War And Peace——战争与和平 （完结）_派派后花园

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[Novel] War And Peace——战争与和平 （完结）

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War And Peace




War and Peace (Russian: Война и мир, Voyna i mir) is a novel by Leo Tolstoy, first published from 1865 to 1869 in Russkii Vestnik (Russian: Русский Вестник, "Russian Messenger"), which tells the story of Russian society during the Napoleonic Era. It is usually described as one of Tolstoy's two major masterpieces (the other being Anna Karenina) as well as one of the world's greatest novels.
War and Peace offered a new kind of fiction, with a great many characters caught up in a plot that covered nothing less than the grand subjects indicated by the title, combined with the equally large topics of youth, marriage, age, and death. Though it is often called a novel today, it broke so many conventions of the form that it was not considered a novel in its time. Indeed, Tolstoy himself considered Anna Karenina (1878) to be his first attempt at a novel in the European sense.

War and Peace depicts a huge cast of characters, both historical and fictional, Russians and non-Russians, the majority of whom are introduced in the first book. The scope of the novel is extremely vast, but the narration focuses mainly on five or six characters whose differing personalities and experiences provide the impetus to the story, with mutual interactions leading up to, around and following the Napoleonic war.
Book oneThe novel begins in the Russian city of Saint Petersburg, at a soirée given in July 1805 by Anna Pavlovna Scherer — the maid of honour and confidante to the queen mother Maria Feodorovna. The main players and aristocratic families of the novel are made known here. Pierre Bezukhov is the illegitimate son of a wealthy count who is dying of a stroke. Pierre becomes unexpectedly embroiled in a tussle for his inheritance. Educated abroad in France, with his mother dead, Pierre is essentially kindhearted, but is socially awkward owing to his goodhearted, open nature, and finds it difficult to integrate into the Petersburg society.
Pierre's friend, the intelligent and sardonic Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, the husband of a charming wife Lise, also visits the soireé. Finding Petersburg society unctuous and starting to find married life little comfort as well, he chooses to be an aide-de-camp to Prince Mikhail Kutuzov in their coming war against Napoleon.
Tolstoy then switches to Moscow, Russia's ancient city, as a contrast to Saint Petersburg. The Rostov family will be one of the main narrative players of the novel. The Moscow Count Ilya Rostov family has four adolescent children. Young Natasha is supposedly in love with Boris, a disciplined boyish officer and a relative. Nikolai pledges his teenage love to Sonya, his younger cousin. The eldest child of the Rostov family, Vera, is cold and somewhat haughty but has a good prospective marriage in a German officer, Berg. Petya is the youngest of the Rostov family; like his brother he is impetuous and eager to join the army when of age. The heads of the family, Count Ilya Rostov and Countess Natalya Rostova, are an affectionate couple but forever worried about their disordered finances.
At Bald Hills, the Bolkonskys' country estate, Prince Andrei leaves his pregnant wife with his eccentric father Prince Nikolai Andreivitch Bolkonsky and devoutly religious sister Maria Bolkonskaya. He leaves for war.
The first page of War and Peace in an early editionThe second part opens with descriptions of the impending Russian-French war preparations. At the Schöngrabern engagement, Nikolai Rostov, who is now conscripted as ensign in a squadron of hussars, has his first baptism of fire in battle. He meets Prince Andrei whom he does not really like. Like all young soldiers he is attracted by Tsar Alexandr’s charisma. However Nikolai gambles recklessly and socializes with the lisping Denisov and the ruthless Dolokhov.
Book TwoBook Two begins with Nikolai Rostov briefly returning home to Moscow on home leave in early 1806. Nikolai finds the Rostov family facing financial ruin due to poor estate management. With Denisov he spends an eventful winter home. Natasha has blossomed into a beautiful young girl. Denisov proposes to her but is rejected. Although his mother pleads with Nikolai to find himself a good financial prospect in marriage, Nikolai refuses to accede to his mother's request. He promises to marry his childhood sweetheart, the orphaned, penniless cousin Sonya.
If there is a central character to War and Peace it is Pierre Bezukhov, who, upon receiving an unexpected inheritance, is suddenly burdened with the responsibilities and conflicts of a Russian nobleman. He then enters into marriage with Prince Kuragin's beautiful and immoral daughter Hélène (Ëlena), against his own better judgement. He is continually helpless in the face of his wife's numerous affairs, has a duel with one of her lovers, and is faced with anguish as all this happens. He later joins the Freemasons but becomes embroiled in some of the Freemasonry's politicking. Much of Book Two concerns his struggles with his passions and his spiritual conflicts to be a better man. Now a rich aristocrat, his former carefree behavior vanishes and he enters upon a philosophical quest particular to Tolstoy: how should one live a moral life in an ethically imperfect world? The question constantly baffles and confuses Pierre. He attempts to free his peasants, but ultimately achieves nothing of note.
Pierre is vividly contrasted with the intelligent and ambitious Prince Andrei Bolkonsky. At the Battle of Austerlitz, Andrei is inspired by a vision of glory to lead a charge of a straggling army. He suffers a near fatal artillery wound which renders him unconscious. At the face of death Andrei realizes all his former ambitions are pointless and his former hero, Napoleon (who rescues him in a horseback excursion to the battlefield), is apparently as vain as himself.
Prince Andrei recovers from his injuries in a military hospital, and returns home, only to find his wife Lise dying during childbirth. He is struck by his guilty conscience for not treating Lise better when she was alive.
Burdened with nihilistic disillusionment, Prince Andrei lives anonymously in his estate until he is led to a philosophical argument with Pierre one day. When Pierre visits his estate he poses the question: where is God in this amoral world? Pierre points to panentheism and an afterlife.
Young Natasha meets Andrei during her very first ball, and briefly reinvigorates Andrei with her lively vitality. Andrei believes he has found purpose in life again. However the couple's immediate plan to marry has to be postponed with a year-long engagement.
When Prince Andrei leaves for his military engagements, Elena and her handsome brother Anatole conspire for Anatole to seduce and dishonor the young, still immature and now beautiful Natasha Rostova. They bait her with plans of an elopement. Thanks to Sonya and Pierre, this plan fails, yet, for Pierre, it is the cause of an important meeting with Natasha. He realizes he has now fallen in love with Natasha. During the time when the Great Comet of 1811–2 streaks the sky, life appears to begin anew for Pierre.
Book ThreeNatasha breaks off her engagement with Andrei. Shamed by her near-seduction, she has a very serious illness and, with the help of her family; Pierre; and religious faith, manages to tide through this dark period of her life.
Meanwhile the whole of Russia is affected by the coming showdown between Napoleon's troops and the Russian army. Pierre convinces himself Napoleon is the Antichrist in Revelation through numerology. The old prince Bolkonsky dies from a stroke. In Moscow, Petya manages to snatch a loose piece of the Tsar's biscuit outside the Cathedral of the Assumption; he finally convinces his parents to allow him to conscript.
Meanwhile Nikolai unexpectedly acts as a white knight to the beleaguered Maria Bolkonskaya, whose father's death has left her in the mercy of an estate of hostile, rebelling peasants. Struck by Maria, whom he is seeing for the first time, Nikolai reconsiders marriage and finds Maria's devotion, consideration, and inheritance extremely attractive. But he is restricted by his earlier, youthful pledge to Sonya, and hesitates to woo Maria.
As Napoleon pushes through Russia, Pierre decides to leave Moscow and to watch the Battle of Borodino from a vantage point next to a Russian artillery crew. After watching for a time, he begins to join in carrying ammunition. From within the turmoil he experiences first-hand the death and destruction of war. The battle becomes a horrible slaughter for both armies and ends up a standoff. The Russians, however, have won a moral victory by standing up to Napoleon's seemingly invincible army. Having suffered huge losses and for strategic reasons, the Russian army withdraws the next day, allowing Napoleon to march on to Moscow.
Book FourBook Four climaxes Napoleon's invasion of Russia. When Napoleon's Grand Army occupies an abandoned and burning Moscow, Pierre takes off on a quixotic mission to assassinate Napoleon. He becomes an anonymous man in all the chaos, shedding his responsibilities by wearing peasant clothes and shunning his duties and lifestyle. The only person he sees while in this garb is Natasha, who recognizes him, and he in turn realizes the full scope of his love for her.
His plan fails, and he is captured in Napoleon's headquarters as a prisoner of war after saving a child from a burning building and assaulting a French legionnaire for attacking a woman. He becomes friends with his cell-mate Platòn Karataev, a peasant with a saintly demeanor, who is incapable of malice. In Karataev Pierre finally finds what he is looking for, an honest, "rounded" person who is totally without pretense. Karataev is unlike those from the Petersburg aristocratic society, and also notably a member of the working class, with whom Pierre finds meaning in life simply by living and interacting with him. After witnessing French soldiers sacking Moscow and shooting Russian civilians arbitrarily, Pierre is forced to march with the Grand Army during its disastrous retreat from Moscow owing to the harsh winter. After months of trial and tribulation — during which Karataev is capriciously shot by the French — Pierre is later freed by a Russian raiding party after a small skirmish with the French that sees the young Petya Rostov killed in action.
Meanwhile Andrei, wounded during Napoleon’s invasion, is taken in as a casualty cared for by the fleeing Rostovs. He is reunited with Natasha and sister Maria before the end of the war. Having lost all will to live after forgiving Natasha, he dies, much like the death scene at the end of The Death of Ivan Ilych.
As the novel draws to a close, Pierre’s wife Elena dies (sometime during the last throes of Napoleon’s invasion); and Pierre is reunited with Natasha, while the victorious Russians rebuild Moscow. Natasha speaks of Prince Andrei’s death and Pierre of Karataev’s. Both are aware of a growing bond with each other in their bereavement. Matchmade by Princess Marya, Pierre finds love at last and, revealing his love after being released from his former wife’s death, marries Natasha.
EpiloguesThe first epilogue begins with the wedding of Pierre and Natasha, in 1813. It is the last happy event for the Rostov family which is going through a transition. Count Ilya Rostov dies soon after, leaving the eldest son Nikolai to take charge of the debt-ridden estate.
Nikolai finds himself with the near-impossible task of maintaining the family on the verge of bankruptcy. His pride almost gets in the way of him, but Nikolai finally accedes to his mother's wish and marries the now-rich Marya Bolkonskaya in winter 1813, both out of feeling and out of the necessity to save his family from ruin.
Nikolai Rostov and Marya then move to Bald Hills with his mother and Sonya, whom he supports for the rest of their life. Buoyed on by his wife's funds, Nikolai pays off all his family's debts. They also raise Prince Andrei's orphaned son, Nikolai Bolkonsky.
Like in all marriages there are minor squabbles but the couples – Pierre and Natasha, Nikolai and Marya – remain devoted to their spouses. Pierre and Natasha visit Bald Hills in 1820, much to the jubilation of everyone concerned. There is a hint in the closing chapters that the idealistic, boyish Nikolai Bolkonsky (15-year-old in 1820) and Pierre would both become part of the Decembrist Uprising. The first epilogue concludes with Nikolai Bolkonsky promising he would do something which even his late father "would be satisfied…" (presumably as a revolutionary in the Decembrist revolt).
The second epilogue sums up Tolstoy’s views on history, free will and in what ways the two may interact to cause major events in humankind. in a long, partially historical and partly philosophical essay, where the narrator discusses how man cannot be wholly free, or wholly determined by "necessity" and this is primarily down to God.

Tolstoy's view of historyTolstoy does not subscribe to the "great man" view of history: the notion that history is the story of strong personalities that move events and shape societies. He believes that events shape themselves, caused by social and other forces; and great men take advantage of them, changing them but not creating them. As an example, he compares Napoleon and Kutuzov. Napoleon, the Great Man, thought he had created the French Revolution, but actually he had simply happened along at the right time and usurped it. Kutuzov was more modest and more effective.
Napoleon believed that he could control the course of a battle through sending orders through couriers, while Kutuzov admits that all he could do was to plan the initial disposition and then let subordinates direct the field of action. Typically, Napoleon would be frantically sending out orders throughout the course of a battle, carried by dashing young lieutenants—which were often misinterpreted or made irrelevant by changing conditions—while Kutuzov would sit quietly in his tent and often sleep through the battle. Ultimately, Napoleon chooses wrongly, opting to march on to Moscow and occupy it for five fatal weeks, when he would have been better off destroying the Russian army in a decisive battle. Instead, his numerically superior army dissipate on a huge scale, thanks to large scale looting and pillaging, and lack of direction for his force. General Kutuzov believes time to be his best ally, and refrains from engaging the French. He moves his army out of Moscow, and the residents evacuate the city: the nobles flee to their country estates, taking their treasures with them; lesser folk flee wherever they can, taking food and supplies. The French march into Moscow and disperse to find housing and supplies, then ultimately destroy themselves as they accidentally burn the city to the ground and then abandon it in late Fall, then limp back toward the French border in the teeth of a Russian Winter. They are all but destroyed by a final Cossack attack as they straggle back toward the west. Tolstoy observes that Kutuzuv didn't burn Moscow as a "scorched earth policy," nor did Napoleon; but after taking the city, Napoleon moved his troops in, to find housing more or less by chance in the abandoned houses: generals appropriated the grander houses, lesser men took what was left over; units were dispersed, and the chain of command dissolved into chaos. Quickly, his tightly disciplined army dissolved into a disorganized rabble; and of course, if one leaves a wooden city in the hands of strangers who naturally use fire to warm themselves, cook food, and smoke pipes, and have not learned how particular Russian families safely used their stoves and lamps (some of which they had taken with them as they fled the city), fires will break out. In the absence of an organized fire department, the fires will spread. As support for his outlook on history, Tolstoy concludes that the city was destroyed not by the freewill of either Napoleon or Kutuzov, but as an inevitable consequence of battle-weary foreign invaders occupying an abandoned wooden city.

     20世纪是人类有记载的历史上最杀人不眨眼的世纪。战争所造成的或者与战争有关的死亡总人数估计为1.87亿，相当于1913年世界人口的10%以上。如果算作是从1914年开始，这是一个战争几乎不间断的世纪，其中某地没有发生有组织的武装冲突的时期很少也很短暂。占据世纪主导地位的是世界大战：即国家或国家联盟之间的战争。从1914年到1945年的时期可以被看作一场单一的“30年战争”，仅仅被20年代的一段间歇所打断——在日本人于1922年最终从苏联远东撤退和1931年对满洲的进攻之间的时期。几乎紧随其后的是大约40年的冷战，这一时期符合霍布斯的战争定义，即其“不是仅仅包括战斗或者战争行为，而且包括一段时间，其中通过战斗来进行斗争的意志得到了充分的表达。”一个可以辩论的问题是，从冷战结束以来，美军在世界各地所参与的行动在多大程度上构成了这个世界大战时代的延续。然而毫无疑义的是，20世纪90年代充满了欧洲、非洲和西亚及东亚的正式与非正式的军事冲突。世界整体来说从1914年以来一直没有和平，现在也是一样。尽管如此，这个世纪不能被笼统地来对待，不论是从年代上还是从地理上来说。按照年代顺序，它分为三个阶段：以德国为中心的世界大战时代（1914年到1945年）、两个超级大国对峙的时代（1945年到1989年）和传统的国际实力体系终结以来的时代。我将把这些时期称为第一、第二和第三时期。从地理上讲，军事行动的影响一直是十分不匀称的。除了一个例外（1932年到1935年的查科战争），西半球（美洲）在20世纪里没有重大的国家间战争（与内战相区分）。敌人的军事行动很少触及这些领土：因此，9月11日世界贸易中心和五角大楼被炸才令人震惊。从1945年以来，国家间的战争也从欧洲消失了，而在此之前，欧洲曾经是主要的战场地区。虽然在第三时期里，战争回到了东南欧，但是在该大陆的其余地方，它却看来不大可能重演。另一方面，在第二时期，与全球对峙并不一定毫无联系的国家间战争仍然在中东和南亚肆虐，直接产生于这场全球对峙的主要战争在东亚和东南亚（韩国和印度支那）发生。与此同时，撒哈拉沙漠以南的非洲等地区在第一时期里受战争影响比较少（埃塞俄比亚除外，它迟迟地于1935到1936年遭受意大利的殖民征服），在第二时期成为武装冲突的战场，并在第三时期目睹了尸横遍野和水深火热。20世纪的另外两个战争特点很突出，第一个不如第二个明显。21世纪开始之际，我们不知不觉地进入这样一个世界：武装的行动基本上不再为政府或者其所授权的代理人所掌握，争端的各方除了动用武力的愿望外，毫无共同特征、身份或目标。国家间的战争在第一和第二时期主导了战争的形象，以致现有国家或帝国领土范围内的内战或其它武装冲突在一定程度上被掩盖了。就连十月革命后俄罗斯帝国领土上的内战以及中华帝国崩溃后发生的内战，也能够与国际冲突的框架相吻合，因为它们彼此不可分离。另一方面，拉丁美洲在20世纪里可能并没有军队跨越国界，但它却是重大国内冲突的场所：例如1911年以后在墨西哥、1948年以来在哥伦比亚，以及第二时期在许多中美洲国家，都是如此。人们一般没有认识到，从60年代过半以来，国际战争的数量相当持续地减少了。60年代中期，内部冲突变得比国家之间的冲突更加常见。国内冲突的数量继续激增，一直到90年代才趋于平缓。人们更加熟悉的是战斗员与非战斗员之间区别的被侵蚀。上半个世纪的两次世界大战涉及交战各国的全部人口；战斗员和非战斗员都遭受了损失。然而，在这个世纪进程中，战争的负担越来越多地从武装力量转移到平民身上。平民不仅是其受害者，而且越来越多地成为军事或军事-政治行动的目标。第一次世界大战和第二次之间的对比是显著的：在一战中阵亡者当中，只有5%是平民；二战中这一数字增加到66%。普遍的估计是，今天受战争影响的人们当中有80%到90%是平民。这一比例从冷战结束以来增加了，因为从那时以来的大多数军事行动都不是由义务兵军队，而是由小股正规或非正规部队进行的，在许多情况下所使用的是高技术武器，他们还受到保护，以免承担伤亡的风险。没有理由怀疑，战争的主要受害者仍将是平民。假如战争与和平像这个世纪初那样保持泾渭分明，则20世纪对这两者的著述会容易一些。世纪初，1899年和1907年的海牙公约把战争的规则编入法典。冲突被认为主要发生在主权国家之间，或者如果发生在一个特定国家领土范围内，是在组织充分、因而被其它主权国家公认具有交战地位的各方之间展开。战争当时被认为与和平有显著区别，通过开战时的一项战争宣言和战争结束时的一项和约。军事行动被认为在战斗员之间有明显区别——其特征譬如他们所穿的军装或者显示其属于一支有组织的军队的其它迹象——以及非作战平民。战争被认为是战斗员之间的事情。非战斗员只要可能，就应当在战时受到保护。过去一贯的谅解是，这些公约并不涵盖所有的国内和国际武装冲突，特别是不包括西方国家在国际公认的主权国家管辖范围以外地区进行的帝国扩张所造成的冲突，尽管这些冲突当中的一些（但绝非全部）被称为“战争”。它们也不包括反对地位稳固的国家的大规模叛乱，譬如所谓的“印度兵变”，或者在国家或名义上统治着这些国家的帝国当局有效控制范围之外地区反复发生的武装活动，譬如阿富汗或摩洛哥山区的劫掠和血仇。尽管如此，海牙公约仍然是第一次世界大战中的指导方针。20世纪，这一相对的明确性被混乱所取代。首先，国际冲突与国内冲突之间的界线变得模糊不清，因为20世纪的特点不仅是战争，而且还有革命和帝国的解体。一国内部的革命或解放斗争对国际局势产生影响，在冷战期间尤其如此。相反地，俄罗斯革命后，国家对自己所不支持的别国内部事务的干预变得司空见惯，起码在这样做风险比较小的地方是如此。现在情况仍然是这样。第二，战争与和平之间的明确差别变得含糊不清。除了个别地方外，第二次世界大战既不是以宣战开始，也不是以和约结束。随后的一个时期不论是从旧的意义上讲归类为战争还是和平都很困难，因此“冷战”这个新字眼不得不被发明来描述它。冷战以来状况的模糊性的一个明证就是中东的当前局势。不论“战争”还是“和平”都没有确切描述海湾战争正式结束以来伊拉克的形势——该国仍然几乎每天都遭到外国的轰炸——巴勒斯坦人和以色列人之间的关系也是如此，还有以色列与其邻国、黎巴嫩和叙利亚之间的关系。所有这些都是一种不幸的后遗症，其原因是20世纪的世界大战，还有战争的越来越强大的大众宣传机器，以及彼此不相称的和充满激情的意识形态之间对峙的一个时期。这种对峙给战争带来了相当于在以往的宗教冲突中所见到的正义讨伐的成分。这些冲突与国际实力体系的传统战争不同，越来越多地是为了不可谈判的目的，譬如“无条件投降”而进行。由于战争和胜利都被看作一边倒的，所以对18和19世纪的战争公约所可能强加给交战国能力的任何限制——甚至正式的宣战——都被抛弃。对胜利者坚持自己意志的威力的任何限制也是如此。经验表明，在和平情况下达成的协议可能很容易被撕毁。近年来，使情况进一步复杂化的是，在人们的公开言论中，“战争”一词往往被用来指部署有组织的力量打击被看作反社会的各种国家或国际活动——例如“反黑手党的战争”或“反贩毒组织的战争”。在这些冲突中，武装力量的两个类型的行动被混淆。一个类型——我们称之为“士兵”——用来对付其他武装力量，目的是击败他们。另外一个——我们把它叫做“警察”——努力保持或恢复一个现有的政治实体，一般是一个国家内部必要程度的法律和公共秩序。并不带有任何必要的道德隐含意义的胜利是一种力量的目的；将违法者绳之以法则带有道德的涵义，乃是另外一种力量的目标。然而，这种区分在理论上比在实践中容易做出，战斗中的一名士兵杀人本身并不犯法。但如果爱尔兰共和军的一名成员把自己看作交战一方，尽管正式的英国法律把他视为杀人犯，则情况如何？北爱尔兰的活动是像爱尔兰共和军所认为的那样是一场战争呢，还是在违法者面前为了维持英国的一个省有秩序的治理而做出的努力？由于不仅一支可观的当地警察部队，而且还有一支全国性的军队被动员起来对付爱尔兰共和军达30年左右，所以我们可以断定，这是一场战争，但却是一场像警察行动一样有条不紊地实施的战争，其方式把伤亡和该省中的生活中断减少到最低限度。新世纪开始时和平与战争之间关系的复杂性和混乱情况就是如此。它们得到了美国及其盟国目前正在进行的军事与其它行动的充分诠释。现在像整个20世纪一样，全然没有任何能够控制或解决武装争端的有效的全球权威机构。全球化已经在几乎每个方面取得进展——经济上、技术上、文化上甚至语言上——唯一例外的是，在政治与军事上，各国仍然是唯一的有效权威。虽然正式的国家有200个左右，但是在实践上只有少数举足轻重，其中美国享有占压倒优势的威力。然而从来没有任何国家或帝国足够地庞大、富裕或强大，以维持在世界政治领域中的霸权，就更不用说建立全球范围的政治与军事上的至高无上地位了。一个单一的超级大国无法弥补全球权威的空白，尤其鉴于其效力足以使之获得主要国家的自愿接受、被当作具有约束力的公约的缺乏——例如涉及国际裁军或者武器控制的等等。一些这种权威机构是存在的，特别是联合国、各种法律与金融机构，譬如国际货币基金组织、世界银行和世界贸易组织，以及一些国际法庭。但没有任何一个拥有除了国家之间的协议所赋予它们的之外的、由于强大国家的支持而获得的或者各国自愿接受的有效权力。虽然这一点令人遗憾，但是在可以预见的将来却不大可能改变。由于只有国家才行使实际的权力，所以风险在于，国际机构在试图应付“战争罪行”等违法行为的时候会无效或者缺乏普遍的合法地位。甚至当通过普遍共识而建立世界法庭（例如根据联合国1998年7月17日的罗马协议建立的国际刑事法庭），它们的判断也不一定会被当作合法和有约束力的而接受，只要强国有条件对其加以无视。一个由强国组成的集团可能足够强大，以确保来自比较弱小国家的一些违犯者被送上这些法庭，从而或许在某些地区限制武装冲突的残酷程度。然而这是表明在一个国际体系内权力与影响力的传统行使、而不是国际法行使的实例。然而在21世纪与20世纪之间有重大差别：认为战争是发生在一个划分为处于有效的政府权威之下的领土地区的世界上，这些政府享有对公共权力和强迫手段的垄断，这种想法已经不再适用。它从来都不适用于经历着革命的国家或者四分五裂的帝国的各个分裂部分，但直到最近为止，大多数新的革命或后殖民地政权——中国在1911年和1949年之间是主要的例外——相当迅速地再生，成为基本上有组织的和正常运转的继承政权和国家。然而最近30年左右，由于各种原因，国家丧失了其对武装力量的一贯的垄断、很大一部分从前的稳定性与权力，而且越来越多地还丧失了合法地位或者公认的永久性的根本感觉，这种地位过去使政府得以把税赋与征兵等负担强加给心甘情愿的公民。战争的物质装备现在对民间组织来说普遍地唾手可得，资助非国家战争的手段也是如此，这样一来，国家与非国家组织之间的力量对比已经改变。国家内部的武装冲突已经变得更加严重，并且可能继续几十年，而没有任何胜利或得到解决的真实前景：克什米尔、安哥拉、斯里兰卡、车臣、哥伦比亚。在极端的情况下，譬如在非洲的部分地区，国家可能已经基本不复存在，或者譬如在哥伦比亚，可能不再在本国部分领土上行使政权。甚至在强大和稳定的国家里，也一直难以消除非官方的小型武装集团，譬如英国的爱尔兰共和军及西班牙的巴斯克民族和自由组织。这一局面的新奇性通过一件事实显示出来：地球上最强大的国家在遭受了一场恐怖主义袭击后感到有义务发动一场正式的行动，打击一个很小的国际与非政府组织或网络，而后者既没有领土，也没有一支能够辨认的军队。这些变化如何影响今后一个世纪战争与和平之间的平衡呢？我宁愿不就很有可能爆发的战争或者它们可能的结局做出预测。然而不论武装冲突的结构还是解决的方法都由于主权国家世界体系的转变而发生了深刻变化。苏联的解体意味着，曾经指导了国际关系将近两个世纪、除了明显的例外还对国家之间的冲突行使了一定的控制权的大国体系不复存在。它的消失消除了现在国家间战争和国家对别国事务进行武装干预的一大因素——冷战期间外国领土的边界基本上未曾被军队所跨越。然而即使那时，由于弱小国家的大量存在（尽管这些国家从官方意义上讲是联合国的“主权”成员国），国际体系就已经存在潜在的不稳定性。苏联和欧洲共产党政权的垮台明显地使这种不稳定性增加。在迄今为止稳定的民族国家，譬如英国、西班牙、比利时和意大利，具有不同程度实力的分离主义趋势完全可能进一步加重这种不稳定。与此同时，国际舞台上民间表演者的数量也成倍增加。有什么机制可以用来控制和解决这种冲突吗？从记录看并不令人乐观。90年代的武装冲突没有一次以稳定的解决而告终。由于冷战的机构、假设与言论的持续存在，所以旧的怀疑未曾消亡，从而恶化了东南欧共产主义以后的分崩离析，使得解决一度被称为南斯拉夫的地区问题更加困难。我们要想制订一些控制武装冲突的手段，就必须从意识形态和权力-政治两方面消除这些冷战遗留下来的假设。此外明显的是，美国通过单方的武力来强加一种（任何一种）新的世界秩序的努力都已经失败并且必然继续失败，不管力量关系目前如何朝着有利于美国的方向偏斜，尽管美国得到了一个（必然短命的）联盟的支持。国际体系仍将是多边的，其管制将取决于几个大国达成一致的能力，尽管其中一个国家享有军事上的压倒优势。美国所采取的国际军事行动在多大程度上取决于别国通过谈判的协议已经很清楚。此外也清楚的是，战争的政治解决，甚至美国所参与的战争的解决，都将是通过谈判而不是通过单方的强加于人。以无条件投降而结束的战争的时代在可以预见的将来不会重演。对于现有的国际机构，特别是联合国的角色，也必须重新考虑。虽然它无时不在而且通常是求助的对象，但是在解决争端方面，却没有明确的角色。它的战略与行动始终任凭不断变幻的权力政治所宰割。缺乏一个被真正看作中立的和能够在未经安全理事会事先授权情况下采取行动的国际中介，这一直是争端处理体系中最明显的空白。冷战结束以来，对和平与战争的处理一直是即兴的。在最好情况下，譬如在巴尔干地区，武装冲突被外部武装干预制止，敌对行动结束时的现状由第三方的军队来维持。武装冲突未来控制的一个通用模型能否从这种干预中产生还不清楚。21世纪中战争与和平之间的平衡将不会取决于制订比较有效的谈判和解决机制，而是要看内部稳定和军事冲突的避免情况如何。除了少数例外，现有的国家之间的、过去导致了武装冲突的对抗与摩擦今天造成这种局面的可能性减小了。例如现在的国际边界问题上的政府间燃眉之急的冲突相对来说很少。另一方面，内部冲突很容易演变成暴力性的：战争的主要危险存在于外国或者外部军事势力对冲突的卷入。与贫困、严重不平等和经济不稳定的国家相比，经济蒸蒸日上、稳定而且商品在居民当中比较公平地分配的国家，其社会和政治局势动荡的可能性较小。然而，避免或控制国内武装暴力活动的情况更加直接地取决于国家政府的实力和政绩，及其在多数居民眼中的合法地位。今天没有任何政府能够对非武装民众的存在或者欧洲很多地方人们所长期熟悉的公共秩序的程度，认为理所当然。今天没有任何政府有条件无视或者清除掉国内的武装少数民族。尽管如此，世界越来越分裂为能够对自己领土和公民加以有效管理的国家以及为数越来越多的领土，其边界是得到官方承认的国际界线，国家的政府则从虚弱和腐败的到荡然无存的都有。这些地区所酝酿的是流血的内部斗争和国际冲突，譬如我们在非洲中部所见到。然而这种地区没有持续改善的即刻前景，如果动荡不定的国家的中央政府进一步被削弱或者世界版图进一步巴尔干化，则无疑会加重武装冲突的危险。一项尝试性的预测：21世纪的战争不大可能像20世纪的那样血腥。但造成不成比例的苦难与损失的武装暴力仍将在世界很多地方无处不在和泛滥成灾。一个和平的世纪的前景是遥远的。




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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 沙发   发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter One


“WELL, PRINCE, Genoa and Lucca are now no more than private estates of the Bonaparte family. No, I warn you, that if you do not tell me we are at war, if you again allow yourself to palliate all the infamies and atrocities of this Antichrist (upon my word, I believe he is), I don't know you in future, you are no longer my friend, no longer my faithful slave, as you say. There, how do you do, how do you do? I see I'm scaring you, sit down and talk to me.”
These words were uttered in July 1805 by Anna Pavlovna Scherer, a distinguished lady of the court, and confidential maid-of-honour to the Empress Marya Fyodorovna. It was her greeting to Prince Vassily, a man high in rank and office, who was the first to arrive at her soirée. Anna Pavlovna had been coughing for the last few days; she had an attack of la grippe, as she said—grippe was then a new word only used by a few people. In the notes she had sent round in the morning by a footman in red livery, she had written to all indiscriminately:
“If you have nothing better to do, count (or prince), and if the prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too alarming to you, I shall be charmed to see you at my house between 7 and 10. Annette Scherer.”
“Heavens! what a violent outburst!” the prince responded, not in the least disconcerted at such a reception. He was wearing an embroidered court uniform, stockings and slippers, and had stars on his breast, and a bright smile on his flat face.
He spoke in that elaborately choice French, in which our forefathers not only spoke but thought, and with those slow, patronising intonations peculiar to a man of importance who has grown old in court society. He went up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her hand, presenting her with a view of his perfumed, shining bald head, and complacently settled himself on the sofa.
“First of all, tell me how you are, dear friend. Relieve a friend's anxiety,” he said, with no change of his voice and tone, in which indifference, and even irony, was perceptible through the veil of courtesy and sympathy.
“How can one be well when one is in moral suffering? How can one help being worried in these times, if one has any feeling?” said Anna Pavlovna. “You'll spend the whole evening with me, I hope?”
“And the fête at the English ambassador's? To-day is Wednesday. I must put in an appearance there,” said the prince. “My daughter is coming to fetch me and take me there.”
“I thought to-day's fête had been put off. I confess that all these festivities and fireworks are beginning to pall.”
“If they had known that it was your wish, the fête would have been put off,” said the prince, from habit, like a wound-up clock, saying things he did not even wish to be believed.
“Don't tease me. Well, what has been decided in regard to the Novosiltsov dispatch? You know everything.”
“What is there to tell?” said the prince in a tired, listless tone. “What has been decided? It has been decided that Bonaparte has burnt his ships, and I think that we are about to burn ours.”
Prince Vassily always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating his part in an old play. Anna Pavlovna Scherer, in spite of her forty years, was on the contrary brimming over with excitement and impulsiveness. To be enthusiastic had become her pose in society, and at times even when she had, indeed, no inclination to be so, she was enthusiastic so as not to disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The affected smile which played continually about Anna Pavlovna's face, out of keeping as it was with her faded looks, expressed a spoilt child's continual consciousness of a charming failing of which she had neither the wish nor the power to correct herself, which, indeed, she saw no need to correct.
In the midst of a conversation about politics, Anna Pavlovna became greatly excited.
“Ah, don't talk to me about Austria! I know nothing about it, perhaps, but Austria has never wanted, and doesn't want war. She is betraying us. Russia alone is to be the saviour of Europe. Our benefactor knows his lofty destiny, and will be true to it. That's the one thing I have faith in. Our good and sublime emperor has the greatest part in the world to play, and he is so virtuous and noble that God will not desert him, and he will fulfil his mission—to strangle the hydra of revolution, which is more horrible than ever now in the person of this murderer and miscreant.… Whom can we reckon on, I ask you? … England with her commercial spirit will not comprehend and cannot comprehend all the loftiness of soul of the Emperor Alexander. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She tries to detect, she seeks a hidden motive in our actions. What have they said to Novosiltsov? Nothing. They didn't understand, they're incapable of understanding the self-sacrifice of our emperor, who desires nothing for himself, and everything for the good of humanity. And what have they promised? Nothing. What they have promised even won't come to anything! Prussia has declared that Bonaparte is invincible, and that all Europe can do nothing against him.… And I don't believe a single word of what was said by Hardenberg or Haugwitz. That famous Prussian neutrality is a mere snare. I have no faith but in God and the lofty destiny of our adored emperor. He will save Europe!” She stopped short abruptly, with a smile of amusement at her own warmth.
“I imagine,” said the prince, smiling, “that if you had been sent instead of our dear Wintsengerode, you would have carried the Prussian king's consent by storm,—you are so eloquent. Will you give me some tea?”
“In a moment. By the way,” she added subsiding into calm again, “there are two very interesting men to be here to-night, the vicomte de Mortemart; he is connected with the Montmorencies through the Rohans, one of the best families in France. He is one of the good emigrants, the real ones. Then Abbé Morio; you know that profound intellect? He has been received by the emperor. Do you know him?”
“Ah! I shall be delighted,” said the prince. “Tell me,” he added, as though he had just recollected something, speaking with special non-chalance, though the question was the chief motive of his visit: “is it true that the dowager empress desires the appointment of Baron Funke as first secretary to the Vienna legation? He is a poor creature, it appears, that baron.” Prince Vassily would have liked to see his son appointed to the post, which people were trying, through the Empress Marya Fyodorovna, to obtain for the baron.
Anna Pavlovna almost closed her eyes to signify that neither she nor any one else could pass judgment on what the empress might be pleased or see fit to do.
“Baron Funke has been recommended to the empress-mother by her sister,” was all she said in a dry, mournful tone. When Anna Pavlovna spoke of the empress her countenance suddenly assumed a profound and genuine expression of devotion and respect, mingled with melancholy, and this happened whenever she mentioned in conversation her illustrious patroness. She said that her Imperial Majesty had been graciously pleased to show great esteem to Baron Funke, and again a shade of melancholy passed over her face. The prince preserved an indifferent silence. Anna Pavlovna, with the adroitness and quick tact of a courtier and a woman, felt an inclination to chastise the prince for his temerity in referring in such terms to a person recommended to the empress, and at the same time to console him.
“But about your own family,” she said, “do you know that your daughter, since she has come out, charms everybody? People say she is as beautiful as the day.”
The prince bowed in token of respect and acknowledgment.
“I often think,” pursued Anna Pavlovna, moving up to the prince and smiling cordially to him, as though to mark that political and worldly conversation was over and now intimate talk was to begin: “I often think how unfairly the blessings of life are sometimes apportioned. Why has fate given you two such splendid children—I don't include Anatole, your youngest—him I don't like” (she put in with a decision admitting of no appeal, raising her eyebrows)—“such charming children? And you really seem to appreciate them less than any one, and so you don't deserve them.”
And she smiled her ecstatic smile.
“What would you have? Lavater would have said that I have not the bump of paternity,” said the prince.
“Don't keep on joking. I wanted to talk to you seriously. Do you know I'm not pleased with your youngest son. Between ourselves” (her face took its mournful expression), “people have been talking about him to her majesty and commiserating you…”
The prince did not answer, but looking at him significantly, she waited in silence for his answer. Prince Vassily frowned.
“What would you have me do?” he said at last. “You know I have done everything for their education a father could do, and they have both turned out des imbéciles. Ippolit is at least a quiet fool, while Anatole's a fool that won't keep quiet, that's the only difference,” he said, with a smile, more unnatural and more animated than usual, bringing out with peculiar prominence something surprisingly brutal and unpleasant in the lines about his mouth.
“Why are children born to men like you? If you weren't a father, I could find no fault with you,” said Anna Pavlovna, raising her eyes pensively.
“I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess. My children are the bane of my existence. It's the cross I have to bear, that's how I explain it to myself. What would you have?” … He broke off with a gesture expressing his resignation to a cruel fate. Anna Pavlovna pondered a moment.
“Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole? People say,” she said, “that old maids have a mania for matchmaking. I have never been conscious of this failing before, but I have a little person in my mind, who is very unhappy with her father, a relation of ours, the young Princess Bolkonsky.”
Prince Vassily made no reply, but with the rapidity of reflection and memory characteristic of worldly people, he signified by a motion of the head that he had taken in and was considering what she said.
“No, do you know that that boy is costing me forty thousand roubles a year?” he said, evidently unable to restrain the gloomy current of his thoughts. He paused. “What will it be in five years if this goes on? These are the advantages of being a father.… Is she rich, your young princess?”
“Her father is very rich and miserly. He lives in the country. You know that notorious Prince Bolkonsky, retired under the late emperor, and nicknamed the ‘Prussian King.' He's a very clever man, but eccentric and tedious. The poor little thing is as unhappy as possible. Her brother it is who has lately been married to Liza Meinen, an adjutant of Kutuzov's. He'll be here this evening.”
“Listen, dear Annette,” said the prince, suddenly taking his companion's hand, and for some reason bending it downwards. “Arrange this matter for me and I am your faithful slave for ever and ever. She's of good family and well off. That's all I want.”
And with the freedom, familiarity, and grace that distinguished him, he took the maid-of-honour's hand, kissed it, and as he kissed it waved her hand, while he stretched forward in his low chair and gazed away into the distance.
“Wait,” said Anna Pavlovna, considering. “I'll talk to Lise (the wife of young Bolkonsky) this very evening, and perhaps it can be arranged. I'll try my prentice hand as an old maid in your family.”


“啊，公爵，热那亚和卢加现在是波拿巴家族的领地，不过，我得事先对您说，如果您不对我说我们这里处于战争状态，如果您还敢袒护这个基督的敌人（我确乎相信，他是一个基督的敌人）的种种卑劣行径和他一手造成的灾祸，那么我就不再管您了。您就不再是我的朋友，您就不再是，如您所说的，我的忠实的奴隶。啊，您好，您好。我看我正在吓唬您了，请坐，讲给我听。”
一八○五年七月，遐迩闻名的安娜·帕夫洛夫娜·舍列尔——皇后玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜的宫廷女官和心腹，在欢迎首位莅临晚会的达官显要瓦西里公爵时说过这番话。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜一连咳嗽几天了。正如她所说，她身罹流行性感冒（那时候，流行性感冒是个新词，只有少数人才用它）。清早由一名红衣听差在分别发出的便函中，千篇一律地写道：“伯爵（或公爵），如您意下尚无任何可取的娱乐，如今日晚上这个可怜的女病人的症候不致使您过分惧怕，则请于七时至十时间莅临寒舍，不胜雀跃。安娜·舍列尔。”
“我的天，大打出手，好不激烈！”一位进来的公爵答道，对这种接见丝毫不感到困惑，他穿着绣花的宫廷礼服、长统袜子、短靴皮鞋，佩戴着多枚明星勋章，扁平的面部流露出愉快的表情。
他讲的是优雅的法语，我们的祖辈不仅借助它来说话，而且借助它来思考，他说起话来带有很平静的、长辈庇护晚辈时特有的腔调，那是上流社会和宫廷中德高望重的老年人独具的语调。他向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜跟前走来，把那洒满香水的闪闪发亮的秃头凑近她，吻吻她的手，就心平气和地坐到沙发上。
“亲爱的朋友，请您首先告诉我，身体可好吗？您让我安静下来，”他说道，嗓音并没有改变，透过他那讲究礼貌的、关怀备至的腔调可以看出冷淡的、甚至是讥讽的意味。
“当你精神上遭受折磨时，身体上怎么能够健康呢？……在我们这个时代，即令有感情，又怎么能够保持宁静呢？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，“我希望您整个晚上都待在我这儿，好吗？”
“英国公使的喜庆日子呢？今日是星期三，我要在那里露面，”公爵说道，“我女儿顺便来接我，坐一趟车子。”
“我以为今天的庆祝会取消了。Jevousavouequetoutescesfetesettouscesfeuxd'artificecommencentadevenirinBsipides．”①
“若是人家知道您有这种心愿，庆祝会就得取消的。”公爵说道，他俨然像一架上紧发条的钟，习惯地说些他不想要别人相信的话。
“Nemetourmentezpas．Ehbienqu'a－t－ondécidéparrapportàladépêchedeNovosilzoff？Voussaveztout．”②
“怎么对您说好呢？”公爵说道，他的语调冷淡，索然无味。“Qu'a—t—ondécidê？OnadécidêqueBuonaparteabrúlésesvaisseaux，etjecroisquenoussommesentraindebrulerlesnotres．”③
①法语：老实说，所有这些庆祝会、烟火，都令人厌恶极了。
②法语：请您不要折磨我。哦，他们就诺沃西利采夫的紧急情报作出了什么决议？这一切您了若指掌。
③法语：决定了什么？他们决定：波拿巴既已焚烧自己的战船，看来我们也要准备这样做。

瓦西里公爵向来是慢吞吞地说话，像演员口中道出旧台词那样。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜·舍列尔虽说是年满四十，却反而充满活力和激情。
她满腔热情，使她取得了社会地位。有时她甚至没有那种希冀，但为不辜负熟悉她的人们的期望，她还是要做一个满腔热情的人。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜脸上经常流露的冷淡的微笑，虽与她的憔悴的面容不相称，但却像娇生惯养的孩童那样，表示她经常意识到自己的微小缺点，不过她不想，也无法而且认为没有必要去把它改正。
在有关政治行动的谈话当中，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的心情激昂起来。
“咳！请您不要对我谈论奥地利了！也许我什么都不明白，可是奥地利从来不需要，现在也不需要战争。它把我们出卖了。唯独俄罗斯才应当成为欧洲的救星。我们的恩人知道自己的崇高天职，他必将信守不渝。这就是我唯一的信条。我们慈善的国君当前需要发挥世界上至为伟大的职能。他十分善良，道德高尚，上帝决不会把他抛弃，他必将履行自己的天职，镇压革命的邪恶势力；他如今竟以这个杀手和恶棍作为代表人物，革命就显得愈益可怖了。遵守教规者付出了鲜血，唯独我们才应该讨还这一笔血债。我们要仰赖谁呢？我问您……散布着商业气息的英国决不懂得，也没法懂得亚历山大皇帝品性的高尚。美国拒绝让出马耳他。它想窥看，并且探寻我们行动的用意。他们对诺沃西利采夫说了什么话？……什么也没说。他们不理解，也没法理解我们皇帝的奋不顾身精神，我们皇帝丝毫不贪图私利，他心中总想为全世界造福。他们许诺了什么？什么也没有。他们的许诺，将只是一纸空文！普鲁士已经宣布，说波拿巴无敌于天下，整个欧洲都无能同他作对……我一点也不相信哈登贝格·豪格维茨的鬼话。Cettefameuseneutralitéprussienne，cen'estqu'unpiège．①我只相信上帝，相信我们的贤明君主的高贵命运。他一定能够拯救欧洲！……”她忽然停了下来，对她自己的激昂情绪流露出讥讽的微笑。
“我认为，”公爵面露微笑地说道，“假如不委派我们这个可爱的温岑格罗德，而是委派您，您就会迫使普鲁士国王达成协议。您真是个能言善辩的人。给我斟点茶，好吗？”
“我马上把茶端来。顺带提一句，”她又心平气和地补充说，“今天在这儿有两位饶有风趣的人士，一位是LevicomtedeMostmart，ilestalliéauxMontmorencyparlesRohans，②法国优秀的家族之一。他是侨民之中的一个名副其实的佼佼者。另一位则是L'abbeMorio．③您认识这位聪明透顶的人士么？国王接见过他了。您知道吗？”
“啊！我将会感到非常高兴，”公爵说道，“请您告诉我，”他补充说，仿佛他方才想起某件事，显露出不经心的神态，而他所要问的事情，正是他来拜谒的主要鹄的。“L'impératrice－mère④想委派斗克男爵出任维也纳的头等秘书，真有其事吗？C'estunpauvresire，cebaron，àcequ'ilparait，⑤”瓦西里公爵想把儿子安插到这个职位上，而大家却在千方百计地通过玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜为男爵谋到这个职位。
①法语：普鲁士的这种臭名昭著的中立，只是个陷阱。
②法语：莫特马尔子爵，借助罗昂家的关系，已同蒙莫朗西结成亲戚。
③法语：莫里约神甫。
④法语：孀居的太后。
⑤法语：这公爵似乎是个卑微的人。

安娜·帕夫洛夫娜几乎阖上了眼睛，暗示无论是她，或是任何人都不能断定，皇太后乐意或者喜欢做什么事。
“MonsieurlebarondeFunkeaétérecommandéàL'impératrice－mèreparsasoeur，”①她只是用悲哀的、冷冰冰的语调说了这句话。当安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说到太后的名字时，她脸上顿时流露出无限忠诚和十分敬重的表情，而且混杂有每次谈话中提到她的至高无上的庇护者时就会表现出来的忧悒情绪。她说，太后陛下对斗克男爵beaucoupd'estime，②于是她的目光又笼罩着一抹愁云。
公爵不开腔了，现出了冷漠的神态。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜本身具备有廷臣和女人的那种灵活和麻利的本能，待人接物有分寸，她心想抨击公爵，因为他胆敢肆意评论那个推荐给太后的人，而同时又安慰公爵。
“Maisàproposdevotrefamille，”③她说道，“您知道吗？自从您女儿抛头露面，进入交际界以来，faitlesdélicesdetoutlemonde，Onlatrouvebelle，commeLejour．”④
①法语：斗克男爵是由太后的妹妹向太后推荐的。
②法语：十分尊重。
③法语：顺便谈谈您的家庭情况吧。
④法语：她是整个上流社会的宠物。大家都认为她是娇艳的美人。

