦，也使他高兴。
娜塔莎刚刚唱完，就走到他跟前，问他是否喜欢她的歌喉，她问了这句话，当她开了腔，明白她不该这样问之后，她感到困惑不安。他端详着她，微微一笑，并且说，他喜欢她唱歌，就像他喜欢她所作的一切事情。
安德烈分爵于深夜才离开罗斯托夫之家。他按照就寝的习惯躺下来睡觉，但是他很快就知道他不能入睡。他时而点燃蜡烛，坐在卧榻上，时而站起来，又躺下去，丝毫不因失眠而感到苦恼，他心里非常愉快，分外清新，好像从窒闷的房里走到自由的世间。他连想也没有想到他会爱上罗斯托娃；他没有想她，她只在他脑海中浮现，因此他好像觉得他的生活焕然一新。“当生活，全部生活和生活中的一切欢乐在我面前展现的时候，我为什么要害怕，我为什么要在这个狭隘的与外界隔绝的框框中忙碌地张罗？”他对自己这样说。他于是在长时期后第一次开始拟订幸福的前景规划。他自行决定，他应该着手培养自己的儿子，给他找个教育者，把儿子付托给他；然后就应当退休，到外国去，游览英吉利、瑞士、意大利。“趁我觉得自己风华正茂、精力旺盛的时候，我应当享受我应有的自由。”他自言自语地说。“皮埃尔没有错，他说过，要做一个幸福者，就应当相信幸福是可以得到的，所以我现在相信他的话。任凭死人埋葬他们的死人，①趁我活着的时候，就应当生活，应当做一个幸福者。”他想道。 
①见《圣经·新约·马太福音》第八章第二十二节。
Book 6 Chapter 20
ONE MORNING Colonel Adolphe Berg, whom Pierre knew just as he knew every one in Moscow and Petersburg, called upon him. He was wearing a brand-new uniform, and had his powdered locks standing up over his forehead, as worn by the Tsar Alexander Pavlovitch.
“I have just been calling on the countess, your spouse, and to my misfortune, my request could not be granted. I hope I shall be more fortunate with you, count,” he said, smiling.
“What is it you desire, colonel? I am at your disposal.”
“I am by now, quite settled in my new quarters,” Berg informed him with perfect conviction that to hear this fact could not but be agreeable; “and so I was desirous of giving a little soirée for my friends and my spouse.” (He smiled still more blandly.) “I meant to ask the countess and you to do me the honour to come to us for a cup of tea, and … to supper.”
Only the Countess Elena Vassilyevna, who considered it beneath her to associate with nobodies like the Bergs, could have had the cruelty to refuse such an invitation. Berg explained so clearly why he wanted to gather together a small and select company at his new rooms; and why it would be agreeable to him to do so; and why he would grudge spending money on cards, or anything else harmful; but was ready for the sake of good society to incur expense, that Pierre could not refuse, and promised to come.
“Only not late, count, if I may venture to beg. Ten minutes to eight, I venture to beg. We will make up a party for boston. Our general is coming; he is very kind to me. We will have a little supper, count, so I shall esteem it an honour.”
Contrary to his usual habit (he was almost always late) Pierre arrived at the Bergs' not at ten minutes to eight, but at a quarter to eight.
The Bergs had made all necessary preparations for their little party, and were quite ready to receive their guests.
Berg and his wife were sitting in a new, clean, light study, furnished with little busts and pictures and new furniture. Berg, with his new uniform closely buttoned up, sat beside his wife, and was explaining to her that one always could and ought to cultivate the acquaintance of people above one—for only then is there anything agreeable in acquaintances. “You pick up something, you can put in a word for something. Look at me now, how I used to manage in the lower grades (Berg reckoned his life not by years but by promotions). “My comrades are nothing still, while I'm a lieutenant-colonel. I have the happiness of being your husband” (he got up and kissed Vera's hand, but on the way turned back the corner of the rug, which was rucked-up). “And how did I obtain all this? Chiefly by knowing how to select my acquaintances. It goes without saying, of course, that one has to be conscientious and punctual in the discharge of one's duties.”
Berg smiled with a sense of his own superiority over a mere weak woman, and paused, reflecting that this charming wife of his was, after all, a weak woman, who could never attain all that constituted a man's dignity,—ein Mann zu sein. Vera smiled, too, at the same time with a sense of her superiority over her conscientious, excellent husband, who yet, like all men, according to Vera's ideas of them, took such a mistaken view of life. Berg, judging from his wife, considered all women weak and foolish. Vera, judging from her husband only, and generalising from her observation of him, supposed that all men ascribed common-sense to none but themselves, and at the same time had no understanding for anything, and were conceited and egoistic.
Berg got up, and cautiously embracing his wife so as not to crush the lace bertha, for which he had paid a round sum, he kissed her just on her lips.
“There's only one thing: we mustn't have children too soon,” he said, by a connection of ideas of which he was himself unconscious.
“Yes,” answered Vera, “I don't at all desire that. We must live for society.”
“Princess Yusupov was wearing one just like that,” said Berg, pointing with a happy and good-humoured smile to the bertha.
At that moment they were informed that Count Bezuhov had arrived. Both the young couple exchanged glances of self-satisfaction, each mentally claiming the credit of this visit.
“See what comes of knowing how to make acquaintances,” thought Berg. “See what comes of behaving properly!”
“But, please, when I am entertaining guests,” said Vera, “don't you interrupt me, because I know with what to entertain each of them, and what to say in the company of different people.”
Berg, too, smiled.
“Oh, but sometimes men must have their masculine conversation,” he said.
Pierre was shown into the little drawing-room, in which it was impossible to sit down without disturbing the symmetry, tidiness, and order; and consequently it was quite comprehensible, and not strange, that Berg should magnanimously offer to disturb the symmetry of the armchair or of the sofa for an honoured guest, and apparently finding himself in miserable indecision in the matter, should leave his guest to solve the question of selection. Pierre destroyed the symmetry, moved out a chair for himself, and Berg and Vera promptly began their soirée, interrupting each other in their efforts to entertain their guest.
Vera, deciding in her own mind that Pierre ought to be entertained with conversation about the French Embassy, promptly embarked upon that subject. Berg, deciding that masculine conversation was what was required, interrupted his wife's remarks by reference to the question of war with Austria, and made an unconscious jump from that general subject to personal considerations upon the proposal made him to take part in the Austrain campaign, and the reasons which had led him to decline it. Although the conversation was extremely disconnected, and Vera resented the intervention of the masculine element, both the young people felt with satisfaction that although only one guest was present, the soirée had begun very well, and that their soirée was as like every other soirée as two drops of water,—with the same conversation and tea and lighted candles.
The next to arrive was Boris, an old comrade of Berg's. There was a certain shade of patronage and condescension in his manner to Berg and Vera. After Boris came the colonel and his lady, then the general himself, then the Rostovs, and the soirée now began to be exactly, incontestably, like all other soirées. Berg and Vera could hardly repress their smiles of glee at the sight of all this movement in their drawing-room, at the sound of the disconnected chatter, and the rustle of skirts and of curtsies. Everything was precisely as everybody always has it; especially so was the general, who admired their rooms, clapped Berg on the shoulder, and with paternal authority insisted on arranging the table for boston. The general sat by Count Ilya Andreivitch, as the guest next in precedence to himself. The elderly guests were together, the younger people together, the hostess at the tea-table, on which there were cakes in the silver cake-basket exactly like the cakes at the Panins' soirées. Everything was precisely like what everybody else had.
一日早晨，上校阿道夫·贝格穿着一身干干净净的、簇新的制服，用发蜡把鬓角抹平，打扮得像亚历山大·巴甫洛维奇皇帝那样，前来拜看皮埃尔，皮埃尔认识莫斯科和彼得堡的一切人士，因此他也认识他。 
“我刚才到过您太太——伯爵夫人那儿，我真倒霉，我的请求未能如愿以偿，伯爵，我希望在您那儿过得更幸运。”他微笑着说。
“上校，您有何事？我愿意为您效劳。”
“伯爵，目前我在新住宅里完全安顿好了，”贝格说，显然他知道，听到这句话不能不令人愉快，“因此我想为我的朋友和我夫人的朋友举行一次小型的晚会。（他愈益欢快地微微一笑。）我想请伯爵夫人和您光临我舍饮茶……并用晚餐。”
只有伯爵夫人海伦·瓦西里耶夫娜认为贝格之流有损她的尊严，才不顾情面地拒绝这样的邀请。贝格说得很明白，为什么他想邀请少数几位好友到住所里聚会，为什么他会感到高兴，为什么他舍不得花钱去赌博和偏爱什么不良的娱乐，但是他愿意为好友聚会而耗费金钱，既然如此，皮埃尔不能谢绝，便答应到他家里去。
“伯爵，只不过请您莫迟到，我冒昧请求。差十分钟就到11点了，我冒昧请求。凑一局，我们的将军就要光临了。他待我非常和善。伯爵，我们用晚饭。请您赏光吧。”
皮埃尔违反他一向迟到的习惯，这天不是八点差十分，而是八点差一刻就到了贝格家里。
贝格夫妇储存了晚会必需的物品，已经在准备接待客人了。
贝格和妻子坐在一间新近建成的清洁而又明亮的、装饰着小型半身雕像、绘画作品和新家具的书斋里。贝格穿着一件簇新的、扣紧钮扣的制服，坐在妻子身旁，一面向她说明，一个人总有可能，而且应当结交一些比他自己地位更高的人，只有在这种情况下才能体会到广于交游的乐趣。
“这样你就能模仿着学点什么，也可以向人求教，获得一点裨益，你看我是怎样从最低的官阶一级一级地升上来的（贝格这辈子不是用岁月来计算的，而是用他获得最高奖赏的次数来计算的）。目前我的同学们都还是无用之物，而我就要接任团长的空缺了，我有幸当了您的丈夫（他站立起来，吻吻薇拉的手，在向她走去的时候，他把地毯的折角弄平了）。他凭藉什么获得这一切呢？主要是，善于择交。不言而喻，必须具备有高尚的品德，认真地履行职责……”
贝格意识到他比软弱的妇女优越，他于是微微一笑，不开腔了，他想了想，他这个可爱的妻子仍然是个软弱的妇女，她没有办法理解男人ein　Mann　zu　sein①的各种长处。薇拉同时意识到他比道德高尚的好丈夫优越，因此，她也微微一笑，在她看来，丈夫像所有的男人一样。对生活仍然理解得很不正确。贝格在评论妻子时，竟认为所有的女人都是软弱而且愚蠢的。而薇拉在评论丈夫时，却把她的观点加以推广，以为所有的男人都认为自己明智，但他们一窍不通，都是夜郎自大，而且自私自利。 
①德语：作为一个男子汉。
贝格站起来，小心翼翼地拥抱自己的妻子，为的是要不揉皱他花高价买来的花边短披肩，他对准她的嘴唇的正中间吻了一下。
“只希望我们别早生孩子。”他不自觉地顺着思路的延续发展，说道。
“是的，”薇拉回答，“我根本不想很快就生孩子。应当为社会而生活嘛。”
“公爵夫人尤苏波娃身上穿的那件短披肩也是这样的。”
贝格脸上流露着幸福的和善的微笑，他指着披肩说道。
这时候有人报告，说别祖霍夫伯爵到了，夫妇二人互使眼色，洋洋自得地微笑，每人都把有人来访的荣幸归属于自己。
“善于结交多么重要，”贝格想了想，“善于待人接物多么重要！”
“不过，当我接待宾客的时候，要记住，”薇拉说道，“你别打断我的话，因为我知道，要怎样接待每个宾客，在什么交际场合要说什么话。”
贝格也微微一笑。
“那不行，有时和男人打交道，就要谈谈男人的事情。”他说。
在一间新客厅里他们接待了皮埃尔，在这个地方如果不破坏对称和整齐清洁，哪儿也没法坐下来，为了要招待客人，贝格十分慷慨地愿意破坏安乐椅或者沙发的对称，这样做倒是完全可以理解的，不足为怪的，显然，他本人在这方面近乎病态的犹豫不决，只得听任宾客来处理这个问题。皮埃尔把椅子拖到自己跟前，对称被他破坏了，贝格和薇拉马上争先恐后地去应酬宾客，晚会就这样开始了。
薇拉心里琢磨了一会，果断地认为，应当谈论有关法国大使馆的事情，藉以引起皮埃尔的兴趣，拿定主意后，她立即谈起来了。贝格肯定地认为，还必须谈论男人的事情，于是他打断妻子的发言，提及对奥作战的问题，同时他又情不自禁地从一般的谈论忽然飞跃到个人的意向问题，即指有人建议他出征奥国以及他不接受建议的各种原因。虽然他们的谈话前后不相连贯，而且，薇拉对谈话时男人插嘴一事十分恼怒，但是他们夫妇二人都很满意，尽管晚会上只有一位客人，彼等依旧认为晚会开得成功，这次晚会与其他任何晚会一模一样，别无二致！晚会上既有谈话，也有甜茶，还有点燃的蜡烛。
此后不久，贝格的老同事鲍里斯到了。他在对待贝格和薇拉的态度上，显示着几分优越感和激励他们的意味。一名女士和上校、继而是将军本人、然后是罗斯托夫一家人都在鲍里斯之后走来，晚会已无可置疑地同所有的晚会完全一样。贝格和薇拉在看见客厅中的动作，听见不连贯的话语。连衣裙的窸窣声和寒暄时，他们忍不住流露出愉快的微笑。与所有晚会相同，各色俱全，尤其是将军像个指挥官，他称赞住宅，拍拍贝格的肩膀，摆出父辈独断独行的样子，发号施令，安排波士顿牌桌的坐次。将军坐在论名位仅次于自己的贵客伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵旁边。小老头和小老头坐在一起，年轻人和年轻人坐在一起，女主人也坐在茶桌旁，就像帕宁家举办的晚会一样，茶桌上摆着银篮装的烘烤的食品，一切均与别人家所举办的晚会无异。
Book 6 Chapter 21
PIERRE, as one of the most honoured guests, was obliged to sit down to boston with the old count, the general, and the colonel. As he sat at the boston-table he happened to be directly facing Natasha and he was struck by the curious change that had come over her since the day of the ball. Natasha was silent, and not only was she not so pretty as she had been at the ball, she would have been positively plain but for the look of gentle indifference to everything in her face
“What is wrong with her?” Pierre wondered, glancing at her. She was sitting by her sister at the tea-table; she gave reluctant answers to Boris at her side and did not look at him. After playing all of one suit and taking five tricks to his partner's satisfaction, Pierre, having caught the sound of greetings and the steps of some one entering while he took his tricks glanced at her again.
“Why, what has happened to her?” he said to himself in still greater wonder.
Prince Andrey was standing before her saying something to her with an expression of guarded tenderness on his face. She, lifting her head, was looking at him, flushing crimson, and visibly trying to control her breathing, which came in panting gasps. And the vivid glow of some inner fire that had been quenched before was alight in her again. She was utterly transformed. From a plain girl she was once more the beautiful creature she had been at the ball.
Prince Andrey went up to Pierre, and Pierre noticed a new, youthful expression in his friend's face. Several times Pierre changed his seat during the play, sitting sometimes with his back to Natasha, sometimes facing her, and during all the six rubbers he was observing her and his friend.
“Something very serious is happening between them,” thought Pierre, and a feeling at once of gladness and of bitterness made him agitated and forgetful of the game.
After six rubbers the general got up, saying it was of no use playing like that, and Pierre was at liberty. Natasha, at one side of the room, was talking to Sonya and Boris. Vera, with a subtle smile, was saying something to Prince Andrey. Pierre went up to his friend, and, asking whether they were talking secrets, sat down beside them. Vera, noticing Prince Andrey's attention to Natasha, felt that at a soirée, at a real soirée, it was absolutely necessary there should be delicate allusions to the tender passion, and seizing an opportunity when Prince Andrey was alone, began a conversation with him upon the emotions generally, and her sister in particular. She felt that, with a guest so intellectual as she considered Prince Andrey, she must put all her diplomatic tact into the task before her. When Pierre went up to them he noticed that Vera was in full flow of self-complacent talk, while Prince Andrey seemed embarrassed—a thing that rarely happened to him.
“What do you think?” Vera was saying with a subtle smile. “You, prince, have so much penetration and see into people's characters at once. What do you think about Natalie? Is she capable of constancy in her attachments? Is she capable, like other women” (Vera meant herself) “of loving a man once for all and remaining faithful to him for ever? That's what I regard as true love! What do you think, prince?”
“I know your sister too little,” answered Prince Andrey, with a sarcastic smile, under which he tried to conceal his embarrassment, “to decide a question so delicate; and, besides, I have noticed that the less attractive a woman is, the more constant she is apt to be,” he added, and he looked at Pierre, who at that moment joined them.
“Yes, that is true, prince. In these days,” pursued Vera (talking of “these days,” as persons of limited intellect as a rule love to do, supposing they have discovered and estimated the peculiarities of the times and that human characteristics do change with the times), “in these days a girl has so much liberty that the pleasure of being paid attention often stifles these feelings in her. And Natalie, it must be confessed, is very susceptible on that side.”
This going back to Natasha again made Prince Andrey contract his brows disagreeably. He tried to get up, but Vera persisted with a still more subtle smile.
“Nobody, I imagine, has been so much run after as she has,” Vera went on; “but no one, until quite of late, has ever made a serious impression on her. Of course, you know, count,” she turned to Pierre, “even our charming cousin, Boris, who, entre nous, was very, very far gone in the region of the tender passion …” She intended an allusion to the map of love then in fashion.
Prince Andrey scowled, and was mute.
“But, of course, you are a friend of Boris's?” Vera said to him
“Yes, I know him. …”
“He has probably told you of his childish love for Natasha?”
“Oh, was there a childish love between them?” asked Prince Andrey with a sudden, unexpected flush on his face.
“Yes. You know between cousins the close intimacy often leads to love. Cousinhood is a dangerous neighbourhood. Isn't it?”
“Oh, not a doubt of it,” said Prince Andrey, and with sudden and unnatural liveliness, he began joking with Pierre about the necessity of his being careful with his cousins at Moscow, ladies of fifty, and in the middle of these jesting remarks he got up, and taking Pierre's arm, drew him aside.
“Well, what is it?” said Pierre, who had been watching in wonder his friend's excitement, and noticed the glance he turned upon Natasha as he got up.
“I must, I must talk to you,” said Prince Andrey. “You know that pair of women's gloves” (he referred to the masonic gloves given to a newly initiated brother to be entrusted to the woman he loved). “I … but no, I will talk to you later on. …” And with a strange light in his eyes and a restlessness in his movements, Prince Andrey approached Natasha and sat down beside her. Pierre saw that Prince Andrey asked her some question, and she answered him, flushing hotly.
But at that moment Berg approached Pierre, and insisted upon his taking part in an argument between the general and the colonel on affairs in Spain.
Berg was satisfied and happy. The smile of glee never left his face. The soirée was a great success, and exactly like other soirées he had seen. Everything was precisely similar: the ladies' refined conversation, and the cards, and after the cards the general raising his voice and the samovar and the tea cakes; but one thing was still lacking, which he had always seen at soirées, and wished to imitate. There was still wanting the usual loud conversation between the gentlemen and discussion about some serious intellectual question. The general had started that conversation, and Berg drew Pierre into it.
皮埃尔是最受尊敬的贵宾之一，他应与伊利亚·安德烈伊奇、将军和上校坐在同一张波士顿牌桌上。在波士顿牌桌上，皮埃尔恰好坐在娜塔莎对面，自从举办舞会后，她身上发生的可怕的变化使他大为惊讶。娜塔莎沉默寡言，如果她不装出一幅温顺的、对一切事物漠不关心的样子，她非但没有在舞会上那么俊俏，而且会变得很难看了。 
“她怎么样了？”皮埃尔瞥了她一眼，心中想道。她在茶桌旁坐在姐姐身边，眼睛不望他，不乐意地向挨着她坐下来的鲍里斯回答什么话。皮埃尔打出了同样花色的牌，收起五张被吃掉的牌，他的对手感到高兴，这时他听见一片寒暄和走进房里来的步履声，他又朝她瞥了一眼。
“她出了什么事呢？”他愈益惊奇地自言自语。
安德烈公爵现出关怀备至的、温柔的表情站在她面前，对她说着什么话。她抬起头来望着他，满面通红，显然她力图抑制急促的呼吸。从前业已熄灭的她的内心的火焰，又复放射出明亮的光彩。她完全变样了。她又从那难看的模样变得像她在舞会上那样俊俏了。
安德烈公爵走到皮埃尔跟前，皮埃尔发现他朋友脸上重新流露出充满青春活力的表情。
在打纸牌的时候，皮埃尔接连有几次改变坐位，他时而把背对着娜塔莎，时而把脸对着她，在打六圈牌的当儿，他不断地观察她和他自己的朋友。
“他们之间在发生什么很重大的事。”皮埃尔想道，又喜又悲的感情使他激动不安，快要忘记打牌了。
打完六圈牌，将军站起来说，这样玩下去令人受不了。于是皮埃尔就有了片刻的空闲时间。娜塔莎在一旁和索尼娅、鲍里斯谈话。薇拉带着含蓄的微笑跟安德烈公爵谈着什么话。皮埃尔走到自己的朋友跟前，问他谈论的是否是秘密，然后在他们近旁坐下。薇拉发现安德烈公爵注意娜塔莎，她认为，在晚会上，在真正的晚会上，对爱情的微妙的暗示是不可或缺的，当安德烈公爵独自一人呆在那里的时候，她抽出一会儿工夫，开始同他谈论一般的爱情，以及她妹妹的情形。她觉得对这样一个聪明的（她认为安德烈公爵是个聪明人）客人她必须运用自己的外交手腕。
当皮埃尔走到他们跟前，他发现，薇拉正在洋洋自得地谈话，安德烈公爵（对他来说，这是少有的事）看样子感到困窘不安。
“你认为怎样？”薇拉带着含蓄的微笑说，“公爵，您富有洞察力，一下子就能明白人们的性格。您对娜塔莎的看法怎样？她的依恋心能否坚定不移？她能否与其他妇女一样（薇拉所指的是她自己），一爱上某人，就永远对他忠贞不渝？我认为这是真正的爱情。公爵，您认为怎样？”
“您的妹妹，我知道得太少了，”安德烈公爵带着讥讽的微笑答道，他想在微笑之下掩饰他的窘态，“为了要解答这样一个微妙的问题，我后来渐渐注意到，女人越是不讨人喜欢，她就越忠贞不渝。”他补充一句，看了看这时向他们跟前走来的皮埃尔。
“是的，这是实在的，公爵，在我们这个时代，”薇拉继续说（正像眼光狭小的人们那样，总喜欢提到我们这个时代，认为他们业已发现并且评定我们时代的特点，认为人们的天性随着时代而起变化），“在我们这个时代，女孩享有过多的自由，以致le　plaisir　d'être　courtisée①往往淹没她内心的真实情感。Et　Nathalie，il　faut　l'avouer，y　est　très　sensible②，话题回到娜塔莎，又使安德烈公爵闷闷不乐地蹙蹙额角；他想站起来，但是薇拉带着更微妙的微笑继续说。
“我以为，谁也不比她更像courtisée，”③薇拉说，“可是直到近来，她从来还没有认真地喜欢过什么人。伯爵。您知道，”她把脸转向皮埃尔说，“就连我们可爱的表弟鲍里斯，enAtre　nous④也深深地沉没于dans　le　pays　du　tendre……”⑤她所暗指的是当时广为流行的爱情图。 
①法语：被人看中的快乐。
②法语：应当承认，娜塔莉（娜塔莎的法语称谓）对这件事是很敏感的。
③法语：追求的对象。
④法语：在我们之间说说，不可与外人道也。
⑤法语：异姓之乡。
安德烈公爵现出阴郁的神色，默不作声。
“您不是跟鲍里斯和睦相处吗？”薇拉对他说。
“是啊，我知道他……”
“他想必向您谈过童年时代他对娜塔莎的爱情吧？”
“有过童年的爱情，是吗？”安德烈公爵涨红了脸，忽然出乎意料地问道。
“是啊。Vous　savez　entre　consin　et　consine　cette　intimité　mène　quelquefois　à　l'amour：le　conAsinage　est　un　dangereux　voisinage．N'est　ce　pas？”① 
①法语：您知道，表兄妹之间的亲近，常常会产生爱情。老表老表，提心吊胆。不是吗？
“啊，毫无疑问，”安德烈公爵说道，他忽然不自然地活跃起来，他开始跟皮埃尔开玩笑，说皮埃尔对他那些五十来岁的莫斯科的表亲们要小心谨慎，诙谐的谈话谈到半中间，他站了起来，挽起皮埃尔的手，把他领到一旁去。
“怎么啦？”皮埃尔说，他惊讶地观察他朋友的异常兴奋的神色，并且发觉他在站立时投向娜塔莎的目光。
“我应该，我应该跟你谈谈，”安德烈公爵说道，“你知道我们妇女的手套（他说的是共济会发给新近中选的师兄弟用以亲自送给心爱的女人的手套）。我……可是我呢，我以后跟你谈谈……”安德烈公爵的眼睛里闪烁出奇异的光彩，他的动作慌里慌张，他走到娜塔莎跟前，在她身旁坐下。皮埃尔看见安德烈公爵向她问句什么话，她满面通红，回答他的话。
但在这时候，贝格走到皮埃尔跟前，坚决地求他参加将军和上校之间就西班牙问题开展的争论。
贝格感到很满意而且很幸福。他脸上总是挂着喜悦的微笑。这次晚会开得很好，和他看见的其他晚会完全一样。晚会上的一切都很相像。女士们的尖声的谈话、纸牌、玩牌时抬高嗓门的将军、茶饮和饼干都很相像，可是还缺少一样，那就是他在其他晚会上经常看见的、他想效法的事情。男士们之间所缺乏的则是高声谈话，而且还缺乏有关重要的高深的问题的争论。这场谈话是由将军领头的，贝格吸收皮埃尔参加谈话。
Book 6 Chapter 22
NEXT DAY Prince Andrey went to dine at the Rostovs', as Count Ilya Andreitch had invited him, and spent the whole day with them.
Every one in the house perceived on whose account Prince Andrey came, and he openly tried to be all day long with Natasha.
Not only in the soul of Natasha—scared, but happy and enthusiastic—in the whole household, too, there was a feeling of awe, of something of great gravity being bound to happen. With sorrowful and sternly serious eyes the countess looked at Prince Andrey as he talked to Natasha, and shyly and self-consciously tried to begin some insignificant talk with him as soon as he looked round at her. Sonya was afraid to leave Natasha, and afraid of being in their way if she stayed with them. Natasha turned pale in a panic of expectation every time she was left for a moment alone with him. Prince Andrey's timidity impressed her. She felt that he wanted to tell her something, but could not bring himself up to the point.
When Prince Andrey had gone away in the evening, the countess went up to Natasha and whispered:
“Well?”
“Mamma, for God's sake, don't ask me anything just now. This one can't talk of,” said Natasha.
But in spite of this answer, Natasha lay a long while in her mother's bed that night, her eyes fixed before her, excited and scared by turns. She told her how he had praised her, how he had said he was going abroad, how he had asked where they were going to spend the summer, and how he had asked her about Boris.
“But anything like this, like this … I have never felt before!” she said. “Only I'm afraid with him, I'm always afraid with him. What does that mean? Does it mean that it's the real thing? Mamma, are you asleep?”
“No, my darling. I'm afraid of him myself,” answered her mother. “Go to bed.”
“Anyhow, I shouldn't go to sleep. How stupid sleep is! Mamma, mamma, nothing like this have I ever felt before,” she said, with wonder and terror at the feeling she recognised in herself. “And could we ever have dreamed! …”
It seemed to Natasha that she had fallen in love with Prince Andrey the first time she saw him at Otradnoe. She was as it were terrified at this strange, unexpected happiness that the man she had chosen even then (she was firmly convinced that she had done so)—that very man should meet them again now and be apparently not indifferent to her.
“And it seems as though it all happened on purpose—his coming to Petersburg just while we are here. And our meeting at that ball. It was all fate. It's clear that it is fate, that it has all led up to this. Even then, as soon as I saw him, I felt something quite different.”
“What has he said to you? What are those verses? Read them …” said the mother thoughtfully, referring to the verses Prince Andrey had written in Natasha's album.
“Mamma, does it matter his being a widower?”
“Hush, Natasha. Pray to God. Marriages are made in heaven,” she said, quoting the French proverb.
“Mamma, darling, how I love you! how happy I am!” cried Natasha, shedding tears of excitement and happiness and hugging her mother.
At that very time Prince Andrey was telling Pierre of his love for Natasha and of his fixed determination to marry her.
That evening the Countess Elena Vassilyevna gave a reception; the French ambassador was there, and a royal prince who had become a very frequent visitor at the countess's of late and many brilliant ladies and gentlemen. Pierre came down to it, wandered through the rooms and impressed all the guests by his look of concentrated preoccupation and gloom.
Pierre had been feeling one of his attacks of nervous depression coming upon him ever since the day of the ball and had been making desperate efforts to struggle against it. Since his wife's intrigue with the royal prince, Pierre had been to his surprise appointed a kammerherr, and ever since he had felt a sense of weariness and shame in court society, and his old ideas of the vanity of all things human began to come back oftener and oftener. The feeling he had lately noticed between his protégée Natasha and Prince Andrey had aggravated his gloom by the contrast between his own position and his friend's. He tried equally to avoid thinking of his wife and also of Natasha and Prince Andrey. Again everything seemed to him insignificant in comparison with eternity; again the question rose before him: “What for?” And for days and nights together he forced himself to work at masonic labours, hoping to keep off the evil spirit. Pierre had come out of the countess's apartments at midnight, and was sitting in a shabby dressing-gown at the table in his own low-pitched, smoke-blackened room upstairs, copying out long transactions of the Scottish freemasons, when some one came into his room. It was Prince Andrey.
“Oh, it's you,” said Pierre, with a preoccupied and dissatisfied air. “I'm at work, you see,” he added, pointing to the manuscript book with that look of escaping from the ills of life with which unhappy people look at their work.
Prince Andrey stood before Pierre with a radiant, ecstatic face, full of new life, and with the egoism of happiness smiled at him without noticing his gloomy face.
“Well, my dear boy,” he said, “I wanted to tell you yesterday, and I have come to do so to-day. I have never felt anything like it. I am in love.”
Pierre suddenly heaved a heavy sigh, and dumped down his heavy person on the sofa beside Prince Andrey.
“With Natasha Rostov, yes?” he said “Yes, yes, who else could it be? I would never have believed it, but the feeling is too strong for me. Yesterday I was in torment, in agony, but I would not exchange that agony even for anything in the world. I have never lived till now, but I cannot live without her. But can she love me? … I'm too old for her.…Why don't you speak? …”
“I? I? What did I tell you?” said Pierre, suddenly getting up and walking about the room. “I always thought so.…That girl is a treasure.…She's a very rare sort of girl.…My dear fellow, don't, I entreat you, be too wise, don't doubt, marry, marry, marry! … And I am sure no man was ever happier than you will be.”
“But she?”
“She loves you.”
“Don't talk nonsense …” said Prince Andrey, smiling and looking into Pierre's face.
“She loves you, I know it,” Pierre cried angrily.
“No; do listen,” said Prince Andrey, taking hold of him by the arm and stopping him. “Do you know the state I am in? I must talk about it to some one.”
“Well, well, talk away, I'm very glad,” said Pierre, and his face did really change, the line of care in his brow was smoothed away, and he listened gladly to Prince Andrey. His friend seemed, and was indeed, an utterly different, new man. What had become of his ennui, his contempt of life, his disillusionment? Pierre was the only person to whom he could have brought himself to speak quite openly; but to him he did reveal all that was in his heart. Readily and boldly he made plans reaching far into the future; said he could not sacrifice his own happiness to the caprices of his father; declared that he would force his father to agree to the marriage and like her, or dispense with his consent altogether; then he marvelled at the feeling which had taken possession of him, as something strange, and apart, independent of himself.
“I should never have believed it, if any one had told me I could love like this,” said Prince Andrey. “It is utterly different from the feeling I once had. The whole world is split into two halves for me: one—she, and there all is happiness, hope, and light; the other half—all where she is not, there all is dejection and darkness.…”
“Darkness and gloom,” repeated Pierre; “yes, yes, I understand that.”
“I can't help loving the light; that's not my fault; and I am very happy. Do you understand me? I know you are glad for me.”
“Yes, yes,” Pierre assented, looking at his friend with eyes full of tenderness and sadness. The brighter the picture of Prince Andrey's fate before his mind, the darker seemed his own.
第二天，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵邀请安德烈公爵，他于是乘车前往罗斯托夫家出席午宴，并且在他们家中消度了整整一天。 
全家人都能意识到，安德烈公爵为何人而来，他不加隐瞒，整天都在想方设法和娜塔莎呆在一起。娜塔莎惊惶失措，但她感觉到幸福和喜悦，不仅在她心中，而且在全家人心中都产生一种恐惧感，担心将要发生重大的事情。当安德烈公爵和娜塔莎谈话的时候，伯爵夫人用那忧愁而且严峻的目光注视他，当他骤然回头望她的时候，她就胆怯地、虚假地开始谈论一些琐碎的事情。索尼娅害怕离开娜塔莎，当她和安德烈公爵呆在一起的时候，她又怕成为他们的障碍。当娜塔莎单独和他在一起停留片刻的时候，她由于害怕期待的事情会发生而面色苍白。安德烈公爵的腼腆的神情使她感到惊奇。
她觉得他要对她说些什么话，但他拿不定主意。
夜晚安德烈公爵离开后，伯爵夫人走到娜塔莎跟前，低声说：
“怎么啦？”
“妈妈，看在上帝份上，现在您不要问我什么。这一点没法跟您说。”娜塔莎说。
尽管如此，这天夜晚娜塔莎时而激动不安，时而胆战心惊，带着凝滞的目光久久地躺在母亲床上。她向她述说，他怎样夸奖她，他说他将要到国外去，他探问他们在何地度过这个夏天，他也问到鲍里斯的情况。
“可是，我从来没有碰见这样的、这样的事情！！”她说。
“只不过在他面前我感到害怕，在他面前我总感到害怕，这意味着什么？意味着，这不就是真的害怕，对吗？妈妈，您睡着了？”
“没有，我的心肝，连我自己也感到害怕，”妈妈答道，“你去睡吧。”
“我反正不愿意睡觉。睡觉是一件多么愚蠢的事啊！妈妈，妈妈，我从来没有碰见这样的事啊！”在意识到她自己内心的感情之前，她带着惊奇而恐惧的神情说，“我们不会想到吧！
……”
娜塔莎觉得，还是在奥特拉德诺耶初次看见安德烈公爵的时候，她就爱上他了。这种奇怪的出乎意料的幸福仿佛使她感到害怕，她当时选择的那个人（她对此坚信不移）正是那个人，又遇见她了，看来他对她不是漠不关心的。“目前我们在彼得堡，他自然特意到这里来。我们自然在这次舞会上相逢了……这一切都是命定的。很明显，这是命运，这一切都是命中注定的。当时我一看见他，我就感到有点儿非同一般。”
“他对你说过些什么话？那是一首什么诗呢？你念给我听……”
母亲若有所思地说，她一面问到安德烈公爵写在娜塔莎的纪念册上的诗句。
“妈妈，他是个光棍，不难为情么？”
“娜塔莎，够了，说到哪儿去了。祷告上帝吧，Les　mariages　se　font　dans　les　cieux．①” 
①法语：婚姻是由天定的。
“亲爱的，妈妈，我多么爱您，我多么舒畅！”娜塔莎喊道，她一面哭着，流出幸福和激动的眼泪，一面拥抱着母亲。
就在这时候，安德烈公爵坐在皮埃尔身旁，向他提到他对娜塔莎的爱情，并且决定娶她为妻。
这一天，伯爵夫人海伦·瓦西里耶夫娜举办隆重的招待晚会，出席晚会的有法国公使，亲王（他在不久前已成为伯爵夫人家中的常客），此外还有许多杰出的女士和男士。皮埃尔住在楼下，他穿过几个大厅时，他那陷入沉思的、漫不经心的阴郁的神情使全体宾客大吃一惊。
自从上次舞会以来，皮埃尔觉得自己的疑病快要发作，他竭尽全力与疾病作斗争。自从亲王和皮埃尔的妻子建立密切联系以来，皮埃尔突然被赐封为宫廷高级侍从，从此以后他在大庭广众中总觉得心情沉重，羞耻得无地自容，从前那种人世空虚的阴暗思想常常在他脑海中浮现出来。这时他发觉由他监护的娜塔莎和安德烈公爵之间产生了感情，经过对比他的地位和他的朋友的地位，愈益加深了这种阴郁情绪。他同样地竭力避免去想他自己的妻子、娜塔莎和安德烈公爵。与永恒相比，他又复觉得这一切都是渺小的，他心目中又复浮现出一个问题：“为了什么？”他于是日日夜夜迫使他自己致力于钻研共济会的作品，希望驱逐逼近的魔鬼。十一点多钟，皮埃尔从伯爵夫人的内室里走了出来，坐在自己楼上的一间矮矮的吸得满是烟的房间里的桌子前面，他身穿一件破旧的长衫，有人走进他房里来的时候，他正在抄写苏格兰共济会的正式记录。这个走进来的人就是安德烈公爵。
“哦，是您，”皮埃尔现出一副漫不经心的、不满意的样子说，“瞧，我在工作，”他指着一本练习簿说，他那种神色就像不幸的人流露出拯救灵魂使免受人生之苦的神色注视着自己做的工作似的。
安德烈公爵带着容光焕发、洋洋自得和获得新生的神色站在皮埃尔面前，他不注意他那凄惨的面容，而怀着利己的幸福的心情向他微微一笑。
“啊，我的心肝，”他说，“我昨天原想对你说，今天我就是为了这件事到你这里来。我从来没有经历过这种事情。我的朋友，我有所爱了。”
皮埃尔突然沉重地叹一口气，他那沉甸甸的身体倒在安德烈公爵旁边的长沙发上。
“你爱上罗斯托娃·娜塔莎，是吗？”他说道。
“是啊，是啊，还能爱谁呢？我从来都不相信我会谈恋爱，可是这种感情把我压服了。昨天我受到折磨，很不好受，但我决不把这种痛苦推托给世界上的任何人。从前我未曾真正生活，现在我才刚刚生活，但若没有她，我就不能生活下去……不过，她会不会爱我呢？……在她看来，我太老了。你干嘛不说话？……”
“我？我？我对您说过什么呢？”皮埃尔突然说道，他站起来，开始在房里走来走去。“我总是这样想的……这个姑娘是个这么珍贵的宝贝，这么珍贵的……这是个罕见的姑娘……可爱的朋友，我请求您，您不要自作聪明，不要犹豫不决，结婚吧，结婚吧，结婚吧……我相信，比您更幸福的人是不会有的。”
“可是她呢？”
“她爱您。”
“请甭说废话。”安德烈公爵一面微笑，一面望着皮埃尔的眼睛，说道。
“她爱您，我知道。”皮埃尔忿怒地喊道。
“不对，听我说，”安德烈公爵说道，他一把抓住他的手，叫他停住，“你知不知道我处在什么境地？我总得向谁把这一切都讲出来。”
“喂，喂，您说吧，我很高兴，”皮埃尔说，他的脸色真的变了，有一条皱纹舒展开了，他愉快地倾听安德烈公爵说话。安德烈公爵好像是一个截然不同的新人物了。他的悲伤、他对人生的蔑视和绝望的心情在哪里了？皮埃尔是他敢于倾吐心情的唯一的人，于是他便把他心里要讲的话向他一股脑儿说出来。他时而轻松地、大胆地制订长远规划，他说到他万万不能牺牲自己的幸福去满足他父亲随心所欲的要求，他必将迫使他父亲同意这门婚事并且疼爱她，或则，未经他许可，也要办成婚事；他时而表示惊讶，对这种古怪的、陌生的、不以他的意志为转移的感情表示惊讶，对那控制他的感情也表示惊讶。
“如果有人对我说，我会这样热恋她，我就不相信他了，”安德烈公爵说，“这根本不是我原有的那种感情。对我来说，整个世界已分成两个一半：一半只有她，那里充满着幸福、希望和光明；另一半中没有她，那里充满着沮丧和黑暗……”
“黑暗和阴郁，”皮埃尔重复地说，“对，对，这一点我是明白的。”
“我不能不爱光明，对于这一点我没有过失。我非常幸福。
你懂得我的意思吗？我知道，你为我感到高兴。”
“对，对。”皮埃尔一面承认，一面用那深受感动的忧郁的目光望着自己的朋友。他觉得安德烈公爵的命途愈益光明，而他自己的命途就显得愈益黑暗。
Book 6 Chapter 23
TO GET MARRIED his father's consent was wanted, and to obtain this Prince Andrey set off to see his father.
The father received his son's communication with external composure but with inward wrath. He could not comprehend how any one could want to alter his life, to introduce any new element into it, when life was for him so near its end. “If they would only let me live my life out as I want to, and then do as they like!” the old man said to himself. With his son, however, he made use of that diplomacy to which he always had resort in case of gravity. Assuming a calm tone, he went into the whole question judicially.
In the first place, the marriage was not a brilliant one from the point of view of birth, fortune, or distinction. Secondly, Prince Andrey was not in his first youth, and was delicate in health (the old man laid special stress on this), and the girl was very young. Thirdly, there was his son, whom it would be a pity to entrust to a mere girl. “Fourthly, and finally,” said the father, looking ironically at his son, “I beg you to defer the matter for a year; go abroad, and get well; find a German, as you want to do so, for Prince Nikolay, and then, if your love, your passion, your obstinacy—what you choose—are so great, then get married. And that's my last word on the subject; you know, the last …” the old prince concluded, in a tone that showed that nothing would compel him to alter his decision.
Prince Andrey saw clearly that the old man hoped that either his feeling or that of his betrothed would not stand the test of a year or that he, the old prince, would die himself in the course of it, and he decided to act in accordance with his father's wish; to make an offer and to defer the marriage for a year.
Three weeks after his last visit to the Rostovs, Prince Andrey returned to Petersburg.
The day after her conversation with her mother, Natasha spent the whole day expecting Bolkonsky but he did not come. The next day, and the third, it was just the same. Pierre too stayed away, and Natasha, not knowing Prince Andrey had gone away to see his father, did not know how to interpret his absence.
So passed the three weeks. Natasha would not go out anywhere, and wandered like a shadow about the house, idle and listless, wept at night in secret, and did not go in to her mother in the evenings. She was continually flushing and very irritable. It seemed to her that every one knew of her disappointment, was laughing at her, and pitying her. In spite of all the intensity of her inward grief, the wound to her vanity aggravated her misery.
She came in to the countess one day, tried to say something, and all at once burst into tears. Her tears were the tears of an offended child, who does not know why it is being punished. The countess tried to comfort Natasha. At first she listened to her mother's words, but suddenly she interrupted her:
“Stop, mamma, I don't think of him or want to think of him! Why, he kept coming, and he has left off, and he has left off …” Her voice quivered, she almost began to cry, but recovered herself, and went on calmly:
“And I don't want to be married at all. And I'm afraid of him; I have quite, quite got over it now…”
The day after this conversation, Natasha put on the old dress she specially associated with the fun she had often had when wearing it in the mornings, and began from early morning to take up her old manner of life, which she had given up ever since the ball. After morning tea, she went into the big hall, which she particularly liked on account of the loud resonance in it, and began singing her sol-fa exercises. When she had finished the first exercise she stood still in the middle of the room and repeated a single musical phrase which particularly pleased her. She listened with delight, as though it were new to her, to the charm of these notes ringing out, filling the empty space of the great room and dying slowly away, and she felt all at once cheerful. “Why think so much about it; things are nice even as it is,” she said to herself; and she began walking up and down the room, not putting her feet simply down on the resounding parquet, but at each step bending her foot from the heel to the toe (she had on some new shoes she particularly liked), and listening to the regular tap of the heel and creak of the toe with the same pleasure with which she had listened to the sound of her own voice. Passing by the looking-glass, she glanced into it. “Yes, that's me!” the expression of her face seemed to say at the sight of herself. “Well, and very nice too. And I need nobody.”
A footman would have come in to clear away something in the room, but she would not let him come in. She shut the door after him, and continued her promenade about the room. She had come back that morning to her favourite mood of loving herself and being ecstatic over herself. “What a charming creature that Natasha is!” she said again of herself, speaking as some third person, a generic, masculine person.
“Pretty, a voice, young, and she's in nobody's way, only leave her in peace.” But, however much she might be left in peace, she could not now be at peace, and she felt that immediately.
In the vestibule the hall-door opened; someone was asking, “At home?” and steps were audible. Natasha was looking at herself in the glass, but she did not see herself. She heard sounds in the vestibule. When she saw herself, her face was pale. It was he. She knew it for certain, though she herself caught the sound of his voice at the opened door.
Natasha, pale and panic-stricken, flew into the drawing-room.
“Mamma, Bolkonsky has come,” she said. “Mamma, this is awful, unbearable! … I don't want … to be tortured! What am I to do?”
The countess had not time to answer her before Prince Andrey with a troubled and serious face walked into the drawing-room. As soon as he saw Natasha his face beamed with delight. He kissed the countess's hand and Natasha's, and sat down beside the sofa.
“It's a long while since we have had the pleasure …” the countess was beginning, but Prince Andrey cut her short, answering her implied question, and obviously in haste to say what he had to say.
“I have not been to see you all this time because I have been to see my father; I had to talk over a very important matter with him. I only returned last night,” he said, glancing at Natasha. “I want to have a talk with you, countess,” he added after a moment's silence.
The countess dropped her eyes, sighing heavily.
“I am at your disposal,” she brought out.
Natasha knew she ought to go, but she was unable to do so: something seemed gripping her throat, and, regardless of civility, she stared straight at Prince Andrey with wide-open eyes.
“At once? … This minute? … No, it cannot be!” she was thinking.
He glanced at her again, and that glance convinced her that she was not mistaken. Yes, at once, this very minute her fate was to be decided.
“Run away, Natasha; I will call you,” the countess whispered.
With frightened and imploring eyes Natasha glanced at Prince Andrey and at her mother, and went out.
“I have come, countess, to ask for your daughter's hand,” said Prince Andrey.
The countess's face flushed hotly, but she said nothing.
“Your offer …” the countess began at last, sedately. He sat silent, looking into her face. “Your offer” … (she hesitated in confusion) “is agreeable to us, and … I accept your offer. I am glad of it. And my husband … I hope … but it must rest with herself …”
“I will speak to her, when I have received your consent.…Do you give it me?” said Prince Andrey.
“Yes,” said the countess, and she held out her hand to him, and with mingled feelings of aversion and tenderness she pressed her lips to his forehead as he bent to kiss her hand. Her wish was to love him as a son; but she felt that he was a man alien to her, and that she was afraid of him.
“I am sure my husband will consent,” said the countess; “but your father …”
“My father, whom I have informed of my plans, has made it an express condition that the marriage should not take place for a year. That too, I meant to speak of to you,” said Prince Andrey.
“It is true that Natasha is very young, but—so long as that?”
“It could not be helped,” said Prince Andrey with a sigh.
“I will send her to you,” said the countess, and she went out of the room.
“Lord, have mercy upon us!” she kept repeating as she looked for her daughter.
Sonya told her that Natasha was in her bedroom. She was sitting on her bed, with a pale face and dry eyes; she was gazing at the holy picture, and murmuring something to herself as she rapidly crossed herself. Seeing her mother she leaped up and flew towards her.
“Well, mamma, … well?”
“Go, go to him. He asks your hand,” said the countess, coldly it seemed to Natasha.…“Yes … go …” the mother murmured mournfully and reproachfully with a deep sigh as her daughter ran off.
Natasha could not have said how she reached the drawing-room. As she entered the door and caught sight of him, she stopped short: “Is it possible that this stranger has now become everything to me?” she asked herself, and instantly answered: “Yes, everything: he alone is dearer to me now than everything in the world.” Prince Andrey approached her with downcast eyes.
“I have loved you from the first minute I saw you. Can I hope?”
He glanced at her and was struck by the serious, impassioned look in her face. Her face seemed to say: “Why ask? Why doubt of what you cannot but know? Why talk when no words can express what one feels?”
She came nearer to him and stopped. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Do you love me?”
“Yes, yes,” said Natasha, almost angrily it seemed. She drew a deep sigh, and another, her breathing came more and more quickly, and she burst into sobs.
“What is it? What's the matter?”
“Oh, I am so happy,” she answered, smiling through her tears. She bent over closer to him, thought a second, as though wondering whether it were possible, and then kissed him.
Prince Andrey held her hands, looked into her eyes and could find no trace of his former love for her in his heart. Some sudden reaction seemed to have taken place in his soul; there was none of the poetic and mysterious charm of desire left in it; instead of that there was pity for her feminine and childish weakness, terror at her devotion and trustfulness, an irksome, yet sweet, sense of duty, binding him to her for ever. The actual feeling, though not so joyous and poetical as the former feeling, was more serious and deeper.
“Did your mamma tell you that it cannot be for a year?” said Prince Andrey, still gazing into her eyes.
“Can this be I, the baby-girl (as every one used to call me)?” Natasha was thinking. “Can I really be from this minute a wife, on a level with this unknown, charming, intellectual man, who is looked up to even by my father? Can it be true? Can it be true that now there can be no more playing with life, that now I am grown up, that now a responsibility is laid upon me for every word and action? Oh, what did he ask me?”
“No,” she answered, but she had not understood his question.
“Forgive me,” said Prince Andrey, “but you are so young, and I have had so much experience of life. I am afraid for you. You don't know yourself.”
Natasha listened with concentrated attention, trying to take in the meaning of his words; but she did not understand them
“Hard as that year will be to me, delaying my happiness,” continued Prince Andrey, “in that time you will be sure of yourself. I beg you to make me happy in a year, but you are free; our engagement shall be kept a secret, and if you should find out that you do not love me, or if you should come to love …” said Prince Andrey with a forced smile.
“Why do you say that?” Natasha interrupted. “You know that from the very day when you first came to Otradnoe, I have loved you,” she said, firmly persuaded that she was speaking the truth.
“In a year you will learn to know yourself.…”
“A who-ole year!” cried Natasha suddenly, only now grasping that their marriage was to be deferred for a year. “But why a year? … Why a year?…”
Prince Andrey began to explain to her the reasons for this delay. Natasha did not hear him.
“And can't it be helped?” she asked. Prince Andrey made no reply, but his face expressed the impossibility of altering this decision.
“That's awful! Oh, it's awful, awful!” Natasha cried suddenly, and she broke into sobs again. “I shall die if I have to wait a year; it's impossible, it's awful.” She glanced at her lover's face and saw the look of sympathetic pain and perplexity on it.
“No, no, I'll do anything,” she said, suddenly checking her tears; “I'm so happy!”
Her father and mother came into the room and gave the betrothed couple their blessing. From that day Prince Andrey began to visit the Rostovs as Natasha's affianced lover.
结婚之事必须取得父亲的同意，为此安德烈公爵遂于翌日去看他父亲。 
父亲表面上显得很镇静，然而他的内心充满愤恨，他带着这样的神态接待了儿子，听取了他的禀告。在他的生命行将结束的时候，任何人打算改变他的生活并在生活中引进任何新的东西，他都认为这是没法理解的。“不过，要让我合乎心愿地活到老死吧，往后你们想怎么办，就怎么办吧。”老头子对自己说。但是他和儿子打交道，他还是耍了那套他在紧急情况下所耍的外交手腕。他扯着一副镇静的腔调，全面考虑这个问题。
其一，在身世、财产和名位方面，这门婚事并非美满的。其二，安德烈公爵已经过了中年，身体孱弱（老头子对这一点特别加以强调），而她却很年轻。其三，他不忍心把儿子许配给这个小丫头。其四，即是最后一点，父亲讥讽地望着儿子时说，“请你将这门婚事延缓一年，去外国走走，疗养一个时期，给尼古拉公爵寻求一位德籍家庭教师，这原来也就符合你的心意。然后，如果爱情、情欲、执拗脾气，真是大得很，你就娶亲吧。这是我的最后的叮嘱，记住，最后的……”公爵结束讲话时所用的口吻表示，无论什么事物也不能强迫他改变自己的决定。
安德烈公爵清楚地看到，老头子指望，他的感情或者他将来的未婚妻的感情经不起一年的考验，或者他本人——老公爵在此以前去世，他于是决意履行父亲的遗志：求婚之后将婚期延缓一年。
安德烈公爵在罗斯托夫家中呆了最后一晚以后过了三个礼拜便回到彼得堡。
翌日，娜塔莎向她母亲说了心里话以后，整天等候博尔孔斯基，可是他没有来。第二天，第三天依旧如此，不见人影。皮埃尔也没有来，因为娜塔莎不知道安德烈公爵到他父亲那里去了，所以她没法说明他不赴约的原因。
这样过了三个礼拜。娜塔莎不想到任何地方去，就像个幽灵似的，她觉得闲散无聊，闷闷不乐，在几间房屋里面走来走去，晚间她背着大家，悄悄地哭个不停，也不到母亲那里去了。她时常脸红，心里很激动。她仿佛觉得，大家都晓待她的失望，笑她，怜悯她。她内心的痛苦十分剧烈，兼以徒慕虚荣，备受痛苦，也就加深了她的不幸。
有一回她到伯爵夫人那里来，想对她说些什么，但忽然哭起来了。她两眼流泪，就像一个备受委屈而不知道为什么遭到惩罚的小孩那样流泪。
伯爵夫人开始安慰娜塔莎。开头，娜塔莎倾听母亲说话，突然她把她的话打断了：
“妈妈，别再讲了，我连想也没有想，我不愿意想啊！偶然来了一趟，就不再来，就不再来了……”
她的声音颤栗起来，险些儿要哭出声来，但又恢复了常态，心平气和地继续说下去：
“我根本不想嫁人。我害怕他，现在我完全、完全安心了……”
在这次谈话后的第二天，娜塔莎穿了一件旧连衣裙，她特别爱穿这件连衣裙，是因为每逢早晨它会给她带来欢乐，从这天早晨起，她又开始采用自从上次舞会后已经中断的原有的生活方式。她喝够了茶，就走进一间她特别喜欢的很聚音的大厅，她在这里开始做视唱练习。练完第一课之后，她在大厅的正中间停下来，把她特别喜欢的短句重唱一遍。她的歌声悠扬婉转，洋溢着整个大厅的空间，慢慢地消失，她愉快地倾听悦耳的音调（仿佛出乎她所意料），她忽然心旷神怡。
“为什么想得太多，本来就很好嘛。”她对自己说，开始在大厅里走来走去，在音响清晰的镶木地板上，她不是迈着普通的脚步，而是每走一步都把重心由脚跟换到脚尖上（她穿着一双她喜欢的新皮鞋），就像倾听自己的歌声那样，她愉快地倾听有节奏的脚跟跺地时发出的咚咚声和脚尖磨擦时发出的吱吱嘎嘎声。她从镜台旁边经过时，照了一下镜子，“瞧，她就是我！”在她看见自己时，她的脸部表情仿佛这样说。“啊，也还不错。我还不需要任何人。”
仆人想走进来，收拾起大厅里的东西，可是她不放他进来，她又随手把门关上，继续踱方步。这天早上她又重新处在自我欣赏的状态：她喜爱自己，称赞自己。“这个娜塔莎多么俊俏啊！”她又用第三人称阳性的口吻谈论自己，“她长得漂亮，非常年轻，有一副银铃般的嗓子，她不会妨碍任何人，不过也别打扰她。”但是，尽管大家不去打扰她，她还是不能平静，而且她心中马上意识到这一点。
接待室的大门敞开了，有个人问道：“在家吗？”接着传来了什么人的脚步声。娜塔莎在照镜子，但是她看不见镜子里的自己。她倾听接待室里的响声。当她看见镜中的自己时，她的脸色显得很苍白。就是他。虽然她从关着的门里勉强地听见他的语声，但是她仍然确切地知道是他。
娜塔莎脸色苍白，惊惶失措，她跑进客厅里去。
“妈妈，博尔孔斯基来了！”她说，“妈妈，这很可怕，这很讨厌！我不想……折磨自己！我究竟怎么办呢？……”
伯爵夫人还来不及回答她的话，安德烈公爵就显露出忐忑不安的异常、严肃的样子走进了客厅。他一看见娜塔莎，就喜笑颜开。他吻吻伯爵夫人和娜塔莎的手，在长沙发旁边坐下。……
“我们很久都没有机会……”伯爵夫人刚开始说话，可是安德烈公爵打断她的话，当他回答她的问话时，显然，他急着要说出他要说的话。
“这些时日我没有登门拜访，因为我到父亲那里去了，我需要和他商谈一件非常重要的事情。昨天深夜我才回来。”他望了娜塔莎一眼，说道，“我需要和您商谈一件事，伯爵夫人。”
他沉默片刻后，补充地说。
伯爵夫人沉重地喘口气，垂下了眼睛。
“我愿意为您效劳。”她说。
娜塔莎知道她应当走开，但是她没法这样做，好像有什么东西使她的喉咙憋闷得透不过气来，于是她毫无拘束地睁开眼睛，直勾勾地瞅着安德烈公爵。
“现在吗？就在这一瞬间！……不，不可能！”她想道。
他又瞥了她一眼，这一瞥使她相信，她没有搞错，“对，现在，就是在这一瞬间要决定她的命运。”
“娜塔莎，你去吧，我会叫你。”伯爵夫人用耳语说。
娜塔莎用那惊惶失措的央求的目光望了望安德烈公爵和母亲，就走出去了。
“伯爵夫人，我来向您女儿求婚。”安德烈公爵说。
伯爵夫人满面通红，她没有说出什么话。
“您的求婚……”伯爵夫人老成持重地开始说。他瞧着她的眼睛，默不作声。“您的求婚……（她觉得不好意思）我们都感到高兴，而且……我接受您的提婚，我觉得高兴。我丈夫也……我希望……不过，这将取决于她自己……”
“当我得到您的同意的时候，我就告诉她……您同意我的求婚吗？”安德烈公爵说道。
“同意，”伯爵夫人说，向他伸出手来，当他在她的手边弯下腰来的时候，她怀着既疏远而又温和的混合感情吻吻他的额头。她希望像爱儿子那样爱他，但是她感到，他是个外人，她认为可怕的人。
“我相信我的丈夫是会同意的，”伯爵夫人说，“但是令尊……”
“我把我的计划告诉我父亲，可是他将婚期延缓一年作为同意结婚的必要条件。我想把这件事说给您听。”安德烈公爵说道。
“的确，娜塔莎还很年轻，但是——时间这样长啊！”
“如不这样，就不行。”安德烈公爵叹口气说。
“我把她送到您这里来。”伯爵夫人说了这句话便从房里走出来。
“天哪，饶了我们吧，”她在寻找女儿时反复地说。索尼娅说，娜塔莎在卧室里。娜塔莎脸色苍白，坐在自己床上，用那冷淡的目光注视着神像，她飞快地画十字，低声地说着什么。她看见母亲，一跃而起，投入了她的怀抱。
“妈妈，怎么啦？……怎么啦？”
“你去吧，到他那里去吧。他向你求婚，”娜塔莎觉得，伯爵夫人冷淡地讲了这些话。……“你去吧……你去吧，”母亲流露出忧郁的责备的神色在那跑开的女儿身后说，她沉重地叹口气。
娜塔莎不记得她是怎样走进客厅的。她走进门来看见他以后就停步了。“难道这个陌生人现在变成了我的一切了？”她问她自己，随即回答：“对，他是一切。对我来说，在这个世界上只有他一人才是最宝贵的。”安德烈公爵垂下眼帘，走到她跟前。
“我自从初次看见您的那个瞬间，就爱上您了。我能够抱有希望吗？”
他望望她。她那庄重而热情的面部表情使他大吃一惊。她的面容仿佛在说：“为什么要问？为什么怀疑那不能不知道的事情？为什么倾诉你那非言语所能形容的感情。”
她向他近旁走去，停步了。他紧紧握住她的手，吻了吻它。
“您爱我吗？”
“爱，爱。”娜塔莎懊恼似地说，她大声地喘了口气，接着又喘了口气，喘气的频率越来越大，忽然嚎啕大哭起来。
“您哭什么呢？是怎么回事？”
“啊，我很幸福。”她回答，透过泪水流露出微笑，她俯下身来偎依着他，思忖了一会，好像在问问自己，是不是可以这样做，然后吻了他一下。
安德烈公爵握着她的一双手，注视着她的眼睛，他在自己心灵中没有发现从前他对她的爱情。忽然他心中有什么东西起了变化：从前那种富有诗意的神秘的情欲的诱惑不复存在了，只存有他对她那女性的、童稚的软弱的怜惜，对她的忠诚和信任的畏惧心理和由于他和她的永久结合而引起的沉重的愉快的责任感。虽然如今的感情不像从前那样明朗和富有诗意，但却显得更加严肃、更加强烈了。
“妈妈有没有告诉您，婚期不能不推迟一年？”安德烈公爵不停地望着她的眼睛时说道。
“难道这就是我，那个小丫头（大家都在这样议论我），”娜塔莎想道，“难道我从现在这一瞬间起就是妻子，和这个陌生的、可爱的、聪颖的、就连我父亲也敬重的人平起平坐了吗？难道这是千真万确的吗？现在已经不能把生活当儿戏，现在我已经是个大卜，现在我真要对我的一切言行负责，难道这都是真实的吗？是的，他向我问了什么？”
“没有。”她回答，但她不明白他所问的是什么。
“请您原谅我，”安德烈公爵说道，“但是您这样年轻，而我一生饱经风霜。我替您担心。您没有自知之明。”
娜塔莎全神贯注地听他说话，极力地领会他的话语的涵义，可是她还听不懂。
“无论这一年我怎样艰难，不能不推迟我的幸福生活，”安德烈公爵继续说，“在这个时期您得信赖您自己。我请您在一年以后给予我幸福，但是您现在可以自由自在，我们的订婚保守秘密，如果您确实认为您不爱我，或者您爱了……”安德烈公爵含着不自然的微笑说道。
“您干嘛这样说呢？”娜塔莎打断他的话。“您知道自从您首次来到奥特拉德诺耶的那天起，我就爱上您了。”她说，坚信她说的是实话。
“在一年之内您将会认识自己的……”
“整——整一年！”娜塔莎突然说，现在她才明了，婚期要推迟一年。“可是干嘛要推迟一年？干嘛要推迟一年？……”安德烈公爵开始向她说明推迟的原因，娜塔莎不听他的话。
“不这样就不行吗？”她问道。安德烈公爵一言未答，但是他脸上流露出不能改变决定的表情。
“这太可怕了！不行，太可怕了，太可怕了！”娜塔莎忽然开口说，后来又嚎啕大哭起来。“等待一年，真要我的命，这是不行的，这太可怕了。”她望望她的未婚夫的脸，望见他脸上流露着怜悯和困窘的表情。
“不，不，我把什么都办妥，”她忽然忍住了眼泪，说道，“我非常幸福啊！”
父亲和母亲都走进房里来，为未婚夫和夫婚妻祝福。
安德烈公爵从这天起以未婚夫身份常到罗斯托夫家里来串门。
Book 6 Chapter 24
THERE WAS NO formal betrothal and no announcement was made of the engagement of Bolkonsky and Natasha; Prince Andrey insisted upon that. He said that since he was responsible for the delay of their marriage, he ought to bear the whole burden of it. He said that he was bound for ever by his word, but he did not want to bind Natasha and would leave her perfect freedom. If in another six months she were to feel that she did not love him, she would have a perfect right to refuse him. It need hardly be said that neither Natasha nor her parents would hear of this possibility; but Prince Andrey insisted on having his own way. Prince Andrey came every day to the Rostovs', but he did not behave with Natasha as though he were engaged to her; he addressed her formally and kissed only her hand. From the day of his proposal Prince Andrey's relations with Natasha had become quite different from what had existed between them before: their relations were simple and intimate. It seemed as though till then they had not known each other. Both loved to recall how they had regarded one another when they were nothing to each other. Now they both felt utterly different creatures—then affected, now simple and sincere. At first there had been a feeling of awkwardness in the family in regard to Prince Andrey. He seemed a man from another world, and Natasha used for a long while to try and make her people understand Prince Andrey, and declared to every one with pride that he only seemed to be so different, that he was really like every one else, and that she was not afraid of him and no one need be. After a few days, the rest of the family got accustomed to seeing him, and went on without constraint with their usual manner of life, in which he took part. He knew how to talk to the count about the management of his estates, to the countess and Natasha about dress, and to Sonya about her album and embroidery. Sometimes the Rostovs among themselves, and in Prince Andrey's presence, expressed their wonder at the way it had all happened, and at the events that obviously betokened that it was to be: Prince Andrey's coming to Otradnoe, and their coming to Petersburg, and the resemblance between Natasha and Prince Andrey, which the old nurse had remarked on Prince Andrey's first visit, and the meeting in 1805 between Andrey and Nikolay, and many other incidents betokening that it was to be, were observed by the family.
The house was full of that poetic atmosphere of dullness and silence, which always accompanies the presence of an engaged couple. Often as they all sat together every one was silent. Sometimes the others got up and went away, and the engaged pair were still as mute when they were left alone. Rarely they spoke of their future life together. Prince Andrey felt frightened and ashamed to speak of it. Natasha shared the feeling, as she did all his feelings, which she never failed to divine. Once Natasha began questioning him about his son.
Prince Andrey blushed—a thing frequent with him at that time, which Natasha particularly liked to see—and said that his son would not live with them.
“Why not?” said Natasha, taking fright.
“I cannot take him from his grandfather and then…”
“How I should have loved him!” said Natasha, at once divining his thought; “but I know you want to avoid any pretext for our being blamed.”
The old count sometimes came up to Prince Andrey, kissed him and asked his advice about some question relating to Petya's education or Nikolay's position. The old countess sighed as she looked at them. Sonya was afraid every instant of being in their way, and was always trying to find excuses for leaving them alone, even when they had no wish to be alone. When Prince Andrey talked—he described things very well—Natasha listened to him with pride. When she talked, she noticed with joy and dread that he watched her with an intent and scrutinising look. She asked herself in perplexity: “What is it he seeks in me? What is it he is probing for with that look? What if I haven't in me what he is searching for in that look?” Sometimes she fell into the mood of wild gaiety characteristic of her, and then she particularly loved to see and hear how Prince Andrey laughed. He rarely laughed, but when he did laugh he abandoned himself utterly to his mirth, and she always felt herself drawn closer to him by this laughter. Natasha would have been perfectly happy if the thought of the separation before her, coming closer and closer, had not terrified her. He too turned pale and cold at the mere thought of it.
On the day before he was to leave Petersburg, Prince Andrey brought with him Pierre, who had not been at the Rostovs' since the day of the ball. Pierre seemed absent-minded and embarrassed. He talked chiefly to the countess. Natasha was sitting at the chess-board with Sonya, and invited Prince Andrey to join them. He went to them.
“You have known Bezuhov a long while, haven't you?” he asked. “Do you like him?”
“Yes; he's very nice, but very absurd.”
And she began, as people always did when speaking of Pierre, to tell anecdotes of his absent-mindedness, anecdotes which were made up, indeed, about him.
“You know, I have confided our secret to him,” said Prince Andrey. “I have known him from childhood. He has a heart of gold. I beg you, Natalie,” he said, with sudden seriousness, “I am going away; God knows what may happen. You may change … Oh, I know I ought not to speak of that. Only one thing—if anything were to happen to you, while I am away …”
“What could happen?”
“If any trouble were to come,” pursued Prince Andrey. “I beg you, Mademoiselle Sophie, if anything were to happen, to go to him and no one else for advice and help. He is a most absent-minded and eccentric person, but he has the truest heart.”
Neither her father nor her mother, neither Sonya nor Prince Andrey could have foreseen the effect of the parting on Natasha. She wandered about the house all that day, flushed, excited, and tearless, busying herself about the most trivial matters as though she had no notion of what was before her. She did not weep even at the moment when he kissed her hand for the last time.
“Don't go away!” was all she said, in a voice that made him wonder whether he ought not really to remain, and that he remembered long after. When he had gone, she still did not weep; but for several days she sat in her room, not crying, but taking no interest in anything, and only saying from time to time: “Oh, why did he go?” But a fortnight after his departure, she surprised those around her equally by recovering from her state of spiritual sickness, and became herself again, only with a change in her moral physiognomy, such as one sees in the faces of children after a long illness.
没有举行订婚礼，博尔孔斯基和娜塔莎订婚的事亦未向任何人宣布，安德烈公爵坚持这样做。他说推迟结婚是他的过错，因此延期的全部重担都应当落在他身上。他说他永远要用诺言来约束自己，但是他不愿意束缚娜塔莎，给予她以充分自由。如果在半年之后她觉得她不爱他，她有摆脱他的权利，只要拒绝他就行。不言而喻，无论是双亲，还是娜塔莎，都不愿意听见这件事，然而安德烈公爵固执己见。安德烈公爵每天都到罗斯托夫家里去，但他不以未婚夫身份和娜塔莎交际。他称她为“您”，只吻她的手而已。在提婚的那天以后，安德烈公爵和娜塔莎之间建立了和从前截然不同的、亲密的纯朴关系。他们好像直到现在才相互认识似的。无论是他，还是她都喜欢回想他们一无所有的时候彼此对对方的看法，现在他们两个人都觉得自己成为迥然不同的人了，那时是虚情假意，现在是纯朴和诚实。最初，家里人和安德烈公爵交往时都感到尴尬，他好像是个陌生世界里的人物，娜塔莎久而久之才使家里人和安德烈公爵混熟了，她而且很自豪地要大家相信，他只是像个特殊人物，其实他和众人，都是同样的人，她也使众人相信，她并不怕他，谁也不应该怕他。过了几天，家里人和他混熟了，不觉得拘束，他们于是乎在他面前采取原有的生活方式，他也参与他们家里的生活。他擅长与伯爵谈论产业，和伯爵夫人及娜塔莎谈论衣着，与索尼娅谈论纪念册和十字布。有时候，罗斯托夫家里人彼此之间，或者在安德烈公爵面前都对以下情形感到惊奇，这门婚事是怎样谈妥的，这种种征兆怎么会如此明显：安德烈公爵抵达奥特拉德诺耶、他们抵达彼得堡、娜塔莎和安德烈公爵的相貌相似（保姆在安德烈公爵第一次来访时就注意到了）、一八○五年安德烈和尼古拉之间的冲突，还有已被家里人注意到的业已发生的事件的许多别的征兆。 
未婚夫妇在场的时候，这里常常充满着富有诗意的苦闷和沉寂的气氛。他们都坐在一起，常常默默无语。有时候大伙儿站了起来走开了，只剩下未婚夫妇二人，他们也默默无言。他们很少谈到自己未来的生活。安德烈公爵谈到这件事时觉得害怕和惭愧。娜塔莎有此同感，她经常猜透安德烈公爵所有的感情。有一回娜塔莎问起他的儿子。安德烈公爵涨红了脸，现在他常常满面通红，这一点娜塔莎特别喜欢，他说，他的儿子是不会住在他们一起的。
“为什么？”娜塔莎吃惊地说。
“我不能从爷爷那儿把他夺走，而且……”
“我多么喜爱他啊！”娜塔莎立刻猜透了他的心思，她说，“但是我知道，您希望避免那种责难您和我的藉口。”
老伯爵有时候走到安德烈公爵跟前，一面吻他，一面就彼佳的教育和尼古拉的职务问题向他求教。老伯爵夫人望着他们时，长吁短叹。索尼娅时时刻刻都害怕成为多馀的人，她竭力寻找走开的藉口，寻找让他们单独留下的藉口，这时候，他们并不需要她这样做。当安德烈公爵说话的时候（他讲话讲得很好），娜塔莎骄傲地听着；当她说话的时候，她又惊又喜地发觉，他以审视的目光端详着她。她困惑不安地问她自己：“他在我身上寻找什么？他借助目光能得到什么？如果我身上没有他藉助目光能够找到的东西，那么会怎样呢？”她有时候陷入她所固有的极度愉快的心境，那么她就特别喜欢倾听并且注视安德烈公爵发笑。他很少发笑，但是当他发笑的时候，他就笑得忘乎所以，在每次发笑之后，她都觉得她自己和他更加亲近了。如果即将临近离别的念头不会使娜塔莎害怕，那么她就是非常幸福的了。
安德烈离开彼得堡的前夜，他把皮埃尔带来了，皮埃尔自从上次舞会以来，一次也没有到过罗斯托夫家里串门。皮埃尔看来惘然若失，感到难为情。他和他们家的母亲交谈。娜塔莎和索尼亚在棋桌旁边坐下来，邀请安德烈公爵下棋。他走到她们跟前。
“您不是老早就认识别祖霍夫吗？”他问道，“您喜欢他吗？”
“是啊，他是个好人，不过太可笑了。”
就像她经常谈论皮埃尔那样，她讲起有关他的漫不经心的趣闻，甚至是一些针对他凭空虚构的趣闻。
“您要知道，我把我们的秘密讲给他听了，”安德烈公爵说道，“我从儿时起就认识他了。他有一副金不换的好心肠。我请求您，娜塔莉，”他忽然严肃地说，“我要走了，天晓得会发生什么事。您可以不再爱我……唔，我知道，我不应该提起这件事。只想说一点，当我不在的时候，您无论发生什么事……”
“会发生什么事呢？……”
“无论有什么悲痛，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“索菲小姐，我请求您，无论发生什么事情，只要请他一个人指教，请他一个人帮助。他是个非常漫不经心而且可笑的人，不过他有一副金不换的好心肠。”
无论是父亲或者是母亲，无论是索尼娅，或者是安德烈公爵本人都不能预见到娜塔莎和她的未婚夫的离别会对她产生怎样的影响。这天她满脸通红，十分激动，眼中没有噙着泪水，她在房间里走来走去，做着极为琐碎的事情，仿佛不明了，等待她的是什么。当他告别时，最后一次吻吻她的手，她没有哭出声来。
“您不要走吧！”她只是对他说了这句话，那嗓音使他考虑到他是否真要留下来，而且在此以后他长久地记得她说这句话时的嗓音。他走了以后，她也没有哭，一连好几天都未曾啜泣，只是呆呆地在自己房间时。她对什么都不感兴趣，有时候只是这样说：“哦，他干嘛走了！”
但是他走后过了两个礼拜，使她周围的人感到意外的是，她突然从那精神病状态中清醒过来，变得像从前那个模样了，只不过精神面貌发生了变化，如同孩子在久病之后现出另一副面孔从床上站立起来。
Book 6 Chapter 25
THE HEALTH AND CHARACTER of Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky had, during that year, after his son had left him, grown considerably feebler. He became more irritable than ever, and it was Princess Marya who as a rule bore the brunt of his outbursts of causeless fury. He seemed studiously to seek out all the tender spots in her consciousness so as to inflict on her the cruellest wounds possible. Princess Marya had two passions and consequently two joys: her nephew, Nikolushka, and religion; and both were favourite subjects for the old prince's attacks and jeers. Whatever was being spoken of, he would bring the conversation round to the superstitiousness of old maids, or the petting and spoiling of children. “You want to make him” (Nikolushka) “just such another old maid as you are yourself. Prince Andrey wants a son and not an old maid,” he would say. Or addressing Mademoiselle Bourienne he would ask her, before Princess Marya, how she liked our village priests and holy pictures, and make jests about them.…
He was constantly wounding Princess Marya's feelings, but his daughter needed no effort to forgive him. Could he be to blame in anything he did to her, could her father, who as she knew in spite of it all, loved her, be unjust? And indeed what is justice? Princess Marya never gave a thought to that proud word, “justice.” All the complex laws of humanity were summed up for her in one clear and simple law—the law of love and self-sacrifice, laid down by Him who had in His love suffered for humanity, though He was God Himself. What had she to do with the justice or injustice of other people? All she had to do was to suffer and to love; and that she did.
In the winter Prince Andrey had come to Bleak Hills, had been gay, gentle, and affectionate, as Princess Marya had not seen him for years. She felt that something had happened to him, but he said nothing to his sister of his love. Before his departure, Prince Andrey had a long conversation with his father, and Princess Marya noticed that they were ill pleased with each other at parting.
Soon after Prince Andrey had gone, Princess Marya wrote from Bleak Hills to her friend in Petersburg, Julie Karagin, whom Princess Marya had dreamed—as girls always do dream—of marrying to her brother. She was at this time in mourning for the death of a brother, who had been killed in Turkey.
“Sorrow, it seems, is our common lot, my sweet and tender friend Julie.
“Your loss is so terrible that I can only explain it to myself, as a special sign of the grace of God, who in His love for you would chasten you and your incomparable mother.
“Ah, my dear, religion, and religion alone can—I don't say comfort us—but save us from despair. Religion alone can interpret to us what, without its aid, man cannot comprehend: to what end, for what cause, good, elevated beings who are able to find happiness in life, not injuring others, but indispensable to their happiness, are called away to God, while the wicked, the useless, injuring others and a burden to themselves and others, are left living. The first death which I have seen, and which I shall never forget—the death of my dear little sister-in-law—made on me just the same impression. Just as you question destiny, and ask why your noble brother had to die, so did I wonder what reason there was for that angel Liza to die—who had never done the slightest harm to any one, never even had a thought in her heart that was not kind. And yet—do you know, dear friend—five years have passed since then, and even I, with my poor intelligence, begin now to understand clearly why it was needful she should die, and in what way that death was but an expression of the boundless grace of the Creator, all of whose acts, though for the most part we comprehend them not, are but manifestations of His infinite love for His creatures. Perhaps, I often think, she was of too angelic an innocence to have the force to perform all a mother's duties. As a young wife, she was irreproachable; possibly she could not have been equally so as a mother. As it is, not only has she left us, and particularly Prince Andrey, the purest memories and regrets, but there she is in all likelihood receiving a place for which I dare not hope for myself. But not to speak of her alone, that early and terrible death has had the most blessed influence on me and on my brother, in spite of all our grief. At the time, at the moment of our loss, I could not have entertained such thoughts; at that time I should have dismissed them in horror, but now it seems clear and incontestable. I write all this to you, dear friend, simply to convince you of the Gospel truth, which has become a principle of life for me: not one hair of our head falls without His will. And the guiding principle of His will is only His infinite love for us, and so whatever may befall us, all is for our good.
“You ask whether we shall spend next winter in Moscow. In spite of all my desire to see you, I do not expect and do not wish to do so. And you will be surprised to hear that Bonaparte is responsible for this! I will tell you why: my father's health is noticeably weaker, he cannot endure contradiction and is easily irritated. This irritability is, as you are aware, most readily aroused on political subjects. He cannot endure the idea that Bonaparte is treating on equal terms with all the sovereigns of Europe, especially our own, the grandson of the great Catherine! As you know, I take absolutely no interest in politics, but from my father and his conversations with Mihail Ivanovitch, I know all that goes on in the world, and have heard of all the honours conferred on Bonaparte. It seems that Bleak Hills is now the only spot on the terrestrial globe where he is not recognised as a great man—still less as Emperor of France. And my father cannot tolerate this state of things. It seems to me that my father shows a disinclination for the visit to Moscow, chiefly owing to his political views and his foreseeing the difficulties likely to arise from his habit of expressing his opinions freely with no regard for any one. All that he would gain from medical treatment in Moscow, he would lose from the inevitable discussions upon Bonaparte. In any case the matter will very soon be settled.
“Our home life goes on in its old way, except for the absence of my brother Andrey. As I wrote to you before, he has greatly changed of late. It is only of late, during this year that he seems to have quite recovered from the shock of his loss. He has become again just as I knew him as a child, good-natured, affectionate, with a heart such as I know in no one else. He feels now, it seems to me, that life is not over for him. But, together with this moral change, he has become very weak physically. He is thinner than ever and more nervous. I feel anxious about him and glad that he is taking this tour abroad, which the doctors prescribed long ago. I hope that it will cure him. You write to me that he is spoken of in Petersburg as one of the most capable, cultivated, and intellectual young men. Forgive me for the pride of family—I never doubted it. The good he did here to every one—from his peasants to the local nobility—is incalculable. When he went to Petersburg he was received as he deserved. I wonder at the way reports fly from Petersburg to Moscow, and especially such groundless ones as the rumour you wrote to me about, of my brother's supposed engagement to the little Rostov girl. I don't imagine that Andrey will ever marry any one at all, and certainly not her. And I will tell you why. In the first place, I know that though he rarely speaks of his late wife, the grief of his loss has penetrated too deeply into his heart for him ever to be ready to give her a successor, and our little angel a step-mother. Secondly, because, as far as I can ascertain, that girl is not one of the kind of women who could attract my brother Andrey. I do not believe that Andrey has chosen her for his wife; and I will frankly confess, I should not wish for such a thing. But how I have been running on; I am finishing my second sheet. Farewell, my sweet friend; and may God keep you in His holy and mighty care. My dear companion, Mademoiselle Bourienne, sends you kisses.
在儿子走后的一年之内，老公爵尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基的身体很弱了，意志力也衰退了。他已经变得比从前更易于激动，多半在公爵小姐玛丽亚身上发泄他那无缘无故的怒火。他仿佛极力挑剔她的各种弱点，尽量残酷地从精神上折磨她。公爵小姐玛丽亚有两种癖好，因而也就有两种欢乐：侄子尼古卢什卡和宗教，二者都是老公爵所喜爱的、用以进攻和嘲笑的题材。无论说什么，他总把话题归结为老处女的迷信和子女的娇生惯养。“你想把他（尼古卢什卡）变成像你这样的老处女，白费心机；安德烈公爵所需要的是儿子，而不是处女。”他说。或者在他和布里安小姐打交道时，他一面在公爵小姐玛丽亚面前问她，她可喜欢我们的神甫和神像，他一面开玩笑…… 
他不断地、无情地侮辱公爵小姐玛丽亚，为了原谅他，他女儿甚至不能克制自己了。他难道会得罪女儿吗？难道她的父亲（她毕竟知道，他是喜爱她的）会不公平吗？而且什么是公平呢？公爵小姐从来都没有想到这个值得骄傲的词儿：“公平”。对她来说，人类所有的复杂的法则，可集中为一个简而明的法则，即是博爱和自我牺牲的法则，也就是那个怀有博爱之心为全人类而备受苦难的上帝本身传授给我们的法则。他人的公平或不公平与她何干呢？她自己应当蒙受苦难，热爱他人，而且她也这样做了。
冬天安德烈公爵常到童山来，他很快活而温和，公爵小姐玛丽亚很久都没有看见他这副模样了。她预感到他发生了什么事情，但他对公爵小姐玛丽亚没有谈到任何爱情问题。安德烈公爵在动身前和父亲交谈，谈了很久，公爵小姐玛丽亚注意到他们俩个人在他动身前彼此都表示不满。
安德烈公爵走后不久，公爵小姐玛丽亚在童山给彼得堡的朋友朱莉·卡拉金娜写了一封信，公爵小姐玛丽亚和姑娘们一样，平常也怀着那种幻想，即是希望朱莉·卡拉金娜嫁给她哥哥，这时候她的朋友正在为捐躯于土耳其的哥哥服丧。
“亲爱的、温柔的朋友朱莉，悲恸看来是我们共同的厄运。
您的损失是如此骇人，以致我只能向我自己说明，这是上帝的特殊恩赐，他因为爱您而想考验您和您的优秀的母亲。啊，我的朋友，宗教，唯独宗教，不用说，才能安慰我们，使我们摆脱失望的境地，唯独宗教能够向我们说明人类在缺乏宗教帮助下所无法理解的问题；为何目的、为何缘由那些善良、高尚、善于在生活中寻找幸福、不仅不伤害任何人，而且是对他人的幸福不可缺少的人竟会应召去见上帝，而那些恶毒的，毫无用处的危害份子，或者那些成为自己和他人的累赘的人却幸存于世。我所看见的永志不忘的第一个人的死亡——我那亲爱的嫂嫂的死亡给我造成了这种印象。如同您也问到人的命运那样，您那最优秀的哥哥为什么应当捐躯，我也同样地问到，丽莎非但没有危害他人，而且她的心灵中除了美好的思想而外，从来没有任何邪念，为何这个安琪儿竟会死去呢。我的朋友，这是怎么回事？你瞧，从那时起，已经度过五年了，我只凭我这微不足道的智慧就已经开始明白，她为何应当死去，这种死只是创世主的无限仁慈的表现，他的所作所为虽然我们多半不了解，但是这只是他对自己的造物的无限仁爱的表现而已。也许我常常这样想，她过分纯洁无瑕，宛如安琪儿，以致她无力承担母亲的义务。她这个年轻的妻子是无疵可剔的，她也许不能做个这样的母亲。而且目前她所遗留给我们的，特别是遗留给安德烈公爵的只有纯粹的怜惜和怀念。她在阴间里大概会获得我们不敢替自己希冀的那种地位。可是无须乎只论及她一个人，这种可怕的夭折尽管令人悲恸欲绝，但是这对我和对我哥哥都有极其良好的影响。那时候，在遭受损失的时刻，我脑海中不可能出现这个念头，那时候我怀着恐惧的心理撇开了这个念头，但是现在这个问题非常明显，而且无容置疑了。此刻我把这一切写给您看，我的朋友，只是为了使您相信那作为我的生活准则的福音书中的真理：如果上帝不同意，就连一根头发也不会从我们头上掉下来。而上帝的意志所依据的只是对我们的无限的仁爱，因此我们无论发生什么事，一切都是为了我们的福利。您问我们是不是在莫斯科度过来冬？虽然我有和您会面的愿望，但是我不想也不希望这样做。您会感到惊奇的是，波拿巴成了碍事的原因。这就是因为：我父亲的身体已明显地衰弱：他不能忍受反对的意见，渐渐地变得易于激怒。您知道这种激怒情绪多半是针对政治问题。一想到波拿巴竟与欧洲所有国君并驾齐驱，尤其是与我们的国君——
伟大的叶卡挞琳娜的孙子并驾齐驱，他就不能忍受了！您知道，我对政治问题完全不关心，但是从我父亲的话语中，从他和米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇的谈话中我得知世界上发生的一切大事，特别是知道人们对波拿巴致以敬意，仿佛在整个地球上只有童山不仅不承认波拿巴是个伟人，更不承认他是法国皇帝。我父亲不能忍受这等事。我仿佛觉得，我父亲所以预见到必将发生冲突，主要是由于他自己对政治问题的观点，也由于他那不论对谁都无拘无束地发表意见的风格，因此他不乐于提及前赴莫斯科的事情。由于不可避免的有关波拿巴的争论，他将会丧失他所取得的一切疗效。不管怎样，这件事一定能够很快解决。我们的家庭生活，除了安德烈哥哥不在家而外，仍然照旧。正如我在信中所写的那样，他近来有了很大的变化。在经受痛苦之后，他的精神面貌直至今年才完全复元。他变得像我小时候熟悉的那个样子了：和善、温柔，有一副无与匹比的金不换的心肠。我好像觉得，他明白，对他来说生命还没有终结。但是随着这种精神上的变化，他的体力很虚弱。他变得比从前更瘦了，神经更过敏了。我替他担心，但又感到高兴，他毕竟遵照医生们很久以前的嘱咐，出国去了。我希望出国治疗能使他复元。您要写信告诉我，彼得堡对他这个积极活动的很有学问而且聪明的年轻人有些什么言论。请您宽恕我这个亲属的自尊心，我对这一点从来没有生过疑心。
他在这里对自己的农夫以至贵族，对人人所做的善事真是数不胜数。他到彼得堡以后，他所获得的只是他理应获得的一切。我感到奇怪的是，彼得堡的谣言老是传到莫斯科来，特别是一些不可信的谣言，正如您在信中写到的那样，其中包括一则有关我哥哥和娇小的罗斯托娃结婚的谣言。我不认为安德烈会同某人结婚，尤其是同她结婚。这就是因为：第一，我知道，尽管他很少谈到已故的妻子，但是这种损失造成的悲痛在他心中根深蒂固了，以致他拿不定主意再娶，也不敢给我们的小天使找个继母。第二，据我所知，这个姑娘并不属于安德烈公爵所喜欢的女人之列，我不认为安德烈公爵会把她选为妻子，我坦率地说，我不希望他这样做。不过我聊得太久了，快要写完第二张纸了。再见，我亲爱的朋友，愿上帝把您置于自己神圣的、强而有力的保护之下。我亲爱的女友，布里安小姐，吻您。
玛丽。”
Book 6 Chapter 26
IN THE MIDDLE of the summer Princess Marya, to her surprise, received a letter from Prince Andrey, who was in Switzerland. In it he told her strange and surprising news. He informed his sister of his engagement to the younger Rostov. His whole letter was full of loving enthusiasm for his betrothed, and tender and confiding affection for his sister. He wrote that he had never loved as he loved now, and that it was only now that he saw all the value and meaning of life. He begged his sister to forgive him for having said nothing of his plans to her on his last visit to Bleak Hills, though he had spoken of it to his father. He had said nothing to her for fear Princess Marya would beg her father to give his consent, and, without attaining her object, would irritate her father and draw all the weight of his displeasure upon herself. The matter was not, however, then, he wrote to her, so completely settled as now. “At that time our father insisted on a delay of a year, and now six months, half of the period specified, is over, and I remain firmer than ever in my resolution. If it were not for the doctors keeping me here at the waters I should be back in Russia myself; but, as it is, I must put off my return for another three months. You know me and my relations with our father. I want nothing from him. I have been, and always shall be, independent; but to act in opposition to his will, to incur his anger when he has perhaps not long left to be with us, would destroy half my happiness. I am writing a letter to him now, and I beg you to choose a favourable moment to give him the letter, and to let me know how he looks at the whole matter, and if there is any hope of his agreeing to shorten the year by three months.”
After long hesitations, doubts, and prayers, Princess Marya gave the letter to her father. The next day the old prince said to her calmly:
“Write to your brother to wait till I'm dead.… He won't have long to wait. I shall soon set him free.”
The princess tried to make some reply, but her father would not let her speak, and went on, getting louder and louder. “Let him marry, let him marry, the dear fellow.… A nice connection!… Clever people, eh? Rich, eh? Oh yes, a fine stepmother for Nikolushka she'll make! You write to him he can marry her to-morrow. Nikolushka shall have her for a stepmother, and I'll marry little Bourienne!… Ha, ha, ha, and so he shall have a stepmother too! Only there's one thing, I won't have any more women-folk about my house; he may marry and go and live by himself. Perhaps you'll go and live with him too?” He turned to Princess Marya: “You're welcome to, and good luck to you!”
After this outburst the prince did not once allude to the subject again. But his repressed anger at his son's poor-spirited behaviour found a vent in his treatment of his daughter. He now added to his former subjects for jeering and annoying her a new one—allusions to a stepmother and gallantries to Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“Why shouldn't I marry her?” he would say to his daughter. “A capital princess she will make!” And latterly, to her perplexity and amazement, Princess Marya began to notice that her father was really beginning to attach himself more and more closely to the French-woman. Princess Marya wrote to Prince Andrey and told him how their father had taken the letter, but comforted her brother with hopes that he would become reconciled to the idea.
Nikolushka and his education, her brother Andrey and religion, were Princess Marya's joys and consolations. But apart from those, since every one must have personal hopes, Princess Marya cherished, in the deepest secrecy of her heart, a hidden dream and hope that was the source of the chief comfort in her life. This comforting dream and hope was given her by “God's folk”—the crazy prophets and the pilgrims, who visited her without the prince's knowledge. The longer Princess Marya lived, the more experience and observation she had of life, the more she wondered at the shortsightedness of men, who seek here on earth for enjoyment, toil, suffer, strive and do each other harm to attain that impossible, visionary, and sinful happiness. Prince Andrey had loved a wife; she died; that was not enough for him, he wanted to bind his happiness to another woman. Her father did not want that, because he coveted a more distinguished or a wealthier match for Andrey. And they were all striving, and suffering, and in torment, and sullying their souls, their eternal souls, to attain a bliss the duration of which was but a moment. Not only do we know that for ourselves. Christ, the Son of God, came down upon earth and told us that this life is but for a moment, is but a probation; yet we still cling to it and think to find happiness in it. “How is it no one has realised that?” Princess Marya wondered. “No one but these despised people of God who, with wallets over their shoulders, come to me by the back stairs, afraid of the prince catching sight of them, and not from fear of ill-usage, but from fear of tempting him to sin. To leave home and country, give up all thoughts of worldly blessings, and clinging to nothing, to wander from place to place in a home-spun smock under a different name, doing people no harm, but praying for them, praying equally for those who drive them away and those who succour them: higher than that truth and that life there is no truth and no life!”
There was one Pilgrim-woman, Fedosyushka, a quiet, little woman of about fifty, marked by smallpox, who had been wandering for over thirty years barefooted and wearing chains. Princess Marya was particularly fond of her. One day when sitting in a dark room, by the light only of the lamp before the holy picture, Fedosyushka told her about her life. Princess Marya felt all at once so strongly that Fedosyushka was the one person who had found the right way of life, that she resolved to go on a pilgrimage herself. When Fedosyushka had gone to bed Princess Marya pondered a long while over it, and at last made up her mind that—however strange it might be—she must go on a pilgrimage. She confided her intention to no one but a monk, Father Akinfy, and this priest approved of her project. On the pretence of getting presents for pilgrim women, Princess Marya had prepared for herself the complete outfit of a pilgrim—a smock, plaited shoes, a full-skirted coat, and a black kerchief. Often she went to her secret wardrobe, where she kept them, and stood in uncertainty whether the time to carry out her plan had come or not.
Often as she listened to the pilgrims' tales, their simple phrases—that had become mechanical to them, but were to her ears full of the deepest significance—worked upon her till she was several times ready to throw up everything and run away from home. In imagination she already saw herself with Fedosyushka in a coarse smock, trudging along the dusty road with her wallet and her staff, going on her pilgrimage, free from envy, free from earthly love, free from all desires, from one saint to another; and at last thither where there is neither sorrow nor sighing, but everlasting joy and blessedness.
“I shall come to one place. I shall pray there, and before I have time to grow used to it, to love it, I shall go on further. And I shall go on till my legs give way under me and I lie down and die somewhere, and reach at last that quiet, eternal haven, where is neither sorrow nor sighing!…” thought Princess Marya.
But then at the sight of her father, and still more of little Nikolushka, she wavered in her resolution, wept in secret, and felt that she was a sinner, that she loved her father and her nephew more than God.
公爵小姐玛丽亚于仲夏接到安德烈公爵从瑞士寄来的一封意外的书信，他在书信中通知她一则可怕的、出乎意料的消息。安德烈公爵宣布，他和罗斯托娃订婚了。整封信都流露出他对未婚妻的爱情的喜悦和对妹妹的温情与信任。他写道，他从来没有像现在这样爱恋，他现在才懂得生活，真正了解生活，他请求妹妹原谅，他到了童山，没有把决定订婚的事告诉他妹妹，虽然他向他父亲谈到这件事，但他没有把这件事告诉她，是因为她会请求父亲同意这门婚事，假如达不到目的，就会使得父亲恼怒，父亲势必要向她发泄不满情绪，她就得遭到严厉的责难。不过，他写道，那时候这件事还没有最后决定，现在就不一样了。“那时候父亲给我一年的期限，眼看过了六个月，规定的期限满了一半，我现在比任何时候都更坚定了。如果大夫们不把我留在这里采用矿泉水治疗，我本人就到俄国去了，可是现在我只得将归期再推迟三个月。你知道我，也知道我和父亲之间的关系。我不需要他的什么东西，我过去是，现在是，将来永远是不依附任何人的，我们和他相处的时间也许不会太长了，但是在这个时候做什么违背他的意旨的事情，惹他发脾气，势必会损害我的一半幸福。我现在给他写一封内容相同的信，请你择定良机把信转交给他，并且告诉我他对这件事的看法，看看是否有希望，要他同意把期限缩短三个月。” 
在长时间的犹豫、疑惑和祈祷以后，公爵小姐玛丽亚把信交给父亲了。第二天老公爵心平气和地对她说：
“给哥哥写信，在我未死之前，要他等一等……时间不会太长了，我很快给予他行动自由……”
公爵小姐心里想反驳什么，可是父亲不让她开口，他的嗓音越抬越高了。
“结婚吧，结婚吧，亲爱的……是个好亲属！……都是聪明人，是不是呢？富有的人，是不是呢？是的，尼古卢什卡有个好继母。给他写封信，即使明天娶妻也行。她当尼古卢什卡的后娘，我就来娶布里安！……哈，哈，哈，他没有后娘也呆不下去啊！只是要当心一点，我们家里不需要更多的妇女，让他娶妻吧，自个儿独立生活。也许你也迁到他那里去，是吗？”他把脸转向公爵小姐玛丽亚，说道：“愿上天保佑，挨挨冻吧，挨挨冻吧……挨挨冻吧！……”
在这次发怒之后，公爵一次也不再提这件事了。但因儿子的意志薄弱，一种不露声色的懊丧在父女关系上显示出来了。在从前的嘲笑口实中，又增添了一个新话题——关于继母关于向布里安小姐献殷勤的话题。
“我干嘛不和她结婚呢？”他对女儿说，“以后会有个挺好的公爵夫人！”近来使公爵小姐玛丽亚感到困惑和惊奇的是，她开始发现，她的父亲的确越来越靠近法国女人了。公爵小姐玛丽亚给安德烈公爵写信，说父亲怎样看待他的来信，但是她安慰哥哥，认为有希望使她父亲采取容忍的态度。
尼古卢什卡和他的教育，安德烈和宗教，是公爵小姐玛丽亚的慰藉和欢愉；但是除此而外，每个人都应怀有个人的希望，所以公爵小姐玛丽亚在她隐秘的灵魂深处也潜藏着给她的生活带来主要慰藉的幻想和希望。神亲们——疯修士和云游派教徒瞒着公爵访问过她，给予她以可资慰藉的幻想和希望。公爵小姐玛丽亚的生活经历愈多，见识愈广，她就对那些在国土之上寻求享乐与幸福的人的鼠目寸光愈益感到惊奇；为了获得那不能获得的虚构的、罪孽的幸福，人们不断地劳动、受苦受难，互相争斗，互相危害。“安德烈公爵爱他的妻子，她已经死了。更有甚者，他还要把自己的幸福和别的妇女联系在一起。父亲并无此意图，因为他希冀安德烈能有更为优美、更为富裕的夫妇生活。为了获得昙花一现的幸福，他们互相争斗，受苦受难，互相折磨，损害自己的灵魂——永生的灵魂。而且我们自己也知道这一点，基督——即上帝之子已降临凡间，他对我们说，人生是短暂的人生，是一种考验。但是我们大家都把它抓住，想从其中觅得幸福。怎么竟没有人能够领会呢？”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道。“除开这些被人蔑视的神亲而外，没有人能够领会这个道理，那些神亲肩背行囊从后门向我走来，因为他们惧怕被公爵望见，他们不是害怕吃到他的苦头，而是为了使他不致于造孽。他们抛弃家庭、故乡，抛弃对人间种种福利的操心，穿着粗麻布衣服，改名换姓，无牵无挂地从一处漫游至他处，不危害任何人，而为他人祈祷，为驱赶他们的人祈祷，也为庇护他们的人祈祷，高于这种真理和人生的真理的人生是没有的啊！”
有一个名叫费多秀什卡的云游派女教徒，五十岁了，身材矮小，禀性恬静，脸上长满了麻子，她光着脚，戴上枷锁，已经漫游三十多年了。公爵小姐玛丽亚特别喜欢她。有一天，在那点燃着一盏长明灯的昏暗的房间里，费多秀什卡讲她自己的生活史，公爵小姐玛丽亚的脑际骤然出现了一个念头，她认为唯独费多秀什卡找到了正确的人生之路，她也决定亲自去各地漫游。当费多秀什卡走去就寝的时候，公爵小姐玛丽亚思忖了良久，不管这件事看来是多么古怪，最后她拿定了主意：她要去各地漫游。她把她自己的意图只告诉一个忏悔师修士阿金菲神甫，忏悔师对她的意图表示赞许。公爵小姐玛丽亚遂以捐赠云游派女教徒礼物为藉口，给她自己储备了女教徒穿的全套服装、衬衣、草鞋、长身上衣和黑色头巾。公爵小姐玛丽亚常常走到珍藏的五斗橱前面，伫立着，犹豫不决，心里想，实现她的意愿的时刻是否已经来到了。
她常常静听云游派女教徒们讲故事，她们那些普通的、在她们看来都是呆板的，在她看来却是充满深刻含义的言词使她十分激动，她有几次竟想抛弃一切，从家中逃走。她在她自己的想象中看见自己和费多秀什卡，她们穿着粗麻布衣服，持着手杖，背着行囊，在尘埃滚滚的路上行走；他们长途漫游时，心中已排除嫉妒心理，已排除人世的爱情和欲望，从一些主的仆人那里向另一些主的仆人那里走去，终于走到既无悲伤，亦无太息，只有永恒的欢乐和无上幸福的地方。
“我来到一个地方，我便祈祷一会儿，还没有习惯这个地方，还没有爱上这个地方，我又向前走了。我一直走得两腿发软，躺下来，在某个地方死去，终于走到一个永恒的、享受安逸生活的环境，那里既无悲伤、亦无太息！……”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道。
可是后来，她看见了她的父亲，尤其是看见了小科科，她的意愿渐渐打消了，她悄悄地哭着，心里觉得她是个罪人，她爱父亲和侄子，尤甚于上帝。
Book 7 Chapter 1
THE BIBLICAL TRADITION tells us that the absence of work—idleness—was a condition of the first man's blessedness before the Fall. The love of idleness has remained the same in fallen man; but the curse still lies heavy upon man, and not only because in the sweat of our brow we must eat bread, but because from our moral qualities we are unable to be idle and at peace. A secret voice tells us that we must be to blame for being idle. If a man could find a state in which while being idle he could feel himself to be of use and to be doing his duty, he would have attained to one side of primitive blessedness. And such a state of obligatory and irreproachable idleness is enjoyed by a whole class—the military class. It is in that obligatory and irreproachable idleness that the chief attraction of military service has always consisted, and will always consist.
Nikolay Rostov was enjoying this blessed privilege to the full, as after the year 1807 he remained in the Pavlograd regiment, in command of the squadron that had been Denisov's.
Rostov had become a bluff, good-natured fellow, who would have been thought rather bad form by his old acquaintances in Moscow, though he was loved and respected by his comrades, his subordinates, and his superior officers, and was well content with his life. Of late—in the year 1809—he had found more and more frequently in letters from home complaints on the part of his mother that their pecuniary position was going from bad to worse, and that it was high time for him to come home, to gladden and comfort the hearts of his old parents.
As he read those letters, Nikolay felt a pang of dread at their wanting to drag him out of the surroundings in which, by fencing himself off from all the complexities of existence, he was living so quietly and peacefully. He felt that sooner or later he would have to plunge again into that whirlpool of life, with many difficulties and business to attend to, with the steward's accounts, with quarrels and intrigues, and ties, with society, with Sonya's love and his promise to her. All that was terribly difficult and complicated; and he answered his mother's letters with cold letters in French on the classic model, beginning “Ma chère maman,” and ending: “Votre obéissant fils,” saying nothing of any intention of coming home. In 1810 he received letters from home in which he was told of Natasha's engagement to Bolkonsky, and of the marriage being deferred for a year, because the old prince would not consent to it. This letter chagrined and mortified Nikolay. In the first place, he was sorry to be losing from home Natasha, whom he cared more for than all the rest of the family. Secondly, from his hussar point of view, he regretted not having been at home at the time, as he would have shown this Bolkonsky that it was by no means such an honour to be connected with him, and that if he cared for Natasha he could get on just as well without his crazy old father's consent. For a moment he hesitated whether to ask for leave, so as to see Natasha engaged, but then the man?uvres were just coming on, and thoughts of Sonya, of complications, recurred to him, and again he put it off. But in the spring of the same year he got a letter from his mother, written without his father's knowledge, and that letter decided him. She wrote that if Nikolay did not come and look after things, their whole estate would have to be sold by auction, and they would all be beggars. The count was so weak, put such entire confidence in Mitenka, and was so good-natured, and every one took advantage of him, so that things were going from bad to worse. “I beseech you, for God's sake, to come at once, if you don't want to make me and all your family miserable,” wrote the countess.
That letter produced an effect on Nikolay. He had that common sense of mediocrity which showed him what was his duty.
His duty now was, if not to retire from the army, at least to go home on leave. Why he had to go, he could not have said; but, after his after-dinner nap, he ordered his grey mare to be saddled, a terribly vicious beast that he had not ridden for a long while.
He returned home with his horse in a lather, and told Lavrushka—he had kept on Denisov's old valet—and the comrades who dropped in that evening, that he had applied for leave and was going home. It was strange and difficult for him to believe that he was going away without hearing from the staff whether he had been promoted to be a captain or had received the St. Anne for the last man?uvres (a matter of the greatest interest to him). It was strange to him to think of going away like this without having sold Count Goluhovsky his three roan horses, over which the Polish count was haggling with him. Rostov had taken a bet that he would get two thousand for them. It seemed inconceivable that without him the ball could take place which the hussars were to give in honour of their favourite Polish belle, Madame Pshazdetsky, to outdo the Uhlans, who had given a ball to their favourite belle, Madame Borzhozovsky. Yet he knew he must leave world, where all was well and all was clear, to go where all was nonsensical and complicated. A week later his leave came. His comrades—not only in the regiment, but throughout the whole brigade—gave Rostov a dinner that cost a subscription of fifteen roubles a head. Two bands of musicians played, two choruses sang; Rostov danced the trepak with Major Bazov; the drunken officers tossed him in the air, hugged him, dropped him; the soldiers of the third squadron tossed him once more and shouted hurrah! Then they put Rostov in a sledge and escorted him as far as the first posting-station on his way.
For the first half of the journey, from Krementchug to Kiev, all Rostov's thoughts—as is apt to be the case with travellers—turned to what he had left behind—to his squadron. But after being jolted over the first half of the journey, he had begun to forget his three roans and his quartermaster, Dozhoyveyky, and was beginning to wonder uneasily what he should find on reaching Otradnoe. The nearer he got, the more intense, far more intense, were his thoughts of home (as though moral feeling were subject to the law of acceleration in inverse ratio with the square of the distance). At the station nearest to Otradnoe he gave the sledge-driver a tip of three roubles, and ran breathless up the steps of his home, like a boy.
After the excitement of the first meeting, and the strange feeling of disappointment after his expectations—the feeling that “it's just the same; why was I in such a hurry?”—Nikolay began to settle down in his old world of home. His father and mother were just the same, only a little older. All that was new in them was a certain uneasiness and at times a difference of opinion, which he had never seen between them before, and soon learned to be due to the difficulties of their position.
Sonya was now nearly twenty. She would grow no prettier now; there was no promise in her of more to come; but what she had was enough. She was brimming over with love and happiness as soon as Nikolay came home, and this girl's faithful, steadfast love for him gladdened his heart. Petya and Natasha surprised Nikolay more than all the rest. Petya was a big, handsome lad of thirteen, whose voice was already cracking; he was full of gaiety and clever pranks. Nikolay did not get over his wonder at Natasha for a long while, and laughed as he looked at her.
“You're utterly different,” he told her.
“How? Uglier?”
“No, quite the contrary; but what dignity! A real princess!” he whispered to her.
“Yes, yes, yes,” cried Natasha gleefully.
Natasha told him all the story of Prince Andrey's lovemaking, of his visit to Otradnoe, and showed him his last letter.
“Well, are you glad?” asked Natasha. “I'm so at peace and happy now.”
“Very glad,” answered Nikolay. “He's a splendid fellow. Are you very much in love, then?”
“How shall I say?” answered Natasha. “I was in love with Boris, with our teacher, with Denisov; but this is utterly different. I feel calm, settled. I know there is no one better than he in the world, and so I am calm now and content. It's utterly different from anything before…”
Nikolay expressed his dissatisfaction at the marriage being put off for a year. But Natasha fell on him with exasperation, proving to him that no other course was possible, that it would be a horrid thing to enter a family against the father's will, and that she would not consent to it herself.
“You don't understand at all, at all,” she kept saying.
Nikolay paused a moment, and then said he agreed with her.
Her brother often wondered as he looked at her. It seemed quite incredible that she was a girl in love and parted from her betrothed lover. She was even-tempered, serene, and quite as light-hearted as ever. This made Nikolay wonder, and look on the engagement to Bolkonsky rather sceptically. He could not believe that her fate was by now sealed, especially as he had never seen her with Prince Andrey. It still seemed to him that there was something not real in this proposed marriage.
“Why this delay? Why were they not formally betrothed?” he thought.
Once in talking to his mother about his sister, he found to his surprise, and partly to his satisfaction, that at the bottom of her heart his mother sometimes regarded the marriage as sceptically as he did.
“Here, you see, he writes,” she said, showing her son a letter from Prince Andrey with that latent feeling of grudge which mothers always have in regard to their daughter's happiness in marriage, “he writes that he won't be coming before December. What can it be that keeps him? Illness, no doubt! His health is very weak. Don't tell Natasha. Don't make a mistake, because she seems in good spirits; it's the last she has of her girlhood, and I know how she is when she gets his letters. Still, God grant, all may be well yet,” she always concluded: “he's a splendid fellow.”
圣经上的传说指出，不劳动——无所事事是第一个人①在堕落之前享受无上幸福的条件。在堕落的人身上仍旧有游手好闲的恶习。但是，最厉害的惩罚却压在人类身上，这不仅因为，我们必须辛勤地劳动去挣到自己的糊口之食，而且因为，就道德品质而言，我们决不能游手好闲而又心安理得。怀在心里的声音说：我们无所事事势必有罪。如果人类能够到达一种境地，他无所事事，竟能觉得自己于人有益，而且又在履行天职，那末，他就发现了原始时代的无上幸福的一面。整个阶层——军人阶层享有这种天经地义的、不受指责的闲逸的社会地位。这种天经地义的、不受指责的闲逸，过去是，将来也是服兵股的主要诱惑力。 
①指亚当。
尼古拉·罗斯托夫饱尝到了这种无上幸福的滋味，一八○七年以后，他继续在保罗格勒兵团服役，他已经接替杰尼索夫，指挥一个骑兵连了。
罗斯托夫已变成一个粗野的老好人了，莫斯科的熟人一致认为他的风度有点mauvais　genre①，但是他却受到同事、部属和首长的爱护和尊敬，而且他对自己的生活感到很满意。迩近，于一八○九年，他常在家信中发现母亲连迭的怨言，她说家境每况愈下，他应当回家，使年老的双亲能够得到欢乐和慰藉。
尼古拉在读家信的时候，他心里感到一种恐怖。害怕家里人会把他从避开日常生活的混乱局面而生活在安静的环境中撵出去。他感觉到他迟早又要陷入生活的漩涡，那里是一片混乱，有许多事情要加以改进，管家人的帐目、争吵、阴谋诡计、人情关系、交际、索尼娅的爱情、求婚者的诺言。这一切极为繁难而又紊乱不堪，所以他总用他那冷淡的模仿古典书信的旧格调给母亲回信：开头写的是“Ma　chère　maAman，”②末尾写的是“votre　obéissant　fiis，”③可是，他打算何时回家，他却矢口不谈。一八一○年，他接到几封双亲的来信，告知他有关娜塔莎和博尔孔斯基订婚的事情，因为老公爵不同意，所以婚礼要在一年后举行。这封信使尼古拉十分痛心，感到受了侮辱。第一，家里缺少了他最喜欢的娜塔莎使他觉得惋惜；第二，他从骠骑兵的观点出发，他心里感到遗憾的是，他们订婚时他不在面前，如果他在他们面前，他就会向这个博尔孔斯基表明，他和他结亲根本不是什么荣耀的事情，如果他爱娜塔莎，纵然未经乖戾的父亲许可，也是可以结婚的。他踌躇片刻，是不是要请个假回去看看未婚妻娜塔莎，但是这时候眼看就要举行大演习，他脑海中想到索尼娅，想到乱七八糟的事情，于是又延期了。可是就在那年的春天，他接到母亲瞒着伯爵写的一封信，这封信劝他立即回家去。她在信中写道，如果尼古拉不回去办理事情，那末整个产业都要拍卖，大家就得讨饭了。伯爵很衰弱，什么都信赖米坚卡，他太善良了，结果人人哄骗他，什么都搞得越来越糟。“看在上帝份上，我要向你恳求，如果你不愿意使我和全家人遭到不幸，你就马上回来吧。”伯爵夫人写道。
这封信对尼古拉发挥了作用。因为他有平凡人的健全理智，所以这也就能使他明白，应该怎样办。 
①法语：风度有点不雅致。
②法语：亲爱的妈妈。
③法语：您的恭顺的儿子。
目前他应该启程回家，假如不退伍，也得请个假。为什么应当启程回家，他并不知道；午餐后睡了一觉，他吩咐给他备上灰色的马尔斯（战神），这是一匹许久没有骑过的、野性未驯的烈马，他骑着这匹累得满身大汗的壮马回家的时候，向拉夫鲁什卡（杰尼索夫的仆役还留在罗斯托夫身边）和几个晚上来访的同事宣称，他要告假回家。无论他想起来这是多么烦难和奇怪：在他还没有从司令部打听到他是否被提升为骑兵大尉（这是他特别想知道的事），或者在近来举行的大演习中他是否获得安娜勋章的时候，他居然回家去了，无论他觉得这是多么奇怪：在他还没有把三匹黑鬃黄褐色的烈马卖给讨价还价的戈卢霍夫斯基伯爵的时候（罗斯托夫打赌时说要拿到两千卢布才把这三匹烈马卖出去），他居然回家去了；无论他感到这是多么不可理解：为了使那些替波兰小姐博尔若佐夫斯卡娅举办舞会的枪骑兵为难，骠骑兵们也要为波兰小姐普沙杰茨卡娅举办一次舞会，而他竟要回家去，就不能参加这次舞会了，——他晓得他要从这个晴朗的美好的世界到那个荒谬绝伦的杂乱无章的地方去。一星期以后，他请准假了。不仅全团的骠骑兵同事，而且全旅的骠骑兵同事，每人都乐捐十五卢布给罗斯托夫举办一次舞宴，宴会上两个乐队奏乐，两个合唱队唱歌。罗斯托夫和巴索夫少校跳了一顿特列帕克舞；喝得烂醉的军官们把罗斯托夫抱起来往上抛，拥抱他，然后放下来；第三骑兵连的士兵们又一次地把他抱起来往上抛并且高呼乌拉！然后他们便把罗斯托夫放在雪橇上，把他送到头一站。
如同常有的情形那样，从克列缅丘格到基辅的道路已经走了一半，罗斯托夫的思想仍旧停留在后头，停留在骑兵连队中，但是走了一半以上的路程之后，他忘了那三匹黑鬃黄褐色的烈马，忘了他的骑兵司务长，忘了叫做博尔若佐夫斯卡娅的小姐，他开始不安地问他自己，在奥特拉德诺耶将会发现什么，怎样去发现它。他越驶近家门，思家的感情就越强烈，比以前强烈多了（好像精神上的自觉也服从于引力与距离平方成反比的定律），在奥特拉德诺耶前面的终点站上，给了马车夫三卢布酒钱，他像孩儿一般，气喘呼呼地跑上住宅的台阶。
与他期待的情形相比较，在迎接的狂欢之后，产生了一种奇怪的不满情绪，（一切依然如故，我何若急着回家呀！）在这之后，尼古拉开始习惯于他们家中原有的生活。父亲和母亲还是那个样子，不过他们变老了一些。他们和以前不同的地方只是有几分焦急不安，有时候不和，这是以前没有的事情，尼古拉很快就知道，这都是由于境况不景气所造成的。索尼娅已经十九岁出头了。她再也不会变得更好看，她只能是这个样子，不会有什么更多的转变；就算是这样，也就很够了。自从尼古拉回来以后，索尼娅完全陶醉在幸福和爱情之中，这个少女那忠实的、坚定不移的爱情，真使他心旷神怡。使尼古拉感到惊奇的莫过于彼佳和娜塔莎。彼佳是个十三岁的大男孩，嗓子也变了，长得挺好看，心情愉快，有头脑，可是太顽皮了。娜塔莎的样子使尼古拉惊讶了很久，他一面端详着她，一面发笑。
“完全不是那个样子。”他说。
“干嘛，我变得丑了一点么？”
“恰恰相反，不过架子太大了。公爵夫人啊！”他用耳语对她说。
“对，对，对。”娜塔莎愉快地说。
娜塔莎把她和安德烈公爵的爱情关系和他到达奥特拉德诺耶的情况讲给他听，把他最近写的一封信拿给他看。
“怎么，你感到高兴吗？”娜塔莎问道。“我现在非常平静，非常幸福。”
“我很高兴，”尼古拉回答，“他是个挺好的人。怎么，你很钟情吗？”
“怎么对你说呢，”娜塔莎回答，“我爱过鲍里斯，爱过教师，爱过杰尼索夫，但是这种爱情根本不算一回事。我很稳重而且坚定。我知道，比他更好的人是没有的，所以我现在感到很平静而且舒适。完全不是原先那个样子……”
尼古拉向娜塔莎表明，他对推迟婚期一年很不满意，但是娜塔莎凶狠地冲她哥哥骂起来，她向他证明只有这样做才行，违背父亲的意旨，走进他们的家庭是很愚蠢的，她本人也愿意将婚期延缓一年。
“你根本，根本不了解，”她说。尼古拉不开腔了，他对她的看法表示同意。
哥哥望她的时候，常常觉得很惊讶。她根本不像一个远离夫婚夫的钟情的未婚妻。她还和以前一样平和、恬静和快活。这就使得尼古拉感到惊讶，甚至使他对博尔孔斯基的凭媒娶亲持有不信任的看法。他不相信，她的命已经注定，尤其是没有看见安德烈公爵和她相处的情形。他总觉得这门拟议中的婚事有欠妥的地方。
“为什么延期？为什么不订婚呢？”他想道。有一次他和母亲谈起妹妹的事情，他觉得惊奇，而且有点儿高兴，他发现母亲有时候在灵魂深处对这门婚事也持有不信任的看法。
“你看，他是这样写的。”她把安德烈公爵的信拿给儿子看时说道，她怀着隐藏在心里的恶意，做母亲的对女儿未来的幸福的夫妇生活往往怀有这种嫉妒的感情；他写道，“他在十二月以前不能回家。究竟是什么事情妨碍他呢？想必是疾病？他的身体很虚弱。你不要说给娜塔莎听。你甭看她心里高高兴兴，她快要度过少女时代的末期了，但是我知道，每逢她接到他的来信的时候，她的心绪是怎样的。不过，上帝保佑，事事都会称心如意的。”她每次都说这么一句收尾的话，“他是个最优秀的人。”
Book 7 Chapter 2
IN THE EARLY PART of his time at home Nikolay was serious and even dull. He was worried by the necessity of meddling in the stupid business matters which his mother had sent for him to look after. To be rid of this burden as soon as possible, on the third day after his return, he marched angrily off, making no reply to inquiries where he was going, with scowling brows entered Mitenka's lodge, and demanded from him an account in full. What he meant by an account in full, Nikolay knew even less than the panic-stricken and bewildered Mitenka. The conversation and Mitenka's accounts did not last long. The village elder, the deputy, and the village clerk, waiting in the entry of the lodge, heard with awe and delight at first the booming and snapping of the young count's voice in a constantly ascending scale, then terrible words of abuse, flung one after another.
“Robber! Ungrateful brute!…I'll thrash the dog!…not papa to deal with…plundering us…” and so on.
Then, with no less awe and delight, these persons saw the young count, with a red face and bloodshot eyes, dragging Mitenka out by the collar, kicking him with great dexterity at every appropriate moment between his words, and shouting:
“Away with you! Never let me set eyes on you, blackguard!”
Mitenka flew head first down six steps and ran to the shrubbery. This shrubbery was well known as a haven of refuge for delinquents at Otradnoe. Mitenka had, on coming home drunk from the town, himself hidden in the shrubbery, and many of the residents of Otradnoe had been indebted to the saving power of the shrubbery when anxious to conceal themselves from Mitenka.
Mitenka's wife and sister-in-law, with frightened faces, peeped into the passage from the door of their room, where was a bright samovar boiling, and the bailiff's high bedstead stood under a quilted patchwork coverlet.
The young count walked by, treading resolutely and breathing hard, taking no notice of them, and went into the house.
The countess heard at once through her maids of what had been happening in the lodge, and on one side was comforted by the reflection that now their position would be sure to improve, though on the other hand she was uneasy as to the effect of the scene on her son. She went several times on tiptoe to his door, and listened as he lighted one pipe after another.
The next day the old count drew his son on one side, and, with a timid smile, said to him, “But you know, my dear boy, you had no reason to be so angry. Mitenka has told me all about it.”
“I knew,” thought Nikolay, “that I should never make head or tail of anything in this crazy world.”
“You were angry at his not having put down these seven hundred and eight roubles. But you see they were carried forward by double entry, and you didn't look at the next page.”
“Papa, he's a blackguard and a thief, I am certain. And what I have done, I have done. But if you don't wish it, I will say nothing to him.”
“No, my dear boy!” (The old count was confused. He was conscious that he had mismanaged his wife's estate and had wronged his children, but he had no notion how to rectify the position.) “No, I beg you to go into things. I am old. I…”
“No, papa, forgive me if I have done what you dislike. I know less about it than you do.”
“Damn them all, these peasants, and money matters and double entries,” he thought. “I used once to understand scoring at cards, but bookkeeping by the double entry is quite beyond me,” he said to himself, and from that time he did not meddle further with the management of the family affairs. But one day the countess called her son into her room, told him that she had a promissory note from Anna Mihalovna for two thousand roubles, and asked Nikolay what he thought it best to do about it.
“Well,” answered Nikolay, “you say that it rests with me. I don't like Anna Mihalovna, and I don't like Boris, but they were our friends, and they were poor. So that's what I would do!” and he tore up the note and by so doing made the countess sob with tears of joy. After this, young Rostov took no further part in business of any sort, but devoted himself with passionate interest to everything to do with the chase, which was kept up on a great scale on the old count's estate.
尼古拉回来以后，初时他觉得心情沉重，甚至很苦闷。使他心里难受的是，他必须过问这些无聊的家务，而母亲就是为了料理家务才把他召唤回来的。为了更快地卸下这个重担，在他回到家中以后的第三天，他就怒形于色，问他上哪里去他也不回答，他皱着眉头，到耳房去看米坚卡，叫他把全部帐目摆出来。全部帐目是些什么帐目，胆战心惊的、困惑不安的米坚卡比尼古拉知道得更多。他和米坚卡的交谈、核查全部开销并没有延续很长的时间。在耳房的外间等候的村长、当选的代表和地方行政长官，流露着恐惧而悦意的神态，最初听见年轻伯爵的嗓音越提越高，说话的声音叽叽喳喳，喋喋不休，然后听见一句紧接一句的可怕的咒骂。 
“强盗啊！忘恩负义的坏蛋！……砍死这条狗……不跟爸爸那样……你偷光了……”等等骂人的话。
然后这些人仍然带着喜悦和恐惧的样子看见年轻的伯爵面红耳赤，眼睛里充血，一把抓住米坚卡的后脖颈，把他拖出来，在咒骂之间，他很轻巧地用腿和膝头顶住他的屁股，用力推他往前走，大声吆喝：“滚开，坏蛋！你这个鬼家伙不要待在这儿吧！”
米坚卡拼命地从六级台阶飞奔下来，跑进了花坛。（这个花坛是奥特拉德诺耶的罪犯们所熟悉的避难的地方。那个喝得烂醉从城里走回来的米坚卡本人就是躲在这个花坛里的，许多躲避米坚卡的奥特拉德诺耶的居民，都熟谙这个花坛的庇护效力。）
米坚卡的妻子和几个小姨子露出惶恐的神态从房门口探出身子向门斗张望，一只精美的茶炊正在沸腾，管事人的一张高床摆在那间房里，床上铺着用那短短的碎布缝缀的、绗过的棉被。
年轻的伯爵上气不接下气，迈着坚定的脚步从她们身旁经过，没有注意她们，向住宅走去。
伯爵夫人从几个婢女那儿立刻打听到耳房里发生的事，一方面，他们目前的景况应当好转，因而放下心来；另一方面，她非常担心儿子经受不起劳累，因而惴惴不安。她接连几次踮着脚尖走到他门前，听见他装一袋烟，又装一袋烟，不停地抽烟。
第二天，老伯爵把他儿子喊到一边，含着胆怯的微笑对他说：
“我的心肝，你知不知道，你无缘无故地发了一阵火！米坚卡把什么都讲给我听了。”
“我知道，”尼古拉想了想，“在这个愚昧的世界里，无论什么事我永远都不明白。”
“他没有把这七百卢布记在帐上，你就生他的气了。要知道，他把这七百卢布记在转欠页上，而另外一页你就没有看了。”
“爸爸，我知道他是个坏蛋，小偷儿。我干过了，就算干过了。如果您不希望我这样做，我就不再跟他说什么了。”
“不，我的心肝，（伯爵也感到困窘不安。他觉得，他是他妻子的地产的蹩脚主管，他对不起他自己的儿女，可是他并不知道，要怎样去加以改进。）不过，我请你来管理家业，我太老了，而且……”
“不，爸爸，如果我做了使您不愉快的事，就请您原谅，我没有您那样内行。”
“这些农夫、金钱、转欠页上的帐目统统见鬼去吧，”他想道，“我早就懂得，怎样折起纸牌的一角押上赌注，可是过页转帐的事，我一点也不懂得。”他自言自语地说，从那时起他再也不过问家业了。只是有一回，伯爵夫人把儿子喊到面前，告诉他，她有一张安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的二千卢布的期票，她问尼古拉，他想怎么办。
“原来是这么回事，”尼古拉回答，“您对我说，这件事取决于我，我不喜欢安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，也不喜欢鲍里斯，不过他们和我们要好，而且他们的生活很贫苦。那就这么办好了！”于是他撕了这张期票，他这种做法使得老伯爵夫人含着欣喜的泪水大哭了一顿。在此以后，年轻的伯爵不再过问任何家事了，他兴致勃勃地开始干一件对他说来还是新鲜的事情——犬猎，老伯爵正以巨大的规模从事犬猎。
Book 7 Chapter 3
WINTRY WEATHER was already setting in, the morning frosts hardened the earth drenched by the autumn rains. Already the grass was full of tufts, and stood out bright green against the patches of brown winter cornland trodden by the cattle, and the pale yellow stubble of the summer cornfields, and the reddish strips of buckwheat. The uplands and copses, which at the end of August had still been green islands among the black fields ploughed ready for winter corn, and the stubble had become golden and lurid red islands in a sea of bright green autumn crops. The grey hare had already half-changed its coat, the foxes' cubs were beginning to leave their parents, and the young wolves were bigger than dogs. It was the best time of the year for the chase. The dogs of an ardent young sportsman like Rostov were only just coming into fit state for hunting, so that at a common council of the huntsmen it was decided to give the dogs three days' rest, and on the 16th of September to go off on a hunting expedition, beginning with Dubravy, where there was a litter of wolves that had never been hunted.
Such was the position of affairs on the 14th of September.
All that day the dogs were kept at home. It was keen and frosty weather, but towards evening the sky clouded over and it began to thaw. On the morning of the 15th of September when young Rostov in his dressing-gown looked out of window he saw a morning which was all the heart could desire for hunting. It looked as though the sky were melting, and without the slightest wind, sinking down upon the earth. The only movement in the air was the soft downward motion of microscopic drops of moisture or mist. The bare twigs in the garden were hung with transparent drops which dripped on to the freshly fallen leaves. The earth in the kitchen-garden had a gleaming, wet, black look like the centre of a poppy, and at a short distance away it melted off into the damp, dim veil of fog.
Nikolay went out on to the wet and muddy steps. There was a smell of decaying leaves and dogs. The broad-backed, black and tan bitch Milka, with her big, prominent, black eyes, caught sight of her master, got up, stretched out her hindlegs, lay down like a hare, then suddenly jumped up and licked him right on his nose and moustache. Another harrier, catching sight of his master from the bright coloured path, arched its back, darted headlong to the steps, and, lifting its tail, rubbed itself against Nikolay's legs.
“O, hoy!” He heard at that moment the inimitable hunting halloo which unites the deepest bass and the shrillest tenor notes. And round the corner came the huntsman and whipper-in, Danilo, a grey, wrinkled man, with his hair cropped round in the Ukrainian fashion. He held a bent whip in his hand, and his face had that expression of independence and scorn for everything in the world, which is only to be seen in huntsmen. He took off his Circassian cap to his master and looked scornfully at him. That scorn was not offensive to his master. Nikolay knew that this Danilo, disdainful of all, and superior to everything, was still his man and his huntsman.
“Danilo,” said Nikolay, at the sight of this hunting weather, those dogs, and the huntsman, feeling shyly that he was being carried away by that irresistible sporting passion in which a man forgets all his previous intentions, like a man in love at the sight of his mistress.
“What is your bidding, your excellency?” asked a bass voice, fit for a head deacon, and hoarse from hallooing, and a pair of flashing black eyes glanced up from under their brows at the silent young master. “Surely you can't resist it?” those two eyes seemed to be asking.
“It's a good day, eh? Just right for riding and hunting, eh?” said Nikolay, scratching Milka behind the ears.
Danilo winked and made no reply.
“I sent Uvarka out to listen at daybreak,” his bass boomed out after a moment's silence. “He brought word she's moved into the Otradnoe enclosure; there was howling there.” (“She's moved” meant that the mother wolf, of whom both knew, had moved with her cubs into the Otradnoe copse, which was a small hunting preserve about two versts away.)
“Shouldn't we go, eh?” said Nikolay. “Come to me with Uvarka.”
“As you desire.”
“Then put off feeding them.”
“Yes, sir!”
Five minutes later Danilo and Uvarka were standing in Nikolay's big study. Although Danilo was not tall, to see him in a room gave one an impression such as one has on seeing a horse or bear standing on the floor among the furniture and surroundings of human life. Danilo felt this himself, and as usual he kept close to the door and tried to speak more softly, and not to move for fear of causing some breakage in the master's apartments. He did his utmost to get everything said quickly so as to get as soon as might be out into the open again, from under a ceiling out under the sky.
After making inquiries and extracting from Danilo an admission that the dogs were fit (Danilo himself was longing to go), Nikolay told them to have the horses saddled. But just as Danilo was about to go, Natasha, wrapped in a big shawl of her old nurse's, ran into the room, not yet dressed, and her hair in disorder. Petya ran in with her.
“Are you going?” said Natasha. “I knew you would! Sonya said you weren't going. I knew that on such a day you couldn't help going!”
“Yes, we're going,” Nikolay answered reluctantly. As he meant to attempt serious hunting he did not want to take Natasha and Petya. “We are going, but only wolf-hunting; it will be dull for you.”
“You know that it's the greatest of my pleasures,” said Natasha. “It's too bad—he's going himself, has ordered the horses out and not a word to us.”
“No hindrance bars a Russian's path!” declaimed Petya; “let's go!”
“But you mustn't, you know; mamma said you were not to,” said Nikolay to Natasha.
“No, I'm going, I must go,” said Natasha stoutly. “Danilo, bid them saddle my horse, and tell Mihailo to come with my leash,” she said to the huntsman.
Simply to be in a room seemed irksome and unfitting to Danilo, but to have anything to do with a young lady he felt to be utterly impossible. He cast down his eyes and made haste to get away, making as though it were no affair of his, and trying to avoid accidentally doing some hurt to the young lady.
那时已是初寒时节，早晨的严寒封住了被秋雨淋得乌黑油亮的土地，秋播作物的幼苗长得茂盛，一条条被牲口踩得变成褐色的越冬麦地、淡黄色的春播作物的麦庄和红色的荞麦地，和那茂密的秋播作物分隔开来，呈现着一片绿油油的颜色。八月底，群山的顶峰和树林在秋播作物的黑土田地和麦庄之间犹如绿色的孤林，这时在鲜绿的越冬作物中间，已经变成金光闪闪的和鲜红的孤林。灰兔的毛已经落了一半（正在换毛），一窝窝的小狐狸也开始向四面八方走去，小豺狼已经长得比狗更大了。这是狩猎的最佳时节。热衷于狩猎的年轻猎人罗斯托夫的猎犬，不仅长了膘，而且获得了信任，于是猎人全会上决定让猎犬休息三天，九月十六日远行，这次狩猎从橡树林开始，因为林中有一个未被惊动的狼窝。 
九月十四日的情况是这样的。
猎犬整天呆在家中，天气很冷，寒风刺骨，但从傍晚起天空布满乌云，暖和起来了。九月十五日清早，年轻的罗斯托夫披上了一件长衫，向窗外望望，他一眼望见，比这天早上更适宜于狩猎的天气是没有的了：天空好像在融化，风停了，天幕向地面拉下来。在空气中移动的唯有尘雾或者是晨雾中悄悄落下的细微的水珠。花园中光秃秃的树枝上挂着透明的水珠。滴在刚刚落下的叶子上。菜园的土地犹如罂粟，非常润湿，变得更黑而有光泽，在不远的距离以内，和阴沉而潮湿的雾幕融成一片了。尼古拉走上被雨淋湿的污泥满地的台阶，这里发散着枯萎的树木和猎犬的气味。那只黑腿的臀部宽大的母犬米尔卡，睁开它那乌黑的凸出的大眼睛，一看见主人便站起来，向后伸了个懒腰，像只灰兔似的躺在那里，然后突然一跃而起，对准他的鼻子和胡髭舔了一下。另外一只牡灵狸在花园中的一条小路上看见了主人，把背弓起来，向台阶飞也似的奔去，它翘起尾巴，开始蹭那尼古拉的腿。
“好啊。”这时候可以听见无可模拟的猎人的呼唤声，呼噜声中既含有最深沉的男低音，又含有最尖细的男高音。猎犬训练管理人和狩猎长丹尼洛从墙角走出来了，他头发苍白，满面皱纹，剪了个乌克兰式的童化头，手里执着一根短柄长鞭，流露出一副唯独猎人才有的独立活动和蔑视尘世中一切的表情。他在老爷面前摘下切尔克斯高顶帽，鄙夷地向他望了一眼。他这种轻视的神情没有使老爷觉得受侮辱，尼古拉晓得，这个藐视一切的高踞于一切的丹尼洛，毕竟是他的仆役和猎人。
“丹尼洛！”尼古拉说，畏葸地觉得，在他看见这种狩猎的天气、这些猎犬和猎人时，一种难以克服的狩猎的欲望支配着他，就像一个钟情的男人在他的情妇面前竟会忘怀原有的各种打算一样。
“大人，有什么吩咐？”他用那副由于呼唤猎犬追捕野兽而嘶哑的嗓子，发出执事长的男低音，问道，他皱着眉头并用两只闪闪发言的乌黑眼睛看了看默不作声的老爷。“怎么，顶不住了吗？”这两只眼睛仿佛在说。
“好日子，是吗？追捕野兽，跑一趟，好吗？”尼古拉用手搔着米尔卡的耳根，说道。
丹尼洛不回答，眨了眨眼睛。
“天拂晓时，我派了乌瓦尔卡出去打听一下，”沉默片刻后他用那男低音说道，“他说过，母狼迁移了，迁到奥特拉德诺耶禁伐区去了，还在那里不住地嗥叫。（迁移所指的就是他们二人都知道的那只母狼和几只狼仔迁进了奥特拉德诺耶森林，这座林子离家有两俄里之遥，这是一片范围不大的林地。）”
“那就应当到那里去，是不是？”尼古拉说，“你跟乌瓦尔卡一同到我这里来。”
“随您吩咐，好吧！”
“等一会儿再喂猎狗吧。”
“是的。”
隔了五分钟丹尼洛和乌瓦尔卡站在尼古拉的一间大书斋中。尽管丹尼洛的个子不很大，但是在这个房间看见他，欲会给人造成这样一种印象，如同你看见一匹马或是一头狗熊站在家具和人类生活所必需的设备之间的地板上。丹尼洛本人也有这样的感觉，像平常一样，他站在紧靠房门的地方，尽量低声地说话，不移动脚步，以免打破老爷的安静，他想尽量快地把话说完，走到广阔的户外去，从天花板底下走到露天地里去。
尼古拉问完了话，并从丹尼洛那儿打听到猎犬都还不错（丹尼洛本人也想动身了），于是他吩咐备马。但是丹尼洛刚刚想要走出去，娜塔莎就迈着急促的脚步走进房里来，她没有梳头，也没有穿好衣裳，只披着保姆的一件大连衣裙，彼佳和她一起跑进来了。
“你要去吗？”娜塔莎说，“我还是知道！索尼娅说你们是去不成的。我晓得，今天这样的日子非去不可了。”
“我们要去了，”尼古拉不乐意地回答，他打算认真地打一次猎，今天他不想把娜塔莎和彼佳带在身边。“我们要去了，可是要猎获的只是豺狼；你会感到枯燥无味的。”
“你知道，这是我的最大的乐趣，”娜塔莎说，“这很不妙，他本人要去猎狼，吩咐人家备马，可是他不向我们吐露半句话。”
“俄国人不可阻挡，我们去吧！”彼佳喊道。
“你本来就不能去，妈妈不是说你不能去么。”尼古拉把脸转向娜塔莎说。
“不，我要去，我一定要去，”娜塔莎坚决地说，“丹尼洛，吩咐给我们备马，要米哈伊尔把我的一群猎犬带去好了。”她把脸转向狩猎长说。
丹尼洛觉得他呆在房里有点儿失礼，很难受，但是对他来说，要和小姐打交道岂非一件不可思议的事。他垂下眼帘，赶快走出来，好像这件事与他无关，总得想个啥法子，省得无意中伤害小姐。
Book 7 Chapter 4
THE OLD COUNT, whose hunting establishment had always been kept up on a large scale, had now handed it all over to his son's care, but on that day, the 15th of September, being in excellent spirits he prepared to join the expedition. Within an hour the whole party was before the porch. When Natasha and Petya said something to Nikolay he walked by them with a stern and serious air, betokening that he had no time to waste on trifles. He looked over everything to do with the hunt, sent a pack of hounds and huntsmen on ahead to cut off the wolf from behind, got on his chestnut Don horse, and whistling to the dogs of his leash, he set off across the threshing-floor to the field leading to the Otradnoe preserve. The old count's horse, a sorrel gelding, with a white mane and tail, called Viflyanka, was led by the count's groom; he was himself to drive straight in a light gig to the spot fixed for him to stand.
Fifty-four hounds were led out under the charge of six whippers-in and grooms. Of huntsmen, properly speaking, there were taking part in the hunt eight men besides the members of the family, and more than forty greyhounds ran behind them, so that with the hounds in leashes there were about a hundred and thirty dogs and twenty persons on horseback.
Every dog knew its master and its call. Every man in the hunt knew his task, his place, and the part assigned him. As soon as they had passed beyond the fence, they all moved without noise or talk, lengthening out along the road and the field to the Otradnoe forest.
The horses stepped over the field as over a soft carpet, splashing now and then into pools as they crossed the road. The foggy sky still seemed falling imperceptibly and regularly down on the earth; the air was still and warm, and there was no sound but now and then the whistle of a huntsman, the snort of a horse, the clack of a whip, or the whine of a dog who had dropped out of his place. When they had gone a verst, five more horsemen accompanied by dogs appeared out of the mist to meet the Rostovs. The foremost of them was a fresh, handsome old man with large, grey moustaches.
“Good-day, uncle,” said Nikolay as the old man rode up to him.
“All's well and march!…I was sure of it,” began the man addressed as uncle. He was not really the Rostovs' uncle, but a distant relative, who had a small property in their neighbourhood.
‘I was sure you couldn't resist, and a good thing you have come out. All's well and quick march.” (This was the uncle's favorite saying.) “You had better attack the preserve at once, for my Girtchilk brought me word that the Ilagins are out with their hounds at Korniky; they'll snatch the litter right under your noses.”
“That's where I'm going. Shall we join the packs?” asked Nikolay.
The hounds were joined into one pack, and the uncle and Nikolay rode on side by side.
Natasha, muffled up in a shawl which did not hide her eager face and shining eyes, galloped up to them, accompanied by Petya, who kept beside her, and Mihailo, the huntsman and groom, who had been told to look after her. Petya was laughing and switching and pulling his horse. Natasha sat her raven Arabtchick with grace and confidence and controlled him with an easy and steady hand.
The uncle looked with disapproval at Petya and Natasha. He did not like a mixture of frivolity with the serious business of the hunt.
“Good-day, uncle; we're coming to the hunt too!” shouted Petya.
“Good-day, good-day, and mind you don't ride down the dogs,” said the uncle sternly.
“Nikolenka, what a delightful dog Trunila is! he knew me,” said Natasha of her favourite dog.
“In the first place, Trunila's not a dog, but a wolf-hound,” thought Nikolay. He glanced at his sister trying to make her feel the distance that lay between them at that moment. Natasha understood it.
“Don't imagine we shall get in anybody's way, uncle,” said Natasha.
“We'll stay in our right place and not stir from it.”
“And you'll do well, little countess,” said the uncle. “Only don't fall off your horse,” he added, “or you'd never get on again—all's well, quick march!”
The Otradnoe preserve came into sight, an oasis of greenness, two hundred and fifty yards away. Rostov, settling finally with the uncle from what point to set the dogs on, pointed out to Natasha the place where she was to stand, a place where there was no chance of anything running out, and went round to close in from behind above the ravine.
“Now, nephew, you're on the track of an old wolf,” said the uncle; “mind he doesn't give you the slip.”
“That's as it happens,” answered Rostov. “Karay, hey!” he shouted, replying to the uncle's warning by this call to his dog. Karay was an old, misshapen, muddy-coloured hound, famous for attacking an old wolf unaided. All took their places.
The old count, who knew his son's ardour in the hunt, hurried to avoid being late, and the whippers-in had hardly reached the place when Count Ilya Andreitch, with a cheerful face, and flushed and quivering cheeks, drove up with his pair of raven horses, over the green field to the place left for him. Straightening his fur coat and putting on his hunting appurtenances, he mounted his sleek, well-fed, quiet, good-humoured Viflyanka, who was turning grey like himself. The horses with the gig were sent back. Count Ilya Andreitch, though he was at heart no sportsman, knew well all the rules of sport. He rode into the edge of the thicket of bushes, behind which he was standing, picked up the reins, settled himself at his ease in the saddle, and, feeling that he was ready, looked about him smiling.
Near him stood his valet, Semyon Tchekmar, a veteran horseman, though now heavy in the saddle. Tchekmar held on a leash three wolfhounds of a special breed, spirited hounds, though they too had grown fat like their master and his horse. Two other keen old dogs were lying beside them not in a leash. A hundred paces further in the edge of the copse stood another groom of the count's, Mitka, a reckless rider and passionate sportsman. The count had followed the old custom of drinking before hunting a silver goblet of spiced brandy; he had had a slight lunch and after that half a bottle of his favourite bordeaux.
Count Ilya Andreitch was rather flushed from the wine and the drive; his eyes, covered by moisture, were particularly bright, and sitting in the saddle wrapped up in his fur coat, he looked like a baby taken out for a drive.
After seeing after his duties, Tchekmar, with his thin face and sunken cheeks, looked towards his master, with whom he had lived on the best of terms for thirty years. Perceiving that he was in a genial humour, he anticipated a pleasant chat. A third person rode circumspectly—he had no doubt been cautioned—out of the wood, and stood still behind the count. This personage was a grey-bearded old man, wearing a woman's gown and a high, peaked cap. It was the buffoon, Nastasya Ivanovna.
“Well, Nastasya Ivanovna,” whispered the count, winking at him, “you only scare off the game, and Danilo will give it you.”
“I wasn't born yesterday,” said Nastasya Ivanovna.
“Sh!” hissed the count, and he turned to Semyon. “Have you seen Natalya Ilyinitchna?” he asked Semyon. “Where is she?”
“Her honour's with Pyotr Ilyitch, behind the high grass at Zharvry,” answered Semyon, smiling. “Though she is a lady, she has a great love for the chase.”
“And you wonder at her riding, Semyon,…eh?” said the count, “for a man even it wouldn't be amiss!”
“Who wouldn't wonder! So daring, so smart!”
“And where's Nikolasha? Above the Lyadovsky upland, eh?” the count asked still in a whisper.
“Yes, sir. His honour knows where he had best stand. He knows the ins and outs of hunting, so that Danilo and I are sometimes quite astonished at him,” said Semyon, who knew how to please his master.
“He's a good, clever sportsman, eh? And what do you say to his riding, eh?”
“A perfect picture he is! How he drove the fox out of the Zavarzinsky thicket the other day. He galloped down from the ravine, it was a sight—the horse worth a thousand roubles, and the rider beyond all price. Yes, you would have to look a long while to find his match!”
“To look a long while…” repeated the count, obviously regretting that Semyon's praises had come to so speedy a termination. “A long while,” he repeated, turning back the skirt of his coat and looking for his snuff-box.
“The other day they were coming out from Mass in all their glory, Mihail Sidoritch…” Semyon stopped short, hearing distinctly in the still air the rush of the hounds, with no more than two or three dogs giving tongue. With his head on one side, he listened, shaking a warning finger at his master. “They're on the scent of the litter…” he whispered; “they have gone straight toward Lyadovsky upland.”
The count, with a smile still lingering on his face, looked straight before him along the path, and did not take a pinch from the snuff-box he held in his hand. The hounds' cry was followed by the bass note of the hunting cry for a wolf sounded on Danilo's horn. The pack joined the first three dogs, and the voices of the hounds could be heard in full cry with the peculiar note which serves to betoken that they are after a wolf. The whippers-in were not now hallooing, but urging on the hounds with cries of “Loo! loo! loo!” and above all the voices rose the voice of Danilo, passing from a deep note to piercing shrillness. Danilo's voice seemed to fill the whole forest, to pierce beyond it, and echo far away in the open country.
After listening for a few seconds in silence, the count and his groom felt certain that the hounds had divided into two packs: one, the larger, was going off into the distance, in particularly hot cry; the other part of the pack was moving along the forest past the count, and it was with this pack that Danilo's voice was heard urging the dogs on. The sounds from both packs melted into unison and broke apart again, but both were getting further away. Semyon sighed and stooped down to straighten the leash, in which a young dog had caught his leg. The count too sighed, and noticing the snuff-box in his hand, he opened it and took a pinch.
“Back!” cried Semyon to the dog, which had poked out beyond the bushes. The count started, and dropped the snuff-box. Nastasya Ivanovna got off his horse and began picking it up.
The count and Semyon watched him. All of a sudden, as so often happens, the sound of the hunt was in an instant close at hand, as though the baying dogs and Danilo's cries were just upon them.
The count looked round, and on the right he saw Mitka, who was staring at the count with eyes starting out of his head. Lifting his cap, he pointed in front to the other side.
“Look out!” he shouted in a voice that showed the words had long been fretting him to be uttered. And letting go the dogs, he galloped towards the count.
The count and Semyon galloped out of the bushes, and on their left they saw a wolf. With a soft, rolling gait it moved at a slow amble further to their left into the very thicket in which they had been standing. The angry dogs whined, and pulling themselves free from the leash, flew by the horses' hoofs after the wolf.
The wolf paused in his flight; awkwardly, like a man with a quinsy, he turned his heavy-browed head towards the dogs, and still with the same soft, rolling gait gave one bound and a second, and, waving its tail, disappeared into the bushes. At the same instant, with a cry like a wail, there sprang desperately out of the thicket opposite one hound, then a second and a third, and all the pack flew across the open ground towards the very spot where the wolf had vanished. The bushes were parted behind the dogs, and Danilo's brown horse, dark with sweat, emerged from them. On its long back Danilo sat perched up and swaying forward. He had no cap on his grey hair, that fluttered in disorder above his red, perspiring face.
“Loo! loo! loo!…” he was shouting. When he caught sight of the count, there was a flash like lightning in his eyes.
“B—!” he shouted, using a brutally coarse term of abuse and menacing the count with his lifted whip. “Let the wolf slip!…sportsmen indeed!” And as though scorning to waste more words on the confused and frightened count, he lashed the moist and heavy sides of his brown gelding with all the fury that had been ready for the count, and flew off after the dogs. The count stood like a man who has been thrashed, looking about him and trying to smile and call for Semyon to sympathise with his plight. But Semyon was not there; he had galloped round to cut the wolf off from the forest. The greyhounds, too, were running to and fro on both sides. But the wolf got off into the bushes, and not one of the party succeeded in coming across him.
老伯爵一向经营大规模的狩猎业，现今他把一切业务转交给儿子管理，这一天，九月十五号，老伯爵快活起来，也想亲自去狩猎。 
过了一个钟头，所有参加狩猎的人都来到台阶的近旁。尼古拉露出严肃认真的样子，表示现在哪有闲工夫去料理琐碎的事，娜塔莎与彼佳正在和他讲话，他却顾不得这么许多，便从他们身边走过去了。他把参加狩猎的各个小组察看了一遍，先行派出一群猎犬和猎人前去围猎，他就骑着一匹枣红色的顿河种马，对他自己的一群猎犬打着唿哨，经过打谷场，向通往奥特拉德诺耶禁伐区的田野出发了。伯爵的马夫牵着老伯爵骑的一匹叫做维夫梁卡的白鬃白尾的枣红色骟马；他本人乘坐一辆轻便马车径直地向兽径驰去。
猎犬共计五十四头，由六名猎犬训练管理人、看管猎犬的猎人带领。除开主人之外，有八名灵狸看管人，由他们带领四十多头灵狸，这些灵狸连同主人的几群猎犬，约计有一百三十头猎犬，二十名骑马的猎人，都朝着田野的方向出发。
每只猎犬都认识主人，知道自己的名字。每个猎人都知道自己应做的事情、围猎的地点和他所承担的任务。大伙儿刚刚走出菜园子，就停止说话，寂然无声，有条不紊地、从容不迫地沿着通往奥特拉德诺耶森林的大道和田野拉长距离，散开了。
马群就像在毛皮地毯上行走那样，沿着田野前进，当它们走过大路时，偶尔踩进了水洼，发出啪嗒啪嗒的响声。雾霭弥漫的天空，仍旧不知不觉地、不疾不徐地向地面拉下来；天空中一片沉寂，而且和暖，无声无息。有时可以听见猎人的唿哨声，马的响鼻声，或者是离开原地乱走的猎犬刺耳的吠声。
当他们走了一俄里左右的时候，有五个带着猎犬的骑士从那雾霭中出现，他们向罗斯托夫的那帮猎人迎面走来。一位精力充沛、胡髭斑白、五官端正的老人在前面骑行。
“大叔，您好。”当那老人驰近尼古拉时，尼古拉说。
“正当的事情，走吧！……我本来就晓得。”大叔开腔了（这是罗斯托夫的远亲，不富裕的邻人），我本来就晓得，你忍不住了，你就去打猎，好得很。正当的事情，走吧！（这是大叔爱说的俗话。）你马上占领禁伐区，其实我的吉尔奇克向我禀告了，伊拉金一家带着一帮猎人盘踞在科尔尼克；正当的事情，走吧！他们会从你们鼻子底下端走一窝狼仔的。”
“我也要到那里去，怎么，我们把猎犬合在一起吧？”尼古拉问道，“把猎犬合在一起……”
他们把猎犬合成一大群了，大叔和尼古拉并辔而行。娜塔莎骑马走到他们跟前，她裹着头巾，那张兴奋的脸孔、一对闪闪发亮的眼睛从头巾下面露出来了。彼佳、猎人米哈伊尔、保姆派来照应她的驯马师，都不离寸步地陪伴着她。彼佳不知为什么而笑，为什么鞭打自己的马，不住地拉缰绳。娜塔莎熟练而自信地骑在一匹黑色的阿拉伯马上，用一只可以信赖的手毫不费劲地把马勒住了。
大叔用不赞同的目光望了望彼佳和娜塔莎。他不喜欢把嬉戏和打猎这件严肃认真的事情混为一谈。
“大叔，您好，我们也要走。”彼佳喊道。
“您好，您好，可是别把猎犬压坏了。”大叔厉声地说。
“尼古连卡，多么好看的猎犬‘特鲁尼拉'！它认出我了。”
娜塔莎谈到她那只心爱的猎犬。
“第一，特鲁尼拉不是普通的狗，而是一只公猎犬。”尼古拉想了一下，严肃地朝他妹妹瞥了一眼，竭力地使她感觉到，在这个瞬间需要保持他们之间的距离。娜塔莎明白这一点。
“大叔，您不要以为我们会阻碍他人，”娜塔莎说，“我们要待在原地不动。”
“伯爵小姐，这很好，”大叔说，“不过别从马上摔下来，”他补充说，“正当的事情，走吧！可是您没有什么可以扶手的东西。”
在莫约一百俄丈远的地方可以看得见奥特拉德诺耶禁伐区这座孤林了，数名猎犬训练管理人快要走到这个地方。罗斯托夫和大叔终于议定从那里放出猎犬，并且指定娜塔莎站在那个决不能跑动的地方，于是他朝着围猎的方向走去。
“喂，贤侄，一只大狼由你来对付呢，”大叔说，“说好啦，别追失了。”
“碰上什么算什么，”罗斯托夫回答，“卡拉伊，走吧！”他喊了一声，这一声召唤用以回答大叔的话。卡拉伊是一只难看的、一身乱毛的老公狗，它因单独地捕获一只大狼而闻名。
大伙儿各就各位。
老伯爵知道他儿子在狩猎之时火气很大，便赶快驶来，省得迟到，在猎犬训练管理人还没有走到围捕的地方，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇就已经乘坐两匹乌雅驾的马车，欢天喜地，红光满面，腮帮给震得不住地颠动，马车驶过翠绿的田野，到达留给他的一条兽径。他弄平皮袄，装备好猎用的工具，骑上他那匹像他一样毛色斑白、膘肥光滑，驯顺善良的“维夫梁卡”。马车已被送回原地。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵虽然并非醉心于狩猎业的猎人，但是他却熟谙狩猎规章，他驰向灌木林边沿地带，在那儿停步，他用两手将缰绳左右分开握住，在鞍子上坐定，觉得自己准备就绪，面露微笑，向四周环顾一下。
名叫谢苗·切克马尔的仆役，老猎人，但是身体变得很笨重的人站在他身旁。切克马尔用皮带牵着三只勇猛的，但是也像主人和马一样肥大的捕狼的猎犬。两只未系皮带的很灵的老狗在地上躺着。伯爵的另外一名马夫站在百步以外的树林边缘上。米季卡是个无所顾忌的骑手和入迷的猎手。伯爵依照老习惯在狩猎前喝了一银盅猎人喝的烧酒，就着一点小菜喝了半瓶他喜欢喝的波尔多酒。
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇由于骑马和饮酒已经有点脸红了，他的眼睛蒙上薄薄一层湿气，显得分外明亮，他裹着一件皮袄，骑在马鞍上，那副样子就像打点他这个小孩去游逛似的。
那个消瘦的两颊深陷的切克马尔弄好了他自己的事情，不住地瞅着主人，他和主人和睦相处已有三十年了，他明了主人的愉快心情，等待他跟他愉快地谈话。还有个第三者（看来他是个有学问的人）从树林后面小心翼翼地走来，他在伯爵后面停步。此人是个髯须斑白的老头，他身穿女人的外衣，头戴高顶帽，这就是名叫纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜的侍从丑角。
“喂，纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜，”伯爵向他递了个眼色，用耳语说，“你只会把野兽轰出洞来，丹尼洛要给你个厉害瞧。”
“我本人……不比别人笨……”纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜说。
“嘘！”伯爵发出嘘嘘声后又把脸朝着谢苗。
“你看见娜塔莉娅·伊利尼奇娜（娜塔莎的尊称）么？”他问谢苗。“她在哪里？”
“她和彼得·伊利奇（彼佳的尊称）站在扎罗夫草地附近。”谢苗微露笑容说。“也是女子，打起猎来可很出色。”
“她骑起马来，你会感到惊奇，谢苗……怎样？”伯爵说，“即使是男人也不过如此！”
“怎么不令人惊奇？非常勇敢，非常灵活！”
“尼古拉沙（尼古拉的爱称）在哪儿？在利亚多夫斯克高地上吗？”伯爵用耳语问道。
“是的，老爷。他知道他该呆在什么地方。他擅长骑马，我和丹尼洛有时候也感到惊讶。”谢苗说，他知道怎样才能使主人满意。
“他很会骑马，是吗？骑在马上是啥样子？”
“真要画张图画来说明一下！前几天他从扎瓦尔津斯克草地跟踪追逐一只狐狸。他开始越过许多障碍，多么可怕啊——一匹马值得一千卢布，而骑手是无价之宝！这样呱呱叫的小伙子哪里去找！”
“哪里去找……”伯爵重复地说，显然他感到遗憾，谢苗竟然很快就把话说完了。“哪里去找，”他说道，一面撩起皮袄的下摆，一面取出鼻烟壶。
“前几天他在日祷后从教堂走出来，胸前戴满了勋章，米哈伊尔·西多雷奇……”谢苗还没把话说完，就听见沉寂的空中清晰地传来两三只猎犬追捕野兽的嗥叫和别的猎犬的随声吠叫。他低下头，倾听起来，现出威吓的样子，沉默地向伯爵暗示。“跟踪找到狼窝啦……”他轻言细语地说，“有人带领着大家干脆在利亚多夫斯克高地追捕去了。”
伯爵忘了收敛起脸上的微笑，向他前面的副林带远眺，手里拿着鼻烟壶，并没有闻它。紧接着犬吠之后，可以听见丹尼洛用以追狼的低沉的角笛声；另一群猎犬和头三只猎犬走在一起，于是听见猎犬时高时低地吠叫，其中夹杂着别的猎犬的特殊的呼应声，这一声声呼应就可作为追捕豺狼的吠声的标志。猎犬训练管理人已不催促猎犬追捕野兽，而是发出口令，叫猎犬抓住野兽。在这一片呼唤声中，尤以丹尼洛时而低沉、时而刺耳的呼声清晰可闻。丹尼洛的声音仿佛充满整个森林，从森林后面传出来，响彻了遥远的田野。
伯爵和他的马夫沉默地倾听几秒钟，深信猎犬已分成两群，其中一群为数较多，嗥叫得特别厉害，它们渐渐走开了；另一部分猎犬沿着森林从伯爵身旁疾驰起来，在这群猎犬中可以听见丹尼洛催促猎犬抓住野兽的喊声。这两队猎人追捕野兽的喊声汇合起来，抑扬婉转，但是这两种喊声都渐渐离得远了。谢苗叹了一口气，俯下身子把绊住小公犬的一条腿的皮带弄平，伯爵也叹了一口气，看见自己手中的鼻烟壶，把它打开来，掏出一撮鼻烟。
“向后转！”谢苗对越过森林边沿的公犬喊了一声。伯爵颤抖了一下，扔掉鼻烟壶。纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜翻身下马，把鼻烟壶捡起来。
伯爵和谢苗望着他。忽然间，追赶野兽的喊声一刹那传到近边来了，这是打猎时常有的情形，仿佛吠叫的一张张狗嘴和丹尼洛催促猎狗抓住野兽的喊声快要在他们面前出现。
伯爵回头一望，从右面望见米季卡，米季卡瞪大眼睛瞧着伯爵，举起他的帽子，把另一侧的前方指给他看。
“你来卫护吧！”他喊叫起来，那嗓音听来他憋了很久，以致这个词不禁要脱口而出。他于是放出猎犬，向伯爵那个方向疾驰去了。
伯爵和谢苗从森林边沿疾驰而出，从左面望见一只狼，这只狼有点儿摇摇晃晃，悄悄地从他们左边跳到他们所站的森林边沿。几只凶恶的猎犬尖叫了一声，挣脱了皮带，从几匹马的脚旁向豺狼飞跑起来。
狼暂时不跑了，就像患了咽喉炎那样，笨拙地把它那前额高的头转向猎犬，仍然有点儿摇摇晃晃，突然跳了一两下，躲进森林边缘不见了。就在那个时刻有一只、又一只、第三只猎犬发出啼哭似的哀鸣惘然若失地从对面的森林边缘跳出来，整整一群猎犬沿着田野，沿着豺狼穿过（跑过）的地方跑起来了。紧随猎犬之后，榛子灌木分开了，丹尼洛那匹栗色的、由于出汗而变得乌黑的马出现了。丹尼洛没有戴帽子，露出蓬乱的白发，通红的脸上淌着热汗，他缩作一团，微微向前俯着身子，骑在长长的马背上。
“我来呼唤猎犬抓住野兽，我来呼唤猎犬抓住野兽！……”他喊道。当他看见伯爵的时候，他的眼中闪出了电光。
“啊！……”他向伯爵举起短柄长鞭，威吓道。
“放走了狼啊！……什么猎人啊！”他好像没有跟局促不安的胆战心惊的伯爵交谈，对伯爵怀恨在心，用力鞭挞一下栗色骟马那凹陷的汗湿的肋部，跟在猎犬后面疾驰去了。伯爵仿佛受到惩罚似的，站立着，向四下张望，竭力地露出微笑，藉以获得谢苗对他处境的怜惜。但是谢苗已经不在那里了；他骑马绕过灌木林，截捕豺狼，不让它走进森林中。灵狸看管人也从两旁拦截野兽，但是这只狼经过灌木林走了，没有一个猎人截住它。
Book 7 Chapter 5
NIKOLAY ROSTOV was standing meanwhile at his post waiting for the wolf. He was aware of what must be taking place within the copse from the rush of the pack coming closer and going further away, from the cries of the dogs, whose notes were familiar to him, from the nearness, and then greater remoteness, and sudden raising of the voices of the huntsmen. He knew that there were both young and also old wolves in the enclosure. He knew the hounds had divided into two packs, that in one place they were close on the wolf, and that something had gone wrong. Every second he expected the wolf on his side. He made a thousand different suppositions of how and at what spot the wolf would run out, and how he would set upon it. Hope was succeeded by despair. Several times he prayed to God that the wolf would rush out upon him. He prayed with that feeling of passion and compunction with which men pray in moments of intense emotion due to trivial causes. “Why, what is it to Thee,” he said to God, “to do this for me? I know Thou art great and that it's a sin to pray to Thee about this, but for God's sake do make the old wolf come out upon me, and make Karay fix his teeth in his throat and finish him before the eyes of ‘uncle,' who is looking this way.” A thousand times over in that half-hour, with intent, strained, and uneasy eyes Rostov scanned the thickets at the edge of the copse with two scraggy oaks standing up above the undergrowth of aspen, and the ravine with its overhanging bank, and “uncle's” cap peering out from behind a bush on the right. “No, that happiness is not to be,” thought Rostov, “yet what would it cost Him! It's not to be! I'm always unlucky, at cards, in war, and everything.” Austerlitz and Dolohov flashed in distinct but rapid succession through his imagination. “Only once in my life to kill an old wolf; I ask for nothing beyond!” he thought, straining eyes and ears, looking from left to right, and back again, and listening to the slightest fluctuations in the sounds of the dogs. He looked again to the right and saw something running across the open ground towards him. “No, it can't be!” thought Rostov, taking a deep breath, as a man does at the coming of what he has long been hoping for. The greatest piece of luck had come to him, and so simply, without noise, or flourish, or display to signalise it. Rostov could not believe his eyes, and this uncertainty lasted more than a second. The wolf was running forward; he leaped clumsily over a rut that lay across his path.
It was an old wolf with a grey back and full, reddish belly. He was running without haste, plainly feeling secure of being unseen. Rostov held his breath and looked round at the dogs. They were lying and standing about, not seeing the wolf and quite unaware of him. Old Karay had his head turned round, and was angrily searching for a flea, snapping his yellow teeth on his haunches. “Loo! loo! loo!” Rostov whispered, pouting out his lips. The dogs leaped up, jingling the iron rings of the leashes, and pricked up their ears. Karay scratched his hind-leg and got up, pricking up his ears and wagging his tail, on which there were hanging matted locks of his coat.
“Loose them? or not loose them?” Nikolay said to himself as the wolf moved away from the copse towards him. All at once the whole physiognomy of the wolf was transformed. He started, seeing—probably for the first time—human eyes fixed upon him; and, turning his head a little towards Rostov, stood still, in doubt whether to go back or forward. “Ay! Never mind, forward!…” the wolf seemed to be saying to himself, and he pushed on ahead, without looking round, softly and not rapidly, with an easy but resolute movement. “Loo! loo!…” Nikolay cried in a voice not his own, and of its own accord his gallant horse galloped at break-neck pace downhill, and leaped over the watercourse to cut off the wolf's retreat; the hounds dashed on even more swiftly, overtaking it.
Nikolay did not hear his own cry; he had no consciousness of galloping; he saw neither the dogs nor the ground over which he galloped. He saw nothing but the wolf, which, quickening its pace, was bounding in the same direction across the glade. Foremost of the hounds was the black and tan, broad-backed bitch, Milka, and she was getting close upon him. But the wolf turned a sidelong glance upon her, and instead of flying at him, as she always had done, Milka suddenly stopped short, her fore-legs held stiffly before her and her tail in the air.
“Loo! loo! loo!” shouted Nikolay.
The red hound, Lyubima, darted forward from behind Milka, dashed headlong at the wolf, and got hold of him by the hind-leg, but in the same second bounded away on the other side in terror. The wolf crouched, gnashed its teeth, rose again, and bounded forward, followed at a couple of yards' distance by all the dogs: they did not try to get closer.
“He'll get away! No, it's impossible!” thought Nikolay, still shouting in a husky voice.
“Karay! Loo! loo!…” he kept shouting, looking for the old hound, who was his one hope now.
Karay, straining his old muscles to the utmost, and watching the wolf intently, was bounding clumsily away from the beast, to cut across his path in front of him. But it was plain from the swiftness of the wolf's course and the slowness of the hounds that Karay was out in his reckoning. Nikolay saw the copse not far now ahead of him. If once the wolf reached it, he would escape to a certainty. But in front dogs and men came into sight, dashing almost straight towards the wolf. There was still hope. A long, young hound, not one of the Rostovs'—Nikolay did not recognise him—flew from in front straight at the wolf, and almost knocked him over. The wolf got up again with a surprising rapidity and flew at the young hound; his teeth clacked, and the hound, covered with blood from a gash in his side, thrust its head in the earth, squealing shrilly.
“Karay! old man!” Nikolay wailed.
The old dog, with the tufts of matted hair, quivering on his haunches, had succeeded, thanks to the delay, in cutting across the wolf's line of advance, and was now five paces in front of him. The wolf stole a glance at Karay, as though aware of his danger, and tucking his tail further between his legs, he quickened his pace. But then—Nikolay could only see that something was happening with Karay—the hound had dashed instantly at the wolf and had rolled in a struggling heap with him into the watercourse before them.
The moment when Nikolay saw the dogs struggling with the wolf in the watercourse, saw the wolf's grey coat under them, his outstretched hind-leg, his head gasping in terror, and his ears turned back (Karay had him by the throat)—the moment when Nikolay saw all this was the happiest moment of his life. He had already grasped the pommel of his saddle to dismount and stab the wolf, when suddenly the beast's head was thrust up above the mass of dogs, then his fore-legs were on the bank of the watercourse. The wolf clacked his teeth (Karay had not hold of his throat now), leaped with his hind-legs out of the hollow, and with his tail between his legs, pushed forward, getting away from the dogs again. Karay, his hair starting up, had difficulty in getting out of the water-course; he seemed to be bruised or wounded. “My God, why is this!” Nikolay shouted in despair. The uncle's huntsman galloped across the line of the wolf's advance from the other side, and again his hounds stopped the wolf, again he was hemmed in.
Nikolay, his groom, the uncle, and his huntsman pranced about the beast with shouts and cries of “loo,” every minute on the point of dismounting when the wolf crouched back, and dashing forward again every time the wolf shook himself free and moved towards the copse, where his safety lay.
At the beginning of this onset Danilo, hearing the hunters' cries, had darted out of the copse. He saw that Karay had hold of the wolf and checked his horse, supposing the deed was done. But seeing that the hunters did not dismount from their horses, and that the wolf was shaking himself free, and again making his escape, Danilo galloped his own horse, not towards the wolf, but in a straight line towards the copse, to cut him off, as Karay had done. Thanks to this man?uvre, he bore straight down on the wolf when the uncle's dogs had a second time fallen behind him.
Danilo galloped up in silence, holding a drawn dagger in his left hand, and thrashing the heaving sides of his chestnut horse with his riding whip, as though it were a flail.
Nikolay neither saw nor heard Danilo till his panting chestnut darted close by him, and he heard the sound of a falling body and saw Danilo lying in the midst of the dogs on the wolf's back, trying to get him by the ears. It was obvious to the dogs, to the hunters, and to the wolf that all was over now. The beast, its ears drawn back in terror, tried to get up, but the dogs clung to him. Danilo, as he got up, stumbled, and as though sinking down to rest, rolled with all his weight on the wolf, and snatched him by the ears. Nikolay would have stabbed him, but Danilo whispered: “Don't; we will string him up!” and shifting his position he put his foot on the wolf's neck. They put a stick in the wolf's jaws, fastened it, as it were bridling him with a leash, and tied his legs. Danilo swung the wolf twice from side to side. With happy, exhausted faces they tied the great wolf alive on a horse, that started and snorted in alarm at it; and with all the dogs trooping after and whining at the wolf, they brought it to the place where all were to meet. The wolfhounds had captured two cubs, and the greyhounds three. The party met together to show their booty and tell their stories, and every one went to look at the big wolf, which with its heavy-browed head hanging downward and the stick in its teeth, gazed with its great, glassy eyes at the crowd of dogs and men around it. When they touched him, his fastened legs quivered and he looked wildly and yet simply at all of them. Count Ilya Andreitch too went up and touched the wolf.
“Oh, what a great beast!” he said. “He's an old one, eh?” he asked Danilo, who was standing near him.
“That he is, your excellency,” answered Danilo, hurriedly taking off his cap.
The count remembered the wolf he had let slip and Danilo's outburst.
“You have a hot temper though, my man,” said the count.
Danilo said nothing, but he shyly smiled a smile of childlike sweetness and amiability.
与此同时，尼古拉·罗斯托夫站在原地伺候野兽。他凭猎犬追捕野兽的吠声的远近，凭他所熟悉的猎犬的吠声，凭猎犬训练管理人的喊声的远、近与声高，他就能够感觉到那座孤林里发生的情况。他知道，在这座孤林里面藏有狼崽（幼小的豺狼）和大狼（老豺狼），他知道猎犬已分成两群，他们都在某个地方用猎犬追捕野兽，而且知道发生了什么不很顺遂的事情。他时时刻刻等候野兽走到自己这边来。他做过几千次不同的推测，认为野兽会怎样跑出来，从哪个方向跑出来，他怎样用猎狗追捕野兽。但是希望代之以绝望。他好几次向上帝，祈祷，希望有只豺狼向他走来，他怀着那种强烈而真诚的感情做祷告，正如人们为了小事而极度激动时祷告一样。“唔，你只要，”他对上帝说，“为我办成这件事！我知道你很伟大，请求你做这件事真是罪过；但是看在上帝份上，做一件好事，叫那只大狼钻到我面前来，叫卡拉伊当着向那边观察的‘大叔'的面，拼命地咬住大狼的喉咙。”就在这半个钟头以内，罗斯托夫用那紧张而不安的、逼视的目光千次地打量森林的边缘，一些别种幼树夹杂在山杨树中间，上面耸立着两颗稀疏的橡树，他还注视着被雨水冲掉边缘的沟壑以及右面那座灌木林后依稀可辨的大叔的皮帽。 
“不，这种运气是不会有的，”罗斯托夫这样想，“得付出多少代价！这种运气是不会有的！无论是打牌，抑或是作战，我总是处处倒霉。”奥斯特利茨和多洛霍夫鲜明地而又匆匆地在他想象中交替地闪现。“只希望在该生能有一回捕获到一头大狼，我再没有更大的欲望了！”他想道，一面注意听，一面注意看，开头向左边，后来又向右边张望，同时倾听追逐野兽的声音的各种细微差别。他又向右边望望，而且望见有一样东西沿着荒漠的田野向他迎面跑来。“不，这不可能！”罗斯托夫想了想，深深地叹气，就像某人在完成他长久期待的事情似的。最大的幸福实现了——而且是那么简单，无声无色、毫无颂扬地实现了。罗斯托夫不相信自己的眼睛，这种疑心延续了一秒多钟。这只狼向前跑着，跑着，吃力地跳过了路上的车辙。这是一只老狼，背部斑白，吃大了的肚子有点发红。它从容不迫地跑着，很明显，它坚信没有人会看见它。罗斯托夫屏息地望望猎犬。它们有的躺着，有的站着，没有看见豺狼，什么也不明白。老卡拉伊转过头来，呲起发黄的牙凿，生气地找它身上的跳蚤，咬它自己的后腿。
“我来呼唤猎犬抓住野兽，”罗斯托夫噘着嘴唇，用耳语说。猎犬都抖抖铁链，跳起来，竖起耳朵听。卡拉伊搔搔后腿，站起来，竖起耳朵听，轻轻地摆动一下那垂挂着的像毡子一样的尾巴。
“放？还是不放？”当豺狼离开森林向他面前跑来的时候，尼古拉自言自语地说。忽然狼的脸色全变了，它看见一双大概从未见过的朝它凝视的人的眼睛后，哆嗦了一下，向猎人微微地转过头来，停步了。“向后转或是向前走呢？哎！反正一样，向前走！……”显然它好像自言自语地说了一句，向前冲去，它不再回顾，迈着轻盈、疏阔、不受拘束，但很坚定的步子，跳过来了。
“我来呼唤猎犬抓野兽！”尼古拉怪声喊道，他那匹骏马独自向山下拼命地跑去，越过一个又一个水坑，拦截那只狼，几只猎犬赶过了骏马，更迅速地疾跑。尼古拉即未听见自己的喊声，亦未感觉到他在疾驰，他既未看见猎犬，亦未看见他疾驰而过的地面，他只望见那只狼，它加快跑的速度，不改变方向，沿着凹地迅跑着。头一个在那野兽近旁出现的是叫做米尔卡的黑毛白花、臀部宽大的猎犬，它渐渐接近那只野兽，更加接近了，更加接近了……瞧，它追上野兽了。可是这只狼稍微斜着眼睛看看它，米尔卡并不像平时那样加一把力气，而是忽然翘起尾巴，用两只前脚支撑在地上，站住了。
“抓住那只野兽！”尼古拉喊道。
红毛柳比姆从米尔卡后面跳出来，动作迅速地向狼扑去，咬住它的大腿（后腿），但在这一瞬间，它却惊惶地跳到旁边去。那只狼蹲了下来，牙齿碰得磕磕响，又站起来，向前跑去，所有的猎犬和豺狼相距一俄尺，跟在后面跑。
“它跑掉啦！不，这不可能。”他一面想道，一面用嘶哑的嗓音继续喊叫。
“卡拉伊！抓住它！……”他用眼睛寻找那只老公犬时大声喊道，它是他的唯一的希望。卡拉伊豁出了它这只老狗的全身力气，尽可能挺直身子，不住地盯着那只狼，很费力地窜到狼的侧边，截断它的去路。但是豺狼跳得快，猎犬跳得慢，这样看来，卡拉伊是打错了算盘。尼古拉从自己前面不远的地方看见了那座森林，那只狼一跑到那里，就会溜走的。几只猎犬和那个几乎迎面驰来的猎人在前面出现了。还有一线希望。一只来自他群的、尼古拉认不得的长身量的黑褐色的小公犬，从前面飞也似的窜到狼跟前，几乎把它撞翻了。那只狼出乎意料疾速地抬起身子，向黑褐色的公犬扑过去，咬了它一口，牙齿碰得磕磕地响了一下，公犬的肋部给狼撕开了，身上鲜血淋漓，发出尖声的惨叫，倒了下来，将头埋入土里了。
“卡拉尤什卡（卡拉伊的爱称）！我的爷！”尼古拉哭着说。
老公犬的腿上的毛纠结成团了，多亏那只狼已经停步了，老公犬便去拦截它的去路，已经走到离它五步远的地方。狼好像预感到会发生危险，斜着眼睛看看卡拉伊，把尾巴藏在两腿中间，藏得更深了，接着它加快速度跳开了。但在这时候，尼古拉只见卡拉伊采取了行动，——它霎时扑在狼身上，和狼一起倒裁葱似的滚进了它们前面的水坑。
尼古拉看见那几只在水坑中与豺狼搏斗的猎犬，它们的身子下边露出了豺狼原灰毛，它那条伸得笔直的后腿，它抿着两耳，喘不过气来，显现出惶恐的样子（卡拉伊掐着它的喉咙），就在这个时刻，尼古拉看见这一情景的那个时刻，是他一生中的最幸福的时刻。他已经扶着鞍桥，要下马刺杀这只豺狼，忽然野兽从这群猎犬中间探出头来，接着它伸出两只间脚，踩在坑沿上。豺狼的牙齿咯咯地响（卡拉伊没有去掐它的喉咙），它用后脚一蹬，跳出了水坑，夹起尾巴，又复挣脱了猎犬，向前走去。卡拉伊竖起背上的毛，大概是碰伤或是被咬伤，费很大力气才从水坑中爬出来。
“我的天！为了什么？……”尼古拉绝望地喊道。
大叔的猎人从另一边疾驰而来，截断豺狼的去路，他的几只猎犬又把野兽拦住了。又把它包围起来。
尼古拉、他的马夫、大叔和他的猎人围绕野兽打转转，大声呼喊，命令猎犬抓野兽，每当那只豺狼向后蹲下来，他们就准备下马，每当那只豺狼抖擞精神，向那想必能够救它一命的森林走去的时候，他们就立刻向前驰去。
还在追捕野兽开始的时候，丹尼洛就听见纵犬捉住野兽的喊声，他一个箭步跳到林边去了。他看见卡拉伊捉住豺狼，就把马儿勒住，以为猎事已经结束了。但当几个猎人还没有下马，那只豺狼抖擞精神，又在逃走的时候，丹尼洛便驱使他的栗色大马，不是向豺狼，而是迳直地向森林驰去，正如卡拉伊那样，截断野兽的去路。多亏这个方向对头，所以，当大叔的几只猎犬第二次拦住野兽的时候，他才骑着马儿驰到那只狼面前。
丹尼洛默不作声地疾驰，左手中持着一柄拔出的短剑，像用连枷打谷似的用那条短柄长鞭抽打着栗色大马的收缩进去的两肋。
一直到栗色大马在尼古拉身旁费力地喘气的时候，他才看见和听见丹尼洛，还听见身体倒下去的响声并且看见丹尼洛在猎犬中间趴在狼的屁股上，竭尽全力地揪狼的耳朵。很明显，无论对猎犬来说，对猎人来说，抑或对豺狼来说，现在一切都宣告结束。野兽惊恐地抿着耳朵，想方设法站起来，但是猎犬把它团团围住了。丹尼洛欠一欠身子，向前走一步，仿佛躺下来休息似的，他把整个沉重的身躯压在狼身上，同时用手一把抓住它的耳朵。尼古拉想刺杀它，但是丹尼洛用耳语说：“用不着，我们把它捆住吧。”他改变姿势，用只脚踩在狼颈上。他们把一根棍子塞在狼嘴里，把它捆住，仿佛给它加上了皮带般的勒口，之后便缚住它的两条腿，丹尼洛约莫两次拽着它滚过来，滚过去。
他们流露着幸运而疲惫的脸色，把那只被活捉的大狼放到喷着响鼻、使人吃惊的马背上，许多只对它汪汪叫的猎犬伴随着它，把它运送到大家约定集合的地方。猎犬捉住两只小狼，灵狸捉住三只小狼。猎人们带着他们自己的猎物和故事聚集在一起，他们都走过去观看那只大狼，它低垂着它那前额宽大的脑袋，嘴里叼着一根棍子，用一对玻璃似的大眼睛注视着这群把它围住的猎犬和人。在众人碰碰它时，它那被捆着的两腿不住地颤抖，它惊恐而且随便地瞧着众人。伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇也骑马走来，碰碰这只狼。
“哦！多么大的狼啊，”他说道，“大狼啊，是吗？”他问站在他身旁的丹尼洛。
“大人，这是一只大狼。”丹尼洛连忙脱下帽子，回答。
伯爵想起了他放走的这只狼和为此事曾与丹尼洛发生冲突的情景。
“老弟，不过你生气了。”伯爵说，丹尼洛什么话也没有说，只是羞怯地流露出天真、温顺而愉快的微笑。
Book 7 Chapter 6
THE OLD COUNT went home. Natasha and Petya promised to follow immediately. The hunting party went on further as it was still early. In the middle of the day they set the hounds into a ravine covered with thickly growing young copse. Nikolay, standing on the stubble land above, could see all his party.
Facing Nikolay on the opposite side was a field of green corn, and there stood his huntsman, alone in a hollow behind a nut bush. As soon as they loosed the hounds, Nikolay heard a hound he knew—Voltorn—give tongue at intervals; other hounds joined him, pausing now and then, and taking up the cry again. A moment later he heard from the ravine the cry that they were on the scent of a fox, and all the pack joining together made for the opening towards the green corn away from Nikolay.
He saw the whippers-in in their red caps galloping along the edge of the overgrown ravine; he could see the dogs even, and was every instant expecting the fox to come into sight on the further side among the green corn.
The huntsman standing in the hollow started off and let his dogs go, and Nikolay saw the red, uncouth-looking fox hurrying along close to the ground, with its bushy tail, through the green corn. The dogs bore down on it. And now they were getting close, and now the fox was beginning to wind in circles between them, making the circles more and more rapidly, and sweeping its bushy brush around it, when all of a sudden a strange white dog flew down upon it, and was followed by a black one, and everything was confusion, and the dogs formed a star-shaped figure round it, scarcely moving, with their heads together, and their tails out. Two huntsmen galloped down to the dogs; one in a red cap, the other, a stranger, in a green coat.
“What's the meaning of it?” wondered Nikolay. “Where did that huntsman spring from? That's not uncle's man.”
The huntsmen got the fox, and remained a long while standing on foot there, without hanging the fox on the saddle.
He could see the horses with their snaffles jutting up standing close by the huntsmen, and the dogs lying down. The huntsmen were waving their arms and doing something with the fox. A horn was sounded—the signal agreed upon in case of a dispute.
“That's Ilagin's huntsman getting up a row of some sort with our Ivan,” said Nikolay's groom.
Nikolay sent the groom to call his sister and Petya to come to him, and rode at a walking pace towards the spot where the whippers-in were getting the hounds together. Several of the party galloped to the scene of the squabble.
Nikolay dismounted, and, with Natasha and Petya, who had ridden up, he stood by the hounds waiting to hear how the difficulty was settled. The huntsman who had been quarrelling came riding out of the bushes with the fox on the crupper, and rode towards his young master. He took off his cap a long way off and tried as he came up to speak respectfully. But he was pale and gasping for breath, and his face was wrathful. One of his eyes was blackened, but he was probably not aware of it.
“What was the matter over there?” asked Nikolay.
“Why, he was going to kill the fox right under our hounds' noses! And my bitch it was—the mouse-coloured one—that had got hold of it. You can go and have me up for it! Snatching hold of the fox! I gave him one with the fox. Here it is on my saddle. Is it a taste of this you want?” said the huntsman, pointing to his hunting-knife and apparently imagining that he was still talking to his enemy.
Nikolay did not waste words on the man, but asking his sister and Petya to wait for him, rode over to where the hounds and the men of the enemy, Ilagin, were gathered together.
The victorious huntsman rode off to join his fellows, and there, the centre of a sympathetic and inquisitive crowd, he recounted his exploit.
The point was that Ilagin, with whom the Rostovs had some quarrel and were engaged in a lawsuit, was hunting over places that by old custom belonged to the Rostovs, and now, as though of design, had sent his men to the ravine where the Rostovs were, and had allowed his man to snatch a fox under a stranger's dogs.
Nikolay had never seen Ilagin, but he had heard of the quarrelsomeness and obstinacy of their neighbour; and rushing, as he always did, to an extreme in his judgments and feelings, he cordially detested him, and looked upon him as his bitterest foe. Excited and angry, he rode up to him now, grasping his whip in his hand, fully prepared to take the most energetic and desperate measures in dealing with the enemy.
He had scarcely ridden beyond the ridge of the copse when he saw a stout gentleman in a beaver cap riding towards him on a handsome raven horse, accompanied by two grooms.
Instead of an enemy Nikolay found in Ilagin a courteous gentleman of imposing appearance, who was particularly anxious to make the young count's acquaintance. Ilagin took off his beaver cap as he approached Rostov, and said that he greatly regretted what had occurred, that he would have the man punished, that he begged the count to let them be better acquainted, and offered him the use of his preserves for hunting.
Natasha had ridden up not far behind her brother, in some excitement, fearing he might do something awful. Seeing that the opponents were exchanging affable greetings, she rode up to them. Ilagin lifted his beaver cap higher than ever to Natasha, and, smiling agreeably, said that the countess was indeed a Diana both in her passion for the chase and her beauty, of which he had heard so much.
Ilagin, to efface the impression of his huntsman's crime, insisted on Rostov coming to his upland a verst away, which he preserved for his own shooting, and described as teeming with hares. Nikolay agreed, and the whole party, its numbers now doubled, moved on. They had to ride through the fields to get there. The huntsmen moved in a line, and the gentry rode together. The uncle, Rostov, and Ilagin glanced stealthily at each other's dogs, trying not to be observed by the others, and looking uneasily for rivals likely to excel their own dogs.
Rostov was particularly struck by the beauty of a small thoroughbred, slender, black and tan bitch of Ilagin's, with muscles like steel, a delicate nose, and prominent black eyes. He had heard of the sporting qualities of Ilagin's dogs, and in that handsome bitch he saw a rival of his Milka.
In the middle of a sedate conversation about the crops of the year, started by Ilagin, Nikolay pointed out the black and tan bitch.
“You have a fine bitch there!” he said, in a careless tone. “Is she clever?”
“That one? Yes, she's a good beast—she can catch a hare,” Ilagin said indifferently of his black and tan Yerza, a bitch for whom he had a year before given a neighbour three families of house-serfs. “So they don't brag of their thrashing, count,” he went on, taking up their previous conversation. And feeling it only polite to repay the young count's compliment, Ilagin scanned his dogs, and pitched on Milka, whose broad back caught his eye.
“That's a good black and tan you have there—a fine one!” he said.
“Yes, she's all right, she can run,” answered Nikolay. “Oh, if only a good big hare would run into the field, I would show you what she's like!” he thought, and turning to his groom, he said he would give a rouble to any one who would unearth a hare.
“I can't understand,” Ilagin went on, “how it is other sportsmen are so envious over game and dogs. I will tell you for myself, count. I enjoy hunting, as you know; the chase in such company…what could be more delightful” (he doffed his beaver cap again to Natasha); “but this reckoning up of the skins one has carried off—I don't care about that.”
“Oh no!”
“Nor could I be chagrined at my dog's being outdone by another man's—all I care about is the chase itself, eh, count? And so I consider…”
“Oh,…ho…ho,” sounded at that moment in a prolonged call from one of the grooms. He was standing on a knoll in the stubble with his whip held up, and he called once more, “O…ho…aho!” (This call, and the lifted whip, meant that he saw a hare squatting before him.)
“Ah, he has started a hare, I fancy,” said Ilagin carelessly. “Well, let us course it, count!”
“Yes, we must…but what do you say, together?” answered Nikolay, looking intently at Yerza and the uncle's red Rugay, the two rivals against whom he had never before had a chance of putting his dogs. “What if they outdo my Milka from the first?” he thought, riding by the uncle and Ilagin towards the hare.
“Is it full-grown?” asked Ilagin, going up to the groom who had started it, and looking about him with some excitement, as he whistled to his Yerza.… “And you, Mihail Nikanoritch?” he said to the uncle.
The uncle rode on, looking sullen.
“What's the use of my competing with you? Why, your dogs—you have paid a village for each of them; they're worth thousands. You try yours against each other, and I'll look on!”
“Rugay! Hey, hey,” he shouted. “Rugayushka!” he added, involuntarily expressing his tenderness, and the hope he put in the red dog by this affectionate diminutive. Natasha saw and felt the emotion concealed by the two elderly men and by her brother, and was herself excited by it. The groom on the knoll was standing with his whip lifted; the gentlemen rode up to him at a walking pace; the pack were on the rim of the horizon, moving away from the hare; the rest of the hunting party too were riding away. Everything was done slowly and deliberately.
“Which way is its head?” asked Nikolay, after riding a hundred paces towards the groom. But before the groom had time to answer, the hare, who had been sniffing in the ground the frost coming next morning, leapt up from its squatting posture. The pack of hounds on leashes flew baying downhill after the hare; the harriers, who were not on leash, rushed from all sides towards the hounds or after the hare. The whippers-in, who had been moving so deliberately, galloped over the country getting the dogs together, with shouts of “stop!” while the huntsmen directed their course with shouts of “o … o … ahoy!” Nikolay, Natasha, and the uncle and Ilagin, who had been hitherto so composed, flew ahead, reckless of how or where they went, seeing nothing but the dogs and the hare, and afraid of nothing but losing sight for an instant of the course. The hare turned out to be a fleet and strong one. When he jumped up he did not at once race off, but cocked up his ears, listening to the shouts and tramp of hoofs, that came from all sides at once. He took a dozen bounds not very swiftly, letting the dogs gain on him, but at last choosing his direction, and grasping his danger, he put his ears back, and dashed off at full speed. He had been crouching in the stubble, but the green field was in front of him, and there it was marshy ground. The two dogs of the groom who had started him were the nearest and the first to be on the scent after him. But they had not got near him, when Ilagin's black and tan Yerza flew ahead of them, got within a yard, pounced on him with fearful swiftness, aiming at the hare's tail, and rolled over, thinking she had hold of him. The hare arched his back, and bounded off more nimbly than ever. The broad-backed, black and tan Milka flew ahead of Yerza, and began rapidly gaining on the hare.
“Milashka! little mother!” Nikolay shouted triumphantly. Milka seemed on the point of pouncing on the hare, but she overtook him and flew beyond. The hare doubled back. Again the graceful Yerza dashed at him, and kept close to the hare's tail, as though measuring the distance, so as not to miss getting hold of the hare, by the haunch this time.
“Yerzinka, little sister!” wailed Ilagin, in a voice unlike his own. Yerza did not heed his appeals. At the very moment when she seemed about to seize the hare, he doubled and darted away to the ditch between the stubble and the green field. Again Yerza and Milka, running side by side, like a pair of horses, flew after the hare; the hare was better off in the ditch, the dogs could not gain on him so quickly.
“Rugay! Rugayushka! Forward—quick march,” another voice shouted this time. And Rugay, the uncle's red, broad-shouldered dog, stretching out and curving his back, caught up the two foremost dogs, pushed ahead of them, flung himself with complete self-abandonment right on the hare, turned him out of the ditch into the green field, flung himself still more viciously on him once more, sinking up to his knees in the swampy ground, and all that could be seen was the dog rolling over with the hare, covering his back with mud. The dogs formed a star-shaped figure round him. A moment later all the party pulled their horses up round the crowding dogs. The uncle alone dismounted in a rapture of delight, and cutting off the feet, shaking the hare for the blood to drip off, he looked about him, his eyes restless with excitement, and his hands and legs moving nervously. He went on talking, regardless of what or to whom he spoke. “That's something like, quick march … there's a dog for you … he outstripped them all … if they cost a thousand or they cost a rouble … forward, quick march, and no mistake!” he kept saying, panting and looking wrathfully about him, as though he were abusing some one, as though they had all been his enemies, had insulted him, and he had only now at last succeeded in paying them out. “So much for your thousand rouble dogs—forward, quick march! Rugay, here's the foot,” he said, dropping the dog the hare's muddy foot, which he had just cut off; “you've deserved it—forward, quick march!”
“She wore herself out—ran it down three times all alone,” Nikolay was saying, listening to no one, and heedless whether he were heard or not.
“To be sure, cutting in sideways like that!” Ilagin's groom was saying.
“Why, when it had been missed like that, and once down, any yard-dog could catch it of course,” said Ilagin, at the same moment, red and breathless from the gallop and the excitement. At the same time Natasha, without taking breath, gave vent to her delight and excitement in a shriek so shrill that it set every one's ears tingling. In that shriek she expressed just what the others were expressing by talking all at once. And her shriek was so strange that she must have been ashamed of that wild scream, and the others must have been surprised at it at any other time. The uncle himself twisted up the hare, flung him neatly and smartly across his horse's back, seeming to reproach them all by this gesture, and with an air of not caring to speak to any one, he mounted his bay and rode away. All but he, dispirited and disappointed, rode on, and it was some time before they could recover their previous affectation of indifference. For a long time after they stared at the red dog, Rugay, who with his round back spattered with mud, and clinking the rings of his leash, walked with the serene air of a conqueror behind the uncle's horse.
“I'm like all the rest till it's a question of coursing a hare; but then you had better look out!” was what Nikolay fancied the dog's air expressed.
When the uncle rode up to Nikolay a good deal later, and addressed a remark to him, he felt flattered at the uncle's deigning to speak to him after what had happened.
老伯爵骑马回家去了。娜塔莎和彼佳答应立刻就回来。狩猎已延续下去，因为时间还很早。日当午，他们把猎犬放进长满茂密的幼林的峡谷。尼古拉站在茬地上，看见自己的全部猎人。
尼古拉对面有一片绿色植物，他的猎人只身站在那一片榛子灌木林后的洼地里。有人把猎犬带走了，尼古拉听见他所熟悉的叫做沃尔托恩的猎犬追捕野兽时断断续续的叫声，其他的猎犬和它合在一起。它们时而停止嗥叫，时而又开始追赶。一分钟以后，孤林里传来追逐狐狸的叫声，整整一群猎犬聚集在一起，离开尼古拉，沿着沟岔朝绿荫方向追去。
他看见几个头戴红帽子的看守猎犬的猎人沿着长满幼林的峡谷边沿疾驰，甚至还看见猎犬，他时刻等待狐狸从那边的绿荫中出现。
那个站在洼地里的猎人开始出动了，他放出几只猎犬，尼古拉看见一只毛红、很短小、形状古怪的狐狸，这只狐狸擦挲着尾巴上的毛，沿着翠绿色的田野急急忙忙地迅跑。几只猎犬赶快向狐狸跑去。已经靠近它了，那只狐狸在这些猎犬中间弯弯曲曲地走，越来越密地兜圈子，摇摆着毛茸茸的尾巴。一只不知是谁的白犬奔袭过来，一只黑犬尾随于其后，混在一起了，几只猎犬屁股朝外地站成星状，身子微微地摆动。两个猎人骑着马向猎犬走来，其中一人头戴红帽，另一人是个外人，他身穿一件绿色的长衣。
“这是怎么回事？”尼古拉想了一下，“这个猎人是打哪儿来的？这不是大叔的猎人。”
几个猎人夺走了狐狸，他们没有把它系在马鞍上，久久地站在那里不动弹。那几匹马儿拖着长缰绳和那隆起的鞍桥，在他们近旁站着，几只猎犬趴在地上。猎人们挥动手臂，不知他们在怎样对付那只狐狸。正是从那里传来了号角——斗殴的信号。
“这是伊拉金的猎人和我们的伊万闹起来了。”尼古拉的马夫说。
尼古拉派马夫去召回妹妹和彼佳，慢步地驰向猎犬训练管理人把猎犬聚集的地点，有几个猎人向斗殴的地方疾驰去了。
尼古拉翻身下马，在猎犬和向他驰近的娜塔莎及彼佳身旁停下来，等候斗殴了结的消息。殴斗的猎人带着系在马鞍后面的狐狸也从林缘后面驰至少爷跟前来了。他在远处就脱下帽子，尽可能恭敬地说话，但是他脸色苍白，喘不过气来，流露着愤恨的表情。他的一只眼睛被打伤了，可是他也许还不知道哩。
“你们那里出了什么事？”尼古拉问道。
“可不是，他要在我们的猎犬身边捉野兽啊！我那只灰色的母犬捉住了狐狸。请过来，讲讲道理吧！他要抢走这只狐狸啊！我就用这只狐狸把他打倒了。瞧，这只狐狸系在马鞍后面哩。你想要吗？”这个猎人一面说，一面指着短剑，大概他想象，他还在跟他的敌人说话哩。
尼古拉没有跟猎人谈话，请他妹妹和彼佳稍等一会儿，他向敌对的伊拉金的猎人帮所在的地点疾驰去了。
获胜的猎人骑马走到一群猎人中去，一些深表同情而又好奇的人把他围住，他讲述了他自己的功绩。
问题在于，伊拉金与罗斯托夫之家发生争执，他竟然在按惯例属于罗斯托夫之家的地点狩猎，仿佛故意吩咐手下人驰到罗斯托夫之家狩猎的孤林，并且容许他自己的猎人在别人的猎犬身边追捕野兽。
尼古拉从未见过伊拉金，但是他在见解和情感上向来就不知道中庸之道为何物，他光凭有关这个地主的横行无忌和暴戾肆虐就对他满怀仇恨，认为他是最凶恶的敌人。他十分忿怒而且激动地向他驰去，手中紧紧地握着一根短柄长鞭，已经作好充分准备，要向他的敌人采取最坚决的致人于死命的行动。
他刚刚走到森林的阶地后面，就看见一个迎面向他走来的头戴一顶海狸皮便帽的很肥胖的地主老爷，他骑着一匹挺好看的黑马，有两个马夫伴随着他。
尼古拉发现伊拉金不是敌人，而是一个特别想和年轻伯爵结交的、仪表堂堂的、令人尊敬的地主老爷。驰近罗斯托夫之后，伊拉金微微举起他那顶海狸皮便帽，并且说他对发生的事件深表遗憾，他就要吩咐手下人惩处那个容许自己在别人的猎犬身边追捕野兽的猎人，他请求伯爵和他结识，并且建议伯爵到他的狩猎场去狩猎。
因为娜塔莎害怕她哥哥会做出什么可怕的事情，所以十分激动地在相距不远的地方跟着他。她看见两个敌人友善地鞠躬行礼之后，便走到他们跟前。在娜塔莎面前，伊拉金把那顶海狸皮便帽举得更高了，他微微一笑，说伯爵小姐热衷于猎事而且容貌秀丽，久有所闻，真不愧为狄安娜①。 
①狄安娜是罗马神话中的月亮和狩猎女神。
伊拉金为了替他的猎人赎罪，坚决地请求罗斯托夫到一俄里路远的供他自己使用的山坡去打猎，根据他所说的话，那儿有许多野兔。尼古拉同意了，于是，扩大了一倍的猎人帮继续向前进发了。
他们要经过田野才能达到伊拉金的那片山坡。猎人的行列渐渐排得整齐了。老爷们都在一起骑行。大叔、罗斯托夫、伊拉金悄悄地端详别人的猎犬，尽可能不让别人觉察到这点，他们激动不安地在别人的猎犬中间寻找自己的猎犬的敌手。
伊拉金的猎犬群中有一只红花斑的纯种小母犬，身子略嫌矮小，但肌肉发达，有如钢铁，嘴脸清秀，有一对凸出的乌眼睛，它的优美尤使罗斯托夫为之震惊。他听说伊拉金的猎犬跑得很快，心里暗自认为这只秀丽的小母犬正是他的米尔卡的对手。
伊拉金郑重其事地提到今年的收成，谈话谈到半中间时，尼古拉向他指了指他自己那只红花斑的母犬。
“您这只母犬多么好看啊！”他用漫不经心的语气说，“它跑得快吗？”
“这只母犬吗？是的，这是一只良种母犬，它善于捕捉野兽。”伊拉金用冷淡的语声谈起他自己的那只红花斑的叶尔扎，他在一年前用了三户奴仆才向邻人买下了这只母犬，“那么，伯爵，你们的脱粒的粮食不能称道吧？”他继续说着已经开始说的话。伊拉金认为应当毕恭毕敬地回报年轻的伯爵，他于是把他的猎犬打量一番，选出了那只身段宽阔的引他注目的米尔卡。
“您这只黑花斑母犬很好看——长得多端正！”他说。
“是啊，还不错，会奔跑，”尼古拉回答。“我只希望有只大灰兔跑到田里来，我就向您显示一下，这只猎犬多能干！”他想了想，把脸转向马夫时，说有谁发现，即使是找到一只躺着的兔子，他就给谁一卢布赏钱。
“我不明了，”伊拉金继续说，“别的猎人怎样妒嫉人家捕获的野兽，妒嫉人家豢养的猎犬。伯爵，我把我自己的情况说给您听吧。您知道，骑马走走，我觉得开心，您瞧，在路上遇见这么一伙人……真是好极了（他又在娜塔莎面前脱下那顶海狸皮便帽），要算兽皮嘛，我能够运回多少，这在我倒是不在乎的！”
“对了。”
“或者说，别人的猎犬，而不是我的猎犬抓住了野兽，会使我生气，其实我只是欣赏欣赏追捕野兽的情景而已，伯爵，是这么回事吗？以后我再来评说……”
“捉住它，”这时候可以听见，有个停下来的灵狸看管人拖长声调大声喊道。他站在茬地里的小丘上，举起那根短柄长鞭，又拖长声调重复地说：“捉——住它！”（这一声喊叫和那举起的长鞭，意味着他看见了自己面前那只躺着的兔子。）“啊，他好像看见了，”伊拉金漫不经心地说，“也好，伯爵，我们去纵犬追捕一阵子！”
“好的，要骑马赶到……怎么样，一同去吗？”尼古拉一面回答，一面瞅着叶尔扎和大叔的红毛鲁加伊，他一次都没有叫过自己的猎犬跟这两个对手较量较量。“如果它们真要把我的米尔卡的耳朵撕下来，那怎样啊！”他想道，一边跟大叔和伊拉金并排地向野兔走去。
“大兔子吗？”伊拉金向那个发现野兔的猎人身边走去时问道，他不无激动地环顾四周，打着唿哨招呼叶尔扎。
“米哈伊尔·尼卡诺雷奇，您怎么？”他把脸转向大叔，问道。大叔皱着眉头继续骑行。
“我干嘛硬要过问呢？正当的事情，去干吧！——为了买一只猎犬，付出了你们全村的数以千计的卢布。你们衡量一下自己的猎犬吧，让我来瞧瞧！”
“鲁加伊！看你的！鲁加尤什卡！”他补充一句话，情不自禁地用这个小名来表示他的温情和对这只红毛公犬所寄托的希望。娜塔莎看见而且感觉到这两个老头子隐藏在内心的激动，而她自己也随之激动起来。
那个猎人扬起一根短柄长鞭，站在山岗上，老爷们缓缓地向他驰去，地平线上的几只猎犬从兔子身边拐个弯走开了，不是老爷们，而是猎人们也走开了。大家慢慢地，沉着地向前走去。
“兔子头朝向何方？”尼古拉向发现野兽的猎人走近百来步，问道。可是那个猎人还来不及回答，那只灰色的兔子就预感到会有不祥之事，再也不卧在那儿，跳起来了。一群带系索的猎犬大声嗥叫，冲下山去捉野兔；几只未系皮带的灵狸从四面八方奔跑着去赶上猎犬捕捉野兔。那些慢步行进的猎犬看管人把猎犬赶在一起时，喊道：“站住！”灵狸看管人在放出猎犬时喊道：“捉住它！”他们在田野上奔跑起来。心平气和的伊拉金、尼古拉、娜塔莎和大叔都飞奔着，他们自己也不晓得要怎样奔跑，跑到何处去，他们只看见猎犬和兔子，提心吊胆，生怕看不见即使是一瞬间的追捕野兽的情景。他们碰到了一只跑得很快的肥大的兔子。它跳了起来，没有马上奔跑，而是竖起耳朵，谛听从四面八方突然传来的喊声和马蹄声。它不很快地跳了十来下，让猎犬追到身边来，最后选好了方向，了解到它会发生危险，于是抿起耳朵，使劲地奔去。它躺在茬地上，但是它前面有一片翠绿的田野，泥泞难行，那个发现兔子的猎人的两只猎犬离得最近，首先盯着看了看，窜了过去，但是隔得远，还没有走到兔子面前，那只伊拉金的红花斑母犬叶尔扎忽然从后面飞奔出来，离兔子只有一只猎犬的距离，它瞄准兔子尾巴，用最快的速度冲过去，它以为它把兔子抓住了，于是倒栽葱似地翻了个跟头。兔子拱着背，跑得更快了。臂部宽大的黑花斑母犬米尔卡从叶尔扎后面飞也似地跑出来，很快就赶上兔子了。
“米卢什卡！我亲爱的！”可以听见尼古拉洋洋得意的喊声。米尔卡看起来马上就要袭击，把兔子抓起来，但是它赶到兔子面前，兔子跑掉了，它的打算落空了。灰兔摆脱了追捕。那只美丽的母犬叶尔扎又追上来，在那只灰兔尾巴上方伸出两只前脚，它好像是在打量一番，希望不出差错，要抓住兔子的后腿。
“叶尔扎尼卡！我的亲姐姐！”可以听见伊拉金的怪腔怪调的哭声。叶尔扎听不懂他的哀求。就在他不得不等待它抓住灰兔的那一瞬间，灰兔霍地一转身，滚到翠绿的田野和茬地之间的界沟中去了。叶尔扎和米尔卡就像套在单辕车上的一对马，并排地追捕兔子；这只兔子在界沟里觉得更困难，猎犬不能很快地向它逼近来。
“鲁加伊！鲁加尤什卡！正当的事情，去干吧！”这时候可以听见另一人的喊声，于是大叔的那只红毛驼背的公犬挺直身子、弓着背向前跑去，一直跑到头两只猎犬身边，后又跑在它们前面显现出令人震惊的奋不顾身的样子向那只兔子扑将过去，把它从界沟撞到田里，在泥深没膝的田里，公犬又一回拼命地鼓起力气，只见它背上粘满了污泥，和兔子一起飞快地滚下去。站成星状的猎犬把它围住了。俄而，大伙儿站在聚成一圈的猎犬周围。唯有走运的大叔一人翻身下马，把那野兔的小腿割下来。他轻轻地抖动着那只野兔，让血流出来，他惊惶不安地东张西望，不知如何措手脚，一面开口说话，连他自己也不知道他在跟谁说话，说些什么。“瞧吧，这是正当的事情，去干吧……瞧，这只猎犬……它在所有的猎犬中出类拔萃，无论是价值一千卢布的猎犬，抑或是价值一卢布的猎犬都比不过它——正当的事情，可以去干！”他说话时上气不接下气，愤愤地环视四周，仿佛咒骂什么人似的，仿佛人人都是他的敌人，人人都会欺侮他，现在他才最后证实了自己是对的。“瞧，你们那价值一千卢布的——正当的事情，可以去干！”
“鲁加伊，给你兔子的小腿！”他说道把那割下来的粘着污泥的小腿扔给它。“你得到应有的报酬——正当的事情，可以去干！”
“它真累坏了，它一连三次独自追赶逃走的兔子。”尼古拉说，他既不听他人说话，也不关心是否有人听他说话。
“这样拦截算啥！”伊拉金的马夫说。
“只要一落空，任何一只看院子的狗赶上去都能捉住它。”就在这个时候伊拉金说道，他满面通红，由于狂奔疾驰和心情激动，他很费劲地喘气。正是在这个时候，娜塔莎不歇一口气，洋洋得意地发出刺耳的尖叫声，使人觉得头嗡嗡地响。她这一声尖叫表示在同一时刻其他猎人在谈话中所表示的全部意义。这一声失叫令人觉得非常奇怪，假如在别的时刻，连她自己也不得不为这一声粗野的尖叫而感到害臊，大家也一定会觉得奇怪。大叔自己用鞍带把猎获的灰兔系在鞍后，灵活而敏捷地把它搭在马屁股后面，他这个动作仿佛在指责这些人似的，他这副样子就像他不愿跟任何人说话似的，他于是跨上他那匹淡栗色的骏马，疾驰而去。除他而外，大家都闷闷不乐，觉得受到很大的委屈，纷纷地四散，这之后过了许久他们才恢复了从前那种假装的冷淡。他们还久久地端详那只红花的鲁加伊，它全身沾满污泥，驼起背来，铁链条发出轻微的丁当的响声，表现出胜利者的泰然自若的样子，跟在大叔的马后向前走去。
“当事情与追捕野兽无关的时候，那怎样呢，我和所有的猎犬一样。唔，可是在追捕野兽的那个时候，就够你瞧的！”
尼古拉仿佛觉得这只猎犬的神色在这样说。
过了很久，当大叔骑马走到尼古拉跟前和他谈话的时候，他感到非常荣幸，在这一切发生之后，大叔又理睬他，跟他谈话了。
Book 7 Chapter 7
WHEN ILAGIN TOOK LEAVE of them in the evening, Nikolay found himself so great a distance from home that he accepted the uncle's invitation to stop hunting and to stay the night at the uncle's little place, Mihailovka.
“And if you all come to me—forward, quick march!” said the uncle, “it would be even better; you see, the weather's damp, you could rest, and the little countess could be driven back in a trap.” The invitation was accepted; a huntsman was sent to Otradnoe for a trap, and Nikolay, Natasha, and Petya rode to the uncle's house.
Five men servants—little and big—ran out on to the front steps to meet their master. Dozens of women, old and big and little, popped out at the back entrance to have a look at the huntsmen as they arrived. The presence of Natasha—a woman, a lady, on horseback—excited the curiosity of the uncle's house-serfs to such a pitch that many of them went up to her, stared her in the face, and, unrestrained by her presence, made remarks about her, as though she were some prodigy on show, not a human being, and not capable of hearing and understanding what was said about her.
“Arinka, look-ée, she sits sideways! Sits on so, while her skirt flies about.… And look at the little horn!”
“Sakes alive! and the knife too.…”
“A regular Tatar woman!”
“How do you manage not to tumble off?” said the forwardest of them, addressing Natasha boldly.
The uncle got off his horse at the steps of his little wooden house, which was shut in by an overgrown garden. Looking from one to another of his household, he shouted peremptorily to those who were not wanted to retire, and for the others to do all that was needed for the reception of his guests.
They all ran off in different directions. The uncle helped Natasha to dismount, and gave her his arm up the shaky, plank steps.
Inside, the house, with boarded, unplastered walls, was not very clean; there was nothing to show that the chief aim of the persons living in it was the removal of every spot, yet there were not signs of neglect. There was a smell of fresh apples in the entry, and the walls were hung with foxskins and wolfskins.
The uncle led his guests through the vestibule into a little hall with a folding-table and red chairs, then into a drawing-room with a round birchwood table and a sofa, and then into his study, with a ragged sofa, a threadbare carpet, and portraits of Suvorov, of his father and mother, and of himself in military uniform. The study smelt strongly of tobacco and dogs. In the study the uncle asked his guests to sit down and make themselves at home, and he left them. Rugay came in, his back still covered with mud, and lay on the sofa, cleaning himself with his tongue and his teeth. There was a corridor leading from the study, and in it they could see a screen with ragged curtains. Behind the screen they heard feminine laughter and whispering. Natasha, Nikolay, and Petya took off their wraps and sat down on the sofa. Petya leaned on his arm and fell asleep at once; Natasha and Nikolay sat without speaking. Their faces were burning; they were very hungry and very cheerful. They looked at one another—now that the hunt was over and they were indoors, Nikolay did not feel called upon to show his masculine superiority over his sister. Natasha winked at her brother; and they could neither of them restrain themselves long, and broke into a ringing laugh before they had time to invent a pretext for their mirth.
After a brief interval, the uncle came in wearing a Cossack coat, blue breeches, and little top-boots. And this very costume, at which Natasha had looked with surprise and amusement when the uncle wore it at Otradnoe, seemed to her now the right costume here, and in no way inferior to frock coats or ordinary jackets. The uncle, too, was in good spirits; far from feeling mortified at the laughter of the brother and sister (he was incapable of imagining that they could be laughing at his mode of life), he joined in their causeless mirth himself.
“Well, this young countess here—forward, quick march!—I have never seen her like!” he said, giving a long pipe to Rostov, while with a practised motion of three fingers he filled another—a short broken one—for himself.
“She's been in the saddle all day—something for a man to boast of—and she's just as fresh as if nothing had happened!”
Soon the door was opened obviously, from the sound, by a barefoot servant-girl, and a stout, red-cheeked, handsome woman of about forty, with a double chin and full red lips, walked in, with a big tray in her hands. With hospitable dignity and cordiality in her eyes and in every gesture, she looked round at the guests, and with a genial smile bowed to them respectfully.
In spite of her exceptional stoutness, which made her hold her head flung back, while her bosom and all her portly person was thrust forward, this woman (the uncle's housekeeper) stepped with extreme lightness. She went to the table, put the tray down, and deftly with her plump, white hands set the bottles and dishes on the table. When she had finished this task she went away, standing for a moment in the doorway with a smile on her face. “Here I am—I am she! Now do you understand the uncle?” her appearance had said to Rostov. Who could fail to understand? Not Nikolay only, but even Natasha understood the uncle now and the significance of his knitted brows, and the happy, complacent smile, which puckered his lips as Anisya Fyodorovna came in. On the tray there were liqueurs, herb-brandy, mushrooms, biscuits of rye flour made with buttermilk, honey in the comb, foaming mead made from honey, apples, nuts raw and nuts baked, and nuts preserved in honey. Then Anisya Fyodorovna brought in preserves made with honey and with sugar, and ham and a chicken that had just been roasted.
All these delicacies were of Anisya Fyodorovna's preparing, cooking or preserving. All seemed to smell and taste, as it were, of Anisya Fyodorovna. All seemed to recall her buxomness, cleanliness, whiteness, and cordial smile.
“A little of this, please, little countess,” she kept saying, as she handed Natasha first one thing, then another. Natasha ate of everything, and it seemed to her that such buttermilk biscuits, such delicious preserves, such nuts in honey, such a chicken, she had never seen nor tasted anywhere. Anisya Fyodorovna withdrew. Rostov and the uncle, as they sipped cherry brandy after supper, talked of hunts past and to come, of Rugay and Ilagin's dogs. Natasha sat upright on the sofa, listening with sparkling eyes. She tried several times to waken Petya, and make him eat something, but he made incoherent replies, evidently in his sleep. Natasha felt so gay, so well content in these new surroundings, that her only fear was that the trap would come too soon for her. After a silence had chanced to fall upon them, as almost always happens when any one receives friends for the first time in his own house, the uncle said, in response to the thought in his guests' minds:
“Yes, so you see how I am finishing my days.… One dies—forward, quick march!—nothing is left. So why sin!”
The uncle's face was full of significance and even beauty as he said this. Rostov could not help recalling as he spoke all the good things he had heard said by his father and the neighbours about him. Through the whole district the uncle had the reputation of being a most generous and disinterested eccentric. He was asked to arbitrate in family quarrels; he was chosen executor; secrets were entrusted to him; he was elected a justice, and asked to fill other similar posts; but he had always persisted in refusing all public appointments, spending the autumn and spring in the fields on his bay horse, the winter sitting at home, and the summer lying in his overgrown garden.
“Why don't you enter the service, uncle?”
“I have been in the service, but I flung it up. I'm not fit for it. I can't make anything of it. That's your affair. I haven't the wit for it. The chase, now, is a very different matter; there it's all forward and quick march! Open the door there!” he shouted. “Why have you shut it?” A door at the end of the corridor (which word the uncle always pronounced collidor, like a peasant) led to the huntsmen's room, as the sitting-room for the huntsmen was called. There was a rapid patter of bare feet, and an unseen hand opened the door into the huntsmen's room. They could then hear distinctly from the corridor the sounds of the balalaika, unmistakably played by a master hand. Natasha had been for some time listening, and now she went out into the corridor to hear the music more clearly.
“That's Mitka, my coachman … I bought him a good balalaika; I'm fond of it,” said the uncle. It was his custom to get Mitka to play the balalaika in the men's room when he came home from the chase. He was fond of hearing that instrument.
“How well he plays! It's really very nice,” said Nikolay, with a certain unconscious superciliousness in his tone, as though he were ashamed to admit he liked this music.
“Very nice?” Natasha said reproachfully, feeling the tone in which her brother had spoken. “It's not nice, but splendid, really!” Just as the uncle's mushrooms and honey and liqueurs had seemed to her the most delicious in the world, this playing struck her at that moment as the very acme of musical expression.
“More, more, please,” said Natasha in the doorway, as soon as the balalaika ceased. Mitka tuned up and began again gallantly twanging away at “My Lady,” with shakes and flourishes. The uncle sat listening with his head on one side, and a slight smile. The air of “My Lady” was repeated a hundred times over. Several times the balalaika was tuned up and the same notes were thrummed again, but the audience did not weary of it, and still longed to hear it again and again. Anisya Fyodorovna came in and stood with her portly person leaning against the doorpost.
“You are pleased to listen!” she said to Natasha, with a smile extra-ordinarily like the uncle's smile. “He does play nicely,” she said.
“That part he never plays right,” the uncle said suddenly with a vigorous gesture. “It ought to be taken more at a run—forward, quick march! … to be played lightly.”
“Why, can you do it?” asked Natasha.
The uncle smiled, and did not answer.
“Just you look, Anisyushka, whether the strings are all right on the guitar, eh? It's a long while since I have handled it. I had quite given it up!”
Anisya Fyodorovna went very readily with her light step to do her master's bidding, and brought him his guitar. Without looking at any one the uncle blew the dust off it, tapped on the case with his bony fingers, tuned it, and settled himself in a low chair. Arching his left elbow with a rather theatrical gesture, he held the guitar above the finger-board, and winking at Anisya Fyodorovna, he played, not the first notes of “My Lady,” but a single pure musical chord, and then smoothly, quietly, but confidently began playing in very slow time the well-known song, “As along the high road.” The air of the song thrilled in Nikolay's and Natasha's hearts in time, in tune with it, with the same sober gaiety—the same gaiety as was manifest in the whole personality of Anisya Fyodorovna. Anisya Fyodorovna flushed, and hiding her face in her kerchief, went laughing out of the room. The uncle still went on playing the song carefully, correctly, and vigorously, gazing with a transformed, inspired face at the spot where Anisya Fyodorovna had stood. Laughter came gradually into his face on one side under his grey moustache, and it grew stronger as the song went on, as the time quickened, and breaks came after a flourish.
“Splendid, splendid, uncle! Again, again!” cried Natasha, as soon as he had finished. She jumped up from her place and kissed and hugged the uncle. “Nikolenka, Nikolenka!” she said, looking round at her brother as though to ask, “What do you say to it?”
Nikolay, too, was much pleased by the uncle's playing. He played the song a second time. The smiling face of Anisya Fyodorovna appeared again in the doorway and other faces behind her.… “For the water from the well, a maiden calls to him to stay!” played the uncle. He made another dexterous flourish and broke off, twitching his shoulders.
“Oh, oh, uncle darling!” wailed Natasha, in a voice as imploring as though her life depended on it. The uncle got up, and there seemed to be two men in him at that moment—one smiled seriously at the antics of the merry player, while the merry player na?vely and carefully executed the steps preliminary to the dance.
“Come, little niece!” cried the uncle, waving to Natasha the hand that had struck the last chord.
Natasha flung off the shawl that had been wrapped round her, ran forward facing the uncle, and setting her arms akimbo, made the movements of her shoulder and waist.
Where, how, when had this young countess, educated by a French émigrée, sucked in with the Russian air she breathed the spirit of that dance? Where had she picked up these movements which the pas de chale would, one might have thought, long ago have eradicated? But the spirit, the motions were those inimitable, unteachable, Russian gestures the uncle had hoped for from her. As soon as she stood up, and smiled that triumphant, proud smile of sly gaiety, the dread that had come on Nikolay and all the spectators at the first moment, the dread that she would not dance it well, was at an end and they were already admiring her.
She danced the dance well, so well indeed, so perfectly, that Anisya Fyodorovna, who handed her at once the kerchief she needed in the dance, had tears in her eyes, though she laughed as she watched that slender, graceful little countess, reared in silk and velvet, belonging to another world than hers, who was yet able to understand all that was in Anisya and her father and her mother and her aunt and every Russian soul.
“Well done, little countess—forward, quick march!” cried the uncle, laughing gleefully as he finished the dance. “Ah, that's a niece to be proud of! She only wants a fine fellow picked out now for her husband,—and then, forward, quick march!”
“One has been picked out already,” said Nikolay, smiling.
“Oh!” said the uncle in surprise, looking inquiringly at Natasha. Natasha nodded her head with a happy smile.
“And such an one!” she said. But as soon as she said it a different, new series of ideas and feelings rose up within her. “What was the meaning of Nikolay's smile when he said: ‘One has been picked out already'? Was he glad of it, or not glad? He seemed to think my Bolkonsky would not approve, would not understand our gaiety now. No, he would quite understand it. Where is he now?” Natasha wondered, and her face became serious at once. But that lasted only one second. “I mustn't think, I mustn't dare to think about that,” she said to herself; and smiling, she sat down again near the uncle, begging him to play them something more.
The uncle played another song and waltz. Then, after a pause, he cleared his throat and began to sing his favourite hunting song:—
“When there fall at evening glowThe first flakes of winter snow.”…The uncle sang, as peasants sing, in full and naive conviction that in a song the whole value rests in the words, that the tune comes of itself and that a tune apart is nothing, that the tune is only for the sake of the verse. And this gave the uncle's unself-conscious singing a peculiar charm, like the song of birds. Natasha was in ecstasies over the uncle's singing. She made up her mind not to learn the harp any longer, but to play only on the guitar. She asked the uncle for the guitar and at once struck the chords of the song.
At ten o'clock there arrived the wagonette, a trap, and three men on horseback, who had been sent to look for Natasha and Petya. The count and countess did not know where they were and were very anxious, so said one of the men.
Petya was carried out and laid in the wagonette as though he had been a corpse. Natasha and Nikolay got into the trap. The uncle wrapped Natasha up, and said good-bye to her with quite a new tenderness. He accompanied them on foot as far as the bridge which they had to ride round, fording the stream, and bade his huntsmen ride in front with lanterns.
“Farewell, dear little niece!” they heard called in the darkness by his voice, not the one Natasha had been familiar with before, but the voice that had sung “When there fall at evening glow.”
There were red lights in the village they drove through and a cheerful smell of smoke.
“What a darling that uncle is!” said Natasha as they drove out into the highroad.
“Yes,” said Nikolay. “You're not cold?”
“No, I'm very comfortable; very. I am so happy,” said Natasha, positively perplexed at her own well-being. They were silent for a long while.
The night was dark and damp. They could not see the horses, but could only hear them splashing through the unseen mud.
What was passing in that childlike, responsive soul, that so eagerly caught and made its own all the varied impressions of life? How were they all stored away in her heart? But she was very happy. They were getting near home when she suddenly hummed the air of “When there fall at evening glow,” which she had been trying to get all the way, and had only just succeeded in catching.
“Have you caught it?” said Nikolay.
“What are you thinking of just now, Nikolay?” asked Natasha. They were fond of asking each other that question.
“I?” said Nikolay, trying to recall. “Well, you see, at first I was thinking that Rugay, the red dog, is like the uncle, and that if he were a man he would keep uncle always in the house with him, if not for racing, for music he'd keep him anyway. How jolly uncle is! Isn't he? Well, and you?”
“I? Wait a minute; wait a minute! Oh, I was thinking at first that here we are driving and supposing that we are going home, but God knows where we are going in this darkness, and all of a sudden we shall arrive and see we are not at Otradnoe but in fairyland. And then I thought, too … no; nothing more.”
“I know, of course, you thought of him,” said Nikolay, smiling, as Natasha could tell by his voice.
“No,” Natasha answered, though she really had been thinking at the same time of Prince Andrey and how he would like the uncle. “And I keep repeating, too, all the way I keep repeating: how nicely Anisyushka walked; how nicely…” said Natasha. And Nikolay heard her musical, causeless, happy laugh.
“And do you know?” she said suddenly. “I know I shall never be as happy, as peaceful as I am now…”
“What nonsense, idiocy, rubbish!” said Nikolay, and he thought: “What a darling this Natasha of mine is! I have never had, and never shall have, another friend like her. Why should she be married? I could drive like this with her for ever!”
“What a darling this Nikolay of mine is!” Natasha was thinking.
“Ah! Still a light in the drawing-room,” she said, pointing to the windows of their house gleaming attractively in the wet, velvety darkness of the night.
傍晚，当伊拉金和尼古拉告辞的时候，尼古拉呆在离家太远的地方，于是他接受大叔的建议，留下猎人和猎犬，在米哈伊洛夫卡村大叔那里住宿。 
“既然您要到我这里来——是件正当的事情，来吧！”大叔说，“当然再好不过了；您看，天气很潮湿，”大叔说，“休息休息吧，让伯爵小姐乘轻便马车回家，”大叔的建议被接受了，派出了一个猎人到奥特拉德诺耶去要一辆轻便马车，尼古拉偕同娜塔莎及彼佳骑马到大叔那里去了。
约莫有五个男仆——有大有小——跑到正门台阶上迎接老爷。几十个妇女，有大有小，有老有少，都从后门台阶探出头来观看驰近的猎人。娜塔莎这个骑马的小姐的出现，使得大叔的家仆的好奇心理达到那种程度，以致其中许多人并不因为她的出现而感到害羞，都向她跟前走去，看看她的眼睛并在她面前评论她，就像评论展览的怪物一样，怪物并不是人，它不会听见，也听不懂他们所说的话语。
“阿琳卡，你瞧，她侧身骑马！她骑在马背上，下摆晃晃荡荡……瞧，还有小角笛哩！”
“我的老天爷，有一把小刀！……”
“瞧，她是鞑靼女人！”
“你怎么没有倒栽葱似地滚下来呢？”一个最大胆的女人直截了当地向娜塔莎转过脸来说。
大叔在他那长满草木的花园里的小木屋的台阶旁下马，朝他的家里人瞥了一眼，用命令的口气叫了一声，要闲人走开，为迎接客人和猎人做好一切必需做的事。
大家都四散奔跑。大叔把娜塔莎从马鞍上抱下来，拉着她的手领她登上不稳的木板台阶。屋子并没有抹灰泥，墙壁是圆木制的，不太清洁，看不出住户存心把屋子弄脏，但并不显得杂乱。门斗里发散出新鲜苹果的气味，到处挂满了狼皮和狐狸皮。
大叔领着客人们经过接待室走进一间摆有折桌和几把红交椅的小厅，继而将他们领进一间摆有桦木圆桌和长沙发的会客室，然后又将他们领进书斋，书斋里放着一张破沙发和旧地毯，墙上挂着苏沃诺夫、主人的双亲和他本人身穿军装的画像。书斋中可以闻到一股强烈的烟草味和猎狗腥味。
在书斋里大叔请客人们就座，让他们像在家里一样安顿下来，他自己便走出去。鲁加伊的脊背还没有弄干净，就走进书斋，躺在沙发上，用舌头和牙齿把身子清理干净。书斋外面有一道走廊，可以看见走廊里的帘幕破旧的屏风。从屏风后面传来妇女的笑声和耳语声。娜塔莎、尼古拉和彼佳都脱下衣服，在长沙发上坐下来。彼佳把臂肘支在扶手上，立刻睡着了。娜塔莎和尼古拉默不作声地坐着。他们的面颊发烧，他们都觉得很饿，也很快活。他们互相瞥了一眼（尼古拉打猎之后认为没有必要在这间房里显示他这个男子比妹妹更加优越）；娜塔莎向她哥哥使了个眼色，二人还来不及想到借口，忍耐不住，很快就哈哈大笑起来。
过了片刻，大叔走了进来，他穿着一件卡萨金男上衣，一条蓝裤子，一双小皮靴。娜塔莎感到，她在奥特拉德诺耶带着惊异和嘲笑的神态曾经看见大叔穿的这一套服装，是一套真正华丽的服装，丝毫不次于常礼服和燕尾服。大叔心里也高兴，兄妹的嘲笑不仅没有使他生气（他连想也不会想到竟有人嘲笑他的生活），而且他自己也附和他们，无缘无故地大笑起来。
“好一个年轻的伯爵小姐——好得很，真行！——我没有见过像她这样的小姐啊！”他说，一边把一杆长烟袋递给罗斯托夫，而把另一杆截短的烟斗习惯地夹在三个指头之间。
“她骑马跑了一天，像个男子大丈夫，若无其事！”
大叔进来之后不久，一个少女把门打开了——凭脚步声就可以明显地猜出她是赤着脚的；一个貌美的约莫四十岁的女人双手捧着一只摆满食物的大托盘走进房里来，她长得很肥，面颊绯红，双下巴，粉红的嘴唇看起来非常肥厚。她的目光和每个步态都流露着诱人的魅力，彬彬有礼和殷勤好客的热情，她环视客人，含着温和的微笑，毕恭毕敬地向他们鞠躬行礼。虽然她非同一般地肥胖，这就迫使她向前隆起胸脯和肚子，把颈向头仰，但是这个妇人（大叔的女管家）走起路来却异常轻快。她走到桌前，把托盘放下，用那双洁白而肥胖的手很灵活地把酒瓶、小菜和各种馔肴摆在桌上，把剩盘拿走。她做完这些事情之后便走开，脸上堆着笑容站在门房，“瞧，我多么捧哩！现在你了解大叔吧？”她的出现仿佛在对罗斯托夫这样说。怎么能够不了解呢，非但罗斯托夫，还有娜塔莎都了解大叔，当阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜走进来时，他们都了解大叔皱起眉头、微微撇起嘴唇流露出幸福的洋洋自得的微笑所包含的意义。托盘里摆着草浸酒、果子露酒、腌蘑菇、乳清黑麦饼、鲜蜜、煮熟的丝丝响着冒气的蜂蜜、苹果、生核桃、炒核桃和蜜饯核桃。之后阿亚尼娅·费奥多罗夫娜端来了蜜糖果子酱、白糖果子酱、火腿、刚刚烤好的母鸡。
这一切均由阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜经营管理、收集和熬制。这一切都发散着香气，都带有阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜的味道。这一切鲜美多汁，白净而清洁，带有欣喜的笑意。
“伯爵小姐，请吃一点吧，”她一面说，一面给娜塔莎递上这，递上那。娜塔莎什么都吃，她仿佛觉得，这种乳清黑麦饼、这种芬芳可口的果酱、蜜饯核桃和烤鸡，她在任何地方从未见过，亦从未吃过。阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜走出去了。罗斯托夫和大叔共饮樱桃酒佐餐，一面侃谈过去和未来的猎事，提及鲁加伊和伊拉金的猎犬。娜塔莎两眼闪闪发光，腰板直挺挺地坐在沙发上，听他们说话。她有几次想把彼佳喊醒，叫他吃点什么东西，可是他说些听不懂的话，看起来他还没有睡醒。在这个新环境中，娜塔莎心中觉得很快活，很舒畅，她只是害怕那辆轻便马车会过早地开来接她。就像人们在自己家中首次接待友人时常有的情形那样，在偶尔一阵沉默之后，大叔为回答客人们心中想问的话，便这样说：
“瞧，我就这么活上一辈子……人一寿终正寝——正常的事情，行啦？——什么都化为乌有。干嘛要作孽！”
当大叔说这些话的时候，他的面部表情意味深长，甚至动人。罗斯托夫这时不禁想起他从父亲和邻人人那里听到有关大叔的好评。大叔在全省范围内享有最高尚最无私的怪人的美名。有人请他评判家中事，请他做个遗嘱执行人，把秘密讲给他听，推选他担任审判官或其他职务，但他总要坚决拒绝公务，秋季与春季他骑着自己那匹淡栗色骟马在田野里消磨时光，冬季在家中歇息，夏季在草木茂盛的花园中乘凉。
“大叔，您为什么不在政府里供职呢？”
“我做过工作，后来不干了。不中用了，实在是这么回事，算啦，什么事情我也弄不明白。这都是你们的事情，我不够聪明。至于说打猎，那就不同了，这是正当的事情，可以去干！请您开开门吧，”他喊了一声，“您为什么关起门来了？”走廊（大汉称之为走廊）末端的一扇门通向侍候地主狩猎的单身仆人住所，即所谓猎人的仆人住所。可以听见一双赤脚仓促地啪嗒啪嗒地走动起来，一只看不见的手打开了通往仆人住所的门。从走廊里开始清晰地听见巴拉莱卡琴声，显而易见，是个什么能手在弹奏。娜塔莎静听琴声已经听了很久，现在她走到走廊上，以便听得更清晰。
“这是我的马车夫米季卡……我替他买了一把挺好的巴拉莱卡琴，我很喜欢听。”大叔说。大叔有个这样的规矩：他从狩猎归来时，叫米季卡在单身仆人住所里弹奏巴拉莱卡琴。
大叔爱听这种音乐。
“弹得多么好啊！真是太棒了”尼古拉带着几分不自觉的轻蔑的口气说，仿佛他不好意思承认，他觉得这种琴声好听。
“什么太棒呀？”娜塔莎意识到哥哥说话的口气，便带着责备的意味说。“并不是太棒，而是富有怎样的魅力啊！”她觉得大叔的腌磨菇、蜂蜜和果子酒是举世最可口的食品，她也觉得这支曲子在这个时刻是音乐魅力的顶峰。
“请您再弹一曲吧。”巴拉莱卡琴声一停止，娜塔莎就对着那扇门这样说。米季卡把弦调准，又铮铮地奏起芭勒娘舞曲，带有一串连续的滑音和变奏。大叔坐在那里，侧起脑袋听着，他脸上微露笑意。芭勒娘舞曲的旋律重复了百来次。一连调了几次琴弦，又听到悠扬悦耳的琴声，听众不感到厌倦，只想一次又一次地听他弹奏。阿西娅·费奥多罗夫娜走进来，把那肥胖的身躯靠在门楣上。
“请问您想听吗？”她含着微笑（酷似大叔的微笑）对娜塔莎说。“他在我们这里弹得最出色。”她说。
“这一段他弹得不对头，”大叔忽然间做出有力的手势说，“这一段要弹出一阵阵爆发的声音——真是如此——要弹出一阵阵爆发的声音。”
“难道您会弹琴吗？”娜塔莎问道。大叔没有作答，微微一笑。
“阿尼秀什卡①，你看看那把吉他的琴弦还好吗？隔了好久没有摸它了——真是如此！——荒废了。” 
①阿尼秀什卡是阿尼西娅的爱称。
阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜迈着轻盈的脚步，乐意地走去完成主人吩咐她做的事情，她把吉他拿来了。
大叔不看任何人，吹掉吉他上的灰尘，用那瘦骨嶙峋的手指敲了敲琴面，调准琴弦，坐在安乐椅上，纠正姿势。接着他摆出一点舞台姿势，略微向前伸出左手肘弯，握住吉他琴颈稍高的地方，向阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜使个眼色，开始不弹芭勒娘舞曲，先奏一声清脆而嘹亮的和弦，之后合乎节奏地悠闲自得地然而刚健有力地用那极慢的速度弹奏一支著名的曲子《在大街上》。含着庄重而愉快的节拍（阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜的整个身心都洋溢着这种喜悦），尼古拉和娜塔莎心中开始应声合唱这支歌曲的调子。阿西尼娅·费奥多罗夫娜脸红起来，用手绢捂着，笑嘻嘻地从房里出去。大叔认真严肃地刚健有力、音调纯正地弹奏这支歌曲，他以变得热情洋溢的目光望着阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜离开的那个地方。他脸上微微发笑，尤其是在弹得起劲，拍子逐渐加快，在弹奏一串连续的滑音的地方突然中断的时候，从他那斑白胡子的一边流露出更加得意的笑容。
“好极了，好极了，大叔，再来一个，再来一个！”他刚刚奏完，娜塔莎就大声喊道。她从座位上跳起来，拥抱大叔，吻吻他，“尼古连卡，尼古连卡！”她一面说，一面回头望望哥哥，好像在问他：这是怎么回事啊？
尼古拉也很喜欢大叔弹琴。大叔第二次弹奏这支曲子。阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜的笑脸又在门口出现了，她后面还露出另外几张面孔……他弹奏着……汲那清凉的泉水，姑娘喊一声“你等一等！”他又灵巧地奏出一串连续的滑音，之后猝然停止，耸耸肩膀。
“喂，喂，亲爱的，大叔。”娜塔莎用那哀求的嗓音哼哼起来，仿佛她的生命以此为转移。大叔站起来，仿佛他身上有两个人，其中一人对快活的人露出严肃的微笑，快活的人却很认真地做出一个幼稚的起舞动作。
“喂，侄女！”大叔喊了一声，他向娜塔莎挥了挥那只停奏和弦的手。
娜塔莎扔下披在她身上的头巾，向大叔面前跑去，她双手叉腰，耸耸肩膀，停步了。
这个受过法籍女侨民教育的伯爵小姐在什么地方，什么时候和怎样从她呼吸的俄罗斯空气中吸取了这种精神？而且从中获得了老早就应受到　Pas　de　chaBle排挤的舞姿？但是这种精神和舞姿正是大叔向她企求的、无可效法的、未经研究的俄罗斯精神和舞姿。她一停下来。就向大夥儿微微一笑，显得庄严而高傲、狡黠而愉快，尼古拉和所有在场的人最初都担心她做得不太对头，但是这种担心消失了，他们都在欣赏她呢。
她做得恰如其分，而且是这样准确，完全准确，以致阿尼西娅·费奥多罗夫娜立即把那条她非用不可的手绢递给她，透过笑声，阿尼西娅的眼泪夺眶而出，她一面瞧着这个苗条的风姿优美的伯爵小姐，而这个小姐显得陌生，她身穿绸缎和丝绒衣裳，而且很有教养，她竟擅长于领会阿尼西娅身上的一切，以及阿尼西娅的父亲、婶婶、大娘，每个俄罗斯人身上的一切。
“嘿，伯爵小姐，——正当的事情，可以去干！”大叔跳完舞以后，面露愉快的笑意说。“啊，侄女呀！只希望给你选个呱呱叫的丈夫，——正当的事情，可以去干。”
“已经选上了。”尼古拉微笑地说。
“哦？”大叔疑惑地望着娜塔莎，惊讶地说。娜塔莎含着幸福的微笑，肯定地点点头。
“还要提他是什么人呀！”她说道。但是她刚刚把话说完，她内心忽然升起了另一种思绪和感情。“当尼古拉说：‘已经选上了'这句话时，他的笑容意味着什么？他对这件事感到高兴，还是不高兴？他好像在想，假如我的博尔孔斯基不明白我们为什么而高兴，就决不会表示赞许的。不，他什么都会明白的。目前他在哪儿呢？”娜塔莎想了想，她的脸色忽然变得严肃起来。但是这种表情只持续了一瞬间。“不去想它，也不敢想这件事。”她含着笑意自言自语地说，随即坐在大叔身旁，请他再弹点什么。
大叔还弹奏一支曲子和华尔兹舞曲，然后就沉默片刻，咳嗽几声清清嗓子，又唱起他爱唱的猎人曲：
……黄昏瑞雪纷纷下……
大叔像老百姓那样唱着，他天真地确信，一支歌的全部意义只在于歌词，曲调会自行产生，而孤单的曲调是不存在的，曲调仅只是为和谐服务而已。因此大叔无意中哼出的这种曲调，如同鸟鸣一般，也是异常好听的。大叔的歌唱使娜塔莎欣喜万分。她决定不再学拉竖琴，只要弹奏吉他就行了。
她向大叔要一把吉他，立刻挑选了这支歌的和弦。
九点多种，一辆敞篷马车、一辆轻便马车来接娜塔莎和彼佳，还派来三个寻找他们的骑马的人。一个被派来的人说，伯爵和伯爵夫人都不知道他们在哪儿，心里焦急不安。
他们像抬死尸一样把彼佳抬到敞篷马车上，娜塔莎和尼古拉乘坐轻便马车。大叔把娜塔莎严严实实地裹起来，怀着前所未有的亲情和她告别。他步行把他们送到桥头，他们要涉水绕过这座不能通行的大桥，他吩咐几个猎人打着灯笼在前面骑行。
“亲爱的侄女，再会！”可以听见他在黑暗中喊了一声，这已不是娜塔莎从前熟悉的声音，而是歌唱《黄昏瑞雪纷纷下》的声音了。
在他们驶过的村庄可以看到红色的灯光，可以闻到令人愉快的炊烟的气味。
“这个大叔多么富有魅力啊！”当他们驶到大路上的时候，娜塔莎说道。
“是啊，”尼古拉说，“你不觉得冷吧？”
“不，我挺好，我挺好。非常畅快，”娜塔莎甚至惶惑不安地说。他们沉默好半晌。
夜晚是黑暗的，潮湿的。看不见马匹，只听见它们在望不见的泥泞路上发出啪嗒啪嗒的响声。
这个童稚的敏感的贪婪地获取和领会各种生活印象的心灵中起了什么变化呢？这一切在这个心灵中是怎样容纳的呢？她快要驶到家门里，忽然唱起《黄昏瑞雪纷纷下》这首歌曲的调子，一路上她都在捕捉这个调子，最后她捕捉到了。
“捕捉到了吗？”尼古拉说。
“尼古连卡，现在你心里在想什么呢？”娜塔莎问道，他们都喜欢互相提出这个问题。
“我吗？”尼古拉回忆时说道，“你要知道，最初我以为鲁加伊这只红毛公犬很像大叔，它若是人，它就会把大叔养在自己身边，不是因为大叔驰骋有素，就是因为他与人和衷共济，不然怎么会把他养在身边。大叔与人相处多么融洽啊！不是吗？喏，你以为怎样？”
“我吗？你别忙，你别忙。对了，起初我认为，我们乘坐马车，心里想到走回家去，可是天知道我们在黑暗中会把车子开到哪里去，忽然我们来到一个地方，我们看见我们不是呆在奥特拉德诺耶，而是置身于仙境。之后我还以为……不，我想要说的就是这些了。”
“我知道，那个时候你一定是在想他。”当娜塔莎凭尼古拉的嗓音认出他时，尼古拉微笑着说。
“不，”娜塔莎回答，虽然她真的想到安德烈公爵，同时也想到他会喜欢大叔。“我总在回想，一路上我不断地回想：阿尼秀什卡非常好，非常好……”娜塔莎说道。尼古拉听见她的响亮的、无缘无故的、显得幸福的笑声。
“你知道，”她忽然说，“我知道我永远不会像现在这样幸福，这样平静。”
“这真是废话、蠢话、无稽之谈，”尼古拉说，心里想了想：“我这个娜塔莎多么富有魅力！我不仅现在，而且将来也不会有像她这样的朋友。她为什么要嫁人？希望我和她永远在一起乘车闲游。”
“这个尼古拉多么可爱！”娜塔莎想道。
“哦！客厅中还有灯光，”她指着住宅的窗户说，在这潮湿的、给人以温柔感觉的黑夜，这几扇窗户反射出美丽的光辉。
Book 7 Chapter 8
COUNT ILYA ANDREITCH had given up being a marshal of nobility, because that position involved too heavy an expenditure. But his difficulties were not removed by that. Often Natasha and Nikolay knew of uneasy, private consultations between their parents, and heard talk of selling the sumptuous ancestral house of the Rostovs and the estate near Moscow. When the count was no longer marshal it was not necessary to entertain on such a large scale, and they led a quieter life at Otradnoe than in former years. But the immense house and the lodges were still full of people; more than twenty persons still sat down to table with them. These were all their own people, time-honoured inmates of their household, almost members of the family, or persons who must, it seemed, inevitably live in the count's house. Such were Dimmler, the music-master, and his wife; Vogel the dancing-master, with his family; an old Madame Byelov, and many others besides; Petya's tutors, the girls' old governess, and persons who simply found it better or more profitable to live at the count's than in a house of their own. They did not entertain so many guests as before, but they still lived in that manner, apart from which the count and countess could not have conceived of life at all. There was still the same hunting establishment, increased indeed by Nikolay. There were still the same fifty horses and fifteen grooms in the stables; the same costly presents on name-days, and ceremonial dinners to the whole neighbourhood. There were still the count's games of whist and boston, at which, letting every one see his cards, he allowed himself to be plundered every day of hundreds by his neighbours, who looked upon the privilege of making up a rubber with Count Ilya Andreitch as a profitable investment.
The count went into his affairs as though walking into a huge net, trying not to believe that he was entangled, and at every step getting more and more entangled, and feeling too feeble either to tear the nets that held him fast, or with care and patience to set about disentangling them. The countess with her loving heart felt that her children were being ruined, that the count was not to blame, that he could not help being what he was, that he was distressed himself (though he tried to conceal it) at the consciousness of his own and his children's ruin, and was seeking means to improve their position. To her feminine mind only one way of doing so occurred—that was, to marry Nikolay to a wealthy heiress. She felt that this was their last hope, and that if Nikolay were to refuse the match she had found for him she must bid farewell for ever to all chance of improving their position. This match was Julie Karagin, the daughter of excellent and virtuous parents, known to the Rostovs from childhood, and now left a wealthy heiress by the death of her last surviving brother.
The countess wrote directly to Madame Karagin in Moscow, suggesting to her the marriage of her daughter to her own son, and received a favourable reply from her. Madame Karagin replied that she was quite ready for her part to consent to the match, but everything must depend on her daughter's inclinations. Madame Karagin invited Nikolay to come to Moscow. Several times the countess, with tears in her eyes, had told her son that now that both her daughters were settled, her only wish was to see him married. She said that she could rest quietly in her grave if this were settled. Then she would say that she had an excellent girl in her eye, and would try and get from him his views on matrimony.
On other occasions she praised Julie and advised Nikolay to go to Moscow for the holidays to amuse himself a little. Nikolay guessed what his mother's hints were aiming at, and on one such occasion he forced her to complete frankness. She told him plainly that all hope of improving their position rested now on his marrying Julie Karagin.
“What, if I loved a girl with no fortune would you really desire me, mamma, to sacrifice my feeling and my honour for the sake of money?” he asked his mother, with no notion of the cruelty of his question, but simply wishing to show his noble sentiments.
“No; you misunderstand me,” said his mother, not knowing how to retrieve her mistake. “You misunderstand me, Nikolenka. It is your happiness I wish for,” she added, and she felt she was speaking falsely, that she was blundering. She burst into tears.
“Mamma, don't cry, and only tell me that you wish it, and you know that I would give my whole life, everything for your peace of mind,” said Nikolay; “I will sacrifice everything for you, even my feelings.”
But the countess did not want the question put like that; she did not want to receive sacrifices from her son, she would have liked to sacrifice herself to him.
“No; you don't understand me, don't let us talk of it,” she said, wiping away her tears.
“Yes, perhaps I really do love a poor girl,” Nikolay said to himself; “what, am I to sacrifice my feeling and my honour for fortune? I wonder how mamma could say such a thing. Because Sonya is poor I must not love her,” he thought; “I must not respond to her faithful, devoted love. And it is certain I should be happier with her than with any doll of a Julie. To sacrifice my feelings for the welfare of my family I can always do,” he said to himself, “but I can't control my feelings. If I love Sonya, that feeling is more than anything and above anything for me.”
Nikolay did not go to Moscow, the countess did not renew her conversations with him about matrimony, and with grief, and sometimes with exasperation, saw symptoms of a growing attachment between her son and the portionless Sonya. She blamed herself for it, yet could not refrain from scolding and upbraiding Sonya, often reproving her without cause and addressing her as “my good girl.” What irritated the kind-hearted countess more than anything was that this poor, dark-eyed niece was so meek, so good, so devoutly grateful to her benefactors, and so truly, so constantly, and so unselfishly in love with Nikolay that it was impossible to find any fault with her.
Nikolay went on spending his term of leave with his parents. From Prince Andrey a fourth letter had been received from Rome. In it he wrote that he would long ago have been on his way back to Russia, but that in the warm climate his wound had suddenly re-opened, which would compel him to defer his return till the beginning of the new year. Natasha was as much in love with her betrothed, as untroubled in her love, and as ready to throw herself into all the pleasures of life as ever. But towards the end of the fourth month of their separation she began to suffer from fits of depression, against which she was unable to contend. She felt sorry for herself, sorry that all this time should be wasted and be of no use to any one, while she felt such capacity for loving and being loved.
Life was not gay in the Rostovs' household.
伊利亚·安德烈伊寄伯爵已辞去首席贵族的职位，因为这个职位的花费巨大。可是他的景况一直未见好转。娜塔莎和尼古拉常常看见双亲激动不安地私下商议，常常听见有关出售罗斯托夫祖遗的豪华住宅和莫斯科近郊的地产的传言。既已辞去首席贵族的职位，就毋须接待众多的客人，因此奥特拉德诺耶的生活较诸往年更清静了；然而这栋高大的住宅和厢房仍旧住满了人，家里仍然常有二十余人用餐。他们都是一些在家里住惯了的亲人，几乎全是家庭成员，或者是一些似乎必须在罗斯托夫伯爵家里居住的人。这些人中有乐师季姆勒及其妻子、舞蹈教师约格尔及其眷属、经年住在家里的老小姐别洛娃，尚有其他许多人：彼佳的几个教师、小姐们从前的家庭女教师、那些只认为住在伯爵家里比住在自己家里更舒适更有利的人。此时的光景与昔日不同，门前的车马稀少了，但是生活的进程与昔时无异，不如此伯爵与伯爵夫人就不能设想怎样继续活下去。猎事依然如故，而且尼古拉扩大了它的规模，马厩里仍然有五十匹马和十五名马车夫，命名日里仍旧馈赠珍贵的礼品，举行盛大的宴会，藉以款待全县的佳宾；伯爵家中照常打纸牌——惠斯特牌和波士顿牌，他让大家看见他发牌，天天让邻座赌赢几百卢布，而邻座则把同伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵打牌视为一笔可观的进款。 
伯爵经营自己的产业，就像陷入巨大的捕兽网那样，他竭力想要自己不相信他给缠住了，可是他每走一步，就给缠得更紧，感到自己既不能撕破把它缠住的网子，也不能小心地、忍耐地着手把它解开来。伯爵夫人怀有抚爱之心，她意识到她的孩子们都要破产，伯爵没有什么过错，他不能不像现在这样做人，因为他也意识到他和他的孩子们都要破产，所以他本人感到痛苦（虽然他把这一点加以隐瞒），她正在寻找有济于事的办法。从她这个妇女的观点出发，她的办法只有一套，就是叫尼古拉娶一个富有的未婚女子。她也意识到这是最后一线希望，假如尼古拉拒绝她给他找到的配偶，那么就要永远放弃改善境况的机会。这个配偶即是朱莉·卡拉金娜，她的父母都是极好的、道德高尚的人，从童年时代起，罗斯托夫一家人就认识她，现正因为她的最后一个兄弟已经辞世，她成为有钱的及笄的姑娘了。
伯爵夫人直接给莫斯科的卡拉金娜写信，向她提出她的女儿和她儿子的婚事，并且获得她的同意的答复。卡拉金娜在回信中说她自己是同意的，但这件事完全取决于她的女儿的心意。卡拉金娜邀请尼古拉到莫斯科去做客。
伯爵夫人有几次眼睛里噙着泪水对儿子说，她的两个女儿都已安排出阁，现在她的唯一的愿望，就是要亲眼看见他娶妻。她说只要办成这件事，她躺在棺材里也会安心的。后来她又说，她看中了一个极好的姑娘，要向他探问一下他对这门婚事的意见。
在其他几次谈话中，她夸耀朱莉，并且劝他去莫斯科度假，快活一阵子。尼古拉心里猜测，他母亲的这几次谈话的用意何在，后来在一次谈话中，他使母亲说出心里话。她向他直言，目前改善境遇的全部希望寄托在他和卡拉金娜的这门婚事上。
“如果我爱一个没有财产的姑娘，那又怎样呢，妈妈，难道您要我为着财产而牺牲情感和荣誉么？”他问她母亲，但不明白他提出的这个问题的严峻，他只想显示一下自己的高尚情操。
“不，你不了解我，”母亲说，但她不知道怎样替自己辩护。“尼古连卡，你不了解我。我希望你活得幸福。”她补充说，并且感觉到她所说的不是实话，她已经现出窘态，她哭了起来。
“妈妈，您别哭，您只要告诉我，希望这么办，您也知道，为了要您心地安宁，我可以献出我的生命，献出我的一切，”尼古拉说，“我可以为您牺牲一切，甚至牺牲自己的感情。”
但是伯爵夫人不愿意这样提出问题：她不希望自己的儿子作了牺牲，而她自己倒希望为他而作出牺牲。
“不，你不了解我，我们不要谈了。”她揩眼泪时说道。
“是啊，也许我真的爱一个贫苦的姑娘，”尼古拉自言自语地说，“怎么，我要为财产而牺牲爱情和荣誉吗？我觉得惊讶的是，母亲怎么会对我说出这种话。因为索尼娅贫穷，我就不能爱她了，”他想道，“就不能回报她那始终如一的忠诚的爱情。真的，我和她在一起，比同什么朱莉这种玩物在一起更加幸福。我不能强制自己的感情，”他对自己说，“如果我爱索尼娅，对我来说，我的爱情比一切都更强烈，都更崇高。”
尼古拉没有到莫斯科去，伯爵夫人不再跟他谈到结婚的事情，她很忧愁地、有时愤恨地看见她儿子和没有嫁妆的索尼娅越来越接近的迹象。她为此而责备自己，但是她不能不唠叨，不能不挑剔索尼娅，常常无缘无故地把她拦住，用“您”与“我可爱的”来称呼她。这个善良的伯爵夫人为此事而对索尼娅大发脾气，这个贫穷的黑眼睛的外甥女是如此温顺、仁慈、无限忠诚，对自己的恩人们怀有感激之情，而且如此忠贞、始终不渝、自我牺牲地钟爱尼古拉，对她简直是无可指责的。
尼古拉在父母身边快要度完自己的假期。他们收到了未婚男子安德烈公爵自罗马寄来的第四封信，他在信中写到，如果不是在温暖的气候中他的伤口突然裂开，以致他不得不将行期推迟至来年年初的话，他早已在回归俄国的路上了。娜塔莎仍然钟爱她的未婚夫，仍旧由于这种爱情而感到安慰，她对生活中的一切欢乐依旧十分敏感；可是在娜塔莎和他离别的第四个月月底，就有一种她不能克服的忧愁开始一阵阵向她袭来，她在怜悯她自己，她觉得遗憾的是，她不为任何人白白地糟踏了时光，在这段时间她觉得她能够钟爱他人和被人钟爱。
罗斯托夫家中笼罩着怏怏不乐的气氛。
Book 7 Chapter 9
CHRISTMAS came and except for the High Mass, the solemn and wearisome congratulations to neighbours and house-serfs, and the new gowns donned by every one, nothing special happened to mark the holidays, though the still weather with twenty degrees of frost, the dazzling sunshine by day and the bright, starlit sky at night seemed to call for some special celebration of the season.
On the third day of Christmas week, after dinner, all the members of the household had separated and gone to their respective rooms. It was the dullest time of the day. Nikolay, who had been calling on neighbours in the morning, was asleep in the divan-room. The old count was resting in his own room. In the drawing-room Sonya was sitting at a round table copying a design for embroidery. The countess was playing patience. Nastasya Ivanovna, the buffoon, with a dejected countenance, was sitting in the window with two old ladies. Natasha came into the room, went up to Sonya, looked at what she was doing, then went up to her mother and stood there mutely.
“Why are you wandering about like an unquiet spirit?” said her mother. “What do you want?”
“I want him…I want him at once, this minute,” said Natasha, with a gleam in her eyes and no smile on her lips. The countess raised her head and looked intently at her daughter.
“Don't look at me, mamma; don't look at me like that; I shall cry in a minute.”
“Sit down; come and sit by me,” said the countess.
“Mamma, I want him. Why should I be wasting time like this, Mamma?”…Her voice broke, tears gushed into her eyes, and to hide them, she turned quickly and went out of the room. She went into the divan-room, stood there, thought a moment and went to the maids' room. There an old maid-servant was scolding a young girl who had run in breathless from the cold outside.
“Give over playing,” said the old woman; “there is a time for everything.”
“Let her off, Kondratyevna,” said Natasha. “Run along, Mavrusha, run along.”
And after releasing Mavrusha, Natasha crossed the big hall and went to the vestibule. An old footman and two young ones were playing cards. They broke off and rose at the entrance of their young mistress. “What am I to do with them?” Natasha wondered.
“Yes, Nikita, go out, please…Where am I to send him?…Yes, go to the yard and bring me a cock, please; and you, Misha, bring me some oats.”
“Just a few oats, if you please?” said Misha, with cheerful readiness.
“Run along; make haste,” the old man urged him.
“Fyodor, you get me some chalk.”
As she passed the buffet she ordered the samovar, though it was not the right time for it.
The buffet-waiter, Foka, was the most ill-tempered person in the house. Natasha liked to try her power over him. He did not believe in her order, and went to inquire if it were really wanted.
“Ah, you're a nice young lady!” said Foka, pretending to frown at Natasha.
No one in the house sent people on errands and gave the servants so much work as Natasha. She could not see people without wanting to send them for something. She seemed to be trying to see whether one of them would not be cross or sulky with her; but no one's orders were so readily obeyed by the servants as Natasha's. “What am I to do? Where am I to go?” Natasha wondered, strolling slowly along the corridor.
“Nastasya Ivanovna, what will my children be?” she asked the buffoon, who came towards her in his woman's jacket.
“Fleas, and dragon-flies, and grasshoppers,” answered the buffoon.
“My God! my God! always the same. Oh, where am I to go? What am I to do with myself?” And she ran rapidly upstairs, tapping with her shoes, to see Vogel and his wife, who had rooms on the top floor. The two governesses were sitting with the Vogels and on the table were plates of raisins, walnuts, and almonds. The governesses were discussing the question which was the cheaper town to live in, Moscow or Odessa. Natasha sat down, listened to their talk with a serious and dreamy face, and got up. “The island Madagascar,” she said. “Mada-ga-scar,” she repeated, articulating each syllable distinctly; and making no reply to Madame Schoss's inquiry into her meaning, she went out of the room.
Petya, her brother, was upstairs too. He was engaged with his tutor making fireworks to let off that night.
“Petya! Petya!” she shouted to him, “carry me downstairs.” Petya ran to her and offered her his back, and he pranced along with her. “No, enough. The island Madagascar,” she repeated, and jumping off his back she went downstairs.
Having as it were reviewed her kingdom, tried her power, and made sure that all were submissive, but yet that she was dull, Natasha went into the big hall, took up the guitar, and sat down with it in a dark corner behind a bookcase. She began fingering the strings in the bass, picking out a phrase she recalled from an opera she had heard in Petersburg with Prince Andrey. For other listeners the sounds that came from her guitar would have had no sort of meaning, but these sounds called up in her imagination a whole series of reminiscences. She sat behind the bookcase with her eyes fixed on a streak of light that fell from the crack in the pantry door, and listened to herself and recalled the past. She was in the mood for brooding over memories.
Sonya crossed the hall, and went into the pantry with a glass in her hand. Natasha glanced at her through the crack in the pantry door, and it seemed to her that she remembered the light falling through the crack in the pantry door, and Sonya passing with the glass in just the same way. “Yes, and it was exactly the same in every detail,” thought Natasha.
“Sonya, what is this?” called Natasha, twanging the thick cord with her fingers.
“Oh, are you there?” said Sonya starting, and she came up and listened. “I don't know. A storm?” she said timidly, afraid of being wrong.
“Why, she started in just the same way, and came up and smiled the same timid smile when it all happened before,” thought Natasha; “and just in the same way, too.…I thought there was something wanting in her.”
“No, it's the chorus from the ‘Water Carrier,' listen.” And Natasha hummed the air of the chorus, so that Sonya might catch it. “Where were you going?” asked Natasha.
“To change the water in my glass. I am just finishing colouring the design.”
“You always find something to do, but I can't, you know,” said Natasha. “And where's Nikolenka?”
“I think he's asleep.”
“Sonya, do go and wake him,” said Natasha. “Tell him I want him to sing with me.”
She sat a little longer, pondering on what was the meaning of its all having happened before, and not solving that question, and not in the least chagrined at being unable to do so, she passed again in her imagination to the time when she was with him, and he gazed at her with eyes of love.
“Oh, if he would come quickly! I'm so afraid it will never come! And worst of all, I'm getting older, that's the thing. There won't be in me what there is in me now. Perhaps he is coming to-day, will be here immediately. Perhaps he has come, and is sitting there in the drawing-room. Perhaps he did come yesterday, and I have forgotten.” She got up, put down her guitar, and went into the parlour. All their domestic circle, tutors, governesses, and guests were sitting at the tea-table. The servants were standing round the table. But Prince Andrey was not there, and the same old life was still going on.
“Here she is,” said the count, seeing Natasha coming in. “Come, sit by me.” But Natasha stayed by her mother, looking about her as though seeking for something.
“Mamma!” she said. “Give me him, give me him, mamma, quickly, quickly,” and again she could hardly suppress her sobs. She sat down to the table and listened to the talk of the elders and Nikolay, who had come in to tea. “My God, my God, the same people, the same talk, papa holding his cup, and blowing it just the same as always,” thought Natasha, feeling with horror an aversion rising up in her for all her family, because they were always the same.
After tea Nikolay, Sonya, and Natasha went into the divan-room to their favourite corner, where their most intimate talks always began.
圣诞节节期到了，除开敷敷衍衍的午祷，除开邻人和家仆们的庄重而乏味的祝贺，除开人人穿上新衣裳而外，没有任何庆祝圣诞节日的特别的东西，在这无风的零下二十度的严寒中，在这冬夜的星光下，令人感到要庆祝这个节日的强烈愿望。 
节日的第三天，午膳后，家里人都各自回到房里。这是一天中最烦闷的时刻。尼古拉早晨骑马到邻居们那里去串门，此时他在摆有沙发的休息室里睡着了。老伯爵在他自己的书斋里休息。索尼娅坐在客厅的一张圆桌旁临摹图案。伯爵夫人按顺序把纸牌摆开。侍从丑角娜斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜带着那悲伤的面容和两个老太婆一同坐在窗前。娜塔莎走进了这个房间，她走到索尼娅跟前，看看她在做什么，然后就走到母亲跟前，默不作声地停步了。
“你为什么走来走去呢？像个无家可归的人？”母亲对她说，“你需要什么？”
“我需要他……现在，我立刻需要他，”娜塔莎说道，她的眼睛闪闪发亮，面露笑容。伯爵夫人抬起头，目不转睛地向女儿瞥了一眼。
“妈妈，甭看我，甭看我，我就要哭了。”
“坐下，和我坐在一起呆一会儿吧，”伯爵夫人说。
“妈妈，我需要他。为什么就这样把我憋死，妈妈？……”她的语声猝然中断了，眼泪夺眶而出，为了不让人注意，她飞快地转身，从房里走出去了。她走到摆满沙发的休息室，站了一会，思忖片刻，便向女仆居住的房间走去。那里有一个老女仆对从奴仆那里跑来的婢女嘟嘟嚷嚷，户外的寒气噎得她喘不过气来。
“她要去玩啦，”老太婆说，“无论什么事都各有定时。”
“放开她吧，孔德拉季耶夫娜，”娜塔莎说道。“你去吧，玛夫鲁莎，你去吧。”
娜塔莎准许玛夫鲁莎走开后，便穿过大厅向外间走去。一个老头子和两个年轻的仆人正在打纸牌。当小姐走进房里来，他们停止打牌，站了起来。“我要对他们怎么办呢？”娜塔莎想了想。
“不错，尼基塔，请你走一趟……”（“我要派他去哪里呢？”）“是的，你到仆人那里去把一只公鸡送来；是的，米沙，你去拿点燕麦来。”
“您吩咐我去拿点燕麦吗？”米沙欣喜地、乐意地说。
“你去吧，快点去吧。”老头子再次地吩咐他。
“费奥多尔，你给我拿一段粉笔来。”
她走过小吃部时，吩咐生茶炊，虽然这时分根本不是饮茶的时候。
管理小吃部的福卡是全家中的一个脾气最大的人，娜塔莎喜欢在他身上试试她的权柄。他不相信她的话，便走去问个明白。
“这个小姐可真行！”福卡说，他对娜塔莎虚伪地装出一副愁眉苦脸的样子。
这个家庭中没有一个人像娜塔莎这样派遣出这么多的人，给他们布置这么多的事儿。她不能与己无关地望着这些人而不派遣他们到什么地方去做点什么事。她好像要试试他们之中有什么人会对她发怒，会对她生闷气，但是除开娜塔莎而外，人们并不喜欢执行任何人的命令。“我应该做什么事呢？我应该到哪里去呢？”娜塔莎在走廊中慢慢行走时这样思忖。
“纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜，我会生下个什么？”她问那个穿着女短棉袄向她迎面走来的侍从丑角。
“你生个跳蚤、蜻蜓、螽斯。”侍从丑角答道。
“我的天呀，我的天呀，老是说些同样的话。哎呀，我去哪里好呢？我怎么办好呢？”她两脚咚咚响地跑到约格尔那里去了，他和妻子住在楼上。有两个家庭女教师坐在约格尔那里，桌上摆着几盘葡萄干、胡桃和杏仁。家庭女教师正在谈论在什么地方居住比较便宜，在莫斯科，还是在敖得萨。娜塔莎坐了一会儿，她带着严肃的若有所思的表情听了听她们谈话，随即站起来。
“马达加斯加岛，”她说道。“马——达——加斯——加。”她把每个音节清晰地重说一遍，她不回答肖斯小姐向她所说的内容，就从房里走出去。
她的弟弟彼佳也在楼上，他和照管小孩的男仆在安放打算在晚上放的烟火。
“彼佳，彼得卡①，”她对着他大声喊道。“把我背下楼去。”彼佳跑到她眼前，把背转向她。她跳到他背上，用手搂住他的颈顶，他一蹦一跳地背着她往前奔跑。“不，用不着背了——马达加斯加岛。”她从他背上跳下来，说道，就走下楼去。
娜塔莎好像走遍了她自己的王国，试了试她的权力，她坚信，大家都服服贴贴，但她还觉得寂寞，于是走到了大厅，她拿起吉他坐在厨子后面昏暗的角落，开始弹出几个低音，弹奏她曾在彼得堡和安德烈公爵一同听过的歌剧中的短句。在别的听众看来，她用吉他弹奏的乐句毫无意义，但是这些乐音在她想象中却勾起许多回忆。她坐在厨子后面，把视线集中到小吃部的门里射出来的一道阳光上，她一面听她自己弹奏，一面回忆往事。她正处在回忆往事的状态中。 
①彼得卡是彼佳的爱称。
索尼娅拿着一只酒杯穿过大厅走进小吃部。娜塔莎望了望她，又望望小吃部的那条门缝，她仿佛觉得，她正在回想，有一道阳光从小吃部的门缝中射出来。索尼娅拿着酒杯走进去。“这情景和回忆不爽毫厘，”娜塔莎想了想。
“索尼娅，这是啥调儿？”娜塔莎用指头拨弄一根粗粗的琴弦时大声喊道。
“哦，你在这里呀！”索尼娅吓得颤抖了一下，然后说，她走到娜塔莎跟前，倾听她说话。“不知道。不是《暴风雨》吗？”
她胆怯地说，害怕说错了。
“唔，她还是像上次那样颤抖了一下，还是那样走到跟前来，畏缩地微微一笑，”娜塔莎想了想，“完全像现在这样……
我想了想，她身上还缺乏什么吧。”
“不对，这是《担水人》一曲中的合唱，你听见吗？”娜塔莎为了要让索尼娅能够听懂，便把合唱的曲子唱完了。
“你到哪里去了？”娜塔莎问道。
“去换一杯水。我马上就把图案描完了。”
“你总是忙得不亦乐乎，可是我就不在行，”娜塔莎说道。
“尼古连卡在哪里？”
“他好像正在睡觉。”
“索尼娅，你去把他喊醒，”娜塔莎说，“告诉他，我喊他唱歌。”她坐了一会儿，想想过去的一切意味着什么，她虽然没有解决这个问题，但一点也不觉得遗憾：她心里又在想象她跟他在一起、他用钟情的目光凝视她的情景。
“唉，他快点归来。我怕他不能回来啊！而主要是，我见老了，就是这么一回事！我以后决不会是现在这个模样了。他也许今天回来，马上就回来。他也许回来了，正坐在那个客厅里。他也许昨天就回来了，我竟忘怀了。”她站起来，放下吉他，到客厅里去。全家人、教师、家庭女教师和客人们都在茶桌旁就座。仆人们都站在桌子周围，可是安德烈公爵没有来，生活又跟以前一样了。
“啊，是她，”伊利亚·安德烈伊奇看见走进来的娜塔莎之后说。“喂，你坐到我身边来吧。”可是娜塔莎在母亲身旁停步，她环视四周，仿佛在寻找什么似的。
“妈妈！”她说道。“把他给我吧，给我吧，妈妈，快点，快点儿。”她又费劲地忍住，不号啕痛哭。
她在桌旁坐了一会，听听长辈和也向桌旁走来的尼古拉谈话。“我的天呀，我的天，还是那些同样的面孔，同样的谈话，爸爸还是拿着一只茶碗，仍旧对着茶碗吹气！”娜塔莎想道，因为他们依然如故，所以她惊恐地觉得自己心中升起了一阵对全家人的厌恶感。
喝完茶以后，尼古拉、索尼娅和娜塔莎都走到摆满沙发的休息室里去，都走到自己喜爱的角落，走到他们经常倾心交谈的地方去。
Book 7 Chapter 10
“DOES IT HAPPEN to you,” said Natasha to her brother, when they were settled in the divan-room, “to feel that nothing will ever happen—nothing; that all that is good is past? And it's not exactly a bored feeling, but melancholy?”
“I should think so!” said he. “It has sometimes happened to me that when everything's all right, and every one's cheerful, it suddenly strikes one that one's sick of it all, and all must die. Once in the regiment when I did not go to some merrymaking, and there the music was playing…and I felt all at once so dreary…”
“Oh, I know that feeling; I know it, I know it,” Natasha assented; “even when I was quite little, I used to have that feeling. Do you remember, once I was punished for eating some plums, and you were all dancing, and I sat in the schoolroom sobbing. I shall never forget it; I felt sad and sorry for every one, sorry for myself, and for every—every one. And what was the chief point, I wasn't to blame,” said Natasha; “do you remember?”
“I remember,” said Nikolay. “I remember that I came to you afterwards, and I longed to comfort you, but you know, I felt ashamed to. Awfully funny we used to be. I had a wooden doll then, and I wanted to give it you. Do you remember?”
“And do you remember,” said Natasha, with a pensive smile, “how long, long ago, when we were quite little, uncle called us into the study in the old house, and it was dark; we went in, and all at once there stood…”
“A Negro,” Nikolay finished her sentence with a smile of delight; “of course, I remember. To this day I don't know whether there really was a Negro, or whether we dreamed it, or were told about it.”
“He was grey-headed, do you remember, and had white teeth; he stood and looked at us…”
“Do you remember, Sonya?” asked Nikolay.
“Yes, yes, I do remember something too,” Sonya answered timidly.
“You know I have often asked both papa and mamma about that Negro,” said Natasha. “They say there never was a Negro at all. But you remember him!”
“Of course, I do. I remember his teeth, as if it were to-day.”
“How strange it is, as though it were a dream. I like that.”
“And do you remember how we were rolling eggs in the big hall, and all of a sudden two old women came in, and began whirling round on the carpet. Did that happen or not? Do you remember what fun it was?”
“Yes. And do you remember how papa, in a blue coat, fired a gun off on the steps?”
Smiling with enjoyment, they went through their reminiscences; not the melancholy memories of old age, but the romantic memories of youth, those impressions of the remotest past in which dreamland melts into reality. They laughed with quiet pleasure.
Sonya was, as always, left behind by them, though their past had been spent together.
Sonya did not remember much of what they recalled, and what she did remember, did not rouse the same romantic feeling in her. She was simply enjoying their pleasure, and trying to share it.
She could only enter into it fully when they recalled Sonya's first arrival. Sonya described how she had been afraid of Nikolay, because he had cording on his jacket, and the nurse had told her that they would tie her up in cording too.
“And I remember, I was told you were found under a cabbage,” said Natasha; “and I remember I didn't dare to disbelieve it then, though I knew it was untrue, and I felt so uncomfortable.”
During this conversation a maid popped her head in at a door leading into the divan-room.
“Miss, they've brought you a cock,” she said in a whisper.
“I don't want it, Polya; tell them to take it away,” said Natasha.
In the middle of their talk in the divan-room, Dimmler came into the room, and went up to the harp that stood in the corner. He took off the cloth-case, and the harp gave a jarring sound. “Edward Karlitch, do, please, play my favourite nocturne of M. Field,” said the voice of the old countess from the drawing-room.
Dimmler struck a chord, and turning to Natasha, Nikolay, and Sonya, he said, “How quiet you young people are!”
“Yes, we're talking philosophy,” said Natasha, looking round for a minute and going on with the conversation. They were talking now about dreams.
Dimmler began to play. Natasha went noiselessly on tiptoe to the table, took the candle, carried it away, and going back, sat quietly in her place. It was dark in the room, especially where they were sitting on the sofa, but the silver light of the full moon shone in at the big windows and lay on the floor.
“Do you know, I think,” said Natasha, in a whisper, moving up to Nikolay and Sonya, when Dimmler had finished, and still sat, faintly twanging the strings, in evident uncertainty whether to leave off playing or begin something new, “that one goes on remembering, and remembering; one remembers till one recalls what happened before one was in this world.…”
“That's metempsychosis,” said Sonya, who had been good at lessons, and remembered all she had learned. “The Egyptians used to believe that our souls had been in animals, and would go into animals again.”
“No, do you know, I don't believe that we were once in animals,” said Natasha, still in the same whisper, though the music was over; “but I know for certain that we were once angels somewhere beyond, and we have been here, and that's why we remember everything.…”
“May I join you?” said Dimmler, coming up quietly, and he sat down by them.
“If we had been angels, why should we have fallen lower?” said Nikolay. “No, that can't be!”
“Not lower…who told you we were lower?…This is how I know I have existed before,” Natasha replied, with conviction: “The soul is immortal, you know…so, if I am to live for ever, I have lived before too, I have lived for all eternity.”
“Yes, but it's hard for us to conceive of eternity,” said Dimmler, who had joined the young people, with a mildly condescending smile, but now talked as quietly and seriously as they did.
“Why is it hard to conceive of eternity?” said Natasha. “There will be to-day, and there will be to-morrow, and there will be for ever, and yesterday has been, and the day before.…”
“Natasha! now it's your turn. Sing me something,” called the voice of the countess. “Why are you sitting there so quietly, like conspirators?”
“Mamma, I don't want to a bit!” said Natasha, but she got up as she said it.
None of them, not even Dimmler, who was not young, wanted to break off the conversation, and come out of the corner of the divan-room; but Natasha stood up; and Nikolay sat down to the clavichord. Standing, as she always did, in the middle of the room, and choosing the place where the resonance was greatest, Natasha began singing her mother's favourite song.
She had said she did not want to sing, but it was long since she had sung, and long before she sang again as she sang that evening. Count Ilya Andreitch listened to her singing from his study, where he was talking to Mitenka, and like a schoolboy in haste to finish his lesson and run out to play, he blundered in his orders to the steward, and at last paused, and Mitenka stood silent and smiling before him, listening too. Nikolay never took his eyes off his sister, and drew his breath when she did. Sonya, as she listened, thought of the vast difference between her and her friend, and how impossible it was for her to be in ever so slight a degree fascinating like her cousin. The old countess sat with a blissful, but mournful smile, and tears in her eyes, and now and then she shook her head. She, too, was thinking of Natasha and of her own youth, and of how there was something terrible and unnatural in Natasha's marrying Prince Andrey.
Dimmler, sitting by the countess, listened with closed eyes. “No, countess,” he said, at last, “that's a European talent; she has no need of teaching: that softness, tenderness, strength…”
“Ah, I'm afraid for her, I'm afraid,” said the countess, not remembering with whom she was speaking. Her motherly instinct told her that there was too much of something in Natasha, and that it would prevent her being happy.
Natasha had not finished singing when fourteen-year-old Petya ran in great excitement into the room to announce the arrival of the mummers.
Natasha stopped abruptly.
“Idiot!” she screamed at her brother. She ran to a chair, sank into it, and broke into such violent sobbing that it was a long while before she could stop.
“It's nothing, mamma, it's nothing really, it's all right; Petya startled me,” she said, trying to smile; but the tears still flowed, and the sobs still choked her.
The mummers—house-serfs dressed up as bears, Turks, tavern-keepers, and ladies—awe-inspiring or comic figures, at first huddled shyly together in the vestibule, bringing in with them the freshness of the cold outside, and a feeling of gaiety. Then, hiding behind one another, they crowded together in the big hall; and at first with constraint, but afterwards with more liveliness and unanimity, they started singing songs, and performing dances, and songs with dancing, and playing Christmas games. The countess after identifying them, and laughing at their costumes, went away to the drawing-room. Count Ilya Andreitch sat with a beaming smile in the big hall, praising their performances. The young people had disappeared.
Half an hour later there appeared in the hall among the other mummers an old lady in a crinoline—this was Nikolay. Petya was a Turkish lady, Dimmler was a clown, Natasha a hussar, and Sonya a Circassian with eyebrows and moustaches smudged with burnt cork.
After those of the household who were not dressed up had expressed condescending wonder and approval, and had failed to recognise them, the young people began to think their costumes so good that they must display them to some one else.
Nikolay, who wanted to drive them all in his sledge, as the road was in capital condition, proposed to drive to their so-called uncle's, taking about a dozen of the house-serfs in their mummer-dress with them.
“No; why should you disturb the old fellow?” said the countess. “Besides you wouldn't have room to turn round there. If you must go, let it be to the Melyukovs'.”
Madame Melyukov was a widow with a family of children of various ages, and a number of tutors and governesses living in her house, four versts from the Rostovs'.
“That's a good idea, my love,” the old count assented, beginning to be aroused. “Only let me dress up and I'll go with you. I'll make Pashette open her eyes.”
But the countess would not agree to the count's going; for several days he had had a bad leg. It was decided that the count must not go, but that if Luisa Ivanovna (Madame Schoss) would go with them, the young ladies might go to Madame Melyukov's. Sonya, usually so shy and reticent, was more urgent than any in persuading Luisa Ivanovna not to refuse.
Sonya's disguise was the best of all. Her moustaches and eyebrows were extraordinarily becoming to her. Every one told her she looked very pretty, and she was in a mood of eager energy unlike her. Some inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be sealed, and in her masculine attire she seemed quite another person. Luisa Ivanovna consented to go; and half an hour later four sledges with bells drove up to the steps, their runners crunching, with a clanging sound, over the frozen snow.
Natasha was foremost in setting the tone of holiday gaiety; and that gaiety, reflected from one to another, grew wilder and wilder, and reached its climax when they all went out into the frost, and talking, and calling to one another, laughing and shouting, got into the sledges.
Two of the sledges were the common household sledges; the third was the old count's, with a trotting horse from Orlov's famous stud; the fourth, Nikolay's own, with his own short, shaggy, raven horse in the shafts. Nikolay, in his old lady's crinoline and a hussar's cloak belted over it, stood up in the middle of the sledge picking up the reins. It was so light that he could see the metal discs of the harness shining in the moonlight, and the eyes of the horses looking round in alarm at the noise made by the party under the portico of the approach.
Sonya, Natasha, Madame Schoss, and two maids got into Nikolay's sledge. In the count's sledge were Dimmler with his wife and Petya; the other mummers were seated in the other two sledges.
“You go ahead, Zahar!” shouted Nikolay to his father's coachman, so as to have a chance of overtaking him on the road.
The count's sledge with Dimmler and the others of his party started forward, its runners creaking as though they were frozen to the snow, and the deep-toned bell clanging. The trace-horses pressed close to the shafts and sticking in the snow kicked it up, hard and glittering as sugar.
Nikolay followed the first sledge: behind him he heard the noise and crunch of the other two. At first they drove at a slow trot along the narrow road. As they drove by the garden, the shadows of the leafless trees often lay right across the road and hid the bright moonlight. But as soon as they were out of their grounds, the snowy plain, glittering like a diamond with bluish lights in it, lay stretched out on all sides, all motionless and bathed in moonlight. Now and again a hole gave the first sledge a jolt; the next was jolted in just the same way, and the next, and the sledges followed one another, rudely breaking the iron-bound stillness.
“A hare's track, a lot of tracks!” Natasha's voice rang out in the frost-bound air.
“How light it is, Nikolenka,” said the voice of Sonya.
Nikolay looked round at Sonya, and bent down to look at her face closer. It was a quite new, charming face with black moustaches, and eyebrows that peeped up at him from the sable fur—so close yet so distant—in the moonlight.
“That used to be Sonya,” thought Nikolay. He looked closer at her and smiled.
“What is it, Nikolenka?”
“Nothing,” he said, and turned to his horses again.
As they came out on the trodden highroad, polished by sledge runners, and all cut up by the tracks of spiked horseshoes visible in the snow in the moonlight—the horses of their own accord tugged at the reins and quickened their pace. The left trace-horse, arching his head, pulled in jerks at his traces. The shaft-horse swayed to and fro, pricking up his ears as though to ask: “Are we to begin or is it too soon?” Zahar's sledge could be distinctly seen, black against the white snow, a long way ahead now, and its deep-toned bell seemed to be getting further away. They could hear shouts and laughter and talk from his sledge.
“Now then, my darlings!” shouted Nikolay, pulling a rein on one side, and moving his whip hand. It was only from the wind seeming to blow more freely in their faces, and from the tugging of the pulling trace-horses, quickening their trot, that they saw how fast the sledge was flying along. Nikolay looked behind. The other sledges, with crunching runners, with shouts, and cracking of whips, were hurrying after them. Their shaft-horse was moving vigorously under the yoke, with no sign of slackening, and every token of being ready to go faster and faster if required.
Nikolay overtook the first sledge. They drove down a hill and into a wide, trodden road by a meadow near a river.
“Where are we?” Nikolay wondered. “Possibly Kosoy Meadow, I suppose. But no; this is something new I never saw before. This is not the Kosoy Meadow nor Demkin hill. It's something—there's no knowing what. It's something new and fairy-like. Well, come what may!” And shouting to his horses, he began to drive by the first sledge. Zahar pulled up his horses and turned his face, which was white with hoar-frost to the eyebrows.
Nikolay let his horses go; Zahar, stretching his hands forward, urged his on. “Come, hold on, master,” said he.
The sledges dashed along side by side, even more swiftly, and the horses' hoofs flew up and down more and more quickly. Nikolay began to get ahead. Zahar, still keeping his hands stretched forward, raised one hand with the reins.
“Nonsense, master,” he shouted. Nikolay put his three horses into a gallop and outstripped Zahar. The horses scattered the fine dry snow in their faces; close by they heard the ringing of the bells and the horses' legs moving rapidly out of step, and they saw the shadows of the sledge behind. From different sides came the crunch of runners over the snow, and the shrieks of girls. Stopping his horses again, Nikolay looked round him. All around him lay still the same enchanted plain, bathed in moon-light, with stars scattered over its surface.
“Zahar's shouting that I'm to turn to the left, but why to the left?” thought Nikolay. “Are we really going to the Melyukovs'; is this really Melyukovka? God knows where we are going, and God knows what is going to become of us—and very strange and nice it is what is happening to us.” He looked round in the sledge.
“Look, his moustache and his eyelashes are all white,” said one of the strange, pretty, unfamiliar figures sitting by him, with fine moustaches and eyebrows.
“I believe that was Natasha,” thought Nikolay; “and that was Madame Schoss; but perhaps it's not so; and that Circassian with the moustaches I don't know, but I love her.”
“Aren't you cold?” he asked them. They laughed and did not answer. Dimmler from the sledge behind shouted, probably something funny, but they could not make out what he said.
“Yes, yes,” voices answered, laughing.
But now came a sort of enchanted forest with shifting, black shadows, and the glitter of diamonds, and a flight of marble steps, and silver roofs of enchanted buildings, and the shrill whine of some beasts. “And if it really is Melyukovka, then it's stranger than ever that after driving, God knows where, we should come to Melyukovka,” thought Nikolay.
It certainly was Melyukovka, and footmen and maid-servants were running out with lights and beaming faces.
“Who is it?” was asked from the entrance.
“The mummers from the count's; I can see by the horses,” answered voices.
“你是否常有这种情形，”当他们在摆满沙发的休息室里坐下来，娜塔莎对哥哥说，“你仿佛认为，将来不会发生什么事情，不会发生什么事情，一切美好的事情都已成为明日黄花？不是说令人愁闷，而是说忧郁，你是否常有这种情形？” 
“有，别提多么好啦！”他说，“我常有这种情形，一切都很称心，大家十分高兴，可是我忽然想到，一切令人厌烦，大家要去见阎王了。有一回，我没有出席兵团里的游园会，那里正在奏乐……我忽然感到厌烦……”
“啊呀，这个我知道，我知道，我知道”娜塔莎接着说。
“当我还是小女孩的时候，我也有过这样的情形。你总记得，有一次因为李子的事情我被处罚了，你们大家都在跳舞，而我却坐在教室里嚎啕大哭，这件事我永远不会忘记：那时候我感到忧愁并且可怜大伙儿，也可怜自己，可怜所有的人。主要是，我没有过错，”娜塔莎说道，“你还记得么？”
“记得。”尼古拉说，“我记得，后来我向你身边走去，我想安慰你，你要知道，我感到很不好意思。我们都太可笑了。
当时我有个木偶玩具，我想送给你。你记得么？”
“你总记得吧，”娜塔莎若有所思地微笑，她说道，“很久很久以前，我们还是个小孩的时候，叔叔把我们叫到旧屋的书斋里去，暗得很，我们一走进来，忽然间有个人站在那里……”
“黑人奴仆，”尼古拉含着愉快的微笑说完这句话，“怎么会记不得呢？直至目前我也不知道，这个人就是黑人奴仆，或者是我们做了一个梦，或者是别人对我们讲的。”
“他这个黑人灰溜溜的，你总记得，可是他露出雪白的牙齿，他站着，观看我们……”
“您记得吗，索尼娅？”尼古拉问道……
“记得，我记得，我也记得一点。”索尼娅胆怯地回答……“我不是向爸爸妈妈问过这个黑人嘛，”娜塔莎说，“他们说，没有任何黑人奴仆。你不是还记得很清楚嘛！”
“可不是，他的牙齿我至今还记忆犹新。”
“多么奇怪，真像做过一个梦。我喜欢这个。”
“你总记得，我们在大厅里滚鸡蛋，忽然有两个老太婆在地毯上打转转。有没有这回事？多么轻松愉快，还记得吧？”
“是的。你总记得，爸爸穿着蓝皮袄站在台阶上放了一枪？”他们面露微笑，怀着回忆往事的喜悦心情，不是忧悒的老者的回顾，而是富有诗情画意的青春的回忆——他们逐一回想那些梦景和现实融为一体的久远的印象，不知为什么而感到高兴，不时地发出轻微的笑声。
尽管他们有着共同的回忆，但是索尼娅像平常一样比他们落伍。
他们回忆的往事中，索尼娅已经忘记许多了，而她所记得的往事在她心中也不会激起他们所体验到的那种感情。她只是竭力地效法他们，分享他们的欢乐。
在他们回忆起索尼娅首次来到他们家中的时候，她才参加谈话。索尼娅讲到她害怕尼古拉，因为他的夹克上有几根绦带，保姆对她说，也要给她的上衣缝几根绦带。
“我可还记得，有人对我说，你是在白菜下面出生的，”娜塔莎说，“我还记得，我当时不敢不相信，但是我知道，这不是实话，这也就使我感到尴尬了。”
在谈话时，一个女佣从休息室的后门探出头来。
“小姐，有人把公鸡拿来了。”那个女仆用耳语说。
“用不着了，波利娅①，吩咐他们把它拿走吧。”娜塔莎说。
他们在摆满沙发的休息室谈话，谈到半中间的时候，季姆勒走进房里来，他走到放在角落里的竖琴前面，取下那覆盖竖琴的呢子布，竖琴发出走调的响声。
“爱德华·卡尔雷奇，请您弹奏一首我爱听的菲尔德先生的Nocturne②吧。”从客厅里传来老伯爵夫人的语气。 
①波利娅是佩拉格娅的小名。
②法语：夜曲。约翰·菲尔德（1782～1837）——钢琴家和作曲家，他以钢琴协奏曲和夜曲而闻名于世。1804—1831年间定居于彼得堡，讲授课程并举行音乐会。
季姆勒弹奏了和弦，把脸转向娜塔莎、尼古拉和索尼娅，说道：
“嗬，年轻人乖乖地坐着啊！”
“我们谈论哲学问题吧。”娜塔莎说，她回顾片刻，之后继续谈话。此时的话题是梦幻。
季姆勒开始弹琴。娜塔莎踮着脚尖儿一声不响地走到桌旁，拿起蜡烛，把它移开，就往回头走，静静地坐在原来的位子上。这间房里，特别是他们坐的沙发那儿很昏暗，但是一轮满月的银辉透过几扇大窗户照在地板上。
“你要知道，我想，”娜塔莎向尼古拉和索尼娅身边靠拢一些，用耳语说，这时候季姆勒弹奏完毕，仍旧坐在那里，轻盈地拨弄琴弦，心中犹豫不决，就这样罢休呢，还是再弹点新花样。我想，“如果这样回想，再回想，总是这样回想，就会回想起在我还没有出世之前我所记得的事情……”
“这就是灵魂的转生，”索尼娅说道，她一向学习成绩优良，什么都记得很牢。“埃及人相信我们的灵魂曾经附在牲畜身上，以后又会回归到牲畜身上。”
“不对，你知道，我不相信我们曾经附在牲畜身上这种看法，”尽管已经停止了弹奏，但是娜塔莎还用耳语说话，“我的确知道，我们曾在某个地方是安琪儿，而且到过这个地方，因此我们什么都记得很牢……”
“我可以加入你们一伙吗？”悄悄地走到他们跟前来的季姆勒说道，并且在他们身旁坐下。
“既然我们曾经是安琪儿，那末我们怎么会降到更低的地方？”尼古拉说道，“不对，这不可能！”
“不是更低，谁对你说更低呢？……为什么我知道我前世是什么，”娜塔莎以坚定的口气驳斥。“要知道灵魂是不朽的……因此，只要我是永生的，那末我从前也活着，永恒地活着。”
“不过，对我们来说永恒是难以想象的。”季姆勒说，他流露着温顺而鄙夷的笑容走到年轻人跟前，但是这时候他也像他们一样低声而严肃地说话。
“为什么说永恒是难以想象的？”娜塔莎说，“有今天，有明白，永无止镜，有昨日，有前日……”
“娜塔莎！现在轮到你了。你给我唱个什么曲子，”这时可以听见伯爵夫人的语声，“你们为什么要在这儿坐得太久，就像一伙阴谋家似的？”
“妈妈，我很不想唱。”娜塔莎说道，而且站起来。
他们大家，甚至连年纪不轻的季姆勒也不想停止谈话和离开休息室的这个角落，但是娜塔莎站起来，于是尼古拉就在击弦古钢琴旁边坐下。像平常一样，娜塔莎站在大厅正中间，选了个最聚音的地方，开始唱一支她母亲爱听的乐曲。
她说她不想唱歌，但在很久以前和此后很久都没有这天晚上唱得那样好。伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇和米坚卡在书斋里谈话，听到她的歌声，就像个急忙想去玩耍的学童快点把功课做完那样，给管家下命令时语无伦次，终于不吭声了，米坚卡也默默无语地听她唱，面露微笑地站在伯爵前面。尼古拉目不转睛地望着妹妹，和她一同喘息。索尼娅一面听着，一面想到，她和她的朋友之间的差距多么大，她怎么不能像她表妹那样令人倾倒即使有一点也好。老伯爵夫人坐在那里，流露出幸福而忧悒的微笑，眼睛里噙满泪水，有时摇摇头。也想到娜塔莎，想到自己的青年时代，她想到娜塔莎和安德烈公爵快要办的这门婚事中有某种不寻常的令人担忧的东西。
季姆勒在伯爵夫人身旁坐下来，合上眼睛，听他们说话。
“伯爵夫人，不过，”他终于开口说话，“这是欧洲的天才，她没有什么可学的了，这种和善、温存、强而有力……”
“噢，我多么替她担忧，我多么担忧。”伯爵夫人说，她忘记在和谁说话。她那母亲的嗅觉对她说，不知道娜塔莎身上的什么东西显得太多了，所以她将来不会幸福。娜塔莎还没有唱完曲子，面露喜色的十四步的彼佳跑进房里来，通知大家，说有一些穿化装衣服的人来了。
娜塔莎忽然站住了。
“傻瓜！”她对她哥哥喊道，跑到了椅子前面，倒在椅子上，号啕大哭起来，之后哭了很久也没有罢休。
“妈妈，没什么，真的没什么，是怎么回事：彼佳吓唬我了。”她说着，极力地露出微笑，但是眼泪籁籁地流，啜泣使她透不过气来。
家仆们一个个化装成狗熊、土耳其人、小饭店老板和太太，既可怕，又可笑，随身带来了冷气和欢乐，最初他们畏葸葸地蜷缩在接待室里，然后互相躲在背后挤入了大厅，起初有点羞羞答答，后来就越来越快活，越来越和谐地唱歌、跳舞、跳轮舞，做圣诞节日的游戏。伯爵夫人认清了面孔，对着穿化装衣服的人笑了一阵子，便走进客厅里去。伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇坐在大厅中笑逐颜开，赞美玩耍的人。一些轻年人不知溜到哪里去了。
半小时后，还有一个穿着鲸须架式筒裙的老夫人在大厅的其他一些身穿化装衣服的人中间出现了——这是尼古拉。彼佳化装成土耳其女人。季姆勒扮成丑角，娜塔莎扮成骠骑兵，索尼娅扮成切尔克斯人（有一副用软木炭画的胡子和眉毛）。
在没有穿上化装衣服的人们宽厚地对他们表示惊叹、表示认不清庐山真面目、并且表示赞美之后，年轻人都一致认为装束十分美观，还应当到别人面前去展示一番。
尼古拉心里想用他的三架雪橇运载着他们所有的人在畅通的大道上游玩一下，他建议随带十名穿上化装衣服的家仆去大叔那里走一趟。
“不行，你们干嘛要使老头子难堪！”伯爵夫人说。“他那里连个转身的地方都没有。真要去的话，那就去梅柳科娃家。”
梅柳科娃是一个遗孀，她住在离罗斯托夫家四俄里的地方，有几个不同年龄的孩子，也雇有几个男女家庭教师。
“我亲爱的，好主意，”振作起精神来的老伯爵附和着说，“让我立刻化起装来和你们同去吧。我的确要使帕金塔打起精神来。”
然而伯爵夫人不准伯爵走，因为他那条腿痛了好几天了。他们决定，伊利亚·安德烈耶维奇不去，如果路易萨·伊万诺夫娜（肖斯小姐）一定要去，那么小姐们都可以乘车到梅柳科娃家里去。一向胆怯、羞羞答答的索尼娅最坚决地央求路易萨·伊万诺夫娜不要拒绝她们去。
索尼娅打扮得比谁都漂亮。她那用软木炭画的胡子和眉毛对她非常相称。大家都对她说，她很好看。她显得异常兴奋和精神充沛，这种情绪对她来说是不一般的。一种发自内心的声音对她说，或许是今天决定她的命运，或许是永远也不能决定，她穿上男人的服装，好像完全变成另外一个人了。路易萨·伊万诺夫娜答应了，半个钟头之后，四辆带有铃鼓，铃铛的三架雪橇开到了台阶前面，滑铁在冰冻的雪地上发出咯吱咯吱的响声。
娜塔莎头一个发出圣诞节狂欢的口令并以愉快情绪互相感染着，越来越热烈，当大家走到严寒的户外，彼此叫喊，互相呼应，谈笑风生，坐上雪橇的时候，狂欢情绪到达了顶峰。
驿马驮着前二辆三驾雪橇，老伯爵乘坐第三辆雪橇，由奥尔洛夫的大走马驾辕，尼古拉乘坐私人的第四辆雪橇，由他那匹矮身量的、毛烘烘的黑马驾辕。尼古拉穿着一件老太婆的衣裳，外面披上束紧腰带的骠骑兵斗篷，拉紧缰绳站在这几辆雪橇的中间。
天还很亮，他看见搭扣和辕马的眼睛在月亮下发出反光，这几匹马儿惊恐地望着那些在黑暗的台阶上的遮阳下喧嚷喊叫的骑者。
娜塔莎、索尼娅、肖斯小姐和两个丫头坐在尼古拉的雪橇上。季姆勒偕同妻子和彼佳坐在老伯爵的雪橇上，化装的仆役分别坐在其馀几辆雪橇上。
“扎哈尔，你先走吧！”尼古拉对父亲的马车夫喊了一声，但意欲乘机于途中赶到前面去。
季姆勒和其他几个化装的人乘坐的老伯爵的那辆三驾雪橇上，滑铁好像冻结在雪上似的，咯吱咯吱地作响，不时地听见低沉的叮叮当当的铃声，雪橇开始向前移动了。两匹拉边套的马紧紧地贴近车辕，马蹄陷进雪地里，翻卷起坚硬得有如白糖似的闪闪发光的积雪。
尼古拉跟在第一辆三驾雪橇后面出发了，其他几辆雪橇在后面发出咯咯吱吱的响声。最初在狭窄的路上跑快步。当他们从花园近旁驶过的时候，光秃秃的树木的阴影常常横断道路，遮蔽明亮的月光，但是他们一驶出围墙，整个洒满月光的一动不动的雪原就像钻石似的发出灰蓝色的反光，从四面展现出来。前面的雪橇在行驶时碰到了一个坑洼，颠簸了一两下，后面的几辆雪橇也同样地碰到了坑洼，这几辆雪橇莽莽撞撞地打破禁锢着的寂静，开始拉开距离向前驶去。
“野兔的脚印，很多的脚印！”在冰冻天气的冷空气中传来娜塔莎的说话声。
“看得多么清楚啊，尼古拉！”可以听见索尼娅的说话声。尼古拉掉转头来望望索尼娅，他俯下身子凑近她，谛视她的面孔。那张和从前迥然不同的可爱的面孔从貂皮围脖下面显露出来，软木炭画的眉毛和胡子黑黝黝的，在月色映照之下似近又远。
“这还是从前的那个索尼娅。”尼古拉想了一下。他从更近的地方看看她，微微一笑。
“您怎么，尼古拉？”
“没什么。”他说，又向那几匹马转过脸去。
走上了平整的大路，路面给滑铁磨得锃亮，在月光映照之下可以看见纵横交错的马掌钉的印痕，这些马儿不自觉地拉紧缰绳，加快了步速。那匹在左首拉边套的马低垂着头，时而轻轻拉一下挽索。辕马摇晃着身子，动动耳朵，好像在发问：“现在就开始，或者是还早？”扎哈尔的黑色的雪橇在白皑皑的雪地上还可以看得清楚，但是它已经驶到很远的前方去了，低沉的铃声也渐渐隔远了。可以听见他的雪橇中传来的喊声、欢笑声和化装的人们的说话声。
“喂，加把劲，亲爱的！”尼古拉喊了一声，轻轻地拉着一根缰绳，放开挥扬马鞭的手。只凭那仿佛迎面吹来的越吹越大的风声、拉紧挽缰和加速飞奔的拉边套的辕马的牵动，就可以明显地意识到，三驾雪橇何等迅速地飞奔。尼古拉回头望了一眼，另外几辆雪橇也赶上前来，扬起马鞭驱使辕马飞奔，雪橇中传来一片呐喊声和尖叫声。那匹辕马在轭下坚毅地晃地身子，没有考虑减低步速，于必要时情愿加一把劲，再加一把劲。
尼古拉赶上了第一辆三驾雪橇。他们从一座山上驶行下来，已经驶到河边草地中轧宽的路上。
“我们在什么地方行驶呢？”尼古拉想了想，“想必是在科索伊草地上。不对，这是个我从未见过的新地方。这不是科索伊草地，也不是焦姆金山，天知道这是个啥地方啊！这是个什么神奇的新地方。不管那是个什么地方啊！”他对几匹马大喝一声，开始绕过第一辆三驾雪橇。
扎哈尔勒住马，把他那一直到眉毛上挂满霜的脸转过来。
尼古拉撒开他的几匹马，扎哈尔向前伸出他自己的两只手，吧嗒一下嘴，也撒开他自己的马。
“喂，少爷，沉住气。”他说道。几辆并排的三驾雪橇驶行得更快，疾驰的马儿飞快地变换脚步。尼古拉冲到前面去了。扎哈尔还没有改变向前伸出两手的姿势，微微地抬起他那只紧握缰绳的手。
“少爷，不对头。”他向尼古拉嚷道。尼古拉让那几匹马向前飞跃，终于赶过了扎哈尔。马在疾跑时翻卷起微小而干爽的雪粒，撒到那些乘车人的脸上，他们身边可以听见繁密的铿锵的响声，急速地移动的马蹄和被赶过的三驾雪橇的阴影乱成一团了。从雪地的四面传来滑铁咯吱咯吱的响声和妇女们刺耳的尖叫声。
尼古拉又勒住马，向周遭望了一眼。四下里仍旧是繁星闪耀的、完全沉浸在月光中的神奇的平原。
“扎哈尔叫我向左边走，可是干嘛要向左边走呢？”尼古拉想道。“难道我们是驶向梅柳科娃家吧？难道这就是梅柳科娃的村庄吗？天知道我们在哪里驶行，天知道我们会发生什么事情。不过我们现在感到非常奇怪而且舒畅。”他朝雪橇里瞥了一眼。
“你瞧，他的胡髭和睫毛全是白的。”一个坐在雪橇里的长着细胡子、细眉毛、样子古怪而清秀的陌生人说。
“这个人好像是娜塔莎，”尼古拉想了想，“这是肖斯小姐，也许不是，这个有胡髭的切尔克斯人，我不知道她是谁，可是我爱她。”
“你们不觉得冷吗？”他问道。他们不答话，哈哈大笑起来。坐在后面那辆雪橇上的季姆勒不知道在喊什么，也许是可笑的事情，可是他喊什么，听不清楚。
“对，对，”可以听见有几个人一面发笑，一面回答。
“不过，这是一座仙境般的树林，黑色的树荫和钻石般闪耀的光点互相辉映，还有一长排穿廊式的大理石台阶，神奇的建筑物的银顶，可以听见野兽刺耳的尖叫声。设若这真是梅柳科娃的村庄，那就更加奇怪了，天知道我们在哪里行驶，我们总算来到了梅柳科娃的村庄。”尼古拉想道。
这真是梅柳科娃的村庄，一些丫头和仆人拿着蜡烛，露出愉快的面容跑到大门口。
“这是什么人啊？”有人在大门口问道。
“看看那些马，我就晓得，这是化了装的伯爵家里的人，”
可以听见几个人回答的声音。
Book 7 Chapter 11
PELAGEA DANILOVNA MELYUKOV, a broad-shouldered, energetic woman in spectacles and a loose house dress, was sitting in her drawing-room, surrounded by her daughters, and doing her utmost to keep them amused. They were quietly occupied in dropping melted wax into water and watching the shadows of the shapes it assumed, when they heard the noise of steps in the vestibule, and the voices of people arriving.
The hussars, fine ladies, witches, clowns, and bears, coughing and rubbing the hoar-frost off their faces, came into the hall, where they were hurriedly lighting candles. The clown—Dimmler—and the old lady—Nikolay—opened the dance. Surrounded by the shrieking children, the mummers hid their faces, and disguising their voices, bowed to their hostess and dispersed about the room.
“Oh, there's no recognising them. And Natasha! See what she looks like! Really, she reminds me of some one. How good Edward Karlitch is! I didn't know him. And how he dances! Oh, my goodness, and here's a Circassian too, upon my word; how it suits Sonyushka! And who's this? Well, you have brought us some fun! Take away the tables, Nikita Vanya. And we were sitting so quiet and dull!”
“Ha—ha—he!…The hussar, the hussar! Just like a boy; and the legs!…I can't look at him,…” voices cried.
Natasha, the favourite of the young Melyukovs, disappeared with them into rooms at the back of the house, and burnt cork and various dressing-gowns and masculine garments were sent for and taken from the footman by bare, girlish arms through the crack of the half-open door. In ten minutes all the younger members of the Melyukov family reappeared in fancy dresses too.
Pelagea Danilovna, busily giving orders for clearing the room for the guests and preparing for their entertainment, walked about among the mummers in her spectacles, with a suppressed smile, looking close at them and not recognising any one. She not only failed to recognise the Rostovs and Dimmler, but did not even know her own daughters, or identify the masculine dressing-gowns and uniforms in which they were disguised.
“And who is this?” she kept saying, addressing her governess and gazing into the face of her own daughter disguised as a Tatar of Kazan. “One of the Rostovs, I fancy. And you, my hussar, what regiment are you in, pray?” she asked Natasha. “Give the Turk a preserved fruit,” she said to the footman carrying round refreshments; “that's not forbidden by his law.”
Sometimes, looking at the strange and ludicrous capers cut by the dancers, who, having made up their minds once for all that no one recognised them, were quite free from shyness, Pelagea Danilovna hid her face in her handkerchief, and all her portly person shook with irrepressible, good-natured, elderly laughter.
“My Sashinette, my Sashinette!” she said.
After Russian dances and songs in chorus, Pelagea Danilovna made all the party, servants and gentry alike, join in one large circle. They brought in a string, a ring, and a silver rouble, and began playing games.
An hour later all the fancy dresses were crumpled and untidy. The corked moustaches and eyebrows were wearing off the heated, perspiring, and merry faces. Pelagea Danilovna began to recognise the mummers. She was enthusiastic over the cleverness of the dresses and the way they suited them, especially the young ladies, and thanked them all for giving them such good fun. The guests were invited into the drawing-room for supper, while the servants were regaled in the hall.
“Oh, trying one's fate in the bath-house, that's awful!” was said at the supper-table by an old maiden lady who lived with the Melyukovs.
“Why so?” asked the eldest daughter of the Melyukovs.
“Well, you won't go and try. It needs courage…”
“I'll go,” said Sonya.
“Tell us what happened to the young lady,” said the second girl.
“Well, it was like this,” said the old maid. “The young lady went out; she took a cock, two knives and forks, and everything proper, and sat down. She sat a little while, and all of a sudden she hears some one coming—a sledge with bells driving up. She hears him coming. He walks in, precisely in the shape of a man, like an officer, and sat down beside her at the place laid for him.”
“Ah! ah!…” screamed Natasha, rolling her eyes with horror.
“But what did he do? Did he talk like a man?”
“Yes, like a man. Everything as it should be, and began to try and win her over, and she should have kept him in talk till the cock crew; but she got frightened,—simply took fright, and hid her face in her hands. And he caught her up. Luckily the maids ran in that minute…”
“Come, why are you scaring them?” said Pelagea Danilovna.
“Why, mamma, you tried your fate yourself…” said her daughter.
“And how do they try fate in a granary?” asked Sonya.
“Why, at a time like this they go to the granary and listen. And according to what you hear,—if there's a knocking and a tapping, it's bad; but if there's a sound of sifting corn, it is good. But sometimes it happens…”
“Mamma, tell us what happened to you in the granary?”
Pelagea Danilovna smiled.
“Why, I have forgotten…” she said. “I know none of you will go.”
“No, I'll go. Pelagea Danilovna, do let me, and I'll go,” said Sonya.
“Oh, well, if you're not afraid.”
“Luisa Ivanovna, may I?” asked Sonya.
Whether they were playing at the ring and string game, or the rouble game, or talking as now, Nikolay did not leave Sonya's side, and looked at her with quite new eyes. It seemed to him as though to-day, for the first time, he had, thanks to that corked moustache, seen her fully as she was. Sonya certainly was that evening gay, lively, and pretty, as Natasha had never seen her before.
“So, this is what she is, and what a fool I have been!” he kept thinking, looking at her sparkling eyes, at the happy, ecstatic smile dimpling her cheeks under the moustache. He had never seen that smile before.
“I'm not afraid of anything,” said Sonya. “May I go at once?” She got up. They told Sonya where the granary was; how she was to stand quite silent and listen, and they gave her a cloak. She threw it over her head and glanced at Nikolay.
“How exquisite that girl is!” he thought. “And what have I been thinking about all this time?”
Sonya went out into the corridor to go to the granary. Nikolay hastily went out to the front porch, saying he was too hot. It certainly was stuffy indoors from the crowd of people.
Outside there was the same still frost, the same moonlight, only even brighter than before. The light was so bright, and there were so many stars sparkling in the snow, that the sky did not attract the eye, and the real stars were hardly noticeable. The sky was all blackness and dreariness, the earth all brightness.
“I'm a fool; a fool! What have I been waiting for all this time?” thought Nikolay; and running out into the porch he went round the corner of the house along the path leading to the back door. He knew Sonya would come that way. Half-way there was a pile of logs of wood, seven feet long. It was covered with snow and cast a shadow. Across it and on one side of it there fell on the snow and the path a network of shadows from the bare old lime-trees. The wall and roof of the granary glittered in the moonlight, as though hewn out of some precious stone. There was the sound of the snapping of wood in the garden, and all was perfect stillness again. The lungs seemed breathing in, not air, but a sort of ever-youthful power and joy.
From the maid-servants' entrance came the tap of feet on the steps; there was a ringing crunch on the last step where the snow was heaped, and the voice of the old maid said:
“Straight on, along this path, miss. Only don't look round!”
“I'm not afraid,” answered Sonya's voice, and Sonya's little feet in their dancing-shoes came with a ringing, crunching sound along the path towards Nikolay.
Sonya was muffled up in the cloak. She was two paces away when she saw him. She saw him, too, not as she knew him, and as she was always a little afraid of him. He was in a woman's dress, with towzled hair, and a blissful smile that was new to Sonya. She ran quickly to him.
“Quite different, and still the same,” thought Nikolay, looking at her face, all lighted up by the moon. He slipped his hands under the cloak that covered her head, embraced her, drew her to him, and kissed the lips that wore a moustache and smelt of burnt cork. Sonya kissed him full on the lips, and putting out her little hands held them against his cheeks on both sides.
“Sonya!…Nikolenka!…” was all they said. They ran to the granary and went back to the house, each at their separate door.
佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜·梅柳科娃是一个敦实的、精力充沛的女人，戴一副眼镜，穿一件对襟无扣的宽大的连衣裙，坐在客厅中，几个女儿围在她身边，她想方设法不使她们感到烦闷。她们正在慢慢地倒出蜡烛油，当接待室传来一些来客的步履声和说话声的时候，她们就望着几个走出去的人影。 
化装成骠骑兵、太太、巫婆、丑角、狗熊的人在接待室里咳嗽几声，清清嗓子，擦干净挂了霜的面孔，然后进入人们急急忙忙地点燃蜡烛的大厅。化装成丑角的季姆勒和化装成太太的尼古拉首先跳起舞来。那些被乱喊乱叫的儿童围住的化装的人，蒙着脸，改变了嗓子，在女主人面前鞠躬行礼，然后在房里叉开腿站着。
“啊，没法认出来！是娜塔莎么！你们瞧，她像谁啊！说真的，像个什么人。爱德华·卡尔雷奇多么清秀啊！我认不出来。他跳得真棒！啊，我的爷呀！切尔克斯人扮得出色，说真的，索纽什卡扮这个角色多么合适。这又是什么人啊？唔，令人高兴！尼基塔，万尼亚，把这些桌子挪开。我们还安闲地坐着哩！”
“哈——哈——哈！……骠骑兵，骠骑兵啊！她真像个男孩子，看看那双脚！……我看不清晰……”可以听见许多人的说话声。
娜塔莎，梅柳科娃家里的年轻人最喜爱的人，和他们一同溜进那后面的房间里去了，在这里，几个少女的裸露的手从那敞开的门里接过一名男仆递来的她们所必需的软木炭、各种各样的长衫和男人的服装。过了十分钟，梅柳科娃家里的年轻人便和化了装的人们汇合在一起了。
佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜吩咐给客人空出地方来，宴请主人和仆人，她没有取下眼镜，忍住笑，在那些化装的人们中间来回地走着，凑近他们，谛视他们的面孔，一个人也不认识。她非但不认识罗斯托夫家里的人和季姆勒，怎么也认不出她自己的几个女儿，怎么也认不出她们穿的她丈夫的几种长衫和制服。
“这是谁的什么人呀？”她仔细望着化装成喀山鞑靼人的她的女儿的面孔，一面把脸转向家庭女教师，说道。“看来好像是罗斯托夫家里的什么人。喂，骠骑兵先生，您在什么兵团服役呢？”她问娜塔莎。“给土耳其人一点果子软糕吧。”她对那个拿着食品绕行一周的小吃部管事说，“他们的规矩不禁止吃这种食品。”
有时候佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜望着这些跳舞的人，他们断然地认为只要化了装，谁也认不出他们。因此不觉得害羞；看见他们跳出古怪而且滑稽可笑的舞步时，她就用手绢蒙着脸，因为她这个慈祥的老太婆忍不住，笑出声来，所以她整个肥胖的身子不住地颤抖。
“我的小萨沙，小萨沙！”她说。
在跳完俄罗斯舞和轮舞以后，佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜让所有的仆人和主人聚在一起，围成一个大圈子，拿来了一枚戒指、一根绳子和一个卢布，做各种集体游戏。
过了一个钟头以后，大家穿的衣裳都给揉皱了，凑乱不堪了。在那淌着热汗的、发红的、显得愉快的脸上，软木炭画的胡子和眉毛都给弄得模模糊糊了。佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜开始认出这些化装跳舞的人，赞美服装做得很雅观，尤其是姑娘们穿起来觉得合身。她感谢所有的人，使她快活一阵子。她邀请客人在客厅中宵夜，吩咐在大厅中宴请仆人们。
“不，在浴室里占卜，这太可怕了！”吃夜宵的时候，那个住在梅柳科娃家里的老处女说。
“那是为什么？”梅柳科娃的长女问道。
“您去不成，要有勇气……”
“我一定要去。”索尼娅说。
“告诉我，这个小姐出了什么事？”梅柳科娃的次女说。
“对，是这么回事，有个小姐已经到浴室去了。”老处女说，她拿走一只公鸡、两套餐具，她所做的正是理应做的事，她在那里坐下来。坐了一会儿，她只听见，忽然间有辆车子开来……一辆雪橇驶近了，铃铛和铃鼓发出叮叮当当的响声，她听见有个人走来。那个人完全和人一样，好像是一个军官，走进来，坐在她身旁，拿起餐具用膳。”
“啊！啊！……”娜塔莎惊骇万状，瞪起眼睛大声喊叫。
“它怎么样，和我们人这样说话吗？”
“对，就像人一样，什么都像人一样，他于是开始、开始规劝她，她本想应酬他，一直谈到鸡鸣破晓，可是她胆怯起来，简直胆怯得用手蒙住眼睛。他把她托起来了。好在这时候有几个姑娘跑过来了……”
“唔，怎么要吓唬她们啊！”佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜说道。
“妈妈，要知道您自己也占卜过……”女儿说。
“在粮仓里怎样占卜呢？”索尼娅问道。
“最好是现在就到粮仓里去，听听那里的响声。若是听到敲打得咚咚响，就是凶兆，若是听到装谷的响声，就是吉兆，否则就是……”
“妈妈，告诉我，您在粮仓里遇到了什么？”
佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜微微一笑。
“怎么啦，我已经忘了……”她说，“你们谁都去不成，是吗？”
“不，我一定要去，佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜，让我去吧，我一定要去。”索尼娅说道。
“唔，如果你不怕，那没有什么，就可以去。”
“路易莎·伊万诺夫娜，我可以去吗？”索尼娅问道。
无论是做戒指游戏、做绳子游戏，或者做卢布游戏，还是像此刻这样聊天，尼古拉都未曾离开索尼娅身边，他用迥然不同的新眼光看待她。他好像觉得，多亏这副软木炭画的胡子，今天他才首次充分地认识她了。这天晚上索尼娅的确相当快乐、活泼而且漂亮，尼古拉从未看见她有过这副模样。
“瞧，她多么漂亮，可是我却是个笨蛋！”他一面想道，一面望着她那闪闪发亮的眼睛和显得幸福的得意的微笑，这一笑使那胡子下面的面颊现出了一对酒靥。
“我什么也不怕，”索尼娅说，“可以立刻去吗？”她站起来。旁人告诉她，粮仓在什么地方，她应当站在那儿谛听，然后就把一件皮袄递给她。她把皮袄披在头上，向尼古拉望了一眼。
“这个少女多么迷人！”他想了想。“到眼前为止我一直在想什么啊！”
索尼娅走到通往粮仓的走廊上，尼古拉说他觉得很热，急忙向正门庭阶走去。这幢屋子里挤满了人，的确十分闷热。
户外仍然是停滞不动的寒气，仍然是一轮皓月，只是显得更加明亮罢了。光线是那么强，雪地上的星星是那么繁多，直教人不想抬头去仰望夜空。真正的星星反而不太显眼。天空里一片昏暗，异常寂寞，而地球之上则分外欢乐。
“我是笨蛋，一个笨蛋！我直至目前还在等待着什么？”尼古拉想了想，他跑步走到正门庭阶上，沿着一条通往后门庭阶的小经绕过了屋角。他晓得索尼娅会到这里来。数立方俄丈的垛起来的木柴摆放在道路中间，被积雪覆盖着，可以看见木柴的影子，光秃秃的老菩提树的阴影交错在一起，它超过木柴并从侧面投射在积雪和小径上。这条小径通往粮仓。原木造的粮仓的墙壁和被积雪覆盖着的屋顶就像是用宝石凿出来的，在目光下熠熠生辉。花园里的一颗树喀嚓响了一声，后又鸦雀无声了。心胸呼吸的仿佛不是空气，而是永恒的青春的活力和喜悦。
女仆住房前面的台阶上响起了咯吱咯吱的步履声，被积雪覆盖的最后一级阶梯上发出响亮的回声，可以听见老处女的说话声：
“一直向前走，沿着这条小径一直向前走，小姐，只不过别回头望！”
“我不怕。”可以听见索尼娅回答的声音，她沿着一条朝向尼古拉身边的小径走来，她那穿着精致的短靿皮鞋的小脚，踩在地上发出咯吱咯吱的响声。
索尼娅裹着一件皮袄向前走去。当她看见尼古拉的时候，她呆在离他两步路的地方，她看见他已不是她从前认识并在平时有点骇人的他了。他穿着一件女人的连衣裙，头发蓬乱，流露着幸福的、索尼娅未曾看见的微笑。索尼娅很快地跑到他眼前。
“完全是另外一个样子，可是仍然是原来的人，”尼古拉一面思忖，一面注视她那被月光照耀的脸蛋。他把他的两只手伸进蒙着她的头部的皮袄下面，搂住她，让她紧紧贴着自己，吻吻她的嘴唇，那两撇画在嘴唇上面的胡子发散着烧焦的软木的气味。索尼娅对准他的嘴唇中间吻了一下，抽出一双小手托住他的两颊。
“索尼娅！……”“尼古拉！……”他们只说出这几个词。他们都跑到粮仓前面，之后各人从各人的台阶上下来，走回去了。
Book 7 Chapter 12
WHEN THEY WERE ALL DRIVING BACK from Pelagea Danilovna's, Natasha, who always saw and noticed everything, managed a change of places, so that Luisa Ivanovna and she got into the sledge with Dimmler, while Sonya was with Nikolay and the maids.
Nikolay drove smoothly along the way back, making no effort now to get in front. He kept gazing in the fantastic moonlight at Sonya, and seeking, in the continually shifting light behind those eyebrows and moustaches, his own Sonya, the old Sonya, and the Sonya of to-day, from whom he had resolved now never to be parted. He watched her intently, and when he recognised the old Sonya and the new Sonya, and recalled, as he smelt it, that smell of burnt cork that mingled with the thrill of the kiss, he drew in a deep breath of the frosty air, and as he saw the earth flying by them, and the sky shining above, he felt himself again in fairyland.
“Sonya, is it well with thee?” he asked her now and then.
“Yes,” answered Sonya. “And thee?”
Half-way home, Nikolay let the coachman hold the horses, ran for a moment to Natasha's sledge, and stood on the edge of it.
“Natasha,” he whispered in French, “do you know I have made up my mind about Sonya?”
“Have you told her?” asked Natasha, beaming all over at once with pleasure.
“Ah, how strange you look with that moustache and those eyebrows, Natasha! Are you glad?”
“I'm so glad; so glad! I was beginning to get cross with you. I never told you so, but you have not been treating her nicely. Such a heart as she has, Nikolenka. I am so glad! I'm horrid sometimes; but I felt ashamed of being happy without Sonya,” Natasha went on. “Now, I'm so glad; there, run back to her.”
“No; wait a moment. Oh, how funny you look!” said Nikolay, still gazing intently at her; and in his sister, too, finding something new, extraordinary, and tenderly bewitching that he had never seen in her before. “Natasha, isn't it fairylike? Eh?”
“Yes,” she answered, “you have done quite rightly.”
“If I had seen her before as she is now,” Nikolay was thinking, “I should have asked her long ago what to do, and should have done anything she told me, and it would have been all right.”
“So you're glad,” he said, “and I have done right?”
“Oh, quite right! I had a quarrel with mamma about it a little while age. Mamma said she was trying to catch you. How could she say such a thing! I almost stormed at mamma. I will never let any one say or think any harm of her, for there's nothing but good in her.”
“So it's all right?” said Nikolay, once more gazing intently at his sister's expression to find out whether that were the truth. Then he jumped off the sledge and ran, his boots crunching over the wet snow, to his sledge. The same happy, smiling Circassian, with a moustache and sparkling eyes, peeping from under the sable hood, was still sitting there, and that Circassian was Sonya, and that Sonya was for certain now his happy and loving future wife.
On reaching home, the young ladies told the countess how they had spent the time at the Melyukov's, and then went to their room. They changed their dresses, but without washing off their moustaches, sat for a long while talking of their happiness. They talked of how they would live when they were married, how their husbands would be friends, and they would be happy. Looking-glasses were standing on Natasha's table, set there earlier in the evening by Dunyasha, and arranged in the traditional way for looking into the future.
“Only when will that be? I'm so afraid it never will be.…It would be too happy!” said Natasha, getting up and going to the looking-glasses.
“Sit down, Natasha, perhaps you will see him,” said Sonya.
Natasha lighted the candles and sat down. “I do see some one with a moustache,” said Natasha, seeing her own face.
“You mustn't laugh, miss,” said Dunyasha.
With the assistance of Sonya and the maid, Natasha got the mirrors into the correct position. Her face took a serious expression, and she was silent. For a long while she went on sitting, watching the series of retreating candles reflected in the looking-glasses, and expecting (in accordance with the tales she had heard) at one minute to see a coffin, at the next to see him, Prince Andrey, in the furthest, dimmest, indistinct square. But ready as she was to accept the slightest blur as the form of a man or of a coffin, she saw nothing. She began to blink, and moved away from the looking-glass.
“Why is it other people see things and I never see anything?” she said. “Come, you sit down, Sonya; to-day you really must. Only look for me … I feel so full of dread to-day!”
Sonya sat down to the looking-glass, got the correct position, and began looking.
“You will see, Sonya Alexandrovna will be sure to see something,” whispered Dunyasha, “you always laugh.”
Sonya heard these words, and heard Natasha say in a whisper: “Yes, I know she'll see something; she saw something last year too.” For three minutes all were mute.
“Sure to!” whispered Natasha, and did not finish.… All at once Sonya drew back from the glass she was holding and put her hand over her eyes. “O Natasha!” she said. “Seen something? Seen something? What did you see?” cried Natasha, supporting the looking-glass. Sonya had seen nothing. She was just meaning to blink and to get up, when she heard Natasha's voice say: “Sure to!” … She did not want to deceive either Dunyasha or Natasha, and was weary of sitting there. She did not know herself how and why that exclamation had broken from her as she covered her eyes.
“Did you see him?” asked Natasha, clutching her by the hand.
“Yes. Wait a bit.… I … did see him,” Sonya could not help saying, not yet sure whether by him Natasha meant Nikolay or Andrey. “Why not say I saw something? Other people see things! And who can tell whether I have or have not?” flashed through Sonya's mind.
“Yes, I saw him,” she said.
“How was it? How? Standing or lying down?”
“No, I saw … At first there was nothing; then I saw him lying down.”
“Andrey lying down? Is he ill?” Natasha asked, fixing eyes of terror on her friend.
“No, on the contrary—on the contrary, his face was cheerful, and he turned to me”; and at the moment she was saying this, it seemed to herself that she really had seen what she described.
“Well, and then, Sonya? …”
“Then I could make out more; something blue and red.…”
“Sonya, when will he come back? When shall I see him? My God! I feel so frightened for him, and for me, and frightened for everything …” cried Natasha; and answering not a word to Sonya's attempts to comfort her, she got into bed, and long after the candle had been put out she lay with wide-open eyes motionless on the bed, staring into the frosty moonlight through the frozen window-panes.
当他们大家离开佩拉格娅·丹尼洛夫娜乘坐雪橇回去的时候，向来把什么都看在眼里、对什么都注意的娜塔莎，给大家安排好了坐位，路易萨·伊万诺夫娜跟她，还有季姆勒都坐进同一辆雪橇，索尼娅、尼古拉和几个侍女坐在一起。 
在归途中，尼古拉已经不争先恐后地催马疾驰，而是平稳地驶行。在那神奇的月光之下，他不时地打量索尼娅，借着已改变一切的月色，从那用软木炭画的眉毛和胡子后面寻找他从前的索尼娅和现在的索尼娅，他已经下定决定永远不离开她了。他不时地打量，当他认得像从前一样的索尼娅和另外一个索尼娅、而且想到软木炭的气味夹杂着接吻的感觉时，他深深呼吸寒冷的空气，一面注视后退的地面和星光闪耀的天空，他觉得自己又置身于仙境。
“索尼娅，你觉得舒畅吗？”他有时这样发问。
“舒畅，”索尼娅答道。“而你觉得怎样？”
在半路上，尼古拉叫马车夫把马勒住一会儿，他跑到娜塔莎的雪橇前面呆上分把钟，站在跨杠上。
“娜塔莎，”他用法国话低声对她说，“你可要知道，我和索尼娅的事，已经决定了。”
“你对她说了吗？”娜塔莎问道，她忽然高兴得容光焕发起来。
“噢，你脸上画着胡子和眉毛，显得多么古怪，娜塔莎！
你很高兴吗？”
“我真高兴，真高兴！我已经生你的气了。我虽然没有对你说，但是你对待她很不好。尼古拉，这是一颗怎样的心啊，我多么高兴！我常常令人可憎，但是我一个人觉得幸运，索尼娅不在身边，我觉得不好意思，”娜塔莎继续说下去，“现在我真够高兴了，喂，你跑去找她吧。”
“不过，等一等，你多么滑稽可笑啊！”尼古拉说道，他不时地端详她，他在妹妹身上也发现一种他前所未睹的新的、不平常的、令人神往的温柔。“娜塔莎，有几分神奇，是不是？”
“是的，”她回答，“你做得真够出色。”
“如果我从前看见她是现在这个模样，”尼古拉想道，“我老早就会问她应该怎样办，不管她吩咐我做什么事，我样样都会办好，那就一切称心了。”
“你真高兴，这么说，我做得出色啦？”
“咳，真出色呀！不久前我和妈妈为了这件事争吵起来了。妈妈说她要拉拢你。怎么可以这样说呢？我几乎要跟妈妈相骂了。我从来不让任何人说她的坏话，对她怀有坏的想法，因为她身上只有好的一面。”
“真够出色吗？”尼古拉说，又一次审视妹妹的面部表情，想要弄清楚她是否说了真话，这时只听见他那双皮靴吱吱响，他从跨杠上跳下来，朝他自己的雪橇跑去。她仍旧是那个幸福的笑容可掬的切尔克斯人，她有一副八字胡子和两只闪闪发亮的眼睛，从貂皮风帽下面向四外观看，她坐在那儿，这个切尔克斯人就是索尼娅，而这个索尼娅想必就是他未来的、幸福的、爱他的妻子。
小姐们回到家里以后，向母亲讲到她们怎样在梅柳科娃家里度过这一段时光，之后各人回到各人房里去。她们脱下衣服，但是没有抹去软木炭画的胡子，坐在那里，坐了很久，谈论自己的幸福。她们说到她们出嫁后怎样生活，她们的丈夫怎样和睦，她们会感到多么幸福。娜塔莎的桌上还摆着杜尼亚莎前夜给她准备好的几面镜子。
“只不过在什么时候这一切才能实现？我恐怕永远都没法……假如能够实现，那就太好了！”娜塔莎说道，她一面站立起来，走到镜子面前。
“娜塔莎，请坐，也许你能看见他。”索尼娅说。娜塔莎点燃蜡烛，坐下来了。
“我看见一个有两撇胡子的人。”娜塔莎看见自己的面孔时说。
“小姐，用不着发笑。”杜尼亚莎说。
娜塔莎在索尼娅和女仆的帮助下找到了一个摆放镜子的地方，她脸上带着严肃的表情，默不作声。她长久地坐着，从镜中观看一排逐渐消逝的蜡烛，她推测（根据她听见的故事来设想），在末了融入一个模糊不清的正方形的烛光中，时而瞧见一口棺材，时而瞧见他——安德烈公爵。但是不管她怎样想把一个最小的黑点视为人或者棺材的形象，她仍旧什么都看不见。她常常眨眼，从镜子旁边走开。
“为什么别人看得见，而我却看不见呢？”她说，“喂，你坐下吧，索尼娅，今天你一定应该，”她说道，“只不过为我……今天我可真害怕啦！”
索尼娅在镜子前面坐下来，装作一副照镜子的架势，她于是观看起来。
“瞧，索菲娅·阿历山德罗夫娜一定能看见，”杜尼亚莎轻声地说，“您总是发笑。”
索尼娅听见这些话，并且听见娜塔莎用耳语说：
“我知道，她准能看见，因为她旧年也看见了。”她们大家莫约静默了三分钟。“一定能看见！”娜塔莎用耳语说，没有把话说完……索尼娅忽然移开她拿着的那面镜子，用一只手捂住眼睛。
“噢，娜塔莎！”她说道。
“看见吗？看见吗？看见什么呀？”娜塔莎托着镜子，喊叫起来。
索尼娅什么也看不见，她刚想眨眨眼睛，站起来，这时她听见娜塔莎的说话声，她说：“一定看得见！”……她既不想欺骗杜尼亚莎，也不想欺骗娜塔莎，她坐在那里觉得难受。她本人并不知道，当她捂住眼睛的时候，她怎么会、为什么会不由自主地叫了一声。
“看见他吗？”娜塔莎抓着她的手问道。
“是的。等一等……我……看见他了，”索尼娅情不自禁地说，尽管还不晓得，娜塔莎言下的他指的是谁，他指的是尼古拉，或者他指的是安德烈。
“可是为什么不说我看见了？要知道别人都看得见啊！谁会揭穿我，说我看见了，或者说没有看见呢？”这个念头在索尼娅的头脑里闪了一下。
“是的，我看见他了。”她说。
“是个啥样子？是个啥样子？他是站着，还是躺着？”
“不过，我看见了……本来并没有什么，我忽然看见他躺着。”
“安德烈躺着？他病了么？”娜塔莎带着惊惶失措的表情，目不转睛地望着女友，问道。
“不，恰恰相反，恰恰相反，是一副愉快的面孔，他向我转过脸来。”当她说话的时候，她好像觉得，她看见了她说的那种情状。
“喂，后来怎样，索尼娅？”
“这时我没有看清楚，有一种既蓝而又红的物体……”
“索尼娅，他在什么时候回来呢？我在什么时候可以看见他！我的天呀！我多么替他也替自己担心，为一切担惊受怕啊……”娜塔莎说道，她对索尼娅的安慰一言不答，躺到床上，熄灭蜡烛之后长久地闭上眼睛，一动不动地躺在床上，透过结冰的窗户，望着寒冷的月光。
Book 7 Chapter 13
SOON AFTER THE CHRISTMAS FêTES were over, Nikolay spoke to his mother of his love for Sonya, and his immovable resolution to marry her. The countess had long before observed what was passing between Sonya and Nikolay, and was expecting this announcement. She listened to his words without comment, and then told her son that he could marry whom he chose, but that neither she nor his father would give their blessing to such a marriage. For the first time in his life Nikolay felt that his mother was displeased with him, that in spite of all her love for him she would not give way to him. Coldly, without looking at her son, she sent for her husband; and when he came in, the countess would have briefly and coldly, in Nikolay's presence, told him her son's intention, but she could not control herself, burst into tears of anger, and went out of the room. The old count began irresolutely persuading and entreating Nikolay to give up his intention. Nikolay replied he could not be false to his word, and his father, sighing and visibly embarrassed, quickly cut short the conversation and went in to the countess. In all difficulties with his son, the old count could never lose his sense of guiltiness to him for having wasted their fortunes, and so he could not feel angry with his son for refusing to marry an heiress and choosing the portionless Sonya. He only felt more keenly that if their fortune had not been squandered, no better wife could have been desired for Nikolay than Sonya; and that he, with his Mitenka and his invincible bad habits, was alone to blame for their fortune having been squandered. The father and mother did not speak of the subject again with their son; but a few days later the countess sent for Sonya to her room, and with a cruelty that surprised them both, the countess upbraided her niece for alluring her son and for ingratitude. Sonya, with downcast eyes, listened in silence to the countess's cruel words, and did not understand what was expected of her. She was ready to sacrifice everything for her benefactors. The idea of self-sacrifice was her favourite idea. But in this case she could not see whom and what she ought to sacrifice. She could not help loving the countess and all the Rostov family, but neither could she help loving Nikolay and knowing that his happiness depended on that love. She was silent and dejected; she made no reply. Nikolay could not, so he fancied, endure this position any longer, and he went in to his mother to have it out with her. Nikolay first besought his mother to forgive him and Sonya and to agree to their marriage; then threatened his mother that if Sonya were persecuted he would at once marry her in secret. The countess, with a coldness her son had never seen before, replied that he was of full age, that Prince Andrey was marrying without his father's consent, and that he could do the same, but that she would never receive that intriguing creature as her daughter.
Stung to fury by the words “intriguing creature,” Nikolay, raising his voice, told his mother that he had never expected her to try and force him to tell his feelings, and that since it was so, then for the last time he … But he had not time to utter the fatal word, which his mother seemed, from her expression, to be awaiting in terror, and which would, perhaps, have remained a cruel memory between them for ever. He had not time to finish, because Natasha, who had been listening at the door, ran into the room with a pale and set face.
“Nikolenka, you are talking nonsense; hush, hush, hush! I tell you hush!” … she almost screamed to overpower his voice.
“Mamma, darling, it's not at all so … my sweet, poor darling,” she said, turning to her mother, who gazed in terror at her son, feeling herself on the edge of an abyss; but in the obstinacy and heat of the conflict unwilling and unable to give in. “Nikolenka, I'll explain to you; you go away—listen, mamma, darling,” she said to her mother.
Her words were incoherent, but they attained the effect at which she was aiming.
The countess, with a deep sob, hid her face on her daughter's bosom, while Nikolay got up, clutched at his head, and went out of the room.
Natasha set to work to bring about a reconciliation, and succeeded so far that Nikolay received a promise from his mother that Sonya should not be worried, and himself made a promise that he would take no step without his parents' knowledge.
Firmly resolved to settle things in his regiment, to retire, come home, and marry Sonya, Nikolay at the beginning of January went back to his regiment, sad and serious at being on bad terms with his parents, but, as it seemed to him, passionately in love.
After Nikolay's departure, it was more depressing than ever in the Rostovs' house. The countess fell ill from the emotional strains she had passed through.
Sonya was depressed at parting from Nikolay, and still more at the hostile tone the countess could not help adopting towards her. The count was more worried than ever by the difficulties of his position, which called for some decisive action. It was necessary to sell the Moscow house and the estate near Moscow, and to do so it was necessary to go to Moscow. But the countess's illness forced them to put off going from day to day. Natasha, who had at first borne the separation from her betrothed so easily and even cheerfully, grew now more impatient and overstrung every day. The thought that her best time, that might have been spent in loving him, was being wasted like this for no object, continually fretted her. Prince Andrey's letters generally angered her. It mortified her to think that while she was simply living in the thought of him, he was living a real life, seeing new places and new people who were interesting to him. The more interesting his letters were, the more they vexed her. Her letters to him, far from giving her comfort, were looked upon by her as a wearisome and artificial duty. She could not write, because she could not attain to expressing truly in a letter a thousandth part of what she habitually expressed in voice and smile and eyes. She wrote him formal letters, all on one pattern. She did not attach the smallest importance to them herself, and the countess corrected the mistakes in spelling in the rough copy of them. The countess's health still did not mend, but the visit to Moscow could be deferred no longer. The trousseau had to be got, the house had to be sold, and Prince Andrey was to arrive first in Moscow, where his father was spending the winter, and Natasha believed that he had already arrived there. The countess was left in the country, and towards the end of January the count took Sonya and Natasha with him to Moscow.
圣诞节节期之后不久，尼古拉告诉母亲他钟爱索尼娅并且向她表白他将娶她为妻的决心。伯爵夫人早就发觉索尼娅和尼古拉之间发生的爱情，而且预料到他会吐露衷肠，因此她默不作声地听他说话，并且对她儿子说，他想和谁结婚就可以和谁结婚，不过无论是她还是父亲对这种婚事决不会为他祝福。尼古拉首次感到，母亲对他不满意，尽管她十分爱他，她也决不会向他让步。她态度冷淡，不朝儿子望上一眼，就派人去把她丈夫找来，当他来到后，伯爵夫人想在儿子面前简短地冷静地告诉丈夫是怎么回事，但她忍不住，懊恼得痛哭流涕并从房里走出去了。老伯爵开始犹豫不决地规劝尼古拉，想使他感到内疚，要他放弃自己的打算。尼古拉回答，说他决不能违背自己的诺言，于是父亲叹了一口气，看来他感到困惑不安，很快就停止讲话，到伯爵夫人那里去了。虽然他和儿子争吵，但是他常常意识到，他的事业受到挫折，因而在男儿面前犯有过错，儿子拒绝娶那个有钱的未婚女子，而挑选没有嫁妆的索尼娅，他不能因为此事而对他儿子表示忿懑，——只有这时他才更加鲜明地想到，如果不是事业受到挫折，对尼古拉来说，决不能指望找到一个比索尼娅更好的妻子，事业受到挫折只能归罪于他和他的米坚卡，还有他那不可克服的习惯势力。 
父亲和母亲不再向儿子谈论这件事，在这之后过了几天，伯爵夫人把索尼娅喊到身边，显现出她们二人都意料不到的残酷无情的样子，狠狠地责备外甥女引诱她儿子，责备她忘恩负义。索尼娅默默无言，低垂着眼帘，谛听伯爵夫人的残酷的话语，她不明白到底对她有什么要求。她愿意为恩人们牺牲一切。自我献身的思想是她珍爱的思想，但是在这种情况下，她没法明了，她应当为谁作出什么牺牲。她不能不爱伯爵夫人和罗斯托夫全家人，但是她也不能不爱尼古拉，她没法知道她的幸福取决于这种爱情。她默默无言，怏怏不乐，没有回答她的话。尼古拉仿佛觉得，他再也不能忍受这种情状，他于是去向母亲表白一番。尼古拉时而央求母亲宽恕他和索尼娅，答应他们结婚，时而威吓母亲，并且宣称，如果有人迫害索尼娅，他就要马上秘密和她结婚。
伯爵夫人带着他从未见过的冷淡的表情回答他的话，说他是个成年人，并说安德烈公爵未经他父亲同意贸然结婚了，他可以如法泡制，但她永远也不会承认这个女阴谋家是自己的女儿。
女阴谋家这个词触怒了尼古拉，他抬高嗓门对母亲说，他从未想过她竟然强迫他出卖自己的感情，如果是这样，那么他就要最后一次说……但是他还来不及说出这句果断的话，母亲就凭他的面部表情看出他要说这句话，她惊惶失措地等待他开口，这句话也许永远成为他们之间的沉痛的回忆。他来不及把话说完，因为娜塔莎在门边偷听到了，她脸色苍白，神态严肃，从门口走进房里来。
“尼古连卡。你在说废话，住嘴吧，住嘴吧！我对你说，住嘴吧！……”为了压住他的声音，她几乎在叫喊。
“亲爱的，妈妈，这根本不是由于……我的心肝，可怜的妈妈，”她向妈妈转过脸来，妈妈觉得她自己濒临于痛苦，处于决裂的边缘，恐惧地望着儿子，但因她执拗，残酷斗争，所以她不想，也不能退让。
“尼古连卡，我给你讲讲清楚，你走开——亲爱的妈妈，您听我说吧。”她对母亲说。
她说的话毫无意义，但是得到了她渴望得到的结果。
伯爵夫人忧悒地啜泣，把脸藏在女儿怀里，可是尼古拉站了起来，心惊胆战，从房里走出去了。
娜塔莎着手调停，结果母亲答应不迫害不欺压索尼娅，而尼古拉答应不隐瞒双亲采取任何行动。
尼古拉毅然决定，办妥兵团的事务以后，就离职回家和索尼娅结婚，尼古拉神情忧悒而严肃，与双亲失和，但是他仿佛觉得，他沉溺于热恋之中，遂于元月初动身回兵团。
尼古拉离开之后，罗斯托夫家中比任何时候更忧郁了。伯爵夫人由于心绪不佳而害病了。
索尼娅因与尼古拉别离，更因伯爵夫人禁不住会用敌对的腔调和她谈话，所以她觉得十分忧愁。伯爵已显得比任何时候更为忧虑不安，因为境况恶劣，所以不得不采取果断措施。他们务必出售莫斯科的住房和莫斯科近郊的领地，而为售出住房他们必须前往莫斯科。然而伯爵夫人的健康情况迫使他们将行期日复一日地推迟。
娜塔莎轻松地、甚至愉快地熬过了她刚和未婚夫离别的孤寂的时日，现在一日日变得更加焦急和难以忍耐了。她原想把她那美好的时光用来和他谈情说爱，可是如今她却不为任何人将韶光虚度，这种思绪无止无休地使她难受。他的来信多半会引发她的怒气。如今她以全副精神关注他，而他在过真正的生活，观察那些他颇感兴趣的地方和新人物，当她想到这一点，心里就感到十分委屈。他的书信愈益有趣，她就愈益觉得懊丧。她给他写的信，不仅不能给她以安慰，反而被她视为索然无味的虚伪的义务。她不擅长于写信，因为她不能在信中真实地表达她惯于用那语声、微笑和眼神所表达的千分之一的情感。她给他写信，封封都一样，枯燥而乏味，她自己对它毫不重视，伯爵夫人多次替她改正草稿中的拼写错误。
伯爵夫人的病体始终未见痊愈，然而他们已经不能推迟这次莫斯科之行了。务必要备办嫁妆，售出住房，除此而外，必须在莫斯科等候安德烈公爵，今冬尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵正住在莫斯科，娜塔莎相信，安德烈公爵已经到达莫斯科了。
伯爵夫人尚且待在乡下，伯爵偕同索尼娅和娜塔莎，乃于元月底启程着往莫斯科。
Book 8 Chapter 1
AFTER PRINCE ANDREY'S ENGAGEMENT to Natasha, Pierre suddenly, for no apparent reason, felt it impossible to go on living in the same way as before. Firm as his belief was in the truths revealed to him by his benefactor, the old freemason, and happy as he had been at first in the task of perfecting his inner spiritual self, to which he had devoted himself with such ardour, yet after Prince Andrey's engagement to Natasha, and the death of Osip Alexyevitch, the news of which reached him almost simultaneously, the whole zest of his religious life seemed to have suddenly vanished. Nothing but the skeleton of life remained: his house with his brilliant wife, now basking in the favours of a very grand personage indeed, the society of all Petersburg, and his service at court with its tedious formalities. And that life suddenly filled Pierre with unexpected loathing. He gave up keeping his diary, avoided the society of brother-masons, took to visiting the club again and to drinking a great deal; associated once more with gay bachelor companions, and began to lead a life so dissipated that Countess Elena Vassilyevna thought it necessary to make severe observations to him on the subject. Pierre felt that she was right; and to avoid compromising his wife he went away to Moscow.
In Moscow, as soon as he entered his huge house with the faded and fading princesses, his cousins, and the immense retinue of servants, as soon as, driving through the town, he saw the Iversky chapel with the lights of innumerable candles before the golden setting of the Madonna, the square of the Kremlin with its untrodden snow, the sledge-drivers, and the hovels of Sivtsev Vrazhok; saw the old Moscow gentlemen quietly going on with their daily round, without hurry or desire of change; saw the old Moscow ladies, the Moscow balls, and the English Club—he felt himself at home, in a quiet haven of rest. In Moscow he felt comfortable, warm, at home, and snugly dirty, as in an old dressing-gown.
All Moscow society, from the old ladies to the children, welcomed Pierre back like a long-expected guest, whose place was always ready for him, and had never been filled up. For the Moscow world, Pierre was the most delightful, kind-hearted, intellectual, good-humoured, and generous eccentric, and a heedless and genial Russian gentleman of the good old school. His purse was always empty, because it was always open to every one.
Benefit-entertainments, poor pictures and statues, benevolent societies, gypsy choruses, schools, subscription dinners, drinking parties, the masons, churches, and books—no one and nothing ever met with a refusal, and had it not been for two friends, who had borrowed large sums of money from Pierre and constituted themselves guardians of a sort over him, he would have parted with everything. Not a dinner, not a soirée took place at the club without him.
As soon as he was lolling in his place on the sofa, after a couple of bottles of Margaux, he was surrounded by a circle of friends, and arguments, disputes, and jokes sprang up round him. Where there were quarrels, his kindly smile and casually uttered jokes were enough to reconcile the antagonists. The masonic dining lodges were dull and dreary when he was absent.
When after a bachelor supper, with a weak and good-natured smile, he yielded to the entreaties of the festive party that he would drive off with them to share their revels, there were shouts of delight and triumph. At balls he danced if there were a lack of partners. Girls and young married ladies liked him, because he paid no special attention to any one, but was equally amiable to all, especially after supper. “He is charming; he is of no sex,” they used to say of him.
Pierre was just a kammerherr, retired to end his days in Moscow, like hundreds of others. How horrified he would have been if, seven years before, when he had just come home from abroad, any one had told him that there was no need for him to look about him and rack his brains, that the track had long ago been trodden, marked out from all eternity for him, and that, struggle as he would, he would be just such another as all men in his position. He could not have believed it then! Had he not longed with his whole heart to establish a republic in Russia; then to be himself a Napoleon; then to be a philosopher; and then a great strategist and the conqueror of Napoleon? Had he not passionately desired and believed in the regeneration of the sinful race of man and the schooling of himself to the highest point of perfect virtue? Had he not founded schools and hospitals and liberated his serfs?
But instead of all that, here he was the wealthy husband of a faithless wife, a retired kammerherr, fond of dining and drinking, fond, too, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat after dinner, of indulging in a little abuse of the government, a member of the Moscow English Club, and a universal favourite in Moscow society. For a long while he could not reconcile himself to the idea that he was precisely the retired Moscow kammerherr, the very type he had so profoundly scorned seven years before.
Sometimes he consoled himself by the reflection that it did not count, that he was only temporarily leading this life. But later on he was horrified by another reflection, that numbers of other men, with the same idea of its being temporary, had entered that life and that club with all their teeth and a thick head of hair, only to leave it when they were toothless and bald.
In moments of pride, when he was reviewing his position, it seemed to him that he was quite different, distinguished in some way from the retired kammerherrs he had looked upon with contempt in the past; that they were vulgar and stupid, at ease and satisfied with their position, “while I am even now still dissatisfied; I still long to do something for humanity,” he would assure himself in moments of pride. “But possibly all of them too, my fellows, struggled just as I do, tried after something new, sought a path in life for themselves, and have been brought to the same point as I have by the force of surroundings, of society, of family, that elemental force against which man is powerless,” he said to himself in moments of modesty. And after spending some time in Moscow he no longer scorned his companions in destiny, but began even to love them, respect them, and pity them like himself.
Pierre no longer suffered from moments of despair, melancholy, and loathing for life as he had done. But the same malady that had manifested itself in acute attacks in former days was driven inwards and never now left him for an instant. “What for? What's the use? What is it is going on in the world?” he asked himself in perplexity several times a day, instinctively beginning to sound the hidden significance in the phenomena of life. But knowing by experience that there was no answer to these questions, he made haste to try and turn away from them, took up a book, or hurried off to the club, or to Apollon Nikolaevitch's to chat over the scandals of the town.
“Elena Vassilyevna, who has never cared for anything but her own body, and is one of the stupidest women in the world,” Pierre thought, “is regarded by people as the acme of wit and refinement, and is the object of their homage. Napoleon Bonaparte was despised by every one while he was really great, and since he became a pitiful buffoon the Emperor Francis seeks to offer him his daughter in an illegal marriage. The Spaniards, through their Catholic Church, return thanks to God for their victory over the French on the 14th of June, and the French, through the same Catholic Church, return thanks to God for their victory over the Spaniards on the same 14th of June. My masonic brothers swear in blood that they are ready to sacrifice all for their neighbour, but they don't give as much as one rouble to the collections for the poor, and they intrigue between Astraea and the manna-seekers, and are in a ferment about the authentic Scottish rug, and an act, of which the man who wrote it did not know the meaning and no one has any need. We all profess the Christian law of forgiveness of sins and love for one's neighbour—the law, in honour of which we have raised forty times forty churches in Moscow—but yesterday we knouted to death a deserter; and the minister of that same law of love and forgiveness, the priest, gave the soldier the cross to kiss before his punishment.”
Such were Pierre's reflections, and all this universal deception recognised by all, used as he was to seeing it, was always astounding him, as though it were something new. “I understand this deceit and tangle of cross-purposes,” he thought, “but now am I to tell them all I understand? I have tried and always found that they understood it as I did, at the bottom of their hearts, but were only trying not to see it. So I suppose it must be so! But me—what refuge is there for me?” thought Pierre.
He suffered from an unlucky faculty—common to many men, especially Russians—the faculty of seeing and believing in the possibility of good and truth, and at the same time seeing too clearly the evil and falsity of life to be capable of taking a serious part in it. Every sphere of activity was in his eyes connected with evil and deception. Whatever he tried to be, whatever he took up, evil and falsity drove him back again and cut him off from every field of energy. And meanwhile he had to live, he had to be occupied. It was too awful to lie under the burden of those insoluble problems of life, and he abandoned himself to the first distraction that offered, simply to forget them. He visited every possible society, drank a great deal, went in for buying pictures, building, and above all reading.
He read and re-read everything he came across. On getting home he would take up a book, even while his valets were undressing him, and read himself to sleep; and from sleep turned at once to gossip in the drawing-rooms and the club; from gossip to carousals and women; from dissipation back again to gossip, reading, and wine. Wine was more and more becoming a physical necessity to him, and at the same time a moral necessity. Although the doctors told him that in view of his corpulence wine was injurious to him, he drank a very great deal. He never felt quite content except when he had, almost unconsciously, lifted several glasses of wine to his big mouth. Then he felt agreeably warm all over his body, amiably disposed towards all his fellows, and mentally ready to respond superficially to every idea, without going too deeply into it. It was only after drinking a bottle or two of wine that he felt vaguely that the terrible tangled skein of life which had terrified him so before was not so terrible as he had fancied. With a buzzing in his head, chatting, listening to talk or reading after dinner and supper, he invariably saw that tangled skein on some one of its sides. It was only under the influence of wine that he said to himself: “Never mind. I'll disentangle it all; here I have a solution all ready. But now's not the time. I'll go into all that later on!” But that later on never came.
In the morning, before breakfast, all the old questions looked as insoluble and fearful as ever, and Pierre hurriedly snatched up a book and rejoiced when any one came in to see him.
Sometimes Pierre remembered what he had been told of soldiers under fire in ambuscade when they have nothing to do, how they try hard to find occupation so as to bear their danger more easily. And Pierre pictured all men as such soldiers trying to find a refuge from life: some in ambition, some in cards, some in framing laws, some in women, some in playthings, some in horses, some in politics, some in sport, some in wine, some in the government service. “Nothing is trivial, nothing is important, everything is the same; only to escape from it as best one can,” thought Pierre. “Only not to see it, that terrible it.”
安德烈公爵在求娜塔莎为妻之后，皮埃尔并无任何明显的理由，忽然觉得不能继续过着从前的生活。无论他怎样相信他的恩主向他启示的真理，无论他怎样充满热情为之献身的内心修炼在开初使他心向神往的时日给予他多大的喜悦，——在安德烈公爵和娜塔莎订婚之后，在约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇死去之后（他几乎是同时获悉这两件事），从前的生活魅力对他来说忽已消失殆尽。生活只留下一个框架：他的那幢住宅、一个姿色迷人的妻子——她现已获得某个要人的宠爱、他和彼得堡一切人士的结识以及枯燥乏味的、拘泥于形式的业务。皮埃尔忽然觉得从前的那种生活出乎意外地令人讨厌。他停止写日记了，避免与师兄师弟来往，又开始进入俱乐部，开始好酒贪杯，又与光棍朋友接近，他开始过着这种生活，以致伯爵夫人海伦·尼西里耶夫娜认为有必要对他严加指责。皮埃尔觉得她的做法是对的，为了不使她声名狼藉、皮埃尔动身前往莫斯科。 
在莫斯科，他一走进他那栋高古的住宅（它里面住着已经憔悴和正在憔悴的公爵小姐及许多家仆）的时候，在他驶过全城，刚刚看见那金镂袈裟前面的无数烛光的伊韦尔小教堂，看见那积雪未被车子压脏的克里姆林广场，看见西夫采夫·弗拉若克贫民区的马车夫和茅舍的时候，在他一看见那些无所希冀、足不出户地虚度残生的莫斯科老人的时候，在他一看见那些老太太，那些莫斯科的太太小姐、莫斯科的芭蕾舞和莫斯科的英国俱乐部的时候，——他就觉得自己置身于家中，置身于平静的安身之处。在莫斯科定居，就像穿着一种旧长衫似的，温暖、舒适、不干净。
整个莫斯科的上流社会，从老太太到小孩，迎接皮埃尔就像迎接一位翘盼已久的尸位以待的客人那样。在莫斯科的上流社会人士的心目中，皮埃尔是个至为可爱、仁慈聪颖、愉快、宽宏大量的古怪人，是个心不在焉的诚实待人的旧派头的俄国贵族。他的钱包总是空的，因为它对人人都是敞开着的。
纪念演出、劣等彩色画、塑像、慈善团体、茨冈人、学校、募捐宴会、纵酒、共济会、教会、书籍——任何人、任何事都不会遭到他的拒绝；假如不是有两个向他借了许多钱的友人担任监护的话，他真会把什么都分给别人。俱乐部里，无论是宴会，还是晚会，少不了他。他一喝完两瓶马尔高酒，随便倒在他坐的沙发上，人们就把他围住，议论纷纷，争吵不休，笑话喧阗。无论在那里发生争吵，只要他露出和善的微笑，随便打个诨，就和事了。共济会分会的餐厅里假如缺少他，就显得烦闷，很不景气。
单身汉的晚餐结束之后，他带着和善而甜蜜的微笑，屈从愉快的伙伴的请求，站立起来，和他们一同驶行，于是在青年人之间传来了激动的欢呼。如果舞会上缺少一个舞伴，他就走来跳舞。年轻的夫人和小姐之所以喜欢他，是因为他不追求任何女人，他对人人都同样殷勤，特别是在晚餐完毕后：Il　est　charmant，il　n'a　pas　de　sexe．①”大家都这样谈论他。 
①法语：他很有魅力，不像男性。
皮埃尔是个退休的宫廷高级侍从，他很温厚地在莫斯科度过自己的残年，像他这样的人，莫斯科有几百个。
如果说七年前，他刚从国外回来时候，若是有人对他说，他不必去寻觅什么，不必去臆想什么，他的轨道早已开辟，就永远注定不变，无论他怎么兜圈子，他将来不外乎是你所有处在他的地位的人那样，他听了之后真会胆战心惊。他是决不会相信这番话的，他时而一心一意地期望在俄国缔造共和，时而想当拿破仑，时而想当哲学家，时而想当战术家，当一个打败拿破仑的人吗？难道不是他有先见之明而且热烈地期望彻底改造缺德的人类，使他自己达到尽善尽美的地步吗？难道不是他建立学校和医院并且解放农民吗？
但是他未能实现这一切，他当了一个不贞洁的妻子的富有的丈夫，一个爱吃爱喝、敞开身上的衣服略微咒骂一下政府的退休高级侍从，一个莫斯科英国俱乐部的成员，而且他还是一个人人喜爱的莫斯科上流社会的成员。他长久地不能容忍那种思想，说他现在正是七年前他极端蔑视的那种退休的莫斯科宫廷高级侍从。
有时候他用那种思想来安慰自己，说他只是暂且过着这种生活，但是后来另外一种思想使他胆战心惊，有许多像他一样的人在进入这个生活领域和这个俱乐部时，满口是牙齿，满头是黑发，后来从那儿走出来时，牙齿和头发全都落光了。
当他感到高傲的时候，他想到自己的地位，他仿佛觉得，他和他以前蔑视的那些退休的宫廷高级侍从迥然不同，那些人鄙俗而愚蠢，一味自满，安于现状，“而我直至现在仍然感到不满，仍然想为人类作一点贡献。”当他感到高傲的时候，他自言自语地说。“也许我所有的同事也都像我一样拼命地挣扎，寻找一条新的生活道路像我一样，被那种环境的力量、社会和门第的力量，人类无力反抗的自然力量引导到我所走的道路上。”他在谦虚的时候说，在莫斯科住了一些时日，他已不再藐视那些和他共命运的同事了，而开始喜爱并尊敬他们，而且像怜惜自己那样怜惜他们了。
皮埃尔不像从前那样每时每刻都感到绝望、忧郁而且厌恶人生，过去经常急剧地发作的疾病已侵入内心，每时每刻都在缠住他。“为什么？为了什么目的？这个世界上在发生什么事？”在一日之内他就有几次惶惑不安地问自己，情不自禁地开始缜密思考生活中的各种现象的涵义，但他凭经验也知道，这些问题都没有答案，于是他赶紧设法回避它，他时常看书，或者赶着上俱乐部，或者到阿波隆·尼古拉耶维奇那里去闲谈市内的流言飞语。
“海伦·瓦西里耶夫娜除开爱自己的身段，她不爱任何东西，她是世界上最愚蠢的女人之一，”皮埃尔想道，“但是人们都觉得她是智慧和风雅的顶峰并且崇拜她。拿破仑·波拿巴在没有成为伟人前一直被世人藐视，自从他变成可怜的丑角之后，弗朗茨皇帝却力求把自己的女儿许配他为非法的夫人。西班牙人用天主教神甫祈求上帝，深表感激之情，因为他们在六月十四日打败了法国人，而法国人也用天主教神甫祈求上帝，为了他们在六月十四日打败西班牙人而向上帝感恩。我的共济会的师兄师弟们以鲜血发誓，他们愿意誓为他人牺牲一切，可是他们不为贫民而捐献出一个卢布，他们施耍阴谋，唆使阿斯特列亚分会去反对马哪派的求道者，为一张道地的苏格兰地毯和一份连草拟人也不知道其内中涵义的、谁也不需要的文据而四出奔走。我们都信守基督教教规——恕罪、爱他人，为此在莫斯科建立了四十个教区的四十座教堂，可是昨天就有一名逃兵被鞭笞致死，在宣布极刑前，那个爱与恕的教规的执行人——神甫，叫那名士兵亲吻十字架。”皮埃尔这样想道，这种普遍的、已被众人公认的虚伪，不管他怎样习以为常，但是它每次都像一件新鲜事物，使他觉得诧异。“我明了这种虚伪和杂乱无章，”他想道，“可是我怎样才能把我明了的一切讲给他们听呢？我尝试过了，总是发现他们在灵魂深处也像我一样对一切了若指掌，只是想方设法不去看它罢了。这样说来，就应该这样！但是我藏到哪里去呢？”皮埃尔想道。他体验到他具有许多人的、尤其是俄国人的那种不幸者的能力：能够看出并且相信善与真的可能性，可是对生活中的恶与伪却看得过分清楚，以致不能认真地生活下去。在他的眼中，任何劳动领域均与罪恶和虚伪联系在一起。无论他想做一个什么人，无论他着手做什么事，罪恶与虚伪都把他推开，挡住他所活动的一切途径。但同时应当活下去，应当从事某种活动。在这些悬而未决的生活问题的压力下，真是太可怕了。为了忘怀这些问题，他浸沉于他所碰到的各种乐事。他经常进入形形色色的交际场所，纵情地饮酒，收购图画，建筑亭台楼阁，主要是博览群书。
他经常读书，手边有一本什么书，就读什么书，回到家里以后，当仆人还在给他宽衣的时候，他已经拿起一本书来读，读书之后继而睡眠，睡眠之后便在客厅和俱乐部闲谈，闲谈之后继而狂饮，追求女人，狂饮之后继而闲谈、读书和纵酒。饮酒对于他愈益成为生理上的需要，同时也是精神上的需要。虽然大夫们都对他说，他长得太胖，酒对他的危害性很大，但是他仍旧好酒贪杯。只有当他本人都没有发觉他怎么竟把几杯酒倒进了他那张大嘴巴之后，他才觉得非常痛快，他才觉得他体内有一种舒适的温暖，他才温和地对待所有亲近的人，才愿意动动脑筋，对各种思想肤浅地发表意见，但却未能深入其实质。他喝了一两瓶葡萄酒以后，他才模糊地意识到，往昔使他不寒而栗的难以解决的生活难题并不像他想象的那样可怕了。在午餐和晚餐之后，他头晕脑胀，一边讲些空话，一边听人家谈话或者读书的时候他才不断地遇见自己身边的这个生活上的难题。但是他只是在酒瘾上来的时候，他才自言自语地说：“这没有什么。我会把它搞清楚的——怎么解释它呢，我已经有所准备。现在我可没有空闲哩，——以后我来全面考虑吧！”但是这个以后在任何时候都不会到来。
早上饿着肚皮的时候，从前的一切问题仿佛又显得难以解决，极为可怕了，于是皮埃尔急忙拿起一本书来读，每当有人来找他的时候，他就感到非常高兴。
有时皮埃尔回忆起他所听到的故事，故事中谈到，士兵们作战时处于枪林弹雨之下，他们躲在掩蔽体内，这时无事可做，为了经受起危险造成的威胁，他们尽可能给自己找点事情做。皮埃尔仿佛觉得所有的人都是逃避人生的士兵：有的人贪图功名，有的人赌博成癖，有的人编写法典，有的人玩弄女性，有的人贪爱玩物，有的人骑马闲游，有的人跻身于政坛，有的人从事狩猎，有的人好酒贪杯，有的人国务倥偬。“既没有卑微人物，也没有高官显贵，横竖一样：只想巧妙地逃避人生！”皮埃尔想道，“只想不目睹人生，这种可怕的人生。”
Book 8 Chapter 2
AT THE BEGINNING of the winter Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky and his daughter moved to Moscow. His past, his intellect and originality, and still more the falling off at about that time of the popular enthusiasm for the rule of the Tsar Alexander and the anti-French and patriotic sentiments then prevailing at Moscow, all contributed to make Prince Nikolay Andreitch at once an object of peculiar veneration and the centre of the Moscow opposition to the government.
The prince had greatly aged during that year. He had begun to show unmistakable signs of failing powers, sudden attacks of drowsiness, and forgetfulness of events nearest in time, and exact memory of remote incidents, and a childlike vanity in playing the part of leader of the Moscow opposition. But in spite of that, when the old man came into the drawing-room in the evenings to tea, in his wig and fur coat, and on being incited to do so by some one, began uttering abrupt observations on the past, or still more abrupt and harsh criticisms on the present—he aroused the same feeling of esteem and reverence in all his guests. For visitors, that old-fashioned house, with its huge mirrors, pre-revolutionary furniture, and powdered lackeys, and the stern and shrewd old man, himself a relic of a past age, with the gentle daughter and the pretty Frenchwoman, both so reverently devoted to him, made a stately and agreeable spectacle. But those visitors did not reflect that, apart from the couple of hours during which they saw the household, there were twenty-two hours of the day and night during which the secret, private life of the house went on its accustomed way.
That inner life had become very hard for Princess Marya of late in Moscow. She was deprived in Moscow of her two greatest pleasures—talks with God's folk and the solitude which had refreshed her spirit at Bleak Hills, and she had none of the advantages and pleasures of town life. She did not go into society; every one knew that her father would not allow her to go anywhere without him, and owing to his failing health he could go nowhere himself. She was not even invited now to dinner-parties or balls. Princess Marya had laid aside all hopes of marriage. She saw the coldness and hostility with which the old prince received and dismissed the young men, possible suitors, who sometimes appeared at the house. Friends, Princess Marya now had none; during this stay in Moscow she had lost all faith in the two friends who had been nearest to her. Mademoiselle Bourienne, with whom she had never been able to be perfectly open, she now regarded with dislike, and for certain reasons kept at a distance. Julie, with whom Princess Marya had kept up an unbroken correspondence for five years, was in Moscow. When Princess Marya renewed her personal relations with her, she felt her former friend to be utterly alien to her. Julie, who had become, by the death of her brothers, one of the wealthiest heiresses in Moscow, was at that time engrossed in a giddy whirl of fashionable amusements. She was surrounded by young men, whom she believed to have become suddenly appreciative of her qualities. Julie was at that stage when a young lady is somewhat past her first youth in society and feels that her last chance of marrying has come, and that now or never her fate must be decided. With a mournful smile Princess Marya reflected every Thursday that she had now no one to write to, seeing that Julie was here and saw her every week, though her friend's actual presence gave her no sort of pleasure. Like the old French émigré, who declined to marry the lady with whom he had for so many years spent his evenings, she regretted that Julie was here and she had no one to write to. In Moscow Princess Marya had no one to speak to, no one to confide her sorrows to, and many fresh sorrows fell to her lot about this time. The time for Prince Andrey's return and marriage was approaching, and his commission to her to prepare her father's mind was so far from being successfully carried out that the whole thing seemed hopeless; and any reference to the young Countess Rostov infuriated the old prince, who was for the most part out of humour at all times now. Another trouble that weighed on Princess Marya of late was due to the lessons she gave to her six-year-old nephew. In her relations with little Nikolay she recognised to her consternation symptoms of her father's irritable character in herself. However often she told herself that she must not let herself lose her temper, when teaching her nephew, almost every time she sat down with a pointer showing him the French alphabet, she so longed to hasten, to make easy the process of transferring her knowledge to the child, who was by now always afraid his auntie would be angry the next moment, that at the slightest inattention she was quivering in nervous haste and vexation, she raised her voice and sometimes pulled him by his little hand and stood him in the corner. When she had stood him in the corner she would begin to cry herself over her evil, wicked nature, and little Nikolay, his sobs vying with hers, would come unbidden out of the corner to pull her wet hands from her face and try to comfort her. But the greatest, far the greatest of the princess's burdens was her father's irascibility, which was invariably directed against his daughter, and had of late reached the point of cruelty. Had he forced her to spend the night bowing to the ground, had he beaten her, or made her carry in wood and water, it would never have entered her head that her position was a hard one. But this loving despot—most cruel of all because he loved, and for that very reason tortured himself and her—knew not only how to mortify and humiliate her, but of set purpose, to prove to her that she was always to blame in everything. Of late he had taken a new departure, which caused Princess Marya more misery than anything—that was his closer and closer intimacy with Mademoiselle Bourienne. The idea, that had occurred to him in jest at the first moment of receiving the news of his son's intentions, that if Andrey got married he, too, would marry Mademoiselle Bourienne, obviously pleased him, and he had of late— simply, as Princess Marya fancied, to annoy her—persisted in being particularly gracious to Mademoiselle Bourienne and manifesting his dissatisfaction with his daughter by demonstrations of love for the Frenchwoman.
One day in Princess Marya's presence (it seemed to her that her father did it on purpose because she was there) the old prince kissed Mademoiselle Bourienne's hand, and drawing her to him embraced her affectionately. Princess Marya flushed hotly and ran out of the room. A few minutes later, Mademoiselle Bourienne went into Princess Marya's room, smiling and making some cheerful remarks in her agreeable voice. Princess Marya hastily wiped away her tears, with resolute steps went up to the Frenchwoman, and obviously unconscious of what she was doing, with wrathful haste and breaks in her voice she began screaming at her:
“It's loathsome, vile, inhuman to take advantage of feebleness…” She could not go on. “Go out of my room,” she cried, and broke into sobs.
The next day the old prince did not say a word to his daughter, but she noticed that at dinner he gave orders for the dishes to be handed to Mademoiselle Bourienne first. When towards the end of dinner, the footman from habit handed the coffee, beginning with the princess, the old prince flew into a sudden frenzy of rage, flung his cane at Filipp, and immediately gave orders for him to be sent for a soldier.
“He won't obey…twice I told him!…and he didn't obey. She's the first person in this house, she's my best friend,” screamed the old prince. And if you allow yourself,” he shouted in a fury, for the first time addressing Princess Marya, “ever again, as you dared yesterday … to forget yourself in her presence, I'll show you who is master in this house. Away! don't let me set eyes on you! Beg her pardon!”
Princess Marya begged Amalia Yevgenyevna's pardon and also her father's, both for herself and the footman Filipp, who implored her intervention.
At such moments the feeling that prevailed in Princess Marya's soul was akin to the pride of sacrifice. And all of a sudden at such moments, that father whom she was judging would look for his spectacles, fumbling by them and not seeing them, or would forget what had just happened, or would take a tottering step with his weak legs, and look round to see whether any one had noticed his feebleness, or what was worst of all, at dinner when there were no guests to excite him, he would suddenly fall asleep, letting his napkin drop and his shaking head sink over his plate. “He is old and feeble, and I dare to judge him!” she thought, revolted by herself.
冬之初，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇·博尔孔斯基偕同女儿来到莫斯科。由于他的过去，由于他的智慧和独特的才能，特别是由于当时国人对亚历山大皇帝统治的热忱已经减退，还由于当时反法和爱国的思想倾向在莫斯科占有统治地位，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵立即成为莫斯科人特别尊敬的对象，并已成为莫斯科政府中的反对派的中心人物。 
这一年公爵很显老了。他身上出现急剧衰老的征状：常常忽然入睡、对迩近发生的事体健忘，对久远的往事反而记得很牢，而且具有担任莫斯科的反对派首脑的稚气的虚荣，尽管如此，这个老者，尤其是每逢晚上就穿着一件短皮袄，戴着扑了香粉的假发出来饮茶，这时，只要一被人感动，他就断断续续地谈起往事来，或者更不连贯地、激烈地指责时弊，虽然如此，他仍能使全体客人对他怀有敬重之感。在来客看来，这一整幢旧式楼房，楼房中的偌大的穿衣镜、旧式家具、这些扑过香粉的仆人、这位上一世纪的固执而聪明的老者本人、他那崇敬他的温顺的女儿、貌美的法国女人，这一切构成了壮丽的令人悦意的景象。但是来客并没有想到，除开他们遇见主人们的两三小时而外，一昼夜尚有二十一、二小时，在这段时间，这个家庭正在过着家庭内部的秘密生活。在莫斯科，迩近的这种家庭内部生活对公爵小姐玛丽亚来说已经变得令她十分难受了。在莫斯科，她已经丧失了她的莫大的欢乐——在童山曾经使她精神充满的她与神亲们的谈话和孤独生活；她没有得到都市生活的任何益处和乐趣。她不去交际场所了，大家知道，她家父不让她独自一人外出，而他自己却因身体欠适不能出门，因此就没有人邀请她去出席宴会和晚会。公爵小姐玛丽亚对出阁这件事完全失望。她看见尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵流露着冷淡而凶恶的神情接待和送走那些偶尔前来造访的可以作为未婚夫的年轻人。公爵小姐玛丽亚没有朋友，此次抵达莫斯科，她对两个最亲近的朋友大为失望：其中一人是布里安小姐，公爵小姐原来就不能向她倾吐衷肠，现在觉得她十分可憎了，而且出于某些缘由，她开始回避她；另一个朋友就是朱莉，此人住在莫斯科，公爵小姐玛丽亚和她一连通过五年信，当公爵小姐玛丽亚和她重逢时，她觉得她完全生疏了。这时朱莉由于兄弟均已去世，已成为莫斯科最富有的未婚女子之一，她正处于社交界的极度欢乐之中。一些年轻人把她包围起来，她以为他们忽然赏识她的优点。朱莉处在社交界的秋娘半老的时期，她觉得出阁的最后时机已经来临，现在应该决定她的命运，否则就永远不能决定。公爵小姐玛丽亚每逢星期四就流露出忧郁的微笑，想起她现在没有什么人可以互通鱼雁，因为朱莉在这里，每星期和她会面，但是她的出现不能给她带来任何欢乐。她俨像一个拒绝娶那数年与其共度良宵的女人的老侨民，她觉得遗憾的是，朱莉在这里，她没有什么人可以互通鱼雁了。在莫斯科，公爵小姐玛丽亚没有什么人可以商淡，没有什么人可以倾诉自己的忧愁，而在这段时间内又增添了许多忧愁。安德烈公爵回家娶亲的日期临近了，他委托她让父亲作好思想准备这桩事不仅未能办妥，看来这件事反而给她搞糟了，一提及伯爵小姐罗斯托娃，老公爵就感到愠怒，他本来就时常心绪不安。公爵小姐玛丽亚近来又增添了忧愁，就是她给六岁的侄儿教课的事情。在她和尼古卢什卡的相互关系方面，她胆战心惊地发觉她自己也有她父亲那种容易动怒的性情。不管她有多少次对自己说，教侄子时不应该激怒，可是几乎每次当她执着教鞭坐下来教法语字母表时，她很想尽快地、轻易地把她自己的知识灌输给小孩，可是他心里害怕，亲眼看到他姑母就要发火了。每当孩子有点不用心，她就浑身颤栗，心里着急，怒气冲冲，并且提高了嗓门，有时抓着他的手，叫他站到屋角里去。当她叫侄子站到屋角里去了，她自己也由于凶恶的坏性子而大哭起来，尼古卢什卡也模仿她嚎啕大哭，未经她许可就从屋角里溜出来，走到她跟前，从她脸上挪开她那双被眼泪弄湿的手，安慰他姑母。然而她父亲经常对女儿大发雷霆，近来已经达到了残忍的地步，这也就最使公爵小姐感到苦恼。既然他强迫她夜夜作揖叩头，既然他揍她，强迫她搬柴、打水，而她连想也不会想到她的处境非常困难；但是这个疼爱女儿的折磨者之所以至为残忍，是因为他疼爱她而使他自己受折磨，也使她受折磨，他非但故意凌辱她，贬低她，而且向她表明，她在各方面都有过错。近来她身上又出现了一个最使公爵小姐玛丽亚感到苦恼的性格的特点，这就是他更加接近布里安小姐。在他接到儿子打算结婚的消息后，他脑海中开初浮现出一个开玩笑的念头：如果安德烈结婚，那末他就要娶布里安，很明显，这个念头使他感到心欢，公爵小姐玛丽亚仿佛觉得，为了侮辱她，他近来执着地对布里安小姐表示宠爱，而对女儿却表示不满。
有一次，在莫斯科，老公爵当着公爵小姐玛丽亚的面（她仿佛觉得，她父亲在她面前故意这样做）吻了吻布里安小姐的手，把她拉到身边，很亲热地拥抱她。公爵小姐玛丽亚涨红了脸，从房里跑出去了。几分钟以后，布里安小姐走到公爵小姐玛丽亚身边，面露微笑，用她那悦耳的嗓音快活地讲着什么事情。公爵小姐玛丽亚连忙揩掉眼泪，迈开坚定的脚步走到布里安跟前，显然，她自己也不知道是怎么回事，她带着愠怒和冲动的嗓音向法国女人大声喊叫起来：
“这真卑鄙，真下流，惨无人道地利用……软弱，”她没有把话说完，“您从我房里走开。”她喊道，放声大哭起来。
第二天，公爵没有对他女儿道出一句话，但是她发现，吃午饭的时候他吩咐先给布里安小姐传菜。午餐结束时，当小吃部主管按照原有习惯又先给公爵小姐递上咖啡，于是公爵勃然大怒，把手杖掷到菲利普身上，并且马上吩咐送他去当兵。
“没有听见……我说了两遍啊！……没有听见呀！她是这一家的为首的人，她是我的最好的朋友，”公爵喊道，“假如你胆敢，”他发火了，大声喊道，第一次把脸转向公爵小姐玛丽亚，“胆敢再像昨天那样……在她面前放肆，我就要给点颜色你看，要你知道谁是这家的主人。你滚，我不想见你，向她陪罪！”
公爵小姐玛丽亚为她自己，也为乞求庇护的小吃部主管菲利普向阿马利娅·叶夫根尼耶夫娜①和父亲陪罪。 
①阿马利娅·叶夫根尼耶夫娜是法国女人布里安的俄国名字和父称。
在这种时刻，公爵小姐玛丽亚的心中充满一种牺牲者的自豪感。在这种时刻，她所谴责的父亲忽然在她面前寻找眼镜，在眼镜旁边摸来摸去，没有看见；或者竟然把刚才发生的事情忘记得一干二净，或者伸出他那软弱无力的两腿，摇晃不定地走了一步，他回头望望，是否有人看见他那有衰弱的体态，或者更糟的是，用午餐时，在没有客人使他兴奋时，他忽然微微入睡，放开身上的餐巾，他那巍巍颤颤的脑袋低垂在餐盘上。“他太老了，太衰弱了，而我竟敢谴责他！”在这种时刻，她常怀着厌恶自己的神情这样想。
Book 8 Chapter 3
IN THE YEAR 1811 there was living in Moscow a French doctor called Metivier, who was rapidly coming into fashion. He was a very tall, handsome man, polite as only a Frenchman is, and was said by every one in Moscow to be an extraordinarily clever doctor. He was received in the very best houses, not merely as a doctor, but as an equal.
Prince Nikolay Andreitch had always ridiculed medicine, but of late he had by Mademoiselle Bourienne's advice allowed this doctor to see him, and had become accustomed to his visits. Metivier used to see the old prince twice a week.
On St. Nikolay's day, the name-day of the old prince, all Moscow was driving up to the approach of his house, but he gave orders for no one to be admitted to see him. Only a few guests, of whom he gave a list to Princess Marya, were to be invited to dinner.
Metivier, who arrived in the morning with his felicitations, thought himself as the old prince's doctor entitled to forcer la consigne, as he told Princess Marya, and went in to the prince. It so happened that on that morning of his name-day the old prince was in one of his very worst tempers. He had spent the whole morning wandering about the house, finding fault with every one, and affecting not to understand what was said to him and to be misunderstood by everybody. Princess Marya knew that mood well from subdued and fretful grumbling, which usually found vent in a violent outburst of fury, and as though facing a cocked and loaded gun, she went all the morning in expectation of an explosion. The morning passed off fairly well, till the doctor's arrival. After admitting the doctor, Princess Marya sat down with a book in the drawing-room near the door, where she could hear all that passed in the prince's study.
At first she heard Metivier's voice alone, then her father's voice, then both voices began talking at once. The door flew open, and in the doorway she saw the handsome, terrified figure of Metivier with his shock of black hair, and the old prince in a skull-cap and dressing-gown, his face hideous with rage and his eyes lowered.
“You don't understand,” screamed the old prince, “but I do! French spy, slave of Bonaparte, spy, out of my house—away, I tell you!” And he slammed the door. Metivier, shrugging his shoulders, went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne, who ran out of the next room at the noise.
“The prince is not quite well, bile and rush of blood to the head. Calm yourself, I will look in to-morrow,” said Metivier; and putting his fingers to his lips he hurried off.
Through the door could be heard steps shuffling in slippers and shouts: “Spies, traitors, traitors everywhere! Not a minute of peace in my own house!”
After Metivier's departure the old prince sent for his daughter, and the whole fury of his passion spent itself on her. She was to blame for the spy's having been admitted to see him. Had not he told her, told her to make a list, and that those not on the list were on no account to be admitted? Why then had that scoundrel been shown up? She was to blame for everything. With her he could not have a minute of peace, could not die in peace, he told her.
“No, madame, we must part, we must part, I tell you! I can put up with no more,” he said, and went out of the room. And as though afraid she might find some comfort, he turned back and trying to assume an air of calmness, he added: “And don't imagine that I have said this in a moment of temper; no, I'm quite calm and I have thought it well over, and it shall be so—you shall go away, and find some place for yourself!…” But he could not restrain himself, and with the vindictive fury which can only exist where a man loves, obviously in anguish, he shook his fists and screamed at her: “Ah! if some fool would marry her!” He slammed the door, sent for Mademoiselle Bourienne, and subsided into his study.
At two o'clock the six persons he had selected arrived to dinner. Those guests—the celebrated Count Rastoptchin, Prince Lopuhin and his nephew, General Tchatrov, an old comrade of the prince's in the field, and of the younger generation Pierre and Boris Drubetskoy were awaiting him in the drawing-room. Boris, who had come on leave to Moscow shortly before, had been anxious to be presented to Prince Nikolay Andreitch, and had succeeded in so far ingratiating himself in his favour, that the old prince made in his case an exception from his usual rule of excluding all young unmarried men from his house.
The prince did not receive what is called “society,” but his house was the centre of a little circle into which—though it was not talked of much in the town—it was more flattering to be admitted than anywhere else. Boris had grasped that fact a week previously, when he heard Rastoptchin tell the commander-in-chief of Moscow, who had invited him to dine on St. Nikolay's day, that he could not accept his invitation.
“On that day I always go to pay my devotions to the relics of Prince Nikolay Andreitch.”
“Oh yes, yes…” assented the commander-in-chief. “How is he?…”
The little party assembled before dinner in the old-fashioned, lofty drawing-room, with its old furniture, was like the solemn meeting of some legal council board.
All sat silent, or if they spoke, spoke in subdued tones. Prince Nikolay Andreitch came in, serious and taciturn. Princess Marya seemed meeker and more timid than usual. The guests showed no inclination to address their conversation to her, for they saw that she had no thought for what they were saying. Count Rastoptchin maintained the conversation alone, relating the latest news of the town and the political world. Lopuhin and the old general took part in the conversation at rare intervals. Prince Nikolay Andreitch listened like a presiding judge receiving a report submitted to him, only testifying by his silence, or from time to time by a brief word, that he was taking cognizance of the facts laid before him.
The tone of the conversation was based on the assumption that no one approved of what was being done in the political world. Incidents were related obviously confirming the view that everything was going from bad to worse. But in every story that was told, and in every criticism that was offered, what was striking was the way that the speaker checked himself, or was checked, every time the line was reached where a criticism might have reference to the person of the Tsar himself.
At dinner the conversation turned on the last political news, Napoleon's seizure of the possessions of the Duke of Oldenburg, and the Russian note, hostile to Napoleon, which had been despatched to all the European courts.
“Bonaparte treats all Europe as a pirate does a captured vessel,” said Rastoptchin, repeating a phrase he had uttered several times before. “One only marvels at the long-suffering or the blindness of the ruling sovereigns. Now it's the Pope's turn, and Bonaparte doesn't scruple to try and depose the head of the Catholic Church, and no one says a word. Our Emperor alone has protested against the seizure of the possessions of the Duke of Oldenburg. And even…” Count Rastoptchin broke off, feeling that he was on the very border line beyond which criticism was impossible.
“Other domains have been offered him instead of the duchy of Oldenburg,” said the old prince. “He shifts the dukes about, as I might move my serfs from Bleak Hills to Bogutcharovo and the Ryazan estates.”
“The Duke of Oldenburg supports his misfortune with admirable force of character and resignation,” said Boris putting in his word respectfully. He said this because on his journey from Petersburg he had had the honour of being presented to the duke. The old prince looked at the young man as though he would have liked to say something in reply, but changed his mind, considering him too young.
“I have read our protest about the Oldenburg affair, and I was surprised at how badly composed the note was,” said Count Rastoptchin in the casual tone of a man criticising something with which he is very familiar.
Pierre looked at Rastoptchin in na?ve wonder, unable to understand why he should be troubled by the defective composition of the note.
“Does it matter how the note is worded, count,” he said, “if the meaning is forcible?”
“My dear fellow, with our five hundred thousand troops, it should be easy to have a good style,” said Count Rastoptchin.
Pierre perceived the point of Count Rastoptchin's dissatisfaction with the wording of the note.
“I should have thought there were scribblers enough to write it,” said the old prince. “Up in Petersburg they do nothing but write—not notes only, but new laws they keep writing. My Andryusha up there has written a whole volume of new laws for Russia. Nowadays they're always at it!” And he laughed an unnatural laugh.
The conversation paused for a moment; the old general cleared his throat to draw attention.
“Did you hear of the last incident at the review in Petersburg? Didn't the new French ambassadors expose themselves!”
“Eh? Yes, I did hear something; he said something awkward in the presence of his majesty.”
“His majesty drew his attention to the grenadier division and the parade march,” pursued the general; “and it seems the ambassador took no notice and had the insolence to say ‘We in France,' says he, ‘don't pay attention to such trivial matters.' The emperor did not vouchsafe him a reply. At the review that followed the emperor, they say, did not once deign to address him.”
Every one was silent; upon this fact which related to the Tsar personally, no criticism could be offered.
“Impudent rogues!” said the old prince. “Do you know Metivier? I turned him out of the house to-day. He was here, he was allowed to come in, in spite of my begging no one should be admitted,” said the old prince, glancing angrily at his daughter. And he told them his whole conversation with the French doctor and his reasons for believing Metivier to be a spy. Though his reasons were very insufficient and obscure, no one raised an objection.
After the meat, champagne was handed round. The guests rose from their places to congratulate the old prince. Princess Marya too went up to him. He glanced at her with a cold, spiteful glance, and offered her his shaven, wrinkled cheek. The whole expression of his face told her that their morning's conversation was not forgotten, that his resolution still held good, and that it was only owing to the presence of their visitors that he did not tell her so now.
When they went into the drawing-room to coffee, the old men sat together.
Prince Nikolay Andreitch grew more animated, and began to express his views on the impending war. He said that our wars with Bonaparte would be unsuccessful so long as we sought alliances with the Germans and went meddling in European affairs, into which we had been drawn by the Peace of Tilsit. We had no business to fight for Austria or against Austria. Our political interests all lay in the East, and as regards Bonaparte, the one thing was an armed force on the frontier, and a firm policy, and he would never again dare to cross the Russian frontier, as he had done in 1807.
“And how should we, prince, fight against the French!” said Count Rastoptchin. “Can we arm ourselves against our teachers and divinities? Look at our young men, look at our ladies. Our gods are the French, and Paris—our Paradise.”
He began talking more loudly, obviously with the intention of being heard by every one.
“Our fashions are French, our ideas are French, our feelings are French! You have sent Metivier about his business because he's a Frenchman and a scoundrel, but our ladies are crawling on their hands and knees after him. Yesterday I was at an evening party, and out of five ladies three were Catholics and had a papal indulgence for embroidering on Sundays. And they sitting all but naked, like the sign-boards of some public bath-house, if you'll excuse my saying so. Ah, when one looks at our young people, prince, one would like to take Peter the Great's old cudgel out of the museum and break a few ribs in the good old Russian style, to knock the nonsense out of them!”
All were silent. The old prince looked at Rastoptchin with a smile on his face and shook his head approvingly.
“Well, good-bye, your excellency; don't you be ill,” said Rastoptchin, getting up with the brisk movements characteristic of him, and holding out his hand to the old prince.
“Good-bye, my dear fellow. Your talk is a music I'm always glad to listen to!” said the old prince, keeping hold of his hand and offering him his cheek for a kiss. The others, too, got up when Rastoptchin did.
一八一一年，一位瞬即轰动一时的法国大夫居住在莫斯科，他身材魁悟，眉清目秀，像法国人那样讲究礼貌，莫斯科人都说他是一位具有非凡医术的大夫，他就是梅蒂维埃。上流社会的家庭接待他，不把他视为大夫，而把他视为与别人平等的人。 
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵从前嘲笑医学，近来他接受布里安小姐的忠告，准许这位大夫到他家里来，现在已经和他混熟了。梅蒂维埃每个礼拜到公爵家里去一两次。
公爵的命名日——圣尼古拉节，全莫斯科的人士都聚集在他的宅第门前，但是他吩咐不接见任何人，只宴请少数几个人，他把少数客人的名单交给公爵小姐玛丽亚。
早上前来祝贺的梅蒂维埃，认为做大夫的de　forcer　la　consigne①，是理所当然的事，他对公爵小姐玛丽亚这样说，于是就走进去见公爵。很不巧，命名日这天早晨，老公爵的情绪坏透了。整个早晨他在屋里踱来踱去，老是在找大家的碴儿，装作听不懂别人对他说的话，大家也听不懂他说的话。公爵小姐玛丽亚确实知道，每当他焦虑不安、低声唠叨，最后难免要狂怒起来，整个早晨她在屋里走来走去，就像在一支扳开枪机的装上弹药的火枪前面，等待不可避免的射击似的。在大夫未来之前，早晨平安无事地度过了。公爵小姐玛丽亚放医生进来之后，便拿着一本书在客厅厅房坐下来，从这儿她能听见书斋中发生的事情。 
①法语：违反命令。
起初她听见梅蒂维埃一个人的说话声，继而听见父亲的说话声，之后听见两个人同时说话的声音，门敞开了，心惊胆战的、相貌漂亮的、头上蓄有一绺蓬起的黑发的梅蒂维埃的身影在门坎上出现了，公爵的身影也在这里出现了，他头戴睡帽，身穿长衫，现出一副由于狂怒而变得难看的面孔，一双瞳人向下垂。
“你不明白吗？”公爵喊道，“可是我明白啊！一个法国的密探，波拿巴的奴隶，密探，从我屋里滚出去，滚出去，我对你说！”他于是砰然一声关上门。
梅蒂维埃耸耸肩膀，走到布里安小姐跟前，她听见喊声，从隔壁房里跑来了。
“公爵不太舒服，la　bile　et　le　transport　an　cerveau．Tranquilliscz－vous，je　repasserai　demain．”①梅蒂维埃说，把一个指头放在嘴唇上，匆匆地走出去了。 
①法语：胆囊病，脑充血。不用担心吧，明天我顺路再来。
从门后传来步履声和叫喊声：“这一伙密探，叛徒，到处是叛徒！我自己家里也没有片刻的平静！”
梅蒂维埃走后，老公爵把女儿喊到身边来，于是向她大发雷霆。她的罪过是：把一个密探放进屋里来。他不是对她说过，叫她开列一份名单，凡是名单上没有的人，不得放进屋里来。干嘛要把这个坏蛋放进来啊！她真是罪魁祸首。“她在他身边，他不会有片刻的宁静，他不会宁静地寿终正寝的。”
他说道。
“不行，妈呀！分开，分开，这一点您要晓得，您要晓得！现在我不能再忍受了。”他说完这句话，便从房里走出去。他仿佛怕她不会想个法子来自己安尉自己，于是回到她身边，极力地装出心平气和的样子，补充地说：“您甭以为我是在生气时才对您说出这番话的，现在我心平气和，我把这一点缜密地考虑到了，只有这么办，分开，您给您自己找个地方吧！……”但是他忍受不了，现出愠怒的样子，只有爱她的人才会这样，显然他自己感到痛苦，他晃了晃拳头，向她喊道：
“哪怕有个什么笨蛋把她娶去也好！”他砰然一声关上房门，把布里安小姐喊到身边来，书斋中鸦雀无声。
两点钟，六位被挑选的客人都乘车前来出席宴会。这六位客人说：大名鼎鼎的拉斯托普钦伯爵、洛普欣公爵和他的侄儿、公爵的老战友恰特罗夫将军，年轻的客人有皮埃尔和鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊——他们都在客厅中等候他。
目前来到莫斯科休假的鲍里斯，极欲结识尼古拉·博尔孔斯基公爵，他擅长于博得公爵的好感，使得公爵为他破例在家中接见单身青年。
公爵的家不是所谓的“上流社会”，而是一个小圈子，尽管在市内默默无闻，但是受到它的接待令人感到无比的荣幸。鲍里斯在一星期前才明白这一点，那时候总司令在他面前邀请拉斯托普钦伯爵在圣尼古拉节赴宴，拉斯托普钦说他不能应邀。
“这一天我总要到骨瘦如柴的尼古拉·安德烈俨奇公爵那里去表示敬意。”
“啊，对，对，”总司令答道。“他近来怎样？……”
午宴前这个小团体聚集在摆设有陈旧家具的高大的旧式客厅里，俨像法庭召开的一次盛会。大家都默默无言，即令在交谈，也把嗓音压得很低。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵走出来了，他态度严肃，默不作声，公爵小姐玛丽亚比平素显得更娴静而羞怯。客人很不乐意地和她应酬几句，因为看见她无心去听他们谈话。惟有拉斯托普钦伯爵一人为使谈话不中断，他时而讲到最近的市内新闻，时而讲到政治领域的新闻。
洛普欣和年老的将军有时也参加谈话。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵谛听着，俨如一位听取下级汇报情况的首席法官，只不过有时候默不作声地或者三言两语地表明，他对下级向他汇报的情况已经知照。谈话的腔调听起来容易明了，谁也不称颂政治领域发生的事情。人们所讲的重大事体显然证实了各种情况越来越恶劣，但是，在讲述和议论任何事件时，令人惊奇的是，只要议论的内容涉及皇帝陛下，讲话的人就停下来，或者被人家制止。
宴会间，谈话牵涉到最近的政治新闻：拿破仑占领奥尔登堡大公的领地、俄国送陈欧洲各国朝廷旨在反对拿破仑的照会。
“波拿巴对付欧洲，就像海盗对付一条被夺去的海船一样。”拉斯托普钦伯爵说，把他说过几遍的话重述一遍。“各国国王的长久忍耐，或者是受人蒙骗，使人感到惊奇。现在事情涉及教皇了，波拿巴已经肆无忌惮地不害臊地试图推翻天主教的首领，因此人人都不吭声！唯有我们的国王一人对侵占奥尔登堡大公的领地一事表示抗议。既使那样，也是……”拉斯托普钦伯爵默不作声，他觉得他正处在不能继续谴责的边缘。
“有人建议用其他领地代替奥尔登堡公国，”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵说，“他叫大公们这样迁来迁去，就像我叫农夫自童山迁到博古恰罗夫和梁赞的领地去那样。”
“Le　duc　d'Oldenbourg　supporte　son　malheur　avec　une　force　de　caractère　et　une　resignation　admirable。”①鲍里斯说，他恭恭敬敬地参与谈话。他所以说这番话，是因为他自彼得堡前来此地的途中荣幸地与大公结识。尼古拉·安德列伊奇公爵望了望这个年轻人，好像他想就此事对他说点什么话，然而他认为他太年轻，便转变念头。
“我读过我方就奥尔登堡事件所提出的抗议书，这份照会的措词拙劣，真令我感到惊讶。”拉斯托普钦伯爵漫不经心地说，那腔调就像某人评论一件他最熟的事情那样。
皮埃尔带着幼稚的惊讶的神情望望拉斯托普钦，心里不明白，为什么照会的拙劣措词会使他焦虑不安。
“伯爵，如果照会的内涵富有说服力，文词上的优与劣，难道不都是一样？”他说。
“Mon　cher，avec　nos　500　mille　hommes　de　troupes，il　serait　facile　d'avoir　un　beau　style．”②拉斯托普钦伯爵说。皮埃尔明白，照会的措词使拉斯托普钦伯爵担心的原因。 
①法语：奥尔登堡大公以其惊人的毅力和镇静的态度忍受自己的不幸。
②法语：我亲爱的，拥有五十万军队，要想有优美的文笔，是很容易的。
“看来，文人相当多了，”老公爵说，“彼得堡人人都会写，不仅会写照会，——还会编纂新法典。我的安德留沙在那儿为俄国编纂了一整册法典。现在人人在写嘛！”他很不自然地笑起来了。
谈话停顿了一会，年老的将军咳嗽了几声，引起别人的注意。
“请问您，是不是听到近来彼得堡举行阅兵式时发生的事件？那些新任的法国公使大显身手啊！”
“怎么？说得对，我多少听到一点；他在陛下面前不自在地说了什么话。”
“陛下叫他注意掷弹兵师和分列式，”将军继续说下去，“那个公使好像什么都不注意，而且他竟胆敢说，我们在自己法国就不注意这等琐碎事。国王没有说什么。据说，在以后的阅兵式上，国王根本不去理睬他了。”
大家都默不作声，对与国王本人有关的这件事情，决不能发表任何议论。
“放肆！”公爵说，“您知道梅蒂维埃吗？我今天把他赶出去了。他到过这儿，无论我怎样叫他们不要把任何人放进屋里来，可是他们还是让他来到我面前来。”公爵说，很气忿地瞟了女儿一眼。于是他讲述了他和法国医生谈话的全部内容，讲述了他坚信梅蒂维埃是个密探的原因。虽然这些原因很不充分，很不明显，但是谁也不去反驳他。
吃完烤菜之后，端来了香槟酒。客人们从座位上站起来，祝贺老公爵。公爵小姐玛丽亚也走到他跟前。
他用那冷漠而凶恶的目光瞟了她一眼，把布满皱纹的刮净的面颊凑近她。他的面部表情向她说明，他并没有把早晨的谈话忘记，他的决定像从前一样生效，只不过由于客人们在场，他现在不把这件事讲给她听。
在他们走到客厅里去喝咖啡茶的时候，老人们坐在一起了。
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇更加兴奋起来，并且说出了他对当前的战争的见解。
他说，当我们仍向德意志人寻求联盟，硬要干预欧洲的事务（蒂尔西特和约把我们卷入欧洲事务中）的时候，我们反对波拿巴的战争就会是很不幸的。我们用不着为奥国而作战，也用不着为反对奥国而作战。我们的整个政策重心落在东方，而对波拿巴，只要在边境用兵，推行坚定的政策，这样，他永远也不敢像一八○七年那样逾越俄国边境了。
“公爵，我们怎么能够对法国人宣战啊！”拉斯托普钦伯爵说，“难道我们能够组成义勇军去反对我们的教师和上帝吗？请您看看我们的青年，看看我们的太太们。我们的上帝是法国人，我们的天国是巴黎。”
他开始说得更响亮，看来要让大家听见他说话。
“法国人的服装，法国人的思想，法国人的感情啊！看，您掐着梅蒂维埃的脖子把他撵出去，因为他是法国人，是恶汉，可是我们的太太们却匍匐在他面前。我昨天出席了一次晚会，那里的五个夫人中就有三个是天主教徒，在教皇的许可下，星期天她们要在十字布上绣花。可是她们几乎是光着身子，坐在那里，俨像买卖人的澡堂的招牌似的，不客气地这么说吧。咳，公爵，看看我们这样的青年，我要从珍品陈列馆里拿出一根彼得大帝的很旧的粗棒子，遵照俄国方式把他们痛打一顿，叫他们醒悟过来！”
大家都沉默不言。老公爵脸上流露着微笑，一面谛视拉斯托普钦，赞成地晃晃脑袋。
“喂，阁下，再见，祝您健康。”拉斯托普钦说，他以那固有的急促的动作站立起来，向公爵伸出手来。
“亲爱的，再见，您的话像古斯里琴，叫我听得出神！”老公爵握着他的手，把面颊凑近他，他让他亲吻。其他人也随着拉斯托普钦站立起来。
Book 8 Chapter 4
PRINCESS MARYA, sitting in the drawing-room, and hearing the old men's talk and criticisms, did not understand a word of what she was hearing. She thought of nothing but whether all their guests were noticing her father's hostile attitude to her. She did not even notice the marked attention and amiability shown her during the whole of dinner by Drubetskoy, who was that day paying them his third visit.
Princess Marya turned with an absent-minded, questioning glance to Pierre, who, with a smile on his face, came up to her, hat in hand, the last of the guests, after the prince had gone out, and they were left alone together in the drawing-room.
“Can I stay a little longer?” he said, dropping his bulky person into a low chair beside Princess Marya.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “You noticed nothing?” her eyes asked.
Pierre was in an agreeable, after-dinner mood. He looked straight before him and smiled softly. “Have you known that young man long, princess?” he said.
“Which one?”
“Drubetskoy.”
“No, not long.…”
“Well, do you like him?”
“Yes; he's a very agreeable young man. Why do you ask me?” said Princess Marya, still thinking of her conversation in the morning with her father.
“Because I have observed, that when a young man comes from Petersburg to Moscow on leave, it is invariably with the object of marrying an heiress.”
“Have you observed that?” said Princess Marya.
“Yes,” Pierre went on with a smile, “and that young man now manages matters so that wherever there are wealthy heiresses—there he is to be found. I can read him like a book. He is hesitating now which to attack, you or Mademoiselle Julie Karagin. He is very attentive to her.”
“Does he visit them?”
“Yes, very often. And do you know the new-fashioned method of courting?” said Pierre, smiling good-humouredly, and obviously feeling in that light-hearted mood of good-natured irony, for which he had so often reproached himself in his diary.
“No,” said Princess Marya.
“To please the Moscow girls nowadays one has to be melancholy. He is very melancholy with Mademoiselle Karagin,” said Pierre.
“Really!” said Princess Marya, looking at the kindly face of Pierre, and thinking all the time of her own trouble. “It would ease my heart,” she was thinking, “if I could make up my mind to confide all I am feeling to some one. And it is just Pierre I should like to tell it all to. He is so kind and generous. It would ease my heart. He would give me advice.”
“Would you marry him?” asked Pierre.
“O my God, count! there are moments when I would marry any one”—to her own surprise Princess Marya said, with tears in her voice. “Ah! how bitter it is to love some one near to one and to feel,” she went on in a shaking voice, “that you can do nothing for him, but cause him sorrow, and when you know you cannot alter it. There's only one thing—to go away, and where am I to go?”
“What is wrong? what is the matter with you, princess?”
But Princess Marya, without explaining further, burst into tears.
“I don't know what is the matter with me to-day. Don't take any notice of me, forget what I said to you.”
All Pierre's gaiety had vanished. He questioned the princess anxiously, begged her to speak out, to confide her trouble to him. But she would only repeat that she begged him to forget what she had said, that she did not remember what she had said, and that she had no trouble except the one he knew—her anxiety lest Prince Andrey's marriage should cause a breach between him and his father.
“Have you heard anything of the Rostovs?” she asked to change the subject. “I was told they would soon be here. I expect Andrey, too, every day. I should have liked them to see each other here.”
“And how does he look at the matter now?” said Pierre, meaning by he the old prince. Princess Marya shook her head.
“But it can't be helped. There are only a few months left now before the year is over. And it can't go on like this. I should only have liked to spare my brother the first minutes. I could have wished they were coming sooner. I hope to get to know her well.…You have known them a long while,” said Princess Marya. “Tell me the whole truth, speaking quite seriously. What sort of a girl is she, and how do you like her? But the whole truth, because, you see, Andrey is risking so much in doing this against our father's will, that I should like to know …”
A vague instinct told Pierre that these pleas and repeated requests to him to tell her the whole truth betrayed Princess Marya's ill-will towards her future sister-in-law, that she wanted Pierre not to approve of Prince Andrey's choice; but Pierre said what he felt rather than what he thought. “I don't know how to answer your question,” said he, blushing though he could not have said why himself. “I really don't know what kind of girl she is. I can't analyse her. She's fascinating; and why she is, I don't know; that's all that one can say about her.”
Princess Marya sighed, and her face expressed: “Yes; that's what I expected and feared.”
“Is she clever?” asked Princess Marya. Pierre thought a moment.
“I suppose not,” he said. “Yes, though. She does not think it worth while to be clever.…Yes, no; she is fascinating, and nothing more.”
Princess Marya again shook her head disapprovingly.
“Ah, I do so want to like her! You tell her so if you see her before I do.”
“I have heard that they will be here in a few days,” said Pierre.
Princess Marya told Pierre her plan of getting to know her future sister-in-law as soon as the Rostovs arrived, and trying to get the old prince accustomed to her.
公爵小姐玛丽亚坐在客厅里，静听老年人的流言闲语，她对听见的话一点也不懂；心中只想到客人们是否正在注意她父亲对她的敌视态度。她甚至没有注意共进午餐时德鲁别茨科伊对她特别关心，向她献殷勤，他第三次到他们家里来访问。 
公爵小姐玛丽亚现出漫不经心的、疑惑的眼神，把脸转向皮埃尔，在公爵走出去以后，皮埃尔这个最后走的客人手里拿着一顶帽子，脸上微露笑容，走到她跟前，他们单独地留在客厅里。
“还可以再坐一会儿吗？”他把那肥胖的身子懒散地躺在公爵小姐玛丽亚身旁的安乐椅上时说道。
“啊，可以，”她说。“您什么都没有发觉吗？”她的目光仿佛这样说。
皮埃尔在午餐后心情愉快。他两眼望着前面，悄悄地微笑。
“公爵小姐，您老早就认识这个年轻人吗？”他说。
“哪个年轻人？”
“德鲁别茨科伊？”
“不，不久以前才……”
“怎么样，您喜欢他吗？”
“是的，他是个招人喜欢的年轻人……您干嘛问我这个呢？”公爵小姐玛丽亚说，心里还继续想到今天早上她和父亲的谈话。
“因为我观察到了：这个年轻人平时总是从彼得堡坐车到莫斯科来休假，其目的只是娶一个富有的未婚女子。”
“您观察到了这种事吗？”公爵小姐玛丽亚说。
“是啊，”皮埃尔面露微笑，继续说下去，“目前这个年轻人是这样活动的：那里有富裕的未婚女子，他就到那里去。我把他看得一清二楚。他现今踌躇不前，他要向谁发动进攻：向您进攻呢，还是向朱莉·卡拉金娜小姐进攻呢？Il　est　très　assidu　aupres　d'elle①．”
“他常到她们那里去吗？”
“是的，他常到那里去。您知道一种追求女人的新方式吗？”
皮埃尔带着欢乐的微笑说，显然他怀有善意讥讽的愉快心情，正因为他有这种心情，所以他常在日记上责备自己。
“不晓得。”公爵小姐玛丽亚说。
“目前要取得莫斯科的少女的欢心，il　faut　être　mélancoli－que．Et　il　est　très　melancolique　auprès　dm—lle卡拉金娜。②”皮埃尔说。 
①法语：他很关怀她。
②法语：就应该抑郁寡欢。他在她面前显得非常抑郁寡欢。
“Vraiment？①”公爵小姐玛丽亚说，她两眼望着皮埃尔的仁慈的面孔，不断地想到自己的痛苦，“若是我拿定主意，把我感觉到的一切讲给什么人听，我心里就会松快点儿。我恰恰愿意把这一切讲给皮埃尔听。他这样善良而且高尚。我希望变得松快一点。他给我出一个好主意吧！” 
①法语：是真的吗？
“您愿意嫁给他吗？”皮埃尔问道。
“哎呀，我的天啊，伯爵！有时候我愿意嫁给任何人。”公爵小姐玛丽亚突然出乎自己意料，带着哭泣的嗓音说，“噢，爱一个亲近的人并且感觉到……（她的嗓音颤抖地继续说下去）除开痛苦之外，你竟不能替他做什么，当你知道你不能改变这种情况时，你会多么难受啊。那末唯一的办法就是离开他，但是我能到哪里去呢？”
“公爵小姐，怎么了，您发生了什么事情？”
可是公爵小姐并没有把话说完，就放声大哭起来。
“我不晓得我今天是怎么搞的。甭听我说吧，把我对您说的话忘掉吧。”
皮埃尔的愉快心情已消失殆尽。他担心地探问公爵小姐，请她把心里的话一股脑儿说出来，向他倾诉自己的烦恼，但她只是再三地说，请他忘掉她所说的话，他不记得她说过什么话了。她没有什么烦恼，只有他知道的那种烦恼，即是安德烈公爵结婚一事有引起父子发生争执的危险。
“您是否听到罗斯托夫一家人的情况？”为了改变话题，她问道。“有人告诉我他们不久以后会到这里来。我也天天在等待安德烈。我希望他们在这儿会面。”
“他现在对这种事有什么看法？”皮埃尔问道，他言下的“他”指的是老公爵。公爵小姐玛丽亚摇摇头。
“但是怎么办才好？到年尾只剩下几个月了。这种事是不会发生的。我只希帮助哥哥摆脱刚刚会面时出现的窘态。我渴望他们快点回来。我希望和她合得来。您早就认识他们，”公爵小姐玛丽亚说，“您老老实实把全部实情告诉我，她是个怎样的姑娘，您认为她怎样？但是您得说出全部真相，您知道，因为安德烈冒着很大的风险，他违反父亲的意旨擅自行动，我希望知道……”
一种模糊的本能对皮埃尔说，这些补充说明，加上要他说出全部实情的反复多次的请求，表示公爵小姐对未来的嫂嫂怀有恶意，她心里想要皮埃尔不赞许安德烈公爵的选择，但是皮埃尔道出了与其说是他所考虑到的，毋宁说是他心里觉得要说的话。
“我不知道要怎样回答您的问题，”他说，连他自己也不知道为什么面红耳赤。“我根本不知道，她是一个怎样的姑娘，我怎样也没法分析她。她十分迷人。为什么我不知道，关于她的情形能够说的就只有这些。”公爵小姐玛丽亚叹了一口气，她的面部表情仿佛在说：“是的，这就是我所预料到的，我觉得害怕。”
“她很聪明吗？”公爵小姐玛丽亚问道。皮埃尔沉吟起来。
“我以为，她不聪明。”他说，“不过，她也挺聪明，她不让人家看出她是一个聪明人……不对，她很有魅力，没有什么别的了。”公爵小姐玛丽亚又不赞成地摇摇头。
“啊，我真愿意疼爱她！如果您先看见她，就请您把我说的话告诉她吧。”
“我听说，他们在最近几天内要来了。”皮埃尔说。
公爵小姐玛丽亚把她自己的计划告诉皮埃尔，一当罗斯托夫家里的人抵达，她就与未来的嫂嫂靠拢，想个法子使老公爵和她混熟。
Book 8 Chapter 5
BORIS had not succeeded in marrying a wealthy heiress in Petersburg, and it was with that object that he had come to Moscow. In Moscow Boris found himself hesitating between two of the wealthiest heiresses,— Julie and Princess Marya. Though Princess Marya, in spite of her plainness, seemed to him anyway more attractive than Julie, he felt vaguely awkward in paying court to the former. In his last conversation with her, on the old prince's name-day, she had met all his attempts to talk of the emotions with irrelevant replies, and had obviously not heard what he was saying.
Julie, on the contrary, received his attentions eagerly, though she showed it in a peculiar fashion of her own.
Julie was seven-and-twenty. By the death of her two brothers she had become extremely wealthy. She had by now become decidedly plain. But she believed herself to be not merely as pretty as ever, but actually far more attractive than she had ever been. She was confirmed in this delusion by having become a very wealthy heiress, and also by the fact that as she grew older her society involved less risk for men, and they could behave with more freedom in their intercourse with her, and could profit by her suppers, her soirées, and the lively society that gathered about her, without incurring any obligations to her. A man who would have been afraid of going ten years before to a house where there was a young girl of seventeen, for fear of compromising her and binding himself, would now boldly visit her every day, and treat her not as a marriageable girl, but as an acquaintance of no sex.
The Karagins' house was that winter one of the most agreeable and hospitable houses in Moscow. In addition to the dinner-parties and soirées, to which guests came by invitation, there were every day large informal gatherings at the Karagins', principally of men, who had supper there at midnight and stayed on till three o'clock in the morning. Julie did not miss a single ball, entertainment, or theatre. Her dresses were always of the most fashionable. But in spite of that, Julie appeared to have lost all illusions, told every one that she had no faith in love or friendship, or any of the joys of life, and looked for consolation only to the realm beyond. She had adopted the tone of a girl who has suffered a great disappointment, a girl who has lost her lover or been cruelly deceived by him. Though nothing of the kind had ever happened to her, she was looked upon as having been disappointed in that way, and she did in fact believe herself that she had suffered a great deal in her life. This melancholy neither hindered her from enjoying herself nor hindered young men from spending their time very agreeably in her society. Every guest who visited at the house paid his tribute to the melancholy temper of the hostess, and then proceeded to enjoy himself in society gossip, dancing, intellectual games, or bouts rimés which were in fashion at the Karagins'. A few young men only, among them Boris, entered more deeply into Julie's melancholy, and with these young men she had more prolonged and secluded conversations on the nothingness of all things earthly, and to them she opened her albums, full of mournful sketches, sentences, and verses.
Julie was particularly gracious to Boris. She deplored his early disillusionment with life, offered him those consolations of friendship she was so well able to offer, having herself suffered so cruelly in life, and opened her album to him. Boris sketched two trees in her album, and wrote under them: “Rustic trees, your gloomy branches shed darkness and melancholy upon me.”
In another place he sketched a tomb and inscribed below it:—
“Death is helpful, and death is tranquil,Ah, there is no other refuge from sorrow!”Julie said that couplet was exquisite.
“There is something so ravishing in the smile of melancholy,” she said to Boris, repeating word for word a passage copied from a book. “It is a ray of light in the shadow, a blend between grief and despair, which shows consolation possible.”
Upon that Boris wrote her the following verses in French:—
“Poisonous nourishment of a soul too sensitive,Thou, without whom happiness would be impossible to me,Tender melancholy, ah, come and console me,Come, calm the torments of my gloomy retreat,And mingle a secret sweetness with the tears I feel flowing.”Julie played to Boris the most mournful nocturnes on the harp. Boris read aloud to her the romance of Poor Liza, and more than once broke down in reading it from the emotion that choked his utterance. When they met in general society Julie and Boris gazed at one another as though they were the only people existing in the world, disillusioned and comprehending each other.
Anna Mihalovna, who often visited the Karagins, took a hand at cards with the mother, and meanwhile collected trustworthy information as to the portion that Julie would receive on her marriage (her dowry was to consist of two estates in the Penza province and forests in the Nizhnigorod province). With tender emotion and deep resignation to the will of Providence, Anna Mihalovna looked on at the refined sadness that united her soul to the wealthy Julie.
“Still as charming and as melancholy as ever, my sweet Julie,” she would say to the daughter. “Boris says he finds spiritual refreshment in your house. He has suffered such cruel disillusionment, and he is so sensitive,” she would say to the mother.
“Ah, my dear, how attached I have grown to Julie lately,” she would say to her son, “I can't tell you. But, indeed, who could help loving her! A creature not of this earth! Ah, Boris! Boris!” She paused for a moment. “And how I feel for her mother,” she would go on. “She showed me today the letters and accounts from Penza (they have an immense estate there), and she, poor thing, with no one to help her. They do take such advantage of her!”
Boris heard his mother with a faintly perceptible smile. He laughed blandly at her simple-hearted wiles, but he listened to her and sometimes questioned her carefully about the Penza and Nizhnigorod estates.
Julie had long been expecting an offer from her melancholy adorer, and was fully prepared to accept it. But a sort of secret feeling of repulsion for her, for her passionate desire to be married, for her affectation and a feeling of horror at renouncing all possibility of real love made Boris still delay. The term of his leave was drawing to a close. Whole days at a time, and every day he spent at the Karagins'; and each day Boris resolved, as he thought things over, that he would make an offer on the morrow. But in Julie's presence, as he watched her red face and her chin, almost always sprinkled with powder, her moist eyes, and the expression of her countenance, which betokened a continual readiness to pass at once from melancholy to the unnatural ecstasies of conjugal love, Boris could not utter the decisive word, although in imagination he had long regarded himself as the owner of the Penza and Nizhnigorod estates, and had disposed of the expenditure of their several revenues. Julie saw the hesitation of Boris, and the idea did sometimes occur to her that she was distasteful to him. But feminine self-flattery promptly afforded her comfort, and she assured herself that it was love that made him retiring. Her melancholy was, however, beginning to pass into irritability, and not long before the end of Boris's leave she adopted a decisive plan of action. Just before the expiration of Boris's leave there appeared in Moscow, and—it need hardly be said—also in the drawing-room of the Karagins', no less a person than Anatole Kuragin, and Julie, abruptly abandoning her melancholy, became exceedingly lively and cordial to Kuragin.
“My dear,” said Anna Mihalovna to her son, “I know from a trust-worthy source that Prince Vassily is sending his son to Moscow to marry him to Julie. I am so fond of Julie that I should be most sorry for her. What do you think about it, my dear?” said Anna Mihalovna.
Boris was mortified at the idea of being unsuccessful, of having wasted all that month of tedious, melancholy courtship of Julie, and of seeing all the revenues of those Penza estates—which he had mentally assigned to the various purposes for which he needed them—pass into other hands, especially into the hands of that fool Anatole. He drove off to the Karagins' with the firm determination to make an offer. Julie met him with a gay and careless face, casually mentioned how much she had enjoyed the ball of the evening, and asked him when he was leaving. Although Boris had come with the intention of speaking of his love, and was therefore resolved to take a tender tone, he began to speak irritably of the fickleness of woman; saying that women could so easily pass from sadness to joy, and their state of mind depended entirely on what sort of man happened to be paying them attention. Julie was offended, and said that that was quite true, indeed, that a woman wanted variety, and that always the same thing would bore any one.
“Then I would advise you…” Boris was beginning, meaning to say something cutting; but at that instant the mortifying reflection occurred to him that he might leave Moscow without having attained his object, and having wasted his efforts in vain (an experience he had never had yet). He stopped short in the middle of a sentence, dropped his eyes, to avoid seeing her disagreeably exasperated and irresolute face, and said, “But it was not to quarrel with you that I have come here. On the contrary…” He glanced at her to make sure whether he could go on. All irritation had instantly vanished from her face, and her uneasy and imploring eyes were fastened upon him in greedy expectation.
“I can always manage so as to see very little of her,” thought Boris. “And the thing's been begun and must be finished!” He flushed crimson, raised his eyes to her face, and said to her, “You know my feeling for you!” There was no need to say more. Julie's countenance beamed with triumph and self-satisfaction; but she forced Boris to say everything that is usually said on such occasions, to say that he loved her, and had never loved any woman more than her. She knew that for her Penza estates and her Nizhnigorod forests she could demand that, and she got all she demanded.
The young engaged couple, with no further allusions to trees that enfolded them in gloom and melancholy, made plans for a brilliant establishment in Petersburg, paid visits, and made every preparation for a splendid wedding.
鲍里斯要在彼得堡娶一个有钱的未婚女子，这件事没有办成。他抱定这种目的抵达莫斯科。在莫斯科，鲍里斯在两个最富有的未婚女子——朱莉和公爵小姐玛丽亚——之间踌躇不前。公爵小姐玛丽亚尽管长得难看，但是他觉得她比朱莉更迷人，他不知为什么不好意思去追求博尔孔斯卡娅。最近在老公爵命名日和她会面时，他试图和她谈情说爱，但是她对他说的话回答得牛头不对马嘴，显然她不想听他说话。 
与之相反，朱莉尽管具备有特殊的才能，但是她乐于接受他的追求。
朱莉已经有二十七岁子。她的兄弟相继去世之后，她变得很富有了。她现在根本不漂亮，但是她想到，她不仅长得很好看，而且比从前好看多了。可是，以下两点却使她继续迷惘不解，其一是，她已经成为十分富有的未婚女子；其二是，她年龄越大，男人就认为她显得越可靠，和她交游时不会不承担任何义务，却遭到危险，因而也越发自由。他们都享用她的晚宴和晚会，充分利用在她家里聚会的颇为活跃的上流社会人士。十年前，男人害怕天天登门拜访，因为他们家里有个十七岁的小姐，担心损害她的名誉，同时也不愿意束缚自己，而今每天都可以大胆地去看她了，和她交际时，不把她视为未婚的女子，而把她视为没有性别的熟人。
是冬，卡拉金之家在莫斯科是最令人愉快的、殷勤好客的家庭。除开招待客人的晚会和宴会而外，一大群人，尤其是男人每天在卡拉金家里聚会，深夜十一点多钟，他们进晚餐，在那里坐得太久，坐到两点多钟。舞会呀，游艺会呀，戏剧呀，朱莉不放过每次机会。她的服装总是最时髦的。尽管如此，但是朱莉似乎对一切感到失望，她逢人就说，她既不相信友谊，也不相信爱情，也不相信人生的任何欢乐，她只等待冥府的静谧。她学会了某个大失所望的姑娘的语调，这个姑娘仿佛丧失了心爱的人，或者受到了心爱的人的残酷无情的欺骗。尽管她没有发生这种事情，但是大家还是那样看待她，她自己甚至不相信，她遭受了许多人世的痛苦。这种忧郁的心情并没有妨碍她寻欢作乐，也没有妨碍那些常常到她家里来的青年愉快地消遣。每个经常到他们家里来的客人首先都对女主人的忧郁心情表示敬意，然后才参与文雅的谈话，跳舞，智力游戏以及吟打油诗的比赛，这是卡拉金家中风行一时的游戏。只有几个年轻人，其中包括鲍里斯，更加深入地体会朱莉抑郁寡欢的心情，她跟这些年轻人单独地、更久地谈论尘世的空虚，她打开几本纪念册，给他们看看，上面画满了悲伤的图案，写满了格言和诗句。
朱莉对鲍里斯特别亲切，惋惜他过早地对人生失望，给予他以她所能给予的友情的安慰，而她自己遭受了许多人世的痛苦，她于是向他展开了一本纪念册，给他看看。鲍里斯在纪念册上给她画了两棵树，并且题了词：Arbesrustiques，vossombresrameauxsecouentsurmoilesténèbresetlamélancolie①
在另外一个地方，他画了一座陵墓，并且题了词：
Lamortestsecourableetlamortesttranqulle；
Ah！coutrelesdouteursiln'yapasd'autreasile．②朱莉说，这真妙极了。
“Ilyaquelquechosedesiravissantdanslesouriredelamèlancolie，③”她把引自书上的这个地方一字不差地念给鲍里斯听。
“C'estunrayondelumièredansl'ombre，unenuanceentreladouleuretledésespoir，quimontrelaconsolationpossible．④” 
①法语：农村的树木，你们那暗淡的树枝把昏暗的阴郁振落在我身上。
②法语：死亡拯救人生，死亡赐予安详；啊，没有另一个躲避痛苦的地方。
③法语：忧悒的微笑含有某种无穷无尽的魅力。
④法语：这是暗影中的一线光明，是忧愁和失望之间的细微差别，它说明慰藉的可能。
 
鲍里斯为此给她写了以下一首诗：
Alimentdepoisond'uneaBmetropsensible，
Toi，sansquilebonheurmeseraitimpossible，
Tendremélancolie，ah！viensmeconsoler，
Vienscolmerlestourmentsdemasombreretraite，
Etmêleunedouceursecrète
Acespleurs，quijesenscouler．①
朱莉用竖琴给鲍里斯弹奏最悲哀的夜曲。鲍里斯给她朗诵《可怜的丽莎》，因为他激动得上气不接下气，接连有几次中断了朗诵。朱莉和鲍里斯在大庭广众中相会的时候，二人的目光相遇，就像望见世界上唯一冷淡的、互相了解的人那样。
经常到卡拉金娜家里去的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜在和朱莉的母亲凑成牌局的时候，对朱莉的陪嫁，作了实际的调查（为朱莉出阁而陪送奔萨省两处领地和下城森林）。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜现出忠于天意和深受感动的神情观察那微妙的悲哀气氛，而这种气氛把她的儿子和富有的朱莉束缚在一起。
“Tojoursfcharmanteetmélancolique，cettechèreJulie，”②她对他们那家的女儿说，“鲍里斯说，他只是在您家里，心灵才感到安逸。他多少次心灰意冷，而且深有感触。”
她对朱莉的母亲说。 
①法语：有毒的希馔／损害着无比机智的灵魂，／假如没有你，我的幸福已成为泡影。／温柔的凄凉／啊，你来安慰我，／你来排除那阴暗的幽居的生活的痛苦，／把那秘密的甜蜜／混和着我所感觉到的簌簌地流下的眼泪。
②法语：我们的可爱的朱莉还是那么迷人和忧悒。
“啊，我的亲人，我近来多么依恋朱莉，”她对儿子说，“我无法向你形容啊！谁能不喜爱她呢？她是个多么非凡的人啊！噢，鲍里斯，鲍里斯！”她沉默片刻，“我多么怜悯她的妈妈，”她继续说，“今天她把从奔萨送来的帐目和信札拿给我看（她们有个偌大的领地），她很可怜，全靠自己一个人，人家都欺骗她！”
鲍里斯倾听母亲说话时，脸上微露笑容。他态度温和地嘲笑她那憨厚的狡黠，但是他仔细地听她说话，有时候向她询问奔萨和下城领地的情形。
朱莉老早就在等待她那忧悒的追求者向她求婚并且愿意接受他，但是鲍里斯对她那渴望出阁的心情，对她的不自然的态度，内心怀有一种潜在的厌恶感，同时还害怕丧失真正恋爱的良机，这种恐惧心还在阻止他向朱莉求婚。他的假期快要结束了。他每天都在卡拉金家里消磨整整一天的时光，他每天暗自思量，他自言自语地说，他明天就去求婚。但是在朱莉出现时，他两眼瞅着她那通红的脸和几乎总是扑满香粉的下巴，她那被泪水沾湿的眼睛，她的面部表情已显示出她随时准备从忧郁的心情立刻转变为婚后幸福的不自然的喜悦心情，鲍里斯目睹此情此景，就不会开口说出一句决定性的话了，虽然他早在臆想中认为自己是奔萨和下城领地的占有者并把领地的收入排好了用场。朱莉看见鲍里斯犹豫不决，有时候她想到他嫌恶她，但是女人的自欺自慰使她立即感到高兴，她于是自言自语地说，他只是由于钟情而腼腆起来。但是她的抑郁寡欢开始转变成懊丧，所以在鲍里斯动身前不久，她就采取决定性的步聚。而当鲍里斯的假期快要结束的时候，阿纳托利·库拉金正在莫斯科，自然是在卡拉金家的客厅里出现，朱莉不再抑郁寡欢，却变得十分快活，细心照料库拉金。
“Mon　cher（我亲爱的），”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜对儿子说，“je　sais　de　bonne　source　que　le　Prince　Basile　envoie　son　fils　à　Moscou　pour　lui　faire　épouser　Julie①。我很喜欢朱莉，我可怜她。我的亲人，你以为怎样？”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说。 
①法语：我亲爱的，我从可靠消息得知瓦西里公爵把儿子送来是想要他娶朱莉为妻的。
鲍里斯受到愚弄，白白地浪费了一个月的时间，在朱莉身边完全陷于抑郁寡欢的气氛，心里觉得难受，并且看到在他想象中已经弄到手的、适当地派了用场的奔萨领地的收入已经落入别人手里，尤其是落入愚蠢的阿纳托利手里，鲍里斯一想到这些事情，就感到受了侮辱。他乘车前往卡拉金家，毅然决定去求婚。朱莉现出愉快的无忧无虑的样子，出来迎接他，心不在焉地讲到，在昨天的舞会上她觉得非常快活并向他问到他什么时候动身。虽然鲍里斯到她这里来是打算倾诉爱慕之情的，因此他存心装出一副温柔多情的样子，可是他竟然冲动得谈起女人的喜新厌旧来了，他说女人们都很容易从忧愁转变为欢乐，女人的心境只有取决于追求她们的男人。朱莉觉得受到了侮辱，她说，事实确乎如此，女人需要变变花样，如果总是老样子，人人都会感到厌烦的。
“为此我可以奉劝您……”鲍里斯正要开腔，想对她说些讽刺话；但在这时候他心中产生一种令人屈辱的想法：很可能达不到目的，徒劳无益地离开莫斯科（他从未发生这种情形）。他讲到半中间便停顿下来，垂下了眼帘，不想去看她那令人厌恶的十分忿怒的犹豫不决的脸色，他说道：“我到这里来，根本不想和您争吵，恰恰相反……”他朝她瞥了一眼，为了弄清楚，是不是可以继续讲下去。她那愤怒的心情忽然消逝了，一双焦虑不安的，央求的眼睛带着迫切期待的目光逼视着他。“我总能想到办法，少和她见面，”鲍里斯想了想，“事情开了头，就得把它做完啊！”他突然面红耳赤，抬起眼睛望望她，并且对她说：“您知道我对您充满爱心！”再也不用多说了，朱莉的脸上焕发出洋洋得意和自满的光彩，但她迫使鲍里斯在这种场合把他心里要说的话一股脑儿向她说出来，说他很爱她，他从来没有像爱她那样爱过一个别的妇女。她知道，靠奔萨的领地和下城的森林，她就能提出这项要求，而且她已经得到了她所要求的一切。
未婚夫和未婚妻不再提及那两株撒落着阴郁和凄清的树了，他们规划，将来怎样在彼得堡修建一座金壁辉煌的住宅、访问亲戚朋友以及筹备隆重的婚礼。
Book 8 Chapter 6
COUNT ILYA ANDREITCH ROSTOV arrived in Moscow towards the end of January with Natasha and Sonya. The countess was still unwell, and unable to travel, but they could not put off coming till she recovered, for Prince Andrey was expected in Moscow every day. They had, besides, to order the trousseau, to sell the estate in the suburbs of Moscow, and to take advantage of old Prince Bolkonsky's presence in Moscow to present his future daughter-in-law to him. The Rostovs' house in Moscow had not been heated all the winter; and as they were coming only for a short time, and the countess was not with them, Count Ilya Andreitch made up his mind to stay with Marya Dmitryevna Ahrostimov, who had long been pressing her hospitality upon the count.
Late in the evening the four loaded sledges of the Rostovs drove into the courtyard of Marya Dmitryevna in Old Equerrys' Place. Marya Dmitryevna lived alone. She had by now married off her daughter. Her sons were all in the service.
She still held herself as erect; still gave every one her opinions in the same loud, outspoken, decided fashion; and her whole bearing seemed a reproof to other people for every sort of weakness, passion, and temptation, of which she would not admit the bare possibility. In the early morning, in a house-jacket, she looked after the management of her household. Then she drove on saints' days to Mass, and from Mass to the gaols and prisons; and of what she did there, she never spoke to any one.
On ordinary days she dressed and received petitioners of various classes, of whom some sought her aid every day. Then she had dinner, an abundant and appetising meal, at which some three or four guests were always present. After dinner she played a game of boston; and at night had the newspapers and new books read aloud to her while she knitted. It was only as a rare exception that she went out in the evening; if she did so, it was only to visit the most important people in the town.
She had not gone to bed when the Rostovs arrived, and the door in the vestibule squeaked on the block, as the Rostovs and their servants came in from the cold outside. Marya Dmitryevna stood in the doorway of the hall, with her spectacles slipping down on her nose, and her head flung back, looking with a stern and irate face at the new-comers. It might have been supposed that she was irritated at their arrival, and would pack them off again at once, had she not at the very time been giving careful instructions to her servants where to install her guests and their belongings.
“The count's things? Bring them here,” she said, pointing to the trunks, and not bestowing a greeting on any one. “The young ladies', this way to the left. Well, what are we pottering about for?” she called to her maids. “Warm the samovar! She's plumper, prettier,” she pronounced of Natasha, flushed from the frosty air, as she drew her closer by her hood. “Foo! she is cold! You make haste and get your wraps off,” she shouted to the count, who would have kissed her hand. “You're frozen, I warrant. Rum for the tea! Sonyushka, bonjour,” she said to Sonya, indicating by this French phrase the slightly contemptuous affectionateness of her attitude to Sonya.
When they had all taken off their outdoor things, set themselves straight after the journey, and come in to tea, Marya Dmitryevna kissed them all in due course.
“Heartily glad you have come, and are staying with me,” she said. “It's long been time you were here,” she said, with a significant glance at Natasha.… “The old fellow's here, and his son's expected from day to day. You must, you must make their acquaintance. Oh, well, we shall talk of that later on,” she added, with a glance at Sonya, showing that she did not care to talk of it before her. “Now, listen,” she turned to the count, “what do you want to do to-morrow? Whom will you send for? Shinshin?”—she crooked one finger. “The tearful Anna Mihalovna— two. She's here with her son. The son's to be married too! Then Bezuhov. He's here, too, with his wife. He ran away from her, and she has come trotting after him. He dined with me last Wednesday. Well, and I'll take them”—she indicated the young ladies—“to-morrow to Iversky chapel, and then we shall go to Aubert-Chalmey. You'll be getting everything now, I expect! Don't judge by me—the sleeves nowadays are like this! The other day the young princess, Irina Vassilyevna, came to see me, just as though she had put two barrels on her arms, a dreadful fright. Every day there's a new fashion. And what sort of business is it you have come for yourself?” she said severely, addressing the count.
“Everything has come together,” answered the count. “There's the girl's rags to buy; and now there's a purchaser turned up for the Moscow estate and the house. If you'll graciously permit it, I'll choose an opportunity and drive over to Maryinskoe for a day, leaving my girls on your hands.”
“Very good, very good, they'll be safe enough with me. I'm as safe as the Mortgage Bank. I'll take them where they must go, and scold them and pet them too,” said Marya Dmitryevna, putting her big hand on the cheek of her favourite and god-daughter Natasha.