公爵深深地鞠躬，表示尊敬和谢意。
“我常有这样的想法，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在沉默须臾之后继续说道，她将身子凑近公爵，对他露出亲切的微笑，仿佛在表示，政界和交际界的谈话已经结束，现在可以开始推心置腹地交谈，“我常有这样的想法，生活上的幸福有时安排得不公平。为什么命运之神赐予您这么两个可爱的孩子（除开您的小儿子阿纳托利，我不喜欢他），”她扬起眉毛，断然地插上一句话，“为什么命运之神赐予您这么两个顶好的孩子呢？可是您真的不珍惜他们，所以您不配有这么两个孩子。”
她于是兴奋地莞然一笑。
“Quevoulez－vous？Lafaterauraitditquejen'aipaslabossedelapaternité，①”公爵说道。
“请不要再开玩笑。我想和您认真地谈谈。您知道，我不满意您的小儿子。对这些话请别介意，就在我们之间说说吧（她脸上带有忧悒的表情），大家在太后跟前议论他，都对您表示惋惜……”
公爵不回答，但她沉默地、有所暗示地望着他，等待他回答。瓦西里公爵皱了一阵眉头。
“我该怎样办呢？”他终于说道。“您知道，为教育他们，我已竭尽为父的应尽的能事，可是到头来两个都成了desimBbeciles，②伊波利特充其量是个温顺的笨蛋，阿纳托利却是个惴惴不安的笨蛋。这就是二人之间唯一的差异。”他说道，笑得比平常更不自然，更兴奋，同时嘴角边起了皱褶，特别强烈地显得出人意料地粗暴和可憎。
①法语：怎么办呢？拉法特会说我没有父爱的骨相。
②法语：笨蛋。

“为什么像您这种人要生儿女呢？如果您不当父亲，我就无话可责备您了。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，若有所思地抬起眼睛。
“Jesuisvotre①忠实的奴隶，etàvousseulejepuisl'avou－er，我的孩子们——cesontlesentravesdemonexisBtence，②这就是我的苦难。我是这样自我解释的。Quevoulezvous？……”③他默不作声，用手势表示他听从残酷命运的摆布。
①法语：我是您的。
②法语：我只能向您一人坦白承认。我的孩子们是我的生活负担。
③法语：怎么办呢？

安娜·帕夫洛夫娜陷入了沉思。
“您从来没有想到替您那个浪子阿纳托利娶亲的事么？据说，”她开口说道，“老处女都有lamainedesmariages，①我还不觉得我自己会有这个弱点，可是我这里有一个petitepersonne，②她和她父亲相处，极为不幸，她就是博尔孔斯卡娅，uneparenteanous，uneprincesse．”③尽管瓦西里公爵具备上流社会人士固有的神速的颖悟力和记忆力，但对她的见识他只是摇摇脑袋表示要加以斟酌，并没有作答。
“不，您是不是知道，这个阿纳托利每年都要花费我四万卢布。”他说道，看来无法遏制他那忧悒的心绪。他沉默了片刻。
“若是这样拖下去，五年后那会怎样呢？VoilàL'avantageà'ètrepère。④您那个公爵小姐很富有吗？”
①法语：为人办婚事的癖性。
②法语：少女。
③法语：我们的一个亲戚，公爵小姐。
④法语：这就是为父的益处。

“他父亲很富有，可也很吝啬。他在乡下居住。您知道，这个大名鼎鼎的博尔孔斯基公爵早在已故的皇帝在位时就退休了，他的绰号是‘普鲁士国王'。他是个非常聪明的人，可脾气古怪，难于同他相处。Lapauvrepetiteestmalheureuse，commelespierres，①她有个大哥，在当库图佐夫的副官，就在不久前娶上了丽莎·梅南，今天他要上我这儿来。”
“Ecoutez，chèreAnnette，②”公爵说道，他忽然抓住交谈者的手，不知怎的使它稍微向下弯。“Arrangez－moicetteaffaireetjesuisvotre③最忠诚的奴隶àtoutjamais（奴辈，commemon村长m'écritdes④在汇报中所写的）。她出身于名门望族，又很富有。这一切都是我所需要的。”
他的动作灵活、亲昵而优美，可作为他的表征，他抓起宫廷女官的手吻了吻，握着她的手摇晃了几下，伸开手脚懒洋洋地靠在安乐椅上，抬起眼睛向一旁望去。
“Attendez，”⑤安娜·帕夫洛夫娜思忖着说道，“我今天跟丽莎（Lafemmedujeune博尔孔斯基⑥）谈谈，也许这事情会办妥的。Ceseradansvotrefamille，quejeferaimonapBprentissagedevieillefille．⑦”
①法语：这个可怜的小姐太不幸了。
②法语：亲爱的安内特，请听我说吧。
③法语：替我办妥这件事，我就永远是您的。
④法语：正如我的村长所写的。
⑤法语：请您等一等。
⑥法语：博尔孔斯基的妻子。
⑦我开始在您家里学习老处女的行当。
回复 引用 新鲜事
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 板凳   发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter Two


ANNA PAVLOVNA'S DRAWING-ROOM gradually began to fill. The people of the highest distinction in Petersburg were there, people very different in ages and characters, but alike in the set in which they moved. The daughter of Prince Vassily, the beauty, Ellen, came to fetch her father and go with him to the ambassador's fête. She was wearing a ball-dress with an imperial badge on it. The young Princess Bolkonsky was there, celebrated as the most seductive woman in Petersburg. She had been married the previous winter, and was not now going out into the great world on account of her interesting condition, but was still to be seen at small parties. Prince Ippolit, the son of Prince Vassily, came too with Mortemart, whom he introduced. The Abbé Morio was there too, and many others.
“Have you not yet seen, or not been introduced to ma tante?” Anna Pavlovna said to her guests as they arrived, and very seriously she led them up to a little old lady wearing tall bows, who had sailed in out of the next room as soon as the guests began to arrive. Anna Pavlovna mentioned their names, deliberately turning her eyes from the guest to ma tante, and then withdrew. All the guests performed the ceremony of greeting the aunt, who was unknown, uninteresting and unnecessary to every one. Anna Pavlovna with mournful, solemn sympathy, followed these greetings, silently approving them. Ma tante said to each person the same words about his health, her own health, and the health of her majesty, who was, thank God, better to-day. Every one, though from politeness showing no undue haste, moved away from the old lady with a sense of relief at a tiresome duty accomplished, and did not approach her again all the evening. The young Princess Bolkonsky had come with her work in a gold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, faintly darkened with down, was very short over her teeth, but was all the more charming when it was lifted, and still more charming when it was at times drawn down to meet the lower lip. As is always the case with perfectly charming women, her defect — the shortness of the lip and the half-opened mouth — seemed her peculiar, her characteristic beauty. Every one took delight in watching the pretty creature full of life and gaiety, so soon to be a mother, and so lightly bearing her burden. Old men and bored, depressed young men gazing at her felt as though they were becoming like her, by being with her and talking a little while to her. Any man who spoke to her, and at every word saw her bright little smile and shining white teeth, gleaming continually, imagined that he was being particularly successful this evening. And this each thought in turn.
The little princess, moving with a slight swing, walked with rapid little steps round the table with her work-bag in her hand, and gaily arranging the folds of her gown, sat down on a sofa near the silver samovar; it seemed as though everything she did was a festival for herself and all around her.
“I have brought my work,” she said, displaying her reticule, and addressing the company generally. “Mind, Annette, don't play me a nasty trick,” she turned to the lady of the house; “you wrote to me that it was quite a little gathering. See how I am got up.”
And she flung her arms open to show her elegant grey dress, trimmed with lace and girt a little below the bosom with a broad sash.
“Never mind, Lise, you will always be prettier than any one else,” answered Anna Pavlovna.
“You know my husband is deserting me,” she went on in just the same voice, addressing a general; “he is going to get himself killed. Tell me what this nasty war is for,” she said to Prince Vassily, and without waiting for an answer she turned to Prince Vassily's daughter, the beautiful Ellen.
“How delightful this little princess is!” said Prince Vassily in an undertone to Anna Pavlovna.
Soon after the little princess, there walked in a massively built, stout young man in spectacles, with a cropped head, light breeches in the mode of the day, with a high lace ruffle and a ginger-coloured coat. This stout young man was the illegitimate son of a celebrated dandy of the days of Catherine, Count Bezuhov, who was now dying at Moscow. He had not yet entered any branch of the service; he had only just returned from abroad, where he had been educated, and this was his first appearance in society. Anna Pavlovna greeted him with a nod reserved for persons of the very lowest hierarchy in her drawing-room. But, in spite of this greeting, Anna Pavlovna's countenance showed signs on seeing Pierre of uneasiness and alarm, such as is shown at the sight of something too big and out of place. Though Pierre certainly was somewhat bigger than any of the other men in the room, this expression could only have reference to the clever, though shy, observant and natural look that distinguished him from every one else in the drawing-room.
“It is very kind of you, M. Pierre, to have come to see a poor invalid,” Anna Pavlovna said to him, exchanging anxious glances with her aunt, to whom she was conducting him.
Pierre murmured something unintelligible, and continued searching for something with his eyes. He smiled gleefully and delightedly, bowing to the little princess as though she were an intimate friend, and went up to the aunt. Anna Pavlovna's alarm was not without grounds, for Pierre walked away from the aunt without waiting to the end of her remarks about her majesty's health. Anna Pavlovna stopped him in dismay with the words: “You don't know Abbé Morio? He's a very interesting man,” she said.
“Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpetual peace, and it's very interesting, but hardly possible …”
“You think so?” said Anna Pavlovna in order to say something and to get away again to her duties as hostess, but Pierre committed the opposite incivility. Just now he had walked off without listening to the lady who was addressing him; now he detained by his talk a lady who wanted to get away from him. With head bent and legs planted wide apart, he began explaining to Anna Pavlovna why he considered the abbé's scheme chimerical.
“We will talk of it later,” said Anna Pavlovna, smiling.
And getting rid of this unmannerly young man she returned to her duties, keeping her eyes and ears open, ready to fly to the assistance at any point where the conversation was flagging. Just as the foreman of a spinning-mill settles the work-people in their places, walks up and down the works, and noting any stoppage or unusual creaking or too loud a whir in the spindles, goes up hurriedly, slackens the machinery and sets it going properly, so Anna Pavlovna, walking about her drawing-room, went up to any circle that was pausing or too loud in conversation and by a single word or change of position set the conversational machine going again in its regular, decorous way. But in the midst of these cares a special anxiety on Pierre's account could still be discerned in her. She kept an anxious watch on him as he went up to listen to what was being said near Mortemart, and walked away to another group where the abbé was talking. Pierre had been educated abroad, and this party at Anna Pavlovna's was the first at which he had been present in Russia. He knew all the intellectual lights of Petersburg gathered together here, and his eyes strayed about like a child's in a toy-shop. He was afraid at every moment of missing some intellectual conversation which he might have heard. Gazing at the self-confident and refined expressions of the personages assembled here, he was continually expecting something exceptionally clever. At last he moved up to Abbé Morio. The conversation seemed interesting, and he stood still waiting for an opportunity of expressing his own ideas, as young people are fond of doing.


安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的客厅渐渐挤满了来宾。彼得堡的有名望的显贵都来赴会了，就其年龄和性情而言，这些人虽然各不相同，但是就其生活的社会而言，却是相同的。瓦西里公爵的女儿——貌美的海伦前来赴会了，她顺路来接父亲，以便一同去出席公使的庆祝大会。她佩戴花字奖章，身穿舞会的艳装。知名的、年轻的、身材矮小的叫做博尔孔斯卡娅的公爵夫人，LafemmelaplusséduisantedePétersbourg①，也来赴会了；她于去冬出阁，因为怀胎，眼下不能跻身于稠人广众的交际场所，但仍旧出席小型晚会。瓦西里公爵的儿子伊波利特随同他所举荐的莫特马尔也来赴会了；此外，前来赴会的还有莫里约神父和许多旁的人。
“我还没有见过（或者：您和Matante②不相识吧？）。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对各位来宾说，又一本正经地把他们领到小老太太跟前，她头上束着高高的蝴蝶结，当宾客快要到来时，便从另一个房间从容平稳地走出来；安娜·帕夫洛夫娜喊出一个个来客的名字，同时把目光慢慢地从客人移到matante身上，之后她就走开了。
①彼得堡的迷人的女人。
②法语：我的姑母。

各位来宾都向这个谁也不熟悉、谁也不感兴趣、谁也不需要的姑母行礼问安。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜显露出忧郁而庄重的神态，聆听他们的问候，心中默默地表示赞许。matante用同样的言词对每位来宾谈论到他们的情形，谈论到她自己和太后的健康情形，“谢天谢地，太后今朝有起色。”各位前来叩安的客人，为着要讲究礼节，都不表露出仓忙的神色，但都怀着履行艰巨职责之后的轻快的感觉离开老太太，整个夜晚再也不到她身边去了。
年轻的名叫博尔孔斯卡娅的公爵夫人来了，她随身带着一个金线织的丝绒袋子，内中装有针线活儿。她那长有略带黑色绒毛的令人悦目的上唇，翘起来，露出了上牙，正因为这样，上唇启开时，就显得愈加好看，有时候上唇向前伸出或者搭在下唇上，就愈益好看了。她的缺点——翘嘴唇、微微张开的口——似乎已构成她的特殊的美。无论谁看见这个身体健壮、充满活力、即令是怀胎，依然一身轻快的、长相十分好看的未来的母亲，都感到无比喜悦。老年人和阴郁而烦闷的年青人，设若和她在一块待上片刻，聊聊天，就好像变得和她一个模样了。谁和她聊过天，看见她每说一句话都会露出来爽朗的微笑，看见她那雪白的、闪闪发亮的牙齿，就会感到今天受宠若惊，飘飘然。每个人脑子里都会浮现出这种想法。
身材矮小的公爵夫人手上提着一个装有针线活的袋子，迈着急速的碎步，蹒跚地绕过桌子，愉快地弄平连衣裙，便在银质茶炊旁的长沙发上坐下来，仿佛她无论做什么事情，对她本人和她周围的人，都是一件partiedeplaisir。①“J'aiapportémonouvrage，”②她打开女用手提包，把脸转向大家说道。
“您瞧吧，Annette，nemejouezpasunmauvais′tour，”她把脸转向女主人说话。“Vousm'avezécrit，quec'étaitunetoutepetitesoirée；voyezcommejesuisattifée．”③
①法语：开心事。
②法语：我把针线活儿随身带来了。
③法语：不要恶毒地跟我开玩笑，您写给我的信上说，你们举行一个小型的晚会。您瞧，我已经围上披肩了。

她于是两手一摊，让大伙儿瞧瞧她那件缀上花边的雅致的灰灰色的连衣裙，前胸以下系着一条宽阔的绸带。
“Soyeztranquille，Lise，voussereztoujourslaplusjolie，”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜回答。
“Voussavez，monmarim'abandonne。”她把脸转向一位将军，用同样的语调继续说下去，“ilvasefairetuer．Ditesmoi，pourquoicettevilaineguerre，”②她对瓦西里公爵说道，不等他回答，便转过身来和公爵的女儿——貌美的海伦谈话。
“Quelledélicieusepersonnequecettepetiteprincesse！”③瓦西里公爵轻言细语地对安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。
①法语：丽莎，请您放心吧，您毕竟比谁都漂亮。
②法语：您知道，我的丈夫要把我抛弃了。他要去拼死卖命。请您告诉我，这种万恶的战争是为了什么目的啊！
③法语：这个身材矮小的公爵夫人，是个多么讨人喜欢的人啊！

紧随那矮小的公爵夫人之后，有一个块头大的、略嫌肥胖的年轻人走进来了、头发剪得短短的，戴着一付眼镜，穿着一条时髦的浅色裤子，那衣领显得又高又硬，还披上一件棕色的燕尾服。这个略嫌肥胖的年轻人是叶卡捷琳娜在位时一位大名鼎鼎的达官、而目前正在莫斯科奄奄一息的别祖霍夫伯爵的私生子。他还没有在任何地方工作过，刚从外国深造回来，头一次在社交场合露面。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对他鞠个躬，表示欢迎，平素她也同样地对待自己沙龙中的下级人员。虽然这是迎接下级的礼节，但一看见皮埃尔走进门来，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜脸上就表现出惊惶不安的神情，有如看见一只不宜于此地栖身的巨大怪物似的。皮埃尔的身材确实比沙龙里其他男人魁梧些，但这种惊惶的表情只可能由于他那机灵而又畏怯、敏锐而又焦然，有别于沙龙中其他人的目光而引起的。
“C'estbienaimableàvous，monsieurPierre，d'etrevenuvoirunepauvremalade，”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对他说道，把他带到姑母面前，惊惶失措地和她互使眼色。皮埃尔嘟哝着说了一句令人不懂的话，继续不停地用眼睛探寻着什么。他欢快地微微一笑，像对亲密的朋友那样，向身材矮小的公爵夫人鞠躬行礼，接着便向姑母面前走去。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的惊惶失措的神态并不是无缘无故的，因为皮埃尔还没有听完姑母讲太后的健康情形，便从她身旁走开了。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜心慌意乱地用话阻拦他。
①法语：皮埃尔先生，您真是太好了，来探望一个可怜的女病人。

“您不知道莫里约神父吗？他是个很有风趣的人……”她说。
“是的，我听过有关他所提出的永久和平的计划。这真是十分有趣，不过未必有可能……”
“您有这样的想法？……”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，她本想随便聊聊，再去做些家庭主妇的活儿，但是皮埃尔竟然做出一反常态的缺少礼貌的举动。原先他没有听完对话人的话就走开了，此刻他却说些闲话来拦住需要离开他的对话人。他便垂着头，叉开他两条大腿，开始向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜证明，他为何认为神父的计划纯粹是幻想。
“我们以后来谈吧。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，流露出一丝微笑。
她摆脱了那个不善于生活的年轻人之后，便回过头来去干家庭主妇的活儿，继续留心地听听，仔细地看看，准备去帮助哪个谈得不带劲的地方的人。像一个纺纱作坊的老板，让劳动者就位以后，便在作坊里踱来踱去，发现纺锤停止转动，或者声音逆耳，轧轧作响、音量太大时，就赶快走去制动纺车，或者使它运转自如——安娜·帕夫洛夫娜也是这样处理事情的，她在自己客厅里踱来踱去，不时地走到寂然无声或者谈论过多的人群面前，开口说句话或者调动他们的坐位，于是又使谈话机器从容不迫地、文质彬彬地转动起来。但是在她这样照料的当儿，依然看得出她分外担心皮埃尔。当皮埃尔走到莫特马尔周围的人们近旁听听他们谈话，后来又走到有神父发言的那一群人面前的时候，她总是怀着关切的心态注视着皮埃尔。对于在外国受过教育的皮埃尔来说，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的这次晚会，是他在俄国目睹的第一个晚会。他知道，彼得堡的知识分子都在这里集会，他真像个置身于玩具商店的孩童那样，看不胜看，眼花缭乱。他老是惧怕错失他能听到的深奥议论的机会。他亲眼望见在这里集会的人们都现出充满信心而又文雅的表情，他老是等待能听到特别深奥的言论。末了，他向莫里约面前走去。他心里觉得他们的谈话十分有趣，他于是停了下来，等待有机会说出自己的主见，就像年轻人那样，个个喜欢这一着。
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 地板   发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter Three


ANNA PAVLOVNA'S soirée was in full swing. The spindles kept up their regular hum on all sides without pause. Except the aunt, beside whom was sitting no one but an elderly lady with a thin, careworn face, who seemed rather out of her element in this brilliant society, the company was broken up into three groups. In one of these, the more masculine, the centre was the abbé; in the other, the group of young people, the chief attractions were the beautiful Princess Ellen, Prince Vassily's daughter, and the little Princess Bolkonsky, with her rosy prettiness, too plump for her years. In the third group were Mortemart and Anna Pavlovna.
The vicomte was a pretty young gentleman with soft features and manners, who obviously regarded himself as a celebrity, but with good breeding modestly allowed the company the benefit of his society. Anna Pavlovna unmistakably regarded him as the chief entertainment she was giving her guests. As a clever maître d'hôtel serves as something superlatively good the piece of beef which no one would have cared to eat seeing it in the dirty kitchen, Anna Pavlovna that evening served up to her guests — first, the vicomte and then the abbé, as something superlatively subtle. In Mortemart's group the talk turned at once on the execution of the duc d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the duc d'Enghien had been lost by his own magnanimity and that there were special reasons for Bonaparte's bitterness against him.
“Ah, come! Tell us about that, vicomte,” said Anna Pavlovna gleefully, feeling that the phrase had a peculiarly Louis Quinze note about it: “Contez-nous cela, vicomte.”
The vicomte bowed and smiled courteously in token of his readiness to obey. Anna Pavlovna made a circle round the vicomte and invited every one to hear his story.
“The vicomte was personally acquainted with his highness,” Anna Pavlovna whispered to one. “The vicomte tells a story perfectly,” she said to another. “How one sees the man of quality,” she said to a third, and the vicomte was presented to the company in the most elegant and advantageous light, like the roast-beef on the hot dish garnished with green parsley.
The vicomte was about to begin his narrative, and he smiled subtly.
“Come over here, chère Hélène,” said Anna Pavlovna to the young beauty who was sitting a little way off, the centre of another group.
Princess Ellen smiled. She got up with the same unchanging smile of the acknowledged beauty with which she had entered the drawing-room. Her white ball-dress adorned with ivy and moss rustled lightly; her white shoulders, glossy hair, and diamonds glittered, as she passed between the men who moved apart to make way for her. Not looking directly at any one, but smiling at every one, as it were courteously allowing to all the right to admire the beauty of her figure, her full shoulders, her bosom and back, which were extremely exposed in the mode of the day, she moved up to Anna Pavlovna, seeming to bring with her the brilliance of the ballroom. Ellen was so lovely that she was not merely free from the slightest shade of coquetry, she seemed on the contrary ashamed of the too evident, too violent and all-conquering influence of her beauty. She seemed to wish but to be unable to soften the effect of her beauty.
“What a beautiful woman!” every one said on seeing her. As though struck by something extraordinary, the vicomte shrugged his shoulders and dropped his eyes, when she seated herself near him and dazzled him too with the same unchanging smile.
“Madame, I doubt my abilities before such an audience,” he said, bowing with a smile.
The princess leaned her plump, bare arm on the table and did not find it necessary to say anything. She waited, smiling. During the vicomte's story she sat upright, looking from time to time at her beautiful, plump arm, which lay with its line changed by pressure on the table, then at her still lovelier bosom, on which she set straight her diamond necklace. Several times she settled the folds of her gown and when the narrative made a sensation upon the audience, she glanced at Anna Pavlovna and at once assumed the expression she saw on the maid-of-honour's face, then she relapsed again into her unvarying smile. After Ellen the little princess too moved away from the tea-table.
“Wait for me, I will take my work,” she said. “Come, what are you thinking of?” she said to Prince Ippolit. “Bring me my reticule.”
The little princess, smiling and talking to every one, at once effected a change of position, and settling down again, gaily smoothed out her skirts.
“Now I'm comfortable,” she said, and begging the vicomte to begin, she took up her work. Prince Ippolit brought her reticule, moved to her side, and bending close over her chair, sat beside her.
Le charmant Hippolyte struck every one as extraordinarily like this sister, and, still more, as being, in spite of the likeness, strikingly ugly. His features were like his sister's, but in her, everything was radiant with joyous life, with the complacent, never-failing smile of youth and life and an extraordinary antique beauty of figure. The brother's face on the contrary was clouded over by imbecility and invariably wore a look of aggressive fretfulness, while he was thin and feebly built. His eyes, his nose, his mouth — everything was, as it were, puckered up in one vacant, bored grimace, while his arms and legs always fell into the most grotesque attitudes.
“It is not a ghost story,” he said, sitting down by the princess and hurriedly fixing his eyeglass in his eye, as though without that instrument he could not begin to speak.
“Why, no, my dear fellow,” said the astonished vicomte, with a shrug.
“Because I detest ghost stories,” said Prince Ippolit in a tone which showed that he uttered the words before he was aware of their meaning.
From the self-confidence with which he spoke no one could tell whether what he said was very clever or very stupid. He was dressed in a dark-green frock coat, breeches of the colour of the cuisse de nymphe effrayée, as he called it, stockings and slippers. The vicomte very charmingly related the anecdote then current, that the duc d'Enghien had secretly visited Paris for the sake of an interview with the actress, Mlle. Georges, and that there he met Bonaparte, who also enjoyed the favours of the celebrated actress, and that, meeting the duc, Napoleon had fallen into one of the fits to which he was subject and had been completely in the duc's power, how the duc had not taken advantage of it, and Bonaparte had in the sequel avenged his magnanimity by the duc's death.
The story was very charming and interesting, especially at the point when the rivals suddenly recognise each other, and the ladies seemed to be greatly excited by it. “Charmant!” said Anna Pavlovna, looking inquiringly at the little princess. “Charming!” whispered the little princess, sticking her needle into her work as an indication that the interest and charm of the story prevented her working. The vicomte appreciated this silent homage, and smiling gratefully, resumed his narrative. But meanwhile Anna Pavlovna, still keeping a watch on the dreadful young man, noticed that he was talking too loudly and too warmly with the abbé and hurried to the spot of danger. Pierre had in fact succeeded in getting into a political conversation with the abbé on the balance of power, and the abbé, evidently interested by the simple-hearted fervour of the young man, was unfolding to him his cherished idea. Both were listening and talking too eagerly and naturally, and Anna Pavlovna did not like it.
“The means? — the balance of power in Europe and the rights of the people,” said the abbé. “One powerful state like Russia — with the prestige of barbarism — need only take a disinterested stand at the head of the alliance that aims at securing the balance of power in Europe, and it would save the world!” “How are you going to get such a balance of power?” Pierre was beginning; but at that moment Anna Pavlovna came up, and glancing severely at Pierre, asked the Italian how he was supporting the climate. The Italian's face changed instantly and assumed the look of offensive, affected sweetness, which was evidently its habitual expression in conversation with women. “I am so enchanted by the wit and culture of the society — especially of the ladies — in which I have had the happiness to be received, that I have not yet had time to think of the climate,” he said. Not letting the abbé and Pierre slip out of her grasp, Anna Pavlovna, for greater convenience in watching them, made them join the bigger group.
At that moment another guest walked into the drawing-room. This was the young Prince Andrey Bolkonsky, the husband of the little princess. Prince Bolkonsky was a very handsome young man, of medium height, with clear, clean-cut features. Everything in his appearance, from his weary, bored expression to his slow, measured step, formed the most striking contrast to his lively little wife. Obviously all the people in the drawing-room were familiar figures to him, and more than that, he was unmistakably so sick of them that even to look at them and to listen to them was a weariness to him. Of all the wearisome faces the face of his pretty wife seemed to bore him most. With a grimace that distorted his handsome face he turned away from her. He kissed Anna Pavlovna's hand, and with half-closed eyelids scanned the whole company.
“You are enlisting for the war, prince?” said Anna Pavlovna.
“General Kutuzov has been kind enough to have me as an aide-de-camp,” said Bolkonsky.
“And Lise, your wife? —”
“She is going into the country.”
“Isn't it too bad of you to rob us of your charming wife?”
“André,” said his wife, addressing her husband in exactly the same coquettish tone in which she spoke to outsiders, “the vicomte has just told us such a story about Mlle. Georges and Bonaparte!”
Prince Andrey scowled and turned away. Pierre, who had kept his eyes joyfully and affectionately fixed on him ever since he came in, went up to him and took hold of his arm. Prince Andrey, without looking round, twisted his face into a grimace of annoyance at any one's touching him, but seeing Pierre's smiling face, he gave him a smile that was unexpectedly sweet and pleasant.
“Why, you! … And in such society too,” he said to Pierre.
“I knew you would be here,” answered Pierre. “I'm coming to supper with you,” he added in an undertone, not to interrupt the vicomte who was still talking. “Can I?”
“Oh no, impossible,” said Prince Andrey, laughing, with a squeeze of his hand giving Pierre to understand that there was no need to ask. He would have said something more, but at that instant Prince Vassily and his daughter got up and the two young men rose to make way for them.
“Pardon me, my dear vicomte,” said Prince Vassily in French, gently pulling him down by his sleeve to prevent him from getting up from his seat. “This luckless fête at the ambassador's deprives me of a pleasure and interrupts you. I am very sorry to leave your enchanting party,” he said to Anna Pavlovna.
His daughter, Princess Ellen, lightly holding the folds of her gown, passed between the chairs, and the smile glowed more brightly than ever on her handsome face. Pierre looked with rapturous, almost frightened eyes at this beautiful creature as she passed them.
“Very lovely!” said Prince Andrey.
“Very,” said Pierre.
As he came up to them, Prince Vassily took Pierre by the arm, and addressing Anna Pavlovna:
“Get this bear into shape for me,” he said. “Here he has been staying with me for a month, and this is the first time I have seen him in society. Nothing's so necessary for a young man as the society of clever women.”
第一章第三节
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的晚会像纺车一般动起来了。纺锤从四面匀速地转动，不断地发出轧轧的响声。只有一位痛哭流涕的、面容消瘦的、渐近老境的太太坐在姑母身旁，在这个出色的社交团体中，她显得有点格格不入，除姑母而外，这个社交团体分成了三个小组。在男人占有多数的一个小组中，神父是中心人物。在另外一个小组——年轻人的小组中，美丽的公爵小姐海伦——瓦西里公爵的女儿和那矮小的名叫博尔孔斯卡娅的公爵夫人是中心人物，公爵夫人姿色迷人，面颊绯红，但年纪尚轻，身段显得太肥胖了。在第三个小组中，莫特马尔和安娜·帕夫洛夫娜是中心人物。
子爵心地和善、待人谦让，是个相貌漂亮的年轻人。显然，他认为自己是个名人，但因受过良好教育，是以恭顺地让他所在的社团利用他，摆布他。很明显，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜借助他来款待来客。假如你在污秽的厨房里看见一块牛肉，根本不想吃它，可是一个好管家却会把它端上餐桌，作为一道异常可口的美味；今天晚上安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的做法也是这样，她先向客人献上子爵，然后献上神父，把他们作为异常精致的菜肴。莫特马尔那个小组立刻谈论到杀害昂吉安公爵的情形。子爵说，昂吉安公爵的死因，是舍己为人，而波拿巴的怨恨是有特殊原因的。
“Ah！voyonsContez－nouscela，vicomte，”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，高兴地感到“Contez－nouscela，vicomte”这句话àlaLouisⅩⅤ②的腔调。
①法语：啊，是真的呀！子爵，请把这件事讲给我们听吧。
②法语：像路易十五。

子爵鞠躬以示顺从，彬彬有礼地微露笑容。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在子爵身边让客人围成一圈，请大家听他讲故事。
“LevicomteaétépersonnellementconnudemonB
seigneur，①”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜轻言细语地对一位来客说道。
“Levicomteestunparfaitconteur，”②她对另一位来客说道。
“CommeonvoitL'hommedelabonnecompagnie，”③她对第三位来客说道。可见子爵像一盘撒上青菜的热气腾腾的干炒牛里脊，从至为优雅和对他至为有利的方面来看，他好像被端上餐桌献给这个团体的人们。
子爵想开始讲故事，脸上流露出机灵的微笑。
“请您到这边来吧，chèreHélène．”④安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对长相俊美的公爵小姐说道。公爵小姐坐在稍远的地方，她是另一个小组的中心人物。
①法语：子爵本人和那位公爵相识。
②法语：子爵是个令人惊讶的善于讲故事的大师。
③法语：一下子就看得出是位上流社会人士。
④法语：亲爱的海伦。

名叫海伦的公爵小姐面带笑容，站了起来，她总是流露着她走进客厅以后就流露的美女般的微笑。她从闪到两边去让路的男人中间走过时，她那点缀着藤蔓和藓苔图案的参加舞会穿的洁白的衣裳发出刷刷的响声，雪白的肩膀、发亮的头发和钻石都熠熠生辉，她一直往前走去，向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜身边走去，两眼不看任何人，但对人人微露笑容，宛如她把欣赏她的身段、丰满的肩头、装束时髦的、完全袒露的胸脯和脊背之美的权利恭恭敬敬地赐予每个人，宛如她给舞蹈晚会增添了光彩。海伦太美了，从她身上看不到半点娇媚的表情，恰恰相反，好像她为自己坚信不疑的、诱惑力足以倾到一切的姿色而深感羞愧，好像她希望减少自己的美貌的诱惑力，可是无能为力。
“Quellebellepersonne！”①凡是见过她的人都这样说。当她在子爵面前坐下，照常地微微发笑，使他容光焕发的时候，仿佛有一种非凡的力量使他大为惊讶，他于是耸了耸肩，垂下了眼帘。
“Madame，jecrainspourmesmoyensdevantunpareil
auditoire．”②他说道，低下头来，嘴角上露出微笑。
公爵小姐把她那裸露的肥胖的手臂的肘部靠在茶几上，她认为无须说话，面露笑容地等待着。在讲故事的当儿，她腰板挺直地坐着，时而瞧瞧轻松地搁在茶几上的肥胖而美丽的手臂，时而瞧瞧更加美丽的胸脯，弄平挂在胸前的钻石项链，她一连几次弄平连衣裙的皱褶，当故事讲到令人产生深刻印象的时候，她回过头来看看安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，立时现出和宫廷女官同样的面部表情，随后便安静下来，脸上浮现出愉快的微笑。矮小的公爵夫人也紧随海伦身后从茶几旁边走过来了。
“Attendez－moi，jevaisprendremonouvrage，”③她说，“Voyons，àquoipensez－vous？”她把脸转向伊波利特公爵说。“Apportez－moimonridicule．”④
①法语：多么迷人的美女啊！
②法语：我的确担心在这样的听众面前会拿不出讲话的本领来。
③法语：请等一下吧，我来拿我的活儿。
④法语：您怎样啦？您想什么啦？请您把我的女用手提包拿来。

公爵夫人微露笑容，和大家交谈的时候，她忽然调动坐位，坐下来，愉快地把衣服弄平，弄整齐。
“现在我觉得挺好，”她说，请人家开始讲故事，一面又做起活儿来了。
伊波利特公爵把女用小提包交给她，跟在她身后走过来，又把安乐椅移到靠近她的地方，便在她身旁坐下来。
这位LecharmantHippolyte①长得俨像他的美丽的妹
妹，真令人诧异，二人虽然相像，但他却十分丑陋，这就更令人诧异了。他的面部和他妹妹的一模一样，但他妹妹那乐观愉快的、洋洋自得、充满青春活力、朝夕不变的微笑和身段超人的古典美，使她容光焕发，倾城倾国；反之，哥哥的长相却显得愚昧昏庸，总是表现出十分自信和不满的神态，他身子既瘦且弱，疲软无力。眼睛、鼻子和口挤在一起，很不匀称，仿佛已变成缺乏表情的、闷闷不乐的鬼脸，而手足笨拙，总是做出生硬的姿势。
“Cen'estpasunehistoirederevenants？”②他说道。他坐在公爵夫人近侧，赶快把那单目眼镜戴在眼上，好像缺少这副工具他就无法开腔似的。
“Maisnon，moncher．”③讲故事的人大吃一惊，耸耸肩，说。
“C'estquejedétesteleshistoiresderevenants．”④伊波利特公爵用这种语调说，从中可以明显地看出，他先说这句话，然后才明了这句话有什么涵义。
①法语：可爱的伊波利特。
②法语：这是不是关于鬼魂的故事？
③法语：亲爱的，根本不是。
④法语：问题就在于，我很讨厌鬼魂的故事。

他说话时过分自信，谁也领悟不出，他说的话究竟是明智呢，抑或是愚昧之谈。他上身穿一件深绿色的燕尾服，正如他自己说的，下身穿一条cuissedenympheeffrayée①颜色的长裤，脚上穿一双长统袜和短靴皮鞋。
Vicomte②十分动听地讲起了当时广为流传的一则趣闻。昂吉安悄然抵达巴黎，去与m－lleGeorge③相会，在那里遇见亦曾博得这位女演员好感的波拿巴，拿破仑在和公爵见面之后，出人意料地昏倒了，他于是陷入公爵的势力范围，公爵并没有藉此机会控制他，但到后来拿破仑却把公爵杀害，以此回报公爵的宽厚。
这故事十分动听，饶有趣味，尤其是讲到这两个情敌忽然认出对方的时候，太太们心中似乎都觉得激动不安。
“Charmant，”④安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，她一面回过头来用疑问的目光望望矮小的公爵夫人。
①法语：受惊的自然女神的内体。
②法语：子爵。
③法语：名叫乔治的女演员。
④法语：好得很。

“Charmant，”矮小的公爵夫人轻言细语地说，把一根针插在针线活上，好像用以表示，这故事十分有趣，十分动听，简直妨碍她继续做针线活儿。
子爵对这沉默的称赞给予适度的评价，他脸上露出感激的微笑，后又继续讲下去，但是，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜不时地看看使她觉得可怕的那个年轻人，这时她发觉他不知怎的在和神父一同热烈地、高声地谈话，她于是赶快跑去支援那个告急的地方。确实是这样，皮埃尔竟然和那神父谈论政治均衡的事题，看来那神父对这个年轻人的纯朴的热情发生兴趣，他于是在他面前尽量发挥地那自以为是的观点。二人兴致勃勃地、真诚坦率地交谈，聆听对方的意见，这就使得安娜·帕夫洛夫娜有点扫兴了。
“臻致欧洲均势与droitdesgens①，是一种手段，”神甫说道，“只要俄国这个以野蛮残暴著称于世的强国能够大公无私地站出来领导以臻致欧洲均势为目标的同盟，那就可以拯救世界了！”
①法语：民权。

“您究竟怎样去求得这种均衡呢？”皮埃尔本来要开腔，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜这时向他跟前走来，严肃地盯了皮埃尔一眼，问那个意大利人怎样才能熬得住本地的气候，意大利人的脸色忽然变了，现出一副看起来像是和女人交谈时他所惯用的假装得令人觉得委屈的谄媚的表情。
“我有幸加入你们的社会，你们的社会，尤其是妇女社会的那种优越的智慧和教育，真叫我神魂颠倒，因此我哪能事先想到气候呢。”他说。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜不放走神父和皮埃尔，为着便于观察起见，便叫他们二人一同加入普通小组。
这时候，又有一个来宾走进了客厅。这位新客就是年轻的安德烈·博尔孔斯基公爵——矮小的公爵夫人的丈夫。博尔孔斯基公爵个子不大，是一个非常漂亮的青年，眉清目秀，面部略嫌消瘦。他整个外貌，从困倦而苦闷的目光到徐缓而匀整的脚步，和他那矮小而活泼的妻子恰恰相反，构成强烈的对照。显然，他不仅认识客厅里所有的人，而且他们都使他觉得厌烦，甚至连看看他们，听听他们谈话，他也感到索然无味。在所有这些使他厌恶的面孔中，他的俊俏的妻子的面孔似乎最使他生厌。他装出一副有损于他的美貌的丑相，把脸转过去不看她。他吻了一下安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的手，随后眯缝起眼睛，向众人环顾一遭。
“VousvousenroAlezpourlaguerre，monprince？①”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。
“LegénéralKoutouzoff，”博尔孔斯基说道，像法国人一样，说库图佐夫一词时总把重音搁在最后一个音节上，“abiBenvouludemoipouraide－de－camp……”②
“EtLise，votrefemme？”③
“她到农村去。”
“您从我们身边夺去您的漂亮的太太应该吗？”
“Andve，”④他的妻子说道，她对丈夫说话和对旁人说话都用同样娇媚的腔调，“子爵给我们讲了一则关于名叫乔治的小姐和波拿巴的故事，多么动听啊！”
①法语：公爵，您准备去打仗吗？
②法语：库图佐夫将军要我做他的副官。
③法语：您的夫人丽莎呢？
④法语：安德烈。

安德烈公爵眯缝起眼睛，把脸转过去。安德烈公爵走进客厅之后，皮埃尔便很欣悦地、友善地望着他，一刻也没有转移目光，皮埃尔向前走去一把拉住他的手。安德烈公爵没有掉过头来看看，他蹙起额角，做出一副丑相，心里在埋怨碰到他的手臂的人，但当他望见皮埃尔含笑的面庞，他就出乎意外地流露出善意的、愉快的微笑。
“啊，原来如此！……你也跻身于稠人广众的交际场中了！”他对皮埃尔说道。
“我知道您会光临。”皮埃尔答道，“我上您那儿吃夜饭，”
他轻声地补充一句话，省得妨碍子爵讲故事，“行吗？”
“不，不行。”安德烈公爵含笑地说道，一面握住皮埃尔的手，向他示意，要他不必多问。他还想说些什么话，但在这当儿瓦西里公爵随同他的女儿都站起来，退席了，男士们也都站起来让路。
“我亲爱的子爵，您原谅我吧，”瓦西里公爵对法国人说，态度温和地拉住他的衣袖往椅子上按一下，不让他站起身来。
“公使举办的这个不吉利的庆祝会要夺去我的欢乐，并且把您的话儿打断了。离开您这个令人陶醉的晚会，真使我觉得难受。”他对安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。
他的女儿——名叫海伦的公爵小姐，用手轻轻地提起连衣裙褶，从椅子之间走出来，她那漂亮的脸盘上露出更愉快的微笑，当她从皮埃尔身旁走过时，皮埃尔惊喜地盯着这个美女。
“很标致。”安德烈公爵说。
“很标致。”皮埃尔说。
瓦西里公爵走过时，一把抓住皮埃尔的手，把脸转过来对安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。
“请您教导教导这头狗熊吧，”他说道，“他在我家中住了一个月，我头一次在交际场所碰见他了。对一个青年来说，没有任何事物像聪明的女人们的社交团体那样迫切需要的了。”
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
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Part One Chapter Four