Next morning Marya Dmitryevna bore the young ladies off to Iversky chapel and to Madame Aubert-Chalmey, who was so frightened of Marya Dmitryevna that she always sold her dresses at a loss simply to get rid of her as soon as possible. Marya Dmitryevna ordered almost the whole trousseau. On their return, she sent every one out of the room but Natasha, and called her favourite to sit beside her arm-chair.
“Well, now we can have a chat. I congratulate you on your betrothed. A fine fellow you have hooked! I'm glad of it for your sake, and I have known him since he was that high”—she held her hand a yard from the floor. Natasha flushed joyfully. “I like him and all his family. Now, listen! You know, of course, that old Prince Nikolay was very much against his son's marrying. He's a whimsical old fellow! Of course, Prince Andrey is not a child, he can get on without him, but to enter a family against the father's will is not a nice thing to do. One wants peace and love in a family. You're a clever girl, you'll know how to manage things. You must use your wits and your kind heart. And every thing will come right.”
Natasha was silent, not as Marya Dmitryevna supposed from shyness. In reality Natasha disliked any one's interfering in what touched her love for Prince Andrey, which seemed to her something so apart from all human affairs, that no one, as she imagined, could understand it. She loved Prince Andrey, and only him, and knew only him; he loved her, and was to arrive in a day or two and carry her off. She did not care about anything else.
“I have known him a long while, do you see; and Masha, your sister-in-law, I love. Sisters-in-law are said to be mischief-makers, but she— well, she wouldn't hurt a fly. She has begged me to bring you two together. You must go to see her to-morrow with your father, and be as nice as possible; you are younger than she is. By the time your young man comes back, you'll be friends with his sister and his father, and they will have learned to love you. Yes or no? It will be better so, eh?”
“Oh yes!” Natasha responded reluctantly.
一月底，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵偕同娜塔莎、索尼娅抵达莫斯科。伯爵夫人还在害病，不能启行，——但是决不能等待她复原；他们天天等待安德烈公爵回到莫斯科；此外，务必要购置嫁妆，出售莫斯科近郊的田庄，趁老公爵还在莫斯科的时候，让他认识一下未来的媳妇。罗斯托夫之家在莫斯科的住宅没有生火，此外，他们来到莫斯科后只作短暂逗留，伯爵夫人也不在他们身边，因此伊利亚·安德烈伊奇决定临时住在莫斯科的玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜·阿赫罗西莫娃家中，她老早就向伯爵表示，她愿意殷勤接待他。 
深夜，罗斯托夫之家的四辆雪橇开进了旧马厩街玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的庭院。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜独自一人住在这里。她把女儿嫁出去了。她的几个儿子都在机关里服务。
她待人总是那么坦率，在对任何人提出意见时，总是那么爽快，说话的声音洪亮，意志坚定，她仿佛以身作则，诚恳地责备别人的各种弱点、情欲和嗜癖，她不认为自己身上有这些毛病。大清早，她就穿上短棉袄，搞一点家务，之后，每逢节日去做日祷，日祷完毕后便去寨堡和监狱，她在那里从事什么活动，她不向任何人透露，在平日里，她穿好衣裳后，便来招待每天到她家里来的各个不同阶层的向他求援的人，然后用午餐，在味美而丰盛的午餐上，经常有三四位来客，在午餐之后打一圈波士顿牌，晚上叫人给她读报，给她读新书，她一边听，一边做针织活计。她很少破例驱车出门，如果出门，只不过是访问城里的高官显贵而已。
当罗斯托夫一家人抵达的时候，她还没有上床睡觉，接待室的门上的滑轮嘎吱嘎吱地响起来，他们让罗斯托夫一家人和女仆从寒冷的户外走进来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜把眼镜拉到鼻梁上，头向后仰，站在大厅门口，显露出气势汹汹的严肃而暴躁的神态望着走进来的人。可以设想，她对进来的人不满，假如这时候她不忙碌地吩咐仆人们把来客分别安置好，同时把他们的行李一一放好的话，人们真会以为她立刻要把客人赶出去。
“是伯爵的行李吗？拿到这里来，”她说道，指着那几只手提箱，但是没有同任何人打招呼，“小姐们，向左转，到这里来。喂，你们干嘛要巴结！”她对几个丫头喊了一声，“热一热茶炊！——你长得更胖了，变得更好看了！”她拽着把脸冻得通红的娜塔莎的风帽，把她拖到身边来。说道，“嘿，觉得冷吧！快点儿宽衣吧，”她对正想走到她跟前来吻吻她的手的伯爵喊了一声，“你冻僵了，是不是？喝茶的时候，你把糖酒端来吧！——索纽什卡，bonjour①。”她对索尼娅说，她用法国话问好，突出她对索尼娅的略嫌藐视的、温和的态度。 
①法语：你好。
当大伙儿脱下外衣，旅行后整理一下自己的服装，走过来饮茶的时候，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜依次地吻吻大家。
“你们光临敝舍，并在我处下榻，我由衷地高兴，”她说道，“早就应该来呀，”她说道，意味深长地看看娜塔莎……“老头子在这里，他儿子一两天内就能回来。应该、应该和他认识一下。哦，这件事我们以后再谈吧。”她补充一句，看了看索尼娅，那目光表明，她不想在她面前谈论这桩事。“现在请听着，”她向伯爵转过脸去说，“——明天你有何贵干？派人去把谁请来呢？把申申请来？她屈起一个指头，把那个哭鬼安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜也请来，两个人啦。她和儿子都在这里。儿子快娶亲啦！然后再请别祖霍夫，是不是？他和妻子也在这里。他躲开她，可是她乘马车来找他了。礼拜三他在我这儿吃了一顿午饭。啊，她们呢，”她指指小姐们说，“明儿我带领她们到伊韦尔小教堂去，然后我们顺路到奥贝尔·夏尔姆时装店去一趟。你们大概都要做新衣裳吧？不要拿我的衣袖来说吧，瞧，就是这个样儿！前几天，年轻的公爵小姐伊琳娜·瓦西里耶夫娜到我这儿来了，看看她，真吓人啊，她手上套着两个大圆桶。如今一日一个新式样。你本人要办什么事儿？”她把脸转向伯爵，严肃地说。
“各种情形都凑在一起了，”伯爵答道，“要给姑娘们购买各式各样的衣服，这儿还有个买主，他要买莫斯科近郊的田庄和住宅。如果您能够开恩，我就要选择个时间到马林斯科耶去一天，把我两个小姑娘交给您照管。”
“好，好，她们在我这儿万无一失。在我这儿就像在监护委员会里一样。她们该去什么地方玩，我就带领她们去，我可以骂骂她们，抚爱抚爱她们。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说，她一面用她那只粗大的手触动一下她特别宠爱的姑娘和教女娜塔莎的面颊。
第二天早上，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜把两个小姐带到伊韦尔小教堂去，后来又把她们带到奥贝尔·夏尔姆太太那里去，她很惧怕玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，所以她常常亏本向她售出自己的衣服，只是想叫她快点儿离开。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜差不多定购了全部嫁妆。她回家后，便把所有的人从房里赶出去，只留下娜塔莎一个人，叫她特别宠爱的姑娘坐在她的安乐椅上。
“啊，我们现在谈谈吧。我祝贺你有个未婚夫。你已经找到一个棒小伙子！我替你高兴，他从小时候我就认识（她比划给她看，离地一俄尺那样高）。”娜塔莎高兴得满面通红。
“我喜欢他，也喜欢他全家人。现在你听着。你要晓得，年老的公爵尼古拉很不想要他儿子娶亲。一个神经质的老人啊！自然，安德烈公爵不是毛孩子，他不过问也能顺利地办成这件事，不过违背家父的旨意进入家门总不太妙。一家人要和睦共处，亲如手足。你是一个聪明人，会应付自如。你要精明能干点，妥善地应付过去。这样，一切都会好起来。”
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜想到，娜塔莎由于腼腆而默默不语，但在事实上娜塔莎感到非常不愉快：大家干预她爱安德烈公爵这种事，在她看来，这件事与众人的任何事情迥然不同，按照她的观点，谁也不能理解它。她只知道并且爱慕安德烈公爵，他也爱她，最近几天内要来接她。她再也不需要别的什么了。
“你要明白，我老早就认识他，我也喜欢你的小姑子玛申卡。小姑子是好争吵的妇女，可是这个小姑子连苍蝇也不会欺侮。她求我让她和你会会面。你明天和你父亲一起到她那里去，你要对她表示亲热，藉以博得欢心，你比她年纪更轻。你的那个人抵达后，你和他妹妹、他父亲都认识了，他们都很喜欢你。对不对呢？这样岂不更妙？”
“那更好。”娜塔莎不乐意地回答。
Book 8 Chapter 7
NEXT DAY, by the advice of Marya Dmitryevna, Count Ilya Andreitch went with Natasha to call on Prince Nikolay Andreitch. The count prepared for the visit by no means in a cheerful spirit: in his heart he was afraid. Count Ilya Andreitch had a vivid recollection of his last interview with the old prince at the time of the levying of the militia, when, in reply to his invitation to dinner, he had had to listen to a heated reprimand for furnishing less than the required number of men. Natasha in her best dress was, on the contrary, in the most cheerful frame of mind. “They can't help liking me,” she thought; “every one always does like me. And I'm so ready to do anything they please for them, so readily to love them—him for being his father, and her for being his sister—they can have no reason for not loving me!”
They drove to the gloomy old house in Vosdvizhenka, and went into the vestibule.
“Well now, with God's blessing,” said the count, half in jest, half in earnest. But Natasha noticed that her father was in a nervous fidget as he went into the entry, and asked timidly and softly whether the prince and the princess were at home. After their arrival had been announced, there was some perturbation visible among the prince's servants. The footman, who was running to announce them, was stopped by another footman in the big hall, and they whispered together. A maid-servant ran into the hall, and hurriedly said something, mentioning the princess. At last one old footman came out with a wrathful air, and announced to the Rostovs that the prince was not receiving, but the princess begged them to walk up. The first person to meet the visitors was Mademoiselle Bourienne. She greeted the father and daughter with marked courtesy, and conducted them to the princess's apartment. The princess, with a frightened and agitated face, flushed in patches, ran in, treading heavily, to meet her visitors, doing her best to seem cordial and at ease. From the first glance Princess Marya disliked Natasha. She thought her too fashionably dressed, too frivolously gay and vain. Princess Marya had no idea that before she had seen her future sister-in-law she had been unfavourably disposed to her, through unconscious envy of her beauty, her youth, and her happiness, and through jealousy of her brother's love for her. Apart from this insuperable feeling of antipathy to her, Princess Marya was at that moment agitated by the fact that on the Rostovs' having been announced the old prince had shouted that he didn't want to see them, that Princess Marya could see them if she chose, but they were not to be allowed in to see him. Princess Marya resolved to see the Rostovs, but she was every instant in dread of some freak on the part of the old prince, as he had appeared greatly excited by the arrival of the Rostovs.
“Well, here I have brought you my songstress, princess,” said the count, bowing and scraping, while he looked round uneasily as though he were afraid the old prince might come in. “How glad I am that you should make friends.…Sorry, very sorry, the prince is still unwell”; and uttering a few more stock phrases, he got up. “If you'll allow me, princess, to leave you my Natasha for a quarter of an hour, I will drive round—only a few steps from here—to Dogs' Square to see Anna Semyonovna, and then come back for her.”
Count Ilya Andreitch bethought himself of this diplomatic stratagem to give the future sisters-in-law greater freedom to express their feelings to one another (so he told his daughter afterwards), but also to avoid the possibility of meeting the prince, of whom he was afraid. He did not tell his daughter this; but Natasha perceived this dread and uneasiness of her father's, and felt mortified by it. She blushed for her father, felt still angrier at having blushed, and glanced at the princess with a bold, challenging air, meant to express that she was not afraid of any one. The princess told the count that she would be delighted, and only begged him to stay a little longer at Anna Semyonovna's, and Ilya Andreitch departed.
In spite of the uneasy glances flung at her by Princess Marya, who wanted to talk to Natasha by herself, Mademoiselle Bourienne would not leave the room, and persisted in keeping up a conversation about Moscow entertainments and theatres. Natasha felt offended by the delay in the entry, by her father's nervousness, and by the constrained manner of the princess, who seemed to her to be making a favour of receiving her. And then everything displeased her. She did not like Princess Marya. She seemed to her very ugly, affected, and frigid. Natasha suddenly, as it were, shrank into herself, and unconsciously assumed a non-chalant air, which repelled Princess Marya more and more. After five minutes of irksome and constrained conversation, they heard the sound of slippered feet approaching rapidly. Princess Marya's face expressed terror: the door of the room opened, and the prince came in, in a white night-cap and dressing-gown.
“Ah, madam,” he began, “madam, countess.…Countess Rostov… if I'm not mistaken…I beg you to excuse me, to excuse me…I didn't know, madam. As God's above, I didn't know that you were deigning to visit us, and came in to my daughter in this costume. I beg you to excuse me…as God's above, I didn't know,” he repeated so unnaturally, with emphasis on the word “God,” and so unpleasantly, that Princess Marya rose to her feet with her eyes on the ground, not daring to look either at her father or at Natasha. Natasha, getting up and curtseying, did not know either what she was to do. Only Mademoiselle Bourienne smiled agreeably.
“I beg you to excuse me, I beg you to excuse me! As God's above, I didn't know,” muttered the old man, and looking Natasha over from head to foot, he went out.
Mademoiselle Bourienne was the first to recover herself after this apparition, and began talking about the prince's ill-health. Natasha and Princess Marya gazed dumbly at one another, and the longer they gazed dumbly at one another without saying what they wanted to say, the more unfavourably each felt disposed to the other.
When the count returned, Natasha showed a discourteous relief at seeing him, and made haste to get away. At that moment she almost hated that stiff, oldish princess, who could put her in such an awkward position, and spend half an hour with her without saying a word about Prince Andrey. “I couldn't be the first to speak of him before that Frenchwoman,” thought Natasha. Princess Marya meanwhile was tortured by the very same feeling. She knew what she had to say to Natasha, but she could not do it, both because Mademoiselle Bourienne prevented her, and because she did not know herself why—it was difficult for her to begin to speak of the marriage. The count was already going out of the room when Princess Marya moved rapidly up to Natasha, took her hand, and, with a heavy sigh, said: “Wait a moment, I want…” Natasha's expression as she looked at Princess Marya was ironical, though she did not know why.
“Dear Natalie,” said Princess Marya, “do believe how glad I am that my brother has found such happiness…” She paused, feeling she was telling a lie. Natasha noticed the pause, and guessed the reason of it.
“I imagine, princess, that it is not now suitable to speak of that,” said Natasha, with external dignity and coldness, though she felt the tears rising in her throat.
“What have I said, what have I done?” she thought as soon as she had gone out of the room.
They had to wait a long while for Natasha to come to dinner that day. She was sitting in her room, crying like a child, choking, and sobbing. Sonya stood over her, and kept kissing her on the head.
“Natasha, what is it?” she kept saying. “Why need you mind about them? It will pass, Natasha.”
“No, if only you knew how insulting it was…as though I…”
“Don't talk of it, Natasha; it's not your fault, you see, so what does it matter to you! Kiss me,” said Sonya.
Natasha raised her head, and kissing her friend on the lips, pressed her wet face against her.
“I can't say; I don't know. It's no one's fault,” said Natasha; “it's my fault. But it's all awfully painful. Oh, why doesn't he come?…”
She went down to dinner with red eyes. Marya Dmitryevna, who had heard how the old prince had received the Rostovs, pretended not to notice Natasha's troubled face, and kept up a loud, jesting conversation at table with the count and the other guests.
次日，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵听从玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的劝告，偕同娜塔莎乘车到尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵那里去了。伯爵怏怏不乐地准备出去访问，他感到害怕。他和老公爵最后一次相会适值征兵时期，当时他未能如数提供民兵，因此老公爵在回答他的宴请时，厉声呵斥他，他对这次会面记忆犹新。娜塔莎穿了一身华丽的连衣裙，她相反地感到心情愉快。“他们是不会不喜欢我的。”她想道，“人人总是疼爱我的。我心甘情愿地为他们做他们希望我做的一切，因为他是父亲，我心甘情愿地爱他，因为她是妹妹，我也心干情愿地爱她，他们哪能无缘无故地不疼爱我呢！” 
他们驶近了弗兹德维仁卡街一幢古旧的阴森森的住宅，走进了外屋。
“啊，祈祷上帝保佑吧，”伯爵有点开玩笑地、有点严肃地说，但是娜塔莎已经发现，她父亲走进接待室时慌张起来，他显得羞怯，低声地问公爵和公爵小姐是不是在家。仆役通报他们到达之后，公爵的仆役们之间出现了一阵慌乱。一名跑去通报的仆役在大厅里被另一名仆役拦阻，他们低声说着什么话。一个丫头跑进了大厅，也着急地说了些什么，提到了公爵小姐。后来有一个怒形于色的老仆役走来禀告罗斯托夫家里人，说公爵不能接见，公爵小姐请他们到她面前去。布里安小姐头一个走出去迎接客人。她分外恭敬地迎接父女二人，领他们去见公爵小姐。公爵小姐脸上泛起了一阵阵红晕，显现出惊惶不安的神色，她迈着沉重的脚步跑出去迎接客人，但是她徒然装出一副无拘无束的、待人周到的好客的样子。公爵小姐玛丽亚乍一看来不喜欢娜塔莎。她好像觉得她的装束过分讲究，显得快活而轻浮，很慕虚荣。公爵小姐玛丽亚不知道，在她尚未看见未来的嫂嫂之前，她因为情不自禁地妒嫉她的姿色、年轻和幸福，又因为忌妒她哥哥对她的爱情，所以她已经对她怀有恶意了。除开这种不可克服的反感，公爵小姐玛丽亚这时候还感到激动不安，当仆人通报罗斯托夫家里人来访的这一瞬间、公爵叫喊起来，说他无须乎会见他们，如果公爵小姐玛丽亚愿意的话，就叫她去接见好了，他不允许他们去见他。公爵小姐玛丽亚决定接见罗斯托夫家里人，但是她时刻担心，深怕公爵表现出乖常行为，由于罗斯托夫家里人的来访，他似乎显得非常激动。
“可爱的公爵小姐，您瞧！我给您带来了我的歌手。”伯爵说，一面并脚致礼，一面不安地回头观看，好像他害怕老公爵会走过来，“你们互相认识了，我多么高兴，公爵老是生病，很遗憾，很遗憾。”他还说了几句一般的话，便站起来，“如果允许的话，我把娜塔莎留给您照管一刻钟，我到养狗场安娜·谢苗诺夫娜那里去一趟，离这里很近，只有几步路远，之后我来接她。”伊利亚·安德烈伊奇想出了这套外交手腕，其目的无非是给未来的小姑和嫂嫂留有谈话的余地（后来他把这桩事告诉她女儿），其目的无非是避免碰见他所惧怕的公爵。他没有把这件事告诉他女儿，但是娜塔莎明白父亲的恐惧心理和急躁情绪，她觉得自己受到了侮辱。她为父亲而面红耳赤，因为面红耳赤而愈益气恼，她用她那大胆的挑衅的目光朝公爵小姐瞟了一眼，那目光仿佛是说，她是不害怕任何人的。公爵小姐告诉了伯爵，说她觉得很高兴，并且请他在安娜·谢苗诺夫娜那里多待一阵子，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇于是就走了。
尽管公爵小姐玛丽亚希望单独地跟娜塔莎谈谈话，她一面用那焦虑不安的目光投射在布里安小姐身上，但是布里安小姐还是没有从房里出来，她不改变话题，一个劲儿谈莫斯科的娱乐和剧院。娜塔莎的父亲在接待室里心慌意乱，局促不安，而且公爵小姐的腔调听来很不自然，娜塔莎因而感到受了侮辱，她觉得公爵小姐好像开恩似的接见了她。因此，什么都不能使她悦意。她不喜欢公爵小姐玛丽亚。她仿佛觉得她很不好看，既虚伪而冷淡。娜塔莎忽然精神萎靡不振，说话时带着不太客气的腔调，这就使得她和公爵小姐玛丽亚更疏远了。经过五分钟阴郁的虚伪的谈话之后可以听见飞快走来的步履声。公爵小姐玛丽亚的脸上现出惊恐的神色，房门敞开了，公爵戴着一顶白色的睡帽，穿着一件长罩衫走进来了。
“啊，小姐，”他开口说，“小姐，伯爵小姐，……伯爵小姐罗斯托娃，如果我没有搞错的话……请您原谅，请原谅……伯爵小姐，我不知道。上帝明鉴，我不知道您光临寒舍，我穿这样的衣裳来看女儿了，请原谅……上帝明鉴，我不知道。”他很不自然地重说一遍，强调“上帝”这个词，那样令人不痛快，以致公爵小姐玛丽亚垂下眼帘站在那儿，既不敢瞧瞧父亲，也不敢瞧瞧娜塔莎。娜塔莎站起来，行屈膝礼，她也不晓得应该怎么办。唯独布里安小姐面露愉快的微笑。
“请您原谅，请原谅！上帝明鉴，我不知道，”老头儿嘟嘟哝哝地说，他从头到脚把娜塔莎打量了一番，然后走出去了。在发生这种情况后，布里安小姐头一个想到了应对的办法，她开始说到公爵的身体欠佳。娜塔莎和公爵小姐玛丽亚沉默无言地面面相觑，她们沉默无言地面面相觑得越久，不说出她们应该说的话，她们就越发不怀好意地互相猜度。
当伯爵回来以后，娜塔莎在他面前无礼貌地高兴起来，急急忙忙地离开；这时她几乎仇视那个年岁大的、干巴巴的公爵小姐，她会把她弄得狼狈不堪，关于安德烈公爵，她一言不发，和她在一块就这样待上半个钟头了，“要知道，我不会在这个法国女人面前首先谈到他。”娜塔莎想道。与此同时，公爵小姐玛丽亚也为这件事觉得难受。她知道她应该向娜塔莎说些什么话，但是她不能这样做，因为布里安小姐妨碍她，因为她自己也不知道，她为什么谈起这桩婚事时心里就那么难受。当伯爵从房里走出去，公爵小姐玛丽亚便迈开疾速的脚步，走到娜塔莎跟前，握住她的一双手，沉重地叹一口气说：“等一等，我要……”娜塔莎连她自己也不知道在讥笑什么，她讥笑地瞧着公爵小姐玛丽亚。
“可爱的娜塔莉，”公爵小姐玛丽亚说：“您可知道，我哥哥找到了幸福，我感到高兴……”她停下来了，觉得她在说谎话。娜塔莎发现她停顿一下，猜中了她稍事停顿的原因。
“我想，公爵小姐，现在说这件事很不方便。”娜塔莎说，她表面上尊严而且冷淡，但是她觉得眼泪已涌向喉头。
“我说了什么，我做了什么！”她刚走出房门，就这么想。
这天他们等候娜塔莎出来吃午饭，等了很久。她坐在自己房里，像孩儿一样嚎啕大哭，她一面擤鼻涕，一面呜咽。索尼娅站在她身旁，吻她的头发。
“娜塔莎，你哭什么？”她说。“你与他们何干？娜塔莎，什么都会过去的。……”
“不，若是你知道，这多么令人气恼……正像我这样……”
“娜塔莎，你别说，要知道你没有过失，这与你有什么关系？吻吻我吧。”索尼娅说。
娜塔莎抬起头来，吻吻她的女友的嘴唇，把那被泪水沾湿的脸贴在她身上。
“我不能说，我不晓得。谁也没有罪过，”娜塔莎说，“我有过错，但是这一切非常可怕啦。哎，他怎么没有来啊！
……”
她两眼通红地出来用午饭。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜知道公爵怎样接待罗斯托夫家里人，她假装没有发觉娜塔莎那种扫兴的脸色，在进午餐的时候她和伯爵与其他客人不停顿地、大声地说笑。
Book 8 Chapter 8
THAT EVENING the Rostovs went to the opera, for which Marya Dmitryevna had obtained them a box.
Natasha had no wish to go, but it was impossible to refuse after Marya Dmitryevna's kindness, especially as it had been arranged expressly for her. When she was dressed and waiting for her father in the big hall, she looked at herself in the big looking-glass, and saw that she was looking pretty, very pretty. She felt even sadder, but it was a sweet and tender sadness.
“My God, if he were only here, I wouldn't have any stupid shyness of something as I used to, but in quite a new way, simply, I would embrace him, press close to him, force him to look at me with those scrutinising, inquisitive eyes, with which he used so often to look at me, and then I would make him laugh, as he used to laugh then; and his eyes—how I see those eyes!” thought Natasha. “And what does it matter to me about his father and sister; I love no one but him, him, him, with that face and those eyes, with his smile, manly, and yet childlike.… No, better not think of him, not think, forget, utterly forget him for the time. I can't bear this suspense; I shall sob in a minute,” and she turned away from the looking-glass, making an effort not to weep. “And how can Sonya love Nikolenka so quietly, so calmly, and wait so long and so patiently!” she wondered, looking at Sonya, who came in, dressed for the theatre with a fan in her hand. “No, she's utterly different. I can't.”
Natasha at that moment felt so softened and moved that to love and know that she was loved was not enough for her: she wanted now, now at once to embrace the man she loved, and to speak and hear from him the words of love, of which her heart was full. When she was in the carriage sitting beside her father and pensively watching the lights of the street lamps flitting by the frozen window, she felt even sadder and more in love, and forgot with whom and where she was going. The Rostovs' carriage fell into the line of carriages, and drove up to the theatre, its wheels crunching slowly over the snow. Natasha and Sonya skipped hurriedly out holding up their dresses; the count stepped out supported by the footmen, and all three walked to the corridor for the boxes in the stream of ladies and gentlemen going in and people selling programmes. They could hear the music already through the closed doors.
“Natasha, your hair …” whispered Sonya. The box-opener deferentially and hurriedly slipped before the ladies and opened the door of the box. The music became more distinctly audible at the door, and they saw the brightly lighted rows of boxes, with the bare arms and shoulders of the ladies, and the stalls below, noisy, and gay with uniforms. A lady entering the next box looked round at Natasha with an envious, feminine glance. The curtain had not yet risen and they were playing the overture. Natasha smoothing down her skirt went in with Sonya and sat down looking round at the brightly lighted tiers of boxes facing them. The sensation she had not experienced for a long while—that hundreds of eyes were looking at her bare arms and neck—suddenly came upon her both pleasantly and unpleasantly, calling up a whole swarm of memories, desires, and emotions connected with that sensation.
The two strikingly pretty girls, Natasha and Sonya, with Count Ilya Andreitch, who had not been seen for a long while in Moscow, attracted general attention. Moreover, every one had heard vaguely of Natasha's engagement to Prince Andrey, knew that the Rostovs had been living in the country ever since, and looked with curiosity at the girl who was to make one of the best matches in Russia.
Natasha had, so every one told her, grown prettier in the country; and that evening, owing to her excited condition, she was particularly pretty. She made a striking impression of fulness of life and beauty, together with indifference to everything around her. Her black eyes gazed at the crowd, seeking out no one, while her slender arm, bare to above the elbow, leaned on the velvet edge of the box, and her hand, holding the programme, clasped and unclasped in time to the music with obvious unconsciousness.
“Look, there's Alenina,” said Sonya, “with her mother, isn't it?”
“Heavens, Mihail Kirillitch is really stouter than ever,” said the old count.
“Look! our Anna Mihalovna in such a cap!”
“The Karagins, Julie, and Boris with them. One can see at once they are engaged.”
“Drubetskoy has made his offer! To be sure, I heard so to-day,” said Shinshin, coming into the Rostovs' box.
Natasha looked in the direction her father was looking in and saw Julie with diamonds on her thick, red neck (Natasha knew it was powdered), sitting with a blissful face beside her mother.
Behind them could be seen the handsome, well-brushed head of Boris, with a smile inclining his ear towards Julie's mouth. He looked from under his brows at the Rostovs, and said something, smiling, to his betrothed.
“They are talking about us, about me and himself!” thought Natasha. “And he is, most likely, soothing his fiancée's jealousy of me; they needn't worry themselves! If only they knew how little they matter to me, any one of them.”
Behind the engaged couple sat Anna Mihalovna in a green cap, with a face happy, in honour of the festive occasion, and devoutly resigned to the will of God. Their box was full of that atmosphere of an engaged couple—which Natasha knew so well and liked so much. She turned away; and suddenly all that had been humiliating in her morning visit came back to her mind.
“What right has he not to want to receive me into his family? Ah, better not think about it, not think till he comes back!” she said to herself, and began to look about at the faces, known and unknown, in the stalls.
In the front of the stalls, in the very centre, leaning back against the rail stood Dolohov, in a Persian dress, with his huge shock of curly hair combed upwards. He stood in the most conspicuous place in the theatre, well aware that he was attracting the attention of the whole audience, and as much at his ease as though he had been alone in his room. The most brilliant young men in Moscow were all thronging about him, and he was obviously the leading figure among them.
Count Ilya Andreitch, laughing, nudged the blushing Sonya, pointing out her former admirer.
“Did you recognise him?” he asked. “And where has he dropped from?” said he, turning to Shinshin. “I thought he had disappeared somewhere?”
“He did disappear,” answered Shinshin. “He was in the Caucasus, and he ran away from there, and they say he has been acting as minister to some reigning prince in Persia, and there killed the Shah's brother. Well, all the Moscow ladies are wild about him! ‘Dolohov the Persian,' that's what does it! Nowadays there's nothing can be done without Dolohov; they do homage to him, invite you to meet him, as if he were a sturgeon,” said Shinshin. “Dolohov and Anatole Kuragin have taken all the ladies' hearts by storm.”
A tall, handsome woman with a mass of hair and very naked, plump, white arms and shoulders, and a double row of big pearls round her throat, walked into the next box, and was a long while settling into her place and rustling her thick silk gown.
Natasha unconsciously examined that neck and the shoulders, the pearls, the coiffure of this lady, and admired the beauty of the shoulders and the pearls. While Natasha was scrutinising her a second time, the lady looked round, and meeting the eyes of Count Ilya Andreitch, she nodded and smiled to him. It was the Countess Bezuhov, Pierre's wife. The count, who knew every one in society, bent over and entered into conversation with her.
“Have you been here long?” he began. “I'm coming; I'm coming to kiss your hand. I have come to town on business and brought my girls with me. They say Semyonovna's acting is superb,” the count went on. “Count Pyotr Kirillovitch never forgot us. Is he here?”
“Yes, he meant to come,” said Ellen, looking intently at Natasha.
Count Ilya Andreitch sat down again in his place.
“Handsome, isn't she?” he whispered to Natasha.
“Exquisite!” said Natasha. “One might well fall in love with her!”
At that moment they heard the last chords of the overture, and the tapping of the conductor's stick. Late comers hurried to their seats in the stalls, and the curtain rose.
As soon as the curtain rose, a hush fell on the boxes and stalls, and all the men, old and young, in their frock coats or uniforms, all the women with precious stones on their bare flesh concentrated all their attention with eager curiosity on the stage. Natasha too began to look at it.
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜弄到了戏票，这天晚上罗斯托夫家里人乘车去看歌剧了。 
娜塔莎不想去看歌剧，但是玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜对她分外热情，因此，她不能推辞。当她穿好衣服，走到大厅里去等候父亲时，她照了一下大镜子，看见自己长得标致，十分标致，这更使她感到忧愁，然而这种忧愁与爱的甜蜜和钟情混和在一起了。
“我的天啊，假如此刻他在这里，我决不会像过去那样，蠢头蠢脑，畏缩不前，而是按照新的方式，大大方方地拥抱他，偎依在他怀中，叫他用那双常常看我的探索的、好奇的眼睛来看我，然后叫他笑出声来，像过去那样笑出声来，他那双可爱的眼睛——我是怎样地看他那双眼睛啊！”娜塔莎想道。“我与他父亲和他妹妹有什么关系呢，我只爱他一个人，爱他，爱他，爱他的面庞和一双眼睛，爱他那男性的、天真的微笑，……不过，这时候最好不去想他，不想他，把他忘记，完全忘掉。我经受不了这种等待的煎熬，我立刻要大哭一场。”于是她从镜子旁边走开，克制住自己，不要哭出声来。
“索尼娅怎么能够这样稳定地、这样放心地爱尼古连卡，这样长久地、耐心地等待！”她想了想，望着那个也穿好衣裳、手里拿着折扇走进来的索尼娅，“不，她完全不同。我不能！”
这时娜塔莎觉得自己是如此和善和温柔，她的爱没有得到满足，很少体会到她在爱别人，她现在必需、即刻必需拥抱她心爱的男人，而且把她充满内心的情话说出来，她也听他倾诉爱慕之情。当她在四轮轿式马车上坐在父亲身旁行驶、若有所思地望着冰冻的窗户上闪烁的灯光的时候，她觉得自己愈益钟情、愈益忧愁，她已经忘怀，她同谁一道向何行驶。罗斯托夫家的四轮轿式马车碰到了车队，车轮在雪地上缓缓地移动，发出吱吱的响声，驶近戏院门口了。娜塔莎和索尼娅撩起连衣裙，急忙从马车上跳下来，伯爵在几个仆役搀扶下走出来了，他们三个人便从走进戏院的太太、男人和卖广告的人中间步入厢座的走廊。从虚掩着的门后传来一片乐音。
“Nathalie，vos　cheveux．”①索尼娅低声地说。剧场引座员恭恭敬敬地、急急忙忙地在女士们前面悄悄溜过，打开包厢门。门里的乐音听来更清晰。一排排坐着裸露肩头和臂膀的女士们的、灯光明亮的包厢闪现出来，池座中，男士的服装发出沙沙的响声，在灯光照耀下，引人瞩目。一位走进毗邻的厢座的女士用那女性的妒嫉的目光瞥了娜塔莎一眼。舞台上还没有开幕，奏起了歌剧序曲。娜塔莎弄平连衣裙，和索尼娅一同走过去，坐下来，一面环视对面的一排排灯光明亮的包厢。一种她许久未曾体验的感觉——几百双眼睛端详她那裸露的手臂和颈项的感觉，忽然支配住她心中喜悦、又不喜悦，勾起了一连串和这种感觉有关的回顾、欲望与激动。 
①法语：娜塔莎，你的头发。
两位姿色出众的少女——娜塔莎和索尼娅以及在莫斯科久未露面的伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇吸引大家的注意。除此而外，大家模糊地知道娜塔莎和安德烈公爵的婚约，大家知道自那时以来罗斯托夫一家人住在乡下，而且大家带着好奇的目光观察俄国最优秀的未婚夫之一的未婚妻。
大家都对娜塔莎说，在乡下她变得比以前好看多了，这天晚上，因为她心情激动，所以就显得格外漂亮。她那充沛的活力和美丽的容貌，再加上对周围一切事物的漠不关心，这就令人感到震惊了。她那双乌黑的眼睛观看着一大群人，但却不寻找任何人，她那裸露到肘弯以上的纤细的手臂支撑在天鹅绒的厢座的边缘上，显然配合着序曲的拍节，不自觉地一开一合，把那张歌剧广告揉成一团了。
“你看，这就是阿列宁娜，”索尼娅说，“好像她和母亲在一起啊！”
“我的老天爷！米哈伊尔·基里雷奇长得更胖了！”老伯爵说。
“你们看，我们的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜戴着一顶直筒高女帽啊！”
“卡拉金家里的人、朱莉、鲍里斯和他们待在一起。现在可以看见夫婚夫妇了。”
“德鲁别茨科伊求婚了！可不是，今天我打听到了。”申申走进罗斯托夫之家的包厢时说道。
娜塔莎朝父亲看的那个方向看了看，看见了朱莉，她那粗壮而发红的颈上挂着一串珍珠（娜塔莎知道她脖子上扑满了香粉），现出幸福的样子坐在母亲身旁。
在她们后面可以看见头发梳得又平又光的鲍里斯的好看的头，他脸上露出微笑，侧着耳朵靠近朱莉的嘴。他皱起眉头望着罗斯托夫家里的人，笑嘻嘻地对未婚妻说了什么话。
“他们谈话我们，谈论我和他呢！”娜塔莎思忖了片刻，“他想必是在安慰未婚妻，使她忘记对我的忌妒。无缘无故地惴惴不安啊！我与他们之中的任何人都毫无关系，如果心中有数就行了。”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜戴着一顶绿色的直筒高女帽坐在后面，她脸上流露着忠于上帝意旨的显得幸福而愉快的表情。他们的包厢里洋溢着一种未婚夫妇互相依恋的气氛，这就是娜塔莎所熟悉而且喜爱的气氛。她转过身来，蓦地回想起早晨拜会时蒙受的种种屈辱。
“他有什么权利不愿意接纳我这个亲属呢？唉，最好不去考虑这件事，在他尚未抵达之前不去考虑它！”她自言自语地说，开始打量着池座里她所熟悉的和不熟悉的面孔。多洛霍夫站在池座前面的正中间，背倚着池座栏杆，他那蓬松浓密的卷发向上梳平，穿着一套波斯服装。他站在戏院中众目睽睽的地方，心里知道他吸引着整个大厅的观众的注意，他自由自在，就像站在自己房间里一样。莫斯科的最杰出的青年聚集在他周围，看来他在他们之中，占有主导地位。
伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇露出笑意，向她指着她从前的崇拜得，轻轻地推一下脸红的索尼娅。
“你认得吗？”他问道，“不知他是从哪里突然来了？”伯爵把脸转向申申说，“他不是去过什么地方吗？”
“去过，”申申回答，“去过高加索，可是从那里溜走了，据说，在波斯某个享有世袭统治权的公爵那里当大臣，在那里杀了波斯王的一个老弟，唔，莫斯科的女士们简直发疯了！Dolochoff　le　Persan①，就是这么样的。我们现在说起话来离不开多洛霍夫，大伙儿用他来发誓，提起他，仿佛尝到鲟鱼肉似的，”申申说。“多洛霍夫和阿纳托利·库拉金，把我们的女士们搞得发疯了。” 
①法语：波斯人多洛霍夫。
一个身材高大的长得漂亮的太太走进了邻近的厢座，她留着一根大辫子，裸露出雪白而丰满的肩头和颈项，她颈上戴着两串大珍珠，她那厚厚的丝绸连衣裙发出沙沙的响声，她好久才在位上坐得舒服些。
娜塔莎情不自禁地细瞧她的颈项、肩头、珍珠和发式，欣赏她的肩膀与珍珠之美。当娜塔莎第二次打量这个太太的时候，太太回头望望，她和伯爵伊利亚·安德烈伊奇的目光相遇了，她向他点点头，微微一笑。她就是叫做别祖霍娃的伯爵夫人——皮埃尔的妻子。认识上流社会中一切人的伊利亚·安德烈伊奇把身子探过去和她谈话。
“伯爵夫人，到了很久吧？”他说，“我准来拜访，我准来拜访，吻吻您的手。我到这里来办些事情，还把两个女儿带来了。据说谢苗诺娃的演技非常出色，”伊利亚·安德烈伊奇说，“彼得·基里洛维奇伯爵从来没有忘记我们。他在这里吗？”
“在这里，他想顺路来看您。”海伦说并且仔细地瞧瞧娜塔莎。
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵又在原来的位子上坐下来。
“漂亮，是不是？”他用耳语对娜塔莎说。
“好极啦！”娜塔莎说，“真教人不能不钟情！”这时分可以听见歌剧序曲最后的和音，乐长的指挥棒敲响了，几个姗姗来迟的男人走进池座里入座，戏台上揭幕了。
戏台上刚刚开幕，包厢和池座已经鸦雀无声，所有的男人，有老有少，或穿制服，或穿燕尾服，所有的女人在那裸露的身上戴着各式各样的宝石，他们怀着贪婪的好奇心把全部注意力集中在戏台上。娜塔莎也在看戏。
Book 8 Chapter 9
THE STAGE consisted of a boarded floor in the middle, with painted cardboard representing trees at the sides, and linen stretched over the boards at the back. In the middle of the stage there were sitting maidens in red bodices and white skirts. An excessively stout woman in a white silk dress was sitting apart on a low bench with green cardboard fixed on the back of it. They were all singing something. When they had finished their song, the woman in white moved towards the prompter's box, and a man, with his stout legs encased in silk tights, with a plume and a dagger, went up to her and began singing and waving his arms.
The man in the tights sang alone, then she sang alone. The both paused, while the music played, and the man fumbled with the hand of the woman in white, obviously waiting for the bar at which he was to begin singing with her. They sang a duet, and every one in the theatre began clapping and shouting, while the man and woman on the stage, supposed to represent lovers, began bowing with smiles and gesticulations.
After the country, and in her serious mood, Natasha felt it all grotesque and extraordinary. She could not follow the opera; she could not even listen to the music: she saw nothing but painted cardboard and strangely dressed-up men and women, talking, singing, and moving strangely about in the bright light. She knew what it all was meant to represent; but it was all so grotesquely false and unnatural that she felt alternately ashamed and amused at the actors. She looked about her at the faces of the spectators, seeking in them signs of the same irony and bewilderment that she was feeling herself. But all the faces were watching what was passing on the stage, and expressed nothing but an affected—so Natasha thought—rapture. “I suppose it is meant to be like this!” thought Natasha. She looked alternately at the rows of pomaded masculine heads in the stalls, and at the naked women in the boxes, especially at her next neighbour Ellen, who, quite undressed, sat gazing intently, with a quiet and serene smile. at the stage, and basking in the bright light that flooded the theatre, and the warm air, heated by the crowd. Natasha began gradually to pass into a state of intoxication she had not experienced for a long while. She lost all sense of what she was and where she was and what was going on before her eyes. She gazed and dreamed, and the strangest ideas flashed unexpectedly and disconnectedly into her mind. At one moment the idea occurred to her to leap over the footlights and sing that air the actress was singing; then she felt inclined to hook her fan into an old gentleman sitting near her, or to bend over to Ellen and tickle her.
At a moment when there was a lull on the stage before the beginning of a song, the door opening to the stalls creaked on the side nearest the Rostovs' box, and there was the sound of a man's footsteps. “Here he is, Kuragin!” whispered Shinshin. Countess Bezuhov turned smiling to the new-comer. Natasha looked in the direction of the Countess Bezuhov's eyes, and saw an exceedingly handsome adjutant coming towards their box with a confident, but yet courteous, bearing. It was Anatole Kuragin, whom she had seen long before, and noticed at the Petersburg ball. He was now wearing an adjutant's uniform, with one epaulette and a shoulder knot. He walked with a jaunty strut, which would have been ridiculous if he had not been so handsome, and if his good-looking face had not expressed such simple-hearted satisfaction and good spirits. Although the performance was going on he walked lightly, without haste, along the carpeted corridor, holding his scented, handsome head high, and accompanied by a slight clank of spurs and sword. Glancing at Natasha, he went up to his sister, laid his hand in a close-fitting glove on the edge of her box, nodded his head at her, and, bending down, asked her a question, with a motion towards Natasha.
“Very, very charming!” he said, obviously speaking of Natasha. She did not exactly hear the words, but divined them from the movement of his lips. Then he went on to the front row and sat down beside Dolohov, giving a friendly and careless nudge with his elbow to the man whom other people treated with such punctilio. With a merry wink, he smiled at him, and leaned with his foot against the footlights.
“How like the brother is to his sister!” said the count. “And how handsome they both are!”
Shinshin began telling the count in an undertone some story of an intrigue of Kuragin's in Moscow, to which Natasha listened, simply because he had said of her “very charming.”
The first act was over; every one stood up in the stalls, changed places, and began going out and coming in.
Boris came to the Rostovs' box, received their congratulations very simply, and lifting his eyebrows with an absent-minded smile, gave Natasha and Sonya his fiancée's message, begging them to come to her wedding, and went away. Natasha, with a gay and coquettish smile, talked to him and congratulated him on his approaching marriage—the very Boris she had once been in love with. In the condition of emotional intoxication in which she found herself everything seemed simple and natural.
Ellen sat in her nakedness close by her, and smiled on all alike, and just such a smile Natasha bestowed on Boris.
Ellen's box was filled and surrounded on the side of the stalls by the most distinguished and intellectual men, who seemed vying with one another in their desire to show every one that they knew her.
All throughout that entr'acte Kuragin stood with Dolohov in front of the footlights staring at the Rostovs' box. Natasha knew he was talking about her, and that afforded her satisfaction. She even turned so that he could see her profile from what she believed to be the most becoming angle. Before the beginning of the second act she observed in the stalls the figure of Pierre, whom the Rostovs had not seen since their arrival. His face looked sad, and he had grown stouter since Natasha had seen him last. He walked up to the front rows, not noticing any one. Anatole went up to him, and began saying something to him, with a look and a gesture towards the Rostovs' box. Pierre looked pleased at seeing Natasha, and walked hurriedly along the rows of stalls towards their box. Leaning on his elbow, he talked smiling to Natasha for a long while. While she was talking to Pierre, Natasha heard a man's voice speaking in Countess Bezuhov's box, and something told her it was Kuragin. She looked round and met his eyes. He looked her straight in the eyes, almost smiling, with a look of such warmth and admiration that it seemed strange to be so near him, to look at him like that, to be so certain that he admired her, and not to be acquainted with him.
In the second act there was scenery representing monuments, and a hold in the drop at the back that represented the moon, and shades were put over the footlights, and trumpets and bassoons began playing, and a number of people came in on the right and on the left wearing black cloaks. These people began waving their arms, and in their hands they had something of the nature of a dagger. Then some more people ran in and began dragging away the woman who had been in white but who was now in a blue dress. They did not drag her away at once; they spent a long while singing with her; but finally they did drag her away, and behind the scenes they struck something metallic three times, and then all knelt down and began singing a prayer. All these performances were interrupted several times by the enthusiastic shouts of the spectators.
During that act, every time Natasha glanced towards the stalls, she saw Anatole Kuragin, with one arm flung across the back of his chair, staring at her. It pleased her to see that he was so captivated by her, and it never entered her head that there could be anything amiss in it.
When the second act was over, Countess Bezuhov got up, turned towards the Rostovs' box (the whole of her bosom was completely exposed), with her gloved little finger beckoned the old count to her, and taking no notice of the men who were thronging about her box, began with an amiable smile talking to him.
“Oh, do make me acquainted with your charming daughters,” she said. “All the town is singing their praises, and I don't know them.”
Natasha got up and curtseyed to the magnificent countess. Natasha was so delighted at the praise from this brilliant beauty that she blushed with pleasure.
“I quite want to become a Moscow resident myself,” said Ellen. “What a shame of you to bury such pearls in the country!”
Countess Bezuhov had some right to her reputation of being a fascinating woman. She could say what she did not think, especially what was flattering, with perfect simplicity and naturalness.
“No, dear count, you must let me help to entertain your daughters, though I'm not here now for very long, nor you either. But I'll do my best to amuse them. I have heard a great deal about you in Petersburg, and wanted to know you,” she said to Natasha, with her unvarying beautiful smile. “I have heard of you, too, from my page, Drubetskoy—you have heard he is to be married—and from my husband's friend, Bolkonsky, Prince Andrey Bolkonsky,” she said, with peculiar emphasis, by which she meant to signify that she knew in what relation he stood to Natasha. She asked that one of the young ladies might be allowed to sit through the rest of the performance in her box that they might become better acquainted, and Natasha moved into it.
In the third act the scene was a palace in which a great many candles were burning, and pictures were hanging on the walls, representing knights with beards. In the middle stood a man and a woman; probably meant for a king and a queen. The king waved his right hand, and, obviously nervous, sang something very badly, and sat down on a crimson throne. The actress, who had been in white at first and then in blue, was now in nothing but a smock, and had let her hair down. She was standing near the throne, singing something very mournful, addressed to the queen. But the king waved his hand sternly, and from the sides there came in men and women with bare legs who began dancing all together. Then the violins played very shrilly and merrily: one of the actresses, with thick, bare legs and thin arms, leaving the rest, went to the side to set straight her bodice, then walked into the middle of the stage and began skipping into the air and kicking one leg very rapidly with the other. Every one in the stalls clapped their hands and roared “bravo!” Then one man stood alone at one corner of the stage. The cymbals and trumpets struck up more loudly in the orchestra, and this man began leaping very high in the air and rapidly waving his legs. (This was Duport, who earned sixty thousand a year by this accomplishment.) Every one in the boxes and in the stalls began clapping and shouting with all their might, and the man stood still and began smiling and bowing in all directions. Then other men and women with bare legs danced; then again the king shouted something to music, and they all began singing. But suddenly a storm came on, chromatic scales and chords with the diminishing sevenths could be heard in the orchestra, and they all ran off, dragging one of the performers again behind the scenes, and the curtain dropped. Again a fearful uproar of applause arose among the spectators, and all began screaming with rapturous faces:
“Duport! Duport! Duport!”
Natasha did not now feel this strange. She looked about her with pleasure, smiling joyfully.
“Isn't Duport admirable?” said Ellen, turning to her.
“Oh yes,” answered Natasha.
平平的木板摆在戏台正中间，两侧是绘有树木的彩色硬纸板，后面是绷直搭在木板上的画布。一些系着红色硬腰带、穿着白裙子的少女坐在戏台正中间，一个非常肥胖的身穿白绸连衣裙的少女独自一人坐在矮板凳上，一块绿色的硬纸板贴在矮板凳后面。她们在唱着一支什么歌。当她们唱完这支歌以后，那个身穿白连衣裙的少女走到提词人小室前面，那个粗壮的腿上裹着一条紧身绸裤的男士，手里拿着一顶饰有一根白羽的帽子和一柄匕首，走到她跟前，两手一摊，唱起歌来。 
那个穿着紧身绸裤的男士曼声地独唱，然后她和唱。这之后两个人停止唱歌，开始奏乐了，那个男士开始抚摸白衣女郎的手，显然又在等待与她合唱时合着拍子独唱的部分。他们两个人合唱了这首歌，戏院中的全体观众都鼓掌喝彩，饰演恋人的一男一女，笑嘻嘻地伸开两手，鞠躬行礼，以示谢忱。
从乡下回来以后，娜塔莎的心情还很沉重，她觉得戏台上的一切都很粗犷而且奇怪。她无法继续注视歌剧剧情的进展，她甚至不能再听音乐了，她只看见彩色的硬纸板、打扮得稀奇古怪的男男女女，在耀眼的灯光映照下做出奇怪的动作，一会儿说话，一会儿唱歌，她知道这一切必然是戏台上的表演，但是这一切如此矫揉造作、虚假而不自然，她不禁时而替演员害臊，时而觉得他们滑稽可笑。她环顾四周，注视观众的面容，在他们脸上寻找她心中固有的那种讥笑和困惑不安的感觉；但是所有的人都全神贯注地观看戏台上的表演。娜塔莎仿佛觉得，他们个个都表示虚假的赞赏。“想必应该如此！”娜塔莎想道。她时而逐个地打量池座里一排排抹了发蜡的脑袋，时而打量包厢里裸露肩头和臂膀的妇女，尤其是打量邻座的海伦，她完全袒胸露体，流露出宁静的微笑，目不转睛地望着戏台，觉察到明亮的灯光洋溢于整个大厅，一大群人使冷空气变得温暖了。娜塔莎渐渐进入她久未体验的陶醉状态中。她忘乎所以，不记得她是谁，她在什么地方，她面前在发生什么事。她一面望，一面想，那些古怪的不连贯的思想出乎意料地在她头脑中闪现。她时而想跳到厢座的边缘，唱那个女伶唱过的咏叹调，她时而想用折扇绊住那个坐在她附近的小老头子，时而想向海伦弯下身去胳肢她。
在戏台上一片寂静、等待她开始演唱咏叹调的时刻，一扇通往罗斯托夫家的包厢那边的池座入口的门吱哑一声打开了，可以听见一个迟到的男人的步履声。“他就是库拉金！”申申用耳语说。伯爵夫人别祖霍娃含着笑容把脸转向走进来的男人。娜塔莎顺着伯爵夫人别祖霍娃的目光投射的方向看了看，看见一个异常清秀的副官，他带着自信而且毕恭毕敬的样子，走到他们的包厢前面。他就是她在彼得堡的舞会上老早就见过面而且记在心上的阿纳托利·库拉金。现在他穿着一套带肩章和穗带的副官制服，迈着稳重的雄赳赳的步伐向前走，假如他长得不清秀，假如他那好看的脸上不流露着和善的洋洋自得和愉快的神态，他的步伐就会令人发笑了。尽管他们正在表演，他还是从容不迫地、轻轻地碰着马刺和马刀，发出叮当的响声，他高高地抬起他那洒上香水的好看的头，从走廊的地毯上走过去。他看了看娜塔莎，走到他妹妹跟前，把那只手套套得紧紧的手放在包厢边缘上，向她晃了晃脑袋，指着娜塔莎，弯下腰来问了一句什么话。
“Mais　charmante！”①他说，显然是说娜塔莎，与其说她听见，毋宁说是从他的嘴唇的掀动她领悟了他的意思。然后他走到第一排，坐在多洛霍夫身旁，友善而随便地用臂肘推了一下别人阿谀奉承的多洛霍夫。他愉快地向他丢个眼色，微微一笑，他把一只脚搭在戏台前沿的栏杆上。 
①法语：很，很可爱！
“兄妹多么相像啊！”伯爵说，“两个人都长得清秀。”
申申对伯爵小声地讲述库拉金在莫斯科的不正常的男女关系，娜塔莎所以细听，正是因为他讲到她charmante。
第一幕已经演完了，池座里的观众都站起来，乱成一团了，有的人走来走去，有的人走出观众厅。
鲍里斯走到罗斯托夫家的包厢，很平常地接受了祝贺，他微微地扬起眉毛，漫不经心地露出微笑，向娜塔莎和索尼娅转告他的未婚妻拟请她们出席婚礼之事，说罢便走出去。娜塔莎脸上流露着欢喜的娇媚的笑意和他谈话，并且恭贺她从前热恋过的那个鲍里斯的新婚之喜。在她所处的那种陶醉状态中，一切似乎都很平常而且自然。
袒胸露体的海伦坐在她身旁，同样地也对大家微露笑容，娜塔莎同样地也对鲍里斯嫣然一笑。
海伦的包厢挤满了人，她被池座那边的最显贵的、聪明的男人们包围住了，他们好像争先恐后地想向大伙儿表示，他们都是她的熟人。
幕间休息时，库拉金和多洛霍夫始终站在前面的戏台边沿上的栏杆旁边，不时地望着罗斯托夫家的包厢。娜塔莎知道他正在谈论她，这就使她感到高兴。她甚至转过身来，好让他看见她的侧面，根据她的看法，她的侧面能够给人以良好印象，第二幕开始之前，皮埃尔的身影在池座里出现了，自从抵达莫斯科后，罗斯托夫家里的人尚未会见他。他满面愁容，自从娜塔莎上次和他见面以来，他变得更肥胖了。他不注意任何人，一个劲儿走到前排。皮埃尔看见娜塔莎，愉快起来了，急忙穿过一排排厢座，向他们的包厢走去。他走到他们跟前，用臂肘支撑在包厢边沿上，微笑着跟娜塔莎谈了很久的话。娜塔莎和皮埃尔谈论的时候，她听见伯爵夫人别祖霍娃的包厢里传来男人的语声，不知怎的她听出这是库拉金的语声。她回头一望，她和他的目光相遇了。他几乎是满面春风，用那温和的令人喜悦的目光直勾勾地望着她的眼睛，——她隔他这样近，这样谛视他，而且这样自信，认为他会喜欢她，但却和不熟识，这就仿佛令人感到诧异了。
第二幕的布景是水彩画上的纪念碑，画布上的圆窟窿用以表示月亮，拉起了脚灯灯罩，他们开始吹低音小号，拉低音提琴，许多穿黑袍的人从左右两边走出来。人们开始挥动手臂，他们手中拿着类似匕首的兵器，后来还有一些人跑来，开始拖走那个原先穿白色连衣裙、现在穿蓝色连衣裙的少女。他们并没有一下子把她拖走，而是和她在一起唱了很久，然后才把她拖走的，有人在后台敲了三下金属乐器，于是大家都跪下来，唱祈祷词。这几幕的表演都被观众的欢呼声打断了几次。
在这一幕表演的时候，娜塔莎每次观看池座，总看见阿纳托利·库拉金把一只手搭在安乐椅背上，端详她。她看见他已经被她迷住，觉得很高兴，并没有想到这有什么异乎寻常的地方。
第二幕表演宣告结束时，伯爵夫人别祖霍娃站起来，把脸转向罗斯托夫家的包厢（她的胸脯完全袒露），用她那戴着手套的手指把老伯爵招呼过来，她没有理睬那几个走进她的包厢的人，脸上流露出善意的微笑，并开始和他谈话。
“请把您的几个可爱的女儿介绍给我认识吧，”她说，“全城都在宣扬她们，可是我竟然不认识她们。”
娜塔莎站起来，向这个华丽的伯爵夫人行屈膝礼，这个出色的美女的夸奖使娜塔莎心里感到愉快，她高兴得脸红起来。
“我现在也想变成一个莫斯科人，”海伦说，“您竟把珍珠埋在农村，真够害羞的！”
伯爵夫人别祖霍娃论理应当享有迷人的女人的声誉。她可以非常轻易地、非常自然地说出心里没有想说的话，尤其是善于谄媚他人。
“不，可爱的伯爵，请您允许我照顾一下您的几个女儿。但是我不会长期地待在这里。您也是如此。我尽力设法使您的女儿们快活一阵子。我早在彼得堡就听到许多有关您的情形，我很想认识您，”她对娜塔莎说，脸上流露着她常有的动人的笑意。“我从我的少年侍从——德鲁别茨科伊那里听到有关您的情况，您听说他要结婚了，——我也从我丈夫的朋友——博尔孔斯基，即是安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵那里听到有关您的情况，”她特别强调地说，用这句话来暗示她知道他跟娜塔莎的关系。为了更充分地互相认识，她请求他让其中一个小姐在歌剧演出的其余部分到她包厢去坐一阵子，于是娜塔莎往她那边去了。
戏台上第三幕的布景是皇宫，皇宫中点燃着许多蜡烛，悬挂着一张张描绘那些留着髯须的骑士的图画。沙皇和皇后大概站在正中间。沙皇挥了挥右手，显然他胆怯，拙劣地唱了什么，然后在绛红色的宝座上坐下来。那个开初穿着白色连衣裙、继而穿着蓝色连衣裙、现在只穿一件衬衫的少女，披头散发，站在宝座旁边。她向皇后转过脸来，悲哀地唱着什么，但是沙皇严肃地挥了挥手，就有几个裸露着两腿的男人和裸露着两腿的女人从两旁走出，他们便一同跳起舞来。然后小提琴用那尖细的高音奏起欢乐的曲调，那些裸露着有几把粗大的两腿和消瘦的胳膊的少女之中的一人，离开了其余的人，走进后台，她把裙上的硬腰带弄平，从后台出来，走到戏台正中间，跳起舞来，她飞快地用一只脚拍打着另一只脚。池座里的观众都拍手叫好，然后有一个男人站在角落里。管弦乐队更响亮地弹起扬琴，吹起小号，只有这个裸露着两腿的男人独自跳起舞来，跳得很高，而且迅速地跺脚。（这个男人叫做迪波尔，他凭这种技艺每年挣得六万卢布。）楼下池座、包厢与顶层楼座的观众都拼命地鼓掌喝彩，这个男人于是就停了下来，面露笑容，向四面的观众鞠躬行礼。然后还有另外一些光着两腿的男人和女人跳舞，然后又有一位沙皇在音乐伴奏下呐喊着什么，于是大家又唱起歌来。但是忽然刮起了一阵暴风，管弦乐队中响起了半音音阶和降低的七度音和弦，大家都奔跑起来，又把在场的一人拖到了后台，幕落了，观众之间又出现了可怕的喧嚣声和噼啪声，大家的脸上都带着洋洋得意的神情，开始呼喊起来。
“迪波尔！迪波尔！迪波尔！”
娜塔莎已经不认为这是什么古怪的事了。她心里感到非常高兴，愉快地微笑着环顾四周。
“N'est—ce　pas　qu'il　est　admirable—Duport？”①海伦把脸转向她，说道。
“Oh，oui．”②娜塔莎回答。 
①法语：迪波尔惹人喜欢，不是吗？
②法语：啊，正是这样。
Book 8 Chapter 10
IN THE ENTR'ACTE there was a current of chill air in Ellen's box, the door was opened, and Anatole walked in, bending and trying not to brush against any one.
“Allow me to introduce my brother,” said Ellen, her eyes shifting uneasily from Natasha to Anatole. Natasha turned her pretty little head towards the handsome adjutant and smiled over her bare shoulder. Anatole, who was as handsome on a closer view as he was from a distance, sat down beside her, and said he had long wished to have this pleasure, ever since the Narishkins' ball, at which he had had the pleasure he had not forgotten of seeing her. Kuragin was far more sensible and straightforward with women than he was in men's society. He talked boldly and simply, and Natasha was strangely and agreeably impressed by finding nothing so formidable in this man, of whom such stories were told, but, on the contrary, seeing on his face the most innocent, merry, and simple-hearted smile.
Kuragin asked her what she thought of the performance, and told her that at the last performance Semyonovna had fallen down while she was acting.
“And do you know, countess,” said he, suddenly addressing her as though she were an old friend, “we are getting up a costume ball; you ought to take part in it; it will be great fun. They are all assembling at the Karagins'. Please, do come, really now, eh?” he said. As he said this he never took his smiling eyes off the face, the neck, the bare arms of Natasha. Natasha knew beyond all doubt that he was fascinated by her. That pleased her, yet she felt for some reason constrained and oppressed in his presence. When she was not looking at him she felt that he was looking at her shoulders, and she could not help trying to catch his eyes that he might rather look in her face. But as she looked into his eyes she felt with horror that, between him and her, there was not that barrier of modest reserve she had always been conscious of between herself and other men. In five minutes she felt—she did not know how—that she had come fearfully close to this man. When she turned away, she felt afraid he might take her from behind by her bare arm and kiss her on the neck. They talked of the simplest things, and she felt that they were close as she had never been with any man. Natasha looked round at Ellen and at her father, as though to ask them what was the meaning of it. But Ellen was absorbed in talking to a general and did not respond to her glance, and her father's eyes said nothing to her but what they always said: “Enjoying yourself? Well, I'm glad then.”
In one of the moments of awkward silence, during which Anatole gazed calmly and persistently at her, Natasha, to break the silence, asked him how he liked Moscow. Natasha asked this question and blushed as she did so; she was feeling all the while that there she was doing something improper in talking to him. Anatole smiled as though to encourage her.
“At first I didn't like it much, for what is it makes one like a town? It's the pretty women, isn't it? Well, but now I like it awfully,” he said, with a meaning look at her. “You'll come to the fancy dress ball, countess? Do come,” he said, and putting his hand out to her bouquet he said, dropping his voice, “You will be the prettiest. Come, dear countess, and as a pledge give me this flower.”
Natasha did not understand what he was saying, nor did he himself; but she felt that in his uncomprehended words there was some improper intention. She did not know what to say, and turned away as though she had not heard what he said. But as soon as she turned away she felt that he was here behind her, so close to her.
“What is he feeling now? Is he confused? Is he angry? Must I set it right?” she wondered. She could not refrain from looking round. She glanced straight into his eyes, and his nearness and confidence, and the simple-hearted warmth of his smile vanquished her. She smiled exactly as he did, looking straight into his eyes. And again, she felt with horror that no barrier lay between him and her.
The curtain rose again. Anatole walked out of the box, serene and good-humoured. Natasha went back to her father's box, completely under the spell of the world in which she found herself. All that passed before her eyes now seemed to her perfectly natural. But on the other hand all previous thoughts of her betrothed, of Princess Marya, of her life in the country, did not once recur to her mind, as though all that belonged to the remote past.
In the fourth act there was some sort of devil who sang, waving his arms till the boards were moved away under him and he sank into the opening. That was all Natasha saw of the fourth act; she felt harassed and excited; and the cause of that excitement was Kuragin, whom she could not help watching. As they came out of the theatre Anatole came up to them, called their carriage and helped them into it. As he assisted Natasha he pressed her arm above the elbow. Natasha, flushed and excited, looked round at him. He gazed at her with flashing eyes and a tender smile.
It was only on getting home that Natasha could form any clear idea of what had happened. All at once, remembering Prince Andrey, she was horrified, and at tea, to which they all sat down after the theatre, she groaned aloud, and flushing crimson ran out of the room. “My God! I am ruined!” she said to herself. “How could I sink to such a depth?” she thought. For a long while she sat, with her flushed face hidden in her hands, trying to get a clear idea of what had happened and unable to grasp either what had happened or what she was feeling. Everything seemed to her dark, obscure, and dreadful. In that immense, lighted hall, where Duport had jumped about to music with his bare legs on the damp boards in his short jacket with tinsel, and young girls and old men, and that Ellen, proudly and serenely smiling in her nakedness, had enthusiastically roared “bravo”; there, in the wake of that Ellen, all had been clear and simple. But now, alone by herself, it was past comprehending. “What does it mean? What is that terror I felt with him? What is the meaning of those gnawings of conscience I am feeling now?” she thought.
To no one but to her mother at night in bed Natasha could have talked of what she was feeling. Sonya she knew, with her strict and single-minded view of things, would either have failed to understand at all, or would have been horrified at the avowal. Natasha all by herself had to try and solve the riddle that tormented her
“Am I spoilt for Prince Andrey's love or not?” she asked herself, and with reassuring mockery she answered herself: “What a fool I am to ask such a thing! What has happened to me? Nothing. I have done nothing; I did nothing to lead him on. No one will ever know, and I shall never see him again,” she told herself. “So it's plain that nothing has happened, that there's nothing to regret, that Prince Andrey can love me still. But why still? O my God, my God, why isn't he here!” Natasha felt comforted for a moment, but again some instinct told her that though that was all true, and though nothing had happened, yet some instinct told her that all the old purity of her love for Prince Andrey was lost. And again, in her imagination, she went over all her conversation with Kuragin, and saw again the face, the gestures, and the tender smile of that handsome, daring man at the moment when he had pressed her arm.
幕间休息时，海伦的包厢里有一阵袭人的寒气，门打开了，阿纳托利弯下身子，尽力不挂着别人，走了进来。 
“请允许我把哥哥介绍给您认识一下，”海伦说道，把视线从娜塔莎一下子转向阿纳托利。娜塔莎将她那好看的头越过裸露的肩膀转向美男子，微微一笑。阿纳托利在近处就像在远处一样十分俊秀，他挨着她坐下并且说，他很早以前就想获得和她认识的荣幸，在纳雷什金家举办的舞会上他有幸看见她，真使他永生难忘。库拉金和女人们在一起时比在交往密切地男人中间显得聪明得多，纯朴得多。他说话时大胆而且大方，娜塔莎感到惊奇而又愉快的是，在这个众人纷纷议论的人身上，不仅没有任何可怕的地方，相反地，他却常常流露着最天真的、快活的、温和的微笑。
库拉金向她询及她对戏剧表演的印象并且讲到谢苗诺娃上次演戏时倒在地上了。
“伯爵小姐，可要知道，”他说话时突然把脸转向她，就像对待一个老朋友那样，“我们要举办化装赛会，您应该参加，一定很开心。大家都在阿尔哈罗夫家里聚会。请您乘车来吧，说真的，好吗？”他说道。
他说这番话的时候，面露微笑，目不转睛地望着娜塔莎的脸蛋、颈项和那裸露的臂膀。娜塔莎无疑知道他在赞美她。这使她非常愉快，但是不知为什么他在场时她憋得慌，心里很难受。当她不望他时，她觉得他在细瞧她的肩膀，她不由地抓住他的目光，心里叫他莫如注视她的眼睛。但是当她望着他的眼睛时，她胆寒地感到，在他和她之间完全没有她和其他男人之间向来感觉到的那种羞怯的障碍。连她自己也不知道是怎么回事，在五分钟后她觉得自己和这个人未免太接近了。当她扭过脸去的时候，她害怕他从后面抓住她那裸露的臂膀，吻她的脖颈。他们说的是最平凡的事情，她觉得他们太接近了，她和其他男人从来没有这种情形。娜塔莎回头望望海伦和父亲，好像问他们，这是怎么回事，但海伦正和某位将军谈话，对她的目光未予回答，父亲的目光无非是向她表述他经常说的那句话：“你愉快，我也就高兴。”
在那难堪的沉默的一瞬间，阿纳托利用那突出的眼睛宁静地、不转瞬地望着她。为了打破沉默，娜塔莎问他可真喜欢莫斯科。娜塔莎问了这句话以后，涨红了脸。她经常仿佛觉得，她跟他谈话是在做什么有失体面的事情。阿纳托利微微一笑，仿佛是鼓励她似的。
“开初我不太喜欢莫斯科，那是因为，我不知道什么会使这个城市变得令人喜爱呢？ce　sont　les　jolies　femmes①，不是么？可是现在我很喜欢它了，”他说，意味深长地望着她。“伯爵小姐，您会出席化装赛会吧？您去吧，”他说，伸出一只手去摘她戴的一束花，又降低嗓音说：“Vous　serez　la　plus　jolie．Venez，chere　comtesse，et　comme　gage　donnez　moi　cette　fleur．”② 
①法语：那就是容貌美丽的女人。
②法语：您将是最标致的。可爱的伯爵小姐，去吧，您把这朵花送给我作为保证。
娜塔莎也像他那样没有听懂他说的话，但是她觉得，在他那不可理解的话语中包含有不太体面的意图。她不知道要说什么，于是转过身去，好像没有听见他说的话似的。但是她刚刚转过身去，她心里就想到他就在后面，离她很近的地方。
“他现在怎么了？他感到腼腆？在生我的气了吗？要不要挽救一下？”她自己询问自己。她克制不住，回头望望。她朝他的眼睛直视一下，他近在身边，他的信心，他那温和而亲切的微笑把她战胜了。她直勾勾地瞅着他的眼睛，就像他那样微微一笑。她于是又胆寒地感到，他和她之间没有任何隔阂了。
又开幕了。阿纳托利从包厢里走出来，他心平气和而且愉快。娜塔莎回到父亲的包厢，她已经完全屈从于她所处的环境了。她仿佛觉得她眼前发生的一切都十分自然，但是她的脑海中一次也没有出现她从前想到的事情——关于未婚夫、关于公爵小姐玛丽亚、关于农村的生活，仿佛这一切都是久远、久远以前的事情。
第四幕里出现了一个扮鬼脸的人，他一面唱歌，一面挥手，直到有人抽掉他脚下的木板，使他陷落下去为止。在第四幕中娜塔莎只看到这一个场面。有一件事使他激动，使她受折磨，而库拉金正是造成她心绪不宁静的人，她一直情不自禁地注视着他。他们从戏院出来的时候，阿纳托利走到他们跟前，并把他们的四轮轿式马车叫来，搀着他们上马车。他在搀扶娜塔莎时，握住她的肘弯以上的手臂。娜塔莎觉得激动不安，涨红了脸，她回头望了望他。他两眼闪闪发光，凝视着她，流露出温和的微笑。
娜塔莎在回家后才清醒地考虑到她偶然遇到的一切，她突然想起安德烈公爵，觉得害怕，在大家从戏院回来，坐着喝茶的时候，她在大家面前惊叫一声，涨红了脸，从房里跑出去了。“我的天！我毁灭了！”她自言自语。“我怎能容许别人这样做呢？”她想道。她坐在那儿，坐了很久，她用蒙住自己的通红的脸，极力地使她自己认识清楚发生了什么事，然而，她既不能明白发生了什么事，也不能明白她意识到什么。她仿佛觉得一切都昏暗、模糊而且骇人。在那里，在灯光明亮的戏院的大厅里，迪波尔身穿一件金光闪闪的上衣，裸露着两腿，在湿漉漉的木板上用音乐伴奏跳舞，无论是少女们、老人们，还是裸露胸肩的脸上流露着骄傲而安详的微笑的海伦，都欣喜若狂地喝彩，——在那里，在海伦的身影出现的地方，这一切都很简单而且明了；但是目前她独自一人却认为一切都变得不可思议了。“这是怎么回事？他使我感到恐惧，是怎么回事？现在我受到良心谴责，是怎么回事？”她想道。
深夜，娜塔莎只能在自己床上把她心里想到的一切讲给老伯爵夫人一个人听。她知道索尼娅有她严整的看法，她或则什么都不明白，或则很害怕她倾诉衷肠。娜塔莎独自一人竭尽全力地解说那个使她感到痛苦的问题。
“我为安德烈公爵的爱情而毁灭了？还是没有毁灭呢？”她问自己，又带着聊以自慰的嘲笑回答自己的话：“我多么愚蠢，我为什么要问这种事呢？我究竟出一什么事？没有发生什么事。什么错事我也没有做，也没有招致这种是非。谁也不会知道。我永远不会再看见他了，”她自言自语。“显然，没有发生什么事情，没有什么可以后悔的，安德烈公爵会爱我这样的人。但是他会爱我这样的人吗？唉，我的天，我的天！干嘛他不在这儿！”娜塔莎安静了片刻，但是后来又有一种本能仿佛对她说，尽管这一切都是千真万确的，尽管没有发生任何事，本能在对她说，从前她对安德烈公爵的爱情的纯洁性完全丧失了。她又在她的想象中重复她和库拉金的全部谈话，她脑海中浮现着这个俊美而大胆的人在握住她的手臂时的面孔、手势和温和的微笑。
Book 8 Chapter 11
ANATOLE KURAGIN was staying in Moscow because his father had sent him away from Petersburg, where he had been spending twenty thousand a year in hard cash and running up bills for as much more, and his creditors had been dunning his father. The father informed his son that for the last time he would pay half his debts; but only on condition that he would go away to Moscow, where his father had, by much exertion, secured a post for him as adjutant to the commander-in-chief, and would try finally to make a good match there. He suggested to him either Princess Marya or Julie Karagin.
Anatole consented, and went away to Moscow, where he stayed with Pierre. Pierre at first was by no means pleased to receive Anatole, but after a while he got used to his presence; sometimes accompanied him on his carousals, and by way of loans gave him money.
As Shinshin had with truth said of him, Anatole had won the hearts of all the Moscow ladies, especially by the nonchalance with which he treated them and the preference he openly showed for gypsy girls and actresses, with the most prominent of whom, Mademoiselle George, he was said to have an intrigue. He never missed a single drinking party at Danilov's, or any other Moscow festivity, spent whole nights drinking, outdoing all the rest, and was at every soirée and ball in the best society. There were rumours of several intrigues of his with Moscow ladies, and at balls he flirted with a few of them. But he fought shy of unmarried ladies, especially the wealthy heiresses, who were most of them plain. He had a good reason for this, of which no one knew but his most intimate friends: he had been for the last two years married. Two years previously, while his regiment had been stationed in Poland, a Polish landowner, by no means well-to-do, had forced Anatole to marry his daughter.
Anatole had very shortly afterwards abandoned his wife, and in consideration of a sum of money, which he agreed to send his father-in-law, he was allowed by the latter to pass as a bachelor unmolested.
Anatole was very well satisfied with his position, with himself, and with other people. He was instinctively and thoroughly convinced that he could not possibly live except just in the way he did live, and that he had never in his life done anything base. He was incapable of considering either how his actions might be judged by others, or what might be the result of this or that action on his part. He was convinced that just as the duck is created so that it must always live in the water, so he was created by God such that he must spend thirty thousand a year, and always take a good position in society. He had such perfect faith in this that, looking at him, others too were persuaded of it, and refused him neither the exalted position in society nor the money, which he borrowed right and left, obviously with no notion of repaying it.
He was not a gambler, at least he never greatly cared about winning money at cards. He was not vain. He did not care a straw what people thought of him. Still less could he have been reproached with ambition. Several times he had, to his father's irritation, spoiled his best chances of a career, and he laughed at distinctions of all kinds. He was not stingy, and never refused any one who asked him for anything. What he loved was dissipation and women; and as, according to his ideas, there was nothing dishonourable in these tastes, and as he was incapable of considering the effect on others of the gratification of his tastes, he believed himself in his heart to be an irreproachable man, felt a genuine contempt for scoundrels and mean persons, and with an untroubled conscience held his head high. Rakes, those masculine Magdalens, have a secret feeling of their own guiltlessness, just as have women Magdalens, founded on the same hope of forgiveness. “All will be forgiven her, because she loved much; and all will be forgiven him, because he has enjoyed himself much.”
Dolohov had that year reappeared in Moscow after his exile and his Persian adventures. He spent his time in luxury, gambling, and dissipation; renewed his friendship with his old Petersburg comrade Kuragin, and made use of him for his own objects.
Anatole sincerely liked Dolohov for his cleverness and daring. Dolohov, for whom Anatole's name and rank and connections were of use in ensnaring wealthy young men into his society for gambling purposes, made use of Kuragin without letting him feel it, and was amused by him too. Apart from interested motives, for which he needed Anatole, the process itself of controlling another man's will was an enjoyment, a habit, and a necessity for Dolohov.
Natasha had made a great impression on Kuragin. At supper, after the theatre, he analysed to Dolohov, with the manner of a connoisseur, the points of her arms, her shoulders, her foot, and her hair, and announced his intention of getting up a flirtation with her. What might come of such a flirtation—Anatole was incapable of considering, and had no notion, as he never had a notion of what would come of any of his actions.
“She's pretty, my lad, but she's not for us,” Dolohov said to him.
“I'll tell my sister to ask her to dinner,” said Anatole. “Eh?”
“You'd better wait till she's married.…”
“You know I adore little girls,” said Anatole; “they're all confusion in a minute.”
“You've come to grief once already over a ‘little girl,' ” said Dolohov, who knew of Anatole's marriage. “Beware.”
“Well, one can't do it twice! Eh?” said Anatole, laughing good-humouredly.
阿纳托利·库拉金住在莫斯科，他是父亲把他从彼得堡送来的，他在那里每年要耗费两万多块钱，而且债权人还要向他父亲索取同样多的债款项。 
父亲告诉儿子，说他最后一次替他偿付一半债务，只不过是希望他到莫斯科去做个总司令的副官，这个职位是他父亲替他谋求到的，而且希望他尽力设法在那里成一门好亲事。他言下要把公爵小姐玛丽亚和朱莉·卡拉金娜指给他看，作为物色的对象。
阿纳托利同意后，启程前往莫斯科，住在皮埃尔家中。皮埃尔起初不乐于接待阿纳托利，但后来和他混熟了，有时候一同去狂饮。皮埃尔以借贷为名，给他钱用。
申申恰如其分地谈到阿纳托利的情况，说他来到莫斯科后，竟把莫斯科的女士们搞得神魂颠倒，尤其是因为他蔑视她们，显然是他宁可喜爱茨冈女郎和法国女伶，据说她和法国女伶的头目乔治小姐的关系密切。丹尼洛夫和莫斯科其他乐天派所举办的饮宴，他一次也不放过，他彻夜狂饮，酒量过人，还经常出席上流社会举办的各种晚会和舞会。大们谈论他和莫斯科的女士们的几次风流韵事，在舞会上他也追求几个女士。但是他不去接近少女，尤其是那些多半长得丑陋的有钱的未婚女子，况且阿纳托利在两年前结婚了，除开他的最亲密的朋友而外，没有人知道这件事。两年前他的兵团在波兰驻扎时，一个不富有的波兰地方强迫阿纳托利娶他女儿为妻。
阿纳托利寄给岳父一笔款项，以此作为条件，不久后就遗弃妻子，取得做单身汉的权利。
阿纳托利向来就对他自己的地位、对他自己和他人都感到满意。他整个身心本能地深信，他只有这样生活下去，他平生从来没有做任何坏事。他不善于全面考虑他的行为会对他人产生何种影响，也不善于考虑他这种或者那种行为会引起何种后果。他深信上帝创造鸭子，使它不得不经常在水中生活，上帝创造他，他就应该每年挣得三万卢布，就应该在社会中经常占有最高的地位。他坚信这一点，别人观察他时，也相信这一点，他们不会不承认他在上流社会中占有最高的地位，也不会拒绝他借钱，他向在路上随便遇到的任何人借钱，他显然是不想归还他的。
他不是赌徒，至少从来不希望赢钱。他不慕虚荣。无论谁心里想到他，他都满不在乎，而在贪图功名方面，他更没有什么过失。他所以几次惹怒父亲，是因为他断送了自己的前程，他嘲笑所有的荣耀地位。他不吝啬，任何人有求于他，他都不拒绝。他所喜爱的只有一点，那就是寻欢作乐和追求女性，依照他的观念，这些嗜好没有任何不高尚的地方，但是他不会考虑，一味满足他的嗜欲对他人会引起什么后果，因此他心里认为自己是一个无可指摘的人，他无所顾忌地藐视下流人和坏人，心安理得地傲岸不群。
这些酒鬼，这些悔悟的失足男人，就像悔悟的失足女人一样，都有那种认为自己无罪的潜在意识，这种意识是以获得宽恕的希望作为依据的。“她所以获得一切宽恕，是因为她爱得多，他所以获得一切宽恕，是因为他玩得多。”
是年，多洛霍夫在流放和波斯奇遇之后，又在莫斯科露面了，他还过着邀头聚赌和狂饮的生活，和彼得堡的一个老同事库拉金很接近，为了达到自己的目的而利用他。
多洛霍夫聪明而又剽悍，阿纳托利真诚地喜欢他。多洛霍夫需要阿纳托利·库拉金的名声、显贵地位和人情关系，藉以引诱富有的青年加入他的赌博团伙，利用他，玩弄他，但不让他意识到这一点，除开他存心借助于阿纳托利而外，对多洛霍夫来说，控制他人的意志本身就是一种享受、习惯与需要。
娜塔莎库拉金留下一个强烈的印象。在看完歌剧回家吃夜饭的时候，他带着行家的派头在多洛霍夫面前评价她的臂膀、肩头、两腿和头发的优点，并且说他已决定追求她。阿纳托利无法考虑，也无法知道这种求爱会引起什么后果，正如他一向不知道他的每一种行为会引起什么后果那样。
“老兄，她很美丽，但不是送给我们的。”多洛霍夫对他说。
“我要告诉我妹妹，叫她邀请她吃午饭。”阿纳托利说，“好吗？”
“你最好等她出阁之后……”
“你知道，”阿纳托利说，“j'adore　les　petites　filles①，她马上就局促不安了。”
“你有一次上了petite　fille②的当，”多洛霍夫知道阿纳托利结婚这件事，所以这样说，“当心！” 
①法语：我很喜欢小姑娘。
②法语，小姑娘。
“啊，可一不可再！是吗？”阿纳托利说，他和善地大笑起来。
Book 8 Chapter 12
THE NEXT DAY the Rostovs did not go anywhere, and no one came to see them. Marya Dmitryevna had a discussion with Natasha's father, which she kept secret from her. Natasha guessed they were talking of the old prince and making some plan, and she felt worried and humiliated by it. Every minute she expected Prince Andrey, and twice that day she sent a man to Vosdvizhenka to inquire whether he had not arrived. He had not arrived. She felt more dreary now than during the first days in Moscow. To her impatience and pining for him there were now added the unpleasant recollections of her interview with Princess Marya and the old prince, and a vague dread and restlessness, of which she did not know the cause. She was continually fancying either that he would never come or that something would happen to her before he came. She could not brood calmly for long hours over his image by herself as she had done before. As soon as she began to think of him, her memory of him was mingled with the recollection of the old prince and Princess Marya, and of the theatre and of Kuragin. Again the question presented itself whether she had not been to blame, whether she had not broken her faith to Prince Andrey, and again she found herself going over in the minutest detail every word, every gesture, every shade in the play of expression on the face of that man, who had known how to awaken in her a terrible feeling that was beyond her comprehension. In the eyes of those about her, Natasha seemed livelier than usual, but she was far from being as serene and happy as before.
On Sunday morning Marya Dmitryevna invited her guests to go to Mass to her parish church of Uspenya on Mogiltse.
“I don't like those fashionable churches,” she said, obviously priding herself on her independence of thought. “God is the same everywhere. Our parish priest is an excellent man, and conducts the service in a suitable way, so that is all as it should be, and his deacon too. Is there something holier about it when there are concerts in the choir? I don't like it; it's simply self-indulgence!”
Marya Dmitryevna liked Sundays, and knew how to keep them as holidays. Her house was always all scrubbed out and cleaned on Saturday; neither she nor her servants did any work, and every one wore holiday-dress and went to service. There were additional dishes at the mistress's dinner, and the servants had vodka and roast goose or a suckling-pig at theirs. But in nothing in the whole house was the holiday so marked as in the broad, severe face of Marya Dmitryevna, which on that day wore a never-varying expression of solemnity.
When after service they were drinking coffee in the drawing-room, where the covers had been removed from the furniture, the servant announced that the carriage was ready, and Marya Dmitryevna, dressed in her best shawl in which she paid calls, rose with a stern air, and announced that she was going to call on Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky to ask for an explanation of his conduct about Natasha. After Marya Dmitryevna had gone, a dressmaker waited upon the Rostovs from Madame Chalmey, and Natasha, very glad of a diversion, went into a room adjoining the drawing-room, and shutting the door between, began trying on her new dresses. Just as she had put on a bodice basted together, with the sleeves not yet tacked in, and was turning her head to look at the fit of the back in the looking-glass, she caught the sound of her father's voice in the drawing-room in eager conversation with another voice, a woman's voice, which made her flush red. It was the voice of Ellen. Before Natasha had time to take off the bodice she was trying on, the door opened, and Countess Bezuhov walked into the room, wearing a dark heliotrope velvet gown with a high collar, and beaming with a good-natured and friendly smile.
“O my enchantress!” she said to the blushing Natasha. “Charming! No, this is really beyond anything, count,” she said to Count Ilya Andreitch, who had followed her in. “How can you be in Moscow, and go nowhere? No, I won't let you off! This evening we have Mademoiselle George giving a recitation, and a few people are coming; and if you don't bring your lovely girls, who are much prettier than Mademoiselle George, I give up knowing you! My husband's not here, he has gone away to Tver, or I should have sent him for you. You must come, you positively must, before nine o'clock.”
She nodded to the dressmaker, who knew her, and was curtseying respectfully, and seated herself in a low chair beside the looking-glass, draping the folds of her velvet gown picturesquely about her. She kept up a flow of good-humoured and light-hearted chatter, and repeatedly expressed her enthusiastic admiration of Natasha's beauty. She looked through her dresses and admired them, spoke with admiration, too, of a new dress of her own “of metallic gas,” which she had received from Paris, and advised Natasha to have one like it.
“But anything suits you, my charmer!” she declared. The smile of pleasure never left Natasha's face. She felt happy, and as it were blossoming out under the praises of this charming Countess Bezuhov, who had seemed to her before a lady so unapproachable and dignified, and was now being so king to her. Natasha's spirits rose, and she felt almost in love with this handsome and good-natured woman. Ellen, for her part, was genuine in her admiration of Natasha, and in her desire to make her enjoy herself. Anatole had begged her to throw him with Natasha, and it was with that object she had come to the Rostovs'. The idea of throwing her brother and Natasha together amused her.
Although Ellen had once owed Natasha a grudge for carrying off Boris from her in Petersburg, she thought no more of that now, and with all her heart wished Natasha nothing but good. As she was leaving the Rostovs', she drew her protégée aside.
“My brother was dining with me yesterday—we half died with laughing at him—he won't eat, and does nothing but sigh for you, my charmer! He is madly, madly in love with you, my dear.”
Natasha flushed crimson on hearing those words.
“How she blushes, how she blushes, my pretty!” Ellen went on. “You must be sure to come. If you do love some one, it is not a reason to cloister yourself. Even if you are betrothed, I am sure your betrothed would have preferred you to go into society rather than to languish in ennui.”
“So then she knows I am engaged. So then they with her husband, with Pierre, with that good Pierre, talked and laughed about it. So that it means nothing.”
And again under Ellen's influence what had struck her before as terrible seemed to her simple and natural. “And she, such a grande dame, is so kind, and obviously she likes me with all her heart,” thought Natasha. “And why not enjoy myself,” thought Natasha, gazing at Ellen with wide-open, wondering eyes.
Marya Dmitryevna came back to dinner silent and serious, having evidently been defeated by the old prince. She was too much agitated by the conflict she had been through to be able to describe the interview. To the count's inquiries, she replied that everything had been all right and she would tell him about it next day. On hearing of the visit of Countess Bezuhov and the invitation for the evening, Marya Dmitryevna said:
“I don't care to associate with Countess Bezuhov and I don't advise you to, but still, since you have promised, better go. It will divert your mind,” she added, addressing Natasha.
看完歌剧后的第二天，罗斯托夫家里的人什么地方都不去，也没有人来看他们。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜瞒着娜塔莎跟她父亲商量什么来着。娜塔莎心里琢磨，认为他们在谈论老公爵，打定了什么主意，这使她惴惴不安和受委屈。她每时每刻都在等待安德烈公爵，当天曾两次派管院子的人到弗慈德维仁卡去探听他是否抵达。他还没有来。她在目前比刚刚到达的头几天更加难过了。她不仅显得不耐烦，常常想念他，而且不愉快地回忆她跟公爵小姐玛丽亚和老公爵会见的情景，她莫明其妙地感到恐惧和焦虑不安。她心中总是觉得他永远不能回来，或者在他还没有到达之前她会发生什么事。她不能像从前那样独自一人心平气和地、长时间地想到他。她一开始想到他，他就在她头脑中浮现出来，而且还会回想到老公爵、公爵小姐玛丽亚以及最近一次的歌剧表演和库拉金。她的思想中又出现一个问题：她是不是有愧悔之意，她对安德烈公爵的忠贞是不是已被毁灭，她详尽地回想那个在她心中激起一种百思不解的可怕的感觉的人的每句话、每个手势和面部表情的不同程度的流露。在她家里人看来，娜塔莎比平常更为活跃，然而她远远不如从前那样安详和幸福了。 
礼拜天早晨，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜邀请客人们到她自己的教区圣母升天堂去做日祷。
“我不喜欢这些时髦的教堂，”她说道，她因有自由思想而自豪。“到处只有一个上帝，我们教区的牧师文质彬彬、循规蹈矩地供职，光明磊落，就连助祭也是如此。唱诗班里响起协奏曲，还讲什么圣洁？我不喜欢，真是胡作非为啊！”
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜喜欢礼拜天，而且善于欢度礼拜天。礼拜六她的住宅就清扫、刷洗得干干净净，家仆们和她在这天都不工作，大家穿着节日的服装去作日祷。老爷在午餐时加馔，也施给仆人们伏特加酒、烤鹅或烤乳猪肉。但是节日的氛围，在整幢住房的任何物体上都不像在玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜那张宽大而严肃的脸上那样引人注目，礼拜日她的脸上一贯地流露着庄重的表情。
他们在日祷之后畅饮咖啡，在那取下家具布套的客厅里，仆人禀告玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，就四轮轿式马车已经备好。她披上拜客时用的华丽的披肩，现出严肃的神态，站立起来，说她要去拜访尼古拉·安德烈伊奇·博尔孔斯基公爵，向他说明有关娜塔莎的事。
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜走后，夏尔姆夫人时装店的女时装师来到罗斯托夫家，娜塔莎关上客厅隔壁的房门，开始试穿新连衣裙，她对这种消遣感到很满意。当她试穿那件还没有缝好衣袖、粗粗地缭上几针的束胸，转过头来照镜子，看看后片是否合身的时候，听见客厅里传来她父亲和一个女人兴致勃勃地谈话的声音，她听见女人的语声之后涨红了脸。这是海伦的说话声。娜塔莎还来不及脱下试穿的束胸，门就敞开了，伯爵夫人别祖霍娃穿着一体暗紫色的天鹅绒的高领连衣裙，面露温和的微笑走进房里来。
“Ah，ma　délicieuse！”①她对涨红了脸的娜塔莎说，“Charmante！②不，这太不像话，我可爱的伯爵，”她对跟在她后面走进来的伊利亚·安德烈伊奇说，“怎么能住在莫斯科，什么地方都不去呢？不，我决不会落在您后面！今天晚上乔治小姐在我那里朗诵，还有一些人也会来团聚，如果您不把您那两个长得比乔治小姐更美丽的姑娘带来，我就不想睬您了。丈夫不在这里，他到特韦尔去了，要不然，我打发他来接你们。请您一定光临，一定光临，八点多钟。”她向她熟悉的毕恭毕敬地向她行屈膝礼的女时装师点点头，然后在镜子旁边的安乐椅上坐下来，姿态优美地展开她那件天鹅绒连衣裙的褶子。她态度温和，心地愉快，絮絮叨叨地说不完，不停地赞赏娜塔莎的美丽的容貌。她仔细瞧瞧她的连衣裙，夸奖一番，她也炫耀她那件从巴黎买到的en　gaz　
métallique③新连衣裙，建议娜塔莎也做一件同样的衣裳。 
①法语：啊，我的惹人爱的姑娘！
②法语：真好看！
③法语：用金属罗纱做的。
“不过，无论什么衣裳您穿起来都合身，我的惹人爱的姑娘。”她说。
娜塔莎的脸上始终流露着欢乐的微笑。她受到这个可爱的伯爵夫人别祖霍娃的夸奖，觉得自己很幸福，简直是心花怒放，娜塔莎从前觉得她是个难以接近的骄傲的太太，她如今对她却很和善了。娜塔莎非常快活，她觉得自己几乎爱上了这位如此美丽、如此善心的女人。海伦也真诚地赞扬娜塔莎，想让她快活一阵。阿纳托利求她领他去和娜塔莎结识，她正是为了这件事才到罗斯托夫家里来。介绍哥哥和娜塔莎结识的念头使她感到可笑。
虽然她从前埋怨娜塔莎，因为她在彼得堡夺走了她的鲍里斯，现在她不去想这件事了，她根据自己的看法，全心全意地祝愿娜塔莎幸福。她在离开罗斯托夫之家时，把她的被保护人叫到一边去。
“昨天我哥哥在我那儿吃午饭，我们都笑得要命——他食不下咽，想到您时就长吁短叹，我的惹人爱的姑娘。il　est　fou，mais　fou　amoureux　de　vous，ma　chére①。”
娜塔莎听了这些话，涨红了脸。
“脸太红了，脸太红了，ma　délicieuse！②”海伦说。“您一定要来。Si　vous　aimez　quelqu'un，ma　délicieuse，ce　n'est　pas　une　raison　pour　se　cloeBtrer．Si　même　vous　êtes　promise，je　suis　suBre　que　votre　promis　aurait　désiré　que　vous　alliez　dans　le　monde　en　son　absence　plutoBt　que　dedépérir　denAnui③．” 
①法语：他神经错乱，他的确爱您爱得神经错乱了。
②法语：我的惹人爱的姑娘。
③法语：如果您爱了什么人，我的惹人爱的姑娘，这也不是您足不出户的理由。甚至您是个未婚妻，我相信，您的未婚夫与其任凭您苦闷到要死，他莫如让您跻身于上流社会。
“这么说来，她知道我是一个未婚妻，这么说来，她和她丈夫，和皮埃尔，和这个公平的皮埃尔谈论过并且嘲笑过这桩事了。这么说来，这不算什么。”娜塔莎想道。在海伦的影响下，娜塔莎觉得，原先好像很可怕的事情，现在看来又很平常，又很自然了。“她是个grande　dame①，这样可爱，很明显，她是全心全意地疼爱我的，”娜塔莎想道：“为什么不开开心呢？”娜塔莎想道，她瞪大眼睛，惊讶地谛视海伦。 
①法语：有权有势的夫人。
午饭前，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜回来了，她默默不语，那样子十他严肃，显然她在老公爵那儿遭到失败。她因为发生了一场冲突，显得非常激动，以致不能心平气和地述说这件事。她对伯爵提出的问题这样回答：一切都很顺利，明天再讲给他听。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜打听到伯爵夫人别祖霍娃来访并且邀请她出席晚会的消息后便这样说：
“我不喜欢和别祖霍娃交往，也劝你们不要和她交朋友，唔，既然已经答应了，就去消遣消遣。”她向娜塔莎转过脸来，补充说。
Book 8 Chapter 13
COUNT ILYA ANDREITCH took his two girls to the Countess Bezuhov's. There were a good many people assembled there. But Natasha hardly knew any of the persons present. Count Ilya Andreitch observed with dissatisfaction that almost all the company consisted of men or of ladies notorious for the freedom of their behaviour. Mademoiselle George was standing in one corner of the room, surrounded by young men. There were several Frenchmen present, and among them Metivier, who had been a constant visitor at Countess Bezuhov's ever since her arrival in Moscow. Count Ilya Andreitch made up his mind not to take a hand at cards, not to leave his daughter's side, and to get away as soon as Mademoiselle George's performance was over.
Anatole was at the door, unmistakably on the look-out for the Rostovs. At once greeting the count, he went up to Natasha and followed her in. As soon as Natasha saw him, the same feeling came upon her as at the theatre—the feeling of gratified vanity at his admiration of her, and terror at the absence of any moral barrier between them.
Ellen gave Natasha a delighted welcome, and was loud in her admiration of her loveliness and her dress. Soon after their arrival, Mademoiselle George went out of the room to change her dress. In the drawing-room chairs were being set in rows and people began to sit down. Anatole moved a chair for Natasha, and would have sat down by her, but the count, who was keeping his eye on Natasha, took the seat beside her. Anatole sat down behind.
Mademoiselle George, with bare, fat, dimpled arms, and a red scarf flung over one shoulder, came into the empty space left for her between the chairs and threw herself into an unnatural pose. An enthusiastic whisper was audible.
Mademoiselle George scanned her audience with stern and gloomy eyes, and began reciting French verses, describing her guilty love for her son. In places she raised her voice, in places she dropped to a whisper solemnly lifting her head; in places she broke off and hissed with rolling eyes.
“Exquisite, divine, marvellous!” was heard on all sides. Natasha gazed at the fat actress; but she heard nothing, saw nothing and understood nothing of what was passing before her. She felt nothing, but that she was borne away again irrevocably into that strange and senseless world so remote from her old world, a world in which there was no knowing what was good and what was bad, what was sensible and what was senseless. Behind her was sitting Anatole; and conscious of his nearness, she was in frightened expectation of something.
After the first monologue all the company rose and surrounded Mademoiselle George, expressing their admiration.
“How handsome she is!” said Natasha to her father, as he got up with the rest and moved through the crowd to the actress.
“I don't think so, looking at you,” said Anatole, following Natasha. He said this at a moment when no one but she could hear him. “You are charming…from the moment I first saw you, I have not ceased…”
“Come along, come along, Natasha!” said the count, turning back for his daughter. “How pretty she is!”
Natasha saying nothing went up to her father, and gazed at him with eyes of inquiring wonder.
After several recitations in different styles, Mademoiselle George went away, and Countess Bezuhov invited all the company to the great hall.
The count would have taken leave, but Ellen besought him not to spoil her improvised ball. The Rostovs stayed on. Anatole asked Natasha for a waltz, and during the waltz, squeezing her waist and her hand, he told her she was bewitching and that he loved her. During the écossaise, which she danced again with Kuragin, when they were left alone Anatole said nothing to her, he simply looked at her. Natasha was in doubt whether she had not dreamed what he said to her during the waltz. At the end of the first figure he pressed her hand again. Natasha lifted her frightened eyes to his face, but there was an expression of such assurance and warmth in his fond look and smile that she could not as she looked at him say what she had to say to him. She dropped her eyes.
“Don't say such things to me. I am betrothed, and I love another man …” she articulated rapidly. She glanced at him. Anatole was neither disconcerted nor mortified at what she had said.
“Don't talk to me of that. What is that to me,” he said; “I tell you I am mad, mad with love of you. Is it my fault that you are fascinating?…It's for us to begin.”
Natasha, eager and agitated, looked about her with wide-open, frightened eyes, and seemed to be enjoying herself more than usual. She scarcely grasped anything that happened that evening. They danced the écossaise and “Grandfather.” Her father suggested their going, and she begged to stay longer. Wherever she was, and with whomsoever she was speaking, she felt his eyes upon her. Then she remembered that she had asked her father's permission to go into a dressing-room to rearrange her dress, that Ellen had followed her, had talked to her, laughing, of her brother's passion, and that in the little divan-room she had been met again by Anatole; that Ellen had somehow vanished, they were left alone, and Anatole taking her by the hand, had said in a tender voice:
“I can't come to see you, but is it possible that I shall never see you? I love you madly. Can I never …?” and barring her way he brought his face close to hers.
His large, shining, masculine eyes were so close to her eyes, that she could see nothing but those eyes.
“Natalie?” his voice whispered interrogatively, and her hands were squeezed till it hurt. “Natalie?”
“I don't understand; I have nothing to say,” was the answer in her eyes.
Burning lips were pressed to her lips, and at the same instant she felt herself set free again, and caught the sound of Ellen's steps and rustling gown in the room again. Natasha looked round towards Ellen; then, red and trembling, she glanced at him with alarmed inquiry, and moved towards the door.
“One word, just one word, for God's sake,” Anatole was saying. She stopped. She so wanted him to say that word, that would have explained to her what had happened and to which she could have found an answer.
“Natalie, one word … one …” he kept repeating, plainly not knowing what to say, and he repeated it till Ellen reached them.
Ellen went back with Natasha to the drawing-room. The Rostovs went away without staying to supper.
When she got home, Natasha did not sleep all night. She was tortured by the insoluble question, Which did she love, Anatole or Prince Andrey? Prince Andrey, she did love—she remembered clearly how great her love was for him. But she loved Anatole too, of that there was no doubt. “Else could all that have happened?” she thought. “If after that I could answer with a smile to his smile at parting, if I could sink to that, it means that I fell in love with him from the first minute. So he must be kind, noble, and good, and I could not help loving him. What am I to do, if I love him and the other too?” she said to herself, and was unable to find an answer to those terrible questions.
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵把他两个姑娘送到伯爵夫人别祖霍娃那里去了。相当多的人出席了晚会。然而娜塔莎几乎不认识所有到会的人。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵不满地发觉，所有这些出席晚会的人多半是以自由散漫而出名的男人和女士。一群青年人把乔治小姐围在中间，她站在客厅的角落里。几个法国人也出席晚会，其中一人自从海伦抵达此地后成为海伦的家里人。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵决定不打纸牌，不离开女儿们身边，一当乔治表演完毕就回家去。 
阿纳托利显然是在门旁等罗斯托夫家里人进来。伯爵一走来，他立刻向伯爵问好，然后走到娜塔莎面前，跟在她后面。就像在戏院中那样，娜塔莎刚刚望见他，她就被那种徒慕虚荣的快感——因为他喜欢她而产生的一种虚荣心——控制住了，又因为她与他之间没有道德上的隔阂，所以她心中产生了一种恐惧感。
海伦愉快地接待娜塔莎，大声地夸奖她的美丽的容貌和装束。他们抵达后不久乔治小姐就从房里走出来，穿上衣裳。他们在客厅里摆好椅子，坐下来了。阿纳托利把椅子向娜塔莎那边挪一挪，想坐在旁边，但是伯爵目不转睛地望着娜塔莎，在她身旁坐下来。阿纳托利坐在他们后面。
乔治小姐裸露着两只粗大的有小窝窝的胳膊，一边肩膀上披着一条红色的披巾，走到安乐椅之间给她腾出来的地方，她停下来，姿势不自然。可以听见兴高采烈的低语声。
乔治小姐严肃而阴郁地环视了一下观众，她开始用法语朗诵一首诗，这首诗中讲的是她对她儿子的非法的爱情。朗诵到某个地方她提高嗓音，朗诵到某个地方她庄重地昂起头来，低声细语，在某个地方停顿一下，瞪大着眼睛发出嘶哑的声音。
“Adorable，divin，délicieux！”①可以听见四面八方的喊声。娜塔莎瞧着胖乎乎的乔治，可是什么也听不见，看不见，面前发生的事她全不明白，她只觉得她自己无可挽回地远离过去的世界，完全沉浸在令人可怕的疯狂的世界，在这个世界她没法知道什么是善，什么是丑，什么是理性，什么是狂妄。阿纳托利坐在她后面，她觉得他离她太近，因此惊惶失措地等待着什么。 
①法语：令人陶醉神妙，美不胜言！
在初次独白之后，所有的人都站起来，围住了乔治小姐，向她表示自己喜悦的心情。
“她多么漂亮！”娜塔莎对父亲说，她和其他人一同站起来，穿过一群人向女伶身边走去。
“当我望您时，我不认为她更美丽。”阿纳多利跟在娜塔莎后面说。当她一个人能够听见话音的时候，他才说了这句话。“您非常可爱……自从我看见您，我始终……”
“娜塔莎，咱们走吧，咱们走吧，”伯爵走回来叫女儿，“她非常漂亮！”
娜塔莎不说一句话，走到父亲跟前，用疑惑得出奇的目光望着他。
乔治小姐朗诵了几次后，便走了，伯爵夫人别祖霍娃请大伙儿到大厅里去。
伯爵想走了，但是海伦央求他不要搞垮她的即兴舞会。罗斯托夫家里的人留了下来。阿纳多利请娜塔莎跳华尔兹舞，在跳华尔兹舞的时候，他紧紧握着她的腰身和臂膀并且对她说，她ravissante①，他很爱她。当她又和库拉金同跳苏格兰民间舞时，当他们二人单独待在一起时，阿纳多利一言不发，只是眼巴巴地望着她。娜塔莎感到疑惑，她是否还在做梦，梦见在跳华尔兹舞时他对她说了什么话。在跳完第一轮时，他又握住她的手。娜塔莎向他抬起恐惧的眼睛，他的和蔼的眼神和微笑中含有如此自信和温柔的表情，以致在她凝视他时她不能说出她应该向他说的话。她垂下眼帘。 
①法语：十分迷人。
“您不要向我说这种事情，我已经订婚，我爱着另外一个人。”她急促地说……她朝他瞥了一眼。阿纳托利没有腼腆起来，他对她所说的话不感到难过。
“您不要向我提到这件事。这与我何干？”他说。“我要说，我爱上您了，爱得发狂，发狂。您招人喜欢，难道归罪于我吗？……我们要开始跳了。”
娜塔莎兴奋起来，心里又忐忑不安，瞪大了惊恐的眼睛，环顾四周，她仿佛觉得比平日更加快活。她几乎一点也不了解这天夜里出了什么事。他们跳了苏格兰民间舞和格罗斯法特舞，父亲就请她离开舞厅，她请求父亲让她留下来。无论她在那里，无论她和谁说话，她都觉察到他投射在她身上的目光。然后她想到，她请她家父允许她去更衣室整理一下连衣裙，海伦跟在她身后，一边发笑，一边向她谈到他哥哥的爱情，之后在一间摆着沙发的休息室里又遇见阿纳托利，海伦溜到什么地方去了，于是他们俩个人留在那里，阿纳托利紧握她的手，用那温柔的嗓音说：
“我不能到您那儿去，但是我难道永远看不到您么？我爱您爱得发狂了，难道永远也不能？……”于是他拦住路口，把他的脸凑近她的脸。
他那闪闪发亮的男人的大眼睛离她的眼睛太近了，使她简直看不见什么，她所看见的只是这一对眼睛。
“娜塔莎？！”他疑惑地低声说，有个什么人把她的手握得很疼。“娜塔莎？！”
“我一点也不明白，我没有什么可说的。”她的目光仿佛这样说。
热乎乎的嘴唇紧紧地贴着她的嘴唇，这时分她又觉得自己太放任了，房间里可以听见海伦的步履声和连衣裙的窸窣的响声。娜塔莎回头望望海伦，她满面通红，战战兢兢，现出恐惧的疑问的眼神向他瞥视一下，往门口走去。
“Un　mot，un　seul，au　nom　de　Dieu．”①阿纳托利说。
她停步了。她希望他说这句话，如果这句话能够向她说明发生的事情，她就要回答他了。
“Nathalie，un　mot，un　seul．”②他老是重说这句话，显然他不知道该说什么好，他说了一遍又一遍，直至海伦走到他们跟前才住口。 
①法语：有一句话，只有一句话，看在上帝面上。
②法语：娜塔莎，有一句话，一句话。
海伦和娜塔莎又一同走进客厅。罗斯托夫家里的人没有留在那里吃晚饭，便启行了。
娜塔莎回家之后，彻夜没有睡觉；她爱过谁——阿纳托利还是安德烈公爵——这个悬而未决的问题，使她心里很难受。她爱过安德烈公爵，她清楚地记得她坚定地爱过他。但是她也爱过阿纳托利，这是毫无疑义的。“否则这一切会不会发生？”她想道。“既然在此之后我能够，和他告别时能够用微笑回答他的微笑，既然我能够容许这样做，那就是说我起初就爱他了。那就是说，他慈善、高尚而且长得英俊，不能不爱他。既然我爱他，又爱别人，那怎么办呢？”她自言自语，对这些令人可怕的问题得不到解答。
Book 8 Chapter 14
THE MORNING came with daily cares and bustle. Every one got up and began to move about and to talk; dressmakers came again; again Marya Dmitryevna went out and they were summoned to tea. Natasha kept uneasily looking round at every one with wide-open eyes, as though she wanted to intercept every glance turned upon her. She did her utmost to seem exactly as usual.
After luncheon—it was always her best time—Marya Dmitryevna seated herself in her own arm-chair and drew Natasha and the old count to her.
“Well, my friends, I have thought the whole matter over now, and I'll tell you my advice,” she began. “Yesterday, as you know, I was at Prince Bolkonsky's; well, I had a talk with him…He thought fit to scream at me. But there's no screaming me down! I had it all out with him.”
“Well, but what does he mean?” asked the count.
“He's crazy…he won't hear of it, and there's no more to be said. As it is we have given this poor girl worry enough,” said Marya Dmitryevna. “And my advice to you is, to make an end of it and go home to Otradnoe…and there to wait.”
“Oh no!” cried Natasha.
“Yes, to go home,” said Marya Dmitryevna, “and to wait there. If your betrothed comes here now, there'll be no escaping a quarrel; but alone here he'll have it all out with the old man, and then come on to you.”
Count Ilya Andreitch approved of this suggestion, and at once saw all the sound sense of it. If the old man were to come round, then it would be better to visit him at Moscow or Bleak Hills, later on; if not, then the wedding, against his will, could only take place at Otradnoe.
“And that's perfectly true,” said he. “I regret indeed that I ever went to see him and took her too,” said the count.
“No, why regret it? Being here, you could do no less than show him respect. If he wouldn't receive it, that's his affair,” said Marya Dmitryevna, searching for something in her reticule. “And now the trousseau's ready, what have you to wait for? What is not ready, I'll send after you. Though I'm sorry to lose you, still the best thing is for you to go, and God be with you.” Finding what she was looking for in her reticule, she handed it to Natasha. It was a letter from Princess Marya. “She writes to you. How worried she is, poor thing! She is afraid you might think she does not like you.”
“Well, she doesn't like me,” said Natasha.
“Nonsense, don't say so,” cried Marya Dmitryevna.
“I won't take any one's word for that, I know she doesn't like me,” said Natasha boldly as she took the letter, and there was a look of cold and angry resolution in her face, that made Marya Dmitryevna look at her more closely and frown.
“Don't you answer me like that, my good girl,” she said. “If I say so, it's the truth. Write an answer to her.”
Natasha made no reply, and went to her own room to read Princess Marya's letter.
Princess Marya wrote that she was in despair at the misunderstanding that had arisen between them. Whatever her father's feelings might be, wrote Princess Marya, she begged Natasha to believe that she could not fail to love her, as the girl chosen by her brother, for whose happiness she was ready to make any sacrifice.
“Do not believe, though,” she wrote, “that my father is ill-disposed to you. He is an old man and an invalid, for whom one must make excuses. But he is good-hearted and generous, and will come to love the woman who makes his son happy.” Princess Marya begged Natasha, too, to fix a time when she might see her again.
After reading the letter, Natasha sat down to the writing-table to answer it. “Dear princess,” she began, writing rapidly and mechanically in French, and there she stopped. What more could she write after what had happened the day before? “Yes, yes, all that had happened, and now everything was different,” she thought, sitting before the letter she had begun. “Must I refuse him? Must I really? That's awful!…” And to avoid these horrible thoughts, she went in to Sonya, and began looking through embroidery designs with her.
After dinner Natasha went to her own room and took up Princess Marya's letter again. “Can everything be over?” she thought. “Can all this have happened so quickly and have destroyed all that went before?” She recalled in all its past strength her love for Prince Andrey, and at the same time she felt that she loved Kuragin. She vividly pictured herself the wife of Prince Andrey, of her happiness with him, called up the picture she had so often dwelt on in her imagination, and at the same time, all aglow with emotion, she recalled every detail of her interview the previous evening with Anatole.
“Why could not that be as well?” she wondered sometimes in complete bewilderment. “It's only so that I could be perfectly happy: as it is, I have to choose, and without either of them I can't be happy. There's one thing,” she thought, “to tell Prince Andrey what has happened; to hide it from him—are equally impossible. But with him nothing is spoilt. But can I part for ever from the happiness of Prince Andrey's love, which I have been living on for so long?”
“Madame,” whispered a maid, coming into the room with a mysterious air, “a man told me to give you this.” The girl gave her a letter. “Only for Christ's sake …” said the girl, as Natasha, without thinking, mechanically broke the seal and began reading a love-letter from Anatole, of which she did not understand a word, but understood only that it was a letter from him, from the man whom she loved. “Yes, she loved him; otherwise, how could what had happened have happened? How could a love-letter from him be in her hand?”
With trembling hands Natasha held that passionate love-letter, composed for Anatole by Dolohov, and as she read it, she found in it echoes of all that it seemed to her she was feeling herself.
“Since yesterday evening my fate is sealed: to be loved by you or to die. There is nothing else left for me,” the letter began. Then he wrote that he knew her relations would never give her to him, to Anatole; that there were secret reasons for that which he could only reveal to her alone; but that if she loved him, she had but to utter the word Yes, and no human force could hinder their happiness. Love would conquer all. He could capture her and bear her away to the ends of the earth.
“Yes, yes, I love him!” thought Natasha, reading the letter over for the twentieth time, and finding some special deep meaning in every word.
That evening Marya Dmitryevna was going to the Arharovs', and proposed taking the young ladies with her. Natasha pleaded a headache and stayed at home.
早晨随着操劳与奔忙来临了。大家都起床，开始活动、谈天，女时装师又来了，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜又走出来，呼唤大家饮早茶。娜塔莎睁大眼睛，好像她要抓住第一道向她凝视的目光，焦急不安地环顾大家，极力地现出她平素常有的神态。 
吃罢早餐后，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜（这是她的最好的时光）在她的安乐椅中坐下来，把娜塔莎和老伯爵喊到身边来。
“喏，我的朋友们，现在我把一切事情都考虑到了，我要给你们出个这样的主意，”她开始说。“你们知道，昨天我到过尼古拉公爵那里，唉，我跟他谈了一阵子……他忽然想大声喊叫，可是他压不倒我高声喊叫的声音啊！我把一切都跟他直说了！”
“他怎么样？”伯爵问道。
“他怎么样？疯疯癫癫的……他不愿意听进去，唔，有什么可说的，我们简直把一个可怜的女孩折磨到极点。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说，“我劝你们把事情干完，就回家去，到奥特拉德诺耶去……在那里等候……”
“唉，不行！”娜塔莎突然喊道。
“不，你们要去，”玛丽·德米特里耶夫娜说，“在那里等候。如果未婚夫以后到这里来，非吵闹不可，那时他和老头子面对面地把一切谈妥，然后再到你们那里去。”
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇立即明了这个建议是合乎情理的，于是表示赞成。如果老头儿心软下来，那就更好，以后再到莫斯科或者童山去看他，如果不成，那么就只有违反他的意旨在奥特拉德诺耶举行结婚典礼。
“真是这样，”他说道，“我到他那儿去过一趟，并且把她带去了，我真懊悔。”老伯爵说。
“不，为什么懊悔？既然人在这里，不能不表示敬意。得啦吧，他不愿意，是他的事，”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜在女用手提包中寻找什么东西时说。“但是嫁妆准备好了，你们还要等待什么，没有准备齐的东西，我一定给你们送去。即使我舍不得你们，但是最好还是走吧。”她在手提包中找到她要找的东西后，便把它交给娜塔莎。这是公爵小姐玛丽亚的一封信，“她写给你的信。她真受折磨，一个可怜的人！她害怕你以为她不喜欢你。”
“她真不喜欢我。”娜塔莎说。
“废话，你甭说吧。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜喊了一声。
“我谁也不相信，我知道她不喜欢，”娜塔莎把信拿在手上，大胆地说，她脸上流露着一种冷淡、愤懑而坚定的表情，这就使得玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜更加凝神地瞥她一眼，而且蹙起了额角。
“亲爱的，不要那样回答我的话吧，”她说，“我所说的句句都是实话。你写回信吧。”
娜塔莎不回答，便走进自己房间里去看公爵小姐玛丽亚的信。
公爵小姐玛丽亚在信中写到，她对她们之间发生的误会感到失望，公爵小姐玛丽亚在信中写到，不管她父亲怀有什么感情，她请娜塔莎相信，她不会不喜爱她，因为她是她哥哥选择的配偶，为着哥哥的幸福她愿意牺牲一切。
“不过，”她写道，“您别认为我父亲对您怀有恶意。他是个有病的老年人，应该原谅他，但是他很善良，对人宽宏大量，他必将疼爱给他儿子带来幸福的人。”公爵小姐玛丽亚接着在信中提到，请求娜塔莎定一个时间，她和她能够再一次见面。
娜塔莎看完信后便在写字台前坐下来写回信：“Chére　princesse，”①她飞快地、机械地写了两个字就停下来。在昨天发生这一切之后，她能够再写什么呢？“对，对，这一切已经发生了，现在什么都不同了，”她面对这封写了个开头的信，心里这样想，“应该拒绝他？难道应该吗？这非常可怕！……”为了不去思忖这些可怕的心事，她走到索尼娅面前，和索尼娅一同挑选刺绣的花样。 
①法语：亲爱的公爵小姐。
午饭后娜塔莎走到自己房间里，又拿起那封公爵小姐玛丽亚的信。“难道这一切已经完结了？”她想道。“难道这一切就会这么快地发生，而且毁灭了从前的一切？”她还像从前那样全神贯注地回想她对安德烈公爵的爱情，与此同时她又觉得她爱过库拉金。她维妙维肖地把她自己说成是安德烈公爵的妻子，想到在她脑际多次重现的、她和他共享幸福的情景，同时又想起昨天她和阿纳托利会面的详情，激动得满面通红。
“为什么这二者不能兼顾呢？”她有时悖晦地想。“只有到那时我才会完全幸福，而今我得加以选择，二者缺少其一，我都得不到幸福。二者择其一，”她想：“把生的事告知安德烈公爵，或者向他隐瞒下来，同样是不可能的。然而对此人，并无丝毫损伤。难道要永远舍弃我和安德烈公爵如此长久地共享的爱情的幸福么？”
“小姐，”一名女仆向房里走来时带着神秘的神情用耳语说，“有个人叫我把它交给您，”女仆递交了一封信。“只不过看在基督面上……”当娜塔莎毫不犹豫地、机械地拆开信封、正在看阿纳托利的情书时，女仆又这样说，娜塔莎一句话也没有看懂，她只懂得这么一点：这是她所爱的那个人的一封信。“对，她在爱他，否则怎么会发生已经发生的事呢？她手里怎么会有他的情书呢？”
娜塔莎用那巍颤颤的手捧着多洛霍夫为阿纳托利写的充满激情的一封情书，她一面读着，一面觉得她从书信中寻找到她所体察到的一切的回声。
“自从昨日夜晚起，我的命运已经决定了：或者我得到您的爱，或者我死去。我没有别的出路，”这封信的开头就是这样写的。然后他写道，他心里知道她的父母亲是不会把她许配给他——阿纳托利的。其中必有隐秘的原因，他可以向她一个人赤诚地倾诉，但是，如果她爱他，她只要说一个“是”字，人间的任何力量都不能妨碍他们的无上幸福。爱情能战胜一切。他将秘密地把她携带到天涯海角。
“是啊，是啊，我爱他！”娜塔莎想道，她把这封信重读二十遍，在每个字里寻找某种特别深刻的涵义。
这天晚上，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜要到阿尔哈罗夫家里去，并且吩咐小姐们和她同去，娜塔莎遂以头痛为借口，留在家里。
Book 8 Chapter 15
ON RETURNING LATE in the evening, Sonya went into Natasha's room, and to her surprise found her not undressed asleep on the sofa. On the table near her Anatole's letter lay open. Sonya picked up the letter and began to read it.
She read it, and looked at Natasha asleep, seeking in her face some explanation of what she had read and not finding it. Her face was quiet, gentle, and happy. Clutching at her own chest to keep herself from choking, Sonya, pale and shaking with horror and emotion, sat down in a low chair and burst into tears.
“How was it I saw nothing? How can it have gone so far? Can she have ceased loving Prince Andrey? And how could she have let this Kuragin go as far as this? He's a deceiver and a villain, that's clear. What will Nikolenka—dear, noble Nikolenka—do when he hears of it? So that was the meaning of her excited, determined, unnatural face the day before yesterday, and yesterday and to-day,” thought Sonya. “But it's impossible that she can care for him! Most likely she opened the letter not knowing from whom it was. Most likely she feels insulted by it. She's not capable of doing such a thing!”
Sonya dried her tears and went up to Natasha, carefully scrutinising her face again.
“Natasha!” she said, hardly audibly.
Natasha waked up and saw Sonya.
“Ah, you have come back?”
And with the decision and tenderness common at the moment of awakening she embraced her friend. But noticing embarrassment in Sonya's face, her face too expressed embarrassment and suspicion.
“Sonya, you have read the letter?” she said.
“Yes,” said Sonya softly.
Natasha smiled ecstatically.
“No, Sonya, I can't help it!” she said. “I can't keep it secret from you any longer. You know we love each other! … Sonya, darling, he writes … Sonya …”
Sonya gazed with wide-open eyes at Natasha, as though unable to believe her ears.
“But Bolkonsky?” she said.
“O Sonya, oh, if you could only know how happy I am!” said Natasha. “You don't know what love …”
“But, Natasha, you can't mean that all that is over?”
Natasha looked with her big, wide eyes at Sonya as though not understanding her question.
“Are you breaking it off with Prince Andrey then?” said Sonya.
“Oh, you don't understand; don't talk nonsense; listen,” said Natasha, with momentary annoyance.
“No, I can't believe it,” repeated Sonya. “I don't understand it. What, for a whole year you have been loving one man, and all at once … Why, you have only seen him three times. Natasha, I can't believe you, you're joking. In three days to forget everything, and like this …”
“Three days,” said Natasha. “It seems to me as though I had loved him for a hundred years. It seems to me that I have never loved any one before him. You can't understand that. Sonya, stay, sit here.” Natasha hugged and kissed her. “I have been told of its happening, and no doubt you have heard of it too, but it's only now that I have felt such love. It's not what I have felt before. As soon as I saw him, I felt that he was my sovereign and I was his slave, and that I could not help loving him. Yes, his slave! Whatever he bids me, I shall do. You don't understand that. What am I to do? What am I to do, Sonya?” said Natasha, with a blissful and frightened face.
“But only think what you are doing,” said Sonya. “I can't leave it like this. These secret letters … How could you let him go so far as that?” she said, with a horror and aversion she could with difficulty conceal.
“I have told you,” answered Natasha, “that I have no will. How is it you don't understand that? I love him!”
“Then I can't let it go on like this. I shall tell about it,” cried Sonya with a burst of tears.
“What … for God's sake … If you tell, you are my enemy,” said Natasha. “You want to make me miserable, and you want us to be separated…”
On seeing Natasha's alarm, Sonya wept tears of shame and pity for her friend.
“But what has passed between you?” she asked. “What has he said to you? Why doesn't he come to the house?”
Natasha made no answer to her question.
“For God's sake, Sonya, don't tell any one; don't torture me,” Natasha implored her. “Remember that it doesn't do to meddle in such matters. I have told you …”
“But why this secrecy? Why doesn't he come to the house?” Sonya persisted. “Why doesn't he ask for your hand straight out? Prince Andrey, you know, gave you complete liberty, if it really is so; but I can't believe in it. Natasha, have you thought what the secret reasons can be?”
Natasha looked with wondering eyes at Sonya. Evidently it was the first time that question had presented itself to her, and she did not know how to answer it.
“What the reasons are, I don't know. But there must be reasons!”
Sonya sighed and shook her head distrustfully.
“If there were reasons…” she was beginning. But Natasha, divining her doubts, interrupted her in dismay.
“Sonya, you mustn't doubt of him; you mustn't, you mustn't! Do you understand?” she cried.
“Does he love you?”
“Does he love me?” repeated Natasha, with a smile of compassion for her friend's dullness of comprehension. “Why, you have read his letter, haven't you? You've seen him.”
“But if he is a dishonourable man?”
“He! … a dishonourable man? If only you knew!” said Natasha.
“If he is an honourable man, he ought either to explain his intentions, or to give up seeing you; and if you won't do that, I will do it. I'll write to him. I'll tell papa,” said Sonya resolutely.
“But I can't live without him!” cried Natasha.
“Natasha, I don't understand you. And what are you saying? Think of your father, of Nikolenka.”
“I don't care for any one, I don't love any one but him. How dare you say he's dishonourable! Don't you know that I love him?” cried Natasha. “Sonya, go away; I don't want to quarrel with you; go away, for God's sake, go away; you see how wretched I am,” cried Natasha angrily, in a voice of repressed irritation and despair. Sonya burst into sobs and ran out of the room.
Natasha went to the table, and without a moment's reflection wrote that answer to Princess Marya, which she had been unable to write all the morning. In her letter she told Princess Marya briefly that all misunderstandings between them were at an end, as taking advantage of the generosity of Prince Andrey, who had at parting given her full liberty, she begged her to forget everything and forgive if she had been in fault in any way, but she could not be his wife. It all seemed to her so easy, so simple, and so clear at that moment.
The Rostovs were to return to the country on Friday, but on Wednesday the count went with the intending purchaser to his estate near Moscow.
On the day the count left, Sonya and Natasha were invited to a big dinner-party at Julie Karagin's, and Marya Dmitryevna took them. At that dinner Natasha met Anatole again, and Sonya noticed that Natasha said something to him, trying not to be overheard, and was all through the dinner more excited than before. When they got home, Natasha was the first to enter upon the conversation with Sonya that her friend was expecting.
“Well, Sonya, you said all sorts of silly things about him,” Natasha began in a meek voice, the voice in which children speak when they want to be praised for being good. “I have had it all out with him to-day.”
“Well, what did he say? Well? Come, what did he say? Natasha, I'm so glad you're not angry with me. Tell me everything, all the truth. What did he say?”
Natasha sank into thought.
“O Sonya, if you knew him as I do! He said … He asked me what promise I had given Bolkonsky. He was so glad that I was free to refuse him.”
Sonya sighed dejectedly.
“But you haven't refused Bolkonsky, have you?” she said.
“Oh, perhaps I have refused him! Perhaps it's all at an end with Bolkonsky. Why do you think so ill of me?”
“I don't think anything, only I don't understand this.…”
“Wait a little, Sonya, you will understand it all. You will see the sort of man he is. Don't think ill of me, or of him.”
“I don't think ill of any one; I like every one and am sorry for every one. But what am I to do?”
Sonya would not let herself be won over by the affectionate tone Natasha took with her. The softer and the more ingratiating Natasha's face became, the more serious and stern became the face of Sonya.
“Natasha,” she said, “you asked me not to speak to you, and I haven't spoken; now you have begun yourself. Natasha, I don't trust him. Why this secrecy?”
“Again, again!” interrupted Natasha.
“Natasha, I am afraid for you.”
“What is there to be afraid of?”
“I am afraid you will be ruined,” said Sonya resolutely, herself horrified at what she was saying.
Natasha's face expressed anger again.
“Then I will be ruined, I will; I'll hasten to my ruin. It's not your business. It's not you, but I, will suffer for it. Leave me alone, leave me alone. I hate you!”
“Natasha!” Sonya appealed to her in dismay.
“I hate you, I hate you! And you're my enemy for ever!”
Natasha ran out of the room.
Natasha avoided Sonya and did not speak to her again. With the same expression of agitated wonder and guilt she wandered about the rooms, taking up first one occupation and then another, and throwing them aside again at once.
Hard as it was for Sonya, she kept watch over her friend and never let her out of her sight.
On the day before that fixed for the count's return, Sonya noticed that Natasha sat all the morning at the drawing-room window, as though expecting something, and that she made a sign to an officer who passed by, whom Sonya took to be Anatole.
Sonya began watching her friend even more attentively, and she noticed that all dinner-time and in the evening Natasha was in a strange and unnatural state, unlike herself. She made irrelevant replies to questions asked her, began sentences and did not finish them, and laughed at everything.
After tea Sonya saw the maid timidly waiting for her to pass at Natasha's door. She let her go in, and listening at the door, found out that another letter had been given her. And all at once it was clear to Sonya that Natasha had some dreadful plan for that evening. Sonya knocked at her door. Natasha would not let her in.
“She is going to run away with him!” thought Sonya. “She is capable of anything. There was something particularly piteous and determined in her face to-day. She cried as she said good-bye to uncle,” Sonya remembered. “Yes, it's certain, she's going to run away with him; but what am I to do?” wondered Sonya, recalling now all the signs that so clearly betokened some dreadful resolution on Natasha's part. “The count is not here. What am I to do? Write to Kuragin, demanding an explanation from him? But who is to make him answer? Write to Pierre, as Prince Andrey asked me to do in case of trouble? … But perhaps she really has refused Bolkonsky (she sent off a letter to Princess Marya yesterday). Uncle is not here.”
To tell Marya Dmitryevna, who had such faith in Natasha, seemed to Sonya a fearful step to take.
“But one way or another,” thought Sonya, standing in the dark corridor, “now or never the time has come for me to show that I am mindful of all the benefits I have received from their family and that I love Nikolay. No, if I have to go three nights together without sleep; I won't leave this corridor, and I will prevent her passing by force, and not let disgrace come upon their family,” she thought.
深夜，索尼娅回来之后便走进娜塔莎的住房，使她感到惊奇的是，她发现她没有脱下衣裳，便在沙发上睡着了。阿纳托利的一封打开的信放在她身旁的桌上，索尼娅拿起这封信，就读起来。 
她一面读信，一面细看睡着的娜塔莎，在她脸上寻找可资说明她在读完信后产生的感想，可是她一无所获。面部表情是安详的、温和的、幸福的。索尼娅面色苍白，因为害怕和激动而颤栗，于是紧紧地抓住胸口，在那安乐椅上坐下，哭出了眼泪。
“怎么我竟然看不出什么？这件事怎么会搞得过火？难道她不爱安德烈公爵了吗？她怎么能够容许库拉金这样做呢？他是一个骗子手和歹徒，这是十分明显的。如果尼古拉知道这件事，他会怎么样？可爱的、高尚的尼古拉会怎么样？她的面部表情在前日、昨日和今日都很激动、坚定、很不自然，原来竟是这么回事，”索尼娅想道，“但是她不可能爱他呀！大概她不知道是谁写的信便拆封了。大概她感到受侮辱。她不会做出这种事啊！”
索尼娅揩干眼泪，走到娜塔莎跟前，又仔细地瞧她的面庞。
“娜塔莎！”她说道，勉强听得见她的语声。
娜塔莎睡醒了，看见索尼娅。
“啊，你回来了？”
她显露出她在睡醒之后常有的坚定而温和的神情拥抱女朋友。但在索尼娅脸上发觉困惑不安的表情之后，娜塔莎脸上也表现出困窘和怀疑的样子。
“索尼娅，你看了信么？”她说。
“看了。”索尼娅低声地说。
娜塔莎脸上流露出一丝喜悦的微笑。
“索尼娅，不，我再也不能瞒住你了！”她说，“我再也不能瞒着你了。你知道，我们相亲相爱啊！……索尼娅，我亲爱的，是他写的信……索尼娅……”
索尼娅好像不相信自己的耳朵，睁大眼睛注视着娜塔莎。
“博尔孔斯基呢？”她说。
“哎呀，索尼娅，哎呀，如果你知道我多么幸福，那才好啊！”娜塔莎说，“你不晓得什么叫做爱情……”
“不过，娜塔莎，难道那一切都完结了吗？”
娜塔莎瞪大眼睛望着索尼娅，仿佛不明白她在问什么。
“怎么，你会拒绝安德烈公爵吗？”索尼娅说。
“哎呀，你什么都不明白，你甭说蠢话，你听着。”娜塔莎怀着瞬息间的懊恼的心情说。
“不，我不能相信这件事，”索尼娅重复地说。“我不明白。你怎么在一整年内爱着一个人，但又忽然……要知道你只见过他三次。娜塔莎，我不相信你，你乱搞男女关系。三天之内把这一切统统忘掉……”
“三天呀，”娜塔莎说，“我仿佛觉得我爱他一百年了。我觉得在爱他之前我从来没有爱过任何人。你不能明白这一点。索尼娅，等一等，坐到这里来。”娜塔莎搂抱她，吻吻她。
“有人告诉我，这是常有的事情，你也许耳有所闻，但是我现在才体会到了这种爱情。这与从前截然不同。我刚一看见他，我就觉得他是我的主宰，我是他的奴隶，我不能不爱他。是啊，我是个奴隶！他有什么吩咐，我一定照办。你不了解这一点。我究竟怎么办呢？我究竟怎么办，索尼娅？”娜塔莎脸上流露着幸福而惊恐的神色说道。
“不过，你考虑考虑，你干的是什么事，”索尼娅说，“这种事情我不能置之不理。这些秘密的情书……你怎么能够容许他干这种事？”她怀有恐惧和她那难以隐藏的厌恶心情说。
“我对你说过，”娜塔莎回答，“我六神无主，你不明白这一点，我爱他！”
“我决不会容许他干这种事，我讲给人家听。”索尼娅突然喊了一声，泪水夺眶而出。
“你怎么，就看在上帝份上……如果你要讲出去，你就是我的敌人，”娜塔莎说，“你是想叫我倒霉，你希望促使我俩分离。”
索尼娅看见娜塔莎这种恐怖的样子，不禁为女友流出了羞耻和怜悯的眼泪。
“你们之间发生了什么事？”她问道，“他对你说过什么话？
为什么他不到家里来呢？”
娜塔莎没有回答她问的话。
“索尼娅，看在上帝份上，不要告诉任何人，别使我难受，”娜塔莎央求。“你记住，不能干预这件事。我向你坦诚地说出来了……”
“但是为什么要保守这些秘密呢？为什么他不到家里来呢？”索尼娅问道，“为什么他不直截了当地向你求婚呢？既然真是这么回事，安德烈公爵岂不给了你充分的自由？可是我不相信这种事情。娜塔莎，你总想到了，可能会有什么潜在的原因？”
娜塔莎用她那惊奇的目光望着索尼娅，看来，这个问题头一次在她自己头脑中浮现出来，她不知道应该怎样回答。
“我不知道有什么原因，不过其中总有原因吧！”
索尼娅叹了一口气，不信任地摇摇头。
“如果有什么原因……”她开始说。但是娜塔莎猜想到她的疑惑的心情，于是惶恐地打断她的话。
“索尼娅，不能怀疑他，不能，不能，你明白吗？”她喊道。
“他是不是爱你呢？”
“他爱我吗？”娜塔莎重说一遍，对女友头脑不灵活流露出怜惜的微笑。“你不是看过信吗？你见过他吗？
“如果他不是高尚的人呢？”
“他！……不高尚的人吗？但愿你能了解他！”娜塔莎说。
“如果他是个高尚的人，他就应该表明自己的意图，或者不再和你见面；如果你不想这么办，我就来代办，我给他写信，我告诉爸爸。”索尼娅斩钉截铁地说。
“可是没有他我不能生活下去！”娜塔莎喊道。
“娜塔莎，我不了解你。你说什么呀！你想想父亲，想想尼古拉。”
“我不需要任何人，除开他之外我不爱任何人。你怎么敢说他不高尚呢？难道你还不知道我爱他吗？”娜塔莎喊道。
“索尼娅，走开，我不想跟你争吵，看在上帝份上，走开，你走开，你知道我感到难受。”娜塔莎用那持重、恼怒而绝望的嗓音愤愤地喊道。索尼娅抽噎着痛哭起来，从房间里跑出去了。
娜塔莎走到桌前，毫不犹豫地给公爵小姐玛丽亚写回信，花了整个早晨她也没有写完这封信。在这封信上她给公爵小姐玛丽亚简略地写到，她们之间的误会已经化除了，多蒙安德烈公爵宽厚待人，他在外出时赐与她自由，如果在她面前犯有过错，就请她原宥，不要把这一切记在心上；但是她不能做他的妻子。在这一瞬息之间她仿佛觉得这一切都是如此简单、明了，易如反掌。
礼拜五，罗斯托夫家里人要到乡下去，礼拜三伯爵和买主一道到他的莫斯科近郊的田庄去了。
伯爵启程的那天，索尼娅和娜塔莎应邀前往卡拉金家出席盛大宴会，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜用一辆马车伴送她们去了。在这次宴会上娜塔莎又遇见阿纳托利，索尼娅发现，娜塔莎跟他说了什么话，她想不让别人听见，而在饮宴之时她显得比以前更加激动了。当她们回家之后，她首先和索尼娅谈起话来，想消除误会，这正是她的女友索尼娅所期待的。
“索尼娅，你评论他时讲了种种蠢话，”娜塔莎用温和的声调开始说，那声调就像孩子们想得到夸赏时常用的声调一样，“今天我要跟他作一番解释。”
“喂，怎么样？他到底说了什么？娜塔莎，你不会生我的气，我感到非常高兴。你把全部实话说给我听。他到底说了什么？”
娜塔莎沉吟起来。
“哎呀，索尼娅，你如果像我这样了解他，那就好了！他说了……他问我是怎样答应博尔孔斯基的。当他知道拒绝博尔孔斯基这件事以我为转移时，他感到非常高兴。”
索尼娅忧愁地叹了一口气。
“可是你还没有拒绝博尔孔斯基呀？”她说。
“也许，我拒绝他了！也许，我和博尔孔斯基的婚事全完蛋了。为什么你把我想得这样糟呢？”
“我什么也没有想，只是不明白这一点……”
“索尼娅，等一等，你什么都会弄明白。你会知道他是个怎样的人。你不要把我，也不要把他想得这样糟。”
“我对任何人都不会往坏的地方想，我喜爱一切人，怜悯一切人。可是我到底应该怎么办呢？”
娜塔莎和索尼娅说话时所用的温柔的声调未能迫使索尼娅退让。娜塔莎的面部表情愈益温柔而谄媚，索尼娅的面部表情就愈益严肃而庄重。
“娜塔莎，”她说，“你请求我不能跟你说话，我就不说话，现在你本人开始说话了。娜塔莎，我不相信他。为什么要保守秘密？”
“又是这一套，又是这一套！”娜塔莎打断她的话。
“娜塔莎，我替你担心。”
“要担心什么？”
“我担心你会毁灭你自己。”她所说的话使索尼娅自己也心惊胆战，她于是果断地说。
娜塔莎脸上又流露着愤恨的表情。
“我毁灭、毁灭，尽快地毁灭自己。与您无关。不是您，而是我遭殃。不要管，不要管我。我仇恨你。”
“娜塔莎！”索尼娅惊惶失措地呼唤。
“我仇恨你，我仇恨你！你永远是我的敌人！”
娜塔莎从房里跑出去了。
娜塔莎不再和索尼娅说话，避开她了。她仍然带着激动、惊讶和应受谴责的表情在屋里走来走去，时而干这种活儿，时而干那种活儿，可是马上又丢下不干了。
不管这使索尼娅怎样难过，但是她仍然目不转睛地盯着她的女朋友。
在伯爵应该回家的前一天，索尼娅发现，娜塔莎整个早上都坐在客厅的窗口，好像在等待什么，她对从门前驶过的军人做个什么手势，索尼娅把他当作阿纳托利。
索尼娅开始更加仔细地观察自己的女友，她发觉，娜塔莎在用午膳的时候和晚上处于奇怪的不正常的精神状态中（她对人家向她提出的问题回答得牛头不对马嘴，在开始说话之后又不把话说完，无论对什么都流露笑意）。
饮茶之后，索尼娅望见那个在娜塔莎门房守候的畏葸葸的女仆。她让她进去，在门边窃听之后，她知道又有一封信递给她了。
索尼娅忽然明白，娜塔莎今晚有个可怕的行动计划。索尼娅敲敲她的房门。娜塔莎不让她进去。
“她要跟他逃走啊！”索尼娅想道，“她什么事都能干出来。现在她脸上不知为什么流露着特别可怜而又坚决的表情。”索尼娅想到，她和舅舅告别时大哭起来。“她要和他逃走，是啊，这是毫无疑问的，可是我怎么办呢？”索尼娅想道，她心里现在还记得，那种种迹象明显地表示为什么娜塔莎竟有这样一种可怕的打算。“伯爵不在家。我怎么办呢？给库拉金写封信，要他表明态度吗？但是谁吩咐他写回信呢？写信给皮埃尔，就像安德烈公爵遇到不幸的事情时求助于她那样？……”但是也许她真的拒绝了博尔孔斯基（昨天她给公爵小姐玛丽亚寄出一封信）。舅父不在家。
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜如此相信娜塔莎，把这桩事说给她听，使索尼娅感到可怕。
“但是不管怎样，”索尼娅站在昏暗的走廊里，想道，“要么马上就抓住这个机会，要么干脆不管它，不过我得表明，我还记得他们一家人对我的恩典，我爱尼古拉，不行，即令是三夜不睡，我也不从走廊里出去，要拼命拦住，不让她走，不让他们一家人丢脸。”她这样想。
Book 8 Chapter 16
ANATOLE had lately moved into Dolohov's quarters. The plan for the abduction of Natasha Rostov had been all planned out and prepared several days before by Dolohov, and on the day when Sonya had listened at Natasha's door and resolved to protect her, that plan was to be put into execution. Natasha had promised to come out to Kuragin at the back entrance at ten o'clock in the evening. Kuragin was to get her into a sledge that was to be all ready with three horses in it, and to drive her off sixty versts from Moscow to the village of Kamenka, where an unfrocked priest was in readiness to perform a marriage ceremony over them. At Kamenka a relay of horses was to be in readiness, which was to take them as far as the Warsaw road, and thence they were to hasten abroad by means of post-horses.
Anatole had a passport and an order for post-horses and ten thousand roubles borrowed from his sister, and ten thousand more raised by the assistance of Dolohov.
The two witnesses of the mock marriage ceremony—Hvostikov, once a petty official, a man of whom Dolohov made use at cards, and Makarin, a retired hussar, a weak and good-natured man, whose devotion to Kuragin was unbounded—were sitting over their tea in the outer room.
In Dolohov's big study, decorated from the walls to the ceiling with Persian rugs, bearskins, and weapons, Dolohov was sitting in a travelling tunic and high boots in front of an open bureau on which lay accounts and bundles of bank notes. Anatole, in an unbuttoned uniform, was walking to and fro from the room where the witnesses were sitting through the study into a room behind, where his French valet with some other servants was packing up the last of his belongings. Dolohov was reckoning up money and noting down sums.
“Well,” he said, “you will have to give Hvostikov two thousand.”
“Well, give it him then,” said Anatole.
“Makarka now” (their name for Makarin), “he would go through fire and water for you with nothing to gain by it. Well, here then, our accounts are finished,” said Dolohov, showing him the paper. “That's all right?”
“Yes, of course, it's all right,” said Anatole, evidently not attending to Dolohov, and looking straight before him with a smile that never left his face.
Dolohov shut the bureau with a slam, and turned to Anatole with a ironical smile.
“But I say, you drop it all; there's still time!” he said.
“Idiot!” said Anatole. “Leave off talking rubbish. If only you knew.… Devil only knows what this means to me!”
“You'd really better drop it,” said Dolohov. “I'm speaking in earnest. It's no joking matter this scheme of yours.”
“Why, teasing again, again? Go to the devil! Eh.…” said Anatole, frowning. “Really, I'm in no humour for your stupid jokes.” And he went out of the room.
Dolohov smiled a contemptuous and supercilious smile when Anatole had gone.
“Wait a bit,” he called after Anatole. “I'm not joking. I'm in earnest. Come here, come here!”
Anatole came back into the room, and trying to concentrate his attention, looked at Dolohov, obviously obeying him unwillingly.
“Listen to me. I'm speaking to you for the last time. What should I want to joke with you for? Have I ever thwarted you? Who was it arranged it all for you? Who found your priest? Who took your passport? Who got you your money? It has all been my doing.”
“Well, and thank you for it. Do you suppose I'm not grateful?” Anatole sighed and embraced Dolohov.
“I have helped you; but still I ought to tell you the truth: it's a dangerous business, and if you come to think of it, it's stupid. Come, you carry her off, well and good. Do you suppose they'll let it rest? It will come out that you are married. Why, they will have you up on a criminal charge, you know …”
“Oh, nonsense, nonsense!” said Anatole, frowning again. “Why, didn't I explain to you? Eh?” and Anatole, with that peculiar partiality (common in persons of dull brain), for any conclusion to which they have been led by their own mental processes, repeated the argument he had repeated a hundred times over to Dolohov already. “Why, I explained it, I settled that. If this marriage is invalid,” he said, crooking his finger, “then it follows I'm not answerable for it. Well, and if it is valid, it won't matter. No one will ever know of it abroad, so, you see, it's all right, isn't it? And don't talk to me; don't talk to me; don't talk to me!”
“Really, you drop it. You'll get yourself into a mess …”
“You go to the devil!” said Anatole, and clutching at his hair he went off into the next room, but at once returning he sat with his legs up on an arm-chair close to Dolohov and facing him. “Devil only knows what's the matter with me! Eh? See how it beats.” He took Dolohov's hand and put it on his heart. “Ah, what a foot, my dear boy, what a glance! A goddess!” he said in French. “Eh?”
Dolohov, with a cold smile and a gleam in his handsome impudent eyes, looked at him, obviously disposed to get a little more amusement out of him.
“Well, your money will be gone, what then?”
“What then? Eh?” repeated Anatole, with genuine perplexity at the thought of the future. “What then? I don't know what then … Come, why talk nonsense?” He looked at his watch. “It's time!”
Anatole went into the back room.
“Well, will you soon have done? You're dawdling there,” he shouted at the servants.
Dolohov put away the money; and calling a servant to give him orders about getting something to eat and drink before the journey, he went into the room where Hvostikov and Makarin were sitting.
Anatole lay down on the sofa in the study, and, propped on his elbows, smiled pensively and murmured something fervently to himself.
“Come and have something to eat. Here, have a drink!” Dolohov shouted to him from the other room.
“I don't want to,” answered Anatole, still smiling.
“Come, Balaga is here.”
Anatole got up, and went into the dining-room. Balaga was a well-known driver, who had known Dolohov and Anatole for the last six years, and driven them in his three-horse sledges. More than once, when Anatole's regiment had been stationed at Tver, he had driven him out of Tver in the evening, reached Moscow by dawn, and driven him back the next night. More than once he had driven Dolohov safe away when he was being pursued. Many a time he had driven them about the town with gypsies and “gay ladies,” as he called them. More than one horse had he ruined in driving them. More than once he had driven over people and upset vehicles in Moscow, and always his “gentlemen,” as he called them, had got him out of trouble. Many a time had they beaten him, many a time made him drunk with champagne and madeira, a wine he loved, and more than one exploit he knew of each of them, which would long ago have sent any ordinary man to Siberia. They often called Balaga in to their carousals, made him drink and dance with the gypsies, and many a thousand roubles of their money had passed through his hands. In their service, twenty times a year, he risked his life and his skin, and wore out more horses than they repaid him for in money. But he liked them, liked their furious driving, eighteen versts an hour, liked upsetting coachmen, and running down people on foot in Moscow, and always flew full gallop along the Moscow streets. He liked to hear behind him the wild shout of drunken voices, “Get on; get on!” when it was impossible to drive faster; liked to give a lash on the neck to a passing peasant who was already hastening out of his way more dead than alive. “Real gentlemen!” he thought.
Anatole and Dolohov liked Balaga, too, for his spirited driving, and because he liked the same things that they liked. With other people Balaga drove hard bargains; he would take as much as twenty-five roubles for a two hours' drive, and rarely drove himself, generally sending one of his young men. But with his own gentlemen, as he called them, he always drove himself, and never asked for anything for the job.
Only after learning through their valets when money was plentiful, he would turn up once every few months in the morning; and sober, and bowing low, would ask them to help him out of his difficulties. The gentlemen always made him sit down.
“Please, help me out of a scrape, Fyodor Ivanovitch, or your excellency,” he would say. “I'm quite run out of horses; lend me what you can to go to the fair.”
And whenever they were flush of money Anatole and Dolohov would give him a thousand or two.
Balaga was a flaxen-headed, squat, snub-nosed peasant of seven and twenty, with a red face and a particularly red, thick neck, little sparkling eyes, and a little beard. He wore a fine blue silk-lined full coat, put on over a fur pelisse.
He crossed himself, facing the opposite corner, and went up to Dolohov, holding out his black, little hand.
“Respects to Fyodor Ivanovitch!” said he, bowing
“Good-day to you, brother. Well, here he comes!”
“Good-morning, your excellency!” he said to Anatole as he came in and to him, too, he held out his hand.
“I say, Balaga,” said Anatole, laying his hands on his shoulders, “do you care for me or not? Eh? Now's the time to do me good service.… What sort of horses have you come with? Eh?”
“As the messenger bade me; your favourite beasts,” said Balaga.
“Come, Balaga, do you hear? You may kill all three of them; only get there in three hours. Eh?”
“If I kill them, how are we to get there?” said Balaga, winking.
“None of your jokes now. I'll smash your face in!” cried Anatole suddenly, rolling his eyes.
“Jokes!” said the driver, laughing. “Do I grudge anything for my gentlemen? As fast as ever the horses can gallop we shall get there.”
“Ah!” said Anatole. “Well, sit down.”
“Come, sit down,” said Dolohov.
“Oh, I'll stand, Fyodor Ivanovitch.”
“Sit down; nonsense! have a drink,” said Anatole, and he poured him out a big glass of madeira. The driver's eyes sparkled at the sight of the wine. Refusing it at first for manners' sake, he tossed it off, and wiped his mouth with a red silk handkerchief that lay in his cap.
“Well, and when are we to start, your excellency?”
“Oh…” Anatole looked at his watch. “We must set off at once. Now mind, Balaga. Eh? You'll get there in time?”
“To be sure, if we've luck in getting off. Why shouldn't we do it in the time?” said Balaga. “We got you to Tver, and got there in seven hours. You remember, I bet, your excellency!”
“Do you know, I once drove from Tver at Christmas time,” said Anatole, with a smile at the recollection, addressing Makarin, who was gazing admiringly at him. “Would you believe it, Makarka, one could hardly breathe we flew so fast. We drove into a train of wagons and rode right over two of them! Eh?”
“They were horses, too,” Balaga went on. “I'd put two young horses in the traces with the bay in the shafts”—he turned to Dolohov—“and, would you believe me, Fyodor Ivanovitch, sixty versts those beasts galloped. There was no holding them, for my hands were numb; it was a frost. I flung down the reins. “You hold them yourself, your excellency,” said I, and I rolled up inside the sledge. No need of driving them. Why, we couldn't hold them in when we got there. In three hours the devils brought us. Only the left one died of it.”
近来阿纳托利迁到多洛霍夫家中去了。秘密带走罗斯托娃的计划经由多洛霍夫周密考虑，并且准备了好几天了。那天，当索尼娅在娜塔莎的门边窃听并且决定保护娜塔莎，使伊免受危害的时候，这个出走的计划眼看就要实现了。娜塔莎一口答应晚上十点钟在后门台阶与库拉金相会，库拉金就要扶她坐上事先准备的三套马车，就要把她送到离莫斯科六十俄里的卡缅卡村，在那里请到一位还俗的牧师，牧师给他们举行结婚仪式，卡缅卡村业已准备换乘的马匹，把他们送到华沙大道，之后就改乘驿马行路，疾速地驰往国外。 
阿纳托利随身带有护照和驿马使用证、从妹妹处得到的一万卢布及由多洛霍夫经手借到的一万卢布。
两个证明人坐在头一个房间是饮茶，其中一人叫做赫沃斯季科夫，是个专门为多洛霍夫赌博助兴的、从前的小公务员；另一人则是温和而软弱的退役骠骑兵马卡林，他是个无限热爱库拉金的人。
多洛霍夫的一间宽大的书斋。从墙壁到天花板都挂满了波斯壁毯、熊皮和武器，多洛霍夫穿着一件旅行时穿的紧身外衣和一双皮靴，在敞开着的写字台前坐着，写字台上放着算盘和几叠钞票。阿纳托利穿着一件没有扣好钮扣的制服，从坐着两个证明人的房里出来，穿过书斋，走进后面的房间，一个法国仆人和另外几个仆人在那里收拾最后几件没有放好的东西。多洛霍夫一面算钞票，一面记帐。
“喂，”他说，“要给赫沃斯季科夫两千卢布。”
“嗯，给他吧。”阿纳托利说。
“马卡尔卡（他们都这样称呼马卡林）这个人毫无私心地愿为你赴汤蹈火，分文不取。喂，就这样清账了。”多洛霍夫把账单拿给他看时说道，“对吗？”
“是的，不消说，对了，”阿纳托利说，看来，他不听多洛霍夫说话，他脸上总是含着笑意，不停地举目向前看去。
多洛霍夫砰然一声关上了写字台的盖子，带着讥讽的微笑，把脸转向阿纳托利。
“你听我说，要抛弃这一切，还有时间，来得及啊！”他说。
“笨蛋！”阿纳托利说，“不要再说蠢话吧。如果你知道，那就好了……鬼也不知道这是怎么回事！”
“说真的，抛掉那一切，”多洛霍夫说。“我对你说的是正经事。难道是开玩笑吗？你想到了什么鬼名堂？”
“啊，又来，又来逗弄人吗？让你见鬼去，好吗？……”阿纳托利皱起了眉头，说道，“真的，哪有工夫听你开这些愚蠢的玩笑。”于是他从房里走出去。
当阿纳托利走出去以后，多洛霍夫脸上流露着轻蔑的宽厚的微笑。
“你等一等，”他在阿纳托利身后说，“我不开玩笑，我说正经话，来吧，到这儿来吧。”
阿纳托利又走进房里来，尽量集中注意力望着多洛霍夫，看来情不自禁地听从他摆布。
“你听我说吧，我最后一次告诉你。我跟你开啥玩笑呢？难道我违拗你吗？谁替你安排这一切的？谁把牧师找来的？谁替你领到护照？谁替你把钱弄到手？都是我替你干的。”
“那就谢谢你。你以为我会忘恩负义吗？”阿纳托利叹了一口气，拥抱了多洛霍夫。
“我帮过你的忙，但是我仍然要把实情告诉你，如果加以分析一下，这是一件危险的、愚蠢的事情。你把她秘密带走倒很好。难道他们会撒手不管吗？你已结婚这件事，他们都会知道的。岂不要向刑事法庭控告你……”
“唉！真是一派胡言，一派胡言！”阿纳托利又蹙起额角说。“我不是向你说明了吗？”阿纳托利怀有迟钝的人对他们凭自己的智慧能够得出结论的特殊的偏爱，重述他对多洛霍夫重述过一百次左右的推论。“我不是向你讲过了，我这样断定：如果这次结婚无效，”他弯屈指头说道，“就是说我无责任；如果这次结婚有效，那横竖一样，在国外没有人知道这件事，喏，岂不是这样的吗？甭说了，甭说了，甭说了！”
“真的，放弃吧！你只会束缚自己……”
“让你见鬼去，”阿纳托利说，他紧紧地抓住头发，走到另一间房里去了，但是立刻又走回来，盘起两腿坐在靠近多洛霍夫前面的安乐椅上。“鬼也不知道这是怎么回事啊？你瞧瞧，我的心跳得真厉害！”他抓起多洛霍的手，按住自己的心窝，“Ah，quel　pied，mon　cher，quel　regard！Une　déésse①！是不是？” 
①法语：她那多么可爱的小脚，我亲爱的朋友，她那迷人的眼神！真是个女神！
多洛霍夫脸上流露着冷淡的微笑，他那美丽的、显得放肆无礼的眼睛闪闪发光，凝视着他，显然他想再拿他开开心。
“喂，钱用光了，那时候怎么办啊？”
“那时候怎么办？呃？”阿纳托利重复地说，一想到未来，他诚然感到困惑不安。“那时候怎么办啊？以后我也不知道要怎么办……啊，干嘛说蠢话！”他看了一下表，“到时候了！”
阿纳托利往后面的房间走去。
“喂，你们快搞好了吗？在这里磨蹭！”他向仆人们喊道。
多洛霍夫收起了钱，大声呼唤仆人，吩咐司厨把路上吃的酒、菜和面食端来，然后便走进赫沃斯季科夫和马卡林坐着休息的房间。
阿纳托利在书斋里撑着一只臂肘，躺在沙发上，若有所思地露出笑意，温和地、低声地自言自语。
“你来随便吃点东西。喝点酒！”多洛霍夫从另一个房里向他大声喊道。
“不想吃！”阿纳托利回答，脸上还挂着一丝微笑。
“你来吧，巴拉加到了。”
阿纳托利站起来，走进餐厅。巴拉加是个迩近闻名的三套马车车夫，他认识多洛霍夫和阿纳托利并且用他自己的三套马车侍奉他们差不多六年了。当阿纳托利的兵团驻扎在特韦尔的时候，他不止一次晚上把他从特韦尔送出去，在黎明前再把他拉到莫斯科，次日深夜又把他送回来。他不止一次用马车拉着多洛霍夫逃脱追逐他的人，不止一次用马车拉着他们和茨冈女人以及少妇们（巴拉加就是这样称呼她们的）在全城兜风。他不止一次载着他们时，在莫斯科城撞伤行人和其他马车夫，而经常援救他的就是他的老爷们（他是这样称呼他们的）。他在给他们赶车时，累坏了不止一匹马。他们不止一次地揍他，他们不止一次地用香槟酒和他所喜欢的马德拉葡萄酒把他灌醉，他熟知他们每个人的越轨行为，若是普通人干出这种事，早就流放到西伯利亚去了。他们经常强邀巴拉加同去纵酒作乐，把他灌得烂醉，叫他和茨冈女郎一起跳舞，他们由他经手花掉的卢布就不止一千。他侍奉他们，在一年之内就有二十次要冒着生命危险并且遭受体罚的痛苦，为了给他们赶车，他把许多匹马累死了，他们纵然多付很多钱，也抵偿不了他的损失。不过他喜爱他们，喜爱那时速十八俄里的疯狂的驶行，他爱撞倒别的马车夫，压伤莫斯科的行人，在莫斯科的街道上全速地疾驶飞奔，在马车不能开得更快时，他爱听醉汉在他身后粗野地吆喝：“快赶！快赶！”他爱在庄稼汉的脖子上狠抽一鞭子，尽管这个庄稼汉本来就给吓得半死不活、已经闪到一边去了。“他们才是真正的老爷啊！”他这样想道。
因为巴拉加驾车很内行，而且他和他们的爱好相同，所以他们——阿纳托利和多洛霍夫——也喜爱他。巴拉加给其他人赶车时总要讲价钱，兜风两小时，索取二十五个卢布，他多半派他的年轻伙伴去赶车，他自己只是偶尔给别人干这种活儿。但是他给老爷们干活（他把他们称老爷爷），总是亲自出马，从不索取分文。只是从老爷的侍从那里打听到老爷家中有钱的时候，他才在几个月内有一个早上来见老爷，这时候没有喝酒，头脑清醒，在老爷面前深深地鞠躬，恳请他们搭救他。老爷们一问请他坐下。
“费奥多尔·伊万内奇老爷，大人，您真要救救我才好，”他说，“我根本没有马儿赶集了，您能借多少，就借多少吧。”
阿纳托利和多洛霍夫家里有钱的时候，就给他一千或两千卢布。
巴拉加是个淡褐色头发的庄稼汉，莫约二十七岁，面色红润，粗粗的脖子特别红，身体敦实，翘鼻子，一双小眼睛闪闪发光，满脸长着短短的髯须。他身穿短皮袄，罩上一件丝绸里子的雅致的蓝色长身上衣。
他对着上座画了个十字，走到多洛霍夫跟前，伸出一只不大的黑手。
“费奥多尔·伊万诺维奇！”他在鞠躬时说道。
“老兄，你好，他真来了。”
“大人，你好。”他对进来的阿纳托利说，也向他伸出手来。
“巴拉加，我说给你听，”阿纳托利把他的一双手搭在他肩上，说道，“你是不是喜欢我呢？呃？现在请你帮个忙……
你是用什么马把车子拉来的？啊？”
“遵照您的使者的吩咐，用您的几匹马把车子拉来了。”巴拉加说。
“喂，巴拉加，你听见吧！把你那三匹马全都累坏了，也要在三个钟头以内拉到。啊？”
“把马累坏了，那用什么拉车子呢？”巴拉加递个眼色说。
“啊，我打烂你的嘴巴，甭开玩笑！”阿纳托利忽然瞪大了眼睛，嚷道。
“怎么要开玩笑，”马车夫笑眯眯地说。“为了自己的老爷，我难道会怜惜什么？只要马儿拼命跑，我们就开车跟着跑。”
“啊！”阿纳托利说：“喂，请坐下。”
“怎么，请坐呀！”多洛霍夫说。
“费奥多尔·伊万诺维奇，我站一会儿。”
“你在撒谎，坐下，喝酒吧。”阿纳托利说，他给他斟了一大杯马德拉葡萄酒。马车夫看见葡萄酒，眼睛里露出喜悦的神情。他讲客气，想不喝，后来还是喝干了，并用他那条放在帽子里的红色丝绸手绢揩了揩嘴。
“好吧，大人，什么时候动身呢？”
“你瞧……（阿纳托利看看表）马上动身吧。当心，巴拉加。啊？赶得到吗？”
“像出门做客那样，要碰运气，不然，为什么赶不到呢？”巴拉加说。“把车子赶到特韦尔，要七个钟头。大人，你大概记得。”
“你还记得吧，有一次我从特韦尔动身去欢度圣诞，”阿纳托利把脸转向马卡林，流露出回忆的微笑说，这时马卡林温顺地、全神贯注地望着库拉金，“你是不是相信，马卡尔卡，我们飞也似的疾驰，简直喘不过气来。撞上了车队，我们从两辆车子上直冲过去。是不是？”
“这几匹马真不错啊！”巴拉加继续讲下去，“那时候我把两匹幼小的拉边梢的马和一匹淡栗色的马套在一起，”他把脸转向多洛霍夫说，“费奥多尔·伊万内奇，你相不相信，几头牲畜飞奔了六十俄里；简直勒不住，非常冷，我连手也冻僵了。我扔开缰绳，并且说，大人，勒住吧，岂料我突然倒在雪橇里。并不是说非赶牲口不可，而是一直到地头也没法勒住。在三个钟头之内，鬼使神差地赶到了。只有那匹拉左边套的马倒毙了。”
Book 8 Chapter 17
ANATOLE went out of the room, and a few minutes later he came back wearing a fur pelisse, girt with a silver belt, and a sable cap, jauntily stuck on one side, and very becoming to his handsome face. Looking at himself in the looking-glass, and then standing before Dolohov in the same attitude he had taken before the looking-glass, he took a glass of wine.
“Well, Fedya, farewell; thanks for everything, and farewell,” said Anatole. “Come, comrades, friends …”—he grew pensive—“of my youth … farewell,” he turned to Makarin and the others.
Although they were all going with him, Anatole evidently wanted to make a touching and solemn ceremony of this address to his comrades. He spoke in a loud, deliberate voice, squaring his chest and swinging one leg.
“All take glasses; you too, Balaga. Well, lads, friends of my youth, we have had jolly sprees together. Eh? Now, when shall we meet again? I'm going abroad! We've had a good time, and farewell, lads. Here's to our health! Hurrah! …” he said, tossing off his glass, and flinging it on the floor.
“To your health!” said Balaga. He, too, emptied his glass and wiped his lips with his handkerchief.
Makarin embraced Anatole with tears in his eyes.
“Ah, prince, how it grieves my heart to part from you,” he said.
“Start! start!” shouted Anatole.
Balaga was going out of the room.
“No; stay,” said Anatole. “Shut the door; we must sit down. Like this.” They shut the door and all sat down.
“Well, now, quick, march, lads!” said Anatole, getting up.
The valet, Joseph, gave Anatole his knapsack and sword, and they all went out into the vestibule.
“But where's a fur cloak?” said Dolohov. “Hey, Ignatka! Run in to Matryona Matveyevna, and ask her for the sable cloak. I've heard what elopements are like,” said Dolohov, winking. “She'll come skipping out more dead than alive just in the things she had on indoors; the slightest delay and then there are tears, and dear papa and dear mamma, and she's frozen in a minute and for going back again—you wrap her up in a cloak at once and carry her to the sledge.”
The valet brought a woman's fox-lined pelisse.
“Fool, I told you the sable. Hey, Matryoshka, the sable,” he shouted, so that his voice rang out through the rooms.
A handsome, thin, and pale gypsy woman, with shining black eyes and curly black hair, with a bluish shade in it, ran out, wearing a red shawl and holding a sable cloak on her arm.
“Here, I don't grudge it; take it,” she said, in visible fear of her lord and regretful at losing the cloak.
Dolohov, making her no answer, took the cloak, flung it about Matryosha, and wrapped her up in it.
“That's the way,” said Dolohov. “And then this is the way,” he said and he turned the collar up round her head, leaving it only a little open before the face. “And then this is the way, do you see?” and he moved Anatole's head forward to meet the open space left by the collar, from which Matryosha's flashing smile peeped out.
“Well, good-bye, Matryosha,” said Anatole, kissing her. “Ah, all my fun here is over! Give my love to Styoshka. There, good-bye! Good-bye, Matryosha; wish me happiness.”
“God grant you great happiness, prince,” said Matryosha, with her gypsy accent.
At the steps stood two three-horse sledges; two stalwart young drivers were holding them. Balaga took his seat in the foremost, and holding his elbows high, began deliberately arranging the reins in his hands. Anatole and Dolohov got in with him. Makarin, Hvostikov, and the valet got into the other sledge.
“Ready, eh?” queried Balaga. “Off!” he shouted, twisting the reins round his hands, and the sledge flew at break-neck pace along the Nikitsky Boulevard.
“Tprroo! Hi! … Tproo!!” Balaga and the young driver on the box were continually shouting.
In Arbatsky Square the sledge came into collision with a carriage; there was a crash and shouts, and the sledge flew off along Arbaty. Turning twice along Podnovinsky, Balaga began to pull up, and turning back, stopped the horses at the Old Equerrys' crossing.
A smart young driver jumped down to hold the horses by the bridle; Anatole and Dolohov walked along the pavement. On reaching the gates, Dolohov whistled. The whistle was answered, and a maid-servant ran out.
“Come into the courtyard, or you'll be seen; she is coming in a minute,” she said.
Dolohov stayed at the gate. Anatole followed the maid into the courtyard, turned a corner, and ran up the steps.
He was met by Gavrilo, Marya Dmitryevna's huge groom.
“Walk this way to the mistress,” said the groom in his bass, blocking up the doorway.
“What mistress? And who are you?” Anatole asked in a breathless whisper.
“Walk in; my orders are to show you in.”
“Kuragin! back!” shouted Dolohov. “Treachery, back!”
Dolohov, at the little back gate where he had stopped, was struggling with the porter, who was trying to shut the gate after Anatole as he ran in. With a desperate effort Dolohov shoved away the porter, and clutching at Anatole, pulled him through the gate, and ran back with him to the sledge.
阿纳托利从房里走出来，过了几分钟又走回来，他身穿一件束着银腰带的短皮袄，雄赳赳地歪歪地戴着一顶与他那清秀的面孔很相称的貂皮帽子。他照了一下镜子，装出在镜台前面他所摆出的那个姿势，站到多洛霍夫前面去，手中拿着一杯葡萄酒。 
“喂，费佳，再见，承蒙诸多照拂，非常感激，再见吧，”阿纳托利说。“喂，伙伴们，朋友们……”他沉吟起来……“我的青春的……别了。”他把脸转向马卡林以及其他人，说道。
尽管他们大家是要跟他一同去的，但是阿纳托利显然还想对他的伙伴们说点什么激昂而且动人的话。他用那响亮的嗓音慢吞吞地说，挺起胸膛，摇晃着一只脚。
“大家端起酒杯来，巴拉加，你也端起酒杯来。喂，伙伴们，我的青年时代的朋友们，我们都饮酒作乐，过了逍遥快活的日子，饮酒作乐，是不是？现在我要到国外去，什么时候我们还会见面呢？我们都过了逍遥快活的日子，别了，伙伴们。祝你们健康！乌拉！……”他说道，喝完一杯酒，砰的一声把酒杯扔在地上。
“祝你健康。”巴拉加说，他也喝完一杯酒，用手巾揩揩嘴。马卡林含着眼泪拥抱阿纳托利。
“哎，公爵，和你分别，我真觉得难受。”他说。
“要走了，要走了”阿纳托利大声喊道。
巴拉加刚刚从房里出来。
“不要走开，站住，”阿纳托利说。“把门关上，大家都得坐下来，就这么着。”
关上了房门，于是大家坐下来。
“喂，伙伴们，现在要走了！”阿纳托利站起来说。
仆人约瑟夫把手提包和马刀递给阿纳托利，大家走进接待室。
“皮袄在什么地方？”多洛霍夫说，“哎，伊格纳特卡①！你到玛特廖娜·马特维耶夫娜那里去，要那件皮袄，貂皮女外衣。我听人家说，要怎样悄悄地带走姑娘，”多洛霍夫丢了个眼色，说道。“要知道她穿着一件在家里穿的衣裳半死不活地窜出来；你只要稍微迟延，她就会哭哭啼啼，又是喊爸爸，又是喊妈妈，马上就会冻僵的，要往回走，你得马上用皮袄把她裹起来，抱到雪橇上。”
那个仆人拿来一件狐皮女外衣。
“傻瓜，我对你说了，要一件貂皮女外衣。哎，玛特廖什卡②，貂皮女外衣！”他高喊一声，使得远远的几个房间都听见他的喊声。 
①伊格纳特卡是伊格纳季的爱称。
②玛特廖什卡是玛特廖娜的爱称。
那个俊美、消瘦、脸色苍白的茨冈女郎，露出一双闪闪发光的乌眼睛，卷曲的黑发泛出瓦蓝色的光泽，她披着红色肩巾，手上拿着貂皮女外衣，走出来了。
“好吧，你拿去，我不是舍不得这件外衣。”她说道，显然她在老爷面前胆怯，心里舍不得这件女外衣。
多洛霍夫没有回答她的话，拿起这件皮袄，随便地披在玛特廖莎①身上，把她裹起来。
“就这样，”多洛霍夫说，“以后就这样，”他说道，之后他竖起她的衣领把头围住，只是在她的脸前面敞开一点，“以后就这样，看见吗？”他叫阿纳托利把头凑近领口，从领口可以看见玛特廖莎妩媚的笑容。
“喂，玛特廖莎，再见，”阿纳托利亲吻她时这样说，“唉，我在这里饮酒作乐的日子结束了！请代我向斯乔普卡②致意。
喂，再见！玛特廖莎，再见，请你祝我幸福。” 
①玛特廖莎是玛特廖娜的爱称。
②斯乔普卡是斯捷潘的爱称。
“好，公爵，上帝保佑您，赏赐您无上幸福。”玛特廖莎带着茨冈人的口音说。
两辆三套马车停放在台阶旁，两个能干的马车夫勒住马，巴拉加在前面那辆三套马车上坐下，高高地抬起胳膊，不慌不忙地用两手将缰绳左右分开握住。阿纳托利和多洛霍夫靠近他，坐下来。马卡林、赫沃斯季科夫和仆人坐到另一辆三套马车上。
“准备好了吗？”巴拉加问道。
“出发吧！”他喊了一声，就把缰绳缠在手上，于是三套马车沿着尼基丁林荫大道往下迅速地行驶。
“吁！走吧，哎！……吁，”只听见巴拉加和那个坐在赶车人座位上的棒小伙子的吆喝。在阿尔巴特广场上，三套马车挂住了一辆轿式马车，开始发出噼啪的破裂声，这时分传来了一声呼喊，可是三套马车沿着阿尔巴特广场飞驰而去。
巴拉加沿着波德诺文斯基大街走了两段路，开始勒住马，往回走，在旧马厩街十字路口，马停步了。
棒小伙子跳下来抓住马的辔头，阿纳托利和多洛霍夫开始沿着人行道走去。多洛霍夫快要走到大门口时，打了个唿哨。他的口哨得到了回应，紧接着一名女仆跑出来了。
“你们走进院子里来吧，不然的话，会被人望见，她立刻就会出来。”她说。
多洛霍夫留在大门口，阿纳托利跟在侍女身后走进了庭院，拐过了墙角，跑上台阶。
个子高大的、跟随玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的仆人加夫里洛迎接阿纳托利。
“请您到夫人那里去吧。”仆人拦住进门的路时，低声地说。
“见哪个夫人？你是谁？”阿纳托利上气不接下气，低声地问道。
“请，吩咐我领您进去。”
“库拉金，往后走，”多洛霍夫喊道。“真背叛了！往后走！”
站在小门边的多洛霍夫和管院子的人拼搏，因为他想在阿纳托利走进去以后关闭小门。多洛霍夫使尽全身的力气，推开管院子的人，抓住向外跑的阿纳托利的手，把他拽到小门外，和他一道向后转，朝三套马车快步走去。
Book 8 Chapter 18
MARYA DMITRYEVNA coming upon Sonya weeping in the corridor had forced her to confess everything. Snatching up Natasha's letter and reading it, Marya Dmitryevna went in to Natasha, with the letter in her hand.
“Vile girl, shameless hussy!” she said to her. “I won't hear a word!” Pushing aside Natasha, who gazed at her with amazed but tearless eyes, she locked her into the room, and giving orders to her gate porter to admit the persons who would be coming that evening, but not to allow them to pass out again, and giving her grooms orders to show those persons up to her, she seated herself in the drawing-room awaiting the abductors.
When Gavrilo came to announce to Marya Dmitryevna that the persons who had come had run away, she got up frowning, and clasping her hands behind her, walked a long while up and down through her rooms, pondering what she was to do. At midnight she walked towards Natasha's room, feeling the key in her pocket. Sonya was sitting sobbing in the corridor, “Marya Dmitryevna, do, for God's sake, let me go in to her!” she said.
Marya Dmitryevna, making her no reply, opened the door and went in. “Hateful, disgusting, in my house, the nasty hussy, only I'm sorry for her father!” Marya Dmitryevna was thinking, trying to allay her wrath. “Hard as it may be, I will forbid any one to speak of it, and will conceal it from the count.” Marya Dmitryevna walked with resolute steps into the room.
Natasha was lying on the sofa; she had her head hidden in her hands and did not stir. She was lying in exactly the same position in which Marya Dmitryevna had left her.
“You're a nice girl, a very nice girl!” said Marya Dmitryevna. “Encouraging meetings with lovers in my house! There's no use in humbugging. You listen when I speak to you.” Marya Dmitryevna touched her on the arm. “You listen when I speak. You've disgraced yourself like the lowest wench. I don't know what I couldn't do to you, but I feel for your father. I will hide it from him.”
Natasha did not change her position, only her whole body began to writhe with noiseless, convulsive sobs, which choked her. Marya Dmitryevna looked round at Sonya, and sat down on the edge of the sofa beside Natasha.
“It's lucky for him that he escaped me; but I'll get hold of him,” she said in her coarse voice. “Do you hear what I say, eh?” She put her big hand under Natasha's face, and turned it towards her. Both Marya Dmitryevna and Sonya were surprised when they saw Natasha's face. Her eyes were glittering and dry; her lips tightly compressed; her cheeks looked sunken.
“Let me be … what do I … I shall die.…” she articulated, with angry effort, tore herself away from Marya Dmitryevna, and fell back into the same attitude again.
“Natalya! …” said Marya Dmitryevna. “I wish for your good. Lie still; come, lie still like that then, I won't touch you, and listen.… I'm not going to tell you how wrongly you have acted. You know that yourself. But now your father's coming back to-morrow. What am I to tell him? Eh?”
Again Natasha's body heaved with sobs.
“Well, he will hear of it, your brother, your betrothed!”
“I have no betrothed; I have refused him,” cried Natasha.
“That makes no difference,” pursued Marya Dmitryevna. “Well, they hear of it. Do you suppose they will let the matter rest? Suppose he— your father, I know him—if he challenges him to a duel, will that be all right? Eh?”
“Oh, let me be; why did you hinder everything! Why? why? who asked you to?” cried Natasha, getting up from the sofa, and looking vindictively at Marya Dmitryevna.
“But what was it you wanted?” screamed Marya Dmitryevna, getting hot again. “Why, you weren't shut up, were you? Who hindered his coming to the house? Why carry you off, like some gypsy wench? … If he had carried you off, do you suppose they wouldn't have caught him? Your father, or brother, or betrothed? He's a wretch, a scoundrel, that's what he is!”
“He's better than any of you,” cried Natasha, getting up. “If you hadn't meddled … O my God, what does it mean? Sonya, why did you? Go away! …” And she sobbed with a despair with which people only bewail a trouble they feel they have brought on themselves.
Marya Dmitryevna was beginning to speak again; but Natasha cried, “Go away, go away, you all hate me and despise me!” And she flung herself again on the sofa.
Marya Dmitryevna went on for some time longer lecturing Natasha, and urging on her that it must all be kept from the count, that no one would know anything of it if Natasha would only undertake to forget it all, and not to show a sign to any one of anything having happened. Natasha made no answer. She did not sob any more, but she was taken with shivering fits and trembling. Marya Dmitryevna put a pillow under her head, laid two quilts over her, and brought her some lime-flower water with her own hands; but Natasha made no response when she spoke to her.
“Well, let her sleep,” said Marya Dmitryevna, as she went out of the room, supposing her to be asleep. But Natasha was not asleep, her wide-open eyes gazed straight before her out of her pale face. All that night Natasha did not sleep, and did not weep, and said not a word to Sonya, who got up several times and went in to her.
Next day, at lunch time, as he had promised, Count Ilya Andreitch arrived from his estate in the environs. He was in very good spirits: he had come to terms with the purchaser, and there was nothing now to detain him in Moscow away from his countess, for whom he was pining. Marya Dmitryevna met him, and told him that Natasha had been very unwell on the previous day, that they had sent for a doctor, and that now she was better. Natasha did not leave her room that morning. With tightly shut, parched lips, and dry, staring eyes, she sat at the window uneasily watching the passers-by along the street, and hurriedly looking round at any one who entered her room. She was obviously expecting news of him, expecting that he would come himself or would write to her.
When the count went in to her, she turned uneasily at the sound of his manly tread, and her face resumed its previous cold and even vindictive expression. She did not even get up to meet him.
“What is it, my angel; are you ill?” asked the count.
Natasha was silent a moment.
“Yes, I am ill,” she answered.
In answer to the count's inquiries why she was depressed and whether anything had happened with her betrothed, she assured him that nothing had, and begged him not to be uneasy. Marya Dmitryevna confirmed Natasha's assurances that nothing had happened. From the pretence of illness, from his daughter's agitated state, and the troubled faces of Sonya and Marya Dmitryevna, the count saw clearly that something had happened in his absence. But it was so terrible to him to believe that anything disgraceful had happened to his beloved daughter, and he so prized his own cheerful serenity, that he avoided inquiries and tried to assure himself that it was nothing very out of the way, and only grieved that her indisposition would delay their return to the country.
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜碰见泪痕满面的索尼娅待在走廊里，她迫使她坦白地说出全部实况。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜截获了娜塔莎的便条并在看完之后拿着便条去找娜塔莎。 
“坏东西，不知羞耻的女人，”她对她说，“什么话我也不愿意听啊！”她推开用惊奇而冷漠的眼神凝视她的娜塔莎，把她锁起来，吩咐管院子的人让那些在今天晚上前来串门的人进入家门，但不准许他们出去，又吩咐仆人把他们带到她面前来，然后她就在客厅里坐下，等待那些拐骗妇女的人。
当加夫里洛走来禀告玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，说那几个前来串门的人都溜走了，她才蹙起额角，站起来，把手抄在背后，踱来踱去，在屋里踱了很久，缜密地思考她该怎么办。在深夜十一点多钟，她用手摸摸口袋里的钥匙，就到娜塔莎房里去了。索尼娅坐在走廊里嚎啕大哭。
“玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，看在上帝份上，让我进去看她吧！”她说。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜没有回答她的话，打开房门，走进去了。“卑劣、下流……在我家中，有个坏姑娘……只是可怜她的父亲啊！”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜力图息怒，心中想道。“无论有多大碍难，我仍然叮咛大家不要开腔，瞒着伯爵。”亚丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜迈着坚定的脚步走进房里去。娜塔莎用手蒙着头，一动不动地躺在沙发上。她躺的那个姿势还和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜离开她身边时一样。“好，很好呀！”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说。“约一个情人在我家里幽会！用不着装假。我对你说话，你听下去。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜碰碰她的手。“我对你说话，你听下去。你这个最次的丫头，你丢了自己的脸。我原想整你一下子，可是我怜悯你父亲。我瞒着他。”娜塔莎没有改变姿势，但因抽搐时啜泣而使她浑身颤抖，哭泣得接不上气来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜回头望望索尼娅，然后便在娜塔莎身旁的沙发上坐下。
“他从我这儿逃走了，算他运气好，不过我能够把他找到，”她用粗嗓门说，“是不是听见我说话？”她把那只大手伸进娜塔莎的脸底下，使她转过身来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜和索尼娅看见娜塔莎的面孔都感到惊奇。她的眼睛闪闪发亮，显得冷淡，嘴唇痛起来，两颊塌陷了。
“不要管我……不要妨碍我……我……就要死去……”她说道，恼恨地从玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜手中挣脱出来，做出原来的姿势躺下去。
“娜塔莉娅！……”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说，“我惟愿你好。你继续躺着，就这么躺着，我决不碰你，你听着……我并不想说你有什么过错。你自己晓得。不过，眼看你父亲明天就会来，我对他说些什么呢？啊？”
娜塔莎又哭得浑身颤抖起来了。
“啊，他会知道，你哥哥，啊，未婚夫都会知道的！”
“我没有未婚夫，我已经拒绝他了。”娜塔莎说。
“反正一样，”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜继续说，“万一他们知道了，他们会这样罢休吗？要知道，他——你父亲，我是知道他的，如果别人要求与他决斗，那样妥当吗？啊？”
“唉，你们不要管我，你们为什么样样事都要干扰！为什么？为什么？是谁请你们来着？”娜塔莎喊道，她从沙发上欠起身子，愤恨地盯着玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜。
“你究竟想要怎么样？”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜又大发脾气，意外地提高嗓门喊道。“是不是有人把你关在房间里？有人阻扰他走到家里来吗？为什么要像拐骗茨冈女郎那样来拐骗你呢？……唔，即使他把你偷偷地带走了，你就会以为人家找不到他吗？你父亲，或者你哥哥，或者未婚夫都能找到他？他是个坏蛋，恶棍，就是这么一回事！”
“他比你们大家都更好，”娜塔莎欠起身子，忽然喊道。
“如果你们不干扰……哎呀，我的天！这是怎么一回事，这是怎么一回事！索尼娅，为什么呀？走开吧！……”她失望地嚎啕大哭，那些觉得自己是悲痛的根源的人才会如此失望地痛哭。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜本来又要开口说话了，但是娜塔莎喊叫起来：“都走开吧，都走开吧，你们仇视我，蔑视我吧！”她又急忙倒在沙发上。
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜还继续规劝娜塔莎，并且向暗示，要把这一切瞒着伯爵；只要娜塔莎保证忘记这一切，在任何人面前对发生的事情不露声色，那么就没有人会知道任何情况。娜塔莎没有回答。她不再嚎啕大哭，但是她觉得周身发冷，冷得打战。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜给她垫上一个枕头，盖上两床棉被，还亲自给她拿来菩提树花，但是娜塔莎没有应声回答。
“喂，让她睡吧，”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说道，她以为她睡着了，便离开她的住房。但是娜塔莎没有入睡，她瞪大那苍白脸上的一双凝滞不动的眼睛正视前方。娜塔莎彻夜没有睡觉，没有啜泣，也不和索尼娅说话，索尼娅起来好几回，走到她跟前。
第二天，正如伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵答应的那样，快用早膳的时候，他从莫斯科近郊领地回来了。他非常快活，他和买主的这笔生意已经谈妥了，此时没有什么事使他要在莫斯科滞留，离开他所想念的伯爵夫人去过别离生活。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜迎接他，并且对他说，娜塔莎昨天觉得很不舒服，派人去延请大夫，现在好些了。这天早上娜塔莎没有从房里走出来。她瘪着干裂的嘴唇，睁开一对哭干眼泪的、滞然不动的眼睛，坐在窗口，焦急不安地注视街上的过往行人，慌张地回头望着向她房里走来的人。显然她正在等待他的消息，等待他亲自驱车前来，或者给她写封信。
当伯爵向她走来的时候，她听见他那男人的步履声，于是就激动不安地转过身来，她的脸上带着从前那样冷漠的、甚至是凶恶的表情。她甚至没有站立起来迎接他。
“怎么，我的安琪儿，病了么？”伯爵问道。
娜塔莎沉默片刻。
“是的，我病了。”她回答。
伯爵焦虑不安地问到，为什么她这样沮丧，是不是她的未婚夫出了什么事，她叫伯爵相信没有发生什么事，并且请他放下心来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜向伯爵证实了娜塔莎劝他相信的话，她说没有发生什么事。伯爵从女儿的假病、她的心绪欠佳、并从索尼娅和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的腼腆的面部表情，清楚地看出，他不在家的时候想必出了什么事，但他觉得可怕的是，他心里想到他所喜爱的女儿发生了什么可耻的事，但他很喜欢保持平静的愉快的心绪，他于是回避诘问，尽量使自己相信，没有发生什么特殊的事情，只不过使他感到遗憾的是，他的女儿的身体欠适，他们下乡的行期就要推迟了。
Book 8 Chapter 19
FROM THE DAY of his wife's arrival in Moscow, Pierre had been intending to go away somewhere else, simply not to be with her. Soon after the Rostovs' arrival in Moscow, the impression made upon him by Natasha had impelled him to hasten in carrying out his intention. He went to Tver to see the widow of Osip Alexyevitch, who had long before promised to give him papers of the deceased's.
When Pierre came back to Moscow, he was handed a letter from Marya Dmitryevna, who summoned him to her on a matter of great importance, concerning Andrey Bolkonsky and his betrothed. Pierre had been avoiding Natasha. It seemed to him that he had for her a feeling stronger than a married man should have for a girl betrothed to his friend. And some fate was continually throwing him into her company.
“What has happened? And what do they want with me?” he thought as he dressed to go to Marya Dmitryevna's. “If only Prince Andrey would make haste home and marry her,” thought Pierre on the way to the house.
In the Tverskoy Boulevard some one shouted his name.
“Pierre! Been back long?” a familiar voice called to him. Pierre raised his head. Anatole, with his everlasting companion Makarin, dashed by in a sledge with a pair of grey trotting-horses, who were kicking up the snow on to the forepart of the sledge. Anatole was sitting in the classic pose of military dandies, the lower part of his face muffled in his beaver collar, and his head bent a little forward. His face was fresh and rosy; his hat, with its white plume, was stuck on one side, showing his curled, pomaded hair, sprinkled with fine snow.
“Indeed, he is the real philosopher!” thought Pierre. “He sees nothing beyond the present moment of pleasure; nothing worries him, and so he is always cheerful, satisfied, and serene. What would I not give to be just like him!” Pierre mused with envy.
In Marya Dmitryevna's entrance-hall the footman, as he took off Pierre's fur coat, told him that his mistress begged him to come to her in her bedroom.
As he opened the door into the reception-room, Pierre caught sight of Natasha, sitting at the window with a thin, pale, and ill-tempered face. She looked round at him, frowned, and with an expression of frigid dignity walked out of the room.
“What has happened?” asked Pierre, going in to Marya Dmitryevna.
“Fine doings,” answered Marya Dmitryevna. “Fifty-eight years I have lived in the world—never have I seen anything so disgraceful.” And exacting from Pierre his word of honour not to say a word about all he was to hear, Marya Dmitryevna informed him that Natasha had broken off her engagement without the knowledge of her parents; that the cause of her doing so was Anatole Kuragin, with whom Pierre's wife had thrown her, and with whom Natasha had attempted to elope in her father's absence in order to be secretly married to him.
Pierre, with hunched shoulders and open mouth, listened to what Marya Dmitryevna was saying, hardly able to believe his ears. That Prince Andrey's fiancée, so passionately loved by him, Natasha Rostov, hitherto so charming, should give up Bolkonsky for that fool Anatole, who was married already (Pierre knew the secret of his marriage), and be so much in love with him as to consent to elope with him—that Pierre could not conceive and could not comprehend. He could not reconcile the sweet impression he had in his soul of Natasha, whom he had known from childhood, with this new conception of her baseness, folly, and cruelty. He thought of his wife. “They are all alike,” he said to himself, reflecting he was not the only man whose unhappy fate it was to be bound to a low woman. But still he felt ready to weep with sorrow for Prince Andrey, with sorrow for his pride. And the more he felt for his friend, the greater was the contempt and even aversion with which he thought of Natasha, who had just passed him with such an expression of rigid dignity. He could not know that Natasha's heart was filled with despair, shame, and humiliation, and that it was not her fault that her face accidentally expressed dignity and severity.
“What! get married?” cried Pierre at Marya Dmitryevna's words. “He can't get married; he is married.”
“Worse and worse,” said Marya Dmitryevna. “He's a nice youth. A perfect scoundrel. And she's expecting him; she's been expecting him these two days. We must tell her; at least she will leave off expecting him.”
After learning from Pierre the details of Anatole's marriage, and pouring out her wrath against him in abusive epithets, Marya Dmitryevna informed Pierre of her object in sending for him. Marya Dmitryevna was afraid that the count or Bolkonsky, who might arrive any moment, might hear of the affair, though she intended to conceal it from them, and might challenge Kuragin, and she therefore begged Pierre to bid his brother-in-law from her to leave Moscow and not to dare to show himself in her presence. Pierre promised to do as she desired him, only then grasping the danger menacing the old count, and Nikolay, and Prince Andrey. After briefly and precisely explaining to him her wishes, she let him go to the drawing-room.
“Mind, the count knows nothing of it. You behave as though you know nothing,” she said to him. “And I'll go and tell her it's no use for her to expect him! And stay to dinner, if you care to,” Marya Dmitryevna called after Pierre.
Pierre met the old count. He seemed upset and anxious. That morning Natasha had told him that she had broken off her engagement to Bolkonsky.
“I'm in trouble, in trouble, my dear fellow,” he said to Pierre, “with those girls without the mother. I do regret now that I came. I will be open with you. Have you heard she has broken off her engagement without a word to any one? I never did, I'll admit, feel very much pleased at the marriage. He's an excellent man, of course, but still there could be no happiness against a father's will, and Natasha will never want for suitors. Still it had been going on so long, and then such a step, without her father's or her mother's knowledge! And now she's ill, and God knows what it is. It's a bad thing, count, a bad thing to have a daughter away from her mother.…” Pierre saw the count was greatly troubled, and tried to change the conversation to some other subject, but the count went back again to his troubles.
Sonya came into the drawing-room with an agitated face.
“Natasha is not very well; she is in her room and would like to see you. Marya Dmitryevna is with her and she asks you to come too.”
“Why, yes, you're such a great friend of Bolkonsky's; no doubt she wants to send him some message,” said the count. “Ah, my God, my God! How happy it all was!” And clutching at his sparse locks, the count went out of the room.
Marya Dmitryevna had told Natasha that Anatole was married. Natasha would not believe her, and insisted on the statement being confirmed by Pierre himself. Sonya told Pierre this as she led him across the corridor to Natasha's room.
Natasha, pale and stern, was sitting beside Marya Dmitryevna, and she met Pierre at the door with eyes of feverish brilliance and inquiry. She did not smile nor nod to him. She simply looked hard at him, and that look asked him simply: was he a friend or an enemy like the rest, as regards Anatole? Pierre in himself had evidently no existence for her.
“He knows everything,” said Marya Dmitryevna, addressing Natasha. “Let him tell you whether I have spoken the truth.”
As a hunted, wounded beast looks at the approaching dogs and hunters, Natasha looked from one to the other.
“Natalya Ilyinitchna,” Pierre began, dropping his eyes and conscious of a feeling of pity for her and loathing for the operation he had to perform, “whether it is true or not cannot affect you since …”
“Then it is not true that he is married?”
“No; it is true.”
“Has he been married long?” she asked. “On your word of honour?”
Pierre told her so on his word of honour.
“Is he still here?” she asked rapidly.
“Yes, I have just seen him.”
She was obviously incapable of speaking; she made a sign with her hands for them to leave her alone.
皮埃尔自从妻子抵达莫斯科后，便想到什么地方去，以免同她在一起生活。罗斯托夫一家人抵达莫斯科后不久，娜塔莎就给他造成深刻的印象，迫使他忙着在实现自己的心愿。他前往特韦尔拜看约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇的遗孀，她早就答应把已故丈夫的文件转交给他。 
当皮埃尔回到莫斯科后，有人递给他一封来自玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的信，她因有极为紧要的事情邀请他到家里去，这件事涉及安德烈·博尔孔斯基及其未婚妻。皮埃尔回避娜塔莎。他觉得，他对她怀有的感情比已婚男子对朋友的未婚妻应有的感情更强烈。这样一来，某种命运经常使他和她撮合在一起。
“发生了什么事情？他们有什么事情找我？”他一面想道，一面穿上衣裳，前去拜访玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜。“但愿安德烈公爵快点回来和她结婚啊！”皮埃尔在前往阿赫罗西莫娃的途中这样想。
在特韦尔林荫道上有个什么人喊了他一声。
“皮埃尔！你来了很久吗？”一个他所熟悉的声音道。皮埃尔抬起头来。两匹灰色的走马拉着一辆双套雪橇，马蹄翻起的雪花溅到雪橇的前部，阿纳托利和那个常有往来的伙伴马卡林乘坐这辆雪橇飞逝而过。阿纳托利装出一副衣冠楚楚的军人的典雅的姿态，身子笔直地坐着，他用海狸皮领裹住面孔的下端，稍微低垂着头。他的面色红润，歪歪地戴着一顶饰以白羽的帽子，露出一绺绺抹了油的、撒满细雪的卷发。
“真的，这是个地道的聪明人！”皮埃尔想了想。“他只图这一瞬间的快乐，没有任何远见，没有什么惊扰他，因此他经常快活，心满意足，泰然自若。为了要做个像他这样的人，我宁愿付出一切！”皮埃尔怀有嫉妒的心情想了想。
在阿赫罗西莫娃的接待室，一名仆役替皮埃尔脱下皮袄时说，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜请他到卧室里去。
皮埃尔打开了大厅的门，看见娜塔莎带着消瘦、苍白而凶狠的面孔坐在窗口。她回过头来瞥了他一眼，蹙起额角，流露着冷漠而自尊的表情从房间里走出去。
“出了什么事？”皮埃尔走进房门时向玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜问道。
“好事哇，”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜答道，“在这个世界我活了五十八年，还没有见过这样丢人的事。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜要皮埃尔保证对他知道的全部情况秘而不宣，并且告诉他，娜塔莎未经父母亲许可便拒绝未婚夫了，皮埃尔的妻子把她和阿纳托利·库拉金撮合在一起，因此他是拒绝婚事的祸根，娜塔莎正想趁父亲不在家时与他私奔，其目的在于秘密举行婚礼。
皮埃尔稍微耸耸肩膀，张开了嘴，倾听玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜对他所说的话，他不敢相信自己的耳朵。安德列公爵的未婚妻、如此强烈地被他疼爱的、从前招人喜欢的娜塔莎·罗斯托娃愿抛弃博尔孔斯基，而喜欢这个已经成了家的傻瓜阿纳托利（皮埃尔知道他这次结婚的秘密），居然如此钟爱他，以致同意与他私奔！皮埃尔简直不明白，也不能想象这等事情。
他从小就认识娜塔莎，她给他造成的和蔼可亲的印象与她的卑劣、愚蠢和残忍这一新概念在他心灵上不能兼容。他想起自己的妻子。“她们都是一丘之貉，”——他自言自语地说，心里想到，并非他一人遭到与那下流女人结合的悲惨命运。但是他仍旧十分惋惜安德烈公爵，十分惋惜他的自豪感受到损害。他愈益惋惜自己的朋友，就愈益怀有蔑视、甚至是憎恶的心情想到这个娜塔莎，刚才她脸上带着冷漠而尊严的表情在大厅中从他身边走过去。他不知道娜塔莎的心灵中充满着失望、羞耻和屈辱，也不知道她的脸上无意中流露出问心无愧的自豪和严肃的表情，这不是她的过失。
“怎么要举行婚礼！”皮埃尔听见玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的话后这样说。“他不能举行婚礼，他已经结婚了。”
“越来越难办，”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说，“这个男孩太棒啦！真是个坏蛋！可是她还在等他，竟等到第二天了。非告诉她不可，最少不要再等了。”
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜从皮埃尔那儿得知阿纳托利结婚的详情之后，便用骂人的话语表露自己对他的愤怒，还把请他前来的目的讲给他听。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜担心伯爵或者每时每刻都可能抵达的博尔孔斯基在得知她有意向他们隐瞒这件事之后，要求与库拉金决斗，因此请求他以她的名义命令他的内兄离开莫斯科，叫他不敢在她眼前露面。皮埃尔在目前才了解到这件事对老伯爵、尼古拉和安德烈公爵都有危险，他于是答应履行她的意愿。她把她的各项要求简单而且明确地向他叙述之后，便请他到客厅里去。
“伯爵什么也不知道，你当心。你也装出一副似乎什么也不知道的样子！”她对他说，“我去对她说，没有什么可等的！如果你愿意，就请你留在我们这儿吃午饭。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜对皮埃尔大声地说了一通。
皮埃尔遇见老伯爵了。他困惑不安，心绪欠佳。这天早上娜塔莎告诉他，她已经拒绝博尔孔斯基了。
“真糟糕，真糟糕，mon　cher①，”他对皮埃尔说，“这些没有娘管的小丫头真糟糕，我到这儿来，感到懊恼极了。我要向您坦率直言。你不是听见，她不征求任何人的意见就拒绝未婚夫了。就算这门婚事使我非常扫兴。就算他是个好人，也没有什么了不得，可是违背父亲的意旨是不会有幸福的，娜塔莎不是找不到未婚夫的人，但是这桩事毕竟拖了这样久了，她未经父母同意怎么会采取这样的步骤！目前她害病，天知道是怎么回事！伯爵，真糟糕，没有娘管的女儿真糟糕……”皮埃尔看见，伯爵的心情很不好，极力地想改变话题，然而伯爵又提起使他苦恼的问题。 
①法语：我的朋友。
索尼娅现出惊惶的脸色走进客厅里来。
“娜塔莎觉得不太舒服，待在自己房里，想和您见面。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜在她身边，也请您到房里去。”
“是的，你不是和博尔孔斯基合得来么，想必要转达什么，”伯爵说，“唉，我的天呀，我的天呀！从前的一切都很好啊！”伯爵抓住苍白而稀疏的鬓发，走出了房门。
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜告诉娜塔莎：阿纳托利结过婚了。娜塔莎不愿相信她的话，要求皮埃尔本人来证实。当索尼娅带着皮埃尔穿过走廊步入娜塔莎的住房的时候，索尼娅把这件事告诉皮埃尔。
娜塔莎脸色苍白，神态严肃，她坐在玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜身旁，当皮埃尔刚一走进门来，她就用那宛如寒热病发作时闪闪发亮的、疑惑的目光迎接他。她没有流露一丝微笑，也没有向他点头致意，而是目不转睛地望着他，她的目光只不过是问他一件事：在他对待阿纳托利的态度方面，他是他的朋友，还是和其他人一样是他的敌人？对她来说，皮埃尔本人显然是不存在的。
“他什么都知道，”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜指着皮埃尔、把脸转向娜塔莎时说道，“我所说的是不是真话，让他说给你听。”
娜塔莎犹如一头被击伤的、被追逐得筋皮力尽的野兽，不眨眼地望着向她逼近的猎犬和猎人，她时而望着这只猎犬，时而望着那只猎犬。
“娜塔莉娅·伊利尼奇娜，”皮埃尔开始说，他垂下眼帘，心里可怜她，而且厌恶他非做不可的这件事，“是真话，还是假话，对您来说横竖一样，因为……”
“他结婚了，这是假话吗？”
“不，这是真话。”
“在很早以前他就结了婚吗？”她问道，“说真的，好吗？”
皮埃尔向她下了保证。
“他还在这儿吗？”她连忙问道。
“是的，我刚才看见他。”
虽然她不能继续说下去，她打着手势，叫大家离开。
Book 8 Chapter 20
PIERRE did not stay to dinner but went away at once on leaving Natasha's room. He drove about the town looking for Anatole Kuragin, at the very thought of whom the blood rushed to his heart, and he felt a difficulty in breathing. On the ice-hills, at the gypsies', at Somoneno he was not to be found. Pierre drove to the club. In the club everything was going on just as usual: the members who had come in to dinner were sitting in groups; they greeted Pierre, and talked of the news of the town. The footman, after greeting him, told him, as he knew his friends and his habits, that there was a place left for him in the little dining-room, that Prince Mihail Zaharitch was in the library, and that Pavel Timofeitch had not come in yet. One of Pierre's acquaintances asked him in the middle of a conversation about the weather, whether he had heard of Kuragin's elopement with Natalie Rostov, of which every one was talking in the town; was it true? Pierre said, laughing, that it was all nonsense, for he had just come from the Rostovs'. He asked every one about Anatole; one man told him he had not come in yet; another said he was to dine there that day. It was strange to Pierre to look at that calm, indifferent crowd of people, who knew nothing of what was passing in his soul. He walked about the hall, waited till every one had come in, and still seeing nothing of Anatole, he did not dine, but drove home.
Anatole was dining that day with Dolohov, and consulting with him how to achieve the exploit that had miscarried. It seemed to him essential to see Natasha. In the evening he went to his sister's, to discuss with her means for arranging their meeting. When Pierre, after vainly driving about all Moscow, returned home, his valet told him that Prince Anatole Vassilyevitch was with the countess. The drawing-room of the countess was full of guests.
Pierre did not bestow a greeting on his wife, whom he had not seen since his return (she was more hateful to him than ever at that moment); he walked into the drawing-room, and seeing Anatole, went straight up to him.
“Ah, Pierre,” said the countess, going up to her husband, “you don't know what a plight our poor Anatole is in …” She stopped short, seeing in her husband's bowed head, in his glittering eyes, in his resolute tread, that terrible look of rage and power, which she knew and had experienced in her own case after the duel with Dolohov.
“Wherever you are, there is vice and wickedness,” said Pierre to his wife. “Anatole, come along, I want a word with you,” he said in French. Anatole looked round at his sister, and got up obediently, prepared to follow Pierre.
Pierre took him by the arm, drew him to him, and walked out of the room.
“If you allow yourself in my drawing-room…” Ellen whispered; but Pierre walked out of the room, without answering her.
Anatole followed him, with his usual jaunty swagger. But his face betrayed uneasiness. Going into his own room, Pierre shut the door, and addressed Anatole without looking at him. “Did you promise Countess Rostov to marry her? Did you try to elope with her?”
“My dear fellow,” answered Anatole, in French (as was the whole conversation), “I don't consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that tone.”
Pierre's face, which had been pale before, was distorted by fury. With his big hand he clutched Anatole by the collar of his uniform, and proceeded to shake him from side to side, till Anatole's face showed a sufficient degree of terror.
“When I say I want a word with you …” Pierre repeated.
“Well, what? this is stupid. Eh?” said Anatole, feeling a button of his collar that had been torn off with the cloth.
“You're a scoundrel and a blackguard; and I don't know what prevents me from permitting myself the pleasure of braining you with this, see,” said Pierre, expressing himself so artificially, because he was speaking French. He took up a heavy paper-weight, and lifted it in a menacing way, but at once hurriedly put it down in its place.
“Did you promise to marry her?”
“I, I, … I … didn't think … I never promised, though, because …”
Pierre interrupted him.
“Have you any of her letters? Have you any letters?” Pierre repeated, advancing upon Anatole. Anatole glanced at him, and at once thrust his hand in his pocket, and took out a pocket-book.
Pierre took the letter he gave him, and pushing away a table that stood in the way, he plumped down on the sofa.
“I won't be violent, don't be afraid,” said Pierre, in response to a gesture of alarm from Anatole. “Letters—one,” said Pierre, as though repeating a lesson to himself. “Two”—after a moment's silence he went on, getting up again and beginning to walk about—“to-morrow you are to leave Moscow.”
“But how can I …?”
“Three”—Pierre went on, not heeding him—“you are never to say a word of what has passed between you and the young countess. That I know I can't prevent your doing; but if you have a spark of conscience …” Pierre walked several times up and down the room. Anatole sat at the table, scowling and biting his lips.
“You surely must understand that, apart from your own pleasure, there's the happiness, the peace of other people; that you are ruining a whole life, simply because you want to amuse yourself. Amuse yourself with women like my wife—with them you're within your rights, they know what it is you want of them. They are armed against you by the same experience of vice; but to promise a girl to marry her … to deceive, to steal … Surely you must see that it's as base as attacking an old man or a child!…”
Pierre paused and glanced at Anatole, more with inquiry now than with wrath.
“I don't know about that. Eh?” said Anatole, growing bolder as Pierre gained control over his rage. “I don't know about that, and I don't want to,” he said, looking away from Pierre, and speaking with a slight quiver of his lower jaw, “but you have said words to me, base and all that sort of thing, which as a man of honour I can't allow any one to do.”
Pierre looked at him in amazement, not able to understand what it was he wanted.
“Though it has been only tête-à-tête,” Anatole went on, “still I can't …”
“What, do you want satisfaction?” said Pierre sarcastically.
“At any rate you might take back your words. Eh? If you want me to do as you wish. Eh!”
“I'll take them back, I'll take them back,” said Pierre, “and beg you to forgive me.” Pierre could not help glancing at the loose button. “And here's money too, if you want some for your journey.”
Anatole smiled.
The expression of that base and cringing smile, that he knew so well in his wife, infuriated Pierre. “Oh, you vile, heartless tribe!” he cried, and walked out of the room.
Next day Anatole left for Petersburg.
皮埃尔没有留下来吃午饭，他马上从房里出来，乘车上路了。他到城里各处去寻找阿纳托利·库拉金，现在他心中一想到库拉金，血就会涌上心头，于是他感到呼吸困难。滑雪橇的高台上、茨冈女郎家里、科莫涅诺家里——都没有看见他的人影。皮埃尔走到了俱乐部。俱乐部的一切活动照常进行：前来聚餐的客人三五成群地坐在那里，都向皮埃尔问好，谈论城里的最新消息。仆人都认识他的熟人，知道他的习惯，向他问好之后，禀告他说，他们在小餐厅里给他留了一个席位，米哈伊尔·扎哈雷奇公爵还在图书馆，帕维尔·季英费伊奇尚未回来。皮埃尔的一个熟人在谈论天气时问他是否听到有关库拉金拐骗罗斯托娃这件事，关于这件事城里议论纷纷，但未卜是否属实？皮埃尔不禁莞尔一笑，并且说这里荒诞无稽的话，因为他刚从罗斯托夫家来。他向大家打听阿纳托利的情况，有人对他说，阿纳托利还没有回来，另外一个人说今天他会回来吃午饭。皮埃尔望着这群镇静而冷淡、不知道他的内心活动的人，觉得很奇怪。他在大厅里踱起方步来，等到客人们聚集在一块，但是没有等到阿纳托利来，他就不吃午饭回家去了。 
这一天，他所寻找的阿纳托利在多洛霍夫家里吃中饭，和他商议怎样挽回这件给弄糟了的事。他仿佛觉得非与罗斯托娃相会不可。晚上他到妹妹那儿去了，和她商量安排约会的办法。当皮埃尔白白地走遍莫斯科、回到家中之后，仆人禀告他说，阿纳托利·瓦西里耶维奇公爵正呆在伯爵夫人那里。
伯爵夫人的客厅挤满了客人。
皮埃尔不同他抵达之后未曾会面的妻子打招呼（这时他觉得她比任何时候都更可恨），他走进客厅，看见阿纳托利后，向他跟前走去。
“啊，皮埃尔，”伯爵夫人走到丈夫跟前说。“你不知道，我的阿纳托利正处于什么境地……”她停住了，从丈夫的低垂着的脑袋、闪闪发亮的眼睛和坚定的步态看出了在他和多洛霍夫决斗后她所熟悉而且体察到的他那种狂暴的可怕的表情。
“那里淫荡、那里作恶，您就在那里出现，”皮埃尔对妻子说，“阿纳托利，咱们走吧，我要和您谈谈。”他用法语说。
阿纳托利回头望望妹妹，顺从地站立起来，准备跟在皮埃尔后面走。
皮埃尔抓住他的手，向自己身边一拽，从房里出去。
“Si　vous　vous　permettez　dans　mon　salon．”①海伦低声地说，然而皮埃尔不回答她的话，他从房里走出动了。 
①法语：假如您在我客厅里放肆。
阿纳托利和平素一样，迈着矫健的步伐跟在他后面。但是他脸上明显地流露出惊慌不安的表情。
皮埃尔走进自己的书斋，关上了房门，连望也不望他，就向他转过身去。
“您向伯爵小姐罗斯托娃许愿，娶她为妻吗？您想把她拐走吗？”
“我亲爱的，”阿纳托利操着法国话回答（整个谈话都用法语进行），“我不认为自己应该回答您用这种语调向我盘问的话。”
皮埃尔的面孔原来就很苍白，但此刻因为狂怒变得难看了。他用那只大手抓住阿纳托利制服的领子，向左右摇晃，直到阿纳托利脸上现出惊恐万状为止。
“当我说，我要和您谈谈……”皮埃尔重复一句话。
“怎么啦，简直是胡闹，啊？”阿纳托利摸着连呢绒一起给扯掉的领扣时这样说。
“您是个坏蛋和恶汉，我不知道是什么在控制住我，我可惜没有拿这样东西打破您的头，”皮埃尔说，——因为他说法国话，所以才用矫揉造作的语言骂人。他攥起沉甸甸的吸墨器，举起来吓唬他，旋即又赶快放回原来的地方。
“您答应和她结婚吗？”
“我，我，我没有这样想，其实，我从来没有答应，因为……”
皮埃尔打断他的话。
“您有她的信吗？您有信吗？”皮埃尔向阿纳托利身边走去，又把说过的话再说一遍。
阿纳托利看了他一眼，马上把手伸进口袋里，拿出一个皮夹子。
皮埃尔拿起一封递给他的信，推开摆在路上的桌子，一屁股坐到沙发上。
“Je　ne　serai　pas　violent，ne　craignez　rien”，①皮埃尔看见阿纳托利惊惶失措的神态，便这样回答。“第一是：把信留在这里，”皮埃尔就像背书似的说。“第二是，”——他沉默片刻后继续说，他又站起来，开始踱方步，——“明天您必须离开莫斯科。” 
①法语：不用怕，我不会对您怎么样。
“可是我怎么能够……”
“第三是，”皮埃尔不听他的话，继续说下去，“您和伯爵小姐之间的事情，应永世只字不提。我晓得，我无法禁止您这样做，但若您有一点良心的话……”皮埃尔在房间里来回地踱了几次。阿纳托利皱起眉头，咬着嘴唇，在桌旁坐着。
“您终究不会不明白，除开您的欢乐之外，尚有他人的幸福和安宁，您想要寻欢作乐，因而断送他人的一生。您玩弄，像我夫人之类的女人，您认为玩弄这些女人是合乎情理的事，她们知道，您心中想要什么。她们都具有同样淫荡的经验来应付您，但是答应和一个姑娘结婚……欺骗她，拐骗她……
您怎么竟不明白，你这种事就像殴打老人或小孩可鄙！
……”
皮埃尔沉默起来，他用那不是忿怒的，而是疑问的眼神向阿纳托利瞟了一眼。
“这个我可不知道。啊？”阿纳托利说，当皮埃尔压住怒火的时候，他逐渐地振作起来。“这个我可不知道，也不想知道，”他两眼不望皮埃尔，下颏略微颤抖着说，“可是您对我说出这种话来：可鄙等等，我这个comme　un　homme　d'
honneur①，决不容许任何人说这种话。” 
①法语：诚实人。
皮埃尔惊奇地望望他，他没法明了，他需要什么。
“虽然没有旁人在场，”阿纳托利继续说，“但是我不能……”
“怎么，您要获得补偿吗？”皮埃尔讥讽地说。
“至少您可以收回所说的话。啊？倘若您想要我实现您的愿望。啊？”
“我收回，我收回所说的话，”皮埃尔说，“并且请您原谅我。”
皮埃尔不由自主地望望给他扯下来的领扣。“如果您需要路费，就把钱拿去。”阿纳托利微微一笑。
他从妻子脸上见过的这种畏葸而可鄙的微笑，触怒了皮埃尔。
“噢，可鄙的残忍的家伙！”他说完这句话，便从房里走出动。
第二天，阿纳托利往彼得堡去了。
Book 8 Chapter 21
PIERRE drove to Marya Dmitryevna's to report to her the execution of her commands, as to Kuragin's banishment from Moscow. The whole house was in excitement and alarm. Natasha was very ill; and as Marya Dmitryevna told him in secret, she had on the night after she had been told Anatole was married, taken arsenic, which she had procured by stealth. After swallowing a little, she had been so frightened that she waked Sonya, and told her what she had done. Antidotes had been given in time, and now she was out of danger; but she was still so weak, that they could not dream of moving her to the country, and the countess had been sent for. Pierre saw the count in great trouble, and Sonya in tears, but he could not see Natasha.
That day Pierre dined at the club, and heard on every side gossip about the attempted abduction of the young Countess Rostov, and persistently denied the story, assuring every one that the only foundation for it was that his brother-in-law had made the young lady an offer and had been refused. It seemed to Pierre that it was part of his duty to conceal the whole affair, and to save the young countess's reputation.
He was looking forward with terror to Prince Andrey's return, and drove round every day to ask for news of him from the old prince.
Prince Nikolay Andreitch heard all the rumours current in the town through Mademoiselle Bourienne; and he had read the note to Princess Marya, in which Natasha had broken off her engagement. He seemed in better spirits than usual, and looked forward with impatience to seeing his son.
A few days after Anatole's departure, Pierre received a note from Prince Andrey to inform him that he had arrived, and to beg him to go and see him.
The first minute of Prince Andrey's arrival in Moscow, he was handed by his father Natasha's note to Princess Marya, in which she broke off her engagement (the note had been stolen from Princess Marya, and given to the old prince by Mademoiselle Bourienne). He heard from his father's lips the story of Natasha's elopement, with additions.
Prince Andrey had arrived in the evening; Pierre came to see him the following morning. Pierre had expected to find Prince Andrey almost in the same state as Natasha, and he was therefore surprised when as he entered the drawing-room he heard the sound of Prince Andrey's voice in the study, loudly and eagerly discussing some Petersburg intrigue. The old prince and some other voice interrupted him from time to time. Princess Marya came out to meet Pierre. She sighed, turning her eyes towards the door of the room, where Prince Andrey was, plainly intending to express her sympathy with his sorrow; but Pierre saw by Princess Marya's face that she was glad both at what had happened and at the way her brother had taken the news of his fiancée's treachery.
“He said he had expected it,” she said. “I know his pride will not allow him to express his feelings; but anyway, he has borne it better, far better, than I had expected. It seems it was to be so …”
“But is it all really at an end?” said Pierre.
Princess Marya looked at him with surprise. She could not understand how one could ask such a question. Pierre went into the study. Prince Andrey was very much changed, and visibly much more robust, but there was a new horizontal line between his brows. He was in civilian dress, and standing facing his father and Prince Meshtchersky, he was hotly arguing, making vigorous gesticulations.
The subject was Speransky, of whose sudden dismissal and supposed treason news had just reached Moscow.
“Now he” (Speransky) “will be criticised and condemned by all who were enthusiastic about him a month ago,” Prince Andrey was saying, “and were incapable of understanding his aims. It's very easy to condemn a man when he's out of favour, and to throw upon him the blame of all the mistakes of other people. But I maintain that if anything of value has been done in the present reign, it has been done by him—by him alone …” He stopped, seeing Pierre. His face quivered, and at once assumed a vindictive expression. “And posterity will do him justice,” he finished, and at once turned to Pierre. “Well, how are you, still getting stouter?” he said eagerly, but the new line was still more deeply furrowed on his forehead. “Yes, I'm very well,” he answered to Pierre's question, and he smiled. It was clear to Pierre that his smile meant, “I am well, but my health is of no use to any one now.”
After saying a few words to Pierre of the awful road from the frontiers of Poland, of people he had met in Switzerland who knew Pierre, and of M. Dessalle, whom he had brought back from Switzerland as a tutor for his son, Prince Andrey warmly took part again in the conversation about Speransky, which had been kept up between the two old gentlemen.
“If there had been treason, and there were proofs of his secret relations with Napoleon, they would have made them public,” he said, with heat and haste. “I don't and I didn't like Speransky personally, but I do like justice.”
Pierre recognized now in his friend that desire he knew only too well, for excitement and discussion of something apart from himself, simply in order to stifle thoughts that were too painful and too near his heart.
When Prince Meshtchersky had gone, Prince Andrey took Pierre's arm, and asked him to come to the room that had been assigned him. In that room there was a folding bedstead and open trunks and boxes. Prince Andrey went up to one of them and took out a case. Out of the case he took a packet of letters. He did all this in silence, and very rapidly. He stood up again and cleared his throat. His face was frowning, and his lips set.
“Forgive me, if I'm troubling you …” Pierre saw that Prince Andrey was going to speak of Natasha, and his broad face showed sympathy and pity. That expression in Pierre's face exasperated Prince Andrey. He went on resolutely, clearly, and disagreeably: “I have received a refusal from Countess Rostov, and rumours have reached me of your brother-in-law's seeking her hand, or something of the kind. Is that true?”
“Both true and untrue,” began Pierre; but Prince Andrey cut him short.
“Here are her letters and her portrait,” he said. He took the packet from the table and gave it to Pierre.
“Give that to the countess … if you will see her.”
“She is very ill,” said Pierre.
“So she's still here?” said Prince Andrey. “And Prince Kuragin?” he asked quickly.
“He has been gone a long while. She has been at death's door.”
“I am very sorry to hear of her illness,” said Prince Andrey. He laughed a cold, malignant, unpleasant laugh like his father's.
“But M. Kuragin, then, did not deign to bestow his hand on Countess Rostov?” said Prince Andrey. He snorted several times.
“He could not have married her, because he is married,” said Pierre.
Prince Andrey laughed unpleasantly, again recalling his father.
“And where is he now, your brother-in-law, may I ask?” he said.
“He went to Peter … but, really, I don't know,” said Pierre.
“Well, that's no matter,” said Prince Andrey. “Tell Countess Rostov from me that she was and is perfectly free, and that I wish her all prosperity.”
Pierre took the packet. Prince Andrey, as though reflecting whether he had not something more to say, or waiting for Pierre to say something, looked at him with a fixed gaze.
“Listen. Do you remember our discussion in Petersburg?” said Pierre. “Do you remember about—?”
“I remember,” Prince Andrey answered hurriedly. “I said that a fallen woman should be forgiven, but I did not say I could forgive one. I can't.”
“How can you compare it? …” said Pierre.
Prince Andrey cut him short. He cried harshly: “Yes, ask her hand again, be magnanimous, and all that sort of thing? … Oh, that's all very noble, but I'm not equal to following in that gentleman's tracks. If you care to remain my friend, never speak to me of that … of all this business. Well, good-bye. So you'll give that? …”
Pierre left him, and went in to the old prince and Princess Marya.
The old man seemed livelier than usual. Princess Marya was the same as usual, but behind her sympathy for her brother, Pierre detected her relief that her brother's marriage was broken off. Looking at them, Pierre felt what a contempt and dislike they all had for the Rostovs; felt that it would be impossible in their presence even to mention the name of the girl who could give up Prince Andrey for any one in the world.
At dinner they talked of the coming war, of which there could now be no doubt in the near future. Prince Andrey talked incessantly, and argued first with his father, and then with Dessalle, the Swiss tutor. He seemed more eager than usual, with that eagerness of which Pierre knew so well the inner cause.
皮埃尔启程前往玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜家，通知她说，库拉金已被逐出莫斯科，她的心愿已经实现了。全家人惊皇失措，焦虑不安。娜塔莎的病情严重，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜把情况告诉他，要他保密，就在给她透露阿纳托利已经结婚一事的那天深夜，她吃了她暗地里找到的砒霜。她吞了一点毒药，吓得很厉害，于是喊醒索尼娅，把她服毒的事告诉她。及时地采取了必要的解毒措施，所以她现今脱了危险；但是她的身体还很衰弱，根本不能考虑送她去农村的问题，业已着人去接伯爵夫人。皮埃尔看见张皇失措的伯爵和泪痕满面的索尼娅，却未能看到娜塔莎。 
这一天，皮埃尔在俱乐部里吃中饭，他从四面听见众人谈论有人试图拐骗罗斯托娃这一事件，他执拗地驳斥这些闲话，并叫大家相信，这充其量只是他的内兄向罗斯托娃求婚，遭到了拒绝。皮埃尔仿佛觉得，他有责任隐瞒事实真相，并且恢复罗斯托娃的名誉。
他心惊胆战地等待安德烈公爵回来，并且每天到老公爵那里去打听一下他的情况。
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵从布里安小姐处获悉在满城传播的流言飞语，并且读了她写给公爵小姐玛丽亚的便函，在便函中娜塔莎拒绝了她的未婚夫。他看来似乎比平常更愉快，并且迫不及待地等候儿子。
阿纳托利走后过了几天皮埃尔接到一封安德烈公爵写来的便函，在便函中告知皮埃尔说他回来了，并请他便中去看他。
安德烈公爵已经到达莫斯科，他刚刚走进家门，就从他父亲那里接到一封娜塔莎写给公爵小姐玛丽亚的便函，在便函中她要拒绝她的未婚夫（布里安小姐从公爵小姐玛丽亚那里抢到这封便函，并且把它转交公爵），安德烈公爵还听见父亲添枝加叶地叙述有关拐骗娜塔莎的事件。
头一天晚上，安德烈公爵到家了。第二天早晨皮埃尔来看他。皮埃尔预料安德烈公爵几乎也处于娜塔莎同样的境地，因此在他走进客厅、听见书斋中传出安德烈公爵响亮的嗓音、兴奋地谈论某件关于彼得堡的阴谋事件时，他觉得非常惊异。老公爵和另一个什么人的语声有时打断他的话。公爵小姐玛丽娅向皮埃尔迎面走来。她叹了一口气，用目光指示安德烈公爵的房门，显然她对他的忧愁想表示同情，但是皮埃尔从公爵小姐玛丽亚的脸色看出，她对发生的事情感到高兴，并对她哥哥获悉未婚妻变节后的反应也感到高兴。
“他说，这一层他预料到了，”她说，“我知道他的骄傲使他没法表露自己的感情，但是他在忍受心灵的痛苦方面，比我所预料的表现得更好，而且好得多。可见，非这样不可……”
“难道这一切都完结了吗？”皮埃尔说。
公爵小姐玛丽亚惊异地望望他。她甚至不明白，怎么可以询问这种事。皮埃尔走进书斋。安德烈公爵完全变了，显然变得更加强壮，但是在他的眉毛之间又增添了一条横横的皱纹，他穿着一身便服，站在父亲和梅谢尔斯基公爵对面，做出有力的手势，热烈地争论。
谈话涉及斯佩兰斯基，他忽然被判处流刑以及有人捏造事实指控他叛国的消息甫才传到莫斯科了。
“那些在一个月以前钦佩他的人如今都在审讯和指控他（斯佩兰斯基），”安德烈公爵说，“而且那班人没法明了他的意向。审讯一个失宠的人极为容易，别人都归咎于他；所以我要说，如果在目前的君主统治时期建树了什么佳债，那末，这一切佳绩都是他——他一人所建树的……”他看见皮埃尔后便停下来。他的面孔颤动了一下，立刻流露出凶恶的表情。
“惟有后代才会赐予他以正义。”他说完这句话，旋即把脸转向皮埃尔。
“你很好啊！越来越胖了，”他兴奋地说，但是他的额头上又露出一条更深的皱纹。“是啊！我很健康，”他在回答皮埃尔的问话时冷冷一笑。皮埃尔十分清楚，他的冷笑似乎在说：“很健康，可是我的健康谁也不稀罕。”安德烈公爵三言两语地跟皮埃尔谈到波兰边境后面的一条非常糟糕的道路，他在瑞士遇见几个认识皮埃尔的人，还谈到他从国外带来一个给儿子当教师的德萨尔先生，然后他在两个老头继续谈论斯佩兰斯基时又激昂陈词。
“既然他叛国，他与拿破仑秘密勾结已有明证，那么就要公诸于众，“他急躁而且匆忙地说。“我本人过去和现在都不喜欢斯佩兰斯基，不过我喜欢维护正义。”此时皮埃尔从他朋友身上发觉一种他甚为熟悉的强烈愿望——使他自己心潮澎湃、争论和他自己毫无关系的事情，其目的在于压抑过分沉重的心情。
梅谢尔斯基公爵走后，安德烈公爵挽着皮埃尔的手臂，请他到给公爵准备的房间里去。在这个房间里可以看见一张铺好的床和几只打开的手提包和箱笼。安德烈公爵走到一只箱子前面，取出一只小匣子。他从小匣子里拿出一扎用纸包着的东西。他默不作声，动作迅速地做完这件事。之后他欠起身子，咳嗽几声清清嗓子。他的面孔阴郁，闭紧嘴唇。
“如果我麻烦你，请原谅我……”皮埃尔明了，安德烈公爵想谈论娜塔莎，他那宽阔的脸上流露着同情和惋惜的神态。皮埃尔的面部表情激怒了安德烈公爵，他坚决地、不高兴地大声说下去：“我遭受到伯爵小姐罗斯托娃的拒绝，此外我还听到你的内兄向她求婚以及诸如此类的流言。是不是真有其事？”
“是真又是假。”皮埃尔开口说，但是安德烈公爵打断他的话。
“这儿是她的信件和相片，”他说。他从桌上拿起一包东西，递给皮埃尔。
“如果你看见伯爵小姐，就把这样东西转交给她……”
“她病得很厉害。”皮埃尔说。
“这样说，她还在这儿？”安德烈公爵说。“库拉金公爵呢？”
他连忙问道。
“他早就走了。她快要死了……”
“她生病，我深表遗憾，”安德烈公爵说。他像父亲那样无情地、凶很地、不高兴地冷冷一笑。
“这么说，库拉金先生没有赐予伯爵小姐罗斯托娃求婚的殊荣？”安德烈公爵说。他用鼻子呼哧呼哧地嗤了几声。
“他不能结婚，因为地结过婚了，”皮埃尔说。
安德烈公爵又像他父亲那样不高兴地大声笑起来。
“目前您的内兄在哪里，我可以打听一下吗？”他说。
“他到彼得堡去了……其实我并不晓得。”皮埃尔说。
“不过，这横竖一样，”安德烈公爵说，“你转告伯爵小姐罗斯托娃，她过去和现在都完全自由，我祝她诸事顺遂。”
皮埃尔拿起一札信件。安德烈公爵仿佛在想，他是否需要再对他说句什么话，或者等待皮埃尔有没有什么话要说，于是他把目光盯住皮埃尔。
“您听我说，您还记得我们在彼得堡时的那次争论吧，”皮埃尔说，“您还记得有关……？”
“我记得，”安德烈公爵连忙回答，“我说过要原谅淫荡的女人，但是我没有说过我能原谅她。我不能。”
“难道可以相提并论吗？……”皮埃尔说。
安德烈公爵打断他的话。他用刺耳的嗓音叫嚷起来：
“是啊，又要向她求婚，做个宽宏大量的人，如此等等？……是的，这倒很高尚，但是我不擅长sur　brisées　de　monsieur①。如果你愿意做我的朋友，就永远不要和我谈这个……谈这一切。喂，再见。那末你转交给她，行吗？……”
皮埃尔从房里走出去，到老公爵和公爵小姐玛丽亚那里去了。 
①法语：步这个先生的后尘。
老头子比平常显得更富有活力。公爵小姐玛丽亚还是那个老样子，但因她与哥哥互有同感，所以皮埃尔看出她对哥哥的婚事遭到挫折也感到高兴，当皮埃尔望着他们的时候，他心里明了，他们对罗斯托夫一家人怀有极端蔑视和愤恨的心情，而且明了，在他们面前甚至不能提及那个宁可抛弃安德烈公爵而喜欢任何男人的姑娘的名字。
午宴之间的谈话涉及战争，战争的临近逐渐地变得无可争议了。安德烈公爵滔滔不绝地谈话，时而和父亲争论，时而和瑞士籍教师德萨尔争论，看来他比平常为振奋，皮埃尔十分清楚地知道他所以精神振奋的原因。
Book 8 Chapter 22
THAT EVENING Pierre went to the Rostovs' to fulfil Prince Andrey's commission. Natasha was in bed, the count was at the club, and Pierre, after giving the letters to Sonya, went in to see Marya Dmitryevna, who was interested to know how Prince Andrey had taken the news. Ten minutes later, Sonya came in to Marya Dmitryevna.
“Natasha insists on seeing Count Pyotr Kirillitch,” she said.
“Why, are we to take him up to her, eh? Why, you are all in a muddle there,” said Marya Dmitryevna.
“No, she has dressed and gone into the drawing-room,” said Sonya.
Marya Dmitryevna could only shrug her shoulders. “When will the countess come? She has quite worn me out! You mind now, don't tell her everything,” she said to Pierre. “One hasn't the heart to scold her, she's so piteous, poor thing.”
Natasha was standing in the middle of the drawing-room, looking thinner, and with a pale, set face (not at all overcome with shame, as Pierre had expected to see her). When Pierre appeared in the doorway, she made a hurried movement, evidently in uncertainty whether to go to meet him, or to wait for him to come to her.
Pierre went hurriedly towards her. He thought she would give him her hand as usual. But coming near him she stopped, breathing hard, and letting her hands hang lifelessly, exactly in the same pose in which she used to stand in the middle of the room to sing, but with an utterly different expression.
“Pyotr Kirillitch,” she began, speaking quickly, “Prince Bolkonsky was your friend—he is your friend,” she corrected herself. (It seemed to her that everything was in the past, and now all was changed.) “He told me to apply to you …”
Pierre choked dumbly as he looked at her. Till then he had in his heart blamed her, and tried to despise her; but now he felt so sorry for her, that there was no room in his heart for blame.
“He is here now, tell him … to for … to forgive me.” She stopped short and breathed even more quickly, but she did not weep.
“Yes … I will tell him,” said Pierre; “but …” He did not know what to say.
Natasha was evidently dismayed at the idea that might have occurred to Pierre.
“No, I know that everything is over,” she said hurriedly. “No, that can never be. I'm only wretched at the wrong I have done him. Only tell him that I beg him to forgive, to forgive, forgive me for everything …” Her whole body was heaving; she sat down on a chair.
A feeling of pity he had never known before flooded Pierre's heart.
“I will tell him, I will tell him everything once more,” said Pierre; “but … I should like to know one thing…”
“To know what?” Natasha's eyes asked.
“I should like to know, did you love …” Pierre did not know what to call Anatole, and flushed at the thought of him—“did you love that bad man?”
“Don't call him bad,” said Natasha. “But I don't … know, I don't know …” She began crying again, and Pierre was more than ever overwhelmed with pity, tenderness, and love. He felt the tears trickling under his spectacles, and hoped they would not be noticed.
“We won't talk any more of it, my dear,” he said. It seemed suddenly so strange to Natasha to hear the gentle, tender, sympathetic voice in which he spoke. “We won't talk of it, my dear, I'll tell him everything. But one thing I beg you, look on me as your friend; and if you want help, advice, or simply want to open your heart to some one—not now, but when things are clearer in your heart—think of me.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I shall be happy, if I am able …” Pierre was confused.
“Don't speak to me like that; I'm not worth it!” cried Natasha, and she would have left the room, but Pierre held her hand. He knew there was something more he must say to her. But when he said it, he was surprised at his own words.
“Hush, hush, your whole life lies before you,” he said to her.
“Before me! No! All is over for me,” she said, with shame and self-humiliation.
“All over?” he repeated. “If I were not myself, but the handsomest, cleverest, best man in the world, and if I were free I would be on my knees this minute to beg for your hand and your love.”
For the first time for many days Natasha wept with tears of gratitude and softened feeling, and glancing at Pierre, she went out of the room.
Pierre followed her, almost running into the vestibule, and restraining the tears of tenderness and happiness that made a lump in his throat. He flung on his fur coat, unable to find the armholes, and got into his sledge.
“Now where, your excellency?” asked the coachman.
“Where?” Pierre asked himself. “Where can I go now? Not to the club or to pay calls.” All men seemed to him so pitiful, so poor in comparison with the feeling of tenderness and love in his heart, in comparison with that softened, grateful glance she had turned upon him that last minute through her tears.
“Home,” said Pierre, throwing open the bearskin coat over his broad, joyously breathing chest in spite of ten degrees of frost.
It was clear and frosty. Over the dirty, half-dark streets, over the black roofs was a dark, starlit sky. It was only looking at the sky that Pierre forgot the mortifying meanness of all things earthly in comparison with the height his soul had risen to. As he drove into Arbatsky Square, the immense expanse of dark, starlit sky lay open before Pierre's eyes. Almost in the centre of it above the Prechistensky Boulevard, surrounded on all sides by stars, but distinguished from all by its nearness to the earth, its white light and long, upturned tail, shone the huge, brilliant comet of 1812; the comet which betokened, it was said, all manner of horrors and the end of the world. But in Pierre's heart that bright comet, with its long, luminous tail, aroused no feeling of dread. On the contrary, his eyes wet with tears, Pierre looked joyously at this bright comet, which seemed as though after flying with inconceivable swiftness through infinite space in a parabola, it had suddenly, like an arrow piercing the earth, stuck fast at one chosen spot in the black sky, and stayed there, vigorously tossing up its tail, shining and playing with its white light among the countless other twinkling stars. It seemed to Pierre that it was in full harmony with what was in his softened and emboldened heart, that had gained vigour to blossom into a new life.
为了完成被委托的这件事，当天晚上皮埃尔便到罗斯托夫家里去了。娜塔莎躺在病榻上，伯爵正在俱乐部，皮埃尔把信件交给索尼娅，然后到玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜那里去了，她很想知道安德烈公爵对退婚消息所持的态度。十分钟以后索尼娅走进玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜房里，找她去了。 
“娜塔莎一定要和彼得·基里洛维奇伯爵见面。”她说。
“怎么，要把他带到她那里去吗？你们那里还没有收拾好啊。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说。
“不，她穿好了衣裳，到客厅里去了。”索尼娅说。
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜只得耸耸肩膀罢了。
“伯爵夫人什么时候到这里来，简直把我折磨坏了。你要当心，别把什么话都讲给她听。”她把脸转向皮埃尔说。“那里敢骂她，她这样可怜，这样可怜啊！”
娜塔莎非常消瘦，面色苍白而且严肃（根本不是皮埃尔所预料的那样害羞的样子），她站在客厅正中间。当皮埃尔在门口露面时候，她心里慌张起来，十分明显，她趑趄不前，向他走过去呢，还是等他走过来。
皮埃尔急忙走到她跟前。他心中想道，她会像平常一样向他伸出手来，但是她走近跟前以后停步了，喘不过气来，呆板地垂下一双手，她那姿态俨如走到大厅中间来唱歌一般，但是她脸上流露着完全不同的表情。
“彼得·基里雷奇，”她开始飞快地说，“博尔孔斯基公爵从前是您的朋友，现在他还是您的朋友，”她改正说（她仿佛觉得，这一切只是明日黄花，现在这一切不一样了），“那时他对我说，要我来求您……”
皮埃尔望着她，不作声地用鼻子发出呼哧呼哧的嗤声。他直至如今还在自己心中责备她，尽量藐视她，然而他现在非常怜悯她，致使他心中没有责备她的余地了。
“此刻他还在这里，告诉他……叫他饶恕……饶恕我。”她停住了，开始愈加急促地呼吸，但她并没有哭泣。
“是的……我要对他说，”皮埃尔说，“不过……”他不知道要说什么话。
娜塔莎显然担心皮埃尔头脑中会有那种想法。
“不，我晓得，这一切已经完了，”她连忙说。“不，这决不可能。只不过我做了危害他的恶事，这使我感到痛苦。我只有请您告诉他，我请他原谅、原谅、原谅我的一切……”她浑身颤抖起来，就在椅子上坐下。
皮埃尔从来没有体验过的那种怜悯感已经充满了他的心灵。
“我要对他说，我再一次地把这一切告诉他，”皮埃尔说，“但是……我希望知道一点……”
“要知道什么？”娜塔莎的眼神在发问……
“我希望知道您是否爱过……”皮埃尔不知道怎样称呼阿纳托利，一想到他，就满面通红，“您是否爱过这个坏人？”
“您不要把他叫做坏人吧，”娜塔莎说。“但是我什么，什么都不知道……”她又哭起来。
怜悯、温和与爱慕的感情愈益强烈地支配住皮埃尔。他听见他的眼泪在眼镜下面簌簌地流下，因此他希望不被人发现。
“我们不再讲了，我的朋友。”皮埃尔说。
娜塔莎忽然觉得他这种柔和、温情、诚挚的说话声非常奇怪。
“我们不讲了，我的朋友，我要把这一切说给他听，但是我要求您一件事——认为我是个朋友。如果您需要帮助、忠告，或者只不过是需要向谁倾诉衷肠，不是目前，而是当您心中开朗的时候，您就要想想我吧。”他一把抓住她的手，吻了吻。“如果我能够……我就会感到幸福。”皮埃尔腼腆起来。
“您甭跟我这样说，我配不上！”娜塔莎喊道，她想从房里走出去，但是皮埃尔握着她的手，把她拦住。他知道，他还需要向她说些什么话。但当他说完这句话以后，他对自己说的话感到惊讶。
“不要再讲了，不要再讲了，您前途远大。”他对她说。
“我的前途吗？不远大！我的一切都完了。”她怀着羞怯和妄自菲薄的心情说。
“一切都完了？”他重复地说。“如果我不是我自己，而是世界上的最俊美的最聪明的最优秀的人，而且是无拘无束的，我就会立刻跪下来向您求婚的。”
娜塔莎在许多天以后头一次流出了致谢和感动的眼泪，她向皮埃尔望了一眼，便从房里走出去了。
皮埃尔紧跟在她后面，几乎是跑到接待室，他忍住哽在他喉咙里的、因深受感动和幸福而流出的眼泪，他没有把手伸进袖筒，披上皮袄，坐上了雪橇。
“请问，现在去哪里？”马车夫问道。
“到哪里去呀？”皮埃尔问问自己。“现在究竟到哪里去呀？难道去俱乐部或者去做客？”与他所体验到的深受感动和爱慕的情感相比照，与她最后一次透过眼泪看看他时投射出来的那种和善的、感谢的目光相比照，所有的人都显得如此卑微、如此可怜。
“回家去。”皮埃尔说，尽管气温是零下十度，他仍旧敞开熊皮皮袄，露出他那宽阔的、喜悦地呼吸的胸脯。
天气晴朗，非常寒冷。在那污秽的半明半暗的街道上方，在黑魆魆的屋顶上方，伸展着昏暗的星罗棋布的天空。皮埃尔只是在不停地观看夜空时，才不觉得一切尘世的东西在与他的灵魂所处的高度相比照时，竟然卑微到令人感到受辱的地步。在进入阿尔巴特广场的地方，皮埃尔眼前展现出广袤无垠的昏暗的星空。一八一二年出现的这颗巨大而明亮的彗星正位于圣洁林荫道的上方，差不多悬在这片天空的正中央，它的周围密布着繁星，它与众星不同之处乃在于，它接近地面，放射出一道白光，它的长长的尾巴向上翘起来，据说，正是那颗彗星预示着一切灾难和世界末日的凶兆。但是皮埃尔心中这颗拖着长尾巴的璀璨的彗星并没有引起任何恐怖感。与之相反，皮埃尔兴高采烈地睁开他那双被泪水沾湿的眼睛，凝视着这颗明亮的彗星，它仿佛正以非言语所能形容的速度沿着一条抛物线飞过这辽阔的空间，忽然它像一枝射进土中的利箭，在黑暗的天空楔入它所选定的地方，停止不动，它使尽全力地翘起尾巴，在无数闪烁的星星之间炫耀自己的白光。皮埃尔仿佛觉得，这颗彗星和他那颗生机盎然的、变得温和而且受到鼓舞的心灵完全重合。
Book 9 Chapter 1
TOWARDS THE END of the year 1811, there began to be greater activity in levying troops and in concentrating the forces of Western Europe, and in 1812 these forces—millions of men, reckoning those engaged in the transport and feeding of the army— moved from the west eastward, towards the frontiers of Russia, where, since 1811, the Russian forces were being in like manner concentrated.
On the 12th of June the forces of Western Europe crossed the frontier, and the war began, that is, an event took place opposed to human reason and all human nature. Millions of men perpetrated against one another so great a mass of crime—fraud, swindling, robbery, forgery, issue of counterfeit money, plunder, incendiarism, and murder—that the annals of all the criminal courts of the world could not muster such a sum of wickedness in whole centuries, though the men who committed those deeds did not at that time look on them as crimes.
What led to this extraordinary event? What were its causes? Historians, with simple-hearted conviction, tell us that the causes of this event were the insult offered to the Duke of Oldenburg, the failure to maintain the continental system, the ambition of Napoleon, the firmness of Alexander, the mistakes of the diplomatists, and so on.
According to them, if only Metternich, Rumyantsev, or Talleyrand had, in the interval between a levée and a court ball, really taken pains and written a more judicious diplomatic note, or if only Napoleon had written to Alexander, “I consent to restore the duchy to the Duke of Oldenburg,” there would have been no war.
We can readily understand that being the conception of the war that presented itself to contemporaries. We can understand Napoleon's supposing the cause of the war to be the intrigues of England (as he said, indeed, in St. Helena); we can understand how to the members of the English House of Commons the cause of the war seemed to be Napoleon's ambition; how to the Duke of Oldenburg the war seemed due to the outrage done him; how to the trading class the war seemed due to the continental system that was ruining Europe; to the old soldiers and generals the chief reason for it seemed their need of active service; to the regiments of the period, the necessity of re-establishing les bons principes; while the diplomatists of the time set it down to the alliance of Russia with Austria in 1809 not having been with sufficient care concealed from Napoleon, and the memorandum, No. 178, having been awkwardly worded. We may well understand contemporaries believing in those causes, and in a countless, endless number more, the multiplicity of which is due to the infinite variety of men's points of view. But to us of a later generation, contemplating in all its vastness the immensity of the accomplished fact, and seeking to penetrate its simple and fearful significance, those explanations must appear insufficient. To us it is inconceivable that millions of Christian men should have killed and tortured each other, because Napoleon was ambitious, Alexander firm, English policy crafty, and the Duke of Oldenburg hardly treated. We cannot grasp the connection between these circumstances and the bare fact of murder and violence, nor why the duke's wrongs should induce thousands of men from the other side of Europe to pillage and murder the inhabitants of the Smolensk and Moscow provinces and to be slaughtered by them.
For us of a later generation, who are not historians led away by the process of research, and so can look at the facts with common-sense unobscured, the causes of this war appear innumerable in their multiplicity. The more deeply we search out the causes the more of them we discover; and every cause, and even a whole class of causes taken separately, strikes us as being equally true in itself, and equally deceptive through its insignificance in comparison with the immensity of the result, and its inability to produce (without all the other causes that concurred with it) the effect that followed. Such a cause, for instance, occurs to us as Napoleon's refusal to withdraw his troops beyond the Vistula, and to restore the duchy of Oldenburg; and then again we remember the readiness or the reluctance of the first chance French corporal to serve on a second campaign; for had he been unwilling to serve, and a second and a third, and thousands of corporals and soldiers had shared that reluctance, Napoleon's army would have been short of so many men, and the war could not have taken place.
If Napoleon had not taken offence at the request to withdraw beyond the Vistula, and had not commanded his troops to advance, there would have been no war. But if all the sergeants had been unwilling to serve on another campaign, there could have been no war either.
And the war would not have been had there been no intrigues on the part of England, no Duke of Oldenburg, no resentment on the part of Alexander; nor had there been no autocracy in Russia, no French Revolution and consequent dictatorship and empire, nor all that led to the French Revolution, and so on further back: without any one of those causes, nothing could have happened. And so all those causes—myriads of causes—coincided to bring about what happened. And consequently nothing was exclusively the cause of the war, and the war was bound to happen, simply because it was bound to happen. Millions of men, repudiating their common-sense and their human feelings, were bound to move from west to east, and to slaughter their fellows, just as some centuries before hordes of men had moved from east to west to slaughter their fellows.
The acts of Napoleon and Alexander, on whose words it seemed to depend whether this should be done or not, were as little voluntary as the act of each soldier, forced to march out by the drawing of a lot or by conscription. This could not be otherwise, for in order that the will of Napoleon and Alexander (on whom the whole decision appeared to rest) should be effective, a combination of innumerable circumstances was essential, without any one of which the effect could not have followed. It was essential that the millions of men in whose hands the real power lay—the soldiers who fired guns and transported provisions and cannons—should consent to carry out the will of those feeble and isolated persons, and that they should have been brought to this acquiescence by an infinite number of varied and complicated causes.
We are forced to fall back upon fatalism in history to explain irrational events (that is those of which we cannot comprehend the reason). The more we try to explain those events in history rationally, the more irrational and incomprehensible they seem to us. Every man lives for himself, making use of his free-will for attainment of his own objects, and feels in his whole being that he can do or not do any action. But as soon as he does anything, that act, committed at a certain moment in time, becomes irrevocable and is the property of history, in which it has a significance, predestined and not subject to free choice.
There are two aspects to the life of every man: the personal life, which is free in proportion as its interests are abstract, and the elemental life of the swarm, in which a man must inevitably follow the laws laid down for him.
Consciously a man lives on his own account in freedom of will, but he serves as an unconscious instrument in bringing about the historical ends of humanity. An act he has once committed is irrevocable, and that act of his, coinciding in time with millions of acts of others, has an historical value. The higher a man's place in the social scale, the more connections he has with others, and the more power he has over them, the more conspicuous is the inevitability and predestination of every act he commits. “The hearts of kings are in the hand of God.” The king is the slave of history.
History—that is the unconscious life of humanity in the swarm, in the community—makes every minute of the life of kings its own, as an instrument for attaining its ends.
Although in that year, 1812, Napoleon believed more than ever that to shed or not to shed the blood of his peoples depended entirely on his will (as Alexander said in his last letter to him), yet then, and more than at any time, he was in bondage to those laws which forced him, while to himself he seemed to be acting freely, to do what was bound to be his share in the common edifice of humanity, in history.
The people of the west moved to the east for men to kill one another. And by the law of the coincidence of causes, thousands of petty causes backed one another up and coincided with that event to bring about that movement and that war: resentment at the non-observance of the continental system, and the Duke of Oldenburg, and the massing of troops in Prussia—a measure undertaken, as Napoleon supposed, with the object of securing armed peace—and the French Emperor's love of war, to which he had grown accustomed, in conjunction with the inclinations of his people, who were carried away by the grandiose scale of the preparations, and the expenditure on those preparations, and the necessity of recouping that expenditure. Then there was the intoxicating effect of the honours paid to the French Emperor in Dresden, and the negotiations too of the diplomatists, who were supposed by contemporaries to be guided by a genuine desire to secure peace, though they only inflamed the amour-propre of both sides; and millions upon millions of other causes, chiming in with the fated event and coincident with it.
When the apple is ripe and falls—why does it fall? Is it because it is drawn by gravitation to the earth, because its stalk is withered, because it is dried by the sun, because it grows heavier, because the wind shakes it, or because the boy standing under the tree wants to eat it?
Not one of those is the cause. All that simply makes up the conjunction of conditions under which every living, organic, elemental event takes place. And the botanist who says that the apple has fallen because the cells are decomposing, and so on, will be just as right as the boy standing under the tree who says the apple has fallen because he wanted to eat it and prayed for it to fall. The historian, who says that Napoleon went to Moscow because he wanted to, and was ruined because Alexander desired his ruin, will be just as right and as wrong as the man who says that the mountain of millions of tons, tottering and undermined, has been felled by the last stroke of the last workingman's pick-axe. In historical events great men—so called—are but the labels that serve to give a name to an event, and like labels, they have the least possible connection with the event itself.
Every action of theirs, that seems to them an act of their own free-will, is in an historical sense not free at all, but in bondage to the whole course of previous history, and predestined from all eternity.
从一八一一年底起，西欧的军队开始加强军备并集结力量。一八一二年，这些武装力量——数百万人（包括那些运送和保障供应的部队）由西向东朝俄罗斯边境运动。而从一八一一年起俄罗斯的军队也同样向其边境集结。六月十二日，西欧军队越过了俄罗斯的边界，战争开始了。也就是说，一个违反人类理性和全部人类本性的事件发生了。数百万人互相对立，犯下了难以计数的罪恶，欺骗、背叛、盗窃、作伪、生产伪钞、抢劫、纵火、杀人。世界的法庭编年史用几个世纪也搜集不完这些罪行。而对此，当时那些干这些事的人却并未把它作为罪行来看待。 
是什么引起了这场不平常的事件呢？其原因有哪些呢？满怀天真的自信的历史学家们说：这个事件的原因是，奥尔登堡公爵所受的欺侮、违反大陆体系、拿破仑的贪权、亚历山大的强硬态度、外交家们的错误等等。
因此，只要在皇帝出朝和招待晚会时，梅特涅·鲁缅采夫好好作一番努力，把公文写得更巧妙些，或者拿破仑给亚历山大写上一封信：Monsieur，mon　frère，je　consens　à　rendre　le　duché　au　due　d'Oldenbourg①，战争就不会发生了。
显然，对那个时代的人来说，就是这样看待此事的；当然，拿破仑认为，英国的阴谋是战争的原因（他在神圣的圣勒拿岛上，就这样说过）；英国议院的议员们认为，战争的原因是拿破仑的野心；奥尔登堡公爵认为对他的暴行是战争的原因；商人们认为，使欧洲毁灭的大陆体系是发生战争的原因；对老兵和将军们来说，使他有事可做是战争的主要原因；那时的正统主义者认为，Les　bons　principes②必须恢复；而对当时的外交官来说，其所以产生这一切，是因为一八○九年的俄罗斯和奥地利同盟未能十分巧妙地瞒过拿破仑，178号备忘录的措词拙劣。显然，那个时代的人都认为除了这些原因，还有许许多多原因都取决于难以计数的不同的观点；但对我们——观察了这一事件的全过程和了解了其简单而又可怕的意义的后代人——来说，这些原因还不够充分。我们不理解的是，数百万基督徒互相残杀和虐待，就因为拿破仑是野心家，亚历山大态度强硬，英国的政策狡猾和奥尔登堡公爵受侮辱。无法理解，这些情况与屠杀和暴行事实本身有何联系；为什么由于公爵受辱，来自欧洲另一边的数以千计的人们就来屠杀和毁灭斯摩棱斯克和莫斯科的人们，反过来又被这些人所杀。 
①法语：陛下，我的兄弟，我同意把公国还给奥尔登堡公爵。
②法语：好原则。
对我们——不是史学家，不迷恋于考察探索过程，因而拥有观察事件的清醒健全的思想——来说，战争的原因多不胜数。在探索战争原因时我们愈是深入，发现也愈多，获取的每一孤立原因或是一系列原因就其本身来说都是正确的，但就其与事件的重大比较所显出的微不足道而言，这些原因又同样都是错误的，就这些原因不足以引起事件的发生来说（如果没有其他各种原因巧合的话），也同样是不真实的。如同拿破仑拒绝将自己的军队撤回到维斯拉和归还奥尔登堡公国一样，我们同样可认为一个法国军士愿不愿服第二次兵役是这类原因：因为，如果他不愿服役，第二个，第三个，第一千个军士和士兵都不愿服役，拿破仑的军队就少了一千个人，那么，战争也就不可能发生了。
如果拿破仑不因人们要求他撤回到维斯拉后而感到受侮辱，不命令军队进攻，就不会有战争；但是，如果所有军士不愿服第二次兵役，战争也不能发生，如果英国不玩弄阴谋，如果没有奥尔登堡公爵，如果没有亚历山大受辱的感觉，如果在俄罗斯没有专制政权，如果没有法国革命和随之而来的个人独裁和帝制以及引起法国革命的所有因素等等，也同样不能爆发战争，这些原因中只要缺少任何一个，就什么也不会发生。由此可见，所有这些原因——数十亿个原因——巧合在一起，导致了已发生的事。所以说，没有哪个事件的原因是独一无二的，而事件应该发生只不过是因为它不得不发生。数百万放弃人类感情和自身理智的人们由西向东去屠杀自己的同类，正如几个世纪前，由东向西去屠杀自己同类的成群的人们一样。
事件发生与否，似乎取决于拿破仑和亚历山大的某一句话——而他们二人的行为如同以抽签或者以招募方式出征的每个士兵的行为一样，都是不由自主的。这不能不是这样，因为拿破仑和亚历山大（仿佛他们是决定事件的人）的意志能实现，必须有无数个（缺其一事件就不能发生）事件的巧合。必须有数百万手中握有实力的人，他们是能射击、运输给养和枪炮的士兵们，他们必须同意执行这个别软弱的人的意志，并且无数复杂的、各式各样的原因使他们不得不这样干。
为了解释这些不合理的现象（也就是说，我们不理解其合理性），必然得出历史上的宿命论。我们越是试图合理地解释这些历史现象，它们对我们来说却越是不合理和不可理解。
每个人都为自己而活着，他利用自由以达到其个人的目的，并以全部身心去感受，现在他可以或不可以采取某种行为；但他一旦做出这种事，那么，在某一特定时刻所完成的行为，就成为不可挽回的事了，同时也就成为历史的一部分，在历史中他不是自主的，这是预先注定了的。
每个人都有两种生活：一种是私人生活，这种生活的意义越抽象，它就越自由；另一种生活是天然的群体生活，在这里每个人必然遵守给他规定的各种法则。
人自觉地为自己而生活，但却作为不自觉的工具，以达到历史的、全人类的目的。我们无法去挽回一个已完成的行为，而且一个人的行为在一定时间里与千百万其他人的行为巧合在一起，就具有历史的意义了。一个人在社会的舞台上站得越高，所涉及的人越多，则其每一个行为的注定结局和必然性也越明显。
“国王的心握在上帝手里。”
国王——历史的奴隶。
历史，也就是人类不自觉的共同的集体生活，它把国王们每时每刻的生活都作为达到自己目的的工具。
现在，一八一二年，尽管拿破仑比以往任何时候都更感到Verser或者不Verser　le　sang　de　ses　peuples①取决于他（就像亚历山大写给他的最后一封信中所写的那样），其实拿破仑任何时候也不像现在这样更服从必然的法则，该法则使他不得不为共同的事业、为历史去完成必须完成的事业（而对他自己而言，他却觉得自己是随心所欲行动的）。 
①法语：使本国各族人民流血，或者不使本国各族人民流血。
西方的人们向东方进发与东方人撕杀。而按各种原因偶合的法则，千百个细小原因与这次事件合在一起导致了这次进军和战争：对不遵从大陆体系的指责，奥尔登堡公爵，向普鲁士进军（就像拿破仑感觉的那样）仅为通过进军达到和平，法国皇帝对战争的癖好和习惯正好与他的人民的愿望一致，以及他对准备工作宏大场面的迷恋，用于准备工作的开支，要求获取抵偿这些开支的利益、他在德累斯顿的令人陶醉的荣誉；当代人认为是诚心求和却只伤了双方自尊心的外交谈判，以及与现有事件相呼应，并同事件巧合的数以千万计的原因。
当苹果成熟时，就从树上掉下来——它为什么掉下来呢？是因为受地球引力的吸引吗？是因为苹果茎干枯了吗？是因为由于太阳晒或是自身太重，或是风吹了它吗？还是因为站在树下的小孩想吃苹果吗？
什么原因也不是。这一切只是各种条件的巧合，在这些条件下各种与生命有关的、有机地联系、自然的事件得到实现。找到苹果降落是由于诸如细胞组织分解等原因，植物学家是对的、就像那个站在树下面的小孩一样是对的。那小孩说，苹果掉落是因为他想吃苹果并为此做了祈祷。拿破仑去莫斯科是因为他想去，他毁灭是因为亚历山大希望他毁灭。这样说又对又不对，这就像说一座重一百万普特，下面被挖空的山之所以崩塌是因为最后一个工人用十字镐在山下最后的一击一样，又对又不对。在许多历史事件中，那些所谓的伟人只是以事件命名的标签、而同样像这个标签一样，他们很少与事件本身有联系。
他们的每一个行为，他们觉得是自身独断专横所为的，其实从历史的意义来看，他们是不能随心所欲的。他们每一个行动都是与历史的进程相联系的，是预先确定了的。
Book 9 Chapter 2
ON THE 28TH of May Napoleon left Dresden, where he had been spending three weeks surrounded by a court that included princes, dukes, kings, and even one emperor. Before his departure, Napoleon took a gracious leave of the princes, kings, and emperor deserving of his favour, and sternly upbraided the kings and princes with whom he was displeased. He made a present of his own diamonds and pearls— those, that is, that he had taken from other kings—to the Empress of Austria. He tenderly embraced the Empress Marie Louise—who considered herself his wife, though he had another wife still living in Paris— and left her, so his historian relates, deeply distressed and hardly able to support the separation. Although diplomatists still firmly believed in the possibility of peace, and were zealously working with that object, although the Emperor Napoleon, with his own hand, wrote a letter to the Emperor Alexander calling him “Monsieur mon frère,” and assuring him with sincerity that he had no desire of war, and would always love and honour him, he set off to join the army, and at every station gave fresh commands, hastening the progress of his army from west to east. He drove a travelling carriage, drawn by six horses and surrounded by pages, adjutants, and an armed escort, along the route by Posen, Thorn, Danzig, and K?nigsberg. In each of these towns he was welcomed with enthusiasm and trepidation by thousands of people.
The army was moving from west to east, and he was driven after it by continual relays of six horses. On the 10th of June he overtook the army and spent the night in the Vilkovik forest, in quarters prepared for him on the property of a Polish count.
The following day Napoleon drove on ahead of the army, reached the Niemen, put on a Polish uniform in order to inspect the crossing of the river, and rode out on the river bank.
When he saw the Cossacks posted on the further bank and the expanse of the steppes—in the midst of which, far away, was the holy city, Moscow, capital of an empire, like the Scythian empire invaded by Alexander of Macedon—Napoleon surprised the diplomatists and contravened all rules of strategy by ordering an immediate advance, and his troops began crossing the Niemen next day.
Early on the morning of the 12th of June he came out of his tent, which had been pitched that day on the steep left bank of the Niemen, and looked through a field-glass at his troops pouring out of the Vilkovik forest, and dividing into three streams at the three bridges across the river. The troops knew of the Emperor's presence, and were on the lookout for him. When they caught sight of his figure in his greatcoat and hat standing apart from his suite in front of his tent on the hill opposite, they threw up their caps and shouted, “Vive l'Empereur!” And one regiment after another, in a continuous stream, flowed out of the immense forest that had concealed them, and split up to cross the river by the three bridges. “We shall make some way this time. Oh, when he takes a hand himself things begin to get warm!…Name of God!… There he is!… Hurrah for the Emperor! So those are the Steppes of Asia! A nasty country it is, though. Good-bye, Beauché; I'll keep the finest palace in Moscow for you. Good-bye! good-luck!… Have you seen the Emperor? Hurrah for the Emperor! If they make me Governor of the Indies, Gérard, I'll make you Minister of Cashmere, that's settled. Hurrah for the Emperor! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! The rascally Cossacks, how they are running. Hurrah for the Emperor! There he is! Do you see him? I have seen him twice as I am seeing you. The little corporal…I saw him give the cross to one of the veterans.…Hurrah for the emperor!” Such was the talk of old men and young, of the most diverse characters and positions in society. All the faces of those men wore one common expression of joy at the commencement of a long-expected campaign, and enthusiasm and devotion to the man in the grey coat standing on the hill opposite.
On the 13th of June Napoleon mounted a small thoroughbred Arab horse and galloped towards one of the bridges over the Niemen, deafened all the while by shouts of enthusiasm, which he obviously endured simply because they could not be prevented from expressing in such shouts their love for him. But those shouts, invariably accompanying him everywhere, wearied him and hindered his attending to the military problems which beset him from the time he joined the army. He rode over a swaying bridge of boats to the other side of the river, turned sharply to the left, and galloped in the direction of Kovno, preceded by horse guards, who were breathless with delight and enthusiasm, as they cleared the way before him. On reaching the broad river Niemen, he pulled up beside a regiment of Polish Uhlans on the bank.
“Vive l'Empereur!” the Poles shouted with the same enthusiasm, breaking their line and squeezing against each other to get a view of him. Napoleon looked up and down the river, got off his horse, and sat down on a log that lay on the bank. At a mute sign from him, they handed him the field-glass. He propped it on the back of a page who ran up delighted. He began looking at the other side, then, with absorbed attention, scrutinised the map that was unfolded on the logs. Without raising his head he said something, and two of his adjutants galloped off to the Polish Uhlans.
“What? what did he say?” was heard in the ranks of the Polish Uhlans as an adjutant galloped up to them. They were commanded to look for a fording-place and to cross to the other side. The colonel of the Polish Uhlans, a handsome old man, flushing red and stammering from excitement, asked the adjutant whether he would be permitted to swim across the river with his men instead of seeking for a ford. In obvious dread of a refusal, like a boy asking permission to get on a horse, he asked to be allowed to swim across the river before the Emperor's eyes. The adjutant replied that probably the Emperor would not be displeased at this excess of zeal.
No sooner had the adjutant said this than the old whiskered officer, with happy face and sparkling eyes, brandished his sabre in the air shouting “Vive l'Empereur!” and commanding his men to follow him, he set spurs to his horse and galloped down to the river. He gave a vicious thrust to his horse, that floundered under him, and plunged into the water, making for the most rapid part of the current. Hundreds of Uhlans galloped in after him. It was cold and dangerous in the middle in the rapid current. The Uhlans clung to one another, falling off their horses. Some of the horses were drowned, some, too, of the men; the others struggled to swim across, some in the saddle, others clinging to their horse's manes. They tried to swim straight across, and although there was a ford half a verst away they were proud to be swimming and drowning in the river before the eyes of that man sitting on the log and not even looking at what they were doing. When the adjutant, on going back, chose a favourable moment and ventured to call the Emperor's attention to the devotion of the Poles to his person, the little man in the grey overcoat got up, and summoning Berthier, he began walking up and down the bank with him, giving him instructions, and casting now and then a glance of displeasure at the drowning Uhlans who had interrupted his thoughts.
It was no new conviction for him that his presence in any quarter of the earth, from Africa to the steppes of Moscow, was enough to impress men and impel them to senseless acts of self-sacrifice. He sent for his horse and rode back to his bivouac.
Forty Uhlans were drowned in the river in spite of the boats sent to their assistance. The majority struggled back to the bank from which they had started. The colonel, with several of his men, swam across the river and with difficulty clambered up the other bank. But as soon as they clambered out in drenched and streaming clothes they shouted “Vive l'Empereur!” looking ecstatically at the place where Napoleon had stood, though he was no longer there, and at that moment thought themselves happy.
In the evening between giving two orders—one for hastening the arrival of the counterfeit rouble notes that had been prepared for circulation in Russia, and the other for shooting a Saxon who had been caught with a letter containing a report on the disposition of the French army—Napoleon gave a third order for presenting the colonel, who had quite unnecessarily flung himself in the river, the order of the Légion d'Honneur, of which he was himself the head. Quos vult perdere, dementat.
五月二十九日，拿破仑离开逗留了三个星期的德累斯顿，在那里，亲王、公爵、国王，甚至还有一个皇帝在他周围组成了一个宫廷。临走之前，拿破仑亲切抚慰那些值得关怀的亲王、国王和皇帝，对那些他不满意的国王和亲王予以申斥，他把自己私有的，也就是从其他的国王那里拿来的珍珠和钻石送给奥国皇后并温柔地拥抱玛丽亚·路易莎皇后。正如他的历史学家所说，他留给她伤心的别离生活，她——这个叫玛丽亚·路易莎的女人，他把她当作妻子，尽管他在巴黎另有妻室——好像不能忍受。虽然外交家们仍坚信和平的可能性并为达到此目的而孜改不倦地努力工作，虽然拿破仑皇帝亲自给亚历山大皇帝写信，称他为Mon－sieur　mon　frère①并诚恳地保证他不希望战争，他永远爱他，尊敬他——可他仍动身追赶军队，每到一站都发出新的命令，催促军队由西向东快速挺进。他坐着套着六匹马的四轮旅行轿式马车，在一群少年侍从、副官和卫队的簇拥下，沿着通往波森、托仑、但泽和肯尼斯堡的大道向前进发。每到一个城市都有成千上万的人怀着激动欣喜的心情迎接他。 
军队由西向东推进，而他也乘坐着替换的六套马车由西向东奔驰。六月十日，他赶上了军队，在维尔科维斯基森林——一座以波兰伯爵命名的庄园中人们为他准备的住处里过夜。
第二天，拿破仑乘坐四轮马车，越过军队，抵达涅曼河，为了察看渡河地点，他换上波兰制服，来到河岸上。
看到河对岸的哥萨克（Les　Cosaques）和广阔的草原（Lessteppes），就在那片草原的中央是Moscou　la　ville　sainte②就像斯基夫斯基一样，那是亚历山大·马其顿去过的那个国家的首都——拿破仑下令进攻。无论从战略上还是外交上考虑，这都事与愿违，出人意料之外，第二天，他的军队开始横渡涅曼河。 
①法语：陛下，我的兄弟（仁兄大人）。
②法语：莫斯科圣城。
十二日一大早，他走出那天搭在涅曼河左岸陡崖上的帐篷，用望远镜眺望从维尔科维森林涌出的由自己的军队组成的洪流，注入到架设在涅曼河上的三座浮桥上。部队官兵知道皇帝来了，他们用眼睛寻找他，而当发现山上帐篷前面一个远离随从们的身穿常礼服的戴着帽子的人影时，都把自己的帽子抛向空中，高呼：“Vive　I'Empereur！”①于是，一个接一个，川流不息地从一直隐蔽他们的大森林里涌出来，散开，沿着三座浮桥穿越到河对岸。 
①法语：皇帝万岁！
“是皇帝吗？哦！他亲自出马，事情可来劲了。现在我们出发了！真的……那就是他……皇帝万岁！噍，亚细亚草原……可那是一个讨厌的国家。再见，波塞。我会在莫斯科留一个最好的宫殿，如果人们选我作印度总督，我将封你作克什米尔大臣……万岁！那就是皇帝！你看见他了吗？我见过他两次，就像现在看见你一样。一个小军士……我见过他给一个老兵戴十字勋章……皇帝万岁！”年老人和年轻人的声音交谈着，他们的性格各异，社会地位极不相同。在所有这些人的脸上都有一种共同的表情，那就是对久已期待的征战终于开始的喜悦和对那个站在山头、身穿灰色常礼服的人的狂热和忠诚。
六月十三日，人们为拿破仑牵来一匹不大的阿拉伯纯种马。他骑上马就奔向一座横架在涅曼河上的浮桥，河畔不断响起狂热的欢呼声，显然，他之所以能忍受这些欢呼只是因为他无法禁止人们用这种呼声来表达对他的爱戴；但这些到处伴随他的欢呼声使他苦恼，使他不能专心考虑自他来到军队就萦绕心头的军事问题。他驰过一座用小船搭成的浮桥，到达河对岸，然后急转弯向左，朝着科夫诺方向飞奔，他的那些兴高采烈、乐得透不过气来的近卫猎骑兵疾驰在他前面为他在部队中开出一条通道。奔到宽阔的维利亚河，他在波兰枪骑兵团附近停下来。
“万岁！”波兰人也热烈地呼喊起来，他们乱了队形，你拥我挤地想要看见他。拿破仑仔细观察那条河，然后下了马，在河岸上一根圆木上坐下来。他默默地一挥手，有人递上一副望远镜，他把望远镜放在一个欢欢喜喜跑过来的少年侍从的背上，开始察看河对岸。然后他埋头细看摊在几根圆木之间的地图。他头也不抬地说了句什么，他的两个副官就向波兰枪骑兵驰去。“什么？他说什么？”当一个副官驰到波兰枪骑兵跟前，在队伍里可以听到这些声音。
命令寻觅一个过河的浅滩，波兰枪骑兵上校，涨红着脸，激动得语无伦次。一位相貌堂堂的老人，向副官请求是否允许他不用找浅滩就带领自己的枪骑兵泅水过河。他像一个请求允许骑马的小孩似的，生怕遭到拒绝，期望当着皇帝的面游过河去。副官说，皇帝大概反感这种过分的忠诚。
副官语音一落，这位胡髭浓密的老军官喜形于色，两眼发亮，高举军刀，大呼“万岁！”于是命令枪骑兵跟他走。他用马刺刺了一个马，就朝河边驰去。他凶狠地猛撞坐下踌躇不前的马，扑通一声跳入水中，游向急流深处。几百名枪骑兵都随后跳进水里，河中央和急流又冷又可怕。枪骑兵们互相抓挠，纷纷从马上掉入水中。一些马淹死了，而人也淹死了。余下的奋力向前游向河对岸，虽然半（俄）里外就有一个渡口，他们仍以在那个人的注视下泅水过河和淹死在这条河里为骄傲，而那个坐在圆木上的人甚至连看也没有看他们做了些什么。当那个副官回来后，找了一个适当的时机提请皇帝注意波兰人对皇帝的忠心，这位身着灰色常礼服的小个子站起来，把贝尔蒂埃叫到身边，与他一起在河岸漫步，给他下达指示，偶尔也不满意地望望那些分散他注意力的淹死的枪骑兵。
对他来说早已有一种信念：他发现他在世界所有地方，从非洲到莫斯科维亚草原，都同样会令人大大吃惊，使人们陷入忘我的疯狂状态。他招来自己的座骑，骑上马驰回自己的驻地去了。
虽然派去了救助的船，仍有约四十名枪骑兵淹死了。大多数人被河水冲回到原来的岸边。上校和几个人游过了河，艰难地爬上对岸。但他们刚一上岸，湿透的军服还滴着晶晶的水流，就高呼：“万岁！”神情激动地望着那个拿破仑站过而现在已经离开的地方，那时他们认为自己很幸福。
傍晚，拿破仑发布了两道命令：一是命令尽快把已准备好的伪造的俄罗斯纸币送来以便输入俄罗斯，一是命令枪毙一个撒克逊人，因为在截获的他的一封信里有关于向法国军队发布的命令的情报，而后又发布了第三道命令——把那个毫不必要游过河的波兰上校编入拿破仑自任团长的荣誉团（Légion　d'honneur）。
Quos　vult　perdere——dementat．① 
①法语：要谁毁灭——先使其失去理智。
Book 9 Chapter 3
THE RUSSIAN EMPEROR had meanwhile been spending more than a month in Vilna, holding reviews and inspecting man?uvres. Nothing was in readiness for the war, which all were expecting, though it was to prepare for it that the Tsar had come from Petersburg. There was no general plan of action. The vacillation between all the plans that were proposed and the inability to fix on any one of them, was more marked than ever after the Tsar had been for a month at headquarters. There was a separate commander-in-chief at the head of each of the three armies; but there was no commander with authority over all of them, and the Tsar did not undertake the duties of such a commander-in-chief himself.
The longer the Tsar stayed at Vilna, the less ready was the Russian army for the war, which it had grown weary of expecting. Every effort of the men who surrounded the Tsar seemed to be devoted to making their sovereign spend his time pleasantly and forget the impending war.
Many balls and fêtes were given by the Polish magnates, by members of the court, and by the Tsar himself; and in the month of June it occurred to one of the Polish generals attached to the Tsar's staff that all the generals on the staff should give a dinner and a ball to the Tsar. The suggestion was eagerly taken up. The Tsar gave his consent. The generals on the staff subscribed the necessary funds. The lady who was most likely to please the Tsar's taste was selected as hostess for the ball. Count Bennigsen, who had land in the Vilna province, offered his house in the outskirts for this fête, and the 13th of June was the day fixed for a ball, a dinner, with a regatta and fireworks at Zakreta, Count Bennigsen's suburban house.
On the very day on which Napoleon gave the order to cross the Niemen, and the vanguard of his army crossed the Russian frontier, driving back the Cossacks, Alexander was at the ball given by the generals on his staff at Count Bennigsen's house.
It was a brilliant and festive entertainment. Connoisseurs declared that rarely had so many beauties been gathered together at one place. Countess Bezuhov, who had been among the Russian ladies who had followed the Tsar from Petersburg to Vilna, was at that ball, her heavy, Russian style of beauty—as it is called—overshadowing the more refined Polish ladies. She was much noticed, and the Tsar had deigned to bestow a dance upon her.
Boris Drubetskoy, who had left his wife at Moscow, and was living “en gar?on,” as he said, at Vilna, was also at that ball; and although he was not a general on the staff, he had subscribed a large sum to the ball. Boris was now a wealthy man who had risen to high honours. He no longer sought patronage, but was on an equal footing with the most distinguished men of his age. At Vilna he met Ellen, whom he had not seen for a long while. As Ellen was enjoying the good graces of a very important personage indeed, and Boris had so recently been married, they made no allusion to the past, but met as good-natured, old friends.
At midnight dancing was still going on. Ellen happening to have no suitable partner had herself proposed a mazurka to Boris. They were the third couple. Boris was looking coldly at Ellen's splendid bare shoulders, which rose out of her dress of dark gauze and gold, and was talking to her of old acquaintances, and yet though others and himself too were unaware of it, he never for a second ceased observing the Tsar who was in the same room. The Tsar was not dancing; he was standing in the doorway, stopping one person after the other with the gracious words he alone knew how to utter.
At the beginning of the mazurka, Boris saw that a general of the staff, Balashov, one of the persons in closest attendance on the Tsar, went up to him, and, regardless of court etiquette, stopped close to him, while he conversed with a Polish lady. After saying a few words to the lady, the Tsar glanced inquiringly at Balashov, and apparently seeing that he was behaving like this only because he had weighty reasons for doing so, he gave the lady a slight nod and turned to Balashov. The Tsar's countenance betrayed amazement, as soon as Balashov had begun to speak. He took Balashov's arm and walked across the room with him, unconsciously clearing a space of three yards on each side of him as people hastily drew back. Boris noticed the excited face of Araktcheev as the Tsar walked up the room with Balashov. Araktcheev, looking from under his brows at the Tsar, and sniffing with his red nose, moved forward out of the crowd as though expecting the Tsar to apply to him. (Boris saw that Araktcheev envied Balashov and was displeased at any important news having reached the Tsar not through him.) But the Tsar and Balashov walked out by the door into the lighted garden, without noticing Araktcheev. Araktcheev, holding his sword and looking wrathfully about him, followed twenty paces behind them.
Boris went on performing the figures of the mazurka, but he was all the while fretted by wondering what the news could be that Balashov had brought, and in what way he could find it out before other people. In the figure in which he had to choose a lady, he whispered to Ellen that he wanted to choose Countess Pototsky, who had, he thought, gone out on to the balcony, and gliding over the parquet, he flew to the door that opened into the garden, and seeing the Tsar and Balashov coming into the verandah, he stood still there. The Tsar and Balashov moved towards the door. Boris, with a show of haste, as though he had not time to move away, squeezed respectfully up to the doorpost and bowed his head. The Tsar in the tone of a man resenting a personal insult was saying:
“To enter Russia with no declaration of war! I will consent to conciliation only when not a single enemy under arms is left in my country,” he said.
It seemed to Boris that the Tsar liked uttering these words: he was pleased with the form in which he had expressed his feelings, but displeased at Boris overhearing them.
“Let nobody know of it!” the Tsar added, frowning.
Boris saw that this was aimed at him, and closing his eyes, inclined his head a little. The Tsar went back to the ballroom, and remained there another half hour.
Boris was the first person to learn the news that the French troops had crossed the Niemen; and, thanks to that fact, was enabled to prove to various persons of great consequence, that much that was hidden from others was commonly known to him, and was thereby enabled to rise even higher than before in the opinion of those persons.
The astounding news of the French having crossed the Niemen seemed particularly unexpected from coming after a month's uninterrupted expectation of it, and arriving at a ball! At the first moment of amazement and resentment on getting the news, Alexander hit on the declaration that has since become famous—a declaration which pleased him and fully expressed his feelings. On returning home after the ball at two o'clock in the night, the Tsar sent for his secretary, Shishkov, and told him to write a decree to the army and a rescript to Field-Marshal Prince Saltykov; and he insisted on the words being inserted that he would never make peace as long as one Frenchman under arms remained in Russia.
The next day the following letter was written to Napoleon:
MONSIEUR MON FRèRE,—I learnt yesterday that in spite of the loyalty with which I have kept my engagements with your Majesty, your troops have crossed the frontiers of Russia, and I have this moment received from Petersburg the note in which Count Lauriston informs me as cause of this invasion that your majesty considers us to be in hostile relations ever since Prince Kurakin asked for his passport. The causes on which the Duc de Bassano based his refusal to give these passports would never have led me to suppose that the action of my ambassador could serve as a ground for invasion. And, indeed, he received no authorisation from me in his action, as has been made known by him; and as soon as I heard of it I immediately expressed my displeasure to Prince Kurakin, commanding him to perform the duties entrusted to him as before. If your majesty is not inclined to shed the blood of your subjects for such a misunderstanding, and if you consent to withdraw your troops from Russian territory, I will pass over the whole incident unnoticed, and agreement between us will be possible. In the opposite case, I shall be forced to repel an invasion which has been in no way provoked on my side. Your Majesty has it in your power to preserve humanity from the disasters of another war.—I am, etc.,
俄罗斯皇帝此时已住在维尔纳，一个多月都在视察和检阅军队大演习。这场战争人人都预料到，皇帝也专为此从彼得堡来，对于战争却什么也没有准备，没有确定一个总体行动计划。被提出的所有计划中应选定哪一个本就举棋不定，在皇帝光临大本营一个月后还更加犹豫不决。三支军队中每支各有自己的总司令，但可统帅所有军队的总指挥官却没有，而皇帝自己也没有担任这个官衔。 
皇帝在维尔纳住得越久，人们对应付等待得厌烦的战争的准备却越少。原来，皇帝周围的人所作的一切只是要皇帝过得快活，使他忘掉面临的战争。
波兰的达官贵人、朝臣以及皇帝本人举行了许多大型舞会和庆祝活动后，六月里，皇帝的一位波兰侍从武官想起要代表皇帝的侍从武官（以侍从武官的名义）为皇帝举办宴会和舞会。这个提议被大家愉快地采纳了，皇帝也表示同意。侍从武官们按认捐名单筹集所需经费。一位最受皇帝青睐的女人被邀请来做舞会的女主持人。伯尼格森伯爵，一位维尔纳省的地主，为这次庆祝会提供了他自己郊外的别墅，这样，六月十三日，在伯尼格森伯爵的郊外别野扎克列特举行舞会、宴会、划船赛和焰火晚会的事被定下来。
就在同一天，拿破仑发出横渡涅曼河的命令，他的先头部队逼退哥萨克，越过俄罗斯边界，而亚历山大却在伯尼格森的别野他的侍从武官为他举行的大型舞会上欢度那个夜晚。
那真是一个快乐而辉煌的节日；内行们说在一个地方这么多美人聚在一起是少见的。别祖霍娃伯爵夫人是随皇帝从彼得堡到维尔纳来的俄罗斯贵妇之一，她也参加了这个舞会，她以自己被誉为俄罗斯美的庞大身躯使体态轻盈的波兰夫人们黯然失色，她很出众，连皇帝也与她跳了一曲。
鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊，一位把妻子丢在莫斯科而自称单身汉（en　garcon）的人，也参加了这次舞会，他虽然不是侍从武官，却也为舞会认捐了一大笔钱。现在鲍里斯早已成为一位显赫的富翁，他已用不着寻求庇护，而是与那些高贵的同辈们平起平坐了。
午夜十二时，人们还在跳舞。海伦没有合适的舞伴，就自己邀请鲍里斯跳了一曲玛祖尔卡舞。他们选第三对舞伴。鲍里斯冷漠地望着海伦那从绣金黑沙长衫露出的明艳的裸肩，议论着往日的熟人，同时，无论是他自己还是别人都没留意到，他没有一秒钟不在观察同一大厅里的皇帝。皇帝没有跳舞，他站在门边，不时叫住一些跳舞的人，对他们谈只有他一个人才会讲的亲切的话语。
玛祖尔卡舞刚开始时，鲍里斯看见皇帝的亲信之一，侍从武官巴拉瑟夫走向皇帝，他违背宫廷规矩，在正与一位波兰贵妇人谈话的皇帝近旁停下来。皇帝与那位贵妇人说了几句话，疑惑地看了他一眼，看来他明白巴拉瑟夫那样做只可能是有重要原因。他轻轻地向那贵妇人点点头，便转向巴拉瑟夫。巴拉瑟夫刚开始说话，皇帝脸上就露出吃惊的神情。他挽起巴拉瑟夫的手，与他一起穿过大厅，两旁的人不由地为他们让出一条约三俄丈宽的路来。鲍里斯发现，当皇帝同巴拉瑟夫经过时，阿拉克切耶夫脸上露出不安的神情。阿拉克切耶夫皱着眉望着皇帝，酒糟鼻子不时发出呼哧声，从人群中挤出来，仿佛料到皇帝会注意到他。鲍里斯明白了，阿拉克切耶夫嫉妒巴拉瑟夫，不满意那个虽然很重要的消息不经过他就奏知了皇帝。
但是皇帝挽着巴拉瑟夫没有注意阿拉克切耶夫，他们穿过大厅出口走进了灯火辉煌的花园。阿拉克切耶夫手扶佩刀，忿忿地张望着自己的周围，在他们身后跟着走了二十多步。而鲍里斯却继续跳了几轮玛祖尔卡舞，但心里却不住苦苦思索巴拉瑟夫带来的是什么消息，他是用什么方式比别人先探听到这消息的。
在应该他挑选舞伴的那一局，他低声对海伦说，他想请波托茨卡娅小姐跳一曲，这位小姐好像去了阳台，而后他的脚滑过镶木地板，向通往花园的门口跑去，他看见皇帝和巴拉瑟夫走向露台，就站了一会儿。皇帝和巴拉瑟夫一起向门口来。鲍里斯仿佛来不及躲避似的，慌忙恭恭敬敬地紧靠门框低下头来。
皇帝怀着一个身受侮辱的人的激动不安的心情，说出下面的话：
“不宣而战就进入俄罗斯！只要还有一个武装的敌人留在我的国土上，我就决不讲和。”他说。正如鲍里斯所感觉的那样，皇帝说出这些话很痛快：他很满意自己表达思想的方式，但是却不满意鲍里斯听到他的话。
“不要让任何人知道！”皇帝皱着眉头补充道。鲍里斯明白这是对他说的，于是，就闭上眼睛，微微低下头。皇帝又走进大厅，在舞会上又逗留了近半小时。
鲍里斯第一个了解到法国军队渡过涅曼河的消息，这样，他就有机会向一些要人炫耀别人不知道而他常知道的许多事情，也正如此，他有机会在这些人的心目中抬高自己。
法国军队横渡涅曼河的意外消息在人们原来预期的时间一个月后传来，且是在舞会上听到就更让人感到意外了！最初，接到消息的皇帝由于气愤和屈辱说出了后来成为名言的那句话，这句话他自己也很喜欢，它充分表达了他的感情。从舞会上回去后，皇帝在凌晨两点钟召见秘书希什科夫，吩咐他给军队写了一道命令，并给大元帅萨尔特科夫下了一道圣谕，他要求在命令中一定要加入“只要还有一个武装的法国人还留在俄罗斯土地上，他就决不讲和”这句话。
第二天，他给拿破仑写了下面这封信。
（法文：略）① 
①皇帝仁兄大人！虽然对陛下所负的义务，我信守不渝，但昨天我得悉您的军队越过了俄国边境，直到现时我才收到从彼得堡送来的通牒，洛里斯东伯爵在谈到这次进犯，引用通牒的话对我说，自从库拉金公爵申请自己的护照时起，陛下就认为您和我彼此都怀有恶感。巴萨那公爵拒发护照所持的种种理由使我万万想不到，我国大使申请护照这一行动竟成为入侵的借口。实际上，正如那位大使所声明的，我并未授权他提出那个申请；我一得悉这个消息，就立即对库拉金公爵表示了我的不满，命令他照旧履行他的职务。如果陛下不愿为这类误会而让两国人民流血，同意从俄罗斯领土撤出贵国军队，我一定不介意过去所发生的一切，我们之间还是可以和解。否则，对于完全不由我方挑起的进攻，我方将被迫奋起反击。陛下，您仍有可能使人类避免新的战争灾难。
Book 9 Chapter 4
AT TWO O'CLOCK in the night of the 13th of June, the Tsar sent for Balashov, and, reading him his letter to Napoleon, commanded him to go in person and give the letter to the French Emperor. As he dismissed Balashov, he repeated to him his declaration that he would never make peace as long as a single enemy under arms remained on Russian soil, and told him to be sure to repeat those words to Napoleon. The Tsar had not inserted them in his letter to Napoleon, because, with his characteristic tact, he felt those words would be inappropriate at the moment when the last efforts were being made for conciliation; but he expressly charged Balashov to repeat that message by word of mouth to Napoleon.
Balashov rode out on the night between the 13th and the 14th, accompanied by a trumpeter and two Cossacks; and at dawn he reached the French outposts at the village of Rykonty on the Russian side of the Niemen. He was stopped by the sentinels of the French cavalry.
A French subaltern of hussars, in a crimson uniform and a fur cap, shouted to Balashov to stop. Balashov did not immediately obey, but went on advancing along the road at a walking pace.
The subaltern, with scowls and muttered abuse, swooped down upon Balashov, drew his sword, and shouted rudely to the Russian general: “Was he deaf that he did not hear when he was spoken to?” Balashov gave him his name. The subaltern sent a soldier to his superior officer.
Paying no further attention to Balashov, the subaltern began talking with his comrades about regimental matters, without looking at the Russian general. It was an exceedingly strange sensation for Balashov, who was used at all times to the dignities of his position, was always in contact with the highest power and authority, and only three hours before had been conversing with the Tsar, to be brought here on Russian soil into collision with this hostile, and still more, disrespectful display of brute force.
The sun was only beginning to rise behind storm-clouds, the air was fresh and dewy. A herd of cattle was being driven along the road from the village. Larks sprang up trilling one after another in the fields, like bubbles rising to the surface of water.
Balashov looked about him, awaiting the arrival of the officer from the village. The Russian Cossacks and trumpeter and the French hussars looked at one another now and then in silence.
A French colonel of hussars, evidently only just out of bed, came riding out of the village on a handsome, sleek, grey horse, accompanied by two hussars. The officers, the soldiers, and the horses all looked smart and well satisfied.
In this early stage of the campaign the troops were well in a state of good discipline, in good, almost parade, order, and engaged in peaceful pursuits, with a shade of martial swagger in their dress, and a shade of gaiety and spirit of adventure in their temper that always accompanies the commencement of a war.
The French colonel had much ado to suppress his yawns, but was courteous in his manner, and evidently understood all the importance of Balashov's position. He led him past the line of outposts, and informed him that his desire to be presented to the Emperor would in all probability immediately be satisfied, as the Emperor's quarters were, he believed, not far off.
They rode through the village of Rykonty, past French picket ropes, sentinels, and soldiers, who saluted their colonel and stared with curiosity at the Russian uniform. They came out on the other side of the village, and the colonel told Balashov that they were only two kilometres from the commander of the division, who would receive him and conduct him to his destination.
The sun had by now fully risen and was shining cheerfully on the bright green fields.
They had just passed an inn and were riding uphill when a party of horsemen came riding downhill towards them. The foremost figure was a tall man, in a hat with plumes, mounted on a raven horse, with trappings glittering in the sun. He had a scarlet cloak, and curly black hair, that floated on his shoulders, and he rode in the French fashion, with his long legs thrust out in front. This personage galloped towards Balashov, with his jewels and gold lace and feathers all fluttering and glittering in the bright June sun.
Balashov was some ten yards from this majestically theatrical figure in bracelets, feathers, necklaces, and gold, when Julner, the French colonel, whispered to him reverentially, “The King of Naples!” It was in fact Murat, who was now styled the “King of Naples.” Though it was utterly incomprehensible that he should be the King of Naples, he was addressed by that title, and was himself persuaded of his royal position, and consequently behaved with an air of greater solemnity and dignity than heretofore. So firmly did he believe that he really was the King of Naples, that when, just before leaving Naples, he was greeted by some Italians with shouts of “Long live the King!” when walking in the streets with his wife, he turned to her with a pensive smile and said, “Poor fellows, they don't know I am quitting them to-morrow.”
But though he believed so implicitly that he was King of Naples, and sympathised with his subjects' grief at losing him, after he had been commanded to return to the service, and especially after his interview with Napoleon at Danzig, when his most august brother-in-law had said, “I have made you king that you may rule in my way, and not in your own,” he had cheerfully resumed his familiar duties; and, like a well-fed, but not over-fed stallion feeling himself in harness, prancing in the shafts, and decked out in all possible motley magnificence, he went galloping along the roads of Poland, with no notion where or why he was going.
On seeing the Russian general he made a royal, majestic motion of his head with his floating curls, and looked inquiringly at the French colonel. The colonel deferentially informed his majesty of the mission of Balashov, whose name he could not pronounce. “De Bal-macheve!” said the King, resolutely attacking and vanquishing the colonel's difficulty. “Charmed to make your acquaintance, general,” he added, with a gesture of royal condescension. As soon as the King spoke loudly and rapidly, all his royal dignity instantly deserted him, and, without himself being aware of it, he passed into the tone of good-humoured familiarity natural to him. He laid his hand on the forelock of Balashov's horse. “Well, general, everything looks like war,” he said, as it were regretting a circumstance on which he could not offer an opinion. “Your majesty,” answered Balashov, “the Emperor, my master, does not desire war, and as your majesty sees.” Balashov declined “your majesty” in all its cases, using the title with an affectation inevitable in addressing a personage for whom such a title was a novelty.
Murat's face beamed with foolish satisfaction as he listened to “Monsieur de Balacheff.” But royalty has its obligations. He felt it incumbent on him to converse with Alexander's envoy on affairs of state as a king and an ally. He dismounted, and taking Balashov's arm, and moving a little away from the suite, who remained respectfully waiting, he began walking up and down with him, trying to speak with grave significance. He mentioned that the Emperor Napoleon had been offended at the demand that his troops should evacuate Prussia, especially because that demand had been made public, and was so derogatory to the dignity of France. Balashov said that there was nothing derogatory in that demand, seeing that…Murat interrupted him.
“So you consider that the Emperor Alexander is not responsible for the commencement of hostilities?” he said suddenly, with a foolish and good-humoured smile.
Balashov began to explain why he did consider that Napoleon was responsible for the war.
“Ah, my dear general,” Murat interrupted him again, “with all my heart I wish that the Emperors would settle the matter between themselves; and that the war, which has been begun by no desire of mine, may be concluded as quickly as possible,” he said in the tone in which servants speak who are anxious to remain on friendly terms though their masters have quarrelled. And he changed the subject; inquiring after the health of the Grand Duke, and recalling the agreeable time he had spent with him in Naples. Then suddenly, as though recollecting his royal dignity, Murat drew himself up majestically, threw himself into the pose in which he had stood at his coronation, and waving his right arm, said: “I will detain you no longer, general; I wish you success in your mission.” And, with a flutter of his scarlet cloak and his feathers, and a flash of his precious stones, he rejoined the suite, who were respectfully awaiting him.
Balashov rode on further, expecting from Murat's words that he would be very shortly brought before Napoleon himself. But at the next village he was detained by the sentinels of Davoust's infantry corps, just as he had been at the outposts. An adjutant of the commander of that corps was sent for to conduct him to the village to see Marshal Davoust.
六月十三日深夜二点钟，皇帝召来巴拉瑟夫，向他读了自己写给拿破仑的信后，命令将此信亲手送交法国皇帝。在派遣巴拉瑟夫时，皇帝又一次给他重述那句话，只要还有一个武装的敌人还留在俄罗斯土地上，他就不讲和，命令巴拉瑟夫一定要向拿破仑转达这句话。皇帝在给拿破仑的信中没有写这句话，是因为他以其处事态度，觉得在进行和解尝试时，讲这些话是不合适的；但他命令巴拉瑟夫一定要亲自向拿破仑转达这句话。 
十三日夜里，巴拉瑟夫带一名号手和两名哥萨克出发了，拂晓前到达涅曼河右岸法军前哨阵地雷孔特村，他被法军骑哨拦住了。
一位身穿深红色制服，头戴毛茸茸的帽子的骠骑兵士官（军士）喝令走近的巴拉瑟夫站住。巴拉瑟夫并没有马上停下来，而是继续沿着道路缓步行进。
军士皱着眉头，嘟嘟囔囔地骂了一句，提马将巴拉瑟夫挡住，他手握军刀，粗暴地喝斥俄罗斯将军，问他：是不是聋子，听不见对他说的话。巴拉瑟夫通报了自己的身份。军士派了一名士兵去找军官。
士官再也不理巴拉瑟夫，开始与同事们谈论自己团队的事，看也不看俄罗斯将军。
巴拉瑟夫一向接近最高权势，三小时前还与皇帝谈过话，由于自己所处地位，已经习惯于受人尊敬。而现在在俄罗斯领土上，遇到这种敌对的态度，主要的是对他如此粗暴无礼，这使他不胜惊奇。
太阳刚一从乌云后升起，空气清新，满含湿露。人们已把畜群从村里赶到大路上。云雀唱着嘹亮的歌，像泉水的泡珠似的一个接一个，扑棱棱地从田野里腾空而起。
巴拉瑟夫一边等候着从村里来的军官，一边环顾自己周围。俄罗斯哥萨克和号手与法国骠骑兵也不时默默地互相打量着对方。
一位法国骠骑兵上校，看样子刚起床，骑着一匹漂亮的肥壮的大灰马，带着两位骠骑兵从村里出来了。无论是那军官，还是士兵，或是他们的坐骑，都是得意洋洋和炫耀阔绰的样子。
军队还有和平时期的整齐的军容，几乎像和平时期准备检阅似的，只是服装上带有耀武扬威和开战之初常有的那种兴奋和精明强干的神情。这便是战争初期。
法国上校竭力忍住打哈欠，但却很有礼貌，看来，他明白巴拉瑟夫的全部意思在那里。他领着巴拉瑟夫绕过自己的士兵到散兵线后方，并告知他说，他要得见皇帝的愿望大概马上就会实现，因为，据他所知，皇帝的住处就在不远处。
他们从法国骠骑兵的拴马地经过，从向自己的上校敬礼并且好奇地打量俄国军装的哨兵和士兵们旁边穿过雷孔特村庄，走到村子的另一边。据上校说，师长就在两公里远的地方，他会接待巴拉瑟夫，并送他到他要去的地方。
太阳已经升高了，欢乐地照耀着鲜绿的草木。
他们走到一家小酒馆后面刚要上山时，正好山脚下迎面出现一群骑马的人，为首的是一匹乌黑的马，马具在阳光下闪闪发亮，马上骑者身材高大，帽上插着羽毛，黑发垂肩，身穿红色斗篷状的礼服，像法国人骑马一样向前伸出两条长腿。这人策马疾驰，迎向巴拉瑟夫，帽上的羽毛、宝石、金色的衣饰在六月的阳光下闪亮和飘动。
当法国上校尤里涅尔恭恭敬敬地低声说：“Le　roi　de　Naples。”①时，巴拉瑟夫离那位向他奔来的骑马者只有约两马的距离了。那人有一副庄重的舞台面孔，带着手镯，项链，满身珠光宝气。果然，这就是那个称作那不勒斯王的缪拉。虽然为什么他是那不勒斯王完全是一件莫名其妙的事，但人们那样称呼他，而他本人也确信这一点，因此显出一副比以前更庄严和了不起的派头。他相信他真的是那不勒斯王，当他从那不勒斯出发的前一天，他与妻子在街上散步，几个意大利人向他叫喊：“Viva　il　re！”②他含着伤感的微笑转脸对妻子说：“Les　malheureux，il　ne　savent　pas　que　je　les　quitte　demain！”③ 
①法语：那不勒斯王。
②法语：国王万岁！
③法语：可怜的人们，他们不知道明天我就要离开他们了。
尽管他坚信他是那不勒斯王，对即将与之离别的臣民的悲伤觉得抱歉，但最近，在他奉命又回军队之后，特别是在丹泽（OHISUT）见到拿破仑之后，当至尊的舅子对他说：“je　vous　ai　fait　roi　pour　régner　à　ma　manière，mais　pas　à　la　voAtre”①，他愉快地从事起他熟悉的事业，像一匹上了膘，但却长得不太肥的马，感到自己被套起来，在车辕中撒欢，并打扮得尽可能的华贵，欢欢喜喜，得意洋洋地沿着波兰的大道奔跑，而自己却不知道何处去和为什么。
一看见俄罗斯将军，他摆出国王的派头，威严地昂起垂肩黑发的头，疑问地看了看那位法国上校。上校毕恭毕敬地向他的陛下转达了巴拉瑟夫的使命，他对巴拉瑟夫的姓氏说不出来。
“巴里玛瑟夫！”国王说，用自己的坚决果断克服了上校的困难，“Charmé　de　faire　votre　connaissance，général，”②他又以王者宽厚仁慈的姿态补充道。国王刚一开始很快地大声讲话，他那王者的尊严霎时间消失得无影无踪，他不自觉地换用他固有的亲热的随和的腔调。他把自己的手放在巴拉瑟夫坐骑的鬣毛上。
“En　bien，général，tout　est　à　la　guerre，à　ce　pu'il　parait．”③他说，仿佛对他不能判断的局势表示遗憾似的。 
①法语：我立你为王是为了让你按我的方式而不是按你自己的方式来统治。
②法语：认识你，非常高兴，将军。
③法语：怎么样，将军，一切都好像要打仗的样子。
“Sire，”巴拉瑟夫答道“I'émpereur　mou　malAtre　ne　désire　point　la　guerre，et　comme　Votre　Majesté　le　voit，”①巴拉瑟夫说，他一口一个“Votre　majesté，②”这个尊号对于那个被称谓的人来说还是一件新鲜事，但如此多的使用这个尊号，就有点矫揉造作了。
听巴拉瑟夫先生讲话时，缪拉的脸上露出愚蠢的得意洋洋的神情。但royauté　oblige③，他觉得作为国王和同盟者有必要与亚历山大的使者谈谈国家大事。他翻身下马，挽着巴拉瑟夫的手臂，走到离恭候他的随从几步远的地方，一边漫步，一边尽可能有意义地谈话。他提到拿破仑皇帝对从普鲁士撤出军队的要求感到受了侮辱，特别是这种要求被搞得天下皆知，因此冒犯了法国的尊严。巴拉瑟夫说，这个要求毫无冒犯的地方，因为……缪拉打断了他的话：“那么，你认为主谋不是亚历山大皇帝吗？”他带着温和而愚蠢的微笑突然说道。
巴拉瑟夫说了为什么他确实认为拿破仑是战争的发动者。“Eh，mon　cher　général（啊，亲爱的将军）。”缪拉又一次打断他的话，“je　désire　de　tout　mon　coeur　que　les　empereurs　s'arrangent　entre　eux，et　que　la　guerre　commencée　malgré　moi　se　termine　le　plus　foAt　possible．”④他说这话用的是各自的主人们在争吵，却愿意友好相处的仆人谈话的腔调。接着他转而问起大公的情况，问起他的健康，并回忆起与他一起在拿不勒斯度过的愉快而开心的时光。随后，仿佛是猛然悟到自己的国王的尊严，缪拉庄重地挺直身子，摆出举行加冕礼时的姿态，挥动右手说道：“Je　ne　vous　retiens　plus，géneral；je　souhaite　le　succés　de　votre　mission．”⑤于是，他招展着他的绣花红斗篷和漂亮的羽毛，闪耀着全身的珠光宝气，到恭候他的随从那儿去了。 
①法语：陛下，俄罗斯皇帝并不希望打仗，陛下是知道的。
②法语：陛下。
③法语：为王者，有其应尽的义务。
④法语：啊，亲爱的将军，我衷心希望两国皇帝能够达成协议，尽早结束违反我意志的战争。
⑤法语：我不再耽误您了，将军；祝您顺利完成您的使命。
巴拉瑟夫继续骑马前进，据缪拉所说的话推测，很快就会见到拿破仑本人。但事与愿违，在下一个村子，他遇到拿破仑达乌步兵军团的哨兵，像在前沿散兵线遇到的情况一样，人们又一次截住他，被叫来的一个军长副官把他送到村里去见达乌元帅
Book 9 Chapter 5
DAVOUST was to the Emperor Napoleon what Araktcheev was to Alexander. Davoust was not like Araktcheev a coward, but he was as exacting and as cruel, and as unable to express his devotion except by cruelty.
In the mechanism of the state organism these men are as necessary as wolves in the organism of nature. And they are always to be found in every government; they always make their appearance and hold their own, incongruous as their presence and their close relations with the head of the state may appear. It is only on the theory of this necessity that one can explain the fact that a man so cruel—capable of pulling out grenadiers' moustaches with his own hand—though unable, from the weakness of his nerves, to face danger, so uncultured, so boorish as Araktcheev, was able to retain such influence with a sovereign of chivalrous tenderness and nobility of character like Alexander.
Balashov found Davoust sitting on a tub in a barn adjoining a peasant's hut. He was occupied in writing, auditing accounts. An adjutant was standing beside him. Better quarters could have been found, but Marshal Davoust was one of these people who purposely put themselves into the most dismal conditions of life in order to have a right to be dismal. For the same reason they always persist in being busy and in a hurry.
“How could one be thinking of the bright side of life when, as you see, I am sitting on a tub in a dirty barn, hard at work?” was what his face expressed.
The great desire and delight of such people on meeting others enjoying life is to throw their own gloomy, dogged activity into their faces. Davoust gave himself that satisfaction when Balashov was brought in. He appeared even more deeply engrossed in his work when the Russian general entered, and glancing through his spectacles at the face of Balashov, who looked cheerful from the brightness of the morning and his talk with Murat, he did not get up, did not stir even, but scowled more than before, and grinned malignantly.
Observing the disagreeable impression made on Balashov by this reception, Davoust raised his head, and asked him frigidly what he wanted.
Assuming that such a reception could only be due to Davoust's being unaware that he was a general on the staff of Alexander, and his representative indeed before Napoleon, Balashov hastened to inform him of his rank and his mission. But, contrary to his expectations, Davoust became even surlier and ruder on hearing Balashov's words.
“Where is your despatch?” he said. “Give it to me. I will send it to the Emperor.”
Balashov said that he was under orders to hand the document to the Emperor in person.
“The commands of your Emperor are obeyed in your army; but here,” said Davoust, “you must do what you are told.”
And, as though to make the Russian general still more sensible of his dependence on brute force, Davoust sent the adjutant for the officer on duty.
Balashov took out the packet that contained the Tsar's letter, and laid it on the table (a table consisting of a door laid across two tubs with the hinges still hanging on it). Davoust took the packet and read the address on it.
“You are perfectly at liberty to show me respect or not, as you please,” said Balashov. “But, permit me to observe that I have the honour to serve as a general on the staff of his majesty…”
Davoust glanced at him without a word, and plainly derived satisfaction from signs of emotion and confusion on Balashov's face.
“You will be shown what is fitting,” he said, and putting the envelope in his pocket he walked out of the barn.
A minute later an adjutant of the marshal's, Monsieur de Castre, came in and conducted Balashov to the quarters that had been assigned him.
He dined that day in the barn with the marshal, sitting down to the door laid across the tubs.
Next day Davoust went out early in the morning, but before starting he sent for Balashov, and told him peremptorily that he begged him to remain there, to move on with the baggage-waggons should the command be given to do so, and to have no conversation with any one but Monsieur de Castre.
After four days spent in solitude and boredom, with a continual sense of dependence and insignificance, particularly galling after the position of power which he had hitherto occupied, after several marches with the marshal's baggage and the French troops, who were in possession of the whole district, Balashov was brought back to Vilna, now occupied by the French, and re-entered the town by the very gate by which he had left it four days earlier.
Next day the Emperor's gentleman-in-waiting, Count de Turenne, came to Balashov with a message that it was the Emperor Napoleon's pleasure to grant him an audience.
Four days before sentinels of the Preobrazhensky regiment had been on guard before the very house to which Balashov was conducted. Now two French grenadiers were on duty before it, wearing fur caps and blue uniforms open over the breast, while an escort of hussars and Uhlans, and a brilliant suite of adjutants, pages, and generals were waiting for Napoleon to come out, forming a group round his saddle-horse at the steps and his Mameluke, Rustan. Napoleon received Balashov in the very house in Vilna from which Alexander had despatched him.
达乌是拿破仑皇帝手下的阿拉克切耶夫——阿拉克切耶夫不是懦夫（怕死鬼），但却是那种死板残酷，不残酷就无法表达自己的忠诚的人。在国家的组织机构中需要有这类人，正如自然界中需要豺狼一样。尽管他们的存在和接近政府首脑好像很不正常，但这类人常有，总是出现，经常存在。唯有这种必要性才能解释一个亲手扯掉掷弹兵胡子，神经衰弱得经受不住危险的残酷的人，一个没有教养，不是朝廷近臣的阿拉克切耶夫能在具有骑士般高尚和温存性格的亚历山大手下拥有如此大的权力。 
巴拉瑟夫在一间农民的棚屋里见到了达乌元帅，达乌坐在木桶上忙于案头工作（他正在查帐）。副官站在他身旁，本来可找到更好的住处，但达乌元帅却是一个那种故意（偏要）置身于最阴暗角落里，以便使其有权成为更阴森的人。为此这种人总是忙忙碌碌，辛苦操劳。“您瞧，在这间肮脏的棚屋里，我坐在木桶上工作，哪有人生幸福的想头呢！”他的脸上就是这么一副表情。这种人的主要乐趣和需要是：面对生命的活力，他更是把这种活力投入令人沉闷的持续不断的工作中去。当巴拉瑟夫被带进来时，达乌获得了这种乐趣。俄国将军进来时，他却更专心一意地作自己的事，他透过眼镜扫了一眼巴拉瑟夫那由于美丽早晨和与缪拉谈话的美好感受而生机勃勃的脸，他没有站起来，甚至动也没动一下，还把眉头皱得更紧，恶毒地冷冷一笑。
达乌发现由于他的这种接待，巴拉瑟夫面上露出不愉快的表情，于是抬起头来，冷冷地问他要干什么。
巴拉瑟夫认为他所以受到这样的接待，只能是因为达乌不知道他是亚历山大皇帝的高级侍从，甚至是皇帝的要面见拿破仑的代表，他连忙通报了自己的身份和使命。与他的期望相反，达乌听完后却更冷淡，更不礼貌了。
“您的公文包呢？”他说，“Donnez－le　moi，Je　l'enverBrai　à　lémpereur．”①
巴拉瑟夫说，他奉命要亲自把公文呈交皇帝本人。 
①法语：把它给我，我来送呈皇帝。
“您的皇帝的命令只能在您们的军队里执行，而在这里，”
达乌说，“叫您怎么做，您就应怎么办。”
好像是为了让俄罗斯将军更深地感觉到暴力支配，达乌派副官去找值班军官。
巴拉瑟夫取出装有皇帝信件的公文包，放到桌子上（所谓桌子，是放在两只木桶上的一扇门板，门板上面还竖立着被扯下的门环）。达乌取过公文，读着上面的字。
“您完全有权尊重我或不尊重我，”巴拉瑟夫说，“但是请您让我对您说，我荣任皇帝陛下高级侍从武官之职……”
达乌默默地看了他一眼，显然，巴拉瑟夫脸上表现出的一些激动和不安使达乌心满意足。
“您就会受到应有的尊重。”他说，把公文包放入衣袋中，走出棚屋。
过了一分钟，元帅的副官德·嗄斯特列先生走进来，把巴拉瑟夫领到为他准备的住处。
这天巴拉瑟夫与元帅一起就在棚屋里那张架在木桶上的门板上进餐。
第二天，达乌一大早把巴拉瑟夫请到自己那里，庄严地对他说，他请他留在这里，与行李车同行，如果未经吩咐，除德·嗄斯特列先生外，不准与其他任何人谈话。
在过了四天孤独、寂寞，感到受人支配和卑微的生活之后，特别是在不久前还生活于那种声势显赫的圈子，在跟随元帅的行李车和这个地区的法国占领军行进了几站路后，这种受人支配和卑微的感觉更强烈了。巴拉瑟夫被送到现已被法军占领的维尔纳，进了四天前他走出的那座城门。
第二天，皇帝的高级侍从杜伦冶爵来见巴拉瑟夫，转达他拿破仑皇帝愿意召见他。
四天前，巴拉瑟夫也被领进同一幢房子，那时房门外站着普列奥·布拉任斯基团的岗哨，现在却站着两名身穿敞襟蓝制服，头戴毛茸茸的皮帽的掷弹兵，此外还有恭候拿破仑出来的一队骠骑兵和枪骑兵，一群服饰华美的侍从武官、少年侍从以及将军们，这些人都站在台阶前拿破仑的坐骑和他的马木留克兵鲁斯坦周围。拿破仑就在维尔纳那座亚历山大曾派巴拉瑟夫出使的宅邸里接见巴拉瑟夫。
Book 9 Chapter 6
THOUGH BALASHOV was accustomed to the pomp of courts, he was impressed by the splendour and luxury of Napoleon's court.
Count de Turenne led him into the great reception-room, where a number of generals, gentlemen-in-waiting, and Polish magnates were waiting to see the Emperor. Many of them Balashov had seen at the court of the Russian Emperor. Duroc told him that the Emperor Napoleon would receive the Russian general before going out for his ride.
After a delay of several moments, a gentleman-in-waiting came into the great reception-room, and bowing courteously to Balashov, invited him to follow him.
Balashov went into the little reception-room, from which one door led to the study, the room where he had received the Russian Emperor's last charges before setting off. Balashov stood for a couple of minutes waiting. Hurried steps were audible through the door. Both halves of the door were swiftly thrown open, and in the complete stillness that followed other firm and resolute steps could be heard from the study: it was Napoleon. He had only just finished dressing for his ride. He was wearing a blue uniform, open over a white waistcoat, that came low down over his round belly, riding-boots, and white doeskin breeches, fitting tightly over his fat, short legs. His short hair had evidently just been brushed, but one lock hung down in the middle of his broad forehead. His plump, white neck stood out in sharp contrast to the black collar of his uniform; he smelt of eau-de-cologne. His still young-looking, full face, with its prominent chin, wore an expression of imperial graciousness and majestically condescending welcome.
He walked out with a quivering strut, his head thrown a little back. His whole stout, short figure, with his broad, fat shoulders and his prominent stomach and chest, had that imposing air of dignity common in men of forty who live in comfort. It was evident, too, that he happened that day to be in a particularly good humour.
He nodded in acknowledgment of Balashov's low and respectful bow, and going up to him, began to talk at once like a man who values every minute of his time, and will not deign to preface what he is going to say, as he is sure of always speaking well and saying the right thing.
“Good-day, general!” said he. “I have received the Emperor Alexander's letter that you brought, and I am very glad to see you.” He glanced at Balashov's face with his large eyes, and immediately looked past him.
It was obvious that he took no interest in Balashov's personality. It was plain that only what was passing in his soul had for him any interest. All that was outside him had no significance for him, because everything in the world depended, as he fancied, on his will.
“I do not, and did not, desire war,” he said, “but you have forced me to it. Even now” (he threw emphasis on the word) “I am ready to receive any explanations you can give me.” And he began briefly and clearly explaining the grounds of his displeasure with the Russian government.
Judging from the studiously composed and amicable tone of the French Emperor, Balashov was thoroughly persuaded that he was desirous of peace, and intended to enter into negotiations.
“Sire! The Emperor, my sovereign,” Balashov began, meaning to utter the speech he had prepared long before as soon as Napoleon had finished speaking, and looked inquiringly at him. But the look the Emperor turned upon him disconcerted him. “You are embarrassed; recover yourself,” Napoleon seemed to say, as with a hardly perceptible smile he scanned Balashov's sword and uniform. Balashov regained his composure, and began to speak. He said that the Emperor Alexander did not regard Kurakin's asking for his passport a sufficient cause for war; that Kurakin had acted on his own initiative without the Tsar's consent; that the Tsar did not desire war, and that he had no relations with England.
“Not as yet,” Napoleon put in, and as though afraid to abandon himself to his feelings, he frowned and nodded slightly as a sign to Balashov that he might continue.
After saying all he had been instructed to say, Balashov wound up by saying that the Emperor Alexander was desirous of peace, but that he would not enter into negotiations except upon condition that… At that point Balashov hesitated; he recollected words the Emperor Alexander had not written in his letter, but had insisted on inserting in the rescript to Saltykov, and had commanded Balashov to repeat to Napoleon. Balashov remembered those words: “As long as a single enemy under arms remains on Russian soil,” but some complicated feeling checked his utterance of them. He could not utter those words, though he tried to do so. He stammered, and said: “On condition the French troops retreat beyond the Niemen.”
Napoleon observed Balashov's embarrassment in the utterance of those last words: his face quivered, and the calf of his left leg began twitching rhythmically. Not moving from where he stood, he began speaking in a louder and more hurried voice than before. During the speech that followed Balashov could not help staring at the twitching of Napoleon's left leg, which grew more marked as his voice grew louder.
“I am no less desirous of peace than the Emperor Alexander,” he began. “Haven't I been doing everything for the last eighteen months to obtain it? For eighteen months I have been waiting for an explanation, but before opening negotiations, what is it that's required of me?” he said, frowning and making a vigorous gesticulation with his fat, little white hand.
“The withdrawal of the forces beyond the Niemen, sire,” said Balashov.
“Beyond the Niemen?” repeated Napoleon. “So now you want me to retreat beyond the Niemen—only beyond the Niemen?” repeated Napoleon, looking straight at Balashov.
Balashov bowed his head respectfully.
Four months before he had been asked to withdraw from Pomerania; now withdrawal beyond the Niemen was all that was required. Napoleon turned quickly away, and began walking up and down the room.
“You say that I am required to withdraw beyond the Niemen before opening negotiations; but two months ago I was required in the same way to withdraw beyond the Oder and the Vistula, and in spite of that you agree to enter into negotiations.”
He strode in silence from one corner of the room to the other and stopped again, facing Balashov. Balashov noticed that his left leg was twitching more rapidly than ever, and his face looked as though petrified in its stern expression. Napoleon was aware of this twitching. “The vibration of my left calf is a great sign with me,” he said in later days.
“Such demands as to retire beyond the Oder and the Vistula may be made to a prince of Baden, but not to me,” Napoleon almost screamed, quite to his own surprise. “If you were to give me Petersburg and Moscow I wouldn't accept such conditions. You say: I began the war. But who was the first to join his army? The Emperor Alexander, and not I. And you offer me negotiations when I have spent millions, when you are in alliance with England, and when your position is weak—you offer me negotiations! What is the object of your alliance with England? What has it given you?” he asked hurriedly. The motive of his words was obviously now not to enlarge on the benefits of peace and to consider its possibility, but simply to prove his own rectitude, and his own power, and point out the duplicity and the errors of Alexander.
He had plainly intended in entering on this conversation to point out the advantages of his own position, and to signify that in spite of them he would entertain the proposal of negotiations. But he had begun talking, and the more he talked the less able was he to control the tenor of his words.
The whole gist of his words now was obviously to glorify himself and to insult Alexander, precisely what he had least intended doing at the beginning of the interview.
“I am told you have concluded a peace with the Turks?”
Balashov bent his head affirmatively. “Peace has been concluded…” he began. But Napoleon did not allow him to speak. He clearly did not wish any one to speak but himself, and he went on with the unrestrained volubility and irritability to which people spoilt by success are so prone. “Yes, I know you have made peace with the Turks without gaining Moldavia and Wallachia. I would have given your Emperor those provinces just as I gave him Finland. Yes,” he went on, “I promised, and would have given the Emperor Alexander Moldavia and Wallachia, but now he will not possess those fair provinces. He might have united them to his empire, however, and he would have enlarged the frontiers of Russia from the Gulf of Bothnia to the mouth of the Danube. Catherine the Great could have done no more,” Napoleon declared, growing hotter and hotter as he walked up and down the room, and repeated to Balashov almost the words he had used to Alexander himself at Tilsit. “All that he would have owed to my friendship. Ah, what a fine reign! what a fine reign might have been that of the Emperor Alexander. Oh, what a grand reign,” he repeated several times. He stopped, took a gold snuffbox out of his pocket, and greedily put it to his nose.
He turned a commiserating glance on Balashov, and as soon as he would have made some observation, he hurriedly interrupted him again.
“What could he desire and look for that he would not have gained from my friendship?…” said Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders with an air of perplexity. “No, he has thought better to surround himself with my enemies. And with whom?” he went on. “He has gathered round him the Steins, the Armfeldts, the Bennigsens, the Wintzengerodes. Stein is a traitor, driven out of his own country; Armfeldt an intriguing debauchee; Wintzengerode a renegade French subject; Bennigsen is, indeed, rather more of a soldier than the rest, but still he's incompetent; he could do nothing in 1807, and I should have thought he must recall painful memories to the Emperor Alexander.… Even supposing he might make use of them if they were competent,” Napoleon went on, his words hardly able to keep pace with the rush of ideas that proved to him his right or his might (which to his mind meant the same), “but they are not even that! They are no use for war or for peace! Barclay, I'm told, is more capable than all of them, but I shouldn't say so, judging from his first man?uvres. And what are they doing, what are all these courtiers doing? Pfuhl is making propositions, Armfeldt is quarrelling, Bennigsen is considering, while Barclay, who has been sent for to act, can come to no decision, and is wasting time and doing nothing. Bagration is the only one that is a real general. He is stupid, but he has experience, judgment, and determination.… And what part does your young Emperor play in this unseemly crowd? They compromise him and throw upon him the responsibility of all that happens. A sovereign ought not to be with the army except when he is a general,” he said, obviously uttering these words as a direct challenge to the Tsar. Napoleon knew how greatly Alexander desired to be a great general. “It's a week now since the campaign commenced, and you haven't even succeeded in defending Vilna. You have been divided in two and driven out of the Polish provinces. Your army is discontented…”
“On the contrary, your majesty,” said Balashov, who scarcely had time to recollect what had been said to him, and had difficulty in following these verbal fireworks, “the troops are burning with eagerness…”
“I know all that,” Napoleon cut him short; “I know all that, and I know the number of your battalions as exactly as I know my own. You have not two hundred thousand troops, while I have three times as many. I give you my word of honour,” said Napoleon, forgetting that his word of honour could carry no weight—“my word of honour that I have five hundred and thirty thousand men this side of the Vistula. The Turks will be no help to you; they are good for nothing, and have proved it by making peace with you. As for the Swedes, it's their destiny to be governed by mad kings. Their king was mad. They changed him for another, Bernadotte, who promptly went mad; for no one not a madman could, being a Swede, ally himself with Russia.”
Napoleon laughed malignantly, and again put his snuff-box to his nose.
To each of Napoleon's phrases Balashov had a reply ready, and tried to utter it. He was continually making gestures indicative of a desire to speak, but Napoleon always interrupted him. To his remarks on the insanity of the Swedes, Balashov would have replied that Sweden was as good as an island with Russia to back her. But Napoleon shouted angrily to drown his voice. Napoleon was in that state of exasperation when a man wants to go on talking and talking simply to prove to himself that he is right. Balashov began to feel uncomfortable. As an envoy, he was anxious to keep up his dignity, and felt it essential to make some reply. But as a man he felt numb, repelled by the uncontrolled, irrational fury to which Napoleon abandoned himself. He knew that nothing Napoleon might say now had any significance and believed that he would himself on regaining his composure be ashamed of his words. Balashov remained standing, looking with downcast eyes at Napoleon's fat legs as they moved to and fro. He tried to avoid his eyes.
“And what are your allies to me?” said Napoleon. “I have allies too—the Poles. There are eighty thousand of them and they fight like lions. And there will be two hundred thousand.”
He was probably still more exasperated at having told this obvious falsehood and at Balashov's standing mutely before him in that pose of resignation to his fate. He turned sharply round and going right up to Balashov, gesticulating rapidly and vigorously with his white hands close to his face, he almost shouted: “Let me tell you, if you stir Russia up against me, let me tell you, I'll wipe her off the map of Europe,” he said, his face pale and distorted with anger, as he smote one little hand vigorously against the other. “Yes, I'll thrust you beyond the Dwina, beyond the Dnieper, and I'll restore the frontier that Europe was criminal and blind to let you overstep. Yes, that's what's in store for you, that's what you will gain by alienating me,” he said, and he walked in silence several times up and down the room, his thick shoulders twitching. He put the snuff-box in his waistcoat pocket, pulled it out again, held it several times to his nose, and stood still facing Balashov. He paused, looked sarcastically straight into Balashov's face and said in a low voice: “And yet what a fine reign your master might have had.”
Balashov, feeling it incumbent upon him to reply, said Russia did not look at things in such a gloomy light. Napoleon was silent, still looking ironically at him and obviously not listening to him. Balashov said that in Russia the best results were hoped for from the war. Napoleon nodded condescendingly, as though to say, “I know it's your duty to say that, but you don't believe in it yourself; you are convinced by me.” Towards the end of Balashov's speech, Napoleon pulled out his snuff-box again, took a sniff from it and tapped twice with his foot on the ground as a signal. The door opened, a gentleman-in-waiting, threading his way in respectfully, handed the Emperor his hat and gloves, another handed him a pocket-handkerchief. Napoleon, without bestowing a glance upon them, turned to Balashov.
“Assure the Emperor Alexander from me,” he said, taking his hat, “that I am devoted to him as before; I know him thoroughly, and I prize very highly his noble qualities. I detain you no longer, general; you shall receive my letter to the Emperor.” And Napoleon walked rapidly to the door. There was a general stampede from the great reception-room down the staircase.
虽然巴拉瑟夫已经习惯于宫廷隆重宏伟的场面，但拿破仑行宫的豪华和奢侈仍然使他大吃一惊。 
杜伦伯爵把他领到一间大接待室，那里已有许多将军、宫廷高级侍从和波兰大富豪等待着，其中许多人巴拉瑟夫在俄罗斯皇帝的宫廷中见过面。久罗克说，拿破仑皇帝在散步前将接见俄罗斯将军。
等了几分钟后，值班侍从官走进大接待室，恭敬地向巴拉瑟夫鞠躬，请他随自己走。
巴拉瑟夫走进一间小接待室，室内一扇门通往书房，俄罗斯皇帝就在那间书房派他出使的。巴拉瑟夫站着等了约两分钟。门后响起急促的脚步声，两扇门忽地被拉开了，一切归于寂静，这时从书房里响起另一种坚定而果断的脚步声：这就是拿破仑。他刚穿好骑马行进的装束。他身穿蓝色制服，露出垂到滚圆的肚皮上面的白背心，白麂皮裤紧箍着又肥又短的大腿，脚着一双长筒靴。但短短的头发看来刚被梳理过，却还有一绺垂挂在宽阔的脑门中间。从黑色制服的领子里露出白胖的脖颈，身上散发出香水味，下颏突出，显得年轻的脸上，露出皇帝接见臣民时庄严而慈祥的神情。
他走出来了，每走一步都快速地颠一下，微微向后仰着头。他矮胖的身材，配上宽厚的肩膀，不自觉地挺胸腆肚，显示出一个保养很好的四十岁的人所具有的那种堂堂仪表和威风凛凛的样子。此外还可看出，这天他的心情极好。
他点了一下头，算是回答了巴拉瑟夫恭敬的深深的鞠躬，走到巴拉瑟夫面前，立刻说起话来，就像一个珍惜自己每一分钟时间的人，用不着打腹稿，并相信他总会说得好，需要说什么。
“您好？将军！”他说。“您送来的亚历山大皇帝的信，我收到了，很高兴见到您。”他那双大眼睛看了一眼巴拉瑟夫的脸，立即转向旁边了。
显然，对巴拉瑟夫这个人他毫无兴趣。看来，对他来说他感兴趣的只是他心里在想什么。他身外的一切对他来说是没有意义的，因为他觉得世界上的一切都只决定于他的意志。
“我现在和过去都不希望战争，”他说，“但人们迫使我诉诸战争。就是现在（他加重了这个字眼），我也准备接受你们能够给我的解释。”接着他明确而简短地说明自己对俄罗斯政府不满意的原因。
从法国皇帝讲话时温和、平静和友好的声调判断，巴拉瑟夫坚信他希望和平，是愿意谈判的。
“Sire！L'empereur，mon　malAtre，”①当拿破仑结束自己的讲话，疑问地看了一眼俄罗斯使者时，巴拉瑟夫开始说他早已准备好的话；但皇帝凝视他的目光使他局促不安。“您不安啦——定定神吧。”仿佛拿破仑这样对他说，他含着一丝笑意望望巴拉瑟夫的制服和军刀。巴拉瑟夫定下心来，开始讲起话来。他说，亚历山大皇帝不认为发生战争的原因是库拉金申请护照，库拉金那样做是自行其事，并未经皇帝同意。
亚历山大皇帝不希望战争，与英国也没有任何关系。 
①陛下，敝国皇帝。
“还没有，”拿破仑插了一句，仿佛是害怕自己被感情左右，紧皱眉头，轻轻地点了点头，让巴拉瑟夫意识到可以继续说下去。
说完他奉命说的话以后，巴拉瑟夫又说亚历山大皇帝希望和平，但要进行谈判，他有一个条件，即……巴拉瑟夫说到这里犹豫起来，他想起了那句亚历山大皇帝在信中没有写，却命令一定要插进给萨尔特科夫的圣谕里的那句话，皇帝命令巴拉瑟夫把这句话转告拿破仑。巴拉瑟夫记得这句话：“只要还有一个武装的敌人还留在俄罗斯土地上，就决不讲和。”但此时却有一种复杂的感觉控制住了他。虽然他想讲这句话，却说不出口。他犹豫了一下又说：条件是法国军队必须撤退到涅曼河后去。
拿破仑看出了巴拉瑟夫在说最后一句话时的慌乱：他的脸抽搐了一下，脚的左腿肚有节奏地颤抖着。拿破仑原地未动，开始用比以前更高更急促的声音讲话，在讲随后的话时，巴拉瑟夫不只一次垂下眼睛，不由自主地观察拿破仑左脚腿肚的颤抖，他声音越高，抖得越厉害。
“我渴望和平并不亚于亚历山大皇帝，”他开始讲，“十八个月来，我做的一切不正是为了赢得和平吗？十八个月来，我等着解释。为了开始谈判，究竟还要求我做什么呢？”他说话时，皱紧眉头，用自己那小巧白胖的手打着有力的疑问手势。
“把军队撤过涅曼河，陛下。”巴拉瑟夫说道。
“撤过涅曼河？”拿破仑重复道，“那么，现在您希望撤过涅曼河？——只是要撤退到涅曼河后面去吗？”拿破仑朝巴拉瑟夫看了一眼，又说。
巴拉瑟夫恭恭敬敬地低下头来。
四个月前要求撤出波美拉尼亚，而现在只要求撤过涅曼河。拿破仑猛地转过身来，在房里踱起步来。
“您说，为了开始谈判，要求我撤过涅曼河；但两月前同样要求我撤过奥德河和维斯纳河，你们就同意进行谈判。”
他默默地从房间的一角踱到另一角，然后又在巴拉瑟夫对面停下来。他面色严峻仿佛一尊石像，左脚比先前抖得更快了。拿破仑自己知道他左腿的这种颤抖。La　vibration　de　mon　monllet　gauche　est　un　grand　signe　chez　mio．①他后来曾说过。 
①法语：我的左腿肚的颤抖是一个伟大的征兆。
“像撤过奥德河和维斯纳河之类的建议，可以向巴登斯基亲王提出，而不要向我提出，”拿破仑几乎是大叫一声，完全出乎他自己的意料。“即使你们给我彼得堡和莫斯科，我也不会接受这些条件，您说，是我挑起了这场战争吗？那是谁先到军队去的，是亚历山大皇帝，不是我。你们现在来向我建议举行谈判，当我花了数百万，当你们与英国结盟而形势对你们不利时——你们才要求和我谈判！你们为什么要与英国结盟？它给了你们什么好处？”他匆匆说着，显然，他已转换了主题，不是谈媾和的好处，不讨论媾和的可能性，而是一味去证明他拿破仑如何有理和如何有力量，证明亚历山大怎么无理和错误。
他这段开场白的用意，显然是表明形势对他有利，并且表示，显然如此，他仍然愿意举行谈判。但是他一说开了头，就越说越控制不住自己的舌头了。
他现在所说的话的全部用意，无非是抬高自己，同时侮辱亚历山大，也就是他做了他一开始接见时最不愿做的事。
“据说，你们与土耳其讲和啦？”
巴拉瑟夫肯定地点了点头。
“缔结了和约……”他开始说，但拿破仑不让他说下去。看来他只想一个人说，就像娇纵惯了的人常有的那样，他控制不住暴躁的脾气，滔滔不绝地说个没完没了。
“是的，我知道，你们没得到摩尔达维亚和瓦拉几亚，就与土耳其缔结了和约。而我本可以把这两个省给你们皇帝的，就像我把芬兰给他一样。是的，”他继续道，“我答应过把摩尔达维亚和瓦拉几亚给亚历山大皇帝，而现在他再也得不到这些美丽的省分了。本来，他能把它们并入自己的帝国的版图，仅在他这一朝代，他就可以把俄罗斯从波的尼亚湾扩大到多瑙河口。叶卡捷琳娜大帝来做也不过如此。”拿破仑说，他情绪越来越激动，在房间里走来走去，几乎把他亲口在基尔西特对亚历山大说的话原原本本地对巴拉瑟夫重复了一遍，“Tout　cela　il　l'aurait　du　à　mon　amitie．Ah！quel　beau　règne，quel　beau　règne！”①他重复了几次，而后停下来，从衣袋中掏出了一个金质鼻烟壶，用鼻子贪婪地吸起来。
“Quel　beau　règne　aurait　pu　eAtre　celui　de　l'
empereur　Alexandre．”② 
①法语：他本来可凭我的友谊得到这一切的。啊多美好的朝代多美好的朝代。
②法语：亚历山大皇帝的朝代本来可是一个多么美好的朝代啊！
他遗憾地盯了一眼巴拉瑟夫，巴拉瑟夫刚要说点什么，他又急忙打断了他。
“凭着我的友谊他都没有找到的东西，他还能指望得到和寻求得到吗？……”拿破仑说着，困惑莫解地耸耸肩膀，“不可能，他宁愿被我的敌人包围，而那都是些什么人呢？”他继续说。“他把诸如施泰因、阿姆菲尔德、贝尼格森、温岑格罗德之流的人招到自己身边。施泰因——一个被驱逐出祖国的叛徒，阿姆菲尔德——一个好色之徒和阴谋家，温岑格罗德——一个法国的亡命之徒，贝尼格森倒是比其他人更像一个军人，不过仍是个草包，在1807年什么也不会做，他只会唤起亚历山大皇帝可怕的回忆……假如他们还有点用，我们还可以使用他们。”拿破仑继续说，他的话几乎跟不上那不断涌出的也想要表达的思想，他问他表明这些思想就是正义和力量（在他的概念中，正义和力量是同一回事）。“可是他们无论在战争中还是和平时，却都不中用！据说，巴尔克雷比所有人都能干；从他初步行动看，我却不那样认为。他们正在干什么，这些朝臣们都在干什么啊！普弗里在不断提建议，阿姆菲尔德争吵不休，贝尼格森在观察，而被要求采取行动的巴尔克雷却不知道该做何决定，时间就这样打发了。只有一个巴格拉季翁——算是一个军人。他虽愚蠢，但他有经验，有眼光，做事果断……你们那年轻的皇帝在这群无用之才中扮演着什么样的角色呢？他们败坏他的名誉，把所有责任都推卸到他身上。Un　souverain　ne　doit，eAtre　à　l'armée　que　quand　il　est　gener－al．①”他说，显然这是直接向亚历山大皇帝公开挑衅。拿破仑知道，亚历山大皇帝希望自己成为一个军事家。 
①法语：一个皇帝只有在他是一个军事家时才应呆在军队里。
“战争已开始一个星期了，而你们没能保住维尔纳，你们被切成两半，你们被从波兰各省赶出来，你们的军队正怨声载道。”
“正相反，陛下，”巴拉瑟夫说，他几乎记不住他讲的话，费力地说出连珠的话语，“我们的军队正热血沸腾。”
“我都知道，”拿破仑打断了他的话，“我全知道，我知道你们的营的人数就像了解我自己营的人数一样。你们没有二十万军队，而我却有比你们两倍多的军队，给您说句实说，”拿破仑说，却忘了这些实话没有任何意义，“我对您ma　paBrole　d'honneur　que　j'di　cinq　cent　trente　mille　hommes　de　ce　coté　de　la　Vistule．①土尔其帮不了您们什么忙，他们是草包，同你们讲和就是证明。瑞典人——他们注定要受疯狂的国王的统治，他们的国王曾是一个疯子，他们就把他换了，另立一个——伯尔纳多特为王；可是他为王之后，立刻发疯了，因为作为瑞典人，只有疯狂才会与俄罗斯结盟。”拿破仑恶意地笑了笑，又把鼻烟壶凑到了鼻子跟前。 
①法语：说实话，我在维斯杜拉河这边有五十三万人。
对拿破仑的每一句漂亮话，巴拉瑟夫都想且也有理由反驳，他不断做出要讲话的姿态，却老被拿破仑打断。他想说他反对讲瑞典人不明智，当俄国支持瑞典时，它是一个孤岛；可是拿破仑怒吼一声，把他的声音压了下去。拿破仑处于兴奋状态，此时他需要说话，说了又说，其目的仅仅是为了向他自己证明他是正确的。巴拉瑟夫觉得很尴尬：作为一个使者，他害怕失去自己的尊严，感到必须反驳；但作为一个人，在拿破仑显然处于无缘无故气得发昏的时候，他精神上畏缩了。他知道，拿破仑现在说的所有的话都没有意义，他自己清醒时也会为此而羞愧。巴拉瑟夫垂下眼帘站在那儿，看着拿破仑那两条不停动着的粗腿，尽可能避开他的目光。
“你们的同盟者与我何干？”拿破仑说，“我也有同盟者——这就是波兰人：他们有八万人，他们像狮子一样勇猛作战，而且他们将达到二十万人。”
可能是因为他说了这句明显的谎言，巴拉瑟夫却还是那副听天由命的神态，站在他面前一言不发，这使他更气忿了，他猛地转过身来，走到巴拉瑟夫面前，用两只雪白的手快速有力地打着手势，几乎是大喊起来：
“请您明白，如果您们挑拨普鲁士来反对我，给您说吧，我就把它从欧洲版图上抹掉。”他说，脸色苍白，表情恶狠狠的，用一只小手使劲拍着另一只。“是的，我一定把你们赶过德维纳河，赶过第聂伯河，恢复那个反对你们的障碍物，欧洲允许这个障碍遭到破坏，这虽欧洲的罪过和无知。是的，这就是你们将来的命运，这就是你们要同我们疏远赢得的报应。”他说，然后默默地在房间里来回走了几次，自己肥胖的双肩抽搐着，他把鼻烟壶放进西装背心口袋内，而后又掏出来，几次举到鼻子前；最后在巴拉瑟夫面前停了下来。他沉默了一会儿，嘲讽地盯着巴拉瑟夫的眼睛，轻声说：“Et　cependent　quel　beau　régne　aurait　pu　avoir　votre　malAtre．”① 
①法语：然而你们的皇帝本应有一个多么美好的朝代啊！
巴拉瑟夫觉得必须反驳，他说，在俄罗斯看来，事情并没有那么暗淡。拿破仑默不作声，继续带着嘲笑的神情盯着他，显然他没听巴拉瑟夫说话。巴拉瑟夫说，俄罗斯对战争结局抱乐观态度。拿破仑故作宽宏大量地点点头，好像在说：“我知道，您这样说是您的责任，但愿自己也不相信自己所说的，您被我说服了。”
在巴拉瑟夫的说话完时，拿破仑又掏出鼻烟壶闻了闻，同时用脚在地板上敲了两下作为信号。门开了；一名宫廷高级侍从恭恭敬敬躬着腰为皇帝递上帽子和手套，另一名侍从递上手帕，拿破仑看也未看他们，就转向巴拉瑟夫：
“请以我的名义向亚历山大皇帝保证，”他取过帽子说，“我一如既往地对他忠诚：我十分了解他，我高度评价他崇高的品格，Je　ne　vous　retiens　plus，général，vous　reBcevrez　ma　lettre　à　l'empereur．①”拿破仑匆匆向门口走去。人们都从接待室里跑过去，跟着下了楼梯。 
①法语：我不多耽搁您了，将军，您会接到我给你们皇帝的回信。
Book 9 Chapter 7
AFTER ALL NAPOLEON had said to him, after those outbursts of wrath, and after the last frigidly uttered words, “I will not detain you, general; you shall receive my letter,” Balashov felt certain that Napoleon would not care to see him again, would avoid indeed seeing again the envoy who had been treated by him with contumely, and had been the eyewitness of his undignified outburst of fury. But to his surprise Balashov received through Duroc an invitation to dine that day at the Emperor's table.
There were present at dinner, Bessières, Caulaincourt, and Berthier.
Napoleon met Balashov with a good-humoured and friendly air. He had not the slightest appearance of embarrassment or regret for his outbreak in the morning. On the contrary he seemed trying to encourage Balashov. It was evident that it had long been Napoleon's conviction that no possibility existed of his making mistakes. To his mind all he did was good, not because it was in harmony with any preconceived notion of good or bad, but simply because it was he who did it.
The Emperor was in excellent spirits after his ride about Vilna, greeted and followed with acclamations by crowds of the inhabitants. From every window in the streets through which he had passed draperies and flags with his monogram had been hanging, and Polish ladies had been waving handkerchiefs to welcome him.
At dinner he sat Balashov beside him, and addressed him affably. He addressed him indeed as though he regarded Balashov as one of his own courtiers, as one of the people, who would sympathise with his plans and be sure to rejoice at his successes. He talked, among other things, of Moscow, and began asking Balashov questions about the ancient Russian capital, not simply as a traveller of inquiring mind asks about a new place he intends to visit, but apparently with the conviction that Balashov as a Russian must be flattered at his interest in it.
“How many inhabitants are there in Moscow, how many horses? Is it true that Moscow is called the holy city? How many churches are there in Moscow?” he asked.
And when he was told there were over two hundred churches, he said: “Why is there such a great number of churches?”
“The Russians are very religious,” replied Balashov.
“A great number, however, of monasteries and churches is always a sign of the backwardness of a people,” said Napoleon, looking at Caulaincourt for appreciation of this remark.
Balashov ventured respectfully to differ from the opinion of the French Emperor.
“Every country has its customs,” he observed.
“But there's nothing like that anywhere else in Europe,” said Napoleon.
“I beg your majesty's pardon,” said Balashov; “besides Russia, there is Spain, where there is also a great number of churches and monasteries.”
This reply of Balashov's, which suggested a covert allusion to the recent discomfiture of the French in Spain, was highly appreciated when Balashov repeated it at the court of the Emperor Alexander, though at the time at Napoleon's dinner-table it was very little appreciated and passed indeed unnoticed.
From the indifferent and perplexed faces of the marshals present it was obvious that they were puzzled to discover wherein lay the point of the retort, suggested by Balashov's intonation. “If there were a point, we fail to catch it, or the remark was perhaps really pointless,” their expression seemed to say. So little effect had this retort that Napoleon indeed certainly saw nothing in it; and he na?vely asked Balashov through what towns the direct road from Vilna to Moscow passed. Balashov, who had been all dinner-time on his guard, replied that as, according to the proverb, every road leads to Rome, every road leads to Moscow; that there were very many roads, and among them was the road to Poltava, the one selected by Charles XII. Balashov could not help flushing with delight at the felicity of this reply. Balashov had hardly uttered the last word “Poltava” when Caulaincourt began talking of the badness of the road from Petersburg to Moscow and his own Petersburg reminiscences.
After dinner they went to drink coffee in Napoleon's study, which had four days before been the study of the Emperor Alexander. Napoleon sat down, stirring his coffee in a Sèvres cup, and motioned Balashov to a seat beside him.
There is a well-known after-dinner mood which is more potent than any rational consideration in making a man satisfied with himself and disposed to regard every one as a friend. Napoleon was under the influence of this mood. He fancied himself surrounded by persons who adored him. He felt no doubt that Balashov too after his dinner was his friend and his worshipper. Napoleon addressed him with an amicable and rather ironical smile.
“This is the very room, I am told, in which the Emperor Alexander used to sit. Strange, isn't it, general?” he said, obviously without the slightest misgiving that this remark could be other than agreeable to the Russian, since it afforded a proof of his, Napoleon's, superiority over Alexander.
Balashov could make no reply to this, and he bowed in silence.
“Yes, four days ago, Wintzengerode and Stein were deliberating in this very room,” Napoleon continued, with the same confident and ironical smile. “What I can't understand,” he said, “is the Emperor Alexander's gathering round him all my personal enemies. That I do not understand. Didn't he consider that I might do the same?” he asked Balashov; and obviously the question brought him back to a reminiscence of the morning's anger, which was still fresh in him. “And let him know that I will do so,” Napoleon said, getting up and pushing away his cup. “I'll drive all his kith and kin out of Germany—the Würtembergs and Badens and Weimars…Yes, I'll drive them out. Let him get a refuge ready for them in Russia.”
Balashov bowed his head, with an air that indicated that he would be glad to withdraw, and was simply listening because he had no alternative but to listen to what was said to him. Napoleon did not notice this expression. He was addressing Balashov now, not as the envoy of his enemy, but as a man now quite devoted to him and certain to rejoice at the humiliation of his former master.
“And why has the Emperor Alexander taken the command of his troops? What's that for? War is my profession, but his work is to reign and not to command armies. What has induced him to take such a responsibility on himself?”
Napoleon again took his snuff-box, walked several times in silence up and down the room, and all at once surprised Balashov by coming close up to him. And with a faint smile, as confidently, rapidly, and swiftly, as though he were doing something that Balashov could not but regard as an honour and a pleasure, he put his hand up to the face of the Russian general of forty, and gave him a little pinch on the ear with a smile on his lips.
To have the ear pulled by the Emperor was regarded as the greatest honour and mark of favour at the French court.
“Well, you say nothing, admirer and courtier of the Emperor Alexander,” he said, as though it were comic that there should be in his presence a courtier and worshipper of any man other than him, Napoleon. “Are the horses ready for the general?” he added, with a slight nod in acknowledgment of Balashov's bow. “Give him mine; he has a long way to go.…”
The letter taken back by Balashov was Napoleon's last letter to Alexander. Every detail of the conversation was transmitted to the Russian Emperor, and the war began.
在拿破仑对他说了那一切之后，在那一阵愤怒的发泄并在最后冷冷地说了如下几句话之后：“Je　ne　vous　retiens　plus，général，vous　recevrez　ma　lettre”（我不多耽搁您了，将军，您会接到我给您们皇帝的回信——译者），巴拉瑟夫相信，拿破仑不仅不愿再看见他，而且还会尽力回避他——一个受侮辱的使者，更主要的是，他是拿破仑有失体面的冲动行为的见证人。但使他吃惊的却是，就在当天他就从久罗克那里收到皇帝的宴会邀请书。 
出席宴会的还有贝歇尔、科兰库尔和贝尔蒂埃。
拿破仑带着愉快而温和的面容迎接了巴拉瑟夫。他不唯没有羞涩的表情，或者因为早晨的大发雷霆而内疚，反而尽力鼓励巴拉瑟夫。显然，拿破仑早就认为，他根本不会出错，在他的观念中，他所做的一切都是好的，其所以好，并不是因为它符合是非好坏的概念，而仅因为那是他做的。
皇帝骑马游览了维尔纳城，心里觉得挺愉快，这个城的人群异常高兴地迎送皇帝。他所走过的各条街道，家家户户的窗口都悬挂着毛毯、旗帜和皇帝姓名的花字，波兰妇女们都向他挥动手绢，表示尊敬。
筵席间，他让巴拉瑟夫坐在他身旁，对待他不仅亲热，而且把他看作赞许他的计划并为他的成就而欣喜的朝臣之一。他在谈话时提到莫斯科，于是向他询问俄都的情况，他不仅像个旅行家那样，在求知欲的驱使下打听一个他要前去的新地方，并且带有坚信不疑的口吻，认为巴拉瑟夫身为俄国人，必然会以他这种求知欲为荣。
“莫斯科的居民共有多少，住宅共有多少？莫斯科称为Moseou　la　sainte①，是真的么？莫斯科的教堂共有多少呢？”他问。 
①法语：法语：圣莫斯科。
他听到那儿共有两百多所教堂的回答后，说道。
“干嘛要这么多教堂？”
“俄国人信仰上帝。”巴拉瑟夫答道。
“但是许多修道院和教堂向来就是俄国人民落后的特征。”拿破仑说，他转过脸来看看科兰库尔，希望他对这个观点表示赞赏。
巴拉瑟夫毕恭毕敬地表示，他不能赞同法国皇帝的意见。
“每个国家都有它自己的习俗。”他说。
“但是在欧洲倒没有这种情形。”拿破仑说。
“请陛下原宥。”巴拉瑟夫说，“除俄国而外，还有西班牙也有大量的教堂和修道院。”
巴拉瑟夫这句暗示法国军队不久前在西班牙遭到失败的回答，根据巴拉瑟夫以后的叙述，在亚历山大朝廷中获得颇高的评价，可是目前在拿破仑举办的宴会上却不太受赞扬，并未产生任何反应就过去了。
从各位元帅茫然不解的神态可以看出，他们都不明白，那句从巴拉瑟夫的语气得知有所讥讽的俏皮话究竟含有什么意义。“即使那是一种俏皮的说法，可是我们听了也不明白，或许它毫无俏皮二字可言。”各位元帅的面部表情这样说。这一回答竟这么不受称赞，甚至拿破仑索兴不理会它，但稚气地向巴拉瑟夫询问，从这里到莫斯科最近的路途须经过哪些城市。于席间一直保持警惕的巴拉瑟夫这样回答：Comme　tout　chemin　mène　à　Rome，tout　chemin　mène　à　Moscou，①路有许多条，在条条不同的路中间，都有一条查理十二所选择的通往波尔塔瓦的大道，巴拉瑟夫说，这句俏皮的回答，使他不禁喜形于色，满面通红了。巴拉瑟夫还未把“波尔塔瓦”这最后几个字说出口，科兰库尔就谈到从彼得堡到莫斯科的那条道路怎样难走，并且想起了他在彼得堡经历的情景。 
①法语：正如条条大道直通罗马，条条大道也直通莫斯科。
午餐完毕后，大家都到拿破仑的书斋里去饮咖啡茶，四天前这里是亚历山大皇帝的书斋。拿破仑坐下来，用手抚摸塞弗尔咖啡茶杯，让巴拉瑟夫坐在他身旁的椅子上。
人们有一种众所周知的饭后的心绪，这种心绪比任何合乎情理的缘由都更能使人怡然自处，并且把一切人都看成自己的朋友。拿破仑就是怀有此种心绪的。他似乎觉得他周围的人个个都是崇拜他的人。他坚信、午餐之后巴拉瑟夫也成为他的朋友和崇拜者了。拿破仑脸上流露着欢愉和有几分讥讽的微笑，向他转过头来。
“听说亚历山大皇帝在这个房间里住过。真奇怪，确有其事吗？将军？”他说道，看来他不怀疑他说的话不能取悦对方，因为他说的话能够证明他拿破仑比亚历山大更高明。
巴拉瑟夫默默地垂下头来，没有回答他。
“是的，四天前温岑格罗德和施泰因在这个房间里开过会，”拿破仑脸上仍然流露着讥讽的自信的微笑，继续说下去。
“使我无法明了的是，为什么亚历山大皇帝硬要把我个人的敌人都搜罗到他身边来，这一点……我不明白。他岂未料到我也会如法泡制？”他现出疑惑的神态把脸转向巴拉瑟夫，这种回忆显然又引起他那仍未消失的早上的愠怒。
“让他知道我怎么干吧。”拿破仑说道，他站立起来，用手推开那只咖啡茶杯，“我准要把他的亲属，符腾堡的亲属、巴顿的亲属，魏玛的亲属全部从德国驱逐出境……是的，我准要把他们驱逐出境。让他在俄国替他们准备一个避难所吧！”
巴拉瑟夫低下头，他那副模样在表示，他很想向拿破仑告辞，他听别人对他讲话，也只不过是非听不可罢了。他的表情拿破仑没有看出来，他对巴拉瑟夫讲话，并不像对敌国使臣那样，而像对一个完全忠于他的、并且为故主蒙受耻辱而深感喜悦的人说话那样。
“为什么亚历山大皇帝要统率军队？这究竟有啥用处？打仗是我的职业，而他的职责则是当皇帝，而不是统领军队。干嘛他要承担这个责任？”
拿破仑又拿出他的鼻烟壶，沉默不言地走来走去，走了好几次，然后忽然出乎意料地走到巴拉瑟夫跟前，露出一点笑容，他仍然是那样充满自信、敏捷而朴实，好像他在做一件不仅重要而且使巴拉瑟夫觉得愉快的事情，他把一只手伸到这个四十岁的俄国将领脸上，揪住他的耳朵，轻轻拉了一下，撇撇他的嘴唇，微微一笑。
法国朝廷中，anoir，l'oreille　tirèe　par　l'emBpereur①，认为是无上光荣的宠爱。
“Eh　bien，Vous　ne　dites　rien，admirateur　et　courtisan　de　l'empeur　Alexandre？”②他说，好像在他面前只能当他的courtisan和admirateur③，除此之外当任何其他人的崇拜者和廷臣都是荒唐可笑的。 
①法语：被皇上揪耳朵。
②法语：喂，您怎么沉默不言，亚历山大皇帝的崇身者和廷臣。
③法语：崇拜者和廷臣。
“给这位将军备好了马么？”他又说，微微点头以酬答巴拉瑟夫的鞠躬。
“把我的那几匹马给他好了，他要跑很远的路哩……”
巴拉瑟夫捎回来的那封信是拿破仑写给亚历山大皇帝的最后一封信。他把所有谈话的详细情形转告了俄皇，于是乎战争开始了。
Book 9 Chapter 8
AFTER HIS INTERVIEW with Pierre in Moscow, Prince Andrey went away to Petersburg, telling his family that he had business there. In reality his object was to meet Anatole Kuragin there. He thought it necessary to meet him, but on inquiring for him when he reached Petersburg, he found he was no longer there. Pierre had let his brother-in-law know that Prince Andrey was on his track. Anatole Kuragin had promptly obtained a commission from the minister of war, and had gone to join the army in Moldavia. While in Petersburg Prince Andrey met Kutuzov, his old general, who was always friendly to him, and Kutuzov proposed that he should accompany him to Moldavia, where the old general was being sent to take command of the army. Prince Andrey received an appointment on the staff of the commander, and went to Turkey.
Prince Andrey did not think it proper to write to Kuragin to challenge him to a duel. He thought that a challenge coming from him, without any new pretext for a duel, would be compromising for the young Countess Rostov, and therefore he was seeking to encounter Kuragin in person in order to pick a quarrel with him that would serve as a pretext for a duel. But in the Turkish army too Prince Andrey failed to come across Kuragin. The latter had returned to Russia shortly after Prince Andrey reached the Turkish army. In a new country, amid new surroundings, Prince Andrey found life easier to bear. After his betrothed's betrayal of him, which he felt the more keenly, the more studiously he strove to conceal its effect on him from others, he found it hard to bear the conditions of life in which he had been happy, and felt still more irksome the freedom and independence he had once prized so highly. He could not now think the thoughts that had come to him for the first time on the field of Austerlitz, that he had loved to develop with Pierre, and that had enriched his solitude at Bogutcharovo, and later on in Switzerland and in Rome. Now he dreaded indeed those ideas that had then opened to him boundless vistas of light. Now he was occupied only with the most practical interests lying close at hand, and in no way associated with those old ideals. He clutched at these new interests the more eagerly the more the old ideals were hidden from him. It was as though the infinite, fathomless arch of heaven that had once stood over him had been suddenly transformed into a low, limited vault weighing upon him, with everything in it clear, but nothing eternal and mysterious.
Of the pursuits that presented themselves, military service was the simplest and the most familiar to him. He performed the duties of a general on duty on Kutuzov's staff with zeal and perseverance, surprising Kutuzov by his eagerness for work and his conscientiousness. When he missed Kuragin in Turkey, Prince Andrey did not feel it necessary to gallop back to Russia in search of him. Yet in spite of all his contempt for Kuragin, in spite of all the arguments by which he sought to persuade himself that Kuragin was not worth his stooping to quarrel with him, he knew that whatever length of time might elapse, when he did meet him, he would be unable to help challenging him as a starving man cannot help rushing upon food. And the consciousness that the insult was not yet avenged, that his wrath had not been expended, but was still stored up in his heart, poisoned the artificial composure, which Prince Andrey succeeded in obtaining in Turkey in the guise of studiously busy and somewhat ambitious and vain energy.
In 1812, when the news of the war with Napoleon reached Bucharest (where Kutuzov had been fourteen months, spending days and nights together with his Wallachian mistress), Prince Andrey asked to be transferred to the western army. Kutuzov, who was by now sick of Bolkonsky's energy, and felt it a standing reproach to his sloth, was very ready to let him go, and gave him a commission for Barclay de Tolly.
Before joining the army of the west, which was in May encamped at Drissa, Prince Andrey went to Bleak Hills, which was directly in his road, only three versts from the Smolensk high-road. The last three years of Prince Andrey's life had been so full of vicissitudes, he had passed through such changes of thought and feeling, and seen such varied life (he had travelled both in the east and the west), that it struck him as strange and amazing to find at Bleak Hills life going on in precisely the same routine as ever. He rode up the avenue to the stone gates of the house, feeling as though it were the enchanted, sleeping castle. The same sedateness, the same cleanliness, the same silence reigned in the house; there was the same furniture, the same walls, the same sounds, the same smell, and the same timid faces, only a little older. Princess Marya was just the same timid, plain girl, no longer in her first youth, wasting the best years of her life in continual dread and suffering, and getting no benefit or happiness out of her existence. Mademoiselle Bourienne was just the same self-satisfied, coquettish girl, enjoying every moment of her life, and filled with the most joyous hopes for the future. She seemed only to have gained boldness, so Prince Andrey thought. The tutor he had brought back from Switzerland, Dessalle, was wearing a coat of Russian cut, and talked broken Russian to the servants, but he was just the same narrow-minded, cultivated, conscientious, pedantic preceptor. The only physical change apparent in the old prince was the loss of a tooth, that left a gap at the side of his mouth. In character he was the same as ever, only showing even more irritability and scepticism as to everything that happened in the world. Nikolushka was the only one who had changed: he had grown taller, and rosy, and had curly dark hair. When he was merry and laughing, he unconsciously lifted the upper lip of his pretty little mouth, just as his dead mother, the little princess, used to do. He was the only one not in bondage to the law of sameness that reigned in that spellbound sleeping castle. But though externally all was exactly as of old, the inner relations of all the persons concerned had changed since Prince Andrey had seen them last. The household was split up into two hostile camps, which held aloof from one another, and only now came together in his presence, abandoning their ordinary habits on his account. To one camp belonged the old prince, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and the architect; to the other—Princess Marya, Dessalle, Nikolushka, and all the nurses.
During his stay at Bleak Hills all the family dined together, but every one was ill at ease, and Prince Andrey felt that he was being treated as a guest for whom an exception was being made, and that his presence made all of them feel awkward. The first day Prince Andrey could not help being aware of this at dinner, and sat in silence. The old prince noticed his unnatural dumbness, and he, too, preserved a sullen silence, and immediately after dinner withdrew to his own room. Later in the evening when Prince Andrey went in to him, and began telling him about the campaign of the young Prince Kamensky to try and rouse him, the old prince, to his surprise, began talking about Princess Marya, grumbling at her superstitiousness, and her dislike of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was, he said, the only person really attached to him.
The old prince declared that it was all Princess Marya's doing if he were ill; that she plagued and worried him on purpose, and that she was spoiling little Prince Nikolay by the way she petted him, and the silly tales she told him. The old prince knew very well that he tormented his daughter, and that her life was a very hard one. But he knew, too, that he could not help tormenting her, and considered that she deserved it. “Why is it Andrey, who sees it, says nothing about his sister?” the old prince wondered. “Why, does he suppose I'm a scoundrel or an old fool to be alienated from my daughter and friendly with this Frenchwoman for no good reason? He doesn't understand, and so I must explain it to him; he must hear what I have to say about it,” thought the old prince, and so he began to explain the reason why he could not put up with his daughter's unreasonable character.
“If you ask me,” said Prince Andrey, not looking at his father (it was the first time in his life that he had blamed his father), “I did not wish to speak of it—but, if you ask me, I'll tell you my opinion frankly in regard to the whole matter. If there is any misunderstanding and estrangement between you and Masha, I can't blame her for it—I know how she loves and respects you. If you ask me,” Prince Andrey continued, losing his temper, as he very readily did in these latter days, “I can only say one thing; if there are misunderstandings, the cause of them is that worthless woman, who is not fit to be my sister's companion.”
The old man stared for a moment at his son, and a forced smile revealed the loss of a tooth, to which Prince Andrey could not get accustomed, in his face.
“What companion, my dear fellow? Eh! So you've talked it over already! Eh?”
“Father, I had no wish to judge you,” said Prince Andrey, in a hard and spiteful tone, “but you have provoked me, and I have said, and shall always say, that Marie is not to blame, but the people to blame—the person to blame—is that Frenchwoman …”
“Ah, he has passed judgment! … he has passed judgment!” said the old man, in a low voice, and Prince Andrey fancied, with embarrassment. But immediately after he leapt up and screamed, “Go away, go away! Let me never set eyes on you again! …”
Prince Andrey would have set off at once, but Princess Marya begged him to stay one day more. During that day Prince Andrey did not see his father, who never left his room, and admitted no one to see him but Mademoiselle Bourienne and Tihon, from which he inquired several times whether his son had gone. The following day before starting, Prince Andrey went to the part of the house where his son was to be found. The sturdy little boy, with curls like his mother's, sat on his knee. Prince Andrey began telling him the story of Bluebeard, but he sank into dreamy meditation before he had finished the story. He was not thinking of the pretty boy, his child, even while he held him on his knee; he was thinking of himself. He sought and was horrified not to find in himself either remorse for having provoked his father's anger, or regret at leaving home (for the first time in his life) on bad terms with him. What meant still more to him was that he could not detect in himself a trace of the tender affection he had once felt for his boy, and had hoped to revive in his heart, when he petted the child and put him on his knee.
“Come, tell me the rest,” said the boy. Prince Andrey took him off his knee without answering, and went out of the room.
As soon as Prince Andrey gave up his daily pursuits, especially to return to the old surroundings in which he had been when he was happy, weariness of life seized upon him as intensely as ever, and he made haste to escape from these memories, and to find some work to do as quickly as possible.
“Are you really going, Andrey?” his sister said to him.
“Thank God that I can go,” said Prince Andrey. “I am very sorry you can't too.”
“What makes you say that?” said Princess Marya. “How can you say that when you are going to this awful war, and he is so old? Mademoiselle Bourienne told me he keeps asking about you.…” As soon as she spoke of that, her lips quivered, and tears began to fall. Prince Andrey turned away and began walking up and down the room.
“Ah, my God! my God!” he said. “And to think what and who—what scum can be the cause of misery to people!” he said with a malignance that terrified Princess Marya.
She felt that when he uttered the word “scum,” he was thinking not only of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was the cause of her misery, but also of the man who had ruined his own happiness. “Andrey, one thing I beg, I beseech of you,” she said, touching his elbow and looking at him with eyes that shone through her tears. “I understand you.” (Princess Marya dropped her eyes.) “Don't imagine that sorrow is the work of men. Men are His instruments.” She glanced upwards a little above Prince Andrey's head with the confident, accustomed glance with which one looks towards a familiar portrait. “Sorrow is sent by Him, and not by men. Men are the instrument of His will, they are not to blame. If it seems to you that some one has wronged you—forget it, and forgive. We have no right to punish. And you will know the happiness of forgiveness.”
“If I were a woman, I would, Marie. That's woman's virtue. But a man must not, and cannot, forgive and forget,” he said, and though till that minute he had not been thinking of Kuragin, all his unsatisfied revenge rose up again in his heart. “If Marie is beginning to persuade me to forgive, it means that I ought long ago to have punished him,” he thought.
And making no further reply to Princess Marya, he began dreaming now of the happy moment of satisfied hate when he would meet Kuragin. He knew he was with the army.
Princess Marya besought her brother to stay another day, telling him how wretched her father would be, she knew, if Andrey went away without being reconciled to him. But Prince Andrey answered that he would probably soon be back from the army, that he would certainly write to his father, and that their quarrel would only be more embittered by his staying longer now. “Remember that misfortunes come from God, and that men are never to blame,” were the last words he heard from his sister, as he said good-bye to her.
“So it must be so!” thought Prince Andrey, as he drove out of the avenue. “She, poor innocent creature, is left to be victimised by an old man, who has outlived his wits. The old man feels he is wrong, but he can't help himself. My boy is growing up and enjoying life in which he will be deceived or deceiving like every one else. I am going to the army—what for? I don't know myself; and I want to meet that man whom I despise, so as to give him a chance to kill me and sneer at me!” All the conditions of life had been the same before, but before they had all seemed to him coherent, and now they had all fallen apart. Life seemed to Prince Andrey a series of senseless phenomena following one another without any connection.
安德烈公爵和皮埃尔在莫斯科见面之后，他告诉他家里人，说他因事前往彼得堡，其实他希望在那里遇见阿纳托利·库拉金公爵，他认为有必要见他一面。抵达彼得堡后，他打听到库拉金不在那个地方。皮埃尔事前告知他的内兄，说安德烈公爵正在找他。阿纳托利随即从陆军大臣处获得委任，遂启程前往摩尔达维亚部队。此时安德烈公爵在彼得堡遇见那位对他素有好感的领导库图佐夫将军，库图佐夫将军建议安德烈公爵和他一同前往摩尔达维亚部队。老将军已被任命为当地的总司令。安德烈公爵接获在总司令部服务的委任书之后便启程前往土耳其。 
安德烈公爵认为写信给库拉金要求决斗一事是不适宜的。在尚无要求决斗的新理由的情形下，安德烈公爵认为由他首先挑起决斗，会使罗斯托娃伯爵小姐的名誉受到损害，因此他就去寻找与库拉金会面的机会，以便为一次决斗寻找新借口。然而在土耳其军队中他亦未能遇见库拉金，库拉金在安德烈公爵抵达后不久就回俄国去了。安德烈公爵在一个新国度和新环境中觉得比较轻松。自从未婚妻背弃他之后（他愈益掩盖此时对他的影响，此事对他的影响就愈益强烈），以前他深感幸福的生活条件，而今却使他痛苦不堪，昔日他所极为珍惜的自由与独立，如今却使他觉得更痛心。他不仅不再去想先前那些心事——就是在奥斯特利茨战场上抬头观望天空时心里初次产生的思绪，他喜欢对皮埃尔谈论的、在博古恰罗沃和后来有瑞士与罗马使他那孤独生活获得充实的各种思绪；而今甚至害怕回顾那些向他揭示无限光明前途的思绪。他如今只是关心与过去无关的目前的实际问题，他愈益醉心于目前的问题，过去就离他愈益遥远。过去高悬在他头上的那个无限遥远的天空，好像忽然间变成低矮的有限的压着他的拱形顶盖，而那里面的一切都很明了，并无任何永恒和神秘之物可言。
在他所能想到的各项工作中，他觉得在军队里供职至为简单也至为熟悉。他在库图佐夫司令部里执勤时，他对自己工作的执着和勤恳，使库图佐夫感到吃惊。安德烈公爵在土耳其未能找到库拉金，他认为并无必要又回到俄国去跟踪他；但是他知道，无论他度过多么长久的时间，只要他碰见库拉金，就非向他挑战不可，就像一个很饥饿的人必然会向食物扑将过去一样，尽管他极端藐视他，尽管他给自己寻找出千百条理由，条条理由都使他觉得他不必降低身份同他发生冲突。然而一想到他犹未雪奇耻大辱，他犹未消心头之恨，他那人为的平安——也就是他多少由于个人野心和虚荣而在土耳其给他自己安排的劳碌的活动，就受到妨碍。
一八一二年，俄国同拿破仑开战的消息传到布加勒斯特后（库图佐夫于此地已经居住两个月，他昼夜和那个瓦拉几亚女人鬼混），安德烈公爵恳请库图佐夫将他调至西线方面军去，博尔孔斯基以其勤奋精神来责备他的懒惰，库图佐夫对此早已感到厌烦了，很愿意把他调走，他就让他前去巴克雷·德·托利处执行任务。
安德烈公爵在未抵达驻扎在德里萨军官的军队之前，顺路去童山，童山离他所走的斯摩棱斯克大路只有三俄里之遥。最近三年来，安德烈公爵的生活起了很大的变化，他所考虑的事情很多，有很多感受，也有很多见识（他已走遍西方和东方），但是当他来到童山时，这里的一切，就连最细小的地方，都依然像从前一样，生活方式也像从前一样，这不禁使他感到奇怪和出乎意料之外。当他驶进林荫道，经过童山宅第的石门时，犹如进入一座因着魔而陷入沉睡状态的古旧城堡似的。这所住宅还是那样雄伟，那样清洁，那样肃静，仍然是那样的家具，那样的墙壁，那样的音响，那样的气味以及那样几张只不过略微现老的畏葸的面孔。公爵小姐玛丽亚还是那样谨小而慎微、容貌不美丽的上了岁数的女郎，她永远是在惊恐和痛苦中，在毫无裨益的闷闷不乐的心境中度过最佳的年华。布里安小姐还是个尽情享受她的生命的每一瞬息的喜形于色的洋洋自得的卖弄风骚的女郎。安德烈公爵心里觉得，她只是变得更富于自信罢了。安德烈公爵从瑞士带回本国的那个教师德萨尔，虽然总是身穿一套俄国式的常礼服，操着一口蹩脚的俄语和仆人谈话，但是他仍旧是个不太聪明的、有学问也有德行的书呆子。老公爵在身体方面唯一的变化就是在一边嘴里缺少一颗牙齿；他的脾气依然如故，只不过他对外界发生的事情很容易激怒，疑心更重罢了。尼古卢什卡只是长高了，相貌子变了，两颊是绯红的，蓄着一头乌黑的鬈发，当他高兴和哈哈大笑的时候，他那漂亮的小嘴上唇无意识地翘起来，和那个已经辞世的小公爵夫人一模一样。不过他不愿意服从这座因着魔而陷入沉睡状态的古旧城堡里的一成不变的法则。表面上的一切虽然像过去一样，但是自从安德烈公爵离开此地后，这些人的内部关系发生了变化。家庭成员分成了两个视若路人的互相敌对的营垒，现在只是看在他的面上，才把平常的生活方式改变过来，大家当着他的面团聚在一起了。老公爵、布里安小姐、建筑师属于一个营垒，公爵小姐玛丽亚、德萨尔、尼左卢什卡、所有的保姆和乳母属于另一个营垒。
他在童山的时候，家里的人都在一起聚餐，但是所有的人都困窘不安，安德烈公爵觉得他是个来宾，大家为了他，才有这样的例外，当着他的面，大家都很不自在。头一天聚餐的当儿，安德烈公爵就不由地产生了这种感觉，他不开腔了，老公爵一眼便看出他的面色显得不自然，也板着面孔一声不响，吃罢午饭后就回到自己房里去了。夜晚，安德烈公爵去看他，竭力地使他打起精神来，给他讲到小伯爵卡缅斯基远征的事儿，可是老公爵突然向他谈起公爵小姐玛丽亚，指责她的迷信观念、诉说玛丽亚不爱布里安小姐，还说，唯独有布里安小姐才是个真正效忠于他的人。
老公爵说，如果他害病了，应当归咎于公爵小姐玛丽亚，她故意使他受折磨，小公爵尼古拉学坏了，那是因为她溺爱他，还说了许多蠢话。老公爵十分清楚，是他使女儿遭受痛苦，她的生活很为难，可是他也晓得他不能不折磨她，她活该受苦。“安德烈公爵为什么看到了这一点，而只字不提他的妹妹呢？”老公爵想道，“他是否以为我是个坏人或者是老糊涂了，毫无缘由地使我自己和女儿疏远起来，却与一个法国女人接近呢？他不明了，应当向他说明，要让他倾听我说的话。”老公爵想道。他开始说明他为什么对自己女儿的愚蠢性格不能容忍了。
“假如您问我，”安德烈公爵两眼不望他父亲，说道（这是他有生以来第一次责备父亲）“我原来不想这样说，可是如果您真要问我，那么我就坦白地将我对这一切的意见讲给您听，因为我知道玛莎是非常敬爱您的，若是说您和她之间有什么误会和不和睦的话，那么我千万不能责怪她。假如您问我，”安德烈公爵急躁地说，近来他容易暴躁，“只有一点我能对您说，假使会发生误会的话，那么，它的根源就在那个卑微的女人身上，她不配当我妹妹的女伴。”
老头子开头定睛望着他儿子，不自然地咧着嘴微笑，露出安德烈公爵至今尚未看惯的牙齿中间的新豁口。
“亲爱的，什么女伴？嗯？你们都已经谈过啦！嗯？”
“爸爸，我不愿当什么审判官，”安德烈公爵带有恼怒而且生硬的声调说，“但是，是您首先向我挑衅的，我说过，不要再说一遍，公爵小姐玛丽亚没有罪过，而有罪过的正是那些……是那个法国婆子的罪过……”
“喏，你来宣判，判我的罪啦！”老年人低声地说，安德烈公爵觉得他的语声有点窘，但是，紧接着老年人忽然跳起来，大声喊道：“给我滚开，给我滚开！不要让我看见你的影子啊！……”
安德烈公爵心里想立即离开这个家，但是玛丽亚公爵小姐劝他再待上一天，安德烈公爵这一天未和他父亲见面，老年人没有出门，除了布里安小姐和吉洪，不让任何人走进房里去，不止一次地询问，他儿子走了没有。翌日临行前，安德烈公爵走进儿子的房间。那个健康的像妈妈一样长着鬈发的男孩坐在他的膝头上。安德烈公爵给他儿子讲蓝胡子的故事，可是没有把故事讲完，他沉吟起来。他不是在想这个抱在他膝盖上的漂亮的小儿子，他在想自己。他怀着恐惧在内心深处寻找而未能找到那因触怒他父亲而懊悔的心情，他亦未能找到因和他有生以来第一遭口角的父亲离别而遗憾的心情。最重要的是，他对他儿子表示爱抚，把他抱在膝盖上，他希望从他内心引起对他的温柔的感情，但是他觉得，他无论怎样也找不到过去他对自己儿子的温柔的感情。
“讲吧。”儿子说。安德烈公爵没有回答他的话，他把他从膝盖上抱下来，走出了房门。
安德烈公爵只要一把日常工作抛开，特别是回到他幸福地生活过的那个昔日的环境，忧愁的心绪像从前那样强烈地向他袭击，他就赶快回避往事的回忆，找点事儿来做。
“安德烈，你一定要走吗？”妹妹对他说。
“我可以离开，感谢那上天。”安德烈公爵说，“你走不了，我很惋惜哩。”
“你为什么这样说呀！”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“现在你去打一场可怕的战争，他这么老迈，你怎么会说出这样的话啊！布里安小姐说，他老是问你呢……”她刚一打开话匣子，她的嘴唇就颤抖起来了，眼泪汪汪地直流。安德烈公爵把脸转过来，开始在房里踱来踱去。
“啊，我的天呀！我的天呀！”他说道，“你会料想不到，不管一件什么东西，一个什么人是多么微不足道，都有可能使人遭到不幸！”他说道，他那恼怒的口吻使公爵小姐玛丽亚感到惊讶。
她明了，他言下的微不足道的人，指的不仅是使他遭遇不幸的布里安小姐，而且是指那个破坏他的幸福的家伙。
“安德烈，我央求你，我只有一件事求你，”她说，碰了一下他的臂肘，用噙满眼泪的闪闪发亮的眼睛望着他。“我了解你（公爵小姐玛丽亚垂下眼帘）。不要以为不幸是人所造成的。人是上帝的工具。”她朝安德烈公爵头顶上方稍高的地方看了一眼，她那目光流露着在看圣像时所习惯的虔信的神情。
“不幸乃为上帝所赐予，实非人所造成。人是上帝的工具。他们都是无罪的人。如果你觉得有谁开罪于你，那么你就忘掉吧，原宥吧。我们没有惩罚的权利，你是会懂得宽恕的幸福的。”
“玛丽亚，如果我是女人，我准会那样做的，那是女人的品格，但是男人就不要忘记和宽恕。”他说，尽管此时他没有想到库拉金，可是在他心中的尚未发泄的怒火突然燃烧起来了。“假如公爵小姐玛丽亚已经劝我宽恕，那就意味着，我早就应该惩罚了。”他想道。他再也不去回答公爵小姐玛丽亚，这时他开始想到他在碰见库拉金时（他晓得库拉金此刻在军队里）那个令人痛快的、复仇的时刻。
公爵小姐玛丽亚恳求她哥哥多呆一天，她说，假如安德烈未能同父亲和好就离开，那末他父亲真会感到难受的，可是安德烈公爵回答说，也许他不久就会从军队回来，他一定给他父亲写信，目前他在家中住得愈久，关系也就会愈恶劣。
“Adieu，Andre！Rappelez－vous　que　les　malheurs　viennent　de　Dieu，et　que　les　hommes　ne　sont　janais　coupables．”①这就是他向妹妹道别时听见他妹妹说的最后几句话。 
①法语：安德烈，再见！要记着，不幸是来自上帝，人们是永远没有罪过的。
“是的，事情也只有如此！”安德烈公爵乘车驶出童山宅第的林荫道时这样想道。“她这个可怜的无罪的女人，只有忍受昏聩的老年人的折磨吧。老年人知道自己做得不对，但是改不了。我的男孩正在成长，享受人生的欢乐，他也像每个人一样，将来在生活中或者受人欺骗，或者欺骗别人。为什么我要到军队里去呢？——我自己也不晓得，我指望碰见那个我所鄙视的小人，赐予他一个打死我嘲笑我的有利条件！”生活环境依然如故，但过去它是平和而舒适的，目前这一切全都破碎了。一些不连贯的、毫无意义的现象在安德烈公爵的头脑中接一连二地浮现出来。
Book 9 Chapter 9
PRINCE ANDREY reached the headquarters of the army at the end of June. The first army, with which the Tsar was, was stationed in a fortified camp at Drissa. The second army was retreating, striving to effect a junction with the first army, from which—so it was said—it had been cut off by immense forces of the French. Every one was dissatisfied with the general course of events in the Russian army. But no one even dreamed of any danger of the Russian provinces being invaded, no one imagined the war could extend beyond the frontiers of the western Polish provinces.
Prince Andrey found Barclay de Tolly, to whom he was sent, on the bank of the Drissa. Since there was not one large village nor dwelling-place in the neighbourhood of the camp, the immense multitude of generals and courtiers accompanying the army were distributed about the neighborhood for ten versts round in the best houses of the village on both sides of the river. Barclay de Tolly was staying four versts away from the Tsar. He gave Bolkonsky a dry and frigid reception, and said in his German accent that he would mention him to the Tsar so that a definite appointment might be given him, and that meanwhile he begged him to remain on his staff. Anatole Kuragin, whom Prince Andrey had expected to find in the army, was not here. He was in Petersburg, and Bolkonsky was glad to hear it. He was absorbed in the interest of being at the centre of the immense war that was in progress, and he was relieved to be free for a time from the irritability produced in him by the idea of Kuragin. The first four days, during which he was not called upon to do anything, he spent in riding round the whole of the fortified camp, and by the aid of his experiences and his conversations with persons of greater experience, he tried to form a definite idea about it. But the question whether such a camp were of use at all or not remained an open one in his mind. He had already, from his own military experience, formed the conviction that in war the most deeply meditated plans are of no avail (as he had seen at Austerlitz), that everything depends on how unexpected actions of the enemy, actions that cannot possibly be foreseen, are met; that all depends on how, and by whom, the battle is led. In order to settle this last question to his own satisfaction, Prince Andrey took advantage of his position and his acquaintances to try to get an insight into the character of the persons and parties who had a hand in the organisation of the army. This was the general idea he gained of the position of affairs.
While the Tsar had been at Vilna, the army had been divided into three. The first army was under the command of Barclay de Tolly, the second under the command of Bagration, and the third under the command of Tormasov. The Tsar was with the first army, but not in the capacity of commander-in-chief. In the proclamations, it was announced that the Tsar would be with the army, but it was not announced that he would take the command. Moreover, there was in attendance on the Tsar personally not a commander-in-chief's staff, but the staff of the imperial headquarters. The chief officer of the imperial staff was General-Quartermaster Volkonsky, and it contained generals, aides-de-camp, diplomatic officials, and an immense number of foreigners, but it was not a military staff. The Tsar had also in attendance on him in no definite capacity, Araktcheev, the late minister of war; Count Bennigsen, by seniority the first of the generals; the Tsarevitch, Konstantin Pavlovitch; Count Rumyantsev, the chancellor; Stein, the former Prussian minister; Armfeldt, the Swedish general; Pfuhl, the chief organiser of the plan of the campaign; Paulucci, a Sardinian refugee, who had been made a general-adjutant; Woltzogen; and many others. Though those personages had no definite posts in the army, yet, from their position, they had influence, and often the commander of a corps, or even one of the commanders-in-chief, did not know in what capacity Bennigsen or the Tsarevitch or Araktcheev or Prince Volkonsky addressed some advice or inquiry to him, and could not tell whether some command in the form of advice came directly from the person who got it or through him from the Tsar, and whether he ought or ought not to obey it. But all this formed simply the external aspect of the situation; the inner import of the presence of the Tsar and all these great personages was, from a courtier's point of view (and in the presence of a monarch all men become courtiers), plain to all. All grasped the fact that though the Tsar was not formally assuming the position of commander-in-chief, he did, in fact, hold the supreme control of all the armies in his hands, and the persons about him were his councillors. Araktcheev was a trusty administrator, a stern upholder of discipline, and careful of the safety of the Tsar. Bennigsen was a land-holder in the neighbourhood, and seemed to feel it his function to entertain the Tsar there; while he was in reality, too, a good general, useful as an adviser, and useful to have in readiness to replace Barclay at any time. The Tsarevitch was there because he thought fit to be. The former Prussian minister, Stein, was there because his advice might be useful, and the Emperor Alexander had a high opinion of his personal qualities. Armfeldt was a bitter enemy of Napoleon, and had self-confidence, which never failed to have influence with Alexander. Paulucci was there because he was bold and decided in his utterances. The generals on the staff were there because they were always where the Emperor was; and the last and principal figure, Pfuhl, was there because he had created a plan of warfare against Napoleon, and having made Alexander believe in the consistency of this plan, was now conducting the plan of the whole campaign. Pfuhl was accompanied by Woltzogen, who put Pfuhl's ideas into a more easily comprehensible form than could be done by Pfuhl himself, who was a rigid theorist, with an implicit faith in his own views, and an absolute contempt for everything else.
The above-mentioned were the most prominent personages about the Tsar, and among them the foreigners were in the ascendant, and were every day making new and startling suggestions with the audacity characteristic of men who are acting in a sphere not their own. But, besides those, there were many more persons of secondary importance, who were with the army because their principals were there.
In this vast, brilliant, haughty, and uneasy world, among all these conflicting voices, Prince Andrey detected the following sharply opposed parties and differences of opinion.
The first party consisted of Pfuhl and his followers; military theorists, who believe in a science of war, having its invariable laws—laws of oblique movements, out-flanking, etc. Pfuhl and his adherents demanded that the army should retreat into the heart of the country in accordance with the exact principles laid down by their theory of war, and in every departure from this theory they saw nothing but barbarism, ignorance, or evil intention. To this party belonged Woltzogen, Wintzengerode, and others—principally Germans.
The second party was in direct opposition to the first. As is always the case where there is one extreme opinion, representatives had come forward of the opposite extreme. This party had urged an advance from Vilna into Poland regardless of all previous plans. This party, while advocating bold action, consisted of the representatives of nationalism, which made them even more one-sided in their views. They were Russians: Bagration, Yermolov, who was just beginning to make his mark, and some others. Yermolov's well-known joke was much quoted at the time—a supposed petition to the Tsar for promotion to be a “German.” The members of this party, recalling Suvorov, maintained that what was wanted was not reasoning and sticking pins into maps, but fighting, beating the enemy, preventing the enemy from getting into Russia, and keeping up the spirits of the army.
To the third party, in which the Tsar was disposed to place most confidence, belonged the courtiers, who tried to effect a compromise between the two contending sides. The members of this party—to which Araktcheev belonged—were mostly not military men, and they spoke and reasoned as men usually do who have no convictions, but wish to pass for having them. They admitted that a war with such a genius as Bonaparte (they called him Bonaparte again now) did undoubtedly call for the profoundest tactical considerations and thorough scientific knowledge, and that on that side Pfuhl was a genius. But, at the same time, they acknowledged that it could not be denied that theorists were often one-sided, and so one should not put implicit confidence in them, but should listen too to what Pfuhl's opponents urged, and also to the views of practical men who had experience, and should take a middle course. They advocated maintaining the camp at Drissa on Pfuhl's plan, but altering his disposition of the other two armies. Though by this course of action neither aim could be attained, this seemed to the party of compromise the best line to adopt.
Of the fourth section of opinions, the most prominent representative was the Grand Duke, and heir-apparent, who could not get over his rude awakening at Austerlitz. He had ridden out at the head of his guards in helmet and cuirass as though to a review, expecting gallantly to rout the French, and finding himself unexpectedly just in the line of the enemy's fire, had with difficulty escaped in the general disorder. The members of this party had at once the merit and the defect of sincerity in their convictions. They feared Napoleon; they saw his strength and their own weakness, and frankly admitted it. They said: “Nothing but a huge disgrace and ruin can come of the war! We have abandoned Vilna, and abandoned Vitebsk, and we are abandoning the Drissa too. The only sensible thing left for us to do is to conclude peace, and as soon as possible, before we have been driven out of Petersburg!”
This view was widely diffused in the higher military circles, and found adherents, too, in Petersburg—one of them being the chancellor Rumyantsev, who advocated peace on other political considerations.
A fifth section were the adherents of Barclay de Tolly, not so much from his qualities as a man, as a minister of war and commander-in-chief. “Whatever he may be,” they always began, “he is an honest, practical man, and there is nobody better. Let him have sole responsibility, since war can never be prosecuted successfully under divided authority and he will show what he can do, as he did in Finland. We owe it simply to Barclay that our army is strong and well organised, and has retreated to the Drissa without disaster. If Barclay is replaced by Bennigsen now, everything will be lost; for Bennigsen has proved his incapacity already in 1807.” Such was the line of argument of the fifth party.
The sixth party, the partisans of Bennigsen, maintained on the contrary that there was after all no one more capable and experienced than Bennigsen, and that whatever else were done they would have to come back to him. They maintained that the whole Russian retreat to Drissa had been an uninterrupted series of shameful disasters and blunders. “Let them blunder now if they will,” they said; “the more blunders the better, at least it will teach them all the sooner that we can't go on like this. And we want none of your Barclays, but a man like Bennigsen, who showed what he was in 1807, so that Napoleon himself had to do him justice, and a man, too, is needed to whom all would readily intrust authority, and Bennigsen is the only such man.”
The seventh class were persons such as are always found in courts, and especially in the courts of young sovereigns, and were particularly plentiful in the suite of Alexander—generals and adjutants, who were passionately devoted to the Tsar, not merely as an emperor, but sincerely and disinterestedly adored him as a man, as Rostov had adored him in 1805, and saw in him every virtue and good quality of humanity. These persons, while they were ecstatic over the modesty of the Tsar in declining the chief command of the army, deplored that excess of modesty, and desired and urged one thing only, that their adored Tsar, conquering his excessive diffidence, would openly proclaim that he put himself at the head of the army, would gather the staff of the commander-in-chief about him, and, consulting experienced theorists and practical men where necessary, would himself lead his forces, who would be excited to the highest pitch of enthusiasm by this step.
The eighth and largest group, numbering ninety-nine to every one of the others, consisted of people who were eager neither for peace nor for war, neither for offensive operations nor defensive camps, neither at Drissa nor anywhere else; who did not take the side of Barclay, nor of the Tsar, nor of Pfuhl, nor of Bennigsen, but cared only for the one thing most essential—their own greatest gain and enjoyment. In the troubled waters of those cross-currents of intrigue, eddying about the Tsar's headquarters, success could be attained in very many ways that would have been inconceivable at other times. One courtier, with the single-hearted motive of retaining a lucrative position, would agree today with Pfuhl, and to-morrow with his opponents, and the day after to-morrow would declare that he had no opinion on the subject in question, simply to avoid responsibility and to gratify the Tsar. Another, in the hope of bettering his position, would seek to attract the Tsar's attention by loudly clamouring a suggestion hinted at by the Tsar on the previous day, by quarrelling noisily at the council, striking himself on the chest and challenging opponents to a duel to prove his readiness to sacrifice himself for the common good. A third simply took advantage of the absence of enemies between two councils to beg a grant from the Single Assistance Fund for his faithful service, knowing there would be no time now for a refusal. A fourth took care to place himself where the Tsar might quite casually find him deeply engrossed in work. A fifth tried to reach the long-desired goal of his ambition—a dinner at the Tsar's table—by violently espousing one side or another and collecting more or less true and valid arguments in support of it.
All the members of this party were on the hunt after roubles, crosses, and promotions; and in that chase they simply followed the scent given them by the fluctuations of imperial favour. As soon as they saw the imperial weather-cock shifting to one quarter the whole swarm of these drones began buzzing away in the direction, making it more difficult for the Tsar to shift his course back again. In the uncertainty of the position, with the menace of serious danger, which gave a peculiarly intense character to everything, in this whirlpool of ambitions, of conflicting vanities, and views, and feelings, and different nationalities, this eighth and largest party, absorbed only in the pursuit of personal interests, greatly increased the complexity and confusion. Whatever question arose, the swarm of drones, still humming over the last subject, flew to the new one, and by their buzzing drowned and confused the voices of sincere disputants.
At the time when Prince Andrey reached the army yet another—a ninth party—was being formed out of all the rest, and was just making its voice heard. It consisted of sensible men of age and political experience, sharing none of the conflicting opinions, and able to take a general view of all that was being done at headquarters, and to consider means for escaping from the vagueness, uncertainty, confusion, and feebleness.
The members of this party thought and said that the whole evil was primarily due to the presence of the Tsar with his military court in the army; that it brought into the army that indefinite, conditional, and fluctuating uncertainty of relations which is in place in a court, but mischievous in an army; that it was for the Tsar to govern and not to lead his troops; that the only escape from the position was the departure of the Tsar and his court from the army; that the simple presence of the Tsar paralysed fifty thousand troops, which must be retained to secure his personal safety; that the worst commander-in-chief, acting independently, would be better than the best commander-in-chief with his hands tied by the presence and authority of the Tsar.
While Prince Andrey was staying, with nothing to do, at Drissa, Sishkov, the secretary of state, one of the leading representatives of this last group, wrote to the Tsar a letter to which Balashov and Araktcheev agreed to add their signatures. In this letter he took advantage of the Tsar's permitting him to offer his opinion on the general question, and respectfully suggested the sovereign's leaving the army, urging as a pretext for his doing so the absolute necessity of his presence to rouse public feeling in the capital.
To appeal to the people, and to rouse them in defence of their fatherland, was represented as urgently necessary to the Tsar, and was accepted by him as a sufficient reason for leaving. The outburst of patriotism that followed that appeal (so far indeed as it can be said to have been produced by the Tsar's visit to Moscow) was the principal cause of the subsequent triumph of Russia.
安德烈公爵是六月底来到总司令部的。皇帝所在的第一军在德里萨设置了防御工事；第二军在撤退，力图与第一军会合，据说他们被法军的强大力量切断了。所有的人都对俄罗斯军队的军事情势不满；但谁也未想到有入侵俄国各省的危险，谁也没估计到战争会越过波兰西部各省。 
安德烈公爵在德里萨河岸找到他受命去其麾下任职的巴克思·德·托利。因为营地周围没有一个大村庄，大批的将军和随军宫廷大臣都安置在河两岸方圆十俄里的村中最好的宅院里。巴克思·德·托利住在离皇帝四俄里的地方。他冷淡地接待了博尔孔斯基，他操着德国口音说他将奏明圣上再确定他的职务，只有暂时请他留在他的司令部。安德烈公爵希望在军队中寻找到的阿纳托利·库拉金没在这里；他在彼得堡，这消息使博尔孔斯基很愉快。目前，安德烈公爵忙于正发生的大规模战争的核心问题，而他也很高兴有一些时间不再为一直萦绕于他内心的库拉金问题所烦恼。在头四天，他没被要求做什么事，安德烈公爵巡视所有设防的营地，借助自己的知识与有关人员谈话，是可能对每个营地有明确的概念。但问题在于这个营地的防卫是有效的还是无效的，对安德烈公爵来说却是一个未被解决的问题，从自己的军事经验中，他已经得出一个信念，在军事事务中，最深思熟虑的完善周到的计划没有任何意义（正如他在奥斯特利茨战役中见到的），一切都取决于如何处理突发的、不能预见的敌方行动，取决于如何和由谁来指挥整个战役。为了弄清楚这后一个问题，安德烈公爵利用自己的地位和熟人极力深入了解军队的指挥特点，参予其中的指挥员和派系，于是得出关于军事情势的如下概念。
当皇帝还在维尔纳时，军队就被分成三部分：第一军由巴克雷·德·托利统率，第二军由巴格拉季翁统率，第三军由托尔马索夫率领。皇帝在第一军，但却不是作为总司令。据通令称，皇帝将不指挥军队，而只是跟随军队。此外，没有皇帝御前总参谋部，只有一个皇帝的行辕参谋部。设有皇帝行辕参谋长，这就是负责军需的将军博尔孔斯基公爵，几个将军、侍从武官、外交官员和一大批外国人，但是这不是军队司令部。此外，在皇帝面前不带职务的人员还有：阿拉克切耶夫——前陆军大臣，贝尼格森伯爵——按官阶是老将军（大将），皇太子梁斯坦J·帕夫诺维哥大公，鲁缅采夫伯爵——一等文官，施泰因——前普鲁士部长，阿伦菲尔德——瑞典将军、普弗尔——作战计划的主要起草人，侍从武官巴沃鲁契——撒丁亡命者，沃尔佐根以及许多其他人。虽然这些人没有军职，但是由于其所处的地位都有影响，通常一个军团长甚至总司令不知道贝尼格森或者大公，或者阿拉克切耶夫，或者博尔孔斯基是以什么身分过问或建议那件事或其他事务，也不知道这种过问或建议是出自他们本人还是出自皇帝，应当或者不应当执行。但这仅仅是表面现象，皇帝和这些人从宫廷的观点出面的实质意义（皇帝在场，所有其他人都是宫廷侍臣）是大家都明了的。那种意义就是：皇帝没有承担总司令的名义，但是他却号令全军；他周围的人都是他的助手。阿拉克切耶夫是忠实的执行人，秩序的维持者，是皇帝的侍卫；贝尼格森是维尔纳省的地主，他仿佛在尽地主之谊Les　honneurs（法语：接待皇帝），而实际上是一个优秀的将军，能够出谋划策，随时可替代巴克雷。大公在那里是因为这是他乐意的事，前部长施泰因是因为他能提出有益的建议，因为亚历山大皇帝高度评价他的个人品质。阿伦菲尔德复拿破仑的死敌，是一位将军，自信总能影响亚历山大。巴沃鲁契是因为他直言和果断。侍从武官在那里是因为他们出现在皇帝所在的所有地方，最后，最主要的——普弗尔在那里是因为他起草拟定了反对拿破仑的军事计划，并使亚历山大相信这个计划的可行性，他掌管一切军务。与普弗尔一道的是沃尔佐根，一个比普弗尔本人更能用明了易懂的方式表达普弗尔的思想，因为普弗尔是一个尖刻的，自信到目空一切，书本上的理论家。
除前述的俄罗斯人和外国人外（特别是外国人，他们都具有在陌生人中活动或工作的人们所特有的大胆，每天都提出惊人的新思想），还有许多次要人物，他们在那里是因为那里有他们的上司。
在这个庞大、忙碌、辉煌和骄傲的集团中，安德烈公爵发现所有的思想和议论可明显分为以下派系和倾向。
第一派是：普弗尔及其追随者，那些军事理论家，他们相信存在军事科学，认为这门科学有自身不可更改的法则，运动战法则，迂回运动法则等。普弗尔及其追随者要求撤退到国家的内地，按伪军事理论所规定的精确的法则，对这个理论的所有偏离却只能被人们视为野蛮，不学无术或别有用心。属于该派的有德国亲王们、沃尔佐根、温岑格罗德和其他人，多半都是德国人。
第二派与第一派相反。正如惯常的情形，有一种极端，也就有另一种极端。这派的人要求从维尔纳攻入波兰，并摆脱所有预先制订的计划。这一派的代表除了是大胆行动的代表外，他们同时还是民族主义的代表，因此在辩论变得更加偏激了。这些人是俄罗斯人：巴格拉季翁、声望高涨的叶尔莫洛夫和其他一些人。此时传播着叶尔莫洛夫的笑话，似乎是他请求皇帝的恩宠——封他为德国人。这一派缅怀苏沃洛夫的人说，不应当认为，不用针刺破地图，而应去战斗，打击敌人，不放敌人进入俄罗斯，不要挫拆士气。
第三派最受皇帝信任，他们是介于两派间的宫廷侍臣们。这派人大多是军人，阿拉克切耶夫属于该派，他们所想所说的都是没有信念，但又希望像有信念的普通人所想和所说的。他们说，毫无疑问，战争，特别是同波拿巴（又称他叫波拿巴）这样的天才的战争，要求最深思熟虑的谋划和渊博的科学知识，在这方面普弗尔是一个英才；但同样不能不承认，理论家往往有其片面性，所以不能完全相信他们，应该听听反对派普弗尔的意见，听听在军事上有实践经验的人们的意见，然后加以折中。这一派主张按照普弗尔的计划守住德里萨营地，改变其他各军的行动。虽然这种变化不能达到其它任何目的，但该派却认为这样会好些。
第四派以大公皇太子为最著名的代表，他不能忘记自己在奥斯特利茨战役所遭受的失败，当时他头戴钢盔，身穿骑兵制服，就像去阅兵似的骑马行进在近卫军的前面，实指望干净利落地击溃法军，结果却陷入第一线，好不容易才在惊慌中逃出来。这一派人在自己的讨论中具有坦率的优点和缺点。他们害怕拿破仑，看到了他的力量和自己的软弱并直截了当地说出了这一点。他们说：“除了悲哀、耻辱和毁灭之外，不会有任何结果！我们丢掉了维尔纳，放弃了维捷布斯克，还要失掉德里萨。聪明的做法是趁现在还暂未把我们赶出彼得堡，尽快缔结和约。”
这个观点在军方上层相当普遍，在彼得堡也获得支持，一等文官鲁缅采夫为其他政治原因也同样赞成和解。
第五派是巴克雷·德·托利的信徒们。他们与其认为他是人，不如说把他当作陆军大臣和总司令。他们说：“不管他是什么人，（总是这样开始），但他的正直，精明，没有谁比他更好。请把实权交给他吧，因为战争中不可能没有统一的指挥，他将展示他可以做些什么，就像他在芬兰表现的那样。如果我们的军队秩序井然，有战斗力，撤退到德里萨而未遭受任何损失，那么这只能归功于巴克雷。如果现在用贝尼格森代替巴克雷，那么一切全完了，因为贝尼格森在一八○七年就表现出自己的碌碌无能。”这一派的人们这样说。
第六派是贝尼格森派。正好相反，他们说，“不管怎样，没有比贝尼格森更能干的，更有经验的人了，无论你怎样折腾，最终还是请教他。这一派的人证明说，我们全体退到德里萨是最可悲的失败和不间断一连串错误的结果。他们说：“错误犯得越多，越能尽快地使人们明白，不可以这样下去，不需要什么巴克雷，而是需要像贝尼格森这样的人。他在一八○七年已经显过身手，拿破仑自己曾给他作过公充的评价，这更让人心悦诚服地承认是权威的人，只有贝尼格森一个人。”
第七派是那些随时都随侍皇帝左右的人，特别是那些年轻的皇帝，而亚历山大皇帝身边的这种人特别多，他们是将军、侍从武官，他们对皇帝无限忠诚，就像罗斯托夫在一八○五年崇拜他一样。不是把他当作皇帝，而当作一个人，衷心而无私地崇拜他，在他身上不仅看出全部美德，而且具备人类的一切优秀品质。这些人虽然赞美皇帝拒绝统帅军队的谦虚品质，却指责这种过分的谦虚，他们仅希望一件事，而且坚持自己崇拜的皇帝丢弃对自身的过分的不信任、公开宣布做军队的统帅，属下组建一个总司令大本营，自己指挥军队，必要时可请有经验的理论家和实干家辅佐，这样更极大地鼓舞军心激昂士气。
第八派是人数最多的一派，以自己的众多数量与其他派别相比正如九十九比一，他们由那些既不希望和平，又不希望战争，既不赞成进攻，也不喜欢在德里萨营地和其他任何地方设防士卫。不支持巴克雷皇帝，也不支持普弗尔、贝尼格森，他们只谋机一件事，一件非常重要的事，那就是为自己最大的利益和愉快而行动，在那潭浑水里盘根错节，扑朔离迷的阴谋诡计充斥皇帝的行辕，从中可捞到在别的时候意想不到的好处。有人只是怕失掉自己的即得利益。于是就今天同意普弗尔，明天又同意普弗尔的反对派，后天又宣布他对某个问题毫无意见，目的是只要能逃避责任和讨好皇帝。另外那些人希望捞取某种好处，吸引皇帝的注意力，就大喊大叫，拥护皇帝前一天暗示过的某件事，在会议上捶胸顿足地争论和叫喊，向不同意的人要求决斗，以此表明他准备为公众的利益而牺牲。第三种人，在两次会议中间而反对派又缺席时便直截了当地请求给自己一次补助作为自己忠实服务的报偿，他知道此时没有时间拒绝他。第四种人千方百计地表示自己辛勤工作。第五种人则为了达到其久已梦寐以求的宿愿——陪皇帝吃饭，拼命地证明一个刚提出的意见的正确或不正确，并为此举出或多或少有些正确和充分的论据。
这一派的所有人都在捞取卢布、勋章和官位。在这种追逐中只随着帝王恩宠的风向标转动，只要一发现风向标指向那一方向，结果却更难把风向标扭向另一方。在这动荡不定的局势中，在这使一切都处在惊慌和不安的严重危险中，在这阴谋自私、互相冲突各种观点和感情的漩涡中，加之所有这些人的种族差异，这人数众多，未谋私利的第八派给共同的事业增加了极大的混乱和惊慌。无论发生什么问题，这群蜂子在前一个题目上还未嗡嗡完，就飞到那个新问题上，并以自己的嗡嗡声压倒和淹灭那些真诚的辩论。
正当安德烈公爵来到军队时，从所有这些派别中正聚起一派，正提高自己的声誉的第九派。这一派由年事已高，有治国经验、聪明干练的人组成，他们不赞成互相对立的任何一种意见，冷静地观察大卡里发生的一切，思考摆脱目前这种方向不明，意志不坚，混乱一团和软弱无力状况的出路。
这一派人所思所想的是，一切坏事源于皇帝及其军事顾问们进驻军队，各种关系不明确，互相制约，左右摇摆不定都带进军队，这在家庭里可行。在军队就有害了。皇帝应该治理国家，而不是指挥军队，摆脱这种状态的唯一出路是皇帝及其宫廷从军队中撤出去，仅皇帝在场，为保护他个人的安全就使五万军队瘫痪；这个最差的，但是却独立自主的总司令也比那个最好的，然而却因皇帝及其权威而束手束脚的总司令要好得多。
正当安德烈公爵在德里萨闲住无事的时候，曾为这一派主要代表之一的希代科夫给皇帝与了一封信，巴拉瑟夫和阿拉克切耶夫也同意在信上签名。信中，利用皇帝准许他议论大局之便，借口必须鼓舞首都人民的战斗精神，恭请皇帝离开军队。
由皇帝亲自鼓舞和号召人民保卫祖国——这正是（就皇帝亲自到莫斯科来说）俄罗斯胜利的主要原因。为了给皇帝离开军队找个借口，提出的这个建议，被皇帝所接受了。
Book 9 Chapter 10
THIS LETTER had not yet been given to the Tsar, when Barclay, at dinner one day, informed Bolkonsky that his majesty would be graciously pleased to see Prince Andrey in person, to ask him some questions about Turkey, and that Prince Andrey was to present himself at Bennigsen's quarters at six o'clock in the evening.
That day news had reached the Tsar's quarters of a fresh advance on Napoleon's part that might be regarded as menacing the army—news that turned out in the sequel to be false. And that morning Colonel Michaud had accompanied the Tsar on a tour of inspection about the Drissa fortifications; and had tried to convince the Tsar that the fortified camp, constructed on Pfuhl's theory, and hitherto regarded as the chef d'?uvre of tactical science, destined to overthrow Napoleon—that that camp was a senseless absurdity that would lead to the destruction of the Russian army.
Prince Andrey arrived at Bennigsen's quarters, a small manor-house on the very bank of the river. Neither Bennigsen nor the Tsar was there; but Tchernishev, the Tsar's aide-de-camp, received Bolkonsky, and informed him that the Tsar had set off with General Bennigsen and Marchese Paulucci to make his second inspection that day of the fortifications of the Drissa camp, of the utility of which they were beginning to entertain grave doubts.
Tchernishev sat in the window of the outer room with a French novel. This room had once probably been the main hall; there was still an organ in it, on which were piled rugs of some sort, and in the corner of the room was a folding bedstead belonging to Bennigsen's adjutant. The owner of the bedstead, too, was there. Apparently exhausted by work or festivities, he sat dozing on the folded bed. Two doors led from the room: one straight in front opening into the drawing-room, another on the right opening into the study. From the first door came the sound of voices speaking German and occasionally French. In the drawing-room there was being held, by the Tsar's desire, not a military council—the Tsar loved to have things vague—but a meeting of a few persons, whose opinions he wished to hear in the present difficult position. It was not a military council, but a sort of council for the elucidation of certain questions for the benefit of the Tsar personally. To this sort of semi-council had been bidden the Swedish general, Armfeldt, the general on the staff Woltzogen, Wintzengerode (whom Napoleon had called a renegade French subject), Michaud, Toll, Count Stein—by no means a military man—and finally Pfuhl, who was, so Prince Andrey had heard, la cheville ouvrière of everything. Prince Andrey had the opportunity of getting a good view of him, as Pfuhl came in shortly after his arrival and stopped for a minute to say a few words to Tchernishev before going on into the drawing-room.
At the first glance Pfuhl, in his badly cut uniform of a Russian general, which looked out of keeping, like some fancy dress costume on him, seemed to Prince Andrey like a familiar figure, though he had never seen him before. He was of the same order as Weierother, and Mack, and Schmidt, and many other German generals, men of theory, whom Prince Andrey had seen in the war of 1808; but he was a more perfect type of the class than any of them. Such a typical German theorist, combining in himself all the characteristics of those other Germans, Prince Andrey had never seen before.
Pfuhl was short and very thin, but broad-boned, of a coarsely robust build, with broad hips and projecting shoulder-blades. His face was wrinkled; he had deep-set eyes; his hair had obviously been hastily brushed smooth in front, but stuck out behind in quaint wisps. Looking nervously and irritably about him, he walked in as though he were afraid of everything in the great room he had entered. With a clumsy gesture, holding his sword, he turned to Tchernishev, asking him where the Tsar was. He was unmistakably eager to get through the rooms, to get the bows and greetings over as quickly as possible, and to sit down to work at a map, where he would feel at home. He gave a hurried nod in response to Tchernishev's words, and smiled ironically on hearing that the Tsar was inspecting the fortifications that he, Pfuhl, had planned in accordance with his theory. He muttered something in the jerky bass, in which conceited Germans often speak, “silly fool…” or “damn the whole business…” or “some idiocy's sure to come of that.” Prince Andrey did not catch his words, and would have passed on, but Tchernishev introduced him to Pfuhl, observing that he had just come from Turkey, where the war had been so successfully concluded. Pfuhl barely glanced, not at, but across Prince Andrey, and commented, laughing: “A model that war must have been of every principle of tactics!” And, laughing contemptuously, he went on into the room, from which the sound of voices came.
It was evident that Pfuhl—disposed at all times to be irritable and sarcastic—was that day particularly irritated at their having dared to inspect his camp and to criticise it without him. Thanks to his Austerlitz experiences, Prince Andrey could from this one brief interview form a clear idea of the man's character. Pfuhl was one of those hopelessly, immutably conceited men, ready to face martyrdom for their own ideas, conceited as only Germans can be, just because it is only a German's conceit that is based on an abstract idea—science, that is, the supposed possession of absolute truth. The Frenchman is conceited from supposing himself mentally and physically to be inordinately fascinating both to men and to women. An Englishman is conceited on the ground of being a citizen of the best-constituted state in the world, and also because he as an Englishman always knows what is the correct thing to do, and knows that everything that he, as an Englishman, does do is indisputably the correct thing. An Italian is conceited from being excitable and easily forgetting himself and other people. A Russian is conceited precisely because he knows nothing and cares to know nothing, since he does not believe it possible to know anything fully. A conceited German is the worst of them all, and the most hardened of all, and the most repulsive of all; for he imagines that he possesses the truth in a science of his own invention, which is to him absolute truth.
Pfuhl was evidently one of these men. He had a science—the theory of the oblique attack—which he had deduced from the wars of Frederick the Great; and everything he came across in more recent military history seemed to him imbecility, barbarism, crude struggles in which so many blunders were committed on both sides that those wars could not be called war at all. They had no place in his theory and could not be made a subject for science at all.
In 1806 Pfuhl had been one of those responsible for the plan of campaign that ended in Jena and Auerstadt. But in the failure of that war he did not see the slightest evidence of the weakness of his theory. On the contrary, the whole failure was to his thinking entirely due to the departures that had been made from his theory, and he used to say with his characteristic gleeful sarcasm: “Didn't I always say the whole thing was going to the devil?” Pfuhl was one of those theorists who so love their theory that they lose sight of the object of the theory—its application to practice. His love for his theory led him to hate all practical considerations, and he would not hear of them. He positively rejoiced in failure, for failure, being due to some departure in practice from the purity of the abstract theory, only convinced him of the correctness of his theory.
He said a few words about the present war to Prince Andrey and Tchernishev with the expression of a man who knows beforehand that everything will go wrong, and is not, indeed, displeased at this being so. The uncombed wisps of hairs sticking out straight from his head behind, and the hurriedly brushed locks in front, seemed to suggest this with a peculiar eloquence.
He went on into the next room, and the querulous bass notes of his voice were at once audible there.
当巴克雷吃饭时转告博尔孔斯基说，皇帝本人要招见安德烈公爵，向他垂询有关土耳其的情况。下午六点钟，安德烈公爵要来到贝尼格森的寓所，此时这封信还没有呈交皇帝。 
就在这一天，皇帝行辕收到一则有关拿破仑的新的行动可能危及我方军队的消息，这个消息后来证明不准确，也在这天早晨，米绍上校陪同皇帝巡视了德里萨的防御工事，并向皇帝证明说，由普弗尔设计构筑的这个牢固的阵地被认为是空前的战术家的chef—d'oeuvre①，它可以置拿破仑于死地，——这个阵地没有任何意义，倒是俄罗斯军队的坟墓。 
①法语：杰作。
安德烈公爵来到贝尼格森将军的寓所，它坐落在紧邻河岸的一所不大的地主宅院里，那里既没有贝尼格森，也无皇帝，但是皇帝的侍从武官切尔内绍夫接待了博尔孔斯基，向他解释说皇上带着贝尼格森将军和保罗西侯爵今天第二次去视察德里萨营地防御工事，他们对这座营地防御工事的适用性开始产生极大的怀疑。
切尔内绍夫拿着一本法国小说坐在第一间屋的窗子旁边，大概这间房屋以前曾是大厅；屋内还有一架风琴，风琴上堆放着地毯，屋角里放着贝尼格森的副官的行军床。这个副官正在那儿，显然他被宴会或事务累得疲惫不堪，坐在卷着的被盖上打瞌睡，大厅有两道门：一道门直通原先的客厅，另一道往右通向书房。从第一道门里传来用德语、偶尔也用法语谈话的声音。那里，原先的客厅里，按皇帝的旨意正举行非军事性会议（皇帝喜欢含糊），他希望知道在目前困境下几个人的意见。这不是军事会议，好像是为皇帝个人阐明某些问题而召开的特邀会议。被邀出席这次非正式会议的有，瑞典将军阿姆菲尔德，侍从武官沃尔佐根，温岑格罗德，他被拿破仑称为法国逃亡者，米绍，托尔，完全不是军人的施泰因伯爵，最后是普弗尔本人，正如安德烈公爵听说的那样，他是所有事情的la　cheville　ouvrière①。安德烈公爵有机会仔细打量他，因为普弗尔在安德烈到后不久就来了，去客厅时他停下来与切尔内绍夫谈过一会儿话。 
①法语：主脑。
乍看起来，普弗尔穿着裁剪很差的俄罗斯将军制服，好像被化了装似的，穿着不合身，安德烈公爵觉得他很面熟，虽然他从未见过他，他身上具有魏罗特尔、马克、施米特和其他许多安德烈公爵一八○五年见到过的德国军事理论家所具备的特点；但是他比其他所有人都更典型，安德烈公爵还从未见过一位如此把那些德国人的特点集于一身的德国军事理论家。
普弗尔身材不高，很瘦，但骨架宽大、体格健康，臀部宽阔，肩胛骨棱角分明。他满脸绉纹，眼窝深隐，额前的鬓发显然匆匆地梳理过，脑后的头发却一撮撮地翘起显得幼稚可笑。他一边走进房间，一边心神不宁地忿忿地四处张望，好像他害怕他走进的那一大间房中的一切似的。他笨手笨脚地扶着佩刀，用德语向切尔内绍夫打听皇帝在哪儿。显然，他想尽快穿过房间，结束礼仪和问候，在地图边坐下来着手工作，他觉得那才是舒适的地方，他一边听切尔内绍夫说皇帝去视察他普弗尔按自己的理论构筑的工事，一边匆匆地点着头，带着讥讽的意味微笑着，他自言自语地嘟囔了一句什么，仿佛像所有自信的德国人那样低沉而急促地抱怨Dummkopf……①或者：Zu　Grunde　die　ganze　Geschichte……②或者：S'wird　was　gescheites　d'raus　werden……③安德烈公爵没有听清他说什么，想走过去，但是切尔内绍夫把安德烈公爵介绍给普弗尔认识，并说安德烈公爵刚从土耳其回来，那里的战事幸运地结束了，普弗尔瞟了一眼安德烈公爵，与其说是看他，毋宁说是眼光一扫而过，大笑着说：“DaMuss　ein　schoCner　tactischer　Krieg　gewesen　sein．”④随后，轻蔑地笑笑，向那传出谈话声的房间走去。 
①德语：愚蠢。
②法语：整个事情就要完蛋。
③法语：哼，有好戏看啦！
④法语：对啦，那一仗准是战术运用得正确。
普弗尔显然就爱讽刺挖苦人，特别是现在有人背着他去视察他的阵地并且妄加评判，这就更刺激了他。安德烈公爵通过这一次与普弗尔的短暂会见，再加之对奥斯特利茨战役的回忆，就为这个人勾划出了鲜明的形象。普弗尔是那类自信到不可救药，一成不变，以致于宁愿殉道的人之一，这类人只能是德国人，因为只有德国人根据远离现实的观念——科学，即臆想到的完善无缺的真理的知识才建立这样的自信。法国人所以自信是因为他认为自己无论智力还是肉体，无论对男人还是对女人都有不可抗拒的迷人的力量，英国人的自信是基于他是世界上组织得最好的国家的公民，是因为他作为一个英国人，总是知道该作什么，而且知道作为一个英国人所做的一切无疑是正确的，意大利人自信是因为他总是激动万分，容易忘掉自己和别人，俄罗斯人自信却是因为他什么也不知道，而且不愿知道，因为他不相信有什么事是可以完全了解的，德国人的那种自信比所有其他的都糟，都更顽固，更讨厌，因为他想象他知道真理，知道科学，那真理和科学是他自己杜撰出来的，可他却认为是绝对真理——显然，普弗尔就是这样的人，他有一种科学——他从腓特烈大帝战争史得出的迂回运动理论，他遇到的现代战争史中的一切，都使他觉得那些是毫无意义的、野蛮、混乱的冲突，其中战斗的双方都犯了如此多的错误，以致那些战争不能称为战争，它们不符合理论，不能作为科学研究的对象。
一八○六年，普弗尔是结束于耶那和奥尔施泰特的那场战争的计划拟定人之一；但是在这场战争的结局中他没有看见自己的理论有任何错误。相反，他认为所有失败的唯一原因是没有按照他的理论去做。他用自己特有的幸灾乐祸的讽刺口吻说：“Ich　sagteja，dass　die　ganze　Geschichte　zum　Teufel　gehen　werde．”①普弗尔是那种理论家之一，这种理论家如此偏爱自己的理论，以致于忘掉了理论的目的——应用于实际，他们由于偏爱理论而憎恨一切实际，连了解也不愿意。他甚至为失败而高兴，因为实际是由于背离理论而导致失败的，对他来说这种失败只能证明其理论的正确性。 
①德语：我早就说过，整个事情都要完蛋。
他与安德烈公爵和切尔内绍夫说了几句关于当前战争的话，他的神情仿佛在说，我早就知道一切都会弄糟的，甚至对此抱有得意之色，那脑后一撮撮翘起的头发和匆匆梳过的鬓角都说明了这点。
他走进另一间房，那儿立刻传来他低沉而愤慨的声音。
Book 9 Chapter 11
PRINCE ANDREY had hardly seen the last of Pfuhl when Count Bennigsen came hurrying into the room, and bestowing a nod on Bolkonsky, went straight through to the study, giving some instruction to his adjutant. The Tsar was following him, and Bennigsen had hurried on to prepare something, and to be in readiness to meet him. Tchernishev and Prince Andrey went out into the porch. The Tsar, looking tired out, was dismounting from his horse. Marchese Paulucci was saying something to him. Turning his head to the left, the Tsar was listening with a look of displeasure to Paulucci, who was speaking with peculiar warmth. The Tsar moved, evidently anxious to end the conversation; but the Italian, flushed and excited, followed him, still talking, and oblivious of etiquette.
“As for the man who has counselled the camp at Drissa,” Paulucci was saying just as the Tsar, mounting the steps and noticing Prince Andrey, was looking more intently at his unfamiliar face. “As for him, sire,” Paulucci persisted desperately, as though unable to restrain himself, “I see no alternative but the madhouse or the gallows.”
Not attending, and appearing not to hear the Italian, the Tsar recognised Bolkonsky and addressed him graciously:
“I am very glad to see you. Go in where they are meeting and wait for me.”
The Tsar passed on into the study. He was followed by Prince Pyotr Mihalovitch Volkonsky and Baron Stein, and the study door was closed after them. Prince Andrey, taking advantage of the Tsar's permission to do so, accompanied Paulucci, whom he had met in Turkey, into the drawing-room where the council had assembled.
Prince Pyotr Mihalovitch Volkonsky was performing the duties of a sort of informed head of the Tsar's staff. Volkonsky came out of the study and bringing out maps laid them on the table, and mentioned the questions on which he wished to hear the opinion of the gentlemen present. The important fact was that news (which afterwards proved to be false) had been received in the night of movements of the French with the object of making a circuit round the camp at Drissa.
The first to begin speaking was General Armfeldt, who unexpectedly proposed, as a means of avoiding the present difficulty, a quite new project, inexplicable except as a proof of his desire to show that he, too, had a suggestion of his own. His idea was that the army should move into a position away from the Petersburg and Moscow roads, and, united there, await the enemy.It was evident that this project had been formed by Armfeldt long before, and that he brought it forward now not so much with the object of meeting the present problem, to which it presented no solution, as of seizing the opportunity of explaining its merits. It was one of the millions of suggestions which might be made, one as reasonable as another, so long as no one had any idea what form the war would take. Some of those present attacked his idea, others supported it. The young Colonel Toll criticised the Swedish general's project with more heat than any one; and in the course of his remarks upon it drew out of a side pocket a manuscript, which he asked leave to read aloud. In this somewhat diffuse note, Toll proposed another plan of campaign—entirely opposed to Armfeldt's, and also to Pfuhl's plan. Paulucci, in raising objections to Toll's scheme, proposed a plan of direct advance and attack, which he declared to be the only means of extricating us from our present precarious position, and from the trap (so he called the Drissa camp) in which we were placed. During all this discussion, Pfuhl and his interpreter Woltzogen (who was his mouth-piece in the court world) were silent. Pfuhl merely snorted contemptuously and turned his back to indicate that he would never stoop to reply to the rubbish he was hearing. But when Prince Volkonsky, who presided over the debate, called upon him to give his opinion, he simply said: “Why ask me? General Armfeldt has proposed an excellent position with the rear exposed to the enemy. Or why not the attack suggested by this Italian gentleman? A fine idea! Or a retreat? Excellent, too. Why ask me?” said he. “You all know better than I do, it appears.”
But when Volkonsky, frowning, said that it was in the Tsar's name that he asked his opinion, Pfuhl rose, and growing suddenly excited, began to speak:
“You have muddled and spoilt it all. You would all know better than I, and now you come to me to ask how to set things right. There is nothing that needs setting right. The only thing is to carry out in exact detail the plan laid down by me,” he said, rapping his bony fingers on the table. “Where's the difficulty? It's nonsense; child's play!” He went up to the map, and began talking rapidly, pointing with his wrinkled finger about the map, and proving that no sort of contingency could affect the adaptability of the Drissa camp to every emergency, that every chance had been foreseen, and that if the enemy actually did make a circuit round it, then the enemy would infallibly be annihilated.
Paulucci, who did not know German, began to ask him questions in French. Woltzogen came to the assistance of his leader, who spoke French very badly, and began translating his utterances, hardly able to keep pace with Pfuhl, who was proceeding at a great rate to prove that everything, everything, not only what was happening, but everything that possibly could happen, had been provided for in his plan, and that if difficulties had arisen now, they were due simply to the failure to carry out that plan with perfect exactitude. He was continually giving vent to a sarcastic laugh as he went on proving, and at last scornfully abandoned all attempt to prove, his position, as a mathematician will refuse to establish by various different methods a problem he has once for all proved to be correctly solved. Woltzogen took his place, continuing to explain his views in French, and occasionally referring to Pfuhl himself: “Is that not true, your excellency?” But Pfuhl, as a man in the heat of the fray will belabour those of his own side, shouted angrily at his own follower—at Woltzogen, too.
“To be sure, what is there to explain in that?”
Paulucci and Michaud fell simultaneously on Woltzogen in French. Armfeldt addressed Pfuhl himself in German. Toll was interpreting to Prince Volkonsky in Russian. Prince Andrey listened and watched them in silence.
Of all these men the one for whom Prince Andrey felt most sympathy was the exasperated, determined, insanely conceited Pfuhl. He was the only one of all the persons present who was unmistakably seeking nothing for himself, and harbouring no personal grudge against anybody else. He desired one thing only—the adoption of his plan, in accordance with the theory that was the fruit of years of toil. He was ludicrous; he was disagreeable with his sarcasm, but yet he roused an involuntary feeling of respect from his boundless devotion to an idea.
Apart from this, with the single exception of Pfuhl, every speech of every person present had one common feature, which Prince Andrey had not seen at the council of war in 1805—that was, a panic dread of the genius of Napoleon, a dread which was involuntarily betrayed in every utterance now, in spite of all efforts to conceal it. Anything was assumed possible for Napoleon; he was expected from every quarter at once, and to invoke his terrible name was enough for them to condemn each other's suggestions. Pfuhl alone seemed to look on him too, even Napoleon, as a barbarian, like every other opponent of his theory; and Pfuhl roused a feeling of pity, too, as well as respect, in Prince Andrey. From the tone with which the courtiers addressed him, from what Paulucci had ventured to say to the Tsar, and above all from a certain despairing expression in Pfuhl himself, it was clear that others knew, and he himself, that his downfall was at hand. And for all his conceit and his German grumpy irony, he was pitiful with his flattened locks on his forehead and his wisps of uncombed hair sticking out behind. Though he tried to conceal it under a semblance of anger and contempt, he was visibly in despair that the sole chance left him of testing his theory on a vast scale and proving its infallibility to the whole world was slipping away from him.
The debate lasted a long while, and the longer it continued the hotter it became, passing into clamour and personalities, and the less possible it was to draw any sort of general conclusion from what was uttered. Prince Andrey simply wondered at what they were all saying as he listened to the confusion of different tongues, and the propositions, the plans, the shouts, and the objections. The idea which had long ago and often occurred to him during the period of his active service, that there was and could be no sort of military science, and that therefore there could not be such a thing as military genius, seemed to him now to be an absolutely obvious truth. “What theory and science can there be of a subject of which the conditions and circumstances are uncertain and can never be definitely known, in which the strength of the active forces engaged can be even less definitely measured? No one can, or possibly could, know the relative positions of our army and the enemy's in another twenty-four hours, and no one can gauge the force of this or the other detachment. Sometimes when there is no coward in front to cry, ‘We are cut off!' and to run, but a brave, spirited fellow leads the way, shouting ‘Hurrah!' a detachment of five thousand is as good as thirty thousand, as it was at Sch?ngraben, while at times fifty thousand will run from eight thousand, as they did at Austerlitz. How can there be a science of war in which, as in every practical matter, nothing can be definite and everything depends on countless conditions, the influence of which becomes manifest all in a moment, and no one can know when that moment is coming. Armfeldt declares that our army is cut off, while Paulucci maintains that we have caught the French army between two fires; Michaud asserts that the defect of the Drissa camp is having the river in its rear, while Pfuhl protests that that is what constitutes its strength; Toll proposes one plan, Armfeldt suggests another; and all are good and all are bad, and the suitability of any proposition can only be seen at the moment of trial. And why do they all talk of military genius? Is a man to be called a genius because he knows when to order biscuits to be given out, and when to march his troops to the right and when to the left? He is only called a genius because of the glamour and authority with which the military are invested, and because masses of sycophants are always ready to flatter power, and to ascribe to it qualities quite alien to it. The best generals I have known are, on the contrary, stupid or absent-minded men. The best of them is Bagration—Napoleon himself admitted it. And Bonaparte himself! I remember his fatuous and limited face on the field of Austerlitz. A good general has no need of genius, nor of any great qualities; on the contrary, he is the better for the absence of the finest and highest of human qualities—love, poetry, tenderness, philosophic and inquiring doubt. He should be limited, firmly convinced that what he is doing is of great importance (or he would never have patience to go through with it), and only then will he be a gallant general. God forbid he should be humane, should feel love and compassion, should pause to think what is right and wrong. It is perfectly comprehensible that the theory of their genius should have been elaborated long, long ago, for the simple reason that they are the representatives of power. The credit of success in battle is not by right theirs; for victory or defeat depends in reality on the soldier in the ranks who first shouts ‘Hurrah!' or ‘We are lost!' And it is only in the ranks that one can serve with perfect conviction, that one is of use!”
Such were Prince Andrey's reflections as he heard the discussion going on around him, and he was only roused from his musing when Paulucci called to him and the meeting was breaking up.
Next day at the review the Tsar asked Prince Andrey where he desired to serve; and Bolkonsky ruined his chances for ever in the court world by asking to be sent to the front, instead of begging for a post in attendance on the Tsar's person.
安德烈公爵还来不及用目光送走普弗尔，贝格尼森伯爵就已匆匆走进房间，他向博尔孔斯基点点头，脚步不停地向自己的副官下达了一些指令就进了书斋。皇帝还在他后面，贝尼格森匆匆前来就是为了准备点什么，迎接皇帝。切尔内绍夫和安德烈公爵走到门廊台阶上。皇帝神情疲倦地下了马，保罗西侯爵正对皇帝讲着什么。皇帝头偏向左侧听着保罗西热烈的絮叨，看来皇帝想结束谈话，举步向前走，但是那个满脸通红、神情激动的意大利人忘了礼节，还跟在他后面继续说道： 
“Quant　à　celui　qui　a　conseillé　ce　camp，le　camp　de　Drissa．”①保罗西说，这时皇帝已走上台阶，看见安德烈公爵，打量了一下这张他不熟悉的面孔。 
①德语：至于那个建设构筑德里萨阵地的人。
“Quant　à　celui，sire，”保罗西仿佛按捺不住，不顾一切地继续说道，“Qui　a　conseillé　le　camp　de　Drissa，je　ne　vois　pas　d'autre　alternative　que　la　maison　jaune　ou　le　gibet．”①皇帝没听完，或许根本没有听意大利人的话，他认出了博尔孔斯基，亲切地对他说：“很高兴看见你，到那边他们聚集的地方去等着我吧。”皇帝走进了书斋，随后是彼得·米哈伊诺维奇·沃尔孔斯基公爵、施泰因男爵进了书斋，斋门在他们的背后关上了。安德烈公爵利用皇帝的许可，与他在土耳其时代就认识的保罗西一道走进正在聚会的客厅。 
①德语：陛下，至于那个建设构筑德里萨阵地的人，我看他只有两个去处：一是疯人院，一是绞刑架。
彼得·米哈伊诺维奇·沃尔孔斯基公爵担任了类似皇帝的参谋长的职务，沃尔孔斯基走出书斋带着一些地图进了客厅，并把地图摊在桌子上，他转达了几个问题，想听听与会诸位对这些问题的意见。情况是，晚上收到消息（后来证实不正确），说法国军队要迂回进攻德里萨阵地。
阿姆菲尔德将军第一个发言，他出人意料地提出一个全新的（除了他有意表明他也能提出意见外）什么也不能说明的方案。在通往彼得堡和莫斯科的大路旁构筑阵地，他认为必须在那里集结军队，以等待敌人，这样才能摆脱现有的困境。看来这个计划阿姆菲尔德早已拟好，他现在陈述它，与其说目的是为了对提案予以解答（实际并未解答），不如说是趁机发表这个方案。这是无数建议中的一个，如果不考虑战争的具体特点的意义，那么这些建议同其他建议一样都有充足的理由，有些人反对他的意见，有些人拥护他的意见。年轻的上校托尔比其他人都更热烈地反驳这位瑞典将军的意见，在争论时，他从衣服口袋内掏出一本写满字迹的笔记本并请求让他读一遍，在这本记述详尽的笔记本中，托尔提出了一个与阿姆菲尔德或普弗尔的计划完全相反的作战计划。保罗西在反对托尔时，提出了一个向前推进和进攻的计划。按他的话说，这个计划能使我们从无所适从和我们所处的陷阱中摆脱出来（他是这样称呼德里萨阵地的），在进行这些争论时，普弗尔和他的翻译官沃尔佐根（他与宫廷关系的桥梁）沉默不语。普弗尔只是轻蔑地抽抽鼻子，扭过头去，表示他无论何时也不屑于反驳他现在听到的废话，但是当主持讨论的沃尔孔斯基公爵请他发表自己的意见时，他只是说：
“何必要问我呢？阿姆菲尔德将军提出了一个绝妙的后方暴露的阵地的主意。或者进攻Von　diesem　italienischen　Herrn，sehr　schoCn①。或者退却，Auch　gut②．问我干什么呢？”他说，“你们自己难道不比我更清楚吗？”但是当紧皱眉头的沃尔孔斯基说，他是代表皇帝问他的意见时，普弗尔站起来，忽然兴致勃勃地开始说： 
①德语：这位意大利先生的意见，很好嘛。
②德语：也很好。
“一切都破坏了，一切都杂乱无章，所有人都想在认识上比我高强，而现在找我来了。怎么补救呢？没什么要补救的。应该切实按照我所阐明的原则去做。”他说着，用瘦骨嶙峋的手指敲着桌子。“困难在哪儿啦？胡说，Kinderspiel。”①他走近地图，用肌肉萎缩的指头点着地图，开始快速地讲起来，他证明任何意外的情况都不能改变德里萨阵地的适当性，一切都预见到了，假如敌人真要迂回，那就一定会被消灭。
不懂德语的保罗西用法语问他。沃尔佐根来帮助法语讲得很差的自己的长官，替他当翻译，他几乎跟不上普弗尔，普弗尔急速地证明说，不仅已经发生的一切，就连可能发生的一切，一切的一切在他的计划中都预见到了，如果现在有什么困难的话，那么全部过错都是因为没有分毫不差的执行他的计划。他不断露出讥讽的冷笑，证明了又证明，最后他轻蔑地停止了证明，仿佛他是一个数学家停止用各种书法验算一道已经证明无误的算题一样。沃尔佐根继续用法语代他说明他的思想，并不时对普弗尔说：“Nicht　wahr，Exellenz？”②普弗尔就像一个战斗中杀红眼的人一样打起自己人来，他生气地斥责沃尔佐根说：“Nun　ja，was　soll　denn　da　noch　expliziert　werden？”③保罗西和米绍齐声用法语反驳沃尔佐根。阿姆菲尔德用德语与普弗尔说着话。托尔用俄语在向沃尔孔斯基解释。安德烈公爵默默地听着，观察着。 
①德语：儿童玩具。
②德语：对不对，大人？
③德语：那当然，还用得着解释吗？
在所有这些人当中，最能引起安德烈公爵同情的，就是那个愤怒、坚决、固执己见的普弗尔，在座的所有的人中间，显然只有他不为个人私利着想，不敌视任何人，只一心想着一件事——把那按照他多年辛苦研究出来的理论所拟定的计划付诸实践。他是可笑的，他的冷嘲热讽是令人不愉快的，可是他却无限忠诚于自己的理想，这就令人不由自主地肃然起敬。此外，在所有发言的人里面，除开普弗尔，都有一个共同的特点，这在一八○五年的军事会议中是没有的——这就是现在虽然被掩饰却仍然在每一个人的反驳中流露出对拿破仑的天才的恐惧和惊惶失措。他们都假设拿破仑无所不能，从各个方面都可出现他的影子，人们以他可怕的名字互相推翻对方的设想。好像只有普弗尔一个人认为拿破仑就象反对他的理论的人一样也是野蛮人。但是，除了尊敬的感情以外，普弗尔还使安德烈公爵产生怜悯之情。根据宫廷大臣对待他的态度，根据保罗西胆敢对皇帝说的那些话，最主要是根据普弗尔本人有点失望的表情来看，虽然，其他人都知道，他自己也感觉得出，他倒台的日子已不远了。尽管他很自信，具有德国人的好抱怨的爱讥讽的性格，连同他那梳光的鬓角和脑后一撮撮翘起的头发，都使他觉自己可怜，虽然他把这些隐藏在自己的愤怒和蔑视之下，但是他陷入绝望，因为用大规模的实验来检验和向全世界证明地的理论的正确性的唯一机会，现在从他手中失去了。
辩论继续了很久，而且他们讨论得越久，争论也越激烈，甚至大吼大叫，互相诋毁，因而要从所有发言中得出一个共同的结论也更不可能不听着这场各种语言交织的谈话以及这些设想、计划、辩驳和叫喊、他对他们所说的话，只有感到不胜惊讶。在他从事军事活动期间，他很早而且常常有一种想法——没有也不可能有什么军事科学，因而也没有任何所谓的军事天才，现在在他看来已是十分明显的真理。“如果一场战争的条件和环境不明了也不可能弄清楚，投入战斗的兵力无以明确，又怎么谈得上那场战争的理论和科学呢？谁也不能知道也不可能知道，我方和敌方军队明天将是怎样的情势，而且谁也不可能知道这支或那支部队的力量如何。有时，是胆小鬼在前面喊道：‘我们被截断了！'于是开始溃逃，而有时是前面一位快活勇敢的人喊‘乌拉！'——一支五千人的部队就抵得上三万人，申格拉本战役即是如此；而有时五万人也会在八千人面前溃逃，就像在奥斯特利茨战役一样。在军事行动中如同在所有其他实践活动中一样，谈不上什么科学，什么也不能确定。一切都取决于无数的条件，在谁也无法预料的那一瞬间便可确定这些条件所起的作用。阿姆菲尔德常说我们的军队被截断了，而保罗西却说，法军陷入我两军夹击之中；米绍说，德里萨阵地不利在于背河布阵，而普弗尔却说，这正是阵地威力之所在。托尔提出一个计划，阿姆菲尔德提出另一个计划；而所有计划都好，也都不好，任何建议的好坏只有在事件发生时才显得出来。那么人们从何说起军事天才呢？难道天才就是会及时命令运送面包干，指挥那个向右那个向左的人？因为军人们被授予荣誉和权力，成群的蝇营狗苟的坏胚子趋炎附势，本不具备的天才品质都赋予了权势，于是他们便被称为天才。其实正相反，我所知道的最好的将军们——都是些愚笨和粗心的人。最好的是巴格拉季翁——拿破仑自己对此也承认，还有波拿巴本人！我记得那副在奥斯特利茨战场的自鸣得意的嘴脸。一个优秀的统帅不仅不需要天才和那些特殊的人类品质，而且相反，他要剔去那些人类最崇高、最完善的品质——仁爱，诗人气质，温情，从哲学探索问题的怀疑精神。他必须是目光短浅，坚信他所做的事是非常重要的（不如此他就没有足够的耐心），只有这样，他才是一个勇敢的统帅，上帝保佑，千万别成为那种今天爱惜一些人，明日又为另一些人怜惜。老在琢磨什么是对，什么是错的人。不言而喻，有权有势的人，自古以来人们就已为他们编造了一套天才的理论。其实军事上的胜利并不取决于他们，而取决于那些在队伍中喊：‘我们完了！'或者喊：‘乌拉！'的人们。只有在这些队伍中服务，你才会有你是有用的信心。”
安德烈公爵一面听着议论，一面这样思考着，直到保罗西叫他们时，他才清醒过来，大家都已经要离开了。
第二天阅兵的时候，皇帝问安德烈公爵，他想在那儿工作，安德烈公爵没有请求留在皇帝身边，而是请求到军队去服务，他永远失去了置身于宫廷的机会。
Book 9 Chapter 12
BEFORE THE BEGINNING of the campaign Rostov had received a letter from his parents, in which they informed him briefly of Natasha's illness and the breaking off of her engagement, and again begged him to retire from the army and come home to them. Natasha had, they explained, broken off the engagement by her own wish. On receiving this letter Nikolay did not even attempt to retire from the army or to obtain leave, but wrote to his parents that he was very sorry to hear of Natasha's illness and her rupture with her betrothed, and that he would do everything in his power to follow their wishes. To Sonya he wrote separately.