ANNA PAVLOVNA smiled and promised to look after Pierre, who was, she knew, related to Prince Vassily on his father's side. The elderly lady, who had been till then sitting by the aunt, got up hurriedly, and over-took Prince Vassily in the hall. All the affectation of interest she had assumed till now vanished. Her kindly, careworn face expressed nothing but anxiety and alarm.
“What have you to tell me, prince, of my Boris?” she said, catching him in the hall. “I can't stay any longer in Petersburg. Tell me what news am I to take to my poor boy?”
Although Prince Vassily listened reluctantly and almost uncivilly to the elderly lady and even showed signs of impatience, she gave him an ingratiating and appealing smile, and to prevent his going away she took him by the arm. “It is nothing for you to say a word to the Emperor, and he will be transferred at once to the Guards,” she implored.
“Believe me, I will do all I can, princess,” answered Prince Vassily; “but it's not easy for me to petition the Emperor. I should advise you to apply to Rumyantsov, through Prince Galitsin; that would be the wisest course.”
The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskoy, one of the best families in Russia; but she was poor, had been a long while out of society, and had lost touch with her former connections. She had come now to try and obtain the appointment of her only son to the Guards. It was simply in order to see Prince Vassily that she had invited herself and come to Anna Pavlovna's party, simply for that she had listened to the vicomte's story. She was dismayed at Prince Vassily's words; her once handsome face showed exasperation, but that lasted only one moment. She smiled again and grasped Prince Vassily's arm more tightly.
“Hear what I have to say, prince,” she said. “I have never asked you a favour, and never will I ask one; I have never reminded you of my father's affection for you. But now, for God's sake, I beseech you, do this for my son, and I shall consider you my greatest benefactor,” she added hurriedly. “No, don't be angry, but promise me. I have asked Galitsin; he has refused. Be as kind as you used to be,” she said, trying to smile, though there were tears in her eyes.
“Papa, we are late,” said Princess Ellen, turning her lovely head on her statuesque shoulders as she waited at the door.
But influence in the world is a capital, which must be carefully guarded if it is not to disappear. Prince Vassily knew this, and having once for all reflected that if he were to beg for all who begged him to do so, he would soon be unable to beg for himself, he rarely made use of his influence. In Princess Drubetskoy's case, however, he felt after her new appeal something akin to a conscience-prick. She had reminded him of the truth; for his first step upwards in the service he had been indebted to her father. Besides this, he saw from her manner that she was one of those women—especially mothers—who having once taken an idea into their heads will not give it up till their wishes are fulfilled, and till then are prepared for daily, hourly persistence, and even for scenes. This last consideration made him waver.
“Chère Anna Mihalovna,” he said, with his invariable familiarity and boredom in his voice, “it's almost impossible for me to do what you wish; but to show you my devotion to you, and my reverence for your dear father's memory, I will do the impossible—your son shall be transferred to the Guards; here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?”
“My dear prince, you are our benefactor. I expected nothing less indeed; I know how good you are—” He tried to get away. “Wait a moment, one word. Once in the Guards …” She hesitated. “You are on friendly terms with Mihail Ilarionovitch Kutuzov, recommend Boris as his adjutant. Then my heart will be set at rest, then indeed …”
Prince Vassily smiled. “That I can't promise. You don't know how Kutuzov has been besieged ever since he has been appointed commander-in-chief. He told me himself that all the Moscow ladies were in league together to give him all their offspring as adjutants.”
“No, promise me; I can't let you off, kind, good friend, benefactor …”
“Papa,” repeated the beauty in the same tone, “we are late.”
“Come, au revoir, good-bye. You see how it is.”
“To-morrow then you will speak to the Emperor?”
“Certainly; but about Kutuzov I can't promise.”
“Yes; do promise, promise, Basile,” Anna Mihalovna said, pursuing him with the smile of a coquettish girl, once perhaps characteristic, but now utterly incongruous with her careworn face. Evidently she had forgotten her age and from habit was bringing out every feminine resource. But as soon as he had gone out her face assumed once more the frigid, artificial expression it had worn all the evening. She went back to the group in which the vicomte was still talking, and again affected to be listening, waiting for the suitable moment to get away, now that her object had been attained.
“And what do you think of this latest farce of the coronation at Milan?” said Anna Pavlovna. “And the new comedy of the people of Lucca and Genoa coming to present their petitions to Monsieur Buonaparte. Monsieur Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitions of nations! Adorable! Why, it is enough to drive one out of one's senses! It seems as though the whole world had lost its head.”
Prince Andrey smiled sarcastically, looking straight into Anna Pavlovna's face.
“God gives it me; let man beware of touching it,” he said (Bonaparte's words uttered at the coronation). “They say that he was very fine as he spoke those words,” he added, and he repeated the same words in Italian: “Dio me l'ha data, e quai a chi la tocca.”
“I hope that at last,” pursued Anna Pavlovna, “this has been the drop of water that will make the glass run over. The sovereigns cannot continue to endure this man who is a threat to everything.”
“The sovereigns! I am not speaking of Russia,” said the vicomte deferentially and hopelessly. “The sovereigns! … Madame! What did they do for Louis the Sixteenth, for the queen, for Madame Elisabeth? Nothing,” he went on with more animation; “and believe me, they are undergoing the punishment of their treason to the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! … They are sending ambassadors to congratulate the usurper.”
And with a scornful sigh he shifted his attitude again. Prince Ippolit, who had for a long time been staring through his eyeglass at the vicomte, at these words suddenly turned completely round, and bending over the little princess asked her for a needle, and began showing her the coat-of-arms of the Condé family, scratching it with the needle on the table. He explained the coat-of-arms with an air of gravity, as though the princess had asked him about it. “Staff, gules; engrailed with gules of azure—house of Condé,” he said. The princess listened smiling.
“If Bonaparte remains another year on the throne of France,” resumed the vicomte, with the air of a man who, being better acquainted with the subject than any one else, pursues his own train of thought without listening to other people, “things will have gone too far. By intrigue and violence, by exiles and executions, French society—I mean good society—will have been destroyed for ever, and then…”
He shrugged his shoulders, and made a despairing gesture with his hand. Pierre wanted to say something—the conversation interested him —but Anna Pavlovna, who was keeping her eye on him, interposed.
“And the Emperor Alexander,” she said with the pathetic note that always accompanied all her references to the imperial family, “has declared his intention of leaving it to the French themselves to choose their own form of government. And I imagine there is no doubt that the whole nation, delivered from the usurper, would fling itself into the arms of its lawful king,” said Anna Pavlovna, trying to be agreeable to an émigré and loyalist.
“That's not certain,” said Prince Andrey. “M. le vicomte is quite right in supposing that things have gone too far by now. I imagine it would not be easy to return to the old régime.”
“As far as I could hear,” Pierre, blushing, again interposed in the conversation, “almost all the nobility have gone over to Bonaparte.”
“That's what the Bonapartists assert,” said the vicomte without looking at Pierre. “It's a difficult matter now to find out what public opinion is in France.”
“Bonaparte said so,” observed Prince Andrey with a sarcastic smile. It was evident that he did not like the vicomte, and that though he was not looking at him, he was directing his remarks against him.
“ ‘I showed them the path of glory; they would not take it,' ” he said after a brief pause, again quoting Napoleon's words. “ ‘I opened my anterooms to them; they crowded in.' … I do not know in what degree he had a right to say so.”
“None!” retorted the vicomte. “Since the duc's murder even his warmest partisans have ceased to regard him as a hero. If indeed some people made a hero of him,” said the vicomte addressing Anna Pavlovna, “since the duke's assassination there has been a martyr more in heaven, and a hero less on earth.”
Anna Pavlovna and the rest of the company hardly had time to smile their appreciation of the vicomte's words, when Pierre again broke into the conversation, and though Anna Pavlovna had a foreboding he would say something inappropriate, this time she was unable to stop him.
“The execution of the duc d'Enghien,” said Monsieur Pierre, “was a political necessity, and I consider it a proof of greatness of soul that Napoleon did not hesitate to take the whole responsibility of it upon himself.”
“Dieu! mon Dieu!” moaned Anna Pavlovna, in a terrified whisper.
“What, Monsieur Pierre! you think assassination is greatness of soul?” said the little princess, smiling and moving her work nearer to her.
“Ah! oh!” cried different voices.
“Capital!” Prince Ippolit said in English, and he began slapping his knee. The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders.
Pierre looked solemnly over his spectacles at his audience.
“I say so,” he pursued desperately, “because the Bourbons ran away from the Revolution, leaving the people to anarchy; and Napoleon alone was capable of understanding the Revolution, of overcoming it, and so for the public good he could not stop short at the life of one man.”
“Won't you come over to this table?” said Anna Pavlovna. But Pierre went on without answering her.
“Yes,” he said, getting more and more eager, “Napoleon is great because he has towered above the Revolution, and subdued its evil tendencies, preserving all that was good—the equality of all citizens, and freedom of speech and of the press, and only to that end has he possessed himself of supreme power.”
“Yes, if on obtaining power he had surrendered it to the lawful king, instead of making use of it to commit murder,” said the vicomte, “then I might have called him a great man.”
“He could not have done that. The people gave him power simply for him to rid them of the Bourbons, and that was just why the people believed him to be a great man. The Revolution was a grand fact,” pursued Monsieur Pierre, betraying by this desperate and irrelevantly provocative statement his extreme youth and desire to give full expression to everything.
“Revolution and regicide a grand fact?…What next?…but won't you come to this table?” repeated Anna Pavlovna.
“Contrat social,” said the vicomte with a bland smile.
“I'm not speaking of regicide. I'm speaking of the idea.”
“The idea of plunder, murder, and regicide!” an ironical voice put in.
“Those were extremes, of course; but the whole meaning of the Revolution did not lie in them, but in the rights of man, in emancipation from conventional ideas, in equality; and all these Napoleon has maintained in their full force.”
“Liberty and equality,” said the vicomte contemptuously, as though he had at last made up his mind to show this youth seriously all the folly of his assertions: “all high-sounding words, which have long since been debased. Who does not love liberty and equality? Our Saviour indeed preached liberty and equality. Have men been any happier since the Revolution? On the contrary. We wanted liberty, but Bonaparte has crushed it.”
Prince Andrey looked with a smile first at Pierre, then at the vicomte, then at their hostess.
For the first minute Anna Pavlovna had, in spite of her social adroitness, been dismayed by Pierre's outbreak; but when she saw that the vicomte was not greatly discomposed by Pierre's sacrilegious utterances, and had convinced herself that it was impossible to suppress them, she rallied her forces and joined the vicomte in attacking the orator.
“Mais, mon cher Monsieur Pierre,” said Anna Pavlovna, “what have you to say for a great man who was capable of executing the due—or simply any human being—guiltless and untried?”
“I should like to ask,” said the vicomte, “how monsieur would explain the 18th of Brumaire? Was not that treachery?”
“It was a juggling trick not at all like a great man's way of acting.”
“And the wounded he killed in Africa?” said the little princess; “that was awful!” And she shrugged her shoulders.
“He's a plebeian, whatever you may say,” said Prince Ippolit.
Monsieur Pierre did not know which to answer. He looked at them all and smiled. His smile was utterly unlike the half-smile of all the others. When he smiled, suddenly, instantaneously, his serious, even rather sullen, face vanished completely, and a quite different face appeared, childish, good-humoured, even rather stupid, that seemed to beg indulgence. The vicomte, who was seeing him for the first time, saw clearly that this Jacobin was by no means so formidable as his words. Every one was silent.
“How is he to answer every one at once?” said Prince Andrey. “Besides, in the actions of a statesman, one must distinguish between his acts as a private person and as a general or an emperor. So it seems to me.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” put in Pierre, delighted at the assistance that had come to support him.
“One must admit,” pursued Prince Andrey, “that Napoleon as a man was great at the bridge of Arcola, or in the hospital at Jaffa, when he gave his hand to the plague-stricken, but…but there are other actions it would be hard to justify.”
Prince Andrey, who obviously wished to relieve the awkwardness of Pierre's position, got up to go, and made a sign to his wife.
Suddenly Prince Ippolit got up, and with a wave of his hands stopped every one, and motioning to them to be seated, began:
“Ah, I heard a Moscow story to-day; I must entertain you with it. You will excuse me, vicomte, I must tell it in Russian. If not, the point of the story will be lost.” And Prince Ippolit began speaking in Russian, using the sort of jargon Frenchmen speak after spending a year in Russia. Every one waited expectant; Prince Ippolit had so eagerly, so insistently called for the attention of all for his story.
“In Moscow there is a lady, une dame. And she is very stingy. She wanted to have two footmen behind her carriage. And very tall footmen. That was her taste. And she had a lady's maid, also very tall. She said…”
Here Prince Ippolit paused and pondered, apparently collecting his ideas with difficulty.
“She said…yes, she said: ‘Girl,' to the lady's maid, ‘put on livrée, and get up behind the carriage, to pay calls.' ”
Here Prince Ippolit gave a loud guffaw, laughing long before any of his audience, which created an impression by no means flattering to him. Several persons, among them the elderly lady and Anna Pavlovna, did smile, however.
“She drove off. Suddenly there was a violent gust of wind. The girl lost her hat, and her long hair fell down…”
At this point he could not restrain himself, and began laughing violently, articulating in the middle of a loud guffaw, “And all the world knew…”
There the anecdote ended. Though no one could understand why he had told it, and why he had insisted on telling it in Russian, still Anna Pavlovna and several other people appreciated the social breeding of Prince Ippolit in so agreeably putting a close to the disagreeable and illbred outbreak of Monsieur Pierre. The conversation after this episode broke up into small talk of no interest concerning the last and the approaching ball, the theatre, and where and when one would meet so-and-so again.


安娜·帕夫洛夫娜微微一笑，她答应接待皮埃尔，安娜知道瓦西里公爵是皮埃尔的父系的亲戚。原先和姑母坐在一起的已过中年的妇女赶快站起来，在接待室里赶上瓦西里公爵。原先她脸上假装出来的兴致已经消失了。她那仁慈的、痛哭流涕的面孔只露出惶恐不安的神色。
“公爵，关于我的鲍里斯的事，您能对我说些什么话呢？”她在接待室追赶他时说道。（她说到鲍里斯的名字时，特别在字母“U”上加重音）。“我不能在彼得堡再呆下去了。请您告诉我，我能给我那可怜的男孩捎去什么信息呢？”
尽管瓦西里公爵很不高兴地、近乎失礼地听这个已过中年的妇人说话，甚至表现出急躁的情绪，但是她仍向公爵流露出亲热的、令人感动的微笑，一把抓住他的手，不让他走掉。
“您只要向国王替我陈词，他就可以直接调往近卫军去了，这在您易如反掌。”她央求道。
“公爵夫人，请您相信。凡是我能办到的事，我一定为您办到，”瓦西里公爵答道，“但是向国王求情，我确有碍难。我劝您莫如借助于戈利岑公爵去晋见鲁缅采夫，这样办事更为明智。”
已过中年的妇人名叫德鲁别茨卡娅公爵夫人，她出身于俄国的名门望族之一，但是她现已清寒，早就步出了交际场所，失掉了往日的社交联系。她现在走来是为她的独子在近卫军中求职而斡旋。她自报姓氏，出席安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办的晚会，其目的仅仅是要拜谒瓦西里公爵，也仅仅是为这一目的，她才聆听子爵讲故事。瓦西里公爵的一席话真使她大为震惊，她那昔日的俊俏的容貌现出了愤恨的神态，但是这神态只是继续了片刻而已，她又复微露笑意，把瓦西里公爵的手握得更紧了。
“公爵，请听我说吧，”她说道，“我从未向您求情，今后也不会向您求情，我从未向您吐露我父亲对您的深情厚谊。而今我以上帝神圣的名份向您恳求，请您为我儿子办成这件事吧，我必将把您视为行善的恩人，”她赶快补充一句话，“不，您不要气愤，就请您答应我的恳求吧。我向戈利岑求过情，他却拒之于千里之外。Soyezlebonenfantquevousavez
ètè，”①她说道，竭力地露出微笑，但是她的眼睛里噙满了泪水。
①法语：请您像以前那样行行善吧。

“爸爸，我们准会迟到啦，”呆在门边等候的公爵小姐海伦扭转她那长在极具古典美肩膀上的俊美的头部，开口说道。
但是，在上流社会上势力是一笔资本，要珍惜资本，不让它白白消耗掉。瓦西里公爵对于这一点知之甚稔，他心里想到，如果人人求他，他替人人求情，那末，在不久以后他势必无法替自己求情了，因此，他极少运用自己的势力。但是在名叫德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人这桩事情上，经过她再次央求之后，他心里产生一种有如遭受良心谴责的感觉。她使公爵回想起真实的往事：公爵开始供职时，他所取得的成就归功于她的父亲。除此之外，从她的作为上他可以看到，有一些妇女，尤其是母亲，她们一作出主张，非如愿以偿，决不休止，否则，她们就准备每时每刻追随不舍，剌剌不休，甚至于相骂相斗，无理取闹，她就是这类的女人。想到最后这一点，使他有点动摇了。
“亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，”他说道，嗓音中带有他平素表露的亲昵而又苦闷的意味，“您希望办到的事，我几乎无法办到；但是，我要办妥这件不可能办妥的事，以便向您证明我对您的爱护和对您的去世的父亲的悼念，您的儿子以后会调到近卫军中去，您依靠我吧，我向您作出了保证，您觉得满意吗？”
“我亲爱的，您是个行善的恩人！您这样做，正是我所盼望的。我知道您多么慈善。”
他要走了。
“请您等一等，还有两句话要讲。Unefoispasseaux
gardes……①”她踌躇起来，“您和米哈伊尔·伊拉里奥诺维奇·库图佐夫的交情甚厚，请您把鲍里斯介绍给他当副官。那时候我就放心了，那时候也就……”
瓦西里公爵脸上流露出微笑。
①法语：但当他调到近卫军中以后……

“我不能答应这件事。您不知道，自从库图佐夫被委任为总司令以来，人们一直在纠缠他。他曾亲自对我说，莫斯科的夫人们统统勾结起来了，要把她们自己的儿子送给库图佐夫当副官。”
“不，您答应吧，否则，我就不放您走，我的亲爱的恩人。”
“爸爸，”那个美人儿又用同样的音调重复地说了一遍，“我们准要迟到啦。”
“啊，aurevoir①，再见吧，您心里明白她说的话吧？”
“那末，您明天禀告国王吗？”
“我一定禀告。可是我不能答应向库图佐夫求情的事。”
“不，请您答应吧，请您答应吧，Basile”②，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜跟在他身后说道，她脸上露出卖俏的少女的微笑，从前这大概是她惯有的一种微笑，而今它却与她那消瘦的面貌很不相称了。
显然，她已经忘记自己的年纪，她习以为常地耍出妇女向来所固有的种种手腕。但是当他一走出大门，她的脸上又浮现出原先那种冷漠的、虚伪的表情。她已经回到子爵还在继续讲故事的那个小姐那儿，又装出一副在听故事的模样，同时在等候退席离开的时机，因为她的事已经办妥了。
“可是，近来面世的dusacredeMilan③那幕喜剧，您认为如何？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，“EtlanouvellecomédiedespeuplesdeGênesetdeLucques，quiviennentprésenterleursvoeuxàM．Buonaparte，M，BuonaparteassissurunTrone，etexaucantlesvoeuxdesnations！Adorable！Non，maisc'estàendevenirfolle！Ondirait，quelemondeentieraperdulatete．④”
①法语：再见。
②法语：瓦西里。
③法语：《米兰的加冕典礼》。
④法语：还有一幕新喜剧哩：热那亚和卢加各族民众向波拿巴先生表达自己的意愿。波拿巴先生坐在宝座上，居然满足了各族民众的愿望。呵！太美妙了！这真会令人疯狂。好像了不起似的，全世界都神魂颠倒了。

安德烈公爵直盯着安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的脸，发出了一阵冷笑。
“DieumeLadonne，gareàquilatouche，”他说道（这是波拿巴在加冕时说的话），“Onditqu'ilaététrèsbeauenprononcantcesporoles，①”他补充说，又用意大利语把这句话重说一遍，“Diomiladona，guaiachilatocca．”
“J'espéreenfin，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜继续说下去，“quecaaétélagoutted'eauquiferadeborderleverre．LessouBverainsnepeuventplussupportercethomme，quimenacetout．”②
“Lessouverains？JeneparlepasdelaRuisie，”子爵彬彬有礼地，但却绝望地说道，“Lessouverains，madame！
Qu'ontilsfaitpourLouisⅩⅤⅡ，pourlareine，pourmadameElisabeth？Rien，”他兴奋地继续说下去，“Etcroyez－moi，ilssubissentlapunitionpourleurtrahisondelacausedesBourbons．Lessouverains？IlsenvoientdesambasBsadeurscomplimenterl'usurpateur③．”
①法语：上帝赐予我王冠，谁触到王冠，谁就会遭殃。据说，他说这句话时，派头十足。
②法语：他已恶贯满盈，达到不可容忍的地步，我希望这是他的最后一桩罪行，各国国王再也不能容忍这个极尽威胁之能事的恶魔了。
③法语：各国国王吗？我不是说俄国的情形。各国国王呀！他们为路易十七、为皇后、为伊丽莎白做了什么事？什么事也没有做。请你们相信我吧，他们因背叛波旁王朝的事业而遭受惩处。各国国王吗？他们还派遣大使去恭贺窃取王位的寇贼哩。

他鄙薄地叹了一口气，又变换了姿势。伊波利特戴上单目眼镜久久地望着子爵，他听到这些话时，忽然向那矮小的公爵夫人转过身去，向她要来一根针，便用针在桌子上描绘孔德徽章，指给她看。他意味深长地向她讲解这种徽章，好像矮小的公爵夫人请求他解释似的。
“Batondegueules，engrêlédegueulesd'azuz—maisonCondé，”①他说道。
公爵夫人微露笑容听着。
“如果波拿巴再保留一年王位，”子爵把开了头的话题儿继续讲下去，他讲话时带着那种神态，有如某人在一件他最熟悉的事情上不聆听他人的话，只注意自己的思路，一个劲儿说下去！“事情就越拖越久，以致不可收拾。阴谋诡计、横行霸道、放逐、死刑将会永远把法国这个社会，我所指的是法国上流社会，毁灭掉，到那时……”
他耸耸肩，两手一摊。皮埃尔本想说句什么话，子爵的话使他觉得有趣，但是窥伺他的安娜·帕夫洛夫娜把话打断了。
“亚历山大皇帝宣称，”她怀有一谈起皇室就会流露的忧郁心情说，“他让法国人自己选择政体形式，我深信，毫无疑义，只要解脱篡夺王位的贼寇的羁绊，举国上下立刻会掌握在合法的国王手上。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，尽量向这个侨居的君主主义者献殷勤。
“这话不太可靠，”安德烈公爵说。“Monsieurlevicomte②想得合情合理，事情做得太过火了。不过，我想，要走回原路，实在太难了。”
①法语：孔德的住宅——是用天蓝色的兽嘴缠成的兽嘴权杖的象征。
②法语：子爵先生。

“据我所闻，”皮埃尔涨红着脸又插嘴了，“几乎全部贵族都已投靠波拿巴了。”
“这是波拿巴分子说的话，”子爵不望皮埃尔一眼便说道，“眼下很难弄清法国的社会舆论。”
“Bonapartel'adit，”①安德烈公爵冷冷一笑，说道。（看起来，他不喜欢子爵，没有望着子爵，不过这些话倒是针对子爵说的话。）
“Jeleuraimontrélechemindelagloire，”他沉默片刻之后，又重复拿破仑的话，说道，“ilsn'enontpasvoulu，jeleuraiouvertmesantichambres，ilssesontprécipitesenfoule……Jenesaispasaquelpointilaeuledroitdeledire．”②
“Aucun，”③子爵辩驳道，“谋杀了公爵以后，甚至连偏心的人也不认为他是英雄了。Simemecaaétéunhérospourcertainesgens，”子爵把脸转向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，说道，“depuisl'assasinatduducilyaunmartyrdeplusdansleciel，unhérosdemoinssurlaterre．”④
①法语：这是波拿巴说的话。
②法语：“我向他们指出了一条光荣之路，他们不愿意走这条路；我给他们打开了前厅之门，他们成群地冲了进来……”我不知道他有多大的权利说这种话。
③法语：无任何权利。
④法语：即令他在某些人面前曾经是英雄，而在公爵被谋杀之后，天堂就多了一个受难者，尘世也就少了一个英雄。

安娜·帕夫洛夫娜和其他人还来不及微露笑容表示赏识子爵讲的这番话，皮埃尔又兴冲冲地谈起话来了，尽管安娜·帕夫洛夫娜预感到他会开口说些有伤大雅的话，可是她已经无法遏止他了。
“处昂吉安公爵以死刑，”皮埃尔说道，“此举对国家大有必要。拿破仑不怕独自一人承担责任，我由此看出，这正是他精神伟大之所在。”
“Dieu！mondieu！”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜以低沉而可怖的嗓音说道。
“Comment，M．Pierre，voustrouvezquel'assassinatestgrandeurd'aAme？”②矮小的公爵夫人说道，她一面微微发笑，一面把针线活儿移到她自己近旁。
“嗬！啊呀！”几个人异口同声地说道。
“Capital！”③伊波利特公爵说了一句英国话，他用手掌敲打着膝头。子爵只是耸耸肩膀。
①法语：天哪，我的天哪！
②法语：皮埃尔先生，您把谋杀看作是精神的伟大吗？
③英语：好得很！

皮埃尔心情激动地朝眼镜上方瞅了瞅听众。
“我之所以这样说，”他毫无顾忌地继续说下去，“是因为波旁王朝回避革命，让人民处在无政府状态，唯独拿破仑善于理解革命，制服革命，因此，为共同福利起见，他不能顾及一人之命而停步不前。”
“您愿不愿意到那张桌上去？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道。可是皮埃尔不回答，继续讲下去。
“不，”他愈益兴奋地说，“拿破仑所以伟大，是因为他高踞于革命之上，摒除了革命的弊病，保存了一切美好的事物——公民平等呀，言论出版自由呀，仅仅因为这个缘故，他才赢得了政权。”
“是的，假如他在夺取政权之后，不滥用政权来大肆屠杀，而把它交给合法的君王。”子爵说，“那么，我就会把他称为一位伟人。”
“他不能做出这等事。人民把政权交给他，目的仅仅是要他把人民从波旁王朝之下解救出来，因此人民才把他视为一位伟人。革命是一件伟大的事业，”皮埃尔先生继续说道。他毫无顾忌地、挑战似地插进这句话，借以显示他风华正茂，想快点把话儿全部说出来。
“革命和杀死沙皇都是伟大的事业吗？……从此以后……您愿不愿意到那张桌上去？”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜把话重说了一遍。
“《Contratsocial》，”①子爵流露出温顺的微笑，说道。
①法语：《民约论》——卢梭著。

“我不是说杀死沙皇，而是说思想问题。”
“是的，抢夺、谋杀、杀死沙皇的思想。”一个含有讥讽的嗓音又打断他的话了。
“不消说，这是万不得已而采取的行动，但全部意义不止于此，其意义在于人权、摆脱偏见的束缚、公民的平等权益。
拿破仑完全保存了所有这些思想。”
“自由与平等，”子爵蔑视地说，好像他终究拿定主意向这个青年证明他的一派胡言，“这都是浮夸的话，早已声名狼藉了。有谁不热爱自由与平等？我们的救世主早就鼓吹过自由平等。难道人们在革命以后变得更幸福么？恰恰相反。我们都希望自由，而拿破仑却取缔自由。”
安德烈公爵面露微笑，时而瞧瞧皮埃尔，时而瞧瞧子爵，时而瞧瞧女主人。开初，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜虽有上流社会应酬的习惯，却很害怕皮埃尔的乖戾举动。但是一当她看到，皮埃尔虽然说出一些渎神的坏话，子爵并没有大动肝火，在她相信不可能遏止这些言谈的时候，她就附和子爵，集中精力来攻击发言人了。
“Mais，moncherm－rPierre，”①安娜·帕夫洛夫娜说道，“一个大人物可以判处公爵死刑，以至未经开庭审判、毫无罪证亦可处死任何人，您对这事作何解释呢？”
“我想问一问，”子爵说道，“先生对雾月十八日作何解释呢？这岂不是骗局么？C'estunescamotage，quineressemblenullementàlamanièred'agird'ungrandhomme．”②“可他杀掉了非洲的俘虏呢？”矮小的公爵夫人说道，“这多么骇人啊！”她耸耸肩膀。
“C'estunroturier，voussurezbeaudire，”③伊波利特公爵说道。
①法语：可是，我亲爱的皮埃尔先生。
②法语：这是欺骗手法，根本不像大人物的行为方法。
③法语：无论您怎么说，是个暴发户。

皮埃尔先生不晓得应该向谁回答才对，他朝大伙儿扫了一眼，脸上露出了一阵微笑。他的微笑和他人难得露出笑容的样子不一样。恰恰相反，当他面露微笑的时候，那种一本正经、甚至略嫌忧愁的脸色，零时间就消失了，又露出一副幼稚、慈善、甚至有点傻气、俨如在乞求宽恕的神态。
子爵头一次和他会面，可是他心里明白，这个雅各宾党人根本不像他的谈吐那样令人生畏。大家都沉默无言了。
“你们怎么想要他马上向大家作出回答呢？”安德烈公爵说道，“而且在一个国家活动家的行为上，必须分清，什么是私人行为，什么是统帅或皇帝的行为。我认为如此而已。”
“是的，是的，这是理所当然的事，”皮埃尔随着说起来，有人在帮忙，他高兴极了。
“不能不承认，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“从拿破仑在阿尔科拉桥上的表现看来，他是一位伟人，拿破仑在雅法医院向鼠疫患者伸出援助之手，从表现看来，他是一位伟人，但是……但是他有一些别的行为，却令人难以辩解。”
显然，安德烈公爵想冲淡一下皮埃尔说的尴尬话，他欠起身来，向妻子做了个手势，打算走了。
忽然，伊波利特公爵站起身来，他以手势挽留大家，要他们坐下，于是开腔说话了：
“Ah！aujourd'huionm'aracontéuneanecdote
moscovite，charmante：ilfautquejevousenrégale．Vousm'excusez，vicomte，ilfautquejeravconteenrusse．Autrementonnesentirapasleseldel'histoire①”
伊波利特公爵讲起俄国话来了，那口音听来就像一个在俄国呆了一年左右的法国人讲的俄国话。大家都停顿下来，伊波利特公爵十分迫切地要求大家用心听他讲故事。
“莫斯科有个太太，unedame②，十分吝啬。她需要两名跟马车的valetsdepied③，身材要魁梧。这是她个人所好。她有unefemmedechambre④，个子也高大。她说……”
这时分，伊波利特公爵沉思起来了，显然在暗自盘算。
“她说……是的，她说：婢女（àlafemmedechambre），你穿上livrée，⑤跟在马车后面，我们一同去fairedesvisBites．⑥”
①法语：嗬！今天有人给我讲了一则十分动听的莫斯科趣闻，也应该讲给你们听听，让你们分享一份乐趣。子爵，请您原谅吧，我要用俄国话来讲，要不然，趣闻就会没有趣味了。
②法语：一个太太。
③法语：仆人。
④法语：一个女仆。
⑤法语：宫廷内侍制服。
⑥法语：拜会。

伊波利特公爵早就噗嗤一声大笑起来，这时，听众们还没有面露笑容，这一声大笑产生的印象对讲故事的人极为不利。然而，也有许多人，就中包括已过中年的太太和安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，都发出了一阵微笑。
“她坐上马车走了。忽然间起了一阵狂风。婢女丢掉了帽子，给风刮走了，梳理得整整齐齐的长发显得十分零乱……”
这时，他再也忍不住了，发出了若断若续的笑声，他透过笑声说道：
“上流社会都知道了……”
他讲的趣闻到此结束了。虽然不明了他为何要讲这则趣闻，为何非用俄国话讲不可，然而，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜和其他人都赏识伊波利特公爵在上流社会中待人周到的风格，赏识他这样高兴地结束了皮埃尔先生令人厌恶的、失礼的闹剧。在讲完趣闻之后，谈话变成了零星而琐细的闲聊。谈论到上回和下回的舞会、戏剧，并且谈论到何时何地与何人会面的事情。
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ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 5楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter Five


THANKING ANNA PAVLOVNA for her charmante soirée, the guests began to take leave.
Pierre was clumsy, stout and uncommonly tall, with huge red hands; he did not, as they say, know how to come into a drawing-room and still less how to get out of one, that is, how to say something particularly agreeable on going away. Moreover, he was dreamy. He stood up, and picking up a three-cornered hat with the plume of a general in it instead of his own, he kept hold of it, pulling the feathers till the general asked him to restore it. But all his dreaminess and his inability to enter a drawing-room or talk properly in it were atoned for by his expression of good-nature, simplicity and modesty. Anna Pavlovna turned to him, and with Christian meekness signifying her forgiveness for his misbehaviour, she nodded to him and said:
“I hope I shall see you again, but I hope too you will change your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre.”
He made no answer, simply bowed and displayed to every one once more his smile, which said as plainly as words: “Opinions or no opinions, you see what a nice, good-hearted fellow I am.” And Anna Pavlovna and every one else instinctively felt this. Prince Andrey had gone out into the hall and turning his shoulders to the footman who was ready to put his cloak on him, he listened indifferently to his wife's chatter with Prince Ippolit, who had also come out into the hall. Prince Ippolit stood close to the pretty princess, so soon to be a mother, and stared persistently straight at her through his eyeglass.
“Go in, Annette, you'll catch cold,” said the little princess, saying good-bye to Anna Pavlovna. “It is settled,” she added in a low voice.
Anna Pavlovna had managed to have a few words with Liza about the match she was planning between Anatole and the sister-in-law of the little princess.
“I rely on you, my dear,” said Anna Pavlovna, also in an undertone; “you write to her and tell me how the father will view the matter. Au revoir!” And she went back out of the hall.
Prince Ippolit went up to the little princess and, bending his face down close to her, began saying something to her in a half whisper.
Two footmen, one the princess's, the other his own, stood with shawl and redingote waiting till they should finish talking, and listened to their French prattle, incomprehensible to them, with faces that seemed to say that they understood what was being said but would not show it. The princess, as always, talked with a smile and listened laughing.
“I'm very glad I didn't go to the ambassador's,” Prince Ippolit was saying: “such a bore.…A delightful evening it has been, hasn't it? delightful.”
“They say the ball will be a very fine one,” answered the little princess, twitching up her downy little lip. “All the pretty women are to be there.”
“Not all, since you won't be there; not all,” said Prince Ippolit, laughing gleefully; and snatching the shawl from the footman, shoving him aside as he did so, he began putting it on the little princess. Either from awkwardness or intentionally—no one could have said which—he did not remove his arms for a long while after the shawl had been put on, as it were holding the young woman in his embrace.
Gracefully, but still smiling, she moved away, turned round and glanced at her husband. Prince Andrey's eyes were closed: he seemed weary and drowsy.
“Are you ready?” he asked his wife, avoiding her eyes.
Prince Ippolit hurriedly put on his redingote, which in the latest mode hung down to his heels, and stumbling over it, ran out on to the steps after the princess, whom the footman was assisting into the carriage.
“Princesse, au revoir,” he shouted, his tongue tripping like his legs.
The princess, picking up her gown, seated herself in the darkness of the carriage; her husband was arranging his sabre; Prince Ippolit, under the pretence of assisting, was in every one's way.
“Allow me, sir,” Prince Andrey said in Russian drily and disagreeably to Prince Ippolit, who prevented his passing.
“I expect you, Pierre,” the same voice called in warm and friendly tones.
The postillion started at a trot, and the carriage rumbled away. Prince Ippolit gave vent to a short, jerky guffaw, as he stood on the steps waiting for the vicomte, whom he had promised to take home.
“Well, my dear fellow, your little princess is very good-looking, very good-looking,” said the vicomte, as he sat in the carriage with Ippolit. “Very good-looking indeed;” he kissed his finger tips. “And quite French.”
Ippolit snorted and laughed.
“And, do you know, you are a terrible fellow with that little innocent way of yours,” pursued the vicomte. “I am sorry for the poor husband, that officer boy who gives himself the airs of a reigning prince.”
Ippolit guffawed again, and in the middle of a laugh articulated:
“And you said that the Russian ladies were not equal to the French ladies. You must know how to take them.”
Pierre, arriving first, went to Prince Andrey's study, like one of the household, and at once lay down on the sofa, as his habit was, and taking up the first book he came upon in the shelf (it was Cæsar's Commentaries) he propped himself on his elbow, and began reading it in the middle.
“What a shock you gave Mlle. Scherer! She'll be quite ill now,” Prince Andrey said, as he came into the study rubbing his small white hands.
Pierre rolled his whole person over so that the sofa creaked, turned his eager face to Prince Andrey, smiled and waved his hand to him.
“Oh, that abbé was very interesting, only he's got a wrong notion about it.…To my thinking, perpetual peace is possible, but I don't know how to put it.…Not by means of the balance of political power.…”
Prince Andrey was obviously not interested in these abstract discussions.
“One can't always say all one thinks everywhere, mon cher. Come tell me, have you settled on anything at last? Are you going into the cavalry or the diplomatic service?” asked Prince Andrey, after a momentary pause.
Pierre sat on the sofa with his legs crossed under him.
“Can you believe it, I still don't know. I don't like either.”
“But you must decide on something; you know your father's expecting it.”
At ten years old Pierre had been sent with an abbé as tutor to be educated abroad, and there he remained till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow, his father had dismissed the tutor and said to the young man: “Now you go to Petersburg, look about you and make your choice. I agree to anything. Here is a letter to Prince Vassily and here is money. Write and tell me everything; I will help you in everything.” Pierre had been three months already choosing a career and had not yet made his choice. It was of this choice Prince Andrey spoke to him now. Pierre rubbed his forehead.
“But he must be a freemason,” he said, meaning the abbé he had seen that evening.
“That's all nonsense,” Prince Andrey pulled him up again; “we'd better talk of serious things. Have you been to the Horse Guards?”
“No, I haven't; but this is what struck me and I wanted to talk to you about it. This war now is against Napoleon. If it were a war for freedom, I could have understood it, I would have been the first to go into the army; but to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world—that's not right.”
Prince Andrey simply shrugged his shoulders at Pierre's childish words. He looked as though one really could not answer such absurdities. But in reality it was hard to find any answer to this naïve question other than the answer Prince Andrey made. “If every one would only fight for his own convictions, there'd be no war,” he said.
“And a very good thing that would be too,” said Pierre.
Prince Andrey smiled ironically. “Very likely it would be a good thing, but it will never come to pass…”
“Well, what are you going to the war for?” asked Pierre.
“What for? I don't know. Because I have to. Besides, I'm going…” he stopped. “I'm going because the life I lead here, this life is—not to my taste!”


第一章第五节
客人们都向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜道谢，多亏她举行这次charmantesoirée①，开始散场了。
①法语：迷人的晚会。

皮埃尔笨手笨脚。他长得非常肥胖，身材比普通人高，肩宽背厚，一双发红的手又粗又壮。正如大家所说的那样，他不熟谙进入沙龙的规矩，更不熟谙走出沙龙的规矩，很不内行，即是说，他不会在出门之前说两句十分悦耳的话。除此而外，他还颟颟顸顸。他站立起来，随手拿起一顶带有将军羽饰的三角帽，而不去拿自己的阔边帽，他手中拿着三角帽，不停地扯着帽缨，直至那个将军索回三角帽为止。不过他的善良、憨厚和谦逊的表情弥补了他那漫不经心、不熟谙进入沙龙的规矩、不擅长在沙龙中说话的缺陷。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜向他转过脸来，抱有基督徒的温和态度，对他乖戾的举动表示宽恕，点点头对他说道：
“我亲爱的皮埃尔先生，我希望再能和您见面，但是我也希望您能改变您的见解。”她说道。
当她对他说这话时，他一言未答，只是行了一鞠躬礼，又向大家微微一笑，这微笑没有说明什么涵义，大概只能表示，“意见总之是意见，可你们知道，我是一个多么好、多么善良的人。”所有的人随同安娜·帕夫洛夫娜，都不由自主地产生了这个感想。
安德烈公爵走到接待室，他向给他披斗篷的仆人挺起肩膀，冷淡地听听他妻子和那位也走到接待室来的伊波利特公爵闲谈。伊波利特站在长得标致的身已怀胎的公爵夫人侧边，戴起单目眼镜目不转睛地直盯着她。
“安内特，您进去吧，您会伤风的，”矮小的公爵夫人一面向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜告辞，一面对她说。“C'estarrèté①，”
她放低嗓门补充说。
安娜·帕夫洛夫娜已经和丽莎商谈过她想要给阿纳托利和矮小的公爵夫人的小姑子说媒的事情。
“亲爱的朋友，我信任您了，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜也放低嗓门说道，“您给她写封信，再告诉我，commentlepéreenvisBageralachose．Aurevoir②。”她于是离开招待室。
①法语：就这样确定了。
②法语：您父亲对这件事的看法。再会。

伊波利特公爵走到矮小的公爵夫人近旁，弯下腰来把脸凑近她，轻言细语地对她说些什么话。
两名仆人，一名是公爵夫人的仆人，他手中拿着肩巾，另一名是他的仆人，他手上提着长礼服，伫立在那里等候他们把话说完毕。他们听着他们心里不懂的法国话，那神态好像他们懂得似的，可是不想流露出他们听懂的神色。公爵夫人一如平常，笑容可掬地谈吐，听话时面露笑意。
“我非常高兴，我没有到公使那里去，”伊波利特公爵说道，“令人纳闷……晚会真美妙，是不是，真美妙？”
“有人说，舞会妙极了，”公爵夫人噘起长满茸毛的小嘴唇道，“社团中美貌的女人都要在那里露面。”
“不是所有的女人，因为您就不出席，不是所有女人，”伊波利特公爵说，洋洋得意地大笑，他霍地从仆人手中拿起肩巾，甚至推撞他，把肩巾披在公爵夫人身上。不知是动作不灵活还是蓄意这样做（谁也搞不清是怎么回事），肩巾还披在她身上，他却久久地没有把手放开，俨像在拥抱那个少妇似的。
她一直微露笑容，风度优雅地避开他，转过身来望了望丈夫。安德烈公爵阖上了眼睛，他似乎十分困倦，现出昏昏欲睡的神态。
“您已准备就绪了吧？”他向妻子问道，目光却回避她。
伊波利特公爵急急忙忙地穿上他那件新款式的长过脚后跟的长礼服，有点绊脚地跑到台阶上去追赶公爵夫人，这时分，仆人搀着她坐上马车。
“Princesse，aurevoir①．”他高声喊道，他的舌头也像两腿被礼服绊住那样，几乎要说不出话来。
①法语：公爵夫人，再会。

公爵夫人撩起连衣裙，在那昏暗的马车中坐下来，她的丈夫在整理军刀，以效劳作为藉口的伊波利特公爵打扰了大家。
“先生，请让开。”伊波利特公爵妨碍安德烈公爵走过去，安德烈公爵于是冷冰冰地、满不高兴地用俄国话对他说道。
“皮埃尔，我在等候你。”安德烈公爵用那同样温柔悦耳的嗓音说道。
前导马御手开动了马车，马车车轮于是隆隆地响了起来。伊波利特公爵发出若断若续的笑声，站在门廊上等候子爵，他已答应乘车送子爵回家。
“呵，亲爱的，您这位矮小的公爵夫人十分可爱。十分可爱。简直是个法国女人。”子爵和伊波利特在马车中并排坐下来，说道。他吻了一下自己的指头尖。
伊波利特噗嗤一声笑了起来。
“您知不知道，您那纯真无瑕的样子真骇人，”子爵继续说下去，“我为这个可怜的丈夫——硬充是世袭领主的小军官表示遗憾。”
伊波利特又噗嗤一声笑了，透过笑声说道：
“可是您说过，俄国女士抵不过法国女士。要善于应付。”
皮埃尔先行到达，他像家里人一样走进了安德烈公爵的书斋，习以为常地立刻躺在沙发上，从书架上随便拿起一本书（这是凯撒写的《见闻录》），他用臂肘支撑着身子，从书本的半中间读了起来。
“你对舍列尔小姐怎么样？她现在完全病倒了。”安德烈公爵搓搓他那洁白的小手走进书斋时说道。
皮埃尔把整个身子翻了过来。沙发给弄得轧轧作响，他把神彩奕奕的脸孔转向安德烈公爵，露出一阵微笑，又把手挥动一下。
“不，这个神父很有风趣，只是不太明白事理……依我看，永久和平有可能实现，但是我不会把这件事说得透彻……横直不是凭藉政治均衡的手段……”
显然，安德烈公爵对这些抽象的话题不发生兴趣。
“我亲爱的，你不能到处把你想说的话一股脑儿说出来，啊，怎么样，你终究拿定了什么主意？你要做一名近卫重骑兵团的士兵，还是做一名外交官？”安德烈公爵在沉默片刻之后问道。
“您可以想象，我还不知道啦。这二者我都不喜欢。”
“可你要知道，总得拿定主意吧？你父亲在期望呢。”
皮埃尔从十岁起便随同做家庭教师的神父被送到国外去了，他在国外住到二十岁。当他回到莫斯科以后，他父亲把神父解雇了，并对这个年轻人说道：“你现在就到彼得堡去吧，观光一下，选个职务吧。我什么事情都同意。这是一封写给瓦西里公爵的信，这是给你用的钱。你把各种情况写信告诉我吧，我会在各个方面助你一臂之力。”皮埃尔选择职务选了三个月，可是一事无成。安德烈公爵也和他谈到选择职务这件事。皮埃尔揩了一下额头上的汗。
“他必然是个共济会会员。”他说道，心里指的是他在一次晚会上见过面的那个神父。
“这全是胡言乱语，”安德烈公爵又制止他，说道：“让我们最好谈谈正经事吧。你到过骑兵近卫军没有？……”
“没有，我没有去过，可是我脑海中想到一件事，要和您谈谈才好。目前这一场战争，是反对拿破仑的战争。假如这是一场争取自由的战争，那我心中就会一明二白，我要头一个去服兵役。可是帮助美国和奥地利去反对世界上一个最伟大的人……这就很不好了。”
安德烈公爵对皮埃尔这种稚气的言谈只是耸耸肩膀而已。他做出一副对这种傻话无可回答的神态，诚然，对这种幼稚的问题，只能像安德烈公爵那样作答，真难以作出他种答案。
“设若人人只凭信念而战，那就无战争可言了。”他说。
“这就美不胜言了。”皮埃尔说道。
安德烈公爵发出了一阵苦笑。
“也许，这真是美不胜言，但是，这种情景永远不会出现……”
“啊，您为什么要去作战呢？”皮埃尔问道。
“为什么？我也不知道，应当这样做。除此而外，我去作战……”他停顿下来了，“我去作战是因为我在这里所过的这种生活，这种生活不合乎我的心愿！”
回复 引用 新鲜事
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 6楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter Six