“Adored friend of my heart,” he wrote; “nothing but honour could avail to keep me from returning to the country. But now, at the beginning of a campaign, I should feel myself dishonoured in my comrades' eyes, as well as my own, if I put my own happiness before my duty and my love for my country. But this shall be our last separation. Believe me, immediately after the war, if I be living and still loved by thee, I shall throw up everything and fly to thee to press thee for ever to my ardent breast.”It was, in fact, only the outbreak of the war that detained Rostov and hindered him from returning home, as he had promised, and marrying Sonya. The autumn at Otradnoe with the hunting, and the winter with the Christmas festivities and Sonya's love had opened before his imagination a vista of peace and quiet country delights unknown to him before, and this prospect now lured him back. “A charming wife, children, a good pack of hounds, ten to twelve leashes of swift harriers, the estate to look after, the neighbours, election to offices, perhaps, by the provincial nobility,” he mused. But now war was breaking out, and he had to remain with his regiment. And since this had to be, Nikolay Rostov was characteristically able to be content too with the life he led in the regiment, and to make that life a pleasant one.
On his return from his leave, Nikolay had been joyfully welcomed by his comrades and sent off for remounts. He succeeded in bringing back from Little Russia some first-rate horses that gave him great satisfaction, and won him the commendation of his superior officers. In his absence he had been promoted to be captain, and when the regiment was being made ready with reinforcements for active service, he was again put in command of his old squadron.
The campaign was beginning, pay was doubled, the regiment was reinforced with new officers, new men, and fresh horses, and had moved into Poland. The temper of eager cheerfulness, always common at the beginning of a war, was general in the army, and Rostov, fully conscious of his improved position in the regiment, gave himself up heart and soul to the pleasures and interests of the army, though he knew that sooner or later he would have to leave it.
The army had been compelled to retreat from Vilna owing to various complex considerations of state, of policy, and tactics. Every step of that retreat had been accompanied by a complicated play of interests, arguments, and passions at headquarters. For the hussars of the Pavlograd regiment, however, this whole march in the finest part of the summer, with ample supplies of provisions, was a most simple and agreeable business. Depression, uneasiness, and intrigue were possible only at headquarters; the rank and file of the army never even wondered where and why they were going. If the retreat was a subject of regret, it was simply owing to the necessity of leaving quarters one had grown used to or a pretty Polish hostess. If the idea did occur to any one that things were amiss, he tried, as a good soldier should, to put a cheerful face on it; and to keep his thoughts fixed on the duty that lay nearest, and not on the general progress of the war. At first they had been very pleasantly stationed near Vilna, where they made acquaintance with the Polish gentry of the neighbourhood, prepared for reviews, and were reviewed by the Tsar and various commanders of high authority. Then came the command to retreat to Sventsyany, and to destroy all the stores that could not be carried away. Sventsyany was memorable to the hussars simply as the drunken camp, the name given to the encampment there by the whole army, and as the scene of many complaints against the troops, who had taken advantage of orders to collect stores, and under the head of stores had carried off horses and carriages and carpets from the Polish landowners. Rostov remembered Sventsyany, because on the very day of his arrival there he had dismissed his quartermaster and did not know how to manage the men of his squadron, who had, without his knowledge, carried off five barrels of strong old ale and were all drunk. From Sventsyany they had fallen further back, and then further again, till they reached Drissa; and from Drissa they retreated again, till they were getting near the frontiers of Russia proper.
On the 13th of July the Pavlograd hussars took part in their first serious action.
On the previous evening there had been a violent storm of rain and hail. The summer of 1812 was remarkably stormy throughout.
The two Pavlograd squadrons were bivouacking in the middle of a field of rye, which was already in ear, but had been completely trodden down by the cattle and horses. The rain was falling in torrents, and Rostov was sitting with a young officer, Ilyin, a protégé of his, under a shanty, that had been hastily rigged up for them. An officer of their regiment, adorned with long moustaches, that hung down from his cheeks, was caught in the rain on his way back from visiting the staff, and he went into Rostov's shanty for shelter.
“I'm on my way from the staff, count. Have you heard of Raevsky's exploit?” And the officer proceeded to relate to them details of the Saltanov battle that had been told him at the staff.
Rostov smoked his pipe, and wriggled his neck, down which the water was trickling. He listened with little interest, looking from time to time at the young officer Ilyin, who was squatting beside him. Ilyin, a lad of sixteen, who had lately joined the regiment, took now with Nikolay the place Nikolay had taken seven years before with Denisov. Ilyin tried to imitate Rostov in everything and adored him, as a girl might have done.
The officer with the double moustaches, Zdrzhinsky, in a very high-flown manner, described the dike at Saltanov as the Russian Thermopylae, and the heroic deed of General Raevsky on that dike as worthy of antiquity. Zdrzhinsky told then how Raevsky had thrust his two sons forward on the dike under a terrific fire, and had charged at their side. Rostov listened to the tale, and said nothing betokening sympathy with Zdrzhinsky's enthusiasm. He looked, indeed, as though ashamed of what he was told, but not intending to gainsay it. After Austerlitz and the campaign of 1807, Rostov knew from his own experience that men always lie when they describe deeds of battle, as he did himself indeed. He had had too sufficient experience to know that everything in battle happens utterly differently from our imagination and description of it. And so he did not like Zdrzhinsky's story, and did not, indeed, like Zdrzhinsky himself, who had, besides his unprepossessing moustaches, a habit of bending right over into the face of the person he was speaking to. He was in their way in the cramped little shanty. Rostov looked at him without speaking. “In the first place, on the dike they were charging there must have been such a crowd and confusion that, if Raevsky really thrust his sons forward, it would have had no effect except on the dozen men closest to him,” thought Rostov; “the rest could not have even seen who were with Raevsky on the dike. And those who did see it were not likely to be greatly affected by it, for what thought had they to spare for Raevsky's tender, parental feelings, when they had their own skins to think of saving? And besides the fate of the country did not depend on whether that dike was taken or not, as we are told the fate of Greece did depend on Thermopylae. And then what was the object of such a sacrifice? Why do your own children a mischief in war? I wouldn't put Petya, my brother, in a place of danger; no, even Ilyin here, who's nothing to me but a good-natured lad, I would do my best to keep safe and sheltered,” Rostov mused, as he listened to Zdrzhinsky. But he did not give utterance to his thoughts, he had experience of that too. He knew that this tale redounded to the glory of our arms, and therefore one must appear not to doubt its truth: and he acted accordingly.
“I can't stand this, though,” said Ilyin, noticing that Rostov did not care for Zdrzhinsky's story; “stockings and shirt, and all—I'm wet through. I'm going to look for shelter. I fancy the rain's not so heavy.” Ilyin ran out and Zdrzhinsky rode away.
Five minutes later Ilyin came splashing through the mud to the shanty.
“Hurrah! Rostov, make haste and come along. I have found an inn, two hundred paces or so from here; a lot of our fellows are there already. We can get dry anyway, and Marya Hendrihovna's there.”
Marya Hendrihovna was the wife of the regimental doctor; a pretty young German woman, whom he had married in Poland. Either from lack of means or disinclination to part from his young wife in the early days of their marriage, the doctor had brought her with him in the regiment, and his jealousy was a favourite subject for the jibes of the hussars.
Rostov flung on a cape, shouted to Lavrushka to follow them with their things, and went off with Ilyin, slipping in the mud, and splashing through the pools in the drizzling rain and the darkness, which was rent at intervals by distant lightning.
“Rostov, where are you?”
“Here. What a flash!” they called to one another as they went.
罗斯托夫在开战前收到一封父母的来信，信中简短地告知他关于娜塔莎的病情以及与安德烈公爵解除婚约的事（他们向他解释说婚约是娜塔莎主动回绝的），他们又要求他退伍回家去，尼古拉接到信后并未打算请假或退伍，而是给父母写信说他非常惋惜娜塔莎的病情和退婚，他将尽力做好一切，以实现他们的愿望。他单独给索尼娅写了一封信。 
“我心灵中的最亲爱的朋友，”他写道，“除了荣誉，什么也不能阻止我返回你身边。但是现在，在开战前夕，如果我把我个人的幸福置于对祖国的责任和爱之上，那么，不仅在全体同事面前，而且在我自己面前，我都是不光彩的。然而——这是最后一次离别了。请相信，战争结束后，假如我还活着，你还爱我的话，我将抛开一切，立刻飞到你的身边，把你永远拥抱在我火热的胸前。”
确实，只因为要开战才使罗斯托夫留了下来，耽误了他回家——他曾答应过——回去同索尼娅结婚，奥特拉德诺耶狩猎的秋季和伴着圣诞节和索尼娅的爱情的冬天，在他面前展示了一幅幽静的乡村生活图画，那种观乐而宁静的生活他以前并不了解，而现在却那样吸引着他。“一个贤慧的妻子，几个孩子，一群好猎狗，十至十二群凶猛的灵狸，农活、邻居，被选举为公众服务！”他想。可是，现在是在打仗，应该留在团队里，既然非要如此不可，尼古拉·罗斯托夫根据自己的性格来看，对团队生活也还满意，也能在这种生活中找到乐趣。
休假回来，同伴们高兴地迎接他，尼古拉被派去置办补充马匹，他从小俄罗斯（乌克兰）领回了好马，这使他很高兴，而且也博得长官的赞赏。在他外出时，他被提升为骑兵大尉，当团队按战时编制扩大名额时，他又回到原来所在的骑兵连。
战争开始了，团队向波兰进发，发了双饷，来了新的军官、新的士兵和新的马匹；主要的是队伍中普遍有一种伴随战争伊始的兴奋而欢乐的情绪；而罗斯托夫，意识到自己在团队中的有利地位，完全沉浸在军队生活的欢乐和趣味中，虽然他知道早晚会失去这种生活。
由于各种复杂的，国家的、政治的和战略的原因，军队从维尔纳撤退了。后退的每一步在总司令部中都伴随各种利害冲突，各种论断和感情的复杂变化，对保罗格勒兵团的骠骑兵来说，在夏季最好的季节，带着充足的给养进行这种退却是最简单最愉快的事情。泄气、不安和阴谋只有在总司令部才有，而在一般官兵中，人们是不去问到哪里去，为什么而去，如果有人为撤退而惋惜，也只是因为不得不离开久已住惯的营房，告别漂亮的波兰姑娘罢了。假如有谁觉得事情不妙，那么也会像一个优秀军人应有的样子，强作快活，不去想整个局势，而只顾眼前的事。当初是多么快活，驻扎在维尔纳附近，与波兰地主交往，期待并且受到皇帝和其他高级司令官的检阅。后来传来向斯文齐亚内撤退的命令，销毁不能带走的给养。斯文齐亚内值得骠骑兵们记忆，只因为这是一个“醉营”，这是全军送给斯文齐亚内营盘的外号，还因为在斯文齐亚内军队受到许多控告，指控他们利用征收给养的命令，同时夺走了波兰地主的马匹、车辆和地毯。罗斯托夫记得斯文齐亚内，是因为他进入这个镇的第一天就撤换了司务长，还因为他无力应付骑兵连的所有醉鬼，这些人瞒着他偷了五桶陈年啤酒。从斯文齐亚内继续撤退直到德里萨，又从德里萨撤退，已经接近俄罗斯边境了。
七月十三日保罗格勒兵团第一次发生了严重的事情。
七月十二日夜里，出事的前夜，下了一场带冰雹的暴风雨，一八一二年的夏季总的说来是一个以暴风雨著称的夏季。
保罗格勒兵团的两个骑兵连宿营在一片已经抽穗但却被马完全踩倒的黑麦地里。天下着瓢泼大雨，罗斯托夫和一位他所护卫的年轻军官伊林坐在临时搭的棚子里，他们团里一位留着长长络腮胡子的军官，去司令部后回来的路上遇雨，便顺路来看罗斯托夫。
“伯爵，我从司令部来，您听见过拉耶夫斯基的功勋吗？”这位军官便把他在司令部听来的关于萨尔塔诺夫战役的详请讲了一遍。
由于雨水流进了领口而缩着脖子的罗斯托夫吸着烟斗，漫不经心地听着，不时看看那位依偎着他的年轻军官伊林。这位军官是一位十六岁的男孩子，不久前才来团里，他现在与尼古拉的关系就像七年前尼古拉与杰尼索夫的关系一样，伊林在各方面都尽力模仿罗斯托夫，像一个女人似地爱着他。
留着两撇胡子的军官——兹德尔任斯基眉飞色舞地讲着，他说萨尔塔诺夫水坝是俄罗斯的忒摩比利。在这座水坝上拉耶夫斯基将军的行动堪与古代英雄媲美。兹德尔任斯基讲述了拉耶夫斯基迎着可怕的炮火，带着两个儿子冲上水坝，父子并肩战斗的事迹。罗斯托夫听着这个故事不仅没有讲话，附和兹德尔任斯基的喜悦心情，而且相反，却露出羞于听他讲述的样子，虽然他无意反驳他。在奥斯特利茨和一八○七年战役之后，凭自己一个人的经验，罗斯托夫知道，人们讲述战绩时，总是会说谎，他自己就扯过谎；其次，他有丰富的经验，知道在战场上发生的一切，与我们想象和讲述的全不一样。因而他并不喜欢兹德尔任斯基的故事，也不喜欢兹德尔任斯基本人，这个满脸胡子的人有个习惯，老是俯身凑近听他说话的人的脸，在狭窄的棚子里紧挨着罗斯托夫，罗斯托夫默默地看着他。“第一，在那个人们冲击的水坝上一定非常混乱和拥挤，如果拉耶夫斯基领着儿子冲上去，那么，除了他周围的十几个人外，再也不能影响其他人。”罗斯托夫想，“其余的人不可能看见拉耶夫斯基是怎样以及同谁冲上水坝的。而且那些看见此事的人也不会大为感动，因为在那性命攸关的时刻，谁还去注意拉耶夫斯基的案情呢？再说，能否夺取萨尔塔诺夫水坝与祖国的命运无关，不能与忒摩比利相比。既然如此，为什么要做出这样的牺牲呢？又为何要让儿子也参加战斗呢？换了我的话，不仅不会把弟弟彼佳带去，而且连伊林——虽不是我的亲人，但却是个善良的男孩，也要尽力设法安置到某个安全的地方。”罗斯托夫一边继续想着，一边听着兹德尔任斯基讲。但是他并不说出自己的思想、在这方面他是有经验的。他知道这类故事可以为俄军增光，所以要做出毫不怀疑的样子。他就是这样做的。
“我可受不了啦。”发现罗斯托夫不喜欢兹德尔任斯基的谈话，伊林就说道，“袜子、衬衫都湿透了。我要去找个避雨的地方。好像雨下得小了些。”伊林走出去了，兹德尔任斯基也跟着就离开了。
五分钟后，伊林在泥泞中啪嗒啪嗒地跑回棚子。
“乌拉！罗斯托夫，我们快走。找到了！离这儿两百来步有一个小酒馆，我们的人都已聚在那儿了。至少我们可以把衣服烤一烤。玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜也在那儿。”
玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜是团队医生的妻子，是医生在波兰娶的一位年轻、漂亮的德国女人，医生不是由于没有财产，就是因为新婚初期不愿离开年轻的妻子，就带着她随军东奔西走，在骠骑军官中，医生的醋意倒成了通常取笑的话题。
罗斯托夫披上斗篷，叫拉夫鲁什卡带着东西跟着自己，随后与伊林一起走了。他们在漆黑的夜里冒着小雨，踏着泥泞，蹚着积水行进，远方的雷电不时划破黑暗的夜空。
“罗斯托夫，你在哪儿？”
“在这里。好大的闪电！”他们彼此交谈着。
Book 9 Chapter 13
IN THE INN, before which was standing the doctor's covered cart, there were already some half-dozen officers. Marya Hendrihovna, a plump, flaxen-headed little German in a dressing-jacket and nightcap, was sitting on a board bench in the foremost corner. Her husband, the doctor, lay asleep behind her. Rostov and Ilyin entered the room, welcomed with merry shouts and laughter.
“I say! You are having a jolly time here!” said Rostov, laughing.
“And what are you yawning over?”
“Pretty figures you look! There's a perfect waterfall from them! Don't swamp our drawing-room.”
“Mind you don't spatter Marya Hendrihovna's dress,” chimed in voices.
Rostov and Ilyin made haste to look for a retreat where, without offence to the modesty of Marya Hendrihovna, they might change their wet clothes. They went behind a partition wall to change; but in the little recess were three officers, who completely filled it up. They were sitting playing cards by the light of a single candle on an empty box, and nothing would induce them to budge from their places. Marya Hendrihovna lent them her petticoat to be hung by way of a curtain; and screened by it, Rostov and Ilyin took off their wet things and put on dry clothes, with the aid of Lavrushka, who had brought their packages.
They made up a fire in the broken-down stove. They got hold of a board, propped it on two saddles, and covered it with a horse-cloth; then brought out a little samovar, a case of wine, and half a bottle of rum. All crowded round Marya Hendrihovna, begging her to preside. One offered her a clean handkerchief, to wipe her charming hands; another put his tunic under her little feet, to keep them from the damp floor; a third hung a cape over the window, to screen her from the draught; while a fourth brushed the flies off her husband's face, to prevent their waking him.
“Let him alone,” said Marya Hendrihovna, with a timid and happy smile; “he will sleep well anyhow after being up all night.”
“Oh no, Marya Hendrihovna,” answered the officer, “one must look after the doctor well! Anything may happen; and he will be kind to me, I dare say, when he has to cut off my leg or my arm.”
There were only three glasses; the water was so dirty that there was no telling whether the tea were strong or weak, and the samovar would only hold water enough for six glasses. But that made it all the more fun to take turns in order of seniority to receive a glass from the plump, short-nailed, and not over clean fingers of Marya Hendrihovna. All the officers seemed indeed to be genuinely in love for that evening with Marya Hendrihovna. Even the officers who had been playing cards behind the screen soon threw up their game, and gathered round the samovar, catching the general mood, and joining in the homage paid to Marya Hendrihovna. The latter, seeing herself surrounded by these splendid and devoted young men, beamed with delight, which she sought in vain to conceal, though she was unmistakably alarmed at every movement made by her husband, who was slumbering behind her. There was only one spoon; sugar there was in plenty, but it took so long for all to stir their glasses, that it was settled that Marya Hendrihovna must stir the sugar for each in turn. Rostov took his glass of tea, and adding rum to it, begged Marya Hendrihovna to stir it for him.
“But you take it without sugar?” she said, smiling all the while, as though whatever she said or the others said had a quite different and very amusing meaning.
“I don't care about sugar, all I want is for you to stir it with your little hand.”
Marya Hendrihovna began looking for the spoon, which some one had pounced upon.
“Use your little finger, Marya Hendrihovna,” said Rostov; “it will be all the sweeter.”
“It's hot,” said Marya Hendrihovna, blushing with pleasure.
Ilyin took the bucket of water, and pouring a few drops of rum in it, went up to Marya Hendrihovna, begging her to stir it with her finger.
“This is my cup,” he said. “Only dip your finger in and I'll drink it all up.”
When the samovar was empty, Rostov took up the cards and proposed a game of “Kings” with Marya Hendrihovna. They tossed to decide which was to have the lady for a partner. Rostov proposed as a rule of the game that the one who was “king” should have the right to kiss Marya Hendrihovna's hand, and the one who was left knave should have to fetch another samovar for the doctor, when he waked.
“Well, but what if Marya Hendrihovna is king?” asked Ilyin.
“She is our queen already! And her commands are law.”
The game was just beginning when the doctor's dishevelled head popped up behind his wife. He had been awake for some time and listening to the conversation, and apparently he saw nothing agreeable, funny, or amusing in what was being said and done. His face looked depressed and weary. He did not greet the officers, but scratching himself, he asked them to move to let him pass. As soon as he had left the room, all the officers broke into loud peals of laughter, and Marya Hendrihovna blushed till the tears came, making her even more charming in the eyes of the officers. Coming in again from the yard, the doctor told his wife (who had lost her radiant smile, and looked at him in dismay in expectation of the sentence in store for her) that the rain was over and they must spend the night in their covered cart, or they would have all their things stolen.
“But I'll put an orderly on guard … two, indeed!” said Rostov. “That's nonsense, doctor.”
“I'll be sentinel myself!” said Ilyin.
“No, gentlemen, you have had plenty of sleep, but I have been up these two nights,” said the doctor, and he sat gloomily by his wife's side, waiting for the end of the game.
Looking at the doctor's gloomy face and sidelong glances at his wife, the officers grew even more lively, and many of them could not suppress their laughter, for which they hastily sought presentable pretexts. When the doctor had led his wife away, and settled himself with her in their cart, the officers lay down in the inn, covering themselves with their wet overcoats. But for a long while they stayed awake, chatting, recalling the dismay of the doctor, and the delight of the doctor's wife, or running out on to the steps to report on what was going on in the cart. Several times Rostov muffled his head up and tried to go to sleep. But again some remark roused him, again a conversation sprang up, and again there were peals of causeless, merry, childish laughter.
门前停着医生篷车的小酒馆已经聚集了五六个军官。玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜，一位胖胖的，长着淡黄色头发的德国女人，身穿短外套头戴睡帽，坐在一进门的屋角一张宽凳上。她的医生丈夫在她后面睡觉。罗斯托夫和伊林迎着一阵欢快的惊叫和笑声，走进了屋子。 
“嗬，你们这儿好快活。”罗斯托夫笑着说。
“您怎么错过了好时光？”
“好家伙！这对落汤鸡！不要把我们的客厅弄湿了。”
“不要弄脏了玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜的衣裳。”几个声音一齐答道。
罗斯托夫和伊林赶紧找了一个不致使玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜难堪的角落换湿衣服。他们走到隔扇后面好换衣服；但这间小贮藏全被挤得满满的，一只空箱子上点着一支蜡烛，三个军官坐在那儿玩牌，怎么也不愿让出自己的位子。玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜拿出一条裙子当帷幔，就在这张帷幔后，罗斯托夫和伊林在带来背包的拉夫鲁什卡的帮助下，换下湿衣服，穿上干衣服。
人们在一只破炉子里生了火，有人搞到一块木板搭在两个马鞍上，铺上马被，弄到一个茶炊、食品柜和半瓶罗姆酒，并请玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜作主人，大家围坐在她周围。有人递给她一条干净的手绢，让她擦擦秀丽的小手，有人把短上衣铺在她脚下防潮，有人把斗篷挂在窗户上挡风，有人挥手赶开她丈夫脸上的苍蝇，以免惊醒了他。
“不要理他，”玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜含着羞怯的幸福的微笑说，“他整夜未醒，总睡得这么香甜。”
“不，玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜，”一个军官回答道，“应该巴结一下医生，将来他给我截胳膊锯腿时，可能会怜悯怜悯我。”
只有三只杯子，水脏得看不清茶浓还是不浓，而茶炊里只有六杯水，但是这样却更令人高兴：按年龄大小依次从玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜不太干净的留着短指甲的小胖手里接过茶杯。看来，今天晚上所有的军官确实都爱上了玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜。甚至在隔壁玩牌的几个军官也感染上了向玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜献殷勤的情绪，受到它的支配，很快丢下牌移到茶炊这里来了。玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜看见身边这群英俊有礼的青年，高兴得容光焕发，虽然她极力不显露出来，尽管她显然害怕身后睡梦中的丈夫的每一动弹。
只有一把茶匙，白糖很多，搅不过来，因此就决定，她轮流给每个人搅和。罗斯托夫接过杯子，向杯中掺了罗姆酒，就请玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜搅和。
“可您并未放糖啊？”她总是微笑着说，仿佛她说什么或别人说些什么都很可笑，别有用意似的。
“我不要糖，只想您亲手搅搅就行了。”
玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜同意了，开始找把被谁拿走了的茶匙。
“您用手指头搅吧，玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜，”罗斯托夫说，“这样更好。”
“烫！”玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜高兴得红了脸，说道。
伊林提了一桶水，往桶里滴了几滴罗姆酒，走近玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜，请她用手指搅搅。
“这是我的茶碗，”他说，“只要您伸进手指头，我全部喝干。”
当茶喝完时，罗斯托夫取来一副牌，建议与玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜一块儿玩“国王”。以抓阄的方式决定谁做玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜的搭档。按罗斯托夫建议的规则玩，谁做了“国王”，谁就有权亲吻玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜的手，而谁做了“坏蛋”，则要在医生醒来时，为他烧好茶炊。
“那要是玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜当了‘国王'呢？”伊林问道。
“她本就是女王！她的命令就是法律。”
游戏刚开始，医生蓬乱的头就从玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜身后抬了起来。他早就醒了，仔细听着人们在说些什么，显然，他认为人们所说的和所做的一切都没什么可乐、可笑和好玩。他的脸郁闷而颓丧。他没同军官们打招呼，搔了搔头，请挡路的人让他过去。他刚一走出去，全体军官就哄然大笑，而玛丽亚·亨里霍夫娜脸红得涌出了泪水，这么一来，在全体军官眼中，她更有吸引力了。医生从外面返了回来，对妻子说（她已经不再现出幸福的笑容，惊恐地看着他，等待着判决），雨已经停了，要去篷车里过夜，不然东西要被人偷光了。
“我派一个勤务兵上去守着，派两个！”罗斯托夫说，“就这样，医生。”
“我亲自去站岗！”伊林说。
“不，先生们，你们已经睡过觉了，而我可两夜未合眼。”医生说着，闷闷不乐地在妻子旁边坐下，等着玩牌游戏结束。
医生阴沉着脸，斜视着自己的老婆，军官们望着他那个样子更乐了，许多人忍不住笑出声来，赶紧尽力为他们的笑找一个无伤大雅的借口。医生领着老婆离开了并一起进了篷车，军官们也在小酒馆里躺了下来，盖上潮湿的军士衣；但是他们久久不能入睡，时而谈论医生刚才的惶惶不安和他老婆的兴高采烈，时而跑到外面，通报篷车里有什么动静。罗斯托夫好几次蒙上头想入睡，却又有什么评论吸引了他，就又开始谈起来，又传出了无缘无故的、快活的、天真的笑声。
Book 9 Chapter 14
IT was past two o'clock, no one was yet asleep, when the quartermaster appeared, bringing a command to advance upon a little place called Ostrovna. Still with the same chatter and laughter the officers began hurriedly getting ready; again the samovar was filled up with dirty water. But Rostov, without waiting for tea, went off to his squadron. It was already light; the rain had ceased, and the clouds were parting. It was chill and damp, especially in their still wet clothes. As they came out of the inn, in the twilight of the dawn, Rostov and Ilyin both glanced at the leather cover of the doctor's cart, still glistening from the rain. The doctor's feet were sticking out from under the cover, and in the middle of the cart they caught a glimpse of his wife's nightcap, and heard sleepy breathing.
“She's really very charming,” said Rostov to Ilyin.
“An exquisite woman!” responded Ilyin, with all the gravity of a boy of sixteen.
Half an hour later the squadron stood drawn up on the road. The word of command was heard, “Mount!” and the soldiers crossed themselves and got on their horses. Rostov, riding ahead of them, gave the word: “Forward!” and drawing out four abreast, the hussars started with a sound of subdued talk, splashing hoofs, and jingling sabres. They trotted along the broad high-road, with birch-trees on each side of it, following the infantry and artillery, who had gone on before.
The broken, purplish-blue clouds, flushed red by the sunrise, were scudding before the wind. It grew lighter and lighter. They could see distinctly, still glistening from the rain, the feathery grass which always grows beside by-roads. The drooping branches of the birch-trees swayed in the wind, and dripped bright drops aslant across the road. The faces of the soldiers showed more and more distinctly. Rostov, with Ilyin, who would not drop behind, rode on one side of the road between the two rows of birch-trees.
On active service Rostov allowed himself the indulgence of riding a Cossack horse instead of the regimental horse, broken in for parade. He was a connoisseur and lover of horses, and had lately obtained a big sorrel horse with white tail and mane, a fine spirited beast of the Don breed, on whom he could out-gallop every one. It was an enjoyment to Rostov to ride this horse. He rode on, thinking of the horse, of the morning, of the doctor's wife, and never once giving a thought to the danger awaiting him.
In former days Rostov had felt fear when he was going into an engagement; now he had not the slightest feeling of fear. He had not lost his fears from growing used to being under fire (one can never get accustomed to danger) but from gaining control of his feelings in face of danger. He had schooled himself when going into action to think of anything except what one would have supposed to be more interesting than anything else—the danger in store for him. Earnestly as he strove to do this, and bitterly as he reproached himself for cowardice, he could not at first succeed in this. But with years it had come of itself. He rode now beside Ilyin, between the birch-trees, stripping leaves off the twigs that met his hand, sometimes touching his horse's side with his foot, handing the pipe he had finished to an hussar behind, without turning his head, all with as calm and careless an air as though he were out for a ride. He felt sorry to see the excited face of Ilyin, who talked a great deal nervously. He knew by experience the agonising state of anticipation of terror and of death, in which the cornet was plunged, and he knew that nothing but time could help him out of it.
As soon as the sun appeared in the clear strip of sky under the storm-clouds, the wind sank, as though not daring to spoil the beauty of the summer morning after the storm; the trees still dripped, but the drops fell vertically now—and all was hushed. The sun rose completely above the horizon, and vanished in a long, narrow cloud that hung over it. A few minutes later the sun showed even more brightly on the upper side of the cloud, tearing its edge. Everything grew bright and shining. And with the bright light, as though in response to it, rang out shots in front of them.
Rostov had not time to collect his thoughts and decide how far off these shots were, when an adjutant of Count Osterman-Tolstoy galloped up from Vitebsk, bringing the order to advance at full speed along the road.
The squadron overtook and passed the infantry and the battery, who were also quickening their pace. Then the hussars raced downhill, passed through an empty and deserted village, and trotted uphill again. The horses were beginning to get in a lather and the men looked flushed.
“Halt! in line!” said the officer in command of the division. “Left about face, walking pace!” sounded the command in advance.
And the hussars passed along the lines of the other troops to the left flank of the position, and halted behind our Uhlans, who formed the front line. On the right was a dense column of our infantry—they formed the reserves; on the hill above them, in the pure, clear air, in the brilliant, slanting, morning sunshine, could be seen our cannons on the very horizon line. In front, beyond a hollow dale, could be seen the enemy's columns and cannons. In the dale could be heard our advance pickets, already keeping up a lively interchange of shots with the enemy.
Rostov felt his spirits rise at those sounds, so long unheard, as though they had been the liveliest music. Trap-ta-ta-tap! rang out several shots, first together, then in rapid succession. All sank into silence again, and again there was a sound as of popping squibs.
The hussars remained for about an hour in the same spot. The cannons began firing. Count Osterman, with his suite behind the squadron, rode up; he stopped to say a word to the colonel of the regiment, and rode off to the cannons on the hill.
After Osterman had ridden away, the command rang out among the Uhlans, “Form in column; make ready to charge!” The infantry in front parted in two to let the cavalry pass through. The Uhlans galloped off, the streamers on their lances waving, and trotted downhill towards the French cavalry, who came into sight below on the left.
As soon as the Uhlans had started downhill, the hussars received the order to ride off uphill to cover the battery. Just as the hussars were moving into the place of the Uhlans, there came flying from the out-posts some cannon-balls, hissing and whistling out of the distance, and hitting nothing.
This sound, which he had not heard for so long, had an even more inspiriting and cheering effect on Rostov than the report of the muskets. Drawing himself up, he surveyed the field of battle, as it opened out before him riding uphill, and his whole heart went with the movements of the Uhlans. They were swooping down close upon the French dragoons; there was some confusion yonder in the smoke, and five minutes later the Uhlans were dashing back, not towards the spot where they had been posted, but more to the left. Between the ranks of Uhlans on the chestnut horses, and in a great mass behind them, could be seen blue French dragoons on grey horses.
两点多钟了，谁也没有睡着，司务长此时进来传达了进驻奥斯特罗夫纳镇的命令。 
军官们仍然有说有笑，急忙开始做出发的准备；他们又烧了一茶炊不干净的水。可是罗斯托夫不等茶水烧好，就去骑兵连了。天已经亮了，雨也停了，乌云正散去。既湿又冷，特别是穿着没有干透的衣服更是这样。从小酒肆出来，罗斯托夫和伊林在晨光中端详了一下被雨淋得发亮的医务车的皮篷，车帷下面露出医生的两只脚，可以看见在车中间的坐垫上医生老婆的睡帽，听得见她熟睡中的呼吸声。
“真的，她太迷人了！”罗斯托夫对与他一起出来的伊林说道。
“多么迷人的女人！”十六岁的伊林一本正经地答道。
半小时后，排好队的骑兵连站在大路上。只听见口令：“上马！”士兵们在胸前画了个十字就开始上马。在前面骑着马的罗斯托夫命令道：“开步走！”于是，骠骑兵们四人一排沿着两旁长着白桦树的大道，跟在步兵和炮兵后面开拔了，只听见马蹄踩在泥泞的路上的噗哧声，佩刀的锵锵声和轻轻的谈话声。
在泛红的东方，青紫色的浓云的碎片很快被风吹散了，天越来越亮了。乡村道路上总是生长着的卷曲的小草，由于夜雨的湿润看起来更加鲜亮了；低垂的白桦树枝条湿漉漉的，轻风吹过摇摇晃晃，斜斜地撒下晶莹的水珠。士兵的脸孔越发看得清楚了。罗斯托夫与紧紧跟着他的伊林骑着马在两行白桦树之间的路旁行进。
征途中罗斯托夫无拘无束地不骑战马，而骑一匹奇萨克马。他是这方面的行家，又是一名猎手，不久前，他为自己搞到一匹顿河草原的白鬃赤毛的高头烈马，骑上它没有谁能追得到他。骑在这匹马上对罗斯托夫是一种享受。他想着马，想这早晨、想医生的妻子，就是一次也未想到面临的危险。
以前罗斯托夫作战时，常害怕，现在却不觉得丝毫的惧怕，不是因为他闻惯了火药味而不害怕（对危险是不能习惯的），而是他学会如何在危险面前控制自己的内心。他养成一种习惯，在作战时，除了那似乎最使人关心的事——当前的危险外，什么都想。在最初服役时，无论他怎样骂自己是胆小鬼，就是达不到现在的样子；可是年复一年，现在他自然而然地做到了。现在他与伊林并马行进在白桦树中间，时而随手从树枝上扯下几片树叶，时而用脚磕磕马肚皮，时而把抽完的烟斗不转身就递给身后的骠骑兵，如此从容不迫，一幅无忧无虑的样子，好像他是出来兜风似的。他不忍心去看伊林那激动不安的脸，就是那个话兴很多、心神不平的伊林，凭经验他知道这个骑兵少尉正处于等待恐惧和死亡的痛苦状态，他也知道，除了时间，现在没有什么东西可以帮助他。
太阳在乌云下一片晴空刚一出现，风就静下来，仿佛风不敢破坏夏日早晨雨后的美景；水珠仍然洒落，却已是直直落下，——四周一片寂静。太阳完全露出在地平线上，随后又消失在它上面一片窄而长的乌云里。过了几分钟，太阳撕破乌云的边缘又出现在乌云上边。一切都明光闪亮。好像响应这亮光似的，前方立刻响起了大炮声。
罗斯托夫还没来得及考虑和判定炮声的远近，奥斯特曼·托尔斯泰伯爵的副官就从维捷希斯克驰来，命令沿大路跑步前进。
骑兵连经过同样急速前进的步兵和炮步，冲下山坡，穿过一个空无一人的村庄，又上一个山坡。马匹开始出汗，而人满脸通红。
“立定，看齐！”前面传来营长的命令。
“左转弯，开步走！”前边又传来口令。
于是骠骑兵沿着长列的军队赶到阵地的左翼，在第一线的枪骑兵后停下来。右面是我军密集的步兵纵队——这是后备队；山上更高的地方，在一尘不染的明净的空气中，在朝阳明亮的斜照下，最远处地平线上，可见我军的大炮。前面谷地可见敌人的纵队和大炮，可听见谷地里我军散兵线的枪声，他们已投入战斗，欢快的与敌人互相射击的枪声清晰可闻。
罗斯托夫仿佛听到最欢快的音乐似的内心觉得很舒适，他好久没听见过这声音了。特啦啪—嗒—嗒—嗒啪！有时噼哩啪啦。枪声齐鸣，有时却又快速地一声接一声，接连响了好几枪。四周又沉寂了，随后好像有人放爆竹似的，又接连不断响起来。
骠骑兵原地不动站了约一个钟头。炮轰也开始了。奥斯特曼伯爵带着侍从从骑兵连后边驰过来，停下与团长交谈了几句，就向山上的炮兵阵地驰去。
奥斯特曼刚离去，枪骑兵们就听到口令：
“成纵队，准备冲击！”他的前面的部兵分成两排，以便骑兵通过。枪骑兵出动了，长矛上的小旗飘动，向山下左方出现的法国骑兵冲去。
枪骑兵刚冲到山下，骠骑兵就奉命上山掩护炮兵。骠骑兵刚在枪骑兵的阵地上停下来，就从散兵线那儿远远地飞来咝咝呼啸的炮弹，没有命中。
罗斯托夫好久没有听到这种声音了，心里觉得比以前的射击声更使他高兴和兴奋。他挺直身子，察看山前开阔的战场，全心关注着枪骑兵的行动。枪骑兵向法军龙骑兵扑过去，在烟雾蒙蒙中混成一团，过了五分钟，枪骑兵退了回来，他们不是退回到他们原来呆的地方，而是退向左边。在骑枣红马的橙黄色的枪骑兵中间和后面是一大片骑灰色马、身着蓝色制服的法军龙骑兵。
Book 9 Chapter 15
ROSTOV, with his keen sportsman's eye, was one of the first to descry these blue dragoons pursuing our Uhlans. Nearer and nearer flew the disordered crowds of the Uhlans and the French dragoons in pursuit of them. He could see now separate figures, looking small at the bottom of the hill, fighting, overtaking one another, and waving their arms and their swords.
Rostov gazed at what was passing before him as at a hunt. He felt instinctively that if he were to charge with his hussars on the French dragoons now, they could not stand their ground; but if he were to charge it must be that very minute or it would be too late. He looked round. The captain standing beside him had his eyes too fixed on the cavalry below.
“Andrey Sevastianitch,” said Rostov, “we could close them in, surely …”
“And a smart job, too,” said the captain, “and indeed …”
Rostov, without waiting for his answer, set spurs to his horse and galloped off in front of his squadron. Before he had time to give the command, the whole squadron, sharing his feeling, flew after him. Rostov himself could not have said how or why he did it. He did it all, as he did everything in a wolf hunt, without thinking or considering. He saw that the dragoons were near, that they were galloping in no order, he knew they could not stand their ground; he knew there was only one minute to act in, which would not return if he let it slip. The cannon balls were hissing and whistling so inspiritingly about him, his horse pulled so eagerly forward that he could not resist it. He spurred his horse, shouted the command, and the same instant flew full trot down-hill towards the dragoons, hearing the tramp of his squadron behind him. As they dashed downhill, the trot insensibly passed into a gallop that became swifter and swifter, as they drew nearer their Uhlans and the French dragoons pursuing them. The dragoons were close now. The foremost, seeing the hussars, began turning back; the hindmost halted. With the same feeling with which he had dashed off to cut off the wolf's escape, Rostov, letting his Don horse go at his utmost speed, galloped to cut off the broken ranks of the dragoons. One Uhlan halted; another, on foot, flung himself to the ground to avoid being knocked down; a riderless horse was carried along with the hussars. Almost all the dragoons were galloping back. Rostov picked out one of them on a grey horse and flew after him. On the way he rode straight at a bush; his gallant horse cleared it; and Nikolay was hardly straight in the saddle again when he saw in a few seconds he would overtake the enemy he had pitched upon as his aim. The Frenchman, probably an officer from his uniform, sat crouched upon his grey horse, and urging it on with his sword. In another instant Rostov's horse dashed up against the grey horse's hindquarters, almost knocking it over, and at the same second Rostov, not knowing why he did so, raised his sword, and aimed a blow at the Frenchman.
The instant he did this all Rostov's eagerness suddenly vanished. The officer fell to the ground, not so much from the sword cut, for it had only just grazed his arm above the elbow, as from fright and the shock to his horse. As Rostov pulled his horse in, his eyes sought his foe to see what sort of man he had vanquished. The French officer was hopping along on the ground, with one foot caught in the stirrup. Screwing up his eyes, as though expecting another blow every instant, he glanced up at Rostov frowning with an expression of terror. His pale, mud-stained face—fair and young, with a dimple on the chin and clear blue eyes—was the most unwarlike, most good-natured face, more in place by a quiet fireside than on the field of battle. Before Rostov could make up his mind what to do with him, the officer shouted, “I surrender.” He tried hurriedly and failed to extricate his foot from the stirrup, and still gazed with his frightened blue eyes at Rostov. The hussars, galloping up, freed his foot, and got him into his saddle. The hussars were busily engaged on all sides with the dragoons; one was wounded, but though his face was streaming with blood he would not let go of his horse; another put his arms round an hussar as he sat perched up behind on his horse; a third was clambering on to his horse, supported by an hussar. The French infantry were in front, firing as they ran. The hussars galloped hastily back with their prisoners. Rostov galloped back with the rest, conscious of some disagreeable sensation, a kind of ache at his heart. A glimpse of something vague and confused, of which he could not get a clear view, seemed to have come to him with the capture of that French officer and the blow he had dealt him.
Count Osterman-Tolstoy met the hussars on their return, summoned Rostov, thanked him and told him he would report his gallant action to the Tsar and would recommend him for the cross of St. George. When Rostov was called up to Count Osterman, bethinking himself that he had received no command to charge, he had no doubt that his commanding officer sent for him to reprimand him for his breach of discipline. Osterman's flattering words and promise of a reward should, therefore, have been a pleasant surprise to Rostov; but he still suffered from that unpleasant vague feeling of moral nausea. “Why, what on earth is it that's worrying me?” he wondered, as he rode away from the general. “Ilyin? No, he's all right. Did I do anything disgraceful? No, that's not it either!” Something else fretted him like a remorse. “Yes, yes, that officer with the dimple. And I remember clearly how my hand paused when I had lifted it.”
Rostov saw the prisoners being led away, and galloped after them to look at his Frenchman with the dimple in his chin. He was sitting in his strange uniform on one of the spare horses, looking uneasily about him. The sword-cut in his arm could hardly be called a wound. He looked at Rostov with a constrained smile, and waved his hand by way of a greeting. Rostov still felt the same discomfort and vague remorse.
All that day and the next Rostov's friends and comrades noticed that, without being exactly depressed or irritable, he was silent, dreamy, and preoccupied. He did not care to drink, tried to be alone, and seemed absorbed in thought. Rostov was still pondering on his brilliant exploit, which, to his amazement, had won him the St. George's Cross and made his reputation indeed for fearless gallantry. There was something he could not fathom in it. “So they are even more frightened than we are,” he thought. “Why, is this all that's meant by heroism? And did I do it for the sake of my country? And was he to blame with his dimple and his blue eyes? How frightened he was! He thought I was going to kill him. Why should I kill him? My hand trembled. And they have given me the St. George's Cross. I can't make it out, I can't make it out!”
But while Nikolay was worrying over these questions in his heart and unable to find any clear solution of the doubts that troubled him, the wheel of fortune was turning in his favour, as so often happens in the service. He was brought forward after the affair at Ostrovna, received the command of a battalion of hussars, and when an officer of dauntless courage was wanted he was picked out.
罗斯托夫以自己锐利的猎人的眼睛第一个望见这些蓝色的法国龙骑兵追赶我们的枪骑兵，队形混乱的枪骑兵人群和追赶他们的法军龙骑兵越来越接近了，已经可以看见这些在山上显得很小的人们如何互相厮杀、追赶，如何挥舞胳膊或佩刀。 
罗斯托夫像看猎犬逐兽似的看着面前发生的一切。他以嗅觉感觉到，如果现在与骠骑兵一起冲向法军龙骑兵，他们会站不住脚的；可是，如果要冲锋，就得即刻冲锋，一分钟也不能拖，否则就迟了。他环视自己周围。大尉就站在身旁，也目不转睛地望着下面的骑兵。
“安德烈·谢瓦斯季扬内奇，”罗斯托夫说，“要知道我们可以冲垮他们……”
“是厉害的一着，”
大尉说：“确实……”
没有听完他的话，罗斯托夫就策马驰到骑兵连前面，没有等他发出出击的口令，跟他有同感的整个骑兵连，都随他之后驱动了战马。罗斯托夫自己不知道，他是怎样做的，又为何这样做。他做这一切，正像他在打猎时所做的一样，不假思索，不假考虑。他看见龙骑兵走近了，他们在奔驰，队形散乱；他知道他们会支持不住的，他知道，时机只在转瞬之间，稍一放过，就一去不复返了。炮弹那么激烈地在他周围咝咝呼啸，战马是那样跃跃欲奔，以致于笼它不住了。他策动了战马，发出口令，在此同时，他听见身后展开队形的骑兵连的得得马蹄声，他们飞奔着冲向山下的龙骑兵。他们刚下山，大步的奔驰自然而然转为疾驰，越接近自己的枪骑兵和追赶他们的法国龙骑兵，就越驰越快，离龙骑兵很近了，前面那些看见骠骑兵的龙骑兵开始向后转，后面的停住了。怀着堵截狼的心情，罗斯托夫完全放开自己的顿河马，疾驰着堵截队形混乱的龙骑兵。一个枪骑兵停下来了，一个步兵伏下身子以免被马踩着，一匹失掉了马鞍的马混在骠骑兵中间。几乎所有的法军龙骑兵都向后奔逃。罗斯托夫挑了一个骑灰马的龙骑兵紧追下去。途中遇见一个灌木丛；那匹骏马驮着他飞跃而过，差点把尼古拉掀下马鞍，眼看再有几秒钟就可以追上那个他选作目标的敌人。这个法国人根据其制服来看大概是个军官，他在灰色马上弯着腰，用佩刀赶马飞奔。顷刻之间，罗斯托夫的战马的前胸已碰着那个军官的马屁股，差点把它撞个四脚朝天，就在同一瞬间，罗斯托夫自己也不知为什么，就举起佩刀，照着那法国人劈去。
就在他这样做的同一刹那，罗斯托夫全身劲头忽然消失了。那军官倒下了，与其说他是由于刀劈，不如说是由于马的冲撞和恐惧，他的肘弯上方只受了一点轻伤。罗斯托夫勒住马，以目光察看自己的敌人，好看看他战胜了谁。那法军龙骑兵军官以一只脚在地上跳着，另一只脚挂在马蹬上了。他吓得眯缝着眼睛，好像等待随时可能的新的打击，皱着眉头，带着恐怖的表情从下往上望着罗斯托夫。他的脸色苍白，沾满泥泞，头发淡黄色，年轻，下巴上有个酒窝，一双浅蓝色的眼睛，完全不像战场上含有敌意的脸，而是最平常和最普通的脸。在罗斯托夫还未决定拿他怎么办之前，这军官就喊道：“Je　me　rends！”①他慌里慌张地想从马蹬里抽出脚来，但是抽不出来，一对惊慌的蓝眼睛，不停地望着罗斯托夫。驰过来的骠骑兵帮他把脚抽出来并把他扶到马鞍上，骠骑兵们从四方收容龙骑兵；有一个受了伤，满脸是鲜血，仍不愿放弃自己的马；另一个抱着骠骑兵坐在马屁股上；第三个由骠骑兵扶着才爬上马背。前方法军步兵一面奔跑，一面射击。骠骑兵们赶忙带着自己的俘虏驰向后方，罗斯托夫同别人一起驰向后方，一种不愉快的感觉使他胸中发闷。他俘虏这个军官并劈他一刀所引起的某种模糊的、混乱的感觉，他无论怎样也不能向自己解释。 
①法语：我投降。
奥斯特曼·托尔斯泰伯爵迎着回来的骠骑兵，他叫来罗斯托夫，感谢他并说他将向皇帝报告他的英勇行为，申请授予他圣乔治十字勋章。当人们叫罗斯托夫去见奥斯特曼伯爵时，他记起自己不待命令就发起冲锋，现在长官传唤他，一定是为他的擅自行为而处罚他。所以奥斯特曼一番赞扬的话和许诺给他奖赏，本应使罗斯托夫受宠若惊；但是仍然有一种不愉快的模糊的感觉使他恶心。“是什么使我痛苦不堪呢？”他问着自己离开了将军。“是伊林吗？不，他安然无恙。是我做过什么丢脸的事吗？不，没有那回事！”某件类似后悔的事折磨着他。“是的，是的，是为那个下巴有一个小酒窝的法国军官，我清楚地记得，我举起手臂又停住了。”
罗斯托夫看见被押走的俘虏，于是驰到他们后面，要看看自己那位下巴有酒窝的法国人。他穿着古怪的制服坐在骠骑兵的焦躁不安的马上，神色不安地望着四周。他手臂上的伤几乎不算是伤。他向罗斯托夫装出笑脸、向他挥手致意。罗斯托夫就是这样也觉得不好意思，有点害臊。
当天和第二天，罗斯托夫的朋友和同事们发现他闷闷不乐，他不是寂寞，不是生气，而是默默不语，若有所思，神情专注。他毫无兴致地喝酒，尽量一个人躲起来思索着什么。
罗斯托夫老在想那使他惊奇的辉煌的战功，赏给他圣乔治十字勋章，甚至获得勇士的名声——他有一点弄不明白。
“如此看来，他们比我们还害怕！”他想。“这样就称为英雄气概吗？难道我这样做就是为祖国吗？那个生个小酒窝和蓝眼睛的人有什么罪呢？他多恐惧啊！他认为我会杀死他。为什么我要杀他呢？我的手发抖了。可他们授给我圣乔治十字勋章，我一点也不明白！”
可是，当尼古拉为这些问题操心，怎么也不能给自己一个明确的答案，是什么折磨着他时，服役的幸运车轮又转到他身上。在奥斯特罗夫纳战役后，他首先被提升了，把一个营的骠骑兵交给他指挥。当需要勇敢军官的时候，人们把委任给了他。
Book 9 Chapter 16
COUNTESS ROSTOV had not recovered her strength when she received the news of Natasha's illness. Weak as she still was, she set out at once for Moscow with Petya and the whole household, and the Rostovs moved from Marya Dmitryevna's into their own house, where the whole family were installed.
Natasha's illness was so serious that, luckily for herself and her parents, all thought of what had caused it, of her conduct and of the breaking off of her engagement, fell into the background. She was so ill that no one could consider how far she was to blame for all that had happened, while she could not eat nor sleep, was growing visibly thinner, coughed, and was, as the doctors gave them to understand, in actual danger. Nothing could be thought of but how to make her well again. Doctors came to see Natasha, both separately and in consultation. They said a great deal in French, in German, and in Latin. They criticised one another, and prescribed the most diverse remedies for all the diseases they were familiar with. But it never occurred to one of them to make the simple reflection that they could not understand the disease from which Natasha was suffering, as no single disease can be fully understood in a living person; for every living person has his individual peculiarities and always has his own peculiar, new, complex complaints unknown to medicine—not a disease of the lungs, of the kidneys, of the skin, of the heart, and so on, as described in medical books, but a disease that consists of one out of the innumerable combinations of ailments of those organs. This simple reflection can never occur to doctors (just as a sorcerer cannot entertain the idea that he is unable to work magic spells) because it is the work of their life to undertake the cure of disease, because it is for that that they are paid, and on that they have wasted the best years of their life. And what is more, that reflection could not occur to the doctors because they saw that they unquestionably were of use; and they certainly were of use to all the Rostov household. They were of use, not because they made the patient swallow drugs, mostly injurious (the injury done by them was hardly perceptible because they were given in such small doses). They were of use, were needed, were indispensable in fact (for the same reason that there have always been, and always will be, reputed healers, witches, hom?opaths and allopaths), because they satisfied the moral cravings of the patient and those who loved her. They satisfied that eternal human need of hope for relief, that need for sympathetic action that is felt in the presence of suffering, that need that is shown in its simplest form in the little child, who must have the place rubbed when it has hurt itself. The child is hurt, and runs at once to the arms of its mother or nurse for them to kiss or rub the tender spot, and it feels better for the kissing and rubbing. The child cannot believe that these stronger, cleverer creatures have not the power to relieve its pain. And the hope of relief and the expressions of sympathy as the mother rubs it comfort it. To Natasha the doctors took the place of the mother, kissing and rubbing her “bobo,” when they declared that all the trouble would soon be over, if the coachman were to drive to the chemist's shop, in Arbatsky Place, and buy—for a rouble and seventy copecks—those powders and pills in a pretty little box, and if those powders were given to the patient in boiled water precisely every two hours, neither more nor less.
What would Sonya, and the count, and the countess have done, how would they have felt if they had taken no steps, if they had not had those pills at certain hours, and the warm beverage, and the chicken cutlets, and all the detailed regime laid down by the doctors, which gave occupation and consolation to all of them. How could the count have borne his dearly loved daughter's illness if he had not known that it was costing him a thousand roubles, and that he would not grudge thousands more, if that would do her any good; if he had not known that, in case she did not get better, he would spend thousands more on taking her abroad and consulting doctors there; if he had not been able to tell people how Metivier and Feller had failed to diagnose the complaint, but Friez had fathomed it, and Mudrov had succeeded even better in defining it? What would the countess have done if she had not sometimes been able to scold her sick Natasha for not following the doctors' orders quite faithfully?
“You can never get well like this,” she would say, finding a refuge from her grief in anger, “if you won't listen to the doctors and take your medicine properly! We can't have any nonsense, when it may turn to pneumonia,” said the countess, and in pronouncing that—not to her only—mysterious word, she found great comfort. What would Sonya have done, had she not had the glad consciousness that at first she had not had her clothes off for three nights running, so as to be in readiness to carry out the doctors' orders, and that now she did not sleep at night for fear of missing the exact hour at which the innocuous pills were to be given out of the gilt pill-box? Even Natasha herself, though she did declare that no medicines could do her any good, and that it was all nonsense, was glad to see so many sacrifices being made for her, and glad to have to take medicines at certain hours. And she was even glad, indeed, to be able by her disregard of the doctors' prescription to show how little faith she put in them, and how little she cared for life.
The doctor came every day, felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, and made jokes, regardless of her dejected face. But then when he had gone into the next room, and the countess had hastily followed him, he assumed a serious face, and shaking his head gravely, said that though there was indeed danger, he had hopes from the effect of the most recent medicine, and that they could only wait and see; that the illness was more due to moral than physical causes, but … The countess slipped some gold into his hand, trying to conceal the action from herself and from him, and always went back to the sick-room with a lighter heart.
The symptoms of Natasha's illness were loss of appetite, sleeplessness, a cough, and continual depression. The doctors declared that she must have medical treatment, and therefore kept her in the stifling atmosphere of the town. And all the summer of 1812 the Rostovs did not visit the country.
In spite of the numerous little bottles and boxes of pills, drops, and powders, of which Madame Schoss, who had a passion for them, made a complete collection, in spite of the loss of the country life to which she was accustomed, youth gained the upper hand; Natasha's grief began to be covered up by the impressions of daily life; it ceased to lie like an aching load on her heart; it began to fade into the past; and Natasha began to return to physical health again.
伯爵夫人接到娜塔莎生病的消息时，仍未完全康复，身体虚弱，可还是带着彼佳和全家来到莫斯科，这样，罗斯托夫全家从玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜家搬进了自己的房子，并且永久在莫斯科居住下来。 
娜塔莎的病很严重，以致于她的病因、她的行为、她与未婚夫决裂的思想，都已退居于次要地位，这对她本人和她亲属倒是一桩幸事。她病得都使人不去想她在所发生的这一切事情中有多少过错，她不吃不睡，眼见消瘦下去，常常咳嗽，从医生的言谈中可以感觉到她还在危险中。应该只想着帮助她。医生们来给娜塔莎看病。有时会诊，他们用法语、德语、拉丁语讲了许多，他们互相指责，开出了医治各类疾病的各种各样的药方；可是，他们中没有一个想到那个简单的道理，即他们不可能知道娜塔莎生的什么病，正如不可能知道一个活生生的人患了什么病一样：因为每个活生生的人都有自己的特点，常有特殊的、自己从未有过的、复杂的、不为医典上所载的疾病，不是医典所记的肺病、肝病、皮肤病、心脏病、神经病等等，而是这多种器官上无数病症同时并发综合症的一种。这个简单的道理医生们是不可能想到的（这就好比巫师不会去想他的巫术不灵），因为他们毕生的事业就是治病，因为他们治病可以挣钱吃饭，还因为在这事业上他们耗费了一生中最好的年华。但是主要的——医生们所以想不到这个道理是因为他们看见他们无疑是有用的，对罗斯托夫全家也的确有益处。他们之有益并非是逼着病人吞下了大部分有害的东西（这种害处几乎感觉不出，因为他们给的有害物质的含量很少），他们之有益、必需、必不可少（原因——现在总有，将来也会有江湖郎中、巫婆、顺势疗法和以毒攻毒）是因为他们满足了病人和关心病人的人们的精神需要。他们满足了一种永恒的人类需要，在痛苦时减轻痛苦的需要、同情和行动的需要。他们满足了那种人类的永恒的需要——在儿童身上表现为最原始的形式——抚摸一下那个撞痛的地方。小孩被磕着碰着，马上就会投进妈妈或保姆的怀里，希望能亲吻和揉一揉疼痛的地方，揉了和亲吻了那疼痛的地方后，他会觉得轻松些了。小孩不相信家中最有力、最聪明的人会没有办法帮助他消除疼痛，于是减轻痛苦的希望，母亲抚摸他的红肿处时的同情都安慰着他。医生对娜塔莎是有益的，因为他们亲吻和抚摸她的疼痛处，让人相信，如果现在车夫去一趟阿尔巴特的药店，花费一卢布七十戈比买一盒包装好看的药粉和药丸，并要每隔两小时用开水服下那些药（不多也不少）就会药到病除。
他们怎么可以什么也不做地看着，如果不按时给丸药、给温和的饮料、鸡肉饼、不遵守医生对一切生活细节的嘱咐（遵照医嘱做这些事是全家的慰藉），那么，索尼娅、伯爵和伯爵夫人又能做些什么呢？假如他不知道娜塔莎的病值得花去他数千卢布，并为挽救她不惜再花数千卢布；如果他不知道、假如她不见康复，他仍不惜花费数千卢布，送她去国外，为她会诊；假如他没有详细讲述梅蒂继埃和费勒如何不懂医道，而弗里茨却弄懂了，穆德罗夫诊断得更好，伯爵对爱女的病又如何忍受得了？如果伯爵夫人有时不为女儿不光遵守医嘱而同她吵吵嘴，那么伯爵夫人又能做什么呢？
“像这样你永远也不会康复，”她说，气头上她忘了自己的痛苦，“如果你不听医生的话，不按时服药！要知道这不是开玩笑的，会弄成肺炎的，”伯爵夫人说出这个不只是她一个人不明白的医学术语后，已经感到莫大的安慰了。假如索尼娅没有那种愉快的感觉：在头三个晚上她不曾脱衣裳，准备严格按照医生嘱咐行事，且现在她也经常熬夜，为的是不错过时机给病人服下那装在金包小盒里的有点毒性的药丸，那她会怎么样呢？甚至对娜塔莎自己，她虽然也说，没有什么药可以治好她的病，这一切都是胡闹，可看见大家为她做了如此多的牺牲，她必须按时服药也觉得高兴。她甚至为她不遵医嘱，以表示她不相信治疗，不珍惜自己的生命的行为而高兴。
医生每天都来，号脉、看舌苔、不顾她悲伤的表情，和她开玩笑。可是当他走到另一间屋子，伯爵夫人也赶紧跟他出去的时候，他就换上另一副严肃的面孔，若有所思地摇着头说，虽然有危险，他希望这最后一剂药能有效，必须等待和观察；多半是精神方面的病，但是……
伯爵夫人尽力不让自己和医生觉察，把一枚金币塞到医生手里，每次都怀着宽慰的心情回到病人那儿。
娜塔莎的病症特征是吃得少，睡得少，咳嗽，总是精神萎靡不振。医生们说病人离不开医疗帮助，所以还是让她呆在空气窒息的城里。一八一二年夏季罗斯托夫一家没有到乡下去。
虽然服了大量的药丸、药水、药粉，爱搜集小玩意的ma－dame　Schoss收集了一大批装药的瓶“盒”，尽管缺少已习惯了的乡村生活，但是青春占了上风；娜塔莎的悲伤开始蒙上日常生活的印象，这种印象已不那么痛苦折磨她的心了，痛苦开始变成往事，娜塔莎身体开始渐渐好起来。
Book 9 Chapter 17
NATASHA was calmer, but no happier. She did not merely shun every external form of amusement—balls, skating, concerts, and theatres—but she never even laughed without the sound of tears behind her laughter. She could not sing. As soon as she began to laugh or attempted to sing all by herself, tears choked her: tears of remorse; tears of regret for that time of pure happiness that could never return; tears of vexation that she should so wantonly have ruined her young life, that might have been so happy. Laughter and singing especially seemed to her like scoffing at her grief. She never even thought of desiring admiration; she had no impulse of vanity to restrain. She said and felt at that time that all men were no more to her than Nastasya Ivanovna, the buffoon. An inner sentinel seemed to guard against every sort of pleasure. And, indeed, she seemed to have lost all the old interests of her girlish, careless life, that had been so full of hope. Most often, and with most pining, she brooded over the memory of those autumn months, the hunting, the old uncle, and the Christmas holidays spent with Nikolay at Otradnoe. What would she not have given to bring back one single day of that time! But it was all over for her. Her presentiment at the time had not deceived her, that such a time of freedom and readiness for every enjoyment would never come again. But yet she had to live.
It comforted her to think, not that she was better, as she had once fancied, but worse, far worse than any one, than any one in the whole world. But that meant little to her. She believed it; but then she asked: “And what next?” And there was nothing to come. There was no gladness in life, but life was passing. All Natasha tried after was plainly to be no burden to others, and not to hinder other people's enjoyment; but for herself she wanted nothing. She held aloof from all the household. It was only with her brother, Petya, that she felt at ease. She liked being with him better than being with the rest, and sometimes even laughed when she was alone with him. She hardly left the house to go anywhere; and of the guests who came to the house she was only glad to see one person—Pierre. No one could have been more tender, circumspect, and at the same time serious, than Count Bezuhov in his manner to her. Natasha was unconsciously aware of this tenderness, and it was owing to it that she found more pleasure in his society. But she was not even grateful to him for it. Nothing good in him seemed to her due to an effort on Pierre's part. It seemed so natural to Pierre to be kind that there was no merit in his kindness. Sometimes Natasha noticed some confusion or awkwardness in Pierre in her presence, especially when he was trying to do something for her pleasure or afraid something in the conversation might suggest to her painful reminiscences. She observed this, and put it down to his general kindliness and shyness, which she supposed would be the same with every one else. Ever since those unforeseen words—that if he had been free, he would have asked on his knees for her hand and her love—uttered in a moment full of violent emotion for her, Pierre had said nothing of his feelings to Natasha; and it seemed to her clear that those words, which had so comforted her, had been uttered, just as one says any meaningless nonsense to console a weeping child. It was not because Pierre was a married man, but because Natasha felt between herself and him the force of that moral barrier—of the absence of which she had been so conscious with Kuragin—that the idea never occurred to her that her relations with Pierre might develop into love on her side, and still less on his, or even into that tender, self-conscious, romantic friendship between a man and a woman, of which she had known several instances.
Towards the end of St. Peter's fast, Agrafena Ivanovna Byelov, a country neighbour of the Rostovs, came to Moscow to pay her devotions to the saints there. She suggested to Natasha that she should prepare herself for the Sacrament, and Natasha caught eagerly at the suggestion. Although the doctors forbade her going out early in the morning, Natasha insisted on keeping the fast, and not simply as it was kept in the Rostovs' household, by taking part in three services in the house, but keeping it as Agrafena Ivanova was doing, that is to say, for a whole week, not missing a single early morning service, or litany, or vesper.
The countess was pleased at these signs of religious fervour in Natasha. After the poor results of medical treatment, at the bottom of her heart she hoped that prayer would do more for her than medicine; and though she concealed it from the doctors and had some inward misgivings, she fell in with Natasha's wishes, and intrusted her to Madame Byelov.
Agrafena Ivanovna went in to wake Natasha at three o'clock in the night, and frequently found her not asleep. Natasha was afraid of sleeping too late for the early morning service. Hurriedly washing, and in all humility putting on her shabbiest dress and old mantle, Natasha, shuddering at the chill air, went out into the deserted streets, in the limpid light of the early dawn. By the advice of Agrafena Ivanovna, Natasha did not attend the services of her own parish church, but went to a church where the priest was esteemed by the devout Madame Byelov as being of a particularly severe and exemplary life. There were few people in the church. Natasha and Madame Byelov always took the same seat before an image of the Mother of God, carved at the back of the left choir; and a new feeling of humility before the great mystery came over Natasha, as at that unusual hour in the morning she gazed at the black outline of the Mother of God, with the light of the candles burning in front of it, and the morning light falling on it from the window. She listened to the words of the service, and tried to follow and understand them. When she did understand them, all the shades of her personal feeling blended with her prayer; when she did not understand, it was still sweeter for her to think that the desire to understand all was pride, that she could not comprehend all; that she had but to believe and give herself up to God, Who was, she felt, at those moments guiding her soul. She crossed herself, bowed to the ground, and when she did not follow, simply prayed to God to forgive her everything, everything, and to have mercy on her, in horror at her own vileness. The prayer into which she threw herself heart and soul was the prayer of repentance. On the way home in the early morning, when they met no one but masons going to their work, or porters cleaning the streets, and every one was asleep in the houses, Natasha had a new sense of the possibility of correcting herself of her sins and leading a new life of purity and happiness.
During the week she spent in this way, that feeling grew stronger with every day. And the joy of “communication,” as Agrafena Ivanovna liked to call taking the Communion, seemed to her so great that she fancied she could not live till that blissful Sunday.
But the happy day did come. And when on that memorable Sunday Natasha returned from the Sacrament wearing a white muslin dress, for the first time for many months she felt at peace, and not oppressed by the life that lay before her.
The doctor came that day to see Natasha, and gave directions for the powders to be continued that he had begun prescribing a fortnight ago. “She must certainly go on taking them morning and evening,” he said, with visible and simple-hearted satisfaction at the success of his treatment. “Please, don't forget them. You may set your mind at rest, countess,” the doctor said playfully, as he deftly received the gold in the hollow of his palm. “She will soon be singing and dancing again. The last medicine has done her great, great good. She is very much better.”
The countess looked at her finger-nails and spat, to avert the ill-omen of such words, as with a cheerful face she went back to the drawing-room.
娜塔莎更平静了，但是却不快活。她不仅回避外界所有使人愉快的环境：舞会、滑冰、音乐会、剧院；而且没有哪一次笑星不含着泪水的。她不能唱歌。她刚一开始笑或者想独自一个人唱歌，泪水便呜咽了她：悔恨的眼泪，对那一去不复返的纯洁时光回忆的泪；恼恨的泪，恨自己白白地毁掉了那本来可以过得幸福的青春生活。她尤其觉得欢笑和歌唱对她的悲伤是一种亵渎。她不想搔首弄姿；她甚至不需要克制自己。她这样说，也感觉到：此时的男人对她来说完全与小丑娜斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜一样。内心的恐惧禁止她有任何欢乐。而且她已没有了往日所有的生活趣味，那无忧无虑、充满希望的少女生活情趣。最经常也是最使她痛心的是回忆起往日的秋季，狩猎，叔叔和Nicolas一起在奥特拉德诺耶度过的圣诞节。哪怕再过上一天这样的时光，她肯愿付出任何代价！但这一切都永远结束了。预感没有欺骗她，无拘无束、随时都拥有所有快乐的生活已经一去不复返了。但是要活下去。 
使她愉快的是想到她不像她以前想的那么好，而是比世界上任何人都更坏，而且坏得多，不过这还不够。她知道这一点，并问自己：“以后怎么办呢？”而以后什么也没有。生活中没有任何欢乐，而生活存流逝。虽然，娜塔莎尽力不使任何人感到有负担，只有不妨碍任何人，可是自己什么也不需要。她避开所有家人，只有与弟弟彼佳在一起才感到轻松些。比起与别人在一起，她更愿和他在一起；有时他们的眼睛瞪着眼睛，大笑起来。她几乎是不出户，在常到她家里来的人中，使她高兴的只有一个人——皮埃尔。没有人能比别祖霍夫伯爵待她更温存、更小心、更严肃的了。娜塔莎不知不觉中感觉得到这种温柔体贴，因而与他在一起感到极大的欢愉。可是她并不感谢他的温存。她觉得皮埃尔做任何好事都不费力。好像皮埃尔是那样自然地善待所有的人，他的善良并没有任何功劳。有时娜塔莎看出皮埃尔在她面前局促不安、不自然，特别是当他害怕在谈话中可能有什么会引起娜塔莎难堪的回忆。她发现这点，并认为这是由于他禀性善良和腼腆，按照她的理解，他对包括她在内的所有的人，都一视同仁。自从他在她极度激动的时刻，无意中说出如果他是自由的，他会跪下来向她求爱的话之后，皮埃尔再也未倾诉任何他对娜塔莎的感情；在她看来，那些话显然是安慰她的话，就像大人在安慰哭啼的孩子时随口说的话一样。不是由于皮埃尔是已婚的男人，而是由于娜塔莎觉得在她与皮埃尔之间有很高的精神障碍，她觉得与库拉金之间就没有那种障碍——她脑海中从未有过这类念头，在她和皮埃尔的关系中，不可能从她这方面，更不可能从他那方面产生爱情，甚至连那种她了解的几例男人和女人之间的温柔多情、羞羞答答、诗意般的友谊也不可能在她头脑中浮现。
圣彼得斋戒日要结束时，罗斯托夫家在奥特拉德诺耶的女邻居阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜·别洛娃来到莫斯科朝拜莫斯科圣徒。她建议娜塔莎斋戒祈祷，娜塔莎马上高兴地接受了这个主意。尽管医嘱禁止一大早外出，娜塔莎还是坚持要这样做，这种斋戒祈祷不像罗斯托夫家通常在家里作的那种也就只进行三次就完了的祈祷，而是要像阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜那样，整个星期都不错过晚祷、弥撒和晨祷。
伯爵夫人喜欢娜塔莎的这种诚心；在医疗无效之后，她在心里希望祷告比药物能更大地帮助她，虽然提心吊胆地瞒着医生，但却满足了娜塔莎的愿望，并把她托付给了别洛娃。阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜夜里三点钟来叫醒娜塔莎，大多数时候发现此时她已醒来了。娜塔莎怕错过晨祷的时间。娜塔莎匆匆忙忙地洗过脸，带着虔诚穿上自己最破的衣裳，披上斗篷，在清新空气中抖抖索索，走到朝霞通明、空旷无人的大街上。依照阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜的劝告，娜塔莎不在自己的教区祷告，而是在另外一所教堂祷告，据虔诚的别洛娃说，那儿有一位过着极端严肃和高尚生活的神父。教堂里的人总是很少；娜塔莎和别洛娃在嵌在唱诗班左后方的圣母像前面停下来，站在她们常站的地方。每当在这不寻常的早晨凝视着被烛光和窗外射进的晨光照亮的圣母暗黑的脸庞，听着那她紧跟着念并努力理解的祷文。在这伟大的不可知的事物面前，娜塔莎总有一种未曾体验的谦卑的感觉。当她理解了祷文时，她那带有个人色彩的感情与她的祷词融合起来；当她不懂时，更愉快地想到，想明白一切的愿望是值得骄傲的，人不可能理解所有事物，只要相信和皈依此刻在她的意识中支配她灵魂的上帝就行了。她划十字，鞠躬，当她对自己卑劣的行为感到恐惧和不明白时，只求上帝原谅她、宽恕她的一切，对她大发慈悲。最能使她全神贯注的是忏悔祷告。大清早回家时，只碰见去赶工的泥瓦匠，扫街的清道夫，回到家里，所有人都仍在酣睡。娜塔莎体验到一种从未有过的感情，觉得有可能纠正自己的错误，过一种纯洁、幸福的新生活。
在连续过这种生活的整个星期，这种感觉一天天增强。领圣体或者像阿格拉菲娜·伊万诺夫娜喜欢说的话“领圣餐”，娜塔莎觉得这种幸福是多么伟大，她甚至觉得她活不到这个极乐的礼拜日。
但是幸福日子终于来临，在这对她值得纪念的礼拜日，当娜塔莎身着雪白的细纱衣裳领过圣餐归来时，无数个月以来她第一次感受到了心平气和不为眼前的生活所压抑。
这天，医生来看娜塔莎，吩咐她继续服他在两个星期前最后开的那些药粉。
“每天早晚一定要继续服药，”他说，显然，他对自己的成功由衷地满意。“不过，不能大意。伯爵夫人您放心吧。”医生一面开玩笑地说，一面麻利地接过一枚金币握在手心里，很快她就又唱又跳了。最后一剂药对她非常、非常有效。她大有起色了。
伯爵夫人看了看手指甲，吐了一点唾沫，喜形于色地回到客厅。
Book 9 Chapter 18
AT THE BEGINNING of July the rumours as to the progress of the war current in Moscow became more and more alarming; and there was talk of the Tsar's appeal to the people, and the Tsar himself was said to be coming from the army to Moscow. And as up to the 11th of July the manifesto and appeal to the people had not been received, the most exaggerated reports about them and the position of Russia were common. It was said that the Tsar was coming away because the army was in danger; it was said that Smolensk had surrendered; that Napoleon had millions of troops, and that nothing short of a miracle could save Russia.
On Saturday, the 11th of July, the manifesto was received, but was not yet in print; and Pierre, who happened to be at the Rostovs', promised to come next day, Sunday, to dinner, and to bring the manifesto, which he could obtain from Count Rastoptchin.
That Sunday the Rostovs attended service as usual in the private chapel of the Razumovskys. It was a hot July day. Even by ten o'clock, when the Rostovs got out of their carriage before the chapel, the sultry air, the shouts of the street hawkers, the gay, light summer dresses of the crowd, the dusty leaves of the trees on the boulevard, the martial music and white trousers of the battalion marching by to parade, the rattle of the pavements, and the brilliant, hot sunshine, were all full of that summer languor, that content and discontent with the present, which is felt particularly vividly on a bright, hot day in town. All the fashionable world of Moscow, all the Rostovs' acquaintances were in the chapel. A great number of wealthy families, who usually spent the summer in the country, were staying on in Moscow that year, as though in vague anticipation of something.
As Natasha walked beside her mother, behind a footman in livery, who made way for them through the crowd, she heard the voice of some young man speaking in too loud a whisper about her:
“That's the young Countess Rostov, the very girl!”
“She's ever so much thinner, but still pretty!” she caught, and fancied that the names of Kuragin and Bolkonsky were mentioned. But that was always happening. She was always fancying that any one who looked at her could be thinking of nothing but what happened to her. With a sinking heart, wretched as she always was now in a crowd, Natasha, in her lilac silk dress, trimmed with black lace, walked on, as only women know how to do, with an air of ease and dignity all the greater for the pain and shame in her heart. She knew for a fact that she was pretty, but that did not give her pleasure now, as once it had. On the contrary, it had been a source of more misery than anything of late, and especially so on this bright, hot summer day in town. “Another Sunday, another week,” she said to herself, recalling how she had been here on that memorable Sunday; “and still the same life that is no life, and still the same circumstances in which life used to seem so easy once. Young and pretty, and I know that now I am good, and before I was wicked! But now I am good,” she mused, “but yet the best years, the best of my life, are all being wasted, and no good to any one.” She stood by her mother's side, and nodded to the acquaintances who were standing near. From force of habit Natasha scrutinised the dresses of the ladies, and criticised the tenue of a lady standing near her, and the awkward and cramped way in which she was crossing herself. Then she thought with vexation that she was herself being criticised again, and was criticising others; and at the first sounds of the service she was horrified at her sinfulness, horrified that her purity of heart should be lost again.
A handsome, clean-looking old priest read the service with the mild solemnity that has such an elevating and soothing effect on the souls of those who pray. The sanctuary doors were closed, the curtain was slowly drawn, and a voice, mysteriously subdued, uttered some word from it. Tears, that she could not herself have explained, rose to Natasha's eyes, and a feeling of joyful agitation came upon her.
“Teach me what to do, how to live my life, how to conquer my sins for ever, for ever!”…she prayed. The deacon came out to the steps before the altar screen; with his thumb held out apart from the rest, he pulled his long hair out from under his surplice, and laying the cross on his breast, he began in a loud voice solemnly reading the prayer:
“As one community let us pray to the Lord.”
“As one community, all together without distinction of class, free from enmity, all united in brotherly love, let us pray,” thought Natasha.
“For the world above and the salvation of our souls!”
“For the world of angels and the souls of all spiritual beings who live above us,” prayed Natasha.
When they prayed for the army, she thought of her brother and Denisov. When they prayed for all travelling by sea and by land, she thought of Prince Andrey, and prayed for him, and prayed that God would forgive her the wrong she had done him. When they prayed for all who love us, she prayed for all her family, her father and mother, and Sonya—for the first time feeling all the shortcomings in her behaviour to them, and all the strength of her own love for them. When they prayed for those who hate us, she tried to think of enemies, to pray for them. She reckoned as enemies all her father's creditors, and every one who had business relations with him; and always at the thought of enemies who hated her she thought of Anatole, who had done her so cruel an injury, and though he had not hated her, she prayed gladly for him, as an enemy. It was only at her prayers that she felt able to think calmly and clearly either of Prince Andrey or of Anatole, with a sense that her feelings for them were as nothing compared with her feeling of worship and awe of God. When they prayed for the Imperial family and the Synod, she bowed and crossed herself more devoutly than ever, telling herself that if she did not comprehend, she could not doubt, and anyway loved the Holy Synod and prayed for it.
When the litany was over, the deacon crossed his stole over his breast and pronounced:
“Ourselves and our life we offer up to Christ the Lord!”
“Ourselves we offer up to God,” Natasha repeated in her heart. “My God, I give myself unto Thy keeping!” she thought. “I ask for nothing, I desire nothing; teach me how to act, how to do Thy will! Yes, take me; take me to Thee!” Natasha said, with devout impatience in her heart. She did not cross herself, but stood with her thin arms hanging down, as though in expectation every moment that an unseen force would come and carry her off and rescue her from herself, from her regrets and desires and remorse and hopes and sins.
Several times during the service the countess looked round at her daughter's devout face and shining eyes, and prayed to God to help her.
To the general surprise, in the middle of the service, which Natasha knew so well, the deacon brought forward the little bench, from which they repeated the prayers, kneeling, on Trinity Day, and set it before the sanctuary doors. The priest advanced in his lilac velvet calotte, threw back his hair, and, with an effort, dropped on his knees. All the congregation did the same, looking at one another in surprise. There followed the prayer, which had just been received from the Synod, the prayer for the delivery of Russia out of the hands of the enemy.
“Lord God of our might, God of our salvation,” began the priest in that clear, mild, unemphatic voice, that is only used by the Slavonic priesthood, and has such an indescribable effect on the Russian heart.
“Lord God of might, God of our salvation! Look in grace and blessing on Thy humble people, and hear with loving-kindness, and spare and have mercy on us. The foe is confounding Thy land, and is fain to rise up against all the earth and lay it waste. These lawless men are gathered together to overwhelm Thy kingdom, to destroy Thy holy Jerusalem, Thy beloved Russia: to defile Thy temples, to overturn the altars and violate our holy shrines. How long, O Lord, how long shall the wicked prevail? How long shall they wreak their sinful will?
“Almighty God! Hear us when we pray to Thee, strengthen with Thy might our most gracious and supreme sovereign, Emperor Alexander Pavlovitch. Be mindful of his truth and mercy, recompense him according to his good deeds, and let them preserve Thy chosen Israel. Bless his counsels, his undertakings, and his deeds; fortify his kingdom with Thy Almighty hand, and vouchsafe him victory over the enemy, even as Thou gavest Moses victory over Amalek, and Gideon over Midian, and David over Goliath. Preserve his army; put weapons of brass in the hands that wage war in Thy name, and gird them about with strength for the battle. Take Thou the lance and shield, and rise up to succour us, and put to shame and to confusion them that devise evil against us, and let them be scattered before the face of Thy faithful armament like dust before the wind; and may Thy mighty angel put them to flight and to confusion. And let the net ensnare them when they wot not of it, and their plots that they have hatched in secret be turned against them. And let them be laid low before the feet of Thy servants and vanquished by our hosts. Lord! it is nought for Thee to save both great and small. Thou art God, and man can do nought against Thee!
“God of our Fathers! Remember Thy mercy and loving-kindness, that are everlasting. Turn not Thy face away from us; be gracious to our unworthiness; but in the greatness of Thy mercy and the infinity of Thy goodness, overlook our transgressions and our iniquities. Purify our hearts, and renew the true spirit within us; strengthen us all by faith in Thee; fortify us with hope; breathe into us true love for one another; arm us with unity of spirit in the righteous defence of the heritage Thou hast given us and our fathers; and let not the sceptre of the unrighteous be exalted above the destinies of Thy holy people.
“O Lord our God, in Whom we believe, and in Whom we put our trust, let us not be confounded in our faith in Thy mercy, and give us a sign for our blessing that they that hate us and our holy faith may see it and be put to shame and confusion, and that all lands may know that the Lord is Thy Name, and we are Thy people. Show Thy mercy upon us this day, O Lord, and grant us Thy salvation. Rejoice the hearts of Thy servants with Thy mercy; strike down our enemies and trample them swiftly under the feet of Thy faithful. Thou art the defence, the succour, and the victory of them that put their trust in Thee; and to Thee be the glory, to Father, and to Son, and to Holy Ghost, now and ever has been, for ever and ever. Amen!”
In Natasha's religiously impressionable state, this prayer affected her strongly. She heard every word about Moses's victory over Amalek, and Gideon's over Midian, and David's over Goliath, and about the destruction of Thy Jerusalem; and she prayed to God with all the tenderness and fervour with which her heart was overflowing, but she had no distinct idea what she was asking for in this prayer. With all her soul she joined in the petition for the true spirit, for the strengthening of hearts with faith and hope, and the breathing into them of love. But she could not pray for the trampling of her enemies underfoot, when she had only a few minutes before been wishing she had more of them to forgive and pray for. But yet she could have no doubts of the righteousness of this prayer that had been read by the priest on his knees. She felt in her heart a thrill of awe and horror at the punishment in store for men's sins, and especially for her sins, and prayed to God to forgive them all, and her too, and give them all and her peace and happiness. And it seemed to her that God heard her prayer.
七月初，在莫斯科越来越多地流传着令人惊慌的关于战事的消息：谈论皇帝告民众书，议论皇帝从军队中回到莫斯科。因为直到七月十一日还未见到宣言和告民众书，所以关于宣言和告民众书以及俄罗斯局势的流言更被夸大了。据说，皇帝离开是因为军队陷于危险之中，还说，斯莫棱斯克已经失守，拿破仑有百万大军，只有出现奇迹才可拯救俄罗斯。 
七月十一日，星期六，宣言出来了，但却未印刷好；在罗斯托夫家做客的皮埃尔答应第二天，星期日，来吃午饭，并把宣言和他会从拉斯托普钦伯爵那儿搞到的告民众书带来。
这个星期日，罗斯托夫一家照常去拉祖莫夫斯基家的家庭教堂做弥撒。正是七月的炎热天气。当罗斯托夫一家在教堂前从四轮轿式马车口下来时，已是十点钟了。炎热的空气中，在小贩的叫喊声中，在身着鲜艳明亮的夏装的人群中，在林荫道的树木落满尘土的叶子上，在一营前去换防的军队的军乐声中以及他们的白色的长裤上，在马路上辚辚的车轮声中，在炎热的太阳刺目的照耀下，一切都令人感到炎夏的疲倦。在城中晴朗炎热的日子里，对现状满意和不满意的感觉显得特别强烈。来拉祖莫夫斯基家庭教堂做礼拜的都是莫斯科的贵族，都是罗斯托夫家的熟人（许多富豪之家通常是去乡下过夏天的，今年却好似在等待什么，都留在城里）。娜塔莎陪伴着母亲，跟着一个穿制服的仆人穿过人群的时候，听见一个年轻人用过高的耳语声谈论她：
“这是罗斯托娃，就是……”
“瘦多了，可还那么漂亮！”她听见，或许是感觉到，人们提到库拉金和博尔孔斯基的名字。其实，她常有这种感觉。常觉得，所有的人都在盯着她。想着发生在她身上的事，在人群中，娜塔莎内心总是很痛苦，心如死灰，穿一件镶黑色花边的藕合色连衣裙，尽量像一个普通女人那样穿过人群——她越保持平静，端庄，她内心就越痛苦和羞愧。她知道，她很美，事实上也如此。可是现在这并不能像以前那样使她高兴。相反，最近这最使她痛苦，特别是在这明朗炎热的城市之夏。“又是一个礼拜天，又过了一星期。”她自言自语地说，她一边回忆她在此处度过的那个礼拜日，“一切还是那种没有生活的生活，仍是从前那种可以轻松度日的环境。漂亮，年轻；我知道，现在我是善良的；从前我不好，而现在我是善良的，我知道。”她想着，“可是，就这样不为任何人白白虚度这最美好的最美好的年华。”她站在母亲身旁，与站在附近的熟人互相点头致意。娜塔莎按习惯打量女士们的装束，指责一位站在近处的女人的tenue①和她不合礼法地把十字划得太小，可她马上悔恨地想到人们也在评论她，她也评论人家。忽然，听到祈祷的声音，她为自己的卑鄙而心惊，又为自己失去以前的纯洁而恐惧。 
①法语：举止。
一位仪表端庄，衣着整洁的小老头在念祷文，他的温文尔雅的神情是那样的庄严，感动了礼拜者的心灵，都肃然起敬。教堂的门关上了，帘幕缓缓地放上，不知什么地方传来神秘的低语声，连她自己也不明白。为什么胸中充满感动的泪水，一股既喜悦又苦恼的感情令她激动。
“教导我应该怎么办，应当如何生活，如何才能永远痛改前非，悔过自新！……”她想。
助祭走上布道台，宽宽地伸出大拇指，把自己的长发从法衣下捋出来，把十字架放在胸口，便高声地朗诵祷文：
“让我们向主祷告吧。”
“让我们全体在一起，不分等级，没有仇恨，以兄弟般的爱连结在一起——向主祷告吧。”娜塔莎想。
“为了升入天堂，为了拯救我的心灵而祷告吧！”
“为天使的世界和住在我们上方的全体神明。”娜塔莎祷告说。
当为战士们祷告时，她记起了哥哥和杰尼索夫。当为海上和陆上的旅行者祷告时，她记起了安德烈公爵，为他祝福，请求上帝宽恕她做了对不起他的事。当为爱我们的人祈祷时，她为自己的家人为父亲、母亲，索尼娅而祈祷，第一次感觉到她对他们的过失是多么大。当为恨我们的人祈祷时，她边在心里想出自己的敌人和仇人也为他们祷告。她把所有债主和与父亲打交道的人都算作敌人，每次想到敌人和仇恨她的人时，她都想起带给她不幸的阿纳托利，虽然他不是仇恨她的人，她还是乐于把他当作敌人祷告。只有在祷告的时候，她才清晰而平静地想起安德烈公爵和阿纳托利，就像记起一般的人一样，因为，这与她对上帝的畏惧和崇敬的感情相比，对他们的感情也就无所谓了。当为皇室和东正教最会议祷告时，她特别深深地鞠躬，画着十字，对自己说，如果她不明白，她也不可以怀疑，仍然热爱那有至高无上权威的东正教会议，并为它而祈祷。
读完祷文，助祭在胸前的肩带上画了十字，说：
“把我们自己和我们的生命交给我主基督。”
“把我们自己交给上帝，”娜塔莎在心里重复道，“上帝啊，我完全遵从你的意旨，”她想，“我无所求，无所希望；请教导我该如何做，怎样运用自己的意志！请你千万收留我，收留我吧！”娜塔莎垂下纤细的手臂，不划十字，怀着真诚的急切心情说。仿佛等待那未知的力量马上就接走她。把她从悔恨，期待，责难，希冀和罪过中拯救出来。
祷告时，伯爵夫人几次回首看着女儿那副深受感动而眼睛发亮的面孔，她祈求上帝帮助她的女儿。
突然，在礼拜进行中，助祭没有按照娜塔莎非常熟悉的礼拜程序，拿起小板凳，那张三一节跪在上面念祷文的小板凳，放在圣体的栅栏门前。一个戴着紫色丝绒法冠的神甫走出来，理理头发，吃力地跪下来。所有人都跪下来了，莫名其妙地面面相觑。这是刚从最高会议上送来的祷文，祈求把俄罗斯从敌人的入侵下拯救出来。
“全能的上帝，我们的救世主，”神甫开始用清晰、质朴和温和的声调朗读，只有斯拉夫教士在诵读经文时才有这样的声调，它是那样的不可抗拒地震撼着俄罗斯人的心灵。
“权力至高无上的上帝，我们的救世主啊！今天请你以怜悯和祝福的心对待你卑微的下民，请宽大为怀，听取我们的祈祷，宽恕并可怜我们吧！敌人在骚扰你的土地，并企图毁灭世界，敌人在与我们作战；彼等无法无天，纠集在一起，图谋推翻你的王国，毁灭你圣洁的耶路撒冷和你爱的俄罗斯；玷污你的庙堂，倾倒你的祭坛，亵渎你的圣龛。主啊，歹徒们要横行到几时？逞凶列何时？”
“上帝啊！听听我们对你的请求，请倾听我们：请伸张你的神威，帮助我们那最笃信上帝，最有权威的仁君亚历山大·帕夫洛维奇陛下；望念其正直和文弱，赐予你理所应得，使他能保护我们，保护你所选定的以色列。为他的智慧、创举和事业祝福吧；请你用全能的手加强他的王国，支持他战胜敌人，就像你使摩西战胜亚玛力，基甸战胜米甸，大卫战胜歌利亚一样。请保佑他的军队和那些武装起来，并以你的名义全力准备战斗的人们，请赐予他们铜弓，用你的利矛和坚盾来助战吧，让那些加害于我们的人遭到诅咒与羞辱；愿他们在你忠诚的武士面前，如风中尘埃，愿你强有力的天使使他们溃散而逃，愿他们在毫无察觉中陷入圈套，愿他们因暗施诡计而自食其果；让他们跪倒在你的臣仆脚下，被我们的军队一扫而光。主啊！你能拯救强者和弱者；你是上帝，世人不能胜过你。”
“上帝，我们的父亲！记得你历来的恩惠、怜悯和仁爱，不要不理睬我们，请宽恕我们的渺小，请以你的宽大慈悲的胸怀宽恕我们的错误与罪过。请为我们创造洁净之心，复活我们正义的精神，加强我们对你的信仰，坚定我们的希望，激励我们真诚相爱，以团结的精神武装我们，以保卫你赐予我们世代相传的家园，不要让恶人支配你所赐福的人们的命运。”
“啊，上帝，我们的主，我们信仰你，依使你，不要让我们仰仗于你赐予怜悯的希望破灭，请赐予奇迹，让那些憎恨我们，憎恨东正教信仰的人，蒙受耻辱和失败，使万邦皆知，你是我们的主，我们是你的臣民。主啊，请今日就赐予我们你的仁慈，让我们得救，让你的臣民因你赐予的仁慈而欢欣雀跃，打击我们的敌人，让他们在你忠实的臣仆的脚下迅速毁灭吧。你是一切信仰你的人的保护神、救世主和胜利之源，一切光荣属于你，归于圣父，圣子，圣灵，无尽无休，直到永恒。阿门。”
此时，娜塔莎的内心最易于动情，这个祷告强烈地影响了她。她一字不漏地听了摩西战胜亚玛力，基甸战胜米甸，大卫战胜歌利亚以及你的耶路撒冷被破坏这一段祷文，怀着满腔柔情和慈悲祈求上帝；可是，她并不十分了解自己向上帝祈求什么。她全身心地参与了对正义精神的祈求，祈求以信仰和希望来稳定人心，并祈求用仁爱来鼓励它们。但是她不能祈求将自己的敌人踩在脚下，反正在这之前的几分钟，她还希望有更多的敌人，以便去爱他们，为他们祈祷。可是她也不能怀疑那跪着诵读的祷文的正确性。她对罪人所受到的惩罚，特别是对自己的罪过的惩罚，内心深切地感到虔诚和悚畏，祈求上帝原谅所有的罪人，也原谅她，赐给他们和她自己平安和幸福的生活。她觉得上帝听见了她的祷告。
Book 9 Chapter 19
EVER SINCE THE DAY when Pierre had looked up at the comet in the sky on his way home from the Rostovs', and recalling Natasha's grateful look, had felt as though some new vista was opening before him, the haunting problem of the vanity and senselessness of all things earthly had ceased to torment him. That terrible question: Why? what for? which had till then haunted him in the midst of every occupation, was not now replaced by any other question, nor by an answer to the old question; its place was filled by the image of her. If he heard or talked of trivialities, or read or was told of some instance of human baseness or folly, he was not cast down as of old; he did not ask himself why people troubled, when all was so brief and uncertain. But he thought of her as he had seen her last, and all his doubts vanished; not because she had answered the questions that haunted him, but because her image lifted him instantly into another bright realm of spiritual activity, in which there could be neither right nor wrong, into a region of beauty and love which was worth living for. Whatever infamy he thought of, he said to himself, “Well, let so and so rob the state and the Tsar, while the state and the Tsar heap honours on him; but she smiled at me yesterday, and begged me to come, and I love her, and nobody will ever know it,” he thought.
Pierre still went into society, drank as much, and led the same idle and aimless life, because, apart from the hours he spent at the Rostovs', he had to get through the rest of his time somehow, and the habits and the acquaintances he had made in Moscow drew him irresistibly into the same life. But of late, since the reports from the seat of war had become more and more disquieting, and Natasha's health had improved, and she had ceased to call for the same tender pity, he had begun to be more and more possessed by a restlessness that he could not explain. He felt that the position he was in could not go on for long, that a catastrophe was coming that would change the whole course of his life, and he sought impatiently for signs of this impending catastrophe. One of his brother masons had revealed to Pierre the following prophecy relating to Napoleon, and taken from the Apocalypse of St. John.
In the Apocalypse, chapter thirteen, verse seventeen, it is written: “Here is wisdom; let him that hath understanding, count the number of the beast; for it is the number of a man, and his number is six hundred three-score and six.”
And in the fifth verse of the same chapter: “And there was given unto him a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies, and power was given unto him to continue forty and two months.”
If the French alphabet is treated like the Hebrew system of enumeration, by which the first ten letters represent the units, and the next the tens, and so on, the letters have the following value:—
a b c d e f g h i k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100 110 120 130 140 150 160 
Turning out the words l'empereur Napoléon into ciphers on this system, it happens that the sum of these numbers equals 666, and Napoleon is thereby seen to be the beast prophesied in the Apocalypse. Moreover, working out in the same way the words quarante-deux, that is, the term for which the beast was permitted to continue, the sum of these numbers again equals 666, from which it is deduced that the terms of Napoleon's power had come in 1812, when the French Emperor reached his forty-second year. This prophecy made a great impression on Pierre. He frequently asked himself what would put an end to the power of the beast, that is, of Napoleon; and he tried by the same system of turning letters into figures, and reckoning them up to find an answer to this question. He wrote down as an answer, l'empereur Alexandre? La nation russe? He reckoned out the figures, but their sum was far more or less than 666. Once he wrote down his own name “Comte Pierre Bezuhov,” but the sum of the figure was far from being right. He changed the spelling, putting s for z, added “de,” added the article “le,” and still could not obtain the desired result. Then it occurred to him that if the answer sought for were to be found in his name, his nationality ought surely to find a place in it too. He tried Le russe Besuhof, and adding up the figure made the sum 671. This was only five too much; the 5 was denoted by the letter “e,” the letter dropped in the article in the expression l'empereur Napoléon. Dropping the “e” in a similar way, though of course incorrectly, Pierre obtained the answer he sought in L'russe Besuhof, the letters of which on that system added up to 666. This discovery greatly excited him. How, by what connection, he was associated with the great event, foretold in the Apocalypse, he could not tell. But he did not for a moment doubt of that connection. His love for Natasha, Antichrist, Napoleon's invasion, the comet, the number 666, l'empereur Napoléon, and l'russe Besuhof—all he thought were to develop, and come to some crisis together to extricate him from that spellbound, trivial round of Moscow habits, to which he felt himself in bondage, and to lead him to some great achievement and great happiness.
The day before that Sunday on which the new prayer had been read in the churches, Pierre had promised the Rostovs to call on Count Rastoptchin, whom he knew well, and to get from him the Tsar's appeal to the country, and the last news from the army. On going to Count Rastoptchin's in the morning, Pierre found there a special courier, who had only just arrived from the army. The courier was a man whom Pierre knew, and often saw at the Moscow balls.
“For mercy's sake, couldn't you relieve me of some of my burden,” said the courier; “I have a sack full of letters to parents.”
Among these letters was a letter from Nikolay Rostov to his father. Pierre took that; and Count Rastoptchin gave him a copy of the Tsar's appeal to Moscow, which had just been printed, the last announcements in the army, and his own last placard. Looking through the army announcements, Pierre found in one of them, among lists of wounded, killed and promoted, the name of Nikolay Rostov, rewarded with the order of St. George, of the fourth degree, for distinguished bravery in the Ostrovna affair, and in the same announcement the appointment of Prince Andrey Bolkonsky to the command of a regiment of light cavalry. Though he did not want to remind the Rostovs of Bolkonsky's existence, Pierre could not resist the inclination to rejoice their hearts with the news of their son's decoration. Keeping the Tsar's appeal, Rastoptchin's placard, and the other announcement to bring with him at dinner-time, Pierre sent the printed announcement and Nikolay's letter to the Rostovs.
The conversation with Rastoptchin, and his tone of anxiety and hurry, the meeting with the courier, who had casually alluded to the disastrous state of affairs in the army, the rumours of spies being caught in Moscow, of a sheet circulating in the town stating that Napoleon had sworn to be in both capitals before autumn, of the Tsar's expected arrival next day—all combined to revive in Pierre with fresh intensity that feeling of excitement and expectation, that he had been conscious of ever since the appearance of the comet, and with even greater force since the beginning of the war.
The idea of entering the army had long before occurred to Pierre, and he would have acted upon it, but that, in the first place, he was pledged by his vow to the Masonic brotherhood, which preached universal peace and the abolition of war; and secondly, when he looked at the great mass of Moscow gentlemen, who put on uniforms, and professed themselves patriots, he felt somehow ashamed to take the same step. A cause that weighed with him even more in not entering the army was the obscure conception that he, l'russe Besuhof, had somehow the mystic value of the number of the beast, 666, that his share in putting a limit to the power of the beast, “speaking great things and blasphemies,” had been ordained from all eternity, and that therefore it was not for him to take any step whatever; it was for him to wait for what was bound to come to pass.
自皮埃尔从罗斯托夫家出来的那天起，他回味着娜塔莎感激的目光，遥望高挂天空的彗星，感到有一件新的东西在他面前展现出来——总是折磨他的那个尘世间的一切都是梦幻和毫无意义的问题，在他心目中消失了。这个可怕的问题：为什么？达到什么目的？以前无论作什么，心中总是想着这个问题，现在对他来说并不是问题被替换了，也不是对先前的问题有了答案，而是他心中有了个她。无论是他听见还是亲自参与那些无聊的谈话，无论是读书，还是听到日常生活中的卑鄙无耻和愚昧无知，他都不像先前那样大吃一惊了，也不去问自己，一切都是那样短暂和不可知，人们为何又要忙忙碌碌。可是他总是回忆起最后一次看见她的模样，他的所有怀疑都消灭了，这不是因为她解答了存留于他心中的问题，而是一想到她，就立刻把他领入另一个光明璀璨的精神境界，那里不可能有是或非，那是个值得为其爱和美而活着的境界。无论展现在他面前的是人世间多么卑劣的事，他都对自己说： 
“就让某人去盗窃国家和沙皇吧，而国家和沙皇赐给他荣誉；可她昨天向我微笑，要我去。我爱她，任何人无论何时都不了解这一点。”他想。
皮埃尔仍是那样出入交际场所，仍是喝很多酒，仍是那样过着悠闲懒散的生活，因为除了他在罗斯托夫家消度时光外，他还要打发剩余的时间，于是习惯和那些他在莫斯科结交的老相识不可抗拒地把他吸引到那种把他据为己有的生活去。但是，最近当从战地传来越来越令人不安的消息时，当娜塔莎逐渐康复且在他心目中她不再唤起他那有所节制的怜悯感情时，一种莫名其妙的烦躁情绪愈益萦绕着他。他感觉到他现在所处状态不能持续多久了，一场必然改变他全部生活的惨剧将要临头，他急不可耐地搜寻这场逐渐逼近的惨剧的全部预兆。共济会的一位道友告诉皮埃尔一个引自圣约翰《启示录》中有关拿破仑的预言。
《启示录》第十三章十八节说：“这里有智慧；拥有聪慧的，可以计算兽的数目：因为这是人的数目，他的数目是六百六十六。”
同一章第五节说：“又赐给他说夸大话亵渎话的口；又有权柄赐予他，可以任意而行四十二个月。”
法文字母按照希伯来文字母数值排列起来，其前九个字母表示个位，而其余字母表示十位，就得出下列意义：
abcdefghiklmnopqrstuvwxyz123456789102030405060708090100110120130140150160
根据这个字母表，把词l'empereur　Napoléon①的字母换成数字，其总和为六百六十六，所以，拿破仑就是《启示录》中预言的那只兽。此外，再按此字母表，把那个“说夸大话亵渎话”的兽的限期quarante　deux②写成数字，又正好是六百六十六，由上得出，拿破仑政权到1812年就满期了，该年这位法国皇帝满四十二岁。这个预言使皮埃尔很吃惊，他经常问自己，究竟是什么决定了那只兽也就是拿破仑的权限期，他根据那个字母的数字来计算，极力要找出使他感兴趣的问题的答案。皮埃尔写出这个问题的答案：l'empereur　Alexandre？La　Nation　Russe？③他计算字母的数字，可数字的总和不是大大超过，就是小于六百六十六。有一次，作这种计算时，他写出了自己的名字——Comte　Pierre　BeBsouhoff；数字的总和也差得多。他改变拼法，把Z用S代替，加上de再加上article④，最终也未得出预期的结果。忽然他有一个念头，如果问题的答案在他的名字里，那么答案中一定包括他的民族。他写出Le　russe　Besuhof⑤，又计算数据，得到结果为六百七十一。仅仅多出五这个数；e代表五，而e在l'empereur的词前的冠词中可被省略。他照样去掉e，虽然这不正确，于是皮埃尔得到了答案l'russe　Besuhof（等于六百六十六。这个发现使他激动。怎样把他与《启示录》中预言的这伟大的事件联系在一起，他不知道；但是他毫不怀疑这种联系。他对罗斯托娃的爱情，反基督，拿破仑的入侵，彗星，666，l'empereur　Napoléon和l'russe　Besuhof——所有这一切都必然成熟，必然爆发，把他从那着了魔的、毫无价值的莫斯科习惯充斥的世界中拯救出来——他觉得自己在这习惯中被俘虏了，这一切将都引导他建立丰功伟绩和获得伟大幸福。 
①法语：拿破仑皇帝。
②法语：四十二。
③法语：亚历山大皇帝？俄罗斯民族？
④法语：冠词。
⑤法语：俄罗斯人别祖霍夫。
皮埃尔在诵读祷文的那个星期日的前一天曾答应罗斯托夫一家把《告俄罗斯民族书》和来自军队的最新消息带给他们，这些他可从他非常熟悉的拉斯托普钦伯爵那儿搞到。第二天一大早，皮埃尔去了拉斯托普钦伯爵家，在那里遇到一位刚从军队来的信使。
信使是皮埃尔的一位熟人，莫斯科舞会的常客。
“看在上帝的面上，您可不可以帮帮我？”信使说，“我有一满口袋家信。”
这些信中，有一封是尼古拉·罗斯托夫寄给他父亲的信，皮埃尔拿了这封信。另外，拉斯托普钦伯爵把刚印好的皇帝《告莫斯科民众书》，刚发给军队的几项命令和最新告示给了皮埃尔，看了看军队的命令。皮埃尔找到载有伤亡和受奖人员的名单，其中有尼古拉·罗斯托夫因在奥斯特罗夫纳战役中表现英勇而被授予四级圣乔治勋章，同一命令中，还有安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵被任命为猎骑兵团团长。虽然他不愿向罗斯托夫家提起博尔孔斯基，但是，皮埃尔禁不住想用他们儿子获奖的消息，使他们高兴，于是他留下《告民众书》、告示和其他命令以便午饭前亲自带给他们，而把铅印的命令和信打发人先送到罗斯托夫家。
与拉斯托普钦伯爵的谈话，他的腔调忧心忡忡，慌慌张张，与信使相遇，漠不关心地谈及前方军情是多么糟糕，谣传莫斯科发现间谍及遍撒莫斯科的传单，传单上说，拿破仑到秋天要占领俄罗斯两座都城，关于皇帝明天将要莅临的谈论——所有这一切带着新的力量在皮埃尔心中激起躁动和有所期待的感情，自从出现彗星，特别是从战争爆发以来，皮埃尔一直怀着这种感情。
皮埃尔早就有参军服役的思想，假如没有两件事妨碍他这样做的话，他本来可以实现这个愿望。第一，他是共济会会员，受誓言的约束，共济会是宣扬永久和平和消灭战争的；第二，他看着许多莫斯科人穿着军服，宣传着爱国主义，他不知为什么羞于这样做。他未实现自己参军服役的愿望的主要原因，是因为他怀有一个朦胧有意念：L'Russe　Besuhof，是有兽的666数字的意义的，对于结束那头说夸大话亵渎话的兽的权限的伟大事业，早已注定由他完成，因此，他什么也不必做，只须坐待那必然会实现的事情实现。
Book 9 Chapter 20
A FEW INTIMATE FRIENDS were, as usual on Sundays, dining with the Rostovs.
Pierre came early, hoping to find them alone.
Pierre had that year grown so stout, that he would have been grotesque, had not he been so tall, so broad-shouldered, and so powerfully built that he carried off his bulky proportions with evident ease.
Puffing, and muttering something to himself, he went up the stairs. His coachman did not even ask whether he should wait. He knew that when the count was at the Rostovs', it was till midnight. The Rostovs' footmen ran with eager welcome to take off his cloak, and take his stick and hat. From the habit of the club, Pierre always left his stick and hat in the vestibule.
The first person he saw at the Rostovs' was Natasha. Before he saw her, while taking off his cloak, he heard her. She was practising her solfa exercises in the hall. He knew she had given up singing since her illness, and so he was surprised and delighted at the sound of her voice. He opened the door softly, and saw Natasha, in the lilac dress she had worn at the service, walking up and down the room singing. She had her back turned to him as he opened the door; but when she turned sharply round and saw his broad, surprised face, she flushed and ran quickly up to him.
“I want to try and sing again,” she said. “It's something to do, any way,” she added as though in excuse.
“Quite right too!”
“How glad I am you have come! I'm so happy to-day,” she said with the old eagerness that Pierre had not seen for so long. “You know, Nikolenka has got the St. George's Cross. I'm so proud of him.”
“Of course, I sent you the announcement. Well, I won't interrupt you,” he added, and would have gone on to the drawing-room.
Natasha stopped him.
“Count, is it wrong of me to sing?” she said, blushing, but still keeping her eyes fixed inquiringly on Pierre.
“No.… Why should it be? On the contrary.… But why do you ask me?”
“I don't know myself,” Natasha answered quickly; “but I shouldn't like to do anything you wouldn't like. I trust you in everything. You don't know how much you are to me, and what a great deal you have done for me!” …She spoke quickly, and did not notice how Pierre flushed at these words. “I saw in that announcement, he, Bolkonsky” (she uttered the word in a rapid whisper), “he is in Russia, and in the army again. What do you think,” she said hurriedly, evidently in haste to speak because she was afraid her strength would fail her, “will he ever forgive me? Will he not always have an evil feeling for me? What do you think? What do you think?”
“I think…” said Pierre. “He has nothing to forgive… If I were in his place…” From association of ideas, Pierre was instantly carried back in imagination to the time when he had comforted her by saying that if he were not himself, but the best man in the world and free, he would beg on his knees for her hand, and the same feeling of pity, tenderness, and love took possession of him, and the same words rose to his lips. But she did not give him time to utter them.
“Yes, you—you,” she said, uttering that word you with enthusiasm, “that's a different matter. Any one kinder, more generous than you, I have never known—no one could be. If it had not been for you then, and now too… I don't know what would have become of me, because…” Tears suddenly came into her eyes: she turned away, held her music before her eyes, and began again singing and walking up and down the room.
At that moment Petya ran in from the drawing-room.
Petya was by now a handsome, rosy lad of fifteen, with full red lips, very like Natasha. He was being prepared for the university, but had lately resolved in secret with his comrade, Obolensky, to go into the hussars.
Petya rushed up to his namesake, Pierre, to talk to him of this scheme.
He had begged him to find out whether he would be accepted in the hussars.
Pierre walked about the drawing-room, not heeding Petya.
The boy pulled him by the arm to attract his attention.
“Come, tell me about my plan, Pyotr Kirillitch, for mercy's sake! You're my only hope,” said Petya.
“Oh yes, your plan. To be an hussar? I'll speak about it; to-day I'll tell them all about it.”
“Well, my dear fellow, have you got the manifesto?” asked the old count. “My little countess was at the service in the Razumovskys' chapel; she heard the new prayer there. Very fine it was, she tells me.”
“Yes, I have got it,” answered Pierre. “The Tsar will be here tomorrow.… There's to be an extraordinary meeting of the nobility and a levy they say of ten per thousand. Oh, I congratulate you.”
“Yes, yes, thank God. Well, and what news from the army?”
“Our soldiers have retreated again. They are before Smolensk, they say,” answered Pierre.
“Mercy on us, mercy on us!” said the count. “Where's the manifesto?”
“The Tsar's appeal? Ah, yes!” Pierre began looking for the papers in his pockets, and could not find them. Still slapping his pockets, he kissed the countess's hand as she came in, and looked round uneasily, evidently expecting Natasha, who had left off singing now, but had not come into the drawing-room. “Good Heavens, I don't know where I have put it,” he said.
“To be sure, he always mislays everything,” said the countess.
Natasha came in with a softened and agitated face and sat down, looking mutely at Pierre. As soon as she came into the room, Pierre's face, which had been overcast, brightened, and while still seeking for the paper, he looked several times intently at her.
“By God, I'll drive round, I must have forgotten them at home. Of course…”
“Why, you will be late for dinner.”
“Oh! and the coachman has not waited.”
But Sonya had gone into the vestibule to look for the papers, and there found them in Pierre's hat, where he had carefully put them under the lining. Pierre would have read them.
“No, after dinner,” said the old count, who was obviously looking forward to the reading of them as a great treat.
At dinner they drank champagne to the health of the new cavalier of St. George, and Shinshin told them of the news of the town, of the illness of the old Georgian princess, and of the disappearance of Metivier from Moscow, and described how a German had been brought before Rastoptchin by the people, who declared (so Count Rastoptchin told the story) that he was a champignon, and how Count Rastoptchin had bade them let the champignon go, as he was really nothing but an old German mushroom.
“They keep on seizing people,” said the count. “I tell the countess she ought not to speak French so much. Now's not the time to do it.”
“And did you hear,” said Shinshin, “Prince Galitzin has engaged a Russian teacher—he's learning Russian. It begins to be dangerous to speak French in the streets.”
“Well, Count Pyotr Kirillitch, now if they raise a general militia, you will have to mount a horse too, ah?” said the old count addressing Pierre.
Pierre was dreamy and silent all dinner-time. He looked at the count as though not understanding.
“Yes, yes, for the war,” he said. “No! A fine soldier I should make! And yet everything's so strange; so strange! Why, I don't understand it myself. I don't know, I am far from being military in my taste, but in these days no one can answer for himself.”
After dinner the count settled himself comfortably in a low chair, and with a serious face asked Sonya, who enjoyed the reputation of a good reader, to read the Tsar's appeal.
“To our metropolitan capital Moscow. The enemy has entered our border with an immense host and comes to lay waste our beloved country,” Sonya read conscientiously in her thin voice. The count listened with closed eyes, heaving abrupt sighs at certain passages.
Natasha sat erect, looking inquisitively and directly from her father to Pierre.
Pierre felt her eyes on him and tried not to look round. The countess shook her head disapprovingly and wrathfully at every solemn expression in the manifesto. In all these words she saw nothing but that the danger menacing her son would not soon be over. Shinshin, pursing his lips up into a sarcastic smile, was clearly preparing to make a joke at the first subject that presented itself: at Sonya's reading, the count's next remark, or even the manifesto itself, if no better pretext should be found.
After reading of the dangers threatening Russia, the hopes the Tsar rested upon Moscow, and particularly on its illustrious nobility, Sonya, with a quiver in her voice, due principally to the attention with which they were listening to her, read the last words: “We shall without delay be in the midst of our people in the capital, and in other parts of our empire, for deliberation, and for the guidance of all our militia levies both those which are already barring the progress of the foe, and those to be formed for conflict with him, wherever he may appear. And may the ruin with which he threatens us recoil on his own head, and may Europe, delivered from bondage, glorify the name of Russia!”
“That's right!” cried the count, opening his wet eyes, and several times interrupted by a sniff, as though he had put a bottle of strong smelling-salts to his nose. He went on, “Only let our sovereign say the word, we will sacrifice everything without grudging.”
Before Shinshin had time to utter the joke he was ready to make on the count's patriotism, Natasha had jumped up from her seat and run to her father.
“What a darling this papa is!” she cried, kissing him, and she glanced again at Pierre with the unconscious coquetry that had come back with her fresh interest in life.
“Oh, what a patriot she is!” said Shinshin.
“Not a patriot at all, but simply…” Natasha began, nettled. “You think everything funny, but this isn't at all a joke…”
“A joke,” repeated the count. “Only let him say the word, we will all go… We're not a set of Germans!”
“Did you notice,” said Pierre, “the words, ‘for deliberation…' ”
“Yes, to be sure, for whatever might come…”
Meanwhile Petya, to whom no one was paying attention, went up to his father, and very red, said in a voice that passed abruptly from gruffness to shrillness, “Well, now, papa, I tell you positively—and mamma too, say what you will—I tell you you must let me go into the army, because I cannot… and that's all about it.”
The countess in dismay turned her eyes up to heaven, clasped her hands, and said angrily to her husband:
“See, what your talk has brought us to!”
But the count recovered the same instant from the excitement.
“Come, come,” he said. “A fine warrior you'd make! Don't talk nonsense; you have your studies to attend to.”
“It's not nonsense, papa. Fedya Obolensky's younger than I am, and he's going too; and what's more, I can't anyhow study now, when…” Petya stopped, flushed till his face was perspiring, yet stoutly went on … “when the country's in danger.”
“Hush, hush, nonsense!…”
“Why, but you said yourself you would sacrifice everything.”
“Petya! I tell you be quiet,” cried the count, looking at his wife, who was gazing with a white face and fixed eyes at her younger son.
“Let me say …Pyotr Kirillovitch here will tell you…”
“I tell you, it's nonsense; the milk's hardly dry on his lips, and he wants to go into the army! Come, come, I tell you,” and the count, taking the papers with him, was going out of the room, probably to read them once more in his study before his nap.
“Pyotr Kirillovitch, let us have a smoke.…”
Pierre felt embarrassed and hesitating. Natasha's unusually brilliant and eager eyes, continually turned upon him with more than cordiality in them, had reduced him to this condition.
“No; I think I'll go home.…”
“Go home? But you meant to spend the evening with us.… You come rarely enough, as it is. And this girl of mine,” said the count good-humouredly, looking towards Natasha, “is never in spirits but when you are here.…”
“But I have forgotten something. I really must go home.… Business.…” Pierre said hurriedly.
“Well, good-bye then,” said the count as he went out of the room.
“Why are you going away? Why are you so upset? What for?” Natasha asked Pierre, looking with challenging eyes into his face.
“Because I love you!” he wanted to say, but he did not say it. He crimsoned till the tears came, and dropped his eyes.
“Because it is better for me not to be so often with you.… Because …no, simply I have business.…”
“What for? No, do tell me,” Natasha was beginning resolutely, and she suddenly stopped. Both in dismay and embarrassment looked at one another. He tried to laugh, but could not; his smile expressed suffering, and he kissed her hand and went out without a word.
Pierre made up his mind not to visit the Rostovs again.
像平时一样，星期天总有一些亲近的熟人在罗斯托夫家吃饭。 
皮埃尔想单独见到他们，就早早地来了。
今年内，皮埃尔发胖了，如果不是他身材高大，四肢结实，不是那么有力足以轻松自如地带动肥胖的身躯，那么，他就很难看了。
他气喘吁吁，独自念叨着什么，走上了楼梯。他的车夫已经不问他要不要等候他。他知道，若是伯爵在罗斯托夫家作客，那么他一定会呆到十二点钟。罗斯托夫家的仆人愉快地跑过来从他身上脱下斗篷，接过手杖和帽子。按照俱乐部的习惯，皮埃尔把手杖和帽子留在前厅。
他在罗斯托夫家看见的第一个人就是娜塔莎。还在他看到她之前，他在前厅脱斗篷时就听见她的声音了。她在大厅作视唱练习。他知道，她从生病后就未唱过歌了。所以她的歌声使他又惊又喜。他轻轻地推开门，看见娜塔莎身穿一件做礼拜时常穿的雪青色连衣裙，在屋里边走边唱。当她开门时，她是背朝着他的，但是当她陡然转声，看见他胖胖的惊奇的脸时，她脸红了，快步走到他跟前。
“我又想试试唱歌，”她说，“总算有点事儿干。”仿佛抱歉似地又补充道。
“好极了。”
“您来了，我真高兴！我今天非常幸福！”她说，带着皮埃尔在她身上久已不见的活泼神态。“您知道，Nicalas（尼古拉）得了圣乔治十字勋章了，我真为他高兴。”
“当然知道，命令是我送来的。好了，我不打扰您了。”他补充道，要往客厅走。
娜塔莎拦住他。
“伯爵！怎么啦，我唱得很糟吗？”她红着脸说，却没有垂下眼睛，而是疑问地望着皮埃尔。
“哪里……为什么？恰恰相反……，可是您为什么这样问我呢？”
“我自己也不知道”娜塔莎飞快地答道，“可我不愿做您不喜欢的任何事情。我完全相信您。您不知道，您对我是多么重要，您为我做了多少事情啊！……”她说得很快，没有发现在她说这些话时皮埃尔脸红了。“在那同一个命令中，我看见了他，博尔孔斯基（她说这些话时，说得很快，声音又低）——他又在俄罗斯服役了。您认为怎样？”她又快又急地说，显然害怕力不从心，“有一天他会原谅我吗？他不会对我抱有恶感吧？你以为怎样？您以为怎样？”
“我想……”皮埃尔说，“他没什么要宽恕您的……如果是我处在他的地位……”由于回忆的关系，皮埃尔的脑海中立刻重映出那一天的情景：他安慰她说，假如他不是他，而是世界上最好而且自由的人，他会跪下向她求婚，于是同样是那种怜悯、温柔、爱恋的感情充满了他的心胸，同样是那些话来到他的嘴边，但是她不给他说出这些话的时间。
“您啊，您，”她说，带着欣喜说出这个您字，“您是另一回事。我不知道有谁能比您更善良、宽厚和更好的了，不可能有这样的人。如果当时没有您，甚至现在没有您，我不知道，我会怎么样，因为……”泪水突然涌出她的眼眶；她转过身去，拿起乐谱，捧到眼前唱起来，又在大厅里走来走去。
这时，彼佳从客厅里跑出来了。
彼佳现在是一个漂亮的面颊红润的十五岁的男孩，嘴唇又红又厚，像娜塔莎一样。他准备上大学，但是近来他悄悄决定与同学奥博连斯基一起去当骠骑兵。
彼德就是为此事来找自己的同名人的。
他请求皮埃尔打听一下骠骑兵要不要他。
皮埃尔在客厅里踱着步，不听彼佳的话。
彼佳拉拉他的手，好让他注意自己。
“我的事情怎么样，彼得·基里雷奇，看在上帝面上，全靠您啦。”彼佳说。
“啊，是的，是的，你的事。当骠骑兵？我去说，我去说，今天就去说。”
“怎么样，mon　cher①，怎么样，宣言搞到了吗？”老伯爵问。“伯爵夫人在拉祖莫夫斯基家做礼拜，听到了新的祷文。
祷文好极了，她说。” 
①法语：亲爱的。
“弄到了，”皮埃尔回答道。“明天，皇帝要……举行贵族非常会议，据说，每千人中抽十人。对了，祝贺您。”
“是的，是的，感谢上帝。军队有何消息吗？”
“我军又在撤退。据说，已撤到斯摩棱斯尼了。”皮埃尔回答。
“我的上帝，我的上帝！”伯爵说。“宣言在哪儿？”
“《告民众书》！啊，对了！”皮埃尔在衣袋里面找，却找不到了。他在拍身上的衣袋时，吻了吻过来的伯爵夫人的手，眼睛不安地东张西望。显然是等待娜塔莎，她已没有唱歌了，可是没有进客厅来。
“真的，我不知道，我把它放到哪儿去了。”他说。
“看你，总是丢三落四的。”伯爵夫人说。娜塔莎脸上带着柔和而兴奋的神情走进来坐下，默默地望着皮埃尔。她一走进屋里，皮埃尔本来阴郁的面容，顿时容光焕发，他一边继续找着文件，一面向她瞟了几眼。
“真的，我要去一趟，我忘在家里了。必须……”
“那来不及吃饭了。”
“啊，车夫也离去了。”但是，去前厅找文件的索尼娅在皮埃尔的帽子里找到了它们，是他心细地把文件掖在帽褶里的。皮埃尔想朗读。
“别读，吃完饭再说。”老伯爵说，看来，在这朗读中他预见到极大的乐趣。
吃饭时，大家喝着香槟酒为新的圣乔治十字勋章获得者的健康祝福，申申讲述了城里的新闻，什么关于老格鲁吉亚公爵夫人的福啦，什么梅蒂维埃从莫斯科悄悄消失了啦，有个什么德国人被人们押送到拉斯托普钦处，控告德国人是“暗探”（拉斯托普钦本人是这样说的），拉斯托普钦伯爵吩咐把这个“暗探”放了，他对人们说，这不是“暗探”，不过是一个德国糟老头子。
“在抓人，在抓人，”伯爵说，“我也告诉伯爵夫人，少讲法语，现在不是时候。”
“你们听说了吗？”申申说，“戈利岑公爵还请了一位俄语教师——学俄语呢——il　commence　à　devenir　danBgereux　de　parler　franscais　dans　les　ruesn．① 
①法语：在街上讲法语成了危险的事了。
“怎么样，彼德·基里雷奇伯爵，怎样招募民兵呀，您也不得不跨上战马吗？”老伯爵对皮埃尔说。
皮埃尔这顿饭一直默默不语，若有所思。好像没弄明白似的，伯爵对他说话时，他看了看伯爵。
“是的，是的，要去参战，”他说：“不！我算什么战士！——而且，一切都这么奇怪，这么奇怪！连我自己也搞不懂。我不知道，我对军事不沾边，可是，目前谁也不能对自己负责了。”
饭后，伯爵安详地坐在椅子里，带着严肃的面孔要善于朗读的索尼娅读文《告民众书》。
“对古老的首都莫斯科的通告。”
“敌人的强大的兵力侵入俄罗斯境内。他要毁灭我们的亲爱的祖国，”索尼娅的尖细的声音卖力地读道。闭上眼睛的伯爵听到某些地方，发出阵阵的叹息声。
娜塔莎笔直地坐在那里，用探究的目光时而望着父亲，时而凝视着皮埃尔。
皮埃尔感受到了那提问自己的目光，但极力不回首去看。伯爵夫人不以为然地忿忿地摇摇头以反对宣言的每一个雄壮威严的句子。她在所有这些话中只看到了威胁她的儿子的危险还不会很快就终止。申申撇着嘴，带着嘲讽的意味微笑着，显然准备一有机会就这样做。嘲笑索尼娅的朗读，嘲笑伯爵会说出的话。甚至嘲笑《告民众书》，如果没有更好的借口的话。
读到威胁俄罗斯的危险，读到皇上对莫斯科寄予的希望，特别是对名门贵族寄予的希望的时候，索尼娅带着颤抖的声音，这主要是由于大家聚精会神听她读，她读到了最后几句话：“我们要刻不容缓地到首都的人民中去，到全国各地去，同我们的民团会商并指挥他们。他们正在阻击敌人的推进，有的正组织起来打击敌人，不管他们在哪儿出现，就让敌人妄图加在我们身上的毁灭的命运，落到他们自己的头上吧，让从被奴役中解放出来的欧洲赞美俄罗斯的名声！”
“好极了！”伯爵喊起来，他睁开湿润的眼睛，鼻子断断续续地呼哧了几下，就像在他鼻子下面放了浓醋酸盐瓶似的。
“只要皇上下令，我们就不惜牺牲一切。”
申申还没来得及说出已准备好的对伯爵爱国主义的嘲讽，娜塔莎就从自己座位上跃起来，向父亲跑过去了。
“多可爱啊！这个爸爸！”她一边说，一边亲吻他，她又瞟了一眼皮埃尔，带着她那又恢复了的不自觉的妩媚与活泼。
“好一个女爱国者！”申申说。
“并不是什么爱国者，不过是……”娜塔莎气愤地回答，“您觉得一切都好笑，可这完全不是笑话……”
“谈不上玩笑！”伯爵重复道，“只要他下令，我们都上，……我们不是那些德国佬……”
“你们注意了没有，”皮埃尔说，“那上面说：‘要会商'。”
“无论那儿做什么……”
这时。谁也没有注意的彼佳走到父亲跟前，满脸通红，用时粗时细的变了音的嗓子说：
“现在，爸爸，我要断然地说——对妈妈也是这样说——我决断地说，请你们允许我参军，因为我不能……这就是我要说的……”
伯爵夫人吃惊地两眼一翻，两手一拍，生气地对丈夫说。
“这就说出事来了吧！”她说。
但是，这时伯爵从激动中静下来。
“行了，行了，”他说，“又有一个战士！不要胡闹！要学习。”
“这不是胡闹，爸爸。奥博连斯基·费佳比我还小，他也要去，主要的，反正现在我什么也学不进去，当……”彼佳停住了，脸红得冒汗。又继续说：“正当祖国遭到危险的时候。”
“够了，够了，胡闹……”
“要知道是您自己说的，我们可以牺牲一切。”
“彼佳，我给你说，住嘴！”伯爵喊道。看了一眼妻子，她脸色苍白，眼睛定定地看着小儿子。
“而我给您说。这也是彼得·基里洛维奇要说……”
“我告诉你，无稽之谈，乳臭未干就想当兵！好了，好了，我告诉你。”伯爵抓起那些文件，就往外走。大概他想在书斋里休息之前再读一遍。
“彼得·基里诺维奇，怎么啦，走去吸烟……”
皮埃尔窘迫不安，犹豫不定。娜塔莎那兴奋的眼睛奇异地闪闪发亮，不停地、十分亲切地疑视着他，使他陷入了这种状态。
“不，我似乎该回家了……”
“怎么回家，您不是要在我们这儿呆到晚上……近来您不常来，而且，我的这个……”伯爵和蔼地指着娜塔莎说，“只有您在的时候才高兴……”
“对了，我忘记了……我一定要回家……有事情……”皮埃尔匆匆忙忙地说。
“那就再见吧。”伯爵说着就走出屋去了。
“您为什么要走？您为什么心神不安呢？为什么……”娜塔莎问皮埃尔，挑战似地望着他的眼睛。
“因为我爱你！”他想说，但是没有说出来，脸红得要流出眼泪，他垂下了眼睛。
“因为我最好还是少到这儿来……因为，……不，我不过是有事情……
“因为什么，不，告诉我。“娜塔莎口气坚决，可突然又沉默了。他们俩人都吃惊地、窘迫地望着对方。他试图笑一笑，可是不能；他的微笑表达的是苦楚，他默默地吻了吻她的手，就走出去了。
皮埃尔暗自决定，自己不再到罗斯托夫家去了。
Book 9 Chapter 21
AFTER THE UNCOMPROMISING REFUSAL he had received, Petya went to his own room, and there locking himself in, he wept bitterly. All his family behaved as though they noticed nothing when he came in to tea, silent and depressed with tear-stained eyes.
Next day, the Tsar arrived in Moscow. Several of the Rostovs' servants asked permission to go out to see the Tsar. That morning Petya spent a long time dressing. He combed his hair and arranged his collar like a grown-up man. He screwed up his eyes before the looking-glass, gesticulated, shrugged his shoulders, and finally, without saying anything to any one, he put on his cap and went out of the house by the back way, trying to escape observation. Petya had resolved to go straight to where the Tsar was, and to explain frankly to some gentleman-in-waiting (Petya fancied that the Tsar was always surrounded by gentlemen-in-waiting) that he, Count Rostov, wished, in spite of his youth, to serve his country, that youth could be no hindrance to devotion, and that he was ready…Petya had, while he was dressing, prepared a great many fine speeches to make to the gentleman-in-waiting.
Petya reckoned on the success of his presentation to the Tsar simply because he was a child (Petya dreamed, indeed, of how they would wonder at his youth), and yet in his arrangement of his collar, and his hair, and in the sedate, deliberate walk he adopted, he tried to act the part of an elderly man. But the further he went, the more interested he became in the growing crowds about the Kremlin, and he forgot to keep up the sedateness and deliberation characteristic of grown-up people. As he got closer to the Kremlin, he began to try to avoid being crushed, and with a resolute and threatening mien, stuck elbows out on each side of him. But in spite of his determined air, in the Toistsky Gate the crowd, probably unaware of his patriotic object in going to the Kremlin, so pushed him against the wall, that he was obliged to submit and stand still, while carriages drove in with a rumbling sound under the archway. Near Petya stood a peasant woman, a footman, two merchants, and a discharged soldier. After standing for some time in the gateway, Petya, not caring to wait for all the carriages to pass, tried to push on before the rest, and began resolutely working away with his elbows, but the peasant woman standing next him, who was the first person he poked, shouted angrily to him:
“Why are you shoving away, little master? You see everybody's standing still. What do you want to push for?”
“What, if every one were to push then!” said the footman; and he too setting to work with his elbows shoved Petya into the stinking corner of the gateway.
Petya rubbed the sweat off his face with his hands, and set straight the soaking collar, that he had so carefully arranged at home like a grown-up person's.
Petya felt that he looked unpresentable, and was afraid that if he showed himself in this guise to the gentlemen-in-waiting, they would not admit him to the Tsar's presence. But the crush gave him no possibility of setting himself straight or getting into another place. One of the generals who rode by was an acquaintance of the Rostovs. Petya wanted to ask him for help, but considered this would be below his manly dignity. When all the carriages had driven by, the crowd made a rush, and swept Petya along with it into the square, which was already full of people. Not only in the square, but on the slopes, and the roofs, and everywhere there were crowds of people. As soon as Petya got into the square, he heard the ringing of bells and the joyous hum of the crowd filling the whole Kremlin.
For a while the crush was less in the square, but all at once all heads were bared, and there was another rush forward. Petya was so crushed that he could hardly breathe, and there was a continual shouting: “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
Petya tip-toed, pushed, and pinched, but he could see nothing but the crowd around him.
All the faces wore the same expression of excitement and enthusiasm. A shopkeeper's wife standing near Petya sobbed, and tears flowed down her cheeks.
“Father, angel!” she kept saying, wiping her tears with her fingers.
“Hurrah!” shouted the crowd on all sides.
For a minute the crowd remained stationary; then there was another rush forward.
Petya, beside himself with excitement, clenched his teeth, and rolling his eyes savagely, rushed forward, elbowing his way and shouting “Hurrah!” as though he were prepared to kill himself and every one else at that moment, but just as savage faces pushed on each side of him with the same shouts of “hurrah!”
“So this is the Tsar!” thought Petya. “No, I could never give him the petition myself, it would be too bold!”
In spite of that, he still forced his way forward as desperately, and over the backs of those in front of him caught a glimpse of open space with a passage covered with red cloth in the midst of it. But at that moment the crowd began heaving back; the police in front were forcing back those who had pressed too close to the procession. The Tsar was passing from the palace to the Uspensky Sobor. Petya received such a sudden blow in the ribs, and was so squeezed, that all at once a mist passed before his eyes, and he lost consciousness. When he came to himself, a clerical personage, with a mane of grey hair on his shoulders, in a shabby blue cassock—probably a deacon—was holding him up with one arm, while with the other he kept off the crowd.
“A young gentleman's been crushed!” the deacon was saying, “Mind what you're about!…easy there!…you're crushing him, you're crushing him!”
The Tsar had entered the Uspensky Sobor. The crowd spread out again, and the deacon got Petya pale and breathless on to the big cannon. Several persons pitied Petya; and suddenly quite a crowd noticed his plight, and began to press round him. Those who were standing near him looked after him, unbuttoned his coat, sat him on the highest part of the cannon, and scolded those who were squeezing too close to him.
“Any one may be crushed to death like that. What next! Killing people! Why, the poor dear's as white as a sheet,” said voices.
Petya soon recovered, and the colour came back into his face; the pain was over, and by this temporary inconvenience he had gained a seat on the cannon, from which he hoped to see the Tsar, who was to walk back. Petya thought no more now of presenting his petition. If only he could see him, he would think himself lucky! During the service in the Uspensky Sobor, in celebration of the Tsar's arrival, and also in thanks-giving for the peace with the Turks, the crowd dispersed about the square, and hawkers appeared crying kvass, gingerbread, and poppy-seed sweets—of which Petya was particularly fond—and he could hear the usual talk among the people. One shopkeeper's wife was showing her torn shawl, and saying how much she had paid for it; while another observed that all silk things were very dear nowadays. The deacon who had rescued Petya was talking to a clerk of the different priests who were taking part in the service to-day with the most reverend bishop. The deacon several times repeated the word “soborne,” which Petya did not understand. Two young artisans were joking with some servant-girls, cracking nuts. All these conversations, especially the jokes with the servant-girls—which would have seemed particularly attractive at his age to Petya—did not interest him now. He sat on his high perch on the cannon, still in the same excitement at the thought of the Tsar and his love for him. The blending of the feeling of pain and fright when he was crushed with the feeling of enthusiasm intensified his sense of the gravity of the occasion.
Suddenly cannon shots were heard from the embankment—the firing was in celebration of the peace with the Turks—and the crowd made a dash for the embankment to see the firing. Petya, too, would have liked to run there, but the deacon, who had taken the young gentleman under his protection, would not let him. The firing still continued, when officers, generals, and gentlemen-in-waiting came running out of the Uspensky Sobor. Then others came out with less haste, and again caps were lifted, and those who had run to look at the cannons ran back. At last four men in uniforms and decorations came out from the doors of the Sobor. “Hurrah! hurrah!” the crowd shouted again.
“Which? which one?” Petya asked in a weeping voice of those around him, but no one answered him. Every one was too much excited, and Petya, picking out one of the four, and hardly able to see him for the tears that started into his eyes, concentrated all his enthusiasm on him, though it happened not to be the Tsar. He shouted “Hurrah!” in a voice of frenzy, and resolved that to-morrow, come what might of it, he would join the army. The crowd ran after the Tsar, accompanied him to the palace, and began to disperse. It was late, and Petya had had nothing to eat, and the sweat was dripping from his face. But he did not go home. He remained with a smaller, though still considerable, crowd before the palace during the Tsar's dinner-time. He gazed up at the palace windows, expecting something to happen, and envying equally the grand personages who drove up to the entrance to dine with the Tsar, and the footmen waiting at table, of whom he caught glimpses at the window.
At the Tsar's dinner, Valuev said, looking out of the window:
“The people are still hoping to get a sight of your majesty.”
The dinner was almost over, the Tsar got up, and still munching a biscuit, came out on the balcony. The crowd, with Petya in the midst, rushed towards the balcony.
“Angel, father! Hurrah!” …shouted the crowd, and with it Petya. And again women, and, in a less degree some men—among them Petya—shed tears of happiness.
A good sized piece of the biscuit in the Tsar's hand broke off, fell on the balcony railing, and from the railing to the ground. A coachman in a jerkin, who stood nearest, pounced on the piece of biscuit and snatched it up. Several persons rushed at the coachman. Noticing this the Tsar asked for a plate of biscuits, and began dropping them from the balcony. Petya's eyes almost started out of his head; the danger of being crushed excited him more than ever, and he rushed at the biscuits. He did not know why, but he felt he must have a biscuit from the Tsar's hands, and he must not give in. He made a dash and upset an old woman, who was just about to seize a biscuit. But the old woman refused to consider herself beaten, though she was on the ground; she snatched at the biscuits on her hands and knees. Petya pushed her hand away with his knee, snatched up a biscuit, and as though afraid of being late, hastily shouted again, “Hurrah!” in a hoarse voice.
The Tsar went in, and after that the greater part of the crowd dispersed.
“There, I said if only we waited—and so it was,” was the delighted comment on various sides in the crowd.
Happy as Petya was, he felt sad to go home, and to feel that all the enjoyment of that day was over. From the Kremlin, Petya went not home, but to his comrade Obolensky's. He was fifteen, and he, too, was going into the army. On getting home, Petya announced with decision and firmness that if they would not let him do so too, he would run away. And next day, though Count Ilya Andreitch had not quite yielded, he went to inquire if a commission could be obtained for Petya somewhere where there would be little danger.
遭到坚决的拒绝之后，彼佳回到自己的房间，锁上门，在那里避开所有的人，伤心地哭了。当他去喝茶时，不言不语，眼睛都哭红了，大家装着没看见。 
第二天，皇帝驾到。几个罗斯托夫家的家仆请假去观看皇帝的驾临。这天清晨，彼佳穿戴了很久，梳洗，硬把衣服弄得与大人们一样。他对着镜子皱着眉头，搔首弄姿，耸着肩膀，最后未给任何人打招呼，戴上帽子，尽量不让人看见，他从后门出去了。彼佳决定直接去皇帝下塌的地方，直接向某个侍从（彼佳认为皇帝周围总有许多侍从）陈述，他罗斯托夫伯爵，尽管还年幼，愿意为祖国服务，年幼不应该成为效忠祖国的障碍，他准备着……彼佳在预备出门的工夫，想好了许多他要对侍从说的动听的话。
彼佳估计自己向皇帝自荐能成功就是因为他是一个孩子。（彼佳甚至想象大家为他的年幼而多么惊奇）。与此同时，他理理硬硬的衣领、头发，步伐庄重而从容，把自己装成一个老年人。但是，他越往前走，越来越被聚集在克里姆林宫的越来越多的人群所吸引，就越忘记遵守一个大人应有的庄重派头。走近克里姆林宫时，他已开始关心他会不会被人们挤伤，他两手叉腰，摆出坚决威严的姿态。但是在三座门里，不管他多么果敢，人们大概不知道他去克里姆林宫抱着多大的爱国热枕，硬是把他挤到墙上，当马车隆隆驶过拱门时，他不得不屈服，只好停住了。彼佳旁边有一位带着一个仆役的农妇，两个商人和一名退伍的士兵。彼佳不等所有的马车过完，就抢先挤过去，用臂肘推搡起来，站在他对面的那个农妇，首当其冲，她气愤地喝斥他：
“你瞎挤什么，小少爷？没看见大家都站着没动。挤着什么劲呀？”
“大家都来挤吧！”那仆役说，也开始用他的臂肘碰人，把彼佳挤到了门边一个臭烘烘的角落里。
彼佳用手擦擦满脸的汗水，整整汗湿的衣领，这领子他在家里弄得像大人的一样好。
彼佳觉得他的外表不太体面，担心现在这样出现在侍从面前，他们会不让他去见皇上。但是，太拥挤了，要修饰一番，或者换个地方，又完全不可能。在路过的将军中有一位是罗斯托夫家的熟人。彼佳想求他帮忙，但他又认为这与勇敢精神不相称。当马车全部都过完的时候，人群如潮涌般把彼佳带到人山人海的广场上。不仅广场上，而且斜坡上，屋顶上，都挤满了人。彼佳刚到广场上，整个克里姆林宫的钟声和人们欢快地谈笑声就清清楚楚地传进耳朵里。
有一阵子广场比较宽松，可是突然间，人们脱下帽子，一直向前冲去。彼佳被挤得喘不过气来，大家都在高呼：“乌拉！乌拉！乌拉！”彼佳踮起脚尖，被人推挤，但是除了周围的人群，他什么也看不见。
所里人的表情都显得非常感动和兴奋，一个站在彼佳身旁的女商贩号啕大哭，泪流满面。
“父亲，天使，老天啊！”她边说，边用手指抹眼泪。
“乌拉！”四面八方的人们都在呼喊。
人群在一个地方停了一会儿，然后又向前涌去。
彼佳简直忘了一切，咬紧牙关，把眼睛瞪得像野兽似的，拼命向前挤，一面用肘推搡，一面喊“乌拉！”就像他这时要杀死自己和所有的人似的，但是在他身边攒动着和他一样的具有野兽般面孔形的人们，也同样喊着“乌拉！”
“皇帝原来是这样！”彼佳想道。“不行，我不能亲自把呈文递给皇上，这样太冒失了！”虽然这样，他仍拼命往前钻，他前面的人们背脊的缝隙处，有一片铺着猩红地毯的空地在他眼前一闪；可是这时人群忽然踉踉跄跄往后退（前面的巡警推挡那些太靠近卫队行列的人群；皇帝从宫里正向圣母升天大教堂走去），彼佳的肋骨意外地被狠狠地撞了一下，然后又被挤了一下，他突然两眼发黑，昏了过去。当他醒过来时，一个教士模样的人，脑后有一绺白发，穿一件蓝色旧长袍，大约是一个助祭，他用一只手臂把他挟在腋下，另一只手臂挡住挤过来的人群。
“把小少爷挤死了！”助祭说，“这样不行！……轻一点……
挤死人了，挤死人了！”
皇帝步入圣母升天大教堂。人群又平静下来，助祭把面色苍白，呼吸困难的彼佳带到炮王①那儿。有几个人很怜悯彼佳，忽然一群人都来看他，在他周围拥挤过来。站在他跟前的人们照料他，解开他的常礼服，把他放在高高的炮台上，责骂那些挤他的人。 
①炮王是一五八六年铸造的大炮，现保存在克里姆林宫。
“这样会把人挤死。真不像活！简直要出人命了！瞧这可怜的孩子，脸色白得像台布。”几个声音说。
彼佳很快地就清醒过来，他的脸上又泛起红晕，疼痛也过去了。以暂时的不愉快，换取了炮台这个位置，他希望从这个位置上看见准会回来的皇帝。彼佳现在已经不再想递呈文了。只要能看见他—他就认为自己是幸福的人了。
在圣母升天大教堂做礼拜的时候—这是一次为皇帝驾临和为土耳其媾和而举行的联合祈祷，人群散开了；小贩出现了，叫卖克瓦斯、糖饼和彼佳特别爱吃的罂粟糖饼，又可以听见日常的谈话。一个女商贩把挤破的披巾给人看，她说她是出大价钱买来的；另一个女商贩说，如今丝绸都涨价了。救彼佳的那个助祭和一个官吏说，那天是某某和某某神父陪同主教主持礼拜。助祭一再说“·会·同·主·祭”这个彼佳不懂得的词。两个小市民正在同几个嗑榛子的农奴姑娘调笑。所有这些谈话，特别是同姑娘们的调笑，是对彼佳这样年龄的男孩最有吸引力的，但是现在这些谈话却引不起彼佳的兴趣；他坐在高高的炮身上，想到皇帝，想到对他的爱戴，心中仍然很激动。在他被挤时的疼痛和恐惧的感觉连同欢喜的感觉，更使他意识到此时此刻的重要性。
忽然从河岸传来礼炮声（这是庆祝与土耳其媾和），人们向河岸蜂拥过来——来看怎样放炮。彼佳也要往那儿跑，但以保护小少爷为己任的助祭不让他去。礼炮继续鸣放，这时从圣母升天大教堂跑出军官、将军和侍卫，然后又走出几个步履从容的人，一群人又脱下帽子，那些跑去看放炮的人，都跑回来。最后，从大教堂里走出四个穿制服，佩绶带的男人。
“乌拉！乌拉！”一群人又高呼起来。
“什么人？什么人？”彼佳带着哭腔问周围的人，但是没有人回答他；大家太入迷了，彼佳选了四个人中的一个，他高兴得泪水模糊了眼睛，看不清那个人，虽然那个人不是皇帝，他仍满怀喜悦，用狂热的声音喊“乌拉！”并且决定，无论如何明天他要当一个军人。
人群跟着皇帝跑，一直送他到皇宫，然后就散了。已经很晚了，彼佳还没吃东西，大汗淋漓，但是他没回家，同剩下的还相当多的人站在宫殿前面，在皇帝进餐的时候，向宫殿的窗户张望，还在期待着什么，他们非常羡慕那些正走上宫殿门厅，前去和皇帝共进午餐的达官贵人，也羡慕那些正在餐桌前伺候，透过窗口隐约可见的宫廷侍者。
在皇帝吃饭的时候，瓦卢那瓦转脸对窗口望望，说：
“民众还想再见一见陛下。”
用完午饭，皇帝吃着最后一片饼干，站起身来，走到阳台上。民众，其中也有彼佳，都涌向阳台。
“天使，老天啊！乌拉！父亲啊！”……彼佳和人们一起喊道。又和着一些农妇和几个心肠软的男人，欢喜得哭起来。皇帝手里拿着一片相当大的吃剩的饼干，掰啐了，它落在阳台的栏杆上，从栏杆上掉到地上。一个站得最近的穿短上衣的车夫，扑过去，把饼干抓到手里。人群中有几个扑向车夫，皇帝看到这情景，吩咐递给他一盘饼干，开始从阳台上往下撒，彼佳两眼充血，被挤坏的可能仍威胁着他，更使他紧张，他向饼干冲过去。他不知道为什么要这样做，但是他必须拿到一片沙皇手中的饼干。为此不惜任何代价，他冲过去，绊倒了一个正在抢饼干的老太太。老太太虽然躺在地上，但仍不认输（她正在抢饼干，但没有抓到）。彼佳用膝盖推开她的手，抄起一块饼干，他像是怕赶不上人家那样，又高呼“乌拉！”此时，嗓子已经嘶哑了。
皇帝走了，随后大部分人也散了。
“我就说嘛，还要再等一等——果不其然，等到了。”四周的人都快乐地议论着。
尽管彼佳很幸福，他走回家的时候依然闷闷不乐，他知道，这一天的欢乐完结了。离开克里姆林宫后，彼佳不是直接回家，而是找他的伙伴奥博连斯基，一个也要参军的十五岁的少年。回到家里，他坚决而且强硬地宣称，如果不让他参军，他就逃跑。第二天，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵虽然没有完全屈服，可仍出门去打听，看能不能给彼佳谋一个较安全的位置。
Book 9 Chapter 22
ON THE MORNING of the 15th, the next day but one, a great number of carriages stood outside the Slobodsky palace.
The great halls were full. In the first were the noblemen in their uniforms; in the second there were merchants with medals and long beards, wearing blue, full-skirted coats. The first room was full of noise and movement. The more important personages were sitting on high-backed chairs at a big table under the Tsar's portrait; but the greater number of the noblemen were walking about the hall.
The noblemen, whom Pierre saw every day either at the club or at their houses, were all in uniforms; some in those of Catherine's court, some in those of the Emperor Pavel, and some in the new uniforms of Alexander's reign, others in the common uniforms of the nobility, and the general character of their dress gave a strange and fantastic look to these old and young, most diverse and familiar faces. Particularly striking were the older men, dim-eyed, toothless, bald, and thin, with faces wrinkled or lost in yellow fat. They sat still for the most part and were silent, or if they walked and talked, attached themselves to some one younger. Just like the faces Petya had seen in the crowd, all these faces, in their universal expectation of something solemn, presented a striking contrast with their everyday, yesterday's aspect, when talking over their game of boston, Petrushka the cook, the health of Zinaida Dmitryevna, etc., etc.
Pierre, who had been since early morning in an uncomfortable uniform, that had become too tight for him, was in the room. He was in a state of excitement; this extraordinary assembly, not only of the nobility, but of the merchant class too—the estates, états généraux—called up in him a whole series of ideas of the Contrat Social and the French Revolution, ideas imprinted deeply on his soul, though they had long been laid aside. The words he had noticed in the manifesto, that the Tsar was coming to the capital for deliberation with his people, confirmed him in this chain of thought. And supposing that something of importance in that direction was near at hand, that what he had long been looking for was coming, he looked and listened attentively, but he saw nowhere any expression of the ideas that engrossed him.
The Tsar's manifesto was read, and evoked enthusiasm; and then all moved about, talking. Apart from their everyday interests, Pierre heard discussion as to where the marshals were to stand when the Tsar should come in, when the ball was to be given for the Tsar, whether they were to be divided according to districts or the whole province together… and so on. But as soon as the war and the whole object of their meeting together was touched upon, the talk was uncertain and hesitating. Every one seemed to prefer listening to speaking.
A manly-looking, handsome, middle-aged man, wearing the uniform of a retired naval officer, was speaking, and a little crowd was gathered about him in one of the rooms. Pierre went up to the circle that had formed round him, and began to listen. Count Ilya Andreitch, in his uniform of Catherine's time, was walking about with a pleasant smile among the crowd, with all of whom he was acquainted. He too approached this group, and began to listen with a good-humoured smile, as he always did listen, nodding his head approvingly in token of his agreeing with the speaker. The retired naval officer was speaking very boldly (that could be seen from the expression on the faces of the listeners and from the fact that some persons, known to Pierre as particularly submissive and timid, drew back from him in disapprobation or expressed dissent). Pierre pushed his way into the middle of the circle, listened, and gained the conviction that the speaker certainly was a liberal, but in quite a different sense from what Pierre was looking for. The naval officer spoke in the peculiarly mellow, sing-song baritone of a Russian nobleman, with peculiar burring of the r's and suppression of the consonants, in the voice in which men shout: “Waiter, pipe!” and such phrases. He talked with the habit of riotous living and of authority in his voice.
“What if the Smolensk people have offered the Emperor a levy of militia. Are the Smolensk people any rule for us? If the nobility of the Moscow province thinks fit, it can show its devotion to our sovereign the Emperor by other means. Have we forgotten the militia in the year 1807? It was only the beggarly priests' sons and thieves made a good thing of it.…”
Count Ilya Andreitch, smiling blandly, nodded his head in approval.
“And were our militiamen of any service to the state? Not the slightest! They only ruined our agriculture. Even conscription is better.… As it is, a man comes back to you neither soldier nor peasant, nothing, but only demoralised. The nobility don't grudge their lives. We will go ourselves to a man; take recruits, too; and the Tsar has but to say the word, and we will all die for him,” added the orator, warming up.
Ilya Andreitch's mouth was watering with satisfaction, and he nudged Pierre, but Pierre wanted to speak too. He moved forward, feeling stirred, though he did not yet know why nor what he would say. He was just opening his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by a perfectly toothless senator with a shrewd and wrathful face, who was standing close by the last orator. Evidently accustomed to lead debates and bring forward motions, he began speaking in a low but audible voice:
“I imagine, my dear sir,” said the senator, mumbling with his toothless mouth, “that we are summoned here not to discuss which is more suitable for the country at the present moment—conscription or the militia. We are summoned to reply to the appeal which our sovereign the Emperor graciously deigns to make to us. And to judge which is the fitter means—recruiting or a levy for militia—we leave to a higher power.…”
Pierre suddenly found the right outlet for his excitement. He felt exasperated with the senator, who introduced this conventional and narrow view of the duties that lay before the nobility. Pierre stepped forward and cut him short. He did not know himself what he was going to say, but he began eagerly, using bookish Russian, and occasionally relapsing into French.
“Excuse me, your excellency,” he began (Pierre was well acquainted with this senator, but he felt it necessary on this occasion to address him formally), “though I differ from the gentleman…” (Pierre hesitated; he would have liked to say Mon très honorable préopinante) “with the gentleman…whom I have not the honour of knowing; but I imagine the estate of the nobility, apart from the expression of its sympathy and enthusiasm, has been convoked also to deliberate upon the measures by which we can assist our country. I imagine,” said Pierre, growing warmer, “that the Tsar would himself be displeased if he should find in us only the owners of peasants, whom we give up to him, and chair à canon, which we offer in ourselves—and should not find in us co…co …counsel.…”
Many persons moved a little away from the circle, noticing the disdainful smile of the senator and the freedom of Pierre's words. Ilya Andreitch was the only person pleased at what Pierre said, just as he had been pleased with the naval officer's speech and the senator's, as he always was with the last speech he had heard.
“I consider that before discussing these questions,” Pierre continued, “we ought to ask the Emperor, most respectfully to ask his majesty, to communicate to us what forces we have, what is the position of our men and our army, and then…”
Pierre had hardly uttered these words when he was promptly attacked on three sides at once. The most violent onslaught was made upon him by an old acquaintance and partner at boston, who had always been on the friendliest terms with him, Stepan Stepanovitch Adraksin. Stepan Stepanovitch was, of course, in uniform, and whether it was due to the uniform or to other causes, Pierre saw before him quite a changed man. Stepan Stepanovitch, with an old man's anger in his face, screamed at Pierre:
“In the first place, let me tell you that we have no right to ask such questions of the Emperor; and secondly, if the nobility had any such right, the Emperor could not answer such questions. The movements of the troops depend on the movements of the enemy; the troops are augmented and decreased…”
Another voice interrupted Adraksin. The speaker was a man of forty, of medium height, whom Pierre had seen in former days at the gypsies' entertainments, and knew as a bad card-player. But now he, too, was quite transformed by his uniform, as he moved up to Pierre.
“Yes, and it's not the time for deliberation,” said this nobleman.
“What's needed is action; there is war in Russia. Our foe comes to ruin Russia, to desecrate the tombs of our fathers, to carry away our wives and children.” The gentleman struck himself a blow on the chest. “We will all rise up; we will all go to a man, we will follow our father the Tsar!” he cried, rolling his bloodshot eyes. Several approving voices could be heard in the crowd. “We are Russians and we do not grudge our blood for the defence of our faith, our throne, and our country. But we must put a stop to idle talk, if we are true sons of our fatherland. We will show Europe how Russia can defend Russia!” shouted this gentleman.
Pierre tried to reply, but he could not get in a word. He felt that the sound of his words, apart from any meaning they conveyed, was less audible than the sound of his excited adversary's voice.
In the rear of the group, Ilya Andreitch was nodding approval; several of the audience turned their shoulders briskly to the orator at the conclusion of a phrase and said:
“That's so, that's so, indeed!”
Pierre wanted to say that he was by no means averse to the sacrifice of his money, or his peasants, or himself, but that one ought to know the true position of affairs, in order to be able to assist, but he could not speak.
A number of voices were speaking and shouting together, so much so that Ilya Andreitch had not time to nod approval to all of them. And the group grew larger and broke up into knots, re-formed again, and moved all together with a hum of talk to the big table in the big room. Pierre was not allowed to speak; they rudely interrupted him, indeed hustled him and turned their backs on him as though he were the common foe. This was not really due to their dislike of the tenor of his speech, which they had forgotten, indeed, after the great number of speeches that followed it. But a crowd is always pleased to have a concrete object for its love or its hatred. Pierre furnished it with the latter.
Many orators spoke after the eager nobleman, but all spoke in the same tone. Some spoke eloquently and originally.
The editor of the Russian Messenger, Glinka, who was recognised and greeted with shouts of “the author, the author!” said that hell must be driven back by hell, that he had seen a child smiling at the lightning flash and the thunder clap, but we would not be like that child.
“Yes, yes, at the thunder clap!” was repeated with approval at the back of the crowd.
The crowd approached the great table, where grey or bald old noblemen of seventy were sitting, wearing uniforms and decorations. Almost all of them Pierre had seen with their buffoons in their own homes or playing boston at the club. The crowd drew near the table, still with the same buzz of talk. The orators, squeezed in behind the high chair backs by the surging crowd, spoke one after another and sometimes two at once. Those who stood further back noticed what the speaker had left unsaid and hastened to supply the gap. Others were busy in the heat and crush, ransacking their brains to find some idea and hurriedly uttering it. The old grandees at the table sat looking from one to another, and their expression for the most part betrayed nothing but that they were very hot. Pierre however felt excited, and the general feeling of desire to show that they were ready for anything, expressed for the most part more in tones and looks than in the tenor of the speeches, infected him too. He did not disavow his ideas, but felt somehow in fault and tried to defend himself.
“I only said that we could make sacrifices to better purpose when we know what is needed,” he cried, trying to shout down the other voices.
One old man close by him looked round, but his attention was immediately called off by a shout at the other end of the table.
“Yes, Moscow will be surrendered! She will be the expiation!” one man was shouting.
“He is the enemy of mankind!” another shouted.
“Allow me to say…”
“Gentlemen, you are crushing me!…”
此后第三天，即十五日早晨，斯洛博达宫门前停着无数的马车。 
大厅里挤满了人。第一座里面，是穿制服的贵族，第二座里面，是佩带奖章、留着大胡子，穿着蓝灰色长衣的商人。在贵族会议大厅里，发出嗡嗡的谈话声和走动声。在皇帝的挂像下的一张桌子旁，一些最显贵的大官坐在高高的靠背椅里，但大多数贵族都在大厅里走来走去。
所有这些贵族，都是皮埃尔每天不是在俱乐部就是在他们家里见过的，现在他们一律身着制服，有的穿叶卡捷琳娜女皇时代的，有的穿保罗皇帝时代的，有的穿亚历山大皇帝新朝的制服，还有的穿一般的贵族制服，这种制服的共同特征，就是给这些老老少少、各式各样、平时面熟的人物增添一种稀奇古怪的意味。特别令人注目的是那些老头子，他们两眼昏花、牙齿脱落、脑壳光秃，面孔浮肿，皮肤姜黄，或者满脸皱纹，瘦骨嶙峋。他们多半坐在座位上一声不响。如果他们走动一下，找人说说话，那也是专找某个年轻人。所有这些人也像彼佳在广场上见到的那些人的面孔一样，对立者面容令人吃惊：对某种重大庄严事情的期待和对日常的、昨天的事情的看法，如对波士顿牌局、彼得鲁什卡厨师、季娜伊达·德米特里耶夫娜的健康及其他诸如此类的事情的看法。
一大早，皮埃尔身着一件窄瘦的贵族制服（这制服使他行动笨拙）来到大厅。他心情很激动：这次不平常的集会（不仅有贵族，而且也有商人参加——包括Les　états　généraux①各阶层），引起他一连串久已搁置的、但深深印在心中的关于Contrat　So－cial②和法国大革命的联想。他在《告民众书》中看到一句话，说皇上返回首都是为了同民众共商国事，这更肯定了他的想法。固此他认为，他久已期待的重要事件就要来了，于是他走来走去，观察，倾听，但是到处都没有发现他所关心的那种思想。 
①法语：三级会议。
②法语：民约论。
宣读皇帝的宣言时，引起一阵狂喜，然后大家谈论着散开了。皮埃尔除了听到一些日常的话题，还听到人们谈论：皇上进来时，首席贵族应当站在什么地方，什么时候举行招待皇帝的舞会，各县分开还是全省在一起……等等；但一涉及战争和如何召来贵族，就谈得不那么明确，含糊其辞了。大家都愿意听而不愿意说了。
一个中年男子，英姿勃勃，仪表堂堂，穿一身退役的海军服，正在一间大厅里说话，四周围着许多人。皮埃尔走近围着讲话人的小圈子，倾听起来。伊丽亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵穿一身叶卡捷琳娜时代的将军服，含着愉快的微笑在人群中走来走去。所有的人他都认识，他也走近这一群人，就像他一向听人讲话那样，带着和善的微笑，听人说话，不住地赞许地点头，表示同意。那个退役海军的谈话很大胆；这从听众的表情，从皮埃尔认为最老实安份的人们不以为然地走开或者表示反对的行为中可以看出。皮埃尔挤到中间，注意听了听，想信讲话的人的确是一个自由主义者，但是和他所设想的自由主义者完全不同。海军军人的声音特别响亮，悦耳，是贵族所特有的男中音，怪好听地用法语腔调发“P”音，辅音很短，就像在喊人：“拿茶来，拿烟袋来！”之类时的声调。
他说话的声音有一种习惯性的嚣张和发号施令的味道。
“斯摩棱斯克人向皇上建议组织义勇军。难道斯摩棱斯克人的话对于我们就是命令？如果莫斯科省的贵族认为有必要，他们可以用别的办法效忠皇上。难道我们忘了一八○七年的民团！结果得到好处的只是那些吃教会饭的，再就是小偷强盗……”
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵含着甜丝丝的微笑，赞许地点着头。
“试问，难道我们的义勇军对国家有利吗？毫无利益可言！只能糟蹋我们的财产。最好是再征兵……不然，复员回来的，兵不像兵，庄稼人不像庄稼人，只落个浪荡胚子。贵族不吝惜自己的性命，我们人人都去参军，人人都去招兵，只要圣上（他这样称呼皇帝）一声号召，我们全都去为他牺牲。”这位演说家又激昂慷慨地补充说。
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇欢喜得直咽口水，不住地捅捅皮埃尔，但皮埃尔也急于要说话，他挤向前去，他觉得自己非常兴奋，但是他自己也不知道兴奋什么，不知道要说什么。他刚要开口，一个离那个讲话的人很近的枢密官——此人牙齿掉得精光，有一张聪明的面孔，但满脸怒容，他打断了皮埃尔的话。他显然惯于主持讨论和处理问题。他的声音很低，但还听得见。
“我认为，阁下，”枢密官用没有牙齿的嘴巴含糊不清地说，“我们被召来不是讨论目前对国家更有利的是什么——是征兵还是成立义勇军。我们是来响应皇帝陛下对我们的号召的。至于说征兵有利还是成立义勇军有利，我们恭候最高当局的裁决……”
皮埃尔的满腔豪情突然有了发泄的机会。那位枢密官对目前贵族当务之急提出迂腐而狭隘的观点，皮埃尔对此予以无情的驳斥。皮埃尔走向前去制止住他。连他自己也不知要说什么，就开始热烈地说起来，时而夹杂一些法语时而用书面俄语表达。
“请原谅，阁下，”他开始说（皮埃尔同这位枢密官是老相识，但是他认为这时对他有打官腔的必要），“虽然我不赞同这位先生……（皮埃尔讷讷起来，他本来想说mon　trés　honorable　préopinant①）也不赞同这位先生……que　je　n'ai　pas　l'honneur　de　connalAtre②；但是我认为，贵族被请来，除了表一表他们的同情和喜悦，还应当商讨拯救我们祖国的大计。我认为，”他激昂地说，“如果皇上看见我们只不过是一些把自己的农奴献给他的农奴主，只不过是我们把自己充……充当chair　a　conon③，而从我们这儿没有得到救……救……救亡的策略，那么，皇上是不会满意的。” 
①法语：我可敬的对手。
②法语：我还没有荣幸认识他。
③法语：炮灰。
许多人看到枢密官露出轻蔑的微笑和皮埃尔信口雌黄，就从人群中走开了；只有伊利亚·安德烈伊奇对皮埃尔的话很满意，正像他对海军军人的话，枢密官的话，总之，对他刚听到的任何人的话，全都满意一样。
“我认为，在讨论这种问题之前，”皮埃尔接着说，我们应当问问皇上，恭恭敬敬地请陛下告诉我们，我们有多少军队，我们的军队和正在作战的部队情况如何，然后……”
但是，皮埃尔还没有把话说完，就忽然受到了三方面的攻击。攻击他最利害的是一个他的老相识斯捷潘·斯捷潘诺维奇·阿普拉克辛，此人是玩波士顿牌的能手，对皮埃尔一向怀有好感。斯捷潘·斯捷潘诺维奇身穿制服，不知是由于这身制服还是由于别的原因，此时，皮埃尔看见的是一个完全异样的人。斯捷潘·斯捷潘诺维奇脸上突然露出老年人的凶相，向皮埃尔呵斥道：“首先，启禀阁下，我们无权向皇上询问此事；其次，俄国贵族就算有此种权利，皇上也可能答复我们。军队是要看敌人的行动而行动的——军队的增和减……”
另外一个人的声音打断了阿普拉克辛的话，这个人中等身材，四十来岁，前些时候皮埃尔在茨冈舞女那儿常常看见他，知道他是一个蹩脚的牌手，他今天也因穿了制服而变了样子，他向皮埃尔迈进一步。
“而且现在不是发议论的时候，”这是那个贵族的声音，“而是要行动。战火已经蔓延到俄国。敌人打来了，它要灭掉俄国，践踏我们祖先的坟墓，掠走我们的妻子儿女。”这个贵族捶着胸脯。“我们人人都要行动起来，勇往直前，为沙皇圣主而战！”他瞪着充血的眼睛，喊道。人群中有些赞许的声音。
“为了捍卫我们的信仰，王位和祖国，我们俄罗斯人不惜流血牺牲。如果我们是祖国的男儿，就不要净说漂亮话吧。我们要让欧洲知道，俄国人是怎样站起来保卫祖国的。”那个贵族喊道。
皮埃尔想反对，但是一句话也说不出。他觉得，问题不在他的话包含什么思想，而是他的声音总不如生气勃勃的贵族说得响亮。
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇在那个圈子的人群后面频频点头称赞；在那个人说到最后一句话的时候，有几个人猛地转身对着演说的人说：
“对啦，对啦，就是这样！”
皮埃尔想说他并不反对献出金钱、农奴，甚至他自己，但是，要想解决问题，就得弄清楚情况，可是他张口结舌，一个字也说不出。许多声音一起喊叫，发表意见，弄得伊利亚·安德烈伊奇应接不暇，连连点头；人群聚了又散，散了又聚，吵吵嚷嚷，一齐向大厅里一张桌子涌去。皮埃尔的话不但没能说完，而且粗暴地被人打断，人们推开他，避开他，像对待共同的敌人一样。这种情况之所以发生，并不是因为对他的话的含义有所不满——在他之后又有许多人发表演说，他的意见早被人忘记了——而是因为，为了鼓舞人群，必须有可以感觉到的爱的对象和可以感觉到的恨的对象。皮埃尔就成为后者。在那个贵族慷慨陈词之后，又有很多人发了言，但说话的都是一个腔调，许多人都说得极好，而且有独到的见解。《俄罗斯导报》出版家格林卡①被人认出来了（“作家，作家！”人群中传出喊声），这位出版家说，地狱应当用地狱来反击，他曾见过一个孩子在雷电交加的时候还在微笑，但是我们不要做那个孩子。 
①谢·尼·格林卡（1776～1847），俄国作家。
“对，对，雷电交加！”几个站在后边的人赞许地重复着。
人群向一张大桌子走去，桌旁坐着几位身着制服，佩带绶带，白发秃顶的七十来岁的达官显贵，差不多全是皮埃尔常见的，看见他们在家里逗小丑们取乐，或者在俱乐部里打波士顿牌。人群吵吵嚷嚷地向桌旁走去。讲话的人一个接着一个，有时两个一齐讲，说话的人被熙熙攘攘的人群挤到高椅背后面。站在后面的人发现讲话的人有什么没讲到的地方，就赶紧加以补充。别的人则在这热气腾腾和拥挤的气氛中，绞尽脑汁，想找点什么，好赶快说出来。皮埃尔认识的那几个年高的大官坐在那儿，时而看看这个，时而看看那个，他们脸上的表情很明显，只说明他们觉得很热。然而皮埃尔的情绪也高昂起来，那种普遍表示牺牲一切在所不惜的气概（多半表现在声音上，而不是表现在讲话的内容上）也感染了他。他不放弃自己的意见，但是他觉得他犯了什么错误，想辩解一下。
“我只是说，当我们知道迫切需要是什么的时候，我们的牺牲就会更有价值。”他竭力压倒别人的声音，赶忙说。
一个离得最近的小老头回头看了他一眼，随即被桌子另一边的声音吸引过去。
“是的，就要放弃莫斯科了！它将要成为赎罪品牺牲品！”
有人喊道。
Book 9 Chapter 23
AT THAT MOMENT Count Rastoptchin, with his prominent chin and alert eyes, strode in rapidly through the parting crowd, wearing the uniform of a general and a ribbon over his shoulder.
“Our sovereign the Emperor will be here immediately,” said Rastoptchin. “I have just come from him. I presume that in the position in which we are placed, there is no need of much discussion. The Emperor has graciously seen fit to summon us and the merchants,” said Count Rastoptchin. “They will pour out their millions” (he pointed to the merchants' hall); “it is our duty to raise men and not to spare ourselves.… It is the least we can do.”
A consultation took place between the great noblemen at the table only. The whole consultation was more than subdued, it seemed ever mournful, when, after all the hubbub that had gone before, the old voices could be heard, one at a time, saying “agreed,” or for the sake of variety, “I am of the same opinion.”
The secretary was told to write down the resolution of the Moscow nobility: that the nobles of Moscow, like those of Smolensk, would furnish a levy of ten men in every thousand, with their complete equipment.
The gentlemen, who had been sitting, got up with an air of relief; there was a scraping of chairs and the great noblemen walked about to stretch their legs, taking their friends' arms and chatting together.
“The Tsar! the Tsar!” was suddenly heard all through the rooms, and the whole crowd rushed towards the entrance.
The Tsar walked in along the wide, free space left for him, between walls of noblemen close packed on each side. Every face expressed reverent and awe-stricken curiosity. Pierre was at some distance, and could not quite catch all the Tsar said. He knew from what he did hear that the Tsar was speaking of the danger in which the empire was placed, and the hopes he rested on the Moscow nobility. The Tsar was answered by a voice informing him of the resolution just passed by the nobility.
“Gentlemen!” said the trembling voice of the Tsar. A stir passed through the crowd, and then a hush fell on it again, and Pierre distinctly heard the voice of the Tsar, warmly humane and deeply touched: “I have never doubted of the devotion of the Russian nobility. But this day it has surpassed my expectations. I thank you in the name of the fatherland. Gentlemen, let us act—time is more precious than anything.…”
The Tsar ceased speaking; the crowd began pressing round him, and cries of enthusiasm were heard on all sides.
“Yes, more precious than anything…a royal saying,” said the voice of Ilya Andreitch with a sob. He had heard nothing, but understood everything in his own way.
From the nobility's room the Tsar went into the merchants' room. He was there for about ten minutes. Pierre amongst the rest saw the Tsar coming back from the merchants' room with tears of emotion in his eyes. They learned afterwards that the Tsar had hardly begun to speak to the merchants when the tears gushed from his eyes and he continued in a trembling voice. When Pierre saw the Tsar come out, he was accompanied by two merchants. One of them Pierre knew, a stout contractor; the other was the mayor, with a thin, yellow face and narrow beard. Both were weeping. The tears stood in the thin man's eyes, but the stout contractor was sobbing like a child and continually repeating:
“Take life and property too, your majesty!”
Pierre felt nothing at that moment but the desire to show that nothing was too much for him and that he was ready to sacrifice everything. The constitutional tenor of his speech weighed on him like a sin; he sought an opportunity of glossing it over. On hearing that Count Mamonov was furnishing a regiment, Bezuhov at once told Count Rastoptchin that he would furnish one thousand men and their equipment.
Old Rostov could not tell his wife what had passed without tears, and he agreed at once to Petya's wishes, and went himself to enter his name.
Next day the Tsar went away. All the assembled noblemen went back to their homes and their clubs, took off their uniforms, and with some groans gave orders to their stewards to raise the levy, wondering themselves at what they had done.
这时，这群贵族让出一条道来，拉斯托普钦伯爵快步从闪开的人群中走进大厅，他身着将军服，肩挎绶带，下巴向前突出，转动着一对灵活的眼睛。 
“皇帝陛下即刻就到，”拉斯托普钦伯爵说，“我刚从那儿来，我认为，处于我们目前这样的景况，没有什么可指责的。蒙皇上降旨把我们和商人召唤来。”拉斯托普钦伯爵说。“那边已经有数百万人献出来了（他指了指商人大厅），而我们的任务是提供义勇军且毫不吝惜自己……这是我们至少能够做到的！”
坐在桌旁的那些大官开始开会讨论了。整个会议都非常安静。在经过先前的喧哗之后，听到老人们的嗓音一个跟一个地说“同意”，有的为了变个样，说：“我也有那个意见，”
等等，会开得沉闷极了。
文书奉命记录莫斯科贵族的决议：莫斯科贵族和斯摩棱斯克贵族一样，每千名农奴抽义勇军十名，并配备全副装备。开会的先生们仿佛松了一口气，发出移动椅子的响声，一个个都到大厅中间蹓蹓腿，随便挽起哪一位的胳膊，闲聊起来。
“皇上！皇上！”突然的喊声传遍了整个大厅，所有的人都拥向门口。
贵族们站成了两堵人墙，皇帝经过这宽阔的人墙之间的通道走进大厅。每个人的脸上都露出既恭敬又畏惧的好奇神情。皮埃尔站得较远，皇帝的话听不十分清楚。他只听懂皇帝谈到国家处境的危险，谈到他寄予莫斯科贵族的希望。有一个人向皇帝报告了刚才贵族做出的决议。
“诸位先生！”皇帝的嗓音颤抖了；人群动荡一下又静了下来，皮埃尔清楚地听见皇帝十分感动的、富有人情味的悦耳的声音，他说：
“我从来就不怀疑俄罗斯贵族的热忱。然而今天贵族们的热忱仍超出了我的估计。我代表祖国感谢你们。诸位先生，我们要行动——时间最宝贵……”
皇帝停住了，人群开始拥挤在他的周围，四周都是欢喜的赞叹声。
“是的，最宝贵的是……皇帝的话。”伊利亚·安德烈伊奇在后面痛哭失声地说，其实他什么都没听见，一切全是他自己想当然。
皇帝从贵族大厅步入商人大厅。他在那里逗留了十来分钟。皮埃尔和其他的人都看见，皇帝从商人大厅出来时，眼里噙满感动的泪水。后来才听说，皇帝刚一开始对商人讲话，就热泪直流，他用颤抖的声音讲完了话，当皮埃尔看见皇帝的时候，他正走出来，两个商人陪伴着他。一个是皮埃尔不认识的胖胖的承包商①，另一个是商人的首领，面容消瘦，焦黄，留一撮山羊胡子。两人都啜泣着。那个瘦子两眼含泪，而体胖的承包商像孩子似的号啕大哭，一个劲儿说：
“既要生活，也要捞取财富，陛下！” 
①19世纪在俄国向国家承包税收或承包某项专利、某种企业等等的商人。
皮埃尔此时已经没有什么别的感觉，他只表示他对任何事都不在乎和有准备牺牲一切的愿望。他想到他那带有立宪倾向的言论，就觉得犹有内疚，他正寻找机会改正这一点。了解到马莫诺夫正在献出一个军团，别祖霍夫就向拉斯托普钦伯爵说他要送一千人和军饷给他。
罗斯托夫老头含泪对妻子述说了经过的情形，他同意彼佳的请求并亲自去给他登记。
第二天皇帝离去了。所有出席集会的贵族都脱下制服，又分别回到家里和俱乐部，不时呼哧几声地向管家发布建立义勇军的命令，并对他们所作所为感到吃惊。
Book 10 Chapter 1
NAPOLEON BEGAN THE WAR with Russia because he could not help going to Dresden, being dazzled by the homage paid him there, putting on the Polish uniform, yielding to the stimulating influence of a June morning, and giving way to an outburst of fury in the presence of Kurakin and afterwards of Balashev.
Alexander refused all negotiations because he felt himself personally insulted. Barclay de Tolly did his utmost to command the army in the best way possible, so as to do his duty and gain the reputation of a great general. Rostov charged the French because he could not resist the temptation to gallop across the level plain. And all the innumerable persons who took part in the war acted similarly, in accordance with their personal peculiarities, habits, circumstances, and aims. They were all impelled by fear or vanity, enjoyment, indignation, or national consideration, supposing that they knew what they were about and that they were acting independently, while they were all the involuntary tools of history and were working out a result concealed from themselves but comprehensible to us. Such is the invariable fate of all practical leaders, and the higher their place in the social hierarchy, the less free they are.
Now the leading men of 1812 have long left their places; their personal interests have vanished, leaving no trace, and nothing remains before us but the historical results of the time.
But once let us admit that the people of Europe under Napoleon's leadership had to make their way into the heart of Russia and there to perish, and all the self-contradictory, meaningless, cruel actions of the men who took part in this war become intelligible to us.
Providence compelled all those men in striving for the attainment of their personal aims to combine in accomplishing one immense result, of which no one individual man (not Napoleon, not Alexander, still less any one taking practical part in the campaign) had the slightest inkling.
Now it is clear to us what was the cause of the destruction of the French army in 1812. No one disputes that the cause of the loss of Napoleon's French forces was, on one hand, their entering at too late a season upon a winter march in the heart of Russia without sufficient preparation; and on the other, the character the war had assumed from the burning of Russian towns and the hatred the enemy aroused in the peasantry. But obvious as it seems now, no one at the time foresaw that this was the only means by which the best army in the world, eight hundred thousand strong, led by the best of generals, could be defeated in a conflict with the inexperienced Russian army of half the strength, led by inexperienced generals. Not only was this utterly unforeseen, but every effort indeed was being continually made on the Russian side to hinder the one means that could save Russia; and in spite of the experience and so-called military genius of Napoleon, every effort was made on the French side to push on to Moscow at the end of the summer, that is to do the very thing bound to bring about their ruin.
In historical works on the year 1812, the French writers are very fond of saying that Napoleon was aware of the danger of lengthening out his line, that he sought a decisive engagement, that his marshals advised him to stay at Smolensk, and similar statements to show that even at the time the real danger of the campaign was seen. The Russian historians are still fonder of declaring that from the beginning of the campaign there existed a plan of Scythian warfare by leading Napoleon on into the heart of Russia. And this plan is ascribed by some writers to Pfuhl, by others to some Frenchman, and by others to Barclay de Tolly; while other writers give the credit of this supposed scheme to the Emperor Alexander himself, supporting their view by documents, proclamations, and letters, in which such a course of action certainly is hinted at. But all these hints at foreseeing what actually did happen on the French as well as on the Russian side are only conspicuous now because the event justified them. If the event had not come to pass, these hints would have been forgotten, as thousands and millions of suggestions and suppositions are now forgotten that were current at the period, but have been shown by time to be unfounded and so have been consigned to oblivion. There are always so many presuppositions as to the cause of every event that, however the matter ends, there are always people who will say: “I said at the time that it would be so”: quite oblivious of the fact that among the numerous suppositions they made there were others too suggesting just the opposite course of events.
The notion that Napoleon was aware of the danger of extending his line, and that the Russians had a scheme for drawing the enemy into the heart of Russia, obviously belong to the same category; and only historians with a great bias can ascribe such reflections to Napoleon and his marshals, or such plans to the Russian generals. All the facts are directly opposed to such a view. Far from desiring to lure the French into the heart of Russia, the Russians did their utmost to arrest their progress throughout the war from the time they crossed the frontier. And far from dreading the extension of his line of communications, Napoleon rejoiced at every step forward as a triumph, and did not seek pitched battles as eagerly as he had done in his previous campaigns.
At the very beginning of the campaign, our armies were divided up, and the sole aim for which we strove was to unite them; though there was no benefit to be derived from uniting them if our object was to retreat and draw the enemy into the heart of the country. The Emperor was with the army to inspire it not to yield an inch of Russian soil and on no account to retreat. An immense camp was fortified at Drissa in accordance with Pfuhl's plan, and it was not proposed to retreat further. The Tsar reprimanded the commander-in-chief for every retreat. The Tsar can never have anticipated the burning of Moscow, or even the enemy's presence at Smolensk, and when the armies had been reunited, the Tsar was indignant at the taking and burning of Smolensk without a general engagement having been fought before its walls. Such was the Tsar's feeling, but the Russian generals, and the whole Russian people, were even more indignant at the idea of our men retreating.
Napoleon, after dividing up the army, moved on into the heart of the country, letting slip several opportunities of an engagement. In August he was in Smolensk and thinking of nothing but advancing further, though, as we see now, that advance meant inevitable ruin.
The fact shows perfectly clearly that Napoleon foresaw no danger in the advance on Moscow, and that Alexander and the Russian generals did not dream at the time of luring Napoleon on, but aimed at the very opposite. Napoleon was drawn on into Russia, not through any plans—no one dreamed of the possibility of it—but simply through the complex play of intrigues and desires and motives of the actors in the war, who had no conception of what was to come and of what was the sole means of saving Russia. Everything came to pass by chance. The army was split up early in the campaign. We tried to effect a junction between the parts with the obvious intention of fighting a battle and checking the enemy's advance; and in this effort to effect a junction, avoiding a battle with a far stronger enemy, we were forced to retreat at an acute angle, and so drew the French after us to Smolensk. But it is not enough to say that both parts of the army retreated on lines inclined at an acute angle, because the French were advancing between the two armies. The angle was made the more acute and we retreated further because Barclay de Tolly, an unpopular German, was detested by Bagration, and the latter, in command of the second half of the army, did his utmost to delay a junction with Barclay de Tolly in order to avoid being under his command. Bagration delayed the junction of the armies, though this was the chief aim of all the authorities, because he believed that he would expose his army to danger on the march, and that it would be more advantageous for him to retreat more to the left and the south, annoying the enemy on the flank and rear, and reinforcing his army in Ukraine. And he believed this, because he did not want to put himself under the command of the German Barclay, who was his junior in the service, and personally disliked by him.
The Emperor accompanied the army in order to excite its patriotic ardour; but his presence and inability to decide on any course of action and the immense number of counsellors and plans that swarmed about him, nullified all action on the part of the first army, and that army too had to retreat.
At the camp at Drissa it was proposed to take a stand. But the energy of Paulucci, scheming to become a leading general, affected Alexander; and Pfuhl's whole plan was abandoned, and the scheme of campaign intrusted to Barclay. But as the latter did not inspire complete confidence, his power too was limited. The armies were split up, there was no unity, no supreme command: Barclay was unpopular. But on one side the confusion and division and unpopularity of the German commander-in-chief led to vacillation and to avoiding a battle, which would have been inevitable had the armies been united and any one but Barclay in command of them. And on the other hand, it all led to a growing indignation with the Germans and a growing fervour of patriotism.
At last the Tsar left the army, and, as the only suitable excuse to get rid of him, the happy suggestion was made that he must rouse up the people in the capitals to wage the war on a truly national scale. And the Tsar's visit to Moscow did in fact treble the forces of the Russian army. The Tsar left the army in the hope that the commander-in-chief would be able to act alone, and that more decisive measures would be taken. But the commander's position became weaker and even more difficult. Bennigsen, the Grand Duke, and a swarm of adjutant generals, remained with the army to watch over the actions of the commander-in-chief, and to urge him to greater activity; and Barclay, feeling less than ever free to act under the watchful gaze of all these “eyes of the Tsar,” became still more cautious and anxious to avoid a pitched battle, and clung to a prudent inaction. The Grand Duke hinted at treachery, and demanded a general engagement. Lubomirsky, Bronnitsky, Vlotsky, and others of the same sort, helped to swell the clamour to such a point that Barclay, on the pretext of sending papers to the Tsar in Petersburg, got rid of the Polish generals, and entered into open conflict with Bennigsen and the Grand Duke.
In Smolensk, in spite of Bagration's wishes to the contrary, the armies were at last united.
Bagration drove up in his carriage to the house occupied by Barclay. Barclay put on his official scarf, and came out to greet and to present his report to his senior officer, Bagration. Bagration, to rival his magnanimity, acknowledged Barclay as his superior officer, in spite of his own seniority; but he was less in accord with him than ever. At the Tsar's command, he sent reports personally to him, and wrote to Araktcheev: “My sovereign's will is law, but I can do nothing acting with the minister” (so he called Barclay). “For God's sake, send me somewhere else, if only in command of a regiment, for here I can do nothing. The head-quarters are crammed full of Germans, there's no living here for a Russian, and no making head or tail of anything. I supposed I was serving my sovereign and my country, but in practice it comes to serving Barclay. I must own I do not care to.”
The swarm of Bronnitskys, Wintzengerodes, and others like them, embittered the feud between the commanders still further, and there was less unity than ever. Preparations were made to attack the French before Smolensk. A general was sent to review the position. This general, detesting Barclay, visits a friend of his own, a commander of a corps, and after spending the day with him, returns and condemns on every point the proposed field of battle without having seen it.
While disputes and intrigues were going on as to the suitable spot for a battle, and while we were looking for the French and mistaking their line of advance, the French fell upon Nevyerovsky's division, and advanced upon the walls of Smolensk itself.
We were surprised into having to fight at Smolensk to save our communications. A battle was fought. Thousands were slain on both sides.
Smolensk was abandoned against the will of the Tsar and the whole people. But Smolensk was burnt by its own inhabitants, who had been deceived by their governor. And those ruined inhabitants, after setting an example to the rest of Russia, full of their losses, and burning with hatred of the enemy, moved on to Moscow. Napoleon advances; we retreat; and so the very result is attained that is destined to overthrow Napoleon.
拿破仑所以要同俄国开始打仗，是因为他不能不到德累斯顿，不能不被荣耀地位所迷惑，不能不穿上波兰军装，不能不受到六月早晨诱发出的野心所影响，不能不先当着库拉金的面，而后当着巴拉舍夫的面突然发怒。 
亚历山大所以要拒绝一切谈判，是因为他感到自己受了侮辱。巴克莱·德·托利尽力以最好的方式指挥军队，是为了竭尽自己的天职，从而获得大统帅的荣誉。罗斯托夫所以跃马向法军冲锋，是因为他在平坦的田野上就忍不住要纵马驰骋，正是这样，参加这场战争的无数的人，他们都是按照各自的特性、习惯、环境和目的而行动。他们感到害怕，徒骛虚名；他们感到高兴，义愤填膺；他们发表议论，认为他们知道自己所做的事，并且是为了自己而做的；其实他们都是未意识到自己当了历史的工具，做了他们自己不明白而我们却了解的工作。所有实际的活动家不可避免的命运就是这样，他们所处的地位越高，就越不自由。
现在，一八一二年的活动家，他们早已退出自己的历史舞台，他们个人的兴趣也早已消失得无影无踪，留在我们面前的只有当时的某些历史后果。
天意差使所有这些人竭力追求他们自己的目的，从而造成一个巨大的历史后果。当时任何一个人，无论是拿破仑还是亚历山大，更不用说战争的某一个参加者，对这个历史后果也未曾有一丁点儿预料到。
现在我们已经很清楚，一八一二年法军覆灭的原因。谁也毋庸再争辩，拿破仑率领的军队覆灭的原因有二：一是他们深入俄国腹地，却迟迟未作好过冬的准备；二是由于焚烧俄国城市和在俄国人民中激起对敌人的仇恨，从而形成了战争的性质。但是，当时不仅没有人预见到（现在这似乎很明显的了），只有这样，世界上最优良、而且由最优秀的统帅所指挥的八十万军队在碰到与自己弱一倍的，也没有经验，而且也由没有经验的统帅所指挥的俄国军队时，才能遭致覆灭；与此同时，不仅没有人预见到这一点，而且俄国人方面一切的努力经常都是妨碍那唯一能够拯救俄国的事业的实现，而法国人方面，尽管有所谓拿破仑的军事天才和战斗的经验，但却用尽一切的努力，在夏末向莫斯科推进，也就是在做使法军必然走向灭亡的事情。
在有关一八一二年的历史论著中，法国的作者总是喜欢论及与时拿破仑如何感到战线拉长的危险，如何寻觅决战的机会，拿破仑的元帅如何劝他在斯摩棱斯克按兵不动，并援引类似一些别的论据，证明与时就已经意识到战争的危险性；而俄国的作者则更喜欢谈论，从战役一开始就有一个引诱拿破仑深入俄国腹地的西徐亚人式的作战计划，这个计划有人认为是普弗尔拟的，有人认为是某个法国人拟的，有人认为是托尔拟的，有人认为是亚历山大皇帝本人拟的，而且引用有笔记、方案和书信为证，其中确实有这种作战方案的暗示。但是有关预见所发生的事件的一切暗示，不论是俄国人还是法国人所为，之所以现在公诸于世，只不过因为既成的事件证明了其暗示的正确性。如果事件没有发生，那末这些暗示就会被人遗忘。就像现在成千上万相反的暗示和假设，在与时很流行，但是被证明是不正确，因而被人所忘了一样。关于每一个事件的结局，总是有那么多的假设，以致不管事件的结局是什么，总有人要说：“我与时就说过，事情就是这样的结局。”但是他们却完全忘却了，在无数的假设之中还有许多完全与此相反的意见。
谈到拿破仑已经感到战线拉长的危险，谈到俄国人方面有意诱敌深入俄国腹地，显然其假设都是属于这一类的推测；只有历史学家才能非常牵强附会地把那样的推测强加在拿破仑和他的将帅身上，把那样的计划强加在俄国军事将领身上。所有这些事实都与这类假设完全相反。在俄国整个战争时期不但没有诱敌深入俄国腹地的意图，而且从敌人刚入侵俄国时候起，就千方百计地阻止法军的深入；至于拿破仑不但不怕战线拉长，而且他每前进一步就像打了胜仗而得意洋洋，也不像过去历次战役那样急于寻找新的战机。
战争刚一开始打响时，我们的军队就被切断，而我们所力求达到的唯一目的，是要把军队会集起来，虽然军队的会师对退却和诱敌深入腹地并没有好处。皇帝御驾亲临部队，为的是鼓舞部队坚守俄国的每寸土地，而不是为了退却。按照普弗尔的计划，在德里萨部署庞大的兵营，从而不打算再后退。皇帝为每后退一步总要责备总司令。可是不但莫斯科遭到焚烧，而且还让敌人打到斯摩棱斯克，这是连皇帝也觉得是不可思议的事。与军队会合的时候，皇帝因为斯摩棱斯克的失陷和惨遭焚烧，未能在城外决一大战而感到极为愤懑。
皇帝是这么想的，而俄国的将帅和俄国的全体人民想到我们的军队退到腹地，他们就更加愤慨了。
拿破仑切断了俄国军队之后，他继续向俄国腹地推进，并放弃了几次决战的机会。八月他在斯摩棱斯克一心只想如何推进，可是我们现在却看出，这种继续推进对他来说显然是自取灭亡的。
事实显然说明，拿破仑既没有预见到向莫斯科进军的危险性，亚历山大和俄国的将军们那时也没有想到引诱拿破仑深入腹地，而他们所想到的却与此相反。引诱拿破仑深入俄国腹地，并非出于什么人的计划（谁也不会相信这种事的可能性），而是由于未曾料到必然会发生什么，未曾料到唯一拯救俄国的途径是什么的那些参战人员的极其复杂的勾心斗角、阴谋诡计、私人目的和种种渴望所致。一切都是偶然发生的。军队在战争初期被切断。我们力求使军队会合，显然的目的是打一仗，阻止敌人进攻，但在力求使军队会合时应避免和最强大的敌人作战，不自觉地形成锐角形撤退，从而我们就把法军引到了斯摩棱斯克。然而不仅可以这样说，我们形成锐角形撤退，是因为法军在我们两军之间推进，这个夹角变得愈锐，我们也就因此退得愈远，是因为巴克莱·德·托利是一个不孚众望的德国人，而巴格拉季翁（受巴克莱指挥的军官）又很憎恨他，所以巴格拉季翁统帅第二军，力求尽可能地迟迟不与巴克莱会师，为了不受他指挥，巴格拉季翁迟迟不去会师尽管所有的指挥官主要目的是会师），因为他觉得在行军中会使自己的军队受到危险，对他最有利的是向左向南退却、骚扰敌方的侧翼和后方，在乌克兰补充他的军队。看来，他所以能想到这一点，是因为他不愿意隶属于令人憎恨的，而且级别比他低的德国人巴克莱。
皇帝亲临军队，是为了鼓舞士气，但是他的御驾亲征和犹豫不决，以及大批的顾问出谋献策，反而破坏了第一军的战斗力，于是军队后退了。
他们原打算坚守德里萨阵地，但出人意外，图谋与上总司令的保罗西以他的精力影响亚历山大，于是普弗尔的整个计划则被放弃，而一切军务就托付给巴克莱。但是巴克莱不孚众望，他的权力却受到了限制。
军队被打散后，既没有统一的指挥，巴克莱又孚众望。一方面，由于这种混乱，军队被切断，加之总司令德国人的声誉不高，就表现出犹豫不决，避免了一切战斗（假如军队会合在一起，而且不是巴克莱做总司令，那就非打一仗不可）；另一方面，对德国人的愤慨越来越强烈，爱国主义的热情则越来越高涨。
后来皇帝终于离开军队，给他离开军队找到一个唯一最好的借口，那就是他必须鼓舞首都人民掀起一场人民战争。皇帝的莫斯科之行，使俄国的军队增加到三倍。
皇帝离开军队是为了不致束缚总司令的权力的统一，指望以后能采取一些更坚决的措施；但是军队中的领导地位更加紊乱，而且逐渐削弱。贝尼格森、大公和一大群高级侍从武官留在军队中监视总司令的行动，并给他加以鼓劲，而巴克莱却觉得在国王的这些耳目监视之下更不自由了，对于决定性的行动更加小心了，总是避免战斗。
巴克莱主张谨慎行事。皇太子暗示这是背叛行为，并要求进行一场大会战。柳博米尔斯基、布拉尼茨基和弗洛茨基之流的人物，吵得之凶，使得巴克莱借口给皇上呈送文件，差遣波兰高级侍从武官到彼得堡去，然后对贝尼格森和大公进行一场公开的斗争。
不管巴格拉季翁怎么也不愿意，最后军队还是在斯摩棱斯克会师了。
巴格拉季翁乘车前往巴克莱的官邸。巴克莱佩上绶带出来迎接，并向官阶较高的巴格拉季翁报告。巴格拉季翁极力做到宽宏大量，尽管官阶较高，仍听命于巴克莱的领导；但是当了部下，却和他更不协调了。巴格拉季翁遵照皇上的命令，亲自向他呈报。他在给阿拉克切耶夫的信中写道：“虽然这是我皇上的旨意，但我无论如何也无法与大臣（巴克莱）相处下去。看在上帝的情面上，请您随便把我派到哪儿去吧，即使是指挥一个团也好，但我不能在这里；因为整个大本营全是德国人，所以一个俄国人不能在这里，呆下去也没有一点意思。我原以为，我真正地在为皇上和祖国服务，但结果证明，我却是在为巴克莱服务。说真的，我是不情愿的。”一群布拉尼茨基、温岑格罗德之流的人物更加恶化了两位司令官之间的关系，结果是更加不统一了。他们准备在斯摩棱斯克前面向法军进攻，派遣了一名将官去视察阵地。但是他憎恨巴克莱，却到一个朋友——军团长那儿去呆了一天，然后才回到巴克莱那儿，从各方面挑剔这个他并未见到过的未来的战场。
正当对未来战场的问题进行争吵和策划阴谋时，正当我们弄错了法军所在地而寻找法军时，法军已突破涅韦罗夫斯基的师团、并且兵临斯摩棱斯克城下。
为了挽救我们的交通线，必须在斯摩棱斯克打一场出乎意外的恶仗。仗是打了，双方都阵亡数千人。
斯摩棱斯克失守了。这是违反了皇帝和全民的意志。但是斯摩棱斯克是居民受了省长的欺骗而自己毁掉的，倾家荡产的居民给其他的俄国人做了榜样，他们老想着自家的损失，从而心中燃起对敌人的怒火，向莫斯科逃去。拿破仑继续前进，我们则向后退，于是正好达到了必然战胜拿破仑的目的。

Book 10 Chapter 2
THE DAY after his son's departure, Prince Nikolay Andreitch sent for Princess Marya.
“Well, now are you satisfied?” he said to her. “You have made me quarrel with my son! Are you satisfied? That was all you wanted! Satisfied? … It's a grief to me, a grief. I'm old and weak, and it was your wish. Well, now, rejoice over it. …” And after that, Princess Marya did not see her father again for a week. He was ill and did not leave his study.
Princess Marya noticed to her surprise that during this illness the old prince excluded Mademoiselle Bourienne too from his room. Tihon was the only person who looked after him.
A week later the prince reappeared, and began to lead the same life as before, showing marked energy in the laying out of farm buildings and gardens, and completely breaking off all relations with Mademoiselle Bourienne. His frigid tone and air with Princess Marya seemed to say: “You see, you plotted against me, told lies to Prince Andrey of my relations with that Frenchwoman, and made me quarrel with him, but you see I can do without you, and without the Frenchwoman too.”
One half of the day Princess Marya spent with Nikolushka, giving him his Russian lessons, following his other lessons, and talking to Dessalle. The rest of the day she spent in reading, or with her old nurse and “God's folk,” who came by the back stairs sometimes to visit her. The war Princess Marya looked on as women do look on war. She was apprehensive for her brother who was at the front, and was horrified, without understanding it, at the cruelty of men, that led them to kill one another. But she had no notion of the significance of this war, which seemed to her exactly like all the preceding wars. She had no notion of the meaning of this war, although Dessalle, who was her constant companion, was passionately interested in the course of the war, and tried to explain his views on the subject to her, and although “God's folk” all, with terror, told her in their own way of the rumours among the peasantry of the coming of Antichrist, and although Julie, now Princess Drubetskoy, who had renewed her correspondence with her, was continually writing her patriotic letters from Moscow.
“I write to you in Russian, my sweet friend,” Julie wrote, “because I feel a hatred for all the French and for their language too; I can't bear to hear it spoken. … In Moscow we are all wild with enthusiasm for our adored Emperor.
“My poor husband is enduring hardships and hunger in wretched Jewish taverns, but the news I get from him only increases my ardour.
“You have doubtless heard of the heroic action of Raevsky, who embraced his two sons and said, ‘We will die together, but we will not flinch!' And though the enemy were twice as strong, we did not in fact flinch. We kill time here as best we can; but in war, as in war. Princess Alina and Sophie spend whole days with me, and we, unhappy windows of living husbands, have delightful talks over scraping lint. We only want you, my darling, to make us complete,” etc., etc.
The principal reason why Princess Marya failed to grasp the significance of the war was that the old prince never spoke of it, refused to recognize its existence, and laughed at Dessalle when he mentioned the war at dinner-time. The prince's tone was so calm and confident that Princess Marya put implicit faith in him.
During the whole of July the old prince was excessively active and even lively. He laid out another new garden and a new wing for the servants. The only thing that made Princess Marya anxious about him was that he slept badly, and gave up his old habit of sleeping in his study, and had a bed made up for him in a new place every day. One night he would have his travelling bedstead set up in the gallery, the next night he would spend dozing dressed on the sofa or in the lounge-chair in the drawing-room, while the lad Petrushka, who had replaced Mademoiselle Bourienne in attendance on him, read aloud to him; then he would try spending a night in the dining-room.
On the first of August a second letter came from Prince Andrey. In his first letter, which had been received shortly after he left home, Prince Andrey had humbly asked his father's forgiveness for what he had permitted himself to say to him, and had begged to be restored to his favour. To this letter, the old prince had sent an affectionate answer, and from that time he had kept the Frenchwoman at a distance. Prince Andrey's second letter was written under Vitebsk, after the French had taken it. It consisted of a brief account of the whole campaign, with a plan sketched to illustrate it, and of reflections on the probable course it would take in the future. In this letter Prince Andrey pointed out to his father the inconvenience of his position close to the theatre of war, and in the direct line of the enemy's advance, and advised him to move to Moscow.
At dinner that day, on Dessalle's observing that he had heard that the French had already entered Vitebsk, the old prince recollected Prince Andrey's letter.
“I have heard from Prince Andrey to-day,” he said to Princess Marya; “have you read the letter?”
“No, mon pére,” the Princess answered timidly. She could not possibly have read the letter, of which indeed she had not heard till that instant.
“He writes about this war,” said the prince, with the contemptuous smile that had become habitual with him in speaking of the present war.
“It must be very interesting,” said Dessalle. “Prince Andrey is in a position to know. …”
“Ah, very interesting!” said Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“Go and get it for me,” said the old prince to Mademoiselle Bourienne. “You know, on the little table under the paper-weight.”
Mademoiselle Bourienne jumped up eagerly.
“Ah, no,” he shouted, frowning. “You run, Mihail Ivanitch!” Mihail Ivanitch got up and went to the study. But he had hardly left the room when the old prince, looking about him nervously, threw down his dinner napkin and went himself.
“They never can do anything, always make a muddle.”
As he went out, Princess Marya, Dessalle, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and even little Nikolushka, looked at one another without speaking. The old prince accompanied by Mihail Ivanitch came back with a hurried step, bringing the letter and a plan, which he laid beside him, and did not give to any one to read during dinner.
When they went into the drawing-room, he handed the letter to Princess Marya, and spreading out before him the plan of his new buildings, he fixed his eyes upon it, and told her to read the letter aloud.
After reading the letter, Princess Marya looked inquiringly at her father. He was gazing at the plan, evidently engrossed in his own ideas.
“What do you think about it, prince?” Dessalle ventured to inquire.
“I? eh? …” said the old prince, seeming to rouse himself with a painful effort, and not taking his eyes from the plan of the building.
“It is very possible that the field of operations may be brought so close to us …”
“Ha-ha-ha! The field of operations indeed!” said the old prince. “I have always said, and I say still, that the field of operations is bound to be Poland, and the enemy will never advance beyond the Niemen.” Dessalle looked in amazement at the prince, who was talking of the Niemen, when the enemy was already at the Dnieper. But Princess Marya, forgetting the geographical position of the Niemen, supposed that what her father said was true.
“When the snows thaw they'll drown in the marshes of Poland. It's only that they can't see it,” said the old prince, obviously thinking of the campaign of 1807, which seemed to him so recent. “Bennigsen ought to have entered Prussia earlier, and things would have taken quite another turn. …”
“But, prince!” said Dessalle timidly, “the letter speaks of Vitebsk. …”
“Ah, the letter? Yes, …” said the prince, with displeasure. “Yes … yes …” His face suddenly assumed a gloomy expression. He paused. “Yes, he writes, the French have been beaten. On what river was it?”
Dessalle dropped his eyes. “The prince says nothing about that,” he said gently.
“What, doesn't he? Why, you don't suppose I imagined it.”
Every one was for a long time silent.
“Yes … yes … Well, Mihail Ivanitch,” he said suddenly, raising his head and pointing to the plan of the building, “tell me how you propose to make that alteration. …”
Mihail Ivanitch went up to the plan, and the old prince, talking to him about it, went off to his own room, casting a wrathful glance at Princess Marya and Dessalle.
Princess Marya saw Dessalle's embarrassed and amazed expression as he looked at her father. She noticed his silence and was struck by the fact that her father had left his son's letter forgotten on the drawing-room table. But she was afraid to speak of it, to ask Dessalle the reason of his embarrassed silence, afraid even to think about it.
In the evening Mihail Ivanitch was sent by the prince to Princess Marya to ask for the letter that had been forgotten on the table. Princess Marya gave him the letter, and much as she disliked doing so, she ventured to ask what her father was doing
“Still very busy,” said Mihail Ivanitch, in a tone of deferential irony, that made her turn pale. “Worrying very much over the new wing. Been reading a little: but now” — Mihail Ivanitch dropped his voice — “he's at his bureau looking after his will, I expect.” One of the old prince's favourite occupations of late had been going over the papers which he meant to leave at his death, and called his “will.”
“And is Alpatitch being sent to Smolensk?” asked Princess Marya.
“To be sure; he's been waiting a long while for his orders.”
儿子离家的第二天，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵把玛丽亚公爵小姐叫到他自己跟前。 
“怎么样，你现在满意了吧？”他对她说，“你使我同儿子吵了一架！满意了吧？你就需要这样！满意了吧？……真叫我痛心又痛心啊！我老了，不行了，这也是你所希望的。那么你就高兴了吧，得意了吧……”此后，玛丽亚公爵小姐有一个星期没有见到父亲。因为他生病了，没有离开过他的书房。
玛丽亚公爵小姐感到惊奇的是，她注意到，老公爵在生病期间也不让布里安小姐到他跟前去。只有吉洪一个人侍候他。
过了一周，公爵出来了，又开始了以前的生活。他特别积极地从事建筑和园艺方面的活动，而且断绝了他和布里安小姐过去的一切关系。他的神态和对玛丽亚公爵小姐冷淡的口气，好像是对她说：“你要知道，你对我胡乱猜想，向安德烈公爵胡说我和法国女人的关系，使得我同他吵架，而你知道了吧，我既不需要你，也不需要法国女人。”
玛丽亚公爵小姐每天一半时间和尼古卢什卡度过，照管他做功课，亲自教他俄语和音乐，并同德萨尔进行交谈，另外半天时间，她则看书，同老保姆在一起，有时又同从后门进来看她的神亲们一起消磨时间。
玛丽亚公爵小姐对战争的看法和一般妇女对战争的看法一样。她为参战的哥哥而担心，她为迫使人们互相屠杀的人世间的残忍既感到恐怖，却又不理解这次战争的意义，认为这跟过去的一切战争都是一样的。尽管非常关心战况的德萨尔经常和她交谈，极力向她说明他自己的想法，尽管前来看她的神亲们总是按照他们自己的看法，胆战心寒地讲述了有关基督的敌人入侵的民间传闻，尽管现在是德鲁别茨卡娅公爵夫人——朱莉又恢复了与她的信函往来，从莫斯科给她写来了许多爱国的信件，但是她仍然不理解这次战争的意义。
“我的好朋友！我现在用俄文给您写信，”——朱莉写道——“因为我恨所有的法国人，同样地恨他们的语言，我也听不得人家讲那种语言……，由于对我们所崇拜的皇帝的热情，我们在莫斯科都感到非常振奋。”
“我那可怜的丈夫现在住在犹太人的旅店里受苦挨饿，但是我所得到的种种信息更加使我鼓舞。”
“想必您听到了拉耶夫斯基的英雄事迹了，他曾抱着两个儿子说：我要和他们同归于尽，但我们决不动摇！的确，敌人的力量虽然比我们强一倍，可是我们却岿然不动。我们尽可能地消磨时间。但战时就像战时嘛？阿琳娜公爵小姐和索菲同我整天坐在一起，我们是不幸的守活寡的妇人，在作棉线团时①大家聊得兴致勃勃；只少您在这儿，我的朋友……”等等。玛丽亚公爵小姐之所以不理解这次战争的全部意义，主要是因为老公爵从来不谈战争，也不承认有战争，而且在吃饭时嘲笑谈论这次战争的德萨尔。老公爵的口气是如此之平静而又自信，以致玛丽亚公爵小姐毫无异议地相信他的话。 
①旧时把破棉布撕下来代替药棉裹伤用的。
整个七月，老公爵都非常积极，甚至生气勃勃。他奠定了又一座新的花园和为仆人建造一座新的楼房的基础。唯一使玛丽亚公爵小姐感到不安的是，他睡眠很少了，并改变了他在书房里的习惯，而且每天都要更动自己过夜的地方。有时，他命令人在走廊里打开他的行军床；有时，他不脱衣服躺在客厅里的沙发上或者坐在伏尔泰椅上；有时，他不让布里安小姐，而是叫家童彼得鲁沙给他朗读；有时，他也就在食堂里过夜。
八月一日，收到安德烈公爵的第二封信。在他走后不久收到的第一封信里，安德烈公爵恭顺地请求父亲对他所说的话加以宽恕，并请求父亲恢复对他的宠爱。老公爵给他亲切地回了一封信，之后他就与法国女人疏远了。安德烈公爵的第二封信是在法军占领了维捷布斯克附近写的，信中简要地描写了战役的整个过程和战役示意图，以及对今后战局的看法。同时安德烈公爵在这封中还对他父亲说，他住的地方接近战场，正处在军事交通线路上，是很不利的，并且劝他父亲到莫斯科去。
在这天吃饭的时候，德萨尔说，他听到说法军已经入侵维捷布斯克，老公爵顿时想起了安德烈公爵的来信。
“今天收到了安德烈公爵的来信，”他对玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“你看过了吧？”
“没有过，mon　père．①。”公爵小姐吃惊地回答说。她未曾看过信，甚至关于收到信的事也没有听到过。 
①法语：爸爸。
“他在信里又谈到这次战争，”公爵带着那已成为他习已为常，一提起目前的战争就露出轻蔑的微笑说。
“想必是很有趣的！”德萨尔说。“公爵会知道的……”
“啊，是非常有趣的？”布里安小姐说。
“您去给我把信拿来！”老公爵对布里安小姐说。“您是知道的，信就在小桌子上的压板下面。”
布里安小姐高兴地跳了起来。
“啊，不用去啦，”他愁眉不展，大声说道：“你去吧，米哈伊尔·伊万内奇！”
米哈伊尔·伊万内奇起身到书房去。他刚一出去，老公爵就神色不安地东张西望，扔下餐巾，亲自去取信。
他们什么都不会干，总是弄得乱七八糟。
在他走后，玛丽亚公爵小姐、德萨尔、布里安小姐，甚至于尼古卢什卡都沉默地交换着目光。老公爵由米哈伊尔·伊万内奇陪着，迈开急促的步伐回来了。他带着信和建房的计划、在吃饭的时候，把它们信放在身边，没让任何人看。
老公爵转回客厅后，他把信递给玛丽亚公爵小姐，然后把新的建房计划摊开，一面注视着建房计划，一面命令她大声读信，玛丽亚公爵小姐读完了信之后，疑问地看了看他的父亲。他在看建房计划，显然陷入了沉思。
“您对这个问题以为如何？公爵？”德萨尔以为可以提问。
“我？我？……”公爵说，好像不愉快地苏醒过来似的，但目光仍盯着建房的计划。
“很可能，战场就离我们不远了……”
“哈，哈，哈！战场！”公爵说，“我说过，现在还要说，战场在波兰，敌人永远不会越过涅曼河的。”
当敌人已经到了德聂伯河，德萨尔却惊讶地看了看还在说涅曼河的公爵；但是玛丽亚公爵小姐忘记了涅曼河的地理位置，以为她父亲说的话是对的。
“在冰雪融化的时候，他们就要陷入在波兰的沼泽地里。只不过他们未能看到这一点罢了。”老公爵说，显然是他想起了发生在一八○七年的战争，认为这是那么近。“贝尼格森本应早一点进入普鲁士，那情况就不同了……”
“但，公爵，”德萨尔胆怯地说，“信里提到的是维捷布斯克……”
“啊，信里提到了吗？是的……”公爵不满意地说，“是的……是的……”他的面容突然显出来阴沉的表情。他沉默了一会儿。“是的，他在信中写道，法军在哪条河上被击溃的呀？”
德萨尔垂下眼睛。
“公爵在信里并没有提到这件事。”他低声说。
“真的没有提到吗？哼，我才不会瞎编的。”
大家长时间地沉默不语。
“是的……是的……喂，米哈伊尔·伊万内奇，”他突然抬起头来，指着建房的计划说，“你说说，你想怎么改……”
米哈伊尔·伊万内奇走到那计划前面，公爵和他读了读新建房的计划，然后生气地看了看玛丽亚公爵小姐和德萨尔一眼，便到自己的房里去了。
玛丽亚公爵小姐看见，德萨尔把难为情的，吃惊的视线集中到她的父亲身上，同时也注意到了他沉默不语，并因为她父亲把儿子的信遗忘在客厅的桌子上而吃惊，但是她不但怕说到，怕问到德萨尔关于他的难为情和沉默不语的原因，而且她也怕想到这件事。
傍晚，米哈伊尔·伊万内奇被公爵派到玛丽亚公爵小姐那儿去取忘在客厅里的安德烈公爵的信。玛丽亚公爵小姐把信给了他。虽然对她这是不愉快的事，但是她还是敢于向米哈伊尔·伊万内奇询问她父亲现在在干什么。
“总是忙！”米哈伊尔·伊万内奇面带恭敬而又讥讽的笑容说，这就使得玛丽亚公爵小姐的面色发白了。“他对那幢新房很不放心，看了一会儿书，而现在。”米哈伊尔·伊万内奇压低了嗓音说，准是伏案写遗嘱吧！（近来公爵喜爱的工作之一是整理一些死后留传后世的文件，他称之为遗嘱。）”
“要派阿尔帕特奇到斯摩棱斯克去吗？”玛丽亚公爵小姐问。
“可不是，他已经等了好久。”

Book 10 Chapter 3
WHEN MIHAIL IVANITCH went back to the study with the letter, the old prince was sitting in his spectacles with a shade over his eyes and shades on the candles, at his open bureau, surrounded by papers, held a long distance off. He was in a rather solemn attitude, reading the papers (the “remarks,” as he called them) which were to be given to the Tsar after his death.
When Mihail Ivanitch went in, there were tears in his eyes, called up by the memory of the time when he had written what he was now reading. He took the letter out of Mihail Ivanitch's hand, put it in his pocket, folded up his papers and called in Alpatitch, who had been waiting a long while to see him.
He had noted down on a sheet of paper what he wanted in Smolensk, and he began walking up and down the room, as he gave his instructions to Alpatitch, standing at the door.
“First, letter paper, do you hear, eight quires, like this pattern, you see; gilt edged … take the pattern, so as to be sure to match it; varnish, sealing-wax — according to Mihail Ivanitch's list.”
He walked up and down the room and glanced at the memorandum.
“Then deliver the letter about the enrolment to the governor in person.”
Then bolts for the doors of the new building were wanted, and must be of a new pattern, which the old prince had himself designed. Then an iron-bound box was to be ordered for keeping his will in.
Giving Alpatitch his instructions occupied over two hours. The prince still would not let him go. He sat down, sank into thought, and closing his eyes, dropped into a doze. Alpatitch made a slight movement.
“Well, go along, go along,” said the old prince; “if anything is wanted I'll send.”
Alpatitch went away. The prince went back to the bureau; glancing into it, he passed his hand over his papers, closed it again, and sat down to the table to write to the governor.
It was late when he sealed the letter and got up. He was sleepy, but he knew he would not sleep, and that he would be haunted by most miserable thoughts in bed. He called Tihon, and went through the rooms with him, to tell him where to make up his bed for that night. He walked about, measuring every corner.
There was no place that pleased him, but worst of all was the couch in the study that he had been used to. That couch had become an object of dread to him, probably from the painful thoughts he had thought lying on it. No place was quite right, but best of them all was the corner in the divan-room, behind the piano; he had never slept there yet.
Tihon brought the bedstead in with the footmen, and began putting it up.
“That's not right, that's not right!” cried the old prince. With his own hands he moved the bed an inch further from the corner, and then closer to it again.
“Well, at last, I have done everything; now I shall rest,” thought the prince, and he left it to Tihon to undress him.
Frowning with vexation at the effort he had to make to take off his coat and trousers, the prince undressed, dropped heavily down on his bed, and seemed to sink into thought, staring contemptuously at his yellow, withered legs. He was not really thinking, but simply pausing before the effort to lift his legs up and lay them in the bed. “Ugh, how hard it is! Ugh, if these toils could soon be over, and if you would let me go!” he mused. Pinching his lips tightly, he made that effort for the twenty thousandth time, and lay down. But he had hardly lain down, when all at once the bed seemed to rock regularly to and fro under him, as though it were heaving and jolting. He had this sensation almost every night. He opened his eyes that were closing themselves.
“No peace, damn them!” he grumbled, with inward rage at some persons unknown. “Yes, yes, there was something else of importance — something of great importance I was saving up to think of in bed. The bolts? No, I did speak about them. No, there was something, something in the drawing-room. Princess Marya talked some nonsense. Dessalle — he's a fool — said something, something in my pocket — I don't remember.”
“Tishka! what were we talking about at dinner?”
“About Prince Mihail …”
“Stay, stay” — the prince slapped his hand down on the table. “Yes, I know, Prince Andrey's letter. Princess Marya read it. Dessalle said something about Vitebsk. I'll read it now.”
He told Tihon to get the letter out of his pocket, and to move up the little table with the lemonade and the spiral wax candle on it, and putting on his spectacles he began reading. Only then in the stillness of the night, as he read the letter, in the faint light under the green shade, for the first time he grasped for an instant its meaning. “The French are at Vitebsk, in four days' march they may be at Smolensk; perhaps they are there by now. Tishka!” Tihon jumped up. “No, nothing, nothing!” he cried.
He put the letter under the candlestick and closed his eyes. And there rose before his mind the Danube, bright midday, the reeds, the Russian camp, and he, a young general, without one wrinkle on his brow, bold, gay, ruddy, entering Potyomkin's gay-coloured tent, and the burning sensation of envy of the favourite stirs within him as keenly as at the time. And he recalls every word uttered at that first interview with Potyomkin. And then he sees a plump, short woman with a sallow, fat face, the mother empress, her smiles and words at her first gracious reception for him; and then her face as she lay on the bier, and the quarrel with Zubov over her coffin for the right to kiss her hand
“Oh, to make haste, to make haste back to that time, and oh, that the present might soon be over and they might leave me in peace!”
当米哈伊尔·伊万内奇拿着信回到书房的时候，公爵戴着眼镜和眼罩在蜡烛罩灯的前面，靠近打开的办公桌傍边坐着，拿着文件的手伸得很远，摆出一副有点儿庄严的姿势，在读他死后将呈送给皇帝御览的文件（他称之为说明书）。 
米哈伊尔·伊万内奇进房时，公爵含着眼泪回忆他当初写的。而现在他看着的文件。后来他从米哈伊尔·伊万内奇手中拿到信，便放到衣袋里，搁好文件，才把等了好久的阿尔帕特奇叫来。
他在一张小纸条上写着去斯摩棱斯克要办的事，接着他在房里，一面从站在门边等候的阿尔帕特奇面前来回走动，一面发出命令。
“听着！信笺，要八帖，就是这个样品；金边的……一定要照这个样；清漆，火漆（封蜡）——按照米哈伊尔·伊万内奇开的单子办。”
他在房里走了一会儿，看了看备忘录。
“然后把关于证书的信亲自交给省长。”
随后是新房子门上需要的门闩，这些闩一定要照公爵亲自所定的式样去作。再就是定做一只盛放遗嘱的，且有装帧的匣子。
对阿尔帕特奇作的指示延续了两个多小时，公爵仍然没有把他放走。他坐下来沉思，闭目打盹。阿尔帕特奇不时动弹一下。
“好啦，走吧，走吧；如果还要什么，我会派人来叫你的。”
于是阿尔帕特奇出去了。公爵又到办公桌前，向它里面看了一下，摸了摸他的文件，然后又关上，便坐在桌傍给省长写信。
当他封好了信，站起来的时候，已经很晚了。他想要睡觉，但是他知道他睡不着，在床上会出现最坏的想法。他叫来了吉洪，同他一起走了几个房间，以便告诉他今晚把床放到哪里。他走来走去，打量着每个屋角。
他觉得到处都不好。最不好的是书房里他睡惯了的那张沙发。他觉得这张沙发很可怕，大概是因为他躺在上面反复思量过使人极不愉快的事情。什么地方都不好，但是最好的地方还是休息室大钢琴后面的那个角落，因为他还有在这里睡过。
吉洪和一个仆人搬来一张床，开始铺起来。
“不是这样！不是这样！”公爵大声说罢，便亲自把床拉得远离墙角的四分之一，然后又拉近一些。
“好，我终于把事做完了，现在我要休息了。”公爵想了想说，于是他让吉洪给他脱衣服。
由于脱上衣和裤子需要费力，公爵烦恼地皱着眉头，脱了衣服，他困难地往床上一坐，似乎在沉思，轻蔑地瞅着他那焦黄枯瘦的双腿。他不是在沉思，而是在拖延把两条腿费力地抬起来上床的时间。“啊呀；多么困难！啊呀，哪怕快一点结束这些劳动也好！您放我走吧！”他想，他咬紧嘴唇，费了九牛二虎之力才躺了下来。但是他刚一躺下，便突然觉得整个床就在他身子下面均匀地晃来晃去着，好像在沉重地喘气和冲撞。几乎每天夜里都是这样。他睁开了刚闭上的眼睛。
“不得安宁，该死的东西！”他愤怒地不知对谁埋怨了几句。“是的，是的，还有一件重要的事，而且非常重要，我留待夜里上了床才办的。门闩吗？不是，这件事我已交待过了。不是，大概还有那么一件事，在客厅里提到过的。玛丽亚公爵小姐不知因为什么撒了谎。德萨尔——这个傻瓜，不知说了点什么。衣袋里有点东西，——我记不得了。”
“季什卡！吃饭的时候讲到过什么？“
“讲到过米哈伊尔公爵……”
“别说了，别说了。”公爵用手拍桌子。“是的，我知道了，安德烈公爵的信，玛丽亚公爵小姐还念过。德萨尔不知说过维捷布斯克什么。现在我来念。”
他吩咐人把信从衣袋里拿出来，并把一张摆着一杯柠檬水和一支螺纹蜡烛的小桌子移到床边，便戴上眼镜，开始看起信来。在这个时候，他只有在夜深人静之中，在蓝灯罩下的弱光里看着信，这才第一次瞬间悟出信里说的意思。
“法军到了维捷布斯克，再过四昼夜的行程，他们就可能到斯摩棱斯克了；也许他们已经到那里了。”
“季什卡！”吉洪一跃而起。“不，不要了，不要了！”他大声说。
他把信藏在烛台下面，闭上了眼睛。于是他想起了多瑙河，明朗的中午，芦苇，俄国营地；他这个年轻的将军，脸上没有一条皱纹，精力充沛，心情愉快，面色红润，走进波将金的彩饰帐篷，对朝廷这个宠臣如火焚似的嫉妒心理强烈，现在仍然像当时一样使他激动。从而他回想起和波将金初次见面时所说的话，这时他眼前又出现那位个儿不高，胖脸蜡黄的皇太后，第一次亲切地接见他时露出的笑容和她说的话；同时他又回想起来她在灵台上的面容，以及在御棺傍边为了吻她的手的权利而与祖博夫之间发生冲突的情景。
“唉，快点，快点回到那个时代去吧，让现在的一切快一点，快一点结束吧！叫他们不要打搅我，让我安静一下吧！”

Book 10 Chapter 4
BLEAK HILLS the estate of Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky, was sixty versts from Smolensk, a little to the rear of it, and three versts from the main road to Moscow.
The same evening on which the old prince gave Alpatitch his instructions, Dessalle asked for a few words with Princess Marya, and told her that since the prince was not quite well and was taking no steps to secure his own safety, though from Prince Andrey's letter it was plain that to stay on at Bleak Hills was not free from danger, he respectfully advised her to write herself, and send by Alpatitch a letter to the governor at Smolensk, and to ask him to let her know the position of affairs and the degree of danger they were running at Bleak Hills. Dessalle wrote the letter to the governor for Princess Marya and she signed it, and the letter was given to Alpatitch with instructions to give it to the governor, and in case there was danger, to come back as quickly as possible.
When he had received all his orders, Alpatitch put on his white beaver hat — a gift from the prince — and carrying a stick in his hand, like the prince, went out, accompanied by all his household, to get into the leather gig harnessed to three sleek, roan horses.
The bells were tied up and stuffed with paper. The prince allowed no one at Bleak Hills to drive with bells. But Alpatitch loved to have bells ringing when he went a long journey. All Alpatitch's satellites, the counting-house clerk, the servants' cook and the head cook, two old women, a foot-boy, a coachman, and various other servants saw him off.
His daughter put chintz-covered, down pillows under him and behind his back. His old sister-in-law slyly popped in a kerchief full of things. One of the coachmen helped him to get in.
“There, there, women's fuss! Women folk, women folk!” said Alpatitch, puffing and talking rapidly, just as the old prince used to talk. He sat down in the gig, giving the counting-house clerk his last directions about the work to be done in the fields; and then dropping his imitation of the prince, Alpatitch took his hat off his bald head and crossed himself three times.
“If there's anything … you turn back, Yakov Alpatitch; for Christ's sake, think of us,” his wife called to him, alluding to the rumours of war and of the enemy near.
“Ah, these women and their fuss!” Alpatitch muttered to himself as he drove off, looking about him at the fields. He saw rye turning yellow, thick oats still green, and here and there patches still black, where they were only just beginning the second ploughing. Alpatitch drove on, admiring the crop of corn, singularly fine that season, staring at the rye fields, in some of which reaping was already beginning, meditating like a true husbandman on the sowing and the harvest, and wondering whether he had forgotten any of the prince's instructions. He stopped twice to feed his horses on the way, and towards the evening of the 4th of August reached the town.
All the way Alpatitch had met and overtaken waggons and troops, and as he drove into Smolensk he heard firing in the distance, but he scarcely heeded the sound. What struck him more than anything was that close to Smolensk he saw a splendid field of oats being mown down by some soldiers evidently for forage; there was a camp, too, pitched in the middle of it. This did make an impression upon Alpatitch, but he soon forgot it in thinking over his own affairs.
All the interests of Alpatitch's life had been for over thirty years bounded by the will of the prince, and he never stepped outside that limit. Anything that had nothing to do with carrying out the prince's orders had no interest, had in fact no existence for Alpatitch.
On reaching Smolensk on the evening of the 4th of August, Alpatitch put up where he had been in the habit of putting up for the last thirty years, at a tavern kept by a former house-porter, Ferapontov, beyond the Dnieper in the Gatchensky quarter. Twelve years before, Ferapontov had profited by Alpatitch's good offices to buy timber from the old prince, and had begun going into trade; and by now he had a house, an inn and a corn-dealer's shop in the town. Ferapontov was a stout, dark, ruddy peasant of forty, with thick lips, a thick, knobby nose, similar knobby bumps over his black, knitted brows, and a round belly.
He was standing in his print shirt and his waistcoat in front of his shop, which looked into the street. He saw Alpatitch, and went up to him.
“You're kindly welcome, Yakov Alpatitch. Folk are going out of the town, while you come into it,” said he.
“How's that? Out of town?” said Alpatitch.
“To be sure, I always say folks are fools. Always frightened of the French.”
“Women's nonsense, women's nonsense!” replied Alpatitch.
“That's just what I think, Yakov Alpatitch. I say there's a notice put up that they won't let them come in, so to be sure that's right. But the peasants are asking as much as three roubles for a cart and horse—they've no conscience!”
Yakov Alpatitch heard without heeding. He asked for a samovar, and for hay for his horses; and after drinking tea lay down to sleep.
All night long the troops were moving along the street by the tavern. Next day Alpatitch put on a tunic, which he kept for wearing in town, and went out to execute his commissions. It was a sunny morning, and by eight o'clock it was hot. “A precious day for the harvest,” as Alpatitch thought. From early morning firing could be heard from beyond the town.
At eight o'clock the boom of cannon mingled with the rattle of musketry. The streets were thronged with people, hurrying about, and also with soldiers, but drivers plied for hire, the shopkeepers stood at their shops, and services were being held in the churches just as usual. Alpatitch went to the shops, to the government offices, to the post and to the governor's. Everywhere that he went every one was talking of the war, and of the enemy who was attacking the town. All were asking one another what was to be done, and trying to calm each other's fears.
At the governor's house, Alpatitch found a great number of people, and saw Cossacks, and a travelling carriage belonging to the governor at the entrance. On the steps Yakov Alpatitch met two gentlemen, one of whom he knew. This gentleman, a former police-captain, was speaking with great heat.
“Well, this is no jesting matter,” he said. “Good luck for him who has only himself to think of. It's bad enough for one alone, but when one has a family of thirteen and a whole property.…Things have come to such a pass that we shall all be ruined; what's one to say of the government after that?…Ugh, I'd hang the brigands.…”
“Come, come, hush!” said the other.
“What do I care! let him hear! Why, we're not dogs!” said the former police-captain, and looking round, he caught sight of Alpatitch.
“Ah, Yakov Alpatitch, how do you come here?”
“By command of his excellency to his honour the governor,” answered Alpatitch, lifting his head proudly and putting his hand into his bosom, as he always did when he mentioned the old prince.…“His honour was pleased to bid me inquire into the position of affairs,” he said.
“Well, you may as well know then,” cried the gentleman; “they have brought matters to such a pass that there are no carts to be got, nothing!…That's it again, do you hear?” he said, pointing in the direction from which the sounds of firing came.
“They have brought us all to ruin…the brigands!” he declared again, and he went down the steps.
Alpatitch shook his head and went up. The waiting-room was full of merchants, women, and clerks, looking dumbly at one another. The door of the governor's room opened, all of them got up and made a forward movement. A clerk ran out of the room, said something to a merchant, called a stout official with a cross on his neck to follow him, and vanished again, obviously trying to avoid all the looks and the questions addressed to him. Alpatitch moved forward, and the next time the same clerk emerged, he put his hand into his buttoned coat, and addressed him, handing him the two letters.
“To his honour the Baron Ash from the general-in-chief Prince Bolkonsky,” he boomed out with so much pomposity and significance that the clerk turned to him and took the letters. A few minutes afterwards Alpatitch was shown into the presence of the governor, who said to him hurriedly, “Inform the prince and the princess that I knew nothing about it. I acted on the highest instructions—here.…”
He gave Alpatitch a document.
“Still, as the prince is not well my advice to him is to go to Moscow. I'm setting off myself immediately. Tell them…”But the governor did not finish; a dusty and perspiring officer ran into the room and began saying something in French. A look of horror came into the governor's face.
“You can go,” he said, nodding to Alpatitch, and he put some questions to the officer. Eager, panic-stricken, helpless glances were turned upon Alpatitch when he came out of the governor's room. Alpatitch could not help listening now to firing, which seemed to come closer and to be getting hotter, as he hurried back to the inn. The document the governor had given to Alpatitch ran as follows:
“I guarantee that the town of Smolensk is not in the slightest danger, and it is improbable that it should be threatened in any way. I myself from one side, and Prince Bagration from the other, will effect a junction before Smolensk on the 22nd instant, and both armies will proceed with their joint forces to defend their compatriots of the province under your government, till their efforts beat back the enemies of our country, or till their gallant ranks are cut down to the last warrior. You will see from this that you have a perfect right to reassure the inhabitants of Smolensk, as they are defended by two such valiant armies and can be confident of their victory.
(“By order of Barclay de Tolly to the civil governor of Smolensk. Baron Ash. 1812.”)
Crowds of people were moving uneasily about the streets. Waggons, loaded up with household crockery, chairs, and cupboards, were constantly emerging from the gates of houses, and moving along the streets. Carts were standing at the entrance of the house next to Ferapontov's, and women were wailing and exchanging good-byes. The yard dog was frisking about the horses, barking.
Alpatitch's step was more hurried than usual as he entered the yard, and went straight under the shed to his horses and cart. The coachman was asleep; he waked him up, told him to put the horses in, and went into the outer room of the house. In the private room of the family, he heard the wailing of children, the heartrending sobs of a woman, and the furious, husky shouting of Ferapontov. The cook came fluttering into the outer room like a frightened hen, just as Alpatitch walked in.
“He's beating her to death—beating the mistress!…He's beaten her so, thrashed her so!…”
“What for?” asked Alpatitch.
“She kept begging to go away. A woman's way! Take me away, says she; don't bring me to ruin with all my little children; folks are all gone, says she, what are we about? So he fell to beating her…beating and thrashing her!”
Alpatitch nodded his head, apparently in approval at those words; and not caring to hear more he went towards the door on the opposite side leading to the room in which his purchases had been left.
“Wretch, villain,” screamed a thin, pale woman, bursting out at that moment with a child in her arms and her kerchief torn off her head. She ran down the steps into the yard. Ferapontov was going after her, but seeing Alpatitch, he pulled down his waistcoat, smoothed his hair, yawned and followed Alpatitch into the room.
“Do you want to be getting off already?” he asked. Without answering the question or looking round at him, Alpatitch collected his purchases and asked how much he owed him.
“We'll reckon up! Been at the governor's, eh?” asked Ferapontov. “What did you hear?”
Alpatitch replied that the governor had told him nothing definite.
“How are we to pack up and go with our business?” said Ferapontov. “Seven roubles to pay for cartage to Dorogobuzh. What I say is: they have no conscience!” said he. “Selivanov, he did a good turn on Friday, sold flour to the army for nine roubles the sack. What do you say to some tea?” he added. While the horses were being harnessed, Alpatitch and Ferapontov drank tea and discussed the price of corn, the crops, and the favourable weather for the harvest.
“It's getting quieter though,” said Ferapontov, getting up after drinking three cups of tea. “I suppose, our side has got the best of it. It's been said they won't let them in. So we're in force it seems.…The other day they were saying Matvey Ivanitch Platov drove them into the river Marina: eighteen thousand of them he drowned in one day.”
Alpatitch gathered up his purchases, handed them to the coachman, and settled his accounts with Ferapontov. There was the sound of wheels and hoofs and the ringing of bells as the gig drove out of the gates.
It was by now long past midday, half the street lay in shadow, while half was in brilliant sunshine. Alpatitch glanced out of the window and went to the door. All of a sudden there came a strange sound of a faraway hiss and thump, followed by the boom of cannons, mingling into a dim roar that set the windows rattling.
Alpatitch went out into the street; two men were running along the street towards the bridge. From different sides came the hiss and thud of cannon balls and the bursting of grenades, as they fell in the town. But these sounds were almost unheard, and the inhabitants scarcely noticed them, in comparison with the boom of the cannons they heard beyond the town. It was the bombardment, which Napoleon had ordered to be opened upon the town at four o'clock from one hundred and thirty cannons. The people did not at first grasp the meaning of this bombardment.
The sounds of the dropping grenades and cannon balls at first only excited the curiosity of the people. Ferapontov's wife, who had till then been wailing in the shed, ceased, and with the baby in her arms went out to the gate, staring in silence at the people, and listening to the sounds.
The cook and shopman came out to the gate. All of them were trying with eager curiosity to get a glimpse of the projectiles as they flew over their heads. Several persons came round the corner in eager conversation.
“What force!” one was saying; “roof and ceiling were smashed up to splinters.”
“Like a pig routing into the earth, it went!” said another.
“Isn't it first-rate? Wakes one up!” he said laughing.
“It's as well you skipped away or it would have flattened you out.”
Others joined this group. They stopped and described how a cannon ball had dropped on a house close to them. Meanwhile other projectiles—now a cannon ball, with rapid, ominous hiss, and now a grenade with a pleasant whistle—flew incessantly over the people's heads: but not one fell close, all of them flew over. Alpatitch got into his gig. Ferapontov was standing at the gate.
“Will you never have done gaping!” he shouted to the cook, who in her red petticoat, with her sleeves tucked up and her bare elbows swinging, had stepped to the corner to listen to what was being said.
“A wonder it is!” she was saying, but hearing her master's voice, she came back, pulling down her tucked-up skirt.
Again something hissed, but very close this time, like a bird swooping down; there was a flash of fire in the middle of the street, the sound of a shot, and the street was filled with smoke.
“Scoundrel, what are you about?” shouted Ferapontov, running up to the cook.
At the same instant there rose a piteous wailing from the women; the baby set up a terrified howling, and the people crowded with pale faces round the cook. Above them all rose out of the crowd the moans and cries of the cook.
“O-o-oy, good kind souls, blessed friends! don't let me die! Good kind souls!…”
Five minutes later no one was left in the street. The cook, with her leg broken by the bursting grenade, had been carried into the kitchen. Alpatitch, his coachman, Ferapontov's wife and children and the porter were sitting in the cellar listening. The thunder of the cannon, the hiss of the balls, and the piteous moaning of the cook, which rose above all the noise, never ceased for an instant. Ferapontov's wife alternately dandled and soothed her baby, and asked in a frightened whisper of every one who came into the cellar where was her husband, who had remained in the street. The shopman told her the master had gone with the crowd to the cathedral, where they were raising on high the wonder-working, holy picture of Smolensk.
Towards dusk the cannonade began to subside. Alpatitch came out of the cellar and stood in the doorway.
The clear evening sky was all overcast with smoke. And a new crescent moon looked strange, shining high up in the sky, through that smoke. After the terrible thunder of the cannons had ceased, a hush seemed to hang over the town, broken only by the footsteps, which seemed all over the town, the sound of groans and distant shouts, and the crackle of fires. The cook's moans had ceased now. On two sides black clouds of smoke from fires rose up and drifted away. Soldiers in different uniforms walked and ran about the streets in different directions, not in ranks, but like ants out of a disturbed ant heap. Several of them ran in Ferapontov's yard before Alpatitch's eyes. He went out to the gate. A regiment, crowded and hurrying, blocked up the street, going back.
“The town's surrendered; get away, get away,” said an officer noticing his figure; and turning immediately to the soldiers, he shouted, “I'll teach you to run through the yards!”
Alpatitch went back to the house, and calling the coachman told him to set off. Alpatitch and the coachman were followed out by all the household of Ferapontov. When they saw the smoke and even the flames of burning houses, which began to be visible now in the dusk, the women, who had been silent till then, broke into a sudden wail, as they gazed at the fires. As though seconding them, similar wails rose up in other parts of the street. Alpatitch and the coachman with trembling hands pulled out the tangled reins and the traces of the horses under the shed.
As Alpatitch was driving out of the gate, he saw about a dozen soldiers in loud conversation in Ferapontov's open shop. They were filling their bags and knapsacks with wheaten flour and sunflower seeds. At that moment Ferapontov returned and went into the shop. On seeing the soldiers, he was about to shout at them, but all at once he stopped short, and clutching at his hair broke into a sobbing laugh.
“Carry it all away, lads! Don't leave it for the devils,” he shouted, snatching up the sacks himself and pitching them into the street. Some of the soldiers ran away in a fright, others went on filling up their bags. Seeing Alpatitch, Ferapontov turned to him.
“It's all over with Russia!” he shouted. “Alpatitch! it's all over! I'll set fire to it myself. It's over…”Ferapontov ran into the house.
An unbroken stream of soldiers was blocking up the whole street, so that Alpatitch could not pass and was obliged to wait. Ferapontov's wife and children were sitting in a cart too, waiting till it was possible to start.
It was by now quite dark. There were stars in the sky, and from time to time the new moon shone through the veil of smoke. Alpatitch's and his hostess's vehicles moved slowly along in the rows of soldiers and of other conveyances, and on the slope down to the Dnieper they had to halt altogether. In a lane not far from the cross-roads where the traffic had come to a full stop, there were shops and a house on fire. The fire was by now burning down. The flame died down and was lost in black smoke, then flared up suddenly, lighting up with strange distinctness the faces of the crowd at the cross-roads. Black figures were flitting about before the fire, and talk and shouts could be heard above the unceasing crackling of the flames. Alpatitch, seeing that it would be some time before his gig could move forward, got out and went back to the lane to look at the fire. Soldiers were scurrying to and fro before the fire; and Alpatitch saw two soldiers with a man in a frieze coat dragging burning beams from the fire across the street to a house near, while others carried armfuls of hay.
Alpatitch joined a great crowd of people standing before a high corn granary in full blaze. The walls were all in flames; the back wall had fallen in; the plank roof was breaking down, and the beams were glowing. The crowd were evidently watching for the moment when the roof would fall in. Alpatitch too waited to see it.
“Alpatitch!” the old man suddenly heard a familiar voice calling to him.
“Mercy on us, your excellency,” answered Alpatitch, instantly recognising the voice of his young master.
Prince Andrey, wearing a cape, and mounted on a black horse, was in the crowd, and looking at Alpatitch.
“How did you come here?” he asked.
“Your…your excellency!” Alpatitch articulated, and he broke into sobs.…“Your, your…is it all over with us, really? Master…”
“How is it you are here?” repeated Prince Andrey. The flames flared up at that instant, and Alpatitch saw in the bright light his young master's pale and worn face. Alpatitch told him how he had been sent to the town and had difficulty in getting away.
“What do you say, your excellency, is it all over with us?” he asked again.
Prince Andrey, making no reply, took out his note-book, and raising his knee, scribbled in pencil on a leaf he had torn out. He wrote to his sister:
“Smolensk has surrendered,” he wrote. “Bleak Hills will be occupied by the enemy within a week. Set off at once for Moscow. Let me know at once when you start; send a messenger to Usvyazh.”
Scribbling these words, and giving Alpatitch the paper, he gave him further directions about sending off the old prince, the princess and his son with his tutor, and how and where to let him hear, as soon as they had gone. Before he had finished giving those instructions, a staff officer, followed by his suite, galloped up to him.
“You a colonel,” shouted the staff officer, in a voice Prince Andrey knew speaking with a German accent. “Houses are being set on fire in your presence and you stand still! What's the meaning of it? You will answer for it,” shouted Berg, who was now assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant of the chief officer of the staff of the commander of the left flank of the infantry of the first army, a very agreeable and prominent position, so Berg said.
Prince Andrey stared at him, and without making any reply went on addressing Alpatitch.
“Tell them then that I shall wait for an answer till the 10th, and if I don't receive news by the 10th, that they have all gone away, I shall be obliged to throw up everything and go myself to Bleak Hills.”
“Prince,” said Berg, recognising Prince Andrey, “I only speak because it's my duty to carry out my instructions, because I always do exactly carry out…You must please excuse me,” Berg tried to apologise.
There was a crash in the fire. The flames subsided for an instant; black clouds of smoke rolled under the roof. There was another fearful crash, and the falling of some enormous weight.
“Ooo-roo!” the crowd yelled, as the ceiling of the granary fell in, and a smell of baked cakes rose from the burning wheat. The flames flared up again, and lighted up the delighted and careworn faces of the crowd around it.
The man in the frieze coat, brandishing his arms in the air, was shouting:
“First-rate! Now she's started! First-rate, lads!…” “That's the owner himself,” murmured voices.
“So you tell them everything I have told you,” said Prince Andrey, addressing Alpatitch. And without bestowing a word on Berg, who stood mute beside him, he put spurs to his horse and rode down the lane.
尼古拉·安德烈伊奇·博尔孔斯基公爵的庄园、童山，在斯摩棱斯克背后六十俄里，离莫斯科大道三俄里。 
就在公爵给阿尔帕特奇作指示的那天晚上，德萨尔求见玛丽亚公爵小姐，告诉她说，鉴于公爵健康欠佳，而且对自己的安全也未采取任何措施，而据安德烈公爵的来信看，显然留在童山是不安全的，因此他恭敬地劝她亲自给总督写一封信，让阿尔帕特奇带到斯摩棱斯克，求他把战局和童山所受到的威胁程度告诉她。德萨尔替玛丽亚公爵小姐代笔写了一封信给总督的信，由她签了名，才把这封信交给阿尔帕特奇，命令他呈送总督。如遇到危险，就尽快赶回来。
阿尔帕特奇接到指示后，就戴上白绒毛帽子（公爵的礼物），像公爵似的拿着手杖，由家里的人伴送，一出门就坐上了驾三匹肥壮的、毛色黄褐而黑鬃的马拉的皮篷马车。
大铃铛包了起来，小铃铛也塞满了纸，因为公爵不让人在童山坐带铃铛的马车。但是阿尔帕特奇却喜欢在出远门时乘坐的车带着大小的铃铛。阿尔帕特奇的“朝臣”们——行政长官，事务员，厨娘（一黑一白的两个老太太），哥萨克小孩，马车夫以及各种农奴；都出来为他送行。
他的女儿把印花色彩的鸭绒坐垫放在他背靠背后面和身下，老姨子还偷偷地塞给他一小包东西。然后才由一个马车夫搀扶着他上车。
“嘿，老娘儿们全出动！老娘儿们，老娘儿们！”阿尔帕特奇正像老公爵，气喘吁吁地、急促地说了才坐上车去。同时对行政长官作了有关事务性的最后指示。这次他不再照公爵那样了，从秃头上取下帽子，画了三次十字。
“您，如果有什么……您就回来吧，雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇；看在基督的面上，可怜可怜我们吧！”他的妻子向他叫喊道，暗示他有关战争和敌人的流言。
“老娘儿们，老娘儿们，老娘儿们全出动！”阿尔帕特奇自言自语说罢，上路后，他环顾着四周的田野，有的地方黑麦已经黄熟，有的地方是青枝绿叶茂密的燕麦，有的地方还是刚刚开始再耕的黑土。阿尔帕特奇坐在车上欣赏着当年春播作物少有的好收成，仔细瞧了瞧黑麦田的地块，有几处已经开始收割，于是他用心盘算着播和收获，然后又想到有没有忘记公爵的什么吩咐。
路上喂过两次马，八月四日傍晚，阿尔帕特奇到了城里。
在途中，阿尔帕特奇遇到并越过了辎重车和军队。他快到斯摩棱斯克时，听到了远处的枪声，但枪声并没有使他吃惊。使他最吃惊的是他临近斯摩棱斯克时，看见有些士兵正在割一片长势很好的燕麦，显然是用来喂马的。而燕麦地里还驻着一个兵营；这种情况使阿尔帕特奇大吃一惊；但是他一心想着自己的事，很快就把它忘掉了。
阿尔帕特奇三十多年的一切生活兴趣，只局限于公爵的心愿范围内，他从来没有超越出这个范围。凡是与执行公爵的命令无关的事，他不仅不感兴趣，而且对阿尔帕特奇来说是不存在的。
八月四日傍晚，阿尔帕特奇到达斯摩棱斯克，住宿在德聂伯河对岸的加钦斯克郊区，费拉蓬托夫的旅店里，三十年来他在这里住习惯了。十二年前，费拉蓬托夫沾了阿尔帕特奇的光，从公爵手里买下了一片小树林，开始做生意，如今在省城里已经有了一所房子，一家旅店和一爿面粉店。费拉蓬托夫是一个身体肥胖、面色黑红，四十来岁的庄稼汉，他嘴唇粗厚，鼻子俨如一颗粗大的肉瘤，皱起的浓眉上方也长着有同样粗大的两个肉瘤，此外还有一个凸起的大肚子。
身穿背心和印花衬衫的费拉蓬托夫，站在面临大街的面粉店的傍边，他看见了阿尔帕特奇，便向他走过去。
“欢迎，欢迎，雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇！人家都出城，你倒进城来。”店主说。
“为什么要出城？”阿尔帕特奇问道。
“我也说嘛，老百姓太愚蠢！还不是怕法国人呗！”
“老娘儿们的见识，老娘儿们的见识！”阿尔帕特奇说。
“我也是这么推想的，雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇。我说，有了命令不让他们进来，那就是说，这是对的。但是庄稼汉要三个卢布的车费，因为他们真是天良丧尽！”
雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇漫不经心地听着。他要了一壶茶和喂马的干草，然后喝足了茶，便躺下睡觉了。
通宵达旦，军队都在街上不停地从旅店傍边走过。第二天，阿尔帕特奇穿上只有在城里才穿的坎肩，出门去办事。早晨阳光灿烂，八点钟就很热了。阿尔帕特奇认为，是收割庄稼的好日子。从早晨起就听得见城外的枪声。
从早晨八点开始，步枪声中夹杂着大炮的轰鸣，街上有许多不知往何处急急忙忙走着的行人，也还有士兵，但仍和平时一样，马车来来往往，商人站在店铺里，教堂里做礼拜。阿尔帕特奇走遍商店、政府机关和邮局，并看望了总督。在政府机关、商店和邮局里，大家都在谈论军队，谈论已经开始攻城的敌人；大家都在互相探询应该怎么办，大家都在竭力互相安慰安慰。
阿尔帕特奇在总督住它的前边发现有许多人，哥萨克士兵和总督的一辆旅行马车。雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇在台阶上遇到两个贵族绅士，其中有一个他认识。他认识的那个贵族绅士过去当过县警察局长，正在激动地说：
“要知道，这不是闹着玩的！”他说，“单独一个人谁都好办。一个人倒霉一人当，可是一家十三口人，还有全部的财产……弄得家破人亡，这算个什么长官呀？……哎，就该绞死这帮强盗……”
“行啦！得啦！”另一位贵族绅士说。
“我犯什么法，让他听见好了！我们又不是狗。”前任警察局长说罢，便回头看了一下，看见了阿尔帕特奇。
“啊，雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇，你来干什么？”
“奉公爵大人之命，前来拜见总督先生。”阿尔帕特奇回答后，才傲慢地抬起头来，把一只手放在怀里，每当他提起公爵时，总是摆出这个模样……“派我来打听一下战役的局势。”他说。
“是的，你就打听去吧！”在场的一位地主大声说，“他们弄得一辆大车也没有了，甚至什么东西也没有了！……这不是，你听见了吗？”他指着传来枪声的方向说。
“弄得大家全都给毁了……狗强盗！”他又说了几句，然后才走下台阶。
阿尔帕特奇摇了摇头，便上楼去了。在接待室里有商人、妇女、官吏，他们都相视沉默不语。办公室的门开了，大家都站起来向前移动。从门里跑出来一个官吏，同一位商人说了几句话，叫了一个脖子上挂着十字架的胖官吏跟他来，又进到门里去了。显然是避免大家投向地的目光和向他提出问题。阿尔帕特奇向前移动了一下，在那位官吏再走出来时，他把一只手插进扣着的常礼服的胸襟里，向官吏打了招呼，并递给他两封信。
“这是博尔孔斯基公爵上将递交给阿什男爵先生的信。”他这样郑重而又意味深长地宣告，以致那位官吏便转向他，把信接过去。过了几分钟，总督就接见了阿尔帕特奇，并匆匆忙忙地对他说。
“请向公爵和公爵小姐禀报，就说我什么都不知道，因为我是遵照最高当局的命令行动的——你看就是……”
接着他递给阿尔帕特奇一份公文。
“不过，因为公爵健康欠佳，我劝他去莫斯科。我也马上就要走了。请禀告……”但是总督话还没有说完，一个灰尘垢面，浑身大汗的军官跑进门来，开始用法语说了几句不知什么话。总督的脸上现出惊骇万分的神情。
“去吧！”他向阿尔帕特奇点了点头说话后，又开始向那位军官询问什么。当他走出总督办公室的时候，那些渴求、惊慌，孤立无援的目光都投到阿尔帕特奇的身上。阿尔帕特奇不由自主地谛听着这时离得很近的、仍然是猛烈的枪炮声，他急忙赶回旅店。总督给阿尔帕特奇的公文如下：
“我向您保证，斯摩棱斯克城现在还没有面临丝毫的危险，可能受到威胁也令人难于置信。我从一方面，巴格拉季翁公爵从另一方面于二十二日在斯摩棱斯前面会师，从而两军联合兵力共同保卫贵省的同胞，直到我们努力把祖国的敌人击退，或者我们英勇的队伍一直战斗到最后一个人。由此可见，您有充分的权力安慰斯摩棱斯克的市民。因为受到如此英勇军队保卫的人，可以相信他们会获得胜利。”（巴克莱·德·托利给斯摩棱斯克总督阿什男爵的训令。一八一二年）。
人们神情不安地在街上走来走去。
满载着家用食具，坐椅和柜子的大车，不断地从住宅的大门里开出来，沿街行驶。在费拉蓬托夫家隔壁的门前，停着几辆马车，妇女们一面互道再见，一面嚎哭着说话。一条看家狗在驾上马拉的马车前叫着转来转去。
阿尔帕特奇迈着比平时更为匆忙的步伐向旅店走进去，直接走到停放他的车马棚那里。车夫睡着了，他叫醒他，吩咐套马，然后走进穿堂。在店主的正房里听见有个孩子的哭声，一个妇女撕肝裂肺的号啕声，费拉蓬托夫嘶哑的愤怒的尖叫声。这时阿尔帕特奇刚一进门来，厨娘像一只受惊的母鸡一样，正在穿堂里乱窜。
“打死人了，——老板娘给打死了！……又打，又拖啊！
……”
“为了什么？”阿尔帕特奇问。
“她央求离开这里。妇道人家嘛！她说；你带我走吧！不要让我和小孩子们一起都毁掉了吧；人家都走光了，她又说，咱们干吗不走？于是就开始打她了。而且又打；又拖呀！”
阿尔帕特奇听到这番话后，好像是赞同地点了点头，但又不想再听下去，便向对面店主正房的门口走去，因为他买的东西放在这里。
“你这个恶棍，凶手！”这时，有个瘦削、脸色苍白的女人，手中抱着一个孩子，头巾从头上扯了下来，她一面叫喊道，一面从门里冲出来，下了台阶便向院子里跑去，费拉蓬托夫跟着追她，一见到阿尔帕特奇，他便理了理背心和头发，打了个呵欠，就尾随阿尔帕特奇进屋去了。
“难道你就想走了吗？”他问。
阿尔帕特奇既不答话，也未回头看一下店主，只顾查看自己买好的东西，问店主应付多少房钱。
“算一下吧！怎么样，到总督那里去了吗？”费拉蓬托夫问，“有什么决定吗？”
阿尔帕特奇回答说，总督根本没对他说什么。
“干我们这一行的，难道能搬走吗？”费拉蓬托夫说。“到多罗戈布日租辆大车得付七个卢布。所以我说，他们丧尽天良！”他说。
“谢利瓦诺夫星期四投了个机，面粉卖给军队，九卢布一袋，怎么样，您要喝茶吗？”他补充说。套马的时候，阿尔帕特奇和费拉蓬托夫一同喝茶，谈论粮价、收成和适于收割的好天气。
“到底还是停下来了！”费拉蓬托夫喝完了三杯茶，站起来说，“一定是我们的军队打胜了。已经说了，不让他们进来嘛。这就是说，我们有能力……前些日子，据说马特维·伊万内奇·普拉托夫①把他们赶到了马里纳河里，一天淹死一万八千左右的人，难道不是！” 
①马·伊·普拉托夫（1761～1818），俄国骑兵将领，一八一二年在与法军作战中战功卓著，是当时顿河哥萨克人民军的发起者和组织者。
阿尔帕特奇收拾好买的东西，交给进房来的车夫，同店主结清了账。一辆轻便马车驶出大门，传来车轮、马蹄和小铃铛的声音。
早就过了晌午了，街的一半是阴影，街的另一边则被太阳照得明亮亮的。阿尔帕特奇向窗外望了一眼，便向门口走去。突然听见有叫人觉得奇怪地、远方传来的呼啸声和碰撞声，随后又传来了一阵震动玻璃窗的炮弹的隆隆声。
阿尔帕特奇走到街上，街上有两个人向大桥跑去。四面八方传来了炮弹的嗖嗖声、轰隆声以及落在城内的榴弹爆炸声。但是这些声音和城外的枪炮声比起来，几乎是听不见的，不为市民所注意的。这是下午四点钟拿破仑下令，用一百三十尊大炮向这座城市轰击。起初，老百姓还不理解这次轰击的意义。
榴弹和炮弹降落的声音，开始只引起了人们的好奇心。费拉蓬托夫的妻子在板棚里不停地哭到现在，她也不作声了，抱着孩子向大门口走去，默默地望着行人，倾听着枪炮声。
厨娘和一个伙计也来到大门口。大家都怀着愉快的好奇心情，竭力看一看从他们头上飞过去的炮弹。从街的拐角处过来几个人，他们正在兴奋地谈论着什么。
“这真威力大！”有一个人说，“把房顶和天花板都打得碎片纷飞。”
“像猪拱土一样。”另一个人说。
“多么带劲！好大的威力！”他笑着说。
“好在你跳开了，否则会把你炸得稀巴烂！”
人们都朝这两个人看着。他们停了下来，讲到有一发炮弹正落在他们身边的房屋上的情景。这时，又有一些炮弹不停地从人们头上飞过，时而发出迅速沉闷的啸声，这是一种圆形炮弹，时而听到悦耳的呼啸，这是一种榴弹；但是没有一发炮弹落在附近，都飞过去了。阿尔帕特奇坐上皮篷马车走了，店主仍站在门前。
“没有什么可看的！”他对厨娘喊道。那个厨娘穿着红裙子，卷起袖子，摇摆着两只裸露的胳膊肘，走到角落里，听他们说话。
“这真奇怪！”她说。但是她听到主人的声音，便放下撩起的裙子，走回来了。
又响起了嗖嗖的呼啸声，但这一次离得很近，好像飞鸟俯冲一样，只见街心火光一闪，不知什么东西爆炸开了，顿时街上弥漫着硝烟。
“混蛋，你这是干什么？”店主喊叫一声，便向厨娘跑去。
就在这一瞬间，四面八方的妇女都悲惨地呼号，一个小孩也惊恐地哭起来，人们面色苍白，默默地群集在厨娘的周围。在这一人群之中，厨娘的呻吟声和说话声听起来至今清晰。
“唉哟，我的好人啊！我的亲人啊！别让我死啊！我的好人啊！……”
五分钟后，街上空无一人。榴弹碎片打伤了厨娘的大腿，有人把她抬到厨房里。阿尔帕特奇、他的车夫、费拉蓬托夫的妻子和几个孩子们，还有看门的都坐在地窖里听候外面的动静。隆隆的炮声、炮弹的呼啸声和厨娘比其他人的声音都高的、可怜的哀号声，一刻也没有停止过。旅店老板娘时而摇晃哄着孩子，时而用可怜的低语问所有进地窖的人，她的留在街上的丈夫在哪里。进地窖的伙计告诉她说，店主和其他人都到大教堂那里抬斯摩棱斯克显灵的圣像去了。
接近黄昏时，炮弹声开始平静下来。阿尔帕特奇从地窖里走出来，站在门口边。开初明朗的夜空还弥漫着烟雾，然后一轮新月高悬中天，透过烟雾奇异地闪光。在原先可怕的炮声停止后，城市的上空显得寂静了，好像只有满城的脚步声，呻吟声，遥远的喊叫声和着大的毕剥声打破了沉寂。厨娘的呻吟声现在也静下来了。有两处、团团的黑烟腾空而起，扩散开来。穿着各种制服的士兵，好像是从捣毁了的蚁巢中逃出来的蚂蚁一样，不成队列地朝着不同的方向，走的走，跑的跑。阿尔帕特奇亲眼看见其中几个士兵向费拉蓬托夫的院子跑去。而他也走到大门口去了。有一个团前拥后挤地匆忙往后撤退，把街道都堵塞起来了。
“这个城市放弃了，走吧，走吧！”那个看见他的身影的军官向他说，立刻又转身喝开那些士兵：
“我让你们向人家院子里跑去的！”他大喝一声。
阿尔帕特奇回到屋里，叫了车夫，吩咐他赶车上路。费拉蓬托夫全家人都跟着阿尔帕特奇和车夫走出门来。一直默不作声的妇女们，一看见滚滚的浓烟，特别是看见这时在暮色中已经很明显的大焰，就望着大火的地方哭起来了。街道别的角落里也传来了同样的哭声，似乎同她们遥相呼应。阿尔帕特奇和车夫在屋檐下用颤抖的双手整理着缠结的缠绳和挽索。
阿尔帕特奇从大门出来坐上车走时，看到费拉蓬托夫敞开的店里有十来个士兵，一面大声说话，一面把面粉和葵花子装进口袋和背包。那时，费拉蓬托夫从街上回来，走进店里。他看见士兵之后，本想要喊叫一声什么，可他突然停了下来，抓住头发，又哭又哈哈大笑起来。
“把东西都拿走吧，弟兄们！不要留给魔鬼！”他喊叫道，并亲自搬了几袋面粉扔到街上。有的士兵吓跑了，有的士兵还在装。费拉蓬托夫看见了阿尔帕特奇，便转身对他说。
“完了！俄罗斯！”他大喊大叫。“阿尔帕特奇！完了！我要亲自来放火。完了……”费拉蓬托夫跑进院子里去了。
士兵川流不息地在街上走过，堵塞了整个街道，因此阿尔帕特奇过不去，一定得等着。费拉蓬托夫的妻子带着孩子们也坐在一辆大车上，等到通行时才过去。
已经完全是黑夜了。天空出现了星星，新月不时地从烟雾中闪现出来。在通往德聂伯河的斜坡上，阿尔帕特奇和店主妻子的车辆，在士兵和别的车辆中间缓缓地移动着，有时一定得停下来。离停车的十字路口不远的一条胡同里，一处住宅和几家店铺在着火，但火快要燃尽。有时火焰熄灭，消失在黑烟里，有时又忽然明亮地燃烧。极其清晰地照耀挤在十字路口的人的脸上。火场前边隐约有几个黑的人影，透过火焰不停的哔剥声，听得见人们的谈话声和喊叫声。阿尔帕特奇见他的车子一时过不去，就从车上下来，拐到胡同里去看火。士兵不断地在火旁前后乱窜，阿尔帕特奇看见两个士兵和一个穿厚呢子军大衣的人从火场里拖出一段燃着的圆木，另外几个人抱着干草到街的对面的院子里去。
阿尔帕特奇走到一大群人那里，他们站在一个全部燃烧得正旺的高大的仓库对面，墙都在火里，后墙倒塌了，木板房顶也塌陷了，椽子都在燃烧。显然，人群都在等待屋顶塌下来。阿尔帕特奇也在等这个时刻。
“阿尔帕特奇！”突然一个熟悉的声音在叫老人的名字。
“我的天啊，原来是公爵大人！”阿尔帕特奇回答说，他立刻就听出来是小公爵的声音。
安德烈公爵穿着外套，骑着一匹乌黑的马，正站在人群后边望着阿尔帕特奇。
“你怎么到这儿来了！”他问。
“公……公爵大人！”阿尔帕特奇说着说着说哭起来了……“公……公爵大人，我们完蛋了吗？我的上帝！……”
“你怎么到这儿来了！”安德烈公爵又问。
这时，火焰明亮地燃烧起来，照亮了阿尔帕特奇的小主人苍白而憔悴的脸。阿尔帕特奇讲了，他是怎样被派到这里，又好不容易才走了出来。
“怎么，公爵大人，我们真的完蛋了吗？”他又问。
安德烈公爵没有作回答，他掏出笔记本，抬起膝盖，在撕下的一页纸上用铅笔给他的妹妹写道：
“斯摩棱斯克要放弃了！一星期之后童山将被敌人所占领。你们立刻动身去莫斯科。马上告诉我，何时上路，并派一名信使去乌斯维亚日。”
他写完后，就把那张便笺交给阿尔帕特奇，还口头交待他，怎样照料公爵、公爵小姐、他的儿子和教师上路，怎样立刻回信并把信寄到哪里。他还未来得及说完这些指示，便有一个参谋长，带着侍从骑马向他奔驰而来。
“您是团长吗？”参谋长用安德烈公爵熟悉的德语口音喊道。“当着您的面烧房子，您却站着不动？这意味着什么？您要负责！”贝格叫嚷着，他现在是第一军步兵左翼司令官的副参谋长，正如贝格所说，这是一个显然很称心的美差。
安德烈公爵望了望他，没有答理，继续向阿尔帕特奇说：
“你告诉他说，我等回信等到十号，如果十号我还得不到他们启程的消息，我就要放弃一切，亲自到童山去走一趟。”
“公爵，我说这话，只因为我应该执行命令，”贝格认出安德烈公爵后说，“因为我一向是严格执行，……请您原谅我吧！”贝格替自己辩解说。
“火焰中哔剥响起来。后来火光又熄了一会儿；滚滚的浓烟从房顶下面不断冒出来。火焰中又有一声可怕的巨响，有个巨大的东西坍塌下来了。
“哎唷！”人们随着粮仓塌下来的天花板的响声吼叫起来，燃烧过的粮食从粮仓那里散发出面饼的香味。火焰又突然升起来，照亮了站在大场周围的人们兴奋、欢快而又精疲力尽的脸。
一个穿厚呢子军大衣的人举手叫喊道：
“好呀！来吧！弟兄们，好呀……。”
“这是本店的人！”异口同声地说。
“那，那么，”安德烈公爵问阿尔帕特奇说，“把我向你所说的一切都转告给他们。”但他一句话也没有回答那默默不语地站在他身旁的贝格，摸了一下马，便走到胡同里去了。
Book 10 Chapter 5
FROM SMOLENSK the troops continued to retreat. The enemy followed them. On the 10th of August the regiment of which Prince Andrey was in command was marching along the high-road past the avenue that led to Bleak Hills. The heat and drought had lasted more than three weeks. Every day curly clouds passed over the sky, rarely covering the sun; but towards evening the sky cleared again and the sun set in a glowing, red mist. But a heavy dew refreshed the earth at night. The wheat left in the fields was burnt up and dropping out of the ear. The marshes were dry. The cattle lowed from hunger, finding nothing to graze on in the sunbaked meadows. Only at night in the woods, as long as the dew lasted, it was cool. But on the road, on the high-road along which the troops marched, there was no coolness even at night, not even where the road passed through the woods. The dew was imperceptible on the sandy dust of the road, more than a foot deep. As soon as it was daylight, the soldiers began to move. The transports and artillery moved noiselessly, buried up to their axles, and the infantry sank to their ankles in the soft, stifling, burning dust, that never got cool even at night. The sandy dust clung to their legs and to the wheels, rose in a cloud over their heads, and got into the eyes and hair and nostrils and lungs of the men and beasts that moved along the road. The higher the sun rose, the higher rose the cloud of dust, and through the fine, burning dust the sun in the cloudless sky looked like a purple ball, at which one could gaze with undazzled eyes. There was no wind, and the men gasped for breath in the stagnant atmosphere. They marched with handkerchiefs tied over their mouths and noses. When they reached the villages, there was a rush for the wells. They fought over the water and drank it down to the mud.
Prince Andrey was in command of a regiment; and the management of the regiment, the welfare of his men, the necessity of receiving and giving orders occupied his mind. The burning and abandonment of Smolensk made an epoch in Prince Andrey's life. A new feeling of intense hatred of the enemy made him forget his own sorrow. He was devoted heart and soul to the interests of his regiment; he was careful of the welfare of his men and his officers, and cordial in his manner with them. They called him in the regiment “our prince,” were proud of him, and loved him. But he was kind and gentle only with his own men, with Timohin, and others like him, people quite new to him, belonging to a different world, people who could have no notion of his past. As soon as he was brought into contact with any of his old acquaintances, any of the staff officers, he bristled up again at once, and was vindictive, ironical, and contemptuous. Everything associated by memories with the past was repulsive to him, and so, in his relations with that old world, he confined himself to trying to do his duty, and not to be unfair.
Prince Andrey, in fact, saw everything in the darkest, gloomiest light, especially after Smolensk, which he considered could and should have been defended, had been abandoned, on the 6th of August, and his invalid father had been forced, as he supposed, to flee to Moscow, leaving Bleak Hills, the house that he had so loved, that he had designed and settled with his peasants, to be plundered. But in spite of that, thanks to his position, Prince Andrey had another subject to think of, quite apart from all general questions, his regiment. On the 10th of August, the column of which his regiment formed part reached the turning leading off to Bleak Hills. Two days before Prince Andrey had received the news that his father, his son, and his sister had gone away to Moscow. Though there was nothing for Prince Andrey to do at Bleak Hills, he decided, with characteristic desire to aggravate his own sufferings, that he must ride over there.
He ordered his horse to be saddled, and turned off from the main line of march towards his father's house, where he had been born and had spent his childhood. As he rode by the pond, where there always used to be dozens of peasant women gossiping, rinsing their linen, or beating it with washing bats, Prince Andrey noticed that there was no one by the pond, and that the platform where they used to stand had been torn away, and was floating sideways in the middle of the pond, half under water. Prince Andrey rode up to the keeper's lodge. There was no one to be seen at the stone gates and the door was open. The paths of the garden were already overgrown with weeds, and cattle and horses were straying about the English park. Prince Andrey rode up to the conservatory: the panes were smashed, and some of the trees in tubs were broken, others quite dried up. He called Taras, the gardener. No one answered. Going round the conservatory on the terrace, he saw that the paling-fence was all broken down, and branches of the plum-trees had been pulled off with the fruit. An old peasant, whom Prince Andrey used to see in his childhood at the gate, was sitting on the green garden seat plaiting bast shoes.
He was deaf, and did not hear Prince Andrey's approach. He was sitting on the seat on which the old prince liked to sit, and near him the bast was hanging on the branches of a broken and dried-up magnolia.
Prince Andrey rode up to the house. Several lime-trees in the old garden had been cut down; a piebald mare and a colt were among the rose-trees just before the house. The shutters were all up in the house, except on one open window downstairs. A servant lad caught sight of Prince Andrey and ran into the house.
Alpatitch had sent his family away, and was staying on alone at Bleak Hills. He was sitting indoors, reading the Lives of the Saints. On hearing that Prince Andrey had come, he ran out, spectacles on nose, buttoning himself up, hurried up to the prince, and without uttering a word, burst into tears, kissing his knee.
Then he turned away in anger at his own weakness, and began giving him an account of the position of affairs. Everything precious and valuable had been moved to Bogutcharovo. Corn to the amount of a hundred measures had been carried away, but the hay, and the wheat—an extraordinary crop that season, so Alpatitch said—had been cut green and carried off by the troops. The peasants were ruined: some of them, too, had gone to Bogutcharovo; a small number remained. Prince Andrey, not heeding his words, asked, “When did my father and sister go?” meaning when had they set off for Moscow. Alpatitch, assuming he was asking about the removal to Bogutcharovo, answered that they had set off on the 7th, and began going off again into details about the crops, asking for instructions.
“Is it your honour's orders that I let the oats go on getting a receipt from the officers?” asked Alpatitch. “We have still six hundred measures left.”
“What am I to say to him?” Prince Andrey wondered, looking at the old man's bald head shining in the sun, and reading in his face the consciousness that he knew himself the untimeliness of those questions, and asked them only to stifle his own grief.
“Yes, let it go,” he said.
“If your excellency noticed any disorder in the garden,” said Alpatitch, “it could not be prevented; three regiments have been here and spent the night. The dragoons were the worst; I noted down the name and rank of the commanding officer to lodge a complaint.”
“Well, and what are you going to do? Shall you stay, if the enemy occupies the place?” Prince Andrey asked him.
Alpatitch turned his face towards Prince Andrey and looked at him; then all at once, with a solemn gesture, he lifted his hand upwards: “He is my protector, and His will be done!” he said. A group of peasants and house-serfs were coming across the meadow, uncovering their heads as they drew near Prince Andrey.
“Well, good-bye!” said Prince Andrey, bending over to Alpatitch. “Go away yourself; take what you can; and tell the peasants to set off for the Ryazan estate or the property near Moscow.”
Alpatitch hugged his leg and broke into sobs. Prince Andrey gently moved him away, and spurring his horse galloped down the garden walk.
On the terrace the old man was still sitting as before, as uninterested as a fly on some beloved dead face, knocking on the sole of the bast shoe. And two little girls came running from the plum-trees in the conservatories with their skirts full of plums. They ran almost against Prince Andrey, and seeing their young master, the elder one clutched her younger companion by the hand, with a panic-stricken face, and hid with her behind a birch-tree not stopping to pick up the green plums they had dropped.
Prince Andrey turned away from them in nervous haste, afraid of letting them notice that he had seen them. He was sorry to have frightened the pretty child. He was afraid to glance at her, but yet he felt an irresistible inclination to do so. A new soothing and consolatory feeling came upon him, as gazing at the little girls, he became aware of the existence of other human interests, utterly remote from him, and as legitimate as his own. Those little girls were evidently possessed by one passionate desire to carry off and devour those green plums without being caught, and Prince Andrey wished them success in their enterprise. He could not resist glancing at them once more. Fancying themselves already secure, they had darted out of their hiding-place, and piping something in their shrill, little voices, and holding up their skirts, they ran gaily and swiftly through the grass with their bare, sunburnt little feet.
Prince Andrey was somewhat refreshed by his ride outside the region of the dust of the high-road along which the troops were marching. But he rode back into the road not far from Bleak Hills, and overtook his regiment at the halting-place near the dike of a small pond. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon. The sun, a red ball through the dust, baked and scorched his back intolerably in his black coat. The dust stood as immovable as ever over the buzzing, halting troops. There was not a breath of wind. As he rode towards the dike, Prince Andrey smelled the fresh, muddy smell of the pond. He longed to be in the water, however muddy it might be. He looked round at the pond, from which he heard shrieks and laughter. The small pond, thickly covered with green slime, was visibly half a yard higher and overflowing the dam, because it was full of white, naked human bodies, with brick-red hands and heads and necks, all plunging about in it. All that bare white human flesh was splashing about with shrieks and laughter, in the muddy pool, like carp floundering in a net. There was a ring of merriment in that splashing, and that was what made it peculiarly sad.
One fair-haired young soldier—Prince Andrey knew him—of the third company, with a strap round the calf of his leg, stepped back, crossing himself, to get a good run, and plunge into the water. Another swarthy and very towzle-headed sergeant up to his waist in the water, bending his fine, muscular figure, was snorting with enjoyment, as he poured the water over his head with his blackened hands. There was a sound of them slapping each other, and shrieks and cries.
On the banks, on the dike, in the pond, everywhere there was white, healthy, muscular flesh. Timohin, the officer with the red nose, was rubbing himself with a towel on the dike, and was abashed at seeing Prince Andrey, but made up his mind to address him.
“It's pleasant, really, your excellency; you should try it!” he said.
“It's dirty,” said Prince Andrey, grimacing.
“We will clear it out for you in a minute.” And undressed as he was, Timohin ran to clear the men out. “The prince wants to come.”
“What prince? Our prince?” cried voices, and all of them were in such haste to make way for him that Prince Andrey hardly had time to check them. He thought it would be better for him to have a bath in a barn. “Flesh, meat, chair à canon,” he thought, looking too at his own naked body and shuddering, not so much from cold as from the repulsion and horror, mysterious to himself, that he had felt at the sight of that immense multitude of naked bodies floundering in the muddy water.
On the 7th of August, Prince Bagration, at his halting-place at Mihalovka on the Smolensk road, had written a letter to Araktcheev. Though the letter was addressed to Araktcheev, he knew it would be read to the Tsar, and therefore he weighed every word, so far as he was capable of doing so.
“DEAR COUNT ALEXEY ANDREIVITCH,—I presume that the minister has already reported the abandonment of Smolensk to the enemy. It is sad, it is pitiable, and the whole army is in despair at the most important place having been wantonly abandoned. I for my part begged him personally in the most urgent manner, and finally wrote to him; but nothing would persuade him. I swear to you on my honour that Napoleon was in a greater fix than he has ever been, and he might have lost half his army, but could not have taken Smolensk. Our troops have fought and are fighting as never before. With fifteen thousand men I have held the enemy in check for thirty-five hours and beaten them, but he wouldn't hold his ground for fourteen hours. It is a shame and a stain on our army, and as for himself, I consider he ought not to be alive. If he reports that our losses were great, it is false; perhaps about four thousand, not that, but that is nothing: if it had been ten thousand, what of it, that's war. But on the other hand the enemy's losses were immense.
“What would it have cost him to hold his ground for a couple of days? In any case they must have retired of their own accord; for they had no water for their men or their horses. He gave me his word he would not retreat, but all of a sudden sent an announcement that he was withdrawing in the night. We cannot fight in this way, and we may soon bring the enemy on to Moscow.…
“There is a rumour afloat that you are thinking of peace. To make peace, God preserve us! After all the sacrifices that have been made and after such mad retreats—to make peace, you will set all Russia against you, and every one of us will feel it a disgrace to wear the uniform. If it has come to that, we ought to fight as long as Russia can, and as long as there are men able to stand.…
“There must be one man in command, not two. Your minister, may be, is very well in the ministry; but as a general, he's not simply useless, but contemptible, and the fate of all our fatherland has been put in his hands…I am frantic, truly, with rage; forgive me for writing abusively. It is plain that the man does not love his sovereign, and desires the ruin of us all, who advises peace to be concluded and the minister to be put in command of the army. And so I write to you plainly: get the militia ready. For the minister is leading our visitors to the capital in the most skilful manner. The object of chief suspicion to the whole army is the aide-de-camp Woltzogen. They say he's more for Napoleon than for us, and everything the minister does is by his advice. I am not merely civil to him, but obey him like a corporal, though I am his senior. It is hard: but loving my sovereign and benefactor, I obey. And I grieve for the Tsar that he intrusts his gallant army to such a man. Consider that on our retreat we have lost more than fifteen thousand men from fatigue, or left sick in the hospitals; if we had attacked, that would not have been so. Tell me for God's sake what will Russia—our mother—say at our displaying such cowardice, and why are we abandoning our good and gallant country to the rabble and rousing the hatred and shame of every Russian? Why are we in a panic? what are we afraid of? It is not my fault that the minister is vacillating, cowardly, unreasonable, dilatory, and has every vice. All the army is bewailing it and loading him with abuse.…”
军队从斯摩棱斯克继续撤退。敌人紧追不舍。八月十日，安德烈公爵指挥的团队沿着大路行进，从通向童山的那条路旁经过。炎热和干旱已持续了三个多礼拜。每天，天空都飘着一团团卷曲的白云，偶尔遮住阳光；但到了黄昏，天空又一碧如洗，太阳慢慢沉入褐红色的薄雾中。只有夜晚厚重的露水滋润着大地。残留在麦茬上的麦粒被烤晒干了，撒落在田里。沼泽干涸，牲畜在被太阳烤焦的牧场上找不到饲料而饿得狂叫，只有夜晚在林子里，在露水还保存着的时候才是凉爽的。而在路上，在军队行进的大路上，甚至在夜间，即使在穿过树林，也没有那样的凉意。路面被搅起三——四寸深的尘土里，是看不到露水的。天刚一亮，部队便又开始行军。辎重车和炮车的轮毂，步兵的脚踝，都陷在酥软窒闷、夜里也未冷却的燥热的尘土里，无声地行进着。一部份的沙土被人的脚和车轮搅和着，另一部份扬起来，像云层一样悬浮在军队头顶上，钻入路上行人和牲畜的眼睛，毛发，耳朵，鼻孔，主要是钻入肺部。太阳升得愈高，尘土的云雾也升腾得愈高，但透过稀薄灼热的尘雾，那未被彩云遮盖的太阳仍然可用肉眼瞭望。太阳好似一轮火红的大球。没有一丝风，人们便在这凝滞的空气里喘息。他们行走时，都用毛巾缠住口鼻。每到一个村庄，便都涌到井边，为了争着喝水争得打起来，一直把井水喝到现出泥浆为止。 
安德烈公爵统率着他那一团人马，忙于处理兵团的杂务，官兵的福利以及必须的收发命令等事项。斯摩棱斯克的大火和城市的放弃，对安德烈公爵说来是一个时代的特征。一种新的仇恨敌人的感情使他忘掉自己的悲痛。他全神贯注于本团的事务，关心自己的士兵和自己的军官，待他们亲切。团里都叫他我们的公爵，为他感到骄傲，并且热爱他。但他只有在和本团的人，和季莫欣之类的人相处才是善良温和的，这些人都是他新认识的，而且又处于和以前不同的环境，这些人不可能了解和知道他的过去；而他一接触到自己从前的相识，接触到司令部的人，他立刻又竖起头发；变得凶狠、好嘲弄、倨傲。一切使他联想起过去的东西，都使他反感，因此，在对待先前那个圈子的关系上，他只是尽量履行职责和避免不公正而已。
的确，一切照安德烈公爵现在看来，都处于黑暗和忧郁之中——尤其是八月六日放弃了斯摩棱斯克（他认为可以而且应当守住）之后，在他的老而且病的父亲不得不逃往莫斯科，抛弃他如此心爱的多年经营的盖满了住房并且迁进人口的童山，任敌人劫抢之后更觉得暗淡、凄惨，但尽管如此，因为有这一团人马的缘故，安德烈公爵得以考虑另一个与一般问题无关的事情——考虑自己的团队。八月十日，他那一团所在的纵队行至与童山平行的地方。安德烈公爵两天前得到了父亲、妹妹和儿子去了莫斯科的消息。虽然他在童山并没有什么事情可干，但是他生性喜爱自找悲痛，他于是决定顺便到童山去。
他吩咐给他备马，骑着马从行军途中驰往他父亲的乡村。他是在那里出生并度过了童年时代的。安德烈公爵骑马经过水塘旁边，先前那里总有几十个村妇一面谈天，一面捶着捣衣棒洗刷衣服，现在一个人影也看不到，散了架的木排①一半浸到水里，歪歪斜斜地飘到水塘中央。安德烈公爵策马走近看门人的小屋。入口的石头大门旁边没有人，门也是闭锁着的。花园的小径已被杂草淹没，牛犊和马匹在英国式的公园里游荡。安德烈公爵骑马来到暖房：玻璃已被打碎，种在桶里的树有一些倒下了，有一些枯死了。他呼唤花匠塔拉斯，无人回答。他绕过暖房到了标本园，看到雕木栏干完全断裂，结着果子的一些李树枝也已折断。安德烈公爵童年在大门口常见到的那位老农奴正坐在绿色长凳上编织树皮鞋。 
①架在水塘边便于取水，洗衣，饮牲畜等。
他已聋了，听不见安德烈公爵走到近旁来。他坐在老公爵爱坐的那条长凳上，他的身旁，在枯死的折断的玉兰花枝条上，挂着树皮。
安德烈公爵骑马走到住宅前，老花园里的几棵菩提树已被砍伐，一匹花马带着马驹在住宅前边的蔷薇花丛中来回走动。窗户都钉上了护窗板。楼下的一扇窗户还开着。一个童仆看见安德烈公爵跑进住宅去了。
阿尔帕特奇送走家眷后，独自一人留在童山；他坐在屋里读一本《圣徒传》。听说安德烈公爵已回来，鼻梁上还架着眼镜，他便边扣衣服钮扣边走出宅院，急忙走到公爵身边，吻着安德烈公爵的膝盖，一句话不说地哭了起来。
然后，他转过身去，为自己的软弱而觉得气忿，开始报告各种事务。全部贵重物品都已运往博古恰罗沃。粮食，约一百俄石，也已运走；干草和春播作物，据阿尔帕特奇说，今年长势特别好是丰收作物，还未成熟就被军队割下征用了。农奴们也都破产，有些去了博古恰罗沃，一小部留了下来。
安德烈公爵不等他说完便问。
“父亲和妹妹什么时候去的？”——他指的是什么时候去莫斯科的。阿尔帕特奇以为问的是去博古恰罗沃，回答说七号去的，接着又细谈经营的事，询问今后的安排。
“您是否说军队开收条便可拿走燕麦？我们还剩下六百俄石呢。”阿尔帕特奇问。
“对他回答什么好呢？”安德烈公爵心里想，看着老人在阳光下闪闪发光的秃顶，从他脸上的表情看出，他自己也分明懂得这些问题不合时宜，不过是以问题来抑制悲伤罢了。
“好，发给他们吧。”他说。
“如果您看到花园里杂乱无章，”阿尔帕特奇说道，“那是没法防止的：有三个团经过这里，在这里住过，特别是龙骑兵。我记下了指挥官的官阶和姓名，以便递呈子。”
“呶，你怎么办呢？留下来吗，要是敌人占领了这里？”安德烈公爵问他。
阿尔帕特奇把脸转过来朝安德烈公爵，看着他，并突然庄严地举起一只手：
“上帝是我的护佑人，听从他的意旨！”他说。
成群的农奴和家奴从牧场走来，脱帽走近安德烈公爵。
“呶，告别了！”安德烈公爵从马上俯身对阿尔帕特奇说，“你自己也走，能带的都带上，把人都打发到梁赞或莫斯科附近的庄园去。”阿尔帕特奇挨着他的腿痛哭起来。安德烈公爵小心地推开他，使劲一催马，向下面的林荫道疾驰而去。
那个老头儿对这一切仍无动于衷，就像那叮在一个高贵的死者脸上的苍蝇一样，坐在标本园里敲打树皮鞋的楦头，两个小姑娘用衣裙儿兜着她们从暖房树上摘下的李子，从那里跑来碰上了安德烈公爵。大一点的那个姑娘一见到年轻的主人，满脸惊慌地拉起小伙伴的手，一起藏到一颗白桦树的后面，顾不得拾起撒落一地的青李子。
安德烈公爵也慌忙地转过脸去，避开她们，怕她们发觉他看到了她们。他怜悯那个好看的受了惊的小女孩。他害怕回头去看她，但又忍不住想看一眼。他沉浸在一阵新的喜悦的慰藉之中，因为他刚才看见那两个小女孩，明白了世上还存在着另一种对他完全陌生的合乎情理的人类的志趣，它同吸引着他的兴趣是一样的。这两个小姑娘显然渴望着一件事，即拿走和吃掉那些青李子，而且不被人抓住，安德烈公爵也同她俩一起希望这件事成功。他止不住再看了她们一眼。她们认为自己已脱离危险，便从隐藏的地方跳了出来，用尖细的小嗓子叫喊着，兜起衣襟，翻动着晒黑了的光脚板，愉快迅速地沿着牧场的草地跑开了。
离开大路上军队行进时扬起的灰尘区域，安德烈公爵多少感到一些清爽。但离童山不远，他又回到大路上，并在一处小水塘的堤坝旁，赶上正在休息的他那一团的队伍。那是午后一点多钟。太阳，灰尘弥漫中的赤红的圆球，透过他的黑外衣烘烤着他的背脊，令人难以忍受。灰尘依然一动不动地悬浮在停止前进的人声嘈杂的军队的上空。没有风。在驰马经过堤坝时，安德烈公爵闻到池塘的绿藻和清凉的气息。他很想跳到水里去——不管水是多么脏。他环视着池塘，那里传来喊叫声和笑闹的声音。这个不大的长有绿色植物的池塘，浑浊的池水已经涨高了半尺多，漫过了堤坝。因为池塘泡满了，赤裸裸的士兵、他们在池中打扑腾的手臂，脸庞和脖颈像红砖一样，而他们的躯体却是雪白的。所有这些雪白的光身子，在这肮脏的水洼里又笑又叫地扑扑通通玩，就像一群鲫鱼拥挤在一个戽斗里乱蹦乱跳似的，这样扑扑通通的玩水，带有一点欢乐的意味，因而反衬出分外的忧愁。
一个年轻的金发士兵——安德烈公爵认识他——是三连的，小腿肚上系一条皮带，画着十字往后退几步，以便更好地跑动，然后跳进水里去，另一个黑黑的，头发总是乱蓬蓬的军士，站在齐腰深的水里，肌肉发达的身子颤抖着高兴地喷着响鼻，用两只粗黑的手捧水淋自己的脑袋。池塘里响起一片互相泼水的声音，尖叫声，扑扑通通的响声。
岸上，堤坝上和池塘里，到处都是白晃晃的健康的肌肉发达的肉体。红鼻子的军官季莫欣，在堤上用毛巾擦身子，看到公爵时很难为情，但仍毅然对他说：
“可真是痛快，阁下，您也来吧！”他说。
“脏得很。”安德烈公爵皱了皱眉头说。
“我们立刻给您清场。”季莫欣还未穿上衣服就跑着去清场子。
“公爵要来洗了。”
“哪个公爵？我们的公爵吗？”许多声音一齐说，并且，大家都急忙地爬出池塘，安德烈公爵很费劲才劝阻了他们。他想还不如去棚子里冲洗一下。
“肉，躯体，chair　a　canon（炮灰）！”他看着自己赤裸的身体想道，全身哆嗦着，倒不是由于寒冷，而是由于看到众多躯体在肮脏的池塘里洗澡，因而产生一种无法理解的厌恶和恐怖。
八月七日，巴格拉季翁公爵在斯摩棱斯克大道上的米哈伊洛夫卡村驻地写了下面的信。
“阿列克谢·安德烈耶维奇伯爵阁下：（他是给阿拉克切耶夫写信，但他知道他的信将被皇上御览，故尔倾其所能地斟酌每一词语）。
我想，那位大臣已经报告了斯摩棱斯克落入敌手的消息。这一最重要的阵地白白地放弃，令人痛心悲伤，全军都陷于绝望，就我而言，我曾亲自极其恳切地说服他，后来还给他写了一封信；但什么也不能劝服他。我以我的名誉向您起誓，拿破仑从未像现在这样陷入绝境，他即使损失一半人马，也占领不了斯摩棱斯克的。我军战而又战，胜过以往。我率一万五千人坚守了三十五个小时以上，抗击了敌军；而他却不愿坚守十四小时。这真可耻，是我军的一大污点；而他自己呢，我觉得，是不配活在世上的。如果他报告说，损失惨重，——这不真实，可能是四千左右，不会再多，甚至还不到四千；哪怕是损失一万，也没法子，这是战争！而敌方的损失是难以计数的……
再坚守两天会有什么碍难呢？至少，他们会自己撤离；因为他们没有可供士兵和马匹饮用的水。那位大臣曾向我保证他不会败退，但他突然下达命令，说要晚上放弃阵地。这样就无法作战了，而我们可能很快把敌人引到莫斯科……
有传闻说，您要求和。可别讲和，经过这一切牺牲和如此疯狂的撤退之后——再来讲和；您会招致全俄国的反对，而我们中的每一位身穿军服的都会羞愧的。既然事已至此——
应该打下去，趁俄国尚有力量，趁人们还没有倒下……
应当由一个人指挥，而不是由两个人指挥。您的大臣作为一个内阁大臣可能是好的；但作为将军，不仅坏，而且坏透了，可他却肩负我们整个祖国的命运……的确，我由于沮丧而快要发疯，请原谅我冒昧给您写信。显然，那位建议缔结和约，建议由该大臣指挥军队的人，是不爱戴皇上并希望我们全体毁灭的人。因此，我向您呈诉实情：进行民团的准备吧。因为大臣正极巧妙地带领客人跟随自己进入古都。全军都对皇上的侍从沃尔佐根先生抱有极大的怀疑。据说，他更像拿破仑的人，而不像我们的人，就是他在向大臣提一切建议。我不仅对此恭恭敬敬，而且像班长一样服从他，虽然我比他年长。这很痛苦；但出于我对恩主皇上的爱戴，我得服从。只是为皇上惋惜，他竟把一支光荣的军队托附给了这样的人。您想想看，在退却中我们由于疲劳和在医院里减员共计损失了一万五千多人；如果发动进攻的话，不会损失那么多的。看在上帝面上，请告诉我，我们的俄罗斯，我们的母亲会怎样说，为什么我们如此担忧，为什么我们把多么善良而勤劳的祖国交给那些恶棍，使我们每个臣民感到仇恨和耻辱？干吗胆怯，有谁可怕的？我是没有罪过的。该大臣优柔寡断，胆怯，糊涂、迟钝，具有一切坏的品质，全军都在痛哭，诅咒他罪该万死……”
Book 10 Chapter 6
AMONG THE INNUMERABLE CATEGORIES into which it is possible to classify the phenomena of life, one may classify them all into such as are dominated by matter and such as are dominated by form. To the latter class one may refer the life of Petersburg, especially in its drawing-rooms, as distinguished from the life of the country, of the district, of the province, or even of Moscow. That life of the drawing-rooms is unchanging.
Between the years 1805 and 1812 we had made peace with Bonaparte and quarrelled with him again; we had made new constitutions and unmade them again, but the salons of Anna Pavlovna and of Ellen were precisely as they had been—the former seven, the latter five years—before. Anna Pavlovna's circle were still speaking with incredulous wonder of Bonaparte's successes; and saw in his successes, and in the submissive attitude of the sovereigns of Europe, a malicious conspiracy, the sole aim of which was to give annoyance and anxiety to the court circle of which Anna Pavlovna was the representative. The set that gathered about Ellen, whom no less a person than Rumyantsev condescended to visit, and looked on as a remarkably intelligent woman, talked in 1812 with the same enthusiasm as in 1808, of the “great nation,” and the “great man,” and regretted the breach with France, which must, they believed, shortly end in peace.
Of late after the Tsar's return from the army, some increase of excitement was perceptible in these antagonistic salons, and they made something like demonstrations of hostility to one another, but the bias of each circle remained unaffected. Anna Pavlovna's set refused to admit any French people but the most unimpeachable legitimists; and in her drawing-room the patriotic view found expression that the French theatre ought not to be patronised, and that the maintenance of the French company there cost as much as the maintenance of a whole army corps. The progress of the war was eagerly followed, and rumours greatly to the advantage of our army were circulated. In the circle of Ellen, of Rumyantsev, the French circle, the reports of the enemy's cruelty and barbarous methods of warfare were discredited; and all sorts of conciliatory efforts on the part of Napoleon were discussed. This set discountenanced the premature counsels of those who advised preparations for the removal to Kazan of the court and the girls' schools, that were under the protection of the empress mother. The whole war was in fact regarded in Ellen's salon as a series of merely formal demonstrations, very shortly to be terminated by peace; and the view prevailed, expressed by Bilibin, who was now in Petersburg and constantly seen at Ellen's, as every man of wit was sure to be, that the war would be ended not by gunpowder but by those who had invented it. The patriotic fervour of Moscow, of which tidings reached Petersburg with the Tsar, was in Ellen's salon a subject of ironical, and very witty, though circumspect, raillery.
In Anna Pavlovna's circle, on the contrary, these patriotic demonstrations roused the greatest enthusiasm, and were spoken of as Plutarch speaks of his ancient Romans. Prince Vassily, who still filled the same important positions, constituted the connecting link between the two circles. He used to visit “my good friend Anna Pavlovna,” and was also seen in the “diplomatic salon of my daughter”; and often was led into blunders from his frequent transitions from one to the other, and said in one drawing-room what should have been reserved for the other.
Soon after the Tsar's arrival, Prince Vassily, in conversation about the progress of the war at Anna Pavlovna's, severely criticised Barclay de Tolly, and expressed himself unable to decide who should be appointed commander-in-chief. One of the guests, usually spoken of as a “man of great abilities,” described how he had that day seen the newly elected commander of the Petersburg militia, Kutuzov, presiding over the enrolment of militiamen in the Court of Exchequer, and ventured discreetly to suggest that Kutuzov would be the man who might satisfy all requirements.
Anna Pavlovna smiled mournfully, and observed that Kutuzov had done nothing but cause the Tsar annoyance.
“I have said so over and over again in the assembly of nobility,” interposed Prince Vassily, “but they wouldn't listen to me. I said that his election to the command of the militia would not be pleasing to his majesty. They wouldn't listen to me. It's all this mania for being in the opposition,” he went on. “And to what public are they playing, I should like to know. It's all because we are trying to ape the silly enthusiasm of Moscow,” said Prince Vassily, forgetting for a moment that it was at Ellen's that that enthusiasm was jeered at, while at Anna Pavlovna's it was as well to admire it. But he hastened to retrieve his mistake. “Is it suitable for Kutuzov, the oldest general in Russia, to be presiding in the Court? Et il en restera pour sa peine! Did any one hear of such a thing as appointing a man commander-in-chief who cannot sit a horse, who drops asleep at a council—a man, too, of the lowest morals! A pretty reputation he gained for himself in Bucharest! To say nothing of his qualities as a general, can we appoint, at such a moment, a man decrepit and blind—yes, simply blind! A fine idea—a blind general! He sees nothing. Playing blind-man's buff—that's all he's fit for!”
No one opposed that view.
On the 24th of July it was accepted as perfectly correct. But on the 29th Kutuzov received the title of prince. The bestowal of this title might be taken to indicate a desire to shelve him, and therefore Prince Vassily's dictum still remained correct, though he was in no such hurry now to express it. But on the 8th of August a committee, consisting of General Field-Marshal Saltykov, Araktcheev, Vyazmitinov, Lopuhin, and Kotchubey was held to consider the progress of the war. This committee decided that the disasters were due to divided authority; and although the members of the committee were aware of the Tsar's dislike of Kutuzov, after a deliberation they advised the appointment of Kutuzov as commander-in-chief. And that same day Kutuzov was appointed commander-in-chief of the army, and intrusted with unlimited authority over the whole region occupied by the troops.
On the 9th of August Prince Vassily once more met the “man of great abilities” at Anna Pavlovna's. The latter gentleman was assiduous in his attendance at Anna Pavlovna's, in the hope of receiving, through her influence, an appointment on one of the institutions of female education. Prince Vassily strode into the room with the air of a victorious general, of a man who has succeeded in attaining the object of his desires.
“Well, you know the great news! Prince Kutuzov is marshal! All differences of opinion are at an end. I am so glad, so delighted!” said Prince Vassily. “At last here is a man!” he declared, looking sternly and significantly at all the company. In spite of his desire to secure the post he coveted, the “man of great abilities” could not refrain from reminding Prince Vassily of the view he had expressed shortly before. (This was a breach of civility to Prince Vassily in Anna Pavlovna's drawing-room, and also to Anna Pavlovna, who had received the tidings with equal enthusiasm; but he could not refrain.)
“But they say he is blind, prince,” he said to recall to Prince Vassily his own words.
“Allez donc, il y voit assez,” said Prince Vassily, with the rapid bass voice and the cough with which he always disposed of all difficulties. “He sees quite enough,” he repeated. “And what I'm particularly glad of,” he went on, “is that the Emperor has given him unlimited authority over all the troops, over the whole region, an authority no commander-in-chief has ever had before. It's another autocrat,” he concluded, with a victorious smile.
“God grant it may be,” said Anna Pavlovna.
The “man of great abilities,” a novice in court society, was anxious to flatter Anna Pavlovna by maintaining her former opinion against this new view of the position. He said: “They say the Emperor was unwilling to give Kutuzov such authority. They say he blushed like a young lady to whom Joconde is read, saying to him, ‘The sovereign and the country decree you this honour.' ”
“Perhaps the heart was not of the party,” said Anna Pavlovna.
“Oh no, no,” Prince Vassily maintained warmly. Now he would not put Kutuzov second to any one. To hear Prince Vassily now Kutuzov was not simply a good man in himself, but idolised by every one. “No, that's impossible, for the sovereign has always known how to appreciate him,” he added.
“God only grant that Prince Kutuzov may take the control of things into his own hands,” said Anna Pavlovna, “and not permit any one to put a spoke in his wheel.”
Prince Vassily knew at once who was meant. He whispered, “I know for a fact that Kutuzov made it an express condition that the Tsarevitch should not be with the army. Vous savez ce qu'il a dit à l'Empereur.” And Prince Vassily repeated the words said to have been spoken by Kutuzov to the Tsar: “ ‘I can neither punish him if he does wrong, nor reward him if he does well.' Oh! he's a shrewd fellow, Prince Kutuzov. I have known him a long while.”
“They do say,” observed the “man of great abilities,” who had not acquired a courtier's tact, “that his excellency even made it an express condition that the Emperor himself should not be with the army.”
He had hardly uttered the words when Anna Pavlovna and Prince Vassily simultaneously turned their backs on him, and looked mournfully at one another, with a sigh at his na?veté.
对生活现象，可分成无数部类，所有这些部类可以划分成以下二类，其中一类以内容为主，另外一类——则以形式为主。属于这后一类别的，是截然不同于乡下的，地方的，省城的，甚至莫斯科的生活的彼得堡的生活，尤其是沙龙生活。 
这种生活是不变的。
自从一八○五年以来，我们同波拿巴又和解又断交，多次立了宪法又废除它，而安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的沙龙和海伦的沙龙从前怎样，现在还怎样——一个跟七年前一样，另一个跟五年前一样，在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜那里，人们依旧困惑地谈论波拿巴的成功，并且看到，无论在他的成功还是在欧洲君主对他的姑息中，都有一种恶毒的阴谋，其唯一目的便是给安娜·帕夫洛夫娜代表的宫廷集团制造不快和烦恼。在海伦那里也完全一样（鲁缅采夫本人常去光顾，认为她是绝顶聪明的女人），一八○八和一八一二毫无二致，人们依然兴奋地谈论着那个伟大的民族和那个伟大的人物，并遗憾地看待同法国的决裂，依照聚集在海伦沙龙里的人的意见，此事应以和平告终。
近来，在皇上从军队返驾之后，这两个对立的沙龙集团出现了某种不安，发生了某些相互指责的情况，但两个集团的方向仍旧不变。参加安娜·帕夫洛夫娜集团的法国人仅限于顽固的保皇党，所以，这里表现出来的爱国思想是，不该上法国剧院，认为维持一个剧团的经费抵得上维持一个军团的经费。他们专心地注视战事进展，并传播对我军最有利的新闻。在海伦的圈子内，即鲁缅采夫派和法国派的圈子内，关于战争和敌人残酷的传闻受到驳斥，拿破仑求和的各种尝试被加以讨论。在这个圈子里，人们谴责那些建议尽早下令，让皇太后保护的宫廷女子学堂准备向喀山疏散的人。总的说来，战争的全部内容在海伦的沙龙里不过是以一些空洞的示威开始，很快就会以和平告终，而左右一切的是比利宾的意见，他现时在彼得堡成了海伦的常客（所有聪明的人都应去她那里作客），他认为问题不取决于火药，而取决于发明火药的人。在这个圈子里，人们冷嘲热讽而又十分巧妙地（尽管也很谨慎地）讥笑莫斯科的狂热，关于那种狂热的消息，是随皇上驾临彼得堡而传来的。
在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的圈子里则相反，人们赞美和谈论那种狂热，像普鲁塔克①谈论远古伟人似的。依旧身居要职的瓦西里公爵，成了两个圈子的连环扣。他到ma　bonne　amie（自己的尊贵朋友）安娜·帕夫洛夫娜那里去，也到dans　le　salon　diplomatique　de　ma　fille（自己女儿的外交沙龙）那里去，由于频繁交替地出入于这一阵营和另一阵营之间，因此常常给搞糊涂了，在海伦那里说了本该在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜那里说的话，或者相反。 
①普鲁塔克（约46～123），古希腊传记作家。
在皇上到达之后不久，瓦西里公爵在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜那里议论战事，严厉谴责巴克莱—德—托利，但又对任命谁作总司令迟疑不决。客人中的一位平时被称作un　homme　de　beaucoup　de　mérite（有许多优点的人），讲述了他看见新近担任彼得堡民团司令的库图佐夫在省税务局主持征募新兵的会议，然后谨慎地表达了自己的初步看法，库图佐夫是一个能满足各种要求的人选。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜凄戚地笑了笑，指出库图佐夫净给皇上制造不愉快，此外便没有干过什么。
“我在贵族会上一再地说，”瓦西里公爵插嘴说道，“但没有人听我的。我说推选他作民团司令会使皇上不悦。他们没有听我的。”
“全是一派反对的狂热，”他继续说，“也不看看当着谁的面？而且全是由于我们想摹仿莫斯科的愚蠢的狂热。”瓦西里公爵说，一时间糊里糊涂，忘了在海伦那里才嘲笑莫斯科的狂热，而在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜这里是应该加以赞扬的。但他立即改正过来。“呶，库图佐夫伯爵，俄国最老的将军，在税务局那地方召集会议适当吗，et　il　en　restera　pour　sa　peine（他的忙碌会一事无成的）！难道可以任命为总司令的竟是一个不能跃马扬鞭的，开会打瞌睡的，脾气最坏的人吗！他在布加勒斯特毛遂自荐得够瞧的了？我这还不是谈他作为将军的资格问题，难道在这种时刻能够任命一个老朽的瞎眼的人，一个十足的瞎子吗？瞎眼将军好极了！他什么也看不见。可以捉迷藏……他简直什么都看不见！”
没有维持异议。
这在七月二十四日是完全公允之论。但七月二十九日库图佐夫被加封公爵头衔。授予公爵头衔可能意味着摆脱，所以，瓦西里公爵的见解仍然正确，虽然他并不急于在此时有所表示，但八月八日，由萨尔特科夫大将，阿拉克切耶夫，维亚济米季诺夫，洛普欣和科丘别伊组成的委员会，开会讨论战争事宜。委员会一致认为，战事之不利，源出于无统一指挥，虽然委员会成员知道皇上不赏识库图佐夫，但经过简短磋商，仍建议任命库图佐夫为总司令。因此，就在那一天，库图佐夫被任命为全军及各个部队据守区域的全权总司令。
八月九日，瓦西里公爵又在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜家遇到了l'homme　de　beaucoup　de　mérite（那个有许多优点的人）。l'homme　de　beaucoup　de　mérite瓦西里公爵近来对安娜·帕夫洛夫娜很殷勤，希望获得一个女子学校学监的任命。他走进客厅时，像达到目的的胜利者那样喜气洋洋。“Eh　bien，vous　savez　la　grande　nouvelle？Le　prince　Koutouzoff　est　maréchal①。一切分歧消除了。我真幸福，真高兴！”瓦西里公爵说。“Enfin　voilà　un　homme”②，他不停地说，意味深长地严肃地环视所有在客厅里的人。L'homme　de　beaucoup　de　mèrite虽然意在谋职，仍忍不住提醒瓦西里公爵曾经发表过的议论。（这在安娜的客厅里对瓦西里公爵和已欣然得知这一消息的安娜·帕夫洛夫娜都是失礼的；但他忍耐不住。）
“Mais　on　dit　qu'il　est　aveugle，mon　
prince？”③他使瓦西里公爵想起他说过的话。
“Allez　donc，il　y　voit　assez，”④瓦西里公爵以低沉、急速的声音，咳嗽着说，这样的嗓音和咳嗽他常常用来解决一切困难。“Allez　donc，il　y　voit　assez，”他又重复了一遍。“我之所以高兴，”他往下说，“是因为，陛下授予了他掌握全国军队和各个军区的全权——这是任何一位总司令从未有过的权力。这是第二位主宰。”他说完之后，露出得胜的微笑。 
①法语：呃，你们可知道一个重大消息？库图佐夫成了元帅了。
②法语：毕竟是一个人才。
③法语：但是听说他眼睛瞎了，公爵？
④法语：呃，胡说，他看得相当清楚，您放心。
“但愿如此，但愿如此。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说。L'homme　de　beaucoup　de　merite（那个有许多优点人）在宫廷社交界还是个生手，为了阿谀安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，他以此为她先前对这一议论表示的见解解围，说道：
“据说，陛下不大情愿授予库图佐夫这一权力。On　dit　qu'il　rougit　comme　une　demoiselle　à　laquelle　on　lirait　Joconde，en　lui　disant：‘le　souverain　et　la　Patrie　vous　decernent　cet　honneur'。”①“Peut—être　que　le　coeur　n'était　pas　de　la　partie。②”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说。 
①法语：据说，当他对他说：“国王与祖国赐与您这一荣誉”时，他脸红得像听到诵读《约康德》的姑娘那样。（《约康德》是拉封丹的第一篇韵文故事，被认为是恶劣的作品。）。
②法语：或许不完全合他的心意。
“噢不，不，”瓦西里公爵激烈地偏袒库图佐夫，现在已不在任何人面前让步。照瓦西里公爵的见解，不仅库图佐夫本人出色，而且大家都崇拜他。“不，这不可能，因为皇上从前就很能赏识他。”他说。
“但愿库图佐夫公爵，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说，“真正掌握着权力，不让任何人捣鬼——des　batons　dans　les　roues．”
瓦西里公爵立即明白了，这任何人指的是谁。他悄声地说：
“我确切地得知，库图佐夫提出皇太子不留在军中。这个必要的条件，Vous　savez　ce　qu'il　a　dit　a　l'émpereur（你们知道他对皇上说了什么吗）？”瓦西里公爵复述了似乎是库图佐夫对皇上说的原话：“如太子行为不轨，臣不便罚其过，反之，亦不便赏其功。啊！这是一个绝顶聪明的人，库图佐夫公爵，je　le　connais　de　longue　date．（我早就认识他了。）”
“他们甚至说，”还不知宫廷待人接物分寸的l'homme　de　beaucoup　de　merite说，“公爵大人还提出一个必要条件；国王不要亲自驾临军队。”
此人话刚说完，瓦西里公爵和安娜·帕夫洛夫娜刹那背转身去，为他的幼稚而叹气，二人忧郁地交换了一下眼神。
Book 10 Chapter 7
AT THE TIME when this was taking place in Petersburg, the French had passed through Smolensk, and were moving closer and closer to Moscow. Napoleon's historian, Thiers, like others of Napoleon's historians, tries to justify his hero by maintaining that he was drawn on to the walls of Moscow against his will. He is as right as any historians who seek the explanation of historic events in the will of a man; he is as right as the Russian historians, who assert that Napoleon was lured to Moscow by the skilful strategy of the Russian generals. In this case, apart from the law of “retrospectiveness,” which makes all the past appear a preparation for the subsequent facts, the element of mutual interaction, too, comes in, confusing the whole subject. A good chess-player, who has lost a game, is genuinely convinced that his failure is due to his blunders, and he seeks the blunder at the commencement of the game, forgetting that at every move during the whole game there were similar errors, that not one piece has been played as perfectly as possible. The blunder on which he concentrates his attention attracts his notice simply because his opponent took advantage of it. How much more complex is the game of war, which must be played within certain limits of time, in which there is not one will controlling lifeless toys, in which the whole is the resultant of the innumerable collisions of diverse individual wills!
After Smolensk, Napoleon tried to force on a battle beyond Dorogobuzh, at Vyazma, and then at Tsarevo-Zaimishtche. But the Russians could not give battle, owing to innumerable combinations of circumstances, till Borodino, one hundred and twelve versts from Moscow. From Vyazma Napoleon gave instructions for an advance straight upon Moscow.
“Moscow, the Asiatic capital of this great empire, the holy city of the peoples of Alexander, Moscow, with its innumerable churches in the form of Chinese pagodas!”
This Moscow would not let Napoleon's imagination rest. On the march from Vyazma to Tsarevo-Zaimishtche Napoleon was riding on his cream-coloured English horse, accompanied by his guards, and sentinels, and pages, and adjutants. The commander of the staff, Berthier, had dropped behind to put questions to a Russian prisoner taken by the cavalry. Accompanied by the interpreter, Lelorme d'Ideville, he galloped after Napoleon, and pulled his horse up with an amused expression.
“Well?” said Napoleon.
“A Cossack of Platov's detachment says Platov is effecting a junction with the main army, and that Kutuzov has been appointed commander-in-chief. He is very shrewd and talkative.”
Napoleon smiled, and bade them give the Cossack a horse and bring him before him. He wished to talk to him himself. Several adjutants galloped off, and within an hour Denisov's serf Lavrushka, whom his master had left with Rostov, rode up to Napoleon, sitting on a French cavalry saddle, wearing an orderly's short jacket, and looking sly, tipsy, and mirthful. Napoleon bade him ride at his side and began questioning him.
“Are you a Cossack?”
“Yes; a Cossack, your honour.”
“The Cossack, ignorant in whose company he was, since Napoleon's plain appearance had nothing to suggest to the Oriental imagination the presence of a monarch, talked with extraordinary familiarity of the incidents of the war,” says Thiers, relating this episode. In reality Lavrushka, who had been drunk the previous evening, and had left his master without dinner, had been thrashed for it, and sent to the village in quest of fowls, where he was tempted on by plunder till he got caught by the French. Lavrushka was one of those coarse, impudent lackeys who have seen a good deal of life, look on it as a duty to do nothing without cunning and trickery, are ready to do any kind of service for their masters, and are particularly keen in scenting out the baser impulses of their superiors, especially on the side of vanity and pettiness. On coming into the presence of Napoleon, whom he easily and confidently recognised, Lavrushka was not in the least taken aback, and only did his utmost to win the favour of his new master.
He was very well aware that this was Napoleon, and Napoleon's presence impressed him no more than Rostov's or the quartermaster's with the rod in his hand, because he had nothing of which either the quartermaster or Napoleon could not deprive him.
He had repeated all the gossip that was talked among the officers' servants. Much of it was true. But when Napoleon asked him whether the Russians expected to conquer Bonaparte or not, Lavrushka screwed up his eyes and thought a bit.
He saw in the question a sharp piece of cunning, as cunning fellows, like Lavrushka, always do in everything. He frowned and paused a minute.
“Well, if it does come to a battle,” he said thoughtfully, “and pretty soon, then yours will win. That's sure thing. But if now, three days and there's a battle after that, well then, I say, that same battle will be a long job.” This was translated to Napoleon. “If a battle is fought within three days the French will win it, but if later, God knows what will come of it,” Lelorme d'Ideville put it, smiling. Napoleon did not smile, though he was evidently in high good humour, and told him to repeat the words.
Lavrushka noticed that, and to entertain him further, said, pretending not to know who he was:
“We know, you have got your Bonaparte; he has conquered every one in the world, ay, but with us it will be a different story …” himself hardly aware how and why this bit of bragging patriotism slipped out. The interpreter translated these words without the conclusion; and Bonaparte smiled. “The young Cossack brought a smile on to the lips of his august companion,” says Thiers. After a few paces in silence, Napoleon turned to Berthier, and said he should like to try the effect “sur cet enfant du Don” of learning that the man with whom he was speaking was the Emperor himself, the very Emperor who had carved his immortally victorious name on the Pyramids. The fact was communicated. Lavrushka—discerning that this was done to test him, and that Napoleon expected him to be panic-stricken—tried to gratify his new masters by promptly affecting to be astounded, struck dumb; he opened round eyes, and made the sort of face usual with him when he was being led off to be thrashed. “Hardly,” says Thiers, “had Napoleon's interpreter spoken, than the Cossack was struck dumb with amazement; he did not utter another word, and walked with his eyes constantly fixed on the great conqueror, whose fame had reached him across the steppes of the East. All his loquacity suddenly vanished, and was replaced by a na?ve and silent awe. Napoleon made the Cossack a present, and ordered him to be set at liberty like un oiseau qu'on rend aux champs qui l'ont vu na?tre.”
Napoleon rode on, dreaming of that Moscow that filled his imagination, while the bird returning to the fields that had seen him born, galloped back to the outposts, inventing the tale he would tell his comrades. What had really happened he did not care to relate, simply because it seemed to him not worth telling. He rode back to the Cossacks, inquired where was his regiment, now forming part of Platov's detachment; and towards evening found his master, Nikolay Rostov, encamped at Yankovo. Rostov was just mounting his horse to ride through the villages near with Ilyin. He gave Lavrushka another horse and took him with them.
在彼得堡发生那些事情的同时，法军已开过斯摩棱斯克，愈来愈靠近莫斯科。拿破仑的史学家梯也尔，像拿破仑其他史学家们一样，竭力为自己的英雄辩护说，拿破仑是不由自主地被引诱到莫斯科的。他像所有的历史学家一样正确（他们在一个伟人的意愿中寻求历史事件的解释），他也像俄国史学家们一样正确（他们断言拿破仑是因俄国统帅们施巧计而诱引至莫斯科的）。在这里，逆向（回溯）定律认为，把过去的一切视为实现某一事件的准备过程，但除此之外，还有把全部事情搅浑的相互关系。一个好的棋手，在输棋之后由衷地相信，他的失败产生于他的一个错误，他便在开局之初去寻找错误，而忘记在他的每一步棋中，在整个对弈的过程中都有错误，以致没有一着棋是善着。他注意到的那个败着之所以被找出来，是因为这一败着被对手利用了。在一定时间条件下进行的战争这种游戏要复杂得多，其中不是由一个人的意愿领导着那些无生命的机器，一切都产生于各种任意行动的无数次的冲突。 
继斯摩棱斯克之后，拿破仑先在多罗戈布日以西的维亚济马附近，然后又在察列沃—扎伊米希附近谋求会战，但结果呢，由于情势的无数次冲突，在到达波罗金罗，离莫斯科只剩一百二十俄里处之前，俄军仍不交战。拿破仑从维亚济马下令，直接进军莫斯科。
Moscou，la　capitale　asiatique　de　ce　grand　emBpire，la　ville　sacrée　des　peuples　d'Alexandre，Moscou　avec　ses　innombrables　églises　en　forme　de　pagodes　chinoises．①这个莫斯科不让拿破仑的神思安静。拿破仑骑一匹浅栗色的截尾快马，由近卫兵、警卫、少年侍从和副官陪同，从维亚济马到察列沃—扎依米希。参谋长贝蒂埃留下来审问被骑兵抓到的俄军俘虏。他在翻译官Lelorme　d'Ideville（勒洛涅·狄德维勒）的陪同下，纵马追上拿破仑，满脸高兴地勒住了马头。 
①莫斯科，这庞大帝国的亚洲首都，亚历山大臣民的神圣的城市，莫斯科有数不尽的中国塔顶样式的教堂。
“Eh　bien（呃，怎么办）？”拿破仑问。
“Un　cosaque　de　Platow（一个普拉托夫的哥萨克）说，普拉托夫军团正同主力大军会合，库图佐夫就任总司令。Très　in－telligent　et　bavard（他聪明，不过是个饶舌的人）。
拿破仑微微一笑，他吩咐拨一匹马给哥萨克，立即带他来见。他要亲自同他谈谈。几个副官策马前去，一个小时后，杰尼索夫出让给罗斯托夫的农奴拉夫鲁什卡，穿着勤务兵的短上衣，骑在法国骑兵的马上，带着一张狡黠、含有醉意、快活的面孔来见拿破仑。拿破仑吩咐他和自己并辔而行开始问他。
“您是哥萨克？”
“哥萨克，大人。”
“Le　cosaque　ignorant　la　compagnie　dans　laquelle　il　se　trouvait　car　la　simplicité　de　Napoléon　n'avait　rien　qui　put　ré　véler　a　une　imagination　orientale　la　présence　d'un　souverain，s'entretint　avec　la　plus　extreme　familiarité　des　affaires　de　la　guerre　actuelle．”①梯也尔叙述这一情节说。的确，拉夫鲁什卡头天晚上喝醉了，没给主人准备好晚餐，挨了鞭打后被派到乡间去买鸡，在那里醉心于抢劫而被法军俘获。拉夫鲁什卡是那种粗野、无耻、见多识广的奴仆，他们以下流狡猾的手段办事为其天职，他们准备为自己的主人干任何勾当，并且他们狡猾地推测主人的坏心思，尤其是虚荣心和琐碎小事。 
①哥萨克不知道他现在置身于什么人中间，因为拿破仑的简朴丝毫没有给予这个东方人的想象力以发现皇帝在场的可能，所以，他极其自然地讲述当前战争的形势。
落入拿破仑的人中间，拉夫鲁什卡轻而易举地认清了拿破仑本人，他一点也不惊惶夫措，只是尽力打心眼里为新的老爷们效劳。
他很明白，这就是拿破仑本人，而在拿破仑面前，并不比在罗斯托夫或拿藤条的司务长面前更使他慌张，因为无论是司务长或是拿破仑，都不能夺去他任何东西。
他信口说出在勤务兵之间闲谈的一切。其中有些是真实的。但当拿破仑问他俄国人是怎么想的，他们能否战胜波拿巴时，拉夫鲁什卡眯缝起眼睛，沉思起来。
他在这句话里看出了微妙的狡黠，类似拉夫鲁什卡的人总能在各种事情中看出狡猾的计谋，因而皱紧眉头沉默了一会儿。
“是这样的，如果有会战，”他思索地说道，“并且很快的话，那末，这样说就对了。呶，要是再过三天，要是在那天以后，那末，就是说，会战本身会拖下去。”
给拿破仑翻译的话是这样的：Si　la　bataille　est　donnée　avant　trois　jours，les　Francais　la　gagnBeraient，mais　que　si　elle　serait　donnée　plus　tard，Dieu　sait　ce　qui　en　arriverait①，Le　lorme　d'lderBille．（勒洛涅·狄德维勒）微笑着转达了。拿破仑并没有微笑，虽然他心情显然很愉快，并吩咐重说一遍。 
①假如会战在三天前爆发，法国人将赢得会战，如果在三天之后呢，那只有上帝才知道会发生什么情况。
拉夫鲁什卡发觉了这一点，为了取悦于他，装着不知道他是谁的样子。
“我们知道你们有个波拿巴，他打败了世界上所有的人，但关于我们，情况却不同……”他说，连自己也不知道，说到最后，不知为什么和怎么流露出浮夸的爱国精神来了。翻译官把他的话转述给拿破仑，省掉了结尾，波拿巴于是微笑了。“Le　jeune　cosaque　fit　sourire　son　puisant　inBterlocuteur．”①梯也尔说。拿破仑沉默地走了几步，在马上转身对贝蒂埃说，他想试验一下对这个enfant　du　Don说，他的谈话的对方正是皇帝本人，即是那位把不朽的常胜者的名字书写在埃及金字塔上的皇帝。sur　cet　enfant　du　Don②会产生什么影响，
这番话传达给他了。 
①年轻的哥萨克使自己强大的交谈者微笑起来。
②对这个顿河的孩子。
拉夫鲁什卡（他明白这样做是为了使他发窘，明白拿破仑认为他会吓了一跳），为了讨好新的老爷们，他立刻装出惊诧慌乱的样子，鼓起眼睛，做了一副他被带去受鞭笞时惯有的表情。“A　peine　l'interprete　de　Napoléon，”梯也尔说，“avait—il　parlé，que　le　cosaque，saisi　d'une　sorte　d'ébahissement　ne　proféra　plus　une　parole　et　marcha　les　yeux　constamment　attachés　sur　ce　conquérant，dont　le　nom　avait　pénétré　jusqu'à　lui，à　travers　les　steppes　de　l'orient．Toute　sa　loBquacite　s'était　subitement　arrêtée，pour　faire　place　à　un　sentiment　d'admiration　naive　et　silenBcieuse．Napoleon，apres　l'avoir　récompensé，lui　fit　donner—la　liberté，comme　á　un　oiseau　qu'on　rend　aux　champs　gui　l'ont　vu　nalAtre．”① 
①拿破仑的翻译官刚把话说完，哥萨克立即惊愕得发呆了，再也说不出一句话来，就这样继续骑马走着，定睛望着征服者，他的名声越过东方草原传到他的耳边。哥萨克的健谈骤然中断，由天真的默默的狂喜所代替。拿破仑赏赐哥萨克，下令给他自由，就像给予小鸟自由，让它飞回家乡的田野一样。
拿破仑继续骑马往前走，一边想着使他心醉神迷的那个莫斯科，而l'oiseau　qu'on　rendit　aux　champs　qui　l'on　vu　nartre（那个被放回家乡田野的小鸟）向前哨奔驰而去，事前杜撰着实际上没有发生而是他要向自己人讲述的一切。他所实际经历的事，他并不想说，因为他觉得这是不值得一说的。他走去寻找哥萨克兵，打听到了属于普拉托夫纵队的那个团在哪里，傍晚便找到了自己的老爷尼古拉·罗斯托夫，他驻扎在扬科沃，刚骑上马，要同伊林一道去周围的乡村溜一溜。他给了拉夫鲁什卡另外一匹马，带他一道走。
Book 10 Chapter 8
PRINCESS MARYA was not in Moscow and out of danger as Prince Andrey supposed.
After Alpatitch's return from Smolensk, the old prince seemed as though he had suddenly waked out of a sleep. He gave orders for the militiamen to assemble out of the villages, and to be armed; and wrote a letter to the commander-in-chief, in which he informed him of his intention to remain at Bleak Hills to the last and to defend himself, leaving it to his discretion to take steps or not for the defence of Bleak Hills, where he said one of the oldest Russian generals would be taken prisoner or die. He announced to his household that he should remain at Bleak Hills.
But though resolved himself to remain, the prince made arrangements for sending the princess with Dessalle and the little prince to Bogutcharovo, and from there on to Moscow. Frightened at her father's feverish, sleepless energy, following on his previous apathy, Princess Marya could not bring herself to leave him alone, and for the first time in her life ventured not to obey him. She refused to go, and a fearful tempest of wrath burst upon her. The prince reminded her of every previous instance of injustice to her. Trying to find pretexts for reviling her, he said she had done everything to worry him, that she had estranged him from his son, that she harboured the vilest suspicions of him, that she made it the object of her life to poison his existence. He drove her out of his study, telling her that he did not care if she did not go away. He told her that he did not want to hear of her existence, but gave her fair warning not to dare show herself before him. Princess Marya was relieved that he had not, as she had dreaded, ordered her to be forcibly removed from Bleak Hills, but had simply commanded her not to show herself. She knew that this meant that in the secret recesses of his soul he was glad she was staying at home.
The day after Nikolushka had left, the old prince dressed himself in the morning in full uniform, and prepared to make a call on the commander-in-chief. The carriage was standing ready. Princess Marya saw him in his uniform, with all his orders on his breast, walk out of the house and go down the garden to inspect the armed peasants and houseserfs. Princess Marya sat at the window listening to his voice resounding from the garden. Suddenly several men came running up the avenue with panic-stricken faces.
Princess Marya ran out on to the steps, along the flower-bed path, and into the avenue. A great crowd of militiamen and servants were coming down it towards her, and in the middle of that crowd several men were holding up and dragging along a little old man in a uniform and decorations. Princess Marya ran towards him, and in the dancing, tiny rings of light that filtered through the shade of the lime-tree avenue, she could form no distinct impression of the change in his face. The only thing she could see was that the stern and determined expression of his face had changed to a look of timidity and submission. On seeing his daughter, he tried to move his powerless lips, and uttered a hoarse sound. It was impossible to understand what he meant. He was lifted up, carried into his study, and laid on the couch, which had been such an object of dread to him of late.
The doctor, who was brought over the same night, bled him, and declared that the prince had had a stroke, paralysing his right side.
To remain at Bleak Hills was becoming more and more dangerous, and the next day they moved the prince to Bogutcharovo. The doctor travelled with him.
When they reached Bogutcharovo, they found Dessalle had already set off for Moscow with the little prince.
For three weeks the old prince lay stricken with paralysis, getting neither better nor worse, in the new house Prince Andrey had planned at Bogutcharovo. The old prince was unconscious; he lay like a deformed corpse. He muttered incessantly, twitching his eyebrows and lips, and it was impossible to tell whether he understood his surroundings or not. Only one thing could be said for certain: that was, that he was suffering, and had a craving to express something. But what that was no one could tell: whether it were some sick and half-crazy whim; whether it related to public affairs or family circumstances.
The doctor said that this uneasiness meant nothing; that it was due to physical causes. But Princess Marya believed (and the fact that her presence seemed to intensify the restlessness, confirmed her supposition) that he wanted to tell her something.
He was evidently suffering both physically and mentally. There was no hope of recovery. It was impossible to move him. What if he were to die on the road? “Wouldn't it be better if it were over, if all were over?” Princess Marya thought sometimes. Day and night, almost without sleep, she watched him, and, terrible to say, she watched him, not in the hope of finding symptoms of a change for the better, but often in the hope of seeing symptoms of the approaching end.
Strange as it was for the princess to own it to herself, she had this feeling in her heart. And what was still more horrible to Princess Marya was the fact that ever since her father's illness (if not even before, when she resolved to stay with him, in vague expectation of something) all the forgotten hopes and desires slumbering within her head awakened. Ideas that had not entered her head for years—dreams of a life free from the terror of her father, even of the possibility of love and a happy married life, haunted her imagination like temptations of the devil. In vain she tried to drive away the thought; questions were continually in her mind how she would order her life now, after this. It was a temptation of the devil, and Princess Marya knew it. She knew that the sole weapon of avail against him was prayer, and she strove to pray. She threw herself into the attitude of prayer, gazed at the holy pictures, repeated the words of the prayer, but still she could not pray. She felt herself carried off into a new world of real life, of labour and free activity, utterly opposed to the moral atmosphere in which she had been kept in bondage and in which the one consolation was prayer. She could not pray and could not weep, and practical cares absorbed her mind.
To remain at Bogutcharovo was becoming unsafe. Rumours came from all sides of the French being near, and in one village, fifteen versts from Bogutcharovo, a house had been sacked by French marauders. The doctor insisted on the necessity of moving the prince; the marshal of the province sent an official to Princess Marya to persuade her to get away as quickly as possible. The captain of the police visited Bogutcharovo to insist on the same thing, telling her that the French were only forty versts away; that French proclamations were circulating in the villages, and that if the princess did not move her father before the 15th, he could not answer for the consequences.
The princess made up her mind to leave on the 15th. The preparations and giving all the necessary instructions, for which every one applied to her, kept her busy the whole of the previous day. The night of the 14th she spent as usual, without undressing, in the room next to the one where the old prince lay. Several times she waked up, hearing his groaning and muttering, the creak of the bedstead, and the steps of Tihon and the doctor moving him. Several times she listened at the door, and it seemed to her that he was muttering more loudly than usual and turning more restlessly. She could not sleep, and several times she went to the door, listening, tempted to go in, but unable to make up her mind to do so. Although he could not speak, Princess Marya saw and knew how he disliked any expression of anxiety about him. She had noticed how he turned in displeasure away from her eyes, which were sometimes unconsciously fixed persistently on him. She knew her going in at night, at an unusual time, would irritate him.
But never had she felt so sorry for him; never had she felt it so dreadful to lose him. She went over all her life with him, and in every word, every action, she saw an expression of his love for her. Occasionally these reminiscences were interrupted by the temptation of the devil; dreams came back to her imagination of what would happen after his death, and how she would order her new independent existence. But she drove away such thoughts with horror. Towards morning he was quieter, and she fell asleep.
She waked up late. The perfect sincerity, which often accompanies the moment of waking, showed her unmistakably what it was that was of most interest to her in her father's illness. She waked up, listened to what was passing through the door, and catching the sound of his muttering, she told herself with a sigh that there was no change.
“But what should there be? What did I hope for? I hope for his death,” she cried, with inward loathing of herself.
She washed, dressed, said her prayers, and went out on to the steps. At the entrance the carriages in which their luggage was packed were standing without horses.
The morning was warm and grey. Princess Marya lingered on the steps, still horrified at her own spiritual infamy, and trying to get her ideas into shape before going in to see him.
The doctor came downstairs and out to her.
“He is a little better to-day,” said the doctor. “I was looking for you. One can make out a little of what he says. His head is clearer. Come in. He is asking for you…”
Princess Marya's heart beat so violently at this news that she turned pale and leaned against the door to keep from falling. To see him, to talk to him, to be under his eyes now, when all her soul was filled with these fearful, sinful imaginings was full of an agonising joy and terror for her.
“Let us go in,” said the doctor.
Princess Marya went in to her father, and went up to his bedside. He was lying raised high on his back; his little bony hands, covered with knotted purple veins, were laid on the quilt; his left eye was gazing straight before him, while the right eye was distorted, and his lips and eyebrows were motionless. He looked so thin, so small, and pitiable. His face looked withered up or melted away; his features all seemed smaller. Princess Marya went up and kissed his hand. His left hand clasped her hand in a way that showed he had long been wanting her. He twitched her hand, and his eyebrows and lips quivered angrily.
She looked at him in dismay, trying to fathom what he wanted of her. When she changed her position so that his left eye could see her, he seemed satisfied, and for several seconds kept his eye fixed on her. Then his lips and tongue twitched; sounds came, and he tried to speak, looking with imploring timidity at her, evidently afraid she would not understand him.
Princess Marya strained every faculty of attention as she gazed at him. The comic effort with which he strove to make his tongue work made Princess Marya drop her eyes, and she had much ado to stifle the sobs that rose in her throat. He was saying something, several times repeating his words. Princess Marya could not understand them; but she tried to guess what he was saying, and repeated interrogatively the words she supposed him to be uttering.
“O … o … aye … aye …!” he repeated several time. It was impossible to interpret these sounds. The doctor thought he had guessed it, and asked:
“The princess is afraid?”
He shook his head, and again repeated the same sounds.
“The soul, the soul is in pain!” Princess Marya guessed. He grunted affirmatively, took her hand, and began pressing it to different parts of his breast as though seeking the right place for it.
“Always thinking!—about you … thinking …!” he articulated, far more intelligibly than before now that he felt sure of being understood. Princess Marya pressed her head against his arm, trying to hide her sobs and tears.
He passed his hand over her hair.
“I called for you all night …” he articulated.
“If I had only known …” she said, through her tears. “I was afraid to come in.”
He pressed her hand.
“Weren't you asleep?”
“No, I couldn't sleep,” said Princess Marya, shaking her head.
Unconsciously imitating her father, she tried to speak more by signs, as he spoke, as though she, too, had a difficulty in articulating.
“Darling!” … or “dear one!” … Princess Marya could not distinguish the word; but from the expression of his eyes she had no doubt what was said was a word of caressing tenderness such as he had never used to her before. “Why didn't you come?”
“And I was wishing, wishing for his death!” thought Princess Marya.
He paused.
“Thanks … to you … child, dear one! for all, for all … forgive … thanks! … forgive! … thanks! …” And tears flowed from his eyes. “Call Andryusha,” he said suddenly, and a look of childish and deprecating misgiving came into his face at the question. He seemed to be himself aware that his question had no meaning. So at least it seemed to Princess Marya.
“I have had a letter from him,” answered Princess Marya.
He looked at her with timid wonder.
“Where is he?”
“He is with the army, father, at Smolensk.”
He was silent for a long while, closing his eyes. Then, as though to answer his doubts, and to assert that now he understood it all and remembered, he nodded his head and opened his eyes.
“Yes,” he said, softly and distinctly. “Russia is lost! They have lost her!”
And again he broke into sobs, and tears flowed from his eyes. Princess Marya could restrain herself no more, and wept too as she looked at his face.
He closed his eyes again. His sobs ceased. He pointed to his eyes; and Tihon, understanding him, wiped away his tears.
Then he opened his eyes, and said something, which, for a long while, no one could understand; and at last Tihon understood and interpreted.
Princess Marya looked for the drift of his words in the direction in which he had been speaking a minute before. She supposed he was speaking of Russia; then of Prince Andrey, of herself, of his grandson, then of his own death. And this was just why she could not understand his words.
“Put on your white dress. I like it,” he had said.
When she understood those words Princess Marya sobbed louder than ever, and the doctor, taking her on his arm, led her out of the room on to the terrace, trying to persuade her to calm herself, and to devote herself to preparations for the journey. After Princess Marya had left the prince, he began talking again of his son, of the war, of the Tsar, twitched his eyebrows angrily, began to raise his hoarse voice, and was seized by a second and final stroke.
Princess Marya stayed on the terrace. The day had become brilliantly fine, sunny, and warm. She could grasp nothing, could think of nothing, and feel nothing but her passionate love for her father, of which it seemed to her that she had not been aware till that minute. She ran out into the garden, and ran sobbing towards the pond along the paths planted with young lime-trees by Prince Andrey.
“Yes … I … I … I longed for his death! Yes, I wanted it soon to be over … I wanted to be at peace … And what will become of me? What use will peace be to me when he is gone?” Princess Marya muttered aloud, walking with rapid steps through the garden, and pressing her hands to her bosom, which heaved with convulsive sobs. Going round the garden in a circle, which brought her back again to the house, she saw coming towards her Mademoiselle Bourienne (who was remaining at Bogutcharovo, preferring not to move away), and with her an unknown gentleman. It was the district marshal, who had come to call on the princess, to urge upon her the necessity of her immediate departure. Princess Marya listened and did not take in what he said. She took him into the house, offered him lunch, and sat down with him. Then asking him to excuse her, she went to the old prince's door. The doctor came out with a perturbed face and told her she could not go in.
“Go away, princess; go away!”
Princess Marya went out again into the garden, and by the pond at the bottom of the hill she sat down on the grass, in a place where no one could see her. She could not have said how long she was there. A woman's footsteps running along the path made her look round. She got up and saw Dunyasha, her maid, evidently running to look for her, stop short, as though in alarm, on seeing her mistress.
“Come, please, princess … the prince …” said Dunyasha, in a breaking voice.
“I'm coming, I'm coming!” the princess cried hurriedly, not letting Dunyasha have time to say what she meant to; and trying to avoid seeing her, she ran into the house.
“Princess, it is God's will! You must be prepared for the worst,” said the marshal, meeting her at the door into the house.
“Let me be; it's not true!” she cried angrily at him.
The doctor tried to stop her. She pushed him away and ran to the door. “What are these people with scared faces stopping me for? I don't want any of them! What are they doing here?” she thought. She opened the door, and the bright daylight in the room, always hitherto darkened, frightened her. Her old nurse and other women were in the room. They all drew back from the bed, making way for her. He was still lying on the bed as before; but the stern look on his calm face arrested Princess Marya on the threshold.
“No, he is not dead, it cannot be!” Princess Marya said to herself. She went up to him, and struggling with the terror that came upon her, she pressed her lips to his cheek. But she started back from him at once. Instantaneously all the tenderness she had been feeling for him vanished, and was followed by a feeling of horror for what lay before her. “No, no, he is no more! He is no more, and here in the place where he was, is something unfamiliar and sinister, some fearful, terrifying, and repulsive secret!” And hiding her face in her hands, Princess Marya sank into the arms of the doctor, who supported her.
In the presence of Tihon and the doctor, the women washed what had been the prince, bound a kerchief round the head that the mouth might not become rigidly open, and bound another kerchief round the limbs. Then the uniform with the decorations was put on, and the little dried-up body was laid on the table. There was no telling when or who took thought for all this; it all seemed to be done of itself. Towards night candles were lighted round the coffin, a pall was laid over it, juniper was strewn on the floor, a printed prayer was put under the dead withered head, and a deacon sat in the corner reading aloud the Psalter. Like horses crowding, snorting, and starting round a dead horse, numbers of familiar and unfamiliar figures crowded round the coffin—the marshal, and the village elder, and peasant women, and all with scared and fascinated eyes, crossed themselves, and bowed down and kissed the cold, stiff hand of the old prince.
如同安德烈公爵所想象的那样，玛丽亚公爵小姐并不曾到达莫斯科，也没有脱离危险。 
在阿尔帕特奇从斯摩棱斯克回来之后，老公爵突然间像从睡梦中醒了过来。他下令从各乡召集民兵并把他们都武装起来，同时又给总司令写了一封信，告诉他，自己已决定留下来保卫童山并坚持到底，至于总司令是否设法保卫童山，保卫俄国最老的将军之一可能被俘或者被打死的地方，请总司令自行定夺，同时也向家里的人宣布，他绝不离开童山。
公爵本人留在童山，但是，他命令公爵小姐和德萨尔带领小公爵去博古恰罗沃，然后从那里去莫斯科。玛丽亚公爵小姐对父亲一反他先前的消沉状态，夜以继日地狂热地活动，感到吃惊，她不能把他一个人丢下不管，他生平第一次使自己不服从他。她拒绝动身，于是公爵对她大发雷霆，他把以往所有冤枉她的话又数落了一遍。他竭力加罪于她，说她折磨了他，说她唆使儿子和他吵架，说她蓄藏卑劣的猜疑，她一生的任务就是使他的生活不愉快，于是他把她从自己的书房中赶了出去，他对她说，如果她不走，那在他是完全一样。他说，他不想知道她的存在并且预先警告她，不要让他看见她。与玛丽亚公爵小姐的担心相反，他没有强令把她带走，只是说不要让他看见她，这使玛丽亚公爵小姐喜出望外。她知道，这足以证明，她留下来不走，他在内心深处是高兴的。
在尼古卢什卡走后的第二天，一大早，老公爵身着全副戎装去见总司令。四轮马车已经准备停当。玛丽亚公爵小姐看见他身着戎装，佩戴着全部勋章，从屋内走出来，到花园中去检阅已经武装起来的农夫和家奴。玛丽亚公爵小姐坐在窗户旁边，倾听着从花园里传来的他的声音。突然间，从林荫道上跑出来几个惊慌失色的人。
玛丽亚公爵小姐跑出门外，穿过花径，跑到林荫道上。迎面而来的是一群民兵和家奴，在这一群人中间有几个人用手架扶着一个身着戎装、佩戴勋章的小老头。玛丽亚公爵小姐向他飞奔过去，透过林荫道旁菩提树荫影射下来的摇曳不定的阳光碎点，看不出来他的脸上发生了什么变化。她看到的只有一点，那就是他先前脸上的那种严厉果断的表情，已变换成一副怯弱和屈服的表情。他看到女儿之后，动了动他那无力的嘴唇，发出了呼呼噜噜的声音，不知道他想说什么。人们把他抬进书房，把他安放在他近来害怕的那张沙发上。
请来的医生在当天夜间给他放了血并说明公爵患中风，右半身不遂。
留在童山已经越来越危险了，公爵中风的第二天就迁住博古恰罗沃。医生也跟着去了。
当他们前往博古恰罗沃时，德萨尔已带领小公爵动身前往莫斯科。
瘫痪的老公爵在博古恰罗沃安德烈公爵新迁的房子里躺了三个星期，病情还是那个老样子，既没有好转，也没有恶化。老公爵昏迷不醒；他像一具变了形的尸体躺卧着，他不停地嘟噜着什么，眼眉和嘴唇抽动着，不知道他是否了解他周围的一切。可以确切知道的只有一点，那就是他很痛苦，很想说点什么。不过，是什么呢，谁也不能够明白这一点；这或许是一个病人或一个半疯癫状态的人突发的古怪脾气，或许是与公共事务或家庭事务有关的什么。
医生说，这种躁动不安并不意味着什么，这只不过是由于生理上的原因；但是，玛丽亚公爵小姐想到，当她在他跟前时，他总是更加躁动不安，这一点就证实了她的想法，她认为他是想对她说点什么，他显然在肉体上和精神上都很痛苦。
治愈已无希望。迁往他处也绝不可能。如果在路途中死去，那可怎么办？“是不是完结更好些，干脆完结吧！”玛丽亚公爵小姐有时是这样想的。她不分白天和黑夜，几乎完全没有睡觉，时刻不离地守护着他，说来可怕，她这样守护他，时常不是期望能发现病情好转的迹象，而是期望能发现临近结局的迹象。
纵然，公爵小姐已经意识到自己有这种感情，为此感到十分奇怪，然而，她内心确实有这种感情。对玛丽亚公爵小姐来说，更可怕的是，自从她父亲生病之后（甚至更早，在她料想到会发生什么事情而同他一起留下来的时候），所有的在她内心深处隐藏着的，已被遗忘了的个人的心愿和希望，都在她心中苏醒过来了。多少年来都没有在她的脑海中出现过的念头——没有严父畏惧的自由生活，甚至建立爱情和家庭幸福的可能性，像魔鬼的诱惑一般不断地在她的脑海中浮现出来。有一个问题不停地在脑海中浮现，她无论怎样都驱逐不掉，那就是在眼下，也就是在办完后事之后，她怎样去安排自己的生活。公爵小姐知道，这是魔鬼的诱惑。她知道，能够对付这种诱惑的唯一武器是做祈祷，于是她试着做祷告。她做出一种祷告的姿势，注视着神像，念诵着祷告词，然而她祈祷不下去。她感到，她现在已经完全置身于另外一个世界——一个世俗的、劳碌的、自由活动的世界，而这个世界与先前把她禁锢在其中的精神世界完全相反，在那个精神世界中，她过去最大的安慰就是做祷告。她无法祷告，欲哭无声，因为尘世的忧虑包围着她。
继续留在博古恰罗沃变得危险起来了，从四面八方传来了法国人已经迫近的消息，在离博古恰罗沃十五俄里的一个村庄，有一所庄园已经遭到法国匪兵的抢劫。
医生坚持要把公爵迁得远一点；首长派一名官员来见玛丽亚公爵小姐，劝告她尽可能早点离开。县警察局长亲自来到博古恰罗沃，也同样坚持这一主张，他说，法国人离此地只有四十俄里，在各村庄教发传单，如果公爵小姐不在十五日之前和她父亲离开这里，那他无论如何也不能负责了。
公爵小姐决定十五日动身。她忙了一整天，从事各项准备，她向所有前来请示的人发布命令。从十四日深夜，她同往常一样，在公爵卧病的隔壁的那间屋里和衣而卧，她醒来好几次，都听到了他的哼哼声和嘟囔声，床的响声，吉洪和医生替他翻身的脚步声。有好几次，她靠近门旁细听，他觉得他的嘟囔声比平时要大一些，替他翻身的次数更勤。她不能入睡，好几次她走近房门，侧耳倾听，想进去看看，然而却不敢进去。虽然他不说话，但是玛丽亚公爵小姐看得出也知道，他每一次看见她为他担心的表情就十分不快。她看见他是多么不满地避开她有时不由自主地盯在他身上的眼光。她知道，她在夜间这个不寻常的时候进去，一定会惹他生气。
她从来没有这样怜惜，这样害怕失去他。她回忆起和他在一起的整个一生，在他的每一句话中和每一个行动中都能发现他对她的疼爱。在这些回忆中间，那魔鬼的诱惑——在他死后她怎样安排她的新的自由的生活的念头，时时浮现在她的想象之中。她以厌恶的心情驱赶这些念头。快到早晨的时候，他安静了下来，她也睡着了。
她醒得很晚，在刚刚醒来时常有的纯净心态清楚地表明，父亲的病已经占据了她的整个身心。她醒来之后，在门外侧耳细听屋里的情形，她听见他仍在呼呼哧哧，她叹息着自言自语道，还是那个样子。
“应该是什么样子呢？我想要他怎么样呢？我想要他死去！”她怀着对自己的厌恶心情叫道。
她穿好衣裳，洗完脸，念完了祈祷词，然后走到门廓上。门廓前面停着几辆尚未套马的大车，人们正在往车上装东西。
早晨温暖、阴沉。玛丽亚公爵小姐站在门廓上，她对自己内心的卑鄙不断地感到恐惧，在进屋去看父亲之前，清理了一下自己的思绪。
医生下楼向她走来。
“他今天好些，”医生说，“我在找您。可以从他所说的话中了解点什么。他的头脑清醒一点了。我们一道去吧。他正在叫您呢……”
玛丽亚公爵小姐一听到这个消息，她的心一下剧烈地跳动起来，她的脸色苍白，为了不致晕倒在地，她倚靠在房门上。正当玛丽亚公爵小姐整个心灵充满可怕的罪恶诱惑的时刻去见他，去和他说话，去看他盯住自己的眼神，那是一种令人痛苦的高兴，而且令人害怕。
“我们去吧。”医生说。
玛丽亚公爵小姐走进了房间，来到父亲床前。他仰卧着，背靠得很高，他那双瘦小的、青筋虬结的手平放在被子上面，他的左眼直瞪瞪地盯着，他的右眼歪斜，眉毛和嘴唇一动也不动。他的整个身子变得又瘦又小，很可怜。他的脸显得干瘪，五官都变得更小了。玛丽亚公爵小姐走向前去，吻了他的手，他的左手用力握她的手，要她知道，他早就在等她来了。他拉动她的手，他的眼眉和嘴唇忿忿地抽动着。
她惶恐不安地望着他。尽力揣测他想要她做什么。她换了个姿势，向前移动了一下身子，以便他的左眼能够看见她的脸，这时他平静下来了。一连几秒钟他的眼睛都没有离开她。随后他的嘴唇和舌头动了，发出了声音，他开始说话了，他怯生生地恳求地看着她，显然他怕她可能听不懂他所说的话。
玛丽亚公爵小姐集中全部精力凝视着他。看见他使出可笑的力气转动舌头，玛丽亚公爵小姐垂下眼帘，勉强压制住上升到了喉咙的呜咽声。他说了一句什么话，又重复着说了好几次。玛丽亚公爵小姐听不懂；她力图猜出他在说什么，并且疑问地重复他发出的声音。
“嗬嗬——波依……波依……”他重复了若干次……
无论怎样也不能弄明白这些话。医生以为他猜明白了这些话，他问道：“公爵小姐害怕吗？”他摇了摇头表示否认，他又重复发出同样的声音。
“心里，心里难过。”玛丽亚公爵小姐猜测着说。他肯定地发出一种含含糊糊的声音，他抓住她的手在他胸前的各个部位按来按去，似乎是要找到她要找到的那个部位。
“整个的心！都在想念你……整个的心。”然后，他发出的声音比先前好多了，更清楚些了，他确信，大家已经了解他了。玛丽亚公爵小姐把头贴在他的手上，极力隐藏住她的呜咽声和流出来的眼泪。
他用手抚摸着她的头发。
“我整夜都在叫你……”他说。
“要是我知道……”她流着眼泪说道，“我不敢进来。”
他握着她的手。
“你没有睡吗？”
“没有，我没有睡。”玛丽亚公爵小姐否定地摇了摇头说道，她不由自主地顺从着父亲，依照着他的样子，说话时尽量比划着手势，好像是她的舌头转动起来也很困难。
“亲爱的……”或许是说：“好孩子……”玛丽亚公爵小姐弄不清楚他所说的话，不过从他眼神的表情来看，他大概是说了一句他从来都没有说过的温情的、爱抚的话。“为什么不进来呢？”
“而我希望，希望他死去！”玛丽亚公爵小姐想到。他沉默了一会儿。
“谢谢你……女儿，好孩子……为了一切，为了一切，谢谢……原谅……谢谢，原谅……谢谢！……”泪水夺眶而出。
“去把安德留沙叫来。”他突然说，一说出这句话，他脸上表露出孩子般的怯生生的和怀疑的神情。他自亡似乎也知道，他这个要求是没有意义的。至少玛丽亚公爵小姐觉得是这样。
“我接到他一封信。”玛丽亚公爵小姐回答道。
他惊诧地胆怯地看着她。
“他在哪里？”
“他在军队里，mon　pere①，在斯摩棱斯克。” 
①法语：爸爸。
他闭上眼睛，沉默了好一阵；然后，好像解答他自己的疑问，并且证明他现在一切都明白，一切都记起来了，他肯定地点点头，又睁开了眼睛。
“是啊，”他声音清晰而低沉地说道。“俄国完了。他们把她给毁了！”他又闭上了眼睛，泪水夺眶而出。玛丽亚公爵小姐再也无法克制自己，望着他的脸，哭了起来。
他又闭上眼睛，止住了恸哭。他对着眼睛做了个手势；吉洪懂得了他的意思，替他擦掉了眼泪。
随后他又睁开眼睛，说了一些什么，有好一阵谁都没弄明白，最终只有吉洪一个人弄懂了，转述了他的话。玛丽亚公爵小姐根据他方才他说话的神情来揣测他的话的意思。她揣测他时而说俄国，时而说安德烈公爵，时而说她，时而说孙子，时而说到他的死。可是她不能由此而猜出他所说的话。
“穿上你那件白色布拉吉，我喜欢它。”他说。
玛丽亚公爵小姐听懂了这句话，她放声大哭，医生用手架扶着她，把她从室内扶到阳台上，劝她要冷静和准备动身的事情。玛丽亚公爵小姐离开公爵后，他又说起儿子，说起战争，说起皇帝，忿忿地牵动着眉头，提高了他那粗哑的声音，他所患的中风又第二次发作了，这也是最后一次。
玛丽亚公爵小姐站在阳台上。天已放晴，太阳照得暖洋洋的。她什么都不理解；什么都不想，什么都不觉得，只有对父亲的热爱，她感到她在此之前从来还不曾这样热爱她的父亲。她哭着跑向花园，沿着安德烈公爵所栽的菩提树的林荫小道向下面的池塘跑去。
“是的……我……我……我愿他死去。是的，我希望快点结束……我想得到安静……我将来会怎么样呢？当他不在世的时候，我的安静又有什么用呢？”她在花园里迈着疾速的脚步走着，一边用双手按住胸口，不由自主地抽抽搭搭地哭，一边念叨着。她沿着花园转了一圈，又来到住宅前，这时她看见了迎面走来的布里安小姐（她留在博古恰罗沃不愿意离开）带着一个陌生的男人。此人是本县的首长。他亲自前来告知公爵小姐必须尽快离开此地。玛丽亚公爵小姐听了他的话，但不明白他所说的；她把他请进屋里，请他用早餐，陪他坐下。然后，她向他道了歉，就起身向老公爵的房门走去。
医生面色惊慌出来对她说，此刻不能进去。
“走吧，公爵小姐，走吧，走吧！”
玛丽亚公爵小姐又回到花园里，在池塘旁边假山下面一处谁也看不见的草地上坐了下来。她不知道她在那里坐了多久。一个沿着小径奔跑的女人的脚步声惊醒了她。她站起身，看见她的女仆杜尼亚莎①，她显然是跑来找她的，一看见小姐的神色，好像受到惊吓一样突然停住了脚。 
①杜尼亚莎是阿夫多季娅的小名。
“请您，公爵小姐……公爵……”杜尼亚莎断断续续地说。
“我现在，就去，就去。”公爵小姐迭声说道，不等杜尼亚莎说完，极力不看一眼杜尼亚莎，就往家里跑去。
“公爵小姐，这是上帝的旨意，您应当做好一切准备。”县首长在门口迎着他说。
“不要管我，这不是真的！”她怒冲冲地对他吼叫道。医生想阻挡住他，她推开医生，向门里跑过去。“为什么这些人惊惶失色地阻拦我？我不需要任何人！他们在这里干什么？”她推开门，在这间先前半阴暗的房间里，大白天的亮光使她大为惊恐。屋里有几个妇女和一个保姆。他们从床边退到一旁，给她让路。他依旧躺在床上；但是他那安详的脸上的严厉的表情，使玛丽亚公爵小姐在门槛上停了下来。
“不，他没有死，这不可能！”玛丽亚公爵小姐自言自语，她克制着内心的恐惧走近他的跟前，把嘴唇贴近他的面颊，但是她立即向后退缩，回避他。霎时间，她原先对他所怀有的全部柔情消失了，为呈现在她眼前的光景所引起的恐怖所代替。“完了，再没有他了！他去世了，在这里，他生前所在的地方，有一种陌生的含有敌意的东西，是一种令人十分恐慌战栗和令人反感的神秘！”玛丽亚公爵小姐双手捂着脸，倒在医生架扶她的手臂上。
几个妇女当着吉洪和医生的面洗涤了他的遗体，为使他那张开的嘴不致变硬，用一条手巾扎在他的头上，用另一条手巾扎起他那叉开的双腿，随后给他穿上佩戴勋章的制服，把他那又小又干的尸体安放在一张桌子上面，天知道是谁又是什么时间操持过这种事情，然而一切都自然而然地完成了。入夜，在棺材周围点燃了蜡烛，棺材上面又加了罩子，地板上撤了杜松枝，在僵死干瘪的头下面枕着一张印刷的祷文，一个教堂的助祭坐在屋角唱赞美歌。
正如一些马向一匹死马飞快扑过去，拥挤在一起，打着响鼻一样，家里的人和外来的人都挤在客厅里，挤在棺材周围——县首长、村长、妇女们——都瞪着惊惶的眼睛，划着十字，鞠躬、吻老公爵冰凉而僵硬的手。
Book 10 Chapter 9
UNTIL PRINCE ANDREY'S STAY at Bogutcharovo, the estate had never had an owner in residence, and the Bogutcharovo peasants were of quite a different character from the peasants of Bleak Hills. They differed from them in speech, in dress, and in manners. They said they came from the steppes. The old prince praised them for their industry when they came to Bleak Hills for harvesting, or digging ponds and ditches; but he did not like them because of their savage manners.
Prince Andrey's residence at Bogutcharovo, and his innovations—his hospitals and schools and the lowering of their rent—had not softened their manners, but, on the contrary, had intensified their traits of character, which the old prince called their savagery.
Obscure rumours were always current among them: at one time a belief that they were all to be carried off to be made Cossacks, then that they were to be converted to some new religion, then rumours of some supposed proclamations of the Tsar, or of the oath to the Tsar Pavel Petrovitch in 1797 (which was said to have granted freedom to the peasants, and to have been withdrawn by the gentry later); then of the expected return of the Tsar Peter Fedorovitch, who was to rise again from the dead in seven years, and to bring perfect freedom, and to make an end of the existing order of things. Rumours of the war, and Bonaparte and his invasion, were connected in their minds with vague conceptions of Antichrist, of the end of the world, and perfect freedom.
In the vicinity of Bogutcharovo were large villages inhabited by Crown serfs, or peasants who paid rent to absentee owners. There were very few resident landowners in the neighbourhood, and consequently very few house-serfs or peasants able to read and write. And among the peasants of that part of the country there could be seen more distinctly and strongly marked than among others those mysterious undercurrents in the life of the Russian peasantry, which are so baffling to contemporaries. Twenty years before, there had been a movement among the peasants of the district to emigrate to certain supposedly warm rivers. Hundreds of peasants, among them those of Bogutcharovo, had suddenly begun selling their cattle and moving away with their families towards the south-west. Like birds flying to unknown realms over the ocean, these men with their wives and children turned towards the south-west, where no one of them had been. They set off in caravans, redeemed their freedom one by one, ran and drove and walked to the unknown region of the warm springs. Many were punished; some sent to Siberia; many died of cold and hunger on the road; many came back of their own accord; and the movement died down as it had begun without obvious cause. But the undercurrents still flowed among the people, and were gathering force for some new manifestation, destined to appear as strangely, unexpectedly, and at the same time simply, naturally, and forcibly. In 1812 any one living in close relations with the peasants might have observed that there was a violent ferment working below the surface, and an outbreak of some kind was at hand.
Alpatitch, who came to Bogutcharovo a little while before the old prince's death, noticed that there was some excitement among the peasants; and noticed that, unlike Bleak Hills district, where within a radius of sixty versts all the peasants had moved away, abandoning their villages to be wasted by the Cossacks, in the Bogutcharovo steppe country the peasants had entered, it was said, into communication with the French, and were remaining in their homes, and there were some mysterious documents circulating among them. He learned through serfs who were attached to him that the peasant Karp, a man of great influence in the village, had a few days previously accompanied a government transport, and had returned with the news that the Cossacks were destroying the deserted villages, while the French would not touch them. He knew that another peasant had on the previous day even brought from the hamlet of Vislouhovo, where the French were encamped, a proclamation from the French general that no harm would be done to the inhabitants, and that everything taken from them would be paid for, if they would remain. In token of good faith, the peasant brought from Vislouhovo a hundred-rouble note (he did not know it was false), paid him in advance for hay.
And last, and most important of all, Alpatitch learned that on the day on which he had given the village elder orders to collect carts to move the princess's luggage from Bogutcharovo, there had been a meeting in the village at which it was resolved to wait and not to move. Meanwhile, time was pressing. On the day of the prince's death, the 15th of August, the marshal urged Princess Marya to move the same day, as it was becoming dangerous. He said that he could not answer for what might happen after the 16th. He drove away that evening, promising to return next morning for the funeral. But next day he could not come, as he received information of an expected advance of the French, and was only just in time to get his family and valuables moved away from his own estate.
For nearly thirty years Bogutcharovo had been under the direction of the village elder, Dron, called by the old prince, Dronushka.
Dron was one of those physically and morally vigorous peasants, who grow a thick beard as soon as they are grown up, and go on almost unchanged till sixty or seventy, without a grey hair or the loss of a tooth, as upright and vigorous at sixty as at thirty.
Shortly after the attempted migration to the warm rivers, in which he had taken part with the rest, Dron was made village elder and overseer of Bogutcharovo, and had filled those positions irreproachably for twenty-three years. The peasants were more afraid of him than of their master. The old prince and the young one and the steward respected him, and called him in joke the minister. Dron had never once been drunk or ill since he had been appointed elder; he had never after sleepless nights or severe labour shown the slightest signs of fatigue; and though he could not read or write, he never forgot an account of the pounds of flour in the huge waggon-loads he sold, and of the money paid for them, nor missed a sheaf of wheat on an acre of the Bogutcharovo fields.
This peasant Dron it was for whom Alpatitch sent on coming from the plundered estate at Bleak Hills. He ordered him to get ready twelve horses for the princess's carriages, and eighteen conveyances for the move which was to be made from Bogutcharovo. Though the peasants paid rent instead of working as serfs, Alpatitch expected to meet no difficulty on their part in carrying out this order, since there were two hundred and thirty efficient families in Bogutcharovo, and the peasants were well-to-do. But Dron, on receiving the order, dropped his eyes and made no reply. Alpatitch mentioned the names of peasants from whom he told him to take the carts.
Dron replied that the horses belonging to those peasants were away on hire. Alpatitch mentioned the names of other peasants. They too, according to Dron, had no horses available: some were employed in government transport, others had gone lame, and others had died through the shortness of forage. In Dron's opinion, there was no hope of getting horses enough for the princess's carriages, not to speak of the transport of baggage.
Alpatitch looked intently at Dron and scowled. Dron was a model village elder, but Alpatitch had not been twenty years managing the prince's estates for nothing, and he too was a model steward. He possessed in the highest degree the faculty of divining the needs and instincts of the peasants, with whom he had to deal, and was consequently an excellent steward. Glancing at Dron, he saw at once that his answers were not the expression of his own ideas, but the expression of the general drift of opinion in the Bogutcharovo village, by which the elder had already been carried away. At the same time, he knew that Dron, who had saved money and was detested by the village, must be hesitating between two camps—the master's and the peasants'. He detected the hesitation in his eyes, and so frowning he came closer to Dron.
“Now, Dronushka,” he said, “you listen to me! Don't you talk nonsense to me. His excellency, Prince Andrey Nikolaevitch, himself gave me orders to move the folk away, and not leave them with the enemy, and the Tsar has issued a decree that it is to be so. Any one that stays is a traitor to the Tsar. Do you hear?”
“I hear,” answered Dron, not raising his eyes.
Alpatitch was not satisfied with his reply.
“Ay, Dron, there'll be trouble!” said Alpatitch, shaking his head.
“It's for you to command!” said Dron dejectedly.
“Ay, Dron, drop it!” repeated Alpatitch, taking his hand out of the bosom of his coat, and pointing with a solemn gesture to the ground under Dron's feet. “I can see right through you; and more than that, I can see three yards into the earth under you,” he said, looking at the ground under Dron's feet.
Dron was disconcerted; he looked furtively at Alpatitch, and dropped his eyes again.
“You drop this nonsense, and tell the folks to pack up to leave their homes and go to Moscow, and to get ready carts to-morrow morning for the princess's luggage; and don't you go to the meeting. Do you hear?”
All at once Dron threw himself at his feet.
“Yakov Alpatitch, discharge me! Take the keys from me; discharge me, for Christ's sake!”
“Stop that!” said Alpatitch sternly. “I can see through you three yards into the earth,” he repeated, knowing that his skill in beekeeping, his knowledge of the right day to sow the oats, and his success in pleasing the old prince for twenty years had long ago gained him the reputation of a wizard, and that the power of seeing for three yards under a man is ascribed to wizards.
Dron got up, and would have said something, but Alpatitch interrupted him.
“What's this you've all got in your head? Eh? … What are you thinking about? Eh?”
“What am I to do with the people?” said Dron. “They're all in a ferment. I do tell them …”
“Oh, I dare say you do,” said Alpatitch. “Are they drinking?” he asked briefly.
“They're all in a ferment, Yakov Alpatitch; they have got hold of another barrel.”
“Then you listen to me. I'll go to the police-captain and you tell them so, and tell them to drop all this and get the carts ready.”
“Certainly,” answered Dron.
Yakov Alpatitch did not insist further. He had much experience in managing the peasants, and knew that the chief means for securing obedience was not to show the slightest suspicion that they could do anything but obey. Having wrung from Dron a submissive “certainly,” Yakov Alpatitch rested content with it, though he had more than doubts—he had a conviction—that the carts would not be provided without the intervention of the military authorities.
And as a fact when evening came, the carts had not been provided. There had been again a village meeting at the tavern, and at the meeting it had been resolved to drive the horses out into the forest and not to provide the conveyances. Without saying a word of all this to the princess, Alpatitch ordered his own baggage to be unloaded from the waggons that had come from Bleak Hills and the horses to be taken from them for the princess's carriage, while he rode off himself to the police authorities.
在安德烈公爵没有来博古恰罗沃之前，这里是主人从未来过的庄园，博古恰罗沃的农夫与童山的农夫性格迥然不同，他们在口音、衣着、习俗等方面都与童山的农夫不同。他们被称为草原农民。以往他们到童山帮助收割庄稼和挖掘池塘沟渠时，老公爵赞赏他们能吃苦耐劳，但是不喜欢他们的那种野性。 
安德烈公爵在这一次来博古恰罗沃之前不久，曾来这里住过一段时间，他创办了一些新设施——医院、学校和减轻免役税①，等等，这一切并未能略微改变他们的习俗，而且相反，更加强了他们那些被老公爵称之为野性的性格特点。在他们中间经常流传着一些含含混混的谣言，时而传说要把他们全都编入哥萨克，时而传说要他们改信一种新的宗教，时而传说沙皇颁布了什么告示，时而传说一七九七年保罗·彼得罗维奇的誓词（关于这一誓词的传说是，已经赐给他们自由，但是被地主们剥夺了），时而传说彼得·费奥多罗维奇②过七年要复位，那时一切都很自由，一切都很简单，什么麻烦事情都不会再有了。关于战争和波拿巴，以及他入侵的传闻，在他们的头脑中，跟基督的敌人、世界末日和绝对自由等模糊观念混在一起。 
①封建时代为免劳役所交纳的赋税。
②彼得三世皇帝，在一七六二年其妻叶卡捷琳娜二世即位的时候，被刺杀或病死了；但是沙皇在农民的头脑中是永生的，他们不相信沙皇会死去。
博古恰罗沃附近所有大村庄都是属于皇家和收免役税的地主。在这一地区居住生活的地主非常之少，家奴和识字的农奴也很少，在这一地区农民的生活中，俄罗斯人民生活中神秘的潜流比其他地方表现得更加明显和更为有力。当代人对这些潜流的原因和意义十分费解。二十年前在这一地区的农民中间曾经发生过向着某某温暖的河流迁徙的运动，这就是这些潜流的表现之一。成百上千的农民，其中就有博古恰罗沃人，他们忽然卖掉牲口，携全家老小向着东南方向的某个地方走去。好像一群鸟飞向海外某个地方一样，这些人携带着老婆孩子向着东南方向飞奔，而要去的这个地方，他们当中没有一个人曾经去过。他们成群结队出发，一个一个地赎回他们的自由，有的逃跑出来，他们坐车的坐车，步行的步行，朝着温暖的河流走去。很多人遭到惩罚，有的被流放到西伯利亚，有些人在路上被冻死和饿死。很多人又自己转身回来，这一场运动就像其一开头那样，看不出其中有什么明显的原因，就自然而然地平息下去了。但是，这股潜流在这些人中间并没有停止，而且还在积聚着新的力量，一旦爆发，依然是那么奇特，那么突然，同时又那么简单，自然，有力。现在，一八一二年，每一个和这帮人接近的人都能看得出，这股潜流正在加紧活动，离爆发的日子已为期不远了。
阿尔帕特奇是在老公爵临终前不久来到博古恰罗沃的。他发现，在这里的人当中有一种激动不安的情绪，这里与童山地区的情况则完全相反，在那里方圆六十里内的农民都逃走了，他们把村庄留给哥萨克去破坏。而在博古恰罗沃周围草原地带，听说他们跟法国人有过联系，他们得到过法国人的传单，这些传单在他们当中流传，他们都停留不动。他通过几个心腹家奴获悉，前几天赶官府大车的农民卡尔普（此人在村公社①有很大影响）从外地带回来一个消息，说哥萨克破坏那些居民外逃的村庄，而法国人却不动他们一根毫毛。他知道，还有一个农民昨天从法军占领的维斯洛乌霍沃村带回来一张法国将军颁发的布告，布告上说，一定不会加害居民，只要他们留在原处不动，凡是从他们手里取的东西，都照价付钱。作为这一点的证明，这个农民从维斯洛乌霍沃村带回预先支付的一百卢布的干草款（他不知道这是些假钞票）。 
①沙皇时代的农村公社。
还有极为重要的是，阿尔帕特奇知道，就在他吩咐村长调集大车把公爵小姐的行李从博古恰罗沃运走的当天早晨，村里举行了一次集会，会上决定，不搬走，等着瞧。然而时间却不允许再等得了，县首长在公爵去世的那一天，八月十五日，极力劝玛丽亚公爵小姐当天就动身，因为局势已很危急。他说，十六日以后他就不负责任了。公爵去世的当天晚上，他走了，他答应第二天公爵下葬时再来，但是第二天他不能来了，因为根据他们得到的消息，法国人出乎意料地向前推进了，他只来得及从村子里带走家属和贵重物品。
村长德龙（老公爵叫他德龙努什卡）管理博古恰罗沃已经三十来年了。
德龙是这一带有强壮体魄的精神饱满的农民之一，这些壮实汉子一成年就长满脸的大胡子，一直到六、七十岁模样一点不变，头上没有一根白头发，不掉一颗牙，六十岁的人就好像三十岁的人一样刚健有力。
德龙也像别的农民一样，参加过向温暖的河流迁徙的运动，回来不久，他被指派为博古恰罗沃的村长，自那时起，他无可指责地在这个职位上坐了二十三年。农民们怕他甚过怕他们的主人。主人们——老公爵、小公爵，以及管家的，都尊重他，并戏称他是“家务大臣”。德龙在全部任职期间没有醉过一次酒，没有生过一次病；不论是一连几天几夜不睡觉，也不论干了多劳累的话，从来没有露出过一丝倦容，他虽然目不识丁，却从来不曾忘记一笔帐，他轻手卖掉无数车的面粉，从来也没有忘掉——普特，他从来没有忘掉在博古恰罗沃的每俄亩土地上收获的任何一堆粮食。
在老公爵下葬的那一天，从被破坏了的童山来的阿尔帕特奇把这个德龙叫来，吩咐他为公爵小姐的马车准备十二匹马和十八辆大车，以便从博古恰罗沃动身。虽然，农民都是交免役税户，但在阿尔帕特奇看来，执行这个命令不致于会有什么困难，因为博古恰罗沃有二百三十户交免役税户，他们户户都富裕。然而村长德龙听到这个命令，默默地垂下眼皮。阿尔帕特奇把他知道的农民的名字说给他听，命令他从他们那里征集大车。
德龙回答说，这些农户的马都在外面拉脚，阿尔帕特奇又说出另外一些农民。按照德龙的说法，这些农户没有马，有一些马正在替官府运输，另一些马已不中用，还有些马因为缺少饲料给饿死了，照德龙所说，不但找不到拉行李的马，连拉人坐的车所用的马也弄不到了。
阿尔帕特奇凝神地看了看德龙，紧锁眉头。正如德龙是一个模范村长一样，阿尔帕特奇并非白白地把公爵的田庄管理了二十年，他是一个模范管家。他凭嗅觉就能了解那些与他打交道的人的需要和本能，他有高度的才能，因此他是一个出色的管家。他看了德龙一眼，立刻就明白，德龙的回答并不代表他本人的思想，而是代表博古恰罗沃村公社那种普遍的情绪，这位村长已经屈从于村公社农户的这种情绪。然而，他同时也知道，发了财的和被全村仇视的德龙，必然在地主和农奴两个阵营之间摇摆不定。他从他的眼神中看出了这种动摇。于是阿尔帕特奇皱起眉头，向他走近了些。
“你，德龙努什卡，给我听着！你少给我说废话。安德烈·尼古拉伊奇公爵大人亲口向我吩咐过，全体老百姓都得走，不能留在敌占区，沙皇也下了同样的命令。谁留下不走，谁就是沙皇的叛徒。听见没有。”
“听见了！”德龙连眼皮都没有抬一下，他回答道。
阿尔帕特奇对这一回答不满意。
“哎，德龙，不会有好下场的！”阿尔帕特奇摇着头，说。
“全由您作主！”德龙悲哀地说。
“哎，德龙，不用再说了吧！”阿尔帕特奇又重复说，他从怀里抽出手来，庄严地指着德龙脚下的地板。“我不但可以看透你，就是你脚底下三尺都可以看个透。”他看着德龙脚下的地板说。
德龙着了慌，偷看了阿尔帕特奇一眼，又搭拉下眼皮。
“你少说那些废话，去通知老百姓收拾好准备前往莫斯科，明天一大早把运公爵小姐行李的大车准备好，你本人不要去参加会，听见没有？”
德龙突然跪了下去。
“雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇，把我撤职吧，请把钥匙拿去，看在耶稣的份上，把我撤了职吧。”
“收起你那一套！”阿尔帕特奇严厉地说。“我可以看透你脚下三尺深处，”他又重复着说，熟悉他那养蜂的技巧，他那适时播种燕麦的知识，以及他能一连二十年保持老公爵恩宠这一事实，使他久已获得神巫的名声，人们认为，只有神巫才能看透脚下三尺深的地方。
德龙站起身，想要说点什么，但是阿尔帕特奇阻住了他。
“您怎么会想到这里？咹？……您是怎么想的？咹？”
“我拿老百姓怎么办呢？”德龙说，“全都疯了，我也是那么对他们说的呀……”
“我也是那么说，”阿尔帕特奇说，“他们在喝酒？”他简短地问了一句。
“全都发了狂。雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇；他们又弄来一桶。”
“你给我听着。我到警察局长那里去，你去管一下老百姓，要他们不要干这种事，把大车都准备好。”
“我听见了。”德龙回答道。
雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇不再坚持了。他在长时期对老百姓的统治中知道，要使人们服从的一个主要手段就是不要向他们流露出对他们有可能会不服从的怀疑。从德龙的口中得到顺从的“是的——您老”这一句回话，雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇感到满意，虽然他不但怀疑，而且差不多相信，不借助军队的力量，根本弄不到大车。
果真，到了晚上，大车并未来到。在村中的酒馆旁边又举行了一次集会，在会上决定把马赶到森林中去，并且不出大车。阿尔帕特奇没有把这件事告诉公爵小姐。他吩咐把从童山来的大车上的他的全部行李都卸下来，把那些马套在公爵小姐的马车上，之后，他亲自去找地方官长去了。
Book 10 Chapter 10
AFTER HER FATHER'S FUNERAL Princess Marya locked herself in her room and would not let any one come near her. A maid came to the door to say that Alpatitch had come to ask for instructions in regard to the journey. (This was before Alpatitch had talked to Dron.) Princess Marya got up from the sofa on which she was lying, and through the closed door replied that she was never going away, and begged to be left in peace.
The windows of the room in which Princess Marya lay looked to the west. She lay on the sofa facing the wall, and fingering the buttons on the leather bolster, she saw nothing but that bolster, and her thoughts were concentrated obscurely on one subject. She thought of the finality of death and of her spiritual baseness, of which she had had no idea till it showed itself during her father's illness. She longed to pray, but dared not; dared not, in the spiritual state she was in, turn to God. For a long while she lay in that position.
The sun was setting, and the slanting rays lighted up the room through the open window, and threw a glow on part of the morocco cushion at which Princess Marya was looking. The current of her thoughts was suddenly arrested. She unconsciously sat up, smoothed her hair, stood up, and walked to the window, involuntarily drawing a deep breath of the refreshing coolness of the clear, windy evening.
“Yes, now you can admire the sunset at your ease! He is not here, and there is no one to hinder you,” she said to herself, and sinking into a chair, she let her head fall on the window-sill.
Some one spoke her name in a soft and tender voice from the garden and kissed her on the head. She looked up. It was Mademoiselle Bourienne in a black dress and pleureuses. She softly approached Princess Marya, kissed her with a sigh, and promptly burst into tears. Princess Marya looked round at her. All her old conflicts with her, her jealousy of her, recurred to Princess Marya's mind. She remembered too that he had changed of late to Mademoiselle Bourienne, could not bear the sight of her, and therefore how unjust had been the censure that she had in her heart passed upon her. “Yes, and is it for me, for me, after desiring his death, to pass judgment on any one?” she thought.
Princess Marya pictured vividly to herself Mademoiselle Bourienne's position, estranged from her of late, though dependent on her, and living among strangers. And she felt sorry for her. She looked at her in gentle inquiry and held out her hand to her. Mademoiselle Bourienne at once began kissing her hand with tears and talking of the princess's sorrow, making herself a partner in that sorrow. She said that her only consolation in her sorrow was that the princess permitted her to share it with her. She said that all their former misunderstandings must sink into nothing before their great sorrow: that she felt herself guiltless in regard to every one, and that he from above saw her love and gratitude. The princess heard her without heeding her words, though she looked at her now and then and listened to the sound of her voice.
“Your position is doubly dreadful, dear princess,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne. “I know you could not and cannot think of yourself; but with my love for you I am bound to do so.…Has Alpatitch been with you? Has he spoken to you of moving?” she asked.
Princess Marya did not answer. She did not understand who was to move and where. “Was it possible to undertake anything now, to think of anything? Could anything matter?” she wondered. She made no reply.
“Do you know, chère Marie,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, “that we are in danger, that we are surrounded by the French; it is dangerous to move now. If we move, we are almost certain to be taken prisoner, and God knows …”
Princess Marya looked at her companion, with no notion what she was saying.
“Oh, if any one knew how little anything matters to me now,” she said. “Of course, I would not on any account move away from him…Alpatitch said something about going away.…You talk to him … I can't do anything, and I don't want …”
“I have been talking to him. He hopes that we may manage to get away to-morrow; but I think it would be better now to remain here,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne. “Because you will agree, chère Marie, that to fall into the hands of the soldiers or of rioting peasants on the road would be awful.”
Mademoiselle Bourienne took out of her reticule a document, not on the usual Russian paper. It was the proclamation of General Rameau, announcing that protection would be given by the French commanders to all inhabitants who did not abandon their homes. She handed it to the princess.
“I imagine the best thing would be to appeal to this general,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne. “I am convinced that all proper respect would be shown you.”
Princess Marya read the document and her face worked with tearless sobs.
“Through whom did you get this?” she asked.
“They probably found out I was French from my name,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, flushing.
With the proclamation in her hand, Princess Marya got up from the window, and with a pale face walked out of the room into Prince Andrey's former study.
“Dunyasha! send Alpatitch to me, Dronushka, or somebody!” said Princess Marya. “And tell Amalya Karlovna not to come to me,” she added, hearing Mademoiselle Bourienne's voice. “To set off at once! as quick as possible!” said Princess Marya, appalled at the idea that she might be left in the power of the French.
“That Prince Andrey should know that she was in the power of the French! That she, the daughter of Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky, should stoop to ask General Rameau to grant her his protection, and should take advantage of his good offices.” The idea appalled her, made her shudder and turn crimson. She felt a rush of vindictive wrath and pride of which she had had no conception. All the bitterness, and still more the humiliation of her position rose vividly to her imagination. “They, the French, would take up their quarters in the house: M. le Général Rameau would occupy Prince Andrey's study; would amuse himself by looking through and reading his letters and papers; Mademoiselle Bourienne would do the honours of Bogutcharovo; I should be given a room as a favour; the soldiers would break open my father's newly dug grave to take his crosses and decorations; they would tell me of their victories over the Russians, would affect hypocritical sympathy with my grief, …” thought Princess Marya, thinking not the thoughts natural to her, but feeling it a duty to think as her father and brother would have done. To her personally it did not matter where she stayed and what happened to her, but, at the same time, she felt herself the representative of her dead father and Prince Andrey. Unconsciously she thought their thoughts and felt their feelings. What they would have said, what they would have done now, she felt it incumbent upon her to do. She went into Prince Andrey's study, and trying to enter completely into his ideas, thought over her situation.
The exigencies of life, which she had regarded as of no consequence since her father's death, all at once rose up about Princess Marya with a force she had known nothing of before, and swept her away with them.
Flushed and excited she walked about the room, sending first for Alpatitch, then for Mihail Ivanitch, then for Tihon, then for Dron. Dunyasha, the old nurse, and the maids could not tell her how far Mademoiselle Bourienne's statements had been correct. Alpatitch was not in the house; he had gone to the police authorities. Mihail Ivanitch, the architect, came with sleepy eyes on being sent for, but could tell Princess Marya nothing. With the same smile of acquiescence with which he had been accustomed during the course of fifteen years to meet the old prince's remarks without committing himself, he now met the princess's questions, so that there was no getting any definite answer out of him. The old valet, Tihon, whose wan and sunken face wore the stamp of inconsolable grief, answered “Yes, princess,” to all Princess Marya's questions, and could scarcely restrain his sobs as he looked at her.
Lastly, the village elder, Dron, came into the room, and bowing low to the princess, took up his position near the doorway.
Princess Marya walked up and down the room and stood still facing him.
“Dronushka,” she said, seeing in him a staunch friend, the Dronushka who had every year brought back from the fair at Vyazma the same gingerbreads she connected with him, and had presented them to her with the same smile, “Dronushka, now, after our misfortune,” … she began, and paused, unable to proceed.
“We are all in God's hands,” he said, with a sigh.
They were silent.
“Dronushka, Alpatitch has gone off somewhere, I have no one to turn to. Is it true, as I'm told, that it is impossible for me to go away?”
“Why shouldn't you go away, your excellency? You can go,” said Dron.
“I have been told there is danger from the enemy. My good friend, I can do nothing, I know nothing about it, I have nobody. I want to set off without fail to-night or to-morrow morning early.”
Dron did not speak. He looked up from under his brows at Princess Marya.
“There are no horses,” he said. “I have told Yakov Alpatitch so already.”
“How is that?” said the princess.
“It's all the visitation of the Lord,” said Dron. “Some horses have been carried off for the troops, and some are dead; it's a bad year, it is. If only we don't die of hunger ourselves, let alone feeding the horses! Here they've been three days without a bit of bread. There's nothing, they have been plundered to the last bit.”
Princess Marya listened attentively to what he said to her.
“The peasants have been plundered? They have no bread?” she asked.
“They are dying of hunger,” said Dron; “no use talking of horses and carts.”
“But why didn't you say so, Dronushka? Can't they be helped? I'll do everything I can …” It was strange to Princess Marya to think that at such a moment, when her heart was overflowing with such a sorrow, there could be rich people and poor, and that the rich could possibly not help the poor. She vaguely knew that there was a store of “seignorial corn,” and that it was sometimes given to the peasants. She knew, too, that neither her brother nor her father would refuse the peasants in their need; she was only afraid of making some mistake in the wording of the order for this distribution. She was glad that she had an excuse for doing something in which she could, without scruple, forget her own grief. She began to question Dronushka about the peasants' needs, and to ask whether there was a “seignorial store” at Bogutcharovo.
“I suppose we have a store of wheat of my brother's?” she asked.
“The wheat is all untouched,” Dron declared with pride. “The prince gave me no orders about selling it.”
“Give it to the peasants, give them all they need; I give you leave in my brother's name,” said Princess Marya.
Dron heaved a deep sigh and made no answer.
“You distribute the corn among them, if it will be enough for them. Distribute it all. I give you the order in my brother's name; and tell them, what's ours is theirs. We would grudge nothing for them. Tell them so.”
Dron watched the princess intently all the while she was speaking.
“Discharge me, ma'am, for God's sake, bid them take the keys from me,” said he. “I have served twenty-three years, and done no wrong; discharge me, for God's sake.”
Princess Marya had no notion what he wanted of her and why he asked her to discharge him. She answered that she had never doubted his fidelity, and that she was ready to do everything for him and for the peasants.
父亲安葬后，玛丽亚公爵小姐把自己关在房里，不许任何人进来。女仆来到门前，禀告阿尔帕特奇前来请示出发的事。（这是在阿尔帕特奇和德龙谈话之前的事。）玛丽亚公爵小姐从她躺着的沙发上欠起身来，冲着关闭的门说，她什么地方也不去，不要叫人来打扰她。 
玛丽亚小姐卧室的窗户是朝西开的。她面对墙壁躺着，手指来回地抚摩皮靠枕的扣子，眼睛死盯着这个皮靠枕，她那模糊的思绪集中到一点上：她在想父亲不可挽回的死以及在这之前她还不知道，只是父亲患病期间才表现出来的内心的卑鄙。她想祈祷，但又不敢祈祷，不敢在她现在的心境中向上帝求援。她就这样躺了很久。
太阳照到对面的墙上，夕阳的斜晖射进敞开的窗户，照亮了房间和她眼前的羊皮靠枕的一角。她的思路忽然停住了。她毫无意识地坐起来，整理了一下头发，站起来走到窗前，晚风送来清凉新鲜的空气，她不由得深深地吸了一口。
“是的，现在你可以随意欣赏傍晚的风光了！他已经不在了，谁也不会打扰你了。”她心里说道，倒在椅子上，头靠着窗台。
有人从花园的方向用娇柔的声音轻轻叫她的名字，吻她的头，她抬头看了看。原来是布里安小姐，她穿一件黑衣裳，戴着黑纱。她悄悄走到玛丽亚公爵小姐跟前，叹着气吻她，立即哭了起来。玛丽亚公爵小姐看了看她。想起跟她的一切过去的冲突，对她的猜疑，还想起他近来改变了对布里安小姐的态度，不能见她，由此看来，玛丽亚公爵小姐内心对她的责备是多么不公平。“难道不是我，不是我盼望他死吗？我有什么资格责备别人呢！”她想道。
玛丽亚公爵小姐生动地想象布里安小姐的处境，近来她离开自己的亲人，而同时又得依靠她，过着寄人篱下的生活。她心里对她怜悯起来。她温和地疑惑地望了望她，迟疑地伸出手。布里安小姐立刻又哭起来，不断地吻她的手，念叨着公爵小姐遭遇的不幸，把自己扮成一个同情她不幸的人。她说，在她的不幸的时刻，唯一的慰藉就是公爵小姐允许她分担她的不幸。她说，在这巨大的悲伤面前，所有过去的误会应当全部化除，她觉得她在一切方面都是清白的，他在那个世界会看到她的眷恋和感激的。公爵小姐听着她的说，有些不理解，只是偶尔看看她，听听她的声音。
“你的处境格外可怕，亲爱的公爵小姐，”布里安小姐沉默了片刻，说道：“我明白，你从来不会，现在也不会想着自己；但是由于我爱您，我必须这样做……阿尔帕特奇到您这儿来过吗？他和您谈过动身的事吗？”她问。
玛丽亚公爵小姐没有回答。她不明白是什么人要走，要到那儿去。“现在还能做什么事，想什么事呢？难道不是一样吗？”她没有吭声。
“您可知道，chère　Marie①，”布里小姐说，“您可知道我们的处境极危险，我们被法国军队包围住了，现在走，太危险了。如果走的话，恐怕准会被俘虏，上帝才知道……”
玛丽亚公爵小姐望着她的女伴，不清楚她在说些什么。 
①法语：亲爱的玛丽亚。
“哎，真希望有人了解我，我现在对一切，对一切都不在乎，”她说。“当然罗，我无论怎样也不愿撒开他就走……阿尔帕特奇对我说过走的事……您和他谈谈吧，我现在对什么，对什么都无能为力，也不想管……”
“我和他谈过。他希望我们明天就走，可是我想，现在最好还是留下，”布里安小姐说。“因为您会同意，chère　Marie在路上碰到大兵或者暴动的农民，落到他们手里——那真可怕。”布里安小姐从手提包里取出一张不是用普通俄国纸印的法国将军拉莫的文告，上面晓谕居民不得离家逃走，法国当局将给予他们应有的保护，她把文告递给公爵小姐。
“我想，最好还是求助于这位将军，”布里安小姐说，“我相信他会给您应有的尊重的。”
玛丽亚公爵小姐读着那张文告，无声无泪的哭泣使她的脸颊抽搐。
“您是从谁手里拿到这个的？”她说。
“大概他们从我的名字知道我是法国人，”布里安小姐红着脸说。
玛丽亚公爵小姐拿着文告离开窗口站起来，她脸色苍白，从屋里出来走到安德烈公爵以前的书房里。
“杜尼亚莎，去叫阿尔帕特奇，德龙努什卡，或者别的什么人到我这儿来，”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“告诉阿马利娅·卡尔洛夫娜，不要来见我。”她听见布里安小姐的话语声，又说，“要赶快走！快点走！”一想到她可能留在法军占领区，她就不寒而栗。
“要让安德烈公爵知道我落在法国人手里，那还了得，要让尼古拉·安德烈伊奇·博尔孔斯基公爵的女儿去求拉莫将军先生给予她保护，并且接受他的恩惠，那怎么行！”她越想越觉得可怕，以致使她战栗，脸红，感到从未体验过的愤懑和骄傲。她生动地想象她将要面临的处境是多么困难，主要的，是多么屈辱。“他们那些法国人住在这个家里；拉莫将军先生占着安德烈公爵的书房；翻弄和读他的书信和文件来取乐。“M—lle　Bourienne　lui　ferd　les　honneurs　de博古恰罗沃①。他们恩赐我一个房间；士兵们挖掘我父亲的新坟，取走他的十字架和勋章；他们对我讲述怎样打败俄国人，假装同情我的不幸……”玛丽亚公爵小姐在思考，她不是以自己的思想为思想，她觉得应该用父亲和哥哥的思想来代替自己的思想。对于她个人，不论留在哪儿，自己可能会怎样，都无所谓；她觉得她同时还是死去的父亲和安德烈公爵的代表。她不由得用他们的思想来思想，用他们的感觉来感觉。他们现在可能怎么说，可能怎么做，也就是她现在觉得必须要照样去做的。她走到安德烈公爵的书房里去，极力地深入体会他的思想，来考虑她目前的处境。 
①法语：布里安小姐在博古恰罗沃恭恭敬敬地招待他。
求生的欲望，本来她认为随着父亲的去世不复再有了，可是它突然以前所未有的力量在玛丽亚公爵小姐面前出现，并且占有了她。
她激动得满面通红，在屋里踱来踱去。时而派人唤阿尔帕特奇，时而派人唤米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇，时而派人唤吉洪，时而派人唤德龙。杜尼亚莎、保姆和所有的女仆都不能断定布里安所宣布的事究竟有多少真实性。阿尔帕特奇不在家：他到警察局去了。被唤来的建筑师米哈伊尔·伊万内维奇来见玛丽亚公爵小姐，他睡眼惺忪，什么也不能回答。他十五年来回老公爵话时养成了一种习惯，那就是带着同意的微笑，不表示自己的意见，回答玛丽亚公爵小姐的话也是这样，从他的嘴里得不到任何肯定的东西。被召唤来的老仆人吉洪，他两颊深陷，面孔瘦削，带着无法磨灭的悲哀印记，他对公爵小姐所有的问话都回答：“是您老”，他望着她，几乎忍不住要大哭起来。
最后，管家德龙走进房来，他向公爵小姐深深地鞠了一躬，在门框旁站住了。
玛丽亚公爵小姐在屋里来回走了一趟，在他对面停下。
“德龙努什卡，”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，在她心目中，她把他视为无可置疑的朋友，就是这个德龙努什卡，他每年去赶维亚济马集市的时候，每次都给她带回一种特制的甜饼，微笑着交给她。“德龙努什卡，现在，在我们遭遇到不幸之后……”她刚开始说，就停住了，再也没有力气说下去。
“一切都凭上帝的安排。”他叹息着说。他们沉默了一会儿。
“德龙努什卡，阿尔帕特奇不知到哪儿去了，我没有可问的人。有人说我走不得，是真的吗？”
“为什么走不得，公爵小姐，可以走。”德龙说。
“有人对我说，路上危险，有敌人。亲爱的，我什么也不能做，什么也不明白，我身边一个人也没有。今天晚上或者明天一大早，我一定要走。”德龙不作声。他皱着眉头，瞥了公爵小姐一眼。
“没有马，”他说，“我对阿尔帕特奇已经说过了。”
“为什么没有马？”公爵小姐说。
“都是上帝的惩罚，”德龙说，“有的马被军队征用了，有的马饿死了，遇到今年这个年景，不用说没东西喂马，连人也饿得要死！有的人一连三天吃不上饭。一无所有，完全破产了。”
玛丽亚公爵小姐聚精会神地听他说的话。
“庄稼人都破产了？他们没有粮食？”她问。
“他们快饿死了，”德龙说，“还谈得上什么大车……”
“德龙努什卡，你为什么不早点说呢？难道不能救济吗？我要尽一切可能……”玛丽亚公爵小姐觉得，在目前这样的时刻，当她的心头充满了悲伤的时刻，人们还要分成富的和穷的，而且富人不能救济穷人，有这种想法是很奇怪的。她模糊地知道，并且听到人家说，地主家都有储备粮，那是给农民备荒的。她也知道，不论是哥哥还是父亲都不会拒绝救济贫困的农民的？关于给农民分配粮食一事，她想亲自过问，不过在这个问题上她怕出差错。她很高兴，能有一件事操心，借此可以忘掉自己的悲伤而不致受良心谴责。她向德龙努什卡详细询问农民的急需，并且询问博古恰罗沃的地主储备粮的情况。
“我们不是有地主的储备粮吗？我哥哥的？”她问。
“地主的储备粮原封未动，”德龙骄傲地说，“我们的公爵没有发放粮食的命令。”
“把它发放给农民吧，他们需要多少就发放多少。我代表哥哥允许你发放。”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。
德龙一句话也没有回答，只是深深地叹了一口气。
“你去把粮食分给他们吧，如果粮食还够分给他们的话，全分了吧。我代表哥哥向你下命令，你告诉他们：我们的，也是他们的。为了他们，我们什么都不吝啬。你就这么说吧。”
公爵小姐说话的时候，德龙目不转睛地望着她。
“好小姐，你把我开除吧，看在上帝面上，吩咐手下人接收我的钥匙吧，”他说，“我当了二十三年差，没出过一次差错；开除我吧，看在上帝面上。
玛丽亚公爵小姐不明白他想要做什么，他为什么请求开除他。她告诉他，她从来不怀疑他的忠诚，她愿意为他和农民做任何事。
Book 10 Chapter 11
AN HOUR LATER Dunyasha came in to the princess with the news that Dron had come, and all the peasants by the princess's orders were assembled at the granary and desirous of speaking with their mistress.
“But I did not send for them,” said Princess Marya. “I merely told Dronushka to give them the corn.”
“Only, for God's sake, your excellency, order them to be sent away and don't go to them. It's all a plot,” said Dunyasha, “and Yakov Alpatitch will come and we will start … and pray …”
“How a plot?” asked the princess in surprise.
“Why, I know all about it, only do listen to me, for God's sake. Ask old nurse too. They say they won't agree to move away at your orders.”
“You are making some mistake. Why, I have never given them orders to go away …” said Princess Marya. “Call Dronushka.”
Dron on coming in confirmed Dunyasha's words; the peasants had come by the princess's instructions.
“But I have never sent for them,” said the princess. “You must have given them my message wrong. I only said that you were to give them the corn.”
Dron sighed without replying.
“If so you command, they will go away,” he said.
“No, no, I'll go out to them,” said Princess Marya.
In spite of Dunyasha's and the old nurse's attempts to dissuade her, Princess Marya went out on to the steps. Dronushka, Dunyasha, the old nurse, and Mihail Ivanitch followed her.
“They probably imagine I am offering them the corn to keep them here while I go away myself, leaving them at the mercy of the French,” thought Princess Marya. “I will promise them monthly rations and lodgings on the Moscow estate. I am sure Andrey would do more for them in my place,” she thought, as she went out in the twilight towards the crowd, waiting on the pasture near the granary.
The crowd stirred, huddling closer, and rapidly took off their hats. Princess Marya came closer to them, her eyes cast down and her feet tripping over her gown. So many different eyes, old and young, were fixed upon her, there were so many different faces that Princess Marya did not see a single one of them, and feeling it necessary to address all at once, did not know how to set about it. But again the sense that she was the representative of her father and brother gave her strength, and she boldly began her speech.
“I am very glad you have come,” she began, not raising her eyes and feeling the rapid and violent beating of her heart. “Dronushka has told me that the war has ruined you. That is our common trouble, and I will grudge nothing to aid you. I am going away myself because it is dangerous here … and the enemy is near … because … I give you everything, my friends, and I beg you to take everything, all our corn, that you may not suffer want. But if you have been told that I am giving you corn to keep you here, it is false. On the contrary, I beg you to move away with all your belongings to our Moscow estate, and there I undertake and promise you that you shall not be in want. You shall be given houses and bread.” The princess stopped. Nothing was to be heard from the crowd but sighs.
“I don't do this on my own account,” the princess went on; “I do it in the name of my dead father, who was a good master to you, and for my brother and his son.”
She paused again. No one broke the silence.
“We have trouble in common, and we will share it all equally. All that is mine is yours,” she said, looking up at the faces before her. All the eyes were gazing at her with the same expression, the meaning of which she could not fathom. Whether it were curiosity, devotion, gratitude, or apprehension, and distrust, the expression on all the faces was alike.
“Very thankful for your kindness, only it's not for us to take the master's corn,” said a voice from the back.
“But why not?” said the princess. No one answered, and Princess Marya, looking up at the crowd, noticed that now all the eyes dropped at once on meeting hers.
“Why don't you want to?” she asked again.
No one replied.
Princess Marya was oppressed by the silence; she tried to catch somebody's eye.
“Why don't you speak!” she said, addressing a very old man who was standing near her, his arms propped on his stick. “Tell me if you think something more is needed. I will do anything,” she said, catching his eye. But as though angered by her doing so, he bent his head, and said:
“Why should we agree? We don't want your corn.”
“Why are we to give up everything? We're not willing … Not willing. It's not with our consent. We are sorry for you, but we are not willing. You go away by yourself, alone …” was protested from different parts of the crowd. And again all the faces in the crowd wore the same expression; and now it was unmistakably not an expression of curiosity and gratitude, but an expression of exasperated determination.
“But you misunderstand me,” said Princess Marya, with a melancholy smile. “Why don't you want to move away? I promise to settle you, to provide for you. And here the enemy will plunder you …” But her voice was drowned by the voices of the crowd.
“We're not willing, let him plunder us! We won't take your corn, we won't agree!”
Princess Marya tried again to catch some one's eye in the crowd, but no one was looking at her; their eyes unmistakably avoided hers. She felt strange and awkward.
“To be sure, she would school us, … a good dodge, … follow her into slavery. Pull down your house and go into bondage. I dare say! I'll give you corn, says she!” voices were saying in the crowd.
Princess Marya moved out of the ring, and went to the house with a dejected countenance. Repeating her command to Dron that horses were to be ready next day for her to start, she went away to her own room and remained alone with her own thoughts.
在这之后过了一个钟头，杜尼亚莎前来向公爵小姐报告一则消息：德龙来了，按照小姐的吩咐农夫们都集合在谷仓旁，有事要跟女主人商谈。 
“是吗？我并没叫他们来，”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“我只是叫德龙努什卡把粮食分给他们。”
“看在上帝的份上，亲爱的公爵小姐，叫人把他们赶走吧，决不要到他们那儿去。那不过是个圈套，”杜尼亚莎说，“等雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇他们回来，我们就走……您千万别……”
“什么圈套？”公爵小姐惊讶地问。
“我确实知道，看在上帝的份上，可得听我说。您只要问问保姆就知道了。听说他们都不愿按照您的吩咐离开村子。”
“你扯到哪儿去了。我从来没有吩咐他们离开村子……”
玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“把德龙努什卡叫来。”
德龙来了，他证实了杜尼亚莎说的话；农民是按照公爵小姐的吩咐来的。
“可是我从来没有召集他们，”公爵小姐说，“你大概把话传错了。我只是叫你把粮食分给他们。”
德龙没有回答，叹了一口气。
“您只要下个命令，他们就会四散的。”他说。
“不，不，我去见他们。”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。
不顾杜尼亚莎和保姆的劝阻，玛丽亚公爵小姐来到台阶上。德龙、杜尼亚莎、保姆和米哈伊尔·伊万内奇跟在她后面。
“他们大概以为我要分给他们粮食，是要他们留下来不动，而我自己离开，扔下他们让法国人肆虐，”玛丽亚公爵小姐想，“我答应在莫斯科近郊庄园按月发给他们口粮并给他们安排住处；我相信，安德烈若处在我的位置，一定会做得更多。”她一面想，一面在暮色苍茫中向站在牧场上谷仓旁的人群走去。
人群开始移动，聚集在一起，迅速地取下帽子。玛丽亚公爵小姐垂下眼帘，连衣裙绊脚，走近他们。那么多各种各样的眼睛，年老的和年青的，都在注视她，还有那么多不同的面孔，以致于玛丽亚公爵小姐连一张面孔也看不真切，只觉得必须一下子和所有的人说话，她不知道应该怎么办才好。但当她意识到她是她父亲和哥哥的代表时，她的劲头便增添了，于是她壮着胆子开始讲起话来。
“你们来了，我很高兴，”玛丽亚公爵小姐开始说了，她没有抬起眼睛，觉得心跳得厉害。“德龙努什卡告诉我，战争使你们破了产。这是我们共同的不幸。为了帮助你们，我不惜献出一切。因为这儿很危险，我要离开了，敌人离得很近……因为……我把一切都给你们，我的朋友们，我请求你们拿走一切，拿走我们所有的粮食，这样，你们就不致缺吃少用了。如果有人对你们说，我把东西给你们是为了叫你们留在这里，那不是实话。相反，我请求你们带着你们的全部财产搬到我们莫斯科近郊的庄园去，在那儿有我负责，保证你们不会过贫穷的日子，并给你们住宅和粮食。”公爵小姐停住了，只听见人群中的叹息声。
“我这样做，不仅是我个人的心意，”公爵小姐接着说，“我这样做是代表我辞世的父亲，你们的好主人，还代表我的哥哥和他的儿子。”
她又停住了，没有人打破这种沉默。
“我们的不幸是共同的，让我们一起分担这个不幸吧。我的一切，也是你们的一切。”她说完，扫视了一下站在她面前的人群的面孔。
所有的眼睛都以同样的表情望着她，她不能明白这种表情的含义。不知道是好奇、忠诚、感激，还是惊慌或不信任，只是所有脸上的表情都是相同的。
“对于您的恩典，我们非常感激，不过，我们不能拿地主的粮食。”后面传来这样一句话。
“为什么呢？”公爵小姐问。
没有人回答，玛丽亚公爵小姐环视人群，发现现在所有的眼睛一碰到她的目光，就立刻垂下了。
“为什么你们不想要呢？”她又问，仍没有人回答。
这种沉默使玛丽亚公爵小姐感到窘迫，她竭力捕捉随便哪个人的目光。
“你们干吗不说话啊？”她转向面前一个拄着拐棍的老人，说。“如果你认为还需要什么，你就说吧。我一切都可以办到。”她捉住他的视线，说。但是他好像对这件事很生气，把头完全低了下来，咕哝了一句：
“有什么同意不同意的，我们不需要粮食。”
“怎么，要我们抛弃一切？不同意。不同意……我们决不同意。我们同情你，但决不同意。你自己走吧，一个人走……”这样的话从四周的人群中传来。人们脸上又露出了同样的表情，但这时完全不是好奇和感激的表情，而是忿怒的、坚决的表情。
“你们大概没有明了我的话，”玛丽亚公爵小姐带着忧郁的笑容说。“你们为什么不愿走呢？吃的住的，我答应给你们供应。可是在这儿敌人会把你们弄得倾家荡产的……”但是人群的声音盖住了她的声音。
“我们决不同意，就让敌人来破坏吧！不要你的粮食，我们决不同意！”
玛丽亚公爵小姐又在人群中捕捉随便哪个人的目光了，但是没有一个人的目光是注视着她的；显然，眼睛都在回避她。她觉得奇怪，也感到难堪。
“你瞧，她说得多好听，跟她去当农奴，把家毁掉去受奴役？怎么样？我给你们粮食，她说！”人群中发出这些声音。
玛丽亚公爵小姐低着头离开人群走回家去。她又重新吩咐了德龙一遍，叫他准备好明天启程的马，然后她回到了自己的房间，独自一人呆着，思绪如麻。
Book 10 Chapter 12
FOR A LONG WHILE Princess Marya sat at the open window of her room listening to the sound of the peasants' voices floating across from the village, but she was not thinking of them. She felt that she could not understand them however long she thought of them. She thought all the while of one thing—of her sorrow, which now, after the break made by anxiety about the present, already seemed to belong to the past. Now she could remember, could weep, and could pray. With the setting of the sun the wind sank. The night was still and fresh. At midnight the voices in the village began to die down; a cock crowed; the full moon rose from behind a lime-tree; there rose a fresh, white, dewy mist, and stillness reigned over the village and the house.
One after another pictures of the immediate past—her father's illness and last moments—rose before her imagination. And with mournful gladness she let her mind now rest on those images, only shunning with horror the one last scene which she felt she had not the strength to contemplate even in fancy at that still and mysterious hour of the night. And those images rose with such clearness and in such detail before her, that they seemed to her now in the actual present, now in the past, and now in the future.
She had a vivid picture of the moment when he was first stricken down and was being dragged in from the garden at Bleak Hills, and he had muttered something, twitching his grey eyebrows, and looking timidly and uneasily at her. “Even then he wanted to tell me what he told me on the day of his death,” she thought. “He always thought what he told me then.”
And then she recalled with every detail the night at Bleak Hills before his stroke, when, with a presentiment of trouble, she had remained with him against his will. She had not slept; and at night she had stolen down on tip-toe, and going to the door of the conservatory room where her father was spending that night, she had listened to his voice. He was talking in a weary, harassed voice to Tihon. He was saying something about the Crimea, about the warm nights, about the Empress. Evidently he wanted to talk to some one. “And why didn't he send for me? Why didn't he let me be there in Tihon's place?” Princess Marya had thought then and thought again now. “Now he will never tell any one all that was in his heart. Now the moment will never return when he might have told me all he longed to express, and I and not Tihon might have heard and understood. Why didn't I go into his room then?” she thought. “Perhaps he would have said to me then what he said on the day of his death. Even then talking to Tihon he asked about me twice. He was longing to see me while I was standing there behind the door. He was sad and weary talking to Tihon, who did not understand him. I remember how he spoke to him of Liza as though she were living—he forgot that she was dead, and Tihon reminded him that she was no more, and he cried, ‘Fool!' He was miserable. I heard from the door how he lay down groaning on the bed and cried out aloud, ‘My God!' Why didn't I go in then? What could he have done to me? What could I have lost? And, perhaps, then he would have been comforted, he would have said that word to me.” And Princess Marya uttered aloud that caressing word he had said to her on the day of his death. “Da-ar-ling!” Princess Marya repeated the word and broke into sobs that relieved her heart. She could see his face before her now. And not the face she had known ever since she could remember and had always seen at a distance; but the weak and timid face she had seen on the last day when, bending to his lips to catch what he said, she had, for the first time, looked at it quite close with all its wrinkles.
“Darling,” she repeated.
“What was he thinking when he uttered that word? What is he thinking now?” was the question that rose suddenly to her mind; and in answer to it she saw him with the expression she had seen on the face bound up with a white handkerchief in the coffin. And the horror that had overcome her at the moment when she had touched him, and felt that it was not he but something mysterious and horrible, came over her now. She tried to think of something else, tried to pray, and could do nothing. With wide eyes she gazed at the moonlight and the shadows, every instant expecting to see his dead face, and feeling as though she were held spellbound in the stillness that reigned without and within the house.
“Dunyasha!” she whispered. “Dunyasha!” she shrieked wildly, and tearing herself out of the stillness, she ran towards the maids' room, meeting the old nurse and the maids running out to meet her.  这天夜晚，玛丽亚公爵小姐在她卧室敞开的窗房坐了很久，留心地听从村里传来的农民的说话声，但她不去想他们。她觉得她无论怎样想他们，也不能理解他们。她总在思忖一件事——那就是自己的不幸，在经过那关心现实生活的一段时间之后，这种不幸，对于她已成往事。她现在能够回忆，能够哭泣，也能祈祷了。日落后，风停了，夜显得宁静而清新。十二点时人声渐渐消失，鸡叫头遍，从菩提树后面升起一轮满月，清凉的、乳白色的浓雾弥漫开来，寂静笼罩着村庄和宅院。 
不久前过去的图景——父亲的病和临终的时刻，一幅接一幅在她的脑海里闪现。现在她带着快乐的忧郁细细回味这些画面的形象，只是恐惧地摒除最后父亲死亡时的景象。这景象，她觉得，在这寂静、神秘的夜晚，即便浮光掠影地想象一下，她也没有勇气。这些图景在她的脑海里是那么清晰，连微小的细节都历历在目，她觉得这些图景忽而是现实的，忽而是过去的，忽而又是未来的。
她时而生动地想起他中风的情景，人们搀扶着他从童山的花园里出来，他用无力的舌头咕噜着什么，扭动着白眉毛，不安地、胆怯地望着她。
“他当时就想说他临死那天对我说的话，”她想，“他经常在想他对我说的话。”于是她回忆起他在童山中风的前一天夜里一切详细的情景，当时玛丽亚公爵小姐就预感到有灾祸临头，也因此违反他的旨意留在他身边。她没有就寝，夜里蹑手蹑脚下楼梯，来到她父亲过夜的花房门前，侧耳倾听他的声音。他和吉洪在说什么，他的声音疲惫不堪而且痛楚。看来他很想和人谈谈话。“他为什么不叫我呢？为什么他不让我和吉洪换个位置呢？”玛丽亚公爵小姐当时和现在都是这样想的。“他永远对任何人也说不出他的心里话了。他本来可以说出他要说的话的，本来应该是我，而不是吉洪听到和懂得他的话的，但是这样的机会，无论是对他还是对我都一去不复返了。当时为什么我不走进屋里去呢？”她想，“也许他当时就会对我说出他在去世那天要说的话。而且当时他在和吉洪的谈话中就有两次问到我。他希望看见我，而我却站在门外。他和不了解他的吉洪谈话是很感伤、难受的，记得他们谈话时提到丽莎，仿佛她还活着似的，他忘记她已经死了，吉洪提醒他说，丽莎已经去世了，于是他大声喝斥：‘傻瓜！'‘他是很痛苦的。隔着门我听见他躺在床上的呻吟声并高声喊叫：‘上帝啊！'当时我为什么不进去呢？他能把我怎样？我能有什么损失呢？我进去了，也许当时他就能得到慰藉并对我说出那句话了。”于是玛丽亚公爵小姐大声地叫出了他临死那天对她说的那个亲切的字眼。“亲—爱—的！”她重复着这个字眼，放声大哭起来，流着眼泪，眼泪使她的心情变得轻松了些。现在他的面孔就在她的眼前。可那已不是她从记事时就认识的、经常从远处看见的面孔，而是一张胆怯、懦弱的面孔，是她在最后一天向他的嘴弯下身去细听他的话、第一次那么近地真切地看见的有着满脸皱纹和细微线条的面孔。
“亲爱的。”她重复着。
“他说这话时，在想什么呢？他现在在想什么呢？”她的脑海里忽然出现这个问题，紧接着，作为应答的是，她的眼前闪现了他在棺材里用白手巾包着头的面部表情。于是一阵恐惧向她袭来，这正是当天刚一接触他，就认为这不仅不是他，而且是一种神秘的、令人反感的东西的那种恐惧。她想思索点别的，想祈祷，但什么也做不成。她睁大眼睛望着月光和阴影，随时等待着看见他那死人的面孔。她觉得，笼罩着住宅内外的寂静气氛紧紧箝制着她。
“杜尼亚莎！”她喃喃地说，“杜尼亚莎！”她狂叫一声，挣脱出一片寂静，跑向女仆的住室，迎面碰上向她跑来的保姆和女仆们。
Book 10 Chapter 13
ON THE 17TH of August Rostov and Ilyin, accompanied by Lavrushka, who had just come back from being taken prisoner by the French, and an hussar on orderly duty, rode out from Yankovo, fifteen versts from Bogutcharovo. They meant to try a new horse that Ilyin had bought, and to find out whether there was hay to be had in the village.
Bogutcharovo had been for the last three days between the two hostile armies, so that the Russian rearguard could reach the village as easily as the French vanguard; and therefore Rostov, like a careful officer, was anxious to anticipate the French in securing any provisions that might be left there.
Rostov and Ilyin were in the liveliest spirits. On the way to Bogutcharovo, which they knew to be an estate belonging to a prince, with a manor-house, where they hoped to find a large household, and, perhaps, pretty servant-girls, they questioned Lavrushka about Napoleon, and laughed at his stories; then raced their horses to test Ilyin's new purchase. Rostov had no notion that the village to which he was going was the property of the very Prince Bolkonsky who had been betrothed to his sister.
Rostov and Ilyin had just let their horses race till they were weary for the last time before Bogutcharovo, and Rostov, outstripping Ilyin was the first to gallop into the village street.
“You started in front,” said Ilyin, flushed.
“Yes, always in front, in the meadow and here too,” answered Rostov, patting his foaming Don horse.
“And on my Frenchy, your excellency,” said Lavrushka from behind, meaning the wretched cart-horse he was riding, “I could have overtaken you, only I didn't want to put you to shame.”
They rode at a walking pace towards the granary, where there was a great crowd of peasants standing. Several of the peasants took off their caps, others stared at them without taking off their caps. Two old peasants, with wrinkled faces and scanty beards, came out of the tavern, reeling and singing a tuneless song, and advanced with smiles towards the officers. “They're fine fellows!” said Rostov, laughing. “Well, have you any hay?”
“And so alike, somehow …” said Ilyin.
“Ma … a … aking mer … ry in my sum … sum … mer …” chanted the peasant, with a blissful smile.
A peasant came out of the crowd and went up to Rostov.
“Which part will you be from?” asked the peasant.
“We're French,” answered Ilyin, laughing. “And this is Napoleon himself,” he said, pointing to Lavrushka.
“I suppose you are Russians then?” the peasant inquired.
“And have you many troops here?” asked another short peasant, approaching.
“A great many,” answered Rostov. “But why are you all assembled here?” he added. “Is it a holiday or what?”
“The old men are met about the village business,” answered the peasant, moving away from him.
At that moment there came into sight two women and a man in a white hat running from the prince's house towards the officers.
“The one in pink's mine; hands off, beware!” said Ilyin, noticing Dunyasha running resolutely towards them.
“She'll be the girl for us!” said Lavrushka, winking to Ilyin.
“What is it you want, my pretty?” said Ilyin, smiling.
“The princess sent me to ask of what regiment are you, and what is your name?”
“This is Count Rostov, the commander of the squadron, and I am your humble servant.”
“Mer … mer … mer … arbour!” chanted the drunken peasant, smiling blissfully, and gazing at Ilyin as he talked to the girl. Alpatitch followed Dunyasha, taking off his hat to Rostov as he approached.
“I make bold to trouble your honour,” he said, putting one hand in his bosom, and speaking with a respectfulness in which there was a shade of contempt for the officer's youth. “My mistress, the daughter of general-in-chief Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky, who died on the 15th of this month, being in difficulties owing to the coarse ignorance of those people”—he pointed to the peasants—“begs you to come … Would you not be pleased,” said Alpatitch, with a melancholy smile, “to move a little away, as it is not so convenient before …” Alpatitch indicated two peasants, who were hovering about him, like gadflies about a horse.
“Ay! … Alpatitch! … Ay! Yakov Alpatitch! first-rate job! Eh? … for Christ's sake, forgive us. First-rate! ay?” cried the peasants, smiling gleefully at him.
Rostov looked at the drunken peasants, and smiled.
“Or possibly this entertains your excellency?” said Yakov Alpatitch, with a sober air, pointing with his other hand to the old peasants.
“No, there's nothing very entertaining in that,” said Rostov, and he moved away. “What is the matter?” he inquired.
“I make bold to submit to your excellency that the rude peasants here will not let their lady leave the estate, and threaten to take the horses out of her carriage, so that everything has been packed since morning, yet her excellency cannot get away.”
“Impossible!” cried Rostov.
“I have the honour of submitting to you the simple truth,” said Alpatitch.
Rostov got off his horse, and giving it to the orderly, walked with Alpatitch to the house, questioning him further about the state of affairs.
The princess's offer of corn, and her interview with Dron and with the peasants, had, in fact, made the position so much worse that Dron had finally given up the keys of office, joined the peasants and refused to appear when Alpatitch sent for him. In the morning when the princess ordered the horses to be put in for her to set off, the peasants had come out in a great crowd to the granary, and had sent to say that they would not let the princess go out of the village; that there was an edict that people were not to leave their houses, and that they would unharness the horses. Alpatitch went out to lecture them; in reply they told him (a certain Karp was the principal speaker, Dron kept in the background in the crowd) that the princess could not be allowed to go, that there was an edict forbidding it, but that only let her stay, and they would serve her and obey her in everything as before.
At the moment when Rostov and Ilyin were galloping along the village street, regardless of the efforts of Alpatitch, the old nurse, and the maid to dissuade her, Princess Marya had just ordered the horses to be put in, and was intending to start. But seeing the horsemen galloping up, the coachmen took them for the French, and ran away, and a great lamentation arose among the women of the household.
“Kind sir! protector! God has sent thee,” cried voices, with much feeling, as Rostov crossed the vestibule. Princess Marya was sitting helpless and distraught in the hall, when Rostov was shown in to see her. She did not know who he was, or what brought him there, or what was happening to her. Seeing his Russian face, and recognising him at his first words and gait for a man of her own rank, she looked at him, with her deep, luminous gaze, and began speaking in a voice, broken and trembling with emotion. Rostov at once conceived a romance in this meeting. “A defenceless girl, crushed by sorrow, alone, abandoned to the mercy of coarse, rebellious peasants! And what strange destiny has brought me here!” thought Rostov, as he listened to her and looked at her. “And what mildness, what nobility in her features and expression!” he thought, as he listened to her timid story.
When she began to tell him that all this had happened the day after her father's funeral, her voice trembled. She turned away, and as though afraid Rostov might ascribe her words to a desire to work on his feelings, she glanced at him with a look of apprehensive inquiry. There were tears in Rostov's eyes. Princess Marya noticed it, and looked at him with the luminous eyes that made one forget the plainness of her face.
“I cannot express how glad I am, princess, that I happened to come this way, and am able to serve you in anything,” said Rostov, rising. “I trust you will start at once, and I answer for it on my honour, no person shall dare to cause you annoyance, if you will only permit me to escort you,” and making a deep bow, such as are made to ladies of the royal family, he turned to the door.
By the respectfulness of his tone, Rostov tried to show that though he would consider it a happiness to be acquainted with her, he did not wish to take advantage of her misfortune to force an acquaintanceship upon her.
Princess Marya felt and appreciated this tone.
“I am very, very grateful to you,” she said to him in French; “but I hope it was all only a misunderstanding, and that no one is to blame.” She began all at once to cry.
“Excuse me,” she said.
Rostov, knitting his brows, bowed low once more, and went out of the room.
八月十七日，罗斯托夫和伊林带着刚从俘虏营放回来的拉夫鲁什卡和一名骠骑军传命兵，骑着马从离博古恰罗沃十五俄里的驻扎地扬科沃出发——试骑一下伊林刚买的马并打听这一带村子里有无干草。 
最近三天，博古恰罗沃处在对峙的两军之间，俄军的后卫和法军的先锋都很容易到那儿去。罗斯托夫是一个有心计的骑兵连长，他想抢在法国人前头，取用留在博古恰罗沃的军需食品。
罗斯托夫和伊林心情十分愉快。他们在路上有时向拉夫鲁什卡询问拿破仑的故事，以此取乐；有时互相赛跑，试试伊林的马。他们就这样驰向博古恰罗沃一位公爵的庄园，希望在那儿能找到大批家奴和漂亮的女郎。
罗斯托夫不知道也没有想到，他要去的那个村子就是和他妹妹定过婚的博尔孔斯基的庄园。
快要驶入博古恰罗沃时，罗斯托夫和伊林撒开他们的马，沿着有慢坡的高地作最后一次赛跑。罗斯托夫赶过伊林，首先跑到了博古恰罗沃村的街上。
“你跑到前面去了。”涨红了脸的伊林说。
“是啊，一路上都在前面，无论在草地还是在这儿。”罗斯托夫用手抚摸着汗淋淋的顿河马，答道。
“我骑我的那匹法国马，伯爵大人，”拉夫鲁什卡在后面说。他把他那匹拉车的驽马叫做法国马。“谁能跑赢，不过，我不愿使别人丢面子。”
他们骑着马慢慢地向站着一大群农民的谷仓走去。
农民们看见来了几个骑马的人，有些脱帽，有些没有脱。这时，从酒馆里出来两个摇摇晃晃的高个老头，长着满脸的皱纹和稀疏的胡髭。他俩笑着，唱着不成调的歌曲向军官们走来。
“好样的！”罗斯托夫笑着说，“这儿有干草吗？”
“全是一个样……”伊林说。
“快……快……活……活，我的心肝呀……宝贝儿……”
那两个醉汉唱着，露出幸福的微笑。
人群里走出一个农民，来到罗斯托夫跟前。
“你们是什么人？”他问。
“法国人，”伊林戏谑着，“这就是拿破仑本人。”他指着拉夫鲁什卡回答说。
“这么说来，你们都是俄国人吧？”那个农民又问。
“你们这儿的军队很多吗？”另一小个子农民走近前来，问道。
“很多，很多。”罗斯托夫回答说。“你们都聚在这儿干什么？”他问道，又加了一句：“是过节吗？”
“老头们聚在一块，商量公社的事。”那个农民回答道，说有就走开了。
就在这时，通往庄主宅院的路上出现了两个女人和一个戴白帽子的人，他们向军官面前走来。
“那个穿粉红色衣服的女人归我，注意不要乱抢。”伊林看见那显然是向他走来的杜尼亚莎，说。
“是咱们大家的！”拉夫鲁什卡向伊林挤挤眼说。
“您需要什么，我的美人儿？”伊林笑着问。
“公爵小姐有吩咐，她要知道你们是哪个团队的和你们的尊姓大名。”
“这是罗斯托夫伯爵，骠骑兵连长，我是您忠顺的仆人。”
“我的心肝呀……宝贝儿……”那醉汉一边唱，一边用眼睛瞅着和姑娘谈话的伊林，露出幸福的微笑。跟在杜尼亚莎后面的阿尔帕特奇向罗斯托夫走来，老远就摘下帽子。
“大人，我斗胆打扰您，”他把一只手揣到怀里，毕恭毕敬地说，但又因这个军官很年轻而多少几分轻视的意味，“我们家小姐，本月十五日去世的上将尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基公爵的女儿，由于这些人的愚昧无知而陷入困境。”他指着那些农民说，“她欢迎您光临……不知可否，”阿尔帕特奇苦笑着说，“请您走动几步，不然当着……不怎么方便。”阿尔帕特奇指着两个像马蝇缠马似的在他旁边来回晃悠的农民。
“啊！……阿尔帕特奇……啊？雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇！……很好！看在耶稣的面上，饶了我们吧！啊？……”那两个农民笑嘻嘻地对他说。罗斯托夫看了看喝醉酒的两个老头，笑了。
“或许这使大人，您，很开心吧？”雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇用那只没有揣在怀里的手指着那两个老头，带着庄重的神态说。
“不，这没有什么可开心的，”罗斯托夫一边说，一边骑马往前走。“这是怎么回事？”他问。
“我斗胆向大人禀告，此地的粗野乡民不让小姐离开庄园，他们气势汹汹地要把马卸下来，所以一早就装好了车，公爵小姐就是走不了。”
“不可能！”罗斯托夫喊了一声。
“我谨向您禀告的是真实情况。”阿尔帕特奇说道。
罗斯托夫下了坐骑，把马交给传令兵，就和阿尔帕特奇一同向住宅走去，边走边询问详情。确实，昨天公爵小姐提议给农民发放粮食，她向德龙和集会的人说明自己的态度，把事情弄得那么糟，以致德龙最终交出钥匙，和农民站到一边，不再听从阿尔帕特奇的使唤了。早晨公爵小姐吩咐套车，准备动身，但大批的农民聚在谷仓前，派出人来声称，不让公爵小姐离开村子，说是有命令不准运走东西，他们要把马从车上卸下来。阿尔帕特奇出来劝他们，但他得到的回答仍是：公爵小姐不能走，这是有命令的（说话的主要是卡尔普，德龙没有在人群里露面），他们说，请公爵小姐留下来，他们照旧服侍她，事事都顺从她。
当罗斯托夫和伊林在路上驰骋的时候，玛丽亚公爵小姐不听阿尔帕特奇、保姆和女仆的劝阻，吩咐套车准备动身，但是看见驰来几个骑兵，以为来的是法国人，车夫逃散了，家里响起妇女们的一片哭声。
“我的老天爷呀，救命恩人！上帝派你来了。”罗斯托夫走过前城时，听到一片感激声。
当人们把罗斯托夫引见给玛丽亚公爵小姐的时候，她正张皇失措，浑身无力地坐在大厅里。她不明白他是什么人，是来干什么的，对她会怎么样。她看见他那俄罗斯人的脸型和他走进来的步态以及他一开口说的那些话，就认出他是她那个阶层的人。她用她那深沉、明亮的目光看了他一眼，说起话来激动得断断续续、抖抖嗦嗦。罗斯托夫立刻觉得这次相遇具有罗曼谛克情调。“一个孤立无援、悲伤万分的姑娘，独自一人落入粗鲁狂暴的农民手里，听任他们摆布！多么离奇的命运把我引到这儿！”罗斯托夫听着，凝视着她，想道。
“她的面貌和神情多么温顺、高尚！”他听着她怯生生地讲述，想道。
当她开始讲到这一切是发生在父亲下葬的第二天时，她的声音颤抖了。她转过脸去，然而，她怕罗斯托夫以为她是有意引起他的怜悯，她疑惑地、惊慌地看了看他。罗斯托夫的眼里噙满泪水。玛丽亚公爵小姐注意到这一点，感激地看了看罗斯托夫，那目光是那么明亮，让人忽视了她那并不怎么美的面貌。
“公爵小姐，我偶然走到这里，能够为您效劳，真是说不出的荣幸，”罗斯托夫站起身来说，“您动身吧，我以自己的名誉向您担保，只要您允许我护送您，决不会有人胆敢找您的麻烦。”他好像向一位皇族妇女敬礼一样，恭恭敬敬地鞠了一躬，向门口走去。
罗斯托夫谦恭有礼的态度似乎表明，虽然与她相识是一件幸事，但他却不愿趁她不幸时来接近她。
玛丽亚公爵小姐懂得并十分珍惜这种态度。
“我非常，非常感激您！”公爵小姐用法语对他说，“但是我希望这只是一场误会，谁也没有过错呀！”公爵小姐突然哭起来。“原谅我。”她说。
罗斯托夫皱起眉头，又深深鞠了一躬，走出屋去。
Book 10 Chapter 14
“WELL, is she pretty? But, my boy, my pink girl's charming; her name is Dunyasha.” … But glancing into Rostov's face, Ilyin paused. He saw his hero and superior officer was absorbed in a very different train of thought.
Rostov looked angrily at Ilyin, and without replying, strode off rapidly to the village.
“I'll teach them; I'll pay them out; the scoundrels,” he muttered to himself.
Alpatitch followed Rostov at a quick trot, which he could only just keep from breaking into a run.
“What decision has your honour come to?” he said, overtaking him. Rostov stopped short, and clenching his fists moved suddenly up to Alpatitch with a menacing gesture.
“Decision? What decision, old shuffler?” he shouted. “What have you been thinking about? Eh? The peasants are unruly and you don't know how to manage them? You're a traitor yourself. I know you. I'll flog the skin off the lot of you …” And, as though afraid of wasting the energy of his anger, he left Alpatitch and went quickly ahead. Alpatitch, swallowing his wounded feelings, hurried with a swaying step after Rostov, still giving him the benefit of his reflections on the subject. He said that the peasants were in a very stubborn state, that at the moment it was imprudent to oppositionise them, without an armed force, and would it not be better first to send for armed force.
“I'll give them armed force. … I'll oppositionise them …” Nikolay muttered meaninglessly, choking with irrational animal rage and desire to vent that rage on some one. Without considering what he was going to do, unconsciously, he moved with a rapid, resolute step up to the crowd. And the nearer he approached, the more Alpatitch felt that his imprudent action might produce the happiest results. The peasants in the crowd were feeling the same thing as they watched his firm and rapid step and determined, frowning face.
After the hussars had entered the village and Rostov had gone in to see the princess, a certain hesitation and division of opinion had become apparent in the crowd. Some of the peasants began to say that the horsemen were Russians, and it might be expected they would take it amiss that they had not let their young lady go. Dron was of that opinion; but as soon as he expressed it, Karp and others fell upon him.
“How many years have you been fattening on the village?” shouted Karp. “It's all one to you! You'll dig up your pot of money and make off with it. What is it to you if our homes are ruined or not?”
“We were told everything was to be in order and no one to leave their homes, and not a thing to be moved away—and that's all about it!” shouted another.
“It was your son's turn; but you spared your fat youngster,” a little old man suddenly burst out, pouncing upon Dron, “and sent my Vanka to be shaved for a soldier. Ugh, and yet we all have to die!”
“To be sure, we all have to die!”
“I'm not one to go against the mir,” said Dron.
“Not one to go against it, you have grown fat off it.” …
Two lanky peasants said their say. As soon as Rostov, accompanied by Ilyin, Lavrushka, and Alpatitch approached the crowd, Karp, thrusting his fingers into his sash, walked forward with a slight smile. Dron, on the contrary, retreated to the back, and the crowd huddled closer together.
“Hey! who is elder among you here?” shouted Rostov, walking quickly up to the crowd.
“The elder? What do you want him for? …” asked Karp. But he hardly had time to get the words out when his hat sent flying off his head, and he was sent reeling from a violent blow on the head.
“Caps off, traitors!” shouted Rostov's full-blooded voice. “Where is the elder?” he roared furiously.
“The elder, the elder's wanted. Dron Zaharitch, he calls you,” voices were heard saying, hurriedly subservient, and caps were taken off.
“We can't be said to be unruly; we're following the orders,” declared Karp. And several voices at the back began at the same instant:
“It's as the elders settle; there are too many of you giving orders …”
“Talking? … Mutiny! … Scoundrels! Traitors!” Rostov shouted, without thinking, in a voice unlike his own, as he seized Karp by the collar. “Bind him, bind him!” he shouted, though there was no one to bind him but Lavrushka and Alpatitch.
Lavrushka, however, ran up to Karp and seized his arms from behind.
“Shall I call our fellows from below the hill, your honour?” he shouted.
Alpatitch turned to the peasants, calling upon two of them by name to bind Karp. The peasants obediently stepped out of the crowd and began undoing their belts.
“Where's the village elder?” shouted Rostov.
Dron with a pale and frowning face, stepped out of the crowd.
“Are you the elder? Bind him, Lavrushka,” shouted Rostov, as though the order could meet with no sort of opposition. And in fact two peasants did begin binding Dron, who took off his sash, and gave it them as though to assist in the operation.
“And all of you, listen to me,” Rostov turned to the peasants. “March straight to your homes this minute, and don't let me hear your voices again.”
“Why, we haven't done any harm. It was all, do you see, through foolishness. Only a bit of nonsense … I always said that it wasn't the right thing,” said voices, blaming one another.
“Didn't I tell you?” said Alpatitch, resuming his rightful position. “You've done wrong, lads.”
“It was our foolishness, Yakov Alpatitch,” answered voices, and the crowd at once began to break up and to disperse about the village.
The two peasants who were bound they took to the manor-house. The two drunken peasants followed them.
“Ay, now look at you!” said one of them, addressing Karp.