THERE was the rustle of a woman's dress in the next room. Prince Andrey started up, as it were pulling himself together, and his face assumed the expression it had worn in Anna Pavlovna's drawing-room. Pierre dropped his legs down off the sofa. The princess came in. She had changed her gown, and was wearing a house dress as fresh and elegant as the other had been. Prince Andrey got up and courteously set a chair for her.
“Why is it, I often wonder,” she began in French as always, while she hurriedly and fussily settled herself in the low chair, “why is it Annette never married? How stupid you gentlemen all are not to have married her. You must excuse me, but you really have no sense about women. What an argumentative person you are, Monsieur Pierre!”
“I'm still arguing with your husband; I can't make out why he wants to go to the war,” said Pierre, addressing the princess without any of the affectation so common in the attitude of a young man to a young woman.
The princess shivered. Clearly Pierre's words touched a tender spot.
“Ah, that's what I say,” she said. “I can't understand, I simply can't understand why men can't get on without war. Why is it we women want nothing of the sort? We don't care for it. Come, you shall be the judge. I keep saying to him: here he is uncle's adjutant, a most brilliant position. He's so well known, so appreciated by every one. The other day at the Apraxins' I heard a lady ask: ‘So that is the famous Prince André? Upon my word!' ” She laughed. “He's asked everywhere. He could very easily be a flügel-adjutant. You know the Emperor has spoken very graciously to him. Annette and I were saying it would be quite easy to arrange it. What do you think?”
Pierre looked at Prince Andrey, and, noticing that his friend did not like this subject, made no reply.
“When are you starting?” he asked.
“Ah, don't talk to me about that going away; don't talk about it. I won't even hear it spoken of,” said the princess in just the capriciously playful tone in which she had talked to Ippolit at the soirée, a tone utterly incongruous in her own home circle, where Pierre was like one of the family. “This evening when I thought all these relations so precious to me must be broken off.…And then, you know, André?” She looked significantly at her husband. “I'm afraid! I'm afraid!” she whispered, twitching her shoulder. Her husband looked at her as though he were surprised to observe that there was some one in the room beside himself and Pierre, and with frigid courtesy he addressed an inquiry to his wife.
“What are you afraid of, Liza? I don't understand,” he said.
“See what egoists all men are; they are all, all egoists! Of his own accord, for his own whim, for no reason whatever, he is deserting me, shutting me up alone in the country.”
“With my father and sister, remember,” said Prince Andrey quietly.
“It's just the same as alone, without my friends.…And he doesn't expect me to be afraid.” Her tone was querulous now, her upper lip was lifted, giving her face not a joyous expression, but a wild-animal look, like a squirrel. She paused as though feeling it indecorous to speak of her condition before Pierre, though the whole gist of the matter lay in that.
“I still don't understand what you are afraid of,” Prince Andrey said deliberately, not taking his eyes off his wife. The princess flushed red, and waved her hands despairingly.
“No, André, I say you are so changed, so changed…”
“Your doctor's orders were that you were to go to bed earlier,” said Prince Andrey. “It's time you were asleep.”
The princess said nothing, and suddenly her short, downy lip began to quiver; Prince Andrey got up and walked about the room, shrugging his shoulders.
Pierre looked over his spectacles in naïve wonder from him to the princess, and stirred uneasily as though he too meant to get up, but had changed his mind.
“What do I care if Monsieur Pierre is here,” the little princess said suddenly, her pretty face contorted into a tearful grimace; “I have long wanted to say to you, Andrey, why are you so changed to me? What have I done? You go away to the war, you don't feel for me. Why is it?”
“Liza!” was all Prince Andrey said, but in that one word there was entreaty and menace, and, most of all, conviction that she would herself regret her words; but she went on hurriedly.
“You treat me as though I were ill, or a child. I see it all. You weren't like this six months ago.”
“Liza, I beg you to be silent,” said Prince Andrey, still more expressively.
Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated during this conversation, got up and went to the princess. He seemed unable to endure the sight of her tears, and was ready to weep himself.
“Please don't distress yourself, princess. You only fancy that because …I assure you, I've felt so myself…because…through…oh, excuse me, an outsider has no business…Oh, don't distress yourself…goodbye.”
Prince Andrey held his hand and stopped him.
“No, stay a little, Pierre. The princess is so good, she would not wish to deprive me of the pleasure of spending an evening with you.”
“No, he thinks of nothing but himself,” the princess declared, not attempting to check her tears of anger.
“Liza,” said Prince Andrey drily, raising his voice to a pitch that showed his patience was exhausted.
All at once the angry squirrel expression of the princess's lovely little face changed to an attractive look of terror that awakened sympathy. She glanced from under her brows with lovely eyes at her husband, and her face wore the timorous, deprecating look of a dog when it faintly but rapidly wags its tail in penitence.
“Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” murmured the princess, and holding her gown with one hand, she went to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.
“Good-night, Liza,” said Prince Andrey, getting up and kissing her hand courteously, as though she were a stranger.
The friends were silent. Neither of them began to talk. Pierre looked at Prince Andrey; Prince Andrey rubbed his forehead with his small hand.
“Let us go and have supper,” he said with a sigh, getting up and going to the door.
They went into the elegantly, newly and richly furnished dining-room. Everything from the dinner-napkins to the silver, the china and the glass, wore that peculiar stamp of newness that is seen in the household belongings of newly married couples. In the middle of supper Prince Andrey leaned on his elbow, and like a man who has long had something on his mind, and suddenly resolves on giving it utterance, he began to speak with an expression of nervous irritation which Pierre had never seen in his friend before.
“Never, never marry, my dear fellow; that's my advice to you; don't marry till you have faced the fact that you have done all you're capable of doing, and till you cease to love the woman you have chosen, till you see her plainly, or else you will make a cruel mistake that can never be set right. Marry when you're old and good for nothing…Or else everything good and lofty in you will be done for. It will all be frittered away over trifles. Yes, yes, yes! Don't look at me with such surprise. If you expect anything of yourself in the future you will feel at every step that for you all is over, all is closed up except the drawing-room, where you will stand on the same level with the court lackey and the idiot…And why!”…He made a vigorous gesture.
Pierre took off his spectacles, which transformed his face, making it look even more good-natured, and looked wonderingly at his friend.
“My wife,” pursued Prince Andrey, “is an excellent woman. She is one of those rare women with whom one can feel quite secure of one's honour; but, my God! what wouldn't I give now not to be married! You are the first and the only person I say this to, because I like you.”
As Prince Andrey said this he was less than ever like the Bolkonsky who had sat lolling in Anna Pavlovna's drawing-room with half-closed eyelids, filtering French phrases through his teeth. His dry face was quivering with nervous excitement in every muscle; his eyes, which had seemed lustreless and lifeless, now gleamed with a full, vivid light. It seemed that the more lifeless he was at ordinary times, the more energetic he became at such moments of morbid irritability.
“You can't understand why I say this,” he went on. “Why, the whole story of life lies in it. You talk of Bonaparte and his career,” he said, though Pierre had not talked of Bonaparte; “you talk of Bonaparte, but Bonaparte when he was working his way up, going step by step straight to his aim, he was free; he had nothing except his aim and he attained it. But tie yourself up with a woman, and, like a chained convict, you lose all freedom. And all the hope and strength there is in you is only a drag on you, torturing you with regret. Drawing-rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, frivolity—that's the enchanted circle I can't get out of. I am setting off now to the war, the greatest war there has ever been, and I know nothing, and am good for nothing. I am very agreeable and sarcastic,” pursued Prince Andrey, “and at Anna Pavlovna's every one listens to me. And this imbecile society without which my wife can't exist, and these women…If you only knew what these society women are, and, indeed, women generally! My father's right. Egoism, vanity, silliness, triviality in everything—that's what women are when they show themselves as they really are. Looking at them in society, one fancies there's something in them, but there's nothing, nothing, nothing. No, don't marry, my dear fellow, don't marry!” Prince Andrey concluded.
“It seems absurd to me,” said Pierre, “that you, you consider yourself a failure, your life wrecked. You have everything, everything before you. And you…”
He did not say why you, but his tone showed how highly he thought of his friend, and how much he expected of him in the future.
“How can he say that?” Pierre thought.
Pierre regarded Prince Andrey as a model of all perfection, because Prince Andrey possessed in the highest degree just that combination of qualities in which Pierre was deficient, and which might be most nearly expressed by the idea of strength of will. Pierre always marvelled at Prince Andrey's faculty for dealing with people of every sort with perfect composure, his exceptional memory, his wide knowledge (he had read everything, knew everything, had some notion of everything), and most of all at his capacity for working and learning. If Pierre were frequently struck in Andrey by his lack of capacity for dreaming and philosophising (to which Pierre was himself greatly given), he did not regard this as a defect but as a strong point. Even in the very warmest, friendliest, and simplest relations, flattery or praise is needed just as grease is needed to keep wheels going round.
“I am a man whose day is done,” said Prince Andrey. “Why talk of me? let's talk about you,” he said after a brief pause, smiling at his own reassuring thoughts. The smile was instantly reflected on Pierre's face.
“Why, what is there to say about me?” said Pierre, letting his face relax into an easy-going, happy smile. “What am I? I am a bastard.” And he suddenly flushed crimson. Apparently it was a great effort to him to say this. “With no name, no fortune.…And after all, really…” He did not finish. “Meanwhile I am free though and I'm content. I don't know in the least what to set about doing. I meant to ask your advice in earnest.”
Prince Andrey looked at him with kindly eyes. But in his eyes, friendly and kind as they were, there was yet a consciousness of his own superiority.
“You are dear to me just because you are the one live person in all our society. You're lucky. Choose what you will, that's all the same. You'll always be all right, but there's one thing: give up going about with the Kuragins and leading this sort of life. It's not the right thing for you at all; all this riotous living and dissipation and all…”
“What would you have, my dear fellow?” said Pierre, shrugging his shoulders; “women, my dear fellow, women.”
“I can't understand it,” answered Andrey. “Ladies, that's another matter, but Kuragin's women, women and wine, I can't understand!”
Pierre was living at Prince Vassily Kuragin's, and sharing in the dissipated mode of life of his son Anatole, the son whom they were proposing to marry to Prince Andrey's sister to reform him.
“Do you know what,” said Pierre, as though a happy thought had suddenly occurred to him; “seriously, I have been thinking so for a long while. Leading this sort of life I can't decide on anything, or consider anything properly. My head aches and my money's all gone. He invited me to-night, but I won't go.”
“Give me your word of honour that you will give up going.”
“On my honour!”
It was past one o'clock when Pierre left his friend's house. It was a cloudless night, a typical Petersburg summer night. Pierre got into a hired coach, intending to drive home. But the nearer he got, the more he felt it impossible to go to bed on such a night, more like evening or morning. It was light enough to see a long way in the empty streets. On the way Pierre remembered that all the usual gambling set were to meet at Anatole Kuragin's that evening, after which there usually followed a drinking-bout, winding up with one of Pierre's favorite entertainments.
“It would be jolly to go to Kuragin's,” he thought. But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrey not to go there again.
But, as so often happens with people of weak character, as it is called, he was at once overcome with such a passionate desire to enjoy once more this sort of dissipation which had become so familiar to him, that he determined to go. And the idea at once occurred to him that his promise was of no consequence, since he had already promised Prince Anatole to go before making the promise to Andrey. Finally he reflected that all such promises were merely relative matters, having no sort of precise significance, especially if one considered that to-morrow one might be dead or something so extraordinary might happen that the distinction between honourable and dishonourable would have ceased to exist. Such reflections often occurred to Pierre, completely nullifying all his resolutions and intentions. He went to Kuragin's.
Driving up to the steps of a big house in the Horse Guards' barracks, where Anatole lived, he ran up the lighted steps and the staircase and went in at an open door. There was no one in the ante-room; empty bottles, cloaks, and over-shoes were lying about in disorder: there was a strong smell of spirits; in the distance he heard talking and shouting.
The card-playing and the supper were over, but the party had not broken up. Pierre flung off his cloak, and went into the first room, where there were the remnants of supper, and a footman who, thinking himself unobserved, was emptying the half-full glasses on the sly. In the third room there was a great uproar of laughter, familiar voices shouting, and a bear growling. Eight young men were crowding eagerly about the open window. Three others were busy with a young bear, one of them dragging at its chain and frightening the others with it.
“I bet a hundred on Stevens!” cried one.
“Mind there's no holding him up!” shouted another.
“I'm for Dolohov!” shouted a third. “Hold the stakes, Kuragin.”
“I say, let Mishka be, we're betting.”
“All at a go or the wager's lost!” cried a fourth.
“Yakov, give us a bottle, Yakov!” shouted Anatole himself, a tall, handsome fellow, standing in the middle of the room, in nothing but a thin shirt, open over his chest. “Stop, gentlemen. Here he is, here's Petrusha, the dear fellow.” He turned to Pierre.
A man of medium height with bright blue eyes, especially remarkable from looking sober in the midst of the drunken uproar, shouted from the window: “Come here. I'll explain the bets!” This was Dolohov, an officer of the Semenov regiment, a notorious gambler and duellist, who was living with Anatole. Pierre smiled, looking good-humouredly about him.
“I don't understand. What's the point?”
“Wait a minute, he's not drunk. A bottle here,” said Anatole; and taking a glass from the table he went up to Pierre.
“First of all, you must drink.”
Pierre began drinking off glass after glass, looking from under his brows at the drunken group, who had crowded about the window again, and listening to their talk. Anatole kept his glass filled and told him that Dolohov had made a bet with an Englishman, Stevens, a sailor who was staying here, that he, Dolohov, would drink a bottle of rum sitting in the third story window with his legs hanging down outside.
“Come, empty the bottle,” said Anatole, giving Pierre the last glass, “or I won't let you go!”
“No, I don't want to,” said Pierre, shoving Anatole away; and he went up to the window.
Dolohov was holding the Englishman's hand and explaining distinctly the terms of the bet, addressing himself principally to Anatole and Pierre.
Dolohov was a man of medium height, with curly hair and clear blue eyes. He was five-and-twenty. Like all infantry officers he wore no moustache, so that his mouth, the most striking feature in his face, was not concealed. The lines of that mouth were extremely delicately chiselled. The upper lip closed vigorously in a sharp wedge-shape on the firm lower one, and at the corners the mouth always formed something like two smiles, one at each side, and altogether, especially in conjunction with the resolute, insolent, shrewd look of his eyes, made such an impression that it was impossible to overlook his face. Dolohov was a man of small means and no connections. And yet though Anatole was spending ten thousand a year, Dolohov lived with him and succeeded in so regulating the position that Anatole and all who knew them respected Dolohov more than Anatole. Dolohov played at every sort of game, and almost always won. However much he drank, his brain never lost its clearness. Both Kuragin and Dolohov were at that time notorious figures in the fast and dissipated world in Petersburg.
The bottle of rum was brought: the window-frame, which hindered any one sitting on the outside sill of the window, was being broken out by two footmen, obviously flurried and intimidated by the shouts and directions given by the gentlemen around them.
Anatole with his swaggering air came up to the window. He was longing to break something. He shoved the footmen aside and pulled at the frame, but the frame did not give. He smashed a pane.
“Now then, you're the strong man,” he turned to Pierre. Pierre took hold of the cross beam, tugged, and with a crash wrenched the oak frame out.
“All out, or they'll think I'm holding on,” said Dolohov.
“The Englishman's bragging…it's a fine feat…eh?” said Anatole.
“Fine,” said Pierre, looking at Dolohov, who with the bottle in his hand had gone up to the window, from which the light of the sky could be seen and the glow of morning and of evening melting into it. Dolohov jumped up on to the window, holding the bottle of rum in his hand. “Listen!” he shouted, standing on the sill and facing the room. Every one was silent.
“I take a bet” (he spoke in French that the Englishman might hear him, and spoke it none too well)…“I take a bet for fifty imperials—like to make it a hundred?” he added, turning to the Englishman.
“Nó, fifty,” said the Englishman.
“Good, for fifty imperials, that I'll drink off a whole bottle of rum without taking it from my lips. I'll drink it sitting outside the window, here on this place” (he bent down and pointed to the sloping projection of the wall outside the window)… “and without holding on to anything.…That right?”
“All right,” said the Englishman.
Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by the button of his coat, and looking down at him (the Englishman was a short man), he began repeating the terms of the wager in English.
“Wait a minute!” shouted Dolohov, striking the bottle on the window to call attention. “Wait a minute, Kuragin; listen: if any one does the same thing, I'll pay him a hundred imperials. Do you understand?”
The Englishman nodded without making it plain whether be intended to take this new bet or not.
Anatole persisted in keeping hold of the Englishman, and although the latter, nodding, gave him to understand that he comprehended fully, Anatole translated Dolohov's words into English. A thin, youthful hussar, who had been losing at cards that evening, slipped up to the window, poked his head out and looked down.
“Oo!…oo!…oo!” he said looking out of the window at the pavement below.
“Shut up!” cried Dolohov, and he pushed the officer away, so that, tripping over his spurs, he went skipping awkwardly into the room.
Setting the bottle on the window-sill, so as to have it within reach, Dolohov climbed slowly and carefully into the window. Lowering his legs over, with both hands spread open on the window-ledge, he tried the position, seated himself, let his hands go, moved a little to the right, and then to the left, and took the bottle. Anatole brought two candles, and set them on the window-ledge, so that it was quite light. Dolohov's back in his white shirt and his curly head were lighted up on both sides. All crowded round the window. The Englishman stood in front. Pierre smiled, and said nothing. One of the party, rather older than the rest, suddenly came forward with a scared and angry face, and tried to clutch Dolohov by his shirt.
“Gentlemen, this is idiocy; he'll be killed,” said this more sensible man.
Anatole stopped him.
“Don't touch him; you'll startle him and he'll be killed. Eh?…What then, eh?”
Dolohov turned, balancing himself, and again spreading his hands out.
“If any one takes hold of me again,” he said, letting his words drop one by one through his thin, tightly compressed lips, “I'll throw him down from here. Now…”
Saying “now,” he turned again, let his hands drop, took the bottle and put it to his lips, bent his head back and held his disengaged hand upwards to keep his balance. One of the footmen who had begun clearing away the broken glass, stopped still in a stooping posture, his eyes fixed on the window and Dolohov's back. Anatole stood upright, with wide-open eyes. The Englishman stared from one side, pursing up his lips. The man who had tried to stop it, had retreated to the corner of the room, and lay on the sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre hid his face, and a smile strayed forgotten upon it, though it was full of terror and fear. All were silent. Pierre took his hands from his eyes; Dolohov was still sitting in the same position, only his head was so far bent back that his curls touched his shirt collar, and the hand with the bottle rose higher and higher, trembling with evident effort. Evidently the bottle was nearly empty, and so was tipped higher, throwing the head back. “Why is it so long?” thought Pierre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had passed. Suddenly Dolohov made a backward movement of the spine, and his arm trembled nervously; this was enough to displace his whole body as he sat on the sloping projection. He moved all over, and his arm and head trembled still more violently with the strain. One hand rose to clutch at the window-ledge, but it dropped again. Pierre shut his eyes once more, and said to himself that he would never open them again. Suddenly he was aware of a general stir about him. He glanced up, Dolohov was standing on the window-ledge, his face was pale and full of merriment.
“Empty!”
He tossed the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it neatly. Dolohov jumped down from the window. He smelt very strongly of rum.
“Capital! Bravo! That's something like a bet. You're a devil of a fellow!” came shouts from all sides.
The Englishman took out his purse and counted out the money. Dolohov frowned and did not speak. Pierre dashed up to the window.
“Gentlemen. Who'll take a bet with me? I'll do the same!” he shouted suddenly. “I don't care about betting; see here, tell them to give me a bottle. I'll do it.…Tell them to give it here.”
“Let him, let him!” said Dolohov, smiling.
“What, are you mad? No one would let you. Why, you turn giddy going downstairs,” various persons protested.
“I'll drink it; give me the bottle of rum,” roared Pierre, striking the table with a resolute, drunken gesture, and he climbed into the window. They clutched at his arms; but he was so strong that he shoved every one far away who came near him.
“No, there's no managing him like that,” said Anatole. “Wait a bit, I'll get round him.…Listen, I'll take your bet, but for to-morrow, for we're all going on now to…”
“Yes, come along,” shouted Pierre, “come along.…And take Mishka with us.”…And he caught hold of the bear, and embracing it and lifting it up, began waltzing round the room with it.


女人穿的连衣裙在隔壁房里发出沙沙的响声。安德烈公爵仿佛已清醒过来，把身子抖动一下，他的脸上正好流露出他在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜客厅里常有的那副表情。皮埃尔把他的两腿从沙发上放下去。公爵夫人走了进来。她穿着另一件家常穿的，但同样美观、未曾穿过的连衣裙。安德烈公爵站了起来，恭恭敬敬地把一张安乐椅移到她近旁。
“我为什么常常思考，”她像平常那样说了一句德国话，就连忙坐在安乐椅上，“安内特为什么还不嫁人呢？先生们，你们都十分愚蠢，竟然不娶她为妻了。请你们原宥我吧，但是，女人有什么用场，你们却丝毫不明了哩。皮埃尔先生，您是个多么爱争论的人啊！”
“我总会和您的丈夫争论；我不明白，他为什么要去作战。”皮埃尔向公爵夫人转过身来毫无拘束地（年轻男人对年轻女人交往中常有的这种拘束）说道。
公爵夫人颤抖了一下。显然，皮埃尔的话触及了她的痛处。
“咳，我说的也是同样的话啊！”她说道，“我不明了，根本不明了，为什么男人不作战就不能活下去呢？为什么我们女人什么也下想要，什么也不需要呢？呵，您就做个裁判吧。我总把一切情形说给他听：他在这里是他叔父的副官，一个顶好的职位。大家都很熟悉他，都很赏识他。近日来我在阿普拉克辛家里曾听到，有个太太问过一句话：他就是闻名的安德烈公爵吗？说真话！”她笑了起来，“他到处都受到欢迎。他可以轻而易举地当上侍从武官。您知道，国王很慈善地和他谈过话。我和安内特说过，撮合这门亲事不会有困难。您认为怎样？”
皮埃尔望了望安德烈公爵，发现他的朋友不喜欢这次谈话，便一言不答。
“您什么时候走呢？”他发问。
“哦！请您不要对我说走的事，您不要说吧！这件事我不愿意听，”公爵夫人用在客厅里和伊波利特谈话时的那种猥亵而任性的音调说道，看来，这音调用在皮埃尔仿佛是成员的家庭中很不适合，“今天当我想到要中断这一切宝贵的关系……然后呢？安德烈，你知道吗？”她意味深长地眨眨眼睛向丈夫示意，“我觉得可怕，觉得可怕啊！”她的脊背打颤，轻言细语地说。
丈夫望着她，流露出那种神态，仿佛他惊恐万状，因为他发觉，除开他和皮埃尔而外，屋中还有一个人，但是他依然现出冷淡和谦逊的表情，用疑问的音调对妻子说：
“丽莎，你害怕什么？我无法理解。”他说道。
“算什么男人，男人都是利己主义者，都是，都是利己主义者啊！他自己因为要求苛刻，过分挑剔，天晓得为什么，把我抛弃了，把我一个人关在乡下。”
“跟我父亲和妹妹在一起，别忘记。”安德烈公爵低声说道。
“我身边没有我的朋友们了，横直是孑然一人……他还想要我不怕哩。”
她的声调已经含有埋怨的意味，小嘴唇翘了起来，使脸庞赋有不高兴的、松鼠似的兽性的表情。她默不作声了，似乎她认为在皮埃尔面前说到她怀孕是件不体面的事，而这正是问题的实质所在。
“我还是不明白，你害怕什么。”安德烈公爵目不转睛地看着妻子，慢条斯理地说道。
公爵夫人涨红了脸，失望地挥动双手。
“不，安德烈，你变得真厉害，变得真厉害……”
“你的医生吩咐你早点就寝，”安德烈公爵说道，“你去睡觉好了。”
公爵夫人不发一言，突然她那长满茸毛的小嘴唇颤栗起来；安德烈公爵站起来，耸耸肩，从房里走过去了。
皮埃尔惊奇而稚气地借助眼镜时而望望他，时而望望公爵夫人，他身子动了一下，好像他也想站起来，但又改变了念头。
“皮埃尔先生在这儿，与我根本不相干，”矮小的公爵夫人忽然说了一句话，她那秀丽的脸上忽然现出发哭的丑相，“安德烈，我老早就想对你说：你为什么对我改变了态度呢？我对你怎么啦？你要到军队里去，你不怜悯我，为什么？”
“丽莎！”安德烈公爵只说了一句话，但这句话既含有乞求，又含有威胁，主要是有坚定的信心，深信她自己会懊悔自己说的话，但是她忙着把话继续说下去：
“你对待我就像对待病人或者对待儿童那样。我看得一清二楚啊。难道半年前你是这个模样吗？”
“丽莎，我请您住口。”安德烈公爵愈益富于表情地说道。
在谈话的时候，皮埃尔越来越激动不安，他站了起来，走到公爵夫人面前。看来他不能经受住流泪的影响，自己也准备哭出声来。
“公爵夫人，请放心。这似乎是您的想象，因为我要您相信，我自己体会到……为什么……因为……不，请您原谅，外人在这儿真是多余的了……不，请您放心……再见……”
安德烈公爵抓住他的一只手，要他止步。
“皮埃尔，不，等一下。公爵夫人十分善良，她不想我失去和你消度一宵的快乐。”
“不，他心中只是想到自己的事。”公爵夫人说道，忍不住流出气忿的眼泪。
“丽莎，”安德烈公爵冷漠地说道，抬高了声调，这足以表明，他的耐性到了尽头。
公爵夫人那副魅人的、令人怜悯的、畏惧的表情替代了她那漂亮脸盘上像松鼠似的忿忿不平的表情；她蹙起额角，用一双秀丽的眼睛望了望丈夫，俨像一只疾速而乏力地摇摆着下垂的尾巴的狗，脸上现出了胆怯的、表露心曲的神态。
“Mondieu，mondieu！”①公爵夫人说道，用一只手撩起连衣裙褶，向丈夫面前走去，吻了吻他的额头。
“Bonsoir，Lise．”②安德烈公爵说道，他站了起来，像在外人近旁那样恭恭敬敬地吻着她的手。
①法语：我的天哪，我的天哪！
②法语：丽莎，再会。

朋友们沉默不言。他们二人谁也不开腔。皮埃尔不时地看看安德烈公爵，安德烈公爵用一只小手揩揩自己的额头。
“我们去吃晚饭吧。”他叹一口气说道，站立起来向门口走去。
他们走进一间重新装修得豪华而优雅的餐厅。餐厅里的样样东西，从餐巾到银质器皿、洋瓷和水晶玻璃器皿，都具有年轻夫妇家的日常用品的异常新颖的特征。晚餐半中间，安德烈公爵用臂肘支撑着身子，开始说话了，他像个心怀积愫、忽然决意全盘吐露的人那样，脸上带有神经兴奋的表情，皮埃尔从未见过他的朋友流露过这种神态。
“我的朋友，永远，永远都不要结婚；这就是我对你的忠告，在你没有说你已做完你力所能及的一切以前，在你没有弃而不爱你所挑选的女人以前，在你还没有把她看清楚以前，你就不要结婚吧！否则，你就会铸成大错，弄到不可挽救的地步。当你是个毫不中用的老头的时候再结婚吧……否则，你身上所固有的一切美好而崇高的品质都将会丧失。一切都将在琐碎事情上消耗殆尽。是的，是的，是的！甭这样惊奇地望着我。如果你对自己的前程有所期望，你就会处处感觉到，你的一切都已完结，都已闭塞，只有那客厅除外，在那里你要和宫廷仆役和白痴平起平坐，被视为一流……岂不就是这么回事啊！……”
他用劲地挥挥手。
皮埃尔把眼镜摘下来，他的面部变了样子，显得愈加和善了，他很惊讶地望着自己的朋友。
“我的妻子，”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“是个挺好的女人。她是可以放心相处并共同追求荣誉的难能可贵的女人之一，可是，我的老天哪，只要我能不娶亲，我如今不论什么都愿意贡献出来啊！我是头一回向你一个人说出这番话的，因为我爱护你啊。”
安德烈公爵说这话时与原先不同，更不像博尔孔斯基了，那时，博尔孔斯基把手脚伸开懒洋洋地坐在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的安乐椅上，把眼睛眯缝起来，透过齿缝说了几句法国话。他那冷淡的脸部由于神经兴奋的缘故每块肌肉都在颤栗着，一对眼睛里射出的生命之火在先前似乎熄灭了，现在却闪闪发亮。看来，他平常显得愈加暮气沉沉，而在兴奋时就会显得愈加生气勃勃。
“你并不明白，我为什么要说这番话，”他继续说下去，“要知道，这是全部生活史。你说到，波拿巴和他的升迁，”他说了这句话后，虽然皮埃尔并没有说到波拿巴的事情，“你谈到波拿巴；但当波拿巴从事他的活动，一步一步地朝着他的目标前进的时候，他自由自在，除开他所追求的目标而外，他一无所有，他终于达到了目标。但是，你如若把你自己和女的捆在一起，像个带上足枷的囚犯，那你就会丧失一切自由。你的希望和力量——这一切只会成为你的累赘，使你遭受到懊悔的折磨。客厅、谗言、舞会、虚荣、微不足道的事情，这就是我无法走出的魔力圈。现在我要去参战，参加一次前所未有的至为伟大的战争，可我一无所知，一点也不中用。JesuBistresamiableettrèscaustique①．”安德烈公爵继续说下去，“大伙儿都在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜那里听我说话。他们是一群愚蠢的人，如若没有他们，我的妻子就不能生活下去，还有这些女人……但愿你能知道，touteslesfemmesdistinguées②和一般的女人都是一些什么人啊！我父亲说得很对。当女人露出她们的真面目的时候，自私自利、虚荣、愚笨、微不足道——这就是女人的普遍特征。你看看上流社会的女人，他们似乎有点什么，可是什么也没有，什么也没有，什么也没有啊！对，我的心肝，甭结婚吧，甭结婚吧。”安德烈爵说完了话。
①法语：我是个快嘴快舌的人。
②法语：这些像样的女人。

“我觉得非常可笑，”皮埃尔说道，“您认为自己无才干，认为自己的生活腐化堕落。其实您前途无量，而且您……”
他没有说出“您怎么样”，可是他的语调表明，他很器重自己的朋友，对他的前途抱有厚望。
“这种话他怎么能开口说出来呢？”皮埃尔想道。皮埃尔认为安德烈公爵是所有人的楷模，纯粹是因为安德烈公爵高度地凝聚着皮埃尔所缺乏的品德，这种品德可以用“意志力”这个概念至为切贴地表示出来。安德烈公爵善于沉着地应酬各种人，富有非凡的记忆力，博学多识（他博览群书，见多识广，洞悉一切），尤其是善于工作、善于学习，皮埃尔向来就对安德烈公爵的各种才能感到惊讶。如果说安德烈缺乏富于幻想的推理能力（皮埃尔特别倾向于这个领域），那么，他却不认为这是缺点，而是力量的源泉。
在最良好、友善和朴实的人际关系中，阿谀或赞扬都不可缺少，有如马车行驶，车轮需要抹油一样。
“Jesuisunhommefini，”①安德烈公爵说道，“关于我的情况有什么话可说的呢？让我们谈谈你的情况吧，”他说道，沉默片刻后，对他那令人快慰的想法微微一笑。
这一笑同时也在皮埃尔脸上反映出来了。
“可是，关于我的情形有什么话可说的呢？”皮埃尔说道，他嘴边浮现出愉快的、无忧无虑的微笑，“我是个什么人呢？Jesuisunbatard！”②他忽然涨红了脸。显然，他竭尽全力才把这句话说了出来，“sansnom，sansfortune……③也好，说实话……”但是他没把“说实话”这个词儿说出来，“我暂且自由自在，我心里感到舒畅。不过，我怎么也不知道我应当先做什么事。我想认真地和您商量商量。”
①法语：我是个不可救药的人。
②法语：一个私生子。
③法语：既无名，亦无财富。

安德烈公爵用慈善的目光望着他。可是在他那友爱而温柔的目光中依旧显露出他的优越感。
“在我心目中，你之所以可贵，特别是因为唯有你才是我们整个上流社会中的一个活跃分子。你觉得舒适。你选择你所愿意做的事吧，反正是这么一回事。你以后到处都行得通，不过有一点要记住：你不要再去库拉金家中了，不要再过这种生活。狂饮、骠骑兵派头，这一切……对你都不适合了。”
“Quevoulez－vous，moncher，”皮埃尔耸耸肩，说道，“Lesfemmes，moncher，lesfemmes！”①
“我不明白，”安德烈答道：“LesfemmescommeilfautB，”②这是另一码事；不过库拉金家的Lesfemmes，lesfemmesetlevin③，我不明白啊！”
①法语：我的朋友啊，毫无办法，那些女人，那些女人啊！
②法语：像样的女人。
③法语：女人，女人和酒。

皮埃尔在瓦西里·库拉金公爵家中居住，他和公爵的儿子阿纳托利一同享受纵酒作乐的生活，大家拿定了主意，要阿纳托利娶安德烈的妹妹为妻，促使他痛改前非。
“您可要知道，就是这么一回事啊！”皮埃尔说道，他脑海中仿佛突然出现一个极妙的想法，“真的，我老早就有这个念头。过着这种生活，对什么事我都拿不定主意，什么事我都无法缜密考虑。真头痛，钱也没有了。今天他又邀请我，我去不成了。”
“你向我保证，你不走，行吗？”
“我保证！”
当皮埃尔离开他的朋友走出大门时，已经是深夜一点多钟。是夜适逢是彼得堡六月的白夜。皮埃尔坐上一辆马车，打算回家去。但是他越走近家门，他就越发感觉到在这个夜晚不能入睡，这时候与其说是深夜，莫如说它更像黄昏或早晨。空荡无人的街上可以望见很远的地方。皮埃尔在途中回忆起来，今日晚上必定有一伙赌博的常客要在阿纳托利·库拉金家里聚会。豪赌之后照例是纵酒作乐，收场的节目又是皮埃尔喜爱的一种娱乐。
“如果到库拉金家去走一趟该多好啊。”他心中想道。但是立刻又想到他曾向安德烈公爵许下不去库拉金家串门的诺言。
但是，正如所谓优柔寡断者的遭遇那样，嗣后不久他又极欲再一次体验他所熟悉的腐化堕落的生活，他于是拿定主意，要到那里去了。他蓦地想到，许下的诺言毫无意义，因为在他向安德烈公爵许下诺言之前，他曾向阿纳托利公爵许下到他家去串门的诺言。他终于想到，所有这些诺言都是空洞的假设，并无明确的涵义，特别是当他想到，他明天有可能死掉，也有可能发生特殊事故，因此，承诺与不承诺的问题，就不复存在了。皮埃尔的脑海中常常出现这一类的论断，它消除了他的各种决定和意向。他还是乘车到库拉金家中去了。
他乘马车到达了阿纳托利所住的近卫骑兵队营房旁一栋大楼房的门廊前面，他登上了灯火通明的台阶，上了楼梯，向那敞开的门户走进去。接待室内荡然无人，乱七八糟地放着空瓶子、斗篷、套鞋，发散着一股酒味，远处的语声和喊声隐约可闻。
赌博和晚膳已经完毕了，但是客人们还没有各自回家。皮埃尔脱下斗篷，步入第一个房间，那里只有残酒与剩饭，还有一名仆役；他内心以为没有被人发现，悄悄地喝完了几杯残酒。第三个房间传出的喧器、哈哈大笑、熟悉的叫喊和狗熊的怒吼，清晰可闻。大约有八个年轻人在那敞开的窗口挤来挤去。有三个人正在玩耍一只小熊，一个人在地上拖着锁上铁链的小熊，用它来恐吓旁人。
“我押史蒂文斯一百卢布赌注！”有个人喊道。
“当心，不要搀扶！”另一人喊道。
“我押在多洛霍夫上啊！”第三个人喊道，“库拉金，把手掰开来。”
“喂，把小熊‘朱沙'扔开吧，这里在打赌啊！”
“要一干而尽，不然，就输了。”第四个人喊道。
“雅科夫，拿瓶酒来，雅科夫！”主人喊道，他是个身材高大的美男子，穿着一件袒露胸口的薄衬衣站在人群中间，“先生们，等一会。瞧，他就是彼得鲁沙，亲爱的朋友。”他把脸转向皮埃尔说道。
另一个身材不高、长着一对明亮的蓝眼睛的人从窗口喊叫：“请上这里来，给我们把手掰开，打赌啊！”这嗓音在所有这些醉汉的嗓音中听来令人觉得最为清醒，分外震惊。他是和阿纳托利住在一起的多洛霍夫，谢苗诺夫兵团的军官，大名鼎鼎的赌棍和决斗能手。皮埃尔面露微笑，快活地向四周张望。
“我什么也不明白。是怎么回事？”他问道。
“等一会，他还没有喝醉。给我一瓶酒。”阿纳托利说道，从桌上拿起一只玻璃杯，向皮埃尔跟前走去。
“你首先喝酒。”
皮埃尔一杯接着一杯地喝起酒来，而那些蹙起额头瞧瞧又在窗口挤来挤去的喝得醉醺醺的客人，倾听着他们交谈。阿纳托利给他斟酒，对他讲，多洛霍夫和到过此地的海员，叫做史蒂文斯的英国人打赌，这样议定：他多洛霍夫把脚吊在窗外坐在三楼窗台上一口气喝干一瓶烈性甜酒。
“喂，要喝干啊！”阿纳托利把最后一杯酒递给皮埃尔，说道，“不然，我不放过你！”
“不，我不想喝。”皮埃尔用手推开阿纳托利，说道；向窗前走去。
多洛霍夫握着英国人的手，明确地说出打赌的条件，但主要是和阿纳托利、皮埃尔打交道。
多洛霍夫这人中等身材，长着一头鬈发，有两只明亮的蓝眼睛。他约莫二十五岁。像所有的陆军军官那样，不蓄胡子，因而他的一张嘴全露出来，这正是他那令人惊叹的脸部线条。这张嘴十分清秀，弯成了曲线。上嘴唇中间似呈尖楔形，有力地搭在厚实的下嘴唇上，嘴角边经常现出两个微笑的酒窝。所有这一切，特别是在他那聪明、坚定而放肆的目光配合下，造成了一种不能不惹人注意这副脸型的印象。多洛霍夫是个不富裕的人，没有什么人情关系。尽管阿纳托利花费几万卢布现金，多洛霍夫和他住在一起，竟能为自己博得好评，他们的熟人把多洛霍夫和阿纳托利比较，更为尊重多洛霍夫，阿纳托利也尊重他。多洛霍夫无博不赌，几乎总是赢钱。无论他喝多少酒，他从来不会丧失清醒的头脑。当时在彼得堡的浪子和酒徒的领域中，多洛霍夫和库拉全都是赫赫有名的人物。
一瓶烈性甜酒拿来了。窗框使人们无法在那窗户外面的侧壁上坐下，于是有两个仆役把窗框拆下来，他们周围的老爷们指手划脚，不断地吆喝，把他们搞得慌里慌张，显得很羞怯。
阿纳托利现出洋洋得意的神气，向窗前走去。他禁不住要毁坏什么东西。他把仆人们推开，拖了拖窗框，可是拖不动它。他于是砸烂了玻璃。
“喂，你这个大力士。”他把脸转向皮埃尔说道。
皮埃尔抓住横木，拖了拖，像木制的窗框喀嚓喀嚓地响，有的地方被他弄断了，有的地方被扭脱了。
“把整个框子拆掉，要不然，大家还以为我要扶手哩。”多洛霍夫说道。
“那个英国人在吹牛嘛……可不是？……好不好呢？
……”阿纳托利说道。
“好吧。”皮埃尔望着多洛霍夫说道，多洛霍夫拿了一瓶烈性甜酒，正向窗前走去，从窗子望得见天空的亮光，曙光和夕晖在天上连成一片了。
多洛霍夫手中拿着一瓶烈性甜酒，霍地跳上了窗台。
“听我说吧！“他面向房间，站在窗台上喊道。大家都沉默不言。
“我打赌（他操着法语，让那个英国人听懂他的意思，但是他说得不太好），我赌五十金卢布，您想赌一百？”他把脸转向英国人，补充了一句。
“不，就赌五十吧。”英国人说道。
“好吧，赌五十金卢布，”二人议定，“我要一口气喝干一整瓶烈性糖酒，两手不扶着什么东西，坐在窗台外边，就坐在这个地方把它喝干（他弯下腰来，用手指指窗户外边那倾斜的墙壁上的突出部分）……就这样，好吗？……”
“很好。”英国人说道。
阿纳托利向英国人转过身去，一手揪住他的燕尾服上的钮扣，居高临下地望着他（那个英国人身材矮小），开始用法语向他重说了打赌的条件。
“等一下！”多洛霍夫为了要大家注意他，便用酒瓶敲打着窗户，大声喊道，“库拉金，等一会，听我说吧。如果有谁如法炮制，我就支付一百金卢布。明白么？”
英国人点点头，怎么也不肯让人明白，他有意还是无意接受打赌的新条件。阿纳托利不愿放开英国人，虽然那个英国人点头示意，但他心里什么都明白。阿纳托利用英语把多洛霍夫的话向他翻译出来。一个年轻的、瘦骨嶙峋的男孩——近卫骠骑兵，这天夜里输了钱，他于是爬上窗台上，探出头来向下面望望。
“吓！……吓！……吓！……”他瞧着窗外人行道上的石板说道。
“安静！”多洛霍夫高声喊道，把那个军官从窗台上拉了下来，被马刺绊住腿的军官很不自在地跳到房间里。
多洛霍夫把酒瓶搁在窗台上，这样拿起来方便，他谨小慎微地、悄悄地爬上窗户。他垂下两腿，双手支撑着窗沿，打量了一番，把身子坐稳，然后放开双手，向左向右移动，拿到了一只酒瓶。阿纳托利拿来了两根蜡烛，搁在窗台，虽然这时候天大亮了，两根蜡烛从两旁把多洛霍夫穿着一件白衬衣的脊背和他长满鬈发的头照得通亮了。大家都在窗口挤来挤去。那个英国人站在大家前面。皮埃尔微微发笑，不说一句话。一个在场的年纪最大的人露出气忿的、惊惶失惜的神色，忽然窜到前面去，想一把揪住多洛霍夫的衬衣。
“先生们，这是蠢事，他会跌死的。”这个较为明智的人说道。
阿纳托利制止他。
“不要触动他，你会吓倒他，他会跌死的。怎样？……那为什么呢？……哎呀……”
多洛霍夫扭过头来，坐得平稳点了，又用双手支撑着窗户的边沿。
“如果有谁再挤到我身边来，”他透过紧团的薄嘴唇断断续续地说，“我就要把他从这里扔下去。也罢！……”
他说了一声“也罢”，又转过身去，伸开双手，拿着一只酒瓶搁到嘴边，头向后仰，抬起一只空着的手，这样，好把身子弄平稳。有一个仆人在动手捡起玻璃，他弯曲着身子站着不动弹，目不转睛地望着窗户和多洛霍夫的脊背。阿纳托利瞪大眼睛，笔直地站着。那个英国人噘起嘴唇，从一旁观看。那个想阻拦他的人跑到屋角里去，面朝墙壁地躺在沙发上。皮埃尔用手捂住脸，此时他脸上虽然现出恐怖的神色，但却迷迷糊糊地保持着微笑的表情。大家都沉默不言。皮埃尔把蒙住眼睛的手拿开。多洛霍夫保持同样的姿态坐着，不过他的头颅向后扭转过来了，后脑勺上的卷发就碰在衬衫的领子上，提着酒瓶的手越举越高，不住地颤抖，用力地挣扎着。这酒瓶显然快要喝空了，而且举起来了，头也给扭弯了。“怎么搞了这样久呢？”皮埃尔想了想。他仿佛觉得已经过了半个多钟头。多洛霍夫把脊背向后转过去，一只手神经质地颤栗起来，这一颤栗足以推动坐在倾斜的侧壁上的整个身躯。他全身都挪动起来了，他的手和头越抖越厉害，费劲地挣扎。一只手抬了起来抓住那窗台，但又滑落下去了。皮埃尔又用手捂住眼睛，对自己说：永远也没法把它睁开来。他忽然觉得周围的一切微微地摆动起来了。他看了一眼：多洛霍夫正站在窗台上，他的脸色苍白，但却露出了愉快的神态。
“酒瓶子空了。”
他把这酒瓶扔给英国人，英国人灵活地接住。多洛霍夫从窗上跳下来。他身上发散着浓重的甜酒气味。
“棒极了！好样的！这才是打赌啊！您真了不起啊！”大家从四面叫喊起来了。
那个英国人拿出钱包来数钱。多洛霍夫愁苦着脸，沉默不语。皮埃尔一跃跳上了窗台。
“先生们！谁愿意同我打赌呢？我同样做它一遍，”他忽然高声喊道，“不需要打赌，听我说，我也这么干。请吩咐给我拿瓶酒来。我一定做到……请吩咐给我拿瓶酒来。”
“让他干吧，让他干吧！”多洛霍夫面带微笑，说道。
“你干嘛，发疯了么？谁会让你干呢？你就站在梯子上也会感到头晕啊。”大家从四面开腔说话。
“我准能喝干，给我一瓶烈性甜酒吧！”皮埃尔嚷道，做出坚定的醉汉的手势，捶打着椅子，随即爬上了窗户。
有人抓住他的手，可是他很有力气，把靠近他的人推到很远去了。
“不，你这样丝毫也说服不了他，”阿纳托利说道，“等一等，我来哄骗他。你听我说，跟你打个赌吧，但约在明天，现在我们大家都要到×××家中去了。”
“我们乘车子去吧，”皮埃尔喊道，“我们乘车子去吧！……
把小熊‘米沙'也带去。”
他于是急忙抓住这头熊，抱着它让它站起来，和它一同在房里跳起舞来，双腿旋转着。
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
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Part One Chapter Seven


PRINCE VASSILY kept the promise he had made at Anna Pavlovna's soirée to Princess Drubetskoy, who had petitioned him in favour of her only son Boris. His case had been laid before the Emperor, and though it was not to be a precedent for others, he received a commission as sub-lieutenant in the Guards of the Semenovsky regiment. But the post of an adjutant or attaché in Kutuzov's service was not to be obtained for Boris by all Anna Mihalovna's efforts and entreaties. Shortly after the gathering at Anna Pavlovna's, Anna Mihalovna went back to Moscow to her rich relatives the Rostovs, with whom she stayed in Moscow. It was with these relations that her adored Borinka, who had only recently entered a regiment of the line, and was now at once transferred to the Guards as a sub-lieutenant, had been educated from childhood and had lived for years. The Guards had already left Petersburg on the 10th of August, and her son, who was remaining in Moscow to get his equipment, was to overtake them on the road to Radzivilov.
The Rostovs were keeping the name-day of the mother and the younger daughter, both called Natalya. Ever since the morning, coaches with six horses had been incessantly driving to and from the Countess Rostov's big house in Povarsky, which was known to all Moscow. The countess and her handsomest eldest daughter were sitting in the drawing-room with their visitors, who came in continual succession to present their congratulations to the elder lady.
The countess was a woman with a thin face of Oriental cast, forty-five years old, and obviously exhausted by child-bearing. She had had twelve children. The deliberate slowness of her movements and conversation, arising from weak health, gave her an air of dignity which inspired respect. Princess Anna Mihalovna Drubetskoy, as an intimate friend of the family, sat with them assisting in the work of receiving and entertaining their guests. The younger members of the family were in the back rooms, not seeing fit to take part in receiving visitors. The count met his visitors and escorted them to the door, inviting all of them to dinner.
“I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher” or “ma chère,” he said to every one without exception (making not the slightest distinction between persons of higher or of lower standing than his own), “for myself and my two dear ones whose name-day we are keeping. Mind you come to dinner. I shall be offended if you don't, mon cher. I beg you most sincerely from all the family, my dear.” These words, invariably accompanied by the same expression on his full, good-humoured, clean-shaven face, and the same warm pressure of the hand, and repeated short bows, he said to all without exception or variation. When he had escorted one guest to the hall, the count returned to the gentleman or lady who was still in the drawing-room. Moving up a chair, and with the air of a man fond of society and at home in it, he would sit down, his legs jauntily apart, and his hands on his knees, and sway to and fro with dignity as he proffered surmises upon the weather, gave advice about health, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in very bad but complacent French. Then again he would get up, and with the air of a man weary but resolute in the performance of his duty, he would escort guests out, stroking up his grey hair over his bald patch, and again he would urge them to come to dinner. Sometimes on his way back from the hall, he would pass through the conservatory and the butler's room into a big room with a marble floor, where they were setting a table for eighty guests; and looking at the waiters who were bringing in the silver and china, setting out tables and unfolding damask tablecloths, he would call up Dmitry Vassilyevitch, a young man of good family, who performed the duties of a steward in his household, and would say: “Now then, Mitenka, mind everything's right. That's it, that's it,” he would say, looking round with pleasure at the immense table opened out to its full extent; “the great thing is the service. So, so.” …And he went off again with a sigh of satisfaction to the drawing-room.
“Marya Lvovna Karagin and her daughter,” the countess's huge footman announced in a deep bass at the drawing-room door. The countess thought a moment, and took a pinch from a golden snuff-box with her husband's portrait on it.
“I'm worn out with these callers,” she said; “well, this is the last one I'll see. She's so affected. Show her up,” she said in a dejected tone, as though she were saying, “Very well, finish me off entirely!”
A tall, stout, haughty-looking lady and her round-faced, smiling daughter walked with rustling skirts into the drawing-room.
“Dear countess, it is such a long time…she has been laid up, poor child…at the Razumovskys' ball, and the Countess Apraxin…I was so glad,” feminine voices chattered briskly, interrupting one another and mingling with the sound of rustling skirts and the scraping of chairs. Conversation began of the sort which is kept up just long enough for the caller to get up at the first pause, rustling her skirts and with a murmur of “I am so charmed; mamma's health…and the Countess Apraxin…” walk out again with the same rustle to the hall to put on cloak or overcoat and drive away. The conversation touched on the chief items of news in the town, on the illness of the wealthy old Count Bezuhov, a man who had been renowned for his personal beauty in the days of Catherine, and on his illegitimate son, Pierre, who had behaved so improperly at a soirée at Anna Pavlovna's. “I am very sorry for the poor count,” declared the visitor; “his health in such a precarious state, and now this distress caused him by his son; it will be the death of him!”
“Why, what has happened?” asked the countess, as though she did not know what was meant, though she had heard about the cause of Count Bezuhov's distress fifteen times already.
“This is what comes of modern education! When he was abroad,” the visitor pursued, “this young man was left to his own devices, and now in Petersburg, they say, he has been doing such atrocious things that he has been sent away under police escort.”
“Really!” said the countess.
“He has made a bad choice of his companions,” put in Princess Anna Mihalovna. “Prince Vassily's son—he and a young man called Dolohov, they say—God only knows the dreadful things they've been doing. And both have suffered for it. Dolohov has been degraded to the rank of a common soldier, while Bezuhov's son has been banished to Moscow. As to Anatole Kuragin…his father managed to hush it up somehow. But he has been sent out of Petersburg too.”
“Why, what did they do?” asked the countess.
“They're perfect ruffians, especially Dolohov,” said the visitor. “He's the son of Marya Ivanovna Dolohov, such a worthy woman, you know, but there! Only fancy, the three of them had got hold of a bear somewhere, put it in a carriage with them, and were taking it to some actress's. The police ran up to stop them. They took the police officer, tied him back to back to the bear, and dropped the bear into the Moika: the bear swam with the police officer on him.”
“A pretty figure he must have looked, ma chère,” cried the count, helpless with laughter.
“Ah, such a horror! What is there to laugh at in it, count?”
But the ladies could not help laughing at it themselves.
“It was all they could do to rescue the unlucky man,” the visitor went on. “And that's the intellectual sort of amusement the son of Count Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov indulges in!” she added. “And people said he was so well educated and clever. That's how foreign education turns out. I hope no one will receive him here, in spite of his great wealth. They tried to introduce him to me. I gave an absolute refusal: I have daughters.”
“What makes you say the young man is so wealthy?” asked the countess, turning away from the girls, who at once looked as though they did not hear. “He has none but illegitimate children. I believe that…Pierre too is illegitimate.”
The visitor waved her hand. “He has a score of them, I suppose.”
Princess Anna Mihalovna interposed, obviously wishing to show her connections and intimate knowledge with every detail in society.
“This is how the matter stands,” she said meaningly, speaking in a half whisper. “Count Kirill Vladimirovitch's reputation we all know.…He has lost count of his own children, indeed, but this Pierre was his favourite.”
“How handsome the old man was,” said the countess, “only last year! A finer-looking man I have never seen.”
“Now he's very much altered,” said Anna Mihalovna. “Well, I was just saying,” she went on, “the direct heir to all the property is Prince Vassily through his wife, but the father is very fond of Pierre, has taken trouble over his education, and he has written to the Emperor…so that no one can tell, if he dies (he's so ill that it's expected any moment, and Lorrain has come from Petersburg), whom that immense property will come to, Pierre or Prince Vassily. Forty thousand serfs and millions of money. I know this for a fact, for Prince Vassily himself told me so. And indeed Kirill Vladimirovitch happens to be a third cousin of mine on my mother's side, and he's Boris's godfather too,” she added, apparently attaching no importance to this circumstance.
“Prince Vassily arrived in Moscow yesterday. He's coming on some inspection business, so I was told,” said the visitor.
“Yes, between ourselves,” said the princess, “that's a pretext; he has come simply to see Prince Kirill Vladimirovitch, hearing he was in such a serious state.”
“But, really, ma chère, that was a capital piece of fun,” said the count; and seeing that the elder visitor did not hear him, he turned to the young ladies. “A funny figure the police officer must have looked; I can just fancy him.”
And showing how the police officer waved his arms about, he went off again into his rich bass laugh, his sides shaking with mirth, as people do laugh who always eat and, still more, drink well. “Then do, please, come to dinner with us,” he said.