“Do you suppose you can talk to the gentry like that? What were you thinking about? You are a fool,” put in the other; “a regular fool.”
Within two hours the horses and carts required were standing in the courtyard of the Bogutcharovo house. The peasants were eagerly hurrying out and packing in the carts their owners' goods; and Dron, who had at Princess Marya's desire, been released from the lumber-room, where they had shut him up, was standing in the yard, giving directions to the men.
“Don't pack it so carelessly,” said one of the peasants, a tall man with a round, smiling face, taking a casket out of a housemaid's hands. “It's worth money too, you may be sure. Why, if you fling it down like that or put it under the cord, it will get scratched. I don't like to see things done so. Let everything be done honestly, according to rule, I say. There, like this, under the matting, and cover it up with hay; there, that's first-rate.”
“Mercy on us, the books, the books,” said another peasant, bringing out Prince Andrey's bookshelves. “Mind you don't stumble! Ay, but it's heavy, lads; the books are stout and solid!”
“Yes, they must have worked hard to write them!” said a tall, round-faced peasant pointing with a significant wink to a lexicon lying uppermost.
Rostov, not wishing to force his acquaintance on the princess, did not go back to the house, but remained at the village waiting for her to drive out. When Princess Marya's carriage drove out from the house, Rostov mounted his horse and escorted her as far as the road occupied by our troops, twelve versts from Bogutcharovo. At the inn at Yankovo he parted from her respectfully, for the first time permitting himself to kiss her hand.
“How can you speak of it!” he said, blushing in response to Princess Marya's expression of gratitude to him for saving her, as she called it. “Any police officer would have done as much. If we only had to wage war with peasants, we would not have let the enemy advance so far,” he said, trying with a sort of bashfulness to change the conversation. “I am only happy to have had the opportunity of making your acquaintance. Good-bye, princess. I trust you may find happiness and consolation, and I hope I may meet you again in happier circumstances. If you don't want to make me blush, please don't thank me.”
But if the princess thanked him no more in words, she thanked him with the whole expression of her face, which was radiant with gratitude and warmth. She could not believe that she had no cause to thank him. On the contrary, to her mind it was an incontestable fact that had it not been for him, she must inevitably have fallen a victim to the rebellious peasants or the French; that he, to save her, had exposed himself to obvious and fearful danger; and even more certain was the fact that he was a man of noble and lofty soul, able to sympathise with her position and her grief. His kindly and honest eyes, with tears starting to them at the moment when weeping herself she had spoken of her loss, haunted her imagination. When she had said good-bye to him and was left alone, Princess Marya suddenly felt tears in her eyes, and then—not for the first time—the question occurred to her: “Was she in love with him?” On the rest of the way to Moscow, though the princess's position was by no means a joyful one, Dunyasha, who was in the carriage with her, noticed that her mistress's face wore a vaguely happy and pensive smile, as she looked out of the window.
“Well, what if I have fallen in love with him?” Though she was ashamed at acknowledging to herself that she had fallen in love with a man who would perhaps never care for her, she comforted herself with the reflection that no one would ever know it, and she was not to blame, if she loved in secret for the first and last time and for her whole life long.
Sometimes she recalled his looks, his sympathy, his words, and happiness seemed to her not quite impossible. And then it was that Dunyasha noticed that she looked out of the window smiling.
“And to think that he should come to Bogutcharovo and at that very moment!” thought Princess Marya. “And that his sister should have refused Andrey!” And in all that, Princess Marya saw the hand of Providence.
The impression made on Rostov by Princess Marya was a very agreeable one. When he thought of her, he felt pleased. And when his comrades, hearing of his adventure at Bogutcharovo, rallied him on having gone to look for hay, and having picked up one of the greatest heiresses in Russia, it made him angry. He was angry just because the idea of marrying the gentle, and, to his mind, charming Princess Marya with her enormous fortune had more than once, against his own will, occurred to his mind. As far as he personally was concerned, Nikolay could have asked nothing better than to have Princess Marya for his wife. To marry her would make the countess, his mother, happy, and would repair his father's broken fortunes. And it would even—Nikolay felt it—make the happiness of the princess herself.
But Sonya? And his promise? And that was why it made Rostov angry to be rallied about the Princess Bolkonsky.
“怎么样，可爱吗？不，老弟，我的那个穿粉红衣裳的女郎才迷人呢，她叫杜尼亚莎……”可是伊林一瞧罗斯托夫的脸色，就不吭声了。他看见他心中的英雄——连长完全怀着另一番心思。 
罗斯托夫凶狠狠地瞪了伊林一眼，没有答理他，就快步流星地向村子走去。
“我给他们个厉害瞧瞧，非收拾他们不可，这群土匪！”他自言自语地说。
阿尔帕特奇尽力做到不跑，只迈着急速的步子紧赶，勉强追上罗斯托夫。
“请问作了什么决定？”他追上后，问道。
罗斯托夫停下脚步，握紧拳头，忽然神色严厉地向阿尔帕特奇迈了一步。
“决定？什么决定？你这个老东西！”他呵斥道。“你怎么管的家？啊？农民造反，你就管不了？你自己就是叛徒。我清楚你们这些人。我要剥掉你们的皮……”他仿佛怕他那满腔怒火被白白浪费掉，扔下阿尔帕特奇，快步向前走去。阿尔帕特奇克制住受辱的感情，迈开滑行的步子，紧紧追赶罗斯托夫，不断向他提出自己的想法。他说，农民非常顽固，在目前，没有武装队伍，跟他们斗是不明智的，先派人去把军队叫来，这样是不是会好些。
“把军队叫来收拾他们……我要斗倒他们较量！”尼古拉一边不知所云地说着（这种没有理智的兽性愤怒和要发泄愤怒的欲望，压得他喘不过气来，他并不考虑应当怎么办）一边不自觉地迈着急促、坚定的步子向人群走去。他越走近人群，阿尔帕特奇就越觉得，他这种不明智的行动可能产生良好的效果。那群农民一见他那急促而坚定的步子和拧紧的眉头的面部表情，也有同样的感觉。
在这几个骠骑兵刚进村，罗斯托夫去见公爵小姐之后，人群中发生了混乱和争吵。有些农民说，来的是俄国人，可能怪罪他们扣留小姐。德龙也这么认为，但当他刚一有所表示时卡尔普和另外一些农民就开始攻击这位已经辞职的村长。
“你在公社横行霸道有多少年了？”卡尔普斥责他，“你当然不在乎啦！你挖出钱罐子，带走了事，我们的家毁不毁掉，与你都不相干，是吗？”
“有命令，要维持秩序，任何人不准离开家，什么都不准运走，就是这样！”另一个叫道。
“轮到你儿子去当壮丁了，你准是舍不得你那宝贝疙瘩。”忽然一个小老头开始攻击德龙，他说得很快，“拿我家万卡去剃头①。唉，我们只有死的份儿了！” 
①当时俄国新兵入伍时要剃头。
“可不是，我们只有死的份儿！”
“我和公社并不是对立的，”德龙说。
“当然罗，你已经填满肚皮了！……”
那两个高个农民也说了自己的意见。罗斯托夫带着伊林、拉夫鲁什卡和阿尔帕特奇刚来到人群跟前，卡尔普就走出来，露出一丝轻笑，把手指插进宽腰带里。德龙却相反，他躲到后排去了，人群更紧地挤在一起。
“喂，你们这儿谁是村长？”罗斯托夫快步走到人群前，喊道。
“村长吗？您找他干什么？……”卡尔普问。
可是没等他把活说完，他的帽子就从头上飞走了。他挨了重重的一掌，脑袋向一旁歪了一下。
“脱帽，叛徒！”罗斯托夫厉声命令道，“村长在哪儿？”他狂怒地喊起来。
“村长，叫村长呢……德龙·扎哈雷奇，叫您呢。”人群中传出急促顺从的声音，帽子都从头上脱了下来。
“我们决不造反，我们是守规矩的。”卡尔普说，同时，后面有几个人突然一齐说：
“是老人们决定的，当官的太多了……”
“还犟嘴？……造反？……强盗！叛徒！”罗斯托夫嚎叫着，说出一些毫无意义的话，嗓音都变了。他抓住卡尔普的脖领，“捆起来，把他捆起来！”他喊道，虽然那儿除了拉夫鲁什卡和阿尔帕特奇，没有可以捆他的人。
最后还是拉夫鲁什卡跑过去，反剪起卡尔普的两只胳膊。
“是不是要把我们那边山下的人叫来？”他喊道。
阿尔帕特奇喊出两个农民的名字，叫他们来捆卡尔普，那两个农民顺从地从人群中走出来并解下腰带。
“村长在哪儿？”罗斯托夫又喊道。
德龙蹙起眉头，脸色苍白，从人群中走出来。
“你是村长吗？捆起来，拉夫鲁什卡！”罗斯托夫喊道，好像这道命令也不会遇到什么障碍似的。果然，又有两个农民出来捆德龙，德龙好像帮他们似的，把自己的腰带解下来递给他们。
“你们大家都听着，”罗斯托夫对那些农民说，“你们马上都统统回家，别让我再听到你们的声音。”
“怎么？我们并没有什么得罪人的，我们只不过一时糊涂。只是瞎闹了一场……我就说嘛，是太乱了。”可以听见农民们互相责备的声音。
“我不是对你们说了吗？”阿尔帕特奇说，他开始行使他的权力了。“这样不好，孩子气的人！”
“都怪我们糊涂，雅科夫·阿尔帕特奇。”一些人回答，人们立刻在村子里四散了。
两个绑着的农民被带到了主人的宅院。那两个喝醉酒的农民尾随着他们。
“嘿，我倒要看看你！”其中一个对卡尔普说。
“怎么能这样跟老爷们讲话呀？你想到哪儿去了？”
“笨蛋，”另一个附和说，“真是个大笨蛋！”
两小时后，几辆大车停在博古恰罗沃住宅的庭院。农民们起劲地搬出主人的东西装到车上，关在大柜子里的德龙，按照玛丽亚公爵小姐的意思被释放出来，他站在院子里指挥农民们。
“你那样放，不对。”一个总是笑嘻嘻的高个子圆脸农民，从女仆手中抢过一只小箱笼，说道。“要知道，这也值钱呀，你干吗乱扔？干吗要捆上绳子——它会磨坏的。我不喜欢这样。做什么都要认真仔细，都要有个定规。这就应当用席子这样包上，盖上干草。这一点很重要！”
“哦，这是书，书，”另一个搬出安德烈公爵的书橱的农民说。“你当心别绊着！老沉老沉的伙伴们，书真多啊！”
“是啊，老在写，也不休息休息！”那个高个子圆脸农民指着放在顶上的厚厚的辞典，意味深长地使了个眼色说道。
罗斯托夫不愿死气白赖地去结交公爵小姐，没去见她，在村子里等她出来。等到玛丽亚公爵小姐的车辆从宅院里出来时，罗斯托夫骑上马，一直把她送到离博古恰罗沃十二俄里驻扎我军的路上。在扬科沃客店里，他恭恭敬敬地和她告别，第一次吻了吻她的手。
“看您说的，”当玛丽亚公爵小姐感谢他搭救她（她说他的行为是搭救）的时候，他红着脸回答，“任何一个警察局长都办得到的事。如果我们打仗的对手是农民的话，我们就不会让敌人深入这么远了。”不知是什么缘故他有点害羞，极力要改变一下话题。“这次有机缘同您结识，是我的荣幸。再见，公爵小姐，祝您幸福并得到慰藉，希望下次在比较欢愉的环境中和您相会。如果您不愿使我脸红的话，请不要再说感谢的话。”
但是，如果说她不再用言词来感谢他的话，她已经用她那由于感激和柔情而容光焕发的脸上的全部表情来感谢他了。她不能相信他不应当受到感谢。相反，她认为毫无异议，如果没有他的话，她准毁在暴徒和法国人手里；他为了搭救她，甘冒最明显的最可怕的危险，他是一个具有崇高灵魂、高贵气度的人，善于理解她的处境和不幸，这一点也是毫无疑义的。他那善良、正直的眼睛，在她诉说自己不幸的遭遇而哭泣的时候，他那双涌出泪水的眼睛，总在她的脑际萦回。
当玛丽亚公爵小姐和他告别，只剩下她一人时，她含着眼泪思忖——不是头一回才想到那个奇怪的问题：她是不是爱上他了？
在此后去莫斯科的途中，虽然公爵小姐的处境并不称心，同她坐一辆车的杜尼亚莎不止一次看见，公爵小姐向车窗外探出身子，不知什么缘故又喜又悲地微笑。
“我就爱上了他，又怎么样？”玛丽亚公爵小姐想着。
无论她怎样羞于承认她的初恋是爱那个可能永远不会爱她的人，但她安慰自己说，永远不会有人知道这件事，如果直到生命的最后一刻也不对任何人提起她第一次也是最后一次爱上一个人，她也决不悔恨。
她有时回忆起他的眼神、他的同情、他说的话，她觉得幸福不是不可能的。这个时候，杜尼亚莎看见她正含着微笑望着车窗外。
“正巧他到博古恰罗沃来，而且恰当其时！”玛丽亚公爵小姐想着。“正巧他的妹妹拒绝了安德烈公爵！”①玛丽亚公爵小姐似乎从这一切中看到了神的意旨。 
①俄国习俗：小姑子不许和嫂嫂的兄弟结婚。如果安德烈和娜塔莎结婚，玛丽亚就不能嫁给尼古拉·罗斯托夫。
玛丽亚公爵小姐给罗斯托夫的印象是很愉快的。他一想起她，心里就很高兴。当同事们知道他在博古恰罗沃的奇遇，跟他开玩笑，说他找干草，却找到一位全俄国最富有的未婚妻时，罗斯托夫一听就怒形于色。罗斯托夫所以恼火，是因为和他所中意的、拥有巨大财产、性情温和的玛丽亚公爵小姐结婚，这个念头不止一次违反他的意志在他头脑中闪现。对尼古拉个人来说，他不可能娶到一个比玛丽亚公爵小姐更合适的妻子了：和她结婚会使伯爵夫人——他的母亲高兴；会改善他父亲的境况，尼古拉还觉得，这样会使玛丽亚公爵小姐幸福。
但是索尼娅怎么办？曾许下的誓言呢？当人们拿博尔孔斯基公爵小姐跟他开玩笑的时候，也正是这个缘故惹得罗斯托夫生气。
Book 10 Chapter 15
ON RECEIVING THE CHIEF COMMAND of the army, Kutuzov remembered Prince Andrey and sent him a summons to headquarters. 
Prince Andrey reached Tsarevo-Zaimishtche on the very day and at the very hour when Kutuzov was making his first inspection of the troops. Prince Andrey stopped in the village at the house of the priest, where the commander-in-chief's carriage was standing, and sat down on a bench at the gate to await his highness, as every one now called Kutuzov. From the plain beyond the village came the sounds of regimental music, and the roar of a vast multitude, shouting “Hurrah!” to the new commander-in-chief. At the gate, some ten paces from Prince Andrey, stood two orderlies, a courier, and a butler, taking advantage of their master's absence to enjoy the fine weather. A swarthy, little lieutenant-colonel of hussars, his face covered with bushy moustaches and whiskers, rode up to the gate, and glancing at Prince Andrey asked whether his highness were putting up here and whether he would soon be back.
Prince Andrey told him that he did not belong to his highness's staff, but had only just arrived. The lieutenant-colonel of hussars turned to the smart orderly, and the orderly told him with the peculiar scornfulness with which a commander-in-chief's orderlies do speak to officers:
“His highness? We expect him back immediately. What is your business?”
The officer grinned in his moustaches at the orderly's tone, dismounted, gave his horse to a servant, and went up to Bolkonsky with a slight bow.
Bolkonsky made room for him on the bench. The hussar sat down beside him.
“You, too, waiting for the commander-in-chief?” he began. “They say he is willing to see any one, thank God! It was a very different matter with the sausage-makers! Yermolov might well ask to be promoted a German. Now, I dare say, Russians may dare to speak again. And devil knows what they have been about. Nothing but retreating and retreating. Have you been in the field?” he asked.
“I have had the pleasure,” said Prince Andrey, “not only of taking part in the retreat, but also of losing everything I valued in the retreat—not to speak of my property and the home of my birth … my father, who died of grief. I am a Smolensk man.”
“Ah! … Are you Prince Bolkonsky? Very glad to make your acquaintance. Lieutenant-colonel Denisov, better known by the name of Vaska,” said Denisov, pressing Prince Andrey's hand and looking into his face with a particularly kindly expression. “Yes, I had heard about it,” he said sympathetically, and after a brief pause he added: “Yes, this is Scythian warfare. It's all right, but not for those who have to pay the piper. So you are Prince Andrey Bolkonsky?” He shook his head. “I am very glad, prince; very glad to make your acquaintance,” he added, pressing his hand again with a melancholy smile.
Prince Andrey knew of Denisov from Natasha's stories of her first suitor. The recollection of them—both sweet and bitter—carried him back to the heart-sickness of which he had of late never thought, though it still lay buried within him. Of late so many different and grave matters, such as the abandonment of Smolensk, his visit to Bleak Hills, the recent news of his father's death—so many emotions had filled his heart that those memories had long been absent, and when they returned did not affect him nearly so violently. And for Denisov, the associations awakened by the name of Bolkonsky belonged to a far-away, romantic past, when, after supper and Natasha's singing, hardly knowing what he was doing, he had made an offer to the girl of fifteen. He smiled at the recollection of that time and his love for Natasha, and passed at once to what he was just now intensely and exclusively interested in. This was a plan of campaign he had formed while on duty at the outposts during the retreat. He had laid the plan before Barclay de Tolly, and now intended to lay it before Kutuzov. The plan was based on the fact that the line of the French operations was too extended, and on the suggestion that, instead of or along with a frontal attack, barring the advance of the French, attacks should be made on their communications. He began explaining his plan to Prince Andrey.
“They are not able to defend all that line; it's impossible. I'll undertake to break through them. Give me five hundred men and I would cut their communications, that's certain! The one system to adopt is partisan warfare.”
Denisov got up and began with gesticulations to explain his plans to Bolkonsky. In the middle of his exposition they heard the shouts of the army, mingling with music, and song, and apparently coming from detached groups scattered over a distance. From the village came cheers and the tramp of horses' hoofs.
“Himself is coming,” shouted the Cossack, who stood at the gate; “he's coming!”
Bolkonsky and Denisov moved up to the gate, where there stood a knot of soldiers (a guard of honour), and they saw Kutuzov coming down the street mounted on a low bay horse. An immense suite of generals followed him. Barclay rode almost beside him; a crowd of officers was running behind and around them shouting “hurrah!”
His adjutants galloped into the yard before him. Kutuzov impatiently kicked his horse, which ambled along slowly under his weight, and continually nodded his head and put his hand up to his white horse-guard's cap, with a red band and no peak. When he reached the guard of honour, a set of stalwart grenadiers, mostly cavalry men, saluting him, he looked at them for a minute in silence, with the intent, unflinching gaze of a man used to command; then he turned to the group of generals and officers standing round him. His face suddenly wore a subtle expression; he shrugged his shoulders with an air of perplexity. “And with fellows like that retreat and retreat!” he said. “Well, good-bye, general,” he added, and spurred his horse into the gateway by Prince Andrey and Denisov.
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” rang out shouts behind him.
Since Prince Andrey had seen him last Kutuzov had grown stouter and more corpulent than ever; he seemed swimming in fat. But the familiar scar, and the white eye, and the expression of weariness in his face and figure were unchanged. He was wearing a white horse-guard's cap and a military coat, and a whip on a narrow strap was slung over his shoulder. He sat heavily swaying on his sturdy horse.
“Fugh! … fugh! … fugh! …” he whistled, hardly audibly, as he rode into the courtyard. His face expressed the relief of a man who looks forward to resting after a performance. He drew his left foot out of the stirrup, and with a lurch of his whole person, frowning with the effort, brought it up to the saddle, leaned on his knee, and with a groan let himself drop into the arms of the Cossacks and adjutants, who stood ready to support him.
He pulled himself together, looked round with half-shut eyes, glanced at Prince Andrey, and evidently not recognising him, moved with his shambling gait towards the steps.
“Fugh! … fugh! … fugh!” he whistled, and again looked round at Prince Andrey. As is often the case with the aged, the impression of Prince Andrey's face did not at once call up the memory of his personality. “Ah, how are you, how are you, my dear boy, come along …” he said wearily, and walked heavily up the steps that creaked under his weight. He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on the seat in the porch.
“Well, how's your father?”
“The news of his death reached me yesterday,” said Prince Andrey briefly.
Kutuzov looked at him with his eye opened wide with dismay, then he took off his cap, and crossed himself. “The peace of heaven be with him! And may God's will be done with all of us!” He heaved a heavy sigh and paused. “I loved him deeply and respected him, and I feel for you with all my heart.” He embraced Prince Andrey, pressed him to his fat breast, and for some time did not let him go. When he released him Prince Andrey saw that Kutuzov's thick lips were quivering and there were tears in his eye. He sighed and pressed his hands on the seat to help himself in rising from it.
“Come in, come in, we'll have a chat,” he said; but at that moment Denisov, who stood as little in dread of the authorities as he did of the enemy, walked boldly up, his spurs clanking on the steps, regardless of the indignant whispers of the adjutants, who tried to prevent him. Kutuzov, his hands still pressed on the seat to help him up, looked ruefully at Denisov. Denisov, mentioning his name, announced that he had to communicate to his highness a matter of great importance for the welfare of Russia. Kutuzov bent his weary eyes on Denisov, and, lifting his hands with a gesture of annoyance, folded them across his stomach, and repeated, “For the welfare of Russia? Well, what is it? Speak.” Denisov blushed like a girl (it was strange to see the colour come on that hirsute, time-worn, hard-drinking face), and began boldly explaining his plan for cutting the enemy's line between Smolensk and Vyazma. Denisov's home was in that region, and he knew the country well. His plan seemed unquestionably a good one, especially with the energy of conviction that was in his words. Kutuzov stared at his own feet, and occasionally looked round towards the yard of the next cottage, as though he were expecting something unpleasant to come from it. From the cottage there did in fact emerge, during Denisov's speech, a general with a portfolio under his arm.
“Eh?” Kutuzov inquired in the middle of Denisov's exposition, “are you ready now?”
“Yes, your highness,” said the general. Kutuzov shook his head with an air that seemed to say, “How is one man to get through it all?” and gave his attention again to Denisov.
“I give you my word of honour as a Russian officer,” Denisov was saying, “that I will cut Napoleon's communications.”
“Is Kirill Andreivitch Denisov, the ober-intendant, any relation of yours?” Kutuzov interposed.
“My uncle, your highness.”
“Oh! we used to be friends,” said Kutuzov, more cheerily. “Very good, very good, my dear boy; you stay here on the staff; we'll have a talk to-morrow.” Nodding to Denisov, he turned away and put out his hand for the papers Konovnitsyn had brought him.
“Will not your highness be pleased to walk into the house?” said the general on duty in a discontented voice; “it's necessary to look through the plans and to sign some papers.” An adjutant appeared at the door to announce that everything was in readiness within. But apparently Kutuzov preferred to be rid of business before going indoors. He paused …
“No; have a table placed here, my dear boy; I'll look through them here,” he said. “Don't you go away,” he added, addressing Prince Andrey. Prince Andrey remained in the porch listening to the general on duty.
While the latter was presenting his report Prince Andrey heard the whisper of a woman's voice and the rustle of a woman's silk dress at the door. Several times glancing in that direction he noticed behind the door a plump, rosy-faced, good-looking woman in a pink dress with a lilac silk kerchief on her head. She had a dish in her hand and was apparently waiting for the commander-in-chief to enter. Kutuzov's adjutant explained to Prince Andrey in a whisper that this was the priest's wife, the mistress of the house, who intended to offer his highness bread and salt, the emblems of welcome, on his entrance. Her husband had met his highness with the cross in church, and she intended to welcome him to the house.… “She's very pretty,” added the adjutant with a smile. Kutuzov looked round at the words. He heard the general's report, the subject of which was chiefly a criticism of the position of the troops before Tsarevo-Zaimishtche, just as he had heard Denisov, and just as, seven years before, he had heard the discussions of the military council before Austerlitz. He was obviously hearing it simply because he had ears, and although one of them was stuffed up with cotton-wool they could not help hearing. But it was obvious that nothing that general could possibly say could surprise or interest him, that he knew beforehand all he would be told, and listened only because he had to listen to it, just as one has to listen to the litany being sung. All Denisov had said was practical and sensible. What the general was saying was even more practical and sensible, but apparently Kutuzov despised both knowledge and intellect, and knew of something else that would settle things—something different, quite apart from intellect and knowledge. Prince Andrey watched the commander-in-chief's face attentively, and the only expression he could detect in it was an expression of boredom, of curiosity to know the meaning of the feminine whispering at the door, and of a desire to observe the proprieties. It was obvious that Kutuzov despised intellect and learning, and even the patriotic feeling Denisov had shown; but he did not despise them through intellect, nor through sentiment, nor through learning (for he made no effort to display anything of the kind), he despised them through something else—through his old age, through his experience of life. The only instruction of his own that Kutuzov inserted in the report related to acts of marauding by Russian troops. The general, at the end of the report, presented his highness a document for signature relating to a petition for damages from a landowner for the cutting of his oats by certain officers.
Kutuzov smacked his lips together and shook his head, as he listened to the matter.
“Into the stove … into the fire with it! And I tell you once for all, my dear fellow,” he said, “all such things put into the fire. Let them cut the corn and burn the wood to their heart's content. It's not by my orders and it's not with my permission, but I can't pursue the matter. It can't be helped. You can't hew down trees without the chips flying.” He glanced once more at the paper. “Oh, this German preciseness,” he commented, shaking his head.
库图佐夫在奉命统率全军以后，想起了安德烈公爵，于是给他送去一道到总部报到的命令。 
安德烈公爵抵达察列沃—扎伊米希的那天，正赶上库图佐夫检阅军队，而且是检阅正在进行的时刻。安德烈公爵在村里牧师住宅旁停下来，那儿有一辆总司令的马车，然后他在大门旁的长凳上坐下等勋座（现在大家都这么称呼库图佐夫）。从村外的田野里时而传来军乐声，时而传来欢呼新总司令“乌拉！”的巨大吼叫声。离安德烈公爵十来步远的大门旁站在两个勤务兵、一个通信员和一个管家。他们趁公爵不在，天气晴和，便走了出来。一位黑脸膛、生着浓密髭须和颊须的小个子骠骑兵中校，骑马来到大门前，他端详一下安德烈公爵，问道：勋座大人是不是就在这儿，他什么时候回来。
安德烈公爵说，他不是勋座司令部的人员，也是刚来报到的。骠骑兵中校问那个服装华丽的勤务兵。那个勤务兵带着所有总司令的勤务兵与军官说话时所具有的特别蔑视的腔调对他说：“什么勋座大人？大概快回来了。您有何贵干？”
对此骠骑兵中校只冷笑了一声。他下了马，把马交给传令兵，然后走到安德烈公爵跟前，向他弯弯腰以示致敬。博尔孔斯基在长凳上掷挪身子让了坐。骠骑兵中校在他身旁坐下。
“您也是等总司令的吗？”骠骑兵中校问。“据说，人人都见得到，谢天谢地。不然和那些卖腊肠的家伙①打交道，够倒霉的！难怪耶尔莫洛夫要申请入德籍。现在我们俄国人大概也能说上话了。鬼知道搞的啥名堂。一个劲地后退、后退！
您参加过战役吗？”他问。
“有幸参加过战役，”安德烈公爵回答说，“不仅参加过撤退，而且在撤退中失去了我所珍惜的一切。且不说田庄和亲爱的家园……我父亲就死于忧愤。我是斯摩棱斯克人。”
“啊？……您是博尔孔斯基公爵吗？认识您，我非常高兴。我是杰尼索夫中校，大家都知道我叫瓦西卡。”杰尼索夫说，他握着安德烈公爵的手，用特别和善的目光凝视着博尔孔斯基的面孔。“是的，我听说了。”他深表同情地说，停了片刻，又接着说：“简直是西徐亚人战争②。这一切都很好，只是对那些替人背黑锅的不好。您是安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵吗？”他摇了摇头。“非常高兴，非常高兴和您认识。”他握着他的手，带着感伤的微笑又说。 
①指德国人，当时俄军中有不少德籍高级将领。
②西徐亚，意思是说这次战争是野蛮人的战争。
安德烈公爵听娜塔莎讲过，知道杰尼索夫是她的第一个求婚人。这段又甜蜜又痛苦的回忆现在又触动了他那敏感的负伤的心灵。近来久已不去想它，但在灵魂深处仍感到痛楚。最近的感受太多了。如放弃斯摩梭斯克，童山之行，不久前他父亲逝世的消息等等都给他留下了深刻的印象。他的感受是那么多，以致过去那些事的印象久已淡薄，即使记起来，对他的影响也远远没有先前那么深远了。可是对杰尼索夫来说，由博尔孔斯基这个名字引起的一连串回忆却是富有诗意的遥远的过去。当时在吃罢晚饭，听完娜塔莎歌唱之后，他自己也不知是怎么回事，竟然向一个十五岁的少女求起婚来。他回想起当时的情景以及他对娜塔莎的爱慕之情，禁不住微微一笑，然后又立刻转向他目前最热心、最专注的事情上去了。这就是他于撤退期间在前哨服务时想出的作战方案。他曾经把这个方案呈交给巴克莱·德·托利，现在他打算向库图佐夫提出。这个方案的论点是：法军的战线拉得太长，我军不必从正面堵截法军，应当攻击他们的交通线，或则一面正面作战，一面攻击他们的交通线。他开始向安德烈公爵说明他的方案。
“他们想据守住整个战线。这是不可能的。我保证突破他们的防线。给我五百人，我会把他们的交通线切得七零八落，准行！唯一的办法，就是打游击战。”
杰尼索夫站起来、打着手势，向安德烈公爵描述他的方案。他在描述时，从检阅的地方传来军队的呐喊声，这声音越来越不连贯，越来越散乱，其中夹杂着军乐和歌声。村里传来马蹄声和喊声。
“他来了，”站在大门旁的哥萨克喊道，“他来了！”
博尔孔斯基和杰尼索夫向大门口走去，那儿排着一大群士兵（仪仗队），他们看见库图佐夫骑着一匹枣红色小马沿着大街驰来。一大群将军侍从骑马跟随着他。巴克莱几乎和他并辔而行。一群军官在他们四周边跑边喊：“乌拉！”
副官们先驰进院子。库图佐夫烦躁地策着那匹在他身体重压下稳步徐行的小马。他把手举到他那白色的近卫重骑兵军帽边（带有红箍，没有遮檐），不停地点头。他走到向他致敬的仪仗队前面时（仪仗队多半是佩戴勋章的年轻英俊的近卫兵），他用长官沉着的目光默默地、注意地看了他们一会儿，然后转向周围那些将军和军官。他脸上的神情突然起了微妙的变化，他不知所措地耸了耸肩。
“有这么棒的小伙子，还总是退却，退却！”他说，“好了，再见，将军。”他又说，策着马经过安德烈公爵和杰尼索夫面前向大门口走去。
“乌拉！乌拉！乌拉！”人们在他后面欢呼着。
自从安德烈公爵上次看见库图佐夫之后，他变得更胖了，面皮松弛，浮肿。但是安德烈公爵所熟悉的那只白眼①、伤疤，以及他脸上和身上显出的疲倦的样子，依然如故。他穿着军服，肩上挂着细皮条鞭子，戴着一顶白色的近卫重骑兵军帽。
他骑在那匹精壮的小马上，沉重地摇晃着。 
①指库图佐夫那只失明的眼睛。
“嘘……嘘……嘘……”他口哨吹得几乎听不见，骑马走进院子。他脸上现出快慰而喜悦的神情，那是一个人在人多的场合作为代表露面之后想休息一下时常有的表情。他从马镫里抽出左脚，然后向前倾着整个身子，吃力得皱起了眉头，左脚使劲迈过马鞍，又用臂肘支撑着膝盖，哼哧了一声，整个人就歪倒在准备扶他的哥萨克们和副官们的手臂上。
他定了定神，眯起眼睛环顾四周，他看了看安德烈公爵，好像认不得，就迈着他那一颠一颠的步子向台阶走去。
“嘘……嘘……嘘”，他吹着口哨，又转脸看了看安德烈公爵。过了几分钟才把安德烈公爵的面孔和与其有关的回忆联系起来。（这是老年人常有的现象）
“啊，你好，公爵，你好，亲爱的朋友，来吧……”他一面环视，一面疲惫地说，挺费劲地登上在他身体的重压下咯吱作响的台阶。他解开扣子，坐到台阶上的一条长凳上。
“你父亲怎么样？”
“昨天接到他辞世的消息。”安德烈公爵简短地说。
库图佐夫睁大惊讶的双眼看了看安德烈公爵，然后摘下制帽，划了个十字：“愿他在天国安息！我们所有的人都应服从上帝的意旨！”他沉重地、深深地叹了口气，沉默了片刻，“我敬爱他，我衷心地同情你。”他拥抱安德烈公爵，把他搂到他那肥厚的胸脯上，久久地没有放开。当他放开他时，安德烈公爵看见库图佐夫厚厚的嘴唇在颤抖，眼睛里含着泪水。
他叹了口气，两手按着长凳要站起来。
“走，到我那里去吧。我们谈一谈。”他说，但是，这时，在长官面前一如在敌人面前很少胆怯的杰尼索夫，不顾门廊旁副官的愤怒的低声阻拦，响着马刺，大胆地沿着阶梯走进门廊。库图佐夫两手支撑着长凳，不满地望着杰尼索夫。杰里索夫自报了姓名，声称他有关于国家利益的重大事情要向勋座大人汇报。库图佐夫用疲倦的眼神望着杰里索夫，摆出一副厌烦的姿势，抬起两手，交叉放在肚子上，重复说：“有关国家的利益？是什么事？说吧？”杰尼索夫像姑娘的脸红了（看见这个满脸胡须、苍老、醉醺醺的脸上现出红晕，令人觉得惊异），开始大胆地陈述他切断斯摩棱斯克和维亚济马之间敌军防线的计划。杰尼索夫在那个地区住过，熟悉那一带的地形。他的计划无疑是可取的，特别是他说话的口气带有极为坚强的信心。库图佐夫看看自己的脚，有时望一望隔壁的院子，似乎在等待那边有什么令人不快的事发生。果然，在杰尼索夫正讲述的时候，从他望见的那间小屋里出来一个腋下夹着公事包的将领。
“怎么样？”杰尼索夫还在讲述，库图佐夫问那个将领道。
“已经准备好了吗？”
“勋座大人，准备好了。”将军说。库图佐夫摇摇头，仿佛说：“一个人怎么能办完这么多事。”然后他继续听杰尼索夫讲述。
“我用俄国军官高尚而诚实的誓言向您保证，”杰尼索夫说，“我准能切断拿破仑的交通线。”
“基里尔·安德烈耶维奇·杰尼索夫，军需总监是你什么人？”库图佐夫打断了他的话，问道。
“是家叔，勋座大人。”
“噢，我们是老朋友了，”库图佐夫挺高兴地说。“好的，好的，亲爱的，你就留在总部吧，咱们明天再谈谈。”他向杰尼索夫点了点头，就转身伸手去拿科诺夫尼岑交来的文件。
“是不是请勋座大人到屋里去？”执勤的将军用不满的语声说，“要审查几份计划和签署一些文件。”从门口走出一个副官报告说，室内一切都准备停妥。但是，看样子库图佐夫想办完事再回屋里去。他皱皱眉头……
“不，亲爱的，吩咐把桌子搬来，我就在这儿审阅文件。”他说。“你先别走。”他转向安德烈公爵说。安德烈公爵于是站在台阶上听那个执勤的将官作报告。
这时，安德烈公爵听见门里有女人的低语声和绸衣的窸窣声。他向那边看了几眼，看见门里有一个穿粉红衣裳，包上雪青色丝绸头巾，丰满、红润的美丽少妇，她捧着一个盘子，显然在等总司令进去。库图佐夫的副官低声对安德烈公爵解释道：这是女房东、牧师的老婆，她要向勋座大人献盐和面包①。她丈夫在教堂用十字架欢迎过勋座大人，她在家中……“她很漂亮。”那个副官面露微笑补充一句。库图佐夫听到这些话，回头看了看。库图佐夫在听执勤的将官的报告（报告的主要问题是对察列沃—扎伊米希阵地的抨击。），正如他听杰尼索夫的陈述和七年前在奥斯特利茨军事会议上听那些争论一样，他之所以听，只是因为他长着两只耳朵，不得不听，尽管他的一只耳朵里还塞着一小段海船的缆索②；不过显而易见，那个执勤的将军对他所能说的话，不仅没有一点可以使他吃惊或引起他的兴趣，而且他事前全知道他要说的话，他之所以听完这一切，只是因为不得不听完，正如不得不听完那像念经似的祈祷文一样。杰尼索夫说得头头是道，很有头脑，执勤的将官的话就更头头是道，更有头脑，但是显而易见，库图佐夫轻视聪明才智，他知道另外一种可以解决问题的东西——那是与聪明才智毫无关联的东西。安德烈公爵悉心观察总司令的面部表情，他所能看到的他脸上唯一的表情就是愁闷及对门里那个女人的低语的好奇以及遵守礼节的心意。显然，库图佐夫轻视聪明才智，甚至轻视杰尼索夫的爱国热情，但他的蔑视并不是由于自己的聪明才智和感情（因为他极力不显露这些天赋），而是由于别的缘故。他蔑视这一切，是因为他的高龄和丰富的生活经验。对那个报告库图佐夫只作了一个关于俄国军队在战场上抢劫一事的指示。报告结束时，执勤的将官呈上一份因士兵割青燕麦，地主要求各军长官追偿损失的文件，并请勋座大人在上面签字。
听了这件事，库图佐夫咂咂嘴，摇了摇头。 
①俄国风俗，对新来的客人，献面包和盐表示欢迎。
②俄国旧习，认为这样可以治牙痛。
“扔进炉子里……投进火里去！我索兴给你说吧，亲爱的，”他说，“把所有这些东西都扔进火里去。庄稼，让他们尽管割吧；木材，让他们尽管烧吧。我不发任何命令允许这样做，但也不禁止，可是我不能赔偿，非这样不行。既然劈木头，难免木片飞。”他又看了看那个文件。“哦，德国式的精细！”他摇摇头说。
Book 10 Chapter 16
“WELL, now, that's all,” said Kutuzov, as he signed the last paper, and rising clumsily, and straightening his fat, white neck, he went to the door with a more cheerful countenance.
The priest's wife, with the colour rushing to her face, snatched up the dish, and though she had been so long preparing, she did not succeed in presenting it at the right moment. With a low bow she offered it to Kutuzov. Kutuzov screwed up his eyes. He smiled, chucked her under the chin, and said:
“And what a pretty face! Thank you, my dear!”
He took some gold coins out of his trouser pocket, and put them on the dish. “Well, and how are we getting on?” he said, going towards the room that had been assigned him. The priest's wife, with smiling dimples on her rosy face, followed to show him the room. The adjutant came out to Prince Andrey in the porch, and invited him to lunch. Half an hour later Kutuzov sent for Prince Andrey. He was reclining in a low chair, still in the same unbuttoned military coat. He had a French novel in his hand, and at Prince Andrey's entrance laid a paper-knife in it and put it aside. It was Les Chevaliers du Cygne, a work by Madame de Genlis, as Prince Andrey saw by the cover.
“Well, sit down; sit down here. Let us have a little talk,” said Kutuzov. “It's sad; very sad. But remember, my dear, think of me as a father, another father, to you …!”
Prince Andrey told Kutuzov all he knew about his father's end, and what he had seen at Bleak Hills.
“To think what we have been brought to!” Kutuzov cried suddenly, in a voice full of feeling, Prince Andrey's story evidently bringing vividly before him the position of Russia.
“Wait a bit; wait a bit!” he added, with a vindictive look in his face, and apparently unwilling to continue a conversation that stirred him too deeply, he said:
“I sent for you to keep you with me.”
“I thank your highness!” answered Prince Andrey, “but I am afraid I am no more good for staff work,” he said, with a smile, which Kutuzov noticed. He looked at him inquiringly. “And the great thing is,” added Prince Andrey, “I am used to my regiment. I like the officers; and I think the men have come to like me. I should be sorry to leave the regiment. If I decline the honour of being in attendance on you, believe me …”
Kutuzov's podgy face beamed with a shrewd, good-natured, and yet subtly ironical expression. He cut Bolkonsky short.
“I'm sure you would have been of use to me. But you're right; you're right. It's not here that we want men. There are always a multitude of counsellors; but men are scarce. The regiments wouldn't be what they are if all the would-be counsellors would serve in them like you. I remember you at Austerlitz. I remember, I remember you with the flag!” said Kutuzov, and a flush of pleasure came into Prince Andrey's face at this reminiscence. Kutuzov held out his hand to him, offering him his cheek to kiss, and again Prince Andrey saw tears in the old man's eye. Though Prince Andrey knew Kutuzov's tears were apt to come easily, and that he was particularly affectionate and tender with him from the desire to show sympathy with his loss, yet he felt this reminder of Austerlitz agreeable and flattering.
“Go your own way, and God bless you in it. … I know your path is the path of honour!” He paused. “I missed you at Bucharest. I wanted some one to send …” And changing the subject, Kutuzov began talking of the Turkish war, and of the peace that had been concluded. “Yes, I have been roundly abused,” he said, “both for the war and the peace … but it all happened in the nick of time.” “ ‘Everything comes in time for him who knows how to wait,' ” he said, quoting the French proverb. “And there were as many counsellors there as here, …” he went on, returning to the superfluity of advisers, a subject which evidently occupied his mind. “Ugh, counsellors and counsellors!” he said. “If we had listened to all of them, we should be in Turkey now. We should not have made peace, and the war would never have been over. Always in haste, and more haste, worse speed. Kamensky would have come to grief there, if he hadn't died. He went storming fortresses with thirty thousand men. It's easy enough to take fortresses, but it's hard to finish off a campaign successfully. Storms and attacks are not what's wanted, but time and patience. Kamensky sent his soldiers to attack Rustchuk, but I trusted to them alone—time and patience—and I took more fortresses than Kamensky, and made the Turks eat horseflesh!” He shook his head. “And the French shall, too. Take my word for it,” cried Kutuzov, growing warmer and slapping himself on the chest, “I'll make them eat horseflesh!” And again his eye was dim with tears.
“We shall have to give battle, though, shan't we?” said Prince Andrey.
“We must, if every one wants to; there is no help for it.… But, mark my words, my dear boy! The strongest of all warriors are these two—time and patience. They do it all, and our wise counsellors n'entendent pas de cette oreille, voilà le mal. Some say ay, and some say no. What's one to do?” he asked, evidently expecting a reply. “Come, what would you have me do?” he repeated, and his eyes twinkled with a profound, shrewd expression. “I'll tell you what to do,” he said, since Prince Andrey still did not answer. “I'll tell you what to do, and what I do. Dans le doute, mon cher”—he paused—“abstiens-toi.” He articulated deliberately the French saying.
“Well, good-bye, my dear. Remember, with all my heart, I feel for your sorrow, and that for you I'm not his highness, nor prince, nor commander-in-chief, but simply a father to you. If you want anything, come straight to me. Good-bye, my dear boy!” Again he embraced and kissed him.
And before Prince Andrey had closed the door, Kutuzov settled himself comfortably with a sigh, and renewed the unfinished novel of Madame Genlis, Les Chevaliers du Cygne.
How, and why it was, Prince Andrey could not explain, but after this interview with Kutuzov, he went back to his regiment feeling reassured as to the future course of the war, and as to the man to whom its guidance was intrusted. The more clearly he perceived the absence of everything personal in the old leader, who seemed to have nothing left of his own but habits of passions, and instead of an intellect grasping events and making plans, had only the capacity for the calm contemplation of the course of events, the more confident he felt that all would be as it should be. “He will put in nothing of himself. He will contrive nothing, will undertake nothing,” thought Prince Andrey; “but he will hear everything, will think of everything, will put everything in its place, will not hinder anything that could be of use, and will not allow anything that could do harm. He knows that there is something stronger and more important than his will—that is the inevitable march of events, and he can see them, can grasp their significance, and, seeing their significance, can abstain from meddling, from following his own will, and aiming at something else. And the chief reason,” thought Prince Andrey, “why one believes in him is that he's Russian, in spite of Madame Genlis's novel and the French proverbs, that his voice shook when he said, ‘What we have been brought to!' and that he choked when he said ‘he would make them eat horseflesh!' ”
It was this feeling, more or less consciously shared by all, that determined the unanimous approval given to the appointment of Kutuzov to the chief command, in accordance with national sentiment, and in opposition to the intrigues at court.
“好，就到此结束。”库图佐夫签署了最后一份文件，说，他吃力地站起身，白胖脖领上的皱褶舒展开来，他带着快活的神情向门口走去。 
那个牧师太太的脸立即涨得通红，十分激动，她端起准备了很久而未能及时献上的盘子，深深地鞠了一躬，把它捧到库图佐夫面前。
库图佐夫眯起眼睛，脸上流露出笑容，用手托起她的下巴，说：
“多么标致的美人！谢谢，亲爱的！”
他从裤袋里掏出几枚金币放在她的盘子里。
“喂，过得怎样？”库图佐夫一面说，一面向给他准备的房间走去。牧师太太绯红的面颊上绽开两个酒窝，随他走进正房。副官走到台阶上请安德烈公爵和他一道用早饭；半小时后，安德烈公爵又被召唤到库图佐夫那儿。库图佐夫仍然穿着那件敞开的军装，躺在沙发上。他手里拿着一本法文书，安德烈公爵进去时，他合上那本书，用一把小刀夹在读到的地方。安德烈公爵看见了封面，知道是《Les　chevaliers　du　Cygne》①，Madame　de　Genlis②的作品。 
①法语：《天鹅骑士》。
②法语：让利斯夫人。
“坐下，坐在这儿，我们谈谈，”库图佐夫说。“悲恸啊，很悲恸。但是要记住，亲爱的朋友，我也是你的父亲，第二个父亲……”安德烈公爵把他所知道的父亲临终时的情形和途经童山时目睹的情形对库图佐夫叙述了一遍。
“弄到什么地步……到什么地步！”库图佐夫突然说，他声音激动，显然，从安德烈公爵的叙述中，他清楚地想象到俄国目前的处境。“给我一段时间，给我一段时间！”他脸上带着愤怒的表情又说，很明显，他不愿继续这个使他激动的话题，他说：“我叫你来，是想让你留在我身边。”
“多谢勋座大人，”安德烈公爵回答说，“但是我怕我不适合再做参谋工作了。”他面带微笑说，库图佐夫注意到了他的微笑，于是疑惑地看了看他。“主要是，”安德烈公爵又说，“我已经习惯团队的生活，我喜欢那些军官们，似乎军官们也喜欢我。离开团队，我会觉得可惜的。如果我辞谢在您身边供职的殊荣，那么请您相信我……”
库图佐夫虚胖的脸上，流露出聪明、和善，同时又含有几分嘲笑的表情。他打断博尔孔斯基的话说：
“遗憾，我真的需要你；不过你是对的，你是对的，我们这儿倒不缺人。顾问总有的是，可是缺乏人才。如果所有的顾问都像你那样到团队里去供职，我们的团队就不会是现在这个样子了。我在奥斯特利茨就记得你……记得，记得，我记得你手擎一面军旗。”库图佐夫说，一回想这段往事，安德烈公爵脸上立刻出现欢快的红晕。库图佐夫拉了拉他的手，把脸给他吻，安德烈公爵又看见老头眼里的泪花。虽然安德烈公爵知道库图佐夫容易流泪，且由于同情他的父丧而对他表示特别的亲切和怜恤，但关于奥斯特利茨的回忆仍使安德烈公爵既愉快又得意。
“上帝保佑，走你自己的路吧。我知道，你的道路，是一条光荣的道路。”他停了一会儿。“在布加勒斯特，我怜惜你来着：当时我务必派遣一个人。”于是库图佐夫改变了话题，谈到土耳其战争和缔结和约的事。“是啊，我遭到不少的责备，”库图佐夫说，“为了那场战争，也为了和约……但是一切来得都恰当其时。Tout　vient　a　point　à　celui　qui　sait　attendre①那里的顾问也不比这里的少……”他又谈起顾问一事，这个问题老困绕着他。“咳，顾问，顾问！”他说。“如果谁的话都听，那么我们在土耳其，和约就缔结不成，战争也结束不了。欲速则不达，倘若卡缅斯基不死，他会遭殃的。他用三万人突击要塞。攻克一个要塞并不难，难的是赢得整个战役的胜利。而要做到这一点，需要的不是突击和冲锋，而是忍耐和时间。卡缅斯基把兵派往鲁修克，可我只派去两样东西——忍耐和时间——比卡缅斯基攻克更多的要塞，而且逼得土耳其人吃马肉。”他摇了摇头，“法国人也会有这个下场！相信我的话，”库图佐夫拍着胸脯，非常兴奋地说，“我要让他们吃马肉！”他的眼睛又被泪水弄模糊了。 
①法语：对善于等待的人，一切都来得恰当其时。
“然而总该打一仗吧？”安德烈公爵说。
“打一仗是可以的，如果大家都愿意的话，没有什么可说的……可是要知道，亲爱的朋友：没有比忍耐和时间这两个战士更强的了，这两位什么都能办成。可是顾问们n'entenBdent　pas　de　cette　oreille，voilà　le　mal．①一些人要这样，另一些又不这样。怎么办呢？”他问，显然在等着回答。
“你说说看，叫我怎么办？”他重复着，眼睛显得深沉、睿智。
“我告诉你怎么办：我是怎么办的。Dans　le　doute，mon　cher，”他停了一下，“abstiens－toi．”②他慢条斯理地一字一句地说。
“好吧，再会，好朋友；记住，我诚心诚意要分担你的损失，我不是你的勋座，不是公爵，也不是总司令，我是你的父亲。你需要什么，就来找我。再见，亲爱的。”他又拥抱他，吻他。安德烈公爵还没走出门，库图佐夫就轻松地舒了口气，又捧起那本没有看完的让利斯夫人的小说《Les　chevaliers　du　Cygne》③。 
①法语：不肯听这个，困难就在这里。
②法语：如果你犹豫不决，亲爱的，那你就先干别的。
③法语：《天鹅骑士》。
安德烈公爵怎么也说不清这种感觉是怎样产生的；但是，在同库图佐夫会见后回到团里，对于整个战争的进程和担此重任的人，他都放了心。他愈是看到在这个老人身上没有个人的东西，缺少分析事件和作出结论的才智，有的仿佛只是热情奔放的习惯和静观事件发展趋向的能力，他就愈加放心，觉得一切都会安排妥当的。“他没有什么个人的东西。他什么也不思考，什么也不着手做，”安德烈公爵想道，“可是他听取一切，记取一切，把一切都安排得合情合理，对有益的事情，他不妨碍；对有害的事情，他不纵容。他懂得，有一种东西比他的意志更强，更重要，——这就是事件的必然过程。他善于观察这些事件，善于理解这些事件的意义，因而也善于放弃对这些事件的干预，放弃那本来另有所企的个人意志。最主要的，”安德烈公爵想道，“为什么信任他呢？因为他是俄国人，虽然他读让利斯夫人的小说和说法国谚语；也因为当他说：‘弄到什么地步！'的时候，他的声音颤抖了，当他说他逼得他们吃马肉的时候，他啜泣起来。”正是由于这种或多或少的、模模糊糊的感情，人民才称赞库图佐夫并有了一致的想法，违反宫廷的意思，选择了他当总司令。
Book 10 Chapter 17
AFTER THE TSAR had left Moscow, the life of that city flowed on in its old accustomed channel, and the current of that life ran so much as usual that it was difficult to remember the days of patriotic fervour and enthusiasm, and hard to believe that Russia actually was in danger, and that the members of the English club were also her devoted sons, ready to make any sacrifice for her sake. The one thing that recalled the general patriotic fervour of the days of the Tsar's presence in Moscow was the call for contributions of men and money, and these demands were presented at once in a legal, official form, so that they seemed inevitable. As the enemy drew nearer to Moscow the attitude taken by its inhabitants in regard to their position did not become more serious, but, on the contrary, more frivolous, as is always the case with people who see a great danger approaching. At the approach of danger there are always two voices that speak with equal force in the heart of man: one very reasonably tells the man to consider the nature of the danger and the means of avoiding it; the other even more reasonably says that it is too painful and harassing to think of the danger, since it is not in a man's power to provide for everything and escape from the general march of events; and that it is therefore better to turn aside from the painful subject till it has come, and to think of what is pleasant. In solitude a man generally yields to the first voice; in society to the second. So it was now with the inhabitants of Moscow. It was long since there had been so much gaiety in Moscow as that year.
Rastoptchin's posters, with a print at the top of a gin-shop, a potman, and the Moscow artisan, Karpushka Tchigirin, “who, having gone into the militia, heard that Bonaparte meant to come to Moscow, was mightily wroth thereat, used very bad language about all the French, came out of the gin-shop and began to address the people assembled under the eagles,” were as much read and discussed as the last bouts rimés of Vassily Lvovitch Pushkin.
In the corner room of the club the members gathered together to read these posters; and some liked the way Karpushka was made to jeer at the French, saying that “they would be blown out with Russian cabbage, that Russian porridge would rip their guts open, and cabbage soup would finish them off; that they were all dwarfs, and a village lass could toss three of them on her pitchfork single-handed!”
Some people did not approve of this tone, and said it was vulgar and stupid. People said that Rastoptchin had sent all Frenchmen, and even foreigners, out of Moscow, and that there had been spies and agents of Napoleon among them. But they talked of this principally in order to repeat the witticisms uttered by Rastoptchin on the occasion. The foreigners had been put on a barque sailing to Nizhny, and Rastoptchin had said to them: “Keep yourselves to yourselves, get into the barque, and take care it does not become the barque of Charon to you.” People talked too of all the government offices having been removed from Moscow, and added Shinshin's joke, that for that alone Moscow ought to be grateful to Napoleon. People said that Mamonov's regiment was costing him eight hundred thousand; that Bezuhov was spending even more on his; but that the noblest proof of Bezuhov's patriotism was that he was going to put on the uniform himself and ride at the head of his regiment, without any charge for seats to spectators.
“You have no mercy on any one,” said Julie Drubetskoy, gathering up a pinch of scraped lint in her slender fingers covered with rings.
Julie was intending to leave Moscow next day, and was giving a farewell soirée.
“Bezuhov est ridicule, but he is so good-natured, so nice; how can you take pleasure in being so caustique?”
“Forfeit!” said a young man in a volunteer's uniform, whom Julie called “mon chevalier,” and was taking with her to Nizhny.
In Julie's circle, as in many circles in Moscow, it was a principle now to speak nothing but Russian, and those who made a mistake by speaking French had to pay a forfeit for the benefit of the committee of voluntary subscriptions.
“Another forfeit for a Gallicism,” said a Russian writer who happened to be present. “ ‘Take pleasure!' is not Russian.”
“You have no mercy on any one,” Julie went on to the volunteer, paying no attention to the remark of the author.
“Caustique, I admit,” she said, “and I'll pay for the pleasure of telling you the truth. I am ready to pay even more; but I am not responsible for Gallicisms,” she said to the writer. “I have neither the time nor the money to engage a teacher and learn Russian like Prince Galitzin. Ah, here he is!” added Julie. “Quand on … No, no,” she protested to the volunteer, “you're not going to catch me. When one speaks of the sun, one sees its rays. We were just talking of you,” she said, smiling affably to Pierre, and adding, with the easy lying characteristic of society women, “We were saying your regiment was certain to be a finer one than Mamonov's.”
“Oh, don't talk to me about my regiment,” answered Pierre, kissing his hostess's hand, and sitting down beside her. “I am so heartily sick of it!”
“You will take the command of it yourself, of course?” said Julie with a sly and sarcastic look towards the volunteer.
The latter was by no means so ready to be caustic in Pierre's presence, and his countenance betokened perplexity as to what Julie's smile could signify. In spite of his absent-mindedness and good nature, Pierre's presence never failed to cut short any attempt at ridicule at his expense.
“No,” answered Pierre, laughing and looking at his huge, bulky figure; “I should make too good a target for the French, and indeed I'm afraid I could hardly scramble on to a horse's back.”
Among the people picked out as subjects for gossip, Julie's friends happened to pitch on the Rostovs. “Their pecuniary position is very serious, I am told,” said Julie. “And the count is so unreasonable. The Razumovskys wanted to buy his house and his estate in the environs, and the matter is still dragging on. He will ask too much.”
“No, I fancy purchase will be concluded in a few days,” said some one. “Though it's madness to buy anything in Moscow just now.”
“Why so?” said Julie. “Surely you don't suppose that Moscow is in any danger.”
“Why are you leaving it then?”
“I? That's a strange question. I am going because … well, because everybody's going, and I am not a Jeanne d'Arc nor an Amazon.”
“Oh, oh! Give me another strip of linen to scrape.”
“He ought to be able to pay off all his debts, if he sets about it properly,” the volunteer observed of Count Rostov.
“He's a good-hearted old fellow, but very foolish.”
“And why are they staying on here so long? They were meaning to leave for the country long ago. Natalie is quite well again now, I suppose?” Julie asked Pierre, with a sly smile.
“They are waiting for their younger son,” said Pierre. “He went into Obolensky's Cossacks, and was sent off to Byela Tserkov. The regiment is being formed there. But now they have transferred him to my regiment, and he is expected every day. The count wanted to get away long ago, but nothing would induce the countess to leave Moscow till her son's return.”
“I saw them the day before yesterday at the Arharovs'. Natalie has quite recovered her looks and her spirits. She sang a song. How easily some people get over everything!”
“Get over what?” Pierre asked, looking displeased.
Julie smiled.
“O count, you know, such chivalrous knights as you are only to be found in Madame Suza's novels.”
“Knights! What do you mean?” Pierre asked blushing.
“Come now, my dear count. C'est la fable de tout Moscou. Je vous admire, ma parole d'honneur.”
“Forfeit! forfeit!” said the volunteer.
“Oh, very well. One cannot talk, what a bore it is!”
“What is the talk of all Moscow?” said Pierre angrily, rising to his feet.
“Nonsense, count, you know!”
“I know nothing about it,” said Pierre.
“I know what great friends you have always been with Natalie, and so … But, I was always more friendly with Vera. That darling Vera.”
“No, madam,” Pierre persisted in a tone of annoyance. “I have by no means taken upon myself the r?le of Countess Rostov's knight; indeed, it's almost a month since I have been near them. But I cannot understand the cruelty …”
“Qui s'excuse s'accuse,” cried Julie, smiling, and waving the lint triumphantly, and that she might have the last word, she promptly changed the subject. “By the way, I have heard poor Marie Bolkonsky arrived in Moscow yesterday. Have you heard she has lost her father?”
“Really? Where is she? I should like to see her,” said Pierre.
“I spent the evening with her yesterday. She is going on to-day or to-morrow morning to their estate in the province with her nephew.”
“Well, how is she? Tell me,” said Pierre.
“Oh, she is well, but very sad. But do you know who rescued her? It is quite a romance. Nikolay Rostov. She was surrounded; they tried to kill her and wounded her servants. He rushed in and saved her.…”
“Another romance,” said the volunteer. “This general flight is evidently intended to marry off all the old maids. Katish is one, Princess Bolkonsky another.”
“You know, I really do believe she's un petit peu amoureuse du jeune bomme.”
“Forfeit! forfeit! forfeit!”
“But how is one to say that in Russian?”
 
国王离开莫斯科之后，莫斯科的生活仍旧回到以往的平淡之中，这样的生活是如此平凡，以致令人难以想起前些日子高涨的爱国热情，难以相信俄国的处境真的岌岌可危，难以相信英国俱乐部的会员就是不惜任何牺牲的祖国儿女，唯一能令人记起国王在莫斯科期间那种普遍的爱国热忱的事情，就是关于有人出人，有钱出钱的号召。这事儿一做起来，就附以法律和正式官方的文件，成为非做不可的了。 
随着敌人逐渐的逼近，莫斯科人对自己处境的态度，正像那些眼见大祸临头的人们常有的情形一样，不但没有变得更严肃，反而更轻率了。在危险迫近时，人的灵魂里常有两种同样有力的声音：一种声音很理智地叫人考虑危险的性质和摆脱危险的办法，另一种声音更理智地说，既然预见一切和躲避事件的必然发展是人力所不能做到的，又何必自寻烦恼去考虑危险呢？最好在苦难未到之前不去想它，只想些愉快的事。一个人独处时，多半是听从第一种声音的，但在大众生活中就相反地听从第二种声音了。现在莫斯科居民正是这样。莫斯科很久以来都没有像这一年这样快乐了。
拉斯托普钦散发了一种传单，上面画着一家酒馆、一个酒保、一个莫斯科小市民卡尔普什卡·奇吉林（这个奇吉林曾当过后备兵，他多喝了几杯；听说波拿巴要攻打莫斯科，就火冒三丈，用脏话痛骂所有的法国佬。他走出酒馆，在鹰形招牌下面，对聚在那儿的民众讲起话来，），这张传单如同瓦西里·利沃维奇·普希金①的限韵诗被人们诵读与讨论。
在俱乐部拐角的一幢屋子里，人们聚在一起读传单，有些人喜欢卡尔普什卡对法国人的讥笑，他们说：法国佬被大白菜催肥了，被菜汤撑死了，肚子也被稀饭撑破了，他们全是一些小矮人，有个农妇用干草叉一下子叉起三个扔了出去。有些人不喜欢这种调子，说这未免太庸俗、太愚蠢了。他们说，拉斯托普钦把所有法国人甚至其他外国人都从莫斯科赶出去，他们之中有拿破仑的特务和间谍；不过，讲这些话的目的，主要是想趁机转述拉斯托普钦在遣返那批外国人时所说的俏皮话。用帆船把外国人解送到尼日尼时，拉斯托普钦对他们说：“Rentrez　en　vous－même，entrez　dans　la　 
①瓦西里·科沃维奇·普希金（1767～1830），俄国诗人，伟大诗人普希金的叔父。
barque　et　n'en　faites　pas　une　barque　de　Charon．”①人们讲起所有的机关都迁出了莫斯科时，立刻提起串串的玩笑，说是因为这一点莫斯科应当感谢拿破仑。人们谈到马莫诺夫要为他的兵团准备八十万卢布的花销，别祖霍夫为他的士兵破费得更多。但是，别祖霍夫最出色的表演是：他自己穿上军服，骑马走在团队的前面，对前来观看的人一律免费，不收一分钱。
“您对谁都不施恩。”朱莉·德鲁别茨卡娅说，她正用她那戴满戒指的纤细手指，把撕碎的棉线收在一起捏成团儿。
朱莉打算第二天离开莫斯科，现在举行告别晚会。
“别祖霍夫这个人est　ridicule②，但是他是那么和善，那么可爱。caustique③算什么取乐啊？”
“罚款！”一个身穿后备军制服的年轻人说。朱莉称他为“mon　chevalier”④，他将要陪伴朱莉去尼日尼。 
①法语：回老家吧，请上船，当心别让它变成哈伦的船。（希腊神话中哈伦是渡亡魂去冥府的神。）
②法语：很可爱。
③法语：爱造谣中伤。
④法语：我的骑士。
在朱莉的社交团体里，也和莫斯科许多社交团体一样，规定只许说俄语，说法语要受罚，罚金交给捐献委员会。
“这是从法国借用的，要再罚一次。”客厅里一位俄国作家说，“‘算什么取乐'不是俄国话。”
“您谁也不宽恕，”朱莉不理睬作家的话，继续对那个后备军人说，“caustique，我说了法语，我认罚，”她说，“对您直说吧，因为‘算什么取乐'，这一句话，我准备再付一次款，但至于它是不是从法语借用的，我不能负责。”她对作家说，“我没有戈利岑公爵那样有钱有时间请教师，向他学俄语。啊，他来了，”朱莉说。“Quand　on①……不，不，”她转身对那个后备军人说，“您不要尽抓我的错，说到太阳，就见到了阳光。”女主人对皮埃尔亲切地微笑着，说，“我们正说你呢，” 
①法语：当着。
朱莉用她那上流社会妇女所特有的能把谎言说得自然流利的本领，说，“我们说您的兵团准比马莫诺夫的好。”
“唉呀，可别提我的兵团了，”皮埃尔边回答，边吻着女主人的手，在她身旁坐下。“兵团让我厌烦死了！”
“您大概要亲自指挥那个兵团吧？”朱莉说，她和那个后备军人互递了个狡黠的、嘲笑的眼神。
有皮埃尔在场，那个后备军人已经不那么caustique了，可是对朱莉微笑的涵意，他的脸上流露出莫名其妙的神情，皮埃尔虽然漫不经心，心地仁厚，可是任何想当着他的面嘲笑他的企图在他的人品面前都自动放弃了。
“不，”皮埃尔看了看自己肥胖、庞大的身体，笑着说，“我会成为法国人绝好的目标，再说，我怕我爬不上马去……”
朱莉在闲谈她的社交团体里的一些人时，提到了罗斯托夫之家。
“听说他们的家事很糟。”朱莉说，“他是那么糊涂——我是说伯爵这个人。拉祖莫夫斯基要买他的住房和莫斯科近郊的田庄，可是这件事老拖着。他索价太高了。”
“不，听说最近几天内即可成交，”一个客人说，“虽然眼下在莫斯科置办什么产业是极不明智的。”
“为什么？”朱莉说，“难道您认为莫斯科有危险吗？”
“那您为什么要走呢？”
“我？问的真奇怪。我走是因为……是因为大伙儿都走，还因为我不是贞德①，也不是亚马孙人。”
“对了，对了，再给我一些碎布。”
“如果他善于管理家务，他可以还清所有的债务。”那个后备军人继续谈罗斯托夫。
“倒是一个忠厚老头，就是太pauvre　sire②。他们为什么在这儿住这么久？他们早就想回乡下了。娜塔莉现在似乎好了吧？”朱莉狡黠地笑着皮埃尔。 
①贞德（约1412～1431），法国民族女英雄。
②法语：窝囊。
“他们在等小儿子呢，”皮埃尔说。“他加入了奥博连斯基的哥萨克部队，到白采尔科维去了。在那儿整编为团队。可现在他已经调到我的团队了，他们天天在盼着他，伯爵早就想走，可伯爵夫人在儿子没到之前，怎么也不肯离开莫斯科。”
“前天，我在阿尔哈罗夫家看见他们。娜塔莉又漂亮起来了，又活泼了。她唱了一支浪漫曲。有人那么轻易就把一切都忘掉了！”
“忘掉什么？”皮埃尔不高兴地问。朱莉微微一笑。
“伯爵，您可知道，像您这样的骑士，只有在苏扎夫人的小说中才找得到。”
“什么骑士？为什么？”皮埃尔涨红了脸问。
“亲爱的伯爵，得了，得了，c'est　la　fable　de　tout　Moscou．Je　vous　admire，ma　parole　d'honneur．①”
“罚款！罚款！”那个后备军人说。
“好吧，好吧。不许说，真烦！”
“Qu'est　ce　qui　est　la　fable　de　tout　Moscou？②”皮埃尔站起来，生气地问。
“伯爵，得了，您知道！”
“我什么都不知道。”皮埃尔说。
“我知道您跟娜塔莉好，因此……不，我一向跟薇拉更好。
Cette　chère　Vèra！③”
“Non，madame，”④皮埃尔继续用不满的腔调说。“我根本没有担任罗斯托娃小姐的骑士这个角色。我差不多已经一个月没到他们那儿去了。但我不懂这种残忍……”
“Qui　s'excuse——s'accuse．”⑤朱莉微笑着，挥动着棉线团说。为了不让对方辩解，随即改变了话题。“听我说，我知道什么来着！可怜的玛丽亚·博尔孔斯卡娅昨天到莫斯科了。你们听说了吗？她父亲去世了。” 
①法语：全莫斯科都知道。真的，您真叫我惊讶。
②法语：全莫斯科都知道什么了？
③法语：这个可爱的薇拉。
④法语：不对，太太。
⑤法语：谁为自己辩护，谁就是揭发自己。
“真的呀！她在哪儿？我很想见到她。”皮埃尔说。
“昨晚我和她消磨了一个晚上。她就要和她侄儿一起到莫斯科近郊的田庄去，今天或者明儿一早。”
“她怎么样，还好吗？”皮埃尔问。
“还好，就是很忧愁。您可知道是谁救了她？这真是一个浪漫故事。是尼古拉·罗斯托夫。她被包围了，那些人要杀害她，伤了一些她的人。罗斯托夫冲进去把她救了出来……”
“又一个浪漫故事，”那个后备军人说。“一定是为全体老小姐都能出嫁，才来这次大逃难的。卡季什是一个，博尔孔斯卡娅又是一个。”
“您可知道，我真的相信，她un　petit　peu　amoureuse　du　jeune　homme．①” 
①法语：有点爱上那个年轻人了。
“罚！罚！罚！”
Book 10 Chapter 18
WHEN PIERRE returned home, he was handed two new placards of Rastoptchin's that had just appeared.
The first declared that the rumour, that it was forbidden to leave Moscow by Count Rastoptchin's order, was false, and that, on the contrary, he was glad that ladies and merchants' wives were leaving the town. “There will be less panic and less false news,” said the notice; “but I will stake my life on it that the miscreant will never enter Moscow.”
These words first showed Pierre clearly that the French certainly would enter Moscow. In the second placard it was announced that our headquarters were at Vyazma, that Count Wittgenstein had defeated the French, but that since many of the inhabitants of Moscow were desirous of arming themselves, weapons had been provided to meet their wishes in the arsenal; swords, pistols, and guns could all be procured there at a low rate.
The tone of this notice was not as jocose as the former supposed discourses of Tchigirin. The two placards made Pierre ponder. It was evident to him that the menacing storm cloud, for the advent of which his whole soul longed, though it roused an involuntary thrill of horror, it was evident that that cloud was coming closer.
“Shall I enter the service and join the army or wait here?” Pierre thought, a question he had put to himself a hundred times already. He took up a pack of cards that lay on the table to deal them for a game of patience.
“If I succeed in this game of patience,” he said to himself, shuffling the pack as he held it in his hand and looked upwards; “if I succeed, it means … what does it mean?” … He had not time to decide this question when he heard at the door of his study the voice of the eldest princess, asking whether she might come in. “Then it will mean that I must set off to join the army,” Pierre told himself. “Come, come in,” he said to the princess.
The eldest of his cousins, the one with the long waist and the stony face, was the only one still living in Pierre's house; the two younger sisters had both married.
“Excuse my coming to you, cousin,” she said in a tone of reproach and excitement. “Some decision really must be come to, you know. What is going to happen? Every one has left Moscow, and the populace are becoming unruly. Why are we staying on?”
“On the contrary, everything seems going on satisfactorily, ma cousine,” said Pierre in the habitually playful tone he had adopted with his cousin, to carry off the embarrassment he always felt at being in the position of a benefactor to her.
“Oh, yes, satisfactorily … highly satisfactory, I dare say. Varvara Ivanovna told me to-day how our troops are distinguishing themselves. It is certainly a credit to them. And the populace, too, is in complete revolt, they won't obey any one now; even my maid has begun to be insolent. If it goes on like this, they will soon begin killing us. One can't walk about the streets. And the worst of it is, in another day or two the French will be here. Why are we waiting for them? One favour I beg of you, mon cousin,” said the princess, “give orders for me to be taken to Petersburg; whatever I may be, any way I can't live under Bonaparte's rule.”
“But what nonsense, ma cousine! where do you get your information from? On the contrary …”
“I'm not going to submit to your Napoleon. Other people may do as they like.… If you won't do this for me …”
“But I will, I'll give orders for it at once.”
The princess was obviously annoyed at having no one to be angry with. Muttering something, she sat down on the edge of the chair.
“But you have been incorrectly informed,” said Pierre. “All's quiet in the town, and there's no sort of danger. See I have just read …” Pierre showed the princess the placards. “The count writes that he will stake his life on it that the enemy will never be in Moscow.”
“Ah, your count,” the princess began spitefully, “he's a hypocrite, a miscreant who has himself stirred the mob on to disorder. Didn't he write in his idiotic placards that they were to take anybody whoever it might be and drag by the hair to the lock-up (and how silly it is!). Honour our and glory, says he, to the man who does so. And this is what he has brought us to. Varvara Ivanovna told me the mob almost killed her for speaking French.”
“Oh, well, well … You take everything too much to heart,” said Pierre, and he began dealing out the patience.
Although he did succeed in the game, Pierre did not set off to join the army, but stayed on in Moscow, now rapidly emptying, and was still in the same agitation, uncertainty and alarm, and, at the same time, joyful expectation of something awful.
Next day the princess set off in the evening, and Pierre's head-steward came to inform him that it was impossible to raise the money he required for the equipment of his regiment unless he sold one of his estates. The head-steward impressed on Pierre generally that all this regimental craze would infallibly bring him to ruin. Pierre could hardly conceal a smile as he listened to the head-steward.
“Well, sell it then,” he said. “There's no help for it, I can't draw back now!”
The worse the position of affairs, and especially of his own affairs, the better pleased Pierre felt, and the more obvious it was to him that the catastrophe he expected was near at hand. Scarcely any of Pierre's acquaintances were left in the town. Julie had gone, Princess Marya had gone. Of his more intimate acquaintances the Rostovs were the only people left; but Pierre did not go to see them.
To divert his mind that day, Pierre drove out to the village of Vorontsovo, to look at a great air balloon which was being constructed by Leppich to use against the enemy, and the test balloon which was to be sent up the following day. The balloon was not yet ready; but as Pierre learned, it was being constructed by the Tsar's desire. The Tsar had written to Count Rastoptchin about it in the following terms:
“As soon as Leppich is ready, get together a crew for his car consisting of thoroughly trustworthy and intelligent men, and send a courier to General Kutuzov to prepare him for it. I have mentioned it to him. Impress upon Leppich, please, to take careful note where he descends the first time, that he may not go astray and fall into the hands of the enemy. It is essential that he should regulate his movements in accordance with the movements of the commander-in-chief.”
On his way home from Vorontsovo, Pierre drove through Bolotny Square, and seeing a crowd at Lobnoye Place, stopped and got out of his chaise. The crowd were watching the flogging of a French cook, accused of being a spy. The flogging was just over, and the man who had administered it was untying from the whipping-post a stout, red-whiskered man in blue stockings and a green tunic, who was groaning piteously. Another victim, a thin, pale man, was standing by. Both, to judge by their faces, were Frenchmen. With a face of sick dread like that of the thin Frenchman, Pierre pushed his way in among the crowd.
“What is it? Who are they? What for?” he kept asking. But the attention of the crowd—clerks, artisans, shopkeepers, peasants, women in pelisses and jackets—was so intently riveted on what was taking place on the Lobnoye Place that no one answered. The stout man got up, shrugged his shoulders frowning, and evidently trying to show fortitude, began putting on his tunic without looking about him. But all at once his lips quivered and to his own rage he began to cry, as grown-up men of sanguine temperament do cry. The crowd began talking loudly, to drown a feeling of pity in themselves, as it seemed to Pierre.
“Some prince's cook. …”
“Eh, monsieur, Russian sauce is a bit strong for a French stomach … sets the teeth on edge,” said a wrinkled clerk standing near Pierre, just when the Frenchman burst into tears. The clerk looked about him for signs of appreciation of his jest. Several persons laughed, but some were still gazing in dismay at the man who was undressing the second Frenchman and about to flog him.
Pierre choked, scowled, and turning quickly, went back to his chaise, still muttering something to himself as he went, and took his seat in it. During the rest of the way he several times started, and cried out so loudly that the coachman at last asked him what he desired.
“Where are you driving?” Pierre shouted to the coachman as he drove to Lubyanka.
“You told me to drive to the governor's,” answered the coachman.
“Fool! dolt!” shouted Pierre, abusing his coachman, a thing he very rarely did. “I told you home; and make haste, blockhead! This very day I must set off,” Pierre said to himself.
At the sight of the tortured Frenchman and the crowd round the Lobnoye Place, Pierre had so unhesitatingly decided that he could stay no longer in Moscow, and must that very day set off to join the army, that it seemed to him either that he had told the coachman so, or that the coachman ought to know it of himself.
On reaching home Pierre told his omniscient and omnipotent head-coachman, Yevstafitch, who was known to all Moscow, that he was going to drive that night to Mozhaisk to the army, and gave orders for his saddle horses to be sent on there. All this could not be arranged in one day, and therefore by Yevstafitch's representations Pierre was induced to defer his departure till next day to allow time for relays of horses to be sent on ahead.
The 24th was a bright day after a spell of bad weather, and after dinner on that day Pierre set out from Moscow. Changing horses in the night at Perhushkovo, Pierre learned that a great battle had been fought that evening. He was told that the earth had been vibrating there at Perhushkovo from the cannon. No one could answer Pierre's question whether the battle was a victory or a defeat. This was the battle of the 24th at Shevardino. Towards dawn Pierre approached Mozhaisk.
Troops were quartered in all the houses in Mozhaisk, and at the inn, where Pierre was met by his coachman and postillion, there was not a room to spare; the whole place was full of officers.
From Mozhaisk onwards troops were halting or marching everywhere. Cossacks, foot soldiers, horse soldiers, waggons, gun-carriages, and cannons were everywhere.
Pierre pushed on as fast as possible, and the further he got and the more deeply he plunged into this ocean of soldiers, the stronger became the thrill of uneasiness and of a new pleasurable sensation. It was a feeling akin to what he had felt at the Slobodsky Palace on the Tsar's visit, a sense of the urgent necessity of taking some step and making some sacrifice. He was conscious now of a glad sense that all that constitutes the happiness of life, comfort, wealth, even life itself, were all dust and ashes, which it was a joy to fling away in comparison with something else. … What that something else was Pierre could not have said, and indeed he did not seek to get a clear idea, for whose sake and for what object he found such peculiar joy in sacrificing all. He was not interested in knowing the object of the sacrifice, but the sacrifice itself afforded him a new joyful sensation.
皮埃尔回到家里，仆人交给他当天取来的两张拉斯托普钦的传单。 
第一张传单说，谣传拉斯托普钦伯爵禁止人们离开莫斯科——不真实。与之相反，太太小姐和商人的妻子离开莫斯科，使拉斯托普钦伯爵感到高兴。“可以少点恐惧，少点传闻，”传单上说，“但是我以生命担保，那个凶手决到不了莫斯科。”这句话使皮埃尔第一次清楚地看出，法国人一定要到莫斯科。第二份传单是说我们的大本营在维亚济吗，维特根施泰因伯爵打败了法国人，因为许多居民愿意武装起来，所以武器库为他们准备了武器：军刀、手枪、长枪。这些武器将廉价地卖给他们。传单的口吻已不像原先在奇吉林谈话中那样诙谐了。面对这些传单，皮埃尔沉思起来。显然一场可怕的、孕育着暴风雨的乌云——他曾经以全部灵魂的力量呼唤，同时使他不由自主地恐惧的乌云，已经临近了。
“我是去参军，到部队去呢，还是再等一等？”他第一百次向自己提出这个问题。他从桌上拿起一副牌，开始摆起纸牌卦来。
“假如卦猜开了，”他洗好牌，把牌拿在手里，眼睛往上望着，自言自语道：“假如成功，那就是说……说什么呢？”他还未来得及决定应该说什么的时候，书斋门外传来大公爵小姐的声音，她问可不可以进来。
“那就是说，我应该去参军。”他对自己说。“进来，进来。”
他把脸转向公爵小姐，补充说。
（只有这个最大的公爵小姐，就是那个腰肢长长的，面孔板板的公爵小姐，还住在皮埃尔家里，另外两个小的都出嫁了。）
“请原谅，mon　cousine①，我来找您。”她用责备的、激动的口气说。“终究要想个办法才行！老是这样算怎么回事呀？大家都离开莫斯科了，老百姓在闹事。我们留下来作什么呀？” 
①法语：表弟。
“正好相反，看来一切顺利，ma　cousine①，”皮埃尔带着开玩笑的语气说，皮埃尔对充当她的恩人这个角色，总觉得过意不去，所以习惯用这种态度跟她说话。 
①法语：表姐。
“可不是嘛，一切顺利……好一个顺顺利利！瓦尔瓦拉·伊万诺夫娜今天对我讲，我们的军队打得如何好。这确实很光荣。可老百姓却完全反了，他们不肯听话。连我的使女也变野了。照这样下去，她们不久就要打我们了。简直不敢上街。要紧的是，法国人说不定哪天就打来了，我们还等什么！我只求您一件事，mon　cousin，”公爵小姐说，“请吩咐人把我送到彼得堡去吧：不管怎么样，反正我在波拿巴统治下没法儿活。”
“得了，ma　cousine，您从哪儿听来的这些消息？相反……”
“我决不做您的拿破仑的顺民。别人爱怎样就怎样……如果您不愿意这样办……”
“我来办，我来办，我马上就吩咐他们。”
看来，公爵小姐因为没有人可供她发脾气而懊恼了，她喃喃自语地在椅子上坐下。
“不过，您听到的消息不可靠，城里到处都很平静，什么危险也没有。您看，我刚读过……”皮埃尔把传单给公爵小姐看。“伯爵这样写的，他要用生命担保，决不让敌人进入莫斯科。”
“唉呀，您的那位伯爵，”公爵小姐恼恨地说，“他是个伪君子，坏蛋，是他亲自撺掇老百姓闹事的。他不是在那些荒谬的传单上写过吗？不管是谁，抓住他的头发就往拘留所送（多么愚蠢）！他还说，是谁抓住的，荣誉就归谁。他就是这样献殷勤的。瓦尔瓦拉·伊万诺夫娜说，因为她开始说起法国话来，老百姓就差一点没把她打死……”
“就是那么一回事……您把一切太放在心上了。”皮埃尔说，开始摆他的纸牌猜卦。
虽然既牌卦摆通了，皮埃尔还是没到军队去，他留在莫斯科这座空城里，每时每刻都在惊慌、犹豫、恐惧，同时又喜悦地期待着什么事情的发生。
次日傍晚时分，公爵小姐走了。皮埃尔的总管来告诉他，说，若不卖掉一处庄子，就筹不出装备一个团所需要的费用。总之，总管向皮埃尔说明，建立一个团的主意，一定会使他破产。听着总管的话，皮埃尔忍不住要笑。
“那您就卖了吧，”他说，“没办法，我现在不能打退堂鼓！”
情况变得越糟，特别是他的家业越糟，皮埃尔就越高兴，他所期待的灾难的临近也就越明显。城里几乎没有皮埃尔的熟人了。朱莉走了，玛丽亚公爵小姐走了。亲近些的熟人中，只有罗斯托夫一家没走，但皮埃尔不常到他们那里去。
这天，皮埃尔出门散心，走到沃罗佐沃村去看列比赫制造的用来歼求敌人的大气球。一只实验用的气球要在第二天升上天空，这只气球还没做好，皮埃尔听说，气球是遵照国王的旨意制造的。为此，国王曾给拉斯托普钦写了如下一封信：
“AussitoAt　que　Leppich　sera　prêt，composez　lui　un　équipage　pour　sa　nacelle　d'hommes　suArs　et　intelligents　et　dépêchez　un　cour－rier　au　général　Koutousoff　pour　l'en　prévenir．Je　l'ai　instruit　de　la　chose．
Recommandez，je　vous　prie，a　Leppich　d'être　bien　attentif　sur　l'endroit　où　il　descendra　la　première　fois，pour　ne　pas　se　tromp－er　et　ne　pas　tomber　dans　les　mains　de　l'ennemi．Il　est　indispensible　qu'li　combine　ses　mouvements　avec　cle　général—en　chef．”① 
①法语：一旦列比赫准备完毕，您就组织一批机智可靠的人作吊篮的乘员，并派一名信使到库图佐夫那里去关照他。此事我已通知他了。
在从沃罗佐沃村回家的途中，经过沼泽广场时，皮埃尔看见断头台那儿有一群人，他停下来，下了车。这是一个被指控为特务的法国厨子在受鞭刑。鞭刑完后，行刑手从行刑登上解下一个穿蓝裤子、绿坎肩、可怜地呻吟着的有一脸红胡子的胖子。另一个面色苍白、身体瘦削的罪犯站在旁边。从脸型看，两个人都是法国人。皮埃尔挤进人群，他那神情很像那个瘦削的法国人，惊慌而且痛苦。
请嘱咐列比赫，对第一次降落的地点要特别小心，不要误落到敌人手中。务必叫他多多考虑他的活动与总司令的活动之紧密配合。
“这是怎么回事？是什么人？为了什么？”他问。但是那群人（其中有官吏、小市民、商人、农民、穿肥大外衣和短皮外套的妇女）的注意力完全集中在宣谕台上，没有人答话。那个胖子站起来，紧锁着眉头，大概是要显示一下自己的坚强吧，他耸耸肩、不向周围看，把坎肩穿上，可突然，他的嘴唇开始颤抖起来，自己生着自己的气，像个易动感情的成年人似的哭了。人们大声谈起话来，皮埃尔觉得，他们这样做只是为了抑制自己的怜悯。
“他是某公爵的厨子……”
“怎么样，先生？看来俄国的酱油到法国人嘴里就变成醋了……酸得龇牙咧嘴的。”一个站在皮埃尔旁边的满脸皱纹的小职员在法国人刚开始哭时说。然后，他看看四周，似乎是在等着别人赞扬他说的笑话。有些人笑了，有些人仍然吃惊地望着给另一个罪犯脱衣服的行刑手。
皮埃尔哼了几声，皱着眉头，赶快转身回到马车旁，在他走着去坐车的时候，他不断地自言自语，在回家的途中有好几次浑身打战，大声地喊叫，以致车夫问他：
“您有什么吩咐吗？”
“你往哪儿走？”皮埃尔对正把马车赶往鲁比扬卡去的车夫喊道。
“您吩咐见总司令的。”
“糊涂虫！畜生！”皮埃尔喊起来，他很少这样骂他的车夫。“我说过要回家；快走，糊涂虫！我今天就得离开。”他自言自语，嘟哝着。
看到那个受刑的法国人和围着宣谕台的人群以后，皮埃尔最后决定，再也不能留在莫斯科了，他今天就要去参军，他似乎觉得，不是他已经这样吩咐过车夫，就是车夫自己应当知道这一点。
一回到家，皮埃尔就吩咐他那无所不知、无所不能、闻名全莫斯科的车夫叶夫斯塔菲耶维奇，把他的几匹鞍马送到莫扎伊斯克，他当夜就要到那儿去参军。这件事不可能当天就安排好，依叶夫斯塔菲耶维奇的意思，皮埃尔的行期得推迟到第二天，好有时间把替换的马赶到路上。
二十四日，阴雨过后，天转晴。午饭后皮埃尔离开莫斯科。当夜在佩尔胡什科夫换马的时候，皮埃尔听说那天傍晚打了一场大仗。人们都在讲，佩尔胡什科夫的地面都被炮声震得打颤。皮埃尔问谁打赢了。没有人能回答。（这是二十四日舍瓦尔金诺村战役。）翌日拂晓，皮埃尔到达莫扎伊斯克。
莫扎伊斯克所有的房屋都驻有士兵，皮埃尔的马夫和车夫都在这里的客店迎接他，客店已没有空房间了，都住满了军官。
莫扎伊斯克城里城外都有军队驻扎和通过。到处可以见到哥萨克、步兵、骑兵、大车、炮弹箱和大炮。皮埃尔急急忙忙向前赶路，他离莫斯科越远、越深入这士兵的海洋，就越感到焦急不安，同时有一种还没有体验过的新鲜的喜悦之情。这是一种类似他在斯洛博达宫当国王驾到时所体验的，一种必须做点什么或牺牲点什么的感觉。他现在愉快地感觉到，构成人们的幸福的一切——生活的舒适、财富，甚至生命本身，比起某种东西来，都是弃之为快的虚妄的东西……比起什么东西呢？皮埃尔弄不清楚，也不想极力去弄清楚为了何人，为了何事而牺牲一切才使他认为特别美好。他对自己为之而牺牲的东西并不感兴趣，只是牺牲本身对他来说是一种新鲜的、快乐的感觉。
Book 10 Chapter 19
ON THE 24th was fought the battle before the redoubt of Shevardino; on the 25th not a shot was fired on either side; on the 26th was fought the battle of Borodino.
How and with what object were the battles of Shevardino and Borodino fought? Why was the battle of Borodino fought? There was not the slightest sense in it, either for the French or for the Russians. The immediate result of it was, and was bound to be, for the Russians, that we were brought nearer to the destruction of Moscow (the very thing we dreaded above everything in the world); and for the French, that they were brought nearer to the destruction of their army (which they, too, dreaded above everything in the world). That result was at the time perfectly obvious, and yet Napoleon offered battle, and Kutuzov accepted it.
If military leaders were guided by reasonable considerations only, it would seem that it must have been clear to Napoleon that in advancing two thousand versts into the heart of the country and giving battle, with the probable contingency of losing a quarter of his men, he was going to certain destruction; and that it must have been equally clear to Kutuzov that in accepting that battle and risking the loss of a fourth of his army, he would infallibly lose Moscow. For Kutuzov this was mathematically clear, as clear as it is at chess, that if I have one piece less than my adversary and I exchange pieces, I am certain to be a loser by it, and therefore must avoid exchanging pieces. When my adversary has sixteen pieces and I have fourteen, I am only one-eighth weaker than he; but when we have exchanged thirteen pieces, he is three times as strong as I am.
Up to the battle of Borodino our forces were approximately five-sixths of the French, but after that battle they were only one-half—that is, before the battle a hundred thousand against a hundred and twenty thousand, and after the battle fifty thousand against a hundred thousand. And yet the shrewd and experienced Kutuzov fought the battle. Napoleon, a military genius, as he is called, gave battle, losing a fourth of his army and drawing his line of communications out further than ever. If we are told that he expected the taking of Moscow to complete the campaign, as the taking of Vienna had done, we may say that there are many evidences to the contrary. Napoleon's historians themselves tell us that he wanted to halt as soon as he reached Smolensk; that he knew the danger of his extended line, and that he knew that the taking of Moscow would not be the end of the campaign, because from Smolensk he had learned in what condition the towns were left when abandoned to him, and he had not received a single reply to his reiterated expressions of a desire to open negotiations.
In giving and accepting battle at Borodino, Kutuzov and Napoleon acted without design or rational plan. After the accomplished fact historians have brought forward cunningly devised evidences of the foresight and genius of the generals, who of all the involuntary instruments of the world's history were the most slavish and least independent agents.
The ancients have transmitted to us examples of epic poems in which the whole interest of history is concentrated in a few heroic figures; and under their influence we are still unable to accustom our minds to the idea that history of that kind is meaningless at our stage in the development of humanity.
In answer to the next question, how the battles of Borodino and Shevardino came to be fought, we have also a very definite, well-known, and utterly false account. All the historians describe the affair thus:
The Russian army, they say, in its retreat from Smolensk sought out the best position for a general engagement, and such a position they found in Borodino. The Russians, they say, fortified the position beforehand, to the left of the road (from Moscow to Smolensk) at right angles to it, from Borodino to Utitsa, at the very place where the battle was fought.
In front of this position, they tell us, a fortified earthwork was thrown up on the Shevardino redoubt as an outpost for observation of the enemy's movements.
On the 24th, we are told, Napoleon attacked this redoubt, and took it. On the 26th he attacked the whole Russian army, which had taken up its position on the plain of Borodino.
This is what we are told in the histories, and all that is perfectly incorrect, as any one may easily see who cares to go into the matter.
The Russians did not seek out the best position; on the contrary, on their retreat they had passed by many positions better than Borodino. They did not make a stand at one of these positions, because Kutuzov did not care to take up a position he had not himself selected, because the popular clamour for a battle had not yet been so strongly expressed, because Miloradovitch had not yet arrived with reinforcements of militia, and for countless other reasons.
The fact remains that there were stronger positions on the road the Russian army had passed along, and that the plain of Borodino, on which the battle was fought, is in no respect a more suitable position than any other spot in the Russian empire to which one might point at hazard on the map.
Far from having fortified the position on the left at right angles to the road—that is the spot on which the battle was fought—the Russians never, till the 25th of August, 1812, dreamed of a battle being possible on that spot. The proof of this is, first, that there were no fortifications there before the 25th, and that the earthworks begun on that day were not completed by the 26th; and, secondly, the Shevardino redoubt, owing to its situation in front of the position on which the battle was actually fought, was of no real value. With what object was that redoubt more strongly fortified than any of the other points? And with what object was every effort exhausted and six thousand men sacrificed to defend it till late at night on the 24th? A picket of Cossacks would have been enough to keep watch on the enemy's movements. And a third proof that the position of the battlefield was not foreseen, and that the redoubt of Shevardino was not the foremost point of that position, is to be found in the fact that Barclay de Tolly and Bagration were, till the 25th, under the impression that the Shevardino redoubt was the left flank of the position, and that Kutuzov himself, in the report written in hot haste after the battle, speaks of Shevardino as the left flank of the position. Only a good time later, when reports of the battle were written at leisure, the incorrect and strange statement was invented (probably to cover the blunders of the commander-in-chief, who had, of course, to appear infallible) that the Shevardino redoubt served as an advance post, though it was in reality simply the fortified point of the left flank, and that the battle of Borodino was fought by us on a fortified position selected beforehand for it, though it was in reality fought on a position quite unforeseen, and almost unfortified.
The affair obviously took place in this way. A position had been pitched upon on the stream Kolotcha, which intersects the high-road, not at a right angle, but at an acute angle, so that the left flank was at Shevardino, the right near the village of Novoe, and the centre at Borodino, near the confluence of the Kolotcha and the Voina. Any one looking at the plain of Borodino, and not considering how the battle actually was fought, would pick out this position, covered by the Kolotcha, as the obvious one for an army, whose object was to check the advance of an enemy marching along the Smolensk road towards Moscow.
Napoleon, riding up on the 24th to Valuev, did not (we are told in the histories) see the position of the Russians from Utitsa to Borodino (he could not have seen that position since it did not exist), and did not see the advance posts of the Russian army, but in the pursuit of the Russian rearguard stumbled upon the left flank of the Russian position at the redoubt of Shevardino, and, to the surprise of the Russians, his troops crossed the Kolotcha. And the Russians, since it was too late for a general engagement, withdrew their left wing from the position they had intended to occupy, and took up a new position, which had not been foreseen, and was not fortified. By crossing to the left bank of the Kolotcha, on the left of the road, Napoleon shifted the whole battle from right to left (looking from the Russian side), and transferred it to the plain between Utitsa, Semyonovskoye and Borodino—a plain which in itself was a no more favourable position than any other plain in Russia—and on that plain was fought the whole battle of the 26th.
Had Napoleon not reached the Kolotcha on the evening of the 24th, and had he not ordered the redoubt to be attacked at once that evening, had he begun the attack next morning, no one could have doubted that the Shevardino redoubt was the left flank of the Russian position; and the battle would have been fought as we expected. In that case we should probably have defended the Shevardino redoubt by our left flank even more obstinately; we should have attacked Napoleon in the centre or on the right, and the general engagement would have been fought on the 24th on the position prepared and fortified for it. But as the attack was made on our left flank in the evening after the retreat of our rearguard, that is, immediately after the action at Gridnevo, and as the Russian generals would not, or could not, begin the general engagement on the evening of the 24th, the first and most important action of the battle of Borodino was lost on the 24th, and that loss led inevitably to the loss of the battle fought on the 26th.
After the loss of the Shevardino redoubt, we found ourselves on the morning of the 25th with our left flank driven from its position, and were forced to draw in the left wing of our position and hurriedly fortify it were we could.
So that on the 26th of August the Russian troops were only defended by weak, unfinished earthworks, and the disadvantage of that position was aggravated by the fact that the Russian generals, not fully recognising the facts of the position (the loss of the position on the left flank, and the shifting of the whole field of the coming battle from right to left), retained their extended formation from Novoe to Utitsa, and, consequently, had to transfer their troops from right to left during the battle. Consequently, we had during the whole battle to face the whole French army attacking our left wing, with our forces of half the strength.
(Poniatovsky's action facing Utitsa and Uvarov's action against the French right flank were quite independent of the general course of the battle.)
And so the battle of Borodino was fought, not at all as, in order to cover the blunders of our commanders, it is described by our historians, whose accounts, consequently, diminish the credit due to the Russian army and the Russian people. The battle of Borodino was not fought on a carefully picked and fortified position, with forces only slightly weaker on the Russian side. After the loss of the Shevardino redoubt, the Russians fought on an open, almost unfortified position, with forces half the strength of the French, that is, in conditions in which it was not merely senseless to fight for ten hours and gain a drawn battle, but incredibly difficult to keep the army for three hours together from absolute rout and flight.
八月二十四日，在舍瓦尔金诺多面堡打了一仗，二十五日，双方都没有开火，二十六日，波罗底诺战役爆发了。 
舍瓦尔金诺和波罗底诺两次战役是为了什么呢？是怎样挑起、怎样应战的呢？为什么又打起波罗底诺战役呢？不论是对法国人还是对俄国人来说，这次战役都是毫无意义的。这次战役，对俄国人来说，最直接的结果曾是也必然是促进莫斯科的毁灭（这是我们最担心的），对法国人来说，则是促进他们的全军覆没（这也是他们怕得要命的）。这个结果甚至在当时也是非常明显的，然而拿破仑还是发动了这次战役，库图佐夫也奋起应了战。
如果两位统帅均以理智为指南，拿破仑似乎应当明白，深入俄国两千俄里，在很有可能损失四分之一军队的情况下发动一场大战，他必将趋于毁灭；库图佐夫也似乎同样应当明白，冒着损失四分之一军队的军队应战，他准会失掉莫斯科。这在库图佐夫就像做算术题一样明显，比如下跳棋，我方少一个子儿，而要跟对方对拼子儿，我方一定会输，因为不应当对拼。
当对方有十六个子儿，我方有十四个子儿的时候，我方只比对方弱八分之一；但是如果我方拼掉了十三个子儿，对方就比我方强三倍了。
在波罗底诺战役之前，我方兵力与法军相比，大致是五比六；战役之后，是一比二，也就是战役以前是十万比十二万，战役以后是五万比十万。然而聪明且富有经验的库图佐夫应战了。被人称为天才统帅的拿破仑发动了那次战役，损失了四分之一的兵力，更拉长了战线。如果说他认为占领莫斯科就像占领维也纳一样，可以结束战争，那么他错了，有许多证据证明并非如此。拿破仑的史学家们亲口说，他在占领了斯摩棱斯克之后就想停止前进，他知道拉长战线的危险，也知道占领莫斯科不会是战争的终结，因为在斯摩棱克他就看到，留给他的那些俄国城市是怎样的情景，他一再表示愿意进行谈判，但一次也没有得到答复。
拿破仑和库图佐夫发动和应接波罗底诺战役都是不由自主和毫无意义的。但是后来史学家们用这些既成事实强牵附会地证明两个统帅的预见和天才。其实，这些统帅不过是历史的工具，且是所有不由自主的历史工具中最不自由、最不由自主的活动家。
古人留给我们许多英雄史诗的典范，其中的英雄人物引起历史上的普遍注意，但是我们还不能习惯这样的事实，那就是这类历史对于我们人类的时代是没有意义的。
关于另外一个问题：波罗底诺战役以及在这之前的舍瓦尔金诺战役是怎样打起来的，也存在一个极为明显、众所周知、完全错误的概念。所有史学家都是这样描述的：俄国军队在从斯摩棱斯克撤退时，就为大会战寻找最有利的阵地，在波罗底诺找到了这样的阵地。
在莫斯科到斯摩棱斯克的大路左侧，与大路几乎成直角——从波罗底诺到乌季察，也就是作战的那个地方，俄国人事前在那儿修筑了防御工事。
在这个阵地的前方，在舍瓦尔金诺高地，设立了一个观察敌情的前哨。二十四日，拿破仑进攻这个前哨，占领了它；
二十六日，开始进攻已经进入波罗底诺战场的全部俄军。
史书上是这样记载的，而这是完全歪曲的，这一点，任何愿意深入研究事情真相的人，都能很容易弄清楚。
俄国人并没有寻找最好的阵地；恰恰相反，他们在退却中放过了许多比波罗底诺更好的阵地。他们没有据守这些阵地中的任何一个：因为库图佐夫不愿采纳不是他所选择的阵地；因为人们对大会战的要求还不够强烈；还因为带领后备军的米洛拉多维奇尚未赶到；还有其他无数的原因。事实上，以前所放过的阵地都比较强大，波罗底诺阵地（大会战的地点）不但不强大，与俄罗斯帝国任何一个地方相比较，哪怕随便用针在地图上插一个地方，它都更不像一个阵地。
在大路左侧与大路成直角的波罗底诺战场（就是大会战的地点），俄国人非但没有设防，而且在一八一二年八月二十五日前，从未想到在这个地点会打一场大仗。以下事实可以说明这一点：其一，不但二十五日以前那里没有战壕，而且二十五日开始挖的那些战壕，到二十六日也没有挖成；其二，舍瓦尔金诺多面堡的形势可资证明，那个在发生战斗的阵地前面的舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，是无任何意义的，为什么比别的据点更要加强那个多面堡呢？为什么要耗费一切力量，损失六千人，把它据守到二十四日深夜呢？要观测敌人，一个哥萨克侦察班就足够了；其三，作战的那个阵地不是事先料到的，而舍瓦尔金诺多面堡也不是那个阵地的前哨，因为直到二十五日，巴克莱·德·托利和巴格拉季翁还相信舍瓦尔金诺多面堡是阵地的·左·翼。而库图佐夫本人在那次战役之后，在一时盛怒之下写的报告中，也说舍瓦尔金诺多面堡是此阵地的·左·翼。只是在很久以后，可以自由地写波罗底诺战役的报告时，才捏造出那一套奇谈怪论（大概是为一个不会犯错误的总司令辩护），说舍瓦尔金诺多面堡是一个前哨（其实，它不过是左翼的一个设防点），说波罗底诺战役是在我们预先选定的、在修筑了工事的阵地上进行的。实际上，那次战斗是在一个完全意外的，几乎没有任何工事的地点爆发的。
事情显然是这样的：沿科洛恰河选定了一个阵地，这条河斜穿过大路，不是成直角，而是成锐角，因此左翼是在舍瓦尔金诺，右翼靠近诺沃耶村，中心在波罗底诺，也就是在科洛恰和沃伊纳两河汇流的地方。假如不去管仗是怎么打的。只要看一看波罗底诺战场，就一目了然，这个战地是以科洛恰河为掩护，以阻止沿斯摩棱斯克大路进犯莫斯科的敌军。
二十四日拿破仑骑马来到瓦卢耶瓦，他没有看见（正如史书上所说的）从乌季察到波罗底诺的俄国阵地（他不可能看见那个阵地，因为它并不存在），他也没有看见俄国的前哨，但在追击俄军后卫的时候，他碰到俄军阵地的左翼——舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，出乎俄国人意料之外，拿破仑把他的军队移过科洛恰河。这样一来，俄国人已经来不及迎接大会战了，只好撤掉他们本来要据守的左翼阵地，占领一个不曾料到的，没有修筑工事的新阵地。拿破仑转移到科洛恰河对岸，也就是大路的左侧，这样拿破仑就把即将打响的战斗从右侧移到左侧（从俄军方面看），移到乌季察、谢苗诺夫斯科耶和波罗底诺之间的平原上（作为一个阵地，这片平原并不比俄国任何一片平原更为有利），二十六日的大会战就在这片平原上打响了。预定的战斗和实际的战斗的草图见下页：
假如拿破仑不在二十四日傍晚到达科洛恰河；假如他当晚没有立刻下令攻打多面堡，而是在第二天早晨开始攻打的话，那么，就不会有人怀疑舍瓦尔金诺多面堡是我们的左翼了；而战斗也会像我们所预料的那样进行了。在那种情况下，我们大概会像我们所预料的那样进行了。在这种情况下，我们大概会顽强地守卫舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，与此同时，从中央或者从右面攻击拿破仑，而二十四日大会战就会在预定的修筑有工事的阵地上进行了。但是，因为对我们左翼进攻是在紧接着我们的后卫撤退的晚上，也就是在格里德涅瓦战役刚结束的晚上发生的，还因为俄国的军事将领不愿意或者来不及在二十四日晚上就开始大会战，以致波罗底诺战役的第一仗，也是主要的一仗，在二十四日就打输了，而且显然导致二十六日那一仗的失败。
在舍瓦尔金诺多面堡沦陷后，二十五日清晨我们已经没有左翼阵地了，于是不得不把左翼往后撤，随便选择一个地方仓促地构筑工事。
但是，只说俄军仅用薄弱的、未筑成的工事来防守还不够，更加不利的情况还在于，俄军将领不承认显而易见的既成事实（左翼已失守，当前的战场已经从右面向左面转移），仍停留在诺沃耶村至乌季察这一带拉长的阵地上，因此，在战斗开始后，不得不把军队从右方调到左方。这样一来，在整个战斗期间，俄国方面仅有对方一半的兵力用以抵抗法军对我军左翼的进攻（波尼亚托夫斯基对乌季察的进攻以及乌瓦罗夫从右翼攻击法军，只是大会成进程中的单独的军事行动）。
由此可见，波罗底诺战役完全不像人们描绘的那样（极力隐瞒我们军事将领们的错误，从而贬低俄国军队和人民的光荣）。波罗底诺战役并不是在一个选定的，设了防的阵地上进行的，也不是俄军的兵力仅仅稍弱于敌军，实际上俄国人由于失掉舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，不得不在一个开阔的，几乎没有防御工事的地带，兵力比法军少一半的情况下迎接波罗底诺战役，也就是说，在这样的条件下，不仅战斗十小时和打一场不分输赢的战役不可思议，就是坚持三小时而不使军队完全崩溃和逃遁也是不可思议的。
Book 10 Chapter 20
ON THE MORNING of the 25th Pierre drove out of Mozhaisk. On the slope of an immense, steep, and winding hill, leading out of the town, Pierre got out of the carriage, and walked by a cathedral on the right of the hill, where a service was being performed. A cavalry regiment followed him down the hill, the singers of the regiment in front. A train of carts came up the hill towards them, filled with wounded from the previous day's engagement. The peasant drivers kept running from side to side, shouting and whipping the horses. The carts, in each of which three or four wounded soldiers were lying or sitting, jolted up and down on the stones that had been thrown on the steep ascent to mend the road. The wounded men, pale and bandaged up, with compressed lips and knitted brows, clung to the sides, as they were shaken and jolted in the carts. Almost all of them stared with na?ve and childlike curiosity at Pierre's white hat and green coat.
Pierre's coachman shouted angrily at the train of wounded men to keep to one side of the road. The cavalry regiment, coming down the hill in time to their song, overtook Pierre's chaise and blocked the road. Pierre stopped, keeping close to the edge of the road that had been hollowed out in the hill. The sun did not reach over the side of the hill to the road, and there it felt cold and damp. But overhead it was a bright August morning, and the chimes rang out merrily. One cart full of wounded men came to a standstill at the edge of the road quite close to Pierre. The driver, in bast shoes, ran panting up to his cart, thrust a stone under the hind wheels, which were without tires, and began setting straight the breech on his horse.
An old wounded soldier, with his arm in a sling, walking behind the cart, caught hold of it with his uninjured arm, and looked round at Pierre.
“Well, fellow-countryman, are we to be put down here or taken on to Moscow?” he said.
Pierre was so lost in thought that he did not hear the question. He looked from the cavalry regiment, which was now meeting the train of wounded, to the cart by which he stood, with the two wounded men sitting, and one lying down in it. One of the soldiers sitting in the cart had probably been wounded in the cheek. His whole head was done up in bandages, and one cheek was swollen as large as a baby's head. All his mouth and nose were on one side. This soldier was looking at the cathedral and crossing himself. Another, a young fellow, a light-haired recruit, as white as though there were not a drop of blood in his thin face, gazed with a fixed, good-natured smile at Pierre. The third lay so that his face could not be seen. The singers of the cavalry regiment passed close by the cart.
“A! za-pro-pa-la …”
they sang the military dance tune. As though seconding them, though in a different tone of gaiety, clanged out the metallic notes of the chimes at the top of the hill. And the hot rays of the sun bathed the top of the opposite slope with sunshine sparkling with another suggestion of gaiety. But where Pierre stood under the hillside, by the cart full of wounded soldiers, and the panting, little nag, it was damp, overcast, and dismal.
The soldier with the wounded cheek looked angrily at the singing horse soldiers.
“Oh, the smart fellows!” he murmured reproachfully.
“It's not soldiers only, but peasants, too, I have seen to-day! Peasants, too, they are hunting up,” said the soldier standing by the cart, addressing himself to Pierre, with a melancholy smile. “They can't pick and choose now. … They want to mass all the people together—it's a matter of Moscow, you see. There is only one thing to do now.” In spite of the vagueness of the soldier's words, Pierre fully grasped his meaning, and nodded his head approvingly.
The road was clear once more, and Pierre walked downhill, and drove on further.
Pierre drove on, looking on both sides of the road for familiar faces, and meeting none but unfamiliar, military faces, belonging to all sorts of regiments, and all staring with the same surprise at his white hat and green coat.
After driving four versts, for the first time he met an acquaintance, and greeted him joyfully. This was a doctor, one of the heads of the medical staff. He drove to meet Pierre in a covered gig, with a young doctor sitting beside him; and recognising Pierre, he called to the Cossack, who sat on the driver's seat, and told him to stop.
“Count, your excellency, how do you come here?” asked the doctor.
“Oh, I wanted to have a look …”
“Oh well, there will be something to look at …” Pierre got out of his carriage, and stopped to have a talk with the doctor, explaining to him his plan for taking part in the battle.
The doctor advised Bezuhov to go straight to his highness.
“Why, you would be God knows where during the battle, out of sight,” he said, with a glance at his young companion; “and his highness knows you anyway, and will give you a gracious reception. That's what I should do, my friend,” said the doctor.
The doctor seemed tired and hurried.
“So you think. … But one thing more I wanted to ask you, where is the position exactly?” said Pierre.
“The position?” said the doctor; “well, that's not in my line. Drive on to Tatarinovo, there's a great deal of digging going on there. There you'll come out on a mound; from there you get a view,” said the doctor.
“A view from it? … If you would …”
But the doctor interrupted, and moved toward his gig.
“I would have shown you the way, but by God, you see” (the doctor made a significant gesture), “I'm racing to the commander of the corps. We're in such a fix, you see … you know, count, there's to be a battle tomorrow; with a hundred thousand troops, we must reckon on twenty thousand wounded at least; and we haven't the stretchers, nor beds, nor attendants, nor doctors for six thousand. There are ten thousand carts; but we want other things; one must manage as one can.”
The strange idea that of those thousands of men, alive and well, young and old, who had been staring with such light-hearted amusement at his hat, twenty thousand were inevitably doomed to wounds and death (perhaps the very men whom he had seen) made a great impression on Pierre.
“They will die, perhaps, to-morrow; how can they think of anything but death?” And suddenly, by some latent connection of ideas, he saw a vivid picture of the hillside of Mozhaisk, the carts of wounded men, the chimes, the slanting sunshine, and the singing of the cavalry regiment.
“They were going into battle, and meeting wounded soldiers, and never for a minute paused to think what was in store for them, but went by and winked at their wounded comrades. And of all those, twenty thousand are doomed to death, and they can wonder at my hat! Strange!” thought Pierre, as he went on towards Tatarinovo.
Carriages, waggons, and crowds of orderlies and sentinels were standing about a gentleman's house on the left side of the road. The commander-in-chief was putting up there. But when Pierre arrived, he found his highness and almost all the staff were out. They had all gone to the church service. Pierre pushed on ahead to Gorky; and driving uphill into a little village street, Pierre saw for the first time the peasants of the militia in white shirts, with crosses on their caps. With loud talk and laughter, eager and perspiring, they were working on the right of the road at a huge mound overgrown with grass.
Some of them were digging out the earth, others were carrying the earth away in wheelbarrows, while a third lot stood doing nothing.
There were two officers on the knoll giving them instructions. Seeing these peasants, who were unmistakably enjoying the novelty of their position as soldiers, Pierre thought again of the wounded soldiers at Mozhaisk, and he understood what the soldier had tried to express by the words “they want to mass all the people together.” The sight of these bearded peasants toiling on the field of battle with their queer, clumsy boots, with their perspiring necks, and here and there with shirts unbuttoned showing their sun-burnt collar-bones, impressed Pierre more strongly than anything he had yet seen and heard with the solemnity and gravity of the moment.
二十五日清早，皮埃尔离开莫扎伊斯克。出了城就是蜿蜒而陡峭的山坡，右边山上有一座教堂，那儿正在鸣钟，做礼拜。皮埃尔下了马车，徒步前进。他后面有一个骑兵团队正从山坡上走下来，团队前面有一群歌手。迎面来了一队大车，载着昨天在战斗中负伤的士兵。赶车的农民吆喝着，响着鞭子，不断地在车子两边奔走。每辆坐着或躺着三、四个伤兵的大车，在陡峭的山坡石路上颠簸着。伤兵包着破布，面色苍白，紧闭着嘴，皱着眉头，抓住车栏杆在车上颠动、互相碰撞。几乎所有的伤兵都怀着孩子般的天真的好奇心望着皮埃尔那顶白帽子和绿色燕尾服。 
皮埃尔的车夫气忿地吆喝伤兵运输队，叫他们靠边走。骑兵团唱着歌直冲着皮埃尔的马车走下山坡，把路都堵塞了。皮埃尔停下来，被挤到铲平的山路边上去了。山坡挡住了太阳，低洼的路上见不到阳光，显得又冷又潮湿，而皮埃尔头顶上是明朗的八月的早晨的天空，教堂里发出欢乐的钟声。一辆伤兵车停放在皮埃尔身边旁的路边上，那个穿树皮鞋的车夫喘不过气来跑到车前，往没有轮箍的后轮塞了一块石头，然后又给停下的小马整理皮马套。
一个吊着一只胳膊的年老的伤兵，跟着车步行，他用没负伤的那只大手抓住大车，转脸看了看皮埃尔。
“我说，老乡，是不是就把我们扔到这儿？还是送往莫斯科？”他问。
皮埃尔正陷入沉思，没听见有人问他，他时而看看迎着伤兵车走来的骑兵团队，时而看看他身旁的大车，车上的伤兵有两个坐着，一个躺着。其中一个坐着的，大概脸腮子受了伤，整个脑袋都包着破布，一边腮肿了起来，像孩子的头似的。他的嘴和鼻子都歪到一边了。这个伤兵正望着教堂划十字；另一个是年幼点的新兵，金黄色的头发，脸白得一点血色也没有，带着友好的傻笑望着皮埃尔；第三个趴在那儿，看不见他的脸，骑兵歌手们从车子旁边走过。
“咳，你在哪儿……倔强的人……”
“你流落在异乡……”他们唱着士兵舞曲。仿佛是响应他们，山坡高处不断地发出叮当的钟声，别有一番欢乐意味。此外，还有一种别样的欢乐：对面山坡顶上沐浴着灼热的阳光，可是山坡下，伤兵车旁边，喘息着的小马附近，皮埃尔站着的地方，却充满着潮湿、阴暗和忧伤。
那个肿脸的士兵怒气冲冲地望着骑兵歌手们。
“嗬，花花公子！”他责备地说。
“这个年头，不仅看见了士兵，也看见了农夫！农夫也被赶上战场，”那个站在车后面的士兵面露苦笑对皮埃尔说，“现在什么都不分了……要老百姓都一齐冲上去，一句话——为了莫斯科。他们要拼到底啊。”尽管那个士兵说得不清楚，皮埃尔仍明白了他的意思。赞同地点点头。
路通了，皮埃尔走下山坡，坐车继续前进。
皮埃尔一路上左顾右盼，寻找着熟悉的面孔，但是见到的都是不同兵种的陌生的军人面孔，他们全都惊奇地盯着他那顶白帽子和绿色燕尾服。
走了四俄里，他才遇到第一个熟人，于是高兴地招呼他。这个熟人是个军医官。他坐着一辆篷车，向皮埃尔迎面赶来，他旁边坐的是一个青年医生。这个军医官认出皮埃尔，就叫那个坐在前座代替车夫的哥萨克停下来。
“伯爵！大人，您怎么到这儿来了！”医生问。
“想来看看……”
“对了，对了，就要有可看的了……”
皮埃尔下了车，站在那儿跟医生谈话，向他说明自己打算参加战斗。
医生劝别祖霍夫直接去见勋座。
“在开战的时候，您何必要到这个谁也不知道，谁也找不到的地方来。”他说，向年轻的同事递了个眼色，“不管怎么说，勋座总认识您，他会厚待您的。老兄，就这么办吧。”医生说。
医生好像很疲倦而且很匆忙。
“您是这么考虑的……不过我还想问您，阵地在哪儿？”皮埃尔说。
“阵地？”医生说。“那可不是我的事。过了塔塔里诺沃，那儿有许多人挖战壕，您爬上那个高岗，就可以看见了。”医生说。
“从那儿可以看见吗？……要是您……”
但是医生打断了他的话，向篷车走去。
“我本来可以送您，可是，说真的，我的事情多得到这儿（他在喉咙上比划了一下），我还要赶到兵团司令那儿去。我们的情况怎么样……您可知道，伯爵，明天就要打一场大仗，一支十万人的军队，至少会有两万伤员，可是我们的担架、病床、护士、医生，还不够六千人用。我们有一万辆大车，但是还需要别的东西；那只好自己看着办了。”
在那成千上万活泼的、健康的、年轻的、年老的，怀着愉快的好奇心看他的帽子的人们中间，有两万人注定要负伤或死亡（也许就是他看见的那些人），这个古怪的念头使皮埃尔不由得感到吃惊。
“他们也许明天就死掉，可为什么除了死他们还想别的呢？”由于某种不可揣测的联想，他突然很生动地想起莫扎伊斯克山坡，载着伤兵的大车，教堂的钟声，夕阳的余晖，以及骑兵们的歌声。
“骑兵们去作战，路上遇见伤兵，可是他们一点不去想那正在等待他们的命运，而只是瞟了伤兵一眼就走过去了。在他们之中有两万人注定要死亡，可是他们却对我的帽子感到惊讶！多么奇怪！”皮埃尔在去塔塔里诺沃的路上想道。
路左边有一所地主的住宅，那儿停着几辆马车、带篷的大车、一些勤务兵和哨兵。勋座就住在那儿。但是皮埃尔到的时候，他人不在，几乎一个参谋人员也没有。他们都做礼拜去了。皮埃尔坐上马车继续往前走，向戈尔基进发。
皮埃尔的车上了山，到了山村里一条不大的街上，在这儿他第一次看见了农民后备军，他们头戴缀有十字架的帽子，身穿白衬衫，大声谈笑着，兴致勃勃，满身大汗正在路右边一座长满青草的高大土岗上干活儿。
他们中有许多人在挖土，另一些人用手推车在跳板上运土，还有些人站在那儿不动。
两个军官站在土岗上指挥他们。皮埃尔看见这些农夫显然还在为刚当上军人而开心、他想起了莫扎伊斯克那些伤兵，他开始明了，那个兵说·要·老·百·姓·都·一·齐·冲·上·去这句话的意思。这些在战场上干活儿的大胡子农夫，他们那古怪的笨重的靴子，冒着汗的脖子，有些人的敞开的斜领口，衬衫里面露出的晒黑的锁骨，这一切景象比皮埃尔过去所见所闻的更强有力地使他感到此时此刻的严肃性和重要性。
Book 10 Chapter 21
PIERRE got out of his carriage, and passing by the toiling peasants, clambered up the knoll from which the doctor had told him he could get a view of the field of battle.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning. The sun was a little on the left, and behind Pierre, and in the pure, clear air, the huge panorama that stretched in an amphitheatre before him from the rising ground lay bathed in brilliant sunshine.
The Smolensk high-road ran winding through that amphitheatre, intersecting it towards the left at the top, and passing through a village with a white church, which lay some five hundred paces before and below the knoll. This was Borodino. The road passed below the village, crossed a bridge, and ran winding uphill and downhill, mounting up and up to the hamlet of Valuev, visible six versts away, where Napoleon now was. Behind Valuev the road disappeared into a copse turning yellow on the horizon. In this copse of birch- and pine-trees, on the right of the road, could be seen far away the shining cross and belfry of the Kolotsky monastery. Here and there in the blue distance, to right and to left of the copse and the road, could be seen smoking camp-fires and indistinct masses of our troops and the enemy's. On the right, along the course of the rivers Kolotcha and Moskva, the country was broken and hilly. Through the gaps between the hills could be seen the villages of Bezzubovo and Zaharino. On the left the ground was more level; there were fields of corn and a smoking village that had been set on fire—Semyonovskoye.
Everything Pierre saw was so indefinite, that in no part of the scene before him could he find anything fully corresponding to his preconceptions. There was nowhere a field of battle such as he had expected to see, nothing but fields, dells, troops, woods, camp-fires, villages, mounds, and streams. With all Pierre's efforts, he could not discover in the living landscape a military position. He could not even distinguish between our troops and the enemy's.
“I must ask some one who understands it,” he thought, and he addressed the officer, who was looking with curiosity at his huge, unmilitary figure.
“Allow me to ask,” Pierre said, “what village is that before us?”
“Burdino, isn't it called?” said the officer, turning inquiringly to his comrade.
“Borodino,” the other corrected.
The officer, obviously pleased at an opportunity for conversation, went nearer to Pierre.
“Are these our men there?” asked Pierre.
“Yes, and away further, those are the French,” said the officer. “There they are, there you can see them.”
“Where? where?” asked Pierre.
“One can see them with the naked eye. Look!” The officer pointed to smoke rising on the left beyond the river, and the same stern and grave expression came into his face that Pierre had noticed in many of the faces he had met.
“Ah, that's the French! And there? …” Pierre pointed to a knoll on the left about which troops could be seen.
“Those are our men.”
“Oh, indeed! And there? …” Pierre pointed to another mound in the distance, with a big tree on it, near a village that could be seen in a gap between the hills, where there was a dark patch and the smoke of campfires.
“Ah! that's he again!” said the officer. (It was the redoubt of Shevardino.) “Yesterday that was ours, but now it's his.”
“So what is our position, then?”
“Our position?” said the officer, with a smile of satisfaction. “I can describe it very clearly, because I have had to do with the making of almost all our fortifications. There, our centre, do you see, is here at Borodino.” He pointed to the village with the white church, in front of them. “There's the ford across the Kolotcha. Here, do you see, where the rows of mown hay are still lying in the low ground, there's the bridge. That's our centre. Our right flank is away yonder” (he pointed to the right, far away to the hollows among the hills), “there is the river Moskva, and there we have thrown up three very strong redoubts. The left flank …” there the officer paused. “It's hard to explain, you see. … Yesterday our left flank was over there, at Shevardino, do you see, where the oak is. But now we have drawn back our left wing, now it's over there,—you see the village and the smoke—that's Semyonovskoye, and here—look,” he pointed to Raevsky's redoubt. “Only the battle won't be there, most likely. He has moved his troops here, but that's a blind; he will probably try to get round on the right. Well, but however it may be, there'll be a lot of men missing at roll-call to-morrow!” said the officer.
The old sergeant, who came up during the officer's speech, had waited in silence for his superior officer to finish speaking. But at this point he interrupted him in undisguised annoyance at his last words.
“We have to send for gabions,” he said severely.
The officer seemed abashed, as though he were fully aware that though he might think how many men would be missing next day, he ought not to talk about it.
“Well, send the third company again,” he said hurriedly. “And who are you, not one of the doctors?”
“No, I am nothing in particular,” answered Pierre. And he went downhill again, passing the peasant militiamen.
“Ah, the damned beasts!” said the officer, pinching his nose, and hurrying by them with Pierre.
“Here they come! … They are bringing her, they are coming. … Here she is … they'll be here in a minute,” cried voices suddenly, and officers, soldiers, and peasants ran forward along the road.
A church procession was coming up the hill from Borodino. In front of it a regiment of infantry marched smartly along the dusty road, with their shakoes off and their muskets lowered. Behind the infantry came the sounds of church singing.
Soldiers and peasants came running down bareheaded to meet it, overtaking Pierre.
“They are bringing the Holy Mother! Our defender … the Holy Mother of Iversky! …”
“The Holy Mother of Smolensk …” another corrected.
The militiamen who had been in the village and those who had been working at the battery, flinging down their spades, ran to meet the procession. The battalion marching along the dusty road was followed by priests in church robes, a little old man in a hood with attendant deacons and choristers. Behind them came soldiers and officers bearing a huge holy picture, with tarnished face in a setting of silver. This was the holy ikon that had been brought away from Smolensk, and had accompanied the army ever since. Behind, before, and all around it, walked or ran crowds of soldiers with bared heads, bowing to the earth.
On the top of the hill the procession stopped; the men bearing the holy picture on a linen cloth were relieved by others; the deacons relighted their censers, and the service began. The burning rays of the sun beat vertically down on the crowds; a faint, fresh breeze played with the hair of their bare heads, and fluttered the ribbons with which the holy picture was decked; the singing sounded subdued under the open sky. An immense crowd—officers, soldiers, and militiamen—stood round, all with bare heads. In a space apart, behind the priests and deacons, stood the persons of higher rank. A bald general, with the order of St. George on his neck, stood directly behind the priest. He was unmistakably a German, for he stood, not crossing himself, patiently waiting for the end of the service, to which he thought it right to listen, probably as a means of arousing the patriotism of the Russian peasantry; another general stood in a martial pose and swung his arm before his chest, looking about him as he made the sign of the cross. Pierre, standing among the peasants, recognised in this group of higher rank several persons he knew. But he did not look at them; his whole attention was engrossed by the serious expression of the faces in the crowd, soldiers and peasants alike, all gazing with the same eagerness at the holy picture. As soon as the weary choristers (it was their twentieth service) began languidly singing their habitual chant, “O Mother of God, save Thy servants from calamity,” and priest and deacon chimed in, “For to Thee we all fly as our invincible Bulwark and Protectress,” there was a gleam on every face of that sense of the solemnity of the coming moment, which he had seen on the hill at Mozhaisk and by glimpses in so many of the faces meeting him that morning. And heads were bowed lower, while locks of hair fluttered in the breeze, and there was the sound of sighing and beating the breast as the soldiers crossed themselves.
The crowd suddenly parted and pressed upon Pierre. Some one, probably a very great person, judging by the promptitude with which they made way for him, was approaching the holy picture.
It was Kutuzov, who had been making the round of the position. On his way back to Tatarinovo, he joined the service. Pierre at once recognised him from his peculiar figure, which marked him out at once.
In a long military coat, with his enormously stout figure and bent back, with his white head uncovered, and his blind white eye, conspicuous in his puffy face, Kutuzov walked with his waddling swaying gait into the ring and stood behind the priest. He crossed himself with an habitual gesture, bent down, with his hand touching the earth, and, sighing heavily, bowed his grey head. Kutuzov was followed by Bennigsen and his suite. In spite of the presence of the commander-in-chief, which drew the attention of all persons of higher rank, the militiamen and soldiers went on praying without looking at him.
When the service was over, Kutuzov went up to the holy picture, dropped heavily down on his knees, bowing to the earth, and for a long time he attempted to get up, and was unable from his weakness and heavy weight. His grey head twitched with the strain. At last he did get up, and putting out his lips in a na?ve, childlike way kissed the holy picture, and again bowed down, with one hand touching the ground. The other generals followed his example; then the officers, and after them the soldiers and militiamen ran up with excited faces, pushing each other, and shoving breathlessly forward.
皮埃尔下了马车，从干活儿的后备军人身边走过去，爬上那个医生告诉他从那儿可以看见战场的土岗。 
这时是上午十一点左右。透过明净的、稀薄的空气，一轮太阳高悬在皮埃尔的左后方，明晃晃地照耀着面前像圆剧场一般隆起的广阔的战地全貌。
斯摩棱斯克大路从左上方穿过圆形剧场，经过一座坐落在土岗前下方五百来步有白色教堂的村子（这村子就是波罗底诺）蜿蜒曲折地延伸着。然后又从村子下面过去，跨过一座桥，一起一伏地经过几个山坡，盘旋着越爬越高，一直延伸到从六俄里外可以看见的瓦卢耶瓦村（现在拿破仑就驻扎在那儿）。过了瓦卢耶瓦村，大路就隐没在地平线上一片已经变黄的森林里了。在那片长满白桦和枞树的森林里，大路的右边，科洛恰修道院的十字架和钟楼远远地在太阳下闪光。在那黛青色的远方，在森林和大路的两旁，好些地方都可以看见冒烟的篝火和分辨不清的敌我双方的战士。右边，沿科洛恰河和莫斯科河流域，是峡谷纵横的山地。在峡谷中间，从远处可以看见别祖博沃村和扎哈林诺村。左边地势比较平坦，有长着庄稼的田地，那里可以看见一座被烧掉的冒烟的村子——谢苗诺夫斯科耶村。
皮埃尔从左右两边所看到的一切，都是那么不明确。战场的左右两边都不大像他所想象的那样。到处都找不到他希望看见的样子。只是看见田野、草地、军队、篝火的青烟、村庄、丘陵、小河，无论怎样观看，也不能从这充满生命活力的地方找到战场，甚至分不清敌人和我们的队伍。
“得问一个了解情况的人。”他想，于是转身问一个军官，那个军官正好奇地打量他那不是军人装束的庞大身躯。
“请问，”皮埃尔对那个军官说，“前面是什么村庄？”
“是布尔金诺吧？”那个军官问他的伙伴。
“波罗底诺。”另一个纠正他说。
显然，那个军官有一个谈话的机会，觉得很高兴，于是凑近皮埃尔。
“那儿是我们的人吗？”皮埃尔问。
“是的，再往前去就是法国人，”那个军官说，“那儿就是他们，看得见。”
“哪儿？哪儿？”皮埃尔问。
“凭肉眼就看得见。那不是，就在那儿！”军官用手指着河对岸左边看得见的烟，他脸上的神情严肃而认真，皮埃尔碰到的很多面孔都有这种表情。
“啊，那是法国人！那儿呢？……”皮埃尔指着左边的山岗，那附近有一些队伍。
“那是我们的人。”
“啊，是我们的人！那边呢？”皮埃尔指着远方有一棵大树的土岗，旁边有一个坐落在山谷里的村子，也有一些篝火在冒烟，还有一些黑糊糊的东西。
“这又是·他，”那个军官说。（即指舍瓦尔金诺多面堡。）
“昨天是我们的，现在是·他·的了。”
“那么我们的阵地呢？”
“阵地？”那个军官带着得意的微笑说。“这个我可以给您讲清楚，因为我修筑过我们所有的工事。在那儿，看见么，我们的中心在波罗底诺，就在那儿。”他指着前面有白色教堂的村庄。“那儿是科洛恰河渡口。就在那儿，您看，那边洼地上还堆放着成排的刚割下来的干草呢，您瞧，那儿还有一座桥。那是我们的中心。我们的右翼就在那儿（他指着离山谷很远的正右方），那儿是莫斯科河，那儿我们有三个多面堡，修筑得非常坚固。右翼……”军官说到这儿停住了。“您知道，这很难给您说得明白……昨天我们的右翼在那里，在舍瓦尔金诺，在那里，瞧见么，那儿有一棵橡树；现在我们把左翼后撤了，现在在那儿，那儿——您看见那个村子和那缕青烟了吗？——那是谢苗诺夫斯科耶，而这里，”他指了指拉耶夫斯基土岗。“不过，战斗未必在这里进行。·他把军队调到这里，只是一种诡计；·他很可能从右边迂回莫斯科。不过，不管在哪儿打，我们的人明天都要大大地减少了！”那个军官说。
一个年老的中士在军官说话的时候走过来，默默地等待他的长官把话说完；但是，显然他不喜欢军官在这个地方说这样的话，他打断了他的话。
“该去取土筐了。”他说，口气颇严厉。
军官似乎慌了神，好像明白他不该说这种话，只可以在心里想会有多么大的伤亡。
“对了，又要派三连去。”军官急忙说。
“您有何贵干，是大夫吗？”
“不是，我随便看看。”皮埃尔回答道。然后他又绕过那些后备军人走下山岗去。
“咳，该死的东西！”军官跟在他后面，捂着鼻子从干活的人们旁边跑过去，说道。
“瞧，他们！……抬着来了……那是圣母……马上就要到了……”突然听见嘈杂的人声，军官、士兵、后备军人都顺着大路往前跑去。
在波罗底诺山脚下出现了游行的教会队伍。在尘土飞扬的大路上，步兵在前面整整齐齐地走着，他们光着头，枪口朝下背着。步兵后面响起了教会的歌声。
没有戴帽子的士兵和后备军人绕过皮埃尔，向那队人跑去。
“圣母来了！保护神！……伊韦尔圣母！……”
“斯摩棱斯克圣母。”另外一个人更正说。
后备军人们——就是那些在村子里的，还有那些正在炮兵连干活儿的，都扔下铁锹向教会的游行队伍跑去。在尘土飞扬的路上行进着的一营人后面，是穿着法衣的神甫们——一个戴着高筒僧帽的小老头、一群僧侣和唱诗班。再后面就是士兵和军官抬着一幅巨大的、金光闪闪的黑脸圣像。这是从斯摩棱斯克运出并且从此就跟着军队的圣像。圣像的周围是成群的没戴帽子的军人，他们走着，跑着，跪拜叩头。
圣像抬到山上就停了下来，用一大块布托着圣像的人们换了班，读经员重新点起手提香炉，开始祈祷了。炽热的阳光烘烤着大地；清凉的微风吹拂着人们的头发和圣像的饰带，歌声在寥廓的苍穹下显得不怎么响亮。一大群光头的军官、士兵和后备军人围着圣像。有一些官员站在神甫和读经员后面的一片空地上，一个脖子上挂着圣升治十字勋章的秃顶将军，站在神甫背后，他没划十字（显然是德国人），耐心地等待祈祷结束，他认为必须听完那想必可以激发俄国人民的爱国热忱的祈祷。另外一个将军很精神地站在那里，一只手不时地在胸前抖动着划十字，他老向四周张望。站在农民中间的皮埃尔认出了官员中的几个熟人，但他没看他们：他全部的注意力都被这群贪看圣像的士兵和后备军人的严肃面孔吸引住了。疲倦的读经员一开始懒洋洋地、习惯地唱（唱第二十遍了）：“把你的奴隶从灾难中拯救出来吧，圣母。”神甫和助祭就接着唱：“上帝保佑我们，投向你，就像投向不可摧毁的堡垒。”于是所有人的脸上又现出那种意识到即将来临的重大事件时的表情，这种表情那天早晨皮埃尔在莫扎伊斯克山脚下看见过，有时也在碰见的许许多多张脸上看见过这种表情，人们更加频繁地低头，抖动头发，听得见叹息声和在胸前划十字发出的声音。
围着圣像的人群忽然闪开来，推挤着皮埃尔。从人们匆忙地让路这一点来看，向圣像走来的大概是一个非常显要的人物。
这是视察阵地的库图佐夫。他在回塔塔里诺沃的路上前来祈祷。皮埃尔从他与众不同的特殊身形，立刻认出了库图佐夫。
库图佐夫庞大而肥胖的身上穿着一件长长的礼服，背微驼，满头白发，没有戴帽子，浮肿的脸上有一只因负伤而流泪的白眼睛，他迈着一瘸一拐的摇晃不定的步子走进人群，在神甫后面停了下来。他用习惯性的动作划了十字，然后一躬到地，深深地叹了口气，低下满是白发的头。库图佐夫后面是贝尼格森和侍从。虽然总司令的出现引起了全体高级官员的注意，但是后备军人和士兵却没看他，仍然继续祷告着。
祈祷完毕了，库图佐夫走到圣像前，挺费劲地跪下叩头，试了半天想站起来，却因身体笨重、衰弱，站不起来。最后他还是站了起来，像天真的孩子似的噘起嘴唇去吻圣像，又鞠了一躬，一只手触到地面。将军们都跟着他这样做；然后是军官们照样做了，在军官之后，士兵和后备军人互相推挤着，践踏着，喘息着，流露出激动的神情在地上爬行。
Book 10 Chapter 22
STAGGERING from the crush of the crowd that carried him along with it, Pierre looked about him.
“Count! Pyotr Kirillitch! How did you come here?” said a voice. Pierre looked round.
Boris Drubetskoy, brushing his knee with his hand (he had probably made it dusty in his devotions before the holy picture) came up to Pierre smiling. Boris was elegantly dressed, though his get-up was of a style appropriate to active service. He wore a long military coat and had a riding-whip slung across his shoulder, as Kutuzov had.
Kutuzov had meanwhile reached the village, and sat down in the shade of the nearest house, on a bench which one Cossack ran to fetch him, and another hastily covered with a rug. An immense retinue of magnificent officers surrounded him.
The procession was moving on further, accompanied by the crowd. Pierre stood still about thirty paces from Kutuzov, talking to Boris.
He explained to him his desire to take part in the battle and to inspect the position.
“I tell you what you had better do,” said Boris. “I will do the honours of the camp for you. You will see everything best of all from where Count Bennigsen is to be. I am in attendance on him. I will mention it to him. And if you like to go over the position, come along with us; we are just going to the left flank. And then when we come back, I beg you will stay the night with me, and we will make up a game of cards. You know Dmitry Sergeitch, of course. He is staying there.” He pointed to the third house in Gorky.
“But I should have liked to have seen the right flank. I'm told it is very strong,” said Pierre. “I should have liked to go from the river Moskva through the whole position.”
“Well, that you can do later, but the great thing is the left flank.”
“Yes, yes. And where is Prince Bolkonsky's regiment? can you point it out to me?” asked Pierre.
“Andrey Nikolaevitch's? We shall pass it. I will take you to him.”
“What about the left flank?” asked Pierre.
“To tell you the truth, between ourselves, there's no making out how things stand with the left flank,” said Boris confidentially, dropping his voice. “Count Bennigsen had proposed something quite different. He proposed to fortify that knoll over there, not at all as it has … but …” Boris shrugged his shoulders. “His highness would not have it so, or he was talked over. You see …” Boris did not finish because Kaisarov, Kutuzov's adjutant, at that moment came up to Pierre. “Ah, Paisy Sergeitch,” said Boris to him, with an unembarrassed smile, “I am trying, you see, to explain the position to the count. It's amazing how his highness can gauge the enemy's plans so accurately!”
“Do you mean about the left flank?” said Kaisarov.
“Yes, yes; just so. Our left flank is now extremely strong.”
Although Kutuzov had made a clearance of the superfluous persons on the staff, Boris had succeeded, after the change he had made, in retaining a post at headquarters. Boris was in attendance on Count Bennigsen. Count Bennigsen, like every one on whom Boris had been in attendance, looked on young Prince Drubetskoy as an invaluable man. Among the chief officers of the army there were two clearly defined parties: Kutuzov's party and the party of Bennigsen, the chief of the staff. Boris belonged to the latter faction, and no one succeeded better than he did in paying the most servile adulation to Kutuzov, while managing to insinuate that the old fellow was not good for much, and that everything was really due to the initiative of Bennigsen. Now the decisive moment of battle had come, which must mean the downfall of Kutuzov and the transfer of the command to Bennigsen, or if Kutuzov should gain the battle, the credit of it must be skilfully put down to Bennigsen. In any case many promotions were bound to be made, and many new men were certain to be brought to the front after the morrow. And Boris was consequently in a state of nervous exhilaration all that day.
Others of Pierre's acquaintances joined him; and he had not time to answer all the questions about Moscow that were showered upon him, nor to listen to all they had to tell him. Every face wore a look of excitement and agitation. But it seemed to Pierre that the cause of the excitement that was betrayed by some of those faces was to be found in questions of personal success, and he could not forget that other look of excitement he had seen in the other faces, that suggested problems, not of personal success, but the universal questions of life and death.
Kutuzov noticed Pierre's figure and the group gathered about him.
“Call him to me,” said Kutuzov.
An adjutant communicated his highness's desire, and Pierre went towards the bench. But a militiaman approached Kutuzov before him. It was Dolohov.
“How does that man come to be here?” asked Pierre.
“Oh, he's such a sly dog, he pokes himself in everywhere!” was the answer he received. “He has been degraded to the ranks, you know. Now he wants to pop up again. He has made plans of some sort and spies in the enemy's lines at night … but he's a plucky fellow …”
Pierre took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Kutuzov.
“I decided that if I were to lay the matter before your highness, you might dismiss me or say that you were aware of the facts and then I shouldn't lose anything,” Dolohov was saying.
“To be sure.”
“And if I were right, I should do a service for my fatherland, for which I am ready to die.”
“To be sure … to be sure …”
“And if your highness has need of a man who would not spare his skin graciously remember me … perhaps I might be of use to your highness …”
“To be sure … to be sure …” repeated Kutuzov, looking with laughing, half-closed eye at Pierre.
Meanwhile Boris, with his courtier-like tact, had moved close to the commander-in-chief with Pierre, and in the most natural manner, in a quiet voice, as though continuing his previous conversation, he said to Pierre:
“The peasant militiamen have simply put on clean, white shirts to be ready to die. What heroism, count!”
Boris said this to Pierre with the evident intention of being overheard by his excellency. He knew Kutuzov's attention would be caught by those words, and his highness did in fact address him.
“What are you saying about the militia?” he said to Boris.
“They have put on white shirts, your highness, by way of preparing for to-morrow, to be ready for death.”
“Ah! … A marvellous, unique people,” said Kutuzov, and closing his eyes he shook his head. “A unique people!” he repeated, with a sigh.
“Do you want a sniff of powder?” he said to Pierre. “Yes; a pleasant smell. I have the honour to be one of your wife's worshippers; is she quite well? My quarters are at your service.” And Kutuzov began, as old people often do, gazing abstractedly about him, as though forgetting all he had to say or do. Apparently recollecting the object of his search, he beckoned to Andrey Sergeitch Kaisarov, the brother of his adjutant.
“How was it, how do they go, those verses of Marin? How do they go? What he wrote on Gerakov: ‘You will be teacher in the corps …' Tell me, tell me,” said Kutuzov, his countenance relaxing in readiness for a laugh. Kaisarov repeated the lines … Kutuzov, smiling, nodded his head to the rhythm of the verse.
When Pierre moved away from Kutuzov, Dolohov approached and took his hand
“I am very glad to meet you here, count,” he said, aloud, disregarding the presence of outsiders, and speaking with a marked determination and gravity. “On the eve of a day which God knows who among us will be destined to survive I am glad to have the chance of telling you that I regret the misunderstandings there have been between us in the past; and I should be glad to think you had nothing against me. I beg you to forgive me.”
Pierre looked with a smile at Dolohov, not knowing what to say to him. With tears starting into his eyes, Dolohov embraced and kissed Pierre.
Boris had said a few words to his general, and Count Bennigsen addressed Pierre, proposing that he should accompany them along the line.
“You will find it interesting,” he said.
“Yes, very interesting,” said Pierre.
Half an hour later Kutuzov was on his way back to Tatarinovo, while Bennigsen and his suite, with Pierre among them, were inspecting the position.
被挤得跌跌撞撞的皮埃尔，向四处张望着。 
“伯爵，彼得·基里雷奇！您怎么在这儿？”不知是谁在叫他，皮埃尔回头看了一眼。
鲍里斯·德鲁别茨科伊用手拍着弄脏了的膝盖（想必他也向圣像跪拜过），微笑着走了过来。鲍里斯穿着雅致，一副剽悍英武的气派。他穿一件长外衣，像库图佐夫一样肩上挎一根马鞭。
这时，库图佐夫向村庄走去，到了最近一户人家，就在阴凉处坐在一个哥萨克跑着送来的一张长凳上，另一个哥萨克赶快铺上一块毯子。一大群衣着华丽的侍从围着总司令。
圣像向前移动了，后面跟着一大群人。皮埃尔站在离库图佐夫三十来步的地方，在跟鲍里斯谈话。
皮埃尔说他想参加战斗，并且察看一下阵地。
“好哇，您这样做很好，”鲍里斯说。“Je　vous　ferai　les　honneurs　du　camp①，您可以从贝尼格森伯爵要去的地方把一切看得清清楚楚。我就在他的部下。我一定向他报告。如果您想巡视阵地，就跟我们来；我们要去左翼。然后再回来，请您在我们那里过夜，咱们可以凑一局牌。您不是认识德米特里·谢尔盖伊奇吗？他也在那儿住。”他指着戈尔基村第三户人家说。 
①法语：我一定代表营盘招待您。
“不过我很想看看右翼，听说右翼很强。”皮埃尔说。“我想从莫斯科河出发，把整个阵地都走一遍。”
“好的，这以后再说，主要的是左翼……”
“是的，是的。博尔孔斯基的团队在哪儿？您能给我指点指点吗？”皮埃尔问道。
“安德烈·尼古拉耶维奇吗？我们要从那儿经过，我领您去找他。”
“我们的左翼怎么样？”皮埃尔问。
“我对您说实话，entre　nous①，天知道左翼的情况是怎样的，”鲍里斯说，机密地、压低了声音，“贝尔格森伯爵完全不是那么设想的。他本来打算在那个山岗上设防，完全不是现在这样……但是，”鲍里斯耸了耸肩。“勋座不同意，也许他听了什么人的话。要知道……”鲍里斯没有把话说完，因为这时库图佐夫的副官凯萨罗夫来了。“啊！派西·谢尔盖伊奇，”鲍里斯带着很随便的微笑对凯萨罗夫说。“我正给伯爵介绍我们的阵地呢。真奇怪，勋座对法国人的意图怎么料得这么准！” 
①法语：只是咱们俩私下谈谈。
“您是说左翼吗？”凯萨罗夫说。
“是的，是的，正是。我们的左翼现在非常、非常坚固。”
虽然库图佐夫把参谋部所有多余的人都打发走了，鲍里斯却能不受这次调动的影响而留在司令部。鲍里斯在贝尔格森伯爵那儿谋了个职位。贝尼格森伯爵也像鲍里斯跟随过的所有的人一样，认为德鲁别茨科伊是个无价之宝。
军队领导层中有两个截然不同，泾渭分明的派别：库图佐夫派及其参谋长贝尼格森派。鲍里斯属于后一派，谁也没有他那样善于奴颜婢膝，曲意奉承库图佐夫，而同时又给人以老头子不行，一切都由贝尼格森主持的感觉。现在到了战斗的决定时刻，库图佐夫就该垮台了，大权将要交给贝尼格森，或者，就算库图佐夫打了胜仗，也要使人觉得一切功劳归贝尼格森。不管怎样，为明天的战斗将有重赏，一批新人将被提拔。因此，鲍里斯整天情绪激昂。
在凯萨罗夫之后，又有一些熟人走过来，皮埃尔来不及回答他们像撒豆子似的向他撒来的关于莫斯科情况的询问，也来不及听他们的讲述。每个人的表情都是既兴奋又惊慌，但是皮埃尔觉得，其中一些人之所以紧张，多半是因为考虑到个人得失，而另外一些人脸上的另一种紧张表情（这种紧张不是因为关心个人问题，而是关心整体的生死问题）却始终萦绕在皮埃尔心头。库图佐夫看见了皮埃尔和围着他的一群人。
“叫他来见我。”库图佐夫说。副官传达了勋座的命令，于是皮埃尔就向长凳走了过来。但是有一个普通的后备军人抢在他的前头向库图佐夫走去。这人是多洛霍夫。
“这家伙怎么在这儿？”皮埃尔问。
“这个骗子手，没有他钻不到的地方！”有人这样回答道。
“他早就降为士兵了。现在却要提升。他提出了些作战方案而且夜里爬到敌人的散兵线……倒是条好汉！……”
皮埃尔脱下帽子，恭恭敬敬地向库图佐夫鞠了一躬。
“我认为，如果我向勋座大人报告，您可能把我撵走，也许会说，您已经知道我所报告的事，即使这样，对我也没有什么坏处……”多洛霍夫说。
“是的，是的。”
“如果我对了，这就会给祖国带来好处，我随时准备为祖国献身。”
“是的，……是的……”
“假如勋座大人需要不吝惜自己生命的人，请记起我……
也许勋座大人用得上我。”
“是的……是的……”库图佐夫重复着，眯起眼睛，微笑地望着皮埃尔。
这时，鲍里斯以其侍从武官特有的灵活性，迅速移到皮埃尔身边，靠近了首长，用最自然的态度，仿佛是继续已经开始的谈话似的，低声对皮埃尔说：
“后备军人都穿上了干净的白衬衫，准备为国捐躯。多么英勇啊，伯爵！”
鲍里斯对皮埃尔说这话，显然是为了让勋座听见。他知道库图佐夫一样会注意这句话，勋座对他说：
“你说后备军人怎么来着？”他问鲍里斯。
“勋座大人，他们穿上白衬衫，准备明天去赴死。”
“啊！……英勇卓绝、无与伦比的人民！”库图佐夫说，他闭上眼睛，摇了摇头：“无与伦比的人民！”他叹息着，重复说了一遍。
“您想闻闻火药味吗？”他对皮埃尔说。“是的，令人愉快的气味。我很荣幸作为尊夫人的崇拜者。她好吗？我的住处可以供您使用。”正像老年人常有的情形，库图作夫精神恍惚地向四周张望，好象忘了他要说什么或者要做什么似的。
显然他想起他要寻找的东西了，于是他向副官的弟弟安德烈·谢尔盖伊奇·凯萨罗夫招手。
“马林那首诗是怎么说来着，怎么说的？就是咏格拉科夫的那几句：‘你在兵团里充教师爷……'你说说看，你说说看。”库图佐夫说，显然想笑出来。凯萨罗夫背诵起来……库图佐夫微笑着，头随着诗的节奏摇晃着。
当皮埃尔离开库图佐夫时，多洛霍夫走近皮埃尔，握起他的手。
“我非常高兴在这儿看见您，伯爵，”他不顾有别人在场，大声说着，语气特别坚定而激昂。“在这只有上帝才知道咱们之间谁注定活下来的前夕，我很高兴能有这个机会对您说，我为咱们中间曾经发生的误会而抱歉，我希望您对我不再有任何芥蒂。请您原谅我。”
皮埃尔看着多洛霍夫，不知对他说什么好，一味咧着嘴微笑。多洛霍夫含泪拥抱皮埃尔，吻了吻他。
鲍里斯对他的将军说了几句话，于是贝尔格森转向皮埃尔，邀他一同去视察战线。
“那会使您感兴趣的。”他说。
“是的，会非常有趣。”皮埃尔说。
半小时后，库图佐夫向塔塔里诺沃进发，贝尼格森带着他的侍从，皮埃尔和他们一道，视察战线去了。
Book 10 Chapter 23
FROM GORKY Bennigsen went down the high-road to the bridge, which the officer on the knoll had pointed out to Pierre as the centre of the position, where by the riverside lay rows of sweet-scented, new-mown hay. They crossed the bridge to the village of Borodino, then turned to the left, and passing immense numbers of men and cannons, came out on to the high knoll on which militiamen were at work excavating. This was the redoubt, as yet unnamed, afterwards called Raevsky's redoubt, or the battery on the mound.
Pierre did not take special notice of this redoubt. He did not dream that that spot would be more memorable for him than any other part of the plain of Borodino. Then they crossed a hollow to Semyonovskoye, where the soldiers were dragging away the last logs of the huts and barns. Then they rode on downhill and uphill again, across a field of rye, trampled and laid as though by hail, along the track newly made by the artillery, over the ridges of the ploughed field, to the earthworks, at which the men were still at work.
Bennigsen halted at the earthworks, and looked in front at the redoubt of Shevardino, which had been ours the day before. Several horsemen could be descried upon it. The officers said that Napoleon and Murat were there. And all gazed eagerly at the little group of horsemen. Pierre too stared at them, trying to guess which of the scarcely discernible figures was Napoleon. At last the group of horsemen descended the hill and passed out of sight.
Bennigsen began explaining to a general who had ridden up to him the whole position of our troops. Pierre listened to his words, straining every faculty of his mind to grasp the essential points of the coming battle, but to his mortification he felt that his faculties were not equal to the task. He could make nothing of it. Bennigsen finished speaking, and noticing Pierre's listening face, he said, turning suddenly to him:
“It's not very interesting for you, I expect.”
“Oh, on the contrary, it's very interesting,” Pierre repeated, not quite truthfully.
From the earthworks they turned still more to the left of the road that ran winding through a thick, low-growing, birch wood. In the middle of the wood a brown hare with white feet popped out on the road before them, and was so frightened by the tramp of so many horses, that in its terror it hopped along the road just in front of them for a long while, rousing general laughter, and only when several voices shouted at it, dashed to one side and was lost in the thicket. After a couple of versts of woodland, they came out on a clearing, where were the troops of Tutchkov's corps, destined to protect the left flank.
At this point, at the extreme left flank, Bennigsen talked a great deal with much heat; and gave instructions, of great importance from a military point of view, as it seemed to Pierre. Just in front of the spot where Tutchkov's troops were placed there rose a knoll, which was not occupied by troops. Bennigsen was loud in his criticism of this oversight, saying that it was insane to leave a height that commanded the country round unoccupied and place troops just below it. Several generals expressed the same opinion. One in particular, with martial warmth, declared that they were doomed there to certain destruction. Bennigsen, on his own responsibility, ordered the troops to be moved on to the high-road.
This change of position on the left flank made Pierre more than ever doubtful of his capacity for comprehending military matters. As he heard Bennigsen and the other generals criticising the position of the troops at the foot of the hill, Pierre fully grasped and shared their views. But that was why he could not imagine how the man who had placed them there could have made so gross and obvious a blunder.
Pierre did not know that the troops had not been placed there to defend their position, as Bennigsen supposed, but had been stationed in that concealed spot in ambush, in order unobserved to deal a sudden blow at the enemy unawares. Bennigsen, ignorant of this project, moved the troops into a prominent position without saying anything about this change to the commander-in-chief.
贝尼格森离开戈尔基，顺着山坡大路向大桥进发，这就是军官指给皮埃尔看的那个阵地中心，那座桥旁边的河岸上堆放着刚割下来的，散发着香味的干草。他们驰过桥，进入波罗底诺，再向左转，经过大批的士兵和大炮，来到有士兵在那儿挖土的高岗。这个多面堡当时还没有命名，后来叫作拉耶夫斯基多面堡或者叫作高地炮台。 
皮埃尔没有特别注意这个多面堡。他不知道，这个地方对他来说比波罗底诺战场任何其他地方，都更值得纪念。随后他们经过一条山沟来到谢苗诺夫斯科耶村，士兵们正在那儿从农舍和烘干室拖走最后剩余的木头。然后，他们又翻了一座山，经过一片像被冰雹砸平的黑麦地，沿着耕地上刚被炮兵踏出来的坎坷不平的道路驰到了正在构筑的突角堡①。 
①突角堡是一种防御工事。——托尔斯泰注。
贝尼格森在突角堡停下来，向前眺望那昨天还属于我们的舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，看得见那儿几个骑马的人。军官们说，那里面有拿破仑，要不就有缪拉。大家都贪婪地望那一群骑马的人。皮埃尔也往那边看，极力猜测那几个影影绰绰的人影中哪一个是拿破仑，后来，骑马的人下了山岗就不见了。
贝尼格森对走到跟前的军官开始讲解我军的整个形势。皮埃尔听着贝尼格森的讲解，绞尽脑汁想弄清目前战役的真相，但是他很苦恼，觉得自己脑子不够用。他一点也没听懂。
贝尼格森停住了，看着仔细倾听的皮埃尔，忽然对他说：
“你大概不感兴趣吧？”
“啊，正相反，非常感兴趣。”皮埃尔说了违心的话。
他们离开突角堡向左转，在一片稠密的白桦树矮林中，沿着一条蜿蜒的小道前行。走到树林中时，一只白腿的褐色兔子跳到他们面前的路上，被众多的马蹄声吓得惊慌失措，在他们前面的路上跳上了很久，引起大家的注意和哄笑，直到几个人一齐吆喝它，才跳到路旁的密林里。在密林里又走了两三俄里，他们来到一片林间空地上，这儿驻扎着防守左翼的图奇科夫兵团的队伍。
在这极左翼的地方，贝尼格森激动地讲了很久，然后发布了一个皮埃尔觉得是重要的军事命令。在图奇科夫的队伍驻地前面有一个高地。这个高地没有驻扎军队。贝尼格森大声地批评这个错误。他说，不据守制高点而把军队放在山下面，简直是发疯。有几个将军也表示了同样的意见。其中一个特别具有军人的暴烈脾气，他说，把军队放在这儿是等着敌人来屠杀。贝尼格森自作主张，命令把军队都转移到高地上去。
左翼的部署，使皮埃尔更加怀疑自己对军事的理解能力。听贝尼格森和将军们批评军队驻在山上，皮埃尔完全明白他们所说的话，也赞成他们的意见；但是，正因为如此，他不能理解那个把军队放在山下的人怎么会犯这样明显、重大的错误。
皮埃尔不知道，这些军队布置在那儿，并不像贝尼格森所想的那样是为了守卫阵地，而是隐蔽起来打伏击的，也就是出其不意地打击来犯的敌人。贝尼格森不知道这一点，不向总司令报告，便自作主张把军队调到前面去。
Book 10 Chapter 24
PRINCE ANDREY was on that bright August evening lying propped on his elbow in a broken-down barn in the village of Knyazkovo, at the further end of the encampment of his regiment. Through a gap in the broken wall he was looking at the line of thirty-year-old pollard birches in the hedge, at the field with sheaves of oats lying about it, and at the bushes where he saw the smoke of camp-fires, at which the soldiers were doing their cooking.
Cramped and useless and burdensome as his life seemed now to Prince Andrey, he felt nervously excited and irritable on the eve of battle, just as he had felt seven years earlier before Austerlitz.
He had received and given all orders for the next day's battle. He had nothing more to do. But thoughts—the simplest, most obvious, and therefore most awful—would not leave him in peace. He knew that the battle next day would be the most awful of all he had taken part in, and death, for the first time, presented itself to him, not in relation to his actual manner of life, or to the effect of it on others, but simply in relation to himself, to his soul, and rose before him simply and awfully with a vividness that made it like a concrete reality. And from the height of this vision everything that had once occupied him seemed suddenly illumined by a cold, white light, without shade, without perspective or outline. His whole life seemed to him like a magic lantern, at which he had been looking through the glass and by artificial light. Now he saw suddenly, without the glass, in the clear light of day, those badly daubed pictures. “Yes, yes, there are they; there are the cheating forms that excited torments and ecstasies in me,” he said to himself, going over in imagination the chief pictures of the magic lantern of his life, looking at them now in the cold, white daylight of a clear view of death. “These are they, these coarsely sketched figures which seemed something splendid and mysterious. Glory, the good society, love for a woman, the fatherland—what grand pictures they used to seem to me, with what deep meaning they seemed to be filled! And it is all so simple, so colourless and coarse in the cold light of the day that I feel is dawning for me.” The three chief sorrows of his life held his attention especially. His love for a woman, his father's death, and the invasion of the French—now in possession of half of Russia. “Love! … That little girl, who seemed to me brimming over with mysterious forces. How I loved her! I made romantic plans of love, of happiness with her! O simple-hearted youth!” he said aloud bitterly. “Why, I believed in some ideal love which was to keep her faithful to me for the whole year of my absence! Like the faithful dove in the fable, she was to pine away in my absence from her! And it was all so much simpler. … It is all so horribly simple and loathsome!
“My father, too, laid out Bleak Hills, and thought it was his place, his land, his air, his peasants. But Napoleon came along, and without even knowing of his existence, swept him away like a chip out of his path, and his Bleak Hills laid in the dust, and all his life with it brought to nought. Princess Marya says that it is a trial sent from above. What is the trial for, since he is not and never will be? He will never come back again! He is not! So for whom is it a trial? Fatherland, the spoiling of Moscow! But to-morrow I shall be killed; and not by a Frenchman even, maybe, but by one of our own men, like the soldier who let off his gun close to my ear yesterday; and the French will come and pick me up by my head and my heels and pitch me into a hole that I may not stink under their noses; and new conditions of life will arise, and I shall know nothing of them, and I shall not be at all.”
He gazed at the row of birch-trees with their motionless yellows and greens, and the white bark shining in the sun. “To die then, let them kill me to-morrow, let me be no more … let it all go on, and let me be at an end.” He vividly pictured his own absence from that life. And those birch-trees, with their light and shade, and the curling clouds and the smoke of the fires, everything around seemed suddenly transformed into something weird and menacing. A shiver ran down his back. Rising quickly to his feet, he went out of the barn, and began to walk about.
He heard voices behind the barn.
“Who's there?” called Prince Andrey.
The red-nosed Captain Timohin, once the officer in command of Dolohov's company, now in the lack of officers promoted to the command of a battalion, came shyly into the barn. He was followed by an adjutant and the paymaster of the regiment.
Prince Andrey got up hurriedly, listened to the matters relating to their duties that the officers had come to him about, gave a few instructions, and was about to dismiss them, when he heard a familiar, lisping voice behind the barn.
“Que diable!” said the voice of some one stumbling over something.
Prince Andrey, peeping out of the barn, saw Pierre, who had just hit against a post lying on the ground, and had almost fallen over. Prince Andrey always disliked seeing people from his own circle, especially Pierre, who reminded him of all the painful moments he had passed through on his last stay at Moscow.
“Well!” he cried. “What fate has brought you? I didn't expect to see you.”
While he said this there was in his eyes and his whole face more than coldness, positive hostility, which Pierre noticed at once. He had approached the barn with the greatest eagerness, but now, on seeing Prince Andrey's face, he felt constrained and ill at ease.
“I have come … you know … simply … I have come … it's interesting,” said Pierre, who had so many times already that day repeated that word “interesting” without meaning it. “I wanted to see the battle!”
“Yes, yes; but your mason brethren, what do they say of war? How would they avert it?” said Prince Andrey sarcastically. “Well, tell me about Moscow. And my people? Have they reached Moscow at last?” he asked seriously.
“Yes. Julie Drubetskoy told me so. I went to call, but missed them. They had started for your Moscow estate.”
八月二十五日，晴朗的八月傍晚，安德烈公爵在克尼亚兹科沃村的一间破旧棚屋里支着臂肘躺着，他的团就驻在村边。他从破墙的裂缝看见沿着篱笆下面的一排白桦树（枝桠都被砍掉了，树龄有六十年）和一片堆放着弄乱了的燕麦垛的田地，以及上面冒着炊烟（士兵们在烧饭）的灌木丛。 
安德烈公爵觉得，现在他的生活尽管憋闷、痛苦，无人关心，但仍然像七年前在奥斯特利茨战役前夕那样，心情激动而焦躁。
他已经接到并已发出明天作战的有关命令。这时他无事可做。但是最简单、最清晰的思绪，因而也是最可怕的思绪，使他不得安宁。他知道，明天的战斗将是他参加过的一切战斗中最激烈的一次，他生平第一次生动地、几乎确信无疑地，而且单纯地恐怖地想到了死亡的可能，这死亡的可能与尘世生活完全无关，也不去考虑它对别人会产生什么影响，它只是关系到他自己、关系到他的灵魂。从这个意念的高度来看，从前使他痛苦和担心的一切，忽然被一道寒冷的白光照亮了，那道白光既无阴影，也无远景，也无轮廓的差别。他觉得整个人生有如一盏魔灯，长期以来，他透过玻璃，借助人工的照明来看魔灯里的东西。现在他突然不是透过玻璃，而是在明晃晃的白昼中看见画得很差劲的图片。“是的，是的，这就是曾经使我激动和赞赏、并且折磨过我的那些虚幻的形象，”他自言自语，在想象中一一再现他的人生魔灯中的主要画面。此时是在白昼的寒光中，在清楚地意识到死亡的时刻观看这些画面，这就是那些曾经认为美丽和神秘的拙劣粗糙的画像。
“荣誉，社会的幸福，对女人的爱情，甚至祖国——我过去觉得这些图景是多么壮丽，蕴藏着多么深刻的思想！而今天（我觉得它是为我降临的）在寒冷的白光下，这一切却如此简单、苍白和粗糙。”他此时的注意力特别集中在他生平三大不幸之事上面。他对女人的爱情，父亲的去世和占领半个俄国的法国人的入侵。“爱情！……那个我觉得充满了神秘力量的小姑娘。我多么爱她啊！我曾经制定了关于爱情以及和她共同生活的幸福的、富有诗意的计划。啊，我这个天真的孩子！”他愤恨地高声说。“当然啦！我曾相信理想的爱情，在我整年不在的时候，她对我仍忠贞不渝！就像寓言中的温柔多情的小鸽子，她一定因为和我离别而憔悴。——而这一切都想得太简单了……太简单了，讨厌！”
“我父亲也曾建设童山，并认为那是他的地方，他的土地，他的空气，他的农民，可是拿破仑来了，不承认他的存在，像从路上踢开一块木片似的把他踢开了，把他的童山以及他的全部生活都摧毁了。而玛丽亚公爵小姐说，这是来自上天的考验。既然他已经死了，再不会复活，这考验又为了什么呢？他永远不再存在了！不再存在了！那么这对谁是一个考验呢？祖国，莫斯科的毁灭！明天我就要被打死了——甚至可能不是被法国人，而是被自己人打死，就像昨天有一个士兵在我身边放了一枪，于是法国人就会过来拖起我的腿和头，把我扔进坑里，以免我在他们鼻子底下发臭。然后新的生活条件形成了，别人也就习惯了那些生活条件，而我却不会知道它们了，我将不存在了。”
他望了望那排白桦树，黄的、绿的树叶一动不动，雪白的树皮在阳光下熠熠闪耀。“死，明天我被杀死，我就不存在了……这些东西都存在，可是我不存在了。”他生动地想象他不存在时生活中的情景。这些闪光的、投出阴影的白桦树，这些曲卷的彩云，这些篝火的青烟——他觉得周围一切都改了样子，似乎都变得恐怖了。他的脊背禁不住打了一阵寒战。于是赶快站起来，走出棚屋，在外面徘徊着。
突然他听到棚屋后面有说话声。
“谁在哪儿？”安德烈公爵吆喝了一声。是红鼻子上尉季莫欣，曾是多洛霍夫的连长，由于缺少军官，现在当了营长。他胆怯地走进棚屋。在地后面还走进了一个副官和团部的军需官。
安德烈公爵急忙站好，听军官们向他报告公事，然后对他们作了一些指示，正要让他们走时，屋后传来熟悉的低语声。
“Que　diable！”①一个人被什么绊了一下，说。 
①法语：见鬼！
安德烈公爵从棚屋里往外看，看见了向他走来的皮埃尔，地上一根杆子几乎把他绊倒。
安德烈公爵看见同一阶层的人，特别是看见皮埃尔总觉得不痛快，因为这令他忆起了前次莫斯科之行的痛苦时刻。“噢哟，是你呀！”他说，“哪阵风把你吹来了？真想不到。”
当他说这话时，他的眼神和脸上的表情不仅冷淡而且含有敌视的意味，皮埃尔立刻察觉了这一点。他本是兴高采烈地向棚屋走来的，但一见到安德烈公爵脸上的表情，立刻变得局促不安，不自在起来。
“我来……嗯……您知道……我来……我觉得很有趣。”皮埃尔说，他这一天已经多次无意识地重复“有趣”这个字眼了。“我想看一看战斗的情况。”
“是的，是的，共济会员们对战争有什么看法？怎样才能防止战争啊！”安德烈公爵讥讽地说，“莫斯科怎么样？我家里的人怎么样？他们终于都到莫斯科了吗？”他认真地问道。
“他们都到了。是朱莉·德鲁别茨卡娅告诉我的。我去看过他们，但是没有遇见。他们到莫斯科近郊的庄园去了。”
Book 10 Chapter 25
THE OFFICERS would have taken leave, but Prince Andrey, apparently unwilling to be left alone with his friend, pressed them to stay and have some tea. Benches were set, and tea was brought. With some astonishment the officers stared at Pierre's huge, bulky figure, and heard his talk of Moscow, and of the position of our troops, which he had succeeded in getting a view of. Prince Andrey did not speak, and his face was so forbidding that Pierre addressed his remarks more to the simple-hearted Timohin than to Bolkonsky.
“So you understand the whole disposition of the troops?” Prince Andrey put in.
“Yes. At least, how do you mean?” said Pierre. “As I am not a military man, I can't say I do fully; but still I understand the general arrangement.”
“Well, then, you know more than anybody else,” said Prince Andrey.
“Oh!” said Pierre incredulously, looking over his spectacles at Prince Andrey. “Well, and what do you say of the appointment of Kutuzov?” he asked.
“I was very glad of his appointment; that's all I know,” said Prince Andrey.
“Well, tell me your opinion of Barclay de Tolly. In Moscow they are saying all kinds of things about him. What do you think of him?”
“Ask them,” said Prince Andrey, indicating the officers.
With the condescendingly doubtful smile with which every one addressed him, Pierre looked at Timohin.
“It was a gleam of light in the dark, your excellency, when his highness took the command,” said Timohin, stealing shy glances continually at his colonel.
“Why so?” asked Pierre.
“Well, as regards firewood and food, let me tell you. Why, all the way we retreated from Sventsyan not a twig, nor a wisp of hay, nor anything, dare we touch. We were retreating, you see, so he would get it, wouldn't he, your excellency?” he said, turning to his prince, “but we mustn't dare to. In our regiment two officers were court-martialled for such things. Well, since his highness is in command, it's all straightforward as regards that. We see daylight …”
“Then why did he forbid it?”
Timohin looked round in confusion, at a loss how to answer such a question. Pierre turned to Prince Andrey with the same inquiry.
“Why, so as not to waste the country we were leaving for the enemy,” said Prince Andrey, with angry sarcasm. “That's a first principle: never to allow pillage and accustom your men to marauding. And at Smolensk too he very correctly judged that the French were the stronger and might overcome us. But he could not understand,” cried Prince Andrey in a voice suddenly shrill, “he could not understand that for the first time we were fighting on Russian soil, that there was a spirit in the men such as I had never seen before, that we had twice in succession beaten back the French, and that success had multiplied our strength tenfold. He ordered a retreat, and all our efforts and our curses were in vain. He had no thought of treachery; he tried to do everything for the best and thought over everything well. But for that very reason he was no good. He is no good now just because be considers everything soundly and accurately as every German must. How can I explain to you. … Well, your father has a German valet, say, and he's an excellent valet and satisfies all his requirements better than you can do and all's well and good; but if your father is sick unto death, you'll send away the valet and wait on your father yourself with your awkward, unpractised hands, and be more comfort to him than a skilful man who's a stranger. That's how we have done with Barclay. While Russia was well, she might be served by a stranger, and an excellent minister he was, but as soon as she's in danger, she wants a man of her own kith and kin. So you in your club have been making him out to be a traitor! They slander him now as a traitor; and afterwards, ashamed of their false accusations, they will suddenly glorify him as a hero or a genius, which would be even more unfair to him. He's an honest and conscientious German …”
“They say he's an able general, though,” said Pierre.
“I don't know what's meant by an able general,” Prince Andrey said ironically.
“An able general,” said Pierre; “well, it's one who foresees all contingencies … well, divines the enemy's projects.”
“But that's impossible,” said Prince Andrey, as though of a matter long ago settled.
Pierre looked at him in surprise.
“But you know they say,” he said, “that war is like a game of chess.”
“Yes,” said Prince Andrey, “only with this little difference, that in chess you may think over each move as long as you please, that you are not limited as to time, and with this further difference that a knight is always stronger than a pawn and two pawns are always stronger than one, while in war a battalion is sometimes stronger than a division, and sometimes weaker than a company. No one can ever be certain of the relative strength of armies. Believe me,” he said, “if anything did depend on the arrangements made by the staff, I would be there, and helping to make them, but instead of that I have the honour of serving here in the regiment with these gentlemen here, and I consider that the day really depends upon us to-morrow and not on them. … Success never has depended and never will depend on position, on arms, nor even on numbers; and, least of all, on position.”
“On what then?”
“On the feeling that is in me and him,” he indicated Timohin, “and every soldier.”
Prince Andrey glanced at Timohin, who was staring in alarm and bewilderment at his colonel. In contrast to his usual reserved taciturnity, Prince Andrey seemed excited now. Apparently he could not refrain from expressing the ideas that suddenly rose to his mind. “The battle is won by the side that has firmly resolved to win. Why did we lose the battle of Austerlitz? Our losses were almost equalled by the French losses; but we said to ourselves very early in the day that we were losing the battle, and we lost it. And we said so because we had nothing to fight for then; we wanted to get out of fighting as quick as we could. ‘We are defeated; so let us run!' and we did run. If we had not said that till evening, God knows what might not have happened. But to-morrow we shan't say that. You talk of our position, of the left flank being weak, and the right flank too extended,” he went on; “all that's nonsense; that's all nothing. But what awaits us to-morrow? A hundred millions of the most diverse contingencies, which will determine on the instant whether they run or we do; whether one man is killed and then another; but all that's being done now is all mere child's play. The fact is that these people with whom you have been inspecting the positions do nothing towards the progress of things; they are a positive hindrance. They are entirely taken up with their own petty interests.”
“At such a moment?” said Pierre reproachfully.
“At such a moment,” repeated Prince Andrey. “To them this is simply a moment on which one may score off a rival and win a cross or ribbon the more. To my mind what is before us to-morrow is this: a hundred thousand Russian and a hundred thousand French troops have met to fight, and the fact is that these two hundred thousand men will fight, and the side that fights most desperataly and spares itself least will conquer. And if you like, I'll tell you that whatever happens, and whatever mess they make up yonder, we shall win the battle to-morrow; whatever happens we shall win the victory.”
“Your excellency, that's the truth of it, the holy truth,” put in Timohin; “who would spare himself now! The soldiers in my battalion, would you believe it, wouldn't drink their vodka; this isn't an ordinary day, they say.”
All were silent.
The officers rose. Prince Andrey went with them out of the barn, giving the last instructions to the adjutant. When the officers had gone, Pierre came nearer to Prince Andrey, and was just about to begin talking when they heard the tramp of hoofs not far away on the road, and glancing in that direction Prince Andrey recognised Woltzogen and Klausewitz, accompanied by a Cossack. They rode close by them, still talking, and Pierre and Prince Andrey could not help overhearing the following phrases in German:
“The war ought to be carried on over a wide extent of country. I cannot sufficiently strongly express that view of the matter,” one said in German.
“Oh yes,” said another voice, “since the object is to wear out the enemy, one must not consider the losses of private persons.”
“Certainly not,” acquiesced the first voice.
“Carried into a wide extent of country,” Prince Andrey repeated with a wrathful snort, when they had ridden by. “In that open country I had a father and son and sister at Bleak Hills. He doesn't care about that. That's just what I was saying to you: these excellent Germans won't win the battle to-morrow, they will only make a mess of it, so far as they are able, because they have nothing in their German noddles but calculations that are not worth a rotten egg, and they haven't in their hearts the one thing that's wanted for to-morrow, that Timohin has. They have given all Europe up to him, and now they have come to teach us—fine teachers!” he added, his voice growing shrill again
“So you think the battle to-morrow will be a victory,” said Pierre.
“Yes, yes,” said Prince Andrey absently. “There's one thing I would do, if I were in power,” he began again. “I wouldn't take prisoners. What sense is there in taking prisoners? That's chivalry. The French have destroyed my home and are coming to destroy Moscow; they have outraged and are outraging me at every second. They are my enemies, they are all criminals to my way of thinking. And so thinks Timohin, and all the army with him. They must be put to death. Since they are my enemies, they can't be my friends, whatever they may have said at Tilsit.”
“Yes, yes,” said Pierre, looking with shining eyes at Prince Andrey. “I entirely agree with you!”
The question that had been disturbing Pierre all that day, since the Mozhaisk hill, now struck him as perfectly clear and fully solved. He saw now all the import and all the gravity of the war and the impending battle. All he had seen that day, all the stern, grave faces of which he had had glimpses, appeared to him in a new light now. He saw, to borrow a term from physics, the latent heat of patriotism in all those men he had seen, and saw in it the explanation of the composure and apparent levity with which they were all preparing for death. “We ought not to take prisoners,” said Prince Andrey. “That change alone would transform the whole aspect of war and would make it less cruel. But playing at war, that's what's vile; and playing at magnanimity and all the rest of it. That magnanimity and sensibility is like the magnanimity and sensibility of the lady who turns sick at the sight of a slaughtered calf—she is so kind-hearted she can't see blood—but eats fricasseed veal with a very good appetite. They talk of the laws of warfare, of chivalry, of flags of truce, and humanity to the wounded, and so on. That's all rubbish. I saw enough in 1805 of chivalry and flags of truce: they duped us, and we duped them. They plunder other people's homes, issue false money, and, worse than all, kill my children, my father, and then talk of the laws of warfare, and generosity to a fallen foe. No prisoners; and go to give and to meet death! Any one who has come to think this as I have, through the same sufferings …”
Prince Andrey, who had thought that he did not care whether they took Moscow as they had taken Smolensk, was suddenly pulled up in his speech by a nervous catch in his throat. He walked to and fro several times in silence, but his eyes blazed with feverish brilliance and his lips quivered, as he began to speak again.
“If there were none of this playing at generosity in warfare, we should never go to war, except for something worth facing certain death for, as now. Then there would not be wars because Pavel Ivanitch had insulted Mihail Ivanitch. But if there is war as now, let it be really war. And then the intensity of warfare would be something quite different. All these Westphalians and Hessians Napoleon is leading against us would not have come to fight us in Russia, and we should not have gone to war in Austria and in Prussia without knowing what for. War is not a polite recreation, but the vilest thing in life, and we ought to understand that and not play at war. We ought to accept it sternly and solemnly as a fearful necessity. It all comes to this: have done with lying, and if it's war, then it's war and not a game, or else warfare is simply the favourite pastime of the idle and frivolous. … The military is the most honoured calling. And what is war, what is needed for success in war, what are the morals of the military world? The object of warfare is murder; the means employed in warfare—spying, treachery, and the encouragement of it, the ruin of a country, the plundering of its inhabitants and robbery for the maintenance of the army, trickery and lying, which are called military strategy; the morals of the military class—absence of all independence, that is, discipline, idleness, ignorance, cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And in spite of all that, it is the highest class, respected by every one. All sovereigns, except the Chinese, wear a military uniform, and give the greatest rewards to the man who succeeds in killing most people. … They meet together to murder one another, as we shall do to-morrow; they slaughter and mutilate tens of thousands of men, and then offer up thanksgiving services for the number of men they have killed (and even add to it in the telling), and glorify the victory, supposing that the more men have been slaughtered the greater the achievement. How God can look down from above and hear them!” shrieked Prince Andrey in a shrill, piercing voice. “Ah, my dear boy, life has been a bitter thing for me of late. I see that I have come to understand too much. And it is not good for man to taste of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. … Ah, well, it's not for long!” he added. “But you are getting sleepy and it's time I was in bed too. Go back to Gorky,” said Prince Andrey suddenly.
“Oh no!” answered Pierre, gazing with eyes full of scared sympathy at Prince Andrey.
“You must be off; before a battle one needs to get a good sleep,” repeated Prince Andrey. He went quickly up to Pierre, embraced and kissed him. “Good-bye, be off,” he cried, “whether we see each other again or not …” and turning hurriedly, he went off into the barn.
It was already dark, and Pierre could not distinguish whether the expression of his face was exasperated or affectionate.
Pierre stood for some time in silence, hesitating whether to go after him or to return to Gorky. “No; he does not want me!” Pierre made up his mind, “and I know this is our last meeting!” He heaved a deep sigh and rode back to Gorky.
Prince Andrey lay down on a rug in the barn, but he could not sleep.
He closed his eyes. One set of images followed another in his mind. On one mental picture he dwelt long and joyfully. He vividly recalled one evening in Petersburg. Natasha with an eager, excited face had been telling him how in looking for mushrooms the previous summer she had lost her way in a great forest. She described incoherently the dark depths of the forest, and her feelings, and her talk with a bee-keeper she met, and every minute she broke off in her story, saying: “No, I can't, I'm not describing it properly; no, you won't understand me,” although Prince Andrey tried to assure her that he understood and did really understand all she wanted to convey to him. Natasha was dissatisfied with her own words; she felt that they did not convey the passionately poetical feeling she had known that day and tried to give expression to. “It was all so exquisite, that old man, and it was so dark in the forest … and such a kind look in his … no, I can't describe it,” she had said, flushed and moved.
Prince Andrey smiled now the same happy smile he had smiled then, gazing into her eyes. “I understood her,” thought Prince Andrey, “and more than understood her: that spiritual force, that sincerity, that openness of soul, the very soul of her, which seemed bound up with her body, the very soul it was I loved in her … loved so intensely, so passionately …” and all at once he thought how his love had ended. “He cared nothing for all that. He saw nothing of it, had no notion of it. He saw in her a pretty and fresh young girl with whom he did not deign to unite his life permanently. And I? … And he is still alive and happy.” Prince Andrey jumped up as though suddenly scalded, and began walking to and fro before the barn again.
军官们要告辞了，但安德烈公爵好像不愿和他的朋友单独呆在一起，于是请他们再坐一会儿，喝杯茶。板凳和茶都端来了。军官们不无惊讶地望着皮埃尔肥胖而庞大的身躯，听他讲莫斯科的情形，讲他在巡视中见到的我军的部署。安德烈公爵沉默着，脸色显得那样阴沉，弄得皮埃尔在讲话时不得不更多地对着和善的营长季莫欣，而较少地对着博尔孔斯基。 
“那么整个军队的部署你都清楚了？”安德烈公爵打断他的话说。
“是的，怎么？”皮埃尔说，“我不是军人，不敢说全弄懂了，但大体的部署总算弄清楚了。”
“Eh　bien，vous　êtes　plus　avancé　que　qui　cela　soit．”①安德烈公爵说。
“啊！”皮埃尔狐疑地应了一声，透过眼镜片盯着安德烈公爵。“您对任命库图佐夫有什么看法？”他说。
“对此我非常高兴，我所知道的就是这些。”安德烈公爵说。
“嗯，请您谈谈您对巴克莱·德·托利有什么看法？在莫斯科天知道人们都怎样谈论他。您觉得他怎么样？”
“你问他们。”安德烈公爵指着军官们说。
皮埃尔带着虚心请教的微笑望着季莫欣。大家都带着情不自禁地微笑看他。
“大人，自从勋座阁下上任以来，大家又看见光明②了。”
季莫欣说，他不时怯生生地看看他的团长。
“那是为什么呢？”皮埃尔问。
“我就向您报告一下关于木柴或饲料的事吧。我们从斯文齐亚内撤退时，连一根树枝，一根干草或什么的，都不敢动。我们走了，他③得到手了，不是这样吗，大人？”他转向公爵说。“可你不能动。为这种事儿，我们团有两名军官被送交军事法庭了。可是勋座阁下来了，这类事就不算回事了。我们看见光明了……” 
①法语：这么说来，你比谁都知道得更多。
②这里是双关语，俄语“勋座”一词的词根是“光明”。
③指拿破仑。
“那么他为什么禁止呢？”
季莫欣不好意思地望了望周围，对这个问题不明白该怎样回答，该回答些什么。皮埃尔于是又向安德烈公爵问这个问题。
“为了使地方不遭到破坏，好留给敌人受用。”安德烈公爵刻薄地挖苦说。“理由很充分：不许抢劫地方，不让士兵养成抢劫的习惯。在斯摩棱斯克他的判断也正确，他说法国人可能包围我们，因为他们的兵力比我们强。但是他不能明白这一点，”安德烈公爵突然不由自主地尖声喊叫起来，“他不能明白，我们在那儿第一次为俄罗斯的土地而战，我在军队中从来没有见过那样高昂的士气，我们一连两天打退了法国人，这一胜利使我们的力量凭添了十倍。他却命令撤退，所有的努力和损失都白费了。他不是内奸，他努力把一切都尽可能地做好，把一切都尽可能地考虑周到；但是正因如此，他是不中用的。他现在不中用了，正是由于他像每一个德国人那样，对每件事都考虑得过分认真、精细。怎么对你说呢……譬如说吧，你父亲有一个德国仆人，他是一个顶好的仆人，比你更能满足你父亲的一切要求，当然让他干下去；但是假如你父亲病得要死了，你就得把仆人撵走，亲自笨手笨脚地侍候你父亲，你会比那个熟练的，然而却是一个外国人的仆人更能安慰他。巴克莱就是这样。当俄国早安无事时，一个外国人可以服侍它。他可能是一个顶好的大臣，可是一旦它处于危急关头，就需要自家的亲人了。而你们俱乐部的人却胡诌说他是内奸！诽谤他是内奸，到后来只能为你们错误的非难而羞愧，忽然由内奸捧为英雄和天才，那就更不公道了。他是一个诚实的、非常认真的德国人……”
“可是，听说他是一个精明的统帅呢。”皮埃尔说。
“我不懂什么是精明的统帅。”安德烈公爵嘲笑地说。
“精明的统帅，”皮埃尔说，“他能预见一切偶然的事件……他能猜到敌人的意图。”
“但这是不可能的。”安德烈公爵说，仿佛在说一个早已解决了的问题。
皮埃尔惊奇地看了看他。
“不过，”他说，“大家都说，战争就像下棋。”
“是的，”安德烈公爵说，“不过有点区别，下棋每走一步，你可以随便想多久，下棋不受时间的限制，另外还有一点区别，那就是马永远比卒强，两个卒比一个卒强，而在战争中，一个营有时比一个师还强，也有时反倒不如一个连。任何人都弄不清军队的相对力量。相信我，”他说，“如果说参谋部的部署具有决定性的作用，那么，我就在那儿从事部署工作了，但是我没有那样做，而荣幸地到这儿，到团里服务，和这些先生们共事，我认为明天的战斗确实取决于我们，而不是取决于他们……胜利从来不取决于将来，也不取决于阵地，也不取决于武装，甚至不取决于数量，特别是不取决于阵地。”
“那么取决于什么呢？”
“取决于士气——我的，他的，”他指着季莫欣说，“以及每个士兵的士气。”
安德烈公爵向季莫欣看了一眼，季莫欣惊恐地、困惑不解地望着他的团长，安德烈公爵一反平时沉默寡言的矜持态度，现在似乎激动起来了。显然他情不自禁地要说出此时闪现在他的脑际的那些思想。
“谁下定决心去争取胜利，谁就能胜利。为什么奥斯特利茨战役我们吃了败仗？我们的损失几乎和法国人一样，但是我们过早地认输了，——所以就失败了。而我们所以认输，因为我们无须在那儿战斗：一心想快点撤离战场。‘打败了——赶快逃跑吧！'于是我们逃跑了。假如直到明天我们都不说这话，那么，天知道又会是怎样一番情景了。明天我们就不会说这话了。你说：我们的战线，左翼太弱，右翼拉得太长，”他继续说，“这全是扯淡，完全不是这回事。明天我们面临着什么？千百万个形形色色的偶然事件在瞬息之间就决定了胜负，这要看：是我们还是他们逃跑或将要逃跑，是这个人被打死，或者那个人被打死；至于现在所做的一切全是一场游戏。问题是，和你一起巡视阵地的那些人，不仅对促进整个战役的进展不会有帮助，而且只有妨碍。他们只关心自己的微薄的利益。”
“在这关键的时刻吗？”皮埃尔责怪地问。
“在·这·关·键·时·刻。”安德烈公爵重复地说了一句，“对他们来说，这个时刻不过是能够暗害对手和多得一枚十字勋章或一条绶带的机会罢了。明天对我来说，那就是，十万俄国军队和十万法国军队聚在一起互相厮杀，事实是，这二十万人在厮杀的时候，谁打得最凶，且不惜牺牲，谁就会取胜。你想知道的话，我可以告诉你，不管那儿出现什么情况，也不管上层是如何妨碍，明天我们一定胜利。明天不管那儿怎么样，我们一定胜利！”
“大人，这就是真理，千真万确的真理。”季莫欣说，“现在还有什么人怕死！我那营的兵，您信不信，都不喝酒了：他们说，不是喝酒的时候。”大家沉默了一会儿。
军官们站起身来，安德烈公爵同他们走出棚屋，对副官发出最后一些命令。军官们走后，皮埃尔走近安德烈公爵，正要开口说话，离棚屋不远的路上突然传来了马蹄声，安德烈公爵往那边一看，认出是沃尔佐根和克劳塞维兹①，一个哥萨克跟随着。他们一边谈话，一边走近来，皮埃尔和安德列公爵无意中听到以下的话：
“Der　krieg　muss　im　Raum　verlegt　werden．Der　Ansicht　kann　ich　nicht　genug　Preis　geben．”②其中一个说。
“Oh，ja．”另一个说，“der　Zweck　ist　nur　den　Feind　zu　schwaCchen，so　kann　man　gewiss　nicht　den　Verlust　der　Privat　Personen　in　Achtung　nehmen．”③
“Oh，ja．”第一个同意说。
“是的，im　Raum　Verlegen，”④当他们走过后，安德烈公爵气愤地哼了一声。“留在童山的我的父亲、儿子、妹妹，就在那im　Ruam。这对他无所谓。刚才我不是对你说来着，——这些德国先生们明天不是去打赢这场战斗，而是尽其所能去搞破坏，因为德国人的头脑中只有连一个空蛋壳都不值的空洞理论，而他们心里就是缺少明天所必需的东西，也就是季莫欣所有的那种东西。他们把整个欧洲都奉送他了，现在来教训我们——真是好老师啊！”他又尖叫了起来。 
①克劳塞维兹（1780～1831），德国军事理论家，著有《战争论》一书。一八一二年他在俄国军队中担任普弗尔的副官。
②德语：战争应当移到广阔的地带，这个意见我十分赞赏。
③德语：哦，是的。目的在于削弱敌人，不应计较个人的得失。
④德语：移到广阔的地带。
“那么，您认为明天这一仗能打胜吗？”皮埃尔问道。
“是的，是的。”安德烈公爵心不在焉地回答。“如果我有权的话，我要做一件事，”他又开口说，“我不收容俘虏。俘虏是什么东西！是一些骑士。法国人毁掉我的家园，现在又在毁掉莫斯科，他们每分钟都在侮辱我，现在还在侮辱我。他们是我的敌人，在我看来，他们全是罪犯。季莫欣以及全军都这样认为，应该把他们处死！他们既然是我的敌人，就不能成为我的朋友，不管他们在蒂尔西特是怎样谈判的。”
“是的，是的，”皮埃尔说着，用闪亮的眼睛望着安德烈公爵。“我完全、完全赞同您的意见！”
从莫扎伊斯克山下来后这一整天都困绕着皮埃尔的那个问题，现在他觉得十分清楚，并且完全解决了。他理解了这场战争和当前的战役的全部意义及其重要性。那天他看见的一切，他于匆忙间看到的那些大有深意的严肃的表情，被一种新的光芒照亮了。他理解了物理学所说的潜在的（latente）热，他看见的那些人的脸上都有这种潜在的爱国热，这使他明白了那些人为什么那样从容地、仿佛满不在乎似的去赴死。
“不收容俘虏，”安德烈公爵继续说，“单过一条就能使战争改观，减少一点战争的残酷性。因而现在我们在战争中奉行的——诸如宽大为怀之类，简直令人作呕。这种宽大和同情——类似千金小姐的宽大和同情，她一看见被宰杀的牛犊就会晕倒，她是那么慈善，见不得血，但是她却津津有味地蘸着酱油吃小牛肉。我们谈论什么战争法，骑士精神，军使的责任，对不幸者的怜悯，等等，全是废话。一八○五年我领教过什么叫骑士精神和军使的责任，他们欺骗我们，我们也欺骇他们。他们抢劫别人的住宅，发行假钞票，最可恶的是屠杀我的孩子们和我的父亲，同时大谈什么战争的规律和对敌人的宽大。不收容俘虏，而是屠杀和赴死！谁要是到我这个地步，遭受过同样的痛苦……”
安德烈公爵想过，莫斯科失守与否，就像斯摩棱斯克已经失守一样，对于他都无所谓，可是突然间，他的喉咙意外地痉挛起来，停住不说了。他默默地来回走了几趟，他的眼睛像发热病似的闪闪发光，当他又开始说话时，他的嘴唇哆嗦着：
“如果战争没有宽大，那么我们就只有在值得赴死的时候，就像现在这样，才去打仗了。那时，就不会因为保罗·伊万诺维奇得罪了米哈伊尔·伊万诺维奇而开战了。只有像现在这次战争，才算是战争。那时，军队的紧张程度就不会像现在这样。那时，拿破仑所率领的这些威斯特法利亚人和黑森①人就不会跟随他到俄国来了，我们也不会莫名其妙地到奥国和普鲁士去打仗了。战争不是请客吃饭，而是生活中最丑恶的事情，应当了解这一点，不要把战争当儿戏。要严肃认真地对待这一可怕的必然性。这就在于：去掉谎言，战争就是战争，而不是儿戏。不然，战争就成为懒汉与轻浮之辈喜爱的消遣了……军人阶层是最受尊敬的。但是什么是战争呢？怎样才能打胜仗？军界的风气是怎样的？战争的目的是杀人，战争的手段是间谍，叛变，对叛变的鼓励，蹂躏居民，为了军队的给养抢劫他们或者盗窃他们，欺骗和说谎被称为军事的计谋。军人阶层的习俗是没有自由，也就是说，守纪律、闲散，愚昧无知，残忍成性，荒淫和酗酒。虽然如此，军人仍是人人都尊敬的最高阶层。所有帝王，除了中国例外，都穿军服，而且谁杀人最多，谁就得到最高奖赏……就像明天那样，人们凑在一起互相屠杀，有好几万人被杀死或被打成残废，然后因为杀死了许多人（甚至夸大伤亡的数字）举行感恩祈祷，隆重地宣布胜利。认为杀人越多，功劳越大，上帝怎样从天上看他们，听他们啊！”安德烈公爵喊道，声音又尖又细。“啊，我的好朋友，近来我太难过了，我发现我懂得太多了。人不能吃那可以分辨善恶的果子②……唉，日子不长了！”他又说。“不过，你该休息了，我也该睡了，你快回戈尔基吧。”安德烈公爵突然说。 
①威斯特法利亚人是今德意志联邦共和国西部威斯特法伦州居民，一八○七至一八一五年，拿破仑在此建立王国。黑林人是前德意志联邦共和国西南部黑森州居民。
②故事见《圣经·旧约·创世纪》第二章。
“啊，不！”皮埃尔回答说，用吃惊、同情的目光望着安德烈公爵。
“走吧，走吧，战斗前必须好好睡一觉。”安德烈公爵又说了一遍。他快步走到皮埃尔跟前，拥抱他，吻他。“再见，你走吧，”他喊道。“我们会不会再见面，不会……”他连忙转身走回棚屋。
天已经黑了，皮埃尔看不清安德烈公爵脸上的表情是凶恶的还是温柔的。
皮埃尔默默地站了一会儿，考虑他是跟他进去呢还是回去。“不，他不愿意我再进去！”皮埃尔很自然地决断着，“我知道，这是我们最后一次见面了。”他深深叹了口气，就骑马回戈尔基去了。
安德烈公爵回到棚屋里，躺在毯子上，怎么也睡不着。
他闭上眼。一幅幅画面在他脑际轮番地出现。他的思绪长久地，欢快地停留在一幅画面上。他生动地回忆起在彼得堡的一个晚上，娜塔莎带着兴高采烈的兴奋神情，对他讲去年夏天她去采蘑菇时，在大森林里迷了路的事儿。她断断续续地向他描述森林的幽深、她当时的心情，以及她和一个遇见的养蜂人的谈话，她时时中断讲述，说：“不，我不会说，我说得不对；不，您不了解。”虽然安德烈公爵安慰她，说他了解，而且也的确了解她要说的一切。娜塔莎不满意自己说的，——她觉得，那天所感受的，她要倾诉的那种诗意的激情没有表达出来。“那个老人是那么好，森林里是那么黑……他是那么慈善……不，我不会讲。”她红着脸，激动地说。安德烈公爵当时望着她眼睛微笑着，现在也同样快活地面带笑容。“我了解她，”安德烈公爵想道，“不仅了解，而且我爱她那内在的精神力量，她那真诚，她那由衷的坦率爽直，她那仿佛和肉体融为一体的灵魂……正是她这个灵魂，我爱得如此强烈，如此幸福……”他突然想起他的爱情是怎样结束的。“他丝毫不需要这些东西，·他完全看不见，也不了解这些东西。·他只看到她是一个好看的，·娇·艳·的小姑娘，他不屑同她共命运。而我呢？直到现在·他还活着，而且过得很快活。”
安德烈公爵仿佛被烫了一下似的，跳起来，又在棚屋前走来走去。
Book 10 Chapter 26
ON THE 25TH of August, on the eve of the battle of Borodino, the prefect of the French Emperor's palace, M. de Beausset, and Colonel Fabvier, arrived, the former from Paris, and the latter from Madrid, at Napoleon's encampment at Valuev.
After changing into a court uniform M. de Beausset ordered the package he had brought for the Emperor to be carried before him, and walked into the first compartment of Napoleon's tent, where he busied himself while conversing with the aides-de-camp in unpacking the box.
Fabvier stood talking with generals of his acquaintance in the entrance of the tent.
The Emperor Napoleon had not yet left his bedroom, he was finishing his toilet. With snorts and grunts of satisfaction, he was turning first his stout back and then his plump, hirsute chest towards the flesh-brush with which a valet was rubbing him down. Another valet, holding a bottle with one finger on it, was sprinkling eau de cologne on the Emperor's pampered person with an expression which seemed to say that he alone knew where and how much eau de cologne must be sprinkled. Napoleon's short hair was wet and matted on his brow. But his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed physical satisfaction.
“Go on, hard, go on …” he said, shrugging and clearing his throat, to the valet brushing him. An adjutant, who had come into the bedroom to report to the Emperor the number of prisoners taken in the last engagement, was standing at the door, after giving his message, awaiting permission to withdraw. Napoleon, frowning, glanced up from under his brows at the adjutant. “No prisoners,” he repeated the adjutant's words. “They are working their own destruction. So much the worse for the Russian army,” said he. “Harder, brush harder,” he said, hunching his fat shoulders before the valet. “Good. Let Beausset come in and Fabvier too,” he said to the adjutant, nodding.
“I obey, sire,” and the adjutant disappeared.
The two valets rapidly dressed his majesty, and in the blue uniform of the guards he walked into the reception-room with firm, rapid steps.
Beausset meanwhile was in great haste setting up the present he had brought from the Empress on two chairs just before the Emperor as he entered. But the Emperor had been so unaccountably rapid over getting dressed and coming in that he had not time to have the surprise ready for him.
Napoleon at once noticed what they were about, and guessed they were not ready. He did not want to deprive them of the pleasure of preparing an agreeable surprise for him. He pretended not to see M. de Beausset, and beckoned Fabvier to him. Napoleon, frowning sternly, listened in silence to what Fabvier was saying of the gallantry and devotion of his army, fighting before Salamanca, at the other end of Europe; they had, he said, but one dream—to be worthy of their Emperor, and one fear—to displease him. The result of the battle had been disastrous. Napoleon made ironical remarks during Fabvier's account of it, as though he had not expected it to be otherwise in his absence.
“I must make up for it at Moscow,” said Napoleon. “A tant?t,” he added, and summoned Beausset, who had by this time succeeded in preparing his effect, had stood something on the chairs and thrown a cover over it.
Beausset made a courtier's low bow, such as only the old retainers of the Bourbons knew how to make, and approached him, handing him a letter.
Napoleon addressed him gaily and pinched him by the ear.
“You have been quick, delighted to see you. Well, what is Paris saying?” he said, his look of sternness suddenly changing to the most cordial expression.
“Sire, all Paris is regretting your absence,” answered Beausset, as in duty bound. But though Napoleon knew Beausset was bound to say this or something like it, though at his lucid moments he knew it was all false, he was glad to hear this from him. He condescended to pinch his ear again.
“I am very sorry to have made you to travel so far,” he said.
“Sire, I expected to find you at least at the gates of Moscow,” said Beausset.
Napoleon smiled, and lifting his head absently looked round to the right. An adjutant approached obsequiously with a gold snuffbox and offered it. Napoleon took it.
“Yes, it's a happy chance for you,” he said, putting the open snuffbox to his nose. “You are fond of travelling, and in three days you will see Moscow. You probably did not expect to see the Asiatic capital. You will have a delightful journey.”
Beausset bowed with gratitude for this interest in his tastes for travel (of which he had till that moment been unaware).
“Ah! what's this?” said Napoleon, observing that all the courtiers were gazing at something concealed under a covering. Beausset with courtier-like agility retired two steps with a half turn, not showing his back, and at the same moment twitched off the covering, saying: “A present to your majesty from the Empress.”
It was a portrait, painted in brilliant colours by Gérard, of the child of Napoleon and the daughter of the Austrian Emperor, the little boy whom every one for some unknown reason called the King of Rome.
The very pretty, curly-headed child, with eyes like the Christ with the Sistine Madonna, had been portrayed playing cup and ball. The ball represented the terrestrial globe and the cup in the other hand was a sceptre.
Though it was not altogether clear what the painter had intended to express by representing the so-called King of Rome tossing the terrestrial globe on a sceptre, the allegory apparently seemed to Napoleon, as it had to every one who had seen it in Paris, quite clear and extremely pleasing.
“The King of Rome!” he said, pointing with a graceful gesture to the portrait. “Admirable!” With the characteristic Italian facility for changing his expression at will, he went up to the portrait and assumed an air of pensive tenderness. He felt that what he might say or do at that moment would be historical. And it struck him that the best line he could take at that moment, at the height of his grandeur—so great that his child was playing cup and ball with the earth—would be to display, in contrast with that grandeur, the simplest, fatherly tenderness. His eyes were veiled by emotion; he moved up, looked round for a chair (a chair seemed to spring up under him), and sat down, facing the portrait. At a single gesture from him all withdrew on tip-toe, leaving the great man to himself and his feelings. After sitting there a little while and passing his fingers, he could not have said why, over the rough surface of the painting, he got up and again sent for Beausset and the officer on duty. He gave orders for the portrait to be carried out in front of his tent, so that the Old Guard, standing about his tent, might not be deprived of the happiness of seeing the King of Rome, the son and heir of their adored Emperor.
While he sat at breakfast with M. de Beausset—whom he had honoured by an invitation to join him—he heard, as he had expected, enthusiastic shouts from the soldiers and officers of the Old Guard, who had run up to see the portrait.
“Vive l'Empereur! Vive le roi de Rome! Vive l'Empereur!” shouted enthusiastic voices.
After breakfast, in Beausset's presence, Napoleon dictated his proclamation to the army.
“Courte et énergique!” Napoleon pronounced it, when he had read over the proclamation that he had dictated straight off without corrections. It was as follows:
“Soldiers! This is the battle you have so greatly desired. Victory is in your hands. It is essential for us; it will give us everything we need: comfortable quarters and a speedy return to our own country. Behave as you behaved at Austerlitz, Friedland, Vitebsk, and Smolensk. May posterity recall with pride your achievement on this day! And may they say of each of you: he was at the great battle before Moscow!”
“Before Moscow,” repeated Napoleon, and inviting M. de Beausset, so fond of travel, to accompany him on his ride, he went out of the tent to the saddled horses awaiting them outside.
“Your majesty is too kind,” said Beausset, in response to the invitation to accompany the Emperor. He was very sleepy. He could not ride well, and was afraid of horses.
But Napoleon nodded to the traveller, and Beausset had to mount. When Napoleon came out of the tent the shouts of the Guards before his son's portrait were redoubled. Napoleon frowned.
“Take him away,” he said, with a gracefully majestic gesture, pointing to the portrait. “It is too early yet for him to look upon the field of battle.”
Beausset, dropping his eyelids, and bowing his head, heaved a deep sigh, to testify how well he was able to appreciate and comprehend the Emperor's words.
八月二十五日，波罗底诺战役的前夜，法国皇宫长官德波塞先生和法布维埃上校前来拿破仑在瓦卢耶瓦的驻地觐见他们的皇帝，前者从巴黎来，后者从马德里来。 
德波塞先生换上朝服，吩咐把他带给皇帝的礼盒在他前面抬着走，进了拿破仑的帐篷的头一个房间，他一面同他周围的拿破仑的副官谈话，一面打开礼盒。
法布维埃没进帐篷，在门口跟他认识的将军们谈话。
拿破仑皇帝还没有从卧室出来，正在结束他的打扮。他哼哧着鼻子，清清嗓子，时而转过他那肥厚的背脊，时而转过多毛的肥胖的胸脯，让近侍刷他的身体。另一个近侍用大拇指按住瓶口，正向皇帝那保养得很好的身体喷香水。近侍的神情好像说，只有他一个人知道应当在什么地方洒和洒多少香水。拿破仑的短发还是湿的，散乱在额前。他的脸虽浮肿，焦黄，但表现出生理上的满足。“Allez　ferme，allez　toujours……”①他蜷缩着身子，发出哼哼歪歪的声音，不时对那个正给他刷身子的近侍轻声说。一个副官走进卧室，向皇帝报告昨天在战场上抓了多少俘虏，他报告完后，就站在门旁，等候让他退出去，拿破仑皱着眉头，翻眼看了看副官。
“Point　de　prisonniers，”他重复副官的话。“Il　se　font　démolir　Tant　pis　pour　lármée　russe，”他说“Allez　toujours，Allez　ferme．”②他一面说，一面拱着背，移近他那肥胖的肩膀给人刷。
“C'est　bien！Faites　entren　monsieur　de　BeausBset，ainsi　que　Fa－bvier．”③他对那个副官点点头，说。
“Qui，Sire．”④那个副官走出了帐篷。 
①法语：再来，使点劲刷。
②法语：没有俘虏，他们逼我歼灭他们。这对俄军更坏，再来，再使点劲。
③法语：好了！让德波塞进来，法布维埃也进来。
④法语：是，陛下。
两个近侍连忙给陛下穿好衣服，于是他穿着近卫军的蓝制服，迈着坚定而急速的步子，走进接待室。
这时德波塞两只手正忙着把他带来的皇后送的礼物安放在正对着皇帝进门的地方的两把椅子上。不料皇帝这么快就穿好衣服走了出来，以致他来不及完全布置好这一惊人的场面。
拿破仑立刻看出他们在做什么，并且猜出他们还没有做好。他不希望他们失掉使他惊喜的快乐。他装着没看见德波塞先生。只把法布维埃叫过来。拿破仑严厉地皱着眉头，默默地听法布维埃讲述他的军队在欧洲的另一端萨拉曼卡作战怎样勇敢、怎样忠诚，只想不辜负他们的皇帝，唯恐不能讨他欢心。那场战争的结束是可悲的。拿破仑在法布维埃报告的中间插了几句讽刺的话，好像没有他在那儿，他并不期望事情会有别样的结果。
“我一定在莫斯科挽回影响，”拿破仑说。“A　tantot，”①他又说，把德波塞叫来，德波塞这时已经布置好令人惊讶的场面——把什么东西放在两把椅子上，用一块布盖着。
德波塞用那只有波旁王朝的旧臣才懂得的礼节，深施一礼，走向前去递是一封信。
拿破仑愉快地接见他，揪了揪他的耳朵。
“您赶来了，我非常高兴。巴黎有什么议论吗？”他说，突然改变了刚才那副严厉的表情，换上了一副和蔼可亲的样子。
“Sire，tout　Paris　regrette　votre　absence．”②德波塞照例这样回答，虽然拿破仑知道德波塞一定要说这一类话，虽然他在头脑清醒时知道这是不真实的，但是听了德波塞的话他仍然觉得高兴。他又揪了揪他的耳朵以示赏赐。
“Je　suis　faAché　de　vous　avoir　fait　faire　tant　de　chemin．”③他说。
“Sire！Je　ne　m'attendais　pas　à　moins　qu'à　vous　trouver　aux　portes　de　Moscou．”④德波塞说。 
①法语：再见。
②法语：陛下，全巴黎都在想念您呢。
③法语：让您走这么远，很抱歉。
④法语：陛下！我完全料到会在莫斯科城下见到您。
拿破仑微笑了一下，心不在焉地抬头向右边看了看。副官摇摆着步子走过来，递给他一个金质的鼻烟壶。拿破仑接了过来。
“是的，您来得巧，”他说，把打开的鼻烟壶移近鼻子，“您喜欢旅行，三天后您就可以在莫斯科观光了。您大概没料到会看见亚洲的首府。您可以作一次愉快的旅行了。”
德波塞鞠了一躬，对此关心表示了谢意（他自己也不知道他有旅行的爱好）。
“啊！这是什么？”拿破仑说，他发现所有的大臣都在看一件用布盖着的东西。德波塞以其宫廷式的灵巧，不把背对着皇帝，侧着身子倒退两步，同时揭开了那块布，说：
“皇后献给陛下的礼物。”
这是日拉尔①用鲜明的色彩画的一幅孩子的肖像，这是奥国公主为拿破仑生的儿子，不知为什么人们都管这个孩子叫罗马王。
这个非常俊秀的，鬈发，眼睛都具有西克斯丁圣母像中基督的神态的孩子，正在玩一个球。球代表地球，另一只手中的小棒代表权杖。
虽然对画家画这个所谓罗马王用小棍捅地球要表现什么不十分了解，但其寓意，不论是在巴黎看见这幅画的所有人，还是拿破仑本人，都是清楚的，而且觉得非常称心。
“Roi　de　Rome，”②他用优美的手势指着画像，说。 
①日拉尔·弗朗索瓦（1770～1837），法国古典主义运动后期著名肖像画家，曾为鲁卡米埃夫人画像。
②法语：罗马王。
“Admira－ble！”①他走到肖像跟前，以意大利人特有的可以随意变换表情的本领，做出含情沉思的神态。他觉得，他现在一言一行都将成为历史。他觉得他现在最好的做法是：就算是自己的伟大足以使儿子玩耍地球，而与此相照应，他又要表现父亲的慈爱。他的眼睛模糊了，他向前跨了一步，回头看了一眼那把椅子（椅子好像自动跳到了他的身旁），在肖像前坐下。他打了个手势——于是所有的人都踮着脚尖走出去了，让这位大人物独自在那儿欣赏。
他坐了一会儿，自己也不知为什么，用手摸了摸画像凸起发亮的地方。他站起身，又把德波塞和值日官叫来。他命令把肖像移到帐篷前，让那些在他帐篷附近守卫的老近卫军人有欣赏罗马王——他们所崇拜的皇帝的儿子（继承人）的幸福。
果然不出他所料，在他赏赐德波塞先生以荣幸——与他共进早餐的时候，传来了帐篷外那些跑来看画像的老近卫军官兵们的欢呼声：
“Vire　I'empereur！Vire　le　Roi　de　Rome！Vive　I'empereur！”②听见一片欢呼声。
早餐后，拿破仑当着德波塞的面上授给军队发布的告示。
“Courte　et　énergique！③”拿破仑在读完他那无须修改的告示时说。告示如下： 
①法语：好极②法语：皇帝万岁！罗马王万岁！皇帝万岁！
③法语：简短有力。
“战士们！这是你们盼望已久的战斗。胜利寄托在你们身上。我们一定要取胜；胜利能给我们带来一切需要的东西：舒适的住宅，早日返回祖国。希望你们要像在奥斯特利茨、弗里德兰、维捷布斯克和斯摩棱斯克那样战斗。让我们的子孙后代自豪地回忆你们今天的丰功伟绩。让他们在提到你们每一个人时都说：他参加过莫斯科城下大战！”
“De　la　Moskowa！”①拿破仑重复了一遍，然后邀请爱旅行的德波塞先生去散步，他走出帐篷，走向已备好的马。
“Votre　Majesté　a　trop　de　bonté。”②德波塞在应邀陪皇帝散步时说。其实他很想睡觉，而且他不会骑马，也怕骑马。 
①法语：莫斯科城下。
②法语：您太仁慈了，陛下。
但是拿破仑向这位旅行家点头示意，德波塞只得骑马了。当拿破仑走出帐篷时，近卫军人在他儿子画像前的喊声更起劲了，拿破仑皱起了眉头。
“把它拿开吧。”他用优美庄严的姿势指着画像说。“参观战场在他看来还太早。”
德波塞闭上眼睛，低下头，深深叹息了一声，表示他对皇帝的话完全领会和理解。
Book 10 Chapter 27
THE WHOLE of that day, the 25th of August, Napoleon spent, so his historians relate, on horseback, inspecting the locality, criticising the plans submitted to him by his marshals, and giving commands in person to his generals.
The original line of the Russian disposition, along the Kolotcha, had been broken through, and, in consequence of the taking of the Shevardino redoubt on the previous day, part of that line—the left flank—had been drawn further back. That part of the line had not been strengthened, was no longer protected by the river, and more open and level ground lay before it. It was obvious to any man, military or non-military, that it was that part of the line that the French should attack. One would have thought that no great deliberation would be necessary to reach this conclusion; that all the care and anxiety of the Emperor and his marshals were unnecessary, and that there was absolutely no need of that peculiar high degree of talent called genius, which they are so fond of ascribing to Napoleon. But the historians, who described the battle afterwards, and the men surrounding Napoleon at the time, and he himself, thought otherwise.
Napoleon rode about the field, gazing with a profound air at the country, wagging his head approvingly or dubiously to himself, and without communicating to the generals around him the profound chain of reasoning that guided him in his decisions, conveyed to them merely the final conclusions in the form of commands. Upon the suggestion being made by Davoust, now styled Duke of Eckmühl, for turning the Russian left flank, Napoleon said there was no need to do this, without explaining why there was no need. But to the proposal of General Compans (who was to attack the advanced earthworks), to lead his division through the forest, Napoleon signified his assent, although the so-called Duke of Elchingen, that is, Ney, ventured to observe that to move troops through woodland is risky, and might break up the formation of the division.
After examining the nature of the country opposite the Shevardino redoubt, Napoleon pondered a little while in silence and pointed to the spots where two batteries were to be placed by the morrow for action against the Russian fortifications, and the spots where, in a line with them, the field artillery was to be arranged.
After giving these and other commands, he went back to his quarters, and the disposition of the troops was written down from his dictation.
This disposition, of which the French speak with enthusiasm, and other historians with profound respect, consisted of the following instructions:
“Two new batteries, to be placed during the night on the plain occupied by the Duke of Eckmühl, will open fire at dawn on the two opposite batteries of the enemy.
“At the same time General Pernetti, in command of the artillery of the 1st corps, with thirty cannons of Compans's division, and all the howitzers of Desaix and Friant's division, will move forward, open fire, and shower shells on the enemy's battery, against which there will be at once in action:
24 cannons of the artillery of the Guards,30 cannons of Compans's division, and8 cannons of Friant and Desaix's division—
In all 62 cannons.“General Fouché, in command of the artillery of the 3rd corps, will place all the sixteen howitzers of the 3rd and 8th corps at the flanks of the battery, told off to bombard the left fortification, making forty guns in all aimed against it.
“General Sorbier is to be in readiness to advance on the word being given, with all the howitzers of the artillery of the Guards against either of the enemy's fortifications.
“During the cannonade Prince Poniatovsky is to advance to the village in the wood, and to turn the enemy's position.
“General Compans will cross the wood to gain possession of the first fortification.
“After the attack has begun on these lines, further commands will be given in accordance with the enemy's movements.
“The cannonade on the left flank will begin as soon as the cannons of the right wing are heard. The sharpshooters of Morand's division and of the viceroy's division will open a hot fire on seeing the beginning of the attack of the right wing.
“The viceroy will take possession of the village of Borodino, and cross by its three bridges, advancing to the same height with Morand's and Gérard's divisions, which under his leadership will advance to the redoubt and come into line with the other troops of the army.
“All this is to be done in good order (le tout se fera avec ordre et méthode), preserving as far as possible troops in reserve.
“The imperial camp, near Mozhaisk, September 6, 1812.”
These instructions—which strike one as exceedingly confused and obscure, if one ventures to throw off the superstitious awe for Napoleon's genius in treating of his disposition of his troops—may be condensed into four points—four commands. Not one of those instructions was or could be carried out.
In the first place the instruction is given: That the batteries placed on the spot selected by Napoleon, with the cannons of Pernetti and Fouché, which were to join them, in all one hundred and two cannons, were to open fire and shell the Russian earthworks and redoubts. This could not be done, since from the spots fixed on by Napoleon the shells did not carry so far as the Russian earthworks, and these one hundred and two cannons fired in the air till such time as the nearest officer in command ordered them to advance, in opposition to Napoleon's instructions.
The second instruction given is that Poniatovsky, advancing to the village in the wood, should turn the Russian left flank. This was not, and could not be done, as Poniatovsky, on advancing to the village in the wood, found Tutchkov there barring his way, and did not, and could not, turn the Russian position.
The third instruction is: General Compans will move into the wood to take possession of the first Russian fortification. Compans's division did not take the first fortification, but was beaten back, because, as it came out of the wood, it had to form under a fire of grapeshot, of which Napoleon knew nothing.
The fourth instruction is: That the viceroy will take possession of the village (Borodino), and cross by its three bridges, following to the same high ground as Morand's and Friant's divisions (nothing is said of whence and when they were to advance), which under his leadership will advance to the redoubt and form in a line with the other troops. As far as one can make out, not so much from this confused paragraph, as from the attempts made by the viceroy to carry out the orders given him, he was to advance through Borodino from the left to the redoubt, and the divisions of Morand and Friant were to advance simultaneously from the front. All this, like the other instructions, was impossible to carry out. After passing through Borodino the viceroy was beaten back at the Kolotcha, and could advance no further. The divisions of Morand and Friant did not take the redoubt, but were driven back, and at the end of the day the redoubt was captured by cavalry (in an action probably unforeseen by Napoleon; and not heard of by him).
And not one of the instructions given was, or could be, carried into effect. But in the disposition was the statement, that after the battle had begun, further instructions would be given in accordance with the enemy's movements; and so it might be supposed that all necessary instructions had been given by Napoleon during the battle. But this was not, and could not be, the case, because, during the whole battle Napoleon was so far from the scene of action that (as it turned out later) he knew nothing of the course of the battle, and not a single instruction given by him during the fight could possibly be executed.
八月二十五日这一整天，正如拿破仑的史学家所说，拿破仑是在马上度过的：他观察地形，研究元帅们递上来的计划，亲自给将军们发布命令。 
俄军原先沿着科洛恰河的战线被突破了，部分战线——俄军的左翼，由于二十四日舍瓦尔金诺多面堡的失守，向后撤了，这部分新战线没设防御工事，也无河可守，它面对一片广阔的平面。不论是军人还是非军人都很清楚，法国人正应当进攻这部分战线。对这个问题，似乎无须多加考虑，也无须皇帝和他的将军们那么操心和奔忙，尤其无须特别突出的能力——也就是人们喜欢加在拿破仑身上的所谓天才；但是后来描述这一事件的史学家们，当时在拿破仑身边的人们，以及拿破仑本人，却另有想法。
拿破仑骑着马在战场上巡视，带着深思熟虑的神情观察地形，他点点头或摇摇头，以表示同意或者怀疑，他只是把最后的结论以命令的形式传达给跟随他左右的将军们，但他作出这些决定经过什么深谋远虑的指导思想，却不对他们讲。拿破仑听了那个被称为埃克米尔公爵的达乌①关于迂回俄军左翼的建议后，说不需那样做，但是不说明为什么不需要。康庞将军（他负责进攻多角堡）要率领他那一师穿过树林，拿破仑对这个建议表示同意。虽然那个所谓埃尔欣根公爵内伊②斗胆指出，在树林里行动是危险的，可能弄乱全师的队形。 
①达乌·路易（1770～1823），法国元帅，曾在一八○五年奥斯特利茨战役和一八○六年奥尔施泰特战役建立功勋。
②内伊，米歇尔（1769～1815），法国元帅，拿破仑一世最亲密的战友之一。一八一二年法国军队从俄国撤退时，负责法军后卫部队的指挥。
拿破仑观察过舍瓦尔金诺多面堡对面的地形之后，思索了一会儿，指出要在明天天亮以前布置两个炮兵阵地的地点，以攻打俄军的防御工事，又指出与炮兵阵地并列的地点安置野战炮。
他发出这些命令以及别的命名之后，就回到大本营，按照他的日授写下了战斗部署。
曾为法国史学家得意洋洋和别的史学家满怀敬意叙述的战斗部署如下：
在埃克米尔公爵据守的平原上夜间新建的两个炮兵阵地，拂晓要向对面两个敌人的炮兵阵地开火。
同时，第一团炮队司令佩尔涅提将军率领康庞的三十尊大炮以及德塞和弗里昂两师的全部榴弹炮，向前推进，开火，用榴弹压倒敌人的炮兵阵地，参加战斗的有：
二十四尊近卫军炮队的炮
三十尊康庞师的炮
八尊弗里昂和德塞两师的炮
共计六十二尊炮。
第三兵团炮兵司令富歇将军要把第三、第八兵团的榴弹炮，共计十六尊，安置在担任轰击敌人左方工事的炮兵阵地两侧，此处共有炮四十尊。
索尔比埃将军应作好准备，一接到命令，立即用近卫军的全部榴弹炮轰击敌人的任何一处防御工事。
在炮击中间，波尼亚托夫斯基公爵直趋那个村子，通过树林迂回敌人的阵地。
康庞将军通过树林夺取第一个堡垒。
照此进入战斗后，将视敌人行动随时发布命令。
一听见右翼炮声，左翼立即开始炮击，莫朗师和总督①师的狙击兵，一见右翼开始进攻，立即猛烈开火。
总督要占领那个村子，然后越过三座桥，协同莫朗和热拉尔两师直趋高地，总督率领这两个师进攻打多角堡，并与其他部队投入战斗。
这一切都要有条不紊地完成（le　tout　se　fera　avec　ordre　et　méthode②），尽可能保留后备部队。
莫扎伊斯克附近御营，一八一二年九月六日③。 
①总督指副元帅缪拉，拿破仑已经封他为那不勒斯王。
②法语：一切要按次序和方案进行。
③此处的日期是公历，相当俄国旧历八月二十五日。
假如我们对拿破仑天才不抱有宗教的敬畏之感来看这些命令的话，那么，战斗部署是极端模糊和混乱的，它包括四点，即四项命名。这四项命令没有一项是能够实现的，实际上也没有实现。
这个部署的第一项说：·在拿破仑所选定的地点上的炮队，连同与其并列的佩尔涅提和富歇的大炮，共计一百零二尊，对俄国的凸角堡和多面堡开火并发射榴弹。这是办不到的，因为在拿破仑所指定的地点，炮弹射不到俄国的工事，除非就近的司令官违反拿破仑的命令把大炮向前移动，不然那一百零二尊大炮只能放空。
第二项命令是：波尼亚托夫斯基通过树林向那个村子进军，迂回到俄军的左翼。这是不可能的，实际上也没有做到，因为波尼亚托夫斯基向那个村子进军的时候，在那儿遭遇到图奇科夫的阻击，不可能也未曾迂回到俄国的阵地。
第三项命令：康庞将军通过树林夺取第一座堡垒。康庞那一师并没占领第一座堡垒，因为从树林里一出来，该师就不得不在拿破仑意想不到的霰弹的火力攻击下整理队伍。
第四项：总督要占领那个村子（波罗底诺），然后越过三座桥，协同莫朗和热拉尔两师直趋高地（对他们的行动方向和时间并未发出指示），总督率领两个师进攻多角堡，并与其他部队进入战斗。
只可能这样理解——不是由于这个复杂的句子含混不清，就是由于总督在执行他所接受的命令时另有企图——他从左方通过波罗底诺向多面堡进攻，而莫朗和弗里昂两师同时正面进攻。
所有这一切以及部署中的其他各点，不曾也不可能执行。总督越过波罗底诺，在科洛恰被打退了，不能再前进了，多面堡没有被莫朗和弗里昂两师占领，只是在战斗结束时才被骑兵攻下（拿破仑大概未料到也未听到）。这么一来，部署中的那些命令没有一项是被执行了的，也不可能被执行。部署中又说，战斗照这样开始后，将按照敌人的行动随时发布命令，因此，好像是在战斗中，拿破仑将发出一切必要的命令；但实际并非如此，也不可能做到，因为在战斗时拿破仑离战场很远，战斗过程他不可能知道（这在后来才知道的）他的命令没有一项是在战斗中切实可行的。
Book 10 Chapter 28
MANY HISTORIANS assert that the French failed at Borodino because Napoleon had a cold in his head; that if he had not had a cold the orders given by him before and during the battle would have been even more remarkable for their genius, and Russia would have been lost and the face of the world would have been changed. To historians, who can maintain that Russia was transformed at the will of one man—Peter the Great—and that France, from a republic, became an empire, and that the French army marched into Russia at the will of one man—Napoleon—the conclusion that Russia has remained a power because Napoleon had a bad cold on the 26th of August may seem indisputable and convincing. Had it depended on Napoleon's will to fight, or not to fight, at Borodino, or had it depended on his will whether he gave this order or that, it is evident that a cold, affecting the manifestation of his will, might be the saving of Russia, and consequently the valet, who forgot to put on Napoleon's waterproof boots on the 24th, would be the saviour of Russia. On that method of reasoning such a deduction is inevitable; as inevitable as the contention which Voltaire maintains in jest (unconscious what he was ridiculing) that the Massacre of St. Bartholomew was due to an attack of dyspepsia from which Charles IX was suffering. But for minds that cannot admit that Russia was transformed at the will of one man—Peter the Great—and the French empire was created, and the war with Russia begun, at the will of one man—Napoleon—such a contention will seem not merely unsound and irrational, but contrary to the whole nature of humanity. The question, What constitutes the cause of historical events? will suggest to them another answer, resting on the idea that the course of earthly events is predestined from on high, depends on the combination of all the wills of the men taking part in those events, and that the predominant influence of Napoleon in those events is purely external and fictitious.
Strange at first sight as appears the proposition that the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, the order for which was given by Charles IX., was not the result of his will, and that it was only in his fancy that the command he had given was the cause of it, and that the Borodino slaughter of eighty thousand men was not due to Napoleon's will (though he gave the order for the commencement of the battle), and that it was only his fancy that it was his doing, strange as this proposition appears, yet human dignity, that tells us that every one of us is neither more nor less a man than Napoleon, bids us admit that solution of the question, and historical researches abundantly confirm the proposition.
At the battle of Borodino Napoleon did not fire at any one, nor kill any one. All that was done by his soldiers. Therefore it was not he who killed those men. The soldiers of the French army went out to slay their fellow-men at Borodino, not owing to Napoleon's commands, but through their own desire to do so. The whole army—French, Italians, Germans, Poles—hungry, ragged, and exhausted by the march, felt at the sight of an army, barring their way to Moscow: the wine is drawn, it must be drunk. Had Napoleon forbidden them at that point to fight the Russians, they would have killed him, and have proceeded to fight the Russians, because it was inevitable for them.
When they heard Napoleon's proclamation, offering them as consolation for maiming and death the reminder that posterity would say that they had been at the battle before Moscow, they shouted, “Vive l'Empereur,” just as they shouted “Vive l'Empereur” at the sight of the picture of the little boy playing cup and ball with the earth, and just as they shouted “Vive l'Empereur” at every absurdity that was said. There was nothing left for them to do but to shout “Vive l'Empereur!” and to fight so as to get food and rest as conquerors in Moscow. Therefore it was not owing to Napoleon's commands that they killed their fellow-men.
And it was not Napoleon who ordained the course of the battle, because none of his instructions were put into execution, and he knew nothing of what was passing before him. Therefore the manner in which these men slaughtered one another did not depend on Napoleon's will, but proceeded independently of him, from the wills of the hundreds of thousands of men who took part in the affair. It only seemed to Napoleon that all this was due to his will. And therefore the question whether Napoleon had or had not a cold in his head is of no more interest to history than the cold of the lowest soldier of the commissariat.
The contention of some writers, that Napoleon's cold was the reason of his previous instructions and commands during the battle being weaker than usual, is completely groundless.
The instructions that have been reproduced here are by no means inferior, are indeed superior, to many similar arrangements by which he had gained victories in the past. His supposed instructions during the day were also in no way inferior to the commands he had given in previous battles, but were much the same as usual. But these instructions are supposed to be inferior, simply because Borodino was the first battle in which Napoleon was not victorious. The finest and profoundest combinations seem very poor, and every military student can criticise them with a consequential air, when the battle has not been won by means of them; and the stupidest combinations will seem exceedingly ingenious, and serious writers will fill volumes in proving their excellence, when the battle that followed chances to have been a victory.
The plan composed by Weierother at Austerlitz was a model of perfection in its own line, but it has yet been condemned, and condemned for its very perfection, for its over-minuteness in detail.
At Borodino Napoleon played his part as the representative of supreme power as well, or even better, than he had done at previous battles. He did nothing likely to hinder the progress of the battle; he yielded to the most sensible advice; he was not confused, did not contradict himself, did not lose his presence of mind, nor run away from the field of battle, but with his great tact and military experience, he performed calmly and with dignity his role of appearing to be in supreme control of it all.
许多史学家说，波罗底诺战役法国人没有打赢是因为拿破仑感冒了，如果他没有感冒，在战斗之前和在战斗期间他的作战命令一定更加有天才，俄国人一定失败，et　la　face　du　monde　eut　été　changée①。一些史学家认为，俄国的缔造是由于一个人的意志——彼得大帝的意志，法国由共和变为帝制，法国的军队开进俄国，也是由于一个人的意志所为——拿破仑的意志，俄国所以强盛，是因为拿破仑在八月二十六日患了重感冒，这些论断在一些史学家看来无疑是合乎逻辑的。 
①法语：而世界的面貌也就会改变了。
假如波罗底诺战役的发动与否取决于拿破仑的意志，发出这个或那个命令也取决于他的意志，那么，显然能够影响他表现意志的伤风感冒可能是俄国得救的原因，因此，那个在二十四日忘记给拿破仑防水靴子的侍仆也是俄国的救星了。用这种思路得出的结论是无可怀疑的，正如伏尔泰开玩笑（他自己也不知嘲笑什么）说，巴托洛缪之夜①是由于查理九世肠胃失调引起的，这个结论同样是无可怀疑的。但是有人不认为俄国的缔造只凭彼得大帝一个人的意志，法兰西帝国的形成以及它同俄国的战争也不是由于拿破仑一个人的意志，在这些人看来，前面的有关结论不仅是不正确的，不合理的，而且与整个人类的现实生活相矛盾。关于形成历史事件的原因这个问题的另一答案是：这世界事件的过程是上天注定的，它取决于参加这些事件的人们的任意行动的巧合，拿破仑之类的人物对事件过程的影响，不过是表面的，虚假的。 
①巴托洛缪之夜指一五七二年八月二十四日的前夕，巴黎天主教对于戈诺教徒的大屠杀。
有一种看法乍一看来很奇怪，那就是：巴托洛缪之夜的屠杀事件，虽然发命令的是查理九世，但不是按照他的意志发生的，他不过觉得是他命令这样做的；波罗底诺八万人的大屠杀事件也不是按照拿破仑的意志发生的（虽然开战及战斗中的命令都是他发出的），他不过觉得命令是他发布的罢了，——不管这个看法多么奇怪，但是，人的尊严告诉我，我们每一个人，作为一个人来说，纵然不比伟大的拿破仑强，无论如何不会比他差多少，人的尊严叫我们这样看问题，历史的研究也充分肯定了这种看法。
在波罗底诺战役中，拿破仑没有对任何人射击，也没有杀一个人，一切都是士兵做的。由此可见，杀人的不是他。
法国士兵在波罗底诺战役中屠杀俄国士兵，并不是由于拿破仑的命令，而是出于自愿。全部军队：法国人、意大利人、德国人、波兰人——他们饥肠辘辘、衣衫褴褛、在行军中累得精疲力尽，——看见阻碍他们去莫斯科的军队，他们就感到，le　vin　est　tiré　et　qu'il　faut　le　boire①。假若拿破仑当时禁止他们和俄国人打仗，他们会把他杀死，然后去打俄国人，因为这是他们必需要做的。
当他们听到拿破仑在命令中晓谕他们，子孙后代会因为他们在莫斯科城下战斗过，有过阵亡和受伤而得到慰藉，他们就高呼：“Vive　l'empereur！”②，正像他们一看见小孩用小棒捅地球的画像，就喊：“Vive　l'empereur！”一样，也正如他们不论听到什么毫无意义的话就高呼？“Vive　l'empereur！”一样。他们除了高呼“Vive　l'empereur！”和去打仗，以便在莫斯科以征服者的身份得到食物和休息以外，再没有什么事可做了。由此看来，他们残杀自己的同类并非由于拿破仑的命令。 
①法语：瓶塞已打开，就得把酒喝掉。
②法语：皇帝万岁。
在整个战斗过程中发号施令的也不是拿破仑，因为他的战斗部署没有一条是付诸实行的，而且在战斗中间他不知道他前面的情况。因此，那些人互相残杀，并不是按照拿破仑的意志才发生的，而是不以他为转移，按照参加共同行动的几十万人的意志进行的。只不过拿破仑觉得，好像一切都是按照他的意志进行的。所以说，拿破仑伤风感冒，并不比一个最小的运输兵伤风感冒具有更大的历史意义。
一些作者又说，由于拿破仑感冒，他的部署和在战斗中的命令不像以前那么好，这完全不正确。正是这一点说明拿破仑八月二十六日的感冒没有什么意义。
此处引述的战斗部署一点也不比先前他打胜仗的所有战斗部署更差，甚至还要好些。那些在战斗中臆想的命令也并不比以前的更差，完全和以前的一样。这些部署和命令之所以好像比以前差，那不过是因为波罗底诺战役是拿破仑第一次败北罢了。不论多么优秀单绝、深思熟虑的部署和命令，只要据此打了败仗，就好像是非常糟的，每一个军事科学家都煞有介事地批评它们，不论多么糟的部署和命令，只要据此打了胜仗，就好像是非常好的，那些严肃认真的学者都撰写卷帙浩繁的书籍论证它的优点。
魏罗特尔拟定的奥斯特利茨战役的部署，就是这类作品的完美典范，但是人们仍然指摘它，指摘它的完美，指摘它过分的烦琐。
拿破仑在波罗底诺战役中完成它作为权力代表者的任务并不比在其他战役中完成得差，甚至更好些。他并没有作出妨碍战斗进行的事情；他倾听比较合理的意见；他没有手忙脚乱，没有自相矛盾，没有惊慌失措，也没有从战场上逃跑，而是施展了他那巨大的节制能力和作战经验，镇静而庄严地扮演了他那貌似统帅的角色。
Book 10 Chapter 29
ON RETURNING from a second careful inspection of the lines, Napoleon said:
“The pieces are on the board, the game will begin to-morrow.”
He ordered some punch, and sending for Beausset began talking of Paris with him, discussing various changes he intended to make in the Empress's household, and surprising the prefect by his memory of the minutest details of court affairs.
He showed interest in trifles, jested at Beausset's love of travel, and chatted carelessly, as some renowned, skilful and confident surgeon will often chat playfully while he tucks up his sleeves and puts on his apron, and the patient is being bound down on the operating-table. “I have the whole business at my finger-tips, and it's all clear and definite in my head. When I have to set to work, I will do it as no one else could, but now I can jest, and the more serenely I jest the more calm and confidence and admiration for my genius you ought to feel.”
After emptying a second glass of punch, Napoleon went to seek repose before the grave business which, as he imagined, lay before him next day.
He was so preoccupied with what lay before him that he could not sleep, and in spite of his cold, which got worse with the damp of evening, he got up at three o'clock, and went out into the principal compartment of the tent, sneezing violently. He asked whether the Russians had not retreated. He was told that the enemy's fires were still in the same places. He nodded approval.
The adjutant on duty came into the tent.
“Well, Rapp, do you think we shall do good business to-day?” he said to him.
“Without doubt, sire!” answered Rapp.
Napoleon looked at him.
“Do you remember what you did me the honour to say at Smolensk?” said Rapp: “the wine is drawn, it must be drunk.”
Napoleon frowned, and sat for a long while in silence, his head in his hand.
“This poor army, it has greatly diminished since Smolensk. La fortune est une franche courtisane, Rapp. I have always said so, and I begin to feel it; but the Guard, Rapp, the Guard is intact?” he said inquiringly.
“Yes, sire,” replied Rapp.
Napoleon took a lozenge, put it in his mouth, and looked at his watch. He was not sleepy, and morning was still far off; and there were no instructions to be drawn up to get through the time, for all had been already given, and were even now being put into execution.
“Have the biscuits and the rice been distributed to the regiments of the Guard?” Napoleon asked severely.
“Yes, sire.”
“The rice, too?”
Rapp answered that he had given the Emperor's orders about the rice; but Napoleon shook his head with a dissatisfied air, as though he doubted whether his command had been carried out. A servant came in with punch. Napoleon ordered another glass for Rapp, and took a few sips from his own in silence. “I have neither taste nor smell,” he said, sniffing at the glass. “I am sick of this cold. They talk about medicine. What is medicine, when they can't cure a cold? Corvisart gave me these lozenges, but they do no good. What can they cure? They can't cure anything. Our body is a machine for living. It is organised for that, it is its nature; leave life to it unhindered, let life defend itself in it; it will do more than if you paralyse it, encumbering it with remedies. Our body is a perfect watch, meant to go for a certain time; the watchmaker has not the power of opening it, he can only handle it in fumbling fashion, blindfold. Our body is a machine for living, that's all.” And apparently because he had dropped into making definitions, which he had a weakness for doing, he suddenly hazarded one on a fresh subject. “Do you know, Rapp, what the military art consists in?” he asked. “It is the art of being stronger than the enemy at a given moment. That is all.”
Rapp made no reply.
“To-morrow we shall have to do with Kutuzov,” said Napoleon. “We shall see! Do you remember, he was in command at Braunau, and never once in three weeks mounted a horse to inspect his entrenchments. We shall see!”
He looked at his watch. It was still only four o'clock. He was not sleepy; the punch was finished, and there was still nothing to do. He got up, walked up and down, put on a warm coat and hat and went out of the tent. The night was dark and damp; a slight drizzle was falling almost inaudibly. Close by in the French Guard, the camp-fires burned dimly, and far away they were blazing brightly through the smoke along the Russian line. The air was still, and a faint stir and tramp could be distinctly heard from the French troops beginning to move to occupy the position.
Napoleon walked to and fro before the tent, looked at the fires, listened to the tramp, and passed by a tall guardsman in a fur cap, a sentinel at his tent, who drew himself up like a black post on seeing the Emperor. The latter stood still, facing him.
“Since what year have you served?” he asked, with that affectation of military bluntness and geniality with which he always addressed the soldiers. The soldier answered.
“Ah! one of the veterans! Have you all had rice in the regiment?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Napoleon nodded and walked away.
At half-past five Napoleon rode to the village of Shevardino.
It began to get light; the sky cleared, only a single storm cloud lay on the eastern horizon. The deserted camp-fires burned down in the pale light of morning.
A solitary, deep cannon shot boomed out on the right, hovered in the air, and died away in the stillness. Several minutes passed. A second, and a third shot was heard, the air was full of vibration; a fourth and a fifth boomed out majestically, closely on the right.
The first shots had not died away, when others rang out, and more and more, their notes blending and overtaking one another.
Napoleon rode with his suite to the Shevardino redoubt, and dismounted there. The game had begun.
拿破仑在第二次细心地巡视了前线归来后，说： 
“棋盘摆好了，比赛明天就开始。”
他吩咐给他拿潘趣酒①，叫来德波塞，开始和他谈巴黎，谈他打算就Maison　de　l'empératrice②作某些改革，他对宫廷琐事记得那么清楚，使这位宫廷长官感到惊奇。
他关心琐事，嘲笑德波塞爱旅行的癖好，他随时闲谈，那神气就像一个著名的、自信的、内行的外科医生，他卷起袖子，围上围裙，病人被绑在手术床上：“事情全抓在我的手里和头脑里，它是清楚的，明确的。一着手干起来，谁也比不了我，现在我可以开开玩笑，我愈是谈笑自若，你们就愈有信心，愈镇静，也就愈惊奇于我的天之。”
喝完第二杯潘趣酒，拿破仑觉得明天有一桩严重的事情在等待着他，就休息去了。
他对面临的事情太操心了，以致无法入睡，而夜里的潮湿更加重了他的感冒。凌晨三点钟，他大声擤着鼻子，走进帐篷的大房间。他问俄国人是否已经撤退，人们回答说，敌人的火光仍在原来的地方。他赞许地点了点头。
值日副官走进帐篷。
“Eh　bien，Rapp，Croyezvous，que　nous　ferons　de　bonnes　affaires　aujourd'hui？”③他问副官。
“Sans　aucun　doute，Sire．”④拉普回答说。 
①潘趣酒是一种果汁、香料、酒等混合的甜饮料。
②法语：皇后的内侍官编制。
③法语：喂，拉普，你看咱们今天能打胜吗？
④法语：毫无疑问，陛下。
拿破仑看了看他。
“Vous　rappellez－vous，Sire，ce　que　vous　m'avez　fait　l'honneur　de　dire　à　Smolensk？”拉普说，“le　vin　est　tirè，il　faut　le　boire．①”
拿破仑皱起眉头，手支撑着头默默地坐了很久。
“Cette　pauvre　armée！”他突然说，“elle　a　bien　diminuéedepuis　Smolensk．La　fortune　est　une　franche　courtisane，Rapp，je　le　disais　toujours，et　je　commence　a　l'eprouver．Mais　la　garde，Rapp，la　garde　est　intacte？”②他疑惑地说。
“Oui，Sire。”③拉普回答。
拿破仑拿起一片药放进嘴里，看了看表。他不想睡了，离天亮还早；用发命令来消磨时间已经不行了，因为全部命令已经发出，现在正在执行中。
“A－t－on　distribué　les　biscuits　et　le　riz　aux　régiments　de　la　garde？”④拿破仑严厉地问。
“Oui，Sire．” 
①法语：您还记得您在斯摩棱斯克对我说过的话吗？瓶塞已经开，就要把酒喝掉。
②法语：可怜的军人！自从斯摩棱斯克战役以来，大大地减少了。命运真是个放荡的女人，拉普。我过去总是这么说，现在开始体验到了。但是近卫军，拉普，近卫军还完整吧？
③法语：是的，陛下。
④法语：面包和米都发给近卫军了吗？
“Mais　le　riz？”①
拉普回答说，他已经传达了皇帝关于发米的命令，但是拿破仑不满意地摇摇头，好像不相信他的命令已被执行。仆人拿着潘趣酒走进来。拿破仑吩咐给拉普一只杯子，然后默默地一口口饮他那一杯。
“我既没有味觉，也没有嗅觉，”他闻着杯子说。“这场伤风可把我害苦了。他们谈论医学。他们连伤风都治不了，还算什么医学？科维扎尔②给我这些药片，可是一点用也没有。他们能治什么病？什么也治不了。Notre　corps　est　une　machine　à　vivre．Il　est　organisé　pour　cela，c'est　sa　nature；laissez－y　la　vie　à　son　aise，qu'elle　s'y　défende；elle　même　elle；fera　plus　que　si　vous　la　paralysiez　en　l'encombrant　de　remedes．Notre　corps　est　comme　une　montre　parfaite　qui　doit　aller　un　certain　temps；l'horloger　n'a　pas　la　faculté　de　l'ouvrir，il　ne　peut　la　manier　qu'à　taAtons　et　les　yeux　bandés．Notre　corps　est　une　machine　à　vivre，voil　tout．”③这似乎触及了他喜爱的定义（définitions），他出乎意外地下了一个新定义。“拉普，您知道什么是军事艺术吗？”他问。“这是在一定的时间比敌人强的艺术。Voilà　tout．”④
拉普什么也没有回答。
“Demain　nous　allons　avoiraffaire　à　
Koutouzoff！”⑤拿破仑说。”等着瞧吧！您记得吧，他在布劳瑙指挥一支军队，一连三个礼拜他都没有骑马去视察工事。等着瞧吧！” 
①法语：可是米呢？
②科维扎尔是拿破仑的御医。
③法语：我们的身体是一架活机器。身体是为了生命而构造的。让生命在④法语：如此而已。
⑤法语：明天我们要和库图佐夫打交道了！
身体里自由自在，别干预它，让它自己保护自己，它处理自身的事，比用药去妨害它要好得多。我们的身体就像钟表，它应当走一定的时间，钟表医不能打开它，只能蒙着眼睛瞎摸来修理它。我们的身体是一架活机器。如此而已。
他看看表。才四点钟。没有睡意，酒也喝完了，无事可做。他站起身，来回走了两趟，穿上暖和的外衣，戴上帽子，走出了帐篷。夜又黑又潮，刚刚能感觉到的湿露从天上降下来。近处法国近卫军的篝火不太亮，远处沿着俄国的降线篝火透过烟雾闪着亮光。万籁俱静，只清楚地听见法军已经开始进入阵地的沙沙声与脚步声。
拿破仑在收篷前走了走，看看火光，细听一下脚步声，他从一个高个子的卫兵面前走过，这个戴着毛皮帽的卫兵在他的帐篷前站岗，他一看见皇帝就把身子挺得像根黑柱子，拿破仑在他面前站住了。
“你是哪年入伍的？”他问。地对士兵说话时，总是装腔作势，爱用既粗鲁又和气的军人口吻，那个士兵回答了他。
“Ah！un　des　vieux①你们团里领到米了吗？” 
①法语：啊！是一个老兵了！
“领到了，陛下。”
拿破仑点点头，就走开了。
五点半钟，拿破仑骑着马到舍瓦尔金诺村。
天渐渐亮了，万里晴空，只有一片乌云悬挂在东方。被遗弃的篝火在晨光熹微中快燃尽了。
右边响起一声沉重的炮击声，炮弹划破寂静，然后消失了。过了几分钟。响起第二、第三声炮击，震荡着空气；右边不远处庄严地响起第四、第五声炮击。
最初的炮击声还没完全消失，别的炮击声又响起来，接二连三，争先恐后，众炮齐发，响成一片。
拿破仑带着随从来到舍瓦尔金诺多面堡，下了马。棋赛开始了。
Book 10 Chapter 30
PIERRE, on returning to Gorky from seeing Prince Andrey, gave directions to his postillion to have horses ready and to call him early next morning, and promptly fell fast asleep in the corner behind a screen which Boris had put at his disposal.
When Pierre was fully awake next morning, there was no one in the hut. The panes were rattling in the little windows. The postillion was at his side, shaking him. “Your excellency, your excellency, your excellency …” the groom kept saying persistently, shaking him by the shoulder, without even looking at him, apparently having lost all hope of ever waking him up.
“Eh, has it begun? Is it time?” said Pierre, waking up.
“Listen to the firing, your excellency,” said the postillion, an old soldier; “all the gentlemen are gone already; his highness set off long ago.”
Pierre dressed in haste, and ran out into the porch. It was a bright, fresh, dewy, cheerful morning. The sun had just broken through the cloud that had screened it, and its rays filtered through the rent clouds, and over the roofs of the street opposite on to the dew-drenched dust of the road, on to the fences and the windows of the houses, and Pierre's horses standing by the cottage. The roar of the cannon could be heard more distinctly in the open air. An adjutant galloped down the street, followed by a Cossack.
“It's time, count, it's time!” cried the adjutant. Pierre gave orders that he should be followed with a horse, and walked along the street to the knoll from which he had viewed the field of battle the day before. On this knoll was a crowd of officers, and Pierre heard the French chatter of the staff, and saw Kutuzov's grey head sunk in his shoulders, and his white cap, with red braiding on it. Kutuzov was looking through a field-glass along the high-road before him.
Mounting the steps of the approach to the mound, Pierre glanced before him, and felt a thrill of delight at the beauty of the spectacle. It was the same scene that he had admired from that mound the day before. But now the whole panorama was filled with troops and the smoke of the guns, and in the pure morning air the slanting rays of the sun, behind Pierre on the left, shed on it a brilliant light full of gold and pink tones, and broken up by long, dark shadows. The distant forests that bounded the scene lay in a crescent on the horizon, looking as though carved out of some precious yellow-green stone, and through their midst behind Valuev ran the great Smolensk road, all covered with troops. In the foreground lay golden fields and copses glittering in the sun. Everywhere, to right, to left, and in front were soldiers. The whole scene was inspiriting, impressive, and unexpected; but what struck Pierre most of all was the aspect of the field of battle itself, of Borodino, and the hollow on both sides of the Kolotcha.
About the Kolotcha, in Borodino, and both sides of it, especially to the left where the Voina runs through swampy ground into the Kolotcha, a mist still hung over the scene, melting, parting, shimmering with light in the bright sunshine, and giving fairy-like beauty to the shapes seen through it. The smoke of the guns mingled with this mist, and everywhere gleams of sunlight sparkled in it from the water, from the dew, from the bayonets of the soldiers crowding on the river banks and in Borodino. Through this mist could be seen a white church, here and there roofs of cottages in Borodino, and fitful glimpses came of compact masses of soldiers, and green ammunition-boxes and cannons. And the whole scene moved, or seemed to move, as the mist and smoke trailed over the wide plain. In this low ground about Borodino in the mist, and above it, and especially along the whole line to the left, in the copses, in the meadows below, and on the tops of the heights, clouds of smoke were incessantly springing out of nothing, now singly, now several at once, then at longer intervals, then in rapid succession. These clouds of smoke, puffing, rolling, melting into one another, and sundering apart, trailed all across the wide plain. These puffs of smoke, and the reports that followed them, were, strange to say, what gave the chief charm to the scene.
“Poooff!” suddenly there flew up a round, compact ball of smoke, with shades of purple, grey, and milk-white in it, and “booom!” followed the roar of the cannon a minute later.
“Pooff-pooff!” two clouds of smoke rose, meeting and mingling into one; and “boom-boom,” the sound repeated what the eye had seen.
Pierre looked round at the first puff of smoke, which he had seen a second before a round, compact ball, and already in its place were wreaths of smoke trailing away to one side, and “pooff”…(then a pause) “pooff-pooff”—three more flew up, and another four at once, and at the same intervals after each other “boom…boom-boom-boom,” rang out the sonorous, resolute, unfailing sounds. At one moment it seemed that those clouds of smoke were scudding across the plain, at the next, that they were stationary, and the copses, fields, and glittering bayonets were flying by them. From the left side these great clouds of smoke were incessantly flying over the fields and bushes, with the stately roar resounding after each of them. Still nearer, in the low meadows and copses, there darted up from the musket-fire tiny puffs that hardly formed into balls of smoke, and each of these, too, had its tiny report echoing after it. Tra-ta-ta-ta sounded the crack of the muskets at frequent intervals, but thin and irregular in comparison with the rhythmic roar of the cannon.
Pierre longed to be there in the midst of the smoke, the glittering bayonets, the movement, and the noise. He looked round at Kutuzov and his suite to compare his own impression with that of others. All like him were looking before them at the field, and, he fancied, with the same feeling. Every face now was lighted up by that latent heat of feeling that Pierre had noticed the day before, and understood perfectly after his talk with Prince Andrey.
“Go, my dear fellow, go, and Christ be with you!” said Kutuzov, never taking his eyes off the field of battle, to a general standing beside him. The general, who received this order, ran by Pierre down the descent from the mound.
“To ride across!…” the general said coldly and severely, in answer to a question from one of the staff.
“And I too, I too,” thought Pierre, and he went in the same direction.
The general mounted a horse, led up to him by a Cossack. Pierre went up to the groom, who was holding his horses. Asking him which was the quietest, Pierre got on it, clutched at the horse's mane, pressed his heels into the beast's stomach, and feeling that his spectacles were slipping off, and that he was incapable of letting go of the mane and the reins, he galloped after the general, followed by smiles from the staff officers staring at him from the mound.
皮埃尔从安德烈公爵那儿回到戈尔基，命令马夫把马备好，明天一早叫醒他，然后就在鲍里斯让给他的间壁的一个角落里睡着了。 
第二天早晨，当皮埃尔完全醒来时，屋里已经没有人了。
小窗户上的玻璃震动着。马夫站在床前推他。
“大人，大人，大人，……”马夫眼睛没看皮埃尔，一个劲儿推他的肩膀，一面推，一面呼唤，显然他已失去叫醒他的希望。
“什么？开始了吗？到时候啦？”皮埃尔醒来就问。“您听听咆声，”这个退伍兵——马夫说，“老爷们全出动了，勋座也老早就过去了。”
皮埃尔连忙穿上衣服，跑到门廊上。外面天气晴朗，空气新鲜，露珠儿闪着光，令人愉快。太阳刚从乌云里蹦出来，阳光被零零碎碎的乌云遮成两半，越过对面街上的屋顶，照射到布满露水的大路尘土上，照射到房屋的墙上，照射到围墙上的窗眼上和站在农舍旁的皮埃尔的马身上。外面的炮声听得更清楚了。一个副官带着一名哥萨克从街上急驰而过。
“到时候了，伯爵，到时候了！”副官喊道。
皮埃尔吩咐马夫牵着马跟他走。他沿着街步行到他昨天观看战场的那个土岗上。土岗上有一群军人，可以听见参谋人员用法语谈话，看见库图佐夫戴着红箍白帽的、白发苍苍的脑袋和他那缩进两肩之间的满是白发的后脑勺。库图佐夫用望远镜瞭望着前面的大路。
皮埃尔沿着阶梯登上土岗，他一看面前的美景，就陶醉了。这仍然是他昨天在这山岗上欣赏到的景致；但是现在这一带地方硝烟弥漫，满山遍野都是军队，明亮的太阳从皮埃尔左后方升起，在早晨洁净的空气中，太阳把那金色、玫瑰色的斜晖和长长的黑影投射到地面上，风景渐渐消失不见了，远方的树林，宛如一块雕刻的黄绿宝石，在地平线上可以看见错落有致的黑色树巅，斯摩棱斯克大道从树林中间即瓦卢耶瓦村的后面穿过，大道上全是军队。金黄色的田野和小树林在近处闪闪发亮。前方、右方和左方，到处都是军队。所有这一切都是那么生机勃勃，庄严壮丽，而且出乎意外；但是，最让皮埃尔吃惊的是波罗底诺和科洛恰河两岸平川地带战场的景象。
在科洛恰河上面，在波罗底诺村及其两边，特别是左边，也就是沃伊纳河在沼泽地带入科洛恰河的地方，弥漫着晨雾，雾在融化，消散，在刚升起的明亮的太阳的照耀下变得透明起来，雾中一切可以看见的景物神奇地变得五光十色，只勾勒出那些东西的清晰的轮廓。枪炮的硝烟和雾混在一起，在烟雾里，到处闪烁着清晨的亮光——时而在水面上，时而在露珠上，时而在河西岸，在波罗底诺聚集着的军队的刺刀上。透过烟雾可以看见白色的教堂，波罗底诺农舍的屋顶，密集的士兵，绿色的子弹箱和大炮。所有这一切都仿佛在浮动，或是好像在浮动，因为在这一带整个空间都弥漫着烟和雾。在雾气腾腾的波罗底诺附近的洼地上，以及在它以外的高地上，特别是在战线的左方，在树林、田野、洼地、高地的顶端，仿佛无中生有似的不断地腾起大炮的团团浓烟，有时单个出现，有时成群出现；时而稀疏，时而稠密，这一带到处可以看见烟团膨胀开来，茂盛起来，汹涌滚动，混成一片。
说来奇怪，这些硝烟和射击声，竟构成了眼前景色的主体美。
噗！——突然现出圆的、浓密的、淡紫的、灰色的、浮白色的烟，砰！——过了一秒钟，浓烟中传出一声巨响。
“噗—噗”——升起两团烟，它们互相碰撞着，混合着，“砰——砰”——两声炮响证实了眼前看见的东西。
皮埃尔转脸再看那原先像一个鼓鼓的圆球似的烟，它在原地已经变成好几个球向一旁飘动，噗……（停了一会儿），噗—噗——又升起三个，四个，这样的声音，间隔同样的时间，应和着悦耳的，坚定的、准确的响声——砰……砰—砰—砰！这些烟仿佛在奔跑，又仿佛一动不动，而那些树林、田野和闪光的刺刀正从它下面跑过去。从左方，在田野和矮林那儿，不断地涌出大堆浓烟，伴随着庄严的炮声，在较近的地方，在洼地和树林那儿，步枪发射出小的，还来不及变成圆球的烟，同时有小的响声，特拉—哒—哒—哒——步枪的声音虽然频繁，但比起炮击的声音，则显得又乱又弱。
皮埃尔很想到那有烟、有闪光的刺刀和大炮，有活动，有声音的地方去。他转脸看了看库图佐夫和他的侍从，拿他的印象来和其他印象印证一番。他觉得大家都和他一样，都怀着同样的感情望着前面的战场。所有人的脸上这时都焕发着那种感情的潜热（chaleur　latente），那潜热是他昨天见到的、是他同安德烈公爵谈过话后所完全理解的。
“去吧，亲爱的朋友，去吧，愿基督与你同在。”库图佐夫对站在他身旁的将军说，眼睛并没离开战场。
那个将军领命之后，就从皮埃尔面前走过，下了山岗。
“到渡口去！”将军冷淡地、严厉地回答一个参谋人员的问话。
“我也去，我也去。”皮埃尔心里想，就追随那个将军去了。那个将军跨上哥萨克给他带过来的马。皮埃尔走到给他牵马的马夫那儿。皮埃尔问过哪匹马比较驯良后，就往一匹马身上爬，他抓住马鬃，脚尖朝外，脚跟挤着马肚子，他觉得眼镜就要掉下了，但是他不能从马鬃和缰绳上腾出手来，就跟着将军跑开了，把站在山岗上看他的参谋人员都逗乐了。
Book 10 Chapter 31
THE GENERAL after whom Pierre galloped trotted downhill, turned off sharply to the left, and Pierre, losing sight of him, galloped into the middle of a battalion of infantry marching ahead of him. He tried to get away from them, turning to left and to right; but there were soldiers everywhere, all with the same anxious faces, preoccupied with some unseen, but evidently serious, business. They all looked with the same expression of annoyed inquiry at the stout man in the white hat, who was, for some unknown reason, trampling them under his horse's feet.
“What does he want to ride into the middle of a battalion for?” one man shouted at him. Another gave his horse a shove with the butt-end of his gun; and Pierre, leaning over on the saddle-bow, and scarcely able to hold in his rearing horse, galloped out to where there was open space in front of the soldiers.
Ahead of him he saw a bridge, and at the bridge stood the soldiers firing. Pierre rode towards them. Though he did not know it, he rode up to the bridge over the Kolotcha, between Gorky and Borodino, which was attacked by the French in one of the first actions. Pierre saw there was a bridge in front of him, and that the soldiers were doing something in the smoke on both sides of the bridge, and in the meadow among the new-mown hay he had noticed the day before. But in spite of the unceasing fire going on there, he had no notion that this was the very centre of the battle. He did not notice the bullets whizzing on all sides, and the shells flying over him; he did not see the enemy on the other side of the river, and it was a long time before he saw the killed and wounded, though many fell close to him. He gazed about him with a smile still on his face.
“What's that fellow doing in front of the line?” some one shouted at him again.
“To the left,” “to the right,” men shouted to him. Pierre turned to the right, and unwittingly rode up to an adjutant of General Raevsky's, with whom he was acquainted. The adjutant glanced wrathfully at Pierre; and he, too, was apparently about to shout at him, but recognising him, he nodded.
“How did you come here?” he said, and galloped on. Pierre, feeling out of place and of no use, and afraid of getting in some one's way again, galloped after him.
“What is it, here? Can I go with you?” he asked.
“In a minute, in a minute,” answered the adjutant, and galloping up to a stout colonel in the meadow, he gave him some message, and then addressed Pierre. “What has brought you here, count?” he said to him, with a smile. “Are you still curious?”
“Yes, yes,” said Pierre. But the adjutant, turning his horse's head, rode on further.
“Here it's all right,” said the adjutant; “but on the left flank, in Bagration's division, it's fearfully hot.”
“Really?” said Pierre. “Where's that?”
“Why, come along with me to the mound; we can get a view from there. But it's still bearable at our battery,” said the adjutant. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, yes, I'll go with you,” said Pierre, looking about him, trying to see his groom. It was only then for the first time that Pierre saw wounded men, staggering along and some borne on stretchers. In the meadow with the rows of sweet-scented hay, through which he had ridden the day before, there lay motionless across the rows one soldier with his shako off, and his head thrown awkwardly back. “And why haven't they taken that one?” Pierre was beginning, but seeing the adjutant's set face looking in the same direction, he was silent.
Pierre did not succeed in finding his groom, and rode along the hollow with the adjutant towards Raevsky's redoubt. His horse dropped behind the adjutant's, and jolted him at regular intervals.
“You are not used to riding, count, I fancy?” asked the adjutant.
“Oh no, it's all right; but it does seem to be hopping along somehow,” said Pierre, with a puzzled look.
“Ay! … but he's wounded,” said the adjutant, “the right fore-leg above the knee. A bullet, it must have been. I congratulate you, count,” he said, “you have had your baptism of fire now.”
After passing in the smoke through the sixth corps behind the artillery, which had been moved forward and was keeping up a deafening cannonade, they rode into a small copse. There it was cool and still and full of the scents of autumn. Pierre and the adjutant got off their horses and walked on foot up the hill.
“Is the general here?” asked the adjutant on reaching the redoubt.
“He was here just now; he went this way,” some one answered, pointing to the right.
The adjutant looked round at Pierre, as though he did not know what to do with him.
“Don't trouble about me,” said Pierre. “I'll go up on to the mound; may I?”
“Yes, do; you can see everything from there, and it's not so dangerous, and I will come to fetch you.”
Pierre went up to the battery, and the adjutant rode away. They did not see each other again, and only much later Pierre learned that that adjutant had lost an arm on that day.
The mound—afterwards known among the Russians as the battery mound, or Raevsky's battery, and among the French as “the great redoubt,” “fatal redoubt,” and “central redoubt”—was the celebrated spot at which tens of thousands of men were killed, and upon which the French looked as the key of the position.
The redoubt consisted of a mound, with trenches dug out on three sides of it. In the entrenchments stood ten cannons, firing through the gaps left in the earthworks.
In a line with the redoubt on both sides stood cannons, and these too kept up an incessant fire. A little behind the line of cannons were troops of infantry. When Pierre ascended this mound, he had no notion that this place, encircled by small trenches and protected by a few cannons, was the most important spot in the field.
He fancied, indeed (simply because he happened to be there), that it was a place of no importance whatever.
Pierre sat down on the end of the earthwork surrounding the battery and gazed at what was passing around him with an unconscious smile of pleasure. At intervals Pierre got up, and with the same smile on his face walked about the battery, trying not to get in the way of the soldiers, who were loading and discharging the cannons and were continually running by him with bags and ammunition. The cannons were firing continually, one after another, with deafening uproar, enveloping all the country round in clouds of smoke.
In contrast to the painful look of dread in the infantry soldiers who were guarding the battery, here in the battery itself, where a limited number of men were busily engaged in their work, and shut off from the rest of the trench, there was a general feeling of eager excitement, a sort of family feeling shared by all alike.
The appearance of Pierre's unmartial figure and his white hat at first impressed this little group unfavourably. The soldiers cast sidelong glances of surprise and even alarm at him, as they ran by. The senior artillery officer, a tall, long-legged, pock-marked man, approached Pierre, as though he wanted to examine the action of the cannon at the end, and stared inquisitively at him.
A boyish, round-faced, little officer, quite a child, evidently only just out of the cadets' school, and very conscientious in looking after the two cannons put in his charge, addressed Pierre severely.
“Permit me to ask you to move out of the way, sir,” he said. “You can't stay here.”
The soldiers shook their heads disapprovingly as they looked at Pierre. But as the conviction gained ground among them that the man in the white hat was doing no harm, and either sat quietly on the slope of the earthwork, or, making way with a shy and courteous smile for the soldiers to pass, walked about the battery under fire as calmly as though he were strolling on a boulevard, their feeling of suspicious ill-will began to give way to a playful and kindly cordiality akin to the feeling soldiers always have for the dogs, cocks, goats, and other animals who share the fortunes of the regiment. The soldiers soon accepted Pierre in their own minds as one of their little circle, made him one of themselves, and gave him a name: “our gentleman” they called him, and laughed good-humouredly about him among themselves.
A cannon ball tore up the earth a couple of paces from Pierre. Brushing the earth off his clothes, he looked about him with a smile.
“And how is it you're not afraid, sir, upon my word?” said a broad, red-faced soldier, showing his strong, white teeth in a grin.
“Why, are you afraid then?” asked Pierre.
“Why, to be sure!” answered the soldier. “Why, she has no mercy on you. She smashes into you, and your guts are sent flying. Nobody could help being afraid,” he said laughing.
Several soldiers stood still near Pierre with amused and kindly faces. They seemed not to expect him to talk like any one else, and his doing so delighted them.
“It's our business—we're soldiers. But for a gentleman—it's surprising. It's queer in a gentleman!”
“To your places!” cried the little officer-boy to the soldiers, who had gathered round Pierre. It was evidently the first, or at most, the second time, this lad had been on duty as an officer, and so he behaved with the utmost punctiliousness and formality both to the soldiers and his superior officer.
The roar of cannon and the rattle of musketry were growing louder all over the field, especially on the left, where Bagration's earthworks were, but from where Pierre was, hardly anything could be seen for the smoke. Moreover, watching the little fraternal group of men, shut off from all the world on the battery, engrossed all Pierre's attention. His first unconscious delight in the sights and sounds of the battlefield had given way to another feeling, ever since he had seen the solitary dead soldier lying on the hayfield. Sitting now on the slope of the earthwork, he watched the figures moving about him.
By ten o'clock some twenty men had been carried away from the battery; two cannons had been disabled, and more and more frequently shells fell on the battery, and cannon balls came with a hiss and whir, flying out of the distance. But the men on the battery did not seem to notice this: merry chatter and jokes were to be heard on all sides.
“Not this way, my pretty,” shouted a soldier to a grenade that came whistling towards them.
“Give the infantry a turn!” another added with a chuckle, as the grenade flew across and fell among the ranks of the infantry.
“What, see a friend coming, do you?” another soldier jeered at a peasant, who had ducked low at the sight of a flying cannon ball.
Several soldiers gathered together at the earthwork, looking at what was being done in front.
“And they've taken the outposts, see, they're retreating,” they said, pointing over the earthwork.
“Mind your own business,” the old sergeant shouted to them. “If they have come back, it's because they have something to do further back.” And the sergeant, taking one of the soldiers by the shoulder, gave him a shove with his knee. There was the sound of laughter
“Fifth cannon, roll away!” they were shouting on one side.
“Now then, a good pull, all together!” shouted the merry voices of the men charging the cannon.
“Ay, she almost snatched ‘our gentleman's' hat off,” the red-faced, jocose soldier laughed, showing his teeth. “Hey, awkward hussy!” he added reproachfully to a cannon ball that hit a wheel and a man's leg. “Now, you foxes there!” laughed another, addressing the peasant militiamen, who were creeping in and out among the guns after the wounded. “Don't you care for our porridge, hey? Ah, the crows! that pulls them up!” they shouted at the militiamen, who hesitated at the sight of the soldier whose leg had been torn off. “Oo … oo … lad,” they cried, mimicking the peasants, “we don't like it at all, we don't!”
Pierre noticed that after every ball that fell in their midst, after every loss, the general elation became more and more marked.
The closer the storm cloud swooped down upon them, the more bright and frequent were the gleams of latent fire that glowed like lightning flashes on those men's faces, called up, as it were, to meet and resist their danger.
Pierre did not look in front at the field of battle; he took no more interest in what was going on there. He was entirely engrossed in the contemplation of that growing fire, which he felt was burning in his own soul too.
At ten o'clock the infantry, who had been in advance of the battery in the bushes and about the stream Kamenka, retreated. From the battery they could see them running back past them, bearing their wounded on their guns. A general with a suite came on to the redoubt, and after talking to the colonel and looking angrily at Pierre, went away again, ordering the infantry standing behind the battery guarding it to lie down, so as to be less exposed to fire. After that a drum was heard in the ranks of the infantry, more to the right of the battery, and shouts gave the word of command, and from the battery they could see the ranks of infantry moving forward.
Pierre looked over the earthwork. One figure particularly caught his eye. It was the officer, walking backwards with a pale, boyish face. He held his sword downwards and kept looking uneasily round.
The rows of infantry soldiers vanished into the smoke, but they could hear a prolonged shout from them and a rapid musketry fire. A few minutes later crowds of wounded men and a number of stretchers came back from that direction. Shells fell more and more often in the battery. Several men lay on the ground, not picked up. The soldiers bustled more busily and briskly than ever about the cannons. No one took any notice of Pierre now. Twice he was shouted at angrily for being in the way. The senior officers strode rapidly from one cannon to another with a frowning face. The officer-boy, his cheeks even more crimson, gave the soldiers their orders more scrupulously than ever. The soldiers served out the charges, turned round, loaded, and did all their work with exaggerated smartness. They moved as though worked by springs.
The storm cloud was swooping closer; and more brightly than ever glowed in every face that fire which Pierre was watching. He was standing near the senior officer. The little officer-boy ran up, his hand to his shako, saluting his superior officer.
“I have the honour to inform you, colonel, only eight charges are left; do you command to continue firing?” he asked.
“Grapeshot!” the senior officer shouted, looking away over the earthwork.
Suddenly something happened; the boy-officer groaned, and whirling round sat down on the ground, like a bird shot on the wing. All seemed strange, indistinct, and darkened before Pierre's eyes.
One after another the cannon balls came whistling, striking the breastwork, the soldiers, the cannons. Pierre, who had scarcely heard those sounds before, now could hear nothing else. On the right side of the battery, soldiers, with shouts of “hurrah,” were running, not forward, it seemed to Pierre, but back.
A cannon ball struck the very edge of the earthwork, before which Pierre was sitting, and sent the earth flying; a dark, round mass flashed just before his eyes, and at the same instant flew with a thud into something. The militiamen, who had been coming into the battery, ran back.
“All with grapeshot!” shouted the officer.
The sergeant ran up to the officer, and in a frightened whisper (just as at a dinner the butler will sometimes tell the host that there is no more of some wine asked for) said that there were no more charges.
“The scoundrels, what are they about?” shouted the officer, turning to Pierre. The senior officer's face was red and perspiring, his piercing eyes glittered. “Run to the reserves, bring the ammunition-boxes!” he shouted angrily, avoiding Pierre with his eyes, and addressing the soldier.
“I'll go,” said Pierre. The officer, making no reply, strode across to the other side.
“Cease firing … Wait!” he shouted.
The soldier who had been commanded to go for the ammunition ran against Pierre.
“Ah, sir, it's no place for you here,” he said, as he ran away.
Pierre ran after the soldier, avoiding the spot where the boy-officer was sitting.
One cannon ball, a second and a third flew over him, hitting the ground in front, on each side, behind Pierre as he ran down. “Where am I going?” he suddenly wondered, just as he ran up to the green ammunition-boxes. He stopped short in uncertainty whether to go back or forward. Suddenly a fearful shock sent him flying backwards on to the ground. At the same instant a flash of flame dazed his eyes, and a roar, a hiss, and a crash set his ears ringing.
When he recovered his senses, Pierre found himself sitting on the ground leaning on his hands. The ammunition-box, near which he had been, had gone; there were a few charred green boards and rags lying scattered about on the scorched grass. A horse was galloping away with broken fragments of the shafts clattering after it; while another horse lay, like Pierre, on the ground, uttering a prolonged, piercing scream.
皮埃尔追随的那个将军，下山以后陡然向左转，从皮埃尔的视线中消失了，皮埃尔驰进前面的步兵行列里。他时左时右地想从他们中间走过去，但到处都是士兵，他们脸上的表情都一样，都显得心事重重，好像在想着一件看不见的，然而看起来是很需要的事情。他们都带着不满的疑问目光看着这个戴白帽子的胖子，不知道他为什么要骑马来踩他们。 
“干吗骑着马在队伍里乱闯！”一个人对他喊道。又有一个人用枪托捣他的马，皮埃尔差点儿控制不住受惊的马，俯在鞍桥上，奔驰到士兵前头比较宽敞的地方。
他前面是一座桥，桥旁站着的另外一些士兵在射击。皮埃尔驰到他们跟前，又不知不觉来到科洛恰河桥头，这座在戈尔基和波罗底诺之间的桥，是法国人在战役的第一仗（在占领波罗底诺之后）进攻的目标。皮埃尔看见前面那座桥，在桥两旁和他昨天看见的放着一排排干草的草地上，有些士兵在烟雾中做什么事；这儿虽然枪炮声不断，但是皮埃尔怎么也没想到这个地方就是战场。他没听见四面八方呼啸的子弹声和从他头上飞过的炮弹声，也没看见河对岸的敌人，好久也没注意到离他不远的地方躺着许多死伤的人。他脸上老流露笑容，四处张望着。
“那个人在前沿干什么？”又有人对他喊道。
“靠左走，靠右走。”有些人对他喊道。
皮埃尔向右走去，意外地碰见他认识的拉耶夫斯基将军的副官。这个副官怒目瞥了皮埃尔一眼，显然也想喝斥他，但是认出他后，向他点点头。
“您怎么到这儿来了？”他说了一句，就向前驰去。
皮埃尔觉得这不是他待的地方，且无事可做，又怕妨碍别人，就跟着副官驰去了。
“这儿怎么啦？我可以跟着您吗？”皮埃尔问。
“等一等，等一等。”副官回答，他驰到一个站在草地上的胖上校跟前，向他传达了几句话，然后才转向皮埃尔。
“您怎么到这儿来了？”他含笑对皮埃尔说，“您对什么都好奇啊？”
“是的，是的。”皮埃尔说。那副官勒转马头，向前去了。
“这儿还算好，”副官说，“左翼巴格拉季翁那儿，打得不可开交。”
“真的吗？”皮埃尔问。“那在什么地方？”
“来，咱们一起到土岗上去，从那儿看得很清楚。我们的炮兵阵地还行。”副官说，“怎么，来不来？”
“好，跟您去。”皮埃尔说，他环顾四周，找他的马夫。皮埃尔这才第一次发现受伤的人。他们有的吃力地步行着，有的被抬在担架上。就在他昨天骑马经过的，摆着一排排芳香的干草的草地上，一个士兵一动不动地横躺在干草旁，不自然地歪扭着头，军帽掉在一旁。“为什么不把这个抬走？”皮埃尔刚要问，就看见了也正朝这个方向回头看的副官脸上严厉的表情，他不再问了。
皮埃尔没有找到马夫，他和副官沿着山沟向拉耶夫斯基土岗走去。皮埃尔的马一步一颠地落在副官后面。
“看来您不习惯骑马，伯爵？”副官问。
“不，没什么，不知为什么它老一蹦一蹦的。”皮埃尔莫名其妙地说。
“咳！……它受伤了，”副官说，“右前腿，膝盖上方。大概中弹了。祝贺您，伯爵，”他说，“le　baptême　du　feu．”①
他们在硝烟中经过第六兵团，向前移动了的大炮在后面震耳欲聋地射击着，他们走到一座不大的森林。森林里清凉，寂静，颇有秋意。皮埃尔和副官下了马，徒步走上山岗。
“将军在这儿吗？”登上山岗时，副官问，
“刚才还在这儿，刚走。”人们指着右方，回答道。
副官回头看了看皮埃尔，好像不知现在怎样安排他才好。
“不必费心，”皮埃尔说，“我到土岗上去，可以吗？”
“去吧，从那儿什么都看得见，也不那么危险。过一会儿我去找您。”
皮埃尔向炮兵阵地走去，那副官骑着马走开了。他们再没有见面，很久以后皮埃尔才知道，那个副官在当天失去了一只胳膊。
皮埃尔上去的那个土岗是一处鼎鼎有名的地方（后来俄国人称之为土岗炮垒，或者称为拉耶夫斯基炮垒，法国人称之为la　grande　redoute，la　fatale　redoute，la　redoute　du　centre②），在它周围死了好几万人，法国人认为那是全阵地最重要的据点。 
①法语：火的洗礼。
②法语：大多面堡，到命的多面堡，中央多面堡。
这个多面堡就是一座三面挖有战壕的土岗。战壕里设有十门大炮，这时正伸出土墙的炮眼发射着。
由岗两旁的防线另外有一些大炮，也在不断地射击。炮后不远的地方有步兵。皮埃尔登上这座土岗，怎么也没想到，这条挖得不深的壕沟，安置着几门正在发射的大炮，是这次战役中最重要的地点。
相反，皮埃尔觉得，这个地方（正因为他在这个地方）是这次战役中最不重要的地点之一。
皮埃尔登上土岗，在围绕着炮垒的战壕末端坐下，带着情不自禁快活的微笑望着周围发生的事情。皮埃尔有时带着那同样的微笑站起来，尽可能不妨碍那些装炮、转炮、拿着口袋和火药不断在炮垒里从他身边跑过的士兵。这个炮垒的大炮接连不断地射击，震耳欲聋，硝烟笼罩着周围。
与在掩护部队中间的恐怖感觉相反，这儿的炮兵连只有为数不多的人忙碌着，它被一道战壕与别的作战部队分隔开来，——有一种大家都感觉到的有如家庭般的欢乐气氛。
戴着白帽子的皮埃尔，这个非军人装束的人出现，起初使这些人感到不愉快。士兵从他面前走过时，都奇怪地、甚至吃惊地斜着眼看他那副样子。一个高个子、长腿、麻脸的炮兵军官，好像在查看末尾那门大炮的发射情况，走到皮埃尔面前，好奇地看了看他。
一个圆脸膛的小军官，还完全是个孩子，显然是刚从中等军校毕业的，他对交给他的两门大炮指挥得特别起劲，对皮埃尔的态度很严厉。
“先生，请您让开点，”他对他说，“这儿不行。”
士兵们望着皮埃尔，不以为然地摇摇头。但是当大家都相信这个戴白帽子的人不仅不会做什么坏事，而且他或者会安安静静地坐在土堤的斜坡上，或者会带着怯生生的微笑彬彬有礼地给士兵们让路，在炮垒里像在林荫道上似的安闲地在弹雨中散步，这时，对他的敌意的怀疑渐渐变为亲热和调笑的同情，正像士兵们对他们的小狗、公鸡、山羊，总之，是对生活在军队里的动物的同情一样。士兵们很快在心里把皮埃尔纳入他们的家庭，当作自家人，给他起外号。“我们的老爷”，他们这样叫他，在他们中间善意地拿他开玩笑。
一个炮弹在离皮埃尔两步远的地方开了花。他掸掸身上的尘土，微笑着环顾四周。
“您怎么不害怕，老爷，真行！”一个红脸、宽肩膀的士兵露出满嘴磁实的白牙，对皮埃尔说。
“难道你害怕吗？”皮埃尔问。
“哪能不怕？”那个士兵回答。“要知道它是不客气的。扑通一声，五脏六腑就出来了。不能不怕啊。”他笑着说。
有几个士兵带着和颜悦色的笑脸站在皮埃尔身边。他们好像没料到他会像普通人一样说话，这个新发现使他们大为开心。
“我们当大兵的是吃这行饭的。可是一位老爷，真怪。这才是个老爷！”
“各就各位！”那个青年军官对聚集在皮埃尔周围的士兵喊道，这个青年军官不是头一次就是第二次执行任务，对待士兵和达官特别认真和严格。
整个战场枪炮声越来越密，特别是在巴格拉季翁的凸角堡所在的左翼，但在皮埃尔这儿，硝烟弥漫，几乎什么都看不见。而且，皮埃尔正在全神贯注地观察炮垒里这个小家庭的人们（与其他家庭隔绝）。最初由战场的景象和声音引起的兴奋的感情，现在却为另外一种感情所取代，特别是在看见一个孤独地躺在草地上的士兵以后。他现在正坐在战壕的斜坡上观察他周围的人们的脸孔。
快到十点种的时候，有二十来人被抬出炮垒；两门炮被击毁，炮弹越来越密集地落地炮垒上，远方飞来的炮弹发出嗡嗡的呼啸声。但是炮垒里呆久了的人们好像不理会这些，到处都听见谈笑声和戏谑声。
“馅儿饼，热的！”一个士兵对呼啸而飞来的炮弹喊道。
“不是到这儿！是冲步兵去的！”另一个士兵观察到炮弹飞过去，落到掩护的部队里，哈哈地笑着又说。
“怎么，是你的熟人吗？”又一个士兵对那个炮弹飞过时蹲下去的农夫讥笑说。
有几个士兵聚集在胸墙边上观看前面发生了什么事。
“散兵线撤了，瞧，往后退了。”他们指着胸墙外说。
“管自己的事，”一个老军士喝斥他们，“往后撤退，当然是后边有事。”那个军士抓住一个士兵的肩膀，用膝盖顶了他一下，引起一阵哄笑。
“快到五号炮位，把它推上来！”人们从一边喊道。
“一下子来，齐心协力，来个纤夫式的。”传来更换炮位的欢快的喊声。
“哟，差一点把我们老爷的帽子打掉了。”那个红脸的滑稽鬼呲着牙嘲笑皮埃尔。“咳，孬种。”他对着一颗打在炮轮上和一个人腿上的炮弹骂道。“看你们这些狐狸！”另一个士兵嘲笑着那些弓着身子进炮垒里来抬伤员的后备军人说。“这碗粥不合你们的胃口？哼，简直是乌鸦，吓成那个样子！”他们对后备军人们喊道，那些后备军人站在被打掉一条腿的士兵面前犹豫起来。
“这呀，那呀，小伙子呀，”他们学那些后备军人说话，“很讨厌这个！”
皮埃尔看出，每当落下一颗炮弹，受到损失，大家就越发活跃，越发激动。
在这些人脸上，正如从即将到来的暴风雨的乌云里，越来越频繁，越来越明亮地爆发出隐藏在内心的熊熊烈火时闪电，仿佛要与正在发生的事相对抗。
皮埃尔不看前面的战场，对那儿发生的事也不关心了，他全神贯注地观察越来越旺的烈火，他觉得他的灵魂里也在燃烧着同样的烈火。
十点钟时，原来在炮垒前面矮林里和在长缅长河沿岸的士兵撤退了。从炮垒上可以看见，他们用步枪抬着伤员，从炮垒旁边向后跑。有一个将军带着随从登上土岗，同上校谈了一会儿，忿忿地看了看皮埃尔，就走下去了，他命令站在炮垒后面的士兵卧倒，以减少危险。接着从炮垒右方步兵队伍中，可以听见擂鼓和发口令的声音，从炮垒上可以看见那些步兵正在向前移动。
皮埃尔从土墙往外望去，有一个人尤其引起了他的注意。这是一个面色苍白的年轻军官，他提着佩刀，一边往后退，一边不安地向四处张望。
步兵队伍被浓烟淹没了，传来拉长的喊声和密集的步枪射击声。几分钟后，成群的伤员和抬担架的后备军人从那儿走过来。落到炮垒上的炮弹更密了。有几个躺着的人没被抬走。大炮近旁的士兵更忙碌，更活跃了。已经无人注意皮埃尔了。有一、两次人们愤怒地喝斥他挡了路。那个年长的军官沉着脸，迈着急促的大步，从一门大炮到另一门大炮来回地走动。那个年轻军官脸更红了，更起劲地指挥士兵。士兵们传递炮弹，转动炮身，装炮弹，把自己份内的事做得紧凑而且干净利落。他们来回奔忙，像是在弹簧上跳跃似的。
预示着暴风雨的乌云降临了，所有人的面孔都燃烧着熊熊的烈火。皮埃尔正注视着这越烧越旺的烈火。他所在那个年长的军官身旁。那个年轻的军官跑到年长的军官跟前，把手举到帽檐上。
“上校先生，我有幸向您报告，只有八发炮弹了，还继续发射吗？”他问。
“霰弹！”那个正看着土墙外的年长军官没有答话，喊了一声。
突然发生了什么事：那个年轻军官哎哟一声，弯着腰，坐到了地上，有如一只中弹的飞鸟。在皮埃尔眼里，一切都变得奇怪、模糊、暗淡。
炮弹一个接一个飞来，打到土墙上，打到士兵身上，大炮上。皮埃尔原先没有理会这些声音，现在听到的只有这一种声音了。炮垒右侧，士兵一边喊着“乌拉”，一边跑，皮埃尔觉得他们仿佛不是向前，而是在向后跑。
一颗炮弹打在皮埃尔面前的土墙边上，尘土撒落下来，他眼前有一个黑球闪了一下，只一瞬间，扑通一声，打到了什么东西上。正要走进炮垒来的后备军人，往后跑了。
“都用霰弹！”一个军官喊道。
一个军士跑到军官面前，惊慌地低声说，已经没有火药了（好像一个管家报告说，宴会上需要的酒已经没有了）。
“一班强盗，都在干什么！”军官一面喊，一面转向皮埃尔。那个年长的军官脸通红，冒着汗，皱起眉头，眼里闪着光。“快跑步到后备队去取弹药箱！”他对他的士兵大喝一声，愤愤地把目光避开皮埃尔。
“我去。”皮埃尔说。那个军官没答理他，迈开大步向另一边走去。
“不要放……等着！”他喊道。
那个奉命去取弹药箱的士兵，撞了皮埃尔一下。
“唉，老爷，这不是您待的地方。”他说着就跑下去了。皮埃尔绕过那青年军官坐着的地方跟着他跑了。
一颗、两颗、三颗，炮弹从他头上飞过，落在他四周。皮埃尔跑到下面。“我到哪儿去？”忽然想起的时候，他已经跑到绿色弹药箱前面。他犹犹豫豫地停下来，不知是退回去还是向前去。突然，一个可怕的气浪把他抛到后面地上。就在那一瞬间，一团火光对他一闪，同时：轰鸣、爆炸、呼啸，震得他的耳朵嗡嗡作响。
皮埃尔清醒过来，用两手撑着地坐在那儿；他身旁的那个弹药箱不见了；只有烧焦的碎木片和破布散落在烧焦的草地上，一匹马拖着散了架的车辕，从他身旁飞跑过去，另一匹马，也像皮埃尔一样，躺在地上，发出凄厉的长啸。
Book 10 Chapter 32
PIERRE, beside himself with terror, jumped up and ran back to the battery as the one refuge from the horrors encompassing him.
Just as Pierre ran up to the redoubt, he noticed that there was no sound of firing from the battery, but that there were men there doing something or other. He had not time to make out what men they were. He caught sight of the senior officer lying with his back towards him on the earth wall, as though gazing intently at something below; and he noticed one soldier, who, tearing himself away from the men who were holding him, shouted “Mates!” and he saw something else that was strange.
But before he had time to grasp that the colonel had been killed, that the soldier shouting “Mates!” was a prisoner, another soldier was stabbed in the back by a bayonet before his eyes. He had hardly run up into the redoubt when a thin man with a yellow, perspiring face, in a blue uniform, ran up to him with a sword in his hand, shouting something. Pierre, instinctively defending himself, as they came full tilt against each other, put out his hands and clutched the man (it was a French officer) by the shoulder and the throat. The officer, dropping his sword, seized Pierre by the collar.
For several seconds both gazed with frightened eyes at each other's unfamiliar-looking faces, and both were bewildered, not knowing what they were doing or what they were to do. “Am I taken prisoner or am I taking him prisoner?” each of them was wondering. But the French officer was undoubtedly more disposed to believe he was taken prisoner, because Pierre's powerful hand, moved by instinctive terror, was tightening its grip on his throat. The Frenchman tried to speak, when suddenly a cannon ball flew with a fearful whiz close over their heads, and it seemed to Pierre that the Frenchman's head had been carried off by it, so swiftly had he ducked it.
Pierre, too, ducked and let go with his hands. Giving no more thought to the question which was taken prisoner, the Frenchman ran back to the battery, while Pierre dashed downhill, stumbling over the dead and wounded, who seemed to him to be clutching at his feet.
But before he had reached the bottom he was met by dense crowds of Russian soldiers, who, stumbling against each other and tripping up, were running in wild merriment towards the battery. (This was the attack of which Yermolov claimed the credit, declaring that it was only his valour and good luck that made this feat of arms possible; it was the attack in which he is supposed to have strewn the redoubt with the St. George's crosses that were in his pocket.)
The French, who had captured the battery, fled. Our soldiers pursued them so far beyond the battery that they were with difficulty stopped. They were bringing the prisoners down from the battery, among them a wounded French general, surrounded by officers. Crowds of wounded, both French and Russians—among them men Pierre recognised—walked, or crawled, or were borne on stretchers from the battery, their faces distorted by suffering.
Pierre went up into the battery, where he had spent over an hour; and found no one left of that little fraternal group that had accepted him as one of themselves. There were many dead there, whom he had not seen before. But several he recognised. The boy-officer was still sitting huddled up in a pool of blood at the edge of the earth wall. The red-faced, merry soldier was still twitching convulsively; but they did not carry him away.
Pierre ran down the slope.
“Oh, now they will stop it, now they will be horrified at what they have done!” thought Pierre, aimlessly following the crowds of stretchers moving off the battlefield.
But the sun still stood high behind the veil of smoke, and in front, and even more so to the left, about Semyonovskoye, there was still a turmoil seething in the smoke; and the roar of cannon and musketry, far from slackening, grew louder and more desperate, like a man putting all his force into one deafening outcry as a last despairing effort.
皮埃尔吓掉了魂，跳起来就向炮垒跑，好像从包围他的恐怖中逃回唯一的避难所似的。 
皮埃尔一进战壕就发现炮垒里已经没有射击声了，只是有些人正在那儿做着什么。皮埃尔没搞懂这是些什么人。他看见老上校背对着他趴在土墙上，仿佛在察看地下什么东西似的，他还看见他曾经见过的一个士兵一边向前想挣脱那几个抓住他胳膊的人，一边喊道：“弟兄们！”他还看见另外一些奇怪的事情。
但是，他还来不及明白上校就被打死了，那个喊“弟兄们”的士兵也被俘虏，他亲眼看着刺刀捅进了另一个士兵的后背。他刚跑进战壕，就有一个又瘦又黄、汗流满面，身穿制服，手持军刀的人，喊叫着向他冲过来。由于对方的冲撞，皮埃尔本能地自卫起来，他们彼此都没有看清楚，就撞到一起，皮埃尔伸出两手，一只抓住那人的肩头（那人是法国军官），另一只掐住他的喉咙。那个军官丢掉军刀，抓住皮埃尔的脖领。
有好几秒钟，他们俩都用惊慌的目光打量对方陌生的面孔，都不明白他们在做什么，也不知道应当怎么办。“是我被俘了呢，还是他被我俘虏了？”他们俩都这样想。但很显然，那个法国军官比较倾向于认为他是被俘了，因为皮埃尔那只有力的手，由于本能的恐惧的驱使，把他的喉咙掐得越来越紧。那个法国人正想说话，忽然，在他们的头上低低地，可怕地飞过一颗炮弹，皮埃尔仿佛觉得法国军官的脑袋被削掉了似的，因为他很快把头低了下去。
皮埃尔也低下头，松开两手。那个法国人不再思索谁俘虏了谁，就跑回炮垒去了，皮埃尔跑下山岗，在死伤的人身上磕磕绊绊，好像那些死伤的人老想抓住他的腿似的。但是他还没来得及下去，迎面就跑来一大群密密麻麻的俄国士兵，他们呐喊着，快活地，拼命地、跌跌绊绊地往炮垒上跑。（这就是叶尔莫洛夫邀功的一次冲锋，据他说，多亏他的勇敢和幸运，才发动那次冲锋，为了激励士气，据说在冲锋时，他把衣袋里所有的圣乔治勋章都扔到土岗上让士兵去拿。）
一度占领炮垒的法国人逃跑了。我们的队伍喊着“乌拉”驱逐法国人，追得远远地离开了炮垒，没法叫住他们。
从炮垒上带下来一群俘虏，其中有一个负伤的将军，军官们把他围起来。成群的伤员，有皮埃尔认识的，也有不认识的，有俄国人，也有法国人，他们走着，爬着，用担架抬着，从炮垒上下来，他们的面孔由于痛苦都变了形。皮埃尔登上他刚才在那儿呆了一个多小时的土岗，从那个他被接纳进去的家庭小圈子里，已经找不到一个人了。这里有许多他不认识的死人。但他也认出了几个。那个青年军官仍旧弯着腰坐在土墙边一摊血泊里。那个红脸的士兵还在抽搐，但没有人来抬他。
皮埃尔跑下了土岗。
“不，现在他们该住手了，现在他们该为他们做过的事感到恐惧了！”皮埃尔想道漫无目的地朝着那撤离战场的成群的担架队走去。
被浓烟遮着的太阳仍高高地照耀着，在前面，特别是在谢苗诺夫斯科耶村的左方，有什么东西在烟雾里沸腾着，隆隆的枪炮声、炮弹的爆炸声，不但没有减弱，反而加强了，正像一个人竭尽全力地拼命叫喊一样。
Book 10 Chapter 33
THE CHIEF ACTION of the battle of Borodino was fought on the space seven thousand feet in width between Borodino and Bagration's flèches. Outside that region, on one side there was the action on the part of Uvarov's cavalry in the middle of the day; on the other side, behind Utitsa, there was the skirmish between Poniatovsky and Tutchkov; but those two actions were detached and of little importance in comparison with what took place in the centre of the battlefield. The chief action of the day was fought in the simplest and the most artless fashion on the open space, visible from both sides, between Borodino and the flèches by the copse.
The battle began with a cannonade from several hundreds of guns on both sides. Then, when the whole plain was covered with smoke, on the French side the two divisions of Desaix and Compans advanced on the right upon the flèches, and on the left the viceroy's regiments advanced upon Borodino. The flèches were a verst from the Shevardino redoubt, where Napoleon was standing; but Borodino was more than two versts further, in a straight line, and therefore Napoleon could not see what was passing there, especially as the smoke, mingling with the fog, completely hid the whole of that part of the plain. The soldiers of Desaix's division, advancing upon the flèches, were in sight till they disappeared from view in the hollow that lay between them and the flèches. As soon as they dropped down into the hollow, the smoke of the cannon and muskets on the flèches became so thick that it concealed the whole slope of that side of the hollow. Through the smoke could be caught glimpses of something black, probably men, and sometimes the gleam of bayonets. But whether they were stationary or moving, whether they were French or Russian, could not be seen from Shevardino.
The sun had risen brightly, and its slanting rays shone straight in Napoleon's face as he looked from under his hand towards the flèches. The smoke hung over the flèches, and at one moment it seemed as though it were the smoke that was moving, at the next, the troops moving in the smoke. Sometimes cries could be heard through the firing; but it was impossible to tell what was being done there.
Napoleon, standing on the redoubt, was looking through a field-glass, and in the tiny circle of the glass saw smoke and men, sometimes his own, sometimes Russians. But where what he had seen was, he could not tell when he looked again with the naked eye.
He came down from the redoubt, and began walking up and down before it.
At intervals he stood still, listening to the firing and looking intently at the battlefield.
It was not simply impossible from below, where he was standing, and from the redoubt above, where several of his generals were standing, to make out what was passing at the flèches; but on the flèches themselves, occupied now together, now alternately by French and Russians, living, dead, and wounded, the frightened and frantic soldiers had no idea what they were doing. For several hours together, in the midst of incessant cannon and musket fire, Russians and French, infantry and cavalry, had captured the place in turn; they rushed upon it, fell, fired, came into collision, did not know what to do with each other, screamed, and ran back again.
From the battlefield adjutants were continually galloping up to Napoleon with reports from his marshals of the progress of the action. But all those reports were deceptive; both because in the heat of battle it is impossible to say what is happening at any given moment, and because many of the adjutants never reached the actual battlefield, but simply repeated what they heard from others, and also because, while the adjutant was galloping the two or three versts to Napoleon, circumstances had changed, and the news he brought had already become untrue. Thus an adjutant came galloping from the viceroy with the news that Borodino had been taken and the bridge on the Kolotcha was in the hands of the French. The adjutant asked Napoleon should the troops cross the bridge. Napoleon's command was to form on the further side and wait; but long before he gave that command, when the adjutant indeed had only just started from Borodino, the bridge had been broken down and burnt by the Russians in the very skirmish Pierre had taken part in at the beginning of the day.
An adjutant, galloping up from the flèches with a pale and frightened face, brought Napoleon word that the attack had been repulsed, and Compans wounded and Davoust killed; while meantime the flèches had been captured by another division of the troops, and Davoust was alive and well, except for a slight bruise. Upon such inevitably misleading reports Napoleon based his instructions, which had mostly been carried out before he made them, or else were never, and could never, be carried out at all.
The marshals and generals who were closer to the scene of action, but, like Napoleon, not actually taking part in it, and only at intervals riding within bullet range, made their plans without asking Napoleon, and gave their orders from where and in what direction to fire, and where the cavalry were to gallop and the infantry to run. But even their orders, like Napoleon's, were but rarely, and to a slight extent, carried out.
For the most part what happened was the opposite of what they commanded to be done. The soldiers ordered to advance found themselves under grapeshot fire, and ran back. The soldiers commanded to stand still in one place seeing the Russians appear suddenly before them, either ran away or rushed upon them; and the cavalry unbidden galloped in after the flying Russians. In this way two cavalry regiments galloped across the Semyonovskoye hollow, and as soon as they reached the top of the hill, turned and galloped headlong back again. The infantry, in the same way, moved sometimes in the direction opposite to that in which they were commanded to move.
All decisions as to when and where to move the cannons, when to send infantry to fire, when to send cavalry to trample down the Russian infantry—all such decisions were made by the nearest officers in the ranks, without any reference to Ney, Davoust, and Murat, far less to Napoleon himself. They did not dread getting into trouble for nonfulfilment of orders, nor for assuming responsibility, because in battle what is at stake is what is most precious to every man—his own life; and at one time it seems as though safety is to be found in flying back, sometimes in flying forward; and these men placed in the very thick of the fray acted in accordance with the temper of the moment.
In reality all these movements forward and back again hardly improved or affected the position of the troops. All their onslaughts on one another did little harm; the harm, the death and disablement was the work of the cannon balls and bullets, that were flying all about the open space, where those men ran to and fro. As soon as they got out of that exposed space, over which the balls and bullets were flying, their superior officer promptly formed them in good order, and restored discipline, and under the influence of that discipline led them back under fire again; and there again, under the influence of the terror of death, they lost all discipline, and dashed to and fro at the chance promptings of the crowd.
波罗底诺战役的主要一仗是在波罗底诺和巴格拉季翁的凸角堡之间一千俄丈的地带进行的。（在这个地带以外，一边有俄军的乌瓦洛夫的骑兵在中午进行佯攻，另一边，在乌季察后面有波尼亚托夫斯基与图奇科夫的接触，但是与战场中央的情况比起来，这两处是孤立的小战斗。）在波罗底诺和凸角堡之间的战场上，在树林附近，在两边都看得见的空地上，主要的战斗是用最简单，最普通的方式进行的。 
战斗在双方几百门大炮的轰击声中打响了。
此后，当硝烟笼罩着整个战场的时候，法军德塞和康庞两个师从右方进攻凸角堡，总督缪拉的几个团从左方进攻波罗底诺。
拿破仑站在舍瓦尔金诺多面堡上，这儿离凸角堡有一俄里远，离波罗底诺直线距离总在两俄里以上，因此拿破仑不可能看见那里的情况，何况烟雾弥漫，遮蔽了整个地区。攻打凸角堡的德塞师的士兵，直到他们进入横在他们和凸角堡之间的冲沟，才被发现。他们一进入冲沟，凸角堡上的大炮和步枪就一齐发射，浓烟遮蔽了冲沟对面的高坡。在烟雾中有黑影在闪动——大概是人，有时还可以看见刺刀的闪光。但，他们是在走动还是站着，是法国人还是俄国人，从舍瓦尔金诺多面堡却看不清楚。
太阳已经照得明晃晃的了，倾斜的光线射到拿破仑的脸上，他用手遮住眼睛看凸角堡。烟雾在凸角堡前面蔓延开来。时而似乎烟雾在动，时而似乎队伍在动。有时从射击声中可以听出人们的呐喊声，但是无法知道他们在那儿做什么。
拿破仑站在土岗上用望远镜观望，在小小的圆筒里他看见了烟雾和人。有时是自己人，有时是俄国人；但一用肉眼看，他就认不出刚才看见的东西在什么地方了。
他走下土岗，在土岗前徘徊着。
他有时停下来，听听枪炮声，看看战场的情况。
不论从土岗下面他所站的地方，还是从土岗上面他的将军们现在所站的地方，甚至从那些凸角堡上——那儿有俄国兵，有法国兵，他们时而同时出现，时而轮流出现，其中有死的、伤的、活的、受惊的、发狂的，——都无法看清楚战场上发生的事。一连几个小时，这个地区，在枪炮不停的射击声中，忽而出现步兵，忽而出现骑兵，其中有俄国的，有法国的，他们出现、倒下、射击、相遇，彼此都不知道怎么办，只叫喊着，往回逃跑。
拿破仑派出的副官以及他的元帅们的传令兵不停地从战场上向他驰来，向他报告战斗的情况；但是所有这些报告都是假的，因为在战斗进行得正激烈的时候，无法说出在一定时刻发生了什么事，还因为许多副官并没有到真正战斗的地点，只是转述他们从别人口中听到了东西；还因为副官从西、三俄里外跑到拿破仑这儿，其间情况已经变了，带来的消息已经不真实了。譬如说，从总督那儿驰来一名副官，带来消息说，波罗底诺已经被占领，科洛恰河大桥也落入法国人手中，一名副官问拿破仑，是否命令军队渡河？拿破仑命令说，军队到河对岸整队待命；但是，在拿破仑发出命令时，甚至当那个副官刚刚离开波罗底诺时，也就是战役刚开始，在皮埃尔参加的那次搏斗中，那座桥就已被俄军夺回，而且烧掉了。
从凸角堡驰来一个面色苍白、神色惊慌的副官，向拿破仑报告说，进军的进攻被打退，康庞受伤，达乌阵亡，而实际上，就在那个副官说法军被打退的时候，凸角堡已经被法军另一支部队占领，达乌还活着，只不过受点震伤。拿破仑就是根据这些不可避免的谎报发布命令的，那些命令不是他未发布之前就已执行了，就是不能执行或未被执行。
元帅们和将军们离战场较近，但也和拿破仑一样，没有参加战斗，只是偶尔走到步枪射程以内，并不向拿破仑请示，自己就发出了命令，指示向哪儿、从哪儿射击，骑兵向哪儿去，步兵往哪儿跑。但是甚至他们的命令也和拿破仑的命令一样，以最小限度，偶尔才被执行，并且常常出现与他们的命令相斥的情况。奉命前进的士兵，一遇见霰弹就往回跑；奉命坚守一个地点的士兵，一看见对面突然出现俄国人，有时往后跑，有时扑向前去，骑兵也不等命令就去追击逃跑的俄国人。又譬如，两团骑兵越过谢苗诺夫斯科耶冲沟，刚登上山坡，就勒马回头，拼命往后跑。步兵的行动也是这样，有时朝着完全不是命令他们去的方向跑。所有的命令：何时向何地移动大炮，何时派步兵去射击，何时派骑兵去冲杀俄国步兵，——所有这些命令都是在队伍里最接近士兵的军官发出的，不仅没有请示拿破仑，甚至没有请示内伊、达乌和缪拉。他们不怕因为未执行命令或擅自行动而受处分，因为在战斗中涉及个人最宝贵的东西——个人的生命。有时觉得往回跑能够得救，有时觉得往前跑能够得救，这些置身于最火热的战斗的人们都是按照一时的心情而行动的。实际上，向前进或向后退都没有改善或改变军队的处境。他们互相追赶几乎没造成什么损害，而造成损害和伤亡的是那些炮弹和枪弹，人们在枪林弹雨中乱窜。这些人一离开这炮弹和枪弹横飞的空间，驻在后方的长官就立刻整顿他们，使他们服从纪律，然后在这种纪律影响下，又把他们送到炮火连天的战场，由于对死亡的恐怖，他们又失去纪律，由于众人偶然的情绪又乱窜起来。
Book 10 Chapter 34
NAPOLEON'S GENERALS, Davoust, Ney, and Murat, who were close to that region of fire, and sometimes even rode into it, several times led immense masses of orderly troops into that region. But instead of what had invariably happened in all their previous battles, instead of hearing that the enemy were in flight, the disciplined masses of troops came back in undisciplined, panic-stricken crowds. They formed them in good order again, but their number was steadily dwindling. In the middle of the day Murat sent his adjutant to Napoleon with a request for reinforcements.
Napoleon was sitting under the redoubt, drinking punch, when Murat's adjutant galloped to him with the message that the Russians would be routed if his majesty would let them have another division.
“Reinforcements?” said Napoleon, with stern astonishment, staring, as though failing to comprehend his words, at the handsome, boyish adjutant, who wore his black hair in floating curls, like Murat's own. “Reinforcements!” thought Napoleon. “How can they want reinforcements when they have half the army already, concentrated against one weak, unsupported flank of the Russians?”
“Tell the King of Naples,” said Napoleon sternly, “that it is not midday, and I don't yet see clearly over my chess-board. You can go.”
The handsome, boyish adjutant with the long curls heaved a deep sigh, and still holding his hand to his hat, galloped back to the slaughter.
Napoleon got up, and summoning Caulaincourt and Berthier, began conversing with them of matters not connected with the battle.
In the middle of the conversation, which began to interest Napoleon, Berthier's eye was caught by a general, who was galloping on a steaming horse to the redoubt, followed by his suite. It was Beliard. Dismounting from his horse, he walked rapidly up to the Emperor, and, in a loud voice, began boldly explaining the absolute necessity of reinforcements. He swore on his honour that the Russians would be annihilated if the Emperor would let them have another division.
Napoleon shrugged his shoulders, and continued walking up and down, without answering. Beliard began loudly and eagerly talking with the generals of the suite standing round him.
“You are very hasty, Beliard,” said Napoleon, going back again to him. “It is easy to make a mistake in the heat of the fray. Go and look again and then come to me.” Before Beliard was out of sight another messenger came galloping up from another part of the battlefield.
“Well, what is it now?” said Napoleon, in the tone of a man irritated by repeated interruptions.
“Sire, the prince …” began the adjutant.
“Asks for reinforcements?” said Napoleon, with a wrathful gesture. The adjutant bent his head affirmatively and was proceeding to give his message, but the Emperor turned and walked a couple of steps away, stopped, turned back, and beckoned to Berthier. “We must send the reserves,” he said with a slight gesticulation. “Whom shall we send there? what do you think?” he asked Berthier, that “gosling I have made an eagle,” as he afterwards called him.
“Claparède's division, sire,” said Berthier, who knew all the divisions, regiments, and battalions by heart.
Napoleon nodded his head in assent.
The adjutant galloped off to Claparède's division. And a few moments later the Young Guards, stationed behind the redoubt, were moving out. Napoleon gazed in that direction in silence.
“No,” he said suddenly to Berthier, “I can't send Claparède. Send Friant's division.”
Though there was no advantage of any kind in sending Friant's division rather than Claparède's, and there was obvious inconvenience and delay now in turning back Claparède and despatching Friant, the order was carried out. Napoleon did not see that in relation to his troops he played the part of the doctor, whose action in hindering the course of nature with his nostrums he so truly gauged and condemned.
Friant's division vanished like the rest into the smoke of the battlefield. Adjutants still kept galloping up from every side, and all, as though in collusion, said the same thing. All asked for reinforcements; all told of the Russians standing firm and keeping up a hellish fire, under which the French troops were melting away.
Napoleon sat on a camp-stool, plunged in thought. M. de Beausset, the reputed lover of travel, had been fasting since early morning, and approaching the Emperor, he ventured respectfully to suggest breakfast to his majesty.
“I hope that I can already congratulate your majesty on a victory,” he said.
Napoleon shook his head. Supposing the negative to refer to the victory only and not to the breakfast, M. de Beausset permitted himself with respectful playfulness to observe that there was no reason in the world that could be allowed to interfere with breakfast when breakfast was possible.
“Go to the…” Napoleon jerked out gloomily, and he turned his back on him. A saintly smile of sympathy, regret, and ecstasy beamed on M. de Beausset's face as he moved with his swinging step back to the other generals.
Napoleon was experiencing the bitter feeling of a lucky gambler, who, after recklessly staking his money and always winning, suddenly finds, precisely when he has carefully reckoned up all contingencies, that the more he considers his course, the more certain he is of losing.
The soldiers were the same, the generals the same, there had been the same preparations, the same disposition, the same proclamation, “court et énergique.” He was himself the same,—he knew that; he knew that he was more experienced and skilful indeed now than he had been of old. The enemy even was the same as at Austerlitz and Friedland. But the irresistible wave of his hand seemed robbed of its might by magic.
All the old man?uvres that had invariably been crowned with success: the concentration of the battery on one point, and the advance of the reserves to break the line, and the cavalry attack of “men of iron,” all these resources had been employed; and far from victory being secure, from all sides the same tidings kept pouring in of killed or wounded generals, of reinforcements needed, of the troops being in disorder, and the Russians impossible to move.
Hitherto, after two or three orders being given, two or three phrases delivered, marshals and adjutants had galloped up with radiant faces and congratulations, announcing the capture as trophies of whole corps of prisoners, of bundles of flags and eagles, of cannons and stores, and Murat had asked leave to let the cavalry go to capture the baggage. So it had been at Lodi, Marengo, Arcole, Jena, Austerlitz, Wagram, and so on, and so on. But now something strange was coming over his men.
In spite of the news of the capture of the flèches, Napoleon saw that things were not the same, not at all the same as at previous battles. He saw that what he was feeling, all the men round him, experienced in military matters, were feeling too. All their faces were gloomy; all avoided each others' eyes. It was only a Beausset who could fail to grasp the import of what was happening. Napoleon after his long experience of war knew very well all that was meant by an unsuccessful attack after eight hours' straining every possible effort. He knew that this was almost equivalent to a defeat, and that the merest chance might now, in the critical point the battle was in, be the overthrow of himself and his troops.
When he went over in his own mind all this strange Russian campaign, in which not a single victory had been gained, in which not a flag, nor a cannon, nor a corps had been taken in two months, when he looked at the concealed gloom in the faces round him, and heard reports that the Russians still held their ground—a terrible feeling, such as is experienced in a nightmare, came over him, and all the unlucky contingencies occurred to him that might be his ruin. The Russians might fall upon his left wing, might break through his centre; a stray ball might even kill himself. All that was possible. In his former battles he had only considered the possibilities of success, now an immense number of unlucky chances presented themselves, and he expected them all. Yes, it was like a nightmare, when a man dreams that an assailant is attacking him, and in his dream he lifts up his arm and deals a blow with a force at his assailant that he knows must crush him, and feels that his arm falls limp and powerless as a rag, and the horror of inevitable death comes upon him in his helplessness.
The news that the Russians were attacking the left flank of the French army aroused that horror in Napoleon. He sat in silence on a camp-stool under the redoubt, his elbows on his knees, and his head sunk in his hands. Berthier came up to him and suggested that they should inspect the lines to ascertain the position of affairs.
“What? What do you say?” said Napoleon. “Yes, tell them to bring my horse.” He mounted a horse and rode to Semyonovskoye.
In the slowly parting smoke, over the whole plain through which Napoleon rode, men and horses, singly and in heaps, were lying in pools of blood. Such a fearful spectacle, so great a mass of killed in so small a space, had never been seen by Napoleon nor any of his generals. The roar of the cannon that had not ceased for ten hours, exhausted the ear and gave a peculiar character to the spectacle (like music accompanying living pictures). Napoleon rode up to the height of Semyonovskoye, and through the smoke he saw ranks of soldiers in uniforms of unfamiliar hues. They were the Russians.
The Russians stood in serried ranks behind Semyonovskoye and the redoubt, and their guns kept up an incessant roar and smoke all along their lines. It was not a battle. It was a prolonged massacre, which could be of no avail either to French or Russians. Napoleon pulled up his horse, and sank again into the brooding reverie from which Berthier had roused him. He could not stay that thing that was being done before him and about him, and that was regarded as being led by him and as depending on him, that thing for the first time, after ill success, struck him as superfluous and horrible. One of the generals, riding up to Napoleon, ventured to suggest to him that the Old Guards should advance into action. Ney and Berthier, standing close by, exchanged glances and smiled contemptuously at the wild suggestion of this general.
Napoleon sat mute with downcast head.
“Eight hundred leagues from France, I am not going to let my Guard be destroyed,” he said, and turning his horse, he rode back to Shevardino.
拿破仑的将军们——达乌、内伊和缪拉，都离火线很近，甚至有时亲临火线，他们好几次率领一大批严整的队伍到火线上去。但是，与先前历次战役常有的情形相反，不但没有预期的敌人溃逃的消息，反而那大批严整的队伍从火线逃回来，溃不成军，十分狼狈。重新整顿军队，但人数已越来越少了。中午，缪拉派他的副官到拿破仑那儿请求援兵。 
拿破仑坐在土岗上正在喝潘趣酒，这时缪拉的副官骑马走来，保证说，只要陛下再给一个师，准能把俄国人打垮。
“增援？”拿破仑带着严峻、诧异的神情说，他望着那个蓄着黑色长卷发的（梳得像缪拉的发式一样）俊美的少年副官，好像没听懂他的话似的，“增援！”拿破仑心里想。“他们手中有一半的军队，去进攻软弱的、没有防御工事的一小翼俄国人，怎么还要援兵！”
“Dites　au　roi　de　Naples，qu'il　n'est　pas　midi　et　que　je　ne　vois　pas　encore　clair　sur　mon　échiquier，Allez……”①拿破仑严肃地说。 
①法语：告诉那不勒斯王，天色还没到正午，我还没看清棋局。去吧……
那个长发秀美的少年副官，没把手从帽檐上放下来，深深地叹了口气，又跑回杀人的屠场去了。
拿破仑站起来，把科兰库尔和贝蒂埃叫来，同他们谈一些与战斗不相干的事。
在开始引起拿破仑兴致的谈话中间，贝蒂埃的目光转向一个将军，这个将军带着侍从，骑着汗淋淋的马向土岗跑来。这是贝利亚尔。他下了马，快步走到皇帝面前，大胆地高声说明增援的必要。他发誓说，只要皇帝再给一个师，俄国人就得完蛋。
拿破仑耸了耸肩，什么也没有回答，继续散他的步。贝利亚尔高声而热烈地同皇帝周围的侍从将军们谈话。
“您太性急了，贝利亚尔。”拿破仑又走到刚来的将军跟前说，“在战斗激烈的时候，很容易犯错误的。你再去看看，然后再来见我。”
贝利亚尔还没走出大家的视线，又有一个使者从战场的另一方骑马跑来。“Eh　bien，qu'est　ce　qu'il　y　a？　①拿破仑说，那腔调就像一个人老被打扰而动怒了似的。
“Sire，le　prince……”②副官开始说。
“请求增援？”拿破仑带着愠怒的神色说。副官表示肯定地低下头，然后开始报告；但是皇帝转过身去不看他，走了两步，停住，又走回来，把贝蒂埃叫来。“应该派后备军了。”他说，两臂微微摊开，“您看派谁去？”他问那个他后来称之为oison　que　j'ai　fait　aigle③的贝蒂埃。 
①法语：噢，又有什么事啊？
②法语：陛下，公爵……
③法语：小鹅，我使他变成了鹰的小鹅。
“陛下，派克拉帕雷德师吧？”对所有的师、团和营都了如指掌的贝蒂埃说。
拿破仑同意地点点头。
那个副官向克拉帕雷德师跑去。几分钟后，那支驻在土岗后面的青年近卫军开动了。拿破仑默默地看着那个方向。
“不。”他突然对贝蒂埃说，“我不能派克拉帕雷德。派弗里昂师去吧。”他说。
虽然用弗里昂师来代替克拉帕雷德并没有任何好处，而且这时阻留克拉帕雷德师而改派弗里昂有着明显的欠妥和迟延，但是命令被严格地执行了。拿破仑没有看见，他在对待自己的军队问题上，是在扮演着用药品危害病人的医生角色，——虽然他对这个角色曾有十分正确的理解和指摘。
弗里昂师也像别的师一样，在战场的烟雾中陷没了。副官们从各方面不断驰来，他们好像商量好似的，都说同样的话。都要求增援，都说俄国人坚守阵地，有un　feu　d'enBfer①法国军队在炮火下逐渐减少。
拿破仑坐在折椅上沉思起来。
那个从早晨就没吃东西，喜欢旅行的德波塞先生，走到皇帝面前，大着胆子恭请陛下用早餐。
“我希望现在就可以向陛下庆贺胜利了。”他说。
拿破仑一言不发，表示否定地摇摇头。德波塞先生以为他是否定胜利，不是否定早餐，就大着胆子，嬉笑着恭敬地说：可以吃早饭的时候，世上是没有什么能妨碍的。
“Allez　vous……”②拿破仑突然面色阴沉地说，并且把脸转到了一边。德波塞先生脸上露出抱歉、后悔、欢喜的幸福微笑，迈着平稳的步子走到别的将军那儿去了。
拿破仑情绪颓丧，正像一个一向幸运的赌徒，疯狂地下赌注，从来都是赢的，可是忽然间，正当他对赌局的一切可能性都精打细算好了的时候，却感到把路子考虑得愈周全，输的可能性就愈大。
军队依然是那个样子，将军依然是那个样子，所做的准备、部署，proclamation　courte　et　énergique③和拿破仑本人依然是那个样子，这些他都知道，他还知道，他现在比过去经验丰富得多，老练多了，而且敌人也依然同奥斯特利茨和弗里德兰战役时一样；但是，可怕的振臂一挥，打击下来却魔术般地软弱无力。 
①法语：可怕的炮火。
②法语：滚开……
③法语：简短有力的告示。
仍然是以前那些准保成功的方法：炮火集中一点轰击，后备军冲锋以突破防线，接着是des　hommes　de　fer①骑兵突击，——所有这些方法都用过了，但不仅没取得胜利，且到处都传来同样的消息：将军们伤亡，必须增援，无法打退俄国人，自己的军队陷入混乱之中。
以前，只要发两三道命令，说两三句话，元帅们和副官们就带着祝贺的笑脸跑来报告缴获的战利品：成队的俘虏，des　faisceaux　de　drapeaux　et　d'aigles　ennemis②大炮和辎重——缪拉只请求让他的骑兵去收拾辎重车。在济迪、马伦戈、阿尔科拉、耶拿、奥斯特利茨、瓦格拉木等等地方③都是这样。现在他的军队碰到了什么古怪的事情。 
①法语：铁军。
②法语：成捆的敌方军旗和国旗。
③这是拿破仑发动的一些有名的战争。洛迪和马伦戈在意大利，一八○○年拿破仑在那里打败奥国人。阿尔科拉是意大利一个村子，一七九六年他在那里打败了人数比他多的奥国军队。一八○六年拿破仑在耶拿大败普鲁士人和撒克逊人。瓦格拉木是维也纳附近一个村子，一八○九年他在那里打败奥国人。
虽然占领了一些凸角堡，但拿破仑看出，这与他以前所有的战役不同，完全不同。他看出，他所感受到的，他周围那些富于作战经验的人也同样感受到了。所有的面孔都是忧虑的，所有的目光都在互相回避。只有德波塞一个人不明白所发生的事情的严重性。有长久作战经验的拿破仑十分清楚，连续进攻八个小时，用尽一切努力仍未赢得这场战役，这意味着什么。他知道，这一仗可以说是打输了，眼前的战局正处在千钧一发的时刻，随便一个哪怕最小的偶然事故，都可以毁掉他和他的军队。
他默默地回顾这次对俄国奇怪的远征，这次远征没打过一次胜仗，两个月来连一面旗帜、一门大炮、一批军队都没有缴获或俘虏。他看周围的人们深藏忧郁的面孔，听俄国人仍坚守阵地的报告，——于是一种可怕的感觉，有如做了一场噩梦似的感觉，揪住了他的心。他忽然想到可能毁掉他的那些不幸的偶然机会。俄国人可能攻打他的左翼，可能突破中央，他本人也可能被流弹打死。这一切都是可能的。以前每次战役，他只考虑成功的可能性，现在却有无数不幸的可能性摆在他面前，这一切都在等待着他。是的，这好像是在做梦，一个人梦见一个暴徒攻击他，他挥起臂膀给那个暴徒可怕的一击，他知道这一击准能消灭他，可是他觉得他的臂膀软绵绵的，像一块破布似的无力地垂下来，一种不可避免的灭亡的恐怖威胁着这个束手无策的人。
俄国人正在进攻法军左翼的消息，引起了拿破仑这种恐惧。他在土岗下面默默地坐在折椅上，垂着头，臂肘放在膝盖上，贝蒂埃走到他面前，建议去视察战线，确切地了解一下实际情况。
“什么？您说什么？”拿破仑问。“好，吩咐备马。”
他骑上马到谢苗诺夫斯科耶去了。
弥漫在整个战场的硝烟缓缓地消散着，拿破仑走过的地方，马和人，有的单个，有的成堆，躺在血泊里。这么恐怖的景象，在这么一个小小的地区有这么多死人，拿破仑和他的任何一个将军还从来没有见过。一连十个小时不断的、令人听来疲惫不堪的大炮轰鸣，给这种景象增添了特殊的意味（就像配有活动画面的音乐）。拿破仑登上谢苗诺夫斯科耶高地，透过烟雾，看见一队队穿着陌生颜色的军装的人，那是俄国人。
在谢苗诺夫斯科耶和土岗后面，站着俄军的密集队形，他们的大炮不断地轰击。他们的战线笼罩着浓烟，已经没有战斗了，只有连续不断的屠杀，无论对俄国人，抑或对法国人均无裨益的屠杀。拿破仑勒住马，又陷入刚才那种被贝蒂埃唤醒时的沉思中；他无法阻止他面前和他周围发生的事，无法阻止那被认为由他领导和由他决定的事。由于失败的原因，他第一次觉得这件事是不必要的和可怕的。
一个将军走到拿破仑面前，向他建议把老近卫军投入战斗。站在拿破仑身旁的内伊和贝蒂埃交换了眼色，对这位将军毫无意义的建议笑了笑。
拿破仑低下头，沉默了很久。
“A　huit　cent　lieux　de　France　je　ne　ferai　pas　démolir　ma　garde．”①他说，然后勒转马头，回舍瓦尔金诺去了。 
①法语：在远离法国三千二百俄里之外，我不能让我的近卫军去送死。
Book 10 Chapter 35
KUTUZOV, with his grey head hanging, and his heavy, corpulent frame sunk into a heap, was sitting on a bench covered with a rug, in the same place in which Pierre had seen him in the morning. He issued no orders, and simply gave or withheld his assent to what was proposed to him.
“Yes, yes, do so,” he would say in reply to various suggestions. “Yes, yes, go across, my dear boy, and see,” he would cry first to one and the to another of the adjutants near him; or, “No, better not; we'd better wait a bit,” he would say. He listened to the reports brought him, and gave orders, when they were asked for. But as he heard the reports, he seemed to take little interest in the import of the words spoken; something else in the expression of his face, in the tone of the voice of the speaker, seemed to interest him more. From long years of military experience he had learned, and with the wisdom of old age he had recognised, that one man cannot guide hundreds of thousands of men struggling with death; that the fate of battles is not decided by the orders given by the commander-in-chief, nor the place in which the troops are stationed, nor the number of cannons, nor of killed, but by that intangible force called the spirit of the army, and he followed that force and led it as far as it lay in his power.
The general expression of Kutuzov's face was concentrated, quiet attention and intensity, with difficulty overcoming his weak and aged body.
At eleven o'clock they brought him the news that the French had been driven back again from the flèches they had captured, but that Bagration was wounded. Kutuzov groaned, and shook his head.
“Ride over to Prince Pyotr Ivanovitch and find out exactly about it,” he said to one of the adjutants, and then he turned to the Prince of Würtemberg, who was standing behind him:
“Will your highness be pleased to take the command of the first army?”
Soon after the prince's departure—so soon that he could not yet have reached Semyonovskoye—his adjutant came back with a message from him asking Kutuzov for more troops.
Kutuzov frowned, and sent Dohturov orders to take the command of the first army, and begged the prince to come back, saying that he found he could not get on without him at such an important moment. When news was brought that Murat had been taken prisoner, and the members of the staff congratulated Kutuzov, he smiled.
“Wait a little, gentlemen,” he said. “The battle is won, and Murat's being taken prisoner is nothing very extraordinary. But we had better defer our rejoicings.” Still he sent an adjutant to take the news to the troops.
When Shtcherbinin galloped up from the left flank with the report of the capture of the flèche, and Semyonovskoye by the French, Kutuzov, guessing from the sounds of the battlefield and Shtcherbinin's face, that the news was bad, got up as though to stretch his legs, and taking Shtcherbinin by the arm drew him aside.
“You go, my dear boy,” he said to Yermolov, “and see whether something can't be done.”
Kutuzov was in Gorky, the centre of the Russian position. The attack on our left flank had been several times repulsed. In the centre the French did not advance beyond Borodino. Uvarov's cavalry had sent the French flying from the left flank.
At three o'clock the attacks of the French ceased. On the faces of all who came from the battlefield, as well as of those standing round him, Kutuzov read an expression of effort, strained to the utmost tension. He was himself satisfied with the success of the day beyond his expectations. But the old man's physical force was failing him. Several times his head sank, as though he were falling, and he dropped asleep. Dinner was brought him.
The adjutant-general, Woltzogen, the man whom Prince Andrey had overheard saying that the war ought to be “im Raum verlegen,” and whom Bagration so particularly detested, rode up to Kutuzov while he was at dinner. Woltzogen had come from Barclay to report on the progress of the fight on the left flank. The sagacious Barclay de Tolly, seeing crowds of wounded men running back, and the ranks in disorder, and weighing all the circumstances of the case, made up his mind that the battle was lost, and sent his favourite adjutant to the commander-in-chief to tell him so.
Kutuzov was with difficulty chewing roast chicken, and his eyes were screwed up with a more cheerful expression as he glanced at Woltzogen.
With a half-contemptuous smile Woltzogen walked carelessly up to Kutuzov, scarcely touching the peak of his cap.
He behaved to his highness with a certain affected negligence, which aimed at showing that he, as a highly trained military man, left it to the Russians to make a prodigy of this useless old person, and was himself well aware what kind of a man he had to deal with. “The ‘old gentleman' ” —this was how Kutuzov was always spoken of in Woltzogen's German circle—“is making himself quite comfortable,” he thought; and glancing severely at the dishes before Kutuzov, he began reporting to the old gentleman Barclay's message and his own impressions and views. “Every point of our position is in the enemy's hands, and they cannot be driven back, because there are not the troops to do it; the men run away and there's no possibility of stopping them,” he submitted.
Kutuzov, stopping short in his munching, stared at Woltzogen in amazement, as though not understanding what was said to him. Woltzogen, noticing the old gentleman's excitement, said with a smile:
“I did not consider I had a right to conceal from your highness what I saw.… The troops are completely routed.…”
“You saw? You saw?…” cried Kutuzov, getting up quickly, and stepping up to Woltzogen. “How…how dare you!…” making a menacing gesture with his trembling hands, he cried, with a catch in his breath: “How dare you, sir, tell me that? You know nothing about it. Tell General Barclay from me that his information is incorrect, and that I, the commander-in-chief, know more of the course of the battle than he does.”
Woltzogen would have made some protest, but Kutuzov interrupted him.
“The enemy has been repulsed on the left and defeated on the right flank. If you have seen amiss, sir, do not permit yourself to speak of what you do not understand. Kindly return to General Barclay and inform him of my unhesitating intention to attack the French to-morrow,” said Kutuzov sternly.
All were silent, and nothing was to be heard but the heavy breathing of the gasping, old general. “Repulsed at all points, for which I thank God and our brave men. The enemy is defeated, and to-morrow we will drive him out of the holy land of Russia!” said Kutuzov, crossing himself; and all at once he gave a sob from the rising tears.
Woltzogen, shrugging his shoulders, and puckering his lips, walked away in silence, marvelling “über diese Eingenommenheit des alten Herrn.”
“Ah, here he is, my hero!” said Kutuzov, as a stoutish, handsome, black-haired general came up the hillside. It was Raevsky, who had spent the whole day at the most important part of the battlefield.
Raevsky reported that the men were standing their ground firmly, and that the French were not venturing a further attack.
When he had heard him out, Kutuzov said in French: “You do not think, like some others, that we are obliged to retreat?”
“On the contrary, your highness, in indecisive actions it is always the most obstinate who remains victorious,” answered Raevsky; “and my opinion…”
“Kaisarov,” Kutuzov called to his adjutant, “sit down and write the order for to-morrow. And you,” he turned to another, “ride along the line and announce that to-morrow we attack.”
While he was talking to Raevsky and dictating the order, Woltzogen came back from Barclay and announced that General Barclay de Tolly would be glad to have a written confirmation of the order given by the field-marshal.
Kutuzov, without looking at Woltzogen, ordered an adjutant to make out this written order, which the former commander-in-chief very prudently wished to have to screen himself from all responsibility. And through the undefinable, mysterious link that maintains through a whole army the same temper, called the spirit of the army, and constituting the chief sinew of war, Kutuzov's words, his order for the battle next day, were transmitted instantaneously from one end of the army to the other.
The words and the phrases of the order were by no means the same when they reached the furthest links in the chain. There was, indeed, not a word in the stories men were repeating to one another from one end of the army to the other, that resembled what Kutuzov had actually said; but the drift of his words spread everywhere, because what Kutuzov had said was not the result of shrewd considerations, but the outflow of a feeling that lay deep in the heart of the commander-in-chief, and deep in the heart of every Russian.
And learning that to-morrow we were to attack the enemy, hearing from the higher spheres of the army the confirmation of what they wanted to believe, the worn-out, wavering men took comfort and courage again.
库图佐夫垂着白发苍苍的头，放松沉重的身子，坐在铺着毯子的长凳上，也就是坐在皮埃尔早晨看见的地方。他不发任何命令，只对别人的建议表示同意或不同意。 
“对，对，就那样做吧。”他在回答各种建议时说，“对，对，去吧，亲爱的，去看一看。”他对这个来人或对那个来人说；或者，“不，不要，我们还是等一等好。”他说。他听取报告，在下级要求他指示的时候，就给他们指示；但是，在他听取报告时，好像并不关心报告者所说的是什么意思，使他感兴趣的是报告者脸上的表情和说话的语调中所含的另外一种东西。多年的战争经验使他知道，老者的睿智使他懂得，领导数十万人作殊死战斗，决不是一个人能够胜任的，他还知道，决定战斗命运的，不是总司令的命令，不是军队所占的地形，不是大炮和杀死人的数量，而是一种所谓士气的不可捉摸的力量，他正是在注视这种力量，尽他的权力所及指导这种力量。
库图佐夫整个面部的表情显得镇静、紧张、注意力集中（勉强克制住他那衰老身体的疲倦）。
上午十一时，他接到消息说，被法军占领的凸角堡又夺回来了，但是巴格拉季翁公爵受了伤。库图佐夫惊叹一声，摇摇头。
“快去彼得·伊万诺维奇公爵①那儿，详细探听一下，看看是怎么回事。”他对一个副官说，然后转向站在身后的符腾堡公爵②。
“请殿下指挥第一军，好吗？”
公爵刚离开不大一会儿，可能还没走到谢苗诺夫斯科耶村，他的副官就回来向勋座报告说，公爵请求增援军队。
库图佐夫皱了皱眉头，命令多赫图罗夫去指挥第一军，请公爵回到他这儿来，他说，在这样紧要的时刻，他离不开公爵。当传来缪拉被俘③的消息时，参谋人员都向他祝贺，库图佐夫微笑了。 
①彼得·伊万诺维奇公爵即巴格拉季翁公爵。
②符腾堡公爵是保罗皇帝的皇后玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜的兄弟。
③缪拉被俘的消息不确，被俘的是波纳米将军。
“要等一等，诸位。”他说，“仗是打赢了，俘虏缪拉并不是什么了不起的事。不过，还是等一等再高兴吧。”他虽然这样说，仍然派一名副官把这个消息通告全军。
当谢尔比宁从左翼驰来报告法军占领凸角堡和谢苗诺夫斯科耶村的时候，库图佐夫从战场上传来的声音和谢尔比宁的脸色猜到，消息是不好的，他好像要活动活动腿脚，站起身，挽起谢尔比宁的臂膀，把他拉到一边。
“你走一趟，亲爱的，”他对叶尔莫洛夫说，“去看看有什么困难。”
库图佐夫在俄军阵地中心——戈尔基。拿破仑对我方左翼的进攻被打退了好几次。在中央，法军没有越过波罗底诺一步。乌瓦罗夫的骑兵从左翼赶跑了法国人。
下午两点多钟，法国人的进攻停止了。在所有从战场回来的人的脸上，在他周围站着的人们的脸上，库图佐夫看到了极其紧张的表情。库图佐夫对白天出乎意料的成功感到满意。但是老头子的体力不济了。有好几次他的头低低地垂下，仿佛要跌下去似的，他总在打瞌睡。人们给他摆上了饭。
将级副官沃尔佐根，（就是那个从安德烈公爵那儿经过时说，战争必须im　Raum　verlegen①的人，也就是巴格拉季翁非常憎恶的那个人，）在吃饭的时候来到库图佐夫这儿。沃尔佐根是巴克莱派来报告左翼战况的。谨小慎微的巴克莱·德·托利见到成群的伤兵逃跑，军队的后卫紊乱，考虑到战局的全部情况，断定战斗失败了，派他的心腹来见总司令就是报告这个消息的。
库图佐夫正费劲地吃烤鸡，他眯细着微含笑意的双眼，看了看沃尔佐根。
沃尔佐根漫不经心地迈着步子，嘴角噙着半带轻蔑的微笑，一只手几乎没碰着帽檐，走到库图佐夫面前。
沃尔佐根对待勋座，有意作出轻慢的态度，表示他是受过高等教育的军人，让俄国人把一个无用的老头子当作偶像吧，而他知道他是和谁打交道。“Der　alte　Herr（德国人在自己圈子里都这样称呼库图佐夫）macht　sich　ganz　bequem，”②沃尔佐根心中想到，狠狠地看了一眼摆在库图佐夫面前的碟子，就开始按照巴克莱命令的及他自己看见和了解的向老先生报告左翼的战况。 
①德语：移到广阔地区。
②德语：老先生过得满舒服。
“我军阵地所有的据点都落入敌人手中，无法反击，因为没有军队；士兵纷纷逃跑，无法阻止他们。”他报告说。
库图佐夫不再咀嚼，惊讶地望着他，好像不懂他在说什么。沃尔佐根看出des　alten　Herrn①很激动，于是堆着笑脸说：
“我认为我无权向勋座隐瞒我所看见的……军队完全乱了……”
“您看见了吗？您看见了吗？……”库图佐夫皱眉喊道，他霍地站起来，向沃尔佐根紧走几步。“您怎么……您怎么敢！……”他用颤抖的两手做出威吓的姿势，气喘吁吁地喊道。
“您怎么敢，阁下，对我说这种话。您什么也不知道。代我告诉巴克莱将军，他的报告不确实，对于战斗的真正情况，我总司令比他知道得更清楚。”
沃尔佐根想辩解，但是库图佐夫打断他的话。
“左翼的敌人被打退了，右翼也打败了。如果您没看清楚，阁下，就不要说您不知道的事。请您回去通知巴克莱，我明天一定要向敌人进攻。”库图佐夫严厉地说，大家都不吭声，只听见老将军沉重的喘息声。“敌人到处都被打退，为这我要感谢上帝和我们勇敢的军队。战胜敌人，明天把他们赶出俄国神圣的领土。”库图佐夫划着十字说，忽然他老泪纵横，声音哽咽了。沃尔佐根耸耸肩，撇撇嘴，一声不响地走到一旁，über　diese　Einge－nommenheit　des　alten　Herrn②感到惊奇。 
①德语：老先生。
②德语：对老先生的刚愎自用。
“啊，这不是他来了，我的英雄。”这时一个身材魁伟、仪表英俊的黑发将军登上土岗，库图佐夫看着他说。这个将军是拉耶夫斯基，他整天都在波罗底诺战场的主要据点度过。
拉耶夫斯基报告说，我军紧守阵地，法国人不敢再进攻了。
听了他的报告，库图佐夫用法语说：
“Vous　ne　pensez　donc　pas　comme　les　autres　que　nous　sommes　obligés　nous　ritirer？”①“Au　contraire，votre　altesse，dans　les　attaires　indécises　c'est　toujours　le　plus　opiniaAtre　qui　reste　victorieux，”拉耶夫斯基回答说，“Et　mon　opinion……”② 
①法语：这么说来，您不像别人那样认为我们应当撤退了？
②法语：相反，勋座，在胜负未定的战斗中，谁更顽强，胜利就属于谁，我的意见……
 
“凯萨罗夫！”库图佐夫叫他的副官。“坐下写明天的命令。还有你，”他对另一个副官说，“到前线去宣传，明天我们要进攻。”
在库图佐夫同拉耶夫斯基谈话并口授命令的时候，沃尔佐根从巴克莱那儿回来了，他报告说，巴克莱·德·托利将军希望能拿到元帅发出的那份命令的明文。
库图佐夫不看沃尔佐根，叫人写那份命令，前总司令所以要书面命令，一定是为了逃避个人的责任。
有一种不可捉摸的神秘的链条，它使全军同心同德，并构成战争的主要神经，这就是被称为士气的东西，库图佐夫的话和他所下的第二天进攻的命令，就是沿着这条链子传遍全军每个角落的。
传到这条链子的最后一环时，已经远非原来的话及命令了。在军队各个角落互相传说的故事，甚至与库图佐夫说的话完全不同；但是他的话的含意却传到了各处，因为库图佐夫所说的话并非出于狡诈的计谋，而是表达了总司令和每个俄国人心灵中的感情。
得知我们明天要进攻敌人，并且从最高指挥部证实了他们所希望的事，疲惫，动摇的人们得到了安慰和鼓舞。
Book 10 Chapter 36
PRINCE ANDREY'S REGIMENT was in the reserves, which were until two o'clock stationed behind Semyonovskoye in complete inaction, under a hot artillery fire. Before two o'clock the regiment, which had already lost over two hundred men, was moved forward into the trampled oat-field, in that space between Semyonovskoye and the battery redoubt, on which thousands of men were killed that day, and on which, about two o'clock, there was directed the concentrated fire of several hundreds of the enemy's cannons.
Not leaving that spot, nor discharging a single round of ammunition, the regiment lost here another third of its men. In front, and especially on the right side, the cannons kept booming in the smoke that never lifted, and from the mysterious region of the smoke that hid all the country in front, there came flying swiftly hissing cannon balls and slowly whizzing grenades. Sometimes, as though to give them a breathing space, for a whole quarter of an hour all the cannon balls and grenades flew over them, but at other times, in the course of a single minute, several men out of the regiment would be swept off, and they were busy the whole time dragging away the dead and carrying off the wounded.
With every fresh stroke the chances of life grew less and less for those who were not yet killed. The regiment was divided into battalions three hundred paces apart; but in spite of that, all the regiment was under the influence of the same mood. All the men of the regiment were alike gloomy and silent. At rare intervals there was the sound of talk in the ranks, but that sound was hushed every time the falling thud and the cry of “stretchers!” was heard. For the greater part of the time, by command of the officers, the men sat on the ground. One, taking off his shako, carefully loosened and then drew up the folds of it; another, crumbling the dry clay in his hands, rubbed up his bayonet with it; another shifted and fastened the buckle of his shoulder straps; while another carefully undid, and did up again, his leg bandages, and changed his boots. Some built little houses of clods of the ploughed field, or plaited straws of stubble. All of them appeared entirely engrossed in these pursuits. When men were killed or wounded, when the stretchers trailed by, when our troops retreated, when immense masses of the enemy came into view through the smoke, no one took any notice of these circumstances. When our artillery or cavalry advanced, when our infantry could be seen moving, approving observations could be heard on all sides. But quite extraneous incidents that had nothing to do with the battle were what attracted most notice; as though the attention of these morally overstrained men found a rest in the commonplace incidents of everyday life. Some batteries of artillery passed in front of their line. In one of the ammunition carriages a horse had put its legs through the traces.
“Hey! look at the trace-horse!… Take her leg out! She'll fall!… Hey! they don't see!…” Shouts rose from the ranks all through the regiment.
Another time the attention of all was attracted by a little brown dog, with its tail in the air, who had come no one knew from where, and was running about fussily in front of the ranks. All at once a cannon ball fell near it, and it squealed and dashed away with its tail between its legs! Roars and shrieks of laughter rang out from the whole regiment. But distractions of this kind did not last more than a minute, and the men had been eight hours without food or occupation, with the terror of death never relaxing for an instant, and their pale and haggard faces grew paler and more haggard.
Prince Andrey, pale and haggard like every one else in the regiment, walked to and fro in the meadow next to the oat-field from one boundary-line to the other, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes fixed on the ground. There was no need for him to give orders, and nothing for him to do. Everything was done of itself. The killed were dragged behind the line; the wounded were removed, and the ranks closed up. If any soldiers ran away, they made haste to return at once. At first Prince Andrey, thinking it his duty to keep up the spirits of the men, and set them an example, had walked about among the ranks. But soon he felt that there was nothing he could teach them. All his energies, like those of every soldier, were unconsciously directed to restraining himself from contemplating the horror of his position. He walked about the meadow, dragging one leg after the other, making the grass rustle, and watching the dust, which covered his boots. Then he strode along, trying to step on the traces of the footsteps of the mowers on the meadow; or counting his steps, calculated how many times he would have to walk from one boundary rut to another to make a verst; or cut off the flowers of wormwood growing in the rut, and crushing them in his hands, sniffed at the bitter-sweet, pungent odour. Of all the thoughts of the previous day not a trace remained. He thought of nothing at all. He listened wearily to the sounds that were ever the same, the whiz of the shells above the booming of the cannon, looked at the faces of the men of the first battalion, which he had gazed at to weariness already, and waited. “Here it comes … this one's for us again!” he thought, listening to the whiz of something flying out of the region of smoke. “One, another! More! Fallen” … He stopped short and looked towards the ranks. “No; it has flown over. But that one has fallen!” And he fell to pacing up and down again, trying to reach the next boundary in sixteen steps.
A whiz and a thud! Five paces from him the dry soil was thrown up, as a cannon ball sank into the earth. A chill ran down his back. He looked at the ranks. Probably a number had been struck: the men had gathered in a crowd in the second battalion.
“M. l'aide-de-camp,” he shouted, “tell the men not to crowd together.”
The adjutant, having obeyed this instruction, was approaching Prince Andrey. From the other side the major in command of the battalion came riding up.
“Look out!” rang out a frightened cry from a soldier, and like a bird, with swift, whirring wings alighting on the earth, a grenade dropped with a dull thud a couple of paces from Prince Andrey, near the major's horse. The horse, with no question of whether it were right or wrong to show fear, snorted, reared, almost throwing the major, and galloped away. The horse's terror infected the men.
“Lie down!” shouted the adjutant, throwing himself on the ground. Prince Andrey stood in uncertainty. The shell was smoking and rotating like a top between him and the recumbent adjutant, near a bush of wormwood in the rut between the meadow and the field.
“Can this be death?” Prince Andrey wondered, with an utterly new, wistful feeling, looking at the grass, at the wormwood and at the thread of smoke coiling from the rotating top. “I can't die, I don't want to die, I love life, I love this grass and earth and air …”
He thought this, and yet at the same time he did not forget that people were looking at him.
“For shame, M. l'aide-de-camp!” he said to the adjutant; “what sort of …” He did not finish. Simultaneously there was a tearing, crashing sound, like the smash of broken crockery, a puff of stifling fumes, and Prince Andrey was sent spinning over, and flinging up one arm, fell on his face.
Several officers ran up to him. A great stain of blood was spreading over the grass from the right side of his stomach.
The militiamen stood with the stretchers behind the officers. Prince Andrey lay on his chest, with his face sunk in the grass; he was still breathing in hard, hoarse gasps.
“Well, why are you waiting, come along!”
The peasants went up and took him by the shoulders and legs, but he moaned piteously, and they looked at one another, and laid him down again.
“Pick him up, lay him on, it's all the same!” shouted some one. They lifted him by the shoulders again and laid him on the stretcher.
“Ah, my God! my God! what is it?…The stomach! It's all over then! Ah, my God!” could be heard among the officers. “It almost grazed my ear,” the adjutant was saying. The peasants, with the stretcher across their shoulders, hurried along the path they had trodden to the ambulance station.
“Keep step!…Aie!…these peasants!” cried an officer, seizing them by the shoulders, as they jogged along, jolting the stretcher.
“Drop into it, Fyodor, eh?” said the foremost peasant.
“That's it, first-rate,” said the hindmost, falling into step.
“Your excellency? Eh, prince?” said the trembling voice of Timohin, as he ran up and peeped over the stretcher.
Prince Andrey opened his eyes, and looked at the speaker from the stretcher, through which his head had dropped, and closed his eyelids again.
The militiamen carried Prince Andrey to the copse, where there were vans and an ambulance station. The ambulance station consisted of three tents, pitched at the edge of a birch copse. In the wood stood the ambulance waggons and horses. The horses in nose-bags were munching oats, and the sparrows flew up to them and picked up the grains they dropped. Some crows, scenting blood, flitted to and fro among the birches, cawing impatiently. For more than five acres round the tents there were sitting or lying men stained with blood, and variously attired. They were surrounded by crowds of dejected-looking and intently observant soldiers, who had come with stretchers. Officers, trying to keep order, kept driving them away from the place; but it was of no use. The soldiers, heedless of the officers, stood leaning against the stretchers, gazing intently at what was passing before their eyes, as though trying to solve some difficult problem in this spectacle. From the tents came the sound of loud, angry wailing, and piteous moans. At intervals a doctor's assistant ran out for water, or to point out those who were to be taken in next. The wounded, awaiting their turn at the tent, uttered hoarse groans and moans, wept, shouted, swore, or begged for vodka. Several were raving in delirium. Prince Andrey, as a colonel, was carried through the crowd of wounded not yet treated, and brought close up to one of the tents, where his bearers halted awaiting instructions. Prince Andrey opened his eyes, and for a long while could not understand what was passing around him. The meadow, the wormwood, the black, whirling ball, and his passionate rush of love for life came back to his mind. A couple of paces from him stood a tall, handsome, dark-haired sergeant, with a bandaged head, leaning against a branch. He had been wounded in the head and in the leg, and was talking loudly, attracting general attention. A crowd of wounded men and stretcher-bearers had gathered round him, greedily listening to his words.
“We regularly hammered him out, so he threw up everything; we took the king himself,” the soldier was shouting, looking about him with feverishly glittering black eyes. “If only the reserves had come up in the nick of time, my dear fellow, there wouldn't have been a sign of him left, for I can tell you …”
Prince Andrey, like all the men standing round the speaker, gazed at him with bright eyes, and felt a sense of comfort. “But isn't it all the same now?” he thought. “What will be there, and what has been here? why was I so sorry to part with life? There was something in this life that I didn't understand, and don't understand.”
安德烈公爵的团留在后备队，直到下午一点钟，后备队仍然在猛烈的炮火下驻守在谢苗诺夫斯科耶村后面，没有行动。一点多钟时，在损失二百多人的情况下，这个团才向前移到谢苗诺夫斯科耶村和土岗炮垒之间的一片踩平了的燕麦地里，那一天土岗炮垒里伤亡了好几千人，下午一点多钟，敌人的几百门大炮集中火力对它猛轰。 
这个团在这儿没动，也没放一枪，又损失了三分之一的人。从前方，特别是从右方，在停滞不散的硝烟里，大炮隆隆地发射着，前面那一带神秘的区域的整个地面都弥漫着烟雾，从那里不断飞出疾速的咝咝作响的炮弹和缓慢的呼啸而过的榴弹。有时，好像要让人们休息一下，一连一刻钟炮弹和榴弹都从上空中飞过去了，可是有时，一分钟工夫团里就损失好几个人。阵亡的不断被拖走，受伤的则被抬走了。
随着每次新的攻击的来临，还没有被打死的人的生存机会越来越少了。团以三百步距离排成纵队营，虽然这样，全团仍笼罩在同一情绪下。全团人一律沉默不语，面色阴郁。队伍里很少有谈话声，即使有人谈话，一听见中弹声和喊“担架！”声，也就停下了。大部分时间，全团人遵照长官的命令坐在地上。有的摘下帽子，专心地把褶子抻平，然后再折起来；有的抓一把干土，在手心里搓碎，用它来擦刺刀；有的揉一揉皮带，把带扣勒紧；有的把包脚布仔细抻平，然后重新把脚包好，穿上靴子。有些人用犁过的地里的土块搭小屋，或者用麦秸编东西。大家都好像全神贯注在这些事情上。当打伤或打死了人的时候，当成队的担架走过的时候，当我们的队伍撤退的时候，当大批敌人在烟雾中出现的时候，谁也不去注意这些情况。可是当我们的炮兵、骑兵向前面走过去时，当我们的步兵向前移动时，赞许的声音却从四面八方响起。但是，最能引起注意的是那些与战斗完全无关，完全不相干的事。好像这些精神上受折磨的人把注意力放在这些平凡的、日常生活中的事物上，就可以得到休息似的。一个炮兵连从团的正面走过，一辆炮兵弹药车拉边套的马迈出了套索。“嘿，瞧那匹拉边套的马！……把腿伸进去！它要跌倒了……哎呀，他们没看见！……”全团都在喊叫。又有一次，所有的人都注意到了不知从哪儿冒出来的一只褐色的小狗，它把尾巴翘得高高的，满怀心事地迈着小碎步，跑到队伍前面，忽然，附近落下一颗炮弹，它尖叫一声，夹起尾巴，跳到一边去了。全团的人哄然大笑，发出尖叫声。但这种开心的事只延续了几分钟，人们在不断的死亡恐怖中不吃不喝地站了八个多钟头，苍白忧郁的面孔愈来愈苍白忧郁了。
安德烈公爵也像团里所有的人一样，面色苍白而阴郁，他背着手，低着头，在燕麦地旁的草地里一个田垄一个田垄地走来走去。他无事可做，也无命令可发。一切都听其自然。阵亡的人被拖到战线外面，受伤的人被抬走，队伍靠拢起来。如果有士兵跑开，他们立刻就赶回来，起初，安德烈公爵认为鼓舞士气，给士兵作一个榜样是他的责任，所以在队伍里走来走去；但是，后来他认识到，他无须教他们，也没有什么可教他们的。他和每个士兵一样，全部的心力都在努力避免想象他们处境的危险。他在草地上来回走动，慢慢地拖着两只脚，蹭得地上的草沙沙作响，眼睛盯着靴子上的尘土；他有时迈着大步，尽可能踩上割草人留下的脚印，有时数自己的脚步，计算走一俄里要经过多少两条田垄之间的距离；有时采几朵长在田垄上的苦艾花，放在手掌上揉碎，然后闻那股强烈的甘苦香味。昨天所想的东西一点也没有了。他什么也不想。他用疲倦的听觉细听那总是同样的声音，分辨枪弹的尖啸声和炮弹的轰隆声，看第一营的士兵那些已经看厌了的脸，他在等待着。“它来了……这一个又是冲我们来的！”他谛听着从硝烟弥漫的地带发出的越来越近的呼啸声，心里想道。“一个，两个！又一个！打中了……”他停下看了看队伍。
“不是，飞过去了。不过这个打中了。”他又开始走来走去，极力迈大步，要用十六步走到另一条田垄。
呼啸声和撞击声！离他五步远的地方，一颗炮弹炸开了干土，然后就消失了。他不由地感到一阵寒冷掠过他的脊背。他又看了看队伍。大概又有许多伤亡：在第二营聚集着一大群人。
“副官先生，”他喊道，“命令他们不要聚集在一起。”副官执行了命令，然后是走到安德烈公爵面前。一个营长从另一方向驰来。
“当心！”可以听见一个士兵惊慌的喊声，一颗带着呼啸声疾飞的榴弹，有如一只向地面俯冲下来的鸟，落在离安德烈公爵两步远的营长的战马旁边，发出砰的一声。那匹马不管露出恐怖的样子好不好，先打了个响鼻，竖起前蹄，险些儿把那个少校掀下来，然后向一旁跑开了。马的恐惧感染了人们。
“卧倒！”扑倒在地的副官喊道。安德烈公爵站在那儿犹豫不决。一颗榴弹在他和副官之间，在耕地和草地边上，在一丛苦艾旁边，像陀螺一般冒着烟旋转。
“难道这就是死吗？”安德烈公爵一面想，一面用完全新的、羡慕的眼光看青草、苦艾，看那从旋转着的黑球冒出的一缕袅袅上升的青烟。“我不能死，不愿死，我爱生活，爱这青草，爱大地，爱天空……”他这样想着，同时想到人们都在望着他。
“可耻呀，副官先生！”他对副官说。“多么……”他没能把话说完。就在这一刹那，发出了爆炸声，像打破了玻璃窗似的碎片四面飞射，闻得到令人窒息的火药味，安德烈公爵向一旁猛然一冲，举起一只手，胸脯朝下摔倒了。
几个军官向他跑过来。血从右侧腹部流出来，在草地上流了一大团血。
叫来抬担架的后备军人在军官们身后站着。安德烈公爵俯卧着，脸埋在草里，发出沉重的呼呼噜噜的喘气声。
“你们站着干吗，快过来！”
农夫们走过来，抓住他的肩膀和腿，但是他凄惨地呻吟起来，农夫们互相看了一下，又把他放下了。
“抬起来，放下，总归是一样！”有一个人喊道。他们又托住他的肩膀抬起来，放到担架上。
“啊，我的上帝！我的上帝啊！这是怎么啦？……肚子！这一下可完了！哎呀，我的上帝！”从军官们之间传出叹息声。
“炮弹蹭着我的耳朵飞过去。”副官说。
几个农夫把担架搭在肩上，急忙沿着他们踏出的小路向救护站走去。
“步子走齐……喂！……老乡！”一个军官吆喝道，抓住那些走得不稳、颠动担架的农夫的肩膀，叫他们停下来。
“合上步子，你怎么啦，赫韦多尔，我说，赫韦多尔。”前面的那个农夫说。
“这就对啦，好的。”后面那个调好步子的农夫，高兴地说。
“大人吗？啊？是公爵？”季莫欣跑过来，朝担架看了看，声音颤抖地说。安德烈公爵睁开眼，从担架里（他的头部深深地陷在担架里）望了望说话的人，又垂下了眼皮。
后备军人们把安德烈公爵抬到林边，那儿停着几辆大车，救护站就在那儿。救护站是在小白桦树林边塔了三个卷着边的帐篷。树林里停着大车和战马。马正在吃饲料袋里的燕麦，麻雀飞到马跟前啄食撒下来的麦粒。乌鸦闻到血腥味，急不可耐地狂叫着，在白桦树上飞来飞去。在帐篷周围两俄亩的地方，一些穿着各种服装的、血渍斑班的人们或卧或坐或站。伤员周围站着许多面色沮丧、神情关注的担架兵，维持秩序的军官怎么也赶不走他们。士兵们不听军官的话，仍然靠着担架站在那儿，好像想要了解这种景象的深奥意义，他们聚精会神地观看眼前发生的事。帐篷里一会儿传出很凶的大声哀号，一会儿传出悲惨的呻吟，有时一个医助跑出来取水，指定应当抬进去的人。在帐篷外等候的伤员们发出嘶哑的声音，他们呻吟、哭泣、喊叫、咒骂，要伏特加酒。有些人昏迷，说胡话。担架兵迈过还没包扎的伤员，把团长安德烈公爵抬到一座较近的帐篷，停在那儿听候指示。安德烈公爵睁开眼睛，好久弄不明白他周围是怎么回事。他记起了草地、苦艾、耕地、旋转的黑球和他那热爱生活的激情。离他两步远，有一个头上裹着绷带、黑发秀美的高个子军士，他拄着一根大树枝站在那儿大声说话，以期引起大家的注意。他的头和腿都被子弹打伤。他周围聚集着一群伤员和担架兵。正热切地听他讲话。
“我们把他狠狠揍了一顿，揍得他丢盔弃甲，屁滚尿流，连那个国王也给抓住了！”那个军士一双火热的黑眼睛闪着光，环顾四周，喊道。“后备军要是及时赶到，弟兄们，准把他全给报销，我敢向你担保……”
安德烈公爵也像讲话者周围的人一样，用闪光的眼睛望着他，感到了欣慰。“不过，现在不是一切都无所谓了吗？”他想。“来世会是怎样？今世曾是怎样的？我过去为什么那样留恋生命？在这生命中有一种我过去和现在都不明了的东西。”
Book 10 Chapter 37
ONE OF THE DOCTORS came out of the tent with a blood-stained apron, and small, blood-stained hands, in one of which he had a cigar, carefully held between his thumb and little finger, that it might not be stained too. This doctor threw his head up, and looked about him, but over the level of the wounded crowd. He was evidently longing for a short respite. After turning his head from right to left for a few minutes, he sighed and dropped his eyes again.
“All right, immediately,” he said in reply to an assistant, who pointed him our Prince Andrey, and he bade the bearers carry him into the tent.
A murmur rose in the crowd of wounded men waiting.
“Even in the next world it's only the gentry who will have a good time,” said one.
Prince Andrey was carried in, and laid on a table that had just been cleared, and was being rinsed over by an assistant. He could not make out distinctly what was in the tent. The pitiful groans on all sides, and the excruciating pain in his thigh, his stomach, and his back distracted his attention. Everything he saw around melted for him into a single general impression of naked, blood-stained, human flesh, which seemed to fill up the whole low-pitched tent, as, a few weeks before, on that hot August day, the bare human flesh had filled up the dirty pond along the Smolensk road. Yes, it was the same flesh, the same chair à canon, the sight of which had aroused in him then a horror, that seemed prophetic of what he felt now.
There were three tables in the tent. Two were occupied, on the third they laid Prince Andrey. For some time he was left alone, an involuntary witness of what was being done at the other tables. On the table nearest sat a Tatar, probably of a Cossack regiment, judging from the uniform that had been thrown down close by. Four soldiers were holding him. A doctor in spectacles was cutting something in his brown, muscular back.
‘Ooh! ooh! ooh!…” the Tatar, as it were, grunted, and all of a sudden, throwing up his broad, swarthy, sun-burned face, and showing his white teeth, he began wriggling, twitching, and shrieking a piercingly shrill, prolonged scream. On the other table, round which a number of persons were standing, a big, stout man lay on his back, with his head flung back. The colour and curliness of the hair and the shape seemed strangely familiar to Prince Andrey. Several assistants were holding him, and weighing on his chest. One white, plump leg was incessantly moving with a rapid, spasmodic twitching. This man was sobbing and choking convulsively. Two doctors—one was pale and trembling—were mutely engaged in doing something with the other red, gory leg. Having finished with the Tatar, over whom a cloak was thrown, the doctor in spectacles came up to Prince Andrey, wiping his hands.
He glanced at his face, and hurriedly turned away. “Undress him! Why are you dawdling?” he shouted angrily to the assistant.
His earliest, remotest childhood came back to Prince Andrey, when the assistant, with tucked-up sleeves, hurriedly unbuttoned his buttons, and took off his clothes. The doctor bent close down over the wound, felt it, and sighed deeply. Then he made a sign to some one. And the excruciating pain inside his stomach made Prince Andrey lose consciousness. When he regained consciousness, the broken splinters of his thigh bone had been removed, the bits of ragged flesh had been cut off, and the wound bound up. Water was sprinkled on his face. As soon as Prince Andrey opened his eyes, the doctor bent over him, kissed him on the lips without speaking, and hurried away.
After the agony he had passed through, Prince Andrey felt a blissful peace, such as he had not known for very long. All the best and happiest moments of his life, especially his earliest childhood, when he had been undressed and put to bed, when his nurse had sung lullabies over him, when, burying his head in the pillows, he had felt happy in the mere consciousness of life, rose before his imagination, not like the past even, but as though it were the actual present.
The doctors were busily engaged with the wounded man, whose head had seemed somehow familiar to Prince Andrey: they were lifting him up and trying to soothe him.
“Show it to me… ooo! o! ooo!” he could hear his frightened, abjectly suffering moans, broken by sobs. Hearing his moans, Prince Andrey wanted to cry. Either because he was dying thus without glory, or because he was sorry to part with life, or from these memories of a childhood that could never return, or because he was in pain, or because others were suffering, and that man was moaning so piteously, he longed to weep childlike, good, almost happy, tears.
They showed the wounded man the leg that had been amputated, wearing a boot, and covered with dry gore. “O! oooo!” he sobbed like a woman. The doctor who had been standing near him, screening his face, moved away.
“My God! How's this? Why is he here?” Prince Andrey wondered.
In the miserable, sobbing, abject creature, whose leg had just been cut off, he recognised Anatole Kuragin. It was Anatole they were holding up in their arms and offering a glass of water, the edge of which he could not catch with his trembling, swollen lips. Anatole drew a sobbing, convulsive breath. “Yes, it is he; yes, that man is somehow closely and painfully bound up with me,” thought Prince Andrey, with no clear understanding yet of what was before him. “What is the connection between that man and my childhood, my life?” he asked himself, unable to find the clue. And all at once a new, unexpected memory from that childlike world of purity and love rose up before Prince Andrey. He remembered Natasha, as he had seen her for the first time at the ball in 1810, with her slender neck and slender arms, and her frightened, happy face, ready for ecstatic enjoyment, and a love and tenderness awoke in his heart for her stronger and more loving than ever. He recalled now the bond that existed between him and this man, who was looking vaguely at him through the tears that filled his swollen eyes. Prince Andrey remembered everything, and a passionate pity and love for that suffering man filled his happy heart.
Prince Andrey could restrain himself no more and wept tears of love and tenderness over his fellow-men, over himself, and over their errors and his own. “Sympathy, love for our brothers, for those who love us, love for those who hate us, love for our enemies; yes, the love that God preached upon earth, that Marie sought to teach me, and I did not understand, that is why I am sorry to part with life, that is what was left me if I had lived. But now it is too late. I know that!”
一个医生从帐篷里走出来，围着一条血渍斑斑的围裙，他那两只不大的手也沾满了血，一只手的小指和拇指间夹着一支雪茄（怕弄脏了雪茄）。他抬起头，目光越过受伤的人，四下张望着。显然，他想休息一下，向左向右转了一会儿头，叹了口气，垂下了眼睑。 
“这就来。”他回答着医助的话，后者向他指了指安德烈公爵，于是他吩咐把公爵抬进帐篷。
候诊的伤员们纷纷议论起来。
“看来在那个世界也只有贵族老爷好过。”一个伤员说。
安德烈公爵被抬进来，放在一张刚腾出的，医助正在冲洗的桌上。安德烈公爵看不清帐篷里的东西。四周痛苦的呻吟声、他的大腿、肚子和背脊剧烈的疼痛，分散了他的注意力。他所看到的周围的一切，融汇成一个总的印象——赤裸的、血淋淋的人体似乎塞满了这座低矮的帐篷，就像几星期前，在那炎热的八月的一天，在斯摩棱斯克大道上人的肉体填满的一个脏污的水池。是的，这正是那些肉体，那些chair　a　canon①，那在当时仿佛就预示了眼前的一切景象，这种情形使他感到恐怖。 
①法语：炮灰。
帐篷里有三张台子。两张已经被占着了，安德烈公爵被放在第三张台子上。有一阵子没人管他，他无意识地看到了另外两张台子上的情形。最近的台子上坐着一个鞑靼人，从扔在旁边的制服看来，大概是一个哥萨克。四个士兵扶着他。一个戴眼镜的医生正在他肌肉发达的栗色背脊上切除什么东西。
“哎哟，哎哟，哎哟！……”鞑靼人猪叫似的喊着，突然昂起高颧骨、翘鼻子、黝黑的脸，龇着雪白的牙，开始挣扎、扭动，发出刺耳的长声尖叫。另一张围着好多人的平台上，平卧着一个大胖子，向后仰着头（他那卷发、发色及头型，安德烈公爵都觉得非常熟悉。）几个医助按住那个人的胸脯，不让他动弹。一条雪白的大粗腿快速不停地、像发疟疾似的抖动着。那个人抽泣着，哽咽着。两个医生——其中一个面色苍白，哆哆嗦嗦的，——默默地在那个人的另一只发红的腿上做着什么。戴眼镜的医生做完了鞑靼人的手术，给他盖上军大衣，擦着手，走到安德烈公爵跟前。
他朝安德烈公爵的脸看了一眼，连忙转过身去。
“给他脱衣服，站着干吗？”他愤愤地对医助们说。
当一个医助卷起袖子，忙着给安德烈公爵解钮扣，脱衣服的时候，安德烈公爵回忆起了自己最早、最遥远的童年。医生低低地弯下身来查看伤势，摸了摸，深深地叹了一口气。然后他对别人打了个手势。由于腹内的剧痛，安德烈公爵失去了知觉。他醒来时，大腿里的碎骨已被取出，炸开的一块肉被切除，伤口也包扎好了。有人往他脸上洒水。安德烈公爵刚一睁眼，医生就向他俯下身来，默默地在他嘴唇上吻了吻，又匆匆地走开了。
自从经受了那次痛苦以来，安德烈公爵好久不曾有过无上的幸福的感觉了。他一生中最美好，最幸福的时光，尤其是最遥远的童年，那时，有人给他脱衣，把他抱到小床上，保姆唱着催眠曲哄他睡觉，那时，他把头埋在枕头里，他对生活只有一个感觉，那就是觉得自己很幸福。——恍惚中，这样的时光甚至不是过去，而是现实。
医生们在安德烈公爵觉得那人的头型很熟悉的伤员周围忙合着，把他扶起来，安慰他。
“给我看看……噢噢噢噢！噢噢噢噢噢！”传来他那时时被啜泣打断的、惊慌不安的、痛得钻心的呻吟声。听到这呻吟声，安德烈公爵直想哭。不知是为了他无声无息地死去；还是为了他舍不得离开人世；为了那一去不复返的童年的回忆；为了他在受苦，别人也在受苦（那个人在他面前那么悲惨地呻吟）——不管为了什么，他直想哭，流出孩子般的、善良的、几乎是愉快的眼泪。
人们给那个伤员看了看他那条被截去的、沾满血渍的、还穿着靴子的腿。
“噢！噢噢噢噢！”他像个女人似的恸哭起来。那个站在伤员身旁挡住了他的脸的医生，这时走开了。
“我的上帝！这是怎么回事？他怎么在这儿？”安德烈公爵自言自语道。
他认出那个不幸的、痛哭失声、虚弱无力、刚被截去腿的人就是阿纳托利·库拉金。人们扶起他，递给他一杯水，但是他那颤抖着的肿起的嘴唇老挨不到杯子边。阿纳托利痛苦地啜泣着。“是的，这是他；是的，这个人不知怎的和我密切而沉痛地连在一起。”安德烈公爵还没弄清楚眼前究竟是怎么回事，心中就想道。“这个人与我的童年，我的生活有什么关系呢？”他自问，却得不到答案。突然，在安德烈公爵的想象中，从纯洁可爱的童年世界中浮现出另一种新的意外的回忆。他想起一八一○年在舞会上第一次看见娜塔莎，想起她那纤细的脖颈和手臂，她那时时都处于兴奋状态的，又惊又喜的面庞，于是在他心灵深处对她的眷恋和柔情苏醒了，比任何时候都更生动、更强烈。他这时想起了他同那个用含泪的，肿起的眼睛模糊地看他的人之间的关系。安德烈公爵想起了一切，于是对那个人强烈的怜悯和挚爱之情充满了他那幸福的心。
安德烈公爵再也忍不住流出了温柔、深情的眼泪，他哭了，哭别人，哭自己，哭他们和自己的错误认识。
“对兄弟们、对爱他人的人们的同情和爱，对恨我们的人的爱，对敌人的爱，——是的，这就是上帝在人间散播的、玛丽亚公爵小姐教给我而我过去不懂的那种爱；这就是我为什么舍不得离开人世，这就是我所剩下的唯一的东西，如果我还活着的话。但是现在已经晚了。我知道这一点！”
Book 10 Chapter 38
THE TEARFUL SPECTACLE of the battlefield, heaped with dead and wounded, in conjunction with the heaviness of his head, the news that some twenty generals he knew well were among the killed or wounded, and the sense of the impotence of his once mighty army, made an unexpected impression on Napoleon, who was usually fond of looking over the dead and wounded, proving thereby, as he imagined, his dauntless spirit. On that day, the awful spectacle of the battlefield overcame this dauntless spirit, which he looked upon as a merit and a proof of greatness. He hastened away from the field of battle and returned to Shevardino. With a yellow, puffy, heavy face, dim eyes, a red nose, and a husky voice, he sat on a camp-stool, looking down and involuntarily listening to the sounds of the firing. With sickly uneasiness he awaited the end of this action, in which he considered himself the prime mover, though he could not have stopped it. The personal, human sentiment for one brief moment gained the ascendant over the artificial phantasm of life, that he had served so long. He imagined in his own case the agonies and death he had seen on the battlefield. The heaviness of his head and chest reminded him of the possibility for him too of agony and death. At that minute he felt no longing for Moscow, for victory or for glory. (What need had he for more glory?) The one thing he desired now was repose, tranquillity, and freedom. But when he was on the height above Semyonovskoye, the officer in command of the artillery proposed to him to bring several batteries up on to that height to increase the fire on the Russian troops before Knyazkovo. Napoleon assented, and gave orders that word should be brought him of the effect produced by this battery.
An adjutant came to say that by the Emperor's orders two hundred guns had been directed upon the Russians, but that they were still holding their ground.
“Our fire is mowing them down in whole rows, but they stand firm,” said the adjutant.
“They want more of it!” said Napoleon in his husky voice.
“Sire?” repeated the adjutant, who had not caught the words.
“They want even more!” Napoleon croaked hoarsely, frowning. “Well, let them have it then.”
Already, without orders from him, what he did not really want was being done, and he gave the order to do it simply because he thought the order was expected of him. And he passed back again into his old artificial world, peopled by the phantoms of some unreal greatness, and again (as a horse running in a rolling wheel may imagine it is acting on its own account) he fell back into submissively performing the cruel, gloomy, irksome, and inhuman part destined for him.
And not for that hour and day only were the mind and conscience darkened in that man, on whom the burden of all that was being done lay even more heavily than on all the others who took part in it. Never, down to the end of his life, had he the least comprehension of good, of beauty, of truth, of the significance of his own acts, which were too far opposed to truth and goodness, too remote from everything human for him to be able to grasp their significance. He could not disavow his own acts, that were lauded by half the world, and so he was forced to disavow truth and goodness and everything human.
Not on that day only, as he rode about the battlefield, piled with corpses and mutilated men (the work, as he supposed, of his will) he reckoned as he gazed at them how many Russians lay there for each Frenchman, and cheated himself into finding matter for rejoicing in the belief that there were five Russians for every Frenchman. Not on that day only he wrote to Paris that “le champ de bataille a été superbe,” because there were fifty thousand corpses on it. Even in St. Helena, in the peaceful solitude where he said he intended to devote his leisure to an account of the great deeds he had done, he wrote:
“The Russian war ought to have been the most popular of modern times: it was the war of good sense and real interests, of the repose and security of all: it was purely pacific and conservative.
“It was for the great cause, the end of uncertainties and the beginning of security. A new horizon, new labours were unfolding, all full of welfare and prosperity for all. The European system was established; all that remained was to organise it.
“Satisfied on these great points and tranquil everywhere, I too should have had my congress and my holy alliance. These are ideas stolen from me. In this assembly of great sovereigns, we could have treated of our interests like one family and have reckoned, as clerk with master, with the peoples.
“Europe would soon in that way have made in fact but one people, and every one, travelling all over it, would always have found himself in the common fatherland. I should have required all the rivers to be open for the navigation of all; the seas to be common to all; and the great standing armies to be reduced henceforth simply to the bodyguard of the sovereigns.
“Returning to France, to the bosom of the great, strong, magnificent, tranquil, and glorious fatherland, I should have proclaimed its frontiers immutable, all future war purely defensive, all fresh aggrandisement anti-national. I should have associated my son in the empire; my dictatorship would have been over, and his constitutional reign would have begun…
“Paris would have been the capital of the world, and the French the envy of the nations!…
“My leisure then and my old age would have been consecrated, in company with the Empress, and during the royal apprenticeship of my son, to visiting in leisurely fashion with our own horses, like a genuine country couple, every corner of the empire, receiving complaints, redressing wrongs, scattering monuments and benefits on all sides.”
He, predestined by Providence to the gloomy, slavish part of executioner of the peoples, persuaded himself that the motive of his acts had been the welfare of the peoples, and that he could control the destinies of millions, and make their prosperity by the exercise of his power.
“Of the four hundred thousand men who crossed the Vistula,” he wrote later of the Russian war, “half were Austrians, Prussians, Saxons, Poles, Bavarians, Würtembergers, Mecklenburgers, Spaniards, Italians, Neapolitans. The Imperial army, properly so-called, was one third composed of Dutch, Belgians, inhabitants of the Rhineland, Piedmontese, Swiss, Genevese, Tuscans, Romans, inhabitants of the thirty-second military division, of Bremen, Hamburg, etc. It reckoned barely a hundred and forty thousand men speaking French. The Russian expedition cost France itself less than fifty thousand men. The Russian army in the retreat from Vilna to Moscow in the different battles lost four times as many men as the French army. The fire in Moscow cost the lives of one hundred thousand Russians, dead of cold and want in the woods; lastly, in its march from Moscow to the Oder, the Russian army, too, suffered from the inclemency of the season: it only reckoned fifty thousand men on reaching Vilna, and less than eighteen thousand at Kalisch.”
He imagined that the war with Russia was entirely due to his will, and the horror of what was done made no impression on his soul. He boldly assumed the whole responsibility of it all; and his clouded intellect found justification in the fact that among the hundreds of thousands of men who perished, there were fewer Frenchmen than Hessians and Bavarians.
死者与伤者遍布疆场的可怕景象，再加上头脑昏胀以及二十个他所熟悉的将军或伤或亡的消息，往日有力的胳膊变得软弱无力的感觉，这一切在爱着死伤的人，并以此作为考验自己的精神力量的拿破仑的头脑中形成了一种意想不到的印象。这天战场上的可怕景象使他在精神上屈服了，而他本来认为他的功绩和伟大都来自这种精神力量。他连忙离开战场，回到了舍瓦尔金诺土岗。他坐在折椅上，脸姜黄而浮肿，心情沉重，眼睛混浊，鼻子发红，声音沙哑，他不由得耷拉下眼皮，无意地听着枪炮声。他怀着病态的忧悒企望结束那场由他挑起的战争，但他已无法阻止它。个人所具有的人类感情，暂时地战胜了他长期为之效劳的那种虚假的人生幻影。 
他真自感受到了他在战场上所见到的那些苦难和死亡的恐惧。头和胸的沉重感觉，使他想到他自己也有遭受苦难和死亡的可能。在这顷刻间，他不想要莫斯科，不想要胜利，不想要荣誉。他还需要什么荣誉呢？他现在只希望一件事，那就是得到休息、安静和自由。但是，当他在谢苗诺夫斯科耶高地时，炮兵司令向他建议，调几个炮兵连到这些高地上，对聚集在克尼亚济科沃前的俄军加强火力攻击，拿破仑同意了，并且命令向他报告那些炮兵连的作战效果。
一名副官前来报告说，遵照皇帝的命令，调来二百门大炮轰击俄军，但俄军仍坚守着。
“他们被我们的炮火成排地撂倒，可他们动也不动。”那个副官说。
“lls　en　veulent　encore！……”①拿破仑声音沙哑地说。
“Sire？”②那个副官没听清楚，问道。 
①法语：他们还嫌不够！……
②法语：陛下？
“lls　en　veulent　encore，donnez　leur－en．”①拿破仑皱着眉头，嗓子嘶哑地说。
其实，不待他发命令，他要求做的事就已做了。他所以发布命令，只不过因为他以为人们在等待他的命令。于是他又回到他原来那个充满某种伟大幻影的虚幻世界（就像一匹推磨的马，自以为在替自己做事），又驯服地做起注定要由他扮演的那个残酷、可悲、沉重、不人道的角色。
不止在那一刻，也不止在那一天，这个比其他任何人都更沉重地负起眼前这副重担的人的智力和良心蒙上了一层阴影；但是，他永远、直到生命的终结，都不能理解真、善、美，不能理解他的行为的意义。因为他的行为太违反真与善，与一切合乎人性的东西离得太远，所以他无法理解它们的意义。他不能摒弃他那誉满半球的行为，所以他要摒弃真和善以及一切人性的东西。
不仅在这一天，他巡视那遍布着死者和伤者的战场（他认为那些伤亡是由他的意志造成的），看着这些人，计算着多少俄国人抵一个法国人，由此他自欺地找到了使他高兴的理由：五个俄国人抵一个法国人。也不只是在这一天，他给巴黎的信中这样写道：le　champ　de　bataille　a　été　suBperbe，②因为在战场上有五万具尸体，而且在圣赫勒拿岛上，在那幽禁、寂静的地方，他说，他要利用闲暇时光，记述他的丰功伟绩，他用法语写道： 
①法语：还嫌不够，那就多给他们一些。
②法语：战场的景象是壮丽的。
“远征俄国的战争，本来是现代最闻名的战争，因为这是明智的、为了真正利益的战争，是为了全人类的绥靖和安全的战争；它纯粹是热爱和平的稳妥的战争。
那场战争是为了一个伟大的目的，为了意外事件的
终结，为了安定的开始。新的境界，新的事业正在出现，全人类的安宁幸福和繁荣昌盛正在出现。欧洲的制度已经奠定，剩下的问题只是进一步建立起来。
在这些大问题都得到满意解决，到处都安宁下来之
后，我也就有我的国会和神圣同盟了。这些观点是他们从我这里窃取的。在这次各国伟大的君主会议中，我们应当像一家人一样讨论我们的利益。并且像管帐先生对主人那样向各国人民提出汇报。
按这样去做，欧洲一定很快成为一个统一的民族，一个人不论去何地旅行，就如同进入共同的祖国。我呼吁所有的河流供所有人航行，海洋公有，庞大的常备军一律缩编成各国君主的近卫军。
回到法国，回到伟大、强盛、瑰丽、和平、光荣的
祖国，我要宣布，她的国界永远不变；未来一切战争，是防御性的；任何扩张都是与民族利益背道而驰的；我要会同我的儿子掌管帝国政治，我的独裁要结束了，他的宪政就要开始……
巴黎将要成为世界的首都，法国人要成为万国人民
仰慕的对象！……
到那时候，我将利用我闲暇与晚年，在皇后陪伴下，在我儿子受皇家教育期间，像一对真正的农村夫妇一样，驾着自己的马车，畅游帝国各个角落，接受诉状，平反冤狱，在各地传播知识，施舍恩惠。”
天意注定他充当一名屠杀人民的、可悲的、不由自主的刽子手，他自信他的行动动机是造福于人民，自信他能支配千百万人的命运，能凭借权利施舍恩惠。
“渡过维斯杜拉河的四十万人中，有一半是奥地利人、普鲁士人、撒克逊人、波兰人、巴伐利亚人、符腾堡人、梅克伦堡湾人、西班牙人、意大利人和那不勒斯人。实际上，在帝国军队里，有三分之一的荷兰人、比利时人、莱茵河两岸的居民、皮德蒙特人、瑞士人、日内瓦人、托斯卡纳人、罗马人、三十二师①以及不来梅和汉堡等地的人；其中说法语的几乎不满十四万人。对俄国的远征，其实法国的损失不到五万人；俄军从维尔纳撤退到莫斯科，以及在各次战斗中，损失比法军多三倍；莫斯科的大火使十万俄国人丧生，他们由于森林里寒冷和物资匮乏而死亡；最后，在由莫斯科至奥德河的进军中，俄军也受到严酷季节之苦；在抵达维尔纳时，它只剩下五万人了，到了长利什，就不到一万八千人了。”
想象，对俄战争是按照他的意志引起的，所以可怕的景象没有使他的灵魂震惊。他勇敢地承担了事件的全部责任，他神志不清地竟然从几十万牺牲者中法国人少于黑森人和巴代利亚人这样一事实中找到了辩解的证据。 
①三十二师指达武元帅指挥的师，其中士兵多半从汉堡、不来梅等地招募来。
Book 10 Chapter 39
SOME TENS OF THOUSANDS of men lay sacrificed in various postures and uniforms on the fields and meadows belonging to the Davidov family and the Crown serfs, on those fields and meadows where for hundreds of years the peasants of Borodino, Gorky, Shevardino, and Semyonovskoye had harvested their crops and grazed their cattle. At the ambulance stations the grass and earth were soaked with blood for two acres round. Crowds of men, wounded and unwounded, of various arms, with panic-stricken faces, dragged themselves, on one side back to Mozhaisk, on the other to Valuev. Other crowds, exhausted and hungry, were led forward by their officers. Others still held their ground, and went on firing.
Over all the plain, at first so bright and gay with its glittering bayonets and puffs of smoke in the morning sunshine, there hung now a dark cloud of damp mist and smoke and a strange, sour smell of saltpetre and blood. Storm clouds had gathered, and a drizzling rain began to fall on the dead, on the wounded, on the panic-stricken, and exhausted, and hesitating soldiers. It seemed to say: “Enough, enough; cease.… Consider. What are you doing?”
To the men on both sides, alike exhausted from want of food and rest, the doubt began to come whether they should still persist in slaughtering one another; and in every face could be seen hesitation, and in every heart alike there rose the question: “For what, for whom am I to slay and be slain? Slay whom you will, do what you will, but I have had enough!” This thought took shape towards evening in every heart alike. Any minute all those men might be horror-stricken at what they were doing, might throw up everything and run anywhere.
But though towards the end of the battle the men felt all the horror of their actions, though they would have been glad to cease, some unfathomable, mysterious force still led them on, and the artillerymen—the third of them left—soaked with sweat, grimed with powder and blood, and panting with weariness, still brought the charges, loaded, aimed, and lighted the match; and the cannon balls flew as swiftly and cruelly from each side and crushed human flesh, and kept up the fearful work, which was done not at the will of men, but at the will of Him who sways men and worlds.
Any one looking at the disorder in the rear of the Russian army would have said that the French had but to make one slight effort more and the Russian army would have been annihilated; and any one seeing the rear of the French army would have said that the Russians need but make a slight effort more and the French would be overthrown. But neither French nor Russians made that effort, and the flame of the battle burnt slowly out.
The Russians did not make this effort, because they were not attacking the French. At the beginning of the battle they merely stood on the road to Moscow, barring it to the French; and they still stood at the end of the battle as they had at the beginning. But even if it had been the aim of the Russians to drive back the French, they could not have made this final effort, because all the Russian troops had been routed; there was not a single part of the army that had not suffered in the battle, and the Russians, without being driven from their position, lost ONE HALF of their army.
For the French, with the memory of fifteen years of victories, with confidence in Napoleon's all-vanquishing genius, with the consciousness of having taken a part of the battlefield, of having only lost a fourth of their men, and of having a body of twenty thousand—the Guards— intact—it would have been an easy matter to make this effort. The French, attacking the Russian army with the object of driving it from its position, ought to have made this effort, because as long as the Russians still barred the way to Moscow, as before the battle, the aim of the French had not been attained, and all losses and exertions had been in vain. But the French did not make that effort. Some historians assert that if Napoleon had only let his Old Guard advance, the battle would have been gained. To talk of what might have happened if Napoleon had let his Guard advance is much the same as to talk of what would happen if spring came in autumn. That could not have been. Napoleon did not do so, not because he did not want to, but because it was impossible to do so. All the generals, officers, and soldiers of the French army knew that it was impossible to make this final effort, because the flagging spirit of the troops did not allow of it.
It was not Napoleon alone who had that nightmare feeling that the mighty arm was stricken powerless: all the generals, all the soldiers of the French army, those who fought and those who did not, after all their experiences of previous battles (when after one-tenth of the effort the enemy had always run), showed the feeling of horror before this foe, who, after losing ONE HALF of the army, still stood its ground as dauntless at the end as at the beginning of the battle. The moral force of the French, the attacking army, was exhausted. Not the victory, signalised by the capture of rags on the end of sticks, called flags, or of the ground on which the troops were standing, but a moral victory, that which compels the enemy to recognise the moral superiority of his opponent, and his own impotence, was won by the Russians at Borodino. The French invading army, like a ravening beast that has received its death-wound in its onslaught, felt its end near. But it could not stop, no more than the Russian army—of half its strength—could help retreating. After that check, the French army could still drag on to Moscow, but there, without fresh effort on the part of the Russian army, its ruin was inevitable, as its life-blood ebbed away from the deadly wound dealt it at Borodino. The direct consequence of the battle of Borodino was Napoleon's cause-less flight from Moscow, his return by the old Smolensk road, the ruin of the invading army of five hundred thousand men, and the downfall of the Napoleonic rule, on which, for the first time at Borodino, was laid the hand of a foe of stronger spirit.
几万名死人，以各种姿势，穿着各种服装，躺在属于达维多夫老爷家和皇室农奴的田地及草地上，数百年来，波罗底诺、戈尔基、舍瓦尔金诺和谢苗诺夫斯科耶的村民就在这里收庄稼，放牲口。在救护站周围一俄亩的地方，鲜血浸透了青草和土地，一群群受伤的、未受伤的来自不同队伍的士兵，带着惊慌的面孔，一批步履艰难地返回莫扎伊斯克，另一批返回瓦卢耶瓦。另外一群群疲惫不堪的忍饥挨饿的人在长官的带领下向前走着，还有一些站在原地不动，继续射击。 
整个战场，原先是烟雾弥漫，刺刀在晨熹中闪光，是那么欢快而美丽，现在却在潮湿的烟尘笼罩下，散发着难闻的硝酸和血腥味。乌云聚集着，开始落雨了，雨点落在死者身上，落在伤员身上，落在惊慌失措、精疲力尽而又迷惘的人身上。雨点仿佛在说：“行啦，行啦，人们。住手吧……清醒清醒吧。你们都在干些什么呀？”
疲惫不堪的，得不到食物和休息的敌对双方的人们，都同样怀疑起来——是不是他们还要互相残杀——所有的脸孔都显出疑惑的神情，每个人心中都有着同样的问题：“为什么，为了谁，非得杀人、被杀？您爱杀就杀吧，爱干就干吧，我却不愿再干下去了！”到傍晚时，这样的思想在每个人心中都成熟了。这些人每时每刻都可能为他们所做的事大吃一惊，都可能抛弃一切，随便逃到什么地方去。
虽然战斗已近尾声，但人们仍感受到自己行为的恐惧；虽然他们乐于停战，但仍有一种不可思议的、神秘的力量在指导他们；虽然炮兵中三个只剩下一个，而且浑身是汗沾满了火药和血，都累得走不稳路，踉踉跄跄，气喘呼呼，但他们仍在送火药，装炮弹，安上引火线，瞄准。炮弹仍在双方间迅速而冷酷地飞来飞去，把人的身体炸成肉泥。那种不是按照人的意志而是按照统治人类和世界的上帝的旨意进行的可怕的事情，仍在继续着。
如果有人看一看俄军后方混乱的情况，就会说，只要法国人稍微再加点劲，俄军就完了；如果有人看一看法军的后方，也会说，只要俄国人再努一把力，法国人就垮了。但是不论是法国人还是俄国人，都没有加这把劲，战争的火焰慢慢地熄灭。
俄国人没有努那一把力，因为并非他们进攻法国人。在战斗开始的时候，他们只是守着通往莫斯科的道路，挡住敌人的去路，直到战斗结束，他们仍然像战斗刚开始一样坚守着。但是，即使俄国人的目的是要打退法国人，他们也不可能使出最后一把力，因为所有的俄军都已被击溃，没有哪一个部队在战斗中没受损失，俄国人在坚守阵地中，就损失了一半人马。
至于法国人，他们怀念过去十五年来取得的胜利，相信拿破仑不可战胜，知道他们已经占领一部分战场，他们只损失四分之一的人，他们还有两万名未曾动用的近卫军。努这一把力是容易的。法国人进攻俄国军队的目的就是要把他们赶出阵地，应当努这一把力，因为只要俄国人像战斗开始时一样挡住通往莫斯科的道路，法国人就达不到自己鹄的，他们所有的损失和努力就白费了。但是法国人没有做出这样的努力。有些史学家说，拿破仑只要派出他的完整的老近卫军，那一仗就打赢了，说拿破仑派出他的近卫军就会怎么样，如同说秋天变成春天就会怎么样。这是不可能的。拿破仑没派出他的近卫军，不是因为他不愿意这样做，而是因为不能这样做。法军所有的将军、军官、士兵都知道不能这样做，因为低落的士气不允许这样做。
不只是拿破仑一人体验到那类似噩梦的感觉（臂膀可畏的一击却是那么软弱无力），而且法军的全体将军，参加和尚未参加战斗的全体士兵，在他们积累过去所有的战斗经验之后，只要用十分之一的力量，敌人就会望风而逃，而现在面对的却是损失已达一半军队，战斗到最后仍然像战斗开始时一样威严地岿然不动的敌人，都有同样的恐怖感。处于进攻地位的法军士气已消耗殆尽。俄国人在波罗底诺取得了胜利，这种胜利不是用缴获几块绑在棍子上的布片（所谓军旗）来标志的胜利，也不是军队占领了和正在占领着地盘就算胜利，而是使敌人相信他的敌手的精神的优越和他自己的软弱无力的那种精神上的胜利。法国侵略者像一头疯狂的野兽，在它跳跃奔跑中受了致命伤，感到自己的死期将至；但是它不能停止下来，正如人数少一半的俄国人一路避开敌人的锋芒，不能停止一样。在这次猛力推动下，法军仍然能够冲到莫斯科；但是在那儿，俄军不用费力，法军就在波罗底诺受了致命伤，它在流血，它必然走向灭亡。波罗底诺战役的直接结果是，拿破仑无缘无故地从莫斯科逃跑，沿着斯摩棱斯克旧路逃回去，五十万侵略军被毁灭，拿破仑的法国在波罗底诺第一次遭遇到精神上更强大的敌手而陷于崩溃。
Book 11 Chapter 1
FOR THE HUMAN MIND the absolute continuity of motion is inconceivable. The laws of motion of any kind only become comprehensible to man when he examines units of this motion, arbitrarily selected. But at the same time it is from this arbitrary division of continuous motion into discontinuous units that a great number of human errors proceeds.
We all know the so-called sophism of the ancients, proving that Achilles would never overtake the tortoise, though Achilles walked ten times as fast as the tortoise. As soon as Achilles passes over the space separating him from the tortoise, the tortoise advances one-tenth of that space: Achilles passes over that tenth, but the tortoise has advanced a hundredth, and so on to infinity. This problem seemed to the ancients insoluble. The irrationality of the conclusion (that Achilles will never overtake the tortoise) arises from the arbitrary assumption of disconnected units of motion, when the motion both of Achilles and the tortoise was continuous.
By taking smaller and smaller units of motion we merely approach the solution of the problem, but we never attain it. It is only by assuming an infinitely small magnitude, and a progression rising from it up to a tenth, and taking the sum of that geometrical progression, that we can arrive at the solution of the problem. A new branch of mathematics, dealing with infinitely small quantities, gives now in other more complex problems of dynamics solutions of problems that seemed insoluble.
This new branch of mathematics, unknown to the ancients, by assuming infinitely small quantities, that is, such as secure the chief condition of motion (absolute continuity), corrects the inevitable error which the human intellect cannot but make, when it considers disconnected units of motion instead of continuous motion.
In the investigation of the laws of historical motion precisely the same mistake arises.
The progress of humanity, arising from an innumerable multitude of individual wills, is continuous in its motion.
The discovery of the laws of this motion is the aim of history. But in order to arrive at the laws of the continuous motion due to the sum of all these individual wills, the human mind assumes arbitrary, disconnected units. The first proceeding of the historian is taking an arbitrary series of continuous events to examine it apart from others, while in reality there is not, and cannot be, a beginning to any event, but one event flows without any break in continuity from another. The second proceeding is to examine the action of a single person, a sovereign, or a general, as though it were equivalent to the sum of many individual wills, though the sum of individual wills never finds expression in the action of a single historical personage.
Historical science as it advances is continually taking smaller and smaller units for analysis, and in this way strives to approximate the truth. But however small the units of which history takes cognisance, we feel that the assumption of a unit, disconnected from another, the assumption of a beginning of any phenomenon, and the assumption that the individual wills of all men find expression in the actions of a single historical personage are false in themselves.
Every conclusion of history can, without the slightest effort on the part of the critic, be dissipated like dust, leaving no trace, simply through criticism selecting, as the object of its analysis, a greater or smaller disconnected unit, which it has a perfect right to do, seeing that the unit of history is always selected arbitrarily.
Only by assuming an infinitely small unit for observation—a differential of history—that is, the homogeneous tendencies of men, and arriving at the integral calculus (that is, taking the sum of those infinitesimal quantities), can we hope to arrive at the laws of history.
The first fifteen years of the nineteenth century present the spectacle of an extraordinary movement of millions of men. Men leave their habitual pursuits; rush from one side of Europe to the other; plunder, slaughter one another, triumph and despair; and the whole current of life is transformed and presents a quickened activity, first moving at a growing speed, and then slowly slackening again. What was the cause of that activity, or from what laws did it arise? asks the human intellect.
The historians, in reply to that inquiry, lay before us the sayings and doings of some dozens of men in one of the buildings of the city of Paris, summing up those doings and sayings by one word—revolution. Then they give us a detailed biography of Napoleon, and of certain persons favourably or hostilely disposed to him; talk of the influence of some of these persons upon others; and then say that this it is to which that activity is due, and these are its laws.
But the human intellect not only refuses to believe in that explanation, but flatly declares that the method of explanation is not a correct one, because in this explanation a smaller phenomenon is taken as the cause of a greater phenomenon. The sum of men's individual wills produced both the revolution and Napoleon; and only the sum of those wills endured them and then destroyed them.
“But whenever there have been wars, there have been great military leaders; whenever there have been revolutions in states, there have been great men,” says history. “Whenever there have been great military leaders there have, indeed, been wars,” replies the human reason; “but that does not prove that the generals were the cause of the wars, and that the factors leading to warfare can be found in the personal activity of one man.”
Whenever, looking at my watch, I see the hand has reached the figure x, I hear the bells beginning to ring in the church close by. But from the fact that the watch hand points to ten whenever the bells begin to ring, I have not the right to infer that the position of the hands of my watch is the cause of the vibration of the bells.
Whenever I see a steam-engine move, I hear the whistle, I see the valve open and the wheels turn; but I have no right to conclude from that that the whistle and the turning of the wheels are the causes of the steam-engine's moving.
The peasants say that in the late spring a cold wind blows because the oak-buds are opening, and, as a fact, a cold wind does blow every spring when the oak is coming out. But though the cause of a cold wind's blowing just when the oaks are coming out is unknown to me, I cannot agree with the peasants that the cause of the cold wind is the opening of the oak-buds, because the force of the wind is altogether outside the influence of the buds. I see in this simply such a coincidence of events as is common in every phenomenon of life, and I see that however long and minutely I might examine the watch hand, the valve, and the wheel of the steam-engine and the oak-bud, I shall not discover the cause of the bells ringing, of the steam-engine moving, and of the spring wind. To do that I must completely change my point of observation and study the laws of the motion of steam, of the bells, and of the wind. History must do the same. And efforts have already been made in this direction.
For the investigation of the laws of history, we must completely change the subject of observations, must let kings and ministers and generals alone, and study the homogeneous, infinitesimal elements by which masses are led. No one can say how far it has been given to man to advance in that direction in understanding of the laws of history. But it is obvious that only in that direction lies any possibility of discovering historical laws; and that the human intellect has hitherto not devoted to that method of research one millionth part of the energy that historians have put into the description of the doings of various kings, ministers, and generals, and the exposition of their own views on those doings.
人类的智慧理解不了运动的绝对连续性。人类只有在审视随意抽取的任一运动的细分单元时，方可逐步理解该运动的规律。但随即由于随意划分连续性的运动为间断性的单元，从而产生出人类的大部分迷误。 
尽人皆知一条古代的辩术，讲的是阿奇里斯①总赶不上他前面的乌龟，尽管他走得比乌龟快十倍；因为每当他走完他与乌龟之间的距离时，乌龟又超前爬了这段距离的十分之一了；阿奇里斯走过这十分之一，乌龟则又超前爬了百分之一了，以此类推，直到无休无止。这道算式是一道古老的难以解决的算题。答案之荒谬（即阿奇里斯永远赶不上乌龟），仅仅是由于轻率地假定运动的不连贯单元的存在，而无论阿奇里斯或乌龟的运动，都是连续进行的。 
①阿奇里斯是荷马《伊利亚特》中的英雄。
把运动的单元愈分愈细，我们只能接近问题的答案，却永远得不出答案。只有假设出无穷小数和由无穷小数产生的十分之一以下的级数，再求出这一几何级数的总量，我们才能得出问题的答案。数学的一个新的分支在解决了处理无穷小数的技术后，现已能在其他更为复杂的运动问题上求得对以前似乎解决不了的那些问题的答案。
古代人所不明了的这一新的数学分支，在研究运动问题时，因假设出无穷小数，使运动的主要条件（绝对连续性）得以复原，从而纠正人类的智慧以个别的运动单元代替对连续运动进行研究时不能不犯的错误。
在历史运动规律的探讨中也完全是这样。
人类的运动由不计其数的人们的随意行为所产生，是持续不断地进行着的。
了解这一运动的规律，是历史学的目的。但为了理解人们的随意行为的总和所构成的连续运动的规律，人类的智慧便假设出了随意可以截取而互不连贯的单元来。史学的第一个步骤，在于任意抽取一系列连续发生的事件，将其逐个分开来加以研究，这就没有也不可能有任何事件的开端，永远是一个事件不间断地从另一事件涌现出来。第二步骤在于把个人的、帝王的、统帅的行动，作为人们的无意识行为的总和来加以研究，而个别历史人物的行动却又永远反映不出人类无意识行为的总和。
历史科学在本身的运作中，经常划分小而又小的单元以供研究，以此接近对真理的认识。但无论史学划分出怎样的细小单元，我们感觉到，假设出彼此脱节的单元，假设有某种现象的·开·端，假设所有人的随意行为会在个别历史人物的行动中反映出来，其本身便是虚妄。
史学的任何结论，无须评论界劳神，便会土崩瓦解，不著痕迹，只须论者对一或大或小的前后不连贯的单元加以考察就行了；评论界总有权利这样做，任何一个历史单元不也是任意截取的吗？
只有采取无限小的观察单位——历史的微分，即人们的共同倾向，并运用积分法（即得出这些无限小的总和），我们才有希望了解历史的规律。
十九世纪最初的十五年，欧洲出现了一次数百万人的不寻常的运动。人们抛弃他们的日常职业，从欧洲的一边到另一边去抢动和撕杀，凯歌胜利和绝望呻吟，因而整个生活的进程在几年间变化不定，表现为一种先高涨而后衰落的激烈运动。这一运动的原因何在，它是按照什么规律运行的呢？——人类的智慧要问个明白。
历史学家回答这一问题时，向我们叙述巴黎城内一座大楼里的几十个人的言行，称这些言行为革命；然后出版拿破仑的，以及同情或敌视他的人物的详细传记，讲述其中一些人对另一些人的影响，说出：这就是这一运动发生的原因，这就是它的规律。
但是，人类的智慧不仅不肯相信这种解释，还干脆说，这种解释方法就不可信以为真，因为这种解释是把最微弱的现象视为最有力的论据。人们无意识行为的总和造成了革命，也造就了拿破仑，也只是这些无意识行为的总和，才容忍了，尔后又消灭了前后两者。
“但无论何时，有战伐必有征服者；无论何时，国家有变，必出伟人。”历史如是说。事实上，每当征服者出现，便爆发战争，这是人类智慧的回答，但这并不证明征服者便是战争的原因，且在个别人物的个人行动中能找出战争的规律。每当我看看钟，看到钟的指针走到十，便会听见邻近的教堂敲起钟声，但是，从指针走到十点祈祷钟声便敲响这一点出发，我无权下结论说，指针的位置是教堂的钟运动的原因。
每当我看到火车头起动，便听到汽笛声，看到阀门打开，车轮转动；但我无权由此得出结论：汽笛声和车轮转动是机车运动的实质原因。
农民说，暮春刮寒风，是因为橡树的芽苞绽开了，而事实上，每年春天当橡树抽芽时，都刮冷风。但是，虽然我不知道橡树抽芽时刮冷风的原因，我亦不同意农民的看法，认为橡树抽芽是刮冷风的原因，因为芽苞影响不到风力。我只看到日常生命现象中一些条件的偶合，我清楚，无论我多么仔细地观察时钟的指针，机车的阀门和车轮及橡树芽，我依然不会明白祈祷钟声，机车运动和倒春寒的原因。要明白其究竟，我必须完全改变观察点，去研究蒸汽、教堂大钟及风力的运动规律。史学也应如此。而且有人做了这方面的尝试。
为了研究历史规律，我们应该完全改变观察目标，敞开帝王大臣将军们，转而研究民众所遵循的同一类型的无穷小的因素。谁也无法说出，用这一方法，人类能获得对历史规律的几许了解；但是显而易见，这条途径有获取历史规律的机会；且这条途径使人类智慧付出的努力，还不及史学家用来描述帝王将相的行动，和据此行动发挥其想象所费精力的百万分之一。
Book 11 Chapter 2
THE ARMED FORCES of twelve different nationalities of Europe invade Russia. The Russian army and population fall back, avoiding a battle, to Smolensk, and from Smolensk to Borodino. The French army moves on to Moscow, its goal, with continually increasing impetus. The impetus of its advance is increased as it approaches its goal, just as the velocity of a falling body increases as it gets nearer the earth. Behind them thousands of versts of famine-stricken, hostile country; before them some dozens of versts between them and their goal. Every soldier of Napoleon's army feels it, and the expedition advances of itself, by the force of its own impetus.
In the Russian troops the spirit of fury, of hatred of the foe, burns more and more fiercely during their retreat; it gathers strength and concentration as they draw back. At Borodino the armies meet. Neither army is destroyed, but the Russian army, immediately after the conflict, retreats as inevitably as a ball rebounds after contact with another ball flying with greater impetus to meet it. And just as inevitably (though parting with its force in the contact) the ball of the invading army is carried for a space further by the energy, not yet fully spent, within it.
The Russians retreat one hundred and twenty versts beyond Moscow; the French reach Moscow and there halt. For five weeks after this there is not a single battle. The French do not move. Like a wild beast mortally wounded, bleeding and licking its wounds, for five weeks the French remain in Moscow, attempting nothing; and all at once, with nothing new to account for it, they flee back; they make a dash for the Kaluga road (after a victory, too, for they remained in possession of the field of battle at Maley Yaroslavets); and then, without a single serious engagement, fly more and more rapidly back to Smolensk, to Vilna, to the Berezina, and beyond it.
On the evening of the 26th of August, Kutuzov and the whole Russian army were convinced that the battle of Borodino was a victory. Kutuzov wrote to that effect to the Tsar. He ordered the troops to be in readiness for another battle, to complete the defeat of the enemy, not because he wanted to deceive any one, but because he knew that the enemy was vanquished, as every one who had taken part in the battle knew it.
But all that evening and next day news was coming in of unheard-of losses, of the loss of one-half of the army, and another battle turned out to be physically impossible.
It was impossible to give battle when information had not yet come in, the wounded had not been removed, the ammunition stores had not been filled up, the slain had not been counted, new officers had not been appointed to replace the dead, and the men had had neither food nor sleep. And meanwhile, the very next morning after the battle, the French army of itself moved down upon the Russians, carried on by the force of its own impetus, accelerated now in inverse ratio to the square of the distance from its goal. Kutuzov's wish was to attack next day, and all the army shared this desire. But to make an attack it is not sufficient to desire to do so; there must also be a possibility of doing so, and this possibility there was not. It was impossible not to retreat one day's march, and then it was as impossible not to retreat a second and a third day's march, and finally, on the 1st of September, when the army reached Moscow, despite the force of the growing feeling in the troops, the force of circumstances compelled those troops to retreat beyond Moscow. And the troops retreated one more last day's march, and abandoned Moscow to the enemy.
Persons who are accustomed to suppose that plans of campaigns and of battles are made by generals in the same way as any of us sitting over a map in our study make plans of how we would have acted in such and such a position, will be perplexed by questions why Kutuzov, if he had to retreat, did not take this or that course, why he did not take up a position before Fili, why he did not at once retreat to the Kaluga road, leaving Moscow, and so on. Persons accustomed to think in this way forget, or do not know, the inevitable conditions which always limit the action of any commander-in-chief. The action of a commander-in-chief in the field has no sort of resemblance to the action we imagine to ourselves, sitting at our ease in our study, going over some campaign on the map with a certain given number of soldiers on each side, in a certain known locality, starting our plans from a certain moment. The general is never in the position of the beginning of any event, from which we always contemplate the event. The general is always in the very middle of a changing series of events, so that he is never at any moment in a position to deliberate on all the bearings of the event that is taking place. Imperceptibly, moment by moment, an event takes shape in all its bearings, and at every moment in that uninterrupted, consecutive shaping of events the commander-in-chief is in the centre of a most complex play of intrigues, of cares, of dependence and of power, of projects, counsels, threats, and conceptions, with one thing depending on another, and is under the continual necessity of answering the immense number of mutually contradictory inquiries addressed to him.
We are, with perfect seriousness, told by those learned in military matters that Kutuzov ought to have marched his army towards the Kaluga road long before reaching Fili; that somebody did, indeed, suggest such a plan. But the commander of an army has before him, especially at a difficult moment, not one, but dozens of plans. And each of those plans, based on the rules of strategy and tactics, contradicts all the rest. The commander's duty would, one would suppose, be merely to select one out of those plans; but even this he cannot do. Time and events will not wait. It is suggested to him, let us suppose, on the 28th to move towards the Kaluga road, but at that moment an adjutant gallops up from Miloradovitch to inquire whether to join battle at once with the French or to retire. He must be given instructions at once, at the instant. And the order to retire hinders us from turning to the Kaluga road. And then after the adjutant comes the commissariat commissioner to inquire where the stores are to be taken, and the ambulance director to ask where the wounded are to be moved to, and a courier from Petersburg with a letter from the Tsar, not admitting the possibility of abandoning Moscow, and the commander's rival, who is trying to cut the ground from under his feet (and there are always more than one such) proposes a new project, diametrically opposed to the plan of marching upon the Kaluga road. The commander's own energies, too, require sleep and support. And a respectable general, who has been overlooked when decorations were bestowed, presents a complaint, and the inhabitants of the district implore protection, and the officer sent to inspect the locality comes back with a report utterly unlike that of the officer sent on the same commission just previously; and a spy, and a prisoner, and a general who has made a reconnaissance, all describe the position of the enemy's army quite differently. Persons who forget, or fail to comprehend, those inevitable conditions under which a commander has to act, present to us, for instance, the position of the troops at Fili, and assume that the commander-in-chief was quite free on the 1st of September to decide the question whether to abandon or to defend Moscow, though, with the position of the Russian army, only five versts from Moscow, there could no longer be any question on the subject. When was that question decided? At Drissa, and at Smolensk, and most palpably of all on August the 24th at Shevardino, and on the 26th at Borodino, and every day and hour and minute of the retreat from Borodino to Fili.
操欧洲十二种语言的军队侵入了俄国。俄国军队和平民为避免其冲击而撤退至斯摩棱斯克，再由斯摩棱斯克撤至波罗底诺。法军以不断增涨的势头冲向莫斯科，冲向其运动的目的地。法军愈接近目的地，其势愈猛，如物体落地时的加速度一般。它后面是几千俄里饥饿的充满仇恨的国土；前面则距目的地只有几十俄里了。对此，拿破仑军队的每一士兵都感觉得到，入侵行动在不由自主地推进，勇往直前，全凭这一股冲力。 
在俄军方面，愈往后撤，抗击敌人的士气便愈燃愈炽烈；士气因退却而振作和高涨起来，在彼罗底诺终于交火。任何一方的军队都没有溃败，而俄军一经交火便立即撤出战斗，其所以如此，正如一个球碰到另一个冲力更大的球向它冲来，必然要滚向一边去那样；而狂奔而来的袭击的球，也必然要滚出一片空间（虽然相撞时失去它全部力量）。
俄国人后退了一百二十俄里——撤离了莫斯科。法国人到了莫斯科停下来。以后，接连五周无战事。法国人没有推进。他们犹如受了致命伤的野兽，流着血，舔舐着伤口，五个星期呆在莫斯科毫无动静，突然，毫无缘由地向后逃跑；窜向卡卢日斯卡雅公路，同时，（在打了胜仗之后，因为小雅罗斯拉维茨城附近的战场对他们有利），一仗也不打地退得更快，退向斯摩棱斯克，退离斯摩棱斯克，逃至维尔纳，逃至别列济纳河，向更远的地方逃跑。
早在八月二十六日晚，库图佐夫和全军将士都相信：波罗底诺战役已获胜。库图佐夫亦曾如此禀报陛下。他发布命令准备新的一次战役以歼灭敌人，不是因为他想欺骗谁，而是因为他知道敌人已经失败，每一参加这次战役的人也都知道这一点。
然而，就在当晚及第二天接连不断传来闻所未闻的死亡消息，损失半数军队的消息，这样，新的战役因兵员不足而不可能进行。
·无·法·在·此·时进行一场战役，因为情报尚未收集起来，伤员没有收容，弹药没有补充，阵亡人数没有统计，接替阵亡者的新的军官没有任命，人员忍饥挨饿，睡眠不足。而与此同时，在交战的次日早晨，法国军队却以迅猛之势，以与距离军方似乎成反比的加速运动，直向俄军扑来。库图佐夫想在次日发起攻击，全军将士也都这样想。但是，为了进攻，光有愿望是不够的；须要有进攻的可能性，可是此时，不存在这种可能性。此时不能不撤退一天的行程，然后又同样不能不后撤另一天，以至第三天的行程，最后，在九月一日，当队伍临近莫斯科时，尽管士兵们情绪高昂到了极点，事物的力量却要求这批部队走向莫斯科以东。他们也就又后撤了一天，即最后一天的行程，把莫斯科让给了敌人。
有的人惯于认为，整个战争以至各战役的计划，都是由统帅这样制订的，即像我们每人一样，坐在办公室看地图，设想他如何如何指挥这场那场战役；对于这些人，各种问题就提出来啦：为什么库图佐夫撤退时的行动不如何如何；为什么他在撤至菲利前不稳住阵脚；为什么放弃莫斯科后他不立即撤至卡卢日斯卡雅公路等等。惯于这样想的人忘记了，或根本不知道主帅采取行动所必备之条件。一个统帅的行动丝毫不同于我们轻轻松松坐在办公室里所设想的行动，因为在办公室里，我们是在已知各方兵力已知地形的条件下分析地图上的战役，从某一已知环节开始设想的。总司令总是不具备一个事件的始发点的条件，我们却总是具备这样的条件来研究一件事件。总司令总是处于事件进程的中间段，因此，永远不能，连一分钟也不可能对事件进程的意义作通盘考虑。事件默然地一分一秒地展现其意义，而在事件连续不断展现着的每一关头，总司令都处于极其复杂的角逐、计谋，焦虑，互相牵制，权柄，行筹，忠告，威胁和欺瞒等等的中心，随时必须对向他提出的无穷无尽、时而相互矛盾的问题做出回答。
军事学家过分严肃地告诉我们，库图佐夫在退至菲利之前早就应该调动部队至卡卢日斯卡雅公路，甚至有人提出过这个方案。但在总司令面前，尤其是在困难时刻，方案总不止一个，而是几十个同时提出。而且每一个基于战略战术考虑的方案都互相矛盾。总司令要做的事似乎是选择一种方案就行了。可是他连这一点也办不到。事件和时间不等人啦。比方说，有人向他建议二十八日转移到卡卢日斯卡雅公路，而同一时刻从米洛拉多维奇处驰来一名副官，询问现在就同法国人交火呢，还是撤退了之。他必须就在此刻，在这一分钟内下达命令。而命令退却会打乱我们向卡卢日斯卡雅公路的转移，紧接副官之后，军需官来问粮秣往哪里运，军医官来问伤员往哪里送；彼得堡的信使又带来陛下的诏书，不允许有放弃莫斯科的可能，而总司令的政敌，那个阴谋陷害他的人（这样的人不止一个，而是好几个）却提出一个与向卡卢日斯卡雅公路转移截然相反的新方案；但总司令本身需要睡眠和补充营养；可又来了一名未获赏赐的资深将军诉苦；居民则来恳求保护；派去察看地形的军官带回的报告，与先前派去的军官的说法完全相反；侦察员、俘虏与执行侦察任务的将军对敌军位置的描述各不相同。那些习惯于误解或忘掉任何主帅的行动所必备的这些条件的人们，或许会向我们表明菲利地区部队可在位置及其情况，因而断定，总司令本来能够在九月一日毫不费力地作出放弃抑或保卫莫斯科的决定，事实上，在俄军距莫斯科五俄里的地方，这一问题已不能成立。这一问题何时得以解决呢？是在德里萨，在斯摩棱斯克。尤为明显地是二十四日在舍瓦尔金诺，二十六日在波罗底诺，是在从波罗底诺到菲利撤退时的每一天，每一小时和每一分钟就已经在解决这个问题。
Book 11 Chapter 3
THE RUSSIAN ARMY, retreating from Borodino, halted at Fili. Yermolov, who had been inspecting the position, rode up to the commander-in-chief.
“There is no possibility of fighting in this position,” he said.
Kutuzov looked at him in wonder, and made him repeat the words he had just uttered. When he had done so, he put out his hand to him.
“Give me your hand,” he said; and turning it so as to feel his pulse, he said: “You are not well, my dear boy. Think what you are saying.”
Kutuzov could not yet take in the idea of its being possible to retreat, abandoning Moscow without a battle.
On the Poklonnaya Hill, six versts from Dorogomilovsky gate, Kutuzov got out of his carriage and sat down on a bench by the side of the road. A great crowd of generals gathered about him. Count Rastoptchin, who had come out from Moscow, joined them. All this brilliant company broke up into several circles, and talked among themselves of the advantages and disadvantages of the position, of the condition of the troops, of the plans proposed, of the situation of Moscow—in fact, of military questions generally. All felt that though they had not been summoned for the purpose, it was really, if not ostensibly, a military council. All conversation was confined to public questions. If any one did repeat or inquire any piece of personal news, it was in a whisper, and the talk passed at once back to general topics. There was not a jest, not a laugh, not even a smile, to be seen among all these men. They was all making an obvious effort to rise to the level of the situation. And all the groups, while talking among themselves, tried to keep close to the commander-in-chief, whose bench formed the centre of the whole crowd, and tried to talk so that he might hear them. The commander-in-chief listened, and sometimes asked what had been said near him, but did not himself enter into conversation or express any opinion. For the most part, after listening to the talk of some group, he turned away with an air of disappointment, as though they were not speaking of anything he cared to hear about at all. Some were discussing the position, criticising not so much the position itself as the intellectual qualifications of those who had selected it. Others argued that a blunder had been made earlier, that a battle ought to have been fought two days before. Others talked of the battle of Salamanca, which a Frenchman, Crosart, wearing a Spanish uniform, was describing to them. (This Frenchman, who had just arrived, had with one of the German princes serving in the Russian army been criticising the siege of Saragossa, foreseeing a possibility of a similar defence of Moscow.) In the fourth group, Count Rastoptchin was saying that he, with the Moscow city guard, was ready to die under the walls of the city, but that still he could not but complain of the uncertainty in which he had been left, and that had he known it earlier, things would have been different.… A fifth group was manifesting the profundity of their tactical insight by discussing the direction the troops should certainly take now. A sixth group were talking arrant nonsense.
Kutuzov's face grew more and more careworn and gloomy. From all this talk Kutuzov saw one thing only: the defence of Moscow was a physical impossibility in the fullest sense of the words. It was so utterly impossible that even if some insane commander were to give orders for a battle, all that would follow would be a muddle, and no battle would be fought. There would be no battle, because all the officers in command, not merely recognised the position to be impossible, but were only engaged now in discussing what was to be done after the inevitable abandonment of that position. How could officers lead their men to a field of battle which they considered it impossible to hold? The officers of lower rank, and even the soldiers themselves (they too form their conclusions), recognised that the position could not be held, and so they could not advance into battle with the conviction that they would be defeated. That Bennigsen urged the defence of this position, and others still discussed it, was a fact that had no significance in itself, but only as a pretext for dissension and intrigue. Kutuzov knew that.
Bennigsen was warmly manifesting his Russian patriotism (Kutuzov could not listen to him without wincing), by insisting on the defence of Moscow. To Kutuzov, his object was as clear as daylight: in case of the defence being unsuccessful, to throw the blame on Kutuzov, who had brought the army as far as the Sparrow Hills without a battle; in case of its being successful, to claim the credit; in case of it not being attempted, to clear himself of the crime of abandoning Moscow.
But these questions of intrigue did not occupy the old man's mind now. One terrible question absorbed him. And to that question he heard no reply from any one. The question for him now was this: “Can it be that I have let Napoleon get to Moscow, and when did I do it? When did it happen? Was it yesterday, when I sent word to Platov to retreat, or the evening before when I had a nap and bade Bennigsen give instructions? Or earlier still? … When, when was it this fearful thing happened? Moscow must be abandoned. The army must retire, and I must give the order for it.”
To give that terrible order seemed to him equivalent to resigning the command of the army. And apart from the fact that he loved power, and was used to it (the honours paid to Prince Prozorovsky, under whom he had been serving in Turkey, galled him), he was convinced that he was destined to deliver Russia, and had only for that cause been chosen commander-in-chief contrary to the Tsar's wishes by the will of the people. He was persuaded that in these difficult circumstances he was the one man who could maintain his position at the head of the army, that he was the only man in the world capable of meeting Napoleon as an antagonist without panic. And he was in terror at the idea of having to resign the command. But he must decide on some step, he must cut short this chatter round him, which was beginning to assume too free a character.
He beckoned the senior generals to him.
“Ma tête, f?t-elle bonne ou mauvaise, n'a qu'à s'aider d'elle-même,” he said, getting up from his bench, and he rode off to Fili, where his carriages were waiting.
俄军撤离波罗底诺后，驻扎于菲利附近的地区。叶尔莫洛夫策马视察了阵地后，来见元帅。 
“在这样的阵地上打仗是不行的，”他说。库图佐夫惊奇地看了他一眼，让他再说一遍。当他说完后，库图佐夫把手伸给了他。
“把手伸给我，”他说。他把那只手翻看了一下，摸了摸脉，说道：“你不舒服，亲爱的。想想你说些什么。”
库图佐夫在波克隆山，在距多罗戈米洛夫关六俄里处下了马车，在路边一张长凳上坐下。一大群将军们聚在他四周。莫斯科来的拉斯托普钦伯爵也在其中。这群精英分成了小组，互相议论阵地的利弊，部队的状态，各种不同的方案，莫斯科的现状，总之是关于军事问题。大家觉得，虽然没有被赋予讨论的使命，也没有这样的名目，但这就是一次军事会议。谈话始终保持在这些共同的问题范围内。要是有人透露或打听私下传闻，声音就低了下来，随之又立即转到共同问题上。没有戏谑，没有笑声，连笑容也不曾出现在这些人中间。大家努力保持高贵的身份，各小组虽在分开议论，又都努力保持与总司令的近距离（他坐的长凳成了各组的中心点），声音总要使他能够听得到。总司令在倾听，并时而询问他周围的人在说什么，但未参与谈话，也不表示意见。他大部分时间听一个小组的谈话，然后神情沮丧地——仿佛他们谈的完全不是他想了解的那样，——转过身去。一些人议论选定的阵地，但不就事论事，反而评论选择阵地的人的智力；另一些人在证明，早就铸成了大错，本来应在前天发动战斗；另一些人谈的是萨拉曼卡之战，身着西班牙军装刚刚到来的法国人克罗萨叙述颇为详尽（这名法国人同在俄军服役的一些德国亲王一道，分析了萨拉戈萨城之被围。①曾经预料过也会那样保卫莫斯科的）。第四圈人中，拉斯托普钦伯爵在谈他决心与莫斯科义勇队一道捐躯于城下，他无论如何也不能不惋惜他当时处于情况不明之中，如果他先就知道是这样，情况就会不同……。第五圈人阐述了他们战略设想的深刻性之后，讲了部队今后应向何方运动。第六圈人则言不及义。库图佐夫的面容越来越焦虑消沉。从这些人的所有谈话中，库图佐夫看到一点：保卫莫斯科是没有任何兵力上的可能性的，照其意义充分讲来就是如此，即是说，其不可能的程度很大，假如哪个昏聩的总司令下达了作战命令，也只会出现一场混乱，而战斗仍不会发生；不会发生，是因为高级军官不仅承认据守之不可能，而且在谈话中只讨论无疑要放弃这场防守战之后的事态。军官们如何能率领士卒奔赴他们认为不可能打一仗的沙场呢？下级军官，以至士兵（他们也议论纷纷）同样认为据守不可能，因此不能明知失败而去硬拼。若谓贝尼格森坚持过防守战，其他人还加以讨论过，则此刻这一问题本身已无意义，其意义只在于作驳难和阴谋的藉口。这一点库图佐夫是明白的。 
①一八○八年法军围攻西班牙萨拉戈萨城，该城防守数月才被法军攻陷。
选好阵地的贝尼格森，热烈地表现了一番爱俄国的爱国精神（对此，库图佐夫只得皱眉头）之后，坚持保卫莫斯科。库图佐夫明白如昼地看到了他的目的：如果保卫战失败——把过失推给库图佐夫，是他不战而回师麻雀山，但假如成功呢——则记在自己帐上，要是不采纳建议么——则可为自己开脱放弃莫斯科的罪责。但这一阴谋现在已不能使老人有所触动。一个可怕的问题抓住了他，怎样解开它的答案，他还未听到过谁说出来。这个问题现在仅仅是：“难道放拿破仑到莫斯科的是我吗，是我什么时候放他进来的？这是什么时候决定的？难道是昨天当我向普拉托夫下令撤退的时候，或是前天晚上我要打个盹、命令贝尼格森处理军务的时候？或者还要早些吗？……但是在什么时候，究竟是在什么时候决定这件可怕的事呢？莫斯科该放弃，军队该后撤，所以必须这样下令。”下达这道可怕的命令，好像与拒绝就任总司令是一回事。可是不一样，他爱掌权，也习惯于掌权（驻扎于土耳其时，作为僚属，他对普罗佐罗夫斯基公爵受到的尊敬艳羡不置）；他相信他肩负拯救俄罗斯的使命，谨此之故，才违背皇上的旨意，顺从民心，他被遴选为总司令一职。他相信，唯独他一人能在此危难之际充当元戎之任，全世界也唯有他一人能无所畏惧，承认不败之拿破仑为己之敌手；但是，一想到他必须下达的那一道命令，便不寒而栗。应该决定些事情呢，应该制止他周围越来越漫无边际的谈话了。
他召拢几个为首的将军。
“Ma　tête，fut－elle　bonne　ou　mauvaise，n'a　qu'a　s'aider　d'elle－même．”①说过之后，他从凳子上站起来，然后乘马车去菲利，他的军队就驻扎在那里。 
①法语：我的脑袋不管是好是坏，也只有依靠它了。
Book 11 Chapter 4
IN THE LARGE BEST ROOM of the peasant Andrey Savostyanov's cottage, at two o'clock, a council met. The men and women and children of the peasant's big family all crowded together in the room on the other side of the passage. Only Andrey's little grandchild, Malasha, a child of six, whom his highness had petted, giving her sugar while he drank his tea, stayed behind by the big stove in the best room. Malasha peeped out from on the stove with shy delight at the faces, the uniforms, and the crosses of the generals, who kept coming into the room one after another, and sitting in a row on the broad benches in the best corner under the holy images. “Granddad” himself, as Malasha in her own mind called Kutuzov, was sitting apart from the rest in the dark corner behind the stove. He sat sunk all of a heap in a folding armchair, and was continually clearing his throat and straightening the collar of his coat, which, though it was unbuttoned, still seemed to gall his neck. The generals, as they came in one after another, walked up to the commander-in-chief: he shook hands with some, to others he merely nodded.
The adjutant, Kaisarov, would have drawn back a curtain from the window facing Kutuzov, but the latter shook his hand angrily at him, and Kaisarov saw that his highness did not care for them to see his face.
Round the peasant's deal table, on which lay maps, plans, pencils, and papers, there was such a crowd that the orderlies brought in another bench, and set it near the table. Yermolov, Kaisarov, and Toll seated themselves on this bench. In the foremost place, under the holy images, sat Barclay de Tolly, with his Order of St. George on his neck, with his pale, sickly face and high forehead that met his bald head. He had been in the throes of fever for the last two days, and was shivering and shaking now. Beside him sat Uvarov, speaking to him with rapid gesticulations in the same low voice in which everybody spoke. Little chubby Dohturov was listening attentively with his eyebrows raised and his hands clasped over his stomach. On the other side, resting his broad head on his hand, sat Count Osterman-Tolstoy, with his bold features and brilliant eyes, apparently plunged in his own thoughts. Raevsky sat twisting his black curls on his temples, as he always did, and looking with impatience from Kutuzov to the door. Konovnitsyn's firm, handsome, good-humoured face was bright with a sly and kindly smile. He caught Malasha's eye, and made signs to her with his eyes, that set the little girl smiling.
They were all waiting for Bennigsen, who, on the pretext of a fresh inspection of the position, was engaged in finishing his luxurious dinner. They waited for him from four to six o'clock, and all that time did not enter on their deliberations, but talked of extraneous matters in subdued tones.
Only when Bennigsen had entered the hut, Kutuzov moved out of his corner and came up to the table, but sat there so that his face did not come within the light of the candles on it.
Bennigsen opened the council by the question: Whether to abandon the holy and ancient capital of Russia, or to defend it?
A prolonged silence followed. Every face was knitted, and in the stillness Kutuzov could be heard angrily coughing and clearing his throat. All eyes were fixed on him. Malasha too gazed at “Granddad.”
She was nearest of all to him, and saw that his face was working; he seemed to be going to cry. But that did not last long.
“The holy and ancient capital of Russia!” he cried suddenly, in a wrathful voice, repeating Bennigsen's words, and thereby underlining the false note in them. “Allow me to tell your excellency that that question has no meaning to a Russian.” (He lurched his unwieldy figure forward.) “Such a question cannot be put; there is no sense in such a question. The question I have asked these gentlemen to meet to discuss is the question of the war. The question is: The safety of Russia lies in her army. Is it better to risk the loss of the army and of Moscow by giving battle, or to abandon Moscow without a battle? That is the question on which I desire to learn your opinion.” He lurched back into his low chair again.
A debate began. Bennigsen did not yet consider that the game was lost. Overruled by the opinion of Barclay and others in admitting the impossibility of maintaining a defensive position at Fili, he proceeded to prove his Russian patriotism and devotion to Moscow by proposing to move the army during the night from the right to the left flank of the position, and to aim a blow at the French right flank next day. Opinions were divided, and arguments were advanced for and against this project. Yermolov, Dohturov, and Raevsky sided with Bennigsen. Led by a feeling that a sacrifice was called for before abandoning the city, and by other personal considerations, these generals seemed unable to grasp that the council then sitting could not affect the inevitable course of events, and that Moscow was already in effect abandoned. The other generals understood this, and leaving the question of Moscow on one side, talked of the direction the army ought to take in retreating.
Malasha, who kept her eyes fixed on what was passing before her, saw the council in quite a different light. It seemed to her that the whole point at issue was a personal struggle between “Granddad” and “Longcoat,” as she called Bennigsen to herself. She saw that they were angry when they spoke to one another, and in her heart she was on “Granddad's” side. In the middle of the conversation, she caught the swift, subtle glance that “Granddad” gave Bennigsen, and immediately after she noted with glee that “Granddad's” words had put “Longcoat” down. Bennigsen suddenly flushed, and strode angrily across the room. The words that had thus affected Bennigsen were Kutuzov's quietly and softly uttered comment on his proposal to move the troops from the right to the left flank in the night in order to attack the French right.
“I cannot approve of the count's plan, gentlemen,” said Kutuzov. “Movements of troops in close proximity to the enemy are always risky, and military history affords many examples of disasters arising from them. For instance …” (Kutuzov seemed to ponder, seeking an example, and then looking with a frank, na?ve expression at Bennigsen) … “well, the battle of Friedland, which, as I have no doubt the count remembers, was not … completely successful owing to the change of the position of the troops in too close proximity to the enemy …”
A momentary silence followed that seemed lengthy to all.
The debate was renewed; but pauses often interrupted it, and it was felt that there was nothing to talk about.
In one of these pauses Kutuzov heaved a heavy sigh, as though preparing to speak. All looked round at him.
“Well, gentlemen, I see that it is I who will have to pay for the broken pots,” he said. And slowly rising from his seat, he walked up to the table. “Gentlemen, I have heard your opinions. Some of you will not agree with me. But I” (he stopped), “by the authority intrusted me by my Tsar and my country, give the order to retire.”
After that the generals began to disperse with the solemnity and circumspect taciturnity with which people separate after a funeral. Several of the generals made some communication to the commander-in-chief in a low voice, pitched in quite a different scale from that in which they had been talking at the council.
Malasha, who had long been expected in the other room to supper, dropped backwards down from the stove, her bare toes clinging to the projections of the stove, and slipping between the generals' legs, she darted out at the door.
After dismissing the generals, Kutuzov sat a long while with his elbows on the table, pondering that terrible question: “When, when had it become inevitable that Moscow should be abandoned? When was the thing done that made it inevitable, and who is to blame for it?”
“This I did not expect!” he said to the adjutant, Schneider, who came in to him late at night; “this I did not expect! This I never thought of!”
“You must rest, your highness,” said Schneider.
“Yes; but they shall eat horse-flesh like the Turks!” Kutuzov cried, not heeding him, as he brought his podgy fist down on the table. “They too, shall eat it, if only …!”