第一章第七节


瓦西里公爵履行了他在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办的晚会上答应名叫德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人替她的独子鲍里斯求情的诺言。有关鲍里斯的情形已禀告国王，他被破例调至谢苗诺夫兵团的近卫队中担任准尉。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜虽已四出奔走斡旋，施展各种手段，但是，鲍里斯还是未被委派为副官，亦未被安插在库图佐夫手下供职。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办晚会后不久，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜就回到莫斯科，径直地到她的富有的亲戚罗斯托夫家中去了，她一直住在莫斯科的这个亲戚家中，她的被溺爱的鲍里斯从小就在这个亲戚家中抚养长大，在这里住了许多年，他刚被提升为陆军准尉，旋即被调任近卫军准尉。八月十日近卫军已自彼得堡开走，她那留在莫斯科置备军装的儿子要在前往拉兹维洛夫的途中赶上近卫军的队伍。
罗斯托夫家中有两个叫做娜塔莉娅的女人——母亲和小女儿——过命名日。从清早起，波瓦尔大街上一栋莫斯科全市闻名的叫做罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人的大楼前面，装载着贺客的车辆就来回奔走，川流不息。伯爵夫人和漂亮的大女儿坐在客厅里接待来宾，送走了一批宾客，又迎来了另一批宾客，不停地应接。
这位伯爵夫人长着一副东方型的瘦削的脸盘，四十五岁上下，她为儿女所劳累（有十二个儿女），身体显得虚弱。由于体弱，她的动作和言谈都很迟缓，这却赋予她一种令人肃然起敬的、威严的风貌。叫做安娜·米哈伊洛莫娜·德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人就像他们家里人一样，也坐在那儿，帮助和应酬宾客。年轻人认为不必参与接待事宜，都呆在后面的几个房间里。伯爵迎送着宾客，邀请全部宾客出席午宴。
“十分、十分感激您machère或moncher①，（他对待一切人，无论地位高于他，抑或低于他，都毫无例外地、毫无细微差别地称machère或moncher），我个人代替两个过命名日的亲人感激您。请费神，来用午膳。您不要让我生气，moncher。我代表全家人诚挚地邀请您，machère。”他毫无例外地，一字不变地对一切人都说这番话，他那肥胖的、愉快的、常常刮得很光的脸上现出同样的神态，他同样地紧握来宾的手，频频地鞠躬致意。送走一位宾客后，伯爵回到那些尚在客厅未退席的男女宾客面前，他把安乐椅移到近旁，显露出热爱生活、善于生活的人所固有的样子，豪放地摊开两腿，两手搁在膝盖上，意味深长地摇摇摆摆，他预测天气，请教保健的秘诀，有时讲俄国话，有时讲很差劲的、但自以为道地的法国话，后来又现出极度困倦、但却竭尽义务的人所独具的样子去送宾客，一面弄平秃头上稀疏的斑发，又请宾客来用午膳。有时候，他从接待室回来，顺路穿过花斋和堂馆休息室走进大理石大厅，大厅里已经摆好备有八十份餐具的筵席，他望着堂倌拿来银器和瓷器，摆筵席、铺上织花桌布，并把出身于贵族的管家德米特里·瓦西里耶维奇喊到身边来，说道：
“喂，喂，米佳，你要注意，把一切布置停妥。好，好，”
①法语：亲爱的女客，亲爱的男客。

他说道，十分满意地望着摆开的大号餐桌，“餐桌的布置是头件大事。就是这样……”他洋洋自得地松了口气，又走回客厅去了。
“玛丽亚·利洛夫娜·卡拉金娜和她的女儿到了！”伯爵夫人的身材魁梧的随从的仆人走进客厅门，用那低沉的嗓音禀告。伯爵夫人思忖了一会，闻了闻镶有丈夫肖像的金质鼻烟壶。
“这些接客的事情把我折磨得难受，”她说道，“哦，我来接待她这最后一个女客。她真拘礼，请吧，”她用忧悒的嗓音对仆人说，内心好像是这样说：“哎呀！让你们这些人置我于死命吧！”
一个身段高大、肥胖、样子骄傲的太太和她的圆脸蛋的、微露笑容的女儿，衣裙沙沙作响，走进客厅来。
“Chèrecomtesse，ilyasilongtemps…elleaéléalitéelapauvreenfant…aubaldesRazoumowsky…etlacomtesseApraksine…j'aiétésiheureuse……①，听见妇女们互相打断话头、闹哄哄的谈话声，谈话声和连衣裙的沙沙声、移动椅子的响声连成一片了。这场谈话开始了，谈话在头次停顿的时候正好有人站起来，把那连衣裙弄得沙沙作响，有人说：“Jeauisbiencharmée，lasantédlemaman…etlacomtesseApraksine．”②连衣裙又给弄得沙沙作响，有人朝接待室走去，穿上皮袄或披起斗篷，就离开了。谈话中提到当时市内的首要新闻——遐尔闻名的富豪和叶卡捷琳娜女皇当政时的美男子老别祖霍夫伯爵的病情和他的私生子皮埃尔，此人在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜·舍列尔举办的晚会上行为不轨，有失体统。
①法语：伯爵夫人……已经这样久了……可怜的女孩，她害病了……在拉祖莫夫斯基家的舞会上……伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜……我简直高兴极了……
①法语：我非常、非常高兴……妈妈很健康……伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜。

“我非常惋惜可怜的伯爵，”一个女客人说道，“他的健康情况原已十分恶劣，现今又为儿女痛心，这真会断送他的命啊！”
“是怎么回事？”伯爵夫人问道，好像她不知道那女客在说什么事，不过她已有十五次左右听过关于别祖霍夫伯爵感到伤心的原因。
“这就是现在的教育啊！”一位女客说，“现在国外时，这个年轻人就听天由命，放任自流，而今他在彼得堡，据说，他干了不少令人胆寒的事，已经通过警察局把他从这里驱逐出去了。”
“您看，真有其事！”伯爵夫人说道。
“他很愚蠢地择交，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜插嘴了，“瓦西里公爵的儿子，他的那个多洛霍夫，据说，天知道他们干了些什么勾当。二人都受罪了。多洛霍夫被贬为士兵，别祖霍夫的儿子被赶到莫斯科去了。阿纳托利·库拉金呢，他父亲不知怎的把他制服了，但也被驱逐出彼得堡。”
“他们究竟干了些什么勾当？”伯爵夫人问道。
“他们真是些十足的土匪，尤其是多洛霍夫，”女客人说道，“他是那个备受尊重的太太玛丽亚·伊万诺夫娜·多洛霍娃的儿子，后来怎么样呢？你们都可以设想一下，他们三个人在某个地方弄到了一头狗熊，装进了马车，开始把它运送到女伶人那里去了。警察跑来制止他们。他们抓住了警察分局局长，把他和狗熊背靠背地绑在一起，丢进莫伊卡河里。狗熊在泅水，警察分局局长仰卧在狗熊背上。”
“machère，警察分局局长的外貌好看吗？”伯爵笑得要命，高声喊道。
“啊，多么骇人呀！伯爵，这有什么可笑的呢？”
可是太太们情不自禁地笑起来。
“真费劲才把这个倒霉鬼救了出来，”女客人继续说下去，“基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇·别祖霍夫伯爵的儿子心眼真多，逗弄人啊！”她补充一句话，“听人家说，他受过良好的教育，脑子也挺灵活。你看，外国的教育结果把他弄到这个地步。虽然他有钱，我还是希望这里没有谁会接待他。有人想介绍他跟我认识一下，我断然拒绝了：我有几个女儿嘛。”
“您干嘛说这个年轻人很有钱呢？”伯爵夫人避开少女们弯下腰来问道，少女们马上装作不听她说话的样子，“要知道，他只有几个私生子女。看来……皮埃尔也是个私生子。”
女客人挥动一手下臂。
“我想，他有二十个私生子女。”
公爵夫人安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜插话了，她显然是想显示她的社交关系，表示她熟悉交际界的全部情况。
“就是这么一回事，”她低声地、意味深长地说道，“基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇伯爵颇有名声，尽人皆知……他的儿女多得不可胜数，而这个皮埃尔就是他的宠儿。”
“旧年这个老头儿还挺漂亮哩！”伯爵夫人说道，“我还未曾见过比他更漂亮的男人。”
“现在他变得很厉害了，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道。“我想这样说，”她继续说下去，“根据妻子方面的关系，瓦西里公爵是他的全部财产的直接继承人，但是他父亲喜爱皮埃尔，让他受教育，还禀告国王……如果他一旦辞世，他的病情加重，每时每刻都有可能断气，罗兰也从彼得堡来了，谁将会得到这一大笔财产，是皮埃尔呢，或者是瓦西里公爵。四万农奴和数百万财产。这一点我了若指掌，瓦西里公爵亲口对我说过这番话。基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇正是我的表舅哩。而且他给鲍里斯施行洗礼，是他的教父。”她补充一句，好像一点不重视这等事情似的。
“瓦西里公爵于昨日抵达莫斯科。有人对我说，他来的用意是实地视察。”女客人说。
“是的，但是，entrenous，”①公爵夫人说道，“这是一种藉口，说实话，他是来看基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇伯爵的，他听到伯爵的病情加重了。”
①法语：这是我们之间的事，不可与外人道也。

“但是，machère，这是个招儿，”伯爵说道，他发现那个年长的女客不听他说话，就向小姐们转过脸去说，“我心里想象，那个警察分局局长的外貌是十分漂亮的。”
他于是想到那个警察分局局长挥动手臂的模样，又哈哈大笑起来，那响亮的嗓子低沉的笑声撼动着他整个肥胖的身躯，他发出这种笑声，就像平素吃得好，特别是喝得好的人所发出的笑声一样。“好吧，请您到我们那里来用午饭。”他说道。
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 8楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Eight


A SILENCE followed. The countess looked at her guest, smiling affably, but still not disguising the fact that she would not take it at all amiss now if the guest were to get up and go. The daughter was already fingering at the folds of her gown and looking interrogatively at her mother, when suddenly they heard in the next room several girls and boys running to the door, and the grating sound of a chair knocked over and a girl of thirteen ran in, hiding something in her short muslin petticoat, and stopped short in the middle of the room. She had evidently bounded so far by mistake, unable to stop in her flight. At the same instant there appeared in the doorway a student with a crimson band on his collar, a young officer in the Guards, a girl of fifteen, and a fat, rosy-cheeked boy in a child's smock.
The prince jumped up, and swaying from side to side, held his arms out wide round the little girl.
“Ah, here she is!” he cried, laughing. “Our little darling on her fête day!”
“My dear, there is a time for everything,” said the countess, affecting severity. “You're always spoiling her, Elie,” she added to her husband.
“Bonjour, ma chère, je vous félicite,” said the visitor. “Quelle délicieuse enfant!” she added, turning to her mother.
The dark-eyed little girl, plain, but full of life, with her wide mouth, her childish bare shoulders, which shrugged and panted in her bodice from her rapid motion, her black hair brushed back, her slender bare arms and little legs in lace-edged long drawers and open slippers, was at that charming stage when the girl is no longer a child, while the child is not yet a young girl. Wriggling away from her father, she ran up to her mother, and taking no notice whatever of her severe remarks, she hid her flushed face in her mother's lace kerchief and broke into laughter. As she laughed she uttered some incoherent phrases about the doll, which was poking out from her petticoat.
“Do you see?…My doll…Mimi…you see…” And Natasha could say no more, it all seemed to her so funny. She sank on her mother's lap, and went off into such a loud peal of laughter that every one, even the prim visitor, could not help laughing too.
“Come, run along, run along with your monstrosity!” said her mother, pushing her daughter off with a pretence of anger. “This is my younger girl,” she said to the visitor. Natasha, pulling her face away from her mother's lace kerchief for a minute, peeped down at her through tears of laughter, and hid her face again.
The visitor, forced to admire this domestic scene, thought it suitable to take some part in it.
“Tell me, my dear,” she said, addressing Natasha, “how did you come by your Mimi? Your daughter, I suppose?”
Natasha did not like the tone of condescension to childish things with which the visitor had spoken to her. She made no answer, but stared solemnly at her.
Meanwhile all the younger generation, Boris, the officer, Anna Milhalovna's son; Nikolay, the student, the count's elder son; Sonya, the count's niece; and little Petya, his younger son, had all placed themselves about the drawing-room, and were obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum the excitement and mirth which was brimming over in their faces. Clearly in the back part of the house, from which they had dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had been more amusing than the small-talk in the drawing-room of the scandal of the town, the weather, and Countess Apraxin. Now and then they glanced at one another and could hardly suppress their laughter.
The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood, were of the same age, and both good-looking, but not like each other. Boris was a tall, fair-haired lad with delicate, regular features, and a look of composure on his handsome face. Nikolay was a curly-headed youth, not tall, with an open expression. On his upper lip there were already signs of a black moustache coming, and his whole face expressed impulsiveness and enthusiasm. Nikolay flushed red as he came into the drawing-room. He was unmistakably trying to find something to say, and unable to find anything. Boris, on the contrary, was at home immediately and talked easily and playfully of the doll Mimi, saying that he had known her as a young girl before her nose was broken, and she had grown older during the five years he remembered her, and how her head was cracked right across the skull. As he said this he looked at Natasha. Natasha turned away from him, glanced at her younger brother, who, with a scowl on his face, was shaking with noiseless laughter, and unable to restrain herself, she skipped up and flew out of the room as quickly as her swift little legs could carry her. Boris did not laugh.
“You were meaning to go out, mamma, weren't you? Do you want the carriage?” he said, addressing his mother with a smile.
“Yes, go along and tell them to get it ready,” she said, smiling. Boris walked slowly to the door and went after Natasha. The stout boy ran wrathfully after them, as though resenting the interruption of his pursuits.


第一章第八节


大家都默不作声。伯爵夫人望着女客人，脸上露出愉快的微笑，但她并不掩饰那种心情：如果那个女客人站立起来，退席离开，她丝毫也不会感到怏怏不乐。女客的女儿正在弄平连衣裙，用疑问的眼神望着母亲，就在这时分，忽然听见隔壁房里传来一群男人和女人向门口迅跑的步履声、绊倒椅子的响声，一个十三岁的女孩跑进房里来，用那短短的纱裙盖住一件什么东西，她在房间当中停步了。很明显，她在跑步时失脚，出乎意料地蹦得这么远。就在这同一瞬间，一个露出深红色衣领的大学生、一个近卫军军官、一个十五岁的女孩和一个身穿儿童短上衣的面颊粉红的胖乎乎的男孩在那门口露面了。
伯爵猛然跳起来，摇摇摆摆地走着，把两臂伸开，抱住跑进来的小女孩。
“啊，她毕竟来了！”他含笑地喊道，“过命名日的人！machère过命名日的人！”
“machère，ilyauntempspour，tout，”①伯爵夫人假装出一副严肃的样子，她说，“你总是溺爱她，埃利。”她对丈夫补充地说。
“Bonjour，machère，jevousfélicite，”女客人说道，“Quelledelicieuseenfant！②”她把脸转向母亲，补充地说。
①法语：一切事情都得有个时间，亲爱的。
②法语：我亲爱的，您好，向您表示祝贺。多么可爱的小孩子！

小姑娘长着一双黑眼睛，一张大嘴巴，相貌不漂亮，但挺活泼。她跑得太快，背带滑脱了，袒露出孩子的小肩膀，黑黝黝的打绺的鬈发披在后面，光着的手臂十分纤细，身穿一条钩花裤子，一双小脚穿着没有鞋带的矮靿皮靴。说她是孩子已经不是孩子，说她是女郎还不是女郎，她正值这个美妙的年华。她从父亲的怀抱中挣脱出来，走到了母亲近旁，母亲的严厉呵斥她不在乎，倒把脸儿藏在母亲的花边斗篷里，不知她为什么而笑，一面若断若续地说到她从衣裙下面掏出来的洋娃娃。
“你们看见吗？……一个洋娃娃……咪咪……你们都看见。”
娜塔莎不能说下去了（她以为一切都很可笑），她倒在母亲身上，哈哈大笑起来，笑声非常响亮，以致所有的人，连那个过分拘礼的女客也情不自禁地笑了起来。
“你得啦，走吧，带上你这个丑东西走吧！”母亲说道，假装发脾气，把女儿推到一边去。“这是我的小女儿。”她把脸转向女客说道。
娜塔莎有一阵子把脸从母亲的花边三角头巾下抬起来，透过笑出的眼泪，从底下朝她望了一眼，又把脸蛋藏了起来。
女客人被迫欣赏家庭中的这个场面，认为有参与一下的必要了。
“我亲爱的，请您告诉我，”她把脸转向娜塔莎，说道，“这个咪咪究竟是您的什么人？大概是女儿吧？”
娜塔莎不喜欢对待儿童的宽容的口气，女客人却用这种口气对她说话。她一言不答，严肃地瞟了女客人一眼。
与此同时，这一辈年轻人：军官鲍里斯——名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人的儿子、大学生尼古拉——伯爵的长男、索尼娅——伯爵的一个现年十五岁的外甥女以及小彼得鲁沙——伯爵的幼子，都在客厅里入席就座了。显然，他们竭尽全力把还流露在每个人脸上的兴奋和悦意保持在合乎礼仪的范围以内。显而易见，他们在迅速奔跑出来的后面的几个房间里，闲谈比起在这里议论城里的谗言、天气和comtesseApraksine①的问题，听来令人更开心。他们有时候互相凝视，好不容易才忍住没有笑出声来。
①法语：伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜。

两个年轻人，一个是大学生、一个是军官，从童年时代起就是朋友，两个人年龄相同，而且长得漂亮，但其面目并不相像。鲍里斯是个身材魁梧、头发浅黄的青年，他那宁静而俊美的面孔上，五官生得端正，眉清目秀。尼古拉是个身材不高的年轻人，一头鬈发，面部表情坦率。他的上嘴唇边逐渐长出黑色的短髭，他的灵敏和激情在整个面部流露出来。尼古拉一走进客厅，两颊就涨红了。显然，他想开口说话，但却找不到话题；鲍里斯正好相反，他一下子就想到了应付的办法，沉着而戏谑地讲起洋娃娃咪咪的事，说他认识它的时候，它还是个小姑娘，当时它的鼻孔还没有碰坏，他记得在这五年内它变老了，头顶也现出裂纹了。他说了这句话，便朝娜塔莎望了一眼。娜塔莎转过脸去不理睬他，看了看眯缝起眼睛、不出一声笑得浑身发抖的小弟弟，她再也按捺不住了，一跃而起，迈开敏捷的小腿，从客厅里飞奔出来。鲍里斯没有发笑。
“妈妈，看来您也要走了吧？要马车吗？”他面露微笑地对母亲说。
“好，走吧，走吧，吩咐他们把马车准备好。”她含笑说道。
鲍里斯悄悄地走出来，跟在娜塔莎后面，那个胖乎乎的男孩生气地跟在他们后面跑，好像他的事情遭受挫折而懊悔似的。
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 9楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Nine


OF THE YOUNG PEOPLE, not reckoning the countess's elder daughter (who was four years older than her sister and behaved quite like a grown-up person) and the young lady visitor, there were left in the drawing-room Nikolay and Sonya, the niece. Sonya was a slender, miniature brunette, with soft eyes shaded by long lashes, thick black hair twisted in two coils round her head, and a skin of a somewhat sallow tint, particularly marked on her bare, thin, but shapely, muscular arms and neck. The smoothness of her movements, the softness and flexibility of her little limbs, and something of slyness and reserve in her manner, suggested a lovely half-grown kitten, which would one day be a charming cat. Apparently she thought it only proper to show an interest in the general conversation and to smile. But against her own will, her eyes turned under their thick, long lashes to her cousin, who was going away into the army, with such girlish, passionate adoration, that her smile could not for one moment impose upon any one, and it was clear that the kitten had only perched there to skip off more energetically than ever and to play with her cousin as soon as they could, like Boris and Natasha, get out of the drawing-room.
“Yes, ma chère,” said the old count, addressing the visitor and pointing to his Nikolay; “here his friend Boris has received his commission as an officer, and he's so fond of him he doesn't want to be left behind, and is giving up the university and his poor old father to go into the army, ma chère. And there was a place all ready for him in the archives department, and all. Isn't that friendship now?” said the count interrogatively.
“But they do say that war has been declared, you know,” said the visitor.
“They've been saying so a long while,” said the count. “They'll say so again and again, and so it will remain. There's friendship for you, ma chère!” he repeated. “He's going into the hussars.”
The visitor, not knowing what to say, shook her head.
“It's not from friendship at all,” answered Nikolay, flushing hotly, and denying it as though it were some disgraceful imputation. “Not friendship at all, but simply I feel drawn to the military service.”
He looked round at his cousin and the young lady visitor; both looked at him with a smile of approval.
“Schubert's dining with us to-night, the colonel of the Pavologradsky regiment of hussars. He has been here on leave, and is taking him with him. There's no help for it,” said the count, shrugging his shoulder and speaking playfully of what evidently was a source of much distress to him.
“I've told you already, papa,” said his son, “that if you're unwilling to let me go, I'll stay. But I know I'm no good for anything except in the army. I'm not a diplomatist, or a government clerk. I'm not clever at disguising my feelings,” he said, glancing repeatedly with the coquetry of handsome youth at Sonya and the young lady.
The kitten, her eyes riveted on him, seemed on the point of breaking into frolic, and showing her cat-like nature.
“Well, well, it's all-right!” said the old count; “he always gets so hot. Bonaparte's turned all their heads; they're all dreaming of how he rose from a lieutenant to be an emperor. Well, and so may it turn out again, please God,” he added, not noticing the visitor's sarcastic smile.
While their elders began talking about Bonaparte, Julie, Madame Karagin's daughter, turned to young Rostov.
“What a pity you weren't at the Arharovs' on Thursday. I was so dull without you,” she said, giving him a tender smile. The youth, highly flattered, moved with a coquettish smile nearer her, and entered into a conversation apart with the smiling Julie, entirely unaware that his unconscious smile had dealt a jealous stab to the heart of Sonya, who was flushing crimson and assuming a forced smile. In the middle of his talk with Julie he glanced round at her. Sonya gave him an intensely furious look, and, hardly able to restrain her tears, though there was still a constrained smile on her lips, she got up and went out of the room. All Nikolay's animation was gone. He waited for the first break in the conversation, and, with a face of distress, walked out of the room to look for Sonya.
“How all the young things wear their hearts on their sleeves!” said Anna Mihalovna, pointing to Nikolay's retreating figure. “Cousinage, dangereux voisinage,” she added.
“Yes,” said the countess, when the sunshine that had come into the drawing-room with the young people had vanished. She was, as it were, replying to a question which no one had put to her, but which was always in her thoughts: “What miseries, what anxieties one has gone through for the happiness one has in them now! And even now one feels really more dread than joy over them. One's always in terror! At this age particularly when there are so many dangers both for girls and boys.”
“Everything depends on bringing up,” said the visitor.
“Yes, you are right,” the countess went on. “So far I have been, thank God, my children's friend and have enjoyed their full confidence,” said the countess, repeating the error of so many parents, who imagine their children have no secrets from them. “I know I shall always be first in my children's confidence, and that Nikolay, if, with his impulsive character, he does get into mischief (boys will be boys) it won't be like these Petersburg young gentlemen.”
“Yes, they're capital children, capital children,” assented the count, who always solved all perplexing questions by deciding that everything was capital. “Fancy now, his taking it into his head to be an hussar! But what can one expect, ma chère?”
“What a sweet little thing your younger girl is!” said the visitor. “Full of fun and mischief!”
“Yes, that she is,” said the count. “She takes after me! And such a voice; though she's my daughter, it's the truth I'm telling you, she'll be a singer, another Salomini. We've engaged an Italian to give her lessons.”
“Isn't it too early? They say it injures the voice to train it at that age.”
“Oh, no! Too early!” said the count. “Why, our mothers used to be married at twelve and thirteen.”
“Well, she's in love with Boris already! What do you say to that?” said the countess, smiling softly and looking at Boris's mother. And apparently in reply to the question that was always in her mind, she went on: “Why, you know, if I were strict with her, if I were to forbid her…God knows what they might not be doing in secret” (the countess meant that they might kiss each other), “but as it is I know every word she utters. She'll come to me this evening and tell me everything of herself. I spoil her, perhaps, but I really believe it's the best way. I brought my elder girl up more strictly.”
“Yes, I was brought up quite differently,” said the elder girl, the handsome young Countess Vera; and she smiled. But the smile did not improve Vera's face; on the contrary her face looked unnatural, and therefore unpleasing. Vera was good-looking; she was not stupid, was clever at her lessons, and well educated; she had a pleasant voice, and what she said was true and appropriate. But, strange to say, every one—both the visitor and the countess—looked at her, as though wondering why she had said it, and conscious of a certain awkwardness.
“People are always too clever with their elder children; they try to do something exceptional with them,” said the visitor.
“We won't conceal our errors, ma chère! My dear countess was too clever with Vera,” said the count. “But what of it? she has turned out capitally all the same,” he added, with a wink of approval to Vera.
The guests got up and went away, promising to come to dinner.
“What manners! Staying on and on!” said the countess, when she had seen her guests out.


第一章第九节


年轻人当中，除开伯爵夫人的长女（她比她妹妹年长四岁，举止已经跟大人一样了）和作客的小姐而外，客厅里剩下尼古拉和外甥女索尼娅二人了。索尼娅是个身段苗条、小巧玲珑的黑发女郎，在那长长的睫毛遮掩下闪现出温柔的眼神，一条乌黑而浓密的发辫在头上盘了两盘，脸上的皮肤，特别是裸露而消瘦、肌肉发达而漂亮的手臂和颈项的皮肤，都略带黄色。她那动作的平稳，小小肢体的柔软和灵活，有点调皮而自持的风度，便像一只尚未发育成熟的美丽可爱的猫崽，它必将成为一只颇具魅力的母猫。显然她认为面露微笑去谛听众人谈话是一种礼貌的态度，但是，她那对洋溢着少女热情崇拜的眼睛，从那长长的浓密的睫毛下面，情不自禁地望着行将入伍的consin①，她那笑意一点也不能欺骗任何人，显而易见，这只小猫蹲下来，只是想要更有力地跳起来，如同鲍里斯和娜塔莎一样从客厅里窜出去，和她的表兄一块儿嬉戏。
①法语：表兄。

“machère，是的，”老伯爵把脸转向女客，一面指着他的尼古拉，说道，“machère，看，他的朋友鲍里斯擢升为军官了，为友谊起见，他不想落在鲍里斯后面，抛弃了大学和我这个老头，也服兵役去了。有人在档案馆给他弄到一个差事，本来一切都准备就绪了。这不就是看情面嘛？”伯爵用疑问的口气说道。
“是呀，有人说已经宣战了。”女客人说。
“早就有人在说啊，”伯爵说道，“说了一阵子，又说一阵子，就不再说了。machère，这不就是看情面嘛！”他把自己说过的话重说一遍，“尼古拉去当骠骑兵了。”
女客摇摇头，不知道要说什么话。
“根本不是为友情，”尼古拉答道，涨红了脸，好像他受到一种使他羞愧的诋毁似的，他于是要为自己辩护，“根本不是为友情，而只是觉得我有服兵役的天职。”
他回头望望表妹，又望望做客的小姐，她们二人都面露称赞的微笑望着他。
“保罗格勒骠骑兵团上校舒伯特今天在我们这儿吃午饭，他在这儿度假，要把尼古拉带走。这有什么法子呢？”伯爵说道，耸耸肩，诙谐地提起这件显然使他深感痛楚的事情。
“爸爸，我已经跟您说过，”儿子说道，“如果您不愿意放我走，那么我就留下来。但是我知道，除开服兵役而外，我毫无用场；我不是外交家，不是官员，不善于掩饰自己的感情，”他说道，露出风华正茂之时的轻薄的样子，不时地端详索尼娅和做客的小姐。
小猫用眼睛紧紧地盯住他，随时都准备嬉戏一通，表露一下它那猫的本性。
“嗯，嗯，好极了！”老伯爵说道，“向来就急躁……波拿巴还在冲昏大家的头脑，大家都想到他由中尉摇身一变当上皇帝了。也罢，愿上帝保佑。”他补充一句，并不注意女客嘲讽的微笑。
成年人开始谈论波拿巴的事情。卡拉金娜的女儿朱莉把脸转向小罗斯托夫，说道：
“很遗憾，星期四那天您没有到阿尔哈罗夫家里去。您不在场，我觉得寂寞无聊。”她说道，向他露出温和的微笑。
年轻人因受奉承而深感荣幸，脸上呈露出风华正茂之时的轻浮的微笑，他坐得离她更近了，他和那笑容可掬的朱莉单独地闲聊起来，根本没发觉他这情不自禁的微笑竟像一柄醋意的尖刀戳进那面红耳赤、佯装微笑的索尼娅的心窝。闲谈的中间，他回过头来瞥了她一眼，索尼娅愤恨地望望他，好不容易才忍住没有流出眼泪，没有露出假装的微笑，她站起来，从房里走出去。尼古拉的兴奋情绪已经消逝了。他窥伺谈话一中断，就露出扫兴的神态，从房里出来，寻找索尼娅去了。
“所有这些年轻人的秘密事情真藏不住，会露出马脚啊！”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜指着正走出门去的尼古拉说道。“CousiBnage－dangereuxvoisinage，”①她补充一句。
“是的，”伯爵夫人说道，随同这一代年轻人进入客厅带来的一线阳光消失后，她仿佛在回答未曾有人向她提出、但却经常使她全神贯注的问题似的，“她经受了多少苦难、多少烦扰，现在才能从他们身上得到一点欢乐啊！可是现在，说实话，恐惧的比重却大于欢乐。你总是怕这怕那，总是怕这怕那啊！男孩也好，女孩也好，正值这个年龄，就会遇到许多危险的事情。”
“一切以教育为转移。”女客人说道。
“是的，您说的是真话，”伯爵夫人继续说道，“谢天谢地，直至现在，我还是我的子女的朋友，我博得他们充分的信赖。”伯爵夫人说，许多父母出过差错，我重蹈覆辙，他们都以为，子女并没有隐瞒他们的秘密，“我知道，我永远是我的几个女儿的第一个confidente②，尼古拉性情急躁，要是他淘气（男孩子哪能不淘气），也不会像彼得堡这些绅士派头的人那样。”
①法语：表兄弟、表姐妹这种亲戚真糟糕透了啊。
②法语：出主意的人。

“是啊，都是些很好的、很好的孩子，”伯爵说道，认为这种看法很对头。他往往在解决他认为很复杂的问题时，便用“很好的”这个词来应付，“得了吧！他也想去当个骠骑兵啊！无论您怎样要求，也无济于事，machère！”
“你的小女儿是个多么可爱的人儿！”女客人说道，“火性子人！”
“是的，火性子人，”伯爵说道，“她就像我啊！她有一副悦耳的嗓子：虽然她是我的儿女，但我也要如实说来。她将来是个歌唱家，又是一个萨洛莫妮。我们延请了一位意大利人教她唱歌。”
“不是太早了吗？据说，她这个时候学唱对嗓子不利。”
“哦，不，哪里太早啊！”伯爵说道，“我们母亲辈十二三岁不就出嫁了吗？”
“她现在就已爱上鲍里斯了！她怎么样？”伯爵夫人说道，两眼望着鲍里斯的母亲，悄悄地露出微笑，虽然在回答经常使她心神贯注的问题，她继续说下去，“哦，您知道，如果我对她严加管教，如果我禁止她……天知道，他们偷偷地会做出什么事（伯爵夫人心中暗指，他们会接吻），可是现在，她说的每句话我都知道。她晚上自己跑回家来，把一切情形讲给我听。我也许正在惯养她，不过，说实话，这样做似乎更妙。我对大女儿管教得很严。”
“是的，教育我的方式完全不一样。”长女——漂亮的名叫薇拉的伯爵小姐面带微笑地说道。
但是微笑并没有使薇拉的面部变得更加漂亮，这是一件常见的事，恰好适得其反，她的脸色变得不太自然，从而令人生厌。长女薇拉长得俊俏，并不笨拙，学习成绩优良，受到很好的教育，她的嗓子悠扬悦耳，她说的话合情合理，恰如其分，但是，说来令人诧异，女客也好，伯爵夫人也好，大家都竟然回过头来望她一眼，仿佛十分惊讶似的，为什么她要说这番话，大家都觉得尴尬。
“大家总对年龄较大的儿童自作主张，总想做出什么不平凡的事业。”女客人说道。
“machère，不用隐瞒，承认好了！伯爵夫人对薇拉的事自作主张，”伯爵说道。“这又有什么关系啊！她毕竟变成一个很好的姑娘。”他补充说道，向薇拉递个眼色，表示赞成的意思。
女客们站了起来，答应来吃午饭，便乘马车走了。
“是什么派头！他们都坐着，坐着不走！”伯爵夫人送走客人后说道。
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ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 10楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Ten


WHEN NATASHA ran out of the drawing-room she only ran as far as the conservatory. There she stopped listening to the talk in the drawing-room, and waiting for Boris to come out. She was beginning to get impatient, and stamping her foot was almost ready to cry at his not coming at once, when she heard the young man's footsteps coming out discreetly, not too slowly nor too quickly. Natasha darted swiftly away and hid among the tubs of shrubs.
Boris stood still in the middle of the room, looked round him, brushed a speck of dirt off the sleeve of his uniform, and going up to the looking-glass examined his handsome face. Natasha, keeping quiet, peeped out of her hiding-place, waiting to see what he would do. He stood a little while before the glass, smiled at his reflection, and walked towards the other door. Natasha was on the point of calling to him, but she changed her mind. “Let him look for me,” she said to herself. Boris had only just gone out, when at the other door Sonya came in, flushed and muttering something angrily through her tears. Natasha checked her first impulse to run out to her, and remained in her hiding-place, as it were under the invisible cap, looking on at what was going on in the world. She began to feel a peculiar novel sort of enjoyment in it. Sonya was murmuring something as she looked towards the drawing-room door. The door opened and Nikolay came in.
“Sonya! what is the matter? how can you?” said Nikolay, running up to her.
“Nothing, nothing, leave me alone!” Sonya was sobbing.
“No, I know what it is.”
“Very well, you do, so much the better then, and you can go back to her.”
“So-o-onya! one word! How can you torture me and yourself for a mere fancy?” said Nikolay, taking her hand. Sonya did not pull her hand away, and left off crying.
Natasha, not stirring and hardly breathing, looked with shining eyes from her hiding-place. “What's coming now?” she thought.
“Sonya! I care for nothing in the whole world! You're everything to me,” said Nikolay. “I'll prove it to you.”
“I don't like you to talk like that.”
“Well, I won't then; come, forgive me, Sonya.” He drew her to him and kissed her.
“Oh, that's nice,” thought Natasha, and when Sonya and Nikolay had gone out of the room she followed them and called Boris to her.
“Boris, come here,” she said with a sly and significant look. “I've something I want to tell you. Here, here,” she said, and she led him into the conservatory, to the place where she had hidden between the tubs. Boris followed her, smiling.
“What is the something?” he inquired. She was a little embarrassed; she looked round her, and seeing her doll flung down on a tub she picked it up.
“Kiss the doll,” she said. Boris looked with observant, affectionate eyes at her eager face and made no answer. “Don't you want to? Well, then come here,” she said, and went further in among the shrubs and tossed away the doll. “Closer, closer!” she whispered. She caught hold of the young officer's arms above the cuff, and her flushed face had a look of solemnity and awe.
“Would you like to kiss me?” she whispered, hardly audibly, peeping up at him from under her eyelids, smiling and almost crying with excitement.
Boris reddened. “How absurd you are!” he said, bending down to her, flushing redder still, but doing nothing, waiting what would come next. Suddenly she jumped on to a tub, so that as she stood she was taller than he, flung both arms round him so that her slender, bare arms clasped him above his neck, and flinging back her hair with a toss of her head, she kissed him just on his lips.
She slipped away among the flower-pots on the other side, and stood with hanging head.
“Natasha,” he said, “you know I love you, but—”
“You're in love with me,” Natasha broke in.
“Yes I am, but, please, don't let us do like that.… In another four years… Then I shall ask for your hand.” Natasha pondered a moment.
“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen …” she said, counting on her thin little fingers.
“Very well. Then it's settled?” And her excited face beamed with a smile of delight and relief.
“Settled!” said Boris.
“For ever?” said the little girl. “Till death?” And taking his arm, with a happy face she walked quietly beside him into the next room.


第一章第十节


娜塔莎步出客厅，奔驰而去，只奔至花房。她在这个房间里停下来了，等候鲍里斯走出门来。她已经不耐烦了。他没有马上走来，她顿了一下脚，快要放声大哭，这时听到了年轻人的不疾速亦不迟缓的文质彬彬的步履声。娜塔莎飞快地窜到花桶中间，躲匿起来了。
鲍里斯在房间中央停步了，环顾了一遭，掸掉制服袖子上的尘屑，走到镜台前，仔细瞧瞧他那俊美的面孔。娜塔莎没有出声，从她躲匿的地方向外观望，等待着，看他怎样办。他在镜台前伫立了片刻，微微一笑，就向大门口走去。娜塔莎想喊他一声，随即改变了念头。
“让他去找吧，”她对自己说道。鲍里斯刚刚走出来，索尼娅涨红了脸，透过泪水愤恨地低声细语，从另一道门走了出来。娜塔莎忍住了，没有起步向她身边跑去，还留在躲匿的地方，宛如戴上一顶隐身帽，不时地窥视人世间的动静。她正在享受一种特别新鲜的乐趣。索尼娅用耳语说着什么话，又回头望望客厅门。尼古拉从门口走出来了。
“索尼娅，你怎么啦？哪能这样呢？”尼古拉说道，向她身边跑来了。
“没有什么，没有什么，丢下我别管吧！”索尼娅嚎啕大哭起来。
“不，我知道干嘛。”
“哦，您知道，好得很，您上她那儿去吧。”
“索——尼娅！有句话要跟你说！哪能凭瞎想这样折磨我，这样折磨你自己！”尼古拉说道，一把抓住她的手。
索尼娅不去挣脱自己的手，停止哭泣了。
娜塔莎屏住气息，一动不动地从她躲匿的地方用那闪闪发亮的眼睛向外张望。“此刻会出什么事呢？”她思忖道。
“索尼娅！我所需要的不是整个世界！在我心目中唯有你才是一切，”尼古拉说道，“我向你证明我说的话。”
“我不喜欢你这样说话。”
“哦，我再也不说了，嗯，索尼娅，宽恕我吧！”他把她拖到自己身边，吻了吻她。
“嗬，多么好啊！”娜塔莎心里想道，索尼娅和尼古拉从房里走出以后，她跟随着他们，把鲍里斯喊到自己身边来。
“鲍里斯，您到这里来，”她现出一副意味深长的狡黠的神态说道，“我有一件事要说给您听。到这里来吧，到这里来吧。”她说道，把他领到花房里她躲匿过的花桶之间。鲍里斯微露笑容，跟在她后面走去。
“这究竟是件什么事呢？”他发问。
她困窘不安，向四下打量一番，看见她那被扔在花桶上的洋娃娃，把它拿起来。
“吻吻这个洋娃娃吧。”她说道。
鲍里斯用关切而温和的目光望着她那兴奋的脸盘，一声也不回答。
“您不愿意吗？喂，就到这儿来吧，”她说道，并向花丛纵深走去，扔掉了那个洋娃娃，“靠近点，靠近点吧！”她轻言细语地说道。她双手抓住军官的袖口，在她那涨红了的脸上可以望见激动和恐惧的神色。
“您愿意吻吻我吗？”她低声细语，几乎听不清楚，皱着眉头向他瞧着，脸上露出微笑，激动得几乎要哭出声来。
鲍里斯面红耳赤。
“您多么可笑！”他说道，向她弯下腰来，面红得更加厉害，但却没有采取任何行动，只是等待好机会。
她突然跳到花桶上，身段就显得比他高了，她用自己的双手把他抱住了，于是她那纤细的裸露的手臂在他的颈项上方弯成弧形了，她仰起头来，把头发甩在后面，正好在他的唇上吻了一下。
她经过花钵中间窜到花丛的另一边，低垂着头，停步不前了。
“娜塔莎，”他说道，“您知道我是爱您的，可是……”
“您爱上我了吗？”娜塔莎打断了他的话。
“是的，我爱上您了，但是您瞧，真是的，我们以后不要像刚才那样冒冒失失……还有四个年头……那时候我会向您求婚。”
娜塔莎思忖了一下。
“十三岁，十四岁，十五岁，十六岁……”她说道，弯屈着她那纤细的指头算算，“很好！那么成了定局罗？”
欣喜和安定的微笑使她兴奋的面部神采奕奕。
“成定局了！”鲍里斯说道。
“永远吗？”小女孩说道，“一直到寿终正寝？”
她于是挽着他的手臂，露出幸运的神色，静悄悄地和他并排走到摆满沙发的休息室里去。
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 11楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Eleven


THE COUNTESS was so tired from seeing visitors that she gave orders that she would see no one else, and the doorkeeper was told to be sure and invite to dinner every one who should call with congratulations. The countess was longing for a tête-à-tête talk with the friend of her childhood, Anna Mihalovna, whom she had not seen properly since she had arrived from Petersburg. Anna Mihalovna, with her tear-worn and amiable face, moved closer up to the countess's easy-chair.
“With you I will be perfectly open,” said Anna Mihalovna. “We haven't many old friends left. That's how it is I value your friendship so.”
Anna Mihalovna looked at Vera and stopped. The countess pressed her friend's hand.
“Vera,” said the countess to her eldest daughter, unmistakably not her favourite, “how is it you have no notion about anything? Don't you feel that you're not wanted here? Go to your sister or …”
The handsome young countess smiled scornfully, apparently not in the least mortified.
“If you had told me, mamma, I would have gone away long ago,” she said, and went off towards her own room. But passing through the divan-room, she noticed two couples sitting symmetrically in the two windows. She stopped and smiled contemptuously at them. Sonya was sitting close beside Nikolay, who was copying out some verses for her, the first he had ever written. Boris and Natasha were sitting in the other window, and were silent when Vera came in. Sonya and Natasha looked at Vera with guilty, happy faces.
It was an amusing and touching sight to see these little girls in love, but the sight of them did not apparently arouse any agreeable feeling in Vera. “How often have I asked you,” she said, “not to take my things? You have a room of your own.” She took the inkstand away from Nikolay.
“One minute, one minute,” he said, dipping his pen in.
“You always manage to do things just at the wrong moment,” said Vera. “First you burst into the drawing-room so that every one was ashamed of you.” Although or just because what she said was perfectly true, no one answered; all the four simply looked at one another. She lingered in the room with the inkstand in her hand. “And what sort of secrets can you have at your age, Natasha and Boris, and you two!—it's all simply silly nonsense!”
“Well, what has it to do with you, Vera?” Natasha said in defence, speaking very gently. She was evidently more good-humoured and affectionate than usual that day with every one.
“It's very silly,” said Vera; “I am ashamed of you. What sort of secret…”
“Every one has secrets. We don't interfere with you and Berg,” said Natasha, getting warmer.
“I should think you didn't interfere,” said Vera, “because there could be no harm in any conduct of mine. But I shall tell mamma how you behave with Boris.”
“Natalya Ilyinishna behaves very well to me,” said Boris. “I have nothing to complain of,” he said.
“Leave off, Boris, you're such a diplomatist” (the world diplomatist was much in use among the children in the special sense they attached to the word). “It's tiresome, really,” said Natasha, in a mortified and shaking voice; “why does she set upon me?”
“You'll never understand it,” she said, addressing Vera, “because you've never cared for any one; you've no heart; you're simply Madame de Genlis” (this nickname, considered most offensive, had been given to Vera by Nikolay), “and your greatest delight is in getting other people into trouble. You can flirt with Berg, as much as you like,” she said quickly.
“Well, I'm not likely to run after a young man before visitors.…”
“Well, she has gained her object!” Nikolay put in; “she has said something nasty to every one, and upset everybody. Let's go into the nursery.”
All four rose, like a flock of scared birds, and went out of the room.
“You've said nasty things to me, and I said nothing to any one,” said Vera.
“Madame de Genlis! Madame de Genlis!” cried laughing voices through the door.
The handsome girl who produced such an irritating and unpleasant effect on every one smiled; and, obviously unaffected by what had been said to her, she went up to the looking-glass and put her scarf and her hair tidy. Looking at her handsome face, she seemed to become colder and more composed than ever.
In the drawing-room the conversation was still going on.
“Ah, chère,” said the countess, “in my life, too, everything is not rose-coloured. Do you suppose I don't see that, in the way we are going on, our fortune can't last long? And it's all the club and his good-nature. When we're in the country we have no rest from it,—it's nothing but theatricals, hunting parties, and God knows what. But we won't talk of me. Come, tell me how you managed it all. I often wonder at you, Annette, the way you go racing off alone, at your age, to Moscow, and to Petersburg, to all the ministers, and all the great people, and know how to get round them all too. I admire you, really! Well, how was it arranged? Why, I could never do it.”
“Ah, my dear!” answered Princess Anna Mihalovna, “God grant that you never know what it is to be left a widow, with no one to support you, and a son whom you love to distraction. One learns how to do anything,” she said with some pride. “My lawsuit trained me to it. If I want to see one of these great people, I write a note: ‘Princess so-and-so wishes to see so-and-so,' and I go myself in a hired cab two or three times—four, if need be—till I get what I want. I don't mind what they think of me.”
“Well, tell me, then, whom did you interview for Borinka?” asked the countess. “Here's your boy an officer in the Guards, while my Nikolinka's going as an ensign. There's no one to manage things for him. Whose help did you ask?”
“Prince Vassily's. He was so kind. Agreed to do everything immediately; put the case before the Emperor,” said Princess Anna Mihalovna enthusiastically, entirely forgetting all the humiliation she had been through to attain her object.
“And how is he? beginning to get old, Prince Vassily?” inquired the countess. “I have never seen him since our theatricals at the Rumyantsovs', and I dare say he has forgotten me. He paid me attentions,” the countess recalled with a smile.
“He's just the same,” answered Anna Mihalovna, “so affable, brimming over. Greatness has not turned his head. ‘I am sorry I can do so little for you, Princess,' he said to me; ‘I'm at your command.' Yes, he's a splendid man, and very good to his relatives. But you know, Natalie, my love for my boy. I don't know what I would not do to make him happy. And my means are so scanty,” pursued Anna Mihalovna, dropping her voice mournfully, “that now I am in a most awful position. My wretched lawsuit is eating up all I have, and making no progress. I have not, can you conceive it, literally, not sixpence in the world, and I don't know how to get Boris's equipment.” She took out her handkerchief and shed tears. “I must have five hundred roubles, and I have only a twenty-five rouble note. I'm in such a position.… My one hope now is in Prince Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov. If he will not come to the help of his godson—you know he is Boris's godfather—and allow him something for his maintenance, all my efforts will have been in vain; I shall have nothing to get his equipment with.”
The countess deliberated in tearful silence.
“I often think—perhaps it's a sinful thought,” said the princess—“but I often think: here is Prince Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov living all alone … that immense fortune … and what is he living for? Life is a burden to him, while Boris is only just beginning life.”
“He will be sure to leave something to Boris,” said the countess.
“God knows, chère amie! These wealthy grand people are such egoists. But still I'm going to see him at once with Boris, and I will tell him plainly the state of the case. People may think what they choose of me, I really don't care, when my son's fate depends on it.” The princess got up. “It's now two o'clock, and you dine at four. I shall have time to drive there and back.”
And with the air of a Petersburg lady, used to business, and knowing how to make use of every moment, Anna Mihalovna sent for her son, and with him went out into the hall.
“Good-bye, my dear,” she said to the countess, who accompanied her to the door. “Wish me good-luck,” she added in a whisper unheard by her son.
“You're going to Prince Kirill Vladimirovich's, ma chère?” said the count, coming out of the dining-room into the hall. “If he's better, invite Pierre to dine with us. He has been here; used to dance with the children. Be sure you invite him, ma chère. Now do come and look how Taras has surpassed himself to-day. He says Count Orlov never had such a dinner as we're going to have to-day.”


第一章第十一节


会客的事情使伯爵夫人疲惫不堪，她吩咐不再招待任何人，又指示门房，只邀请一些务须登门饮宴的贺客。伯爵夫人想和自己童年时代的女友——名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人单独晤谈，自从她自彼得堡归来，伯爵夫人还没有好好地探查她啦。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜露出一幅泪痕斑斑但却令人心欢的面孔，把身子移向伯爵夫人的安乐椅近旁。
“我对你直言不讳，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，“我们这些老朋友剩存的已经很少了！因此，我十分珍惜你的友情。”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜望了望薇拉，便停住了。伯爵夫人握了握朋友的手。
“薇拉，”伯爵夫人把脸转向显然不受宠爱的长女，说道，“您怎么一点不明事理啊？难道你不觉得，你在这里是个多余的人吗？到几个妹妹那里去吧，或者……”
貌美的薇拉鄙夷地微露笑容，显然她一点也不感到屈辱。
“妈妈，假如您老早对我说了这番话，我老早就会离开您了。”她说了这句话，便向自己房里去了。
但是，当她路过摆满沙发的休息室时，她发觉休息室里有两对情人在两扇窗户近侧对称地坐着。她停步了，鄙视地微微一笑。索尼娅坐在尼古拉近侧，他把他头次创作的诗句誊写给她看。鲍里斯和娜塔莎坐在另一扇窗户旁边，当薇拉走进来时，他们都默不作声了。索尼娅和娜塔莎带着愧悔、但却幸福的神态，瞥了薇拉一眼。
看见这些热恋的小姑娘，真令人高兴和感动。但是她们的样子在薇拉身上显然没有引起愉快的感觉。
“我请求你们多少次了，”她说道，“不要拿走我的东西，你们都有你们自己的房间。”她拿起尼古拉身边的墨水瓶。
“我马上给你，马上给你。”他说道，把笔尖蘸上墨水了。
“你们向来不善于适合时宜地做事情，”薇拉说道，“方才你们跑到客厅里来，真教大家替你们害臊。”
虽然她说的话完全合情合理，莫非正因为如此，所以没有人回答，这四个人只是互使眼色而已。她手里拿着墨水瓶迟迟未起步，在房里滞留。
“你们这样的年纪，会有什么秘密，娜塔莎和鲍里斯之间，你们二人之间会有什么秘密，会是一些愚蠢事。”
“嘿，薇拉，这与你何干。”娜塔莎用低沉的嗓音作辩护。
这天她对大家显然比平常更慈善，更温和。
“很愚蠢，”薇拉说道，“我替你们害臊，这是什么秘密呢？
……”
“每个人都有自己的秘密。我们不招惹你和贝格就是了。”
娜塔莎急躁地说……
“我认为，你们不会触犯人，”薇拉说道，“因为我从来没有什么不轨的行为。看吧，你怎样对待鲍里斯，我准会告诉妈妈。”
“娜塔莉娅·伊利尼什娜待我非常好，”鲍里斯说道，“我不会诉怨的。”他说道。
“鲍里斯，请您不要管，您是这么一个外交家（外交家这个词在儿童中间广为流传，他们使这个词具有一种特殊意义），真够乏味，”娜塔莎用委屈的颤栗的嗓音说道，“她干嘛跟着我，纠缠得没完没了？这一点你永远也不会明白，”她把脸转向薇拉说道，“因为你从来没有爱过任何人；你简直没有心肠，你只是个ma－damedeGenlis①（尼古拉给薇拉起的侮辱人的绰号），你主要的乐趣就是给他人制造不愉快的事情。你去向贝格献媚吧，你想怎样献媚就怎样献媚。”她急匆匆地说道。
①法语：让莉夫人。
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ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 12楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Twelve


“Mon cher Boris,” said Anna Mihalovna as the Countess Rostov's carriage drove along the street strewn with straw and into the wide courtyard of Count Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov's house. “Mon cher Boris,” said the mother, putting her hand out from under her old mantle, and laying it on her son's hand with a timid, caressing movement, “be nice, be attentive. Count Kirill Vladimirovitch is after all your godfather, and your future depends on him. Remember that, mon cher, be charming, as you know so well how to be.…”
“If I knew anything would come of it but humiliation,” her son answered coldly. “But I have promised, and I will do it for your sake.”
Although the carriage was standing at the entrance, the hall-porter, scanning the mother and son (they had not sent in their names, but had walked straight in through the glass doors between two rows of statues in niches), and looking significantly at the old mantle, inquired whom they wanted, the princesses or the count; and hearing that they wanted to see the count, said that his excellency was worse to-day, and his excellency could see no one.
“We may as well go away,” the son said in French.
“Mon ami!” said the mother in a voice of entreaty, again touching her son's hand, as though the contact might soothe or rouse him. Boris said no more, but without taking off his overcoat, looked inquiringly at his mother.
“My good man,” Anna Mihalovna said ingratiatingly, addressing the hall-porter, “I know that Count Kirill Vladimirovitch is very ill … that is why I am here … I am a relation … I shall not disturb him, my good man … I need only see Prince Vassily Sergyevitch; he's staying here, I know. Announce us, please.”
The hall-porter sullenly pulled the bell-rope that rang upstairs and turned away.
“Princess Drubetskoy to see Prince Vassily Sergyevitch,” he called to a footman in stockings, slippers and a frockcoat, who ran down from above, and looked down from the turn in the staircase.
The mother straightened out the folds of her dyed silk gown, looked at herself in the full-length Venetian looking-glass on the wall, and boldly walked up on the stair carpet in her shabby, shapeless shoes.
“My dear, you promised me,” she turned again to her son, rousing him by a touch on his arm. The son, with his eyes on the door, walked submissively after her.
They went into a large room, from which a door led to the apartments that had been assigned to Prince Vassily.
At the moment when the mother and son reached the middle of the room and were about to ask their way of an old footman, who had darted out at their entrance, the bronze handle of one of the doors turned, and Prince Vassily, dressed in a house jacket of velvet, with one star, came out, accompanying a handsome, black-haired man. This man was the celebrated Petersburg doctor, Lorrain.
“It is positive, then?” said the Prince.
“Prince, errare est humanum,” answered the doctor, lisping, and pronouncing the Latin words with a French accent.
“Very well, very well …”
Perceiving Anna Mihalovna and her son, Prince Vassily dismissed the doctor with a bow, and in silence, with an air of inquiry, advanced to meet them. The son noticed how an expression of intense grief came at once into his mother's eyes, and he smiled slightly.
“Yes, in what distressing circumstances we were destined to meet again, prince.… Tell me how is our dear patient?” she said, apparently not observing the frigid, offensive glance that was fixed on her. Prince Vassily stared at her, then at Boris with a look of inquiry that amounted to perplexity. Boris bowed politely. Prince Vassily, without acknowledging his bow, turned away to Anna Mihalovna, and to her question he replied by a movement of the head and lips, indicative of the worst fears for the patient.
“Is it possible?” cried Anna Mihalovna. “Ah, this is terrible! It is dreadful to think … This is my son,” she added, indicating Boris. “He wanted to thank you in person.”
Boris once more made a polite bow.
“Believe me, prince, a mother's heart will never forget what you have done for us.”
“I am glad I have been able to do you any service, my dear Anna Mihalovna,” said Prince Vassily, pulling his lace frill straight, and in voice and manner manifesting here in Moscow, before Anna Mihalovna, who was under obligation to him, an even greater sense of his own dignity than in Petersburg at Anna Pavlovna's soirée.
“Try to do your duty in the service, and to be worthy of it.” he added, turning severely to him. “I am glad … you are here on leave?” he asked in his expressionless voice.
“I am awaiting orders, your excellency, to join my new regiment,” answered Boris, showing no sign either of resentment at the prince's abrupt manner, nor of desire to get into conversation, but speaking with such respectful composure that the prince looked at him attentively.
“You are living with your mother?”
“I am living at Countess Rostov's,” said Boris, again adding: “your excellency.”
“The Ilya Rostov, who married Natalie Shinshin,” said Anna Mihalovna.
“I know, I know,” said Prince Vassily in his monotonous voice. “I have never been able to understand how Natalie Shinshin could make up her mind to marry that unlicked bear. A completely stupid and ridiculous person. And a gambler too, I am told.”
“But a very worthy man, prince,” observed Anna Mihalovna, with a pathetic smile, as though she too recognised that Count Rostov deserved this criticism, but begged him not to be too hard on the poor old fellow. “What do the doctors say?” asked the princess, after a brief pause, and again the expression of deep distress reappeared on her tear-worn face.
“There is little hope,” said the prince.
“And, I was so longing to thank uncle once more for all his kindness to me and to Boris. He is his godson,” she added in a tone that suggested that Prince Vassily would be highly delighted to hear this fact.
Prince Vassily pondered and frowned. Anna Mihalovna saw he was afraid of finding in her a rival with claims on Count Bezuhov's will. She hastened to reassure him. “If it were not for my genuine love and devotion for uncle,” she said, uttering the last word with peculiar assurance and carelessness, “I know his character,—generous, upright; but with only the princesses about him.… They are young.…” She bent her head and added in a whisper: “Has he performed his last duties, prince? How priceless are these last moments! He is as bad as he could be, it seems; it is absolutely necessary to prepare him, if he is so ill. We women, prince,” she smiled tenderly, “always know how to say these things. I absolutely must see him. Hard as it will be for me, I am used to suffering.”
The prince evidently understood, and understood, too, as he had at Anna Pavlovna's, that it was no easy task to get rid of Anna Mihalovna.
“Would not this interview be trying for him, chère Anna Mihalovna?” he said. “Let us wait till the evening; the doctors have predicted a crisis.”
“But waiting's out of the question, prince, at such a moment. Think, it is a question of saving his soul. Ah! how terrible, the duties of a Christian.…”
The door from the inner rooms opened, and one of the count's nieces entered with a cold and forbidding face, and a long waist strikingly out of proportion with the shortness of her legs.
Prince Vassily turned to her. “Well, how is he?”
“Still the same. What can you expect with this noise? …” said the princess, scanning Anna Mihalovna, as a stranger.
“Ah, dear, I did not recognise you,” said Anna Mihalovna, with a delighted smile, and she ambled lightly up to the count's niece. “I have just come, and I am at your service to help in nursing my uncle. I imagine what you have been suffering,” she added, sympathetically turning her eyes up.
The princess made no reply, she did not even smile, but walked straight away. Anna Mihalovna took off her gloves, and entrenched herself as it were in an armchair, inviting Prince Vassily to sit down beside her.
“Boris!” she said to her son, and she smiled at him, “I am going in to the count, to poor uncle, and you can go to Pierre, mon ami, meanwhile, and don't forget to give him the Rostovs' invitation. They ask him to dinner. I suppose he won't go?” she said to the prince.
“On the contrary,” said the prince, visibly cast down. “I should be very glad if you would take that young man off my hands.… He sticks on here. The count has not once asked for him.”
He shrugged his shoulders. A footman conducted the youth downstairs and up another staircase to the apartments of Pyotr Kirillovitch.


“MoncherBoris，”①当他们搭乘名叫罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人的四轮轿式马车经过铺有麦秆的街道，驶入基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇·别祖霍夫家的大庭院时，名列安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人对儿子说道，“moncherBoris，”母亲从旧式女外套下面伸出手来，胆怯地、温存地把手搁在儿子手上说道，“待人要殷勤、体贴。基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇毕竟是你的教父，你未来的命运以他为转移。moncher，你要记住，要和蔼可爱，你会这样做……”
①法语：我亲爱的鲍里斯。

“如果我知道，除开屈辱而外，这能得到什么结果……，”儿子冷漠地答道，“但是我向您许了愿，我要为您而效劳。”
虽然有一辆什么人的四轮轿式马车停在台阶前面，但是门房还是把偕同儿子的母亲仔细观察一番（他们并没有通报姓氏，径直地走进两排壁龛雕像之间的玻璃穿堂里），意味深长地望了望她那身旧式的女外衣，问他们访问何人，是访问公爵小姐，还是访问伯爵，得知访问伯爵之后，便说大人今天病情更严重，不接见任何人。
“我们可以走啦。”儿子说了一句法国话。
“monami！”①母亲用央求的嗓音说道，又用手碰碰儿子的手臂，仿佛这一触动就可以使他平静，或者使他兴奋似的。
鲍里斯默不作声，没有脱下军大衣，他用疑问的目光望着母亲。
①法语：我的朋友。

“老兄，”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜把脸转向门房，用温柔的嗓音说道，“我知道，基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇伯爵的病情严重，……因此我才来探视……我是他的亲戚……老兄，我不会惊动他……不过，我必须见见瓦西里·谢尔盖耶维奇公爵，他不是呆在这里么。请通报一声。”
门房忧郁地拉了一下通到楼上的门铃的引线，就扭过脸去。
“名叫德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人求见瓦西里·谢尔盖耶维奇公爵，”他向那走下楼来、从楼梯凸缘下面向外张望的穿着长袜、矮靿皮靴和燕尾服的堂倌喊道。
母亲把那染过的丝绸连衣裙的裙褶弄匀整，照了照嵌在墙上的纯正的威尼斯穿衣镜。她脚上穿着一双矮靿破皮靴，沿着楼梯地毯，走上楼去了。
“moncher，vousm'avezpromis，”①她又向儿子转过脸去说道，她用手碰碰儿子，要他振作起来。
儿子低垂着眼睛，不慌不忙地跟在她后面。
他们走进了大厅，厅里有扇门通往瓦西里公爵的内室。
当母亲随带儿子走到屋子中间，正想向那个看见他们走进来便飞快起身的老堂倌问路的时候，一扇门的青铜拉手转动了，瓦西里公爵走出门来，他按照家常的穿戴方式，披上一件天鹅绒面的皮袄，只佩戴一枚金星勋章，正在送走一个头发黝黑的美男子。这个美男子是大名鼎鼎的彼得堡的罗兰大夫。
“C'estdoncpositif？”②公爵说道。
“Monprince，‘Errarehummanumest'，mais…③大夫答道，弹动小舌发喉音，用法国口音说出几个拉丁词。
“C'estbien，c'estbien…”④
①法语：我的朋友，你向我许愿了。
②法语：这是确实的吗？
③法语；我的公爵，“人本来就难免犯错误，”可是……
④法语：好啦，好啦……

瓦西里公爵看见了安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜和她带在身边的儿子，便鞠了一躬把那个大夫打发走了，他沉默地、但现出发问的样子向他们面前走去。她儿子发现母亲的眼中忽然流露出极度的忧伤，便微微一笑了之。
“是呀，公爵，我们是在多么忧愁的情况下会面啊！……哦，我们亲爱的病人现在怎样了？”她说道，仿佛没有注意到向她凝视的非常冷漠的、令人屈辱的目光。
瓦西里公爵现出疑虑的惶惑不安的神态看看她，而后又看看鲍里斯。鲍里斯彬彬有礼地鞠了一躬。瓦西里公爵没有躬身答礼，却向安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜转过脸来，摇摇头，努努嘴，以示回答她的问话，公爵的动作意味着病人没有多大希望了。
“莫不是？”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜惊叫道，“啊！这多么可怕！想起来真是骇人哩……这是我的儿子。”她用手指着鲍里斯补充了一句，“他想亲自向您表示感激。”
鲍里斯又彬彬有礼地鞠了一躬。
“公爵，请您相信我吧，母亲心眼里永远也不会忘记您为我们做的善事。”
“我亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，我能做一点使你们愉快的事情，我感到非常高兴。”瓦西里公爵说道，又把胸口的皱褶花边弄平。在这儿，在莫斯科，在受庇护的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜面前，和在彼得堡安内特·舍列尔举办的晚会上相比较，他的姿态和声调都表明他高傲得多了。
“你好好供职，尽力而为，做个当之无愧的臣民，”他很严肃地对着鲍里斯补充说，“我感到非常高兴……您在这里休假么？”他用冷漠的语调说，迫使他照办。
“大人，我听候命令，接到新的任命就动身。”鲍里斯答道，他不因公爵的生硬语调而恼怒，也不表示他有交谈的心意，但他心地平静，态度十分恭敬，公爵禁不住用那凝集的目光朝他瞥了一眼。
“您和您母亲住在一起吗？”
“我住在那个叫做罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人那里，”鲍里斯说道，又补充一句话：“大人。”
“这就是那个娶了娜塔莉娅·申申娜的伊利亚·罗斯托夫。”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道。
“我知道，我知道，”瓦西里公爵用单调的嗓音说道，“Jen'aijamaispuconcevoir，commentNathalies'estdécideeàépousercetoursmal—leche！Unpersonnagecomplétementstupideetridicule．Etjoueuràcequ'ondit。”①。
“maistresbravehomme，monprince，”②安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜说道，脸上流露出令人感动的微笑，仿佛她也知道，罗斯托夫伯爵值得这样评价似的，可是她请求人家怜悯一下这个可怜的老头。
“大夫们说了什么呢？”公爵夫人沉默片刻后发问，她那泪痕斑斑的脸上又流露出极度的哀愁。
“希望不大了。”公爵说道。
“不过我很想再一次地感谢叔叔对我和鲍里斯的恩赐。C'estsonfilleul。”③她补充一句，那语调听来仿佛这个消息必然会使瓦西里公爵分外高兴似的。
①法语：我从来都不明白，娜塔莎竟然拿定主意嫁给这头邋遢的狗熊。十分愚蠢而荒唐。据说，还是个赌棍哩。
②公爵，但他为人厚道。
③法语：这是他的教子。

瓦西里公爵陷入了沉思，蹙起了额头。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜心中明白，根据别祖霍夫的遗嘱来看，他怕她成为争夺财产的敌手，她赶快让他安心下来。
“如果不是我有真挚的爱心，对叔叔一片忠诚，”她说道，露出特别自信和漫不经心的样子说出“叔叔”这个词：“我熟悉他的性格，高尚而坦率，可是要知道，他身边尽是一些公爵小姐……她们都很年轻……”她低下头来，轻言细语地补充说道：“公爵，他是否履行了最后的义务，送了他的终？这最后的时刻多么宝贵啊！要知道，比这临终更糟的事是不会有的了，既然他的病情如此沉重，就必须给他准备后事。公爵，我们妇女辈，”她很温和地微微一笑，“一向就知道这些话应该怎样说哩。我务必要去见他一面。无论这件事使我怎样难受，可我养成了忍受痛苦的习惯。”
公爵显然已经明了，甚至在安内特·舍列尔举办的晚会上就已明了，很难摆脱开安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜这位夫人。
“亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，这次见面不会使他难受吧，”他说道，“我们就等到晚上好了。大夫们预告了危象。”
“公爵，可是在这种时刻，不能等待啊。Pensez，ilyvadusalutdesoname…Ah！c'estterrible，lesdevoirsd'unchrétien…”①
①法语：我想想看，这事情涉及他的灵魂的拯救……啊！这多么可怕，一个基督徒的义务……

内室里的一扇门开了，一位公爵小姐——伯爵的侄女走出来了，显露出忧郁的冷淡的脸色，她腰身太长，和两腿很不相称。
瓦西里公爵向她转过脸来。
“哦，他怎么样了？”
“还是那个样子。不管您认为怎样，这一阵喧嚣……”公爵小姐说道，回头望着安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜便像望着一个陌生人拟的。
“Ah，chère，jenevousreconnaissaispas，”①安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜含着幸福的微笑，说道，她迈着轻盈而迅速的脚步向伯爵的侄女面前走去，“JeviensdamivenetjesnisanauspounvousaidenasoignenmononcleJ'imagine，comlienvousanegsouggent．”②她同情地翻着白眼，补充说道。
公爵小姐一言未答，甚至没有微微一笑，就立刻走出去了。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜脱下了手套，摆出洋洋自得的姿态，在安乐椅里坐下来了，并请瓦西里公爵坐在她近旁。
“鲍里斯！”她微微一笑，对儿子说道，“我上伯爵叔叔那里去，我的朋友，你先到皮埃尔那里去，别忘记转告他，罗斯托夫家邀请他。他们请他用午饭。我想他去不成，是吗？”
她把脸转向公爵说道。
“正好相反，”公爵说道，看来他的心绪欠佳，“Jeseraistrescontentsivousmedebarrassezdecejeunehomme
……③他就在这里，伯爵一次也没有询问他的情况。”
他耸耸肩。堂倌领着这个年轻人下楼，从另一座楼梯上楼，到彼得·基里洛维奇那里去了。
①法语：啊，亲爱的，我没有认出您了。
②法语：我来帮助您照料叔叔。我想象得到，你够辛苦的了。
③法语：如果您能够使我摆脱这个年轻人，那我就会感到非常高兴……
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
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Part One Chapter  Thirteen


PIERRE had not succeeded in fixing upon a career in Petersburg, and really had been banished to Moscow for disorderly conduct. The story told about him at Count Rostov's was true. Pierre had assisted in tying the police officer to the bear. He had arrived a few days previously, stopping as he always did at his father's house. Though he had assumed that his story would be already known at Moscow, and that the ladies who were about his father, always unfavourably disposed to him, would profit by this opportunity of turning the count against him, he went on the day of his arrival to his father's part of the house. Going into the drawing-room, where the princesses usually sat, he greeted the ladies, two of whom were sitting at their embroidery frames, while one read aloud. There were three of them. The eldest, a trim, long-waisted, severe maiden-lady, the one who had come out to Anna Mihalovna, was reading. The younger ones, both rosy and pretty, were only to be distinguished by the fact that one of them had a little mole which made her much prettier. They were both working at their embroidery frames. Pierre was received like a man risen from the dead or stricken with plague. The eldest princess paused in her reading and stared at him in silence with dismay in her eyes. The second assumed precisely the same expression. The youngest, the one with the mole, who was of a mirthful and laughing disposition, bent over her frame, to conceal a smile, probably evoked by the amusing scene she foresaw coming. She pulled her embroidery wool out below, and bent down as though examining the pattern, hardly able to suppress her laughter.
“Good morning, cousin,” said Pierre. “You don't know me?”
“I know you only too well, only too well.”
“How is the count? Can I see him?” Pierre asked, awkwardly as always, but not disconcerted.
“The count is suffering both physically and morally, and your only anxiety seems to be to occasion him as much suffering as possible.”
“Can I see the count?” repeated Pierre.
“Hm … if you want to kill him, to kill him outright, you can see him. Olga, go and see if uncle's broth is ready—it will soon be time for it,” she added, to show Pierre they were busy, and busy in seeing after his father's comfort, while he was obviously only busy in causing him discomfort.
Olga went out. Pierre stood still a moment, looked at the sisters and bowing said: “Then I will go to my room. When I can see him, you will tell me.” He went away and heard the ringing but not loud laugh of the sister with the mole behind him.
The next day Prince Vassily had come and settled in the count's house. He sent for Pierre and said to him:
“My dear fellow, if you behave here as you did at Petersburg, you will come to a very bad end; that's all I have to say to you. The count is very, very ill; you must not see him.”
Since then Pierre had not been disturbed, and he spent the whole day alone in his room upstairs.
At the moment when Boris came in, Pierre was walking up and down his room, stopping now and then in the corners, making menacing gestures at the wall, as though thrusting some invisible enemy through with a lance, then he gazed sternly over his spectacles, then pacing up and down again, murmuring indistinct words, shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating.
“England's day is over!” he said, scowling and pointing at some one with his finger. “Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to the rights of man, is condemned…” he had not time to deliver Pitt's sentence, imagining himself at that moment Napoleon, and having in the person of his hero succeeded in the dangerous crossing of the Channel and in the conquest of London, when he saw a graceful, handsome young officer come in. He stood still. Pierre had seen Boris last as a boy of fourteen, and did not remember him in the least. But in spite of that he took his hand in his characteristically quick and warm-hearted manner, and smiled cordially at him.
“You remember me?” Boris said calmly with a pleasant smile. “I have come with my mother to see the count, but it seems he is not quite well.”
“Yes, he is ill, it seems. People are always bothering him,” answered Pierre, trying to recall who this youth might be.
Boris perceived that Pierre did not know him, but did not think fit to make himself known, and without the slightest embarrassment looked him straight in the face.
“Count Rostov asks you to come to dinner with him to-day,” he said, after a rather long silence somewhat disconcerting for Pierre.
“Ah, Count Rostov,” began Pierre, delighted. “So you are his son, Ilya? Can you believe it, for the first moment I did not recognise you. Do you remember how we used to slide on the Sparrow Hills with Madame Jacquot … long ago?”
“You are mistaken,” said Boris, deliberately, with a bold and rather sarcastic smile. “I am Boris, the son of Princess Anna Mihalovna Drubetskoy. It is the father of the Rostovs who is called Ilya, the son's Nikolay. And I don't know any Madame Jacquot.”
Pierre shook his hands and head, as though flies or bees were swarming upon him.
“Ah, how is it! I've mixed it all up. There are such a lot of relatives in Moscow! You are Boris … yes. Well, now, we have got it clear. Tell me, what do you think of the Boulogne expedition? Things will go badly with the English, you know, if Napoleon gets across the Channel. I believe that the expedition is very possible. If only Villeneuve doesn't make a mess of it!”
Boris knew nothing at all about the Boulogne expedition, and it was the first time he had heard of Villeneuve.
“Here in Moscow we are more interested in dinner parties and scandal than in politics,” he said in his self-possessed, sarcastic tone. “I know nothing and think nothing about it. Moscow's more engrossed in scandal than anything,” he went on. “Just now they are all talking about you and about the count.”
Pierre smiled his kindly smile, as though afraid for his companion's sake that he might say something he would regret. But Boris spoke distinctly, clearly and drily, looking straight into Pierre's face.
“There's nothing else to do in Moscow but talk scandal,” he went on. “Every one's absorbed in the question whom the count will leave his fortune to, though perhaps he will outlive us all, as I sincerely hope he may.”
“Yes, all that's very horrid,” Pierre interposed, “very horrid.” Pierre was still afraid this officer would inadvertently drop into some remark disconcerting for himself.
“And it must seem to you,” said Boris, flushing slightly, but not changing his voice or attitude, “it must seem to you that every one's thinking of nothing but getting something from him.”
“That's just it,” thought Pierre.
“And that's just what I want to say to you to prevent misunderstandings, that you are very much mistaken if you reckon me and my mother among those people. We are very poor, but I—at least I speak for myself—just because your father is rich, I don't consider myself a relation of his, and neither I nor my mother would ever ask him for anything or take anything from him.”
It was a long while before Pierre understood, but, when he did understand, he jumped up from the sofa, seized Boris's hand with his characteristic quickness and awkwardness, and blushing far more than Boris, began speaking with a mixed sensation of shame and annoyance.
“Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I … how you could think … I know very well …”
But Boris again interrupted him.
“I am glad I have told you everything frankly. Perhaps you dislike it: you must excuse me,” he said, trying to put Pierre at his ease instead of being put at his ease by him; “but I hope I have not offended you. I make it a rule to say everything quite plainly.… Then what message am I to take? You will come to dinner at the Rostovs'?” And Boris, with an evident sense of having discharged an onerous duty, having extricated himself from an awkward position, and put somebody else into one became perfectly pleasant again.
“No, let me tell you,” said Pierre, regaining his composure, “you are a wonderful person. What you have just said was very fine, very fine. Of course you don't know me, it's so long since we've seen each other … we were children.… You might suppose I should … I understand, I quite understand. I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have had the courage, but it's splendid. I'm very glad I have made your acquaintance. A queer idea,” he added, pausing and smiling, “you must have had of me.” He laughed. “But what of it? Let us know each other better, please!” He pressed Boris's hand. “Do you know I've not once seen the count? He has not sent for me … I am sorry for him, as a man … But what can one do?”
“And so you think Napoleon will succeed in getting his army across?” Boris queried, smiling.
Pierre saw that Boris was trying to change the conversation, and so he began explaining the advantages and difficulties of the Boulogne expedition.
A footman came in to summon Boris to the princess. The princess was going. Pierre promised to come to dinner in order to see more of Boris, and pressed his hand warmly at parting, looking affectionately into his face over his spectacles.
When he had gone, Pierre walked for some time longer up and down his room, not thrusting at an unseen foe, but smiling at the recollection of that charming, intelligent, and resolute young man.
As so often happens with young people, especially if they are in a position of loneliness, he felt an unreasonable tenderness for this youth, and he firmly resolved to become friends with him.
Prince Vassily accompanied the princess to the hall. The princess was holding her handkerchief to her eyes, and her face was tearful.
“It is terrible, terrible!” she said; “but whatever it costs me, I will do my duty. I will come to stay the night. He can't be left like this. Every minute is precious. I can't understand why his nieces put it off. Maybe God will help me to find a way to prepare him. Adieu, prince, may God support you …”
“Adieu, my kind friend,” answered Prince Vassily, turning away from her.
“Oh, he is in an awful position!” said the mother to her son, when they were sitting in the carriage again. “He scarcely knows any one.”
“I don't understand, mamma, what his attitude is as regards Pierre.”
“The will will make all that plain, my dear; our fate, too, hangs upon it.…”
“But what makes you think he will leave us anything?”
“Oh, my dear! He is so rich, and we are so poor.”
“Well, that's hardly a sufficient reason, mamma.”
“Oh, my God, how ill he is, how ill he is!” cried his mother.


第一节第十三章


皮埃尔在彼得堡始终没有给自己选择一门职业，他确因滋意闹事被驱逐到莫斯科去。有人在罗斯托夫家叙述的那则故事合乎事实。皮埃尔参与了一起捆绑警察分局局长和狗熊的案件。他在几天前才回来，像平日一样，呆在父亲住宅里。虽然他推想，他的这段历史，莫斯科已经家喻户晓。他父亲周围的那些太太一向对他不怀好意，她们要借此机会使他父亲忿怒。但是在他抵达的那天，他还是到他父亲的寓所去了。他走进公爵小姐平时驻足的客厅，向用绷子绣花和读书（她们之中有一人正在朗读一本书）的几个小姐打招呼。她们共有三个人。年长的小姐素性好洁，腰身太长，面部表情过分严肃，她就是到过安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜家里串门的姑娘，她在朗读一本书；两个年幼的小姐脸颊粉红，十分秀丽，她们之间的差异只是其中一位唇上长着一点使她显得更为美丽的胎痣，她们二人都用绷子绣花哩。她们会见皮埃尔，把他看作死人或鼠疫病人。年长的公爵小姐中断了朗读，默不做声地用恐惧的眼睛朝他瞟了一眼；那位年幼的公爵小姐，脸上没有胎痣，却流露出同样的表情；最年幼的小姐，脸上长着一点胎痣，天性活泼，滑稽可笑，她朝绷子弯下腰去，藏起了笑意，大概她已预见到即将演出一幕闹剧，这使她觉得可笑。她把绒线向下扯，弯下腰来，好像在识别图案似的，好不容易她才忍住没有笑出声来。
“Bomjour，macousine，”皮埃尔说道，“VousnemereBconnaissezpas？”①
“我还记得很清楚，很清楚。”
“伯爵的健康情况怎样？我能会见他吗？”皮埃尔像平日那样不好意思地问道，但并没有困窘不安。
“伯爵无论在身体上，还是在精神上都遭受痛苦，似乎您试图使他在精神上遭受更大的痛苦。”
“我能会见伯爵吗？”皮埃尔重复自己说过的话。
“嗯！……假如您想杀死他，杀掉他，那么您就能见他一面。奥莉加，走去看看，表叔喝的汤炖好了吗，时候快到了。”她补充说道，向皮埃尔表示，她们都很忙，正忙着安慰他父亲，显然他只是忙着让他父亲心痛。
奥莉加走出去了。皮埃尔站了片刻，望望那两个表妹，鞠了一躬，说道：
“那我就到自己房里去好了。在能会面的时候，就请你们告诉我吧。”
他走出去了，身后传来那个长有胎痣的表妹的洪亮悦耳、但却低沉的笑声。
翌日，瓦西里公爵来了，他在伯爵家里落歇。他把皮埃尔喊到身边，对他说道：
“Moncher，sivousvousconduisezici，commeà
Pétersbeurg，vousfinireztrèsmal；c'esttoutcequejevousdis，②伯爵的病情很严重，很严重；你根本用不着和他见面。”
①法语：表妹，您好，您不认识我了？
②法语：我亲爱的，假如您在这里也像在彼得堡那样行为不正当，结果会弄得很糟，这是真话。

从那时起，大家不再打扰皮埃尔了，他孑然一人整天价呆在楼上自己房里。
当鲍里斯向皮埃尔房里走进来时，他正在房里来回踱方步，有时候在屋角里停步不前，对着墙壁做出威胁的手势，仿佛用长剑刺杀那看不见的敌人似的，他板起脸孔从眼镜上方向外张望，然后又开始踱来踱去，有时候口里喃喃地说着不清晰的话语，他耸耸肩，摊开两手。
“L'Angleterreavécu，”①他皱起眉头，用手指指着某人说道，“M．Pittcommetraitreàlanationetaudroitdesgensestcondamnéà…”②这时分他把自己想象为拿破仑本人，并随同英雄经历危险越过加来海峡，侵占了伦敦，但他尚未说完处死皮特这句话时，忽然看见一个身材匀称、面目俊秀、向他走来的青年军官。他停步了。皮埃尔离开鲍里斯时，他才是个十四岁的男孩，皮埃尔简直记不得他了，尽管如此，皮埃尔还是现出他所特有的敏捷而热情的样子，一把握住鲍里斯的手，脸上含着友善的微笑。
①法语：英国完蛋了。
②法语：皮特是个背叛民族、出卖民权的败类，要判处……

“您记得我吗？”鲍里斯面露愉快的微笑，心平气和地说道，“我和我母亲来找伯爵，可是他好像身体欠佳。”
“是啊，他好像身体欠佳。人家老是打扰他。”皮埃尔答道，竭力地追忆这个年轻人到底是何人。
鲍里斯觉得，皮埃尔不认识他了，但他认为用不着说出自己的姓名，两眼直盯着他的眼睛，丝毫不觉得困惑不安。
“罗斯托夫伯爵请您今天到他家去用午饭。”他在相当长久的使皮埃尔觉得很不自在的沉默后说道。
“啊！罗斯托夫伯爵！”皮埃尔高兴地说道，“伊利亚，那末，您就是他的儿子罗？您可以想想，我头一眼没有把您认出来呢。您还记得我们和m－meJacquot①乘车上麻雀山吗？
……那是很久很久以前的事啊。”
①法语：雅科太太。

“您搞错了，”鲍里斯露出不同凡俗的略带讥讽的微笑，不慌不忙地说道，“我是鲍里斯，是叫做安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜·德鲁别茨卡娅的公爵夫人的儿子，罗斯托夫的父亲叫做伊利亚，他儿子叫做尼古拉。我可不认识什么雅科太太。”
皮埃尔挥了挥手，晃了晃脑袋，好像有蚊蚋或蜜蜂向他袭来似的。
“哎，是怎么回事啊！我把什么都搞混了。有这么许多莫斯科的亲戚！是的，您是鲍里斯……嗯，我们说得有个头绪了。喂，您对布伦远征有什么看法呢？只要拿破仑渡过海峡，英国人就要遭殃了，是吗？我想，远征是十拿九稳的事。但愿维尔纳夫不要出漏子！”
布伦远征的事，鲍里斯一无所知，他不看报，还是头一次听到维尔纳夫这个人物。
“我们在这个地方，在莫斯科，对午宴和谗言比对政治更为关心，”他用那平静的讥讽的语调说道，“这事情，我一无所知，心里也不去想它。莫斯科最关心的是谗言，”他继续说道，“眼下大家都在谈论您，谈论伯爵哩。”
皮埃尔露出善意的微笑，好像他惧怕对方会说出什么使他本人懊悔的话。但是鲍里斯一直盯着皮埃尔的眼睛，他说话时，听来令人信服，但却索然乏味。
“莫斯科除开散布流言飞语而外，再也没有事情可干了，”他继续说道，“大家都在关心，伯爵会把财产留给什么人，不过他可能比我们大家活得更长，这就是我的衷心的祝愿……”
“说得对，这真够呛，”皮埃尔随着说起来，“真是够呛。”皮埃尔老是害怕这个军官会出乎意外地热衷于一场使他本人感到尴尬的谈话。
“您必定以为。”鲍里斯有点涨红了脸，说道，但没有改变嗓音和姿态，“您必定以为，大家关心的只是从富翁那里得到什么东西。”
“真是这样。”皮埃尔思忖了一会。
“为了要避免误解，我正想把话对您说，假如您把我和我母亲都算在这类人之列，那就大错特错了。我们虽然很贫穷，但我至少要替自己说话；正是因为您父亲很富有，我才不把自己看成是他的亲戚，无论是我，还是我母亲，我们永远也不会乞讨他的任何东西，也不会接受他的任何东西。”
皮埃尔久久地不能明白，但是当他明白了，他就从沙发上飞快跳起来，以他那固有的敏捷而笨拙的动作一把托住了鲍里斯的手臂；这时分他比鲍里斯的脸红得厉害多了，满怀着又羞愧又懊悔的感情说起话来：
“这多么古怪！我难道……可谁又会去想呢？……我十分清楚……”
可是鲍里斯又把他的话打断了：
“我把话全部说出来了，我觉得非常高兴。您也许会不乐意，就请您原谅我吧。”他说道，不仅不让皮埃尔安慰他，他反而安慰皮埃尔，“但是我希望，我不会使您受到屈辱。我的规矩是坦率地把话说干净……我应该怎样转达呢？您去罗斯托夫家吃午饭吗？”
鲍里斯显然推卸了沉重的责任，自己摆脱了尴尬的处境，却又使别人处于那种境地，于是他又变得非常愉快了。
“不，请您听我说吧，”皮埃尔心平气和地说道，“您是个不平凡的人。您方才说的话很不错，很不错。不消说，您不认识我了。我们许久不见面了……那时候还是儿童呢……您可以把我推测一番……我心里明白，十分明白。如果我缺乏勇气，这件事我就办不成啊，可是这棒极了。我和您认识了，我觉得非常高兴。说来真奇怪，”他沉默片刻，面露微笑地补充了一句，“您把我推测成什么样子！”他笑了起来。“也罢，这没有什么，那怎样呢？我们以后会认识得更加透彻的。就这样吧。”他握握鲍里斯的手。“您是否知道，伯爵那儿我一次也没有去过哩。他没邀请我……我怜悯他这个人……可是有什么法子呢？”
“您以为拿破仑会派军队越过海峡吗？”鲍里斯面露微笑地问道。
皮埃尔心里明白，鲍里斯想要改变话题，于是答应他了，开始诉说布伦远征之事的利与弊。
仆役走来呼唤鲍里斯去见公爵夫人。公爵夫人快要走了。皮埃尔答应来用午饭，为了要和鲍里斯亲近起来，他紧紧地握着鲍里斯的手，透过眼镜温和地望着他的眼睛……他离开以后，皮埃尔又在房间里久久地踱着方步，他再也不用长剑去刺杀那个望不见的敌人了；当他回想起这个聪明可爱、性格坚强的年轻人时，脸上微露笑容。
正像青春时期的人，尤其是像独居之时的人那样，他对这个年轻人抱着一种无缘无故的温情，他起誓了，一定要和他做个朋友。
瓦西里公爵送走公爵夫人。公爵夫人用手巾捂着眼角，她泪流满面。
“这多么可怕！多么可怕！”她说道，“无论我花费多大的代价，我也要履行自己的义务。我准来过夜。不能就这样丢下他不管。每瞬间都很宝贵啊。我真不明白，公爵小姐们干嘛要磨磨蹭蹭。也许上帝会帮助我想出办法来给他准备后事……Adieu，monprince，quelebonDieuvoussoutienne……”①
“Adieu，mabonne，”②瓦西里公爵答道，一面转过脸去避开她。
①法语：公爵，再见吧，但愿上帝保佑您……
②法语：我亲爱的，再见吧。

“唉，他的病势很严重，糟糕透了，”当母亲和儿子又坐上四轮轿式马车时，母亲对儿子说道，“他几乎什么人也认不得了。”
“妈妈，我不明白，他对皮埃尔的态度怎样？”儿子问道。
“遗嘱将说明一切，我的亲人，我们的命运以它为转移……”
“可是您为什么认为，他会把点什么东西留给我们呢？”
“唉，我的朋友！他那么富有，可我们却这么穷！”
“嘿，妈妈，这还不是充分的理由啊。”
“哎呀，我的天！我的天！他病得多么厉害啊！”母亲悲叹地说道。
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ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 14楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Fourteen


WHEN ANNA MIHALOVNA had driven off with her son to Count Kirill Vladimirovitch Bezuhov's, Countess Rostov sat a long while alone, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. At last she rang the bell.