两点正，在农民安德烈·萨沃斯季雅诺夫一间宽敞、也是最好的房间里召集了会议。这一庞大农户的男人、妇女和小孩，统统挤到隔着过厅的那间没有烟囱的农舍里。只有安德烈的一个孙女玛拉莎，才六岁的小姑娘，呆在这个大房间的壁灶上，勋座抚爱她，吃茶时赏给她一块方糖。玛拉莎怯生地欢喜地从壁灶上瞧着将军们的面孔，制服和十字勋章，他们相继进屋，对直走向客位，在圣像下的宽凳上落座。老爷爷，玛拉莎心里这样称呼的库图佐夫，有意避开众人坐在壁灶后边不见亮光的角落里。他埋在折叠扶手椅里，不停地咳呛着清嗓子，不断拉抻礼服的衣领，虽然衣领是敞开的，仿佛仍卡着脖子。来人相继走到陆军元帅身旁，有的握手，有的鞠躬。副官凯萨罗夫想要拉开库图佐夫对面的窗帘，但是库图佐夫生气地朝他摆手，于是凯萨罗夫明白，勋座不愿让人看见他的脸。 
农家的杉木桌上摆着地图、计划、铅笔，纸张，桌旁的人多得坐不下，勤务兵只得又抬来一张长凳放在桌边。在这条凳子上就座的是刚来的叶尔莫洛夫，凯萨罗夫和托尔。在圣像下边的首位上坐着挂圣乔治十字勋章的巴克莱—德—托利，他一副苍白的病容，高高的额头与秃项连成了一片。他患疟疾已有两天，此时正在发冷，快散架了。和他并排坐的是乌瓦罗夫，他低声地（大家说话都这样）告诉巴克莱什么事情，手势动作极快。矮胖的多赫图罗夫眉毛高挑，双手叠放在肚皮上，凝神谛听着。另一边坐的是奥斯特曼—托尔斯泰伯爵，他把棱角英武双目有神的头颅托在宽大的手掌上，流露出一副沉思的样子。拉耶夫斯基不耐烦地像往常一样裹他的黑发卷儿，时而默瞅库图佐夫，时而瞧瞧进出的门。科诺夫尼岑刚毅优美、和善的脸上，闪烁着温和狡黠的微笑。他碰到玛拉莎的目光，对她挤挤眼，使小姑娘乐了。
大家在等贝尼格森，他藉口再次视察阵地，而其实还在享用美味的午餐。大家从四点等到六点，整个这段时间里没有正式开会，只是轻言细语谈题外的话。
库图佐夫在贝尼格森进屋时，方才从角落里起身，移近桌子，但只稍许移动，让桌上的烛光照不到他的脸。
贝尼格森率先发难：“是不战而丢掉俄罗斯神圣的古都呢？还是战而保卫之？”接着是长时间的普遍沉默。大家都阴沉着脸，寂静中只听到库图佐夫生气地在喉咙管里咳痰。所有的目光都看着他。玛拉莎也看着老爷爷。她离他最近，看见他愁眉不展，简直就要哭了。但这一时间却不长。
“·俄·罗·斯·神·圣·的·古·都！”他突然发言了，用愤怒的声音重复一遍贝尼格森的话，藉以指出这些言辞的虚伪。“请允许我告诉您，阁下，这个问题有位俄国人认为没有意义。（他向前探出他那沉重的身躯。）这样的问题不该提出来，这样的问题没有意义。我请这些先生们来讨论的是一个军事问题。问题如下：‘拯救俄国靠军队。牺牲军队和莫斯科冒险打仗值得吗，还是放弃莫斯科不打这一仗更有利呢？这就是我想知道你们怎么看的那个问题的所在。'”（他摇晃着身躯倒向椅背。）
辩论展开了。贝尼格森并不服输。尽管他同意巴克莱等人认为无法在菲利外围打一场防御战的意见，但毕竟满怀爱俄国的爱国精神和对莫斯科的深情，他建议夜间把军队从右翼调往左翼，第二天进攻法军右翼。赞成和反对该意见的引起争辩，莫衷一是。叶尔莫洛夫、多赫图罗夫和拉耶夫斯基赞成贝尼格森的意见。不知几位将军是觉得放弃古都前应该作出些牺牲呢，还是出于其它个人考虑，但他们似乎不懂得，此次会议已不能改变事情的进程，莫斯科现在已经放弃。其他将军倒懂得这点，已撇开莫斯科问题，谈起了部队撤离时应向何方转移。玛拉莎目不转睛地瞧着眼前发生的一切，对会议的意义有不同的理解。她觉得，一切不过是发生在“老爷爷”和穿长袍者之间的个人争吵，她管贝尼格森叫穿长袍者。她看出他们俩对话时怒气冲冲，而她内心里向着老爷爷。在争论中间，她发觉老爷爷迅速向贝尼格森投去机敏的一瞥，接着她高兴地察觉老爷爷对穿长袍者说了句什么，使他偃旗息鼓：贝尼格森突然涨红了脸，愤愤地在屋里转来转去。给贝尼格森造成如此影响的话，是库图佐夫平静地低声地说出的，关于贝尼格森建议的利弊的意见，即关于夜间军队从右翼转移至左翼，好发起对法军侧翼的进攻。
“先生们，我”——库图佐夫说，“不能赞赏伯爵的计划。在离敌人的近距离内调动军队，总是危险的，军事历史也肯定这个看法。例如……，（库图佐夫仿佛在沉思，他搜索例子，用明亮而天真的目光看了贝尼格森一眼。）就拿弗里德兰战役①来说吧，这一战役，我想，伯爵是清楚记得的，进行得……不完全顺利，仅仅因为我军在距敌军太近的地方重新部署……”接着是一分钟的沉默，但大家觉得这时间长极了。
辩论又重新进行下去，但时时中断，都有一种无话可说了的感觉。 
①弗里德兰在东普鲁士。一八○七年法俄两军在此对垒，贝尼格森指挥有误，导致俄军失败，法军得以攻入俄境。
在一次谈话的间隙，库图佐夫深深地叹了一口气，好像要发言的样子。全体都望着他。
“Eh　bien，messieurs！Je　vois　que　c'est　moi　qui　payerai　les　pots　cassès．”①他说，然后慢慢起身，走向桌旁。“诸位，我听了你们的意见。有人是不赞成我的。但我（他停顿了一下）借助以陛下和祖国赐予的权力，我——命令撤退。” 
①法语：诸位，看来得由我赔偿打破的罐子了。
将军们随即庄严肃穆地退场，像参加完了葬礼一样。
有几位将军用不大的嗓门向总司令谈了些情况，说话的口气与在会上的发言已迥然不同。
玛拉莎背向外小心地爬下高板床，光着一双脚，摸索着壁灶的梯坎，下地后站在将军们的腿缝中跑出屋子，家人早已在等待她吃晚饭。
打发了将军们之后，库图佐夫长久地用臂肘支撑着桌子坐着，老想着那个可怕的问题：“什么时候，究竟什么时候，终于决定了莫斯科要放弃？什么时候决定这个问题的，是谁的过错？”
“这一点，这一点我没料到，”他对前来的副官施奈德说，此时夜已深了，“这一点我没料到！这点我想都没想过！”
“您该休息一下了，勋座。”副官说。
“现在不！他们将会嚼马肉的，像土耳其人一样，”他没有理睬副官，咆哮着，用肌肉松弛的拳头敲桌子，“他们也会的，如果……
Book 11 Chapter 5
MEANWHILE, in an event of even greater importance than the retreat of the army without a battle, in the abandonment and burning of Moscow, Count Rastoptchin, whom we conceive as taking the lead in that event, was acting in a very different manner from Kutuzov.
This event—the abandonment and burning of Moscow—was, after the battle of Borodino, as inevitable as the retreat of the army without fighting.
Every Russian could have foretold what happened, not as a result of any train of intellectual deductions, but from the feeling that lies at the bottom of our hearts, and lay at the bottom of our fathers'!
In every town and village on Russian soil, from Smolensk onwards, without the assistance of Count Rastoptchin and his placards, the same thing took place as happened in Moscow. The people awaited the coming of the enemy without disturbance; did not display excitement; tore nobody to pieces, but calmly awaited their fate, feeling in themselves the power to find what they must do in the moment of difficulty.
And as soon as the enemy came near, the wealthier elements of the population went away, leaving their property behind; the poorer remained, and burnt and destroyed all that was left.
The sense that this would be so, and always would be so, lay, and lies at the bottom of every Russian's heart. And a sense of this, and more, a foreboding that Moscow would be taken by the enemy, lay in the Russian society of Moscow in 1812. Those who had begun leaving Moscow in July and the beginning of August had shown that they expected it. Those who left the city with what they could carry away, abandoning their houses and half their property, did so in consequence of that latent patriotism, which finds expression, not in phrases, not in giving one's children to death for the sake of the fatherland, and such unnatural exploits, but expresses itself imperceptibly in the most simple, organic way, and so always produces the most powerful results.
“It's a disgrace to fly from danger; only the cowards are flying from Moscow,” they were told. Rastoptchin, in his placards, urged upon them that it was base to leave Moscow. They were ashamed at hearing themselves called cowards; they were ashamed of going away; but still they went away, knowing that it must be so. Why did they go away? It cannot be supposed that Rastoptchin had scared them with tales of the atrocities perpetrated by Napoleon in the countries he conquered. The first to leave were the wealthy, educated people, who knew very well that Vienna and Berlin remained uninjured, and that the inhabitants of those cities, when Napoleon was in occupation of them, had spent their time gaily with the fascinating Frenchmen, of whom all Russians, and especially the ladies, had at that period been so fond.
They went away because to Russians the question whether they would be comfortable or not under the government of the French in Moscow could never occur. To be under the government of the French was out of the question; it was worse than anything. They were going away even before Borodino, and still more rapidly after Borodino; regardless of the calls to defend the city, regardless of the proclamations of the governor of Moscow; of his intention of going with the Iversky Virgin into battle, and of the air-balloons which were to demolish the French, and all the nonsense with which Rastoptchin filled his placards. They knew that it was for the army to fight, and if the army could not, it would be of no use to rush out with young ladies and house-serfs to fight Napoleon on the Three Hills, and so they must make haste and get away, sorry as they were to leave their possessions to destruction. They drove away without a thought of the vast consequences of this immense wealthy city being abandoned by its inhabitants, and being inevitably thereby consigned to the flames. To abstain from destroying and burning empty houses would never occur to the Russian peasantry. They drove away, each on his own account, and yet it was only in consequence of their action that the grand event came to pass that is the highest glory of the Russian people. The lady who in June set off with her Negroes and her buffoons from Moscow for her Saratov estates, with a vague feeling that she was not going to be a servant of Bonaparte's, and a vague dread that she might be hindered from going by Rastoptchin's orders, was simply and genuinely doing the great deed that saved Russia.
Count Rastoptchin at one time cried shame on those who were going, then removed all the public offices, then served out useless weapons to the drunken rabble, then brought out the holy images, and prevented Father Augustin from removing the holy relics and images, then got hold of all the private conveyances that were in Moscow, then in one hundred and thirty-six carts carried out the air-balloon made by Leppich, at one time hinted that he should set fire to Moscow, at one time described how he had burnt his own house, and wrote a proclamation to the French in which he solemnly reproached them for destroying the home of his childhood. He claimed the credit of having set fire to Moscow, then disavowed it; he commanded the people to capture all spies, and bring them to him, then blamed the people for doing so; he sent all the French residents out of Moscow, and then let Madame Aubert-Chalmey, who formed the centre of French society in Moscow, remain. For no particular reason he ordered the respected old postmaster, Klucharov, to be seized and banished. He got the people together on the Three Hills to fight the French, and then, to get rid of them, handed a man over to them to murder, and escaped himself by the back door. He vowed he would never survive the disaster of Moscow, and later on wrote French verses in albums on his share in the affair.
This man had no inkling of the import of what was happening. All he wanted was to do something himself, to astonish people, to perform some heroic feat of patriotism, and, like a child, he frolicked about the grand and inevitable event of the abandonment and burning of Moscow, trying with his puny hand first to urge on, and then to hold back, the tide of the vast popular current that was bearing him along with it.
当时与库图佐夫意见相悖的拉斯托普钦，在比不战而退更重要的事件上，即是在放弃莫斯科与火烧莫斯科的问题上与库图佐夫对立的拉斯托普钦（他便是事件的领导者），采取了完全相反的行动。 
这一事件——放弃和烧毁莫斯科——与波罗底诺战役后不战而撤离莫斯科一样，都是不可避免的。
每个俄国人，不是凭理智，而是凭祖先传下来的感情，便能预见到所发生后切。
从斯摩棱斯克起，这片俄国大地上的所有城市乡村，没有拉斯托普钦伯爵的参与和他的传单，也曾发生过在莫斯科所发生的同样事情。人民漠然地等待着敌人，没有惹事生非，没有骚动，没有把谁撕成碎片，而是平静地听天由命，感觉到自身有力量在艰难时刻到来时找到该做的事情。所以，在敌人快要抵达时，最殷实的居民才出走，撇下财产不顾；最贫穷的没有离开，却烧掉和摧毁了留下来的东西。
对将要发生、也的确总会发生的事的预感，在俄国人心灵里代代相传。这种预感，尤其是对莫斯科将被占领的预感，在一八一二年，即存在于俄国的、莫斯科的社交界。那些还在六月份和八月初就开始离开莫斯科的人，表明他们料到了这一步。那些驾车离开的人带着拿得走的财物，留下房屋和一半财产，他们这样做是由于隐而不显的（latent）爱国主义，它无须用言辞表达，不是用那献出子女以图救国等类似的违反自然的方式来表现，而是不知不觉地，简单地，有生机地表示出来的，所以，总是产生出最有力的效果。
“躲避危险可耻；从莫斯科逃跑的是懦夫。”他们被告知。拉斯托普钦在通告上向他们灌输，离开莫斯科是耻辱的。背懦夫之名于他们有愧，出走有愧，但他们仍然在走，知道就得这样。为什么他们走呢？切不可以为，是拉斯托普钦用拿破仑在被占领土制造的暴行吓坏了他们。他们都出走，首先走掉的是富有的受过教育的人们，他们很清楚，维也纳和柏林保存完整，在拿破仑占领期间，那里的居民与迷人的法国人度着好时光，当时的俄国爷们，尤其是女士们，是很爱法国人的。
他们走，是因为俄国人根本不会去想，莫斯科在法国人统治下是好呢还是坏。受法国人统治绝对不行：这是最坏不过的。他们在波罗底诺战役之前就在离开，其后走得更快，不顾守城的号召，无视莫斯科卫戍司令打算抬着伊韦尔圣母像去作战的声明，无视定能摧毁法军的空中气球的存在，并且，也无视拉斯托普钦在通告上写的昏话。他们知道：军队是应该作战的；如果军队不作战，带着太太小姐和家奴则更不能到三座山去抗击拿破仑；应该走，无论毁掉财产有多么痛心。他们走了，不去想富丽堂皇的大都的巨大价值，它已被弃置，被付之于大火（偌大的一撤而空的木头城，必然有人会纵火焚毁）；他们都走了，人人为自己，也正是因为他们走掉了，才造成一个伟大的事件，永远成为俄国人民的殊荣。那位在六月就带着黑奴和女伴从莫斯科登程去萨拉托夫乡下的贵妇人，模糊地意识到她不是侍候波拿巴的，而且害怕会按伯爵的命令被人留下，作的就是拯救俄国的大事，做得简单，真诚。拉斯托普钦伯爵呢，他时而羞辱逃跑的人，时而疏散政府机关，时而把那儿都不能用的武器发给一群醉鬼，时而抬圣像游行，时而禁止奥古斯丁大主数运走圣骸和圣像，时而扣押莫斯科全部私人车辆，时而用一百三十六辆车拉走列比赫正在制造的气球，时而暗示他将烧毁莫斯科，时而讲述他已烧毁了自己的房屋，并向法国人发了一篇宣言，庄严地谴责他们焚毁了他的孤儿院；时而认为火烧莫斯科的光荣归于他自己，又时而否认其光荣，时而命令民众捉住所有奸细并押去见他，时而又为此责备民众，时而遣散全部法国人，叫他们离开莫斯科，时而留下奥贝尔—夏尔姆夫人，使她成为所有法裔居民的核心，但又罚不当罪地下令把年高德劭的邮政局长克柳恰廖夫逮捕并送去流放；时而征召民众去三座山以便同法军打仗，时而为摆脱这些民众，吩咐他们去杀人，自己反而从后门溜走；时而说他忍受不了莫斯科的不幸，时而在纪念册上用法文题咏自己对这件大事的同情①，——此人并不理解正在发生的事件的意义，只想干点什么，要一鸣惊人，完成某种爱国主义的英雄行为，面对伟大的不可避免的莫斯科撤退和大火事件，像孩子一样嬉戏，吃力地用他的小手时而推进，时而阻滞那股连他一起卷走的民众的洪流。 
①大意是：我生而为鞑靼人，想做罗马人，法国人叫我野蛮人，俄国人叫我乔治·当丹，（当丹为莫里哀《乔治·当丹》中的主人公）。
Book 11 Chapter 6
ELLEN had accompanied the court on its return from Vilna to Petersburg, and there found herself in a difficult position.
In Petersburg Ellen had enjoyed the special patronage of a great personage, who occupied one of the highest positions in the government. In Vilna she had formed a liaison with a young foreign prince.
When she returned to Petersburg the prince and the great dignitary were both in that town; both claimed their rights, and Ellen was confronted with a problem that had not previously arisen in her career—the preservation of the closest relations with both, without giving offence to either.
What might have seemed to any other woman a difficult or impossible task never cost a moment's thought to Countess Bezuhov, who plainly deserved the reputation she enjoyed of being a most intelligent woman. Had she attempted concealment; had she allowed herself to get out of her awkward position by subterfuges, she would have spoilt her own case by acknowledging herself the guilty party. But like a truly great man, who can always do everything he chooses, Ellen at once assumed the rectitude of her own position, of which she was indeed genuinely convinced, and the guilty responsibility of every one else concerned.
The first time the young foreign prince ventured to reproach her, she lifted her beautiful head, and, with a haughty tone towards him, said firmly:
“This is the egoism and the cruelty of men. I expected nothing else. Woman sacrifices herself for you; she suffers, and this is her reward. What right have you, your highness, to call me to account for my friendships, my affections? He is a man who has been more than a father to me!”
The prince would have said something. Ellen interrupted him.
“Well, yes, perhaps he has sentiments for me other than those of a father, but that is not a reason I should shut my door on him. I am not a person to be ungrateful. Know, your highness, that in all that relates to my private sentiments I will account only to God and to my conscience!” she concluded, laying her hand on her beautiful, heaving bosom, and looking up to heaven.
“But listen to me, in God's name!”…
“Marry me, and I will be your slave!”
“But it is impossible.”
“You do not deign to stoop to me, you…” Ellen burst into tears.
The prince attempted to console her. Ellen, as though utterly distraught, declared through her tears that there was nothing to prevent her marrying; that there were precedents (they were but few at that time, but Ellen quoted the case of Napoleon and some other persons of exalted rank); that she had never been a real wife to her husband; that she had been dragged an unwilling victim into the marriage.
“But the law, religion …” murmured the prince, on the point of yielding.
“Religion, laws … what can they have been invented for, if they are unable to manage that?” said Ellen.
The prince was astonished that so simple a reflection had never occurred to him, and applied to the council of the brotherhood of the Society of Jesus, with which he was in close relations.
A few days later, at one of the fascinating fêtes Ellen used to give at her summer villa at Kamenny Ostrov, a certain fascinating M. Jobert was presented to her; a man no longer young, with snow-white hair and brilliant black eyes, un Fésuite à robe courte, who walked for a long while with Ellen among the illuminations in the garden to the strains of music, conversing with her of the love of God, of Christ, of the heart of the Holy Mother, and of the consolations afforded in this life and the next by the one true Catholic faith. Ellen was touched, and several times tears stood both in her eyes and in M. Jobert's, and their voices trembled. A dance, to which her partner fetched Ellen away, cut short her conversation with the future “director of her conscience,” but the next evening M. Jobert came alone to see Ellen, and from that day he was a frequent visitor.
One day he took the countess into a Catholic church, where she fell on her knees before the altar, up to which she was conducted. The fascinating, middle-aged Frenchman laid his hands on her head, and as she herself afterwards described it, she felt something like a breath of fresh air, which seemed wafted into her soul. It was explained to her that this was the “grace of God.”
Then an abbé à robe longue was brought to her; he confessed her, and absolved her from her sins. Next day a box was brought containing the Sacred Host, and left for her to partake of at her house. Several days later Ellen learned to her satisfaction that she had now been admitted into the true Catholic Church, and that in a few days the Pope himself would hear of her case, and send her a document of some sort.
All that was done with her and around her at this period, the attention paid her by so many clever men, and expressed in such agreeable and subtle forms, and her dovelike purity during her conversion (she wore nothing but white dresses and white ribbons all the time)—all afforded her gratification. But this gratification never led her for one instant to lose sight of her object. And, as always happens in contests of cunning, the stupid person gains more than the cleverer; Ellen, fully grasping that the motive of all these words and all this man?uvring was by her conversion to Catholicism to get a round sum from her for the benefit of the Jesuit order (this was hinted at, indeed), held back the money, while insisting steadily on the various operations that would set her free from her conjugal bonds. To her notions, the real object of every religion was to provide recognised forms of propriety for the satisfaction of human desires. And with this end in view, she insisted, in one of her conversations with her spiritual adviser, on demanding an answer to the question how far her marriage was binding.
They were sitting in the drawing-room window. It was dusk. There was a scent of flowers from the window. Ellen wore a white dress, transparent over the bosom and shoulders. The sleek, well-fed abbé, with his plump, clean-shaven chin, his amiable, strong mouth, and his white hands, clasped mildly on his knees, was sitting close by Ellen. With a subtle smile on his lips, and a look of discreet admiration in his eyes, he gazed from time to time at her face, as he expounded his views on the subject. Ellen, with a restless smile, stared at his curly hair and his smooth-shaven, blackish cheeks, and seemed every minute to be expecting the conversation to take a new turn. But the abbé, though unmistakably aware of the beauty of his companion, was also interested in his own skilful handling of the question. The spiritual adviser adopted the following chain of reasoning:—
“In ignorance,” said he, “of the significance of your promise, you took a vow of conjugal fidelity to a man who, on his side, was guilty of sacrilege in entering on the sacrament of matrimony with no faith in its religious significance. That marriage had not the dual binding force it should have had. But in spite of that, your vow was binding upon you. You broke it. What did you commit? Venial sin or mortal sin? A venial sin, because you committed it with no intention of acting wrongly. If now, with the object of bearing children, you should enter into a new marriage, your sin might be forgiven. But the question again falls into two divisions. First …”
“But, I imagine,” Ellen, who was getting bored, said suddenly, with her fascinating smile, “that after being converted to the true religion, cannot be bound by any obligations laid upon me by a false religion.”
Her spiritual adviser was astounded at the simplicity of this solution, as simple as the solution of Columbus's egg. He was enchanted at the unexpected rapidity of his pupil's progress, but could not abandon the edifice of subtle argument that had cost him mental effort.
“Let us understand each other,” he said, with a smile; and began to find arguments to refute his spiritual daughter's contention.
海伦随王室从维尔纳回到彼得堡后，陷入了困境。 
在彼得堡时，海伦受到一位身居帝国高位的要员的眷顾。在维尔纳，她又与一位年轻的外国亲王过从甚密。当她回到彼得堡时，亲王和要员又都在彼得堡，双方都宣布他们有保护的权利，这使海伦的生涯中出现一道新的课题：保持同双方的亲密关系，不伤害任何一方。
这对于别的女人似乎是困难的，甚至是无法办到的事，而从未让别祖霍娃伯爵夫人费过神，她真不愧享有最聪明的女人的声誉。假如她开始掩盖自己的行为，狡猾地从尴尬境地解脱出来，那她就自认有罪，反倒会坏事；可是海伦却相反，她立即，像真正的伟人一样，凡是想要做的都能做到，把自己置于她深信不疑的正确立场，而把别人置于有罪的地位。
当那个有张年轻的外国面孔的人初次敢于责备她时，她高傲地昂起美丽的头，斜转身朝着他坚定地说：
“Voilà　l'égoisme　et　la　cruauté　des　hommes！　Je　ne　m'atten－dais　pas　à　autre　chose．La　femme　se　sacrifie　pour　vous，elle　souffre，et　voilà　se　récompense．　Quel　droit　avez　vous，monBseigneur，de　me　demander　compte　de　mes　amitiés，de　mes　af－fections？C'est　un　homme　qui　a　été　plus　qu'un　père　pour　moi．”①
有那张面孔的人想要说什么。海伦打断了他，“Eh　biBen，oui，”——她说，“peut－être　qu'il　a　pour　moi　d'autres　sentiments　que　ceux　d'un　père，mais　ce　n'est　pas　une　raison　pour　que　je　lui　ferme　ma　porte．Je　ne　suis　pas　un　homme　pour　être　ingrate．Sachez，monseigneur，pour　tout　ce　qui　a　rapBport　à　mes　sentiments，jene　rends　compte　qu'à　Dieu　et　à　ma　conscience．”②她说完毕，一只手微掩美丽高耸的胸脯，看着天空。
“Mais　écoutez　moi，au　mon　de　Dieu．”
“Epousez　moi，et　je　serai　votre　esclave．”
“Mais　c'est　impossible．”
“Vous　ne　daignez　pas　descendre　jusqu'à　moi，vous……”③海伦哭着说。
那个人开始安慰她；海伦则抽泣着说，（好像陷入沉思），没有任何情况能妨碍她结婚，这已经有了先例（当时还少有这样的例子，但她举出拿破仑和另一些显贵），她从来不是她 
①法语：哼，男人的自私残忍！我没存什么奢望。女人为您牺牲她自己；她吃苦头，而这就是报答，殿下，您有何权利查问我的爱情和友谊？这是一位比我父亲还亲的人。
②那好，就算他向我倾注的感情不完全是父亲般的，但也不能因此我就拒绝他上我的家呀。我不像男人，以怨报德。请殿下放明白，我珍惜的感情只告诉上帝和我的良心。
③法语：“但是请听我说，看在上帝份上。”
丈夫的妻子，她是被当作牺牲品的。
“然而法律，宗教……”那个人垂头丧气地说。
“法律，宗教……其用处是什么，如果这事都办不了！”海伦说。
这个要人吃了一惊，这样简单的道理他竟然没有想过，于是，去求教与它关系密切的耶稣会的教友们。
几天之后，海伦在她石岛上的别墅举行了一次令人消魂的宴会，在宴会上，人们向她引见了一位已不年轻的，发白如雪，眼睛又黑又亮的迷人的m－r　de　Jobert，un　jésuite　á　robe　courte①，他和海伦在花园里的灯光下，在音乐伴奏声中谈了很久，谈的是对上帝的爱，对基督的爱，对圣母圣心的爱，还谈唯一真诚的天主教在现世和来世给予人们的慰藉。海伦大为感动，并且，有几回在她和m—r　Jobert眼里含着泪水，他们的声音颤“娶了我吧，那我就是您的奴隶了。”
“可是这不可能。”
“您不能屈尊降纡同我结婚，您……。”
抖。一位男士来邀海伦跳舞，中断了她同未来的diB
recteur　de　conscience②的谈话；但第二天m－r　Jobert又单独来看海伦，此后并且经常前来。 
①法语：一位着短袍的耶稣教士德若贝尔先生。
②法语：良心指导者。
一天，他把伯爵夫人带到天主教堂，领她到祭坛前，她跪了下来。已不年轻的迷人的法国人把手放在她头上，于是，如她事后所说，似有一丝清风降到她心灵，她被告知那是la　graAce①。
然后，她被领去见一位a　robe　longue②长老，他听了她的忏悔，宽恕了她的罪过。第二天，给她送来了一个盛着圣餐的盒子留在她家里供她使用。过了几天，海伦满意地得知，她已加入真诚的天主教会，教皇于数日内将亲自批准她，发给她一种证书。 
①法语：神恩。
②法语：身穿长袍的。
这期间围绕她发生，并由她而参与的一切；如此众多的聪明人都以令人愉快而精致的形式向她表示的关注；她装束的鸽子般的纯洁（她在整个这段期间都穿白色衣裙，系白缎带）；所有这一切带给她满足，但她并不由于满足而对她的目的有一刻的疏忽。事情总是这样，蠢人耍狡猾瞒得过聪明人，海伦看出，这一切的言谈奔波，其目的绝大部份是接纳她入天教然后从她获取对耶稣会机构的捐款（她被暗示过），她则在捐款之前，坚持要为她履行脱离丈夫的宗教手续。在她的观念里，一切宗教的意义全在于满足人们愿望的同时，遵守一定的礼仪。怀着这一目的，她在一次同接受忏悔的神父的谈话中，坚决要求他答复一个问题：她的婚姻在多大程度上对她有约束。
他们在客厅里靠窗坐着，时近黄昏，从窗口飘来花香。海伦身穿白色衣裙，袒露出胸脯和肩膀，长老靠近海伦坐着，他保养得很好，肥实的刮得干净的下巴，愉快结实的嘴吧，白皙的双手安详在叠放在膝上。他嘴上挂着优雅的微笑，用藏而不露的赞叹她美貌的目光，偶而扫一眼她的面庞，阐述他对他们所交谈的问题的观点。海伦不安地微笑着，望着她卷曲的头发和刮得发青的丰满的面颊，不耐烦地等候话题的转换。长老，显然在欣赏对谈者的秀色，但却全神贯注于他的本职工作。
这位良心指导者的议论展开如下。您在不明白您所作所为的意义的情况下，就对一个人作出了信守婚约的誓言，而那个人也在不相信婚约的宗教意义下完婚，则犯了亵渎罪。这种婚姻缺少它应有的双重意义。但无论如何，您的誓言约束着您。而您违背了誓言。您这样做犯下了什么罪呢？是Péché　véniel还是péché　mortel？①是péché　véniel，因为您的行为并无不良图谋。假如您现在为了生儿育女重新结婚，您的罪会得到宽恕的。但这个问题又分为两个方面：第一……
“但我认为”，——感到无聊的海伦带着迷人的微笑突然说道，——“我信奉真诚的宗教，便可不受虚假宗教加之于我的约束。”
Directeur　de　conscience②对如此简单地向他提出哥伦布与鸡蛋的问题，大为惊异。他为自己女信徒的意想不到的快速进步感到惊喜，但是他不能放弃绞尽脑汁构筑起来的理论大厦。 
①法语：可恕之罪，或是死罪。
②法语：良心指导者。
“Entendons－nous，comtesse．”①他微笑说，开始反驳他的教女的道理。 
①法语：让我们来分析，伯爵夫人。
Book 11 Chapter 7
ELLEN perceived that the matter was very simple and easy from the ecclesiastical point of view, but that her spiritual counsellors raised difficulties simply because they were apprehensive of the way in which it might be looked at by the temporal authorities.
And, consequently, Ellen decided in her own mind that the way must be paved for society to look at the matter in the true light. She excited the jealousy of the old dignitary, and said the same thing to him as she had to her other suitor—that is, gave him to understand that the sole means of obtaining exclusive rights over her was to marry her. The elderly dignitary was, like the young foreign prince, for the first moment taken aback at this proposal of marriage from a wife whose husband was living. But Ellen's unfaltering confidence in asserting that it was a matter as simple and natural as the marriage of an unmarried girl had its effect on him too. Had the slightest traces of hesitation, shame, or reserve been perceptible in Ellen herself, her case would have been undoubtedly lost. But far from it; with perfect directness and simple-hearted na?veté, she told her intimate friends (and that term included all Petersburg), that both the prince and the dignitary had made her proposals of marriage, and that she loved both, and was afraid of grieving either.
The rumour was immediately all over Petersburg—not that Ellen wanted a divorce from her husband (had such a rumour been discussed very many persons would have set themselves against any such illegal proceeding)—but that the unhappy, interesting Ellen was in hesitation which of her two suitors to marry. The question was no longer how far any marriage was possible, but simply which would be the more suitable match for her, and how the court would look at the question. There were, indeed, certain strait-laced people who could not rise to the high level of the subject, and saw in the project a desecration of the sanctity of marriage; but such persons were few in number, and they held their tongues; while the majority were interested in the question of Ellen's happiness, and which would be the better match for her. As to whether it were right or wrong for a wife to marry when her husband was alive, that was not discussed, as the question was evidently not a subject of doubt for persons “wiser than you and me” (as was said), and to doubt the correctness of their decision would be risking the betrayal of one's ignorance and absence of savoir faire.
Marya Dmitryevna Ahrosimov, who had come that summer to Petersburg to see one of her sons, was the only person who ventured on the direct expression of a contrary opinion. Meeting Ellen at a ball, Marya Dmitryevna stopped her in the middle of the room, and in the midst of a general silence said to her, in her harsh voice:
“So you are going to pass on from one husband to another, I hear! You think, I dare say, it's a new fashion you are setting. But you are not the first, madam. That's a very old idea. They do the same in all the …” And with these words, Marya Dmitryevna tucked up her broad sleeves with her usual menacing action, and looking severely round her, walked across the ballroom.
Though people were afraid of Marya Dmitryevna, yet in Petersburg they looked on her as a sort of buffoon, and therefore of all her words they noticed only the last coarse one, and repeated it to one another in whispers, supposing that the whole point of her utterance lay in that.
Prince Vassily had of late dropped into very frequently forgetting what he had said, and repeating the same phrase a hundred times; and every time he happened to see his daughter he used to say:
“Ellen, I have a word to say to you,” he would say, drawing her aside and pulling her arm downwards. “I have got wind of certain projects relative to … you know. Well, my dear child, you know how my father's heart rejoices to know you are … You have suffered so much. But, my dear child, consult only your heart. That's all I tell you.” And concealing an emotion identical on each occasion, he pressed his cheek to his daughter's cheek and left her.
Bilibin, who had not lost his reputation as a wit, was a disinterested friend of Ellen's; one of those friends always to be seen in the train of brilliant women, men friends who can never pass into the rank of lovers. One day, in a “small and intimate circle,” Bilibin gave his friend Ellen his views on the subject.
“écoutez, Bilibin” (Ellen always called friends of the category to which Bilibin belonged by their surnames), and she touched his coat-sleeve with her white, beringed fingers. “Tell me, as you would a sister, what ought I to do? Which of the two?”
Bilibin wrinkled up the skin over his eyebrows, and pondered with a smile on his lips.
“You do not take me unawares, you know,” he said. “As a true friend, I have thought, and thought again of your affair. You see, if you marry the prince”—(the younger suitor) he crooked his finger—“you lose forever the chance of marrying the other, and then you displease the court. (There is a sort of relationship, you know.) But if you marry the old count, you make the happiness of his last days. And then as widow of the great … the prince will not be making a mésalliance in marrying you …” and Bilibin let the wrinkles run out of his face.
“That's a real friend!” said Ellen beaming, and once more touching Bilibin's sleeve. “But the fact is I love them both, and I don't want to make them unhappy. I would give my life for the happiness of both,” she declared.
Bilibin shrugged his shoulders to denote that for such a trouble even he could suggest no remedy.
“Une ma?tresse-femme! That is what's called putting the question squarely. She would like to be married to all three at once,” thought Bilibin.
“But do tell me what is your husband's view of the question?” he said, the security of his reputation saving him from all fear of discrediting himself by so na?ve a question. “Does he consent?”
“Oh, he is so fond of me!” said Ellen, who, for some unknown reason, fancied that Pierre too adored her. “Il fera tout pour moi.”
Bilibin puckered up his face in preparation of the coming mot.
“Même le divorce?” he said.
Ellen laughed.
Among the persons who ventured to question the legality of the proposed marriage was Ellen's mother, Princess Kuragin. She had constantly suffered pangs of envy of her daughter, and now when the ground for such envy was the one nearest to her own heart, she could not reconcile herself to the idea of it.
She consulted a Russian priest to ascertain how far divorce and remarriage was possible for a woman in her husband's lifetime. The priest assured her that this was impossible; and to her delight referred her to the text in the Gospel in which (as it seemed to the priest) remarriage during the lifetime of the husband was directly forbidden.
Armed with these arguments, which seemed to her irrefutable, Princess Kuragin drove round to her daughter's early one morning in order to find her alone.
Ellen heard her mother's protests to the end, and smiled with bland sarcasm.
“You see it is plainly said: ‘He who marryeth her that is divorced…' ”
“O mamma, don't talk nonsense. You don't understand. In my position I have duties…” Ellen began, passing out of Russian into French, for in the former language she always felt a lack of clearness about her case.
“But, my dear…”
“O mamma, how is it you don't understand that the Holy Father, who has the right of granting dispensations…”
At that moment the lady companion, who lived in Ellen's house, came in to announce that his highness was in the drawing-room, and wished to see her.
“No, tell him I don't want to see him, that I am furious with him for not keeping his word.”
“Countess, there is mercy for every sin,” said a young man with fair hair and a long face and long nose.
The old princess rose respectfully and curtsied at his entrance. The young man took no notice of her. Princess Kuragin nodded to her daughter, and swam to the door.
“Yes, she is right,” thought the old princess, all of whose convictions had been dissipated by the appearance of his highness on the scene. “She is right; but how was it in our youth—gone now for ever—we knew nothing of this? And it is so simple,” thought Princess Kuragin, as she settled herself in her carriage.
At the beginning of August Ellen's affairs were settled, and she wrote to her husband (who, as she supposed, was deeply attached to her) a letter, in which she made known to him her intention of marrying N. N. She informed him also of her conversion to the one true faith, and begged him to go through all the necessary formalities for obtaining a divorce, of which the bearer of the letter would give him further details. “On which I pray God to have you in His holy and powerful keeping. Your friend, Ellen.”
This letter was brought to Pierre's house at the time when he was on the field of Borodino.
海伦明白，事情从宗教观点看来非常简单容易，指导者的为难，仅仅因为他们害怕世俗政权对这件事会有什么看法。 
所以，海伦决定，应该在社交界使这件事成熟。她激起那显贵的老家伙的醋意，对他说了对第一个追求者说过的同样的话，即摆明问题：得到占有她的权利的唯一途径，是同她结婚。在第一分钟内，这个丈夫还在世而又另嫁他人的建议，使这个年老的达官大为惊讶，那个青年人也有同感；但海伦毫不动摇地相信，这与姑娘家出嫁一样地简单而且自然，这信心便也对要员起了作用。假如有丁点儿的动摇，羞怯或遮掩的痕迹出现在海伦本人身上，事情便肯定输掉；但岂止没有任何遮掩和羞怯的痕迹。相反，她还单纯地、天真无邪地向她的亲密朋友（这也就是告诉了全彼得堡）讲述，亲王和要员均已向她求婚，她则爱他们两人，怕任何一个悲伤。
传闻瞬间传遍彼得堡，但不是海伦要同丈夫分手的传闻（如果流传这样的传闻，则会群起反对这种违背法律的意图），而是不幸的招人爱怜的海伦陷入两难境地，到底嫁给两人中的谁。问题如今已不是这有多大的可能，而是嫁给哪一方更为有利，宫廷又是如何看待。确有一些执迷不悟之人，他们无法上升到问题的高度，在这一意图里看到对婚姻圣礼的亵渎，但这样的人很少，并且他们缄口不言；大多数则对降临于海伦的幸福，对哪一选择更好感到兴趣。至于丈夫在世便另外嫁人是好是坏，则不置一辞，因为这一问题，显然，对于比你我（如常所说）更聪明的人而言，已经解决，拘泥于问题解决是否正确，意味着冒险去暴露自己的愚蠢和不善于在上流社会周旋的弱点。
只有那年夏天来彼得堡看儿子的玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜·阿赫罗西莫娃敢于直率说出与众相反的意见。在舞会与海伦相遇，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜把她拦在舞厅中央，在周围一片沉默中，粗声粗声地对她说：
“你们这儿，老婆开始离开丈夫嫁人了。你大概以为这是你想出的新花样吧？早有人占先了，婆娘。这点子已经老早就想出来了。凡是……都是这样干的。”说罢这些话，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，摆出一贯的威严姿势，卷起，宽大的袖口，严厉地扫视了一圈，然后穿堂而过。
至于玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，彼得堡的人虽然也怕她，却当她是个可笑的人，因此，只注意到了她说话中用的那个粗暴字眼，彼此悄悄地重复它，认为这字眼里包含了全部谈话的精华。
近来特别经常说过就忘的瓦西里公爵，把同样的话重复一百次，每次碰巧见到自己的女儿，他都要说：
“Héléne，J'ai　un　mot　á　vous　dire，”他对她说，同时领她到一边去，朝下拽她的手。“J'ai　eu　vent　de　certains　projets　relatifs　à…Vous　savez．Eh　bien，ma　chère　enfant，vous　savez　que　mon　coeur　de　père　se　rèjouit　de　vous　savoir…Vous　avez　tant　souffert…Mais，chère　enfant…ne　consultez　que　votre　coeur．C'est　tout　ce　que　je　vous　dis．”①掩藏着总是相同的激动表情，他的面颊挨一挨女儿的面颊，便走开了。
永远保持绝顶聪明的人名声的比利宾，是海伦无私的朋友，是贵妇人府邸常客中的一位，是绝不会扮演钟情角色的男朋友之一，这个比利宾有次在　petit　comité②对自己的朋友海伦说出了对整个事情的看法。
“Ecoutez，Bilibine”（海伦对比利宾这样的朋友总是称呼姓，而不叫名字），她用戴着戒指的白皙的手碰了碰他燕尾服的袖管。“Dites　moi　comme　vous　diriez　à　une　soeur，que　dois－je　faire？Lequel　des　deux？”③ 
①法语：海伦，我该同你谈谈。听说你有些打算，是关于……你知道的。呶，我亲爱的孩子，你知道，你父亲心里总是高兴的，因为你…你吃了那么多的苦…但亲爱的孩子……照你的心的指示去作。这就是我全部的忠告。
②法语：亲密的小圈子。
③法语：听我说，比利宾：像告诉姐姐一样告诉我怎么办。挑选两人中的哪一位？
比利宾皱起眉毛上边的皮肤，嘴角挂着微笑，陷入沉思。
“Vous　ne　me　prenez　pas　en　pacnlox，vous　savez，”他说。“Comme　véritable　ami　jai　pensé　et　repensé　a　vorte　affairee．Voyez　vous　épousez　le　prince（这是一位年轻人），”他弯曲一根指头，“Vous　perdez　pour　toujours　la　chance　d'épouser　l'autre，et　puis　vous　mécontentez　la　cour．（Comme　vous　savez，il　y　a　une　espèce　de　parenté）．Mais　si　vous　éposez　le　vieux　comte，vous　faites　le　bonBheur　de　ses　der　niers　jours，et　puis　comme　veuve　du　grand…le　prince　ne　fait　plus　de　mésalliance　en　vous　epousant．”①比利宾这才放松了额头上皱起的皮肤。
“Voilá　un　véritable　ami！”海伦容光焕发，再一次用手碰了碰比利宾的衣袖。“Mais　c'est　que　jaime　l'un　et　l'autre，je　ne　voudrais　pas　leur　faire　de　chagrin．Je　donnerais　ma　vie　pour　leur　bonheur　à　tous　deux．”②她说。 
①您的问题并不使我觉得突然，您知道。作为真正的朋友，您的事情我考虑过很久。您瞧，如果嫁给亲王，您将绝无可能成为另一人的妻子，此外，宫廷也会不满。（您知道，谱系搞乱了。）如果嫁给老伯爵，您就是他晚年的幸福，然后……亲王娶显贵的遗孀就不有失身份了。
②这才是真正的朋友！可是我爱他又爱他，不愿使任何一个伤心。为他俩人的幸福我甘愿牺牲生命。
比利宾耸耸肩膀，表示连他也无法解决这样的难题。
“Une　maitresse－femme！Voila　ce　qui　s'appelle　poser　carrément　la　question．Elle　voudrait　epouser　tous　les　à　la　fois．”①比利宾心里想。
“请说说您丈夫将会怎样看待这件事情？”他说，由于自己的名声牢不可破，不怕这样天真的问题会贬低自己。“他会同意吗？”
“Ah！il　m'aime　tant！”海伦说，不知为何她觉得皮埃尔也爱她。“Il　fera　tout　pour　moi．”②
比利宾收紧头皮，以便发表想好了的mot③。
“Même　le　divorce．”④他说。海伦笑了。 
①好厉害的女人！这才叫做坚定地摆出问题。她想同时作所有三个人的妻子。
②啊！他多么爱我！他为我准备做任何事情。
③俏皮话。
④连离婚也在内。
在敢于对进行中的婚事的合法性表示怀疑的人当中，有海伦的母亲库拉金娜公爵夫人。她经常为嫉妒自己的女儿而苦恼，而现在，嫉妒的对象是公爵夫人最为关切的事情，她不能容忍这一想法。她去请教一位俄国神父，丈夫在世时离婚和再嫁的可能性如何，神父告诉她这是不可以的，并且使她高兴的是，指给她看一段福音经文，里面（神父觉得）断然否定可以在丈夫在世时再次结婚。
公爵夫人以这些她认为无法驳倒的论据武装起来，一大早，为了要单独和女儿见面，就出发去女儿的家。
听完母亲的反对意见后，海伦温和地调皮地微微一笑。
“那可是写得干脆呵：谁要是娶离了婚的妻子……”老公爵夫人说。
“Ah，maman，ne　dites　pas　de　bétises．Vous　ne　comprenez　rien．Dans　ma　position　j'ai　des　deBvoirs．”①海伦把她的话从俄语译为法语说，她用俄语总好像说不清她的事。
“可是，我的伙伴……”
“Ah，maman，comment　est－ce　que　vous　ne　comprenez　pas　que　le　saint　père，qui　a　le　droit　de　donner　des　dispenses……”②
这时，就食于海伦门下的一位夫人的女伴前来通报，说殿下在客厅求见。
“Non，dites－lui　que　je　ne　veux　pas　le　voir，que　je　suis　furieuse　contre　lui，parce　qu'il　m'a　manqué　parole．”③
“Comtesse，　á　tout　péché　misercorde．”④进来的长脸长鼻子的金发年轻人说。 
①啊，妈咪，别说蠢话。您什么也不懂。我所处的地位有我应尽的义务。
②啊，妈咪，您怎么不懂，神父有权宽恕……
③不，对他说，我不想见他，他气死我了，因为他不信守诺言。
④伯爵夫人，一切罪过都应宽恕。
老公爵夫人恭敬地起身行屈膝礼。进来的年轻人并不注意她。她朝女儿一点头，轻轻向门口走去。
“不，她是对的，”老公爵夫人想。一切信念在殿下出现时被扫荡无遗。“她是对的；我们在一去不复返的青春时代怎么就不懂得这些呢？而这是多么简单啊。”老公爵夫人想着坐上了马车。
八月初，海伦的事情完全确定了，她给丈夫（照她想来，那是非常爱她的丈夫）写了一封信，通知他关于自己要嫁给某某的打算，并告诉他她已信奉了唯一真诚的宗教，同时，她请他履行送信人转告他的必须的离婚手续。
“Sur　ce　je　prie　Dieu，mon　ami，de　vous　avoir　sous　sa　sainte　et　puisante　garde．Votre　amie　Hélène．”① 
①如此，我祈祷上帝，愿您，我的朋友，受到神圣而有力的保佑。您的朋友海伦。
这封信送到了皮埃尔的家的时候，他正在波罗底诺战场上。
Book 11 Chapter 8
AT THE END of the day of Borodino, Pierre ran for a second time from Raevsky's battery, and with crowds of soldiers crossed the ravine on the way to Knyazkovo. There he reached an ambulance tent, and seeing blood and hearing screams and groans, he hurried on, caught up in a mob of soldiers.
The one thing Pierre desired now with his whole soul was to get away from the terrible sensations in which he had passed that day, to get back into the ordinary conditions of life, and to go to sleep quietly indoors in his own bed. He felt that only in the ordinary conditions of life would he be fit to understand himself and all he had seen and felt. But the ordinary conditions of life were nowhere to be found.
Though bullets and cannon balls were not whistling here on the road along which he was going, still he saw here on all sides the same sights as on the field of battle. There were everywhere the same suffering, exhausted, and sometimes strangely indifferent faces; everywhere the same blood and soldiers' overcoats, the same sound of firing at a distance, yet still rousing the same horror. There was heat and dust besides.
After walking about three versts along the Mozhaisk road, Pierre sat down by the roadside.
The shadows of night were beginning to fall over the earth, and the roar of cannon died down. Pierre lay leaning on his elbow, and lay so a long while, gazing at the shadows passing by him in the dusk. He was continually fancying that a cannon ball was swooping down upon him with a fearful whiz. He started and sat up. He had no idea how long he had been there. In the middle of the night, three soldiers, dragging branches after them, settled themselves near him and began making a fire.
Casting sidelong glances at Pierre, the soldiers lighted the fire, set a pot on it, broke up their biscuits into it, and put in some lard. The pleasant odour of the savoury and greasy mess blended with the smell of smoke. Pierre raised himself and sighed. The soldiers (there were three of them) were eating and talking among themselves. without taking any notice of Pierre.
“And what lot will you be one of?” one of the soldiers suddenly asked Pierre, evidently suggesting in this inquiry precisely what Pierre was thinking about. “If you are hungry we'll give you some, only tell us whether you're a true man.”
“I?” … said Pierre, feeling the necessity of minimising his social position as far as possible, so as to be closer to the soldiers and more within their range. “I am really a militia officer, but my company's nowhere about; I came to the battle and lost sight of my comrades.”
“Well! Fancy that!” said one of the soldiers.
Another soldier shook his head.
“Well, you can have some of the mash, if you like!” said the first, and licking a wooden spoon he gave it to Pierre.
Pierre squatted by the fire, and fell to eating the mess in the pot, which seemed to him the most delicious dish he had ever tasted. While he was bending over the pot, helping himself to big spoonfuls and greedily munching one after another, the soldiers stared at him in silence.
“Where do you want to go? Tell us!” the first of them asked again.
“To Mozhaisk.”
“You're a gentleman, then?”
“Yes.”
“And what's your name?”
“Pyotr Kirillovitch.”
“Well, Pyotr Kirillovitch, come along, we'll take you there.”
In the pitch dark the soldiers and Pierre walked to Mozhaisk.
The cocks were crowing when they reached Mozhaisk, and began ascending the steep hill into the town.
Pierre walked on with the soldiers, entirely forgetting that his inn was at the bottom of the hill and he had passed it. He would not have been aware of this—so preoccupied was he—if he had not chanced halfway up the hill to stumble across his groom, who had been to look for him in the town, and was on his way back to the inn. The groom recognised Pierre by his hat, which gleamed white in the dark.
“Your excellency!” he cried, “why, we had quite given you up. How is it you are on foot? And, mercy on us, where are you going?”
“Oh, to be sure…” said Pierre.
The soldiers halted.
“Well, found your own folks then?” said one of them.
“Well, good-bye to you—Pyotr Kirillovitch, wasn't it?”
“Good-bye, Pyotr Kirillovitch!” said the other voices.
“Good-bye,” said Pierre, and with the groom he turned in the direction of the inn.
“I ought to give them something!” thought Pierre, feeling for his pocket. “No, better not,” some inner voice prompted him.
There was not a room at the inn: all were full. Pierre went out into the yard, and muffling his head up, lay down in his carriage.
还在波罗底诺战役的尾声，皮埃尔便又一次逃离拉耶夫斯基的炮垒，同一群士兵沿河谷向克尼亚济科沃村走去、走到包扎站，看见血迹，听到叫喊和呻吟，便又混在士兵堆中匆忙继续赶路。 
皮埃尔现在的全部心思，是竭望尽快摆脱他在这一天所经历的可怕印象，回到经常的生活环境，在自己房间里的床上安稳地睡一觉。只有在惯常的生活条件下，他才感觉得到他能明白他自己，明白他所见所亲历的一切。但这样的条件无处可得。
一路上，虽没有炮弹和子弹的呼啸声，但前后左右仍然是战场上的同样景象，仍然是痛苦的、疲惫的却有时奇怪地冷漠的人们，仍然在流血，仍然是穿军大衣的士兵，仍然是射击声，尽管比较遥远，但仍然引起恐怖，此外，就只有跋涉的闷热和飞扬的尘土。
沿莫扎伊斯克公路走了三俄里左右，皮埃尔在路边坐了下来。
暮色降临大地，枪炮的轰鸣也已沉寂。皮埃尔枕着胳膊肘躺下，他躺了很久，一面看着在黑暗中经过他身旁的影子。他老觉得，随着一声可怕的呼啸，会向他飞来一发炮弹；他哆嗦着抬起一点身子。他记不清在这里呆了多久。半夜，三位士兵拖来一些干树枝，在他身旁坐下，开始点燃火堆。
士兵们斜眼看了看皮埃尔，点燃了火堆，然后放上一口小锅，把面包干掰碎放进锅里，又加了一点腌猪油。沾了油荤的美味食物的香味混合着烟味。皮埃尔坐直了些，叹了口气。兵士们（他们是三个）吃着，没有注意皮埃尔，边吃边谈。
“你是干什么的？”其中一个突然对皮埃尔说，显然这问题的意思就是皮埃尔心里想的：假如你想吃，我们就给，但你要说，你是不是老实人？
“我？我……”皮埃尔吞吞吐吐，觉得有必要尽量降低自己的社会地位，以便接近兵士们，便于他们了解。“我是一位民防军官，真的，不过这里没有我的弟兄们；我来参加战斗，和自己人失散了。”
“瞧你！”一个士兵说。
另一个士兵摇了摇头。
“好吧，想吃就吃，面糊糊！”第一个士兵说，把木汤匙舔干净，递给了皮埃尔。
皮埃尔坐近火堆吃起来，锅里的糊糊他觉得是他吃过的最好食物。在他贪馋地俯身从锅里大勺大勺地舀着吃的时候，他的脸被火光照亮，三个兵默默地望着他。
“你要上哪儿去？你说哩！”其中一个又问。
“我去莫扎伊斯克。”
“你大概是老爷吧？”
“是的。”
“怎么称呼呢？”
“彼得·基里洛维奇。”
“呶，彼得·基里洛维奇，咱们一道去吧，我们送你去。”
在什么也看不见的黑暗中，士兵同皮埃尔一道向莫扎伊斯克走去。
当他们走近莫扎伊斯克，登上市郊陡峭的山峰，雄鸡已在高唱。皮埃尔同士兵一道走着，完全忘记客栈就在山脚下，他已走过而不知道。要不是他的驯马夫在半山上碰到他，他是想不起来的（他是如此的丢魂失魄）。驯马夫是去城里寻找他，现又返回客栈去的，他从白皮帽上认出了皮埃尔。
“爵爷，”他断断续续说，“我们已经绝望了。您怎么是走着来的？您这是上哪儿去啊，您说说看！”
“啊，好了。”皮埃尔说。
士兵停住了脚步。
“呶，怎么，找到自己人了？”一个问。
“呶，再见！彼得·基里洛维奇，是吧？再见了，彼得·基里洛维奇！”其余两人的声音说。
“再见。”皮埃尔说，同他的驯马夫一起往客栈走去。
“该给他们钱！”皮埃尔想，握住衣兜。“不，不用。”有一个声音对他说。
客栈的房间已没有空位子了：全部客满。皮埃尔穿过院子，蒙着头在自己马车里躺下睡觉。
Book 11 Chapter 9
PIERRE had hardly put his head on the pillow when he felt that he was dropping asleep. But all of a sudden he heard, almost with the distinctness of reality, the sound of the boom, boom, boom of the cannon, the groans and shrieks and dull thud of the falling shell, smelt the blood and powder; and the feeling of horror, of the dread of death came over him. He opened his eyes in a panic, and put his head out from the cloak. All was quiet in the yard. The only sound came from a servant of some sort talking with the porter at the gate, and splashing through the mud. Over Pierre's head, under the dark, wooden eaves, he heard pigeons fluttering, startled by the movement he had made in sitting up. The whole yard was pervaded by the strong smell of a tavern—full of peaceful suggestion and soothing relief to Pierre—the smell of hay, of dung, and of tar. Between two dark sheds he caught a glimpse of the pure, starlit sky.
“Thank God, that is all over!” thought Pierre, covering his head up again. “Oh, how awful terror is, and how shamefully I gave way to it! But they…they were firm and calm all the while up to the end …” he thought. They, in Pierre's mind, meant the soldiers, those who had been on the battery, and those who had given him food, and those who had prayed to the holy picture. They—those strange people, of whom he had known nothing hitherto—they stood out clearly and sharply in his mind apart from all other people.
“To be a soldier, simply a soldier!” thought Pierre as he fell asleep. “To enter with one's whole nature into that common life, to be filled with what makes them what they are. But how is one to cast off all that is superfluous, devilish in one's self, all the burden of the outer man? At one time I might have been the same. I might have run away from my father as I wanted to. After the duel with Dolohov too I might have been sent for a soldier.”
And into Pierre's imagination flashed a picture of the dinner at the club, at which he had challenged Dolohov, then the image of his benefactor at Torzhok. And there rose before his mind a solemn meeting of the lodge. It was taking place at the English Club. And some one he knew, some one near and dear to him, was sitting at the end of the table. “Why, it is he! It is my benefactor. But surely he died?” thought Pierre. “Yes, he did die, but I didn't know he was alive. And how sorry I was when he died, and how glad I am he is alive again!” On one side of the table were sitting Anatole, Dolohov, Nesvitsky, Denisov, and others like them (in Pierre's dream these people formed as distinct a class apart as those other men whom he had called them to himself), and those people, Anatole and Dolohov, were loudly shouting and singing. But through their clamour the voice of his benefactor could be heard speaking all the while, and the sound of his voice was as weighty and as uninterrupted as the din of the battlefield, but it was pleasant and comforting. Pierre did not understand what his benefactor was saying, but he knew (the category of his ideas, too, was distinct in his dream) that he was talking of goodness, of the possibility of being like them. And they with their simple, good, plucky faces were surrounding his benefactor on all sides. But though they were kindly, they did not look at Pierre; they did not know him. Pierre wanted to attract their notice, and to speak to them. He got up, but at the same instant became aware that his legs were bare and chill.
He felt ashamed, and put his arm over his legs, from which his cloak had in fact slipped off. For an instant Pierre opened his eyes as he pulled up the cloak, and saw the same roofs, and posts, and yard, but it was now full of bluish light, and glistening with dew or frost.
“It's getting light,” thought Pierre. “But that's not the point. I want to hear and understand the benefactor's words.”
He muffled himself in the cloak again, but the masonic dinner and his benefactor would not come back. All that remained were thoughts, clearly expressed in words, ideas; some voice was speaking, or Pierre was thinking.
When he recalled those thoughts later, although they had been evoked by the impressions of that day, Pierre was convinced that they were uttered by some one outside himself. It seemed to him that he had never been capable of thinking those thoughts and expressing them in that form in his waking moments.
“The most difficult thing is the subjection of man's will to the law of God,” said the voice. “Simplicity is the submission to God; there is no escaping from Him. And they are simple. They do not talk, but act. A word uttered is silver, but unuttered is golden. No one can be master of anything while he fears death. And all things belong to him who fears it not. If it were not for suffering, a man would know not his limits, would know not himself. The hardest thing” (Pierre thought or heard in his dream) “is to know how to unite in one's soul the significance of the whole. To unite the whole?” Pierre said to himself. “No, not to unite. One cannot unite one's thoughts, but to harness together all those ideas, that's what's wanted. Yes, one must harness together, harness together,” Pierre repeated to himself with a thrill of ecstasy, feeling that those words, and only those words, expressed what he wanted to express, and solved the whole problem fretting him.
“Yes, one must harness together; it's time to harness…”
“We want to harness the horses; it's time to harness the horses, your excellency! Your excellency,” some voice was repeating, “we want to harness the horses; it's time…”
It was the groom waking Pierre. The sun was shining full in Pierre's face. He glanced at the dirty tavern yard; at the well in the middle of it soldiers were watering their thin horses; and waggons were moving out of the gate.
He turned away with repugnance, and shutting his eyes, made haste to huddle up again on the seat of the carriage. “No, I don't want that; I don't want to see and understand that; I want to understand what was revealed to me in my sleep. Another second and I should have understood it all. But what am I to do? To harness, but how to harness all together?” And Pierre felt with horror that the whole meaning of what he had seen and thought in his dream had slipped away.
The groom, the coachman, and the porter told Pierre that an officer had come with the news that the French were advancing on Mozhaisk and our troops were retreating.
Pierre got up, and ordering the carriage to be got out and to drive after him, crossed the town on foot.
The troops were marching out, leaving tens of thousands of wounded behind. The wounded could be seen at the windows of the houses, and were crowding the yards and streets. Screams, oaths, and blows could be heard in the streets about the carts which were to carry away the wounded. Pierre put his carriage at the service of a wounded general of his acquaintance, and drove with him to Moscow. On the way he was told of the death of his brother-in-law, Anatole, and of the death of Prince Andrey.
皮埃尔一挨到枕头，立刻便觉得入了梦乡；但突然清晰地分明如同事实一样地听到了射击的砰砰声，听到了呻吟、喊叫和炮弹落地的声音，闻到血腥和火药味，而且，恐怖的感觉和死亡的畏惧攫住了他。他吓得睁开了眼睛，从大衣底下抬起头来。院子里，一切静悄悄。只有大门内，一个与店老板答话的勤务兵在走动，踩着泥泞发出响声。在皮埃尔的头顶上，在黑暗的木板披屋屋檐下，扑腾着几只鸽子，皮埃尔翻身的动作惊动了它们。满院了散发着和平的此刻令皮埃尔心醉的浓烈的客栈气味，干草，马粪和焦油味。在两间黑色的披屋之间，现出一片明净的星空。 
“感谢上帝，这下再听不到了。”皮埃尔想，同时又把头蒙了起来。“呵，恐怖的感觉多吓人，我屈服于它是多难为情！可他们……·他·们始终坚定沉着……“他又想。·他·们照皮埃尔所指，就是士兵，就是驻守炮垒，给他饭吃，对着圣像祷告的士兵。·他·们——就是陌生的，他在这之前毫无所知的人们，他们在他脑子里明显而尖锐地不同于其余的人。
“当兵去，就当一名士兵！”皮埃尔想着，渐渐要入睡了。
“全身心地投入这种共同的生活中去，深刻体验使他们变成那样的人的一切。但如何摆脱人的外表这付多余的恶魔般的累赘呢？有个时候我是能够做到这一点的。我本来可以逃离父亲，像我所想的那样。我还本来可以在同多洛霍夫决斗后被送去当兵。”于是，在皮埃尔想象中闪现出那次他向多洛霍夫挑起决斗的午餐会，和托尔若克的慈善家。皮埃尔还想起了那次有气派的共济会分会的聚餐，那次宴会是在英国俱乐部举办的。一位熟识而又和蔼可亲的人坐在餐桌的末端。对，就是他！是慈善家。“是的，可他已死啦？”皮埃尔想。“是的，死了；但我不知道他活着。他死了是多么遗憾啊，而他又活过来了，我真高兴！”餐桌的一边坐着阿纳托利、多洛霍夫，涅斯维茨基、杰尼索夫和类似他们的其他人（睡梦中皮埃尔在心里把他们明白地归为一类，就像他把他刚才称之为他们的人归为一类一样），而这此人，阿纳托利、多洛霍夫等，大声地喊呀，唱呀；而在他们的喊叫声中，听见了慈善家不停地说话声，他的声音像战场上的轰鸣一样的有力，一样地持续不断，但听来悦耳，使人感到安慰。皮埃尔不明白慈善家在讲什么，但他知道（睡梦中，他对思想的分类也同样清楚），慈善家在讲善，在讲如何成为他们那样的人。而他们正团团围在慈善家身边，他们的容貌单纯善良而坚定。然而，他们虽然善良，但并不注意皮埃尔，也不认识他。皮埃尔想引起他们的注意，他想说话。他欠起身来，就在这一刹那，他觉得腿很冷，原来腿已露了出来。
他感到难为情，便用手去捂着腿，大衣果然从腿上滑下去了。皮埃尔在拉上大衣时，一下子睁开了眼睛，仍然看见那两间木板披屋，廊柱、院子，但这一切现在都泛出蓝色，发亮，蒙着一层露珠或水霜的光泽。
“天亮了，”皮埃尔想。“但先别管它。我得把慈善家的话听完，弄个明白。”他又用大衣蒙住了头，可是分会的雅座和慈善家全没啦。只剩下那些话的涵意，那些别人对他讲过的，或皮埃尔本人反复思考过的意思。
皮埃尔后来回想起这些意思时，坚信有人从他身外告诉他的，尽管这些意思是由这一天的印象引发而来。他觉得，他从未在清醒的时候能够那样思考和表达自己的想法。
“战争，是人的自由最艰难地去服从上帝的条律，”有一个声音说道。“纯朴，是对上帝的忠顺；你离不开上帝。·他·们就是纯朴的。他们不说，而是实干。说出来的话是银，没说出来的是金。人一怕死，便什么也主宰不了。而谁不怕死，他便拥有一切。假如没有苦难，人就不会知道自己的极限，不会认识自己。最难于做到的（皮埃尔继续在睡梦中想，或倾听）是要善于把这一切的意义在自己的心中统一起来。一切都统一吗？”皮埃尔自问。“不，不是统一。不可能统一各种想法，而是把所有这些想法结合起来，这才是该做的！对，应该结合，应该结合！”怀着内心的喜悦，皮埃尔对自己重复说，觉得正是这句话，也唯有这句话足以表达他想表达的意思，整个拆磨他的问题便解决了。
“对，应该是结合，是结合的时候了。”
“应该套车了，是套车的时候了，爵爷！爵爷，”一个声音在重复说，“应该套车了，是套车的时候了……”① 
①俄语中“套车”与“结合”词根相同，声韵一样。
这是驯马夫的声音，在叫醒皮埃尔。太阳已直射在皮埃尔脸上。他扫视这肮脏的客栈的院子，士兵在井旁饮几匹瘦马、几辆大车正赶出大门。皮埃尔不屑一顾地转过脸去，闭上眼睛，急忙又躺倒在马车座位上。“不，不要这个，我不想看见不想了解这个，我想了解我刚才梦见的事儿。再有一秒钟，我就会全明白。可我现在怎么办？结合，怎样把一切结合起来呢？”结果，皮埃尔恐惧地感觉到，他梦中所见所想的事情的意义完全没了踪影。
驯马夫、车夫和店老板告诉皮埃尔，有位军官带来了消息说，法国兵已临近莫扎伊斯克，我们的人正在撤退。
皮埃尔起身，吩咐把东西收拾好后去赶上他们，然后就徒步穿城走了。
部队已开拔，留下约一万名伤员。这些伤员在各家院子里和窗口都看得见，也拥挤在大街小巷。在街头待运伤兵的车辆周围，传来喊叫、咒骂和殴斗的声音。皮埃尔把赶上他的一辆马车拨给他熟悉的一位受伤的将军用，用他一道赶往莫斯科。在路上，皮埃尔得知他的内兄和安德烈公爵的死讯。
Book 11 Chapter 10
ON THE 30TH Pierre returned to Moscow. Almost at the city gates he was met by an adjutant of Count Rastoptchin's.
“Why, we have been looking for you everywhere,” said the adjutant. “The count urgently wants to see you. He begs you to come to him at once on very important business.” Instead of going home, Pierre hailed a cab-driver and drove to the governor's.
Count Rastoptchin had only that morning arrived from his summer villa at Sokolniky. The ante-room and waiting-room in the count's house were full of officials, who had been summoned by him, or had come to him for instructions. Vassiltchekov and Platov had already seen the count, and informed him that the defence of Moscow was out of the question, and the city would be surrendered. Though the news was being concealed from the citizens, the heads of various departments and officials of different kinds knew that Moscow would soon be in the hands of the enemy, just as Count Rastoptchin knew it. And all of them to escape personal responsibility had come to the governor to inquire how to act in regard to the offices in their charge.
At the moment when Pierre went into the waiting-room, a courier from the army was just coming out from an interview with the count.
The courier waved his hand with a hopeless air at the questions with which he was besieged, and walked across the room.
While he waited, Pierre watched with weary eyes the various officials—young, old, military, and civilian, important and insignificant— who were gathered together in the room. All seemed dissatisfied and uneasy. Pierre went up to one group of functionaries, among whom he recognised an acquaintance. After greeting him, they went on with their conversation.
“Well, to send out and bring back again would be no harm; but in the present position of affairs there's no answering for anything.”
“But look here, what he writes,” said another, pointing to a printed paper he held in his hand.
“That's a different matter. That's necessary for the common people,” said the first.
“What is it?” asked Pierre.
“The new proclamation.”
Pierre took it and began to read.
“His highness the prince has passed Mozhaisk, so as to unite with the troops that are going to join him, and has taken up a strong position, where the enemy cannot attack him suddenly. Forty-eight cannon with shells have been sent him from here, and his highness declares that he will defend Moscow to the last drop of blood, and is ready even to fight in the streets. Don't mind, brothers, that the courts of justice are closed; we must take our measures, and we'll deal with miscreants in our own fashion. When the time comes, I shall have need of some gallant fellows, both of town and country. I will give the word in a couple of days; but now there's no need, and I hold my peace. The axe is useful; the pike, too, is not to be despised; but best of all is the three-pronged fork: a Frenchman is no heavier than a sheaf of rye. To-morrow after dinner, I shall take the Iversky Holy Mother to St. Catherine's Hospital to the wounded. There we will consecrate the water; they will soon be well again. I, too am well now; one of my eyes was bad, but now I look well out of both.”
“Why, I was told by military men,” said Pierre, “that there could be no fighting in the town itself, and the position…”
“To be sure, that's just what we are saying,” said the first speaker.
“But what does that mean: ‘One of my eyes was bad, but now I look out of both'?” asked Pierre.
“The count had a sty in his eye,” said the adjutant smiling; “and he was very much put out when I told him people were coming to ask what was the matter. And oh, count,” he said suddenly, addressing Pierre with a smile, “we have been hearing that you are in trouble with domestic anxieties, that the countess, your spouse…”
“I have heard nothing about it,” said Pierre indifferently. “What is it you have heard?”
“Oh, you know, stories are so often made up. I only repeat what I hear.”
“What have you heard?”
“Oh, they say,” said the adjutant again with the same smile, “that the countess, your wife, is preparing to go abroad. It's most likely nonsense.”
“It may be,” said Pierre, looking absent-mindedly about him. “Who is that?” he asked, indicating a tall old man in a clean blue overcoat, with a big, snow-white beard and eyebrows and a ruddy face.
“That? Oh, he's a merchant; that is, he's the restaurant-keeper, Vereshtchagin. You have heard the story of the proclamation, I dare say?”
“Oh, so that's Vereshtchagin!” said Pierre, scrutinising the firm, calm face of the old merchant, and seeking in it some token of treachery.
“That's not the man himself. That's the father of the fellow who wrote the proclamation,” said the adjutant. “The young man himself is in custody, and I fancy it will go hard with him.”
A little old gentleman with a star, and a German official with a cross on his neck, joined the group.
“It's a complicated story, you see,” the adjutant was relating. “The proclamation appeared two months ago. It was brought to the count. He ordered inquiry to be made. Well, Gavrilo Ivanitch made investigations; the proclamation had passed through some sixty-three hands. We come to one and ask, From whom did you get it? From so and so. And the next refers us on to so and so; and in that way they traced it to Vereshtchagin … a half-educated merchant's son, one of those pretty dears, you know,” said the adjutant smiling. “He too was asked, From whom did you get it? And we knew very well from whom he had it really. He could have had it from no one but the director of the post-office. But it was clear there was an understanding between them. He says he got it from no one, but had composed it himself. And threaten him and question him as they would, he stuck to it, he had written it himself. So the matter was reported, and the count had him sent for. ‘From whom did you get the proclamation?' ‘I wrote it myself.' Well! you know the count,” said the adjutant, with a smile of pride and delight. “He was fearfully angry; and only fancy the insolence, and lying, and stubbornness!”
“Oh! the count wanted him to say it was from Klutcharyov, I understand,” said Pierre.
“Oh no, not at all,” said the adjutant in dismay. “Klutcharyov had sins enough to answer for without that, and that's why he was banished. But any way, the count was very indignant. ‘How could you write it?' says the count. He took up the Hamburg Gazette that was on the table. ‘Here it is. You did not compose it, but translated it, and very badly too, because you don't even know French, you fool.' What do you think? ‘No,' says he, ‘I have never read any gazettes; I made it up.' ‘But if so, you're a traitor, and I'll hand you over for judgment, and you will be hanged.' ‘Tell us from whom you got it.' ‘I have not seen any gazettes; I composed it.' So the matter rests. The count sent for the father; he sticks to the same story. And they had him tried, and he was sentenced, I believe, to hard labour. Now the father has come to petition in his favour. But he is a worthless young scamp! You know the style of spoilt merchant's son, a regular dandy and lady-killer; has attended lectures of some sort, and so fancies that he's above everybody. A regular young scamp! His father has an eating-house here on the Kamenny bridge; and in the shop, you know, there is a great picture of God the Supporter of All, represented with a sceptre in one hand and the empire in the other; well, he took that picture home for a few days, and what do you suppose he did! He got hold of some wretched painter…”
三十日，皮埃尔回到莫斯科。快到城门口时，拉斯托普钦伯爵的副官迎了过来。 
“我们到处找您，”副官说，“伯爵一定要见您。他请您立即到他那儿去，有一件非常重要的事情。”皮埃尔没有回家，雇了一辆马车就到总督那儿去了。
拉斯托普钦伯爵这天早上才从郊外索科尔尼茨别墅回到城里。伯爵住宅的前厅和接待室挤满了官员，有奉召而来的，有来请示的。瓦西里奇科夫和普拉托夫已同伯爵晤面，并向他解释莫斯科无法防守，只得放弃。这消息虽然瞒着居民，但官员们，各机关的长官们则已知道，莫斯科将落入敌手，像拉斯托普钦一样，他们为了推卸责任，都来向总督请示他们掌管的部门应当怎么办。
皮埃尔进入接待室时，一位军队的信使正从伯爵办公室出来。
信使对大家的提问无可奈何地摆了摆手，径直穿过接待室走了。
等候接见时，皮埃尔睁开疲倦的眼睛环顾室内的各色人物，年老的和年青的，军官和文官，大官和小官。大家都有一付不满不安的样子。皮埃尔走到一伙官员跟前，里面有一个他认识的。他们同皮埃尔寒暄后，继续谈他们的话。
“先撤出，然后再回师，不会吃亏；处在目前这种情况，无论怎样负不了责。”
“可是这个，他写的。”另一人说，指着他手里的印刷品。
“这是另一码事。这对民众是需要的。”刚才来的那人说。
“这是什么？”皮埃尔问。
“一张新的通告。”皮埃尔拿过来读。
“尊贵的公爵已越过莫扎伊斯克，以便尽快与向他靠拢的部队汇合，并已驻防于坚固阵地，敌人在彼处不会突然向他进攻。本城已向他运去四十八尊大炮和弹药，勋座称，他将保卫莫斯科直至最后一滴血，且已作好巷战准备。弟兄们，你们别管政府机关已关闭，应该各安其事，我们会惩罚恶人的！到时候，我需要城里和乡下的青壮。一两天内我将发出号召，现在还不必，所以我沉默。用斧头很好，用长矛不赖，用三般叉最好：法国佬不会比一捆麦子重。明天，午饭后，我要举着伊韦尔圣母像去叶卡捷琳娜医院看伤兵。在那里化圣水：他们会很快复元；我现在身体好；本来一只眼有病，而现在双目可视。
“军方人士告诉我，”皮埃尔说，“城里不能作战，地形……”
“那是，我们正谈论着呢。”刚才那位官员说。
“可这是什么意思：本来一只眼有病，而现在双目可视？”
皮埃尔问。
“伯爵眼睛长了个小疖子，”副官微笑着说，“当我告诉他民众来询问他得了什么病，他十分不安。而您呢，伯爵？”副官突然转身朝皮埃尔笑着说：“我们听说您有家庭纠葛，似乎伯爵夫人，您的夫人……”
“我一无所知，”皮埃尔心不在焉地说，“您听到什么啦？”
“没有，您知道，常常有人编造。我说的是听来的。”
“您究竟听到什么啦？”
“有人说啦，”副官依然微笑着说，“伯爵夫人，您妻子，打算出国。大概是，胡说……”
“可能，”皮埃尔说，沮丧地看了看周围。“这人是谁？”皮埃尔指着一个矮老头问，这人身穿整洁的蓝呢大衣，留着一把雪白的大胡子，雪白的眉毛，红光满面。
“他么？是一个商人，他就是饭店老板韦列夏金。您也许听说了布告的事。”
“噢，原来他就是韦列夏金！”皮埃尔说，打量着老商人那张坚强而镇定的面孔，在他脸上寻找奸细的表情。
“这不是他本人。是他儿子写的布告，”副官说，“那年青人坐牢了，看来要遭殃。”
一个戴勋章的小老头，还有一个脖子上挂十字架的德裔官员，走到谈话的人们跟前。
“你们知道吗，”副官详细作着说明，“事情弄混淆了。那篇宣言是两个月前发现的。向伯爵报告了。他便下令追查。加夫里洛、伊凡内奇查出，宣言已经经过六十三人的手。先追问一个人：‘你从谁那儿搞到的？'‘某某人。'又去找这个人：‘你是从谁手里得到的？'等等，一直问到韦列夏金……一个没念过什么书的小商人，你们晓得的，一个不讨厌的小商人，”副官微笑着说。又问他：‘你是谁给你的？'而主要的是，我们知道是谁给他的。他不可能从别人手里得到，只有从邮政局长那里。但是，他们显然串通好了。他说：‘没有准给我，我自己写出来的。'逼他也好，劝他也好，他总坚持：‘自己写的。'只好这样报告伯爵。伯爵吩咐把他叫来。‘你的布告是哪儿来的？'‘我自己写的。'呶，大家都了解伯爵！”副官骄傲地愉快地笑着说。“他勃然大怒，神态真可怕，你们想想，竟然那么胆大妄为，撒谎和顽固！……”
“噢！伯爵要他供出克柳恰廖夫，我明白了！”皮埃尔说。
“完全不需要，”副官惊慌地说，“即使没有这一条，克柳恰廖夫也有罪过，所以才被流放。问题是伯爵非常气愤。‘你怎么可能写呢？'伯爵说。他从桌上拿起一份《汉堡日报》。‘是这个。你没有写，是翻译的，而且译得很糟，因为你这个傻瓜甚至不懂得法语。'您猜怎么着？‘不，他说，我根本不看什么报纸，我自己写的。'‘既然是这样，那你就是叛徒，我要把你交付法庭，你会被绞死的。说，从谁手上拿到的？'‘我什么报也没有见过，是我写的。'事情就这样僵持着。伯爵把他父亲召来：他仍坚持前供。可是，交付法庭，好像判处他服苦役。现在父亲来为他求情。为这坏小子！你们知道，这样的商人儿子绔袴，勾引女人的家伙，在哪儿听了演讲，于是就满不在乎，无所顾忌。这就是一个花花公子！他父亲在石桥旁边开了一家饭馆，在饭馆里，知道吗，挂着一幅全能的上帝的大画像，一手握权杖，一手托金球；他把这张圣像拿回家去好几天，他都干了些什么？他找来一个浑蛋画家……”
Book 11 Chapter 11
IN THE MIDDLE of this new story Pierre was summoned to the governor.
He went into Count Rastoptchin's study. Rastoptchin, frowning, passed his hand across his forehead and eyes as Pierre entered. A short man was saying something, but as soon as Pierre walked in he stopped, and went out.
“Ah! greetings to you, valiant warrior,” said Rastoptchin as soon as the other man had left the room. “We have been hearing about your prouesses! But that's not the point. Mon cher, entre nous, are you a mason?” said Count Rastoptchin in a severe tone, that suggested that it was a crime to be so, but that he intended to pardon it. Pierre did not speak. “Mon cher, je suis bien informé; but I know that there are masons and masons, and I hope you don't belong to those among them who, by way of regenerating the human race, are trying to ruin Russia.”
“Yes, I am a mason,” answered Pierre.
“Well then, look here, my dear boy. You are not unaware, I dare say, of the fact that Speransky and Magnitsky have been sent—to their proper place—and the same has been done with Klutcharyov and the others who, under the guise of building up the temple of Solomon, have been trying to destroy the temple of their fatherland. You may take it for granted there are good reasons for it, and that I could not have banished the director of the post-office here if he had not been a dangerous person. Now, it has reached my ears that you sent him your carriage to get out of the town, and that you have even taken charge of his papers. I like you, and wish you no harm, and as you are half my age, I advise you, as a father might, to break off all connection with people of that sort, and to get away from here yourself as quickly as you can.”
“But what was Klutcharyov's crime?” asked Pierre
“That's my business; and it's not yours to question me,” cried Rastoptchin.
“If he is accused of having circulated Napoleon's proclamation, the charge has not been proved,” said Pierre, not looking at Rastoptchin. “And Vereshtchagin…”
“Nous y voilà,” Rastoptchin suddenly broke in, scowling and shouting louder than ever. “Vereshtchagin is a traitor and a deceiver, who will receive the punishment he deserves,” he said, with the vindictiveness with which people speak at the recollection of an affront. “But I did not send for you to criticise my actions, but in order to give you advice or a command, if you will have it so. I beg you to break off all connection with Klutcharyov and his set, and to leave the town. And I'll knock the nonsense out of them, wherever I may find it.” And, probably becoming conscious that he was taking a heated tone with Bezuhov, who was as yet guilty of no offence, he added, taking Pierre's hand cordially: “We are on the eve of a public disaster, and I haven't time to say civil things to every one who has business with me. My head is at times in a perfect whirl. Well, what are you going to do, you personally?”
“Oh, nothing,” answered Pierre, with his eyes still downcast, and no change in the expression of his dreamy face
The count frowned.
“Un conseil d'ami, mon cher. Decamp, and as soon as may be, that's my advice. A bon entendeur, salut! Good-bye, my dear boy. Oh, by the way,” he called after him at the door, “is it true the countess has fallen into the clutches of the holy fathers of the Society of Jesus?”
Pierre made no answer. He walked out from Rastoptchin's room, scowling and wrathful as he had never been seen before.
By the time he reached home it was getting dark. Eight persons of different kinds were waiting on him that evening. A secretary of a committee, the colonel of his battalion of militia, his steward, his bailiff, and other persons with petitions. All of them had business matters with Pierre, which he had to settle. He had no understanding of their questions, nor interest in them, and answered them with the sole object of getting rid of these people. At last he was left alone, and he broke open and read his wife's letter.
“They—the soldiers on the battery, Prince Andrey killed … the old man.… Simplicity is submission to God's will. One has to suffer…the significance of the whole…one must harness all together…my wife is going to be married.… One must forget and understand …” And, without undressing, he threw himself on his bed and at once fell asleep.
When he waked up next morning his steward came in to announce that a police official was below, sent expressly by Count Rastoptchin to find out whether Count Bezuhov had gone, or was going away.
A dozen different people were waiting in the drawing-room to see Pierre on business. Pierre dressed in haste, and instead of going down to see them, he ran down the back staircase and out by the back entry to the gates.
From that moment till the occupation of Moscow was over, no one of Bezuhov's household saw him again, nor could discover his whereabouts, in spite of every effort to track him down.
在这场新鲜的谈话中间，皮埃尔被请去见总督。 
皮埃尔走进拉斯托普钦伯爵办公室。他进去时，伯爵正皱着眉头用手揉额头和眼睛。一个个儿不高的人正在谈话，当皮埃尔刚刚进去，便打住并退了出来。
“啊！您好，伟大的军人，”拉斯托普钦在那人一出房门便说。“我们听说您的Prouesses①了！但问题不在那儿。Mon　cher，entre　nous②，您是共济会员吗？”拉斯托普钦伯爵以严厉的口吻说，仿佛出了什么不好的事情，但是他又打算宽恕。皮埃尔沉默。“Moncher，je　suis　bien　informé③，但我知道，有各种各样的共济会员，希望您不属于那种以拯救人类作幌子而实际想毁灭俄国的共济会员。” 
①丰功伟绩。
②这里没有外人，亲爱的。
③亲爱的，我可是什么都知道啊。
“是的，我是共济会员。”皮埃尔回答。
“那，您瞧，我亲爱的。我想，您不会不知道，斯佩兰斯基和马格尼茨基先生已被放逐到该去的地方；对克柳恰廖夫先生也是这么办的，对其余以修建所罗门寺院为幌子而竭力破坏自己祖国寺院的人也一样。您能够明白，这样做是有道理的，而且，假如本城邮政局长不是敌对份子，我是不能送他去流放的。现在，我已弄清楚了，您把自己的马车派给他出城用，您甚至从他那儿收存了一些文件。我是爱您的，不希望您坏，并且，既然您年轻我一倍，那我就要像父亲一样劝您停止同这种人的来往，您本人也尽快离开此地。
“可是，伯爵，克柳恰廖夫究竟犯了什么罪？”皮埃尔问。
“该知道的是我，不该问的是您。”拉斯托普钦喊叫起来。
“如果有人指控他散发拿破仑的布告的话，那可是还未证实的啊。”皮埃尔说（并不看着拉斯托普钦），“韦列夏金也……”
“Nous　y　voilà，”①拉斯托普钦突然沉下脸来，打断皮埃尔，比刚才更大声地喊叫，“韦列夏金是变节者和叛徒，他会得到应得的极刑，”拉斯托普钦恶狠狠地说，就像人们在回忆屈辱时那样愤愤不平。“但我请您来不是为了讨论我的事，而是给您劝告，或者说是命令，如果您想这样认为。我请您停止同克柳恰廖夫这样的人的联系，并且离开这里。我要惩处不轨行为。不管它发生在什么人身上。”大概他醒悟到好像是在斥责没有任何过失的别祖霍夫，于是他友好地拉住皮埃尔的手，又说：“Nous　sommes　á　la　veille　d'un　de'sastre　public，et　je　n'ai　pas　le　temps　de　dire　des　gentillesses　á　tous　ceux　qui　ont　affaire　a　moi．我有时晕头转向！Eh　bien，mon　cher，pu'est－ce　que　vous　faites，vous　personnelle　ment？”②“Mais　rein．③”皮埃尔回答，依然没有抬起头来，也没改变沉思的面部表情。
伯爵皱紧了眉头。
“Un　conseil　d'ami，mon　cher，Décampez　et　au　plutǒt，c'est　tout　ce　que　je　vous　dis．A　bon　entendeur　salut④！再见，我亲爱的。噢，对了，”他从门里向他大声说，“伯爵夫人真的陷入des　saints　peres　de　 la　Société　de　Je'sus．”⑤ 
①一点不错。
②我们处于大灾难的前夕，我没功夫同所有与我接触的人讲客气。好啦，亲爱的，您有何打算，您个人？
③没什么打算。
④友谊的忠告。赶快离开，这就是我要对您说的话。善听者得福。
⑤耶稣会神父们的股掌。
皮埃尔什么也没回答，便从拉斯托普钦那里走了出去，露出一副愁眉不展，一副从未如此生过气的样子。
当他坐车回到府上，已是黄昏时分。当晚，有七八个不同身份的人去看他。有委员会的书记，他那一营的上校，管事、管家和几个来要钱或求情的。他们都有非他本人不能解决的事面见他。皮埃尔一点也不明白，也对那些事毫无兴趣，对所有的问题一概应付了事，以便摆脱这些人。最后，剩下了他一个人，他开始拆阅妻子的信。
“他们就是炮垒上的士兵，安德烈公爵阵亡了……老头……纯朴就是对上帝的忠顺。应该受苦……一切的意义……应该结合……妻子出嫁……应该忘记和懂得……”他走近床铺，衣服也不脱就倒在床上，一翻身便睡着了。
当他第二天早晨醒来，管家来禀报，拉斯托普钦伯爵专门派了一位警官来了解别祖霍夫伯爵走了没有。
又有十来位各种人有事面见皮埃尔，在客厅里等候。皮埃尔急忙穿好衣服，但不是去见等候他的人，反而去了后面的门廊，从那里走出家门。
从此直到莫斯科浩劫结束，别祖霍夫家人虽然四处寻找，再也没看见皮埃尔，也不知其下落。
Book 11 Chapter 12
THE ROSTOVS remained in Moscow till the 1st of September, the day before the enemy entered the city.
After Petya had joined Obolensky's regiment of Cossacks and had gone away to Byely Tserkov, where the regiment was being enrolled, the countess fell into a panic of terror. The idea that both her sons were at the war, that they had both escaped from under her wing, that any day either of them—and possibly even both at once, like the three sons of a lady of her acquaintance—might be killed, seemed for the first time that summer to strike her imagination with cruel vividness. She tried to get Nikolay back, wanted to go herself after Petya, or to obtain some post for him in Petersburg; but all these seemed equally impossible. Petya could not be brought back except by the return of his regiment, or through being transferred to another regiment on active service. Nikolay was somewhere at the front, and nothing had been heard from him since the letter in which he had given a detailed account of his meeting with Princess Marya. The countess could not sleep at nights, and when she did sleep, she dreamed that her sons had been killed. After much talking the matter over, and many consultations of friends, the count at last hit on a means for soothing the countess. He got Petya transferred from Obolensky's regiment to Bezuhov's, which was in formation near Moscow. Though, even so, Petya remained in the army, by this exchange the countess had the consolation of seeing one son at least again under her wing; and she hoped to manage not to let her Petya escape her again, but to succeed in getting him always appointed to places where there would be no risk of his being in battle. While Nikolay had been the only one in danger, the countess had fancied (and had suffered some pricks of conscience on the subject) that she loved her elder son better than the other children. But now that her younger boy, the scapegrace Petya, always idle at his lessons, always in mischief, and teasing every one, her little Petya, with his snub-nose, his merry black eyes, his fresh colour, and the soft down just showing on his cheeks, had slipped away into the company of those big, dreadful, cruel men, who were fighting away somewhere about something, and finding a sort of pleasure in it—now it seemed to the mother that she loved him more, far more, than all the rest. The nearer the time came for the return of her longed-for Petya to Moscow, the greater was the uneasiness of the countess. She positively thought she would never live to see such happiness. Not only Sonya's presence, even her favourite Natasha's, even her husband's company, irritated the countess. “What do I want with them, I want no one but Petya!” she thought. One day towards the end of August, the Rostovs received a second letter from Nikolay. He wrote from the province of Voronezh, where he had been sent to procure remounts. This letter did not soothe the countess. Knowing that one son was out of danger, she seemed to feel even greater alarm on Petya's account.
Although by the 20th of August almost all the Rostovs' acquaintances had left Moscow; although everybody was trying to persuade the countess to get away as quickly as possible, she would not hear of leaving till her treasure, her idolised Petya, had come back. On the 28th of August Petya arrived. The morbidly passionate tenderness with which his mother received him was by no means gratifying to the sixteen-year-old officer. Though his mother concealed her intention of never letting him escape from under her wing again, Petya divined her plans, and instinctively afraid of his mother's making him too soft, of her “making a ninny” of him (as he expressed it in his own mind), he treated her rather coolly, avoided being with her, and during his stay in Moscow devoted himself exclusively to Natasha, for whom he had always had the warmest brotherly affection, almost approaching adoration.
The count, with his characteristic carelessness, had by the 28th made no preparations for leaving, and the waggons that were to come from their Moscow and Ryazan estate to remove all their property out of the house only arrived on the 30th.
From the 28th to the 31st, Moscow was all bustle and movement. Every day thousands of wounded from the field of Borodino were brought in at the Dorogomilov gate and conveyed across Moscow, and thousands of vehicles, full of residents and their belongings, were driving out at the gates on the opposite side of the city. In spite of Rastoptchin's placards—either arising independently of them, or perhaps in consequence of them—the strangest and most contradictory rumours were circulating about the town. Some said that every one was forbidden to leave the city; others asserted that all the holy pictures had been taken from the churches, and every one was to be driven out of Moscow by force. Some said there had been another battle after Borodino, in which the French had been utterly defeated; others declared that the whole Russian army had been annihilated. Some talked of the Moscow militia, which was to advance, preceded by priests, to Three Hills; others whispered that Father Augustin had been forbidden to leave, that traitors had been caught, that the peasants were in revolt, and were plundering those who left the town, and so on. But all this was only talk: in reality even though the council at Fili, at which it was decided to abandon Moscow, had not yet taken place, all—those who were leaving and those who were staying—felt that Moscow would be surrendered, though they did not say so freely, and felt that they must make all haste to escape, and to save their property. There was a feeling that there must come a general crash and change, yet till the 1st of September everything went on unchanged. Like a criminal being led to the gallows, who knows in a minute he must die, and yet stares about, and puts straight the cap awry on his head, Moscow instinctively went on with the daily routine of life, though aware that the hour of ruin was approaching, when all the customary conditions of life would be at an end.
During the three days preceding the occupation of Moscow, the whole Rostov family was busily engaged in various practical ways. The head of the family, Count Ilya Andreitch, was continually driving about the town, picking up all the rumours that were in circulation, and while at home, gave superficial and hasty directions for the preparations for departure.
The countess superintended the sorting out of things to be packed; she was out of humour with every one, and was in continual pursuit of Petya, who was as continually escaping from her, and exciting her jealousy by spending all his time with Natasha. Sonya was the only person who really undertook the practical business of getting things packed. But Sonya had been particularly silent and melancholy of late. She had been present when Nikolay's letter mentioning Princess Marya had elicited the most delighted deductions from the countess, who saw in Nikolay's meeting with Princess Marya the direct intervention of Providence.
“I was never really happy,” said the countess, “when Bolkonsky was engaged to Natasha, but I had always longed for Nikolay to marry the princess, and I have always had a presentiment about it. And what a good thing it would be!”
Sonya felt that this was true; that the only possibility of retrieving the Rostovs' position was by Nikolay's marriage to an heiress, and that the princess would be an excellent match for him. But this reflection was very bitter for her. In spite, or perhaps in consequence, of her sadness, she undertook the difficult task of seeing after the sorting and packing of the household goods, and for whole days together she was busily employed. The count and countess referred to her when they had any orders to give. Petya and Natasha, on the contrary, did nothing to help their parents, but were generally in every one's way, and were only a hindrance. And all day long the house resounded with their flying footsteps and shouts and shrieks of causeless mirth. They laughed and were gay, not in the least because there was reason for laughter. But they were gay and glad at heart, and so everything that happened was reason enough for gaiety and laughter in them. Petya was in high spirits because he had left home a boy, and come back (so every one told him) a fine young man, because he was at home, because he had left Byely Tserkov, where there seemed no hope of being soon on active service, and come to Moscow where there would be fighting in a few days, and above all, because Natasha, whose lead he always followed, was in high spirits. Natasha was gay, because she had too long been sad, and now nothing reminded her of the cause of her sadness, and she was quite strong again. She was gay too, because she needed some one to adore her (the adoration of others was like the grease on the wheels, without which her mechanism never worked quite smoothly), and Petya did adore her. And above all, they were both gay, because there was war at the very gates of Moscow, because there would be fighting at the barriers, because arms were being given out, and everybody was rushing about, and altogether something extraordinary was happening, which is always inspiriting, especially for the young.
罗斯托夫家直到九月一日，即敌军开进莫斯科前夕，都还留在城里。 
彼佳参加奥博连斯基哥萨克团赴该团驻地白采尔科维之后，恐惧找上了伯爵夫人。他那两个儿子从军打仗，双双从她羽翼下飞走，今天或明天其中一个，也可能两个一齐阵亡，就像她一个朋友的三个儿子那样，这个想法，在这年夏天，第一次冷酷无情地清清楚楚呈现在她的脑际。她试图把尼古拉弄回她的身边，又想亲自去找彼佳，把他安插到彼得堡的某个地方，但两件事都办不成。彼佳不可能调回，除非随团一道或通过调动到另一个团的方式回家一趟。尼古拉在另一处部队上，他写来详细叙述与玛丽亚公爵小姐邂逅的上封信后，便再无音讯。伯爵夫人夜里睡不着觉，一旦睡着，便梦见两个阵亡的儿子。经过多次商量和交谈，伯爵终于想出一个安慰伯爵夫人的办法。他把彼佳从奥博连斯基团转到在莫斯科郊外整编的别祖霍夫团。虽然彼佳仍在军队服役，但这一调动之后，伯爵夫人至少看得到一个儿子置于自己的羽翼之下而得到慰藉，她还指望通过安排，使自己的彼佳不再放走，并且永远隶属于一个无论如何绝不会投入战斗的军事单位。现在只有尼古拉一个人有危险了，伯爵夫人觉得（她甚至如此后悔），她爱老大超过了其余孩子；可是，当那个小的调皮鬼，学习糟糕，在家里老是闹得天翻地覆，人人讨厌的彼佳，那个翘鼻子的彼佳，长着一双活泼的黑眼睛、面颊清新红润、刚长出一层茸毛的彼佳，与这些大个儿的可怕的粗暴的男人混在一起，而这些人·为·着·某·种·目·的而厮杀，并从中得到乐趣，这时，母亲便觉得她最爱这个小儿子远远超过爱自己所有别的孩子。彼佳回莫斯科的归期愈益临近，望眼欲穿的伯爵夫人的焦急不安愈益增加。她开始觉得她永远等不到这一幸福了。不仅有索尼娅，还有可爱的娜塔莎，甚至还有丈夫出现在她面前，他们都会使她惶惶不安。“我和他们有何相干，我谁也不希罕，只要彼佳！”她想。
八月底，罗斯托夫家收到尼古拉第二封来信。信是从沃罗涅日省寄来的，他去那里置办马匹。这封信没有使伯爵夫人放心。在知道一个孩子平安的情况下，她却更强烈地耽心起彼佳来了。
虽然从八月二十日起，几乎所有罗斯托夫家的熟人纷纷离开了莫斯科，虽然大家都劝伯爵夫人尽快出发，但在她的宝贝，她宠爱的彼佳未回来之前，她一点也听不进关于走的事。二十八日，彼佳回来了。母亲迎接他时那种热情得近乎病态的爱怜，这位十六岁的军官很不高兴。虽然母亲向他隐瞒着她的意图——从此再不把他从自己羽翼下放走，彼佳却明白她的用意，所以，他出于本能的畏惧，害怕同母亲过于缠绵而失掉男子气概（他心里这样想），他便对她冷漠，躲避她，在逗留莫斯科期间只与娜塔莎为伴，他对她总是表现出特殊的，近乎爱恋的手足之情。
因为伯爵一贯疏忽大意，八月二十八日还没有作好启程的任何准备，等待中的梁赞和莫斯科乡下派来搬运全部家产的车辆，三十日才抵达。
自八月二十八至三十一，全莫斯科处于忙乱和流动之中。每天，都有成千的波罗底诺战役的伤兵，从多罗戈米洛夫城门运进，分散安置于全市，又有几千辆大车载着居民和财物从别的城门驶出。尽管有拉斯托普钦的通告，或者与通告无关，或者与其直接有关，各种相互矛盾的、耸人听闻的消息仍在全城流传。有的人在说离城的命令尚未下达；相反，有的人却说，各教堂的圣像都已抬走，大家都要被强制疏散；有的人说波罗底诺战役之后又打了一仗，打垮了法军；有的人却相反地说，俄军全军覆没；有的人在议论民团将开赴三座山，神父走在前列；有的人在暗地里讲述奥古斯丁未获准离城啦，抓住了奸细啦，农民正在暴动，抢劫逃难的人啦，如此等等，不一而足。但这一切不过是传闻而已，而实际上呢，无论是走还是留下的人（其实，决定放弃莫斯科的菲利军事会议尚未召开），通通明白，尽管嘴上不说，莫斯科必将陷落，应该尽快打点行装，保住自己的财产。有一种气氛，好像突然之间一切会瓦解会变成另一个样子。但到一号为止，毫无变化发生。像被带往刑场的囚犯，明知死期已至，仍在回处张望，整理好戴歪了的帽子一样，莫斯科不由自主地继续着它的日常生活，虽然知道覆灭之期已近，届时，人们已惯于遵循的生活常规将瘫痪掉。
在莫斯科落入敌手之前的三天时间里，罗斯托夫一家大小都杂乱无章地忙于各种生活琐事。一家之主的伊利亚·安得烈伊奇伯爵天天乘马车在城里各处奔忙，收集四面八方的传闻，而在家里对于启程的准备，只作此浮皮潦草的安排。
伯爵夫人监督着东西的清理收拾，对谁都不满意，时时去照拂一见她就躲开的彼佳，为他而妒嫉娜塔莎，因为他总跟她在一起。只有索尼娅一个人料理实际的事务：收拾包裹。但是索尼娅最后这几天始终特别忧郁和沉默寡言。尼古拉那封提到玛丽亚公爵小姐的信，使得伯爵夫人高兴地下了断语，当着她的面说，在玛丽亚公爵小姐和尼古拉的巧遇上，她看到上帝的意愿。
“博尔孔斯基做娜塔莎的未婚夫，我从来没有高兴过，”伯爵夫人说，“可我总是希望，而且我有预感，尼古连卡会娶公爵小姐。这该多好啊！”
索尼娅觉得这是对的。罗斯托夫家业重振的唯一希望，是娶一房有钱的媳妇，而公爵小姐就是一个很好的配偶，但这对她说来太痛苦了。尽管痛苦，也许正由于痛苦，她把所有繁杂的如何收拾装箱打包的事全揽了起来，整整几天地忙碌，伯爵和伯爵夫人有什么事须要吩咐时，便去找她。相反，彼佳和娜塔莎不仅不帮父母的忙，还大部份时间让家里的所有人感到厌烦和碍事。整天几乎都听得到他们在宅院追逐、叫喊和无缘无故的哈哈大笑。他们高兴地笑闹，不是因为有值得笑的理由；但他们心里感到高兴和愉快，所以，无论发生什么事，都是他们开心和笑的理由。彼佳高兴，是因为他离家时是个孩子，而回来时（大家都对他这样说）已是男子汉大丈夫了，因为他回到家里还因为离开了白采尔科维，那地方没有即将投入战斗的希望，而今回到莫斯科，几天之内这儿就要打仗。主要的是，因为一贯影响他情绪的娜塔莎心里高兴。娜塔莎的高兴，则是由于她忧郁得太久了，现在已没有什么使她触发忧郁的情绪，并且，她身体健康。她高兴，是还因为有一个人在赞美她（他人的赞美，是使她的机器运转完全自如的必不可少的齿轮的润滑油），而彼佳就是这个人。总而言之，他们俩人高兴，是因为战争逼进莫斯科，就要在城墙边打起来，就要分发武器，大家在逃跑，在往别处去，发生着不寻常的事情，不寻常的事情对于众人来说，尤其是对青年人来说，总是很开心的。
Book 11 Chapter 13
ON SATURDAY, the 31st of August, the whole household of the Rostovs seemed turned upside down. All the doors stood wide open, all the furniture had been moved about or carried out, looking-glasses and pictures had been taken down. The rooms were littered up with boxes, with hay and packing paper and cord. Peasants and house-serfs were tramping about the parquet floors carrying out the baggage. The courtyard was crowded with peasants' carts, some piled high with goods and corded up, others still standing empty.
The voices and steps of the immense multitude of servants and of peasants, who had come with the carts, resounded through the courtyard and the house. The count had been out since early morning. The countess had a headache from the noise and bustle, and was lying down in the new divan-room with compresses steeped in vinegar on her head. Petya was not at home; he had gone off to see a comrade, with whom he was planning to get transferred from the militia to a regiment at the front. Sonya was in the great hall, superintending the packing of the china and glass. Natasha was sitting on the floor in her dismantled room among heaps of dresses, ribbons, and scarfs. She sat gazing immovably at the floor, holding in her hands an old ball-dress, the very dress, now out of fashion, in which she had been to her first Petersburg ball.
Natasha was ashamed of doing nothing when every one in the house was so busy, and several times that morning she had tried to set to work; but her soul was not in it; and she was utterly unable to do anything unless all her heart and soul were in it. She stood over Sonya while she packed the china, and tried to help; but soon threw it up, and went to her room to pack her own things. At first she had found it amusing to give away her dresses and ribbons to the maids, but afterwards when it came to packing what was left, it seemed a wearisome task.
“Dunyasha, you'll pack it all, dear? Yes? yes?”
And when Dunyasha readily undertook to do it all for her, Natasha sat down on the floor with the old ball-dress in her hands, and fell to dreaming on subjects far removed from what should have been occupying her mind then. From the reverie she had fallen into, Natasha was aroused by the talk of the maids in the next room and their hurried footsteps from their room to the backstairs. Natasha got up and looked out of the window. A huge train of carts full of wounded men had stopped in the street.
The maids, the footmen, the housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks, the coachmen, the grooms, and the scullion-boys were all at the gates, staring at the wounded men.
Natasha flung a white pocket-handkerchief over her hair, and holding the corners in both hands, went out into the street.
The old housekeeper, Mavra Kuzminishna, had left the crowd standing at the gate, and gone up to a cart with a tilt of bast-mats thrown over it. She was talking to a pale young officer who was lying in this cart. Natasha took a few steps forward and stood still timidly, holding her kerchief on and listening to what the housekeeper was saying.
“So you have no one then in Moscow?” Mavra Kuzminishna was saying. “You'd be more comfortable in some apartment.… In our house even. The masters are all leaving.”
“I don't know if it would be allowed,” said the officer in a feeble voice. “There's our chief officer … ask him,” and he pointed to a stout major who had turned back and was walking along the row of carts down the street.
Natasha glanced with frightened eyes into the face of the wounded officer, and at once went to meet the major.
“May the wounded men stay in our house?” she asked.
The major with a smile put his hand to his cap.
“What is your pleasure, ma'mselle?” he said, screwing up his eyes and smiling.
Natasha quietly repeated her question, and her face and her whole manner, though she still kept hold of the corners of the pocket-handkerchief, was so serious, that the major left off smiling, and after a moment's pondering—as though asking himself how far it were possible—he gave her an affirmative answer.
“Oh yes, why not, they may,” he said.
Natasha gave a slight nod, and went back with rapid steps to Mavra Kuzminishna, who was still talking with commiserating sympathy to the young officer.
“They may; he said they might!” whispered Natasha.
The officer in the covered cart turned into the Rostovs' courtyard, and dozens of carts of wounded men began at the invitation of the inhabitants to drive up to the entries of the houses in Povarsky Street. Natasha was evidently delighted at having to do with new people in conditions quite outside the ordinary routine of life. She joined Mavra Kuzminishna in trying to get as many as possible driven into their yard.
“We must ask your papa though,” said Mavra Kuzminishna.
“Nonsense, nonsense. What does it matter? For one day, we'll move into the drawing-room. We can give them all our half of the house.”
“What an idea! what next? The lodge, may be, the men's room, and old nurse's room; and you must ask leave for that.”
“Well, I will ask.”
Natasha ran indoors, and went on tiptoe to the half-open door of the divan-room, where there was a strong smell of vinegar and Hoffmann's drops.
“Are you asleep, mamma?”
“Oh, what chance is there of sleep!” said the countess, who had just dropped into a doze.
“Mamma, darling!” said Natasha, kneeling before her mother and leaning her face against her mother's. “I am sorry, forgive me, I'll never do it again, I waked you. Mavra Kuzminishna sent me; they have brought some wounded men in, officers, will you allow it? They have nowhere to go; I know you will allow it, …” she said rapidly, not taking breath.
“Officers? Who have been brought in? I don't understand,” said the countess.
Natasha laughed, the countess too smiled faintly.
“I knew you would let me … so I will tell them so.” And Natasha, kissing her mother, got up and went to the door.
In the hall she met her father, who had come home with bad news.
“We have lingered on too long!” said the count, with unconscious anger in his voice; “the club's shut up and the police are leaving.”
“Papa, you don't mind my having invited some of the wounded into the house?” said Natasha.
“Of course not,” said the count absently. “But that's not to the point. I beg you now not to let yourself be taken up with any nonsense, but to help to pack and get off—to get off to-morrow …”
And the count gave his butler and servants the same orders. Petya came back at dinner-time, and he too had news to tell them.
He said that the mob was taking up arms to-day in the Kremlin; that though Rastoptchin's placard said he would give the word two days later, it had really been arranged that all the people should go next day in arms to the Three Hills, and there a great battle was to be fought.
The countess looked in timid horror at her son's eager, excited face, as he told them this. She knew that if she said a word to try and dissuade Petya from going to this battle (she knew how he was enjoying the prospect of it), he would say something about the duty of a man, about honour, and the fatherland—something irrational, masculine, and perverse—which it would be useless to oppose, and all hope of preventing him would be gone. And, therefore, hoping to succeed in setting off before this battle, and in taking Petya with her, to guard and protect them on the road, she said nothing to her son, but after dinner called her husband aside, and with tears besought him to take her away as soon as could be, that night if possible. With the instinctive, feminine duplicity of love, though she had till then shown not the slightest sign of alarm, she declared she should die of terror if they did not get away that very night. She was indeed without feigning afraid now of everything.
八月三十一日，星期六，罗斯托夫府上一切都好像闹了个底朝天。所有房间的门都敞开着，全部家具搬了出来或挪动了地方，镜子和画框也取了下来。屋里摆着箱子，旁边零乱地放着干草、包装纸和绳索。农夫和家奴搬着东西，沉重地踩着镶木地板走动，院子里停满了农民的大车，一些已高高堆满东西并捆扎停当，一些还是空的。 
屋里屋外，人声鼎沸，脚步杂沓，奴仆们和跟车来的农夫们各自忙活，此呼彼应。伯爵一早外出不知去向。伯爵夫人由于忙乱和嘈杂而头痛起来，头上缠着浸了醋的布，躺在新起居室里。彼佳不在家（他去找他的伙伴，打算同他一起由民团转为现役军人）。索尼娅在大厅看着包装玻璃器皿和瓷器。娜塔莎坐在搬得凌乱的她的房间地板上，周围乱堆着衣服，腰带和围巾，她手里拿着她初次参加彼得堡舞会穿过的旧舞衣（现已过时），呆呆地望着地板。
娜塔莎觉得惭愧，别人都那么忙，而她什么事都不做，于是，从早上起几次想找点事做；但她又没有心思做事，没有心思做事时，她便不能，也不善于做任何事情，因为不是全力以赴的缘故。她站着看蹲着包扎瓷器的索尼娅，想帮帮忙，但立刻又抛开这边的活儿，回自己房间去收拾衣物。起初，她把衣服和腰带分发给女仆，还满高兴的，但过了一会儿，还得收拾剩下的东西，她又觉得索然无味了。
“杜尼亚莎，你来收拾好不好，亲爱的？是不是？”
当杜尼亚莎乐意地把一切应承下来，娜塔莎坐到地板上，又捡起旧的舞衣陷入沉思，但绝不是在思索现在本应占据她脑子的事。隔壁女仆房里使女们的说话声和她们从房里向后门走去的匆忙的脚步声，把她从沉思中唤醒了。娜塔莎站起来往窗外看。街上停着一长串伤兵车辆。
男女仆人，管家和乳娘，厨师和马夫，前导驭手，打杂的厨役都站在大门口看伤兵。
娜塔莎用一条白手绢盖住头发，两手牵住手绢角走出了大门。
过去的管家玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜老太婆，离开聚在门口的人群，走近一辆有蒲席棚的大车，同躺在车上的年轻的苍白的军官谈话。娜塔莎挪动了几步，怯生地停下，两手仍牵住手绢，叫管家谈话。
“怎么您，这样说来，在莫斯科一个亲戚朋友也没有？”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜说。“您最好找一家安静些的住宅……比如到我们府上。老爷太太要走的。
“不知道准不准，”军官有气无力地说，“那是首长……请问问他去，”他指了指一位肥胖的少校，这个少校正沿着一溜大车往回走来。
娜塔莎惊吓地向受伤军官的面庞扫了一眼，即刻朝少校迎面走去。
“可不可以让您的伤兵住到我们家里？”她问。
少校面带微笑把手举向帽檐。
“您觉得谁住到你们家里好呢，小姐？”他眯起眼睛微笑着问。
娜塔莎平静地重说了一遍，虽然她的手依然牵着手绢角，但她的面庞，以及她全部举止都是严肃的，于是，少校收敛了笑容，先是考虑，像是同自己商量这样做的可能性，然后肯定地回答了她。
“哦，行，怎么不行，可以。”他说。
娜塔莎微微点了点头，快步回到玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜身边，她正站在躺着的军官旁边，疼爱地同他说着话。
“可以，他说了，可以！”娜塔莎低声说。
军官那辆篷车拐进了罗斯托夫家的院子，几十辆载有伤兵的大车应市民的邀请，开进了波瓦尔大街各家院落和门廊。娜塔莎显然很欣赏这种生活常规之外的，与陌生人的交往。她与玛夫拉·库兹未尼什娜一道努力使尽量多的伤兵开进自家院子。
“还是得向爸爸禀告一下。”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜说。
“没事，没事，反正都一样！我们搬到客厅去住一天。腾一半给他们都行。”
“呶，小姐，瞧您想的！就是住厢房，下房和保姆的房间，也得问一声呀。”
“呶，我去问。”
娜塔莎跑回家，踮脚走进半掩着的起居室的房门，里面散发出醋味和霍夫曼药水味。
“您睡着了吗？妈妈。”
“唉，睡什么觉啊！”伯爵夫人被惊醒了说，她刚打了个盹儿。
“妈妈，亲爱的。”娜塔莎说，她跪了下来，把脸贴近母亲的脸。“对不起，请您原谅，我吵醒您了，以后决不会这样。玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜叫我来的，伤兵运到了，都是军官，您答应吗？他们没地方呆；我知道您会答应……”她一口气匆忙地说。
“什么军官？把谁运来了？一点也搞不明白。”伯爵夫人说。
娜塔莎笑了，伯爵夫人也有气无力地笑了。
“我知道您会答应的……那么，我就去说啦。”娜塔莎吻了母亲，起身朝房门走去。
在大厅里，她遇上带回坏消息的父亲。
“我们倒稳坐不动！”伯爵不禁懊恼地说，“俱乐部可关门了，警察也走了。”
“爸爸，我把伤兵请到家里来了，行吗？”娜塔莎对他说。
“当然，行。”心慌意乱的伯爵随便应着。“问题不在这儿，我现在要求大家别管不重要的小事，而是帮忙收拾停当，明天就走，走……”接着，伯爵向管家和仆人发出同样的命令。
午饭时才回家来的彼佳讲开了自己的新闻。
他说，今天民众都在克里姆林宫领武器，虽然拉斯托普钦伯爵的通告里说，他两三天内要发出号令，但大概已经作出了安排，命令全体民众带上武器明天去三座山，那里将要打一场大仗。
彼佳讲话时，伯爵夫人胆怯地望着儿子愉快的神采飞扬的脸庞。她知道，如果她说出她求彼佳别去参加这场战役（她知道他为即将来临的战役感到高兴），那他就会讲出男子汉啦，荣誉啦，祖国啦等等话来，——讲出这些没有意义的，男人的固执的无法反对的事，事情就糟了，所以，她指望安排好在打仗之前就走，她作为一个保护者和庇护者，带上彼佳走，暂时什么也不对彼佳讲，而在饭后叫人请伯爵来，眼泪汪汪地求他尽快用车子送她走，就在当晚送她走，如果来得及的话。一直没露出丝毫畏惧的伯爵夫人，现在以女人的出于母爱的本能的狡黠对丈夫说，如果今晚他们不能乘车离开的话，她便会吓死。用不着假装，她现在的确什么都怕了。
Book 11 Chapter 14
MADAME SCHOSS, who had gone out to visit her daughter, increased the countess's terrors by describing the scenes she had witnessed at a spirit dealer's in Myasnitsky Street. She entered that street on her way home, but could not pass through it owing to the drunken mob raging round the spirit dealer's. She had taken a cab and driven home by a circuitous route, and the driver had told her that the mob had broken open the casks of spirit, that orders had been given to that effect.
After dinner all the Rostov household set to work packing and preparing for their departure with eager haste. The old count, suddenly rousing himself to the task, spent the rest of the day continually trotting from the courtyard into the house and back again, shouting confused instructions to the hurrying servants, and trying to spur them on to even greater haste. Petya looked after things in the yard. Sonya was quite bewildered by the count's contradictory orders, and did not know what to do. The servants raced about the rooms, shouting, quarrelling, and making a noise. Natasha, too, suddenly set to work with the ardour that was characteristic of her in all she did. At first her intervention was sceptically received. No one expected anything serious from her or would obey her instructions. But with heat and perseverance she insisted on being obeyed, got angry and almost shed tears that they did not heed her, and did at last succeed in impressing them. Her first achievement, which cost her immense effort, and established her authority, was the packing of the rugs. There were a number of costly Gobelin tapestries and Persian rugs in the house. When Natasha set to work, she found two boxes standing open in the hall: one packed almost full of china, the other full of rugs. There was a great deal more china left standing on the tables and there was more still to come from the storeroom. Another third box was needed, and the men had gone to get one.
“Sonya, wait a little, and we'll pack it all without that,” said Natasha.
“You cannot, miss; we have tried already,” said the footman.
“No, wait a minute, please.” And Natasha began taking out the plates and dishes, packed up in paper
“The dishes would go better in here with the rugs,” she said.
“Why, there are rugs enough left that we shall hardly get into three boxes,” said the footman.
“But do wait a little, please.” And Natasha began rapidly and deftly sorting out the things. “These we don't want,” she said of the plates of Kiev ware; “this and this we can pack in the rugs,” she decided, fishing out the Saxony dishes.
“Come, let it alone, Natasha; come, that's enough, we'll pack them,” said Sonya reproachfully.
“What a young lady!” protested the footman.
But Natasha would not give in. She pulled everything out, and began rapidly packing them again, deciding that the commoner rugs and crockery should not be taken at all. When she had taken everything out, she began repacking what was to go; and by sorting out almost all the cheaper goods which were not worth taking, all that was of value was got into two boxes. Only the lid of the box full of rugs would not shut. A few things might have been taken out, but Natasha wanted to manage it in her own way. She unpacked, repacked, squeezed the things in, made the footman and Petya, whom she had drawn into assisting in the work, press on the lid, and herself tried desperately to do the same.
“That will do, Natasha,” Sonya said to her. “I see you are quite right, but take out just the top one.”
“I won't,” cried Natasha, with one hand holding her disordered hair off her perspiring face, while with the other she squeezed down the rugs. “Press it, Petya, press it! Vassilitch, press hard!” she cried. The rugs yielded, and the lid closed. Natasha, clapping her hands, shrieked with delight, and tears started into her eyes. But that lasted only a second. She set to work at once on a fresh job; and now the servants put complete faith in her, and the count did not take it amiss when they told him that Natalya Ilyinitshna had given some direction superseding his orders; and the servants came to Natasha to ask whether a cart was packed full enough and whether the loads were to be tied on. The packing went on fast now, thanks to Natasha's supervision; everything useless was left behind, and the most valuable goods were packed as compactly as possible.
But with all their exertions, even late at night everything was not ready. The countess had fallen asleep, and the count put off their departure till morning and went to bed.
Sonya and Natasha slept in the divan-room, without undressing.
That night another wounded officer was driven along Povarsky Street, and Mavra Kuzminishna, who was standing at the gate, had him brought into the Rostovs' yard. The wounded officer must, Mavra Kuzminishna thought, be a man of very great consequence. He was in a coach with the hood let down and a carriage apron completely covering it. An old man, a most respectable-looking valet, was sitting on the box with the driver. A doctor and two soldiers followed the carriage in another conveyance.
“Come into our house, come in. The masters are going away, the whole house is empty,” said the old woman, addressing the old servant.
“Well,” answered the valet, sighing, “and indeed we have no hope of getting him home alive! We have a house of our own in Moscow, but it is a long way further, and there's no one living in it either.”
“Pray come in, our masters have plenty of everything, and you are welcome,” said Mavra Kuzminishna. “Is the gentleman very bad, then?” she asked.
“There's no hope! I must ask the doctor.” And the valet got down and went to the vehicle behind.
“Very good,” said the doctor.
The valet went up to the coach again, peeped into it, shook his head, told the coachman to turn into the yard, and stood still beside Mavra Kuzminishna.
“Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy!” she murmured.
Mavra Kuzminishna suggested the wounded man being carried into the house.
“The masters won't say anything …” said she.
But they had to avoid lifting him up the steps, and so they carried the wounded man to the lodge, and put him in the room that had been Madame Schoss's. This wounded officer was Prince Andrey Bolkonsky.
肖斯太太去看女儿来着，她叙述在米亚斯尼茨街酒馆看到的景象，增加了伯爵夫人的恐惧。在回家的路上，她没法穿过酒馆闹事后喝醉了的人群。她雇了一辆马车兜圈子经小巷子才回到家；马车夫告诉她，人群砸开了酒馆的酒桶，说是吩咐过的。 
午饭后，罗斯托夫全家人兴奋地忙着装放财物，为启程作准备。老伯爵突然管起事来，午饭后不停地从院子走到屋里，又再倒回院子，无缘无故地呵斥忙碌的家人，催促他们再加快。彼佳在院子里指挥。索尼娅不知道在伯爵前后矛盾的指派下到底该干什么，完全手足无措。人们又叫又吵又闹地在房间和院子里奔忙。娜塔莎以自己特有的爱管闲事的热情，突然也真干了起来。开头，她对清理装箱的干预没人买帐。大家等着看她闹笑话，都不听从她。但她坚持地热情不减地要求人家服从她，因为不听她的话她气得几乎哭了，最终取得了人们的信任。她付出巨大努力而赢得威望的第一件功绩，是收装地毯。伯爵家中有些gobelins①和波斯地毯。当娜塔莎开始干的时候，大厅里有两只敞开的大木箱：一只几乎装满了瓷器，另一只装了地毯。瓷器还有许多摆在桌上待装，从库房还不断搬出来。需要另装一箱，第三只箱子，于是人们去抬木箱子。 
①戈贝兰地毯。
“索尼娅，穿一等，我们全都装得下的。”娜塔莎说。
“不成，小姐，我们试过了。”餐厅听差说。
“不，等一等，劳驾了。”娜塔莎开始从箱子里取出用纸包好的碟子和盘子。
“碟子应该放这儿，放到地毯里。”她说。
“还有些地毯，能装进三口箱子才好，愿上帝保佑。”听差说。
“可是，请等一下。”娜塔莎迅速而灵巧地重新挑选起来。
“这个不要装，”她说的是基辅盘子，“这个要，把这个放进地毯里。”她说的是萨克森碟子。
“你放下，娜塔莎；呶，够了，让我们装吧，”索尼娅责备地说。
“哎呀，小姐！”管家说。但娜塔莎毫不退让；她把全部东西腾出来，飞快地开始重新装箱，决定陈旧的家常地毯和多余的器皿不必全要。当所有这些不要的东西取出之后，再重新把要的东西放整齐。果然，取出来的多半是些便宜货，是些值不得带走的物品，全部有价值的物品装了两大箱。只有装地毯的木箱合不拢盖。可以再稍微取几件出来，可象娜塔莎想坚持己见。她放来放去，压紧，让听差和被她吸引也来收拾的彼佳一齐压紧盖子，她本人也作出最后的努力。
“行了嘛，娜塔莎，”索尼娅对她说，“我知道你是对的，就把面上的一个拿掉吧。”
“我不，”娜塔莎大叫，一只手拢拢披散在汗湿的脸上的头发，另一只手抻紧地毯。“快压，彼季卡，使劲压紧！瓦西里奇，压啊！”她又叫道。地毯压下去，箱盖关上了。娜塔莎拍拍手掌高兴得尖声叫喊，同时，眼里涌出了泪水，但这只过了一秒钟。她马上去干另一件事，现在她已获得了信任，连伯爵听人说娜塔莎娅·伊利尼什娜改变了他的命令时，也并不生气，家奴们有事也去请示娜塔莎；要不要装车，或者，如无车可装，便向那辆车装得够不够？多亏娜塔莎的指挥，事情进行得很顺当；不须要的东西留了下来，把最贵重的东西装得紧紧的，收装得稳妥牢靠。
但是，不管全家人如何忙碌，到深夜都还没有把一切收拾停当。伯爵夫人睡着了，伯爵把行期推延至早晨，也去睡了。
索尼娅、娜塔莎没脱衣服就在起居室睡了。
当晚，又一名伤员被车子拉着走过波瓦尔大街，站在大门口的玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜把伤员让进罗斯托夫家。这一伤员，照玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜看来，是极有身份的人。载着他的是一辆轻便马车，车厢关得严严实实，车篷也放下了。同驭手一起坐在前座上的，还有一名可敬的老仆人。后边跟着一辆大车，由医生和两名士兵乘坐。
“请到我们家里来，请吧。老爷夫人都要走了，整个府上空了。”老太婆向着老仆人说。
“只好这样了，”老仆人叹口气说，“赶不回去啦！我们自个儿的家也在莫斯科，远着哩，也没人住着哩。”
“请赏光住我们这儿吧，我们老爷夫人的东西可多哩样样都齐全，请吧。”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜说，“怎么，不舒服？”
她再问了一句。
老仆人摆摆手。
“我们不指望送他到家啊！应该问医生。”老仆从前座下来到大车那儿去。
“好的。”医生说。
老仆回到四轮马车旁，朝里面望了一望，摇摇头，吩咐驭手把车马拐进院子，他则停在玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜身旁。
“主耶稣基督！”她喃喃地说。
玛夫娜·库兹米尼什娜建议把伤员抬进屋里去。
“老爷夫人不会反对的……”她说。但应该避免上楼梯，因而把伤员抬进了厢房，安置在肖斯太太过去住的屋子里。这位伤员是安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵。
Book 11 Chapter 15
THE LAST DAY of Moscow had come. It was a bright, clear autumn day. It was Sunday. The bells were ringing for service in all the churches, just as on all other Sundays. No one seemed yet able to grasp what was awaiting Moscow.
There were only two indications in the condition of society that betrayed the position of Moscow; those were the rabble, that is, the poorer class, and the prices of different objects. Factory hands, house- serfs,and peasants came out early that morning on to Three Hills in immense crowds, which were swelled by clerks, divinity students, and gentlemen. After staying there a while waiting for Rastoptchin, who did not come, and gaining the conviction that Moscow would be surrendered, this mob dispersed about the taverns and drinkshops of Moscow. Prices, too, on that day indicated the position of affairs. The prices of weapons, of carts and horses, and the value of gold rose higher and higher, while the value of paper-money and the prices of things useful in town were continually falling, so that by the middle of the day there were instances of cab-drivers carrying off at half-price expensive goods, like cloth; and while five hundred roubles was paid for a peasant's horse, furniture, mirrors, and bronzes were given away for nothing.
In the old-fashioned and decorous house of the Rostovs the collapse of all the usual conditions of life was very slightly perceptible. In the night three out of the immense retinue of servants, did indeed disappear; but nothing was stolen, and the Rostovs were only aware of the change in the relative value of things from finding that the thirty carts from the country were of enormous value, for which they were envied by many, and offered enormous sums. Besides these would-be purchasers, all the previous evening and early in the morning of the 1st of September orderlies and servants were being continually sent into the Rostovs' courtyard from wounded officers, and wounded men were constantly dragging themselves there from the Rostovs' and neighbouring houses, to beseech the servants to try and get them a lift out of Moscow. The butler, to whom these requests were referred, resolutely refused, though he felt for the wounded men, and declared that he would never even dare to hint at such a thing to the count. Pitiable as the position of these wounded men was, it was obvious that if one gave up one cart to them, one might as well give all—and would even have to put the carriages too at their service. Thirty waggons could not save all the wounded, and in the general catastrophe one must think of oneself and one's family first. So the butler reasoned on his master's behalf.
On waking up that morning Count Ilya Andreitch slipped quietly out of his bedroom, so as not to wake his wife, who had been awake till morning, and in his lilac silk dressing-gown he came out on to the steps. The loaded waggons were standing in the courtyard. The carriages were drawn up at the steps. The butler was standing in the entrance talking with an old orderly and a pale young officer with his arm in a sling. The butler, seeing his master, made a significant and peremptory sign to them both to retire.
“Well, is everything ready, Vassilitch?” said the count, rubbing his bald head; and looking benignly at the officer and the orderly, he nodded to them. (The count was always attracted by new faces.)
“Ready to put the horses in immediately, your excellency.”
“Well, that's capital; the countess will soon be awake, and, please God, we set off! What can I do for you, sir?” he said, addressing the officer. “You are staying in my house?”
The officer came closer. His pale face suddenly flushed crimson.
“Count, do me a great favour, allow me … for God's sake … to get into one of your waggons. I have nothing here with me … I can go quite well with the luggage …”
Before the officer finished speaking, the orderly came up to make the same request for his master.
“Oh! yes, yes, yes,” said the count hurriedly. “I shall be very glad indeed. Vassilitch, you see to it; you have a waggon or two cleared, well … well … what's needed …?” The count murmured some vague orders. But the glowing look of gratitude on the officer's face instantly put the seal on the order. The count looked about him; everywhere in the yard, at the gates, at the windows of the lodge—he saw wounded men and orderlies. They were all gazing at him and moving up towards the steps.
“Will you please walk into the gallery, your excellency; what are your orders about the pictures there?” said the butler. And the count went into the house with him, repeating his instructions that they were not to refuse the wounded men who begged to go with them.
“You can take something out of the loads, you know,” he added, in a subdued and mysterious voice, as though he were afraid of being overheard.
At nine o'clock the countess woke up, and Matrona Timofyevna, who had been her maid before her marriage, and now performed the duties of a sort of chef de gendarmes for the countess, came in to report to her that Madame Schoss was very much aggrieved, and that the young ladies' summer dresses could not possibly be left behind. On the countess inquiring the cause of Madame Schoss's resentment, it appeared that that lady's trunk had been taken out of the waggon, and that all the waggons were being unloaded, and that the luggage was being taken out, as the waggons were to be given up to the wounded men, whom the count, with his usual readiness to be imposed upon, had consented to take away with them. The countess sent for her husband to come to her.
“What's this, my dear? I hear the luggage is being unloaded.”
“Do you know, ma chère, I wanted to speak to you about it … dear little countess … an officer came up to me—they are imploring us to let them have a few waggons for the wounded. It's all a question of money loss to us, of course, but to be left behind … think what it means to them! … Here they are in our very yard; we asked them in ourselves; here are officers.… You know, I really think, ma chère … well, let them take them. We are in no hurry.”
The count spoke timidly, as he always did when the subject was in any way connected with money. The countess was used to that tone, which always ushered in some matter prejudicial to her children's interests, such as the building of a new gallery, or conservatory, or a new theatre in the house, or the training of an orchestra; and she made it a habit, and regarded it as a duty, to oppose everything that was communicated in that tone.
She assumed her air of tearful resignation, and said to her husband:
“Listen, count, you have mismanaged things so, that we are getting nothing for the house, and now you want to throw away all our—all the children's—property. Why, you told me yourself that we have a hundred thousand roubles' worth of valuables in the house. I protest, and protest, my love. What would you have! It's for the Government to look after the wounded. They know that. Only think, the Lopuhins opposite cleared everything to the last stick out of their house the day before yesterday. That's how other people manage. It's only we who are such fools. If you have no consideration for me, do at least think of your children.”
The count waved his hands in despair, and went out of the room without a word.
“Papa! why do you do that?” said Natasha, who had followed him into her mother's room.
“Nothing! It's no business of yours!” the count said angrily.
“But I heard,” said Natasha. “Why won't mamma have it?”
“It's no business of yours!” cried the count.
Natasha walked away to the window and pondered.
“Papa, here's Berg coming to see us,” she said, looking out of the window.
莫斯科的末日来临。时在秋天，天气晴和。那天是星期日。像往常的星期日一样，各教堂响起了作礼拜的钟声。看来，谁也不会明白，等待莫斯科的将是什么。 
只有两项社会状况的标志说明了莫斯科的处境：下等人，即贫民阶层，和物价问题。工人，家奴和农夫的大队人马，其中也有些小官，中学生和贵族，这天一大早便涌向三座山。当他们到达那里不见拉斯托普钦，并证实莫斯科将要放弃后，于是就散了，回到莫斯科各处，涌进酒店和饭馆。这天的物价也显示着事态。武器、黄金和车辆马匹的价格不断上涨，纸币和城市生活用品价格不断下跌，以至中午出现这样的情况：名贵商品，如呢绒，要与搬运的车夫对半分，买一匹农夫的马要付五百卢布；家具，镜子和铜器则白送。
在罗斯托夫气派古老的府邸，生活的原貌略显衰败。人事方面，众多的奴仆中只有三人夜里逃亡，但没偷走任何东西；财宝方面呢，从庄园赶来的三十辆大车，倒成了一宗巨大的财富，很多人羡慕这些车辆，愿出巨款向罗斯托夫家洽购。不仅有人斥巨资想买车辆，而且从傍晚到九月一日清晨，不停地到罗斯托夫府邸院子来的有负伤军官派来的勤务兵和仆人，住在他府上和邻近住宅的伤员们则亲自挣扎着走来，向他的家人央求，分给他们车辆以便离开莫斯科。被央告的管家虽也怜悯伤员，仍坚决地拒绝，他说他去禀告伯爵的胆量都没有。无论怎样同情这些留在这里的负伤官兵，显然，给了一辆，就没理由不再给一辆，给完了——又还要给自家乘坐的轻便马车。三十辆大车救不了所有伤员，大家虽说受难，可也不能不替自己和自己家人着想。管家就是这样替老爷想的。
睡到凌晨，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵悄悄走出卧室，以免惊醒到凌晨才入睡的伯爵夫人，他就穿着淡紫色的绸睡衣出现在室外的台阶上。收拾停当的大车停在院子里。阶下停的是载人马车。管家站在大门门廊里，同一位老勤务兵和一位手上裹着绷带的年轻的苍白的军官在交谈。一看到伯爵，管家向军官和勤务兵作了一个明显而严厉的手势，要他俩走开。
“呶，怎么样，都搞好了吗，瓦西里奇？”伯爵搔搔自己的秃顶说，和蔼地看看军官和勤务兵，向他们点头致意。（伯爵爱结识生人。）
“马上套车走都成，爵爷。”
“呶，那了不起，夫人这就醒来，上帝保佑！你们怎么呀，先生们？”他对军官说。“住在我家里的吧？”军官靠近了些。
苍白的脸刹那间有了血色。
“伯爵，借您的光，允许我……看在上帝份上……在您的大车上随便什么地方立个脚，我随身没带什么……让我上行李车都行……”军官还没有来得及把话讲完，勤务兵替自己的老爷也向伯爵提出了同样的请求。
“噢，好，好，好，”伯爵连忙回答，“我非常非常高兴。瓦西里奇，这事归你管了，呶，那边腾一辆或二辆车出来，就在那边……没关系……需要的就……”伯爵表达不怎么明确地吩咐着说。可军官就在这一瞬间表示的热烈感谢，使他的命令落实了。伯爵环视周围：院子里，大门门廊里，厢房的窗口，都出现了受伤官兵和勤务兵。他们望着伯爵，向台阶走来。
“爵爷，请到绘画陈列室去：您看那些画怎么办？”管家说。于是，伯爵同他一齐进到屋里，边走边重复自己的命令，不要拒绝请求搭车的伤员。
“呶，没什么，有些东西可以收起来就是，不必带走。”伯爵悄悄地神秘地补充说，好像怕有人听见一样。
九点钟，伯爵夫人睡醒了，她做姑娘时的侍女，现在则执掌她夫人的宪兵司令职务的玛特廖娜·季莫费耶夫娜，前来禀报自己的小姐，说玛丽亚·卡尔洛夫娜·肖斯太太感到很委屈，小姐的夏季服装不可以留下来。伯爵夫人查问肖斯太太委屈的原因，原来她的箱子从车上被卸了下来，所有车辆已捆好的绳索也在被解开，财物在往下卸，伤员在往上抬，他们是伯爵出于纯朴之心吩咐带着走的。伯爵夫人发话请丈夫来见她。
“这是怎么回事，我的伙伴，我听说装好的东西又在往下搬？”
“你知道，ma　chère①，我正要对你说……ma　chère伯爵太太……有个军官来找我，他们请求拨几辆大车载伤员。那些东西都是搞得回来的；他们留下来会怎样呢，你想想！……的确，是在我们院子里，是我们自己把他们召进来的，这些军官……你知道，我想，对了，ma　chère，这个，ma　chère……就捎上他们吧……你急什么嘛？……”伯爵难为情地说，每当涉及钱财的事，他就是这样地欲言又止。伯爵夫人则早已听惯了他的这种腔调，它总是预示着使孩子们破产的事要发生，如盖绘画陈列室和花房啦，搞戏班子或音乐啦；因此，也就习以为常地认为，每当用这种难为情的腔调表示要干什么事情时，便有责任加以阻止。 
①朋友。
她现出逆来顺受的人欲哭的样子对丈夫说：
“听我说，伯爵，你把这个家闹到一钱不值的地步，现在咱们的全部财产毁灭了——你又要把·孩·子·们·的家产全毁掉。你自己不是说，家里有十万卢布的财物吗？我的伙伴，我不同意你的作法，不同意。你看着办吧！管伤兵的有政府，他们知道。你看看：对门的洛普欣家，前天就把全部东西运走了。人家就是这样干的。只有咱们是些傻瓜。不可怜我，也得可怜孩子啊。”
伯爵摆摆双手，再没说什么，离开了房间。
“爸爸！你们谈些什么呀？”跟着他走进母亲房间的娜塔莎问。
“没谈什么？关你什么事！”伯爵生气地连珠炮似地说。
“我，我听见了，”娜塔莎说。“妈咪干吗不愿意？”
“关你什么事？”伯爵吼了起来。娜塔莎转身朝窗户走去，在那里沉思起来。
“爸爸，贝格到我们家来了。”她望着窗外说。
Book 11 Chapter 16
THE ROSTOVS' SON-IN-LAW, Berg, was by now a colonel, with the orders of Vladimir and Anne on his neck, and was still filling the same comfortable and agreeable post of assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant of the chief officer of the staff of the commander of the left flank of the infantry of the first army.
On the 1st of September he had come into Moscow from the army.
He had absolutely nothing to do in Moscow; but he noticed that every one in the army was asking leave to go into Moscow, and was busy doing something there. He, too, thought fit to ask leave of absence on account of urgent domestic and family affairs.
Berg drove up to his father-in-law's house in his spruce chaise, with his pair of sleek roans, precisely similar to those of a certain prince. He looked carefully at the luggage in the yard, and as he ran up the steps, he took out a clean pocket-handkerchief, and tied a knot in it.
Berg ran with a swimming, impatient step from the entry into the drawing-room, embraced the count, kissed Natasha's hand and Sonya's, and then hastened to inquire after mamma's health.
“Health, at a time like this! Come, tell us what news of the army!” said the count. “Are they retreating, or will there be a battle?”
“Only Almighty God can tell what will be the fate of our Fatherland, papa,” said Berg. “The army is animated by the most ardent spirit of heroism, and now its chiefs, so to speak, are sitting in council. No one knows what is coming. But I can tell you, papa, that our heroic spirit, the truly antique valour of the Russian army, which they—it, I mean,” he corrected himself—“showed in the fight of the 26th … well, there are no words that can do justice to it.” (He smote himself on the chest just as he had seen a general do, who had used much the same phrases before him—but he was a little too late, for the blow on the chest should properly have been at the words, “the Russian army.”) “I can assure you, papa, that we officers, so far from having to urge the soldiers on, or anything of the sort, had much ado to keep in check this … yes, these exploits recalling the valour of antiquity,” he rattled off. “General Barclay de Tolly risked his life everywhere in front of his troops, I can assure you. Our corps was posted on the slope of a hill. Only fancy!” And Berg proceeded to recount all the stories he had heard repeated about the battle. Natasha stared at Berg, as though seeking the solution of some problem in his face, and her eyes disconcerted him.
“Altogether, the heroism shown by the Russian soldiers is beyond praise, and beyond description!” said Berg, looking at Natasha; and as though wishing to soften her, he smiled in response to her persistent stare … “ ‘Russia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of her sons!' Eh, papa?” said Berg.
At that moment the countess came in from the divan-room with a look of weariness and annoyance on her face. Berg skipped up, kissed the countess's hand, asked after her health, and stood beside her, with a sympathetic shake of his head.
“Yes, mamma, to tell the truth, these are hard and sorrowful times for every Russian. But why should you be so anxious? You have still time to get away …”
“I can't make out what the servants are about,” said the countess, addressing her husband. “They told me just now nothing was ready. Some one really must go and look after them. It's at such times one misses Mitenka. There will be no end to it.”
The count was about to make some reply; but with a visible effort to restrain himself, got up and went to the door without a word.
Berg, meanwhile, had taken out his handkerchief as though about to blow his nose, and, seeing the knot in it, he pondered a moment, shaking his head with mournful significance.
“And, do you know, papa, I have a great favour to ask …” he began.
“H'm?” said the count, pausing.
“I was passing by Yusupov's house just now,” said Berg, laughing. “The steward, a man I know, ran out and asked me whether I wouldn't care to buy any of their things. I went in, you know, out of curiosity, and there is a little chiffonier and dressing-table. You know, just like what Verushka wanted, and we quarrelled about.” (Berg unconsciously passed into a tone expressive of his pleasure in his own excellent domestic arrangements.) “And such a charming thing!—it moves forward, you know, with a secret English lock. And it's just what Verushka wanted. So I want to make it a surprise for her. I see what a number of peasants you have in the yard. Please, spare me one of them. I'll pay him well, and …”
The count frowned and sniffed.
“Ask the countess; I don't give the orders.”
“If it's troublesome, pray don't,” said Berg. “Only I should have liked it on Vera's account.”
“Ah, go to damnation all of you, damnation! damnation! damnation!” cried the old count. “My head's going round.” And he went out of the room.
The countess began to cry.
“Yes, indeed, these are terrible times, mamma!” said Berg.
Natasha went out with her father, and as though unable to make up her mind on some difficult question, she followed him at first, then turned and ran downstairs.
Petya was standing at the entrance, engaged in giving out weapons to the servants, who were leaving Moscow. The loaded waggons were still standing in the yards. Two of them had been uncorded, and on to one of these the wounded officer was clambering with the assistance of his orderly.
“Do you know what it was about?” Petya asked Natasha. (Natasha knew that he meant, what their father and mother had been quarrelling about.) She did not answer.
“It was because papa wanted to give up all the waggons to the wounded,” said Petya. “Vassilitch told me. And what I think …”
“What I think,” Natasha suddenly almost screamed, turning a furious face on Petya, “what I think is, that it's so vile, so loathsome … I don't know. Are we a lot of low Germans? …” Her throat was quivering with sobs, but afraid of being weak, or wasting the force of her anger, she turned and flew headlong up the stairs.
Berg was sitting beside the countess, trying with filial respectfulness to reassure her. The count was walking about the room with a pipe in his hand, when, with a face distorted by passion, Natasha burst like a tempest into the room, and ran with rapid steps up to her mother.
“It's vile! It's loathsome!” she screamed. “It can't be true that it's your order.”
Berg and the countess gazed at her in alarm and bewilderment. The count stood still in the window listening.
“Mamma, it's impossible; look what's being done in the yard!” she cried; “they are being left …”
“What's the matter? Who are they? What do you want?”
“The wounded! It's impossible, mamma, it's outrageous.… No, mamma, darling, it's all wrong; forgive me, please, darling … Mamma, what is it to us what we take away; you only look out into the yard.… Mamma! … It can't be done.…”
The count stood in the window, and listened to Natasha without turning his head. All at once he gave a sort of gulp, and put his face closer to the window.
The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of shame for her mother, saw her emotion, felt why her husband would not look at her now, and looked about her with a distracted air.
“Oh, do as you please. Am I doing anything to hinder any one?” she said, not giving way all at once.
“Mamma, darling, forgive me.”
But the countess pushed away her daughter, and went up to the count.
“My dear, you order what is right.… I don't understand about it, you know,” she said, dropping her eyes with a guilty air.
“The eggs, … the eggs teaching the hen, …” the count murmured through tears of gladness, and he embraced his wife, who was glad to hide her ashamed face on his breast.
“Papa, mamma! may I give the order? May I? …” asked Natasha. “We'll take all that's quite necessary all the same,” she added.
The count nodded; and Natasha, with the same swiftness with which she used to run at “catch-catch,” flew across the hall into the vestibule, and down the steps into the yard.
The servants gathered round Natasha, and could hardly believe the strange order she gave them, till the count himself in his wife's name confirmed the order that all the waggons were to be placed at the disposal of the wounded, and the boxes were to be taken down to the store-rooms. When they understood, the servants gleefully and busily set to this new task. It no longer seemed strange to the servants, it seemed to them, indeed, that no other course was possible; just as a quarter of an hour before they had not thought it strange to leave the wounded behind and take the furniture; had accepted that too, in fact, as the only course possible.
All the household set to work getting the wounded men into the waggons with the greatest zeal, as though to make up for not having espoused their cause earlier. The wounded soldiers came creeping out of their rooms, and crowded round the waggons, with pale, delighted faces. The news spread to the neighbouring houses, and wounded men began to come into the yard from other houses too. Many of the wounded soldiers begged them not to take out the boxes, but only to let them sit on the top of them. But when once the work of unloading had begun there was no stopping it; it seemed of little consequence whether all were left or half. The cases of china, of bronzes, of pictures and looking-glasses, which had been so carefully packed during the previous night lay in the yard, and still they sought and found possibilities of taking out more and more, and leaving more and more, for the wounded.
“We can take four more,” said the steward. “I'll leave my luggage, or else what is to become of them?”
“Oh, let them have our wardrobe cart,” said the countess; “Dunyasha will go with me in the carriage.”
The waggon packed with the ladies' wardrobe was unloaded, and sent to fetch wounded men from two doors off. All the family and the servants too were eager and merry. Natasha was in a state of ecstatic happiness, such as she had not known for a very long while.
“Where are we to fasten this on?” said the servant, trying to lay a trunk on the narrow footboard behind in the carriage. “We must keep just one cart for it.”
“What is it?” asked Natasha.
“The count's books.”
“Leave it. Vassilitch will put it away. That's not necessary.”
The covered gig was full of people; they were only in doubt where Pyotr Ilyitch was to sit.
“He'll go on the box. You'll go on the box, won't you, Petya?” cried Natasha.
Sonya, too, worked with unflagging zeal; but the aim of her exertions was the opposite of Natasha's. She saw to the storing away of all that was left behind, made a list of them at the countess's desire, and tried to get as much as possible taken with them.
罗斯托夫的女婿贝格已经是拥有弗拉基米尔和安娜两枚勋章的上校了，职务仍然是第二集团军第一支队参谋部副参谋长。 
九月一日，他从部队来莫斯科。
他在莫斯科无事可干，但他发觉大家都在请假去莫斯科办点事。他也认为有必要请假去办点家务私事。
贝格乘坐自己漂亮的四轮马车，由两匹喂饱了的黄骠马（像某一位公爵的马一样）拉着，驶到他岳父的府上。他注意地朝院子里的那些车辆望了一望，然后登上台阶，这时他掏出一条干净手帕来打了一个结。
他飘逸地小跑着经过前厅走到客厅里，拥抱伯爵，吻娜塔莎和索尼娅的手，急切地问岳母的健康。
“现在谈什么健康哟？呶，你说说看，”伯爵说，“部队怎么样了？要撤离，还是要打一仗？”
“只有永恒的上帝，爸爸，”贝格说，“才能决定祖国的命运。军队的士气旺盛，头头们，这么说吧，在开军事会议。结果如何，不知道。但我概括起来跟您说吧，爸爸，在二十六日那次战役中，俄国部队，”他又更正说，“整个俄军所表现或者显示的英雄气概，和俄军自古以来的勇敢精神，是无法用恰当的词汇来描写的……告诉您吧，爸爸（他拍着胸脯说，就像一位在他面前讲话的将军拍过胸脯一样，但拍得早了一点，应该是在说到‘俄军'时捶胸），坦白地告诉您吧，我们做长官的不仅不用督战什么的，我们还能奋力保持住这种，这种……这个，勇敢的自古以来的功勋，”他急不择言地说。
“巴克莱·德·托利将军处处奋不顾身，身先士卒，跟您说吧。我们军团就守在山坡上。您想想看！”这样，贝格把他记得起的这段时间听到的各种传闻，——讲述完毕。娜塔莎目不转睛地望着他，似乎想在他脸上找出某个问题的答案，看得他不好意思起来。
“总而言之，俄国军人所显示的英勇气概，是难以想象的，值得赞扬的！”贝格说，看了看娜塔莎，像是要邀赏，并对其专注的目光报之以微笑……‘俄国不在莫斯科，她在她子女们的心中！'是吧，爸爸？”贝格说。
这时，从起居室里走来了面容疲倦、情绪不满的伯爵夫人。贝格急忙起身，吻伯爵夫人的手，问候她的健康，摇头叹息地表示同情，侍立在她身旁。
“对了，妈妈，说真的，这对所有俄国人都是艰难而忧郁的时刻。您干吗如此不安呢？您还来得及走……”
“我不明白，人们都在干些什么，”伯爵夫人对丈夫说，“刚才有人告诉我，什么都还未准备就绪。可是，总得有个人来料理呀。真教人痛惜米坚卡。这种局面还不会结束哩！”
伯爵想谈一谈，但显然忍住了。他从椅子上起身朝门口走去。
贝格这时好像要擤鼻涕，掏出手帕，看到打的结，忧郁而沉重地摇了摇头，默想了片刻。
“啊爸爸，我有件大事求您。”他说。
“嗯？……”伯爵止住了脚步，说道。
“刚才我经过尤苏波夫家，”他笑着说，“管家我认识，他跑出来问我要不要买点什么。您知道，我出于好奇进去了，看到一个小衣柜和一个梳妆台。您知道，薇鲁什卡要这两件东西，我们为此还吵过嘴。（贝格谈到梳妆台和衣柜时，语调便由于对室内陈设的兴趣而快活起来）。还真奇妙哩！梳妆台可以抽出来，还带有英国式的机关哩，您知道吗？薇洛奇卡早就想要了。我想让她大吃一惊。我在你们这儿看到这么多农夫在院子里。拨一辆车给我用吧，我会出大价钱的，并且……”
伯爵皱起眉头，清了清喉咙。
“向伯爵夫人要，我是不管事的。”
“如果为难，那就不要了，”贝格说。“我只是很想为薇鲁什卡买下来。”
“咳，都走开，都见鬼去，见鬼去，见鬼去，见鬼去！……”老伯爵大声叫着，“脑袋都晕了。”接着走出了屋子。
伯爵夫人哭了。
“的确，妈妈，是很艰难的时刻！”贝格说。
娜塔莎同父亲一道走了出去，好像很费力地在思索什么事情，跟着走了几步，然后从台阶跑到院子里去。
彼佳在台阶上给那些离开莫斯科的人发放武器。院子里仍然停着装载好了的车辆。其中有二辆已经打散，一个勤务兵托着他的军官正往车上爬。
“知不知道为什么？”彼佳问娜塔莎（娜塔莎明白彼佳所指的是父亲和母亲吵嘴。）她没有回答。
“是为爸爸想把大车拨给伤员乘坐，”彼佳说，“瓦西里奇对我说的。我认为……”
“我认为，”突然，娜塔莎几乎叫了起来，把愤怒的面孔朝着彼佳，“我认为，真可耻，真可恶，真……我不知道了。难道我们是一些德国人吗？…”她的喉咙哽咽得发颤，他怕她的凶狠无处发泄而白白消失，便又回转身来，飞快登上台阶。
贝格坐在伯爵夫人身旁，愉快地恭敬地安慰着岳母。伯爵手提烟斗在室内踱来踱去，这时，娜塔莎，脸都气得变了样，一阵风一样冲进客厅，快步走向母亲。
“这是耻辱！这是作恶！”她喊叫着。“您那样下命令不行。”
贝格和伯爵夫人不解而又惊吓地望着娜塔莎。伯爵则呆在窗旁听着。
“妈咪，这样不行，您瞧瞧院子里的情况！”她大声说，“他们要留下来！”……”
“你怎么啦？他们是谁呀？你要什么？”
“伤兵，就是他们！这不行，妈咪；这太不像话……，不，妈咪，亲爱的，这不是那么回事，请您原谅，妈咪……亲爱的，那些要运走的东西对我们有什么用嘛，您只要看看院子里面……妈咪！……这样不行啊！……”
伯爵站在窗户旁听着娜塔莎说话，脸也没有转过来。他突然鼻子哼了一下，把脸贴近窗户。
伯爵夫人望着女儿，看到她为母亲感到羞耻的脸，看到她的激动，明白了为什么丈夫现在连看都不看她一眼，因此张皇失措地环顾周围。
“噢，你们想怎么办就去办吧！难道我妨碍谁了！”她说，还未一下子认输。
“妈咪，亲爱的，请原谅我。”
伯爵夫人却推开女儿，朝伯爵走去。
“Mon　cher，你来管事吧，该怎么……我可是不知道这事啊。”她说，悔恨地垂下目光。
“鸡子……鸡子教训母鸡……”透过幸福的泪花，伯爵说出了这句话，然后拥抱妻子，妻子则高兴地把羞愧的面孔藏在丈夫怀里。
“爸爸，妈咪！可以由我来管吗？可以吗？”娜塔莎问。
“我们就只带上最要紧的……”她说。
伯爵赞同地向她点头，娜塔莎随即像玩逮人游戏一样，飞快跑过客厅，穿过前厅，跑下台阶到了院子里。
人们聚拢在娜塔莎身旁，一直不敢相信她传达的那道奇怪的命令，直到伯爵亲自出来以妻子的名义肯定那道命令，即把车辆拨给伤员，而把箱子搬回贮藏室，他们才相信。弄清楚命令后，人们高兴地匆忙地担负起这项新的任务。现在，奴仆们不仅不觉得奇怪，相反，还觉得不能不这样；就像一刻钟以前，不仅谁也不觉得留下伤员带走东西奇怪，而且还觉得正该如此。
所有的家奴，好像要补偿刚才没这样做的过失，利索地干起了安置受伤官兵的新任务。伤员们拖着腿从各自的房间里出来围住大车，苍白的脸上露出喜色。邻近几家也传开了还有车辆的消息，所以，其他家里住的伤员也开始到罗斯托夫家的院子里来。伤员中的许多人请求不用卸下东西，让他们就坐在东西上面。可是，已经开始解开绳索的情况再也收不了场了。留一半或留下全部都一样。院子里散放着不带走的装有武器、青铜器绘画和镜子的箱子，这是昨晚辛辛苦苦收拾好了的；人们仍在寻找，并且也找到了那些可以不带走的东西，腾出了一辆接一辆的大车。
“还可以再搭四个人，”管家说，“我把我的车也让出来，要不，把他们搁在哪儿呢？”
“把我运衣服的车也给他们，”伯爵夫人说，“杜尼亚莎跟我坐一辆车。”
他们又腾出运衣服的车去接隔壁第三、第四家的伤员。所有家奴和仆人干得都挺带劲。娜塔莎充满了兴奋而且幸福的快活情绪，这种热闹气氛她已久违了。
“把它捆在哪儿呢？”仆人边问边把箱子往马车后狭窄的踏脚蹬上放，“至少得再留一辆才行。”
“它装的什么？”娜塔莎问。
“伯爵的书籍。”
“放下。瓦西里奇来收捡。这个用不着。”
这辆轻便马车已坐满了人，彼得·伊里伊奇坐在哪儿都成了问题。
“他坐前座。你坐前座上吧，彼佳？”娜塔莎大声说。
索尼娅同样也在忙个不停；但她忙碌的方向正好与娜塔莎的方向相反。她把不带走的东西送回屋里去，并照伯爵夫人的意思一一登记，还尽力多带走一些东西。
Book 11 Chapter 17
BY TWO O'CLOCK the Rostovs' four carriages, packed and ready to start, stood in the approach. The waggon-loads of wounded were filing one after another out of the yard.
The coach in which Prince Andrey was being taken drove by the front door, and attracted the attention of Sonya, who was helping a maid to arrange the countess's seat comfortably in her huge, high carriage.
“Whose carriage is that?” asked Sonya, popping her head out of the carriage window.
“Why, haven't you heard, miss?” answered the maid. “The wounded prince; he stayed the night in the house, and is going on with us.”
“Oh, who is he? what's his name?”
“Our betrothed that was … Prince Bolkonsky himself!” answered the maid, sighing. “They say he is dying.”
Sonya jumped out of the carriage and ran in to the countess. The countess, dressed for the journey, in her hat and shawl, was walking wearily about the drawing-room, waiting for the rest of the household to come in and sit down with closed doors, for the usual silent prayer before setting out. Natasha was not in the room.
“Mamma,” said Sonya. “Prince Andrey is here, wounded and dying; He is going with us.”
The countess opened her eyes in dismay, and clutching Sonya's arm, looked about her.
“Natasha,” she said.
Both to Sonya and the countess this news had for the first moment but one significance. They knew their Natasha, and alarm at the thought of the effect the news might have on her outweighed all sympathy for the man, though they both liked him.
“Natasha does not know yet, but he is going with us,” said Sonya.
“You say he is dying?”
Sonya nodded.
The countess embraced Sonya and burst into tears. “The ways of the Lord are past our finding out!” she thought, feeling that in all that was passing now the Hand of the Almighty, hitherto unseen, was beginning to be manifest.
“Well, mamma, it's all ready. What is it? …” asked Natasha, running with her eager face into the room.
“Nothing,” said the countess. “If we're ready, then do let us start.” And the countess bent over her reticule to hide her agitated face. Sonya embraced Natasha and kissed her.
Natasha looked inquisitively at her.
“What is it? What has happened?”
“Nothing, … oh, no, …”
“Something very bad, concerning me? … What is it?” asked the keen-witted Natasha.
Sonya sighed, and made no reply. The count, Petya, Madame Schoss, Mavra Kuzminishna, and Vassilitch came into the drawing-room; and closing the doors, they all sat down, and sat so in silence, without looking at each other for several seconds.
The count was the first to get up. With a loud sigh he crossed himself before the holy picture. All the others did the same. Then the count proceeded to embrace Mavra Kuzminishna and Vassilitch, who were to remain in Moscow; and while they caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder, he patted them on the back with vaguely affectionate and reassuring phrases. The countess went off to the little chapel, and Sonya found her there on her knees before the holy pictures, that were still left here and there on the walls. All the holy pictures most precious through association with the traditions of the family were being taken with them.
In the porch and in the yard the servants who were going—all of whom had been armed with swords and daggers by Petya—with their trousers tucked in their boots, and their sashes or leather belts tightly braced, took leave of those who were left behind.
As is invariably the case at starting on a journey, a great many things were found to have been forgotten, or packed in the wrong place; and two grooms were kept a long while standing, one each side of the open carriage door, ready to help the countess up the carriage steps, while maids were flying with pillows and bags from the house to the carriages, the coach, and the covered gig, and back again.
“They will always forget everything as long as they live!” said the countess. “You know that I can't sit like that.” And Dunyasha, with clenched teeth and an aggrieved look on her face, rushed to the carriage to arrange the cushions again without a word.
“Ah, those servants,” said the count, shaking his head.
The old coachman Efim, the only one whom the countess could trust to drive her, sat perched up on the box, and did not even look round at what was passing behind him. His thirty years' experience had taught him that it would be some time yet before they would say, “Now, in God's name, start!” and that when they had said it, they would stop him at least twice again to send back for things that had been forgotten; and after that he would have to pull up once more for the countess herself to put her head out of window and beg him, for Christ's sake, to drive carefully downhill. He knew this, and therefore awaited what was to come with more patience than his horses, especially the left one, the chestnut Falcon, who was continually pawing the ground and champing at the bit. At last all were seated; the carriage steps were pulled up, and the door slammed, and the forgotten travelling-case had been sent for and the countess had popped her head out and given the usual injunctions. Then Efim deliberately took his hat off and began crossing himself. The postillion and all the servants did the same.
“With God's blessing!” said Efim, putting his hat on. “Off!” The postillion started his horse. The right-shaft horse began to pull, the high springs creaked, and the carriage swayed. The footman jumped up on the box while it was moving. The carriage jolted as it drove out of the yard on to the uneven pavement; the other vehicles jolted in the same way as they followed in a procession up the street. All the occupants of the carriages, the coach and the covered gig, crossed themselves on seeing the church opposite. The servants, who were staying in Moscow, walked along on both sides of the carriages to see them off.
Natasha had rarely felt such a joyful sensation as she experienced at that moment sitting in the carriage by the countess and watching, as they slowly moved by her, the walls of forsaken, agitated Moscow. Now and then she put her head out of the carriage window and looked back, and then in front of the long train of waggons full of wounded soldiers preceding them. Foremost of them all she could see Prince Andrey's closed carriage. She did not know who was in it, and every time she took stock of the procession of waggons she looked out for that coach. She knew it would be the foremost. In Kudrino and from Nikitsky Street, from Pryesny, and from Podnovinsky several trains of vehicles, similar to the Rostovs', came driving out, and by the time they reached Sadovoy Street the carriages and carts were two deep all along the road.
As they turned round Suharev Tower, Natasha, who was quickly and inquisitively scrutinising the crowd driving and walking by, uttered a cry of delight and surprise:
“Good Heavens! Mamma, Sonya, look; it's he!”
“Who? who?”
“Look, do look! Bezuhov,” said Natasha, putting her head out of the carriage window and staring at a tall, stout man in a coachman's long coat, obviously a gentleman disguised, from his carriage and gait. He was passing under the arch of the Suharev Tower beside a yellow-looking, beardless, little old man in a frieze cloak.
“Only fancy! Bezuhov in a coachman's coat, with a queer sort of old-looking boy,” said Natasha. “Do look; do look!”
“No, it's not he. How can you be so absurd!”
“Mamma,” cried Natasha. “On my word of honour, I assure you, it is he. Stop, stop,” she shouted to the coachman; but the coachman could not stop, because more carts and carriages were coming out of Myeshtchansky Street, and people were shouting at the Rostovs to move on, and not to keep the rest of the traffic waiting.
All the Rostovs did, however, though now at a much greater distance, see Pierre, or a man extraordinarily like him, wearing a coachman's coat, and walking along the street with bent head and a serious face beside a little, beardless old man, who looked like a footman. This old man noticed a face poked out of the carriage window staring at them, and respectfully touching Pierre's elbow, he said something to him, pointing towards the carriage. It was some time before Pierre understood what he was saying; he was evidently deeply absorbed in his own thoughts. At last he looked in the direction indicated, and recognising Natasha, he moved instantly towards the carriage, as though yielding to the first impulse. But after taking a dozen steps towards it, he stopped short, apparently recollecting something. Natasha's head beamed out of the carriage window with friendly mockery.
“Pyotr Kirillitch, come here! We recognized you, you see! It's a wonder!” she cried, stretching out a hand to him. “How is it? Why are you like this?”
Pierre took her outstretched hand, and awkwardly kissed it as he ran beside the still moving carriage.
“What has happened, count?” the countess asked him, in a surprised and commiserating tone.
“Eh? Why? Don't ask me,” said Pierre, and he looked up at Natasha, the charm of whose radiant, joyous eyes he felt upon him without looking at her.
“What are you doing, or are you staying in Moscow?”
Pierre was silent.
“In Moscow?” he queried. “Yes, in Moscow. Good-bye.”
“Oh, how I wish I were a man, I would stay with you. Ah, how splendid that is!” said Natasha. “Mamma, do let me stay.”
Pierre looked absently at Natasha, and was about to say something, but the countess interrupted him.
“You were at the battle, we have been told.”
“Yes, I was there,” answered Pierre. “To-morrow there will be a battle again …” he was beginning, but Natasha interposed:
“But what is the matter, count? You are not like yourself …”
“Oh, don't ask me, don't ask me, I don't know myself. To-morrow … No! Good-bye; good-bye,” he said; “it's an awful time!” And he left the carriage and walked away to the pavement.
For a long while Natasha's head was still thrust out of the carriage window, and she beamed at him with a kindly and rather mocking, joyous smile.
一点多钟，装载停当的罗斯托夫家的四辆马车停在大门口，运送受伤官兵的大车一辆接一辆地驶出了院子。 
载着公爵安德烈的马车从台阶旁经过时，引起了索尼娅的注意，她正同一位使女布置伯爵夫人在车上的座位，夫人高大宽敞的马车正停在大门口。
“这是谁的马车？”索尼娅从车窗探出头来问。
“您还不知道吗，小姐？”使女回答，“受伤的公爵：他在咱们府上留宿，也同咱们一道走。”
“是谁呢？姓什么？”
“咱们先前的未婚姑爷。博尔孔斯基公爵！”使女叹气着回答，“听说快要死了。”
索尼娅跳下马车，跑着去找伯爵夫人。伯爵夫人已穿好了旅行服装，披着披巾，戴着帽子，疲倦地在客厅踱来踱去，等待家奴们关好门户坐下作启程前的祈祷。娜塔莎不在这里。
“姆妈，”索尼娅说，“安德烈公爵在这里，受伤了，生命垂危。他同咱们一道走。”
伯爵夫人惊吓地睁大眼睛，并抓着索尼娅的手朝周围看了看。
“娜塔莎呢？”她开口问。
对索尼娅，同时也对伯爵夫人来说，这消息在头一分钟内只有一个意义。她们是了解娜塔莎的，因而，害怕娜塔莎会出事的恐惧感，压倒了她们对一个人的同情，而这个人她们也是喜爱的。
“娜塔莎还不知道；但他是同我们一道走的。”索尼娅说。
“你是说他生命垂危？”
索尼娅点了点头。
伯爵夫人拥抱着索尼娅哭了。
“天意难解！”她想，感到在目前已造成的局面中，一只全能的手已从人们先前目力不及之处开始出现。
“呶，妈妈，一切准备完毕。你们在谈什么？……”娜塔莎兴高采烈地跑进来说。
“没谈什么，”伯爵夫人说，“准备好了，那就出发。”伯爵夫人俯身朝手提包弯下腰去，把凄惶的面孔埋起来。索尼娅抱住娜塔莎吻她。
娜塔莎想问个明白地瞪着她。
“你怎么啦？出什么事了？”
“没什么……没有……”
“对我很糟的事吗？…什么事？”敏感的娜塔莎问。
索尼娅叹气，但什么也没有回答。伯爵，彼佳，肖斯太太，玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜，瓦西里奇等都来到了客厅，拴好门，然后人家坐了下来，默不作声，谁也不看谁地坐了几秒钟。
伯爵第一个起立，长叹一声，对着圣像划十字。大家也跟着这样做。然后，伯爵开始拥抱玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜和瓦西里奇，他们要留守莫斯科；两人这时也抓住伯爵的手，亲吻他的肩上，他轻拍他们的背，说了几句听不真切的亲切的安慰话。伯爵夫人往祈祷室去，索尼娅发现她跪在墙上残缺不全的圣像前面（家传的最宝贵的圣像要随身运走）。
在台阶上，在院子里，要走的仆人带着匕首和马刀（是彼佳发给他们的），裤脚塞进靴子，裤带和腰带系得紧紧的，正和留下的仆人告别。
像临行前常常发生的情形那样，许多东西拉下啦，放的不是地方啦；两个随从在敞开的车门和放下的脚蹬的两边已站立很久，等着待候伯爵夫人上车；同时，使女们抱着坐垫和包袱跑到几辆马车上（格式马车和大小四轮等），在从家里到马车之间的路上来回跑动。
“一辈子都是忘这忘那的！”伯爵夫人说，“你该知道，我不能这样坐！”杜尼亚莎咬紧牙关，一声不吭地跑了过来重新整理座位，一脸的委屈。
“噢，这些人哪！”伯爵摇着头说。
专为伯爵夫人驾车的老车夫叶菲姆高高地坐在驭手座上，对他后边发生的事不屑一顾。积三十年之经验，他知道还不会很快命令他：“出发！”即使下了命令，还会让他停车两次，派人去取忘了拿的东西，这之后还会叫他停一次，伯爵夫人才会从车窗探出头来，以基督的名义哀求他在下坡时要小心。他知道这样的情形，所以比他的马（尤其是左辕的枣红马，叫雄鹰，此刻在踏脚和嚼马嚼子）更有耐心地静候事态的发展。
大家终于就座，脚蹬折拢收进车厢，车门关上，只等去取首饰匣的人回来。伯爵夫人探出头来说了该说的话。这时，叶菲姆慢慢从头上摘下帽子，画了十字。骑导马的马夫和所有仆人也画了十字。
“上帝保佑！”叶菲姆戴好帽子，说“驾！”导马夫随即启动马车。右边的辕马拉紧了套，车盘的弹簧吱扭地作响，车身摇晃了起来。一个随从跳上已启动的马车的前座。轿式马车从院子驶入不太平整的马路时颠簸了一下，其余马车随着也颠簸了一下，最后，车队全都驶上街道，朝前进发。轿式马车和大小四轮马车里的人们，都朝街对面的教堂画十字。留守莫斯科的家人在马车两旁夹道送他们。
娜塔莎从未体会过今天这样的愉快感觉，她挨着伯爵夫人坐着，两眼盯着缓慢向后移动的被放弃的惊惶不安的莫斯科的城墙。她常常探出头来或前或后地张望，看走在前边的受伤官兵的车队。她看到了走在最前面的车顶罩住了的安德烈公爵那辆四轮大马车。她不知道谁在车里，可每当想起她家的车队时，总是用目光搜寻这辆马车，她知道它在最前面。
在库德林诺，从尼基茨卡雅、普雷斯尼亚和波德诺文斯克等街道开出的与罗斯托夫家的车队同样的车队，汇合了，走到花园大街时，只好两队并排前进。
在苏哈列夫塔楼拐弯时，娜塔莎好奇地，目不暇接地观看着乘车和步行的人们，突然惊喜地叫起来。
“老天爷！妈妈，索尼娅，快看，这是他！”
“谁？谁？”
“瞧，真的，别祖霍夫！”娜塔莎说，同时从车窗里探出头来，看着一个穿马车夫长褂子的高大臃肿的人，从步态和气派来看，显然是化了装的老爷，他正同一个黄脸无须穿粗呢大衣的小老头一道，来到苏哈列夫塔楼的拱门下边。
真的，是别祖霍夫，穿着长褂子，与一个小老头儿走在一起。“真的，”娜塔莎说，“看哪，看哪！”
“那不是，这人不是他。怎么可能呢，胡说！”
“妈妈。”娜塔莎叫了起来，“您可以砍我的头，这是他。我会让您相信的。停，停。”她向车夫喊道；但车夫停不下来，因为从市民街又驶来大车和马车车队，并且朝罗斯托夫家的马车喊叫，让他们继续走，别挡路。
的确，虽然车队愈走愈远，但罗斯托夫全家人仍然看到了皮埃尔或极像皮埃尔的那个人，穿着车夫的大褂，耷拉着脑袋，面容严肃地和一个没留胡子的小老头并排走着，这个小老头像个仆人。他看到从车窗显露出来朝他们看的面孔，恭敬地碰了碰皮埃尔的胳膊肘，指着马车对他说了几句什么话。皮埃尔好久都搞不明白他说的什么，因为他显然沉浸在自己的思绪里，当他终于明白了他的话，顺着他指的方向看时，认出了娜塔莎，随即凭他最初的印象毫不犹豫地朝马车走去。但走了十来步，他似乎想起了一件事，便停了下来。
娜塔莎探出车厢的面孔，现出柔情的嘲笑。
“彼得·基里雷奇，来啊！我们认出您啦！好意外呵！”她大声说着，把手伸给他。“您这是怎么啦？您为什么这样？”
皮埃尔抓住伸过来的手，在走动中（因为马车在继续前进）笨拙地吻它。
“您出什么事啦，伯爵？”伯爵夫人用惊奇和同情的声音问。
“什么事？为什么？请别问我。”皮埃尔说，回头看一眼娜塔莎，她那喜悦的流光溢彩的目光（他不看她也能感觉到）的魅力吸引着他。
“您怎么啦，还是要留在莫斯科？”皮埃尔沉默了片刻。
“留在莫斯科？”他用问话的语气说。“对，留在莫斯科。
告别了。”
“唉，我要是男人就好了，我一定同您一道留下来。唉，那多好哇！”娜塔莎说。“妈妈，允许我留下来，我要留下来。”皮埃尔茫茫然然地看了看娜塔莎，正要开口说话，但伯爵夫人打断了他。
“您打过仗了吗，我们听说？”
“是的，打过，”皮埃尔回答，“明天还要打哩……”他开始谈起来。可是娜塔莎又打断了他：
“您究竟出了什么事，伯爵？您不像您自己……”
“噢，别问啦，请别问我，我自己什么也不知道。明天……啊不！告别了，告别了，”他连连说，“可怕的时代！”然后离开马车走上人行道。
娜塔莎久久地探出车窗外，朝他温柔地，带点嘲弄意味地高兴地笑着。
Book 11 Chapter 18
FROM THE TIME of his disappearance, two days before, Pierre had been living in the empty abode of his dead benefactor, Osip Bazdyev. This was how it had come to pass.
On waking up the morning after his return to Moscow and his interview with Count Rastoptchin, Pierre could not for some time make out where he was and what was expected of him. When the names of the persons waiting to see him were announced to him—among them a Frenchman, who had brought a letter from his wife, the Countess Elena Vassilyevna—he felt suddenly overcome by that sense of the hopelessness and intricacy of his position to which he was particularly liable. He suddenly felt that everything was now at an end, everything was in a muddle, everything was breaking down, that no one was right nor wrong, that there was no future before him, and that there was no possible escape from the position. Smiling unnaturally and muttering to himself, he sat on the sofa in a pose expressive of utter hopelessness, or got up, approached the door, and peeped through the crack into the reception-room, where his visitors were awaiting him, then turned back with a gesture of despair and took up a book. The butler came in for the second time with a message that the Frenchman who had brought the letter from the countess was very desirous of seeing him if only for a minute, and that they had sent from the widow of Osip Alexyevitch Bazdyev to ask him to take charge of some books, as Madame Bazdyev was going away into the country.
“Oh, yes, in a minute; wait … No, no; go and say, I am coming immediately,” said Pierre.
As soon as the butler had left the room, Pierre had taken up his hat, which was lying on the table, and gone out by the other door. He found no one in the corridor. Pierre walked the whole length of the corridor to the staircase, and frowning and rubbing his forehead with both hands, he went down as far as the first story landing. The porter was standing at the front door. A second staircase led from the landing to the back entrance. Pierre went down the back stairs and out into the yard. No one had seen him. But as soon as he turned out at the gates into the street, the coachman, standing by the carriages, and the gate-porter saw him and took off their caps to him. Aware of their eyes fixed on him, Pierre did, as the ostrich does, hiding its head in a bush to escape being seen; ducking his head and quickening his pace he hurried along the street.
Of all the business awaiting Pierre that morning, the task of sorting the books and papers of Osip Alexyevitch seemed to him the most urgent.
He hailed the first cab-driver he came across, and told him to drive to Patriarch's Ponds, where was the house of the widow of Bazdyev.
Continually watching the loaded vehicles moving out of Moscow from all directions, and balancing his bulky person carefully not to slip out of the rickety old chaise, Pierre had the happy sensation of a run-away schoolboy, as he chatted with his driver.
The latter told him that to-day arms were being given out in the Kremlin, and that next day every one would be driven out beyond the Three Hills Gate, and there there was to be a great battle.
On reaching the Patriarch's Ponds, Pierre looked for Bazdyev's house, where he had not been for a long while past. He went up to a little garden gate. Gerasim, the yellow, beardless old man Pierre had seen five years before at Torzhok with Osip Alexyevitch, came out on hearing him knock.
“At home?” asked Pierre.
“Owing to present circumstances, Sofya Danilovna and her children have gone away into the country, your excellency.”
“I'll come in, all the same; I want to look through the books,” said Pierre.
“Pray do, you are very welcome; the brother of my late master—the heavenly kingdom be his!—Makar Alexyevitch has remained, but your honour is aware he is in feeble health,” said the old servant.
Makar Alexyevitch was, as Pierre knew, a brother of Osip Alexyevitch, a half-mad creature, besotted by drink.
“Yes, yes, I know. Let us go in,” said Pierre, and he went into the house. A tall, bald old man in a dressing-gown, with a red nose and goloshes on his bare feet, was standing in the vestibule; seeing Pierre, he muttered something angrily, and walked away into the corridor.
“He was a great intellect, but now, as your honour can see, he has grown feeble,” said Gerasim. “Will you like to go into the study?” Pierre nodded. “As it was sealed up, so it has remained. Sofya Danilovna gave orders that if you sent for the books they were to be handed over.”
Pierre went into the gloomy study, which he had entered with such trepidation in the lifetime of his benefactor. Now covered with dust, and untouched since the death of Osip Alexyevitch, the room was gloomier than ever.
Gerasim opened one blind, and went out of the room on tiptoe. Pierre walked round the study, went up to the bookcase, where the manuscripts were kept, and took one of the most important, at one time a sacred relic of the order. This consisted of the long Scottish acts of the order, with Bazdyev's notes and commentaries. He sat down to the dusty writing-table and laid the manuscripts down before him, opened and closed them, and at last, pushing them away, sank into thought, with his elbow on the table and his head in his hand.
Several times Gerasim peeped cautiously into the study and saw that Pierre was sitting in the same attitude.
More than two hours passed by, Gerasim ventured to make a slight noise at the door to attract Pierre's attention. Pierre did not hear him.
“Is the driver to be dismissed, your honour?”
“Oh yes,” said Pierre, waking up from his reverie, and hurriedly getting up. “Listen,” he said, taking Gerasim by the button of his coat and looking down at the old man with moist, shining, eager eyes. “Listen! You know that to-morrow there is to be a battle …”
“They have been saying so …” answered Gerasim.
“I beg you not to tell any one who I am. And do what I tell you..”
“Certainly, sir,” said Gerasim. “Would your honour like something to eat?”
“No, but I want something else. I want a peasant dress and a pistol,” said Pierre, suddenly flushing red.
“Certainly, sir,” said Gerasim, after a moment's thought.
All the rest of that day Pierre spent alone in his benefactor's study pacing restlessly from one corner to the other, as Gerasim could hear, and talking to himself; and he spent the night on a bed made up for him there.
Gerasim accepted Pierre's taking up his abode there with the imperturbability of a servant, who had seen many queer things in his time, and he seemed, indeed, pleased at having some one to wait upon. Without even permitting himself to wonder with what object it was wanted, he obtained for Pierre that evening a coachman's coat and cap, and promised next day to procure the pistol he required. Makar Alexyevitch twice that evening approached the door, shuffling in his goloshes, and stood there, gazing with an ingratiating air at Pierre. But as soon as Pierre turned to him, he wrapped his dressing-gown round him with a shamefaced and wrathful look, and hastily retreated. Pierre put on the coachman's coat, procured and carefully fumigated for him by Gerasim, and went out with the latter to buy a pistol at the Suharev Tower. It was there he had met the Rostovs.
打从家里消失以来，皮埃尔已在过世的巴兹杰耶夫家的空宅院里住了两天了。事情的始末是这样的。 
皮埃尔回到莫斯科，与拉斯托普钦伯爵会见后的次日，醒来之后，很久都闹不清楚自己在哪里，人们要他干什么。有人向他禀告，在接待室里，一长串等候他的名人中，包括一名法国人，他带来了海伦·瓦西里耶夫娜的信件，于是，一种混乱的垂头丧气的心情（他容易受到这种感情支配）又突然把他控制住了。他忽然觉得，一切到现在都完了，一切都乱作一团，一切都毁了，无所谓对也无所谓错，前途无望，也没有摆脱当前处境的出路。他不自然地傻笑，小声嘟囔着什么，时而无奈地在沙发上坐下，时而起身走向门口，透过门缝往接待室里瞧瞧，时而又挥挥手踱回来抓起一本书看。管家再次进来禀报皮埃尔：给伯爵夫人带信的法国人非常想见他，哪怕是一分钟也行，同时，巴兹杰耶夫的遗孀请他去接受图书，因为巴兹杰耶娃女士要到乡间去了。
“啊，是的，马上，等一等……不，不，你先去说我就来。”
皮埃尔对管家说。
但是，当管家一出房间，皮埃尔就拿起桌上的帽子，便从后面的门走出了书斋，走廊里一个人也没有。他穿过长长的走廊到了楼梯口，皱着眉头用双手抹了抹额头，下到第一道平台。守门人守在大门口。皮埃尔来到的这道台阶又有梯级通向后门。皮埃尔顺着这阶梯走到了院子里。谁也没有看见他。但当他走出后门到了街上时，站在马车旁的车夫和看院子的人看见了老爷，向他脱帽致敬。皮埃尔感到众人投过来的目光，像驼鸟把头埋在灌木丛中以免被人看见一样，低下头，并加快了步伐，沿着大街走去。
在皮埃尔今天早晨要做的事情中，收拾整理约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇的图书文件对他说来是最重要的。
他雇了他碰到的第一辆马车，吩咐车夫赶到总主教湖去，巴兹杰耶夫遗孀的家就在那里。
他不停地四处张望从四面八方开出来的驶离莫斯科的车辆，挪动自己笨重的躯体，以免滑下咿哑作响的破旧车厢，他体会到了逃学的孩子的高兴心情，同车夫聊了起来。
车夫告诉他，今天在克里姆林宫分发武器，明天民众统统赶到城外三座山，那里要打一场大仗。
抵达总主教湖，皮埃尔找到了他已很久未去过的巴兹杰耶夫家。他走近住宅的便门。格拉西姆，就是那个黄脸无须的小老头儿，他五年前同约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇在托尔若克时见到过的，出来应门。
“有家吗？”皮埃尔问。
“由于目前的时局关系，索菲娅·丹尼洛夫娜带着孩子到托尔若克乡下去，爵爷。”
“我还得进来，我要请理一下书籍。”皮埃尔说。
“请吧，欢迎大驾，亡主——愿他升入天堂——他的弟弟马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇留下了，可是，不瞒您说，他身体虚弱。”老仆人说。
马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇，正如皮埃尔所知，是神志不大清醒的嗜酒如命的人，是约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇的弟弟。
“对，对，我知道。咱们进去吧，进去吧……”皮埃尔说着进了屋。一个高大秃顶红鼻子的老头，身穿外套，光脚穿套鞋站在前厅。看见皮埃尔，他不满地嘟哝了几句，走到了走廊里。
“以前可聪明来着，可现在，您瞧，虚弱不堪，”格拉西姆说。“去书斋要不要得？”皮埃尔点头。“书斋封起来还没有动过。索菲娅·丹尼洛夫娜吩咐如您那儿来人，这边就发书。”
皮埃尔走进这间最阴暗的书斋。他在慈善家生前曾惶恐不安地来过这里。从约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇逝世起就无人动过的，现今已积满灰尘的书斋，比从前更加阴暗。
格拉西姆打开一扇护窗板，踮着足走出了书斋。皮埃尔在书斋转了一圈，走到放手稿的书橱前面，取出一件当年曾是非常重要的共济会的圣物。这是附有慈善家注释的《苏格兰教律》真本。他在尘封的写字台前坐下，把手稿摊在面前一会儿翻阅，一会儿合上，最后把手稿从面前推开，把头撑在胳膊肘上，沉思起来。
格拉西姆悄悄往书斋看了好几次，看见皮埃尔始终是那个样子坐着，两个多小时过去了。格拉西姆大胆在门边弄出了响声，以引起皮埃尔的注意。皮埃尔却听不见。
“您要不要打发马车夫走？”
“噢，是的，”皮埃尔回过神来，边说边急忙起身，“听着，”皮埃尔说，抓住格拉西姆外衣的钮扣，从头到脚地打量这个小老头，亮着湿润的兴奋的眼睛，“听我说，你知道明天将打仗吗？
“都在说呢。”格拉西姆回答……
“我请您对谁都别说我是谁。并且照我的话去做……”
“遵命，”格拉西姆说，“您要不要吃东西？”
“不，但我需要别的东西。我要一套农民的衣服和一支手枪。”皮埃尔说，脸突然发红。
“遵命。”格拉西姆想了想说。
这一天的剩余时间，皮埃尔独自一人在慈善家的书斋里度过，不安地从这头走到那头，格拉西姆听得出来，他在自言自语，最后就睡在书斋里为他安排的床铺上，度过了一夜。
素来就有仆人伺候人的习惯的，一生见过许多稀奇古怪事情的格拉西姆，对皮埃尔迁来暂住并不吃惊，而且，有一个人让他伺候似乎很满意。当晚，他连想也不想这些东西有什么用处，就给皮埃尔搞来一件车夫大褂和毡帽，并答应第二天搞到他要的手枪。马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇，这天晚上趿着套鞋两次来到房门口，停下来讨好地看着皮埃尔。但当皮埃尔转身看他时，他便又害羞又生气地裹紧外套匆忙走开。就在皮埃尔身穿格拉西姆搞来并蒸煮过的车夫大褂，同他一道去苏哈列夫塔楼买手枪时，碰到了罗斯托夫一家人。
Book 11 Chapter 19
ON THE NIGHT of the 1st of September Kutuzov gave the Russian troops the command to fall back across Moscow to the Ryazan road.
The first troops moved that night, marching deliberately and in steady order. But at dawn the retreating troops on reaching the Dorogomilov bridge saw before them, crowding on the other side, and hurrying over the bridge, and blocking the streets and alleys on the same side, and bearing down upon them from behind, immense masses of soldiers. And the troops were overtaken by causeless panic and haste. There was a general rush forward towards the bridge, on to the bridge, to the fords and to the boats. Kutuzov had himself driven by back streets to the other side of Moscow.
At ten o'clock in the morning of the 2nd of September the only troops left in the Dorogomilov suburbs were the regiments of the rear-guard, and the crush was over. The army was already on the further side of Moscow, and out of the town altogether.
At the same time, at ten o'clock in the morning of the 2nd of September, Napoleon was standing in the midst of his troops on Poklonny Hill, gazing at the spectacle that lay before him. From the 26th of August to the 2nd of September, from the day of Borodino to the entrance into Moscow, all that agitating, that memorable week, there had been that extraordinarily beautiful autumn weather, which always comes as a surprise, when though the sun is low in the sky it shines more warmly than in spring, when everything is glistening in the pure, limpid air, so that the eyes are dazzled, while the chest is braced and refreshed inhaling the fragrant autumn air; when the nights even are warm, and when in these dark, warm nights golden stars are continually falling from the sky, to the delight or terror of all who watch them.
At ten o'clock on the 2nd of September the morning light was full of the beauty of fairyland. From Poklonny Hill Moscow lay stretching wide below with her river, her gardens, and her churches, and seemed to be living a life of her own, her cupolas twinkling like stars in the sunlight.
At the sight of the strange town, with its new forms of unfamiliar architecture, Napoleon felt something of that envious and uneasy curiosity that men feel at the sight of the aspects of a strange life, knowing nothing of them. It was clear that that town was teeming with vigorous life. By those indefinable tokens by which one can infallibly tell from a distance a live body from a dead one, Napoleon could detect from Poklonny Hill the throb of life in the town, and could feel, as it were, the breathing of that beautiful, great being. Every Russian gazing at Moscow feels she is the mother; every foreigner gazing at her, and ignorant of her significance as the mother city, must be aware of the feminine character of the town, and Napoleon felt it.
“This Asiatic city with the innumerable churches, Moscow the holy. Here it is at last, the famous city! It was high time,” said Napoleon; and dismounting from his horse he bade them open the plan of Moscow before him, and sent for his interpreter, Lelorme d'Ideville.
“A city occupied by the enemy is like a girl who has lost her honour,” he thought (it was the phrase he had uttered to Tutchkov at Smolensk). And from that point of view he gazed at the Oriental beauty who lay for the first time before his eyes. He felt it strange himself that the desire so long cherished, and thought so impossible, had at last come to pass. In the clear morning light he gazed at the town, and then at the plan, looking up its details, and the certainty of possessing it agitated and awed him.
“But how could it be otherwise?” he thought. “Here is this capital, she lies at my feet awaiting her fate. Where is Alexander now, and what is he thinking? A strange, beautiful, and grand city! And a strange and grand moment is this! In what light must I appear to them?” he mused, thinking of his soldiers. “Here is the city—the reward for all those of little faith,” he thought, looking round at his suite and the approaching troops, forming into ranks.
“One word of mine, one wave of my arm, and the ancient capital of the Tsar is no more. But my clemency is ever prompt to stoop to the vanquished. I must be magnanimous and truly great. But no, it is not true that I am in Moscow,” the idea suddenly struck him. “She lies at my feet, though, her golden domes and crosses flashing and twinkling in the sun. But I will spare her. On the ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism I will inscribe the great words of justice and mercy … Alexander will feel that more bitterly than anything; I know him.” (It seemed to Napoleon that the chief import of what had happened lay in his personal contest with Alexander.) “From the heights of the Kremlin—yes, that's the Kremlin, yes—I will dictate to them the laws of justice, I will teach them the meaning of true civilisation, I will make the generations of boyards to enshrine their conqueror's name in love. I will tell the deputation that I have not sought, and do not seek, war; but I have been waging war only with the deceitful policy of their court; that I love and respect Alexander, and that in Moscow I will accept terms of peace worthy of myself and my peoples. I have no wish to take advantage of the fortune of war to humiliate their honoured Emperor. ‘Boyards,' I will say to them, ‘I do not seek war; I seek the peace and welfare of all my subjects.' But I know their presence will inspire me, and I shall speak to them as I always do, clearly, impressively, and greatly. But can it be true that I am in Moscow! Yes, there she is!”
“Let the boyards be brought to me,” he said, addressing his suite. A general, with a brilliant suite of adjutants, galloped off at once to fetch the boyards.
Two hours passed. Napoleon had lunched, and was again standing on the same spot on the Poklonny Hill, waiting for the deputation. His speech to the boyards had by now taken definite shape in his mind. The speech was full of dignity and of greatness, as Napoleon understood it. Napoleon was himself carried away by the magnanimity with which he intended to act in Moscow. In imagination he had already fixed the days for a “réunion dans le palais des Czars,” at which the great Russian nobles were to mingle with the courtiers of the French Emperor. In thought he had appointed a governor capable of winning the hearts of the people. Having heard that Moscow was full of religious institutions, he had mentally decided that his bounty was to be showered on these institutions. He imagined that as in Africa he had had to sit in a mosque wearing a burnous, in Moscow he must be gracious and bountiful as the Tsars. And being, like every Frenchman, unable to imagine anything moving without a reference to sa chère, sa tendre, sa pauvre mère, he decided finally to touch the Russian heart, that he would have inscribed on all these charitable foundations in large letters, “Dedicated to my beloved mother,” or simply, “Maison de ma mère,” he decided. “But am I really in Moscow? Yes, there she lies before me; but why is the deputation from the city so long in coming?” he wondered.
Meanwhile a whispered and agitated consultation was being held among his generals and marshals in the rear of the suite. The adjutants sent to bring the deputation had come back with the news that Moscow was empty, that every one had left or was leaving the city. The faces of all the suite were pale and perturbed. It was not that Moscow had been abandoned by its inhabitants (grave as that fact appeared) that alarmed them. They were in alarm at the idea of making the fact known to the Emperor; they could not see how, without putting his majesty into the terrible position, called by the French ridicule, to inform him that he had been waiting so long for the boyards in vain, that there was a drunken mob, but no one else in Moscow. Some of the suite maintained that come what may, they must anyway scrape up a deputation of some sort; others opposed this view, and asserted that the Emperor must be carefully and skilfully prepared, and then told the truth.
“We shall have to tell him all the same,” said some gentleman of the suite.… “But, gentlemen …”
The position was the more difficult as the Emperor, pondering on his magnanimous plans, was walking patiently up and down before the map of the city, shading his eyes to look from time to time along the road to Moscow, with a proud and happy smile.
“But it's awkward …” the gentlemen-in-waiting kept repeating, shrugging their shoulders and unable to bring themselves to settle the terrible word in their minds: “le ridicule.…”
Meanwhile the Emperor, weary of waiting in vain, and with his actor's instinct feeling that the great moment, being too long deferred, was beginning to lose its grandeur, made a sign with his hand. A solitary cannon shot gave the signal, and the invading army marched into Moscow—at the Tver, the Kaluga, and the Dorogomilov gates. More and more rapidly, vying with one another, at a quick run and a trot, the troops marched in, concealed in the clouds of dust they raised, and making the air ring with their deafening shouts.
Tempted on by the advance of the army, Napoleon too rode as far as the Dorogomilov gate, but there he halted again, and dismounting walked about the Kamerkolezhsky wall for a long time, waiting for the deputation.
九月一日晚，库图佐夫发布了俄军经莫斯科撤退至梁赞公路的命令。 
夜里开拔了首批部队，这支夜间行军的队伍从容不迫，缓慢地庄重地前进，但在黎明出发的部队快要行至多罗戈米洛夫桥时，就向前望去，在另一边，是拥挤的匆忙过桥的军队，而在这一边，是拥塞大街小巷的军队，在队伍后面，是接踵而来的望不到尽头的庞大队伍。毫无缘由的匆忙和惊慌支配着军队。人人争先恐后地挤向桥头，挤上桥去，或者挤向浅滩，挤上渡船。库图佐夫吩咐随从把马车从后街绕到莫斯科的另一边去。
到九月二日上午十点钟为止，在多罗戈米洛夫郊野只剩下后卫部队了。军队已经到了莫斯科的另一侧，有的已经到了莫斯科以远。
与此同时，在九月二日上午十点，拿破仑随同自己的军队站在波克隆山上，望着展开在他面前的景观。自八月二十六日起，至九月二日当天止，从波罗底诺战役到敌人进占莫斯科，这整个惊惶的可堪记忆的一周的全部日子，都是不寻常的令人吃惊的大好秋光，低垂的太阳照耀得比春天更温暖，在爽朗明净的空气中，万物闪闪发光，令人目眩，呼吸这沁人的空气，令你心胸振奋而舒适，就连夜晚也是温暖的，在这一周的漆黑而温暖的夜里，不时从天上撒落金色的星星，真令人又惊又喜。
九月二日上午十点，就是这样的天气。晨光魔幻般美妙。莫斯科从波克隆山起，向前广阔地伸展，河水蜿蜒，花园和教堂星罗棋布，屋宇的穹窿在阳光下有如星星般闪烁，它似乎在过着日常生活。
面对从未见过的，建筑式样奇特的怪城，拿破仑心里难免有点嫉妒和不安的好奇，就像人们面对彼此隔膜的异邦生活方式一样。显然，这座城市仍然开足了马力，在照常运转，从远处模糊不清的迹像看来，他仍能准确无误地辨认出那不同于死尸的活的躯体，拿破仑从波克隆山上看到城里生活的脉冲，似乎感到这一巨大而美丽的躯体在呼吸。
任何一个俄国人，观看莫斯科，便会觉得它是母亲；任何一个外国人，观看它时，如不了解它这母亲的涵义，也定能体会到这个城市的女性之格，这一点，拿破仑也是感觉到的。
“Cette　ville　asiatique　aux　innombrables　églises，Moscou　la　sainte．La－voilà　donc　enfin，cette　fameuse　ville！Ⅰl　était　temps．”①拿破仑说，随后爬下马鞍，吩咐把这个Moscue的地图给他摊开，并把翻译官勒洛涅·狄德维勒叫到跟前。“Une　ville　occup　e　par　l'ennemi　ressembie　à　une　fille　qui　a　perdu　son　honneur．”②他想，（就像他在斯摩棱斯克对图奇科夫所说的那样）。同时，他就以这一观点瞧着躺在他脚下的，他还从未见过的东方美人。他本人都觉得奇怪的是，他想望已久的，曾经似乎不可能实现的愿望，终于实现了。在明朗的晨光中，他时而看看城市，时而看看地图，审查这座城市的详细情形，占领它的坚定的信心使他又激动又恐惧。
“难道有可能不是这样吗？”他想，“这就是它，这个国都；它躺在我的脚下，等待厄运的降临。亚历山大现时在哪儿，他又在想什么呢？奇怪美丽雄伟的城啊！奇特而庄严的时刻啊！我以什么样子去见他们呢？”他想到他的军队，“这就是它——对所有不够忠诚的官兵的奖励，”他边想边扫视身边的，以及走拢来整队集合的队伍。“我只须一句话，只须一举手，这座des　czars③古都就完蛋了。Mais　ma　cl　mence　est　toujours　prompte　à　descendre　sur　les　vaimcus④．我应该宽怀和真正地伟大……但是不，不对，我在莫斯科是不真实的，”这想法突然出现在他脑际。“可它明明在我脚下，在阳光下炫耀着它金色的穹窿和十字架。但我会宽恕它的。在古老的野蛮和奇制的纪念碑上，我将写下正义和仁慈的伟大辞句……亚历山大最能明白的正是这点，我知道他。（拿破仑觉得，当前发生着的事件的主要意义，在于他同亚历山大个人之间的斗争。）从克里姆林宫的高楼，——是的，这是克里姆林宫，对——我将颁布正义的法律，我将晓谕他们真正文明的含意，我将让世世代代的大臣们，以敬爱之心记住征服者的名字。我将告诉代表团，我过去和现在都不要战争；我只是对他们宫廷的错误政策进行一场战争，我爱亚历山大并尊敬地，我将在莫斯科接受符合我以及我的人民的尊严的和平条件。我不想趁战争之机以羞辱尊敬的陛下。各位大臣——我告诉他们——我不要战争，我希望我所有臣民享受和平和福祉。而且，我知道，他们的到来令我愉快，我将像我一贯说话那样，清晰，庄严和伟大地对他们讲话。但我到了莫斯科是真的吗？对，这说是它！” 
①在这座亚洲城市有数不清的教堂，莫斯科，他们的神圣的莫斯科！终于到了这座名城！时候到了。
②被敌人占领的城市，犹如失掉贞操的少女。
③历代沙皇的。
④但我的仁慈随时准备赐予战败者。
“Qu'on　m'amène　les　boyars．”①他对侍从说。一名将军率一队英俊随从立即策马去叫俄国大臣。 
①去把大臣们召来。
过了两个小时。拿破仑吃过早饭，又站在波克隆山上那个刚才站的位置上，等候代表团。对俄国大臣的演说，在脑子里已经有了清晰的轮廓。这篇演说充满了尊严，充满了拿破仑所理解的伟大。
拿破仑为自己在莫斯科的行动所定下的宽容的调子，颇为自我欣赏。他在脑子里定下了r　union　dans　le　palais　des　czars①的日子，俄国要员届时将与法国皇帝的大官相聚一堂。他在意识里任命了一位总督，一位能笼络居民的人。了解到莫斯科有许多慈善机构之后，他在想象中作出决定，要使所有这些机构都能享受他的恩惠的赐予。他想，正如在非洲需要被斗篷大氅坐在清真寺里一样，在莫斯科则要像沙皇一样仁慈。为了彻底触动俄国的人心，他，像每一个法国人那样，除了怀念ma　ch　re，ma　tender，ma　pauvre　m　re②，便想不出动情的话语，因此他决定，在所有这些机构，照他的吩咐写上大写字母的：Etablissement　dédié　à　ma　chère③．不，就只写：Maison　de　ma　mère，他自己这样酌定。“难道我到了莫斯科吗？是的，它已在我的脚下，那又为什么城市代表团这么久还未露面呢？”他心里想与此同时，在皇帝侍从的背后，将军和元帅们压低嗓子激动地议论开了。去请代表团的侍从们带回消息说，莫斯科空空如也，所有的人乘车的乘车走的走路，都离开了。那些聚集在一起议论的将帅们脸色气得发白。他们惶恐不安，不是因为居民们撤离了莫斯科（不管这事有多么重大），使他们惶恐的是，该用怎样的言辞向皇帝作出解释，为何使他不至于陷入可怕的法国人所谓的ridicule④处境，怎样对他说明，他白白地等了这么长时间，不见俄国大臣的影子，只有一群群醉鬼，别无他人。有的人说，无论如何得随便召集一个代表团。有的人却反驳这个意见，表示应该谨慎地巧妙地行事，使皇帝有所准备，然后说出事实真相。 
①御前会议。
②我的亲爱的温柔的可怜的母亲。
③纪念我温柔的母亲的机构。——我母亲之家。
④尴尬。
“Ⅰl　faudra　le　lui　dire　tout　de　même……”①侍从官们说。“Mais　messieurs……”②情形更加严重了，因为皇帝正在推敲自己的仁政计划，时而耐心地走近地图，时而手搭凉棚望着通往莫斯科的路上，开心地高傲地微笑着。
“Mais　c'est　impossible……”③侍从官们耸耸肩膀说，迟疑不决，怕说出大家都想到的可怕的字眼：le　ridicule…… 
①然而总得告诉他……
②可是先生们……
③但不方便……不可能……
这时，皇帝由于徒劳的等待而感到疲倦了，他以演员的敏锐感觉出，庄严的时刻拖得过长而开始丧失其庄严意，便做了个手势。信号炮发出了单调的声音，于是，包围莫斯科的军队便从特维尔、卡卢日斯基和多罗戈米洛夫等城门开进莫斯科。军队愈走愈快，互相追赶，快步或小跑地前进着，在自己脚步掀起的尘雾中渐渐地不知去向，汇成一片的吼叫声震撼上空。
被军队行进所吸引的拿破仑，同队伍一道乘马抵达多罗戈米洛夫城门，但在那儿又一次停下，下马后在度支部土墙旁来回走了好一阵，等待代表团。
Book 11 Chapter 20
MOSCOW meanwhile was empty. There was still people in the city; a fiftieth part of all the former inhabitants still remained in it, but it was empty.
It was deserted as a dying, queenless hive is deserted.
In a queenless hive there is no life left. Yet at a superficial glance it seems as much alive as other hives.
In the hot rays of the midday sun the bees soar as gaily around the queenless hive as around other living hives; from a distance it smells of honey like the rest, and bees fly into and out of it just the same. Yet one has but to watch it a little to see that there is no life in the hive. The flight of the bees is not as in living hives, the smell and the sound that meet the beekeeper are changed. When the beekeeper strikes the wall of the sick hive, instead of the instant, unanimous response, the buzzing of tens of thousands of bees menacingly arching their backs, and by the rapid stroke of their wings making that whirring, living sound, he is greeted by a disconnected, droning hum from different parts of the deserted hive. From the alighting board comes not as of old the spirituous, fragrant smell of honey and bitterness, and the whiff of heat from the multitudes within. A smell of chill emptiness and decay mingles with the scent of honey. Around the entrance there is now no throng of guards, arching their backs and trumpeting the menace, ready to die in its defence. There is heard no more the low, even hum, the buzz of toil, like the singing of boiling water, but the broken, discordant uproar of disorder comes forth. The black, long-shaped, honey-smeared workers fly timidly and furtively in and out of the hive: they do not sting, but crawl away at the sight of danger. Of old they flew in only with their bags of honey, and flew out empty: now they fly out with their burdens. The beekeeper opens the lower partition and peeps into the lower half of the hive. Instead of the clusters of black, sleek bees, clinging on each other's legs, hanging to the lower side of the partition, and with an unbroken hum of toil building at the wax, drowsy, withered bees wander listlessly about over the roof and walls of the hive. Instead of the cleanly glued-up floor, swept by the bees' wings, there are now bits of wax, excrement, dying bees feebly kicking, and dead bees lying not cleared away on the floor.
The beekeeper opens the upper door and examines the super of the hive. In place of close rows of bees, sealing up every gap left in the combs and fostering the brood, he sees only the skilful, complex, edifice of combs, and even in this the virginal purity of old days is gone. All is forsaken; and soiled, black, stranger bees scurry swiftly and stealthily about the combs in search of plunder; while the dried-up, shrunken, listless, old-looking bees of the hive wander slowly about, doing nothing to hinder them, having lost every desire and sense of life. Drones, gadflies, wasps and butterflies flutter about aimlessly, brushing their wings against the walls of the hive. Here and there, between the cells full of dead brood and honey, is heard an angry buzz; here and there a couple of bees from old habit and custom, though they know not why they do it, are cleaning the hive, painfully dragging away a dead bee or a wasp, a task beyond their strength. In another corner two other old bees are languidly fighting or cleaning themselves or feeding one another, themselves unaware whether with friendly or hostile intent. Elsewhere a crowd of bees, squeezing one another, is falling upon some victim, beating and crushing it; and the killed or enfeebled bee drops slowly, light as a feather, on to the heap of corpses. The beekeeper parts the two centre partitions to look at the nursery. Instead of the dense, black rings of thousands of bees, sitting back to back, watching the high mysteries of the work of generation, he sees hundreds of dejected, lifeless, and slumbering wrecks of bees. Almost all have died, unconscious of their coming end, sitting in the holy place, which they had watched—now no more. They reek of death and corruption. But a few of them still stir, rise up, fly languidly and settle on the hand of the foe, without the spirit to die stinging him; the rest are dead and as easily brushed aside as fishes' scales. The beekeeper closes the partition, chalks a mark on the hive, and choosing his own time, breaks it up and burns it.
So was Moscow deserted, as Napoleon, weary, uneasy and frowning, paced up and down at the Kamerkolezhsky wall awaiting that merely external, but still to his mind essential observance of the proprieties—a deputation.
Some few men were still astir in odd corners of Moscow, aimlessly following their old habits, with no understanding of what they were doing.
When, with due circumspectness, Napoleon was informed that Moscow was deserted, he looked wrathfully at his informant, and turning his back on him, went on pacing up and down in silence.
“My carriage,” he said. He sat down in his carriage beside the adjutant on duty, and drove into the suburbs.
“Moscow deserted! What an incredible event!” he said to himself.
He did not drive right into the town, but put up for the night at an inn in the Dorogomilov suburb. The dramatic scene had not come off.
莫斯科此时已成为一座空城。人还是有的，尚有五十分之一的先前的居民留了下来，它空空如也。它是空的，就像衰败的失去蜂王的蜂巢一样。 
失去蜂王的蜂巢里面已经没有生命，但从表面来看它仍是活的，像其余的蜂巢一样。
蜜蜂在正午炎热的阳光下，依然欢快地绕着失去蜂王的蜂巢飞舞，就像蜜蜂围绕其余的活蜂巢飞舞一样；它依然从远处散发着蜜糖的芬香，依然有蜜蜂飞进飞出。但是只要仔细地往里瞧瞧，便会明白，这座蜂巢里没有了生命。蜜蜂已不像在活的蜂巢的蜜蜂那样飞舞了，那种香气，那种声音已不再使养蜂人为之动容。养蜂人敲敲患病的蜂巢的外壁，回应他的不再是先前那种立即齐声的回应：数千只蜜蜂发出嗡嗡声，它们威武地收紧腹部，快速地鼓动双翼发出充满生命力的气浪声；而此刻回应他的则是支离破碎的，从空巢的一些地方发出的沉闷的嘶嘶声。不再像从前那样从出入孔散发醉人的蜜糖和毒液的浓郁的芬香，不再蒸发出腾腾的热气，而在蜜香中却混合着一股衰败腐朽的气味。出入孔旁，再也没有随时准备高翘尾椎发出警号拼死自卫的兵蜂。再也感觉不到均匀而平静的劳作的颤动——听不到那沸水冒气泡般的声音，听到的唯在无规律的散乱无序的嘈杂声。在出入孔胆怯而且狡猾地飞进飞出的，是黑色椭圆、粘满蜜糖的强盗蜂，它们不整人，遇危险便溜走。以前是带着花蜜飞进、空身飞出的蜜蜂，现在则带蜜飞出。养蜂人打开底巢向蜂箱底部张望。再不见从前一直悬垂至底部的一溜溜乌黑发亮、辛勤劳作的蜜蜂，它们彼此抱住腿，不间断地哼着劳动的歌，抽取着蜂蜡，相反，只见些昏昏欲睡的干瘪的蜜蜂，茫然地在底部和巢壁上爬来爬去。再不见涂了一层蜡并由蜂翅扇得干干净净的底板，在底板只有蜂房的碎块，粪便，半死的偶尔伸伸腿的蜜蜂及死后而来消除的蜜蜂。
养蜂人打开顶巢查看蜂箱的上端。本应有一排排密集的蜜蜂，紧贴蜂室为蜂蛹保暖，可是他所看到的精巧而复杂的蜂室的杰作，已没有蜂蛹存在时的清洁的样子。一切都是空荡荡的脏兮兮的。作为蜂贼的黑蜂，偷偷地迅速地在这些杰作上乱窜；自家的蜜蜂显得干瘪、短小、枯萎，像是衰老了，很慢地爬着，不去打扰谁，无所欲求，失去了生存意识。雄蜂、胡蜂、丸花蜂和蝴蝶徒劳地撞击着巢壁。在蜂蛹已死亡的巢础和蜜糖之间，偶尔可听到这里那里传来忿恨的嗫嚅声；某处又有两只蜜蜂照老习惯和凭记忆来清扫蜂巢，吃力地超负荷地把死蜂和丸花蜂拽出窝去，并不知道为什么要这们做。在另一个角落，另外两只老蜂动作迟缓地厮打着，或者清洗着身子，或者互相喂食，并不知道这样做是仇恨还是友爱。在第三处，一群蜜蜂互相挤压，向一个牺牲品进攻，打它，挤它，那只垂危或已死亡的蜜蜂像茸毛一样，从上面掉到蜜蜂尸体堆中去。养蜂人转动中间两格蜂室看看蜂窝。再也看不见一圈圈生气蓬勃的油黑的蜜蜂背靠背蹲在蜂室里，保守着生育的最高秘密，他看到的是凄凉的半死不活的睡着了的空壳般的蜜蜂。它们几乎全部死亡，只是不自觉而已，在它们守卫过而现已不复存在的圣地呆着。它们身上散发出腐烂的死亡的气息。它们当中，只有一些尚能动弹，直挺挺地立着，无力地飞翔，落在敌人手上，而无力一螫敌人而后死去，其余死亡了的，则像鱼鳞一样，轻轻飘落于窝底。养蜂人关上蜂桶，用粉笔作上记号，到时候砸毁它、烧掉它。
莫斯科就是这样，空空荡荡的，这当儿疲乏而又烦躁的眉头紧锁的拿破仑，在度支部土墙旁来回走着，等候代表团的到来，一项他认为虽系表面文章却不可缺少的礼节——
在莫斯科各个角落，仍有人在不理智地蝇营狗苟一如往昔，而且不知其所为何事。
当有人以十足的小心呈报拿破仑，说莫斯科已变成一座空城的时候，他生气地看了一眼禀告人，背转身去继续沉默地来回地走着，
“马车。”地说，同值日副官一道乘上轿式马车向郊区驶去。
“Moscon　déserte．Quel　événement　invraisemBblable！”①他自言自语。
他没有进城，驻跸于多罗戈米洛夫郊区一家旅舍。
Le　coup　de　thèǎtre　avait　raté②． 
①莫斯科空了。这事太不可能！
②这场戏的结局演得不成功。 
Book 11 Chapter 21
THE RUSSIAN TROOPS were crossing Moscow from two o'clock at night to two o'clock in the day, and took with them the last departing inhabitants and wounded soldiers.
The greatest crush took place on the Kamenny bridge, the Moskvoryetsky bridge, and Yauzsky bridge. While the troops, parting in two about the Kremlin, were crowding on to the Moskvoryetsky and Kamenny bridges, an immense number of soldiers availed themselves of the stoppage and the block to turn back, and slipping stealthily and quietly by Vassily the Blessed, and under the Borovitsky gates, they made their way uphill to the Red Square, where some instinct told them they could easily carry off other people's property. Every passage and alley of the Gostinny bazaar was filled with a crowd, such as throngs there at sales. But there were no ingratiating, alluring voices of shopmen, no hawkers, no motley, female mob of purchasers—everywherewere the uniforms and overcoats of soldiers without guns, going out in silence with loads of booty, and coming in empty-handed. The shopkeepers and shopmen (they were few) were walking about among the soldiers, like men distraught, opening and shutting their shops, and helping their assistants to carry away their wares. There were drummers in the square before the bazaar beating the muster-call. But the roll of the drum made the pillaging soldiers not run up at the call as of old, but, on the contrary, run away from the drum. Among the soldiers in the shops and passages could be seen men in the grey coats, and with the shaven heads of convicts. Two officers, one with a scarf over his uniform, on a thin, dark grey horse, the other on foot, wearing a military overcoat, stood at the corner of Ilyinka, talking. A third officer galloped up to them.
“The general has sent orders that they positively must all be driven out. Why, this is outrageous! Half the men have run off.”
“Why, are you off too? … Where are you fellows off to?” … he shouted to three infantry soldiers, who ran by him into the bazaar without guns, holding up the skirts of their overcoats. “Stop, rascals!”
“Yes, you see, how are you going to get hold of them?” answered another officer. “There's no getting them together; we must push on so that the last may not be gone, that's the only thing to do!”
“How's one to push on? There they have been standing, with a block on the bridge, and they are not moving. Shouldn't a guard be set to prevent the rest running off?”
“Why, come along! Drive them out,” shouted the senior officer.
The officer in the scarf dismounted, called up a drummer, and went with him into the arcade. Several soldiers in a group together made a rush away. A shopkeeper, with red bruises on his cheeks about his nose, with an expression on his sleek face of quiet persistence in the pursuit of gain, came hurriedly and briskly up to the officer gesticulating.
“Your honour,” said he, “graciously protect us. We are not close-fisted—any trifle now … we shall be delighted! Pray, your honour, walk in, I'll bring out cloth in a moment—a couple of pieces even for a gentleman —we shall be delighted! For we feel how it is, but this is simple robbery! Pray, your honour! a guard or something should be set, to let us at least shut up …”
Several shopkeepers crowded round the officer.
“Eh! it's no use clacking,” said one of them, a thin man, with a stern face; “when one's head's off, one doesn't weep over one's hair. Let all take what they please!” And with a vigorous sweep of his arm he turned away from the officer.
“It's all very well for you to talk, Ivan Sidoritch,” the first shopkeeper began angrily. “If you please, your honour.”
“What's the use of talking!” shouted the thin man; “in my three shops here I have one hundred thousand worth of goods. How's one to guard them when the army is gone? Ah, fellows, God's will is not in men's hands!”
“If you please, your honour,” said the first shopkeeper, bowing.
The officer stood in uncertainty, and his face betrayed indecision. “Why, what business is it of mine!” he cried suddenly, and he strode on rapidly along the arcade. In one open shop he heard blows and high words, and just as the officer was going into it, a man in a grey coat, with a shaven head, was thrust violently out of the door.
This man doubled himself up and bounded past the shopkeepers and the officer. The officer pounced on the soldiers who were in the shop. But meanwhile fearful screams, coming from an immense crowd, were heard near the Moskvoryetsky bridge, and the officer ran out into the square.
“What is it? What is it?” he asked, but his comrade had already galloped off in the direction of the screams. The officer mounted his horse and followed him. As he drew near the bridge, he saw two cannons that had been taken off their carriages, the infantry marching over the bridge, a few broken-down carts, and some soldiers with frightened, and some with laughing faces. Near the cannons stood a waggon with a pair of horses harnessed to it. Behind the wheels huddled four greyhounds in collars. A mountain of goods was piled up in the waggon, and on the very top, beside a child's chair turned legs uppermost, sat a woman, who was uttering shrill and despairing shrieks. The officer was told by his comrades that the screams of the crowd and the woman's shrieks were due to the fact that General Yermolov had come riding down on the crowd, and learning that the soldiers were straying away in the shops, and crowds of the townspeople were blocking the bridge, had commanded them to take the cannons out of their carriages, and to make as though they would fire them at the bridge. The crowd had made a rush; upsetting waggons, trampling one another, and screaming desperately, the bridge had been cleared, and the troops had moved on.
俄军从夜间两点到次日下午两点穿过莫斯科，尾随其后的是最后撤离的居民和伤兵。 
行军时，在石桥、在莫斯科河桥和雅乌兹河桥上，发生了异常拥挤的现象。
在军队分两路绕过克里姆林宫，聚集到莫斯科河桥和石桥上时，大量士兵趁那短暂停留、互相拥挤的机会，从桥头折回，偷偷摸摸地窜过瓦西里·布拉任内教堂，经博罗维茨基城门回到红场附近的小山上。他们凭着某种感觉，觉得在那里可以轻而易举地拿走别人的东西。这一群家伙，像买便宜货一样，挤满了商场内的大小各条通道。但已听不到店员甜言蜜语劝购的声音，看不到小贩和五颜六色的女顾客——只有士兵的制服和大衣在晃动，士兵们没带武器，空手进去，默默地走出来时全身已鼓鼓囊囊。商人和掌柜（人不太多）像丢了魂似的在士兵中穿行，打开店铺，进去再拴上门，然后同伙计一道把货物搬往别处。商场附近的广场上站着军鼓队，在敲集合鼓。但是鼓声并不能使抢劫的士兵像从前那样跑步集合，他们反而跑得离军鼓更远了。在士兵中间，在店铺里外和过道上，看得见一些穿灰长褂、剃光头的人①。两名军官，一个制服上扎了腰带，骑一匹灰黑的瘦马，另一个穿大衣徒步，站在伊利英卡街拐角上交谈。第三名军官骑马向他们走来。 
①指从监狱释放出来的囚犯。
“将军下令无论如何得立即把他们赶出来。这算什么，太不成体统！一半人跑散了。”
“你去哪儿？……你们去哪儿？……”他朝三名步兵大声问，这三人没带武器，提着大衣下摆，正经过这里往市场溜。
“站住，混蛋！”
“能让他们集合吗？”另一个军官答话。“你集合不起来的；
得快点走，免得剩下的人再跑，只能这样！”
“怎样走呢？——都停在那里，挤在桥上一动不动的。要末布置一条封锁线阻止剩下的人逃跑，好吗？”
“行啦，快往那边去！把他们赶出来。”上级军官吼叫着。
扎腰带的军官翻身下马，叫来一个鼓手，同他一起走进商场拱门。几个士兵撒腿一齐跑掉了。一个鼻子周围发生了一圈红包丘疹的商人，富态的脸上现着镇定的精明的神气，急忙而潇洒地晃着胳膊来到军官面前。
“大人，”他说，“行行善吧，保护我们吧。这儿无论什么东西我们都不当一回事，我们乐意奉送。请吧，我现在就抱呢料出来。对您这样高贵的人物，就是送两匹也成，悉叫尊便！因为我们觉得，怎么说呢，简直是抢劫！劳驾了！能不能派个岗哨让我们关上门……”
几个商人这时围拢了过来。
“唉！还瞎扯哩，”其中一个瘦个子板着脸说。“脑袋都掉了，还哭头发。爱拿就拿呗！”他使劲一挥手，转身朝向军官。
“你，伊万·西多内奇，倒真会说，”刚才那位商人生气地插话，“您请吧，大人。”
“还说啥呢！”瘦个儿叫了起来，“我有三间铺子，十万卢布的货物。难道军队开走了你还保得住。唉，人哪，上帝的旨意是不可违抗的。”
“请进吧，大人，”刚才那个商人鞠着躬说。军官困惑地站着，脸止现出迟疑不决的神态。
“这与我无关！”他突然大声地说，顺着店铺快步走开。在一间开着的铺子里，传出斗殴和相骂的声音，当军官走到时，门里跳出一个被推搡出来的人（他穿着一件灰长褂，剃光了头）。
这个人弯着腰从商人和军官身旁溜走了。军官冲向这间店铺里的士兵。这时，传来莫斯科河桥上人堆里的恐怖的喊叫声，军官立即跑出商场，到了广场上。
“怎么回事？怎么回事？”他问，但他的同伴已策马朝喊声方向去了，他走过瓦西里·布拉任内教堂。从商场跑出的军官骑上马也跟着去了。当他骑马跑到桥边，看到两尊卸下前车架的大炮，正走上桥去的步兵，几辆翻倒的大车，看到几张惊慌的面孔，以及喜笑颜开的士兵们的面孔，大炮旁停着一辆双套车。这辆车的车轮后面，蜷缩着四只戴项圈的猎犬。车上的东西堆积如山，最上面。靠着一把倒置的童椅，坐着一位农妇，在刺耳地绝望地尖叫，同志们对军官说，人群的吼声和农妇的尖叫，是由于叶尔莫洛夫将军碰上这群人后，得知士兵们跑到商店去了，成群的百姓堵塞了大桥，他便命令把大炮从前车架卸下，做出将要向桥上开炮的样子。人群碰翻车辆，大声叫喊，拥挤着疏通了大桥，军队方才向前开动。
Book 11 Chapter 22
THE TOWN ITSELF meanwhile was deserted. There was scarcely a creature in the streets. The gates and the shops were all closed; here and there near pot-houses could be heard solitary shouts or drunken singing. No one was driving in the streets, and footsteps were rarely heard. Povarsky Street was perfectly still and deserted. In the immense courtyard of the Rostovs' house a few wisps of straw were lying about, litter out of the waggons that had gone away, and not a man was to be seen. In the Rostovs' house—abandoned with all its wealth—there were two persons in the great drawing-room. These were the porter, Ignat, and the little page, Mishka, the grandson of Vassilitch, who had remained in Moscow with his grandfather. Mishka had opened the clavichord, and was strumming with one finger. The porter, with his arms akimbo and a gleeful smile on his face, was standing before the great looking-glass.
“That's fine, eh, Uncle Ignat?” said the boy, beginning to bang with both hands at once on the keys.
“Ay, ay!” answered Ignat, admiring the broadening grin on his visage in the glass.
“Shameless fellows! Shameless, upon my word!” they heard behind them the voice of Mavra Kuzminishna, who had softly entered. “The fat-faced fellow grinning at himself! So this is what you are at! It's not all cleared away down there, and Vassilitch fairly knocked up. You wait a bit!”
Ignat, setting his belt straight, left off smiling, and with eyes submissively downcast, walked out of the room.
“Auntie, I was only just touching …” said the boy.
“I'll teach you only just to touch. Little rascal!” cried Mavra Kuzminishna, waving her hand at him. “Go and set the samovar for your granddad.”
Brushing the dust off, she closed the clavichord, and sighing heavily went out of the drawing-room and closed the door. Going out into the yard Mavra Kuzminishna mused where she would go next: whether to drink tea in the lodge with Vassilitch, or to the storeroom to put away what still remained to be stored away.
There was a sound of rapid footsteps in the still street. The steps paused at the gate, the latch rattled as some hand tried to open it.
Mavra Kuzminishna went up to the little gate.
“Whom do you want?”
“The count, Count Ilya Andreitch Rostov.”
“But who are you?”
“I am an officer. I want to see him,” said a genial voice, the voice of a Russian gentleman.
Mavra Kuzminishna opened the gate. And there walked into the courtyard a round-faced officer, a lad of eighteen, whose type of face strikingly resembled the Rostovs'.
“They have gone away, sir. Yesterday, in the evening, their honours set off,” said Mavra Kuzminishna cordially. The young officer standing in the gateway, as though hesitating whether to go in or not, gave a click with his tongue expressive of disappointment.
“Ah, how annoying!” he said. “Yesterday I ought to … Ah, what a pity …”
Meanwhile Mavra Kuzminishna was intently and sympathetically scrutinising the familiar features of the Rostov family in the young man's face, and the tattered cloak and trodden-down boots he was wearing. “What was it you wanted to see the count for?” she asked.
“Well … what am I to do now!” the officer cried, with vexation in his voice, and he took hold of the gate as though intending to go away. He stopped short again in uncertainty.
“You see,” he said all at once, “I am a kinsman of the count's, and he has always been very kind to me. So do you see” (he looked with a merry and good-humoured smile at his cloak and boots) “I am in rags, and haven't a farthing; so I had meant to ask the count …”
Mavra Kuzminishna did not let him finish.
“Would you wait just a minute, sir? Only one minute,” she said. And as soon as the officer let go of the gate, Mavra Kuzminishna turned, and with her rapid, elderly step hurried into the back court to her lodge.
While she was running to her room, the officer, with downcast head and a faint smile, was pacing up and down the yard, gazing at his tattered boots.
“What a pity I have missed uncle! What a nice old body! Where has she run off to? And how am I to find out the nearest way for me to overtake the regiment, which must be at Rogozhsky by now?” the young officer was musing meanwhile. Mavra Kuzminishna came round the corner with a frightened and, at the same time, resolute face, carrying in her hands a knotted check handkerchief. A few steps from him, she untied the handkerchief, took out of it a white twenty-five rouble note, and gave it hurriedly to the officer.
“Had his excellency been at home, to be sure, he would have done a kinsman's part, but as it is … see, may be …” Mavra Kuzminishna was overcome with shyness and confusion. But the officer, with no haste nor reluctance, took the note, and thanked Mavra Kuzminishna. “If only the count had been at home,” murmured Mavra Kuzminishna, as it were apologetically. “Christ be with you, sir. God keep you safe,” she said, bowing and showing him out. The officer, smiling and shaking his head, as though laughing at himself, ran almost at a trot along the empty streets to overtake his regiment at Yauzsky bridge.
But for some time Mavra Kuzminishna remained standing with wet eyes before the closed gate, pensively shaking her head, and feeling a sudden rush of motherly tenderness and pity for the unknown boy-officer.
城内此时是空旷寂寞。大街上几乎没有一个行人。住户的大门和店铺都上了锁，只在一些酒馆附近听得见吼叫或是醉汉的哼唱。街上没有人驶行，行人的脚步声也很少听得见。波瓦尔大街一片沉寂荒凉。罗斯托夫府邸的院子里，撒着草料屑和马的粪便，却不见一个人影。在罗斯托夫连财产也全部留下来了的府上，有两个人待在大客厅里。这是看门人伊格纳特和小家伙米什卡，他是同爷爷瓦西里奇一道留在莫斯科的。米什卡打开克拉维珂琴盖①，用一个指头弹了起来。看门人双手叉腰笑嘻嘻地站在大穿衣镜前面。 
①clavichord之音译，或译“翼琴”，今又称古钢琴，因系现代钢琴piano之前身，但当时并不古。
“弹得多好啊！啊？伊格纳特叔叔！”小孩说，突然两只手都在键盘上拍打起来。
“啧啧，你呀！”伊格纳特回答，望着镜子里愈来愈高兴的笑容，他很是惊奇。
“不害臊！真不害臊！”两人背后传来悄悄进屋的玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜的声音。“瞧他那个大胖脸，龇牙咧嘴。养你们干这个！那边什么都没收掇好呢，瓦西里奇累坏了。等着给你算帐！”
伊格纳特整理好腰带，收敛起笑容，驯服地垂下眼睛，赶忙走出屋子。
“大婶，我轻轻弹了一下。”小孩说。
“我也轻轻揍你一下，小淘气鬼！”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜朝他挥手喊道：“去，给爷爷烧茶。”
玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜掸掸灰尘，合上了克拉维珂琴盖。
然后重重地叹了一口气，出了客厅，锁上了房门。
走到院子里，玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜想了想该去哪儿：去瓦西里奇厢房喝茶呢，还是去库房收拾还没收拾好的东西。
寂静的街上响起了急促的脚步声。脚步声在门旁停住了。
门闩发出了响声，一只手用力推开它。
玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜走到便门前。
“找谁？”
“伯爵，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇·罗斯托夫伯爵。”
“您又是谁呢？”
“我是军官。我想要见他。”一副悦耳高雅的腔调在说话。
玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜打开了便门，走到院子里来的是一个十七八岁，圆脸、脸型像罗斯托夫家的军官。
“都走啦，少爷。昨天傍晚走的，”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜客气地说。
年轻的军官站在便门里，好像有点犹豫不决——是进屋还是不进屋去——的样子，他弹了一下舌头。
“噢，太遗憾了！”他说，“我本应该昨天……噢，真遗憾！
……”
玛拉夫·库兹米尼什娜同情地仔细从年轻人脸上，察看她所熟悉的罗斯托夫血缘的特征，又看看他身上的挂破了的军大衣和破旧的皮靴。
“您为什么要来找伯爵呢？”他问。
“那就……没法了！”军官沮丧地说，抓住门像是要走。他又迟疑地停下。
“您看出来了没有？”突然他说，“我是伯爵的家属，他一向对我很好。现在，您瞧见没有（他友好地愉快地微笑着看了自己的大衣和皮靴），都穿破了，可钱又没有，我想请求伯爵……”
玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜不让他说下去。
“您稍稍等一下，少爷。就一分钟，”他说。军官刚刚把手从门上放下，玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜就已转身，以老太婆的快步子向后院自己的厢房走去。
在玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜跑回自己屋子的这段时间，军官低下头望着已裂开的皮靴，脸上有些许笑意，在院子里蹓跶。“真遗憾，没碰到叔叔。但是老太婆很好啊！她跑到哪儿去了？我又怎么会知道，走哪些街道可以抄近路赶上团队呢？他们现在恐怕走到罗戈日城门了呢。”年轻军官在这一时刻想着。玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜神情惊慌却又坚定，手里捧着一个裹好的方格头巾，从一个角落出来。在走到离军官几步远的地方，她便解开头巾，拿出里面那张白色的二十五卢布钞票，急忙递给他。
“老爷要是在家，晓得了。他们准会照亲属招呼，但是，也许……现在……”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜觉得难为情，慌乱起来了。但是，军官并不拒绝，不慌不忙地接过纸币，并感谢玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜。“要是伯爵在家，”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜仍在抱歉地说。“愿基督保佑您，少爷上帝保佑您。”玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜说，一面鞠着躬送他出门。军官仿佛在自我嘲弄，微笑地摇着头，几乎快步跑过空旷的街道，朝雅乌兹桥方向去追赶自己所属的团队。
而玛夫拉·库兹米尼什娜还含着眼泪，久久地站在已经上了闩的便门后面，沉思地摇着头，突然觉得她对陌生的青年军官怀有母性的柔情和怜爱。
Book 11 Chapter 23
IN AN UNFINISHED HOUSE in Varvarka, the lower part of which was a pot-house, there were sounds of drunken brawling and singing. Some ten factory hands were sitting on benches at tables in a little, dirty room. Tipsy, sweating, blear-eyed, with wide-gaping mouths, bloated with drink, they were singing some sort of a song. They were singing discordantly, with toil, with labour, not because they wanted to sing, but simply to betoken that they were drunk, and were enjoying themselves. One of them, a tall, flaxen-headed fellow, in a clean, blue long coat was standing over the rest. His face, with its straight, fine nose, would have been handsome, but for the thick, compressed, continually twitching lips and the lustreless, staring, and frowning eyes. He was standing over the singers, and, obviously with some notion in his head, was making solemn and angular passes over their heads with his bare, white arm, while he tried to spread his dirty fingers out unnaturally wide apart. The sleeve of his coat was incessantly slipping down, and the young fellow kept carefully tucking it up again with his left hand, as though there was something of special significance requiring that white, sinewy, waving arm to be bare. In the middle of the song, shouts and blows were heard in the passage and the porch. The tall fellow waved his arms.
“Shut up!” he shouted peremptorily. “A fight, lads!” and still tucking up his sleeves, he went out to the porch.
The factory hands followed him. They had brought the tavern- keeper some skins that morning from the factory, had had drink given them for this service, and had been drinking under the leadership of the tall young man. The blacksmiths working in a smithy hard by heard the sounds of revelry in the pothouse, and supposing the house had been forcibly broken into, wanted to break in too. A conflict was going on in the porch.
The tavern-keeper was fighting with a blacksmith in the doorway, and at the moment when the factory hands emerged, the smith had reeled away from the tavern-keeper, and fallen on his face on the pavement.
Another smith dashed in at the door, staggering with his chest against the tavern-keeper.
The young man with the sleeve tucked up, as he went, dealt a blow in the face of the smith who had dashed in at the door, and shouted wildly:
“Lads! they are beating our mates!”
Meanwhile, the smith got up from the ground, and with blood spurting from his bruised face, cried in a wailing voice:
“Help! They have killed me …! They have killed a man! Mates! …”
“Oy, mercy on us, killed entirely, a man killed!” squealed a woman, coming out of the gates next door. A crowd of people gathered round the blood-stained smith.
“Haven't you ruined folks enough, stripping the shirts off their backs?” said a voice, addressing the tavern-keeper; “and so now you have murdered a man! Blackguard!”
The tall young man standing on the steps turned his bleared eyes from the tavern-keeper to the smiths, as though considering with which to fight.
“Cut-throat!” he cried suddenly at the tavern-keeper. “Lads, bind him!”
“Indeed, and you try and bind a man like me!” bawled the tavern-keeper, tearing himself away from the men who threw themselves on him, and taking off his cap, he flung it on the ground. As though this act had some mysterious and menacing significance, the factory hands, who had surrounded the tavern-keeper, stood still in uncertainty.
“I know the law, mate, very well, I do. I'll go to the police. Are you thinking I won't find them? Robbery's not the order of the day for any one!” bawled the tavern-keeper, picking up his cap.
“And go we will, so there!” … “And go we will … so there!” the tavern-keeper and the tall fellow repeated after one another, and both together moved forward along the street. The blood-bespattered smith walked on a level with them. The factory-hands and a mob of outsiders followed them with talk and shouting.
At the corner of Maroseyka, opposite a great house with closed shutters, and the signboard of a bootmaker, stood a group of some twenty bootmakers, thin, exhausted-looking men, with dejected faces, in loose smocks, and torn coats.
“He ought to pay folks properly!” a thin boot hand, with a scant beard and scowling brows, was saying. “He's sucked the life-blood out of us, and then he's quit of us. He's been promising and promising us all the week. And now he's driven us to the last point, and he's made off.” Seeing the mob and the blood-bespattered smith, the man paused, and the bootmakers with inquisitive eagerness joined the moving crowd.
“Where are the folks going?”
“Going to the police, to be sure.”
“Is it true we are beaten?”
“Why, what did you think? Look what folks are saying!”
Questions and answers were audible. The tavern-keeper, taking advantage of the increased numbers of the rabble, dropped behind the mob, and went back to his tavern.
The tall young fellow, not remarking the disappearance of his foe, the tavern-keeper, still moved his bare arm and talked incessantly, attracting the attention of all. The mob pressed about his figure principally, expecting to get from him some solution of the questions that were absorbing all of them.
“Let them show the order, let him show the law, that's what the government's for! Isn't it the truth I am saying, good Christian folk?” said the tall young man, faintly smiling.
“Does he suppose there's no government? Could we do without government? Wouldn't there be plenty to rob us, eh?”
“Why talk nonsense!” was murmured in the crowd. “Why, will they leave Moscow like this! They told you a lot of stuff in joke, and you believed them. Haven't we troops enough? No fear, they won't let him enter! That's what the government's for. Ay, listen what folks are prating of!” they said, pointing to the tall fellow.
By the wall of the Kitay-Gorod there was another small group of people gathered about a man in a frieze coat, who held a paper in his hand.
“A decree, a decree being read! A decree is being read,” was heard in the crowd, and the mob surged round the reader.
The man in the frieze coat was reading the placard of the 31st of August. When the mob crowded round, he seemed disconcerted, but at the demand of the tall fellow who pressed close up to him, he began with a faint quiver in his voice reading the notice again from the beginning.
“Early to-morrow I am going to his highness the prince,” he read (“his highness!” the tall young man repeated, with a triumphant smile and knitted brows), “to consult with him, to act and to aid the troops to exterminate the wretches; we, too, will destroy them root and branch …” the reader went on and paused (“D'ye see?” bawled the tall fellow with an air of victory. “He'll unravel the whole evil for you …”) “and send our visitors packing to the devil; I shall come back to dinner, and we will set to work, we will be doing till we have done, and done away with the villains.”
These last words were uttered by the reader in the midst of complete silence. The tall fellow's head sank dejectedly. It was obvious that nobody had understood these last words. The words “I shall come back to dinner” in especial seemed to offend both reader and audience. The faculties of the crowd were strained to the highest pitch, and this was too easy and unnecessarily simple; it was just what any one of them might have said, and what for that reason could not be said in a decree coming from a higher authority.
All stood in depressed silence. The tall fellow's lips moved, and he staggered.
“Ask him! … Isn't that himself? … How'd it be to ask him! Or else … He'll explain …” was suddenly heard in the back rows of the crowd, and the general attention turned to the chaise of the head of the police, which drove into the square, escorted by two mounted dragoons.
The head of the police, who had driven out that morning by Count Rastoptchin's command to set fire to the barques in the river, and had received for that commission a large sum of money, at that moment in his pocket, ordered his coachman to stop on seeing a crowd bearing down upon him.
“What are those people?” he shouted to the people, who timidly approached the chaise in detached groups. “What is this crowd, I ask you?” repeated the head of police, receiving no reply.
“Your honour,” said the man in the frieze coat, “it was their wish, your honour, not sparing their substance, in accord with his excellency the count's proclamation, to serve, and not to make a riot at all, as his excellency said …”
“The count has not gone, he is here, and will give orders about you,” said the head of police. “Go on!” he said to his coachman. The crowd stood still, pressing round those who had heard what was said by the official, and looking at the departing chaise.
The head of the police meantime looked about him in alarm, and said something to his coachman; the horses trotted faster.
“Cheated, mates! Lead us to himself!” bawled the voice of the tall fellow. “Don't let him go, lads! Let him answer for it! Keep him!” roared voices, and the crowd dashed full speed after the chaise.
The mob in noisy talk pursued the head of the police to Lubyanka.
“Why, the gentry and the tradespeople are all gone, and we are left to perish. Are we dogs, pray?” was heard more frequently in the crowd.
瓦尔瓦尔卡街一座未竣工的楼房里，传出醉汉的叫喊和歌声。它的下层开了一家酒店。在一间肮脏的小房间里，十来个工人正围坐在一张桌旁的长凳上，他们都醉醺醺的，头上冒汗，眼睛浑浊，使劲张大嘴巴打哈欠，还在唱着一支歌。他们各顾各地费颈而又卖力地唱着，显然不是因为他们想唱，而纯粹是为了证明他们喝醉了，在玩乐罢了，喝，喝下去。其中有一个高个儿的浅黄色头发的小伙子，身穿纯蓝色外衣，高踞于众人之上。他有一张长着秀气而笔直的鼻梁的脸，如果他的不停翻动的嘴唇不那么薄不闭得那么紧，眼睛不浑浊、阴沉、呆滞，那末，他那张脸定是很美的。他高踞于唱歌者之上，显然他是在想着什么，他把那只袖子卷到胳膊肘的白手，在那些人头上庄严地僵硬地挥动，并且不自然地使劲伸直肮脏的手指。他的外衣的袖口不停地滑下，他就费力地用左手再把它卷上去，仿佛这段白皙、青筋暴露、挥动着的手臂一定得裸露着，此中含有其深意。他唱着唱着，过道里和台阶上传来了殴斗的喊声和碰撞的声音。高个小伙子把手挥了一下。 
“停下！”他发号施令地喊道，“打起来了，弟兄们！”他仍然不停地卷着袖子往台阶走去。
这些工人跟着他。他们今天早晨由高个小伙子承头，从工厂带了几张皮子给酒店老板，才换来酒喝的。附近几家铁匠铺的铁匠听到酒店闹哄哄，以为酒店被打劫，便也想拼命往里冲。台阶上发生了斗殴。
老板在门洞里与一个铁匠扭打在一起，在工人出来的时候，铁匠挣脱老板，仆倒在马路上。另一个铁匠冲向门口，用胸膛顶着老板。
卷起袖子的小伙子一上来就照这个往门里冲的铁匠脸上一拳，并且狂叫：
“弟兄们！我们的人挨打了！”
这时，刚才倒下的铁匠从地上爬起来，把被打伤的脸抓出血来，哭着喊叫：
“救命啊！打死人了！……有人被打死了！弟兄们！
……”
“哎呀，朝死里打了，打死人了！”隔壁大门里出来一位农妇尖声地说。一群人围住了血淋淋的铁匠。
“你抢人抢得不够，抢到别人剩下的身上穿的衬衫来了，”谁的声音，朝问酒店老板说，“怎么，你打死人了？强盗！”
站在台阶上的高个儿小伙子瞪着浑浊的眼睛看看老板，又看看这几个铁匠，好像在考虑现在该同谁打架。
“凶手！”他突然朝老板喊叫，“把他捆起来。弟兄们！”
“干吗，只捆我一个！”老板喊叫，推开朝他扑来的人，并摘下帽子扔到地上。这一举动似乎含有某种神秘的威吓作用，包围老板的工人迟疑地站着不动了。
“要说法规嘛，老兄，我很懂得的，清楚得很。我要到警察分局去。你以为我不会去吗？抢劫是谁都不许干的！”老板喊道，拾起了帽子。
“咱走哇，瞧你说的！咱走哇……瞧你说的，”酒店老板和高个小伙子彼此重复着说，随后两人就从街上朝前走了。工人和看热闹的吵吵嚷嚷地跟着他俩走。面部流血的铁匠走在他俩旁边。
马罗谢卡街拐角处，一块挂有靴匠招牌，护窗板关上的大房子的对面，站着二十来位面容沮丧的靴匠，他们瘦弱憔悴，穿着罩衫和破烂的长褂子。
“他应该给大伙发遣散费！”胡子稀疏、眉毛紧皱的瘦个子工匠说，“他吸干我们的血，就扔下不管，这算什么。他骗我们，骗了整整一个礼拜。把我们拖到这个地步，他自己倒跑了。”
说话的工匠看见一大群人和一个血淋淋的人，就默不作声，所有的靴匠都带着急不可耐的好奇心朝那群向前移动的人走出。
“这伙人是到哪儿去啊？”
“明摆着，去见当官的呗。”
“怎么说我们的人没占上风，是吗？”
“你以为会怎样！瞧瞧人们怎么说。”
听着这一问一答，老板趁着人越来越多的时机，落在他们后面，转身回自家酒店去了。
高个小伙子没发现自己的敌人——老板的消失，仍挥动露出一截的手臂，不停地说话，引来众人的注意。大家紧靠着他，指望得到对困扰他们的各种问题的解答。
“他会依照规章，会维护法律，当官的就是干这个的。我是不是该这样说，正教徒们？”高个小伙子说，脸上不无笑意。
“他以为官府没有了，是吧？难道没有官府可能吗？不然抢东西的人那就会更多了。”
“净讲空话！”人群中有人答腔。“怎么不，莫斯科都放弃了嘛！人家给你说着玩，你就以为真了。我们的军队是不少，就这样把敌人放进来！官府就是干这个的。还是听听老百姓怎么说吧。”大伙儿说，指着高个小伙子。
在中国城①的城墙附近，另有一小堆人围着一个穿厚呢大衣的人，他手里拿着一份文件。 
①在克里姆林宫附近的一地名，不是美国一些城市华人聚居处那样的唐人街。
“告示，读告示了！读告示了！”人群中有人在说，于是，大伙儿朝读告示的人涌来。
穿厚呢大衣的人读起了八月三十一日的布告。当人群围拢来时，他显得有点窘，但高个小伙子挤到他身边求他，他声音有点发抖地从头开始读。
“我明天一早去见公爵阁下，”他读道，（“阁下！”高个小伙子。嘴角含笑，皱起眉毛庄严地重复说）……“与他商谈，采取行动，帮助军队消灭匪徒；我们即将把他们的气焰……”读布告的人读到这里停了一下（“瞧见了吗？”小伙子响亮地得胜似地说。“他会给你把全部情况摊开……）消灭他们，并把这些客人打发去见鬼吧；吃午饭时我要回来，然后着手做这件事，做好，做完，把匪徒解决掉。”
最后几句话是在一片沉默中读完的。高个小伙子忧郁地低下头。显然，谁也不明白最后几句话。特别是：“我明天午饭时回来，”这句话甚至使读的人和听的人都忧伤不已。大伙儿的理解力很强，可是这种话太简单，太浅显，它是他们中的每一个人要都能说的，因而算不上是出自上层当局的告示。
大家默默地伤心地站着。高个小伙子的嘴唇直动着，还晃动身体。
“应该问问他！……这是他自己吗？当然要问！……不会指点的……他该说清……”突然，在人群后几排听见说话声，大家的注意力便转向驶进广场的警察局长的轻便马车，这是由两名龙骑兵护送着的。
局长这天上午奉伯爵之命去烧毁货船，执行任务时捞到了一大笔钱，这笔钱正揣在他口袋里，看到朝他走来的人群，叫车夫停车。
“你们是些什么人？”他向三五一群怯生生靠拢来的人们喊道，“干什么的？我问你们呢？”局长未得到回答就重复地问。
“局座，他们，”穿厚呢大衣的那位小官说，“局座，他们是遵照伯爵大人的通告，不顾性命，愿意效劳的，绝不是暴动，正如伯爵大人的命令里所说……”
“伯爵没有离开，他在此地，关于你们的安排就会作出，“局长说，“走吧！”他对车夫说。人群在原地没动，围着听到官长说话的那些人，同时望着远去的马车。
这时，警察局长恐慌地回头看了一眼，对车夫说了句话，马便跑得更快了。
“欺骗人，弟兄们！追他去！”高个小伙子大声喊道，“别放过他，弟兄们！让地答复！抓住他！”众人喊了起来，跑着去追马车。
追赶局长的人群闹哄哄地朝卢比扬卡街跑去。
“甚么哟，老爷和商人都走光了，为了这个我们却要牺牲的。甚么哟，我们是他们的狗，还是怎么的！”人群里的怨言愈来愈多。
Book 11 Chapter 24
ON THE EVENING of the 1st of September, Count Rastoptchin had come away from his interview with Kutuzov mortified and offended at not having been invited to the council of war, and at Kutuzov's having taken no notice of his offer to take part in the defence of the city, and astonished at the new view of things revealed to him in the camp, in which the tranquillity of the city and its patriotic fervour were treated as matters of quite secondary importance, if not altogether irrelevant and trivial. Mortified, offended, and astonished at all this, Count Rastoptchin had returned to Moscow. After supper, he lay down on a sofa without undressing, and at one o'clock was waked by a courier bringing him a letter from Kutuzov. The letter asked the count, since the troops were retreating to the Ryazan road behind Moscow, to send police officials to escort troops through the town. The letter told Rastoptchin nothing new. He had known that Moscow would be abandoned not merely since his interview the previous day with Kutuzov on the Poklonny Hill, but ever since the battle of Borodino; since when all the generals who had come to Moscow had with one voice declared that another battle was impossible, and with Rastoptchin's sanction government property had been removed every night, and half the inhabitants had left. But nevertheless the fact, communicated in the form of a simple note, with a command from Kutuzov, and received at night, breaking in on his first sleep, surprised and irritated the governor.
In later days, Count Rastoptchin, by way of explaining his action during this time, wrote several times in his notes that his two great aims at that time were to maintain tranquillity in Moscow, and to make the inhabitants go out of it. If this twofold aim is admitted, every act of Rastoptchin's appears irreproachable. Why were not the holy relics, the arms, the ammunition, the powder, the stores of bread taken away? Why were thousands of the inhabitants deceived into a belief that Moscow would not be abandoned and so ruined? “To preserve the tranquillity of the city,” replies Count Rastoptchin's explanation. Why were heaps of useless papers out of the government offices and Leppich's balloon and other objects carried away? “To leave the town empty,” replies Count Rastoptchin's explanation. One has but to admit some menace to public tranquillity and every sort of action is justified.
All the horrors of terrorism were based only on anxiety for public tranquillity.
What foundation was there for Count Rastoptchin's dread of popular disturbance in Moscow in 1812? What reason was there for assuming a disposition to revolution in the city? The inhabitants were leaving it; the retreating troops were filling Moscow. Why were the mob likely to riot in consequence?
Not in Moscow only, but everywhere else in Russia nothing like riots took place at the approach of the enemy. On the 1st and 2nd of September more than ten thousand people were left in Moscow, and except for the mob that gathered in the commander-in-chief's courtyard, attracted there by himself, nothing happened. It is obvious that there would have been even less ground for anticipating disturbances among the populace if, after the battle of Borodino, when the surrender of Moscow became a certainty, or at least a probability, Rastoptchin had taken steps for the removal of all the holy relics, of the powder, ammunition, and treasury, and had told the people straight out that the town would be abandoned, instead of exciting the populace by posting up placards and distributing arms.
Rastoptchin, an impulsive, sanguine man, who had always moved in the highest spheres of the administration, was a patriot in feeling, but had not the faintest notion of the character of the people he supposed himself to be governing. From the time when the enemy first entered Smolensk, Rastoptchin had in his own imagination been playing the part of leader of popular feeling—of the heart of Russia. He did not merely fancy—as every governing official always does fancy—that he was controlling the external acts of the inhabitants of Moscow, but fancied that he was shaping their mental attitude by means of his appeals and placards, written in that vulgar, slangy jargon which the people despise in their own class, and simply fail to understand when they hear it from persons of higher station. The picturesque figure of leader of the popular feeling was so much to Rastoptchin's taste, and he so lived in it, that the necessity of abandoning it, the necessity of surrendering Moscow with no heroic effect of any kind, took him quite unawares; the very ground he was standing on seemed slipping from under his feet, and he was utterly at a loss what to do. Though he knew it was coming, he could not till the last minute fully believe in the abandonment of Moscow, and did nothing towards it. The inhabitants left the city against his wishes. If the courts were removed, it was only due to the insistence of the officials, to which Rastoptchin reluctantly gave way. He was himself entirely absorbed by the role he had assumed. As is often the case with persons of heated imagination, he had known for a long while that Moscow would be abandoned; but he had known it only with his intellect, and refused with his whole soul to believe in it, and could not mentally adapt himself to the new position of affairs.
The whole course of his painstaking and vigorous activity—how far it was beneficial or had influence on the people is another question— aimed simply at awakening in the people the feeling he was himself possessed by—hatred of the French and confidence in himself.
But when the catastrophe had begun to take its true historic proportions; when to express hatred of the French in words was plainly insufficient; when it was impossible to express that hatred even by a battle; when self-confidence was of no avail in regard to the one question before Moscow; when the whole population, as one man, abandoning their property, streamed out of Moscow, in this negative fashion giving proof of the strength of their patriotism;—then the part Rastoptchin had been playing suddenly became meaningless. He felt suddenly deserted, weak, and absurd, with no ground to stand on.
On being waked out of his sleep to read Kutuzov's cold and peremptory note, Rastoptchin felt the more irritated the more he felt himself to blame. There was still left in Moscow all that was under his charge, all the government property which it was his duty to have removed to safety. There was no possibility of getting it all away. “Who is responsible for it? who has let it come to such a pass?” he wondered. “Of course, it's not my doing. I had everything in readiness; I held Moscow in my hand—like this! And see what they have brought things to! Scoundrels, traitors!” he thought, not exactly defining who were these scoundrels and traitors, but feeling a necessity to hate these vaguely imagined traitors, who were to blame for the false and ludicrous position in which he found himself.
All that night Rastoptchin was giving instructions, for which people were continually coming to him from every part of Moscow. His subordinates had never seen the count so gloomy and irascible.
“Your excellency, they have come from the Estates Department, from the director for instructions.… From the Consistory, from the Senate, from the university, from the Foundling Hospital, the vicar has sent … he is inquiring … what orders are to be given about the fire brigade? The overseer of the prison … the superintendent of the mad-house …” all night long, without pause, messages were being brought to the count.
To all these inquiries he gave brief and wrathful replies, the drift of which was that his instructions were now not needed, that all his careful preparations had now been ruined by somebody, and that that somebody would have to take all responsibility for anything that might happen now.
“Oh, tell that blockhead,” he replied to the inquiry from the Estates Department, “to stay and keep guard over his deeds. Well, what nonsense are you asking about the fire brigade? There are horses, let them go off to Vladimir. Don't leave them for the French.”
“Your excellency, the superintendent of the madhouse has come; what are your commands?”
“My commands? Let them all go, that's all.… And let the madmen out into the town. When we have madmen in command of our armies, it seems it's God's will they should be free.”
To the inquiry about the convicts in the prison, the count shouted angrily to the overseer:
“What, do you want me to give you two battalions for a convoy for them, when we haven't any battalions at all? Let them all go, and that settles it!”
“Your excellency, there are political prisoners—Myeshkov, Vereshtchagin …”
“Vereshtchagin! He is not yet hanged?” cried Rastoptchin. “Send him to me.”
九月一日晚，同库图佐夫会面之后，拉斯托普钦伯爵感到伤心，认为受了凌辱，因为他未被邀请参加军事会议，库图佐夫对他所提出关于参加保卫古都的建议未予注意；同时，他还对大本营向他表示的一个新看法感到震惊，持这一看法，古都保持平静，古都的爱国热情等不仅是次要的，而且是全无必要的，微不足的，——为所有这一切伤心，受辱和震惊的拉斯托普钦伯爵回到了莫斯科。晚饭后，伯爵未脱衣服在沙发上就寝，十二点过后便被递交库图佐夫便函的信使唤醒了。便函称，由于部队要撤往莫斯科以东的梁赞公路，故问伯爵能否通融派出警宪官员引导部队通过城市，这一消息对拉斯托普钦已非新闻。不仅从昨天库图佐夫在波克隆山会面时算起，还要从波罗底诺战役算起——当时，所有会聚莫斯科的将军众口一词地说，不能再发起战役了；同时，在伯爵许可下，每晚都在运出公家的财产，居民也撤走一半——拉斯托普钦伯爵就已知道，莫斯科必将放弃；但是，以带有库图佐夫命令的便笺形式通知的、在夜间刚入睡时收到的这个消息，仍使伯爵惊讶和气愤。 
后来，拉斯托普钦伯爵在解释这期间自己的行动时，多次在回忆录中写道，他当时有两项重要目标：de　maintenir　la　tranquillité　a　Moscou　et　d'en　faire　partir　les　habitants．①如果认可这一双重目标，拉斯托普钦的任何行动都是无可非议的。为什么不运走莫斯科的圣物、武器、子弹、火药和粮食储备，为什么欺骗成千万居民，说不会放弃莫斯科，不会把它毁灭掉呢？为了保持都城的平静，拉斯托普钦伯爵如此解释说。为什么运走政府机关一捆捆无用的文件，列比赫气球和别的物品呢？为的是使它变成一座空城，拉斯托普钦伯爵如此解释说。只要假设有什么事威胁着民众的安定，一切行为都是说得过去的。 
①保持莫斯科的平静，疏散居民。
恐怖措施的全部可怕之处，就是以关心民众的安定作为依据。
拉斯托普钦伯爵有什么根据为一八一二年莫斯科民众的安定而担心？设想城里有骚动趋势的理由是什么？居民走了，军队后撤时挤满了莫斯科。结果，民众便会暴动，这是为什么呢？
不仅在莫斯科，也在全俄各地，在敌人打进来时，都没有发生类似骚动的事件。九月一日和二日，一万多人还留在莫斯科，除了一群人奉总司令之召聚在他府邸院子里之外，什么事也未发生。假如波罗底诺战役之后莫斯科的放弃已势在必行，或至少有此可能；假如拉斯托普钦不是发放武器和传单以鼓动民众，而是采取措施运走所有圣物、火药、子弹和钱币，并同民众开诚宣布城市要放弃，显而易见，便更不要担心在民众中会发生骚乱。
拉斯托普钦虽然有爱国热情，却是暴躁易怒的一个人，他一直在高层政界活动，对于他自以为在治理着的民众，没有丝毫的了解。从敌人最初进占斯摩棱斯克时候起，拉斯托普钦就为自己设想了一个支配民情——俄罗斯之心——的角色。他不仅觉得（正如每一行政长官都这样觉得）他是在支配莫斯科居民的外在行为，而且还觉得他通过措词低下、告示和传单支配着他们的心情，其实写在上面的一派胡言，民众在自己范围内是瞧不起的，当它从上面传下来时，民众也不理解，对扮演民情支配者的角色，拉斯托普钦为此而自鸣得意，他习以为常地以至于必须退出角色，没有任何英勇表现，也必须放弃莫斯科，对他不啻是晴天霹雳，他突然失掉脚下他赖以站立的土地，茫然不知所措了。他虽然已经知道，但直到最后一分钟仍不能全心全意地相信莫斯科会放弃，所以，与此有关的事一件也没有作。居民的撤走，是违背他的意愿的。如果说搬走了一些机关，那也是应官员们的请求，伯爵不情愿地同意的。他本人只扮演那个他为自己弄到的角色。像常常发生在富有热情奔放的想象力的人身上那样，他早就知道莫斯科要被放弃，但他仅仅是靠推断才知道的，他不能用整个的心去相信，不能使想象去适应这一新情况。
他的整个活动，即竭尽全力的精力充沛的活动对民众（有多大用处、对民众有多大影响，则是另一问题），也就是致力于居民心中唤起他正体验着的情感——出于爱国主义而仇恨法国人，对自己怀有信心。
但当事件具有真正的历史的规模时，当不足以话语表示自己对法国人的仇恨时，当即使用战斗也不足以表示这种仇恨时，当自己对莫斯科问题的信心已经无用时，而全市居民一致抛弃财产、川流不息地离开莫斯科，以这一否定行为显示民情的全部威力时，——这时，拉斯托普钦选择的角色，突然变得毫无意义。他感到他本人突然间孤独、脆弱和可笑了，脚下没有土壤了。
从睡梦中被唤醒，接到库图佐夫冷冰冰的命令口吻的便笺，拉斯托普钦愈益觉得气愤，愈益感到自己不对了。所有托付他的东西还留在莫斯科，包括全部他应该运走的公家财产。全部运走已不可能了。
“这件事究竟是谁的错，谁造成的？”他想。“自然不是我。我把一切都准备好了，瞧，我把莫斯科掌握是牢牢的！瞧他们把事情闹到了什么地步！是些坏蛋，叛徒！”他想，虽然确定不了谁是坏蛋和叛徒，但他觉得必须仇恨这些坏蛋和叛徒，他们在使他处于虚伪可笑的境地，是有罪过的。
整个晚上，拉斯托普钦伯爵都在下达命令，听候命令的人来自莫斯科各处。近侍们从未见过伯爵如此阴郁和气急败坏。
“爵爷，领地注册局局长派人来请示……宗教法庭、枢密院、大学、孤儿院，副主教都派人来……问……关于消防队您有何指示？典狱官来了……精神病院监督来了……”整晚不停地向伯爵报告。
对所有这些问题，伯爵一概给予简略的愤怒的答复，以表示他的指示现在用不着了；他竭尽全力准备好的一切被某个人破坏了，而这个人将要对马上发生的一切承担全部责任。
“呶，告诉那个木头人，”他回答领地注册局里派来的人的请示，“他得留下来看管他的文件。喏，你干吗要问关于消防队的废话？有匹马嘛，让他们开到弗拉基米尔去。不是给法国人留下的。”
“爵爷，疯人院的监督来了，您有何指示？”
“有何指示吗？让他们都走，就这样……疯子嘛让他们都到城内去，放了就是了。我们这边是由疯子指挥军队，上帝就是这样安排的。”
对于蹲在监狱里的囚犯问题，伯爵呵斥典狱官：“怎么，派给你两营人护送吗？派不出！放掉他们就完事了！”
“爵爷，还有政治犯：梅什科夫，韦烈夏金呢。”
“韦列夏金！他还没被绞死吗？”拉斯托普钦喊道，“带他到我这儿来。”
Book 11 Chapter 25
BY NINE O'CLOCK in the morning, when the troops were moving across Moscow, people had ceased coming to Rastoptchin for instructions. All who could get away were going without asking leave; those who stayed decided for themselves what they had better do.
Count Rastoptchin ordered his horses in order to drive to Sokolniky, and with a yellow and frowning face, sat in silence with folded arms in his study.
Every governing official in quiet, untroubled times feels that the whole population under his charge is only kept going by his efforts; and it is this sense of being indispensably necessary in which every governing official finds the chief reward for his toils and cares. It is easy to understand that while the ocean of history is calm, the governing official holding on from his crazy little skiff by a pole to the ship of the people, and moving with it, must fancy that it is his efforts that move the ship on to which he is clinging. But a storm has but to arise to set the sea heaving and the ship tossing upon it, and such error becomes at once impossible. The ship goes on its vast course unchecked, the pole fails to reach the moving vessel, and the pilot, from being the master, the source of power, finds himself a helpless, weak, and useless person.
Rastoptchin felt this, and it drove him to frenzy. The head of the police, who had got away from the crowd, went in to see him at the same time as an adjutant, who came to announce that his horses were ready. Both were pale, and the head of the police, after reporting that he had discharged the commission given to him, informed Count Rastoptchin that there was an immense crowd of people in his courtyard wanting to see him.
Without a word in reply, Count Rastoptchin got up and walked with rapid steps to his light, sumptuously furnished drawing-room. He went up to the balcony door, took hold of the door-handle, let go of it, and moved away to the window, from which the whole crowd could be better seen. The tall young fellow was standing in the front, and with a severe face, waving his arms and saying something. The blood-bespattered smith stood beside him with a gloomy air. Through the closed windows could be heard the roar of voices.
“Is the carriage ready?” said Rastoptchin, moving back from the window.
“Yes, your excellency,” said the adjutant.
Rastoptchin went again to the balcony door.
“Why, what is it they want?” he asked the head of the police.
“Your excellency, they say they have come together to go to fight the French, by your orders; they were shouting something about treachery. But it is an angry crowd, your excellency. I had much ado to get away. If I may venture to suggest, your excellency …”
“Kindly leave me; I know what to do without your assistance,” cried Rastoptchin angrily. He stood at the door of the balcony looking at the crowd. “This is what they have done with Russia! This is what they have done with me!” thought Rastoptchin, feeling a rush of irrepressible rage against the undefined some one to whose fault what was happening could be set down. As is often the case with excitable persons, he was possessed by fury, while still seeking an object for it. “Here is the populace, the dregs of the people,” he thought, looking at the crowd, “that they have stirred up by their folly. They want a victim,” came into his mind, as he watched the waving arm of the tall fellow in front. And the thought struck him precisely because he too wanted a victim, an object for his wrath.
“Is the carriage ready?” he asked again.
“Yes, your excellency. What orders in regard to Vereshtchagin? He is waiting at the steps,” answered the adjutant.
“Ah!” cried Rastoptchin, as though struck by some sudden recollection.
And rapidly opening the door, he walked resolutely out on the balcony. The hum of talk instantly died down, caps and hats were lifted, and all eyes were raised upon the governor.
“Good-day, lads!” said the count, speaking loudly and quickly. “Thanks for coming. I'll come out to you in a moment, but we have first to deal with a criminal. We have to punish the wretch by whose doing Moscow is ruined. Wait for me!” And as rapidly he returned to the apartment, slamming the door violently.
An approving murmur of satisfaction ran through the crowd. “He'll have all the traitors cut down, of course. And you talk of the French … he'll show us the rights and the wrongs of it all!” said the people, as it were reproaching one another for lack of faith.
A few minutes later an officer came hurriedly out of the main entrance, and gave some order, and the dragoons drew themselves up stiffly. The crowd moved greedily up from the balcony to the front steps. Coming out there with hasty and angry steps, Rastoptchin looked about him hurriedly, as though seeking some one.
“Where is he?” he said, and at the moment he said it, he caught sight of a young man with a long, thin neck, and half of his head shaven and covered with short hair, coming round the corner of the house between two dragoons. This young man was clothed in a fox-lined blue cloth coat, that had once been foppish but was now shabby, and in filthy convict's trousers of fustian, thrust into uncleaned and battered thin boots. His uncertain gait was clogged by the heavy manacles hanging about his thin, weak legs.
“Ah!” said Rastoptchin, hurriedly turning his eyes away from the young man in the fox-lined coat and pointing to the bottom steps. “Put him here!”
With a clank of manacles the young man stepped with effort on to the step indicated to him; putting his finger into the tight collar of his coat, he turned his long neck twice, and sighing, folded his thin, unworkmanlike hands before him with a resigned gesture.
For several seconds, while the young man was taking up his position on the step, there was complete silence. Only at the back of the mass of people, all pressing in one direction, could be heard sighs and groans and sounds of pushing and the shuffling of feet.
Rastoptchin, waiting for him to be on the spot he had directed, scowled, and passed his hand over his face.
“Lads!” he said, with a metallic ring in his voice, “this man, Vereshtchagin, is the wretch by whose doing Moscow is lost.”
The young man in the fox-lined coat stood in a resigned pose, clasping his hands together in front of his body, and bending a little forward. His wasted young face, with its look of hopelessness and the hideous disfigurement of the half-shaven head, was turned downwards. At the count's first words he slowly lifted his head and looked up from below at the count, as though he wanted to say something to him, or at least to catch his eye. But Rastoptchin did not look at him. The blue vein behind the young man's ear stood out like a cord on his long, thin neck, and all at once his face flushed crimson.
All eyes were fixed upon him. He gazed at the crowd, and, as though made hopeful by the expression he read on the faces there, he smiled a timid, mournful smile, and dropping his head again, shifted his feet on the step.
“He is a traitor to his Tsar and his country; he deserted to Bonaparte; he alone of all the Russians has disgraced the name of Russia, and through him Moscow is lost,” said Rastoptchin in a harsh, monotonous voice; but all at once he glanced down rapidly at Vereshtchagin, who still stood in the same submissive attitude. As though that glance had driven him to frenzy, flinging up his arms, he almost yelled to the crowd:
“You shall deal with him as you think fit! I hand him over to you!”
The people were silent, and only pressed closer and closer on one another. To bear each other's weight, to breathe in that tainted foulness, to be unable to stir, and to be expecting something vague, uncomprehended and awful, was becoming unbearable. The men in the front of the crowd, who saw and heard all that was passing before them, all stood with wide-open, horror-struck eyes and gaping mouths, straining all their strength to support the pressure from behind on their backs.
“Beat him! … Let the traitor perish and not shame the name of Russia!” screamed Rastoptchin. “Cut him down! I give the command!” Hearing not the words, but only the wrathful tones of Rastoptchin's voice, the mob moaned and heaved forward, but stopped again.
“Count!” … the timid and yet theatrical voice of Vereshtchagin broke in upon the momentary stillness that followed. “Count, one God is above us …” said Vereshtchagin, lifting his head, and again the thick vein swelled on his thin neck and the colour swiftly came and faded again from his face. He did not finish what he was trying to say.
“Cut him down! I command it! …” cried Rastoptchin, suddenly turning as white as Vereshtchagin himself.
“Draw sabres!” shouted the officer to the dragoons, himself drawing his sabre.
Another still more violent wave passed over the crowd, and reaching the front rows, pushed them forward, and threw them staggering right up to the steps. The tall young man, with a stony expression of face and his lifted arm rigid in the air, stood close beside Vereshtchagin. “Strike at him!” the officer said almost in a whisper to the dragoons; and one of the soldiers, his face suddenly convulsed by fury, struck Vereshtchagin on the head with the flat of his sword.
Vereshtchagin uttered a brief “Ah!” of surprise, looking about him in alarm, as though he did not know what this was done to him for. A similar moan of surprise and horror ran through the crowd.
“O Lord!” some one was heard to utter mournfully. After the exclamation of surprise that broke from Vereshtchagin he uttered a piteous cry of pain, and that cry was his undoing. The barrier of human feeling that still held the mob back was strained to the utmost limit, and it snapped instantaneously. The crime had been begun, its completion was inevitable. The piteous moan of reproach was drowned in the angry and menacing roar of the mob. Like the great seventh wave that shatters a ship, that last, irresistible wave surged up at the back of the crowd, passed on to the foremost ranks, carried them off their feet and engulfed all together. The dragoon who had struck the victim would have repeated his blow. Vereshtchagin, with a scream of terror, putting his hands up before him, dashed into the crowd. The tall young man, against whom he stumbled, gripped Vereshtchagin's slender neck in his hands, and with a savage shriek fell with him under the feet of the trampling, roaring mob. Some beat and tore at Vereshtchagin, others at the tall young man. And the screams of persons crushed in the crowd and of those who tried to rescue the tall young man only increased the frenzy of the mob. For a long while the dragoons were unable to get the bleeding, half-murdered factory workman away. And in spite of all the feverish haste with which the mob strove to make an end of what had once been begun, the men who beat and strangled Vereshtchagin and tore him to pieces could not kill him. The crowd pressed on them on all sides, heaved from side to side like one man with them in the middle, and would not let them kill him outright or let him go.
“Hit him with an axe, eh? … they have crushed him … Traitor, he sold Christ! … living … alive … serve the thief right. With a bar! … Is he alive? …”
Only when the victim ceased to struggle, and his shrieks had passed into a long-drawn, rhythmic death-rattle, the mob began hurriedly to change places about the bleeding corpse on the ground. Every one went up to it, gazed at what had been done, and pressed back horror-stricken, surprised, and reproachful.
“O Lord, the people's like a wild beast; how could he be alive!” was heard in the crowd. “And a young fellow too … must have been a merchant's son, to be sure, the people … they do say it's not the right man … not the right man! … O Lord! … They have nearly murdered another man; they say he's almost dead … Ah, the people … who wouldn't be afraid of sin …” were saying now the same people, looking with rueful pity at the dead body, with the blue face fouled with dust and blood, and the long, slender, broken neck.
A punctilious police official, feeling the presence of the body unseemly in the courtyard of his excellency, bade the dragoons drag the body away into the street. Two dragoons took hold of the mutilated legs, and drew the body away. The dead, shaven head, stained with blood and grimed with dust, was trailed along the ground, rolling from side to side on the long neck. The crowd shrank away from the corpse.
When Vereshtchagin fell, and the crowd with a savage yell closed in and heaved about him, Rastoptchin suddenly turned white, and instead of going to the back entrance, where horses were in waiting for him, he strode rapidly along the corridor leading to the rooms of the lower story, looking on the floor and not knowing where or why he was going. The count's face was white, and he could not check the feverish twitching of his lower jaw.
“Your excellency, this way … where are you going? … this way,” said a trembling, frightened voice behind him. Count Rastoptchin was incapable of making any reply. Obediently turning, he went in the direction indicated. At the back entrance stood a carriage. The distant roar of the howling mob could be heard even there. Count Rastoptchin hurriedly got into the carriage, and bade them drive him to his house at Sokolniky beyond the town. As he drove out into Myasnitsky Street and lost the sound of the shouts of the mob, the count began to repent. He thought with dissatisfaction now of the excitement and terror he had betrayed before his subordinates. “The populace is terrible, it is hideous. They are like wolves that can only be appeased with flesh,” he thought. “Count! there is one God over us!” Vereshtchagin's words suddenly recurred to him, and a disagreeable chill ran down his back. But that feeling was momentary, and Count Rastoptchin smiled contemptuously at himself. “I had other duties. The people had to be appeased. Many other victims have perished and are perishing for the public good,” he thought; and he began to reflect on the social duties he had towards his family and towards the city intrusted to his care; and on himself—not as Fyodor Vassilyevitch Rastoptchin (he assumed that Fyodor Vassilyevitch Rastoptchin was sacrificing himself for le bien publique)—but as governor of Moscow, as the representative of authority intrusted with full powers by the Tsar. “If I had been simply Fyodor Vassilyevitch, my course of action might have been quite different; but I was bound to preserve both the life and the dignity of the governor.”
Lightly swayed on the soft springs of the carriage, and hearing no more of the fearful sounds of the mob, Rastoptchin was physically soothed, and as is always the case simultaneously with physical relief, his intellect supplied him with grounds for moral comfort. The thought that reassured Rastoptchin was not a new one. Ever since the world has existed and men have killed one another, a man has never committed such a crime against his fellow without consoling himself with the same idea. That idea is le bien publique, the supposed public good of others.
To a man not swayed by passion this good never seems certain; but a man who has committed such a crime always knows positively where that public good lies. And Rastoptchin now knew this.
Far from reproaching himself in his meditations on the act he had just committed, he found grounds for self-complacency in having so successfully made use of an occasion so à propos for executing a criminal, and at the same time satisfying the crowd. “Vereshtchagin had been tried and condemned to the death penalty,” Rastoptchin reflected (though Vereshtchagin had only been condemned by the senate to hard labour). “He was a spy and a traitor; I could not let him go unpunished, and so I hit two birds with one stone. I appeased the mob by giving them a victim, and I punished a miscreant.”
Reaching his house in the suburbs, the count completely regained his composure in arranging his domestic affairs.
Within half an hour the count was driving with rapid horses across the Sokolniky plain, thinking no more now of the past, but absorbed in thought and plans for what was to come. He was approaching now the Yauzsky bridge, where he had been told that Kutuzov was. In his own mind he was preparing the biting and angry speeches he would make, upbraiding Kutuzov for his deception. He would make that old court fox feel that the responsibility for all the disasters bound to follow the abandonment of Moscow, and the ruin of Russia (as Rastoptchin considered it), lay upon his old, doting head. Going over in anticipation what he would say to him, Rastoptchin wrathfully turned from side to side in the carriage, and angrily looked about him.
The Sokolniky plain was deserted. Only at one end of it, by the alms-house and lunatic asylum, there were groups of people in white garments, and similar persons were wandering about the plain, shouting and gesticulating.
One of them was running right across in front of Count Rastoptchin's carriage. And Count Rastoptchin himself and his coachman, and the dragoons, all gazed with a vague feeling of horror and curiosity at these released lunatics, and especially at the one who was running towards them.
Tottering on his long, thin legs in his fluttering dressing-gown, this madman ran at headlong speed, with his eyes fixed on Rastoptchin, shouting something to him in a husky voice, and making signs to him to stop. The gloomy and triumphant face of the madman was thin and yellow, with irregular tufts of beard growing on it. The black, agate-like pupils of his eyes moved restlessly, showing the saffron-yellow whites above. “Stay! stop, I tell you!” he shouted shrilly, and again breathlessly fell to shouting something with emphatic gestures and intonations.
He reached the carriage and ran alongside it.
“Three times they slew me, three times I rose again from the dead. They stoned me, they crucified me … I shall rise again … I shall rise again … I shall rise again. My body they tore to pieces. The kingdom of heaven will be overthrown … Three times I will overthrow it, and three times I will set it up again,” he screamed, his voice growing shriller and shriller. Count Rastoptchin suddenly turned white, as he had turned white when the crowd fell upon Vereshtchagin. He turned away. “G … go on, faster!” he cried in a trembling voice to his coachman.
The carriage dashed on at the horses' topmost speed. But for a long while yet Count Rastoptchin heard behind him the frantic, desperate scream getting further away, while before his eyes he saw nothing but the wondering, frightened, bleeding face of the traitor in the fur-lined coat. Fresh as that image was, Rastoptchin felt now that it was deeply for ever imprinted on his heart. He felt clearly now that the bloody print of that memory would never leave him, that the further he went the more cruelly, the more vindictively, would that fearful memory rankle in his heart to the end of his life. He seemed to be hearing now the sound of his own words: “Tear him to pieces, you shall answer for it to me!— Why did I say these words? I said it somehow without meaning to … I might not have said them,” he thought, “and then nothing would have happened.” He saw the terror-stricken, and then suddenly frenzied face of the dragoon who had struck the first blow, and the glance of silent, timid reproach cast on him by that lad in the fox-lined coat. “But I didn't do it on my own account. I was bound to act in that way. La plèbe … le tra?tre … le bien publique, …” he mused.
The bridge over the Yauza was still crowded with troops. It was hot. Kutuzov, looking careworn and weary, was sitting on a bench near the bridge, and playing with a whip on the sand, when a carriage rattled noisily up to him. A man in the uniform of a general, wearing a hat with plumes, came up to Kutuzov. He began addressing him in French, his eyes shifting uneasily, with a look between anger and terror in them. It was Count Rastoptchin. He told Kutuzov that he had come here, for since Moscow was no more, the army was all that was left. “It might have been very different if your highness had not told me you would not abandon Moscow without a battle; all this would not have been!” said he.
Kutuzov stared at Rastoptchin, and, as though not understanding the meaning of the words addressed to him, he strove earnestly to decipher the special meaning betrayed at that minute on the face of the man addressing him. Rastoptchin ceased speaking in discomfiture. Kutuzov slightly shook his head, and, still keeping his searching eyes on Rastoptchin's face, he murmured softly:
“Yes, I won't give up Moscow without a battle.”
Whether Kutuzov was thinking of something different when he uttered those words, or said them purposely, knowing them to be meaningless, Count Rastoptchin made him no reply, and hastily left him. And—strange to tell! the governor of Moscow, the proud Count Rastoptchin, picking up a horse whip, went to the bridge, and fell to shouting and driving on the crowded carts.
到早晨九点钟，当部队已经通过莫斯科时，再也没有谁来向伯爵请示了。所有能走的人，他们自己走了；留下来的那些人，他们自己决定该怎么办。 
伯爵吩咐套马，准备到索科尔尼茨去，他皱起眉头，脸色蜡黄，抱紧胳膊默不作声地坐在办公室里。
每一位行政长官在世道太平时，都觉得只有靠了他的勤政，他治下的平民百姓才过得自在，蒸蒸日上，而当意识到非我莫属时，每个行政长官便以作为对自己劳苦和勤政的主要奖赏。故尔可以理解，只要历史的海洋风平浪静，作为统治者的行政长官，乘坐一条破船用钩竿抓挠人民的大船向前驶行，一定会觉得，被他钩着的大船是靠他的努力才前进的。但风浪一起，海上波涛汹涌，大船自动地前进。这时，便不会发生错觉了。大船以那前所未有的速度自动地航行着，当钩竿够不着前进着的航船时，统治者便突然从掌权者，力量的源泉的地位，转变为渺小的无用的虚弱的人。
拉斯托普钦感觉到这点，也正是这点使他恼火。
受到人群阻拦的警察局长，和前来报告马已套好的副官，一起走进伯爵办公室。两人脸色苍白，局长谈了执行任务的情况后，报告说，院子里有一大群民众希望见伯爵。
拉斯托普钦一言不发，起身快步走进豪华、明亮的客厅，走到了阳台门边，抓住门柄，又松开手，朝窗户走去，从那里更能看清全部人群。高个小伙子站在前几排中间，绷紧着脸，挥动着一只手在讲话。脸上糊着血的铁匠阴沉地站在他身旁。透过关闭的窗户，可听到闹哄哄的声音。
“马车准备好了？”拉斯托普钦问，离开了窗户。
“好了，爵爷。”副官说。
拉斯托普钦又走到阳台门边。
“他们有什么要求？”他问警察局长。
“钧座，他们说他们奉钧座之命准备去打法国人，又在喊叫着什么叛徒。不过这是一群暴徒，钧座。我好不容易才脱身，钧座，卑职斗胆建议……”
“请便吧，没有您我也知道怎么办，”拉斯托普钦生气地大声说。他在阳台门边往下看着人群。“他们把俄国搞成这样！他们把我也搞成这样！”拉斯托普钦想，感到心里头升起一股不可遏制的怒火，要向这笔账该记在他头上的某个人发泄。像肝火旺的人常有的情形，愤怒控制了他，但还没找到发泄对象。“La　voilà　la　populace，la　lie　du　peuple，”他望着人群心里想道，“la　plébe　qu'ils　ont　soulevée　par　leur　sottise．Il　leur　faut　une　victime．”①出现在他思绪里，这时，他看到了高个小伙子挥动手臂。他之所以有这个想法，正是因为他本人就需要这件牺牲品，这个供他发泄愤怒的对象。 
①这一群贱民，老百姓的败类。平民，他们的愚蠢把这些败类和贱民鼓动起来了，他们需要一个牺牲品。
“马车准备好了吗？”他又问了一次。
“好了，爵爷。您下令如何处置韦列夏金？他已被带来，在门廊旁等着。”副官说。
“噢！”拉斯托普钦大叫了一声，仿佛被意外想起的一件事震惊了。
于是，他迅速拉开门，迈着坚定的步子走上阳台。说话声突然静止，礼帽和便帽都从头上脱下，所有的眼睛都抬起来望着走出来的伯爵。
“你们好，弟兄们！”伯爵讲得又快又响亮，“谢谢你们到来。我马上下来看你们，但我们得先处置一个坏人。我们必须惩办一个使莫斯科毁掉了的坏人。请等着我！”伯爵同样快步地返回室内，砰地一声关上了门。
人群里传遍了满意和赞许的低语声。“这么说，他要惩治所有的坏家伙了！而你说，只是一个法国人……他就会把全部情况给你推开的！”人们说着，仿佛彼此责备对方不相信自己似的。
几分钟后，从正门匆匆走出一位军官，说了句什么命令，于是龙骑兵排成长列。人群离开阳台急切地涌向门廊。拉斯托普钦愤怒地快步走上门廊，急忙扫视周围，似乎在寻找谁。
“他在哪儿？”伯爵问道，就在他刚一说完这句话的同时，他看到两个龙骑兵夹着一个年轻人从屋角走了出来，这人脖子细长，剃掉半边的头又长出了短发。他身穿一件颇为漂亮的，现已破旧的蓝呢面狐皮大衣，肮脏的麻布囚裤，裤脚塞在未经擦拭且已变形的瘦小的靴子里。细瘦而无力的腿上套着脚镣，使步履蹒跚的年轻人行动更加吃力。
“噢！”拉斯托普钦说，急忙从穿狐皮袄的年轻人身上移开目光，指着门廊的最下一级台阶。“带他到这儿来，”年轻人拖响着脚镣，艰难地走到指定的台阶下，用一根指头戳开压紧的衣领，扭动了两下细长的脖领，叹了一口气，把细瘦的不干活的手叠在肚皮上，保持温顺的姿势。
在那个年轻人在梯级上站稳的几秒钟内，仍然没人作声。只是在后面几排，那里的人都往一个地方挤，听得到咕哝嘟囔，推挤和脚步移动的声音。
拉斯托普钦在等他站好的时间里，阴沉沉地用手抹了抹脸。
“弟兄们！”拉斯托普钦用金属般的洪亮嗓音说，“这个人，韦列夏金，就是那个使莫斯科毁掉了的坏人。”
穿狐皮袄的年轻人温顺地站着，手掌交叉叠在肚皮上，微微弯腰。他那绝望的憔悴的、由于头被剃得残缺不全而显得难看的年轻的脸，向下低垂着。在听到伯爵头几句话时，他缓慢地抬起头来仰望伯爵，想要对他讲话或与他对视，但拉斯托普钦不看他。年轻人的细长脖颈上，在耳后，一根青筋像一条绳子那样鼓起来，随后，脸色突然发红。
所有的目光一齐射向他。他看了看人群，似乎从他们脸上看到尚有希望的表情，他凄惨而悄然地笑了一笑，又低下了头，移动好站在阶梯上的双脚。
“他背叛了自己的皇上和祖国，他效忠波拿巴，就是他玷污了俄国人的名声，并且，因为他莫斯科才毁掉了的，”拉斯托普钦从容地尖起嗓子讲述着；但突然飞快地往下面看了一眼韦列夏金，这人依然是一副温顺的模样。仿佛他被这一瞥激怒了，他举起手几乎喊叫地对这群人说：“你们自己来审判他吧！我把他交给你们！”
这群人默不作声，只是挤得愈来愈紧，互相偎靠着，呼吸着这股被感染了的窒息的空气，没有力气移动身子，等待着某种不可知的不可理解的可怕事情发生，是教人难以忍受的。前排的人对一切情形看得清楚听得明白，都恐怖地睁大眼睛，张大嘴巴，鼓足了劲，挺直了腰，挡住后面的人的推挤。
“打他！……让这个叛徒完蛋，不许他有损俄国人的名声！”拉斯托普钦喊着。“用刀砍！我命令！”没听清楚讲话，却听清伯爵愤怒声音的人群，骚动起来，并往前挤，随后又停了下来。
“伯爵！……”在又一次出现的短暂的寂静中，响起了韦列夏金胆怯而又铿锵的说话声。“伯爵，我们的头上，有一个上帝……”韦列夏金说，他抬起了头，细小的脖颈上那根粗血管又充血了，鼓胀起来，红潮很快泛上他的面庞，又很快地消失。他没有把他要说的话说完。
“砍他的头！我命令……”拉斯托普钦吼叫之后，突然脸色刷白，像韦列夏金一样。
“刀出鞘！”军官向龙骑兵发出口令，本人也拔出了军刀。
人群又一次地更为猛烈地涌动起来，涌动的波浪到达前排后，竟摇晃着涌上门廊的台阶。高个小伙子于是同韦列复金并排站在一起，脸上的表情呆若石头，举起的那只手也僵着不放下来。
“砍！”军官对龙骑兵的说话声几乎是耳语，于是，一个士兵突然恶狠狠扭曲着脸，举起一把钝马刀砍向韦列夏金的头部。
“啊！”韦列夏金吃惊地叫了一声，恐惧地环顾四周，似乎还不明白，为什么这事发生在他身上。人群同样发出恐惧的惊叹。
“哦，上帝！”不知谁发出悲伤的叹息。
韦列复金在发出那声惊叫之后，紧接着又痛得他可怜地呼喊，而这一声呼喊倒要了他的命。压力达到极限的人类感情的堤防，刚才还控制着人群，现在顷刻瓦解了。罪行既然开了头，就必须会把它干到底。责难的哀吟，淹没在人群雷霆怒吼之中。这最后一次不可遏制的波浪，就像最后的，击碎船只的七级浪一样利害，从后面几排涌到前排，冲倒他们，吞没了一切。砍了一刀的龙骑兵想再砍一刀。韦列夏金恐怖的叫着，抱头跑向人群。高个小伙子被他撞了一下，趁势伸出两手卡住韦列夏金细长的脖颈，狂叫着和他一起跌倒在挤成一团的吼叫着的人群脚下。
一些人扭打韦列夏金，另一些人扭打高个小伙子。被压在下面的人的喊叫，和奋力救助高个小伙子的人的呼喊，只激起了人群的狂怒。很长时间，龙骑兵老是解救不出那个满脸是血，被打得半死的工人。尽管人群迫不及待地奋力要把已经开了头的事情进行到底，但很长时间，那些扑打韦列夏金，想要卡死他撕碎他的人，都未能整治死他；人群从各个方向朝他们压过来，以他们为中心，形成一团板块，从一边到另一边地晃来晃去，既不让他们有机会打死他，又不让他们放掉他。
“用斧子砍呀，怎么样？……压成团了……叛徒，出卖了基督！……活着……还活着……恶人活该受罪。用门闩揍！
……还没死啊！”
直到牺牲品不再挣扎，它的呐喊变成有节奏的悠长的嘶哑的喘息，人群方才匆忙离开倒在地上浑身是血的尸体。刚才得以接近并且目睹这一情景的每一个人，此刻带着恐怖、责备、惊慌的神情纷纷朝后边挤去。
“哦，上帝，人跟野兽一样，哪儿有活路哟！”人群里有人说。“小小的年纪……怕是买卖人家的孩子，那样的一帮人啊！……据说，不是那一个……怎么不是那一个……呵，上帝！……听说还有一个挨了打，差不多要死了……唉，这些人啊……不怕作孽……”那些人现在又这样说，用病态的怜悯的表情看着尸体，血淋淋的发青的脸上沾满尘土，细长的脖颈被砍烂了。
一名忠于职守的警官，发觉尸体摆在大人院内不像话，有碍观瞻，命令龙骑兵把它拖到街上去。两名龙骑兵抓起打得变了形的腿，拖走尸体。血迹斑斑，糊满尘土，已经僵死的细脖子上的剃了半边的脑袋，动来动去地在地上拖着。人群挤着让开尸体。
在韦列夏金倒地，人群狂叫着挤到他身旁，前仰后翻，东倒西歪时，拉斯托普钦突然脸色苍白，他不是朝着在那里等候他上马车的后门廊走去，而是低下了头，不由自主地沿着通往下面一层房间的走廊快步地走。他自己也不知道去什么地方，为什么这样走，伯爵的面容苍白，下巴颏像害疟疾般不住停地发抖。
“爵爷，往这边……您这是往哪儿？……请这边走。”他身后一个害怕得发抖的声音说。
拉斯托普钦已无力答话，只是顺从地转过身来，朝指给他的方向去。后门廊下停着一辆轻便马车。隔得远了的汹涌的人声，在这里仍可听到。拉斯托普钦匆匆坐上马车，吩咐驶往他在索科尔尼茨的郊外别墅。行至肉铺街，再也听不到人群的哄闹声之后，伯爵开始感到后悔。他现在懊恼地回想起他在下层面前表现出的激动和惶恐不安。“La　populace　est　terrible，elle　est　hideuse，”他用法语这样想。“Ils　sont　comme　les　loups　qu'on　ne　peut　apaiser　qua'vecde　la　chair．”①“伯爵，我们的头上有一个上帝！”他突然想起韦列夏金这句话，一阵不愉快的寒战，透过他的脊梁骨。但只是短暂的一瞬，拉斯托普钦伯爵轻蔑地嘲笑了一下自己。“J'avais　d'autres　devoirs，”他想，“Il　fallait　apaiser　le　peuple．Bien　d'autres　victimes　ont　péri　et　périssent　pour　le　bien　publique．”②于是，他转而去想他所担负的责任：对他的家庭，对他的（即委托给他的）都城，以及对他自己所负的责任——不是想费多尔·瓦西里耶维奇·拉斯普钦（他认为费·瓦·拉斯托普钦正为bien　publique③作自我牺牲），而是想那个作为总督，权力的代表和沙皇的全权代表的他。“如果我仅仅是费多尔·瓦西里耶维奇，ma　ligne　de　condnite　auraite　été　tout　autrement　tracée④，但我应既保住生命，又保持总督之尊严。” 
①民众成群结队是可怕的，真讨厌。他们像狼群，除了肉，别的东西什么也满足不了他们。
②我有另外的职责（即安定民心——原编者注）。许多牺牲品已经并仍将为公众利益遭到灭亡。
③公众利益。
④我的道路将完全是另一个样子。
拉斯托普钦坐在马车柔软的弹簧座上轻轻摇晃着，再也听不到人群可怕的叫喊，他在生理上已趋平静，于是又像通常那样，随着生理上的平静，理智也为他构想出使精神趋于平静的理由。使拉斯托普钦心地安宁的那一思想并不新鲜。自世界之存在及人们相互残杀之时日起，任何人犯下类似的罪行时，总是以这一思想安慰自己。这一思想便是le　bien　publique①，别人的利益。
对于未陷入嗜欲的人来说，此种福利总是不可知的；但一个正在犯下罪行的人，却总是十分清楚这一福利之所在。拉斯托普钦此刻就很清楚。
他不仅依随自己的成见不责备自己所作出的行为，反而找到了自我满足的理由，非常成功地利用这一à　proBpos②——既惩治了罪犯，又安定了民众。
“韦列夏金已受审，并判了死刑，”拉斯托普钦想（虽然韦列夏金只由枢密院判服苦役）。“他是卖国贼和叛徒；我不能使他免于刑罚，而且是je　faisais　d'une　pierre　deux　coups③；为了保持安定，我让民众处置牺牲品，惩罚了坏人。” 
①公众利益。
②恰当的时机。
③一石二鸟。
驶抵郊外别墅，作了些家务安排，伯爵完全心平气和了。
半小时之后，伯爵换乘快马拉的马车经过索科尔尼茨田野时，已不再回想曾经发生的事，只思考和想象着将要发生的事情。他现在是去雅乌兹桥，他被告知库图佐夫在那里。拉斯托普钦伯爵想出一些愤怒而尖刻的言辞，准备用来对库图佐夫的欺瞒加以责备。他要让这头御前老狐狸知道，放弃故都，毁灭俄国（拉斯托普钦是这样认为）。引起的种种不幸，责任在于他这个老糊涂。拉斯托普钦预先想过一遍要对他说的话之后，就愤怒地在马车里转动身躯，怒气向四下张望。
索科尔尼茨田野一片荒凉。只是在它的尽头，在养老院和疯人院旁边，见到一堆堆穿白衣衫的人，其中有几人单个地在田野上走着，一边吼叫，一边挥动胳膊。
这几人中的一个跑着横穿过拉斯托普钦伯爵马车行驶的路。伯爵本人，以及车夫和龙骑兵们，都略带惊恐和好奇地看着这些放出来的疯子，尤其是那个跑到他们跟前来的人。这人摇晃着细长的瘦腿，长衫飘动着，拼命追着马车跑，两眼紧盯拉斯托普钦，用嘶哑的嗓子对他喊，并比划着要他停车。疯子的胡须浓密而又参差不齐，忧郁而严肃的面孔又瘦又黄。黑色的玛瑙般的瞳仁在黄而发红的眼白里低垂地、惊慌地转动着。
“停！别动！我说！”他尖叫着，又用威严的音调和姿势，喘息着喊些什么。
他赶上马车，与它并排跑着。
“他们杀死我三次，我三次从死尸复活。他们用石头打我，把我钉上十字架……我将复活……将复活……复活。他们撕碎了我的身躯。天国要毁灭……我摧毁它三次，重建它三次，”他嚷叫着，嗓门愈来愈高。拉斯托普钦伯爵脸色突然苍白，就像人群扑向韦列夏金时他的脸色发白一样。他转过头去。“走……走快点！”他用颤抖的声音对车夫喊道。
马车全速飞驰；但伯爵很久都还听到身后渐远渐弱的疯子的绝望的呼喊，而眼前则见到那个身穿狐皮大衣的惊惶的满是血迹的叛徒的脸。
这一切都还记忆犹新，拉斯托普钦现在感到它已深入自己血液嵌入内心了。他现在清楚地意识到，这记忆中的血痕将永不消失，并且相反，时间愈久，这一可怕的记忆在他心上会愈加折磨他，愈加令他难受。他现在似乎听到自己说话的声音：“砍死他，你们砍下头来回报我！”“为什么我说这句话！大概是偶然说的……我本来可以不说（他想），那就什么事都不会有了。”他看到那个砍人的士兵的恐惧而又突然变得凶狠的面孔，看见那个穿狐皮大衣的年轻人向他投射过来的胆怯的无言的责备的目光……“但我不是为自己这样作的。我必须这样作。La　plèbe，le　traitre　……le　bien　publique．”①他想。 
①平民，叛徒……公众利益。
雅乌兹桥头，军队仍十分拥挤。天气很热。阴沉忧郁的库图佐夫坐在桥边一条凳子上，用鞭子玩弄沙土，这时有一辆马车隆隆向他驶来。一位身穿将军服，戴羽饰帽，不知他是愤怒，还是恐惧，眼睛珠子不停地乱转，他走到库图佐夫身旁，用法语向他讲起话来。这就是拉斯托普钦伯爵。他向库图佐夫说，莫斯科故都已经不存在了，剩下的唯有军队。
“如果钧座不告诉我，您本来不会不战而拱手让出莫斯科，这一切就都不会发生，结局就不同啦！”他说。
库图佐夫望着拉斯托普钦，好像不明白他说的这番话的意义，并且费力地想看出此刻说话人脸上的特殊表情。拉斯托普钦赧颜地沉默了。库图佐夫微微摇头，探询的目光仍盯着拉斯托普钦的脸，悄声地说：
“不，我不会不战而交出莫斯科的。”
库图佐夫说这句话时想着完全不同的事情也好，或是明知其无意义不过说说而已也好，拉斯托普钦伯爵倒没再说什么，匆匆离开了库图佐夫。真是怪事！莫斯科总督，骄傲的拉斯托普钦伯爵拿起一根短皮鞭，走到桥头，开始吆喝起来驱赶挤成一团的大车。
Book 11 Chapter 27
THE PROCESS of the absorption of the French into Moscow in a widening circle in all directions did not, till the evening of the 2nd of September, reach the quarter of the town in which Pierre was staying.
After the two last days spent in solitude and exceptional conditions, Pierre was in a condition approaching madness. One haunting idea had complete possession of him. He could not have told how or when it had come to him, but that idea had now such complete possession of him that he remembered nothing in the past, and understood nothing in the present; and everything he saw and heard seemed passing in a dream.
Pierre had left his own house simply to escape from the complicated tangle woven about him by the demands of daily life, which in his condition at that time he was incapable of unravelling. He had gone to Osip Alexyevitch's house on the pretext of sorting out the books and papers of the deceased. Simply he was in search of a quiet home of rest from the storm of life, and his memories of Osip Alexyevitch were connected in his soul with a whole world of calm, solemn, and eternal ideals, in every way the reverse of the tangled whirl of agitation into which he felt himself being drawn. He was in search of a quiet refuge, and he certainly found it in Osip Alexyevitch's study. When, in the deathlike stillness of the study, he sat with his elbows on the dusty writing-table of his deceased friend, there passed in calm and significant succession before his mental vision the impressions of the last few days, especially of the battle of Borodino, and of that overwhelming sense of his own pettiness and falsity in comparison with the truth and simplicity and force of that class of men, who were mentally referred to by him as “they.” When Gerasim roused him from his reverie, the idea occurred to Pierre that he would take part in the defence of Moscow by the people, which was, he knew, expected. And with that object he had asked Gerasim to get him a peasant's coat and a pistol, and had told him that he intended to conceal his name, and to remain in Osip Alexyevitch's house. Then during the first day of solitude and idleness (Pierre tried several times in vain to fix his attention on the masonic manuscripts) there rose several times vaguely to his mind the idea that had occurred to him in the past of the cabalistic significance of his name in connection with the name of Bonaparte. But the idea that he, l'russe Besuhof, was destined to put an end to the power of the Beast, had as yet only come to him as one of those dreams that flit idly through the brain, leaving no trace behind. When after buying the peasant's coat, simply with the object of taking part in the defence of Moscow by the people, Pierre had met the Rostovs, and Natasha said to him, “You are staying? Ah, how splendid that is!” the idea had flashed into his mind that it really might be splendid, even if they did take Moscow, for him to remain, and to do what had been fore-told for him to do.
Next day with the simple aim of not sparing himself and not doing less than they would do, he had gone out to the Three Hills barrier. But when he came back, convinced that Moscow would not be defended, he suddenly felt that what had only occurred to him before as a possibility had now become something necessary and inevitable. He must remain in Moscow, concealing his name, must meet Napoleon, and kill him, so as either to perish or to put an end to the misery of all Europe, which was in Pierre's opinion entirely due to Napoleon alone.
Pierre knew all the details of the German student's attempt on Napoleon's life at Vienna in 1809, and knew that that student had been shot. And the danger to which he would be exposing his own life in carrying out his design excited him even more violently.
Two equally powerful feelings drew Pierre irresistibly to his design. The first was the craving for sacrifice and suffering through the sense of the common calamity, the feeling that had impelled him to go to Mozhaisk on the 25th, and to place himself in the very thick of the battle, and now to run away from his own house, to give up his accustomed luxury and comfort, to sleep without undressing on a hard sofa, and to eat the same food as Gerasim. The other was that vague and exclusively Russian feeling of contempt for everything conventional, artificial, human, for everything that is regarded by the majority of men as the highest good in the world. Pierre had for the first time experienced that strange and fascinating feeling in the Slobodsky palace, when he suddenly felt that wealth and power and life, all that men build up and guard with such effort, is only worth anything through the joy with which it can all be cast away.
It was the same feeling that impels the volunteer-recruit to drink up his last farthing, the drunken man to smash looking-glasses and window-panes for no apparent cause, though he knows it will cost him his little all; the feeling through which a man in doing things, vulgarly speaking, senseless, as it were, proves his personal force and power, by manifesting the presence of a higher standard of judging life, outside mere human limitations.
Ever since the day when Pierre first experienced this feeling in the Slobodsky palace, he had been continually under the influence of it, but it was only now that it found full satisfaction. Moreover at the present moment Pierre was supported in his design, and prevented from abandoning it, by the steps he had already taken in that direction. His flight from his own house, and his disguise, and his pistol, and his statement to the Rostovs that he should remain in Moscow,—all would have been devoid of meaning, would have been indeed absurd and laughable (a point to which Pierre was sensitive) if after all that he had simply gone out of Moscow like other people.
Pierre's physical state, as is always the case, corresponded with his moral condition. The coarse fare to which he was unused, the vodka he drank during those days, the lack of wine and cigars, his dirty, unchanged linen, and two half-sleepless nights, spent on a short sofa without bedding, all reduced Pierre to a state of nervous irritability bordering on madness.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The French had already entered Moscow. Pierre knew this, but instead of acting, he only brooded over his enterprise, going over all the minutest details of it. In his dreams Pierre never clearly pictured the very act of striking the blow, nor the death of Napoleon, but with extraordinary vividness and mournful enjoyment dwelt on his own end and his heroic fortitude.
“Yes, one man for all, I must act or perish!” he thought. “Yes, I will approach … and then all at once … with a pistol or a dagger!” thought Pierre. “But that doesn't matter. It's not I but the Hand of Providence punishes you.… I shall say” (Pierre pondered over the words he would utter as he killed Napoleon). “Well, take me, execute me!” Pierre would murmur to himself, bowing his head with a sad but firm expression on his face.
While Pierre was standing in the middle of the room, musing in this fashion, the door of the study opened, and Makar Alexyevitch—always hitherto so timid—appeared in the doorway, completely transformed.
His dressing-gown was hanging open. His face was red and distorted. He was unmistakably drunk. On seeing Pierre he was for the first minute disconcerted, but observing discomfiture in Pierre's face too, he was at once emboldened by it; and with his thin, tottering legs walked into the middle of the room.
“They have grown fearful,” he said, in a husky and confidential voice. “I say: I will not surrender, I say … eh, sir?” He paused and suddenly catching sight of the pistol on the table, snatched it with surprising rapidity and ran out into the corridor.
Gerasim and the porter, who had followed Makar Alexyevitch, stopped him in the vestibule, and tried to get the pistol away from him. Pierre coming out of the study looked with repugnance and compassion at the half-insane old man. Makar Alexyevitch, frowning with effort, succeeded in keeping the pistol, and was shouting in a husky voice, evidently imagining some heroic scene.
“To arms! Board them! You shan't get it!” he was shouting.
“Give over, please, give over. Do me the favour, sir, please be quiet. There now, if you please, sir, …” Gerasim was saying, cautiously trying to steer Makar Alexyevitch by his elbows towards the door.
“Who are you? Bonaparte!…” yelled Makar Alexyevitch.
“That's not the thing, sir. You come into your room and rest a little. Let me have the pistol now.”
“Away, base slave! Don't touch me! Do you see?” screamed Makar Alexyevitch, brandishing the pistol. “Run them down!”
“Take hold!” Gerasim whispered to the porter.
They seized Makar Alexyevitch by the arms and dragged him towards the door.
The vestibule was filled with the unseemly sounds of scuffling and drunken, husky gasping.
Suddenly a new sound, a shrill, feminine shriek, was heard from the porch, and the cook ran into the vestibule.
“They! Merciful heavens! … My goodness, here they are! Four of them, horsemen!” she screamed.
Gerasim and the porter let Makar Alexyevitch go, and in the hush that followed in the corridor they could distinctly hear several hands knocking at the front door.
像星光四射一样在莫斯科散开来的法国人，于九月二日傍晚才到达皮埃尔如今居住的那一地段。 
皮埃尔离群索居，异乎寻常地度过昨日前两天之后，陷入近乎精神错乱的状态。他的整个身心由一种解不开的思绪支配着。他本人并不知道，这种思绪在何时开始和怎样支配他，但这一思绪牢牢缠住他，以至他丝毫不记得过去，丝毫不明白现在；而他的所见所闻有如梦境。
皮埃尔离开自己的家，仅仅是回避纷繁的人生的苛求，这一团乱麻缠住他，在他当时的情况下又无力将它解开。他藉口清理死者的书籍和文件而到约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇的府上去，仅仅是为摆脱人生的困扰而寻找慰藉，并且，回忆起约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇，就会同一个充满永恒、宁静、庄严思想的世界联系起来，这些思想与他感到自己被缠绕的令人不安的那团乱麻，是截然不同的。他寻求一个静静的庇护所，在约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇的书斋里真的找到了。当他在书斋死一般的沉寂里，用臂肘支撑身体靠着尘封的死者的写字台坐着时，脑子里平静地、意味深长地闪现出一幕接一幕的近日的回忆，尤其是波罗底诺战役的回忆，尤其是他已铭刻在心的名为·他·们的那一类人，与他们的真理、纯朴和实力相比，他无可奈何地感到自己的渺小的虚假。当格拉西姆把他从沉思中唤醒时，他想起了他要去参加预定的——如他所知的——民众保卫莫斯科的战斗。为此目的，他请求格拉西姆给他搞一件农夫穿的长褂子和一支手枪，并向他显露自己要隐姓埋名留在约瑟夫·阿列克谢耶维奇家里的意图。随后，在他孤独地、无所事事地度过的第一天中（皮埃尔几次想集中注意力于共济会的手抄本，但都未能做到），他先前想过的关于他的名字与波拿巴的名字相关联的神秘意义，不止一次模糊地又让他感觉到了。不过，关于他l'Russe　Besuhof①，命定要去取消野兽的权力的想法，只是他心驰神往的、来无踪去无影的幻想之一。 
①俄国人别祖霍夫。
皮埃尔买到农夫穿的大褂（其目的仅在于参加民众的莫斯科保卫战）之后，路遇罗斯托夫家里的人，娜塔莎对他说：“您留下吗？啊，那多好！”当时，他脑子里闪过一个想法：莫斯科哪怕被占领也罢，如能留下来完成他命定该做的事，该多好！
第二天，他怀着一个念头，那就是不惜牺牲自己，绝不落后于他们地走出三山关。但当他回到家里后，确信人们不会保卫莫斯科时，突然感到，以前只认为有可能命定他去干的事，现在成了必然不可避免的事了。他应该隐姓埋名，留在莫斯科，会见拿破仑，杀死他，从而结束照他看来是由拿破仑一人造成的全欧的这场灾难，不成功便成仁。
一八○九年，一名德国学生在维也纳刺杀拿破仑的详情，皮埃尔是知道的，他也知道这名学生被枪毙了。但他在为执行自己的计划所冒的生命危险，却使他情绪更加高涨。
有两种同样强烈的感情难以抗阻地促使皮埃尔去实现他的计划。第一种，是意识到全民灾难后，感到有必要作出牺牲和受苦受难，出于这一种感情，他二十五日去了莫扎伊斯克，投身于战斗最激烈的地方，而现在他又离开自己的家，抛弃习惯了的奢侈而舒适的生活，在硬沙发上和衣卧着，并吃着与格拉西姆相同的食品；第二种，是不可捉摸的非俄国人不会有的感情：蔑视一切虚伪的，矫揉造作的人为的东西，以及所有被多数人认为是世界上最高福祉的东西。皮埃尔是在斯洛博达宫，第一次体会到这一奇怪的富有魅力的感情，当时，他突然感到，无论财富、权力，还是生命——所有人们辛劳地获得和爱护的东西，所有这一切，如果有任何价值的话，仅仅是为了享受一下而随即可以把它抛弃的欢乐罢了。
使一个志愿兵喝光最后一个戈比，使一个喝醉酒的人毫无道理地砸碎镜子和玻璃，而他不是不知道这将赔光他所有的金钱的，就是那种感情；使一个人在做（在坏的意义上的）疯狂的事时，仿佛在尝试他个人的权力和力量。同时声称有一种超于人世之外的、作为生活的最高主宰意识，就是那种感情。
从皮埃尔在斯洛博达宫初次体会到这种感情的那天起，他就不断地受其影响，但只是现在才得到充分的满足。此外，在这一时刻使皮埃尔非实现其意图不可，并使其不能舍而弃之，是他在此途径上已经做了的事情。他的弃家而逃，他的车夫大褂，他的手枪，他向罗斯托夫家声明他要留在莫斯科，——他做了这一切以后，如果仍像其他人那样离开莫斯科，那末，这一切不仅失去意义，而且会遭到蔑视，显得可笑（他对此是敏感的）。
像通常会有的情况那样，皮埃尔的身体状况与心理状态是吻合的。吃不惯的粗粝的食物，他这几天喝的伏特加，没有葡萄酒和雪茄烟，脏兮兮的没换洗的内衣，没有床而在短沙发度过的半失眠的两个夜晚，这一切都使皮埃尔处于亢奋的近乎疯狂的状态。
已经是下午一点过了。法军已开进莫斯科。皮埃尔也知道了，他未采取行动，却只是考虑他要做的这件事并把未来的行动的细微情节都想到了。皮埃尔在沉思遐想时，对刺杀过程和拿破仑之死，倒未作出生动的设想，但对自己的慷慨赴死，对自己的英勇气概想象得异常鲜明，并充满忧郁的自我欣赏。
“是的，一人为大家，我应该不成功便成仁！”他想。“是的，我就去……然后突然……用手枪还是匕首呢？”皮埃尔想。
“其实，都一样。不是我，而是天帝之手要处死你……我将说（皮埃尔想着在杀死拿破仑时要说的话）。好吧，把我抓起来杀了吧。”皮埃尔继续自言自语，脸上挂着忧郁而坚定的表情，垂着头。
正当皮埃尔站在房子中间如此这般地盘算着的时候，门被推开了，门槛上出现了一改往常羞怯模样的马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇。他的外套敞开着。脸色发红而木然。他显然醉了。看见皮埃尔，他一瞬间有点不自在，但看出皮埃尔脸上有些困惑时，立即大着胆子，摇晃着细瘦的双腿走到房子中间来。
“他们胆小了，”他沙哑着嗓子用信任的口吻说，“我说：我不投降，我说……是不是这样，先生？”他沉默了，突然，他看见桌子上的手枪，意外迅速地抓起它就往走廊跑去。
跟在马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇身后的格拉西姆和看门人，在过厅里拦住他夺他的枪。皮埃尔也走到走廊里来，怜悯和厌烦地看着这个半疯半醒的老人。马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇使劲抓住枪不放，皱着眉头，并用沙哑的嗓子叫喊，看样子好像在幻想什么庄严的事情。
“拿起武器哟！冲啊！胡说，你夺不走！”他喊道。
“够了，行行好，够了。给我们个面子，请放下吧，请吧，老爷……”格拉西姆说，小心地抓住马卡尔·阿列克谢维奇的胳膊，用力向房门口推他。
“你是谁？波拿巴！……”马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇叫着。
“这不好，主人家。您请到房间里去，请休息一下，把小手枪给我吧。”
“滚，讨厌的奴才！别碰！看见吗？”马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇摇晃着手枪喊道。“冲啊！”
“抓住他，”格拉西姆对看门人小声说。
他们抓住马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇的手，把他拖到门口去。
过厅充满了一片乱糟糟的喧嚣和醉汉嘶哑的喘息声。
突然，另一声刺耳的女人的叫喊，从门廊传了过来，接着，厨娘跑进了客厅。
“他们！我的老天爷！……真的，是他们。四个，骑着马！”
她叫喊着。
格拉西姆和看门人松手放了马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇，于是，在沉寂下来的走廊里，清晰地听到几只手敲叩大门的声音。
Book 11 Chapter 28
HAVING INWARDLY RESOLVED that until the execution of his design, he ought to disguise his station and his knowledge of French, Pierre stood at the half-open door into the corridor, intending to conceal himself at once as soon as the French entered. But the French entered, and Pierre did not leave the door; and irresistible curiosity kept him there.
There were two of them. One—an officer, a tall, handsome man of gallant bearing; the other, obviously a soldier or officer's servant, a squat, thin, sunburnt man, with hollow cheeks and a dull expression. The officer walked first, limping and leaning on a stick. After advancing a few steps, the officer apparently making up his mind that these would be good quarters, stopped, turned round and shouted in a loud, peremptory voice to the soldiers standing in the doorway to put up the horses. Having done this the officer, with a jaunty gesture, crooking his elbow high in the air, stroked his moustaches and put his hand to his hat.
“Bonjour, la compagnie!” he said gaily, smiling and looking about him.
No one made any reply.
“Vous êtes le bourgeois?” the officer asked, addressing Gerasim.
Gerasim looked back with scared inquiry at the officer.
“Quartire, quartire, logement,” said the officer, looking down with a condescending and good-humoured smile at the little man. “The French are good lads. Don't let us be cross, old fellow,” he went on in French, clapping the scared and mute Gerasim on the shoulder. “I say, does no one speak French in this establishment?” he added, looking round and meeting Pierre's eyes. Pierre withdrew from the door.
The officer turned again to Gerasim. He asked him to show him over the house.
“Master not here—no understand … me you …” said Gerasim, trying to make his words more comprehensible by saying them in reverse order.
The French officer, smiling, waved his hands in front of Gerasim's nose, to give him to understand that he too failed to understand him, and walked with a limp towards the door where Pierre was standing. Pierre was about to retreat to conceal himself from him, but at that very second he caught sight of Makar Alexyevitch peeping out of the open kitchen door with a pistol in his hand. With a madman's cunning, Makar Alexyevitch eyed the Frenchmen, and lifting the pistol, took aim. “Run them down!!!” yelled the drunkard, pressing the trigger. The French officer turned round at the scream, and at the same instant Pierre dashed at the drunken man. Just as Pierre snatched at the pistol and jerked it up, Makar Alexyevitch succeeded at last in pressing the trigger, and a deafening shot rang out, wrapping every one in a cloud of smoke. The Frenchman turned pale and rushed back to the door.
Forgetting his intention of concealing his knowledge of French, Pierre pulled away the pistol, and throwing it on the ground, ran to the officer and addressed him in French. “You are not wounded?” he said.
“I think not,” answered the officer, feeling himself; “but I have had a narrow escape this time,” he added, pointing to the broken plaster in the wall.
“Who is this man?” he asked, looking sternly at Pierre.
“Oh, I am really in despair at what has happened,” said Pierre quickly, quite forgetting his part. “It is a madman, an unhappy creature, who did not know what he was doing.”
The officer went up to Makar Alexyevitch and took him by the collar.
Makar Alexyevitch pouting out his lips, nodded, as he leaned against the wall, as though dropping asleep.
“Brigand, you shall pay for it,” said the Frenchman, letting go of him. “We are clement after victory, but we do not pardon traitors,” he added, with gloomy dignity in his face, and a fine, vigorous gesture.
Pierre tried in French to persuade the officer not to be severe with this drunken imbecile. The Frenchman listened in silence, with the same gloomy air, and then suddenly turned with a smile to Pierre. For several seconds he gazed at him mutely. His handsome face assumed an expression of melodramatic feeling, and he held out his hand.
“You have saved my life. You are French,” he said. For a Frenchman, the deduction followed indubitably. An heroic action could only be performed by a Frenchman, and to save the life of him, M. Ramballe, captain of the 13th Light Brigade, was undoubtedly a most heroic action.
But however indubitable this logic, and well grounded the conviction the officer based on it, Pierre thought well to disillusion him on the subject.
“I am Russian,” he said quickly.
“Tell that to others,” said the Frenchman, smiling and waving his finger before his nose. “You shall tell me all about it directly,” he said. “Charmed to meet a compatriot. Well, what are we to do with this man?” he added, applying to Pierre now as though to a comrade. If Pierre were indeed not a Frenchman, he would hardly on receiving that appellation—the most honourable in the world—care to disavow it, was what the expression and tone of the French officer suggested. To his last question Pierre explained once more who Makar Alexyevitch was. He explained that just before his arrival the drunken imbecile had carried off a loaded pistol, which they had not succeeded in getting from him, and he begged him to let his action go unpunished. The Frenchman arched his chest, and made a majestic gesture with his hand.
“You have saved my life! You are a Frenchman. You ask me to pardon him. I grant you his pardon. Let this man be released,” the French officer pronounced with rapidity and energy, and taking the arm of Pierre— promoted to be a Frenchman for saving his life—he was walking with him into the room.
The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, had come into the vestibule to ask what had happened, and to offer their services in punishing the offender; but the officer sternly checked them.
“You will be sent for when you are wanted,” he said. The soldiers withdrew. The orderly, who had meanwhile been in the kitchen, came in to the officer.
“Captain, they have soup and a leg of mutton in the kitchen,” he said. “Shall I bring it up?”
“Yes, and the wine,” said the captain.
皮埃尔暗自决定在他的意愿付诸实现之前，既不公开自己的头衔，也不显示他懂法语，站在走廊的半开着的双扇门中间，打算法国人一起走进来，就立即躺藏起来，但当法国人已经进屋之后，皮埃尔还未从门口走开：止不住的好奇心使他站住不动。 
他们有两个人。一个是军官，是高个儿英俊的男子，另一个显然是士兵或马弁，是矮个儿瘦小黧黑的人，双眼凹陷，表情笨拙。军官柱着一根棍子，微跛着脚走在前面。他走了几步之后，好像觉得这幢住宅不错似的，便停了下来，向后转身朝向站在门口的士兵，用长官的口气大声地喊他们牵马进来。吩咐完毕，军官潇洒地高高抬起胳膊肘，理理胡髭，举手碰了碰帽檐。
“Ronjour，la　compagnie！”①他愉快地说，并微笑着打量四周。
没有人作出任何回答。
“Vous　êtes　le　bourgeois？”②军官对格拉西姆说。
格拉西姆害怕地，疑惑不解地看着军官。
“Quartire，quarttire，logement，”军官说，带着上级对下级的宽厚而和善的笑容，从头到脚打量着这个小老头。
“Les　francais　sont　de　bons　enfants．Que　diable！Voyons！Ne　nous　faAchons　pas，mon　vieux．”③他又补充说，拍拍恐惧而沉默的格拉西姆的肩膀。
“A　ca！Dites　donc，on　ne　parle　donc　pas　francais　dans　cette　boutique？”④他又补充说，同时环顾四周，与皮埃尔的目光相遇。皮埃尔从门边走开了。 
①法语：你们好，诸位。
②您是主人吗？
③住房，住房，住宿处。法军是好小伙子。见鬼，我们不会吵架，老爷爷。
④怎么，难道这里没有人能讲法语？
军官再转向格拉西姆。他要求格拉西姆带他去看看屋子里的房间。
“主人不在——别以为……我的你们的……”格拉西姆变个法儿说，尽力使自己的话更容易听懂。
法国军官微笑着，在格拉西姆鼻子底下摊开双手，让格拉西姆明白，他也不懂他的话，然后跛着脚走到皮埃尔刚才呆过的门边。皮埃尔想走掉，躲开他，但就在这时，他看见马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇双手握着手枪，从厨房开着的门里探出身来。带着疯人的狡狯，马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇上上下下把军官看了个仔细，然后举枪瞄准。
“冲啊！！！”醉汉大叫一声，按下手枪扳机。军官应声转过身来，同一刹那，皮埃尔扑向醉汉。皮埃尔刚刚抓住手枪朝上举，马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇的手指终于碰到扳机，响起了震耳的枪声，硝烟罩住了所有在场的人。军官脸色刷白，后退着冲向门口。
皮埃尔忘记了不暴露自己懂法语的打算，把手枪夺下来扔了，朝军官跑过去用法语同他交谈起来。
“Vous　n'êtes　pas　blessé？”他说。
“Je　crois　que　non．”①军官回答，摸了摸身上，“mais　je　l'ai　manqué　belle　cette　fois—ci．”②他补充说，指着墙上被打开花的灰泥。“Quel　est　cet　homme．”③军官严厉地望了皮埃尔一眼说。 
①“您没受伤吧？”“好像没有。”
②但这次靠得很近。
③这人是谁？
“Ah，je　suis　vraiment　au　de'sespoir　de　ce　qui　vient　d'arriver．”①皮埃尔急忙地说，完全忘掉了自己的角色。C'est　un　fou，un　malheureux　qui　ne　savait　pas　ce　qu'il　faisait．”②军官走近马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇，抓住他的衣领。
马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇张开嘴，像是要睡着似的，摇晃着身子，靠在墙上。
“Brigand，tu　me　la　payeras．”军官说，同时松开了手。
“Nout　autres　nous　sommes　cléments　aprés　la　victoire；mais　nous　ne　pardonnons　pas　aux　tralAtres．”③他补充说，脸上的表情阴郁而凝重，手势优美又很有力。
皮埃尔继续用法语劝说军官不要追究这个喝醉了的疯子。法国人默默听着，面部表情未变，忽然，他微笑着转向皮埃尔。他默默凝视了他几秒钟。漂亮的脸上露出悲剧式的温柔表情，他伸出手来。
“Vous　m'avez　sauvé　la　vie！Vous　êtes　franBcais．”④他说。此结论对一个法国人来说，是勿庸置疑的。能干大事的只有法国人，而救他的命的，m—r　Ramballe，CapiBtaine　du　13—me　léger①，是大壮举。 
①啊，刚才发生的事真叫我沮丧。
②这是一个不幸的疯子，他不知道他干的什么。
③匪徒，你要为此偿命。我们的弟兄胜利后是仁慈的，但我们不饶恕反叛者。
④您救了我一命。您是法国人。
但无论此一结论及基于此结论的军官的信念如何地不庸置疑，皮埃尔仍旧认为应使他失望。
“Je　suis　Russe．”②皮埃尔赶紧说。
“啧—啧—啧，à　d'autres，”③这法国人举起食指在鼻子跟前晃动，并微笑着说。“Tout　á　l'heure　vous　allez　me　conter　tout　ca，”他说。“Charmé　de　recontrer　un　compatriote．Eh　bien！qu'allons　nous　faire　de　cet　homme？”④他又说，此时已拿皮埃尔当作亲兄弟。即使皮埃尔不是法国人，他也不能拒绝已经得到的这一世界上最崇高的称号，法国军官的面部表情和说话语气作如是观。皮埃尔对他的后一问题，再次解释，说马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇是怎么样的人，他又解释说，就在他们到来之前，这个喝醉了的疯子抢去了这支实弹手枪，他没有来得及夺下来，希望赦免他的行为。
军官挺直胸膛，作了一个威严的手势。
“Vous　m'avez　sauvé　la　vie．Vous　êtes　franBcais．Vous　me　demandez　sa　graAce？Je　vous　l'acBcorde．Qu'on　emm　ène　cet　homme．”⑤军官急速而有力地说，挽着因救他性命被他接纳为法国人的皮埃尔的手臂，同他一道走进屋子。 
①救了朗巴先生，第十三轻骑兵团上尉的命。
②我是俄国人。
③您对别人这样说去吧。
④您就会对我说出一切来的。很高兴见到同胞……
⑤您救了我的命。您是法国人，您要我宽恕他？我把他饶了。把他拖出去。
院子里的士兵听到枪响，走进过厅来问发生了什么事，并声称准备惩罚肇事者，军官严厉地阻止他们。
“On　vous　demandera　quand　on　aura　besoin　de　vous．”①他说，士兵都已退出。此时已去厨房兜了一圈的马弁来到军官面前。
“Capitaine，ils　ont　de　la　soupe　et　du　gigot　de　mouton　dans　la　cuisine，”他说，“Faut—il　vous　l'apporter？”
“Oui，et　le　vin．”②上尉说。 
①必要时，会叫你们的。
②上尉，他们厨房里有肉汤和炸羊肉。您要不要吩咐搞一些来。是的，还有酒。
Book 11 Chapter 29
AS THE FRENCH OFFICER drew Pierre with him into the room, the latter thought it his duty to assure the captain again that he was not a Frenchman, and would have withdrawn, but the French officer would not hear of it. He was so courteous, polite, good-humoured, and genuinely grateful to him for saving his life that Pierre had not the heart to refuse, and sat down with him in the dining-room, the first room they entered. To Pierre's asseveration that he was not a Frenchman, the captain, plainly unable to comprehend how any one could refuse so flattering a title, shrugged his shoulders, and said that if he insisted in passing for a Russian, so be it, but that in spite of that he should yet feel bound to him for ever by sentiments of gratitude for the defence of his life.
If this man had been endowed with even the slightest faculty of perceiving the feelings of others, and had had the faintest inkling of Pierre's sentiments, the latter would probably have left him. But his lively impenetrability to everything not himself vanquished Pierre.
“Frenchman or Russian prince incognito,” said the Frenchman, looking at Pierre's fine, though dirty linen, and the ring on his finger; “I owe my life to you, and I offer you my friendship. A Frenchman never forgets an insult or a service. I offer you my friendship. That's all I say.”
In the tones of the voice, the expression of the face, and the gestures of the officer, there was so much na?ve good nature and good breeding (in the French sense) that Pierre unconsciously responded with a smile to his smile, as he took his outstretched hand.
“Captain Ramballe of the 13th Light Brigade, decorated for the affair of the 7th September,” he introduced himself, an irrepressible smile of complacency lurking under his moustache. “Will you tell me now to whom I have the honour of speaking so agreeably, instead of remaining in the ambulance with that madman's ball in my body?”
Pierre answered that he would not tell him his name, and was beginning with a blush, while trying to invent a name, to speak of the reasons for which he was unable to do so, but the Frenchman hurriedly interrupted him.
“Enough!” he said. “I understand your reasons; you are an officer … a staff officer, perhaps. You have borne arms against us. That's not my business. I owe you my life. That's enough for me. I am at your disposal. You are a nobleman?” he added, with an intonation of inquiry. Pierre bowed.
“Your baptismal name, if you please? I ask nothing more. M. Pierre, you say? Perfect! That's all I want to know.”
When they had brought in the mutton, an omelette, a samovar, vodka, and wine from a Russian cellar brought with them by the French, Ramballe begged Pierre to share his dinner; and at once with the haste and greediness of a healthy, hungry man, set to work on the viands himself, munching vigorously with his strong teeth, and continually smacking his lips and exclaiming, “Excellent! exquis!” His face became flushed and perspiring. Pierre was hungry, and pleased to share the repast. Morel, the orderly, brought in a pot of hot water, and put a bottle of red wine to warm in it. He brought in too a bottle of kvass from the kitchen for them to taste. This beverage was already known to the French, and had received a nickname. They called it limonade de cochon, and Morel praised this “pigs' lemonade,” which he had found in the kitchen. But as the captain had the wine they had picked up as they crossed Moscow, he left the kvass for Morel, and attacked the bottle of bordeaux. He wrapped a napkin round the bottle, and poured out wine for himself and Pierre. The wine, and the satisfaction of his hunger, made the captain even more lively, and he chatted away without a pause all dinner-time.
“Yes, my dear M. Pierre, I owe you a fine votive candle for saving me from that maniac. I have bullets enough in my body, you know. Here is one from Wagram” (he pointed to his side), “and two from Smolensk” (he showed the scar on his cheek). “And this leg which won't walk, as you see. It was at the great battle of la Moskowa on the 7th that I got that. Sacré Dieu, it was fine! You ought to have seen that; it was a deluge of fire. You cut us out a tough job; you can boast of that, my word on it! And on my word, in spite of the cough I caught, I should be ready to begin again. I pity those who did not see it.”
“I was there,” said Pierre.
“Really!” pursued the Frenchman. “Well, so much the better. You are fine enemies, though. The great redoubt was well held, by my pipe. And you made us pay heavily for it too. I was at it three times, as I'm sitting here. Three times we were upon the cannons, and three times we were driven back like cardboard figures. Oh, it was fine, M. Pierre. Your grenadiers were superb, God's thunder. I saw them six times in succession close the ranks and march as though on parade. Fine fellows. Our king of Naples, who knows all about it, cried, Bravo! Ah, ah, soldiers like ourselves,” he said after a moment's silence. “So much the better, so much the better, M. Pierre. Terrible in war … gallant, with the fair” (he winked with a smile)—“there you have the French, M. Pierre, eh?”
The captain was so na?vely and good-humouredly gay and obtuse and self-satisfied that Pierre almost winked in response, as he looked good-humouredly at him. Probably the word “gallant” brought the captain to reflect on the state of things in Moscow.
“By the way, tell me, is it true that all the women have left Moscow? What a queer idea! What had they to fear?”
“Would not the French ladies quit Paris, if the Russians were to enter it?” said Pierre.
“Ha—ha—ha!…” The Frenchman gave vent to a gay, sanguine chuckle, slapping Pierre on the shoulder. “That's a good one, that is,” he went on. “Paris … But Paris…”
“Paris is the capital of the world,” said Pierre, finishing the sentence for him.
The captain looked at Pierre. He had the habit of stopping short in the middle of conversation, and staring intently with his laughing genial eyes.
“Well, if you had not told me you are a Russian, I would have wagered you were a Parisian. You have that indescribable something …” and uttering this compliment, he again gazed at him mutely.
“I have been in Paris. I spent years there,” said Pierre.
“One can see that! Paris! A man who does not know Paris is a savage … A Parisian can be told two leagues off. Paris—it is Talma, la Duschénois, Potier, the Sorbonne, the boulevards.” Perceiving that the conclusion of his phrase was somewhat of an anticlimax, he added hurriedly, “There is only one Paris in the world.… You have been in Paris, and you remain Russian. Well, I don't think the less of you for that.”
After the days he had spent alone with his gloomy thoughts, Pierre, under the influence of the wine he had drunk, could not help taking pleasure in conversing with this good-humoured and na?ve person.
“To return to your ladies, they are said to be beautiful. What a silly idea to go and bury themselves in the steppes, when the French army is in Moscow. What a chance they have lost. Your peasants are different; but you civilised people ought to know better than that. We have taken Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Naples, Rome, Warsaw—all the capitals in the world. We are feared, but we are loved. We are worth knowing. And then the Emperor…” he was beginning, but Pierre interrupted him.
“The Emperor,” repeated Pierre, and his face suddenly wore a mournful and embarrassed look. “What of the Emperor?”
“The Emperor? He is generosity, mercy, justice, order, genius—that is the Emperor. It is I, Ramballe, who tell you that. I was his enemy eight years ago. My father was an emigrant count. But he has conquered me, that man. He has taken hold of me. I could not resist the spectacle of the greatness and glory with which he was covering France. When I understood what he wanted, when I saw he was preparing a bed of laurels for us, I said to myself: ‘That is a monarch.' And I gave myself up to him. Oh yes, he is the greatest man of the centuries, past and to come.”
“And is he in Moscow?” Pierre asked, hesitating and looking guilty.
The Frenchman gazed at Pierre's guilty face, and grinned.
“No, he will make his entry to-morrow,” he said, and went on with his talk.
Their conversation was interrupted by several voices shouting at the gates, and Morel coming in to tell the captain that some Würtemberg hussars had come and wanted to put up their horses in the yard in which the captain's had been put up. The difficulty arose chiefly from the hussars not understanding what was said to them.
The captain bade the senior sergeant be brought to him, and in a stern voice asked him to what regiment he belonged, who was his commanding officer, and on what pretext he dared attempt to occupy quarters already occupied. The German, who knew very little French, succeeded in answering the first two questions, but in reply to the last one, which he did not understand, he answered in broken French and German that he was quartermaster of the regiment, and had received orders from his superior officer to occupy all the houses in the row. Pierre, who knew German, translated the German's words to the captain, and translated the captain's answer back for the Würtemberg hussar. On understanding what was said to him, the German gave in, and took his men away.
The captain went out to the entrance and gave some loud commands.
When he came back into the room, Pierre was sitting where he had been sitting before, with his head in his hands. His face expressed suffering. He really was at that moment suffering. As soon as the captain had gone out, and Pierre had been left alone, he suddenly came to himself, and recognised the position he was in. It was not that Moscow had been taken, not that these lucky conquerors were making themselves at home there and patronising him, bitterly as Pierre felt it, that tortured him at that moment. He was tortured by the consciousness of his own weakness. The few glasses of wine he had drunk, the chat with this good-natured fellow, had dissipated that mood of concentrated gloom, which he had been living in for the last few days, and which was essential for carrying out his design. The pistol and the dagger and the peasant's coat were ready, Napoleon was making his entry on the morrow. Pierre felt it as praiseworthy and as beneficial as ever to slay the miscreant; but he felt now that he would not do it. He struggled against the consciousness of his own weakness, but he vaguely felt that he could not overcome it, that his past gloomy train of ideas, of vengeance, murder, and self-sacrifice, had been blown away like dust at contact with the first human being.
The captain came into the room, limping a little, and whistling some tune.
The Frenchman's chatter that had amused Pierre struck him now as revolting. And his whistling a tune, and his gait, and his gesture in twisting his moustaches, all seemed insulting to Pierre now.
“I'll go away at once, I won't say another word to him,” thought Pierre. He thought this, yet went on sitting in the same place. Some strange feeling of weakness riveted him to his place; he longed to get up and go, and could not.
The captain, on the contrary, seemed in exceedingly good spirits. He walked a couple of times up and down the room. His eyes sparkled and his moustaches slightly twitched as though he were smiling to himself at some amusing notion.
“Charming fellow the colonel of these Würtembergers,” he said all at once. “He's a German, but a good fellow if ever there was one. But a German.”
He sat down facing Pierre.
“By the way, you know German?”
Pierre looked at him in silence.
“How do you say ‘asile' in German?”
“Asile?” repeated Pierre. “Asile in German is Unterkunft.”
“What do you say?” the captain queried quickly and doubtfully.
“Unterkunft,” repeated Pierre.
“Onterkoff,” said the captain, and for several seconds he looked at Pierre with his laughing eyes. “The Germans are awful fools, aren't they, M. Pierre?” he concluded.
“Well, another bottle of this Moscow claret, eh? Morel, warm us another bottle!” the captain shouted gaily.
Morel brought candles and a bottle of wine. The captain looked at Pierre in the candle-light, and was obviously struck by the troubled face of his companion. With genuine regret and sympathy in his face, Ramballe approached Pierre, and bent over him.
“Eh, we are sad!” he said, touching Pierre on the hand. “Can I have hurt you? No, really, have you anything against me?” he questioned. “Perhaps it is owing to the situation of affairs?”
Pierre made no reply, but looked cordially into the Frenchman's eyes. This expression of sympathy was pleasant to him.
“My word of honour, to say nothing of what I owe you, I have a liking for you. Can I do anything for you? Dispose of me. It is for life and death. With my hand and my heart, I say so,” he said, slapping himself on the chest.
“Thank you,” said Pierre. The captain gazed at Pierre as he had gazed at him when he learnt the German for “refuge,” and his face suddenly brightened.
“Ah, in that case, I drink to our friendship,” he cried gaily, pouring out two glasses of wine.
Pierre took the glass and emptied it. Ramballe emptied his, pressed Pierre's hand once more, and leaned his elbow on the table in a pose of pensive melancholy.
“Yes, my dear friend, such are the freaks of fortune,” he began. “Who would have said I should be a soldier and captain of dragoons in the service of Bonaparte, as we used to call him. And yet here I am at Moscow with him. I must tell you, my dear fellow,” he continued in the mournful and measured voice of a man who intends to tell a long story, “our name is one of the most ancient in France.”
And with the easy and na?ve unreserve of a Frenchman, the captain told Pierre the history of his forefathers, his childhood, boyhood, and manhood, and all his relations, his fortunes, and domestic affairs. “Ma pauvre mère,” took, of course, a prominent part in this recital.
“But all that is only the setting of life; the real thing is love. Love! Eh, M. Pierre?” he said, warming up. “Another glass.”
Pierre again emptied his glass, and filled himself a third.
“O women! women!” and the captain, gazing with moist eyes at Pierre, began talking of love and his adventures with the fair sex. They were very numerous, as might readily be believed, judging from the officer's conceited, handsome face and the eager enthusiasm with which he talked of women. Although all Ramballe's accounts of his love affairs were characterised by that peculiar nastiness in which the French find the unique charm and poetry of love, the captain told his stories with such genuine conviction that he was the only man who had tasted and known all the sweets of love, and he described the women he had known in such an alluring fashion that Pierre listened to him with curiosity.
It was evident that l'amour the Frenchman was so fond of was neither that low and simple kind of love Pierre had at one time felt for his wife, nor the romantic love, exaggerated by himself, that he felt for Natasha. For both those kinds of love Ramballe had an equal contempt—one was l'amour des charretiers, the other l'amour des nigauds. L'amour for which the Frenchman had a weakness consisted principally in an unnatural relation to the woman, and in combinations of monstrous circumstances which lent the chief charm to the feeling.
Thus the captain related the touching history of his love for a fascinating marquise of five-and-thirty, and at the same time for a charming, innocent child of seventeen, the daughter of the fascinating marquise. The conflict of generosity between mother and daughter, ending in the mother sacrificing herself and offering her daughter in marriage to her lover, even now, though it was a memory in the remote past, moved the captain deeply. Then he related an episode in which the husband played the part of the lover, and he—the lover—the part of the husband, and several comic episodes among his reminiscences of Germany, where Unterkunft means asile, where the husbands eat cabbage soup, and where the young girls are too flaxen-haired.
The last episode was one in Poland, still fresh in the captain's memory, and described by him with rapid gestures and a glowing face. The story was that he had saved the life of a Pole—the episode of saving life was continually cropping up in the captain's anecdotes—and that Pole had intrusted to his care his bewitching wife, a Parisian in heart, while he himself entered the French service. The captain had been happy, the bewitching Polish lady had wanted to elope with him; but moved by a magnanimous impulse, the captain had restored the wife to the husband with the words: “I saved your life, and I save your honour.”
As he repeated these words, the captain wiped his eyes and shook himself, as though to shake off the weakness that overcame him at this touching recollection.
As men often do at a late hour at night, and under the influence of wine, Pierre listened to the captain's stories, and while he followed and understood all he told him, he was also following a train of personal reminiscences which had for some reason risen to his imagination. As he listened to those love affairs, his own love for Natasha suddenly came into his mind, and going over all the pictures of that love in his imagination, he mentally compared them with Ramballe's stories. As he heard the account of the conflict between love and duty, Pierre saw before him every detail of the meeting with the object of his love at the Suharev Tower. That meeting had not at the time made much impression on him; he had not once thought of it since. But now it seemed to him that there was something very significant and romantic in that meeting.
“Pyotr Kirillitch, come here, I recognise you”; he could hear her words now, could see her eyes, her smile, her travelling cap, and the curl peeping out below it … and he felt that there was something moving, touching in all that.
When he had finished his tale about the bewitching Polish lady, the captain turned to Pierre with the inquiry whether he had had any similar experience of self-sacrifice for love and envy of a lawful husband.
Pierre, roused by this question, lifted his head and felt an irresistible impulse to give expression to the ideas in his mind. He began to explain that he looked upon love for woman somewhat differently. He said he had all his life long loved one woman, and still loved her, and that that woman could never be his.
“Tiens!” said the captain.
Then Pierre explained that he had loved this woman from his earliest youth, but had not dared to think of her because she was too young, and he had been an illegitimate son, with no name of his own. Then when he had received a name and wealth, he had not dared think of her because he loved her too much, because he set her too high above all the world, and so even more above himself. On reaching this point, Pierre asked the captain, did he understand that.
The captain made a gesture expressing that whether he understood it or not, he begged him to proceed.
“Platonic love; moonshine…” he muttered. The wine he had drunk, or an impulse of frankness, or the thought that this man did not know and never would know, any of the persons concerned in his story, or all together loosened Pierre's tongue. With faltering lips and with a faraway look in his moist eye, he told all his story; his marriage and the story of Natasha's love for his dearest friend and her betrayal of him, and all his own simple relations with her. In response to questions from Ramballe, he told him, too, what he had at first concealed—his position in society—and even disclosed his name.
What impressed the captain more than anything else in Pierre's story was the fact that Pierre was very wealthy, that he had two palatial houses in Moscow, and that he had abandoned everything, and yet had not left Moscow, but was staying in the town concealing his name and station.
Late in the night they went out together into the street. The night was warm and clear. On the left there was the glow of the first fire that broke out in Moscow, in Petrovka. On the right a young crescent moon stood high in the sky, and in the opposite quarter of the heavens hung the brilliant comet which was connected in Pierre's heart with his love. At the gates of the yard stood Gerasim, the cook, and two Frenchmen. Pierre could hear their laughter and talk, incomprehensible to one another. They were looking at the glow of the fire burning in the town.
There was nothing alarming in a small remote fire in the immense city.
Gazing at the lofty, starlit sky, at the moon, at the comet and the glow of the fire, Pierre felt a thrill of joyous and tender emotion. “How fair it all is! what more does one want?” he thought. And all at once, when he recalled his design, his head seemed going round; he felt so giddy that he leaned against the fence so as not to fall.
Without taking leave of his new friend, Pierre left the gate with unsteady steps, and going back to his room lay down on the sofa and at once fell asleep.
法国军官同皮埃尔走进屋子后，皮埃尔认为务必要再次让上尉相信，他不是法国人，并且想离开，但法国军官连听都不想听。他是如此地谦恭、亲热、和善，并真诚地感激救命之情，以致皮埃尔不好意思拒绝，同他一起在厅里，即是他们走进的第一个房间里坐了下来。对于皮埃尔否认自己是法国人，上尉耸耸肩膀，显然不理解何以要拒绝这一雅号，但又说，尽管他一定要坚持以俄国人自居，那也只能这样，但他仍旧永志不忘他的救命之恩。 
如果此人稍微具有理解他人的才华，就会猜出皮埃尔的心情，而皮埃尔也就会离开他了；但他对自身之外的一切，都迟钝得不可理喻，这就俘虏了皮埃尔。
“Francais　ou　prince　russe　incognito，”①他说，同时看了看虽然很脏，却很精致的皮埃尔的衬衫和他手上的戒指。，Je　vous　dois　la　vie　et　je　vous　offre　mon　amittié．Un　francais　n'oublie　jamais　ni　une　insulte　ni　un　service．Je　vous　offre　mon　amitié．Je　ne　vous　dis　que　ca．”②
这个军官说话的声音，脸上的表情，手势等，是那样的和善和高尚（就法国人的概念而言），致使皮埃尔不由得对其微笑报之以微笑，握住了伸过来的手。
“Capitaine　Ramballe　du　13—me　léger，decoré　pour　l'affaire　du　sept．”③他自我介绍说，脸上堆起的满意得不得了的笑容，使胡髭下的嘴唇撮成一团。“Voudrez　vous　bien　dire　a　présent　a　qui　j'ai　l'honneur　de　parler　aussi　agréablement　au　lieu　de　rester　à　l'am－bulance　avec　la　balle　de　ce　fou　dans　le　corps．”④ 
①是法国人也好，化名的俄国公爵也好。
②您救我一命，我得感激您，我献给您友谊。法国人既不会忘记屈辱，也不会忘记恩惠。我献出我的友谊。此外，不再说什么。
③上尉朗巴，第十三轻骑兵团，九月七日，因功授荣誉团骑士。
④是否劳您驾现在告诉我，我身上没有带着疯子的子弹去包扎站，而是有幸愉快地在和谁交谈。
皮埃尔回答说，他不能说出他的名字，并羞赧地一面试图编造一个名字，一面又开始讲他不能说出名字的理由，但法国人连忙打断了他的话。
“De　graAce，”他说。“Je　comprends　vos　raisons，vous　êtes　offi－cier…officier　superieur，peut—être．Vous　avez　porté　les　armes　contre　nous．——Ce　n'est　pas　mon　affaire．Je　vous　dois　la　vie．Cela　me　suffit．Je　suis　tout　à　vous．Vous　êtes　gentil　homme．”①他以探问的口气补充说。皮埃尔低下头来。
“Votre　nom　de　bapteme，s'il　vous　palAit？Je　ne　demande　pas　davantage．M—r　Pierre，dites　vous　…Parfait．C'est　tout　ce　que　je　désire　savoir．”② 
①哦，够了。我理解您，您是军官……或许还是司令部军官。您同我们作过战。——这不关我的事。我的性命多亏了您。我很满意，愿为您效劳。
您是贵族吧？ 
②尊姓大名？我别的都不问。您说您是皮埃尔先生？好极了。这就是我要知道的。
羊肉，煎鸡蛋，茶炊、伏特加和法军带在身边的从俄国人地窖里弄到的葡萄酒都端上来之后，朗巴请皮埃尔一道进午餐，而他本人迫不及待地，像一个健康而又饥饿的人那样，一付馋相地先吃了起来，用他那有力的牙齿迅速咀嚼，不停地咂嘴，一面说：excellent，exquis！①他的脸涨得通红，沁出了汗珠。皮埃尔也饿了，便欣然一道就餐。马弁莫雷尔端来一小锅热水，把一瓶红葡萄酒放在里面温着。此外，他还端来一瓶克瓦斯，这是他从厨房里取来尝尝的。这种饮料法国人早已知道，并给起了个名。 
①好极了，太妙了！
他们管克瓦斯叫limonade　de　cochon（猪柠檬汁），莫雷尔就赞赏这种他在厨房里找到的limonade　de　cochon。但是，由于上尉移防穿过莫斯科时已搞到了葡萄酒，他便把克瓦斯给了莫雷尔，专注于那瓶波尔多红葡萄酒。他用餐巾裹着瓶颈给自己和皮埃尔斟上了酒。饥饿感的消除，再加上葡萄酒，使上尉更加活跃，因而他在这一顿饭的时间里不停地说话。
“Oui，mon　cher　m—r　Pierre，je　vous　dois　une　fière　chandelle　de　m'avoir　sauvé…de　cet　enragé…J'en　ai　assez，voyez—vous，de　balles　dans　le　corps．En　voilā　une，（他指了指腰部）à　Wagram　et　de　deux　à　Smolensk，”他指着面颊上的伤疤。“Et　cette　jambe，comme　vous　voyez，qui　ne　veut　pas　marcher．C'est　à　la　grande　bataille　du　7　à　la　Moskowa　que　j'ai　recu　ca．Sacré　Dieu，c'était　beau！Il　fallait　voir　ca，c'était　un　déluge　de　feu．Vous　nous　avez　taillé　une　rude　besogne；vous　pouvez　vous　en　vanter，nom　d'un　petit　bonBhomme．Et，ma　parole，malgré　la　toux，que　j'y　ai　gagné，je　serais　prêt　à　recommencer．Je　plains　ceux　qui　n'ont　pas　vu　ca．”① 
①是的，我亲爱的皮埃尔先生，我要为您敬一支辉煌的蜡烛，以感谢您从疯子手里救了我。您瞧，从我身上取出了相当多的子弹哟。一颗是在瓦格拉木挨的，（他指着腰部），另一颗是在斯摩棱斯克挨的（他指着面颊上的伤疤）。而这条腿，您瞧，它不愿动力。这是九月七号在莫斯科大战时负的伤。（法国称波罗底诺战役为莫斯科战役，九月七号是指西历，按俄历则为八月二十六日。）呵！那太壮观了！值得一看，那是一片火海。你们给我们出一道难题，是可以夸耀的。说真的，尽管得了这个王牌（他指了指十字勋章），我倒还愿意一切从头来过。很惋惜没见到这个场面的人啊。
“J'y　ai　êté。”皮埃尔说。
“Bah，vraiment！Eh　bien，tant　mieux，”法国人继续说。“Vous　êtes　de　fiers　ennemis，tout　de　même．La　grande　redoute　a　été　tenace，nom　d'une　pipe．Et　vous　nous　I'avez　fait　craAnement　payer．J'y　suis　allé　fois　trois，tel　que　vous　me　voyez．Trois　fois　nous　êtions　sur　les　canons　et　trois　fois　on　nous　a　culbuté　et　comme　des　capucins　de　cartes．Oh！c'était　beau，M—r　Pierre．Vos　grenadiers　ont　été　superbes，tonnerre　de　Dieu．Je　les　ai　vu　six　fois　de　suite　serrer　les　rangs，et　marcher　comme　à　une　revue．Ies　beaux　hommes！Notre　roi　de　Naples　qui　s'y　connait　a　crié：bra－vo！Ah，Ah！soldat　comme　nous　autres！”他沉默片刻之后说。“Tant　mieux，tant　mieux，m—r　Pierre．Terribles　en　bataille…galants…”他微笑地眨了眨眼，“avec　les　belles，voila　les　francais，m—r　Pierre，n'est　ce　pas？”① 
①我当时在那里。　哦，真的吗？那更好。你们是勇敢的敌人，必须承认。那座偌大的多角堡你们守得不错，真见鬼。还迫使我们付出了高昂的代价呢。我冲过去了三次，您知道，我不骗您。我们三次到了炮位附近，三次都给赶了回来，像纸人儿似的。你们的掷弹兵了不起，真的。我看见他们六次集结队伍，就跟去参加阅兵一样地前进。奇妙的人们！我们的那不勒斯王……这也是他的拿手好戏……对他们喝彩：“好哇！”哈，哈！您也是我们行伍弟兄！那更好，那更好，皮埃尔先生。战斗中是可怕的，对美丽的女人是多情的。这就是法国人，皮埃尔先生。是不是这样？
上尉欢天喜地，一副纯真和善自得的样儿，使皮埃尔望着他几乎也要开心地挤眉眨眼了。大概是“多情”这个字眼使上尉想到了莫斯科的状况：“A　propos，dites　donc，est—ce　vrai　que　toutes　les　femmes　ont　quittée　Moscou？Une　droAle　d'idée！Qu'avaient—elles　a　crainBdre？”
“Est—ce　que　les　dames　francaises　ne　quitBteraient　pas　Paris　si　les　Russes　y　entraient？”①皮埃尔说。 
①顺便问问，您告诉我，女人们是否真的离开了莫斯科？奇怪的念头，她们怕什么呢？　如果俄国人开进巴黎，难道法国女人不离开？
“Ah，ah，ah！…”法国人开心地神经质地哈哈大笑起来，拍拍皮埃尔的肩膀说。“Ah！elle　est　forte　celle—là。”他接着说。“Paris？…Mais　Paris…Paris…”
“Paris，La　capitale　du　monde…”①皮埃尔替他说完。 
①哈哈哈！…我这是说笑话。巴黎？可是巴黎……巴黎……巴黎是世界之都……
上尉看了看皮埃尔。他习惯于在谈话间停下来用笑容和温柔的目光打量交谈者。
“Eh，bien，si　vous　ne　m'aiez　pas　dit　que　vous　êtes　Russe，j'aurai　pariè　que　vous　êtes　Parisien．Vous　avez　ce　je　ne　sais　quoi，ce　…①”说出这番恭维话后，他又默默地看了看对方。 
①如果您没告诉我您是俄国人，我一定打赌说您是巴黎人。您身上有……
“J'ai　été　à　Paris，j'y　ai　passé　des　années，”
皮埃尔说。
“Oh　ca　se　voit　bien．Paris！…Un　homme　qui　ne　connait　pas　Paris，est　un　sauvage．Un　Parisien，ca　se　sent　à　deux　lieux．Pairs，c'est　Talma，la　Duschéonis，Potier，la　Sorbornn，les　boulevards。”①发觉这一结论不如刚才说的有力，他又急忙补充：“Il　n'y　a　qu'un　Paris　au　monde．Vous　avez　été　a　Paris 
①啊，这很明显，巴黎！……不知道巴黎的人是野人。一个巴黎人，你在两里外便认得出来，巴黎，这是塔尔马，迪歇努瓦，波蒂埃，索尔本，林荫大道。　我到过巴黎，在那儿住过多年。
et　vous　êtes　resté　Russe．Eh　bien，je　ne　vous　en　estime　pas　moins．”①
皮埃尔喝了葡萄酒，几天来，在孤寂中想着忧郁的心事，因此他现在同这位快活而和善的人谈话，感觉到情不自禁的高兴。 
①全世界只有一个巴黎。您到过巴黎，但仍然是一个俄国人。这也没什么，我不会因此降低我对您的尊重。
“Pour　en　revenir　à　vos　dames，on　les　dit　bien　belles．Quelle　fichue　idée　d'aller　s'enterrer　dans　les　steppes，quand　l'arm　ée　francaise　est　a　Moscou．Quelle　chance　elles　ont　manqué　celles—là．Vos　moujiks　c'est　autre　chose，mais　vous　autres　gens　civilisés　vous　devriez　nous　connalAtre　mieux　que　ca．Nous　avons　pris　Vienne，Berlin，Madrid，Naples，Rome，Varsovie，toutes　les　capitales　du　monde…On　nous　craint，mais　on　nous　aime．Nous　sommes　bons　à　connalAtre．Et　puis　l'emBpereur．”①他开始打开话匣了，但皮埃尔打断了他。 
①谈谈你们的女士们吧，听说她们很美貌。哪儿来的愚蠢念头，要在法军到莫斯科时跑到草原上去藏起来。他们错过了美妙的机会。你们的农民，我理解，但你们——有教养的人——应该更清楚地了解我们。我们拿下了维也纳，柏林，马德里，那不勒斯，罗马，华沙，全是世界的都会。他们怕我们，但也爱我们。和我们交往没有害处。况且皇帝……。
“L'empereur，”皮埃尔重复了一遍，他的脸色突然变得忧郁和困窘起来。“Est—ce　que　l'empereur…”①“L'empreur？C'est　la　générosité，la　clémence，la　justice，l'ordre，le　génie，voilà　l'empereur！C'est　moi　Ramballe　qui　vous　le　dit．Tel　que　vous　me　voyez，j'étais　son　enemi　il　y　a　encore　huit　ans．Mon　père，a　été　comte　émigré…Mais　il　m'a　vaincu，cet　homme．Il　m'a　empoigné．Je　n'ai　pas　pu　résister　au　spectacle　de　grandeur　et　de　gloire　dont　il　couvrait　la　France．Quand　j'ai　compris　ce　qu'il　voulait，quand　j'ai　vu　qu'il　nous　faisait　une　liti　ère　de　lauriers，voyez　vous，je　me　suis　dit：voilà　un　souveran，et　je　me　suis　dornneè　a　lui．Eh　voilà！Oh，oui，mon　cher，c'est　le　plus　grand　homme　des　siècles　passés　et　à　Venir．”②
“Est—il　à　Moscou？”③皮埃尔口吃地带着应受谴责的神情说。 
①皇帝……皇帝怎么……
②皇帝？这是宽厚，慈善，正义，秩序，天才的化身——这一切便是皇帝！这是我朗巴说的。您现在看到我这样子的，可是八年前我是反对他的。我父亲是流亡国外的伯爵。但皇上战胜了我，使我臣服于他。他的伟大和光荣荫庇着法国，在他面前我坚持不住了。当我明白他的想法，看到他让我们走上光荣的前程，我对自己说：这是陛下，我便献身于他。就这样！呵，是的，亲爱的，这是空前绝后的伟大。
③他在莫斯科？
法国人看了看皮埃尔负疚的表情，笑了。
“Non，il　fera　son　entrée　demain．”①他说，并继续讲自己的故事。 
①不，他将于明天入城。
他们的谈话被大门口几个人的嘈杂的语声和莫雷尔走进房间所打断，他来报告上尉，符腾堡的骠骑兵来了，要把马匹安置在院子里，可是院子里已经驻下了上尉的马匹。麻烦的事儿主要是骠骑兵听不懂对他们说的语言。
上尉命令带骠骑兵上士来见他，严厉地质问他们属于哪个团的，长官是谁，有什么背景敢于占领已经有人占了的住宅。对于头两个问题，这个不太听得懂法语的德国兵回答了所在的团和长官；但对最后一个问题，他没听懂，却在德语夹杂些不完整的法语词句回答说，他是兵团的号房子的，长官命令他把这一片的房子都占下。懂德语的皮埃尔把德国兵的话翻译给上尉听又把上尉的回答用德语给骠骑兵翻译。德国兵听懂对他说的话之后，表示服从，带走了自己的人。上尉走出屋子，站在阶沿上大声地下了几道命令。
当他在回到屋子里时，皮埃尔仍然坐在原来的位子上，用双手捧着头。他的脸上是痛苦的表情。这一瞬间，他的确很痛苦。在上尉出去，皮埃尔单独留下时，他突然清醒过来，意识到了自己所处的地位。使他痛苦的不是莫斯科被占领，也不是幸运的胜利者在这里作威作福并且庇护他，尽管他对此感到沉重，但在这一时刻，这些倒不是使他感到痛苦的缘由。使他痛苦的是意识到自己的软弱。几杯葡萄酒，同这个和善的人的交谈，破坏了已凝聚起来的忧郁情绪，这是他执行他的计划所必需的，而他近几天都处于这种情绪之中。手枪、匕首和农民的衣服都准备好了，拿破仑第二天就要入城。皮埃尔依旧认为杀死这个恶人是有益的值得的，不过他现在觉得他干不成了。为什么？——他不知道，但似乎预感到，他实现不了自己的计划。他反抗自己软弱的意识，但模糊地觉得，他战胜不了它，他先前要复仇、杀人和自我牺牲的忧郁心情，在接触到第一个法国人之后，像灰尘一样飘散了。
上尉略微瘸着，吹着口哨走进屋子里去。
先前还能逗乐皮埃尔的法国军官的唠叨，现在适得其反使他讨厌了。他口哨吹的歌曲，步态，手势，以及抹胡子的动作，无一不使皮埃尔觉得受侮辱。
“我现在就走开，不再跟他说一句话，”皮埃尔想。他这样想着，同时仍在原地坐着不动。多么奇怪的软弱感觉把他禁锢在位子上：他想起身走开，但又做不到。
上尉则相反，好像极为高兴。他两次在屋子里走来走去。眼睛闪亮，胡子微微翘动，似乎为某种有趣的想法自顾自地微笑着。
“Charmant，”他突然说，“le　colonel　de　ces　Wurtem－bourgeois！C'est　un　Allemand；mais　brave　garcon，s'il　en　fǔt．Mais　allemand．”①他在皮埃尔对面坐下。 
①真迷人，这些符腾堡的兵士的上校。他是德国人，虽然如此，倒挺帅的。不过，他是德国人。
“A　props，vous　savez　donc　l'allemand，
vous？”①
皮埃尔沉默地望着他。
“Comment　ditesvous　asile　en　allemand？”②“Asile？”彼埃尔重复了一遍。“Asile　en　allemand—
Unterkunft．”③
“Comment　dites—vous？”④上尉疑惑地很快又问了一遍。
“Unterkunft．”皮埃尔再说了一遍。
“Onterkoff，”上尉说，眼睛含笑地看了皮埃尔几秒钟。
“Les　allemands　sont　de　fières　bêtes．N'est　ce　pas，m—r　Pierre？”⑤他结束说。
“Eh　bien，encore　une　bouteille　de　ce　bordeau　Moscouvite，n'est　ce　pas？Morel　va　nous　chauffer　encore　une　petite　bouteile．Morel！”⑥上尉快活地叫起来。 
①顺便说，您好像懂德语？
②避难所用德语怎么讲？
③避难所？避难所德语是——unterkunft。
④您说什么？
⑤Onterkoff（读讹了——译注）。这些德国人真蠢。您说是吗，皮埃尔先生？
⑥再来一瓶莫斯科波尔多酒，是这样说的吗？莫雷尔会再给我们温一瓶的，莫雷尔！
莫雷尔递上蜡烛和一瓶葡萄酒。上尉望望烛光里的皮埃尔，显然朗巴为对谈者此时沮丧的模样吃了一惊。他带着真正的同情而又痛苦的表情走到皮埃尔身旁，弓身对他说。
“Eh　bien，nous　sommes　tristes，”①他碰了碰皮埃尔的胳膊说。“Vous　aurai—je　fait　de　la　peine？Non，vrai，avez—vous　quelque　chose　contre　moi，”他一再地问。“Peut—être　rapport　à　la　situation？”②皮埃尔什么也没有回答，但动情地对视着法国人的眼睛。
那儿流出的同情使他心上好受。
“Parole　d'honneur，sans　parler　de　ce　que　je　vous　dois，j'ai　de　l'amitie　pour　vous．Puis—je　faine　quelque　chose　pour　vous？Disposez　de　moi．C'est　a　la　vie　et　à　la　mort．C'est　la　main　sur　le　coeur　que　je　vous　le　dis．”③他拍着胸脯说。
“Merci（谢谢）．”皮埃尔说。上尉凝神地望望皮埃尔，像当他弄清楚“避难所”的德语时，那样地看着他，脸上突然容光焕发。
“Ah！dans　ce　cas　je　bois　à　notre　amitié！”④他斟满两杯酒，快活地大声说。皮埃尔拿起酒杯一饮而尽。朗巴也干了杯，又一次握了皮埃尔的手，然后忧伤地、心事重重地把手臂肘靠在桌上。 
①怎么回事，我们都愁眉苦脸的。
②我惹恼您啦？不，其实是您有什么事要反对我吧？可能与局势有关，是吗？
③坦诚地说，即使不谈我欠您的情，我觉得我对您仍然友好。我不能替您排忧吗？请吩咐吧！我生死以之。我手摸着胸口对您说。
④啊，如此说来，我为我们的友谊干杯！
“Oui，mon　cher　ami，voilà　les　caprices　de　la　fortume，”他开始说。“Qui　m'aurait　dit　que　je　serai　soldat　et　capitaine　de　dragons　au　service　de　Bonaparte，comme　nous　l'appellions　jadis．Et　cepenBdant　me　voilá　a　Moscou　avec　lui．Il　faut　vous　dire，mon　ch－er，”①他继续以忧郁的平缓的语调说，用这种语调的人是要讲一个长故事的，“que　notre　nmo　est　l'un　des　plus　anciens　de　la　France．”②接着，上尉以法国人的轻浮而天真的坦率态度面对皮埃尔谈起他的祖先的历史，他的童年，少年和青年，以及全部亲属，财产和家庭状况。“Ma　pauvre　mère”③不言而喻，在这一故事中起着重要作用。
“Mais　tout　ca　ce　n'est　que　la　mise　en　scéne　de　la　vie，le　fond　c'est　l'amour．L'amour！N'est—ce　pas，m—r　Pierre？”他说，渐次活跃起来。
“Encore　un　verr．”④ 
①是啊，我的朋友，这是命运的安排。谁料到我会作波拿巴——我们习惯这样称呼他——麾下一名兵士和龙骑兵上尉呢？可我现在就正同他一道到了莫斯科。我该对您讲，亲爱的。
②我们这一姓是法国最古老的一姓呢。
③我可怜的母亲。
④但这一切只是人生之伊始，人生的实质呢是爱情。爱情！不是吗，皮埃尔先生！再来一杯。
皮埃尔再次干杯，又给自己斟满第三杯酒。
“Oh！less　femmes，les　femmes！”①上尉的眼睛油亮起来，望着皮埃尔，开始谈论爱情和自己的风流韵事。这样的事还不少，也易于使人相信，只消看看军官洋洋自得和漂亮的脸蛋，看看他谈起女人时眉飞色舞的表情就够了。尽管朗巴的恋爱史具有法国人把爱情视为特殊魅力和诗意的那种淫荡性质，但上尉的叙述却带着真诚的自信，认为只有他领略了爱情的魅力，而且把女人描述得那么撩人，使皮埃尔好奇地听地讲下去。
很显然，此人为此迷恋的l'amour②，既不是皮埃尔曾对妻子感受过的那种低级简单的爱，也不是他对娜塔莎所怀有的浪漫的单相思（这两种爱朗巴都不屑一顾——前一种是l'amour　des　charrctiers，后一种是l'amour　des　niBgauds③）；此人所倾倒的l'amour，主要在于对女人保护不正常的关系，在于给感官以最大吸引力的错综复杂的扭曲现象。 
①呵女人，女人！
②爱情。
③马车夫的爱情……傻瓜的爱情。
譬如，上尉讲起了他的动人心弦的爱情史：爱上了一个迷人的三十五岁的侯爵夫人，同时又爱上了富有魅力的天真的十七岁的女孩，迷人的侯爵夫人的女儿。母女之间胸怀宽广的较量，以母亲自我牺牲，把女儿许配给自己的情夫而告终，这番较量虽早已成陈迹，现仍使上尉激动不已。接着，他讲述了一个情节，其中丈夫扮演情夫的角色，而他（情夫）扮演丈夫的角色：以及几件出自souvenire　d'Allemagne的趣事，其中避难所即Unterkunft，在那儿les　maris　mangent　de　la　choux　crout，而且，les　jeunes　filles　sont　trop　blondes①。
终于讲到了上尉记忆犹新的最近在波兰的插曲，他飞快地打着手势并涨红着脸说，他救了一个波兰人的命（上尉的故事里总少不了救命的情节），这个波兰人把自己迷人的妻子（Parisienne　de　coeur②）托付给他，本人就此参加法军。上尉真幸福，那迷人的波兰女人想同他私奔；但是，受着胸怀宽广的驱使，上尉把妻子还给了丈夫，同时对他说：je　vous　ai　sauvé　la　vie　et　je　sauve　votre　honneur！③复述了这句话后，上尉擦了擦眼睛，全身摇晃了一下，好像要从身上抖掉动人的回忆引发的脆弱感。 
①（出自）有关德国的（的趣事）……丈夫们喝白菜汤……年轻女郎的头发淡黄。
②内心是巴黎女人。
③我救了您的性命，也要挽救您的名誉。
皮埃尔听上尉讲述时，正如在迟迟的黄昏又在酒的作用之下常有的情形，他专注于上尉所讲的一切，也明了了那一切，同时追溯他个人的一桩桩往事，那不知为什么此时突然出现在脑际的回忆。听刚才那些爱情故事的时候，他对娜塔莎的爱情突然意外地涌上心头，他一面重温一幕幕钟情的场面，一面有意地与朗巴的故事作比较。当听到爱情和责任的矛盾时，皮埃尔眼前出现了在苏哈列夫塔楼旁与爱慕的对象最后会面的整个详细情况。这次见面在当时对他没产生影响；他后来连一次也没想到过。但他现在觉得，这次见面有某种重大的诗意的情调。
彼得·基里雷奇，请走过来，我认出您了。”他现在又听到她在说这些话，看见她的眼睛，微笑，旅行套发帽，露出来的一绺头发……这一切，他觉得带有动人而又令人怜悯的色彩。
上尉讲完了迷人的波兰女人的故事，向皮埃尔提一个问题，问他是否有过为爱情而自我牺牲的类似体验，是否嫉妒合法的丈夫。
经他这一问，皮埃尔抬起了头，感到必须说出自己正在想什么；他开始解释，他所理解的对女人的爱情有点不一样。他说，他一生中爱过并仍然爱着的，只有一位女人，而这位女人绝不可能属于他。
“Tiens！”①上尉说。
皮埃尔又解释说，他从少年时代就爱上了这个女人，但是不敢想她，因为她太年轻，而他是一个没有姓氏的私生子。随后，当他继承了姓氏和财富时，他不敢想她，因为他太爱她，心目中认为她超出世间一切，因而也超出他自己之上。说到这里，皮埃尔问上尉是否明白这点。
上尉作了一个姿势，表示哪怕他不懂，也请他讲下去。
“L'amour　platonique，les　nuages…”②他嘟囔说。 
①瞧你说的！
②柏拉图式的爱情，虚无缥渺……
是他喝下几杯酒呢，还是有坦率直言的愿望呢，抑或他想到这人不知道，也永远不会知道他故事里的角色，或者这一切的总和，使皮埃尔松开了舌头。于是，他用他油亮的眼睛注视着远方，咿咿唔唔地讲述自己整个的一生：包括自己的婚事，娜塔莎对他的好友的爱情故事，她后来的背叛，以及他对她的不复杂的关系。应朗巴的提问。他也讲出了他起初隐满的事——他的社会地位，甚至公开了自己的姓名。
在皮埃尔的故事里，最使上尉吃惊的，是皮埃尔非常富有，在莫斯科有两座府第，而他全部抛弃了，没有离开莫斯科，却又隐瞒姓名和封号留在城里。
夜已深了，这时他们一道走上了街头。这个夜晚是温暖而明亮的。房屋左面的天际，被在彼得罗夫克街上首先烧起的莫斯科的大火映照得通红。右边的天际高悬着一镰新月，新月的对面，挂着一颗明亮的彗星，这颗彗星在皮埃尔心灵深处与爱情紧密相连。大门口站着格兰西姆、厨娘和两名法军士兵，听得见他们的笑声和用互不理解的语言进行的谈话。他们都在看市区出现的火光。
在巨大的城市里，离得远的一处不大的火灾，是没有什么可怕的。
皮埃尔望着高高的星空，月亮，彗星和火光，感到一阵欣快。“呶，多么好啊，还有什么需要的呢？”他心里说，可是突然间，他想起了自己的计划，他的头晕了，发迷糊，便立刻靠着栅栏，才不致跌倒。
顾不上同新朋友道别，皮埃尔迈着不稳当的步子，离开大门口，一回到房间便躺到沙发上，顿时就入睡了。
Book 11 Chapter 30
FROM VARIOUS ROADS, and with various feelings, the inhabitants running and driving away from Moscow, and the retreating troops, gazed at the glow of the first fire that broke out in the city on the 2nd of September.
The Rostovs' party stopped for that night at Mytishtchy, twenty versts from Moscow. They had started so late on the 1st of September, the road had been so blocked by waggons and troops, so many things had been forgotten, and servants sent back to get them, that they had decided to halt for the first night five versts from Moscow. The next morning they walked late, and there were again so many delays that they only reached Great Mytishtchy. At ten o'clock the Rostov family, and the wounded soldiers travelling with them, had all found places for the night in the yards and huts of the greater village. The servants, the Rostovs' coachmen, and the orderlies of the wounded officers, after settling their masters for the night, supped, fed their horses, and came out into the porch of a hut.
In the next hut lay Raevsky's adjutant with a broken wrist, and the terrible pain made him moan incessantly, and these moans had a grue-some sound in the autumn darkness of the night. On the first night this adjutant had spent the night in a building in the same yard as the hut in which the Rostovs slept. The countess declared that she had not closed her eyes all night from that moaning, and at Mytishtchy she had moved into a less comfortable hut simply to get further away from the wounded man. One of the servants noticed in the dark night sky, above the high carriage standing at the entry, another small glow of fire. One such glow had been seen long before, and every one knew it was Little Mytishtchy, which had been set on fire by Mamonov's Cossacks.
“I say, mates, there's another fire,” said the man. All of them looked towards the glow.
“Why, they told us Mamonov's Cossacks had fired Little Mytishtchy.” “Nay! that's not Mytishtchy, it's further.” “Look'ee, it's in Moscow seemingly.” Two of the men left the porch, went to a carriage and squatted on the step. “It's more to the left! Why, Mytishtchy is away yonder, and that's quite the other side.”
Several more men joined the first group.
“I say it is flaring,” said one; “that's a fire in Moscow, my friends; either in Sushtchovsky or in Rogozhsky.”
No one answered this remark. And for a good while all these men gazed in silence at the flames of this new conflagration glowing far away. An old man, the count's valet (as he was called), Danilo Terentyitch, came up to the crowd and called Mishka.
“What are you gaping at? … The count may ask for you and nobody to be found; go and put the clothes together.”
“Oh, I only ran out for some water,” said Mishka.
“And what do you say, Danilo Terentyitch? that's a fire in Moscow, isn't it?” said one of the footmen.
Danilo Terentyitch made no reply, and for a long while all were mute again. The glow spread wider, and flickered further and further away.
“God have mercy! … a wind and the drought …” said a voice again.
“Look'ee, how it's spreading. O Lord! why, one can see the jackdaws! Lord, have mercy on us poor sinners!”
“They'll put it out, never fear.”
“Who's to put it out?” cried the voice of Danilo Terentyitch, silent till that moment. His voice was quiet and deliberate. “Moscow it is, mates,” he said; “it's she, our mother, the white city …” his voice broke, and he suddenly burst into the sobs of old age. And it seemed as though all had been waiting for that to grasp the import for all of that glow they were watching. Sighs were heard and muttered prayers, and the sobs of the old valet.
乘车或步行逃亡的居民和退却的部队，以不同的感触，从不同的路途上远望着九月二日初次燃起的大火的火光。 
罗斯托夫家的车队当晚停留在梅季希村。离莫斯科二十俄里。九月一日他们动身得太晚，道路上挤满了车辆和士兵，忘记带的东西又太多，又派人回去取，故尔决定这一晚就在莫斯科城外五俄里处住宿。第二天早晨醒得也迟，同时又是走走停停，以至于只走到大梅季希村。晚上十点，罗斯托夫一家和与他们同行的伤员们，都分别住进了这座大村子里的几家大院和农舍里。罗斯托夫家的仆人和车夫们，以及受伤军官的勤务兵们，安顿好各自的主人后，吃罢晚饭，给马上了饲料，然后走到门廊上来。
隔壁农舍里，躺着受伤的拉耶夫斯基副官，他的腕骨折断了，他感受到的可怕的痛楚，使他不停地可怜地呻吟，他的呻吟在秋夜的黑暗里听来很恐怖。第一晚，这个副官与罗斯托夫家的人同住在一个农户的院子里。伯爵夫人说，她听到呻吟不能合眼，于是，在梅季希村搬到较差的农舍去住，好离这名伤员远一点。
在这漆黑的夜里，一名仆人站在大门旁一辆马车的高顶篷上，看到了另一处不大的一片火光。这一处火光大家早看到了，并且都知道是小梅季希村起了火，放火的是马蒙诺夫的哥萨克。
“这一场火嘛，弟兄们，是新燃起来的。”勤务兵说。大家注视着火光。
“不是说过了吗，小梅季希村被马蒙诺夫的哥萨克放火烧起来了。”
“就是他们！不呵，这不是梅季希村，还要远哩。”
“瞧呵，就在莫斯科。”
两名仆人走下门廊，绕到马车一边，在踏脚板上坐下。
“这个地方偏左！梅季希村在那边呢，而这场大火根本不在那个方向。”
有几个人凑到那两个人身旁，“看，烧得好厉害，”一个人说，“那是莫斯科的大火，先生们；要末在苏谢夫街，要末在罗戈日街。”谁也没有对此说法作出回答，所有在场的人只是沉默地望着远处这场新的大火的冲天火焰，过了很长一阵子。
老丹尼洛·捷连季奇，伯爵的跟班（大家这样称呼他），向人群走来，高喊米什卡。
“你还没看够，傻家伙……伯爵要是叫人，谁都不在；先去把衣服收好吧。”
“我刚才还打水来着。”米什卡说。
“您的看法如何，丹尼洛·捷连季奇，这好像是莫斯科的火光吧？”一个仆人说。
丹尼洛·捷连季奇未作任何回答，于是，大家又沉默了很久。火势在伸展，悠悠荡荡，愈来愈向远处蔓延。
“上帝保佑！……有风，天也干……”一个声音又说。
“看呵，烧成了这样，呵上帝！都看得见火乌鸦飘过来了。
上帝宽恕我们有罪的人啊！”
“会扑灭的，是吧。”
“谁去扑灭哟？”一直沉默到现在的丹尼洛·捷连季奇说话了。他的声音平静，慢条斯理。“就是莫斯科，小老弟们，”他说，“她是圣洁的母亲……”他的声音中断，并突然像老年人那样呜咽哭了起来。这似乎就是他们等待的结果，他们的等待，是为了明白他们看到的火光对他们具有何种意义。响起了一片叹息声、祈祷声，和伯爵老跟班的呜咽声。
Book 11 Chapter 31
THE VALET on going in informed the count that Moscow was on fire. The count put on his dressing-gown and went out to look. With him went Sonya, who had not yet undressed, and Madame Schoss, Natasha and the countess were left alone within. Petya was no longer with the family; he had gone on ahead with his regiment marching to Troitsa.
The countess wept on hearing that Moscow was in flames. Natasha, pale, with staring eyes, sat on the bench under the holy images, the spot where she had first thrown herself down on entering, and took no notice of her father's words. She was listening to the never-ceasing moan of the adjutant, audible three huts away.
“Oh! how awful!” cried Sonya, coming in chilled and frightened from the yard. “I do believe all Moscow is burning: there's an awful fire! Natasha, do look; you can see now from the window here,” she said, obviously trying to distract her friend's mind. But Natasha stared at her, as though she did not understand what was asked of her, and fixed her eyes again on the corner of the stove. Natasha had been in this petrified condition ever since morning, when Sonya, to the amazement and anger of the countess, had for some incomprehensible reason thought fit to inform Natasha of Prince Andrey's wound, and his presence among their train. The countess had been angry with Sonya, as she waited all the while on her friend, as though trying to atone for her fault.
“Look, Natasha, how frightfully it's burning,” said Sonya.
“What's burning?” asked Natasha. “Oh yes, Moscow.”
And to get rid of Sonya, and not hurt her by a refusal, she moved her head towards the window, looking in such a way that it was evident she could see nothing, and sat again in the same attitude as before.
“But didn't you see?”
“Yes, I really did see,” she declared in a voice that implored to be left in peace.
Both the countess and Sonya could readily understand that Moscow, the burning of Moscow, anything whatever in fact, could be of no interest to Natasha.
The count came in again behind the partition wall and lay down. The countess went up to Natasha, put the back of her hand to her head, as she did when her daughter was ill, then touched her forehead with her lips, as though to find out whether she were feverish, and kissed her.
“You are chilled? You are all shaking. You should lie down,” she said.
“Lie down? Yes, very well, I'll lie down. I'll lie down in a minute,” said Natasha.
When Natasha had been told that morning that Prince Andrey was seriously wounded, and was travelling with them, she had at the first moment asked a great many questions, how and why and where she could see him. But after she had been told that she could not see him, that his wound was a serious one, but that his life was not in danger, though she plainly did not believe what was told her, she saw that she would get the same answer whatever she said, and gave up asking questions and speaking at all. All the way Natasha had sat motionless in the corner of the carriage with those wide eyes, the look which the countess knew so well and dreaded so much. And she was sitting in just the same way now on the bench in the hut. She was brooding on some plan; she was making, or already by now had made some decision, in her own mind—that the countess knew, but what that decision was she did not know, and that alarmed and worried her.
“Natasha, undress, darling, get into my bed.”
For the countess only a bed had been made up on a bedstead. Madame Schoss and the two girls were to sleep on hay on the floor.
“No, mamma, I'll lie here on the floor,” said Natasha irritably; she went to the window and opened it. The moans of the adjutant could be heard more distinctly from the open window. She put her head out into the damp night air, and the countess saw her slender neck shaking with sobs and heaving against the window frame. Natasha knew it was not Prince Andrey moaning. She knew that Prince Andrey was in the same block of huts as they were in, that he was in the next hut just across the porch, but that fearful never-ceasing moan made her sob. The countess exchanged glances with Sonya.
“Go to bed, darling, go to bed, my pet,” said the countess, lightly touching Natasha's shoulder. “Come, go to bed.”
“Oh yes … I'll go to bed at once, at once,” said Natasha, hurriedly undressing, and breaking the strings of her petticoats. Dropping off her dress, and putting on a dressing-jacket, she sat down on the bed made up on the floor, tucking her feet under her, and flinging her short, fine hair over her shoulder, began plaiting it. Her thin, long, practised fingers rapidly and deftly divided, plaited, and tied up her hair. Natasha's head turned from side to side as usual as she did this, but her eyes, feverishly wide, looked straight before her with the same fixed stare. When her toilet for the night was over, Natasha sank softly down on to the sheet laid on the hay nearest the door.
“Natasha, you lie in the middle,” said Sonya.
“I'll stay here,” said Natasha. “And do go to bed,” she added in a tone of annoyance. And she buried her face in the pillow.
The countess, Madame Schoss, and Sonya hurriedly undressed and went to bed. The lamp before the holy images was the only light left in the room. But out of doors the fire at Little Mytishtchy lighted the country up for two versts round, and there was a noisy clamour of peasants shouting at the tavern across the street, which Mamonov's Cossacks had broken into, and the moan of the adjutant could be heard unceasingly through everything.
For a long while Natasha listened to the sounds that reached her from within and without, and she did not stir. She heard at first her mother's prayers and sighs, the creaking of her bed under her, Madame Schoss's familiar, whistling snore, Sonya's soft breathing. Then the countess called to Natasha. Natasha did not answer.
“I think she's asleep, mamma,” answered Sonya.
The countess, after a brief silence, spoke again, but this time no one answered her.
Soon after this Natasha caught the sound of her mother's even breathing. Natasha did not stir, though her little bare foot, poking out below the quilt, felt frozen against the uncovered floor.
A cricket chirped in a crack, as though celebrating a victory over all the world. A cock crowed far away, and another answered close by. The shouts had died away in the tavern, but the adjutant's moaning went on still the same. Natasha sat up.
“Sonya! Are you asleep? Mamma!” she whispered. No one answered. Slowly and cautiously, Natasha got up, crossed herself, and stepped cautiously with her slender, supple, bare feet on to the dirty, cold floor. The boards creaked. With nimble feet she ran like a kitten a few steps, and took hold of the cold door-handle.
It seemed to her that something with heavy, rhythmical strokes was banging on all the walls of the hut; it was the beating of her own heart, torn with dread, with love and terror.
She opened the door, stepped over the lintel, and on to the damp, cold earth of the passage outside. The cold all about her refreshed her. Her bare foot felt a man asleep; she stepped over him, and opened the door of the hut in which Prince Andrey was lying.
In that hut it was dark. A tallow candle with a great, smouldering wick stood on a bench in the further corner, by a bed, on which something was lying.
Ever since she had been told in the morning of Prince Andrey's wound and his presence there, Natasha had resolved that she must see him. She could not have said why this must be, but she knew their meeting would be anguish to her, and that made her the more certain that it must be inevitable.
All day long she had lived in the hope that at night she would see him. But now when the moment had come, a terror came over her of what she would see. How had he been disfigured? What was left of him? Was he like that unceasing moan of the adjutant? Yes, he was all over like that. In her imagination he was that awful moan of pain personified. When she caught sight of an undefined mass in the corner, and took his raised knees under the quilt for his shoulders, she pictured some fearful body there, and stood still in terror. But an irresistible force drew her forward. She made one cautious step, another, and found herself in the middle of the small hut, cumbered up with baggage. On the bench, under the holy images, lay another man (this was Timohin), and on the floor were two more figures (the doctor and the valet).
The valet sat up and muttered something. Timohin, in pain from a wound in his leg, was not asleep, and gazed, all eyes, at the strange apparition of a girl in a white night-gown, dressing-jacket, and nightcap. The valet's sleepy and frightened words “What is it? What do you want?” only made Natasha hasten towards the figure lying in the corner. However fearfully unlike a human shape that figure might be now, she must see him. She passed by the valet, the smouldering candle flickered up, and she saw clearly Prince Andrey, lying with his arms stretched out on the quilt, looking just as she had always seen him.
He was just the same as ever; but the flush on his face, his shining eyes, gazing passionately at her, and especially the soft, childlike neck, showing above the lay-down collar of the nightshirt, gave him a peculiarly innocent, childlike look, such as she had never seen in him before. She ran up to him and with a swift, supple, youthful movement dropped on her knees.
He smiled, and held out his hand to her.
跟班回屋去报告伯爵说，莫斯科在燃烧，伯爵穿上外套出去看。和他一起出去的还有尚未脱衣就寝的索尼娅和肖斯太太。只有伯爵夫人和娜塔莎留在房间里。（彼佳再未和家人在一起，因为他随同开赴特罗伊茨的他所属的团队赶往前面去了。） 
伯爵夫人听到莫斯科大火的消息，就哭起来了。娜塔莎面色苍白，目光呆定，坐在圣像下的长凳上（她一到达就坐在那里了），毫不注意她父亲的话。她在倾听副官一刻也没停止的呻吟，呻吟是从三间房舍以外传来的。
“啊，多么可怕！”打着冷战受到惊吓的索尼娅从院子里回来说，“我看，莫斯科会整个烧光，好吓人的火光啊！娜塔莎，现在你看看，从这儿的窗户就看得见，”她对表妹说，显然希望打破她的郁闷。但娜塔莎看了看她，似乎并不明白向她问什么，她又把眼睛盯在炉角上。娜塔莎当天从早晨起便这样呆呆地坐着，一直到现在，这时，索尼娅使伯爵夫人惊讶和恼怒，竟然擅自向娜塔莎透露，安德烈公爵负伤，且与他们同行，真不知出于什么原因。伯爵夫人从未对索尼娅发过那么大的脾气。索尼娅哭着请求原谅，现在，则好像尽量减轻自己的过失似的，不停地体贴表妹，照顾表妹。“快看，娜塔莎，烧得多可怕啊。”索尼娅说。
“哪里在燃烧？”娜塔莎问。“啊，对，莫斯科。”于是，似乎不便故意不顺从索尼娅，同时为了摆脱她，她把头转向窗户，用那显然看不见什么的样子看了看，然后又照原来坐的姿势坐下。
“你没有看见吧？”
“不，真的我看见了。”娜塔莎用乞求安静的声音说道。
伯爵夫人和索尼娅这才明白，无论莫斯科或莫斯科的火灾，都绝对不能对娜塔莎产生影响。
伯爵又回到隔板后躺下来了。伯爵夫人走近娜塔莎，用手背扪一下她的头，每当女儿生病她都是这样做的，然后用嘴唇接触她的额角，像是要知道是否有热度，接着吻了吻她。
“你冷啊？全身发抖呢。你最好躺下。”她说。
“躺下？对，好好，我躺下。我现在躺下。”娜塔莎说。
从当天早晨她得知安德烈公爵伤势严重，与他们同行的时候起，她只是最初一连串问过，他去哪儿？伤势怎么样？有致命危险吗？她能否看望他？但告诉她说她不能去看他，他伤势严重，但生命没有危险之后，她明显不相信对她说的话，而且坚定地认为，她无论说多少次，她只能得到相同的回答，便停止提问，连话也不说了。一路上，娜塔莎睁大着眼睛（伯爵夫人十分熟悉的眼睛，眼里的神情使伯爵夫人十分害怕），一动不动地坐在轿式马车的一角，这时，她在长凳上也依然坐着不动。她在考虑一件事，她要末还在盘算，要末拿定了主意。伯爵夫人看得出来，但不晓得是在想什么事，这便使她害怕，使她苦恼。
“娜塔莎，脱衣服，宝贝；睡到我床上来吧。”（只为伯爵夫人一人在一张床架上铺了床。肖斯太太和两位小姐都要睡在地板上铺的干草上。）
“不，妈妈，我要躺在这儿的地板上睡。”娜塔莎生气地回答，走到窗子跟前，把窗子打开。副官的呻吟，从打开的窗户听得更清楚了。她把头伸到夜晚那润湿的空气中，伯爵夫人便看到她细小的脖颈因抽泣而发抖，触动着窗框。娜塔莎知道呻吟的不是安德烈公爵。她知道安德烈公爵躺在隔着过道的一间小屋里，连着他们住的房子；但这可怕的不停的呻吟使她哭泣。伯爵夫人与索尼娅交换了一下眼神。
“躺下吧，宝贝，躺下吧，小伙伴，”伯爵夫人轻轻拍着娜塔莎的肩头说。“好啦，躺下睡嘛。”
“啊，是的……我马上，马上躺下。”娜塔莎说道，并急忙脱衣服，扯开裙带。她脱下连衣裙穿上短睡衣后，跪在地板的铺位上，把小辫甩到胸前，开始重新编扎。她那细长熟练的指头迅速地打散发辫，重新编好，然后扎起来。她的头习惯地向两边转动，但是她那发热似的睁大的眼睛，一动不动地看着前面。当换好衣裳后，娜塔莎悄悄钻进铺在门边干草上的褥子里。
“娜塔莎，你睡在中间。”索尼娅说。
“我就睡在这儿，”娜塔莎回答，“你们也躺下嘛。”她又烦恼地补了一句。随后，把脸埋进枕头里。
伯爵夫人，肖斯太太和索尼娅匆匆脱衣就寝。房里剩下圣像下的孤灯一盏。而院子里却被两俄里外的小梅季希村的大火照得很明亮，街上，斜对门被马蒙诺夫哥萨克砸过的小酒馆里，可以听见人们夜间的喧闹，仍然听见副官不停的呻吟。
娜塔莎注意听室内外传来的声音，一动不动地听了很久，她先听到母亲的祷告和叹息，她的睡榻的吱扭声，肖斯太太那熟悉的带嘘声的呼噜，以及索尼娅轻柔的鼻息声。然后，伯爵夫人呼唤娜塔莎。娜塔莎却不回应。
“看来，她睡着了，妈妈。”索尼娅轻轻回答。伯爵夫人静了一会儿再叫唤，已无人回答她了。
这之后娜塔莎很快地听到母亲均匀的呼吸。她没有弄出声响，尽管她的一只光脚丫露出被窝外，在光地板上快冻坏了。
一只蟋蟀，好像庆祝它战胜了所有的人，在墙缝里唧唧地叫。远处一只公鸡叫了，近处一只公鸡应和。小酒馆里的叫喊声沉寂下来，只听得到副官仍在呻吟。娜塔莎坐了起来。
“索尼娅？你睡了吗？妈妈？”她轻声呼唤，没有人回答。娜塔莎慢慢地小心地起身，划了十字，小心地将瘦小而灵活的光脚板踏到肮脏的冰凉的地板上。地板吱吱作响。她飞快地翻动脚板，像小猫一样跑了几步，便抓住了冰凉的门把。
她觉得有某种沉重的东西，节奏均匀地敲打着农舍的四壁：这是她那颗紧紧收缩的心，因惊悸、恐惧和爱情而破碎的心的跳动。
她打开门，跨过门槛，踩到过厅潮湿的冰凉的地上。扑面而来的冷空气使她精神一振。她的光脚触到一个睡着的人，她从他身上跨过去，打开了安德烈公爵住的那间农舍的房门。这间屋子很黑。在最里面的角落，在有什么躺着的床旁边的凳子上，立着一根烛芯结成一朵大烛花的脂油制的蜡烛。
娜塔莎从早上被告知安德烈公爵负伤，并住在这里的时候起，就决定她应该去看他。她不知道为什么要这样做，但她知道，会面将是痛苦的，而正因为这样，她才坚定地认为必须会面。
一整天，她都在期待着晚上去见他。而现在，当这一时刻来临，她又对即将见到的情形产生恐惧。他伤残得怎么样？还剩下些什么？是否像那个不停呻吟的副官的样子？是的，他完全是这样的。他在她的想象中，是那可怕的呻吟的化身。当她看到屋角里一团模糊的东西，把被子下面他拱起的膝盖当成他的肩膀时，她以为见到了一付可怕的躯体，吓得不敢动了。但不可抗拒的力量吸引她又往前走。她小心地迈出一步，再一步，出现在这间堆放杂物的房子中央。在圣像下几条拼起来的长凳上，躺着另一个人（这是季莫欣），而地板上还躺着某两个人（这是医生和随从）。
随从欠起身来小声说了句什么。季莫欣因腿上的伤疼得未能入睡，两眼盯着这个奇怪的身影——身穿白衬衫和短上衣，头戴套发帽的少女。睡意朦胧的随从惊恐地问了一声——“您要什么，来干什么？”——这使娜塔莎更快地走近躺在屋角的那件东西。无论这付躯体怎样可怕，简直不成人形，她都要见他。她走过随从身旁，蜡烛芯结的灯花掉下来，于是，她清楚地看见了手伸出被子的躺着的安德烈公爵，像她从前一向见到的那个样子。
他不像往常一样；但发热的面颜，兴奋地注视着她的明亮的眼睛，特别是从衬衫敞领露出的细细的孩子般的脖子，这一切赋予他特殊的稚气的模样，这是她从未在安德烈公爵身上见到过的。她用轻快的柔韧的年轻的步子走到他身旁跪了下来。
他微笑了，把手伸给她。
Book 11 Chapter 32
SEVEN DAYS had passed since Prince Andrey had found himself in the ambulance station on the field of Borodino. All that time he had been in a state of almost continual unconsciousness. The fever and inflammation of the bowels, which had been injured, were, in the opinion of the doctor accompanying the wounded, certain to carry him off. But on the seventh day he ate with relish a piece of bread with some tea, and the doctor observed that the fever was going down. Prince Andrey had regained consciousness in the morning. The first night after leaving Moscow had been fairly warm, and Prince Andrey had spent the night in his carriage. But at Mytishtchy the wounded man had himself asked to be moved and given tea. The pain caused by moving him into the hut had made Prince Andrey groan aloud and lose consciousness again. When he had been laid on his camp bedstead, he lay a long while with closed eyes without moving. Then he opened his eyes and whispered softly, “How about the tea?” The doctor was struck by this instance of consciousness of the little details of daily life. He felt his pulse, and to his surprise and dissatisfaction found that the pulse was stronger. The doctor's dissatisfaction was due to the fact that he felt certain from his experience that Prince Andrey could not live, and that if he did not die now, he would only die a little later with even greater suffering. With Prince Andrey was the red-nosed major of his regiment, Timohin, who had joined him in Moscow with a wound in his leg received at the same battle of Borodino. The doctor, the prince's valet, and coachman, and two orderlies were in charge of them.
Tea was given to Prince Andrey. He drank it eagerly, looking with feverish eyes at the door in front of him, as though trying to understand and recall something.
“No more. Is Timohin here?” he asked.
Timohin edged along the bench towards him.
“I am here, your excellency.”
“How is your wound?”
“Mine? All right. But how are you?”
Prince Andrey pondered again, as though he were recollecting something.
“Could not one get a book here?” he said.
“What book?”
“The Gospel! I haven't one.”
The doctor promised to get it, and began questioning the prince about his symptoms. Prince Andrey answered all the doctor's questions rationally, though reluctantly, and then said that he wanted a support put under him, as it was uncomfortable and very painful for him as he was. The doctor and the valet took off the military cloak, with which he was covered, and puckering up their faces at the sickly smell of putrefying flesh that came from the wound, began to look into the terrible place. The doctor was very much troubled about something; he made some changes, turning the wounded man over so that he groaned again, and again lost consciousness from the pain when they turned him over. He began to be delirious, and kept asking for the book to be brought and to be put under him. “What trouble would it be to you?” he kept saying. “I haven't it, get it me, please,—put it under me just for a minute,” he said in a piteous voice.
The doctor went outside to wash his hands.
“Ah, you have no conscience, you fellows really,” the doctor was saying to the valet, who was pouring water over his hands. “For one minute I didn't look after you. Why, it's such suffering that I wonder how he bears it.”
“I thought we did put it under him right, by the Lord Jesus Christ,” said the valet.
Prince Andrey had for the first time grasped where he was and what was happening to him, and had recollected that he had been wounded and how at the moment when the carriage had stopped at Mytishtchy, and he had asked to be taken into the hut. Losing consciousness again from the pain, he came fully to himself once more in the hut while he was drinking tea. And thereupon again, going over in his memory all that had happened to him, the most vivid picture in his mind was of that moment at the ambulance station when at the sight of the sufferings of a man he had not liked, those new thoughts had come to him with such promise of happiness. And those thoughts—though vague now and shapeless—took possession of his soul again. He remembered that he had now some new happiness, and that that happiness had something to do with the Gospel. That was why he asked for the Gospel. But the position he had been laid in, without support under his wound, and the new change of position, put his thoughts to confusion again; and it was only in the complete stillness of the night that he came to himself again for the third time. Every one was asleep around him. A cricket was chirping across the passage; some one was shouting and singing in the street; cockroaches were rustling over the table, the holy images and the walls; a big fly flopped on his pillow and about the tallow candle that stood with a great, smouldering wick beside him.
His soul was not in its normal state. A man in health usually thinks, feels and remembers simultaneously an immense number of different things, but he has the power and the faculty of selecting one series of ideas or phenomena and concentrating all his attention on that series. A man in health can at the moment of the profoundest thought break off to say a civil word to any one who comes in, and then return again to his thoughts. Prince Andrey's soul was not in a normal condition in this respect. All the faculties of his soul were clearer and more active than ever, but they acted apart from his will. The most diverse ideas and images had possession of his mind at the same time. Sometimes his brain suddenly began to work, and with a force, clearness, and depth with which it had never been capable of working in health. But suddenly the train of thought broke off in the midst, to be replaced by some unexpected image, and the power to go back to it was wanting. “Yes, a new happiness was revealed to me, that could not be taken away from man,” he thought, as he lay in the still, half-dark hut, gazing before him with feverishly wide, staring eyes. “Happiness beyond the reach of material forces, outside material, external influences on man, the happiness of the soul alone, the happiness of love! To feel it is in every man's power, but God alone can know it and ordain it. But how did God ordain this law? Why the Son? …” And all at once that train of thought broke off, and Prince Andrey heard (not knowing whether in delirium or in actual fact he heard it) a kind of soft, whispering voice, incessantly beating time: “Piti-pitt-piti,” and then “i-ti-ti,” and again, “ipiti-piti-piti,” and again “i-ti-ti.” And to the sound of this murmuring music Prince Andrey felt as though a strange, ethereal edifice of delicate needles or splinters were being raised over his face, over the very middle of it. He felt that (hard though it was for him) he must studiously preserve his balance that this rising edifice might not fall to pieces; but yet it was falling to pieces, and slowly rising up again to the rhythmic beat of the murmuring music.
“It is stretching out, stretching out, and spreading and stretching out!” Prince Andrey said to himself. While he listened to the murmur and felt that edifice of needles stretching out, and rising up, Prince Andrey saw by glimpses a red ring of light round the candle, and heard the rustling of the cockroaches and the buzzing of the fly as it flopped against his pillow and his face. And every time the fly touched his face, it gave him a stinging sensation, but yet it surprised him that though the fly struck him in the very centre of the rising edifice it did not shatter it. But, apart from all this, there was one other thing of importance. That was the white thing at the door; that was a statue of the sphinx, which oppressed him too
“But perhaps it is my shirt on the table,” thought Prince Andrey, “and that's my legs, and that's the door, but why this straining and moving and piti-piti-piti and ti-ti and piti-piti-piti … Enough, cease, be still, please,” Prince Andrey besought some one wearily. And all at once thought and feeling floated to the surface again with extraordinary clearness and force.
“Yes, love (he thought again with perfect distinctness), but not that love that loves for something, to gain something, or because of something, but that love that I felt for the first time, when dying, I saw my enemy and yet loved him. I knew that feeling of love which is the very essence of the soul, for which no object is needed. And I know that blissful feeling now too. To love one's neighbours; to love one's enemies. To love everything—to love God in all His manifestations. Some one dear to one can be loved with human love; but an enemy can only be loved with divine love. And that was why I felt such joy when I felt that I loved that man. What happened to him? Is he alive? … Loving with human love, one may pass from love to hatred; but divine love cannot change. Nothing, not even death, nothing can shatter it. It is the very nature of the soul. And how many people I have hated in my life. And of all people none I have loved and hated more than her.” And he vividly pictured Natasha to himself, not as he had pictured her in the past, only with the charm that had been a joy to him; for the first time he pictured to himself her soul. And he understood her feeling, her sufferings, her shame, and her penitence. Now, for the first time, he felt all the cruelty of his abandonment, saw all the cruelty of his rupture with her. “If it were only possible for me to see her once more … once, looking into those eyes, to say …”
Piti-piti-piti iti-ti, ipiti-piti—boom, the fly flapped … And his attention passed all at once into another world of reality and delirium, in which something peculiar was taking place. In that place the edifice was still rising, unshattered; something was still stretching out, the candle was still burning, with a red ring round it; the same shirt-sphinx still lay by the door. But beside all this, something creaked, there was a whiff of fresh air, and a new white sphinx appeared standing before the doorway. And that sphinx had the white face and shining eyes of that very Natasha he had been dreaming of just now.
“Oh, how wearisome this everlasting delirium is!” thought Prince Andrey, trying to dispel that face from his vision. But that face stood before him with the face of reality, and that face was coming closer. Prince Andrey tried to go back to the world of pure thought, but he could not, and he was drawn back into the realm of delirium. The soft murmuring voice kept up its rhythmic whisper, something was oppressing him, and rising up, and the strange face stood before him. Prince Andrey rallied all his forces to regain his senses; he stirred a little, and suddenly there was a ringing in his ears and a dimness before his eyes, and like a man sinking under water, he lost consciousness.
When he came to himself, Natasha, the very living Natasha, whom of all people in the world he most longed to love with that new, pure, divine love that had now been revealed to him, was on her knees before him. He knew that it was the real, living Natasha, and did not wonder, but quietly rejoiced. Natasha, on her knees, in terror, but without moving (she could not have moved), gazed at him, restraining her sobs. Her face was white and rigid. There was only a sort of quiver in the lower part of it.
Prince Andrey drew a sigh of relief, smiled, and held out his hand.
“You?” he said. “What happiness!”
With a swift but circumspect movement, Natasha came nearer, still kneeling, and carefully taking his hand she bent her face over it and began kissing it, softly touching it with her lips.
“Forgive me!” she said in a whisper, lifting her head and glancing at him. “Forgive me!”
“I love you,” said Prince Andrey.
“Forgive …”
“Forgive what?” asked Prince Andrey.
“Forgive me for what I di … id,” Natasha murmured in a hardly audible, broken whisper, and again and again she softly put her lips to his hand.
“I love thee more, better than before,” said Prince Andrey, lifting her face with his hand so that he could look into her eyes.
Those eyes, swimming with happy tears, gazed at him with timid commiseration and joyful love. Natasha's thin, pale face, with its swollen lips, was more than ugly—it looked terrible. But Prince Andrey did not see her face, he saw the shining eyes, which were beautiful. They heard talk behind them.
Pyotr, the valet, by now wide awake, had waked up the doctor. Timohin, who had not slept all night for the pain in his leg, had been long watching all that was happening, and huddled up on his bench, carefully wrapping his bare person up in the sheet.
“Why, what's this?” said the doctor, getting up from his bed on the floor. “Kindly retire, madame.”
At that moment there was a knock at the door; a maid had been sent by the countess in search of her daughter.
Like a sleep-walker awakened in the midst of her trance, Natasha walked out of the room, and getting back to her hut, sank sobbing on her bed.
From that day at all the halts and resting-places on the remainder of the Rostovs' journey, Natasha never left Bolkonsky's side, and the doctor was forced to admit that he had not expected from a young girl so much fortitude, nor skill in nursing a wounded man.
Terrible as it was to the countess to think that Prince Andrey might (and very probably, too, from what the doctor said) die on the road in her daughter's arms, she could not resist Natasha. Although with the renewal of affectionate relations between Prince Andrey and Natasha the idea did occur that in case he recovered their old engagement would be renewed, no one—least of all Natasha and Prince Andrey—spoke of this. The unsettled question of life and death hanging, not only over Prince Andrey, but over all Russia, shut off all other considerations.
自从安德烈公爵在波罗底诺战场救护站苏醒以来，已经过去七天了。整个这一段时间里，他几乎经常处于昏迷状态。持续发烧和受伤的肠子的炎症，据随行医生意见，会送掉他的性命。但是，在第七天上，他很高兴地吃了一片面包喝了一点茶，结果医生发现，他的热度减退了。公爵从早晨起恢复了神志。撤出莫斯科的第一夜，天气相当暖和，安德烈公爵便被留在四轮马车上过夜；但在梅季希村，这位伤员自己要求把他抬下车，给他喝茶。往屋里搬动加诸于他的疼痛，使他高声呻吟，并又失去了知觉。当他被安顿到行军床上后，他闭目不动地躺了很久。然后他睁开眼低声说：“茶呢？”他对生活琐事的挂念使医生吃惊。他摸摸脉搏，惊奇而又不满地发现脉搏好一些了。医生之所以感到不满，是因为他根据以往经验确信，安德烈公爵活不了，如果他现在不死去，那只会遭受更大的痛苦而死于晚些时候。同安德烈公爵一起被护送的，有与他在莫斯科汇合的他所在的兵团的少校，也同样在波罗底诺受了腿伤的红鼻子季莫欣。随行的有医生，公爵的随从和马夫及两名勤务兵。 
给公爵端来了茶。他贪婪地喝着，用发烧的眼睛望着前面的门，像是要努力明白并且记起什么事情。
“我喝够了。不想再喝了。季莫欣在吗？”他问。季莫欣顺着长凳朝他爬过去。
“我在，大人。”
“伤怎么样？”
“我的伤吗？没什么。可您呢？”安德烈公爵又沉思起来，好像要记起什么事。
“找一本书来，不行吗？”他问。
“什么书？”
“《福音书》！我没有的。”
医生答应找，并开始问公爵他感觉怎样。安德烈公爵不情愿地，但神智清醒地回答了医生的一切问题，随后说，他要一个垫子放在身子下面，不然不舒服，而且很痛。医生和随从揭开了他盖着的军大衣（伤口化脓的腐肉的恶臭使他们皱眉），开始仔细地察看这处可怕的伤口。不知医生对什么很不高兴，他重新护理了一下，给伤者翻了身，后者便又呻吟起来，由于翻身引起了疼痛，又使他昏迷过去，并且开始说谵语。他总是叨念着快点给他找到那本书，放在他身子底下。
“这费你们什么事呢？”他说。“我没有这本书嘛——请你们找来，在身子底下放一阵子。”他凄惨地说。
医生走出房间，到过厅里去洗手。
“唉，你们真没良心，”医生对给他往手上淋水的随从说。
“我只忽略了一分钟。要知道，这样的伤痛他忍受得了，我真吃惊。”
“我们好像给他垫上了东西，主耶稣基督。”随从说。
安德烈公爵第一次明白他在什么地方，出了什么事，也回忆起他受伤了，并想起当他的四轮马车在梅季希村停下的那一时刻，他要求住进农舍。他再次疼得神志模糊以后，在屋子里又清醒了过来，喝茶时，他再次回想他遭遇的一切，之后便更清晰地想起在救护站的时刻，当时，在看到他不喜欢的人遭受痛苦之际，他生出了些新的使他预感到幸福的念头。这些念头虽不清晰不确定，可是现在又支配着他的心。他想起他现在有了新的幸福，而这新的幸福与《福音书》有某种共同之处。故尔他要得到《福音书》。但是他们竟得他放得压住伤口，很不好受，并且给他翻动身体，又妨碍了他的思绪，而他第三次清醒过来，已经是夜深人静的时分了。他身旁的人都已入睡。蟋蟀在过厅外鸣叫，街上有人喊着唱着，蟀螂在桌上，圣像和墙壁上沙沙地爬，一只大苍蝇在他的床头撞来撞去，并绕着床旁结了大烛花的蜡烛飞旋。
他的心处于非正常的状态。健全的人，通常同时思维，感受和回忆无数的事情，但有选择一些思想或现象并把全部注意力集中在上面的力量。健全的人在深思熟虑的时候，为了要向走进来的人说句客套话能够突然停住不想事情，然后再回到思考中去。就此而言，安德烈公爵的精神状态是不正常的。他的全部精力比任何时候更充沛而且更强，但是不受他的意志支配。极其不同的思想和观念占据他的头脑。有时候，他的思想突然活跃起来，而且显得有力、清晰和深刻（他在健全时往往达不到这点）；但突然这种思想活动中断，由意外的想法所代替，而且不能恢复到刚才的思想上去。
“是的，一种新的幸福，一种不能从人身上剥夺的幸福已降临于我，”他躺在半明半暗的寂静的农舍里，睁大发烧的、呆滞的眼睛望着前面，心里这样想，“存在于物质力量之外的不以人的外在物质影响力为转移的幸福，一颗心的幸福，爱情的幸福！这种幸福，是所有的人都可以懂得的，但认识幸福且制定这种幸福的，只有上帝一人。但上帝如何制定这一神则呢？为什么圣子？……”接着，思想活动突然中断了，安德烈公爵听见了（不知是在昏迷中，还是他的确听到了），听见了声音节奏均匀的不停息的窃窃私语：“咿，哔唧——哔唧——哔唧，”接下去是“咿，唧——唧，”然后是“咿，哔唧——哔唧——哔唧，”接着又是“咿，唧——唧。”同时，在这低声的音乐声的伴奏下，安德烈公爵感觉到，在他的脸上，在正中央，冒出一座奇怪的空中楼阁，它是由细针和木片建造的。他觉得（虽然这使他感到吃力），他必须尽力保持平衡，才能使那高耸着的楼阁不致倒塌；但它还是倒塌了，却又在均匀微弱的音乐声中慢慢地矗立起来。“伸展！伸展！伸展开来，不断地伸展，”安德公爵自言自语地说。谛听着低吟声和感觉着用细针搭起的楼阁慢慢伸展和竖立的同时，安德烈公爵间或还看到烛光的红晕，听到蟑螂沙沙地爬行，听到苍蝇撞到枕头和他脸上的声音。每当苍蝇触及脸，便引起一种烧灼的感觉；但同时又令他惊讶，苍蝇正撞击到矗立在他脸上的楼阁的边缘，竟不曾撞垮它。除了这些，还有一桩重大的发现呢。这是出现在门旁的一团白色的东西，这是斯芬克斯像，它也使他感到压抑。
“不过，这大概是我桌上的衬衫，”安德烈公爵想，“而这是我的脚，这是门，但为什么它老是伸展向前挪动，老是哔唧——哔唧——哔唧和唧——唧——又是哔唧——哔唧——哔唧……——够了，请停下来，别这样。”安德烈公爵痛苦地哀求什么人。后来，忽然间，他的思想和感情又异常鲜明而有力地浮现起来。
“是的，爱情（他完全清楚地想着），但不是要换取什么，有什么目的或原因而爱的那种爱情，而是我现在快要死的时候第一次体会到的爱情，这时我看到了自己的敌人，而我仍然爱他。我体会到了这样的爱情：它是心灵的最本质的东西，因而不需要有爱的对象。我现在便正体会着这幸福的感情。爱他人，爱自己的敌人。爱一切——便是爱体现一切的上帝。爱亲人，用人类之爱；而爱敌人，则要用上帝之爱，由此，当我感到我是在爱那个人时，我体会到这种欢乐。他怎么样了？他还活着吗……用人类之爱去爱，可能从爱转化为恨；但上帝之爱不会改变。一切都不能，连死亡也不能，什么也摧毁不了这种爱。这上帝之爱便是灵魂的本质。而我一生却恨过许多人啊。在所有的人里边，我最爱也最恨的，莫过于她呢。”于是，他生动地想象出娜塔莎样子，但不像以往那样只想到了她使她欢欣的魅力；他第一次想象到了她的灵魂。并且，他理解了她的感情，她的痛苦、羞耻和懊悔。他现在第一次明白了他表示拒绝是多么残忍，看到他同她决裂是多么残酷。
“要是能再一次见到她该多好啊。只要一次，看着那两只眼睛说……”
又是哔唧——哔唧——哔唧和唧——唧，又是哔唧——哔唧——噗，苍蝇碰了一下……这时，他的注意力突然转向另一世界，一个有某种特别情况发生的既是现实又是谵妄的世界。在这一世界里，那座楼阁仍然耸立着，不会倒塌，有一种东西依旧不断地延伸，蜡烛周围带有一圈红晕依旧燃烧着，那件衬衫——斯芬克斯仍旧蜷缩在门边；但是，除开所有这一切，有某种东西在咿呀作响，拂来一股清凉的风，随后，一个新的白色的斯芬克斯，站立着，显现在门的前面。而这个斯芬克斯的头上，有一张苍白的面孔和他正思念着的娜塔莎那样的一双眼睛。
“呵，无休止的谵妄多么难受！”安德烈公爵想道，竭力要把这张脸赶出他的想象范围。但是这张脸真切地分明地出现在他的面前，而且不断靠近。安德烈公爵想回到纯粹的思维中去，但不能够这样做，而且梦幻把他拖向它一边。那悄悄的絮语在继续发出有节奏的喃喃声，某种东西在挤压，在延伸，而且一张奇怪的脸停在他面前。安德烈公爵尽着自己的全部力量想清醒过来；他翻动身子，但突然两耳轰鸣，两眼昏花，像一个落水之人，失去了知觉。在他醒来的时候，娜塔莎，那个活生生的娜塔莎，那个所有的人当中他最希望去爱，用他那种新的纯洁的上帝现已向他启示之爱去爱的人，就展现在他面前，双膝跪在他的床边。他明白这是真实的活生生的娜塔莎，但并不吃惊，而且暗自高兴。娜塔莎双膝跪着，惊恐地，凝神地（她不能动弹）看着他，忍住不哭出声来。她的面容苍白，神情呆板，但是脸的下部在抖动。
安德烈公爵舒解地叹了一口气，微笑了，并且伸出手去。
“是您？”他说，“真是幸运！”
娜塔莎迅速而又小心地膝行着靠近他，小心地握住他的手，把脸埋下去，用嘴唇轻轻地吻它。
“请您宽恕！”她抬起头看着他，喃喃地说，“请宽恕我吧！”
“我爱您。”安德烈公爵说。
“请宽恕……”
“宽恕什么？”安德烈公爵问。
“宽恕我犯的过……错。”娜塔莎用仅能听见的声音断续地说完这句话，开始更频繁地用嘴唇轻轻吻他的手。
“我比以前更加爱你了。”安德烈公爵说，并用手托起她的脸。看她的眼睛。
这双充满着幸福泪水的眼睛，羞怯地同情地、高兴而又含情地注视着他。娜塔莎消瘦而苍白的脸，脸上浮肿的嘴唇，不止是难看，简直是可怕。但安德烈公爵没有看见这张脸，他看见的是流光溢彩的眼睛，它们是美丽的，两人的身后有了谈话声。
随从彼得，这时从梦中醒来，已全无睡意，推醒了医生。腿疼而一直未睡着的季莫欣，早已看到所发生的一切，小心地用被单盖好赤裸的身体，蜷缩在长凳上。
“这是什么事啊？”医生从睡铺上欠身起来说，“请您走吧，小姐。”
正在这时，有个女仆敲门，是伯爵夫人发觉女儿不见了派来的女仆。
像一个从梦中惊醒的梦游患者，娜塔莎走出这间房，一回到自己的农舍，便倒在床上，号啕大哭。
从这一天开始，在罗斯托夫一家人继续赶路的整个期间，无论是小憩或是夜宿，娜塔莎都未离开受伤的博尔孔斯基，而医生不得不承认，他未料到姑娘如此坚强，如此善于照料伤员。
伯爵夫人一想到安德烈公爵会（照医生的话说极有可能）在途中死于女儿的怀抱，就觉得非常可怕，她也不能阻止娜塔莎。虽然，鉴于受伤的安德烈公爵和娜塔莎之间目前的亲密关系，会使人想到，一旦康复、这对未婚夫妻的关系将会恢复，但谁也不谈论这件事，娜塔莎和安德烈公爵更不谈论这点：不仅有关博尔孔斯基的问题，而且有关整个俄国的生死存亡问题均悬而未谈，它掩盖着其余一切的揣测。
Book 11 Chapter 33
PIERRE waked up late on the 3rd of September. His head ached, the clothes in which he had slept without undressing fretted his body, and he had a vague sense in his heart of something shameful he had done the evening before. That something shameful was his talk with Captain Ramballe.
His watch told him it was eleven, but it seemed a particularly dull day. Pierre stood up, rubbed his eyes, and seeing the pistol with its engraved stock—Gerasim had put it back on the writing-table—Pierre remembered where he was and what was in store for him that day
“Am I not too late already?” Pierre wondered.
No, probably he would not make his entry into Moscow before twelve o'clock. Pierre did not allow himself to reflect on what lay before him, but made haste to act.
Setting his clothes to rights, Pierre took up the pistol and was about to set off. But then for the first time it occurred to him to wonder how, if not in his hand, he was to carry the weapon in the street. Even under his full coat it would be hard to conceal a big pistol. It could not be put in his sash, nor under his arm, without being noticeable. Moreover, the pistol was now unloaded, and Pierre could not succeed in reloading it in time. “The dagger will do as well,” Pierre said to himself; though, in considering how he should carry out his design, he had more than once decided that the great mistake made by the student in 1809 was that he had tried to kill Napoleon with a dagger. But Pierre's chief aim seemed to be, not so much to succeed in his project, as to prove to himself that he was not renouncing his design, but was doing everything to carry it out. Pierre hurriedly took the blunt, notched dagger in a green scabbard, which he had bought, together with the pistol, at the Suharev Tower, and hid it under his waistcoat.
Tying the sash round his peasant's coat, and pulling his cap forward, Pierre walked along the corridor, trying to avoid making a noise and meeting the captain, and slipped out into the street.
The fire, at which he had gazed so indifferently the evening before, had sensibly increased during the night. Moscow was on fire at various points. There were fires at the same time in Carriage Row, Zamoskvoryetche, the Bazaar, and Povarsky, and the timber market near Dorogomilov bridge and the barges in the river Moskva were in a blaze.
Pierre's way lay across a side street to Povarsky, and from there across Arbaty to the chapel of Nikola Yavlenny, where he had long before in his fancy fixed on the spot at which the deed ought to be done. Most of the houses had their gates and shutters closed. The streets and lanes were deserted; there was a smell of burning and smoke in the air. Now and then he met Russians with uneasy and timid faces, and Frenchmen with a look of the camp about them, walking in the middle of the road. Both looked at Pierre with surprise. Apart from his great height and stoutness, and the look of gloomy concentration and suffering in his face and whole figure, Russians stared at Pierre because they could not make out to what class he belonged. Frenchmen looked after him with surprise, because, while all other Russians stared timidly and inquisitively at them, Pierre walked by without noticing them. At the gates of a house, three Frenchmen, disputing about something with some Russians, who did not understand their meaning, stopped Pierre to ask whether he knew French.
Pierre shook his head and walked on. In another lane a sentinel, on guard by a green caisson, shouted at him, and it was only at the repetition of his menacing shout, and the sound of his picking up his gun, that Pierre grasped that he ought to have passed the street on the other side. He heard and saw nothing around him. With haste and horror he bore within him his intention as something strange and fearful to him, fearing—from the experience of the previous night—to lose it. But Pierre was not destined to carry his design in safety to the spot to which he was bending his steps. Moreover, if he had not been detained on the road, his design could not have been carried out, because Napoleon had four hours earlier left the Dorogomilov suburb, and crossed Arbaty to the Kremlin; and he was by then sitting in the royal study in the Kremlin palace in the gloomiest temper, giving circumstantial orders for immediately extinguishing the fires, preventing pillage, and reassuring the inhabitants. But Pierre knew nothing of that; entirely engrossed in what lay before him, he was suffering the anguish men suffer when they persist in undertaking a task impossible for them—not from its inherent difficulties, but from its incompatibility with their own nature. He was tortured by the dread that he would be weak at the decisive moment, and so would lose his respect for himself.
Though he saw and heard nothing around him, he instinctively found his way, and took the right turning to reach Povarsky.
As Pierre got nearer to Povarsky Street, the smoke grew thicker and thicker, and the air was positively warm from the heat of the conflagration. Tongues of flame shot up here and there behind the house-tops. He met more people in the streets, and these people were in great excitement. But though Pierre felt that something unusual was happening around him, he did not grasp the fact that he was getting near the fire. As he walked along a path, across the large open space adjoining on one side Povarsky Street, and on the other side the gardens of Prince Gruzinsky, Pierre suddenly heard close by him the sound of a woman, crying desperately. He stood still, as though awakened from a dream, and raised his head.
On the dried-up, dusty grass on one side of the path lay heaps of household belongings piled up: feather-beds, a samovar, holy images, and boxes. On the ground, near the boxes, sat a thin woman, no longer young, with long, projecting front teeth, dressed in a black cloak and cap. This woman was weeping violently, swaying to and fro, and muttering something. Two little girls, from ten to twelve years old, dressed in dirty, short frocks and cloaks, were gazing at their mother, with an expression of stupefaction on their pale, frightened faces. A little boy of seven, in a coat and a huge cap, obviously not his own, was crying in an old nurse's arms. A bare-legged, dirty servant-girl was sitting on a chest; she had let down her flaxen hair, and was pulling out the singed hairs, sniffing at them. The husband, a short, stooping man, in a uniform, with little, wheel-shaped whiskers, and smooth locks of hair, peeping out from under his cap, which was stuck erect on his head, was moving the chests from under one another with an immovable face, dragging garments of some sort from under them.
The woman almost flung herself at Pierre's feet as soon as she saw him.
“Merciful heavens, good Christian folk, save me, help me, kind sir! … somebody, help me,” she articulated through her sobs. “My little girl! … My daughter! … My youngest girl left behind! … She's burnt! Oo … er! What a fate I have nursed thee for … Ooo!”
“Hush, Marya Nikolaevna,” the husband said in a low voice to his wife, evidently only to justify himself before an outsider.
“Sister must have taken her, nothing else can have happened to her!” he added.
“Monster, miscreant!” the woman screeched furiously, her tears suddenly ceasing. “There is no heart in you, you have no feeling for your own child. Any other man would have rescued her from the fire. But he is a monster, not a man, not a father. You are a noble man,” the woman turned to Pierre sobbing and talking rapidly. “The row was on fire—they rushed in to tell us. The girl screamed: Fire! We rushed to get our things out. Just as we were, we escaped. … This is all we could snatch up … the blessed images, we look at the children, and the bed that was my dowry, and all the rest is lost. Katitchka's missing. Oooo! O Lord! …” and again she broke into sobs. “My darling babe! burnt! burnt!”
“But where, where was she left?” said Pierre.
From the expression of his interested face, the woman saw that this man might help her.
“Good, kind sir!” she screamed, clutching at his legs. “Benefactor, set my heart at rest anyway … Aniska, go, you slut, show the way,” she bawled to the servant-girl, opening her mouth wide in her anger, and displaying her long teeth more than ever.
“Show the way, show me, I … I … I'll do something,” Pierre gasped hurriedly.
The dirty servant-girl came out from behind the box, put up her hair, and sighing, walked on in front along the path with her coarse, bare feet.
Pierre felt as though he had suddenly come back to life after a heavy swoon. He drew his head up, his eyes began to shine with the light of life, and with rapid steps he followed the girl, overtook her, and went into Povarsky Street. The whole street was full of clouds of black smoke. Tongues of flame shot up here and there out of these clouds. A great crowd had gathered in front of the fire. In the middle of the street stood a French general, saying something to those about him. Pierre, accompanied by the servant-girl, was approaching the place where the French general stood; but the French soldiers stopped him.
“Can't pass,” a voice shouted to him.
“This way, master,” bawled the girl. “We'll cut across Nikoliny by the lane.”
Pierre turned back, breaking into a run now and then to keep pace with her. The girl ran across the street, turned into a lane on the left, and passing three houses, turned in at a gate on the right.
“It's just here,” she said, and running across a yard, she opened a little gate in a paling-fence, and stopping short, pointed out to Pierre a small wooden lodge, which was blazing away brightly. One side of it had fallen in, the other was on fire, and flames peeped out at the window-holes and under the roof.
As Pierre went in at the little gate, he felt the rush of heat, and involuntarily stopped short.
“Which, which is your house?” he asked.
“Oooh!” wailed the servant-girl, pointing to the lodge. “That's it, that same was our lodging. Sure, you're burnt to death, our treasure, Katitchka, my precious little missy, ooh!” wailed Aniska, at the sight of the fire feeling the necessity of giving expression to her feelings too.
Pierre darted up to the lodge, but the heat was so great that he could not help describing a curve round it, and found himself close to a big house, which was as yet only on fire on one side, at the roof. A group of French soldiers were swarming round it. Pierre could not at first make out what these Frenchmen were about, dragging something out of the house. But seeing a French soldier in front of him beating a peasant with a blunt cutlass, and taking from him a fur-lined coat, Pierre became vaguely aware that pillaging was going on here—but he had no time to dwell on the idea.
The sound of the rumble and crash of falling walls and ceilings; the roar and hiss of the flames, and the excited shouts of the crowd; the sight of the hovering clouds of smoke—here folding over into black masses, there drawing out and lighted up by gleaming sparks; and the flames—here like a thick red sheaf, and there creeping like golden fish-scales over the walls; the sense of the heat and smoke and rapidity of movement, all produced on Pierre the usual stimulating effect of a conflagration. That effect was particularly strong on Pierre, because all at once, at the sight of the fire, he felt himself set free from the ideas weighing upon him. He felt young, gay, ready, and resolute. He ran round the lodge on the side of the house, and was about to run into that part which was still standing, when he heard several voices shouting immediately above his head, followed by the crash and bang of something heavy falling close by.
Pierre looked round, and saw at the windows of the house some French soldiers, who had just dropped out a drawer of a chest, filled with some metallic objects. Some more French soldiers standing below went up to the drawer.
“Well, what does that fellow want?” one of the French soldiers shouted, referring to Pierre.
“A child in the house. Haven't you seen a child?” said Pierre.
“What's the fellow singing? Get along, do!” shouted voices; and one of the soldiers, evidently afraid Pierre might take it into his head to snatch the silver and bronzes from them, pounced on him in a menacing fashion.
“A child?” shouted a Frenchman from above. “I did hear something crying in the garden. Perhaps it's the fellow's brat. Must be humane you know.”
“Where is it?” asked Pierre.
“This way!” the French soldier shouted to him from the window pointing to the garden behind the house. “Wait, I'll come down.”
And in a minute the Frenchman, a black-eyed fellow, with a patch on his cheek, in his shirt-sleeves, did in fact jump out of a window on the ground floor, and slapping Pierre on the shoulder, he ran with him to the garden. “Make haste, you fellows,” he shouted to his comrades, “it's beginning to get hot.” Running behind the house to a sanded path, the Frenchman pulled Pierre by the arm, and pointed out to him a circular space. Under a garden seat lay a girl of three years old, in a pink frock.
“Here's your brat. Ah, a little girl. So much the better,” said the Frenchman. “Good-bye. Must be humane, we are all mortal, you know”; and the Frenchman, with the patch on his cheek, ran back to his comrades.
Pierre, breathless with joy, ran up to the child, and would have taken her in his arms. But seeing a stranger, the little girl—a scrofulous-looking, unattractive child very like her mother—screamed and ran away. Pierre caught her, however, and lifted her up in his arms; she squealed in desperate fury, and tried to tear herself out of Pierre's arms with her little hands, and to bite him with her dirty, dribbling mouth. Pierre had a sense of horror and disgust, such as he had felt at contact with some little beast. But he made an effort to overcome it, and not to drop the child, and ran with it back to the big house. By now, however, it was impossible to get back by the same way; the servant-girl, Aniska, was nowhere to be seen, and with a feeling of pity and loathing, Pierre held close to him, as tenderly as he could, the piteously howling, and sopping wet baby, and ran across the garden to seek some other way out.
九月三日，皮埃尔醒得很晚。他头痛，他睡觉时不曾脱下的外套裹缠在身上使他觉得不舒服，心里为昨晚的表现模糊地感到愧疚；这惭愧的事情就是昨晚同朗巴上尉的谈话。 
时针指到十一点，但是户外似乎还特别晦暗。皮埃尔起床，擦了擦眼睛，看见格拉西姆又放在写字台上的带雕花枪托的手枪后，想起了他在哪里，想起了当天要做的事。
“我是不是已迟到了？”皮埃尔想。“不，大概他不会早于十二点进入莫斯科。”皮埃尔不让自己思考他要做的事，只是要急忙去做。
皮埃尔整理好身上的外套，就抓起手枪准备动身。但此时他第一次想起，应该怎样携带武器在街上行走呢，不能提在手上呀？即使在他那件宽大的长袍下，也难以藏住这支大手枪。无论插在腰带里，还是夹在胁下，都不可能不露马腿。此外，枪是放过的，皮埃尔还来不及上子弹。“横竖一样，就用匕首吧。”皮埃尔对自己说，尽管考虑把计划付诸实施时，他不止一次地认定，一八○九年，那个大学生的主要错误，在于他想用匕首刺杀拿破仑。但是，皮埃尔的主旨似乎不在于完成预想的事情，而在于向自己表明，他并未放弃自己的计划，正在作着一切去完成它。皮埃尔急忙拿起他在苏哈列夫塔楼与手枪一起购得的匕首，一柄装在绿色刀鞘里的有缺口的钝匕首，把它藏在背心下面。
皮埃尔束紧长袍，拉低帽子，尽量不弄出声来，避免碰到上尉，穿过走廊到了大街上。
他头天晚上漠然看着的那场大火，一夜之间大大地蔓延开来。莫斯科四面八方都在燃烧。同时烧起来的有马车市场、莫斯科河外区、商场、波瓦尔大街、莫斯科河上的驳船和多罗戈米洛夫桥旁的木材市场。
皮埃尔的路线要经过几条小巷到波瓦尔大街，再到阿尔巴特街上的圣尼古拉教堂，他老早就在其附近设想好一个地点，他的计划就要在那个地点完成。大部分房屋的门窗都已紧闭。大街小巷空寂无人。空气里弥漫着焦糊和烟熏的气味。间或碰到一些神色惊惶不安的俄国人，和走在街心的一付乡下佬和丘八模样的法国人。俄国人和法国佬都惊奇地看皮埃尔。俄国人注视他，除了他那个子高而胖，除了他脸上和全身上下显出古怪、阴沉、神情专注和愁苦的样子之外，还由于分辨不清这人属于何种阶层。法国佬惊奇地目送着皮埃尔，特别是因为，皮埃尔与又怕又好奇地望着法国人的普通俄国人相反，他对法国人根本不屑一顾。在一幢房子的大门口，三名法国人在与听不懂他们话的俄国人交涉着什么事，他们拦住皮埃尔，问他懂不懂法语。
皮埃尔否定地一摇头，又向前走了。在另一条巷子里，守在绿色弹药箱旁的哨兵对他吆喝一声，而皮埃尔只在听到第二次厉声吆喝和哨兵手上的武器弄响以后，方才明白，他得绕到旁边一条街。他对周围的一切既听不见也看不见。他像带着一样可怕的生人的物件，以急迫和恐怖感怀揣自己的计算，生活——昨晚的经验教训了他——把计划给弄丢了。但是，皮埃尔注定不能把自己的情绪完整地维持到他正奔向的地点。而且，即使他不在路上受阻，他的计划也已无从实现，因为四个多小时以前，拿破仑就已从多罗戈米洛夫郊区，经阿尔巴特街进入克里姆林宫，这时，情绪极为阴沉，正坐在克里姆林宫的沙皇办公室内，发布关于立即扑灭大火、禁止抢劫、安定民心的详细而严厉的命令。但皮埃尔是不知道的；他专心致志于自己的事，仍然在受折磨，像执着于知其不可而为之的人们那样受折磨——不是由于重重困难，而是由于天生的其事不当；他受折磨是因为害怕在决定关头软下来，因而失去自尊心。
虽然他看不见也听不见周围的一切，仍凭本能辨明道路，并准确无误地穿过几条小巷子，这些小巷子把他带到了阿瓦尔大街。
随着皮埃尔愈益走近波瓦尔大街，大烟愈来愈浓，大火甚至使这儿的空气变得暖和。间或可以看见巨大的火舌，在屋顶后面龙蛇般飞舞。街道上，人渐渐多起来，而这些人个个惊惶不安。皮埃尔虽也感到周围有某种异常情况，但并不明白他是在走向火灾发生的区域。在他穿过通向一大片空地的小路时（这片空地一边连着波瓦尔大街，另一边连着格鲁津斯基公爵府邸的花园），突然听到身旁一个女人绝望的痛哭声。他止住脚步，好似从梦中醒来，抬起了头。
在小路一侧满是尘土的干枯的野草上，放着一堆家什：鸭绒被、茶炊、神像、箱子等。在地上的箱子旁边，坐着一位已不年轻的瘦女人，长着长长的暴牙，身穿黑色斗篷，戴压发帽。这女人摇晃着身子，一面诉苦，一面恸哭。两个小女孩，十岁到十二岁，各穿一身脏而嫌短的连衣裙、披小斗篷，苍白的惊吓的脸上带着困惑不解的表情，看着她们的母亲。一个小男孩，约七岁，穿一件粗呢外衣，戴一顶别人的大帽子，在老保姆怀里哭。一个光脚、一身很脏的使女坐在箱子上，松开灰白的大辫子，在揪掉烧焦的头发，一边揪一边嗅着。丈夫，个儿不高，背微驼、穿普通文官制服，留一圈络腮胡，平整的鬓角从戴得端正的帽子下露出来，正紧绷着脸翻动摞在一起的箱子，从里面取出些衣服来。
女人一见皮埃尔，几乎投在他脚下。
“亲爱的老爷们，正教徒们，救救我们，帮助我们吧，亲爱的！……你们谁帮帮我们吧，”她嚎啕着哀告，“小女孩！……女儿！……我的小女儿没救出来！给丢下了……她烧死了！呜呜！我白白养了你……呜呜！”
“行了，玛丽亚·尼古拉耶夫娜，”丈夫小声对妻子说，显然不过要在旁人面前替自己辩护，“一定是姐姐把她带走了，否则她能到什么地方去呢！”他补充说。
“木头人，坏蛋！”妻子突然止住哭泣，恶狠狠地大骂。
“你没有心肝，不疼自己的孩子。别人就会把她从火里救出的。这人是木头，而不是人，不是父亲。您是高尚的人，”她抽泣着连珠炮似地对皮埃尔说。“隔壁燃起来了，随即向我们烧来。小姑娘喊了一声：着火了！我们赶紧收拾东西。我们当时穿什么就是什么地逃了出来……这才抢出这么点东西……神像和陪嫁的床，其余的一切都丢了。看看孩子们呢，卡捷奇卡不见了。呜呜！呵，上帝！……”她又放声大哭，“我的心肝宝贝啊，烧死了！烧死了！”
“在哪里呢？她到底在哪里丢失的呢？”皮埃尔问。女人从他热情洋溢的脸上看出，他这人能帮助她。
“老爷！我的亲爹！”她抱住他的腿呼喊，“恩人啊，这下我放心了……阿尼斯卡，去带路，死东西。”她向使女大声呼叫，生气地张着嘴，这就更加露出了她的长门牙。
“带路，带路，我……我……我办得到。”皮埃尔喘着气急忙说。
一身很脏的使女从箱子后面走出来，束好发辫，叹了一口气后，赤足笨拙地沿小路走在前面。皮埃尔仿佛突然从深沉的昏厥中复苏。他更高地昂起头，眼睛里闪耀出生命的光辉，快步地跟随这姑娘而去，赶上了她，走出小路到了波瓦尔大街。满街飘起一团团乌云般的黑烟，有些地方的黑烟里冒出火舌。人们在大火前挤作一团。街心站着一名法国将军，对周围的人讲话。由使女带路的皮埃尔已经走到了将军站的位置附近，但法国士兵挡住他。
“On　ne　passe　pas，”①一个声音向他喊话。 
①此处不通行。
“走这边，叔叔！”使女叫道。“我们穿过小巷，从尼库林街穿过去。”皮埃尔转过身来往回走，时时要跳动几下，方能跑得上她。这姑娘跑过街去，向左拐进一条横巷，经过三幢房屋，向右拐进了一家大门。
“在这儿。”这姑娘说，跑过院子，打开了木栅栏的小门，然后停下来，指给皮埃尔看一间不很大的正熊熊燃烧着的木耳房。它的一边已烧塌了，另一边还正燃烧，火焰明晃晃地从窗格和屋顶冲了出来。皮埃尔走进小门，热气便逼得他停下。
“那一间，哪一间是你们的家？”他问。
“哇哇！”这姑娘指出耳房哭了，“就是那间，那就是我们的家。你都烧死了，我们的宝宝，卡捷奇卡，我的乖小姐，哇！”阿尼斯卡对着大火痛哭，觉得不得不表示一番自己的感情。
皮埃尔向耳房靠近，但那热气很猛烈，他不由得围着耳房绕了半圈，来到一座大房子墙下，这房子只有一边的屋顶着火，一群法军士兵在房子附近挤作一团。
皮埃尔开头不明白，这些把什么东西拖来拖去的法国人在干什么；但看到自己面前的那个正用钝佩刀砍一个农民、并抢夺他手里的狐皮大衣时，皮埃尔朦胧觉察到这里在抢劫，但他没功夫想这件事。
墙壁和天花板的断裂声、訇然倒塌声、火焰的呼啸和毕剥声、人们的狂叫呐喊，时而动荡不完的烟云——时而腾空升起，夹杂着明亮的火星，虽烟滚滚闪出道道火光，此处是禾捆状的通红的火柱，彼处是沿着墙蔓延的鱼鳞状的金色火焰——这一切景象，合着热浪和烟味的刺激，行动的迅速，这种种感觉在皮埃尔身上产生了面对火灾常有的兴奋作用。这种作用力特别强烈，则是因为皮埃尔看见这场大火，突然体验到那种从折磨他的思想中解脱的感觉。他觉得自己年轻、愉快、灵活和果断。他从这座房子的一边绕到耳旁后面，正要跑进还没倒塌的部分，这时，他的头顶有几个人在大喊，随后听见哗啦啦的响声，一件笨重的东西砰然一声落在他的脚下。
皮埃尔回头一看，见到窗户里的几个法国人，他们把一个橱柜的抽屉摔了下来，里面盛满一些金属器皿。另一些站在下面的士兵走近这只抽屉。
“Eh　bien，qu'est　ce　qu'il　veut　celui－lá．”①法国兵中的一个朝皮埃尔喊。
“Un　enfant　dans　cette　maison．N'avez　vous　pas　vu　un　enfant？”②皮埃尔说。
“Tiens，qu'est　ce　qu'il　chante　celui－lá？Va　te　pro－mener．”③上面几个人说，而士兵中的一个，显然害怕皮埃尔想起向他们夺取抽屉里的银铜器皿，气势汹汹地逼近他。 
①这人要干什么？
②这屋里有一个小孩。你们没看见小孩吗？
③这人还在唠叨。你见鬼去吧。
“Un　enfant？”上面一个法国人喊道，“j'ai　entendu　piailler　quelque　chose　au　jardin．Peut—eAtre　c'est　son　moutard　au　bonhomme．Faut　eAtre　humain，voyez　vous……”“Ou　est—il？Ou　est—il？”①皮埃尔问。
“Par　ici！Par　ici！”②那个法国人从窗户朝下对他喊，同时指着房子后面的花园。“Attendez，je　vais　descendrBe．”③
一分钟后，那个黑眼睛、面颊上有颗痣的小个子法国人，只穿着衬衫，显然从楼上一个窗口跳出来，拍下皮埃尔肩膀，带他跑向花园。“DépeAchez—vous，vous，autres，”他对他的同伴喊叫，“commence　à　faire　chaud．”④
法国人跑到屋后一条铺着沙子的路上后，拽住皮埃尔的手，向他指了指前面的园场子。一条长凳下面，躺着一个穿粉红连衣裙的三岁小女孩。
“Voilà　votre　moutard．Ah，une　petite，tant　mieux，”法国人说。“Au　revoir，mon　gros．Faut　eAtre　humain．Nous　sommes　tous　mortels，voyez　vous．”⑤那个面颊上有颗痣的法国人朝自己的同伴跑回去了。 
①小孩？我听到有个东西在花园里嘤嘤地哭。可能是他的小孩。好吧，应该实行人道。我们都是人……“在那儿？在哪儿？”
②不远，不远！
③等一等，我这就下来。
④哎，你们快一点，热气烘烤过来了。
⑤这就是您的孩子。噢，是女孩，那更好。再会，胖子。对吧，该实行人道，都是人嘛。
皮埃尔高兴得喘不过气来，朝小女孩跑去，想把她抱起来。那个生瘰疠病的像母亲一样难看的小女孩，一见到生人便叫喊起来，飞快跑开。但是皮埃尔抱住她，把她举了起来；她绝望地凶狠地尖叫，并用小手使劲掰开皮埃尔的手，还用她那鼻涕邋遢的嘴咬他的手。这使皮埃尔感到恐怖和厌恶，好比是在摸着一头小野兽似的。但他尽力不让自己扔下小女孩，抱着她跑回那座大房屋。但已不能通过原路返回去：使女阿尼斯卡已不见了，皮埃尔只得怀着遗憾和憎恶的心情，尽可能慈爱地搂住痛哭流涕、打湿了衣裳的小女孩，跑过花园去找寻另一个出口。
Book 11 Chapter 34
WHEN PIERRE, after running across courtyards and by-lanes, got back with his burden to Prince Gruzinsky's garden, at the corner of Povarsky, he did not for the first moment recognise the place from which he had set out to look for the baby: it was so packed with people and goods, dragged out of the houses. Besides the Russian families with their belongings saved from the fire, there were a good many French soldiers here too in various uniforms. Pierre took no notice of them. He was in haste to find the family, and to restore the child to its mother, so as to be able to go back and save some one else. It seemed to Pierre that he had a great deal more to do, and to do quickly. Warmed up by the heat and running, Pierre felt even more strongly at that minute the sense of youth, eagerness, and resolution, which had come upon him when he was running to save the baby.
The child was quiet now, and clinging to Pierre's coat with her little hands, she sat on his arm, and looked about her like a little wild beast. Pierre glanced at her now and then, and smiled slightly. He fancied he saw something touchingly innocent in the frightened, sickly little face.
Neither the official nor his wife were in the place where he had left them. With rapid steps, Pierre walked about among the crowd, scanning the different faces he came across. He could not help noticing a Georgian or Armenian family, consisting of a very old man, of a handsome Oriental cast of face, dressed in a new cloth-faced sheepskin and new boots; an old woman of a similar type; and a young woman. The latter—a very young woman—struck Pierre as a perfect example of Oriental beauty, with her sharply marked, arched, black eyebrows, her extraordinarily soft, bright colour and beautiful, expressionless, oval face. Among the goods flung down in the crowd in the grass space, in her rich satin mantle, and the bright lilac kerchief on her head, she suggested a tender, tropical plant, thrown down in the snow. She was sitting on the baggage a little behind the old woman, and her big, black, long-shaped eyes, with their long lashes, were fixed immovably on the ground. Evidently she was aware of her beauty, and fearful because of it. Her face struck Pierre, and in his haste he looked round at her several times as he passed along by the fence. Reaching the fence, and still failing to find the people he was looking for, Pierre stood still and looked round.
Pierre's figure was more remarkable than ever now with the baby in his arms, and several Russians, both men and women, gathered about him.
“Have you lost some one, good sir? Are you a gentleman yourself, or what? Whose baby is it?” they asked him.
Pierre answered that the baby belonged to a woman in a black mantle, who had been sitting at this spot with her children; and asked whether any one knew her, and where she had gone.
“Why, it must be the Anferovs,” said an old deacon addressing a pock-marked peasant woman. “Lord, have mercy on us! Lord, have mercy on us!” he added, in his professional bass.
“The Anferovs,” said the woman. “Why, the Anferovs have been gone since early this morning. It will either be Marya Nikolaevna's or Ivanova's.”
“He says a woman, and Marya Nikolaevna's a lady,” said a house-serf.
“You know her, then; a thin woman—long teeth,” said Pierre.
“To be sure, Marya Nikolaevna. They moved off into the garden as soon as these wolves pounced down on us,” said the woman, indicating the French soldiers.
“O Lord, have mercy on us!” the deacon added again.
“You go on yonder, they are there. It's she, for sure. She was quite beside herself with crying,” said the woman again. “It's she. Here this way.”
But Pierre was not heeding the woman. For several seconds he had been gazing intently at what was passing a few paces from him. He was looking at the Armenian family and two French soldiers, who had approached them. One of these soldiers, a nimble, little man, was dressed in a blue coat, with a cord tied round for a belt. He had a night-cap on his head, and his feet were bare. Another, whose appearance struck Pierre particularly, was a long, round-shouldered, fair-haired, thin man, with ponderous movements and an idiotic expression of face. He was dressed in a frieze tunic, blue trousers and big, torn, high boots. The little bare-footed Frenchman in the blue coat, on going up to the Armenians, said something, and at once took hold of the old man's legs, and the old man began immediately in haste pulling off his boots. The other soldier in the tunic stopped facing the beautiful Armenian girl, with his hands in his pockets, and stared at her without speaking or moving.
“Take it, take the child,” said Pierre, handing the child to the peasant woman, and speaking with peremptory haste. “You give her to them, you take her,” he almost shouted to the woman, setting the screaming child on the ground, and looking round again at the Frenchmen and the Armenian family. The old man was by now sitting barefoot. The little Frenchman had just taken the second boot from him, and was slapping the boots together. The old man was saying something with a sob, but all that Pierre only saw in a passing glimpse. His whole attention was absorbed by the Frenchman in the tunic, who had meanwhile, with a deliberate, swinging gait, moved up to the young woman, and taking his hands out of his pockets, caught hold of her neck.
The beautiful Armenian still sat in the same immobile pose, with her long lashes drooping, and seemed not to see and not to feel what the soldier was doing to her.
While Pierre ran the few steps that separated him from the Frenchman, the long soldier in the tunic had already torn the necklace from the Armenian beauty's neck, and the young woman, clutching at her neck with both hands, screamed shrilly.
“Let that woman alone!” Pierre roared in a voice hoarse with rage, and seizing the long, stooping soldier by the shoulders he shoved him away. The soldier fell down, got up, and ran away. His comrade, dropping the boots, pulled out his sword, and moved up to Pierre in a menacing attitude.
“Voyons, pas de bêtises!” he shouted.
Pierre was in that transport of frenzy in which he remembered nothing, and his strength was increased tenfold. He dashed at the barefoot Frenchman, and before he had time to draw his cutlass, he knocked him down, and was pommelling him with his fists Shouts of approval were heard from the crowd around, and at the same time a patrol of French Uhlans came riding round the corner. The Uhlans trotted up to Pierre, and the French soldiers surrounded him. Pierre had no recollection of what followed. He remembered that he beat somebody, and was beaten, and that in the end he found that his hands were tied, that a group of French soldiers were standing round him, ransacking his clothes.
“Lieutenant, he has a dagger,” were the first words Pierre grasped the meaning of.
“Ah, a weapon,” said the officer, and he turned to the barefoot soldier, who had been taken with Pierre. “Very good, very good; you can tell all your story at the court-martial,” said the officer. And then he turned to Pierre: “Do you know French?”
Pierre looked about him with bloodshot eyes, and made no reply. Probably his face looked very terrible; for the officer said something in a whisper, and four more Uhlans left the rest, and stationed themselves both sides of Pierre.
“Do you speak French?” the officer, keeping his distance, repeated the question. “Call the interpreter.” From the ranks a little man came forward, in a Russian civilian dress. Pierre, from his dress and speech, at once recognised in him a French shopman from some Moscow shop.
“He doesn't look like a common man,” said the interpreter, scanning Pierre.
“Oh, oh, he looks very like an incendiary,” said the officer. “Ask him who he is,” he added.
“Who are you?” asked the interpreter in his Frenchified Russian. “You must answer the officer.”
“I will not say who I am. I am your prisoner. Take me away.” Pierre said suddenly in French.
“Ah! ah!” commented the officer, knitting his brows; “well, march then!”
A crowd had gathered around the Uhlans. Nearest of all to Pierre stood the pock-marked peasant woman with the child. When the patrol was moving, she stepped forward:
“Why, where are they taking you, my good soul?” she said. “The child! what am I to do with the child if it's not theirs?” she cried.
“What does she want, this woman?” asked the officer.
Pierre was like a drunken man. His excitement was increased at the sight of the little girl he had saved.
“What does she want?” he said. “She is carrying my daughter, whom I have just saved from the flames,” he declared. “Good-bye!” and utterly at a loss to explain to himself the aimless lie he had just blurted out, he strode along with a resolute and solemn step between the Frenchmen.
The patrol of Uhlans was one of those that had been sent out by Durosnel's orders through various streets of Moscow to put a stop to pillage, and still more to capture the incendiaries, who in the general opinion of the French officers in the higher ranks on that day were causing the fires. Patrolling several streets, the Uhlans arrested five more suspicious characters, a shopkeeper, two divinity students, a peasant, and a house-serf—all Russians—besides several French soldiers engaged in pillage. But of all these suspicious characters Pierre seemed to them the most suspicious of all.
When they had all been brought for the night to a big house on Zubovsky rampart, which had been fixed upon as a guardhouse, Pierre was put apart from the rest under strict guard.
当皮埃尔跑过几家院子几条小巷，携带着女孩回到波瓦尔大街街角的格鲁津斯基花园时，他一下子还没认出他刚才离开去找小孩的这个地方：这儿阻塞着许多人和从房屋里拖出来的家什。除开逃出火灾来到这里的带着财物的几个俄罗斯家庭之外，这里还有一些身穿各色各样服装的法国士兵。皮埃尔并不注意这些人。他急于要找到那个小官一家人，好把女儿交给母亲，然后再去救别的人。皮埃尔觉得他还须赶快做许多事。热气和奔跑使得浑身发热的皮埃尔，此时体验到一股充满青春、活力和坚决劲儿，比他跑去救小孩时所感受到的更强烈。小姑娘现在安静了，用小手抓紧皮埃尔的长袍，坐在他臂弯上，像一头小野兽似的，张望着她的周围。皮埃尔不时地看看她，微微地笑着。他仿佛在这张吓坏了的病恹恹的脸上，看到使他感动的无辜的受难者的样子。 
在原来的地方，小官不在，他的妻子也不在了。皮埃尔在人堆里快步穿行，瞧他碰到的各种面孔。他无意地注意到了一个格鲁吉亚人或阿尔明尼亚人的家庭，这个家庭是由一个年高的长者（漂亮的东方脸型，穿一件新皮袄和一双新靴子）、一个同样脸型的老太太和一个年轻女郎所组成的。这个很年轻的女郎照皮埃尔看来，是东方美人的完美体现，她长着轮廓呈弓形的浓黑的秀眉，一张长长的毫无表情的、却异常柔媚的红脸蛋。在这块空地上的人堆里散乱放着的什物中间，披一件豪华的缎面斗篷式的长衫，扎一条浅紫色头巾，像一株娇嫩的温室里植物被抛在雪地上。她坐在老太太身后不远的包袱上，用又黑又大的睫毛长长的杏眼动不动地看着地面。显然，她知道自己的美貌，为美貌而耽心。这容貌使皮埃尔惊叹，当他在匆忙中，在进入栅栏以后，他还频频回头看她。虽然来到栅栏附近，他仍找不到要找的人。皮埃尔停下，往四下里看。
皮埃尔手里抱着小女孩的模样，比先前更为引人注目，他周围聚扰了几个俄国人，有男有女。
“你和谁走散了，好人？”
“您自己是名门望族，对吧？谁的娃娃？”
众人问他。
皮埃尔回答说，孩子是一个身穿黑色斗篷式长衫的女人的，她刚才带着儿女就坐在这里，他又问有没有谁认识她，她走到那里去了。
“这一定是安菲罗夫家的女孩，”一个老年的教堂执事对一个麻脸的姆妈说。“上帝保佑，上帝保佑，”他又用惯常说话用的低音补了一句。
“安菲罗夫一家在哪里？”姆妈说。“安菲罗夫家一早就离开了。而这娃娃要末是玛丽亚·尼古拉耶夫娜的，要末是伊万诺夫家的。”
“他说——女人，可玛丽亚·尼古拉耶夫娜是太太呀。”一个家仆模样的人说。
“对，你们认识她，牙齿很长，人瘦瘦的。”皮埃尔说。
“就是玛丽亚·尼古拉耶夫娜了。当这群狼跑来时，他们到花园里去了。”姆妈指着法军士兵说。
“呵，上帝保佑。”执事又说了一声。
“您往那边去吧，他们在那里，正是她。老是在哭，十分悲痛。”姆妈又说。“正是她，朝这儿走吧。”
但是皮埃尔没有听姆妈说话。他有几秒钟目不转睛地盯着离他几步远的地方，那儿在出事。他看着阿尔明尼亚的那家人和向他们走去的两个法军士兵。其中一个轻浮的小矮人身穿蓝色军大衣，腰间束一根绳子。他戴着尖顶帽子，光着一双脚。另一个使皮埃尔尤为惊奇，是瘦高、背微驼的头发淡黄的男子，行动缓慢，脸上一付白痴相。这家伙穿一件粗呢女外衣，蓝色裤子，一双裂开了的骑兵大靴子。未穿靴子而穿蓝大衣的矮小的法国兵一走近阿尔明尼亚人，说了句什么，立即抓起长者的脚，长者也就连忙脱靴子。那个穿女外衣的，对着阿尔明尼亚美人停下，不言不语，也不动，指手揣在裤包里看着她。
“接着，接着小孩，”皮埃尔边说边把小孩递给姆妈，并用命令口吻匆忙对她说，“你交给他们，交给他们！”他几乎是在对姆妈喊叫，把又哭起来了的小姑娘往地上一放，又再回过头去看法国兵和阿尔明尼亚的那家人。长者已是光脚坐在那里。矮小的法国兵脱下他的第二支靴子，在用一只拍打另一只。长者呜咽地诉说着什么，但是皮埃尔只是瞥了一眼，他的全部注意力此时集中在穿女外衣的法国兵身上，这家伙慢慢地摇头晃脑地走近年轻女郎之后，把手从裤包里伸出来，抓住了她的脖子。
阿尔明尼亚美人继续坐着不动，仍像刚才的样子，长长的睫毛下垂，仿佛没看见也没感觉到这个兵在对她干什么。
皮埃尔从几步之外跑到法国兵跟前时，穿女外衣的瘦高个子的劫匪已从阿尔明尼亚女郎脖子上扯下她佩戴的项链，而年轻女郎用手抱着脖子尖声地叫着。
“Laissez　cette　femme！”①皮埃尔用狂怒的嘶哑的嗓音大叫，抓住高个子驼背的士兵的肩膀，把他扔到一边去。那个兵跌到了，爬起来之后连忙跑开。但他的同伙，扔掉靴子，拔出佩刀向皮埃尔气势汹汹地逼过来。
“Voyons，pas　de　betises！”②他叫了一声。 
①放开那个女人！
②喂，喂！别胡闹！
皮埃尔处于愤怒的顶点，这样子他什么都不记得了，而且力量增加了十倍。他在光脚的法国兵还未抽出佩刀前，就扑了过去把他打倒在地，用拳头捶他。围观的群众响起一片赞许声，正在这时，一队法国枪骑兵巡逻队在街角出现。枪骑兵驰到皮埃尔和法国兵跟前，把他俩包围住。以后的事，皮埃尔便什么也不记得了。他记得他打了人，也挨了打，最后，他感觉出他的手被绑起来，一群法国兵围着他站着，搜他的衣裳。
“Il　a　un　porgnard，lieutenant．”①他们说了第一句话，皮埃尔听明白了。
“Ah，une　arme！”②军官说，把脸转向与皮埃尔一同被抓的光着脚的士兵。
“C'est　bon，vous　direz　tout　cela　au　conseil　de　guerre”，③军官说。随后立即转向皮埃尔：“Parlez－vous　francais，vous？”④
皮埃尔用充血的眼睛看看四周，未作回答。大概是他的脸色很恐怖，因而军官低声说了句话后，又有四名枪骑兵出列，站到他的两边。
“Parlez—vous　francais？”军官对他重复地问道，离他站得远了一点。“Faites　venir　l'interpreAte。”⑤一个穿俄国平民服的小矮个子策马出队。皮埃尔看他的穿着听他的口音，立即认出他是一间莫斯科商店的法国店员。 
①中尉，他有一把匕首。
②啊，一把武器！
③好，好，到军事法庭全都说出来。
④你懂法语吗？
⑤把翻译叫来。
“Il　n'a　pas　I'air　d'un　homme　du　peuple．”①翻译看看皮埃尔后说。
“Oh，oh！ca　m'a　bien　l'air　d'un　des　incendiBaires，”军官说。“Demandez　lui　ce　qu'il　est？”②他又说。
“你是谁？”翻译问，“你得回答长官。”他说。
“Je　ne　vous　dirai　pas　qui　je　suis．Je　suis　votre　prisonnier．Emmenez　moi，”③皮埃尔突然用法语说。
“Ah！Ah！”军官皱起眉头说。“Marchons！”④
枪骑兵周围聚起了人群。离皮埃尔最近的是带着小女孩的麻脸姆妈；当巡逻队走动起来，她往前挪动了几步。
“这是要把你往哪里带呢，我亲爱的？”她说，“小姑娘呢，小姑娘我往哪儿搁呢，如果她不是他们家的！”她不断地说。
“Qu'est　ce　qu'elle　veut，cette　femme．”⑤军官问道。 
①他不像普通人。
②噢，噢！他很像纵火犯。问他，他是谁？
③我不告诉你们我是谁。我是你们的俘虏。带我走。
④啊！啊！齐步走！
⑤她要干什么？
皮埃尔像喝醉了酒。看见他救出的小姑娘，他的情绪更加亢奋。
“Le　qu'elle　dit？”他说。“Elle　m'apporté　ma　fille　que　je　viens　de　sauver　des　flammes，”他最后说，“Adieu！”①连他自己也不明白这句无目的的谎话怎么会冲口而出，于是迈开坚定的洋洋得意的步子走在两行法兵的中间。 
①她要干什么？她抱着我的女儿，我刚从火里把她救出来。别了！
这支法兵巡逻队，是奉迪罗涅尔之命派往莫斯科各街道制止抢劫、特别是捉拿纵火犯的几支巡逻队之一，据法国高级军官当天发表的一致意见，这些人是带来火灾的人。巡查几条街道之后，巡逻队又抓了五名俄国嫌疑犯：一个小店主，两名中学生，一个农夫，一个仆人，还抓了几个抢劫犯。但在这些嫌疑犯中，皮埃尔是最大的嫌疑犯。当他们被带到祖波夫要塞（那里没有拘留所）一间大屋子过夜时，皮埃尔在严格的看管下被单独监禁起来。
Book 12 Chapter 1
IN THE HIGHER CIRCLES in Petersburg the intricate conflict between the parties of Rumyantsev, of the French, of Marya Fyodorovna, of the Tsarevitch, and the rest was going on all this time with more heat than ever, drowned, as always, by the buzzing of the court drones. But the easy, luxurious life of Petersburg, troubled only about phantasms, the reflection of life, went on its old way; and the course of that life made it a difficult task to believe in the danger and the difficult position of the Russian people. There were the same levees and balls, the same French theatre, the same court interests, the same interests and intrigues in the government service. It was only in the very highest circles that efforts were made to recollect the difficulty of the real position. There was whispered gossip of how the two Empresses had acted in opposition to one another in these difficult circumstances. The Empress Marya Fyodorovna, anxious for the welfare of the benevolent and educational institutions under her patronage, had arrangements made for the removal of all the institutes to Kazan, and all the belongings of these establishments were already packed. The Empress Elizaveta Alexyevna on being asked what commands she was graciously pleased to give, had been pleased to reply that in regard to state matters she could give no commands, since that was all in the Tsar's hands; as far as she personally was concerned, she had graciously declared, with her characteristic Russian patriotism, that she would be the last to leave Petersburg.
On the 26th of August, the very day of the battle of Borodino, there was a soirée at Anna Pavlovna's, the chief attraction of which was to be the reading of the Metropolitan's letter, written on the occasion of his sending to the Tsar the holy picture of Saint Sergey. This letter was looked upon as a model of patriotic ecclesiastical eloquence. It was to be read by Prince Vassily himself, who was famed for his fine elocution. (He used even to read aloud in the Empress's drawing-room.) The beauty of his elocution was supposed to lie in the loud, resonant voice, varying between a despairing howl and a tender whine, in which he rolled off the words quite independently of the sense, so that a howl fell on one word and a whine on others quite at random. This reading, as was always the case with Anna Pavlovna's entertainments, had a political significance. She was expecting at this soirée several important personages who were to be made to feel ashamed of patronising the French theatre, and to be roused to patriotic fervour. A good many people had already arrived, but Anna Pavlovna did not yet see those persons whose presence in her drawing-room was necessary, and she was therefore starting general topics of conversation before proceeding to the reading.
The news of the day in Petersburg was the illness of Countess Bezuhov. The countess had been taken ill a few days previously; she had missed several entertainments, of which she was usually the ornament, and it was said that she was seeing no one, and that instead of the celebrated Petersburg physicians, who usually attended her, she had put herself into the hands of some Italian doctor, who was treating her on some new and extraordinary method.
Everybody was very well aware that the charming countess's illness was due to inconveniences arising from marrying two husbands at once, and that the Italian doctor's treatment consisted in the removal of such inconvenience. But in the presence of Anna Pavlovna no one ventured to think about that view of the question, or even, as it were, to know what they did know about it.
“They say the poor countess is very ill. The doctor says it is angina pectoris.”
“Angine? Oh, that's a terrible illness.”
“They say the rivals are reconciled, thanks to the angine…” The word angine was repeated with great relish.
“I am told the old count is touching. He cried like a child when the doctor told him there was danger.”
“Oh, it would be a terrible loss. She is a fascinating woman.”
“You speak of the poor countess,” said Anna Pavlovna, coming up. “I sent to inquire after her. I was told she was getting better. Oh, no doubt of it, she is the most charming woman in the world,” said Anna Pavlovna, with a smile at her own enthusiasm. “We belong to different camps, but that does not prevent me from appreciating her as she deserves. She is very unhappy,” added Anna Pavlovna.
Supposing that by these last words Anna Pavlovna had slightly lifted the veil of mystery that hung over the countess's illness, one unwary young man permitted himself to express surprise that no well-known doctor had been called in, and that the countess should be treated by a charlatan, who might make use of dangerous remedies.
“Your information may be better than mine,” cried Anna Pavlovna, falling upon the inexperienced youth with sudden viciousness, “but I have it on good authority that this doctor is a very learned and skilful man. He is the private physician of the Queen of Spain.”
And having thus annihilated the young man, Anna Pavlovna turned to Bilibin, who was talking in another group about the Austrians, and had his forehead puckered up in wrinkles in readiness to utter un mot.
“I think it is charming!” he was saying of the diplomatic note which had been sent to Vienna with the Austrian flags taken by Wittgenstein, “le héros de Pétropol,” as he was called at Petersburg.
“What? what was it?” Anna Pavlovna inquired, creating a silence for the mot to be heard, though she had in fact heard it before.
And Bilibin repeated the precise words of the diplomatic despatch he had composed.
“The Emperor sends back the Austrian flags,” said Bilibin; “drapeaux amis et égarés qu'il a trouvés hors de la route,” Bilibin concluded, letting the wrinkles run off his forehead.
“Charming, charming!” said Prince Vassily.
“The road to Warsaw, perhaps,” Prince Ippolit said loudly, to the general surprise. Everybody looked at him, at a loss to guess what he meant. Prince Ippolit, too, looked about him with light-hearted wonder. He had no more notion than other people what was meant by his words. In the course of his diplomatic career he had more than once noticed that words suddenly uttered in that way were accepted as highly diverting, and on every occasion he uttered in that way the first words that chanced to come to his tongue. “May be, it will come out all right,” he thought, “and if it doesn't, they will know how to give some turn to it.” And the awkward silence that reigned was in fact broken by the entrance of the personage of defective patriotism whom Anna Pavlovna was waiting for to convert to a better mind; and smiling, and shaking her finger at Prince Ippolit, she summoned Prince Vassily to the table, and setting two candles and a manuscript before him, she begged him to begin. There was a general hush.
“Most high and gracious Emperor and Tsar!” Prince Vassily boomed out sternly, and he looked round at his audience as though to inquire whether any one had anything to say against that. But nobody said anything. “The chief capital city, Moscow, the New Jerusalem, receives her Messiah”—he threw a sudden emphasis on the “her”—“even as a mother in the embraces of her zealous sons, and through the gathering darkness, foreseeing the dazzling glory of thy dominion, sings aloud in triumph: ‘Hosanna! Blessed be He that cometh!”'
Prince Vassily uttered these last words in a tearful voice.
Bilibin scrutinised his nails attentively, and many of the audience were visibly cowed, as though wondering what they had done wrong. Anna Pavlovna murmured the words over beforehand, as old women whisper the prayer to come at communion: “Let the base and insolent Goliath…” she whispered.
Prince Vassily continued:
“Let the base and insolent Goliath from the borders of France encompass the realm of Russia with the horrors of death; lowly faith, the sling of the Russian David, shall smite a swift blow at the head of his pride that thirsteth for blood. This holy image of the most venerable Saint Sergey, of old a zealous champion of our country's welfare, is borne to your imperial majesty. I grieve that my failing strength hinders me from the joy of your most gracious presence. Fervent prayers I am offering up to Heaven, and the Almighty will exalt the faithful and fulfil in His mercy the hopes of your majesty.”
“Quel force! Quel style!” was murmured in applause of the reader and the author. Roused by this appeal, Anna Pavlovna's guests continued for a long while talking of the position of the country, and made various surmises as to the issue of the battle to be fought in a few days.
“You will see,” said Anna Pavlovna, “that to-morrow on the Emperor's birthday we shall get news. I have a presentiment of something good.”
在彼得堡的上层社会各界，鲁缅采夫派、亲法派、玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜派、皇太子派与其他各派，正在开展空前激烈的错综复杂的斗争，同平常一样，宫廷帮闲们的鼓噪淹没了各派人士的纷争。但是安定的、奢侈的、只操心现实中的一些幻影的彼得堡生活，还是老样子，透过这种生活方式，要费很大的劲才能意识到俄国老百姓处境的危险和困难。皇帝出朝、跳舞晚会、法国戏院仍旧像从前一样，人们对宫廷的关注、谋求职位和勾心斗角的现象还是和从前一样。惟有上层社会人士才竭力地使百姓记起目前的困难形势。老百姓窃窃私议，时局是这样困难，而两位皇后①各行其是，相互作梗。玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜皇后只关心她掌管的慈善教育机关的安全，作出将这些机关全部疏散到喀桑的部署。这些机关的物体都已包扎停当。而伊丽莎白·阿列克谢耶夫娜皇后在人们向她请示命令的时候，她用她所固有的俄罗斯爱国精神回答说，她不能给国家机关发布命令，因为这是陛下的国务，至于由她个人决定的私惠，她表示她将是这最后撤离彼得堡的人。 
①玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜是已故沙皇保罗的皇后，而伊丽莎白是在位沙皇亚历山大的皇后。
八月二十六日，即是波罗底诺战役的当天，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜家举办了一次晚会，其中的重头戏要算是朗读主教向陛下敬献圣谢尔吉依神像所附的信，该信被视为爱国的教会辞令的范本。素以朗诵艺术享有盛誉的瓦西里公爵将要朗读这封信（他常给皇后朗诵）。据说，他的朗诵的要诀在于响亮而且动听，用那绝望的哀鸣和温柔的絮语交替地咬字吐音，完全不顾字句的含义，朗诵者时而在一个字句上发出哀鸣，时而在另一个字句上发出怨声。这次朗读，如同安娜·费奥多罗夫娜家所有的晚会一样，具有政治意义。今天的晚会，将有几位显贵出席，他们竟想去法国剧院看戏，应该使他们感到羞愧，并且要鼓舞他们的爱国精神。相当多的人已经到了，但安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在客厅里看到应到的人还没有到齐，因此，暂不进行朗诵，让大家随便聊聊。
彼得堡每日新闻中当天的新闻是别祖霍娃伯爵夫人的病。伯爵夫人几天前意外的生病了，错过了几次因有她出席而生色的聚会，同时听说着，她不接待任何人，并且没有请经常给她诊病的彼得堡的几位知名医生，而是信任某个意大利医生用一种新的不寻常的方法给她诊治。
大家都十分清楚，迷人的伯爵夫人的病，起因于不便同时嫁给两个丈夫，而意大利人的治疗方法就在于消除这种不便；但当着安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的面，不仅谁都不敢这样想，而且好像谁都不知道似的。
“Onditquelapauvrecomtesseesttrèsmal．Lemédecinditquec'estl'anginepectorale．
“L'angine？Oh，c'estunemaladieterrible！
“Onditquelesrivauxsesontreconciliésgraceàl'angine…”①大家饶有兴味地重复着angine这个字。
“Levieuxcomteesttouchantàcequ'ondit．Ilapleurécommeunenfantquandlemédecinluiaditquelecasétaitdangereux．”
“Oh，ceseraituneperteterrible．C'estunefemmeravissante．”
“Vousparlezdelapauvrecomtesse，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜走过来说，“J'aienvoyésavoirdesesnouvelles．Onm'aditqu'elleallaitunpeumieux．Oh，sansdoute，c'estlapluscharmantefemmedumonde．”②她对自己的兴奋莞尔一笑地说。“Nousappartenonsàdescampsdifférents，maiscelanem'empêchepasdel'éstimer，commeellelemérite．Elleestbienmalheureuse．”③安娜·帕夫洛夫娜又补了一句。 
①听说，可怜的伯爵夫人病情严重。大夫说，这是心绞病。心绞痛？呵，好可怕的病！听说两个冤家对头和解了，因为心绞痛……
②听说老伯爵很悲痛。当大夫说病情危险时，他像孩子似地哭了。　呵，这将是一大损失。这么迷人的女人。　你们在谈可怜的伯爵夫人吗？我已派人去问候过了。他们说她好点了。呵，　毫无疑问，这是世界上最迷人的女人。
③我们属于不同的阵营，但这不妨碍我对她表示应有的的尊敬。她是多么不幸。
一个冒失的年轻人，以为安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说这番话，意在揭开罩住伯爵夫人病情的神秘内幕，便不经意地对不请著名的医生，而由一位可能用危险药物医治伯爵夫人的江湖郎中表示惊讶。
“Vosinformationspeuventêtremeilleuresqueles
mienues．”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜突然恶狠狠地攻击那个不懂事的年轻人。“Maisjesaisdebonnesourcequecemédecinestunhommetrèssavantettrèshabile．C'estlemédecininBtimedelareined'Espagne．”②安娜·帕夫洛夫娜就这样击败了年轻人，转身朝比利宾走去。这人正在另一个圈子里谈论奥地利人，他皱起面部的皮肤，显然随时准备把它松开，说出unmot”（一句俏皮话）。
“Jetrouvequec'estcharmant！”③他在谈一份外交文件，该文件连同被维特根施泰因，lehérosdePétropol④（彼得堡的人们这样称呼他），缴获的奥国旗帜一道送往维也纳。
“怎么，怎么回事？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜问他好使大家静听她已知道的mot。
于是，比利宾复述了一遍由他起草的那份外交文件的原文：
“L'empereurrenovielesdrapeauxAutrichiens，”比利宾说，“drapeauxamisetégarésqu'ilatrouvéhorsdelaroute．”⑤比利宾放松面部的皮肤，把话说完。
“Charmant，charmant．”⑥瓦西里公爵说。 
①您的消息可能比我的准确。
②但我从可靠来源得知，这位医生博学多才。他是西班牙王后的御医呢。
③我发觉这太妙了！
④彼得堡的英雄。
⑤皇帝奉还奥国旗帜，这些友好的误入歧途的旗帜，他是在正路之外发现的。（意在讽刺奥与俄结盟不久，又与拿破仑一道进攻俄国。）
⑥妙极了，妙极了。
“C'estlaroutedeVarsoviepeut－être．”①伊波利特公爵大声地让人感到意外地说。大家都把目光转向他，不明白他这句话的用意。伊波利特公爵也带着开心的惊讶把目光投向四周。他也像其他人一样闹不清楚他说这句话的涵义。在他任职外交界时期，他不止一次注意到，以这种方式突然说出的话显得很机智，他一有机会便把首先涌上舌尖的话说出来。“可能，效果会很好，”他想，“要是没有效果呢，他们会弄不好的。”果然，就在尴尬的沉默气氛弥漫开来的时候，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜等待他来演讲的那个不够爱国的人物进来了，于是，她微笑着伸出指头威胁了伊波利特一下，然后邀请瓦西里公爵走到桌子旁边就座，递给他两支蜡烛和一份手稿，请他开始念。全场肃静。 
①这是华沙大道，有可能。
“最仁慈的皇帝陛下！”瓦西里公爵严肃地开了头，环顾一下听众，好像询问有没有人要对此表示反对，但无人说话。
“最早成为国都的莫斯科城，新耶路撒冷，迎接自己的基督，”他突然把重音读在自己的字眼上，“像母亲张开的双臂接纳热忱的儿子，并透过迷雾，预见你邦国的光辉荣耀，他欢唱：‘和撒纳'，后代幸福啊！”瓦西里公爵用哭腔朗诵这段的最后这句话。
比利宾仔细观察自己的指甲，好多人都露出一付担惊受怕的样子，似乎在询问他们有何过错。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜像老太婆念祷词似地预见轻轻地重复：“让那胆大蛮横的歌利亚……”她低声地说完了这些话。
瓦西里公爵继续读下去：
“让那胆大蛮横的歌利亚从法国把死神的恐怖洒向全俄罗斯吧，忠顺的信仰，俄国大卫①的弹弓，即将突然击穿那嗜血狂妄者的脑袋。谨将这尊圣谢尔吉依——古代我国福祉的捍卫者的圣像，献给吾皇陛下。我痛心疾首，衰弱的体力使我不能面觐至为仁爱的圣颜。我向上天热忱祷告，求全能的主降福于正义的民族，仁慈地实现陛下的愿望。”
“Quelleforce！Quelstyle！”②朗读者和撰写者都受到了赞扬。
聆听完毕而受到鼓舞的安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的客人们，又谈了很久祖国的情势，并且对最近几天内战斗将要出现的结果作了各种推测。
“Vousverrez，”③安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说，“明天，在陛下的诞辰，我们会得到消息的。我有吉祥的预感。” 
①迦特人歌利亚，非利士人的战士，被大卫用弹弓打死。见《旧约·撒母耳记》第十七章。
②多么有力！多好的文体！
③你们会看到。
Book 12 Chapter 2
ANNA PAVLOVNA'S PRESENTIMENT was in fact fulfilled. Next day, during the special service at court in honour of the Tsar's birthday, Prince Volkonsky was called out of church and received a despatch from Prince Kutuzov. This was the despatch Kutuzov had sent off on the day of the battle from Tatarinovo. Kutuzov wrote that the Russians had not retreated a single step, that the French had lost far more than our troops, that he was writing off in haste from the field of battle before he had time to collect the latest intelligence. So it had been a victory, it appeared. And at once, without leaving church, the assembled court offered up thanks to the Creator for His succour, and for the victory.
Anna Pavlovna's presentiment had been fulfilled, and the whole morning a mood of joyous festivity prevailed in the town. Every one accepted the victory as a conclusive one, and some people were already beginning to talk of Napoleon's having been taken prisoner, of his disposition, and the selection of a new sovereign for France
At a distance from the scene of action and amid the conditions of court life, it is very difficult for events to be reflected in their true force and dimensions. Public events are involuntarily grouped about some private incident. So in this case, the courtiers' rejoicing was as much due to the fact of the news of this victory having arrived precisely on the Tsar's birthday as to the fact of the victory itself. It was like a successfully arranged surprise. Kutuzov's despatches had spoken, too, of the Russian losses, and among them had mentioned the names of Tutchkov, Bagration, and Kutaissov. The melancholy side, too, of the event was unconsciously in this Petersburg world concentrated about a single incident—the death of Kutaissov. Every one knew him, the Tsar liked him, he was young and interesting. All met that day with the words:
“How wonderful it should have happened so! Just in the Te Deum. But what a loss—Kutaissov! Ah, what a pity!”
“What did I tell you about Kutuzov?” Prince Vassily said now with the pride of a prophet. “I always said he was the only man capable of conquering Napoleon.”
But next day no news came from the army, and the public voice began to waver. The courtiers suffered agonies over the agonies of suspense which the Tsar was suffering.
“Think of the Emperor's position!” the courtiers said; and they no longer sang the praises of Kutuzov as two days before, but upbraided him as the cause of the Tsar's uneasiness that day. Prince Vassily no longer boasted of his protégé Kutuzov, but was mute when the commander-in-chief was the subject of conversation. Moreover, on the evening of that day everything seemed to conspire to throw the Peters-burg world into agitation and uneasiness: a terrible piece of news came to add to their alarms. Countess Elena Bezuhov died quite suddenly of the terrible illness which had been so amusing to talk about. At larger gatherings every one repeated the official story that Countess Bezuhov had died of a terrible attack of angina pectoris, but in intimate circles people told in detail how the Queen of Spain's own medical attendant had prescribed to Ellen small doses of a certain drug to bring about certain desired results; but that Ellen, tortured by the old count's suspecting her, and by her husband's not having answered her letter (that unfortunate, dissipated Pierre), had suddenly taken an enormous dose of the drug prescribed, and had died in agonies before assistance could be given. The story ran that Prince Vassily and the old count had been going to take proceedings against the Italian; but the latter had produced notes in his possession from the unhappy deceased of such a character that they had promptly let him go.
Conversation centred round three melancholy facts—the Tsar's state of suspense, the loss of Kutaissov, and the death of Ellen.
On the third day after Kutuzov's despatch, a country gentleman arrived in Petersburg from Moscow, and the news of the surrender of Moscow to the French was all over the town. This was awful! Think of the position of the Emperor! Kutuzov was a traitor, and during the “visits of condolence” paid to Prince Vassily on the occasion of his daughter's death, when he spoke of Kutuzov, whose praises he had once sung so loudly—it was pardonable in his grief to forget what he had said before—he said that nothing else was to be expected from a blind and dissolute old man.
“I only wonder how such a man could possibly be trusted with the fate of Russia.”
So long as the news was not official, it was still possible to doubt its truth; but next day the following communication arrived from Count Rastoptchin:
“Prince Kutuzov's adjutant has brought me a letter in which he asks me to furnish police-officers to escort the army to the Ryazan road. He says that he is regretfully abandoning Moscow. Sire! Kutuzov's action decides the fate of that capital and of your empire. Russia will shudder to learn of the abandonment of the city, where the greatness of Russia is centred, where are the ashes of our forefathers. I am following the army. I have had everything carried away; all that is left me is to weep over the fate of my country.”
On receiving this communication, the Tsar sent Prince Volkonsky with the following rescript to Kutuzov:
“Prince Mihail Ilarionovitch! I have received no communication from you since the 29th of August. Meanwhile I have received, by way of Yaroslavl, from the governor of Moscow the melancholy intelligence that you have decided with the army to abandon Moscow. You can imagine the effect this news has had upon me, and your silence redoubles my astonishment. I am sending herewith Staff-General Prince Volkonsky, to ascertain from you the position of the army and of the causes that have led you to so melancholy a decision.”
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的预感的确证实了。次日，在宫中为皇帝祝寿而举行祈祷仪式的过程中，沃尔孔斯基公爵被叫出教堂，收到库图佐夫公爵的一封信。这是库图佐夫在战斗的当天以塔塔里诺沃送来的快报。库图佐夫写道，俄军一步也未后退，法军损失大大超过我方，这是他在战地仓卒呈报的，还未来得及汇总最后的情报。看来，这是一场胜利之战。于是，即时即地，就在教堂，为了造物主的帮助，也为了这次胜利，对造物主表示了感谢。 
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的预感证实了，因而，城里边整个上午都流露着欢乐的节日的情绪。大家都认为这是一次胜利，一些人已在议论俘获拿破仑本人，谈话废黜他和为法军择立新主之事。
远离战场，而且又在宫廷生活的环境中，是很难作到使事件的全部真相和影响力都反映出来的。一般事件围绕某一个别情事不知不觉地相继发生，现在正是这样，大快朝臣之心的事，既在于我们赢得胜利，亦在于胜利的消息正与皇上寿辰巧合。这是绝妙的一桩意外喜事。库图佐夫的报告也谈了俄军的损失，其中列举出图奇科夫、巴格拉季翁、库泰索夫等人。这种悲惨的事件围绕着库泰索夫阵亡一事，在彼得堡这个地区也不知不觉地发生了。大家都认识他，陛下宠爱他，他又年轻又有趣。这一天，大家见面时都说：
“多么叫人吃惊。正碰上祈祷。库泰索夫的损失太大了！
唉，多么遗憾！”
“我对你们说过库图佐夫吗？”瓦西里公爵现在以预言家的骄傲神情说。“我从来都说，只有他才能战胜拿破仑。”
但是，第二天没得到军队的消息，大家的语声都显得不安起来。朝臣们苦恼的是皇上得不到消息，因而感到难受。
“皇上的情况会怎样啊！”朝臣们说，而且不再像两天前那样赞扬库图佐夫，他们谴责他成了皇上不安之源。瓦西里公爵在这天已不再称赞他所protège（赏识的）库图佐夫，而当人们谈起总司令时，只保持沉默。不仅如此，当天傍晚，仿佛有意要使彼得堡居民惊慌不安似的，事情都凑到一块儿了：又有一条可怕的消息来赶热闹。海伦·别祖霍娃伯爵夫人突然死于人们曾经那么饶有兴趣地谈论过的可怕的病症。在稠人广众的交际场所，大家都一本正经地说别祖霍娃伯爵夫人死于anginepectorole（可怕的心绞痛）发作，但在亲密的圈子里，人们却详尽地谈到lemédecinintimedelareined'EsBpagne（那个西班牙皇后的私人医生），说他给海伦开了剂量不大作用不详的某种药物；但是海伦受到老伯爵猜疑，她丈夫（那个倒霉的浪荡的皮埃尔）不给她回信，因此十分痛苦，她忽然大剂量地服用了开给她的那种药，在人们起来抢救之前便痛苦地死去了。他们说，瓦西里公爵和老伯爵本想追究那个意大利人，但是意大利人拿出几封不幸的死者的手札，他们当即放过了他。
众人的谈话集中在三大令人悲哀的事情上：皇上不明战况，库泰索夫阵亡和海伦之死。
在收到库图佐夫报告的第三天，莫斯科一位乡绅抵达彼得堡，于是，全城传遍了莫斯科拱手让给法国人的消息。这太可怕了！皇上的处境会怎么样啊！库图佐夫是叛徒，而瓦西里公爵在接受宾客对他女儿亡故进行的visitesde condoléance（吊问）时，讲起先前受他赞扬的库图佐夫（应该原谅他在悲痛中忘掉了他先前说过的话）时说，不可能向一个瞎眼浪荡的老头子指望别的什么。
“我只有感到吃惊，怎么可以把俄国的命运交给这样一个人。”
当这消息仍属非官方正式消息时，还可以对它存疑，但在下一天，送来了拉斯托普钦伯爵的如下报告：
“库图佐夫公爵的副官给我带来一封信，他在信中要求我派警官把军队引领到梁赞大路。他声称他遗憾地放弃了莫斯科。陛下！库图佐夫的行动决定了古都和您的帝国的命运。一旦听到俄国伟大事物集中之地、您的先人遗骨埋葬之地——那座城市失守，俄国定将为之战栗。我去追随军队。我已运走一切，我唯有恸哭我祖国的命运。”
收到这封急报，皇上派沃尔孔斯基公爵将下列诏书带交库图佐夫：
“米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇公爵！从八月二十九日起，我就不曾接到您的任何报告。但在九月一日，我收到莫斯科总督自雅罗斯拉夫尔送来一则可悲的讯息，说您已决定率领军队放弃莫斯科。您自己可以想象这一消息对我产生怎样的影响，而您的沉默加深了我们惊愕。我派侍从将军沃尔孔斯基公爵送去此份诏书，向您听取军队的情况和促使您采取如此可悲决定的理由。”
Book 12 Chapter 3
NINE DAYS after the abandonment of Moscow, a courier from Kutuzov reached Petersburg with the official news of the surrender of Moscow. This courier was a Frenchman, Michaud, who did not know Russian, yet was, “though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul,” as he used to say of himself.
The Tsar at once received the messenger in his study in the palace of Kamenny island. Michaud, who had never seen Moscow before the campaign, and did not know a word of Russian, yet felt deeply moved when he came before “notre très gracieux souverain” (as he wrote) with the news of the burning of Moscow, whose flames illumined his route.
Though the source of M. Michaud's sorrow must indeed have been different from that to which the grief of Russian people was due, Michaud had such a melancholy face when he was shown into the Tsar's study that the Tsar asked him at once:
“Do you bring me sad news, colonel?”
“Very sad, sire, the surrender of Moscow,” answered Michaud, casting his eyes down with a sigh.
“Can they have surrendered my ancient capital without a battle?” the Tsar asked quickly, suddenly flushing.
Michaud respectfully gave the message he had been commanded to give from Kutuzov, that is, that there was no possibility of fighting before Moscow, and that seeing there was no chance but either to lose the army and Moscow or to lose Moscow alone, the commander-in-chief had been obliged to choose the latter.
The Tsar listened without a word, not looking at Michaud.
“Has the enemy entered the city?” he asked.
“Yes, sire, and by now the city is in ashes. I left it all in flames,” said Michaud resolutely; but glancing at the Tsar, Michaud was horrified at what he had done. The Tsar was breathing hard and rapidly, his lower lip was twitching, and his fine blue eyes were for a moment wet with tears.
But that lasted only a moment. The Tsar suddenly frowned, as though vexed with himself for his own weakness; and raising his head, he addressed Michaud in a firm voice:
“I see, colonel, from all that is happening to us that Providence requires great sacrifices of us. I am ready to submit to His will in everything; but tell me, Michaud, how did you leave the army, seeing my ancient capital thus abandoned without striking a blow? Did you not perceive discouragement?”
Seeing that his most gracious sovereign had regained his composure, Michaud too regained his; but to the Tsar's direct question of a matter of fact which called for a direct answer, he had not yet an answer ready. “Sire, will you permit me to speak frankly, as a loyal soldier?” he said, to gain time.
“Colonel, I always expect it,” said the Tsar. “Hide nothing from me; I want to know absolutely how it is.”
“Sire!” said Michaud, with a delicate, scarcely perceptible smile on his lips, as he had now had time to prepare his answer in the form of a light and respectful play of words. “Sire! I left the whole army, from the commanders to the lowest soldier without exception, in extreme, in desperate terror.”
“How so?” the Tsar interrupted, frowning sternly. “My Russians let themselves be cast down by misfortune?…Never…”
This was just what Michaud was waiting for to get in his phrases.
“Sire,” he said, with a respectful playfulness of expression, “they fear only that your majesty through goodness of heart may let yourself be persuaded to make peace. They burn to fight,” said the plenipotentiary of the Russian people, “and to prove to your majesty by the sacrifice of their lives how devoted they are…”
“Ah!” said the Tsar, reassured, slapping Michaud on the shoulder, with a friendly light in his eyes. “You tranquillise me, colonel…”
The Tsar looked down, and for some time he was silent. “Well, go back to the army,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height and with a genial and majestic gesture addressing Michaud, “and tell our brave fellows, tell all my good subjects wherever you go, that when I have not a soldier left, I will put myself at the head of my dear nobility, of my good peasants, and so use the last resources of my empire. It offers me still more than my enemies suppose,” said the Tsar, more and more stirred. “But if it should be written in the decrees of divine Providence,” he said, and his fine, mild eyes, shining with emotion, were raised towards heaven, “that my dynasty should cease to reign on the throne of my ancestors, then after exhausting every means in my power, I would let my beard grow to here” (the Tsar put his hand halfway down his breast), “and go and eat potatoes with the meanest of my peasants rather than sign the shame of my country and my dear people, whose sacrifice I know how to appreciate.” Uttering these words in a voice of much feeling, the Tsar turned quickly away, as though wishing to conceal from Michaud the tears that were starting into his eyes, and he walked to the further end of his study. After standing there some instants, he strode back to Michaud, and with a vigorous action squeezed his arm below the elbow. The Tsar's fine, mild face was flushed, and his eyes gleamed with energy and anger. “Colonel Michaud, do not forget what I say to you here; perhaps one day we shall recall it with pleasure.…Napoleon or me,” he said, touching his breast, “we can no longer reign together. I have learned to know him. He will not deceive me again…” And the Tsar paused, frowning. Hearing these words, seeing the look of firm determination in the Tsar's eyes, Michaud, though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul, felt (as he used to recount later) at that solemn moment moved to enthusiasm by what he had just heard; and in the following phrase he sought to give expression to his own feelings and those of the Russian people, whose representative he considered himself to be.
“Sire!” he said, “your majesty is signing at this moment the glory of the nation and the salvation of Europe!”
With a motion of his head the Tsar dismissed Michaud.
放弃莫斯科九天之后，库图佐夫派出的信使携带放弃莫斯科的正式报告来到彼得堡。信使是法国人米绍，不懂俄语，但他quoiqueétranger，Russedecoeuretd'ame（虽是外国人，心灵深处却是俄国人），他是这样评说自己的。 
皇上立刻在石岛皇宫中的书斋接见了信使。米绍在战事发生之前从未亲眼看到莫斯科，也不懂俄语，在他带着莫斯科大火的消息，dontlesflammesèclairaientsaroute（火光照亮了他的旅途），觐见notretrèsgracieuxsouverain（我们最仁慈的君主）时，——如他所描述——，他自己仍然十分感动。
虽然米绍先生的chagrin（悲伤）与俄国人的悲伤本来不是出于同一的根源，但当他被引进皇上的书斋时，他带着一付悲戚的面容，皇上立即向他发问：
“M'apportezvousdetristesnouvelles，colonel？“Bientristes，sire，”米绍回答，叹着气垂下眼睛，“l'aban－dondeMoscou．”
“Auraitonlivrémnoanciennecapitalesanssebattre？”①皇上勃然大怒，话说得很快。
米绍恭敬地禀报了库图佐夫的命令他转达的内容，即：在莫斯科城下作战是不可能的，因为二者必择其一，或则损失军队又损失莫斯科，或则只损失莫斯科，陆军元帅应该选择后者。
皇上两眼不看米绍，默默地听完他的禀报。
“L'ennemiest—ilenville？”皇上问道。
“Oui，sire，etelleestencendresàl'heurequ'ilest．Jel'ailaisséetoutenflammes．”②米绍果断地说；但他朝皇上看了一眼之后，为他自己的举措吓坏了。皇上开始急促而沉重的呼吸，他的下嘴唇在抖动，美丽的蓝眼睛顿时被泪水湿润了。 
①“您带给我怎样的消息？坏消息吗？上校？”　“很坏的消息呢，陛下，放弃了莫斯科。”　“难道是不战而让出我的古都？”
②“敌人进城了吗？”　“是的，陛下，此刻莫斯科已化为灰烬。我离开它时，大火舌噬着它。”
但这只持续了一分钟。皇上突然皱紧眉头，仿佛责备自己的懦弱。他抬起头来用坚定的语气对米绍说：
“Jevois，colonel，partoutcequinousarrive，”他说，“quelaprovidenceexigedegrandssacrificesdenous……Jesuisprêtmesoumettreàtoutessesvolontés；maisditesmoi，Mich－aud，commentavez—vouslaissél'armée，envoyantainsi，sanscoupférir，abandonnermonanciennecapitale？
N'avezvouspasapercudude'couragement？…”①
米绍看到自己的trèsgracieuxsouverain（最仁慈的君主）平静下来，他也平静下来，但是并未准备好即刻回答皇上要求他正面回答的实质性问题。
“Sire，mepermettrez—vousdevousparlerfranchementenloyalmilitaire？”他为了赢得时间才这样说。
“Colonel，jel'exigetoujours．”②皇上说，“Nemecachezrien，jeveuxsavoirabsolumentcequ'ilenest．”③“Sire！”米绍嘴角上露出含蓄的几乎不易察觉的微笑说，终于准备好一句轻松的恭敬的jeudemots（俏皮话）来回答他。“Sire！J'ailaissétoutel'arméedepuisleschefsjusqu'auderniersoldat，sansexception，dansunecrainteépouvantable，effrayante…”④
“Commentca？”⑤皇上威严地皱起眉头，打断他的话。 
①上校，我从所发生的一切看出，上帝要我们付出重大牺牲……我准备服从他的意旨；但请告诉我，米绍，军队既不战而退出我的古都，那现在军队的情形又怎样呢？您有没有注意到士气的低落？……
②陛下，您允许我照一个忠实军人的本份那样坦白地说话吗？　上校，我一贯这样要求。
③什么也别隐瞒，我一定要知道全部真相。
④陛下，我离开队伍时，从各长官到每一士兵，毫不例处地都陷入深深的绝望的恐怖中……
⑤怎么会那样？
“MesRusseselaisseront—ilsabattreparlemalheur…Jamais！…①米绍专等这个机会来插进他的俏皮话。
“Sire，”他带着恭敬而快活的神态说，“ilscraignentseule－mentquevotreMajestéparbontédecoeurneselaissepersuaderdefairelapaix．Ilsbrùlentdecombattre，”这位俄国人民的全权代表说，“etdeprouveràvotreMajestéparlesacrificedeleurvie，combienilsluisontdevoués……”②“Ah！”皇上大感安慰，他眼里闪着柔和的光芒，拍拍米绍的肩膀说。“Vousmetronquillisez，colonel．”③
皇上低下头，沉默了片刻。
“Ehbien，retournezál'armée．”④他伸直整个身子，打着温和而尊严的手势对米绍说。“etditesànosbraves，ditesátousmesbonssujetspartoutoùvouspasserez，quequandjen'auraisplusaucunsoldat，jememettrai，moi—même，àlatêtedemachèrenoblesse，demesbonspaysansetj'useraiainsijusqu'àladernièreressourcedemonempire．Ilm'enoffreencoreplusquemesennemisnepensent，”⑤皇上越来越兴奋地说。“Maissijamaisilfutécritdanslesdécretsdeladivineprovidence，”⑥他抬起他那俊秀的温和的闪烁着激情的光辉的眼睛望着天空说道，“quemadynastiedutcesserderégnersurletronedemesancêtres，alors，aprèsavoirépuisétouslesmoyensquisontenmonpouvoir，jemelaisseraicroitrelabarbejusqu'ici（皇上用手在胸口比了比），etj'iraimangerdespommesdeterreavecledernierdemespaysansplulot，quedesignerlahontedemapatrieetdemachèrenation，dontjesaisapprécierlessacrifices！…”⑦皇上用激动的嗓音说完这些话后突然转过身去，像是要米绍看不见他那涌出眼眶的泪水，朝书斋深处走去。在那里停了几秒钟后，他大步走回米绍身旁，用有力的动作按住他的下臂。皇上那张俊秀的和霭的脸涨得通红、眼里射出意志坚定的愤怒的光芒。 
①难道我的俄国人会在失败面前灰心丧气……绝不可能！……
②陛下，他们只怕陛下凭一片善心与敌方缔结和约呢。他们急于重新投入战斗用牺牲他们的性命来对陛下表明他们是多么忠诚……
③噢，您使我放下心了，上校。
④那末好啦，回军队去吧。
⑤在您所到之外，请告诉我们的勇士，告诉我的全体臣民，如果到了我连一个战士也不剩下的地步，我将亲自率领可爱的贵族和善良的农夫，不惜用尽我国的最后资源投入战斗。这些资源比我的敌人所想象的还要多。
⑥但是，万一天意注定。
⑦我这一朝将中止在我祖先的宝座上继续执政，那末，在用尽我手中的资源以后，我宁愿让我的胡子长到这里（皇帝用手在胸口比了比），去同我的农民一道吃同样的土豆，也绝不签署有辱我的祖国和我亲爱的人民的和约，我知道如何珍惜他们的牺牲！
“ColonelMichaud，n'oubliezpascequejevousdisici；peut－êtrequ'unjournousnouslerappelleronsavecplaisir…Napolêonoumoi，”皇帝用手按着胸口说。“NousnepouBvonsplusrégnerensemble．J'aiapprisáleconnaitre，ilnemetromperaplus…”①于是，皇上皱起眉头沉默下来。米绍听到这番话，看到皇上眼里流露的坚定的表情，他虽是外国人，但心里深处是俄国人，感到自己在这庄严的时刻entousiasmépartoutcequ'ilvenaitd'entender，”②（如他后来所说），他用以下一句话来表达自己的感情，即是俄国人民的感情，他认为他是俄国人民的全权代表。 
①米绍上校，别忘了我在这里说的话；也许，将来我们会愉快地回忆起这些话……有拿破仑就没有我……我们两人不能同时执政。我现在认清他了，而他再也骗不了我啦……
②被听到的一切激起一阵狂喜，对此极为赞赏。
“Sire，”他说，“votreMajestésignedanscemonentlagloiredesanationtelesalutdeI'Europe！”
皇上御头一偏，让米绍走了。
Book 12 Chapter 4
WHILE HALF of Russia was conquered, and the inhabitants of Moscow were fleeing to remote provinces, and one levy of militia after another was being raised for the defence of the country, we, not living at the time, cannot help imagining that all the people in Russia, great and small alike, were engaged in doing nothing else but making sacrifices, saving their country, or weeping over its downfall. The tales and descriptions of that period without exception tell us of nothing but the self-sacrifice, the patriotism, the despair, the grief, and the heroism of the Russians. In reality, it was not at all like that. It seems so to us, because we see out of the past only the general historical interest of that period, and we do not see all the personal human interests of the men of that time. And yet in reality these personal interests of the immediate present are of so much greater importance than public interests, that they prevent the public interest from ever being felt—from being noticed at all, indeed. The majority of the people of that period took no heed of the general progress of public affairs, and were only influenced by their immediate personal interests. And those very people played the most useful part in the work of the time.
Those who were striving to grasp the general course of events, and trying by self-sacrifice and heroism to take a hand in it, were the most useless members of society; they saw everything upside down, and all that they did with the best intentions turned out to be useless folly, like Pierre's regiment, and Mamonov's, that spent their time pillaging the Russian villages, like the lint scraped by the ladies, that never reached the wounded, and so on. Even those who, being fond of talking on intellectual subjects and expressing their feelings, discussed the position of Russia, unconsciously imported into their talk a shade of hypocrisy or falsity or else of useless fault-finding and bitterness against persons, whom they blamed for what could be nobody's fault.
In historical events we see more plainly than ever the law that forbids us to taste of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. It is only unselfconscious activity that bears fruit, and the man who plays a part in an historical drama never understands its significance. If he strives to comprehend it, he is stricken with barrenness
The significance of the drama taking place in Russia at that time was the less easy to grasp, the closer the share a man was taking in it. In Petersburg, and in the provinces remote from Moscow, ladies and gentlemen in volunteer uniforms bewailed the fate of Russia and the ancient capital, and talked of self-sacrifice, and so on. But in the army, which had retreated behind Moscow, men scarcely talked or thought at all about Moscow, and, gazing at the burning city, no one swore to be avenged on the French, but every one was thinking of the next quarter's pay due to him, of the next halting-place, of Matryoshka the canteen-woman, and so on.
Nikolay Rostov, without any idea of self-sacrifice, simply because the war had happened to break out before he left the service, took an immediate and continuous part in the defence of his country, and consequently he looked upon what was happening in Russia without despair or gloomy prognostications. If he had been asked what he thought of the present position of Russia, he would have said that it was not his business to think about it, that that was what Kutuzov and the rest of them were for, but that he had heard that the regiments were being filled up to their full complements, and that they must therefore be going to fight for a good time longer, and that under the present circumstances he might pretty easily obtain the command of a regiment within a couple of years.
Since this was his point of view, it was with no regret at taking no part in the approaching battle, but with the greatest satisfaction—which he did not conceal, and his comrades fully understood—that he received the news of his appointment to go to Voronezh to purchase remounts for his division.
A few days before the battle of Borodino, Nikolay received the sums of money and official warrants required, and, sending some hussars on before him, he drove with posting-horses to Voronezh.
Only one who has had the same experience—that is, has spent several months continuously in the atmosphere of an army in the field—can imagine the delight Nikolay felt when he got out of the region overspread by the troops with their foraging parties, trains of provisions, and hospitals; when he saw no more soldiers, army waggons, and filthy traces of the camp, but villages of peasants and peasant women, gentlemen's country houses, fields with grazing oxen, and station-houses and sleepy overseers, he rejoiced as though he were seeing it all for the first time. What in particular remained for a long while a wonder and a joy to him was the sight of women, young and healthy, without dozens of officers hanging about every one of them; and women, too, who were pleased and flattered at an officer's cracking jokes with them.
In the happiest frame of mind, Nikolay reached the hotel at Voronezh at night, ordered everything of which he had so long been deprived in the army, and next day, after shaving with special care and putting on the full-dress uniform he had not worn for so long past, he drove off to present himself to the authorities.
The commander of the militia of the district was a civilian general, an old gentleman, who evidently found amusement in his military duties and rank. He gave Nikolay a brusque reception (supposing that this was the military manner), and cross-examining him with an important air, as though he had a right to do so, he expressed his approval and disapproval, as though called upon to give his verdict on the management of the war. Nikolay was in such high spirits that this only amused him.
From the commander of militia, he went to the governor's. The governor was a brisk little man, very affable and unpretentious. He mentioned to Nikolay the stud-farms, where he might obtain horses, recommended him to a horse-dealer in the town, and a gentleman living twenty versts from the town, who had the best horses, and promised him every assistance.
“You are Count Ilya Andreitch's son? My wife was a great friend of your mamma's. We receive on Thursdays: to-day is Thursday, pray come in, quite without ceremony,” said the governor, as he took leave of him.
Nikolay took a posting carriage, and making his quartermaster get in beside him, galloped straight off from the governor's to the gentleman with the stud of fine horses twenty versts away.
During the early days of his stay in Voronezh, everything seemed easy and pleasant to Nikolay, and, as is always the case, when a man is himself in a happy frame of mind, everything went well and prospered with him.
The country gentleman turned out to be an old cavalry officer, a bachelor, a great horse-fancier, a sportsman, and the owner of a smoking-room, of hundred-year-old herb-brandy, of some old Hungarian wine, and of superb horses.
In a couple of words, Nikolay had bought for six thousand roubles seventeen stallions, all perfect examples of their several breeds (as he said), as show specimens of his remounts. After dining and drinking a glass or so too much of the Hungarian wine, Rostov, exchanging kisses with the country gentleman, with whom he was already on the friendliest terms, galloped back over the most atrociously bad road in the happiest frame of mind, continually urging the driver on, so that he might be in time for the soirée at the governor's.
After dressing, scenting himself, and douching his head with cold water, Nikolay made his appearance at the governor's, a little late, but with the phrase, “Better late than never,” ready on the tip of his tongue.
It was not a ball, and nothing had been said about dancing; but every one knew that Katerina Petrovna would play waltzes and écossaises on the clavichord, and that there would be dancing, and every one reckoning on it, had come dressed for a ball.
Provincial life in the year 1812 went on exactly the same as always, the only difference being that the provincial towns were livelier owing to the presence of many wealthy families from Moscow, that, as in everything going on at that time in Russia, there was perceptible in the gaiety a certain devil-may-care, desperate recklessness, and also that the small talk indispensable between people was now not about the weather and common acquaintances, but about Moscow and the army and Napoleon.
The gathering at the governor's consisted of the best society in Voronezh.
There were a great many ladies, among them several Moscow acquaintances of Nikolay's; but among the men there was no one who could be compared with the cavalier of St. George, the gallant hussar, the good-natured, well-bred Count Rostov. Among the men there was an Italian prisoner—an officer of the French army; and Nikolay felt that the presence of this prisoner gave an added lustre to him—the Russian hero. He was, as it were, a trophy of victory. Nikolay felt this, and it seemed to him as though every one looked at the Italian in the same light, and he treated the foreign officer with gracious dignity and reserve.
As soon as Nikolay came in in his full-dress uniform of an officer of hussars, diffusing a fragrance of scent and wine about him, and said himself and heard several times said to him, the words, “Better late than never,” people clustered round him. All eyes were turned on him, and he felt at once that he had stepped into a position that just suited him in a provincial town—a position always agreeable, but now after his long privation of such gratifications, intoxicatingly delightful—that of a universal favourite. Not only at the posting-stations, at the taverns, and in the smoking-room of the horse-breeding gentleman, had he found servant-girls flattered by his attention, but here, at the governor's assembly, there were (so it seemed to Nikolay) an inexhaustible multitude of young married ladies and pretty girls, who were only waiting with impatience for him to notice them. The ladies and the young girls flirted with him, and the old people began even from this first evening bestirring themselves to try and get this gallant young rake of an hussar married and settled down. Among the latter was the governor's wife herself, who received Rostov as though he were a near kinsman, and called him “Nikolay.”
Katerina Petrovna did in fact proceed to play waltzes and écossaises, and dancing began, in which Nikolay fascinated the company more than ever by his elegance. He surprised every one indeed by his peculiarly free and easy style in dancing. Nikolay was a little surprised himself at his own style of dancing at that soirée. He had never danced in that manner at Moscow, and would indeed have regarded such an extremely free and easy manner of dancing as not correct, as bad style; but here he felt it incumbent on him to astonish them all by something extraordinary, something that they would be sure to take for the usual thing in the capital, though new to them in the provinces.
All the evening Nikolay paid the most marked attention to a blue-eyed, plump, and pleasing little blonde, the wife of one of the provincial officials. With the na?ve conviction of young men who are enjoying themselves, that other men's wives are created for their special benefit, Rostov never left this lady's side, and treated her husband in a friendly way, almost as though there were a private understanding between them, as though they knew without speaking of it how capitally they, that is, how Nikolay and the wife, would get on. The husband did not, however, appear to share this conviction, and tried to take a gloomy tone with Rostov. But Nikolay's good-humoured na?veté was so limitless that at times the husband could not help being drawn into his gay humour. Towards the end of the evening, however, as the wife's face grew more flushed and animated, the husband's grew steadily more melancholy and stolid, as though they had a given allowance of liveliness between them, and as the wife's increased, the husband's dwindled.
在俄国一半国土被占领，莫斯科居民逃往边远省份，各地民团相继起来保卫祖国的时候，我们这些并非生长于那一时代的人们，会自然而然地设想，全体俄国民众，从大人到小孩，都一心想牺牲自己、拯救祖国、或痛哭祖国的沦陷。关于那一时代的故事和记载莫能例外地只讲讲牺牲精神，爱国热情，失望，痛苦，和英勇行为。但实际上并非如此。事情照我们看来之所以是那个样子，仅由于我们从已发生的事情当中，看到的只是对那一时代总的历史兴趣，而未看到所有人们具有的个人的兴趣。然而实际上呢，那些属于个人眼前的兴趣大大超过共同的兴趣，以至有时感觉不到（甚至毫不察觉）共同的兴趣。那时的大多数民众，丝毫不注意历史的总的进程，只以每个人眼前的个人兴趣为准则。而这些民众正是那一时代最有用的活动家们。 
那些试图理解天下大事所趋，并想以自我牺牲和英勇作战行为去参与天下大事的人们，是社会中最无用的成员；他们看到的一切是颠倒的，他们为公益所做的一切到头来都是无益的胡闹，就像皮埃尔兵团和马莫诺夫兵团①抢劫俄国的农村，后方太太小姐撕布抽纱卷成的棉线团永远到不了伤员那里等等。甚至爱卖弄聪明、表露感情的人，一议论俄国局势时，也会不自觉地在言谈中带有虚伪和撒谎的痕迹，或者无益于事地指责和痛恨某些不能任其咎的人们。在历史事件中，最明显不过的是禁止偷尝智慧之果。只有无心插柳，方能带来一片绿荫，而在历史事件中扮演主角的人，永远不能明了个中的涵义。如果他试图去理解，他会遭到劳而无功的失败。 
①指由这两人捐助而成立的两个兵团。
与这时在俄国发生的事件愈是密切有关的人，便愈难察觉其意义。在彼得堡和远离莫斯科的一些省份，妇女和穿义勇军制服的男人为俄国及其古都而哭泣，声称不惜牺牲等等；但在放弃了莫斯科的军队里面，则几乎没有人谈论，也没有人思念莫斯科，而在望着它那一片大火时，谁也不起誓向法国人复仇，却想着下一旬的军饷，下一个宿誓地，随军女商贩玛特廖什卡诸如此类的事情……
尼古拉·罗斯托夫并未抱定自我牺牲的宗旨，由于在服役期间碰上战争，便持续地自愿参加保卫祖国的战争，因此，他对俄国当时的情况不感到失望，没有忧郁的思想。如果有人问起他对俄国此时势的看法，他会说他没有什么可考虑的，考虑这些事的有库图佐夫和其他人，而他说，正在补足团的编制，看样子仗还要打很久，照目前的样子下去，再有一两年让他带上一个团是不足为怪的。
正因为他如此看问题，他在得知奉派去沃罗涅日为他的那一师补充军马时，他不但不为不能参加临近的战斗而感到难过，而且非常高兴，他对此并不掩饰，他的同事也充分了解他这种心情。
在波罗底诺战役前几天，尼古拉领到经费和文件，派出一个骠骑兵先行，嗣后他乘驿马到沃罗涅日去了。
一个人只有一连数月不断地处于军旅和战斗生活气氛中，方能体会到尼古拉此时所享受的那种欢乐：他从部队筹集粮秣，运送军粮和设置野战医院的那一地区脱身出来；他现在看见的不再是士兵、大车和污秽的军营，而是农夫农妇的乡村，乡绅的住宅，放牧畜群的田野，驿站和酣然入睡的驿站长，他就像第一次看到这一切情形那样高兴。特别使他长久地惊讶和愉快的是，他见到的女人们年轻而健康，她们之中没有一个不是被十来个军官追求的，她们都以这个过路军官与她们调笑而感到高兴和得宠。
心情极为愉快的尼古拉于晚间抵达沃罗涅日一家旅馆，要了一顿他在部队很久没有供应的东西，第二天脸刮得干干净净，穿上久未穿着的检阅服装，去见各首长。
民团长官是文职将军，一个老头子，显然很得意于自己的军阶和官职。他生气地（以为这是军人本色）接见了尼古拉，意味深长地盘问了尼古拉，好似他有权这样做又以为是在审议大局。尼古拉很高兴，只觉得这使他很开心
他从民团长官那里直接去见省长，省长是一位矮小而活跃的人，十分温良和纯朴。他告诉尼古拉一些可以搞到马匹的养马场，介绍他去找一位城里的马贩子和离城二十俄里的一位地主（他们都有良种马），并允诺尽力协助。
“您是伊利亚·安德烈耶维奇伯爵的公子？我妻子同您的妈妈很要好的呢。每逢星期四我家有聚会；今天就是星期四，请不拘礼节地前来赏光。”省长和他告辞时说。
一离开省长那里，尼古拉随即雇了一辆驿车，带上司务长乘车直奔二十俄里外的地主养马场。当这初来乍到沃罗涅日的这段时间，尼古拉是轻松愉快的，一个人心情好时，一切都称心如意。
尼古拉要去找的那位地主是一个老单身汉，当过骑兵，又是养马内行和猎手，他有一间吸烟室，窖藏百年果酒和匈牙利葡萄酒，拥有稀有品种的马匹。
尼古拉三言两语就以六千卢布买下十七匹精选（如他所说）的种马，作为补充马匹的样品。罗斯托夫吃过午饭、又稍微留了点匈牙利葡萄酒以后，同那个在已用“你”来称呼的地主亲吻告别。一路上怀着愉快的心情不停地催促车夫，急驰回城，以便赶赴省长家的晚会。
尼古拉换过衣服，洒山香水，用冷水淋洗过脑袋，他虽然迟到一点，但却想好了一句现成的托辞：vautmieuxtardquejamais（迟到比不到好），来到省长家。
这不是舞会，也没说过要跳舞；但大家都知道卡捷琳娜·彼得罗夫娜将在翼琴上演奏华尔兹和苏格兰舞曲，会有人跳舞，预料到这点，所以大家都照赴舞会的样子来了。
一八一二年，外省生活仍一如往常，区别仅在于，城里随着许多殷实富户从莫斯科到来就更为热闹；并且，在俄国当时所发生的一切事情么，可以察觉出某种不受拘束的特殊作风——什么都毫不在乎，一切都大而化之；再就是，人们之间不可避免的闲谈，先前是围绕天气和共同的熟人，现在则转向莫斯科、军队、和拿破仑。
聚会在省长家的人们，是沃罗涅日的精华社会。
那里有许多太太小姐，也有几个尼古拉的莫斯科的相识；但是，能同佩戴圣乔治勋章的骑士、骠骑兵、采购马匹的军官、性格好、教养也好的罗斯托夫伯爵相匹敌的男人，却一个也没有。在男人们中间，有一个被俘的意大利人，是法军的军官，尼古拉因而觉得，这位俘虏的在场更提高了他作为俄国英雄的地位。那个意大利人宛如一种战利品。尼古拉有此感觉，同时在他看来，人人也都是这样看待那个意大利人，所以，尼古拉以尊严和矜持的态度照顾着他。
身着骠骑兵制服，周身散发出香水和酒的气味的尼古拉，一走进来便说了一句，并且也听到别人对他说了几遍“vautmieusxtardquejamais”（迟到比不到好），之后便被包围起来；所有的目光都朝向他，使他立即感受到他已进入他在那一省的适当地位——那向来愉快的，如今又在经过长期困苦生活之后陶醉于满足之中的，众人宠爱的地位。不仅在驿站、旅馆和那地主的吸烟室里有贪图他垂照的女仆；而且在这里，在省长的晚会上，也有（尼古拉觉得是那样）数不清的年轻女士和姣好的姑娘急不可耐地等着尼古拉的青睐。女士和姑娘们同他调情，老年人从见到他的第一天起，便张罗着使这位骠骑兵青年浪子完婚和安家立业，使他变得稳重起来，这些人中，便有省长夫人本身，她把罗斯托夫当成自己的近亲，用“尼古拉”和“你”称呼他。（尼古拉用的是法语Nicolas）
卡捷琳娜·彼得罗夫娜果然弹起华尔兹和苏格兰舞曲，跳舞也就开始了，尼古拉在跳舞中的灵活，更使这个外省社会着迷。他那独特不拘的舞姿甚至使大家吃惊。尼古拉本人对自己这天晚上的舞风也有些惊讶。他在莫斯科从未这样跳过舞，他甚至认为这样过于随便的姿势是无礼的，是mauvaisgenre（坏样子）；但在这里，他感到必须用一种非同寻常的花样使本地人士吓一大跳，即是一种在新老首都被他们视为寻常的，而在他们外省还未见识过的东西。
整个晚上，尼古拉最为注意的是一位碧眼、身段丰满、俊俏的金发女人，一位省里官员的妻子。怀着无边欢乐的年轻人以为别人的太太都是为他们天造地设的这种天真的信念，罗斯托夫没有离开过那位夫人，并且友好地、有点默契地应酬她的丈夫，好像他们虽不言明，但心里知道，他们情投意合，是多么美妙的一对，他们即是尼古拉和这位丈夫的妻子。但是，丈夫似乎无此看法，而是忧郁地尽量应付罗斯托夫。但是尼古拉的善良和天真则无边无际，使得丈夫有时不知不觉地受到他愉快心情的感染。不过，在晚会临近结束时，随着妻子的脸色愈来愈红润，愈来愈兴奋，丈夫的脸孔却愈来愈阴沉，愈来愈严峻，仿佛两人共享一份欢乐，妻子身上增加一些，丈夫身上便减少下来。
Book 12 Chapter 5
WITH A SMILE that never left his lips, Nikolay sat bent a little forward on a low chair, and stooping close over his blonde beauty, he paid her mythological compliments.
Jauntily shifting the posture of his legs in his tight riding-breeches, diffusing a scent of perfume, and admiring his fair companion and himself and the fine lines of his legs in the tight breeches, Nikolay told the blonde lady that he wanted to elope with a lady here, in Voronezh.
“What is she like?”
“Charming, divine. Her eyes” (Nikolay gazed at his companion) “are blue, her lips are coral, her whiteness…” he gazed at her shoulders, “the shape of Diana…”
The husband came up to them and asked his wife gloomily what she was talking of.
“Ah! Nikita Ivanitch,” said Nikolay, rising courteously. And as though anxious for Nikita Ivanitch to take a share in his jests, he began to tell him too of his intention of running away with a blonde lady.
The husband smiled grimly, the wife gaily.
The good-natured governor's wife came up to them with a disapproving air.
“Anna Ignatyevna wants to see you, Nikolay,” she said, pronouncing the name in such a way that Rostov was at once aware that Anna Ignatyevna was a very great lady. “Come, Nikolay. You let me call you so, don't you?”
“Oh, yes, ma tante. Who is she?”
“Anna Ignatyevna Malvintsev. She has heard about you from her niece, how you rescued her…Do you guess?…”
“Oh, I rescued so many!” cried Nikolay.
“Her niece, Princess Bolkonsky. She is here in Voronezh with her aunt. Oho! how he blushes! Eh?”
“Not a bit of it, nonsense, ma tante.”
“Oh, very well, very well. Oh! oh! what a boy it is!”
The governor's wife led him up to a tall and very stout lady in a blue toque, who had just finished a game of cards with the personages of greatest consequence in the town. This was Madame Malvintsev, Princess Marya's aunt on her mother's side, a wealthy, childless widow, who always lived in Voronezh. She was standing up, reckoning her losses, when Rostov came up to her.
She dropped her eyelids with a severe and dignified air, glanced at him, and went on upbraiding the general who had been winning from her.
“Delighted, my dear boy,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “Pray come and see me.”
After saying a few words about Princess Marya and her late father, whom Madame Malvintsev had evidently disliked, and inquiring what Nikolay knew about Prince Andrey, who was apparently also not in her good graces, the dignified old lady dismissed him, repeating her invitation to come and see her.
Nikolay promised to do so and blushed again as he took leave of Madame Malvintsev. At the mention of Princess Marya's name, Rostov experienced a sensation of shyness, even of terror, which he could not have explained to himself.
On leaving Madame Malvintsev, Rostov would have gone back to the dance, but the little governor's wife laid her plump little hand on his sleeve, and saying that she wanted to have a few words with him, led him into the divan-room; the persons in that room promptly withdrew that they might not be in her way.
“Do you know, mon cher,” said the governor's wife with a serious expression on her good-natured, little face, “this is really the match for you; if you like, I will try and arrange it.”
“Whom do you mean, ma tante?” asked Nikolay.
“I will make a match for you with the princess. Katerina Petrovna talks of Lili, but I say, no—the princess. Do you wish it? I am sure your mamma will be grateful. Really, she is such a splendid girl, charming! And she is by no means so very plain.”
“Not at all so,” said Nikolay, as though offended at the idea. “As for me, ma tante, as a soldier should, I don't force myself on any one, nor refuse anything that turns up,” said Rostov, before he had time to consider what he was saying.
“So remember then; this is no jesting matter.”
“How could it be!”
“Yes, yes,” said the governor's wife, as though talking to herself. “And entre autres, mon cher, you are too assiduous with the other—the blonde. One feels sorry for the husband, really…”
“Oh no, we are quite friendly,” said Nikolay in the simplicity of his heart: it had never occurred to him that such an agreeable pastime for him could be other than agreeable to any one else.
“What a stupid thing I said to the governor's wife though!” suddenly came into Nikolay's mind at supper. “She really will begin to arrange a match, and Sonya?…”
And on taking leave of the governor's wife, as she said to him once more with a smile, “Well, remember then,” he drew her aside.
“But there is something…To tell you the truth, ma tante…”
“What is it, what is it, my dear? Come, let us sit down here.”
Nikolay had a sudden desire, an irresistible impulse to talk of all his most secret feelings (such as he would never have spoken of to his mother, to his sister, to an intimate friend) to this woman, who was almost a stranger. Whenever Nikolay thought afterwards of this uncalled-for outbursts of inexplicable frankness—though it had most important consequences for him—it seemed to him (as it always seems to people in such cases) that it had happened by chance, through a sudden fit of folly. But at the same time this outburst of frankness, together with other insignificant events, had consequences of immense importance to him and to all his family.
“It's like this, ma tante. It has long been maman's wish to marry me to an heiress; but the mere idea of it—marrying for money—is revolting to me.”
“Oh yes, I can understand that,” said the governor's wife.
“But Princess Bolkonsky, that's a different matter. In the first place, I'll tell you the truth, I like her very much, I feel drawn to her, and then, ever since I came across her in such a position, so strangely, it has often struck me, that it was fate. Only think: mamma has long been dreaming of it, but I had never happened to meet her before—it always so happened that we didn't meet. And then when my sister, Natasha, was engaged to her brother, of course it was impossible to think of a match between us then. It seems it was to happen that I met her first just when Natasha's engagement had been broken off; and well, everything afterwards…So you see how it is. I have never said all this to any one, and I never shall. I only say it to you.”
The governor's wife pressed his elbow gratefully.
“Do you know Sophie, my cousin? I love her; I have promised to marry her, and I am going to marry her…So you see it's no use talking of such a thing,” Nikolay concluded lamely, flushing crimson.
“My dearest boy, how can you talk so? Why, Sophie hasn't a farthing, and you told me yourself that your papa's affairs are terribly straitened. And your maman? It would kill her—for one thing. Then Sophie, if she is a girl of any heart, what a life it would be for her! Your mother in despair, your position ruined…No, my dear, Sophie and you ought to realise that.”
Nikolay did not speak. It was comforting to him to hear these arguments.
“All the same, ma tante, it cannot be,” he said, with a sigh, after a brief silence. “And besides would the princess accept me? And again she is in mourning; can such a thing be thought of?”
“Why, do you suppose I am going to marry you out of hand on the spot? There are ways of doing everything,” said the governor's wife.
“What a match-maker you are, ma tante…” said Nikolay, kissing her plump little hand.
尼古拉脸上挂着永不消逝的微笑，微微弯腰坐在扶手椅里，俯身挨近金发女人，对她讲一些神话般的恭维话。 
尼古拉机敏地变换着穿笔挺马裤的双脚的位置，身上散发出香水气味，欣赏着面前的女士，欣赏着自己和自己那穿着挺刮刮的马靴的两只脚的轮廓，他告诉她他想在沃罗涅日干什么：拐走一位女士。
“什么样子的？”
“迷人的，女神般的。她的眼睛（尼古拉看一眼对话者）是蔚蓝色的，嘴像红珊瑚，雪白的雪白的……”他看着那肩膀，“身段像狄安娜①的……” 
①罗马神话中的月亮和狩猎女神。
丈夫走过来阴沉地问妻子在谈什么。
“噢！尼基塔·伊凡内奇，”尼古拉恭敬地站起来说，然后，好像希望尼基塔·伊凡内奇也和他一起开玩笑似的，并且把自己要拐走一位金发女人的打算告诉他。
丈夫忧郁地微笑，妻子笑得开心。和蔼的省长夫人带着不以为然的神色向他们走来。
“安娜·伊格纳季耶夫娜想见你，Nicolas，”她说，那说出这个名字的声调，使罗斯托夫顿时明白，安娜·伊格纳季耶夫娜是一位重要的贵妇。“我们走吧，Nicolas。是你让我这样称呼你的吧？”
“呵，是的，matante（伯母）。她是谁呢？”
“安娜·伊格纳季耶夫娜·马利温采娃。她从她外甥女处听说你救了她的命……你猜得中吗？……”
“我搭救过她们很多人呢！”尼古拉说。
“她的外甥女博尔孔斯卡娅公爵小姐。她在这里，在沃罗涅日，同姨妈一起住。哎哟，瞧你脸红的！难道，是不是？
……”
“没想到，别乱猜，matante。”
“呶，好，好。呵！你真是的！”
省长夫人把他领到一个高大富态的老太太跟前，她戴一顶蓝色直筒帽，刚刚结束同城里最有头面的人物的一个牌局。这便是马利温采娃，玛丽亚公爵小姐的姨妈，一个无儿无女的富孀，一直定居在沃罗涅日的。她正站着算牌帐，罗斯托夫走到她跟前。她严厉地傲慢地眯缝眼睛看了他一眼，并且继续骂那个赢了她钱的将军。
“很高兴见到你，我亲爱的，”她说，并把手伸给他，“请到舍下看我。”
这位自尊的老太太谈了几句玛丽亚公爵小姐和她的亡父（马利温采娃显然不喜欢他），又询问一番尼古拉熟识的安德烈公爵（他显然也没有博得她的欢心）的情况，说了几遍邀他过府访问，然后就让他走了。
当尼古拉向马利温采娃鞠躬告退时，答应她前去拜访，又涨红了脸。一提起玛丽亚公爵小姐，尼古拉就体验到一种连他本人也不可名状的羞赧的，甚至害怕的感觉。
离开马利温采娃，罗斯托夫本想再回去跳舞，但是娇小的省长夫人把她丰腴的手放到尼古拉衣袖上，说要同他谈谈，便带他走进起居室，里面的人马上退出，以免妨碍省长夫人。
“知道吗？moncher（我亲爱的），”省长夫人娇小而和蔼的脸上带着严肃的表情说，“她配你真是相宜的一对呢；想不想，我给你保媒？”
“谁呀，matante？”尼古拉问。
“我这是给公爵小姐提亲。卡捷琳娜·彼得罗夫娜说莉莉，而我的意见是，不，应该是公爵小姐。愿意吗？我相信你妈咪会感谢我。真的，多好的姑娘，多有魅力！她一点也不丑。”
“一点也不，”尼古拉像是受了委屈似地说。“我，matanBte，像军人的本份，既不伸手向谁要，也不摆手拒绝谁。”罗斯托夫来不及想好回答便先这样说了。
“你要记住：这不是玩笑。”
“怎么是玩笑呢！”
“对，对，”省长夫人像自言自语似地说，“还有一点，monch－er，entreautres，vousêtestropassiduauprèsdel'autre，lablonde①，丈夫怪可怜的，真的……” 
①亲爱的，你对那个人，对那个金发女人太殷勤了。
“噢，不，我和他是朋友。”尼古拉心地单纯地说：他未曾想到，他这样愉快的消遣，会给别人造成不愉快。
“可是，我对省长夫人说了些什么蠢话哟！”晚餐时，尼古拉才突然想起来。“她真的开始做媒，索尼娅怎么办？……”而当和省长夫人告辞时，她微笑着再次对他说：“呶，你要记住啊。”他把她领到一旁说：
“是这样，我要对您照实说，ma，tante……”
“说什么，我的朋友，咱们就在这里坐下来。”
尼古拉突然觉得自己愿意说话，必须说话，想把自己心底的想法（那些即使对母亲妹妹朋友也不会说的想法）讲给这个几乎是外人的女人听。后来，尼古拉回忆起这次并无什么动机的无法解释的，却又对他产生重大后果的坦诚直言的冲动时，他似乎觉得（像这种情况下人人都会觉得那样）那是一时之糊涂；但恰恰是这次坦诚的冲动，加上其他一些小事情，对他，也对他的家族有了重大后果。
“是这样，matante，妈咪早就要我娶一位富家女子；但我反对只出于金钱目的结婚的想法。”
“哦，对，我懂。”省长夫人说。
“但博尔孔斯卡娅公爵小姐——这是另一回事；首先，我对您讲真话吧，她很令我爱慕，很称我的心，此外，当我在那种情况下碰到她之后，非常奇怪的是，我常常想：这是命运。尤其是您想想看：妈咪早就想到这点，但早先我没有机会见到她，不知什么原因，情况就是这样：我们碰不到一起。而且，只要我的妹妹娜塔莎还是她哥哥的未婚妻，我就不可能考虑娶她。应该在娜塔莎婚约解除之后碰到她，那末，一切就……事情就是这样。我从未对谁讲过，今后也不告诉别人。只对您讲了。”
省长夫人感激地按了按他的臂肘。
“您知道索菲，我表妹吗？我爱她，我许诺要娶她，而且一定要娶她……所以您瞧，这件事就不能谈了。”尼古拉措词不当地红着脸说。
“Moncher，moncher，你怎么这样想？索菲不是什么也没有吗，你自己都说，你爸爸的家业情况很糟。还有你妈咪呢？这会立即要她的命的。这是其一，再说索菲，如果她是有心眼的姑娘，她将会过什么样的生活啊？母亲绝望，家道衰落……不，moncher，你和索菲应该明白这点。”
尼古拉默然。他听到这样的结论是愉快的。
“总之，matante，这是不可能的，”他沉默一会儿后叹口气说。“也不知道公爵小姐是否愿意嫁给我呢。况且，她现在居丧。难道能考虑这种事吗？”
“难道你以为我现在就让你结婚？Ilyamanièreet
manière．”①省长夫人说。 
①事情都是有一定规矩的。
“您是多么好的媒人啊，matante……”Nicolas吻着她丰腴的小手说。
Book 12 Chapter 6
ON REACHING MOSCOW, after her meeting with Rostov at Bogutcharovo, Princess Marya had found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince Andrey, directing her what route to take to her aunt, Madame Malvintsev's at Voronezh. The arrangements for the journey, anxiety about her brother, the organisation of her life in a new house, new people, the education of her nephew—all of this smothered in Princess Marya's heart that feeling as it were of temptation, which had tormented her during her father's illness and after his death, especially since her meeting with Rostov.
She was melancholy. Now after a month had passed in quiet, undisturbed conditions, she felt more and more deeply the loss of her father, which was connected in her heart with the downfall of Russia. She was anxious: the thought of the dangers to which her brother—the one creature near to her now left—was being exposed was a continual torture to her. She was worried too by the education of her nephew, which she was constantly feeling herself unfitted to control. But at the bottom of her heart there was an inward harmony, that arose from the sense that she had conquered in herself those dreams and hopes of personal happiness, that had sprung up in connection with Rostov.
When the governor's wife called on Madame Malvintsev the day after her soirée, and, talking over her plans with her, explaining that though under present circumstances a formal betrothal was of course not to be thought of, yet they might bring the young people together, and let them get to know one another, and having received the aunt's approval, began to speak of Rostov in Princess Marya's presence, singing his praises, and describing how he had blushed on hearing the princess's name, her emotion was not one of joy, but of pain. Her inner harmony was destroyed, and desires, doubts, self-reproach, and hope sprang up again.
In the course of the two days that followed before Rostov called, Princess Marya was continually considering what her behaviour ought to be in regard to Rostov. At one time, she made up her mind that she would not come down into the drawing-room when he came to see her aunt, that it was not suitable for her in her deep mourning to receive visitors. Then she thought this would be rude after what he had done for her. Then the idea struck her that her aunt and the governor's wife had views of some sort upon her and Rostov; their words and glances had seemed at times to confirm this suspicion. Then she told herself that it was only her own depravity that could make her think this of them: could they possibly fail to realise that in her position, still wearing the heaviest mourning, such match-making would be an insult both to her and to her father's memory? On the supposition that she would go down to see him, Princess Marya imagined the words he would say to her, and she would say to him; and at one moment, those words seemed to her undeservedly frigid, at the next, they struck her as carrying too much meaning. Above all she dreaded the embarrassment, which she felt would be sure to overcome her, and betray her, as soon as she saw him.
But when, on Sunday after matins, the footman came into the drawing-room to announce that Count Rostov had called, the princess showed no sign of embarrassment, only a faint flush came into her cheeks, and her eyes shone with a new, radiant light.
“You have seen him, aunt?” said Princess Marya, in a composed voice, not knowing herself how she could be externally so calm and natural.
When Rostov came into the room, the princess dropped her head for an instant, as though to give time for their visitor to greet her aunt; and then at the very moment when Nikolay turned to her, she raised her head and met his gaze with shining eyes. With a movement full of dignity and grace, she rose with a joyous smile, held out her delicate, soft hand to him, and spoke in a voice in which for the first time there was the thrill of deep, womanly chest notes. Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was in the drawing-room, gazed at Princess Marya with bewildered surprise. The most accomplished coquette herself, she could not have man?uvred better on meeting a man whom she wanted to attract.
“Either black suits her wonderfully, or she really has grown better looking without my noticing it. And above all, such tact and grace!” thought Mademoiselle Bourienne.
Had Princess Marya been capable of reflection at that moment, she would have been even more astonished than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the change that had taken place in her. From the moment she set eyes on that sweet, loved face, some new force of life seemed to take possession of her, and to drive her to speak and act apart from her own will. From the time Rostov entered the room, her face was transformed. Just as when a light is kindled within a carved and painted lantern, the delicate, intricate, artistic tracery comes out in unexpected and impressive beauty, where all seemed coarse, dark, and meaningless before; so was Princess Marya's face transformed. For the first time all the pure, spiritual, inner travail in which she had lived till then came out in her face. All her inner searchings of spirit, her self-reproach, her sufferings, her striving for goodness, her resignation, her love, her self-sacrifice—all this was radiant now in those luminous eyes, in the delicate smile, in every feature of her tender face.
Rostov saw all this as clearly as though he had known her whole life. He felt that he was in the presence of a creature utterly different from and better than all those he had met up to that moment, and, above all, far better than he was himself.
The conversation was of the simplest and most insignificant kind. They talked of the war, unconsciously, like every one else, exaggerating their sadness on that subject; they talked of their last meeting—and Nikolay then tried to turn the subject; they talked of the kind-hearted governor's wife, of Nikolay's relations, and of Princess Marya's.
Princess Marya did not talk of her brother, but turned the conversation, as soon as her aunt mentioned Prince Andrey. It was evident that of the troubles of Russia she could speak artificially, but her brother was a subject too near her heart, and she neither would nor could speak lightly of him. Nikolay noticed this, as indeed with a keenness of observation not usual with him, he noticed every shade of Princess Marya's character, and everything confirmed him in the conviction that she was an altogether rare and original being.
Nikolay, like Princess Marya, had blushed and been embarrassed, when he heard the princess spoken of, and even when he thought of her; but in her presence he felt perfectly at ease, and he said to her not at all what he had prepared beforehand to say to her, but what came into his mind at the moment, and always quite appropriately.
As visitors always do where there are children, Nikolay, in a momentary silence during his brief visit, had recourse to Prince Andrey's little son, caressing him, and asking him if he would like to be an hussar. He took the little boy in his arms, began gaily whirling him round, and glanced at Princess Marya. With softened, happy, shy eyes, she was watching the child she loved in the arms of the man she loved. Nikolay caught that look too, and as though he divined its significance, flushed with delight, and fell to kissing the child with simple-hearted gaiety.
Princess Marya was not going into society at all on account of her mourning, and Nikolay did not think it the proper thing to call on them again. But the governor's wife still persisted in her match-making, and repeating to Nikolay something flattering Princess Marya had said of him, and vice versa, kept urging that Rostov should declare himself to Princess Marya. With this object, she arranged that the young people should meet at the reverend father's before Mass.
Though Rostov did tell the governor's wife that he should make no sort of declaration to Princess Marya, he promised to be there.
Just as at Tilsit Rostov had not allowed himself to doubt whether what was accepted by every one as right were really right, so now after a brief but sincere struggle between the effort to order his life in accordance with his own sense of right, and humble submission to circumstances, he chose the latter, and yielded himself to the power, which, he felt, was irresistibly carrying him away. He knew that to declare his feelings to Princess Marya after his promise to Sonya would be what he called base. And he knew that he would never do a base thing. But he knew too (it was not what he knew, but what he felt at the bottom of his heart), that in giving way now to the force of circumstances and of the people guiding him, he was not only doing nothing wrong, but was doing something very, very grave, something of more gravity than anything he had done in his life.
After seeing Princess Marya, though his manner of life remained externally the same, all his former pleasures lost their charm for him, and he often thought of her. But he never thought of her, as he had thought of all the young girls he had met in society, nor as he had long, and sometimes with enthusiasm, thought of Sonya. Like almost every honest-hearted young man, he had thought of every young girl as of a possible future wife, had adapted to them in his imagination all the pictures of domestic felicity: the white morning wrapper, the wife behind the samovar, the wife's carriage, the little ones, mamma and papa, their attitude to one another, and so on, and so on. And these pictures of the future afforded him gratification. But when he thought of Princess Marya, to whom the match-makers were trying to betroth him, he could never form any picture of his future married life with her. Even if he tried to do so, it all seemed incoherent and false. And it only filled him with dread.
玛丽亚公爵小姐在与罗斯托夫相遇之后，到了莫斯科，找到了侄儿和家庭教师，得到安德烈公爵的一封信，指示他们到沃罗涅日马利温采娃姨妈那里去的路线。操持搬迁，担心哥哥的情况，安顿在新居住下，结识新人，教育侄子——这一切压下了玛丽亚公爵小姐心中那种似乎受到诱惑的情感，这种感情曾在他父亲患病时，在她父亲逝世以后，尤其是在与罗斯托夫相遇之后，使她痛苦不堪。她很悲伤。丧亲之悲痛与俄国危亡的印象，在事过一月之后的今天，在平静的生活中，在她内心愈来愈强烈地感觉到了。她惊惶不安：她剩下的唯一亲人——她的哥哥随时处在危险之中，这种念头不停地折磨她。她关心侄儿的教育，对此她常常感到力不从心；但在心底里有对自己的体谅，因为她意识到她抑制住了那由于罗斯托夫的出现而引起的个人的幻想和希望。 
省长夫人在举办晚会后的第二天访问了马利温采娃，同这位姨母商谈了自己的计划（提出一个附带意见，虽然在目前情势下不能考虑正式提亲，但仍可把年轻人撮合在一起，让他们彼此熟悉），在取得姨母同意后，省长夫人当玛丽亚公爵小姐的面讲起了罗斯托夫，夸奖他，并说在提到公爵小姐时他脸红起来，这时，玛丽亚公爵小姐不是感到高兴，而是感到忧伤：她内心的和谐已不复存在，又重新升起了欲望，疑虑，内疚和期待。
在罗斯托夫来访之前，也就是获得这一消息之后的两天时间里，玛丽亚公爵小姐不断地思考着她应当抱什么态度对待罗斯托夫。她时而决定：他来看姨母时，她不到客厅里去，因为她在服重丧期间接待宾客是不适宜的；她时而考虑，他为她尽过力，这样做未免失礼；她时而想到姨母和省长夫人对她和罗斯托夫有某种期望（她们的目光和谈话似乎证实这一推测），时而对自己说，这不过是她以自己不好的心肠去揣度她们：她们是不能不懂得的，在她这种现状下，在孝服还未脱去的时候，提亲对她，对悼念父亲，都是一种亵渎。在假定她会走到客厅去见他时，她设想着他会对她说的话和她要告诉他的话；时而她觉得这些话冷淡得不适当，时而又觉得这些话含有过分重大的意义。她最害怕的是和他见面时现出窘相，她觉得那不可避免，因而会暴露她很想见到他的狼狈相。
星期天作过礼拜之后，当仆人进客厅通报罗斯托夫伯爵来访时，公爵小姐未现窘态；只是一抹淡淡的红晕泛上面颊，眼里闪出新的明亮的光芒。
“您见到过他吗？姨妈？”玛丽亚公爵小姐声音平静地问，自己也不知道何以能外表上如此平静而自然。
在罗斯托夫走进房里来时，公爵小姐一瞬间低下了头，似乎留出时间给客人去问候姨母，然后，恰好在尼古拉转向她时，她抬起头来，用那明亮的眼睛对视着他的目光。她的动作优雅，十分尊严，面带喜悦的微笑欠起身来，把自己纤细柔软的手伸给他，并且头一回用新的、女性的胸音说起话来，这时也在客厅里的布里安小姐惊诧莫名地看着玛丽亚公爵小姐。她虽是一个善于卖弄风情的女郎，在遇到一个值得钟情的人时，也不可能有更加出色的表现。
“也许丧服很能衬托她的容貌，也许她真的变得好看了，而我没有看出来。而主要的——是她的态度有分寸而且娴雅！”布里安小姐想道。
假设公爵小姐此时能够反复思考，她会对自己身上起的变化比布里安小姐更感到吃惊。她一见到那张亲切而可爱的面孔，一种新的生命力便占有了她，迫使她不顾自己的意志去说话和行动。她的容貌，从罗斯托夫走进客厅时起，突然起了变化。宛如精雕彩绘的宫灯突然点亮了，先前外表粗糙、黑暗、看不出什么名堂的这件复杂而精巧的艺术品，突然四壁生辉，大放异彩显得出乎意外的惊人的美。玛丽亚公爵小姐的容颜也是这样突然变化的。在这一时刻之前，她赖以生存的那件内在的纯粹精神上的艺术品，第一次显露出来了。她对自己不满的全部内心活动，她的痛苦，对善的追求，恭顺、爱情、自我牺牲——这一切此刻都在明亮的眼睛里，在典雅的微笑中，在温柔面容的每部分闪烁着光辉。
罗斯托夫对这一切看得非常分明，就像他知道她整个的一生。他觉得，他面前的造物完全是另外一个人，比他迄今所遇的各种人都更好，主要的是，比他本人还更好。
谈话是最简单最无关紧要的。他们谈战争，像大家一样，不由自主地夸大了自己在这件事上的担忧，谈上次的邂逅相遇，而且尼古拉尽量转变话题，于是，他们谈起善良的省长夫人，谈起尼古拉的亲属玛丽亚公爵小姐的亲属。
玛丽亚公爵小姐闭口不谈哥哥，姨母一提到安德烈，她就把话岔开。看得出来，关于俄国的不幸她能谈得头头是道，装出关心的样子，但是她的哥哥是另一码事，与她太贴心了，她不想也不能轻率地去谈论。尼古拉看出来了，正像他总是用那个不合乎他本性的深刻的观察力看出玛丽亚公爵小姐细微的性格特征一样，这些特征。证实了他的见解：她完全是一个特殊的非同寻常的人。
尼古拉完全像玛丽亚公爵小姐一样，当别人提起公爵小姐，甚至在他想到她时，都要脸红和局促不安，但在她本人面前，却感到完全自如，说出来的话并不是预先准备好的，而是瞬息间、又总是恰到好处地想到的。
在尼古拉这次短暂的访问中，像平常有孩子在身边的场合那样，在谈话停顿的时候，尼古拉就向安德烈公爵的小儿子求助，他爱抚他，问他想不想当骠骑兵。他抱起小男孩，活泼地带他旋转，并回头看看玛丽亚公爵小姐，她用含情脉脉的幸福而又羞怯的目光追随着那个可爱的人抱着的她心爱的小孩。尼古拉发现了投来的目光，对它的含意似有所悟，高兴得红了脸，并温和地愉快地吻那小孩。
玛丽亚公爵小姐在服丧期间是不外出的，而尼古拉认为常去她们家不礼貌；但省长夫人还在继续说媒，在把玛丽亚公爵小姐赞扬尼古拉的话转告他之后，又把对方赞扬的话转告公爵小姐，并敦促罗斯托夫去向玛丽亚公爵小姐表明态度。
为此，她安排两个年轻人在做礼拜前在主教家会面。
尽管罗斯托夫已经告诉省长夫人，他没有什么好向玛丽亚公爵小姐表白的，但仍答应去。
正如在蒂尔西特的时候那样，罗斯托夫不容许自己去怀疑大家公认为好的事情是否就好，现在也正是这样，在尝试照他自己的理智安排生活和顺从客观情势之间经过短暂而真诚的内心斗争之后，他选择了后者，把自己交给那股不可阻遏地要把他引向某处去（他有如此感觉）的力量。他知道，在许诺索尼娅之后又向玛丽亚公爵小姐吐露自己的感情，全是他所认为的卑鄙行当。同时他知道，他绝不会干卑鄙的事。但是，他也知道（不是知道，而是心灵深处感觉到），他顺从客观情势和他的指导者的影响，他现在不仅不是在干丑事，而是在干某种非常、非常重要的事，这样重要的事他一生从未干过。
和玛丽亚公爵小姐会面之后，他的生活在表面上一如往昔，但所有往昔的欢愉对他却已失去魅力，他常常思念玛丽亚公爵小姐；但是从来不像他一无例外地想那些在社交界遇到的小姐那样，也不像他长期地，有个时候狂喜地思念索尼娅那样。他想那些小姐时，正像几乎所有诚实的年轻人一样，把她们想成是未来的妻子，在想象中把夫妇生活的全部条件——白色的晚袍，茶炊旁的妻子，妻子的马车，小家伙们，妈咪和爸爸，他们同她的关系等等，等等；拿来和她们比较，看看是否合适。这些对未来的憧憬带给他快乐，但当想到玛丽亚公爵小姐，人们给他做媒时，他从来也不能想象出一丁点未来夫妇生活中的东西来。如果说他也试过那样想，结果会是不和谐的，虚假的。他只觉得可怕。
Book 12 Chapter 7
THE TERRIBLE NEWS of the battle of Borodino, of our losses in killed and wounded, and the even more terrible news of the loss of Moscow reached Voronezh in the middle of September. Princess Marya, learning of her brother's wound only from the newspapers, and having no definite information about him, was preparing (so Nikolay heard, though he had not seen her) to set off to try and reach Prince Andrey.
On hearing the news of the battle of Borodino and of the abandonment of Moscow, Rostov felt, not despair, rage, revenge, nor any such feeling, but a sudden weariness and vexation with everything at Voronezh, and a sense of awkwardness and uneasy conscience. All the conversations he listened to seemed to him insincere; he did not know what to think of it all, and felt that only in the regiment would all become clear to him again. He made haste to conclude the purchase of horses, and was often without good cause ill-tempered with his servant and quarter-master.
Several days before Rostov's departure there was a thanksgiving service in the cathedral for the victory gained by the Russian troops, and Nikolay went to the service. He was a little behind the governor, and was standing through the service meditating with befitting sedateness on the most various subjects. When the service was concluding, the governor's wife beckoned him to her.
“Did you see the princess?” she said, with a motion of her hand towards a lady in black standing behind the choir.
Nikolay recognised Princess Marya at once, not so much from the profile he saw under her hat as from the feeling of watchful solicitude, awe, and pity which came over him at once. Princess Marya, obviously buried in her own thoughts, was making the last signs of the cross before leaving the church.
Nikolay gazed in wonder at her face. It was the same face he had seen before; there was the same general look of refined, inner, spiritual travail; but now there was an utterly different light in it. There was a touching expression of sadness, of prayer and of hope in it. With the same absence of hesitation as he had felt before in her presence, without waiting for the governor's wife to urge him, without asking himself whether it were right, whether it were proper for him to address her here in church, Nikolay went up to her, and said he had heard of her trouble and grieved with his whole heart to hear of it. As soon as she heard his voice, a vivid colour glowed in her face, lighting up at once her joy and her sorrow.
“One thing I wanted to tell you, princess,” said Rostov, “that is, that if Prince Andrey Nikolaevitch were not living, since he is a colonel, it would be announced immediately in the gazettes.”
The princess looked at him, not comprehending his words, but comforted by the expression of sympathetic suffering in his face.
“And I know from so many instances that a wound from a splinter” (the papers said it was from a grenade) “is either immediately fatal or else very slight,” Nikolay went on. “We must hope for the best, and I am certain …”
Princess Marya interrupted him.
“Oh, it would be so aw …” she began, and her emotion choking her utterance, she bent her head with a graceful gesture, like everything she did in his presence, and glancing gratefully at him followed her aunt.
That evening Nikolay did not go out anywhere, but stayed at home to finish some accounts with the horse-vendors. By the time he had finished his work it was rather late to go out anywhere, but still early to go to bed, and Nikolay spent a long while walking up and down the room, thinking over his life, a thing that he rarely did.
Princess Marya had made an agreeable impression on him at Bogutcharovo. The fact of his meeting her then in such striking circumstances, and of his mother having at one time pitched precisely on her as the wealthy heiress suitable for him, had led him to look at her with special attention. During his stay at Voronezh, that impression had become, not merely a pleasing, but a very strong one. Nikolay was impressed by the peculiar, moral beauty which he discerned in her at this time. He had, however, been preparing to go away, and it had not entered his head to regret that in leaving Voronezh he was losing all chance of seeing her. But his meeting with Princess Marya that morning in church had, Nikolay felt, gone more deeply to his heart than he had anticipated and more deeply than he desired for his peace of mind. That pale, delicate, melancholy face, those luminous eyes, those soft, gracious gestures, and, above all, the deep and tender melancholy expressed in all her features, agitated him and drew his sympathy. In men Rostov could not bear an appearance of higher, spiritual life (it was why he did not like Prince Andrey), he spoke of it contemptuously as philosophy, idealism; but in Princess Marya it was just in that melancholy, showing all the depth of a spiritual world, strange and remote to Nikolay, that he found an irresistible attraction.
“She must be a marvellous girl! An angel, really!” he said to himself. “Why am I not free? Why was I in such a hurry with Sonya?” And involuntarily he compared the two: the poverty of the one and the wealth of the other in those spiritual gifts, which Nikolay was himself without and therefore prized so highly. He tried to picture what would have happened if he had been free, and in what way he would have made her an offer and she would have become his wife. No, he could not imagine that. A feeling of dread came over him and that picture would take no definite shape. With Sonya he had long ago made his picture of the future, and it was all so simple and clear, just because it was all made up and he knew all there was in Sonya. But with Princess Marya he could not picture his future life, because he did not understand her—he simply loved her.
There was something light-hearted, something of child's play in his dreams of Sonya. But to dream of Princess Marya was difficult and a little terrible.
“How she was praying!” he thought. “One could see that her whole soul was in her prayer. Yes, it was that prayer that moves mountains, and I am convinced that her prayer will be answered. Why don't I pray for what I want?” he bethought himself. “What do I want? Freedom, release from Sonya. She was right,” he thought of what the governor's wife had said, “nothing but misery can come of my marrying her. Muddle, mamma's grief … our position … a muddle, a fearful muddle! Besides, I don't even love her. No, I don't love her in the right way. My God! take me out of this awful, hopeless position!” he began praying all at once. “Yes, prayer will move mountains, but one must believe, and not pray, as Natasha and I prayed as children for the snow to turn into sugar, and then ran out into the yard to try whether it had become sugar. No; but I am not praying for trifles now,” he said, putting his pipe down in the corner and standing with clasped hands before the holy picture. And softened by the thought of Princess Marya, he began to pray as he had not prayed for a long while. He had tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat when Lavrushka came in at the door with papers.
“Blockhead! bursting in when you're not wanted!” said Nikolay, quickly changing his attitude.
“A courier has come,” said Lavrushka in a sleepy voice, “from the governor, a letter for you.”
“Oh, very well, thanks, you can go!”
Nikolay took the two letters. One was from his mother, the other from Sonya. He knew them from the handwriting, and broke open Sonya's letter first. He had hardly read a few lines when his face turned white and his eyes opened wide in dismay and joy. “No, it's not possible!” he said aloud. Unable to sit still, he began walking to and fro in the room, holding the letter in both hands as he read it. He skimmed through the letter, then read it through once and again, and shrugging his shoulders and flinging up his hands, he stood still in the middle of the room with wide-open mouth and staring eyes. What he had just been praying for with the assurance that God would answer his prayer had come to pass; but Nikolay was astounded at it as though it were something extraordinary, and as though he had not expected it, and as though the very fact of its coming to pass so quickly proved that it had not come from God, to whom he had been praying, but was some ordinary coincidence.
The knot fastening his freedom, that had seemed so impossible to disentangle, had been undone by this unexpected and, as it seemed to Nikolay, uncalled-for letter from Sonya. She wrote that their late misfortunes, the loss of almost the whole of the Rostovs' property in Moscow, and the countess's frequently expressed desire that Nikolay should marry Princess Bolkonsky, and his silence and coldness of late, all taken together led her to decide to set him free from his promise, and to give him back complete liberty.
“It would be too painful to me to think that I could be a cause of sorrow and discord in the family which has overwhelmed me with benefits,” she wrote; “and the one aim of my love is the happiness of those I love, and therefore I beseech you, Nicolas, to consider yourself free, and to know that in spite of everything, no one can love you more truly than your—SONYA.”
Both letters were from Troitsa. The other letter was from the countess. It described the last days in Moscow, the departure, the fire and the loss of the whole of their property. The countess wrote too that Prince Andrey had been among the train of wounded soldiers who had travelled with them. He was still in a very critical condition, but that the doctor said now that there was more hope. Sonya and Natasha were nursing him.
With this letter Nikolay went next day to call on Princess Marya. Neither Nikolay nor Princess Marya said a word as to all that was implied by the words: “Natasha is nursing him”; but thanks to this letter, Nikolay was brought suddenly into intimate relations, almost those of a kinsman with the princess.
Next day Rostov escorted Princess Marya as far as Yaroslavl, and a few days later he set off himself to join his regiment.
有关波罗底诺战役及我方伤亡人数的可怕消息，以及莫斯科失守的更可怕的消息，沃罗沃日是在九月中旬收到的。玛丽亚公爵小姐只是从官方报纸上知道哥哥负伤，尚未接获有关他的任何其他消息，尼古拉听说（他本人还未见到她），她打算去寻找安德烈公爵。 
在得到波罗底诺战役和放弃莫斯科的消息后，罗斯托夫不是感到绝望与敌意或有复仇情绪，而是怀有类似在沃罗涅日突然令人寂寞惆怅的感觉，不知怎么一切都使他觉得羞愧和不安，他听到的所有的谈话在他看来都是不诚恳的，装腔作势的，他不知道如何判断这一切，因而觉得，只有回到团里去，一切才会弄明白。他急着要办完采购马匹的事，时常对仆人和司务长发脾气。
在罗斯托夫启程的前几天，大教堂预定举行庆祝俄军取胜的祈祷，尼古拉也去参加礼拜。他站在省长稍后面一点，他带着做礼拜的庄重神情，同时想着一个接一个的各种各样的问题，站完了这次礼拜。当祈祷结束时，省长夫人召他至身边。
“你看见公爵小姐吗？”省长夫人说，用头提示唱诗班后面穿黑衣服的女士。
尼古拉立即认出玛丽亚公爵小姐，他认出她与其说是凭她帽子下面露出的面孔侧部的轮廓，不如说是凭那种谨慎翼翼、恐惧和怜悯感情，这种感情马上支配了他。玛丽亚公爵小姐显然心事重重，正在划着离开教堂前的最后一次十字。
尼古拉惊奇地看着她的脸。这依旧是他以前见过的那张脸，脸上面依旧挂着那种细微的内在的精神活动产生的一般表情；但它现在亮着完全异样的光。脸上流露着令人心碎的悲伤、求告和希望的表情。像以前尼古拉在她面前有过的情形一样，不等省长夫人示意，也不问自己在这教堂里同她交谈好不好，，有没有礼貌，便迳直朝她走去说，他听说有关她的不幸的情形，他整个的心同情着她的哥哥。她一听到他的声音，脸上顿时涌现出明艳的光采，在同一时刻闪现出又是悲伤又是喜悦的光芒。
“我想到要告诉您一件事，公爵小姐，”罗斯托夫说，“这便是，假如安德烈·尼古拉耶维奇公爵已不在人世，作为上校军官，官报上立刻会登出讣闻的。”
公爵小姐看着他，虽不明白他说的话，但他脸上的同情而难受的表情使她感到欣慰。
“我还知道许多这样的例子：被弹片炸伤（官报上说：被榴弹炸伤）要么是立刻致命，要么相反，是很轻的伤，”尼古拉说。“应该往好的方面想，同时我相信……”
公爵小姐打断他的话。
“啊，这简直太可怕了……”她开始说，但激动得没把话说完，（像她通常在他面前那样）优雅地低下头去，感激地看他一眼，然后跟着姨母走了。
这一天的晚上，尼古拉未去任何地方作客，而是留在屋里同卖马的商人结清几笔帐。当他办完事情，时间已经很晚，不便上哪里去了，但睡觉又还早，尼古拉就在房里独自长久地踱来踱去，考虑今后的生活，这在他还是难得的事。
玛丽亚公爵小姐在斯摩棱斯克郊外给他留下了愉快的印象。他当时在那样特殊的情况下遇见她，有一段时间，他的母亲向他指出的富家配偶就正是她，以上的情况使得他对她特别注意。在沃罗涅日，在他访问的时候，这个印象不仅愉快，而且强烈。这一次尼古拉在她身上看到的那种特别的精神上的美，使他十分惊奇。但他准备离去，他脑子里也并不惋惜离开沃罗涅日便失去见到公爵小姐的机会。但今天与玛丽亚公爵小姐在教堂的会面，（尼古拉有这样的感觉），出乎他所预料更深刻地留在他的心中，比保持心境平静的愿望更加强烈。这苍白的清秀的悲伤的脸，这明亮的目光，这安静而优雅的举止，主要的是——她的脸上流露的深沉的柔情的哀愁，使他不安，使他不能漠不关心。在男人们身上，罗斯托夫看不惯男人中间这种崇高精神生活的表现（他因此不喜欢安德烈公爵），他鄙夷地把这称之为哲学、空想；但在玛丽亚公爵小姐身上，正是这种尼古拉认为陌生的精神世界所表露的极度悲痛中，他感觉到一股不可抗拒的吸力。
“真是美妙的姑娘！是一位天使呢！”他对自己说。“为什么我不自由呢？为什么我急于向索尼娅表白爱情呢？”他不知不觉地在心里比较这两者：一个精神天赋贫乏，一个则富有，他就由于贫乏而倍加珍视精神天赋。他在心里设想一下如果他没有受到约束，情况会怎样。他就会向她求婚，她就会成为他的妻子吧？不，他不能设想。他害怕起来，而他也想不出任何清晰的样子。他对索尼娅则早已描绘好一副未来的图景，而那一切都是简单明了的。其原因正是那一切都是想好了的，而且他知道索尼娅的全部情形；但对玛丽亚公爵小姐，他无法设想出未来的生活，因为他不了解她，只是爱着她。
对索尼娅的遐想含有一种快活的嬉戏的成分。而想到玛丽亚公爵小姐时，总觉得难受，而且有点害怕。
“她在怎样祈祷啊！”他回忆着，“显而易见，她整个的心都沉浸在祈祷中。是啊，那是能把山脉搬动的祈祷，我相信，她的祈求能够实现。为什么我不为我所需要的东西祈祷呢？”他想起来了。“我需要什么呢？自由，同索尼娅了结。她说得对（他想起省长夫人的话），我娶了她，除了不幸，不会有别的结果。一个解不开的结，乱糟糟的，妈咪的痛苦……家业……一团糟，可怕的混乱！是的，我也并不爱她。是的，我没有好好地爱她。上帝啊！指引我走出这可怕的没有出路的困境吧！”他突然开始祈祷，“是的，祷告可以移动山脉，但要有信心，别像我小时候同娜塔莎祈祷雪变成自糖那样，我们跑到院子里去亲口尝它，看雪是否变成了糖粒。不，我现在不为那些小事祈祷了。”说完之后，他在房间的一角放上烟斗，交叉双手在圣像前站定。于是，因想念玛丽亚公爵小姐而变得多情的尼古拉开始祈祷，他很久都没有这样祈祷了。眼泪涌出眼眶，并在喉咙里哽咽着，这时，拉夫鲁什卡拿着什么公文走进门来。
“混蛋！钻进来干什么，又没有叫你！”尼古拉说，飞快地改变姿势。
“省长那里，”拉夫鲁什卡用没有睡醒的声音说，“派来了送信人，给您的信。”
“呶，好的，谢谢，走开！”
尼古拉拿过两封信来。一封是母亲的，一封是索尼娅的。他一看笔迹就认出来了，于是先拆开索尼娅的信。还没有读完几行，脸色就发白，眼睛也惊吓地高兴地睁得大大的。
“不，这不可能！”他说出声来。他坐不住了，捧着信一边读，一边在房里走来走去。他先浏览一通，然后仔细读一遍，又一遍，耸起肩膀，摊开双手站在房间中央，嘴张着，眼睛停止了转动。他刚才怀着上帝能使他的祈求实现的信心所祷告的事，现在实现了；但他为此感到惊奇，仿佛这是某种非同寻常的事，仿佛他从未料到这件事，事情这样快地成功仿佛可以证明，这不是出自他恳求的上帝的许诺，而是由于平常的偶然性。
那一个看似难解的结子（它约束着罗斯托夫的自由），被这封意料不到的（尼古拉这样觉得）不招自来的索尼娅的信解开了。索尼娅写道，近来不幸的境遇是罗斯托夫家在莫斯科的财产几乎丧失殆尽，伯爵夫人多次表示要尼古拉娶博尔孔斯卡娅公爵小姐的愿望，还有他近来的沉默和冷淡——所有这一切促使她决定放弃他的承诺，给他充分的自由。
“当我想到我会成为眷顾我的家庭的痛苦或不和睦的原因，我感到沉痛不已”，她写道，“而我的爱情只有一个目的，即使我爱着的人们获得幸福；因此，我恳求您，Nicolas，现在把您自己看成是自由的，同时要知道，无论如何，谁也不能爱您胜过您的索尼娅。”
两封信都寄自特罗伊茨。另一封是伯爵夫人写的。这封信里，叙述了离开莫斯科前几日的情况，启程，大火和全部财产的毁坏。伯爵夫人在信里还附带说，安德烈公爵在伤员中同他们一道走。他的伤势很危险，但医生现在说还大有希望。索尼娅和娜塔莎像看护妇一样照料着她。
尼古拉第二天带着这封信去访问玛丽亚公爵小姐。尼古拉和玛丽亚公爵小姐都绝口不谈“娜塔莎照料着他”可能有的含意；但由于这封信，尼古拉和公爵小姐一下子亲近得像有了亲缘关系。
再过一天，尼古拉送玛丽亚公爵小姐启程去雅罗斯拉夫尔，几天之后，自己也动身回团。
Book 12 Chapter 8
SONYA'S LETTER to Nikolay, that had come as an answer to his prayer, was written at Troitsa. It had been called forth in the following way. The idea of marrying Nikolay to a wealthy heiress had taken more and more complete possession of the old countess's mind. She knew that Sonya was the great obstacle in the way of this. And Sonya's life had of late, and especially after the letter in which Nikolay described his meeting with Princess Marya at Bogutcharovo, become more and more difficult in the countess's house. The countess never let slip an opportunity for making some cruel or humiliating allusion to Sonya. But a few days before they set out from Moscow the countess, distressed and overwrought by all that was happening, sent for Sonya, and instead of insistence and upbraiding, besought her with tears and entreaties to repay all that had been done for her by sacrificing herself, and breaking off her engagement to Nikolay. “I shall have no peace of mind till you make me this promise,” she said.
Sonya sobbed hysterically, answered through her sobs that she would do anything, that she was ready for anything; but she did not give a direct promise, and in her heart she could not bring herself to what was demanded of her. She had to sacrifice herself for the happiness of the family that had brought her up and provided for her. To sacrifice herself for others was Sonya's habit. Her position in the house was such that only by way of sacrifice could she show her virtues, and she was used to sacrificing herself and liked it. But in every self-sacrificing action hitherto she had been happily conscious that by her very self-sacrifice she was heightening her value in the eyes of herself and others, and becoming worthier of Nikolay, whom she loved beyond everything in life. But now her sacrifice would consist in the renunciation of what constituted for her the whole reward of sacrifice, and the whole meaning of life. And for the first time in her life she felt bitterness against the people who had befriended her only to torment her more poignantly: she felt envy of Natasha, who had never had any experience of the kind, who had never been required to make sacrifices, and made other people sacrifice themselves for her, and was yet loved by every one. And for the first time Sonya felt that there was beginning to grow up out of her quiet, pure love for Nikolay a passionate feeling, which stood above all principles, and virtue, and religion. And under the influence of that passion, Sonya, whose life of dependence had unconsciously trained her to reserve, gave the countess vague, indefinite answers, avoided talking with her, and resolved to wait for a personal interview with Nikolay, not to set him free, but, on the contrary, to bind him to her for ever.
The fuss and the horror of the Rostovs' last days in Moscow had smothered the gloomy thoughts that were weighing on Sonya. She was glad to find an escape from them in practical work. But when she heard of Prince Andrey's presence in their house, in spite of all the genuine compassion she felt for him, and for Natasha, a joyful and superstitious feeling that it was God's will that she should not be parted from Nikolay took possession of her. She knew Natasha loved no one but Prince Andrey, and had never ceased to love him. She knew that brought together now, under such terrible circumstances, they would love one another again; and that then, owing to the relationship that would (in accordance with the laws of the Orthodox Church) exist between them, Nikolay could not be married to Princess Marya. In spite of all the awfulness of what was happening during the last day or two in Moscow and the first days of the journey, that feeling, that consciousness of the intervention of Providence in her personal affairs, was a source of joy to Sonya. At the Troitsa monastery the Rostovs made the first break in their journey.
In the hostel of the monastery three big rooms were assigned to the Rostovs, one of which was occupied by Prince Andrey. The wounded man was by this time a great deal better. Natasha was sitting with him. In the next room were the count and the countess reverently conversing with the superior, who was paying a visit to his old acquaintances and patrons. Sonya was sitting with them, fretted by curiosity as to what Prince Andrey and Natasha were saying. She heard the sounds of their voices through the door. The door of Prince Andrey's room opened. Natasha came out with an excited face, and not noticing the monk, who rose to meet her, and pulled back his wide sleeve off his right hand, she went up to Sonya and took her by the arm.
“Natasha, what are you about? Come here,” said the countess.
Natasha went up to receive the blessing, and the superior counselled her to turn for aid to God and to His saint.
Immediately after the superior had gone out, Natasha took her friend by the arm, and went with her into the empty third room.
“Sonya, yes, he will live,” she said. “Sonya, how happy I am, and how wretched! Sonya, darling, everything is just as it used to be. If only he were going to live. He cannot, … because … be … cause …” and Natasha burst into tears.
“Yes! I knew it would be! Thank God,” said Sonya. “He will live.”
Sonya was no less excited than her friend, both by the latter's grief and fears, and by her own personal reflections, of which she had spoken to no one. Sobbing, she kissed and comforted Natasha. “If only he were to live!” she thought. After weeping, talking a little, and wiping their tears, the two friends went towards Prince Andrey's door. Natasha, cautiously opening the door, glanced into the room. Sonya stood beside her at the half-open door.
Prince Andrey was lying raised high on three pillows. His pale face looked peaceful, his eyes were closed, and they could see his quiet, regular breathing.
“Ah, Natasha!” Sonya almost shrieked all of a sudden, clutching at her cousin's arm, and moving back away from the door.
“What! what is it?” asked Natasha
“It's the same, the same, you know …” said Sonya, with a white face and quivering lips.
Natasha softly closed the door and walked away with Sonya to the window, not yet understanding what she was talking of.
“Do you remember,” said Sonya, with a scared and solemn face, “do you remember when I looked into the mirror for you … at Otradnoe at Christmas time … Do you remember what I saw?” …
“Yes, yes,” said Natasha, opening her eyes wide, and vaguely recalling that Sonya had said something then about seeing Prince Andrey lying down.
“Do you remember?” Sonya went on. “I saw him then, and told you all so at the time, you and Dunyasha. I saw him lying on a bed,” she said, at each detail making a gesture with her lifted finger, “and that he had his eyes shut, and that he was covered with a pink quilt, and that he had his hands folded,” said Sonya, convinced as she described the details she had just seen that they were the very details she had seen then. At the time she had seen nothing, but had said she was seeing the first thing that came into her head. But what she had invented then seemed to her now as real a memory as any other. She not only remembered that she had said at the time that he looked round at her and smiled, and was covered with something red, but was firmly convinced that she had seen and said at the time, that he was covered with a pink quilt—yes, pink—and that his eyes had been closed.
“Yes, yes, pink it was,” said Natasha, who began now to fancy too that she remembered her saying it was a pink quilt, and saw in that detail the most striking and mysterious point in the prediction.
“But what does it mean?” said Natasha dreamily.
“Ah, I don't know, how extraordinary it all is!” said Sonya, clutching at her head.
* * *
A few minutes later, Prince Andrey rang his bell, and Natasha went in to him; while Sonya, in a state of excitement and emotion such as she had rarely experienced, remained in the window, pondering over all the strangeness of what was happening.
That day there was an opportunity of sending letters to the army, and the countess wrote a letter to her son.
“Sonya,” said the countess, raising her head from her letter, as her niece passed by her. “Sonya, won't you write to Nikolenka?” said the countess, in a soft and trembling voice; and in the tired eyes, that looked at her over the spectacles, Sonya read all that the countess meant by those words. Those eyes expressed entreaty and dread of a refusal and shame at having to beg, and readiness for unforgiving hatred in case of refusal.
Sonya went up to the countess, and kneeling down, kissed her hand.
“I will write, mamma,” she said.
Sonya was softened, excited, and moved by all that had passed that day, especially by the mysterious fulfilment of her divination, which she had just seen. Now, when she knew that in case of the renewal of Natasha's engagement to Prince Andrey, Nikolay could not be married to Princess Marya, she felt with delight a return of that self-sacrificing spirit in which she was accustomed and liked to live. And with tears in her eyes, and with a glad sense of performing a magnanimous action, she sat down, and several times interrupted by the tears that dimmed her velvety black eyes, she wrote the touching letter the reception of which had so impressed Nikolay.
索尼娅致尼古拉的那封应验了他的祈祷的信，是从特罗伊茨写来的。引发它的来由是这样的。让尼古拉娶一位富有的新娘的想法，愈来愈缠住老伯爵夫人。她知道索尼娅是这事的主要障碍。因而索尼娅近来的日子，特别是在尼古拉来信谈到在博古恰罗沃同玛丽亚公爵小姐相遇之后，在伯爵夫人家变得越来越难过。伯爵夫人不放过任何机会给索尼娅以侮辱性的或是残酷的暗示。 
但在离开莫斯科的前几天，为发生的一切而惊惶不安和伤感的伯爵夫人，把索尼娅叫到自己身边，不是责备和强求，而是眼泪婆娑地恳求她牺牲自己和尼古拉断绝关系以报答这个家为她所做的一切。
“只要你不答应我，我便永远不会安宁。”
索尼娅歇斯底里大哭起来，嚎啕着回答说，她什么都可以做，她什么都准备好了，但她并没有直接答应，她心里面下不了决心，不能去做要求她做的事。为了这个抚养她教育她的家庭的幸福，她应该牺牲自己。为他人的幸福牺牲自己，是索尼娅的常事。她在这家处于这样的地位，只有牺牲才能说明自己的尊严，因而她惯于，并且爱付出牺牲。但是，在以前一切自我牺牲的行为中，她都高兴地意识到，她每当牺牲自己时，那种行为提高了本人在自己和别人眼里的价值，更配得上她平生最爱慕的Nicolas；而现在，她的牺牲却在于要放弃对她牺牲的奖赏和生活的全部意义。于是，有生以来第一遭，感到她对人们的哀怨，尝到了苦味。人们对她施以恩惠，却是为了更痛苦地折磨她；她感到对娜塔莎的嫉妒，她从未尝到过类似的辛酸，从来勿须牺牲自己而总是让别人为她牺牲，而大家总是喜欢她。同时，索尼娅第一次感到，从她对Nicolas平静的纯洁的爱情中，突然开始生长出炽热的情感，它高于准则、道义和宗教；在这种情感的影响下，经过寄人篱下默默无闻的生活的磨炼，学会了隐瞒事实真相，索尼娅不由自主地含糊其辞地回答了伯爵夫人后，避免同她谈话，决定等待同尼古拉见面，抱着不是解脱，而是相反，永远把自己同他拴在一起的打算。
罗斯托夫家在莫斯科逗留的最后几天中，忙乱和恐怖淹没了索尼娅心里折磨她的忧郁思绪。她高兴在实际活动中得以摆脱这些思绪，但当她得知安德烈公爵在他们家时，虽然她对他和娜塔莎怀着真诚的同情心，高兴的心情和迷信上帝不要她同Nicolas分开的感觉支配了她。她知道，娜塔莎从未只爱安德烈公爵一人，并未停止爱他。她知道，现在，在这样可怕的环境下相聚一堂，他们会重新相爱，由于他们俩人之间会结成亲属关系，尼古拉就不得娶玛丽亚公爵小姐了。尽管在那最后几天和旅途最初几天所发生的一切都很可怕，这种感情，这种认为上帝对她私事加以干预的意识，使她觉得快乐。
在特罗伊茨修道院，罗斯托夫家第一次在旅途中停留了一整天。
特罗伊茨修道院的客栈，分给罗斯托夫家三间大房间，安德烈公爵占了其中一间。他的伤口今天好多了。娜塔莎陪他坐着。在隔壁房间里，伯爵夫妇正坐着恭敬地和修道院长谈话，院长是来看望这两位老相识和捐助人的。索尼娅也在座，想知道安德烈公爵和娜塔莎谈话内容的好奇心折磨着好。她从门里听着他们的说话声。安德烈公爵房间的门这时开了。娜塔莎带着激动的脸色走了出来，未曾注意到起身向她致意，捋起右手宽袖的院长，走到索尼娅身旁，抓住了她的手。
“娜塔莎，你怎么啦？过这边来。”伯爵夫人说。
娜塔莎走过去接受修道院长的祝福，而院长劝她向上帝及其侍者求助。
修道院长刚一离开，娜塔莎就牵着自己伙伴的手，同她一起走进一个空房间。
“索尼娅，是吗？他会活吗？”她说，“索尼娅，我多么幸福，又多么不幸！索尼娅，亲爱的，一切又像从前一样。只要他能活着。他不能……因为，因……为……”娜塔莎大哭起来。
“是这样！我已知道了！谢天谢地”索尼娅不停地说，“他会活的！”
索尼娅的激动不亚于自己的伙伴，她由于女伴的恐惧和痛苦而激动，也由于她个人的对谁也没有诉说的心事而激动。她哭泣着吻娜塔莎，安慰她。“只要他能活着！”她心里想。两个女友！哭了一会儿，谈了一会儿，擦干眼泪之后，就向安德烈公爵的房门口走去。娜塔莎小心地推开房门，往房里瞧瞧。索尼娅和她并肩站在半开的门旁边。
安德烈公爵高高地靠在三个枕头上，躺着。他苍白的脸是平静的，眼睛闭着，同时看得出来，他呼吸均匀。
“噢，娜塔莎！”突然索尼娅几乎叫了起来，抓着表妹的手从房门口向后退。
“什么？什么？”娜塔莎问。
“这是那，那，是……”索尼娅脸色苍白、嘴唇发抖地说。
娜塔莎轻轻拉拢房门，同索尼娅朝窗户走去，还没有明白人家对她说的话。
“你记得吗，”索尼娅带着惊慌而又严肃的神情说，“记得我替你照镜子算卦吗？…在奥特拉德诺耶，过圣诞节的时候……记得我看见什么了吗？…”
“是的，是的！”娜塔莎睁大着眼睛说，模糊地回忆起，索尼亚当时曾说过安德烈公爵如何如何，说她看见他躺着。
“记得吗？”索尼娅继续说，“我当时看见了，并告诉了所有的人，有你，有杜尼亚莎。我看见他躺在床上，”她说，每说出一个细节，便举起一根指头向上戳一下，“并且闭着眼睛，还盖着玫瑰色的被子，还把手叠起来，”索尼娅说，随着她描述刚才看见的细枝末节，她就更相信她当时看见过这些细节。当时她并无所见，却头头是道地讲出她看到的东西，其实她是在讲她凭空想出来的东西；但是她觉得她心里同意想的东西就像别的回忆一样真实。她不仅记得当时她所说的，他转过头来看她一眼，并笑了笑，身上盖的是红颜色的东西，而且她坚信，当时就是说过并看见过他盖着玫瑰色的，就是玫瑰色的被子，并且他的眼睛是闭着的。
“对，对呀，正是玫瑰色的。”娜塔莎说，她现在也仿佛记得，曾经说过“玫瑰色的”，在这件事情上，看出预兆是多么离奇，多么神秘。
“但这意味着什么呢？”娜塔莎沉思着问道。
“噢，我不知道，这太离奇了！”索尼娅说，用手扪着脑袋。
几分钟后，安德烈公爵打铃叫人，娜塔莎进他房间去，而索尼亚感到一种她难得有过的激动和感动，留在窗户旁，继续思索那不可思议的一切。
这天正逢军邮之期，于是，伯爵夫人给儿子写信。
“索尼娅，”伯爵夫人在外甥女从身旁经过时，从信上抬起头来说。“索尼娅，你不给尼古连卡写信吗？”伯爵夫人用颤抖的声音低声地说，但在她疲惫的透过眼镜看人的目光里，索尼娅领会了伯爵夫人问话的涵意。目光里表示着的，有祈求，有害怕拒绝，出于不得已而请求的羞赧，遭拒绝时毫不留情地仇恨的决心。
索尼娅走近伯爵夫人，并跪下来吻她的手。
“我这就写，妈咪。”她说。
这天所发生的一切，特别是她看到了她的占卜神秘地应验了，使索尼娅心肠软化，深有感触。此刻，当她知道由于娜塔莎与安德烈公爵恢复关系了，尼古拉不能同玛丽亚公爵小姐结婚，她高兴地感觉到自我牺牲精神的回归，她喜爱，并且习惯于生活在这样的心境之中。于是她含着眼泪，怀着做一种宽容行为的喜悦心情，她终究在几次因泪水遮住她那天鹅绒般的黑眼睛而停笔之后，写完那封使尼古拉大为震惊的令人感动的信。
Book 12 Chapter 9
IN THE GUARD-ROOM to which Pierre had been taken, the officer and soldiers in charge treated him with hostility, but at the same time with respect. Their attitude to him betrayed both doubt who he might be—perhaps a person of great importance—and hostility, in consequence of the personal conflict they had so recently had with him.
But when on the morning of the next day the guard was relieved, Pierre felt that for his new guard—both officers and soldiers—he was no longer an object of the same interest as he had been to those who had taken him prisoner. And, indeed, in the big, stout man in a peasant's coat, the sentinels in charge next day saw nothing of the vigorous person who had fought so desperately with the pillaging soldier and the convoy, and had uttered that solemn phrase about saving a child; they saw in him only number seventeen of the Russian prisoners who were to be detained for some reason by order of the higher authorities. If there were anything peculiar about Pierre, it lay only in his undaunted air of concentrated thought, and in the excellent French in which, to the surprise of the French, he expressed himself. In spite of that, Pierre was put that day with the other suspicious characters who had been apprehended, since the room he had occupied was wanted for an officer.
All the Russians detained with Pierre were persons of the lowest class. And all of them, recognising Pierre as a gentleman, held aloof from him all the more for his speaking French. Pierre mournfully heard their jeers at his expense.
On the following evening, Pierre learned that all the prisoners (and himself probably in the number) were to be tried for incendiarism. The day after, Pierre was taken with the rest to a house where were sitting a French general with white moustaches, two colonels, and other Frenchmen with scarfs on their shoulders. With that peculiar exactitude and definiteness, which is always employed in the examination of prisoners and is supposed to preclude all human weaknesses, they put questions to Pierre and the others, asking who he was, where he had been, with what object, and so on.
These questions, leaving on one side the essence of the living fact, and excluding all possibility of that essence being discovered, like all questions, indeed, in legal examinations, aimed only at directing the channel along which the examining officials desired the prisoner's answers to flow, so as to lead him to the goal of the inquiry—that is, to conviction. So soon as he began to say anything that was not conducive to this aim, then they pulled up the channel, and the water might flow where it would. Moreover, Pierre felt, as the accused always do feel at all trials, a puzzled wonder why all these questions were asked him. He had a feeling that it was only out of condescension, out of a sort of civility, that this trick of directing the channel of their replies was made use of. He knew he was in the power of these men, that it was only by superior force that he had been brought here, that it was only superior force that gave them the right to exact answers to their questions, that the whole aim of the proceeding was to convict him. And, therefore, since they had superior force, and they had the desire to convict him, there seemed no need of the network of questions and the trial. It was obvious that all the questions were bound to lead up to his conviction. To the inquiry what he was doing when he was apprehended, Pierre replied with a certain tragic dignity that he was carrying back to its parents a child he had “rescued from the flames.” Why was he fighting with the soldiers? Pierre replied that he was defending a woman, that the defence of an insulted woman was the duty of every man, and so on … He was pulled up; this was irrelevant. With what object had he been in the courtyard of a burning house where he had been seen by several witnesses? He answered that he was going out to see what was going on in Moscow. He was pulled up again. He had not been asked, he was told, where he was going, but with what object he was near the fire. Who was he? The first question was repeated, to which he had said he did not want to answer. Again he replied that he could not answer that.
“Write that down, that's bad. Very bad,” the general with the white whiskers and the red, flushed face said to him sternly.
On the fourth day, fire broke out on the Zubovsky rampart.
Pierre was moved with thirteen of the others to a coach-house belonging to a merchant's house on the Crimean Ford. As he passed through the street, Pierre could hardly breathe for the smoke, which seemed hanging over the whole city. Fires could be seen in various directions. Pierre did not at that time grasp what was implied by the burning of Moscow, and he gazed with horror at the fires.
In a coach-house behind a house in the Crimean Ford, Pierre spent another four days, and in the course of those four days he learned, from the conversation of the French soldiers, that all the prisoners in detention here were every day awaiting the decision of their fate by a marshal. Of what marshal, Pierre could not ascertain from the soldiers. For the soldiers, this marshal was evidently the highest and somewhat mysterious symbol of power.
These first days, up to the 8th of September, when the prisoners were brought up for a second examination, were the most painful for Pierre.
在皮埃尔被带去的那间拘留所里，逮捕他的军官和士兵对他怀有敌意，但是又很尊敬他。他们对他的态度令人觉察到他们还有疑虑，因为不知他是谁（会不会是大人物），他们怀有敌意，是因为他们同他的殴斗刚刚过去。 
但是，第二天早晨看守换班时，皮埃尔感到，新的卫队——军官和士兵们，已不像逮捕他的人那样对他感兴趣了。的确，从这个穿农夫大褂的大个儿胖子身上，第二天的守卫已看不出那个曾绝望地同抢劫者和押送他的士兵斗殴，并说出拯救孩子的豪言壮语的活生生的人，而只看到一个因某种原因按上级命令逮捕和关押的第十七号俄国人犯的。假如说皮埃尔身上有什么特别之处，那也只是他并不胆怯和专心沉沉思的样子，以及他交谈时操的那一口好得令法国人惊奇的法语。尽管如此，这天把他同其他被怀疑的人关在一起，因为他占的单间给一位军官占用了。
和皮埃尔一道被关押的全部俄国人，都是最低阶层的。他们认出他的老爷身份后，对他会说法语而更疏远他。皮埃尔抑郁地听任他们嘲笑自己。
第二天晚上，皮埃尔得知，这些人（他也可能包括在内）将以纵火罪受审。第三天，皮埃尔同另一些人被带进一座房子，里面坐着一名白胡子的法国将军，两名上校和另几名臂上系绶带的法国人。这些法国人对皮埃尔等人，用自以为可以超脱人类弱点的精确和肯定语气（通常对待被告就是如此），问了：他是谁？到过哪里？有什么目的？诸如此类的问题。
这些问题，像法庭上问的全部问题一样，抛开事情的本质，排除显示其本质的可能性，其目的只是要选成一道沟渠，法官们希望被告的回答顺着这道沟渠流出来，把被告引向预期目标，即是判处他的罪行。每当被告开始讲出不适宜判决目的的话，沟渠就被移开，水就可以随便流到什么地方。皮埃尔更体会到了被告在所有法庭上都体验到的莫名其妙的心情：——这就是对他提出各种问题的目的。他觉得，不过是出于宽容，或者是出于礼貌，才使用虚设的沟渠这种手段。他知道，他处于这些人的权力之下，也只有这种权力把他带到这里来，也只有这种权力赋予他们要求他回答提问的权利，他们开会的唯一目的是给他定罪。那末，既然拥有权力，又有定罪的意图，那就不须要审讯和法庭这种手段了。显而易见，任何回答均可作为招供的罪状。问他被捕时在干什么，他有些悲壮地回答说，他正在把那个qu'ilavaitsauvédesflammes（从火里救出的）孩子交给他的父母。问他为什么同抢劫者斗殴呢？皮埃尔回答，他在保护女人，保护受辱的女人是人人的责任，而且……他被阻止了：这与案情无关。问他为什么到着火的房屋的院子里去呢，这是证人看到的？他回答说他要看看莫斯科发生的事情。他又被打断：没问他到哪里去，而是问为什么在火场附近呆着？又问他是谁？——第一个问题又重复提出来，他曾说他不肯回答。现在他依然回答，说他不想谈这个问题。
“记下来，这不好。很不好。”白胡子将军红着本来就微带红色的脸严厉地说。
第四天，祖博夫斯基要塞起火。
皮埃尔同另外十三人被押送到克里米亚浅滩一家商人的马车房。通过街道时，皮埃尔被似乎笼罩全城的烟闷得透不过气来。四面都在着火。皮埃尔当时还不明白莫斯科被焚烧的意义，只是恐怖地看着各处在燃烧。
在克里米亚浅滩边那座房子的马车棚里，皮埃尔又过了四天，在此期间，从法兵谈话中得知，所有关押的人每天都在等着大元帅随时作出的决定。哪位大元帅，皮埃尔未能从士兵口里听说出来。对士兵说来，大元帅显然是代表最高层的有点神秘的权力。
九月八日前，即被俘者第二次受审那天以前的日子，皮埃尔觉得最难过。
Book 12 Chapter 10
ON THE 8TH of September, there came into the prisoners' coach-house an officer of very great consequence, judging by the respectfulness with which he was addressed by the soldiers on guard. This officer, probably some one on the staff, held a memorandum in his hand, and called over all the Russians' names, giving Pierre the title of “the one who will not give his name.” And with an indolent and indifferent glance at all the prisoners, he gave the officer on guard orders to have them decently dressed and in good order before bringing them before the marshal. In an hour a company of soldiers arrived, and Pierre with the thirteen others was taken to the Virgin's Meadow. It was a fine day, sunny after rain, and the air was exceptionally clear. The smoke did not hang low over the town as on the day when Pierre had been taken from the guard-room of the Zubovsky rampart; the smoke rose up in columns into the pure air. Flames were nowhere to be seen; but columns of smoke were rising up on all sides, and all Moscow, all that Pierre could see, was one conflagration. On all sides he saw places laid waste, with stoves and pipes left standing in them, and now and then the charred walls of a stone house.
Pierre stared at the fires, and did not recognise parts of the town that he knew well. Here and there could be seen churches that had not been touched by the fire. The Kremlin uninjured, rose white in the distance, with towers and Ivan the Great. Close at hand, the cupola of the Monastery of the New Virgin shone brightly, and the bells for service rang out gaily from it. Those bells reminded Pierre that it was Sunday and the festival of the birth of the Virgin Mother. But there seemed to be no one to keep this holiday; on all sides they saw the ruin wrought by the fires, and the only Russians they met were a few tattered and frightened-looking people, who hid themselves on seeing the French.
It was evident that the Russian nest was in ruins and destroyed; but with this annihilation of the old Russian order of life, Pierre was unconsciously aware that the French had raised up over this ruined nest an utterly different but strong order of their own. He felt this at the sight of the regular ranks of the boldly and gaily marching soldiers who were escorting him and the other prisoners; he felt it at the sight of some important French official in a carriage and pair, driven by a soldier, whom they met on their way. He felt it at the gay sounds of regimental music, which floated across from the left of the meadow; and he had felt it and realised it particularly strongly from the memorandum the French officer had read in the morning when he called over the prisoners' names. Pierre was taken by one set of soldiers, led off to one place, and thence to another, with dozens of different people. It seemed to him that they might have forgotten him, have mixed him up with other people. But no; his answers given at the examination came back to him in the form of the designation, “the one who will not give his name.” And under this designation, which filled Pierre with dread, they led him away somewhere, with unhesitating conviction written on their faces that he and the other prisoners with him were the right ones, and that they were being taken to the proper place. Pierre felt himself an insignificant chip that had fallen under the wheel of a machine that worked without a hitch, though he did not understand it.
Pierre was led with the other prisoners to the right side of the Virgin's Meadow, not far from the monastery, and taken up to a big, white house with an immense garden. It was the house of Prince Shtcherbatov, and Pierre had often been inside it in former days to see its owner. Now, as he learnt from the talk of the soldiers, it was occupied by the marshal, the Duke of Eckmühl.
They were led up to the entrance, and taken into the house, one at a time. Pierre was the sixth to be led in. Through a glass-roofed gallery, a vestibule, and a hall, all familiar to Pierre, he was led to the long, low-pitched study, at the door of which stood an adjutant.
Davoust was sitting at a table at the end of the room, his spectacles on his nose. Pierre came close up to him. Davoust, without raising his eyes, was apparently engaged in looking up something in a document that lay before him. Without raising his eyes, he asked softly: “Who are you?”
Pierre was mute because he was incapable of articulating a word. Davoust was not to Pierre simply a French general; to Pierre, Davoust was a man notorious for his cruelty. Looking at the cold face of Davoust, which, like a stern teacher, seemed to consent for a time to have patience and await a reply, Pierre felt that every second of delay might cost him his life. But he did not know what to say. To say the same as he had said at the first examination he did not dare; to disclose his name and his position would be both dangerous and shameful. Pierre stood mute. But before he had time to come to any decision, Davoust raised his head, thrust his spectacles up on his forehead, screwed up his eyes, and looked intently at Pierre.
“I know this man,” he said, in a frigid, measured tone, obviously reckoning on frightening Pierre. The chill that had been running down Pierre's back seemed to clutch his head in a vice.
“General, you cannot know me, I have never seen you.”
“It is a Russian spy,” Davoust interrupted, addressing another general in the room, whom Pierre had not noticed. And Davoust turned away. With an unexpected thrill in his voice, Pierre began speaking with sudden rapidity.
“Non, monseigneur,” he said, suddenly recalling that Davoust was a duke, “you could not know me. I am a militia officer, and I have not quitted Moscow.”
“Your name?” repeated Davoust.
“Bezuhov.”
“What proof is there that you are not lying?”
“Monseigneur!” cried Pierre in a voice not of offence but of supplication.
Davoust lifted his eyes and looked intently at Pierre. For several seconds they looked at one another, and that look saved Pierre. In that glance, apart from all circumstances of warfare and of judgment, human relations arose between these two men. Both of them in that one instant were vaguely aware of an immense number of different things, and knew that they were both children of humanity, that they were brothers.
At the first glance when Davoust raised his head from his memorandum, where men's lives and doings were marked off by numbers, Pierre was only a circumstance, and Davoust could have shot him with no sense of an evil deed on his conscience; but now he saw in him a man. He pondered an instant.
“How will you prove to me the truth of what you say?” said Davoust coldly.
Pierre thought of Ramballe, and mentioned his name and regiment and the street and house where he could be found.
“You are not what you say,” Davoust said again.
In a trembling, breaking voice, Pierre began to bring forward proofs of the truth of his testimony.
But at that moment an adjutant came in and said something to Davoust.
Davoust beamed at the news the adjutant brought him, and began buttoning up his uniform. Apparently he had completely forgotten about Pierre. When an adjutant reminded him of the prisoner, he nodded in Pierre's direction with a frown, and told them to take him away. But where were they to take him—Pierre did not know: whether back to the shed or the place prepared for their execution which his companions had pointed out to him as they passed through the Virgin's Meadow.
He turned his head and saw that the adjutant was repeating some question.
“Yes, of course!” said Davoust. But what that “yes” meant, Pierre could not tell.
Pierre did not remember how or where he went, and how long he was going. In a condition of complete stupefaction and bewilderment, seeing nothing around him, he moved his legs in company with the others till they all stopped, and he stopped.
There was one idea all this time in Pierre's head. It was the question: Who, who was it really that was condemning him to death? It was not the men who had questioned him at the first examination; of them not one would or obviously could do so. It was not Davoust, who had looked at him in such a human fashion. In another minute Davoust would have understood that they were doing wrong, but the adjutant who had come in at that moment had prevented it. And that adjutant had obviously had no evil intent, but he might have stayed away. Who was it, after all, who was punishing him, killing him, taking his life—his, Pierre's, with all his memories, his strivings, his hopes, and his ideas? Who was doing it? And Pierre felt that it was no one's doing. It was discipline, and the concatenation of circumstances. Some sort of discipline was killing him, Pierre, robbing him of life, of all, annihilating him.
九月八号，俘虏们的车房里进来了一位很重要的军官，这从看守对他的尊敬程度上看得出来。这位军官，大概是参谋部什么人，拿着一份名单，点全部俄国人的名，呼叫皮埃尔为：celuiquin'avouepassonnom（不愿说出姓名的人）。他冷淡地懒洋洋地看了一遍被俘的人，吩咐看守军官给他们穿着得像样，收拾整齐，然后带去见元帅。一个钟头后，来了一连兵，于是，皮埃尔和另外十三个人被带往圣母广场。那是雨后晴朗的一天，空气非常清洁。烟不像皮埃尔从祖博夫斯基要塞拘留所被带出来的那天那样低垂：透过清洁的空气像圆柱似地向上升腾。火光是哪里都见不到了，但四面八方都有烟柱在往上升，而整个莫斯科，就皮埃尔所能见到的地方而言，成了火灾后的一片废墟。随处可以看见只剩炉灶和烟囱的瓦砾场，偶尔有些地方剩下石砌房屋的烧焦了的墙壁。皮埃尔观察这些废墟，他熟识的那些街坊已辨认不出来。一些地方还看得见完好的教堂。未遭破坏的克里姆林宫从远处显露着白色的轮廓，连同它的塔楼和伊凡大帝钟楼。近处，新圣母修道院的穹窿灿烂地闪光，钟声也格外响亮地从那里传来。钟声提醒皮埃尔，这是星期日，圣母诞生节。但是，似乎无人庆祝这个节日：到处是灾后的残破景象，偶尔能碰到的俄国人，都衣衫褴褛，惊惧恐慌，一见法军便躲藏起来。 
显然，俄国的这个窝巢已经倾复和毁坏了，但在俄国生活秩序被摧毁的背后，皮埃尔不自觉地感到，这倾复的窝巢之上，已建立起完全不同的，稳定的法国制度。他从押解他和其他罪犯的士兵的整齐队形、精神抖擞、心情愉快地行进的样子看出；他从乘坐由一名士兵驾驶的双套车的某个法国重要文官迎面开来的样子看得出来，从左边广场传来的军乐队的愉快乐曲也使他感到这点，而尤其是，从今天早上前来的法国军官宣读囚犯名字的那份名单上更使他明白了这点。抓皮埃尔的士兵，把他带到一处，又把他连同另外几十个人带到另一处；他们好像会忘记他，把他同其他人混起来似的。但不对：他想起他回答审讯时，又被人称呼：celuiquin'avouepassonnom（不愿说出姓名的人）。皮埃尔顶着这个现在使他觉得害怕的名称，他正被带往某个地方，押解人的脸上带着明白不误的自信，所有其余囚犯和他正是他们需要押送的人，他们正被带往需要去的地方。皮埃尔觉得自己是落入他不认得的却准确运行着的机器轮子里的小小木屑。
皮埃尔同其他罪犯被带到圣母广场右边，离修道院不远，靠近拥有一个大花园的那座白色的巨大宅院。这是谢尔巴托夫公爵府，皮埃尔以前常来这里拜访主人，现在，他从士兵谈话得知，这里驻扎着元帅，艾克米尔公爵（达乌）。
他们被带至门廊前，开始一个个地被领进屋子，皮埃尔是第六个被领进去的。经过有一面玻璃窗的走廊，过厅，前厅，（这都是皮埃尔熟悉的），他被带进一间狭长的办公室，门口站着一名副官。
达乌坐在房间的尽头，俯身靠着桌子，鼻梁上架一付眼镜。皮埃尔走到他的近傍。达伍没有抬起眼睛。显然在批阅他面前的公文，他不抬眼睛，低声地问到quiêtesvous（你是谁）？
皮埃尔沉默着，因为他说不出话来。他觉得达乌不单是一名法国将军、对皮埃尔说来，达乌是以残忍出了名的人。皮埃尔望着达乌（就像一位愿意暂时耐心等待回答的厉害的教师）的那张冷酷的脸，他觉得，每延迟一秒钟，都要付出他生命的代价；但他不晓得说什么。说他第一次受审时说的那些话吗，他决定不下来；公开自己的头衔和地位又很危险，而且羞于这样作。皮埃尔沉默着。但在皮埃尔未及决定怎么办时，达乌抬起了头，把眼镜推到额头上，眯缝眼睛仔细观察了皮埃尔一番。
“我认识此人。”他用从容不迫的冷冷的嗓音说，显然以此吓唬皮埃尔。一股寒气先穿过皮埃尔的背脊，然后像老虎钳一样夹住他的头。
“Mongènèral，vousnepouvezpasmeconnaitre，jenevousaijamaisvu…”
“C'estunespionrusse．”①达乌打断他的话，对屋内的另一位将军说，但皮埃尔未曾留意到这位将军。达乌又把脸也转向那个将军。皮埃尔突然声音震颤地急忙说道： 
①“您不可能认识我，将军，我从未见过您……”
“Non，monseigneur，”他说，又同时意外地想起达乌是公爵。“Non，monseigneur，vousn'avezpaspumeconnaitre．Jesuisunofficiermilitionnaireetjen'aipasquittéMoscou．”
“Votrenom．”达乌再问一遍。
“这人是俄国间谍。”
“Besouhof．”
“Qu'estcequimeprouveraquevousnementezpas？”
“Monseigneur！”①皮埃尔喊叫起来，不是用委屈而是用祈求的口气。
达乌抬起眼睛仔细看皮埃尔。他们彼此对视了几秒钟，这一“看”使皮埃尔得救。这一“看”便使两者之间，绕过战争和审讯，建立起了人与人的关系。这一时刻，他们两人都模糊地连连感觉到数不清的事情，明白了他们两人都是人类的孩子，是弟兄。
达乌从名单上抬起头来，（那名单上标志着人事和人的性命的是一些号码），他第一眼看见的皮埃尔只是一个小道具而已，达乌可以无愧于心地把他枪毙；但现在他在他身上看到了人。他沉思了一会儿。
“Commentmeprouverezvouslavèritèdicequevous
medites？”②他冷冷地说。
皮埃尔想起了朗巴莱，叫出他的团名，他的姓氏，和房子坐落的街道。
“Vousn'êtespascequevousdites．”③达乌又说。 
①“不，阁下……不，阁下，您不可能认识我。我是民团军官，我没有离开莫斯科。”　“您的名字？”　“别祖霍夫。”　“谁能证明您没撒谎？”　“阁下。”
②您怎样向我证明您说的是真的呢？
③您不是您说的那个人。
皮埃尔哆嗦着断断续续举出例子来证明自己所说的是事实。
但这时进来一位副官，向达乌报告某件事。
达乌一听副官报告的消息，立即露出高兴的样子，并开始扣扭扣。看来他完全忘了皮埃尔。
当副官向他提起俘虏的时候，他皱起眉头往皮埃尔那边点点头说要把他带走。但该带往何处，皮埃尔则不知道：是回到车房，还是带到刑场上去，那个地方难友们在经过圣母广场的时候指给他看过了。
他回过头，看到副官在询问什么事。
“Qui，sansdoute！”（对，自然如此！）达乌说，但什么是“对”，皮埃尔不知道。
皮埃尔记不请怎样走的，是否走了很久，往哪里走的。他在脑子完全空白和麻木的情况下，看不见周围的任何东西，只是动脚同其他人一齐走，直到大家停下，他也停下。
在这全部时间内，只有一个想法缠绕在皮埃尔脑子里。这就是：谁，究竟是谁，最终判决他的死刑的？这不是委员会审讯他的那些人：他们当中谁也不愿意这样做，并且看来也不能作出这一判决。这也不是达乌，他是那么人道地看着他的。要是再等一分钟，达乌就会明白他们干得蠢，但是前来的副官妨碍了这一分钟。而这个副官显然不想干坏事，但他本来可以不进来的。那终究是谁要处死地，枪毙他，夺去他皮埃尔的生命——连同他的全部记忆，志向，希望和思想呢？
谁决定的？于是，皮埃尔感觉到，这里没有谁会这样干。
这是制度，是各种情况的凑合。
某个制度要杀死他——皮埃尔，要剥夺他的生命和一切，要消灭他。
Book 12 Chapter 11
FROM PRINCE SHTCHERBATOV'S HOUSE the prisoners were taken straight downhill across the Virgin's Meadow to the left of the monastery of the Virgin, and led to a kitchen garden, in which there stood a post. A big pit had been dug out near the post, and the freshly turned-up earth was heaped up by it. A great crowd of people formed a semicircle about the pit and the post. The crowd consisted of a small number of Russians and a great number of Napoleon's soldiers not on duty: there were Germans, Italians, and Frenchmen in various uniforms. To the right and left of the post stood rows of French soldiers, in blue uniforms, with red epaulettes, in Hessians and shako. The prisoners were stood in a certain order, in accordance with a written list (Pierre was sixth) and led up to the post. Several drums suddenly began beating on both sides of them, and Pierre felt as though a part of his soul was being torn away from him by that sound. He lost all power of thought and reflection. He could only see and hear. And there was only one desire left in him, the desire that the terrible thing that was to be done should be done more quickly. Pierre looked round at his companions and scrutinised them.
The two men at the end were shaven convicts; one tall and thin, the other a swarthy, hirsute, muscular fellow with a flattened nose. The third was a house-serf, a man of five-and-forty, with grey hair and a plump, well-fed figure. The fourth was a peasant, a very handsome fellow with a full, flaxen beard and black eyes. The fifth was a factory hand, a thin, sallow lad of eighteen, in a dressing-gown.
Pierre heard the Frenchmen deliberating how they were to be shot, singly, or two at a time. “Two at a time,” a senior officer answered coldly. There was a stir in the ranks of the soldiers, and it was evident that every one was in haste and not making haste, not as people do when they are getting through some job every one can understand, but as men hasten to get something done that is inevitable, but is disagreeable and incomprehensible.
A French official wearing a scarf came up to the right side of the file of prisoners, and read aloud the sentence in Russian and in French.
Then two couples of French soldiers came up to the prisoners by the instruction of an officer, and took the two convicts who stood at the head. The convicts went up to the post, stopped there, and while the sacks were being brought, they looked dumbly about them, as a wild beast at bay looks at the approaching hunter. One of them kept on crossing himself, the other scratched his back and worked his lips into the semblance of a smile. The soldiers with hurrying fingers bandaged their eyes, put the sacks over their heads and bound them to the post.
A dozen sharpshooters, with muskets, stepped out of the ranks with a fine, regular tread, and halted eight paces from the post. Pierre turned away not to see what was coming. There was a sudden bang and rattle that seemed to Pierre louder than the most terrific clap of thunder, and he looked round. There was a cloud of smoke, and the French soldiers, with trembling hands and pale faces, were doing something in it by the pit. The next two were led up. Those two, too, looked at every one in the same way, with the same eyes, dumbly, and in vain, with their eyes only begging for protection, and plainly unable to understand or believe in what was coming. They could not believe in it, because they only knew what their life was to them, and so could not understand, and could not believe, that it could be taken from them.
Pierre tried not to look, and again turned away; but again a sort of awful crash smote his hearing, and with the sound he saw smoke, blood, and the pale and frightened faces of the Frenchmen, again doing something at the post, and balking each other with their trembling hands. Pierre, breathing hard, looked about him as though asking, “What does it mean?” The same question was written in all the eyes that met Pierre's eyes. On all the faces of the Russians, on the faces of the French soldiers and officers, all without exception, he read the same dismay, horror, and conflict as he felt in his own heart. “But who is it doing it there really? They are all suffering as I am! Who is it? who?” flashed for one second through Pierre's mind. “Sharpshooters of the eighty-sixth, forward!” some one shouted. The fifth prisoner standing beside Pierre was led forward—alone. Pierre did not understand that he was saved; that he and all the rest had been brought here simply to be present at the execution. With growing horror, with no sense of joy or relief, he gazed at what was being done. The fifth was the factory lad in the loose gown. As soon as they touched him, he darted away in terror and clutched at Pierre (Pierre shuddered and tore himself away from him). The factory lad could not walk. He was held up under the arms and dragged along, and he screamed something all the while. When they had brought him to the post he was suddenly quiet. He seemed suddenly to have grasped something. Whether he grasped that it was no use to scream, or that it was impossible for men to kill him, he stood at the post, waiting to be bound like the others, and like a wild beast under fire looked about him with glittering eyes.
Pierre could not make himself turn away and close his eyes. The curiosity and emotion he felt, and all the crowd with him, at this fifth murder reached its highest pitch. Like the rest, this fifth man seemed calm. He wrapped his dressing-gown round him, and scratched one bare foot with the other.
When they bound up his eyes, of himself he straightened the knot, which hurt the back of his head; then, when they propped him against the blood-stained post, he staggered back, and as he was uncomfortable in that position, he shifted his attitude, and leaned back quietly, with his feet put down symmetrically. Pierre never took his eyes off him, and did not miss the slightest movement he made.
The word of command must have sounded, and after it the shots of the eight muskets. But Pierre, however earnestly he tried to recollect it afterwards, had not heard the slightest sound from the shots. He only saw the factory lad suddenly fall back on the cords, saw blood oozing in two places, and saw the cords themselves work loose from the weight of the hanging body, and the factory lad sit down, his head falling unnaturally, and one leg bent under him. Pierre ran up to the post. No one hindered him. Men with pale and frightened faces were doing something round the factory lad. There was one old whiskered Frenchman, whose lower jaw twitched all the while as he untied the cords. The body sank down. The soldiers, with clumsy haste, dragged it from the post and shoved it into the pit.
All of them clearly knew, beyond all doubt, that they were criminals, who must make haste to hide the traces of their crime.
Pierre glanced into the pit and saw that the factory lad was lying there with his knees up close to his head, and one shoulder higher than the other. And that shoulder was convulsively, rhythmically rising and falling. But spadefuls of earth were already falling all over the body. One of the soldiers, in a voice of rage, exasperation, and pain, shouted to Pierre to stand aside. But Pierre did not understand him, and still stood at the post, and no one drove him away.
When the pit was quite filled up, the word of command was heard, Pierre was taken back to his place, and the French troops, standing in ranks on both sides of the post, faced about, and began marching with a measured step past the post. The twenty-four sharpshooters, standing in the middle of the circle, with uncharged muskets, ran back to their places as their companies marched by them.
Pierre stared now with dazed eyes at these sharpshooters, who were running two together out of the circle. All of them had joined their companies except one. A young soldier, with a face of deathly pallor, still stood facing the pit on the spot upon which he had shot, his shako falling backwards off his head, and his fuse dropping on to the ground. He staggered like a drunken man, taking a few steps forward, and then a few back, to keep himself from falling. An old under-officer ran out of the ranks, and, seizing the young soldier by the shoulder, dragged him to his company. The crowd of Frenchmen and Russians began to disperse. All walked in silence, with downcast eyes.
“That will teach them to set fire to the places,” said some one among the French. Pierre looked round at the speaker, and saw that it was a soldier who was trying to console himself somehow for what had been done, but could not. Without finishing his sentence, he waved his hand and went on.
离开谢尔巴托夫公爵府，俘虏们被带着直接往下走，经圣母广场，到圣母修道院左边，然后又被带到一个菜园，那里竖立着一根柱子。柱子后面是掘好的一个大坑，边沿有新垒起的泥土，土坑和柱子附近，呈半圆形站着一大群人。人群里小半是俄国人，大半是拿破仑的不当班的军人：德国人，意大利人，法国人等，他们穿着各式制服。柱子左右两边，站着排成行的法军，他们身穿带有红色穗条肩章的蓝制服，脚登皮靴，头戴圆筒帽。 
罪犯是按名单上的顺序排好（皮埃尔站在第六名），被带到柱子前面去的。几面军鼓突然从两边敲响了，于是皮埃尔感到，随着鼓声灵魂好像飞走了大半似的。他失掉了思考和理解的能力。他只能看和听。并且，他只剩下一个愿望，希望快点儿发生完应该发生的可怕事情。
皮埃尔朝难友望去，一个个地看他们。
头两个人是剃光了头的囚犯。一个又高又瘦；另一个黧黑，多毛，肌肉强健，长了个扁鼻子。第三人是个家奴，约四十五岁，头发已开始灰白，身体肥胖，保养得好。第四个是农夫，很漂亮，有一大把褐色的胡子和一双黑眼睛。第五个是工场伙计，黄皮肤，瘦小，十八九岁的样子，穿外套。
皮埃尔听到法国人在商议如何枪毙：一次枪毙一个或是两个？“两个。”为首的军官冷漠而平静地说。士兵的队列里有了动静，可以看出都在忙着，而大家的忙，不是忙于去干大家明白的事，却是忙于去完成一件必须完成的，但不愉快也不可思议的事。
一个佩绶带的法国官员走近一排犯人的右手边，用俄语和法语宣读判辞。
然后，两对法国兵走近犯人，根据军官的指示。带出站在前头的两名囚犯。囚犯走到柱子前停下，在法国兵去拿口袋来的功夫，默默地看着周围，像被打伤的野兽望着走过来的猎人。一个老是划十字，另一个在抓背脊，动了动嘴唇，像微笑的样子。士兵们急急忙忙伸出手来，开始给他们蒙上眼睛，把口袋套住他们的头，并把他们绑到柱子上。
十二名持枪的步兵，迈着整齐有力的步伐走出队列，在离柱子八步远处停下。皮埃尔转过身去，以免看见将要发生的事。突然响起了炸裂声和隆隆声，皮埃尔觉得比可怕的雷声还更响亮，他转过脸去看，看见了硝烟，同时，脸色苍白的法国人用发抖的手在坑旁干着什么。又带去另外两个。这两人照样用同样的目光看着大家，两人一个样地仔细看，沉默着，枉然地寻求着保护，显然不明白，不相信将要发生的事。他们不能相信，因为只有他们自己知道，生命对于他们意味着什么，也因为他们不懂，也不相信他们的生命可以被夺去。
皮埃尔想要不看，但又回过头去；同时仿佛有一种可怕的爆炸声又一次地震动了他的耳朵，随着这一阵声响，他看到了硝烟，谁的鲜血，和吓得发白的法国人的面孔，他们又用发抖的手不时地彼此相撞，在柱子旁干着什么，皮埃尔沉重地呼吸着，望着四周，像是在问：这是怎么啦？与皮埃尔目光相遇的那些人的目光里，也有着相同的询问。
在所有俄罗斯人的脸上，在法军士兵，军官的脸上，无一例外，他都看到了惊吓、骇怕和斗争，他内心也有这样的感受。这究竟是谁干的呢？他们都感到痛苦，我也和他们一样，是谁？是谁？”这个问题在皮埃尔心上闪了一下。
“Tirailleursdu86—me，enavant”（第86团的步兵，出列！）有人在喊口令。和皮埃尔站在一起的第五名被带出去，——只是一个人。皮埃尔不明白他得救了。不明白他和其余剩下的人只是带来陪陪枪决的。他的恐惧在增长，既无高兴，也无放心的感觉，就这样看着正在发生的事。第五个是穿工作衫的工场伙计。法军一挨着他，他立即恐惧地跳开，抱住皮埃尔（皮埃尔浑身一抖，挣脱了出来）。工场伙计走不动。他是被架着拖起走的，同时他又在叫喊着什么。当他被带到柱子前面，他突然不叫了。他仿佛突然明白了什么。他明白了叫喊徒劳无益吗？还是明白了杀死他是不可能的吗？总之，他站在柱子旁边，等待被蒙上眼睛和一应手续，他也像被打伤的野兽一样，用闪光的眼睛望着周围。
皮埃尔这时已无法阻遇自己转过身去闭住眼睛了。在枪毙第五个人时他和整个人群的好奇和激动，达到了最高点。像前面几个一样，这第五个也显得平静：他掩上衣襟，用一只光脚搔另一只脚。
在给他蒙眼睛时，他自己弄好勒痛他的后脑的结子；随后，让他靠到满是血迹的柱子上去，他往后一仰，因为那时他觉得站的姿势不舒适，然后改正一下姿势，再把两脚摆整齐，靠稳了。皮埃尔没有把目光从他身上移开，不放过极细微的动作。
应该听到口令了，口令之后应该响起八支步枪的射击声。但皮埃尔，勿论他后来怎样努力回忆，也没回忆起一点点射击声。他只看到，不知为什么工场伙计突然倒在绳索上，血从两个地方喷射出来，绳索本身在下垂的身体的重压下松开了，而工场伙计不自然地垂着头，屈着一条腿坐了下去。皮埃尔朝柱子跑去。没有人拦阻他。工场伙计的周围，吓坏了的脸色苍白的一些人在干着什么。留着唇髭的一名法国老兵在解绳子时，下巴在发抖。尸体放下来了。士兵笨拙地匆忙地托他往柱子后面拖，推到坑里去。
大家都确切无疑地知道，他们是罪犯，他们是必须把罪证快些掩盖起来的罪犯。
皮埃尔朝坑里望了一眼，看到工场伙计屈腿卧着，膝盖抵着头朝上蜷着。一边肩膀高一边肩膀低。高的那边肩膀痉挛地均匀地上下起伏着。但一铲铲的泥土在撒向那具尸体。一个士兵生气地恶狠狠地病态地向皮埃尔吼了一声，让他回去。
但皮埃尔听不明白，仍旧站在柱子旁，也没有谁赶他走。
当土坑填满后，又听到一声口令。皮埃尔被带回原位，而柱子两边站成行的法军队伍转了个半圆，开始齐步走过柱子旁。圈子中央拿着放空了的枪的二十四名步兵，在各连士兵走过他们身旁时，跑步归队。
皮埃尔茫然地看着这批步兵从圈子里两人一排地跑出来。除一个外，都回到了队伍里。这个年轻士兵脸色死一般的苍白，筒帽推到了后面，枪已放下，仍在他射击的地方面朝土坑站着。他像醉汉一样摇摇晃晃，向前走几步，又向后走几步，支撑着快要倒下的身躯。一个年老的军士从队列跑出，抓着年轻士兵的肩膀把他拖回了连的队伍。那群俄国人和法国人，开始散开。大家默默地走着，头向下低垂。
“Caleurapprendraàincendier．①一个法国人说。皮埃尔朝那说话的人看去，看到这是一个兵，他想为他们干的事自我安慰一下，其实白搭。这人话没有说完，摆摆手走开了。 
①这就是他们放火得到的教训。
Book 12 Chapter 12
AFTER THE EXECUTION Pierre was separated from the other prisoners and left alone in a small, despoiled, and filthy church.
Towards evening a patrol sergeant, with two soldiers, came into the church and informed Pierre that he was pardoned, and was now going to the barracks of the prisoners of war. Without understanding a word of what was said to him, Pierre got up and went with the soldiers. He was conducted to some sheds that had been rigged up in the upper part of the meadow out of charred boards, beams, and battens, and was taken into one of them. Some twenty persons of various kinds thronged round Pierre. He stared at them, with no idea of what these men were, why they were here, and what they wanted of him. He heard the words they said to him, but his mind made no kind of deduction or interpretation of them; he had no idea of their meaning. He made some answer, too, to the questions asked him, but without any notion who was hearing him, or how they would understand his replies. He gazed at faces and figures, and all seemed to him equally meaningless.
From the moment when Pierre saw that fearful murder committed by men who did not want to do it, it seemed as though the spring in his soul, by which everything was held together and given the semblance of life, had been wrenched out, and all seemed to have collapsed into a heap of meaningless refuse. Though he had no clear apprehension of it, it had annihilated in his soul all faith in the beneficent ordering of the universe, and in the soul of men, and in his own soul, and in God. This state of mind Pierre had experienced before, but never with such intensity as now. When such doubts had come upon him in the past they had arisen from his own fault. And at the very bottom of his heart Pierre had been aware then that salvation from that despair and from these doubts lay in his own hands. But now he felt that it was not his fault that the world was collapsing before his eyes, and that nothing was left but meaningless ruins. He felt that to get back to faith in life was not in his power.
Around him in the darkness stood men. Probably they found something very entertaining in him. They were telling him something, asking him something, then leading him somewhere, and at last he found himself in a corner of the shed beside men of some sort, who were talking on all sides, and laughing.
“And so, mates…that same prince who” (with a special emphasis on the last word)…some voice was saying in the opposite corner of the shed.
Sitting in the straw against the wall, mute and motionless, Pierre opened, and then closed, his eyes. As soon as he shut his eyes he saw the fearful face of the factory lad, fearful especially from its simplicity, and the faces of the involuntary murderers, still more fearful in their uneasiness. And he opened his eyes again and stared blankly about him in the darkness.
Close by him a little man was sitting bent up, of whose presence Pierre was first aware from the strong smell of sweat that rose at every movement he made. This man was doing something with his feet in the darkness, and although Pierre did not see his face, he was aware that he was continually glancing at him. Peering intently at him in the dark, Pierre made out that the man was undoing his foot-gear. And the way he was doing it began to interest Pierre.
Undoing the strings in which one foot was tied up, he wound them neatly off, and at once set to work on the other leg, glancing at Pierre. While one hand hung up the first leg-binder, the other was already beginning to untie the other leg. In this way, deftly, with rounded, effective movements following one another without delay, the man unrolled his leg-wrappers and hung them up on pegs driven in over-head, took out a knife, cut off something, shut the knife up, put it under his bolster and settling himself more at his ease, clasped his arms round his knees, and stared straight at Pierre. Pierre was conscious of something pleasant, soothing, and rounded off in those deft movements, in his comfortable establishment of his belongings in the corner, and even in the very smell of the man, and he did not take his eyes off him.
“And have you seen a lot of trouble, sir? Eh?” said the little man suddenly. And there was a tone of such friendliness and simplicity in the sing-song voice that Pierre wanted to answer, but his jaw quivered, and he felt the tears rising. At the same second, leaving no time for Pierre's embarrassment to appear, the little man said, in the same pleasant voice:
“Ay, darling, don't grieve,” he said, in that tender, caressing sing-song in which old Russian peasant women talk. “Don't grieve, dearie; trouble lasts an hour, but life lasts for ever! Ay, ay, my dear. And we get on here finely, thank God; nothing to vex us. They're men, too, and bad and good among them,” he said; and, while still speaking, got with a supple movement on his knees to his feet, and clearing his throat walked away.
“Hey, the hussy, here she is!” Pierre heard at the end of the shed the same caressing voice. “Here she is, the hussy; she remembers me! There, there, lie down!” And the soldier, pushing down a dog that was jumping up on him, came back to his place and sat down. In his hands he had something wrapped up in a cloth.
“Here, you taste this, sir,” he said, returning to the respectful tone he had used at first, and untying and handing to Pierre several baked potatoes. “At dinner we had soup. But the potatoes are first-rate!”
Pierre had eaten nothing the whole day, and the smell of the potatoes struck him as extraordinarily pleasant. He thanked the soldier and began eating.
“But why so, eh?” said the soldier smiling, and he took one of the potatoes. “You try them like this.” He took out his clasp-knife again, cut the potato in his hand into two even halves, and sprinkled them with salt from the cloth, and offered them to Pierre.
“The potatoes are first-rate,” he repeated. “You taste them like that.”
It seemed to Pierre that he had never eaten anything so good.
“No, I am all right,” said Pierre; “but why did they shoot those poor fellows?…The last was a lad of twenty.”
“Tss…tss…” said the little man. “Sin, indeed,…sin…” he added quickly, just as though the words were already in his mouth and flew out of it by accident; he went on: “How was it, sir, you came to stay in Moscow like this?”
“I didn't think they would come so soon. I stayed by accident,” said Pierre.
“But how did they take you, darling; from your home?”
“No, I went out to see the fire, and then they took me up and brought me to judgment as an incendiary.”
“Where there's judgment, there there's falsehood,” put in the little man.
“And have you been here long?” asked Pierre, as he munched the last potato.
“I? On Sunday they took me out of the hospital in Moscow.”
“Who are you, a soldier?”
“We are soldiers of the Apsheron regiment. I was dying of fever. We were never told anything. There were twenty of us lying sick. And we had never a thought, never a guess of how it was.”
“Well, and are you miserable here?” asked Pierre.
“Miserable, to be sure, darling. My name's Platon, surname Karataev,” he added, evidently to make it easier for Pierre to address him. “In the regiment they called me ‘the little hawk.' How can one help being sad, my dear? Moscow—she's the mother of cities. One must be sad to see it. Yes, the maggot gnaws the cabbage, but it dies before it's done; so the old folks used to say,” he added quickly.
“What, what was that you said?” asked Pierre.
“I?” said Karataev. “I say it's not by our wit, but as God thinks fit,” said he, supposing that he was repeating what he had said. And at once he went on: “Tell me, sir, and have you an estate from your fathers? And a house of your own? To be sure, your cup was overflowing! And a wife, too? And are your old parents living?” he asked, and though Pierre could not see him in the dark, he felt that the soldier's lips were puckered in a restrained smile of kindliness while he asked these questions. He was evidently disappointed that Pierre had no parents, especially that he had not a mother.
“Wife for good counsel, mother-in-law for kind welcome, but none dear as your own mother!” said he. “And have you children?” he went on to ask. Pierre's negative reply seemed to disappoint him again, and he added himself: “Oh well, you are young folks; please God, there will be. Only live in peace and concord.”
“But it makes no difference now,” Pierre could not help saying.
“Ah, my dear man,” rejoined Platon, “the beggar's bag and the prison walls none can be sure of escaping.” He settled himself more comfortably, and cleared his throat, evidently preparing himself for a long story. “So it was like this, dear friend, when I used to be living at home,” he began, “we have a rich heritage, a great deal of land, the peasants were well off, and our house—something to thank God for, indeed. Father used to go out to reap with six of us. We got along finely. Something like peasants we were. It came to pass…” and Platon Karataev told a long story of how he had gone into another man's copse for wood, and had been caught by the keeper, how he had been flogged, tried, and sent for a soldier. “And do you know, darling,” said he, his voice changing from the smile on his face, “we thought it was a misfortune, while it was all for our happiness. My brother would have had to go if it hadn't been for my fault. And my younger brother had five little ones; while I, look you, I left no one behind but my wife. I had a little girl, but God had taken her before I went for a soldier. I went home on leave, I must tell you. I find them all better off than ever. The yard full of beasts, the women folk at home, two brothers out earning wages. Only Mihailo, the youngest, at home. Father says all his children are alike; whichever finger's pricked, it hurts the same. And if they hadn't shaved Platon for a soldier, then Mihailo would have had to go. He called us all together—would you believe it—made us stand before the holy picture. ‘Mihailo,' says he, ‘come here, bend down to his feet; and you, women, bow down; and you, grandchildren. Do you understand?' says he. Yes, so you see, my dear. Fate acts with reason. And we are always passing judgment; that's not right, and this doesn't suit us. Our happiness, my dear, is like water in a dragnet; you drag, and it is all puffed up, but pull it out and there's nothing. Yes, that's it.” And Platon moved to a fresh seat in the straw.
After a short pause, Platon got up.
“Well, I dare say, you are sleepy?” he said, and he began rapidly crossing himself, murmuring:
“Lord Jesus Christ, holy Saint Nikola, Frola and Lavra; Lord Jesus Christ, holy Saint Nikola, Frola and Lavra; Lord Jesus Christ—have mercy and save us!” he concluded, bowed down to the ground, got up, sighed, and sat down on his straw. “That's right. Let me lie down like a stone, O God, and rise up like new bread!” he murmured, and lay down, pulling his military coat over him.
“What prayer was that you recited?” asked Pierre.
“Eh?” said Platon (he was already half asleep). “Recited? I prayed to God. Don't you pray, too?”
“Yes, I do,” said Pierre. “But what was it you said—Frola and Lavra?”
“Eh, to be sure,” Platon answered quickly. “They're the horses' saints. One must think of the poor beasts, too,” he said. “Why, the little hussy, she's curled up. You're warm, child of a bitch!” he said, feeling the dog at his feet; and, turning over again, he fell asleep at once.
Outside shouting and wailing could be heard somewhere far away, and through the cracks in the walls could be seen the glow of fire; but within the shed all was dark and hushed. For a long while Pierre did not sleep, and lay with open eyes in the darkness, listening to Platon snoring rhythmically as he lay beside him, and he felt that the world that had been shattered was rising up now in his soul, in new beauty, and on new foundations that could not be shaken.
行刑后，皮埃尔与别的犯人隔离开来，单独囚禁在一座破败肮脏的小教堂内。 
傍晚前，卫队的军士带着两个兵到教堂来对皮埃尔宣布，他被赦免，现在进战俘营去。皮埃尔不明白对他说的话，起身跟随那两个兵走了。他被带到广场高处一排排用火烧焦的木板、梁木和木条搭起的棚子那里，被送进其中一间。黑暗中，有二十来个各种人物向皮埃尔围来。皮埃尔看着他们，不明白这些人是谁。围过来干什么，对他有何要求，他听到他们对他说的话，但引伸不出任何结论，把它们连贯不起来：他不明白其涵意。他自己对他们有问必答，但不考虑有谁在听，懂不懂得他的回答。他看着那些面孔和身影，全都使他觉得一样地茫然。
从他看到由不愿干的人进行的可怕屠杀的那一时刻起，他心里那根维系着一切，使一切有生气的发条，突然仿佛被拔掉了，于是，一切东西倒塌成一堆没有意义的废物。虽然他还没有弄清楚，他内心对世界太平，对人类和自己的灵魂，对上帝的那种信仰，都已荡然无存。这种体验皮埃尔以前也曾有过，但从未像现在这样强烈。以前，当皮埃尔心中曾有这种怀疑时，这怀疑的根源是他自己的过错。并且，在内心深处，他当时还觉得，免除失望和怀疑在于他自己。而现在，他觉得，世界在他眼前倒塌了，只剩下一片无用的废墟，这并不是他的过错所造成。他觉得，要回到对人生的信仰上来——他已做不到了。
黑暗中，他的周围站着一些人：的确是他身上有什么东西吸引了他们。他们告诉他一些事，又问他一些事，然后把他带到一个地方去，最后，他在一个角落安顿下来，他身旁的人们笑语喧闹。
“就这样，哥儿们……就是那个王子，（在·那·个这一字眼上特别强调）……”在这间俘虏营对面角落里的一个声音说。
皮埃尔沉默地一动不动地坐在靠墙的干草上，眼睛一忽儿睁开，一忽儿闭上。但当他一闭眼，他便在他面前看见那张可怕的，尤其是以其纯朴表情使人目不忍睹的，工场伙计的面孔，以及由于内心不安而更为可怕的身不由己的屠杀者的面孔。于是，他又睁开眼睛，在黑暗中茫然地看着周围。
挨着他坐着的是一位弯着腰的小个子，皮埃尔注意到他，开初是由于他身子每动一下，便传出一股臭汗味来。此人在黑暗中摆动他的两只脚，尽管皮埃尔没有看到他的脸，但他感觉到此人在不停地看他。眼睛习惯黑暗以后，皮埃尔看出这人在脱靴子。他脱靴子的动作，吸引了皮埃尔的兴趣。
他退卷下缠在一只脚上的细绳子之后，整齐地把它卷起来，并立即解开另一只脚上的细绳子，同时望着皮埃尔。一手在挂卷好的细绳子，另一只手已开始解另一只脚上的绳子，他的动作不停地、一个紧接一个，从容不迫地细心而麻利地脱下靴子，把靴子分别挂到头上的橛子上，拿出小刀来切下点什么东西，然后收拢小刀，放在枕头下，接着坐得更舒服些，两手抱着膝盖，对直盯着皮埃尔。皮埃尔从他那些圆熟的动作上，从他那一角落妥贴安排的内务上，甚至从他的气味上，都使他产生某种愉快的安详的从容不迫的感觉，于是，他目不转睛地看着他。
“你遭过很多苦难，是吧，老爷？啊？”这个小个子突然说道。这个动听的嗓音里表现着柔情和纯朴，皮埃尔很想回答，但他的下巴在发抖，他觉察到眼泪掉下来了。小个儿在这一瞬间不让皮埃尔发窘，也开始用那同样愉快的嗓音谈起话来。
“哎，小雄鹰，别发愁，”他带着俄国老妈妈说话那样的娓娓动听的柔情说。“别发愁，朋友：忍得一时，过得一世！就是这样，我亲爱的。我们呆在这儿，谢天谢地，没有委屈。这儿的人有坏的，也有好的。”他说，一边说话，一边灵活地弓起身子站起来，咳嗽着走向某个地方。
“哟，坏东西，你来啦！”皮埃尔听到棚子那一头传来那同一个柔情的声音。“你来啦，坏东西，还记得我！呶，呶，行了。”于是，这个兵把跳到他跟前来的小狗推开，回到自己位置上坐下。他手里拿着包在破布里的什么东西。
“来，您吃点，老爷。”他说，回到了先前尊敬的语调，并打开卷起的包，递给皮埃尔几个烤土豆。“中午喝的是稀汤。
土豆可是最好吃的！”
皮埃尔整天未吃东西，土豆香味他觉得异常好闻。他谢过这个兵后便开始吃起来。
“怎么，挺好吧？”士兵微笑着说，拿起一个土豆来，“你要这样。”他又拿出一把小折刀，在自己手掌上把那个土豆切成均匀的两半，撒上些破布里包着的盐，递给皮埃尔。
“土豆好极了。”他又说一遍，“你就这样吃吧。”
皮埃尔觉得他从未吃过这么好吃的东西。
“不，我随便怎样都行，”皮埃尔说，“可他们为什么今天要枪毙那些不幸的人！……最后一个二十岁上下。”
“啧，啧……”小个子说，“罪过啊，罪过啊……”他迅速补充说，仿佛他嘴里一直准备着话说，随时会脱口而出，他继续说：“您怎么回事，老爷，您就这样留在莫斯科了？”
“我没想到他们来得这样快。我偶然留下来的。”皮埃尔说。
“那他们是怎样抓你的呢，小雄鹰，从你的家里抓住的吗？”
“不是，我去看大火，他们在那里抓到我，把我当成纵火犯交法庭审讯。”
“哪里有法庭，哪里就有不公平的事。”小个子插进来说。
“你关在这里很久了吧？”皮埃尔问，快要嚼完最后一个土豆。
“我吗？上星期日他们把我从莫斯科的军队医院里抓来的。”
“你是谁，士兵吗？”
“阿普舍龙团的兵。害疟疾要死了。他们撤退时什么也没有告诉我们。我们二十来个人躺在医院里。我们没有想到，没有猜到。”
“那，你在这儿烦闷吗？”皮埃尔问。
“怎么不闷，小雄鹰！我叫普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫，”他补充说，显然是为了让皮埃尔便于称呼他。“绰号小雄鹰，军队里这么叫我。怎么不闷，小雄鹰！莫斯科——她是众城之母。看着这一切如何不烦闷。可是蛆咬白菜心，自己先丧命：老人都这么说。”他又迅速补充说。
“怎么，你怎么说来着？”皮埃尔问。
“我吗？”卡拉塔耶夫问道。“我说的：别看人聪明，上帝有法庭，”他说，以为他是在重复刚才说过的话。并立即继续说：“您呢，老爷，有领地吗？有房子吗？看来，生活美满！有女主人吗？老父母还健在吗？”他问，而皮埃尔，虽然在黑暗中看不见，感觉到了士兵的唇边漾起了忍俊不禁的温情的微笑。他显然为皮埃尔父母，尤其是母亲不在人世而感到难过。
“妻子给您出主意，岳母待你如贵宾，哪有自家父亲亲啊！”他说。“呶，有孩子吗？”他接着问。皮埃尔的否定问答，看来又使他痛心，于是，他急忙补充：“没什么，人还年轻，上帝会赏赐，还会有的。只要和睦地相处……”
“现在有没有都一样了。”皮埃尔情不自禁地说。
“哎呀，你这个可爱的人。”普拉东表示异议。
“讨饭袋和监狱你都别嫌弃。”他坐得更舒服些，咳一声嗽，看样子，要准备讲一个长故事了。“给你说吧，亲爱的朋友，我那时还在家里过活的呢，”他开始讲。“我们的世袭产业很富有，土地很多，我们农民过得好好的，还有我们的家也挺好，谢天谢地。七口之家的老爷子还亲自出去收割。过得好好的。都是真正的基督教徒。忽然出事了……”普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫的长故事讲他如何赶车去别人的柴林砍木柴，被看林人捉住，挨鞭抽，被审问，最后被送去当兵。“没什么，小雄鹰，”他微笑着语气一转。“原以为痛苦，其实高兴！如果不是我犯了罪，本来该弟弟去当兵。但弟弟有五个孩子，而我呢，瞧，只剩下一个妻子。有过一个女儿，但在当兵前，上帝就把她带走了。我请假探家，我这就告诉你。我一看——他们过得比以前好。院子里满是牲畜，女人们在家，两个弟弟出去赚钱。只有米哈伊洛，最小的，在家。老爷子说，孩子都一样：哪根指头咬着都疼。如果普拉东当时没有剃头去当兵。米哈伊洛就得去。他把全家召到一起。你可相信，把神像摆在前面。米哈伊洛，他说，到这儿来，给他跪下叩头，还有你，媳妇，跪下，还有孙辈也来下跪。懂吗？”他说。
“给你说，我亲爱的朋友。在世者难逃去。而我们老是要评理：这不好，那不对。我们的幸福，朋友，就像网里的水：你一走，鼓了起来，可是把它从水里拖出来，什么也没有。就是这样的。”普拉东在干草上挪动了一下坐位。
沉默片刻后，普拉东站了起来。
“得了，我看，你想睡了吧？”他说，并开始迅速画十字，念着：
“耶稣基督上帝，尼古拉圣徒，弗洛拉和拉夫拉①，耶稣基督上帝，尼古拉圣徒，弗洛拉和拉夫拉，耶稣基督上帝——怜悯我们，拯救我们吧！”他说完，深深一鞠躬，站起身，叹一口气，然后坐到干草上。“这就是说，放倒像个石头，扶起像个面包。”他说完了，然后躺下，把军大衣拉来盖上。 
①罗马帝国戴奥克里先朝的殉道者弗罗拉斯和劳拉斯，被列入东正教的圣徒中，农民把他们两个当成马神，并且把他们的名字读错了。
“你读的是什么祷辞？”皮埃尔问。
“哦？”普拉东说，“读的是什么吗？向上帝祈祷呀，你难道不祈祷？”
“不，我也祈祷，”皮埃尔说。“但你说的是什么：弗洛拉和拉夫拉？”
“可不是，”普拉东很快地回答，“马神呀，牲口也该怜惜，”卡拉塔耶夫说。“哟，坏东西，缩成一团了。暖和了，小狗崽，”
他说，触摸了一下脚底下的狗，一翻身便马上睡着了。
外面，远方传来哭声和喊叫声，透过板屋缝隙看得见火光；但屋里是沉寂和黑暗。皮埃尔久久未能入睡，睁着眼睛躺在黑暗里自己的铺位上，听着旁。边睡着的普拉东的均匀的鼾声，渐渐觉得，那个已毁坏了的世界，如今带着一种新的美，在新的不可动摇的基础上，在他的心灵中活动起来。
Book 12 Chapter 13
IN THIS SHED, where Pierre spent four weeks, there were twenty-three soldiers, three officers, and two civilian functionaries, all prisoners.
They were all misty figures to Pierre afterwards, but Platon Karataev remained for ever in his mind the strongest and most precious memory, and the personification of everything Russian, kindly, and round. When next day at dawn Pierre saw his neighbour, his first impression of something round was fully confirmed; Platon's whole figure in his French military coat, girt round the waist with cord, in his forage-cap and bast shoes, was roundish, his head was perfectly round, his back, his chest, his shoulders, even his arms, which he always held as though he were about to embrace something, were round in their lines; his friendly smile and big, soft, brown eyes, too, were round.
Platon Karataev must have been over fifty to judge by his stories of the campaigns in which he had taken part. He did not himself know and could not determine how old he was. But his strong, dazzlingly white teeth showed in two unbroken semicircles whenever he laughed, as he often did, and all were good and sound: there was not a grey hair in his beard or on his head, and his whole frame had a look of suppleness and of unusual hardiness and endurance.
His face had an expression of innocence and youth in spite of the curving wrinkles on it; his voice had a pleasant sing-song note. But the great peculiarity of his talk was its spontaneity and readiness. It was evident that he never thought of what he was saying, or of what he was going to say; and that gave a peculiar, irresistible persuasiveness to his rapid and genuine intonations.
His physical powers and activity were such, during the first period of his imprisonment, that he seemed not to know what fatigue or sickness meant. Every evening as he lay down to sleep, he said: “Let me lie down, Lord, like a stone; let me rise up like new bread”; and every morning on getting up, he would shake his shoulder in the same way, saying: “Lie down and curl up, get up and shake yourself.” And he had, in fact, only to lie down in order to sleep at once like a stone, and he had but to shake himself to be ready at once, on waking, without a second's delay, to set to work of some sort; just as children, on waking, begin at once playing with their toys. He knew how to do everything, not particularly well, but not badly either. He baked, and cooked, and sewed, and planed, and cobbled boots. He was always busy, and only in the evenings allowed himself to indulge in conversation, which he loved, and singing. He sang songs, not as singers do, who know they are listened to, but sang, as the birds sing, obviously, because it was necessary to him to utter those sounds, as it sometimes is to stretch or to walk about; and those sounds were always thin, tender, almost feminine, melancholy notes, and his face as he uttered them was very serious.
Being in prison, and having let his beard grow, he had apparently cast off all the soldier's ways that had been forced upon him and were not natural to him, and had unconsciously relapsed into his old peasant habits.
“A soldier discharged is the shirt outside the breeches again,” he used to say. He did not care to talk of his life as a soldier, though he never complained, and often repeated that he had never once been beaten since he had been in the service. When he told stories, it was always by preference of his old and evidently precious memories of his life as a “Christian,” as he pronounced the word “krestyan,” or peasant. The proverbial sayings, of which his talk was full, were not the bold, and mostly indecent, sayings common among soldiers, but those peasant saws, which seem of so little meaning looked at separately, and gain all at once a significance of profound wisdom when uttered appropriately.
Often he would say something directly contrary to what he had said before, but both sayings were equally true. He liked talking, and talked well, adorning his speech with caressing epithets and proverbial sayings, which Pierre fancied he often invented himself. But the great charm of his talk was that the simplest incidents—sometimes the same that Pierre had himself seen without noticing them—in his account of them gained a character of seemliness and solemn significance. He liked to listen to the fairy tales which one soldier used to tell—always the same ones over and over again—in the evenings, but most of all he liked to listen to stories of real life. He smiled gleefully as he listened to such stories, putting in words and asking questions, all aiming at bringing out clearly the moral beauty of the action of which he was told. Attachments, friendships, love, as Pierre understood them, Karataev had none; but he loved and lived on affectionate terms with every creature with whom he was thrown in life, and especially so with man—not with any particular man, but with the men who happened to be before his eyes. He loved his dog, loved his comrades, loved the French, loved Pierre, who was his neighbour. But Pierre felt that in spite of Karataev's affectionate tenderness to him (in which he involuntarily paid tribute to Pierre's spiritual life), he would not suffer a moment's grief at parting from him. And Pierre began to have the same feeling towards Karataev.
To all the other soldiers Platon Karataev was the most ordinary soldier; they called him “little hawk,” or Platosha; made good-humoured jibes at his expense, sent him to fetch things. But to Pierre, such as he appeared on that first night—an unfathomable, rounded-off, and everlasting personification of the spirit of simplicity and truth—so he remained to him for ever.
Platon Karataev knew nothing by heart except his prayers. When he talked, he did not know on beginning a sentence how he was going to end it.
When Pierre, struck sometimes by the force of his remarks, asked him to repeat what he had said, Platon could never recall what he had said the minute before, just as he could never repeat to Pierre the words of his favourite song. There came in, “My own little birch-tree,” and “My heart is sick,” but there was no meaning in the words. He did not understand, and could not grasp the significance of words taken apart from the sentence. Every word and every action of his was the expression of a force uncomprehended by him, which was his life. But his life, as he looked at it, had no meaning as a separate life. It had meaning only as a part of a whole, of which he was at all times conscious. His words and actions flowed from him as smoothly, as inevitably, and as spontaneously, as the perfume rises from the flower. He could not understand any value or significance in an act or a word taken separately.
在皮埃尔进去住了四个星期的那间战俘营里，有二十三名战俘，三名军官，两名文官。 
皮埃尔后来觉得这些人都好像笼罩在大雾里，但普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫则以最强烈最宝贵的印象，作为整个俄罗斯的善良的圆满的东西的化身，而永远留在皮埃尔心上。当第二天清晨，皮埃尔看到自己的邻居时，关于圆的第一印象就完全得到了证实：普拉东身穿法军大衣，腰间系一条绳子，头戴制帽，脚穿草鞋，他的整个身形都是圆的，头完全是圆的，背、胸、肩膀，甚至连他那随时准备抱住什么的双手，都是圆圆的；愉快的笑脸，褐色的温柔的大眼睛，也是圆圆的。
从普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫看，讲述的他当兵时间久，参加过不少战役加以判断，他应该有五十多岁了。他自己不知为什么不能断定他年龄多大，但他的牙齿，又白又坚固，他开口笑时，露出两排完整无缺的半圆形的牙（他常笑）；胡子和头发没有一根白的，同时，整个身躯显得灵活，分外结实而富有耐力。
他的脸，虽然有些细碎的鱼尾纹，但却流落出天真年少的表情；他的嗓子是愉快动听的。但他说话的主要特点，是直截了当和流畅。他似乎从不想他说过什么和将要说什么；这就是他说得快和语调纯正的原因，因而有特殊的不可抗拒的说服力。
他的力气和手脚的灵便在关进战俘营的最初几天，表现得好像他不懂得什么是疲劳和疾病。每天早晨和晚上，他在躺下时就说：“上帝保佑，放倒像石头，扶起像面包。”早晨起床时，总要耸耸肩膀说：“躺下来，蜷缩成一团，起了床，抖擞精神。”也真的如此，他只要一躺下，立刻睡得像石头一样，而只要一站直了，便立刻毫不迟延地去找事情干，就像小孩子一起床便耍玩具一样。他样样会干，不顶好，但也不算坏。他会烤面包，煮食物，缝补，刨木板，上靴底。他总是有活儿干，只是在晚上聊聊天，他爱聊天，也爱唱歌。他唱歌不像歌唱家那样，知道有人在听他们唱，而是像鸟儿那样，似乎因为他必须发出这些声音来，就像必须伸懒腰或散步一样；同时，这些声音总是尖细的，温柔的，近乎女人的声音，如怨如诉，而这时他的面部表情非常严肃。
作了囚犯，满脸长起胡子，他好像扔掉了一切加之于他身上的外来的士兵的东西，不由自主地恢复了从前的农夫的老百姓的习惯。
“歇假的兵士——散在裤腰外面的的衬衫。”①他时常说。他不情愿讲自己的当兵生涯，尽管并不惋惜，还常常反复说，整个服役期间没捱过一次鞭笞。当他聊天的时候，主要讲自己陈年的，他所珍视的“耶稣”徒的，他本该说“农夫”的生活的回忆。② 
①俄国农民觉得衬衫扎进裤腰拘束，不习惯。
②“基督的”与“农民的”两字俄语发音极像。这里译为耶稣徒的。
充满他的语言里的成语，大多是不文雅而粗犷的那些成语，并不是士兵使用的，而是老百姓的日常习用语，把它们单独抽出来看是没有意义的，但凑到话里说出来，则突然显示出深刻的机智。
他往往说出与他刚才说过的相抵触的话来，但前后两种法说都是正确的。他爱说，能说，用讨好话和成语装饰他的语言，那些成语，皮埃尔觉得是他自己造出来的；而他谈话的主要魅力，在于他说的事都是单纯的，往往是皮埃尔视而不见的，而一经他道出，便具有庄严优雅的特点。他喜欢听一个士兵晚上讲故事（老是那些相同的故事），但更喜欢听关于现实生活的聊天。他愉快地微笑着，边听边插话，同时还问这问那，以便他能摸清那些聊天内容的精彩之处。至于眷恋、友谊、爱情这些事，照皮埃尔对他的了解来看，卡拉塔耶夫却未曾有过；但他也爱过，并且和生活里遇到的一切，尤其是和人——不是和某个知名的人，而是和出现在他面前的人们相亲相爱，和衷共济。他爱他的狗，爱难友，爱法国兵，爱他的邻人皮埃尔；但皮埃尔感到，尽管卡拉塔耶夫对他很亲热（他是不自觉地这样子来表示敬重皮埃尔的精神生活），但他一分钟也不会为同他分开而难过。皮埃尔也开始对卡拉塔耶夫抱着同样的感情。
普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫对所有其余的俘虏来说，也是个一般的士兵，都叫他小雄鹰或普拉托沙，善意地开他的玩笑，支他的差。而对皮埃尔来说，他在第一个晚上就使皮埃尔想象到，他已作为一个不可思议的、圆满的、永恒的纯朴和真理的化身永远留在皮埃尔心上。
普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫除了祷辞，不会背诵别的什么。他说起话来，好像只知开头，而不知如何收尾。
皮埃尔有时为他的谈话感到惊异，请他重说一遍时，普拉东总回忆不出一分钟前讲过的内容，就像他不能把他爱唱的歌给皮埃尔说出歌词一样。比如歌词是：“亲爱的，小白桦树啊，我多么痛苦啊。”而在歌词上显不出任何意义来。他不明白，也不可能明白从他话里单独抽出来的字的意义。他的每一句话和每一个行动，都是他所不知的现实的表现，那现实便是他的生活。但他的生活，照他自己看来，作为一种单独的东西，是没有意义的。只有作为他经常感觉得到的那个整体的一部份，他的生活才有意义。他的话和行动的表露，都是顺畅，必然和直接的，像花朵散发芳香。他不可能从单独抽出来的一个行动和一句话上，理解其价值或意义。
Book 12 Chapter 14
ON HEARING from Nikolay that her brother was at Yaroslavl with the Rostovs, Princess Marya, in spite of her aunt's efforts to dissuade her, prepared at once to go to him and to go not alone, but with her nephew; whether this were difficult or not, whether it were possible or not, she did not inquire, and did not care to know: it was her duty not only to be herself at the side of her—perhaps dying—brother, but to do everything possible to take his son to him, and she prepared to set off. If Prince Andrey had not himself communicated with her, Princess Marya put that down either to his being too weak to write, or to his considering the long journey too difficult and dangerous for her and his son.
Within a few days Princess Marya was ready for the journey. Her equipage consisted of her immense travelling coach in which she had come to Voronezh, and a covered trap and a waggon. She was accompanied by Mademoiselle Bourienne, Nikolushka, with his tutor, the old nurse, three maids, Tihon, a young valet, and a courier, whom her aunt was sending with her.
To travel by the usual route to Moscow was not to be thought of, and the circuitous route which Princess Marya was obliged to take by Lipetsk, Ryazan, Vladimir, and Shuya was very long; from lack of posting horses difficult; and in the neighbourhood of Ryazan, where they were told the French had begun to appear, positively dangerous.
During this difficult journey, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Dessalle, and Princess Marya's servants were astonished at the tenacity of her will and her energy. She was the last to go to rest, the first to rise, and no difficulty could daunt her. Thanks to her activity and energy, which infected her companions, she was towards the end of the second week close upon Yaroslavl.
The latter part of her stay in Voronezh had been the happiest period in Princess Marya's life. Her love for Rostov was not then a source of torment or agitation to her. That love had by then filled her whole soul and become an inseparable part of herself, and she no longer struggled against it. Of late Princess Marya was convinced—though she never clearly in so many words admitted it to herself—that she loved and was beloved. She had been convinced of this by her last interview with Nikolay when he came to tell her that her brother was with the Rostovs. Nikolay did not by one word hint at the possibility now (in case of Prince Andrey's recovery) of his engagement to Natasha being renewed, but Princess Marya saw by his face that he knew and thought of it. And in spite of that, his attitude to her—solicitous, tender, and loving—was so far from being changed, that he seemed overjoyed indeed that now a sort of kinship between him and Princess Marya allowed him to give freer expression to his loving friendship, as Princess Marya sometimes thought it. Princess Marya knew that she loved for the first and last time in her life, and felt that she was loved, and she was happy and at peace in that relation.
But this happiness on one side of her spiritual nature was far from hindering her from feeling intense grief on her brother's account. On the contrary, her spiritual peace on that side enabled her to give herself more completely to her feeling for her brother. This feeling was so strong at the moment of setting out from Voronezh that all her retinue were persuaded, looking at her careworn, despairing face, that she would certainly fall ill on the journey. But the very difficulties and anxieties of the journey, which Princess Marya tackled with such energy, saved her for the time from her sorrow and gave her strength.
As is always the case on a journey, Princess Marya thought of nothing but the journey itself, forgetting what was its object. But on approaching Yaroslavl, when what might await her—and not now at the end of many days, but that very evening—became clear to her mind again, her agitation reached its utmost limits.
When the courier, whom she had sent on ahead to find out in Yaroslavl where the Rostovs were staying, and in what condition Prince Andrey was, met the great travelling coach at the city gate he was frightened at the terribly pale face that looked out at him from the window.
“I have found out everything, your excellency: the Rostovs are staying in the square, in the house of a merchant, Bronnikov. Not far off, right above the Volga,” said the courier.
Princess Marya looked into his face with frightened inquiry, not understanding why he did not answer her chief question. How was her brother? Mademoiselle Bourienne put this question for the princess.
“How is the prince?” she asked.
“His excellency is staying in the same house with them.”
“He is living, then,” thought the princess; and she softly asked, “How is he?”
“The servants say, ‘No change.' ”
What was meant by “no change” the princess did not inquire, and with a passing, hardly perceptible, glance at little seven-year-old Nikolushka, sitting before her, delighted at the sight of the town, she bowed her head, and did not raise it again till the heavy carriage—rumbling, jolting, and swaying from side to side—came to a standstill. The carriage-steps were let down with a crash.
The carriage-door was opened. On the left was water—a broad river; on the right, entrance steps. At the entrance were people, servants, and a rosy-faced girl with a thick coil of black hair, who smiled at her in an unpleasantly affected way, as it seemed to Princess Marya (it was Sonya). The princess ran up the steps; the girl, smiling affectedly, said, “This way! this way!” and the princess found herself in the vestibule, facing an elderly woman of an Oriental type of face, who came rapidly to meet her, looking moved. It was the countess. She embraced Princess Marya and proceeded to kiss her.
“My child,” she said, “I love you, and have known you a long while.”
In spite of her emotion, Princess Marya knew it was the countess, and that she must say something to her. Not knowing how she did it, she uttered some polite French phrases in the tone in which she had been addressed, and asked, “How is he?”
“The doctor says there is no danger,” said the countess; but as she said it she sighed, and turned her eyes upwards, and this gesture contradicted her words.
“Where is he? Can I see him; can I?” asked the princess.
“In a minute; in a minute, my dear. Is this his son?” she said, turning to Nikolushka, who came in with Dessalle. “We shall find room for every one; the house is large. Oh, what a charming boy!”
The countess led the princess into the drawing-room. Sonya began to converse with Mademoiselle Bourienne. The countess caressed the child. The old count came into the room to welcome the princess. He was extraordinarily changed since Princess Marya had seen him last. Then he had been a jaunty, gay, self-confident old gentleman, now he seemed a pitiful, bewildered creature. As he talked to the princess, he was continually looking about him, as though asking every one if he were doing the right thing. After the destruction of Moscow and the loss of his property, driven out of his accustomed rut, he had visibly lost the sense of his own importance, and felt that there was no place for him in life.
In spite of her one desire to see her brother without loss of time, and her vexation that at that moment, when all she wanted was to see him, they should entertain her conventionally with praises of her nephew, the princess observed all that was passing around her, and felt it inevitable for the time to fall in with the new order of things into which she had entered. She knew that all this was inevitable, and it was hard for her, but she felt no grudge against them for it.
“This is my niece,” said the countess, presenting Sonya; “you do not know her, princess?”
Princess Marya turned to her, and trying to smother the feeling of hostility that rose up within her at the sight of this girl, she kissed her. But she felt painfully how out of keeping was the mood of every one around her with what was filling her own breast.
“Where is he?” she asked once more, addressing them all.
“He is downstairs; Natasha is with him,” answered Sonya, flushing. “We have sent to ask. You are tired, I expect, princess?”
Tears of vexation came into Princess Marya's eyes. She turned away and was about to ask the countess again where she could see him, when she heard at the door light, eager steps that sounded to her full of gaiety. She looked round and saw, almost running in, Natasha — that Natasha whom she had so disliked when they met long before in Moscow.
But Princess Marya had hardly glanced at Natasha's face before she understood that here was one who sincerely shared her grief, and was therefore her friend. She flew to meet her, and embracing her, burst into tears on her shoulder.
As soon as Natasha, sitting by Prince Andrey's bedside, heard of Princess Marya's arrival, she went softly out of the room with those swift steps that to Princess Marya sounded so light-hearted, and ran to see her.
As she ran into the room, her agitated face wore one expression — an expression of love, of boundless love for him, for her, for all that was near to the man she loved — an expression of pity, of suffering for others, and of passionate desire to give herself up entirely to helping them. It was clear that at that moment there was not one thought of self, of her own relation to him, in Natasha's heart.
Princess Marya with her delicate intuition saw all that in the first glance at Natasha's face, and with mournful relief wept on her shoulder.
“Come, let us go to him, Marie,” said Natasha, drawing her away into the next room.
Princess Marya lifted up her head, dried her eyes, and turned to Natasha. She felt that from her she would learn all, would understand all. “How …” she was beginning, but stopped short. She felt that no question nor answer could be put into words. Natasha's face and eyes would be sure to tell her all more clearly and more profoundly.
Natasha looked at her, but seemed to be in dread and in doubt whether to say or not to say all she knew; she seemed to feel that before those luminous eyes, piercing to the very bottom of her heart, it was impossible not to tell the whole, whole truth as she saw it. Natasha's lip suddenly twitched, ugly creases came round her mouth, and she broke into sobs, hiding her face in her hands.
Princess Marya knew everything.
But still she could not give up hope, and asked in words, though she put no faith in them:
“But how is his wound? What is his condition altogether?”
“You … you will see that,” was all Natasha could say.
They sat a little while below, near his room, to control their tears and go in to him with calm faces.
“How has the whole illness gone? Has he been worse for long? When did this happen?” Princess Marya asked.
Natasha told her that at first there had been danger from inflammation and the great pain, but that that had passed away at Troitsa, and the doctor had only been afraid of one thing — gangrene. But the risk of that, too, was almost over. When they reached Yaroslavl, the wound had begun to suppurate (Natasha knew all about suppuration and all the rest of it), and the doctor had said that the suppuration might follow the regular course. Fever had set in. The doctor had said this fever was not so serious. “But two days ago,” Natasha began, “all of a sudden this change came …” She struggled with her sobs. “I don't know why, but you will see the change in him.”
“He is weaker? thinner? …” queried the princess.
“No, not that, but worse. You will see. O Marie, he is too good, he cannot, he cannot live, because …”
从尼古拉那里得到哥哥与罗斯托夫家住在一起，在雅罗斯拉夫尔的消息后，玛丽亚公爵小姐不顾姨母的劝阻，立刻准备赶往那里去，并且不止一个人去，而是带着侄子去。这样做难与不难，可能与不可能，她都不问一问，也不想知道：她的责任是，不仅自己要守在可能已垂危的哥哥身旁，还要尽一切可能把儿子给他带去，因此她登上车子走了。若谓安德烈公爵并未亲自写信给她，则玛丽亚公爵小姐的解释是，要末他太虚弱，不能动笔，要末他认为，对她和对儿子，这条漫长的旅途都太困难太危险了。 
玛丽亚公爵小姐是在几天之内作好启程准备的。她的车辆包括她乘坐到沃罗涅得来的那辆大型公爵马车，一辆四轮马车和一辆货车。同她一起走的是布里安小姐，尼古卢什卡和家庭教师，老奶妈，三个使女，吉洪，和姨妈派给她的一个年轻听差兼跟班。
走往常经过莫斯科的那条路想都别想，因此玛丽亚公爵小姐必须选择的迂回的路是：取道利佩茨克，梁赞，弗拉基米尔和舒亚。这条路很长，因驿马不是处处都有，所以又很艰难，同时，在梁赞附近（听说）已出现法国军队，甚至还有危险。
在这一艰难旅途中间，布里安小姐，德萨尔和公爵小姐的仆人，都为她的果断和处事能力惊讶。她比所有的人晚安息，比所有的人早起床，而且任何困难都挡不住她。由于她那使随行者佩服的处事能力和精力，在第二周结束前，他们已抵达雅罗斯拉夫尔。
在沃罗涅日的最后几天，玛丽亚公爵小姐品尝到了一生中最大的幸福。她对罗斯托夫的爱已不再使她感到折磨和焦躁不安。这种爱情充满了她整个灵魂，已构成她本人的不可分割的一部分，她再也不去抗拒它。最近一段时期以来，玛丽亚公爵小姐确信——虽然她从不在心里明确地肯定地对自己这样说——，她已堕入情网。她确信这点，是在和尼古拉见最后一面的时候，就是他来告诉她，她的哥哥与罗斯托夫家在一起的那一次。尼古拉一个字也没暗示，在哥哥和娜塔莎之间，现在（即安德烈公爵健康恢复期间）可以重修旧好，但玛丽亚公爵小姐从他脸上看出，他是知道并有打算的。不过，虽然如此，他对她的态度——小心翼翼，温柔，殷勤——不仅没有改变，而且他似乎还高兴，现在他与玛丽亚公爵小姐之间的亲戚关系，使他能更自如地对她表示自己的友情与爱心，玛丽亚公爵小姐有时这样想。她知道，这是她生活中第一次也是最后一次爱，并且觉得，她享受到了爱情，她幸福，因而很平静。
但心灵方面的幸福，不仅并不阻碍她全心为挂念哥哥而感觉得痛苦，相反地，这一心境的平静，使她更有可能完全陷入对哥哥的思念。她的这种感情，在从沃罗涅日动身前的时刻里表现得如此强烈，以致送行的人见她那痛苦绝望的面孔，都相信她会在路上病倒，但正是旅途的劳顿和操心（她是以她的干练去应付着的），使她暂时去掉悲痛，并给了她力量。
像人们旅行时常有的情形那样，玛丽亚公爵小姐只想着旅行，忘掉了旅行的目的。但临近雅罗斯拉夫尔时，能使她产生联想的东西又展现在她脑际，勿须再过几天，当晚，玛丽亚公爵小姐的不安便达到了极端的限度。提前派去雅罗斯拉夫尔探听罗斯托夫家住处和安德烈公爵情况的跟班，在城门口碰到大型公爵马车时，一见公爵小姐伸出车窗外的那张煞白的脸，吓了一大跳。
“我什么都打听到了，公爵小姐：罗斯托夫家的人住在广场旁，在商人布龙尼科夫家。不远，就在伏尔加河边上。”跟班说。
玛丽亚公爵小姐用惊恐疑问的眼神看着他的脸，不明白他为什么不回答主要的问题：哥哥怎样了？布里恩小姐替她提出了这个问题。
“公爵好吗？”她问。
“爵爷阁下也同他们住在那里。”
“那么，他还活着，”公爵小姐心里想，接着低声问：“他好吗？”
“下人们说：他还是那样。”
“还是那样”是什么意思，公爵小姐不问了，只是迅速偷偷看了一眼七岁的尼古卢什卡，他坐在她对面，正高兴地看着这个城市，于是，她低下头，没有再抬起来，直到这辆大马车颠簸摇晃隆隆地走到停下来为止。折叠脚蹬哐啷一声放了下来。
车门开了。左边是水——一条大河，右边是台阶，台阶上站着数名小厮，一名女仆和一位紫红脸的，梳一条粗黑辫子的姑娘，她在微笑，但笑得难看勉强，玛丽亚公爵小姐有此印象（这是索尼娅）。公爵小姐跑着上台阶，勉强微笑的姑娘说：走这边，走这边！于是，公爵小姐走进前厅，出现在一位有着东方脸型的老妇人面前，她带着深受感动的表情快步迎上前来。这是老伯爵夫人。她抱住公爵小姐，开始吻她。
“Monenfant！”她说道，“jevousaimetvousconnaislongtemps．”① 
①我的孩子！我爱您，并且早就认识您了。
尽管自己也很激动，玛丽亚公爵小姐知道她是伯爵夫人，应该同她应酬几句。但她不知如何说，讲了几句客气的法语，语气与伯爵夫人对她说话的语气相同，又问：“他现在怎样？”
“大夫说没有危险，”伯爵夫人回答，但说话时叹了一口气，眼睛往上看，而她装出的这副表情与她的话相矛盾。
“他在哪里？可以看他吗，可以吗？”公爵小姐问。
“马上，公爵小姐，马上，我的朋友。这是他的儿子？”伯爵夫人朝着同德萨尔一道进来的尼古卢什卡说道。“咱们都住得下来，房子很大。哦，多迷人的男孩子！”
伯爵夫人把公爵小姐带进了客厅。索尼娅同布里安小姐攀谈。伯爵夫人爱抚小男孩。老伯爵进屋来欢迎公爵小姐。他在公爵小姐上次见到他以来，起了非常大的变化。那时候，他是一个精神抖擞、愉快、自信的长者，现在看来可怜和不知所措。伯爵同公爵小姐谈话时，不停地看其他人，好像向他们探询，他说话是否得体。在莫斯科和他的家财毁弃之后，一经脱离生活常轨，好像他便失去了对自己活着的意义的认识，觉得生活中已没有他的位置了。
虽然只想快些见到哥哥，虽然苦于在只想见到他的时刻却被耽搁，而且人们在强颜夸奖她的侄子，公爵小姐仍注意到她周围发生的一切，感觉到必须暂时服从她已身陷其中的新的安排。她知道这一切都是必要的，虽然她很难受，但她不埋怨他们。
“这是我的外甥女，”伯爵介绍索尼亚说，“您不认识她吧，公爵小姐？”
公爵小姐向她转过身去，并压下心头对这姑娘的敌意，吻了她。但围住她的这些人的情绪，与她所想的事情相去甚远，她的心情仍然沉重。
“他在哪里？”她对着大家再一次地问道。
“他在楼下，娜塔莎同他在一起，”索尼娅回答，脸红了，“已派人问去了。我想您累了吧，公爵小姐？”
懊恼的眼泪，从公爵小姐眼里涌了出来。她转身想再问伯爵夫人怎样去哥哥那里时，门里响起轻快的急促的，又好像愉快的脚步声。公爵小姐回过头去，看见几乎是跑着进来的娜塔莎，那个老早以前在莫斯科见面时，她很不喜欢的娜塔莎。
可是公爵小姐还没来得及看清这个娜塔莎的脸，就已明白，这是她同病相怜的诚挚的伙伴，因而是她的朋友。她急忙迎了上去，拥抱着她，靠在她肩头上哭了起来。
坐在安德烈公爵床头的娜塔莎，一听到玛丽亚公爵小姐到达的消息，便悄悄离开他的房间，用玛丽亚公爵小姐觉得急忙的，似乎愉快的步子跑来看她。
在她跑进客厅时，她激动的脸上只有一种表情——爱的表情，对他，对她，及对所有使她相爱的人感到亲切的东西的无限的爱，也即是怜惜、为他人感到痛苦、热忱地渴望献出整个自己以帮助他人的表情，看得出，在这一时刻，娜塔莎心口丝毫没考虑自己，没考虑自己同他的关系。
聪敏的玛丽亚公爵小姐，从娜塔莎的脸上一眼便看出这一切，因而又悲又喜地伏在她肩头上哭了一场。
“咱们走吧，咱们去看他吧，玛丽。”娜塔莎说道，并带着她向另一间屋子走去。
公爵小姐抬起脸来，擦干眼睛，然后看着娜塔莎。她觉得，她会从她那里知晓一切。
“他怎样了？”她把问题刚一提出，又突然停下了。她觉得，言辞不足以用来询问，也不足以用来回答。娜塔莎的脸和眼睛会把什么都说得更清楚更深刻的。
娜塔莎看着她，但好像害怕和犹豫不决，是否说出她所知道的全部情况；她好像觉得，在这双看穿她心灵深处的明亮的眼睛面前，不可能瞒住她看到的全部实情。娜塔莎的嘴唇突然抖动，歪扭的皱纹出现在嘴角，她蒙住脸失声痛哭。
玛丽亚公爵小姐什么都明白了。
但她仍然寄予希望，用那为她所不相信的言辞问道：
“他的伤现在怎样？总之，情况怎样？”
“您，您……会看到的。”娜塔莎唯有这样说。
她俩在楼下他的房间外面坐了一会儿，为了止住哭泣，脸上平静地去看他。
“全部病情经过是怎样的？他早就恶化了吗？那是什么时候开始的？”玛丽亚公爵小姐问道。
娜塔莎说，最初，由于发烧和疼痛，情况是危险的，但在特洛伊茨前后，这事过去了，医生只怕一样——生坏疽。但这一危险也过去了。但到了雅罗斯拉夫尔，伤口开始化脓（娜塔莎清楚有关化脓的全部情况以及别的情况），大夫说，化脓可以有好的结果。然后又发烧发冷。大夫说，发冷发烧并不那么危险。
“但两天前，”娜塔莎开始说，“突然发生那……”她忍住不哭出来。“我不知道原因，但您这就会看到他情况怎样。”
“衰弱了吗？瘦了吗？……”公爵小姐问。
“不，不是那样，更糟。您会看到的。噢，玛丽，他太好了，他不能，不能救活了，因为……”
Book 12 Chapter 15
WHEN NATASHA opened the door with her practised hands, letting her pass in before her, Princess Marya felt the sobs rising in her throat. However much she prepared herself, however much she tried to compose herself, she knew that she would not be able to see him without tears:
She understood what Natasha had meant by the words: two days ago this change came. She interpreted it as meaning that he had suddenly grown softer, and that that softening, that tenderness, was the sign of death. As she approached the door, she saw already in her imagination that face of the little Andryusha, as she had known it in childhood, tender, gentle, softened, as it was so rarely, and as it affected her so strongly. She felt sure he would say soft, tender words to her like those her father had uttered on his deathbed, and that she would not be able to bear it, and would break into sobs at them. But sooner or later, it must be, and she went into the room. Her sobs seemed rising higher and higher in her throat as with her short-sighted eyes she distinguished his figure more and more clearly, and now she saw his face and met his eyes.
He was lying on a couch, propped up with cushions, in a squirrel-lined dressing-gown. He was thin and pale. One thin, transparently white hand held a handkerchief, with the other he was softly fingering the delicate moustache that had grown long. His eyes gazed at them as they came in.
On seeing his face and meeting his eyes, Princess Marya at once slackened the rapidity of her step and felt the tears dried up and the sobs checked. As she caught the expression of his face and eyes, she felt suddenly shy and guilty.
“But how am I in fault?” she asked herself. “In being alive and thinking of the living while I! …” his cold, stern eyes seemed to answer.
In the profound, not outward- but inward-looking gaze there was something almost like hostility as he deliberately scanned his sister and Natasha. He kissed his sister's hand, while she kissed his, as their habit was.
“How are you, Marie; how did you manage to get here?” he said, in a voice as even and as aloof as the look in his eyes. If he had uttered a shriek of despair, that shriek would have been to Princess Marya less awful than the sound of his voice.
“And you have brought Nikolushka?” he said, as evenly and deliberately, with an evident effort to recollect things.
“How are you now?” said Princess Marya, wondering herself at what she was saying.
“That, my dear, you must ask the doctor,” he said, and evidently making another effort to be affectionate, he said with his lips only (it was obvious he was not thinking of what he was saying):
“Thank you, my dear, for coming.”
Princess Marya pressed his hand. He gave a hardly perceptible frown at the pressure of her hand. She was silent, and she did not know what to say. She understood the change that had come over him two days ago. In his words, in his tone, above all in his eyes—those cold, almost antagonistic eyes—could be felt that aloofness from all things earthly that is so fearful to a living man. It was evidently with difficulty that he understood anything living; but yet it seemed that he did not understand what was living, not because he had lost the power of understanding, but because he understood something else that the living did not and could not understand, and that entirely absorbed him.
“Yes, see how strangely fate has brought us together again,” he said, breaking the silence, and pointing to Natasha. “She is nursing me.”
Princess Marya heard him, and could not understand what he was saying. He, Prince Andrey, with his delicate, tender intuition, how could he say that before the girl whom he loved, and who loved him! If he had any thought of living, he could not have said that in that slightingly cold tone. If he had not known he was going to die, how could he have failed to feel for her, how could he speak like that before her! There could be but one explanation of it—that was, that it was all of no moment to him now, and of no moment because something else, more important, had been revealed to him.
The conversation was frigid and disconnected, and broke off at every moment.
“Marie came by Ryazan,” said Natasha.
Prince Andrey did not notice that she called his sister Marie. And Natasha, calling her by that name before him, for the first time became aware of it herself.
“Well?” said he.
“She was told that Moscow had been burnt to the ground, all of it entirely. That it looks as though …”
Natasha stopped. It was impossible to talk. He was obviously making an effort to listen, and yet he could not.
“Yes; it's burnt, they say,” he said. “That's a great pity,” and he gazed straight before him, his fingers straying heedlessly about his moustache.
“And so you met Count Nikolay, Marie?” said Prince Andrey, suddenly, evidently trying to say something to please them. “He wrote here what a great liking he took to you,” he went on, simply and calmly, plainly unable to grasp all the complex significance his words had for living people. “If you liked him, too, it would be a very good thing … for you to get married,” he added, rather more quickly, apparently pleased at finding at last the words he had been seeking. Princess Marya heard his words, but they had no significance for her except as showing how terribly far away he was now from everything living.
“Why talk of me?” she said calmly, and glanced at Natasha. Natasha, feeling her eyes on her, did not look at her. Again all of them were silent.
“Andrey, would you …” Princess Marya said suddenly in a shaky voice, “would you like to see Nikolushka? He is always talking of you.”
For the first time Prince Andrey smiled a faintly perceptible smile, but Princess Marya, who knew his face so well, saw with horror that it was a smile not of joy, not of tenderness for his son, but of quiet, gentle irony at his sister's trying what she believed to be the last resource for rousing him to feeling.
“Yes, I shall be very glad to see Nikolushka. Is he quite well?”
When they brought in little Nikolushka, who gazed in dismay at his father, but did not cry, because nobody else was crying, Prince Andrey kissed him, and obviously did not know what to say to him.
When they had taken the child away, Princess Marya went up to her brother once more, kissed him, and unable to control herself any longer, began to weep.
He looked at her intently.
“You weep for Nikolushka?” he asked.
Princess Marya nodded through her tears.
“Marie, you know the Gos …” he began, but suddenly paused.
“What do you say?”
“Nothing. You mustn't weep here,” he said, looking at her with the same cold eyes.
When Princess Marya wept he knew that she was weeping that Nikolushka would be left without a father. With a great effort he tried to come back again to life, and to put himself at their point of view.
“Yes, it must seem sad to them,” he thought. “But how simple it is!”
“ ‘They sow not, neither do they reap, but your Father feedeth them,' ” he said to himself, and he wanted to say it to his sister. But no, they would understand it in their own way; they would not understand! What they cannot understand is that these feelings that they set store by—all our feelings, all these thoughts, which seem of so much importance to us—that they are all not wanted! We cannot understand each other!” and he was silent.
Prince Andrey's little son was seven years old. He could hardly read—he knew nothing. He passed through much after that day, gaining knowledge, observation, experience. But if he had possessed at that time all the mental faculties he acquired afterwards, he could not have had a truer, a deeper comprehension of all the significance of the scene he saw passing between his father, Princess Marya, and Natasha than he had now. He understood it all, and without weeping, went out of the room, in silence went up to Natasha, who had followed him out; glanced shyly at her with his beautiful, dreamy eyes: his uplifted, rosy upper lip quivered; he leaned his head against her, and burst into tears.
From that day he avoided Dessalle, avoided the countess, who would have petted him, and either sat alone, or shyly joined Princess Marya and Natasha, whom he seemed to love even more than his aunt, and bestowed shy and gentle caresses upon them.
When Princess Marya left her brother's side, she fully understood all that Natasha's face had told her. She spoke no more to Natasha of hope of saving his life. She took turns with her by his bedside, and she shed no more tears, but prayed without ceasing, turning in spirit to the Eternal and Unfathomable whose presence was palpable now, hovering over the dying man.
当娜塔莎用习惯的动作推开他的房门，让公爵小姐先进去时，玛丽亚公爵小姐的喉咙哽咽得马上就要放声大哭。无论她如何控制，无论她如何努力保持平静，她都知道她没法见到他时不流泪。 
玛丽亚公爵小姐明了娜塔莎说的：两天前他出现了那种情况，是什么意思。她明了，这意味着他突然变得温和了，而这种温和易于感动是死亡的前兆。她走近房门时，便已在想象中看到安德留沙那张脸，那张她童年见到的柔和、瘦削、可爱的脸，他的脸不常这样，所以总是给她以强烈的影响。她也知道，他会对她说一些轻轻的温情的话，像父亲临终前对她说的那些话，并且，她会忍受不了，而伏在他身上嚎啕大哭。但迟早总会这样，免不了的，于是，她跨进了房间，在喉咙里忍也忍不住愈来愈要哭出来的一刹那，她用近视的眼睛渐渐分辨出他的体形，找到了他的脸，她终于看到他的脸，并和他目光相遇。
他躺在沙发上，周围塞着枕头，穿一件松鼠皮长袍。他消瘦苍白，一只枯瘦的、白得透明的手拿着一条小手巾，另一只手抹着他稀疏的长出来的胡子，缓缓移动着手指头，眼睛望着来人。
玛丽亚公爵小姐看到他的脸，和他相互对视的时候，突然放慢了脚步，并且感觉到眼泪一下子干了，哭泣也止住了。捕捉到他的脸上和眼里的表情，她突然胆怯起来，觉得自己有罪。
“可我在什么地方有罪呢？”她问自己，“在于你活着，并想着活人，而我！……”他冷峻的目光回答说。
在他缓缓地打量妹妹和娜塔莎的时候，他那不是往外看，而是内视的深刻的目光里，几乎含有敌意。
他同妹妹接吻，互相吻了吻手，像他们从前一样。
“你好，玛丽，你是怎么到达这儿来的？”他说，声音平静陌生，像他的目光一样。假如他爆发出绝望的叫喊，那叫喊反倒不会比他此时说话的声音更令玛丽亚公爵小姐害怕。
“也把尼古卢什卡带来了吗？”他同样平静、缓慢地问，并且显然努力地在回忆。
“你现在身体怎么样？”玛丽亚公爵小姐问，问得使她自己都吃惊，
“这嘛，我的亲爱的，该问医生，”他说，在看来尽量使自己和颜悦色之后，他又说，只是用嘴说话（他显然心里完全不想他说的什么）：
“Merci，chèreamie，d'êtrevenue．”① 
①谢谢你来了，亲爱的。
玛丽亚公爵小姐握住他的手。这使他略微皱眉，但不明显。他沉默着，而她不知道说什么。她明白了他两天来发生的情况。他的话里面，他的声调里面，尤其在目光里——冷冷的几乎含着敌意的目光里——感觉得出使一个活人害怕的对世俗生活的疏远。他好像难以理解一切有生命的东西；但同时你会觉得，他不理解有生命的东西，并非因为他丧失了理解力，而是因为他理解别的活人不理解也不能理解的东西，这些东西吞没了整个的他。
“瞧，命运多么奇怪地把我们带到了这里！”他说，打破了沉默，并指着娜塔莎。“她一直照料着我。”
玛丽亚公爵小姐听着，但不明白他说的话。他，聪颖温柔的安德烈公爵，怎么可能当着他所爱的人的面，（而这个人也爱他）说出这样的话呢！假使他还想活下去，他是不会用冷冷的伤人的口气说出这句话来的。假如他不知道他将死去，他怎么这样不怜惜她，怎么能当着她的面说出这句话呢！对此，只有一个解释：那就是一切对他都无所谓了，而一切都无所谓了，则是因为某种别的最重要的东西给予他以启示。
谈话是没有生气的，不连贯的，并时时中断。
“玛丽是取道梁赞来的。”娜塔莎说。安德烈公爵未注意到她叫他的妹妹玛丽。而娜塔莎，当他的面这样称呼她之后，却第一次自己注意到了。
“呶，又怎样呢？”他说。
“她听说，莫斯科全城烧毁了，完全，好像……”
娜塔莎停住：本来就不该说的。他看来是在挣扎着听，然而总是做不到。
“是啊，烧毁了，都在说呢，”他说道，“这很可惜。”他开始直视前方，用手指茫然地抹平胡子。
“你，玛丽，见到尼古拉伯爵了吗？”安德烈公爵突然说道，看来是希望使她们高兴。“他写信到这里来说，他非常喜欢你，”他继续简略地平静地说，至于他的话对活人具有的复杂意义，看来他无法全部了解。“假如你也爱上了他，要是你们结婚……那是很好的呢。”他又补充一句，说得还有点快，似乎对他找了很久终于找到的话感到喜悦。玛丽亚公爵小姐听到了他的话，但他的话对她毫无意义，只不过证实，他现在离一切有生命的东西可怕地遥远。
“干吗谈我！”她平静地说，看了娜塔莎一眼。感觉到她的目光停留在自己身上，娜塔莎没有抬头看她。大家再度沉默。
“Andre，你想……”玛丽亚公爵小姐突然用颤抖的声音说，“你想见尼古卢什卡吗？他一直很怀念你。”
安德烈公爵几乎看不出地微笑了，这还是第一次呢，但玛丽亚公爵小姐，她是那样熟悉他的脸色，却恐惧地看到，这不是欢乐的微笑，不是对儿子慈爱的微笑，而是轻微的、温和的嘲笑，嘲笑玛丽亚公爵小姐坚持己见，使用了这最后一着来激发他的感情。
“好，我为尼古卢什卡感到高兴。他好吗？”
当尼古卢什卡被带到安德烈公爵面前，他害怕地看着父亲，但没有哭，因为谁也没哭，安德烈公爵吻了他，却显然不知道同他说什么。
尼古卢什卡被带走后，玛丽亚公爵小姐再次走近哥哥，吻他，接着再也忍不住地哭了。
他凝视着她。
“你哭尼古卢什卡吗？”他问道。
玛丽亚公爵小姐哭着，肯定地点点头。
“玛丽，你知道《福音》……”但他突然沉默下来。
“你说什么？”
“没什么。不该在这里哭呢。”他说，仍然用冷漠的目光看着她。
当玛丽亚公爵小姐哭出来的时候，他明白，她是哭尼古卢什卡就要没有父亲了。他集中了一股巨大力量，努力回到尘世生活中来，转向她们所抱的看法。
“是的，她们应该觉得遗憾！”他想，“不过，这是多么简单啊！”
“天上的鸟儿不种不收，你们的主尚且养活它们。”①他自言自语道，并且想说给公爵小姐听。“啊不，她们有自己的理解，她们不会理解的！她们所以不能理解，是因为她们珍视的感情，我们觉得重大的思想，所有这一切——都是无用的。
我们不能心灵相通啊！”于是，他沉默了。 
①是《新约·马太福音》第六章第二十六节。
安德烈公爵的小儿子只有七岁。他刚学会识字，什么也不懂。这天之后，他感受了很多东西，得到了知识，观察力，经验；但是，就算他先已具备了这些能力，他也不可能比这一时刻更好更深刻地明白他父亲，玛丽亚姑姑和娜塔莎之间的场面的意义。他什么都明白了，一声不哭就离开了房间，默默地走到尾随他出来的娜塔莎旁边，害羞地用沉思的俊秀的眼睛看了看她；他那向上翘着的鲜红的上嘴唇颤抖了，他把头靠在她身上哭了。
从这天起，他躲着德萨尔，躲着爱抚他的伯爵夫人，要么一个人坐着，要么胆怯地去接近玛丽亚姑姑和娜塔莎，他似乎喜欢娜塔莎胜过自己的姑姑，他悄悄地羞怯地缠着她们。
玛丽亚公爵小姐走出安德烈公爵房间，完全明白了娜塔莎脸上告诉她的一切。她不再同娜塔莎谈论挽救他生命的希望。她和她轮流守候在他沙发旁，不再哭泣，只是不停地祈祷，内心求助于那个永恒的不可企及的主宰，他的存在已经在垂死者的头上感觉到了。
Book 12 Chapter 16
PRINCE ANDREY did not only know that he would die, but felt indeed that he was dying; that he was already half-dead. He experienced a sense of aloofness from everything earthly, and a strange and joyous lightness in his being. Neither impatient, nor troubled, he lay awaiting what was before him.… The menacing, the eternal, the unknown, and remote, the presence of which he had never ceased to feel during the whole course of his life, was now close to him, and—from that strange lightness of being, that he experienced—almost comprehensible and palpable.
In the past he had dreaded the end. Twice he had experienced that terribly agonising feeling of the dread of death, of the end, and now he had ceased to understand it.
The first time he had experienced that feeling when the grenade was rotating before him, and he looked at the stubble, at the bushes, at the sky, and knew that death was facing him. When he had come to himself after his wound, and instantly, as though set free from the cramping bondage of life, there had sprung up in his soul that flower of love, eternal, free, not dependent on this life, he had no more fear, and no more thought, of death.
In those hours of solitary suffering and half-delirium that he spent afterwards, the more he passed in thought into that new element of eternal love, revealed to him, the further he unconsciously travelled from earthly life. To love everything, every one, to sacrifice self always for love, meant to love no one, meant not to live this earthly life. And the further he penetrated into that element of love, the more he renounced life, and the more completely he annihilated that fearful barrier that love sets up between life and death. Whenever, during that first period, he remembered that he had to die, he said to himself: “Well, so much the better.”
But after that night at Mytishtchy, when in his half-delirium she, whom he had longed for, appeared before him, and when pressing her hand to his lips, he wept soft, happy tears, love for one woman stole unseen into his heart, and bound him again to life. And glad and disturbing thoughts began to come back to him. Recalling that moment at the ambulance station, when he had seen Kuragin, he could not now go back to his feeling then. He was fretted by the question whether he were alive. And he dared not ask.
His illness went through its regular physical course; but what Natasha had called “this change” had come upon him two days before Princess Marya's arrival. It was the last moral struggle between life and death, in which death gained the victory. It was the sudden consciousness that life, in the shape of his love for Natasha, was still precious to him, and the last and vanquished onslaught of terror before the unknown.
It happened in the evening. He was, as usually after dinner, in a slightly feverish condition, and his thoughts were particularly clear. Sonya was sitting at the table. He fell into a doze. He felt a sudden sense of happiness.
“Ah, she has come in!” he thought.
Natasha had, in fact, just come in with noiseless steps, and was sitting in Sonya's place.
Ever since she had been looking after him he had always felt this physical sense of her presence. She was in a low chair beside him, knitting a stocking, and sitting so as to screen the light of the candle from him. She had learned to knit since Prince Andrey had once said to her that no one made such a good sick-nurse as an old nurse who knitted stockings, and that there was something soothing about knitting. Her slender fingers moved the needles rapidly with a slight click, and the dreamy profile of her drooping head could be clearly seen by him. She made a slight movement; the ball rolled off her knee. She started, glanced round at him, and, screening the light with her hand, bent over with a cautious, supple, and precise movement, picked up the ball, and sat back in the same attitude as before.
He gazed at her without stirring, and saw that after her movements she wanted to draw a deep breath, but did not dare to, and breathed with careful self-restraint.
At the Troitsa monastery they had spoken of the past, and he had told her that if he were to live he should thank God for ever for his wound, which had brought them together again; but since then they had never spoken of the future.
“Could it be, or could it not?” he was wondering now as he watched her and listened to the slight steel click of the needles. “Can fate have brought us together so strangely only for me to die? … Can the truth of life have been revealed to me only for me to have spent my life in falsity? I love her more than anything in the world! But what am I to do if I love her?” he said, and suddenly he unconsciously moaned from the habit he had fallen into in the course of his sufferings.
Hearing the sound, Natasha laid down her stocking, and bent down closer to him, and suddenly noticing his shining eyes, went up to him with a light step and stooped down.
“You are not asleep?”
“No; I have been looking at you for a long while. I felt when you came in. No one but you gives me the same soft peace … the same light. I want to weep with gladness!”
Natasha moved closer to him. Her face beamed with rapturous delight.
“Natasha, I love you too much! More than everything in the world!”
“And I?” She turned away for a second. “Why too much?” she said.
“Why too much? … Well, what do you think, what do you feel in your heart, your whole heart, am I going to live? What do you think?”
“I am sure of it; sure of it!” Natasha almost cried out, taking both his hands with a passionate gesture.
He was silent for a while.
“How good it would be!” And taking her hand, he kissed it.
Natasha was happy and deeply stirred; and she recollected at once that this must not be, and that he must have quiet.
“But you are not asleep,” she said, subduing her joy. “Try and sleep … please do.”
He pressed her hand and let it go, and she moved back to the candle and sat down in the same position as before. Twice she glanced round at him; his eyes were bright as she met them. She set herself a task on her stocking, and told herself she would not look round till she had finished it.
He did, in fact, soon after shut his eyes and fall asleep. He did not sleep long, and woke up suddenly in a cold sweat of alarm.
As he fell asleep he was still thinking of what he had been thinking about all the time—of life and of death. And most of death. He felt he was closer to it.
“Love? What is love?” he thought.
“Love hinders death. Love is life. All, all that I understand, I understand only because I love. All is, all exists only because I love. All is bound up in love alone. Love is God, and dying means for me a particle of love, to go back to the universal and eternal source of love.” These thoughts seemed to him comforting. But they were only thoughts. Something was wanting in them; there was something one-sided and personal, something intellectual; they were not self-evident. And there was uneasiness, too, and obscurity. He fell asleep.
He dreamed that he was lying in the very room in which he was lying in reality, but that he was not ill, but quite well. Many people of various sorts, indifferent people of no importance, were present. He was talking and disputing with them about some trivial matter. They seemed to be preparing to set off somewhere. Prince Andrey had a dim feeling that all this was of no consequence, and that he had other matters of graver moment to think of, but still he went on uttering empty witticisms of some sort that surprised them. By degrees all these people began to disappear, and the one thing left was the question of closing the door. He got up and went towards the door to close it and bolt it. Everything depended on whether he were in time to shut it or not. He was going, he was hurrying, but his legs would not move, and he knew that he would not have time to shut the door, but still he was painfully straining every effort to do so. And an agonising terror came upon him. And that terror was the fear of death; behind the door stood It. But while he is helplessly and clumsily struggling towards the door, that something awful is already pressing against the other side of it, and forcing the door open. Something not human—death—is forcing the door open, and he must hold it to. He clutches at the door with a last straining effort—to shut it is impossible, at least to hold it—but his efforts are feeble and awkward; and, under the pressure of that awful thing, the door opens and shuts again.
Once more It was pressing on the door from without. His last, supernatural efforts are vain, and both leaves of the door are noiselessly opened. It comes in, and it is death. And Prince Andrey died.
But at the instant when in his dream he died, Prince Andrey recollected that he was asleep; and at the instant when he was dying, he made an effort and waked up.
“Yes, that was death. I died and I waked up. Yes, death is an awakening,” flashed with sudden light into his soul, and the veil that had till then hidden the unknown was lifted before his spiritual vision. He felt, as it were, set free from some force that held him in bondage, and was aware of that strange lightness of being that had not left him since.
When he waked up in a cold sweat and moved on the couch, Natasha went up and asked him what was the matter. He did not answer, and looked at her with strange eyes, not understanding her.
That was the change that had come over him two days before Princess Marya's arrival. The doctor said that from that day the wasting fever had assumed a more serious aspect, but Natasha paid little heed to what the doctor said; she saw the terrible moral symptoms, that for her were far more convincing.
With his awakening from sleep that day there began for Prince Andrey an awakening from life. And in relation to the duration of life it seemed to him not more prolonged than the awakening from sleep in relation to the duration of a dream. There was nothing violent or terrible in this relatively slow awakening.
His last days and hours passed in a simple and commonplace way. Princess Marya and Natasha, who never left his side, both felt that. They did not weep nor shudder, and towards the last they both felt they were waiting not on him (he was no more; he had gone far away from them), but on the nearest memory of him—his body. The feelings of both of them were so strong that the external, horrible side of death did not affect them, and they did not find it needful to work up their grief. They did not weep either in his presence nor away from him, and they never even talked of him together. They felt that they could not express in words what they understood.
They both saw that he was slowly and quietly slipping further and further away from them, and both knew that this must be so, and that it was well. He received absolution and extreme unction; every one came to bid him good-bye. When his son was brought in to him, he pressed his lips to him and turned away, not because it was painful or sad to him (Princess Marya and Natasha saw that), but simply because he supposed he had done all that was required of him. But he was told to give him his blessing, he did what was required, and looked round as though to ask whether there was anything else he must do. When the body, deserted by the spirit, passed through its last struggles, Princess Marya and Natasha were there.
“It is over!” said Princess Marya, after the body had lain for some moments motionless, and growing cold before them. Natasha went close, glanced at the dead eyes, and made haste to shut them. She closed them, and did not kiss them, but hung over what was the nearest memory of him. “Where has he gone? Where is he now? …”
When the body lay, dressed and washed, in the coffin on the table every one came to take leave of him, and every one cried. Nikolushka cried from the agonising bewilderment that was rending his heart. The countess and Sonya cried from pity for Natasha, and from grief that he was gone. The old count cried because he felt that he too must soon take the same terrible step.
Natasha and Princess Marya wept too now. But they did not weep for their personal sorrow; they wept from the emotion and awe that filled their souls before the simple and solemn mystery of death that had been accomplished before their eyes.
安德烈公爵不仅知道他会死去，而且感到他正在死去，并且已经死去一半了。他体验到了远离尘世的意识，和愉快而奇怪的轻松的感觉。他不着急不慌张地等待他正面临的时限。那威严的永恒的未知的遥远的主宰，他在自己生命的延续中不断触摸到他的存在，此时已迫近他，并且，照他所体验到的奇怪的轻松的感觉，几乎是易于理解的，可以感觉得到的…… 
他曾经害怕过终极。他两次体验过死亡，即终极的恐怖这一骇人而痛苦的感觉，但现在他已不明白这种感觉了。
他第一次体验到这种感觉，是在炮弹像陀螺一样旋转着朝他飞来的时候，他望着休耕地、灌木丛和天空，知道这是死神向他扑来。当他负伤后醒来，他心里刹那间绽开了那犹如从压制着他的人生中挣脱出来的，永恒的自由的不再受人生之约束的爱的花朵，于是，他不惧怕死亡，也不去想它。
在他负伤后度过的那些痛苦的孤独和半昏迷的日子里，他愈思考永恒之爱的新原则给他的启示，他便愈脱离人间生活，他自己倒不觉得，爱一切，爱一切人，永远为爱牺牲自己，即是谁也不爱，即是——不要过人间生活。而且，他愈是沉浸在爱的原则之中，他愈是远离着生活，也愈彻底地清除了当人们没有了爱时，那道生与死之间的障碍。在他这第一次想到他应该死的时候，他对自己说：好吧，这样更好。
但在梅季希村那天晚上，当他在半昏迷中，那个他想见到的人出现在他面前，当他把她的手放到自己的嘴唇上，流下无声的喜悦的眼泪时，对一个女人的爱情不知不觉潜入他的心中，又把他同人生联在一起。又喜又惊的思想又来打扰他。回想起他在包扎站见到库拉金那一时刻，他现在不会再陷入那一次的情感中了：他现在反而耽心他是否还活着。但他不敢去问。
他的病情与他的生理状况一致，但娜塔莎称之为“他出现了那种情况”的事，发生在玛丽亚公爵到来的前两天。这是那种生死之间最后的精神上的搏斗，死亡取得了胜利。这是对生命之珍惜的突然觉醒，它体现于对娜塔莎的爱情，也是最后一次屈从地面对未知的恐怖。
这是一个晚上，他，饭后总是这样，处于低烧状态，但思想异常清晰。索尼娅坐在桌旁，他在打盹，突然，身上出现一股幸福的感觉。
“啊，这是她来了！”她心里想。
果然，在索尼娅刚才坐的地方传来娜塔莎进门的脚步声。
从她开始看护他的时候起，他便时时体会到与她亲近的这种生理上的感觉。她坐在斜对着他的扶手椅里，遮住照着他的烛光，编织袜子。（安德烈公爵有一回告诉她，谁都不善于像老妈妈那样看护病人，她们总是一边看护，一边织袜子，而织袜子的动作里有安详感，听了之后，她便学起编织袜子来了）。她纤细的手指飞快地织着，时而撞响织针，她的下垂的沉思的面孔的侧影被他看得很清楚。她动了一下——线团从她膝上滚落。她颤抖一下，看了他一眼，用手遮住蜡烛，小心翼翼地灵活地弯下腰去，拾起线团，又坐回原处。
他不眨眼地望着她，看到每当她自己动一下，她便要深深叹一口气，但又不敢这样，只得小心地喘气。
在特罗伊茨修道院，他俩谈起了过去，他告诉她，如果他活着，他会为自己负伤而永远感谢上帝，是受伤使他又同她在一起，但从那以后，他们从未谈过未来。
“这可不可能呢？”他此时一边看着她，听着金属织针轻微的碰击声，一边想着。“难道命运这样奇怪地带我到她面前，仅仅是为了让我死去？……难道人生之真理展现在我面前，仅仅由于我在虚妄中度过了一生？我爱她胜过世界上的一切。可我爱她又能怎么办？”他想，同时不由自主地习惯性地呻吟起来，他每当痛苦时就有这样的习惯。
听到呻吟声，娜塔莎放下袜子，弯腰靠近他，突然她看见他闪光的眼睛，便轻快地起身，走向他身边，俯下身去。
“您没睡？”
“没有，我朝您看了很久了；您进来我感觉到了。谁都不像您这样给我如此柔和的宁静……光明，我高兴得很想哭。”
娜塔莎更靠近了些。她的脸闪耀着狂喜的光辉。
“娜塔莎，我太爱您了，超过世上的一切。”
“可我呢？”她转过脸去，只一瞬间，“为什么太爱呢？”她说。
“为什么太爱？……呶，您怎么想，您心里，您整个心有什么感觉：我能活下去吗？照您看会怎样？”
“我相信，我相信！”娜塔莎几乎是喊叫，热烈地握住他的两只手。
他不作声。
“那该多好啊！”于是，他握住她的手吻了一下。
娜塔莎感到幸福和激动；但她立刻想起这不应该，他需要平静。
“原来您没有睡，”她压下自己的喜悦说，“尽量使自己睡着吧……请您。”
他握一下她的手便放开了，而她回到蜡烛旁，坐回原来的姿势。她看了他两次，他的眼睛朝她闪着光呢，她给自己规定织多少，对自己说，不织完它，决不再看他一眼。
果然，这以后他迅速闭上眼睛，而且睡着了。他睡了不久，突然出一身冷汗，惊醒了过来。
他入睡之际，仍在想着这整个期间都在想的问题——生与死。而更多地是想着死，他觉得自己离它更近了。
“爱呢？什么是爱？”他想道。
“爱妨碍死亡。爱便是生存。只是因为我爱，我才明白一切、一切，只是因为我爱，才有一切，才存在一切，也仅仅是因为我爱。一切都只同爱联系着。爱是上帝，而死——即是：我，作为爱的分子，回归到总的永恒的源泉里去。”这样地想，使他感到慰藉。但这只是想。其中还有缺失，那是偏于个人的，智力的东西——还看不显著，于是，依然不安和难以解释，他睡着了。
他梦见他躺在他现在躺着的房间里，但没有受伤，而是好好的。许多不同人物，卑微的，冷淡的，出现在他面前，他们同他交谈，争辩着勿须争辩的事情。他们打算去一个地方。安德烈公爵模糊地想起，这一切都毫无意义，他有别的最重要的事务，但仍继续说下去，用一些空洞俏皮的话使他们惊讶。渐渐地、不知不觉地，这些人物全部开始消逝，一切只剩下一个关门的问题。他起身朝房门走去，以便插上门栓，把门关闭好。一切有赖于他来不来得及紧闭房门。他走，急忙走，但他的脚不能迈动，他于是知道他来不及关门，但仍然徒劳地鼓足全身力量。他陷入痛苦的恐怖之中。这恐怖是死亡的恐怖：“它”就站在门外。但就在他无力地笨拙地朝房门爬去的时候，这一可怕之物已从另一边压过来，冲破了房门。某种非人之物——死亡——已快破门而入，应该把门顶住才对，他够着门了，鼓起最后的力气——关门已不可能了——哪怕就顶住它；但他的力气微弱，而且不灵活，因而在可怕之物推挤下，房门被打开，但是又关上了。
它又一次从那边压过来。他最后的超出自然的力量白费了，两扇房门无声地被撞开。“它”进来了，而它就是“死亡”。于是，安德烈公爵死去。
但就在死去的那一瞬间，安德烈公爵想起他是睡着的，同时，在死的那一瞬间，他给自己身上用力，醒了过来。
“是的，这就是死。我死了——我醒了。是的，死——便是觉醒。”突然间他的心里亮了起来，那迄今为止罩住未知物的帘幕，在他心灵的眼睛面前掀起来了。他感到好像挣脱了以前捆住他的力量，他感到了从那时以来没有离开过他的那奇怪的轻松。
当他在冷汗中醒来，在沙发上动弹的时候，娜塔莎走到他身旁，问他是怎么了。他不回答她，而且不理解她，只是用奇怪的目光看着她。
这就是玛丽亚公爵小姐到达前两天，他发生的情况。从那天起，正如医生所说，内热有了坏的发展，但娜塔莎并不在意医生的话，她看到了那些可怕的，对她更勿庸怀疑的精神上的征兆。
从那天开始，对于安德烈公爵，从梦中醒来的同时——也就是对人生的觉醒。他觉得，与生之延续相反的生之觉醒，并不比与梦之延续相反的梦之觉醒来得更缓慢。
在这比较缓慢的觉醒过程中，没有什么可怕的急遽的东西。
他最后的时日过得平常而又单纯。
没有离开过他的玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎也感觉到了这点。她们不哭，不颤栗，在最后时间里，她们自己也感觉到，已不是在照料他（他已经没有了，他离开了她们），而是在照料关于他的最亲密的回忆——他的身躯而已。她俩的这一感觉非常强烈，以至死的外在的可怕的一面，已不能对她们有影响，她们也不认为需要发泄她们的悲伤。她们既不在他面前哭，也不背着他哭，而且绝口不在她们之间讲起他，她们觉得无法用言语表达她们内心明白的东西。
她俩都看到，他愈来愈深地，缓慢而平静地离开她们，沉入到那一个某处，并且她们两人都知道，这应该如此，这样好。
给他作了忏悔，领了圣餐；大家都来他这里告别。当儿子被带到他跟前，他用嘴唇吻了他便转过头去，不是因为他觉得心情沉重和遗憾（这一点玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎是明白的），而是仅仅因为他哭了，要求他做的事也完了；但当人们告诉他为儿子祝福，他这样做了，又睁开眼张望，仿佛询问还有什么需要做的。
魂灵正在离去的躯体最后颤动的时刻，玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎在他旁边。
“逝世了？！”在他的躯体一动不动地，并且在冷却下去，躺了几分钟之后，玛丽亚公爵小姐说道。娜塔莎走过去，向那双僵死的眼睛俯下身去，急忙阖上了它们。她阖上了那双眼睛，没有亲吻它们，而是伏身在那个关于他的最亲密的回忆的体现上。
“他到哪里去了？他现在在何方？”
当把洗净的尸体穿好寿衣，让它躺在桌上的棺材里的时候，大家前去诀别，并且都哭了。
尼古卢什卡哭了，困惑的悲痛撕裂他的心。伯爵夫人和索尼娅哭了，力娜塔莎惋惜并且想到他已不在人世。老伯爵哭了，想到很快，他觉得，他也要跨出这同一可怕的一步。
娜塔莎和玛丽亚公爵小姐现在也在哭泣，但她们不是出于自己个人的悲伤，他们哭泣是由于虔敬的感动，她们的心灵因面对她们所目睹的死亡之隐秘而深受感动，死亡的隐秘即简单而又庄严。
Book 13 Chapter 1
THE COMBINATION of causes of phenomena is beyond the grasp of the human intellect. But the impulse to seek causes is innate in the soul of man. And the human intellect, with no inkling of the immense variety and complexity of circumstances conditioning a phenomenon, any one of which may be separately conceived of as the cause of it, snatches at the first and most easily understood approximation, and says here is the cause. In historical events, where the actions of men form the subject of observation, the most primitive conception of a cause was the will of the gods, succeeded later on by the will of those men who stand in the historical foreground—the heroes of history. But one had but to look below the surface of any historical event, to look, that is, into the movement of the whole mass of men taking part in that event, to be convinced that the will of the hero of history, so far from controlling the actions of the multitude, is continually controlled by them. It may be thought that it is a matter of no importance whether historical events are interpreted in one way or in another. But between the man who says that the peoples of the West marched into the East, because Napoleon willed they should do so, and the man who says that that movement came to pass because it was bound to come to pass, there exists the same difference as between the men who maintained that the earth was stationary and the planets revolved about it, and the men who said that they did not know what holds the earth in its place, but they did know that there were laws controlling its motions and the motions of the other planets. Causes of historical events—there are not and cannot be, save the one cause of all causes. But there are laws controlling these events; laws partly unknown, partly accessible to us. The discovery of these laws is only possible when we entirely give up looking for a cause in the will of one man, just as the discovery of the laws of the motions of the planets has only become possible since men have given up the conception of the earth being stationary.
After the battle of Borodino, and the taking and burning of Moscow, historians consider the most important episode of the war of 1812 to be the movement of the Russian army from the Ryazan to the Kaluga road and to the Tarutino camp, the so-called oblique march behind Krasnaya Pahra. Historians ascribe the credit of this stroke of genius to various persons, and dispute to whom it is rightfully due. Even foreign, even French historians, admit the genius of the Russian generals when they mention this flank march. But why military writers, and others following their lead, assume this oblique movement to be a project profoundly planned by some one person for the deliverance of Russia and the overthrow of Napoleon it is very difficult to see. It is difficult in the first place to see wherein the profound wisdom and genius of this march lies; for no great intellectual effort is needed to guess that the best position for an army, when not being attacked, is where supplies are most plentiful. And every one, even a stupid boy of thirteen, could have guessed that the most advantageous position for the army in 1812, after the retreat from Moscow, would be on the Kaluga road. And so one cannot understand, in the first place, what conclusions led the historians to see some deep wisdom in this man?uvre. Secondly, it is even more difficult to understand why the historians ascribe to this man?uvre the deliverance of Russia and the overthrow of the French; for, had other circumstances preceded, accompanied, or followed it, this flank movement might as well have led to the destruction of the Russian army and the deliverance of the French. If the position of the Russian army did, in fact, begin to improve from the time of that march, it does not at all follow that the improvement was caused by it.
That oblique march might have been not simply of no use; it might have led to the destruction of the Russian army, but for the conjunction of other circumstances. What would have happened if Moscow had not been burnt? If Murat had not lost sight of the Russians? If Napoleon had not remained inactive? If, as Bennigsen and Barclay advised, the Russians had given battle near Krasnaya Pahra? What would have happened if the French had attacked the Russians when they were marching behind Pahra? What would have happened if later on Napoleon, on reaching Tarutino, had attacked the Russians with one-tenth of the energy with which he had attacked them at Smolensk? What would have happened if the French had marched to Petersburg? … On any of these hypotheses, the oblique march might have led to ruin instead of to safety.
The third point, most difficult of all to understand, is that students of history seem intentionally to refuse to see that this march cannot be ascribed to any one man, that no one foresaw it at any time, that, like the retreat to Fili, the man?uvre was, in reality, never conceived of by any one in its entirety, but arose step by step, incident by incident, moment by moment from a countless multitude of the most diverse circumstances, and is only conceived of in its entirety, when it is an accomplished fact, and has become the past.
At the council at Fili the accepted idea among the Russians—the course taken for granted in fact—was retreat in a direct line back, that is, along the Nizhni road. Evidence of this is that the majority of votes at the council were for adopting this course, and the commander-in-chief's famous conversation after the council with Lansky, the head of the commissariat department, is an even more striking proof of it. Lansky submitted to the commander-in-chief that the chief supplies for the army were stored along the Oka, in the Tula and Kazan provinces, and that if they retreated along the Nizhni road, the army would be cut off from its supplies by the broad river Oka, across which transport in the early winter was impossible. This was the first proof of the necessity of departing from the course that had at first seemed the most natural one, the retreat along the Nizhni road. The army kept more to the south along the Ryazan road, closer to its supplies. Later on the inactivity of the French, who positively lost sight of the Russian army, anxiety for the defence of the Tula arsenal, and above all, the advantage of being near their supplies led the army to turn even more to the south, to the Tula road. After crossing by a forced march behind Pahra to the Tula road, the generals of the Russian army intended to remain at Podolsk, and had no idea of the Tarutino position. But an infinite number of circumstances, among them the reappearance of French troops on the scene, and plans for giving battle, and most of all, the abundance of supplies in Kaluga, led our army to turn even more to the south, and to pass from the Tula to the Kaluga road to Tarutino, a central position between their lines of communication with their supplies. Just as it is impossible to answer the question what date Moscow was abandoned, it is impossible too to say precisely when and by whom it was decided to move the army to Tarutino. It was only after the army, through the action of innumerable infinitesimally small forces, had been brought to Tarutino, that people began to protest to themselves that that was the course they had desired, and had long foreseen as the right one.
人的智力难以理解产生各种现象的根本原因。但是人的内心感到需要寻找这些原因，人的智力不深入剖析产生各种现象的无数的复杂的各种条件，而这些条件中每一条单独来看都能被说成是原因，只抓住首先碰到的最容易理解的一个近似的条件，于是说：这就是原因。在许多历史事件中（在这些历史事件中人的行动是观察对象）上帝的意志是最原始的近似条件，其次是站在最显著的历史地位的人的意志，即是历史上的英雄的意志。但是，只要深入剖析每一个历史事件的实质，也就是深入剖析参加这些事件的全体人民群众的活动，就会完全弄清，历史上的英雄的意志非但没有支配人民群众的行动，而且他们的意志总是被人民群众的意志所支配。不管是这样或那样去理解历史事件的意义似乎都完全一样。然而，一些人说，西方人向东方推进，那是因为拿破仑要这样做，另一些人说，这件事之所以发生是因为它必然要发生，这两种人的说法和另两种人的说法的差别完全一样，一些人说，地球是不转动的，行星都围绕着地球转，另一些人说，他们不知道是什么东西支撑着地球，但是他们知道，地球和其他行星的运动是受某些法则所支配着的。除了所有原因中的一种原因之外，一个历史事件没有也不可能有多种原因。但是有某一些法则支配着各种事件，这些法则有些尚不清楚，有些已被我们探索出来了。只有当我们完全抛弃在一个人的意志中去寻找原因的时候，才能发现这些法则；与此相同的是，只有当人们抛掉那些有关地球的一切成见，才能揭示行星运动的法则。 
历史学家认为，在波罗底诺战役和莫斯科被敌人占领并焚毁之后，在一八一二年的战争中最重要的插曲就是俄国军队从梁赞大路进入卡卢日斯卡雅大路，然后直趋塔鲁丁诺营地的运动——即所谓的越过红帕赫拉的侧翼进军。历史学家把这一天才功勋的荣誉归功于各种不同的人，并且争论，荣誉究竟属于谁。甚至外国的历史学家，甚至法国的历史学家在谈及这次侧翼进军的时候，都承认俄国统帅的天才。但是，为什么军事著作家及其追随者都认为，这次拯救了俄国和击败拿破仑的侧翼进军，是某个人深思熟虑的创举——这实在太难以令人理解。首先，令人难以理解的是，这一军事行动的深思熟虑和英明在什么地方，因为要知道军队所处的最佳位置（当它不受攻击的时候），是在粮草多的地方——这不需要动什么脑筋。每一个人，就是一个愚笨的十三岁的小孩也不用费力就会知道，在撤出莫斯科之后，一八一二年军队最有利的位置是在卡卢日斯卡雅大路。因而，第一，不能理解，历史学家们为了弄清这次军队运动的奥秘之处，使用了什么样的推理方法。第二，尤其令人难以理解的是，历史学家们究竟是怎样看出这次军事行动使俄国得救而使法国失败；因为这次侧翼进举，如果在此之前，或与此同时和在此之后发生另外的情况，就可能对俄国军队来说是毁灭性的，而对法国军队来说则是幸运的。如果说，自从完成这次军事运动之后，俄国军队的军事地位改善了，那么，无论如何也不能由此得出这次军事运动是那个原因。
这次侧翼进军，假如没有其他一些条件的巧合，不仅不会给俄国军队带来任何好处，而且可能把俄国军队毁灭掉。如果莫斯科没有被焚毁，那将会怎样呢？如果缪拉不知俄国军队的行踪，那将会怎样呢？如果不是拿破仑按兵不动，那将会怎样呢？如果按照贝尼格森和巴克莱的建议在红帕赫拉附近打一仗，那将会怎样呢？如果法国人在俄国军队渡帕赫拉河的时候发动进攻，那将会怎样呢？如果拿破仑在到达塔鲁丁诺的时候，立即只用他进攻斯摩棱斯克的十分之一的兵力进攻俄国军队，那将会怎样呢？如果法国人进攻彼得堡，那将会怎样呢？……在所有这些假设中，只要任何一条成为事实的话，侧翼进军的结局就不是拯救而是毁灭。
第三，令人最难以理解的是，研究历史的人故意不愿看见，这次侧翼进举不能归功于任何一个人，在任何时候都没有任何一个人对它有所预见，从菲利的撤退也和它完全一样，在任何时候都没有任何一个人看清楚它的全貌，它是由无数的各种各样的条件一步一步地、一个事件接着一个事件、随着时间的推移逐渐显露出来的，只有当它已经完成和已经成为过去的时候，它的全貌才呈现出来。
菲利的军事会议上俄军将领们多数认为理所当然应当沿着下城大路径直往后退却。以下事实可以证明：与会者多数意见都赞成这样撤退，特别是会后总司令和管理粮秣的兰斯科伊那场有名的谈话。兰斯科伊向总司令报告说，军队给养主要集中在奥卡河沿岸的图拉和卡卢加省，如果向下城撤退，给养存放地就被宽阔的奥卡河隔断，而初冬季节河运是不可能的。这是必须撇开那个最自然的直趋下城的想法的第一个迹象。军队沿梁赞大路向南行进，离给养更接近了。后来，甚至不知俄国军队去向的法国军队按兵不动，并且保护图拉的兵工厂，主要的，要接近给养存放地点，使军队向南移动，进入图拉大路。冒险渡过帕赫拉河向图拉大路运动时，俄国军队的司令官们曾打算在波多尔斯克停留下来，并没有考虑塔鲁丁诺阵地，但是，无数的情况和先前不知俄国军队踪迹的法国军队的再次出现、作战计划、主要是卡卢加的粮秣充足，迫使俄军向南移动，向给养所在地的交叉路口转移，从图拉大路转到卡卢日斯卡雅大路，直趋塔鲁丁诺。正如无法回答莫斯科是何时撤退的一样，无法回答，到底是谁决定转移到塔鲁丁诺的。只有当军队由于无数的千差万别的力量相互作用的结果抵达塔鲁丁诺之后，人们才自信地说，他们本来就是这样想的，早就预见到这一点了。
Book 13 Chapter 2
THE FAMOUS OBLIQUE MOVEMENT consisted simply in this. The Russian troops, which had been retreating directly back from the French, as soon as the French attack ceased, turned off from that direction, and seeing they were not pursued, moved naturally in the direction where they were drawn by the abundance of supplies.
If we imagine, instead of generals of genius at the head of the Russian army, an army acting alone, without leadership of any kind, such an army could have done nothing else but move back again towards Moscow, describing a semicircle through the country that was best provided with necessaries, and where supplies were most plentiful.
So natural was this oblique movement from the Nizhni to the Ryazan, Tula, and Kaluga road, that that direction was the one taken by the flying bands of marauders from the Russian army, and the one which the authorities in Petersburg insisted upon Kutuzov's taking. At Tarutino Kutuzov received what was almost a reprimand from the Tsar for moving the army to the Ryazan road, and he was directed to take up the very position facing Kaluga, in which he was encamped at the time when the Tsar's letter reached him.
After recoiling in the direction of the shock received during the whole campaign, and at the battle of Borodino, the ball of the Russian army, as the force of that blow spent itself, and no new blow came, took the direction that was natural for it.
Kutuzov's merit lay in no sort of military genius, as it is called, in no strategic man?uvre, but in the fact that he alone grasped the significance of what had taken place. He alone grasped even then the significance of the inactivity of the French army; he alone persisted in maintaining that the battle of Borodino was a victory; he alone—the man who from his position as commander-in-chief might have been expected to be the first to be eager for battle—he alone did everything in his power to hold the Russian army back from useless fighting.
The wild beast wounded at Borodino lay where the fleeing hunter had left him; but whether alive and strong, or only feigning, the hunter knew not. All at once a moan was heard from the creature. The moan of that wounded creature, the French army, that betrayed its hopeless plight, was the despatch of Lauriston to the camp of Kutuzov with overtures for peace.
Napoleon, with his conviction that not what was right was right, but whatever came into his head was right, wrote to Kutuzov the first words that occurred to his mind, words that had no meaning at all.
“M. LE PRINCE KOUTOUZOFF,” he wrote, “I am sending you one of my aides-de-camp to converse with you on various interesting subjects. I desire that your highness will put faith in what he says, especially when he expresses the sentiments of esteem and particular consideration that I have long entertained for your person. This letter having no other object, I pray God to have you in His holy and powerful keeping.
(Signed) NAPOLEON.
“Moscow, October 30, 1812.”
“I should be cursed by posterity if I were regarded as the first instigator of any sort of settlement. Tel est l'esprit actuel de ma nation,” answered Kutuzov, and went on doing everything in his power to hold the army back from advance.
A month spent by the French army in pillaging Moscow, and by the Russian army quietly encamped at Tarutino, brought about a change in the relative strength of the two armies, a change both in spirit and in numbers, which was all to the advantage of the Russians. Although the position of the French army and its numbers were unknown to the Russians, as soon as their relative strength had changed, a great number of signs began to show that an attack would be inevitable. Among the causes that contributed to bring about this result were Lauriston's mission, and the abundance of provisions at Tarutino, and the reports that were continually coming in from all sides of the inactivity and lack of discipline in the French army, and the filling up of our regiments by recruits, and the fine weather, and the long rest enjoyed by the Russian soldiers, and the impatience to do the work for which they have been brought together, that always arises in troops after repose, and curiosity to know what was going on in the French army, of which they had so long seen nothing, and the daring with which the Russian outposts dashed in among the French encamped at Tarutino, and the news of the easy victories gained by bands of peasants and free-lances over the French, and the envy aroused by them, and the desire of revenge, that every man cherished at heart so long as the French were in Moscow; and—stronger than all—the vague sense growing up in every soldier's heart that the relative strength of the armies had changed, and the preponderance was now on our side. The relative strength of the armies had really changed, and advance had become inevitable. And at once, as surely as the chimes in a clock begin to beat and play when the hand has made the full round of the dial, was this change reflected in the increased activity, and bustle and stir of wheels within wheels in the higher spheres.
著名的侧翼进军只是: 俄国军队在敌人进攻下一直往后退却，在法国人停止进攻之后，离开当初采取的径直路线，见到后面没有追击，就自然而然地转向给养充足的地区。 
假如俄国军队不是在英明的统帅领导下，而只是一支没有指挥官的军队，那么，除了从粮草较多、物产较富的地区，沿着一条弧线朝莫斯科迂回之外，不会做出任何别的抉择。
从下城大路向梁赞、图拉和卡卢日斯卡雅大路转移，是那么自然而然的事，就连俄国的逃兵都向那个方向跑，而且彼得堡方面也要求库图佐夫朝那个方向转移。在塔鲁丁诺库图佐夫接到皇帝的近乎申斥的信，责备他走梁赞大路，要他占领卡卢加对面的阵地，其实在接到皇帝的信时，他已经站在那个阵地上了。
俄国军队这个球，在所有战役和波罗底诺会战的推动下，沿着推力的方向滚动，在推力已经消失，又没有获得新的推力的时候，它就在那个理所当然该停的位置上停住了。
库图佐夫的功绩不在于什么天才，通常称为战略机动，而在于只有他一个人懂得所发生的事件的意义，只有他一个人在当时就懂得法国军队已失去作战能力的意义，只有他一个人坚信波罗底诺战役是一次胜利；只有他一个人——以他处在总司令的地位，理应倾向于进攻的，——竭尽全力阻止俄国军队去作无益的战斗。
在波罗底诺受了伤的那头野兽躺在逃走的猎人把它扔下的某个地方，它是否还活着，是否还有力量，或者它只是暂时躲藏起来了，这一些猎人都不知道。突然听到了那头野兽的呻吟声。
法国军队这只受伤的野兽的呻吟，是派洛里斯顿到库图佐夫营地求和，这是它行将灭亡的暴露。
拿破仑自信，无所谓好和坏，只要是他想到的就是好的，他就这样灵机一动给库图佐夫写了几句毫无意义的话：
“MonsieurleprinceKoutouzov，j'envoieprèsdevousundemesaidesdecampsgènerauxpourvousenB
tretenirdeplusieursobjetsinteressants．Jedésirequevotrealtesseajoutefoiàcequ'illuidira，surtoutlorsqu'ilexprimeralessentimentsd'estimeetde
particulièreconsidérationquej'aidepuislongtempspoursapersonne…Céttelettren'étantàautrefin，jeprieDieu，monsieurleprinceKoutozov，qu'ilvousaitensa sainteetdignegarde．
Moscou，le30Octobre，1812Signé：
Napoléon”①
“jeseraismauditparlapastéritésil'onmeregardaitcommelepremiermoteurd'unaccommodementquelB
conque．Telestl'es－pritactueldemanation．”②库图佐夫回答说，但是他仍然不遗余力地阻止他的军队进攻。 
①法语：“库图佐夫公爵，我派一名参谋将军同您谈判许多重要的问题。我请求阁下相信他对您说的话，特别是他向您表示我久已对您怀有的尊敬和景仰。　并此祈祷上帝给您以神圣的庇护。　莫斯科　一八一二年十月三十日　拿破仑”
②法语：如果把我看作干任何和谈勾当的主谋。我就会受到咒骂。我国人民的意志就是这样。
法国军队在莫斯科抢劫了一个月，俄国军队在塔鲁丁诺附近驻扎了一个月，双方军队力量对比（士气和数量）发生了变化，俄国人方面占据了优势。对比迅速的改变，虽然俄国人还不知道法国军队的位置和人数，无数的迹象都表现出必须立刻发起进攻。这些迹象是：洛里斯顿的派遣，塔鲁丁塔的粮草充裕，来自各方关于法国人的无所事事和混乱的消息，我军各团队都补充了新兵，晴朗的天气，俄国士兵长期的休整以及休整后的士兵通常对公务自发产生跃跃欲试的心情，对于久已消失踪迹的法国军队的情况的好奇心，俄国哨兵现在竟敢有在塔鲁丁诺法国驻军附近放哨的勇气，关于农民和游击队轻易就战胜法国人的消息，由此而产生的羡慕心情，只要法国人还占领着莫斯科，人人都抱有复仇的决心，还有更主要的，每个士兵虽然不十分清楚，但是都意识到力量的对比现在已经起了变化，优势在我们方面。实际力量对比既然起了变化。进攻就势在必行了。正如分钟转完一圈之后，塔钟就自动鸣响一样地准确，随着力量的重大变化，军队上层的活动加强了，有如塔钟咝咝作响和敲打起来。
Book 13 Chapter 3
THE RUSSIAN ARMY was commanded by Kutuzov and his staff and by the Tsar from Petersburg. Before the news of the abandonment of Moscow had reached Petersburg a detailed plan of the whole campaign had been drawn up and sent to Kutuzov for his guidance. In spite of the fact that this plan had been made on the supposition that Moscow was still in our hands, it was approved by the staff, and accepted as the plan to be carried out. Kutuzov simply wrote that directions from a distance were always difficult to carry out. And to solve any difficulties that might arise, fresh instructions were sent, together with newer persons, whose duty it was to be to keep a watch on his movements, and to report upon them.
Apart from these new authorities, the whole staff of generals in the Russian army was now transferred. The places of Bagration, who had been killed, and Barclay, who had taken offence and retired, had to be filled. The question was deliberated with the greatest seriousness: whether A should be put in B's place, and B in the place of D, or whether, on the other hand, D in A's place, and so on, as though the matter affected anything whatever except the satisfaction of A and B and D.
In consequence of Kutuzov's hostility to the head officer of his staff, Bennigsen, and the presence of confidential advisers of the Tsar, and these various new appointments, the struggle of parties at headquarters was even more complicated than usual. A was trying to undermine B's position, D to undermine C's position, and so on, in all the possible combinations and permutations. In all these conflicting currents the object of intrigue was for the most part the management of the war, which all these men supposed they were controlling, though it did, in fact, follow its inevitable course quite apart from their action, a course that never corresponded with their schemes, but was the outcome of the forces interacting in the masses. All these schemes, thwarting and stultifying one another, were simply accepted in the higher spheres as the correct reflection of what was bound to come to pass.
“Prince Mihail Ilarionovitch!” the Tsar wrote on the 2nd of October, a letter received by Kutuzov after the battle of Tarutino. “From the 2nd of September Moscow has been in the hands of the enemy. Your last reports were dated the 20th; and in the course of all this time since, no attempt has been made to act against the enemy, and to relieve the ancient capital, and you have even, from your last reports, retreated further. Serpuhov is by now occupied by a detachment of the enemy, and Tula, with its famous arsenal, of such importance to the army, is in danger. From the reports received from General Wintzengerode, I see that a corps of the enemy, ten thousand strong, is marching along the Petersburg road. Another, numbering some thousands, is already close upon Dmitrov. A third is advancing along the Vladimir road. A fourth force of considerable strength is stationed between Ruza and Mozhaisk. Napoleon himself was in Moscow on the 25th. In face of these facts, with the enemy's forces split up into these detached bodies, and Napoleon himself with his guards in Moscow, is it possible that the enemy's forces confronting you are too strong to permit of your acting on the offensive? One may, with far more probability, assume that you are being pursued by detachments, or at most a corps by far inferior to the army under your command. It would seem that taking advantage of these circumstances, you might with advantage have attacked forces inferior in strength to your army, and have destroyed them, or at least have forced them to retreat, and have kept in our hands a considerable part of the province now occupied by the enemy, and thereby have averted all danger from Tula and the other towns of the interior. You will be responsible, if the enemy is able to send a considerable body of men to Petersburg, to menace that capital, in which it has been impossible to keep any great number of troops; for with the army under your command, acting with energy and decision, you have ample means at your disposal for averting such a calamity. Recollect that you have still to answer to your humiliated country for the loss of Moscow. You have had experience of my readiness to reward you. That readiness is no less now, but Russia and I have the right to expect from you all the energy, decision, and success, which your intellect, your military talents, and the valour of the troops under your command should guarantee us.”
But while this letter, proving that the change in the relative strength of the armies was by now reflected in opinion at Petersburg, was on its road, Kutuzov had been unable to hold the army back, and a battle had already been fought.
On the 2nd of October, a Cossack, Shapovalov, out scouting, shot one hare and wounded a second. Shapovalov was led on in pursuit of the game far into the forest, and came across the left flank of Murat's army, which was encamped and quite off guard. The Cossack told his comrades with laughter the tale of how he had all but fallen into the hands of the French. The ensign, who heard the story, repeated it to his superior officer. The Cossack was sent for and questioned. The officers of the Cossacks wanted to take advantage of this to carry off some horses from the French, but one of them, who was intimate with some of the higher authorities in the army, mentioned the incident to a general on the staff. On the staff the position of late had been strained to the utmost. A few days previously, Yermolov had gone to Bennigsen and besought him to use his influence with the commander-in-chief to bring about an attack.
“If I did not know you, I should suppose you did not desire that result. I have only to advise one course for his highness to be sure to adopt the opposite one,” answered Bennigsen.
The news brought by the Cossack, confirmed by scouts, proved conclusively that the time was ripe. The strained string broke, and the wheels of the clock whirred, and the chimes began to strike. In spite of all his supposed power, his intellect, his experience, and his knowledge of men, Kutuzov, taking into consideration the note from Bennigsen, who was sending a personal report on the subject to the Tsar, the desire expressed by all the generals alike, the desire assumed by them to be the Tsar's wish, and the news brought by the Cossack, could hold back the inevitable movement no longer, and gave orders for what he regarded as useless and mischievous—gave his assent, in fact, to the accomplished fact.
俄国军队受库图佐夫及其参谋部和彼得堡的皇帝指挥。在彼得堡尚未获悉莫斯科已失守的消息之前，就拟定好一个详细的全面作战计划并送交库图佐夫作为作战方针。虽然这个计划是假定莫斯科尚在我方手中时拟定的，但是仍然得到参谋部的赞同并准备付诸执行。库图佐夫只写下了，远方的作战指令总是难以执行的。为了解决所碰到的困难，彼得堡又发出了新的指示，并且派来了监视和报告库图佐夫行动的人员。 
除此之外，俄国军队改组了整个参谋部，增补了巴格拉季翁阵亡后空缺的位置和拂袖而去的巴克莱的职位。还十分慎重地考虑怎样才更好些：把甲放到乙的位置上，把乙放到丙的位置上。或者相反，把丙放到甲的位置上，等等，除了使甲和乙满意之外，似乎还有什么事情能与此相关。
在参谋部里，由于库图佐夫与他的参谋长贝尼格森为敌，还由于皇帝派来的心腹在场和人员的变动，复杂的派系斗争比平时更加激烈了。甲暗算乙，乙暗算丙，等等，在整个的调动和改组过程中都是如此。在所有这些相互暗算中，其主要目标是军事，所有这些人都想争夺军事领导权，但是，军事却不以他们的意志为转移，它按照理所应当的那样进行着，这就是说，它总是与他们的设想不相符合，而是顺应人民群众的意愿，发展、变化。所有这些错综复杂、纷乱如麻的阴谋诡计，只不过是在高级将领之间必然会发生的事情，现在真实地反映出来。
“米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇公爵！”在塔鲁丁诺战役之后接到的皇帝在十月二日的信中写道。“莫斯科于九月二日落入敌人手中，您上一次的报告是二十日写的；在此期间，不但没有对敌人采取行动和解放古都，据您上一次的报告，您甚至仍然在继续往后撤退。谢尔普霍夫已经被敌人的一支部队占领，图拉及其著名的、我军不可缺少的兵工厂也处在危险之中。我从温岑格罗德将军的报告中得知，敌人的一支上万人的兵团正在向彼得堡大路运动。另一支几千人的军队正向德米特罗夫运动。第三支法国军队正沿着弗拉基米尔大路向前运动。第四支是一支相当庞大的兵团，驻扎在鲁查和莫扎伊斯克之间。拿破仑本人直至二十五日仍然在莫斯科。根据所有这些情报，敌人已经把军队分成若干大支队，拿破仑本人及其近卫军仍然在莫斯科，在这种情况下，要说您所面对的敌人的力量很强大，使您难以发起攻击，那会是可能的吗？正相反，可以推测，他可能用比您所率领的军队软弱得多的分队或者至多用一个兵团追击您。看来，利用这些条件，您可以有利地去进攻比您软弱的敌人，消灭他，或者至少迫使他退却，把现在仍被敌人占领的各省的重要部份夺回我们自己手中，从而使图拉和其他内地城市避免危险。如果敌人派出火兵团进攻彼得堡，威胁到这个未能保留很多军队的首都，那要由您负这个责任，因为你掌有托付给您的军队，只要采取坚决的有力的行动，您有一切办法免除这一新的灾难。您要记住，为了莫斯科的失守，您要对我们受辱的祖国负责。我会嘉奖您，对这一点您是有经验的，我的决心不会有丝毫动摇，不过我和俄罗斯有权利要求您全力以赴、坚决，获得成功，您的智力、军事才能和您所统率的军队的骁勇善战，都告诉我们，您不会辜负我们的期望。”
但是，就在这封表明彼得堡已觉察出这种真实力量对比的信还在路上的时候，库图佐夫已经无法制止他所指挥的军队发动进攻了，战斗已经开始了。
十月二日，外出侦察的哥萨克沙波瓦洛夫用步枪打死了一只兔子，打伤了另外一只，他在追逐打伤的那只兔子时，追到了树林中，碰到了没有设任何警戒的缪拉的左翼部队。后来这个哥萨克笑着对他的伙伴们讲述他几乎落入法国人手中的情形。一名少尉听到这个故事后，就报告了他的指挥官。
那个哥萨克被叫去询问；哥萨克的军官们想利用这个机会夺回一些马匹，但是一个与高级将领认识的指挥官把这件事报告了参谋部的一位将军。近来参谋部里的情形非常紧张。耶尔莫洛夫在几天前去见贝尼格森，请求他运用他对总司令的影响，劝总司令发动进攻。
“假如我不认识您，我还以为您不愿意去做您所请求的事了。我一劝告什么，他阁下一定做相反的事情。”贝尼格森回答。
派出的侦察骑兵证实了那个哥萨克的报告，这足以证明，时机已经成熟。盘紧的发条松开了，时钟在咝咝作响，要鸣响了。库图佐夫虽然有他那徒有虚名的权力，有他的聪明才智、丰富的经验和对人的识别能力，但是他不能不注意到贝尼格森亲自向皇帝呈交的报告、全体将军们的一致愿望，他意料到的皇帝的愿望，以及哥萨克们的报告，他再也不能制止那不可避免的行动了，于是他不得不违心地下达命令干他认为无益而且有害的事情，——他对既成事实加以认可。
Book 13 Chapter 4
THE NOTE submitted by Bennigsen, and the report sent in by the Cossacks of the enemy's left flank being unguarded, were simply the last straws that showed the inevitability of giving the signal for advance, and it was arranged to advance to attack on the 5th of October.
On the morning of the 4th, Kutuzov signed the disposition of the forces. Toll read it to Yermolov, proposing that he should superintend the further instructions for carrying it out.
“Very good, very good, I haven't time just now,” said Yermolov, and he hurried out of the cottage. The arrangement of the troops as drawn up by Toll was an excellent one. The disposition had been written out, as at Austerlitz, though not in German:
“The First Column marches here and there, the Second Column occupies this place,” and so on.
On paper all these columns were in their proper place at a fixed time and annihilated the enemy. Everything had been, as in all such cases, carefully thought of, and as in all such cases not a single column did reach its right place at the right time. When a sufficient number of copies of the disposition were ready, an officer was summoned and sent off to give them to Yermolov, that he might see that instructions were given in accordance with them. A young officer of the horseguards, in waiting on Kutuzov, set off for Yermolov's quarters, delighted at the importance of the commission with which he was intrusted.
“Not at home,” Yermolov's servant told him. The officer of the horseguards set off to the quarters of the general, with whom Yermolov was often to be found.
“Not here, nor the general either,” he was told.
The officer mounted his horse again and rode off to another general's.
“No, not at home.”
“If only I don't get into trouble for the delay! How annoying!” thought the officer.
He rode all over the camp. One man told him he had seen Yermolov riding away in company with some other generals; another said he was sure to be at home again by now. The officer was hunting him till six o'clock in the evening without stopping for dinner. Yermolov was nowhere to be found, and no one knew where he was. The officer took a hasty meal at a comrade's, and trotted back to the advance guard to see Miloradovitch. Miloradovitch, too, was not at home, but there he was told that he was at a ball at General Kikin's and that, most likely, Yermolov was there too.
“But where is that?”
“At Etchkino, that way,” said an officer of the Cossacks, pointing out to him a country house in the far distance.
“Out there! beyond our lines!”
“Two regiments of our fellows have been sent out to the outposts, and there is a spree going on there now, fine doings! Two bands, three choruses of singers.”
The officer rode out beyond our lines to Etchkino. While yet a long way off, he heard the gay sounds of a soldier's dance tune sung in chorus.
“In the meadows … in the meadows,” he heard with a whistle and string music, drowned from time to time in a roar of voices. The officer's spirits, too, rose at these sounds, but at the same time he was in terror lest he should be held responsible for having so long delayed giving the important message intrusted to him. It was by now nearly nine o'clock. He dismounted and walked up to the entrance of a big manor-house that had been left uninjured between the French and the Russian lines. Footmen were bustling about with wines and edibles in the vestibule and the buffet. Choruses were standing under the windows. The officer was led up to a door, and he saw all at once all the most important generals in the army, among them the big, impressive figure of Yermolov. All the generals were standing in a semicircle, laughing loudly, their uniforms unbuttoned, and their faces flushed and animated. In the middle of the room a handsome, short general with a red face, was smartly and jauntily executing the steps of the trepak.
“Ha, ha, ha! Bravo, Nikolay Ivanovitch! ha, ha! …”
The officer felt doubly guilty in breaking in at such a moment with important business, and he would have waited; but one of the generals caught sight of him, and hearing what he had come for, told Yermolov. The latter, with a frowning face, came out to the officer, and hearing his story, took the papers from him without a word.
“Do you suppose it was by chance that he was not at home?” said a comrade of the officer's who was on the staff, speaking of Yermolov that evening. “That's all stuff and nonsense; it was all done on purpose. To play a trick on Konovnitsyn. You see, there'll be a pretty kettle of fish to-morrow!”
贝尼格森所呈交的有关必须发动进攻的意见书和那个哥萨克所做的关于法军左翼未设防的报告，只不过是必需下达进攻命令的最后迹象罢了，于是决定十月五日开始进攻。 
十月四日早晨，库图佐夫在作战命令上签了字。托尔对叶尔莫洛夫宣读了那个作战命令，请他作进一步的部署。
“好的，好的，我现在没有时间，”叶尔莫洛夫说道，随即离开了那间农舍小屋。由托尔起草的作战命令写得很漂亮，和在奥斯特利茨写的作战命令一样，不过这一次不是用德文写的。
“DieersteColonnemarschiert①要向某某地点和某某地点进发，dirzweiteColonnemarschiert②要向某某地点和某某地点进发，”等等。在纸面上，所有这些纵队都在指定时间到达指定位置并消灭敌人。正如所有的作战计划一样，一切都想得很美满，也正如执行所有的作战计划一样，没有一个纵队在所指定的时间抵达所指定的地点。 
①法语：第一纵队。
②法语：第二纵队。
当作战计划准备好应有的份数之后，就叫来一位军官，并派他把文件送给叶尔莫洛夫，要他去执行。这个年轻的骑兵军官，库图佐夫的传令官，对交付给他的任务的重要性感到满意，他立即驰往叶尔莫洛夫的住处去了。
“出去了。”叶尔莫洛夫的勤务兵回答道。
骑兵军官又前往什尔莫洛夫常去的一位将军那里。
“不在，将军不在。”
骑兵军官骑上马，又前往另外一个人那里。
“不在，都出去了。”
“可别让我承担这种延迟的责任！这多恼火！”那个军官想道。他骑着马走遍了整个营地。有些人说，他们看到叶尔莫洛夫和另外一些将军向某处去了，有的说，他大约回家去了。那个军官连午饭也没有吃，一直找到下午六点钟。哪里都没有叶尔莫洛夫，谁也不知道他在哪里。军官在一位同事处匆忙吃了点东西，然后又到前已去找米洛拉多维奇。米洛拉多维奇也不在家，那里的人对他说，米洛拉多维奇去参加基金将军举行的舞会，叶尔莫洛夫大概也在那里。
“那舞会在哪里呢？”
“嘿，在哪里，在叶奇金。”一个哥萨克军官指着远处的一所地主的房子，说。
“怎么在那里，在防线以外？”
“他们派了两个团去防卫，他们在那里寻那么大的开心，简直吓人！有两个乐队，三个合唱队。”
那个军官驰往防线以外去找叶奇金。他向那所房子驰去，老远就听见和谐而欢乐的士兵舞曲。
“在草地上……在草地上！……”口笛声和托尔班琴①琴声伴着舞曲，时而被喊叫声淹没，那个军官听到这些声音，心中也很高兴，但是同时他又有点害怕，惟恐这么久没有把交付给他的重要的命令送到，因此而获罪。已经过了八点钟了。他下了马，走进这所地处俄国人和法国人之间而仍然保存完好的地主住宅的门廊，在餐厅和过厅里，听差们正忙碌着端酒上菜，歌手们站在窗子外面。那个军官被让了进去，他立刻就看见军队所有的重要的将军们，其中就有叶尔莫洛夫那高大而显赫的身形。所有的将军们站成半圆形，都解开了上衣，脸色通红，兴高采烈，高声大笑。在大厅中央，一个满脸通红、个子不高、容貌俊秀的将军敏捷地跳特列帕克舞。
“哈，哈，哈！尼古拉·伊凡诺维奇，好啊！哈，哈，哈！
……” 
①托尔班琴是旧时波兰和乌克兰的一种双颈拨弦乐器。
那个军官觉得，在此时此刻，他带着重要的命令进来，会受到双重责备，因此，他宁可等上一会；然而有一位将军看见了他，获悉他来的原因之后，就告诉了叶尔莫洛夫。叶尔莫洛夫听到后阴沉着脸走向那个军官，从他手中接过文件，没有对他说一句话。
“你以为他是偶然走开的吗？”参谋部里的一个同事那一天晚上在谈到叶尔莫洛夫的时候对那个骑兵军官说道。“这是一种手段。这全都是故意的。跟科诺夫尼岑过不去。你看吧，明天会乱成什么样子！”
Book 13 Chapter 5
THE DECREPIT OLD MAN, Kutuzov, had bade them wake him early next day, and in the early morning he said his prayers, dressed, and with a disagreeable consciousness that he had to command in a battle of which he did not approve, he got into his carriage and drove from Letashevka, five versts behind Tarutino, to the place where the attacking columns were to be gathered together. Kutuzov drove along, dropping asleep and waking up again, and listening to hear whether that were the sound of shots on the right, whether the action had not begun. But everything was still quiet. A damp and cloudy autumn day was dawning. As he approached Tarutino, Kutuzov noticed cavalry soldiers leading their horses to a watercourse across the road along which he was riding. Kutuzov looked at them, stopped his carriage, and asked what regiment did they belong to. They belonged to a column which was to have been far away in front in ambush.
“A mistake, perhaps,” thought the old commander-in-chief. But as he drove on further, Kutuzov saw infantry regiments with their arms stacked, and the soldiers in their drawers busy cooking porridge and fetching wood. He sent for their officer. The officer submitted that no command to advance had been given.
“No command …” Kutuzov began, but he checked himself at once, and ordered the senior officer to be summoned to him. Getting out of the carriage, with drooping head he walked to and fro in silence, breathing heavily. When the general staff officer, Eichen, for whom he had sent, arrived, Kutuzov turned purple with rage, not because that officer was to blame for the mistake, but because he was an object of sufficient importance for him to vent his wrath on. And staggering and gasping, the old man fell into that state of fury in which he would sometimes roll on the ground in frenzy, and flew at Eichen, shaking his fists, and shouting abuse in the language of the gutter. Another officer, Captain Brozin, who was in no way to blame, happening to appear, suffered the same fate.
“What will the blackguards do next? Shoot them! The scoundrels!” he shouted hoarsely, shaking his fist and staggering. He was in a state of actual physical suffering. He, his highness the commander-in-chief, who was assured by every one that no one in Russia had ever had such power as he, he put into this position—made a laughing-stock to the whole army. “Worrying myself, praying over to-day, not sleeping all night, and thinking about everything—all for nothing!” he thought about himself. “When I was a mere boy of an officer no one would have dared to make a laughing-stock of me like this … And now!” He was in a state of physical suffering, as though from corporal punishment, and could not help expressing it in wrathful and agonised outcries. But soon his strength was exhausted, and looking about him, feeling that he had said a great deal that was unjust, he got into his carriage and drove back in silence.
His wrath once spent did not return again, and Kutuzov, blinking feebly, listened to explanations and self-justifications (Yermolov himself did not put in an appearance till next day), and to the earnest representation of Bennigsen, Konovnitsyn, and Toll that the battle that had not come off should take place on the following day. And again Kutuzov had to acquiesce.
第二天清晨，衰老的库图佐夫起床后，做了祈祷，穿上衣服，怀着他必须指挥一场他并不赞成的战斗的不愉快的心情，坐上马车，从列塔舍夫卡（离塔鲁丁诺五俄里）出发去担任进攻的各纵队集合的地点。库图佐夫坐在马车里睡睡醒醒，醒醒睡睡，倾听着右方有没有枪声，战斗开始了没有？然而，四周一片寂静。只有潮湿而阴郁的秋天初露的晨光。当走近塔鲁丁诺时，库图佐夫看见在他经过的路上，有骑兵牵着马去饮水。库图佐夫仔细看了看他们，停住马车，询问他们属于哪一个团队。那些骑兵所在的纵队本来早就应当到很远的前方某地去埋伏。“错了，可能弄错了。”老总司令想到。然而再往前走一段，库图佐夫看见步兵团队的士兵们都架起了枪，只穿着衬裤，有的在喝粥，有的在抱柴。叫来一位军官，这位军官报告说，没有任何进攻的命令。 
“怎么没有……”库图佐夫刚一开头，就立刻按捺住自己，派人去找一位级别高的军官来见他。他走下马车，低着头，沉重地喘着气，来回不停地走动，一言不发地等候着。当被叫来的总参谋部的军官艾兴一到，库图佐夫的脸被气得发紫，这并不是因为这个军官犯了什么错误，只是因为他是他发泄怒气的一个够格的对象。于是，老人气得浑身发抖，喘息着，已经处在疯狂状态，在他气得在地上打滚的时候，总是这种样子，他向艾兴进攻了，挥舞着双手威吓他，喊叫着，用最粗鄙的话骂他。另一个碰巧闯来的布罗津上尉，这个无辜者也遭受到同样地命运。
“你这个混蛋怎么这么坏？枪毙你！坏蛋！”他挥动双臂，身子摇摇晃晃，用嘶哑的声音喊叫着。他感受到生理上的痛楚。他，总司令，阁下大人，所有的人都说，在俄国还从来没有任何一个人在任何时候拥有他所拥有的权力，他如今被弄到这种地步——在全军面前闹了个大笑话。“我白白忙着为今天祈祷上帝，白白熬个通宵，白白费脑筋考虑各种事情！”他在心里想道。“当我还是一个小小的军官的时候，也从来没有人敢这样来取笑我……可是如今！”他好像遭到鞭打一样感到生理上的痛楚，他不能不用愤怒和痛苦的喊叫来加以发泄；但是他很快就泄了劲，他向四下里看了看，觉得自己刚才说了许多难听的话，他坐上马车，默默地回去了。
他的怒气一经发完，就不再发怒了，库图佐夫无精打采地眨着眼听那些辩解和袒护的话（叶尔莫洛夫本人第二天才来见他），听贝尼格森·科诺夫尼岑和托尔提出的那个流产了的行动推迟到第二天进行的坚决要求，而库图佐夫又不得不同意了。
Book 13 Chapter 6
NEXT DAY the troops were massed in their appointed places by the evening, and were moving forward in the night. It was an autumn night with a sky overcast by purplish-black clouds, but free from rain. The earth was damp, but not muddy, and the troops advanced noiselessly, except for a hardly audible jingling now and then from the artillery. They were forbidden to talk aloud, to smoke or to strike a light; the horses were kept from neighing. The secrecy of the enterprise increased its attractiveness. The men marched on gaily. Several columns halted, stacked their guns in piles, and lay down on the chilly ground, supposing they had reached their destination. Other columns (the majority) marched all night long, and arrived somewhere, unmistakably not where they were meant to be.
Count Orlov-Denisov with his Cossacks (the detachment of least importance of the lot) was the only one that reached the right place at the right time. This detachment halted at the extreme edge of a forest, on a path from the village of Stromilovo to Dmitrovskoe.
Before dawn Count Orlov, who had fallen asleep, was waked up. A deserter from the French camp was brought to him. It was a Polish under-officer of Poniatovsky's corps. This under-officer explained in Polish that he had deserted because he had been insulted in the service; because he ought long ago to have been an officer, and was braver than any of them, and so he had thrown them up and wanted to punish them. He said that Murat was camping for the night a verst from them, and that if they would give him a convoy of a hundred men he would take him alive. Count Orlov-Denisov took council with his comrades. The proposition was too alluring to be refused. Every one clamoured to go, everyone advised making the attempt. After many disputes and confabulations, it was settled that Major-General Grekov, with two regiments of Cossacks, should go with the Polish deserter.
“Now, remember,” said Count Orlov-Denisov to the Polish deserter, as he dismissed him, “if you have been lying, I will have you shot like a dog, but if it's true, a hundred crowns.”
The deserter made no reply to these words, and with a resolute air mounted his horse and rode off with Grekov's men, who were hurriedly gathered together. They disappeared into the wood. Count Orlov, shivering from the freshness of the dawning morning, and excited by the enterprise he had undertaken on his own responsibility, came out of the wood, accompanying Grekov, and began scrutinising the enemy's camp, faintly visible now in the deceptive light of the approaching dawn and the smouldering camp-fires. On the open copse on Count Orlov-Denisov's right our columns ought to have been visible. Count Orlov-Denisov looked in that direction; but although they could have been seen even if a long distance away, these columns were not in sight. Count Orlov-Denisov fancied, and his adjutant, who was extremely long-sighted; confirmed the idea, that they were beginning to move in the French camp.
“Oh, of course it's too late,” said Count Orlov, staring at the camp. As so often happens when the man in whom we are putting faith is no longer before our eyes, it all seemed at once perfectly clear and obvious to him that the deserter had been playing them false, that he had been telling them lies, and was only spoiling the whole attack by removing these two regiments, which he was leading away—God only knew where! As if it were possible to capture the general out of such a mass of troops.
“No doubt he was lying, the scoundrel,” said the Count.
“We can turn them back,” said one of the suite, who was feeling just the same mistrust in the undertaking as he gazed at the camp.
“Ah! Yes … what do you think, or shall we leave them? Or not?”
“Do you command them to return?”
“To return, yes, to return!” Count Orlov said, with sudden decision, looking at his watch; “it will be too late; it's quite light.”
And an adjutant galloped into the wood after Grekov. When Grekov came back, Count Orlov-Denisov, excited by giving up this enterprise, and by vainly waiting for the infantry columns, which still did not appear, and by the enemy's being so near (every man in his detachment was feeling the same), resolved to attack.
In a whisper he gave the command: “Mount!”
The men got into their places, crossed themselves … “In God's name, off!”
“Hurrah!” rang out in the wood, and the Cossacks, with spears lowered, flew gaily, one hundred after another, across the stream into the camp, as though they were being shot out of a sack.
One desperate, frightened scream from the first Frenchman who caught sight of the Cossacks, and every creature in the camp, undressed and half-asleep, was running away, abandoning cannons, muskets, and horses.
If the Cossacks had pursued the French without regard to what they left all around and behind them, they could have captured Murat and all there was there. Their commanding officers tried to make them do so. But there was no making the Cossacks budge when they had got booty and prisoners. No one heeded the word of command. They had taken fifteen hundred prisoners, thirty-eight cannons, flags, and, what was of most consequence in the eyes of the Cossacks, horses, saddles, coverings and various other objects. All of this they wanted to see after, to secure the prisoners and the cannons, to divide the booty, to shout at and even fight with one another over the spoils; and all this absorbed the Cossacks' attention. The Frenchmen, finding themselves not pursued further, began to rally; they formed into companies and began firing. Orlov-Denisov still expected the other columns to arrive, and did not advance further.
Meanwhile, in accordance with the disposition—“die erste Colonne marschirt,” and so on—the infantry regiments of the belated columns, under the command of Bennigsen and the direction of Toll, had started off in due course, and had, in the usual way, arrived somewhere, but not where they were intended to arrive. In the usual way too, the soldiers who had set off gaily, began to halt; there were murmurs of dissatisfaction and a sense of muddle, and they were marched back to some point. Adjutants and generals galloped to and fro, shouting angrily, quarrelling, declaring they had come utterly wrong and were too late, upbraiding some one, and so on; and finally, all washed their hands of the business in despair, and marched on simply in order to get somewhere. “We must arrive somewhere sooner or later!” And so they did, in fact, arrive somewhere, but not where they were wanted. And some did even reach their destination, but reached it so late that their doing so was of no use at all, and only resulted in their being fired at for nothing. Toll, who in this battle played the part of Weierother in the battle of Austerlitz, galloped with unflagging energy from one part of the field to another, and found everything at sixes and sevens everywhere. So, for instance, he found Bagovut's corps in the wood, when it was broad daylight, though the corps ought to have been there long before, and to have gone to support Orlov-Denisov. Disappointed and excited at the failure, and supposing some one must be to blame for it, Toll galloped up to the general in command of the corps, and began sternly reprimanding him, declaring that he deserved to be shot. Bagovut, a sturdy old general of placid disposition, had been worried too by all the delays, the muddles, and the contradictory orders, and, to the amazement of everybody, he flew into a violent rage, quite out of keeping with his character, and said some very nasty things to Toll.
“I am not going to be taught my duty by anybody, but I can face death with my men as well as any one,” he said, and he marched forward with one division. The valiant Bagovut, not considering in his excitement whether his advance into action now with a single division was likely to be of use or not, marched his men straight forward into the enemy's fire. Danger, shells, and bullets were just what he wanted in his fury. One of the first bullets killed him, the other bullets killed many of his men. And his division remained for some time under fire for no object whatever.
第二天，部队在天黑以后在指定地点集合，夜晚行军。这是一个秋天的夜晚，天空布满暗紫色的云彩，但是没有下雨。地面潮湿，但是并不泥泞，军队无声无息地行进着，只是偶而可以听到炮兵的微弱的叮当声。不准高声谈话，不准吸烟和打火；尽量不让马嘶鸣。行军的隐秘增加了它的魅力。人们愉快地行进着。有些纵队以为他们已经达到了目的地，停了下来，架起枪，在冰冷的土地上躺了下来；有些纵队（大多数）走了一整夜，显然走到他们不该到的地方。 
奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫伯爵带领一队哥萨克（所有分队中一支最无足轻重的分队）在指定时间到达了指定地点。这支分队停扎在一座森林的边缘——由斯特罗米洛瓦村去德米特罗夫斯科耶村的一条小路上。
快要天亮的时候，还在打瞌睡的奥尔洛夫伯爵被惊醒了。一个从法军军营逃跑过来的人被带进来。这人是波尼亚托夫斯基兵团的波兰籍中士。这个中士用波兰语解释说，他之所以投奔过来，是因为他在军中受人欺负，他早就应当被提升为军官了，他比任何人都勇敢，因此他抛开他们，还要想报复他们。他说，缪拉就在相距他们只一俄里的地方过夜，只要他带一百名卫队，他就可以把他活捉过来。奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫伯爵和他的同事们商量了一下。这个建议太诱惑人了，简直令人难以拒绝。人人都自告奋勇要去，人人都想要试一下。经过多次争论和反复酌量之后，决定由格列科夫少将带两团哥萨克同那个中士一道去执行这一任务。
“你可要记住，”奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫伯爵在送走那个中士时对他说，“你要是说了谎话，我一定把你当一条狗吊死，要是真的，我就赏给你一百个金币。”
那个中士面带坚决的表情对这些话未作回答，跨上马，随着迅速集合起来的格列科夫的人马一同出发了。他们隐没在森林之中。奥尔洛夫伯爵送走了格列科夫，在黎明前的凉爽空气中瑟缩着身子，由于这件事是他自己作的主，心情很激动，他走出树林瞭望敌人的营地，这时在天边的鱼肚白色和即将燃尽的火堆的微光中隐约可以望见敌人的营地。在奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫伯爵右方，我们的纵队本应在那片裸露的斜坡上出现。奥尔洛夫伯爵向那边望去，虽然离得较远，还是可以望见我们的纵队的，可是没有看见。奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫伯爵觉得，法国军营开始活动起来，特别是根据一个眼力好的副官说的话证实了这一点。
“啊，实在太晚了。”奥尔洛夫伯爵望着那个军官说道。他突然觉得，正如我们信任的人不在眼前时常有的情形，已经完全清楚，明明白白，那个中士是一个骗子，他说了个大谎，天知道他把两个团的人带到哪里去了，由于这两个团的人马不在，全部俄国的攻击给破坏了。怎么能在这么庞大的军队中活捉到一个总司令？
“的确，他撒谎，这个坏蛋。”伯爵说。
“可以把他叫回来。”一个侍从说道，这个侍从和奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫伯爵有同感，在瞭望敌营时就觉得这次行动不可靠。
“呃？真的……你是怎样想的？是应当让他们去还是不应当让他们去？”
“您叫他们回来，是吗？”
“叫他们回来，叫他们回来！”奥尔洛夫伯爵看看表，突然坚决地说，“恐怕要晚了，天大亮了。”
于是一位副官驰进树林去找格列科夫。当格列科夫回来的时候，奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫伯爵由于取消了这次尝试，由于一直等不到步兵纵队出现，还由于敌人就在眼前，心情很激动（他这个分队人人都很激动），决定发动进攻。
“上马！”他低声命令道。士兵们各就各位，划了十字……
“上帝保佑！”
“乌拉——！”喊声响彻整个森林，哥萨克士兵们端着枪，一连跟着一连，像从一条口袋里倒出来一般，飞快地越过小溪，快活地向敌军营地冲杀过去。
第一个看见哥萨克的法国人发出一声绝望的惊恐的叫喊，全营的人还没来得及穿上衣服就朦朦胧胧地扔下大炮、枪支和马匹向四面八方逃跑。
如果哥萨克不顾及他们身后和周围的东西，乘胜追击法国人，他们有可能生擒缪拉，将那儿所有的东西一一缴获，指挥官们是打算这样做的。但是，哥萨克们在缴获战利品和俘虏之后，就没法使他们向前推进，没有一个人听从命令。这次俘获了一千五百名俘虏，三十八门大炮，许多旗帜，还有哥萨克们认为最重要的马匹、马鞍、被服，以及其他许多东西。所有这一切都要进行处理，俘虏和大炮要安置，战利品要分配，他们自己中间有的吵闹，有的你争我夺，哥萨克们都为此忙得不亦乐乎。
不再受到追击的法国人清醒过来了，他们整理了一下队伍，开始进行还击。奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫伯爵仍然在等候别的纵队到来，没有继续进攻。
与此同时，按照命令：“dieersteColonnemarschiert，”①等等，贝尼格森指挥的和托尔统率的那些迟到的步兵纵队，已经按照应有的顺序出发，也正如通常那样，已经走到某个地点，不过那不是指定到达的地点。兴高采烈出发的士兵们停了下来；怨声四起，一片混乱，又返回到某地。驰马过来的副官和将军们喊叫着，怒气冲冲，互相争吵，说他们完全走错了，也来晚了，责骂某某人，如此等等，终于大家无可奈何地挥了挥手，又往前走，走到哪里算哪里。“不管怎么走，总能走到！”果然走到了，但不是指定地点，有些纵队到达了指定地点，但是太晚了，已经毫无作用，只有挨打了。托尔在这场战斗中扮演了维罗特尔在奥斯特利茨战役扮演的角色，他骑着马到处奔忙，到处都发现事与愿违。天已大亮时，他驰马来到停扎在树林中的巴戈乌特兵团所在地，而这个兵团早就应该和奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫会合了。托尔为这一失误而焦急、气愤，他认为应当有人对此负责，他策马来到兵团司令官面前，严厉地斥责他，他说，就为了这，应当枪毙他。巴戈乌特是一个文静的、能征善战的老将军，他也因为一路拖延、混乱和错误百出被搞得筋疲力竭，令人惊讶的是，他一反平日的温文尔雅，大发雷霆，他对托尔说了许多难听的话。 
①法语：第一纵队向某地进发。
“我不愿受任何人教训，我和我的士兵不会比别人更怕死。”他说完，就率一师人前进了。
心情激动的勇敢的巴戈乌特冒着法国人的炮火向田野走去，他不考虑这时就进入战斗是否有益，就带领一师人冒着枪林弹雨冲了上去。危险、炮弹、枪弹，这些正是处在愤怒中的他所需要的东西。在敌人的头几排枪弹中，一颗子弹把他打死了，接着几排枪弹，打死了许多士兵。他的一师人马冒着炮火毫无益处地坚持了一会儿。
Book 13 Chapter 7
MEANWHILE another column was to have fallen upon the French in the centre, but of this column Kutuzov was in command. He knew very well that nothing but muddle would come of this battle, begun against his will, and, as far as it was in his power, he held his forces back. He did not move.
Kutuzov rode mutely about on his grey horse, making languid replies to the suggestions for an attack.
“You can all talk about attacking, but you don't see that we don't know how to execute complicated man?uvres,” he said to Miloradovitch, who was begging to be allowed to advance.
“We couldn't take Murat alive in the morning, nor be in our places in time; now there's nothing to be done!” he said to another.
When it was reported to Kutuzov that there were now two battalions of Poles in the rear of the French, where according to the earlier reports of the Cossacks there had been none, he took a sidelong glance behind him at Yermolov, to whom he had not spoken since the previous day.
“Here they are begging to advance, proposing projects of all sorts, and as soon as you get to work, there's nothing ready, and the enemy, forewarned, takes his measures.”
Yermolov half closed his eyelids, and faintly smiled, as he heard those words. He knew that the storm had blown over him, and that Kutuzov would not go beyond that hint.
“That's his little joke at my expense,” said Yermolov softly, poking Raevsky, near him, with his knee.
Soon after that, Yermolov moved forward to Kutuzov and respectfully submitted:
“The time has not passed, your highness; the enemy has not gone away. If you were to command an advance? Or else the guards won't have a sight of smoke.”
Kutuzov said nothing, but when news was brought him that Murat's troops were in retreat, he gave orders for an advance; but every hundred paces he halted for three-quarters of an hour.
The whole battle was confined to what had been done by the Cossacks of Orlov-Denisov; the rest of the troops simply lost a few hundreds of men for nothing.
In consequence of this battle, Kutuzov received a diamond decoration; Bennigsen, too, was rewarded with diamonds and a hundred thousand roubles; and the other generals, too, received agreeable recognition according to their rank, and more changes were made on the staff.
“That's how things are always done among us, everything topsy-turvy!” the Russian officers and generals said after the battle of Tarutino; just as they say it nowadays, with an assumption that some stupid person had muddled everything, while we would have managed quite differently. But the men who speak like this either do not understand what they are talking of, or intentionally deceive themselves. Every battle—Tarutino, Borodino, Austerlitz—fails to come off as those who planned it expected it to do. That is inevitable.
An innumerable collection of freely acting forces (and nowhere is a man freer than on the field of battle, where it is a question of life and death) influence the direction taken by a battle, and that can never be known beforehand and never corresponds with the direction of any one force.
If many forces are acting simultaneously in different directions on any body, the direction of its motion will not correspond with any one of the forces, but will always follow a middle course, the summary of them, what is expressed in mechanics by the diagonal of the parallelogram of forces.
If in the accounts given us by historians, especially by French ones, we find that wars and battles appear to follow a definite plan laid down beforehand, the only deduction we can make from that is that these accounts are not true.
The battle of Tarutino obviously failed to attain the aim which Toll had in view: to lead the army into action in accordance with his disposition of the troops, or the aim which Count Orlov-Denisov may have had: to take Murat prisoner; or the aim of destroying at one blow the whole corps, which Benningsen and others may have entertained; or the aim of the officer who desired to distinguish himself under fire; or the Cossack, who wanted to obtain more booty than he did attain, and so on. But if we regard the object of the battle as what was actually accomplished by it, and what was the universal desire of all Russians (the expulsion of the French from Russia and the destruction of their army), it will be perfectly evident that the battle of Tarutino, precisely in consequence of its incongruities, was exactly what was wanted at that period of the campaign. It is difficult or impossible to imagine any issue of that battle more in accordance with that object than its actual result. With the very smallest effort, in spite of the greatest muddle, and with the most trifling loss, the most important results in the whole campaign were obtained—the transition was made from retreat to attack, the weakness of the French was revealed, and the shock was given which was all that was needed to put Napoleon's army to flight.
在这些纵队中，另有一个纵队应当从正面进攻法国人，然而库图佐夫在这个纵队里。他十分清楚地知道，这次违反他的意志进行的战斗，除了弄得十分混乱以外，不会有别的结果，于是就他的权力所及，尽力阻止部队进攻，他按兵不动。 
库图佐夫骑着他那匹小灰马，默默地走着，他懒懒地回答向他提出的发动进攻的建议。
“您老是把进攻挂在嘴上，你没有看到我们尚不善于打复杂的运动战。”他对请求前进的米洛拉多维奇说。
“今天早上没能生擒缪拉，部队没有按时到达指定地点，现在什么也办不到啦！”他对另一个人回答道。
库图佐夫听说，依据哥萨克的情报，法军后方先前一个人也没有，而现在已有两个营的波兰士兵，他转过脸，斜着眼看了看身后的叶尔莫洛夫（他从昨天起就没有同他说过一句话）。
“您瞧，还要求进攻呢，制定了种种作战方案，可是一旦动手，什么都没有准备好，而警觉的敌人却采取了应对的措施。”
叶尔莫洛夫听了这些话，眯起眼睛，淡淡一笑，他懂得，对于他来说，暴风雨已经过去了，库图佐夫仅以这种暗示为满足。
“他这是拿我来取笑。”叶尔莫洛夫碰了一下站在他身旁的拉耶夫斯基的膝盖，悄悄说道。
过了不大一会，叶尔莫洛夫走近库图佐夫，恭恭敬敬地报告说：
“阁下，现在为时还不晚，敌人还没走。您是不是下令进攻？否则近卫军连一点硝烟也看不见了。”
库图佐夫一句话也不说，当人们向他报告说缪拉的部队在撤退的时候，他下了进攻命令；然而每前进一百步要停三刻钟。
整个战斗就只有奥尔洛夫·杰尼索夫的哥萨克所做的那点事情，其余的军队只是白白损失了几百人。
由于这次战役，库图佐夫获得了一枚钻石勋章，贝尼格森也得到一些钻石和十万卢布，其余的人按照级别都得到了许多令人愉快的好处，在这次战役之后，参谋部又作了新的调动。
“我们总是搞成这个样子，都搞颠倒了！”在塔鲁丁诺战役之后，俄国的军官们和将军们说道，现在也还是有人这样说，这给人一种感觉，似乎有一个傻瓜把事情搞糟了似的，要是我们，就不会这样。然而说这种话的人，他们不是不知道他们所说的那件事情，就是有意欺骗他们自己。所有的战役——塔鲁丁诺、波罗底诺、奥斯特利茨等战役，都不是按照战役的制定者的设计进行的。这就是最本质的情况。
无数自由的力量（因为没有任何一个地方比人们在进行殊死搏斗的时候更加自由）影响着战斗的趋势，而这个趋势从来都不可能未卜先知，也从来不会与某种力量的趋势相符合。
如果同时有许多各种不相同的力作用于某一物体，该物体运动的方向不可能与任何一个力的运动的方向相符合；而总是平均最短的方向，即力学所说的平行四边形的对角线。
如果我们在历史学家的著述中，特别是在法国历史学家的著述中，发现他们对战争和战斗都是按照事先制定的计划进行的，那我们唯一可以得出的结论是，这些论述是不真实的。
塔鲁丁诺战役显然没有达到托尔想达到的目的，军队没有按照他规定的顺序投入战斗；也没有达到奥尔洛夫伯爵的目的——生擒缪拉，或者，也没有达到贝尼格森和别的人想要一举歼灭整个师团的目的，军官们也没有达到想参加战斗并能荣立战功的目的，或者哥萨克们也没有达到想得到比他们已经得到的还要更多的战利品的目的，诸如此类。如果那次战役的目的是实际上已经达到的目的的话，那么，当时所有俄国人的一个共同愿望（把法国人从俄国赶出去，消灭他们的军队），那么，问题就十分明显，塔鲁丁诺战役正是因为矛盾而出，所以恰好是那个时期所必需的战役。很难而且也不可能设想出比这次战役的结果更适宜的结果。在用最少的力量，在极大的混乱，在损失微不足道的情况下，在整个战役中得到了最好的结果，这就是，使退却转为进攻，暴露了法国人的弱点，对拿破仑军队即将逃跑一事起推动作用。
Book 13 Chapter 8
NAPOLEON enters Moscow after the brilliant victory de la Moskowa: there can be no doubt of the victory, since the French are left in possession of the field of battle. The Russians retreat and leave Moscow—well stocked with provisions, arms, implements, and countless riches—in the hands of Napoleon. The Russian army, of one-half the strength of the French, during the course of a whole month makes no effort to attack. Napoleon's position is most brilliant. One would have supposed that no great genius was needed with an army of double the strength to fall upon the Russian forces and destroy them, to negotiate an advantageous peace; or, in case of negotiations being refused, to make a menacing march upon Petersburg, or even, in case of failure in this, to return to Smolensk or to Vilna, or to remain in Moscow, to retain, in short, the brilliant position in which the French army now found themselves. To do all this it was only necessary to take the simplest and easiest measures: to keep the soldiers from pillage, to prepare winter clothes (of which there was a supply in Moscow amply sufficient for the whole army), and regularly to collect the provisions, of which the supply in Moscow was, on the showing of the French historians, sufficient to feed the whole army for six months. Napoleon, the greatest of all military geniuses, with absolute power, as historians assert, over the army, did nothing of all this.
Far from doing anything of the sort, he used his power to select out of all the various courses open to him the stupidest and most pernicious of all. Of all the different things Napoleon might have done—spending the winter in Moscow, going to Petersburg, going to Nizhni-Novgorod, going back a little more to the north or to the south, by the road Kutuzov afterwards took—no course one can imagine could have been more ruinous for his army (as the sequel proved) than the one Napoleon actually did adopt; that is, the course of staying in Moscow till October, letting the troops plunder the town, then in hesitation leaving a garrison behind, marching out of Moscow, going to meet Kutuzov and not giving battle, turning to the right and going as far as Maley Yaroslavets, again refusing to risk a battle, and finally retreating, not by the road Kutuzov had taken, but by Mozhaisk and the Smolensk route through devastated country. Let the most skilful tacticians, supposing that Napoleon's object was the destruction of his army, try and devise a series of actions which could, apart from any measures that might be taken by the Russian forces, have ensured with such certainty the complete destruction of the whole French army as the course taken by Napoleon.
This the genius Napoleon did. But to say that Napoleon ruined his army because he wanted to do so, or because he was very stupid, would be just as unjust as to say that Napoleon got his troops to Moscow because he wanted to, and because he was very clever and a great genius.
In both cases his personal activity, having no more force than the personal activity of every soldier, was merely coincidental with the laws by which the event was determined.
Quite falsely (and simply because the sequel did not justify Napoleon's actions) do historians represent Napoleon's faculties as flagging at Moscow. Just as before, and afterwards in the year 1813, he used all his powers and faculties to do the best for himself and his army, Napoleon's activity at this time was no less marvellous than in Egypt, in Italy, in Austria, and in Prussia. We do not know with any certainty how real was the genius of Napoleon in Egypt, where forty centuries looked down upon his greatness, because all his great exploits there are recounted to us by none but Frenchmen. We cannot judge with certainty of his genius in Austria and Prussia, as the accounts of his doings there must be drawn from French and German sources. And the unaccountable surrender of corps of soldiers without a battle, and of fortresses without a siege, must dispose Germans to postulate Napoleon's genius as the unique explanation of the war as it was waged in Germany. But we have, thank God, no need to plead his genius to cloak our shame. We have paid for the right to look facts simply and squarely in the face, and that right we will not give up.
His activity in Moscow was as marvellous and as full of genius as anywhere else. Command upon command and plan upon plan was continually being issued by him from the time he entered Moscow to the time he left it. The absence of the citizens and of a deputation, and even the burning of Moscow, did not daunt him. He did not lose sight of the welfare of his army, nor of the doings of the enemy, nor of the welfare of the people of Russia, nor of the conduct of affairs at Paris, nor of diplomatic negotiations as to the terms of peace.
拿破仑在莫斯科河获得辉煌的胜利之后，进入了莫斯科；胜利是无庸置疑的。因为战场在法国人手中。俄国人撤退了，放弃了首都。莫斯科城的丰富的粮草、武器、装备和数不尽的财富，全都在拿破仑手中。只有法国军队一半数量的俄国军队，在整整的一个月中不曾有过一次进攻的尝试。拿破仑的境况最为辉煌。要是以两倍的兵力攻击并歼灭俄军残部，要是提出有利的讲和条件，一旦讲和被拒绝，就进军威胁彼得堡，甚至万一受挫，就返回斯摩棱斯克或维尔纳，或者就留在莫斯科，总之，要保持法国军队当时所处的那种辉煌境况，似乎用不着什么特殊的天才就可以做到。为了做到这一点，只需要做一件最简单、最容易的事情，那就是禁止军队抢劫，准备冬季服装（在莫斯科能得到足够全军用的冬装），用正当的方法征集粮草，据法国的历史学家说，莫斯科有足够军全食用半年多的粮食。可是拿破仑，这个历史学家誉为天才中最伟大的天才，掌握全军大权的人，竟然没有做任何一件事情。 
他不仅不去做这一类事情中的任何一件事情，而且正相反，他把他的权力却用在从摆在他面前可供他选择的所有道路中，选择了一条比所有道路都更加愚蠢和更为有害的道路。可供拿破仑选择的道路有：在莫科斯过冬，向彼得堡进军，向下诺夫哥罗德进军，向北或者向南（库图佐夫后来所走的那条路）撤退，可是，再也想不出比拿破仑做的更愚蠢、更有害的事了，那就是，在莫斯科停留到十月底，任由部队抢劫这个城市，后来，又动摇不定是否留下守备队，就退出了莫斯科，接近了库图佐夫，却不进行战斗，接着转向右方，走近小雅罗斯拉维茨，又失掉了试行突破的机会，不走库图佐夫走的那条大路，而沿着被破坏了的斯摩棱斯克大路向莫扎伊斯克退却，结果证明，再也想不出比这更愚蠢、对军队更有害的事情了。就是最有经验的战略家，即便假定拿破仑的目的是要毁灭掉他的军队，也想不出另外一系列的行动，像拿破仑所做的那样，确定无疑地、与俄国军队采取任何措施都无关地，彻底毁灭整个法国军队。
天才的拿破仑却做到了这一点。但是，说拿破仑毁掉了自己的军队，是因为他想那样做，或者说他太愚笨，如同说拿破仑把军队带到莫斯科，是因为他想那样做，或者说因为他很聪明和有天才，都同样地不公平。
在这种或那种情况下，他个人的行动并不比任何一个士兵的行动更有力。只不过他个人的行动符合现象在形成过程中所遵循的某些规律罢了。
历史学家十分荒谬地告诉我们说（仅仅因为结果未能证实拿破仑的行动是对的），拿破仑的天才在莫斯科衰退了。其实，他像先前像后来，像一九一三年完全一样，竭尽他全部聪明才智和力量为他自己、为他的军队谋求最大的利益。拿破仑在这一时期的行动令人惊叹，并不比他在埃及、意大利和普鲁士等地有所逊色。我们不能知道拿破仑在埃及（那里有四千年的历史注视着他的伟大）的实际的天才达到何种程度，因为只有法国人才向我们描述他的这些伟大功勋。我们也难以准确无误地判断他在奥地利和在普鲁士的天才，因为有关他在那里的活动的报导，我们要从法国和德国的文献中去查找；整个兵团未经战斗就不可思议地投降当了俘虏，要塞还没有被包围就一个个陷落，这一切使德国人不能不承认他的天才，为那场在德国进行的战争作出唯一的解释。但是我们，感谢上帝，没有理由为了遮掩自己的耻辱，而承认他的天才。我们为了要有直截了当看问题的权利，我们已经为此而付出了代价，我们也就决不会放弃这种权利。
他在莫斯科的行动，就如同在所有的地方一样，令人叹为观止，显示了他的天才。自从他进入莫斯科到他撤退出莫斯科的这段时间里，他发出了一个接一个的命令，制定了一个又一个的各种计划。莫斯科的居民都跑光了，没有代表团前来见他，甚至连莫斯科大火，都没有使他惊慌失措。他并没有忽略他的军队的利益，也没有忽略敌人方面的活动，也没有忽略俄国人民的利益，也没有忽略巴黎方面的政务，也没有忽略关于即将缔结和约的外交方面的考虑。
Book 13 Chapter 9
ON THE MILITARY SIDE, immediately on entering Moscow, Napoleon gives General Sebastiani strict orders to keep a watch on the movements of the Russian army, sends detachments along the various roads, and charges Murat to find Kutuzov. Then he gives careful instructions for the fortification of the Kremlin; then he makes a plan of the coming campaign over the whole map of Russia; that was a work of genius, indeed. On the diplomatic side, Napoleon summons to his presence Captain Yakovlev, who had been robbed and reduced to rags and did not know how to get out of Moscow, expounds to him minutely his whole policy and his magnanimity; and after writing a letter to the Emperor Alexander, in which he considers it his duty to inform his friend and brother that Rastoptchin had performed his duties very badly in Moscow, he despatches Yakovlev with it to Petersburg.
Expounding his views and his magnanimity with equal minuteness to Tutolmin, he despatches that old man too to Petersburg to open negotiations.
On the judicial side, orders were issued, immediately after the fires broke out, for the guilty persons to be found and executed. And the miscreant Rastoptchin was punished by the order to set fire to his houses.
On the administrative side, Moscow was presented with a constitution. A municipal council was instituted, and the following proclamation was issued:—
“CITIZENS OF MOSCOW!
“Your misfortunes have been cruel, but his majesty the Emperor and King wishes to put an end to them. Terrible examples have shown you how he punishes crime and breach of discipline. Stern measures have been taken to put an end to disorder and to restore public security. A paternal council, chosen from among yourselves, will compose your municipality or town council. It will care for you, for your needs and your interests. The members of it will be distinguished by a red ribbon, which they will wear across the shoulder, and the mayor will wear a white sash over it. But except when discharging their duties, they will wear only a red ribbon round the left arm.
“The city police are established on their former footing, and they are already restoring order. The government has appointed two general commissioners, or superintendents of police, and twenty commissioners, or police inspectors, stationed in the different quarters of the town. You will recognise them by the white ribbon they will wear round the left arm. Several churches of various denominations have been opened, and divine service is performed in them without hindrance. Your fellow-citizens are returning every day to their dwellings, and orders have been given that they should find in them the aid and protection due to misfortune. These are the measures which the government has adopted to restore order and alleviate your position; but to attain that end, it is necessary that you should unite your efforts with them; should forget, if possible, the misfortunes you have suffered; should look hopefully at a fate that is not so cruel; should believe that a shameful death inevitably awaits those guilty of violence against your persons or your deserted property, and consequently leaves no doubt that they will be preserved, since such is the will of the greatest and most just of monarchs. Soldiers and citizens of whatever nation you may be! Restore public confidence, the source of the prosperity of a state; live like brothers, give mutual aid and protection to one another; unite in confounding the projects of the evil-minded; obey the civil and military authorities, and your tears will soon cease to flow.”
On the commissariat side, Napoleon issued orders for all the troops to enter Moscow in turn, à la maraude, to gather supplies for themselves; so that in that way the army was provided with supplies for the future.
On the religious side, Napoleon ordered the priests to be brought back, and services to be performed again in the churches.
With a view to encouraging commerce and providing supplies for the troops, the following notice was placarded everywhere:—
“PROCLAMATION.
“You, peaceable inhabitants of Moscow, artisans, and working men, who have been driven out of the city by the disturbance, and you, scattered tillers of the soil, who are still kept in the fields by groundless terror, hear! Tranquillity is returning to this capital, and order is being restored in it. Your fellow-countrymen are coming boldly out of their hiding-places, seeing that they are treated with respect. Every act of violence against them or their property is promptly punished. His Majesty the Emperor and King protects them, and he reckons none among you his enemies but such as disobey his commands. He wishes to put an end to your trouble, and to bring you back to your homes and your families. Co-operate with his beneficent designs and come to us without apprehension. Citizens! Return with confidence to your habitations; you will soon find the means of satisfying your needs! Artisans and industrious handicraftsmen! Return to your employment; houses, shops, and guards to protect them are awaiting you, and you will receive the payment due to you for your toil! And you, too, peasants, come out of the forests where you have been hiding in terror, return without fear to your huts in secure reliance on finding protection. Markets have been established in the city, where peasants can bring their spare stores and country produce. The government has taken the following measures to secure freedom of sale for them: (1) From this day forward, peasants, husbandmen, and inhabitants of the environs of Moscow can, without any danger, bring their goods of any kind to two appointed markets—namely, the Mohovaya and the Ohotny Ryad. (2) Goods shall be bought from them at such a price as seller and buyer shall agree upon together; but if the seller cannot get what he asks for as a fair price, he will be at liberty to take his goods back to his village, and no one can hinder his doing so on any pretext whatever. (3) Every Sunday and Wednesday are fixed for weekly market days: to that end a sufficient number of troops will be stationed on Tuesdays and Saturdays along all the high roads at such a distance from the town as to protect the carts coming in. (4) Similar measures will be taken that the peasants with their carts and horses may meet with no hindrance on their homeward way. (5) Steps will be immediately taken to re-establish the ordinary shops.
“Inhabitants of the city and of the country, and you workmen and handicraftsmen of whatever nationality you may be! You are called upon to carry out the paternal designs of his majesty the Emperor and King, and to co-operate with him for the public welfare. Lay your respect and confidence at his feet, and do not delay to unite with us!”
With a view to keeping up the spirits of the troops and the people, reviews were continually being held, and rewards were distributed.
The Emperor rode about the streets and entertained the inhabitants; and in spite of his preoccupation with affairs of state, visited in person the theatre set up by his orders.
As regards philanthropy, too—the fairest jewel in the conqueror's crown—Napoleon did everything that lay within him. On the benevolent institutions he ordered the inscription to be put up, “Maison de ma mère,” thereby combining a touching filial sentiment with a monarch's grandeur of virtue. He visited the Foundling Home; and as he gave the orphans he had saved his white hands to kiss, he conversed graciously with Tutolmin. Then, as Thiers eloquently recounts, he ordered his soldiers' pay to be distributed among them in the false Russian notes he had counterfeited:—
“Reinforcing the use of these methods by an act worthy of him and of the French army, he had assistance distributed to those who had suffered loss from the fire. But as provisions were too precious to be given to strangers, mostly enemies, Napoleon preferred to furnish them with money for them to provide themselves from without, and ordered paper roubles to be distributed among them.”
With a view to maintaining discipline in the army, orders were continually being issued for severely punishing nonfulfilment of military duty and for putting an end to pillaging.
在军事方面，拿破仑一进驻莫斯科就严令塞巴斯蒂安尼将军注意俄国军队的行动，向各条道路派出兵团，责成缪拉去寻找库图佐夫。然后他又详细布置大力加强克里姆林宫的防卫工作，然后在全俄版图上制定未来战役的天才计划。在外交方面，拿破仑把那个遭到抢劫、衣衫褴褛、不知道怎样才能逃出莫斯科的雅可夫列夫上尉①叫来，详细地对他说明他的全部政策和他的宽大，并且寄了一封给亚历山大皇帝的信，他在信中说他有责任通知他的朋友和兄弟，拉斯托普钦在莫斯科把工作做得很糟，然后就打发雅可夫列夫去彼得堡。他又向图托尔明详细讲述了他的想法和宽大政策之后，他又把这个老头子派往彼得堡去进行谈判。 
①近卫军上尉雅可夫列夫是著名作家亚历山大·赫尔岑的父亲。
在司法方面，火灾之后，他立刻下令，捉拿纵火犯，处以死刑。对坏蛋拉斯托普钦，下令烧掉他的住宅，以示惩罚。
在行政方面，他赐给莫斯科一部宪法，成立市政府，颁发了如下告示：
莫斯科的居民们！
你们的不幸是残酷的，但是皇帝陛下和国王将要制
止这些不幸的发展。可怕的例子已经教训你们，他是怎样惩治那些反抗和违法行为的。采取严厉措施是为了制止骚乱和恢复社会治安。由你们自己人中间选出来的元老们，将组成市政府，或者叫市政管理局。它将要照顾你们，关心你们的需要，关心你们的利益。这些行政人员以肩佩一条红色带子为标记，市长则外加一条白色带子。在公余期间，他们左臂只缠一条红色带子。
市警察局已经按原有规章建立起来，由于它的活动，秩序已经好转，政府已经任命了两个总监，或称警察局长！市内各区任命了二十名区监，或称警察所长，你们看见左臂缠白带子的就是他们。几个不同教派的教堂已经开放，可以自由地做礼拜。你们的同胞每天都有回来的，已经发布命令：由于他们的不幸，他们在家中应当得到保护和帮助。这就是政府为了恢复秩序和改善你们的处境所采取的措施；但是，若要达到这个目的，要紧的是，你们必须和他们联合起来共同努力，如果可能的话，忘掉你们所遭受的不幸，寄希望于较好的命运，应当相信，凡是侵犯你们的身体和你们剩余财产的人，一定逃脱不了可耻的死刑，最后，你们不应当怀疑，你们的生命财产一定会得到保障，因为，这是最伟大最公正的君主的旨意。不论属于哪个民族的士兵们和居民们！作为一个国家幸福源泉的公众的信任要恢复，要像兄弟一般生活，互相帮助和保护，联合起来挫败坏人的企图，服从军政当局，你们不久就可以不再流泪了。
在军队给养方面，拿破仑告示全体官兵，命令全体官兵一路àlamaraude①按次序进入莫斯科，为他们自己取得粮军，以便在未来军队不愁给养。
在宗教方面，拿破仑命令ramenerlespopes②，教堂恢复做礼拜。 
①法语：洗劫。
②法语：召回神甫。
在商业和军队供应方面，到处张贴了下面的布告：
布告
你们，莫斯科的安份守己的居民们，被不幸赶出城外的工匠们和工人们，以及由于无缘无故的恐惧至今仍在野外流离失所的农民们，听着！现在的古都又平静了，秩序也恢复了，你们的同胞见到他们受到尊敬，就勇敢地从他们隐藏的地方出现了。任何侵犯他们人身和他们的财产的暴行，都将立即受到惩罚。皇帝陛下和国王保护他们。认为在你们中间，除了那些违抗他的命令的人，没有一个人是他的敌人。他要结束你们的不幸，使你们返回家园与亲人团聚。因此，遵从他的仁慈的旨意，消除一切顾虑，回到我们这里来吧。居民们！满怀信赖地回到你们的住处：你们的需要很快会得到满足！工匠们和勤劳的工人们，返回你们的工作地点，你们的家，你们的作坊吧，那里有保安措施，都在等待着你们，你们的工作将得到应得的报酬！最后，还有你们，农民们，从你们躲藏的森林里出来吧，你们回家去，不用害怕，你们完全可以相信，你们会得到保护。城里已经设了许多粮店，农民可以把多余的粮食和土产品运到那里。政府已经订出下列措施，保证他们可以自由买卖：（一）自即日起，农民、庄户人以及莫斯科近郊的老百姓，可以将各种产品毫无危险地运到城内两个指定的市场，其中一个在莫霍夫街，另一个在奥霍特内伊市场。（二）产品由买卖双方自由议价，卖方如对价格不合意，可将产品运回农村，任何人不得以任何借口加以阻挠。（三）每逢星期天和星期三定为逢大集，因此，每星期二和星期六将派出足够数量的军队在城外各条大路上保护运货车辆。
（四）将采取同样的措施，使农民及其车马在归途中通行无阻。（五）立即采取恢复正常贸易的措施。本市和各村的居民，以及你们，工人们和工匠们，不论你们属于哪个民族，号召你们，实现皇帝陛下和国王的仁慈的旨意，谋求公共的福利。匍伏在他的脚下表示敬意和信任，赶快同我们·联·合起来吧！”
为了鼓舞和提高部队和人民的精神，不断地举行检阅和颁奖。皇帝骑着马巡视街道，安抚居民，他虽然操劳着国家大事，仍然亲临他下令建立的剧院看戏。
在慈善事业方面（慈善事业是君王最高的德政）拿破仑也做了他所能做的一切事情。他吩咐在慈善院的建筑物上书写“Maisondemamère”①几个大字，这样，就把做儿子的孝敬之情和浩荡的皇恩结合起来了。他参观孤儿院，他让他所拯救的孤儿吻他那双白净的手，和蔼地和图托尔明谈话。随后，据梯也尔花言巧语地叙述，他命令把他伪造的俄国钞票发给他的士兵们作为薪饷。Relevantl'emploidecesmoyensparunactedignedeluietdel'arméefrancaise，ilfitdistribuerdessecoursauxincendiés．Maislesvivresétanttropprécieuxpourêtredonnésàdesétrangerslaplupartennemis，Napoléonaimamieuxleurfournirdel'argentàfinqu'ilssefournissentauxdehors，etilleurfitdistribuerdesroublespapiers．② 
①法语：吾母之家。
②法语：以无愧于他和法军的行动进一步扩大这些措施，他命令给烧光的人家以补助。但因食品太珍贵，不发给怀有敌意的外国人，拿破仑认为最好把钱发给他们，让他们自己到处去寻找食物，因此他命令发给他们纸卢布。
在军纪方面，连续发出严惩玩忽职守和禁止抢劫的命令。
Book 13 Chapter 10
BUT, strange to say, all these arrangements, these efforts and plans, which were no whit inferior to those that had been made on similar occasions before, never touched the root of the matter; like the hands on the face of a clock, when detached from the mechanism, they turned aimlessly and arbitrarily, without catching the wheels.
The plan of campaign, that work of genius, of which Thiers says, that his genius never imagined anything more profound, more skilful, and more admirable, and entering into a polemical discussion with M. Fenn, proves that the composition of this work of genius is to be referred, not to the 4th, but to the 15th of October—that plan never was and never could be put into execution, because it had nothing in common with the actual facts of the position. The fortification of the Kremlin, for which it was necessary to pull down la Mosquée (as Napoleon called the church of Vassily the Blessed) turned out to be perfectly useless. The mining of the Kremlin was only of use for carrying out the desire the Emperor expressed on leaving Moscow, to blow up the Kremlin, like a child that beats the floor against which it has hurt itself. The pursuit of the Russian army, on which Napoleon laid so much stress, led to an unheard-of result. The French generals lost sight of the sixty thousand men of the Russian army, and it was only, in the words of Thiers, thanks to the skill, and apparently also the genius, of Murat that they succeeded at last in finding, like a lost pin, this army of sixty thousand men.
On the diplomatic side, all Napoleon's expositions of his magnanimity and justice, both to Tutolmin and to Yakovlev (the latter was principally interested in finding himself a great-coat and a conveyance for travelling) turned out to be fruitless. Alexander would not receive these envoys, and made no reply to the message they brought.
On the side of law, of order, after the execution of the supposed incendiaries, the other half of Moscow was burnt down.
The establishment of a municipal council did not check pillage, and was no benefit to any one but the few persons, who were members of it, and were able on the pretext of preserving order to plunder Moscow on their own account, or to save their own property from being plundered.
On the religious side, the difficulty had so easily been settled by Napoleon's visit to a mosque in Egypt, but here similar measures led to no results whatever. Two or three priests, picked up in Moscow, did attempt to carry out Napoleon's desire; but one of them was slapped in the face by a French soldier during the service, and in regard to the other, the following report was made by a French official: “The priest, whom I had discovered and invited to resume saying the Mass, cleaned and closed the church. In the night they came again to break in the doors, break the padlocks, tear the books, and commit other disorders.”
As for the encouragement of commerce, the proclamation to “industrious artisans and peasants,” met with no response at all. Industrious artisans there were none in Moscow, and the peasants set upon the messengers who ventured too far from the town with this proclamation and killed them.
The attempts to entertain the people and the troops with theatres were equally unsuccessful. The theatres set up in the Kremlin and Poznyakov's house were closed again immediately, because the actors and actresses were stripped of their belongings by the soldiers.
Even philanthropy did not bring the desired results. Moscow was full of paper money, genuine and counterfeit, and the notes had no value. The French, accumulating booty, cared for nothing but gold. The counterfeit notes, which Napoleon so generously bestowed on the unfortunate, were of no value, and even silver fell below its standard value in relation to gold.
But the most striking example of the ineffectiveness of all efforts made by the authorities was Napoleon's vain endeavour to check plunder, and to maintain discipline.
Here are reports sent in by the military authorities:
“Pillage continues in the city, in spite of the orders to stop it. Order is not yet restored, and there is not a single merchant carrying on trade in a lawful fashion. But the canteen-keepers permit themselves to sell the fruits of pillage.
“Part of my district continues to be a prey to the pillaging of the soldiers of the 3rd corps who, not satisfied with tearing from the poor wretches, who have taken refuge in the underground cellars, the little they have left, have even the ferocity to wound them with sword-cuts, as I have seen in several instances.
“Nothing new, but that the soldiers give themselves up to robbery and plunder. October 9th.
“Robbery and pillage continue. There is a band of robbers in our district, which would need strong guards to arrest it. October 11th.
“The Emperor is exceedingly displeased that, in spite of the strict orders to stop pillage, bands of marauders from the guards are continually returning to the Kremlin. In the Old Guards, the disorder and pillaging have been more violent than ever last night and to-day. The Emperor sees, with regret, that the picked soldiers, appointed to guard his person, who should set an example to the rest, are losing discipline to such a degree as to break into the cellars and stores prepared for the army. Others are so degraded that they refuse to obey sentinels and officers on guard, abuse them, and strike them.
“The chief marshal of the palace complains bitterly that, in spite of repeated prohibitions, the soldiers continue to commit nuisances in all the courtyards, and even before the Emperor's own windows.”
The army, like a herd of cattle run wild, and trampling underfoot the fodder that might have saved them from starvation, was falling to pieces, and getting nearer to its ruin with every day it remained in Moscow.
But it did not move.
It only started running when it was seized by panic fear at the capture of a transport on the Smolensk road and the battle of Tarutino. The news of the battle of Tarutino reached Napoleon unexpectedly in the middle of a review, and aroused in him—so Thiers tells us—a desire to punish the Russians, and he gave the order for departure that all the army was clamouring for.
In their flight from Moscow, the soldiers carried with them all the plunder they had collected. Napoleon, too, carried off his own private trésor. Seeing the great train of waggons, loaded with the booty of the army, Napoleon was alarmed (as Thiers tells us). But with his military experience, he did not order all unnecessary waggons of goods to be burnt, as he had done with a marshal's baggage on the way to Moscow. He gazed at those carts and carriages, filled with soldiers, and said that it was very well, that those conveyances would come in useful for provisions, the sick, and the wounded.
The plight of the army was like the plight of a wounded beast, that feels its death at hand, and knows not what it is doing. Studying the intricate man?uvres and schemes of Napoleon and his army from the time of entering Moscow up to the time of the destruction of that army is much like watching the death struggles and convulsions of a beast mortally wounded. Very often the wounded creature, hearing a stir, rushes to meet the hunter's shot, runs forward and back again, and itself hastens its end. Napoleon under the pressure of his army did likewise. Panic-stricken at the rumour of the battle of Tarutino, like a wild beast, the army made a rush towards the shot, reached the hunter, and ran back again; and at last, like every wild creature took the old familiar track, that was the worst and most disastrous way for it.
Napoleon is represented to us as the leader in all this movement, just as the figurehead in the prow of a ship to the savage seems the force that guides the ship on its course. Napoleon in his activity all this time was like a child, sitting in a carriage, pulling the straps within it, and fancying he is moving it along.
但奇怪的是，所有这些指示、关注和计划，比在类似情况下所发出的并不差，然而没有触及事情的本质，正如一座时钟的指针，脱离了机械，与齿轮没有啮合，任意地、盲目地转动着。 
在军事方面，梯也尔在谈到战役的天才计划时说：quesongénien'avaitjamaisrienimaginédeplusprofond，deplushabileetdeplusadmirable①，梯也尔在和凡先生论战时，在这个问题上证明这个天才计划的制定是针对十月五日的，并不是针对十月四日的，这个计划从来没有也不可能执行，因为它没有任何一点与实际情况相接近。为了克里姆林宫的设防，应当把laMosquée②（拿破仑称之为圣瓦西里大教堂）夷为平地，而这连一点用处也没有。在克里姆林宫布雷，不过便于皇帝实现在离开克里姆林宫之后把它炸掉的愿望，正如同一个小孩子要打那块跌痛他的地板一样。追击俄国军队是拿破仑非常关心的事，但结果造成闻所未闻的怪现象，法国将军们不知道六万名俄国军队的去向，据梯也尔说，由于缪拉的精明，显然也由于他的天才，才终于像找到一根针一样找到了俄国军队。 
①法语：他的天才从来没有发挥得如此深刻，如此巧妙，如此令人叹服。
②法语：清真寺。
在外交方面，拿破仑向图托尔明和向那个主要想弄到一件军大衣和一辆大车的雅可夫列夫所作的关于他的宽大和公正的论据，毫无用处，因为亚历山大不接见这两位使者，对他们的使命也没有作出反应。
在司法方面，在处决了一些所谓的纵火犯之后，莫斯科的另一半也被烧光了。
在行政方面，成立的自治市政局并未能阻止住抢劫，只有参加了自治市政局的人才得到了好处，他们在维持秩序的借口下，他们不是自己抢劫莫斯科，或者就是护住自己不受抢劫。
在宗教方面，在埃及拿破仑造访过一次清真寺，问题很轻易就解决了，但是在莫斯科，没有任何结果。在莫斯科找到两三个神甫，要他们执行拿破仑的旨意，但是其中一个在做礼拜时被一个法国兵打了嘴巴。关于另一个，法国军官是这样报告的：“Leprêtre，quej'avaisdécouvertetinvitéàrecommenceràdirelamesse，anettoyéetfermél'eglise，Cettenuitonestvenudenouveauenfoncerlesportes，casserlescadenas，déchirerleslivresetcommettred'autresd'
ésordres．”① 
①法语：我找到一个神甫，请他来做弥撒，他把教堂打扫干净后，锁了起来，当天夜里又来把门和锁都砸坏了，把书也撕了，还干了其他一些坏事。
在商业方面，对勤劳的工人和农民的布告，没有得到任何反应。城内已经没有勤劳的工人了，而农民把携带告示出城走得太远的人员捉住，并把他们杀掉。
在建立供老百姓和军队娱乐的剧院方面，也同样地失败了，在克里姆林宫和波兹尼亚科夫家设立的剧院，立刻就关闭了，因为男女演员都遭到了抢劫。
就连慈善事业也没有收到预想的结果。真的和伪造的钞票充斥莫斯科城，已经都没有价值了。对于掠夺财富的法国人，只需要黄金。不仅拿破仑赐给灾民的假钞票不值钱就连白银的价值较之黄金也降低了。
当时最高指示的失效，最惊人的例子是拿破仑制止抢劫和恢复纪律的努力。
军队的长官们是这样报告的。
“虽然张贴了禁止抢劫的诏令，但城内抢劫现象仍在继续不断地发生。秩序仍然没有恢复，没有一个商人是以合法的方式来进行买卖活动的，只有随军小贩敢做生意，不过他们所卖的都是抢来的东西。”
“Lapartiedemonarrondissementcontinueàêtreenproieaupillagedessoldatsdu3corps，que，noncontentsd'arracherauxmalheureuxréfugiésdansdessouterrainslepeuquileurreste，ontmêmelaférocitédelesblesseràcoupsdesabre，commej'enaivuplusieursexemples．”① 
①法语：我那一区继续遭第三兵团士兵抢劫，他们抢走藏在地下室的不幸的居民们仅有的一点东西后，仍不满足，还用佩刀残酷地砍伤他们，这都是我亲眼所见。
“Riendenouveauoutrequelessoldatssepermettentdevol－eretdepiller．Le9octobre．”①
“Levoletlepillagecontinuent．Ilyaunebandede
voleursdansnotredistrictqu'ilfaudrafairearrêterpardefortesgardes．Lelloctobre．”②
“皇帝极端不满，虽然严令不准进行抢劫，只见成群结队的近卫军在抢劫后返回克里姆林雪，在老近卫军的官兵中，昨天，昨夜和今天一直都是乱嗡嗡地纷纷外出进行抢劫和骚扰，比以往更加穷凶极恶。皇帝痛心地看到，这些经过精心挑选出来保护圣驾的士兵，应当作出服从纪律执行命令的榜样，然而，他们违抗命令竟达到如此程度，竟然抢劫贮藏军队供需品的地下室和仓库。还有一些士兵竟然荒唐到不但不听从哨兵和军官的劝阻，还要辱骂和殴打他们。
Legrandmaréchaldupalaisseplaintvivement．”总督写道，“quemalgrélesdèfensesréitérées，lessoldatscontinuentàfaireleursbesoinsdanstouteslescoursetmêmejusquesouslesfenêtresdel'empereur．”③ 
①法语：除士兵们明抢暗偷之外另外没有什么可以报道的。——十月九日。但是，这支军队停住不动。
②法语：强盗和抢劫行为仍然在继续肆虐，我区有一伙盗贼，对他们必须采取严厉措施。——十月十一日。
③法语：宫廷司礼长抱怨说，尽管一再发出禁令，士兵们仍然在院子里，甚至在皇帝的窗子下边解大小便。
这支军队就像无人放牧的牲口，践踏脚下习以使他们免于饿死的饲料，这支军队在他们驻扎在莫斯科期间无所事事，一天天地崩溃，灭亡。
当辎重队在斯摩棱斯克被劫和塔鲁丁诺发生战斗之后，这支军队便惊慌失措，开始逃跑，据梯也尔说，正在阅兵的拿破仑出乎意外地收到塔鲁丁诺发生了战斗的消息，正是这一消息在他心中引起要惩罚俄国人的打算，于是他发出了全军正在要求的出发令。
在逃出莫斯科时，这支军队人人都随身携带着抢掠来的东西。拿破仑也带走他个人的trésor。①拿破仑看见拖累军队的辎重队，大吃一惊（据梯边尔说）。不过由于他的战争经验，他并没有像快攻到莫斯科时处理一位陆军元帅的车辆那样，下令烧掉所有多余的车辆。他看了看士兵们乘坐的各种车辆，他说，这很好，因为这些车辆可以用来运粮草、病员和伤号。 
①法语：财宝。
整个军队的状况是，这支军队犹如已经感觉到自己行将灭亡而又不知道该怎么办的一头受了伤的野兽。研究拿破仑和他的军队在自从进入莫斯科一直到这支军队毁灭这一期间的巧妙战术和目的，其实就是研究一头受了致命伤的野兽在行将死亡前急剧的跳动和抽搐的意义。一头受伤的野兽常常一听见一点沙沙声，就向猎人的枪口猛扑过去，前后乱冲乱撞，加快了自己的灭亡。拿破仑在全军的压力下，正是这样做的。塔鲁丁诺战役的沙沙声，惊动了这头野兽，它朝着猎人射击的方向冲去，一直往前跑，又掉转身向后跑，加速自己末日的来临，在全军的压力下，拿破仑也是这样做的。塔鲁丁诺战役的一阵沙沙声把这头野兽吓了一跳，它朝射击的方向扑将过去，跑到猎人面前，又掉转头来向后跑。最终，像任何一头野兽一样，沿着最为不利、最危险、然而却又是最熟悉的旧足迹往回逃跑。
我们曾经认为，拿破仑是整个这次运动中的领袖（正是同一个野蛮人认为雕在船头的神像是驾驶这条船的力量一样），而拿破仑在他活动的整个时期就像一个小孩，他抓住拴在车内的带子，自己以为是他自己在赶车。
Book 13 Chapter 11
EARLY in the morning of the 6th of October, Pierre came out of the shed, and when he went back, he stood in the doorway, playing with the long bandy-legged, purplish-grey dog, that jumped about him. This dog lived in their shed, sleeping with Karataev, though it sometimes went off on its own account into the town, and came back again. It had probably never belonged to any one, and now it had no master, and no name. The French called it Azor; the soldier who told stories called it Femgalka; Karataev called it “Grey-coat,” and sometimes “Floppy.” The lack of a master, of a name, of any particular breed, and even of a definite colour, by no means troubled the purplish-grey dog. Its fluffy tail stood up firm and round like a plume; its bandy legs served it so well that often, as though disdaining to use all four, it would hold one hind-leg gracefully up, and run very quickly and smartly on three paws. Everything was a source of satisfaction to it. At one moment, it was barking with joy, then it would bask in the sun, with a dreamy and thoughtful air, then it would frolic about, playing with a chip or a straw.
Pierre's attire now consisted of a dirty, tattered shirt, the sole relic left of his previous wardrobe, a pair of soldier's drawers, tied with string round the ankles by Karataev's advice, for the sake of warmth, a full peasant's coat and a peasant's cap. Physically Pierre had changed greatly during this period. He no longer seemed stout, though he still had that look of solidity and strength that was characteristic of the Bezuhov family. The lower part of his face was overgrown with beard and moustaches; his long, tangled hair, swarming with lice, formed a mat of curls on his head. His eyes had a look of firmness, calm, and alert readiness, such as had never been seen in Pierre's face before. All his old slackness, which had shown even in his eyes, was replaced now by a vigorous, alert look of readiness for action and for resistance. His feet were bare.
Pierre looked over the meadow, across which waggons and men on horseback were moving that morning, then far away beyond the river, then at the dog, who was pretending to be meaning to bite him in earnest, then at his bare feet, which he shifted with pleasure from one position to another, moving the dirty, thick, big toes. And every time he looked at his bare feet, a smile of eager self-satisfaction flitted across his face. The sight of those bare feet reminded him of all he had passed through and learned during this time; and the thought of that was sweet to him.
The weather had for several days been still and clear, with light frosts in the mornings—the so-called “old granny's summer.”
It was warm out of doors in the sunshine, and that warmth was particularly pleasant, with the bracing freshness of the morning frost still in the air.
Over everything, over all objects near and far, lay that magical, crystal-clear brightness, which is only seen at that time in the autumn. In the distance could be seen the Sparrow Hills, with the village, the church, and the great white house. And the leafless trees, and the sand and the stones and roofs of the houses, the green spire of the church, and the angles of the white house in the distance, all stood out in the most delicate outlines with unnatural distinctness in the limpid air. Close at hand stood the familiar ruins of a half-burnt mansion, occupied by French soldiers, with lilac bushes still dark-green by the fence. And even this charred and ruined house, which looked revoltingly hideous in bad weather, had a sort of soothing comeliness in the clear, still brightness.
A French corporal, in a smoking-cap, with his coat comfortably unbuttoned, came round the corner of the shed, with a short pipe between his teeth, and with a friendly wink, approached Pierre.
“What sunshine, hein, M. Kiril?” (This was what all the French soldiers called Pierre.) “One would say it was spring.” And the corporal leaned against the door, and offered Pierre his pipe, though he was always offering it, and Pierre always declined it.
“If one were marching in weather like this,” he began.
Pierre questioned him what he had heard of the departure of the French, and the corporal told him that almost all the troops were setting out, and that to-day instructions were expected in regard to the prisoners. In the shed in which Pierre was, one of the Russian soldiers, Sokolov, was dangerously ill, and Pierre told the corporal that something ought to be done about this soldier. The corporal said that Pierre might set his mind at rest, that they had both travelling and stationary hospitals for such cases, that instructions would be given in regard to the sick, and that in fact every possible contingency was provided for by the authorities.
“And then, M. Kiril, you have only to say a word to the captain, you know. Oh, he is a man who never forgets anything. Speak to the captain when he makes his round; he will do anything for you.”
The captain of whom the corporal spoke used often to have long conversations with Pierre, and did him all kinds of favours.
“‘You see, St. Thomas,” he said to me the other day, ‘Kiril is a man of education, who speaks French; he is a Russian lord who has had troubles, but he is a man. And he understands … If he wants anything, let him tell me, he shall not meet with a refusal. When one has studied, one likes education, you see, and well-bred people.' It's for your own sake I tell you that, M. Kiril. In the affair that happened the other day, if it hadn't been for you, things would have ended badly.”
(The corporal was alluding to a fight a few days before between the prisoners and the French soldiers, in which Pierre had succeeded in pacifying his companions.) After chatting a little time longer the corporal went away.
Several of the prisoners had heard Pierre talking to the corporal, and they came up immediately to ask what the latter had said. While Pierre was telling his companions what the corporal had said about setting off from Moscow, a thin, sallow, ragged French soldier came up to the door of the shed. With a shy and rapid gesture he put his fingers to his forehead by way of a salute, and addressing Pierre, asked him if the soldier, Platoche, who was making a shirt for him, were in this shed.
The French soldiers had been provided with linen and leather a week previously, and had given out the materials to the Russian prisoners to make them boots and shirts.
“It's ready, darling, it's ready!” said Karataev, coming out with a carefully folded shirt. On account of the heat and for greater convenience in working, Karataev was wearing nothing but a pair of drawers and a tattered shirt, as black as the earth. He had tied a wisp of bast round his hair, as workmen do, and his round face looked rounder and more pleasing than ever.
“Punctuality is own brother to good business. I said Friday, and so I have done it,” said Platon, smiling and displaying the shirt he had made.
The Frenchman looked about him uneasily, and as though overcoming some hesitation, rapidly slipped off his uniform and put on the shirt. Under his uniform he had no shirt, but a long, greasy, flowered silk waistcoat next his bare, yellow, thin body. The Frenchman was evidently afraid that the prisoners, who were looking at him, would laugh at him, and he made haste to put his head through the shirt. None of the prisoners said a word. “To be sure, it fits well,” Platon observed, pulling the shirt down. The Frenchman, after putting his head and arms through, looked down at the shirt, and examined the stitching without lifting his eyes.
“Well, darling, this isn't a tailor's, you know, and I had no proper sewing materials, and there's a saying without the right tool you can't even kill a louse properly,” said Karataev, still admiring his own handiwork.
“Very good, thanks; but you must have some stuff left…” said the Frenchman.
“It will be more comfortable as it wears to your body,” said Karataev, still admiring his work. “There, you'll be nice and comfortable.”
“Thanks, thanks, old fellow; but what is left…?” repeated the Frenchman, giving Karataev a paper note. “Give me the pieces that are over.”
Pierre saw that Platon did not want to understand what the Frenchman said, and he looked on without interfering. Karataev thanked him for the rouble and went on admiring his own work. The Frenchman persisted in asking for what was left, and asked Pierre to translate what he said.
“What does he want with the pieces?” said Karataev. “They would have made me capital leg wrappers. Oh well, God bless the man.”
And, looking suddenly crestfallen and melancholy, Karataev took a bundle of remnants out of his bosom and gave it to the Frenchman without looking at him. “Ach-ma!” he cried, and walked away. The Frenchman looked at the linen, he hesitated, glanced inquiringly at Pierre, and as though Pierre's eyes had told him something:
“Here, Platoche!” he cried in a shrill voice, suddenly blushing. “Keep them yourself,” he said, and giving him the remnants, he turned and went out.
“There, look'ee now,” said Karataev, shaking his head. “They say they're not Christians, but they have souls too. It's true what the old folks used to say: a sweating hand is an open hand, but a dry hand is closefisted. His own back's bare, and yet he has given me this.” Karataev paused for a while, smiling dreamily and gazing at the cuttings of linen. “But first-rate leg binders they'll make me, my dear,” he added, as he went back into the shed.
十月六日清晨，皮埃尔走出棚子，返回来的时候，在门旁边停了下来，逗玩一只围着他跳的身子长、腿又短又弯、毛色雪青的小狗。这条小狗住在他们的棚子里，夜间和卡拉塔耶夫睡在一起，它有时跑进城里，然后又跑回来。他大概从来都不属于任何人，而现在也仍然不属于任何人，也从来没有一个名字，法国人叫它阿佐尔，喜欢讲故事的那个士兵叫它费姆加尔卡，卡拉塔耶夫和其他人都叫它小灰子，有时候叫它薇薇。它没有主人，没有名字，甚至种属也不明，毛色也不清，所有这一切，似乎并没有使那条蓝灰色的小狗为难。它那毛茸茸的尾巴像帽子上插的羽毛直竖起来，又硬又圆，罗圈腿是那么听使唤，它常常优美地提起一条后腿，很轻快、很迅捷地用三条腿跑路，好像不屑于把四条腿都用上一样。一切都使它高兴。它一会儿欢快地汪汪叫着在地上打滚，一会儿带着若有所思的神情晒太阳，一会儿玩弄着一块木片或一根干草。 
皮埃尔的衣服现在只有一件又脏又破的衬衫（他原有的衣服剩下的唯一的一件），一条用农民的长衫和帽子改制成的士兵的裤子，按照卡拉塔耶夫的意见，用绳子把裤脚扎上以保暖。皮埃尔在这一时期身体变化很大。虽然从外表上来看，他依然具有他们家族遗传的强迫有力的体魄，但是他已经没有那么胖了。脸的下半截长满了胡子；满头乱发生满了虱子，盘在头上的头发就像一顶帽子。眼睛的表情坚定、平静、机灵和充满活力，皮埃尔从前从来没有过这种表情。从前他那种松懈、散漫的眼神，现在却换上一付精力饱满、随时准备行动和反抗的奋进精神。他的双脚是光着的。
皮埃尔忽而看着从那天早上就行驶着大量车辆和骑马的人所经过的田野，忽而又看着河对岸的远方，忽而又看着那只装出真心要咬他的小狗，忽而又看着自己的一双光腿板，然后他饶有兴味地把这一双光脚摆成各种不同的姿势，翘动着粗大、脏污的脚趾头。每当他看着自己的那一双光脚板，脸上就露出兴奋和得意的微笑。这一双光脚板的模样，使他想起这一段时间所有的经历和所懂得的道理，这一段回忆使他感到愉快。
一连许多天，都是风和日丽，每天早晨有一层薄霜——
所谓的“晴和的初秋”。
在室外，在阳光下，暖洋洋的，这种温暖加上早晨的微寒，空气清新，凉爽宜人，使人感到格外愉快。
在所有的东西上面，不论是近处的还是远处的东西上面，都有一层神秘的、明净的光辉，这只有在这个时期的秋天才可以见到。在远方的麻雀的和那个村庄，那所教堂，以及那处高大的白色房屋都清晰可见。光秃秃的树林、沙地、石头、房顶、教堂的绿色塔顶、远处那所白色房屋的墙角——所有这一切物体的最精细的线条，异常清晰地，在透彻明亮的空气中显露出来了。近处是随处都可以看到的法军占领的被焚毁的贵族宅第的断垣残壁，在垣墙周围还有墨绿色的丁香树丛。甚至这座在阴暗的天气丑得可憎的污秽的废墟，这时，在明朗、宁静的光辉中，也显露出一种令人欣慰的美。
一个法军班长随便地敞着衣襟、头戴一顶便帽，嘴里叨着烟斗，从棚子的角落处走了出来，走到皮埃尔跟前，友好地向他挤挤眼。
“Quelsoleil，hein，monsieurKiril？（法国人都这样称呼皮埃尔），Ondiraitleprintemps．”①于是那个班长靠在门上，把他的烟斗递给皮埃尔，虽然不论什么时候他递过来，皮埃尔总是拒绝。
“Sil'onmarchaitparuntempscommecelui—là…”②他刚要说下去。 
①法语：多么好的太阳，嗯，基里尔先生，简直是春天。
②法语：如果在这样的天气行军嘛……
皮埃尔问他听到有关出发的消息没有，那个班长说，几乎所有的部队都已经出发了，今天应当得到处理俘虏的命令。在皮埃尔住的那所棚子里有一个叫索科洛夫的士兵，患了重病，生命垂危，皮埃尔对那个班长说，应当对他有适当的安排，班长要皮埃尔尽管放心，因为他们有一所野战医院和一所常设的医院，都会照应病员的，总之，可能发生的一切事情，长官们全都想到了。
“Etpuis，monsieurKiril，vousn'avezqu'àdireunmotaucapitaine，voussavez．Oh，c'estun…quinóubliejamaisrien．Ditesaucapitainequandilferasatournée，ilferatoutpourvous…”①
班长所说的那个上尉，时常和皮埃尔长谈，给他以各种照顾。
“Vois—tu，St．Thomas，qu'ilmedisaitl'autrejour：Kirilc'estunhommeguiadel'instruction，quiparlefranBcais；c'estunseigneurrusse，quiaeudesmalheurs，maisc'estunhomme．Etils'yentendle…S'ildemandequelquechose，qu'ilmedise，iln'yapasderefus．Quandonafaitsesétudes，voyezvous，onaimel'instructionetlesgenscommeilfaut．C'estpourvousquejediscelà，monsieurKirBil．Dansl'affairedel'autrejoursicen'étaitàvous，caauraitfinimal．”② 
①法语：还有，基里尔先生，您只要对上尉说一声就行了，您知道……他这个人……什么都放在心上。他再来巡视时，您对上尉说吧，他什么都会为您办的……
②法语：您知道，托马斯前些时候对我说：基里尔是个有教养的人，他会说法语，他是落魄的俄国贵族，但也是个人物，他这人通情达理……他需要什么，都满足他。向人讨讨教，那你就会爱知识，爱有教养的人，我这是说您呢，基里尔先生，前几天，如果不是您的话，事情可就糟了。
那个班长又闲谈了一会儿以后，就走了。（那个班长所说的前几天发生的事，是俘虏们和法国人打了一架，皮埃尔劝阻了自己的同伴，使事件平息下来了。）有几个俘虏在听了皮埃尔和那个班长的谈话之后，立即问皮埃尔，那个班长说了些什么，皮埃尔告诉同伴们说，班长说，法国军队已经出发了，这时，一个面黄肌瘦，衣衫褴褛的法国兵来到棚子门前。他向着皮埃尔迅速而胆怯地把手指举到额头表示敬礼，他问皮埃尔，给他缝衬衫的士兵普拉托什是否在棚子里。
一星期之前，法国人领到了一批皮料和麻布，分发给俘虏们缝制靴子和衬衫。
“做好了，做好了，小伙子！”卡拉塔耶夫拿着叠得很整齐的衬衫走出来说道。
由于天气暖和，也为了干活方便，卡拉塔耶夫只穿着一条裤子和一件黑得像泥土一样的破衬衫。他像工匠那样，把头发用蒡提树皮扎了起来，他的圆脸似乎比以前更圆更愉快了。
“诺言——事业的亲兄弟。说星期五做好，就星期五做好。”普拉尔笑着解开他缝好的衬衫说道。
那个法国人心神不定地东张西望，好像要消除一种疑虑似的，赶忙脱下他的制服，穿上那件衬衫。那个法国人的制服里面没有衬衫，贴着他那赤裸、焦黄、瘦削的身体的是一件老长的，满是油污的，有花点点的绸背心。他显然怕俘虏们要是看见会笑话他，所以他迅速把头套进衬衫。没有任何一个俘虏说过一句话。
“瞧，多合身！”普拉东一面帮他拉伸衬衫，一面反复地说。那个法国人伸进了头和双手之后，连眼皮都不抬一下，他低下头看那件衬衫，又细看衬衫的线缝。
“怎么样，小伙子，这不是裁缝铺呵，没有一件地道的工具；常言道，没有工具连一个虱子也杀不死，”普拉东说，他的脸笑得更圆，看样子，他很欣赏自己的手艺。
“C'estbien，c'estbien，merci，maisvousdevezavoirdelatoiledereste？”①法国人说。
“你要贴身穿，会更合适。”卡拉塔耶夫说，他继续赞赏自己的作品。“那真漂亮，真舒服……”
“Merci，merci，monvieux，lereste？…②法国人微笑又说，他掏出一张钞票，给了卡拉塔耶夫，“Maislereste…”③
皮埃尔看出普拉东并不想要弄懂法国人的话，所以他只在一旁看，并不去干预。卡拉塔耶夫谢了法国人的钱，仍在继续欣赏自己的作品。那个法国人坚持要回所剩的碎布，于是，他请皮埃尔把他的话翻译一下。
“他要那些碎布头有什么用处？”卡拉塔耶夫说。“我们可以用来做一副很好的包脚布。好，上帝保佑他。”卡拉塔耶夫突然脸色阴沉下来，从怀里掏出来一卷碎布头，连着也不看那个法国人一眼，递给了他。“哎呀，真是！”卡拉塔耶夫掉头就往回走，法国人看了一下那些碎布头，沉思片刻，以询问的目光看着皮埃尔，皮埃尔的目光好像在对他说什么。
“Platoche，ditesdonc，Platoche，”④法国人突然间脸涨红了，尖声叫喊道。“Gradezpourvous．”⑤他说着就把那些碎布头又递了过去，转身就走开了。 
①法语：好，好，谢谢，剩下的布头呢？
②法语：好，好，谢谢，剩下的布头呢？”
③法语：谢谢，谢谢，我的朋友，剩布头呢，还给我吧……
④法语：普拉东，我说，普拉东，⑤法语：你拿去吧。
“你瞧，这有多怪，”卡拉塔耶夫摇着头说道。“人们说他们都不是基督教徒，而他们也有良心。这就是老人们常说的那句话：‘汗手是张着的，干手是拳着的。'（越是有钱的人越吝啬，越是穷的人越大方。——译者注。）他自己光着身子，但是，他还是把那些东西还给我了。”卡拉塔耶夫若有所思地笑了一笑，然后，他望着那些剩下来的碎布头，沉默了好一阵子。“可以用这东西做出一副很不错的包脚布呢，亲爱的朋友们。”他说了这句话后，走回到栅子里去了。
Book 13 Chapter 12
FOUR WEEKS had passed since Pierre had been taken prisoner. Although the French had offered to transfer him from the common prisoners' shed to the officers', he had remained in the same shed as at first.
In Moscow, wasted by fire and pillage, Pierre passed through hardships almost up to the extreme limit of privation that a man can endure. But, owing to his vigorous health and constitution, of which he had hardly been aware till then; and still more, owing to the fact that these privations came upon him so gradually that it was impossible to say when they began, he was able to support his position, not only with ease, but with positive gladness. And it was just at this time that he attained that peace and content with himself, for which he had always striven in vain before. For long years of his life he had been seeking in various directions for that peace, that harmony with himself, which had struck him so much in the soldiers at Borodino. He had sought for it in philanthropy, in freemasonry, in the dissipations of society, in wine, in heroic feats of self-sacrifice, in his romantic love for Natasha; he had sought it by the path of thought; and all his researches and all his efforts had failed him. And now without any thought of his own, he had gained that peace and that harmony with himself simply through the horror of death, through hardships, through what he had seen in Karataev. Those fearful moments that he had lived through during the execution had, as it were, washed for ever from his imagination and his memory the disturbing ideas and feelings that had once seemed to him so important. No thought came to him of Russia, of the war, of politics, or of Napoleon. It seemed obvious to him that all that did not concern him, that he was not called upon and so was not able to judge of all that. “Russia and summer never do well together,” he repeated Karataev's words, and those words soothed him strangely. His project of killing Napoleon, and his calculations of the cabalistic numbers, and of the beast of the Apocalypse struck him now as incomprehensible and positively ludicrous. His anger with his wife, and his dread of his name being disgraced by her, seemed to him trivial and amusing. What business of his was it, if that woman chose to lead somewhere away from him the life that suited her tastes? What did it matter to any one—least of all to him—whether they found out or not that their prisoner's name was Count Bezuhov?
He often thought now of his conversation with Prince Andrey, and agreed fully with his friend, though he put a somewhat different construction on his meaning. Prince Andrey had said and thought that happiness is only negative, but he had said this with a shade of bitterness and irony. It was as though in saying this he had expressed another thought—that all the strivings towards positive happiness, that are innate in us, were only given us for our torment. But Pierre recognised the truth of the main idea with no such undercurrent of feeling. The absence of suffering, the satisfaction of needs, and following upon that, freedom in the choice of occupation, that is, of one's manner of life, seemed to Pierre the highest and most certain happiness of man. Only here and now for the first time in his life Pierre fully appreciated the enjoyment of eating when he was hungry, of drinking when he was thirsty, of sleep when he was sleepy, of warmth when he was cold, of talking to a fellow creature when he wanted to talk and to hear men's voices. The satisfaction of his needs—good food, cleanliness, freedom—seemed to Pierre now that he was deprived of them to be perfect happiness; and the choice of his occupation, that is, of his manner of life now that that choice was so limited, seemed to him such an easy matter that he forgot that a superfluity of the conveniences of life destroys all happiness in satisfying the physical needs, while a great freedom in the choice of occupation, that freedom which education, wealth, and position in society had given him, makes the choice of occupations exceedingly difficult, and destroys the very desire and possibility of occupation.
All Pierre's dreams now turned to the time when he would be free. And yet, in all his later life, Pierre thought and spoke with enthusiasm of that month of imprisonment, of those intense and joyful sensations that could never be recalled, and above all of that full, spiritual peace, of that perfect, inward freedom, of which he had only experience at that period.
On the first day, when, getting up early in the morning, he came out of the shed into the dawn, and saw the cupolas and the crosses of the New Monastery of the Virgin, all still in darkness, saw the hoar frost on the long grass, saw the slopes of the Sparrow Hills and the wood-clad banks of the encircling river vanishing into the purple distance, when he felt the contact of the fresh air and heard the sounds of the rooks crying out of Moscow across the fields, and when flashes of light suddenly gleamed out of the east and the sun's rim floated triumphantly up from behind a cloud, and cupolas and crosses and hoar frost and the horizon and the river were all sparkling in the glad light, Pierre felt a new feeling of joy and vigour in life such as he had never experienced before.
And that feeling had not left him during the whole period of his imprisonment, but on the contrary had gone on growing in him as the hardships of his position increased.
That feeling—of being ready for anything, of moral alertness—was strengthened in Pierre by the high opinion in which he began to be held by his companions very soon after he entered the shed. His knowledge of languages, the respect shown him by the French, the good-nature with which he gave away anything he was asked for (he received the allowance of three roubles a week, given to officers among the prisoners), the strength he showed in driving nails into the wall, the gentleness of his behaviour to his companions, and his capacity—which seemed to him mysterious—of sitting stockstill doing nothing and plunged in thought, all made him seem to the soldiers a rather mysterious creature of a higher order. The very peculiarities that in the society he had previously lived in had been a source of embarrassment, if not of annoyance—his strength, his disdain for the comforts of life, his absent-mindedness, his good-nature—here among these men gave him the prestige almost of a hero. And Pierre felt that their view of him brought its duties.
自从皮埃尔被俘那天算起，已经四个星期了。虽然法国人提出要把他从士兵的棚子里转到军官的棚子里，但是他依然留在他在第一天进的那个棚子。 
在遭到破坏和被大火焚毁了的莫斯科，皮埃尔几乎饱尝了一个人所能遭受的极端的艰辛和痛苦；但是，由于一直到现在他都还没有意识到的自己结实的身板和强迫的体魄，特别是由于这种艰难困苦的生活来得是那么不知不觉，很难说得出，它是从什么时候开始到来的，所以他不仅过得很轻松，而且对自己的处境还很高兴。正是在这一段时期，他得到了过去曾经努力追求而又追求不到的宁静和满足。他长期以来，在自己的生活中，从各个方面寻求这种宁静，这种内心的和谐，寻求那些参加波罗底诺战役的士兵身上所具有的那种极大地惊动了他的东西。他曾经在慈善事业中、在共济会的教义中、在放荡的城市生活中、在酒中、在自我牺牲的英雄事业中、在对娜塔莎的浪漫的爱情中寻求过那种心情；他曾经靠推理来寻求那种心情，但是，这一切寻求和所作过的尝试全都失败了。而现在，他自己并没有想到那种心怀，在从死亡的恐怖中、从艰辛困苦的生活中、从通过卡拉塔耶夫身上所懂得的东西中，才找到了这种宁静的内心的和谐。在行刑时他所经历的那可怕的一瞬间，那些往日他觉得激励他的重要的思想和感情，永远从他的想象和记忆中消失了。在他的脑海中，既没有俄罗斯，也没有战争，也没有政治，也没拿破仑。他清清楚楚地感觉到，所有这一切都与他毫不相干，他没有那样的天赋，因此他也就不能对这一切加以判断。“俄罗斯，夏天——不能连到一起，”他重复着卡拉塔耶夫的话，这句话使他得到极大的安慰。现在他觉得，他那刺杀拿破仑的企图，他推算那神秘的数字和“启示录”上的那头兽，都是莫明其妙的，甚至是可笑的。他对妻子的怨恨和唯恐辱没自己姓氏的忧虑，他现在觉得不但毫无意义，而且有点令人滑稽可笑。这个女人爱在什么地方过，爱怎样过，就怎样去过好啦，干他什么事呢？他们是知道，或者还不知道，他们的这个俘虏的名字是别祖霍夫伯爵，对一个人，特别是对他来，又有什么关系呢？
他现在常常回想起他和安德烈公爵在一起时交谈过的话，他完全赞同他的见解，不过他对安德烈公爵的思想有一些不同的理解。安德烈公爵这样想过，也这样说过，幸福是根本不存在的，不过，他在说这句话的时候是带有一种苦涩和讥讽的意味。他在说这句话的时候，仿佛是要说明另外一种思想，就是我们一心一意去追求肯定的幸福，肯定不能得到，只不过是折磨自己罢了。但是，在皮埃尔的思想上毫无保留地认为，这一点他说得对。没有痛苦，个人需要得到满足，以及由此而来的选择职业的自由——也就是选择生活方式的自由，所有这一切，现在皮埃尔觉得，确定无疑地是人类最高的幸福了。只有在这里，只有在这种时刻，只有当他饥饿的时候，皮埃尔才第一次完全体会到吃东西的快乐，只有当他口干的时候，才体会到喝水的快乐，只有当他寒冷的时候，才体会到温暖的快乐，只有当他想睡觉的时候，才体会到进入梦乡的快乐，只有当他渴望和人谈话和听见人的声音的时候，才体会到和人谈话的快乐。满足需要——好的仪器，清洁的环境，自由——如今，当他已经失去了所有这一切的时候，他才感觉到，这些需要的满足是最大的幸福，至于选择职业，也就是选择生活方式，现在，当这种选择受到这样限制的时候，他才感觉到这是很容易的事情，以致于他忘记了，生活条件的过分优越，就会破坏人类需要得到满足时的一切快乐，同时选择职业时最大限度的自由，例如，在他自己的生活中，他的教育、他的财产和他的社会地位所给予他的自由，恰恰是这种自由才使选择职业成为无法解决的难题，甚至连需要的本身和就业的可能性也不存在了。
现在，皮埃尔的一切幻想都集中到，他在什么时候可以获得自由。但是，在从那以后的日子里，在他整个的一生中，皮埃尔都是以一种欣喜若狂的心情回忆和谈论他在这一个月的时间里当俘虏的生活，以及那些一去不复返的、强烈的、喜悦的感触，主要的，回忆和谈论只有在这个时期才感受到的内心的完全的宁静和内心完全的自由。
第一天，他一大早就起了床，走出棚子，头一眼就看见新圣母修道院开始还发暗的圆屋顶和十字架，看见覆盖着尘土的草上的寒露，看见麻雀山的丘陵，看见隐没在淡紫色远方的，长满了树木的，蜿蜒着的河岸，他觉得空气清新，沁人肺腑，可以听到从莫斯科飞越田野的乌鸦的啼叫声，一会儿，在东方天际边，突然喷射出万道霞光，一轮红日从云层里渐渐显露出来。于是，圆屋顶，十字架、露水、远方和那条小河——所有这一切都在阳光下闪烁，这时，皮埃尔感觉到一种从来都没有经历过的，全新的，生活的喜悦和力量。
这种感情在他整个被俘期间不仅从来都没有离开过他，而且恰好相反，随着他的艰难困苦的处境变得更加艰难，而变得更强烈了。
他来到那个棚子之后不久，就在这里的同伴们中间享有极大的声誉，因此，他更乐于为人效劳而且精神奋发。皮埃尔由于自己的语言知识，由于法国人对他表示的尊敬，由于他的耿直，由于他对别人向他提出的任何要求都是有求必应（他每星期可以领到三个卢布的军官津贴费）；由于他的力气（他表演给士兵们看他用手把一根铁针按进棚子里面的墙壁上），由于他对同伴们的态度是那样和蔼可亲，由于他那种看起来什么事情都不想和一动也不动的静坐的本领，他在士兵们的心目中是一个神秘莫测的、有高级本领的人物，——正是由于这样一些原故，正由于他的这些特性，他在以往他生活的那个上流社会中即使对他无害，也令他感到拘束，可是在这里，在这些人中间，他力大无比、他蔑视舒适安逸的生活、他对一切都漫不经心、他单纯——这一切使他获得了近乎是一位英雄的地位。因此，皮埃尔觉得，所有的人的这种看法就把一种责任加到了他身上，使得他必须承担这种义务。
Book 13 Chapter 13
ON THE NIGHT of the 6th of October, the march of the retreating French army began: kitchens and shanties were broken up, waggons were packed, and troops and trains of baggage began moving.
At seven o'clock in the morning an escort of French soldiers in marching order, in shakoes, with guns, knapsacks, and huge sacks, stood before the sheds and a running fire of eager French talk, interspersed with oaths, was kept up all along the line.
In the shed they were ready, dressed and belted and shod, only waiting for the word of command to come out. The sick soldier, Sokolov, pale and thin, with blue rings round his eyes, sat alone in his place, without boots or out-of-door clothes on. His eyes, that looked prominent from the thinness of his face, gazed inquiringly at his companions, who took no notice of him, and he uttered low groans at regular intervals. It was evidently not so much his sufferings—he was ill with dysentery—as the dread and grief of being left alone that made him groan.
Pierre was shod with a pair of slippers that Karataev had made for him out of the leather cover of a tea-chest, brought him by a Frenchman for soling his boots. With a cord tied round for a belt, he went up to the sick man, and squatted on his heels beside him.
“Come, Sokolov, they are not going away altogether, you know. They have a hospital here. Very likely you will be better off than we others,” said Pierre.
“O Lord! it will be the death of me! O Lord!” the soldier groaned more loudly.
“Well, I will ask them again in a minute,” said Pierre, and getting up, he went to the door of the shed. While Pierre was going to the door, the same corporal, who had on the previous day offered Pierre a pipe, came in from outside, accompanied by two soldiers. Both the corporal and the soldiers were in marching order, with knapsacks on and shakoes, with straps buttoned, that changed their familiar faces.
The corporal had come to the door so as to shut it in accordance with the orders given him. Before getting them out, he had to count over the prisoners.
“Corporal, what is to be done with the sick man?” Pierre was beginning, but at the very moment that he spoke the words he doubted whether it were the corporal he knew or some stranger—the corporal was so unlike himself at that moment. Moreover, at the moment Pierre was speaking, the roll of drums was suddenly heard on both sides. The corporal scowled at Pierre's words, and uttering a meaningless oath, he slammed the door. It was half-dark now in the shed; the drums beat a sharp tattoo on both sides, drowning the sick man's groans.
“Here it is!…Here it is again!” Pierre said to himself, and an involuntary shudder ran down his back. In the changed face of the corporal, in the sound of his voice, in the stimulating and deafening din of the drums, Pierre recognised that mysterious, unsympathetic force which drove men, against their will, to do their fellow-creatures to death; that force, the effect of which he had seen at the execution. To be afraid, to try and avoid that force, to appeal with entreaties or with exhortations to the men who were serving as its instruments, was useless. That Pierre knew now. One could but wait and be patient. Pierre did not go near the sick man again, and did not look round at him. He stood at the door of the shed in silence, scowling.
When the doors of the shed were opened, and the prisoners, huddling against one another like a flock of sheep, crowded in the entry, Pierre pushed in front of them, and went up to the very captain who was, so the corporal had declared, ready to do anything for him. The captain was in marching trim, and from his face, too, there looked out the same “it” Pierre had recognised in the corporal's words and in the roll of the drums.
“Filez, filez!” the captain was saying, frowning sternly, and looking at the prisoners crowding by him.
Pierre knew his effort would be in vain, yet he went up to him.
“Well, what is it?” said the officer, scanning him coldly, as though he did not recognise him. Pierre spoke of the sick prisoner.
“He can walk, damn him!” said the captain.
“Filez, filez!” he went on, without looking at Pierre.
“Well, no, he is in agony…!” Pierre was beginning.
“Voulez-vous bien?”…shouted the captain, scowling malignantly.
“Dram-da-da-dam, dam-dam,” rattled the drums, and Pierre knew that the mysterious force had already complete possession of those men, and that to say anything more now was useless.
The officers among the prisoners were separated from the soldiers and ordered to march in front.
The officers, among whom was Pierre, were thirty in number; the soldiers three hundred.
These officers, who had come out of other sheds, were all strangers to Pierre, and much better dressed than he was. They looked at him in his queer foot-gear with aloof and mistrustful eyes. Not far from Pierre walked a stout major, with a fat, sallow, irascible countenance. He was dressed in a Kazan gown, girt with a linen band, and obviously enjoyed the general respect of his companion prisoners. He held his tobacco-pouch in one hand thrust into his bosom; with the other he pressed the stem of his pipe. This major, panting and puffing, grumbled angrily at every one for pushing against him, as he fancied, and for hurrying when there was no need of hurry, and for wondering when there was nothing to wonder at. Another, a thin, little officer, addressed remarks to every one, making conjectures where they were being taken now, and how far they would go that day. An official, in felt high boots and a commissariat uniform, ran from side to side to get a good view of the results of the fire in Moscow, making loud observations on what was burnt, and saying what this or that district of the town was as it came into view. A third officer, of Polish extraction by his accent, was arguing with the commissariat official, trying to prove to him that he was mistaken in his identification of the various quarters of Moscow.
“Why dispute?” said the major angrily. “Whether it's St. Nikola or St. Vlas, it's no matter. You see that it's all burnt, and that's all about it. …Why are you pushing, isn't the road wide enough?” he said, angrily addressing a man who had passed behind him and had not pushed against him at all.
“Aie, aie, aie, what have they been doing?” the voices of the prisoners could be heard crying on one side and on another as they looked at the burnt districts. “Zamoskvoryetche, too, and Zubovo, and in the Kremlin.…Look, there's not half left. Why, didn't I tell you all Zamoskvoryetche was gone, and so it is.”
“Well, you know it is burnt, well, why argue about it?” said the major.
Passing through Hamovniky (one of the few quarters of Moscow that had not been burnt) by the church, the whole crowd of prisoners huddled suddenly on one side, and exclamations of horror and aversion were heard.
“The wretches! The heathens! Yes; a dead man; a dead man; it is…They have smeared it with something.”
Pierre, too, drew near the church, where was the object that had called forth these exclamations, and he dimly discerned something leaning against the fence of the church enclosure. From the words of his companions, who saw better than he did, he learnt that it was the dead body of a man, propped up in a standing posture by the fence, with the face smeared with soot.
“Move on, damn you! Go on, thirty thousand devils!”…They heard the escort swearing, and the French soldiers, with fresh vindictiveness, used the flat sides of their swords to drive on the prisoners, who had lingered to look at the dead man.
从十月六日晚到七日晨，一夜之间法国人开始撤退行动： 
拆掉棚子和厨房，装好车子，部队和辎重队先行出发了。
七日晨七时，在棚屋前面站着一列全副行军装束、头戴高筒军帽、荷枪实弹、身背背包和大口袋的押送队伍，整个队伍喧闹着，可以听到从各排中发出的法国式的咒骂声。
在棚子里大家全都作好了准备，穿好了衣服，扎上腰带，穿好靴子，只等候着出发的命令。那个生病的士兵索科洛夫，面色苍白、瘦削、眼睛周围乌黑发青，只有他一个人，既没有穿衣服，也没有穿靴子，仍坐在原来的地方，两只瘦得鼓突出来的眼球疑问地凝望着此刻不注意他的伙伴们，并发出均匀的低声呻吟。显然，使他呻吟的与其是痛苦（他得的是严重的痢疾病），不如说是他对于独自一人被留下来的恐惧和悲伤。
皮埃尔腰间扎着一条绳子，穿的是卡拉塔耶夫用从茶叶箱上撕下来的皮子做成的鞋（这是一个法国士兵拿来为自己补靴底的），走到病人身旁，蹲下身子。
“怎么样，索科洛夫，他们并非全都走光！他们在这里还有个医院，你可能比我们这些人会更好些，”皮埃尔说。
“上帝啊！我都快死了！上帝啊！”那个士兵发出更大的呻吟声。
“那我现在再去求一下他们，”皮埃尔说，他站起身朝门口走去。皮埃尔刚走近门口时，正好昨天那个请皮埃尔抽烟的班长带领着两个士兵从外面走了进来。那个班长和两名士兵都是行军打扮，背着背包，头戴高筒军帽，帽带的金色饰条光闪闪的，一改了他们平时所熟悉的面貌。
那个班长走近大门，他是奉长官命令前来关门的。在放出俘虏之前，必须请点俘虏的人数。
“Caporal，quefera—t—ondumalade？…”①皮埃尔开始说；但是，他刚一说出口，他就怀疑，这个人是他认识的那个班长，还是另一个陌生的人呢：因为这个班长在这一瞬之间已经完全不像他原来的那个样子了。此外，正在皮埃尔说话的这一时刻，从两边响起了咚咚的鼓声。班长听了皮埃尔的话，皱起了眉头，说了一句荒谬的咒骂的话，砰的一声关上了门。棚子里变得昏暗；两边鼓声阵阵，震耳欲聋，淹没了那个病人发出的呻吟声。
“那个来了！……那个又来了！”皮埃尔自言自语道，他的背心不由得透过一股凉气。从那个班长已改变了态度的脸上，从他说话的声音上，从那越来越紧张的震耳欲聋的鼓点声上，皮埃尔已经感觉到，那种迫使人们违反自己的意志去屠杀自己的同类、在行刑时，他曾经见识过的那种神秘的，冷酷的力量又在发生作用了。害怕或设法躲避这种力量，向那些作为这种力量的工具的人们哀求或者进行劝告，都毫无用处。皮埃尔现在已经知道了这一点。应当等待和忍耐。皮埃尔不再到病人那儿去，也不再看他一眼。他默不作声，皱着 
①法语：班长，病人怎么办？……
眉头，站立在棚门旁。
棚门打开了，俘虏们像一群羊似的争先恐后向门口挤去。皮埃尔挤到他们前面，走到那个上尉跟前（就是那个班长对他说过的，什么都愿为皮埃尔做的那个上尉）。上尉同样是行军打扮，他那张冷冰冰的脸上也显露出来皮埃尔从班长所说的话中和咚咚响的鼓声中已经明白了的“那个”。
“Filez，filez，”①上尉严厉地皱着眉头，看着从他面前挤成一团走过去的俘虏，反复地催促着。皮埃尔知道，他的尝试不会有什么结果，但是，他仍然向他面前走过去。
“Ehbien，qu'estcequ'ilya？”②这位军官冷冷地看了皮埃尔一眼，好像不认识的一样问道。皮埃尔把那个病人的情形告诉了他。
“Ilpourramarcher，quediable！”上尉说，“Filez，filez。”③他对皮埃尔连看都不看一眼，不停催促着。
“Maisnon，ilestàl'agonie…”④皮埃尔刚开始说。
“Voulezvousbien？！”⑤上尉皱着眉头，怒冲冲地大喝一声。 
①法语：快走，快走。
②法语：喂，还有什么事？
③法语：他也得走，妈的，快走，快走。
④法语：可是不行啊，他快死啦……
⑤法语：去去去？！……
“得咚！咚咚！咚！”鼓擂得震天响。皮埃尔明白，这一神秘的力量已经完全控制住这些人了，现在随便你再说什么都没有一点用处。
把俘虏中的军官同士兵分开，叫他们在前面走。共有三十多个军官，其中有皮埃尔，士兵有三百多名。
从别的棚子里放出来的被俘的军官都是陌生人，他们的穿着较皮埃尔好多了，他们以一种怀疑和疏远的神情瞧着皮埃尔和他穿的鞋。离皮埃尔不远处走着一个身体肥胖的少校，他身穿喀山长袍，腰间系一条毛巾，面色焦黄、浮肿，怒容满面，看起来，此人受到被俘的同伴们的普遍尊敬。他一只胳膊夹着烟口袋，另一只手拄着长烟袋管。少校喘息着，嘴里喷出热气，嘟噜着，对谁都生气，他觉得人人都在挤他，而他们在不忙着要去什么地方的时候，都在急急忙忙的，在没有什么事值得大惊小怪的时候，都在大惊小怪。一个瘦小的军官对大家说话时都是在推测，他们现在被带往什么地方？以及今天要走多远的路。一个穿着毡靴子和兵站部制服的军官跑来跑去，观看被大火焚烧后的莫斯科，他大声讲述他所观察到的情况，什么给烧毁了，这一部分或者那一部分是莫斯科的什么地方。第三个军官，听口音是波兰人，他跟那个兵站部的军官争论起来，指出他认错了莫斯科的街区。
“你们吵什么？”少校怒冲冲地说，“尼古拉也好，弗拉斯也好，反正都一样；你们看，全烧光了，那就完了……你挤什么？路还不够宽。”他忿忿地转身对他身后面的人说，其实那个人并没有挤他。
“哎呀，哎呀，哎呀，他们都干了些什么呀！”俘虏们望着火灾遗址，你一言我一语地说。“还有莫斯科河南岸市区，还有祖博沃区，还有克里姆林宫那里……瞧，都剩下不到一半了。我给你们说过，莫斯科河南岸市区全完啦，就是这样。”
“你既然知道全烧掉了，还谈它干嘛！”少校说。
在经过哈莫夫尼克区（莫斯科少数未被烧毁的一个地区）的一所教堂时，全体俘虏突然闪到一旁，发出恐怖和憎恶的叫喊声。
“哎呀，这些坏蛋！真是些没心肝的东西！”那是个死人，是个死人……脸上还涂了一脸黑糊糊的。
皮埃尔听到惊叫声，向教堂走过去，模模糊糊地看见有个东西倚靠在教堂的墙上。从看得比他更清楚的同伴的口中知道，那是一具死尸，直立着靠在墙上，脸上涂满煤烟灰。
“Marchez，sacrènom…Filez…trentemillediables…”①响起押送士兵的咒骂声，法国士兵的态度又粗暴起来，挥舞短刀把看死尸的俘虏赶开。 
①法语：走！走……你们这些魔鬼…… 
Book 13 Chapter 14
THROUGH THE LANES of Hamovniky, the prisoners marched alone with their escort, a train of carts and waggons, belonging to the soldiers of the escort, following behind them. But as they came out to the provision shops they found themselves in the middle of a huge train of artillery, moving with difficulty, and mixed up with private baggage-waggons.
At the bridge itself the whole mass halted, waiting for the foremost to get across. From the bridge the prisoners got a view of endless trains of baggage-waggons in front and behind. On the right, where the Kaluga road turns by Neskutchny Gardens, endless files of troops and waggons stretched away into the distance. These were the troops of Beauharnais's corps, which had set off before all the rest. Behind, along the riverside, and across Kamenny bridge, stretched the troops and transport of Ney's corps.
Davoust's troops, to which the prisoners belonged, were crossing by the Crimean Ford, and part had already entered Kaluga Street. But the baggage-trains were so long that the last waggons of Beauharnais's corps had not yet got out of Moscow into Kaluga Street, while the vanguard of Ney's troops had already emerged from Bolshaya Ordynka.
After crossing the Crimean Ford, the prisoners moved a few steps at a time and then halted, and again moved forward, and the crowd of vehicles and people grew greater and greater on all sides. After taking over an hour in crossing the few hundred steps which separates the bridge from Kaluga Street and getting as far as the square where the Zamoskvoryetche streets run into Kaluga Street, the prisoners were jammed in a close block and kept standing for several hours at the crossroads. On all sides there was an unceasing sound, like the roar of the sea, of rumbling wheels, and tramping troops, and incessant shouts of anger and loud abuse. Pierre stood squeezed against the wall of a charred house, listening to that sound, which in his imagination melted off into the roll of drums.
Several of the Russian officers clambered up on to the wall of the burnt house by which Pierre stood so as to get a better view.
“The crowds! What crowds!…They have even loaded goods on the cannons! Look at the furs!…” they kept saying. “I say, the vermin, they have been pillaging.…Look at what that one has got behind, on the cart.…Why, they are holy pictures, by God!…Those must be Germans. And a Russian peasant; by God!…Ah; the wretches!…See, how he's loaded; he can hardly move! Look, I say, chaises; they have got hold of them, too!…See, he has perched on the boxes. Heavens!…They have started fighting!…That's right; hit him in the face! We shan't get by before evening like this. Look, look!…Why, that must surely be Napoleon himself. Do you see the horses! with the monograms and a crown! That's a portable house. He has dropped his sack, and doesn't see it. Fighting again.…A woman with a baby, and good-looking, too! Yes, I dare say; that's the way they will let you pass.…Look; why, there's no end to it. Russian wenches, I do declare they are. See how comfortable they are in the carriages!”
Again a wave of general curiosity, as at the church in Hamovniky, carried all the prisoners forward towards the road, and Pierre, thanks to his height, saw over the heads of the others what attracted the prisoners' curiosity. Three carriages were blocked between caissons, and in them a number of women with rouged faces, decked out in flaring colours, were sitting closely packed together, shouting something in shrill voices.
From the moment when Pierre had recognised the manifestation of that mysterious force, nothing seemed to him strange or terrible; not the corpse with its face blacked for a jest, nor these women hurrying away, nor the burnt ruins of Moscow. All that Pierre saw now made hardly any impression on him—as though his soul, in preparation for a hard struggle, refused to receive any impression that might weaken it.
The carriages of women drove by. They were followed again by carts, soldiers, waggons, soldiers, carriages, soldiers, caissons, and again soldiers, and at rare intervals women.
Pierre did not see the people separately; he saw only their movement.
All these men and horses seemed, as it were, driven along by some unseen force. During the hour in which Pierre watched them they all were swept out of the different streets with the same one desire to get on as quickly as possible. All of them, alike hindered by the rest, began to get angry and to fight. The same oaths were bandied to and fro, and white teeth flashed, and every frowning face wore the same look of reckless determination and cold cruelty, which had struck Pierre in the morning in the corporal's face, while the drums were beating.
It was almost evening when the officer in command of their escort rallied his men, and with shouts and oaths forced his way in among the baggage-trains; and the prisoners, surrounded on all sides, came out on the Kaluga road.
They marched very quickly without pausing, and only halted when the sun was setting. The baggage-carts were moved up close to one another, and the men began to prepare for the night. Every one seemed ill-humoured and dissatisfied. Oaths, angry shouts, and fighting could be heard on all sides till a late hour. A carriage, which had been following the escort, had driven into one of their carts and run a shaft into it. Several soldiers ran up to the cart from different sides; some hit the carriage horses on the head as they turned them round, other were fighting among themselves, and Pierre saw one German seriously wounded by a blow from the flat side of a sword on his head.
It seemed as though now when they had come to a standstill in the midst of the open country, in the cold twilight of the autumn evening, all these men were experiencing the same feeling of unpleasant awakening from the hurry and eager impulse forward that had carried them all away at setting off. Now standing still, all as it were grasped that they knew not where they were going, and that there was much pain and hardship in store for them on the journey.
At this halting-place, the prisoners were even more roughly treated by their escort than at starting. They were for the first time given horse-flesh to eat.
In every one of the escort, from the officers to the lowest soldier, could be seen a sort of personal spite against every one of the prisoners, in surprising contrast with the friendly relations that had existed between them before.
This spite was increased when, on counting over the prisoners, it was discovered that in the bustle of getting out of Moscow one Russian soldier had managed to run away by pretending to be seized with colic. Pierre had seen a Frenchman beat a Russian soldier unmercifully for moving too far from the road, and heard the captain, who had been his friend, reprimanding an under-officer for the escape of the prisoner, and threatening him with court-martial. On the under-officer's urging that the prisoner was ill and could not walk, the officer said that their orders were to shoot those who should lag behind. Pierre felt that that fatal force which had crushed him at the execution, and had been imperceptible during his imprisonment, had now again the mastery of his existence. He was afraid; but he felt too, that as that fatal force strove to crush him, there was growing up in his soul and gathering strength a force of life that was independent of it. Pierre supped on soup made of rye flour and horseflesh, and talked a little with his companions.
Neither Pierre nor any of his companions talked of what they had seen in Moscow, nor of the harsh treatment they received from the French, nor of the orders to shoot them, which had been announced to them. As though in reaction against their more depressing position, all were particularly gay and lively. They talked of personal reminiscences, of amusing incidents they had seen as they marched, and avoided touching on their present position.
The sun had long ago set. Stars were shining brightly here and there in the sky; there was a red flush, as of a conflagration on the horizon, where the full moon was rising, and the vast, red ball seemed trembling strangely in the grey darkness. It became quite light. The evening was over, but the night had not yet begun. Pierre left his new companions and walked between the camp-fires to the other side of the road, where he had been told that the common prisoners were camping. He wanted to talk to them. On the road a French sentinel stopped him and bade him go back.
Pierre did go back, but not to the camp-fire where his companions were, but to an unharnessed waggon where there was nobody. Tucking his legs up under him, and dropping his head, he sat down on the cold ground against the waggon wheel, and sat there a long while motionless, thinking. More than an hour passed by. No one disturbed Pierre. Suddenly he burst into such a loud roar of his fat, good-humoured laughter, that men looked round on every side in astonishment at this strange and obviously solitary laughter. “Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Pierre. And he talked aloud to himself. “The soldier did not let me pass. They have taken me—shut me up. They keep me prisoner. Who is ‘me'? Me? Me—my immortal soul! ha, ha, ha! … Ha, ha, ha! …” he laughed, with the tears starting into his eyes.
A man got up and came to see what this strange, big man was laughing at all by himself. Pierre left off laughing, got up, walked away from the inquisitive intruder, and looked about him.
The immense, endless bivouac, which had been full of the sound of crackling fires and men talking, had sunk to rest; the red camp-fires burnt low and dim. High overhead in the lucid sky stood the full moon. Forests and fields, that before could not be seen beyond the camp, came into view now in the distance. And beyond those fields and forests could be seen the bright, shifting, alluring, boundless distance. Pierre glanced at the sky, at the far-away, twinkling stars. “And all that is mine, and all that is in me, and all that is I!” thought Pierre. “And all this they caught and shut up in a shed closed in with boards!” He smiled and went to lie down to sleep beside his companions.
在通过哈莫夫尼克区的一些胡同时，只有俘虏和押送队以及跟在后面的属于押送队的各种车辆同行；但是，他们走到粮店处，就卷进一列夹杂有私人车辆的庞大而又拥挤的炮兵队伍中间了。 
到了桥头，所有的人都停了下来，等待着前面的人先过去。从桥上他们可以看见在他们前面和后面移动着一眼望不到头的辎重车队。在右边，在卡卢日斯卡雅大路经过涅斯库奇内转弯的地方，无穷无尽的一排排的部队和车辆一直伸展到远方。这是先头部队博加尔涅兵团；在后面，沿着河堤通过卡缅内桥行进的是内伊的部队和车队。
俘虏所在的达乌部队涉过克里米亚浅滩，一部分已经进入卡卢日斯卡雅大街。然而，辎重车队拉得那么长，以致于内伊的先头部队已经走出了奥尔登卡大路的时候，博加尔涅的车队还没有走出莫斯科进入卡卢日斯卡雅大街。
涉过克里米亚浅滩之后，俘虏们每走几步就得停下来，过一会再走，从四面八方来的车辆和人们越来越拥挤。俘虏们在桥和卡卢日斯卡雅大街之间走了一个多小时，才走了几百步，走到了莫斯科河南岸大街和卡卢日斯卡雅大街汇合处的广场上，俘虏们挤成一堆，在交叉路口站着等了几个小时。四面传来的轰轰隆隆的车轮声，像海啸般响个不停，其中还夹杂着脚步声和不停的斥责声和咒骂声。皮埃尔靠在一处被焚毁的房屋的残壁上，倾听着这些与他想象中的鼓声混合在一起的喧嚣声。
有几个俘虏军官，为了看得更清楚些，他们爬到皮埃尔靠着的那堵被烧毁的房屋的墙头上。
“好多的人啊！嘿，真是人山人海！……连一些炮上都堆满了东西！你们看：是皮衣服……”他们说，“看那些流氓抢的东西……看那辆车后面的东西……那是从圣像上弄下来的，一定是！……那些一定是德国人。还有一个俄国农民，是真的……嗨，这些坏蛋！……看那家伙把自己装载成什么样子了，连路都走不动了！看，真没想到，连这种小马车都抢来了！……看那个家伙坐在箱子上，我的天哪！……他们打起来了！……”
“对，打他的嘴巴——打他的嘴巴！照这样，我们天黑以前还走不出去。看，看那里，那一定是拿破仑。看，多好的马！还有带花体字的皇冠。像一所活动的房子。那家伙掉了口袋都还不知道呢。又打起来了……一个抱小孩的女人，长得不错。可不是，你要有这样漂亮，准让你过去……看，没有个完。俄国姑娘，真是俄国姑娘们！坐在马车里多舒服呵！”
就像在哈莫夫尼克的教堂前那样，又有一股一致的好奇的浪潮把所有的俘虏都涌向大路，皮埃尔凭着他个子高，越过所有人的头顶看见了吸引了俘虏们好奇心的事情。在许多弹药车之间夹着三辆马车，车里紧挤着坐着一些衣着鲜艳、涂脂抹粉、叽叽喳喳喊叫着的女人。
自从皮埃尔意识到那种神秘的力量已经出现的那一刻起，似乎任何东西：无论是为了好玩把脸涂黑的尸体，无论是这些不知往何方奔忙的妇女，无论是莫斯科的火场，都不能使他感到惊奇和害怕。皮埃尔对他现在所见到的一切，都不会留下任何印象——好像他的灵魂正在准备应付一场艰苦斗争，因而拒绝接受可能削弱它的印象。
那些女人坐的车子过去了，接着过来的又是大车；士兵们；运货车，士兵们；马车，士兵们；弹药车，士兵们，时而还有一些妇女。
皮埃尔看不见一个个的人，看见的是一股人流。
所有的这些人和马，好像被一种无形的力量驱赶着。皮埃尔连续观察了一小时，所有的人都抱着赶快通过的愿望从各条街口涌出来；他们无一例外地相互冲撞着，相互发怒，相互打斗；他们个个都龇牙咧嘴，皱着眉头，相互对骂，所有人的脸上都流露出不顾一切的往前赶和冷酷无情的表情，这就是那天早晨在鼓声中班长脸上露出来的，令皮埃尔吃惊的那种表情。
快到傍晚时，押送队的军官把队伍集合起来，吵吵嚷嚷挤进运载弹药的车队的行列，俘虏们在四面包围中走上卡卢日斯卡雅大路。
他们走得很快，没有休息，在太阳落山之时才停了下来。辎重车一个挨一个集中起来，人们开始准备过夜。所有的人都有气，都不满意。好一阵都可以听到从四面八方传来的咒骂声、凶恶的喊叫声和相互殴斗声。押送队后面的一辆马车撞到押送队的一辆大车上，把车子撞了一个洞，有几个士兵从不同方向跑到大车前；一些士兵把套在马车上的马牵到一边，抽打着马头，另一些士兵则相互打起架来，皮埃尔看见，一个德国士兵的头被刀砍成重伤。
所有这些人，只是在寒冷的秋天的傍晚，在田野上停下来之后，似乎只是现在才从出发时那种匆忙和不知道去向何方的情景中清醒了一点，他们都有同样的不愉快的感觉。在停下来之后，仿佛才明白，现在仍然不知道所去的地方和前面还有多少艰难困苦。
在这次休息中，押送队对俘虏的态度比出发时更恶劣了。
俘虏们第一次得到的食品是马肉。
从军官到每一个士兵好像对每一个俘虏都抱有一种个人的仇恨，出人意外地改变了先前的友善态度。
在清点俘虏人数时，发现有一个俄国士兵在从莫斯科出发时，假装肚子痛，在忙乱中逃跑了，于是这种仇恨越发增加了。皮埃尔看见一个法国人在毒打一个俄国士兵，就只因为他离开大路远了一点，他又听到那个上尉——他的朋友，因为一个俄国士兵逃走，而斥责那个下级军官，并且威胁他，要把他送交军事法庭。那个下级军官借口说，那个俄国士兵因患病不能行动，军官说，上级有令，凡是停住不走的，统统枪毙。皮埃尔感到，行刑时使地心潮起伏的和在当俘虏期间不再觉察到的命运的力量，现在又支配了他的存在。他感到恐惧；但是他觉得，随着命运力量对他压力的增加，那不受命运约束的他灵魂中的生命力就越发增长和巩固。
皮埃尔的晚餐是喝黑麦面汤和吃马肉，他边吃边和同伴们闲谈。
不论是皮埃尔，还是他的任何一个同伴，都绝口不提他们在莫斯科所见到的任何事情，不提及法国人的粗暴态度，不提及向他们宣布的枪毙他们的命令：为了反抗目前更加恶劣的处境，大家都表现出特别的兴奋和愉快。
太阳早已落山，天空中有几处闪烁着明亮的星星；一轮满月刚刚升起，天际一片火红，一个巨大的红球在灰蒙蒙的暮霭中令人惊奇地摇晃着，渐渐明亮起来，黄昏已尽，然而，夜，还没有来临。皮埃尔站起来，离开新的同伴，穿过一堆堆火堆向路的另一边走去，他听说，那儿有被俘虏的士兵。他想和他们谈谈。在路上一个法国哨兵拦住他，叫他回去。
皮埃尔返回去了。但是他没有回到火堆边，也没有回到同伴们那里，而是朝着一辆卸了套的马车走去，那里没有一个人。他盘起腿，低着头，坐在车轮旁边冰凉的土地上，他一动也不动地坐了很久很久，他冥思苦想。已经坐了一个多小时。谁也不来打扰他。突然之间，他放声大笑，他那浑厚而和善的笑声是那么响亮，使周围的人都惊奇地掉转头看这个古怪的，显然是一个人发出的笑声。
“哈，哈，哈！”皮埃尔大笑。接着他高声自言自语道：“那个兵不让我过去。抓住我，把我关起来。他们俘虏了我，我？——我的不朽的灵魂！”他放声大笑，笑得流出了眼泪。
有一个人站起身，走近皮埃尔，看看这个古怪的大个子独自一个人在笑什么。皮埃尔不再笑了，站起身，走向一边。
离那个好奇的人更远一点，他向周围看了一眼。
先前，这偌大一片宿营地，无数的火堆噼哩啪啦地燃烧着，人们高声交谈，一片喧闹，现在静了下来，旺盛的篝火渐渐熄灭了，颜色变得苍白。一轮满月悬挂在高高的明朗的天上。宿营地以外的森林和原野原先看不见，这时在远方展现出来。再往远处，越过森林和原野，明朗的、飘忽不定的、无穷无尽的天际把人引向远方。皮埃尔仰望天空，遥看高天上渐渐远去的闪烁的星斗。“这都是我的，都在我心中，这一切就是我！”皮埃尔想。“可是，他们捉住了这一切，关在一所用板子围起来的棚子里！”他笑了笑，就走到同伴处躺下睡了。
Book 13 Chapter 15
EARLY in October another messenger came to Kutuzov from Napoleon with overtures for peace and a letter, falsely professing to come from Moscow, though Napoleon was in fact not far ahead of Kutuzov on the old Kaluga road. Kutuzov answered this letter as he had done the first one, brought him by Lauriston; he said that there could be no question of peace.
Soon after this Dorohov's irregulars, which were moving on the left of Tarutino, sent a report that French troops had appeared at Fominskoe, that these troops were of Broussier's division, and that that division, being separate from the rest of the army, might easily be cut to pieces. The soldiers and officers again clamoured for action. The staff generals, elated by the easy victory of Tarutino, urged on Kutuzov that Dorohov's suggestion should be acted upon.
Kutuzov did not consider any action necessary. A middle course, as was inevitable, was adopted; a small detachment was sent to Fominskoe to attack Broussier.
By strange chance this appointment, a most difficult and most important one, as it turned out to be later, was given to Dohturov, that modest little general, whom no one has depicted to us making plans of campaign, dashing at the head of regiments, dropping crosses about batteries, or doing anything of the kind; whom people looked on and spoke of as lacking decision and penetration, though all through the Russian wars with the French, from Austerlitz to the year 1813, we always find him in command where the position is particularly difficult. At Austerlitz he was the last to remain at the ford of Augest, rallying the regiments, saving what he could, when all was flight and ruin, and not a single other general was to be found in the rearguard. When ill with fever, he marched with twenty thousand men to Smolensk to defend the town against the whole of Napoleon's army. In Smolensk he had only just fallen asleep at the Malahovsky gates in a paroxysm of fever when he was waked by the cannonade of Smolensk, and Smolensk held out a whole day. At Borodino when Bagration was killed, and nine-tenths of the men of our left flank had been slain, and the fire of all the French artillery was turned upon it, Kutuzov made haste to recall another general he had sent by mistake, and sent there no other than Dohturov, who was said to be lacking in decision and penetration. And unpretentious little Dohturov went there, and Borodino became the greatest glory of the Russian arms. And many of its heroes have been celebrated in prose and verse, but of Dohturov hardly a word. Again Dohturov was sent to Fominskoe, and from there to Maley Yaroslavets, the place where the last battle was fought with the French, and where it is plain the final destruction of the French army really begun. And again many heroes and men of genius are described to us in accounts of this period of the campaign, but of Dohturov nothing is said, or but few words of dubious praise. This silence in regard to Dohturov is the plainest testimony to his merits.
It is natural that a man who does not understand the working of a machine should suppose, when he sees it in action, that a shaving that has fallen into it by chance, and flaps about in it, hindering its progress, is the most important part of the mechanism. Any one who does not understand the construction of the machine cannot conceive that this shaving is only clogging and spoiling it, while the little cog-wheel, which turns noiselessly, is one of the most essential parts of the machine.
On the 10th of October Dohturov had marched halfway to Fominskoe, and halted at the village of Aristovo, making every preparation for exactly carrying out the orders given him. On the same day the whole French army, after reaching in its spasmodic rush as far as Murat's position, seemingly with the object of giving battle, suddenly, with no apparent cause, turned off to the left to the new Kaluga road, and began marching into Fominskoe, where Broussier had before been alone. Dohturov had under his command at the time only Dorohov's troops and the two small detachments of Figner and Seslavin.
On the evening of the 11th of October, Seslavin came to the general at Aristovo with a French prisoner of the guards. The prisoner said that the troops that had reached Fominskoe that day were the advance guard of the whole army; that Napoleon was with them; that the whole army had marched out of Moscow five days before. The same evening a house-serf coming from Borovsk brought word that he had seen an immense army entering that town. Dorohov's Cossacks reported that they had seen the French guards marching along the road to Borovsk. From all this it was evident that where they had expected to find one division there was now the whole army of the French, marching from Moscow in an unexpected direction—along the old Kaluga road. Dohturov was unwilling to take any action, as it was not clear to him now where his duty lay. He had received instructions to attack Fominskoe. But there had then been only Broussier at Fominskoe, and now the whole French army was there. Yermolov wanted to act on his own judgment, but Dohturov insisted that he must have instructions from his highness the commander-in-chief. It was resolved to send a report to the staff.
For this purpose they chose a capable officer, Bolhovitinov, who was to take a written report, and to explain the whole matter verbally. At midnight Bolhovitinov received his despatch and his verbal instructions, and galloped off to headquarters, accompanied by a Cossack with spare horses.
十月初，又有一位信使带着拿破仑的信来见库图佐夫，建议和谈，他谎称是从莫斯科来的。而当时拿破仑已在离库图佐夫前面不远处的旧卡卢日斯卡雅大路上。库图佐夫对这一封信作了和对洛里斯顿带来的第一封信同样的答复：他说，不可能进行和谈。 
在此之后不久，在塔鲁丁诺左侧一带活动的多洛霍夫的游击队送来一份报告，称在福明斯克出现布鲁西埃的一个师，这个师和其他部队失去了联系，很容易被歼灭。士兵们和军官们又要求行动了。参谋部的将军们被在塔鲁丁诺轻易获胜所鼓舞，坚决要求库图佐夫采纳多洛霍夫的建议。但库图佐夫则认为没有必要发动任何进攻，于是采取了折衷办法：做一件应该做的事，派一支不大的部队到福明斯克去袭击布鲁西埃。
由于奇异的巧合，多赫图罗夫接受了这一任务，后来表明这是一件最困难和最重要的任务。多赫图罗夫——就是那个谦虚、矮小的多赫图罗夫。没有任何一个人向我们描述过，他曾制定过作战计划、在团队前跑来跑去，给炮兵连发十字勋章，等等，大家都认为他优柔寡断，没有远见，但是，也就是这个多赫图罗夫，在整个俄法战争中——从奥斯特利茨到一九一三年的历次战争中，只要哪里战况艰难，就都有他在场指挥。在奥斯特利茨战役中，当所有的官兵死的死，逃的逃，后卫连一个将军也没有的时候，他把残部集结起来，拯救那可以拯救的一切，在奥格斯特大坝坚守到最后。他正染上疟疾，还率领两万人马奔赴斯摩棱斯克抗击拿破仑的车队，保卫了这座城市。在斯摩棱斯克，在莫洛霍夫斯基城门，他的疟疾病发作了，刚刚睡着，攻城的炮声惊醒了他，斯摩棱斯克城坚守了整整一天。在波罗底诺战役中，巴格拉季翁阵亡了，我军左翼部队损失了十分之九，法国炮兵全力向那儿进攻，派到那里去的不是别人，正是这个优柔寡断、缺少远见的多赫图罗夫，库图佐夫原来是派另外的人去的，后来他赶快纠正了这一错误。于是这个文静矮小的多赫图罗夫到那儿去了，波罗底诺成为俄国军队的最大光荣。在诗歌和散文中向我们描写了很多英雄，但却没有一句提到多赫图罗夫。
又是多赫图罗夫被派到福明斯克，从那里又到小雅罗斯维茨，在那里同法国人打了最后一仗，显然，法国人的灭亡也就是从这里开始的，在这一期间的若干战役中又向我们描绘了许多天才和英雄，但是，关于多赫图罗夫仍然是一句不提，或者是轻描淡写，或者是含糊其辞。对于多赫图罗夫这样避而不谈，反而更加证实了他的优点。
自然，一个不懂得机器运转原理的人，一看见偶然掉进去的木屑，妨碍了机器运转，老在里面打转，就会误认为，这是那台机器最主要部分。不懂机器构造原理的人不会理解，机器最主要部件不是把事情弄糟的木屑，而是那无声转动的小小的传动齿轮。
十月十日，多赫图罗夫前往福明斯克途中，抵达阿里斯托沃村，停止前进，准备正确执行上级命令的时候，就在这同一天，好像得了疯病一样，全部法国军队开到了缪拉的阵地，好像准备要打一仗，可是突然又无缘无故地向左转到新卡卢日斯卡雅大路，进驻原先只有布鲁西埃驻扎在那里的福明斯克。而此时属于多赫图罗夫指挥的，除了多洛霍夫游击队之外，还有菲格纳和谢斯拉温领导的两支小游击队。
十月十一日晚，谢斯拉温带一名他俘虏的法国近卫军士兵来到阿里斯托沃村来见司令官。俘虏说，当天进入福明斯克的军队是整个大军的前卫部队，拿破仑就在其中，全军离开莫斯科已经是第五天了。就在当天晚上，从博罗夫斯克来了一名杂役，他说，他看到了大批法国军队开进城里。多洛霍夫游击队的哥萨克也报告，他们看到了法国军队顺着大路开往博罗夫斯克。所有这些情报都明显地表明，原先只想到在那里只有一个师，而现在却是全部法国军队，他们从莫斯科出发之后，走的是一条出人意料之外的路线——旧卡卢日斯卡雅大路。多赫图罗夫不愿采取任何行动，因为他现在还不明确他的责任是什么。他接受的任务是袭击福明斯克。但是原先在福明斯克只有布鲁西埃一个师，而现在是全部法国军队。叶尔莫洛夫想要相机而行，但是多赫图罗夫坚持必须等待最高爵爷的命令。于是，决定派人去向总部报告。
为此，选派了一名精明强干的军官博尔霍维季诺夫，他除了呈递书面报告外，还要在口头上能把全部情况报告清楚。夜里十一点多钟，博尔霍维季诺夫接受了书面报告和口头指示，就带领一名哥萨克和几匹可以轮换骑的马，飞快驰往总司令部。
Book 13 Chapter 16
IT was a dark, warm autumn night. Rain had been falling for the last four days. Changing horses twice, Bolhovitinov galloped in an hour and a half thirty versts over a muddy, slippery road. He reached Letashevko after one o'clock in the night. Dismounting at a hut, on the hurdle fence of which was the inscription “Headquarters of the Staff,” and letting his horse go, he walked into the dark entry.
“The general on duty at once! Very important!” he cried to some one, who jumped up, wheezing in the darkness.
“His honour has been very unwell since the evening; he has not slept for three nights,” an orderly's voice whispered, interposing. “You must wake the captain first.”
“Very important from General Dohturov,” said Bolhovitinov, feeling for the opened door and going in.
The orderly went in before him, and began waking some one up. “Your honour, your honour, a courier.”
“What? what? from whom?” said a sleepy voice.
“From Dohturov and from Alexey Petrovitch. Napoleon is at Fominskoe,” said Bolhovitinov, not seeing the speaker in the darkness, but assuming from the voice that it was not Konovnitsyn.
The man who had been waked yawned and stretched. “I don't want to wake him,” he said, fumbling for something. “He's ill! Perhaps it's only a rumour.”
“Here is the report,” said Bolhovitinov. “My instructions are to give it at once to the general on duty.”
“Wait a minute, I'll strike a light. What do you do with things, damn you!” said the sleepy voice addressing the orderly. The speaker was Shtcherbinin, Konovnitsyn's adjutant. “I have found it, I have found it,” he added.
The orderly struck a light, Shtcherbinin felt for a candlestick.
“Ah, the nasty beasts!” he said with disgust.
By the light of the sparks in the tinderbox Bolhovitinov had a glimpse of Shtcherbinin's youthful face, and in a corner another man asleep. This was Konovnitsyn.
When the tinder broke first into a blue and then into a red flame, Shtcherbinin lighted a tallow candle—the cockroaches that had been gnawing it ran away in all directions—and looked at the messenger. Bolhovitinov was bespattered all over, and on rubbing his face with his sleeve, had smudged that too with mud.
“But who sends the report?” said Shtcherbinin, taking the packet.
“The news is certain,” said Bolhovitinov. “Prisoners and Cossacks and spies, all tell the same story.”
“Well there's no help for it, we must wake him,” said Shtcherbinin, getting up and going to the sleeping man who wore a nightcap and was covered up with a military cloak. “Pyotr Petrovich!” he said. Konovnitsyn did not stir. “Wanted at headquarters!” he said with a smile, knowing these words would be sure to wake him. And the head in the nightcap was in fact lifted at once. Konovnitsyn's strong, handsome face, with feverishly swollen cheeks, still wore for an instant a far-away dreamy look, but he gave a sudden start and his face resumed its customary expression of calmness and strength.
“Well, what is it? From whom?” he asked at once, but with no haste, blinking at the light. Hearing what the officer had to tell him, Konovnitsyn broke open the packet and read it. He had hardly read it before he dropped his feet in worsted stockings on to the earth floor and began putting on his boots. Then he took off the nightcap, and combing his hair, put on a forage cap.
“Did you get here quickly? Let us go to his highness.”
Konovnitsyn understood at once that the news was of great importance, and that they must lose no time. As to whether it were good news or bad, he had no opinion and did not even put the question to himself. That did not interest him. He looked at the whole subject of the war, not with his intellect, not with his reason, but with something different. In his heart he had a deep, unaltered conviction that all would be well, yet that he ought not to believe in this, and still more ought not to say so, but ought simply to do his duty. And that he did do, giving all his energies to it.
Pyotr Petrovich Konovnitsyn, like Dohturov, is simply as a formality included in the list of the so-called heroes of 1812 with the Barclays, Raevskys, Yermolovs, Platovs and Miloradovitchs. Like Dohturov, he had the reputation of being a man of very limited capacities and information; and, like Dohturov, he never proposed plans of campaign, but was always to be found in the most difficult position. Ever since he had been appointed the general on duty, he had slept with his door open, and given orders to be waked on the arrival of any messenger. In battle he was always under fire, so that Kutuzov even reproached him for it, and was afraid to send him to the front. Like Dohturov, he was one of those inconspicuous cogwheels, which, moving without creaking or rattling, make up the most essential part of the machine.