“What does it mean?” she said angrily to the maid, who had kept her waiting a few minutes; “don't you care for my service, eh? I'll find you another place, if so.”
The countess was distressed at the troubles and degrading poverty of her friend, and so out of humour, which always found expression in such remarks to her servants.
“I'm very sorry,” said the maid.
“Ask the count to come to me.”
The count came waddling in to see his wife, looking, as usual, rather guilty.
“Well, little countess! What a sauté of woodcocks and Madeira we're to have, ma chère! I've tried it; I did well to give a thousand roubles for Taras. He's worth it!”
He sat down by his wife, setting his elbow jauntily on his knee, and ruffling up his grey hair. “What are your commands, little countess?”
“It's this, my dear—why, what is this mess on you here?” she said, pointing to his waistcoat. “It's the sauté, most likely,” she added, smiling. “It's this, my dear, I want some money.” Her face became gloomy.
“Ah, little countess! …” And the count fidgeted about, pulling out his pocket-book.
“I want a great deal, count. I want five hundred roubles.” And taking out her cambric handkerchief she wiped her husband's waistcoat.
“This minute, this minute. Hey, who's there?” he shouted, as men only shout who are certain that those they call will run headlong at their summons. “Send Mitenka to me!”
Mitenka, the young man of noble family who had been brought up in the count's house, and now had charge of all his money affairs, walked softly into the room.
“Here, my dear boy,” said the count to the young man, who came up respectfully. “Bring me,” he thought a moment, “yes, seven hundred roubles, yes. And mind, don't bring me such torn and dirty notes as last time; nice ones now, for the countess.”
“Yes, Mitenka, clean ones, please,” said the countess with a depressed sigh.
“Your excellency, when do you desire me to get the money?” said Mitenka. “Your honour ought to know … But don't trouble,” he added, noticing that the count was beginning to breathe rapidly and heavily, which was always the sign of approaching anger. “I was forgetting … This minute do you desire me to bring them?”
“Yes, yes, just so, bring them. Give them to the countess. What a treasure that Mitenka is,” added the count, smiling, when the young man had gone out. “He doesn't know the meaning of impossible. That's a thing I can't bear. Everything's possible.”
“Ah, money, count, money, what a lot of sorrow it causes in the world!” said the countess. “This money I am in great need of.”
“You are a terrible spendthrift, little countess, we all know,” said the count, and kissing his wife's hand he went away again to his own room.
When Anna Mihalovna came back from the Bezuhovs', the money was already on the countess's little table, all in new notes, under her pocket-handkerchief. Anna Mihalovna noticed that the countess was fluttered about something.
“Well, my dear?” queried the countess.
“Ah, he is in a terrible condition! One would not recognise him, he is so ill, so ill; I was there only a minute, and did not say two words.”
“Annette, for God's sake don't refuse me,” the countess said suddenly with a blush, which was strangely incongruous with her elderly, thin, and dignified face, taking the money from under her handkerchief. Anna Mihalovna instantly grasped the situation, and was already bending over to embrace the countess at the appropriate moment.
“This is for Boris, from me, for his equipment …”
Anna Mihalovna was already embracing her and weeping. The countess wept too. They wept because they were friends, and because they were soft-hearted, and that they, who had been friends in youth, should have to think of anything so base as money, and that their youth was over.… But the tears of both were sweet to them.…


第一章第十四节


当安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜偕同儿子乘车去基里尔·弗拉基米罗维奇·别祖霍夫伯爵家时，叫做罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人用手巾捂着自己的眼睛，她独自端坐良久，而后按了一下铃。
“亲爱的，您怎么啦，”伯爵夫人对强迫自己等候片刻的婢女气忿地说道，“您不愿意服务，是不是？那我就替您另找活儿做。”
伯爵夫人的女友极为痛苦，一贫如洗，忍屈受辱，伯爵夫人感到伤心，因此情绪不佳，每逢这种情形，她总是借用“亲爱的”和“您”称呼婢女，以示心境。
“我有过错，夫人。”婢女说道。
“请伯爵到我这里来。”
伯爵踉踉跄跄地向妻子跟前走来，像平时一样，脸上露出一点愧悔的样子。
“啊，伯爵夫人！sautéaumadère①炒花尾榛鸡，非常可口，machene！我尝了一下。买塔拉斯卡没有白花一千卢布，值得！”
①法语：调味汁加马德拉葡萄酒。

他坐在妻子身旁，豪放地把胳膊肘撑在膝盖上，斑白的头发给弄得蓬乱。
“我的伯爵夫人，有什么吩咐？”
“我的亲人，原来是这么回事，你这里怎么弄脏了？”她用手指着他的西装背心说道，“这是调味汁，说真的，”她面露微笑，补充了一句，“听我说，伯爵，我要钱用。”
她的脸上露出愁容。
“啊，我的伯爵夫人！……”伯爵忙乱起来了，取出钱夹子。
“伯爵，我要很多钱，我需要五百卢布。”她掏出细亚麻手绢，揩丈夫的西装背心。
“马上，马上。喂，谁在那里呀？”他吼道，只有在他深信被呼唤的人会迅速应声而来的情况下，才用这样的嗓门呼喊，“喊米坚卡到我这儿来！”
米坚卡是在伯爵家受过教育的贵族的儿子，现在主管伯爵家里的事务，这时他脚步轻盈地走进房里来。
“亲爱的，听着，”伯爵对那走进来的恭恭敬敬的年轻人说道，“你把……给我拿来，”他沉思起来，“对，七百卢布，对。你要小心，像上次那样破破烂烂的肮肮脏脏的不要拿来，给伯爵夫人拿些好的纸币来。”
“米坚卡，对，请你拿干净的纸币，”伯爵夫人忧郁地呼气，说道。
“大人，您吩咐什么时候拿来？”米坚卡说道，“您知道，是这么回事……但是请您放心，”他发现伯爵开始急促地、困难地呼吸，向来这是他开始发怒的征候，于是补充了一句，“我几乎置之脑后了……您吩咐我马上送来吗？”
“对，对，就是这样，送来吧。要交给伯爵夫人。”
“这个米坚卡是我的金不换，”当年轻人走出门去，伯爵微笑着，补充一句话，“没有什么‘行不通'的事。‘行不通'这样的说法我可忍受不了啊。什么事都行得通。”
“唉，伯爵，重钱，贪钱。金钱引起了人世间的多少悲伤！”
伯爵夫人说道，“我可很需要这笔钱。”
“我的伯爵夫人，您是个出了名的爱挥霍的女人。”伯爵说道，吻吻妻子的手，又走回书斋去了。
当安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜离开别祖霍夫又回到家里时，那笔钱用手绢盖着，搁在伯爵夫人身边的茶几上，全是崭新的钞票。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜发现，伯爵夫人不知为何事扫兴起来。
“喂，我的朋友，怎么样了？”伯爵夫人问道。
“唉，他的病势十分恶劣！真没法认出他是谁了，他的病情太严重，太严重。我呆了一下子，竟没有说出两句话……”
“安内特，看在上帝份上，不要拒绝我吧，”伯爵夫人忽然说，面红耳赤，这在她那瘦削、庄重、中年人的面孔上显得十分古怪。这时候，她从手帕下面掏出钱来。
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜霎时明白了是怎么回事，于是弯下腰去，好在适当的瞬间巧妙地拥抱伯爵夫人。
“这是我给鲍里斯缝制军装的钱……”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜一面拥抱她，一面哭泣起来。伯爵夫人也哭起来了。她们之所以哭泣，是因为她们和睦相处，她们待人都很仁慈，她们是青春时代的朋友，她们现在关心的竟是卑鄙的东西——金钱；她们之所以哭泣，还因为她们的青春已经逝去了……可是从这两人的眼里流下的倒是愉快的眼泪……
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 15楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Fiveteen


COUNTESS ROSTOV, with her daughters and the greater number of the guests, was sitting in the drawing-room. The count led the gentlemen of the party to his room, calling their attention to his connoisseur's collection of Turkish pipes. Now and then he went out and inquired, had she come yet? They were waiting for Marya Dmitryevna Ahrosimov, known in society as le terrible dragon, a lady who owed her renown not to her wealth or her rank, but to her mental directness and her open, unconventional behaviour. Marya Dmitryevna was known to the imperial family; she was known to all Moscow and all Petersburg, and both cities, while they marvelled at her, laughed in their sleeves at her rudeness, and told good stories about her, nevertheless, all without exception respected and feared her.
In the count's room, full of smoke, there was talk of the war, which had been declared in a manifesto, and of the levies of troops. The manifesto no one had yet read, but every one knew of its appearance. The count was sitting on an ottoman with a man smoking and talking on each side of him. The count himself was neither smoking nor talking, but, with his head cocked first on one side and then on the other, gazed with evident satisfaction at the smokers, and listened to the argument he had got up between his two neighbours.
One of these two was a civilian with a thin, wrinkled, bilious, close-shaven face, a man past middle age, though dressed like the most fashionable young man. He sat with his leg up on the ottoman, as though he were at home, and with the amber mouthpiece in the side of his mouth, he smoked spasmodically, puckering up his face. This was an old bachelor, Shinshin, a cousin of the countess's, famed in Moscow drawing-rooms for his biting wit. He seemed supercilious in his manner to his companion, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards, irreproachably washed and brushed and buttoned. He held his pipe in the middle of his mouth, and drawing in a little smoke, sent it coiling in rings out of his fine red lips. He was Lieutenant Berg, an officer in the Semenovsky regiment with whom Boris was to go away, and about whom Natasha had taunted Vera, calling Berg her suitor. The count sat between these two listening intently to them. The count's favourite entertainment, next to playing boston, of which he was very fond, was that of listening to conversation, especially when he had succeeded in getting up a dispute between two talkative friends.
“Come, how is it, mon très honorable Alphonse Karlitch,” said Shinshin, chuckling, and using a combination of the most popular Russian colloquialisms and the most recherchès French expressions, which constituted the peculiarity of his phraseology. “You reckon you'll get an income from the government, and you want to get a little something from your company too?”
“No, Pyotr Nikolaitch, I only want to show that in the cavalry the advantages are few as compared with the infantry. Consider my position now, for instance, Pyotr Nikolaitch.” Berg talked very precisely, serenely, and politely. All he said was always concerning himself. He always maintained a serene silence when any subject was discussed that had no direct bearing on himself. And he could be silent in that way for several hours at a time, neither experiencing nor causing in others the slightest embarrassment. But as soon as the conversation concerned him personally, he began to talk at length and with visible satisfaction.
“Consider my position, Pyotr Nikolaitch: if I were in the cavalry, I should get no more than two hundred roubles every four months, even at the rank of lieutenant, while as it is I get two hundred and thirty,” he explained with a beaming, friendly smile, looking at Shinshin and the count as though he had no doubt that his success would always be the chief goal of all other people's wishes. “Besides that, Pyotr Nikolaitch, exchanging into the Guards, I'm so much nearer the front,” pursued Berg, “and vacancies occur so much more frequently in the infantry guards. Then you can fancy how well I can manage on two hundred and thirty roubles. Why, I'm putting by and sending some off to my father too,” he pursued, letting off a ring of smoke.
“There is a balance. A German will thrash wheat out of the head of an axe, as the Russian proverb has it,” said Shinshin, shifting his pipe to the other side of his mouth and winking to the count.
The count chuckled. The other visitors seeing that Shinshin was talking came up to listen. Berg, without perceiving either their sneers or their lack of interest, proceeded to explain how by exchanging into the guards he had already gained a step in advance of his old comrades in the corps; how in war-time the commander of a company may so easily be killed, and he as next in command might very easily succeed him, and how every one in the regiment liked him, and how pleased his father was with him. Berg was unmistakably enjoying himself as he told all this, and seemed never to suspect that other people too might have their own interests. But all he said was so nice, so sedate, the naïveté of his youthful egoism was so undisguised, that he disarmed his listeners.
“Well, my good fellow, whether you're in the infantry or in the cavalry, you'll always get on all right, that I venture to predict,” said Shinshin, patting him on the shoulder, and setting his feet down off the ottoman. Berg smiled gleefully. The count and the guests after him went into the drawing-room.
It was that interval just before a dinner when the assembled guests do not care to enter on a lengthy conversation, expecting to be summoned to the dining-room; while they feel it incumbent on them to move about and not to be silent, so as to show that they are not impatient to sit down to table. The host and hostess look towards the door, and occasionally at one another. The guests try from these glances to divine whom or what they are waiting for; some important relation late in arriving, or some dish which is not ready.
Pierre arrived just at dinner-time, and awkwardly sat down in the middle of the drawing-room in the first easy-chair he came across, blocking up the way for every one. The countess tried to make him talk, but he looked naïvely round him over his spectacles as though he were looking for some one, and replied in monosyllables to all the countess's questions. He was in the way, and was the only person unaware of it. The greater number of the guests, knowing the story of the bear, looked inquisitively at this big, stout, inoffensive-looking person, puzzled to think how such a spiritless and staid young man could have played such a prank.
“You have only lately arrived?” the countess asked him.
“Oui, madame.”
“You have not seen my husband?”
“Non, madame.” He smiled very inappropriately.
“You have lately been in Paris, I believe? I suppose it's very interesting.”
“Very interesting.”
The countess exchanged glances with Anna Mihalovna. Anna Mihalovna saw that she was asked to undertake the young man, and sitting down by him she began talking of his father. But to her as to the countess he replied only in monosyllables. The other guests were all busily engaged together. “The Razumovskys … It was very charming … You are so kind … Countess Apraxin …” rose in murmurs on all sides. The countess got up and went into the reception hall.
“Marya Dmitryevna?” her voice was heard asking from there.
“Herself,” a rough voice was heard in reply, and immediately after, Marya Dmitryevna walked into the room. All the girls and even the ladies, except the very old ones, got up. Marya Dmitryevna, a stout woman of fifty, stopped in the doorway, and holding her head with its grey curls erect, she looked down at the guests and as though tucking up her cuffs, she deliberately arranged the wide sleeves of her gown. Marya Dmitryevna always spoke Russian.
“Health and happiness to the lady whose name-day we are keeping and to her children,” she said in her loud, rich voice that dominated all other sounds. “Well, you old sinner,” she turned to the count who was kissing her hand. “I suppose you are tired of Moscow—nowhere to go out with the dogs? Well, my good man, what's to be done? these nestlings will grow up.…” She pointed to the girls. “Willy-nilly, you must look out for young men for them.”
“Well, my Cossack?” (Marya Dmitryevna used to call Natasha a Cossack) she said, stroking the hand of Natasha, who came up to kiss her hand gaily without shyness. “I know you're a wicked girl, but I like you.”
She took out of her huge reticule some amber earrings with drops, and giving them to Natasha, whose beaming birthday face flushed rosy red, she turned away immediately and addressed Pierre.
“Ay, ay! come here, sir!” she said in an intentionally quiet and gentle voice. “Come here, sir …” And she tucked her sleeve up higher in an ominous manner.
Pierre went up, looking innocently at her over his spectacles.
“Come along, come along, sir! I was the only person that told your father the truth when he was in high favour, and in your case it is a sacred duty.” She paused. Every one was mutely expectant of what was to follow, feeling that this was merely a prelude. “A pretty fellow, there's no denying! a pretty fellow! … His father is lying on his deathbed, and he's amusing himself, setting a police-constable astride on a bear! For shame, sir, for shame! You had better have gone to the war.”
She turned away and gave her hand to the count, who could hardly keep from laughing.
“Well, I suppose dinner's ready, eh?” said Marya Dmitrvevna. The count led the way with Marya Dmitryevna, then followed the countess, taken in by a colonel of hussars, a person of importance, as Nikolay was to travel in his company to join the regiment; then Anna Mihalovna with Shinshin. Berg gave his arm to Vera, Julie Karagin walked in smiling with Nikolay. They were followed by a string of other couples, stretching right across the hall, and behind all, the children with their tutors and governesses trooped in, walked singly. There was a bustle among the waiters and a creaking of chairs; the orchestra began playing, as the guests took their places. Then the strains of the count's household band were succeeded by the clatter of knives and forks, the conversation of the guests, and the subdued tread of the waiters. The countess presided at one end of the table. On her right was Marya Dmitryevna; on her left Anna Mihalovna and the other ladies of the party. At the other end sat the count, with the colonel of hussars on his left, and on his right Shinshin and the other guests of the male sex. On one side of the large table sat the more grown-up of the young people: Vera beside Berg, Pierre beside Boris. On the other side were the children with their tutors and governesses. The count peeped from behind the crystal of the decanters and fruit-dishes at his wife and her high cap with blue ribbons, and zealously poured out wine for his neighbours, not overlooking himself. The countess, too, while mindful of her duties as hostess, cast significant glances from behind the pineapples at her husband, whose face and bald head struck her as looking particularly red against his grey hair. At the ladies' end there was a rhythmic murmur of talk, but at the other end of the table the men's voices grew louder and louder, especially the voice of the colonel of hussars, who, getting more and more flushed, ate and drank so much that the count held him up as a pattern to the rest. Berg with a tender smile was telling Vera that love was an emotion not of earth but of heaven. Boris was telling his new friend Pierre the names of the guests, while he exchanged glances with Natasha sitting opposite him. Pierre said little, looked about at the new faces, and ate a great deal. Of the two soups he chose à la tortue, and from that course to the fish-pasties and the grouse, he did not let a single dish pass, and took every sort of wine that the butler offered him, as he mysteriously poked a bottle wrapped in a napkin over his neighbour's shoulder, murmuring, “Dry Madeira,” or “Hungarian,” or “Rhine wine.” Pierre took a wine-glass at random out of the four crystal glasses engraved with the count's crest that were set at each place, and drank with relish, staring at the guests with a countenance that became more and more amiable as the dinner went on. Natasha, who sat opposite him, gazed at Boris as girls of thirteen gaze at the boy whom they have just kissed for the first time, and with whom they are in love. This gaze sometimes strayed to Pierre, and at the look on the funny, excited little girl's face, he felt an impulse to laugh himself without knowing why.
Nikolay was sitting a long way from Sonya, beside Julie Karagin, and again smiling the same unconscious smile, he was talking to her. Sonya wore a company smile, but she was visibly in agonies of jealousy; at one moment she turned pale, then she crimsoned, and all her energies were concentrated on listening to what Nikolay and Julie were saying. The governess looked nervously about her, as though preparing to resent any slight that might be offered to the children. The German tutor was trying to learn by heart a list of all the kinds of dishes, desserts, and wines, in order to write a detailed description of them to the folks at home in Germany, and was greatly mortified that the butler with the bottle in the napkin had passed him over. The German knitted his brows, and tried to look as though he would not have cared to take that wine, but he was mortified because no one would understand that he had not wanted the wine to quench his thirst, or through greed, but from a conscientious desire for knowledge.


第一章第十五节


叫做罗斯托娃的伯爵夫人随同几个女儿陪伴着许多客人坐在客厅里。伯爵把几位男客带进书斋去，让他们玩赏他所搜集的土耳其烟斗。他有时候走出来，问问大家：“她来了没有？”大伙儿正在等候玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜·阿赫罗西莫娃——上流社会中绰号叫做leterribledragon①的夫人，她之所以大名鼎鼎，并不是由于财富或荣耀地位，而是由于心地正直，待人朴实的缘故。皇室知道玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，整个莫斯科和整个彼得堡都知道她。她使这两个城市的人感到惊奇，他们悄悄地讥笑她的粗暴，谈论她的趣闻。但是人人都一无例外地尊敬她，而且畏惧她。
①法语：恐龙。
书斋里烟雾弥漫，大家正在谈论文告中业已宣布的战争和征兵事宜。谁也还没有读到上谕，但是人人都知道业已颁布了。那伯爵坐在一面抽烟，一面交谈的两位邻近的客人之间的土耳其式沙发上。伯爵自己不抽烟，也不开口说话，可是他时而把头侧向这边，时而侧向那边，显然他在留意地观看这两位抽烟的客人，静听被他惹起的两位邻座的讧争。
交谈者之中一人是文官，那布满皱纹、瘦削的面部刮得很光，带着易动肝火的神态，他已经趋近老年，但穿着像个挺时髦的年轻人。他盘着两腿坐在土耳其式沙发上，那模样跟户主家里人不相上下，他的嘴角上深深地叼着一根琥珀烟嘴子，一面眯缝起眼睛，若断若续地抽烟。这位客人是老光棍，伯爵夫人的堂兄，莫斯科的沙龙中常常议论他，都说他是个造谣中伤的人。他对交谈者，似乎会装作屈尊俯就的样子。另一位客人长着一张白里透红的面孔，精神焕发，是个近卫军军官，他梳洗得整齐清洁，扣上了衣扣，嘴中叼着一根琥珀烟嘴子，用那粉红的嘴唇轻轻地吸烟，从美丽的嘴中吐出一个个烟圈来。他就是谢苗诺夫兵团的军官贝格中尉，鲍里斯和他一起在这个兵团入伍。娜塔莎逗弄过薇拉——伯爵夫人的长女，将贝格称为她的未婚夫。伯爵坐在他们之间，全神贯注地听着。除开他所酷爱的波士顿牌戏之外，倾听大家争论，是一件使他至为愉快的事，尤其是当他在两个喜爱聊天的人中间引起争论的时候，他就觉得更加高兴了。
“老兄，怎么啦，montrèshonoraole①阿尔万斯·卡尔雷奇，”申申说道，微微一笑，他把民间最通俗的俄文语句和优雅的法文句子混杂在一起，这也就是他说话的特点，“Vouscomptezvousfairedesrentessurl'etat②，您想获得连队的一笔收入吗？”
①法语：可尊敬的。
②法语：您想获得政府的一笔收入。

“彼得·尼古拉耶维奇，不是这么回事，我只是想表白一下，骑兵服役的收益比步兵服役要少得多，彼得·尼古拉耶维奇，请您设想一下我现在的处境吧。”
贝格说起话来总是十分准确、心平气和，态度很谦恭，他的谈话向来只是关系到他个人的私事，每当他人谈论的事情和他没有直接关系时，他便沉默不言。他能这样接连几个小时默不作声，一点也不觉得忸怩不安，而且不让他人产生这种感觉。可是交谈一提到他本人，他就长篇大论地说起来，明显地露出喜悦的神色。
“彼得·尼古拉耶维奇，请您想想我的处境：如果我在骑兵部队服役，那怕是挂中尉军衔，在四个月之内我所挣的钱也不会超过两百卢布，现在我已挣到两百三十卢布。”他说道，脸上露出洋洋得意的令人喜悦的微笑，一面回头看看申申和伯爵，仿佛他的成就永远是其他一切人共同期望的主要目标，他认为这是显而易见的事情。
“彼得·尼古拉耶维奇，除此之外，我调到近卫军以后，现在就崭露头角了，”贝格继续说道，“近卫军的步兵里常有空缺。请您设想一下，靠这两百三十卢布，我怎么能够安排自己的生活呢。我要储存一些钱，还得寄一些给父亲。”他继续说道，一面吐出一个烟圈。
“Labalanceyest……①commeditleproverbe，②德国人用斧头背都能打出谷来。”申申说道，另一边嘴角上叼着一根烟嘴子，并且向伯爵丢了个眼色。
①法语：是真的……
②法语：照谚语说。

伯爵哈哈大笑起来。其余的客人看见申申在谈话，都走到面前来听听。贝格对嘲笑和冷漠的态度都不注意，继续述说他调到近卫军后，军衔就高于中等军事学校的同学了，他讲在战时连长可能就义，而他在连队职位较高，能够轻而易举地当上连长，他又讲他在兵团里人人热爱他，他父亲对他非常满意。贝格谈论这一切，看来洋洋自得，似乎没有意料到，人家也会有自己的志趣。可是他讲得娓娓动听，不卑不亢，那种年轻人所固有的幼稚的自私心理暴露无遗，终于使听众无力反驳了。
“老兄，您不论在步兵服役，还是在骑兵服役，到处都有办法，这就是我对您的预言。”申申说道，拍拍他的肩膀，把脚从土耳其式沙发上放下来。
贝格喜悦地微微一笑。伯爵和跟随在他身后的客人，都向客厅走去。
午宴前还有一小段时间，前来聚会的客人都已就坐，等候吃小菜，他们还没有开始长谈，但是同时却又认为必须活动一下，而且用不着默不作声，以此表示他们根本不急于就坐。主人们隔一会儿望一下门口，有时候彼此看一眼。客人们就凭这种眼神来竭力猜度，主人们还在等候谁，或者等候什么，是等候迟迟未到的高贵亲戚呢，还是等候尚未煮熟的肴馔。
皮埃尔在临近午宴时来到了，他在客厅当中随便碰到的一把安乐椅上不好意思地坐着，拦住大家的络。伯爵夫人想要他说话，但是他戴着眼镜稚气地向四周张望，好像在寻找某人似的，他简短地回答伯爵夫人提出的各种问题。他的样子羞羞涩涩，只有他一人觉察不出来。大部分客人都晓得他耍狗熊闹出的丑闻，因此都出于好奇心看看这个长得高大的胖乎乎的忠厚人，心里都疑惑这个谦虚的笨伯怎么会戏弄警察分局局长呢。
“您是不久以前回国的吗？”伯爵夫人问他。
“Oui，madame．”①他向四面打量，答道。
“您没有看见我丈夫吗？”
“Non，madame．”②他不适时地微微一笑。
“您不久以前好像到过巴黎？我想这非常有趣。”
“非常有趣。”
伯爵夫人和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜互使眼色。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜心中明白，这是人家要她来接待这个年轻人，她于是就坐在他的近旁，开始提到他的父亲的事；他如同回答伯爵夫人一样，只用三言两语来回答她的话。客人们彼此正忙于应酬。
“LesRazoumovsky…caaétécharmant…Vousêtesbienbonne…LacomtesseApraksine…”③四面传来了话语声。伯爵夫人站起身来，向大厅走去了。
①法语：夫人，是，是，是。
②法语：夫人，还没有，没有。
③法语：拉祖莫夫斯基家里的人……太好了……这太好了……伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜……

“是玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜吗？”大厅里传来了她的声音。
“正是她。”听见有一个女人嗓音刺耳地回答。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜应声随即走进房里来。
小姐们、甚至夫人们，年迈的女人除外，都站立起来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜在门口停步了，她身材十分肥胖，高大，这个五十岁的太太高高地抬起长满一绺绺斑白鬈发的头，环顾了一下客人，不慌不忙地弄平连衣裙的宽大的袖子，好像要卷起自己的袖子似的。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜向来都说俄国话。
“祝贺过命名日的亲爱的夫人和儿童们，”她说道，声音洪亮而圆浑，盖过了其他声音，“你这个老色鬼，怎么样了，“她把脸转向正在吻着她的手的伯爵说道，“你在莫斯科大概觉得无聊吧？没有地方可以追逐猎犬了吧？但是毫无办法啊，老爷，你瞧瞧这些小鸟儿都要长大了……”她用手指着几个姑娘说道，“无论你愿意，还是不愿意，应该给她们找个未婚夫。”
“我的哥萨克，怎么样了？”（玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜把娜塔莎叫做哥萨克。）她说道，用手抚摩着毫无惧色、欢欢喜喜走来吻她的手的娜塔莎，“我知道这个姑娘是个狐狸精，可是我还喜爱她。”
她从女式大手提包里取出一双梨形蓝宝石耳环，送给两颊粉红、喜气洋洋的过命名日的娜塔莎，之后立即转过脸去避开她，对皮埃尔说话。
“嗨，嗨，亲爱的！到这里来，”她用假装的尖声细语说道，“亲爱的，来吧……”
她现出威吓的样子把衣袖卷得更高了。
皮埃尔走到面前来了，他透过眼镜稚气地望着她。
“亲爱的，到我跟前来，到我跟前来！当你父亲有权有势的时候，只有我这个人才对他说真心话，对于你呢，我听凭上帝的吩咐，也这样做就是。”
她沉默一会儿，大家都不开腔，等待着就要发生什么事，都觉得这只是一个开场白而已。
“这孩子好嘛，没有什么话可说！这孩子好嘛！……他父亲躺在病榻上，他却寻欢作乐，竟然把警察分局局长捆在狗熊背上。我的天，真不要脸，真不要脸！去打仗好了。”
她把脸转了过去，向伯爵伸出一只手来，伯爵险些儿忍不住要笑出声来。
“好吧，我看差不多要就座了吧？”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说道。
伯爵和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜启程前行，骠骑兵上校领着伯爵夫人尾随其后，上校是个合乎时代需要的能人，他要和尼古拉一道去追赶已经开拔的团队。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜和申申搓成一对了。贝格向薇拉伸出手来，做出亲热的姿态。笑容可掬的朱莉·卡拉金娜和尼古拉一同走向餐桌，准备入座。其他一些成对的男女跟随在他们后面。沿着大厅鱼贯而行。儿童和男女家庭教师不结成一对，作为殿后。堂倌都忙碌起来，椅子碰撞得轧轧作响，乐队奏起合唱曲，客人入席就座了。刀叉的铿锵声、客人的说话声、堂倌轻盈的步履声替代了伯爵家庭乐队的奏鸣声。伯爵夫人坐在餐桌一端的首席上。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜坐在右边，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜和其他女客坐在左边。伯爵坐在餐桌的另一端，骠骑兵上校坐在左边，申申和其他男客坐在右边。年纪较大的年轻人坐在长餐桌的一旁；薇拉和贝格并排而坐，皮埃尔和鲍里斯并排而坐；儿童和男女家庭教师坐在另一旁。伯爵从水晶玻璃器皿、酒瓶和水果盘后不时地望望妻子和她那系着蓝色绸带的高高翘起的寝帽，亲热地给邻座斟酒，但也没有把自己忘记。伯爵夫人并没有忘记她这个主妇应尽的责任，也向她丈夫投以意味深长的目光，她似乎觉得丈夫的秃头和面庞在苍苍白发的强烈对照下，显得红透了。在妇女就座的餐桌一端，传来均匀的嘟哝声，在男人就坐的另一端，说话声越来越响亮，尤其是那个骠骑兵上校的嗓音如雷贯耳，他吃得多，喝得多，脸红得越来越厉害，伯爵把他看作客人的模范。贝格面露温和的微笑，正和薇拉谈到，爱情并非是世俗的感情，而是纯洁的感情。鲍里斯向他自己的新相识说出餐桌上客人的姓名，并和坐在对面的娜塔莎互使眼色。皮埃尔寡于言谈，不时地瞧瞧陌生的面孔，他吃得太多了。从那两道汤中他所挑选的alatortue①和大馅饼，直到花尾榛鸡，他何尝放过一道菜。当那管家从邻座肩后悄悄地端出一只裹着餐巾的酒瓶，一边说：“纯马德拉葡萄酒”，“匈牙利葡萄酒”，或“莱茵葡萄酒”时，他何尝放过一种葡萄酒。每份餐具前面放着四只刻有伯爵姓名花字的酒樽，皮埃尔随便拿起一只酒樽，高高兴兴地喝酒，一面露出愈益快活的神态打量着客人。娜塔莎坐在对面，她正盯着鲍里斯，就像十三岁的姑娘两眼盯着头次接了吻的她所热恋的男孩那样。有时候她把同样的目光投在皮埃尔身上，但不知为什么，他在这个可笑的活泼的姑娘的目光逼视下真想笑出声来。
①法语：甲鱼汤。
尼古拉在朱莉·卡拉金娜身旁坐着，离索尼娅很远。他又面露情不自禁的微笑和她说些什么话。索尼娅含着微笑，摆出很大的架子，但显而易见，她深受醋意的折磨，脸上时而发白，时而发红，聚精会神地谛听尼古拉和朱莉之间的谈话。一位家庭女教师心神不安地环顾四周，仿佛倘若有人想要凌辱儿童，她就要给予反击似的。一名德国男家庭教师极力记住种种肴馔，甜点心以及葡萄酒，以便在寄往德国的家信中把这全部情形详尽地描述一下。当那管家拿着裹有餐巾的酒瓶给大家斟酒时，竟把他漏掉了，他简直气忿极了。他愁眉苦脸，力图表示他不想饮这种葡萄酒。他所以恼火，是因为谁也不了解，他喝酒不是解渴，也不是贪婪，而是由于一种真诚的求知欲所致。
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ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 16楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Sixteen


AT THE MEN'S END of the table the conversation was becoming more and more lively. The colonel was asserting that the proclamation of the declaration of war had already been issued in Petersburg, and that a copy, which he had seen himself, had that day been brought by a courier to the commander-in-chief.
“And what evil spirit must make us go to war with Bonaparte?” said Shinshin. “He has already made Austria take a back seat. I am afraid it may be our turn this time.”
The colonel was a stout, tall, and plethoric German, evidently a zealous officer and good patriot. He resented Shinshin's words.
“The reason why, my good sir,” he said, speaking with a German accent, “is just that the emperor knows that. In his proclamation he says that he cannot behold with equanimity the danger threatening Russia, and the security of the empire, its dignity, and the sacredness of its alliances.” He laid a special emphasis on the word alliances, as though the gist of the matter lay in that word. And with the unfailing memory for official matters that was peculiar to him, he repeated the introductory words of the proclamation … “and the desire, which constitutes the Sovereign's sole and immutable aim, to establish peace on a secure foundation, have determined him to despatch now a part of the troops abroad, and to make dispositions for carrying out this new project. That is the reason why, my dear sir,” he concluded, tossing off a glass of wine in edifying fashion, and looking towards the count for encouragement.
“Do you know the proverb, ‘Erema, Erema, you'd better stay at home and mind your spindle'?” said Shinshin, frowning and smiling. “That suits us to a hair. Why, Suvorov even was defeated hollow, and where are our Suvorovs nowadays? I just ask you that,” he said, continually shifting from Russian to French and back again.
“We ought to fight to the last drop of our blood,” said the colonel, thumping the table, “and to die for our emperor, and then all will be well. And to discuss it as little as possible,” he concluded, turning again to the count, and drawling out the word “possible.” “That's how we old hussars look at it; that's all we have to say. And how do you look at it, young man and young hussar?” he added, addressing Nikolay, who, catching that it was the war they were discussing, had dropped his conversation with Julie, and was all eyes and all ears, intent on the colonel.
“I perfectly agree with you,” answered Nikolay, growing hot all over, twisting his plate round, and changing the places of the glasses with a face as desperate and determined as though he were exposed to great danger at that actual moment. “I am convinced that the Russians must die or conquer,” he said. He was himself, like the rest of the party, conscious after the words were uttered that he had spoken with an enthusiasm and fervour out of keeping with the occasion, and so he was embarrassed.
“That was very fine, what you just said,” Julie sitting beside him said breathlessly. Sonya trembled all over and crimsoned to her ears, and behind her ears, and down her neck and shoulders, while Nikolay was speaking. Pierre listened to the colonel's remarks, and nodded his head approvingly.
“That's capital,” said he.
“You're a true hussar, young man,” the colonel shouted, thumping on the table again.
“What are you making such a noise about over there?” Marya Dmitryevna's bass voice was suddenly heard asking across the table. “What are you thumping the table for?” she addressed the colonel. “Whom are you so hot against? You imagine, I suppose, that the French are before you?”
“I speak the truth,” said the hussar, smiling.
“It's all about the war,” the count shouted across the table. “My son's going, you see, Marya Dmitryevna, my son's going.”
“And I've four sons in the army, but I don't grieve. All's in God's hands; one may die in one's bed, and in battle God may spare,” Marya Dmitryevna's deep voice boomed back, speaking without the slightest effort from the further end of the table.
“That's true.”
And the conversation concentrated into two groups again, one at the ladies' end, and one at the men's.
“You don't dare to ask!” said her little brother to Natasha, “and you won't ask!”
“I will ask,” answered Natasha. Her face suddenly glowed, expressing a desperate and mirthful resolution. She rose in her seat, her eyes inviting Pierre to listen, and addressed her mother.
“Mamma!” her childish contralto rang out over the table.
“What is it?” the countess asked in dismay; but seeing from her daughter's face that it was mischief, she shook her hand at her sternly, with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head.
All conversation was hushed.
“Mamma! what pudding will there be?” Natasha's little voice rang out still more resolutely and deliberately.
The countess tried to frown, but could not. Marya Dmitryevna shook her fat finger.
“Cossack!” she said menacingly.
Most of the guests looked at the parents, not knowing how they were to take this sally.
“I'll give it to you,” said the countess.
“Mamma! what pudding will it be?” Natasha cried, with bold and saucy gaiety, feeling sure that her prank would be taken in the right spirit. Sonya and fat little Petya were hiding their giggles. “You see I did ask,” Natasha whispered to her little brother and Pierre, at whom she glanced again.
“Ice-pudding, only you are not to have any,” said Marya Dmitryevna. Natasha saw there was nothing to be afraid of, and so she was not frightened at Marya Dmitryevna even.
“Marya Dmitryevna! what sort of ice-pudding? I don't like ice cream.”
“Carrot-ices.”
“No, what sort, Marya Dmitryevna, what sort?” she almost shrieked. “I want to know.” Marya Dmitryevna and the countess burst out laughing, and all the party followed their example. They all laughed, not at Marya Dmitryevna's answer, but at the irrepressible boldness and smartness of the little girl, who had the pluck and the wit to tackle Marya Dmitryevna in this fashion.
Natasha only desisted when she had been told it was to be pineapple ice. Before the ices, champagne was passed round. Again the band struck up, the count kissed the countess, and the guests getting up from the table congratulated the countess, and clinked glasses across the table with the count, the children, and one another. Again the waiters darted about, chairs grated on the floor, and in the same order, but with flushed faces, the guests returned to the drawing-room and the count's study.


第一章第十六节


在男客就座的餐桌的一端，谈话变得越来越热烈了。上校已经讲到，彼得堡颁布了宣战文告，他亲眼看见的一份文告已由信使递交总司令了。
“真见鬼，我们干嘛要和波拿巴作战？”申申说道，“Iladéjàrabattulecaquetàl'autriche，Jecrainsquecettefoiscenesoitnotretowr。”①
①法语：他已经打掉了奥地利的威风，我怕现在要轮到我们了。

上校个子高大，长得很结实，是个活泼好动的德国人，老军人和爱国者。申申的话使他生气了。
“为什么，阁下，”他说道，把母音“唉”发成“爱”，把软音发成硬音，“皇帝知道这件事。他在文告中说道，不能对俄国遭受威胁而熟视无睹，不能对帝国的安全、它的尊严和盟国的神圣权利遭受威胁而熟视无睹，”他说道，不知怎的特别强调“盟国的”这个词，好像这就是问题的实质所在。
他凭藉他那正确无讹的记忆公文的天赋，把文告中的引言重说了一遍：“……国王的意愿，他唯一的坚定不移的目标乃是：在巩固的基础之上奠定欧洲的和平，现已拟定调遣部分军队出国，再度竭尽全部力量以企臻达此一目标。”
“阁下，这就是为了什么。”他说了一句收尾的话，露出教训人的神态，一面喝完那杯葡萄酒，看看伯爵的脸色，想获得赞扬。
“Connaissezvousleproverbe，①‘叶廖马，叶廖马，你不如坐在家中，把你的纺锤磨平。”“申申蹙起眉头，微露笑容，说道，“Celanousconvientàmerveille，②苏沃洛夫顶什么用，他也被打得àplatecouture③，目前我们苏沃洛夫式的人物在哪里呢？Jevousdemandeunpeu．”④他说道，不断地从俄国话跳到法国语。
①法语：您知道这句谚语。
②法语：这对于我们非常适宜。
③法语：落花流水。
④法语：我要问您。

“我们必须战斗到最后一滴血，”上校用手捶桌子，说道，“为皇帝献身，一切才会亨通。尽可能少地（在“可能”这个词上他把嗓音拖得特别长），尽可能少地议长论短，”他把话说完了，又朝伯爵转过脸来，“这就是我们老骠骑兵的论点，没有别的话要说了。年轻人和年轻的骠骑兵，您怎样评论呢？”他把脸转向尼古拉，补充一句话。尼古拉听到话题涉及战争后，便丢开对方不管，睁大两眼，全神贯注地谛听上校说话。
“完全同意您的看法，”尼古拉答道，他面红耳赤，一面转动着盘子，挪动着几只酒杯，脸上露出坚决的无所顾忌的神情，好像他眼前遭受到严重的危险似的，“我深信，俄国人都要为国捐躯，或者会赢得胜利。”他说道。正如其他人在这种时分说出过分激动的不是恰如其分的话那样，他也有同样的感受。
“C'estbienbeaucequevousvenezdedire．”①朱莉坐在他身旁叹息道。当尼古拉说话时，索尼娅全身颤抖起来，脸红到耳根，从耳根红到脖子，从脖子红到肩膀。皮埃尔谛听上校说话，点点头，表示赞同。
①法语：很好！您说得很好。

“这么说真好。”他说道。
“地道的骠骑兵，年轻人。”上校又捶了一下桌子，嚷道。
“你们在那里吵什么？”忽然从餐桌那边传来玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜低沉的语声。“你为什么要捶桌子呢，”她把脸转向骠骑兵说道，“你对什么人动肝火？你真的以为现在你面前就有一群法国人！”
“我说的是真话。”骠骑兵面露微笑说道。
“老是说战争，”伯爵从餐桌那边嚷道，“玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，要知道，我的儿子要去作战了，儿子要去作战了。”
“我有四个儿子，都在军队里服役，我并不忧虑。一切都由上帝支配：你是躺在灶台上死去；还是在战斗中得到上帝的保佑。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜从餐桌的那端用浑厚的嗓音毫不费劲地说道。
“真是这样。”
谈话又集中火力了——女士在餐桌的一端，男子汉在餐桌的另一端。
“你问不到什么，”小弟弟对娜塔莎说道，“你问不到什么！”
“我一定要问。”娜塔莎答道。
她的脸红起来了，表现出无所顾忌的欢快的果断。她欠身起来一下，向坐在对面的皮埃尔投以目光，请他仔细听着，又向母亲转过脸去说话。
“妈妈！”整个餐桌都听见她的低沉洪亮的童音。
“你干嘛？”伯爵夫人惊恐地问道，但她凭女儿的脸色看出她在胡闹，就向她严肃地挥挥手，摇摇头，装作威吓和遏制的样子。
谈话暂时停止了。
“妈妈！有什么蛋糕？”娜塔莎脱口说出这句话，她的嗓音听来更坚定。
伯爵夫人想蹙起眉头，可是她没法蹙起来。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜伸出她那肥胖的指头，威吓她。
“哥萨克！”她用威吓的口气说。
大多数客人都望着长辈，不知道应当怎样应付这场恶作剧。
“瞧我收拾你！”伯爵夫人说。
“妈妈！有蛋糕吃吗？”娜塔莎已经大胆任性、欢快地嚷起来，她事先确信，她的恶作剧会大受欢迎。
索尼娅和胖乎乎的彼佳笑得躲藏起来，不敢抬头。
“你瞧，我不是问了。”娜塔莎对小弟弟和皮埃尔轻言细语地说，她又向皮埃尔瞥了一眼。
“冰激凌，只是人家不给你。”玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜说道。
娜塔莎明白，没有什么可害怕的，因此她也不害怕玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜。
“玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，什么样的冰激凌？我不爱吃奶油冰激凌。”
“胡萝卜冰激凌。”
“不是的，什么样的冰激凌？玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜，什么样的冰激凌？”她几乎叫喊起来。“我想知道啊！”
玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜和伯爵夫人都笑了起来，客人们也都跟着笑起来。大家不是对玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的回答觉得好笑，而是对这个女孩百思不解的大胆和机智觉得好笑，她居然有本事、有胆量这样对待玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜。
当人家告诉娜塔莎，快要摆上菠萝冰激凌时，她才不再纠缠了。端出冰激凌之前，先端出香槟酒。乐队又开始奏乐，伯爵吻了一下伯爵夫人，客人都站立起来，向伯爵夫人道贺，隔着桌子跟伯爵碰杯，跟孩子们碰杯，并互相碰杯。堂倌忙碌起来了，又跑来跑去，可以听见椅子碰撞的响声，客人们的两颊显得更红了，又依照原先的顺序走回客厅，走回伯爵的书斋。
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
举报 只看该作者 17楼  发表于: 2013-10-16 0

Part One Chapter  Seventeen


THE CARD-TABLES were opened, parties were made up for boston, and the count's guests settled themselves in the two drawing-rooms, the divan-room, and the library.
The count, holding his cards in a fan, with some difficulty kept himself from dropping into his customary after-dinner nap, and laughed at everything. The young people, at the countess's suggestion, gathered about the clavichord and the harp. Julie was first pressed by every one to perform, and played a piece with variations on the harp. Then she joined the other young ladies in begging Natasha and Nikolay, who were noted for their musical talents, to sing something. Natasha, who was treated by every one as though she were grown-up, was visibly very proud of it, and at the same time made shy by it.
“What are we to sing?” she asked.
“The ‘Spring,' ” answered Nikolay.
“Well, then, let's make haste. Boris, come here,” said Natasha. “But where's Sonya?” She looked round, and seeing that her friend was not in the room, she ran off to find her.
After running to Sonya's room, and not finding her there, Natasha ran to the nursery: Sonya was not there either. Natasha knew that she must be on the chest in the corridor. The chest in the corridor was the scene of the woes of the younger feminine generation of the house of Rostov. Yes, Sonya was on the chest, lying face downwards, crushing her gossamer pink frock on their old nurse's dirty striped feather-bed. Her face hidden in her fingers, she was sobbing, and her little bare shoulders were heaving. Natasha's birthday face that had been festive and excited all day, changed at once; her eyes wore a fixed look, then her broad neck quivered, and the corners of her lips drooped.
“Sonya! what is it? … what's the matter with you? Oo-oo-oo! …” and Natasha, letting her big mouth drop open and becoming quite ugly, wailed like a baby, not knowing why, simply because Sonya was crying. Sonya tried to lift up her head, tried to answer, but could not, and buried her face more than ever. Natasha cried, sitting on the edge of the blue feather-bed and hugging her friend. Making an effort, Sonya got up, began to dry her tears and to talk.
“Nikolinka's going away in a week, his … paper … has come … he told me himself. … But still I shouldn't cry …” (she showed a sheet of paper she was holding in her hand; on it were verses written by Nikolay). “I shouldn't have cried; but you can't … no one can understand … what a soul he has.”
And again she fell to weeping at the thought of how noble his soul was.
“It's all right for you … I'm not envious … I love you and Boris too,” she said, controlling herself a little; “he's so nice … there are no difficulties in your way. But Nikolay's my cousin … the metropolitan chief priest himself … has to … or else it's impossible. And so, if mamma's told” (Sonya looked on the countess and addressed her as a mother), “she'll say that I'm spoiling Nikolay's career, that I have no heart, that I'm ungrateful, though really … in God's name” (she made the sign of the cross) “I love her so, and all of you, only Vera … Why is it? What have I done to her? I am so grateful to you that I would be glad to sacrifice everything for you, but I have nothing. …”
Sonya could say no more, and again she buried her head in her hands and the feather-bed. Natasha tried to comfort her, but her face showed that she grasped all the gravity of her friend's trouble.
“Sonya!” she said all at once, as though she had guessed the real cause of her cousin's misery, “of course Vera's been talking to you since dinner? Yes?”
“Yes, these verses Nikolay wrote himself, and I copied some others; and she found them on my table, and said she should show them to mamma, and she said too that I was ungrateful, and that mamma would never allow him to marry me, but that he would marry Julie. You see how he has been with her all day … Natasha! why is it?”
And again she sobbed more bitterly than ever. Natasha lifted her up, hugged her, and, smiling through her tears, began comforting her.
“Sonya, don't you believe her, darling; don't believe her. Do you remember how we talked with Nikolay, all three of us together, in the divan-room, do you remember, after supper? Why, we settled how it should all be. I don't quite remember now, but do you remember, it was all right and all possible. Why, uncle Shinshin's brother is married to his first cousin, and we're only second cousins, you know. And Boris said that it's quite easily arranged. You know I told him all about it. He's so clever and so good,” said Natasha. … “Don't cry, Sonya, darling, sweet one, precious, Sonya,” and she kissed her, laughing. “Vera is spiteful; never mind her! and it will all come right and she won't tell mamma. Nikolinka will tell her himself, and he's never thought of Julie.”
And she kissed her on the head. Sonya got up, and the kitten revived; its eyes sparkled, and it was ready, it seemed, to wag its tail, spring on its soft paws and begin to play with a ball, in its own natural, kittenish way.
“Do you think so? Really? Truly?” she said rapidly, smoothing her frock and her hair.
“Really, truly,” answered Natasha, putting back a stray coil of rough hair on her friend's head; and they both laughed. “Well, come along and sing the ‘Spring.' ”
“Let's go, then.”
“And do you know that fat Pierre, who was sitting opposite me, he's so funny!” Natasha said suddenly, stopping. “I am enjoying myself so,” and Natasha ran along the corridor.
Brushing off the feather fluff from her frock, and thrusting the verses into her bodice next her little throat and prominent breast-bones, Sonya ran with flushed face and light, happy steps, following Natasha along the corridor to the divan-room. At the request of their guests the young people sang the quartette the “Spring,” with which every one was delighted; then Nikolay sang a song he had lately learnt.“How sweet in the moon's kindly ray,In fancy to thyself to say,That earth holds still one dear to thee!Whose thoughts, whose dreams are all of thee!That her fair fingers as of oldStray still upon the harp of gold,Making sweet, passionate harmony,That to her side doth summon thee!To-morrow and thy bliss is near!Alas! all's past! she is not here!”
And he had hardly sung the last words when the young people were getting ready to dance in the big hall, and the musicians began stamping with their feet and coughing in the orchestra.
Pierre was sitting in the drawing-room, where Shinshin had started a conversation with him on the political situation, as a subject likely to be of interest to any one who had just come home from abroad, though it did not in fact interest Pierre. Several other persons joined in the conversation. When the orchestra struck up, Natasha walked into the drawing-room, and going straight up to Pierre, laughing and blushing, she said, “Mamma told me to ask you to dance.”
“I'm afraid of muddling the figures,” said Pierre, “but if you will be my teacher …” and he gave his fat hand to the slim little girl, putting his arm low down to reach her level.
While the couples were placing themselves and the musicians were tuning up, Pierre sat down with his little partner. Natasha was perfectly happy; she was dancing with a grown-up person, with a man who had just come from abroad. She was sitting in view of every one and talking to him like a grown-up person. She had in her hand a fan, which some lady had given her to hold, and taking the most modish pose (God knows where and when she had learnt it), fanning herself and smiling all over her face, she talked to her partner.
“What a girl! Just look at her, look at her!” said the old countess, crossing the big hall and pointing to Natasha. Natasha coloured and laughed.
“Why, what do you mean, mamma? Why should you laugh? Is there anything strange about it?”
In the middle of the third écossaise there was a clatter of chairs in the drawing-room, where the count and Marya Dmitryevna were playing, and the greater number of the more honoured guests and elderly people stretching themselves after sitting so long, put their pocket-books and purses in their pockets and came out to the door of the big hall. In front of all came Marya Dmitryevna and the count, both with radiant faces. The count gave his arm, curved into a hoop, to Marya Dmitryevna with playfully exaggerated ceremony, like a ballet-dancer. He drew himself up, and his face beamed with a peculiar, jauntily-knowing smile, and as soon as they had finished dancing the last figure of the écossaise, he clapped his hands to the orchestra, and shouted to the first violin: “Semyon! do you know ‘Daniel Cooper'?”
That was the count's favourite dance that he had danced in his youth. (Daniel Cooper was the name of a figure of the anglaise.)
“Look at papa!” Natasha shouted to all the room (entirely forgetting that she was dancing with a grown-up partner), and ducking down till her curly head almost touched her knees, she went off into her ringing laugh that filled the hall. Every one in the hall was, in fact, looking with a smile of delight at the gleeful old gentleman. Standing beside his majestic partner, Marya Dmitryevna, who was taller than he was, he curved his arms, swaying them in time to the music, moved his shoulders, twirled with his legs, lightly tapping with his heels, and with a broadening grin on his round face, prepared the spectators for what was to come. As soon as the orchestra played the gay, irresistible air of Daniel Cooper, somewhat like a livelier Russian trepak, all the doorways of the big hall were suddenly filled with the smiling faces of the house-serfs—men on one side, and women on the other—come to look at their master making merry.
“Our little father! An eagle he is!” the old nurse said out loud at one door.
The count danced well and knew that he did, but his partner could not dance at all, and did not care about dancing well. Her portly figure stood erect, with her mighty arms hanging by her side (she had handed her reticule to the countess). It was only her stern, but comely face that danced. What was expressed by the whole round person of the count, was expressed by Marya Dmitryevna in her more and more beaming countenance and puckered nose. While the count, with greater and greater expenditure of energy, enchanted the spectators by the unexpectedness of the nimble pirouettes and capers of his supple legs, Marya Dmitryevna with the slightest effort in the movement of her shoulders or curving of her arms, when they turned or marked the time with their feet, produced no less impression from the contrast, which everyone appreciated, with her portliness and her habitual severity of demeanour. The dance grew more and more animated. The vis-à-vis could not obtain one moment's attention, and did not attempt to do so. All attention was absorbed by the count and Marya Dmitryevna. Natasha pulled at the sleeve or gown of every one present, urging them to look at papa, though they never took their eyes off the dancers. In the pauses in the dance the count drew a deep breath, waved his hands and shouted to the musician to play faster. More and more quickly, more and more nimbly the count pirouetted, turning now on his toes and now on his heels, round Marya Dmitryevna. At last, twisting his lady round to her place, he executed the last steps, kicking his supple legs up behind him, and bowing his perspiring head and smiling face, with a round sweep of his right arm, amidst a thunder of applause and laughter, in which Natasha's laugh was loudest. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily, and mopping their faces with their batiste handkerchiefs.
“That's how they used to dance in our day, ma chère, said the count.
“Bravo, Daniel Cooper!” said Marya Dmitryevna, tucking up her sleeves and drawing a deep, prolonged breath.