Coming out of the hut into the damp, dark night, Konovnitsyn frowned, partly from his headache getting worse, and partly from the disagreeable thought that occurred to him of the stir this would make in all the nest of influential persons on the staff; of its effect on Bennigsen in particular, who since the battle of Tarutino had been at daggers drawn with Kutuzov; of the suppositions and discussions and orders and counter-orders. And the presentiment of all that was disagreeable to him, though he knew it to be inevitable.
Toll, to whom he went to communicate the news, did in fact begin at once expounding his views on the situation to the general who shared his abode; and Konovnitsyn, after listening in weary silence, reminded him that they must go to his highness.
那是一个温暖而又漆黑的秋天的夜晚。已经下了三天多的小雨。换了两次马，在一个半小时内，在泥泞的道路上奔驰了三十俄里，在夜间一点多钟，博尔霍维季诺夫来到列塔舍夫卡。他在一处篱笆上挂着“总司令部”牌子的农舍前下了马，他丢下马走进昏暗的农舍的过厅。 
“我要立刻见值勤的将军！非常重要！”他在黑暗中对一个正在起身的用鼻子吸气的人说道。
“他大人从昨晚起就很不舒服，一连三个晚上都没睡觉了，”勤务兵低声央求道。“您还是先叫醒上尉吧。”
“很重要，我是多赫图罗夫将军派来的，”博尔霍维季诺夫一边说着，一边摸索着走进已打开的门。勤务兵走到他前面去叫醒一个人。
“大人，大人，来了一个信使。”
“什么？什么？谁派来的？”传来一个睡眼惺松的人的说话声。
“从多赫图罗夫和阿列克谢·彼得罗维奇那里来的。拿破仑在福明斯克，”博尔霍维季诺夫说，在黑暗中看不见问他的人，但是，根据这声音来判断，不是科诺夫尼岑。
被叫醒的人打了个哈欠，伸了伸懒腰。
“我不想叫醒他，”他一边摸什么东西，一边说道，“他病的厉害！或许，那，是谣言吧。”
“这是书面报告，”博尔霍维季诺夫说，“交待我立刻交给值勤将军。”
“请等一下，我把灯点上。该死的，你都把它塞到什么地方？”伸懒腰的人对勤务兵说。这个人是科诺夫尼岑的副官谢尔比宁。“找到了，找到了，”他接着补充说。
勤务兵打着了火①，谢尔比宁在摸烛台。 
①用火石和火镰打火。
“咳，讨厌的家伙。”他厌恶地说。
借助火星的亮光，博尔霍维季诺夫看到了手持蜡烛的谢尔比宁的年轻的面孔，在前面屋角处睡着一个人。这个人就是科诺夫尼岑。
硫磺火柴一接近火绒，就先发出蓝色的，后发出红色的火焰，燃烧起来，谢尔比宁点燃了蜡烛，方才在烛台上啃蜡烛的蟑螂纷纷逃走，他看了看那个信使。博尔霍维季诺夫周身是泥，他用衣袖擦脸的时候，又擦了一脸的泥巴。
“是谁报告的？”谢尔比宁拿起一封公文问道。
“情报是可靠的，”博尔霍维季诺夫说，“俘虏、哥萨克、侦察兵，他们所有的报告都完全一致。”
“没办法了，应当叫醒他。”谢尔比宁说着就站起来，走向那个头戴睡帽、盖一件军大衣的人。“彼得，彼得罗维奇！”他说道。科诺夫尼岑一动也不动。“到总司令部去！”他面带微笑，因为他知道这一句话多半可以叫醒他。果然，戴睡帽的头立刻抬了起来。在科诺夫尼岑双颊烧得通红的、俊秀而又坚决的脸上，在一瞬间还停留在远离现实的梦境之中，然而，随后突然哆嗦了一下；他的脸上立刻显露出平时那种镇静而坚定的表情。
“哦，什么事？谁派来的？”他不慌不忙地立即问道，亮光刺得他直眨眼睛。科诺夫尼岑一边听军官的报告，一边拆开公文读了一遍。他刚一读完，就把穿着毛袜的两只脚伸到地上，开始穿靴子，拢了拢鬓角，戴上军帽。
“你到得快吗？咱们去见总座。”
科诺夫尼岑立刻明白，这一情报十分重要，不能有丝毫拖延。这一情报是好还是坏，他不去想，也不问自己。他看待战争中的一切事情不是用智力或推理，而是用另外的一种什么东西。在他内心深处有一个深藏未露的信念：一切都会好的，但是不应当信赖于此，尤其不应当去谈论这个，只应当做好自己的工作。而他正是全心全意地去做自己的本职工作的。
彼得·彼得罗维奇也和多赫图罗夫一样，只是出于礼貌，才把他载入巴克莱、拉耶夫斯基、叶尔莫洛夫、普拉托夫、米洛拉多维奇之流的所谓的一八一二年的英雄的名单。他和多赫图罗夫一样，以知识浅薄、能力有限著称，而且还和多赫图罗夫一样，从未制定过作战计划。但他总是哪个地方最困难，他就在哪个地方；自从他被任命为值勤将军以来，他总是开着门睡觉，咐咐，来了每一个人都要叫醒他。打仗时他总是冒着炮火在最前沿，库图佐夫曾为此而责备过他，简直不敢派他去。他就像多赫图罗夫一样，是一个不声不响、常被人们忽略的小齿轮，但是这个齿轮却是机器的最主要的部件。
科诺夫尼岑出了小屋，走进潮湿的黑夜，他皱起了眉头——一部分是由于头痛得更厉害了，一部分是由于他脑海中浮现出一种不愉快的情景：在获悉这一情报时，参谋部，这个有权势的人的整个窝巢一定会被搅动得乱作一团，特别是在塔鲁丁诺战役之后和库图佐夫针尖对麦芒的贝尼格森：要提建议，争吵，下命令，取消命令。这种预感使他感到极不愉快，虽然他知道这是无法避免的事情。
果真，当他顺路到托尔处，把这一新的情报告知他时，托尔立刻向和他同住在一起的一位将军讲述自己的意见，科诺夫尼岑默默地、懒洋洋地听着、他提醒他，应该去见总座阁下了。
Book 13 Chapter 17
LIKE ALL OLD PEOPLE, Kutuzov slept little at night. He often dropped into sudden naps during the daytime, but at night he lay on his bed without undressing, and generally not asleep but thinking.
He was lying like that now on his bedstead, his huge, heavy, misshapen head leaning on his fat hand. He was thinking with his one eye wide open, gazing into the darkness.
Since Bennigsen, who was in correspondence with the Tsar and had more weight than all the rest of the staff, had avoided him, Kutuzov was more at ease so far as not being compelled to lead his soldiers into useless offensive operations. The lesson of Tarutino and the day before the battle, a memory that rankled in Kutuzov's mind, must, he thought, have its effect on them too.
“They ought to understand that we can but lose by taking the offensive. Time and patience, these are my champions!” thought Kutuzov. He knew the apple must not be picked while it was green. It will fall of itself when ripe, but if you pick it green, you spoil the apple and the tree and set your teeth on edge. Like an experienced hunter, he knew the beast was wounded, wounded as only the whole force of Russia could wound it; but whether to death or not, was a question not yet solved. Now from the sending of Lauriston and Bertemy, and from the reports brought by the irregulars, Kutuzov was almost sure that the wound was a deadly one. But more proof was wanted; he must wait.
“They want to run and look how they have wounded him. Wait a bit, you will see. Always man?uvres, attacks,” he thought. “What for? Anything to distinguish themselves. As though there were any fun in fighting. They are like children from whom you can never get a sensible view of things because they all want to show how well they can fight. But that's not the point now. And what skilful man?uvres all these fellows propose! They think that when they have thought of two or three contingencies (he recalled the general plan from Petersburg) that they have thought of all of them. And there is no limit to them!”
The unanswered question, whether the wound dealt at Borodino were mortal or not, had been for a whole month hanging over Kutuzov's head. On one side, the French had taken possession of Moscow. On the other side, in all his being, Kutuzov felt beyond all doubt that the terrible blow for which, together with all the Russians, he had strained all his strength must have been mortal. But in any case proofs were wanted, and he had been waiting for them now a month, and as time went on he grew more impatient. As he lay on his bed through sleepless nights, he did the very thing these younger generals did, the very thing he found fault with in them. He imagined all possible contingencies, just like the younger generation, but with this difference that he based no conclusion on the suppositions, and that he saw these contingencies not as two or three, but as thousands. The more he pondered, the more of them he saw. He imagined all sorts of movements of Napoleon's army, acting as a whole or in part, on Petersburg, against him, to out-flank him (that was what he was most afraid of), and also the possibility that Napoleon would fight against him with his own weapon, that he would stay on in Moscow waiting for him to move. Kutuzov even imagined Napoleon's army marching back to Medyn and Yuhnov. But the one thing he could not foresee was what happened—the mad, convulsive stampede of Napoleon's army during the first eleven days of its march from Moscow—the stampede that made possible what Kutuzov did not yet dare to think about, the complete annihilation of the French. Dorohov's report of Broussier's division, the news brought by the irregulars of the miseries of Napoleon's army, rumours of preparations for leaving Moscow, all confirmed the supposition that the French army was beaten and preparing to take flight. But all this was merely supposition, that seemed of weight to the younger men, but not to Kutuzov. With his sixty years' experience he knew how much weight to attach to rumours; he knew how ready men are when they desire anything to manipulate all evidence so as to confirm what they desire; and he knew how readily in that case they let everything of an opposite significance pass unheeded. And the more Kutuzov desired this supposition to be correct, the less he permitted himself to believe it. This question absorbed all his spiritual energies. All the rest was for him the mere customary performance of the routine of life. Such a customary performance and observance of routine were his conversations with the staff-officers, his letters to Madame de Sta?l that he wrote from Tarutino, his French novels, distribution of rewards, correspondence with Petersburg, and so on. But the destruction of the French, which he alone foresaw, was the one absorbing desire of his heart.
On the night of the 11th of October he lay leaning on his arm and thinking of that.
There was a stir in the next room, and he heard the steps of Toll, Konovnitsyn and Bolhovitinov.
“Hey, who is there? Come in, come in! Anything new?” the commander-in-chief called to them.
While a footman lighted a candle, Toll told the drift of the news.
“Who brought it?” asked Kutuzov, with a face that impressed Toll when the candle was lighted by its frigid sternness.
“There can be no doubt of it, your highness.”
“Call him, call him here!”
Kutuzov sat with one leg out of bed and his unwieldy, corpulent body propped on the other leg bent under him. He screwed up his one seeing eye to get a better view of the messenger, as though he hoped in his face to read what he cared to know.
“Tell me, tell me, my dear fellow,” he said to Bolhovitinov, in his low, aged voice, pulling the shirt together that had come open over his chest. “Come here, come closer. What news is this you have brought me? Eh? Napoleon has marched out of Moscow? Is it truly so? Eh?”
Bolhovitinov began repeating in detail the message that had been given him.
“Tell me, make haste, don't torture me,” Kutuzov interrupted him.
Bolhovitinov told him all and paused, awaiting instructions. Toll was beginning to speak, but Kutuzov checked him. He tried to say something, but all at once his face began to work, to pucker; waving his hand at Toll, he turned the other way to the corner of the hut, which looked black with the holy pictures. “Lord, my Creator! Thou hast heard our prayer …” he said in a trembling voice, clasping his hands. “Russia is saved. I thank Thee, O Lord.” And he burst into tears.
库图佐夫像所有的老年人一样，夜间睡得很少。他在白天常常突然打起盹来；他夜晚和衣而卧，大都没有睡着，而在思索着。 
现在他就是这样躺着，用一只胖手支着他那又大、又重、因伤致残的头，睁着一只眼，向着黑暗处凝神思索。
贝尼格森自从和皇帝通过信，成了参谋部最有势力的人物以后，他总是躲着库图佐夫，而库图佐夫却因此更加清静，因为他们不再逼他和他的军队发动无益的进攻。使库图佐夫痛苦的、记忆犹新的塔鲁丁诺战役和战役前夕的教训，应当还在起作用，他在想。
“他们应该懂得，发动进攻，我们只会失败。忍耐和时间，是我们的无敌勇士！”库图佐夫想。他知道，苹果青的时候，不要去摘。成熟时，自然会落下来，要摘下青的，既糟踏了苹果又伤了树，而且还令你倒牙。他作为一个有经验的猎人，知道野兽已经受了伤，只有全俄的力量才能使它伤成那样，但对是否致命，尚未弄清。现在，根据洛里斯顿和别尔捷列米送来的情报，同时根据游击队的报告，库图佐夫差不多可以断定，它受了致命伤。但是，还需要证据，还要等一下。
他们想跑去看他们是怎样把野兽杀伤的。等一下，会看见的。总是运动，总是进攻。他想道。“为了什么？想一显身手。好像打仗是好玩的事。他们像小孩，对已发生的事，我们不能得到切实的报告，他们都要炫耀他们打得多么好。然而现在问题不在这里。”
“他们对我提出了这些多巧妙的运动战术啊！他们以为，他们想到了两三件偶然事件（他想起了来自彼得堡的总体计划），他们就想到了一切，殊不知偶然事件多得难以计数。”
在波罗底诺受的伤是否致命？这个问题在库图佐夫脑子里已悬挂了整整一个月了，尚未解决。一方面法国人占领了莫斯科。另一方面库图佐夫觉得毫无疑问的是，他和全体俄国人民竭尽全力的那可怕的一击，足以致敌于死命。但无论如何需要证据，他已经等待了一个月了，等得越久，越急不可待。在那些不眠之夜，他躺在床上做年青的将军们所做的事，做他为此而责备过他们的事。他像青年人一样，想到一切可能发生的事，不过不同的是，他不以此为根据。他看到的不是两三件，而是几千件。他越想越多。他想象拿破仑军队全军或一部份军队的各种动向——进攻彼得堡、进攻他、包围他、他想他最害怕的那种情况，就是拿破仑以他的武器——留在莫斯科等待他——来反对他。库图佐夫甚至想到，拿破仑的军队退回到梅德内和尤赫诺夫；但是有一点他未能料到，而这一点已成事实，即拿破仑在离开莫斯科的头十一天疯狂地、抽疯似地、亡命奔逃，库图佐夫当时还不敢想到这一点：法国人已完全被击溃。多洛霍夫关于布鲁西埃师的报告，游击队关于拿破仑军队内部困难的情报，来自各方的准备退出莫斯科的传闻——这一切都证实：法国军队已经溃败，并准备逃跑；但这只是推测，看重它的是年青人，而不是库图佐夫。他以六十年的经验得知，这些传闻有多大份量，知道那些抱有某种愿望的人总是收集一些消息来证实他们的愿望，在这种情况下，总是忽略了相反的消息。库图佐夫越是希望那样，他就越不让自己相信那是真的。这占据了他全部心力。而其他只是例行日常事务。他和参谋们谈话，他从塔鲁丁诺给斯塔埃尔夫人写信，读小说，颁发奖章，与彼得堡通信，等等，均为例行的日常事务。但是，法国人的毁灭，只有他一个人预见到，这才是他心中唯一的愿望。
十月十一日夜，他用手支着头，想这件事。
隔壁房间有响动，传来托尔、科诺夫尼岑和博尔霍维季诺夫的脚步声。
“喂，谁在那儿？进来，进来！有什么消息？”大元帅对他们喊道。
听差点蜡烛时，托尔讲述了消息的内容。
“谁带来的消息？”库图佐夫问道。蜡烛点亮后，他那冷峻的神情使托尔吃了一惊。
“这是无可怀疑的，阁下。”
“把他叫来，把他叫来！”
库图佐夫坐了起来，他的一条腿从床上搭拉下来，他那肥大的肚皮歪着放在另一条蜷缩起来的大腿上。他眯缝着他那一只看得见的眼睛，以便更加仔细地审视那个信使，就好像想从他的脸上能够看得出盘踞他心中的那些事情。
“说吧，说吧，亲爱的，”他一边拢起胸前敞开的衬衫，一边用他那低沉的老年人的声音对博尔霍维季诺夫说。“走近一点，再走近一点。你给我带来的什么消息呀？呃？拿破仑已经离开了莫斯科？靠得住吗？呃？”
博尔霍维季诺夫把他奉命要报告的消息又从头详细报告了一遍。
“说快一点，说快一点！不要让我着急。”库图佐夫打断他的话。
博尔霍维季诺夫把一切报告完毕，然后默默站立着，等候命令。托尔刚要说什么，库图佐夫打断他的话。他想说点什么，但是，他突然眯起眼睛，皱起脸；他向托尔挥了挥手，然后转向房间对面，转向被挂在那里的神像遮暗的角落。
“主啊！我的造物主啊！你倾听了我们的祈祷……”他合起手掌，声音颤抖地说，“俄国得救了。主啊，感谢你！”于是，他哭了。
Book 13 Chapter 18
FROM THAT TIME up to the end of the campaign, all Kutuzov's activity was limited to trying by the exercise of authority, by guile and by entreaties, to hold his army back from useless attacks, man?uvres, and skirmishes with the perishing enemy. Dohturov marched to Maley Yaroslavets, but Kutuzov lingered with the main army, and gave orders for the clearing of the Kaluga, retreat beyond which seemed to Kutuzov quite possible.
Everywhere Kutuzov retreated, but the enemy, without waiting for him to retire, fled back in the opposite direction.
Napoleon's historians describe to us his skilful man?uvres at Tarutino, and at Maley Yaroslavets, and discuss what would have happened if Napoleon had succeeded in making his way to the wealthy provinces of the south.
But to say nothing of the fact that nothing hindered Napoleon from marching into these southern provinces (since the Russian army left the road open), the historians forget that nothing could have saved Napoleon's army, because it carried within itself at that time the inevitable germs of ruin. Why should that army, which found abundant provisions in Moscow and could not keep them, but trampled them underfoot, that army which could not store supplies on entering Smolensk, but plundered at random, why should that army have mended its ways in the Kaluga province, where the inhabitants were of the same Russian race as in Moscow, and where fire had the same aptitude for destroying whatever they set fire to.
The army could not have recovered itself any way. From the battle of Borodino and the sacking of Moscow it bore within itself, as it were, the chemical elements of dissolution.
The men of what had been an army fled with their leaders, not knowing whither they went, Napoleon and every soldier with him filled with one desire: to make his own escape as quickly as might be from the hopeless position of which all were dimly aware.
At the council in Maley Yaroslavets, when the French generals, affecting to be deliberating, gave various opinions as to what was to be done, the opinion of the blunt soldier, Mouton, who said what all were thinking, that the only thing to do was to get away as quickly as possible, closed every one's mouth; and no one, not even Napoleon, could say anything in opposition to this truth that all recognised.
But though everybody knew that they must go, there was still a feeling of shame left at acknowledging they must fly. And some external shock was necessary to overcome that shame. And that shock came when it was needed. It was le Hourra de l'Empereur, as the French called it.
On the day after the council, Napoleon, on the pretext of inspecting the troops and the field of a past and of a future battle, rode out early in the morning in the midst of the lines of his army with a suite of marshals and an escort. The Cossacks, who were in search of booty, swept down on the Emperor, and all but took him prisoner. What saved Napoleon from the Cossacks that day was just what was the ruin of the French army, the booty, which here as well as at Tarutino tempted the Cossacks to let their prey slip. Without taking any notice of Napoleon, they dashed at the booty, and Napoleon succeeded in getting away.
When les enfants du Don might positively capture the Emperor himself in the middle of his army, it was evident that there was nothing else to do but to fly with all possible haste by the nearest and the familiar road. Napoleon, with his forty years and his corpulence, had not all his old resourcefulness and courage, and he quite took the hint; and under the influence of the fright the Cossacks had given him, he agreed at once with Mouton, and gave, as the historians tell us, the order to retreat along the Smolensk road.
The fact that Napoleon agreed with Mouton, and that the army did not retreat in that direction, does not prove that his command decided that retreat, but that the forces acting on the whole army and driving it along the Mozhaisk road were simultaneously acting upon Napoleon too.
自从获悉法国人撤出莫斯科直至战役结束，库图佐夫的全部活动是：用权力、计谋、劝告来阻止军队打无益的进攻、运动战、与行将灭亡的敌人冲突。多赫图罗夫去小雅罗斯拉维茨，库图佐夫率全军按兵不动，并下令撤离卡卢加，他觉得退出卡卢加是可行的。 
库图佐夫到处都在退却，但是敌人不等他退却，就向相反的方向逃跑。
拿破仑的史学家向我们描绘他向塔鲁丁诺和小雅罗斯拉维茨巧妙的运动，并断言，如果拿破仑深入富庶的南方各省，就会怎样怎样。
但是，且不说没有什么妨碍他进入南方各省（因为俄军给他让路），史学家忘记了什么也救不了拿破仑军队，因为它本身已具备了不可避免的灭亡条件。这支军队在莫斯科能得到充足补给而不保住它，却任意践踏，在斯摩棱斯克不是征集而是抢劫给养，那么在卡卢加省——这里住着和莫斯科同样的俄国人，有同样可以放火的东西，为什么就能恢复元气呢？
这支军队在任何地方都不能恢复元气了，自波罗底诺战役和莫斯科抢劫之后，它本身已给含有腐败的化学特性了。
曾经作为这支军队的军人，跟随头目逃跑，不知道逃向何方，只有一个愿望（拿破仑和每个士兵都是这样），尽快逃离这个虽然尚不明确，然而谁都意识到的绝境。
正因为这样，在小雅罗斯拉维茨会次上，将军们假装正经地商议，发表各种意见，憨直的军人穆顿说出了大家想说的话——只有尽快逃跑，他这个最后的意见一下堵住了大家的嘴，没有人，甚至拿破仑，都说不出什么来反对这个大家都已经意识到了的真理。
虽然大家都知道应该逃走，但是仍羞于承认这一点。还需要一个外界的推力来克服这种羞辱感。这一推力适时出现了。就是法国人所谓的leHourradeI'empereur①。 
①法语：皇帝，乌拉！（指俄国军队冲锋时的喊声。）
会后的第二天，拿破仑佯装视察军队和先前的与未来的战场，大早率领一群元帅和卫队，骑着马穿行于军中。到处寻找战利品的哥萨克碰上了这位皇帝，差一点捉住他。如果说哥萨克这次没有捉住拿破仑，救了他同时也是毁了他的那个东西——战利品，在塔鲁丁诺和在这里，哥萨克不去抓人，都扑向战利品。他们没有注意拿破仑，扑向战利品，他逃脱了。
LesenfantsduDon①在拿破仑的军队中差点把皇帝本人捉住，事情已很明显，除了沿最近的熟悉的道路逃跑之外，已别无他法。拿破仑这个四十岁的人，已经没有昔日的灵活和勇敢了，他知道这一苗头。在他受到哥萨克的惊吓之后，立刻就同意了穆顿的意见，如史学家所说，发生了向斯摩棱斯克大路撤退的命令。 
①法语：顿河的儿子们（指哥萨克）。
拿破仑同意了穆顿的意见，军队退却了，并不证明他曾下令这样做，而是证明了对全军起作用的那种力量，即促使全军取道莫扎伊斯克大路的那种力量，同时也在拿破仑身上起了作用。
Book 13 Chapter 19
WHEN A MAN finds himself in movement, he always invents a goal of that movement. In order to walk a thousand versts, a man must believe that there is some good beyond those thousand versts. He needs a vision of a promised land to have the strength to go on moving. The promised land for the French on their march into Russia was Moscow; on their retreat it was their own country. But their country was too far; and a man walking a thousand versts must inevitably put aside his final goal and say to himself every day that he is going to walk forty versts to a resting-place where he can sleep; and before the first halt that resting-place has eclipsed the image of the final goal, and all his hopes and desires are concentrated on it. All impulses manifest in the individual are always greatly exaggerated in a crowd.
For the French, marching back along the old Smolensk road, the final goal, their own country, was too remote, and the nearer goal on which all hopes and desires, enormously intensified by the influence of the crowd, were concentrated was Smolensk.
It was not because the soldiers knew that there were plentiful supplies in Smolensk and reinforcements, nor because they were told so (on the contrary, the generals and Napoleon himself knew that the supplies there were scanty), but because this was the only thing that could give them the strength to move and to bear their present hardships, that they—those that knew better and those that did not alike—deceived themselves, and rushed to Smolensk as to a land of promise.
When they got out on the high road, the French fled to their imagined goal with extraordinary energy and unheard-of rapidity. Apart from the common impulse that bound the crowds of Frenchmen together into one whole and gave them a certain momentum, there was another cause that held them together, that cause was their immense number. As in the physical law of gravitation, the immense mass of them drew the separate atoms to itself. They moved in their mass of hundreds of thousands like a whole state.
Every man among them longed for one thing only—to surrender and be taken prisoner, to escape from all the horrors and miseries of his actual position. But on one hand the momentum of the common impulse toward Smolensk drew each individual in the same direction. On the other hand, it was out of the question for a corps to surrender to a squadron; and although the French took advantage of every convenient opportunity to straggle away from one another, and on the smallest decent pretext to be taken prisoners, those opportunities did not always occur. Their very number, and their rapid movement in such a closely-packed mass, deprived them of such possibilities, and made it not only difficult but impossible for the Russians to stop that movement into which the whole energy of that great mass was thrown. No mechanical splitting up of the body could accelerate beyond certain limits the process of dissolution that was going on within it.
A snowball cannot be melted instantaneously. There is a certain limit of time within which no application of heat can thaw the snow. On the contrary, the greater the heat, the harder the snow that is left.
Of the Russian generals no one but Kutuzov understood this. When the flight of the French army took its final direction along the Smolensk road, then what Kutuzov had foreseen on the night of the 11th of October began to come to pass. All the generals and officers of the Russian army were eager to distinguish themselves, to cut off the enemy's retreat, to overtake, to capture, to fall upon the French, and all clamoured for action.
Kutuzov alone used all his powers (and the powers of any commander-in-chief are far from great) to resist this clamour for attack.
He could not tell them what we can say now: he could not ask them what was the object of fighting and obstructing the road and losing our men, and inhumanly persecuting the poor wretches, when one-third of that army melted away of itself without a battle between Moscow and Vyazma. But drawing from the stores of his aged wisdom what they could understand, he told them of the golden bridge, and they laughed at him, slandered him, pushed on and dashed forward, exulting over the wounded beast.
Near Vyazma, Yermolov, Miloradovitch, Platov, and others, finding themselves in the neighbourhood of the French, could not resist the desire to cut them off and to fall upon two French corps. In sending to inform Kutuzov of their project, they slipped a blank sheet of paper into the envelope instead of the despatch.
And in spite of Kutuzov's efforts to restrain the army, our soldiers attacked the French and tried to bar their way. The infantry regiments, we are told, marched to attack them with music and beating of drums and slew and were slain by thousands.
But as for cutting off their retreat—none were cut off nor turned aside. And the French army, brought into closer cohesion by danger, and slowly melting as it went, kept still on its fatal way to Smolensk.
人在行动时，总有一个目的。要走一千里，就会想到千里之外有好的东西。为了取得动力，必须想到前面就是乐土。 
法国人在进攻时，乐土是莫斯科，在退却时，乐土是祖国。但是祖国太远。一个千里之行的人要忘掉最终目的，他要对自己说，今天走四十里，在那里休息、过夜，于是这第一行程的宿营地遮掩了最终目的，把一切愿望和希望集中起来了。个别人的意图，往往在人群中扩散开来。
对于沿斯摩棱斯克旧道撤退的法国人，作为最终目的的祖国，太遥远了。最近的目的是斯摩棱斯克，去那里的心愿和希望，在人群中大大加强了。这并非是他们知道在那里有丰富给养和生力军，也不是因为他们说过这种话（相反，军队的高级官员和拿破仑都知道，那儿粮草并不多），而是因为唯此才能赋予行动以力量和忍受现时的煎熬。他们，不论是知道或不知道，都同样欺骗自己，把斯摩棱斯克当作乐土，向那儿疾奔。
法国人上了大路，以惊人的毅力和空前的速度，向假想目标奔逃。除了共同的意愿把他们结成一个整体和赋以力量之外，另一种原因是他们的数量。如同物理学的引力定律一样，他们那巨大体积本身就吸引着一个个原子似的人。他们以千百万个集体有如一个整体的国家向前移动着。
他们每个人都只有一个愿望——当俘虏，摆脱一切恐怖和不幸。但是，一方面奔赴目的地斯摩棱斯克的共同愿望把每个人吸引到同一方向；另一方面，总不能一个兵团向一个连投降，虽然法国人利用一切机会离队，找借口投降，但这种借口并不常有。人数的密集和运动的迅速使他们失去这种可能，同时使俄国人难以阻止法国人全力以赴的运动。不到一定限度，物体的任何机械断裂都不能加速腐败的过程。
一堆雪不能一下融化。有一定时限，早于时限任何热力都不能使之融化。相反，气温越高，残雪越坚固。
俄军将领中除了库图佐夫，没有人懂这个道理。在已判明法军沿斯摩棱斯克大路逃跑，科诺夫尼岑在十月十一日的预见实现了。将领们想立功，想切断、截击、俘虏、歼灭法国人，都要求进攻。
只有库图佐夫一人全力（每个总司令的力量都很小）反对进攻。
他不能对他们说我们现在所说的话：“何必去打呢？何必封锁大路呢？损伤我们自己的人，残忍地屠杀那些不幸的可怜的人？既然从莫斯科到维亚济马未经战斗就损失了三分之一的军队，现在又何必多此一举呢？他从他那老年人的智慧中阐述能使他们懂得的道理，他对他们讲“金桥”①，可是他们讥笑他，中伤他，他们大发脾气，在那头已被打死的野兽面前威风凛凛。 
①金桥：意为给败军留一条逃路。
在维业济马附近，叶尔莫洛夫、米洛拉多维奇、普拉托夫及其他人等，距离法国人很近，他们按捺不住要切断和歼灭两个法国兵团，为了向库图佐夫报告他们的意向，他们给库图佐夫送去一封信，但信封里面袋的不是报告，而是一张白纸。
尽管库图佐夫尽可能约束军队，我们的人还是出击了，努力进行堵截。据说，一些步兵团队奏着乐，擂着战鼓，向前冲锋，杀死了好几千人，自己也损失了好几千人。
但是，切断——并没有切断和歼灭任何人。法国军队在危险面前抱得更紧，法国军队一面继续沿着注定灭亡的通往斯摩棱斯克的道路奔逃，一路上不断地被融解掉。
Book 14 Chapter 1
THE BATTLE of Borodino with the occupation of Moscow and the flight of the French, that followed without any more battles, is one of the most instructive phenomena in history.
All historians are agreed that the external activity of states and peoples in their conflicts finds expression in wars; that the political power of states and peoples is increased or diminished as the immediate result of success or defeat in war.
Strange are the historical accounts that tell us how some king or emperor, quarrelling with another king or emperor, levies an army, fights a battle with the army of his foe, gains a victory, kills three, five, or ten thousand men, and consequently subdues a state and a whole people consisting of several millions; and incomprehensible it seems that the defeat of any army, one hundredth of the whole strength of a people, should force that people to submit. Yet all the facts of history (so far as we know it) confirm the truth of the statement, that the successes or defeats of a nation's army are the causes or, at least, the invariable symptoms of the increase or diminution of the power of a nation. An army gains a victory, and immediately the claims of the conquering people are increased to the detriment of the conquered. An army is defeated, and at once the people loses its rights in proportion to the magnitude of the defeat; and if its army is utterly defeated, the people is completely conquered. So (according to history) it has been from the most ancient times up to the present. All Napoleon's earlier wars serve as illustrations of the rule. As the Austrian armies were defeated, Austria was deprived of her rights, and the rights and power of France were increased. The victories of the French at Jena and at Auerstadt destroyed the independent existence of Prussia.
But suddenly, in 1812, the French gained a victory before Moscow. Moscow was taken, and in consequence of that, with no subsequent battles, not Russia, but the French army of six hundred thousand, and then Napoleonic France itself ceased to exist. To strain the facts to fit the rules of history, to maintain that the field of Borodino was left in the hands of the Russians, or that after the evacuation of Moscow, there were battles that destroyed Napoleon's army—is impossible.
After the victory of the French at Borodino, there was no general engagement, nor even a skirmish of any great importance, yet the French army ceased to exist. What is the meaning of it? If it had been an example from the history of China, we could have said it was not an historical fact (the resource of historians when anything will not fit in with their rules). If it had occurred in a conflict on a small scale, in which only small numbers of soldiers had taken part, we might have looked upon it as an exception. But all this took place before the eyes of our fathers, for whom it was a question of life and death for their country; and the war was on a larger scale than any wars we know of.
The sequel of the campaign of 1812—from Borodino to the final expulsion of the French—has proved that victories are not always a cause nor even an invariable sign of conquest; it has proved that the force that decides the fate of peoples does not lie in military leaders, nor even in armies and battles, but in something else.
The French historians, who describe the position of the French troops before they marched out of Moscow, assert that everything was in good order in the Grande Armée, except the cavalry, the artillery, and the transport, and that there was no forage for the horses and cattle. There was no remedy for this defect, because the peasants of the surrounding country burned their hay rather than let the French have it.
Victory did not bring forth its usual results, because the peasants, Karp and Vlas, by no means persons of heroic feelings (after the French evacuation, they hurried with their carts to pillage Moscow), and the immense multitude of others like them burnt their hay rather than bring it to Moscow, however high the prices offered them.
Let us imagine two men, who have come out to fight a duel with swords in accordance with all the rules of the art of swordsmanship. The fencing has lasted for some time. All at once one of the combatants, feeling that he is wounded, grasping that it is no joking matter, but a question of life and death, flings away his sword, and snatching up the first cudgel that comes handy, begins to brandish that. But let us imagine that the combatant, who has so sensibly made use of the best and simplest means for the attainment of his object, should be inspired by the traditions of chivalry to try and disguise the real cause of the conflict and should persist in declaring that he had been victor in the duel in accordance with all the rules of swordsmanship. One can imagine what confusion and obscurity would arise from his description of the duel!
The duellist, who insisted on the conflict being fought in accordance with the principles of the fencer's art, stands for the French; his opponent, who flung away his sword and snatched up a cudgel, did like the Russians; and the attempted description of the duel in accordance with the rules of swordsmanship has been given us by the historians of the war.
From the time of the burning of Smolensk a war began which did not follow any of the old traditions of warfare. The burning of towns and villages, the retreat after every battle, the blow dealt at Borodino and followed by retreat, the burning of Moscow, the capture of marauders, the seizing of transports,—the whole of the irregular warfare was a departure from the rules.
Napoleon was aware of it, and from the time when he stood waiting in Moscow in the correct pose of the victorious fencer, and instead of his opponent's sword, saw the bludgeon raised against him, he never ceased complaining to Kutuzov and to the Emperor Alexander that the war was being conducted contrary to all the rules of war. (As though any rules existed for the slaughter of men!)
In spite of the complaints of the French that they did not keep to the rules, in spite of the fact that the Russians in the highest positions felt it somehow shameful to be fighting with a cudgel, and wanted to take up the correct position en quarte or en tierce, to make a skilful thrust, en prime and so on, the cudgel of the people's war was raised in all its menacing and majestic power; and troubling itself about no question of any one's tastes or rules, about no fine distinctions, with stupid simplicity, with perfect consistency, it rose and fell and belaboured the French till the whole invading army had been driven out.
And happy the people that will not, as the French did in 1813, saluting according to the rules, gracefully and cautiously offer the sword hilt to the magnanimous conqueror. Happy the people who, in the moment of trial, asks no questions how others would act by the recognised rules in such cases, but with ease and directness picks up the first cudgel that comes handy and deals blows with it, till resentment and revenge give way to contempt and pity.
波罗底诺战役之后，莫斯科被法军占领，法军又逃跑了，在此期间没有新的战役——这是一个最典型的，最富有教育意义的历史现象。 
所有历史学家都认为，国家之间和民族之间在相互交往中，彼此发生冲突的最高表现形式是战争；战争的结果，将直接影响国家和民族的政治力量的消长。
无论是哪一个国王或者皇帝的历史记载都表明，在他们和另一个国王或者皇帝之间发生争执之后，他们便集结军队同对方厮杀，战胜者杀死了对方三千、五千、以致上万人，于是便征服了人口数以百万计的国家和整个民族；令人难以理解的是，为什么只有一个民族力量的百分之一的军队战败，就使整个民族屈服，——所有的历史事实（就我们所知道的）都证实了一个道理：一个民族的军队在同另一个民族的军队作战时所获得战果的大小，是这个和那个民族实力增长或削弱的根本原因，或者至少也是一个最重要的标志。军队打了胜仗，战胜的民族的权利由于损害战败者而立即增长了。军队打了败仗，那个民族立刻按照失败的程度而失去它的权利，如果它的军队彻底失败，那个民族就彻底被征服。
纵观历史，从古至今，历来如此。所有拿破仑的战争都证明了这一条法则。按照奥国军队失败的程度，奥地利丧失了自己的权利，而法国的权利和力量增加了。法国人在耶拿和奥尔施泰特的胜利，使普鲁士丧失了独立。
出人意外，一八一二年法国人在莫斯科附近打了大胜仗，法军占领了莫斯科，自那以后没有新的战役，但是毁灭的不是俄国，而是拿破仑所拥有的六十万军队和拿破仑的法国。编造事实以符合历史规律，硬说波罗底诺战场依旧在俄国人手中，或说莫斯科被占领后又有多次歼灭拿破仑军队的战役，都是不可能的。
在波罗底诺法国人打了大胜仗之后，不仅没有打过大仗，甚至连一次像样的战役也没有发生，而法国军队就不复存在了。这是什么意思呢？如果这是中国历史上的例子，我们可以说这一现象与史实不符（当问题不符合历史学家的尺度时，他们便以此为遁词）；如果这只是在小部队之间的短暂冲突，我们可以把这种现象看作是一种例外；但是这一事件是在我们的父辈亲眼目睹下发生的，是决定祖国生死存亡的大事，这次战争在他们已知的所有战争中是一次最大的战争……
在一八一二年，从波罗底诺战役到赶走法国人的事实证明：赢得一个战役的胜利，不仅不是征服的原因，甚至也不是征服的标志；证明了决定民族命运的力量不在于征服者，甚至也不在于军队和战斗，而在于一种别的什么东西。
法国的历史学家在描述法军在退出莫斯科之前的状况时说，大军井井有序，只有骑兵、炮兵和辎重兵除外，他们没有草料喂牲口，对这一灾难束手无策，因为城郊的农民宁肯把自己的草料都烧光，也不留一点给法国人。
打了胜仗并没有带来通常的结果，因为农民卡尔普和弗拉斯在法军退出莫斯科后赶着大车进莫斯科进行全城大抢劫，他们并未表现出个人的英雄气概，但是不为能卖好价钱把干草运到莫斯科，宁肯烧掉，像这样的农民则不胜枚举。
我们可以想象，两个持剑的人按照剑术的全部规则进行决斗；决斗已持续了很久，忽然有一方觉得自己受了伤——他知道这非同小可，是性命交关的大事，于是，他扔掉剑，顺手抄起身旁的一根棍子挥舞起来。但是可以想象，这个为了达到目的而明智地使用最好的、最简单的工具战胜了对方，而这个战胜者由于受骑士传统的影响，他要隐瞒事情的真相，于是他硬说他是按照剑术的全部规则打赢的。可以想象，如果这样描述战斗的经过，将会引起多大的混乱。
要求按照击剑规则来决斗的是法国人，把剑扔掉而抄起棍子打的是法国人的对手——俄国人；极力按照击剑规则说明问题的是描述这场战争的历史学家。
从斯摩棱斯克大火起，一场没有任何先例的战争开始了。边打边退，撤退时，把城市和村庄都烧掉，波罗底诺战役后又撤退，莫斯科大火，搜捕法国抢掠兵，截击运输队，游击战——所有这一切都不符合战争的常规。
拿破仑已感知道了这一点，自从他在莫斯科摆出正确的击剑姿态，他看到的不是剑，而是对方将一根木棍高举在他的头上，他便抱怨库图佐夫和亚历山大皇帝，说这场战争违反了一切规则（就好像杀人也有什么规则一样）。尽管法国人抱怨不遵守规则，尽管俄国的上层人士不知为什么也觉得用棍子作战是可耻的，希望按照规则站好enquarte或者entirece①姿势，摆出prime②姿势巧妙一击，但是人民战争的棍子以其可怕而又威严的力量举了起来，不管合不合某些人的口味和什么规则，以近乎愚鲁的纯朴，然而目标明确，不管三七二十一结结实实地举起和落下人民战争的棍子，直到把法国侵略者击退。 
①法语：第四，第三。
②法语：第一。
这个民族多好啊，他不像一八一三年的法国人，按照一切剑术规则先行礼，再调转剑柄，优雅地、彬彬有礼地拱手把剑交给宽宏大量的胜利者，这个民族多好啊，他在危及国家和民族生死存亡的紧要关心，他不管别人在这种情况下怎样行事，自己憨厚纯朴地顺手抄起一根木棍抡了过去，一直打到完全泄出胸中屈辱和复仇的感情，替换成蔑视和怜悯的感情为止。
Book 14 Chapter 2
ONE of the most conspicuous and advantageous departures from the so-called rules of warfare is the independent action of men acting separately against men huddled together in a mass. Such independent activity is always seen in a war that assumes a national character. In this kind of warfare, instead of forming in a crowd to attack a crowd, men disperse in small groups, attack singly and at once fly, when attacked by superior forces, and then attack again, when an opportunity presents itself. Such were the methods of the guerillas in Spain; of the mountain tribes in the Caucasus, and of the Russians in 1812.
War of this kind has been called partisan warfare on the supposition that this name defined its special significance. But this kind of warfare does not follow any rules of war, but is in direct contradiction to a well-known rule of tactics, regarded as infallible. That rule lays it down that the attacking party must concentrate his forces in order to be stronger than his opponent at the moment of conflict.
Partisan warfare (always successful, as history testifies) acts in direct contradiction of this rule.
Military science assumes that the relative strength of forces is identical with their numerical proportions. Military science maintains that the greater the number of soldiers, the greater their strength. Les gros bataillons ont toujours raison.
To say this is as though one were in mechanics to say that forces were equal or unequal simply because the masses of the moving bodies were equal or unequal.
Force (the volume of motion) is the product of the mass into the velocity.
In warfare the force of armies is the product of the mass multiplied by something else, an unknown x.
Military science, seeing in history an immense number of examples in which the mass of an army does not correspond with its force, and in which small numbers conquer large ones, vaguely recognises the existence of this unknown factor, and tries to find it sometimes in some geometrical disposition of the troops, sometimes in the superiority of weapons, and most often in the genius of the leaders. But none of those factors yield results that agree with the historical facts.
One has but to renounce the false view that glorifies the effect of the activity of the heroes of history in warfare in order to discover this unknown quantity, x.
X is the spirit of the army, the greater or less desire to fight and to face dangers on the part of all the men composing the army, which is quite apart from the question whether they are fighting under leaders of genius or not, with cudgels or with guns that fire thirty times a minute. The men who have the greater desire to fight always put themselves, too, in the more advantageous position for fighting. The spirit of the army is the factor which multiplied by the mass gives the product of the force. To define and express the significance of this unknown factor, the spirit of the army, is the problem of science.
This problem can only be solved when we cease arbitrarily substituting for that unknown factor x the conditions under which the force is manifested, such as the plans of the general, the arming of the men and so on, and recognise this unknown factor in its entirety as the greater or less desire to fight and face danger. Then only by expressing known historical facts in equations can one hope from comparison of the relative value of this unknown factor to approach its definition. Ten men, or battalions or divisions are victorious fighting with fifteen men or battalions or divisions, that is, they kill or take prisoner all of them while losing four of their own side, so that the loss has been four on one side and fifteen on the other. Consequently, four on one side have been equivalent to fifteen on the other, and consequently 4x = 15y. Consequently x/y = 15/4. This equation does not give us the value of the unknown factors, but it does give us the ratio between their values. And from the reduction to such equations of various historical units (battles, campaigns, periods of warfare) a series of numbers are obtained, in which there must be and may be discovered historical laws.
The strategic principle, that armies should act in masses on the offensive, and should break up into smaller groups for retreat, unconsciously confirms the truth that the force of an army depends on its spirit. To lead men forward under fire needs more discipline (which can only be attained by marching in masses) than is needed for self-defence when attacked. But this rule, which leaves out of sight the spirit of the army, is continually proving unsound, and is strikingly untrue in practice in all national wars, when there is a great rise or fall in the spirit of the armies.
The French, on their retreat in 1812, though they should, by the laws of tactics, have defended themselves in detached groups, huddled together in a crowd, because the spirit of the men had sunk so low that it was only their number that kept them up. The Russians should, on the contrary, by the laws of tactics, have attacked them in a mass, but in fact attacked in scattered companies, because the spirit of the men ran so high that individual men killed the French without orders, and needed no compulsion to face hardships and dangers.
有一种与所谓的战争规律相违背的最明显的也最有利的战斗行动，那就是分散成小股的部队攻击龟缩成一团的敌人。这种战斗行动常常具有人民战争的性质。这种行动不是两军对垒作战，而是一方把军队分散开来，小股军队单独行动，袭击敌人，遇到敌方大部队攻击时，立刻就跑，一有机会，又进行袭击。西班牙的义勇军是这样的；高加索的山民是这样干的；一八一二年的俄国人也是这样干的。 
人们把这种战斗行动叫作游击战，这个名称本身就说明了它的意义。这类战斗行动不但不符合任何法则，而且与公认为绝对正确的著名的战术规则恰恰相反。法则规定，进攻者应当集中兵力，以便在交战时比对方更强大。
游击战争（历史证明游击战争常常是胜利的）恰好完全违背这个法则。
这一矛盾是由于军事科学认为，军队的力量和军队的数量是相一致的。军事科学家说，军队越多，力量就越大。Lesgrosebataillonsonttoujoursraison．① 
①法语：权利永远是在军队多的一方。
军事学这种说法与力学在阐述运动的物体一样，力学研究仅仅以物体的质量为依据，研究表明，两种运动的物体力量是否相等，取决于彼此的质量是否相等。
力（运动量）是质量和速度的乘积。
在军事上，军队的力量是它的质量和一种未知数X的乘积。
历史上有数不清的军队的数量与力量不符合的例子——小部队打败大部队，于是军事学上便含糊其辞地承认，有一种未知的因子存在，军事学家力图在几何阵形、在军队的装备、最常见的——在统帅的天才上寻找这一未知的因子。但是，所有这一切努力，都不能得出与历史事实相吻合的结果。
其实，只要摒弃对最高当局在战时所发布的命令所持的不正确的看法（为了讨好英雄的），就可以找到这个未知的X了。
这个X就是军队的士气，就是组成这支军队的人所具有的昂扬斗志和敢于赴汤蹈火的决心，这种斗志和决心与统帅是否是天才，是排成三排还是排成两排，是用棍子还是用每分钟可以速射三十发的枪炮，完全无关。具有旺盛的斗志和抱有必胜的信念的战斗者，总是具有最有利的战斗条件。
军队的士气这个因子乘军队的数量，就得出力的积数。阐明这个未知因子——士气的价值，是科学的任务。
只有我们不再用诸如统帅的命令、军事装备等等作为显示力量的条件，当作因子的价值，任意用它来代替未知的X的价值，而是毫无保留地承认，这个未知的X不是别的，而是为战斗敢于赴汤蹈火所表现出来的决心，这一任务便可得以解决。只有用方程式来表明已知的历史事实，比较这个未知数的相对价值，才有可能确定这个未知数的本身。
十个人，十个营或者十个师同十五个人，十五个营或者十五个师作战，十个把十五个打败了，也就是把对方全部消灭了，或全部俘虏了，而自己只损失了四个；一方损失四个，一方损失十五个。因此4＝15，即4X＝16Y。于是X∶Y＝15∶4，这个方程并未告诉我们那个未知数的价值，然而他却告诉了我们两个未知数的比例。
可以援引各种不同的历史单位（战斗、战役、战争的各个阶段）的方程式中所获得的一系列数据，在这些数据中一定存在有一些规律，或许有可能揭示这些规律。
进攻时要集中优势兵力，退却时要分散行动，这一战术规则无形中证明了这样一个真理，即军队的力量在于它的士气。率领大军发起进攻比坚守阵地打退敌方进攻需要有更严明的纪律，而这样的纪律只有在集团行动中才能得以实现。无视军队士气的战术规则，不断地被证实是不正确的，特别是在所有的人民战争中军队士气的高低，这一事实与那种规则相矛盾的现象，尤为突出。
一八一二年法国人撤退时，在策略上本应分散防御，然而法军却缩成一团，因为法军士气已经低落到只有缩成一堆才不致于立刻垮掉。而俄国人则完全相反，在战略上本应集结军队大举进攻，而实际上却分散成小部队，因为军队士气已经高涨到士兵们不待命令下达就主动出击，没有任何强迫，士兵不怕疲劳，不怕牺牲。
Book 14 Chapter 3
THE SO-CALLED “PARTISAN” WARFARE had begun with the enemy's entrance into Smolensk. Before the irregular warfare was officially recognised by our government many thousands of the enemy's soldiers—straggling, marauding, or foraging parties—had been slain by Cossacks and peasants, who killed these men as instinctively as dogs set upon a stray mad dog. Denis Davydov was the first to feel with his Russian instinct the value of this terrible cudgel which belaboured the French, and asked no questions about the etiquette of the military art; and to him belongs the credit of the first step towards the recognition of this method of warfare.
The first detachment of irregulars—Davydov's—was formed on the 24th of August, and others soon followed. In the latter stages of the campaign these detachments became more and more numerous.
The irregulars destroyed the Grande Armée piecemeal. They swept up the fallen leaves that were dropping of themselves from the withered tree, and sometimes they shook the tree itself. By October, when the French were fleeing to Smolensk, there were hundreds of these companies, differing widely from one another in number and in character. Some were detachments that followed all the usual routine of an army, with infantry, artillery, staff-officers, and all the conveniences of life. Some consisted only of Cossacks, mounted men. Others were small bands of men, on foot and also mounted. Some consisted of peasants, or of landowners and their serfs, and remained unknown. There was a deacon at the head of such a band, who took several hundred prisoners in a month. There was the village elder's wife, Vassilisa, who killed hundreds of the French.
The latter part of October was the time when this guerilla warfare reached its height. That period of this warfare, in which the irregulars were themselves amazed at their own audacity, were every moment in dread of being surrounded and captured by the French, and never unsaddling, hardly dismounting, hid in the woods, in momentary expectation of pursuit, was already over. The irregular warfare had by now taken definite shape; it had become clear to all the irregulars what they could, and what they could not, accomplish with the French. By now it was only the commanders of detachments marching with staff-officers according to the rules at a distance from the French who considered much impossible. The small bands of irregulars who had been at work a long while, and were at close quarters with the French, found it possible to attempt what the leaders of larger companies did not dare to think of doing. The Cossacks and the peasants, who crept in among the French, thought everything possible now.
On the 22nd of October, Denisov, who was a leader of a band of irregulars, was eagerly engaged in a typical operation of this irregular warfare. From early morning he had been with his men moving about the woods that bordered the high road, watching a big convoy of cavalry baggage and Russian prisoners that had dropped behind the other French troops, and under strong escort—as he learned from his scouts and from prisoners—was making its way to Smolensk. Not only Denisov and Dolohov (who was also a leader of a small band acting in the same district) were aware of the presence of this convoy. Some generals in command of some larger detachments, with staff-officers also, knew of this convoy, and, as Denisov said, their mouths were watering for it. Two of these generals—one a Pole, the other a German—had almost at the same time sent to Denisov an invitation to join their respective detachments in attacking the convoy.
“No, friend, I wasn't born yesterday!” said Denisov, on reading these documents; and he wrote to the German that in spite of his ardent desire to serve under so brilliant and renowned a general, he must deprive himself of that happiness because he was already under the command of the Polish general. To the Pole he wrote the same thing, informing him that he was already serving under the command of the German.
Having thus disposed of that difficulty, Denisov, without communicating on the subject to the higher authorities, intended with Dolohov to attack and carry off this transport with his own small force. The transport was, on the 22nd of October, going from the village of Mikulino to the village of Shamshevo. On the left side of the road between Mikulino and Shamshevo there were great woods, which in places bordered on the road, and in places were a verst or more from the road. Denisov, with a small party of followers, had been the whole day riding about in these woods, sometimes plunging into their centre, and sometimes coming out at the edge, but never losing sight of the moving French. In the morning, not far from Mikulino, where the wood ran close to the road, the Cossacks of Denisov's party had pounced on two French waggonloads of saddles, stuck in the mud, and had carried them off into the wood. From that time right on to evening, they had been watching the movements of the French without attacking them. They wanted to avoid frightening them, and to let them go quietly on to Shamshevo, and then, joining Dolohov (who was to come that evening to a trysting-place in the wood, a verst from Shamshevo, to concert measures with them), from two sides to fall at dawn like an avalanche of snow on their heads, and to overcome and capture all of them at a blow.
Six Cossacks had been left behind, two versts from Mikulino, where the wood bordered the road. They were to bring word at once as soon as any fresh columns of French came into sight.
In front of Shamshevo, Dolohov was in the same way to watch the road to know at what distance there were other French troops. With the transport there were supposed to be fifteen hundred men. Denisov had two hundred men, and Dolohov might have as many more. But superiority in numbers was no obstacle to Denisov. There was only one thing that he still needed to know, and that was what troops these were; and for that object Denisov needed to take a “tongue” (that is, some man belonging to that column of the enemy). The attack on the waggons in the morning was all done with such haste that they killed all the French soldiers in charge of the waggons, and captured alive only a little drummer-boy, who had straggled away from his own regiment, and could tell them nothing certain about the troops forming the column.
To make another descent upon them, Denisov thought, would be to risk alarming the whole column, and so he sent on ahead to Shamshevo a peasant, Tihon Shtcherbatov, to try if he could capture at least one of the French quartermasters from the vanguard.
从敌军进入斯摩棱斯克城的时候起，这种被称为游击战的战争就开始了。 
在游击战尚未被政府正式承认之前，已经有数千名法军士兵——掉队的抢掠兵和征粮士兵——被哥萨克和农民杀掉，他们打死这些法军是不自觉的，就像一群狗咬死一条丧家的疯狗一样。杰尼斯·达维多夫，以其俄罗斯人的敏觉，第一个认识到这件可怕的武器的意义，他不管什么战争艺术规则，使用这种武器消灭法国人，使这种战争合法化的首功应归于他。
八月二十四日达维多夫组建了第一支游击队，紧接着别的游击队也组成了。战争愈向前推进，游击队就愈来愈多。
游击队各个歼灭那支大军。他们歼灭那些就像从枯树上掉下的落叶一样的法国军队，他们时而还要摇晃一下这棵枯树。到了十月，也就是法国人往斯摩棱斯克逃跑时，这些大大小小性质各异的游击队就已经发展到有几百个了。有的游击队完全仿效军队，有步兵、骑兵、司令部，携带着生活用品；有的只有哥萨克骑兵；有些是小股的，步兵和骑兵混杂的，还有些是谁也弄不清是从哪里来的农民和地主。有一个游击队的头头是一所教堂的勤杂工，他在一个月的时间里抓获了几百名俘虏。有一个村长的老婆名叫瓦西里萨，她一个人打死了几百个法国人。
十月下旬，游击战争达到高潮。这是战争的第一阶段，在这一阶段，游击队自己都为他们的胆大而吃惊，他们时刻提防着被法军活捉或者被包围，因此，他们总是马不离鞍，人不离马，隐藏在森林里，俟机袭击敌人，现在，这一阶段已成为过去。战争已明朗化，人人都知道，应当怎样和法国人进行斗争。此刻只有那些建立有司令部的大游击队的头头们把他们的司令部设在离法国人较远的地方，他们仍然认为有许多事情是不可能办得到的。那些早就开始战斗，总是在近处窥视法国人行动的小股游击队，他们认为那些大的游击队队长们连想都不敢想的事情，他们也能办到。哥萨克和农民们潜入法国人之中，他们则认为，现在一切都能办到。
十月二十二日，游击队员杰尼索夫和他的伙伴们斗志昂扬，一大早他们就开始行动。他们全天都在靠近大路的森林中监视一支押运骑兵物资和俄国俘虏的队伍，他们与其余法军距离较远，但加强了掩护，据俘虏的口供和侦察员的报告，证实了是开往斯摩棱斯克的。获悉这支运输队行动的不仅是杰尼索夫和在杰尼索夫附近活动的多洛霍夫（他也率领了一支不大的游击队），而且还有几个建有司令部的大游击队；大家都获悉了这支运输队的行动，正如杰尼索夫所说，大家都磨拳擦掌。这些大游击队中有两个队的头头——一个是波兰人，另一个是德国人——差不多同时给杰尼索夫来信，邀请杰尼索夫与他们联手来袭击这支运输队。
“不行呵，老兄，我也是长了胡子的人啦，”杰尼索夫边读来信，边自言自语地说，他给德国人的回信中说，虽然他由衷地愿意在骁勇善战、赫赫有名的将军麾下的服务，但是他不得不放弃这一幸福，因为他已置身于波兰将军的指挥之下。他又写了一封同样的内容的信给波兰将军，告诉他，他已经归德国人指挥了。
杰尼索夫是这样安排的，这次行动不向上级报告，他联合多洛霍夫，以这两支兵力并不多的队伍去袭击并截获这个法国运输队。十月二十二日运输队从米库林纳村出发，当天前方宿营地是沙姆舍沃村。从米库林纳到沙姆舍沃沿途左边是大森林，有的地方森林临近大路旁边，有的地方离大路有一里路或一里多路。杰尼索夫骑着马和同伴们一整天在森林中和法国这支运输队一道往前走，他们时而进入森林中间，有时走到林边，然而他们始终把法国人置于自己监视之下。一早，才离开米库林纳村不远，路边就是森林，有两辆车陷进泥里，车上载的是骑兵用的马鞍，杰尼索夫的游击队轻易就截获了这两辆大车，然后把他们带进林中。在此之后，整个白天，游击队没有发动攻击，只是监视着法国人的行动，并不惊动他们。让他们顺利地抵达沙姆舍沃村，在那里，他和多洛霍夫一道进行袭击。多洛霍夫按约在傍晚时分来到离沙姆舍沃村一里多路的看林人的小屋商谈，预计次日黎明行动，两面夹击，像雪崩一样打他个劈头盖脑，歼灭运输队并缴获全部物资。
游击队在米库林纳和沙姆舍沃的两端布置了监视岗哨，在米库林纳村后两里路，森林靠近大路的地方，布置了六名哥萨克，只要一有法国军队出现，就立刻报告。
同样地，在沙姆舍沃村的前方，多洛霍夫也派人监视着大路，要弄清楚，在离此多远处还有别的法国军队。运输队约有一千五百人，杰尼索夫有二百来人，多洛霍夫也差不多，法国军队在数量上占优势，这并没有使杰尼索夫胆怯。他只需要知道一件事，这就是这支运输队究竟是什么兵种，为此目的，杰尼索夫需要捉一个“舌头”（即活捉一名敌军）。早上袭击那两辆大车时，干得太急促了，把押车的法国人全打死了，只活捉了一个小鼓手，这个像孩子的士兵是掉了队的，他一点也说不清那个运输队是什么兵种。
进行第二次袭击，杰尼索夫认为是危险的。为了不惊动法国人，他派了一名曾在他的游击队当过队员的农民吉洪·谢尔巴特到前面的沙姆舍沃村去，只要有可能，哪怕活捉一个运输队派去打前站的士兵也好。
Book 14 Chapter 4
IT was a warm, rainy, autumn day. The sky and the horizon were all of the uniform tint of muddy water. Sometimes a mist seemed to be falling, and sometimes there was a sudden downpour of heavy, slanting rain.
Denisov, in a long cape and a high fur cap, both streaming with water, was riding a thin, pinched-looking, thoroughbred horse. With his head aslant, and his ears pricked up, like his horse, he was frowning at the driving rain, and anxiously looking before him. His face, which had grown thin, and was covered with a thick, short, black heard, looked wrathful.
Beside Denisov, wearing also a long cape and a high cap, and mounted on a sleek, sturdy Don horse, rode the esaul, or hetman of the Cossacks—Denisov's partner in his enterprises.
The esaul, Lovaisky the Third, also in a cape, and a high cap, was a long creature, flat as a board, with a pale face, flaxen hair, narrow, light eyes, and an expression of calm self-confidence both in his face and his attitude. Though it was impossible to say what constituted the peculiarity of horse and rider, at the first glance at the esaul and at Denisov, it was evident that Denisov was both wet and uncomfortable; that Denisov was a man sitting on a horse; while the esaul seemed as comfortable and calm as always, and seemed not a man sitting on a horse, but a man forming one whole with a horse—a single being enlarged by the strength of two.
A little ahead of them walked a peasant-guide, soaked through and through in his grey full coat and white cap.
A little behind, on a thin, delicate Kirghiz pony with a flowing tail and mane, and a mouth flecked with blood, rode a young officer in a blue French military coat. Beside him rode an hussar, with a boy in a tattered French uniform and blue cap, perched upon his horse behind him. The boy held on to the hussar with hands red with cold, and kept moving his bare feet, trying to warm them, and lifting his eyebrows, gazed about him wonderingly. This was the French drummer, who had been taken in the morning.
Along the narrow, muddy, cut-up forest-track there came hussars in knots of three and four at a time, and then Cossacks; some in capes, some in French cloaks; others with horse-cloths pulled over their heads. The horses, chestnut and bay, all looked black from the soaking rain. Their necks looked strangely thin with their drenched manes, and steam rose in clouds from them. Clothes, saddles, and bridles, all were sticky and swollen with the wet, like the earth and the fallen leaves with which the track was strewn. The men sat huddled up, trying not to move, so as to keep warm the water that had already reached their skins, and not to let any fresh stream of cold rain trickle in anywhere under their seat, or at their knees or necks. In the midst of the file of Cossacks two waggons, drawn by French horses, and Cossack saddle-horses hitched on in front, rumbled over stumps and branches, and splashed through the ruts full of water.
Denisov's horse, in avoiding a puddle in the track, knocked his rider's knee against a tree.
“Ah, devil!” Denisov cried angrily; and showing his teeth, he struck his horse three times with his whip, splashing himself and his comrades with mud. Denisov was out of humour, both from the rain and hunger (no one had eaten anything since morning); and, most of all, from having no news of Dolohov, and from no French prisoner having been caught to give him information.
“We shall never have such another chance to fall on the transport as to-day. To attack them alone would be risky, and to put it off to another day—some one of the bigger leaders will carry the booty off from under our noses,” thought Denisov, continually looking ahead, and fancying he saw the messenger from Dolohov he expected.
Coming out into a clearing from which he could get a view to some distance on the right, Denisov stopped.
“There's some one coming,” he said.
The esaul looked in the direction Denisov was pointing to.
“There are two men coming—an officer and a Cossack. Only I wouldn't be prepositive that is the colonel himself,” said the esaul, who loved to use words that were unfamiliar to the Cossacks. The two figures, riding downhill, disappeared from sight, and came into view again a few minutes later. The foremost was an officer, dishevelled looking, and soaked through, with his trousers tucked up above his knees; he was lashing his horse into a weary gallop. Behind him a Cossack trotted along, standing up in his stirrups. This officer, a quite young boy, with a broad, rosy face and keen, merry eyes, galloped up to Denisov, and handed him a sopping packet.
“From the general,” he said. “I must apologise for its not being quite dry.…”
Denisov, frowning, took the packet and broke it open.
“Why, they kept telling us it was so dangerous,” said the officer, turning to the esaul while Denisov was reading the letter. “But Komarov”— and he indicated the Cossack—“and I were prepared. We have both two pisto … But what's this?” he asked, seeing the French drummer-boy. “A prisoner? You have had a battle already? May I talk to him?”
“Rostov! Petya!” Denisov cried at that moment, running through the packet that had been given him. “Why, how was it you didn't say who you were?” and Denisov, turning with a smile, held out his hand to the officer. This officer was Petya Rostov.
Petya had been all the way preparing himself to behave with Denisov as a grown-up person and an officer should do, making no reference to their previous acquaintance. But as soon as Denisov smiled at him, Petya beamed at once, blushed with delight, and forgetting all the formal demeanour he had been intending to preserve, he began telling him how he had ridden by the French, and how glad he was he had been given this commission, and how he had already been in a battle at Vyazma, and how a certain hussar had distinguished himself in it.
“Well, I am glad to see you,” Denisov interrupted him, and his face looked anxious again.
“Mihail Feoklititch,” he said to the esaul, “this is from the German again, you know. He” (Petya) “is in his suite.” And Denisov told the esaul that the letter, which had just been brought, repeated the German general's request that they would join him in attacking the transport. “If we don't catch them by to-morrow, he'll snatch them from under our noses,” he concluded.
While Denisov was talking to the esaul, Petya, disconcerted by Denisov's cold tone, and imagining that that tone might be due to the condition of his trousers, furtively pulled them down under his cloak, trying to do so unobserved, and to maintain as martial an air as possible.
“Will your honour have any instructions to give me?” he said to Denisov, putting his hand to the peak of his cap, and going back to the comedy of adjutant and general, which he had prepared himself to perform, “or should I remain with your honour?”
“Instructions? …” said Denisov absently. “Well, can you stay till tomorrow?”
“Oh, please … May I stay with you?” cried Petya.
“Well, what were your instructions from your general—to go back at once?” asked Denisov.
Petya blushed.
“Oh, he gave me no instructions. I think I may?” he said interrogatively.
“All right, then,” said Denisov. And turning to his followers, he directed a party of them to go to the hut in the wood, which they had fixed on as a resting-place, and the officer on the Kirghiz horse (this officer performed the duties of an adjutant) to go and look for Dolohov, to find out where he was, and whether he were coming in the evening.
Denisov himself, with the esaul and Petya, intended to ride to the edge of the wood near Shamshevo to have a look at the position of the French, where their attack next day was to take place.
“Come, my man,” he said to their peasant guide, “take us to Shamshevo.”
Denisov, Petya, and the esaul, accompanied by a few Cossacks and the hussar with the prisoner, turned to the left and crossed a ravine towards the edge of the wood.
这是一个温暖多雨的秋日。头顶上和一眼望不到尽头的天边，都是一片混沌。一忽儿像是下大雾，突然间又下起倾盆大雨。 
杰尼索夫骑在一匹精瘦、两肋下陷的良种马上，雨水从他戴的羊皮帽和披的毡斗篷上流淌下来。他和他的马一样，歪着头，抿着耳朵，被瓢泼大雨打得皱起眉头，急切地注视着前方。他那长满又短又黑的浓须的瘦削的面庞，显露出满面怒容。
杰尼索夫身旁是哥萨克一等上尉——杰尼索夫的助手，他也戴着羊皮帽，披着毡斗篷，骑的是一匹硕壮的顿河马。
第三个是一等上尉洛瓦伊斯基，他也戴皮帽，着毡斗篷，身材修长，身子像一块平板似的平平整整，面孔白皙，头发淡黄，眼睛细而明亮，脸上的表情和骑马的姿势一样安详，表现得怡然自得。虽然说不出马和骑马的人有什么特点，但是只要看一眼哥萨克一等上尉和杰尼索夫这两个人，就可以看出，杰尼索夫浑身湿漉漉，样子怪别扭的，他只是一个骑在马背上的人，再瞧一下那个哥萨克一等上尉，他像平时一样安详、镇定自若，好像他不是一个骑在马背上的人，而是人和马融成一体，是一种力量倍增的典型。
在他们稍前一点的地方，走着一个头戴白色小帽，身着灰色长衫的浑身湿透了的农民向导。
在他们身后，一个着藏青色法国军大衣的军官骑着一匹瘦小的、尾巴和鬃毛很长、嘴唇磨出了血的吉尔吉斯马。
和他们并排行进的是一个骠骑兵，坐在骠骑兵身后的是一个穿着破烂的法国军装，头戴蓝色小帽的少年。这个少年用冻得通红的双手抓住骠骑兵，不停地搓动手脚取暖，他惊恐地四下张望，这就是早晨俘虏的法国小鼓手。
在后面，沿着狭窄的、泡着水的泥泞的林间小道，三三两两地行走着骠骑兵、再后面是哥萨克们，有的披着毡斗篷，有的穿着法国军大衣，有的头上顶着马被。那些马，不论是栗色的还是火红色的，因为被雨淋湿，都变成乌黑色的了。那些马脖子上的鬃毛被淋湿而粘在一起，马脖子变得很细。马的身上蒸发着热气。衣服、马鞍、缰绳——全都被大雨淋得透湿而变得滑溜溜的，地上和落叶也是如此。人们缩着颈项骑在马背上，尽可能纹丝不动，使自己身上暖和一点，同时不再让水流到坐鞍下面，不再从两膝和脖子后面流进体内。在拉得很长的哥萨克队伍中间，有两辆套着法国马和带马鞍的哥萨克马的大车在树桩和枯枝上颠簸着，车辙积满了水，大车发出扑哧扑哧的声响。
杰尼索夫的坐骑为了绕过一个水洼，向旁边一拐，他的膝盖碰在一棵树上。
“唉，活见鬼！”杰尼索夫恶狠狠地咒骂了一句，他咬着牙，接连抽了三四下鞭子，溅了自己和同伴们一身的泥。杰尼索夫心情不好；由于雨也由于饿（从早晨起谁也没有吃过东西），更主要的，是由于到现在还没有多洛霍夫的消息，而派去捉“舌头”的人也还没有回来。
“很难再会有像今天这样的偷袭机会了。要自己单独去干，又太危险，如果推延到第二天，那又会让某一个大游击队从自己鼻子底下把即将到手的战利品抢走。”杰尼索夫一边想，一边不停地注视着前边，他切盼能见到多洛霍夫派来的人。
杰尼索夫拨转马头，在可以远眺右前方的地方，停了下来。
“有个骑马的人。”他说。
哥萨克一等上尉朝杰尼索夫所指的方向望去。
“有两个骑马的人——一个军官，一个哥萨克。但是难以肯定是少校本人。”哥萨克一等上尉说，他总爱用哥萨克们听不懂的词句。
两个骑马者驶下山坡就看不见了，过几分钟又出现了。前面那个军官被大雨淋得像落汤鸡一样，他把裤腿卷到膝盖以上，不住地挥动马鞭，抽打已十分疲乏的坐骑，疾驶而来。在他身后是一个哥萨克，他站在马镫子上，一溜小跑。这是一个年轻的军官，小伙子有一张宽阔、红润的脸庞，有一双愉快、灵活的眼睛，他驰近杰尼索夫，递上一封湿淋淋的信。
“将军送来的，”那个军官说，“请原谅，不很干……”
杰尼索夫皱着眉头，他接过信，立即拆开。
在杰尼索夫看信的时候，军官对一等上尉说“都说危险，危险，”他指了指那个哥萨克接着道，“其实，我和科马罗夫，都有准备，每人都有两支手枪……，这是什么人？”他看见那个法国小鼓手时，问道，“是俘虏？你们已经打了一仗了？我可以和他谈一下吗？”
“罗斯托夫！彼佳！”杰尼索夫匆忙看过信，大声叫道“你怎么不早点说你是谁？”杰尼索夫含笑转向那个军官并把手伸了过去。
这个军官是彼佳·罗斯托夫。
彼佳一路上都在琢磨，在见到杰尼索夫时，怎样才能使自己像一个大人，像一个军官的样子，同时还要不露出过去曾经相识。但当杰尼索夫对他一笑，彼佳立刻欣喜得涨红了脸，精神焕发，把准备好的摆出一付军官的架子忘得一干二净，他开始讲述，他怎样从法国人旁边走过，他在接受任务时是如何高兴，他参加了那次维亚济马战斗，并且立了战功。
“好，我见到你很高兴。”杰尼索夫打断了他的话，脸上又显露出焦虑。
“米哈依尔·费奥克利特奇，”他对哥萨克一等上尉说，“这又是那个德国人送来的。他（指的是彼佳）是他的部下。”杰尼索夫向哥萨克一等上尉讲述了刚才收到的信的内容：那个德国将军再一次提出联合袭击运输队的要求。“如果我们明天不把它拿下来，他就会在我们的鼻子底下抢夺过去。”他肯定地说。
在杰尼索夫和哥萨克一等上尉说话的时候，彼佳由于杰尼索夫的冷漠腔调而感到难堪，他以为是因为他军容不整，他便悄悄地从大衣底下整理了一下卷上去的裤腿，竭力保持一个军人的姿式。
“阁下有什么指示？”他对杰尼索夫说，行了一个举手礼，又试图做出原先准备好的，要作出像一个副官见到将军的样子，“我是不是应当留在阁下这里？”
“指示？……”杰尼索夫若有所思地说，“你能留到明天吗？”
“是，听从吩咐……我可以留在您的部下喽？”彼佳大声说。
“可是将军究竟是怎样吩咐你的——立即返回吧？”杰尼索夫问道。彼佳脸红了。
“他什么也没吩咐。我想，是可以的吧？——”他带着询问的口气说。
“那好吧。”杰尼索夫说。接着他就作出如下部署：派一队到林中小屋歇营地；派那个骑吉尔吉斯马的军官（他履行副官职务，去寻找多洛霍夫，弄清楚他现在何处，能否在当晚赶到；杰尼索夫本人带领哥萨克一等上尉和彼佳到靠近沙姆舍沃村的森林的边缘，以便侦察清楚，明天怎样从那里去袭击法军驻地。
“喂，胡子。”他对那个农民向导说，“带我们去沙姆舍沃。”
杰尼索夫、彼佳和哥萨克一等上尉，还有几个跟随的哥萨克和一个押着俘虏的骠骑兵，一行人马向左拐过一道山沟，向森林边缘行进。
Book 14 Chapter 5
THE RAIN was over, but a mist was falling and drops of water dripped from the branches of the trees. Denisov, the esaul, and Petya, in silence, followed the peasant in the pointed cap, who, stepping lightly and noiselessly in his bast shoes over roots and wet leaves, led them to the edge of the wood.
Coming out on the road, the peasant paused, looked about him, and turned toward a thin screen of trees. He stood still at a big oak, still covered with leaves, and beckoned mysteriously to them.
Denisov and Petya rode up to him. From the place where the peasant was standing the French could be seen. Just beyond the wood a field of spring corn ran sharply downhill. On the right, across a steep ravine, could be seen a little village and a manor-house with the roofs broken down. In that village and in the house and all over the high ground in the garden, by the wells and the pond, and all along the road uphill from the bridge to the village, not more than five hundred yards away, crowds of men could be seen in the shifting mist. They could distinctly hear their foreign cries at the horses pulling the baggage uphill and their calls to one another.
“Give me the prisoner here,” said Denisov, in a low voice, never taking his eyes off the French.
A Cossack got off his horse, lifted the boy down, and came with him to Denisov. Denisov, pointing to the French, asked the boy what troops they were. The boy, thrusting his chilled hands into his pockets and raising his eyebrows, looked in dismay at Denisov, and in spite of his unmistakable desire to tell all he knew, he was confused in his answers, and merely repeated Denisov's questions. Denisov, frowning, turned away from him, and addressing the esaul, told him his own views on the matter.
Petya, turning his head rapidly, looked from the drummer to Denisov, and from the esaul to the French in the village and on the road, trying not to miss anything of importance.
“Whether Dolohov comes or not, we must take them.… Eh?” said Denisov, his eyes sparkling merrily.
“It is a convenient spot,” said the esaul.
“We will send the infantry down below, by the marshes,” Denisov went on. “They will creep up to the garden; you dash down with the Cossacks from there”—Denisov pointed to the wood beyond the village—“and I from here with my hussars. And at a shot …”
“It won't do to go by the hollow; it's a bog,” said the esaul. “The horses will sink in, you must skirt round more to the left.…”
While they were talking in undertones, there was the crack of a shot and a puff of white smoke in the hollow below near the pond, and the voices of hundreds of Frenchmen halfway up the hill rose in a ringing shout, as though in merry chorus. At the first minute both Denisov and the esaul darted back. They were so near that they fancied they were the cause of that shot and those shouts. But they had nothing to do with them. A man in something red was running through the marshes below. The French were evidently firing and shouting at him.
“Why, it's our Tihon,” said the esaul.
“It's he! it's he!”
“The rogue,” said Denisov.
“He'll get away!” said the esaul, screwing up his eyes.
The man they called Tihon, running up to the little river, splashed into it, so that the water spurted up round him, and disappearing for an instant, scrambled out on all fours, looking dark from the water, and ran on. The French, who had been pursuing him, stopped.
“Well, he's a smart fellow,” said the esaul.
“The beast,” said Denisov, with the same expression of vexation. “And what has he been about all this time?”
“Who is he?” asked Petya.
“It's our scout. I sent him to catch a ‘tongue' for us.”
“Ah, to be sure,” said Petya, nodding at Denisov's first word, as though he knew all about it, though he did not understand a word.
Tihon Shtcherbatov was one of the most useful men among Denisov's followers. He was a peasant of the village of Pokrovskoe, near Gzhat. Denisov had come to Pokrovskoe early in his operations as a guerilla leader, and sending, as he always did, for the village elder, asked him what he knew about the French.
The village elder had answered, as all village elders always did answer, that he knew nothing about them, and had seen nothing of them. But when Denisov explained to him that his object was to kill the French, and inquired whether no French had strayed into his village, the village elder replied that there had been some miroders certainly, but that the only person who took any heed of such things was Tishka Shtcherbatov. Denisov ordered Tihon to be brought before him, and praising his activity, said in the presence of the elder a few words about the devotion to the Tsar and the Fatherland and the hatred of the French that all sons of the Fatherland must cherish in their hearts.
“We don't do any harm to the French,” said Tihon, evidently scared at Denisov's words. “It's only, you know, just a bit of fun for the lads and me. The miroders now—we have killed a dozen or so of them, but we have done no harm else …”
Next day, when Denisov was leaving Pokrovskoe, having forgotten all about this peasant, he was told that Tihon was with his followers, and asked to be allowed to remain with them. Denisov bade them let him stay.
At first Tihon undertook the rough work of making fires, fetching water, skinning horses, and so on, but he soon showed great zeal and capacity for guerilla warfare. He would go after booty at night, and never failed to bring back French clothes and weapons, and when he was bidden, he would bring back prisoners too. Denisov took Tihon from his menial work, and began to employ him on expeditions, and to reckon him among the Cossacks.
Tihon did not like riding, and always went on foot, yet never lagged behind the cavalry. His weapons were a musket, which he carried rather as a joke, a pike, and an axe, which he used as skilfully as a wolf does its teeth—catching fleas in its coat and crunching thick bones with them equally easily. With equal precision Tihon swinging his axe split logs, or, taking it by the head, cut thin skewers or carved spoons. Among Denisov's followers, Tihon was on a special footing of his own. When anything particularly disagreeable or revolting had to be done—to put one's shoulder to a waggon stuck in the mud, to drag a horse out of a bog by the tail, to flay a horse, to creep into the midst of the French, to walk fifty versts in a day—every one laughed, and looked to Tihon to do it.
“No harm will come to him; the devil; he's a stalwart beast,” they used to say of him.
One day a Frenchman he had captured wounded Tihon with a pistol-shot in the fleshy part of the back. This wound, which Tihon treated only by applications of vodka—internal and external—was the subject of the liveliest jokes through the whole party, and Tihon lent himself readily to their jests.
“Well, old chap, you won't do that again! Are you crook-backed!” laughed the Cossacks; and Tihon, assuming a doleful face, and grimacing to pretend he was angry, would abuse the French with the most comical oaths. The effect of the incident on Tihon was that he rarely afterwards brought prisoners in.
Tihon was the bravest and most useful man of the lot. No one discovered so many opportunities of attack, no one captured or killed so many Frenchmen. And consequently he was the favourite subject of all the gibes of the Cossacks and the hussars, and readily fell in with the position.
Tihon had been sent overnight by Denisov to Shamshevo to capture a “tongue.” But either because he was not satisfied with one French prisoner, or because he had been asleep all night, he had crept by day into the bushes in the very middle of the French, and, as Denisov had seen from the hill, had been discovered by them.
雨停了，不过下起雾，树枝上还在滴着水珠。杰尼索夫、哥萨克一等上尉和彼佳，默默地跟着那个头戴尖顶帽的农民，他穿着树皮鞋，迈着八字步，踏着被雨水淋湿的树叶，悄声地带领他们往森林边走去。 
他走上一道斜坡，停了一下，张望四周，然后朝一处树木稀疏的地方走过去，在一株叶子还没有掉落的大橡树下站住了，神秘地对他们招手。
杰尼索夫一行人走了过去。从农民向导站的地方可以看见法国人。一出森林，斜坡上是一块黑麦地。在右边。在一条陡峭的山谷对面，有一个小村子，村里有一所屋顶已坍塌的地主的住宅。在小村子里，在地主的住宅里，在整个山坡上，在花园里，在水井和池塘边，在从桥头到村庄二百米上坡的大道上，透过飘忽的大雾，可以看见成群结队的人。可以清楚地听见用非俄罗斯语言吆喝用力拉车上坡的马，可以听见他们互相呼应的声音。
“把俘虏带过来。”杰尼索夫低声命令，他的眼睛仍然紧盯着那些法国人。
那个哥萨克把孩子抱下马，把他带到杰尼索夫跟前。杰尼索夫指着那些法国军队，向他是什么兵种。那孩子把冻僵的双手插进衣袋，抬起眼睛惊恐地望着杰尼索夫，他显然极力想把所知道的都说出来，他想回答好杰尼索夫的问题，但这孩子总是答非所问。杰尼索夫皱起眉头，转身把自己的推测告诉了哥萨克一等上尉。
彼佳迅速地转动着头，一忽儿看小鼓手，一忽儿看杰尼索夫，一忽儿看哥萨克一等上尉，一忽儿看村里和大路上的法国佬。生怕漏掉什么重要情况。
“不管多洛霍夫来不来，应当拿下来！……嗯？”杰尼索夫闪了一闪愉快的目光说。
“这个地方很好。”哥萨克一等上尉说。
“派步兵下到那片洼地，”杰尼索夫继续说道，“他们可以向那个花园爬过去；您带领哥萨克骑兵从那儿过去，”杰尼索夫指着村后的一片树林，“我带领骠骑兵从这儿走。枪一响就全面出击……”
“洼地过不去——有个泥潭，”哥萨克一等上尉说，“马会陷下去，要从左侧绕过去……”
正当他们在低声交谈时，在池塘旁边的洼地上啪的一声响了一枪，冒起一团白烟，接着又响了一枪，山坡上几百名法国人好像很快活地齐声呐喊。枪响时，杰尼索夫和哥萨克一等上尉往后退了一点。因为他们离法国人那么近，他们还以为枪声和呐喊声都是由他们引起的。然而这都与他们无关。在下面，一个身穿红色衣服的人迅速跑过洼地，显然法国人是向他射击和喊叫。“唉！这不是我们的吉洪吗？”哥萨克一等上尉说。
“是他！正是他！”
“嘿，这个调皮鬼。”杰尼索夫说。
“跑掉了！”哥萨克一等上尉挤挤眼说道。
他们叫他做吉洪的那个人跑到河边，扑通一声跳入河中，三下两下爬上岸，成了个泥人，浑身发黑，爬起来又跑。追赶他的法国人在河边停住了脚。
“呶，真麻利。”哥萨克一等上尉说。
“好一个狡猾家伙，”杰尼索夫仍然带气忿的神情说，“直到现在他都在干些什么？”
“他是什么人？”彼佳问。
“是我们的侦察员。我派他去捉一个‘舌头'。”
“噢，原来这样。”彼佳刚听到了头一句话就点着头说，好像他全懂了，其实他一点也不懂。
吉洪·谢尔巴特是一个全队最有用的人。他原本是格扎特附近波克罗夫斯科耶村的农民。杰尼索夫开始打游击时来到波克罗夫斯科耶村，照例把村长叫来，问一下法国人的情况，这个村长也像所有的村长一样，好像是为了保护自己，一概回答说，闻所未闻。杰尼索夫向他们说明他的目的就是要消灭法国人。当再问及法国人窜来过没有？村长说，洋人确实来过，不过我们村只有季什卡·谢尔巴特①一个人应付他们。杰尼索夫吩咐把吉洪找来，称赞了他的活动，当着村长，说了几句，所有祖国的儿子都应当效忠于沙皇和祖国，都应当仇视法国人的话。 
①季什卡是吉洪的爱称。
“我们对法国人并没有做坏事。”吉洪说。看起来，似乎在他听了杰尼索夫那番话以后有点胆怯。“我们只不过同那些小伙子逗着玩。我们的确打死了二十来个洋人，可是我们没有干别的坏事……”第二天，杰尼索夫完全忘了这个农民，当他已经离开波克罗夫斯科耶村时，队员向杰尼索夫报告说，吉洪跟着队伍不肯离开，要求收留他。杰尼索夫吩咐把他留了下来。
吉洪起初只干些粗活，生火、担水、剥死马，等等，很快他对游击战表现出极大的爱好和才能。他常常在夜间去找战利品，经常能弄到法国人的服装和武器，派他去捉俘虏，他也能捉回来。杰尼索夫免去了他干杂活，外出侦察敌情时就把他带在身边，并把他编入哥萨克队伍。
吉洪不喜欢骑马，时常步行，但从来不会落在骑兵后面。他的武器是一支旧式大口径火枪，一根长茅和一把斧子；他带火枪主要是为了好玩，使唤斧子就像狼使唤牙一样，狼用牙很容易从皮毛里找到虱子，还可以啃大块的骨头。吉洪举起斧子劈木头，握着斧背削小撅子或挖刻小勺子，这些活干起来都得心应手，吉洪在杰尼索夫队伍里占有特殊的、独一无二的地位。每当要做某种困难的和讨厌的活的时候，如用肩膀把陷进泥里的大车顶出来，拽着马尾巴把马从泥泽中拉出来，偷偷混入法国人中间去，一天要走上五十俄国（一俄里等于一、六七公里——译者注）等活儿，人们总是笑嘻嘻地指着吉洪。
“这个鬼东西，你拿他真的没办法，他健壮得像头牛。”人们都这样谈论他。
有一次吉洪要捉一个法国人，那人朝他打了一枪，子弹打在背上肉多的地方。吉洪只用伏特加酒内吸外擦，就把伤治好了，这件事成为全队打趣的笑话，而吉洪也乐意任大家来取笑。
“怎么样，老兄，不干啦？给打趴下了？”哥萨克们对他嘲笑道。这时吉洪故意弯下腰，做个鬼脸，假装生气的样子，用最好笑的话咒骂法国人。这件事对吉洪的唯一的影响是，他在受伤后很少去捉俘虏了。
吉洪是队里最有用、最勇敢的人。没有谁比他找到的袭击机会更多，没有谁比他活捉的和打死的法国人更多；或许是由于这个缘故吧，他成了全体哥萨克和骠骑兵寻开心取笑的人物，而他也心甘情愿地充当这一角色。这一次是杰尼索夫在头一天晚上派他去沙姆舍沃村去捉一个“舌头”。可是，不知他是不满足于只捉一个俘虏呢，还是因为他在夜里睡过了头，他在大白天钻进了灌木林，钻进法国人中间去了，于是，正如杰尼索夫从山上看见的那样，被法国人发现了。
Book 14 Chapter 6
AFTER TALKING a little while longer with the esaul about the next day's attack, which Denisov seemed to have finally decided upon after seeing how near the French were, he turned his horse's head and rode back.
“Now, my boy, we will go and dry ourselves,” he said to Petya.
As he came near the forester's hut, Denisov stopped, looking into the wood before him. A man in a short jacket, bast shoes, and a Kazan hat, with a gun across his shoulder, and an axe in his belt, was striding lightly through the forest with long legs and long arms swinging at his side. Catching sight of Denisov, he hastily flung something into the bushes, and taking off his sopped hat, the brim of which drooped limply, he walked up to his commanding officer.
This was Tihon. His pock-marked and wrinkled face, with little slits of eyes, beamed with self-satisfaction and merriment. He held his head high, and looked straight at Denisov as though he were suppressing a laugh.
“Well, where have you been?” said Denisov.
“Where have I been? I have been after the French,” Tihon answered boldly and hastily, in a husky, but mellow bass.
“Why did you creep in in the daytime? Ass! Well, why didn't you catch one?”
“Catch one I did,” said Tihon.
“Where is he, then?”
“I caught one at the very first at daybreak,” Tihon went on, setting his feet down wider apart, in their flat, turned-up bast shoes; “and I took him into the wood too. I see he's no good. So, thinks I, better go and get another, rather more the proper article.”
“Ay, the rogue, so that's how it is,” said Denisov to the esaul. “Why didn't you bring that one?”
“Why, what was the use of bringing him in?” Tihon broke in, hurriedly and angrily. “A worthless fellow! Don't I know what sort you want?”
“Ah, you brute! … Well?”
“I went to get another,” Tihon went on. “I crept up in this way in the wood, and I lay down.” With a sudden, supple movement, Tihon lay down on his stomach, to show how he had done this. “One turned up,” he went on, “I seized him like this,” Tihon jumped up swiftly and lightly. “ ‘Come along to the colonel,' says I. He set up such a shouting, and then I saw four of them. And they rushed at me with their sabres. I went at them like this with my axe. ‘What are you about?' says I. ‘Christ be with you,' ” cried Tihon, waving his arms and squaring his chest with a menacing scowl.
“Oh yes, we saw from the hill how you gave them the slip, through the pools,” said the esaul, screwing up his sparkling eyes.
Petya had a great longing to laugh, but he saw that all the others refrained from laughing. He kept looking rapidly from Tihon's face to the face of the esaul and Denisov, not knowing what to make of it all.
“Don't play the fool,” said Denisov, coughing angrily. “Why didn't you bring the first man?”
Tihon began scratching his back with one hand and his head with the other, and all at once his countenance expanded into a beaming, foolish grin, showing the loss of a tooth that had given him his name, Shtcherbatov (i.e. lacking a tooth). Denisov smiled, and Petya went off into a merry peal of laughter, in which Tihon himself joined.
“Why, he was no good at all,” said Tihon. “He was so badly dressed, how could I bring him? And a coarse fellow, your honour. Why, says he, ‘I'm a general's son,' says he, ‘I'm not going.' ”
“Ugh, you brute!” said Denisov. “I wanted to question him …”
“Oh, I did question him,” said Tihon. “He said he didn't know much. “There are a lot of our men,' says he, ‘but they are all poor creatures; that's all you can say for them. Give a good shout,' says he, ‘and you can take them all,' ” Tihon concluded, with a merry and determined look at Denisov.
“Mind, I'll give you a good hundred lashes that will teach you to play the fool,” said Denisov sternly.
“Why be angry,” said Tihon, “because I haven't seen your sort of Frenchmen? As soon as it gets dark, I'll catch whatever kind you like, three of them I'll bring.”
“Well, come along,” said Denisov, and all the way to the forester's hut he was silent, frowning angrily.
Tihon was walking behind, and Petya heard the Cossacks laughing with him and at him about a pair of boots that he had thrown into the bushes.
When the laughter roused by Tihon's words and smile had passed, and Petya understood for a moment that Tihon had killed the man, he had an uneasy feeling. He looked round at the boy prisoner, and there was a sudden pang in his heart. But that uneasiness only lasted a moment. He felt it incumbent on him to hold his head high, and with a bold and important air to question the esaul about the next day's expedition, that he might not be unworthy of the company in which he found himself.
The officer Denisov had sent to Dolohov met him on the way with the news that everything was going well with Dolohov, and that he was coming himself immediately.
Denisov at once became more cheerful, and beckoned Petya to him.
“Come, tell me about yourself,” he said.
杰尼索夫望着近在咫尺的法国人，他和哥萨克一等上尉交换了对明天发起袭击的意见，对这次袭击的决心已定，于是他拨转马头，往回走了。 
“喂，老弟，现在咱们去把衣裳烘干。”他对彼佳说。
在临近守林人小屋的时候，杰尼索夫停了下来，向林子里注视着，林中有一个人身穿短上衣，脚穿树皮鞋，头戴喀山帽，肩上挎了一支枪，腰间别着一把斧，迈开两条长腿，甩开两只长胳膊，步履轻捷，大踏步走了过来。这人一见到是杰尼索夫，慌忙把一件什么东西扔进灌木丛中，他脱下搭拉着帽檐的湿透的帽子，走到长官面前。这人就是吉洪。他那张麻脸上布满了皱纹，一对又细又小的眼睛显露出得意的神情。他高昂着头，仿佛忍住笑似的，注视着杰尼索夫。
“喂！你到哪里去了？”杰尼索夫说。
“到哪里去了？抓法国佬去了。”吉洪大胆、急速地回答，他的声音沙哑、平和。
“你为什么大白天往那儿钻？畜牲！呶！什么也没抓到？
……
“抓是抓到了。”吉洪说。
“他在哪？”
“天一亮我就抓到一个，”吉洪接着说，他叉开那双穿着树皮鞋，迈八字步的平脚，“我把他带到树林里，这家伙不中用。我想，得再去弄个像样子的来。”
“你瞧，这个调皮家伙，果然不出我所料，”杰尼索夫对哥萨克一等上尉说。“你怎么不把这一个带来？”
“把他带来？”吉洪气呼呼地急忙插嘴说，“这是一个不中用的东西。难道我不知道你需要什么样子的？”
“你这滑头精！……可是……”
“我再去捉一个，”吉洪接着说，“我就这样往林子里钻，然后卧倒。”吉洪迅急卧倒，表演他是怎样做的。“来了一个，”他继续说到。“我就这样一下把他抱住。”吉洪敏捷地从地上跳起来，“跟我去见上校，我说。那家伙哇哇乱叫。一下子又来了四个，手持匕首向我刺来，于是我举起斧头迎上上去，”吉洪挺起胸膛，横眉倒竖，舞动双臂，大喝一声，“你们要干什么，去见你们的耶稣去吧！”
“对，对，我们从山上看见你从洼地里跑掉的。”哥萨克一等上尉挤着他闪亮的眼睛说。
彼佳很想笑，但是他看了大家都在忍住笑。就把目光迅速从吉洪脸上移到杰尼索夫和哥萨克一等上尉的脸上，他不明了这都是什么意思。
“你别装傻！”杰尼索夫生气地咳嗽着。“你为什么不把第一个带来？”
吉洪用一只手抓了抓背，用另一只手抓了抓头，忽然，他那张麻脸拉长了，堆起一副傻笑，露出了缺牙（为此，大家又叫他缺牙巴）。杰尼索夫笑了，彼佳也哈哈大笑，吉洪跟着对他们笑了起来。
“是这样，他是一个十足的废物，”吉洪说。“他穿得破烂不堪，又十分粗野，我怎好把他带来见您。”他还说：“要干啥，我还是一个将军的儿子呢？我不去。”
“蠢家伙！”杰尼索夫说。“应该由我来盘问……”
“我问过了，”吉洪说。他说，他不很清楚，他又说，“我们的人很多，不，全都是孬种，说是军人，空有其名，你只要大喝一声，全都会乖乖就擒。”吉洪高兴地、坚决地注视着杰尼索夫的眼睛，十分肯定地说。
“我要狠狠抽你一百鞭子，看你还装不装傻。”杰尼索夫厉声说道。
“别生那么大的气，”吉洪说，“您所需要的法国人，我还不知道怎么的？等天一黑，你要什么样的，我捉什么样的，捉他三个也行。”
“呶，咱们走吧。”杰尼索夫说。一直回到守林的小屋子，一路上，他显得气愤、紧锁双眉，一言不发。
吉洪跟在后面，彼佳听见哥萨克们和他说笑，还嘲笑他把一双什么靴子扔进灌木丛中。
彼佳听了他们的谈话，看到吉洪的笑脸，也忍不住笑了，笑过之后，忽然间明了，原来吉洪杀了一个人，他的心像被什么东西刺了一下，感到不是滋味，他看了一眼俘虏的那个小鼓手。这种感觉只有一瞬间。他觉得此时此刻应高昂起头，振奋精神，他煞有介事向哥萨克一等上尉问起有关明天的作战计划，以免让人家觉得他配不上他所在的那支队伍。
派出的那个军官在路上遇见了杰尼索夫，他报告说，多洛霍夫本人马上就到，他那方面一切进展顺利。
杰尼索夫忽然高兴起来，把彼佳叫到跟前。
“喂！快点给我讲讲你的情况吧。”他说。
Book 14 Chapter 7
ON LEAVING MOSCOW, Petya had parted from his parents to join his regiment, and shortly afterwards had been appointed an orderly in attendance on a general who was in command of a large detachment. From the time of securing his commission, and even more since joining a regiment in active service, and taking part in the battle of Vyazma, Petya had been in a continual state of happy excitement at being grown-up, and of intense anxiety not to miss any opportunity of real heroism. He was highly delighted with all he had seen and experienced in the army, but, at the same time, he was always fancying that wherever he was not, there the most real and heroic exploits were at that very moment being performed. And he was in constant haste to be where he was not.
On the 21st of October, when his general expressed a desire to send some one to Denisov's company, Petya had so piteously besought him to send him, that the general could not refuse. But, as he was sending him off, the general recollected Petya's foolhardy behaviour at the battle of Vyazma, when, instead of riding by way of the road to take a message, Petya had galloped across the lines under the fire of the French, and had there fired a couple of pistol-shots. Recalling that prank, the general explicitly forbade Petya's taking part in any enterprise whatever that Denisov might be planning. This was why Petya had blushed and been disconcerted when Denisov asked him if he might stay. From the moment he set off till he reached the edge of the wood, Petya had fully intended to do his duty steadily, and to return at once. But when he saw the French, and saw Tihon, and learned that the attack would certainly take place that night, with the rapid transition from one view to another, characteristic of young people, he made up his mind that his general, for whom he had till that moment had the greatest respect, was a poor stick, and only a German, that Denisov was a hero, and the esaul a hero, and Tihon a hero, and that it would be shameful to leave them at a moment of difficulty.
It was getting dark when Denisov, with Petya and the esaul, reached the forester's hut. In the half-dark they could see saddled horses, Cossacks and hussars, rigging up shanties in the clearing, and building up a glowing fire in a hollow near, where the smoke would not be seen by the French. In the porch of the little hut there was a Cossack with his sleeves tucked up, cutting up a sheep. In the hut, three officers of Denisov's band were setting up a table made up of doors. Petya took off his wet clothes, gave them to be dried, and at once set to work to help the officers in fixing up a dining-table.
In ten minutes the table was ready and covered with a napkin. On the table was set vodka, a flask of rum, white bread, and roast mutton, and salt.
Sitting at the table with the officers, tearing the fat, savoury mutton with greasy fingers, Petya was in a childishly enthusiastic condition of tender love for all men and a consequent belief in the same feeling for himself in others.
“So what do you think, Vassily Fyodorovitch,” he said to Denisov, “it won't matter my staying a day with you, will it?” And without waiting for an answer, he answered himself: “Why, I was told to find out, and here I am finding out … Only you must let me go into the middle … into the real … I don't care about rewards … But I do want …” Petya clenched his teeth and looked about him, tossing his head and waving his arm.
“Into the real, real thing …” Denisov said, smiling.
“Only, please, do give me a command of something altogether, so that I really might command,” Petya went on. “Why, what would it be to you? Ah, you want a knife?” he said to an officer, who was trying to tear off a piece of mutton. And he gave him his pocket-knife.
The officer praised the knife.
“Please keep it. I have several like it …” said Petya, blushing. “Heavens! Why, I was quite forgetting,” he cried suddenly. “I have some capital raisins, you know the sort without stones. We have a new canteen-keeper, and he does get first-rate things. I bought ten pounds of them. I'm fond of sweet things. Will you have some?” … and Petya ran out to his Cossack in the porch, and brought in some panniers in which there were five pounds of raisins. “Please take some.”
“Don't you need a coffee-pot?” he said to the esaul; “I bought a famous one from our canteen-keeper! He has first-rate things. And he's very honest. That's the great thing. I'll be sure and send it you. Or perhaps your flints are worn out; that does happen sometimes. I brought some with me, I have got them here …” he pointed to the panniers. “A hundred flints. I bought them very cheap. You must please take as many as you want or all, indeed …” And suddenly, dismayed at the thought that he had let his tongue run away with him, Petya stopped short and blushed.
He began trying to think whether he had been guilty of any other blunders. And running through his recollections of the day the image of the French drummer-boy rose before his mind.
“We are enjoying ourselves, but how is he feeling? What have they done with him? Have they given him something to eat? Have they been nasty to him?” he wondered.
But thinking he had said too much about the flints, he was afraid to speak now.
“Could I ask about him?” he wondered. “They'll say: he's a boy himself, so he feels for the boy. I'll let them see to-morrow whether I'm a boy! Shall I feel ashamed if I ask?” Petya wondered. “Oh, well! I don't care,” and he said at once, blushing and watching the officers' faces in dread of detecting amusement in them:
“Might I call that boy who was taken prisoner, and give him something to eat … perhaps …”
“Yes, poor little fellow,” said Denisov, who clearly saw nothing to be ashamed of in this reminder. “Fetch him in here. His name is Vincent Bosse. Fetch him in.”
“I'll call him,” said Petya.
“Yes, do. Poor little fellow,” repeated Denisov.
Petya was standing at the door as Denisov said this. He slipped in between the officers and went up to Denisov.
“Let me kiss you, dear old fellow,” he said. “Ah, how jolly it is! how splendid!” And, kissing Denisov, he ran out into the yard.
“Bosse! Vincent!” Petya cried, standing by the door.
“Whom do you want, sir?” said a voice out of the darkness. Petya answered that he wanted the French boy, who had been taken prisoner that day.
“Ah! Vesenny?” said the Cossack.
His name Vincent had already been transformed by the Cossacks into Vesenny, and by the peasants and the soldiers into Visenya. In both names there was a suggestion of the spring—vesna—which seemed to them to harmonise with the figure of the young boy.
“He's warming himself there at the fire. Ay, Visenya! Visenya!” voices called from one to another with laughter in the darkness. “He is a sharp boy,” said an hussar standing near Petya. “We gave him a meal not long ago. He was hungry, terribly.”
There was a sound of footsteps in the darkness, and the drummer-boy came splashing through the mud with his bare feet towards the door.
“Ah, that's you!” said Petya. “Are you hungry? Don't be afraid, they won't hurt you,” he added, shyly and cordially touching his hand. “Come in, come in.”
“Thank you,” answered the drummer, in a trembling, almost childish voice, and he began wiping the mud off his feet on the threshold. Petya had a great deal he longed to say to the drummer-boy, but he did not dare. He stood by him in the porch, moving uneasily. Then he took his hand in the darkness and squeezed it. “Come in, come in,” he repeated, but in a soft whisper.
“Oh, if I could only do something for him!” Petya was saying inwardly, and opening the door he ushered the boy in before him.
When the drummer-boy had come into the hut, Petya sat down at some distance from him, feeling that it would be lowering his dignity to take much notice of him. But he was feeling the money in his pocket and wondering whether it would do to give some to the drummer-boy.
彼佳告别了双亲，离开了莫斯科，回到了自己的团队，不久，他就成为一个指挥一支大游击队的将军的传令兵。彼佳自从晋升为军官，特别是他到了战斗部队，参加过维亚济马战役之后，经常处在幸福、激动的状态中，他为自己已长成大人而高兴，他总是兴高采烈地忙这忙那，不放过任何一个从事真正的英雄事业的机会。他沉醉于军营中的战斗生涯，他对在军营中的所见所闻，都有着浓烈的兴趣。他又总觉得，老是在他没有在场的那个地方正在进行着真正的英雄事业。因此他迫切要去他没有去过的地方。 
十月二十一日，他的将军要派一个人到杰尼索夫的游击队去，彼佳向将军苦苦哀求，使得将军难以拒绝。但是，将军想起了彼佳在维亚济马战役中的疯狂行为，他不从选定的路线前往，而是强行驰越法军火力封锁线，在飞越封锁线时，他还打了两枪。所以这次将军特别向他交待，不准他参加杰尼索夫的任何战斗行动。正是由于这个原因，当杰尼索夫问起他能不能留下来的时候，彼佳脸立刻红了，心也慌了。在到达树林边缘之前，彼佳原打算，他应当坚决服从命令，立即返回部队。但是，当他亲眼看见了法国人，又见到了吉洪，并听到当晚要对法军进行袭击，他以年轻人极易迅速改变观点的特点，改变了主意，他认为，他一直尊敬的那位将军是一个无能的德国人，而杰尼索夫才是英雄，哥萨克一等上尉是英雄，吉洪是英雄，在这困难时刻，离开他们是可耻的。
杰尼索夫、彼佳和哥萨克一等上尉来到看林小屋的时候，已经是黄昏了。在暮色中可以看见备好鞍蹬的马，哥萨克和骠骑兵在林间空地上搭起窝棚，在林间凹地里（为了不让法国人看见冒烟）生起通红的火。在小屋篷下面，一个哥萨克卷起袖筒切羊肉。屋子里有三名杰尼索夫队里的军官正把一扇门板搭成桌子。彼佳脱下湿衣服，交给人烘干，然后立刻动手帮助那三个军官布置餐桌。
十分钟后，一张铺有桌布的饭桌准备好了。桌上摆着伏特加、军用水壶盛着的甜酒、白面包、烤羊肉，还有盐。
彼佳和军官们一起坐在桌旁撕着吃那香喷喷的肥羊肉，满手流着油。彼佳天真烂漫，他爱一切人，因而他也相信别人也同样地爱他。
“您以为怎样，瓦西里·费奥多罗维奇，”他对杰尼索夫说，“我在您这儿住一天，没事吧？”不等回答，他自己就回答了：“我是奉命来了解情况的，我这不是正在打听……不过，求您让我参加最……最主要的…我不需要奖赏……我只希望……”彼佳咬着牙，环视了一下四周，头抬得高高地，挥了挥胳膊。
“参加最主要的……”杰尼索夫笑着重复彼佳的话。
“只请你给我一个小队，由我来指挥，”彼佳继续说，“这在您算不了什么吧？噢，你要小刀？”他对一个想切羊肉的军官说。他递过去一把折叠式小刀。
那个军官称赞他的刀子。
“请留下用吧，这种刀我还有好几把，”彼佳红着脸说。
“唉！老兄！我全给忘了，”他忽然叫了起来，“我还有很好的葡萄干，要知道，是没有核的，我们那里新来了一个随军小贩，有很多好东西，我一下买了十斤，我喜欢吃点甜的，大家要吃吗？”彼佳跑到门口去找他的哥萨克，拿来几个口袋，里面大约有五斤葡萄干。“请吧！先生们！请，请。”
“您要不要咖啡壶？”他对哥萨克一等上尉说。“我在我们那个小贩那里买的，挺精致的。他有很多好东西。他人也老实。这一点尤其重要。我一定给您送来。还有，你们的火石也许用完了，——这是常有的事。我带的有，就在这儿……”他指了指那些口袋，“一百块，我买的很便宜。要多少，就拿多少，全拿去也可以……”彼佳突然停住了口，脸红了，自己觉得扯得太远了。
他开始回忆他今天有没有做什么傻事，他仔细搜索着记忆。他一下想到了那个法国小鼓手。“我们挺自在了，他现在怎么样了？他在哪？给他吃的没有？欺负他没有？”他在想。
他觉得他扯了那么一通打火石的事，现在有点害怕。
“可以问吗？”他想，他们一定会说，他还是个孩子，小孩同情小孩。我明天一定要让他们知道，我是一个怎样的孩子！“如果我要问，是不是怪难为情的？”彼佳想。“唉，反正都一样！”他一下红了脸，惊慌地望了一下那些军官，看他们脸上有没有讥讽的表情，他说：
“可不可以把捉来的那个小俘虏叫来，给他点什么吃的……可能……”
“是啊，可怜的小家伙，”杰尼索夫说，他显然不会认为这个提议有什么可害羞的。“把他叫来，他叫樊尚·博斯。叫他来吧。”
“去叫，去叫。可怜的小家伙，”杰尼索夫重复道。
杰尼索夫说这话的时候，彼佳站在门旁。他从军官们中间穿过去，走到杰尼索夫身旁。
“让我吻吻您，亲爱的。”他说，“嘿，多好啊！太好了！”
他吻了一下杰尼索夫，立刻往院子里跑去。
“博斯！樊尚！”彼佳在门口喊道。
“您找谁？先生！”黑暗中一个声音说。彼佳回答道，“我找今天俘虏的那个法国小孩。”
“噢！韦辛尼吗？”一个哥萨克说。
樊尚这个名字已经被叫走了音：哥萨克叫他韦辛尼，农民和战士叫他韦辛纳。这两种叫法都是春天的意思。这正好和那个小毛孩子相称。
“他正在火堆旁烤火呢。喂，韦辛纳！韦辛纳！韦辛尼！”
黑暗中接连传出呼唤声和笑声。
“那孩子挺机灵，”站在彼佳身旁的骠骑兵说，“方才我们给他东西吃了。他饿的不得了！”
在黑暗中响起了脚步声，小鼓手光着脚板，踏着泥泞，来到了门前。
“AhC'estvous！”彼佳说：“Voulezvousmanger？N'ayezpaspeur，onnevousferapasdemal，'他又说。他羞怯地，热情地抚摸着他的手又补了一句：“Entrez，entrez．”①“Merci，monsieur．”②小鼓手用颤抖的、几乎是小孩子般的声音回答，他在门口擦脚上的泥。彼佳有很多话要对小鼓手说，但是他不敢，进屋前站在他身边，不知怎样才好。在黑暗中他抓住那孩子的手，握了握。 
①法语：啊，就是你呀！要吃东西吗？别怕，不会把你怎么样的。进来吧。
②法语：谢谢，先生。
“Entrez，entrez．”他轻声地说。
“咳，我能为他做些什么呢？”彼佳自言自语，他打开门，让那孩子先进去。
小鼓手进到屋里，彼佳在离他远一点的地方坐了下来，他觉得对他太注意会有损于他的身份。他把手插进衣袋摸着球，他犹豫不决，要是给小鼓手球是不是一件害臊的事情。
Book 14 Chapter 8
DENISOV gave orders for the drummer-boy to be given some vodka and mutton, and to be put into a Russian dress, so that he should not be sent off with the other prisoners, but should stay with his band. Petya's attention was diverted from the boy by the arrival of Dolohov. He had heard a great many stories told in the army of Dolohov's extraordinary gallantry and of his cruelty to the French. And therefore from the moment Dolohov entered the hut Petya could not take his eyes off him, and flinging up his head, he assumed a more and more swagging air, that he might not be unworthy of associating even with a hero like Dolohov.
Dolohov's appearance struck Petya as strange through its simplicity.
Denisov was dressed in a Cossack coat; he had let his beard grow, and had a holy image of Nikolay, the wonder-worker, on his breast. His whole manner of speaking and all his gestures were suggestive of his peculiar position. Dolohov, on the contrary, though in old days he had worn a Persian dress in Moscow, looked now like the most correct officer of the Guards. He was clean-shaven; he wore the wadded coat of the Guards with a St. George medal on a ribbon, and a plain forage cap, put on straight on his head. He took his wet cloak off in the corner and, without greeting any one, went straight up to Denisov and began at once asking questions about the matter in hand. Denisov told him of the designs the larger detachment had upon the French convoy, of the message Petya had brought, and the answer he had given to both generals. Then he told him all he knew of the position of the French.
“That's so. But we must find out what troops they are, and what are their numbers,” said Dolohov; “we must go and have a look at them. We can't rush into the thing without knowing for certain how many there are of them. I like to do things properly. Come, won't one of you gentlemen like to come with me to pay them a call in their camp? I have an extra uniform with me.”
“I, I … I'll come with you!” cried Petya.
“There's not the slightest need for you to go,” said Denisov, addressing Dolohov; “and as for him I wouldn't let him go on any account.”
“That's good!” cried Petya; “why shouldn't I go? …”
“Why, because there's no reason to.”
“Oh, well, excuse me … because … because … I'm going, and that's all. You will take me?” he cried, turning to Dolohov.
“Why not? …” Dolohov answered, absently, staring into the face of the French drummer-boy.
“Have you had that youngster long?” he asked Denisov.
“We caught him to-day, but he knows nothing; I have kept him with us.”
“Oh, and what do you do with the rest?” said Dolohov.
“What do I do with them? I take a receipt for them, and send them off!” cried Denisov, suddenly flushing. “And I make bold to say that I haven't a single man's life on my conscience. Is there any difficulty in your sending thirty, or three hundred men, under escort, to the town rather than stain—I say so bluntly—one's honour as a soldier?”
“It's all very well for this little count here at sixteen to talk of such refinements,” Dolohov said, with a cold sneer; “but it's high time for you to drop all that.”
“Why, I am not saying anything, I only say that I am certainly going with you,” said Petya shyly.
“But for me and you, mate, it's high time to drop such delicacy,” Dolohov went on, apparently deriving peculiar gratification from talking on a subject irritating to Denisov. “Why have you kept this lad,” he said, “except because you are sorry for him? Why, we all know how much your receipts are worth. You send off a hundred men and thirty reach the town. They die of hunger or are killed on the way. So isn't it just as well to make short work of them?”
The esaul, screwing up his light-coloured eyes, nodded his head approvingly.
“That's not my affair, no need to discuss it. I don't care to have their lives on my conscience. You say they die. Well, let them. Only not through my doing.”
Dolohov laughed.
“Who prevented their taking me twenty times over? But you know if they do catch me—and you too with your chivalrous sentiments—it will just be the same—the nearest aspen-tree.” He paused. “We must be getting to work, though. Send my Cossack here with the pack. I have two French uniforms. Well, are you coming with me?” he asked Petya.
“I? Yes, yes, of course,” cried Petya, blushing till the tears came into his eyes, and glancing at Denisov.
While Dolohov had been arguing with Denisov what should be done with prisoners, Petya had again had that feeling of discomfort and nervous hurry; but again he had not time to get a clear idea of what they were talking about. “If that's what is thought by grown-up men, famous leaders, then it must be so, it must be all right,” he thought. “And the great thing is, that Denisov shouldn't dare to imagine that I must obey him, that he can order me about. I shall certainly go with Dolohov into the French camp. He can go, and so can I!”
To all Denisov's efforts to dissuade him from going, Petya replied that he too liked doing things properly and not in haphazard fashion, and that he never thought about danger to himself.
“For, you must admit, if we don't know exactly how many men there are there, it might cost the life of hundreds, and it is only we two, and so I very much wish it, and I shall certainly, most certainly go, and don't try to prevent me,” he said; “it won't be any use …”
多洛霍夫的到来，把彼佳的注意力转移过去了。杰尼索夫已经吩咐给小鼓手伏特加酒和羊肉，叫他穿上俄国式的长大衣，打算不把他和其他俘虏一样送走，把他留在队里。彼佳在部队里曾经听到过许多关于多洛霍夫骁勇善战和对法国人残暴的故事，所以，从多洛霍夫一进屋，彼佳就目不转睛地望着他，越来越振作，高昂着头，力图表现出，即使像多洛霍夫这样的伙伴，他也配得上。 
多洛霍夫外表朴素，这一点使彼佳十分惊奇。
杰尼索夫穿一件农民大衣，蓄着胡子，胸前佩戴着一枚尼古拉神像，他的言谈和一切举止都显示出他的特殊地位。多洛霍夫从前在莫斯科时穿一身波斯服装，而现在的装束则完全相反，有一副近卫军军官似的很拘板的仪表。他的脸刮得干干净净，穿的是近卫军棉大衣，钮孔上别了一枚圣乔治勋章，头上端端正正地戴一顶普通军帽。他在墙角处脱下湿毡斗篷，不和任何人打招呼，径直走到杰尼索夫跟前，立刻谈起正事来。杰尼索夫对他讲述了两支大游击队对袭击法国运输队的计划、彼佳送来的信件，以及他是怎样回复那两个将军的。接着，杰尼索夫又讲述了他所获悉的法国部队的所有情况。
“是这样，但是必须弄清楚是什么部队，有多少人，”多洛霍夫说，“不把他们有多少人弄准确，就不能贸然行动。得去一趟，我做事讲究认真。”他又问，“哪位先生愿意跟我一起到法国人营盘里去走一遭？我把法国军装都带来了。”
“我，我……我跟您去！”彼佳喊到。
“完全用不着你去。”杰尼索夫对多洛霍夫说，“至于他，我是无论如何也不让他去的。”
“我去是最好不过啦！”彼佳喊道，“为什么我不能去？”
“没有这个必要。”
“请原谅我，因为……因为……我一定要去，就是这样。
您带我去吗？”彼佳问多洛霍夫。
“为什么不可以？”多洛霍夫漫不经心地回答道。他盯着法国小鼓手的脸。
“这孩子早就在您这儿了？”他问杰尼索夫。
“今天捉到的，可他什么都不知道，我把他留下来了。”
“噢，你把其余的都弄到哪里去了？”多洛霍夫说。
“什么哪里？我送走的都有收条！”杰尼索夫突然红着脸大声叫道。“我敢凭良心说，我没害过一条命。把三十个或三百个押解到城里去，不玷污一个军人的名誉，请恕我直言，在你一定是困难的吧。”
“这番好心话要是由这个十六岁的小伯爵嘴里说出来才合适。”多洛霍夫冷笑着说，“你已经不是说这种话的时候了。”
“什么呀，我什么也没有说，我只说了我一定要跟您一道去。”彼佳怯生生地说。
“不过，老兄，就你和我来说，咱们该是扔掉这种多情的时候了。”多洛霍夫继续说，好像他对这个刺激杰尼索夫的话题特别有兴趣。“你留下这孩子干吗？”他摇了摇头，又说，“是因为你怜悯他？要知道，我们知道你那些收条。你送走一百个，结果收到三十个。其余的不是饿死，就是被打死。送不送这都一个样，不是吗？”
哥萨克一等上尉眯着明亮的眼睛，赞许地点着头。
“送不送都一样，这没有什么可说的。可我不愿意使我的良心不安。你说，他们会死掉。那也成，只要不是死在我手里就行。”
多洛霍夫哈哈大笑起来。
“谁叫他们下过二十道命令捉我？要是真被捉了去，你和我连同你那骑士风度，都会给吊到白杨树上。”他顿了一顿。
“我们还是干正经事吧。叫我的哥萨克把背包拿来，我带来了两套法车军装。怎么样，跟我去吗？”他问彼佳。
“我？对，对，当然去。”彼佳盯着杰尼索夫忙不迭地说，他脸涨红得几乎流下眼泪。
在多洛霍夫和杰尼索夫争论应当怎样对待俘虏的时候，彼佳又感到困窘和坐立不安。可是，他又来不及弄清楚他们交谈的是什么意思，他想，既然，这些有名的大人物是那么想的，那自然是对的，是好的。不过，主要是不能让杰尼索夫以为我得听他的，他可以指挥我。我一定要随多洛霍夫到法国军队营盘中去。他能办到的，我也能办得到。
对杰尼索夫的一切劝阻，彼佳总是回答说，他做事一向很精细，不是毛手毛脚地靠碰运气。他从来都是把生死置之度外的。
“因为，您一定同意这一点，如果不弄清他们到底有多少人，这可要关系到数百条人命，而我们只不过两个人。再说，我非常想去，一定得去，您别再阻拦我，”他说，“要那样，只会使事情更糟糕……”
Book 14 Chapter 9
PETYA AND DOLOHOV, after dressing up in French uniforms and shakoes, rode to the clearing from which Denisov had looked at the French camp, and coming out of the wood, descended into the hollow in the pitch darkness. When they had ridden downhill, Dolohov bade the Cossacks accompanying him to wait there, and set off at a smart trot along the road towards the bridge. Petya, faint with excitement, trotted along beside him.
“If we are caught, I won't be taken alive. I have a pistol,” whispered Petya.
“Don't speak Russian,” said Dolohov, in a rapid whisper, and at that moment they heard in the dark the challenge: “Who goes there?” and the click of a gun.
The blood rushed into Petya's face, and he clutched at his pistol.
“Uhlans of the Sixth Regiment,” said Dolohov, neither hastening nor slackening his horse's pace.
The black figure of a sentinel stood on the bridge.
“The password?”
Dolohov reined in his horse, and advanced at a walking pace.
“Tell me, is Colonel Gerard here?” he said.
“Password?” repeated the sentinel, making no reply and barring their way.
“When an officer makes his round, sentinels don't ask him for the password …” cried Dolohov, suddenly losing his temper and riding straight at the sentinel. “I ask you, is the colonel here?”
And not waiting for an answer from the sentinel, who moved aside, Dolohov rode at a walking pace uphill.
Noticing the black outline of a man crossing the road, Dolohov stopped the man, and asked where the colonel and officers were. The man, a soldier with a sack over his shoulder, stopped, came close up to Dolohov's horse, stroking it with his hand, and told them in a simple and friendly way that the colonel and the officers were higher up the hill, on the right, in the courtyard of the farm, as he called the little manor-house.
After going further along the road, from both sides of which they heard French talk round the camp-fires, Dolohov turned into the yard of the manor-house. On reaching the gate, he dismounted and walked towards a big, blazing fire, round which several men were sitting, engaged in loud conversation. There was something boiling in a cauldron on one side, and a soldier in a peaked cap and blue coat, kneeling in the bright glow of the fire, was stirring it with his ramrod.
“He's a tough customer,” said one of the officers, sitting in the shadow on the opposite side of the fire.
“He'll make them run, the rabbits” (a French proverb), said the other, with a laugh.
Both paused, and peered into the darkness at the sound of the steps of Petya and Dolohov approaching with their horses.
“Bonjour, messieurs!” Dolohov called loudly and distinctly.
There was a stir among the officers in the shadow, and a tall officer with a long neck came round the fire and went up to Dolohov.
“Is that you, Clément?” said he. “Where the devil …” but becoming aware of his mistake, he did not finish, and with a slight frown greeted Dolohov as a stranger, and asked him what he could do for him. Dolohov told him that he and his comrade were trying to catch up with their regiment, and asked, addressing the company in general, whether the officers knew anything about the Sixth Regiment. No one could tell them anything about it; and Petya fancied the officers began to look at him and Dolohov with unfriendly and suspicious eyes.
For several seconds no one spoke.
“If you're reckoning on some soup, you have come too late,” said a voice from behind the fire, with a smothered laugh.
Dolohov answered that they had had supper, and wanted to push on further that night.
He gave their horses to the soldier who was stirring the pot, and squatted down on his heels beside the officer with the long neck. The latter never took his eyes off Dolohov, and asked him again what regiment did he belong to.
Dolohov appeared not to hear the question. Making no answer, he lighted a short French pipe that he took from his pocket, and asked the officers whether the road ahead of them were safe from Cossacks.
“The brigands are everywhere,” answered an officer from behind the fire.
Dolohov said that the Cossacks were only a danger for stragglers like himself and his comrade; “he supposed they would not dare to attack large detachments,” he added inquiringly.
No one replied.
“Well, now he will come away,” Petya was thinking every moment, as he stood by the fire listening to the talk.
But Dolohov took up the conversation that had dropped, and proceeded to ask them point-blank how many men there were in their battalion, how many battalions they had, and how many prisoners.
When he asked about the Russian prisoners, Dolohov added:
“Nasty business dragging those corpses about with one. It would be better to shoot the vermin,” and he broke into such a strange, loud laugh, that Petya fancied the French must see through their disguise at once, and he involuntarily stepped back from the fire.
Dolohov's words and laughter elicited no response, and a French officer whom they had not seen (he lay rolled up in a coat), sat up and whispered something to his companion. Dolohov stood up and called to the men, who held their horses.
“Will they give us the horses or not?” Petya wondered, unconsciously coming closer to Dolohov.
They did give them the horses. “Bonsoir, messieurs,” said Dolohov.
Petya tried to say “Bonsoir,” but he could not utter a sound. The officers were whispering together. Dolohov was a long while mounting his horse, who would not stand still; then he rode out of the gate at a walking pace. Petya rode beside him, not daring to look round, though he was longing to see whether the French were running after him or not.
When they came out on to the road, Dolohov did not turn back towards the open country, but rode further along it into the village.
At one spot he stood still, listening. “Do you hear?” he said. Petya recognised the sound of voices speaking Russian, and saw round the camp-fire the dark outlines of Russian prisoners. When they reached the bridge again, Petya and Dolohov passed the sentinel, who, without uttering a word, paced gloomily up and down. They came out to the hollow where the Cossacks were waiting for them.
“Well now, good-bye. Tell Denisov, at sunrise, at the first shot,” said Dolohov, and he was going on, but Petya clutched at his arm.
“Oh!” he cried, “you are a hero! Oh! how splendid it is! how jolly! How I love you!”
“That's all right,” answered Dolohov, but Petya did not let go of him, and in the dark Dolohov made out that he was bending over to him to be kissed. Dolohov kissed him, laughed, and turning his horse's head, vanished into the darkness.
彼佳和多洛霍夫穿上法国军大衣，戴上筒形军帽，朝着杰尼索夫观察敌军营地的林间空地驰去，天已完全黑下来，他们走出树林，来到洼地里。一到下面，多洛霍夫就吩咐跟随他的哥萨克在那里等候他们，然后顺着大路向桥头驰去。彼佳和他并骑而行，他激动得喘不过气来。 
“如果落到敌人手中，我决不会让他们活捉去，我有枪。”
彼佳悄声说。
“不要说俄语，”多洛霍夫急速地附耳低语，就在此刻，黑暗中传来一声喝问：“Quivive？”①可以听见扳动枪栓的声音。
彼佳兴奋而又紧张，他握住自己的手枪。
“Lanciersdu6—me．”②多洛霍夫回答。他照常前行，既不加快也没放慢，可以看见桥上站岗的哨兵的黑影。 
①法语：什么人？
②法语：第六团的枪骑兵。
“Motd'ordre？”①多洛霍夫勒马缓缓前行。
“Ditesdonc，lecolonelGérardestici？”②他说。
“Motd'ordre！”哨兵不回答，拦住他说。
“Quandunofficierfaitsaronde，lessentinellesnedeBmandentpaslemotd'ordre……”多洛霍夫突然发了火，策马向哨兵走去。“Jevousdemandesilecolonelestici？”③不等那个已经站开的哨兵回答，多洛霍夫策马向山坡上走去。
看见一个横越大路的黑影，多洛霍夫拦住那个人，问他司令官和军官们都在哪儿。那个大兵肩膀上扛了一条口袋，他停了下来，走到多洛霍夫马前，用手摸着马，简单并友善地说，司令官和军官们都在右边山坡上的农场里（他这样称呼地主的庄园）。
多洛霍夫沿大路往前走，从大路两侧的篝火堆那儿传来法国人的谈话声。多洛霍夫拐进地主庄园的院子里。进院门后，他下了马，走到一堆烧得正旺的火堆跟前，有几个人围坐着，正在大声谈话。火上吊一个军用饭盒在煮东西，一个头戴尖顶帽，身穿蓝大衣，被火光照得通体透亮的大兵跪在那儿，他用通枪的通条搅拌饭盒里的东西。
“Oh，c'estunduràcuire．”④坐在火对面稍暗中的一个军官说道。 
①法语：口令？
②法语：喂，热拉尔团长在这儿吗？
③法语：官长在巡查，哨兵不问他口令。我问你团长在不在这儿？
④法语：你拿那小子没办法。
“Illesferamarcherleslapins…”①另一个军官大笑说。听见多洛霍夫和彼佳牵马走近火堆的脚步声，两个军官停住交谈，循声向暗中张望着。
“Bonjour，messieurs！”②多洛霍夫大声响亮地说。
大堆阴影处的军官动了一下，一个高个子、长颈项的军官绕过火堆，走到多洛霍夫面前。
“C'estvous，Clément？”他说，“D'oùdiable…”③他发觉认错了人，就没把话说完，他皱了皱眉头，就像对一个陌生人一样，问多洛霍夫，他有什么可以为他效力的。多洛霍夫说，他和同伴追赶自己的团队，他问在场的军官们，知不知道第六团的消息。他们谁都不知道；彼佳觉得那些军官怀有敌意和怀疑，注视了他和多洛霍夫。有数秒钟所有的人都一声不吭。
“Sivouscomptezsurlasoupedusoir，vousveneztroptard．”④火堆后面有一个人忍着笑说道。 
①法语：他把他们吓了一大跳……
②法语：你们好，诸位！
③法语：是您啊，克莱芒？从哪来，鬼东西……
④法语：如果你们是来吃晚饭的，那你们就来晚了。
多洛霍夫说他们不饿，他们当晚还要赶路。
他把马交给那个搅和锅里煮的东西的大兵，然后在火堆边挨着那个长颈项军官蹲下身子。这位军官目不转睛地瞧着多洛霍夫，再次问地，是哪一个团的？多洛霍夫没有回答，好像不曾听到他的问话，他从衣袋里掏出法国烟斗，点着抽起烟来，他问那些军官，在他们往前去的路上怎样才能免遭哥萨克的袭击。
“Lesbrigandssontpartout．”①一个军官自火堆那边回答。
多洛霍夫说，只有对他和他的同伴这样掉了队的人，碰到哥萨克是很危险的，但是对大部队，哥萨克多半不敢袭击，他用试探的口气补上了这一句，然而，没有一个人答话。
“嗯，他大概要走了。”彼佳站在火堆旁边，听着他们谈话，不时地这么想。
但是多洛霍夫又提起那个中断了的话题，直截了当地问他们有几个营？每个营有多少人？有多少俘虏？在问及他们部队中的俄国俘虏时，多洛霍夫说：
“Lavilaineaffairedetrainercescadavresaprèssoi．Vaudraitmieuxfusillercettecanaille．”②一说完，他怪声怪气大笑起来。彼佳感到，骗局马上要被法国人识破，他不由得从火堆旁往后退了一步。对多洛霍夫的问话和他的怪笑，没有任何一个人作出反应，有一个未曾露面的法国军官（他裹着大衣躺在地上），欠起身子和旁边的同伴嘀咕了几句。
多洛霍夫站起来，叫那个牵马的大兵。
“他们会把马牵过来吗？”彼佳想，不由得靠近多洛霍夫。
马牵过来了。
“Bonjour，messieurs．”③多洛霍夫说。
彼佳想说，bonsoir④，但他说不出口。军官们在低声谈论着什么。多洛霍夫好一阵才跨上那匹不肯站稳当的马；然后缓缓驰出大门。彼佳和他并马而行，他很想看又不敢看军官们有没有追赶他们俩。 
①法语：那些强盗遍地都是。
②法语：拖着这些死尸怪腻的，不如把这帮匪徒全枪毙了。
③法语：再见，诸位。
④法语：你们好。
来到大路上，多洛霍夫不从郊外回去，而是从村中穿过。
他在一处停了下来，侧耳倾听。
“你听到了吗？”他说。
彼佳听到了俄国人的谈话声音，看到了火堆旁边俄国俘虏里糊糊的身影。彼加和多洛霍夫下了山坡，径直往桥上走去，从哨兵身旁走过，那个哨兵一句话也没有说，愁眉苦脸地来回走动着；他们朝哥萨克在那里等候他们的洼地走去。
“好啦，再见吧。对杰尼索夫讲，天一亮就打响第一枪。”
多洛霍夫说完正要走，彼佳抓住了他。
“嘿！”他喊到，“您是一个了不起的英雄。咳，太好了！
太棒了！我十分敬爱您。”
“好啦，好啦！”多洛霍夫说，但是彼佳不放开他，多洛霍夫在黑暗中看见彼佳弯过身子想亲吻他，多洛霍夫吻了吻他，笑着拨转马头，消失在黑暗中。
Book 14 Chapter 10
ON REACHING the hut in the wood, Petya found Denisov in the porch. He was waiting for Petya's return in great uneasiness, anxiety, and vexation with himself for having let him go.
“Thank God!” he cried. “Well, thank God!” he repeated, hearing Petya's ecstatic account. “And, damn you, you have prevented my sleeping!” he added. “Well, thank God; now, go to bed. We can still get a nap before morning.”
“Yes … no,” said Petya. “I'm not sleepy yet. Besides, I know what I am; if once I go to sleep, it will be all up with me. And besides, it's not my habit to sleep before a battle.”
Petya sat for a long while in the hut, joyfully recalling the details of his adventure, and vividly imagining what was coming next day. Then, noticing that Denisov had fallen asleep, he got up and went out of doors.
It was still quite dark outside. The rain was over, but the trees were still dripping. Close by the hut could be seen the black outlines of the Cossacks' shanties and the horses tied together. Behind the hut there was a dark blur where two waggons stood with the horses near by, and in the hollow there was a red glow from the dying fire. The Cossacks and the hussars were not all asleep; there mingled with the sound of the falling drops and the munching of the horses, the sound of low voices, that seemed to be whispering.
Petya came out of the porch, looked about him in the darkness, and went up to the waggons. Some one was snoring under the waggons, and saddled horses were standing round them munching oats. In the dark Petya recognised and approached his own mare, whom he called Karabach, though she was in fact of a Little Russian breed.
“Well, Karabach, to-morrow we shall do good service,” he said, sniffing her nostrils and kissing her.
“Why, aren't you asleep, sir?” said a Cossack, sitting under the waggon.
“No; but … Lihatchev—I believe that's your name, eh? You know I have only just come back. We have been calling on the French.” And Petya gave the Cossack a detailed account, not only of his adventure, but also of his reasons for going, and why he thought it better to risk his life than to do things in a haphazard way.
“Well, you must be sleepy; get a little sleep,” said the Cossack.
“No, I am used to it,” answered Petya. “And how are the flints in our pistols—not worn out? I brought some with me. Don't you want any? Do take some.”
The Cossack popped out from under the waggon to take a closer look at Petya.
“For, you see, I like to do everything carefully,” said Petya. “Some men, you know, leave things to chance, and don't have things ready, and then they regret it. I don't like that.”
“No, to be sure,” said the Cossack.
“Oh, and another thing, please, my dear fellow, sharpen my sabre for me; I have blunt …” (but Petya could not bring out a lie) … “it has never been sharpened. Can you do that?”
“To be sure I can.”
Lihatchev stood up, and rummaged in the baggage, and Petya stood and heard the martial sound of steel and whetstone. He clambered on to the waggon, and sat on the edge of it. The Cossack sharpened the sabre below.
“Are the other brave fellows asleep?” said Petya.
“Some are asleep, and some are awake, like us.”
“And what about the boy?”
“Vesenny? He's lying yonder in the hay. He's sleeping well after his fright. He was so pleased.”
For a long while after that Petya sat quiet, listening to the sounds. There was a sound of footsteps in the darkness, and a dark figure appeared.
“What are you sharpening?” asked a man coming up to the waggon.
“A sabre for the gentleman here.”
“That's a good thing,” said the man, who seemed to Petya to be an hussar. “Was the cup left with you here?”
“It's yonder by the wheel.” The hussar took the cup. “It will soon be daylight,” he added, yawning, as he walked off.
Petya must, one would suppose, have known that he was in a wood, with Denisov's band of irregulars, a verst from the road; that he was sitting on a waggon captured from the French; that there were horses fastened to it; that under it was sitting the Cossack Lihatchev sharpening his sabre; that the big, black blur on the right was the hut, and the red, bright glow below on the left the dying camp-fire; that the man who had come for the cup was an hussar who was thirsty. But Petya knew nothing of all that, and refused to know it. He was in a fairyland, in which nothing was like the reality. The big patch of shadow might be a hut certainly, but it might be a cave leading down into the very depths of the earth. The red patch might be a fire, but it might be the eye of a huge monster. Perhaps he really was sitting now on a waggon, but very likely he was sitting not on a waggon, but on a fearfully high tower, and if he fell off, he would go on flying to the earth for a whole day, for a whole month—fly and fly for ever and never reach it. Perhaps it was simply the Cossack Lihatchev sitting under the waggon; but very likely it was the kindest, bravest, most wonderful and splendid man in the world whom no one knew of. Perhaps it really was an hussar who had come for water and gone into the hollow; but perhaps he had just vanished, vanished altogether and was no more.
Whatever Petya had seen now, it would not have surprised him. He was in a land of fairies, where everything was possible.
He gazed at the sky. The sky too was an enchanted realm like the earth. It had begun to clear, and the clouds were scudding over the tree-tops, as though unveiling the stars. At times it seemed as though they were swept away, and there were glimpses of clear, black sky between them. At times these black patches looked like storm-clouds. At times the sky seemed to rise high, high overhead, and then again to be dropping down so that one could reach it with the hand.
Petya closed his eyes and began to nod. The branches dripped. There was a low hum of talk and the sound of some one snoring. The horses neighed and scuffled.
“Ozheeg, zheeg, ozheeg, zheeg…” hissed the sabre on the whetstone; and all at once Petya seemed to hear harmonious music, an orchestra playing some unfamiliar, solemnly sweet hymn. Petya was as musical by nature as Natasha, and far more so than Nikolay; but he had had no musical training, and never thought about music, so that the melody that came unexpectedly into his mind had a special freshness and charm for him. The music became more and more distinct. The melody grew and passed from one instrument to another. There was being played what is called a fugue, though Petya had not the slightest idea of what was meant by a fugue. Each instrument—one like a violin, others like flutes, but fuller and more melodious than violins and flutes—played its part, and before it had finished the air, melted in with another, beginning almost the same air, and with a third and a fourth; and all mingled into one harmony, and parted again, and again mingled into solemn church music, and then into some brilliant and triumphant song of victory.
“Oh yes, of course I am dreaming,” Petya said to himself, nodding forward. “It is only in my ears. Perhaps, though, it's my own music. Come, again. Strike up, my music! Come!…”
He closed his eyes. And from various directions the sounds began vibrating as though from a distance, began to strike up, to part, and to mingle again, all joined in the same sweet and solemn hymn. “Ah how exquisite! As much as I want, and as I like it!” Petya said to himself. He tried to conduct this immense orchestra.
“Come, softly, softly, now!” And the sounds obeyed him. “Come, now fuller, livelier! More and more joyful!” And from unknown depths rose the swelling, triumphant sounds. “Now, voices, join in!” Petya commanded. And at first in the distance he heard men's voices, then women's. The voices swelled into rhythmic, triumphant fulness. Petya felt awe and joy as he drank in their marvellous beauty.
With the triumphant march of victory mingled the song of voices, and the drip of the branches and the zheeg, zheeg, zheeg of the sabre on the whetstone; and again the horses neighed and scuffled, not disturbing the harmony, but blending into it. How long it lasted, Petya could not tell; he was enjoying it, and wondering all the while at his own enjoyment, and regretting he had no one to share it with. He was waked by the friendly voice of Lihatchev.
“It's ready, your honour, you can cut the Frenchman in two now.”
Petya waked up.
“Why, it's light already; it's really getting light,” he cried. The horses, unseen before, were visible to the tails now, and through the leafless boughs there could be seen a watery light. Petya shook himself, jumped up, took a rouble out of his pocket, and gave it to Lihatchev, brandished his sabre to try it, and thrust it into the scabbard. The Cossacks were untying the horses and fastening the saddlegirths.
“And here is the commander,” said Lihatchev.
Denisov came out of the hut, and calling to Petya, bade him get ready.
彼佳回到看林人的小屋，在走廊里就遇见了杰尼索夫。他正焦急地等候彼佳回来，他后悔，不该派彼佳去。 
“感谢上帝！”他喊道。“啊，感谢上帝！”他听了彼佳兴高采烈的讲述又重复了一遍。“你这鬼东西，为了你，我觉都没睡！”杰尼索夫说。“啊，感谢上帝，现在可以躺下了。天亮前还可以打上个盹。”
“嗯，不，”彼佳说。“我不想睡，我知道我自己，一睡下去，就要睡过头，战斗前，我习惯了不睡觉。”
彼佳在屋里坐了一会儿，愉快地回忆着深入放营的桩桩细节，生动地遐想明天的情景。当他见到述尼索夫已经熟睡，他站起来，向院子里走去。
外面漆黑一片。雨停了，树上还在往下滴着水点。在看林人的小屋旁边，隐隐约约可以看见哥萨克的窝棚和拴在一起的马的黑影。在小屋后边，有两辆看起来是黑色的大车，大车旁边还有几匹马，凹地里亮着快要燃尽的火堆。哥萨克的骠骑兵并没有都睡觉，伴随着树上往下滴水的滴答声和附近一些马的咀嚼声，从四处传来悄悄的谈话声。
彼佳从屋内走出来，在黑暗中举目四望，然后向大车走去。车下面有人在打呼噜，大车周围几匹备好鞍蹬的马正在嚼着燕麦。黑暗中彼佳认出了自己的坐骑，虽然它是乌克兰种，但是他仍叫它卡拉巴赫①马，于是他向这匹马走去。 
①卡拉巴赫是阿塞拜疆的一个地区，以产名马著称。
“喂，卡拉巴赫，我们明天要去执行任务了。”他说，闻了闻马的鼻孔，吻了一下。
“怎么，长官，还没睡？”坐在大车下面的一个哥萨克说。
“没有，你，大家叫你利哈乔夫吧？我刚回来，我们到法国人那里去了一趟。”于是彼佳不仅详细地向哥萨克讲述了他这次行动，而且讲了他为什么要去，以及他认为宁愿自己冒生命危险，也比去乞怜上帝保佑好。
“咹，还是睡一会吧。”哥萨克说。
“不，我习惯了，”彼佳回答，“你手枪里的大石用完了吧？
我带的有，要吧？拿去用吧。”
那个哥萨克从大车下面探出身子，以便靠近点仔细地看了看彼佳。
“我干什么事情都要事先有准备。”彼佳说，“而有的人随随便便，不作准备，过了又后悔。我不喜欢那样。”
“这一点也不错。”那个哥萨克说。
“对了，还有一件事，朋友，能帮我磨一下佩刀吗？（彼佳没有撤谎）这把刀还没有开过口，能行吗？”
“那有什么，完全可以。”
利哈乔夫站起身，在一个袋里摸索了一下，不一会，彼佳就听到磨石上发出霍霍的响声。他爬上大车，坐在车沿上。
哥萨克在车下面磨着佩刀。
“怎么样，弟兄们都睡了吗？”彼佳说。
“有的睡了，有的没睡——像我们这样。”
“唉，那个孩子呢？”
“韦辛尼吗？他在门厅躺着，没人管他。受了惊恐以后，他睡着了。他现在可高兴啦！”
随后，彼佳默不作声，他听着磨刀的声音。黑暗中传来了脚步声，出现了一个黑影。
“磨什么？”那人走近大车，问道。
“给这位小爷子磨佩刀。”
“好事，”那人说，彼佳觉得他是个骠骑兵。“我的茶杯是不是忘在你这儿了？”
“在车轱辘旁边。”
骠骑兵拿起杯子。
“天快亮了吧。”他打着呵欠说了一句，然后走到一旁去了。
彼佳原本知道他是在树林里，在杰尼索夫的游击队里，离大路有一里路，他正坐在从法国人手里缴获来的一辆大车上，大车旁边拴着马，大车下坐着哥萨克利哈乔夫，正帮他磨刀，右边一团黑影是看林人小屋，右下方亮着一团红的是快烧完了的火堆，来拿茶杯的是一个想喝水的骠骑兵；但是，他什么也不知道，他也不想知道这一切。他已置身于神话般的天堂里，在那里一切现实都不相似。那团大黑影想必是看林人的小屋，也可能是无底深渊。那团红的或许是一堆火，也可能是一个庞然大怪物的眼睛。也许他现在是坐在一辆大车上，也很可能不是坐在大车上，而是坐在其高无比的塔顶上，要从上面跌落下地，需要一整天，整整一个月，或者一直往下落，永远也掉不到地上。坐在大车下面的，或许是那个哥萨克利哈乔夫，但也可能是世界上最善良、最勇敢、最奇特、最完美，还没有人认识他的人。可能有一个骠骑兵来找水喝，然后回到林间凹地里去了，然而，或许他已消失了，而且永远消失了。他这个人已根本不存在了。
不论彼佳现时看见什么，没有一样能使他惊奇。他已置身于神话般的天堂里，在那里一切都是可能的。
他仰望天空，上天和大地一样神奇，天渐渐晴了，云在树梢上空飞掠而过，好像露出了星星，有时好像出现了晴朗的黑色天空，有时觉得这黑洞洞的是乌云，有时又觉得天空在头顶上直往上升，有时又觉得天压得这么低，简直用手就可以触摸到。
彼佳闭上双目，摇晃了一下身子。
树枝上滴着水珠。有人低声谈话，马在相互拥挤，嘶鸣，还有一个人在打呼噜。
“呼哧，呼，呼哧，呼……”这是磨佩刀的声音。突然，彼佳听见了一个阵容整齐的乐队演奏一种不知名的、庄严又悦耳的赞美歌曲。彼佳和娜塔莎一样，比尼古拉更有音乐天赋，但他从来都没有学过音乐，连想都未想过。正因为这样，这意外闯入他头脑的乐曲，他觉得特别新奇，格外动人。乐曲越来越清晰，从一种乐器转换成另一种乐器，演奏的是“逃亡曲”，虽然彼佳完全不懂什么叫“逃亡曲”。每种乐器，有时像提琴，有时像小号，然而比提琴和小号更好听、更纯净。每种乐器都是各奏各的，在还没有奏完一个乐曲时就同时演奏另一种乐器，然后同第三、第四种乐器汇合起来，所有的乐器一齐演奏，分开，又合起来，时而奏起庄严的教堂音乐，时而奏出宏亮的胜利进行曲。
“啊，我在做梦，”彼佳向前顿了一下，自言自语道。“这是我耳朵里的声音。或许，这是我的音乐。好，再来。奏吧，我的音乐！奏啊！……”
他闭上眼睛。声音从四面八方，又好像从远方传送过来，渐渐合成和声。分开来，合起来，然后又合成悦耳的，庄严的赞美歌。“嘿，这太好了，这真好，妙！我要听什么，就有什么。”彼佳自言自语。他试图指挥这个庞大的乐队。
“好，轻一点，轻一点，停。”那些声音听从他指挥。“好，饱满一点，欢快点，还要再欢快。”从远处传来逐渐加强的庄严的声音。“喂，声乐！”彼佳命令，于是起初传来男声，随后是女声，声音逐渐加强，不快也不慢，庄严稳重。彼佳听着那十分美妙的声音，心中又惊又喜。
庄严的胜利进行曲，伴随着一支歌，水珠的滴答声，呼哧，呼哧的磨刀声，战马相互拥挤声，嘶鸣声，这一切声音并没有扰乱这演奏，而是融为一体了。
彼佳不知道这样持续有多久：他欣赏着，他一直为这种享受感到惊奇，他为没有伙伴来分享而遗憾。利哈齐夫的声音唤醒了他。
“长官，磨好了，您可用它把法国人劈成两半了。”
彼佳醒了。
“天亮了，真天亮了！”他喊道。
先前看不清的马，现在连尾巴都看见了，从光秃的树枝中，透露一片水光。彼佳跳起身，抖擞了一下，从口袋里掏出一卢布给利哈乔夫，挥动了几下，试了试，插入刀鞘。哥萨克们解开马，收紧了肚带。
“司令官来了。”利哈齐夫说。
杰尼索夫从看林小屋走出来，把彼佳叫过去，他下令集合。
Book 14 Chapter 11
RAPIDLY in the twilight the men picked out their horses, tightened saddlegirths, and formed into parties. Denisov stood by the hut, giving the last orders. The infantry of the detachment moved on along the road, hundreds of feet splashing through the mud. They quickly vanished among the trees in the mist before the dawn. The esaul gave some order to the Cossacks. Petya held his horse by the bridle, eagerly awaiting the word of command to mount. His face glowed from a dip in cold water, and his eyes gleamed. He felt a chill running down his back, and a kind of rapid, rhythmic throbbing all over.
“Well, have you everything ready?” said Denisov. “Give us our horses.”
They brought the horses up. Denisov was vexed with the Cossack because the saddlegirths were slack, and swore at him as he mounted his horse. Petya put his foot in the stirrup. The horse, as its habit was, made as though to nip at his leg; but Petya leaped into the saddle, unconscious of his own weight, and looking round at the hussars moving up from behind in the darkness, he rode up to Denisov.
“Vassily Fyodorovitch, you will trust me with some commission? Please…for God's sake…” he said. Denisov seemed to have forgotten Petya's existence. He looked round at him.
“One thing I beg of you,” he said sternly, “to obey me and not to put yourself forward.”
All the way Denisov did not say another word to Petya; he rode on in silence. By the time that they reached the edge of the wood, it was perceptibly getting light in the open country. Denisov whispered something to the esaul, and the Cossacks began riding by Petya and Denisov. When they had all passed on Denisov put his spurs to his horse, and rode downhill. Slipping and sinking back on their haunches, the horses slid down into the hollow with their riders. Petya kept beside Denisov. The tremor all over him was growing more intense. It was getting lighter and lighter, but the mist hid objects at a distance. When he had reached the bottom, Denisov looked back and nodded to the Cossack beside him.
“The signal,” he said. The Cossack raised his arm, and a shot rang out. At the same moment they heard the tramp of horses galloping in front, shouts from different directions, and more shots.
The instant that he heard the first tramp of hoofs and shouts, Petya gave the rein to his horse, and lashing him on, galloped forward, heedless of Denisov, who shouted to him. It seemed to Petya that it suddenly became broad daylight, as though it were midday, at the moment when he heard the shot. He galloped to the bridge. The Cossacks were galloping along the road in front. At the bridge he jostled against a Cossack who had lagged behind, and he galloped on. In front Petya saw men of some sort—the French he supposed—running across the road from right to left. One slipped in the mud under his horse's legs.
Cossacks were crowding about a hut, doing something. A fearful scream rose out of the middle of the crowd. Petya galloped to this crowd, and the first thing he saw was the white face and trembling lower-jaw of a Frenchman, who had clutched hold of a lance aimed at his breast.
“Hurrah!…Mates…ours…” shouted Petya, and giving the rein to his excited horse, he galloped on down the village street.
He heard firing in front. Cossacks, hussars, and tattered Russian prisoners, running up from both sides of the road, were all shouting something loud and unintelligible. A gallant-looking Frenchman, in a blue coat, with a red, frowning face, and no cap, was keeping back the hussars with a bayonet. By the time that Petya galloped up, the Frenchman had fallen. “Too late again,” flashed through Petya's brain, and he galloped to the spot where he heard the hottest fire. The shots came from the yard of the manor-house where he had been the night before with Dolohov. The French were ambushing there behind the fence in among the bushes of the overgrown garden, and firing at the Cossacks who were crowding round the gates. As he rode up to the gates, Petya caught a glimpse in the smoke of Dolohov's white, greenish face, as he shouted something to the men. “Go round. Wait for the infantry!” he was shouting, just as Petya rode up to him.
“Wait? … Hurrah!…” shouted Petya, and without pausing a moment, he galloped towards the spot where he heard the shots, and where the smoke was the thickest. There came a volley of shots with the sound of bullets whizzing by and thudding into something. The Cossacks and Dolohov galloped in at the gates after Petya. In the thick, hovering smoke the French flung down their arms and ran out of the bushes to meet the Cossacks, or fled downhill towards the pond. Petya was galloping on round the courtyard, but instead of holding the reins, he was flinging up both arms in a strange way, and slanting more and more to one side in the saddle. The horse stepped on to the ashes of the fire smouldering in the morning light, and stopped short. Petya fell heavily on the wet earth. The Cossacks saw his arms and legs twitching rapidly, though his head did not move. A bullet had passed through his brain.
After parleying with the French senior officer, who came out of the house with a handkerchief on a sword to announce that they surrendered, Dolohov got off his horse and went up to Petya, who lay motionless with outstretched arms.
“Done for,” he said frowning, and walked to the gate to Denisov, who was riding towards him.
“Killed?” cried Denisov, even from a distance recognising the familiar, unmistakably lifeless posture in which Petya's body was lying.
“Done for,” Dolohov repeated, as though the utterance of those words afforded him satisfaction; and he walked rapidly towards the prisoners, whom the Cossacks were hurriedly surrounding. “No quarter!” he shouted to Denisov. Denisov made no reply. He went up to Petya, got off his horse, and with trembling hands turned over the blood-stained, mud-spattered face that was already turning white.
“I'm fond of sweet things. They are capital raisins, take them all,” came into his mind. And the Cossacks looked round in surprise at the sound like the howl of a dog, that Denisov uttered as he turned away, walked to the fence and clutched at it.
Among the Russian prisoners rescued by Denisov and Dolohov was Pierre Bezuhov.
昏暗中找出自己的马，勒紧马肚带，排列成队。杰尼索夫站在小屋旁，发出最后一道命令。游击队的步兵几百只脚踏着泥泞道路，沿大路前进，迅速消失在晨雾笼罩的树林之中。哥萨克一等上尉向哥萨克们发布命令。彼佳提着马缰，急切等候上马的命令。他那用冷水洗过的脸，特别是他那双眼睛火辣辣的，一阵寒气透过脊背，迅急透过全身，不由得索索发抖。 
“都准备好了吗？”杰尼索夫说。“带马来。”
马牵过来了。肚带没勒紧，杰尼索夫不快，训斥了那个哥萨克，翻身跨上马背。彼佳踏上马镫，那马习惯地咬他的脚，彼佳似乎觉不出自己的重量，迅速翻身上马，掉头看了看身后在昏暗中出发的骠骑兵，向杰尼索夫驰去。
“瓦西里·费奥多罗维奇，给我任务吧，求求您……看在上帝的份上……”他说。杰尼索夫好像把彼佳这个人的存在全给忘了，他转身看了他一眼。
“对你只有一点要求，”他严历地说，“听我的命令，不要乱窜。”
杰尼索夫再没有和彼佳说一句话，默默地走着。来到林边，田路上已经大亮了。杰尼索夫和一等上尉咬了咬耳朵，哥萨克骑兵队从彼佳和杰尼索夫身旁驰过。随后杰尼索夫策马向山坡下走去。马踢蹲着后腿，出溜着下到洼地。彼佳和杰尼索夫并辔前行。他全身抖得更厉害。天越来越亮，只有浓雾还遮掩着远方的物体。杰尼索夫下到洼地后，往后面看了看，向站在他身旁的一等上尉点了点头。
“发信号！”他说。
那个哥萨克抬起手放了一枪。就在这一瞬间，马蹄声、呐喊声、枪声，从四面八方响了起来。
就在刚一响起马蹄声和呐喊声的瞬间，彼佳顾不得杰尼索夫的警告，扬鞭跃马，直奔向前。彼佳觉得，枪一响，天突然像正中午一样明亮。他向桥头冲去，哥萨克沿着大路向前猛冲。在桥上他碰见一个落在后面的哥萨克后，继续往前冲。前面有一些人，一定是法国人，他们从大路右边向左边跑去。有一个人跌倒在彼佳马蹄下的泥地里。
在一所农舍旁边，一些哥萨克正忙着做什么。人群中响起一声可怕的喊叫，彼佳向那群人跑去，他第一眼看到一张苍白的法国人的脸，他的下巴直打哆嗦，手里握着一杆长矛，对准着他。
“乌拉！……弟兄们……咱们的……”彼佳喊道，他提起缰绳纵马沿着村里的街道驰奔向前。
前面响起了枪声，从路两边跑出来的哥萨克、骠骑兵和衣衫褴褛的俄国俘虏，大声喊叫着。一个身板强壮，光着头，涨红着脸、身穿青灰色大衣的法国人用刺刀和骠骑兵肉搏，当彼佳驰到跟前时，那法国人已经倒下去了。“又没赶上。”彼佳脑子里闪了一下，于是他向枪声最密急的地方飞奔过去。枪声来自昨晚他和多洛霍夫去过的那所地主庄园。法国人躲藏在花园里面茂密的树丛中，从篱笆后面向拥在大门口的哥萨克射击，彼佳向大门口飞跑过去，在硝烟中他看见多洛霍夫，他脸色铁青，正对人们吆喝。“绕过去，等一等步兵！”他喊道，就在这时彼佳来到他跟前。
“等一等？……乌拉！……”彼佳喊道。他飞快向枪声紧密和硝烟弥漫的地方伸了过去。一排密急的枪声，凌空飞来的子弹呼啸而过，有的啪嚓一声打在什么东西上。哥萨克们和多洛霍夫随彼佳之后冲进了大门。在滚滚硝烟中，有些法国人扔掉武器从树丛中跑了出来，另外一些向山下池塘逃跑。彼佳穿过院子，但是他松开了缰绳，奇怪地，快速挥动双臂。身子愈来愈向马鞍一侧滑下去，那马跑到在晨曦中将要燃尽的火堆旁，停了下来，彼佳摔倒在潮湿的泥地上。哥萨克们看见他的胳膊和腿抽搐着，头却一动也不动，子弹射穿他的头。
一个法国高级军官，用刀挑着一块白手巾，从屋里走出来，宣布投降，多洛霍夫对他说了几句话，然后下马，走到伸开双臂一动也不动的彼佳身旁。
“完了。”他皱紧眉头说，然后朝大门走去，杰尼索夫骑在马上，还面而来。
“打死了吗？！”杰尼索夫喊道，他老远就看见彼佳躺在地上，那是他所熟悉的，完全失去生命的姿势。
“完了。”多洛霍夫又说，好像他说出这句话心中要舒坦些。他疾步向俘虏走去，这些俘虏已被急忙赶来的哥萨克团团围住。“不要收容他们！”他对杰尼索夫大声喊道。
杰尼索夫没有作答，他来到彼佳身旁，下了马，用颤抖的双手捧起被血和泥弄脏了的，已经惨白的彼佳的脸。
“我喜欢吃甜的。有葡萄干，都拿去吧，”他想起彼佳的话。杰尼索夫像大吠似的号淘大哭，哥萨克们惊愕地回头看，杰尼索夫急转身走到篱笆跟前，紧紧抓住篱笆。
杰尼索夫和多洛霍夫救出的俘虏中，有皮埃尔·别祖霍夫。
Book 14 Chapter 12
THE PARTY of prisoners, of whom Pierre was one, was on the 22nd of October not with the troops and transport, in whose company they had left Moscow, though no fresh instructions in regard to them had been given by the French authorities. Half of the transport with stores of biscuit, which had followed them during the early stages of the march, had been carried off by the Cossacks, the other half had got away in front. Of the cavalry soldiers on foot, who had marched in front of the prisoners, not one was left; they had all disappeared. The artillery, which the prisoners had seen in front during the early stages, was now replaced by the immense train of Marshal Junot's baggage, convoyed by an escort of Westphalians. Behind the prisoners came a transport of cavalry accoutrements.
The French had at first marched in three columns, but from Vyazma they had formed a single mass. The symptoms of lack of discipline, which Pierre had observed at the first halt outside Moscow, had by now reached their extreme limits.
The road along which they marched was strewn on both sides with the carcases of dead horses. The tattered soldiers, stragglers from different regiments, were continually changing, joining the column as it marched, and dropping behind it again. Several times there had been false alarms, and the soldiers of the cavalry had raised their guns, and fired and fled, trampling one another underfoot. Then they had rallied again, and abused one another for their causeless panic.
These three bodies, travelling together—the cavalry transport, the convoy of prisoners, and Junot's baggage transport—still made up a complete separate whole, though each of its three parts was rapidly dwindling away.
Of the cavalry transport, which had at first consisted of one hundred and twenty waggons, only sixty were left; the rest had been carried off or abandoned. Several waggonloads of Junot's baggage, too, had been discarded or captured. Three waggons had been attacked and pillaged by stragglers from Davoust's regiment. From the talk he overheard among the Germans, Pierre learned that a more careful watch was kept over this baggage-train than over the prisoners, and that one of their comrades, a German, had been shot by order of the marshal himself because a silver spoon belonging to the marshal had been found in the soldier's possession.
The convoy of prisoners had dwindled even more than the other two convoys. Of the three hundred and thirty men who had started from Moscow there were now less than a hundred left. The prisoners were a burden even more irksome to the soldiers than the cavalry stores and Junot's baggage. The saddles and Junot's spoons they could understand might be of some use, but why cold and starving soldiers should stand as sentinels, keeping guard over Russians as cold and starving, who were continually dying and being left behind on the road, and whom they had orders to shoot—it was not only incomprehensible, but revolting. And the soldiers of the escort, apparently afraid in the miserable plight they were in themselves, to give way to the pity they felt for the prisoners, for fear of making their own lot harder, treated them with marked moroseness and severity.
At Dorogobuzh the soldiers of the escort had gone off to plunder their own stores, leaving the prisoners locked in a stable, and several prisoners had burrowed under the wall and run away, but they were caught by the French and shot.
The arrangement, made at the start from Moscow, that the officers among the prisoners should march separately from the common soldiers, had long since been given up. All who could walk marched together; and at the third stage Pierre had rejoined Karataev and the bow-legged, purple-grey dog, who had chosen Karataev for her master.
On the third day after leaving Moscow, Karataev had a return of the fever, which had kept him in the Moscow hospital, and as Karataev's strength failed, Pierre held more aloof from him. Pierre could not have said why it was, but from the time Karataev fell sick, he had to make an effort to force himself to go near him. And when he did go near him and heard the subdued moans, which Karataev often uttered, as he lay at the halting-places, and smelt the increasing odour from the sick man. Pierre moved further away from him and did not think about him.
In captivity in the shed that had been his prison, Pierre had learned not through his intellect, but through his whole being, through life, that man is created for happiness, that happiness lies in himself, in the satisfaction of his natural, human cravings; that all unhappiness is due, not to lack of what is needful, but to superfluity. But now, during the last three weeks of the march, he had learned another new and consolatory truth—he had learned that there is nothing terrible to be dreaded in the world. He had learned that just as there is no position in the world in which a man can be happy and perfectly free, so too there is no position in which he need be unhappy and in bondage. He had found out that there is a limit to suffering and a limit to freedom, and that that limit is very soon reached; that the man who suffered from a crumpled petal in his bed of roses, suffered just as much as he suffered now, sleeping on the bare, damp earth, with one side getting chilled as the other side got warm; that when in former days he had put on his tight dancing-shoes, he had suffered in just the same way as now, when he walked quite barefoot (his foot-gear had long since fallen to pieces), with his feet covered with sores. He learned that when he had—by his own free-will, as he had fancied—married his wife, he had been no more free than now when he was locked up for the night in a stable. Of all that he did himself afterwards call sufferings, though at the time he hardly felt them so, the chief was the state of his bare, blistered, sore feet. The horse-flesh was savoury and nourishing, the saltpetre flavour given it by the gun-powder they used instead of salt was positively agreeable; there was no great degree of cold, it was always warm in the daytime on the march, and at night there were the camp-fires, and the lice that devoured him helped to keep him warm. One thing was painful in the earlier days— that was his feet.
On the second day of the march, as he examined his blisters by the camp-fire, Pierre thought he could not possibly walk on them; but when they all got up, he set off limping, and later on, when he got warm, he walked without pain, though his feet looked even more terrible that evening. But he did not look at them, and thought of something else.
Only now Pierre grasped all the force of vitality in man, and the saving power innate in man, of transferring his attention, like the safety-valve in steam-engines, that lets off the superfluous steam so soon as its pressure exceeds a certain point.
He did not see and did not hear how the prisoners that lagged behind were shot, though more than a hundred of them had perished in that way. He did not think about Karataev, who was getting weaker every day, and would obviously soon fall a victim to the same fate. Still less did Pierre think about himself. The harder his lot became, the more terrible his future, the more independent of his present plight were the glad and soothing thoughts, memories, and images that occurred to him.
皮埃尔所在的那个俘虏队，自从由莫斯科出发，直到现在，法军司令部没有下达过任何新的命令。十月二十二日和这个俘虏队走在一起的已经不是从莫斯科出发时的那些军队和车队了。在他们后面装干粮的车队，头几天就被哥萨克掳走了一半，而另一半走到前头去了；原先走在前边的已失去了马的骑兵，连一个也没剩下，全失踪了。前几天前面还是炮队，现在却是朱诺元帅的庞大车队，这个车队由威斯特法利亚人护卫着。走在后面的是骑兵的车队。 
从维亚济马出发，最初分三个纵队行事，现在已乱成一团。从莫斯科出发后第一次休息时皮埃尔所见到的混乱现象，现在已达到了极点。
沿途两旁，到处是死马；各个部队掉了队的士兵，衣衫褴褛，他们时而走进行进中的纵队，时而又掉队，不断变换着。
途中，闹过几次虚惊，士兵们举枪射击，盲目乱跑，互相冲撞，然后又集合起来，为这无端的惊吓互相埋怨、咒骂。
这三股——骑兵的车队、俘虏押送队和朱诺的辎重队——一起行军，仍旧构成一个独立的统一的整体，尽管这支队伍在迅速地减员。
骑兵车队原有一百二十辆大车，现在已不到六十辆；其余的有些被劫走，有些被扔弃掉。朱诺的辎重队的遭遇也一样。有三辆大车被达乌兵团的散兵劫走。皮埃尔从德国籍士兵的谈话中得知，押送这个车队的人比押送俘虏的人多，他们的一个同伴，一个德国籍士兵，因为在他身上发现一把元帅的银匙，元帅亲自下命令处决了他。
在这三股当中，俘虏押送队减员最多。从莫斯科出发时是三百三十人，现在剩下不到一百人。押送部队觉得，俘虏比骑兵队的马鞍和朱诺的轻重更累赘。他们明白，马鞍和朱诺的银匙还有点用处，但是对于让又冷又饿的士兵去看守和扣解同样是又冷又饿的俄国人来说有什么用。（俄国俘虏一路上死亡和掉队，掉队的人被奉命就地枪杀）这不仅不可理解，而且令人厌恶。押送队士兵的处境和战俘们同样悲惨，他们生怕，如果他给俘虏以同情，那就会使自身处境更加悲惨，所以他们对战俘的态度格外冷漠和严厉。
在多罗戈希日，押送队士兵把俘虏们锁在马栅里后，他们出去抢劫他们自己的仓库。有几个俘虏从墙脚下挖洞逃了出去，但又被法国人捉回来枪毙了。
从莫斯科出发时俘虏队中是把军官和士兵分开的，这个规定无形中就取消了。现在凡是还能走得动的都一起走，从第三天上皮埃尔和卡拉塔耶夫和那条认卡拉塔耶夫为自己主人的雪青色的哈叭狗又会合到了一块。
卡拉塔耶夫因患了疟疾病在莫斯科住进了医院。离开莫斯科后的第三天疟疾病又发作了。他身体逐渐衰弱，皮埃尔离开了他。皮埃尔不知道为什么，自卡拉塔耶夫病得十分衰弱以后，皮埃尔总是迫不得已时才走近他。每到歇营地，卡拉塔耶夫就躺倒呻吟，皮埃尔每次走近他，就听见他呻吟，还闻到从他身上发出一股越来越浓烈的味道，皮埃尔就远远躲开，连想都不去想他了。
作为一名俘虏，皮埃被关在马棚内，他不是从理智上，而是从自己的现实处境，以自己的生命，悟出了一个道理：人被创造出来是为了幸福，幸福存在于自身，幸福在于满足人的自然需要，而一切不幸并不在于缺少什么，而在于过剩，在这三个星期的押解途中，他又悟出了一个新的、令人欣慰的道理：他已认识到，世上没有什么可怕的事。他还认识到，世上没有哪个环境是人在其中过得幸福和完全自由，也没有哪个环境人在其中过得不幸福和不自由。他认识到，痛苦有一个界限，自由也有一个界限，而这两个界限又非常接近；一个人为他的锦绣衣被折了一个角而感到苦脑，也正如他现在睡在光秃的湿地上，一边冷一边热而感到苦恼一样；从前他曾为穿紧脚的舞鞋而感到苦恼，而现在他完全光着脚（他的鞋早已破烂了），用两只伤痕累累的脚走路，也感到同样的痛苦。他发现，他和妻子结婚时是出于自己的意志，然而并不比现在夜间被锁在马栅里更自由。在所有他自己后来称作痛苦的事情中（他当时几乎没有感觉是痛苦），主要的是那双赤裸的，磨破了的，满是伤痕的两只脚。（马肉味道鲜美且富有营养，代替盐的火药硝烟味甚至令人愉快，天气不太冷，白天走路暖洋洋的，夜间燃起篝火；虱子咬得痒痒的。）开始时唯一难以忍受的是那双脚。
上路的第二天，皮埃尔在火堆旁看着他的两只脚。他想，没法再用它走路了；可是，当大家都站起来出发时，他也就一步一拐地跟着走了，走得周身发热，也就不觉得痛了。到了晚上，那双脚看起来比先前更可怕了。他不去看，却去想点别的什么事情。
皮埃尔现在才懂得：一个人所具有的全部生命力，以及人本身固有的可以把注意力由一件事转向另一件事，使自己脱出困境的潜在力量，它就像是蒸汽锅炉上的安全阀门，在蒸汽压力超过了一定限度的时候，它就会自动把多余的蒸汽释放出去。
他不曾看见也未曾听见法军枪杀掉队的俘虏，虽然已有一百多人就这样被消灭了。他不去想身体日益衰弱的卡拉塔耶夫，很明显，他自己很快就要遭受同样的命运。皮埃尔更少想他自己。他的处境越困难，他的前途越可怕，他心中就出现欢快的，令人欣慰的思想、回忆和想象。这样就使自己越发与已陷入的困境无关。
Book 14 Chapter 13
AT MIDDAY on the 22nd, Pierre was walking along the muddy, slippery road uphill, looking at his feet and at the unevenness of the road. From time to time he glanced at the familiar crowd around him, and then again at his feet. Both that crowd and those feet were alike his and familiar to him. The purplish, bandy-legged, grey dog was running merrily along at the side of the road; sometimes picking up a hind leg, and skipping along on three paws as a sign of content and briskness, or barking at the crows that perched on the carrion. The grey dog was sleeker and merrier than in Moscow. All around lay the flesh of different animals— from men to horses—in different stages of decomposition, and the marching soldiers prevented wolves from coming near it, so that the grey dog could feast to her heart's content.
Rain had been falling since early morning; and it seemed continually as though in another minute it would cease and the sky would clear, when, after a short break, the rain came on again more heavily. The road, saturated with rain, could soak up no more, and streams flowed along the ruts.
Pierre walked, looking from side to side, counting his steps, and reckoning them off in threes on his fingers. Inwardly addressing the rain, he said to it, “Now then, come on then, pelt away!”
It seemed to him that he was thinking of nothing at all; but somewhere deep down his soul was pondering something grave and consolatory. That something was the subtlest, spiritual deduction arising from his talk the night before with Karataev.
Getting chilled by the dying fire on the previous night's halt, Pierre had got up and moved to the next fire, which was burning better. There Platon was sitting, with a coat put over his head, like a priest's chasuble. In his flexible, pleasant voice, feeble now from illness, he was telling the soldiers a story Pierre had heard already. It was past midnight, the time when Karataev's fever usually abated, and he was particularly lively. As he drew near the fire and heard Platon's weak, sickly voice, and saw his piteous mien in the bright firelight, Pierre felt a pang at heart. He was frightened at his own pity for this man, and would have gone away, but there was no other fire to go to, and trying not to look at Platon, he sat down by it.
“Well, how is your fever?” he asked.
“How is my fever? Weep over sickness, and God won't give you death,” said Karataev, and he went back at once to the story he had begun.
“And so, brother,” he went on with a smile on his thin, white face, and a peculiar, joyful light in his eyes, “And so, brother …”
Pierre had heard the story long before. Karataev had told it to him, about six times already, and always with special joyful emotion. But well as Pierre knew the story, he listened to it now as though it were something new, and the subdued ecstasy, which Karataev evidently felt in telling it, infected Pierre too.
It was the story of an old merchant, who had lived in good works and in the fear of God with his family, and had made a journey one day with a companion, a rich merchant, to Makary.
Both the merchants had put up at an inn and gone to sleep; and next day the rich merchant had been found robbed, and with his throat cut. A knife, stained with blood, was found under the old merchant's pillow. The merchant was tried, sentenced to be flogged, and to have his nostrils slit—all according to the law in due course, as Karataev said—and sent to hard labour.
“And so, brother” (it was at this point in the story that Pierre found Karataev) “ten years or more passed by after that. The old man lives on in prison. He submits, as is fitting; he does nothing wrong. Only he prays to God for death. Very well. And so at night-time they are gathered together, the convicts, just as we are here, and the old man with them. And so they fall to talking of what each is suffering for, and how he has sinned against God. One tells how he took a man's life, another two, another had set fire to something, and another was a runaway just for no reason. So they began asking the old man, ‘What,' they say, ‘are you suffering for, grandfather?' ‘I am suffering, dear brethren,' says he, ‘for my own sins, and for other men's sins. I have not taken a life, nor taken other men's goods, save what I have bestowed on poorer brethren. I was a merchant, dear brethren, and I had great wealth.' And he tells them this and that, and how the whole thing had happened. ‘For myself,' says he, ‘I do not grieve. God has chastened me. The only thing,' says he, ‘I am sorry for my old wife and my children.' And so the old man fell a-weeping. And it so happened that in that company there was the very man, you know, who had killed the merchant. ‘Where did it happen, grandfather?' says he. ‘When and in what month?' and so he asked him all about it. His heart began to ache. He goes up to the old man like this—and falls down at his feet. ‘You are suffering for me, old man,' says he. ‘It's the holy truth; this man is tormented innocently, for nothing, lads,' says he. ‘I did that deed,' says he, ‘and put the knife under his head when he was asleep. Forgive me, grandfather, for Christ's sake!' says he.”
Karataev paused, smiling blissfully, and gazing at the fire, as he rearranged the logs.
“The old man, he says, ‘God forgive you,' says he, ‘but we are all sinners before God,' says he. ‘I am suffering for my own sins.' And he wept with bitter tears. What do you think, darling?” said Karataev, his ecstatic smile growing more and more radiant, as though the great charm and whole point of his story lay in what he was going to tell now, “what do you think, darling, that murderer confessed of himself to the police. ‘I have killed six men,' says he (for he was a great criminal), ‘but what I am most sorry for is this old man. Let him not weep through my fault.' He confessed. It was written down, and a paper sent off to the right place. The place was far away. Then came a trial. Then all the reports were written in due course, by the authorities, I mean. It was brought to the Tsar. Then a decree comes from the Tsar to let the merchant go free; to give him the recompense they had awarded him. The paper comes; they fall to looking for the old man. Where was that old man who had suffered innocently? The paper had come from the Tsar, and they fell to looking for him.” Karataev's lower jaw quivered. “But God had pardoned him already—he was dead! So it happened, darling!” Karataev concluded, and he gazed a long while straight before him, smiling silently.
Not the story itself, but its mysterious import, the ecstatic gladness that beamed in Karataev's face as he told it, the mysterious significance of that gladness vaguely filled and rejoiced Pierre's soul now.  二十二日中午，皮埃尔沿着泥泞的打滑的道路向山上走，他看着自己的脚，又看看那崎岖的山道。他偶而看一眼他周围熟悉的人群，然后又看那双脚，全都是他所熟悉的。那条雪青色的哈叭狗快活地沿着路边跑。有时，为了证明它的敏捷和满足，它提起一只后腿，用三条腿跳，然后又用四条腿跑，狂吠着向栖在死尸上的乌鸦奔去。哈叭狗比在莫斯科时更快活，更光滑圆润。沿途到处都是各种动物的陈尸烂肉——从人的到马的，不同程度腐烂了的肉；狼不敢走近有行人的道路两旁，而狗可以任意大嚼大吃。 
雨从早上下起，眼看就要转晴，雨停了一阵，又下起来了，比先前还下得大，道路已经湿透，水顺着车辙流成了道道水沟。
皮埃尔一边走一边向两旁张望，每走三步就弯起一根手指头。他内心在嘀咕“下呀，下呀，再下大点！”
他觉得他什么都不想，但是，在他的内心深处，他的灵魂却在想一件重要的和令人欣慰的东西。这是他昨天和卡拉塔耶夫的谈话中得出来的最奥妙的精神收获。
在他们昨天的宿营地，皮埃尔在一堆快要燃烧完了的火堆旁觉得很冷，他站起身走到最近的一堆燃烧得较旺的火堆旁边。普拉东坐在火堆旁边，用他的大衣像法衣一样连头裹了起来，他用动人的、愉快的、然而却是微弱的、病人的声音向士兵们讲述着一个早已为皮埃尔熟悉的故事。下半夜，这通常是卡拉塔耶夫疟疾发作过后特别活跃的时候。皮埃尔走近火堆，听见普拉东微弱、病态的声音，看见他那被火光照亮了的可怜的脸，他的心像被针扎了一样，被刺痛了。他对这个人的同情使他吃惊，他想走开，但是没有另外的火堆可去，于是皮埃尔极力不看普拉东，在火堆旁坐了下来。
“你身体好吗？”他问道。
“身体？如果我们埋怨病，上帝就不会把死神赐给我们。”
卡拉塔耶夫说，他又接着讲述那个已讲开了头的故事。
“……我说，我的老弟，”普拉东继续说，他那苍白、憔悴的脸上带着笑容，眼睛里含着奇异的、喜悦的光亮，“我说，我的老弟……”
皮埃尔早就熟知这个故事，卡拉塔耶夫单独对他一个人至少讲过六次，而每次讲述这个故事时总是怀着奇特的、喜悦的感情。然而，无论皮埃尔对这个故事已经多么熟悉，他现在听起来，仍然觉得新鲜，卡拉塔耶夫讲述这个故事时所表现出的安详和出自内心的喜悦，感染着皮埃尔。这个故事是讲一个老商人，他和全家人都循规蹈矩，信奉上帝，有一次他和一个富商结伴到马卡里去所发生的事情。
他们俩住进一家客店，两个人都躺下睡了，第二天早晨发现那个富商被人杀害并劫走了财物。在老商人的枕头下面找到一把上面染着血迹的刀子。这个老商人遭到审判，挨了鞭打，撕破了鼻孔，——按照规矩要做的都做到了，——卡拉塔耶夫说——然后他就被流放，去做苦工。
“就是这样，我的老弟（卡拉塔耶夫讲到这里，皮埃尔就来了），这件事一晃过去了十多年，那个老头在劳动营服苦役，他规规矩矩，一件坏事也不做，他只乞求上帝赐他一死。嘿！一天夜里，犯人们聚在一起，就像我们现在这样，那个老头也在其中。他们谈论自己为什么受这份罪，是怎样得罪了上帝的。有一个说他杀过一个人，另一个说，他害死两条人命，还有一个说他是纵火，再有一个说他是逃亡者，什么罪也没有。接着大家问那个老头，“老人家你又是为了什么遭这个罪呢？”“我嘛，小兄弟们，我是为我自己的也是为别人的罪过才遭这个罪的，我没有杀过一个人，没有拿过别人一点东西，我还时常帮助穷人。亲爱的小兄弟们，我是个商人，我有很多财产。”他这样从头到尾地详详细细地把经过对大家讲了一遍。“我不为自己难过，这是上帝的旨意，不过只有一点，”他说，“我老伴和孩子太可怜了。”讲到这里，老人哭了。碰巧，在这群犯人中有一个人，就是这个人杀死了那个商人。“老人家，”那个人说，“那件事发生在什么地方？什么时间？哪一个月？”他问及所有情况，他的心被刺痛了。他就像这个样子走到老人跟前——扑通一声，跪倒在老人脚下。“老人家，”他说，“你是因为我才遭的这份罪，弟兄们，他说的都是真的，弟兄们，老人家没有罪，他是冤枉了的，那件事情是我干的，那把刀是我趁你睡着了塞到你枕头下面的。原谅我吧，老人家。”他说，“看在上帝的份上，原谅我吧。”
卡拉塔耶夫停住嘴，他凝视着火光，露出欣喜的笑容，拨了一下火。
——“那个老头说，上帝会饶恕你的，我们所有的人对上帝都有罪，我是为我自己的罪过才遭受这份罪。”他哭了，泪流满面。你们想不到吧，善良的人们，”卡拉塔耶夫说，他露出喜悦的笑容，眼睛闪着愈益明亮的光彩，好像他刚刚所讲述的故事里面，包含有一种最有魅力、最有意义的东西。
“你们真想不到，亲爱的朋友们，这个杀人凶手向当局自首了。他说，‘我害过六条人命，我是凶手，但是最使我难过的是那位老人，不能再让他为了我的缘故而遭罪。当局记录下供词，发了公文，一切都照章办理。那地方很远，一审再审，一道道公文，一层层上报，终于到了沙皇手中，沙皇的命令来了：无罪释放，发还没收的财产。公文下来了，到处找那老头。那个无辜的老头在哪里呢？”卡拉塔耶夫的下巴在打颤。‘上帝已经饶恕了他——他死了。你看，事情就这样，亲爱的朋友们。”卡拉塔耶夫结束道，他微笑着，默默地凝视着远方，停了很久。
这时，皮埃尔模模糊糊，充满了欢快，这不是因为这个故事本身，而是它那神秘的意义，是卡拉塔耶夫讲这个故事时，他那如痴如醉的神态和这种如痴如醉的神秘意义。
Book 14 Chapter 14
“TO YOUR PLACES!” a voice shouted suddenly.
There was a cheerful stir among the prisoners and convoy soldiers, and an air of expecting something festive and solemn. Shouted commands could be heard on all sides, and a party of well-dressed cavalry soldiers on good horses came trotting up from the left, making a circuit round the prisoners. Every face wore the look of nervousness commonly seen at the approach of men in authority. The prisoners huddled together and were shoved out of the way. The convoy soldiers formed in ranks.
“The Emperor! The Emperor! The marshal! The duke!…” and the sleek cavalry soldiers had hardly ridden by when a carriage rattled up drawn by grey horses. Pierre had a passing glimpse of the serene, handsome, fat, white face of a man in a three-cornered hat. It was one of the marshals. The marshal's eye was caught by Pierre's big, striking figure; and in the expression with which he frowned and looked away Pierre fancied he saw pity and the desire to conceal it.
The general in charge of the transport whipped up his lean horse, and galloped after the carriage with a red, panic-stricken face. Several officers met in a group; the soldiers came round them. All had excited and uneasy faces.
“What did he say? What was it he said? …” Pierre heard.
While the marshal was driving by, the prisoners had been hustled together into one group, and Pierre caught sight of Karataev, whom he had not yet seen that morning. He was sitting, wrapped in his little military coat, leaning against a birch-tree. His face still wore the same look of joyous emotion as when he had been telling the story of the merchant, but it had another expression too, a look of subdued solemnity.
Karataev looked at Pierre with his kindly, round eyes, that were bright now with tears, and there was an unmistakable appeal in them. He evidently wanted to say something to him. But Pierre was in too great dread for himself. He made as though he had not seen that look, and hastily walked away.
When the prisoners set off again Pierre looked back. Karataev was sitting under the birch-tree by the edge of the road, and two Frenchmen were bending over him in conversation. Pierre did not look again. He went on limping up the hill.
There was the sound of a shot behind, at the spot where Karataev was sitting. Pierre heard that shot distinctly, but at the moment that he heard it, he recalled that he had not finished reckoning up how many stages were left to Smolensk, the calculation he had begun before the marshal rode by. And he began to reckon. Two French soldiers ran by Pierre, one holding a still smoking gun. They were both pale, and in the expression of their faces—one of them glanced timidly at Pierre—there was something like what he had seen in the young soldier at the execution in Moscow. Pierre looked at the soldier and remembered how, the day before yesterday, the man had burnt his shirt in drying it before the fire, and how the others had laughed at him.
The dog began to howl behind at the spot where Karataev was sitting. “Silly creature! what is she howling for?” thought Pierre
The prisoners, his companions marching at his side, like him, refrained from looking back to the place whence came the sound of the shot and the dog's howl. There was a set look on all their faces.
“Avosplaces！”①突然间喊出一声口令。 
在俘虏和押送队中发生了一阵骚动，似乎期待着一种快乐而庄严的事情。四面八方都传来了口令声，从俘虏队的左边来了一队骑着骏马，军容整肃的骑兵。所有的人都紧张起来，这是每当最高当局的大人物驾临时人们常有的表情。俘虏们被赶到一边，挤成一团。押送队的士兵们集合列队。
“L'empereur！L'empereur！Lemaréchal！Leduc！”②一队剽悍的后卫骑兵刚驶过，接着就有一辆由两匹灰马并驾的四轮轿形车咕咕隆隆地驶过。皮埃尔瞥见一个仪态端庄白胖胖的，头戴三角帽的人的脸。这是一位元帅。元帅向皮埃尔那引人注目的粗壮躯体看了一眼。从元帅紧锁双眉和立即掉过脸去的表情，皮埃尔看出了有一种同情和有意把这种同情掩饰住的表情。
那个管理军队的将军，满脸通红，神色惊慌，鞭打着他骑的那匹瘦马，在马车后面奔跑着。有九个军官聚在一块，一些士兵站在他们周围。所有人的表情既兴奋又紧张。
“Qu'estcequ'iladit？Qu'estcequ'iladit？…”③皮埃尔听见人们问。 
①法语：各就各位②法语：皇帝！皇帝！元帅！
③法语：他说什么？他说什么？
在元帅经过时，俘虏们挤在一堆，皮埃尔看到了从早上起还没有看到过的卡拉塔耶夫。卡拉塔耶夫穿着窄小的军大衣，靠着一株桦树坐着。他脸上，除了昨天讲述那个无辜受罪的老人的故事时所表现的欢喜神情外，还露出宁静、庄严的表现。
卡拉塔耶夫睁着他那温和的、满含泪水的眼睛望着皮埃尔。显然是希望他能走近点，以便对他说点什么。但是，皮埃尔为自身的处境所担心，他佯装没有看见，急忙走开了。
当俘虏又启程的时候，皮埃尔回头看了一眼，卡拉塔耶夫坐在路边的桦树旁，两个法国人站在旁边在说什么。皮埃尔没有再回头看，他一瘸一瘸地向山坡上走去。
从后面卡拉塔耶夫坐着的地方，传来一声枪响。皮埃尔听得十分清楚，就在这一瞬间，他想起了，他尚未计算出到达斯摩棱斯克还有多少站，这是在那个元帅经过之前就开始计算了。于是他又开始计算。有两个法国士兵从皮埃尔身旁跑过，其中一个提着一支还在冒烟的枪。他们俩脸色苍白，其中一个怯生生地看了皮埃尔一眼，他们的表情和皮埃尔曾见过的那个行刑的年轻士兵的表情一样。皮埃尔看一眼那个士兵，想起了三天前他在火堆旁烤衬衫，把衬衫烤糊了，他们为此还嘲笑过他。
在他后面，在卡拉塔耶夫坐过的那个地方，那条狗在哀嗥。“愚蠢的畜牲，嗥什么？”皮埃尔想。
皮埃尔和同行的同伴们一样，都没有回头看那发出枪声和后来狗叫的地方，但每个人脸上的表情都十分严峻。
Book 14 Chapter 15
THE CAVALRY TRANSPORT, and the prisoners, and the marshal's baggage-train, halted at the village of Shamshevo. All crowded together round the campfire. Pierre went up to a fire, ate some roast horse-flesh, lay down with his back to the fire, and at once fell asleep. He fell into the same sort of sleep that he had slept at Mozhaisk, after the battle of Borodino.
Again the facts of real life mingled with his dreams; and again some one, himself or some one else, was uttering thoughts in his ear, and the same thoughts, indeed, as had come in his dream at Mozhaisk.
Life is everything. Life is God. All is changing and moving, and that motion is God. And while there is life, there is the joy of the consciousness of the Godhead. To love life is to love God. The hardest and the most blessed thing is to love this life in one's sufferings, in undeserved suffering.
“Karataev!” flashed into Pierre's mind. And all at once there rose up, as vivid as though alive, the image, long forgotten, of the gentle old teacher, who had given Pierre geography lessons in Switzerland. “Wait a minute,” the old man was saying. And he was showing Pierre a globe. This globe was a living, quivering ball, with no definite limits. Its whole surface consisted of drops, closely cohering together. And those drops were all in motion, and changing, several passing into one, and then one splitting up again into many. Every drop seemed striving to spread, to take up more space, but the others, pressing upon it, sometimes absorbed it, sometimes melted into it.
“This is life,” the old teacher was saying.
“How simple it is and how clear,” thought Pierre. “How was it I did not know that before? God is in the midst, and each drop strives to expand, to reflect Him on the largest scale possible. And it grows, and is absorbed and crowded out, and on the surface it disappears, goes back into the depths, and falls not to the surface again. That is how it is with him, with Karataev; he is absorbed and has disappeared.”
“You understand, my child,” said the teacher.
“You understand, damn you!” shouted a voice, and Pierre woke up.
He raised his head and sat up. A French soldier was squatting on his heels by the fire. He had just shoved away a Russian soldier, and was roasting a piece of meat on the end of a ramrod. His sinewy, lean, hairy, red hands, with short fingers, were deftly turning the ramrod. His brown, morose face, with its sullen brows, could be clearly seen in the light of the glowing embers.
“It's just the same to him,” he muttered, quickly addressing a soldier standing behind him. “Brigand! go!”
And the soldier, turning the ramrod, glanced gloomily at Pierre. The latter turned away, gazing into the shadows. A Russian soldier, the one who had been pushed away, was sitting near the fire, patting something with his hand. Looking more closely, Pierre saw the grey dog, who was sitting by the soldier, wagging her tail.
“Ah, she has come …” said Pierre. “And Plat …” he was beginning, but he did not go on. All at once, instantly in close connection, there rose up the memory of the look Platon had fixed upon him, as he sat under the tree, of the shot heard at that spot, of the dog's howl, of the guilty faces of the soldiers as they ran by, of the smoking gun, of Karataev's absence at that halting-place; and he was on the point of fully realising that Karataev had been killed, but at the same instant, at some mysterious summons, there rose up the memory of a summer evening he had spent with a beautiful Polish lady on the verandah of his house at Kiev. And nevertheless, making no effort to connect the impressions of the day, and to deduce anything from them, Pierre closed his eyes, and the picture of the summer night in the country mingled with the thought of bathing and of that fluid, quivering globe, and he seemed to sink deep down into water, so that the waters closed over his head.
Before sunrise he was wakened by loud and rapid shots and outcries. The French were flying by him.
“The Cossacks!” one of them shouted, and a minute later a crowd of Russians were surrounding Pierre. For a long while Pierre could not understand what had happened to him. He heard all about him his comrades' wails of joy.
“Mates! our own folk! brothers!” the old soldiers cried, weeping, as they embraced the Cossacks and the hussars. The hussars and the Cossacks crowded round the prisoners, pressing on them clothes, and boots, and bread. Pierre sat sobbing in their midst, and could not utter one word; he hugged the first soldier who went up to him, and kissed him, weeping.
Dolohov was standing at the gates of a dilapidated house, letting the crowd of unarmed Frenchmen pass by him. The French, excited by all that had happened, were talking loudly among themselves; but as they passed before Dolohov, who stood switching his boots with his riding-whip, and watching them with his cold, glassy eyes, that boded nothing good, their talk died away. One of Dolohov's Cossacks stood on the other side, counting the prisoners, and marking off the hundreds with a chalk mark on the gate.
“How many?” Dolohov asked him.
“The second hundred,” answered the Cossack.
“Filez, filez,” said Dolohov, who had picked up the expression from the French; and when he met the eyes of the passing prisoners, his eyes gleamed with a cruel light.
With a gloomy face Denisov, holding his high Cossack hat in his hand, was walking behind the Cossacks, who were bearing to a hole freshly dug in the garden the body of Petya Rostov.
军需物资、俘虏兵和元帅的辎重队都驻扎在沙姆舍沃村。大家都围坐在火堆旁。皮埃尔走近火堆，吃了些烤马肉，背着火躺下身子，立刻就睡着了。他又像在波罗底诺战役后在莫扎伊斯克那样睡着了。 
现实的事件又和梦境结合在一起，又有一个人，是他自己呢，还是另一个人，对他谈思想，甚至就是在莫扎伊斯克对他所谈的那些思想。
“生命是一切。生命是上帝。一切都在变化和运动，这个运动就是上帝。只要有生命，就有感应神灵的快乐。热爱生命就是热爱上帝。”
比所有一切都更困难和更幸福的是，在苦难中，在无辜的苦难中，热爱这个生命。
“卡拉塔耶夫！”皮埃尔想起了他。
皮埃尔突然像过电影似的在脑子里出现了一位他早已遗忘的、在瑞士教过他地理课的、仁慈的老教师。“等一等。”那个老者说，他给皮埃尔看一个天球仪。这是一个活动的，晃动的，没有一定比例的圆球。圆球表面是密密麻麻、彼此紧挨着的点点。这些点点都在运动着，不断变换位置，时而几个合成一个，时而一个分成若干个。每一个点都极力扩张，抢占最大空间，而别的点也极力扩张，排挤它，有时消灭它，有时和它合在一起。
“这就是生命。”老教师说。
“这是多么简单明了，”皮埃尔想。“我怎么先前就不知道呢。”
“上帝在那中间，每一个点点都在扩大，以便最大限度地反映它自身。它生长，汇合，紧缩，从表面上消失，沉入深渊，又浮上来。这就是他，就是卡拉塔耶夫，你看，他扩散开来了，又消失了。——Vousavezcompris，monenfant．①”
教师说。
“Vousavezcompris，sacrénom．”②一个声音喊道，于是皮埃尔醒了。
他欠身坐了起来。火堆旁边蹲着一个法国人，他推开一个俘虏，拿一根穿着肉的通条，放在火上烘烤。他卷着袖筒，两手青筋暴突，长满茸毛，皮肤发红，手指短粗，他灵活地转动着通条。他紧锁双眉，褐色面孔阴沉沉的，在通红的炭火的光亮中清晰可见。
“Caluiestbiengal……Brigand．Va！”③他迅速转过身子对身后的一个士兵说。 
①法语：你懂得了，我的孩子。
②法语：你明白了，该死的。
③法语：他反正一样……是个土匪，没错！
那个士兵转动着通条，冷冷地向皮埃尔瞥了一眼。皮埃尔转过脸去，向黑暗中看去。有一个俘虏，就是被法国人推开的那个人，坐在火边用手拍打着什么。皮埃尔凑近一看，认出了那只雪青的小狗，它摇着尾巴坐在那个士兵身旁。
“啊，你来啦？”皮埃尔说，“啊，普拉东……”他还没有把刚开了头的话说完。
突然间，如烟往事在脑际涌现出来：有普拉东坐在树下投来的目光，有那个地方传来的枪声，狗的叫声，两个法国人从他身旁跑过去时带有犯罪的面部表情，那支还在冒烟的枪，想起在这个宿营地永远也见不着的卡拉塔耶夫，他正要弄清楚卡拉塔耶夫是否已被打死，但是，就在这一刹那，他也不知道为什么，他忽然想起他和一个美丽的波兰姑娘在他在基辅的住宅阳台上度过的那个夏夜。皮埃尔没有把这一天的回忆都联系起来，再从其中作出结论，他闭上眼，于是夏天的自然风光和对游泳以及对流动的液体球的回忆混合在一起，于是他沉入水中，水淹过了他的头顶。
日出之前，他被巨大的密急的枪声和呐喊声惊醒。法国人从他身旁跑过。
“Lescosaques！”①一个法国人喊叫道，一分钟后，皮埃尔周围都是俄国人。 
①法语：哥萨克。
皮埃尔有好一阵子没弄明白是怎么一回事，他听见周围同伴们欢喜的哭泣声。
“弟兄们！我的亲人们，亲爱的！”那些老兵边哭边喊叫着拥抱哥萨克和骠骑兵。骠骑兵和哥萨克围着俘虏们，给的给衣服，给的给靴子，给的给面包，皮埃尔坐在他们当中，放声大哭，激动地一句话也说不出来，他紧紧拥抱第一个走到他面前的士兵，一边哭，一边狂吻着。
多洛霍夫站在一所已倒塌的房屋的大门旁边，已缴了械的法国人从他面前走过。那些法国人为刚刚发生的这一切而激动，相互间大声议论着；当他们从多洛霍夫面前走过时，他们看见他用马鞭抽打着靴子，以冷峻的目光在注视他们时，他们不再吭声了。另一边站着一个多洛霍夫部的哥萨克在清点俘虏人数。每数到一百就在门上划个记号。
“多少了？”多洛霍夫问数俘虏的哥萨克。
“二百了。”那个哥萨克回答道。
“Filez，filez，”①多洛霍夫不住地说，这是他从法国人那里学来的话。他的目光一碰到俘虏的目光时，眼睛就突然爆发出残酷的光芒。 
①法语：快走，快走。
几个哥萨克抬着彼佳·罗斯托夫的尸体向在花园内已挖好的墓穴走去，杰尼索夫脱下帽子，阴沉着脸跟在后面。
Book 14 Chapter 16
FROM THE 28TH of October, when the frosts began, the flight of the French assumed a more tragic aspect, from the men being frozen or roasted to death by the camp-fires, while the Emperor, and kings, and dukes, still drove on with their stolen booty in fur cloaks and closed carriages. But in its essentials, the process of the flight and disintegration of the French army went on unchanged.
From Moscow to Vyazma of the seventy-three thousands of the French army (not reckoning the Guards, who had done nothing but pillage all through the war), only thirty-six thousand were left, though only five thousand had been killed in battle. Here we have the first term of a progression, by which the remaining terms are determined with mathematical exactness. The French army went on melting away and disappearing in the same ratio from Moscow to Vyazma, from Vyazma to Smolensk, from Smolensk to the Berezina, from the Berezina to Vilna, apart from the greater or less degree of cold, the pursuit and barring of the way, and all other conditions taken separately. After Vyazma, instead of three columns, the French troops formed a single mass, and so they marched on to the end. This is how Berthier wrote to the Emperor (and we know that generals feel it permissible to depart rather widely from the truth in describing the condition of their armies):—
“I think it my duty to report to your majesty the condition of the various corps under my observation on the march the last two or three days. They are almost disbanded. Hardly a quarter of the men remain with the flags of their regiments; the rest wander off on their own account in different directions, trying to seek food and to escape discipline. All think only of Smolensk, where they hope to recover. During the last few days many soldiers have been observed to throw away their cartridges and muskets. In such a condition of affairs, whatever your further plans may be, the interests of your majesty's service make it essential to muster the army at Smolensk, and to rid them of ineffectives, such as cavalry men without horses, as well as of superfluous baggage and a part of the artillery, which is now out of proportion with the numbers of the effective army. Supplies and some days' rest are essential: the soldiers are exhausted by hunger and fatigue; during the last few days many have died by the roadside or in the bivouacs. This state of things is growing continually worse, and if steps are not quickly taken for averting the danger, we shall be exposed to the risk of being unable to control the army in the event of a battle.
“November 9. Thirty versts from Smolensk.”
After struggling into Smolensk, the promised land of their dreams, the French killed one another fighting over the food there, sacked their own stores, and when everything had been pillaged, they ran on further. All hastened on, not knowing whither or for what end they were going; least of all knew that great genius, Napoleon, since there was no one to give him orders. But still he and those about him clung to their old habits: wrote commands, letters, reports, orders of the day; called each other your majesty, mon frère, Prince d'Eckmühl, roi de Naples, and so on. But the orders and reports were all on paper: no attempt was made to carry them out, because they could not be carried out. And although they addressed each other as “majesty,” “highness,” and “mon cousin,” they all felt that they were pitiful and loathsome creatures, who had done a great wrong, for which they had now to pay the penalty. And in spite of their pretence of caring for the army, each was thinking only of himself, and how to make his escape as quickly as possible to safety.
自十月二十八以后，大地开始上冻。法国军队溃逃的境遇更加悲惨：有的被冻死，有的在火堆旁烤死。而皇帝、总督和公爵们身穿皮衣，驾着马车，携带抢来的财物，继续往前赶路；但是法国军队自从莫斯科撤退后就一直溃不成军。这种现象一直没有丝毫变化。 
从莫斯科到维亚济马，法军原有七万三千人（不包括近卫军，他们除了抢劫，在整个战争中什么事情也不干），现在只剩下三万六千人了（在战争中阵亡的约五千人）。这是第一阶段的数字，以后的数字完全可以用算术计算出来了。
从莫斯科到维亚济马，从维亚济马到斯摩棱斯克，从斯摩棱斯克到别列济纳，从别列济纳到维也纳，法军就是按照上述比例减员和毁灭的，法军的减员和毁灭与天气寒冷的程度、追击、道路阻障以及一切其他的条件无关。到达维亚济马后，原先分三路纵队行进的法军，已缩成一团，就这样一直走到最后。贝蒂埃向皇帝上了一道奏章（众所周知，这些官员报告军队状况，与真实情况相距甚远了）。他写道：
“我有责任向陛下报告，这三天我在各军团行军中所见到的情况，这些军团已溃不成军，军旗下只有四分之一的士兵，余者四散奔逃，去寻找食物或逃避执行军务。都想早日赶到斯摩棱斯克，以便能获得喘息的机会。
这几天许多士兵把枪支弹药扔掉。不论陛下今后如何打算，我们都必须在斯摩棱斯克进行休整，应当清除徒步的骑兵、徒手的士兵，不必要的辎重以及与目前兵力不相适应的炮兵用品。军队需要补充给养和休息。由于饥饿和劳累，士兵们已精疲力尽，最近几天有许多士兵死于行军途中和宿营地。这种情况继续在恶化，如不迅速采取补救措施，一旦发生战斗，我们手中将没有可用之兵。
十一月九日，离斯摩棱斯克三十俄里。① 
①这篇奏章是作者用法文写的——译者注。
法国人蜂拥进入他们看作是天堂的斯摩棱斯克之后，为了夺得食物，互相残杀或抢劫自己的仓库。把什么都抢光之后，又继续奔逃。
法国人一味向前奔逃，他们不知道去哪里，也不知道为了什么。可怜，天才的拿破仑比别人知道得更少，因为没有人给他下指令。但是他和他周围的人依然保持惯例：下命令，发公函，写报告，下Ordredujour①彼此称呼：“Sire，moncousin，princed'Ekmuhl，roideNaples”②等等。所有这些都是废纸一堆，因为已不可能办到，他们虽然以陛下、殿下和贤弟相称，但是已经意识到，由于作恶多端，现在正得到报应，已经成为可怜虫。他们伪装得很关心军队，其实每个人心里都只有自己，只想能逃出一条命来。 
①法语：每日报表。
②法语：陛下、贤弟、埃克木尔王、那不勒斯王。
Book 14 Chapter 17
THE ACTIONS of the Russian and French armies during the retreat from Moscow to the Niemen resemble a game of Russian blindman's buff, in which there are two players, both with their eyes bandaged, and one rings a bell at intervals to let the other know of his whereabouts. At first he rings his bell with no fear of his opponent; but when he begins to find himself in a difficult position, he runs away as noiselessly as he can from his opponent, and often supposing he is running away from him, walks straight into his arms.
At first Napoleon's army made its whereabouts known—that was in the early period of the retreat along the Kaluga road—but afterwards, when they had taken to the Smolensk road, they ran holding the tongue of the bell; and often supposing they were running away, ran straight towards the Russians.
Owing to the rapidity of the flight of the French, and of the Russians after them, and the consequent exhaustion of the horses, the chief means of keeping a close watch on the enemy's position—by means of charges of cavalry—was out of the question. Moreover, in consequence of the frequent and rapid changes of position of both armies, what news did come always came too late. If information arrived on the second that the army of the enemy had been in a certain place on the first, by the third, when the information could be acted upon, the army was already two days' march further, and in quite a different position.
One army fled, the other pursued. From Smolensk, there were a number of different roads for the French to choose from; and one would have thought that, as they stayed there four days, the French might have found out where the enemy was, have thought out some advantageous plan, and undertaken something new. Yet, after a halt of four days, the crowds of them ran back; again not to right or to left, but, with no man?uvres or plans, along their old road—the worst one—by Krasnoe and Orsha, along their beaten track.
Expecting the enemy in their rear and not in front, the French ran, straggling out, and getting separated as far as twenty-four hours' march from one another. In front of all fled the Emperor, then the kings, then the dukes. The Russian army, supposing Napoleon would take the road to the right beyond the Dnieper—the only sensible course—turned also to the right, and came out on the high road at Krasnoe. And here, just as in the game of blindman, the French came bearing straight down on our vanguard. Seeing the enemy unexpectedly, the French were thrown into confusion, stopped short from the suddenness of the fright, but then ran on again, abandoning their own comrades in their rear. Then for three days, the separate parts of the French army passed, as it were, through the lines of the Russian army: first the viceroy's troops, then Davoust's, and then Ney's. They all abandoned one another, abandoned their heavy baggage, their artillery, and half their men, and fled, making semicircles to the right to get round the Russians by night.
Ney was the last, because in spite, or perhaps in consequence, of their miserable position, with a child's impulse to beat the floor that has bruised it, he lingered to demolish the walls of Smolensk, which had done nobody any harm. Ney, who was the last to pass with his corps of ten thousand, reached Napoleon at Orsha with only a thousand men, having abandoned all the rest, and all his cannons, and made his way by stealth at night, under cover of the woods, across the Dnieper.
From Orsha they fled on along the road to Vilna, still playing the same game of blindman with the pursuing army. At Berezina again, they were thrown into confusion, many were drowned, many surrendered, but those that got across the river, fled on.
Their chief commander wrapped himself in a fur cloak, and getting into a sledge, galloped off alone, deserting his companions. Whoever could, ran away too, and those who could not—surrendered or died.
在从莫斯科撤退到涅曼的途中，俄、法两国军队的行动就像是一种捉迷藏的游戏。两个作游戏的人都被蒙上眼睛，其中一个人不停地、时断时续地摇一个小铃铛，铃声把自己所在地点告诉了对方。起初，那个被捉的人不怕他的对手，大胆地摇着铃铛，但是当他处于逆境的时候，他极力悄悄行动，躲避着敌方。可是常常自以为已经躲开了，却一下落入敌人的手中。 
一开始，拿破仑军队在沿着卡卢日斯卡雅大道行进的时候，还让人知道他们所在的地点。可是，当他们走上通往斯摩棱斯克大道时，他们就不再“摇铃铛”了，悄然逃跑，他们常常以为自己已经逃避开了，这时却又迎头碰上了俄国人。
法国人在前面逃命，俄国人在后面追击，行动都十分迅速。战马都精疲力尽，而马又是在战斗中能大体确定敌人位置的主要手段。用骑兵进行侦察已不能使用了。此外，由于双方军队位置的变动是如此频繁，如此迅速，在这种情况下，即使获得情报也不可能及时地送达部队。如果第二天得到消息说敌方头一天在某地，那么在第三天要采取什么措施时，那支军队已经向前走了两天，进入了一个完全不同的方位了。
一方的军队在前面逃命，另一方的军队在后面追击，从斯摩棱斯克出发，法国人本来有许多条不同的道路可供选择。从表面上看，法国人在他们停留的四天之中，完全可以弄清楚敌人在什么地方，作出有利的战略决策，采取点新措施。可是在停留了四天之后，这一群乌合之众，没有新战略，没有新措施，既不从左边走，也不从右边走，又沿着最坏的老路——沿着那条他们熟悉的大路，向克拉斯诺耶和奥尔沙逃跑。
法国人以为敌人在后面，而不是在前面，他们在逃跑中兵力过于分散，距离拉得过长，首尾相距二十四小时的路程。逃在最前面的是皇帝，然后是王侯们，再后面是公爵们。俄国军队料想拿破仑一定会从右面渡过德聂伯河，这是唯一合理的选择，所以俄军也向右转，沿着通往克拉斯诺耶的大道前进。就像捉迷藏一样，法国人在这儿遇到了俄军先头部队。法国人出乎意料地碰上了敌人，陷入了一片混乱，由于出乎意外而吓得不知所措，停了下来，接着前面的法国人扔下跟随其后的同伴，又继续奔逃，就这样，法军的各个部分，先是王侯们的，然后是达乌的，再随后是内伊的，就好像是从俄军的队列中通过一样，一连过了三天。他们扔掉了所有的笨重的东西，扔掉了大炮和一半的人员，没命地奔逃，各不相顾，他们只敢在夜间逃跑，向右边绕着半圆形的圈子逃跑，以避免与俄国人遭遇。
走在最后面的是内伊，这是因为他要执行炸毁对任何人都不会构成威胁的斯摩棱斯克城墙的任务（虽然他们的处境已很不幸，或者正因为这种不幸，他们才捶打那块跌伤了他们的地板），内伊率领的那个军团本来有一万人，他跑到奥尔沙拿破仑那里的时候，就只剩下一千人了。他把其余的人和大炮全都抛弃掉了。他在夜晚穿过森林偷偷渡过德聂伯河。
他们又从奥尔沙沿着通往维尔纳的大路继续向前逃跑，还是那样，和追击的军队又玩起了捉迷藏的游戏。在别列济纳河他们又乱作一团，有很多人淹死在河中，有很多人缴械投降，但是渡过河去的那些人又继续往前奔逃。他们的那位主帅身着皮外套，坐着一辆雪橇，扔下他的同伴们，独个儿往前狂奔，能逃跑的就逃跑，不能逃跑的就投降，还有的就倒毙在逃命的途中。
Book 14 Chapter 18
ONE MIGHT have supposed that the historians, who ascribe the actions of the masses to the will of one man, would have found it impossible to explain the retreat of the French on their theory, considering that they did everything possible during this period of the campaign to bring about their own ruin, and that not a single movement of that rabble of men, from their turning into the Kaluga road up to the flight of the commander from his army, showed the slightest trace of design.
But no! Mountains of volumes have been written by historians upon this campaign, and in all of them we find accounts of Napoleon's masterly arrangements and deeply considered plans; of the strategy with which the soldiers were led, and the military genius showed by the marshals.
The retreat from Maley Yaroslavets, when nothing hindered Napoleon from passing through a country abundantly furnished with supplies, and the parallel road was open to him, along which Kutuzov afterwards pursued him—this wholly unnecessary return by a road through devastated country is explained to us as due to various sagacious considerations. Similar reasons are given us for Napoleon's retreat from Smolensk to Orsha. Then we have a description of his heroism at Krasnoe, when he is reported to have prepared to give battle, and to take the command, and coming forward with a birch stick in his hand, to have said:
“Long enough I have been an emperor, it is time now to be a general!”
Yet in spite of this, he runs away immediately afterwards, abandoning the divided army in the rear to the hazards of destiny.
Then we have descriptions of the greatness of some of the marshals, especially of Ney—a greatness of soul that culminated in his taking a circuitous route by the forests across the Dnieper, and fleeing without his flags, his artillery, and nine-tenths of his men into Orsha.
And lastly, the final departure of the great Emperor from his heroic army is represented by the historians as something great—a stroke of genius.
Even that final act of running away—which in homely language would be described as the lowest depth of baseness, such as every child is taught to feel ashamed of—even that act finds justification in the language of the historians.
When it is impossible to stretch the elastic thread of historical argument further, when an action is plainly opposed to what all humanity is agreed in calling right and justice, the historians take refuge in the conception of greatness. Greatness would appear to exclude all possibility of applying standards of right and wrong. For the great man—nothing is wrong. There is no atrocity which could be made a ground for blaming a great man.
“C'est grand!” cry the historians; and at that word good and bad have ceased to be, and there are only “grand” and not “grand.” “Grand” is equivalent to good, and not “grand” to bad. To be grand is to their notions the characteristic of certain exceptional creatures, called by them heroes. And Napoleon, wrapping himself in his warm fur cloak and hurrying home away from men, who were not only his comrades, but (in his belief) brought there by his doing, feels que c'est grand; and his soul is content.
“Du sublime au ridicule il n'y a qu'un pas,” he says (he sees something grand in himself). And the whole world has gone on for fifty years repeating: Sublime! Grand! Napoleon the Great.
“Du sublime au ridicule il n'y a qu'un pas.”
And it never enters any one's head that to admit a greatness, immeasurable by the rule of right and wrong, is but to accept one's own nothingness and immeasurable littleness.
For us, with the rule of right and wrong given us by Christ, there is nothing for which we have no standard. And there is no greatness where there is not simplicity, goodness, and truth.
法国人在整个溃逃过程中，做尽了他们所能够做的断送自己命运的一切事情，从转向卢日斯卡雅大道到主帅扔下自己的部队只身逃跑，这一群乌合之众的每一个行动，都没有丝毫意义。这样，我们可以说，在这一阶段的战役中，要把群众的行动归因于某个人意志的历史学家们，要按照他们的思想来描述这次大溃逃是绝对不可能了。其实不然，历史学家所写的关于这一战役的书籍可以堆积如山，对拿破仑的战略部署、深思熟虑的战略决策以及指挥军队作战的机动灵活，还有他的元帅们的军事天才，都作了淋漓尽致的描述。 
从小雅罗斯拉维茨退却的时候，他可以通过一个物产丰富足以补充给养的地区，另外还有一条与此平行的道路可供选择，后来库图佐夫就是沿着这条道路追击他的，而他却完全没有必要走那条已经被破坏了的道路。而历史学家却认为这是具有种种深谋远虑的战略行动。他从斯摩棱斯克向奥尔沙溃退也同样被说成是经过深思熟虑的行动。然后，还描述了他在克拉斯诺耶的英雄行为。据说，他准备在那里部署一次战斗，由他亲自指挥，他手持一条桦木棍，不停来回走动着，说道：
“J'aiassezfaitl'empereur，ilesttempsdefairelegénéral．”①他说是说了，但是说完大话之后就立刻逃走，丢下了他身后早已溃不成军的队伍，让他们去听天由命罢了。
后来，人们向我们描述了元帅们灵魂的伟大，特别是内伊，他的灵魂之伟大就在于，他在夜间绕道穿过森林，偷偷地渡过了德聂伯河，他扔掉了军旗和九千名将士，狼狈向奥尔沙逃命。 
①法语：我当皇帝已经当够了，现在该当一下将军了。
最后，历史学家告诉我们说，那位伟大的皇帝最后离开了英雄的军队，这也算是一桩伟大的天才的行动。甚至对这种最后逃走，在人的语言中被认作是最卑鄙、最无耻的行为，就连三岁小孩也会认为这是最可耻的行为，而这种行为在历史学家的语言中，竟然能够得到辩护。
每当历史提到这些富有弹性的线延伸得不能再延伸的时候，每当那种行为与人类称作善良，甚至称作正义，已明显相违背时，历史学家们就乞救“伟大”这个词的概念。好像是用“伟大”这个词可以排除衡量善良和丑恶的标准。“伟大的人物”没有邪恶的行为。谁是一个伟大的人物，谁就不用担心会因他的过失遭到谴责。
“C'estgrand！”①历史学家们说道，这时已经既没有所谓善良，也没有所谓丑恶，只有“grand”②和“Hegrand”③。Grand④就是善良，Hegrand⑤就是丑恶。按照历史学家的观点，grand是被他们称作英雄人物的这些特殊人物的特性。拿破仑穿着暖和的皮衣逃回老家，他不仅扔下那些等待死亡的伙伴（按照他的说法，是他把他们带领到那里去的，他觉得quec'estgrand⑥，因而他也就心安理得。
“Dusublime（他从自己身上看到sublime的东西）auridi－culeiln'yaqu'unpas，”⑦于是全世界五十年来不断地说：“Sub－lime！Grand！Naplléonlegrand！Dusublimeauridiculeiln'yaqu'unpas．”⑧可是，谁都不曾想一下，承认伟大，而不顾及善良和丑恶还有一个标准，这只能说明他自己的卑劣和无限的渺小罢了。 
①法语：这是伟大的。
②法语：伟大的。
③法语：不伟大。
④法语：伟大。
⑤法语：不伟大。
⑥法语：他很伟大。
⑦法语：从崇高到可笑只有一步距离。
⑧法语：崇高！伟大！伟大的拿破仑！崇高到可笑只有一步距离。
对于我们来说，基督已赋予我们区别善良和丑恶的标准，这就没有不可衡量的东西。哪里没有纯朴、没有善良、没有真理，哪里就没有伟大。
Book 14 Chapter 19
WHAT RUSSIAN READER has not known an irksome feeling of annoyance, dissatisfaction, and perplexity, when he reads the accounts of the latter period of the campaign of 1812? Who has not asked himself: How was it all the French were not captured or cut to pieces, when all the three Russian armies were surrounding them in superior numbers, when the French were a disorderly, starving, and freezing rabble, and the whole aim of the Russians (so history tells us) was to check, to cut off, and to capture all the French?
How was it that the Russian army, that with inferior numbers had fought the battle of Borodino, failed in its aim of capturing the French, when the latter were surrounded on three sides? Can the French be so immensely superior to us that we are not equal to beating them, when we have surrounded them with forces numerically superior? How could that have come to pass? History (what passes by that name) answers these questions by saying that that came to pass because Kutuzov, and Tormasov, and Tchitchagov, and this general and that failed to carry out certain man?uvres.
But why did they fail to carry them out? And how was it, if they really were responsible for not attaining the aim set before them, that they were not tried and punished for their shortcomings? But even if we admit that Kutuzov and Tchitchagov and the others were responsible for the non-success of the Russians, it is still impossible to understand why, in the position the Russian troops were in at Krasnoe and the Berezina, on both occasions with numerically superior forces, the French army and marshals were not taken prisoners, if that really was the aim of the Russians.
The explanation of this phenomenon given by the Russian military historians—that Kutuzov hindered the attack—is insufficient, because we know that Kutuzov was not able to restrain the troops from attacking at Vyazma and Tarutino. Why was it that the Russian army, that with inferior forces gained a victory at Borodino over the enemy in full strength, was unsuccessful at Krasnoe and the Berezina, when fighting in superior numbers against the undisciplined crowds of the French?
If the aim of the Russians really was to cut off Napoleon and his marshals, and to take them prisoners, and that aim was not only frustrated, but all attempts at attaining it were every time defeated in the most shameful way, this last period of the war is quite correctly represented by the French as a series of victories for them, and quite incorrectly represented by the Russians as redounding to our glory.
The Russian military historians, so far as they recognise the claims of logic, are forced to this conclusion, and in spite of their lyric eulogies of Russian gallantry and devotion, and all the rest of it, they are reluctantly obliged to admit that the retreat of the French from Moscow was a series of victories for Napoleon and of defeats for Kutuzov.
But putting patriotic vanity entirely aside, one cannot but feel that there is an inherent discrepancy in this conclusion, seeing that the series of French victories led to their complete annihilation, while the series of Russian defeats was followed by the destruction of their enemy, and the deliverance of their country.
The source of this discrepancy lies in the fact that historians, studying events in the light of the letters of the sovereigns and of generals, of narratives, reports, projects, and so on, have assumed quite falsely that the plan of that period of the campaign of 1812 was to cut off and capture Napoleon and his marshals and his army.
Such a plan never was, and could not have been, the aim of the Russian army, because it had no meaning, and its attainment was utterly out of the question.
There was no object in such a plan. In the first place, because Napoleon's army was flying in disorder at its utmost possible speed out of Russia; that is to say, doing the very thing that every Russian most desired. What object was there in conducting all sorts of operations against the French when they were running away as fast as they could already? Secondly, it would have been idle to stop men on the road, whose whole energies were bent on flight. Thirdly, it would have been absurd to lose men in destroying the French army when it was already, without external interference, perishing at such a rate that, without any obstruction of their road, not more than one hundredth of its original number succeeded in crossing the frontier in December.
Fourthly, it was absurd to desire to take prisoners the Emperor, kings, and dukes, since the possession of such prisoners would have greatly enhanced the difficulty of the Russian position, as was recognised by the most clear-sighted diplomatists of the time (J. Maistre and others). Still more absurd would have been the desire to capture the French army when it had dwindled to one-half before reaching Krasnoe, and a division of convoys had to be given up to guard a corps of prisoners, while the Russian soldiers themselves had not always full rations, and the prisoners they did take died of hunger.
Any plan of cutting off and capturing Napoleon and his army, however carefully thought out, would have been like the action of a gardener who, after driving out a herd of cattle that had been trampling his beds, should run out to belabour the cattle about the head. The only thing that could be said in justification of his proceeding would be that he was greatly incensed. But the authors of this supposed plan cannot plead even this excuse, since theirs were not the gardens that had been trampled.
And, besides being absurd, to cut off the retreat of Napoleon's army was also impossible.
It was impossible, in the first place, because, since experience shows that the movement of columns in a single battlefield at five versts' distance never coincides with the plan of their movements, the probability that Tchitchagov, Kutuzov, and Wittgenstein would all reach an appointed spot in time was so remote that it practically amounted to impossibility. As Kutuzov in fact regarded it when he said that man?uvres planned at great distances do not produce the results expected of them.
Secondly, it was impossible, because to paralyse the force of inertia with which Napoleon's army was rebounding back along its track, incomparably greater forces were needed than those the Russians had at their command.
Thirdly, it was impossible, because the military expression, to cut off, was really no meaning. One may cut off a slice of bread, but not an army. To cut off an army—that is, to bar its road—is impossible, because there are always many places by which the men can make a circuit to get out, and there is always the night, during which nothing can be done; a fact of which the military strategists might have been convinced by the examples of Krasnoe and Berezina. One can never take a prisoner unless he agrees to be taken, just as one can never catch a swallow, though of course it is possible if it settles on one's hand. One can take a prisoner who will surrender, as the Germans did, in accordance with the rules of strategy and tactics. But the French soldiers very wisely did not feel it incumbent on them to do so, since death from cold and hunger awaited them as much if taken prisoner, as if persisting in their flight.
The fourth and chief reason why it was impossible is that war was waged in 1812 under conditions more terrible than ever since the world has existed; and the Russian troops strained every nerve in the pursuit of the French, and could not have done more without perishing themselves.
The Russian army lost in its march from Tarutino to Krasnoe fifty thousand sick or stragglers, that is, a number equal to the population of a large provincial town. Half of the army was lost without a battle.
At this period of the campaign the soldiers were without boots or fur-lined coats, on half rations, without vodka, camping out at night for months in the snow with fifteen degrees of frost; while there were only seven or eight hours of daylight, and the rest was night; where discipline could not exert the same influence, and men were put in peril of death, not for a few hours, as on the field of battle, but for whole months together were keeping up a struggle every moment with death from cold and hunger. And of this period of the campaign, when half the army perished in one month, the historians tell us that Miloradovitch ought to have made an oblique march in one direction, and Tormasov in another, and Tchitchagov ought to have advanced to this point (the men advancing knee-deep in the snow), and that so and so pushed through and cut the French off, and so on, and so on.
The Russian soldiers did all that could or ought to have been done to attain an end worthy of the people, and half of them died in doing it. They are not to blame because other Russians, sitting in warm rooms at home, proposed that they should do the impossible.
All this strange discrepancy between the facts and the accounts of historians, so difficult to understand to-day, arises simply from this, that the historians wrote the history of the noble sentiments and fine speeches of various generals, and not the history of the events themselves.
They attach great consequence to the words of Miloradovitch, to the honours bestowed on this general or that, and the proposals made by them. But the question of the fifty thousand men who lay in the hospitals and graveyards does not even interest them, for it does not come within the scope of their researches.
And yet we have but to turn away from researches among the reports and plans of the generals, and to look into the movements of those hundred thousand men who took direct immediate part in the events; and all the questions that seemed insoluble before can be readily and certainly explained with extraordinary ease and simplicity.
The plan of cutting off Napoleon and his army never existed save in the imagination of some dozen men. It could not have existed because it was absurd and could not be carried out.
The people had a single aim: to clear their country of the invaders. That aim was effected primarily of itself, since the French were flying, and all that was necessary was not to check their flight. It was promoted, too, by the irregular warfare kept up by the people destroying the French army piecemeal; and thirdly, by the great Russian army following in the rear of the French, ready to use force in case there were any pause in their retreat.
The Russian army had to act as a whip urging on a fleeing animal. And the experienced driver knew that it was better to keep the whip raised as a menace than to bring it down on the creature's back.
每当读到关于一八一二年战争最后阶段的记述的时候，有哪一个俄国人不感觉到十二万分的遗憾、不安和难于理解的呢？有谁又不向自己提出这样一个问题：既然，所有三路大军以优势兵力包围了法国军队，既然溃逃的法国人又饿又冻，成群地投降，既然（历史这样告诉我们）俄国人的计划就是要阻截、活捉全部法国人，那么，为什么又没有俘获和消灭全部法国人呢？ 
数量上少于法国人的俄国军队，何以打了一场波罗底诺战役？何以能从三面包围法国军队，其目的就是全部俘获他们，而又未能达到这一目的呢？难道法国人就比我们强那么多，在已经被我们的优势兵力包围以后，也不能够消灭他们？
怎么会发生这种事情呢？
历史（所谓的历史）在回答这些问题时说，发生这种情况，是因为库图佐夫、托尔马索夫、奇恰戈夫，以及某某人，某某人，他们没有执行这样的或那样的策略。
但是他们为什么不执行这些策略呢？如果说，他们的罪过在于未能达到预期的目的，那么他们为什么没有受到审判，没有被处决呢？然而，退一万步来说，让我们假定，俄国人的失误是库图佐夫和奇恰戈夫等人的罪过。然而仍然难于理解的是，为什么俄国军队在克拉斯诺耶和在别列济纳拥有那些条件（俄国军队在这两处均占据优势），而法国军队及其元帅们、王侯们和皇帝没有被俘获，而这又正是俄国人的目的，这又是什么原因呢？
以库图佐夫阻碍进攻的说法来解释这个怪现象（俄国军史学家就是这样说的），是没有根据的，因为，我们知道，在维亚济马和在塔鲁丁诺，库图佐夫的意志已阻挡不了进攻的军队了。
为什么俄国军队以微弱的兵力在波罗底诺战胜了拥有强大兵力的敌人，而在克拉斯诺耶和别列济纳处于优势兵力情况下，却败给了法国的一群乌合之众呢？
如果俄国人的目的是切断和生擒拿破仑和元帅们，那么，这个目的不仅没有达到，而且为达到这个目的的一切企图，没有哪一次不遭受可耻的破坏。那么，法国人认为，战争最后阶段是法国人获得了一连串的胜利是完全对的，而俄国历史学家说，是俄国人获得了胜利，这就完全错了。
俄国的军史家们，只要他们愿意遵循逻辑，自然而然就能得出这一结论，不管他们怎么满腔热情地歌颂过勇敢、忠忱等等，应当不得不承认，法国人从莫斯科撤退是拿破仑得到一连串的胜利，是库图佐夫的失败。
但是，完全把民族自尊心放到一边，就可以知道，这个结论本身自相矛盾，因为，法国人一连串的胜利导致了他们彻底灭亡，俄国人的一连串失败却导致他们消灭了敌人，把法国人全部赶出国境。
这个矛盾的根源在于，历史学家们是根据两国皇帝和将军们的信函、战斗报告、报告等类似文件来研究当时的事件，他们说，一八一二年战争最后阶段的目的，是要切断法国军队退路，活捉拿破仑及其元帅们和军队，这样一个目的从来就不存在，完全是他们虚构出来的。
这一目的从来就不曾有过，而且也不可能有，因为这样的目的没有任何意义，要实现这个目的也是绝对不可能的。
这一目的没有任何意义，因为，
第一，溃逃的拿破仑军队竭尽全力逃跑，要尽快逃离俄国，这也正是每个俄国人所期望的事情。对于逃得如此之快的法国人，再去组织若干战役，这有什么意义呢？
第二，截断那些一心只顾逃跑的人的道路，是没有意义的。
第三，之所以没有意义还在于为了消灭法国军队，要损失自己的军队，而法国军队没有外在原因，在这一阶段也在自行消灭，在所有道路上没有任何阻碍，也不可能把十二月间所实存的军队的百分之一，带领逃越国境，
第四，要俘获皇帝、王侯和公爵们是没有意义的，当时最老练的外交家（如梅斯特等人）已经认识到，俘虏了这些人，会使俄国人十分为难。要俘获整个军团更加没有意义，因为俄国自己的军队抵达克拉斯诺耶时，就减少了一半，而押解这些俘虏需要一整个师，而自己的给养已很困难，口粮都不足了，捉到的俘虏大都快要饿死。
所有关于切断和生擒拿破仑及其军队的高深计划，好像是一个种菜园子的人制定的计划，他在驱赶践踏菜园的牲口时，却跑到菜园门口，迎头痛击那头畜牲。唯一可以替他辩护的理由，那就是他太生气了。然而，对于那些制定那个计划的人来说，就连这个理由也不能成立，因为菜园遭受践踏之害并不属于他们。
然而，除了切断拿破仑的军队毫无意义之外，这也是不可能做到的。
这件事之所以不可能做到，是因为：
第一，经验证明，在一次战役中，各个纵队的战线延伸到五俄里的距离，任何时候都不可能使部队的行动与作战计划相符合，若要奇恰戈夫、库图佐夫和维特根施泰因准时在指定地点会师的可能性非常之小，可以说，没有这种可能，库图佐夫正是这样想的，他在接到这个计划时就说过，这距离牵制作战不能达到预期的目的。
第二，之所以不可能还因为，拿破仑军队不要命的狂逃有一股巨大的惯性力，要阻挡住，使其瘫痪，这就必须要有比现有的俄军数量多得多的军队。
第三，之所以不可能还因为，“切断”这个军事学中的术语没有任何意义。面包可以切断，而军队则切不断。切断军队——堵住它的去路——怎样都办不到，因为周围总有很多地方可以绕过去，还有伸手不见五指的黑夜，军事学家可以从克拉斯诺耶和别列济纳的例子来证明这一点。只要敌人宁死也不投降，就很难俘获他们，这就像一只小燕子落在你的手上，好像是可以捉住，但就是捉不住一样。只有像德国人那样按照战略战术规则投降的人，才能俘虏他们。然而对法国军队来说，他们完全认为，这样做对他们是不适合的了，因为无论是逃跑还是被俘虏，等待着他们的是死亡，不是冻死，就是饿死。
第四，之所以不可能，还有一点是最主要的，从古至今，没有任何一次战争像一八一二年的战争所处的条件那么可怕，俄国军队追击法国人已经用尽了一切力量，以致于再多做一点事情，必将自取灭亡。
俄国军队在从塔鲁丁诺到克拉斯诺耶的行军途中，因生病和掉队，减少了五万人，这相当于一个大省省会的人口数目。没有打仗部队就减去了一半人员。
在战役的这一阶段，军队没有靴子和皮衣，给养不足、没有伏特加酒，一连数月夜间都露宿在零下十五度的严寒中。那时白天只有七、八小时，其余时间是无法维持纪律的黑夜，那时，作战时，人们进入不讲纪律的死亡边缘只有几个小时，而当时一连数月每分钟都害怕被冻死或饿死；那时一个月时间军队要死去一半的人，——历史学家在讲到这一阶段战役时，他们说，米洛拉多维奇应当向侧翼某地进军，托尔马索夫应当向某地进军，奇恰戈夫应该向某地转移（在没膝的雪地里转移），某某应当击退和切断敌军，等等，等等。
俄国军队有一半的人死掉了，但是，他们做了自己所能够做的和应当做的一切事情，为了达到人民所期望的目的。至于另一些坐在暖和的房间里的俄国人，他们提出过一些不可能办到的事情，那就不应当属于俄国军队的过错了。
事实和历史的记载出现了这一切奇怪的和现在令人难以理解的矛盾，这是因为写这个事件的历史学家所写的是各位将军的高尚情操和动听的言辞，而不是历史事件。
最使他们感兴趣的是米洛拉多维奇的言辞，是这个或那个将军所受的奖赏和他们所作的推断；但是关于留在医院和坟墓里的五万人的问题，甚至不能引起他们的兴趣，因为这不属于他们所研究的范围。
其实，只要不去研究那些报告和将军们的计划，而是深入研究直接参加当时事件的千百万人的行动，那些原先以为很难解决的问题，就能够轻而易举地很简单地得到确切无疑的答案。
切断拿破仑军队的这一目的，除了在十来位将军的想象中存在过，而事实上从来就不曾有过。这个目的也不可能有，因为他既没有任何意义，而要想达到这个目的，也是绝不可能的。
人民的目的只有一个：要把侵略者从自己的国土上清除出去。这个目的是达到了，第一，它是顺其自然而达到的，因为法国人逃跑了，只要你不去阻挡他们逃跑就行了。第二，这个目的的达到，靠的是消灭法国人的人民战争，第三，一支强大的俄国军队在法国人后面紧追不舍，只要法国人一停下来，就使用这支力量。
俄国军队的作用，就像驱赶跑动的畜牲的鞭子。经验丰富的放牧人知道，对奔跑中的牲口最好是扬鞭吓唬它，而不是迎头抽打它。
Book 15 Chapter 1
WHEN A MAN sees an animal dying, a horror comes over him. What he is himself—his essence, visibly before his eyes, perishes—ceases to exist. But when the dying creature is a man and a man dearly loved, then, besides the horror at the extinction of life, what is felt is a rending of the soul, a spiritual wound, which, like a physical wound, is sometimes mortal, sometimes healed, but always aches and shrinks from contact with the outer world, that sets it smarting.
After Prince Andrey's death, Natasha and Princess Marya both alike felt this. Crushed in spirit, they closed their eyes under the menacing cloud of death that hovered about them, and dared not look life in the face. Carefully they guarded their open wounds from every rough and painful touch. Everything—the carriage driving along the street, the summons to dinner, the maid asking which dress to get out; worse still—words of faint, feigned sympathy—set the wound smarting, seemed an insult to it, and jarred on that needful silence in which both were trying to listen to the stern, terrible litany that had not yet died away in their ears, and to gaze into the mysterious, endless vistas that seemed for a moment to have been unveiled before them.
Only alone together were they safe from such outrage and pain. They said little to one another. When they did speak, it was about the most trivial subjects. And both equally avoided all mention of anything connected with the future.
To admit the possibility of a future seemed to them an insult to his memory. Still more circumspectly did they avoid in their talk all that could be connected with the dead man. It seemed to them that what they had felt and gone through could not be expressed in words. It seemed to them that every allusion in words to the details of his life was an outrage on the grandeur and holiness of the mystery that had been accomplished before their eyes.
The constant restraint of speech and studious avoidance of everything that might lead to words about him, these barriers, fencing off on all sides what could not be spoken of, brought what they were feeling even more clearly and vividly before their minds.
But pure and perfect sorrow is as impossible as pure and perfect joy. From the isolation of her position, as the guardian and foster-mother of her nephew, and independent mistress of her own destinies, Princess Marya was the first to be called back to life from that world of mourning in which she lived for the first fortnight. She received letters from her relations which had to be answered; the room in which Nikolushka had been put was damp, and he had begun to cough. Alpatitch came to Yaroslavl with accounts. He had suggestions to make, and advised Princess Marya to move to Moscow to the house in Vozdvizhenka, which was uninjured, and only needed some trifling repairs. Life would not stand still, and she had to live. Painful as it was for Princess Marya to come out of that world of solitary contemplation, in which she had been living till then, and sorry, and, as it were, conscience-stricken, as she felt at leaving Natasha alone, the duties of daily life claimed her attention, and against her own will she had to give herself up to them. She went through the accounts with Alpatitch, consulted Dessalle about her little nephew, and began to make preparations for moving to Moscow.
Natasha was left alone, and from the time that Princess Marya began to busy herself with preparations for her journey, she held aloof from her too.
Princess Marya asked the countess to let Natasha come to stay with her in Moscow; and both mother and father eagerly agreed to her suggestion, for they saw their daughter's physical strength failing every day, and they hoped that change of scene and the advice of Moscow doctors might do her good.
“I am not going anywhere,” answered Natasha, when the suggestion was made to her; “all I ask is, please let me alone,” she said, and she ran out of the room, hardly able to restrain tears more of vexation and anger than of sorrow.
Since she felt herself deserted by Princess Marya, and alone in her grief, Natasha had spent most of her time alone in her room, huddled up in a corner of her sofa. While her slender, nervous fingers were busy twisting or tearing something, she kept her eyes fixed in a set stare on the first object that met them. This solitude exhausted and tortured her; but it was what she needed. As soon as any one went in to her, she got up quickly, changed her attitude and expression, and picked up a book or some needlework, obviously waiting with impatience for the intruder to leave her.
It seemed to her continually that she was on the very verge of understanding, of penetrating to the mystery on which her spiritual vision was fastened with a question too terrible for her to bear.
One day towards the end of December, Natasha, thin and pale in a black woollen gown, with her hair fastened up in a careless coil, sat perched up in the corner of her sofa, her fingers nervously crumpling and smoothing out the ends of her sash, while she gazed at the corner of the door.
She was inwardly gazing whither he had gone, to that further shore. And that shore, of which she had never thought in old days, which had seemed to her so far away, so incredible, was now closer to her, and more her own, more comprehensible than this side of life, in which all was emptiness and desolation or suffering and humiliation.
She was gazing into that world where she knew he was. But she could not see him, except as he had been here on earth. She was seeing him again as he had been at Mytishtchy, at Troitsa, at Yaroslavl.
She was seeing his face, hearing his voice, and repeating his words, and words of her own that she had put into his mouth; and sometimes imagining fresh phrases for herself and him which could only have been uttered in the past.
Now she saw him as he had once been, lying on a low chair in his velvet, fur-lined cloak, his head propped on his thin, pale hand. His chest looked fearfully hollow, and his shoulders high. His lips were firmly closed, his eyes shining, and there was a line on his white brow that came and vanished again. There was a rapid tremor just perceptible in one foot. Natasha knew he was struggling to bear horrible pain. “What was that pain like? Why was it there? What was he feeling? How did it hurt?” Natasha had wondered. He had noticed her attention, raised his eyes, and, without smiling, began to speak.
“One thing would be awful,” he said: “to bind oneself for ever to a suffering invalid. It would be an everlasting torture.” And he had looked with searching eyes at her. Natasha, as she always did, had answered without giving herself time to think; she had said: “It can't go on like this, it won't be so, you will get well—quite well.”
She was seeing him now as though it were the first time, and going through all she had felt at that time. She recalled the long, mournful, stern gaze he had given her at those words, and she understood all the reproach and the despair in that prolonged gaze.
“I agreed,” Natasha said to herself now, “that it would be awful if he were to remain always suffering. I said that then only because it would be so awful for him, but he did not understand it so. He thought that it would be awful for me. Then he still wanted to live, and was afraid of death. And I said it so clumsily, so stupidly. I was not thinking that. I was thinking something quite different. If I had said what I was thinking, I should have said: ‘Let him be dying, dying all the time before my eyes, and I should be happy in comparison with what I am now.' Now … there is nothing, no one. Did he know that? No. He did not know, and never will know it. And now it can never, never be made up for.”
And again he was saying the same words; but this time Natasha in her imagination made him a different answer. She stopped him, and said: “Awful for you, but not for me. You know that I have nothing in life but you, and to suffer with you is the greatest happiness possible for me.” And he took her hand and pressed it, just as he had pressed it on that terrible evening four days before his death. And in her imagination she said to him other words of tenderness and love, which she might have said then, which she only said now … “I love thee! … thee … I love, love thee …” she said, wringing her hands convulsively, and setting her teeth with bitter violence.
And a sweeter mood of sorrow was coming over her, and tears were starting into her eyes; but all at once she asked herself: “To whom was she saying that? Where is he, and what is he now?”
And again everything was shrouded in chill, cruel doubt, and again, frowning nervously, she tried to gaze into that world where he was. And now, now, she thought, she was just penetrating the mystery … But at that instant, when the incomprehensible, it seemed, was being unveiled before her eyes, a loud rattle at the door handle broke with a painful shock on her hearing. Her maid, Dunyasha, rushed quickly and abruptly into the room with frightened eyes, that took no heed of her.
“Come to your papa, make haste,” Dunyasha said, with a strange excited expression. “A misfortune … Pyotr Ilyitch … a letter,” she gasped out, sobbing.
一个人看见一只行将死去的动物时，他会有存一种恐怖感觉：一个本质与自身相同的东西，眼看着消灭了——不复存在了。然而，即将死去的是人，而且还是自己的亲人，那么在亲人将死之前，除了有恐怖感觉之外，还会感觉到心痛欲裂和受到精神创伤，这种精神创伤和肉体创伤一样，有时可以致命，有时也可以平静一些，但内心永远是疼痛的，难以承受外界的刺激。 
安德烈公爵死后，娜塔莎和玛丽亚公爵小姐都同样感觉到这一点，由于高悬在她们头顶上的可怕的死亡阴影，吓得她们不敢睁开眼睛，精神上处于崩溃状态，不敢正视人生。他们小心翼翼地保护着尚未愈合的伤口，以免遭到污辱性的、会引起疼痛的刺激。所有的事情：大街上急速驰过的一辆马车，请用午餐，使女们请示准备什么布拉吉，更坏的是，虚情假意的关怀，所有这一切，都刺伤着痛处，都好像是一种侮辱，破坏了她们所必须的宁静。她俩在这种宁静中，极力倾听在她们的想象中仍然没有停息的可怕而又严肃的大合唱，也妨碍了她们注视那在她们眼前一晃而过的、神秘的、遥远的、遥远的远方。
只有她们俩在一块时，才不觉得遭受侮辱和痛苦。她们之间很少交谈。即便谈话，也只说些最无关紧要的事情。两个人同样都避免谈到有关未来的任何一件事情。
她们觉得，承认有一个未来，就是对他的纪念的侮辱。她们在谈话中，一切与死者可能有关的事情，都尽量地、更加小心地回避。她们觉得，她们所经历过的和所体验过的事情，都是难以用语言来表达的。她们觉得，凡是提及他的生活细节，都是破坏在她们眼前完成的神秘的尊严和圣洁。
她们沉默寡言，时时刻刻都努力回避着有可能涉及他的话题。这样，她们就从各个方面都设下了，绝不谈及他的警戒线。这就使她们觉得，一切都在她们的想象中更加纯洁、更加鲜明了。
然而，单纯的和无限的悲哀和单纯的和无限的欢乐一样，都是不可能的。玛丽亚公爵小姐，以其所处的地位，她能独立主宰自己的命运，同时她又是她侄子的监护人和教师，首先被现实生活从她头两个星期所陷入的悲伤世界所唤醒。她收到了家中来信，应该回信；尼古卢什卡住的房间潮湿，害得他咳嗽了。阿尔帕特奇来雅罗斯拉夫尔报告了一些事情并建议和劝告搬回莫斯科弗兹德维仁卡的住宅，那所住宅完整，只须稍加修理就行了。生命不停息，就应当活下去。对于玛丽亚公爵小姐来说，要离开她一直生活到现在的冥想世界，心情十分沉重；要丢下孤单单的娜塔莎，不论她多么怜惜，甚至于觉得问心有愧，但是，生活中的许多问题急待她去处理，她也只有服从这种要求了。她和阿尔帕特奇清理了帐目，和德萨尔商量了侄儿的事情，作了妥善安排，作好了迁往莫斯科的准备。
自从玛丽亚公爵小姐在做启程准备时，娜塔莎总是躲着她，独自一人在一边。
玛丽亚公爵小姐向伯爵夫人提出，准许娜塔莎和她一道去莫斯科，娜塔莎的父母欣然应允，他们看到女儿的体力日渐衰弱，以为更换一下环境，还可以请莫斯科的医生给她诊治，这对她是有益的。
在向娜塔莎提出这个建议时，她回答说：“我什么地方都不去。求求你们不要管我，”她说完后强忍住眼泪，从房间里跑了出去，与其说是悲哀，不如说是气恼和忿恨。
自从娜塔莎感到她被玛丽亚公爵小姐抛弃，她要独自承受哀伤之后，她大部分时间就一个人躲在房间里，缩着双腿，坐在沙发的角落里，她用纤细的紧张的手指撕碎或揉搓某一件东西并用执着的目光死死地盯住它。这种孤独的生活使她疲倦、使她痛苦，然而，这对于她又是必不可少的。只要一有人进来，她就立刻站起来，改变她的姿势和眼神的表情，或者是顺手拿一本书看或者是顺手做点针线活，很明显，她急切地等待那个打扰她的人走开。
她总觉得，她马上就要彻底弄清楚那个问题了，而这个问题是她深藏于内心的观点所想探讨出究竟的一个可怕的、又无力解答的问题。
十二月底，娜塔莎穿一件黑色的毛呢布拉吉，辫发上随便绾起一个结，她瘦削、苍白，踡着腿坐在沙发角上，心烦意乱地把衣带的末端揉来揉去，眼睛注视着房门的一角。
她在看他去了的那个方向——人生的彼岸。这一人生彼岸她原先从未想到过，总觉得还相当遥远，也未必就真有。现在她觉得，人生彼岸较此岸更接近，更亲切，更可理解了。而人生此岸所有的一切不是空虚和荒凉，就是痛苦和屈辱。
她向所知的他到过的地方望去，一切依然如旧，她想象不出别的什么样子。她又看见了他在梅季希、在特罗伊茨、在雅罗斯拉夫尔时的样子。
她看见他的脸，听到了他的声音，重述他的话和自己的话和对她说过的话，时而又想到在当时为他和为自己可能说过的其余的一些话。
他穿着丝绒皮衣躺在安乐椅里，头支靠在瘦削、苍白的手上。他的胸脯可怕地凹陷下去，双肩耸立着。双唇紧闭，眼睛闪着亮光，苍白的额头上的皱纹不时地皱紧，隐约可见，他一条腿不停地颤抖。娜塔莎知道，他正在和难以忍受的疼痛作斗争。“这是一种什么痛苦呢？为什么会有这种痛苦？他有什么感觉呢？他是多疼痛啊！”娜塔莎想。他发觉她在注视他，于是抬起眼睛，不露笑容，开始说道。
“有一件事最可怕，”他说，“这就是把我和一个受苦受难的人永远捆绑在一起，这是永无止境的痛苦。”于是，他以试探的目光望着她。娜塔莎像往常一样，不等想好要说什么，就立即回答道：“不会这样下去的，这不会的，您一定会恢复健康，完全恢复。”
她这时又看见了他，并且在体会她在当时所感受的一切。她回想起他在说这番话时的长时间的、忧愁的、严峻的目光。
她明白，这种长时间注视的目光带有责备和绝望的意思。“我承认，”娜塔莎这时自言自语道，“假如他永远受苦，那一定是可怕的。我当时这样说，仅仅是因为这对他是可怕的，可是他却想到一边去了。他当时想，这对于我才是可怕的。他当时还想活，害怕死去。我是对他说了粗暴、愚蠢的话。我不曾想到这一点。我的想法则完全不同。假如我要把我想的说出来，那我就会说：让他死去吧，在我的眼前慢慢地死去，我就会比现在幸福。可现在……什么东西都没有了，什么人也没有了。他知道这一切吗？不。他不知道，他永远都不会知道。而现在，已经永远、永远无法挽回了。”他又对她说同样的话，可是现在，娜塔莎在想象中给他作了完全不同的回答。她打断了他的话，说道：“您要知道，这在您觉得可怕，可在我并不可怕。在我的生活中，没有了你，我便没有了一切，和您一道受苦，对我来说，更幸福。”于是他握住她的手，紧紧地握着，就像他在临终前四天，在那个可怕的夜晚那样握着。于是她在想象中，对他说出另外一些她在当时可能说出的温存、爱抚的话。“我爱你……你……我爱……我爱……”，她说这话时，紧握着双手，拼命地咬紧牙关。
她沉浸在一种甜蜜的悲哀之中，泪水夺眶而出。但是她突然问自己：她是在对谁说这番话？他在哪里？他现在是什么样子？然而一切又被冷酷无情的困惑所遮掩，她又紧锁双眉，她又向着他所在的地点望去，她似乎觉得，她马上就要识破那奥秘……就在她觉得已经解开那难以理解的事物时，门环被敲打得哗哗直响，她十分惊讶，女仆杜尼亚莎慌慌张张地，不顾女主人的面部表情，闯入了房间。
“请您快点到爸爸那儿去。”杜尼亚莎的表情异常紧张地说。“彼得·伊利伊奇不幸的消息……有信来。”她一边抽泣，一边说。
Book 15 Chapter 2
THE FEELING of aloofness from all the world, that Natasha experienced at this time, she felt in an even more marked degree with the members of her own family. All her own family, her father and mother and Sonya, were so near her, so everyday and ordinary that every word they uttered, every feeling they expressed, was jarring in the world in which she had lived of late. She felt more than indifference, positive hostility to them. She heard Dunyasha's words of Pyotr Ilyitch, of a misfortune, but she did not understand them.
“What misfortune could they have, what misfortune is possible to them? Everything goes on in its old, regular, easy way with them,” Natasha was saying inwardly.
As she went into the drawing-room, her father came quickly out of the countess's room. His face was puckered up and wet with tears. He had evidently run out of the room to give vent to the sobs that were choking him. Seeing Natasha, he waved his arms in despair, and went off into violent, miserable sobs, that convulsed his soft, round face.
“Pet … Petya … Go, go in, she's calling …” And sobbing like a child, he tottered with feeble legs to a chair, and almost dropped on to it, hiding his face in his hands.
An electric shock seemed to run all through Natasha. Some fearful pain seemed to stab her to the heart. She felt a poignant anguish; it seemed to her that something was being rent within her, and she was dying. But with the pain she felt an instant release from the seal that shut her out of life. At the sight of her father, and the sound of a fearful, husky scream from her mother through the door, she instantly forgot herself and her own sorrow.
She ran up to her father, but he feebly motioned her towards her mother's door. Princess Marya, with a white face and quivering lower jaw, came out and took Natasha's hand, saying something to her. Natasha neither saw nor heard her. With swift steps she went towards the door, stopped for an instant as though struggling with herself, and ran in to her mother.
The countess was lying down on a low chair in a strange awkward attitude; she was beating her head against the wall. Sonya and some maid-servants were holding her by the arms.
“Natasha, Natasha!…” the countess was screaming. “It's not true, not true … it's false … Natasha!” she screamed, pushing the maids away. “All you go away, it's not true! Killed!…ha, ha, ha!…not true!…”
Natasha knelt down on the low chair, bent over her mother, embraced her, with surprising strength lifted her up, turned her face to her, and pressed close to her.
“Mama! … darling! … I'm here, dearest mamma,” she whispered to her, never ceasing for a second.
She would not let her mother go; she struggled tenderly with her, asked for pillows and water, unbuttoned and tore open her mother's dress. “Dearest … my darling … mamma … my precious,” she whispered without pausing, kissing her head, her hands, her face, and feeling the tears streaming in irrepressible floods over her nose and cheeks.
The countess squeezed her daughter's hand, closed her eyes, and was quieter for a moment. All at once she sat up with unnatural swiftness, looked vacantly round, and seeing Natasha, began hugging her head to her with all her might. Natasha's face involuntarily worked with the pain, as her mother turned it toward her, and gazed a long while into it. “Natasha, you love me,” she said, in a soft, confiding whisper. “Natasha, you won't deceive me? You will tell me the whole truth?”
Natasha looked at her with eyes swimming with tears, and in her face seemed only imploring her love and forgiveness.
“Mamma … darling,” she kept repeating, putting forth all the strength of her love to try somehow to take a little of the crushing load of sorrow off her mother on to herself.
And again in the helpless struggle with reality, the mother, refusing to believe that she could live while her adored boy, just blossoming into life, was dead, took refuge from reality in the world of delirium.
Natasha had no recollection of how she spent that day and that night, and the following day and the following night. She did not sleep, and did not leave her mother's side. Natasha's love, patient and persistent, seemed to enfold the countess on all sides every second, offering no explanation, no consolation, simply beckoning her back to life.
On the third night the countess was quiet for a few minutes, and Natasha closed her eyes, her head propped on the arm of the chair. The bedstead creaked; Natasha opened her eyes. The countess was sitting up in bed, and talking softly.
“How glad I am you have come home. You are tired, won't you have tea?” Natasha went up to her. “You have grown so handsome and manly,” the countess went on, taking her daughter's hand.
“Mamma, what are you saying …?”
“Natasha, he is gone, he is no more.” And embracing her daughter, the countess for the first time began to weep.
娜塔莎除了对所有的人都有疏远感觉之外，这时她对家中的亲人有特别疏远的感觉。所有的亲人：父亲、母亲、索尼娅，对她如此亲近，一切都和往常一样，以致他们的言谈、感情，她都认为对她近来所处的那个世界是一种侮辱，因而她不仅对他们冷淡，而且敌视他们。她听到杜尼亚莎说的关于彼得·伊利伊奇不幸的消息，但是她不明白她说的是什么意思。 
“他们会有什么不幸，怎么可能有不幸？他们一切都是老样子，习以为常、平平静静。”娜塔莎心中说。
当她走近大厅时，父亲匆忙从伯爵夫人房间走出来，满面皱纹，老泪纵横。他从那屋里出来显然是为了能放声痛哭，以泄出心中压抑的哀伤。他看见娜塔莎，绝望地两手一掸，他那柔和的圆脸庞上的肌肉剧烈抽搐着、扭曲着，发出痛苦的哽咽声。
“彼……彼佳……你去吧，去吧，她……她……叫你……”她像小孩子一样大哭着，急速地挪动衰弱的脚步走向一把椅子，他两手捂着脸，几乎是跌倒在椅子里。
忽然间一股电流仿佛通过了娜塔莎的全身，有一种东西出其不意地袭击她的心窝，她疼痛万分，好像觉得她身上有一块东西给扯掉似的，她在死去。在这一阵剧痛消失以后，她倏忽感到她已摆脱那内在的禁锢生活的痛苦。她瞧见父亲，听见母亲从门里发出一阵可怕的疯狂的叫喊，她立刻就把她自己和自己的不幸都置之于脑后。她朝她父亲跟前跑去，而他软弱无力地挥动着手臂，指着母亲的房门。玛丽亚公爵小姐走出门来，脸色惨白，下巴颏打战，紧紧地抓住娜塔莎的手，对她说了什么话。娜塔莎对她视若无睹，听若罔闻。她加快脚步往门里走去，顿了一顿，仿佛在同她自己作斗争，紧接着向她的母亲面前跑去。
伯爵夫人躺在安乐椅中，笨拙地挺伸身体，向墙上碰头，索尼娅和女仆们按住她的双手。
“娜塔莎！娜塔莎！……”伯爵夫人喊道。“不是真的，不是真的……他说谎……娜塔莎！”她一边喊，一边把周围的人推开。“你们都走开，不是真的！打死啦？！……哈—哈—哈！
……不是真的！”
娜塔莎一条腿跪在安乐椅上，俯下身子，抱住她，以出乎意外的气力抱了起来，把她的脸转向自己，紧紧搂住她。
“妈妈！……亲爱的！……我在这儿，亲爱的……妈妈。”
她轻轻地呼唤着。
她不放开母亲，她哭天嚎地，她使劲搂着，她要来水和枕头，解开母亲的衣服。
“我的好妈妈，亲爱的……妈妈……亲爱的妈妈。”她不停地轻声呼唤着，吻她的头、手脸，泪如泉涌，鼻子和两腮都发痒。
伯爵夫人挽住女儿的手，闭上了眼睛，稍稍安静下来，突然她以从未有过的迅捷站起身来，茫然四顾，她看见娜塔莎，用尽全力搂着她的头，然后把她那痛得皱起眉头的脸转向自己，久久地凝望着。
“娜塔莎，你是爱我的，”她以轻细的、信任的口气说，“娜塔莎，你不会骗我吧？你能把全部实情告诉我吗？”
娜塔莎热泪盈眶，她看着妈妈，她的脸上和眼睛只有祈求宽恕和怜爱的表情。
“我的好妈妈呀，好妈妈。”她反复地说，她竭尽全部爱的力量，为了能分担压在母亲身上的过度悲哀。
母亲逃避不了残酷的现实，又一次进行软弱无力的斗争，她难以相信，她的爱子英年早逝，而她还能够活下去。
娜塔莎不记得那一整天，那天夜里，第二天和第二天夜里都是怎样过来的。她没有睡觉，也没有离开母亲。娜塔莎的爱是顽强的，温情的，她没有怎样劝解，没有怎样安慰，而是对生活的召唤，这种爱似乎每一秒钟都从各个方面包围着伯爵夫人。第三天夜里伯爵夫人安静了几分钟，娜塔莎把头靠在安乐椅的扶手上，合了一会儿眼睛。床响了一下。娜塔莎睁开眼，伯爵夫人坐在床上，轻声说道：
“你回来了，我多么高兴，你累了，要喝点茶吗？”娜塔莎走到她跟前。“你长得好看些了，长成大人了。”伯爵夫人握住了娜塔莎的手，继续说道。
“妈妈，您说什么啊！……”
“娜塔莎，他不在了，永远不会回来了！”伯爵夫人抱住女儿，第一次哭出声来了。
Book 15 Chapter 3
PRINCESS MARYA put off her departure. Sonya and the count tried to take Natasha's place, but they could not. They saw that she was the only one who could keep the mother from the frenzy of despair. For three weeks Natasha never left her mother's side, slept on a lounge in her room, made her drink and eat, and without pause talked to her, talked because her tender, loving voice was the only thing that soothed the countess.
The wound in the mother's heart could never be healed. Petya's death had torn away half of her life. When the news of Petya's death reached her, she was a fresh-looking, vigorous woman of fifty; a month later she came out of her room an old woman, half dead and with no more interest in life. But the wound that half killed the countess, that fresh wound, brought Natasha back to life.
A spiritual wound that comes from a rending of the spirit is like a physical wound, and after it has healed externally, and the torn edges are scarred over, yet, strange to say, like a deep physical injury, it only heals inwardly by the force of life pushing up from within.
So Natasha's wound healed. She believed that her life was over. But suddenly her love for her mother showed her that the essence of her life—love—was still alive within her. Love was awakened, and life waked with it.
The last days of Prince Andrey had been a close bond between Natasha and Princess Marya. This fresh trouble brought them even closer together. Princess Marya put off her departure, and for the last three weeks she had been looking after Natasha, as though she were a sick child. Those weeks spent by Natasha in her mother's room had completely broken down her health.
One day Princess Marya noticed that Natasha was shivering with a feverish chill, and brought her away to her own room, and tucked her up in bed in the middle of the day. Natasha lay down, but when Princess Marya, having let down the blinds, was about to leave the room, Natasha called her to her.
“I'm not sleepy, Marie; stay with me.”
“You are tired; try and go to sleep.”
“No, no. Why did you bring me away? She will ask for me.”
“She is much better. She was talking much more like herself to-day,” said Princess Marya.
Natasha lay on the bed, and in the half-dark room she tried to make out Princess Marya's face.
“Is she like him?” Natasha wondered. “Yes; like and unlike. But she is original, different, a quite new, unknown person. And she likes me. What is there in her heart? Everything good. But what is it like? What are her thoughts like? How does she look on me? Yes; she is nice!”
“Masha,” she said, shyly drawing her hand towards her. “Masha, you mustn't think I'm horrid. No? Masha, darling! How I love you! Let us be quite, quite friends.” And embracing her, Natasha fell to kissing her hands and face.
Princess Marya was abashed and overjoyed at this demonstration of feeling.
From that day there sprang up between Princess Marya and Natasha one of those tender and passionate friendships which can only exist between women. They were continually kissing each other and saying tender things to one another, and they spent the greater part of their time together. If one went away, the other was uneasy and hastened to join her. They felt more harmony together with each other than apart, each with herself. There sprang up between them a feeling stronger than friendship; that was the feeling of life being only possible in each other's company.
Sometimes they did not speak for hours together. Sometimes, as they lay in their beds, they would begin to talk, and talked till morning. They talked, for the most part, of their own remote past. Princess Marya told her of her childhood, of her mother, of her father, of her dreams. And Natasha, who had in the past turned away with calm acceptance of her non-comprehension of that life of devotion and resignation, of the idealism of Christian self-sacrifice, grew to love Princess Marya's past, and to understand that side of life of which she had had no conception before. She had no thought of imitating that resignation and self-sacrifice in her own life, because she was accustomed to look for other joys in life; but she understood and loved in another that virtue that had been till now beyond her ken. Princess Marya, too, as she listened to Natasha's stories of her childhood and early girlhood, had a glimpse of a side of life she had known nothing of, of faith in life and in the enjoyment of life.
They still refrained from talking of him, that they might not, as seemed to them, desecrate the exalted feeling in their hearts; but this reticence led them, though they would not have believed it, into gradually forgetting him.
Natasha had grown thin and pale, and was physically so weak that every one was continually talking about her health, and she was glad it was so. Yet sometimes she was suddenly seized, not simply by a dread of death, but by a dread of sickness, of ill-health, of losing her good looks; and sometimes she unconsciously examined her bare arm, marvelling at its thinness, or peeped in the looking-glass in the morning at her pinched face, and was touched by its piteous look. It seemed to her that this was as it should be, and yet she felt afraid and mournful at it.
One day she ran upstairs quickly, and was painfully short of breath. Immediately she made some pretext for going down again, and ran upstairs again, to try her strength and put herself to the test.
Another day she called Dunyasha, and her voice broke. She called her once more, though she heard her coming—called her in the deep chest voice with which she used to sing, and listened to the sound.
She knew it not, and would not have believed it yet though the layer of mould under which she fancied that her soul was buried seemed unbroken, the delicate, tender, young blades of grass were already pushing through it, and were destined to take root, and so to hide the grief that had crushed her under their living shoots that it would soon be unseen and forgotten. The wound was healing from within.
Towards the end of January Princess Marya set off for Moscow, and the count insisted on Natasha going with her to consult the doctors.
玛丽亚公爵小姐推迟了启程日期。索尼娅、伯爵都很想把娜塔莎替换下来。他们未能办到。他们看得出，只有她才能使她母亲不致陷入疯狂的绝望。娜塔莎在母亲身边守候了三个星期，寸步不离，在她屋内椅子上睡觉，给她喂水，喂饭，不停地和她说话，因为只有她一个人的既温柔又亲切的声音才能使伯爵夫人得到安慰。 
母亲的精神创伤无法医治。彼佳的死亡夺去了她一半的生命。自从获悉彼佳死讯，过了一个月，她才从屋里走出来，她原本是一个精神饱满、热爱生活的才刚刚五十岁的女人，这时却变成了一个半死不活，对生活没有兴趣的老太婆了。而夺去伯爵夫人一半生命的这个创伤，这一新的创伤却唤醒了娜塔莎。
由于精神崩溃而造成的心灵创伤，不管这似乎是多么奇怪，恰恰像肉体的创伤一样，在渐渐愈合。而一个很深的伤口愈合之后，就好像是自己渐渐长好了一样，心灵的创作也和肉体创伤一样只能依靠发自内在的生命力医治。
娜塔莎的创伤就是这样痊愈的。她想到，她的生命已经终结了。然而，对母亲的爱突然证明，生命的本质——爱——
仍然活在心中，爱复苏了，于是生命也复苏了。
安德烈公爵临终前的那些日子，把娜塔莎和玛丽亚公爵小姐连系在一起。新的不幸使她们之间更加亲近。玛利亚公爵小姐推迟了启程日期，在最近三个星期中，她像照顾一个生病的小孩子那样，照料着娜塔莎。娜塔莎在母亲的房间里呆了几个星期，这段时间几乎耗尽了她的体力。
一天中午，玛丽亚公爵小姐发现娜塔莎冷得直打哆嗦，就把她拉到自己房间，让她躺在自己床上。娜塔莎躺着，但是当玛丽亚公爵小姐放下窗帘要出去时，娜塔莎把她叫到身边。
“我不想睡，玛丽，陪我坐一会儿。”
“你累了，一定要睡一下。”
“不，不。你为什么带我来这里？她会找我的。”
“她好多了。她今天说话很正常。”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。
娜塔莎躺在床上，借助房间里半阴半暗的光线仔细端详玛丽亚公爵小姐的脸庞。
“她像他吗？”娜塔莎想。是的，又像又不像。但是，她是一个特别的、陌生的、全新的、令人难以理解的人。她是爱她的。她的内心又怎样呢？全都好。怎么好法？她是怎么想的？她对我有什么看法？是的，她太好了。
“玛莎，”她羞怯地拉住她的一只手，说，“玛莎，你不要以为我很坏。不是吗？玛莎，我是多么爱你啊，让我们做真正、真正的好朋友吧。”
娜塔莎拥抱玛丽亚公爵小姐，吻她的手和脸。玛丽亚公爵小姐对娜塔莎表现出的这种感情是又喜又羞。
从这一天起，在玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎之间建立了只有在女人之间才有的亲切的温情的友谊。她们不停地相互亲吻，说着温情的话，大部分时间她们都呆在一块儿。如果有一个外出了，另一个就烦躁不安，赶快紧随其后。
她们俩都觉得，俩人在一起比独自一人更和谐。她们之间感情比友谊更强烈：这是一种只有在一起才能生存下去的特殊感情。
她们有时一连数小时默不作声；有时已经上了床，才开始谈话，一谈就谈到天亮。她们多半是诉说往事。玛丽亚公爵小姐讲述她的童年，她的母亲，她的父亲和她的理想；娜塔莎原先不愿过那种虔诚、顺从的生活，不懂得基督教自我牺牲的诗意，而现在她觉得她和玛丽亚公爵小姐被爱联系在一起了，她开始爱玛丽亚公爵小姐的过去，懂得了她原先不懂的生活的另一面。她自己不愿过那种顺从生活，不信奉基督教的自我牺牲，因为她习惯寻求另外一些欢乐，但是她懂得了而且爱上了对方那种她原先不理解的美德。至于玛丽亚公爵小姐，她听了娜塔莎讲述了童年和少年的故事，也发现了她原先不了解的生活的另一个方面，要相信生活，相信生活的乐趣。
她们绝口不谈及关于他的一切，她们觉得那些话会破坏在她们心中建立起来的崇高的感情，而这种缄默，竟然令人难以置信地，使她们渐渐地忘记了他。
娜塔莎瘦了，脸色苍白，身子太弱，致使大家常谈及她的健康，而她却高兴。然而她有时忽然不仅怕死，而且怕病，怕衰弱，怕失去美貌，她有时细看手臂，瘦得使她惊愕，或者早上照镜子看瘦长的，她觉得可怜的脸。她觉得，应当这样，而又觉得可怕和可悲。
一次，她快步上楼，喘不过气，不由得想退回，为了试试体力，看看自己，又往上爬。
又一回，她叫杜尼亚莎，声音发抖。她听见了杜尼亚莎的脚步声，她用唱歌的胸音又叫了一声，自己仔细倾听这个声音。
她不知道，也不相信，从她心中看来无法穿透的土层中，萌出细嫩的幼芽，一定会生根，以她生气盎然的嫩叶遮盖住她的悲哀，很快就会看不见，觉不出。创伤从内部慢慢愈合。
一月底，玛丽亚公爵小姐启程赴莫斯科，伯爵坚持要娜塔莎和她一道前往，以便在莫斯科请医生看病。
Book 15 Chapter 4
AFTER THE ENGAGEMENT at Vyazma, where Kutuzov could not restrain his troops in their desire to break through, to cut off and all the rest of it, the further march of the flying French, and of the Russians flying after them, continued as far as Krasnoe without a battle. The flight was so rapid that the Russian army racing after the French could not catch them up; the horses of the cavalry and artillery broke down, and information as to the movements of the French was always very uncertain.
The Russian soldiers were so exhausted by this unbroken march at the rate of forty versts a day that they were unable to quicken their pace.
To form an idea of the degree of exhaustion of the Russian army, one need only grasp clearly what is meant by the fact that while losing no more than five thousand killed and wounded, and not a hundred prisoners, the Russian army, which had left Tarutino a hundred thousand strong, numbered only fifty thousand on reaching Krasnoe.
The rapidity of the Russian pursuit had as disintegrating an effect on the Russian army as the flight of the French had on their army. The only difference was that the Russian army moved at its own will, free from the menace of annihilation that hung over the French, and that the sick and stragglers of the French were left in the hands of their enemy, while Russian stragglers were at home among their own people. The chief cause of the wasting of Napoleon's army was the rapidity of its movements, and an indubitable proof of that is to be seen in the corresponding dwindling of the Russian army.
Just as at Tarutino and at Vyazma, all Kutuzov's energies were directed to preventing—so far as it lay in his power—any arrest of the fatal flight of the French from being checked (as the Russian generals in Petersburg, and also in the army, wished it to be). He did all he could to urge on the flight of the French, and to slacken the speed of his own army.
In addition to the exhaustion of the men, and the immense losses due to the rapidity of their movements, Kutuzov saw another reason for slackening the pace, and not being in a hurry. The object of the Russian army was the pursuit of the French. The route of the French was uncertain, and therefore the more closely our soldiers followed the heels of the French, the greater the distances they had to traverse. It was only by following at a considerable distance that they could take advantage of short cuts across the zig-zags made by the French in their course. All the skilful man?uvres suggested by the generals were based on forced marches at accelerated speed, while the only rational object to be aimed at was the diminution of the strain put on the men. And this was the object to which all Kutuzov's efforts were directed during the whole campaign from Moscow to Vilna,—not casually, not fitfully, but so consistently that he never once lost sight of it.
Not through reason, not by science, but with all his Russian heart and soul, Kutuzov felt and knew, as every Russian soldier felt it, that the French were vanquished, that their foes were in flight, and that they must see them off. But at the same time he felt with his soldiers, as one man, all the sufferings of that march, unheard of at such speed and in such weather.
But the generals, especially those not Russian, burning to distinguish themselves, to dazzle people, to take some duke or king prisoner for some incomprehensible reason—those generals thought that then, when any battle was sickening and meaningless, was the very time for fighting battles and conquering somebody. Kutuzov simply shrugged his shoulders when they came to him one after another with projects of man?uvres with the ill-shod, half-clothed, and half-starved soldiers, whose numbers had in one month dwindled to one-half without a battle, and who would even, under the most favourable circumstances, have a longer distance to traverse before they reached the frontier than they had come already.
This desire on the part of the generals to distinguish themselves, to execute man?uvres, to attack, and to cut off the enemy, was particularly conspicuous whenever the Russian army did come into contact with the French.
So it was at Krasnoe, where they had expected to find one of the three columns of the French, and stumbled upon Napoleon himself with sixteen thousand troops. In spite of all Kutuzov's efforts to avoid this disastrous engagement, and to keep his men safe for three days at Krasnoe, there was a slaughter of the disordered bands of the French by the exhausted soldiers of the Russian army.
Toll wrote out a disposition: first column to advance to this spot, and so on. And as always, what was done was not at all in accordance with that disposition. Prince Eugene of Würtemberg kept up a fire from the hills on the mob of French as they raced by, and asked for reinforcements, which did not come. In the nights the French dispersed to get round the Russians, hid themselves in the woods, and all that could struggled on again.
Miloradovitch, who declared that he had no wish to know anything about the commissariat arrangements of his detachment, who could never be found when he was wanted, that chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, as he called himself, always eager for parleys with the French, sent messengers to demand their surrender, wasted time, and did not carry out the orders given him.
“I make you a present of that column, lads,” he said to his men, pointing out the French to his cavalry. And the cavalry, with spur and sabre, urged their broken-down horses into a trot, and with immense effort reached the column he had bestowed on them, that is to say, a mob of frozen, numb, and starving Frenchmen. And the column laid down their weapons and surrendered, which was what they had been longing to do for weeks past.
At Krasnoe there were taken twenty-six thousand prisoners, a hundred cannons, a stick of some sort, which was promptly dubbed a “marshal's baton.” And the generals disputed among themselves who had gained most distinction in the action, and were delighted at it, though they were full of regret at not having captured Napoleon or some marshal and hero, and blamed one another, and above all Kutuzov, for failing to do so.
These men, drawn on by their own passions, were but the blind instruments of the most melancholy law of necessity; but they believed themselves heroes, and imagined that what they were doing was the noblest and most honourable achievement. They blamed Kutuzov, and declared from the very beginning of the campaign he had prevented them from conquering Napoleon; that he thought of nothing but his own sensual gratifications, and would not advance out of Polotnyany Zavody because he was comfortable there; that he had checked the advance at Krasnoe; that he had completely lost his head when he heard Napoleon was near; that one might really suppose he had a secret understanding with Napoleon, that he had been bought over by him, and so on and so on.
And not only contemporaries, misled by their own passions, have spoken thus. Posterity and history have accepted Napoleon as grand, while foreign writers have called Kutuzov a crafty, dissolute, weak, intriguing old man; and Russians have seen in him a nondescript being, a sort of puppet, only of use owing to his Russian name …
在维亚济马战役之后，库图佐夫已遏止不了自己的军队要打败、切断……敌人的愿望，逃命的法国人和在后面穷追的俄国人都继续向前方运动，在抵达克拉斯诺耶之前，再没有打过仗。法国人逃跑速度是如此之快，以至于在其后穷追的俄国军队怎么也追赶不上。就连炮兵和骑的马匹都累得跑不动了，关于法军行动的情报总也弄不准确。 
俄国军队一昼夜强行军四十俄里，被这种连续不停的行动累得人困马乏，要想再快一点点都不可能办到。
要了解俄军消耗的程度，只要了解以下事实的意义就足够了：在塔鲁丁诺作战的整个期间，俄军伤亡没有超过五千人，被俘的不到一百人。但是，从塔鲁丁诺出发时有十万俄国军队，到达克拉斯诺耶就只剩下五万人了。
俄国人穷追法国人的强行军和法国人的亡命奔逃，都给自己造成巨大损失。其差别仅仅在于，俄军的追击行动是自由的，没有高悬在法军头上的死亡的威胁；还在于法军掉了队的伤病员落入敌方手中，而掉队的俄国兵却留在自己的乡土上。拿破仑军队减员的主要原因是行动速度过快，俄国军队的减员毫无疑问地证实了也是同样的原因。
库图佐夫在塔鲁丁诺和维亚济马的全部活动都放在（尽其所能）不去阻挡法国自取灭亡的这种行动（彼得堡方面和俄国军队的将军们却想阻挡它），而是促成这种行动，同时减慢自己的行军速度。
但是，除了军队疲惫不堪已十分明显和由于行动过快而造成严重减员之外，另一个原因就是库图佐夫要减缓追击速度，等待更有利的时机。俄军的目的是跟踪法国人。而法军溃逃路线又捉摸不定，因此，跟的愈紧，跑的路就愈多。只有保持一定距离，才能抄近路截击法军所走的之字形路线。我们的将军提出的一切巧妙战术，就是频繁调动军队，加大行军里程。而唯一合理的目标是缩减行军里程。在从莫斯科到维尔纳的整个战役中，库图佐夫的行动就是为此目的——不是偶而地、一时地、而是始终如一，丝毫也未改变这一目的。
库图佐夫不凭借智慧或科学，而是凭他作为一名俄罗斯人，他和每一个士兵都息息相通，即：法国人败了，正在逃命，把他们赶出去；他和士兵们都知道，以那么空前的速度和在那样的季节行军的全部艰难。
但是，将军们，特别是外籍将军们想表现自己，一鸣惊人，为了不可告人的目的去俘虏某个公爵或国王，而目前任何战斗不但令人厌恶而且毫无意义，可这些将军们却认为正是打几仗，战胜某人的时机。当库图佐夫接到一个接一个的这种拙劣的作战计划时，他只耸耸肩：要执行这些计划，就要使用那些穿着破鞋、没有皮衣、饿得半死，在一个月中没有打仗就减少了一半的士兵，而且即便在最好的条件下继续追赶到边境。前面的路程比已经走过的还要远。
当俄军和法军遭遇时，想出风头，打运动战，打跨、切断敌人的这些愿望都特别明显地表现出来了。
在克拉斯诺耶发生过这样的情况，他们想在这个地方找到法国人的三个纵队中的一个中队，而碰上了拿破仑本人亲自率领的一万六千名军队，尽管库图佐夫为了保存自己的部队，竭尽全力避免那次毁灭性的遭遇战。然而疲惫不堪的俄国军队一连三天屠杀溃不成军的法国军队。
托尔拟了一道作战命令：dieersteColonnemarshierst，①等等。然而，像往常一样，一切行动都没有遵照命令进行。符腾堡的叶夫根尼亲王从山上射击，他要求援军，援军尚未赶到。一到夜间，法国人就躲避开俄国人，分散地逃进森林，凡能够逃脱的人就继续向前逃命。
米洛拉多维奇，这位自己说他完全不想知道部队的给养情况，他自命为“chevaliersanspeuretsansreproche”②，凡有事需要找的时候，总也找不到他。可他却热中于和法国人谈判，他派人去法军中要求法国人投降，他白白地浪费了时间，他做了并非命令他去做的事情。 
①法语：第一纵队向某地前进。
②法语：无畏和无可指摘的骑士。
“弟兄们，我把这个纵队交给你们了，”他骑着马来到部队跟前，他指着法国人对骑兵们说。于是，骑兵们跨上几乎跑不动的马，他们用马刺和战刀抽打座骑，追上这支送到他们嘴边的纵队，追上了这一群行将冻僵、饿死了的法国人；于是这支送到嘴边的纵队放下了武器投降了，其实，这群法国人早就希望这样做了。
在克拉斯诺耶活捉了两万六千名俘虏，缴获了数百门大炮和一根据称是“元帅杖”的棍子，接着人们就争论谁谁立了功，对这一仗都很高兴，但十分遗憾的是没捉到拿破仑，连一个英雄或一个元帅也没捉到，他们为此互相指责，尤其责备库图佐夫。
这群被胜利冲昏头脑的人，不过是最可悲的必然规律的盲目执行者，却当自己是英雄，自以为做了最可敬、最崇高的事情。他们指责库图佐夫，说他从一开始就妨碍他们战胜拿破仑，说他只知道满足私欲，在亚麻布厂①止步不前贪图安逸；说他在克拉斯诺耶按兵不动，因为他知道拿破仑在那里，就惊慌失措；说他和拿破仑有默契，被收买了，等等，等等。
不但当时被冲昏头脑的人那么说，甚至后代和历史都承认拿破仑grand②，至于库图佐夫外国人说他狡猾、好色、是软弱的老官僚；俄国人说他难以捉摸、是个傀儡，他有点用处，只不过因为他有个俄国人的名字而已……③ 
①亚麻布厂，村镇地名，位于卡卢加至维亚济马之间。库图佐夫在卡卢加至维亚济马一带休整，不去追击逃跑的法国人。
②法语：伟大。
③见威尔逊日记。——托夫斯泰注。（罗勃特·托马斯·威尔逊〔1774～1849〕，曾于一八一二至一八一四年在俄军司令部任英国军事委员。他的日记于一八六一年出版。）
Book 15 Chapter 5
IN 1812 AND 1813 Kutuzov was openly accused of blunders. The Tsar was dissatisfied with him. And in a recent history inspired by promptings from the highest quarters, Kutuzov is spoken of as a designing, intriguing schemer, who was panic-stricken at the name of Napoleon, and guilty through his blunders at Krasnoe and Berezina of robbing the Russian army of the glory of complete victory over the French. Such is the lot of men not recognised by Russian intelligence as “great men,” grands hommes; such is the destiny of those rare and always solitary men who divining the will of Providence submit their personal will to it. The hatred and contempt of the crowd is the punishment of such men for their comprehension of higher laws.
Strange and terrible to say, Napoleon, the most insignificant tool of history, who never even in exile displayed one trait of human dignity, is the subject of the admiration and enthusiasm of the Russian historians; in their eyes he is a grand homme.
Kutuzov, the man who from the beginning to the end of his command in 1812, from Borodino to Vilna, was never in one word or deed false to himself, presents an example exceptional in history of self-sacrifice and recognition in the present of the relative value of events in the future. Kutuzov is conceived of by the historians as a nondescript, pitiful sort of creature, and whenever they speak of him in the year 1812, they seem a little ashamed of him.
And yet it is difficult to conceive of an historical character whose energy could be more invariably directed to the same unchanging aim. It is difficult to imagine an aim more noble and more in harmony with the will of a whole people. Still more difficult would it be to find an example in history where the aim of any historical personage has been so completely attained as the aim towards which all Kutuzov's efforts were devoted in 1812.
Kutuzov never talked of “forty centuries looking down from the Pyramids,” of the sacrifices he was making for the fatherland, of what he meant to do or had done. He did not as a rule talk about himself, played no sort of part, always seemed the plainest and most ordinary man, and said the plainest and most ordinary things. He wrote letters to his daughters and to Madame de Sta?l, read novels, liked the company of pretty women, made jokes with the generals, the officers, and the soldiers, and never contradicted the people, who tried to prove anything to him. When Count Rastoptchin galloped up to him at Yautsky bridge, and reproached him personally with being responsible for the loss of Moscow, and said: “Didn't you promise not to abandon Moscow without a battle?” Kutuzov answered: “And I am not abandoning Moscow without a battle,” although Moscow was in fact already abandoned. When Araktcheev came to him from the Tsar to say that Yermolov was to be appointed to the command of the artillery, Kutuzov said: “Yes, I was just saying so myself,” though he had said just the opposite a moment before. What had he, the one man who grasped at the time all the vast issues of events, to do in the midst of that dull-witted crowd? What did he care whether Count Rastoptchin put down the disasters of the capital to him or to himself? Still less could he be concerned by the question which man was appointed to the command of the artillery.
This old man, who through experience of life had reached the conviction that the thoughts and words that serve as its expression are never the motive force of men, frequently uttered words, which were quite meaningless—the first words that occurred to his mind.
But heedless as he was of his words, he never once throughout all his career uttered a single word which was inconsistent with the sole aim for the attainment of which he was working all through the war. With obvious unwillingness, with bitter conviction that he would not be understood, he more than once, under the most different circumstances, gave expression to his real thought. His first differed from all about him after the battle of Borodino, which he alone persisted in calling a victory, and this view he continued to assert verbally and in reports and to his dying day. He alone said that the loss of Moscow is not the loss of Russia. In answer to the overtures for peace, his reply to Lauriston was: There can be no peace, for such is the people's will. He alone during the retreat of the French said that all our man?uvres are unnecessary; that everything is being done of itself better than we could desire; that we must give the enemy a “golden bridge”; that the battles of Tarutino, of Vyazma, and of Krasnoe, were none of them necessary; that we must keep some men to reach the frontier with; that he wouldn't give one Russian for ten Frenchmen. And he, this intriguing courtier, as we are told, who lied to Araktcheev to propitiate the Tsar, he alone dared to face the Tsar's displeasure by telling him at Vilna that to carry the war beyond the frontier would be mischievous and useless.
But words alone would be no proof that he grasped the significance of events at the time. His actions—all without the slightest deviation— were directed toward the one threefold aim: first, to concentrate all his forces to strike a blow at the French; secondly, to defeat them; and thirdly, to drive them out of Russia, alleviating as far as was possible the sufferings of the people and the soldiers in doing so.
He, the lingerer Kutuzov, whose motto was always “Time and Patience,” the sworn opponent of precipitate action, he fought the battle of Borodino, and made all his preparations for it with unwonted solemnity. Before the battle of Austerlitz he foretold that it would be lost, but at Borodino, in spite of the conviction of the generals that the battle was a defeat, in spite of the fact, unprecedented in history, of his army being forced to retreat after the victory, he alone declared in opposition to all that it was a victory, and persisted in that opinion to his dying day. He was alone during the whole latter part of the campaign in insisting that there was no need of fighting now, that it was a mistake to cross the Russian frontier and to begin a new war. It is easy enough now that all the events with their consequences lie before us to grasp their significance, if only we refrain from attributing to the multitude the aims that only existed in the brains of some dozen or so of men.
But how came that old man, alone in opposition to the opinion of all, to gauge so truly the importance of events from the national standard, so that he never once was false to the best interests of his country?
The source of this extraordinary intuition into the significance of contemporary events lay in the purity and fervour of patriotic feeling in his heart.
It was their recognition of this feeling in him that led the people in such a strange manner to pick him out, an old man out of favour, as the chosen leader of the national war, against the will of the Tsar. And this feeling alone it was to which he owed his exalted position, and there he exerted all his powers as commander-in-chief not to kill and maim men, but to save them and have mercy on them.
This simple, modest, and therefore truly great figure, could not be cast into the false mould of the European hero, the supposed leader of men, that history has invented.
To the flunkey no man can be great, because the flunkey has his own flunkey conception of greatness.
在一八一二年和一八一三年，竟公开指责库图佐夫，说他犯了错误。皇帝对他不满意。不久前，遵照最高当局旨意编写的历史，就说库图佐夫是一个老奸巨滑的宫廷骗子，连拿破仑这个名字都害怕，由于他在克拉斯诺耶和别列济纳的错误，使俄国军队失去了获得彻底胜利的荣誉①。 
俄国的知识界不承认不伟大的人——Hegrand－hom
me②就命该如此，而这种命运是少见的，常常是孤独的人的命运，这种人领悟了上帝的旨意，使个人的意志服从上帝的意志。群众因为对最高法则恍然大悟，用憎恨和蔑视惩罚那些人。 
①见波格丹诺维奇著：《论库图佐夫及令人不满的克拉斯诺耶战役》——托尔斯泰注。
②法语：伟大人物。
在俄国历史学家看来（说来多么令人奇怪和可怕！），拿破仑——这个历史上的微不足道的傀儡——，这个无论在何时、何地、甚至在流放期间也没有表现出人类尊严的东西，却成了值得赞扬和令人欢喜的对象，他grand（伟大）。而库图佐夫在一八一二年战争期间，他的活动从一开始到最后，从波罗底诺到维尔纳，他的一言一行从未违反初衷，他是一个历史上最不平凡的具有自我牺牲、能事先洞察出将要发生的事件的意义的典范。而库图佐夫在某些人的心目中，是一个难以捉摸的可怜虫，一谈到库图佐夫和一八一二年，他们总觉得好像有点耻辱似的。
然而，很难想象这样的历史人物，他的活动，为了达到既定目标，始终如一。难以设想会有比这更可贵，更符合全体人民意愿的目标。在历史上便难以找出另外的例子，像库图佐夫在一八一二年，为了达到历史所付与的那个目标，竭尽全力，终于达到那个目标。
库图佐夫从来不说他“站在金字塔上瞻望四十世纪”①，不谈他为祖国作出的牺牲，不谈他想要做和已经做了的事，总之，他根本不谈自己，不装腔作势，永远显出是最普通、最平凡的人，说最普通、最平凡的话。他给女儿和斯塔埃尔夫人写信，读小说，喜欢和漂亮的女人交际，和将军们、军官们、士兵们开玩笑，从来不驳斥那些力图向他证明某件事情的人。拉斯托普钦伯爵在雅乌兹桥上向库图佐夫提到关于莫斯科陷落的错误时说：“您不是保证过不经战斗决不放弃的吗？”库图佐夫回答道：“不经过战斗，我是不会放弃莫斯科的，”虽然那时莫斯科已经放弃了。阿拉克契耶夫从皇帝身边来，他对库图佐夫说，应当任命叶尔莫洛夫为炮兵司令，库图佐夫回答说：“是的，我刚才就这样说过了。”虽然他在一分钟之前所讲的完全是另外一回事。库图佐夫周围全是些糊涂虫，只有他一个人才理解当时事件的全部巨大意义，拉斯托普钦伯爵把首都的灾难归咎于他本人或者是归咎于他，这对他有什么关系呢？至于任命谁来担任炮兵司令，对他就更无所谓了。 
①此处指拿破仑站在埃及金字塔上对军队说过的话。
这个老人的生活经验使他坚信，思想和表达思想的语言并不是人的动力的本质的东西，所以不仅在这些场合下他这么说，他总是一想到什么就脱口而出，说了一些完全没有意义的话。
但是，正是这个说话随随便便的人，在他的全部活动中，没有说过一句与他在整个战争期间所要达到的那个唯一的目的不相符合的话。显然，他怀着不为人们理解的沉重心情，在各种各样的场合中不由自主的再三再四地表明了他的思想。自从波罗底诺战役一开始，他就与周围的人有了分歧，他一个人说，·波·罗·底·诺·战·役·是·胜·利，一直到临终前，他在口头上，在所有报告中，在所有战斗总结中都是这样说的。只有他一个人说，失掉莫斯科不是失掉俄罗斯。他在答复洛里斯顿建议和谈时说，不能和谈，因为这是人民的意志；在法国人退却时，又是只有他一个人说，我军的一切调动都没有必要，一切都听其自然，这样会比我们所期望的完成的会更好，对敌人要给以生络，塔鲁丁诺、维亚济马、克拉斯诺耶等战役，都没有必要，在抵达国境线时应当还有一点实力，用十个法国人换一个俄国人，他都不干。
而他——这位宫廷内的大人物——是一个被人们描绘成为了讨取皇帝的欢心而向阿拉克契耶夫撤谎的人。只有他——这位宫廷大人物在维尔纳失去了皇帝的宠爱——只他一个人说，把以后的战争打到国境线以外去是有害的，是没有益处的。
但是仅仅用语言还不能够证明他在当时就理解了事件的意义。他的行动全部朝着一个既定的目标，从来不曾有过一丝一毫的违背，这个目标为以下的三个方面：第一，竭尽全力和法国人作战，第二，要打败他们，第三，把他们从俄罗斯赶出去，尽最大可能减轻人员和军队的痛苦。
库图佐夫老成持重，他的座右铭是“忍耐和时间”，他与那些主张死拼硬打的人是水火不相容的，就是他以前所未有的严肃态度，在做好一切准备之后，发动了波罗底诺战役。就是这个库图佐夫在奥斯特利茨战役尚未打响之前，他就断言那次战役肯定要打输，而在波罗底诺尽管将军们都认为那次战役是打输了，尽管在历史上还未曾听说有过这种先例：打胜了的军队还要撤退，只有他一个人力排众议，一直到他临终都坚持说，波罗底诺战役是胜利。只有他一个人，在整个退却期间都坚决主张不进行当时已经成为无益的战斗，不再发动新的战争，俄军不要跨越过边界线。
如果不把十多个人头脑中的目的偏偏说成是群众行动的目的，现在来理解事件的意义就很容易了，因为，全部事件及其后果都已经摆在我们的面前。
但是，这位老人怎么能在当时力排众议，准确地看出人民对事件的看法的重要意义，在他的全部活动过程中没有一次改变过这种看法呢？
对当时所发生的事件的意义之所以能看得如此之透彻，其根源就在于他拥有十分纯洁和强烈的人民感情。
正是由于人民承认他具有这种感情，人民才以那样奇特的方式，违反了沙皇的心愿，选定他——这个不得宠的老头子——作为人民战争的代表。正是这种感情把他抬到人间最高的地位，他这位身居高位的总司令，他不是用他的全副精力去屠杀和迫害人们，而是去拯救和怜悯他们。
这个朴实、谦虚，因而才是真正伟大的形象，这不能归入历史所虚构出来的所谓统治人民的伪造的欧洲英雄的模式。
对于奴才来说，不可能有伟大的人物，因为奴才有奴才对伟大这个概念的理解。
Book 15 Chapter 6
THE 5TH of November was the first day of the so-called battle of Krasnoe.
Many had been the blunders and disputes among the generals, who had not reached their proper places, many the contradictory orders carried to them by adjutants, but towards evening it was clear that the enemy were everywhere in flight, and that there would not and could not be a battle. In the evening Kutuzov set out from Krasnoe towards Dobroe, to which place the headquarters had that day been removed.
It had been a clear, frosty day. Kutuzov, mounted on his fat, white little horse, was riding towards Dobroe, followed by an immense suite of generals, whispering their dissatisfaction behind his back. Seven thousand French prisoners had been taken that day, and all along the road they met parties of them, crowding to warm themselves round the camp-fires. Not far from Dobroe they heard a loud hum of talk from an immense crowd of tattered prisoners, bandaged and wrapped up in rags of all sorts, standing in the road near a long row of unharnessed French cannons. At the approach of the commander-in-chief the buzz of talk died away, and all eyes were fixed upon Kutuzov, who moved slowly along the road, wearing a white cap with a red band, and a wadded overcoat, that set in a hunch on his round shoulders. One of the generals began explaining to Kutuzov where the prisoners and the guns had been taken.
Kutuzov seemed absorbed in anxious thought, and did not hear the general's words. He screwed up his eyes with an air of displeasure, and gazed intently at the figures of the prisoners, who presented a particularly pitiable appearance. The majority of the French soldiers were disfigured by frost-bitten cheeks and noses, and almost all of them had red, swollen, and streaming eyes.
One group of Frenchmen was standing close by the road, and two soldiers, one with his face covered with sores, were tearing at a piece of raw meat with their hands. There was something bestial and horrible in the cursory glance they cast on the approaching generals, and the frenzied expression with which the soldier with the sore face, after a glance at Kutuzov, turned away and went on with what he was doing.
Kutuzov looked a long while intently at these two soldiers; frowning more than before, he half-closed his eyelids, and shook his head thoughtfully. Further on, he noticed a Russian soldier, who was saying something friendly to a French prisoner, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder. Kutuzov shook his head again with the same expression.
“What do you say?” he asked the general, who was trying to draw the commander-in-chief's attention to the French flags, that were set up in front of the Preobrazhensky regiment.
“Ah, the flags!” said Kutuzov, rousing himself with evident difficulty from the subject absorbing his thoughts. He looked about him absently. Thousands of eyes were gazing at him from all sides, waiting for his words.
He came to a standstill before the Preobrazhensky regiment, sighed heavily and closed his eyes. One of the suite beckoned to the soldiers holding the flags to come up and set up the flagstaffs around the commander-in-chief. Kutuzov was silent for a few seconds. Then with obvious reluctance, yielding to the obligations of his position, he raised his head and began to speak. Crowds of officers gathered round him. He scanned the circle of officers with an attentive eye, recognising some of them.
“I thank you all!” he said, addressing the soldiers, and then again turning to the officers. In the deep stillness that prevailed all round him, his slowly articulated words were distinctly audible: “I thank you all for your hard and faithful service. The victory is complete, and Russia will not forget you. Your glory will be for ever!” He paused, looking about him.
“Lower; bow his head lower,” he said to the soldier, who was holding the French eagle, and had accidentally lowered it before the Preobrazhensky standard.
“Lower, lower, that's it. Hurrah, lads!” he said, his chin moving quickly as he turned to the soldiers.
“Hurrah-rah-rah!” thousands of voices roared.
While the soldiers were shouting, Kutuzov, bending forward in his saddle, bowed his head, and his eyes gleamed with a mild and, as it were, ironical light.
“And now, brothers …” he said, when the shouts had died away.
And all at once his face and expression changed: it was not the commander-in-chief speaking now, but a simple, aged man, who plainly wanted to say something most important now to his comrades.
“And now, brothers. I know it's hard for you, but there's no help for it! Have a little patience; it won't last much longer. We will see our visitors off, and then we will rest. The Tsar won't forget your services. It's hard for you, but still you are at home; while they—you see what they have come to,” he said, pointing to the prisoners. “Worse than the lowest beggars. While they were strong, we did not spare ourselves, but now we can even spare them. They too are men. Eh, lads?”
He looked about him. And in the unflinching, respectfully wondering eyes staring persistently at him, he read sympathy with his words. His face grew brighter and brighter with the gentle smile of old age, that brought clusters of wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and his eyes. He paused and dropped his head, as though in doubt.
“But after all is said and done, who asked them to come here? It serves them right, the b— b—” he said suddenly, lifting his head. And swinging his riding-whip, he rode off at a gallop, accompanied for the first time during the whole campaign by gleeful guffaws and roars of hurrah from the men as they moved out of rank.
The words uttered by Kutuzov were hardly understood by the soldiers. No one could have repeated the field-marshal's speech at first of such solemnity, and towards the end of such homely simplicity. But the meaning at the bottom of his words, they understood very well, and the same feeling of solemn triumph in their victory, together with pity for the enemy and the sense of the justice of their cause—expressed, too, with precisely the same homely coarseness—lay at the bottom of every soldier's heart, and found a vent in delighted shouts, that did not cease for a long while. When one of the generals addressed the commander-in-chief after this, asking whether he desired his carriage, Kutuzov broke into a sudden sob in replying. He was evidently deeply moved.
十一月五日是所谓的克拉斯诺耶战役的第一天。黄昏时分，在多次争吵和将军们没有准时率部到达指定地点的错误之后；在派出一批带着互相矛盾的命令的副官们之后，一切情况都已经十分清楚了，敌人已经四散奔逃，不可能有也不会再有战斗，于是库图佐夫离开了克拉斯诺耶前往多布罗耶，总司令部已在当天迁移到了那里。 
晴空万里，严寒。库图佐夫骑着自己的膘肥体壮的小白马，带领一大群对他不满意，一路上窃窃私语的随从人员前往多布罗耶。一路上随处都可以见到一群一群聚拢在火堆旁边烤火的在当天俘获的法国人（在这一天俘虏了他们七千人）。在离多布罗耶不太远的地方，一大群衣衫褴褛的、用顺手捡来的破烂裹着身子的俘虏们，站在摆在路上的一长列卸下来的大炮旁边嘁嘁喳喳谈着话。当总司令走过来的时候，谈话声停了下来。所有的眼睛都盯住库图佐夫，他头戴一顶有一道红箍的白帽子、身穿从他那驼背上鼓凸起来的棉大衣，骑着小白马沿大路缓缓走来：一位将军正在向他报告那些大炮和俘虏是从什么地方俘获的。
看起来，好像是有一件什么事情使库图佐夫悬挂着，因而那位将军的报告他一句也没有听见。他不悦地眯着眼睛，专注地凝视那些法军俘虏，这些俘虏的样子特别可怜。大多数法国士兵的脸部成为畸形，鼻子和两颊都冻伤了，差不多所有的人的眼睛都红肿、糜烂。
靠近路边站着一堆法国人。有两个士兵（其中的一个脸上长满了疮）正在用手撕吃一块生肉。在他们盯着过往的人的目光中，隐露着某种可怕的兽性的东西，那个满脸生疮的士兵恶狠狠地向库图佐夫盯了一眼，立即转过身体，继续做自己的事。
库图佐夫久久地凝视着这两个士兵，他更加皱紧了眉头，眯着眼睛，若有所思地摇了摇头。在另外一个地方他看见一个俄国士兵笑着拍一个法国人的肩膀，很和气地和他说着话，库图佐夫又一次以同样的神情摇了摇头。
“你说什么？”他问那位将军，将军一面继续报告，同时请总司令注意在普列奥布拉任斯基团的前线所缴获的法军军旗。
“啊，军旗！”库图佐夫说，他显然，他吃力地从沉思中回到了现实中来。他心不在焉地环顾四周，数千双眼睛从四面八方望着他，期待他讲话。
他在普列奥布拉任斯基团队前面停了下来，深深地吸了一口气，然后闭上了眼睛。他的一个随从人员向拿着法国军旗的士兵们招了招手，叫他们走过来把这些军旗摆放在总司令的周围。库图佐夫沉默了好几分钟，看起来他极不乐意，然而他又不得不服从由于他所处的地位所要求他必须要去做的事情，于是他抬起了头，开始讲话了。一大群军官围住了他。他以专注的目光环视了一圈周围的军官，还认出了其中几个人。
“感激大家！”他转身朝着士兵们，紧接着又转身朝着军官们，说。笼罩在他周围的是一片寂静，可以十分清晰地听见他那缓慢地说出来的话。“为了艰苦，为了忠诚的服务，感激你们大家。我们完全胜利了，俄罗斯不会忘记你们，光荣永远属于你们！”他稍稍停顿了片刻，环顾一下四周。
“把旗杆头放低点，放低点，”他对一个在无意之中把他手里拿着的法国鹰旗在普列奥布拉任斯基团队的军旗前面压低下去的士兵说。“再把它压低一点，再压低一点，好了，就这样。乌拉！弟兄们！”他的下巴朝着士兵们迅速地摆动着，说。
“乌拉——拉——拉！”响起了数千人的欢呼声。
在士兵们正在欢呼雀跃的时候，库图佐夫在坐骑上俯下身子，低下了头，他的眼睛里闪烁出一种温情的、又仿佛是一种讥讽的亮光来。
“是这样的，弟兄们，”当欢呼声一停下来时，他说……
突然之间，他脸上的表情和他的声音都变了：已经不再是一个总司令在讲话，而是一个普普通通的老人在讲话，很明显，他现在想对伙伴们说几句他想说的话。
在军官们中间和在士兵的队列中开始向前蠕动起来，以便能够更加清楚地听见他现在说的话。
“是这样的，弟兄们。我知道你们很艰苦，但是这有什么办法呢？要忍耐，不会久了。让我们把客人送走，那个时候就可以休息了。对你们的功绩，沙皇是不会忘记你们的。你们是艰苦，但是你们毕竟是在自己的国家里面；可是他们，你们看一下他们已经落到何等地步，”他指着俘虏们说道，“比最糟糕的叫化子还不如。当他们强大的时候，我们不可怜他们，可是现在可以可怜可怜他们了。他们也同样是人嘛。对不对，弟兄们？”
他环顾四周，从盯住他的那些倔强的、报其崇敬的、又是困惑不解的目光中，他看得出来都同情他所讲的话：他的眼角和嘴角皱起来，显露出一个普通的老年人的微笑，他愈来愈容光焕发，神采奕奕，他稍稍停顿了一下，似乎犹豫不决地低下头。
“不过，把话又说回来，到底是谁叫他们到我们这儿来的？活该，这些畜……畜……！他突然抬起头说。他把鞭子一挥，策马疾驰而去，这是他在整个战争期间第一次策马疾驰，他离开了已经乱了队列，高兴得纵声大笑、高喊着“乌拉”的士兵们。
部队未必能听懂库图佐夫所讲的话。谁也不能重述出元帅开头庄严、结尾朴实、就像一般的慈祥老人所说的话；然而，老人的由衷之言不仅已经被理解，而且正是在老人善良的咒骂中表现出对敌人的怜悯和对我们事业的正义性的认识的伟大庄严的感情，这种感情也深藏在每一个士兵心中，他们以兴高采烈、经久不息的欢呼声表达出来了。在此之后，有一个将军向总司令请示，是否要把他的车叫来，库图佐夫在回答时，出人意外地呜咽起来，显然他十分激动。
Book 15 Chapter 7
IT was getting dusk on the 8th of November, the last day of the battle of Krasnoe, when the soldiers reached their halting-place for the night. The whole day had been still and frosty, with now and then a few light flakes of snow. Towards evening the sky began to grow clearer. Through the snowflakes could be seen a dark, purplish, starlit sky, and the frost was growing more intense.
A regiment of musketeers, which had left Tarutino three thousand strong, but had now dwindled to nine hundred, was among the first to reach the halting-place, a village on the high road. The quartermasters, on meeting the regiment, reported that all the cottages were full of sick and dead Frenchmen, cavalrymen, and staff-officers. There was only one cottage left for the colonel of the regiment.
The colonel went on to his cottage. The regiment passed through the village, and stacked their guns up at the furthest cottages along the road.
Like a huge, many-legged monster, the regiment set to work preparing its food and lodging for the night. One party of soldiers trudged off, knee-deep in the snow, into the birch copse, on the right of the village, and the ring of axes and cutlasses, the crash of breaking branches, and the sounds of merry voices were immediately heard coming thence. Another group were busily at work all round the regimental baggage-waggons, which were drawn up all together. Some fed the horses, while others got out cooking-pots and biscuits. A third section dispersed about the village, getting the cottages ready for the staff-officers, carrying out the dead bodies of the French lying in the huts, and dragging away boards, dry wood, and straw from the thatch roofs, to furnish fuel for their fires and materials for the shelters they rigged up.
Behind the huts at the end of the village fifteen soldiers were trying with merry shouts to pull down the high wattle wall of a barn from which they had already removed the roof.
“Now then, a strong pull, all together!” shouted the voices; and in the dark the huge, snow-sprinkled boards of the wall began to give. The lower stakes of the wattle cracked more and more often, and at last the wattle wall heaved over, together with the soldiers, who were hanging onto it. A loud shout and the roar of coarse merriment followed.
“Work at it in twos! give us a lever here! that's it. Where are you coming to?”
“Now, all together.… But wait, lads! … With a shout!” …
All were silent, and a low voice of velvety sweetness began singing a song. At the end of the third verse, as the last note died away, twenty voices roared out in chorus, “O-O-O-O-O! It's coming! Pull away! Heave away, lads! …” but in spite of their united efforts the wall hardly moved, and in the silence that followed the men could be heard panting for breath.
“Hi, you there, of the sixth company! You devils, you! Lend us a hand … We'll do you a good turn one day!”
Twenty men of the sixth company, who were passing, joined them, and the wattle wall, thirty-five feet in length, and seven feet in breadth, was dragged along the village street, falling over, and cutting the shoulders of the panting soldiers.
“Go on, do. … Heave away, you there.… What are you stopping for? Eh, there?” …
The merry shouts of unseemly abuse never ceased.
“What are you about?” cried a peremptory voice, as a sergeant ran up to the party. “There are gentry here; the general himself's in the hut here, and you devils, you curs, you! I'll teach you!” shouted the sergeant, and sent a swinging blow at the back of the first soldier he could come across. “Can't you go quietly?”
The soldiers were quiet. The soldier who had received the blow began grumbling, as he rubbed his bleeding face, which had been scratched by his being knocked forward against the wattle.
“Ay, the devil; how he does hit a fellow! Why, he has set all my face bleeding,” he said in a timid whisper, as the sergeant walked away. “And you don't enjoy it, eh?” said a laughing voice; and the soldiers, moderating their voices, moved on. As they got out of the village, they began talking as loudly again, interspersing their talk with the same meaningless oaths.
In the hut by which the soldiers had passed there were assembled the chief officers in command, and an eager conversation was going on over their tea about that day's doings and the man?uvres proposed for the night. The plan was to execute a flank movement to the left, cut off and capture the viceroy.
By the time the soldiers had dragged the fence to its place they found blazing fires, cooking supper on all sides. The firewood was crackling, the snow was melting, and the black shadows of soldiers were flitting to and fro all over the space between trampled down in the snow.
Axes and cutlasses were at work on all sides. Everything was done without a word of command being given. Wood was piled up for a supply of fuel through the night, shanties were being rigged up for the officers, pots were being boiled, and arms and accoutrements set to rights.
The wattle wall was set up in a semicircle to give shelter from the north, propped up by stakes, and before it was built a camp-fire. They beat the tattoo-call, counted over their number, had supper, and settled themselves round the fires—some repairing their foot-gear, some smoking pipes, others stripped naked trying to steam the lice out of their clothes.
十一月八日，这是克拉斯诺耶战役的最后一天，当部队到达宿营地的时候，天已经黑下来了。一整天没有一点风，寒冷；天空中飘着零零散散的雪花，透过飘落的雪花，可以看见淡紫色的、灰暗的星空，寒气更加逼人了。 
穆什卡捷尔斯基团队在离开塔鲁丁诺时是三千人，而现在只剩下了九百人，这个团队最先到达指定的宿营地（大路旁边的一个村庄），迎接这个团队的打前站的人说，村里所有的房子都住满了生了病的和死亡了的法国人、骑兵和参谋人员。只还有一间房子可以让团长住。
团长到他的住处去了。团队经过村子，在大路边上的住房旁边架起了枪。
这个团队就像一头巨大的、多脚的动物，他们开始为自己营造窝穴和准备食物了。一部份士兵三五成群地分散开来，他们蹚过没膝深的雪地，走进村子右边的桦树林中，立刻就听到了刀砍斧劈的声音，树枝折断的声音和欢快的说笑的声音；另一部份士兵在团队的大车和马匹集中的地方，取出大锅和面包干，饲喂马匹；第三部分士兵分散到村子里的各个地方，为参谋人员准备住处。他们把停放在所有房子里的法国人的尸体搬运出去，然后，拖来一些木板、干柴和从屋顶上扯下来的禾草，准备生起火堆和做挡风用的篱笆。
大约有十五名士兵在村庄边上的一间房屋后面，快活地喊叫着摇晃一间棚屋的高大的篱笆墙，这间棚屋的屋顶已经被掀掉了。
“喂，喂，加把劲呀，大家一起用力推呀！”齐声喊叫着。那墙上面有雪的高大的篱笆墙来回晃动着，墙上的冰棱发出咔嚓咔嚓的响声。下面的墙桩越来越咔嚓发响，终于那堵高大的篱笆墙连同推它的士兵们一齐倒了下来，爆发出一阵粗犷的、欢快的哈哈大笑声。
“抓住！两个两个地抓住！把棍子拿过来！就这样。你在往哪推？”
“喂，加点油……停一停，伙计们……咱们喊号子吧！”
大家都默不作声，于是一个低沉的像天鹅绒般动听的声音唱了起来，在唱到第三节末尾时，紧接着最后一个音，二十个人的声音一齐喊起来：“哦哦哦哦！来呀！加点油呀！一齐干呀！弟兄们呀！……”，不管怎样一齐使劲，那堵篱笆墙几乎纹丝不动，在稍似停止的静寂中，可以听见人们沉重的喘息声。
“喂，你们六连的！鬼东西，滑头鬼！来帮一把……也有用得着我们的时候。”
进入村庄的二十来个人，全都过来帮忙了：于是那一堵有十多米长，两米多宽的篱笆墙被压弯了，像刀切一般压在呼哧呼哧喘着粗气的士兵们的肩上，沿着村庄里的街道往前移动了。
“走啊，怎么啦……要倒了，咳……怎么停住了？嗯，嗯……”
不停地说一些快活的、各种各样的骂人的脏话。
“你们干什么？”突然一名士兵向他们跑过来，厉声问道。
“大人们都在这儿；将军就在屋里，你们这些魔鬼，狗狼养的。我揍你们！”司务长喊道，他顺手给首先碰到的士兵背上打了一拳。“你不能小声点吗？”
士兵们都不吭声了。那个挨了打的士兵，撞到篱笆上，擦破了脸，满脸都是血。
“瞧，鬼东西，打的好重，弄的满脸都是血。”司务长走后，他怯生生地小声说。
“怎么样，你不喜欢吗？”一个笑着的声音说道；于是，士兵们放低了嗓门，继续往前走。一走到村外，他们就又像先前那样大说大笑，照旧说那些无聊的骂人的话。
士兵们经过一间小屋，屋内聚集了一些高级军官，他们一边喝茶，一边热烈谈当天的事情和明天进行的运动战。打算由左翼行动，切断代理总督（缪拉）并活捉他。
当士兵们把篱笆墙拖到指定地点时，到处都生起了做饭的营火，木柴噼啪作响，雪正在融化。在营地被踏碎的雪地上到处都晃动着士兵们的身影。
四面八方都响起了刀砍斧劈的声音。没有下达任何命令，一切都已准备就绪。拖来了过夜所需的木柴。为军官们架好帐篷，大锅里煮着饭，武器和装备都安置妥当。
八连拖来的篱笆墙朝北面竖立成半圆形，用枪支撑住，墙前生起了火堆。响起了晚点名的鼓声，吃过晚饭，在火堆旁准备过夜——有一些在补鞋袜，有的在吸烟，还有一些脱光了衣服，烘烤衣衫里面的虱子。
Book 15 Chapter 8
ONE would naturally have expected that in the almost inconceivably wretched conditions in which the Russian soldiers were placed at that time—without thick boots, without fur coats, without a roof over their heads in the snow, with a frost of eighteen degrees, often without full rations—they must have presented a most melancholy and depressing spectacle.
It was quite the opposite. Never under the most favourable material conditions had the army worn a livelier and more cheerful aspect. This was due to the fact that every element that showed signs of depression or weakness was sifted every day out of the army. All the physically and morally weak had long ago been left behind. What was left was the pick of the army—in strength of body and of spirit.
The camp-fire of the eighth company, screened by their wattle fence, attracted a greater crowd than any. Two sergeants were sitting by it, and the fire was blazing more brightly than any of them. They insisted on logs being brought in return for the right of sitting under the screen.
“Hi, Makyev, hullo … are you lost, or have the wolves eaten you? Fetch some wood,” shouted a red-faced, red-haired soldier, screwing up his eyes, and blinking from the smoke, but not moving back from the fire.
“You run, Crow, and fetch some wood,” he cried, addressing another soldier. The red-headed man was not a non-commissioned officer, nor a corporal, but he was a sturdy fellow, and so he gave orders to those who were weaker than himself. A thin, little soldier, with a sharp nose, who was called the “Crow,” got up submissively, and was about to obey; but at that moment there stepped into the light of the fire the slender, hand-some figure of a young soldier, carrying a load of wood.
“Give it here. Well, that's something like!”
They broke up the wood and threw it on, blew up the fire with their mouths, and fanned it with the skirts of their coats, and the flame began to hiss and crackle. The soldiers drew nearer the fire and lighted their pipes. The handsome young soldier who had brought in the wood put his arms akimbo, and began a smart and nimble shuffle with his frozen feet as he stood.
“Ah, mother dear, the dew is cold, but yet it is fine, and a musketeer!” … he began singing, with a sort of hiccup at each syllable of the song.
“Hey, his soles are flying off!” cried the red-haired man, noticing that the dancer's soles were loose. “He's a rare devil for dancing!”
The dancer stopped, tore off the loose leather, and flung it in the fire.
“You're right there, brother,” said he, and sitting down he took out of his knapsack a strip of French blue cloth, and began binding it round his foot. “It's the steam that warps them,” he added, stretching his feet out to the fire.
“They'll soon serve us new ones. They say when we finish them off, we are all to have a double lot of stuff.”
“I say, that son of a bitch, Petrov, has sneaked off, it seems,” said a sergeant.
“It's a long while since I've noticed him,” said the other.
“Oh, well, a poor sort of soldier …”
“And in the third company, they were saying, there were nine men missing at the roll-call yesterday.”
“Well, but after all, when one's feet are frozen, how's one to walk?”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” said the sergeant.
“Why, do you want to do the same?” said an old soldier; reproachfully addressing the man who had talked of frozen feet.
“Well, what do you think?” the sharp-nosed soldier, called “Crow,” said suddenly, in a squeaking and quavery voice, turning himself on one elbow behind the fire. “If a man's sleek and fat, he just grows thin, but for a thin man it's death. Look at me, now! I have no strength left,” he said, with sudden resolution, addressing a sergeant. “Say the word for me to be sent off to the hospital. I'm one ache with rheumatism, and one only gets left behind just the same …”
“There, that's enough; that's enough,” said the sergeant calmly.
The soldier was silent, and the conversation went on.
“There's a rare lot of these Frenchies have been taken to-day; but not a pair of boots on one of them, one may say, worth having; no, not worth mentioning,” one of the soldiers began, starting a new subject.
“The Cossacks had stripped them of everything. We cleaned a hut for the colonel, and carried them out. It was pitiful to see them, lads,” said the dancer. “We overhauled them. One was alive, would you believe it, muttering something in their lingo.”
“They're a clean people, lads,” said the first. “White—why, as white as a birch-tree, and brave they are, I must say, and gentlemen too.”
“Well, what would you expect? Soldiers are taken from all classes with them.”
“And yet they don't understand a word we say,” said the dancer, with a wondering smile. “I says to him, ‘Of what kingdom are you?' and he mutters away his lingo. A strange people!”
“I'll tell you a wonderful thing, mates,” went on the man who had expressed surprise at their whiteness. “The peasants about Mozhaisk were telling how, when they went to take away the dead where the great battle was, why, their bodies had been lying there a good month. Well, they lay there, as white and clean as paper, and not a smell about them.”
“Why, from the cold, eh?” asked one.
“You're a clever one! Cold, indeed! Why, it was hot weather. If it had been from the cold, our men, too, wouldn't have rotted. But they say, go up to one of ours, and it would all be putrefied and maggoty. They tie handkerchiefs round their noses, and drag them off, turning their faces away, so they say. They can't help it. But they're white as paper; not a smell about them.”
There was a general silence.
“Must be from the feeding,” said the sergeant: “they are gorged like gentry.”
No one replied.
“That peasant at Mozhaisk, where the battle was, was saying that they were fetched from ten villages round, and at work there for twenty days, and couldn't get all the dead away. A lot of those wolves, says he …”
“That was something like a battle,” said an old soldier. “The only one worth mentioning; everything since … it's simply tormenting folks for nothing.”
“Oh, well, uncle, we did attack them the day before yesterday. But what's one to do? They won't let us get at them. They were so quick at laying down their arms, and on their knees. Pardon!—they say. And that's only one example. They have said twice that Platov had taken Polion himself. He catches him, and lo! he turns into a bird in his hands and flies away and away. And as to killing him, no manner of means of doing it.”
“You're a sturdy liar, Kiselov, by the look of you!”
“Liar, indeed! It's the holy truth.”
“Well, if you ask me, I'd bury him in the earth, if I caught him. Yes, with a good aspen cudgel. The number of folk he has destroyed!”
“Any way, we shall soon make an end of him; he won't come again,” said the old soldier, yawning.
The conversation died away; the soldiers began making themselves comfortable for the night.
“I say, what a lot of stars; how they shine! One would say the women had been laying out their linen!” said a soldier admiring the Milky Way.
“That's a sign of a good harvest, lads!”
“We shall want a little more wood.”
“One warms one's back, and one's belly freezes. That's queer.”
“O Lord!”
“What are you shoving for—is the fire only for you, eh? See … there he sprawls.”
In the silence that reigned snoring could be heard from a few who had gone to sleep. The rest turned themselves to get warm by the fire, exchanging occasional remarks. From a fire a hundred paces away came a chorus of merry laughter.
“They are guffawing in the fifth company,” said a soldier. “And what a lot of them there!”
A soldier got up and went off to the fifth company.
“There's a bit of fun!” he said, coming back. “Two Frenchies have come. One's quite frozen, but the other's a fine plucky fellow! He's singing songs.”
“O-O! must go and look …” Several soldiers went across to the fifth company.
俄国士兵在当时的处境极其艰难，难以用语言来描绘——没有保暖的靴子，没有皮衣，上无片瓦可以栖身，露宿在零下十八度严寒的雪地之中，甚至没有足够的口粮（部队的给养常常跟不上了，士兵们本应表现出十分狼狈和十分悲惨的景象。 
恰好相反，即便在最好的条件下，也从来没有表现出比现在更加快乐、更加活跃的景象。这是因为每天都把意志薄弱和体力衰弱的人从部队淘汰掉，他们早就掉了队，剩下的全是部队的精英——不论在身体方面，还是精神方面，都是坚强的人。
在用篱笆遮挡的八连驻地聚集的人最多。两个司务长坐在他们那里，他们的火堆燃烧得最旺。他们规定，只有拿木柴来，才能坐在这里。
“喂，马克耶夫，你怎么搞的……你跑到哪里去了？狼把你吃啦？去拿些柴来。”一个红头发、红脸的士兵喊道，他眨巴着被烟子熏得眯成一条缝的眼睛，就这样他也不愿意远离火堆。“你，乌鸦，也去拿点柴火来。”这个大兵转过身对另一个士兵说。这个红脸人既不是军士也不是上等兵。但他壮实，就因为这，他就能指挥那些体质比他弱的士兵。那个被叫做乌鸦的士兵又瘦又小，长着个尖鼻子，乖乖地站了起来，准备去执行这个命令。就在这时，一个身材修长的、年青英俊的士兵抱着一大捆木柴向着火堆的光亮处走了过来。
“抱到这儿来，真是雪中送炭！”
大伙儿劈开木柴，往火上加，用嘴吹，用大衣的下摆煽，火苗丝丝作响，噼噼啪啪地燃烧起来。士兵们挪近火堆，抽起烟来。那个抱木柴来的年轻英俊的士兵，两手叉腰，就地快速和有节奏的跺着冻僵了的脚。
“哎呀，我的妈呀，夜露多冷，好在我是一个火枪兵……”他悠然低吟，好像每一个音节都要打个嗝儿。
“喂，鞋底要飞了！”那个红脸人发现跳舞的人的靴底掌搭拉下来，高声叫道。“好一个舞蹈家。”
跳舞的人停住脚，扯下搭拉下来的皮子，扔进了火堆。
“好啦，老兄，”他说；他坐下来，从挎包里掏出一块灰色法兰绒，用它包住脚。“都冻木了。”他补了一句，把脚伸向火堆。
“快要发新的了。听说，打完仗，给大家发双份服装。”
“你看，狗崽子彼得罗夫，还是掉了队。”司务长说。
“我早看出来了。”另一个说。
“噢，一个不中用的小卒……”
“听说，三连昨天少了九个人。”
“不错，脚都冻坏了，还能走路吗？”
“嘿，废话！”司务长说。
“你是不是也想那样？”一个老兵以责备的口气对那个说脚冻坏的人说。
“你究竟是怎么想的？”那个被叫做乌鸦的士兵突然从火堆旁欠起身，用尖细而颤抖的声音说：“胖的拖瘦了，瘦的拖死了，就以我来说吧，一点力气也没有了，”他突然面对司务长，坚决地说，”把我送到医院去吧，我周身疼痛，骨头架子都要散了，不然早晚我都是要掉队的……”
“好啦，好啦。”司务长平静地说。
那个小兵不再吱声，谈话继续进行。
“今天捉的法国人真不少，这些人穿的靴子，说实在的，说是靴子，其实连一双像样的都没有，”一个士兵提出了一个新话题。
“哥萨克把他们的靴子全给脱走了。他们给团长打扫房子，把死了的都拖走，真惨不忍睹，弟兄们，”那个跳舞的人说，“翻动尸体时，有一个还活着，你能相信吗？嘴里还在叽咕着说话呢。”
“个个都白白净净的，弟兄们，”第一个说话的人说，“白的，就像桦树皮一样白，有的仪表威武，说不定还是贵族。”
“你以为怎么着？他们人人都要当兵。”
“谁也不懂我们的话，”那个跳舞的人带着困惑不解的微笑说道。“我问他，‘谁的王徽？'他嘟嘟噜噜。一个不可思议的民族！”
“不过，却真怪，弟兄们，”那个对他们那么白感到惊奇的人接着说，“莫扎伊斯克的农民说，在他们那里曾发生过战斗，他们在掩埋死人时，那些法国人的尸体已经露天摆在那儿有个把月了，像白纸一样白，干干净净，连一点点火药的臭味都没有。”
“怎么，或许是寒冷的缘故吧？”一个人问。“你太聪明了！冻的！可当时天气还热着呢。假如因为严寒所致，那么我们的人的尸体就不会腐烂。农民说，‘到咱们的人跟前一看，全腐烂了。生了蛆。'”他说，“拖尸体时，我们用毛巾把脸包起来，扭过头去，那气味实在叫人受不了。”他又说，“可是他们的人呢，像纸一样白，边一点火药的臭味都没有。”
大家都默不出声。
“那就是吃的好吧，”司务长说，“他们吃的都是上等的伙食。”
没有人反对。
“那个农民说，在莫扎伊期克附近曾经打过仗，在那里，从十来个村庄召来的人运了二十天，也没有把死尸运完。有不少都喂了狼……”
“那是一场真正的战斗，”一个老兵说。“只有这一场战斗令人难忘；而在此之后的一切……只是折磨人罢了。”
“就是，大叔。前天我们追击他们，还不等你靠近，他们就赶紧扔下枪，跪在地上，喊‘饶命！'他们说，这只是一个例子。还说，普拉托夫曾两次捉住拿破仑本人，他不会法国话，捉是捉住了：在他手上化成一只鸟，飞了，又飞了。没有杀掉他。”
“我看你，基谢廖夫，是一个吹牛大王。”“什么吹牛，那千真万确。”
“假如他落在我的手里，我一定把他埋起来，再钉上一根杨树桩，他害了多少人哇！”
“一切都快到头啦，他不能横行了。”那个老兵打着哈欠说道。
谈话停止了，士兵们躺下睡了。
“瞧，天上的星星，闪耀得多好看！你还以为是铺展开的一幅画布。”一个士兵欣赏着天上的银河，说道。
“弟兄们，这是丰年的预兆。”
“应当添点柴火。”
“背烤暖了，肚皮又冻得冰凉，真怪。”
“唉，真不得了！”
“你挤什么，火是你一个人的，还是怎么的？看……看你的手脚是怎样伸的。”
由于停止了谈话而寂静下来，可以听得见有几个人打着鼾声；其余的人辗转翻身烤火，时而交谈几句。从相距百把步远的一个火堆旁传来欢快的齐声大笑。
“瞧，五连那边多热闹。”一个士兵说，“人真多！”
一个士兵站起来，到五连那边去了。
“笑得够意思，”他回来说，“有两个法国人，一个冻僵了，另一个很活跃，在唱歌。”
“噢，噢？看看去……”几个兵到五连去。
Book 15 Chapter 9
THE FIFTH COMPANY was bivouacking close up to the birch copse. An immense camp-fire was blazing brightly in the middle of the snow, lighting up the rime-covered boughs of the trees.
In the middle of the night the soldiers had heard footsteps and the cracking of branches in the copse.
“A bear, lads,” said one soldier.
All raised their heads and listened; and out of the copse there stepped into the bright light of the fire two strangely garbed human figures clinging to one another. These were two Frenchmen, who had been hiding in the wood. Hoarsely articulating something in a tongue incomprehensible to the soldiers, they approached the fire. One, wearing an officer's hat, was rather the taller, and seemed utterly spent. He tried to sit down by the fire, but sank on to the ground. The other, a little, stumpy man, with a kerchief bound round his cheeks, was stronger. He held his companion up, and said something pointing to his mouth. The soldiers surrounded the Frenchmen, laid a coat under the sick man, and brought both of them porridge and vodka. The exhausted French officer was Ramballe; the little man bandaged up in the kerchief was his servant, Morel.
When Morel had drunk some vodka and eaten a bowl of porridge, he suddenly passed into a state of morbid hilarity, and kept up an incessant babble with the soldiers, who could not understand him. Ramballe refused food, and leaning on one elbow by the fire, gazed dumbly with red, vacant eyes at the Russian soldiers. At intervals he uttered a prolonged groan and then was mute again. Morel, pointing to his shoulders, gave the soldiers to understand that this was an officer, and that he needed warmth. A Russian officer, who had come up to the fire, sent to ask the colonel whether he would take a French officer into his warm cottage. When they came back and said that the colonel bade them bring the officer, they told Ramballe to go to him. He got up and tried to walk, but staggered, and would have fallen had not a soldier standing near caught him.
“What? You don't want to, eh?” said a soldier addressing Ramballe with a jocose wink.
“Eh, you fool! It's no time for your fooling. A peasant, a real peasant,” voices were heard on all sides blaming the jocose soldier. The others surrounded Ramballe. Two of them held him up under the arms and carried him to the cottage. Ramballe put his arms round the soldiers' necks, and as they lifted him he began wailing plaintively.
“O you good fellows! O my kind, kind friends. These are men! O my brave, kind friends”; and like a child he put his head down on the soldier's shoulder.
Meanwhile Morel was sitting in the best place surrounded by the soldiers.
Morel, a little, thickset Frenchman, with swollen, streaming eyes, was dressed in a woman's jacket and had a woman's kerchief tied over his forage cap. He was evidently tipsy, and with one arm thrown round the soldier sitting next him, he was singing a French song in a husky, broken voice. The soldiers simply held their sides as they looked at him.
“Now then, now then, teach it me; how does it go? I'll catch it in no time. How was it?” said the soldier Morel was hugging, who was one of the singers and fond of a joke.
“Vive Henri Quatre! Vive ce roi vaillant! …” sang Morel, winking. “Ce diable à quatre …”
“Vi-va-ri-ka! Viff-se-ru-va-ru! Si-dya-blya-ka!…” repeated the soldier, waving his hand and catching the tune correctly.
“Bravo! Ho-ho-ho-ho!” a hoarse guffaw of delight rose on all sides. Morel, wrinkling up his face, laughed too.
“Come, strike up, more, more!”
“Qui eut le triple talent de boire, de battre, et d'être un vert galant.”
“That sounds well too. Now, Zaletaev!…”
“Kyu,” Zaletaev articulated with effort. “Kyu-yu-yu …” he sang, puckering up his lips elaborately; “le-trip-ta-la-de-boo-de-ba-ce-detra-va-ga-la.”
“That's fine! That's a fine Frenchman, to be sure! oy … ho-ho-ho. Well, do you want some more to eat?”
“Give him some porridge; it'll take him some time to satisfy his hunger.”
They gave him more porridge, and Morel, laughing, attacked a third bowlful. There were gleeful smiles on the faces of all the young soldiers watching him. The old soldiers, considering it beneath their dignity to show interest in such trifles, lay on the other side of the fire, but now and then one would raise himself on his elbow and glance with a smile at Morel.
“They are men, too,” said one, rolling himself up in his coat. “Even the wormwood has its roots.”
“O Lord! What lots of stars! It's a sign of frost …” And all sank into silence.
The stars, as though they knew no one would see them now, were twinkling brightly in the black sky. Flaring up and growing dim again, and quivering, they seemed to be busily signalling some joyful mystery to each other.
五连驻地紧靠森林边上。一堆大火在雪地里燃烧得通红，透亮。火光照亮了被霜雪压弯了的树枝。 
半夜里，五连的士兵听见了在林中的雪地上有脚步声和地上的树枝发出的啪嚓啪嚓的响声。
“弟兄们，有狗熊。”一个士兵说。大家都抬起头来仔细倾听，两个衣衫奇异、互相搀扶着的人影从林中朝着火堆的光亮走来。
这是两个躲藏在森林里的法国人。他们声音嘶哑，说着士兵们听不懂的话，走近火堆。一个身材稍高一点，头戴军官帽，看样子已筋疲力竭。走近火堆，他想坐下来，但却倒在地上了。另一个矮小，结实，用手巾包住脸庞，他把同伴从地上扶起来，用手指指自己的嘴，说了几句话。士兵们围着两个法国人，给生病的铺上了军大衣，又给他俩拿来稀饭和伏特加酒。
那个精疲力竭的法国军官叫朗巴莱；那个脸上包着手巾的是他的勤务兵莫雷尔。
莫雷尔喝了伏特加和一碗稀饭之后，突然异乎寻常地快活起来，不停地对那些听不懂他的语言的士兵嘟嘟噜噜。朗巴莱不吃也不喝，头枕着臂肘躺在火堆旁，默不作声，以漠然的通红的眼睛望着俄国的士兵们。他时而发出长吁短叹的声音，之后又默不出声。莫雷尔指着他的肩膀，向士兵们示意，这是一位军官，应当让他暖和一点。一位走近火堆的俄国军官派人去向团长请示，可否准许一个法国军官到他的屋子里去取暖。派去的人回来说，团长吩咐把法国军官带去。于是告知了朗巴莱。他站起来想走，但他站立不稳，要不是站在他身旁的一个士兵扶住他，差一点就又会摔倒。
“怎么的？不来了吗？”一个士兵对着朗巴莱讥讽地挤着眼，说。
“咳，傻瓜！你胡说些什么！乡巴佬，真是个乡巴佬，”大家齐声责备那个开玩笑的士兵。大家围着朗巴莱，把他抬起来放到由两个士兵手拉手形成的“担架”上，把他抬到屋子里去了。朗巴莱搂住一个抬着他的士兵的脖子，悲怆地说：
“Oh，mesbraves，oh，mesbons，mesbonsamis！Voilàdeshommes！oh，mesbraves，mesbonsamis！”①他像一个小孩子那样，把头靠在一个士兵的肩头上。
这时，莫雷尔坐在火边最好的地方，士兵们围着他。
莫雷尔是一个矮小敦实的法国人，他两眼红肿，流着眼泪，军帽上扎一条女人的头巾，穿一件女人的皮袄。他显然喝醉了，他搂着坐在他身旁的士兵，声音嘶哑地，断断续续地唱着法国歌曲。士兵们紧盯住他，捧腹大笑。
“喂，喂，教教我们，怎么样？”“我们一学就会，怎么样？
……”莫雷尔搂着的那个滑稽鬼——歌唱家说。
ViveHenriquatre，
Viveceroivailant！②
莫雷尔眨巴着眼唱道。
Cediableàquatre…③
“维哇利咯！维夫，塞路哇路！西传波拉咯……”④那个士兵挥着手，跟着喝，果然跟上了调子。 
①法语：哦，好人哪！哦，善心的、善心的朋友们哪！这才是真正的人，我的好心的朋友们。
②法语：亨利四世万岁，万岁，勇敢的国王！
③法语：亨利四世那个魔鬼……
④摹仿法语的发音。
“好家伙！哈—哈—哈—哈—哈！”爆发出一片粗犷的，快乐的哈哈大笑声，莫雷尔皱了一下眉头，也跟着笑了。
“喂，来呀，再来一个，再来一个！”
Quieutletripletalent，
Deboire，debattre，
Etd'treunvertgalant…①
“调子也合得起，喂，快点，快点，扎列塔耶夫！……”
“克由……”扎列塔耶夫用力唱出来。”克—由—由……”他使劲噘起嘴唇，拉长了声音唱道。“列特里勃塔拉，吉—布—吉—巴，吉特拉哇嗄拉！”②他唱道。 
①法语：他有三套本领：喝酒，打仗，还有当情夫……
②摹仿法语的发音。
“好哇！跟法国人唱的一样！啊……哈哈哈哈！怎么样，你还要吃一点吗？”
“给他点稀饭；饿过了头是一下子吃不饱的。”
又给他送来稀饭，于是莫雷尔吃了第三碗。年轻的士兵们都看着莫雷尔，脸上露出快乐的微笑。年长的士兵认为干这种无聊的事有失体面，他们躺在火堆的另一边，时而用臂肘支起身子微笑着看一下莫雷尔。
“他们也是人哪，”一个裹着大衣的士兵说，“就是苦蒿也是从自己的根上生长的。”
“哎哟，老天爷，老天爷！满天星斗，密密麻麻，天还要更冷……”一切都静了下来。
星星好像知道现在谁也不去看它们，在黑暗的天空中欢闹起来，它们忽明忽灭，忽而颤动，它们互相之间正忙着说些快乐而又神秘的悄悄话。
Book 15 Chapter 10
THE FRENCH ARMY went on melting away at a regularly increasing rate. And the crossing of the Berezina, of which so much has been written, was only one of the intermediate stages of the destruction of the army, and by no means the decisive episode of the campaign. The reason that so much has been written about Berezina on the French side is that at the broken-down bridge of Berezina the woes, which had till then come upon them in a sort of regular succession, were suddenly concentrated there in a single moment—in one tragic catastrophe, which remained printed on the memory of all. On the Russian side, the reason that so much has been made of Berezina was simply that at Petersburg, far away from the theatre of war, a plan had been devised (again by Pfuhl of all people) for catching Napoleon in a strategic snare on the banks of the Berezina. Every one was convinced that the plan would come off exactly as arranged, and so they insisted that Berezina had in any case been the scene of the final ruin of the French. In reality the results of Berezina were less ruinous to the French in loss of cannons and prisoners than was the fighting at Krasnoe, as statistics prove.
The sole significance of the disaster of Berezina lies in the fact that it proved obviously and unmistakably how misleading were all plans for cutting off the enemy's retreat; and the one possible course of action was that which was supported by Kutuzov and the mass of the Russian army—simply to follow on the enemy's track. The crowd of French soldiers fled with continually accelerating velocity, with all their energies directed to the attainment of their goal. It was fleeing like a wounded beast and could not be stopped on the way. This was proved, not so much by the construction of the crossing, as by what happened at the bridges. When the bridges were broken down, unarmed soldiers, camp-followers from Moscow, women with children, who were with the French transport, all under the influence of vis inerti?, dashed forward for the boats, or rushed into the frozen water, instead of surrendering.
Their impulse was a reasonable one. The position of fugitives and of pursuers was equally wretched. By remaining with his own men, each hoped for the help of comrades in misfortune, for a definite place of his own among them. By surrendering to the Russians, he found himself in the same wretched circumstances, but placed on a lower level than others as regards the satisfaction of his vital needs. The French had no need of authentic evidence that half of the prisoners—whom the Russians were unable to look after, however much they desired to save them— were dying of cold and hunger. They felt that it could not but be so. The most humane Russian officers, even those naturally warmly disposed to the French, Frenchmen in the Russian service, could do nothing for the prisoners. They perished from the wretched plight in which the Russians were themselves placed. Bread and clothing could not be taken from the starving, insistent soldiers to give it to Frenchmen—not hated, not obnoxious, nor in any way to blame—but simply superfluous. Some did even do this; but it was only an exception.
Behind them lay certain destruction; before them lay hope. Their ships were burnt; there was no hope of safety but in keeping together and in flight, and all the forces of the French were bent on this united flight.
The more precipitate the flight of the French, and the more wretched the plight of those left behind (especially after Berezina, on which great hopes had been set, owing to the Petersburg plan), the more violent were the attacks made by the Russian generals on one another, and still more on Kutuzov. Assuming that the failure of the Petersburg plan would be ascribed to him, the dissatisfaction with him, contempt of him, and jeering at him became more and more pronounced. This contempt and jeering was of course expressed in respectful form—in such a form that Kutuzov could not even ask what he was accused of. They did not talk to him seriously; they submitted their reports and asked for his decisions with an air of performing a melancholy ceremony, while they winked behind his back, and at every step tried to deceive him. It was accepted as a recognised thing by all those men that it was useless talking to the old man, simply because they could not understand him. They took it for granted that he could never comprehend the deep significance of their plans, that he would answer them with his phrases (they fancied they were only meaningless phrases) about a golden bridge, and about the impossibility of going beyond the frontier with a crowd of barefoot beggars. And everything he said—for instance, that they must wait for provisions, or that the men had no boots—all was so simple; while everything they proposed was so complicated and so clever, that it was obvious to them that he was stupid and in his dotage, while they were military officers of genius, without authority to take the lead. The dissatisfaction and malicious gossip of the staff reached its utmost limits after the brilliant admiral, the favourite hero of Petersburg, Wittgenstein, had joined the army. Kutuzov saw it, and simply sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Only once, after Berezina, he lost his temper and wrote to Bennigsen, who was in private correspondence with the Tsar, the following note:
“I beg your Most High Excellency on the receipt of this letter to retire to Kaluga, on account of your attacks of ill-health, and there to await the further commands of His Majesty the Emperor.”
But this dismissal of Bennigsen was followed by the arrival on the scene of the Grand Duke Konstantin Pavlovitch, who had received a command at the beginning of the campaign and had been removed from the army by Kutuzov. Now the Grand Duke on rejoining the army informed Kutuzov of the Tsar's dissatisfaction at the poor successes of our troops, and the slowness of their progress. The Tsar himself intended to be with the army in a few days.
The old man, as experienced in court methods as in warfare—who in the August of that year had been chosen commander-in-chief against the Tsar's will, who had dismissed the Grand Duke and heir-apparent from the army, and acting on his own authority, in opposition to the Tsar's will, had decreed the abandonment of Moscow—understood at once now that his day was over, that his part was played out, and that his supposed power was no more. And not only from the attitude of the court did he see this. On one side he saw the war—that war in which he had played his part—was over, and he felt that his work was done. On the other hand, at this very time, he began to be sensible of the physical weariness of his aged frame, and the necessity of physical rest.
On the 29th of November, Kutuzov reached Vilna—his dear Vilna, as he used to call it. Twice during his military career he had been governor of Vilna.
In that wealthy town, which had escaped injury, Kutuzov found old friends and old associations, as well as the comforts of which he had been so long deprived. And at once turning his back on all military and political cares, he plunged into the quiet routine of his accustomed life, so far as the passions raging all round him would permit. It was as though all that was being done, and had still to be done, in the world of history, was no concern of his now.
Tchitchagov was one of the generals most zealous in advocating attack and cutting off the enemy's retreat; he had at first suggested making a diversion in Greece and then in Warsaw, but was never willing to go where he was commanded to go. Tchitchagov, who was notorious for the boldness of his remarks to the Tsar, considered Kutuzov was under an obligation to him, because when he had been sent in 1811 to conclude peace with Turkey over Kutuzov's head, and found on arriving that peace had already been concluded, he had frankly admitted to the Tsar that the credit of having concluded peace belonged to Kutuzov.
This Tchitchagov was the first to meet Kutuzov at Vilna, at the castles where the latter was to stay. Wearing a naval uniform with a dirk, and holding his forage cap under his arm, he handed the commander-in-chief the military report and the keys of the town. The contemptuously respectful attitude of youth to old age in its dotage was expressed in the most marked manner in all the behaviour of Tchitchagov, who was aware of the disfavour into which Kutuzov had fallen.
In conversation with Tchitchagov, Kutuzov happened to say that his carriages, packed with china, that had been carried off by the enemy at Borisovo, had been recovered unhurt, and would be restored to him.
“You mean to say I have nothing to eat out of? On the contrary, I can provide everything for you, even if you want to give dinner-parties,” Tchitchagov protested, getting hot. Every word he had uttered had been with the motive of proving his own rectitude, and so he imagined that Kutuzov too was preoccupied with the same desire. Shrugging his shoulders and smiling his subtle, penetrating smile, Kutuzov answered:
“I mean to say to you what I do say to you. Nothing more.”
In opposition to the Tsar's wishes, Kutuzov kept the greater part of the troops in Vilna. He was said by all the persons about him to be getting much weaker, and breaking down physically during his stay in Vilna. He took no interest in the business of the army, left everything to his generals, and spent the time of waiting for the Tsar in social dissipation.
The Tsar, with his suite—Count Tolstoy, Prince Volkonsky, Araktcheev, and the rest—left Petersburg on the 7th of December, and reached Vilna on the 11th, and drove straight up to the castle in his travelling sledge. In spite of the intense cold there were some hundred generals and staff-officers in full parade uniform, and a guard of honour of the Semyonovsky regiment standing before the castle.
A courier, galloping up to the castle with steaming horses in advance of the Tsar, shouted: “He is coming!”
Konovnitsyn rushed into the vestibule to inform Kutuzov, who was waiting in the porter's little room within.
A minute later the big, heavy figure of the old man in full parade uniform, his breast covered with orders, and a scarf drawn tight about his bulky person, walked with a rolling gait on to the steps. He put his cocked hat on, with the flat side foremost, took his gloves in his hand, and going sideways with difficulty down the steps, took in his hand the report, that had been prepared to give the Tsar.
Bustle and hurry and whispering, another set of three horses dashing furiously up, and all eyes were turned on the approaching sledge, in which the figures of the Tsar and Volkonsky could already be distinguished.
From the habit of fifty years, all this had a physically agitating effect on the old man. He felt himself over with nervous haste, set his hat straight, and pulling himself together and standing erect at the very moment when the Tsar stepping out of the sledge, turned his eyes upon him, he handed him the report, and began speaking in his measured, ingratiating voice.
The Tsar scanned Kutuzov from head to foot in a rapid glance, frowned for an instant; but at once overcoming his feelings, went up to him, and opening his arms, embraced the old general. Again, through old habitual association of ideas, arousing some deep feeling in his own heart, this embrace had its usual effect on Kutuzov: he gave a sob.
The Tsar greeted the officers and the Semyonovsky guard of honour; and once more shaking hands with the old man, he went with him into the castle.
When he was alone with the commander-in-chief, the Tsar gave expression to his displeasure at the slowness of the pursuit of the enemy, and the blunders made at Krasnoe and the Berezina, and to his views as to the coming campaign abroad. Kutuzov made no observation or explanation. The same expression of unreasoning submission with which seven years before he had listened to the Tsar's commands on the field of Austerlitz remained fixed now on his face.
When Kutuzov had left the room, and with downcast head walked across the reception-hall with his heavy, waddling step, a voice stopped him.
“Your highness,” said some one.
He raised his head, and looked into the face of Count Tolstoy, who stood facing him with a small object on a silver dish. Kutuzov seemed for some time unable to grasp what was wanted of him.
All at once he seemed to recollect himself; a faint smile gleamed on his pudgy face, and with a low, respectful bow, he picked up the object on the dish. It was the Order of St. George of the first rank.
法国军队按照准确的算术级数递减、融解。曾被大量描绘过的强渡别列济纳河一役只是消灭法国军队的诸多战役之中的一次战役，而绝非决定性的一次战役。如果在过去和在现在要大量地描绘别列济纳河一役，那么，这只是因为，从法国人方面来说，在此战役之前，法国军队是被逐步消灭的，而这一次，在别列济纳河的破桥上，突然成群地被歼在顷刻之间，在人们的记忆中留下了悲惨景象。从俄国人方面来说，大量地议论和描写别列济纳河战役，只是因为，在远离战场的彼得堡制定了一项计划（也是普弗尔制定的，即在别列济纳河设下战略陷阱，要生擒拿破仑）。大家确信，一切都准确地按计划行事，因而坚持认为，正是强渡别列济纳河导致法国军队的覆灭。 
实际数字证明：事实上，强渡别列济纳河法国人在武器和人员方面的损失比在克拉斯诺耶战役所遭受的损失要小得多。
强渡别列济纳河战役唯一的意义是，这次行动确切无疑地证明，所有切断敌人的计划都是错误的，而库图佐夫主张的唯一可行的行动方式——只在敌人后面跟踪追击，是完全正确的。法国的乌合之众在逃跑过程中不断加快逃跑速度，为了能逃到目的地而竭尽了全部力量。法国人像一头受伤的野兽那样没命狂奔，要挡住他们的逃路是不可能的。与其说是强渡，还不如说是桥上发生的情形证明了这一点。当桥倒塌时，徒手的士兵们和在法军输重队中的莫斯科的居民和一些带着小孩的妇女们，都因受惯性的影响，停止不下来，涌到船上和冰凉的河水中。
这种愿望是合乎情理的。逃跑的人和追赶的人的境遇都同样糟糕。每一个遭难的人，要是落在自己人中间，还可以指望伙伴们的帮助，在自己人当中还可以占有一定的地位。要是投降了俄国人，他虽然还是处在同样的遭难的境地，但是在分配生活必需品时，他必然会低人一等。法国人不需要知道，他们有一半的人已当了俘虏的确切消息。尽管俄国人相信他们不至于被冻死、饿死，对这么多俘虏，他们也不知道该怎么办。法国人已感觉到这种状况只能是这种样子。最富有同情心的俄国军官和对法国人有好感的人，甚至在俄国军队中服务的法国人，对俘虏也都是爱莫能助。俄国军队也正在经受着那种毁灭了法国人的灾难。不能从饥饿的士兵手中拿走他们自己也正需要的面包和衣服，去给那些已经无害、也不可恨、也没有罪、然而却已是无用了的法国人。有一些俄国人是这样做了，但是这仅仅是一些极个别的，例外的情况。
慢了则必死无疑；希望在前面。只有破釜沉舟，除了集体逃跑，没有别的道路可以选择，于是法国人就竭尽其全力集体逃跑。
法国人越是逃跑下去，其残余部队的处境越悲惨，尤其是在根据彼得堡的计划所寄予厚望的别列济纳战役之后，更加如此；俄国军官们互相责怪，特别是责怪库图佐夫的情绪也更加激烈。他们认为，彼得堡的别列济纳计划如果失败，必然归咎于库图佐夫，因而对他的不满、轻视和讥笑将愈来愈激烈。自然，轻视和讥笑是以恭敬的形式表现出来的，这就使库图佐夫无法质问他们责怪他什么和为什么责怪他。他们在向他报告和请他批准什么的时候，谈话极不认真，做出履行一种痛苦的手续的样子，而在背后却挤眉弄眼，他们时时处处都尽量欺骗他。
正因为他们不能理解他，所以这些人就认为跟这个老头子没有什么可谈的；他永远不会理解他们计划的深刻含意；他要对自己的关于金桥啦和不能率领一群乌合之众打到国境界以外去啦等类似的空话（他们认为这些仅仅是空话）给予回答。但是，所有这一切，他们早都从他那里听到过了。他所说的一切：例如，需要等待给养，士兵们没有靴子，都是如此简单，而他们的建议才是复杂而明智的，在他们看来是显而易见的；他已经又老又糊涂，而他们却是没有当权的天才统帅。
特别是在卓越的海军上将的军队和彼得堡维特根施泰因的英雄军队会师之后，这种情绪和参谋部的流言蜚语都达到了顶点。库图佐夫看出了这一点，他只好叹口气，耸耸肩膀。只有一次，就是在别列济纳战役之后，他生了气，他给独自向皇帝密奏的贝尼格森写了如下的一封信：
“因你的旧病复发，见此信后，请阁下即刻前往卡卢加，听候皇帝陛下的旨意和任命。”
在打发走贝尼格森之后，接着康士坦丁·帕夫洛维奇大公（十月革命前沙皇之弟、兄·孙之封号——译者注）来到了军队，他在战争初期参过战，后来库图佐夫把他调离军队。现在大公来到军中，他告诉库图佐夫，皇上对我军战绩不大，行动缓慢不满意，皇上打算最近亲自到军队中来。
库图佐夫是一位在宫廷里和在军队里都有丰富经验的老者。就是这个库图佐夫，在本年八月违背皇上的意愿而被选为总司令，也就是他把皇储和大公调离军队，也还是他，凭着自己的权力，违背皇上的旨意，放弃了莫斯科，如今的这个库图佐夫立刻明白，他的那个时代已经完结了，他手中的这种虚假权力已不复存在。他明白了这一点，还不仅是依据宫廷中的态度。一方面，他看得出，他在其中扮演着角色的军事活动已经结束，因而他感到他的使命已经完成。另一方面，正在此刻他感到他那衰老的身体已十分疲惫，需要休息。
十一月二十九日，库图佐夫进驻维尔纳——他听说的“亲爱的维尔纳”。库图佐夫曾两次担任过维尔纳总督。在华丽的、战争中保持完好的维尔纳城，库图佐夫除了找到他久已失去的舒适的生活条件之外，还找到了一些老朋友和对往事的回忆。于是，他突然抛开他对军队和国家的一切忧虑，尽可能沉浸在平稳时，原先习惯的，在他周围尽量保持宁静的生活，好像在历史进程中已经发生的和正在发生的事情都与他毫无关系。
奇恰戈夫——一个最热衷于切断和击溃战术的人——，奇恰戈夫，他最先要到希腊、然后要到华沙进行佯攻，然而无论如何都不去派他去的地方，奇恰戈夫，他以敢于向皇上进言而闻名的人，奇恰戈夫，他自以为库图佐夫受过他的好处，这是因为在一八一一年他被派去与土耳其媾和，他背着库图佐夫，当他确信，和约已经缔结，于是在皇上面前承认，缔结和约的功劳属于库图佐夫；就是这一位奇恰戈夫第一个在维尔纳库图佐夫将进驻的城堡门前迎接他。奇恰戈夫身着海军文官制服，腰佩短剑，腋下夹着帽子，递给库图佐夫一份战例报告和城门的钥匙。奇恰戈夫已经得悉库图佐夫受到了谴责，在一切言谈举止上充分表现出一个年轻人对一个昏庸老者那种貌似恭敬的轻蔑态度。
在同奇恰戈夫的谈话中，库图佐夫顺便告诉他，他在博里索夫被抢走的那几车器皿，已经夺回来了，就要还给他。
“C'estpourmedirequejen'aipassurquoimanger…
Jepuisaucontrairevousfournirdetoutdanslecasmêmeoǔ，vousvoudrezdonnerdesdiners．”①奇恰戈夫面红耳赤地说，他想证明他所说的每一句话都是正确的，因而，他认为库图佐夫对他所说的话很关注。库图佐夫脸上露出了微妙的、能洞察一切的微笑，他耸耸肩膀回答说：“Cen'estquepourvousdirecequejevousdis．”② 
①法语：您的意思是说，我连吃饭用的器皿也没有了。恰恰相反，就是您要马上举行宴会，我也完全能够提供出全部餐具。
②法语：我只是要说我刚才说过的话。
在维尔纳，库图佐夫违背皇上的意志，他把大部分军队阻留在这里。据库图佐夫周围的人透露说，他这一次在维尔纳逗留期间，他的精神显得疲惫不堪，体力十分衰弱。他不愿意去过问军队中的事情，他把所有的事情都交给他的将军们去办，他整天过着闲散的生活，等待着皇上的到来。
皇帝率领着侍从——托尔斯泰伯爵，沃尔孔斯基公爵、阿拉克契耶夫等等，在十二月七日离开彼得堡，十一日抵达维尔纳，乘坐他的旅行雪橇直接驰往城堡。虽然天气严寒，百多位将军和参谋人员穿着全副检阅服装，还有谢苗诺夫团的仪仗队都在城堡门前等候。
一位信使坐着一辆三匹浑身汗湿了的马拉着的雪橇，在皇帝尚未到达之前急速来到城堡，他高声喊道：“圣驾到！”于是科诺夫尼岑跑进门厅，向在门房小屋内的库图佐夫通报。
一分钟后，老人肥胖、庞大的身驱摇晃着走出门廊，他身穿大礼服，胸前挂满胸章，腰间缠着一条绶带。库图佐夫头戴两侧有遮檐的帽子①，手里拿着手套，斜侧着身子吃力地走下台阶，来到街面上，他手上拿着准备呈送给皇帝的报告。 
①这种帽子原名“三角帽”，亚历山大时代改为两个遮檐。戴时遮檐可前后，可两侧。
人们跑来跑去，悄声说话，只见一辆三马雪橇飞奔而来，于是，所有的眼睛都紧盯着那辆渐渐驶近的雪橇，坐在雪橇上的皇帝和沃尔孔斯基的身影已清晰可见了。
由于积五十年之经验，眼下所有这一切使这位老将军惊惶不安；他谨慎小心地拍打了一下衣服，整了一下帽子；就在皇帝下了雪橇，抬起眼睛看他的这一刹那间，他强打起精神，挺直身子，把报告呈了上去，开始用他那缓慢的、均匀的、令人喜欢的声音说起话来。
皇帝用迅速的目光把库图佐夫从头到脚仔细地打量了一番，微微皱了一下眉头，但是，他立刻控制住自己，向前紧走了几步，伸开双臂，抱住了老将军。仍然是由于长时间内所养成的习惯的影响，或者是由于他内心思想的关系，这种拥抱果真对库图佐夫又起了作用，他感激涕零。
皇帝向军官们和谢苗诺夫团的仪仗队问好，然后再一次握住老将军的手，和他一道走进城堡。
当皇帝同老元帅单独在一起的时候，皇帝对追击的迟缓，对在克拉斯诺耶和别列济纳所犯的错误表示不满。皇帝把自己要把战争打到国境界以外的意图告诉了库图佐夫，他既不作辩解，也不发表意见。他现在脸上的表情，也就是七年前在奥斯特利茨战场上聆听皇帝命令时的那种顺从的、毫无意义的表情。
当库图佐夫从书房走出来时，他低着头，迈着沉重的步子，步履蹒跚，他经过大厅旁边时，有一个声音叫住了他。
“阁下。”有一个人喊他。
库图佐夫抬起头，对着托尔斯泰伯爵的眼睛看了好一阵子，伯爵手托银盘站在他的面前，库图佐夫好像不明白要他做什么。
突然间，他似乎想起来了；有一丝几乎看不出的笑容从他的胖脸上一闪而过，他恭敬地俯下身子拿起了那件东西。那是一级圣乔治勋章。
Book 15 Chapter 11
THE NEXT DAY the commander-in-chief gave a dinner and a ball, which the Tsar honoured with his presence.
Kutuzov had received the Order of St. George of the first rank; the Tsar had shown him the highest marks of respect, but every one was aware that the Tsar was displeased with the commander-in-chief. The proprieties were observed, and the Tsar set the first example in doing so. But every one knew that the old man was in fault, and had shown his incapacity. When, in accordance with the old custom of Catherine's time, Kutuzov gave orders for the captured standards to be lowered at the Tsar's feet on his entering the ball-room, the Tsar frowned with vexation, and muttered words, which some heard as: “The old comedian.”
The Tsar's displeasure was increased at Vilna by Kutuzov's obvious unwillingness or incapacity to see the importance of the approaching campaign.
When next morning the Tsar said to the officers gathered about him: “You have not only saved Russia, you have saved Europe,” every one knew at once that the war was not over.
Kutuzov alone refused to see this, and frankly gave it as his opinion that no fresh war could improve the position of Russia, or add to her glory; that it could but weaken her position, and cast her down from that high pinnacle of glory at which in his view Russia was standing now. He tried to show the Tsar the impossibility of levying fresh troops, and talked of the hardships the people were suffering, the possibility of failure, and so on.
Such being his attitude on the subject, the commander-in-chief could naturally be looked upon only as a hindrance and a drag on the progress of the coming campaign.
To avoid friction with the old man, the obvious resource was—as with him at Austerlitz and with Barclay at the beginning of the war—to withdraw all real power from the commander-in-chief, without disturbing him by any open explanation on the matter, and to transfer it to the Tsar.
With this object, the staff was gradually transformed, and all the real power of Kutuzov's staff was removed and transferred to the Tsar. Toll, Konovnitsyn, and Yermolov received new appointments. Every one talked openly of the commander-in-chief's great weakness and failing health.
He was bound to be in failing health, so as to make way for his successor. And his health was, in fact, failing.
Just as naturally, as simply, and as gradually as Kutuzov had come to the Court of Exchequer at Petersburg out of Turkey to raise the militia, and then to take the command of the army just at the time when he was needed, did a new commander come now to replace him, when his part was played.
The war of 1812, in addition to its national significance, dear to every Russian heart, was to take a new European character.
The movement of men from west to east was to be followed by a movement from east to west, and this new war needed a new representative, with other aims and other qualities, and moved by impulses different from Kutuzov's.
For the movement from east to west, and the establishment of the position of peoples, Alexander was needed just as Kutuzov was needed for the deliverance and the glory of Russia.
Kutuzov did not see what was meant by Europe, the balance of power, and Napoleon. He could not understand all that.
After the enemy had been annihilated, Russia had been delivered and raised to the highest pinnacle of her glory, the representative of the Russian people, a Russian of the Russians, had no more left to do. Nothing was left for the representative of the national war but to die. And he did die.
第二天，在元帅府举行宴会和舞会，皇帝御驾亲临。库图佐夫被授予一级圣乔治十字勋章；皇帝给了他最高荣誉；然而，皇帝对这位元帅的不满意已尽人皆知。礼节是必需遵守的皇帝做出了第一个范例，但是，所有的人都知道，老人犯了错误，什么用处都没有了。库图佐夫遵照叶卡捷琳娜时代的老习惯，吩咐在皇帝经过的舞厅入口处，把缴获的军旗丢掷在皇帝的脚下，皇帝不悦地皱了一下眉头，嘴里咕噜着，有的人听到他说“老滑头”。 
皇帝在维尔纳期间对库图佐夫更加不满，这特别因为库图佐夫明显地不愿意或者是不能够理解未来战役的意义。
第二天早晨，皇帝对召集到御前的军官们说，“你们不仅仅拯救了一个俄罗斯，而且还拯救了整个欧洲。”大家在当时已经听懂了，战争还没有结束。
只有库图佐夫一个人不愿意理解这一点，他公开说出了自己的意见，他认为，新的战争不但不能改善俄国的地位和增加俄国的荣誉，而且只能损害她的地位和按照他的见解，降低俄国现在所获得的最高荣誉。他努力向皇帝证明征召新兵是不可能的事情；他讲述了人民的困苦，还谈到有可能遭到失败，等等。
一位元帅怀有这种心情，自然只能是当前战争的一个障碍。
为了避免和老头子发生冲突，办法是有的：就像在奥斯特利茨对付他和在这场战争开始时对付巴克莱那样，不惊动他，也不宣布要把他的军权交给皇帝本人。
为此目的，逐渐改组司令部，库图佐夫的一切实权都没有了，转移到皇帝手中。托尔、科诺夫尼岑、叶尔莫洛夫都被委以他任。大家大谈元帅身体太差，元帅本人也为健康而苦恼。
为了把他的地位交给另外的人，他就得健康不佳。实际上他的健康也确实不佳。
库图佐夫从土耳其到彼得堡财政厅征召自卫队，然后到军队里去，当时需要他，所以他这样做在当时是自然的、简单的、逐步的；可是现在库图佐夫演完了自己的角色，有了新的符合要求的人来取代他的地位，这同样是自然的、逐步的、简单的。
一八一二年战争除了俄国人所珍视的民族意义之外，还有另外的意义，即对欧洲的意义。
因为由西而东的民族大迁移，就应当有由东向西的民族大迁移，对这场新的战争，需要一位新的活动家，他应有与库图佐夫不同的品质、观点，为另外的动机进行活动。
为了由东而西的民族大迁移和为了恢复各国的边界，亚历山大一世是那么需要他，正如为了拯救俄国的光荣而需要库图佐夫一样。
库图佐夫不理解欧洲、均势，以及拿破仑都意味着什么。他不能理解这一点。在敌人已经被消灭，俄罗斯已获得解放，并且达到了光荣的顶峰，一位俄罗斯人民的代表，一位地地道道的俄罗斯人，就再也没有什么可做的了。留给人民战争代表的，除了一死之外，再没有别的了。于是他死了。
Book 15 Chapter 12
As is generally the case, Pierre only felt the full strain of the physical hardships and privations he had suffered as a prisoner, when they were over. After he had been rescued, he went to Orel, and two days after getting there, as he was preparing to start for Kiev, he fell ill and spent three months laid up at Orel. He was suffering, so the doctors said, from a bilious fever. Although they treated him by letting blood and giving him drugs, he recovered.
Everything that had happened to Pierre from the time of his rescue up to his illness had left hardly any impression on his mind. He had only a memory of dark grey weather, sometimes rainy and sometimes sunshiny, of internal physical aches, of pain in his feet and his side. He remembered a general impression of the misery and suffering of men, remembered the worrying curiosity of officers and generals, who questioned him about his imprisonment, the trouble he had to get horses and a conveyance; and more than all he remembered his own dullness of thought and of feeling all that time.
On the day of his rescue he saw the dead body of Petya Rostov. The same day he learned that Prince Andrey had lived for more than a month after the battle of Borodino, and had only a short time before died at Yaroslavl in the Rostovs' house. The same day Denisov, who had told Pierre this piece of news, happened to allude in conversation to the death of Ellen, supposing Pierre to have been long aware of it. All this had at the time seemed to Pierre only strange. He felt that he could not take in all the bearings of these facts. He was at the time simply in haste to get away from these places where men were slaughtering each other to some quiet refuge where he might rest and recover his faculties, and think over all the new strange things he had learned.
But as soon as he reached Orel, he fell ill. On coming to himself after his illness, Pierre saw waiting on him two of his servants, Terenty and Vaska, who had come from Moscow, and the eldest of his cousins, who was staying at Pierre's estate in Elets, and hearing of his rescue and his illness had come to nurse him.
During his convalescence Pierre could only gradually recover from the impressions of the last few months, which had become habitual. Only by degrees could he become accustomed to the idea that there was no one to drive him on to-morrow, that no one would take his warm bed from him, and that he was quite sure of getting his dinner, and tea, and supper. But for a long while afterwards he was always in his dreams surrounded by his conditions as a prisoner.
And only in the same gradual way did Pierre grasp the meaning of the news he had heard since his escape: of the death of Prince Andrey, of the death of his wife, and of the overthrow of the French.
The joyful sense of freedom—that full, inalienable freedom inherent in man, of which he had first had a consciousness at the first halting-place outside Moscow—filled Pierre's soul during his convalescence. He was surprised that this inner freedom, independent as it was of all external circumstances, was now as it were decked out in a luxury, a superfluity of external freedom. He was alone in a strange town without acquaintances. No one made any demands on him; no one sent him anywhere. He had all he wanted; the thought of his wife, that had in old days been a continual torture to him, was no more, since she herself was no more.
“Ah, how happy I am! how splendid it is!” he said to himself, when a cleanly covered table was moved up to him, with savoury-smelling broth, or when he got into his soft, clean bed at night, or when the thought struck him that his wife and the French were no more. “Ah, how good it is! how splendid!” And from old habit he asked himself the question, “Well, and what then? what am I going to do?” And at once he answered himself: “I am going to live. Ah, how splendid it is!”
What had worried him in old days, what he had always been seeking to solve, the question of the object of life, did not exist for him now. That seeking for an object in life was over for him now; and it was not fortuitously or temporarily that it was over. He felt that there was no such object, and could not be. And it was just the absence of an object that gave him that complete and joyful sense of freedom that at this time made his happiness.
He could seek no object in life now, because now he had faith—not faith in any sort of principles, or words, or ideas, but faith in a living, ever-palpable God. In old days he had sought Him in the aims he set before himself. That search for an object in life had been only a seeking after God; and all at once in his captivity he had come to know, not through words or arguments, but by his own immediate feeling, what his old nurse had told him long before; that God is here, and everywhere. In his captivity he had come to see that the God in Karataev was grander, more infinite, and more unfathomable than the Architect of the Universe recognised by the masons. He felt like a man who finds what he has sought at his feet, when he has been straining his eyes to seek it in the distance. All his life he had been looking far away over the heads of all around him, while he need not have strained his eyes, but had only to look in front of him.
In old days he had been unable to see the great, the unfathomable, and the infinite in anything. He had only felt that it must be somewhere, and had been seeking it. In everything near and comprehensible, he had seen only what was limited, petty, everyday, and meaningless. He had armed himself with the telescope of intellect, and gazed far away into the distance, where that petty, everyday world, hidden in the mists of distance, had seemed to him great and infinite, simply because it was not clearly seen. Such had been European life, politics, freemasonry, philosophy, and philanthropy in his eyes. But even then, in moments which he had looked on as times of weakness, his thought had penetrated even to these remote objects, and then he had seen in them the same pettiness, the same ordinariness and meaninglessness.
Now he had learnt to see the great, the eternal, and the infinite in everything; and naturally therefore, in order to see it, to revel in its contemplation, he flung aside the telescope through which he had hitherto been gazing over men's heads, and looked joyfully at the ever-changing, ever grand, unfathomable, and infinite life around him. And the closer he looked at it, the calmer and happier he was. The terrible question that had shattered all his intellectual edifices in old days, the question: What for? had no existence for him now. To that question, What for? he had now always ready in his soul the simple answer: Because there is a God, that God without whom not one hair of a man's head falls.
皮埃尔和大多数人一样，在他作俘虏时，身体饱受痛苦和紧张，只有当这种痛苦和紧张过去之后，才尤其觉得是那样沉重。在从俘虏营中被释放出来之后，他来到奥廖尔，第三天他打算去基辅，可是生了病，在奥廖尔躺了三个月；据医生说，他的病是胆热引起的，他凭医生给他治疗、放血、服药，他终于恢复了健康。 
皮埃尔自从获救一直到生病，在此期间所经历的一切事情，差不多没有一点印象，他依稀记得灰色的、阴沉的、时而下雨、时而下雪的天气，内心的苦恼，腿部和腰部的疼痛；对于人民的不幸和痛苦还有一个大概的印象；他还记得军官和将军们审问他时的好奇心使他十分忧虑，他为寻找马车和马匹而东奔西走，主要是，他还记得在当时他已经没有思索和感觉的能力了。他在获救的那一天看见了彼佳·罗斯托夫的尸体。也就在那一天，他获悉安德烈公爵在波罗底诺战役后只活了一个多月，不久前在雅罗斯拉夫尔的罗斯托夫家中去世。也就在那一天，杰尼索夫把这一消息告诉了皮埃尔，他们在谈话中又提到海伦的死，他以为皮埃尔早就知道了。这一切，当时皮埃尔只觉得奇怪。他感到，他无法了解所有这一切消息的意义。他在当时只急于要快一点离开这些人们互相残杀的地方，去到一个安静的避难所，在那儿使自己的心情平静下来，休息一下，思索一下在这段时间里他所知道的所有的一切新奇的事情。但是，他刚一抵达奥廖尔，就生病了。皮埃尔病中清醒过来时，他看见他跟前有两个从莫斯科来的仆人——捷连季和瓦西卡，还有大公爵小姐，她一向居住在叶利茨的皮埃尔庄园。听说皮埃尔获救并且生了病，特地前来照顾他的。
皮埃尔在健康恢复期间，才逐渐地摆脱掉他在过去几个月中已经习惯了的印象，又重新习惯于：明天再没有任何人强迫他到什么地方去，没有人会夺走他那张温暖的床铺，他一定能够得到午餐、茶和晚餐。但是，有一段很长时间，他在睡梦中看见自己在俘虏营中的生活。皮埃尔也逐渐地明白了他从俘虏营中出来之后所听到的那些消息：安德烈公爵去世，妻子的死，以及法国人的溃败。
一种快乐的自由感觉——他在离开莫斯科之后的第一个宿营地第一次尝受到那种为一个人生来就有的、完全的、不可被剥夺的自由感觉，在皮埃尔整个恢复健康期间充满了他的灵魂。使他感到惊夺的是，这种不受外界环境影响的内心自由，而现在仿佛外界的自由也已经过多地、慷慨地出现在他的周围。他独自一人住在一个完全陌生的城市里，一个人也不认识。没有任何一个人向他提出任何一点要求；也没有任何一个人派他到任何一个地方去。他所想要的东西都有了；从前对于亡妻的思虑一直折磨着他，现在没有了，因为她已经不在人世了。
“啊，多么好啊！多么妙啊！”当人们把一张摆上芳香扑鼻的清炖肉汤的桌子安放在他面前的时候，或者当他在夜晚躺在柔软、清洁的床上的时候，或者当他回想起他的妻子和法国人都已经没有了的时候，他就自言自语地说：“啊，多么好啊，多么美妙啊！”
于是，他按照老习惯，向自己提出了这样一个问题：“那么往后又怎么样呢？我又怎么办呢？”他立刻自己回答了自己，“没有关系，我要活下去。啊，多么美妙啊！”
先前一直使他苦恼的，他经常寻代的东西——人生的目的，现在对于他来说，已经不复存在了。这个被寻找的人生的目的，在他并非现在才偶然地不存在的，也并非在此时此刻陡然间消失的。但是，他觉得这个人生的目的现在没有，将来也不可能有。正是因为这个目的的不存在，才给了他完全的、可喜的、自由的感觉，在这个时候他的这种自由的感觉就是他的幸福。
他不能有目的，因为他现在有了信仰，——不是信仰某种规章制度，或者是某种言论，或者是某种思想，而是信仰一个活生生的可以感知到的上帝。他在以前是抱着他给自己提出来的一些目的去寻求它的。这种有目的的寻求只不过是去寻求上帝罢了；可是，他在被俘期间突然认识到，既不是靠语言，也不是靠推理，而是靠直观感觉认识到了保姆老早就已经给他讲过的那个道理：上帝就在你的眼前，就在这里，它无所不在。他在当俘虏时认识到，在卡拉塔耶夫心目中的上帝比共济会会员们所承认的造物主更伟大、更无限、更高深莫测。他觉得像一个人极目远眺，结果却在自己的脚跟前面找到了他所要寻找的东西，他觉得他就是这样的人。他一生都在迈过周围人们的头顶向远方望过去，其实用不着睁大眼睛向远方望过去，只要看看自己跟前就行了。
他先前无论怎样都没有本领看到那个伟大的、不可思议的、无限的东西。他仅仅感觉到，他应当存在于某一个地点，于是他便去寻找它，在一切靠近的、可以理解的东西中，他只看见有限的、渺小的、世俗的、没有意义的东西。他曾经用一具幻想的望远镜装备自己，并用它去瞭望遥远的空间，他觉得隐藏在远方云雾中的渺小的，世俗的东西之所以显得伟大和无限，只不过是由于看不真切罢了。他过去就曾觉得欧洲的生活、政治、共济会、哲学、慈善事业，就是这样的。但是，就是在他认为自己软弱的那一段短暂的时刻里，他的智慧也曾深入到那个远方，他在那里看见的仍然是渺小的、世俗的、没有意义的东西。而现在他已经学会在一切东西中看见伟大的、永恒的和无限的了，因此，为了看见它，为了享受一下这种观察，他自然而然地抛弃那具他一直用来从人们头顶上看东西的望远镜。欢欢喜喜地看他周围那永远变化着的、永远伟大的、不可思议的、无限的人生。他看得越近，他就变得越平和，越快活。原先曾毁掉他的全部精神支柱的那个可怕的问题：“为什么？”现在对于他已经不存在了。现在对“为什么？”这个问题，在他心中常常准备了一个简单的答案：“为什么？若是你们的父不许，一个也不能掉在地上，就是你们的头发，也都被数过了。”① 
①见《圣经·新约·马太福音》第十章第三十节。 
Book 15 Chapter 13
PIERRE was hardly changed in his external habits. In appearance he was just the same as before. He was, as he had always been, absent-minded, and seemed preoccupied with something of his own, something apart from what was before his eyes. The difference was that in old days, when he was unconscious of what was before his eyes, or what was being said to him, he would seem with painfully knitted brows to be striving unsuccessfully to discern something far away from him. He was just as unconscious now of what was said to him, or of what was before him. But now with a faint, apparently ironical smile, he gazed at what was before him, or listened to what was said, though he was obviously seeing and hearing something quite different. In old days he had seemed a good-hearted man, but unhappy. And so people had unconsciously held a little aloof from him. Now a smile of joy in life was continually playing about his mouth, and his eyes were bright with sympathy for others, and the question: Were they all as happy as he? And people felt at ease in his presence.
In old days he had talked a great deal, and had got hot when he talked, and he had listened very little. Now he was rarely carried away in conversation, and knew how to listen, so that people were very ready to tell him the inmost secrets of their hearts.
The princess, who had never liked Pierre, and had cherished a particularly hostile feeling towards him, since after the old count's death she had felt herself under obligation to him, had come to Orel with the intention of proving to him that in spite of his ingratitude she felt it her duty to nurse him, but after a short time she felt, to her own surprise and annoyance, that she was growing fond of him. Pierre did nothing to try and win his cousin's favour; he simply looked at her with curiosity. In old days she had felt that there was mockery and indifference in his eyes, and she had shrunk into herself before him, as she did before other people, and had shown him only her aggressive side. Now she felt on the contrary as though he were delving into the most secret recesses of her life. It was at first mistrustfully, and then with gratitude, that she let him see now the latent good side of her character.
The most artful person could not have stolen into the princess's confidence more cunningly, by arousing her recollections of the best time of her youth, and showing sympathy with them. And yet all Pierre's artfulness consisted in seeking to please himself by drawing out human qualities in the bitter, hard, and, in her own way, proud princess.
“Yes, he is a very, very good-hearted fellow when he is not under bad influence, but under the influence of people like me,” thought the princess.
The change that had taken place in Pierre was noticed in their own way by his servants too—Terenty and Vaska. They considered that he had grown much more good-natured. Often after undressing his master, and wishing him good night, Terenty would linger with his boots and his clothes in his hand, in the hope that his master would begin a conversation with him. And as a rule Pierre kept Terenty, seeing he was longing for a chat.
“Come, tell me, then … how did you manage to get anything to eat?” he would ask. And Terenty would begin his tales of the destruction of Moscow and of the late count, and would stand a long while with the clothes, talking away or listening to Pierre; and it was with a pleasant sense of his master's close intimacy with him and affection for him that he finally withdrew.
The doctor, who was attending Pierre, and came to see him every day, though he thought it his duty as a doctor to pose as a man every minute of whose time is of value for suffering humanity, used to sit on with him for hours together, repeating his favourite anecdotes and observations on the peculiarities of patients in general, and of ladies in particular.
“Yes, it's a pleasure to talk to a man like that; it's not what we are used to in the provinces,” he would say.
In Orel there happened to be several French prisoners, and the doctor brought one of them, a young Italian officer, to see Pierre.
This officer became a frequent visitor, and the princess used to laugh at the tender feelings the Italian expressed for Pierre.
It was obvious that the Italian was never happy but when he could see Pierre, and talk to him, and tell him all about his own past, his home life, and his love, and pour out his indignation against the French, and especially against Napoleon.
“If all Russians are the least bit like you,” he used to say to Pierre, “it is sacrilege to make war on a people like yours. You who have suffered so much at the hands of the French, have not even a grudge against them.”
And Pierre had won the Italian's passionate devotion simply by drawing out what was best in his soul and admiring it.
During the latter part of Pierre's stay in Orel, he received a visit from an old acquaintance, Count Villarsky, the freemason, who had introduced him to the lodge in 1807. Villarsky had married a Russian heiress, who had great estates in the Orel province, and he was filling a temporary post in the commissariat department in the town.
Though Villarsky had never been very intimately acquainted with Bezuhov, on hearing that he was in Orel, he called upon him with those demonstrations of friendliness and intimacy that men commonly display on meeting one another in the desert. Villarsky was dull in Orel, and was delighted to meet a man of his own circle, who had, as he supposed, the same interests as he had.
But to his surprise, Villarsky noticed soon that Pierre had quite dropped behind the times, and had, as he defined it himself to Pierre, sunk into apathy and egoism.
“You are stagnating,” he said to him.
But in spite of that, Villarsky felt much more at home with Pierre now than he had done in the past, and came every day to see him. As Pierre watched Villarsky, and listened to him now, it seemed strange and incredible to him to think that he had very lately been the same sort of person himself.
Villarsky was a married man with a family, whose time was taken up in managing his wife's property, in performing his official duties, and in looking after his family. He regarded all these duties as a drawback in his life, and looked on them all with contempt, because they were all directed to securing his own personal welfare and that of his family. Military, administrative, political, and masonic questions were continually engrossing his attention. And without criticising this view or attempting to change it, Pierre watched this phenomenon—so strange, yet so familiar to him—with the smile of gentle, delighted irony that was now habitual with him.
In Pierre's relations with Villarsky, with his cousin, with the doctor, and with all the people he met now, there was a new feature that gained him the good-will of all. This was the recognition of the freedom of every man to think, to feel, and to look at things in his own way; the recognition of the impossibility of altering a man's conviction by words. This legitimate individuality of every man's views, which had in old days troubled and irritated Pierre, now formed the basis of the sympathetic interest he felt in people. The inconsistency, sometimes the complete antagonism of men's views with their own lives or with one another, delighted Pierre, and drew from him a gentle and mocking smile.
In practical affairs Pierre suddenly felt now that he had the centre of gravity that he had lacked in former days. In the past every money question, especially requests for money, to which as a very wealthy man he was particularly liable, had reduced him to a state of helpless agitation and perplexity. “Ought I to give or not to give?” he used to ask himself. “I have money and he needs it. But some one else needs it more. Who needs it more? And perhaps both are impostors?” And of all these suppositions he had in old days found no satisfactory solution, and gave to all as long as he had anything to give. In old days he had been in the same perplexity over every question relating to his property when one person told him he ought to act in one way and another advised something else.
Now to his own surprise he found that he had no more doubt or hesitation on all such questions. Now there was a judge within him settling what he must do and what he must not, by some laws of which he was himself unaware.
He was just as unconcerned about money matters as before; but now he unhesitatingly knew what he ought to do and what he ought not to do. The first application of that new power within him was in the case of a prisoner, a French colonel, who called on him, talked very freely of his own great exploits, and finally delivered himself of a request that was more like a demand, that he should give him four thousand francs to send to his wife and children. Pierre refused to do so without the slightest difficulty or effort, and wondered himself afterwards that it had been so easy and simple to do what had in old days seemed so hopelessly difficult. At the same time as he refused the French colonel, he made up his mind that he must certainly resort to some stratagem when he left Orel to induce the Italian officer to accept assistance, of which he stood in evident need. A fresh proof to Pierre of his greater certainty in regard to practical matters was the settlement of the question of his wife's debts, and of the rebuilding of his Moscow house and villas in the suburbs.
His head steward came to him in Orel, and with him Pierre went into a general review of his financial position. The fire of Moscow had cost Pierre, by the steward's account, about two millions.
The chief steward to console him for these losses presented a calculation he had made, that Pierre's income, far from being diminished, would be positively increased if he were to refuse to pay the debts left by the countess—which he could not be forced to pay—and if he were not to restore his Moscow houses and the villa near Moscow, which had cost him eight thousand to keep up, and brought in nothing.
“Yes, yes, that's true,” said Pierre, with a beaming smile.
“Yes, yes, I don't need any of them. I have been made much richer by the destruction of the city.”
But in January Savelitch came from Moscow, talked to him of the position of the city, of the estimate the architect had sent in for restoring the house, and the villa in the suburbs, speaking of it as a settled matter. At the same time Pierre received letters from Prince Vassily and other acquaintances in Petersburg, in which his wife's debts were mentioned. And Pierre decided that the steward's plan that he had liked so much was not the right one, and that he must go to Petersburg to wind up his wife's affairs, and must rebuild in Moscow. Why he ought to do so, he could not have said; but he was convinced that he ought. His income was diminished by one-fourth owing to this decision. But it had to be so; he felt that.
Villarsky was going to Moscow, and they agreed to make the journey together.
During the whole period of his convalescence in Orel, Pierre had enjoyed the feeling of joyful freedom and life. But when he found himself on this journey on the open road, and saw hundreds of new faces, that feeling was intensified. During the journey he felt like a schoolboy in the holidays. All the people he saw—the driver, the overseer of the posting station, the peasants on the road, or in the village—all had a new significance for him. The presence and the observations of Villarsky, who was continually deploring the poverty and the ignorance and the backwardness of Russia, compared with Europe, only heightened Pierre's pleasure in it. Where Villarsky saw deadness, Pierre saw the extraordinary mighty force of vitality, the force which sustained the life of that homogeneous, original, and unique people over that immense expanse of snow. He did not contest Villarsky's opinions, and smiled gleefully, as he listened, appearing to agree with him as the easiest means of avoiding arguments which could lead to nothing.
皮埃尔在表面上几乎没有什么改变。外表上他和先前一个样。他完全和从前一样，心不在焉，他好像所关心的并不是眼前的一些事情，而是他自身的、某种特别的事情。他过去的状态和现在的状态之间所不同的是：先前，当他忘记了眼前的事情和人们对他所说的话的时候，他总是紧锁着自己的眉头，好像是他想看清楚而又不能够看得清楚的，那种距离他很遥远的某种东西。现在他仍然是不记得人们对他说过的那些话，不记得在他眼前所发生的一切事情；但是，现在他带着看不出的好像是嘲讽的微笑注视着他面前的东西，倾听着人们对他所说的话，虽然他所看见的和所听见的很明显地完全是另外的一些事情。从前，他虽然显得是一个善良的人，然而，他却是一个不幸的人；因此，人们总是远远地躲避着他。可是现在，在他的嘴角边上经常挂着人生欢乐的微笑，眼睛里闪着对人同情的亮光——好像是在问：他是不是跟我一样感到满足？只要有他在场人们都感到愉快。 
从前，他一说起话来总是滔滔不绝，表现得慷慨激昂，他只顾自己说，很少听别人说的话；现在他不太热中于这种谈话而且还善于听人家说话，因此人们也乐意把最秘密的心事告诉他。
这位公爵小姐从来都不喜欢皮埃尔而且对于他特别反感，自从老伯爵去世之后，她就感到自己应当感谢他。使她烦恼和惊奇的是，在她低达奥廖尔作短暂的逗留之后，她原本打算表明，虽然他忘恩负义，而她仍然认为有责任照料他，公爵小姐很快就感觉到，她喜欢皮埃尔。皮埃尔从不去讨公爵小姐的欢心。他只是带着一种好奇心去观察她。最初，公爵小姐觉得，在他投向她的目光中有一种冷漠的和嘲笑的表情，因而，她在他面前也像在其他人的面前一样，表现得十分拘束，只显露出她在生活中的好斗的一面；而现在则又相反，他好像在探索她灵魂深处隐藏的东西；她开头不信任他，而后来却怀着感激的心情对他表露出她性格中善良的方面。
即使是一个最狡猾的人，也不能那么轻而易举地就获得公爵小姐的信任，就能呼唤起她对最美好的青春的回忆和对青春的热爱。而在当时皮埃尔的一切狡猾只在于在这一位凶狠的、无情的，有其所特有的傲慢的公爵小姐身上唤醒人类的感情，他也以此为乐罢了。
“是的，他只要是不受坏人的影响，而是在像我这样的人的影响之下，他就是一个非常、非常善良的人。”公爵小姐对她自己这样说道。
在皮埃尔身上所发生的这一切变化为他的两个仆人——捷连季和瓦西卡——所发觉。他们发觉他随和多了。捷连季常常帮他脱下衣服，把衣服和靴子拿在手上，向他问过晚安，而又迟迟不肯离开，想看一下老爷是不是还有什么吩咐。皮埃尔看得出来，捷连季想和他聊一聊，皮埃尔多半要把他留下来。
“呶，给我讲一下……你们是怎样弄到吃的东西的？”他问道，于是捷连季就讲起莫斯科的毁灭，讲起已去世的老伯爵，就这样，他手上拿着衣服，在那里一站就站很长时间，有时他也听皮埃尔讲述他的故事，然后，他怀着主人对他的亲切和他对主人的友好感情回到前厅。
给皮埃尔治病的医生每天都要前来给他诊病，虽然，这位医生按照一般医生的习惯，认为自己要做出每一分钟对于遭受病痛折磨的人来说都是十分宝贵的样子来，然而，就是他常常在皮埃尔那里一坐就要坐上几个小时，讲述他自己所喜欢的一些故事和他对一般的病人，尤其是女病人的脾气的观察。
“是的，跟他那样的人谈谈是一桩乐事；他和我们本省的人不一样，”他说。
在奥廖尔有几个被俘的法国军官，这位医生带来了其中一个年青的意大利军官。
这位军官经常到皮埃尔那里去，公爵小姐常常取笑这个意大利人对皮埃尔所表露出来的那些温情。
看来，这个意大利人只有在他能得以去皮埃尔那里并且能够和他交谈，他才觉得自己是幸福的，他向皮埃尔讲述他的过去，讲述他的家庭生活，讲述自己的爱情和向他发泄他对于法国人，特别是对拿破仑的愤慨。
“假如所有的俄罗斯人都能多少有点像您这样，”他对皮埃尔说，
“C'estunsacrilègequedefairelaguerreàunpeuplecommelevotre，①法国人使您遭受了那么多的罪，而您甚至并不仇恨他们。” 
①同您这样的人民打仗，简直是罪过。
现在皮埃尔已经赢得了这个意大利人满腔的热情，这只不过是由于他唤醒了他的天良——灵魂中的优秀品质——并且他已经欣赏灵魂中的这种优秀品质。
皮埃尔在奥廖尔逗留的最后一些日子，有一位他的老会友维拉尔斯基伯爵——就是一八○七年介绍他参加共济会支部的那个人，前来看望他。维拉尔斯基伯爵与一个富有的俄罗斯女人结了婚，这个女人在奥廖尔省拥有几所大庄园，他在本市的军用粮站找到了一份临时性的工作。
维拉尔斯基获悉别祖霍夫在奥廖尔之后，虽然他们两人之间并不很熟悉，但是维拉尔斯基在会见他时所表现出来的友谊和热情，就好像是在沙漠中人们相遇时那样。维拉尔斯基在奥廖尔很寂寞，他能够遇到和自己同属于一个圈子，同时他又认为在兴趣上和自己相同的人，感到十分高兴。
但是，使维拉尔斯基惊奇的是，他很快就发现皮埃尔已大大落后于现实生活，他自己在内心中已断定皮埃尔已经陷入淡漠和利己主义之中。
“Vousvousencroutez，moncher．”①他对他说。尽管维拉尔斯基现在和皮埃尔在一起较之以往觉得更加愉快，他每天都要到皮埃尔那里去。而皮埃尔现在看维拉尔斯基和听他说话的时候，想到自己在不久之前也是这个样子，就感到奇怪和难以相信。维拉尔斯基是一个已结了婚的，有妻室的人，他忙于料理妻子的事情、自己的公务和家庭的事务。他认为，所有这一切事务，实质上是人生的障碍，这一切都是卑鄙的，因为，这一切都是为了他个人和家庭的利益。军事的，行政的、政治的、共济会的问题，都继续不断地吸引着他的注意力。而皮埃尔并不力图去改变他的观点，也不加以指责，而是带着他现在常有的那种平静的、快活的嘲笑欣赏这种奇怪的、他如此熟悉的现象。 
①法语：你太消沉了，我的朋友。
皮埃尔在他和维拉尔斯基、公爵小姐、医生以及他所遇见的所有的人的友谊交往中，有一个新的特点，因此博得了所有人的普遍好感，这就是承认每个人都能按照自己的方式去思索、去感觉和去观察事物；承认不可能用语言来改变一个人的信念。每一个人所应当具有的，这种合乎情理的特点，在以前曾经使皮埃尔激动和恼怒过，而如今却成为能同情别人和激起兴趣的一种基础。人与人相互之间在生活中的观点不同，甚至于观点完全相反，这使皮埃尔感到高兴，引起他显现出嘲讽的、温和的微笑。
在一些实际问题上，皮埃尔现在出乎意料之外地感到自己对遇到的事情有了主见，而这是从前所没有的。原先，每一件金钱问题，特别是像他这样十分富有的人所常常遇到的那样，当有人向他乞讨金钱时，总使他感到进退两难，没有一点办法应付，心中焦急不安。“是给呢还是不给？”他自己问自己。“我很有钱，而他正需要钱。但是还有别的人更需要钱。可谁是最迫切需要的呢？也许他们俩是一对骗子吧？”从前，他对这样一些问题找不到任何解决办法，只要他有钱就给，谁向他要，他就给谁，都给。过去，每当遇到有关财产方面的问题时，有的人说，应当这样办，而又有人说，应当那样办，而他呢，同样不知道该怎样办才好。
现在，令他感到惊奇的是，在所有这一切问题上他不再是犹豫不决和焦急不安了。现在在他心中出现了一个审判官，按照连他自己也不知道的某些法则决定，哪些事情应当做和哪些事情不应当做。
他对金钱问题仍然像以前一样漫不经心，但是他现在明显地知道什么事情是应当做的和什么事情是不应当去做的。这个新审判官为他做的第一件事情就是去对付一个被俘虏来的法军上校向他提出的请求：这位上校在皮埃尔那里讲述了他的许多功绩，末了，他差不多是正式向皮埃尔提出请求，向他要四千块法郎，寄给他的老婆和孩子。皮埃尔没有费丝毫力气，也并不紧张，一口就回绝了他，事情一过，他自己也感到惊奇，这种事要是在过去好像是没有办法可以解决的一道难题，却原来又是那么简单，那么轻而易举。在拒绝了那位上校的要求的同时，他又打定主意在离开奥廖尔时，必须使用点计巧，以便要那个意大利军官能收下他一些钱，看来，他显然是需要钱用的。皮埃尔在处理他妻子的债务和是否要修复在莫斯科的住宅和别墅的问题上，再一次证明了他对所遇到的实际问题确实有了主见。
他的总管来到奥廖尔见他，于是皮埃尔和他一道对已经变化了的收入作了大致的计算。按照总管的估计，在莫斯科大火灾中皮埃尔损失了大约二万卢布。
这位总管为受这些损失，对皮埃尔加以安慰，他向皮埃尔算了一下账，他说，尽管遭受了这些损失，如果他拒绝偿还公爵女儿欠下的债务，他本来就没有偿还这些债务的义务；如果他不去修复在莫斯科的住宅和在莫斯科近郊的别墅，这些建筑物除了每年要耗费八万卢布的巨额支出外，什么收益也得不到，这样，他的收入不但不会减少，反而会有所增加。
“是的，是的，这是真的，”皮埃尔高兴地笑着说，“是的，是的，这一切我都不需要了，我因为破了产还变成一个大富豪了。”
但是，在一月份萨韦利伊奇从莫斯科来到这里，他讲述了莫斯科的情况，还讲述了建筑师为修复莫斯科的住宅和在莫斯科近郊的别墅所做的预算，他在讲述这些事情时就好像是在讲已经决定了的事情似的。在此期间，皮埃尔收到了瓦西里公爵和其他一些熟人从彼得堡的来信。在这些信中都提到了他妻子所欠下的债务。于是皮埃尔决定：总管提出来的，令他如此高兴的计划是不正确的，他必须亲自去彼得堡处理好妻子的一切后事；必须去莫斯科修缮好房屋。至于为什么要这样做，他不知道，但他毫不含糊地知道，应该这样去做。由于他的这一决定，使他的收入减少了四分之三。但是应该这样去做；他感觉到了这一点。
维拉尔斯基要到莫斯科去，于是他们商定一同前往。
皮埃尔在奥廖尔的整个康复期间，亲身体会到自由和生活的乐趣；然而，当他在旅行途中置身于自由天地时，看见了数以百计的陌生人的面孔时，这种感觉就更加强烈了。在整个旅途中间，他感受到就像小学生在放假期间的那种高兴。所有的人：赶马车的车夫、驿站看守人、大路上的或村子里的农民——所有这些人在他的这些话只能使皮埃尔更加高兴。维拉尔斯基的眼中都具有一种新的意义。维拉尔斯基一路上不停地抱怨俄国比欧洲穷，比欧洲落后，还要加上愚昧无知，维拉尔斯基的眼里所看见的是死气沉沉的地方，而皮埃尔却在漫天大雪中，在这一望无垠的大地上看见了非常强大的生命力，这种力量支持着这个完整的、独特的、统一的民族的生命。他并不去反驳维拉尔斯基，好像同意他所说的话似的（这种违心的同意是为了避免发生无谓的争论的一种最简便的方法），他面露出一种快乐的微笑，倾听着他的谈话。
Book 15 Chapter 14
JUST AS IT IS DIFFICULT to explain why the ants hurry back to a scattered ant-hill, some dragging away from it bits of refuse, eggs, and corpses, while others run back again, and what is their object in crowding together, overtaking one another, fighting with each other, so it would be hard to give the reasons that induced the Russians, after the departure of the French, to flock back to the place which had been known as Moscow. But just as looking at the ants hurrying about a ruined ant-heap, one can see by the tenacity, the energy, and the multitude of the busy insects that though all else is utterly destroyed, there is left something indestructible and immaterial that was the whole strength of the colony, so too Moscow in the month of October, though without its governing authorities, without its churches, without its holy things, without its wealth and its houses, was still the same Moscow as it had been in August. Everything was shattered except something immaterial, but mighty and indestructible.
The motives of the people, who rushed from all parts to Moscow after it was evacuated by the enemy, were of the most varied and personal kind, and at first mostly savage and brutal impulses. Only one impulse was common to all—the attraction to the place which had been called Moscow in order to set their energies to work there.
Within a week there were fifteen thousand persons in Moscow, within a fortnight twenty-five thousand; and so it went on. The number went on mounting and mounting till by the autumn of 1813 it had reached a figure exceeding the population of the city in 1812.
The first Russians to enter Moscow were the Cossacks of Wintzengerode's detachment, the peasants from the nearest villages and the residents who had fled from Moscow and concealed themselves in the environs. On entering the ruined city, and finding it pillaged, the Russians fell to pillaging it too. They continued the work begun by the French. Trains of peasants' waggons drove into Moscow to carry away to the villages all that had been abandoned in the ruined Moscow houses and streets. The Cossacks carried off what they could to their tents; the householders collected all they could out of other houses, and removed it to their own under the pretence that it was their property.
But the first pillaging parties were followed by others; and every day as the numbers pillaging increased, the work of plunder became more difficult and assumed more definite forms.
The French had found Moscow deserted but with all the forms of an organically normal town life still existent, with various branches of trades and crafts, of luxury, and political government and religion. These forms were lifeless but they still existed. There were markets, shops, stores, corn-exchanges, and bazaars—most of them stocked with goods. There were factories and trading establishments. There were palaces and wealthy houses filled with articles of luxury. There were hospitals, prisons, courts, churches, and cathedrals. The longer the French remained, the more these forms of town life perished, and at the end all was lost in one indistinguishable, lifeless scene of pillage.
The longer the pillaging of the French lasted, the more complete was the destruction of the wealth of Moscow and of the forces of the pillagers. The longer the pillaging lasted that was carried on by the Russians on their first return to the capital, and the more there were taking part in it, the more rapidly was the wealth of Moscow and the normal life of the town re-established.
Apart from those who came for plunder, people of all sorts, drawn thither, some by curiosity, some by the duties of office, some by self-interests—householders, priests, officials, high and low, traders, artisans, and peasants—flowed back to Moscow from all sides, as the blood flows to the heart.
Within a week the peasants who had come with empty carts to carry off goods were detained by the authorities, and compelled to carry dead bodies out of the town. Other peasants, who had heard of their companions' discomfiture, drove into the town with wheat, and oats, and hay, knocking down each others' prices to a figure lower than it had been in former days. Gangs of carpenters, hoping for high wages, were arriving in Moscow every day; and on all sides there were new houses being built, or old half-burnt ones being repaired. Tradesmen carried on their business in booths. Cook-shops and taverns were opened in fire-blackened houses. The clergy held services in many churches that had escaped the fire. Church goods that had been plundered were restored as offerings. Government clerks set up their baize-covered tables and pigeon-holes of papers in little rooms. The higher authorities and the police organised a distribution of the goods left by the French. The owners of houses in which a great many of the goods plundered from other houses had been left complained of the injustice of all goods being taken to the Polygonal Palace. Others maintained that the French had collected all the things from different houses to one spot, and that it was therefore unfair to restore to the master of the house the things found in it. The police were abused and were bribed; estimates for government buildings that had been burnt were reckoned at ten times their value; and appeals for help were made. Count Rastoptchin wrote his posters again.
很难解释到底是为了什么目的蚂蚁从被毁坏的巢穴中匆匆忙忙的出来，有一些拖着细小颗粒的食物、蚁卵和死蚁的尸体从巢穴中出来，另外一些又返回巢穴——为什么它们互相冲撞、追逐、厮杀，与此相似的是，令人同样地难以解释，到底是什么原因使得俄国人民在法国人撤退之后，又在那块从前被叫作莫斯科的地方聚集起来。然而，与此相类似的是，当我们观察在被毁坏了的蚁穴周围散布的蚂蚁时，虽然蚁穴已完全被毁坏，但是，从挖洞的昆虫那种毫不松懈、充满活力和无限的数量可以看得出来，虽然一切都被毁掉了，但是，那种营造蚁穴的全部力量是坚不可摧的，是非物质的东西，却依旧存在着，——莫斯科的情形正是这样，十月间，虽然没有政府，没有教堂，没有神圣的东西，没有财富，没有房屋，然而依然是八月间的那个莫斯科。一切都被毁掉了，但是那种非物质的、然而却是强有力的、坚不可摧的东西依然存在着。 
莫斯科在肃清了敌人之后，人们怀着各式各样的个人动机——最初大多数人怀着一种野蛮的兽性动机，从四面八方拥入莫斯科。只有一种动机是人们所共有的，那就是赶快到那个从前叫做莫斯科的地方，去到那里从事自己的活动。
过了一周以后，莫斯科已有居民一万五千人，两个星期以后，就有了二百万五千人了，以此类推。这个数字不断地增加了又增加，到了一八一三年秋天，就超过一八一二年的人口数量了。
第一批进入莫斯科的俄国人是温岑格罗德部队的哥萨克、莫斯科附近村庄的农民和从莫斯科逃出后隐藏在莫斯科郊区的居民。进入被破坏了的莫斯科的俄国人，发现莫斯科已被洗劫之后，他们也开始抢劫起来。他们继续干法国人干过的事情。农民们把装载东西的马车赶到莫斯科来，以便把丢弃在莫斯科被毁坏了的房屋内和大街上的一切东西都运回到乡下去。哥萨克们把所有能搬走的东西都搬运到他们的营房里；原先的房主们把他们在别人的房子里发现的任何东西统统搬走，他们谎称这些东西是他们的财产。
但是，紧接着第一批抢劫者进城抢劫之后，又来了第二批、第三批。然而，随着抢劫者的与日俱增，要想抢到东西，就变得越来越困难了，并已形成了一些更加确定的方式。
法国人在占领了莫斯科之后，虽然发现莫斯科已经是一座空城，但仍具有一个有机地、正常地生活过的城市的一切组织形式，它有各种各样的商业和手工业，有奢侈品，有政府管理机构和宗教团体。这些机构虽然完全瘫痪了，然而它却依然存在着。这里有商场、小铺子、商店、粮店、集市——大部分都还存有货物；这里有工厂、作坊；有富丽堂辉的宫殿和巨贾权贵的府第；这里有医院、监狱、政府机关、礼拜堂、大教堂。法国人占领的时间越久，这些城市生活组织形式就被消灭的越多，最后，变得一塌糊涂，遭受劫难之后，呈现成一片死气沉沉的废墟了。
法国人的抢劫持续的时间越久，莫斯科的财富遭受的破坏就越严重，抢劫者的力量也就损失得越多。而俄国人占领了自己的首都之后，开始了俄国人自己的抢劫，这种抢劫越是继续进行，参加抢劫的人就越来越多，莫斯科的财富和城市的正常生活反倒恢复得越快。
除了抢劫者之外，还有各式各样的人，有的受好奇心的驱使，有的为了政府的公务，有的为了个人打算：房产主、僧侣、大大小小的官吏、商人、手工业者、农民，他们从四面八方就像血液流入心脏那样涌进莫斯科。
一个星期之后，那些赶着载货的空大车以便把东西运走的农民，被政府当局扣留了下来，迫使他们把城里的死尸运到城外去。另外的农民在听到伙伴们在城内抢不到东西时，他们就把粮食、燕麦、干草运到城内，他们互相压低价格，把价格压得比从前还要低。农村里只能干粗木工活的木匠，为了多挣点工资，他们从四面八方涌入莫斯科，一时间，到处都在建造木头房子，修理被大火烧焦的房子。商人们搭起棚子开始营业。饭店和旅店在被火烧过的房子里营业。神甫们在许多未遭受火灾的教堂里恢复了做礼拜。施主们捐助教堂里被抢劫走的东西。官员们在小屋子里安放了铺上粗呢子的办公桌和文件柜，高级官员和警察负责分配被法国人抢劫所剩下的财物。那些从别人家搬来很多东西的房主们抱怨说，把东西都搬到克里姆林宫大厅多棱宫去是不公平的；另外一些人则坚持说，法国人把抢去的东西集中堆放，因此要把这些东西都给了法国人存放东西的房主是不公平的；人们咒骂着警察又对警察行贿；对被烧掉的一般的东西作出高出十倍的估价，要求政府给予补偿，拉斯托普钦伯爵又来写他的告示了。
Book 15 Chapter 15
AT THE END of January Pierre arrived in Moscow and settled in the lodge of his mansion, as that had escaped the fire. He called on Count Rastoptchin and several acquaintances, and was intending in three days to set off to Petersburg. Every one was triumphant at victory; the ruined and reviving city was bubbling over with life. Every one was glad to see Pierre; everybody was eager to see him, and to ask him about all he had seen. Pierre had a particularly friendly feeling towards every one he met. But unconsciously he was a little on his guard with people to avoid fettering his freedom in any way. To all the questions put to him—important or trivial—whether they asked him where he meant to live, whether he were going to build, when he was starting for Petersburg, or whether he could take a parcel there for someone, he answered, “Yes, very possibly,” “I dare say I may,” and so on.
He heard that the Rostovs were in Kostroma, and the thought of Natasha rarely came to his mind, and when it did occur to him it was as a pleasant memory of time long past. He felt himself set free, not only from the cares of daily life, but also from that feeling which, it seemed to him, he had voluntarily brought upon himself.
The third day after his arrival in Moscow he learnt from the Drubetskoys that Princess Marya was in Moscow. The death, the sufferings, and the last days of Prince Andrey had often engaged Pierre's thoughts, and now recurred to him with fresh vividness. He heard at dinner that Princess Marya was in Moscow, and living in her own house in Vosdvizhenka, which had escaped the fire, and he went to call upon her the same evening.
On the way to Princess Marya's Pierre's mind was full of Prince Andrey, of his friendship for him, of the different occasions when they had met, and especially of their last interview at Borodino.
“Can he possibly have died in the bitter mood he was in then? Was not the meaning of life revealed to him before death?” Pierre wondered. He thought of Karataev, of his death, and unconsciously compared those two men, so different, and yet alike, in the love he had felt for both, and in that both had lived, and both were dead.
In the most serious frame of mind Pierre drove up to the old prince's house. The house had remained entire. There were traces to be seen of the havoc wrought in it, but the character of the house was unchanged. The old footman met Pierre with a stern face, that seemed to wish to make the guest feel that the absence of the old prince did make no difference in the severe routine of the household, and said that the princess had retired to her own apartments, and received on Sundays.
“Take my name to her, perhaps she will see me,” said Pierre.
“Yes, your excellency,” answered the footman; “kindly walk into the portrait-gallery.”
A few minutes later the footman returned accompanied by Dessalle. Dessalle brought a message from the princess that she would be very glad to see Pierre, and begged him, if he would excuse the lack of ceremony, to come upstairs to her apartment.
In a low-pitched room, lighted by a single candle, he found the princess, and some one with her in a black dress. Pierre recollected that the princess had always had lady-companions of some sort with her, but who those companions were, and what they were like, he did not remember. “That is one of her companions,” he thought, glancing at the lady in the black dress.
The princess rose swiftly to meet him, and held out her hand.
“Yes,” she said, scrutinising his altered face, after he had kissed her hand; “so this is how we meet again. He often talked of you at the last,” she said, turning her eyes from Pierre to the companion with a sort of bashfulness that struck him.
“I was so glad to hear of your safety. It was the only piece of good news we had had for a long time.”
Again the princess glanced still more uneasily at the companion, and would have spoken; but Pierre interrupted her.
“Only imagine, I knew nothing about him,” he said. “I believed he had been killed. All I have heard has been through others, at third-hand. I only know that he fell in with the Rostovs.… What a strange stroke of destiny!”
Pierre talked rapidly, eagerly. He glanced once at the companion's face, saw attentively friendly, inquiring eyes fixed upon him; and as often happens, while talking, he vaguely felt that this lady-companion in the black dress was a good, kind, friendly creature, who need be no hindrance to his talking freely to Princess Marya.
But as he uttered the last words about the Rostovs, the embarrassment in Princess Marya's face became even more marked. Again her eyes shifted from Pierre's face to the face of the lady in the black dress, and she said:
“You don't recognise her?”
Pierre glanced once more at the pale, thin face of her companion, with its black eyes and strange mouth. Something very near to him, long forgotten, and more than sweet, gazed at him out of those intent eyes.
“But no, it cannot be,” he thought. “That stern, thin, pale face that looks so much older? It cannot be she. It is only a reminder of it.”
But at that moment Princess Marya said, “Natasha!”
And the face with the intent eyes—painfully, with effort, like a rusty door opening—smiled, and through that opened door there floated to Pierre a sudden, overwhelming rush of long-forgotten bliss, of which, especially now, he had no thought. It breathed upon him, overwhelmed him, and swallowed him up entirely. When she smiled, there could be no doubt. It was Natasha, and he loved her.
In that first minute Pierre unwittingly betrayed to her and to Princess Marya, and most of all to himself, the secret of which he had been himself unaware. He flushed joyfully, and with agonising distress. He tried to conceal his emotion. But the more he tried to conceal it, the more clearly—more clearly than if he had uttered the most definite words—he betrayed to himself, and to her, and to Princess Marya, that he loved her.
“No, it is nothing; it's the sudden surprise,” Pierre thought. But as soon as he tried to go on with the conversation with Princess Marya, he glanced again at Natasha, and a still deeper flush spread over his face, and a still more violent wave of rapture and terror flooded his heart. He stammered in his speech, and stopped short in the middle of a sentence.
Pierre had not noticed Natasha because he had never expected to see her here; but he had not recognised her because the change that had taken place in her since he had seen her was immense. She had grown thin and pale. But it was not that that made her unrecognisable. No one could have recognised her at the moment when he entered, because when he first glanced at her there was no trace of a smile in the eyes that in old days had always beamed with a suppressed smile of the joy of life. They were intent, kindly eyes, full of mournful inquiry, and nothing more.
Pierre's embarrassment was not reflected in a corresponding embarrassment in Natasha, but only in a look of pleasure, that faintly lighted up her whole face.
一月底，皮埃尔来到莫斯科，他在一间未被大火焚毁的厢房住了下来。他拜访了拉斯托普钦伯爵和几位已返回莫斯科的熟人，他打算第三天动身去彼得堡。大家都在庆祝胜利；大家都欢迎皮埃尔，都希望见到他，都想向他详细打听他的所见所闻。皮埃尔觉得，他对所有他遇见的人都怀有特别的好感；然而，他现在不由自主地对所有的人都保持了警惕，以免使自己受到牵连。他对大家向他提出的所有问题——不管是重要的还是毫无意义的——例如：他想住在哪里？他是否要建房子？他什么时候去彼得堡？能不能帮忙带一个皮箱？——他都回答：“是的，可能，我想，等等。” 
他听说罗斯托夫一家在科斯特罗马，然而他却很少想到娜塔莎。如果说他曾想到过她，那也只是对一件久远往事的愉快回忆罢了。他感到自己不仅摆脱了世俗的琐事，而且也摆脱了那种他好像心里觉得是自作多情的意境。
在他抵达莫斯科之后的第三天，他在德鲁别茨科伊家获悉，玛丽亚公爵小姐在莫斯科。皮埃尔常常想到安德烈公爵的死、他的痛苦和临终的那些日子，而此时此刻又生动地再现于他的脑海中。吃午饭时他得知玛丽亚公爵小姐在莫斯科住在弗兹德维仁卡街她的一幢未被烧掉的住宅里，他当天晚上就去拜访了她。
在前往拜访玛丽亚公爵小姐的路上，皮埃尔不停地思念安德烈公爵，想着他和公爵的友谊以及他们在各种不同场合会见的情景，特别是在波罗底诺的最后一次相见的情景。
难道他是在他当时所处的十分痛苦的心境中去世的吗？难道他在临终前还没有提示出人生的真谛吗？皮埃尔想。他回想起了卡拉塔耶夫，想到他的死，不由自主地把这两个如此不相同的人加以比较，他们竟如此之相似，这是因为他对两个人都怀有爱慕的心情，两个人都在这世上生活过，两个人都死了。
皮埃尔怀着极其严肃的心情乘车去老公爵家。这所住宅还算完好，但仍然有遭受破坏的痕迹，而从外表上看，还是老样子。一个神情严峻的老侍者出来迎接皮埃尔，好像要使客人觉得：虽然老公爵已去世，家规依然没有改变，他说，公爵小姐已经回房去了，只在星期天才接见客人。
“请通报一下，可能会接见的。”皮埃尔说。
“是，您老，”侍者回答道，“请到肖像室①稍候。” 
①肖像室是贵族家庭悬挂祖辈肖像的房间。
几分钟后，侍者和德萨尔走了出来，德萨尔向皮埃尔转达了公爵小姐的邀请，她很高兴见他，如果他能够原谅她的失礼，请他到楼上她的房间里去。
在一间点着一只蜡烛的不太高大的房间里，公爵小姐和一位身着黑色布拉吉的女人坐在一起。皮埃尔想起了玛丽亚公爵小姐身边常有女伴相陪，但是，这些女伴都是些什么人，皮埃尔不知道，也记不得了。“这是一个女伴。”他向身着黑色布拉吉的女人看了一眼，在心中想到。
公爵小姐立即起身迎接并伸出了手。
“是啊，”在他吻了她的手之后，她仔细端详皮埃尔那张已改变了的面庞，她说，“我们这不是又见面了，他在临终之前的那些日子里，经常谈到您。”她说这些话时把目光从皮埃尔移到面容羞涩的女伴身上，女伴的羞怯表情使皮埃顿时吃了一惊。
“得知您平安无恙，我十分高兴，这是很久以来我们接到的唯一的好消息了。”玛丽亚公爵小姐又不安地向女伴看了一眼，并且想说点什么，但是皮埃尔打断了她的话。
“您可以想象得到，有关他的情况，我连一点都不知道，”他说，“我还以为他是阵亡的。我所知道的一切，都是从别人，从第三者的口中得知的。我知道他遇见了罗斯托夫一家人……多么巧的命运啊！”
皮埃尔说得又快又兴奋。他看了一眼那个女伴的脸，他看见，她以特别表示关切的、迥非寻常的目光注视着他，这是在交谈中常可见到的，他不知道为什么会感觉得这个身着黑衣的女伴是一个可爱的、善良的、顶好的人，她不会妨碍他和公爵小姐推心置腹的交谈。
然而，当他的最后一句话提到罗斯托夫一家的时候，玛丽亚公爵小姐的脸上表现出更加困惑不解的表情。她再次把视线从皮埃尔身上移到身着黑衣的女士的脸上，她说：
“难道你真的认不出她了吗？”
皮埃尔又一次看了一下那个女伴的苍白的、瘦削的、有一双黑眼睛和奇特嘴唇的面孔。从她那极为关切的眼神中，可以看出，含有一种亲切的、他久已遗忘的、十分可爱的神态。
“不、不，这不可能，”他想。“这不是一张严肃、瘦削、苍白、显得老了一些的面孔吗？这不可能是她。这只是相似罢了。”然而，此时玛丽亚公爵小姐说：“娜塔莎。”于是，那张眼神极为关切的面孔，困难地、吃力地，好像一扇生锈的门被打开了似的，露出了笑容，从这敞开的门里突然散发出一阵芳香，令皮埃尔陶然欲醉，这是他久已忘却的、特别是在此时此刻完全意想不到的幸福。芳香四溢，香气袭人，皮埃尔整个身心被这种芳香所包围，被完全吞没。当她莞尔一笑时，已经不再有什么怀疑了。这正是娜塔莎，而他爱着她。
在刚刚开头的一瞬间，皮埃尔不由自主地对她——玛丽亚公爵小姐，主要还是对他自己，诉说了他自己也不清楚的那个秘密。他由于高兴和一种异乎寻常的痛楚把脸涨得通红。他想掩饰住自己的激动。然而他越是想掩饰它，就越是更明显——比最明确的语言更为明确地对他自己、对她——玛丽亚公爵小姐诉说了，他爱着她。
“不对，这太出乎意料之外。”皮埃尔想到了。然而，在他刚刚想继续跟玛丽亚公爵小姐谈刚才已谈开了头的话题时，他又向娜塔莎看了一眼，他的脸更加被涨红了，他的心情既万分激动，又有一种莫名的恐惧。他说的话已经语无伦次，话还没说完就说不下去了。
皮埃尔开头没有注意到娜塔莎，那是因为他无论如何也不会想到，他会在这里见到她，但是他随后之所以没有认出她来，那是因为自从他上一次见到她之后，她的变化确实太大了。她消瘦了，面容变得苍白了，但是这还不能完全解释他没有认出她来的原由：当他刚进屋子时认不出她来，是因为先前，从她的这张脸上，从她的眼睛里，总可以看到那隐露出对人生的欢乐的微笑，而现在，当他刚进屋第一眼看见她时，连这种微笑的一点影子也没有；只有一对专注的、善良的和哀伤的探询的眼睛。
皮埃尔的窘态并没有使娜塔莎惶惑不安，她脸上只显露出一丝不容易被人觉察的愉快神情。
Book 15 Chapter 16
“SHE has come to stay with me,” said Princess Marya. “The count and the countess will be here in a few days. The countess is in a terrible state. But Natasha herself had to see the doctors. They made her come away with me.”
“Yes. Is there a family without its own sorrow?” said Pierre, turning to Natasha. “You know it happened the very day we were rescued. I saw him. What a splendid boy he was!”
Natasha looked at him, and, in answer to his words, her eyes only opened wider and grew brighter.
“What can one say, or think, to give comfort?” said Pierre. “Nothing. Why had he to die, such a noble boy, so full of life?”
“Yes; in these days it would be hard to live without faith …” said Princess Marya.
“Yes, yes. That is true, indeed,” Pierre put in hurriedly.
“How so?” Natasha asked, looking intently into Pierre's eyes.
“How so?” said Princess Marya. “Why, only the thought of what awaits …”
Natasha, not heeding Princess Marya's words, looked again inquiringly at Pierre.
“And because,” Pierre went on, “only one who believes that there is a God guiding our lives can bear such a loss as hers, and … yours,” said Pierre.
Natasha opened her mouth, as though she would say something, but she suddenly stopped.
Pierre made haste to turn away from her, and to address Princess Marya again with a question about the last days of his friend's life. Pierre's embarrassment had by now almost disappeared, but at the same time he felt that all his former freedom had vanished too. He felt that there was now a judge criticising every word, every action of his; a judge whose verdict was of greater consequence to him than the verdict of all the people in the world. As he talked now he was considering the impression his words were making on Natasha as he uttered them. He did not intentionally say what might please her; but whatever he said, he looked at himself from her point of view.
With the unwillingness usual in such cases, Princess Marya began telling Pierre of the position in which she had found her brother. But Pierre's questions, his eagerly restless glance, his face quivering with emotion, gradually induced her to go into details which she shrank, for her own sake, from recalling to her imagination.
“Yes, yes, …” said Pierre, bending forward over Princess Marya, and eagerly drinking in her words. “Yes, yes. So he found peace? He was softened? He was always striving with his whole soul for one thing only: to be entirely good, so that he could not dread death. The defects that were in him—if he had any—did not come from himself. So he was softened?” he said.
“What a happy thing that he saw you again,” he said to Natasha, turning suddenly to her, and looking at her with eyes full of tears.
Natasha's face quivered. She frowned, and for an instant dropped her eyes. For a moment she hesitated whether to speak or not to speak.
“Yes, it was a great happiness,” she said in a low, deep voice; “for me it was certainly a great happiness.” She paused. “And he … he … he told me he was longing for it the very moment I went in to him …” Natasha's voice broke. She flushed, squeezed her hands against her knees and suddenly, with an evident effort to control herself, she lifted her head and began speaking rapidly:
“We knew nothing about it when we were leaving Moscow. I did not dare ask about him. And all at once Sonya told me he was with us. I could think of nothing, I had no conception in what state he was; all I wanted was to see him—to be with him,” she said, trembling and breathless. And not letting them interrupt her, she told all that she had never spoken of to any one before; all she had gone through in those three weeks of their journey and their stay in Yaroslavl.
Pierre heard her with parted lips and eyes full of tears fastened upon her. As he listened to her, he was not thinking of Prince Andrey, nor of death, nor of what she was saying. He heard her voice and only pitied her for the anguish she was feeling now in telling him.
The princess, frowning in the effort to restrain her tears, sat by Natasha's side and heard for the first time the story of those last days of her brother's and Natasha's love.
To speak of that agonising and joyous time was evidently necessary to Natasha.
She talked on, mingling up the most insignificant details with the most secret feelings of her heart, and it seemed as though she could never finish. Several times she said the same thing twice.
Dessalle's voice was heard at the door asking whether Nikolushka might come in to say good-night. “And that is all, all …” said Natasha. She got up quickly at the moment Nikolushka was coming in, and almost running to the door, knocked her head against it as it was hidden by the portière, and with a moan, half of pain, half of sorrow, she rushed out of the room.
Pierre gazed at the door by which she had gone out, and wondered why he felt suddenly alone in the wide world.
Princess Marya roused him from his abstraction, calling his attention to her nephew who had just come into the room.
The face of Nikolushka, so like his father, had such an effect on Pierre at this moment of emotional tension, that, after kissing the child, he got up himself, and taking out his handkerchief, walked away to the window. He would have taken leave, but Princess Marya would not let him go.
“No, Natasha and I often do not go to bed till past two, please stay a little longer. We will have supper. Go downstairs, we will come in a moment.”
Before Pierre went down, the princess said to him: “It is the first time she has talked of him like this.”
“她是来这里做客的，”玛利亚公爵小姐说，“伯爵和伯爵夫人近几天内就要到来，伯爵夫人的健康状况很不好。而娜塔莎本人也需要延医诊治，他们强迫她和我一起来的。” 
“是啊，难道有哪一个家庭能免遭不幸的吗？”皮埃尔转过脸对着娜塔莎说。“您要知道，这件事就发生在我们得救的那一天，我看到他了，一个多么可爱的孩子！”
娜塔莎望着他，她把眼睛睁得更大更亮，以比作为她的回答。
“还能说出什么可以安慰的话和还能想出什么值得安慰的事呢？”皮埃尔说。“什么也没有。为什么非要让那么可爱、生命力那么旺盛的孩子死去呢？”
“是的，在我们这个时代，如果没有信仰的话，就很难活下去……”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。
“是的，是的。这是千真万确的真理。”皮埃尔赶忙接过去说。
“为什么？”娜塔莎聚精会神地盯着皮埃尔问道。
“怎么——为什么？”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。“只要想到那等着我们的……”
娜塔莎不等听完玛丽亚公爵小姐的话，又用试探的目光望了一眼皮埃尔。
“那是因为，”皮埃尔继续说道，“只要你相信有一个能主宰我们的上帝，才能忍受像她的……您的这样的损失。”皮埃尔说。
娜塔莎刚刚张嘴想说话，但是突然停住了口。皮埃尔赶忙掉转身子，又一次向玛丽亚公爵小姐询问起他的朋友在他的生命的最后的那一段时光的情况。皮埃尔的窘困和局促不安现在已几乎完全消失了；但与此同时他感觉到，他先前的完全自由的感觉也消失了。他感到，现在有一位法官监督着他的一言一行，而这位法官的裁决对于他来说，比世界上任何人的裁决都更加珍贵。他现在一说话，就立刻会考虑到他的话会给她造成什么印象。他并不说一些故意使她欢喜的话；
但是，他无论说什么话，他都要以她的观点来评判自己。
这种情形像以往那样，玛丽亚公爵小姐不太乐意地讲述她见到安得烈公爵时的情形。但是，对皮埃尔所提出的一些问题，他那异常不安的眼神和他那激动得发抖的面孔，渐渐地迫使她说起那些对她自己来说连想都不敢想的详情细节。
“是啊，是啊，是这样，是这样……”皮埃尔边说边向玛丽亚公爵小姐俯过身去，全神贯注地倾听她的讲述。“是啊，是啊，那么，他平静了吗？变得温和了吗？他就是这样全心全意地经常寻找一件东西：成为一个十全十美的人，一个不怕死的人。他身上存在的缺点，如果说他有缺点的话，那也不是出于他自身的原因，那么说，他变得温和了吗？”皮埃尔说。“他见到了您是多么幸福啊！”他突然转向娜塔莎，满含着眼泪望着她，对她说道。
娜塔莎的脸抽搐了一下。她皱起眉头，低垂了一下眼睑，一下子拿不定主见：是说呢，还是不说。
“是的，这是幸福的。”她用低沉的胸音说，“对我来说，这大概是幸福的，”她顿了一顿，“而他……他……他说，他正期待着这个呢，在我刚一进门见到他时，他这样说……“娜塔莎的声音突然中断了。她双手紧按在膝盖上，脸涨得通红，突然，她明显是在尽力克制住自己，她抬起头，急急忙忙地说道：
“我们从莫斯科出来时，什么也不知道。我不敢问及他的情况。索尼娅突然对我说，他要和我们一道走。我什么都没有想，我不能想象他当时所处的情况，我只想见到他，同他在一起，”她声音颤抖，喘着气说。接着，她不让别人打断她的话，她讲述了她从来没有向任何人说过的事情：讲述了她们在旅途中和在雅罗斯拉夫尔三个星期生活中的所有事情。
皮埃尔张着嘴听她讲话，他那满含眼泪的眼睛注视着她。他在听她讲述的时候，既没有想到安德烈公爵，也没有想到死亡，也没有想及她所讲述的事情。在听她讲述的时候，他只有对她在现时讲述这些情况时所表现出来的痛苦的同情。
公爵小姐由于强忍住盈眶的热泪而皱紧眉头，她靠近娜塔莎身旁坐着，第一次听到他哥哥在生命的最后时刻和娜塔莎的爱情故事。
这个既苦涩又甜蜜的故事，虽然对娜塔莎来说是她所需要的。
她在讲述这段往事时把一些最详细的情节和内心深处的秘密交织在一起，好像是永远都讲不完的故事。有许多次她把已经讲过的又重复一遍。
门外传来德萨尔的声音，他问，可不可以让尼古卢什卡进来道晚安。
“就这些了，就这些了……”娜塔莎说。在尼古卢什卡进来的时候，她迅速站起身，几乎是朝门口跑过去，她的头碰在挂有门帘的门上，不知道是由于疼痛还是由于悲哀，她呻吟着跑出房去。
皮埃尔望着她跑出去的那扇门，他弄不明白为什么突然间在这个世界上就只剩下他一个人了。
玛丽亚公爵小姐把他从恍惚的精神状态中唤醒，让他看一下进来的小侄子。
尼古卢什卡那张脸酷似他的父亲，皮埃尔的心肠变软了，深受感动，他吻了一下尼古卢什卡，就连忙站起身，掏出手帕，走向窗口。他想向玛丽亚公爵小姐告辞，但是她留住了他。
“不，我和娜塔莎有时到凌晨三点钟都还没睡呢；再坐一会，我叫准备晚餐。请下楼吧；我就来。”
在皮埃尔走出房间之前，公爵小姐对他说道：
“这是她第一次讲起他。”
Book 15 Chapter 17
PIERRE was conducted into the big, lighted-up dining-room. In a few minutes he heard footsteps and the princess and Natasha came into the room. Natasha was calm, though the stern, unsmiling expression had come back again now into her face. Princess Marya, Natasha, and Pierre all equally experienced that feeling of awkwardness which usually follows when a serious and deeply felt conversation is over. To continue on the same subject is impossible; to speak of trivial matters seems desecration, and to be silent is unpleasant, because one wants to talk, and this silence seems a sort of affectation. In silence they came to the table. The footmen drew back and pushed up the chairs. Pierre unfolded his cold dinner napkin, and making up his mind to break the silence he glanced at Natasha and at Princess Marya. Both had plainly reached the same decision at the same moment; in the eyes of both there gleamed a satisfaction with life, and an admission that there was gladness in it as well as sorrow.
“Do you drink vodka?” said Princess Marya, and those words at once dispelled the shadows of the past.
“Tell us about yourself,” said Princess Marya; “such incredibly marvellous stories are being told about you.”
“Yes,” answered Pierre, with the gentle smile of irony that had now become habitual with him. “I myself am told of marvels that I never dreamed of. Marya Abramovna invited me to come and see her and kept telling me what had happened to me, or ought to have happened. Stepan Stepanovitch too instructed me how I was to tell my story. Altogether I have noticed that to be an interesting person is a very easy position (I am now an interesting person); people invite me and then tell me all about it.”
Natasha smiled and was about to say something.
“We have been told that you lost two millions in Moscow. Is that true?”
“Oh, I am three times as rich,” said Pierre. In spite of the strain on his fortune, of his wife's debts, and the necessity of rebuilding, Pierre still said that he had become three times as rich.
“What I have undoubtedly gained,” he said, “is freedom …” he was beginning seriously; but on second thoughts he did not continue, feeling that it was too egoistic a subject.
“And you are building?”
“Yes, such are Savelitch's orders.”
“Tell me, you had not heard of the countess's death when you stayed in Moscow?” said Princess Marya; and she flushed crimson at once, conscious that in putting this question to him after his mention of “freedom,” she was ascribing a significance to his words which was possibly not intended.
“No,” answered Pierre, obviously unconscious of any awkwardness in the interpretation Princess Marya had put on his allusion to his freedom. “I heard of it in Orel, and you cannot imagine how it affected me. We were not an exemplary couple,” he said quickly, glancing at Natasha and detecting in her face curiosity as to how he would speak of his wife. “But her death affected me greatly. When two people quarrel, both are always in fault. And one becomes terribly aware of one's shortcomings towards any one who is no more. And then such a death … apart from friends and consolation. I felt very sorry for her,” he concluded, and noticed with satisfaction a glad look of approval on Natasha's face.
“And so you are once more an eligible parti,” said Princess Marya.
Pierre flushed suddenly crimson; and for a long while he tried not to look at Natasha. When he did venture to glance at her, her face was cold and severe, even, he fancied, disdainful.
“But did you really see and talk to Napoleon, as we have been told?” said Princess Marya.
Pierre laughed.
“Not once, never. Every one always imagines that to be a prisoner is equivalent to being on a visit to Napoleon. I never saw, never even heard anything about him. I was in much lower company.”
Supper was over, and Pierre, who had at first refused to talk about his captivity, was gradually drawn into telling them about it.
“But it is true that you stayed behind to kill Napoleon?” Natasha asked him with a slight smile. “I guessed that at the time when we met you by the Suharev Tower: do you remember?”
Pierre owned that it was so; and from that question was led on by Princess Marya's, and still more by Natasha's, questions to give a detailed account of his adventures.
At first he told his story with that tone of gentle irony that he always had now towards men and especially towards himself. But as he came to describe the horrors and sufferings he had seen, he was drawn on unawares, and began to speak with the suppressed emotion of a man living again in imagination through the intense impressions of the past.
Princess Marya looked from Pierre to Natasha with a gentle smile. In all he told them she saw only Pierre and his goodness. Natasha, her head supported in her hand, and her face changing continually with the story, watched Pierre, never taking her eyes off him, and was in imagination passing through all he told her with him. Not only her eyes, but her exclamations and the brief questions she put showed Pierre that she understood from his words just what he was trying to convey by them. It was evident that she understood, not only what he said, but also what he would have liked to say and could not express in words. The episode of the child and of the woman in whose defence he was taken prisoner, Pierre described in this way. “It was an awful scene, children abandoned, some in the midst of the fire … Children were dragged out before my eyes … and women, who had their things pulled off them, earrings torn off …”
Pierre flushed and hesitated. “Then a patrol came up and all who were not pillaging, all the men, that is, they took prisoner. And me with them.”
“I am sure you are not telling us all; I am sure you did something,” said Natasha, and after a moment's pause, “something good.”
Pierre went on with his story. When he came to the execution, he would have passed over the horrible details of it, but Natasha insisted on his leaving nothing out.
Pierre was beginning to tell them about Karataev; he had risen from the table and was walking up and down, Natasha following him with her eyes.
“No,” he said, stopping short in his story, “you cannot understand what I learned from that illiterate man—that simple creature.”
“No, no, tell us,” said Natasha. “Where is he now?”
“He was killed almost before my eyes.”
And Pierre began to describe the latter part of their retreat, Karataev's illness (his voice shook continually) and then his death.
Pierre told the tale of his adventures as he had never thought of them before. He saw now as it were a new significance in all he had been through. He experienced now in telling it all to Natasha that rare happiness given to men by women when they listen to them—not by clever women, who, as they listen, are either trying to remember what they are told to enrich their intellect and on occasion to repeat it, or to adapt what is told them to their own ideas and to bring out in haste the clever comments elaborated in their little mental factory. This rare happiness is given only by those real women, gifted with a faculty for picking out and assimilating all that is best in what a man shows them. Natasha, though herself unconscious of it, was all rapt attention; she did not lost one word, one quaver of the voice, one glance, one twitching in the facial muscles, one gesture of Pierre's. She caught the word before it was uttered and bore it straight to her open heart, divining the secret import of all Pierre's spiritual travail.
Princess Marya understood his story and sympathised with him, but she was seeing now something else that absorbed all her attention. She saw the possibility of love and happiness between Natasha and Pierre. And this idea, which struck her now for the first time, filled her heart with gladness.
It was three o'clock in the night. The footmen, with melancholy and severe faces, came in with fresh candles, but no one noticed them.
Pierre finished his story. With shining, eager eyes Natasha still gazed intently and persistently at him, as though she longed to understand something more, that perhaps he had left unsaid. In shamefaced and happy confusion, Pierre glanced at her now and then, and was thinking what to say now to change the subject. Princess Marya was mute. It did not strike any of them that it was three o'clock in the night, and time to be in bed.
“They say: sufferings are misfortunes,” said Pierre. “But if at once, this minute, I was asked, would I remain what I was before I was taken prisoner, or go through it all again, I should say, for God's sake let me rather be a prisoner and eat horseflesh again. We imagine that as soon as we are torn out of our habitual path all is over, but it is only the beginning of something new and good. As long as there is life, there is happiness. There is a great deal, a great deal before us. That I say to you,” he said, turning to Natasha.
“Yes, yes,” she said, answering something altogether different, “and I too would ask for nothing better than to go through it all again.”
Pierre looked intently at her.
“Yes, and nothing more,” Natasha declared.
“Not true, not true,” cried Pierre. “I am not to blame for being alive and wanting to live; and you the same.”
All at once Natasha let her head drop into her hands, and burst into tears.
“What is it, Natasha?” said Princess Marya.
“Nothing, nothing.” She smiled through her tears to Pierre. “Good-night, it's bedtime.”
Pierre got up, and took leave.
Natasha, as she always did, went with Princess Marya into her bedroom. They talked of what Pierre had told them. Princess Marya did not give her opinion of Pierre. Natasha, too, did not talk of him.
“Well, good-night, Marie,” said Natasha. “Do you know I am often afraid that we don't talk of him” (she meant Prince Andrey), “as though we were afraid of desecrating our feelings, and so we forget him.”
Princess Marya sighed heavily, and by this sigh acknowledged the justice of Natasha's words; but she did not in words agree with her.
“Is it possible to forget?” she said.
“I was so glad to tell all about it to-day; it was hard and painful, and yet I was glad to … very glad,” said Natasha; “I am sure that he really loved him. That was why I told him … it didn't matter my telling him?” she asked suddenly, blushing.
“Pierre? Oh, no! How good he is,” said Princess Marya.
“Do you know, Marie,” said Natasha, suddenly, with a mischievous smile, such as Princess Marya had not seen for a long while on her face. “He has become so clean and smooth and fresh; as though he had just come out of a bath; do you understand? Out of a moral bath. Isn't it so?”
“Yes,” said Princess Marya. “He has gained a great deal.”
“And his short jacket, and his cropped hair; exactly as though he had just come out of a bath … papa used sometimes …”
“I can understand how he” (Prince Andrey) “cared for no one else as he did for him,” said Princess Marya.
“Yes, and he is so different from him. They say men are better friends when they are utterly different. That must be true; he is not a bit like him in anything, is he?”
“Yes, and he is such a splendid fellow.”
“Well, good-night,” answered Natasha. And the same mischievous smile lingered a long while as though forgotten on her face.
她们请皮埃尔来到一间辉煌明亮的大厅；几分钟后，听见了脚步声，公爵小姐偕同娜塔莎走了进来。娜塔莎的脸上虽然没有笑容，现在又显露出严峻的表情，但她的心情已经平静下来了。玛丽亚公爵小姐、娜塔莎和皮埃尔都同样地感觉到，在进行了一场严肃的、推心置腹的交谈之后，都流露着常有的那种局促不安，要继续先前的谈话已经不可能了；谈一些琐屑的事情——又都不愿意，而沉默——又都不愉快，因为大家都还想说，而这种沉默显得有点装模作样。他们默默地走近餐桌，侍者们把椅子拉开又推向前。皮埃尔打开冰凉的餐巾并下决心打破这种沉默，抬起眼望着娜塔莎和公爵小姐。显然，她们俩也在同时作出了同样的决定：在她们俩人的眼睛里都显露出对生活已感到满足的神情，也认定了，除了爱恋，还应当有欢乐。 
“您喝伏特加吗，伯爵？”玛利亚公爵小姐说，这句话突然驱散了原先的阴影。
“您也说说有关自己的事吧，”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“大家都在谈论您的那些令人难以置信的奇迹呢。”
“是的，”皮埃尔面带现在已习惯了的微笑，以温和的讥笑口吻回答道。“现在有许多人甚至当着我本人讲些连我自己做梦也没有梦见过的所谓的奇迹。玛丽亚·阿布拉莫夫娜请我去，她对我讲述了我所遇到的事情，或者是我应当遇到的事情。斯捷潘·斯捷潘内奇也指点我应当怎样对别人讲。总而言之。我发觉，做一个有趣的人是很舒适的（我现在是一个有趣的人）；大家都请我，对我讲述我本人的故事。”
娜塔莎笑了笑，想说点什么。
“我们听说，”玛丽亚公爵小姐拦过去说，“您在莫斯科损失了两百万。这是真的吗？”
“而我比从前富了两倍。”皮埃尔说，尽管他决心偿还妻子欠下的债务和重建他的住宅，他因此家境已经改变，但他还坚持说他反而比从前富了两倍。
“我确实赢得的，”他说，“那就是自由……”他开始认真地说；但是，他觉察出这个话题太自私，他就不再往下说了。
“您要盖房子吗？”
“是的，萨韦利伊奇要这么办。”
“请告诉我们，当你还在莫斯科的时候，是不是还不知道伯爵夫人已经去世的消息？”玛丽亚公爵小姐说完后，立刻脸就涨红了，她发觉，在他说了他是自由的之后，她的话对于他没有任何意义。
“不知道，”皮埃尔回答道，他显然并不认为玛丽亚公爵小姐对他提到的自由的理解使他难堪。“我是在奥廖尔听到的，您难以想象，这一消息使我多么震惊。我们并不是一对模范夫妻，”他说得很快，说此话时向娜塔莎看了一眼，他从她的脸部表情发觉，她对他给予妻子的评价十分好奇。“但是她的死却使我非常震惊。两个人吵嘴时，往往双方都有错。而我的过错，在一个已故去的人的面前忽然变得更加严重。而且死得那么……没有朋友，没有安慰。我非常、非常难过。”他说完后，发觉娜塔莎的脸上露出赞赏的表情，他感到宽慰。
“是啊，您又是光棍一条了，可以另娶妻室了。”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。
皮埃尔突然脸涨得通红，好一阵子不敢看娜塔莎一眼。当他鼓足勇气看她时，她的脸色冷冰冰的、严肃的，甚至是鄙视的。
“是不是像许多人对我们讲过的。你确实见过拿破仑，还和他讲过话呢？”玛丽亚公爵小姐问道。
皮埃尔哈哈大笑。
“没有，从来都没有过的事。人们总觉得，当了俘虏的人，就会成为拿破仑的客人。我非但没有见到过他，甚至没听见过有人谈及他。我和所有被俘的人在一起，我们的处境相当恶劣。
晚饭后，皮埃尔渐渐讲起了他当俘虏的那段经历，这段往事是他开始时极不愿意讲的。
“您留下来果真是为了要刺杀拿破仑吗？”娜塔莎微微一笑向他问道。“我们在苏哈列夫塔遇见你时，我就猜到了；您还记得吗？”
皮埃尔承认确有其事，于是从这个问题开始，在玛丽亚公爵小姐、特别是在娜塔莎所提问题的引导下，他逐渐详细地讲起了他的冒险故事。
他在开始讲述的时候，带有一种现在对人，特别是对自己常有的一种讥笑的、温和的眼神；但是讲到后来，当他讲到他所看见的恐怖和痛苦的情景时，他强忍住人们在回忆那些感受强烈印象时常有的激动心情，他忘掉了自我，讲得入了神。
玛丽亚公爵小姐面露出温和的微笑，时而看一眼皮埃尔，时而看一眼娜塔莎。她在这一整个故事中所看见的，只有皮埃尔和他的那付善良的心肠。娜塔莎用手支着头，脸上的表情随着故事情节的变化而变化着，她一刻也不停地注视着皮埃尔，显然，她同他一起感受着他所讲述的故事。不仅是她的眼神，而且还有她的感叹声和简短的提问，都向皮埃尔表明，她从他所讲述的故事，她已经明白了的事情正是他想要表达出来的。很明显，她不仅明白了他所讲述的事情，而且还明白了他想表达出来而又难以用语言表达出来的东西。在讲到他为了保护妇女和儿童而被捕的那个插曲时，皮埃尔是这样讲的：
“这是可怕的场面，孩子们被乱扔，有一些被扔进火堆里……我亲眼目睹一个孩子被从火里拖出来……妇女们的东西被抢走，耳环被扯下来……”
皮埃尔红着脸，犹豫了一下。
“这时来了巡逻队，他们把未遭抢劫的人，所有的农民都捉走了，我也被捉去了。”
“您大概没有把您的经历全告诉我们；您一定做了什么……”娜塔莎稍稍停顿了一下，接着说道，“做了好事。”
皮埃尔继续往下讲，当他讲到行刑的时候，他想避开那些可怕的细节；然而娜塔莎要求他不要把任何事情遗漏掉。
皮埃尔开始讲述卡拉搭耶夫的事（他已经从饭桌前站起身，在室内来回不停地走动着，娜塔莎的眼睛一直盯着他），他站住了。
“不，你们很难理解，我从这个目不识丁的，过于忠厚的人那里学到了多少东西。”
“不，不，您说，”娜塔莎说。“他现在在哪里？”
“他差不多是在我面前被打死了。”于是皮埃尔开始讲述他们撤退的最后一些时日的情况，讲述了卡拉塔耶夫的病和他被枪杀的情景（他的声音不停地颤抖着）。
皮埃尔在讲述那些历经危险的故事时，好像他从来还不曾回忆过这些事情。他现在仿佛看见，他所经历的事情有了新的意义。现在，当他把这一切讲给娜塔莎听的时候，他感受到女人在听男人讲话时给人一种少有的愉快，——愚笨的女人在听别人讲话时，做出好像是全讲贯注在倾听的样子，或者干脆把人家对她所讲的都死死记住，用这些来充填自己的头脑，一遇有机会就学舌一番，或者把人家对自己讲过的话和在她们那知识贫乏的头脑里想出来的自以为聪明的言辞，赶快告诉别人；而现在这种快乐，却是一位真正的女人所给予的，这种女人善于选择和吸收那种只有男人身上才具有的一切最美好的东西。娜塔莎自己一点也不知道，她是那样全神贯注；无论是一个字、声音的颤动、眼神、面部肌肉的每一颤动、以及每一个姿势——所有这些，她都不让漏过。她在揣测皮埃尔内心活动的秘密意义时，能一下猜出对方没有说出来的话，并把他们纳入她那开阔的胸襟。
玛丽亚公爵小姐领会他的故事，她同情他，但是，她现在看见了另外一种东西，这种东西吸引了她的全部注意力；她看到了在娜塔莎和皮埃尔之间存在着有爱情和幸福的可能性。而这个第一次闯入她头脑的思想，使她从心底感觉得高兴。
已经是凌晨三点钟了。侍者们表情严峻、忧郁，他们进屋更换了蜡烛，可是没有一个人注意到他们。
皮埃尔讲完了自己的故事。娜塔莎圆睁着一对明亮亮的、兴奋的大眼睛，仍然痴呆呆地盯着皮埃尔，就好像想要弄明白他似乎有可能还没有说出来的那些话。皮埃尔有点局促不安，他感到幸福，又有点羞怯，不时看上她一眼，他想说点什么，把话题引开。玛丽亚公爵小姐默不作声。谁也不曾想到，已经快到凌晨三点钟了，该睡觉了。
“大家都说：不幸、苦难，”皮埃尔说，“如果是现在，就是此时此刻有人问我：您是愿意还是像被俘之前那样呢，或者是从头把那一切再经历一番呢？看在上帝的份上，别再一次当俘虏和只吃马肉了。我们设想，我们一旦离开了走熟了的道路，就一切都完了；可是新的、更好的东西在这里才刚开头。只要有生活，就有幸福。在前面还有很多、很多。这是我对您说的。”他转过身对娜塔莎说。
“是的，是的，”她回答了一句完全不同的话，她说，“我什么都不希望，只希望把那一切从头再经历一遍。”
皮埃尔凝视着她。
“是的，我再不希望别的。”娜塔莎肯定地说。
“不是真的，不是真的，”皮埃尔叫喊道，“我没有罪过，我活下来了，而且还要活下去；而您也一样。”
娜塔莎突然低下了头，双手捂住脸哭起来。
“你怎么啦，娜塔莎？”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。
“没有什么，没有什么。”她含着泪对皮埃尔微微一笑，“再见吧，该睡觉了。”
皮埃尔起身告辞。
玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎同往常一样，一同走进卧室。她们谈了一会儿皮埃尔听讲述的事情。玛丽亚公爵小姐没有谈她对皮埃尔的意见。娜塔莎也没有谈及他。
“好了，再见，玛丽，”娜塔莎说，“你要知道，我常常害怕，我们要是不谈他（安德烈公爵），好像是我们唯恐伤害了我们的感情，我们这样就把他淡忘了。”
玛丽亚公爵小姐深深地叹了口气，这种叹息声表明了娜塔莎的话是对的；然而，她所说出来的话又不同意她的意见。
“难道当真能忘记吗？”她说。
“我今天痛痛快快地把一切都说出来了；我的心情既沉重又痛苦，然而却感到痛快，非常痛快，”娜塔莎说，“我确信，安德烈公爵确实爱他。因此我才讲给他听……我也没有对他讲什么，是吗？”她突然红了脸，她问道。
“是皮埃尔吗？噢，没有什么，他这个人太好了。”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。
“你要知道，玛丽，”娜塔莎说，突然从她脸上露出了顽皮的笑容，玛丽亚公爵小姐从她脸上好久都没有看到过这种笑容了。“他已经变得是那么干净，那么光彩，那么新鲜，就好像刚从浴室里出来一样，你明白我的意思吗？从精神上来说，他就像刚刚从浴室里出来一样，的确如此。”
“是的，”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“他变得多了。”
“那一身短礼服和剪短了的头发，的确像刚从浴室出来……爸爸往往……”
“我明白，他（安德烈公爵）从来没有像喜欢他那样喜欢过别的人。”玛丽亚公爵小姐说。
“是的，他和他各有不相同的特点。人们说，各有其特点的两个男人容易交成朋友。这个话应该是有其道理的。他们两人之间在任何方面都不相似，不是吗？”
“是的，他太好了。”
“好了，再见。”娜塔莎说。那顽皮的微笑，好像久已遗忘了似的，长时间地停留在她的脸上。
Book 15 Chapter 18
FOR A LONG WHILE Pierre could not sleep that night. He walked up and down his room, at one moment frowning deep in some difficult train of thought, at the next shrugging his shoulders and shaking himself and at the next smiling blissfully.
He thought of Prince Andrey, of Natasha, of their love, and at one moment was jealous of her past, and at the next reproached himself, and then forgave himself for the feeling. It was six o'clock in the morning, and still he paced the room.
“Well, what is one to do, if there's no escaping it? What is one to do? It must be the right thing, then,” he said to himself; and hurriedly undressing, he got into bed, happy and agitated, but free from doubt and hesitation.
“However strange, however impossible such happiness, I must do everything that we may be man and wife,” he said to himself.
Several days previously Pierre had fixed on the following Friday as the date on which he would set off to Petersburg. When he waked up next day it was Thursday, and Savelitch came to him for orders about packing the things for the journey.
“To Petersburg? What is Petersburg? Who is in Petersburg?” he unconsciously asked, though only of himself. “Yes, some long while ago, before this happened, I was meaning for some reason to go to Petersburg,” he recalled. “Why was it? And I shall go, perhaps. How kind he is, and how attentive, how he remembers everything!” he thought, looking at Savelitch's old face. “And what a pleasant smile!” he thought.
“Well, and do you still not want your freedom, Savelitch?” asked Pierre.
“What should I want my freedom for, your excellency? With the late count—the Kingdom of Heaven to him—we got on very well, and under you, we have never known any unkindness.”
“Well, but your children?”
“My children too will do very well, your excellency; under such masters one can get on all right.”
“Well, but my heirs?” said Pierre. “All of a sudden I shall get married … It might happen, you know,” he added, with an involuntary smile.
“And I make bold to say, a good thing too, your excellency.”
“How easy he thinks it,” thought Pierre. “He does not know how terrible it is, how perilous. Too late or too early … It is terrible!”
“What are your orders? Will you be pleased to go to-morrow?” asked Savelitch.
“No; I will put it off a little. I will tell you later. You must excuse the trouble I give you,” said Pierre, and watching Savelitch's smile, he thought how strange it was, though, that he should not know there was no such thing as Petersburg, and that that must be settled before everything.
“He really does know, though,” he thought; “he is only pretending. Shall I tell him? What does he think about it? No, another time.”
At breakfast, Pierre told his cousin that he had been the previous evening at Princess Marya's, and had found there—could she fancy whom—Natasha Rostov.
The princess looked as though she saw nothing more extraordinary in that fact than if Pierre had seen some Anna Semyonovna.
“You know her?” asked Pierre.
“I have seen the princess,” she answered, “and I had heard they were making a match between her and young Rostov. That would be a very fine thing for the Rostovs; I am told they are utterly ruined.”
“No, I meant, do you know Natasha Rostov?”
“I heard at the time all about that story. Very sad.”
“She does not understand, or she is pretending,” thought Pierre. “Better not tell her either.”
The princess, too, had prepared provisions for Pierre's journey.
“How kind they all are,” thought Pierre, “to trouble about all this now, when it certainly can be of no interest to them. And all for my sake; that is what's so marvellous.”
The same day a police officer came to see Pierre, with an offer to send a trusty agent to the Polygonal Palace to receive the things that were to-day to be restored among the owners.
“And this man too,” thought Pierre, looking into the police officer's face, “what a nice, good-looking officer, and how good-natured! To trouble about such trifles now. And yet they say he is not honest, and takes bribes. What nonsense! though after all why shouldn't he take bribes? He has been brought up in that way. They all do it. But such a pleasant, good-humoured face, and he smiles when he looks at me.”
Pierre went to Princess Marya's to dinner. As he drove through the streets between the charred wrecks of houses, he admired the beauty of those ruins. The chimneys of stoves, and the tumbledown walls of houses stretched in long rows, hiding one another, all through the burnt quarters of the town, and recalled to him the picturesque ruins of the Rhine and of the Colosseum. The sledge-drivers and men on horseback, the carpenters at work on the frames of the houses, the hawkers and shopkeepers all looked at Pierre with cheerful, beaming faces, and seemed to him to say: “Oh, here he is! We shall see what comes of it.”
On reaching Princess Marya's house, Pierre was beset by a sudden doubt whether it were true that he had been there the day before, and had really seen Natasha and talked to her. “Perhaps it was all my own invention, perhaps I shall go in and see no one.” But no sooner had he entered the room than in his whole being, from his instantaneous loss of freedom, he was aware of her presence. She was wearing the same black dress, that hung in soft folds, and had her hair arranged in the same way, but she was utterly different. Had she looked like this when he came in yesterday, he could not have failed to recognise her.
She was just as he had known her almost as a child, and later when betrothed to Prince Andrey. A bright, questioning light gleamed in her eyes; there was a friendly and strangely mischievous expression in her face.
Pierre dined, and would have spent the whole evening with them; but Princess Marya was going to vespers, and Pierre went with them.
Next day Pierre arrived early, dined with them, and stayed the whole evening. Although Princess Marya and Natasha were obviously glad to see their visitor, and although the whole interest of Pierre's life was now centred in that house, by the evening they had said all they had to say, and the conversation passed continually from one trivial subject to another and often broke off altogether. Pierre stayed so late that evening that Princess Marya and Natasha exchanged glances, plainly wondering whether he would not soon go. Pierre saw that, but he could not go away. He began to feel it irksome and awkward, but still he sat on because he could not get up and go.
Princess Marya, foreseeing no end to it, was the first to get up, and complaining of a sick headache, she began saying good-night.
“So you are going to-morrow to Petersburg?” she said.
“No, I am not going,” said Pierre hurriedly, with surprise and a sort of resentment in his tone. “No … yes, to Petersburg. To-morrow, perhaps; but I won't say good-bye. I shall come to see if you have any commissions to give me,” he added, standing before Princess Marya, turning very red, and not taking leave.
Natasha gave him her hand and retired. Princess Marya, on the contrary, instead of going away, sank into an armchair, and with her luminous, deep eyes looked sternly and intently at Pierre. The weariness she had unmistakably betrayed just before had now quite passed off. She drew a deep, prolonged sigh, as though preparing for a long conversation.
As soon as Natasha had gone, all Pierre's confusion and awkwardness instantly vanished, and were replaced by excited eagerness.
He rapidly moved a chair close up to Princess Marya. “Yes, I wanted to tell you,” he said, replying to her look as though to words. “Princess, help me. What am I to do? Can I hope? Princess, my dear friend, listen to me. I know all about it. I know I am not worthy of her; I know that it is impossible to talk of it now. But I want to be a brother to her. No, not that, I don't, I can't …” He paused and passed his hands over his face and eyes. “It's like this,” he went on, making an evident effort to speak coherently. “I don't know since when I have loved her. But I have loved her alone, only her, all my life, and I love her so that I cannot imagine life without her. I cannot bring myself to ask for her hand now; but the thought that, perhaps, she might be my wife and my letting slip this opportunity … opportunity … is awful. Tell me, can I hope? Tell me, what am I to do? Dear princess,” he said, after a brief pause, touching her hand as she did not answer.
“I am thinking of what you have just told me,” answered Princess Marya. “This is what I think. You are right that to speak to her of love now …” The princess paused. She had meant to say that to speak to her of love now was impossible; but she stopped, because she had seen during the last three days by the sudden change in Natasha that she would by no means be offended if Pierre were to avow his love, that, in fact, it was the one thing she desired.
“To speak to her now … is out of the question,” she nevertheless said.
“But what am I to do?”
“Trust the matter to me,” said Princess Marya. “I know …”
Pierre looked into her eyes. “Well, well …” he said.
“I know that she loves … that she will love you,” Princess Marya corrected herself.
She had hardly uttered the words, when Pierre leaped up, and with a face of consternation clutched at Princess Marya's hand.
“What makes you think so? You think I may hope? You think so? …”
“Yes, I think so,” said Princess Marya, smiling. “Write to her parents. And leave it to me. I will tell her when it is possible. I desire it to come to pass. And I have a feeling in my heart that it will be so.”
“No, it cannot be! How happy I am! But it cannot be! … How happy I am! No, it cannot be!” Pierre kept saying, kissing Princess Marya's hands.
“You should go to Petersburg; it will be better. And I will write to you,” she said.
“To Petersburg? I am to go? Yes, very well, I will go. But I can come and see you to-morrow?”
Next day Pierre came to say good-bye. Natasha was less animated than on the preceding days; but sometimes that day, looking into her eyes, Pierre felt that he was vanishing away, that he and she were no more, that there was nothing but happiness. “Is it possible? No, it cannot be,” he said to himself at every glance she gave, every gesture, every word, that filled his soul with gladness.
When, on saying good-bye, he took her thin, delicate hand he unconsciously held it somewhat longer in his own.
“Is it possible that that hand, that face, those eyes, all that treasure of womanly charm, so far removed from me, is it possible it may all one day be my own for ever, as close and intimate as I am to myself? No, it's surely impossible? …”
“Good-bye, count,” she said to him aloud. “I shall so look forward to seeing you again,” she added in a whisper.
And those simple words, and the look in the eyes and the face, that accompanied them, formed the subject of inexhaustible reminiscences, interpretations, and happy dreams for Pierre during two whole months. “I shall look forward to seeing you again.” “Yes, yes, how did she say it? Yes. ‘I shall so look forward to seeing you again.' Oh, how happy I am! How can it be that I am so happy!” Pierre said to himself.
皮埃尔在这一夜久久不能入睡；他在卧室内来回走动着，忽而皱紧眉头，深入思考什么为难的事情，突然耸动双肩，浑身打战，时而又露出幸福的微笑。 
他想到了安德烈公爵，想到了娜塔莎，想到了他们的爱情，他时而嫉妒她的过去，时而为此责备自己，时而又为此而原谅自己。已经是早上六点钟了，他仍然一直在卧室内来回踱着步。
“呶，到底该怎么办才好；非这样办不行吗？到底怎么办才好呢？！就是说，应当这样办。”他自言自语地说，于是匆匆脱去衣服，上床睡了，他感到幸福和激动，无忧无虑。
“既不管这种幸福多么奇特，也不管这种幸福多么不可能，为了和她结为夫妇，我都要竭尽自己的全力去做。”他自言自语道。
皮埃尔早在几天之前就决定星期五动身去彼得堡。他在星期四早上醒来时，萨韦利伊奇进来向他请示收拾行李的事。
“怎么，去彼得堡？彼得堡是什么？谁在彼得堡？”他不由自由地问道，虽然他是在问自己。“噢，是的，好像是好久以前，还在这件事尚未发生的时候，我不知道为什么的确打算过要去一趟彼得堡，”他回忆道。“到底是为了什么呢？或许我要去。他是一个多好的人，多细心，把一切事情都记得那么清楚，”他望着萨韦利伊奇那苍老的脸，“他的微笑多么愉快！”他想。
“萨韦利伊奇，你怎么一点都不想自由呢？”皮埃尔问。
“大人，我为什么要自由？老伯爵在世的时候——愿他升入天堂，现在和您生活，侍候您，从未受到虐待。”
“那，你的孩子们呢？”
“孩子们都还过得去，大人；跟上这样的主人是可以活下去的。”
“可是，我的继承人会怎么样呢？”皮埃尔说。“我突然结婚了……要知道这是很可能的事情。”他不由得微笑着补充说道。
“我斗胆说一句：这是好事，大人。”
“他把这件事想得那么容易。”皮埃尔想。“他不知道这件事有多么可怕，有多么危险。太早或者太晚……可怕！”
“您还有什么吩咐？明天是否动身？”萨韦利伊奇问。
“没有什么了，我要推迟一点。我到时候再告诉你。你原谅我给你添麻烦了，”皮埃尔说，他望着萨韦利伊奇的笑脸，想道：“可是多么奇怪，他竟然还不知道，现在谈不上什么彼得堡，他还不知道，当务之急是对那件事做出决断。或许，他确已知道，而只是佯装做不知道罢了。要跟他说一下吗？他是怎样想的呢？”皮埃尔想。“算了，以后再说吧。”
吃早饭的时候，皮埃尔告诉公爵小姐，他昨天在玛丽亚公爵小姐那儿遇见了——你猜猜看——谁？遇见了娜塔莎·罗斯托娃！
公爵小姐听后的神情显露出，她看不出来这个消息比皮埃尔见到安娜·谢苗诺夫娜时有什么特别的地方。
“您认识她吗？”皮埃尔问。
“我见到公爵小姐了，”她回答道，“我听说过，有人给她和小罗斯托夫做媒呢。这对罗斯托夫家可是一件大好事，听说，他们完全破产了。”
“不，您认识罗斯托娃吗？”
“我那时只是听到了这件事，真可惜。”
“对的，她现在还不明白，或者是佯装不知道，”皮埃尔这样想，“最好也不告诉她。”
公爵小姐同样也为皮埃尔准备了路上用的食品。
“他们全都那么厚道，”皮埃尔想，“对于他们来说，这些事情大概不会有多大的兴趣，然而他们却都做了，大家都是为了我；真令人吃惊。”
这一天，警察局长也来见皮埃尔，请他派人到多棱宫去领回今天就要发还给原主的东西。
“这个人也是这样，”皮埃尔望着警察局长的脸想道。“多么可爱、多么漂亮的军官，多么善良！现今还管这种小事情。还有人说他不廉洁，贪图享受。真是一派胡言！可是，他为什么不贪图享受？他就是那样教育出来的。所有的人都是那样干的。他在看我时，微笑着，显得那么善良，那么令人愉快。”
皮埃尔去玛丽亚公爵小姐家吃午饭。
他乘车驰过大街，街道两旁是被大火焚毁的房屋，这些废墟的美令他十分惊奇。房屋的烟囱、断壁残垣，在被大火焚烧过的市区内延伸着，相互遮掩着，此情此景，简直是莱茵河和罗马大剧场的遗迹活生生地再现于眼前。他所遇见的马车夫们、乘客们、做木框架的木匠们、女商贩和店老板们，所有这些人，都表现得很欢快，容光焕发，他们都瞧着皮埃尔，仿佛在说：“瞧，这就是他呀！那就让我们看看会有什么结果吧。”
在走进玛丽亚公爵小姐家的时候，皮埃尔甚至对自己产生了怀疑，他怀疑自己在昨天是不是真的到这里来过；他怀疑自己是不是见到过娜塔莎，并且和她谈过话。“或许是自己的虚幻的梦觉吧，有可能我进屋去之后什么人都见不到。”但是，当他还没有来得及走进房间的时候，在一瞬间失去了自主，他全副身心都感觉到，她在那里。她是在那里，她仍然着一身带软褶的黑色布拉吉，她和昨天梳着完全相同的发型，然而，她完全变成了另外一个人。假如他在昨天进来时，她就是现在这个样子，那他绝不可能在任何一瞬间能够不把她认出来。
她差不多仍旧是她在孩提时和在后来成为安德烈公爵的未婚妻时地所记得的那个样子。她的眼睛里总是忽闪着一种欢快的、探询的目光；她的脸上总是显露出温柔的和一种奇特而又顽皮的神情。
皮埃尔吃过午饭之后，原打算要坐上一个晚上的；但是玛丽亚公爵小姐要去做晚祷，皮埃尔就跟她们一道去了。
第二天皮埃尔很早就来了。吃罢午饭过后，度过了整个晚上。虽然玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎对她们的客人很明显是欢迎的；虽然皮埃尔的全部生活的情趣现在都集中在这个家庭里，但是，临近黄昏时，他们已经把所有要谈的话都交谈过了，他们谈论的话题不断地从一件琐屑的事情跳到另一件琐屑的事情上，而且谈话也常常中断。这天晚上皮埃尔一直坐到很晚，以致于玛丽亚公爵小姐和娜塔莎不时地你看看我，我看看你，很明显，她们期待着皮埃尔是不是能够早点离开。皮埃尔已经看出了这一点，但是他不能离开。他的心情感到沉重、局促不安，依旧一动也不动地坐在那里，因为他不能站起来，不能离开。
玛丽亚公爵小姐不知道这种状况还要持续多久，她第一个站起来，声明自己头痛，起身告辞了。
“那么，你明天动身去彼得堡？”她说。
“不了，我不去了，”皮埃尔以惊奇的神情，好像抱屈似的急急忙忙地声明。“不去了，去得堡？明天；我还不打算辞行，我还要来看一下有没有什么事需要我去办的，”他站在玛丽亚公爵小姐面前说，他的脸涨得通红，却并不离开。
娜塔莎把手伸给他，然后走出了房间。玛丽亚公爵小姐却相反，她非但不离开，反而坐进圈椅里，她那忽闪忽闪的、深沉的目光严肃地、凝神地注视着皮埃尔。很明显，她在此之前曾明显表露出来的困倦。现在已经完全一扫而空了。她深深地长叹一声，似乎准备和他作一次长谈。
娜塔莎一离开房间，皮埃尔的惊慌不定和尴尬表情立刻完全消失了，而代之以一种急切的、兴奋的心情。他连忙把一张扶手椅移到玛丽亚公爵小姐身边。
“是的，我想对您说，”他好像是对她的话作出的回答，又好像是对她的眼神作出的回答，他说，“公爵小姐，帮帮我的忙吧，我应当怎么办呢？我还能有希望吗？公爵小姐，我的朋友，您听我说呀。我全都明白了。我知道自己配不上她；我知道，现在还不能谈到这个问题。但是，我要做她的兄长。不是，我所指的不是这个……我不想，不可能……”
他顿了一顿，用双手揉了揉眼睛，搓了一下脸。
“可真是啊，是这样的，”他继续说道，很明显，他在尽力控制住自己，尽可能地把话说得有条有理。“我自己一点也不知道，我是什么时候爱上了她的。然而，我只爱她一个人，我这一生也只爱她一个人，没有她，就很难设想我将怎样活下去。在目前，我还没有决定向她求婚，但是，一想到或许有一天她可能成为我的妻子，而我一旦失去了这个机会……机会，是多么可怕。请告诉我，我能有希望吗？请告诉我，我要怎么办才好，亲爱的公爵小姐。”他说，经过短暂的沉默之后，因为她没有作出回答，他就碰了一下她的手。
“我正在考虑您对我说过的话呢，”玛丽亚公爵小姐回答道。“我要对您说的是这样的，您是对的，您现在就向她表示爱情……”公爵小姐停住嘴。她想说，现在向她表示爱情是不可能的，但是，她没有把这话说出口，因为最近三天来她看出娜塔莎突然变了，假如皮埃尔现在向她倾吐爱慕之情，娜塔莎不但不会感到遭受屈辱，而且她正希望这样呢。
“现在向她表示……不行。”玛丽亚公爵小姐终于说。
“那我到底应该怎么办呢？”
“您就把这件事交给我吧，”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“我知道……”
皮埃尔直盯盯地望着玛丽亚公爵小姐的眼睛。
“好吧，好吧……”他说。
“我知道她爱……她会爱您的。”玛丽亚公爵小姐纠正了自己的话。
她的这些话还没有说完，皮埃尔就跳了起来，惊惶不定地抓住玛丽亚公爵小姐的手。
“您为什么这样想？您认为我有希望吗？您认为？！
……”
“是的，我认为是这样，”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，“您给她的父母亲写封信。您就交给我吧。我将在适当的时候告诉她。我祝愿这件事能圆满成功，我的内心已经感觉到，这件事一定能成功。”
“不，这件事不可能成功！我多幸福啊！但是，这件事不可能成功……我多幸福啊！不，不可能成功！”皮埃尔吻着玛丽亚公爵小姐的手，说道。
“您到彼得堡去吧；这样更好些。我给您写信。”她说。
“去彼得堡？去那里？很好，我一定去。那我明天还可能再来吗？”
第二天，皮埃尔来辞行。娜塔莎不像前几天那样活泼；但是，在这一天，皮埃尔有时看一下娜塔莎的眼睛，他觉得，他自己正在融化，无论是他，或者是她，都不再存在了，只有一种幸福的感觉。“难道这是真的吗？不，这不可能。”他自言自语道，她的每一个眼神，每一个姿势，每一句话，都使他的心充满了欢乐的激情。
当他向她告别的时候，他握住她那瘦瘦的、纤细的手，他不由自主地把她的手久久地握在自己手中。
“难道这手、这脸，这双眼睛，所有这与自己不相同的所有女性美的珍宝，这一切都将永远属于我，就像是我对我自己的一切那样习以为常？不，这不可能！……”
“再见，伯爵，”她大声对他说，“我一定等待着您。”她又低声补了一句。
就是这样一句普通的话，以及在说这句话时的那种眼神和脸上的表情，都成了皮埃尔在以后的两个月里无穷无尽的回忆、释念和对幸福的向往。“我一定等待着您……是的，是的，她怎么说来着？是的，我一定等待着您。啊，我是多么幸福啊！这是怎么搞的，我多幸福！”皮埃尔自言自语道。
Book 15 Chapter 19
THERE was nothing in Pierre's soul now like what had passed within him in similar circumstances during the time of his being betrothed to Ellen.
He did not go over, as he had then, with a sickening sense of shame the words he had uttered; he did not say to himself: “Oh, why did I not say that, and why, oh why, did I say then: I love you.” Now, on the contrary, every word of hers and of his own, he went over in his imagination with every detail of look and smile, and wanted to add nothing, to take nothing away, he longed only to hear it over again. As for doubts— whether what he contemplated doing was right or wrong—there was never a trace of them now. Only one terrible doubt sometimes assailed his mind. Was it not all a dream? Was not Princess Marya mistaken? Am I not too conceited and self-confident? I believe in it; but all at once— and it's what is sure to happen—Princess Marya tells her; and she smiles and answers: “How queer! He has certainly made a mistake. Doesn't he know that he is a man, a mere man, while I? … I am something altogether different, higher.”
This doubt alone often beset Pierre. He made no plans of any sort now. The happiness before him seemed to him so incredible that the only thing that mattered was to bring it to pass, and nothing could be beyond. Everything else was over.
A joyful, unexpected frenzy, of which Pierre had believed himself incapable, seized upon him. The whole meaning of life, not for him only, but for all the world, seemed to him centred in his love and the possibility of her loving him. Sometimes all men seemed to him to be absorbed in nothing else than his future happiness. It seemed to him sometimes that they were all rejoicing as he was himself, and were only trying to conceal that joy, by pretending to be occupied with other interests. In every word and gesture he saw an allusion to his happiness. He often surprised people by his significant and blissful looks and smiles, that seemed to express some secret understanding with them. But when he realised that people could not know of his happiness, he pitied them from the bottom of his heart, and felt an impulse to try to make them somehow understand that all that they were interested in was utter nonsense and trifles not deserving of attention.
When suggestions were made to him that he should take office under government, or when criticisms of any sort on general, political questions, or on the war, were made before him, on the supposition that one course of events or another would affect the happiness of all men, he listened with a gentle smile of commiseration, and astounded the persons conversing with him by his strange observations. But both those persons, who seemed to Pierre to grasp the true significance of life, that is, his feeling, and those luckless wretches who obviously had no notion of it—all at this period appeared to Pierre in the radiant light of his own glowing feeling; so that on meeting any one, he saw in him without the slightest effort everything that was good and deserving of love.
As he looked through his dead wife's papers and belongings, he had no feeling towards her memory but one of pity that she had not known the happiness he knew now. Prince Vassily, who was particularly haughty just then, having received a new post and a star, struck him as a pathetic and kind-hearted old man, very much to be pitied.
Often afterwards Pierre recalled that time of happy insanity. All the judgments he formed of men and circumstances during that period remained for ever true to him. Far from renouncing later on those views of men and things, on the contrary, in inner doubts and contradictions, he flew back to the view he had had during that time of madness; and that view always turned out to be a true one.
“Perhaps,” he thought, “I did seem strange and absurd then; but I was not so mad then as I seemed. On the contrary, I was cleverer and had more insight then than at any time, and I understood everything worth understanding in life, because … I was happy.”
Pierre's madness showed itself in his not waiting, as in old days, for those personal grounds, which he had called good qualities in people, in order to love them; but as love was brimming over in his heart he loved men without cause, and so never failed to discover incontestable reasons that made them worth loving.
皮埃尔现在的心情，与他在向海伦求婚时的处境虽然相似，但心情却完全不同。 
他从来不愿意重复他当时带着一种病态的羞愧心情对海伦说出的那些话，他不会对自己说：“哎呀，我为什么不说这一点，为什么，为什么我当时说‘Jevousaime'①？”相反，他现在重复着她说过的每一句话和他说过的每一句话，既不添加一个字，也不减少一个字，在他头脑中像过电影似的，详细地回顾了她的表情和她的微笑，他现在所想的只是不停地重复。他对自己所做的事情是好还是坏，连一丝一毫怀疑的影子也不存在了。只有一团可怕的疑云不时在头脑中掠过。所有这一切莫非是在做梦吧？玛丽亚公爵小姐没有弄错了吧？我是不是太自负，或者是太自信了呢？我有信心；可是突然之间说不定会发生这种事：玛丽亚公爵小姐告诉了她，她一定会微微一笑，回答她说：“真是太奇怪了！他多半是弄错了。难道他不知道他自己是一个什么样的人，是一个普普通通的人嘛！可是我呢？……我则完全不同，我是另一种人，高尚的人。” 
①法语：我爱您。
只有这团疑云常常在他的脑海中掠过，他现在也还没有制定任何计划。他似乎觉得眼前的这个幸福是那么不可思议，然而，他只要能够得到它，往后就不再会有什么事了，一切都圆满告终了。
一种令人喜悦的、意外的疯狂支配着皮埃尔，而这种喜悦和疯狂是他从前不认为自己也会有的。人生的全部意义，不仅对于他一个人，而是对整个世界来说，他觉得只在于他的爱情，只在于她能不能爱他，有时候，他觉得所有的人所忙的就只有一件事——就是为他们的未来的幸福而奔忙。有时候，他又觉得，所有的人都同他一样高兴，只不过他们尽力掩饰这种高兴，假装他们的兴趣在其他方面罢了。他把人们的一言一行都看作是对他的幸福所作的暗示。他经常以他那意味深长的自己感到幸福的目光和微笑（似乎他们之间已有默契），使遇见他的人感到吃惊。但是，当他明白了人家可能尚不知道他的幸福的时候，他就十分可怜他们，并且想对他们加以解释，他们所忙碌的一切都只不过是一种不值得注意的无足轻重的一些小事罢了。
当人们建议他出来做点事，或者当人们讨论某种公共的、国家的事情和战争时；人们认为某件事这样或那样的结局将决定大家的幸福的时候，他总是以一种温和的、同情的微笑聆听着，并且发表一些奇谈怪论，使同他说话的人感到惊奇。皮埃尔觉得，那些懂得生命的真正意义的人，也就是懂得他的感情的人，以及那些显然不懂得这一点的人，——在这一时期里，所有的人，他觉得都被他的光辉感情照得通体透亮，不管遇见什么人，他立刻毫不费力地从他们身上看出一切好的值得爱的东西来。
他在处理亡妻的事务和一些文件的时候，除了惋惜她已经永远不可能知道他现在所知道的幸福之外，对亡妻竟然没有丝毫怀念之情。瓦西里公爵现在由于已经谋得一个新官职和获得了几枚勋章，特别骄傲，而在皮埃尔的心目中，他只不过是一个令人感动的、善良的、可怜的老头子。
皮埃尔在后来经常回忆在这一段时间里幸福的狂热。他认为，在这一段时间里所形成的对人们和对环境的一切见解，永远都是正确的。他后来不仅不放弃这些对人和对事物的观点，而且恰恰相反，每当在他的内心产生某种怀疑和产生矛盾的时候，他总是要求助于在那段狂热时期所形成的看法，而这个观点永远都被证明是正确的。
“可能，”他想，“我在当时的确显得有点稀奇和古怪；然而，当时我并不像从表面上看到的那样狂热。正相反，我在当时却比任何时候都更聪明，更能够看清楚一切事情，只要是在生活中值得了解的一切，全都了解了，因为……当时我是幸福的。”
皮埃尔的狂热就在于，他不像以往那样，一定要在他所爱的人身上发现被他称之为人所应当具有的优秀品质的时候，才爱他们，而现在他的内心充满了爱，他在无缘无故地爱人们的时候，他总能找到值得他爱他们的无可争辩的理由。
Book 15 Chapter 20
FROM THAT FIRST EVENING, when Natasha had said to Princess Marya, with a gaily mocking smile, that he looked exactly, yes, exactly, as if he had come out of a bath with his short jacket and his cropped hair—from that minute something hidden and unrecognised by herself, yet irresistible, awakened in Natasha's soul.
Everything—face, gait, eyes, voice—everything was at once transformed in her. To her own surprise, the force of life and hopes of happiness floated to the surface and demanded satisfaction. From that first evening Natasha seemed to have forgotten all that had happened to her. From that time she never once complained of her position; she said not one word about the past, and was not afraid of already making light-hearted plans for the future. She spoke little of Pierre; but when Princess Marya mentioned him, a light that had long been dim gleamed in her eyes, and her lips curved in a strange smile.
The change that took place in Natasha at first surprised Princess Marya; but when she understood what it meant, that change mortified her. “Can she have loved my brother so little that she can so soon forget him?” thought Princess Marya, when she thought over it alone. But when she was with Natasha she was not vexed with her, and did not blame her. The awakened force of life that had regained possession of Natasha was obviously so irresistible and so unexpected by herself, that in Natasha's presence Princess Marya felt that she had no right to blame her even in her heart.
Natasha gave herself up with such completeness and sincerity to her new feeling that she did not even attempt to conceal that she was not now sorrowful, but glad and happy.
When Princess Marya had returned to her room that night after her interview with Pierre, Natasha met her on the threshold.
“He has spoken? Yes? He has spoken?” she repeated. And a joyful, and at the same time piteous, expression, that begged forgiveness for its joy, was in Natasha's face. “I wanted to listen at the door; but I knew you would tell me.”
Ready as Princess Marya was to understand and to be touched by the expression with which Natasha looked at her, and much as she felt for her agitation, yet her words for the first moment mortified her. She thought of her brother and his love.
“But what is one to do? She cannot help it,” thought Princess Marya; and with a sad and somewhat severe face she repeated to Natasha all Pierre had said to her. Natasha was stupefied to hear he was going to Petersburg. “To Petersburg!” she repeated, as though unable to take it in.
But looking at the mournful expression of Princess Marya's face she divined the cause of her sadness, and suddenly burst into tears.
“Marie,” she said, “tell me what I am to do. I am afraid of being horrid. Whatever you say, I will do; tell me …”
“You love him?”
“Yes!” whispered Natasha.
“What are you crying for, then? I am very glad for you,” said Princess Marya, moved by those tears to complete forgiveness of Natasha's joy.
“It will not be soon … some day. Only think how happy it will be when I am his wife and you marry Nikolay!”
“Natasha, I have begged you not to speak of that. Let us talk of you.”
Both were silent.
“Only why go to Petersburg?” cried Natasha suddenly, and she hastened to answer herself. “No, no; it must be so … Yes, Marie? It must be …”
自从皮埃尔走后的那第一个晚上，当娜塔莎带着一种快乐的、讥讽的微笑对玛丽亚公爵小姐说，他真的像是刚从浴室内走出来一样，穿着常礼服，头发剪得短短的，从这一刻起，在娜塔莎的心中却有某一种隐蔽的，甚至连她自己本身也莫明其妙的，又难以克制的东西苏醒了。 
所有的一切：面孔、脚步、目光、声音——她的所有的一切，突然间都完全改变了。就连她自身也感到意外的东西——生命的力量以及对幸福的渴望，都浮升到表面上来了，而且渴望予以满足。从第一天晚上起，娜塔莎好像把她自己以往的所有的一切都忘得一干二净了。她从此之后，没有一次埋怨过自己的处境，她对过去哪怕是一个字也从不提及，她已经不害怕制订未来的美好的计划了。她很难得谈到皮埃尔，每当玛丽亚公爵小姐提起他时，在她的眼睛里久已熄灭了的那种亮光又重新燃烧起来了，她的嘴唇咧着独特的微笑。
在娜塔莎身上所发生的变化最初使玛丽亚公爵小姐感到吃惊；但当她明白了这种变化的意义时，这一变化使她感到痛心。“难道她对我哥哥的爱情就那么淡漠，这样快就把他给忘掉了。”当玛丽亚公爵小姐独自一人在忖度娜塔莎所发生的这种改变时，她在内心里这样想。但是，当她和娜塔莎在一起的时候，她并不生的气，也不责备她。在娜塔莎身上洋溢着的一种复苏的生命力，十分明显地，是无法遏止的，对于玛丽亚公爵小姐来说，却是完全出乎意料之外，以致使她在娜塔莎的面前觉得她没有任何权利哪怕是只在内心里去责怪她。
娜塔莎以全部身心和所有的真诚沉湎于这一新的感情之中，她并不想掩饰它，她现在没有悲哀，而只有高兴和快乐。
那天夜间，当玛丽亚公爵小姐和皮埃尔谈过话之后回自己的房间时，娜塔莎在房门口迎着她。
“他说了？是吗？他说了？”她翻来覆去地说道。娜塔莎脸上露出欢喜的、同时又是怪可怜的、为这种欢喜请求原谅的表情。
“我原本想在门口听的；但是，我知道你一定会告诉我。”
对于娜塔莎看她的那种眼神，尽管玛丽亚公爵小姐已经非常理解，已经非常感动；尽管娜塔莎那激动的样子确实令人同情；然而，娜塔莎所说的话，在最初的一刹那间仍然使玛丽亚公爵小姐感到屈辱。她想起了哥哥，想起了他的爱情。
“可是有什么办法呢！她不能不这样，”玛丽亚公爵小姐想；于是她带着忧郁的、有几分严肃的表情，把皮埃尔对她说的话全都告诉了娜塔莎。听说皮埃尔要动身去彼得堡；娜塔莎吃了一惊。
“去彼得堡！”她重复说，似乎没有听懂似的。但是当她一看玛丽亚公爵小姐脸上忧郁的神情，就猜到了她难过的原因，她突然哭了起来。“玛丽，”她说，“告诉我，我应当怎么办：我生怕会做出傻事来；你告诉我该怎么办我就怎么办；告诉我吧……”
“你爱他吗？”
“爱。”娜塔莎细声说。
“那你哭什么？我为你高兴。”玛丽亚公爵小姐说，由于她流了泪，她已经原谅了娜塔莎的快乐了。
“这不会很快了，总有这么一天。你想一想，我做了他的妻子，你嫁给尼古拉，那该是多幸福啊！”
“娜塔莎，我不是求你别谈这个吗？咱们只谈你的事。”
她们沉默了一会儿。
“不过他为什么要去彼得堡！”娜塔莎说，她连忙自己作出了回答：“不，不，应该去……玛丽，你说是吗？应该去……”
Epilogue 1 Chapter 1
SEVEN YEARS had passed by. The storm-tossed, historic ocean of Europe was subsiding within its shores. It seemed to have grown calm; but the mysterious forces moving humanity (mysterious, because the laws controlling their action are unknown to us) were still at work.
Although the surface of the ocean of history seemed motionless, the movement of humanity was as uninterrupted as the flow of time. Various series of groups of men were joining together and separating; the causes were being prepared that would bring about the formation and the dissolution of empires and the migrations of peoples.
The ocean of history was not now, as before, tossed violently from one shore to the other; it was seething in its depths. Historical figures were not dashing abruptly from one side to the other; now they seemed to be rotating on the same spot. The historical figures, that had in the preceding years at the head of armies reflected the movement of the masses, commanding wars, and marches, and battles, now reflected that movement in political and diplomatic combinations, statutes, and treaties.
This tendency on the part of the figures of history, the historians call the reaction.
In describing the part played by these historical personages, the historians criticise them severely, supposing them to be the cause of what they call the reaction. All the celebrated persons of that period, from Alexander and Napoleon to Madame de Sta?l, Foty, Schelling, Fichte, Chateaubriand, and so on, receive the severest criticism at their hands, and are acquitted or condemned according as they worked for progress or for reaction.
In Russia, too, so they tell us, a reaction was taking place at that period, and the person chiefly to blame for that reaction was Alexander I.—the same Alexander who, by their own account, was chiefly responsible for the liberal movement at the beginning of his reign, and for the saving of Russia.
In modern Russian literature there is no one, from the schoolboy essay writer to the learned historian, who would not throw his stone at Alexander for the unprincipled acts of this later period of his reign.
“He should have acted in such and such a way. On that occasion he acted well, and on that other he acted ill. He behaved splendidly in the beginning of his reign and during 1812; but he did ill in giving a constitution to Poland, in making the Holy Alliance, in letting Araktcheev have power, in encouraging Golitsin and mysticism; and later on, in encouraging Shishkov, and Foty. He acted wrongly in interfering with the army on active service; he acted wrongly in cashiering the Semyonovsky regiment, and so on.”
One might cover ten pages in enumerating all the faults found in him by the historians on the assumption that they possess a knowledge of what is for the good of humanity.
What do these criticisms mean?
Do not the very actions for which the historians applaud Alexander I., such as the liberalism of the early part of his reign, the struggle with Napoleon, the firmness shown in 1812, and the campaign of 1813, proceed from those very sources—the circumstances of birth and breeding and life that made Alexander's personality what it was—from which proceed also the acts for which he is censured by the historians, such as the Holy Alliance, the restoration of Poland, the reaction from 1820 onward?
What is the substance of the charge brought in these criticisms? It is a charge brought against an historical personage standing at the highest possible pinnacle of human power, as it were, in the focus where all the rays of history concentrated their blinding light upon him; a personage subjected to the strongest influences of intrigue, deceit, flattery, and self-deception, inseparable from power; a personage who felt himself at every moment of his life responsible for all that was being done in Europe; and a personage, not an invented character, but a live creature, like any other man, with his own personal idiosyncrasies, and passions and impulses towards goodness, beauty, and truth. And the charge brought against this personage is not that he was not virtuous (the historians have no reproach to make against him on this score), but that he, living fifty years ago, had not the same views as to the good of humanity as those held to-day by a professor who has, from his youth up, been engaged in study, i.e. in reading books, listening to lectures, and making notes of those books and those lectures in a note-book.
But even if we assume that Alexander I., fifty years ago, was mistaken in his view of what was for the good of peoples, we can hardly help assuming that the historian, criticising Alexander, will, after a certain lapse of time, prove to be also incorrect in his view of what is for the good of humanity. It is the more natural and inevitable to assume this because, watching the development of history, we see that with every year, with every new writer, the view of what is for the good of humanity is somewhat shifted; so that what did seem good, after ten years, is regarded as harmful, and vice versa. That is not all. We even find in history the views of contemporaries as to what was good, and what was harmful, utterly opposed to one another. Some regard the giving of a constitution to Poland, and the Holy Alliance, as highly to the credit of Alexander; while others regard the same actions as a slur on his name.
It is impossible to say of the careers of Alexander and of Napoleon that they were beneficial or harmful, seeing that we cannot say wherein the benefit or harm of humanity lies. If any one dislikes the career of either, he only dislikes it from its incompatibility with his own limited conception of what is the good of humanity. Even though I regard as good the preservation of my father's house in Moscow in 1812, or the glory of the Russian army, or the flourishing of the Petersburg or some other university, or the independence of Poland, or the supremacy of Russia, or the balance of European power, or a special branch of European enlightenment—progress—yet I am bound to admit that the activity of any historical personage had, apart from such ends, other ends more general and beyond my grasp.
But let us suppose that so-called science has the power of conciliating all contradictions, and has an invariable standard of good and bad by which to try historical personages and events.
Let us suppose that Alexander could have acted quite differently. Let us assume that, in accordance with the prescription of those who censure him, and who profess a knowledge of the final end of the movement of humanity, he could have followed that programme of nationalism, of freedom, of equality, and of progress (there seems to be no other) which his modern critics would have selected for him. Let us suppose that programme could have been possible, and had actually been formulated at that time, and that Alexander could have acted in accordance with it. What, then, would have become of the activity of all the persons who were opposing the tendency of the government of that day—of the activity which, in the opinion of the historians, was good and beneficial? There would have been none of that activity; there would have been no life; there would have been nothing.
Once admit that human life can be guided by reason, and all possibility of life is annihilated.
一八一二年来到了，然后又过了七年。奔腾汹涌的欧洲历史的海洋已经平静了。它似乎沉默下来，但那些推动人类前进的神秘力量（其所以神秘，因为规定这些力量运动的法则，我们还不了解），却继续起着作用。 
虽然，历史海洋的表面似乎不在运动，但人类却像不断前进的时间一样，继续向前迈进。人们所组成的各种集团建立了，又解散了。国家的建立和解体以及各个民族的迁移的种种原因都在酝酿着。
历史的海洋，已不像先前那样从此岸向彼岸凶猛急遽地冲击；但它却在海水的深处汹涌翻腾。历史人物也不像先前那样被波涛从此岸向彼岸卷过来卷过去；现在他们仿佛停留在原处，只是在漩涡里打转。原先，这些历史人物领导着军队，发布命令，宣战、出征、会战，藉之以击退民众运动；而现在却巧用政治和外交手腕，利用法律和条约来击退汹涌澎湃的群众运动。
历史人物的这种活动，史学家们称之为反动。
史学家们在描述这些过去的历史人物的活动时，往往声色俱厉地谴责他们，因为史学家们认为那些历史人物就是他们所指的反动的祸根。当时所有闻名的人物，从亚历山大和拿破仑到斯塔埃尔夫人、福蒂、谢林、费希特、谢多勃良以及和其他一些人物都遭受到史学家们的严正的审判，并视他们是否有助于进步或反动而宣告无罪或加以谴责。
按照史学家们的记载，这一时期在俄国也发生过反动，这次反动的元凶，就是亚历山大一世。正是这个亚历山大一世（仍然是按照史学家们的记载）在其统治初期就倡导自由主义，宣扬拯救俄国。
在现有的俄国文献中，从中学生到学识渊博的史学家，没有一人不因亚历山大一世在位时的错误行为而向他投掷石子。
“他本应如此这般地行事。他在某件事上做得好，而在另一件事上则做得糟。他在当政初期和一八一二年干得很出色；但是，给波兰制订宪法、成立神圣同盟、把大权授与阿拉克契耶夫、鼓励戈利岑和神秘主义，嗣后又鼓励希什科夫和福蒂，这些事就做得很糟。他过问前线的军队，做得不对；解散谢苗诺夫兵团，他也处理得不当，等等，等等。”
史学家根据他们所具有的关于人类福利的知识，对亚历山大一世所作的种种责备，如果要加以枚举的话，就得写满整整十页纸。
这些责备是什么意思呢？
亚历山大一世受到史学家赞扬的行为，如登位初期的一些自由主义的创举、抗击拿破仑、一八一二年所表现的强硬态度、一八一三年的出征，同那些受到史学家谴责的行为，如成立神圣同盟、使波兰复国、二十年代的反动，不都是从形成亚历山大一世个性的血统、教育、生活诸条件的同一根源中产生出来的吗？
这些责备的实质究竟是什么呢？
其实质在于：亚历山大一世是一个处于人类权力可能达到的顶峰、就像是处于夺目的历史光辉在他身上聚成的焦点上的历史人物。像他这样的人物，理应受到伴随权力而来的阴谋、欺诈、阿谀、自欺的世上最强有力的影响；像他这样的人物，在他一生中的每时每刻都感到自己应对欧洲所发生的一切负责。这个人物不是凭空虚构的，而是有血有肉的活人。他像所有的人那样，有自己的习惯、情欲、对真善美的渴望——这个人物在五十年前，并非缺乏美德（史学家也没有在这方面责难他）。但是他却没有当代教授们对人类幸福所具有的看法和观点——这些教授们从青年时代起就钻研学问，广谈博览，领会讲义材料的精神，并把他的心得记在自己的笔记本上。
假定说，五十年前亚历山大一世对人类的幸福的看法是错误的，那么，当然也应该这样认为，指摘亚历山大的史学家对人类幸福的观点，在若干年之后，也将被认为是不正确的。这种假定之所以合乎情理，必不可少，那是因为我们只要注意一下历史的发展，就会看到，对人类幸福的看法，随着时代的不同，随着作家的不同，在不断地改变着。因此，本来认为是福，十年后就会认为是祸，反之亦然。不仅如此，即使在同一时期，我们可以看到历史上对祸福的看法有时也是完全矛盾的。例如，一些人认为给波兰以宪法和神圣同盟是亚历山大的功劳，但另一些人却因此而谴责亚历山大。
对亚历山大和拿破仑的行为，不能简单地说有益或有害，因为我们说不出它为什么有益和为什么有害。假如某些人不喜欢某些活动，无非是因为这些活动不符合他对幸福的狭隘的看法。不论是一八一二年我父亲在莫斯科的房子得到保存，还是俄国军队的光荣，或者彼得堡大学或其他大学的繁荣，或者波兰的自由，或者俄国的强大，或者欧洲的均衡，或者欧洲的某种文明进步，对这些现象不论我是否认为是福，我都得承认，任何历史人物的行为，除了这些目的之外，还有其他我所不理解的更带有普遍性的目的。
可是，我们假定所谓科学有调和一切矛盾的可能性，它也有衡量历史人物和历史事件好坏永不改变的尺度。
我们假定，亚历山大能够按照另外一个样子来做这一切事情。我们假定，他可以按照那些指责他的、自命深知人类活动终极目标的人的指示行事，同时依照现在指责他的人所提供的民族性、自由、平等和进步的纲领（似乎也没有更新的纲领了）治国。我们假定，可能有这么一个纲领，而且已经拟定好了，亚历山大也按照这个纲领来办了。那么，那些反对当时政府方针政策的人们的一切活动——史学家认为那些活动是有益的，好的，会成什么样呢？这种活动是不会有的，实际的生活也不会有，所有这一切都不会有的。
如果说，人类的生活可以受理性支配，那就不可能有实际生活了。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 2
IF ONE ADMITS, as historians do, that great men lead humanity to the attainment of certain ends, such as the aggrandisement of Russia or of France, or the balance of power, or the diffusion of the ideas of the revolution, or of general progress, or anything else you like, it becomes impossible to explain the phenomena of history apart from the conceptions of chance and genius.
If the object of the European wars of the beginning of this century had been the aggrandisement of Russia, that object might have been attained without any of the preceding wars, and without invasion of foreign territory.
If the object were the aggrandisement of France, that aim might have been attained apart from the revolution and the empire. If the object were the diffusion of ideas, the printing of books would have attained that object much more effectually than soldiers. If the object were the progress of civilisation, one may very readily assume that there are other more effectual means of diffusing civilisation than the slaughter of men and the destruction of their property.
Why did it come to pass in this way and no other? Because it happened so. “Chance created the position; genius took advantage of it,” says history.
But what is chance? What is genius?
The words chance and genius mean nothing actually existing, and so cannot be defined. These words merely denote a certain stage in the comprehension of phenomena. I do not know how some phenomenon is brought about; I believe that I cannot know; consequently I do not want to know and talk of chance. I see a force producing an effect out of proportion with the average effect of human powers; I do not understand how this is brought about, and I talk about genius.
To a flock of sheep the sheep who is every evening driven by the shepherd into a special pen to feed, and becomes twice as fat as the rest, must seem to be a genius. And the circumstance that every evening that sheep does not come into the common fold, but into a special pen full of oats, and that that same sheep grows fat and is killed for mutton, must present itself to the minds of the other sheep as a singular conjunction of genius with a whole series of exceptional chances.
But the sheep need only cease to assume that all that is done to them is with a view to the attainment of their sheepish ends; they need only admit that the events that occur to them may have ends beyond their ken, and they will at once see a unity and a coherence in what happens with the fatted sheep. Even though they will not know for what end he is fattened, at least they will know that all what happens to him does not happen by chance, and they will have no need to resort to the conception of chance, nor to the conception of genius.
It is only by renouncing all claims to knowledge of an immediate comprehensible aim, and acknowledging the final aim to be beyond our ken, that we see a consistent whole in the life of historical persons. The cause is then revealed to us of that effect produced by them out of proportion with the common powers of humanity; and we have no need of the words chance and genius.
We have only to admit that the object of the convulsions of the European nations is beyond our knowledge, and that we know only the facts, consisting mainly of murders committed at first in France, then in Italy, then in Africa, in Prussia, in Austria, in Spain, and in Russia, and that the movements from west to east and from east to west constitute the essence and end of those events, and we shall not need to see something exceptional—genius—in the characters of Napoleon and of Alexander, and shall indeed be unable to conceive of those persons as being in any way different from everybody else. And far from having to explain as chance those petty events, which made those men what they were, it will be clear to us that all those petty details were inevitable.
When we give up all claim to a knowledge of the final end, we shall clearly perceive that just as we cannot invent any flower or seed more truly appropriate to a plant than those it produces, so we cannot imagine any two persons, with all their past in such complete congruity down to the smallest details, with the part they were destined to play.
如果像史学家那样认为，是伟大的人物引导着人类达到一定的目的——如俄国或法国的强大，欧洲的均衡，革命思想的传播，普遍的进步，或者是其他任何方面，那么不用机遇和天才这两个概念，就无法解释历史现象了。 
如果本世纪（十九世纪）初欧洲历次战争的目的乃在于实现俄国的强大，那么，没有战争和侵略也能达到这个目的。如果目的是为了法国的强大，那么，不进行革命，不建立帝国，这个目的也能达到。如果目的是传播思想，那么，出版书籍就比动用武力有效得多。如果目的是为了文明进步，那么，不用多说，除了使用屠杀生命和销毁财富的手段之外，还有其他更适宜于传播文明的途径。
那么，为什么事情是这样发生而不是另一种情况呢？
历史告诉我们：“机遇创造时势，天才加以利用。”事情就是这样。
但什么是机遇？什么是天才？
机遇和天才并不表示任何现实中存在的东西，因此无法下定义。这两个词只表示对现象的某种程度的理解。我不知道某种现象怎么会发生。我想，我无法知道，因此也不想知道，我就说：这是机遇。我看到一种力量，这种力量产生同人类本性不相称的行为。我不明白为什么会发生这样的事，所以我只好说，这是天才。
羊群中有一头公羊，每天晚上牧羊人把它赶进一个特殊的单独羊圈，去喂养，于是它长得比别的羊肥一倍，对这群羊来说，这只羊似乎是一个天才。这头羊每天晚上不是进普通的羊圈，而是到特殊的单独羊圈里去吃燕麦，于是这头羊长得特别肥，被作为肉羊送去屠宰。这种情况应该说是天才与一系列特殊的偶然机会的奇妙结合。
但是，那些绵羊只要不再认为，它们所遇到的一切都是为了达到它们这群羊的目的；只要认为它们周围所发生的事件可能有它们所不了解的种种目的。那么，它们就会立刻看到，那头养肥的公羊所遇到的事情具有连贯性和统一性。即使它们不知道喂肥这头公羊的目的何在，它们起码知道，那只公羊的遭遇绝非偶然，因此，不论是机遇还是天才这些概念，它们已经无须去了解了。
只要不去探求眼前容易理解的目的，并承认最终目的是无法知道的，我们就能看出那些历史人物一生中遇到的事情的连贯性和合理性。我们才能发现他们那种不符合人类本性的行为的原因，因而我们也就不需要机会和天才这些名词了。
我们只有承认，欧洲各国人民动乱的目的究竟是什么，我们并不清楚。我们只知道以下事实；起初在法国，后来在意大利，在非洲，在普鲁士，在奥地利，在西班牙，在俄国——在这些地方都发生了屠杀事件；还有，西方向东方进军，东方向西方进军，所有这些事件构成了一个共同的本质。这样我们不仅不必在拿破仑和亚历山大二人的性格中去找他们独有的特点和天才，而且对这两个人也不可另眼相看，认为跟其他人有什么不同。同时我们也无须用偶然性来解释促使这些历史人物本身发生变化的那些琐事，而且将会明显地看出，这一些琐事也是必然会发生的。
放弃对最终目的的探求，我们便会清楚地看到，一种植物有一种植物的花朵和种子，我们无法去空想更适合于这种植物的其他花朵和种子。同样，我们也无法想象其他两个有各自经历的人能比拿破仑和亚历山大更合适地、更细致地和更彻底地完成他们天赋的使命。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 3
THE UNDERLYING ESSENTIALLY SIGNIFICANT FEATURE of the European events at the beginning of the present century is the military movement of masses of European peoples from west to east, and again from east to west. The original movement was that from west to east. That the peoples of the west might be able to accomplish the military march upon Moscow, which they did accomplish, it was essential (1) that they should be combined in a military group of such a magnitude as to be able to withstand the resistance of the military group of the east; (2) that they should have renounced all their established traditions and habits; and (3) that they should have at their head a man able to justify in his own name and theirs the perpetration of all the deception, robbery, and murder that accompany that movement.
And to start from the French Revolution, that old group of insufficient magnitude is broken up; the old habits and traditions are destroyed; step by step a group is elaborated of new dimensions, new habits, and new traditions; and the man is prepared, who is to stand at the head of the coming movement, and to take upon himself the whole responsibility of what has to be done.
A man of no convictions, no habits, no traditions, no name, not even a Frenchman, by the strangest freaks of chance, as it seems, rises above the seething parties of France, and without attaching himself to any one of them, advances to a prominent position.
The incompetence of his colleagues, the weakness and insignificance of his opponents, the frankness of the deception, and the dazzling and self-confident limitation of the man raise him to the head of the army. The brilliant personal qualities of the soldiers of the Italian army, the disinclination to fight of his opponents, and his childish insolence and conceit gain him military glory. Innumerable so-called chance circumstances attend him everywhere. The disfavour into which he falls with the French Directorate turns to his advantage. His efforts to avoid the path ordained for him are unsuccessful; he is not received into the Russia army, and his projects in Turkey come to nothing.
During the wars in Italy he was several times on the verge of destruction, and was every time saved in an unexpected fashion. The Russian troops—the very troops which were able to demolish his glory—owing to various diplomatic considerations, do not enter Europe until he is there.
On his return from Italy, he finds the government in Paris in that process of dissolution in which all men who are in the government are inevitably effaced and nullified. And an escape for him from that perilous position offers itself in the shape of an aimless, groundless expedition to Africa. Again the same so-called chance circumstances accompany him. Malta, the impregnable, surrenders without a shot being fired; the most ill-considered measures are crowned with success. The enemy's fleet, which later on does not let one boat escape it, now lets a whole army elude it. In Africa a whole series of outrages is perpetrated on the almost unarmed inhabitants. And the men perpetrating these atrocities, and their leader most of all, persuade themselves that it is noble, it is glory, that it is like C?sar and Alexander of Macedon, and that it is fine.
That ideal of glory and of greatness, consisting in esteeming nothing one does wrong, and glorying in every crime, and ascribing to it an incomprehensible, supernatural value—that ideal, destined to guide this man and those connected with him, is elaborated on a grand scale in Africa. Whatever he does succeeds. The plague does not touch him. The cruelty of murdering his prisoners is not remembered against him. His childishly imprudent, groundless, and ignoble departure from Africa, abandoning his comrades in misfortune, does him good service; and again the enemy's fleet lets him twice slip through their hands. At the moment when, completely intoxicated by the success of his crimes and ready for the part he has to play, he arrives in Paris entirely without any plan, the disintegration of the Republican government, which might have involved him in its ruin a year before, has now reached its utmost limit, and his presence, a man independent of parties, can now only aid his elevation.
He has no sort of plan; he is afraid of everything; but all parties clutch at him and insist on his support.
He alone—with the ideal of glory and greatness he has acquired in Italy and Egypt, with his frenzy of self-adoration, with his insolence in crime, and his frankness in mendacity—he alone can justify what has to be accomplished.
He is needed for the place that awaits him, and so, almost apart from his own volition, and in spite of his uncertainty, the lack of plan, and the blunders he commits, he is drawn into a conspiracy that aims at seizing power; and that conspiracy is crowned with success.
He is dragged into the assembly of the rulers. In alarm he tries to flee, believing himself in danger; pretends to faint, says the most senseless things that should have been his ruin. But the rulers of France, once proud and discerning, now feeling their part is over, are even more panic-stricken than he, and fail to utter the words they should have pronounced to preserve their power and crush him.
Chance, millions of chances, give him power; and all men, as though in league together, combine to confirm that power. Chance circumstances create the characters of the rulers of France, who cringe before him; chance creates the character of Paul I., who acknowledges his authority; chance causes the plot against him to strengthen his power instead of shaking it. Chance throws the Duc d'Enghien into his hands and accidentally impels him to kill him, thereby convincing the crowd by the strongest of all arguments that he has the right on his side since he has the might. Chance brings it to pass that though he strains every nerve to fit out an expedition against England, which would unmistakably have led to his ruin, he never puts this project into execution, and happens to fall upon Mack with the Austrians, who surrender without a battle. Chance and genius give him the victory at Austerlitz; and by chance it comes to pass that all men, not only the French, but all the countries of Europe except England, which takes no part in the events that are to be accomplished, forget their old horror and aversion for his crimes, and now recognise the power he has gained by them, acknowledge the title he has bestowed upon himself, and accept his ideal of greatness and glory, which seems to every one something fine and rational.
As though practising and preparing themselves for the great movement before them, the forces of the west made several dashes—in 1805, 1806, 1807 and 1809—into the east, growing stronger and more numerous. In 1811 a group of men formed in France is joined by an enormous group from the peoples of Central Europe. As the numbers of the great mass increase, the power of justification of the man at the head of the movement gathers more and more force. During the ten years of the preparatory period preceding the great movement, this man forms relations with all the crowned heads of Europe. The sovereigns of the world, stripped bare by him, can oppose no rational ideal to the senseless Napoleonic ideal of glory and greatness. They vie with one another in demonstrating to him their insignificance. The King of Prussia sends his wife to sue for the good graces of the great man; the Emperor of Austria considers it a favour for this man to take the daughter of the Kaisers to his bed. The Pope, the guardian of the faith of the peoples, uses religion to aid the great man's elevation. Napoleon does not so much prepare himself for the part he is to play as all around him lead him on to take upon himself the responsibility of what is being done and is to be done. There is no act, no crime, no petty deceit which he would not commit, and which would not be at once represented on the lips of those about him as a great deed. The most suitable fête the Germans could think of in his honour was the celebration of Jena and Auerstadt. Not only is he great; his forefathers, his brothers, his step-children, and his brothers-in-law are great too. Everything is done to deprive him of the last glimmering of reason, and to prepare him for his terrible part. And when he is ready, his forces too are in readiness.
The invading army flows towards the east and reaches its final goal: Moscow. The ancient city is taken; the Russian army suffers greater losses than were ever suffered by the opposing armies in the previous wars from Austerlitz to Wagram. But all at once, instead of that chance and genius, which had so consistently led him hitherto by an uninterrupted series of successes to his destined goal, an immense number of chance circumstances occur of an opposite kind from the cold caught at Borodino to the spark that fired Moscow; and instead of genius there was shown a folly and baseness unexampled in history.
The invading army flees away, turns back and flees again; and all the chances now are consistently not for but against him.
Then there follows the opposing movement from east to west, with a remarkable similarity to the eastward movement from the west that had preceded it. There were similar tentative movements westward as had in 1805, 1807 and 1809 preceded the great eastward movement. There was the same cohesion together of all into one group of immense numbers; the same adherence of the peoples of Central Europe to the movement; the same hesitation midway, and the same increased velocity as the goal was approached.
Paris, the furthest goal, was reached. Napoleon's government and armies are shattered. Napoleon himself is of no further consequence; all his actions are obviously paltry and mean; but again inexplicable chance comes in. The allies detest Napoleon, in whom they see the cause of all their troubles. Stripped of his power and his might, convicted of frauds and villainies, he should have been seen by them as he had been ten years before, and was a year later—a brigand outside the pale of the law. But by some strange freak of chance no one sees it. His part is not yet played out. The man who ten years back, and one year later, was looked on as a miscreant outside the law, was sent by them to an island two days' journey from France, given to him as his domain, with guards and millions of money, as though to pay him for some service he had done.
本世纪（十九世纪）初叶，许多欧洲事件中的一个重大事实，那就是欧洲各国的民众自西向东、后来又自东向西的黩武活动。这种活动是从自西向东的进军开始的。 
西方各国为了能够完成直捣莫斯科的好战行动，必须做到：一、组成一支足以对付东方军队的庞大军事集团；第二、摈弃一切旧有的传统和习惯；第三，要有一个首领，在进行其军事活动时，他既能为他们，也能为他自己的欺诈、抢劫和屠杀等行为进行辩护。
随着法国革命的爆发，旧的不够强大的集团逐渐崩溃，旧习惯和旧传统逐渐消亡，具有新规模的集团、新习惯和新传统逐步形成，一个领导未来运动并对即将发生的一切承担全部责任的人物应运而生。
一个没有信仰、没有习惯、没有传统、没有名望，甚至祖籍不是法国的人似乎凭借极其奇特的偶然机会，在使法国波动的各党派之间，不依附其中的任何党派，竟然出人头地，爬上了显赫的地位。
同僚的浅薄无知、对手的软弱而渺小、本人的撒谎本领、华而不实和刚愎自用使他成为军队的首脑。意大利士兵的优良素质、敌人的丧失斗志、孩子般的冲动鲁莽和盲目自信，使他获得了军事声望。他到处碰到的都是所谓的机会。他在法国执政者面前失宠反而造成他的有利形势。他企图改变自己的命运，但未成功；他投奔俄国军队，未被录用；要求去土耳其参军，也没有去成。在意大利战争期间，他几次处于死亡边缘，但每次都意外地得救。俄国军队，就是那后来使他身败名裂的俄国军队，由于外交方面的种种考虑，直到他离开欧洲时才进军欧洲①。 
①此处指一七九九年俄将苏沃洛夫率兵远征意大利，而当时拿破仑正在埃及。
他从意大利回国，发现巴黎政府分崩离析，凡是参与这个政府的人，无不遭到清洗和毁灭。
正在此时，又竟无理智地莫明其妙地让他远征非洲，很自然地使他摆脱了危险的处境。这时，他又碰上了偶然的情形。无法攻破的马耳他岛竟不战而降，最轻率的军事命令却取得了胜利。事后连一条船也不准通过的敌方海军，当时却让拿破仑全军通过。在非洲，他对几乎手无寸铁的老百姓犯下一系列罪行。而犯下这些罪行的人，特别是他们的首领，竟使自己相信，认为这么干很好，很光荣，这才像古罗马的皇帝凯撒和马其顿君王亚历山大。
那种光荣与伟大的理想是：拿破仑及其手下之辈不仅不认为自己的行为恶劣，而且还为自己犯下的罪行自豪，并赋予它莫明其妙的超自然意义——正是这种必能指导这个人及其随行者的理想在非洲获得充分的发挥。他不论做什么都是马到成功。连瘟疫也没有传染给他。屠杀俘虏的暴行没有归咎于他。他像孩子般地毫无道理地也不光彩地撒下患难中的伙伴，若无其事地又从非洲溜走，并且连这种举动也算成他的功绩，而敌人的海军又两次放他通行。他陶醉于自己侥幸取得成功的罪行，并准备继续演出自己的闹剧，他又茫无目的地闯到巴黎。这时一年前可能置他于死地的共和国政府更加腐朽透顶，于是他这个超然于各党派之外的新人自然就身价百倍。
他没有任何计划，他什么都怕，但各党派都拉拢他，要求他参加。
他在意大利和埃及培植了光荣和伟大的理想，他疯狂地自我崇拜，他大胆地犯下罪行，他毫无顾忌地撒谎，只有他这样的人才能为所发生的事辩护。
那个需要他的位置在等待他，因此，几乎不是出于他本人的意愿，尽管他犹豫不决，缺乏计划，屡犯错误，但他还是被拉去参与以攫取权力为目的的阴谋活动，而且取得了成功。
他被拉去出席政府会议。他惊慌失措想要逃走，认为自己末日已到；他假装晕倒，胡言乱语，这些毫无意味的话本来可能送掉他的性命。但是，原来那么精明老练、骄傲自大的法国统治者，这时觉得他们的戏现在已经演完，显得比他更加狼狈，他们说起话来，颠三倒四，语无伦次，结果既不能保住政权，也不能将拿破仑置之于死地。
机遇，成千上万个机遇，赐给他权力，而所有的人像是商量好了似的，都协助他确立这个权力。机遇使当时的法国统治者情愿服从他；机遇使保罗一世情愿承认他的权力；机遇使反对他的阴谋不仅对他无害，反而巩固了他的权力。机遇使昂季安公爵落入他的手中，并且出乎意外地迫使他杀害公爵。所有这一切比任何其他手段都更有力地使群众信服他有权有势。机遇使他把全力远征英国的意图（远征英国肯定会使他毁灭，而且这个意图永远无法实现）突然改为进攻马克和他率领的不战而降的奥地利军队。机遇和天才给了他在奥斯特利茨的胜利。由于偶然所有的人，不仅法国人，而且全体欧洲人（仅未参与当时事件的英国人除外），尽管原先对他的罪行怀有恐惧和厌恶，现在也承认了他的权力，承认了他自封的称号，承认了他那伟大与光荣的理想，并认为这种理想是美好和合理的。
西方列强在一八○五、一八○六、一八○七、一八○九年几次东进，不断地增强和壮大，好像是在估量一下自己的实力，以便对行将到来的运动作好准备。一八一一年法国组成的联队同中欧各国的人丁汇合成一个庞大的集团。随着队伍的不断壮大，替军事领袖制造舆论、进行辩护的势力也不断增强。在准备大规模运动前的十年中，这位领袖人物纠集了欧洲所有头戴王冠的人。世界各国的统治者原形毕露，无力对抗拿破仑的光荣与伟大的理想。他们一个接着一个在他面前卑躬屈膝。普鲁士国王派他的妻子向这个伟人阿谀谄媚；奥地利皇帝认为，这位大人物把公主请进床帏是莫大的恩宠；教皇，各国人民的神圣保护者利用宗教来抬高这位伟人的身价。与其说拿破仑自己给自己准备好扮演的角色，不如说周围的人让他承担正在发生和将要发生事件的全部责任。他所干的每件事，每桩罪行和小小的诈骗行为，都立刻被他周围的人说成是伟大的楷模。日耳曼人为他想出的最好庆典是耶拿和奥尔施泰特的庆祝活动，不仅他是个伟人，连他的祖先、兄弟、养子和妹夫都很伟大。一切事情的发生都要为了使他丧失最后一点理性，准备让他去扮演最可怕的角色。等他准备好了，兵力也准备好了。
侵略军的矛头指向东方，并到达了最后的目的地—莫斯科。京城沦陷，俄军的损失比敌军先前从奥斯特利茨到瓦格拉木历次战争所受的损失还惨重。但是突然使他从一系列胜利走向既定目标的偶然和天才消失了，出现了无数相反的偶然——从他在波罗底诺着凉伤风到天气严寒以及焚烧莫斯科之火。同时，天才也不见了，代之以史无前例的愚蠢和卑劣。
侵略军逃跑了，不停地往回跑，一逃再逃，如今一切机会和偶然都不是帮助他而是同他作对了。
自东向西的一次逆向的军事行动现在发动了，它同原来自西向东的运动十分相似。在大规模行动发生之前，一八○五年、一八○七年、直到一八○九年也有自东向西的同样行动的尝试，也同样组成了庞大的军事集团；也有中欧各国的参与，也有中途动摇，也是越接近目的地行动的速度越快。
巴黎——最后的目的地达到了。拿破仑的政府和军队垮台了。拿破仑本人也就没有什么价值了，他的一切行动都显得可怜和可惜。但是，一个莫明其妙的偶然机会又出现了。盟国仇恨拿破仑，认为他是他们遭受灾难的祸根。拿破仑被剥夺了权力，他的罪恶和奸诈，受到无情的揭露，人们理应像十年前和一年后那样，看出他是个无法无天的强盗。然而，由于某种奇怪的偶然机会，谁也没有看出这一点。他的戏还没有演完。这个十年前和一年后被认为无法无天的强盗，被遣送到离法国两天航程的小岛上，并让他管辖小岛，又给了他卫队，不知为什么还送给他几百万金钱。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 4
THE COMMOTION among the peoples begins to subside. The waves of the great tempest begin to abate, and eddies begin to be formed about the calmer surface where diplomatists are busy, fancying the calm is their work.
But all at once the quiet sea is convulsed again. The diplomatists imagine that they, their disagreements, are the cause of this fresh disturbance; they look for wars between their sovereigns; the position seems insoluble. But the storm they feel brewing does not come from the quarter where they look for it. It rises again from the same starting point—Paris. The last backwash of the westward movement follows—the backwash which was to solve the seemingly inextricable diplomatic difficulties, and to put an end to the military unrest of the period.
The man who has devastated France comes back to France alone, with no project, and no soldiers. Any policeman can arrest him; but by a strange freak of chance no one does seize him, but all meet with enthusiasm the man they have been cursing but a day before, and will curse again within a month.
That man is needed for the last act winding up the drama.
The act is performed.
The last part is played. The actor is bidden to undress, and wash off his powder and paint; he will be needed no more.
And for several years this man, in solitude on his island, plays his pitiful farce to himself, intrigues and lies, justifying his conduct when a justification is no longer needed, and shows all the world what the thing was men took for power when an unseen hand guided it.
The stage manager, when the drama was over, and the puppet stripped, showed him to us.
“Look what you believed in! Here he is! Do you see now that it was not he but I that moved you?”
But blinded by the force of the movement men for long could not perceive that.
Even more coherence and inevitability is to be seen in the life of Alexander I., the personage who stood at the head of the counter-movement from east westward.
What was needed for the man who, to the exclusion of others, should stand at the head of that movement from the east westward?
There was needed a sense of justice, an interest in the affairs of Europe, but a remote one, not obscured by petty interests, a moral preeminence over his peers—the sovereigns of the time; there was needed a gentle and attractive personal character; there was needed too a personal grievance against Napoleon. And all that is to be seen in Alexander I.; it was all prepared beforehand by the innumerable so-called chance circumstances of his previous life, by his education and the liberalism of the beginning of his reign, and the counsellors around, and Austerlitz, and Tilsit, and Erfurt.
During the war in defence of the country this personage is inactive; he is not needed. But as soon as a general European war becomes inevitable, at the given moment, he is in his place, and bringing the European peoples together he leads them to the goal.
The goal is reached. After the last war of 1815 Alexander finds himself at the highest possible pinnacle of human power. How does he use it?
While Napoleon in his exile was drawing up childish and lying schemes of the blessings he would have showered on humanity if he had had the power, Alexander, the pacifier of Europe, the man who, from his youth up, had striven for nothing but the good of the people, the first champion of liberal reforms in his country, now when he seemed to possess the greatest possible power, and consequent possibility of doing good to his people, felt his work was done, and God's hand was laid upon him, and recognising the nothingness of that semblance of power, turned from it, gave it up to despicable men, and men he despised, and could only say:
“Not to us, not to us, but to Thy Name! I too am a man like all of you; let me live like a man, and think of my soul and of God.”
Just as the sun and every atom of ether is a sphere complete in itself, and at the same time is only a part of a whole inconceivable to man through its vastness, so every individuality bears within it its own ends and yet bears them so as to serve general ends unfathomable by man.
A bee settling on a flower has stung a child. And the child dreads bees, and says the object of the bee is to sting people. A poet admires the bee, sipping honey from the cup of the flower, and says the object of the bee is to sip the nectar of the flower. A beekeeper, noticing that the bee gathers pollen and brings it to the hive, says that the object of the bee is to gather honey. Another beekeeper, who has studied the life of the swarm more closely, says the bee gathers honey to feed the young ones, and to rear a queen, that the object of the bee is the perpetuation of its race. The botanist observes that the bee flying with the pollen fertilises the pistil, and in this he sees the object of the bee. Another, watching the hybridisation of plants, sees that the bee contributes to that end also, and he may say that the bee's object is that. But the final aim of the bee is not exhausted by one or another, or a third aim, which the human intellect is capable of discovering. The higher the human intellect rises in the discovery of such aims, the more obvious it becomes that the final aim is beyond its reach.
All that is within the reach of man is the observation of the analogy of the life of the bee with other manifestations of life. And the same is true with the final aims of historical persons and of nations.
各国之间的军事行动的波涛在岸边停息下来。大规模军事行动的浪潮退落下去，平静的海面上形成一个个漩涡。外交家们在漩涡里打转儿，并且以为是他们平息了军事活动。 
但是，平静的大海突然又动荡起来。外交家认为这次风浪骤起是由于他们意见不合，他们预料各国君王之间又要发生战争，这种局势是无法解决的。但是他们觉得，这次风浪并非来自他们预料的方向。这次风浪仍旧来自运动的出发点——巴黎。来自西方的行动遇到了最后一次逆流。这股逆流必须解决外交上似乎无法解决的难题，结束这一时期的军事行动。
这个使法国遭到浩劫的人，没有施展任何阴谋手段，没带一兵一卒，只身回到了法国。每一个卫兵都可以逮捕他，但由于奇怪的偶然机遇，谁也没有抓他，大家还热烈地欢迎这个一天前他们还在咒骂、一月后他们还要咒骂的人。
这个人还要为最后一次集体行动辩护。
戏收场了，最后一个角色演完了。演员奉命卸装，洗去粉墨胭脂，再也用不着他了。
几年过去了。在这期间这个独处孤岛的人还自我欣赏着他自己演出的悲喜剧，在已经用不着为自己的行为辩护的时候，他还在耍诡计、说谎话为自己的行为辩护，并向全世界表明，人们看作是权势的东西不是别的，而是一只引导着他的无形的手。
戏收场了，演员卸装了，舞台监督把演员指给我们看。
“请看，你们相信的是什么吧！这就是他！过去使你们感情激动的并不是他，而是我，现在你们明白了吧？！”
但是，被这些行动的威力搞得头晕目眩的人们，很久都无法了解这一点。
至于亚历山大一世，这个领导自东向西的逆向军事行动的人，他的一生就显得有更大的连贯性和必然性。
这个挡住别人、领导这自东向西的军事活动的人，他需要什么呢？
需要正义感和对欧洲各项事务的关心，不是为微利所蒙蔽的关心，而是长远的关心；他需要在精神上超越于合作共事的各国君王；他要有温和而富有魅力的人品；需要有反对拿破仑的个人私仇。所有这一切亚历山大一世都具备，这一切是由他本人经历的无数偶然机会所造成的：譬如教育，自由主义的创举，周围的顾问以及奥斯特利茨战役、蒂尔西特会谈和埃尔富特会议。
在全民战争时期，这个人没有什么作为，因为用不着他。但一旦需要进行欧洲的全面战争，这个人就显露头角，得其所哉，他就能把欧洲各国联合起来，领导他们奔向目的地。
目的达到了。一八一五年最后一场战争结束后，亚历山大便处在个人可能达到的权力顶峰。他怎样运用他的权力呢？
亚历山大一世这个平定欧洲的人，从青年时代起就一心为自己的民族谋求福利，并在自己的祖国首先倡导自由主义改革，现在他似乎拥有最大的权力，因此能为民族谋求福利，而就在此时拿破仑在流放中竟还痴人说梦，拟订出儿戏般的虚假计划，扬言如他掌握政权，就能造福人类，这时亚历山大一世在完成他的使命后，感觉上帝的手在支配他，受到上帝启示，突然省悟到这种虚假的权力渺不足道，就摈弃这种权力，把它交给他所蔑视的小人。他只说：
“光荣的权力不属于我们，不属于我们，而属于你的圣名！”我也是一个人，和你们一样的人，让我像一个普通人那样生活，让我经常想到上帝和自己灵魂的纯洁吧！”
太阳和太空的每个原子都是自身完整的球形体，同时又是非常庞大的以致于人类无法理解的那个宇宙整体的一个原子。同样，每个人都有自己的目的，而这种目的又是为那人类无法理解的总目的服务的。
一只落在花上的蜜蜂蜇了一个孩子。孩子怕蜜蜂，说蜜蜂活着就是为了蜇人。诗人欣赏采花的蜜蜂，他就说蜜蜂吸蜜就是为了吸取花香。养蜂人看到蜜蜂采集花粉和蜜汁带回蜂房，于是就说，蜜蜂的目的是要采蜜。另一个养蜂人更仔细地研究了蜂群的生活，于是就说，蜜蜂采集花粉和蜜汁是为了养育幼蜂，供奉蜂王，目的是要传种接代繁衍种族。植物学家看到，蜜蜂飞来飞去把异株花粉带到雌蕊上，使雌蕊受粉，因此就认为蜜蜂活着是为了传送花粉。另一个植物学家考察植物的迁移，看见蜜蜂有助于这种迁移，于是这个新的考察者就可能说，这才是蜜蜂的目的。但蜜蜂的最终目的，并不限于这个、那个、第三个等等这些人类智慧所能揭示的目的。人类揭示这些目的的智慧越高，也就更加难以解释清楚，最终目的到底是什么。
人类所能了解的，只是观察到蜜蜂的生活和别的生活现象相对应的关系而已。对历史人物和各国人民的活动目的的理解，也是这样。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 5
NATASHA'S MARRIAGE to Bezuhov, which took place in 1813, was the last happy event in the family of the old Rostovs. Count Ilya Andreivitch died the same year; and as is always the case, with the death of the father the family was broken up.
The events of the previous year: the burning of Moscow and the flight from that city; the death of Prince Andrey and Natasha's despair; the death of Petya and the grief of the countess fell like one blow after another on the old count's head. He seemed not to understand, and to feel himself incapable of understanding, the significance of all these events, and figuratively speaking, bowed his old head to the storm, as though expecting and seeking fresh blows to make an end of him. By turns he seemed scared and distraught, and then unnaturally lively and active.
Natasha's marriage for a time occupied him on its external side. He arranged dinners and suppers in honour of it, and obviously tried to be cheerful; but his cheerfulness was not infectious as in old days, but, on the contrary, aroused the commiseration of those who knew and liked him.
After Pierre and his wife had left, he collapsed and began to complain of depression. A few days later he fell ill and took to his bed. In spite of the doctor's assurances, he knew from the first days of his illness that he would never get up again. For a whole fortnight the countess sat in a low chair by his pillow, never taking off her clothes. Every time she gave him his medicine, he mutely kissed her hand, weeping. On the last day, sobbing, he begged forgiveness of his wife, and of his absent son, too, for squandering their property, the chief sin that lay on his conscience. After receiving absolution and the last unction, he quietly died; and next day a crowd of acquaintances, come to pay the last debt of respect to the deceased, filled the Rostovs' hired lodgings. All those acquaintances, who had so often dined and danced in his house, and had so often laughed at his expense, were saying now with the same inward feeling of contrition and self-reproach, as though seeking to justify themselves: “Yes, whatever he may have been, he was a splendid man. One doesn't meet such men nowadays … And who has not his weaknesses?…”
It was precisely when the count's fortunes were so irretrievably embroiled that he could not conceive how, in another year, it would end, that he suddenly died.
Nikolay was with the Russian army in Paris when the news of his father's death reached him. He at once applied for his discharge, and without waiting for it, obtained leave and went to Moscow. Within a month after the count's death the financial position had been made perfectly clear, astounding every one by the immense sum of various petty debts, the existence of which no one had suspected. The debts were more than double the assets of the estate.
The friends and relations advised Nikolay to refuse to accept his inheritance. But Nikolay looked on such a refusal as a slur on the honoured memory of his father; and so he would not hear of such a course, and accepted the inheritance with the obligation of paying the debts.
The creditors, who had so long been silent, held in check during the old count's lifetime by the vague but powerful influence of his easy good-nature, all beset Nikolay at once. There seemed, as so often happens, a sort of rivalry among them, which should get paid first; and the very people, such as Mitenka and others, who held promissory notes, not received in discharge of debts, but as presents, were now the most importunate of the creditors. They would give Nikolay no peace and no respite, and those who had shown pity for the old man, who was responsible for their losses (if they really had lost money by him), were now ruthless in their persecution of the young heir, who was obviously guiltless as far as they were concerned, and had voluntarily undertaken to pay them.
Not one of the plans that Nikolay resorted to was successful: the estate was sold by auction at half its value, and half the debts remained still unpaid. Nikolay accepted a loan of thirty thousand roubles offered him by his brother-in-law Bezuhov; and paid that portion of the debts that he recognised as genuine obligations. And to avoid being thrown into prison for the remainder, as the creditors threatened, he once more entered the government service.
To return to the army, where at the next promotion he would have been colonel, was out of the question, because his mother now clung to her son as her one hold on life. And so in spite of his disinclination to remain in Moscow, in the midst of a circle of acquaintances who had known him in former days, in spite of his distaste for the civil service, he accepted a civilian post in Moscow, and taking off his beloved uniform, established himself in a little lodging in Sivtsevoy Vrazhok with his mother and Sonya.
Natasha and Pierre were living at this period in Petersburg, and had no very distinct idea of Nikolay's position. After having borrowed money from his brother-in-law, Nikolay did his utmost to conceal his poverty-stricken position from him. His situation was rendered the more difficult, as with his twelve hundred roubles of salary he had not only to keep himself, Sonya, and his mother, but to keep his mother in such a way that she would not be sensible of their poverty. The countess could not conceive of life being possible without the luxurious surroundings to which she had been accustomed from her childhood; and without any idea of its being difficult for her son, she was continually insisting on having a carriage, which they had not, to send for a friend, or an expensive delicacy for herself, or wine for her son, or money to buy a present, as a surprise for Natasha, for Sonya, or for Nikolay himself.
Sonya kept house, waited on her aunt, read aloud to her, bore with her caprices and her secret dislike, and helped Nikolay to conceal from the old countess their poverty-stricken position. Nikolay felt himself under a debt of gratitude to Sonya that he could never repay, for all she did for his mother; he admired her patience and devotion, but he tried to keep himself aloof from her.
In his heart he seemed to feel a sort of grudge against her for being too perfect, and for there being no fault to find with her. She had all the good qualities for which people are valued, but little of what would have made him love her. And he felt that the more he valued her the less he loved her. He had taken her at her word when she had written to him giving him his freedom, and now he behaved with her as though what had passed between them had been long, long ago forgotten, and could never under any circumstances be renewed.
Nikolay's position was becoming worse and worse. His hope of laying by something out of his salary proved to be an idle dream. Far from saving anything, he was even running up some small debts to satisfy his mother's exigencies. There seemed no means of escape from his position. The idea of marrying a rich heiress, which his female relatives suggested, was repulsive to him. The only other solution of his difficulties—the death of his mother—never entered his head. He desired nothing, and hoped for nothing; and at the bottom of his heart he took a stern and gloomy satisfaction in the unrepining endurance of his position. He tried to avoid his old acquaintances, with their commiseration and their mortifying offers of assistance; shunned every sort of entertainment and amusement; and even at home did nothing but play patience with his mother, pace silently about the room, and smoke pipe after pipe. He seemed studiously to maintain in himself that gloomy temper, which alone enabled him to bear his position.
一八一三年娜塔莎同皮埃尔·别祖霍夫结婚，这是老罗斯托夫家最后一件喜事。就在这一年，伊利亚·罗斯托夫伯爵去世。他一死，就像通常发生的情形一样，这个旧家庭也就解体了。 
过去一年发生的几件事：莫斯科大火、从莫斯科逃难、安德烈公爵的死、娜塔莎的悲观失望、彼佳的死，以及老伯爵夫人的悲伤，——所有这一切，接二连三地给老伯爵以沉重打击。他似乎不了解也无法了解这些事件的意义，他垂下他那老年人的头，在精神上一蹶不振，好像正在期待和乞求新的打击，以结束自己的生命，他有时惊惶不安，不知所措，有时精神亢奋、雄心勃勃。
他为娜塔莎的婚礼表面上忙了一阵子。他预订午宴和晚宴的酒席，显然是想装出快乐的样子；但是他的快乐已不像以前那样感染人，反而使熟悉他和喜爱他的人觉得他可怜。
皮埃尔带着妻子走后，他开始沉默下来，同时抱怨，说他感到寂寞、烦闷。几天后，他病倒在床。从他生病时开始，虽经医生一再劝慰，他已自知他再也起不来了。伯爵夫人和衣坐在安乐椅上，在他床头守了两个星期。每次夫人给他递药，他总是抽泣，默默地吻她的手。临终那天，他痛哭失声，请求妻子和不在跟前的儿子宽恕他的主要罪过——荡尽家产。领过圣餐、行过涂敷圣油仪式后，他平静地死去了。第二天，在罗斯托夫家所租用的住宅内，挤满了亲朋好友，向死者的遗体告别。所有这些常在他家吃饭、跳舞，并且时常嘲笑他的人们，现在都怀着悔恨和内疚的心情，仿佛向谁作自我辩解似地说：“不管怎么说，他是一个极好的人。如今再也遇不到这样的人了……再说，为人在世，谁能没有一点缺点呢？……”
伯爵此时死去，是在他的经济情况步入山穷水尽之地，已无法想象是否能再熬上一年的时候。正是在这种的情况下，他突然死了。
尼古拉接到父亲去世的噩耗时，正随着俄国军队驻在巴黎。他立刻提出辞职，不等批准，就请假回莫斯科。伯爵死后一个月，家里的经济情况就弄清楚了。虽然谁都知道伯爵负债累累，这些零星债务的数额之大令人吃惊。负债的总数比家产大上一倍。
亲友们劝尼古拉不要接受遗产。但是尼古拉认为拒绝接受遗产是孝子对亡父的神圣纪念的亵渎，因此没有听取劝告，毅然承担起还债的义务。
伯爵在世时，由于他生性善良，人缘较好，债主们慑于他那种难以捉摸的强大影响，以前一直不好开口，如今却蜂拥而至上门要债。就像一般情况那样，债主们争着首先得到债款，像米坚卡等持有赠予期票的人，现在就成为讨债最急的人了。那些原来可怜老伯爵（似乎他使他们受到损失）（就算受过损失）的人，现在却不肯放宽尼古拉的还债期限，也不给他喘息的机会，现在也毫不留情地向那个显然没欠他们帐却自愿承担债务的年轻人逼债。
尼古拉所设想的周转办法没有一种获得成功，地产以半价卖出去了，但仍有一半债务未能偿还。尼古拉接受了妹夫别祖霍夫借给他的三万卢布，以偿还他认为欠的是现款的真正的债款，他为了不致为余下的债务而坐牢（债主们以此威胁他），他只有重新去任公职。
虽然重返军队可以补上团长的空缺，但他不能去，因为母亲现在把儿子当作她生活中唯一的倚靠，抓住他不放。因此，尽管他不愿留在莫斯科熟人中间，尽管他讨厌文职工作，他还是在莫斯科找了一个文官职务。这样，他就脱下心爱的军服，同母亲和索尼娅搬到西夫采夫·弗拉若克区一所小住宅里。
娜塔莎和皮埃尔这时住在彼得堡，不太了解尼古拉的困境。尼古拉向妹夫借了钱，但竭力掩饰他的窘境，尼古拉的处境特别为难，因为他要用一千二百卢布养活自己、索尼娅和母亲，而且还不能让母亲知道他们家已十分穷困。伯爵夫人简直无法想象如果缺乏她从小过惯的奢侈环境怎样生活下去，她不知道儿子有多艰难，还不断提出各种要求：时而要马车去接熟人（此时他们家已没有马车了），时而为自己要佳肴美食或者为儿子要美酒，时而要钱为娜塔莎、索尼雅和尼古拉买一件他们意想不到的高级礼物。
索尼娅料理家务，侍奉姑母，念书给她听，忍受她的任性和内心中对她的嫌恶，帮助尼古拉向老公爵夫人隐瞒他们经济上的窘迫。尼古拉因索尼娅尽心尽力照顾母亲，对她感激不尽。他赞赏她的耐心和忠诚，却竭力疏远她。
他在心里责怪她，好像就因为她十分完美，几乎无法责怪她，她有一切为人们所珍惜的品德，可是就缺少使他爱的东西。他觉得他越是赞赏她的为人、她的品德，就越是爱不起来。她过去在信中写到她给他自由的诺言，现在他对她的态度，就像过去的一切老早老早就给忘记了，再也无法挽回了。
尼古拉的处境每况愈下。从薪金里攒点钱，显然是不切实际的幻想。他不仅攒不了钱，而且为了满足母亲的要求，又借了几笔小债。他找不到摆脱困境的办法。亲戚们劝他娶一位有钱的姑娘，他颇为反感。摆脱困境的另一条出路——母亲去世，他从来没有想到过，他没有任何心愿，不抱任何希望，在逆境中不发牢骚，没有怨言，而在内心深处却享受一种忧郁而严峻的欢乐。他竭力避开过去的熟人，避开他们的同情和令人屈辱的帮助。他摆脱一切娱乐消遣，甚至在家里也不做什么，只和母亲玩玩牌，在室内默默地踱步，一袋接着一袋地吸烟。他似乎竭力保持忧郁的心情，仿佛只有这样才能忍受他的处境。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 6
AT THE BEGINNING of the winter Princess Marya arrived in Moscow. From the gossip of the town she heard of the position of the Rostovs, and of how “the son was sacrificing himself for his mother,” as the gossips said. “It is just what I expected of him,” Princess Marya said to herself, finding in it a delightful confirmation of her love for him. Remembering her intimate relations with the whole family—almost as one of themselves—she thought it her duty to call on them. But thinking of her relations with Nikolay in Voronezh, she was afraid of doing so. A few weeks after her arrival in Moscow, she did, however, make an effort, and went to see the Rostovs.
Nikolay was the first to meet her, since it was impossible to reach the countess's room without passing through his room. Instead of the expression of delight Princess Marya had expected to see on his face at the first glance at her, he met her with a look of chilliness, stiffness, and pride that she had never seen before. Nikolay inquired after her health, conducted her to his mother, and, after staying five minutes, went out of the room.
When Princess Marya left the countess, Nikolay again met her, and with marked formality and stiffness led her to the hall. He made no reply to her remarks about the countess's health. “What is it to you? Leave me in peace,” his expression seemed to say.
“And why should she stroll in here? What does she want? I can't endure these ladies and all these civilities!” he said aloud before Sonya, obviously unable to restrain his vexation, after the princess's carriage had rolled away from the house.
“Oh, how can you talk like that, Nicolas,” said Sonya, hardly able to conceal her delight. “She is so kind, and maman is so fond of her.”
Nikolay made no reply, and would have liked to say no more about Princess Marya. But after her visit the old countess talked about her several times every day.
She sang her praises; insisted that her son should go and see her; expressed a wish to see more of her; and yet was always out of temper when she had been talking of her.
Nikolay tried to say nothing when his mother talked of Princess Marya, but his silence irritated her.
“She is a very good and conscientious girl,” she would say, “and you must go and call on her. Anyway, you will see some one; and it is dull for you, I expect, with us.”
“But I don't at all wish to, mamma.”
“Why, you wanted to see people and now you don't wish it. I really don't understand you, my dear. At one minute you are dull, and the next you suddenly don't care to see any one.”
“Why, I never said I was dull.”
“Why, you said yourself you did not even wish to see her. She is a very good girl, and you always liked her; and now all of a sudden you have some reasons or other. Everything is kept a secret from me.”
“Not at all, mamma.”
“If I were to beg you to do something unpleasant, but as it is, I simply beg you to drive over and return her call. Why, civility demands it, I should suppose … I have begged you to do so, and now I will meddle no further since you have secrets from your mother.”
“But I will go, if you wish it.”
“It's nothing to me; it's for your sake I wish it.”
Nikolay sighed, and bit his moustache, and dealt the cards, trying to draw his mother's attention to another subject.
Next day, and the third, and the fourth, the same conversation was repeated again and again.
After her visit to the Rostovs, and the unexpectedly cold reception she had met with from Nikolay, Princess Marya acknowledged to herself that she had been right in not wanting to be the first to call.
“It was just what I expected,” she said to herself, summoning her pride to her aid. “I have no concern with him, and I only wanted to see the old lady, who was always kind to me, and to whom I am under obligation for many things.”
But she could not tranquillise herself with these reflections: a feeling akin to remorse fretted her, when she thought of her visit. Although she was firmly resolved not to call again on the Rostovs, and to forget all about it, she was continually feeling herself in an undefined position. And when she asked herself what it was that worried her, she was obliged to admit that it was her relation to Rostov. His cold, ceremonious tone did not proceed from his feeling for her (of that she was convinced), but that tone covered something. What that something was, she wanted to see clearly, and till then she felt that she could not be at peace.
In the middle of the winter she was sitting in the schoolroom, supervising her nephew's lessons, when the servant announced that Rostov was below. With the firm determination not to betray her secret, and not to manifest any embarrassment, she summoned Mademoiselle Bourienne, and with her went into the drawing-room.
At the first glance at Nikolay's face, she saw that he had come merely to perform the obligations of civility, and she determined to keep to the tone he adopted towards her.
They talked of the health of the countess, of common acquaintances, of the latest news of the war, and when the ten minutes required by propriety had elapsed, Nikolay got up to say good-bye.
With the aid of Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Marya had kept up the conversation very well. But at the very last moment, just when he was getting up, she was so weary of talking of what did not interest her, and she was so absorbed in wondering why to her alone so little joy had been vouchsafed in life, that in a fit of abstraction, she sat motionless gazing straight before her with her luminous eyes, and not noticing that he was getting up.
Nikolay looked at her, and anxious to appear not to notice her abstraction, he said a few words to Mademoiselle Bourienne, and again glanced at the princess. She was sitting in the same immovable pose, and there was a look of suffering on her soft face. He felt suddenly sorry for her, and vaguely conscious that he might be the cause of the sadness he saw in her face. He longed to help her, to say something pleasant to her, but he could not think what to say to her.
“Good-bye, princess,” he said. She started, flushed, and sighed heavily.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said, as though waking from sleep. “You are going already, count; well, good-bye! Oh, the cushion for the countess?”
“Wait a minute, I will fetch it,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, and she left the room.
They were both silent, glancing at each other now and then.
“Yes, princess,” said Nikolay at last, with a mournful smile, “it seems not long ago, but how much has happened since the first time we met at Bogutcharovo. We all seemed in such trouble then, but I would give a great deal to have that time back … and there's no bringing it back.”
Princess Marya was looking intently at him with her luminous eyes, as he said that. She seemed trying to divine the secret import of his words, which would make clear his feeling towards her.
“Yes, yes,” she said, “but you have no need to regret the past, count. As I conceive of your life now, you will always think of it with satisfaction, because the self-sacrifice in which you are now …”
“I cannot accept your praises,” he interrupted hurriedly; “on the contrary, I am always reproaching myself; but it is an uninteresting and cheerless subject.”
And again the stiff and cold expression came back into his face. But Princess Marya saw in him again now the man she had known and loved, and it was to that man only she was speaking now.
“I thought you would allow me to say that,” she said. “I have been such intimate friends with you … and with your family, and I thought you would not feel my sympathy intrusive; but I made a mistake,” she said. Her voice suddenly shook. “I don't know why,” she went on, recovering herself, “you used to be different, and …”
“There are thousands of reasons why.” (He laid special stress on the word why.) “I thank you, princess,” he added softly. “It is sometimes hard …”
“So that is why! That is why!” an inner voice was saying in Princess Marya's soul. “Yes, it was not only that gay, kind, and frank gaze, not only that handsome exterior I loved in him; I divined his noble, firm, and self-sacrificing soul,” she said to herself.
“Yes, he is poor now, and I am rich … Yes, it is only that … Yes, if it were not for that …” And recalling all his former tenderness, and looking now at his kind and sad face, she suddenly understood the reason of his coldness.
“Why! count, why?” she almost cried all at once, involuntarily moving nearer to him. “Why, do tell me. You must tell me.” He was mute. “I do not know, count, your why,” she went on. “But I am sad, I … I will own that to you. You mean for some reason to deprive me of our old friendship. And that hurts me.” There were tears in her eyes and in her voice. “I have had so little happiness in my life that every loss is hard for me … Excuse me, good-bye,” she suddenly burst into tears, and was going out of the room.
“Princess! stay, for God's sake,” he cried, trying to stop her. “Princess!”
She looked round. For a few seconds they gazed mutely in each other's eyes, and the remote and impossible became all at once close at hand, possible and inevitable.
初冬，玛丽亚公爵小姐来到莫斯科。她从城里传闻得知罗斯托夫家的情况，还听说：“当儿子的为母亲自我牺牲”—— 
城里人都这么说。
“我就知道他是这样一个人。”玛丽亚公爵小姐对自己说，她觉得她还是爱他的，不由得心中一阵喜悦。她回顾她家和罗斯托夫全家旧日的交情，几乎像一家人那么亲密地觉得她应当去看他们。但一想到在沃罗涅日她同尼古拉的关系，又害怕起来。不过在莫斯科待了几个星期后，她还是鼓足勇气去拜访罗斯托夫一家。
第一个迎接她的人是尼古拉，因为去伯爵夫人那里必须先经过他的房间。向玛丽亚公爵小姐第一眼看去时，尼古拉脸上的表情不是她所一直期待的欣喜之情，而是一种她从未见到过的冷淡和高傲。尼古拉向她问了好，把她领到母亲屋里，坐了四五分钟就走了。
公爵小姐从伯爵夫人屋里出来，尼古拉又迎着她，冷淡又一本正经地把她送到前厅，她提起伯爵夫人的健康时他一句话也没有回答。“这关您什么事？别打扰了我的平静！”他的眼神似乎这么说。
“她闯到这里来干什么？她要干什么呀？我实在受不了这些阔小姐和她们的客套！”等公爵小姐的马车一走，他显然控制不住心中的怒气，当着索尼娅的面大声说。
“哎呀，你怎么可以这样说呢？！尼古拉！”索尼娅几乎掩饰不住自己内心中的喜悦，说。“她是那么善良，妈妈又那么爱她。”
尼古拉没有回答，他根本不想再谈到公爵小姐。但自从公爵小姐来访后，伯爵夫人每天都要几次提到她。
伯爵夫人夸奖她，她要儿子到她那儿去一次，并表示想常常看到她。但是，一谈到公爵小姐时，夫人总觉得心中不是滋味。
做母亲的一提起公爵小姐，尼古拉总是不作声，他的沉默更惹急了母亲。
“她可是个又贤惠，又可爱的好姑娘”她说，“你应该去看看她，你总得去见见人，要不老和我们在一起，会憋死的，我这样想着。”
“我一点不想去见人，妈妈。”
“你原来说要见见人，现在又不要见人了。宝贝儿子，我真弄不明白。你一会儿闷得慌，一会儿又不要见人。”
“我又没说过我闷得慌。”
“什么，你不是说你连见都不愿见她吗？她可是个好姑娘，你一向喜欢她，可现在不知什么缘故，什么事都瞒着我。”
“我一点也没有瞒你，妈妈。”
“如果我求你做什么不愉快的事，倒也罢了，我只不过求你回访一次。这是应尽的礼数……我求过你了，既然你有事瞒着母亲，我就再不过问你的事了。”
“您一定要我去的话，我去就是了。”
“我无所谓，我都是为你着想。”
尼古拉咬咬胡子叹了口气，他开始发牌，极力引开母亲的注意力。
第二天、第三天、第四天，一连几天一再重复这样的谈话。
自从访问过罗斯托夫家，受到尼古拉意外的冷遇以后，玛丽亚公爵小姐暗自承认，她原来不想首先去拜访罗斯托夫家，看来这个想法是对的。
“我又没有期望得到其他什么结果，”她借助她的傲气，自言自语地说。“我和他有什么关系，我不过是想看看老太太，她一向待我很好，我欠了她老人家不少情。”
但这些想法并不能使她内心得到安慰：当她回想那次访问时，总有一种悔恨之情在折磨她。尽管她决定不再去罗斯托夫家，把在那里发生的一切都忘掉，但她总觉得自己好像没有着落似的。她问自己，什么事使她烦恼时，她不得不承认，那就是她和尼古拉的关系。他对她彬彬有礼的冷淡态度并非出自他内心的真正的感情（这一点她是知道的），他这种态度掩盖着某种东西。这一点她需要弄明白，而迄今使她内心不能平静的也正是这一点。
仲冬的一天，她正在教室里照看侄儿做功课，仆人通报尼古拉来访。她决定不动声色，竭力保持镇定，她请布里安小姐和她一同到客厅里去。
她第一眼就从尼古拉脸上看出，他只是来回拜一下，于是她就决定采取同他一样的态度。
他们谈到伯爵夫人的健康，谈到一些共同的熟人，也谈到最近的战讯。这样的礼节性的寒暄通常需要十分钟，过后客人就可以起身，此时，尼古拉站起来告辞了。
在布里安小姐的协助下，公爵小姐总算顺利地进行了这场谈话。但是就在最后一分钟，当尼古拉站起来告辞的那个时刻，公爵小姐感到这种敷衍性交谈令人十分疲劳，又想到为什么生活对她个人给予的欢乐是这么少——这种思绪如此萦绕着她的心，以致她突然感到心神恍惚，她那双明亮的眼睛凝视着前方，没有注意到尼古拉已经起立，而她仍然坐在那儿不动。
尼古拉看了看她，想假装没有看出她的走神，就跟布里安小姐谈了几句话，又看了一眼公爵小姐。她依旧坐在那儿不动，和善的脸上现出痛苦的神色。他忽然可怜起她来并模模糊糊地意识到可能是他伤了她的心，使她脸上现出哀怨的表情，他想帮助她，对她说些愉快的话，但想不出说什么才好。
“再见，公爵小姐。”他说。她省悟过来，脸涨得通红，深深地叹了一口气。
“哦，对不起！”她说，仿佛刚苏醒过来，“您要走了，伯爵，那么，再见！那么给伯爵夫人的枕头呢？”
“等一等，我这就去取。”布里安小姐说，走出了房门。
两个人都沉默不语，偶而看一下对方。
“是啊，公爵小姐，”尼古拉露出了苦笑，终于打破了沉默，“我们在博古恰罗沃初次见面以来，好像还是不久前的事，可是发生了多大的变化啊！我们俩人都不走远——我愿意付出一切代价来挽回那段时光……但是一切都挽回不来了。”
尼古拉说话时，公爵小姐那双明亮的眼睛凝视着他的眼睛，她仿佛竭力想从他的话里听出他内心深处对她的真正的感情。
“是的，是的，”她说，“对于过去您没有什么可惋惜的，伯爵。就我所了解的您现在的生活来说，您将会永远愉快地回忆它的，因为您现在的生活充满自我牺牲……”
“我不能接受您的赞扬，”他慌忙打断她的话，“相反，我一直在自我责备，不过说这些太乏味、太没意思了。”
于是他的眼神又像原来一样冷淡。但公爵小姐又从他身上看到原来那个熟悉而心爱的人，而她现在就正在同这个人谈话。
“我想您会让我说这些话吧，”她说，“我同您……同您一家那么亲近，所以我想您不会认为我的同情是不适当的。但我想错了，”她说。此时，她的声音突然颤抖了。“我不知道为什么，”她镇定下来继续说，“您以前不是这样的……”
“为什么——这个为什么有上千条原因（他特别加重说了为什么这三个字）。谢谢您，公爵小姐，”他低声说。“有时心中好难受啊！”
“原来如此！原来如此！”公爵小姐内心的声音在说。“对，我爱他，不光爱他那快乐、善良和开朗的眼神，不光爱他俊俏的外表，我看到他有一颗高尚、刚强和不惜自我牺牲的心，”她在心里自言自语。“是啊！他现在很穷，可我有钱……是啊！就是因为这个……是啊；如果情况不是这样……”她想起他原来的柔情，此刻望着他那善良的、忧郁的脸、她忽然明白了，他为什么冷淡的原因。
“为什么，伯爵，究竟为什么？”她向前凑近他，情不自禁地大声说，“告诉我，为什么？您将告诉我。”他不吭声。“伯爵，我知道您为什么，”她继续说。“可是，我心里感到很难过，我……我向您承认这一点。您为什么要使我失去我们原来的友谊。这使我深感痛心。”她喉咙里哽咽着，眼里含着泪。“我的生活里本来就很少有幸福，因此失去任何东西都使我更加难过……原谅我，再见。”她突然哭起来，走出屋去。
“公爵小姐！看在上帝份上，等一下！”他喊道，竭力拦住她。“公爵小姐！”
她回过头来，看着他，他们默默地相视了几秒钟，于是那遥远的原本不可能的事情，突然一下子变成了眼前的，即将成为现实的甚至是无法避免的事情了。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 7
IN THE AUTUMN of 1813, Nikolay married Princess Marya, and with his wife, and mother, and Sonya, took up his abode at Bleak Hills.
Within four years he had paid off the remainder of his debts without selling his wife's estates, and coming into a small legacy on the death of a cousin, he repaid the loan he had borrowed from Pierre also.
In another three years, by 1820, Nikolay had so well managed his pecuniary affairs that he was able to buy a small estate adjoining Bleak Hills, and was opening negotiations for the repurchase of his ancestral estate of Otradnoe, which was his cherished dream.
Though he took up the management of the land at first from necessity, he soon acquired such a passion for agriculture, that it became his favourite and almost his exclusive interest. Nikolay was a plain farmer, who did not like innovations, especially English ones, just then coming into vogue, laughed at all theoretical treatises on agriculture, did not care for factories, for raising expensive produce, or for expensive imported seed. He did not, in fact, make a hobby of any one part of the work, but kept the welfare of the estate as a whole always before his eyes. The object most prominent to his mind in the estate was not the azote nor the oxygen in the soil or the atmosphere, not a particular plough nor manure, but the principal agent by means of which the azote and the oxygen and the plough and the manure were all made effectual—that is, the labourer, the peasant. When Nikolay took up the management of the land, and began to go into its different branches, the peasant attracted his chief attention. He looked on the peasant, not merely as a tool, but also as an end in himself, and as his critic. At first he studied the peasant attentively, trying to understand what he wanted, what he thought good and bad; and he only made a pretence of making arrangements and giving orders, while he was in reality learning from the peasants their methods and their language and their views of what was good and bad. And it was only when he understood the tastes and impulses of the peasant, when he had learned to speak his speech and to grasp the hidden meaning behind his words, when he felt himself in alliance with him, that he began boldly to direct him—to perform, that is, towards him the office expected of him. And Nikolay's management produced the most brilliant results.
On taking over the control of the property, Nikolay had at once by some unerring gift of insight appointed as bailiff, as village elder, and as delegate the very men whom the peasants would have elected themselves had the choice been in their hands, and the authority once given them was never withdrawn. Before investigating the chemical constituents of manure, or going into “debit and credit” (as he liked sarcastically to call book-keeping), he found out the number of cattle the peasants possessed, and did his utmost to increase the number. He kept the peasants' families together on a large scale, and would not allow them to split up into separate households. The indolent, the dissolute, and the feeble he was equally hard upon and tried to expel them from the community. At the sowing and the carrying of the hay and corn, he watched over his own and the peasants' fields with absolutely equal care. And few landowners had fields so early and so well sown and cut, and few had such crops as Nikolay.
He did not like to have anything to do with the house-serfs, he called them parasites, and everybody said that he demoralised and spoiled them. When any order had to be given in regard to a house-serf, especially when one had to be punished, he was always in a state of indecision and asked advice of every one in the house. But whenever it was possible to send a house-serf for a soldier in place of a peasant, he did so without the smallest compunction. In all his dealings with the peasants, he never experienced the slightest hesitation. Every order he gave would, he knew, be approved by the greater majority of them.
He never allowed himself either to punish a man by adding to his burdens, or to reward him by lightening his tasks simply at the prompting of his own wishes. He could not have said what his standard was of what he ought and ought not to do; but there was a standard firm and rigid in his soul.
Often talking of some failure or irregularity, he would complain of “our Russian peasantry,” and he imagined that he could not bear the peasants.
But with his whole soul he did really love “our Russian peasantry,” and their ways; and it was through that he had perceived and adopted the only method of managing the land which could be productive of good results.
Countess Marya was jealous of this passion of her husband's for agriculture, and regretted she could not share it. But she was unable to comprehend the joys and disappointments he met with in that world apart that was so alien to her. She could not understand why he used to be so particularly eager and happy when after getting up at dawn and spending the whole morning in the fields or the threshing-floor he came back to tea with her from the sowing, the mowing, or the harvest. She could not understand why he was so delighted when he told her with enthusiasm of the well-to-do, thrifty peasant Matvey Ermishin, who had been up all night with his family, carting his sheaves, and had all harvested when no one else had begun carrying. She could not understand why, stepping out of the window on to the balcony, he smiled under his moustaches and winked so gleefully when a warm, fine rain began to fall on his young oats that were suffering from the drought, or why, when a menacing cloud blew over in mowing or harvest time, he would come in from the barn red, sunburnt, and perspiring, with the smell of wormwood in his hair, and rubbing his hands joyfully would say: “Come, another day of this and my lot, and the peasants' too, will all be in the barn.”
Still less could she understand how it was that with his good heart and everlasting readiness to anticipate her wishes, he would be thrown almost into despair when she brought him petitions from peasants or their wives who had appealed to her to be let off tasks, why it was that he, her good-natured Nikolay, obstinately refused her, angrily begging her not to meddle in his business. She felt that he had a world apart, that was intensely dear to him, governed by laws of its own which she did not understand.
Sometimes trying to understand him she would talk to him of the good work he was doing in striving for the good of his serfs; but at this he was angry and answered: “Not in the least; it never even entered my head; and for their good I would not lift my little finger. That's all romantic nonsense and old wives' cackle—all that doing good to one's neighbour. I don't want our children to be beggars; I want to build up our fortunes in my lifetime; that is all. And to do that one must have discipline, one must have strictness … So there!” he would declare, clenching his sanguine fist. “And justice too—of course,” he would add, “because if the peasant is naked and hungry, and has but one poor horse, he can do no good for himself or me.”
And doubtless because Nikolay did not allow himself to entertain the idea that he was doing anything for the sake of others, or for the sake of virtue, everything he did was fruitful. His fortune rapidly increased; the neighbouring serfs came to beg him to purchase them, and long after his death the peasantry preserved a reverent memory of his rule. “He was a master … The peasants' welfare first and then his own. And to be sure he would make no abatements. A real good master—that's what he was!”
一八一四年秋天，尼古拉和玛丽亚公爵小姐结了婚，尼古拉带着妻子、母亲和索尼娅迁到童山居住。 
三年内，他没有变卖妻子的田产就还清了其余的债务。一个表姐去世后，他继承了一笔不大的遗产，把欠皮埃尔的债也还清了。
又过了三年，到一八二○年，尼古拉已把他的财务整顿得有条不紊，更进一步在童山附近买了一处不大的庄园；此时他还在谈判买回父亲在奥特拉德诺耶的住宅——这可是他梦寐以求的一桩大事啊！
起初，他管理家业是出于需要，但不久就对经营庄园入了迷，几乎成为他独一无二的爱好了。尼古拉是个普通地主，不喜欢新办法，特别不喜欢当时流行的那套英国办法，他嘲笑经济理论著作，不喜欢办工厂，不喜欢价格高昂的产品，不喜欢种植其他贵重的农作物，也不单独经营农业的某一部门。他的目光总是盯着整个庄园，而不是庄园的某一部门，在庄园里，主要的东西不是存在于土壤和空气中的氮和氧，不是特别的犁和粪肥，而是使氮、氧、粪肥和犁发生作用的主要手段，也就是农业劳动者。当尼古拉着手管理庄园，深入了解它的各个方面的时候，尤其注重农民。他认为农民不仅是农业生产中的主要手段，而且是农业生产的最终目标和判断农业生产最后效益的主要裁判员。他先是观察农民，竭力了解他们的需要，了解他们对好坏的看法，他只是在表面上发号施令，而实际上是向农民学习他们的工作方法、语言，以及对好坏是非的判断。只有当他了解农民的爱好和愿望，学会用他们的语言说话，懂得他们话里潜在的意思，感到自己同他们已打成一片；只有在这个时候他才大胆地管理他们，也就是对农民尽他应尽的责任。尼古拉就是这样来经营他的农庄，于是在农业上他取得了最辉煌的成就。
尼古拉着手管理庄园的时候，凭着他那天赋的洞察力，立刻指定了合适的村长和工长（如果农民有权选举的话，也会选上这两个人的），而且再也不更换。他首先做的不是研究粪肥的化学成分，不是钻研借方和贷方（他爱说这种嘲笑的话），而是弄清农民牲口的头数，并千方百计使牲口增加。他支持农民维持大家庭，不赞成分家。他对懒汉、二流子和软弱无能的人一概不姑息，尽可能把他们从集体驱逐出去。
在播种、收割干草和作物上，他对自己的田地和对农民的田地一视同仁。像尼古拉这样播种和收割得又早又好、收入又这么好的地主很少。
他不爱管家奴的事，称他们为吃闲饭的人。然而大家却说他姑息家奴，把他们惯坏了。每当需要对某个家奴作出决定时，特别是作出处分时，他总是犹豫不决，要同家里所有的人商量。只有在可以用家奴代替农民去当兵的时候，他就会毫不犹豫地派家奴去当兵。在处理有关农民的问题上，他从来没有丝毫疑虑。他知道，他的每项决定都得到全体农民的拥护，最多只有一两个人持不同意见。
他不会只凭一时心血来潮找什么人的麻烦或者处分什么人，也不会凭个人的好恶宽恕人和奖赏人。他说不出什么事该做和什么事不该做，但两者的标准在他心里是明确不变的。
他对不顺利，或者乱七八糟的事，常常生气地说：“我们俄国老百姓真没办法。”他似乎觉得他无法容忍这样的农夫。
然而他却是用整个心灵爱“我们俄国老百姓”，爱他们的风俗习惯，正因为这样，他才能了解和采用最富有成效的、最适合俄罗斯农村特点的农村生产经营方法和方式。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人妒忌丈夫对事业的热爱，惋惜她不能分享这种感情，但她也不能理解他在那个对她来说是如此隔膜和生疏的世界里感受到的快乐和烦恼。她无法理解，他天一亮就起身，在田地里或打谷场上消磨整个早晨，在播种、割草或者收获后回家同她一起喝茶时，怎么总是那样兴高采烈，得意洋洋。当他赞赏地谈起富裕农户马特维·叶尔米什和他家里的人通宵搬运庄稼，别人还没有收割，可他已垛好禾捆的时候，她不能理解他讲这种事的时候怎么会这样兴致勃勃。当他看见温顺的细雨洒在干旱的燕麦苗上时，他从窗口走到阳台上，眨着眼，咧开留着胡髭的嘴唇，她无法明了他怎么会笑得那么开心。在割草或者收庄稼的时候，满天乌云被风吹散，他的脸晒得又红又黑汗水淋淋，身上带着一股苦艾和野菊的气味，从打谷场回来，这时，她不能理解为什么他总是高兴地搓着手说“再有一天，我们的粮食和农民的粮食都可以入仓了”。
她更不了解的是，这个心地善良、事事顺她意的人，一听到她替农妇式农夫求情免除他们的劳役时，为什么就会露出绝望的神情，为什么善心的尼古拉坚决拒绝她，他很气忿地叫她不要过问那与她无关的事。她觉得他有一个特殊的世界，他十分热爱那个世界，而她却不懂那个世界的某些规章制度。
她有时竭力想了解他，对他谈起他的功劳在于给农奴做了好事，他一听就恼了，他回答说：“根本不是这么回事，我从来没有这么想过，我也没有为他们谋福利。什么为他人谋幸福，全都是说得漂亮，全都是娘们的胡扯。我可不愿让我的孩子们上街去要饭，我活一天，就要理好我的家业，就是这样。为了做到这一点，就要立个好规矩，必须严格管理，就是这样。”他激动地握紧拳头说。“当然也要公平合理，”他又说，“因为，如果农民缺衣少食，家里只有一匹瘦马，那他既不能为他自己干好活，也不能给我干什么活了。”
也许，正因为尼古拉没有让自己想到他是在为别人做好事，是在乐善好施，于是他所做的一切都是那么富于成效，他的财富迅速增加，邻庄的农奴都来请求把他们买过去。就在他死后很久，农奴们还念念不忘他的治理才能。”“他是个好东家，……把农民的事放在前头，自己的事放在后头。可是他对人并不姑息。没说的——一个好东家。”
Epilogue 1 Chapter 8
THE ONE THING that sometimes troubled Nikolay in his government of his serfs was his hasty temper and his old habit, acquired in the hussars, of making free use of his fists. At first he saw nothing blameworthy in this, but in the second year of his married life his views on that form of correction underwent a sudden change.
One summer day he had sent for the village elder who had taken control at Bogutcharovo on the death of Dron. The man was accused of various acts of fraud and neglect. Nikolay went out to the steps to see him, and at the first answers the village elder made, shouts and blows were heard in the hall. On going back indoors to lunch, Nikolay went up to his wife, who was sitting with her head bent low over her embroidery frame, and began telling her, as he always did, everything that had interested him during the morning, and among other things about the Bogutcharovo elder. Countess Marya, turning red and pale and setting her lips, sat in the same pose, making no reply to her husband.
“The insolent rascal,” he said, getting hot at the mere recollection. “Well, he should have told me he was drunk, he did not see … Why, what is it, Marie?” he asked all at once.
Countess Marya raised her head, tried to say something, but hurriedly looked down again, trying to control her lips.
“What is it? What is wrong, my darling? …” His plain wife always looked her best when she was in tears. She never wept for pain or anger, but always from sadness and pity. And when she wept her luminous eyes gained an indescribable charm.
As soon as Nikolay took her by the hand, she was unable to restrain herself, and burst into tears.
“Nikolay, I saw … he was in fault, but you, why did you! Nikolay!” and she hid her face in her hands.
Nikolay did not speak; he flushed crimson, and walking away from her, began pacing up and down in silence. He knew what she was crying about, but he could not all at once agree with her in his heart that what he had been used to from childhood, what he looked upon as a matter of course, was wrong. “It's sentimental nonsense, old wives' cackle—or is she right?” he said to himself. Unable to decide that question, he glanced once more at her suffering and loving face, and all at once he felt that she was right, and that he had known himself to be in fault a long time before.
“Marie,” he said, softly, going up to her: “it shall never happen again; I give you my word. Never,” he repeated in a shaking voice like a boy begging for forgiveness.
The tears flowed faster from his wife's eyes. She took his hand and kissed it.
“Nikolay, when did you break your cameo?” she said to change the subject, as she scrutinised the finger on which he wore a ring with a cameo of Laocoon.
“To-day; it was all the same thing. O Marie, don't remind me of it!” He flushed again. “I give you my word of honour that it shall never happen again. And let this be a reminder to me for ever,” he said, pointing to the broken ring.
From that time forward, whenever in interviews with his village elders and foremen he felt the blood rush to his face and his fists began to clench, Nikolay turned the ring round on his finger and dropped his eyes before the man who angered him. Twice a year, however, he would forget himself, and then, going to his wife, he confessed, and again promised that this would really be the last time.
“Marie, you must despise me,” he said to her. “I deserve it.”
“You must run away, make haste and run away if you feel yourself unable to control yourself,” his wife said mournfully, trying to comfort him.
In the society of the nobility of the province Nikolay was respected but not liked. The local politics of the nobility did not interest him. And in consequence he was looked upon by some people as proud and by others as a fool. In summer his whole time from the spring sowing to the harvest was spent in looking after the land. In the autumn he gave himself up with the same business-like seriousness to hunting, going out for a month or two at a time with his huntsmen, dogs, and horses on hunting expeditions. In the winter he visited their other properties and spent his time in reading, chiefly historical books, on which he spent a certain sum regularly every year. He was forming for himself, as he used to say, a serious library, and he made it a principle to read through every book he bought. He would sit over his book in his study with an important air; and what he had at first undertaken as a duty became an habitual pursuit, which afforded him a special sort of gratification in the feeling that he was engaged in serious study. Except when he went on business to visit their other estates, he spent the winter at home with his family, entering into all the petty cares and interests of the mother and children. With his wife he got on better and better, every day discovering fresh spiritual treasures in her.
From the time of Nikolay's marriage Sonya had lived in his house. Before their marriage, Nikolay had told his wife all that had passed between him and Sonya, blaming himself and praising her conduct. He begged Princess Marya to be kind and affectionate to his cousin. His wife was fully sensible of the wrong her husband had done his cousin; she felt herself too guilty toward Sonya; she fancied her wealth had influenced Nikolay in his choice, could find no fault in Sonya, and wished to love her. But she could not like her, and often found evil feelings in her soul in regard to her, which she could not overcome.
One day she was talking with her friend Natasha of Sonya and her own injustice towards her.
“Do you know what,” said Natasha; “you have read the Gospel a great deal; there is a passage there that applies exactly to Sonya.”
“What is it?” Countess Marya asked in surprise.
“ ‘To him that hath shall be given, and to him that hath not shall be taken even that that he hath,' do you remember? She is the one that hath not; why, I don't know; perhaps she has no egoism. I don't know; but from her is taken away, and everything has been taken away. I am sometimes awfully sorry for her. I used in old days to want Nikolay to marry her but I always had a sort of presentiment that it would not happen. She is a barren flower, you know, like what one finds among the strawberry flowers. Sometimes I am sorry for her, and sometimes I think she does not feel it as we should have felt it.”
And although Countess Marya argued with Natasha that those words of the Gospel must not be taken in that sense, looking at Sonya, she agreed with the explanation given by Natasha. It did seem really as though Sonya did not feel her position irksome, and was quite reconciled to her fate as a barren flower. She seemed to be fond not so much of people as of the whole family. Like a cat, she had attached herself not to persons but to the house. She waited on the old countess, petted and spoiled the children, was always ready to perform small services, which she seemed particularly clever at; but all she did was unconsciously taken for granted, without much gratitude.…
The Bleak Hills house had been built up again, but not on the same scale as under the old prince.
The buildings, begun in days of straitened means, were more than simple. The immense mansion on the old stone foundation was of wood, plastered only on the inside. The great rambling house, with its unstained plank floors, was furnished with the simplest rough sofas and chairs and tables made of their own birch-trees by the labor of their serf carpenters. The house was very roomy, with quarters for the house-serfs and accommodation for visitors.
The relations of the Rostovs and the Bolkonskys would sometimes come on visits to Bleak Hills with their families, sixteen horses and dozens of servants, and stay for months. And four times a year—on the namedays and birthdays of the master and mistress—as many as a hundred visitors would be put up for a day or two. The rest of the year the regular life of the household went on in unbroken routine, with its round of duties, and of teas, breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, all provided out of home-grown produce.
在管理家务时，尼古拉有时感到苦恼，他性子暴躁，再加上骠骑兵的老习惯，动不动就挥拳头。起初，他并不觉得这有什么不对，但在婚后第二年，他对这种惩罚方法的看法突然改变了。 
夏天，有一次他派人把顶替博古恰罗沃已故村长德龙的新村长叫来，因为有人控告他营私舞弊、玩忽职守。尼古拉走到门口去见他，村长刚回答了几句，门厅里就传出了尼古拉大喊大叫、拳打脚踢的声音。尼古拉回家吃早饭，走到低着头正在绣花的妻子跟前，照例把早餐的活动讲给她听，顺便提到博古恰罗伏村长的事。玛丽亚伯爵夫人脸上一阵红，一阵白，抿紧嘴唇，一直低头坐着，对丈夫的话没有答腔。
“这个无法无天的混蛋，”尼古拉一想到他就生气。并且说，“他要是对我说喝醉酒倒也罢了，真没见过……你怎么了，玛丽亚？”他突然问。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人抬起头来想说什么，但立刻又低下头，抿紧嘴唇。
“你怎么了？你怎么了？亲爱的？……”
玛丽亚伯爵夫人长得并不漂亮，但她一哭起来就显得楚楚动人。她从来不为痛苦和烦恼而哭泣，却常常由于感伤和怜悯而落泪。她一哭，那双明亮的眼睛就具有令人倾倒的魅力。
尼古拉刚拉起她的手，她就忍不住哭起来。
“尼古拉，我知道…是他不对，可你，你为什么要那样！
尼古拉……”她说着，用双手捂着脸。
尼古拉不作声、脸涨得通红，从她身旁走开，默默地在房里踱来踱去。他明白她为什么哭，但要他把从小就习惯的事看作错误，他一下还转不过弯来。
“这是她热心快肠，习惯于婆婆妈妈，还是她对呢？”尼古拉在心里问自己。他不能解答这个问题，又瞟了一眼她那痛苦而可爱的脸。于是他突然明白她是对的，而他早就错了。
“玛丽，”①他走到她面前轻轻地说，“以后再也不这样了，我向你保证。绝不会再发生这种事了。”他像一个请求饶恕的孩子，用颤抖的声音重复地说。
伯爵夫人的泪水流得更多了。她拿起丈夫的手吻了吻。
“尼古拉，你什么时候把头像打碎了？”为了改变话题，她望着他戴着拉奥孔②头像戒指的手说。 
①此处原文用爱称—Mapu。
②拉奥孔是希腊神话中普里阿摩斯和赫卡柏的儿子，阿波罗在特洛伊城的祭司。他警告特洛伊人提防水马计，为此而触怒天神雅典娜，结果拉奥孔同其二子被巨蟒缠死。
“今天就是那件事。唉，玛丽，别提那件事了。”他脸又红了。“我对你发誓，绝对不会发生那样的事了。就让这戒指经常提醒我吧，”他指指打碎的戒指说。
从那以后，每逢尼古拉同村长和管家发生争执，血往脸上直涌，双手紧攥拳头时，他就转动套在手指上的那枚打碎的戒指，于是，尼古接就在惹他生气的人面前，垂下眼皮。但他一年总有一两次忘记自己的诺言，这时尼古拉就走到妻子面前认错，并保证以后决不再犯。
“玛丽，你一定瞧不起我了？”他对她说。“我这是自作自受。”
“如果你觉得控制不住自己的情绪，那你就走开，尽快地走开。”伯爵夫人忧愁地说，竭力安慰丈夫。
在本省贵族圈子里，尼古拉受人尊敬，却不讨人喜欢。他对贵族利益不感兴趣，因此有人认为他高傲，有人认为他愚蠢。整个夏天，从春播到秋收，他都忙于农事。秋天，他以从事农务那样的认真精神，带着猎人和猎犬外出打猎，一去就是一两个月。冬天他到各地村庄去看看或者读书。他主要读历史书，每年花钱不少。正如他所说，他收藏了不少书，凡是买来的书照例都要读完。他一本正经地坐在书斋里读书，起初是作为一种任务，后来成为一种习惯，从中体验到特殊的乐趣，并觉得读书是件正经事。冬天除了出门办事之外，他大部分时间都待在家里，同母亲和孩子一起做些杂事，享受天伦之乐。他同妻子的关系越来越亲密，每天都从她身上发现新的精神财富。
尼古拉婚后，索尼娅仍住在他家里。结婚以前，他就把他同索尼娅的关系全都告诉了自己的未婚妻，他一面责怪自己，一面称赞索尼娅。他请求玛丽亚好好对待表妹。玛丽亚伯爵夫人知道自己的丈夫对不起索尼娅，同时自己对索尼娅也感到内心有愧。她明白，是她的家产影响了尼古拉的选择。她丝毫也不能责怪索尼娅，而是应当喜欢她。但事实上她不仅不爱索尼娅心里还常常恨她，而且无法克制这种感情。
有一次，她同她的朋友娜塔莎谈到索尼娅，并谈到自己对她的不公正。
“你听我说，”娜塔莎说，“你读了多遍《福音书》，其中有一个地方似乎是针对索尼娅说的。”
“你说的是那一节？”玛丽亚伯爵夫人惊讶地问。
“‘凡有的，还要加给他，没有的，连他所有的，也要夺过来。'①你记得吗？她是那个没有的，为什么，我不知道，也许因为她没有私心，我不知道，但她所有的，全被夺走了。有时候我十分可怜她，以前我真希望尼古拉同她结婚。但我有一种预感，这件事不能可能实现。她就像草莓上开的一朵不结果的花，你知道吗？有时我很可怜她，可有时候又觉得她不会像我们一样感觉到这一点。” 
①见《圣经·新约·路加福音》第十九章第二十六节。
虽然，玛丽亚伯爵夫人对娜塔莎说，《福音书》里的那段话不该那么去理解，但她一见索尼娅，就又同意娜塔莎的解释。索尼娅似乎的确不为自己的处境感到苦恼，对自己注定是一朵谎花的命运处之泰然。看来，与其说她爱家中某些人，还不如说她爱整个这个家。她像一只猫，依恋的不是人而是这个家。她侍候老伯爵夫人，抚爱和宠惯孩子们，总想为别人做些力所能及的事，别人若无其事地接受她的关照，可并不怎么感激她……
童山庄园又翻修了一番，但规模已大不如前，不能与老公爵在世时相比了。
在经济拮据时翻修房屋，工程总是因陋就简。巨大的房屋就建在原来的石基上，全部木结构，内部抹了灰泥。房子很宽敞，地板没有油漆，家具也很简单：几只硬沙发，几张桌椅，这些都是家里的木匠用自己家里的桦木做的。房子是够宽敞的，有下房也有客房。罗斯托夫家和博尔孔斯基家的亲戚，有时候带着十六匹马和几十个仆人，全身来到童山，一住就是几个月。此外，逢到男女主人的命名日和生日，每年四次就有上百个客人到童山来聚上个一两天。一年中的其他时间，生活则几乎一成不变，有日常的工作，按时饮茶，用庄园自产的食品准备早餐、午餐和晚餐。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 9
IT was on the eve of St. Nikolay's day, the 5th of December, 1820. That year Natasha with her husband and children had been staying at Bleak Hills since the beginning of autumn. Pierre was in Petersburg, where he had gone on private business of his own, as he said, for three weeks. He had already been away for six, and was expected home every minute.
On this 5th of December there was also staying with the Rostovs Nikolay's old friend, the general on half-pay, Vassily Fedorovitch Denisov.
Next day visitors were coming in celebration of his nameday, and Nikolay knew that he would have to take off his loose Tatar coat, to put on a frock coat, and narrow boots with pointed toes, and to go to the new church he had built, and there to receive congratulations, and to offer refreshments to his guests, and to talk about the provincial elections and the year's crops. But the day before he considered he had a right to spend as usual. Before dinner-time Nikolay had gone over the bailiff's accounts from the Ryazan estate, the property of his wife's nephew; written two business letters, and walked through the corn barns, the cattleyard, and the stables. After taking measures against the general drunkenness he expected next day among his peasants in honour of the fête, he came in to dinner, without having had a moment's conversation alone with his wife all day. He sat down to a long table laid with twenty covers, at which all the household were assembled, consisting of his mother, old Madame Byelov, who lived with her as a companion, his wife and three children, their governess and tutor, his wife's nephew with his tutor, Sonya, Denisov, Natasha, her three children, their governess, and Mihail Ivanitch, the old prince's architect, who was living out his old age in peace at Bleak Hills.
Countess Marya was sitting at the opposite end of the table. As soon as her husband sat down to the table, from the gesture with which he took up his table-napkin and quickly pushed back the tumbler and wineglass set at his place, she knew that he was out of humour, as he sometimes was, particularly before the soup, and when he came straight in to dinner from his work. Countess Marya understood this mood in her husband very well, and when she was herself in a good temper, she used to wait quietly till he had swallowed his soup, and only then began to talk to him and to make him admit that he had no reason to be out of temper. But to-day she totally forgot this principle of hers; she had a miserable sense of his being vexed with her without cause, and she felt wretched. She asked him where he had been. He answered. She asked again whether everything were going well on the estate. He frowned disagreeably at her unnatural tone, and made a hasty reply.
“I was right then,” thought Countess Marya, “and what is he cross with me for?” In the tone of his answer she read ill-will towards her and a desire to cut short the conversation. She felt that her words were unnatural; but she could not restrain herself, and asked a few more questions.
The conversation at dinner, thanks to Denisov, soon became general and animated, and she did not say more to her husband. When they rose from table, and according to custom came up to thank the old countess, Countess Marya kissed her husband, offering him her hand, and asked why he was cross with her.
“You always have such strange ideas; I never thought of being cross,” he said.
But that word always answered her: Yes, I am angry, and I don't choose to say.
Nikolay lived on such excellent terms with his wife that even Sonya and the old countess, who from jealousy would have been pleased to see disagreement between them, could find nothing to reproach them with; but there were moments of antagonism even between them. Sometimes, particularly just after their happiest periods, they had a sudden feeling of estrangement and antagonism; that feeling was most frequent during the times when Countess Marya was with child. They happened to be just now at such a period of antagonism.
“Well, messieurs et mesdames,” said Nikolay loudly, and with a show of cheerfulness (it seemed to his wife that this was on purpose to mortify her), “I have been since six o'clock on my legs. To-morrow will be an infliction, so to-day I'll go and rest.” And saying nothing more to Countess Marya, he went off to the little divan-room, and lay down on the sofa.
“That's how it always is,” thought his wife. “He talks to everybody but not to me. I see, I see that I am repulsive to him, especially in this condition.” She looked down at her high waist and then into the looking-glass at her sallow and sunken face, in which the eyes looked bigger than ever.
And everything jarred upon her: Denisov's shout and guffaw and Natasha's chatter, and above all the hasty glance Sonya stole at her.
Sonya was always the first excuse Countess Marya pitched on for her irritability.
After sitting a little while with her guests, not understanding a word they were saying, she slipped out and went to the nursery.
The children were sitting on chairs playing at driving to Moscow, and invited her to join them. She sat down and played with them, but the thought of her husband and his causeless ill-temper worried her all the time. She got up, and walked with difficulty on tiptoe to the little divan-room
“Perhaps he is not asleep. I will speak plainly to him,” she said to herself. Andryusha, her elder boy, followed her on tiptoe, imitating her. His mother did not notice him.
“Dear Marie, I believe he is asleep; he was so tired,” said Sonya, meeting her in the next room (it seemed to Countess Marya that she was everywhere). “Andryusha had better not wake him.”
Countess Marya looked round, saw Andryusha behind her, felt that Sonya was right, and for that very reason flushed angrily, and with evident difficulty restrained herself from a cruel retort. She said nothing, and, so as not to obey her, let Andryusha follow her, but signed to him to be quiet, and went up to the door. Sonya went out by the other door. From the room where Nikolay was asleep, his wife could hear his even breathing, every tone of which was so familiar. As she listened to it, she could see his smooth, handsome brow, his moustaches, the whole face she had so often gazed at in the stillness of the night when he was asleep. Nikolay suddenly stirred and cleared his throat. And at the same instant Andryusha shouted from the door, “Papa, mamma's here!” His mother turned pale with dismay and made signs to the boy. He was quiet, and there followed a terrible silence that lasted a minute. She knew how Nikolay disliked being waked. Suddenly she heard him stir and clear his throat again, and in a tone of displeasure he said:
“I'm never given a moment's peace. Marie, is it you? Why did you bring him here?”
“I only came to look … I did not see … I'm so sorry …”
Nikolay coughed and said no more. His wife went away, and took her son back to the nursery. Five minutes later little, black-eyed, three-year-old Natasha, her father's favourite, hearing from her brother that papa was asleep, and mamma in the next room, ran in to her father, unnoticed by her mother.
The black-eyed little girl boldly rattled at the door, and her fat, little feet ran with vigorous steps up to the sofa. After examining the position of her father, who was asleep with his back to her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed the hand that lay under his head. Nikolay turned round to her with a smile of tenderness on his face.
“Natasha, Natasha!” he heard his wife whisper in dismay from the door. “Papa is sleepy.”
“No, mamma, he isn't sleepy,” little Natasha answered with conviction. “He's laughing.”
Nikolay set his feet down, got up, and picked his little daughter up in his arms.
“Come in, Masha,” he said to his wife. She went in and sat down beside him.
“I did not see him run in after me,” she said timidly. “I just looked in …”
Holding his little girl on one arm, Nikolay looked at his wife, and noticing her guilty expression, he put the other arm round her and kissed her on the hair.
“May I kiss mamma?” he asked Natasha. The little girl smiled demurely. “Again,” she said, with a peremptory gesture, pointing to the spot where Nikolay had kissed her mother.
“I don't know why you should think I am cross,” said Nikolay, replying to the question which he knew was in his wife's heart.
“You can't imagine how unhappy, how lonely, I am when you are like that. It always seems to me …”
“Marie, hush, nonsense! You ought to be ashamed,” he said gaily.
“It seems to me that you can't care for me; that I am so ugly … at all times, and now in this …”
“Oh, how absurd you are! It's not those who are handsome we love, but those we love who are handsome. It is only Malvinas and such heroines who are loved because they are beautiful. And do you suppose I love my wife? Oh no, I don't love you, but only … I don't know how to tell you. When you are away, and any misunderstanding like this comes between us, I feel as though I were lost, and can do nothing. Why, do I love my finger? I don't love it, but only try cutting it off …”
“No, I don't feel like that, but I understand. Then you are not angry with me?”
“I am awfully angry!” he said, smiling, and getting up, and smoothing his hair, he began pacing up and down the room.
“Do you know, Marie, what I have been thinking?” he began, beginning at once now that peace was made between them, thinking aloud before his wife. He did not inquire whether she were disposed to listen; that did not matter to him. An idea occurred to him; and so it must to her, too. And he told her that he meant to persuade Pierre to stay with them till the spring.
Countess Marya listened to him, made some comments, and then in her turn began thinking her thoughts aloud. Her thoughts were of the children.
“How one can see the woman in her already,” she said in French, pointing to little Natasha. “You reproach us women for being illogical. You see in her our logic. I say, papa is sleepy, and she says, no, he's laughing. And she is right,” said Countess Marya, smiling blissfully.
“Yes, yes,” said Nikolay, lifting up his little girl in his strong arm, raised her high in the air, sat her on his shoulder, holding her little feet, and began walking up and down with her. There was just the same look of thoughtless happiness on the faces of father and daughter.
“But do you know, you may be unfair. You are too fond of this one,” his wife whispered in French.
“Yes, but what can I do? … I try not to show it …”
At that moment there was heard from the hall and the vestibule the sound of the block of the door, and footsteps, as though some one had arrived.
“Somebody has come.”
“I am sure it is Pierre. I will go and find out,” said Countess Marya, and she went out of the room.
While she was gone Nikolay allowed himself to gallop round the room with his little girl. Panting for breath, he quickly lowered the laughing child, and hugged her to his breast. His capers made him think of dancing; and looking at the childish, round, happy little face, he wondered what she would be like when he would be an old man, taking her out to dances, and he remembered how his father used to dance Daniel Cooper and the mazurka with his daughter.
“It is he, it is he, Nikolay!” said Countess Marya, returning a few minutes later. “Now our Natasha is herself again. You should have seen her delight, and what a scolding he came in for at once for having out-stayed his time. Come, let us go; make haste; come along! You must part at last,” she said, smiling, as she looked at the little girl nestling up to her father. Nikolay went out, holding his daughter by the hand.
Countess Marya lingered behind.
“Never, never could I have believed,” she murmured to herself, “that one could be so happy.” Her face lighted up with a smile; but at the same moment she sighed, and a soft melancholy came into her thoughtful glance. It was as though, apart from the happiness she was feeling there was another happiness unattainable in this life, which she could not help remembering at that moment.
这是一八二○年十二月五日，冬季圣尼古拉节前夕。这一年初秋娜塔莎就和丈夫、孩子住在她哥哥家。皮埃尔专程去彼得堡办事去了，他原来说要去三个星期，可现在已经在那里待了六个多星期了。他说他随时都可能回来。 
十二月五日那天，除了皮埃尔一家外，还有尼古拉的老朋友，退役将军瓦西里·费奥多罗维奇·杰尼索夫也在罗斯托夫家作客。
六日是圣尼古拉节，有许多客人要来。尼古拉知道他得脱下短棉袄换上礼服，穿上尖头皮靴，坐车到新建成的教堂去。然后回家接受祝贺请客人用点心，谈论贵族选举①和年景，但他认为节日前夕他可以像平时一样地度过。年饭前，尼古拉检查管家做的内侄名下梁赞庄园的帐目，写了两封事务性的信，巡视了谷仓、牛栏和马厩。他对明天过节大家可能喝醉酒一事采取了预防措施，然后去用午餐。他没有机会同妻子私下谈几句，就在长餐桌旁坐下。桌上摆着二十副餐具，全家人围坐在桌旁。这里有他母亲、陪伴母亲的别洛娃老婆子、妻子、三个孩子、男女家庭教师、内侄和他的家庭教师、索尼娅、杰尼索夫、娜塔莎和三个孩子，以及孩子们的家庭教师，还有在童山养老的已故老公爵的建筑师米哈伊尔·伊凡内奇老人。 
①当时每省贵族都形成一个团体，定期选举、集会，参与地方行政。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人坐在餐桌的另一端。她丈夫刚刚就坐，就拿起餐巾，把面前的玻璃杯和酒杯推开。玛丽亚伯爵夫人从这一举动就看出她丈夫心绪不佳。他有时候就是这样，尤其是当他直接从农场回来吃饭，在没有喝汤之前。玛丽亚伯爵夫人深知他的脾气，遇到她自己心情好，她就耐心等待，等他喝过汤，她再跟他说话，让他自己承认发火是没有来由的。但是今天她完全忘记这样观察。她心里难过，因为他无缘无故对她发脾气，她感到自己很不幸，她问他到哪里去了。他回答了她。她又问他农场里是不是正常。他听出她的声调不自然，不高兴地皱了皱眉头，漫不经心地答了一句。“我又没有错，”玛丽亚伯爵夫人想，“他为什么对我发脾气？”从他答话的腔调，玛丽亚伯爵夫人听出他对她不满，不愿跟她继续谈话。她也觉得自己说话有点不自然，但还是忍不住要再问几句。
餐桌上多亏有了杰尼索夫，大家很快就热烈地交谈起来，玛丽亚伯爵夫人就没再跟丈夫说话了。当他们离开餐桌，去向老伯爵夫人道谢时，玛丽亚伯爵夫人伸出手来，一面吻了吻丈夫，一面问他为什么生她的气。
“你总是胡思乱想，我根本没有想过要生气。”他说。
但玛丽亚伯爵夫人觉得他说总是两个字就表示：不错，我是在生气，但我不想说明罢了。
尼古拉同妻子和睦相处，甚至连索尼娅和老伯爵夫人出于嫉妒，也希望他们之间出现不和睦，但又无懈可击。但他们之间也有不融洽的时候。有时，在他们过了一段非常愉快的日子后，他们之间会突然感到疏远、反感。这种感觉常常发生在玛丽亚伯爵夫人怀孕的时候，现在她正是怀孕了。
“哦，女士们、先生们，”尼古拉用法语大声说，做出很高兴地样子，（玛丽亚伯爵夫人觉得他这是故意要气气她）“我从六点钟起就没有歇过。明天还得受罪，我现在要去休息了。”他对玛丽亚伯爵夫人再没说什么，就走进小起居室，在沙发上躺下来。
“他总是这样，”玛丽亚伯爵夫人想。“跟大家说话，就是不跟我说话。我看得出，他讨厌我。特别是我怀了孕。”她瞧瞧自己隆起的肚子，对着镜子看到了她那张蜡黄、苍白的瘦脸，她的眼睛显得比平时更大了。
不论是杰尼索夫的喊声和笑声，还是娜塔莎的说话声，尤其是索尼娅匆匆向她投来的目光，所有这一切都使她心里感到不痛快。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人一生气，索尼娅总是成为出气筒。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人陪客人坐了一会儿，客人谈什么，她一点也听不进去，后来就悄悄地走到育儿室去。
孩子们把椅子排成火车，玩“到莫斯科去”的游戏，请她也一起玩。她坐下陪孩子们玩了一阵，但心里一直捉摸着丈夫此刻的心情，想到丈夫无缘无故地生气，她感到很难过。
她站起来，费力地踮着脚尖走到小起居室去。
“也许，他还没睡着，我要去同他讲清楚。”她自言自语。她的大孩子安德留沙学她的样，踮着脚尖跟着她走，在后面，但玛丽亚伯爵夫人没有发觉。
“亲爱的玛丽亚，他好像睡着了，他累坏了，”索尼娅在大起居室里用法语说（玛丽亚伯爵夫人觉得无论到什么地方都会碰上她）。“安德留沙，别把他吵醒了。”
玛丽亚伯爵夫人回头看见安德留沙跟在后面，看来索尼娅说得对，然而正因为如此，脸涨得通红，好容易忍住，没说出难听的话来。她一言不发，但为了表示不听索尼娅那些话，只做了个手势叫安德留沙别出声，还是让他跟在后面，朝门口走去，索尼娅则从另一道门出去了，尼古拉睡觉的房间里传出均匀的呼吸声，这声音做妻子的是很熟悉的。她听着他的呼吸声，端详着他那光滑漂亮的前额、小胡子和整个面庞，每当夜阑人静，尼古拉熟睡时她往往长久地注视着这张脸。尼古拉突然动了一下，干咳了一声。正在这时，安德留沙就在门口嚷道：
“爸爸，妈在这儿呢。”
玛丽亚伯爵夫人吓得脸都变白了，忙向儿子做手势。他不说话了。沉默了一会儿，玛丽亚伯爵夫人感到胆战心惊。她知道尼古拉最不喜欢人家把他吵醒。屋里突然又传来干咳和床上翻身的声音。尼古拉不高兴地说：
“一分钟也不让人安静。玛丽①，是你吗？你怎么把他带到这里来了？”
“我只是来看看，我没注意……对不起……”
尼古拉咳嗽了几声，不再说话了。玛丽亚伯爵夫人离开门口，把儿子带回育儿室。过了五分钟，爸爸的宝贝女儿，三岁的黑眼睛的小娜塔莎听哥哥说爸爸睡在小起居室里，就背着母亲，悄悄地走到父亲跟前。这黑眼睛的小姑娘大胆地咯吱一声打开了门，用结实的小腿有力地迈着小碎步，走到沙发旁边，打量着爸爸背对她睡着的姿势，就踮起脚尖吻了吻他枕在头下的手，尼古拉转过身，脸上露出慈爱的微笑。
“娜塔莎，娜塔莎！”玛丽亚伯爵夫人在门外惊慌地喊道，“爸爸要睡觉。”
“不，妈妈，他不想睡了，”小娜塔莎很有把握地回答道，“瞧，他还在笑呢。”
尼古拉垂下腿，站起来，抱起女儿。
“进来吧，玛莎。”②他对妻子说。玛丽亚伯爵夫人走进屋里，在丈夫身旁坐下。 
①原文为Mapu，玛丽亚的爱称。
②原文为Mama，玛丽亚的爱称。
“我没有看见安德留沙跟着我跑来，”她怯生生地说。“我只是……”
尼古拉一手抱住女儿，望了望妻子，见她脸上带有歉意，就用另一只手搂住她，吻了吻她的头发。
“可以亲亲妈妈吗？”他向娜塔莎。
娜塔莎羞怯地笑了。
“再吻一下。”她打了个手势，指着尼古拉刚才吻过的地方，命令似地说。
“我不明白，你为什么觉得我心情不好。”尼古拉说，猜透了妻子的心事。
“你无法想象，每当你这样，我心里有多难过，多孤单。
我总觉得……”
“玛丽，算啦，你真糊涂。你也不害臊。”他快活地说。
“我总觉得，你不会爱我，我现在这么难看……从来就……而现在……又是这个样子……”
“嗨，你这个人真可笑！一个人不是因为漂亮才可爱，而是因为可爱才显得漂亮。只有马尔维纳斯之类的女人才靠姿色迷人。要是问我爱不爱妻子？！我说不爱吗？唉，真不知道怎么能跟你说清楚？！当你不在时，或者我们之间有什么不愉快的事，我就变得六神无主，什么事也做不下去。你说，我爱自己的手指吗？如果说我不爱，你把我的手指割掉试试……”
“不，我可不会那么做，但我心里是明白的。那么说，你并没有生我的气喽？”
“生气得要命。”他笑着说，站起来掠掠头发，开始在屋里踱步。
“你知道吗，玛丽，我在想什么？”他们和解了，他立刻把自己的打算和想法告诉妻子。他也不问她爱不爱听，听不听他都无所谓。他如有了一个新的想法，自然也就是她的想法。他告诉她，他想劝皮埃尔在他们家待到开春。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人听丈夫说完之后，讲了自己的意见，然后讲她的打算。她想的是孩子们的事。
“她现在已经像个大人了，”她指着娜塔莎，用法语说，“你们总是责备我们女人缺乏逻辑性。她就是我们这儿的逻辑专家。我说，爸爸要睡觉，可她说：‘不，他在笑呢！'还是她说得对，”玛亚丽伯爵夫人快活地笑着说。
“对，对！”尼古拉用强壮的手臂抱起女儿，把她举得高高的，让她坐在肩上，抓住她的两只小腿，扛着她在屋里踱步。父女俩脸上都露出无限幸福的神情。
“要知道，你也许有点不公平。你太宠她了。”玛丽亚伯爵夫人用法语低声说。
“是的，可是有什么办法呢？……我已经竭力不表现出来了。……”
这时，门廊和前厅里传来了门的滑轮声和脚步声，好像有人来了。
“有人来了。”
“那准是皮埃尔。我去看看。”玛丽亚伯爵夫人说着就走出屋去。
尼古拉趁她出去，就扛起女儿在屋里飞快地兜圈子。他气喘吁吁，一下子把乐不可支的女儿放下，紧紧地搂在怀里。他这一蹦蹦跳跳，使他想起跳舞来。他望着女儿圆圆的快乐的小脸，心里想，等他自己变成老头子，他要带女儿去参加舞会，跳玛祖尔卡舞，就像当年他已故的父亲带女儿跳丹尼拉·库波尔舞那样，到那时自己的女儿又会长成什么样子呢？！
“是他，是他，尼古拉，”几分钟后，玛丽亚伯爵夫人回来说。“这一下咱们的娜塔莎可高兴了。你该看看她多开心，而皮埃尔因为姗姗来迟，挨了多少骂。好了，快点去吧，快去！你们也该分手了。”她含笑望着偎依在爸爸身上的小女儿说。尼古拉拉着女儿的手走出去。
玛丽亚伯爵夫人待在起居室里。
“我从来都不相信，我会这样幸福。”她低声自言自语。她脸上露出了笑容，但随即叹了一口气，她那深邃的眼神里流露出淡淡的哀愁。仿佛除了她此刻体验到的幸福之外，她不禁又想到今世不可能得到的另一种幸福。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 10
NATASHA was married in the early spring of 1813, and by 1820 she had three daughters and a son. The latter had been eagerly desired, and she was now nursing him herself. She had grown stouter and broader, so that it was hard to recognise in the robust-looking young mother the slim, mobile Natasha of old days. Her features had become more defined, and wore an expression of calm softness and serenity. Her face had no longer that ever-glowing fire of eagerness that had once constituted her chief charm. Now, often her face and body were all that was to be seen, and the soul was not visible at all. All there was to be seen in her was a vigorous, handsome, and fruitful mother. Only on rare occasions now the old fire glowed in her again. That happened only when, as now, her husband returned after absence, when a sick child recovered, or when she spoke to Countess Marya of Prince Andrey (to her husband she never spoke of Prince Andrey, fancying he might be jealous of her love for him), or on the rare occasions when something happened to attract her to her singing, which she had entirely laid aside since her marriage. And at those rare moments, when the old fire glowed again, she was more attractive, with her handsome, fully-developed figure, than she had ever been in the past.
Since her marriage Natasha and her husband had lived in Moscow, in Petersburg, on their estate near Moscow, and at her mother's; that is to say, at Nikolay's. The young Countess Bezuhov was little seen in society, and those who had seen her there were not greatly pleased with her. She was neither charming nor amiable. It was not that Natasha was fond of solitude (she could not have said whether she liked it or not; she rather supposed indeed that she did not); but as she was bearing and nursing children, and taking interest in every minute of her husband's life, she could not meet all these demands on her except by renouncing society. Every one who had known Natasha before her marriage marvelled at the change that had taken place in her, as though it were something extraordinary. Only the old countess, with her mother's insight, had seen that what was at the root of all Natasha's wild outbursts of feeling was simply the need of children and a husband of her own, as she often used to declare, more in earnest than in joke, at Otradnoe. The mother was surprised at the wonder of people who did not understand Natasha, and repeated that she had always known that she would make an exemplary wife and mother.
“Only she does carry her devotion to her husband and children to an extreme,” the countess would say; “so much so, that it's positively foolish.”
Natasha did not follow the golden rule preached by so many prudent persons, especially by the French, that recommends that a girl on marrying should not neglect herself, should not give up her accomplishments, should think even more of her appearance than when a young girl, and should try to fascinate her husband as she had fascinated him before he was her husband. Natasha, on the contrary, had at once abandoned all her accomplishments, of which the greatest was her singing. She gave that up just because it was such a great attraction. Natasha troubled herself little about manners or delicacy of speech; nor did she think of showing herself to her husband in the most becoming attitudes and costumes, nor strive to avoid worrying him by being over-exacting. She acted in direct contravention of all those rules. She felt that the arts of attraction that instinct had taught her to use before would now have seemed only ludicrous to her husband, to whom she had from the first moment given herself up entirely, that is with her whole soul, not keeping a single corner of it hidden from him. She felt that the tie that bound her to her husband did not rest on those romantic feelings which had attracted him to her, but rested on something else undefined, but as strong as the tie that bound her soul to her body.
To curl her hair, put on a crinoline, and sing songs to attract her husband would have seemed to her as strange as to deck herself up so as to please herself. To adorn herself to please others might perhaps have been agreeable to her—she did not know—but she had absolutely no time for it. The chief reason why she could not attend to her singing, nor to her dress, nor to the careful choice of her words was that she simply had no time to think of those things.
It is well known that man has the faculty of entire absorption in one subject, however trivial that subject may appear to be. And it is well known that there is no subject so trivial that it will not grow to indefinite proportions if concentrated attention be devoted to it.
The subject in which Natasha was completely absorbed was her family, that is, her husband, whom she kept such a hold on so that he should belong entirely to her, to his home and her children, whom she had to carry, to bear, to nurse and to bring up.
And the more she put, not her mind only, but her whole soul, her whole being, into the subject that absorbed her, the more that subject seemed to enlarge under her eyes, and the feebler and the more inadequate her own powers seemed for coping with it, so that she concentrated them all on that one subject, and still had not time to do all that seemed to her necessary.
There were in those days, just as now, arguments and discussions on the rights of women, on the relations of husband and wife, and on freedom and rights in marriage, though they were not then, as now, called questions. But these questions had no interest for Natasha, in fact she had absolutely no comprehension of them.
Those questions, then as now, existed only for those persons who see in marriage only the satisfaction the married receive from one another, that is, only the first beginnings of marriage and not all its significance, which lies in the family.
Such discussions and the questions of to-day, like the question how to get the utmost possible gratification out of one's dinner, then, as now, did not exist for persons for whom the object of dinner is nourishment, and the object of wedlock is the family.
If the end of dinner is the nourishment of the body, the man who eats two dinners obtains possibly a greater amount of pleasure, but he does not attain the object of it, since two dinners cannot be digested by the stomach.
If the end of marriage is the family, the person who prefers to have several wives and several husbands may possibly derive a great deal of satisfaction therefrom, but will not in any case have a family. If the end of dinner is nourishment and the end of marriage is the family, the whole question is only solved by not eating more than the stomach can digest and not having more husbands or wives than as many as are needed for the family, that is, one wife and one husband. Natasha needed a husband. A husband was given her; and her husband gave her a family. And she saw no need of another better husband, and indeed, as all her spiritual energies were devoted to serving that husband and his children, she could not picture, and found no interest in trying to picture, what would have happened had things been different.
Natasha did not care for society in general, but she greatly prized the society of her kinsfolk—of Countess Marya, her brother, her mother, and Sonya. She cared for the society of those persons to whom she could rush in from the nursery in a dressing-gown with her hair down; to whom she could, with a joyful face, show a baby's napkin stained yellow instead of green, and to receive their comforting assurances that that proved that baby was now really better.
Natasha neglected herself to such a degree that her dresses, her untidy hair, her inappropriately blurted-out words, and her jealousy— she was jealous of Sonya, of the governess, of every woman, pretty and ugly—were a continual subject of jests among her friends. The general opinion was that Pierre was tied to his wife's apron strings, and it really was so. From the earliest days of their marriage Natasha had made plain her claims. Pierre had been greatly surprised at his wife's view—to him a completely novel idea—that every minute of his life belonged to her and their home. He was surprised at his wife's demands, but he was flattered by them, and he acquiesced in them.
Pierre was so far under petticoat government that he did not dare to be attentive, or even to speak with a smile, to any other woman; did not dare go to dine at the club, without good reason, simply for entertainment; did not dare spent money on idle whims, and did not dare to be away from home for any long time together, except on business, in which his wife included his scientific pursuits. Though she understood nothing of the latter, she attached great consequence to them. To make up for all this Pierre had complete power in his own house to dispose of the whole household, as well as of himself, as he chose. In their own home Natasha made herself a slave to her husband; and the whole household had to go on tiptoe if the master were busy reading or writing in his study. Pierre had only to show the slightest preference, for what he desired to be at once carried out. He had but to express a wish and Natasha jumped up at once and ran for what he wanted.
The whole household was ruled by the supposed directions of the master, that is, by the wishes of Pierre, which Natasha tried to guess. Their manner of life and place of residence, their acquaintances and ties, Natasha's pursuits, and the bringing up of the children—all followed, not only Pierre's expressed wishes, but even the deductions Natasha strove to draw from the ideas he explained in conversation with her. And she guessed very correctly what was the essential point of Pierre's wishes, and having once guessed it she was steadfast in adhering to it: even when Pierre himself would have veered round she opposed him with his own weapons.
In the troubled days that Pierre could never forget, after the birth of their first child, they had tried three wet nurses, one after another, for the delicate baby, and Natasha had fallen ill with anxiety. At the time Pierre had explained to her Rousseau's views on the unnaturalness and harmfulness of a child being suckled by any woman but its own mother and told her he fully agreed with those views. When the next baby was born, in spite of the opposition of her mother, the doctors, and even of her husband himself, who had looked on it as something unheard of, and injurious, she insisted on having her own way, and from that day had nursed all her children herself. It happened very often in moments of irritability that the husband and wife quarrelled; but long after their dispute Pierre had, to his own delight and surprise, found in his wife's actions, as well as words, that very idea of his with which she had quarrelled. And he not only found his own idea, but found it purified of all that was superfluous, and had been evoked by the heat of argument in his own expression of the idea.
After seven years of married life, Pierre had a firm and joyful consciousness that he was not a bad fellow, and he felt this because he saw himself reflected in his wife. In himself he felt all the good and bad mingled together, and obscuring one another. But in his wife he saw reflected only what was really good; everything not quite good was left out. And this result was not reached by the way of logical thought, but by way of a mysterious, direct reflection of himself.
娜塔莎是一八一三年初春结婚的，到一八二○年已有三个女儿和一个儿子，这个儿子是她盼望已久的，现在由她亲自喂儿子的奶。她发胖了，身子变粗了，从现在这位身强力壮的母亲身上，已经很难找到当初那个苗条活泼的娜塔莎来了。她的面部轮廓已定型了，神情娴静、温柔而开朗，她的脸上已没有先前那种赋予她特殊魅力的洋溢着热情的青春活力了。现在只能看到她的外貌和体态，完全看不到她的灵魂了。她只是一位强壮、美丽和多子女的母亲，难得看到她从前的热情的火焰。现在，只有当丈夫回家，孩子病愈，或者跟玛丽亚伯爵夫人一起回忆安德烈公爵（她在丈夫面前从不提安德烈公爵，认为他会吃醋），或者偶而兴致突发唱起歌来（她婚后已不再唱歌），只有在这些时候，她才会重新燃起热情。而当昔日的热情偶尔在她美丽丰满的身体里重新燃烧时，她就显得格外富有魅力。 
娜塔莎婚后同丈夫一起在莫斯科、彼得堡、在莫斯科郊外的村庄和她自己的娘家，也就是尼古拉家里住过。年轻的别祖霍夫伯爵夫人很少在交际场中露面，见到她的人对她也没有好感。她既不可亲，也不可爱。并不是娜塔莎喜欢孤独（她自己也不知道是不是喜欢孤独，她觉得是不喜欢）。她是因为接二连三地怀孕，生育，喂奶，时刻参与丈夫的生活，只得谢绝社交活动。凡是在娜塔莎婚前就认识她的人看到她这种变化，无不像看到一件新奇事那样感到吃惊。只有老伯爵夫人凭着母性的本能懂得，娜塔莎的热情都出于她需要家庭，需要丈夫。她本人在奥特拉德诺耶曾经一本正经地而并非开玩笑地说过这样的话，老伯爵夫人，作为母亲，看到人家不了解娜塔莎，大惊小怪，也感到惊奇，她总是说娜塔莎是个贤妻良母。
“她把全部的爱都用到丈夫和孩子们身上，”伯爵夫人说，“爱到极点，简直有点傻了。”
聪明人，特别是法国人，都一直在宣扬：一个姑娘在出嫁后不应当就不修边幅，疏于打扮，埋没自己的才华与丰采，而应该更加注意自己的仪表，使丈夫像婚前一样还对自己倾心。但娜塔莎却没有遵守这条金科玉律。她却恰恰相反，她一出嫁就抛开了原先姑娘时所有的迷人之处，尤其是她最迷人的歌唱。她不再唱歌，就因为唱歌最能使人入迷。她变得满不在乎，既不注意自己的言谈举止，也不向丈夫献媚，更不讲究梳妆打扮，不向丈夫提出种种要求，以免他受拘束，她于是一反常规。她认为以前向丈夫施展魅力是出于本能，目前在丈夫眼里再这样做就会显得可笑，要知道她一开始就将自己整个身心毫无保留地奉献给他。她觉得维系他们夫妻关系的已不是过去那种富于诗意的感情，而是另一种难以说明的、牢固的东西，就像自己的心灵同肉体的结合体。
她认为，梳上蓬松的卷发，穿上时髦的连衣裙，唱着抒情的歌曲，以此来取得丈夫的欢心，就像自得其乐地把自己梳妆打扮一番一样可笑。现在，为讨人喜欢而梳妆打扮，也许会给她带来乐趣，但她实在没有工夫。平时她不唱歌，不注意梳妆打扮，说话时不斟酌词句，主要是因为她根本没有时间去那么做。
当然，人能把全部精力贯注于一件事，不管这件事是多么微不足道。而一旦全神贯注，不论什么微不足道的事就会变成极其重要的大事情了。
娜塔莎全神贯注的就是家庭，也就是她的丈夫和孩子们。她要使丈夫完全属于她，属于这个家。另外，她还要生育、抚养和教育孩子们。
她投身于她所从事的活动，不仅用全部智慧而且用了她整个心灵，她陷得越深，那件事就显得愈大，她就更感到势单力薄，难以胜任，因此，即使她全力以赴，还是来不及做完她应该做的事。
有关妇女权利、夫妻关系、夫妻的自由和权利的议论，当时也已存在。不过，没有像现在一样看成那么重大的问题。不过，娜塔莎对这些问题不仅不感兴趣，而且一点也不能理解。
这些问题在当时也同现在一样，只对那些把夫妇关系纯粹看成某种满足的人才存在。他们只看到婚姻的开端，而没有看到家庭的全部含义。
这些议论和现在存在的一些问题就像从吃饭中获得最大满足一样，但对那些认为吃饭的目的是取得营养，结婚的目的是建立家庭的人来说，当初和现在一样，这种问题是不存在的。
如果吃饭的目的在于使身体得到营养，那么两顿饭一起吃的人也许会感到很大的满足，然而不能达到吃饭的目的，因为胃容纳不了两顿饭的饭量。
如果婚姻的目的是建立家庭，那么希望娶许多妻子或嫁许多丈夫的人也许能获得许多满足，但决不能建立家庭。
如果吃饭的目的在于得到营养，结婚的目的在于建立家庭，那么要达到目的，吃饭就不能超过胃的容量，一个家庭里的夫妻也不能超过需要，就是说只能是一夫一妻。娜塔莎需要一个丈夫，她有了一个丈夫，丈夫给了她一个家庭。另外再找一个更好的丈夫，她不仅认为没有必要，而且由于她全心全意为丈夫和家庭操劳，她不能想象另一种情况，对此也毫无兴趣。
一般说来，娜塔莎不喜欢交际，但她很重视亲戚的来往，珍惜同玛丽亚伯爵夫人、哥哥、母亲和索尼娅的来往。她会穿着睡袍、披头散发、喜形于色地从育儿室大步跑出来，把不再沾着绿色屎斑，而是沾着黄色屎斑的尿布给他们看，听他们安慰地说孩子身体好多了。
娜塔莎不修边幅，她的衣着、她的发型、她那不合时宜的谈吐、她的嫉妒心（她嫉妒索尼娅、嫉妒家庭女教师，嫉妒每一个女人，不论她美或丑）都成了她周围人们的笑柄。大家都认为皮埃尔对他老婆的管教服服贴贴，事实上也是如此。娜塔莎婚后一开始就提出了她的要求。她认为他丈夫的每一分钟都应该属于她和家庭。娜塔莎的这一崭新观点使皮埃尔大吃一惊。皮埃尔对妻子的要求虽然感到不胜惊讶，但也十分得意，完全照她的话去做。
皮埃尔对妻子言听计从，这表现在他不仅不敢向别的女人献殷勤，而且不敢露出笑容同别的女人谈话，不敢去俱乐部吃饭作为消遣，不敢随便花钱，不敢长期出门，除非去办正经事。妻子把皮埃尔的学术活动算作正经事，尽管她对此一窍不通，都很重视。作为交换条件，皮埃尔在家里有权处理自己的事，也可以按照自己的意思安排全家的事。娜塔莎在家里甘当丈夫的奴隶。皮埃尔工作时，也就是当他在书斋里读书写作时，全家人都踮着脚尖走路。只要皮埃尔表示喜欢什么，他的愿望总能得到满足。只要他一提出什么新的要求，娜塔莎立即全力以赴，加以实现。
全家都遵照实际上并不存在的皮埃尔的吩咐，也就是按照娜塔莎竭力猜测的丈夫的愿望行事。全家的生活方式、居住地点、社交活动、娜塔莎的工作、孩子的教育，无不遵照皮埃尔的心意，而且娜塔莎还竭力从皮埃尔的言谈中揣测他的意思。她总是能相当准确地揣摩皮埃尔的真实意图，一旦猜透，她就坚决去办。如果皮埃尔违背自己的意愿，娜塔莎就以他原来的想法反驳他，同他作斗争。
有一个时期，他们生活非常困难，皮埃尔永远不会忘记。当时，娜塔莎生下第一个瘦弱的孩子后，不得不先后换了三个奶妈。娜塔莎都急出病来了。有一天，皮埃尔把他信奉的卢梭思想讲给她听，说请奶妈喂奶违反自然规律，而且对母子都有害。于是娜塔莎在生第二个孩子后不顾母亲、医生和丈夫的反对，违反当时的风俗习惯（这在当时闻所未闻，而且认为有害），坚持自己喂奶，而且从此所有的孩子都由她亲自喂奶。
常常有这样的事：两口子在气头上争吵起来，但在争吵过一段时间后，皮埃尔常常又惊又喜地发现，不仅是妻子的言论，而且是她的行动中都反映出他原来的想法，而这种想法是她原来反对的。在她所讲的话里，皮埃尔不仅发现自己原来的想法，而且发现，她已避而不提他在争吵中说过的偏激话。
过了七年夫妻生活后，皮埃尔高兴地深信自己不是一个坏人，他之所以有这种想法，是因为他从妻子身上看到了自己。他觉得自己内心有善有恶，两者互相遮掩。但在妻子身上只反映出他身上真正善的一面，而那些不完善的东西都被扬弃了。这种情况不是通过逻辑思维，而是通过某种神秘的渠道直接反映出来的。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 11
TWO MONTHS PREVIOUSLY, Pierre was already settled at the Rostovs' when he received a letter from a certain Prince Fyodor, urging him to come to Petersburg for the discussion of various important questions that were agitating the Petersburg members of a society, of which Pierre had been one of the chief founders.
Natasha read this letter, as she did indeed all her husband's letters, and bitterly as she always felt his absence, she urged him herself to go to Petersburg. To everything appertaining to her husband's intellectual, abstract pursuits, she ascribed immense consequence, though she had no understanding of them, and she was always in dread of being a hindrance to her husband in such matters. To Pierre's timid glance of inquiry after reading the letter, she replied by begging him to go, and all she asked was that he would fix an absolutely certain date for his return. And leave of absence was given him for four weeks.
Ever since the day fixed for his return, a fortnight before, Natasha had been in a continual condition of alarm, depression, and irritability.
Denisov, a general on the retired list, very much dissatisfied at the present position of public affairs, had arrived during that fortnight, and he looked at Natasha with melancholy wonder, as at a bad likeness of a person once loved. A bored, dejected glance, random replies, and incessant talk of the nursery was all he saw and heard of his enchantress of old days.
All that fortnight Natasha had been melancholy and irritable, especially when her mother, her brother, Sonya, or Countess Marya tried to console her by excusing Pierre, and inventing good reasons for his delay in returning.
“It's all nonsense, all idiocy,” Natasha would say; “all his projects that never lead to anything, and all those fools of societies,” she would declare of the very matters in the immense importance of which she firmly believed. And she would march off to the nursery to nurse her only boy, the baby Petya.
No one could give her such sensible and soothing consolation as that little three months' old creature, when it lay at her breast, and she felt the movement of its lips and the snuffling of its nose. That little creature said to her: “You are angry, you are jealous, you would like to punish him, you are afraid, but here am I—I am he. Here, I am he …” And there was no answering that. It was more than true.
Natasha had so often during that fortnight had recourse to her baby for comfort, that she had over-nursed him, and he had fallen ill. She was terrified at his illness, but still this was just what she needed. In looking after him, she was able to bear her uneasiness about her husband better.
She was nursing the baby when Pierre's carriage drove noisily up to the entrance, and the nurse, knowing how to please her mistress, came inaudibly but quickly to the door with a beaming face.
“He has come?” asked Natasha in a rapid whisper, afraid to stir for fear of waking the baby, who was dropping asleep.
“He has come, ma'am,” whispered the nurse.
The blood rushed to Natasha's face, and her feet involuntarily moved, but to jump up and run was out of the question. The baby opened its little eyes again, glanced, as though to say, “You are here,” and gave another lazy smack with its lips.
Cautiously withdrawing her breast, Natasha dandled him, handed him to the nurse, and went with swift steps towards the door. But at the door she stopped as though her conscience pricked her for being in such haste and joy to leave the baby, and she looked back. The nurse, with her elbows raised, was lifting the baby over the rail of the cot.
“Yes, go along, go along, ma'am, don't worry, run along,” whispered the nurse, smiling with the familiarity that was common between nurse and mistress.
With light steps Natasha ran to the vestibule. Denisov, coming out of the study into the hall with a pipe in his mouth, seemed to see Natasha again for the first time. A vivid radiance of joy shed streams of light from her transfigured countenance.
“He has come!” she called to him, as she flew by, and Denisov felt that he was thrilled to hear that Pierre had come, though he did not particularly care for him. Running into the vestibule, Natasha saw a tall figure in a fur cloak fumbling at his scarf.
“He! he! It's true. Here he is,” she said to herself, and darting up to him, she hugged him, squeezing her head to his breast, and then drawing back, glanced at the frosty, red, and happy face of Pierre. “Yes, here he is; happy, satisfied …”
And all at once she remembered all the tortures of suspense she had passed through during the last fortnight. The joy beaming in her face vanished; she frowned, and a torrent of reproaches and angry words broke upon Pierre.
“Yes, you are all right, you have been happy, you have been enjoying yourself … But what about me! You might at least think of your children. I am nursing, my milk went wrong … Petya nearly died of it. And you have been enjoying yourself. Yes, enjoying yourself …”
Pierre knew he was not to blame, because he could not have come sooner. He knew this outburst on her part was unseemly, and would be all over in two minutes. Above all, he knew that he was himself happy and joyful. He would have liked to smile, but dared not even think of that. He made a piteous, dismayed face, and bowed before the storm.
“I could not, upon my word. But how is Petya?”
“He is all right now, come along. Aren't you ashamed? If you could see what I am like without you, how wretched I am …”
“Are you quite well?”
“Come along, come along,” she said, not letting go of his hand. And they went off to their rooms. When Nikolay and his wife came to look for Pierre, they found him in the nursery, with his baby son awake in his arms, and he was dandling him. There was a gleeful smile on the baby's broad face and open, toothless mouth. The storm had long blown over, and a bright, sunny radiance of joy flowed all over Natasha's face, as she gazed tenderly at her husband and son.
“And did you have a good talk over everything with Prince Fyodor?” Natasha was saying.
“Yes, capital.”
“You see, he holds his head up” (Natasha meant the baby). “Oh, what a fright he gave me. And did you see the princess? Is it true that she is in love with that …”
“Yes, can you fancy …”
At that moment Nikolay came in with his wife. Pierre, not letting go of his son, stooped down, kissed them, and answered their inquiries. But it was obvious that in spite of the many interesting things they had to discuss, the baby, with the wobbling head in the little cap, was absorbing Pierre's whole attention.
“How sweet he is!” said Countess Marya, looking at the baby and playing with him. “That's thing I can't understand, Nikolay,” she said, turning to her husband, “how it is you don't feel the charm of these exquisite little creatures?”
“Well, I don't, I can't,” said Nikolay, looking coldly at the baby. “Just a morsel of flesh. Come along, Pierre.”
“The great thing is, that he is really a devoted father,” said Countess Marya, apologising for her husband, “but only after a year or so …”
“Oh, Pierre is a capital nurse,” said Natasha; “he says his hand is just made for a baby's back. Just look.”
“Oh yes, but not for this,” Pierre cried laughing, and hurriedly snatching up the baby, he handed him back to his nurse.
两个月前皮埃尔已经在罗斯托夫家住下，他接到费奥多尔公爵的信，信中说彼得堡有个协会将讨论重要问题，要他去参加，因为皮埃尔是这个协会的主要创办人之一。 
娜塔莎经常看丈夫的信件，她也看了这封信，尽管丈夫不在家会给她带来负担，她还是主动劝他去彼得堡。尽管她对丈夫所从事的抽象的脑力劳动一窍不通，但她还是很重视他的专业工作，唯恐对丈夫的工作有所妨碍。皮埃尔读完信，胆怯地用探询的目光看了娜塔莎一眼，娜塔莎同意他去，但要他把归期明确地定下来。皮埃尔获准四星期的假期。
两星期前，皮埃尔的假期就满了，在这两周里，娜塔莎一直处于心情烦躁，提心吊胆的状态，有时还有些忧郁不安。
杰尼索夫现在已是一位退役将军，对现状不满，正好这时来到他们家中。他看到目前的娜塔莎与当年曾一度心爱的人已大不一样，就像看到一幅不同的画，感到十分忧悒、惊讶和无限感慨，原来像天仙般可爱的她，现在向他投来的却是悲伤而无神的目光，谈起话来答非所问，还有无穷无尽的关于孩子的唠叨。
这段时间娜塔莎一直心情郁闷，烦躁不安，特别是母亲、哥哥或玛丽亚伯爵夫人宽慰她，为皮埃尔迟迟不归找借口，尽力替他辩解时，她心情更坏。
“都是胡说，都是废话，”娜塔莎说，“他的胡思乱想不会有什么结果，那些协会都愚蠢透顶，”现在她对那些自己原来认为很重要的事下了这样的断语。随后她就到育儿室去喂她自己的唯一的儿子佩佳去了。
她抱起出生刚满三个月的小东西感到他的小嘴在翕动，小鼻子在呼哧，她从他身上获得的东西超过了任何人的启示和安慰。这个小东西仿佛在说：“你生气了，你妒忌了，你要向他算帐，你又害怕了，可我就是他，我就是他……”她无言以对，因为他说的是实话。
在这烦躁不安的两星期里娜塔莎常常跑到孩子那里去寻求安慰，不断摆弄孩子，结果奶喂多了，把孩子也弄病了。孩子一病，她惊慌失措，但又希望孩子生病。因为孩子一病要照顾，就会减轻对丈夫的牵挂。
那天，娜塔莎正在给孩子喂奶，门口传来皮埃尔的雪橇声。保姆知道怎样来讨好女主人，就欢喜得容光焕发，悄悄地快步走进来。
“是他回来了吗？”娜塔莎连忙低声问，身子不敢动弹，唯恐吵醒刚睡着的孩子。
“回来了，太太。”保姆低声说。
血涌上娜塔莎的脸，她的脚不由自主地动起来，但她不能立刻跳起来跑出屋去。孩子又睁眼看了一下。“你在这儿，”
他仿佛这么说，随后又懒洋洋地咂起嘴来。
娜塔莎轻轻地抽出奶头，摇了摇孩子，又把他交给保姆，快步向门口走去。但她在门口站住，似乎由于太高兴而匆忙地放下孩子有点内疚。于是她又回头看了一眼，保姆正抬起臂肘，把婴儿放到小床上去。
“您去吧，去吧，太太，您放心好了。”保姆含笑低声说，主仆之间的关系显然很融洽。
娜塔莎轻快地跑进前厅。
杰尼索夫衔着烟斗从书斋来到大厅，这里他才第一次认出娜塔莎的本来面目。她又容光焕发，喜气洋洋。
“他回来了！”她一边跑，一边说。杰尼索夫并不怎么喜欢皮埃尔，但这时他也因皮埃尔的归来而感到高兴。娜塔莎一跑进前厅，就看见一个穿皮大衣的体格魁伟的人正在解下围巾。
“是他！是他！真的，就是他！”她自言自语，跑过去拥抱他，把他的头贴到自己的胸前，然后又把他推开，瞧了瞧他那结着霜花的红润快乐的脸。“对，是他，真使人高兴，真使人开心……”
突然，娜塔莎想起等待他两个星期的苦恼和委屈，脸上的喜色顿时烟消云散。她眉头一皱，就向皮埃尔发起火来。
“哼，你倒开心，玩得挺美……可我在家呢？！你也得想想孩子啊。我自己喂奶，可是我的奶坏了。佩佳差点没死掉。
是啊！你多开心，你多舒服！”。
皮埃尔觉得自己没有错，因为他不可能提前回来。他知道她这样发脾气是不对的，也知道过两分钟她就会消气，但主要是他心里觉得很高兴，很得意。他想笑，又不敢笑，就装出一副怯生生的可怜相，弯下腰来。
“我实在没办法早回来，真的！佩佳怎么样？”
“现在没什么了，我们走吧！你真不害臊！你该亲眼看看，你不在时我遭的那个折磨啊！
“你身体好吗？”
“走吧，走吧，”她说着，没有放开他的手。他们一起到卧室去了。
尼古拉夫妇来访皮埃尔时，皮埃尔正在育儿室用他那大手抱着刚睡醒的儿子逗着玩。孩子咧着嘴，没有长牙的宽脸上浮起愉快的微笑。一切暴风骤雨已经过去，娜塔莎深情地望着丈夫和儿子，脸上焕发出快乐明朗的光辉。
“你跟费奥多尔公爵都谈妥了吗？”娜塔莎问。
“是的，谈得好极了。”
“你看，我们的小儿子抬起头来了。他可把我吓坏了！”
“你看见公爵夫人没有？她可真的爱上他了？……”
“是啊，你可以想象到……”
这时，尼古拉和玛丽亚伯爵夫人进屋来。皮埃尔没有放下孩子，俯身吻了吻他们，回答了他们的问话。显然，虽然有许多有趣的事可谈，但皮埃尔却完全被那戴着睡帽、摇晃着脑袋的儿子吸引住了。
“多么可爱！”玛丽亚伯爵夫人望着孩子说，同时逗着他玩。“尼古拉，我真不明白，”她对丈夫说，“你怎么不懂得这些小宝贝有多可爱。”
“我不懂，我看不出来，”尼古拉说，冷冷地瞧着婴儿。
“一块肉罢了，走吧，皮埃尔。”
“其实，他还是个慈祥温存的父亲，”玛丽亚伯爵夫人替丈夫辩解说，“但要等孩子满一周岁……”
“皮埃尔可是很会带孩子，”娜塔莎说，“他说，他的手生来就是为了抱孩子的。你们瞧。”
“不，可偏偏不是为了抱孩子。”皮埃尔忽然笑着说，抱起孩子，把他交给保姆。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 12
AS IN EVERY REAL FAMILY, there were several quite separate worlds living together in the Bleak Hills house, and while each of these preserved its own individuality, they made concessions to one another, and mixed into one harmonious whole. Every event that occurred in the house was alike important and joyful or distressing to all those circles. But each circle had its own private grounds for rejoicing or mourning at every event quite apart from the rest.
So Pierre's arrival was a joyful and important event, reflected as such in all the circles of the household.
The servants, the most infallible judges of their masters, because they judge them, not from their conversation and expression of their feelings, but from their actions and their manner of living, were delighted at Pierre's return, because they knew that when he was there, the count, their master, would not go out every day to superintend the peasants on the estate, and would be in better temper and spirits, and also because they knew there would be valuable presents for all of them for the fête day.
The children and their governesses were delighted at Bezuhov's return, because no one drew them into the general social life of the house as Pierre did. He it was who could play on the clavichord that écossaise (his one piece), to which, as he said, one could dance all possible dances; and he was quite sure, too, to have brought all of them presents.
Nikolinka Bolkonsky, who was now a thin, delicate, intelligent boy of fifteen, with curly light hair and beautiful eyes, was delighted because Uncle Pierre, as he called him, was the object of his passionate love and adoration. No one had instilled a particular affection for Pierre into Nikolinka, and he only rarely saw him. Countess Marya, who had brought him up, had done her utmost to make Nikolinka love her husband, as she loved him; and the boy did like his uncle, but there was a scarcely perceptible shade of contempt in his liking of him. Pierre he adored. He did not want to be an hussar or a Cavalier of St. George like his Uncle Nikolay; he wanted to be learned, clever, and kind like Pierre. In Pierre's presence there was always a happy radiance on his face, and he blushed and was breathless when Pierre addressed him. He never missed a word that Pierre uttered, and afterwards alone or with Dessalle recalled every phrase, and pondered its exact significance. Pierre's past life, his unhappiness before 1812 (of which, from the few words he had heard, he had made up a vague, romantic picture), his adventures in Moscow, and captivity with the French, Platon Karataev (of whom he had heard from Pierre), his love for Natasha (whom the boy loved too with quite a special feeling), and, above all, his friendship with his father, whom Nikolinka did not remember, all made Pierre a hero and a saint in his eyes.
From the phrases he had heard dropped about his father and Natasha, from the emotion with which Pierre spoke of him, and the circumspect, reverent tenderness with which Natasha spoke of him, the boy, who was only just beginning to form his conceptions of love, had gathered the idea that his father had loved Natasha, and had bequeathed her at his death to his friend. That father, of whom the boy had no memory, seemed to him a divine being, of whom one could have no clear conception, and of whom he could not think without a throbbing heart and tears of sorrow and rapture.
And so the boy too was happy at Pierre's arrival.
The guests in the house were glad to see Pierre, for he was a person who always enlivened every party, and made its different elements mix well together.
The grown-up members of the household were glad to see a friend who always made daily life run more smoothly and easily.
The old ladies were pleased both at the presents he brought them, and still more at Natasha's being herself again.
Pierre felt the various views those different sets of people took of him, and made haste to satisfy the expectations of all of them.
Though he was the most absent-minded and forgetful of men, by the help of a list his wife made for him, he had bought everything, not forgetting a single commission from his mother-in-law or brother-in-law, nor the presents of a dress for Madame Byelov and toys for his nephews.
In the early days of his married life his wife's expectation that he should forget nothing he had undertaken to buy had struck him as strange, and he had been impressed by her serious chagrin when after his first absence he had returned having forgotten everything. But in time he had grown used to this. Knowing that Natasha gave him no commissions on her own account, and for others only asked him to get things when he had himself offered to do so, he now took a childish pleasure, that was a surprise to himself, in those purchases of presents for all the household, and never forgot anything. If he incurred Natasha's censure now, it was only for buying too much, and paying too much for his purchases. To her other defects in the eyes of the world—good qualities in Pierre's eyes—her untidiness and negligence, Natasha added that of stinginess.
Ever since Pierre had begun living a home life, involving increased expenses in a large house, he had noticed to his astonishment that he was spending half what he had spent in the past, and that his circumstances, somewhat straitened latterly, especially by his first wife's debts, were beginning to improve.
Living was much cheaper, because his life was coherent; the most expensive luxury in his former manner of life, that is, the possibility of a complete change in it at any moment, Pierre had not now, and had no desire for. He felt that his manner of life was settled now once for all till death; that to change it was not in his power, and therefore that manner of life was cheaper.
With a beaming, smiling countenance, Pierre was unpacking his purchases.
“Look!” he said, unfolding a piece of material like a shopman. Natasha was sitting opposite him with her eldest girl on her knee, and she turned her sparkling eyes from her husband to what he was showing her.
“That's for Madame Byelov? Splendid.” She touched it to feel the goodness of the material. “It must have been a rouble a yard?”
Pierre mentioned the price.
“Very dear,” said Natasha. “Well, how pleased the children will be and maman too. Only you shouldn't have bought me this,” she added, unable to suppress a smile, as she admired the gold and pearl comb, of a pattern just then coming into fashion.
“Adèle kept on at me to buy it,” said Pierre.
“When shall I wear it?” Natasha put it in her coil of hair. “It will do when I have to bring little Masha out; perhaps they will come in again then. Well, let us go in.”
And gathering up the presents, they went first into the nursery, and then in to see the countess.
The countess, as her habit was, was sitting playing patience with Madame Byelov when Pierre and Natasha went into the drawing-room with parcels under their arms.
The countess was by now over sixty. Her hair was completely grey, and she wore a cap that surrounded her whole face with a frill. Her face was wrinkled, her upper lip had sunk, and her eyes were dim.
After the deaths of her son and her husband that had followed so quickly on one another, she had felt herself a creature accidentally forgotten in this world, with no object and no interest in life. She ate and drank, slept and lay awake, but she did not live. Life gave her no impressions. She wanted nothing from life but peace, and that peace she could find only in death. But until death came to her she had to go on living— that is, using her vital forces. There was in the highest degree noticeable in her what may be observed in very small children and in very old people. No external aim could be seen in her existence; all that could be seen was the need to exercise her various capacities and propensities. She had to eat, to sleep, to think, to talk, to weep, to work, to get angry, and so on, simply because she had a stomach, a brain, muscles, nerves, and spleen. All this she did, not at the promptings of any external motive, as people do in the full vigour of life, when the aim towards which they strive screens from our view that other aim of exercising their powers. She only talked because she needed to exercise her lungs and her tongue. She cried like a child, because she needed the physical relief of tears, and so on. What for people in their full vigour is a motive, with her was obviously a pretext.
Thus in the morning, especially if she had eaten anything too rich the night before, she sought an occasion for anger, and pitched on the first excuse—the deafness of Madame Byelov.
From the other end of the room she would begin to say something to her in a low voice.
“I fancy it is warmer to-day, my dear,” she would say in a whisper. And when Madame Byelov replied: “To be sure, they have come,” she would mutter angrily: “Mercy on us, how deaf and stupid she is!”
Another excuse was her snuff, which she fancied either too dry, or too moist, or badly pounded. After these outbursts of irritability, a bilious hue came into her face. And her maids knew by infallible tokens when Madame Byelov would be deaf again, and when her snuff would again be damp, and her face would again be yellow. Just as she had to exercise her spleen, she had sometimes to exercise her remaining faculties; and for thought the pretext was patience. When she wanted to cry, the subject of her tears was the late count. When she needed excitement, the subject was Nikolay and anxiety about his health. When she wanted to say something spiteful, the pretext was the Countess Marya. When she required exercise for her organs of speech—this was usually about seven o'clock, after she had had her after-dinner rest in a darkened room— then the pretext was found in repetition of anecdotes, always the same, and always to the same listeners.
The old countess's condition was understood by all the household, though no one ever spoke of it, and every possible effort was made by every one to satisfy her requirements. Only rarely a mournful half-smile passed between Nikolay, Pierre, Natasha, and Countess Marya that betrayed their comprehension of her condition.
But those glances said something else besides. They said that she had done her work in life already, that she was not all here in what was seen in her now, that they would all be the same, and that they were glad to give way to her, to restrain themselves for the sake of this poor creature, once so dear, once as full of life as they. Memento mori, said those glances.
Only quite heartless and stupid people and little children failed to understand this, and held themselves aloof from her.
像每一个正常的家庭一样，童山庄园也同时存在着几个不同的圈子。每个圈子保留着各自的特点，但互让互谅，因而组成一个和谐的整体。家里发生的每件事，不论是悲是喜，对所有的圈子都同样重要，但每个圈子的悲喜都有自己的原因。 
譬如皮埃尔的归来是一件大喜事，大家都有这样的感觉。
仆人们往往是东家最可靠的评判员，因为他们作评判不是根据东家的谈话和表情，而是根据他们的行动和生活方式做出判断。他们对皮埃尔归来感到高兴，因为知道只要皮埃尔在家，尼古拉伯爵就不会天天去巡视田庄，而且伯爵的心绪和脾气都会好些，此外，过节时大家都能得到很多节日的礼物。
皮埃尔·别祖霍夫回来，孩子们和女教师也很高兴，因为谁也不会像皮埃尔那样经常带他们去参加社交活动，只有他才会在击弦古钢琴上弹苏格兰舞曲（他只会弹这一支舞曲），他说用这支舞曲伴奏可以跳各种舞。此外，他准会给所有的人带来礼物。
尼古连卡（小尼古拉）今年已有十五岁，是个瘦弱聪明的孩子，生着一头淡褐色的鬈发和一双美丽的眼睛。皮埃尔回来，他也很高兴，因为皮埃尔叔叔（他这样称呼他）是他所钦佩和热爱的人。其实谁也没有要他去喜欢皮埃尔，他也难得见到皮埃尔。抚养他的玛丽亚伯爵夫人则竭力要小尼古拉像她那样热爱她的丈夫，而小尼古拉也爱姑父，但对姑父的感情上还有点蔑视的成分，他非常喜欢皮埃尔。他不想当尼古拉姑父那样的骠骑兵，也不想得圣乔治勋章，他想做一个像皮埃尔叔叔那样聪明善良而又有学问的人。他在皮埃尔面前总是眉飞色舞，容光焕发。皮埃尔一同他说话，他就脸红，呼吸急促，他听皮埃尔说话总是一字不漏，过后就同德萨尔一起或独自一人玩味皮埃尔的每句话。皮埃尔过去的经历、他在一八一二年以前的不幸遭遇（小尼古拉根据听到的事，暗自勾勒出一幅朦胧的富有诗意的图画）、皮埃尔在莫斯科的历险、他的俘虏生活、普拉东·卡拉达耶夫的事（他从皮埃尔那里听说的）、他对娜塔莎的爱情（小尼古拉对娜塔莎也有一种特殊的爱），更重要的是皮埃尔与小尼古拉的亲生父亲之间的友谊（小尼古拉已记不清楚他父亲的面容了），所有这一切都使皮埃尔在孩子的心目中成了英雄和圣人。
从皮埃尔谈到他父亲和娜塔莎的只字片语中，从皮埃尔谈到小尼古拉的亡父时的激动心情中，从娜塔莎谈到他亡父时又审慎又虔诚的态度中，这个初次意识到爱情的孩子猜想他的父亲爱过娜塔莎，临终时又把她托付给自己的好友。小尼古拉虽然不记得父亲，但父亲是他神秘的崇拜对象，他一想到父亲就心里发紧，悲喜交集，泪水盈眶。因此，皮埃尔回来，小尼古拉也很高兴。
客人们也都喜欢皮埃尔，因为他一来大家都感到又热闹又快乐，又团结一致。
家里的成年人都喜欢皮埃尔（更不用说他的妻子了），因为有他在，生活就变得轻松愉快、和睦安宁。
老太太们欢迎他，因为他经常带来礼物，更主要的，是他使娜塔莎又变得活泼可爱。
皮埃尔发觉不同的人对他持有不同的看法，他总是尽其所能去满足每个人的愿望。
皮埃尔本来是个漫不经心，十分健忘的人，但这次却根据妻子开的单子，买全了所有的东西。他没有忘记岳母和内兄的嘱托，没有忘记送给别洛娃做礼物的衣料，也没有忘记送给侄儿侄女们的玩具。他刚结婚时妻子嘱咐他别忘了买这买那，他感到奇怪。他第一次出门，就把该买什么都忘记了。妻子对此大为不快，他对娜塔莎的不快很吃惊，后来他就习惯了。他知道娜塔莎自己什么都不要，而给别人买东西，只有皮埃尔自己提出来，她才让买。现在他给全家人买礼物，感到一种意外的、孩子一般的快乐，而且再也不会忘记这种事。如果娜塔莎再责怪他的话，就是因为他买得太多，价钱太贵。
大多数人认为不修边幅、漫不经心，是娜塔莎的两个缺点（大多数人认为这是缺点，皮埃尔却认为是优点）如今又增加了一条，那就是吝啬。
皮埃尔成家后，人口增多，开支很大，但皮埃尔自己也觉得奇怪，他发现实际的开销比原来减少一半，由于前妻的债务而陷入困境的事业已开始好转。
生活上有了节制，钱也用得少了。皮埃尔不再像过去那样挥金如土，那样随时有可能使他破产。他认为他的生活方式就是这样，至死也不会改变了，而且他也无权改变这种节约的生活方式。
皮埃尔满面春风，整理着他买回来的东西。
“多漂亮！”他像店员一样抖开一块衣料说。娜塔莎坐在对面，把大女儿抱在膝上，她那亮晶晶的目光从丈夫身上移到那块衣料上。
“是给别洛娃的吗？太好了。”她摸了摸衣料的质地。
“这大概要一卢布一尺吧？”
皮埃尔说了价钱。
“太贵了，”娜塔莎说，“孩子们会特别高兴，妈妈也会开心的。只是你何必给我买这个！”她又说，忍不住笑，欣赏着一把当时刚流行的镶珍珠的金梳子。
“是阿杰莉鼓动我买的，她一个劲儿地说，买吧，买吧。”
皮埃尔说。
“我什么时候戴呢？”娜塔莎把梳子插到发辫上。“等玛申卡在舞会上抛头露面的时候吧，说不定到那时候又时兴这个了。好了，咱们走吧。”
他们把礼品收拾好，先去育儿室，然后去见老伯爵夫人。
皮埃尔和娜塔莎夹着一包包礼品来到客厅时，老伯爵夫人照例在跟别洛娃玩牌。
老伯爵夫人已六十开外，满头白发，戴着睡帽，荷叶帽边围住了她的脸。她脸上堆满了皱纹，上嘴唇瘪着，双目无神。
她的儿子和丈夫接连去世，她感到自己在这个世界上是个偶然被遗忘的人，活着没有任何目的和意义。她吃饭，喝水、有时睡觉，有时不睡觉，她活着但又不像真正地活着。生活已没有给她带来任何鲜明的印象。她对生活别无所求，她只图平静，而只有死亡才能给她带来永恒的宁静，但在死神来临之前，她不得不照样活下去，这就是还得慢慢地消耗她的生命力，在她身上明显地表现出婴儿和老人才具有的特征。她活着没有明确的目的，似乎只要运用身体的各种机能。她需要吃饭、睡觉、思考、说话、哭泣、做事和发脾气等等，只是因为她有肠胃、有头脑、有肌肉、有神经，还有肝脏。她做这一切，不是由于外力推动她去做，不像人在精力旺盛时那样能集中力量来达到一个目的，而不去注意其他目的。她说话，只是因为生理上要让她的肺部和舌头活动活动，她像婴儿一样哭，是因为她需要擤鼻涕，诸如此类。精力充沛的人视为目的的事情，对她来说显然只是一种借口而已。
譬如说，她在早晨或头一天吃了油腻的东西，她就想发脾气，于是她就把别洛娃的耳聋作为她发脾气的借口。
她在屋子另一头对别洛娃小声地讲话。
“今天好像暖和些，我亲爱的。”她低声说。
别洛娃回答说：“是啊！他们坐车来了。”于是老夫人就气愤地抱怨说：“天啊！瞧她真是又聋又笨！”
另一个借口就是她的鼻烟，她嫌鼻烟不是太干，就是太潮，或者研磨得不够细。她发过脾气，脸色就变得蜡黄。使女们一看老夫人的脸色就知道，准是别洛娃又耳背了，或者是鼻烟又太潮了，因此她的脸色又发黄了。就像她需要发脾气一样，她有时也需要动一下她的变得迟钝的脑筋，这里她的借口就是玩牌。如果她需要哭，那么怀念已去世的伯爵就是最好的借口。如果她想要惊恐不安，那么尼古拉的健康问题就可用来借题发挥。她想要说些刻薄的言语，就去找玛丽亚伯爵夫人的岔子。她需要动动发音器官（多半是在晚饭后六七点钟，在阴暗的屋子里），她就对听过多次的家人反复讲同一个故事。
老太太的这种情况全家人大家都知道，不过大家都缄口不语，只是尽可能去满足她的愿望。尼古拉、皮埃尔、娜塔莎和玛丽亚之间偶而交换一下眼色，相对苦笑一下，彼此心照不宣。
不过这些眼色，还暗示着另外一层意思，那就是说她已尽了自己一生的职责，他们今日所见到的她已不是完整的她，有朝一日我们大家也会像她现在这样。因此，大家都愿意迁就她，照顾她，并愿为她这个原来很可爱、原来像我们一样充满活力，而今却变得如此可怜的人而克制自己。她不久于人世了①——他们的目光这样说明。
全家只有冷酷的人、愚蠢的人和孩子才不懂这一点，因而对她疏远。 
①原文为拉丁文。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 13
WHEN PIERRE AND HIS WIFE came into the drawing-room, the countess happened to be in her customary condition of needing the mental exercise of a game of patience, and therefore, although from habit she uttered the words, she always repeated on the return of Pierre or her son after absence: “It was high time, high time, my dear boy; we have been expecting you a long while. Well, thank God, you are here.” And on the presents being given her, pronounced another stock phrase: “It's not the gift that is precious, my dear.… Thank you for thinking of an old woman like me. …” It was evident that Pierre's entrance at that moment was unwelcome, because it interrupted her in dealing her cards. She finished her game of patience, and only then gave her attention to the presents. The presents for her consisted of a card-case of fine workmanship, a bright blue Sèvres cup with a lid and a picture of shepherdesses on it, and a gold snuff-box with the count's portrait on it, which Pierre had had executed by a miniature-painter in Petersburg. The countess had long wished to have this; but just now she had no inclination to weep, and so she looked unconcernedly at the portrait, and took more notice of the card-case.
“Thank you, my dear, you are a comfort to me,” she said, as she always did. “But best of all, you have brought yourself back. It has been beyond everything; you must really scold your wife. She is like one possessed without you. She sees nothing, thinks of nothing,” she said as usual. “Look, Anna Timofyevna,” she added, “what a card-case my son has brought us.”
Madame Byelov admired the present, and was enchanted with the dress material.
Pierre, Natasha, Nikolay, Countess Marya, and Denisov had a great deal they wanted to talk about, which was not talked of before the old countess; not because anything was concealed from her, but simply because she had dropped so out of things, that if they had begun to talk freely before her they would have had to answer so many questions put by her at random, and to repeat so many things that had been repeated to her so many times already; to tell her that this person was dead and that person was married, which she could never remember. Yet they sat as usual at tea in the drawing-room, and Pierre answered the countess's quite superfluous questions, which were of no interest even to her, and told her that Prince Vassily was looking older, and that Countess Marya Alexeyevna sent her kind regards and remembrances, etc.
Such conversation, of no interest to any one, but inevitable, was kept up all tea-time. All the grown-up members of the family were gathered about the round tea-table with the samovar, at which Sonya presided. The children with their tutors and governesses had already had tea, and their voices could be heard in the next room. At tea every one sat in his own habitual place. Nikolay sat by the stove at a little table apart, where his tea was handed him. An old terrier bitch, with a perfectly grey face, Milka, the daughter of the first Milka, lay on a chair beside him. Denisov, with streaks of grey in his curly hair, moustaches, and whiskers, wearing his general's coat unbuttoned, sat beside Countess Marya. Pierre was sitting between his wife and the old countess. He was telling what he knew might interest the old lady and be intelligible to her. He talked of external social events and of the persons who had once made up the circle of the old countess's contemporaries, and had once been a real living circle of people, but were now for the most part scattered about the world, and, like her, living out their remnant of life, gleaning up the stray ears of what they had sown in life. But they, these contemporaries, seemed to the old countess to make up the only real world that was worth considering. By Pierre's eagerness, Natasha saw that his visit had been an interesting one, that he was longing to tell them about it, but dared not speak freely before the countess. Denisov, not being a member of the family, did not understand Pierre's circumspectness, and, moreover, being dissatisfied with the course of events, took a very great interest in all that was going forward at Petersburg. He was continually trying to get Pierre to tell him about the recent scandal about the Semyonovsky regiment, or about Araktcheev, or about the Bible Society. Pierre was sometimes led on into beginning to talk about those subjects, but Nikolay and Natasha always brought him back to the health of Prince Ivan and Countess Marya Antonovna.
“Well, what is all this idiocy, Gossner and Madame Tatarinov,” Denisov asked, “is that still going on?”
“Going on?” said Pierre. “Worse than ever. The Bible Society is now the whole government.”
“What is that, mon cher ami?” asked the old countess, who, having drunk her tea, was obviously seeking a pretext for ill-humour after taking food. “What are you saying about the government? I don't understand that.”
“Why, you know, maman,” put in Nikolay, who knew how to translate things into his mother's language. “Prince Alexander Nikolaevitch Golitsin had founded a society, so he has great influence they say.”
“Araktcheev and Golitsin,” said Pierre incautiously, “are practically the government now. And what a government! They see conspiracy in everything, they are afraid of everything.”
“What, Prince Alexander Nikolaevitch found fault with! He is a most estimable man. I used to meet him in old days at Marya Antonovna's,” said the countess in an aggrieved tone. And still more aggrieved by the general silence, she went on, “Nowadays people find fault with every one. A Gospel Society, what harm is there in that?” and she got up (every one rose too), and with a severe face sailed out to her table in the adjoining divan-room.
In the midst of the mournful silence that followed, they heard the sound of children's voices and laughter from the next room. There was evidently some joyful excitement afoot among the children.
“Finished, finished!” the gleeful shriek of little Natasha was heard above all the rest. Pierre exchanged glances with Countess Marya and Nikolay (Natasha he was looking at all the time), and he smiled happily.
“Delightful music!” he said.
“Anna Makarovna has finished her stocking,” said Countess Marya.
“Oh, I'm going to have a look at them,” said Pierre, jumping up. “You know,” he said, stopping at the door, “why it is I so particularly love that music—it is what first lets me know that all's well. As I came today, the nearer I got to home, the greater my panic. As I came into the vestibule, I heard Andryusha in peals of laughter, and then I knew all was well …”
“I know, I know that feeling,” Nikolay chimed in. “I mustn't come— the stockings are a surprise in store for me.”
Pierre went into the children, and the shrieks and laughter were louder than ever. “Now, Anna Makarovna,” cried Pierre's voice, “here in the middle of the room and at the word of my command—one, two, and when I say three, you stand here. You in my arms. Now, one, two …” there was complete silence. “Three!” and an enthusiastic roar of children's voices rose in the room. “Two, two!” cried the children.
They meant the two stockings, which, by a secret only known to her, Anna Makarovna used to knit on her needles at once. She always made a solemn ceremony of pulling one stocking out of the other in the presence of the children when the pair was finished.
皮埃尔夫妇来到客厅，恰好碰上老伯爵夫人正在玩牌，以便动一动脑筋，她虽然也像皮埃尔或儿子每次出门回来时那样说：“是该回来了，该回来了，我亲爱的，大家都等急了。回来就好了，谢天谢地。”在把礼物递交给她时，她也是那几句老话：“可贵的不是礼物，亲爱的，谢谢你心里还惦记着我这个老太婆……”但这一次皮埃尔来的不是时候，她的牌刚打了一半，分散了她的注意力，使她很不高兴。她打完了牌，才去看礼物。给她的礼物是一只做工考究的牌匣，一只浅蓝色的塞佛尔①盖杯，杯上绘有几个牧羊女。还有一只绘有老伯爵遗像的金鼻烟壶，遗像是皮埃尔约请彼得堡一位微型画画家特意绘制的（伯爵夫人早就想要一只这样的鼻烟壶了）。她此刻不想哭，因此只是冷冷地看了一眼遗像，然后就摆弄起那个精巧的牌匣来了。 
①塞佛尔是法国巴黎西南的一座卫星城，以产瓷器著名。
“谢谢你，亲爱的，你可使我高兴了，”她像往常一样说。
“不过，你总算回来了。这太好了。你媳妇也闹得太不像话了，你真该管教一下你的媳妇，成什么体统。你不在家，她简直要发疯了，什么也看不到，什么也记不住。”她又重复她那一套话，“你看看，别洛娃，（安娜·拿莫菲耶夫娜）他给我们带来了一个多好的盒子。”
别洛娃也把礼物夸奖了一番，也称赞了送给她的衣料。
虽然皮埃尔、娜塔莎、尼古拉、玛丽亚伯爵夫人和杰尼索夫有许多话要说，但是他们不愿在老伯爵夫人面前说，倒不是有什么事要瞒着她，而是因为老伯爵夫人在许多方面落后了。如果当着她的面谈话，就得回答她提出的一些早已过时的问题，有些话还得反复地说，如告诉她某人去世了，某人结婚了。就这样，她可能还记不住。按照惯例，他们在客厅里围着茶炊喝茶，皮埃尔则回答伯爵夫人提出的问题，例如瓦西里公爵是否见老，玛丽亚·阿列克谢耶夫娜是否来信问候，是否惦念她等等。这些问题她自己并不关心，别人也不感兴趣……
喝茶的时候这种谁也不感兴趣而又无法避免的问题始终谈个不停，家里的成年人都围着茶炊旁的圆桌喝茶，索尼娅就坐在靠近茶炊的地方。孩子们和男女家庭教师已用过茶了，他们在隔壁起居室里谈笑风生。这边喝茶时大家都坐在固定的老地方，尼古拉坐在炉边的小桌旁，茶已给他端在桌子上了。老米尔卡是一代名犬米尔卡生的母狗，这只狗的脸上长满白毛，乌黑的两只大眼睛比平时瞪得更大，它这时躺在尼古拉身旁的安乐椅上。杰尼索夫鬈曲的头发和络腮胡子都已花白，他敞开将军服，坐在玛丽亚伯爵夫人身旁。皮埃尔坐在妻子和老伯爵夫人中间。他谈到许多他认为老太太会感兴趣并且听得明白的事。
他谈到外部社会上的事，他也谈到老太太的同辈人，他们当年也确实活跃过一阵子，而现在天各一方，像她一样安度晚年，似乎正在收获着早年种下庄稼的最后一批谷穗。老伯爵夫人认为她那一代才真正是正统的一代。娜塔莎从皮埃尔兴致勃勃的样子看出来，他这一次旅行一定很有趣，才有说不完的话，但是当着老伯爵夫人的面，又不好把一切都说出来。杰尼索夫不是这个家的成员，他不明白皮埃尔为什么说起话来如此拘谨，同时，由于他对现状不满，因此很想了解一下目前彼得堡的情况。于是，他就不断怂恿皮埃尔讲讲谢苗诺夫团刚刚发生的事情，谈谈阿拉克切耶夫的情况，讲讲圣经会①的建立。皮埃尔讲得起劲时，就有点忘乎所以，这时尼古拉和娜塔莎就赶忙把话题转到伊万公爵和玛丽亚·安东诺夫娜伯爵夫人的健康上来。
“那么，戈斯涅尔，塔塔利诺娃，还在那么疯疯癫癫地继续干吗？”杰尼索夫问道。
“继续干？”皮埃尔几乎是喊起来了。“他们现在干得比任何时候都卖劲了。圣经会现在已相当于政府了。”
“这究竟是怎么一回事，我亲爱的朋友②？”她已喝完茶，看来想在饭后找一个借口发脾气。“你说的政府是什么意思，我不明白。” 
①圣经会于一八一二年由戈利津建立，具有一定的政治势力，后因戈利津失势，于一八二六年被尼古拉一世封闭。
②后一分句，原文用的是法语，意为我亲爱的朋友。
“哦，妈妈您知道是这么一回事”尼古拉插话说，他知道该如何翻译成母亲能听懂的话，“亚历山大·尼古拉耶维奇·戈里津公爵创办了一个团体，据说他现在很有权势。”
“阿拉克切耶夫和戈里津，”皮埃尔脱口而出，“如今大权在手，可他们，看到到处是阴谋诡计，弄得草木皆兵。”
“咳，戈里津公爵有什么错？他德高望重。我以前常在玛丽亚·安东诺夫娜家见到他，”老伯爵夫人生气地说。她看到大家都默不作声，心中的气更大，就接着说：“现在大家都学会了说长道短，妄加评论。圣经会有什么不好？”她站起身来（大家也都跟着站起来），板着脸，朝起居室她的桌旁走去。
在一阵难堪的沉默中，传来了隔壁屋里孩子的笑语声。显然，那边一定有什么令人开心的事情。
“好了，好了！”在一片欢乐声中，小娜塔莎的喊声盖过了所有的人。皮埃尔和玛丽亚伯爵夫人，和尼古拉交换了眼色，会心地笑了。（皮埃尔一直看着娜塔莎。）
“多么美妙的音乐啊！”他说。
“准是安娜·玛卡罗夫娜的袜子织好了。”玛丽亚伯爵夫人说。
“哦，我去看看，”皮埃尔一跃而起，说，“你知道，”他在门口放慢脚步说，“我为什么特别喜欢这种音乐？因为它让我知道一切平安。我今天回家，离家越近，就越是耽心。我一走进前厅，听见安德留沙朗朗的笑声，我就知道，孩子们都好……”
“我懂，我懂得这种感情，”尼古拉附和说，“不过，我不用过去了。我知道，她织的袜子太神奇了。”
皮埃尔到孩子们房里去了，那边喊声更高，笑声也更欢了。“安娜·玛卡罗夫娜，”皮埃尔说。“你到这里中间来，听口令，现在我要数一、二、三，数到三的时候，你就站到这里来，我来抱你。好，一，二，……”传来皮埃尔的声音，接着是一片沉默。“三！”屋里传来孩子们的欢叫声。
“两只，两只！”孩子们叫喊道。
他们说的是两只袜子，安娜·玛卡罗夫娜有一个绝招，能用一副针同时织出两只袜子。每次织好以后，她总是得意洋洋地当着孩子们的面，从一只袜子里抽出另一只袜子来。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 14
SOON AFTER THIS the children came in to say good-night. The children kissed every one, the tutors and governesses said good-night and went away. Dessalle alone remained with his pupil. The tutor whispered to his young charge to come downstairs.
“No, M. Dessalle, I will ask my aunt for leave to stay,” Nikolinka Bolkonsky answered, also in a whisper.
“Ma tante, will you let me stay?” said Nikolinka, going up to his aunt. His face was full of entreaty, excitement, and enthusiasm. Countess Marya looked at him and turned to Pierre
“When you are here, there is no tearing him away …” she said.
“I will bring him directly, M. Dessalle. Good-night,” said Pierre, giving his hand to the Swiss tutor, and he turned smiling to Nikolinka. “We have not seen each other at all yet. Marie, how like he is growing,” he added, turning to Countess Marya.
“Like my father?” said the boy, flushing crimson and looking up at Pierre with rapturous, shining eyes.
Pierre nodded to him, and went on with the conversation that had been interrupted by the children. Countess Marya had some canvas embroidery in her hands; Natasha sat with her eyes fixed on her husband. Nikolay and Denisov got up, asked for pipes, smoked, and took cups of tea from Sonya, still sitting with weary pertinacity at the samovar, and asked questions of Pierre. The curly-headed, delicate boy, with his shining eyes, sat unnoticed by any one in a corner. Turning the curly head and the slender neck above his laydown collar to follow Pierre's movements, he trembled now and then, and murmured something to himself, evidently thrilled by some new and violent emotion.
The conversation turned on the scandals of the day in the higher government circles, a subject in which the majority of people usually find the chief interest of home politics. Denisov, who was dissatisfied with the government on account of his own disappointments in the service, heard with glee of all the follies, as he considered them, that were going on now in Petersburg, and made his comments on Pierre's words in harsh and in cutting phrases.
“In old days you had to be a German to be anybody, nowadays you have to dance with the Tatarinov woman and Madame Krüdner, to read …Eckartshausen, and the rest of that crew. Ugh! I would let good old Bonaparte loose again! He would knock all the nonsense out of them. Why, isn't it beyond everything to have given that fellow Schwartz the Semyonovsky regiment?” he shouted.
Though Nikolay had not Denisov's disposition to find everything amiss, he too thought it dignified and becoming to criticise the government, and he believed that the fact, that A. had been appointed minister of such a department, and B. had been made governor of such a province, and the Tsar had said this, and the minister had said that, were all matters of the greatest importance. And he thought it incumbent upon him to take an interest in the subject and to question Pierre about it. So the questions put by Nikolay and Denisov kept the conversation on the usual lines of gossip about the higher government circles.
But Natasha, who knew every thought and expression in her husband, saw that Pierre all the while wanted to lead the conversation into another channel, and to open his heart on his own idea, the idea which he had gone to Petersburg to consult his new friend Prince Fyodor about. She saw too that he could not lead up to this, and she came to the rescue with a question: How had he settled things with Prince Fyodor?
“What was that?” asked Nikolay.
“All the same thing over and over again,” said Pierre, looking about him. “Every one sees that things are all going so wrong that they can't be endured, and that it's the duty of all honest men to oppose it to the utmost of their power.”
“Why, what can honest men do?” said Nikolay, frowning slightly. “What can be done?”
“Why, this…”
“Let us go into the study,” said Nikolay.
Natasha, who had a long while been expecting to be fetched to her baby, heard the nurse calling her, and went off to the nursery. Countess Marya went with her. The men went to the study, and Nikolinka Bolkonsky stole in, unnoticed by his uncle, and sat down at the writing table, in the dark by the window.
“Well, what are you going to do?” said Denisov.
“Everlastingly these fantastic schemes,” said Nikolay.
“Well,” Pierre began, not sitting down, but pacing the room, and coming to an occasional standstill, lisping and gesticulating rapidly as he talked. “This is the position of things in Petersburg: the Tsar lets everything go. He is entirely wrapped up in this mysticism” (mysticism Pierre could not forgive in anybody now). “All he asks for is peace; and he can only get peace through these men of no faith and no conscience, who are stifling and destroying everything, Magnitsky and Araktcheev, and tutti quanti…You will admit that if you did not look after your property yourself, and only asked for peace and quiet, the crueller your bailiff were, the more readily you would attain your object,” he said, turning to Nikolay.
“Well, but what is the drift of all this?” said Nikolay.
“Why, everything is going to ruin. Bribery in the law-courts, in the army nothing but coercion and drill: exile—people are being tortured, and enlightenment is suppressed. Everything youthful and honourable—they are crushing! Everybody sees that it can't go on like this. The strain is too great, and the string must snap,” said Pierre (as men always do say, looking into the working of any government so long as governments have existed). “I told them one thing in Petersburg.”
“Told whom?” asked Denisov.
“Oh, you know whom,” said Pierre, with a meaning look from under his brows, “Prince Fyodor and all of them. Zeal in educational and philanthropic work is all very good of course. Their object is excellent and all the rest of it; but in present circumstances what is wanted is something else.”
At that moment Nikolay noticed the presence of his nephew. His face fell; he went up to him.
“Why are you here?”
“Oh, let him be,” said Pierre, taking hold of Nikolay's arm; and he went on. “That's not enough, I told them; something else is wanted now. While you stand waiting for the string to snap every moment; while every one is expecting the inevitable revolution, as many people as possible should join hands as closely as they can to withstand the general catastrophe. All the youth and energy is being drawn away and dissipated. One lured by women, another by honours, a third by display or money—they are all going over to the wrong side. As for independent, honest men, like you and me—there are none of them left. I say: enlarge the scope of the society: let the mot d'ordre be not loyalty only, but independence and action.”
Nikolay, leaving his nephew, had angrily moved out a chair, and sat down in it. As he listened to Pierre, he coughed in a dissatisfied way, and frowned more and more.
“But action with what object?” he cried. “And what attitude do you take up to the government?”
“Why, the attitude of supporters! The society will perhaps not even be a secret one, if the government will allow it. So far from being hostile to the government, we are the real conservatives. It is a society of gentlemen, in the full significance of the word. It is simply to prevent Pugatchov from coming to massacre my children and yours, to prevent Araktcheev from transporting me to a military settlement, that we are joining hands, with the sole object of the common welfare and security.”
“Yes; but it's a secret society, and consequently a hostile and mischievous society, which can only lead to evil.”
“Why so? Did the Tugend-bund which saved Europe” (people did not yet venture to believe that Russia had saved Europe) “lead to evil? A Tugend-bund it is, an alliance of virtue; it is love and mutual help; it is what Christ preached on the cross…”
Natasha, coming into the room in the middle of the conversation, looked joyfully at her husband. She was not rejoicing in what he was saying. It did not interest her indeed, because it seemed to her that it was all so excessively simple, and that she had known it long ago. She fancied this, because she knew all that it sprang from—all Pierre's soul. But she was glad looking at his eager, enthusiastic figure.
Pierre was watched with even more rapturous gladness by the boy with the slender neck in the laydown collar, who had been forgotten by all of them. Every word Pierre uttered set his heart in a glow, and his fingers moving nervously, he unconsciously picked up and broke to pieces the sticks of sealing-wax and pens on his uncle's table.
“It's not at all what you imagine, but just such a society as the German Tugend-bund is what I propose.”
“Well, my boy, that's all very well for the sausage-eaters—a Tugend-bund—but I don't understand it, and I can't even pronounce it,” Denisov's loud, positive voice broke in. “Everything's rotten and corrupt; I agree there; only your Tugend-bund I don't understand, but if one is dissatisfied,—a bunt now” (i.e. riot or mutiny), “je suis votre homme!”
Pierre smiled, Natasha laughed; but Nikolay knitted his brows more than ever, and began arguing with Pierre that no revolution was to be expected, and that the danger he talked of had no existence but in his imagination. Pierre maintained his view, and as his intellectual faculties were keener and more resourceful, Nikolay was soon at a loss for an answer. This angered him still more, as in his heart he felt convinced, not by reasoning, but by something stronger than reasoning, of the indubitable truth of his own view.
“Well, let me tell you,” he said, getting up and nervously setting his pipe down in the corner, and then flinging it away; “I can't prove it you. You say everything is all rotten, and there will be a revolution; I don't see it; but you say our oath of allegiance is a conditional thing, and as to that, let me tell you, you are my greatest friend, you know that, but you make a secret society, you begin working against the government—whatever it may be, I know it's my duty to obey it. And if Araktcheev bids me march against you with a squadron and cut you down, I shan't hesitate for a second, I shall go. And then you may think what you like about it.”
An awkward silence followed these words. Natasha was the first to break it by defending her husband and attacking her brother. Her defence was weak and clumsy. But it attained her object. The conversation was taken up again, and no longer in the unpleasantly hostile tone in which Nikolay's last words had been spoken.
When they all got up to go in to supper, Nikolinka Bolkonsky went up to Pierre with a pale face and shining, luminous eyes.
“Uncle Pierre…you…no…If papa had been alive…he would have been on your side?” he asked.
Pierre saw in a flash all the original, complicated and violent travail of thought and feeling that must have been going on independently in this boy during the conversation. And recalling all he had been saying, he felt vexed that the boy should have heard him. He had to answer him, however.
“I believe he would,” he said reluctantly, and he went out of the study.
The boy looked down, and then for the first time seemed to become aware of the havoc he had been making on the writing-table. He flushed hotly and went up to Nikolay.
“Uncle, forgive me; I did it—not on purpose,” he said, pointing to the fragments of sealing-wax and pens.
Nikolay bounded up angrily. “Very good, very good,” he said, throwing the bits of pens and sealing-wax under the table. And with evident effort mastering his fury, he turned away from him.
“You ought not to have been here at all,” he said.
过了不久，孩子们来道晚安。孩子们同所有在座的人一一吻别，男女家庭教师也行过礼，然后就出去了。只有德萨尔和他的学生小尼古拉留了下来。德萨尔低声叫小尼古拉下楼去。 
“不，德萨尔先生，我要求姑妈让我留在这儿。①”
小尼古拉同样小声回答说。 
①此处字下打黑点表示，原文直接用法语，此处译成汉语。
“姑妈，让我留在这儿吧。”小尼古拉走到姑母面前说。他又兴奋，又激动，脸上露出恳求的神色。玛丽亚伯爵夫人看了他一眼，对皮埃尔说：
“只要您在这儿，他就不乐意走了……”
“德萨尔先生，过一会我就把他送到您那儿去，晚安。”①皮埃尔把手伸给那位瑞士教师，接着含笑转向小尼古拉说：“我们没见过面呢。玛丽亚，他长得真像……”他转身对玛丽亚伯爵夫人说。
“是像爸爸吗？”孩子的脸红了，他用敬慕的、明亮的眼睛从上到下打量着皮埃尔。皮埃尔向他点点头，又接着谈被孩子打断的话题。玛丽亚伯爵夫人在十字布上绣花，娜塔莎目不转睛地望着丈夫。尼古拉和杰尼索夫站起来要烟斗抽烟，他又向一直守着茶炊无精打采的索尼娅接过茶，又询问皮埃尔有关这次外出了解到的消息，小尼古拉，这个长着一头卷发的孱弱的孩子，坐在没人注意的一个角落里，双眼闪闪发光，从衣领里伸出细脖子，他的满头卷发的头向着皮埃尔，在偶而体验到某种新的强烈的感情时，他会不由自主地哆嗦一下。
接着，众人的话题转到当时对最高当局的一些流言，其中包含了大多数人通常最感兴趣的国内政治问题。杰尼索夫因在军界失意而对政府不满，现在听说彼得堡出了丑闻十分高兴，于是对皮埃尔所述情况发表了一通尖刻的评论。
“过去不得不作德意志人，现在就得陪塔塔利诺娃和克律德涅夫人②团团转跳舞，还得捧读艾加特豪森之流的著作。哎，要是把波拿巴那个宝贝放出来就好了，他就会把一切胡涂思想扫除掉，把谢苗诺夫团交给施瓦茨这样的大兵来指挥，成何体统？”他大喊大叫地说。 
①此处用法语。“德萨尔先生……晚安。”
②朱丽安·克律德涅夫人（1766～1824），女作家，出生在里加，神秘主义者，亚历山大一世曾一度受过她的影响。
尼古拉虽然不像杰尼索夫那样专门挑毛病，但他仍然认为议论政府可是一件大事情，而甲出任大臣，乙担任总督，皇帝说什么话，大臣说什么话，都是很重大的事。他认为国家大事，匹夫有责，所以也向皮埃尔询问各种问题。只是他们俩人问到的不外乎一些有关政府高级部门的轶闻。
娜塔莎十分了解丈夫的心思和脾气，她看出皮埃尔早想转换话题，看出他早就想倾吐他内心深处的一些想法。他这次要去彼得堡，就是想同他的新友费奥多尔公爵一起商量此事。于是她问皮埃尔，他跟费奥多尔①的事怎么样了。 
①指十二月党人的革命活动。
“什么事？”尼古拉问。
“也就是那些事，”皮埃尔向四周看了一下，说，“大家都看到，情况已经糟到不能再糟的地步，一切正直的人们都有责任来尽力挽救局势。”
“那么正直的人们该做些什么呢？”尼古拉微微皱起眉头说。“他们能做些什么呢？”
“应该做的是……”
“我们到书斋里去吧，”尼古拉说。
娜塔莎早就想到该喂孩子了，听见保姆叫唤她，就到育儿室去了。玛丽亚伯爵夫人也跟着她去了。男人们走进书斋去，小尼古拉趁姑父不注意，也跟着溜了进去，躲在靠窗的写字台的幽暗角落里。
“你说该怎么办？”杰尼索夫说。
“都是些空想。”尼古拉说。
“情况是这样。”皮埃尔没有坐下就开始讲了。他在房间里踱来踱去，有时又停下，一边含混不清地说着，一边很快地打着手势。“彼得堡目前的情况就是这样，皇帝不过问任何国家大事。他已完全陷入了神秘主义之中（而无论何人迷信神秘主义，皮埃尔都是无法容忍的）。他只图清静。而只有那些丧尽天良、寡廉鲜耻的人，如马格尼茨基、阿拉克切耶夫之流，尽干伤天害理的事，乱砍乱杀，祸国殃民，才能使他得到清静……如果你不亲自来抓经济，只贪图安宁，那么你的管家越厉害，你的目的就更容易达到，你同意吗？”他问尼古拉。
“你说这话是什么意思？”尼古拉说。
“咳，整个国家要崩溃了。法庭里盗窃案数不胜数，军队里只有鞭笞，出操，屯垦，人民在遭受苦难，教育遭到扼杀。新生的事物，正统的事物都遭到摧残和压制。大家都明白，不能再这样继续下去了。弦绷得太紧就会绷断的。”皮埃尔说（自有政府以来，人们在观察政府行为时都这么说）。“我在彼得堡只给他们说了一点。”
“对谁说？”杰尼索夫问。
“这您知道，”皮埃尔皱着眉头，意味深长地望着他说。
“就是对费奥多尔公爵和他们那一帮人说。奖励教育事业，热心支持慈善事业，这固然很好，但也只是用心良好而已，从目前的情况来看，更需要另外的东西。”
尼古拉这时才发现他的小侄儿在场，就沉下脸朝他走去。
“你在这儿干什么？”
“什么？让他待在这里吧！”皮埃尔抓住尼古拉的手臂，又说：“我对他们说，那样是不够的，现在需要另外的东西。大家都在等待着，弦绷得太紧，随时可能断。当大家都在等待着那不可避免的变革时，就需要更多的人，更加加强团结，紧密携手，共同努力，来抗御那将要来临的灾难。年富力强的人都已经被拉过去了，蜕化变质了，腐化堕落了。有的沉湎于女色，有的醉心于名位，有的追求金钱和权势，都投奔到那个阵营去了。像你我这样有独立人格的人，自有主见的人就根本找不到了。我说，要扩大我们的社会圈子。我们的口号是：不能光停留在口头上的道德，而应要独立和行动。”
尼古拉从侄儿身边走开，忿忿不平地挪过一把椅子坐下，听皮埃尔谈着，他不以为然地干咳着，眉头越皱越紧。
“那么，这些行动又要达到什么目的呢？”他喊叫道。“你对政府又是抱什么态度呢？”
“抱这样的态度！协助的态度。如果政府允许我们的组织也无需保密。我们的组织不仅不同政府作对，而且是一个真正的保皇派。这是一个地地道道的绅士组织。我们的目的是不让普加乔夫来杀害你我的子孙，不让阿拉克切耶夫把我送到屯垦区去。我们是为了公众的利益，为了大众的安全才携起手来为了共同的目的而奋斗。”
“是的，但是秘密组织总是敌对的、有害的，只能产生恶果。”尼古拉说。
“为什么？难道拯救欧洲的道德联盟①（当时还不敢妄想俄国能拯救欧洲）有什么害处吗？道德联盟是一种美德的联盟，那就是爱，那就是互助，就是耶稣基督在十字架上所宣扬的东西。”
娜塔莎在谈话中间走了进来，愉快地看着她丈夫。并不是丈夫的谈话本身使她高兴。她对丈夫所谈的事不感兴趣，他讲的这些，她早就知道了（并且她知道皮埃尔所讲的都是他内心里的想法），但是当她看到他兴高采烈、神采奕奕的样子她心里就特别高兴。
这里还有一个被众人所遗忘从翻领里伸出细脖子的孩子，他也是那么兴高采烈、十分激动地望着皮埃尔。皮埃尔的每一句话却深深地印在他的心上，他的手指在不安地动着，以致于不知不觉把姑父桌上的火漆和鹅毛笔都捏断了。
“完全不是像你所想的那样，这就是所谓的德意志的道德联盟，这也就是我所建议的东西。”
“哦，老弟，道德联盟只对吃腊肠的人（德国人）有好处，但是我对它不了解，说也说不清楚。”杰尼索夫大声地断言道。
“到处都很腐败，很糟糕，这个事实我承认，不过对道德联盟我不了解，也不喜欢。什么暴动②，什么联盟！无非是要我，完全听你的指挥。”③ 
①道德联盟是一八○八年在普鲁士成立的一个秘密政治团体，其宗旨是反对拿破仑的法国，于一八一○年被法国政府下令解散。
②原文为俄语DyEF（暴动）一词与德语bund（联盟）音同。
③原文中用法语：直译为到时候我就是你的人了。
皮埃尔微笑了一下，娜塔莎则放声大笑，尼古拉却把眉头皱得更紧，他开始尽力向皮埃尔说明，不会发生任何变革，他所说的危险是他自己想象出来的。对此，皮埃尔作出了相反的论证，由于他的思维能力更强些，思想更敏捷，因而使尼古拉陷于窘境。这就使他更感到气恼，因为他不是凭推理，而是凭比推理更有力的直觉认为自己的看法是完全正确的。
“我要向你说明白，”他站起来说，神经质地把烟斗移到嘴角，又把烟斗干脆扔开。“我无法向你证明。你说我们的一切都腐败了，必须进行一次改革，我看没有这个必要。你说，宣誓是有条件的，关于这个问题我要向你说清楚，你是我最好的朋友，这一点你也知道，但是你们要是组织秘密团体反对政府，不管是什么样的政府，我的职责是维护政府，如果阿拉克切耶夫现在下命令，要我带领一个骑兵连讨伐你们，我就毫不犹豫，立即出动。至于你爱怎么说，就怎么说吧。”
他说完这一番话后，接着是一阵难堪的沉默。娜塔莎终于打破沉默率先开口。当然，她的发言是替丈夫辩护，而对哥哥则是攻击。她的辩解虽然笨拙无力，但她却达到了目的。于是，交谈又开始了，但已没有尼古拉刚才说完话时那种舌战的敌对气氛了。
当大家都站起来，准备去吃晚饭的时候，小尼古拉·博尔孔斯基走到皮埃尔面前，他脸色苍白，但明亮的眼睛炯炯有神。
“皮埃尔叔叔…您……不……要是爸爸活着，他会同意您的看法吗？”他问。
皮埃尔突然明白了，当他在谈话时，这孩子头脑里一定展开过一场特殊的、强烈的感情波澜和复杂的、独立思考的活动。他回想了他所说过的话，后悔不该让孩子听见。但不管如何，他还得回答他。
“我想他会赞成的。”他勉强地答了一句，就走出了书斋。
孩子低下头去，似乎这时他才突然发现，他把桌上的东西弄坏了。他涨红了脸，向尼古拉走过去。
“姑父，原谅我，我不是故意的。”他指着折断的火漆和鹅毛笔说。
尼古拉气得哆嗦了一下。
“算了，算了。”他把折断的火漆和鹅毛笔扔到桌子下面去。显然，他在强压着自己不发脾气，把脸转过去了。
“你根本就不该到这里来。”他又加了一句。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 15
AT SUPPER no more was said of politics and societies, but a conversation turned on the subject most agreeable to Nikolay—reminiscences of 1812. Denisov started the talk, and Pierre was particularly cordial and amusing. And the party broke up on the friendliest terms. Nikolay, after undressing in his study, and giving instructions to his steward, who was awaiting him, went in his dressing-gown to his bedroom, and found his wife still at her writing-table: she was writing something.
“What are you writing, Marie?” asked Nikolay. Countess Marya flushed. She was afraid that what she was writing would not be understood and approved by her husband.
She would have liked to conceal what she was writing from him, and at the same time, she was glad he had caught her, and she had to tell him.
“It's my diary, Nikolay,” she said, handing him a blue note-book, filled with her firm, bold handwriting.
“A diary!” … said Nikolay with a shade of mockery, and he took the note-book. He saw written in French:
“December 4.—Andryusha” (their elder boy) “would not be dressed when he waked up this morning, and Mademoiselle Louise sent for me. He was naughty and obstinate. I tried threatening him, but he only got more ill-tempered. Then I undertook to manage him, left him, and helped nurse get the other children up, and told him I did not love him. For a long while he was quiet, as though he were surprised. Then he rushed out to me in his night-shirt, and sobbed so that I could not soothe him for a long while. It was clear that what distressed him most was having grieved me. Then, when I gave him his report in the evening, he cried piteously again as he kissed me. One can do anything with him by tenderness.”
“What is his report?” asked Nikolay.
“I have begun giving the elder ones little marks in the evening of how they have behaved.”
Nikolay glanced at the luminous eyes watching him, and went on turning over, and read the diary. Everything in the children's lives was noted down in it that seemed to the mother of interest as showing the character of the children, or leading to general conclusions as to methods of bringing them up. It consisted mostly of the most trifling details; but they did not seem so either to the mother or the father, as he now, for the first time, read this record of his children's lives. On the 5th of December there was the note:
“Mitya was naughty at table. Papa said he should have no pudding. He had none; but he looked so miserably and greedily at the others while they were eating. I believe that punishing them by depriving them of sweet things only develops greediness. Must tell Nikolay.”
Nikolay put the book down and looked at his wife. The luminous eyes looked at him doubtfully, to see whether he approved or not. There could be no doubt of Nikolay's approval, of his enthusiastic admiration of his wife.
Perhaps there was no need to do it so pedantically; perhaps there was no need of it all, thought Nikolay; but this untiring, perpetual spiritual effort, directed only at the children's moral welfare, enchanted him. If Nikolay could have analysed his feelings, he would have found that the very groundwork of his steady and tender love and pride in his wife was always this feeling of awe at her spirituality, at that elevated moral world that he could hardly enter, in which his wife always lived.
He was proud that she was so clever and so good, recognising his own insignificance beside her in the spiritual world, and he rejoiced the more that she, with her soul, not only belonged to him, but was a part of his very self.
“I quite, quite approve, my darling!” he said, with a significant air. “And,” after a brief pause, he added, “And I have behaved badly to-day. You were not in the study. Pierre and I were arguing, and I lost my temper. I couldn't help it. He is such a child. I don't know what would become of him if Natasha didn't keep him at her apron-strings. Can you imagine what he went to Petersburg about?…They have made a…”
“Yes, I know,” said Countess Marya. “Natasha told me.”
“Oh, well, you know, then,” Nikolay went on, getting hot at the mere recollection of the discussion. “He wants to persuade me that it's the duty of every honest man to work against the government when one's sworn allegiance and duty.…I am sorry you were not there. As it was, they all fell upon me, Denisov, and Natasha, too.…Natasha is too amusing. We know she twists him round her little finger, but when it comes to discussion—she hasn't an idea to call her own—she simply repeats his words,” added Nikolay, yielding to that irresistible impulse that tempts one to criticise one's nearest and dearest. Nikolay was unaware that what he was saying of Natasha might be said word for word of himself in relation to his wife.
“Yes, I have noticed that,” said Countess Marya.
“When I told him that duty and sworn allegiance come before everything, he began arguing God knows what. It was a pity you were not there. What would you have said?”
“To my thinking, you were quite right. I told Natasha so. Pierre says that every one is suffering, and being ill-treated and corrupted, and that it's our duty to help our neighbours. Of course, he is right,” said Countess Marya; “but he forgets that we have other nearer duties, which God Himself has marked out for us, and that we may run risks for ourselves, but not for our children.”
“Yes, yes, that's just what I told him,” cried Nikolay, who actually fancied he had said just that. “And they had all their say out about loving one's neighbour, and Christianity, and all the rest of it, before Nikolinka, who had slipped in there, and was pulling all my things to pieces.”
“Ah, do you know, Nikolay, I am so often worried about Nikolinka,” said Countess Marya. “He is such an exceptional boy. And I am afraid I neglect him for my own. All of us have our children; we all have our own ties; while he has nobody. He is always alone with his thoughts.”
“Well, I don't think you have anything to reproach yourself with on his account. Everything the fondest mother could do for her son you have done, and are doing, for him. And of course I am glad you do. He is a splendid boy, splendid! This evening he was lost in a sort of dream listening to Pierre. And only fancy, we got up to go in to supper. I look; and there he has broken everything on my table to fragments, and he told me of it at once. I have never known him to tell a fib. He's a splendid boy!” repeated Nikolay, who did not in his heart like Nikolinka, but always felt moved to acknowledge that he was a splendid fellow.
“Still I am not the same as a mother,” said Countess Marya. “I feel that it's not the same, and it worries me. He's a wonderful boy; but I am awfully afraid for him. Companionship will be good for him.”
“Oh, well, it's not for long; next summer I shall take him to Petersburg,” said Nikolay. “Yes, Pierre always was, and always will be, a dreamer,” he went on, returning to the discussion in the study, which had evidently worked on his feelings. “Why, what concern is all that of mine—Araktcheev's misdoings, and all the rest of it—what concern was it of mine, when at the time of our marriage I had so many debts that they were going to put me in prison, and a mother who couldn't see it or understand it. And then you, and the children, and my work. It's not for my own pleasure I am from morning to night looking after the men, or in the counting-house. No, I know I must work to comfort my mother, repay you, and not leave my children in beggary, as I was left myself.”
Countess Marya wanted to tell him that man does not live by bread alone; that he attached too much importance to this work. But she knew that she must not say this, and that it would be useless. She only took his hand and kissed it. He accepted this gesture on his wife's part as a sign of assent and approval of his words, and after a few moments of silent thought he went on thinking aloud.
“Do you know, Marie,” he said, “Ilya Mitrofanitch” (this was a steward of his) “was here to-day from the Tambov estate, and he tells me they will give eighty thousand for the forest.” And with an eager face Nikolay began talking of the possibility of buying Otradnoe back within a very short time. “Another ten years of life, and I shall leave the children … in a capital position.”
Countess Marya listened to her husband, and understood all he said to her. She knew that when he was thus thinking aloud, he would sometimes ask what he had been saying, and was vexed when he noticed she had been thinking of something else. But she had to make a great effort to attend, because she did not feel the slightest interest in what he was saying to her. She looked at him, and though she would not exactly think of other things, her feelings were elsewhere. She felt a submissive, tender love for this man, who could never understand all that she understood; and she seemed, for that very reason, to love him the more, with a shade of passionate tenderness. Apart from that feeling, which absorbed her entirely, and prevented her from following the details of her husband's plans, thoughts kept floating through her brain that had nothing in common with what he was saying. She thought of her nephew (what her husband had said of his excitement over Pierre's talk had made a great impression on her), and various traits of his tender, sensitive character rose to her mind; and while she thought of her nephew, she thought, too, of her own children. She did not compare her nephew with her own children, but she compared her own feeling for him, and her feeling for her children, and felt, with sorrow, that in her feeling for Nikolinka there was something wanting.
Sometimes the idea had occurred to her that this difference was due to his age; but she felt guilty towards him, and in her soul vowed to amend, and to do the impossible, that is, in this life, to love her husband, and her children, and Nikolinka, and all her fellow-creatures, as Christ loved men. Countess Marya's soul was always striving towards the infinite, the eternal, and the perfect, and so she could never be at peace. A stern expression came into her face from that hidden, lofty suffering of the spirit, weighed down by the flesh. Nikolay gazed at her. “My God! What will become of us, if she dies, as I dread, when she looks like that?” he thought, and standing before the holy images, he began to repeat his evening prayer.
吃晚饭时，大家不再谈论政治和社团，话题一转，大家回忆起一八一二年来，这是尼古拉最喜欢的话题。杰尼索夫开的头，皮埃尔谈到这话题也兴高采烈，特别愉快。后来，这几个亲戚在十分友好的气氛中散去。 
晚饭过后，尼古拉在书斋里宽衣，对等候良久的管家交代了一些事情，就换上睡衣，走进卧室。此时，他发现妻子还坐在写字台旁，她正在写着什么东西。
“你在写什么呀！玛丽？”尼古拉问，玛丽亚伯爵夫人脸红了。她有些担心丈夫对她所写的东西能不能理解，会不会赞成？她本来不想让他看她写的日记，现在既然已被他发现，那就顺水推舟，让他知道这件事。这样一来，她心中也觉得高兴和踏实。
“这是日记，尼古拉。”她把一本蓝色笔记本递给他看，上面写满了笔迹刚健的字。
“日记？……”尼古拉含着嘲讽的口气说，接过日记本。
日记是用法语写的。
“十二月四日，今天大儿子安德留沙睡醒觉却不肯穿衣服，路易小姐派人来找我。孩子既任性，又十分固执。我想吓唬他一下，不料，他的火气更大了。我就来干我的事，不理他了，和保姆一起帮其他几个孩子穿衣服，我对他说我不喜欢他。他似乎大为惊讶，半天不吭一声。然后，他穿上一件内衣跑到我跟前，哇地一声大哭起来，我费了好大劲也没法把他哄好。看得出来，他因为伤了我的心而感到十分难过，晚上，我给他分数单时，他吻着我，又伤心地哭了。只要对他温存体贴，他就能听话。”
“分数单是什么？”尼古拉问。
“我每天晚上根据大孩子们的白天表现，给他们的操行打分数。”
尼古拉看了一下那双凝视着他的闪闪发亮的眼睛，又接着翻看日记。日记中记下了做母亲的认为孩子们生活中值得重视的情况，从中可以反映出孩子们的性格，并提出教育方法中的一般的看法。尽管记的大部分都是细小的琐事，而做母亲的却不认为这是琐事，连第一次读到日记的父亲也与母亲有此同感。
十二月五日的日记写着：
“米佳吃饭时淘气。爸爸说不给他吃馅饼，后来就没有给他吃。在别人吃馅饼时，他眼巴巴地看着，口水都要流出来了！我想，罚孩子不吃甜馅饼，只能增强他们的贪欲。这一点要告诉尼古拉。”
尼古拉放下日记，看了看妻子。她那双闪闪发光的眼睛询问似地望着丈夫，似乎在问他是否赞成她写的日记呢？毫无疑问，尼古拉不仅赞成，而且很钦佩妻子。
“也许用不着这样过分认真，也许完全不用这样做。”尼古拉想。但玛丽亚为培养孩子们的道德品质所作的孜孜不倦的努力和精神，却使他钦佩之情，油然而生。如果尼古拉能够充分理解自己的感情，那么，他会惊奇地发现他之所以如此坚贞、如此自豪和充满柔情地爱着妻子主要是因为她具有一个真诚的内心境界，一个崇高的精神世界，这是他几乎无法达到的，这使他惊叹不已。
他为妻子的聪明才智而感到骄傲，他也意识到自己的精神世界与妻子相比，是大为逊色的，他更感到高兴的是，她不仅身心属于他，而且成了他的不可分割的一部分。
“我完全赞成，完全赞成，亲爱的，”尼古拉意味深长的说。沉思片刻，又补充说：“可我今天表现不好。当时你不在书斋。我在同皮埃尔争论时发了脾气。在那种情况下，没法不发脾气，他简直像个孩子。如果娜塔莎不把他管着，我真不知道他会变成什么样子。你知道他去彼得堡干什么……他们在那里组织了……”
“噢，我知道，”玛丽亚伯爵夫人说。“娜塔莎告诉我了。”
“那么说，你已知道，”尼古拉一想起他们的争论就十分激动，他接着说，“他想说服我相信，一切正直人的职责就是去反对政府，并且还要去宣誓效忠新的组织……可惜，当时你不在场。要知道那时他们都把矛头对准了我，包括杰尼索夫和娜塔莎……娜塔莎太可笑了。要知道平时她把皮埃尔管得很紧，但是一开始争论，她一点主见都没有了，只是机械地重复着皮埃尔的话。”尼古拉补充说，他已控制不住要议论议论自己的亲属了。他没想到他说娜塔莎的这番话，可以原封不动地用到他对自己妻子的关系上。
“是的，我也注意到了。”玛丽亚伯爵夫人说。
“当我对他说宣誓效忠、忠于职守高于一切，他就乱说一通来证明自己见解的正确。真可惜，当时你不在场，要是你在场的话，你会怎么说呢？”
“照我看，你是完全正确的。我对娜塔莎也是这么说的，皮埃尔说，现在大家都在受苦受难，腐化堕落，我们有责任帮助他人。他的话当然也是对的，”玛丽亚伯爵夫人说，“但是他忘记了，我们还有更迫切的责任，这也是上帝给我们的指示，那就是我们自己可以去冒险，但决不能让孩子们也去冒险。”
“就是，就是，我对他就是这么说的，”尼古拉附和着说，似乎他真的说过这样的话。“可他还是说要爱他人和基督教，而且这些话都是当着小尼古拉的面说的，这孩子偷偷地溜进书斋，把东西都弄坏了。”
“唉，尼古拉，你知道，这孩子总是让我耽心，”玛丽亚伯爵夫人说。“他不是一个普通的孩子。我常怕由于自己的孩子而冷落了他。我们大家都有孩子，都有亲人，可是他什么亲人都没有。他老是一个人耽在那里想自己的心事。”
“我看你完全用不着为他而自责。一个最慈爱的母亲为自己的亲生儿子所做的一切，你都为小尼古拉做到了，而且还继续在做。当然，这件事你做得问心无愧，我也感到很高兴。他是一个好孩子，一个出色的孩子。今天他听皮埃尔说话都听出了神。你想想看，我们去吃晚饭时，我一看，他把我桌子上的东西都弄坏了，接着，他马上向我承认错误，我从来没见他说过一句谎话。真是好孩子！”尼古拉又说，他从来不喜欢小尼古拉，但承认他是个好孩子。
“我毕竟不是他的亲生母亲。”玛丽亚伯爵夫人说，“我体会到这中间有差别，我心里很难过。他是个好孩子非常好的孩子，可我真替他耽心。他要是有个伴就好了。”
“没关系，不用多久了，到夏天我就带他到彼得堡去。”尼古拉说，“是啊，皮埃尔一向都是梦想家，而且永远是个梦想家。”他接着说，又转回到书斋的话题上，这话题显然令他十分激动。“至于谈到阿拉克切耶夫不好，以及其他种种问题，和我又有什么关系？我结婚时，负债累累，随时有坐牢的危险，而这种危险母亲看不到，也不了解情况的严重。这和我有什么关系，后来你来了，有了孩子和家业。我从早到晚在帐房里，忙于工作，难道是为了满足我个人的兴趣吗？不是的，我明白我应当工作，以便奉养老母，报答你，不让孩子们像我过去那样清贫。”
玛丽亚伯爵夫人想对他说，人活着不仅仅是靠面包，他过份地看重家业了。但她知道没有必要说，说也无用。她只是拿起他的手，吻了一下。他把妻子的这一举动，看成是赞成他的想法的表示，他沉吟了一会，继续大声地自言自语。
“你知道吗，玛丽亚，”他说，“今天伊利亚·米特罗凡内奇（他的管家）从唐波夫乡下回来说，已经有人愿意出八万卢布来买那片林子了。”尼古拉还十分兴奋地说，“过不了多久很可能买下奥特拉德诺耶。再过十来年，我就能给我的孩子们留下……过相当富裕的生活了。”
玛丽亚伯爵夫人一听就知道，丈夫想对她说什么事了。她明白每当他自言自语时，有时会突然问她，他刚才说了什么，如果他发觉，她在想别的事，他会生气的。她总是集中注意力去听他的讲话，因为实际上她对他所讲话一点兴趣也没有。她眼睛望着他，心中倒不是在想别的什么事，而是在体会另一种感情。她对她面前这个人百依百顺，怀着无限柔情，而这个人对她所想的一切从来没有完全理解；尽管是这样，她对他的一片深情还是越来越强烈，并随时间的推移而越来越深。当她完全沉浸在这种感情中时对丈夫的各种想法和打算就根本听不进去，不能深入细致地观察，不仅如此，她头脑里还不时闪过一些与丈夫的想法毫无共同之处的念头。她想到她的侄儿（丈夫说小尼古拉在听皮埃尔谈话时十分激动，这使她大为吃惊），想到他那多愁善感的性格。她想到侄儿，也想到自己的孩子，她并没有拿侄儿和她的孩子们来作比较，但她比较了自己对他们的感情，并发觉对小尼古拉的感情有所欠缺，对此她深感内疚和不安。
有时她想到，这种区别是年龄的差异造成的；然而她又觉得自己有些地方对不起他。她内心暗自许诺要加以改正，并做她不可能做到的事—就是要像耶稣基督爱全人类那样，一辈子都爱丈夫，爱孩子，也爱小尼古拉，爱一切人。玛丽亚伯爵夫人一直在不断地追求永生、永恒和尽善尽美的境界，因而她的心灵永远得不到安宁。她脸上总是现出一种严肃的表情，实际上反映出她那受肉体之累的灵魂所感受到的崇高而隐秘的痛苦。
尼古拉向她看了一看。“天哪！当她脸上露出这种严肃的神色时，我仿佛觉得她就要升天了。万一她去世了，我们可怎么办？！”尼古拉心里这么想，然后就站在圣像前做起晚祷来。
Epilogue 1 Chapter 16
NATASHA, as soon as she was alone with her husband, had begun talking too, as only husband and wife can talk, that is, understanding and communicating their thoughts to each other, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity, by a quite peculiar method opposed to all the rules of logic, without the aid of premises, deductions, and conclusions. Natasha was so used to talking to her husband in this fashion that a logical sequence of thought on Pierre's part was to her an infallible symptom of something being out of tune between them. When he began arguing, talking reasonably and calmly, and when she was led on by his example into doing the same, she knew it would infallibly lead to a quarrel.
From the moment they were alone together and Natasha, with wide-open, happy eyes, crept softly up to him and suddenly, swiftly seizing his head, pressed it to her bosom, saying, “Now you're all mine, mine! You shan't escape!” that conversation began that contravened every rule of logic, especially because they talked of several different subjects at once. This discussion of all sorts of things at once, far from hindering clearness of comprehension, was the surest token that they understood one another fully.
As in a dream everything is uncertain, meaningless, and contradictory except the feeling that directs the dream, so in this communion of ideas, apart from every law of reason, what is clear and consecutive is not what is said, but the feeling that prompts the words.
Natasha talked to Pierre of the daily round of existence at her brother's; told him how she had suffered and been half-dead without him; and that she was fonder of Marie than ever, and Marie was better in every way than she was. In saying this Natasha was quite sincere in acknowledging Marie's superiority, but at the same time she expected Pierre to prefer her to Marie and all other women, and now, especially after he had been seeing a great many women in Petersburg, to tell her so anew. In response to Natasha's words, Pierre told her how intolerable he had found the evening parties and dinners with ladies in Petersburg.
“I have quite lost the art of talking to ladies,” he said; “it was horribly tiresome. Especially as I was so busy.”
Natasha looked intently at him, and went on. “Marie, now she is wonderful!” she said. “The insight she has into children. She seems to see straight into their souls. Yesterday, for instance, Mitenka was naughty…”
“And isn't he like his father?” Pierre put in.
Natasha knew why he made this remark about Mitenka's likeness to Nikolay. He disliked the thought of his dispute with his brother-in-law, and was longing to hear what she thought about it.
“It's a weakness of Nikolay's, that if anything is not generally accepted, he will never agree with it. And I see that that's just what you value to ouvrir une carrière,” she said, repeating a phrase Pierre had once uttered.
“No, the real thing is that to Nikolay,” said Pierre, “thoughts and ideas are an amusement, almost a pastime. Here he's forming a library and has made it a rule not to buy a new book till he has read through the last he has bought—Sismondi and Rousseau and Montesquieu,” Pierre added with a smile. “You know how I—,” he was beginning to soften his criticism; but Natasha interrupted, giving him thereby to understand that that was not necessary.
“So you say ideas to him are not serious…”
“Yes, and to me nothing else is serious. All the while I was in Petersburg, I seemed to be seeing every one in a dream. When I am absorbed by an idea, nothing else is serious.”
“Oh, what a pity I didn't see your meeting with the children,” said Natasha. “Which was the most pleased? Liza, of course?”
“Yes,” said Pierre, and he went on with what interested him. “Nikolay says we ought not to think. But I can't help it. To say nothing of the fact (I can say so to you) that in Petersburg I felt that the whole thing would go to pieces without me, every one pulled his own way. But I succeeded in bringing them all together; and then my idea is so clear and simple. I don't say we ought to work against so and so. We may be mistaken. But I say let those join hands who care for the good cause, and let our one standard be energy and honesty. Prince Sergey is a capital fellow, and clever.”
Natasha would have had no doubt that Pierre's idea was a grand idea, but that one thing troubled her. It was his being her husband. “Is it possible that a man of such value, of such importance to society, is at the same time my husband? How can it have happened?” She wanted to express this doubt to him. “Who are the persons who could decide positively whether he is so much cleverer than all of them?” she wondered, and she went over in imagination the people who were very much respected by Pierre. There was nobody whom, to judge by his own account, he had respected so much as Platon Karataev.
“Do you know what I am thinking about?” she said. “About Platon Karataev. What would he have said? Would he have approved of you now?”
Pierre was not in the least surprised at this question. He understood the connection of his wife's ideas.
“Platon Karataev?” he said, and he pondered, evidently trying sincerely to picture what Karataev's judgment would have been on the subject. “He would not have understood, and yet, perhaps, he would.”
“I like you awfully!” said Natasha all at once. “Awfully! awfully!”
“No, he wouldn't have approved,” said Pierre, musing. “What he would have approved of is our home life. He did so like to see seemliness, happiness, peace in everything, and I could have shown him all of us with pride. You talk about separation. But you would not believe what a special feeling I have for you after separation …”
“And, besides, …” Natasha was beginning.
“No, not so. I never leave off loving you. And one couldn't love more; but it's something special.…” He did not finish, because their eyes meeting said the rest.
“What nonsense,” said Natasha suddenly, “it all is about the honeymoon and that the greatest happiness is at first. On the contrary, now is much the best. If only you wouldn't go away. Do you remember how we used to quarrel? And I was always in the wrong. It was always my doing. And what we quarrelled about—I don't remember even.”
“Always the same thing,” said Pierre smiling. “Jea …”
“Don't say it, I can't bear it,” cried Natasha, and a cold, vindictive light gleamed in her eyes. “Did you see her?” she added after a pause.
“No; and if I had, I shouldn't have known her.”
They were silent.
“Oh! do you know, when you were talking in the study, I was looking at you,” said Natasha, obviously trying to drive away the cloud that had come between them. “And do you know you are like him as two drops of water, like the boy.” That was what she called her baby son. “Ah, it's time I went to him. … But I am sorry to go away.”
They were both silent for some seconds. Then all at once, at the same moment, they turned to each other and began talking. Pierre was beginning with self-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Natasha with a soft, happy smile. Interrupting each other, both stopped, waiting for the other to go on.
“No, what is it? Tell me, tell me.”
“No, you tell me, it wasn't anything, only nonsense,” said Natasha.
Pierre said what he had been going to say. It was the sequel to his complacent reflections on his success in Petersburg. It seemed to him at that moment that he was destined to give a new direction to the progress of the whole of Russian society and of the whole world.
“I only meant to say that all ideas that have immense results are always simple. All my idea really is that if vicious people are united and form a power, honest men must do the same. It's so simple, you see.”
“Yes.”
“But what were you going to say?”
“Oh, nothing, nonsense.”
“No, say it though.”
“Oh, nothing, only silly nonsense,” said Natasha, breaking into a more beaming smile than ever. “I was only going to tell you about Petya. Nurse came up to take him from me to-day, he laughed and puckered up his face and squeezed up to me—I suppose he thought he was hiding. He's awfully sweet. … There he is crying. Well, good-bye!” and she ran out of the room.
Meanwhile, below in Nikolinka Bolkonsky's bedroom a lamp was burning as usual (the boy was afraid of the dark and could not be cured of this weakness). Dessalle was asleep with his head high on his four pillows, and his Roman nose gave forth rhythmic sounds of snoring. Nikolinka had just waked up in a cold sweat, and was sitting up in bed, gazing with wide-open eyes straight before him. He had been waked by a fearful dream. In his dream his Uncle Pierre and he in helmets, such as appeared in the illustrations in his Plutarch, were marching at the head of an immense army. This army was made up of slanting, white threads that filled the air like those spider-webs that float in autumn and that Dessalle used to call le fil de la Vierge. Ahead of them was glory, which was something like those threads too, only somewhat more opaque. They—he and Pierre—were flying lightly and happily nearer and nearer to their goal. All at once the threads that moved them seemed to grow weak and tangled; and it was all difficult. And Uncle Nikolay stood before them in a stern and menacing attitude.
“Have you done this?” he said, pointing to broken pens and sticks of sealing-wax. “I did love you, but Araktcheev has bidden me, and I will kill the first that moves forward.”
Nikolinka looked round for Pierre; but Pierre was not there. Instead of Pierre, there was his father—Prince Andrey—and his father had no shape or form, but he was there; and seeing him, Nikolinka felt the weakness of love; he felt powerless, limp, and relaxed. His father caressed him and pitied him, but his Uncle Nikolay was moving down upon them, coming closer and closer. A great horror came over Nikolinka, and he waked up.
“My father!” he thought. (Although there were two very good portraits of Prince Andrey in the house, Nikolinka never thought of his father in human form.) “My father has been with me, and has caressed me. He approved of me; he approved of Uncle Pierre. Whatever he might tell me, I would do it. Mucius Scaevola burnt his hand. But why should not the same sort of thing happen in my life? I know they want me to study. And I am going to study. But some day I shall have finished, and then I will act. One thing only I pray God for, that the same sort of thing may happen with me as with Plutarch's men, and I will act in the same way. I will do more. Every one shall know of me, shall love me, and admire me.” And all at once Nikolinka felt his breast heaving with sobs, and he burst into tears.
“Are you ill?” he heard Dessalle's voice.
“No,” answered Nikolinka, and he lay back on his pillow. “How good and kind he is; I love him!” He thought of Dessalle. “But Uncle Pierre! Oh, what a wonderful man! And my father? Father! Father! Yes, I will do something that even he would be content with …”
娜塔莎和丈夫在一起时，谈话也像一般夫妻之间那样，也就是直率而明确地交换思想，既不遵循任何逻辑法则，也不用判断、推理和结论的程式，而完全是用一种独特的方式来进行。娜塔莎早已习惯于用这种方式与丈夫交谈，因此只要皮埃尔谈话时，一运用逻辑推理，就准确无误地表明他们夫妻之间有点不和了。只要皮埃尔开始心平气和地进行推理式地谈话，而娜塔莎也照样以这种方式回话，她就知道下一步就是要吵架了。 
剩下他们两人在一起，娜塔莎就会睁大一双幸福的眼睛，突然悄悄走到丈夫身边，一下子搂住他的头紧靠在自己的胸前，说：“现在你可完全属于我了，完全属于我了！你跑不掉了！”接着他们就谈起话来，违背一切逻辑法则，谈论各种各样的话题，他们同时讨论许多问题，这不仅没有影响到彼此理解，反而更清楚地表明他们彼此完全理解。
就像做梦一样，梦境里的一切都是虚幻的，毫无现实意义的，前后矛盾的，只有那支配梦境的感情是真实的。像在梦境中一样，他们彼此相处与交往也违背一般常规情理，交谈的语言模糊，不相连贯，而只有感情在支配他们的交谈。
娜塔莎对皮埃尔讲起她哥哥的生活，讲到皮埃尔不在家时她很痛苦，感到生活空虚，也谈到她比过去更加喜欢玛丽亚，讲玛丽亚在各方面都比她强。娜塔莎说这些话时，诚恳地承认玛丽亚比自己好，然而同时又要求皮埃尔更加喜欢她，而不是喜欢玛丽或别的女人，特别是皮埃尔在彼得堡见过许多女人之后，她再一次向他说明一下。
皮埃尔回答娜塔莎说，他在彼得堡的确参加了许多晚会和宴会，见到了不少太太小姐，不过她们实在叫人受不了。
“我已经忘记了，不习惯怎么跟这些太太小姐们打交道了，”他说，“简直乏味透顶。再说，我自己的事已经够我忙的了。”
娜塔莎凝神对他看看，继续说：
“玛丽亚真了不起！”她说，“她很能理解孩子们。她仿佛把孩子们的心都看透了。譬如说，昨天米佳淘气……”
“哦，他太像他父亲了。”皮埃尔插嘴说。
娜塔莎心里明白皮埃尔为什么说米佳像尼古拉，他一想到同内兄的争吵就不痛快，他很想知道娜塔莎对这件事的看法。
“尼古拉就是有这个弱点，凡是大家没有认可的，他决不表示同意。不过，我知道，你很重视开拓新天地。”她重复了皮埃尔以前说过的一句话。
“不，主要的是，”皮埃尔说，“尼古拉认为思考和推理只是消遣，甚至是消磨时间。比如，在收藏图书方面他订下了一条规则，不把买来的书（西斯蒙第①、卢梭、孟德斯鸠②的作品）读完，决不再买新书，”皮埃尔含笑补充说。“你知道，我想使他……”他开始缓和一下自己的口气，娜塔莎打断他，让他感到自己没有必要那样做。 
①西斯蒙第（1773～1842），瑞士政治经济学家和历史学家。
②卢梭和孟德斯鸠是十八世纪法国著名哲学家。
“你说，他认为思考是一种消遣……”
“是的，对我来说所有其他的一切才是消遣。我在彼得堡时，像在做梦一样，会见所有的人。一旦堕入沉思，我就感到其余的一切不过是消遣罢了。”
“哦，刚才你去看孩子们，和他们互相问好时，可惜我不在场，”娜塔莎说，“你觉得那个孩子最讨你喜欢？很可能是丽莎吧！”
“是的，”皮埃尔说，还在接着谈他内心中考虑的事情。
“尼古拉说，我们不应该思考。可我办不到。更不用说在彼得堡时我的感受了。我觉得（我对你可以直说），在那种情况下，没有我，一切事情都办不成了。那时各人坚持各人的一套。但是我能把大家团结起来，而我的想法简单明了，也易为大家所接受。要知道，我不说我们应当反对这反对那。那样可能把事情办糟，会出差错的，我说，凡是喜欢做好事的人都携起手来，我们唯一的旗帜是——积极行善。谢尔盖公爵是个好人，也很聪明。”
娜塔莎毫不怀疑，皮埃尔的思想是伟大的，但有一点却使她困惑不解。那就是，他是她的丈夫。“难道这样一位重要人物，一个对社会有用的人能同时又是我的丈夫吗？！这种情况是怎么造成的呢？”她想告诉他，自己心中的疑问。“哪些人能够肯定他比其他人更聪明呢？”她自己问自己，并且把皮埃尔所崇敬的人在脑子里逐一地回想一遍。根据他的话判断，他最尊敬的人要算普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫了。
“你知道我在想什么吗？”她说，“我想到普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫这个人。他怎么样？如果他在，他会赞成你的做法吗？”
皮埃尔对这个问题的提出，一点也不感到惊讶。他了解妻子的思路。
“普拉东·卡拉塔耶夫？”他说沉吟了一会，显然在认真考虑卡拉塔耶夫对这个问题的看法。“他可能还不太理解，不过我想他会赞成的。”
“我真爱你！”娜塔莎突然说，“非常非常爱你！”
“不，他不会赞成的，”皮埃尔想了想说，“他会赞成我们的家庭生活。他希望看到一切都是那么优雅、幸福、安宁，我将会自豪地让他看看我们。哦，刚才你谈到离别，我们离别后我对你怀着多么特殊的感情啊……”
“是啊，还会更加……”娜塔莎说。
“不，不是那个意思。我一直是爱你的，爱得不能再爱了，特别是……是啊……”他没有把话说完，因为他们俩人的目光相遇了，彼此的眼神把要说的话都完全表达了。
“这些都是些蠢话。什么度蜜月真幸福啦，什么恋爱初期最甜蜜啦，”娜塔莎突然说，“恰恰相反，现在才是我们爱情的金秋时节。只要你不出门离开我就好。你还记得我们吵架的情况吗？每次都是我不对，总是我的不是。可咱们为什么争吵，我已经不记得了。”
“都是为了一件事，”——皮埃尔微笑着说，“忌妒……”
“别说了，我不想听，”娜塔莎叫道，眼睛里露出冷峻的愤怒的神情。“你见到她了吗？”她停了一下，又问。
“没有，即使见到也不认识了。”
他们沉默了一会儿。
“啊，你知道吗？当你在书斋里说话的时候，我一直在看着你，”娜塔莎说，显然她力图驱散向他们袭来的阴云。“你跟我们的孩子长得太像了，简直是一个模子里倒出来的。（她指的是他们的小儿子）。啊！该到小儿子那里去了。……奶来了……真舍不得离开你。”
他们又沉默了一会儿。然后两人同时转过身来面对着面，一齐开口说话。皮埃尔自鸣得意，兴致勃勃，娜塔莎脸上露出平静而幸福的微笑。他俩同时开口，然后又同时停住，让对方先说。
“不，你说什么？说吧，说吧！”
“不，你说吧，我说的是些傻话。”娜塔莎说。
于是皮埃尔接着讲他已经开始的话题。他得意洋洋地讲他在彼得堡取得的成就。谈到得意之处，他仿佛觉得自己肩负重任——向全俄罗斯和全世界指明前进的新方向。
“我只是想说，凡是有伟大影响力的思想总是简单的。我的全部思想只是，如果坏人能聚合在一起并形成一种势力，那末好人也应该这样做。要知道，道理就是这么简单。”
“是的。”
“你想说什么呢？”
“我只是说些傻话。”
“没什么，还是说吧。”
“没什么，一点小事，”娜塔莎说，笑得更加容光焕发，“我只是想谈一下佩佳，今天保姆准备把他从我手里接过去的时候，他笑起来了，眯起眼睛，紧紧搂住我，他大概以为这样就可以躲起来，不去保姆那边了。他那个样子可爱极了。你听，他现在又在哭了。好了，再见！”她说着就走了出去。
与此同时，在楼下小尼古拉·博尔孔斯基的卧室里，像往常一样点着一盏小灯（这孩子怕黑，这个毛病怎么也改不掉）。德塞尔高枕着四个枕头睡着了，他那高鼻梁的鼻子发出均匀的鼾声。小尼古拉刚刚睡醒，出了一身冷汗，睁大眼睛坐在床上看着自己的前方。他是被一场恶梦惊醒的。在梦中他和皮埃尔都戴着普鲁塔赫①著作的插图中的那种头盔。他和皮埃尔叔叔率领着一支大军。这支大军由白色的斜线组成，这种斜线很有点像秋天布满空中的飘荡的蜘蛛网丝。而德塞尔把这种细丝称为游丝②。前面是光荣两个字，也像飘忽不定的丝线，只不过更粗一些。他同皮埃尔轻松愉快地向前走去，离目标越来越近了。突然，引导他们的线松弛了，纠缠在一起，拉也拉不动了，此时，尼古拉姑父突然站在他们面前，神态威严可怖。 
①普鲁塔赫是古希腊历史学家，著有《希腊罗马伟人传》。
②法语：圣母线。（即飘浮在空中的游丝。）
“这都是你们干的吧？”他指着被弄断的火漆和鹅毛笔说。
“我爱过你们，可现在阿拉克切耶夫命令我，谁首先往前走就干掉谁。”小尼古拉回头去看皮埃尔，皮埃尔已不在了。皮埃尔变成他父亲安德烈公爵，父亲虽无影无形，却确实站在那里。小尼古拉看见父亲、觉得他特别喜欢他父亲，但又觉得自己浑身无力，骨头也散了架，似乎想爱又爱不起来。父亲抚爱他，怜惜他。可此时尼古拉·伊利伊奇姑父却离他们越来越近。小尼古拉吓得要命，一下子就惊醒了。
“父亲，”他想。“父亲（尽管家里已有两张维妙维肖的安德烈公爵像，但小尼古拉脑海中始终没有想到安德烈公爵这个人的形象），“父亲和我在一起，他抚爱我。他称赞我和皮埃尔叔叔。不论他说什么，我都将尽力去办。穆齐·塞服拉烧掉了自己的手①，为什么在我生活中就碰不到这样的事情呢？我知道他们要我学习。我是要学习的。到学习结束那一天，我就要有所作为。我只要求上帝帮我办一件事——让我遇到像普鲁塔克的英雄们所遇到的事，我一定照他们的榜样去做。我还要比他们完成得更好。到那时，人人都会知道我，爱我称赞我。”小尼古拉突然感到胸闷气紧，不禁失声痛哭起来。 
①穆齐·塞服拉是古罗马传说中的英雄，相传为了挽救罗马不致亡国，他自己烧掉右手，以示决心。
“您不舒服吗？”①他听见德塞尔在问他。
“没有什么。”②小尼古拉回答说，又躺到枕头上去。“他是多么好的人，又慈祥，又和气，我喜欢他。”小尼古拉这样忖量着德塞尔的为人。
“哦，还有皮埃尔叔叔！他这个人太好了！还有父亲呢？
父亲！父亲！我一定要有所作为，做出他深感满意的事来……” 
①法语。
②法语：没有。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 1
THE SUBJECT of history is the life of peoples and of humanity. To catch and pin down in words—that is, to describe directly the life, not only of humanity, but even of a single people, appears to be impossible.
All the ancient historians employed the same method for describing and catching what is seemingly elusive—that is, the life of a people. They described the career of individual persons ruling peoples; and their activity was to them an expression of the activity of the whole people.
The questions, In what way individual persons made nations act in accordance with their will, and by what the will of those individuals themselves was controlled, the ancients answered, By the will of God; which in the first case made the nation subject to the will of one chosen person, and, in the second, guided the will of that chosen monarch to the ordained end.
For the ancients these questions were solved by faith in the immediate participation of the Deity in the affairs of mankind.
Modern history has theoretically rejected both those positions. One would have thought that rejecting the convictions of the ancients of men's subjection to the Deity, and of a defined goal to which nations are led, modern history should have studied, not the manifestations of power, but the causes that go to its formation. But modern history has not done that. While in theory rejecting the views of the ancients, it follows them in practice.
Instead of men endowed with divine authority and directly led by the will of the Deity, modern history has set up either heroes, endowed with extraordinary, superhuman powers, or simply men of the most varied characteristics, from monarchs to journalists, who lead the masses. Instead of the old aim, the will of the Deity, that to the old historians seemed the end of the movements of peoples, such as the Gauls, the Greeks, and the Romans, modern history has advanced aims of its own—the welfare of the French, the German, or the English people, or its highest pitch of generalisation, the civilisation of all humanity, by which is usually meant the peoples inhabiting a small, northwestern corner of the great mother-earth.
Modern history has rejected the faiths of the ancients, without putting any new conviction in their place; and the logic of the position has forced the historians, leaving behind them the rejected, divine right of kings and fate of the ancients, to come back by a different path to the same point again: to the recognition, that is (1) that peoples are led by individual persons; and (2) that there is a certain goal towards which humanity and the peoples constituting it are moving.
In all the works of the more modern historians, from Gibbon to Buckle, in spite of their apparent differences and the apparent novelty of their views, these two old inevitable positions lie at the basis of the argument.
In the first place the historian describes the conduct of separate persons who, in his opinion, lead humanity (one regards as such only monarchs, military generals, and ministers of state; another includes besides monarchs, orators, scientific men, reformers, philosophers, and poets). Secondly, the goal towards which humanity is being led is known to the historian. To one this goal is the greatness of the Roman, or the Spanish, or the French state; for another, it is freedom, equality, a certain sort of civilisation in a little corner of the world called Europe.
In 1789 there was a ferment in Paris: it grew and spread, and found expression in the movement of peoples from west to east. Several times that movement is made to the east, and comes into collision with a counter-movement from east westwards. In the year 1812 it reaches its furthest limit, Moscow, and then, with a remarkable symmetry, the counter-movement follows from east to west; drawing with it, like the first movement, the peoples of Central Europe. The counter-movement reaches the starting-point of the first movement—Paris—and subsides.
During this period of twenty years an immense number of fields are not tilled; houses are burned; trade changes its direction; millions of men grow poor and grow rich, and change their habitations; and millions of Christians, professing the law of love, murder one another.
What does all this mean? What did all this proceed from? What induced these people to burn houses and to murder their fellow-creatures? What were the causes of these events? What force compelled men to act in this fashion? These are the involuntary and most legitimate questions that, in all good faith, humanity puts to itself when it stumbles on memorials and traditions of that past age of restlessness.
To answer these questions the common-sense of humanity turns to the science of history, the object of which is the self-knowledge of nations and of humanity.
Had history retained the view of the ancients, it would have said: The Deity, to reward or to punish His People, gave Napoleon power, and guided his will for the attainment of His own divine ends. And that answer would have been complete and clear. One might believe or disbelieve in the divine significance of Napoleon. For one who believed in it, all the history of that period would have been comprehensible, and there would have been nothing contradictory in it.
But modern history cannot answer in that way. Science does not accept the view of the ancients as to the direct participation of the Deity in the affairs of mankind, and therefore must give other answers.
Modern history, in answer to these questions, says: “You want to know what this movement means, what it arose from, and what force produced these events? Listen.
“Louis XIV. was a very haughty and self-willed man; he had such and such mistresses, and such and such ministers, and he governed France badly. Louis's successors, too, were weak men, and they, too, governed France badly. And they had such and such favourites, and such and such mistresses. Moreover, there were certain men writing books at this period. At the end of the eighteenth century there were some two dozen men in Paris who began to talk all about men being equal and free. This led people all over France to fall to hewing and hacking at each other. These people killed the king and a great many more. At that time there was in France a man of genius—Napoleon. He conquered every one everywhere, that is, he killed a great many people, because he was a very great genius. And for some reason he went to kill the Africans; and killed them so well, and was so cunning and clever, that on returning to France he bade every one obey him. And they all did obey him. After being made Emperor he went to kill people in Italy, Austria, and Prussia. And there, too, he killed a great many. In Russia there was an Emperor, Alexander, who was resolved to re-establish order in Europe, and so made war with Napoleon. But in 1807 he suddenly made friends with him, and in 1811 he quarrelled again, and again they began killing a great many people. And Napoleon took six hundred thousand men into Russia, and conquered Moscow, and then he suddenly ran away out of Moscow, and then the Emperor Alexander, aided by the counsels of Stein and others, united Europe for defence against the destroyer of her peace. All Napoleon's allies suddenly became his enemies; and the united army advanced against the fresh troops raised by Napoleon. The allies vanquished Napoleon; entered Paris; forced Napoleon to abdicate, and sent him to the island of Elba, not depriving him, however, of the dignity of Emperor, showing him, in fact, every respect, although five years before, and one year later, he was regarded by every one as a brigand outside the pale of the law. And Louis XVIII., who, till then, had been a laughing-stock to the French and the allies, began to reign. Napoleon shed tears before the Old Guard, abdicated the throne, and went into exile. Then the subtle, political people and diplomatists (conspicuous among them Talleyrand, who succeeded in sitting down in a particular chair before any one else, and thereby extended the frontiers of France) had conversations together at Vienna, and by these conversations made nations happy or unhappy. All at once the diplomatists and monarchs all but quarrelled; they were on the point of again commanding their armies to kill one another; but at that time Napoleon entered France with a battalion, and the French, who had been hating him, at once submitted to him. But the allied monarchs were angry at this, and again went to war with the French. And the genius, Napoleon, was conquered; and suddenly recognising that he was a brigand, they took him to the island of St. Helena. And on that rock the exile, parted from the friends of his heart, and from his beloved France, died a lingering death, and bequeathed all his great deeds to posterity. And in Europe the reaction followed, and all the sovereigns began oppressing their subjects again.”
It would be quite a mistake to suppose that this is mockery—a caricature of historical descriptions. On the contrary, it is a softened-down picture of the contradictory and random answers, that are no answers, given by all history, from the compilers of memoirs and of histories of separate states to general histories, and the new sort of histories of the culture of that period.
What is strange and comic in these answers is due to the fact that modern history is like a deaf man answering questions which no one has asked him.
If the aim of history is the description of the movement of humanity and of nations, the first question which must be answered, or all the rest remains unintelligible, is the following: What force moves nations? To meet this question modern history carefully relates that Napoleon was a very great genius, and that Louis XIV. was very haughty, or that certain writers wrote certain books.
All this may very well be so, and humanity is ready to acquiesce in it; but it is not what it asks about. All that might be very interesting if we recognised a divine power, based on itself and always alike, guiding its peoples through Napoleons, Louis', and writers; but we do not acknowledge such a power, and therefore before talking about Napoleons, and Louis', and great writers, we must show the connection existing between those persons and the movement of the nations. If another force is put in the place of the divine power, then it should be explained what that force consists of, since it is precisely in that force that the whole interest of history lies.
History seems to assume that this force is taken for granted of itself, and is known to every one. But in despite of every desire to admit this new force as known, any one who reads through very many historical works cannot but doubt whether this new force, so differently understood by the historians themselves, is perfectly well known to every one.
历史是一门研究各民族和人类生活的学科。然而，人们却不能直接地去探索，并通过语言文字详尽说明——不仅描述人类的生活，而且尽述一个民族的生活，也是不可能的。 
以前的史学家们常常用一种简单的办法来描述和探索那种似乎难以捉摸的民族生活。他们总是阐释一个民族的统治者的生平活动；他们认为，这种活动反映了整个民族的活动。
至于少数个别人是怎样使各族人民按照他们的意志活动的呢？这些人自己的意志又受什么支配呢？对这些问题，史学家是这样回答的：史学家对第一个问题的回答是——承认神的意志，使各民族服从一个各自选出的人的意志；对第二个问题的回答则是——还是承认那个神，是他引导被选定的人的意志去达到指定的目标。
如此这般，上述问题就用信仰神直接干预人世间的事务的办法得到了解决。
新的历史科学在理论上否定了这两条原则。
看来，现代史学观既然否定了古人关于人类服从于神和他指引各民族奔向一个既定目标这种信仰，那么，它所研究的本不该再是政权的表面现象，而应当是政权形成的原因了。但是，并没有做到这一步。它在理论上虽否定了以前史学家的观点，而在实践中却依然追随着他们。
现代史学抬出的不是一些领导芸芸众生的天赋非凡、才能超人的英雄，便是从帝王到记者的一些形形色色的领导民众的人物，用以代替前人提出的具有神赋权力和直接去执行神的意志的人们。代替从前迎合神意的犹太、希腊、罗马等民族的目的（古代史学家认为这就是人类活动的目的），现代史学家还提出——他们的目的是为法国人、德国人、英国人的福祉，采用最为抽象的概念：为全人类文明的福祉，而全人类这里一般是指仅占大陆西北角一小块地方的各民族。
现代史学虽否定了古人的信仰，却没有用新观点去取代它，而且受大势所趋，其逻辑迫使那些在意念中否定沙皇王权神授及古人的命运观的史学家又殊途同归地承认：一、各族民众是受个别人领导的；二、各民族和全人类都奔向一个已知的目标。
从基邦到保克尔的这些现代史学家们，虽然他们好像各有分歧，其观点也貌似新颖，但在其全部著述中，基本上仍然回避不了那两个陈旧的原则。
首先，史学家记述的是他所认定的领导人类的个别人物的活动（有的人认为帝王将相就是这类人物；另有人认为除帝王将相之类而外，还有演说家、学者、改良家、哲学家和诗人）。其次，史学家认为人类所要达到的目标：有的人认为这个目标就是罗马、西班牙、法国的恢宏强盛，另外有人认为这个目标就是世界上那个称为欧洲的一个小小角落的自由、平等和人们知道的某种文明。
一七八九年，巴黎掀起骚乱，它不断地扩大、蔓延，并形成一个自西向东的民族运动。这场运动曾多次向东挺进，并与自东向西的逆向运动发生冲突；一八一二年、该运动东进至其终点—莫斯科，紧接着，一个自东向西的运动，以其奇妙的对等方式、恰似头一个运动，它把中欧各民族吸引到自己的一方。这个逆向的运动，也到达了它的西部终点——巴黎，然后平息下来。
在这二十年中间，大片田园荒芜了，庐舍烧毁了，商业改变了经营方针；千百万人变穷了，发迹了，迁徙他乡，千百万宣讲爱世人的教义的基督徒在互相残杀。
这一切究竟意义何在呢？为什么会发生这种事呢？是什么迫使这些人烧毁房屋和杀害自己的同类呢？这些事件的原因是什么呢？是什么力量使人们这样做呢？喏，当人们接触到那个已经消逝的时期的运动遗迹和传说的时候，总要提出一些意想不到的、天真的而又符合天理人情的问题。
为了解答这些问题，我们就向历史科学求教，因为历史科学是各民族和全人类藉以洞悉自己的一门科学。
如果史学依然坚持陈腐的观点，它就会说：那是神在奖赏或惩罚他的子民，才赐给拿破仑权力，并且指导他的意志去实现他那个神的旨意。这个回答可以说是圆满的、明确的，人们可以相信，也可以不相信拿破化被赋予神的作用，但是在相信的人看来，那个时期的全部历史都是可以理解的，其中不可能有任何一点矛盾。
然而，现代历史科学则不能这样回答问题。科学不承认古人关于神直接参与人间万事的观点，所以它应该作出另外的解答。
现代历史科学回答这些问题时说：你们想知道这个运动的意义吗？它为何发生？是什么力量造成这些事件？请听吧：
“路易十四是一个非常骄傲自负的人。他有这样的一些情人，他有这样一些大臣，他治理法国无方。路易的继承人也是一些懦弱无能之辈，而且也都把法国治理得很糟糕。而这些继承人又有那样一些宠臣和那样一些情妇。同时，有些人这时还写了一些书。十八世纪末叶，有二十来个人在巴黎聚会，开始议论人人都应享有平等和自由的话题。因此，人们在整个法国互相残杀，这些人杀了国王和许多其他的人。与此同时，在法国出现了一位天才人物拿破仑。他所到之处，战无不胜，也就是说，他屠杀了很多人，因为他是一位天才。后来他又以某种借口去杀戮非洲人。他讨伐非洲人，干得如此狡猾和长于心计，所以，他回到法国，能够命令大家都臣服于他。于是大家都慑服了。拿破仑当了皇帝以后，他又去屠杀意大利人，奥地利人和普鲁士人。在那儿又屠杀了许多人。当时，俄国也有个皇帝，叫亚历山大。他决心恢复欧洲的秩序，因此跟拿破仑打起来。但是，在一八零七年，他又突然同拿破仑修好，一八一一年，他两人又反目为仇，于是，许多人又遭他们杀戮。接着，拿破仑率领六十万大军长驱俄罗斯，攻占了莫斯科；可是随后他突然又逃离莫斯科。当时亚历山大皇帝在施泰因和别的人的劝告下，把欧洲的武装力量联合起来，反对那个破坏欧洲太平的人。所有拿破仑的盟国一下子都变成了他的敌人；这支联军立即攻打拿破仑刚刚纠集起来的军队。盟军战胜了拿破仑，进驻巴黎，迫使拿破仑退位，并把他流放到厄尔巴岛。虽然流放他的五年前和一年以后，大家公认他是一个无法无天的强盗，不过，当时并未取消他的皇帝称号，仍尽力对他表示尊敬。嗣后路易十八即位，不过，此人一向只是法国人和盟国人取笑的对象。拿破仑挥泪告别老近卫军，逊位以后就被流放他乡。然后，精明练达的国家政要和外交家（尤其是塔列兰，他抢先他人坐上头把交椅，从而扩大了法国的疆域。）在维也纳发表谈话，使得有人喜，也有人愁。突然，外交家与君主又几乎爆发争执，就在他们准备再次诉诸武力、互相残杀的时候，拿破仑率领一营人马又回到法国，而仇恨他的法国人立刻向他屈服。为此，盟国的君主极为恼怒，于是，又跟法国人交战。天才的拿破仑被打败了，送到了圣赫勒拿岛，人们又恍然承认拿破仑确实是一个强盗。就是这个流放者离别了心爱的人们和他钟爱的法国，在孤岛的礁石上慢慢地死去，把他恢宏的业绩留给后世。欧洲的反动势力又重新抬头，各国的君主又重新欺压百姓。
列位诸君切莫认为这是一个讽刺——是一幅描述历史的漫画。恰恰相反，这是对所有史学家，从回忆录、各国专史到那个时代的新文化通史的编著者所作出的矛盾百出和答非所问的论述所给予的最温和的表述。
这些回答之所以荒诞可笑，是因为现代史好像一个聋子，在回答着谁也没有问他的问题。
如果说，史学的宗旨是记述人类和各民族的活动，那末，第一个问题（不回答这个问题，则其余的一切都不可理解）就是：各民族的活动是受什么力量推动的？对这个问题，现代史不是处心积虑地说拿破仑是一个了不起的天才，就是说路易十四狂妄，刚愎自用，再不然就例举有哪些作者撰写了哪些书。
虽然，所有这一切说法很可能都是对的，人们也愿意同意这些说法，可是，那毕竟还是答非所问。假如我们承认神权，它依靠其自身（的力量），总是借助于拿破仑之流、路易之流和著作家们来管理本民族的话，纵然，这一切说法，都可能是非常有趣的，可是，我们并不承认这种神权，因此，在谈论拿破仑之流，路易之流和著作家们之前，应该阐明这些人物和各民族的活动之间有什么关系。
假如不是神权而是另有一股力量，那末，就要说明那又是一种什么样的新力量，因为历史研究的全部旨趣就在于此。
史学家仿佛认为这种力量是不言而喻和尽人皆知的。然而，任何一位饱览史籍的人，尽管满心想承认这股力量是已知的，都不禁感到疑惑不解的是：既然这股新的力量是令人皆知的，为什么史学家们又众说纷纭，莫衷一是呢？
Epilogue 2 Chapter 2
WHAT is the force that moves nations?
Biographical historians, and historians writing of separate nations, understand this force as a power residing in heroes and sovereigns. According to their narratives, the events were entirely due to the wills of Napoleons, of Alexanders, or, generally speaking, of those persons who form the subject of historical memoirs. The answers given by historians of this class to the question as to the force which brings about events are satisfactory, but only so long as there is only one historian for any event. But as soon as historians of different views and different nationalities begin describing the same event, the answers given by them immediately lose all their value, as this force is understood by them, not only differently, but often in absolutely opposite ways. One historian asserts that an event is due to the power of Napoleon; another maintains that it is produced by the power of Alexander; a third ascribes it to the influence of some third person. Moreover, historians of this class contradict one another even in their explanation of the force on which the influence of the same person is based. Thiers, a Bonapartist, says that Napoleon's power rested on his virtue and his genius; Lanfrey, a Republican, declares that it rested on his duplicity and deception of the people. So that historians of this class, mutually destroying each other's position, at the same time destroy the conception of the force producing events, and give no answer to the essential question of history.
Writers of universal history, who have to deal with all the nations at once, appear to recognise the incorrectness of the views of historians of separate countries as to the force that produces events. They do not recognise this force as a power pertaining to heroes and sovereigns, but regard it as the resultant of many forces working in different directions. In describing a war on the subjugation of a people, the writer of general history seeks the cause of the event, not in the power of one person, but in the mutual action on one another of many persons connected with the event.
The power of historical personages conceived as the product of several forces, according to this view, can hardly, one would have supposed, be regarded as a self-sufficient force independently producing events. Yet writers of general history do in the great majority of cases employ the conception of power again as a self-sufficient force producing events and standing in the relation of cause to them. According to their exposition now the historical personage is the product of his time, and his power is only the product of various forces, now his power is the force producing events. Gervinus, Schlosser, for instance, and others, in one place, explain that Napoleon is the product of the Revolution, of the ideas of 1789, and so on; and in another plainly state that the campaign of 1812 and other events not to their liking are simply the work of Napoleon's wrongly directed will, and that the very ideas of 1789 were arrested in their development by Napoleon's arbitrary rule. The ideas of the Revolution, the general temper of the age produced Napoleon's power. The power of Napoleon suppressed the ideas of the Revolution and the general temper of the age.
This strange inconsistency is not an accidental one. It confronts us at every turn, and, in fact, whole works upon universal history are made up of consecutive series of such inconsistencies. This inconsistency is due to the fact that after taking a few steps along the road of analysis, these historians have stopped short halfway.
To find the component forces that make up the composite or resultant force, it is essential that the sum of the component parts should equal the resultant. This condition is never observed by historical writers, and consequently, to explain the resultant force, they must inevitably admit, in addition to those insufficient contributory forces, some further unexplained force that affects also the resultant action.
The historian describing the campaign of 1813, or the restoration of the Bourbons, says bluntly that these events were produced by the will of Alexander. But the philosophic historian Gervinus, controverting the view of the special historian of those events, seeks to prove that the campaign of 1813 and the restoration of the Bourbons was due not only to Alexander, but also to the work of Stein, Metternich, Madame de Sta?l, Talleyrand, Fichte, Chateaubriand, and others. The historian obviously analyses the power of Alexander into component forces. Talleyrand, Chateaubriand, and so on, and the sum of these component forces, that is, the effect on one another of Chateaubriand, Talleyrand, Madame de Sta?l, and others is obviously not equal to the resultant effect, that is, the phenomenon of millions of Frenchmen submitting to the Bourbons. Such and such words being said to one another by Chateaubriand, Madame de Sta?l, and others, only affects their relation to one another, and does not account for the submission of millions. And therefore to explain how the submission of millions followed from their relation to one another, that is, how from component forces equal to a given quantity A, there followed a resultant equal to a thousand times A, the historian is inevitably bound to admit that force of power, which he has renounced, accepting it in the resultant force, that is, he is obliged to admit an unexplained force that acts on the resultant of those components. And this is just what the philosophic historians do. And consequently they not only contradict the writers of historical memoirs, but also contradict themselves.
Country people who have no clear idea of the cause of rain say: The wind has blown away the rain, or the wind is blowing up for rain, according as they are in want of rain or of fair weather. In the same way, philosophic historians at times, when they wish it to be so, when it fits in with their theory, say that power is the result of events; and at times, when they want to prove something else, they say power produces the events.
A third class of historians, the writers of the so-called history of culture, following on the lines laid down by the writers of universal history who sometimes accept writers and ladies as forces producing events, yet understand that force quite differently. They see that force in so-called culture, in intellectual activity. The historians of culture are quite consistent as regards their prototypes—the writers of universal history—for if historical events can be explained by certain persons having said certain things to one another, why not explain them by certain persons having written certain books? Out of all the immense number of tokens that accompany every living phenomenon, these historians select the symptom of intellectual activity, and assert that this symptom is the cause. But in spite of all their endeavours to prove that the cause of events lies in intellectual activity, it is only by a great stretch that one can agree that there is anything in common between intellectual activity and the movement of peoples. And it is altogether impossible to admit that intellectual activity has guided the actions of men, for such phenomena as the cruel murders of the French Revolution, resulting from the doctrine of the equality of man, and the most wicked wars and massacres arising from the Gospel of love, do not confirm this hypothesis.
But even admitting that all the cunningly woven arguments with which these histories abound are correct, admitting that nations are governed by some indefinite force called an idea—the essential question of history still remains unanswered; or to the power of monarchs and the influence of counsellors and other persons, introduced by the philosophic historian, another new force is now joined—the idea, the connection of which with the masses demands explanation. One can understand that Napoleon had power and so an event came to pass; with some effort one can even conceive that Napoleon together with other influences was the cause of an event. But in what fashion a book, Le Contrat Social, led the French to hack each other to pieces cannot be understood without an explanation of the causal connection of this new force with the event.
There undoubtedly exists a connection between all the people living at one time, and so it is possible to find some sort of connection between the intellectual activity of men and their historical movements, just as one may find a connection between the movements of humanity and commerce, handicrafts, gardening, and anything you like. But why intellectual activity should be conceived of by the historians of culture as the cause or the expression of a whole historical movement, it is hard to understand. Historians can only be led to such a conclusion by the following considerations: (1) That history is written by learned men; and so it is natural and agreeable to them to believe that the pursuit of their calling is the basis of the movement of the whole of humanity, just as a similar belief would be natural and agreeable to merchants, agriculturists, or soldiers (such a belief on their part does not find expression simply because merchants and soldiers don't write history); and (2) that spiritual activity, enlightenment, civilisation, culture, ideas are all vague, indefinite conceptions, under cover of which they can conveniently use phrases having less definite signification, and so easily brought under any theory.
But to say nothing of the inner dignity of histories of this kind (possibly they are of use for some one or for something), the histories of culture, towards which all general histories tend more and more to approximate, are noteworthy from the fact that though they give a serious and detailed analysis of various religious, philosophic, and political doctrines as causes of events, every time they have to describe an actual historical event, as, for instance, the campaign of 1812, they unconsciously describe it as the effect of the exercise of power, frankly saying that that campaign was the work of Napoleon's will. In saying this, the historians of culture unconsciously contradict themselves, to prove that the new force they have invented is not the expression of historical events, and that the sole means of explaining history is by that power which they had apparently rejected.
什么力量推动各民族前进？ 
有些传记史家和个别民族史的史学家认为这种力量乃是英雄和统治者天赋的权力。按照他们对历史的阐释，历史事件的发生完全是由拿破仑之流、亚历山大之流的意志所决定的。这类史学家对推动历史事件的力量这个问题的回答，只有当普天之下只有一位历史学家，而且只对每个历史事件加以阐述的时候，才算是令人满意的。可是，一旦不同国家不同观点的史学家论述同一历史事件的时候，他们的各种答案便顿然失去一切意义，因为他们对这种力量的理解不仅各不相同，而且常常是完全相反的。一位史学家说，某一事件是由拿破仑的权力造成的；另一位史家说，是由亚历山大的权力造成的；而第三位却说是由第三个某某人的权力造成的。此外，这类史学家甚至连解释某人权力所依据的力量的时候，也是彼此矛盾的。波拿巴派的梯也尔说，拿破仑的权力是建立在他的仁德和天才上的，共和派的朗弗里则说，他的权力是基于他的诡诈和对人民的欺骗。这类史学家互相攻讦，使人们无法理解产生历史事件的力量究竟何在，甚至连什么是历史的本质问题都提不出任何像样的答案。研究各国历史的通史家，似乎觉察到专题传记史家对造成历史事件的力量的观点有欠公允，他们不承认这种力量就是英雄和统治者的天赋的权力，而认为这种力量是各种各样不同倾向的力量相互作用的结果。因此，世界通史家，对描述一场战争或者征服一个民族的问题，他们不是从某一个人物的权力上寻找原因，而是从与事件有关联的许多人物的相互作用中寻求原因。
根据这种观点，历史人物的权力既然是由许多力量互相作用而产生的、似乎就不可能再把它当作造成事件的力量了。可是，世界通史家多半仍然把权力视为一种促成历史事件的力量并把它作为事件发生的原因来看待。根据他们表述的观点，历史人物是他那个时代的产物，他的权力只是不同力量相互作用的结果；而历史人物的权力是一种造成事件的力量。例如，革飞努斯①、斯罗萨②以及其他一些人，时而证明拿破仑是革命的产物，是一七八九年思想意识的产物，等等，时而又干脆地说，一八一二年的远征以及别的他们所不喜欢的事件只不过是拿破仑的错误意志的产物，而且，一七八九年的思想意识发展之所以受阻也是由于拿破仑的独断专行所致。革命思想，普遍的情绪产生了拿破仑的政权，而拿破仑的政权又压制了革命思想和公众的情绪。 
①革飞努斯（1805～1871），十九世纪德国史学家、文学史家。
②斯罗萨（1776～1861），十九世纪德国史学家。
这种奇怪的自相矛盾并非偶然。这种情况不仅到处可以见到，而且世界通史家的论著从头到尾都是由这一系列矛盾构成的。这种矛盾之所以产生，是因为通史家一走上分析矛盾的道路，就半途而废了。
要把几种分力组成一个合力，则合力必须等于各分力的总和，世界上的通史家们从来就没有恪守这个基本条件，因此为了要说明合力，在找不到足够的分力的情况下，只得假设还有一种影响合力的不可解释的力量。
专题史学家在论述一八一三年远征或者波旁王朝的复辟时，很直率地指出，这些事件是由亚力山大的个人意志所造成的。但是通史家革飞努斯断然否定专题史学家的这种观点，他极力证明、一八一三年的远征和波旁王朝的复辟，除了由于亚历山大的意志外，还由于施泰因、梅特涅、斯塔埃尔夫人、塔列兰、费希特、谢多勃良以及其他诸人的行动造成的。
这位传记史学家显然把亚历山大的权力化为以下各分力部分：塔列兰、谢多勃良等等。这些分力的总和也就是谢多勃良、塔列兰、斯塔埃尔夫人以及其他诸人的作用，显然不等于整个合力，也就是说，并不等于千百万法国人顺从波旁王朝这一现象。因此，要说明这些分力是以何种方式变成千百万人屈服的原因，也就是说，等于一个A的那些分力是怎样得出等于一千个A的合力的，这位史学家又不得不回到他否定的那个力量——权力，并且承认权力是那些力量的合力，也就是说，他不得不承认一种无法解释的影响合力的力量。通史家们就是这样做的。其结果是他们不仅与专题史学家矛盾，而且自相矛盾。
乡下人不懂得下雨的原因，他们说“风吹乌云散”，还是说“风吹乌云来”，这要看他们需要雨还是需要晴天而定。世界通史家也是这样，有时候，当他们愿意这样说的时候，当这样说符合他们的理论的时候，他们就说，权力是事件的产物，而当他们需要证实其他论点时，他们就说：“权力造成事件。”
第三类史学家，就是所谓的文化史学家，他们遵循通史家开辟的道路，有时认为作家和女人是造成事件的力量。他们对这种力量的理解截然不同，他们认为所谓的文化、智力活动就是这种力量。
文化史学家完全追随着前辈通史学家走过的道路前进，因为，如果历史事件可以用某些人的相互关系来说明，那么，历史事件为什么不可以用某些人写了某些书来说明？文化史学家从伴随着每个重要现象的大量特征中选出智力活动这一特征，并且声言这一特征就是事件发生的原因。但是，尽管他们竭力证明事件发生的原因在于智力活动，而我们只有作出重大让步，才能承认智力活动与民族运动之间有某种共同之处。但是，无论如何我们不能承认是智力活动指导人们的行动，因为宣扬人人平等的学说，所引起的法国革命的残酷屠杀，宣扬博爱的学说所引起的罪恶的战争和执行死刑，这些现象同这种假定相矛盾。
但是，即使承认那些充斥于史书的荒诞离奇的论断都是正确的，承认各民族是受一种所谓观念的不明确的力量所支配的，而历史的主要问题仍然没有得到解答，或者，除了以前君王的权力，除了世界通史家所提出的顾问和其他人的影响，还要加上一种力量——观念，而观念同群众的关系则有待说明。如果说拿破仑拥有权力，所以事件就发生了，这还可以理解。退一步说，拿破仑与别的势力结合起来，成为发生事件的原因，这也可以理解。但是一本《民约论》①如何能使法国人互相残杀，如果不把这种力量和那个事件的因果关系说清楚，就无法理解了。 
①《民约论》原文中用法语。
毫无疑问，同时存在的有生命力的事物之间都存在着联系，因此从人们的智力活动和他们的历史运动之间也可以找到某种联系，这就像在人类的活动和商业、手工业、园艺，或者任何哪一行业之间可以找到这种联系一样。但是，为什么文化史学家认为人类的智力活动是全部历史活动的原因或表现，这就令人费解了。史学家的这种结论只能用以下两点来说明：第一，历史是由学者来编写的，因此，他们自然乐于认为他们那个阶层的活动是全人类活动的基础，就像商人、农民和军人也会有同样的想法（只是由于商人和军人不写历史，所以没有以文字的形式表达出来）。第二，精神活动、教育、文明、文化、思想——这是一些模糊的、不明确的概念，在这些模糊概念的幌子下就更便于使用那些意义更加含混，因而可以随意编成理论的字句。
但是，我们姑且不说这类历史著作的内在价值（这类历史著作很可能对某个人或某件事是有用的），值得注意的是文化史越来越接近通史，这些历史学家仔细认真地分析各种宗教、哲学和政治学说，认为它们是产生历史事件的原因，每当历史学需要叙述某一实际历史事件（例如一八一二年的远征），这些历史学就不自觉地把这样的历史事件说成是权力的产物，开门见山地说，这次远征是拿破仑意志的产物。如果文化史学家这样说的话，他们就不由自主地陷于自相矛盾之境地。因为这种情况表明，他们杜撰出来的新力量并不能说明各种历史事件，而他们似乎不愿意承认的那种权力才是理解历史的唯一途径。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 3
A STEAM-ENGINE moves. The question is asked, How is it moved? A peasant answers, It is the devil moving it. Another man says, The steam-engine moves because the wheels are going round. A third maintains that the cause of the motion is to be found in the smoke floated from it by the wind.
The peasant's contention is irrefutable. To refute him some one must prove to him that there is no devil, or another peasant must explain that it is not a devil, but a German who moves the steamer. Then from their contradictory views they see that both are wrong. But the man who says the cause is the movement of the wheels refutes himself, seeing that having once entered on the path of analysis, he ought to proceed further and further along it; he ought to explain the cause of the wheels moving. And he has not to stop in his search for a cause till he finds the ultimate cause of the movement of the steam-engine in the steam compressed in the boiler. As for the man who explained the movement of the steam-engine as due to the smoke being blown back from it, he has simply noticed that the wheel explanation was insufficient, and pitching on the first accompanying symptom, gave that out as his cause.
The only conception which can explain the movement of the steamer is the conception of a force equal to the movement that is seen.
The only conception by means of which the movements of nations can be explained is a conception of a force equal to the whole movement of the nations.
Yet under this conception there are included by various historians forces of the most various kinds, and all unequal to the movement that is seen. Some see in it a force directly pertaining to heroes, as the peasant sees the devil in the steam-engine. Others, a force resulting from several other forces, like the movement of the wheels; a third class, intellectual influence, like the smoke.
So long as histories are written of individual persons—whether they are C?sars and Alexanders, or Luthers and Voltaires—and not the history of all, without one exception, all the people taking part in an event, there is no possibility of describing the movement of humanity without a conception of a force impelling men to direct their activity to one end. And the only conception of this kind familiar to historians is power.
This conception is the sole handle by means of which the material of history, as at present expounded, can be dealt with; and the historian who should, like Buckle, break off this handle, without discovering any other means of dealing with historical material, would only be depriving himself of the last chance of dealing with it. The necessity of the conception of the exercise of power to explain the phenomena of history is most strikingly shown by the very writers of universal history and the history of culture, who, after professedly rejecting the conception of power, inevitably resort to it at every step.
Historical science in relation to the questions of humanity has hitherto been like money in circulation—paper notes and metal coins. The historical memoirs and histories of separate peoples are like paper money. They may pass and be accepted, doing their part without mischief to any one, and even being useful, so long as no question arises as to their value. One has only to forget the question how the will of heroes produces events, and Thiers's histories will be interesting, instructive, and will, moreover, not be devoid of a certain poetry. But just as a doubt of the stability of paper money arises, either because from the ease of making it, too much is put into circulation, or because of a desire to replace it by gold, so a doubt of the real value of history of this kind arises either because too many such histories appear, or because some one in the simplicity of his heart asks: By what force did Napoleon do that?—that is, wishes to change the current paper for the pure gold of a true conception.
The writers of general history and the history of culture are like men who, recognising the inconvenience of paper money, should decide to make instead of paper notes, jingling coin of metal not of the density of gold. And such coin would be jingling coin, and only jingling coin. A paper note might deceive the ignorant; but coin not of precious metal could deceive no one. Just as gold is only gold when it is of value, not only for exchange, but also for use, so the writers of universal history will only prove themselves of real value when they are able to answer the essential question of history: What is power? These historians give contradictory answers to this question, while the historians of culture altogether evade it, answering something quite different. And as counters in imitation of gold can only be used in a community of persons who agree to accept them for gold, or who are ignorant of the true character of gold, so do the historians who do not answer the essential questions of humanity serve for some objects of their own as current coin at the universities and with that crowd of readers—fond of serious reading, as they call it.
一辆机车在行进。如果要问：它为什么会移动？一个农夫说：是鬼在推它。另一个说：机车移动是因为它的轮子在转。第三个满有把握地说：机车移动是因为风把烟吹开了。 
农夫是驳不倒的。他已经想出了一个圆满的解释。要想驳倒他，就得有人向他证明没有鬼，或者另一个农夫向他解释，不是鬼，而是一个德国人在开动机车。直到发现矛盾百出，他们才知道他们两个都错了。但是，那个把轮子转动作为原因的人，可以把自己驳倒，因为只要他加以分析，就会想得更深、更深：他必须解释轮子转动的原因。在他没有找到锅炉里的蒸气压力是机车移动的最终原因的时候，他就没有停止探索原因的权利。那个用吹到后面的烟来解释机车移动的人，显然是这样的：他看出车轮转动不能作为原因，于是就把他看到的第一个迹象作为原因了。
唯一能够解释机车运动的概念，是与所见到的运动相等力量的概念。
唯一能够解释各民族运动的概念，是一种与各民族全部运动相等力量的概念。
不过，对这种概念，不同的史学家各有不同的理解，他们所理解的力量完全与所见到的运动力量不相等。有些人把它看作英雄们天赋的力量，犹如那个农夫以为机车里有鬼；另一些人把它看作由几种别的力量产生的力量，犹如车轮的运转产生了力量；又有一些人把它看作智力的影响，犹如被风吹走的烟。
只要历史所写的是个别的人物，不管这些个别的人是凯撒，是亚历山大，是路德，还是伏尔泰，而不是参加事件的所有的人——毫不例外的所有的人的历史，就不能不把迫使别人向着一定目标活动的力量归于个别的人。权力就是史学家所知道的这种唯一的概念。
这个概念是掌握现在所记述的历史材料的唯一的把柄，谁要是折断这个把柄，像保克尔那样，而又不懂得研究历史材料的其他方法，谁就只能使自己失去研究历史材料的唯一方法。用权力概念解释历史现象的必然性，由世界通史家和文化史家本身表示得最为明显，因为他们虽然表面放弃权力这个概念，而每迈出一步都得求助于它。
历史科学在对待人类的问题方面，至今仍然类似流通的货币——纸币和硬币。传记和专题民族历史好似发行的纸币。这种纸币可以供使用、可以供流通，在完成自己的使命时，对任何人都无害，而且还有益，只要不发生它是靠什么作保证的问题。只要把英雄们的意志是怎样产生事件的这个问题置于脑后，梯也尔之流的历史就会是饶有趣味的、富有教益的，也许还带有一点诗意。但是，正如由于纸币造得太容易，发行得过多，或者因为大家都要兑换黄金，于是钞票的真实价值就成问题一样，由于这类历史写得太多，或者由于有人幼稚地提出问题：“拿破仑究竟是靠什么力量做了这一手？”也就是想把通行的纸币换成实际理解的纯金的时候，这类历史的真正价值也就会引起疑问了。
世界通史家和文化史家正像那种人——他认识到纸币的缺点，决定用比黄金轻的金属铸成硬币来取代货币。那种硬币的确叮当作响，但也只是叮当作响而已。纸币还可以愚弄无知的人们；但是那种只能叮当作响而没有价值的硬币是欺骗不了任何人的。黄金之所以为黄金，是因为它不仅可以供交换，而且可以供使用，世界通史家也是这样，他们如能回答“权力是什么？”这个历史的主要问题，才算是真金。世界通史家对这个问题的回答矛盾百出，而文化史家则回避这个问题，环顾左右而言他。正如貌似黄金的筹码，只能在一些同意用它代替黄金的人们中间使用。或者在不知道黄金的性质的人们中间使用，不回答人类主要问题的世界通史家和文化史家们就是这样，他们不过是为了某种目的供给大学和那些爱读正经书本的读者中间流通的硬币。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 4
SINCE HISTORY has abandoned the views of the ancients as to the divine subjection of the will of a people to one chosen vessel, and the subjection of the will of that chosen vessel to the Deity, it cannot take a single step without encountering contradictions. It must choose one of two alternatives: either to return to its old faith in the direct intervention of the Deity in the affairs of humanity; or to find a definite explanation of that force producing historical events that is called power.
To return to the old way is out of the question: the old faith is shattered, and so an explanation must be found of the meaning of power.
Napoleon commanded an army to be raised, and to march out to war. This conception is so familiar to us, we are so accustomed to this idea that the question why six hundred thousand men go out to fight when Napoleon utters certain words seems meaningless to us. He had the power, and so the commands he gave were carried out.
This answer is completely satisfactory if we believe that power has been given him from God. But as soon as we do not accept that, it is essential to define what this power is of one man over others.
This power cannot be that direct power of the physical ascendency of a strong creature over a weak one, that ascendency based on the application or the threat of the application of physical force—like the power of Hercules. Nor can it be based on the ascendency of moral force, as in the simplicity of their hearts several historians suppose, maintaining that the leading historical figures are heroes—that is, men endowed with a special force of soul and mind called genius. This power cannot be based on the ascendency of moral force; for, to say nothing of historical heroes, like Napoleon, concerning whose moral qualities opinions greatly differ, history proves to us that neither Louis XI. nor Metternich, who governed millions of men, had any marked characteristics of moral force, but that they were, on the contrary, in most respects morally weaker than any one of the millions of men they governed.
If the source of power lies not in the physical and not in the moral characteristics of the person possessing it, it is evident that the source of this power must be found outside the person—in those relations in which the person possessing the power stands to the masses.
That is precisely how power is interpreted by the science of law, that cash bank of history, that undertakes to change the historical token money of power for sterling gold.
Power is the combined wills of the masses, transferred by their expressed or tacit consent to the rulers chosen by the masses.
In the domain of the science of law, made up of arguments on how a state and power ought to be constructed, if it were possible to construct it, all this is very clear; but in its application to history this definition of power calls for elucidation.
The science of law regards the state and power, as the ancients regarded fire, as something positively existing. But for history the state and power are merely phenomena, just as for the physical science of today fire is not an element, but a phenomenon.
From this fundamental difference in the point of view of history and of the science of law, it comes to pass that the science of law can discuss in detail how in the scientific writer's opinion power should be organised, and what is power, existing immovable outside the conditions of time; but to historical questions as to the significance of power, undergoing visible transformation in time, it can give no answer.
If power is the combined will of the masses transferred to their rulers, is Pugatchov a representative of the will of the masses? If he is not, how then is Napoleon I. such a representative? Why is it that Napoleon III., when he was seized at Boulogne, was a criminal, and afterwards those who had been seized by him were criminals?
In palace revolutions—in which sometimes two or three persons only take part—is the will of the masses transferred to a new person? In international relations, is the will of the masses of the people transferred to their conqueror? In 1808 was the will of the Rhine Alliance league transferred to Napoleon? Was the will of the mass of the Russian people transferred to Napoleon in 1809, when our army in alliance with the French made war upon Austria?
These questions may be answered in three ways: (1) By maintaining that the will of the masses is always unconditionally delegated over to that ruler or those rulers whom they have chosen, and that consequently every rising up of new power, every struggle against the power once delegated, must be regarded as a contravention of the real power.
Or (2) by maintaining that the will of the masses is delegated to the rulers, under certain definite conditions, and by showing that all restrictions on, conflicts with, and even abolition of power are due to non-observance of the rulers of those conditions upon which power was delegated to them.
Or (3) by maintaining that the will of the masses is delegated to the rulers conditionally, but that the conditions are uncertain and undefined, and that the rising up of several authorities, and their conflict and fall, are due only to the more or less complete fulfilment of the rulers of the uncertain conditions upon which the will of the masses is transferred from one set of persons to another.
In these three ways do historians explain the relation of the masses to their rulers.
Some historians—those most distinctively biographers and writers of memoirs, of whom we have spoken above—failing in the simplicity of their hearts to understand the question as to the meaning of power, seem to believe that the combined will of the masses is delegated to historical leaders unconditionally, and therefore, describing any such authority, these historians assume that that authority is the one absolute and real one, and that every other force, opposing that real authority, is not authority, but a violation of authority, and unlawful violence.
Their theory fits in well with primitive and peaceful periods of history; but in its application to complicated and stormy periods in the life of nations, when several different authorities rise up simultaneously and struggle together, the inconvenience arises that the legitimist historian will assert that the National Assembly, the Directorate, and Bonaparte were only violations of real authority; while the Republican and the Bonapartist will maintain, one that the Republic, and the other that the Empire were the real authority, and that all the rest was a violation of authority. It is evident that the explanations given by these historians being mutually contradictory, can satisfy none but children of the tenderest age.
Recognising the deceptiveness of this view of history, another class of historians assert that authority rests on the conditional delegation of the combined will of the masses to their rulers, and that historical leaders possess power only on condition of carrying out the programme which the will of the people has by tacit consent dictated to them. But what this programme consists of, those historians do not tell us, or if they do, they continually contradict one another.
In accordance with his view of what constitutes the goal of the movements of a people, each historian conceives of this programme, as, for instance, the greatness, the wealth, the freedom, or the enlightenment of the citizens of France or some other kingdom. But putting aside the contradictions between historians as to the nature of such a programme, and even supposing that one general programme to exist for all, the facts of history almost always contradict this theory.
If the conditions on which power is vested in rulers are to be found in the wealth, freedom, and enlightenment of the people, how is it that kings like Louis XIV. and John IV. lived out their reigns in peace, while kings like Louis XVI. and Charles I. were put to death by their peoples? To this question these historians reply, that the effect of the actions of Louis XIV. contrary to the programme were reacted upon Louis XVI. But why not reflected on Louis XIV. and Louis XV.? Why precisely on Louis XVI.? And what limit is there to such reflection? To these questions there is and can be no reply. Nor does this view explain the reason that the combined will of a people remains for several centuries vested in its rulers and their heirs, and then all at once during a period of fifty years is transferred to a Convention, a Directory, to Napoleon, to Alexander, to Louis XVIII., again to Napoleon, to Charles X., to Louis Philippe, to a republican government, and to Napoleon III. To explain these rapid transferences of the people's will from one person to another, especially when complicated by international relations, wars, and alliances, these historians are unwillingly obliged to allow that a proportion of these phenomena are not normal transferences of the will of the people, but casual incidents, depending on the cunning, or the blundering, or the craft, or the weakness of a diplomatist or a monarch, or the leader of a party. So that the greater number of the phenomena of history—civil wars, revolutions, wars—are regarded by these historians as not being produced by the delegation of the free-will of the people, but as being produced by the wrongly directed will of one or several persons, that is, again by a violation of authority. And so by this class of historians, too, historical events are conceived of as exceptions to their theory.
These historians are like a botanist who, observing that several plants grow by their seed parting into two cotyledons, or seed-leaves, should insist that everything that grows only grows by parting into two leaves; and that the palm-tree and the mushroom, and even the oak, when it spreads its branches in all directions in its mature growth, and has lost all semblance to its two seed-leaves, are departures from their theory of the true law of growth. A third class of historians admit that the will of the masses is vested in historical leaders conditionally, but say that those conditions are not known to us. They maintain that historical leaders have power only because they are carrying out the will of the masses delegated to them.
But in that case, if the force moving the peoples lies not in their historical leaders, but in the peoples themselves, where is the significance of those historical leaders?
Historical leaders are, so those historians tell us, the self-expression of the will of the masses; the activity of the historical leaders serves as a type of the activity of the masses.
But in that case the question arises, Does all the activity of historical leaders serve as an expression of the will of the masses, or only a certain side of it? If all the life-activity of historical leaders serves as an expression of the will of the masses, as some indeed believe, then the biographies of Napoleons and Catherines, with all the details of court scandal, serve as the expression of the life of their peoples, which is an obvious absurdity. If only one side of the activity of an historical leader serves as the expression of the life of a people, as other supposed philosophical historians believe, then to define what side of the activity of an historical leader does express the life of a people, one must know first what the life of the people consists of.
Being confronted with this difficulty, historians of this class invent the most obscure, intangible, and general abstraction, under which to class the greatest possible number of events, and declare that in this abstraction is to be found the aim of the movements of humanity. The most usual abstractions accepted by almost all historians are: freedom, equality, enlightenment, progress, civilisation, culture. Postulating some such abstraction as the goal of the movements of humanity, the historians study those persons who have left the greatest number of memorials behind them—kings, ministers, generals, writers, reformers, popes, and journalists—from the point of view of the effect those persons in their opinion had in promoting or hindering that abstraction. But as it is nowhere proven that the goal of humanity really is freedom, equality, enlightenment, or civilisation, and as the connection of the masses with their rulers and with the leaders of humanity only rests on the arbitrary assumption that the combined will of the masses is always vested in these figures which attract our attention—the fact remains that the activity of the millions of men who move from place to place, burn houses, abandon tilling the soil, and butcher one another, never does find expression in descriptions of the activity of some dozen persons, who do not burn houses, never have tilled the soil, and do not kill their fellow-creatures.
History proves this at every turn. Is the ferment of the peoples of the west towards the end of last century, and their rush to the east, explained by the activity of Louis XIV., Louis XV., and Louis XVI., or their mistresses and ministers, or by the life of Napoleon, of Rousseau, of Diderot, of Beaumarchais, and others?
The movement of the Russian people to the east, to Kazan and Siberia, is that expressed in the details of the morbid life of John IV. and his correspondence with Kurbsky?
Is the movement of the peoples at the time of the Crusades explained by the life and activity of certain Godfreys and Louis' and their ladies?
It has remained beyond our comprehension, that movement of the peoples from west to east, without an object, without leadership, with a crowd of tramps following Peter the Hermit. And even more incomprehensible is the cessation of that movement, when a rational and holy object for the expeditions had been clearly set up by historical leaders—that is, the deliverance of Jerusalem.
Popes, kings, and knights urged the people to set free the Holy Land. But the people did not move, because that unknown cause, which had impelled them before to movement, existed no longer. The history of the Godfreys and the Minnesingers evidently cannot be regarded as an epitome of the life of the peoples. And the history of the Godfreys and the Minnesingers has remained the history of those knights and those Minnesingers, while the history of the life of the peoples and their impulses has remained unknown.
Even less explanatory of the life of the peoples is the history of the lives of writers and reformers.
The history of culture offers us as the impelling motives of the life of the people the circumstances of the lives or the ideas of a writer or a reformer. We learn that Luther had a hasty temper and uttered certain speeches; we learn that Rousseau was distrustful and wrote certain books; but we do not learn what made the nations cut each other to pieces after the Reformation, or why men guillotined each other during the French Revolution.
If we unite both these kinds of history together, as do the most modern historians, then we shall get histories of monarchs and of writers, but not a history of the life of nations.
如果否定旧的观点，即否定一个民族的意志服从一个由神选出来的人，而那个人的意志又是服从神的，那么历史就得从下列两件事中选择其一：或者恢复神直接干预人类事务的旧信仰，或者明确地阐明产生历史事件的、所谓权力的力量的涵义，否则历史每走一步都要发生矛盾。 
回到第一种说法是不可能的，因为旧信仰已经被破除了；
所以必须说明权力的涵义。
拿破仑下令召集军队去作战。我们对这种看法是这么习以为常，对这种看法是这么熟悉，以致于为什么拿破仑一发出命令六十万人就去作战，这样的问题就毫无意义了。他有权力，所以就照他的命令办。
假如我们相信权力是上帝赋予他的，这个答案就令人十分满意了。但是我们若是不承认这一点，那就得断定一个人统治别的人们的这种权力是什么。
这种权力不可能是一个强者对一个弱者在体力上占有优势的那种直接的权力——运用体力或以体力相威胁的那种优势，例如赫拉克勒斯①的权力；它也不可能建立在精神上的优势，犹如一些历史家的幼稚的想法，他们说，历史上的大人物都是英雄，即赋有特殊精神和智慧，以及赋有所谓天才的人们。这种权力不可能建立在精神的优势上，因为，暂且不提拿破仑之流的英雄人物，关于这类人物的道德品质的评价众说纷纭，历史向我们表明，统治千百万人的路易十一和梅特涅在精神上都没有任何特殊的优势，相反，他们多半在精神上比他们所统治的千百万人中的任何一人都差得多。 
①赫拉克勒斯是希腊神话中的大力士。
假如权力的源泉既不在于拥有权力的人固有的体力，也不在于他的道德品质，那末很明显，这种权力的源泉一定在人的身外，在掌握权力的人同群众的关系中。
法学对权力的理解就是如此，法学这个历史的货币兑换处，允诺对权力的历史理解兑换成纯金。
权力是群众意志的总和，群众或以赞同的言语或以默许把意志交给他们所选出的统治者。
在法学领域里，在论述国家和政权应该妥善地建设（假如可以妥善地建设）时，这一切都是十分明白的；不过，在应用到历史上的时候，这个权力的定义就需要加以说明了。
法学对待国家和权力，好像古代人对火一样——看作一种绝对存在的东西。但是，就历史来看，国家和权力只是一种现象，正如就现代物理学来看，火不是一种化学元素，而是一种现象。
由于历史与法学在观点上有这种根本的差别，法学虽然可以按照自己的意见详细说明，权力应当怎样构成，以及不受时间限制的权力是什么，但是对于历史所提出的随着时间的推移而变化着的权力的意义问题，它根本解答不了。
假如权力是移交给统治者的群众意志的总和，那末，布加乔夫是不是群众意志的代表？假如不是，那么为什么拿破仑一世是代表呢？为什么拿破仑三世在布伦被俘的时候是一个罪犯，后来被他拘捕起来的那些人又成了罪犯呢？① 
①拿破仑三世曾三次夺取帝位，前两次都失败了，第三次成功了。
有时只有两三个人参与的宫廷政变也是把群众意志移交给一个新的统治者吗？在国际关系中，也是把一个民族的群众意志移交给征服者吗？莱茵联邦的意志在一八○八年移交给拿破仑了吗？一八○九年，当我们的军队联合法国人去打奥国人的时候，俄国人民的意志移交给拿破仑了吗？
对这些问题可能有三种答案：
一、或者承认，群众的意志总是无条件地移交给他们选定的统治者或统治者们，因此，任何新权力的出现，任何反对既经移交的权力的斗争，都应视为对真正权力的破坏行径。
二、或者承认，群众的意志是在明确的众所周知的条件下移交给统治者们的，并且指出，对权力的种种限制、冲撞、以至摧毁，都是由统治者们不恪守移交权力的条件造成的。
三、或者承认，群众的意志是在不确定、不为人知的条件下移交给统治者的，承认许多政权的兴亡，它们之间的斗争，是因为统治者或多或少满足了群众意志，由一些人转给另一些人的不为人知的条件。
这就是史学家对群众与统治者的关系的三种解释。
一些史学家，就是上面提到的那些传记作者和专题史学家，不了解权力的意义这个问题，他们幼稚地认为，似乎群众意志的总和是无条件地移交给历史人物的，因此，在记述某一种权力的时候，这些史学家就把这种权力视为唯一的、绝对的、真正的权力，任何反对这种权力的势力都不是权力，而是对权力的一种侵犯、一种暴力。
他们的理论只适用于原始的、和平的历史时期，而当各民族处在复杂而动乱的时期，各种权力同时并起，互相斗争，他们的理论就不适用了，因为正统派的史学家将会证明，国民议会，执政内阁和波拿巴都不过是真正权力的侵犯者，而共和派将会证明，国民议会是真正的政权，波拿巴派将会证明帝国是真正的政权，其他一切都是权力的侵犯者。显然，这些史学家所提供的各执一词的解释，只能讲给小孩子听听罢了。
另一派史学家认识到这种历史观的错误，他们说权力的基础是有条件地移交给统治者的群众意志的总和，历史人物只有在执行人民意志向他们默许的政纲的条件下才有权力。但是这些条件是什么呢？这些史学家没有告诉我们，即或告诉了，他们说的话也总是互相矛盾的。
每一个史学家，根据他对民族运动目的的看法，认为法国或别国的公民的伟大、财富、自由，或教育就是这些条件。但是姑且不说史学家对这些条件的看法互相矛盾，就算有这样一个包括这些条件的共同纲领，历史事实也几乎总与那种理论相矛盾。如果移交权力的条件在于人民的财富、自由和教育，为什么路易十四和伊凡四世能在王位上太平无事，得到善终，而路易十六和查理一世却被人民送上断头台？史学家回答这个问题说，路易十四违反政纲的行动在路易十六身上得到了报应。但是为什么不在路易十四或路易十五身上得到报应呢？为什么刚好在路易十六身上得到报应呢？这种报应的期限有多长呢？这些问题得不到答案，也不能得到答案。持有这种见解的人不能解释，为什么那意志的总和一连几个世纪掌握在某些统治者及其继承人的手里，然后突然在五十年间就移交给国民议会，移交给执政内阁，移交给拿破仑，移交给亚历山大，移交给路易十八，再度移交给拿破仑，移交给查理十世，移交给路易·菲力普，移交给共和政府，移交给拿破仑三世。在说明民众的意志这样迅速由一个人转移给另一个人，尤其是涉及国际关系、征服和联盟的时候，这些史学家只得承认，这些转移中，有一部分不是人民意志的正常的转移，而是与狡诈、错误、阴谋，或者与外交家、帝王、政党领袖的软弱无能分不开的偶然事件。因此，在这些史学家看来，大部分历史现象——内战、革命、征服——并非自由意志转移的结果，而是一个或几个人的错误意志转移的结果，也就是说，这又是对权力的摧毁。因此，在一些史学家看来，这类历史事件偏离了历史理论。
这些史学家就像那样的植物学家，他看见一些植物都是从双子叶的种子里生长出来的，便坚持说，一切植物都要长成两片叶子；而那些已经长大的棕榈、蘑菇，甚至橡树与两片叶子毫无相似之处，他就认为这些植物偏离了理论。
第三类史学家说，群众的意志有条件地移交给历史人物，但是我们不知道那些条件。他们说历史人物具有权力，只不过是因为他们履行了移交给他们的群众意志。
但是，这么说来，假如推动各民族的力量不掌握在历史人物手中，而掌握在各民族自己手中，那末这些历史人物还有什么价值呢？
这些史学家说，历史人物表达了群众的意志；历史人物的活动代表群众的活动。
但是，这么说来，就产生了一个问题：历史人物的全部活动都是群众意志的表现呢，还是只有一部分是群众意志的表现呢？假如像某些史学家所想的那样，历史人物的全部活动都是群众意志的体现，那么，拿破仑们、叶卡捷琳娜们的传记中所有宫廷丑闻都成了民族生活的表现——这么说显然是十分荒谬的；但是，假如像另外一些假哲学家兼史学家所想的那样，只有历史人物的行动的某一方面是人民生活的表现，那么，为了断定历史人物的行动的哪一方面表现了人民的生活，我们首先必须知道民族生活的内容。
这类史学家在遇到这些困难的时候，便想提出一些可以适用于绝大多数事件的最模糊、最难捉摸、最笼统的抽象概念，然后说，这一抽象概念是人类活动的目标：几乎为所有史学家所采用的最普通的抽象概念是：自由、平等、教育、进步、文明、文化。史学家一面把某种抽象概念视为人类活动的目标，一面研究那些为自己留下为数最多纪念文物的人们——国王、大臣、将军、著作家、改革家、教皇、新闻记者的事迹，依照他们的意见，就是研究这些人物在多大程度上促进或阻碍某一抽象概念。但是，因为无法证明人类的目的是自由、平等、教育或文明，因为群众与统治者和人类启蒙者的关系完全建立在这种任意的假定上：群众意志的总和经常移交给我们认为出类拔萃的人物，所以在关于十个人不烧房子、不务农业、不杀害同类的人们的活动的记载中，永远见不到千百万人迁徙、烧房子、抛弃农业、互相残杀的活动。
历史一再证明这一点。十八世纪末西方各民族的骚动和他们的东进，能用路易十四、十五和十六、他们的情妇和大臣们的活动来说明吗？能用拿破仑、卢梭、狄德罗①、博马舍②和别的人们的生活来说明吗？
俄国人民东进到喀山和西伯利亚，在伊凡四世病态的性格的细节中和他同库尔布斯基③的通信中有所反映吗？
十字军东征时代各民族的移动，能用对哥弗雷④们、路易们和他们的情妇们的生活的研究来说明吗？那场没有任何目的、没有领袖、只是一群乌合之众和一个隐士彼得⑤的自西而东的民族运动，对我们来说，依旧是不可理解的。在历史人物们已经明确地给十字军定下一个合理的、神圣的目标——解放耶路撒冷的时候，而那次运动的中止尤其不可理解。教皇们、国王们和骑士们煽动人们去解放圣地；但是人们不去，因为先前推动他们前去的那个未知道的原因已经不复存在了。哥弗雷和抒情歌手们⑥的历史显然不能包涵各民族的生活。哥弗雷和抒情歌手们的历史依旧是哥弗雷和抒情歌手们的历史，而各民族的生活和他们的动机的历史依旧是未知的。 
①狄德罗（1713～1784），法国启蒙思想家、唯心主义哲学家、文学家，《大百科全书》主编。
②博马舍（1712～1799），法国喜剧作家。
③安德烈·库尔布斯基公爵是伊凡四世手下的主要贵族之一。他逃亡立陶宛，从那里写信给伊凡，责备他的残酷、虚伪和专断。伊凡回信：“根据上帝的法则”为他自己辩护。
④哥弗雷是十七世纪末第一次十字军领袖。
⑤彼得是一名法国修道士，禁欲主义者，据传说，第一次十字军东征是由他鼓动起来的。
⑥抒情歌手出现于十二三世纪的德国，他们到处唱情歌，也唱十字军军歌。
著作家和改革家的历史更少向我们说明各民族的生活。
文化史向我们说明一个著作家或一个改革家的生活与思想动机和特点。我们知道，路德脾气急躁，说过如此这般的话；我们知道卢梭多疑，写过如此这般的书；但是我们不知道，宗教改革以后，各民族为何互相屠杀，也不知道，法国革命时期，人们为何彼此处以死刑。
假如把这两种历史结合起来，就像当代史学家们所做的那样，那么，我们所得到的将是帝王们和著作家们的历史，而不是各民族生活的历史。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 5
THE LIFE of nations is not contained in the life of a few men, since the connection between those few men and the nations has not been found. The theory that this connection is based on the delegation of the combined will of a people to its historical leaders is an hypothesis, not supported by the testimony of history.
The theory of the delegation of the combined will of the masses to historical personages may perhaps explain a great deal in the domain of the science of law, and is possibly essential for its purposes. But in its application to history, as soon as revolutions, wars, civil disturbances arise, as soon as history begins in fact—this theory explains nothing.
This theory appears irrefutable, just because the act of delegating the will of the people can never be verified, since it has never existed.
Whatever event might take place, and whoever might be taking the lead in such an event, the theory can always say that such a person took the lead in bringing about that event because the combined will was vested in him.
The answers given by this theory to historical questions are like the answers of a man who, watching the movements of a flock, should pay no attention to the varying quality of the pasturage in different parts of the field, nor to the actions of the shepherd, but should look for the causes of the flock taking this or that direction simply in the animal that happened to be foremost in it.
“The flock moves in this direction because the animal in front leads it, and the combined will of all the other animals is delegated to the leader of the flock.” Such is the answer given by the first class of historians, who suppose an unconditional delegation of will to the authority.
“If the animals leading the flock are changed for others, it is due to the fact that the combined will of all the beasts is transferred from one leader to another owing to the fact that the first leader did not follow the direction chosen by all the flock.” Such is the reply of those historians who assume that the combined will of the masses is vested in their rulers on conditions which they regard as unknown. (With this method of observation it very often happens that the observer, judging from the direction chosen by him, reckons as leaders those who, when the direction of the masses is changed, are not in front, but on one side, and even sometimes the hindmost.)
“If the beasts that are foremost are constantly being changed, and the direction taken by the flock too is continually changing, that is due to the fact that to attain a certain direction known to us the beasts delegate their wills to those beasts which attract our attention, and to study the movements of the flock we ought to observe all the noticeable animals that are moving on all sides of the flock.” So say the third class of historians, who accept all historical characters as the expression of their age from monarchs to journalists.
The theory of the transference of the will of the masses to historical characters is only a paraphrase—only a restatement of the question in other words.
What is the cause of historical events? Power.
What is Power? Power is the combined will of the masses vested in one person.
On what conditions are the wills of the masses vested in one person? On condition of that person's expressing the will of all men. That is, power is power. That is, power is a word the meaning of which is beyond our comprehension.
If the domain of human knowledge were confined to abstract reasoning alone, then, after subjecting the explanation of power given by science to criticism, humanity would come to the conclusion that power is only a word, and that it has no existence in reality. But for the knowledge of phenomena, man has besides abstract reasoning another instrument—experience—by which he verifies the results of reasoning. And experience tells him that power is not merely a word, but an actually existing phenomenon.
To say nothing of the fact that not a single account of the combined action of men can omit the conception of power, the reality of power is shown us, not only by history, but by observation of contemporary events.
Whenever an event takes place, a man or men appear by whose will the event is conceived to have been accomplished. Napoleon III. gives an order, and the French go to Mexico. The Prussian King and Bismarck give certain orders, and troops go to Bohemia. Napoleon I. gives a command, and soldiers march into Russia. Alexander I. gives a command, and the French submit to the Bourbons. Experience shows us that whatever takes place, it is always connected with the will of one or of several men, who decreed it should be so.
Historians, from the old habit of recognising divine intervention in the affairs of humanity, are inclined to look for the cause of events in the exercise of the will of the person endowed with power; but this conclusion is not confirmed either by reason or by experience.
On one side reason shows that the expression of the will of a man—his words, in fact, are only a part of the general activity expressed in an event, such as a revolution or a war, and therefore without the assumption of an incomprehensible, supernatural force—a miracle—it cannot be admitted that these words can be the immediate cause of the movements of millions of men.
On the other side, even if one admits that words may be the cause of an event, history shows us that the expression of the will of historical personages in the great majority of cases does not lead to any effect at all—that is, that their commands are often not carried out, and, in fact, sometimes the very opposite of what they have commanded is done.
Without admitting divine intervention in the affairs of humanity, we cannot accept power as a cause of events.
Power, from the point of view of experience, is only the dependence existing between the expression of the will of a person and the carrying out of that will by others.
To explain the conditions of that dependence, we have, first of all, to reinstate the conception of the expression of will, referring it to man, and not to the Deity.
If the Deity gives a command, expresses His will, as the history of the ancients tell us, the expression of that will is independent of time, and is not called forth by anything, as the Deity is not connected with the event. But when we speak of commands that are the expression of the will of men, acting in time and connected with one another, we must, if we are to understand the connection of the command with the event, restore (1) the conditions of all the circumstances that took place, the dynamic continuity in time both of the event and of the person commanding it; and (2) the condition of the inevitable connection in which the person commanding stands with those who carry out his command.
少数几个人的生活并不能包括各民族的生活，因为还没有发现那几个人和各民族之间的关系。有一种理论说，作为这种关系的基础的，是把群众意志的总和移交给历史人物，但是，这种理论只不过是假说，并未得到历史经验的证实。 
群众意志的总和移交给一些历史人物的理论，在法学领域内也许可以说明许多问题，对法学的目的而言也许是有必要的；但是，一应用到历史上，一当出现革命、征服，或内战，也就是说，一当历史时期开始，这种理论就不能说明什么问题了。
那种理论好像是驳不倒的，因为人民意志移交的活动是无法检验的。
不管发生什么事件，不管事件由什么人领头，那种理论总可以说，某某人所以成为事件的领导，是因为意志的总和移交给他了。
一个人看见一群牲口移动，而不注意不同地区的不同性质的牧场，也不注意牧人的驱策，就断言那群牲口之所以从这个方向或从那个方面走动、是由于那头牲口引路的缘故，这个人的答案就跟那种理论对历史问题的答案一样。
“牲口所以朝那个方向走，是因为那只在前面走的牲口引导着它，所以别的牲口的意志总和都交给那群牲畜的头头。”
这就是第一类历史学家——那些认为无条件移交权力的人——的回答。
“假如带领那群牲口的牲畜更换了，那是因为那头牲口带领的方向不是一群牲口所选择的方向，所有牲畜的意志的总和就由一个头头移交给另一个头头。”这就是那些认为群众意志的总和在他们认为已知的条件下移交给统治者的史学家的答案。（使用这种观察方法就常常发生以下的情形：那个观察者按照他所选定的方向，把那些由于群众改变方向，不再走在前头、而走在一边、甚至有时把落在后面的人当作带头的人。）
“假如前头的牲口不断地更换，一群牲口的方向不断地变换，那是因为，为要到达既定的方向，牲口把它们的意志移交给我们注目的那些牲口，因此，为研究一群牲口的运动，我们应当观察这群牲口周围走动的所有令人注目的牲口。”认为所有历史人物——从帝王到新闻记者——是他们时代的代表的第三类史学家就是这样说的。
群众意志移交给历史人物的理论，不过是一种代用语——不过是对那个问题换一种说法而已。
历史事件的原因是什么呢？——是权力。权力是什么呢？权力是移交给一个人的意志的总和。群众意志是在什么条件下移交给一个人呢？——在那个人代表全体人民的意志的条件下。这就是说，权力是权力，即是说，权力就是我们不解其含义的词语。
假如人类知识的领域只限于抽象的思维，那么，把科学对权力所作的解释加以批判后，人类就可以得出这样的结论：权力不过是一个词语，实际是不存在的。但是，为了认识现象，人类除了抽象的思维，还有一个用来检测思维结果的工具——经验，而经验告诉我们，权力不仅是一个词语，而且是一个实际存在的现象。
不待说，没有权力的观念，就无法叙述人们的集体活动，而且权力的存在已经由历史和对当代事件的观察所证实。
一桩事件发生了，总有一个人或几个人出现，那桩事件好像由于他或他们的意志发生的。拿破仑三世颁布一道命令，于是法国人到墨西哥去了①。普鲁士国王和俾斯麦颁布一道命令，于是一支军队进入了波西米亚②。拿破仑一世颁布一道命令，于是一支军队进入了俄国。亚历山大一世颁布一道命令，于是法国人服从了波旁王朝。经验告诉我们，无论发生什么事件，那桩事件总与颁布命令一个人或几个人的意志相联系。 
①一八六四年，在法军支持下，马克西米连取得了墨西哥王位。
②指一八六六年奥、普战争。
史学家们依照旧习惯——承认神干预人类的事务，想从赋有权力的个人的意志表现上寻找事件发生的原因；但是，这种结论即不能用推理证实，也不能用经验证实。
一方面，推理表明，一个人的意志的表现——他说的话——只是表现在一桩事件上（例如在一场战争中或一次革命中的全部活动的一部分）；所以，不承认一种不可理解的超自然的力量——奇迹，就不能设想几句话会是千百万人的运动的直接原因，另一方面，即使我们假设几句话可以是事件发生的原因，但是历史又表明，历史人物的意志的表现在许多情形下不产生任何效果，就是说，他们的命令非但时常不被执行，有时竟出现与他们的命令完全相反的情况。
不假设神干预人类的事务，我们就不能把权力当作事件发生的原因。
从经验的观点来看，权力不过是存在于个人意志的表现和另一些人对履行这个意志之间的依赖关系。
为了说清楚这种依赖关系的条件，我们首先应当确定意志表现的概念，承认它是属于人的，而不是属于神的。
假如神发布一道命令，表示自己的意志，就像古代历史告诉我们那样，那么，这种意志的表示与时间无关，也不由任何东西引起，因为神与事件并无牵连。但是，如果谈到命令——它是在一定时间行动的、彼此相关的人们的意志的表现，为了说明命令和事件的关系，就应当重新确定：一、发生一切的条件：事件和发布命令的人在一定时间内行动的连续性，二、发布命令的人和那些执行他的命令的人之间的必然联系的条件。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 6
ONLY THE EXPRESSION of the will of the Deity, not depending on time, can relate to a whole series of events that have to take place during several years or centuries; and only the Deity, acting by His will alone, not affected by any cause, can determine the direction of the movement of humanity. Man acts in time, and himself takes part in the event.
Restoring the first condition that was omitted, the condition of time, we perceive that no single command can be carried out apart from preceding commands that have made the execution of the last command possible.
Never is a single command given quite independently and arbitrarily, nor does it cover a whole series of events. Every command is the sequel to some other; and it never relates to a whole course of events, but only to one moment in those events.
When we say, for instance, that Napoleon commanded the army to go to fight, we sum up in one single expression a series of consecutive commands, depending one upon another. Napoleon could not command a campaign against Russia, and never did command it. He commanded one day certain papers to be written to Vienna, to Berlin, and to Petersburg; next day certain decrees and instructions to the army, the fleet, and the commissariat, and so on and so on—millions of separate commands, making up a whole series of commands, corresponding to a series of events leading the French soldiers to Russia.
Napoleon was giving commands all through his reign for an expedition to England. On no one of his undertakings did he waste so much time and so much effort, and yet not once during his reign was an attempt made to carry out his design. Yet he made an expedition against Russia, with which, according to his repeatedly expressed conviction, it was to his advantage to be in alliance; and this is due to the fact that his commands in the first case did not, and in the second did, correspond with the course of events.
In order that a command should certainly be carried out, it is necessary that the man should give a command that can be carried out. To know what can and what cannot be carried out is impossible, not only in the case of Napoleon's campaign against Russia, in which millions took part, but even in the case of the simplest event, since millions of obstacles may always arise to prevent its being carried out. Every command that is carried out is always one out of a mass of commands that are not carried out. All the impossible commands are inconsistent with the course of events and are not carried out. Only those which are possible are connected with consecutive series of commands, consistent with series of events, and they are carried out.
Our false conception that the command that precedes an event is the cause of an event is due to the fact that when the event has taken place and those few out of thousands of commands, which happen to be consistent with the course of events, are carried out, we forget those which were not, because they could not be carried out. Apart from that, the chief source of our error arises from the fact that in the historical account a whole series of innumerable, various, and most minute events, as, for instance, all that led the French soldiers to Russia, are generalised into a single event, in accordance with the result produced by that series of events; and by a corresponding generalisation a whole series of commands too is summed up into a single expression of will.
We say: Napoleon chose to invade Russia and he did so. In reality we never find in all Napoleon's doings anything like an expression of that design: what we find is a series of commands or expressions of his will of the most various and undefined tendency. Out of many series of innumerable commands of Napoleon not carried out, one series of commands for the campaign of 1812 was carried out; not from any essential difference between the commands carried out and those not carried out, but simply because the former coincided with the course of events that led the French soldiers into Russia; just as in stencil-work one figure or another is sketched, not because the colours are laid on this side or in that way, but because on the figure cut out in stencil, colours are laid on all sides.
So that examining in time the relation of commands to events, we find that the command can never in any case be the cause of the event, but that a certain definite dependence exists between them. To understand of what this dependence consists, it is essential to restore the other circumstance lost sight of, a condition accompanying any command issuing not from the Deity, but from man. That circumstance is that the man giving the command is himself taking part in the event.
That relation of the commanding person to those he commands is indeed precisely what is called power. That relation may be analysed as follows.
For common action, men always unite in certain combinations, in which, in spite of the difference of the objects aimed at by common action, the relation between the men taking a part in the action always remains the same.
Uniting in these combinations, men always stand in such a relation to one another that the largest number of men take a greater direct share, and a smaller number of men a less direct share in the combined action for which they are united. Of all such combinations in which men are organised for the performance of common action, one of the most striking and definite examples is the army.
Every army is composed of members of lower military standing—the private soldiers, who are always the largest proportion of the whole, of members of a slightly higher military standing—corporals and non-commissioned officers, who are fewer in number than the privates; of still higher officers, whose numbers are even less; and so on, up to the chief military command of all, which is concentrated in one person.
The military organisation may be with perfect accuracy compared to the figure of a cone, the base of which, with the largest diameter, consists of privates; the next higher and smaller plane, of the lower officers; and so on up to the apex of the cone, which will be the commander-in-chief.
The soldiers, who are the largest number, form the lowest plane and the base of the cone. The soldier himself does the stabbing and hacking, and burning and pillaging, and always receives commands to perform these acts from the persons in the plane next above. He himself never gives a command. The non-commissioned officer (these are fewer in number) more rarely performs the immediate act than the soldier; but he gives commands. The officer next above him still more rarely acts directly himself, and still more frequently commands. The general does nothing but command the army, and hardly ever makes use of a weapon. The commander-in-chief never takes direct part in the action itself, and simply makes general arrangements as to the movements of the masses. A similar relation exists in every combination of persons for common action—in agriculture, commerce, and in every department of activity.
And so without artificially analysing all the converging planes of the cone and ranks of the army or classes or ranks of any department whatever, or public undertaking, from lower to higher, a law comes into existence, by which men always combine together for the performance of common action in such relation that the more directly they take part in the action, the less they command, and the greater their numbers; and the less direct the part they take in the common action, the more they command, and the fewer they are in number; passing in that way from the lower strata up to a single man at the top, who takes least direct share in the action, and devotes his energy more than all the rest to giving commands.
This is the relation of persons in command to those whom they command, and it constitutes the essence of the conception of what is called power.
Restoring the conditions of time under which all events take place, we found that a command is carried out only when it relates to a corresponding course of events. Restoring the essential condition of connection between the persons commanding and fulfilling the commands, we have found that by their very nature the persons commanding take the smallest part in the action itself, and their energy is exclusively directed to commanding.
只有不以时间为转移的神的意志的表现，才可以和若干年或若干世纪的一整串事件有关，只有不受任何事物影响的神，才可以由他自己的意志来确定人类行动的方向；但是人是按一定时间行动，而且亲自参与事件的。 
只要重新确定第一个被忽略的条件——时间条件，我们就可以看出，没有使后一道命令可以执行的前一道命令，则任何命令都是不可能执行的。
从来没有一道命令是自发地出现的，也没有一道命令是适用于一连串事件的；而每道命令都是来自另一道命令，从来不是针对一连串事件，只是针对事件的某一时刻。
例如，当我们说拿破仑命令军队去作战的时候，我们是把一系列连续的、互相关联的命令结合在一道同时下达的命令中的。拿破仑不能下命令出征俄国，也从来未曾下过那样的命令。他今天命令向维也纳、柏林、彼得堡发出这样那样的公文；明天又向陆军、舰队、兵站部发出这样那样的指示和命令，等等，等等——成百万条命令，这许多命令形成一系列导致法国军队进入俄国一连串事件相应的命令。
拿破仑在位时，曾发出远征英国的命令，并且为此用了比用在任何别的计划上更多的力量和时间，可是在他统治的全部时间内，从来不曾有一次企图执行这个计划，却侵入了他屡次认为宜于结成同盟的俄国，其所以会发生这样的情形，是因为前面那些命令对一连串事件不适宜，而后面一些命令却是适宜的。
若要命令确实能够执行，就必须发出能够执行的命令。但是，要知道什么能执行、什么不能执行，是不可能的，不但在有成百万人参加的拿破仑进攻俄国的情形下不可能知道，即使在最简单的事件上也不可能知道，因为在这两种情形下都会遇到成百万种阻碍。每种被执行了的命令，同时总有大量未执行的命令。一切不能执行的命令，都与事件不相联系，所以未被执行。那些能执行的命令，只有与一贯的命令相关联，与一系列事件相符合，才得以执行。
我们以为一个事件的发生是由于它的前一道命令所引起的，这个错误的观念之所以产生，是由于我们只看见事件发生了，在成千上万条的命令中，只有几条与事件有联系的命令得到了执行，却忘记了由于不能执行而未被执行的那一些。此外，我们在这方面的迷误的主要原因是：在历史记载中，一系列不同的难以数计的、细小的事件，例如引导法国军队到俄国去的那些事件，按照这一系列事件所产生的结果被归纳成一桩事件，与这一归纳相应，又把那一系列命令归纳成一个单独的意志表现。
我们说拿破仑想进攻俄国，就进攻了。事实上，我们从拿破仑的一切行动中从未发现任何类似这种意志的表现，只发现许许多多的最繁杂的最不明确的命令，或者说他的意志表现。在拿破仑的无数未被执行的命令中，关于一八一二年战役的那些命令被执行了，这并非因为那些命令与别的未被执行的命令有什么不同，只因为那一系列命令与导致法国军队进入俄国的一系列事件相符合；正如用镂花模板绘制这样或那样的图形，并非在哪一面或照什么样涂上颜色，而是在模板上雕刻的图形的各个面都涂上颜色。
因此，考查命令与事件在时间上的关系时，我们就发现，命令无论如何不是事件的原因，而两者之间不过存在着一定的关系罢了。
要了解这种关系是什么，这就需要把一切不来自神而来自人的命令所具备的、被疏忽的条件恢复过来，那个条件就是，发出命令的人亲自参与了事件。
颁发命令者和接受命令者之间的关系，就是叫作权力的东西。这种关系包括以下各点：
人们为共同行动而结成一定的团体，在这些团体中，尽管为共同行动所确立的目的不同，但参与行动的人们之间的关系总是相同的。
人们结合成这些团体，彼此之间总有这样的关系：在他们结合起来采取集体行动时，大多数的人是直接参与的，少数人是间接参与的。
在人们为集体行动而结成的团体中，军队是最明确、最清楚的例子之一。
每支军队都包括低级军事人员——列兵，他们总占绝大多数；比较高的军事人员——班长和军士；他们的总数比列兵少；更高级的军官的总数目更少，由此类推，直到权力集于一人之身的最高军事首脑。
军事组织酷似圆锥体，直径最大的底部是由列兵组成的；比底部较高的截面，是由较高级军事人员组成的；由此类推，直到圆锥体的顶端就是总司令了。
人数最多的士兵组成圆锥体的底部和它的基础。士兵直接去刺、杀、烧、抢，也总从高级人员接受从事这些行动的命令；他们自己从来不发布一道命令。那些军士们（为数较少）行动比士兵为少；但是他们发布命令。军官更少地直接行动，但是命令发得更多了。将军只是指挥部队，指示目标，几乎从来不使用武器。总司令从来不直接参加战斗，只是发布有关群众行动的总的命令。在人们从事共同行动的所有团体中——在农业、商业和一切行政机关中，人与人之间的关系都是这样。
因此，不用特意分解连成一体的圆锥体的各个部分——一支军队的所有官职，或任何行政机关或公共事业中由最低级到最高级的职称和职位，我们就可以看出一种法则，根据这种法则，采取联合行动的人们结成下面的关系：愈多地直接参与行动的人，他们的指挥权就愈小，他们的人数就愈多；而愈少地直接参与行动的人，他们的指挥权就愈大，他们的人数也就愈少；照这样从底层上升到最后那个人，那个人最少地直接参与行动，最多地发号施令。
指挥者和被指挥者的这种关系，就是所谓权力这个概念的实质。
恢复了时间条件（一切事件都是在时间条件下发生的），我们发现，命令只有在它与一系列相应的事件相关联的时候才得以执行。恢复了发命令者和执行命令者之间的关系的必要条件，我们发现，由于这种条件的性质，命令者最少地参与事件本身，他们的活动仅仅是发号施令。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 7
WHEN SOME EVENT takes place, men express their opinions and desires in regard to the event, and as the event proceeds from the combined action of many men, some one of the opinions or desires expressed is certain to be at least approximately fulfilled. When one of the opinions expressed is fulfilled, that opinion is connected with the event as the command preceding it.
Men are dragging a log. Every man expresses his opinion as to how and where to drag it. The men drag the log off; and it turns out that it has been done just as one of them advised. He gave the command then. This is commanding and power in its primitive aspect.
The man who did most work with his arms could think least what he was doing, reflect least what might come of the common action, and so command least. The man who commanded most could obviously, from his greater verbal activity, act less vigorously with his arms. In a larger assembly of men, combining their energies to one end, the class of those persons who take the less direct share in the common work the more their energy is turned to command, is still more sharply defined.
When a man acts alone, he always carries within him a certain series of considerations, that have, as he supposes, directed his past conduct, and that serve to justify to him his present action, and to lead him to make projects for his future activity.
Assemblies of men act in the same way, only leaving to those who do not take direct part in the action to invent considerations, justifications, and projects concerning their combined activity.
For causes, known or unknown to us, the French begin to chop and hack at each other. And to match the event, it is accompanied by its justification in the expressed wills of certain men, who declare it essential for the good of France, for the cause of freedom, of equality. Men cease slaughtering one another, and that event is accompanied by the justification of the necessity of centralisation of power, of resistance to Europe, and so on. Men march from west to east, killing their fellow-creatures, and this event is accompanied by phrases about the glory of France, the baseness of England, and so on. History teaches us that those justifications for the event are devoid of all common-sense, that they are inconsistent with one another, as, for instance, the murder of a man as a result of the declaration of his rights, and the murder of millions in Russia for the abasement of England. But those justifications have an incontestable value in their own day.
They remove moral responsibility from those men who produce the events. At the time they do the work of brooms, that go in front to clear the rails for the train: they clear the path of men's moral responsibility. Apart from those justifications, no solution could be found for the most obvious question that occurs to one at once on examining any historical event; that is, How did millions of men come to combine to commit crimes, murders, wars, and so on?
Under the existing complex forms of political social life in Europe, can any event be imagined which would not have been prescribed, decreed, commanded by some sovereigns, ministers, parliaments, or newspapers? Is there any sort of combined action which could not find justification in political unity, or in patriotism, or in the balance of power, or in civilisation? So that every event that occurs inevitably coincides with some expressed desire, and receiving justification, is regarded as the result of the will of one or more persons.
Whichever way the ship steers its course, there will always be seen ahead of it the flow of the waves it cleaves. To the men in the ship the movement of those waves will be the only motion perceptible.
It is only by watching closely, moment by moment, the movement of that flow, and comparing it with the movement of the ship, that we are convinced that every moment that flowing by of the waves is due to the forward movement of the ship, and that we have been led into error by the fact that we are ourselves moving too.
We see the same thing, watching moment by moment the movement of historical personages (that is, restoring the inevitable condition under which all action takes place—the condition of the continuity of motion in time), and not losing sight of the necessary connection of historical figures with the masses.
Whatever happens, it always appears that that was foreseen and decreed. Whichever way the ship turns, the waves gurgle in front of it, and neither guiding nor accelerating its movement, will seem to us at a distance to be moving arbitrarily and guiding the course of the ship.
Examining only those expressions of the will of historical characters which related to events as commands, historians have assumed that the events were dependent on the commands. Examining the events themselves, and that connection in which the historical characters stand with the masses, we have found that historical characters and their commands are dependent on the events. An incontestable proof of this deduction is to be found in the fact that, however many commands may be given, the event does not take place if there is no other cause to produce it. But as soon as an event does take place—whatever it may be—out of the number of all the expressions of the will of different persons, there are always some which, from their meaning and time of utterance, are related to the events as commands.
Having reached this conclusion, we can directly and positively answer these two essential questions of history:—
1. What is power? 2. What force produces the movements of peoples? 1. Power is a relation of a certain person to other persons, in which that person takes the less direct share in an act, the more he expresses opinions, theories, and justifications of the combined action. 2. The movement of peoples is not produced by the exercise of power; nor by intellectual activity, nor even by a combination of the two, as historians have supposed; but by the activity of all the men taking part in the event, who are always combined in such a way that those who take most direct part in the action take the smallest share in responsibility for it, and vice versa. In its moral aspect the cause of the event is conceived of as power; in its physical aspect as those who were subject to that power. But since moral activity is inconceivable apart from physical, the cause of the event is found in neither the one nor the other, but in the conjunction of the two.
Or, in other words, the conception of cause is not applicable to the phenomenon we are examining.
In our final analysis we are brought to the circle of infinity, to that utmost limit, to which the human intellect is brought in every department of thought, if it is not merely playing with its subject. Electricity produces heat; heat produces electricity. Atoms are attracted; atoms are repelled.
Speaking of the mutual relations of heat and of electricity and of atoms, we cannot say why it is so, and we say it is so because it is unthinkable otherwise; because it must be so; because it is a law. The same thing applies also to historical phenomena. Why does a war or a revolution come to pass? We do not know. We only know that to bring either result to pass, men form themselves into a certain combination in which all take part; and we say that this is so because it is unthinkable otherwise; because it is a law.
一桩事件发生时，人们对那桩事件表示自己的意见和愿望，因为事件是许多人的集体行动产生的，这些表示出来的意见或愿望中必然有一个实现了，或者差不多实现了。当其中一个意见得以实现的时候，在我们的脑子里，这个意见作为事先发出的命令与事件联系起来。 
许多人拖一根木头。每个人都发表意见：怎样拖和往哪里拖。他们把木头拖走了，事后表明，这件事是照他们之中的一个人的话做的。他发了命令。这就是命令和权力的原始形态。
那个较多地用手干活的人，就会较少地想他所做的事，也不能考虑共同行动会导致什么结果，不能发号施令。那个较多地从事指挥的人，由于他是动嘴，显然较少地动手了。当一个比较大的群体共赴一个目标的时候，那些越少直接参加共同活动，越多从事发号施令的人的等级就更分明了。
一个人独立工作的时候，他总有他认为指导他的过去行动、为他现在的行动辩护、指导他计划将来行动的一些想法。
群体也是这样，让那些不直接参与行动的人为他们的集体行动进行考虑、辩护和拟议。
由于我们知道的或不知道的理由，法国人开始互相淹死，互相屠杀。于是与那个事件相应，用人们的意志为那一事件辩解说：其所以有此必要，是为了法国的利益，为了自由，为了平等。人们停止互相残杀，于是对这一事件加以辩解：为了权力统一，抵抗欧洲，等等这是很有必要的。人们自西而东去残杀他们的同类，伴随这一事件而来的是法国的光荣、英国的卑下等说法。历史告诉我们，为这些事件所作的辩解没有任何共同的思想，都是互相矛盾的、例如说杀人是由于承认他的权力，在俄国杀掉成百万人是为了羞辱英国。但是这些辩解在当时却具有必要的意义。
这些辩解是为了消除那些制造事件的人们的道德责任。这些暂时的目的犹如清扫前面轨道的刷子，也是为人们的道德责任清道的。没有这些辩解，就无法回答在考察每一历史事件时所遇到的最简单的问题：千百万人集体犯罪、打仗、杀人等等。
现时在欧洲的国务活动和社会生活的复杂形式下，任何不由那些君主、大臣、国会，或报纸发出指示和命令的事件是可以想象的吗？有什么集体行动不能从国家统一、爱国主义、欧洲均势，或文明上找到辩解的呢？因此，每次发生的事件必然符合某种愿望，而且得到辩解，表现为一个人或几个人的意志的产物。
一艘船不论朝哪个方向驶行，在它面前总可以看到被它所划开的波浪。对船上的人来说，这些波浪的流动是唯一看得见的运动。
只有每时每刻仔细观察那些波浪的运动，并且把波浪的运动跟船的运动加以比较，我们才会明白，波浪每时每刻的运动都是由于船的运动引起的，因为我们不觉得自己在运动，所以产生了错觉。
假如我们每时每刻注视历史人物的运动（就是恢复所发生一切的必要条件——运动在时间上的连续性），不疏忽历史人物和群众的必要联系，我们就会看见同样的情况。
船朝一个方向开动的时候，它前面有同样的波浪，当它常常改变方向的时候，它前面的波浪也跟着常常改变方向。但是不管它怎样转变航向，它的运动总伴随着波浪。
不管发生什么事件，人们总觉得那就是他们所预料的事情，奉命办理的事情。不管船开到什么地方去，那波浪总在它前面汹涌澎湃，然而它既不指导也不加强它的运动，从远处看，我们觉得那波浪的水花不仅自己移动，而且也指导着船的运动。
史学家们只考察历史人物的意志表现——它与命令的方式和事件有关系，于是便认为事件是以命令为转移的。但是，一考察事件本身和包括历史人物在内的群众之间的关系，我们就发现历史人物以及他们的命令以事件为转移的。这个结论的不可争辩的证据是，无论发出多少命令，假如没有别的原因，事件是不会发生的；但是，一旦事件发生了——不管它是什么事件，总可以从不同的人们所不断表现出来的各种意志中，找出一些在意义和时间上是以命令的方式与事件有关系的意志表现。
得出这个结论后，我们就可以直接而肯定地回答两个重大的历史问题了。
一、权力是什么？
二、是什么力量造成民族的运动？
一、权力是一个名人与别的人们之间的关系，在这种关系中，这个人对正在进行的集体行动愈多地发表意见、预言和辩护，他就愈少地参与行动。
二、各民族的运动不是由权力引起的，不是由智力活动引起的，甚至也不是如史学家们所想的那样，由两者的联合引起的，而是由所有参与事件的人的活动引起的，那些人总是这样联合起来的：直接参与事件最多的人，所负的责任最少；直接参与事件最少的人，所负的责任最大。
从精神方面来看，权力是事件发生的原因；从物质方面来看，服从权力的那些人是造成事件的原因。但是，因为没有物质的活动，精神的活动就不可思议，所以，引起事件的原因既不在前者，也不在后者，而是在两者的联合方面。
或者，换而言之，原因的概念对我们所考察的现象是不适用的。
我们分析到最后，就可以达到无限的循环，达到人类智慧在一切思维领域内达到的极限，假如智慧不对它所研究的对象采取玩弄的态度的话。电生热，热生电。原子互相吸引，原子互相排斥。
谈到热、电或原子的最简单的作用，我们不能说为什么会发生这些作用，我们说，这些现象的自然属性就是这样，这是他们的法则。历史事件也是一样。战争或革命为什么会发生？我们不知道；我们只知道，为了进行某种行动，人们组成一定的集体，他们都参加了那个集体；我们说，人的天性就是这样，这是一种法则。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 8
IF HISTORY had to deal with external phenomena, the establishment of this simple and obvious law would be sufficient, and our argument would be at an end. But the law of history relates to man. A particle of matter cannot tell us that it does not feel the inevitability of attraction and repulsion, and that the law is not true. Man, who is the subject of history, bluntly says: I am free, and so I am not subject to law.
The presence of the question of the freedom of the will, if not openly expressed, is felt at every step in history.
All seriously thinking historians are involuntarily led to this question. All the inconsistencies, and the obscurity of history, and the false path that science has followed, is due to that unsolved question.
If the will of every man were free, that is, if every man could act as he chose, the whole of history would be a tissue of disconnected accidents.
If one man only out of millions once in a thousand years had the power of acting freely, that is, as he chose, it is obvious that a single free act of that man in opposition to the laws governing human action would destroy the possibility of any laws whatever governing all humanity.
If there is but one law controlling the actions of men, there can be no free will, since men's will must be subject to that law.
In this contradiction lies the question of the freedom of the will, which from the most ancient times has occupied the best intellects of mankind, and has from the most ancient times been regarded as of immense importance.
Looking at man as a subject of observation from any point of view—theological, historical, ethical, philosophical—we find a general law of necessity to which he is subject like everything existing. Looking at him from within ourselves, as what we are conscious of, we feel ourselves free.
This consciousness is a source of self-knowledge utterly apart and independent of reason. Through reason man observes himself; but he knows himself only through consciousness.
Apart from consciousness of self, any observation and application of reason is inconceivable.
To understand, to observe, to draw conclusions, a man must first of all be conscious of himself as living. A man knows himself as living, not otherwise than as willing, that is, he is conscious of his free will. Man is conscious of his will as constituting the essence of his life, and he cannot be conscious of it except as free.
If subjecting himself to his own observation, a man perceives that his will is always controlled by the same law (whether he observes the necessity of taking food, or of exercising his brain, or anything else), he cannot regard this never-varying direction of his will otherwise than as a limitation of it. If it were not free, it could not be limited. A man's will seems to him to be limited just because he is not conscious of it except as free. You say: I am not free. But I have lifted and dropped my hand. Everybody understands that this illogical reply is an irrefutable proof of freedom.
This reply is an expression of a consciousness not subject to reason.
If the consciousness of freedom were not a separate source of self-knowledge apart from reason, it would be controlled by reasoning and experience. But in reality such control never exists, and is inconceivable.
A series of experiments and arguments prove to every man that he, as an object of observation, is subject to certain laws, and the man submits to them, and never, after they have once been pointed out to him, controverts the law of gravity or of impenetrability. But the same series of experiments and arguments proves to him that the complete freedom of which he is conscious in himself is impossible; that every action of his depends on his organisation, on his character, and the motives acting on him. But man never submits to the deductions of these experiments and arguments.
Learning from experience and from reasoning that a stone falls to the ground, a man unhesitatingly believes this; and in all cases expects the law he has learnt to be carried out.
But learning just as incontestably that his will is subject to laws, he does not, and cannot, believe it.
However often experience and reasoning show a man that in the same circumstances, with the same character, he does the same thing as before, yet on being led the thousandth time in the same circumstances, with the same character, to an action that always ends in the same way, he feels just as unhesitatingly convinced that he can act as he chooses, as ever. Every man, savage and sage alike, however incontestably reason and experience may prove to him that it is impossible to imagine two different courses of action under precisely the same circumstances, yet feels that without this meaningless conception (which constitutes the essence of freedom) he cannot conceive of life. He feels that however impossible it may be, it is so; seeing that, without that conception of freedom, he would be not only unable to understand life, but could not live for a single instant.
He could not live because all men's instincts, all their impulses in life, are only efforts to increase their freedom. Wealth and poverty, health and disease, culture and ignorance, labour and leisure, repletion and hunger, virtue and vice, are all only terms for greater or less degrees of freedom.
To conceive a man having no freedom is impossible except as a man deprived of life.
If the idea of freedom appears to the reason a meaningless contradiction, like the possibility of doing two actions at a single moment of time, or the possibility of an effect without a cause, that only proves that consciousness is not subject to reason.
That unwavering, irrefutable consciousness of freedom, not influenced by experience and argument, recognised by all thinkers, and felt by all men without exception, that consciousness without which no conception of man is reliable, constitutes the other side of the question.
Man is the creation of an Almighty, All-good, and All-wise God. What is sin, the conception of which follows from man's consciousness of freedom? That is the question of theology.
Men's actions are subject to general and invariable laws, expressed in statistics. What is man's responsibility to society, the conception of which follows from his consciousness of freedom? That is the question of jurisprudence.
A man's actions follow from his innate character and the motives acting on him. What is conscience and the sense of right and wrong in action that follows from the consciousness of freedom? That is the question of ethics.
Man in connection with the general life of humanity is conceived as governed by the laws that determine that life. But the same man, apart from that connection, is conceived of as free. How is the past life of nations and of humanity to be regarded—as the product of the free or not free action of men? That is the question of history.
Only in our conceited age of the popularisation of knowledge, thanks to the most powerful weapon of ignorance—the diffusion of printed matter—the question of the freedom of the will has been put on a level, on which it can no longer be the same question. In our day the majority of so-called advanced people—that is, a mob of ignoramuses—have accepted the result of the researches of natural science, which is occupied with one side only of the question, for the solution of the whole question.
There is no soul and no free will, because the life of man is expressed in muscular movements, and muscular movements are conditioned by nervous activity. There is no soul and no free will, because at some unknown period of time we came from apes, they say, and write, and print. Not at all suspecting that thousands of years ago all religions and all thinkers have admitted—have never, in fact, denied—that same law of necessity, which they are now so strenuously trying to prove by physiology and comparative zoology. They do not see that natural science can do no more in this question than serve to illumine one side of it. The fact that, from the point of view of observation, the reason and the will are but secretions of the brain, and that man, following the general law of development, may have developed from lower animals at some unknown period of time, only illustrates in a new aspect the truth, recognised thousands of years ago by all religious and philosophic theories, that man is subject to the laws of necessity. It does not advance one hair's-breadth the solution of the question, which has another opposite side, founded on the consciousness of freedom.
If men have descended from apes at an unknown period of time, that is as comprehensible as that they were fabricated out of a clod of earth at a known period of time (in the one case the date is the unknown quantity, in the other the method of fabrication); and the question how to reconcile man's consciousness of free will with the law of necessity to which he is subject cannot be solved by physiology and zoology, seeing that in the frog, the rabbit, and the monkey we can observe only muscular and nervous activity, while in man we find muscular and nervous activity plus consciousness.
The scientific men and their disciples who suppose they are solving this question are like plasterers set to plaster one side of a church wall, who, in the absence of the chief superintendent of their work, should in the excess of their zeal plaster over the windows, and the holy images, and the woodwork, and the scaffolding, and rejoice that from the plasterers' point of view everything was now so smooth and even.
假如历史是研究外部现象的，那么提出这样一个简单明了的法则就够了，我们也就可以结束我们的讨论了。但是历史法则与人类有关。一粒物质不能对我们说，它完全觉察不出相吸或相斥的法则，因而那种法则是错误的；但是作为历史研究对象的人，直截了当地说：我是自由的，因此不属于什么法则范畴。 
历史每走一步，都令人觉得有不言而喻的人类意识自由问题的存在。
所有认真思考的历史学们都不知不觉地遇到这个问题。历史所有的矛盾和含糊，这种科学所走的错误道路，完全是由于这个问题没有得到解决的缘故。
假如每个人的意志都是自由的，就是说，假如每个人都可以随心所欲地行动。整个历史就要成为一系列互不连贯的偶然事件了。
假如，在一千年间，一百万人中有一个人有自由行动的可能，就是说，可以随心所欲地行动，那么很显然，那个人只消有一个违反法则的自由行动，就会破坏适用于全人类的任何法则存在的可能。
假如只要有一个支配人类行动的法则，自由意志就不能存在，因为人类的意志要服从那个法则。
关于意志自由的问题存在着这样的矛盾，这个问题自古以来就占据了最卓越的人类头脑，自古以来就有人提出了它的全部重大意义。
问题就在于，如果把人视为观察的对象，无论从什么观点——神学观点、历史观点、道德观点、哲学观点——我们都发现人正如一切存在的事物一样，必须服从普遍的必然法则。但是，如果把它当作我们意识到的事物从我们内心来看他，我们就会感到我们自己是自由的。
这种意识是完全独立的，不以理性的自我认识的来源为转移。人通过理性来观察自己；也只有通过意识他才认识自己。
如果没有自我意识，任何观察和理性的运用都是不可思议的。
要想理解、观察和推理，人首先必须意识到自己是活着的。一个人有了意愿，也就是意识到他的意志，他才知道自己是活着的。但是，当人意识到构成他的生命实质的意志时，他也只能意识到它是自由的。
假如人在观察自己的时候，他看出他的意志总是按同一法则活动（他观察吃饭的必要性或者头脑的活动，或者观察任何别的现象），他不能不把他的意志总是沿着同样的方向活动看作意志的限制，如无自由，则无限制可言。一个人觉得他的意志受限制，正因为他意识到他的意志是自由的。
你说：我是不自由的。但是我举起我的手，又把它放下。人人都懂得，这一不合逻辑的答案是一种无法反驳的自由的证明。
这个答案不属于理性的意识的表现的范畴。
假如自由的意识不是一个独立的不依赖理性的自我认识的源泉，那么，它就是可以论证和实验的，但实际并不存在这种情况，而且是不可思议的。
一系列的实验和论证对每个人表明，他，作为观察的对象，服从某一些法则；人一旦认识到万有引力不渗透性的法则，他就服从这些法则，并且永远不会抗拒这些法则。但是，一系列同样的实验和论证对他表明，他内心感觉的那种完全的自由是不可能存在的，他的每一个动作都取决于他的肌体，他的性格，以及影响他的动机；但是人类从来不服从这些实验和论证的结论。
一个人根据实验和论证知道一堆石头向下落，他毫不狐疑地相信这一点，在任何情况下他都期望他所知道的那个法则得以实现。
但是，当他同样毫不狐疑的知道他的意志服从若干法则的时候，他不相信这一点，而且也不可能相信。
虽然实验和论证一再向人表明，在同样的情况下，具有同样的性格，他就会跟原先一样做出同样的事情，可是，当他在同样的情况下，具有同样的性格、第一千次做那总会得到同样结果的事情的时候，他仍然像实验以前一样确定无疑地相信他是可以为所欲为的。每个人，不论是野蛮人还是思想家，虽然论证和实验无可争辩地向他证明，在同样的条件下，有两种不同的行动是不堪想象的，但是他仍然觉得，没有这种不合理的观念（这种观念构成自由的实质），他就无法想象生活。他觉得就是这样的，尽管这是不可能的，因为没有自由这个概念，他不仅不能了解生活，而且连一刻也活不下去。
他之所以活不下去，是因为人类的一切努力，一切生存的动机，都不过是增进自由的努力。富裕和贫寒、光荣和默默无闻、权力和屈服、强壮和软弱、健康和疾病、教养和无知、工作和闲暇、饱食和饥饿、道德和罪恶，都不过是较高或较低程度的自由罢了。
一个没有自由的人，就只能看作是被夺去生活的人。
假如理性认为自由的概念是一种没有意义的矛盾，好像在同一条件下做出两种不同动作的可能性一样，或者好像一种没有理由的行动的可能性一样，那只能证明意识不属于理性范畴。
这种不可动摇、不可否认的自由意识，不受实验或论证支配，为所有思想家所承认，毫不例外地为每个人所觉察，没有它就不可能有任何关于人的观念的自由的意识，这构成问题的另一面。
人是全能、全善、全知的上帝的造物。由人类的自由的意识中产生的罪恶是什么呢？这是神学的问题。
人的行动属于用统计学表示的普遍的不变法则这一范畴。人类对社会的责任（这一概念也是从自由的意识中产生的）是什么呢？这是法学的问题。
人的行动是从他的先天性格和影响他的动机中产生的。良心是什么，从自由的意识中产生出来的行为的善恶认识是什么？这是伦理学的问题。
联系人类的全部生活来看，人是服从那决定这种生活的法则的。但是，不从这种联系来看，一个人他似乎是自由的。应当怎样看待各民族和人类的过去生活呢——作为人们自由行动的产物呢，还是作为人们不自由行动的产物呢？这是历史的问题。
只有在我们知识普及、具有自信的时代，因为有对付愚昧的最有力的工具——印刷品的传播，才把意志自由的问题提到这个问题本身不能存在的地位。在我们这个时代，大多数所谓先进人物，也就是一群不学无术的人，从事博物学家的工作，研究问题的一个方面，以求得全部问题的解答。
灵魂和自由不存在，因为人的生活是筋肉运动的表现，而筋肉运动受制于神经的活动；灵魂和自由意志并不存在，因为在远古时代我们是由猿猴变来的，他们就是这样说、写、印成书刊，一点也不怀疑，他们现在那么卖力用生理学和比较动物学来证明的那个必然性的法则，早在几千年前，不仅被所有宗教和所有思想家所承认，而且从未被人否认。他们不知道，在这个问题上，自然科学只能解释问题一个方面。因为，从观察的观点来看，理性和意志不过是脑筋的分泌物（secrétion），根据一般的法则，人可能是在那无人知道的时代从低级动物发展起来的，这事实不过从一个新的方面说明了几千年前所有宗教和哲学理论都承认了的真理，从理性的观点来看，人从属于必然性的一系列法则，但是它一点也没有促进这个问题的解决，这个问题具有建立在自由意识上的相反的另一方面。
假如人是在无人知道的时代从猿猴变来的，这与说他是在某个时期用一把土做成的，是同样可以理解的（前者的未知数是时间，后者的未知数是起源），而人的自由意识怎样与他所服从的必然性法则相结合的问题，是不能用比较生理学和动物学来解决的，因为从青蛙、兔子和猿猴身上，我们只能观察到肌肉和神经活动，但是从人身上，我们既能观察到肌肉活动和神经活动，也能观察到意识。
那些自以为能解决这个问题的博物学家和他们的信徒，正如这样一些灰泥匠：本来指定他们粉刷教堂的一面墙壁，可是他们趁着总监工不在，一时热情冲动，粉刷了窗子、神像、脚手架，还未加扶壁的墙壁，他们心里很高兴，从他们作灰泥匠的观点来看，一切都弄得又平又光滑。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 9
THE QUESTION of free will and necessity holds a position in history different from its place in other branches of knowledge, because in history, the question relates, not to the essential nature of the will of man, but to the representation of the manifestations of that will in the past and under certain conditions.
History, in regard to the solution of this question, stands to the other sciences in the position of an experimental science to speculative sciences.
The subject of history is not the will of man, but our representation of its action.
And so the insoluble mystery of the union of the two antinomies of freedom and necessity does not exist for history as it does for theology, ethics, and philosophy. History deals with the representation of the life of man, in which the union of those two antinomies is accomplished.
In actual life every historical event, every human action, is quite clearly and definitely understood, without a sense of the slightest contradiction in it, although every event is conceived of partly as free, and partly as necessary.
To solve the problem of combining freedom and necessity and the question what constitutes the essence of those two conceptions, the philosophy of history can and ought to go to work in a direction opposite to that taken by the other sciences. Instead of first defining the ideas of freedom and necessity in themselves, and then ranging the phenomena of life under those definitions, history must form the definition of the ideas of free will and necessity from the immense multitude of phenomena in her domain that are always dependent on those two elements.
Whatever presentation of the activity of one man or of several persons we examine, we always regard it as the product partly of that man or men's free will, partly of the laws of necessity.
Whether we are discussing the migrations of peoples and the inroads of barbarians, or the government of Napoleon III., or the action of some man an hour ago in selecting one direction for his walk out of several, we see nothing contradictory in it. The proportion of freedom and necessity guiding the actions of those men is clearly defined for us.
Very often our conception of a greater or less degree of freedom differs according to the different points of view from which we regard the phenomenon.
But every human action is always alike conceived by us as a certain combination of free will and necessity.
In every action we investigate, we see a certain proportion of freedom and a certain proportion of necessity. And whatever action we investigate, the more necessity we see, the less freedom, and the more freedom, the less necessity.
The proportion of freedom to necessity is decreased or increased, according to the point of view from which the act is regarded; but there always remains an inverse ratio between them.
A drowning man clutching at another and drowning him, or a hungry mother starved by suckling her baby and stealing food, or a man trained to discipline who at the word of command kills a defenceless man, all seem less guilty—that is, less free and more subject to the law of necessity to one who knows the circumstances in which they are placed, and more free to one who did not know that the man was himself drowning, that the mother was starving, that the soldier was on duty, and so on. In the same way a man who has twenty years ago committed a murder and afterwards has gone on living calmly and innocently in society seems less guilty, and his acts seem more subject to the law of necessity, to one who looks at his act after the lapse of twenty years than to one looking at the same act the day after it was perpetrated. And just in the same way the act of a madman, a drunkard, or a man labouring under violent excitement seems less free and more inevitable to one who knows the mental condition of the man who performed the action, and more free and less inevitable to one who does not know it. In all such cases the conception of freedom is increased or diminished, and that of necessity correspondingly diminished or increased, according to the point of view from which the action is regarded. So that the more necessity is seen in it the less freedom. And vice versa.
Religion, the common-sense of humanity, the science of law, and history itself understand this relation between necessity and free will.
All cases, without exception, in which our conception of free will and necessity varies depend on three considerations:
1. The relation of the man committing the act to the external world.
2. His relation to time.
3. His relation to the causes leading to the act.
In the first case the variation depends on the degree to which we see the man's relation to the external world, on the more or less clear idea we form of the definite position occupied by the man in relation to everything co-existing with him. It is this class of considerations that makes it obvious to us that the drowning man is less free and more subject to necessity than a man standing on dry ground; and that makes the actions of a man living in close connection with other people in a thickly populated district, bound by ties of family, official duties, or business undertaking, seem undoubtedly less free than those of a man living in solitude and seclusion.
If we examine a man alone, apart from his relations to everything around him, every action of his seems free to us. But if we see any relation of his to anything surrounding, if we perceive any connection between him and anything else, a man speaking to him, a book read by him, the work he is employed in, even the air he breathes, or the light that falls on the objects around him, we perceive that every one of those circumstances has its influence on him, and controls at least one side of his activity. And the more we perceive of those influences, the smaller the idea we form of his freedom, and the greater our conception of the necessity to which he is subject.
2. The second cause of variation is due to the degree of distinctness with which the man's position in time is perceived, the clearness of the notion formed by us of the place the man's action fills in time. It is owing to this class of considerations that the fall of the first man, leading to the origin of the human race, seems to us obviously less free than the marriage of any one of our contemporaries. It is owing to this class of considerations that the life and acts of men who lived years ago cannot seem to me as free as the life of my contemporaries, the consequences of whose acts are still unknown to me.
The variation in our conception of free will in this connection depends on the interval of time that has elapsed between the action and our criticism of it.
If I examine an act I have committed a moment ago in approximately the same circumstances as I am placed in now, my act appears to me indubitably free. But if I examine an act I have committed a month ago, then being placed in other circumstances, I cannot help recognising that had not that act been committed, much that is good and agreeable, and even inevitable, resulting from that act, could not have taken place. If I reflect on a still more remote action, performed ten years or more ago, the consequences of my act are even plainer to me, and it will be difficult for me to conceive what would have happened if that action had not taken place. The further back I go in my reminiscences, or what is the same thing, the further forward in my criticism of them, the more doubtful becomes my view of the freedom of my action.
We find precisely the same ratio of variation in our views of the element of free will in the general affairs of men in history. A contemporary event we conceive of as undoubtedly the doing of all the men we know of concerned in it. But with a more remote event, we see its inevitable consequences, which prevent our conceiving of anything else as possible. And the further back we go in the examination of events, the less arbitrary they seem to us.
The Austro-Prussian war appears to us to be undoubtedly the result of the crafty acts of Bismarck and so on.
The Napoleonic wars, though more doubtful, appear to us the effect of the free will of the leading heroes of those wars. But in the Crusades we see an event, filling its definite place in history, without which the modern history of Europe is inconceivable, although to the chroniclers of the Crusades, those events appeared simply due to the will of a few persons. In the migrations of peoples it never occurs to any one now that the renewal of the European world depended on a caprice of Attila's. The more remote in history the subject of our observations, the more doubtful we feel of the free will of the persons concerned in the event, and the more obvious is the law of necessity in it.
3. The third element influencing our judgment is the degree to which we can apprehend that endless chain of causation demanded by the reason, in which every phenomenon comprehended, and so every act of man, must have its definite place, as a result of past and a cause of future acts.
This is the element that causes our acts and those of others to appear to us on one side more free the less we know of the physiological, psychological, and historical laws deduced from observation, and the less thoroughly the physiological, psychological, or historical cause of the act has been investigated by us, and on the other hand the less simple the act observed and the less complex the character and mind of the man whose action we are examining.
When we have absolutely no understanding of the causes of an action—whether vicious or virtuous or simply non-moral—we ascribe a greater element of free will to it. In the case of a crime, we are more urgent in demanding punishment for the act; in the case of a virtuous act, we are warmer in our appreciation of its merits. In cases of no moral bearing, we recognise more individuality, originality, and independence in it. But if only one of the innumerable causes of the act is known to us, we recognise a certain element of necessity, and are less ready to exact punishment for the crime, to acknowledge merit in the virtuous act, or freedom in the apparent originality. The fact that the criminal was reared in vicious surroundings softens his fault in our eyes. The self-sacrifice of a father, of a mother, or self-sacrifice with the possibility of reward is more comprehensible than gratuitous self-sacrifice, and so is regarded by us as less deserving of sympathy and less the work of free will. The founder of a sect, of a party, or the inventor impresses us less when we understand how and by what the way was paved for his activity. If we have a large range of experiments, if our observation is continually directed to seeking correlations in men's actions between causes and effects, their actions will seem to us more necessary and less free, the more accurately we connect causes and effects. If the actions investigated are simple, and we have had a vast number of such actions under observation, our conception of their inevitability will be even more complete. The dishonest conduct of the son of a dishonest father, the misbehaviour of women, who have been led into certain surroundings, the relapse of the reformed drunkard into drunkenness, and so on, are instances of conduct which seem to us to be less free the better we understand their cause. If the man himself whose conduct we are examining is on the lowest stage of mental development, like a child, a mad-man, or a simpleton, then when we know the causes of the act and the simplicity of the character and intelligence, we see so great an element of necessity, and so little free will, that we can foretell the act that will follow, as soon as we know the cause bound to bring it forth.
In all legislative codes the exoneration of crime or admission of mitigating circumstances rests only on those three classes of consideration. The guilt is conceived as greater or less according to the greater or lesser knowledge of the conditions in which the man judged is placed, the greater or less interval of time between the perpetration of the crime and the judgment of it, and the greater or less comprehension of the causes that led to the act.
在解决自由意志和必然性的问题上，历史比其他知识部门有一个优点：而这个问题对历史来说，不牵涉人类自由意志的实质，只牵涉这种意志在过去和一定条件下的表现。 
在解决这个问题上，历史与其他科学的关系，就像实验科学与抽象科学的关系一样。
作为历史研究对象的不是人的意志本身，而是我们关于它的观念。
因此，历史不像神学、伦理学和哲学，它不存在自由意志和必然性相结合的无法解决的奥秘。历史考察人对生活的观念，这两种矛盾的结合已经在人对生活的观念中实现了。
每一历史事件，每一人类活动，在实际生活中都被了解得十分清楚、十分明确，没有任何矛盾的感觉，尽管每一事件都表现出一部分是自由的，一部分是必然的。
为解决自由和必然性怎样结合以及这两个概念的实质为何物的问题，历史哲学也可以、而且应当走一条与别的科学相反的道路。历史不宜先给自由意志和必然性这两个概念本身下定义，然后把生活现象列入那两个定义之中，历史应当以大量历史现象中归纳自由和必然性这两个概念的定义，而那些现象总是与自由和必然有关系的。
我们无论怎样考察关于许多人或者一个人的活动的观念，我们总是把这种活动理解为部分人的自由意志和部分必然性法则的产物。
无论我们所谈的是民族迁徙和野蛮人入侵，或是拿破仑三世的命令，或是某个人一个小时前从几个方向中选出一个散步的方向的这一行动，我们都看不出任何矛盾。对我们来说，指导这些人的行动的自由和必然性的限度是很明确的。
关于自由多寡的概念时常因我们观察现象的观点不同而各异；但是永远有共同的一面，人的每一行动，在我们看来，都是自由和必然性的一定的结合。在我们所考察的每一行动中，我们都看出一定成份的自由和一定成份的必然性。而且永远都是这样的：在任何行动中自由愈多，必然性就愈少；必然性愈多，自由就愈少。
自由与必然性的增减关系，视考察行动时所用的观点而定；但是两者的关系总是成反比的。
一个先足落水的人，抓住另一个人，那人也要淹死了；或者，一个因为哺育婴儿而疲惫不堪的、饥饿的母亲，偷了一些食物；或者，一个养成遵守纪律习惯的人，在服役期间，遵照长官命令，杀掉一个不能自卫的人——在知道那些人所处的条件的人看来，似乎罪过比较小，也就是自由比较小，属于必然性法则的成分比较多；而在不知道那个人自己就要淹死、那个母亲在挨饿、那个士兵在服役等等的人看来，自由就比较多。同样，一个人二十年前杀过人，从那以后就和平无害地生活在社会上，他的罪过似乎比较小；在二十年后来考察他的行为的人看来，他的行为似乎更属于必然性的法则范畴，而在他犯罪第二天来考察他的行动的人看来，他的行为比较自由。同样，一个疯狂的、醉酒的、或高度紧张的人的每一行动，在知道有那种行动的人的精神状态的人看来，似乎自由比较少，必然性比较多；而在不知道的人看来，就似乎自由比较多，必然性比较少。在所有这些情况中，自由的概念随着考察行动时所持的观点而增减，必然的概念也相应地或增或减。因此，必然性的成分愈多，自由观念的成分就愈少。反之亦然。
宗教、人类常识、法学和历史本身，都同样了解必然性和自由之间的这种关系。
我们关于自由和必然性观念的增减，一无例外地取决于以下三类根据：
一、完成行为的人与外部世界的关系，
二、他与时间的关系，
三、他与引起行动的原因的关系。
一、第一类根据是，我们或多或少地认识人类与外部世界的关系，或多或少地明了每个人在与他同时并存的一切事物的关系中所占的一定的地位。由这类根据可以看出，一个将要淹死的人比一个站在干地上的人更不自由，更多属于必然性；还可以看出，一个在人烟稠密的地区与别人有密切关系的人的行动，一个受家庭、职务、企业束缚的人的行动，比一个离群索居的人的行动，无疑地更不自由，更多地属于必然性。
如果我们只观察一个人，不管他与周围一切的关系，我们就觉得他的每一行动都是自由的。但是，如果我们只要看到他与周围一切的关系，假如我们看到他与不论何种事物的联系——与他说话的人、与他所读的书、与他所从事的劳动，以至与他周围的空气，与照在他周围的东西上的光线的联系，我们就看出，每件东西对他都有影响，至少支配他的行动的某一方面。于是，我们愈多地看到这些影响，关于他的自由的观念就越减弱，关于他受必然性支配的观念就越增强。
二、第二类根据是，人们或多或少地看出人与世界在时间上的关系，或多或少地明了那个人的行动在时间上所占的地位。由这类根据可以看出，使人类产生的那第一个人堕落，显然比现代人的结婚更不自由。由此还可以看出，在几世纪前，在时间上与我们有关联的人们的生活和活动，我觉得不像一个现代人的生活（我还不知道他的生活的后果）那么自由。
在这方面，关于或多或少的自由和必然性的逐步认识，取决于完成那一行动和我们判断它之间所经历的时间的长短。
假如我考察我在一分钟以前与我现在所处的环境几乎相同的环境下所完成的一次行动，我觉得我那次行动无疑是自由的。但是，假如我考察我在一个月前完成的一次行动，那么，因为是在不同的环境下完成的，我不得不承认，假如没有那次行动，从现在这次行动所产生的许多良好的，令人满意的，甚至是重大的结果也就不会有了。如果我回忆更远的十年或更多的时间以前的那一次行动，那么，我就觉得我现在这次行动产生的后果更为明显；我也觉得难以想象，假如没有那次行动，会是怎么样。我回忆得愈远，或者我对同一件事思考得愈深，我就愈加怀疑我的行动的自由。
在历史上，关于自由意志在人类公共事业中所起的作用，我们发现同样的信念的级数。我们觉得，现代的任何事件无疑都是一定的人们的行动；但是对于一桩比较遥远的事件，我们已经看到它的必然后果，除此而外，我们想象不出任何别的后果。我们回忆得愈远，我们就要觉得那些事件不是任意作出的。
我们觉得，奥普战争①无疑是俾斯麦狡狯以及其他诸如此类的事产生的后果。
拿破仑发动的战争，我们依然认为是英雄的意志所产生的结果，尽管我们对此有所怀疑；但是，我们已经把十字军东征看作占有一定地位的事件，没有这桩事件，欧洲的近代史就不堪想象，虽然在十字军的编年史家看来，这桩事件不过是某些人的意志的产物。至于涉及各民族的迁徙，今天已经没有人会认为欧洲的复兴取决于阿提拉②的任意作为。我们所观察的历史对象愈远，造成事件的那些人的自由意志就愈益可疑，必然性的法则也愈加明显。 
①一八六六年的奥普战争，托尔斯泰于是年撰写这部小说。
②阿提拉是匈奴族首领（406～453），在他的时代，匈奴部族联盟极为强盛。
三、第三类根据是，我们对理性所必然要求的无穷无尽的因果关系的了解，而且为我们所理解的每一现象（因而也是人的每一次行动），作为以往的现象的结果和以后的现象的原因，应当有它的确定的地位。
依照这类根据，我们对那些由观察得来的支配人的生理法则、心理法则、历史法则认识得愈益清楚，我们对行动的生理原因、心理原因、历史原因就会了解的愈益正确，——这是一方面；另一方面，我们所观察的行动愈益简单；我们所研究的人物的性格和头脑以及他的行动就愈不复杂，因此我们觉得，我们的行动和别人的行动就愈益自由，就愈益不受必然性的支配。
当我们完全不了解一种行为的原因时——不论这是罪行还是善行，或者是一种无所谓善恶的行为，我们就认为这种行为的自由成份最大。假如是罪行，我们就最坚决地要求处罚它；假如是善行，我们就给予最高的评价。假如是无所谓善恶的行为，我们就承认它是最富于个性、独创性和自由的行为。不过，我们只要知道无数原因中的一个，我们就会看出一定成份的必然性，也就不那么坚持惩罚罪过，认为善行并不是了不起的功绩，对貌似独创的行为也认为并非那么自由了。一个犯人是在坏人中接受教育的，这就使得他的罪恶不那么严重了。父母为子女作出的自我牺牲，可能得到奖赏的自我牺牲，比无缘无故的自我牺牲更可理解，因而似乎不那么值得同情，自由的程度比较小。教派或政党的创立者或发明家，一旦我们知道他的行动是怎样准备起来的，用什么准备起来的，就不那么使我们惊异了。假如我们有许多经验，假如我们的观察不断地在人们的行动中寻求因果关系，那么，我们愈益准确地把因果联系起来，我们就愈益觉得他们的行动是必然的，是不自由的。如果我们考察简单的行动，并且有许多那一类的行动供观察，我们对那些行动的必然性观念一定更强了。一个不诚实的父亲的儿子的不诚实行为，一个落到坏人中间的女人的不正当行为，一个酒鬼的醉酒等等，我们愈益了解这些行为的原因，就愈益觉得这些行动是不自由的。如果我们考察智力低下的人的行为，例如，考察一个小孩、一个疯子、一个傻子的行为，那么，因为我们知道他们的行为的原因和性格与智力的简单，我们就会看出必然性成分很大，自由意志成分很小，甚至我们一旦知道造成那种行为的原因，我们就可以预言它的结果。
一切法典所承认的无责任能力和减罪的情事，仅仅依据这三点理由。责任的大小，要看我们对受审查的那个人所处的环境认识的多少，要看完成那行为和进行审查相距多少时间，还要看我们对行为的原因了解的程度而定。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 10
AND THUS our conception of free will and necessity is gradually diminished or increased according to the degree of connection with the external world, the degree of remoteness in time, and the degree of dependence on causes which we see in the phenomenon of man's life that we examine. So that if we examine the case of a man in which the connection with the external world is better known, the interval of time between the examination and the act greater, and the causes of the action easier to comprehend, we form a conception of a greater element of necessity and less free will. If we examine a man in a less close dependence on external conditions, if his action is committed at a moment nearer the present, and the causes leading him to it are beyond our ken, we form a conception of a less element of necessity and a greater element of free will in his action.
But in neither case, however we shift our point of view, however clear we make to ourselves the connection in which the man is placed with the external world, or however fully comprehensible it may appear to us, however long or short a period of time we select, however explicable or unfathomable the causes of the act may be to us, we can never conceive of complete free will, nor of complete necessity in any action.
1. However carefully we imagine a man excluded from the influence of the external world, we can never form a conception of freedom in space. Every act of man's is inevitably limited by what surrounds him and by his own body. I raise my arm and let it fall. My action seems to me free; but asking myself could I raise my arm in any direction, I see that I moved it in the direction in which there was least hindrance to the action arising from bodies around me or from the construction of my own body. I chose one out of all the possible directions, because in that direction I met with least hindrance. For my action to be entirely free, it would have to meet with no hindrance in any direction. To conceive a man quite free, we have to conceive him outside of space, which is obviously impossible.
2. However near we bring the time of criticism to the time of action, we can never form a conception of freedom in time. For if I examine an act committed a second ago, I must still recognise that it is not free, since the act is irrevocably linked to the moment at which it was committed. Can I lift my arm? I lift it; but I ask myself: Could I not have lifted my arm in that moment of time that has just passed? To convince myself of that, I do not lift my arm the next moment. But I am not abstaining from lifting it that first moment of which I asked myself the question. The time has gone by and to detain it was not in my power, and the hand which I then raised and the air in which I raised it are not the same as the hand I do not raise now or the air in which I do not now raise it. The moment in which the first movement took place is irrevocable, and in that moment I could only perform one action, and whatever movement I had made, that movement could have been the only one. The fact that the following moment I abstained from lifting my arm did not prove that I could have abstained from lifting it. And since my movement could only be one in one moment of time, it could have been no other. To conceive it to oneself as free, one must conceive it in the present on the boundary between the past and the future, that is, outside time, which is impossible.
3. However we increase the degree of difficulty of comprehending the causes of the act, we never reach a conception of complete free will, that is, absolute absence of cause. Though the cause of the expression of will in any act of our own or another's may be beyond our ken, it is the first impulse of the intellect to presuppose and seek a cause, without which no phenomenon is conceivable. I raise my arm in order to perform an act independent of any cause, but the fact that I want to perform an act independent of any cause is the cause of my action.
But even if by conceiving a man entirely excluded from external influence, and exercising only a momentary act in the present, not called forth by any cause, we were to reduce the element of necessity to an infinitesimal minimum equivalent to nil, we should even then not have reached a conception of complete free will in a man; for a creature, uninfluenced by the external world, outside of time, and independent of cause, is no longer a man.
In the same way we can never conceive a human action subject only to necessity without any element of free will.
1. However we increase our knowledge of the conditions of space in which a man is placed, that knowledge can never be complete since the number of these conditions is infinitely great, seeing that space is in finite. And so long as not all the conditions that may influence a man are defined, the circle of necessity is not complete, and there is still a loophole for free will.
2. Though we may make the period of time intervening between an act and our criticism of it as long as we choose, that period will be finite, and time is infinite, and so in this respect too the circle of necessity is not complete.
3. However easy the chain of causation of any act may be to grasp, we shall never know the whole chain, since it is endless, and so again we cannot attain absolute necessity.
But apart from that, even if, reducing the minimum of free will till it is equivalent to nil, we were to admit in some case—as, for instance, that of a dying man, an unborn babe, an idiot—a complete absence of free will, we should in so doing have destroyed the very conception of man, in the case we are examining; since as soon as there is no free will, there is no man. And therefore the conception of the action of a man subject only to the law of necessity, without the smallest element of free will, is as impossible as the conception of a completely free human action.
Thus to conceive a human action subject only to the law of necessity without free will, we must assume a knowledge of an infinite number of conditions in space, an infinitely long period of time, and an infinite chain of causation.
To conceive a man perfectly free, not subject to the law of necessity, we must conceive a man outside of space, outside of time, and free from all dependence on cause.
In the first case, if necessity were possible without free will, we should be brought to a definition of the laws of necessity in the terms of the same necessity, that is, to mere form without content.
In the second case, if free will were possible without necessity, we should come to unconditioned free will outside of space, and time and cause, which by the fact of its being unconditioned and unlimited would be nothing else than content without form.
We should be brought in fact to these two fundamental elements, of which man's whole cosmic conception is made up—the incomprehensible essence of life and the laws that give form to that essence.
Reason says: 1. space with all the forms given it by its visibility—matter—is infinite, and is not thinkable otherwise.
2. Time is infinite movement without one moment of rest, and it is not otherwise thinkable.
3. The connection of cause and effect has no beginning, and can have no end.
Consciousness says: 1. I alone am, and all that exists is only I; consequently I include space.
2. I measure moving time by the unchanging moment of the present, in which alone I am conscious of myself living; consequently I am outside of time, and
3. I am outside of cause, since I feel myself the cause of every phenomenon of my life.
Reason gives expression to the laws of necessity. Consciousness gives expression to the reality of free will.
Freedom unlimited by anything is the essence of life in man's consciousness. Necessity without content is man's reason with its three forms of thought.
Free will is what is examined: Necessity is what examines. Free will is content: Necessity is form.
It is only by the analysis of the two sources of knowledge, standing to one another in the relation of form and content, that the mutually exclusive, and separately inconceivable ideas of free will and necessity are formed.
Only by their synthesis is a clear conception of the life of man gained.
Outside these two ideas—in their synthesis mutually definitive as form and content—no conception of life is possible.
All that we know of men's life is only a certain relation of free will to necessity, that is, of consciousness to the laws of reason.
All that we know of the external world of nature is only a certain relation of the forces of nature to necessity, or of the essence of life to the laws of reason.
The forces of the life of nature lie outside us, and not subject to our consciousness; and we call these forces gravity, inertia, electricity, vital force, and so on. But the force of the life of man is the subject of our consciousness, and we call it free will.
But just as the force of gravitation—in itself incomprehensible, though felt by every man—is only so far understood by us as we know the laws of necessity to which it is subject (from the first knowledge that all bodies are heavy down to Newton's law), so too the force of free will, unthinkable in itself, but recognised by the consciousness of every man, is only so far understood as we know the laws of necessity to which it is subject (from the fact that every man dies up to the knowledge of the most complex economic or historic laws).
All knowledge is simply bringing the essence of life under the laws of reason.
Man's free will is distinguished from every other force by the fact that it is the subject of man's consciousness. But in the eyes of reason it is not distinguished from any other force.
The forces of gravitation, of electricity, or of chemical affinity, are only distinguished from one another by being differently defined by reason. In the same way the force of man's free will is only distinguished by reason from the other forces of nature by the definition given it by reason. Free will apart from necessity, that is, apart from the laws of reason defining it, is in no way different from gravitation, or heat, or the force of vegetation; for reason, it is only a momentary, indefinite sensation of life.
And as the undefined essence of the force moving the heavenly bodies, the undefined essence of the force of heat, of electricity, or of chemical affinity, or of vital force, forms the subject of astronomy, physics, chemistry, botany, zoology, and so on, so the essence of the force of free will forms the subject matter of history. But even as the subject of every science is the manifestation of that unknown essence of life, yet that essence itself can only be the subject of metaphysics, so too the manifestation of the force of free will in space, and time, and dependence on cause, forms the subject of history, but free will itself is the subject of metaphysics.
In the experimental sciences, what is known to us we call the laws of necessity; what is unknown to us we call vital force. Vital force is simply an expression for what remains unexplained by what we know of the essence of life. So in history what is known to us we call the laws of necessity; what is unknown, we call free will. Free will is for history simply an expression for what remains unexplained by the laws of men's life that we know.
因此，我们对自由意志和必然性观念的逐渐减少或增多，要依据某人与外部世界联系的多少，要依据时间距离的远近并且依据对原因依赖多少（我们是从这些原因中来考察一个人的生活现象的）而定。 
因此，如果我们考察一个人处于这样一种情况：他与外部世界的联系是最为人所共知的，他完成行为与判断这一行为的时间距离是极长的，行为发生的原因是最容易理解的，那么，我们就得到最大的必然性和最小的自由意志的观念。如果我们考察一个与外部条件的关系最少的人，他完成行为的时间离现在非常近，他的行为发生的原因是我们难以理解的，那么，我们就能得到最小的必然性和最大的自由意志的观念。
但是，不论在前一种情形或者在后一种情形，不论我们怎样改变我们的看法，不论我们怎样弄清楚人与外部世界之间的关系，或者不论我们怎样觉得那种关系无法弄清楚，不论把时期怎样延长或缩短，不论我们觉得原因是可知或不可知，我们都不能想象出完全的自由或完全的必然性。
一、不论我们怎样想象一个人如何不受外部世界的影响，我们永远得不到在空间上自由的观念。人的任何一次行动都不可避免地受他自己的身体和他周围事物的制约。我举起胳膊，然后把它放下来。我觉得我的行动是自由的；但是我问问自己：我能不能朝各个方向举起胳膊呢？于是我看出，我是朝着行动最不受周围的事物和我自己的身体构造的妨碍的方向举起胳膊的。我从各个可能的方向中选出一个，因为在这个方向上障碍最少。如若要我的行动自由，就必须使我的行动不致于碰上任何障碍。如若要想象一个人自由，我们就得想象他超出空间以外，那显然是不可能的事。
二、不论我们怎样使判断的时间接近于行动的时间，我们总是得不到时间上自由的观念。因为，假如我考察一秒钟以前完成的一种行为，我们仍然认为那种行为是不自由的，因为它是与完成它的那一时刻分不开的。我能举起胳膊吗？我能把它举起来；但是我问问自己：我能在已经过的那个时刻不举起胳膊吗？要使我自己相信这一点，我在下一个时刻就不举起胳膊。但是，我并非在向我自己提出关于自由的问题的那第一个时刻不举起它的。时间已经过去了，留住它并非取决于我，我在那时举起的胳膊已经不是我在这时不举的胳膊了，我在举起胳膊时的空气也已经不是现在围绕着我的空气了。完成第一次活动的那个时刻是一去不复返的，在那个时刻我也只能完成一种活动，不论我完成哪种活动，那种活动只能是唯一的一种。在那个时刻之后，我不再举起胳膊，并不是证明我能不举它。因为在那一个时刻我只能做一个动作，它不可能又是别的任何动作。要把我的动作想象作自由的，就必须想象现在的它，又是过去和将来之间的它，就是说，超出时间以外的它，这是不可能的。
三、不论对原因的理解有多么大的困难，我们永远得不出一种完全自由的观念（就是说，完全没有原因）。不论我们对我们自己或别人的任何行动中的意志表现的原因是多么难以理解，智能的第一个要求就是假设和探求一种原因，因为没有原因的任何现象都是不堪想象的。我举起胳膊进行活动，与任何原因无关，但是我要做一个没有原因的动作，这就是我的行动的原因。
但是，即使想象一个完全不受一切影响的人，只考虑他现在这一瞬间的行动，假定他这种行动不是由任何原因引起的，认为必然性的残余小得等于零，我们也得不出人有完全自由的观念，因为不受外部世界的影响，超出于时间以外，与原因毫无关联的生物，已经不是人了。
同样，我们也绝不能设想一个人的行为完全没有自由，只受必然性法则的支配。
一、不论我们怎样增长我们对人所处的空间的条件的知识，这种知识永远是无穷无尽的，因为这些条件的数目是无限的，正如空间是无限的一样。因此，既然不能确定所有的条件，不能确定人所受到的一切影响，那就不会有完全的必然性，也就是存在着一定成分的自由。
二、不论我们怎样延长我们考察现象和判断那种现象之间的一段时间，而这段时间是有限的，时间是无限的，因此，在这方面也不可能有完全的必然性。
三、不论行为发生的原因这条锁链怎样容易了解，我们也永远不会了解这全部锁链，因为它是无穷无尽的，因此我们还是永远得不出完全的必然性。
但是，除此而外，即使假定残余的意志自由小得等于零，我们仍认为，在某种情形下，例如在一个行将死去的人、一个未生的胎儿，或者一个白痴的处境中，根本没有意志自由，这样我们就连我们所考察的那个人的概念也毁灭了；因为一旦没有意志自由，也就没有人了。因此，一个人的行动受必然性法则的支配，没有任何的意志自由，这种观念正如一个人完全自由行动的观念一样，是不可能存在的。
因此，要设想一个人的行为受必然性法则的支配，没有丝毫的意志自由，我们就得假定，我们知道已有无限数量的空间条件，·无·限长的时限和·无·限多的原因存在。
要设想一个人完全自由，不受必然性法则的支配，我们就得把他想象成一个超空间，超时间，与任何原因无关的人。
在第一种情形下，假如没有自由的必然性是可能存在的，我们就由那个必然性自身得出必然性法则的定义，也就是得出一种没有内容的单纯的形式。
在第二种情形下，假如没有必然性的自由是可能存在的，我们就得到一种超空间、超时间和无原因的无条件的自由，这种自由本身是无条件的、无限制的，那就是什么也没有或是没有形式的单纯的内容。
一般地说，我们得到那形成人类全部宇宙观的两个根据——不可知的人生实质和确定这种实质的法则。
理性表明：一、空间以及赋予它本身可见性的各种形式——物质，是无限的，不然就是不堪想象的。二、时间是没有瞬间停顿的无限的运动，不然就是不堪想象的。三、原因和结果的联系没有起点，也不可能有终点。
意识表明：一、只有我一人，一切存在都不外乎是我；因此，我包括空间。二、我用现在静止的一瞬间来测量流逝的时间，只有现在这一瞬间我才意识到我还活着；因此，我是超出时间之外的。三、我是超出原因之外的，因为我觉得我生活中的每一现象产生的根源就是我自己。
理性表达出必然性的法则，意识表达出意志自由的实质。
不受任何限制的自由是人的意识中的生活实质。没有内容的必然性是有三种形式的人的理性。
自由是受考察的对象。必然是考察的对象。自由是内容。
必然是形式。
只有把两种认识的源泉分开时——这两种认识的关系才算是形式和内容的关系，这就得出单独的、互相排斥的和无法理解的自由和必然性的概念。
只有把它们互相结合时，才能得出关于人类生活的明确概念。
在这互相规定为形式和内容结合的两个概念之外，任何生活都是不堪想象的。
我们对人类生活所知道的一切，只不过是自由和必然的一定关系，这也就是意识和理性法则的关系。
我们对外部自然界所知道的一切，只不过是自然力和必然性的一定关系，或生活的实质和理性法则的一定关系。
大自然的生命力存在于我们之外，不为我们所认识，我们就把这些力叫作引力、惰力、电力、离力、等等；但是人的生命力是为我们所认识的，我们就把它叫做自由。
但是，正如人人所感觉到的，而其本身则无法理解的万有引力一样，我们对那支配它的必然性法则知道多少（从一切物体都有重量这个起码知识，到牛顿定律），我们就能对他了解多少，同样，人人意识到，而其本身则无法理解的自由意志力，我们每个人对那支配它的必然性法则能认识多少（从每个人都会死亡这一事实，到最复杂的经济规律或者历史规律的知识），我们就能对它了解多少。
一切知识只不过是把生活的实质归纳为理性的法则罢了。
人的自由意志与其他任何力量不同就在于，人能认识到自由意志的力量；但是对理性来说，自由意志力与别的任何力量并无不同。万有引力、电力或化学亲合力，彼此之间的区别，只在于理性给它们下了不同的定义。同样对理性来说，人的自由意志力与别种自然力的区别，也只是在于理性给它下的定义。自由如脱离必然性，就是说，脱离规定它的理性法则，就与万有引力、或热力、或植物生长力并无任何区别，对理性来说，自由只不过是瞬息间的、无法确定的生命的感觉。
正如无法确定的推动天体的力的实质、无法确定的热力、电力或化学亲合力，或生命力的实质，构成了天文学、物理学、化学、植物学、动物学，等等的内容一样，自由意志力的实质构成了历史的内容。但是，正如每种科学研究的对象是未知的生活实质的表现，而这实质的本身只能是形而上学的研究对象一样，人的自由意志在空间、时间和因果关系中的表现，构成历史的研究对象；而自由意志本身是形而上学研究的对象。
在有关生物体的科学中，我们把已知的东西叫作必然性的法则；把未知的东西叫做生命力。生命力不过是对我们所知道的生命实质以外的未知的剩余部分的一种说法。
历史中也是如此：我们把已知的东西叫作必然性的法则；把未知的东西叫作自由意志。就历史来说，自由意志不过是对我们已知的人类生活法则中未知的剩余部分的一种说法。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 11
HISTORY examines the manifestations of man's free will in connection with the external world in time and in dependence on cause, that is, defines that freedom by the laws of reason; and so history is only a science in so far as that freedom is defined by those laws.
To history the recognition of the free wills of men as forces able to influence historical events, that is, not subject to laws, is the same as would be to astronomy the recognition of free will in the movements of the heavenly bodies.
This recognition destroys the possibility of the existence of laws, that is, of any science whatever. If there is so much as one body moving at its free will, the laws of Kepler and of Newton are annulled, and every conception of the movement of the heavenly bodies is destroyed. If there is a single human action due to free will, no historical law exists, and no conception of historical events can be formed.
For history there exist lines of movement of human wills, one extremity of which vanishes in the unknowable, and at the other extremity of which in space, in time, and in dependence on cause, there moves men's consciousness of free will in the present.
The more this curve of movement is analysed before our eyes, the clearer are the laws of its movement. To discover and define those laws is the problem of history.
From the point of view from which the science of history now approaches its subject, by the method it now follows, seeking the causes of phenomena in the free will of men, the expression of laws by science is impossible; since however we limit the free will of men, so long as we recognise it as a force not subject to law, the existence of law becomes impossible.
Only limiting this element of free will to infinity, that is, regarding it as an infinitesimal minimum, we are convinced of the complete unattainability of causes, and then, instead of seeking causes, history sees before itself the task of seeking laws.
The seeking of those laws has been begun long ago, and the new lines of thought which history must adopt are being worked out simultaneously with the self-destruction towards which the old-fashioned history is going, forever dissecting and dissecting the causes of phenomena.
All human sciences have followed the same course. Reaching infinitesimals, mathematics, the most exact of the sciences, leaves the process of analysis and enters on a new process of approximating to summing up the unknown infinitesimals. Forsaking the conception of cause, mathematics seeks law, that is, properties common to all unknown, infinitesimal quantities.
The other sciences, too, have followed the same course, though under another form. When Newton formulated the law of gravity, he did not say that the sun or the earth has the property of attraction. He said that all bodies—from the greatest to the smallest—have the property of attracting one another; that is, leaving on one side the question of the cause of the movements of bodies, he expressed the property common to all bodies, from the infinitely great to the infinitely small. The natural sciences do the same thing; leaving on one side the question of cause, they seek for laws. History, too, is entered on the same course. And if the subject of history is to be the study of the movements of peoples and of humanity, and not episodes from the lives of individual men, it too is bound to lay aside the idea of cause, and to seek the laws common to all the equal and inseparably interconnected, infinitesimal elements of free will.
历史从时间和因果关系来考察人的自由意志与外部世界相联系的表现。也就是用理性的法则来说明这种自由，因此，历史只有用这些法则来说明自由意志时才是一门科学。 
就历史来说，承认人的自由是一种能够影响历史事件的力量，也就是一种不服从法则的东西，正如对天文学来说，承认天体运动是一种自由的力量一样。
承认这一点，就取消了法则存在的可能性，也就是取消了任何知识存在的可能性。如果有一个天体自由运行，那么凯普勒和牛顿的定律就不再存在了，任何天体运行的观念也不再存在了。如果有一种人的自由行动，那么，任何历史法则，任何历史事件的观念，都不存在了。
对历史来说，人的意志有若干运动路线，其一端隐没在未知世界中，但是在其另一端，一种现今的人的意志在空间、时间和因果关系中活动着。
这个活动范围在我们眼前展开得愈广，这种活动的法则就愈明显。发现和说明那些法则乃是历史的任务。
历史科学从它现在对待它研究的对象的观点出发，并沿着它现在所遵循的途径在人的自由意志中寻求现象的原因，对历史科学来说，阐明法则是行不通的，因为，无论我们怎样限制人类的自由意志支配的作用，只要把它看作不受法则支配的一种力量，法则也就不可能存在了。
只有无限地约制这种自由意志力，就是说，把它看作无限小的数量，我们才会相信原因是完全不可理解的，于是历史把寻求法则作为它的任务，以取代对原因的探寻。
这些法则的探求早已开始，历史学应当汲收的新思想方式，在与那不断把产生现象的原因一再剖析的旧历史学自行毁灭的同时，也正在加以采用。
全人类的科学都走这条路子。数学这门最精密的科学获得无限小数的时候，便放弃解析的过程，开始总和未知的无限小数的新过程。数学放弃原因的概念而寻求法则，也就是寻求一切未知的无限小的元素的共同性质。
别的科学也沿着同样的思路进行研究，尽管其形式不同。当牛顿宣布万有引力法则的时候，他并未说，太阳或地球有一种吸引的性质；他说，从最大到最小的所有物体都具有互相吸引的性质；就是说，他扔开导致物体运动原因的问题，来说明从无限大到无限小的所有物体共同的性质。各种自然科学也有这样的做法：它们扔开原因问题来寻求法则。历史学也是站在这条路上的。假如历史的研究对象是各民族的全人类的运动，而不是记载个人生活中的若干片断，那么，它也应扔开原因的概念来寻求那些为各个相等的、互相紧密联系的、无穷小的自由意志的因素所共有的法则。
Epilogue 2 Chapter 12
EVER SINCE the law of Copernicus was discovered and proved, the mere recognition that not the sun, but the earth moves, has destroyed the whole cosmography of the ancients. By disproving the law, it might have been possible to retain the old conception of the movements of the heavenly bodies; but without disproving it, it would seem to be impossible to continue studying the Ptolemaic worlds. But as a fact even after the discovery of the law of Copernicus, the Ptolemaic worlds long continued to be a subject of study.
Ever since the first person said and proved that the number of births or crimes is subject to mathematical laws, that certain geographical and politico-economical laws determine this or that form of government, that certain relations of the population to the soil lead to migrations of peoples—from that moment the foundations on which history was built were destroyed in their essence.
By disproving those new laws, the old view of history might have been retained. But without disproving them, it would seem impossible to continue studying historical events, merely as the arbitrary product of the free will of individual men. For if a certain type of government is established, or a certain movement of peoples takes place in consequence of certain geographical, ethnographical, or economic conditions, the free will of those persons who are described to us as setting up that type of government or leading that movement cannot be regarded as the cause.
And yet history goes on being studied as of old, side by side with laws of statistics, of geography, of political economy, of comparative philology and geology, that flatly contradict its assumptions.
The struggle between the new views and the old was long and stubborn in physical philosophy. Theology stood on guard over the old view, and accused the new view of violating revelation. But when truth gained the day, theology established itself as firmly as ever on a new basis.
As long and as obstinate is the conflict to-day between the old and the new view of history; and in the same way theology stands on guard over the old view, and accuses the new of attacking revelation.
In both cases on both sides, the struggle rouses evil passions and stifles truth. On one side there is dread and regret at demolishing the edifice that has been raised by the ages; on the other, the passion for destruction.
To the men who fought against the new truths of physical philosophy, it seemed that if they were to admit that truth, it would shatter faith in God, in the creation of the firmament, in the miracle of Joshua, the son of Nun. To the champions of the laws of Copernicus and Newton, to Voltaire, for instance, it seemed that the laws of astronomy were destructive of religion, and the latter made use of the law of gravity as a weapon against religion.
So now it seems that we have but to admit the law of necessity to shatter the conception of the soul, of good, of evil, and of the political and ecclesiastical edifices reared on the basis of those conceptions.
So too, like Voltaire in his day, the champions of the law of necessity use the law as a weapon against religion, though, like the law of Copernicus in astronomy, the law of necessity in history, far from destroying even strengthens the foundation on which political and ecclesiastical edifices are reared.
Just as then in the question of astronomy, now in the question of history, the whole difference of view rested on the recognition or non-recognition of an absolute unit as a measure of visible phenomena. For astronomy, this was the immobility of the earth; in history, the independence of personality—free will.
Just as in astronomy the difficulty of admitting the motion of the earth lay in the immediate sensation of the earth's stationariness and of the planets' motion, so in history the difficulty of recognising the subjection of the personality to the laws of space and time and causation lies in the difficulty of surmounting the direct sensation of the independence of one's personality. But just as in astronomy, the new view said, “It is true, we do not feel the movement of the earth, but, if we admit its immobility, we are reduced to absurdity, while admitting its movement, we are led to laws”; so in history, the new view says, “It is true, we do not feel our dependence, but admitting our free will, we are led to absurdity; admitting our dependence on the external world, time, and cause, we are led to laws.”
In the first case, we had to surmount the sensation of an unreal immobility in space, and to admit a motion we could not perceive of by sense. In the present case, it is as essential to surmount a consciousness of an unreal freedom and to recognise a dependence not perceived by our senses.
自从哥白尼体系被发现和证实以后，仅仅承认太阳不会运转，而是地球运转这一事实，就足以破除古人的全部宇宙观了。反驳了这个体系，就可以保持天体运行的旧观念，但是不推翻它，似乎不可能继续研究托勒美①的天动说。但是，就在哥白尼体系被发现以后，托勒美的天动说还被研究了很长时间。 
①托勒美是古希腊学者、天文学家和地理学家，创立天动说。
自从有人宣布和证明，出生率和犯罪率服从数学法则，一定的地理条件、政治和经济条件决定这种或那种管理形式，人口和土地的一定关系造成民族迁徙——从此，历史赖以建立的基础实际上被摧毁了。
推翻了这些新法则，就可以保持旧的历史观；但是，不推翻它们，似乎就不能研究作为人们自由意志产物的历史事件。因为，假若由于某种地理条件、人种或经济条件而建立某种管理形式，或发动某一民族迁徙，那么，在我们看来那些认为建立管理形式或发动民族迁徙的人的自由意志就不能被视为原因。
同时，以前的历史与完全违反它的原理的统计学、地理学、政治经济学、比较语言学和地质学的法则继续被人研究着。
新旧观点在自然哲学中进行了长期的、顽强的斗争。神学保护旧观点，责备新观点破坏神的启示。但是当真理获得胜利的时候，神学就在新的基础上同样牢固地建立起来。
现时，新旧历史观点同样进行着长久的，顽强的斗争，神学同样维护旧观点，责备新观点破坏神的启示。
在上述两种情况下，斗争从两方面唤起强烈的感情，扑灭真理。一方面，为许多世纪建立起来的整座大厦而恐惧和惋惜；另一方面，出现了要求破坏的炽烈的感情。
在反对新兴的自然哲学的真理的人们看来，如果他们承认这种真理，就要破坏他们对上帝，对创造宇宙万物，对嫩的儿子约书亚的奇迹①所怀有的信仰。在保卫哥白尼和牛顿定律的人们看来，例如在伏尔泰②看来，似乎天文学的法则摧毁了宗教，于是他利用万有引力定律作为反对宗教的工具。 
①见《圣经·旧约·约书亚记》。
②伏尔泰（1694～1778），法国唯物主义哲学家。
正如现在的情形一样，似乎只要一承认必然性法则，就会破坏有关灵魂的观念，有关善恶的观念，以及建立在这些观念之上的所有国家机构和教会机构。
正如当年的伏尔泰一样，现在那些自告奋勇的必然性法则的捍卫者利用必然性法则作为反对宗教的工具；但是，正如哥白尼在天文学方面的定律一样，历史的必然性法则不但没有摧毁国家和教会机构赖以建立的基础，甚至巩固地奠定那个基础。
现在的历史学问题正如当年的天文学问题一样，各种观点上的不同就在于承认或不承认一种绝对的单位作为看得见的现象的尺度。在天文学上是地球的不动性；在历史学上是个人的独立性——自由意志。
正如在天文学上，承认地球运行的困难乃在于否定地球不动而行星运动的直接感觉，在历史学上，承认个人服从空间，时间和因果关系的法则的困难，乃在于否定我们个人的独立性的直接感觉。但是，天文学的新观点表明：“诚然，我们觉察不出地球的运行，但是，如果假定它不动，我们就会得出荒谬绝伦的结论；如果假定它在运行，尽管我们觉察不出来，但是我们却得出了法则。”历史的新观点也这样表明：“诚然，我们感觉不到我们的依赖性，但是，如果假定我们有自由意志，我们就得出了荒谬绝伦的结论，如果假定我们对外部世界、时间、因果关系存有依赖性，我们就得出了法则。”
在第一种情形下，要否定地球在空间静止的意识，并且承认我们感觉不到它的运动；在现在的情形下，同样要否定被意识到的自由意志，并且承认我们感觉不出的依赖性。