第一章第十七节


玩波士顿纸牌的大牌桌摆开了，牌局也都凑成了，伯爵的客人们在两个厅里就座，一间是摆有沙发的休息室，一间是图书室。
伯爵把纸牌铺成扇面形，好不容易才改变午睡的习惯，他对着大家露出一张笑脸。伯爵夫人诱使年轻人聚集在击弦古铜琴和竖琴的近旁。朱莉在大家的请求下头一个用竖琴弹奏了一首变奏短曲，她和其余的女孩一块邀请素以音乐天赋出名的娜塔莎和尼古拉唱一首什么歌。大家像对待大人那样对待娜塔莎，她因此显得十分高傲，但同时有几分胆怯。
“我们唱什么？”她问道。
“《泉水》。”尼古拉答道。
“喂，快点。鲍里斯，到这里来吧，”娜塔莎说道，“索尼娅究竟到哪里去了？”
她向四周环顾，看见她的朋友不在房里，便跑去寻找她了。
娜塔莎跑进索尼娅房里，找不到她的女友，便跑到儿童室去了，那里也没有索尼娅的人影。娜塔莎明白，索尼娅呆在走廊里的箱笼上。走廊里的箱笼是罗斯托夫家年轻妇女们倾吐哀愁的地方。诚然，索尼娅呆在箱笼上，俯卧在保姆那张邋遢的条纹绒毛褥子上，她身上穿的粉红色的薄纱连衣裙都给揉皱了。她用手蒙着脸，哽噎得大声痛哭，赤裸裸的肩膀不住地颤抖。娜塔莎整天价因为过命名日而喜形于色，这时分脸色突然变了，她的视线呆滞不动了，之后她的宽大的脖子颤抖了一下，嘴角松垂下来了。
“索尼娅，你怎么样？……您是怎么回事？呜——鸣——
呜！……”
娜塔莎咧开大嘴哭起来了，样子变得十分难看，她像儿童似地嚎啕大哭，不知为什么，只是因为索尼娅哭泣的缘故。索尼娅想要抬起头来，想回答她的话，可是没法这样办，她把头藏得更深了。娜塔莎哭着，在蓝色的绒毛褥子上坐下，一面拥抱着女友。索尼娅鼓足一股劲，欠起身子，揩掉眼泪，开始述说起来。
“过一个礼拜尼古连卡要去打仗了，他的……公文……下达了……他亲自对我说了……我并不想哭哩……”她让娜塔莎看看她拿在手里的一张纸条，那是尼古拉写的诗句，“我并不想哭哩，可是你没法了解……谁也没法了解……他的心肠多么好啊。”
她于是又哭起来，哭他的心肠太好。
“你觉得挺好……我不妒嫉……我爱你，也爱鲍里斯，”她聚精会神地说道，“他是个可爱的人……对你们毫无妨碍。可是尼古拉是我的表兄……有必要……总主教本人允准……即使那样也不行。而且，若是妈妈（索尼娅认为伯爵夫人是母亲，把她称呼为母亲）……她说我断送尼古拉的锦绣前程，我没有好心眼我忘恩负义，说实话……真的……”她在胸前划了个十字，“我这样爱她，也爱你们大家，唯独薇拉……为什么？我有什么对她过不去呢？我十分感谢你们，我乐于为你们牺牲一切，但是我没有什么可以……”
索尼娅不能再往下说了，又托着头，埋进绒毛褥子里。娜塔莎安静下来了，但是从她的脸色可以看出，她心里明白她朋友的苦衷是何等沉重。
“索尼娅，”她忽然说道，仿佛猜中了表姐伤心的真实原因，“薇拉在午饭后大概对你说过什么话？是吗？”
“是的，尼古拉本人写了这些诗，我还抄了一些别的诗；她在我桌上发现了，还说要把它拿给妈妈看，说我忘恩负义，说妈妈决不会容许他娶我为妻，他要娶朱莉为妻。你看见，他整天价同她在一块吗？……娜塔莎！这是为什么？……”
她又哭了起来，显得比原先更悲伤了。娜搭莎帮助她欠起身来，拥抱她，透过眼泪微露笑容，开始安慰她。
“索尼娅，我亲爱的，不要相信她，不要相信啊。你总还记得我们和尼古拉三人在摆满沙发的休息室里说的话吧，是在晚饭后，你还记得吧？我们不是拿定了主意，把日后的事情划算好了吗？我已经记不清了，可是你总还记得事事都美满，事事都亨通。你看申申叔叔的兄弟娶他的表妹为妻，而我们不就是堂表子妹嘛，鲍里斯也说过完全可以这样做嘛。你知道，什么事我都对他说了。他既聪明，而又善良，”娜塔莎说道……“索尼娅，我亲爱的，你不要哭，索尼娅，我的心肝。”她一面吻她，一面发笑。“薇拉真凶恶，去她的吧！事事都会好起来，她也决不会告诉她妈妈的。尼古拉倒会亲口把话说出来，至于朱莉嘛，他连想也没有想过她。”
她于是吻她的头。索尼娅稍微抬起身子来，那只小猫也活跃起来了，一双小眼睛闪闪发光，它好像就要摇摇尾巴，伸出四双柔软的脚爪霍地跳起来，又要去玩耍线团，好像它适宜于这种游戏似的。
“你是这样想的吗？说的是实在的话？真的？”她说道，一面飞快地弄平连衣裙和头发。
“说实话吗？真的吗？”娜塔莎答道，一面给她的朋友弄平辫子下面露出来的一绺粗硬的头发。
她们二人都笑了起来。
“喂，我们去唱《泉水》这首歌吧。”
“我们去吧。”
“你可知道，坐在我对面的这个胖乎乎的皮埃尔多么滑稽可笑！”娜塔莎停步时忽然说道，“我觉得非常快活！”
娜塔莎于是在走廊里跑起来了。
索尼娅拍掉身上的绒毛，把诗藏在怀里靠近突出的胸骨的脖子旁边，她两颊通红，迈着轻盈而快活的步子，跟在娜塔莎身后沿着走廊向摆满沙发的休息室跑去。年轻人应客人之请唱了一首人人喜欢的四人合唱曲《泉水》之后尼古拉还唱了一首已经背熟的歌曲：
在令人欣悦的晚上，
在皎洁月色映照下，
你想象这该是多么幸福：
有个什么人在这尘世上，
她心中暗自把你思念！
她那秀丽的巧手
拨弄着金色的竖琴，
竖琴激越的和音
把你召唤
召唤到身边！
还有一两天，
幸福的生活就要来临……
唉，你的朋友
活不到那么一天！
他还没有唱完最后一句歌词，青年人就在大厅里准备跳舞，乐师们按照霍拉舞曲的节奏，把脚儿跺得咚咚响，这时传来他们的咳嗽声。
皮埃尔坐在客厅里，申申和这个从外国归来的皮埃尔谈论起使他觉得索然无味的政治范畴的事情，还有其他几个人也和他们攀谈起来，当乐队开始奏乐时，娜塔莎步入客厅，她向皮埃尔身边径直地走去，两脸通红，含笑地说道：“妈妈吩咐我请您去跳舞。”
“我怕会搞乱了舞步，”皮埃尔说道，“不过，假如您愿意当我的老师……”
于是他低低地垂下他那只肥胖的手，递给苗条的少女。
当一对对男女拉开距离站着、乐师正在调音律时，皮埃尔和他的小舞伴一同坐下来。娜塔莎觉得非常幸福：她和国外回来的大人跳过舞了。她在大家眼前坐着，像大人那样和他交谈。她手里拿着一把折扇，一位小姐让她拿去扇扇的。她装出一副地道的交际花的姿态（天知道她是何时何地学到的本领），她扇扇子，隔着折扇露出微笑，和她的舞伴交谈。
“她是啥模样？她是啥模样？你们看吧，你们看吧。”老伯爵夫人走过大厅，用手指着娜塔莎，说道。
娜塔莎两颊通红，笑了起来。
“妈妈，怎么啦？您何苦呢？这有什么奇怪的呢？”
第三节苏格兰民间舞曲奏到半中间时，客厅里的坐椅被移动了，伯爵和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜、大部分贵宾和老年人都在这里打纸牌，他们久坐之后伸伸懒腰，把皮夹和钱包放进衣袋里，一个个向大厅走去。玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜随同伯爵走在最前面，二人都现出喜悦的神色。伯爵诙谐地装出拘礼的样子，有点像跳芭蕾舞似的，把他那圆圆的手臂伸给玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜。他挺直身子，神采奕奕，流露出特别洒脱的机智的微笑。一跳完苏格兰民间舞，他就向乐师击掌，面对第一提琴手，向那合唱队吼叫：
“谢苗！你熟悉《丹尼拉·库波尔》么？”
这是伯爵青年时代喜欢跳的一种舞蹈。（《丹尼拉·库波尔》其实是英吉利兹舞的一节。）
“瞧我爸爸吧。”娜塔莎朝着整个大厅嚷道（根本忘记了她在和大人一同跳舞），她把长有鬈发的头向膝盖微微垂下，非常洪亮的笑声响彻了厅堂。
诚然，大厅里的人都含着欢快的微笑打量那个愉快的老人，一个比他高大的显赫的女士——玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜站在他身旁，他那手臂蜷曲成圆形，合着拍子摇晃着，舒展开双肩，两脚向外撇开，轻盈地踏着拍子，他圆滚滚的脸上越来越眉开眼笑，让观众准备欣赏将要出现的场景。一当听见欢快的、引人入胜的、与快乐的《特烈帕克》舞曲相似的《丹尼拉·库波尔》舞曲，大厅的几个门口蓦然堆满了家仆的笑脸，一旁是男仆，一旁是女仆，他们都出来观看尽情作乐的老爷。
“我们的老爷！真是苍鹰啊！”保姆从一道门口高声地说道。
伯爵跳得很棒，而且心中有数，不过他的女舞伴根本不擅长跳舞，她也不想把舞跳好。她那硕大的身段笔直地站着，把两只强而有力的手臂低垂下去（她把女式手提包转交给伯爵夫人），只有她那副严肃、但却俊美的面孔在跳舞。伯爵的整个浑圆的身体是他外表上的特点，而越来越显得愉快的眉开眼笑的脸庞和向上翘起的鼻孔却是玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜的外貌特征。如果认为，伯爵跳得越来越痛快，他那出乎意料的灵活转动和脚步从容的轻盈跳跃会使观众心神向往，那末，玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜在转身或踏拍子时，肩膀一动或者手臂一卷曲，就可轻而易举地产生同样良好的印象；虽然她的身躯过分地肥胖，态度素来严厉，每个观众仍然赞赏不已。舞跳得愈益热闹了。他们对面的别的舞伴一刻也没有引起观众的注意，而且也不介意这件事。伯爵和玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜吸引着全体的注意力。在场的人们本来就目不转睛地望着跳舞的伴侣，可是娜塔莎却拉拉这个人袖子，扯扯那个人的连衣裙，要大家都来看看她爸爸。跳舞暂停时，伯爵吃力地喘气，向乐师们挥手喊叫，要他们快点奏乐。伯爵围绕着玛丽亚·德米特里耶夫娜疾速地旋转，时而把脚尖踮起，时而把脚跟跺地，越来越矫捷，越来越勇猛，终于把舞伴领到她的坐位上，他把一只脚向后磴起来，低垂淌着热汗的头，这样才跳完了最后一个舞步，在洪亮的掌声和笑声中，尤其是在娜塔莎的哈哈大笑声中，他用右手挥动一下，腾空画了一个圆圈。两个跳舞的人停步了，吃力地喘气，用麻纱手巾揩汗。
“我们那个时代就是这样跳舞啊，machère，”①伯爵说道。
“《丹尼拉·库波尔》真不错！”玛丽亚·德米特罗耶夫娜卷起袖子，久久地、吃力地喘气，说道。
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57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
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Part One Chapter  Eightteen


WHILE IN THE ROSTOVS' HALL they were dancing the sixth anglaise, while the weary orchestra played wrong notes, and the tired footmen and cooks were getting the supper, Count Bezuhov had just had his sixth stroke. The doctors declared that there was no hope of recovery; the sick man received absolution and the sacrament while unconscious. Preparations were being made for administering extreme unction, and the house was full of the bustle and thrill of suspense usual at such moments. Outside the house undertakers were crowding beyond the gates, trying to escape the notice of the carriages that drove up, but eagerly anticipating a good order for the count's funeral. The governor of Moscow, who had been constantly sending his adjutants to inquire after the count's condition, came himself that evening to say good-bye to the renowned grandee of Catherine's court, Count Bezuhov.
The magnificent reception-room was full. Every one stood up respectfully when the governor, after being half an hour alone with the sick man, came out of the sick-room. Bestowing scanty recognition on the bows with which he was received, he tried to escape as quickly as possible from the gaze of the doctors, ecclesiastical personages, and relations. Prince Vassily, who had grown paler and thinner during the last few days, escorted the governor out, and softly repeated something to him several times over.
After seeing the governor, Prince Vassily sat down on a chair in the hall alone, crossing one leg high over the other, leaning his elbow on his knee, and covering his eyes with his hand. After sitting so for some time he got up, and with steps more hurried than his wont, he crossed the long corridor, looking round him with frightened eyes, and went to the back part of the house to the apartments of the eldest princess.
The persons he had left in the dimly lighted reception-room, next to the sick-room, talked in broken whispers among themselves, pausing, and looking round with eyes full of suspense and inquiry whenever the door that led into the dying man's room creaked as some one went in or came out.
“Man's limitation,” said a little man, an ecclesiastic of some sort, to a lady, who was sitting near him listening naïvely to his words—“his limitation is fixed, there is no overstepping it.”
“I wonder if it won't be late for extreme unction?” inquired the lady, using his clerical title, and apparently having no opinion of her own on the matter.
“It is a great mystery, ma'am,” answered the clerk, passing his hands over his bald head, on which lay a few tresses of carefully combed, half grey hair.
“Who was that? was it the governor himself?” they were asking at the other end of the room. “What a young-looking man!”
“And he's over sixty!. … What, do they say, the count does not know any one? Do they mean to give extreme unction?”
“I knew a man who received extreme unction seven times.”
The second princess came out of the sick-room with tearful eyes, and sat down beside Doctor Lorrain, who was sitting in a graceful pose under the portrait of Catherine, with his elbow on the table.
“Very fine,” said the doctor in reply to a question about the weather; “very fine, princess, and besides, at Moscow, one might suppose oneself in the country.”
“Might one not?” said the princess, sighing. “So may he have something to drink?” Lorrain thought a moment.
“He has taken his medicine?”
“Yes.”
The doctor looked at his memoranda.
“Take a glass of boiled water and put in a pinch” (he showed with his delicate fingers what was meant by a pinch) “of cream of tartar.”
“There has never been a case,” said the German doctor to the adjutant, speaking broken Russian, “of recovery after having a third stroke.”
“And what a vigorous man he was!” said the adjutant. “And to whom will his great wealth go?” he added in a whisper.
“Candidates will be found,” the German replied, smiling. Every one looked round again at the door; it creaked, and the second princess having made the drink according to Lorrain's direction, carried it into the sick-room. The German doctor went up to Lorrain.
“Can it drag on till to-morrow morning?” asked the German, with a vile French accent.
Lorrain, with compressed lips and a stern face, moved his finger before his nose to express a negative.
“To-night, not later,” he said softly, and with a decorous smile of satisfaction at being able to understand and to express the exact position of the sick man, he walked away.
Meanwhile Prince Vassily had opened the door of the princess's room.
It was half dark in the room; there were only two lamps burning before the holy pictures, and there was a sweet perfume of incense and flowers. The whole room was furnished with miniature furniture, little sideboards, small bookcases, and small tables. Behind a screen could be seen the white coverings of a high feather-bed. A little dog barked.
“Ah, is that you, mon cousin?”
She got up and smoothed her hair, which was always, even now, so extraordinarily smooth that it seemed as though made out of one piece with her head and covered with varnish.
“Has anything happened?” she asked. “I am in continual dread.”
“Nothing, everything is unchanged. I have only come to have a little talk with you, Katish, about business,” said the prince, sitting down wearily in the low chair from which she had just risen. “How warm it is here, though,” he said. “Come, sit here; let us talk.”
“I wondered whether anything had happened,” said the princess, and with her stonily severe expression unchanged, she sat down opposite the prince, preparing herself to listen. “I have been trying to get some sleep, mon cousin, but I can't.”
“Well, my dear?” said Prince Vassily, taking the princess's hand, and bending it downwards as his habit was.
It was plain that this “well?” referred to much that they both comprehended without mentioning it in words.
The princess, with her spare, upright figure, so disproportionately long in the body, looked straight at the prince with no sign of emotion in her prominent grey eyes. She shook her head, and sighing looked towards the holy pictures. Her gesture might have been interpreted as an expression of grief and devotion, or as an expression of weariness and the hope of a speedy release. Prince Vassily took it as an expression of weariness.
“And do you suppose it's any easier for me?” he said. “I am as worn out as a post horse. I must have a little talk with you, Katish, and a very serious one.”
Prince Vassily paused. and his cheeks began twitching nervously, first on one side, then on the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression such as was never seen on his countenance when he was in drawing-rooms. His eyes, too, were different from usual: at one moment they stared with a sort of insolent jocoseness, at the next they looked round furtively.
The princess, pulling her dog on her lap with her thin, dry hands, gazed intently at the eyes of Prince Vassily, but it was evident that she would not break the silence, if she had to sit silent till morning.
“You see, my dear princess and cousin, Katerina Semyonovna,” pursued Prince Vassily, obviously with some inner conflict bracing himself to go on with what he wanted to say, “at such moments as the present, one has to think of everything. One must think of the future, of you … I care for all of you as if you were my own children; you know that.”
The princess looked at him with the same dull immovable gaze.
“Finally, we have to think of my family too,” continued Prince Vassily, angrily pushing away a little table and not looking at her: “you know, Katish, that you three Mamontov sisters and my wife,—we are the only direct heirs of the count. I know, I know how painful it is for you to speak and think of such things. And it's as hard for me; but, my dear, I am a man over fifty, I must be ready for anything. Do you know that I have sent for Pierre, and that the count, pointing straight at his portrait, has asked for him?”
Prince Vassily looked inquiringly at the princess, but he could not make out whether she was considering what he had said, or was simply staring at him.
“I pray to God for one thing only continually, mon cousin,” she replied, “that He may have mercy upon him, and allow his noble soul to leave this …”
“Yes, quite so,” Prince Vassily continued impatiently, rubbing his bald head and again wrathfully moving the table towards him that he had just moved away, “but in fact … in fact the point is, as you are yourself aware, that last winter the count made a will by which, passing over his direct heirs and us, he bequeathed all his property to Pierre.”
“He may have made ever so many wills!” the princess said placidly; “but he can't leave it to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.”
“Ma chère,” said Prince Vassily suddenly, pushing the table against him, growing more earnest and beginning to speak more rapidly: “but what if a letter has been written to the Emperor, and the count has petitioned him to legitimise Pierre? You understand, that the count's services would make his petition carry weight …”
The princess smiled, as people smile who believe that they know much more about the subject than those with whom they are talking.
“I can say more,” Prince Vassily went on, clasping her hand; “that letter has been written, though it has not been sent off, and the Emperor has heard about it. The question only is whether it has been destroyed or not. If not, as soon as all is over,” Prince Vassily sighed, giving her thereby to understand what he meant precisely by the words “all is over,” “and they open the count's papers, the will with the letter will be given to the Emperor, and his petition will certainly be granted. Pierre, as the legitimate son, will receive everything.”
“What about our share?” the princess inquired, smiling ironically as though anything but that might happen.
“Why, my poor Katish, it is as clear as daylight. He will then be the only legal heir of all, and you won't receive as much as this, see. You ought to know, my dear, whether the will and the petition were written, and whether they have been destroyed, and if they have somehow been overlooked, then you ought to know where they are and to find them, because …”
“That would be rather too much!” the princess interrupted him, smiling sardonically, with no change in the expression of her eyes. “I am a woman, and you think we are all silly; but I do know so much, that an illegitimate son can't inherit … Un batard,” she added, supposing that by this translation of the word she was conclusively proving to the prince the groundlessness of his contention.
“How can you not understand, Katish, really! You are so intelligent; how is it you don't understand that if the count has written a letter to the Emperor, begging him to recognise his son as legitimate, then Pierre will not be Pierre but Count Bezuhov, and then he will inherit everything under the will? And if the will and the letter have not been destroyed, then except the consolation of having been dutiful and of all that results from having done your duty, nothing is left for you. That's the fact.”
“I know that the will was made, but I know, too, that it is invalid, and you seem to take me for a perfect fool, mon cousin,” said the princess, with the air with which women speak when they imagine they are saying something witty and biting.
“My dear princess, Katerina Semyonovna!” Prince Vassily began impatiently, “I have come to you not to provoke you, but to talk to you as a kinswoman, a good, kind-hearted, true kinswoman, of your own interests. I tell you for the tenth time that if the letter to the Emperor and the will in Pierre's favour are among the count's papers, you, my dear girl, and your sisters are not heiresses. If you don't believe me, believe people who know; I have just been talking to Dmitry Onufritch” (this was the family solicitor); “he said the same.”
There was obviously some sudden change in the princess's ideas; her thin lips turned white (her eyes did not change), and when she began to speak, her voice passed through transitions, which she clearly did not herself anticipate.
“That would be a pretty thing,” she said. “I wanted nothing, and I want nothing.” She flung her dog off her lap and smoothed out the folds of her skirt.
“That's the gratitude, that's the recognition people get who have sacrificed everything for him,” she said. “Very nice! Excellent! I don't want anything, prince.”
“Yes, but you are not alone, you have sisters,” answered Prince Vassily. But the princess did not heed him.
“Yes, I knew it long ago, but I'd forgotten that I could expect nothing in this house but baseness, deceit, envy, scheming, nothing but ingratitude, the blackest ingratitude …”
“Do you or do you not know where that will is?” asked Prince Vassily, the twitching of his cheeks more marked than ever.
“Yes, I have been foolish; I still kept faith in people, and cared for them and sacrificed myself. But no one succeeds except those who are base and vile. I know whose plotting this is.”
The princess would have risen, but the prince held her by the arm. The princess had the air of a person who has suddenly lost faith in the whole human race. She looked viciously at her companion.
“There is still time, my dear. Remember, Katish, that all this was done heedlessly, in a moment of anger, of illness, and then forgotten. Our duty, my dear girl, is to correct his mistake, to soften his last moments by not letting him commit this injustice, not letting him die with the thought that he has made miserable those …”
“Those who have sacrificed everything for him,” the princess caught him up; and she made an impulsive effort again to stand up, but the prince would not let her, “a sacrifice he has never known how to appreciate. No, mon cousin,” she added, with a sigh, “I will remember that one can expect no reward in this world, that in this world there is no honour, no justice. Cunning and wickedness is what one wants in this world.”
“Come, voyons, calm yourself; I know your noble heart.”
“No, I have a wicked heart.”
“I know your heart,” repeated the prince. “I value your affection, and I could wish you had the same opinion of me. Calm yourself and let us talk sensibly while there is time—perhaps twenty-four hours, perhaps one. Tell me all you know about the will, and what's of most consequence, where it is; you must know. We will take it now at once and show it to the count. He has no doubt forgotten about it and would wish to destroy it. You understand that my desire is to carry out his wishes religiously. That is what I came here for. I am only here to be of use to him and to you.”
“Now I see it all. I know whose plotting this is. I know,” the princess was saying.
“That's not the point, my dear.”
“It's all your precious Anna Mihalovna, your protégée whom I wouldn't take as a housemaid, the nasty creature.”
“Do not let us waste time.”
“Oh, don't talk to me! Last winter she forced her way in here and told such a pack of vile, mean tales to the count about all of us, especially Sophie—I can't repeat them—that it made the count ill, and he wouldn't see us for a fortnight. It was at that time, I know, he wrote that hateful, infamous document, but I thought it was of no consequence.”
“There we are. Why didn't you tell us about it before?”
“It's in the inlaid portfolio that he keeps under his pillow. Now I know,” said the princess, making no reply. “Yes, if I have a sin to my account, a great sin, it's my hatred of that infamous woman,” almost shrieked the princess, utterly transformed. “And why does she force herself in here? But I'll have it out with her. The time will come!”


第一章第十八节


当人们在乐师因困倦而弹奏走调的音乐伴奏下正跳第六节英吉利兹舞、疲乏的堂倌和伙夫正准备晚膳的时候，别祖霍夫伯爵第六次罹患中风病。大夫们宣布，他已经没有痊愈的希望了，有人给病人做了忏悔仪式和圣餐仪式，并且还做了涂圣油仪式的准备。平素在这种时刻，这所住宅里的人总是乱哄哄的，惶恐不安地期待。卖棺材的人都聚集在住宅大门外，遇有马车驶近，便躲到一边去，他们等着承做安葬伯爵的棺材，赚一笔大钱。莫斯科军区总司令不断派遣副官来打听伯爵的病情，这天晚上他亲自乘车前来和叶卡捷琳娜时代的大官别祖霍夫伯爵作临终告别。
华美的接待室挤满了人。当军区总司令独自和病人一起呆了半小时左右，走出门来的时候，大家都肃然起敬地站立起来，他微微鞠躬答礼，想尽快地从凝视他的大夫、神职人员和亲戚身边走过去。这些日子里，瓦西里公爵显得消瘦，脸色苍白，他伴送着军区总司令，轻声向他反复地说着什么话。
瓦西里公爵送走军区总司令后，独自一人在大厅的一把椅子上坐下来，他把一条腿高高地架在另一条腿上，用臂肘撑着膝头，用手捂住眼睛。他这样坐了片刻，便站立起来，用惊恐的目光向四下环顾一番，不像惯常那样，他迈着急急匆匆的脚步，经过走廊，到住宅后院去找公爵的大小姐了。
在灯光暗淡的房间里，人们彼此窃窃私语，声音若断若续，每当有人从通往行将就木者的寝室门口进出，房门发出微弱响声时，人们就寂然无声，用那洋溢着疑问和期待的目光，望望那扇房门。
“人的命运，”一个年老的神职人员对坐在他近旁、稚气地听他说话的女士说道，“命是注定的，不可逾越的。”
“我想，举行涂圣油仪式为时不晚吧？”这位女士补充说出神职人员的头衔，问道，仿佛她在这一点上毫无意见似的。
“大娘，这种圣礼仪式是很隆重的。”神职人员答道，一面用手摸摸那盖有几绺往后梳的斑白头发的秃顶。
“他究竟是谁？是军区总司令本人？”有人在房间的另一端问道，“他显得多么年轻啊！……”
“六十多岁了！据说，伯爵已经认不得他了，是吗？大家想举行涂圣油仪式吗？”
“有个人我可知道哩，他受过七次涂圣油礼了。”
公爵的二小姐从病人寝室里走出来，两眼泪痕斑斑，她在罗兰大夫身旁坐下，这位大夫用臂肘撑在桌子上，姿势优美地坐在叶卡捷琳娜画像下面。
“Tr'èsbeau，”大夫在回答有关天气问题时，说道，“trèsbeau，princesse，etpuis，àMoscouonsecroitàlacomBpagne．”①
“N'est—ce—pas？”②公爵小姐叹息道，“可以让他喝水吗？”
罗兰沉思起来。
“他服了药吗？”
“服过了。”
大夫看了看卜列格怀表。
“请您拿一杯开水，放进unepincée（他用那纤细的指头表示unepincée是什么涵义）decremortartari……”③
①法语：很好——公爵小姐，天气很好，而且，莫斯科和乡下很相像。
②法语：是真的？
③法语：一小撮酒石。

“没有患了三次中风还能幸存的事，”德国大夫对副官说道。
“他从前是个精力多么充沛的男人啊！”副官说道。“这份财产以后归什么人？”他轻言细语地补充一句。
“自愿当继承人的准会有的。”德国人面露微笑，答道。
大家又向门口望了一眼，门吱呀一声响了，公爵的二小姐依照罗兰的指点做好了饮料，送到病人那里。德国大夫向罗兰面前走去。
“大概他还能拖到明天早上吧？”德国人说着一口蹩脚的法国话问道。
罗兰撇一撇嘴唇，在鼻子前严肃地挥动指头，表示不赞同。
“今天夜晚，不会更晚。”他轻声说道，他因为能够明确地了解并说明病人的病情而洋洋自得，他脸上露出文质彬彬的笑意，走开了。
与此同时，瓦西里公爵打开了公爵小姐的房门。
房间里半明半暗。神像前面只点着两盏长明灯。神香和花朵散发着沁人的幽香。这个房间摆满了小柜子、小橱子、茶几之类的小家具。围屏后面看得见垫上绒毛褥子的高卧榻上铺着雪白的罩单。
“哦，是您呀，我的表兄吗？”
她站起身来，把头发弄平，她的头发向来是，甚至目前也是又平又光的，宛如头发和脑袋是用同一块原料造成的，头发又上了一层油漆。
“怎么，出了什么事吗？”她问道，“我真害怕得不得了。”
“没有什么，还是那个样子，卡季什，我只是来和你谈一件事情，”公爵说道，困倦地坐在她刚刚坐过的安乐椅上，“可是，你把这张椅子坐热了，”他说道，“到这里来坐吧，cauBsons。”①
①法语：我们谈谈。

“我原以为出了什么事呢，”公爵小姐说，带着总是那样严肃而呆板的面部表情在公爵对面坐下，准备听他说话。
“我的表兄，我想熟睡一会儿，就是没法睡着。”
“我亲爱的，怎么样？”瓦西里公爵说道，他一把握住公爵小姐的手，习惯地轻轻一按。
可以看出，“怎么样”这几个字是有关他们两人不开口也能相互了解的许多事情。
公爵小姐的腰身干瘦而僵直，和腿比起来显得太长了，一对灰眼睛突出来，直楞楞地、冷冰冰地端详着公爵。她摇摇头，叹口气，望了望神像。她的姿态可以说明她无限忠诚，但内心忧愁，也可以说明她非常劳累，希望快点得到休息，瓦西里公爵把她的姿态说成是困倦的表示。
“而我觉得，”他说道，“你以为我觉得更轻快吗？Jesuisèreintè，commeunchevaldeposte，①卡季什，可是我还要和你谈谈，很认真地谈谈。”
①法语：我疲乏透了，像一匹驿马。

瓦西里公爵沉默不言，他的两颊时而这边时而那边神经过敏地抽搐起来，使得他的脸庞带有他在客厅里驻足时从未有过的令人不悦的表情。他的眼神也一反常态，时而放肆无礼地、滑稽可笑地望人，时而惊惶失措地环顾四周。
公爵小姐用一双干瘦的手把那只小狗抱在膝头上，聚精会神地望着瓦西里公爵的眼睛。可是，看起来，她即令沉默不言呆到早晨，也没法提出问题来打破这种静默。
“我亲爱的公爵小姐，表妹，卡捷琳娜·谢苗诺夫娜，你是不是知道，”瓦西里公爵说道，看起来，要继续把话说下去，内心斗争不是没有的，“像现在这种时刻，什么都应当考虑考虑，应当考虑到将来，考虑到你们……我爱你们就像爱自己的孩子一样，这一点你是知道的。”
公爵小姐还是那样目光暗淡、滞然不动地望着他。
“最后，还应当考虑考虑我的家庭，”瓦西里公爵恼怒地推开自己身边的茶几，两眼没有望着她，继续说下去，“卡季什，你知道，你们马蒙托夫家的三个姐妹，可还有我的妻子，唯独我们才是伯爵的直系继承人。我晓得，我晓得，说这些事情，想这些事情，你觉得非常难受。我也不觉得轻松；可是，我的朋友，我有五十多岁了，一切事都要有所准备。我派了人去接皮埃尔，伯爵用手笔直地指着他的肖像，要他到他那里来，你知不知道？”
瓦西里公爵以疑问的眼神望望公爵小姐，但他没法弄明白，她是否在想他对她说的话，还是随便地望着他……“我为一桩事一直都在祷告上帝，moncousin，”她答道，“祈祷上帝宽恕他，让他高尚的灵魂平安地离开这个……”
“对，是这样的，”瓦西里公爵心情急躁地继续说下去，一面用手搓着秃头，愤愤地把推开的茶几移到身边来，“可是，到头来，到头来，问题就在于，你自己知道，去冬伯爵写了遗嘱，把他的全部产业留给皮埃尔，我们这些直系继承人都没有份了。”
“遗嘱随他去写吧，没有关系，”公爵小姐心平气和地说道，“但是他不能把遗产交给皮埃尔。皮埃尔是个私生子。”
“machère，”瓦西里公爵忽然说道，他紧紧贴着茶几，露出兴致勃勃的样子，说话的速度更快了，“假如伯爵禀告国王，请求立皮埃尔为子，那可怎么是好？你明白，就凭伯爵的功勋，他的请求是会受到尊重的……”
一些人以为他们自己比谈话对方知道的情形更多，他们就会面露微笑的，公爵小姐也同样地微微一笑。
“我还有更多的话要对你说，”瓦西里公爵一把抓着她的手，继续说下去，“信是写好了，尽管还没有寄上，国王也知道底细，只不过问题在于，这封信是否烧毁。若是没有焚毁，不久的将来一切都会完蛋的。”瓦西里公爵叹口气，用以使人家明白，“一切都会完蛋”的是有什么含义，“伯爵的文件一被拆开，遗嘱及信函就要呈交国王，他的请求大概会得到尊重的。皮埃尔作为合法的儿子就能获得一切产业。”
“而我们的那一份遗产呢？”公爵小姐问道，讥讽地微笑，好像一切都会发生，只有这桩事不会发生似的。
“Mais，mapauvreCatiche，c'estclair，commelejour，①那时候，只有他一人才是全部遗产的合法继承人，你们一定得不到自己的这一份。我亲爱的，你必须知道，遗嘱和奏疏是否已经写好了，或者已经烧毁了。假如这两样被人置之脑后，那你就应当知道这些东西搁在哪里，并且一一找到，因为……”
“竟有如此愚蠢之事！”公爵小姐打断他的话，露出恶意的微笑，也没有改变眼睛的表情，“我是个女人，依您看，我们都是些蠢货。可是，据我所知，私生子不能继承遗产……unbatard，”②她补充一句，以为通过翻译，可以使公爵彻底明了他缺乏继承的充分理由。
①法语：可是，卡季什，这是一清二楚的事啊。
②法语：私生子。

“卡季什，你怎么总不明白！你这样聪明，怎么不明白；倘使伯爵给国王写了奏疏，请求国王承认他的儿子是合法的。这么说，皮埃尔已经不是皮埃尔，而是别祖霍夫伯爵了，到那时他可凭遗嘱获得全部遗产吗？倘使遗嘱和奏疏未被烧毁，那末，你除了具有高尚品德，聊以自慰而外，什么也捞不到。
这是千真万确的话。”
“我知道，遗嘱已经写好了，但是我也知道，遗嘱不生效，您似乎认为我是个十足的蠢货，moncousin，”公爵小姐说道，她那神态，俨如那些认为自己说了侮辱性的俏皮话的女人的神态一样。
“你是我的亲爱的公爵小姐卡捷琳娜·谢苗诺夫娜！”瓦西里公爵急躁地说道，“我到你这里来不是要和你争吵，而是要和一个亲人、一个善良、诚挚的亲人谈谈你的切身利益问题。我第十次告诉你，倘使伯爵的文件中附有呈送国王的奏疏和对皮埃尔有利的遗嘱，那末，我亲爱的，你和你的几个妹妹都不是遗产继承人了。假若你不相信我，你就相信知情人吧：我方才跟德米特里·奥努夫里伊奇（他是个家庭律师）谈过话，他也是这样说的。”
显然，公爵小姐的思想上忽然起了什么变化，她那薄薄的嘴唇变得苍白了（眼睛还是那个样子），当她开口说话时，嗓音时断时续，显然这并非她自己意料的事。
“这样挺好啊，”她说道，“我从前不想要什么，现在也不想要什么。”
她把那小狗从膝盖上扔下去，弄平连衣裙的皱褶。
“这就是谢忱，这就是对为他牺牲一切的人们的感激之情，”她说道，“好极了！很好！公爵，我什么都不要了。”
“是的，可你不是一个人，你有几个妹妹。”瓦西里公爵答道。
但是公爵小姐不听他说话。
“是的，这是我早就知道的事，可是我已经置之脑后了。除了卑鄙、骗局、嫉妒、阴谋诡计，除了忘恩负义，黑心眼的忘恩负义，我在这栋住宅里什么也不能期待……”
“你知道，还是不知道这份遗嘱搁在什么地方？”瓦西里公爵问道，他的两颊痉挛得比先前更加厉害了。
“是的，我十分愚蠢，还轻信人们，喜爱他们，并且牺牲我自己。可是只有那班卑鄙恶劣的坏人才会得心应手。我晓得这是谁搞的阴谋诡计。”
公爵小姐想站立起来，可是公爵紧紧地握住她的手，不让她走。公爵小姐露出那副样子，就像一个人突然对全人类感到悲观失望似的；她愤恨地望着交谈的对方。
“我的朋友，时间还是有的。卡季什，你要记住，这种种事情都是无意中发生的，是在气忿和罹病之际发生的，之后就遗忘了。我亲爱的，我们的义务就是要纠正他的错误，不让他做出这等不公允的事，减轻他临终之时的疾苦，不让他在心里想到使那些人不幸时死去……”
“那些为他而牺牲一切的人，”公爵小姐应声说道，又挣扎着想要站起来，可是公爵不放她走，“他从来不会器重他们。不，moncousin，”她叹息地补充说，“我要铭记，在这尘世上不能期待奖励，在这尘世上既无荣誉，亦无公理。在这尘世上就要狡猾，凶恶。”
“行了，voyons，①安静下来吧，你的好心肠我是知道的。”
①法语：行了。

“不，我的心肠恶毒。”
“你的心我是知道的，”公爵重复地说道，“我珍惜你的友谊，希望你对我抱有同样的观点。安静下来吧，parlonsraiBson①，时间还是有的，也许会有一昼夜，也许只有一个钟头，你把你所知道的有关遗嘱的情况全部说给我听吧，主要的是，遗嘱搁在哪儿，你应当知道。我们立刻把它拿给伯爵过目，他大概把它遗忘了，他想把它毁掉。你心里明白，我唯一的心愿就是神圣地履行他的意愿，正是为了这一层，我才走到这里来。我呆在这儿只是为着帮助他，也帮助你们。”
“现在我什么都明白了。我晓得这是谁搞的阴谋诡计。我晓得。”公爵小姐说道。
“我的心肝，不是那么回事。”
“她就是您的被保护人，您的亲爱的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，这个卑劣、可恶的女人，给我做婢女我都不愿意接受。”
“Neperdonspointdetemps．”②
“唉，您甭说了吧！她去冬悄悄窜到这里来，向伯爵说了许多骂我们大家，特别是骂索菲的卑鄙龌龊的话，真叫我没法再说一遍，伯爵给弄得害病了，一连两个礼拜不愿意和我们见面。我知道就在这时候他写了这份令人厌恶的文件，不过我以为这份文件是毫无意义的。”
“Nousyvoila③，你干嘛不早点说给我听呢？”
①法语：我们正经地谈谈吧。
②法语：我们甭浪费时间吧。
③法语：问题也就在这里。

“在他枕头底下的嵌花皮包里。我现在知道了，”公爵小姐不回答他的话，说道，“是的，设若我有罪孽，弥天的罪孽，这就是我痛恨这个可恶的女人，”公爵小姐几乎要叫喊起来，脸色全变了，“她干嘛悄悄窜到这里来？我把要说的话向她一股脑儿说出来，到时候一股脑儿说出来！”
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

57135鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11
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Part One Chapter  Nineteen


AT THE TIME that these conversations were taking place in the reception-room and the princess's room, a carriage with Pierre (who had been sent for) and Anna Mihalovna (who had thought fit to come with him) in it was driving into the court of Count Bezuhov's mansion. When the sound of the carriage wheels was muffled by the straw in the street, Anna Mihalovna turned with words of consolation to her companion, discovered that he was asleep in his corner of the carriage, and waked him up. Rousing himself, Pierre followed Anna Mihalovna out of the carriage, and only then began to think of the interview with his dying father that awaited him. He noticed that they had driven not up to the visitors' approach, but to the back entrance. As he got down from the carriage step, two men in the dress of tradesmen hastily scurried away from the entrance into the shadow of the wall. Pierre, as he stood waiting, noticed several other similar persons standing in the shadow of the house on both sides. But neither Anna Mihalovna nor the footman and coachman, who must have seen these people, took any notice of them. So it must be all right, Pierre decided, and he followed Anna Mihalovna. With hurrying footsteps Anna Mihalovna walked up the dimly lighted, narrow stone staircase, urging on Pierre, who lagged behind. Though Pierre had no notion why he had to go to the count at all, and still less why he had to go by the back stairs, yet, impressed by Anna Mihalovna's assurance and haste, he made up his mind that it was undoubtedly necessary for him to do so. Half-way up the stairs they were almost knocked over by some men with pails, who ran down towards them, tramping loudly with their big boots. These men huddled up against the wall to let Pierre and Anna Mihalovna pass, and showed not the slightest surprise at seeing them.
“Is this the princess's side of the house?” Anna Mihalovna asked of one of them …
“Yes, it is,” answered the footman in a bold, loud voice, as though anything were permissible at such a time; “the door on the left, ma'am.”
“Perhaps the count has not asked for me,” said Pierre, as he reached the landing. “I had better go to my own room.” Anna Mihalovna stopped for Pierre to catch her up.
“Ah, mon ami,” she said, touching his hand with just the same gesture as she had used in the morning with her son. “Believe me, I am suffering as much as you; but be a man.”
“Really, had I not better go?” Pierre asked affectionately, looking at her over his spectacles.
“Ah, mon ami, forget the wrong that may have been done you, think that it is your father … and perhaps in his death agony,” she sighed. “I have loved you like a son from the first. Trust in me, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests.”
Pierre did not understand a word. Again he felt more strongly than before that all this had to be so, and he obediently followed Anna Mihalovna, who was already opening the door. The door led into the vestibule of the back stairs. In the corner sat the princess's old man-servant knitting stockings. Pierre had never been in this part of the house, and had not even suspected the existence of these apartments. A maid-servant carrying a tray with a decanter overtook them, and Anna Mihalovna (calling her “my dear” and “my good girl”) asked her after the princesses' health, and drew Pierre further along the stone corridor. The first door to the left led out of the corridor into the princesses' living rooms. The maid with the decanter was in a hurry (everything seemed to be done in a hurry at that moment in the house), and she did not close the door after her. Pierre and Anna Mihalovna, as they passed by, glanced unconsciously into the room where the eldest princess and Prince Vassily were sitting close together talking. On catching sight of their passing figures, Prince Vassily made an impatient movement and drew back, the princess jumped up, and with a despairing gesture she closed the door, slamming it with all her might. This action was so unlike the princess's habitual composure, the dismay depicted on the countenance of Prince Vassily was so out of keeping with his dignity, that Pierre stopped short and looked inquiringly over his spectacles at his guide. Anna Mihalovna manifested no surprise; she simply smiled a little and sighed, as though to show that she had anticipated all that.
“Be a man, mon ami, I am looking after your interests,” she said in response to his look of inquiry, and she walked more quickly along the corridor.
Pierre had no notion what was going on, and no inkling of what was meant by watching over his interests. But he felt that all this had had to be so. From the corridor they went into the half-lighted hall adjoining the count's reception-room. This was one of the cold, sumptuously furnished rooms which Pierre knew, leading from the visitors' staircase. But even in this apartment there was an empty bath standing in the middle of the floor, and water had been spilt on the carpet. They were met here by a servant and a church attendant with a censer, who walked on tiptoe and took no notice of them. They went into the reception-room opening into the winter garden, a room Pierre knew well, with its two Italian windows, its big bust and full-length portrait of Catherine. The same persons were all sitting almost in the same positions exchanging whispers in the reception-room. All ceased speaking and looked round at Anna Mihalovna, as she came in with her pale, tear-stained face, and at the big, stout figure of Pierre, as with downcast head he followed her submissively.
The countenance of Anna Mihalovna showed a consciousness that the crucial moment had arrived. With the air of a Petersburg lady of experience, she walked into the room even more boldly than in the morning, keeping Pierre at her side. She felt that as she was bringing the person the dying man wanted to see, she might feel secure as to her reception. With a rapid glance, scanning all the persons in the room, and observing the count's spiritual adviser, she did not precisely bow down, but seemed somehow suddenly to shrink in stature, and with a tripping amble swam up to the priest and reverentially received a blessing first from one and then from another ecclesiastic.
“Thank God that we are in time,” she said to the priest; “all of us, his kinsfolk, have been in such alarm. This young man is the count's son,” she added more softly, “It is a terrible moment.”
Having uttered these words she approached the doctor.
“Dear doctor,” she said to him, “this young man is the count's son. Is there any hope?”
The doctor did not speak but rapidly shrugged his shoulders and turned up his eyes. With precisely the same gesture Anna Mihalovna moved her shoulders and eyes, almost closing her eyelids, sighed and went away from the doctor to Pierre. She addressed Pierre with peculiar deference and tender melancholy.
“Have faith in His mercy,” she said to him, and indicating a sofa for him to sit down and wait for her, she went herself with inaudible steps towards the door, at which every one was looking, and after almost noiselessly opening it, she vanished behind it.
Pierre, having decided to obey his monitress in everything, moved towards the sofa she had pointed out to him. As soon as Anna Mihalovna had disappeared, he noticed that the eyes of all the persons in the room were fixed upon him with something more than curiosity and sympathy in their gaze. He noticed that they were all whispering together, looking towards him with something like awe and even obsequious deference. They showed him a respect such as had never been shown him before. A lady, a stranger to him, the one who had been talking to the priest, got up and offered him her place. An adjutant picked up the glove Pierre had dropped and handed it to him. The doctors respectfully paused in their talk when he passed by them and moved aside to make way for him. Pierre wanted at first to sit somewhere else, so as not to trouble the lady; he would have liked to pick up the glove himself and to walk round the doctors, who were really not at all in the way. But he felt all at once that to do so would be improper; he felt that he was that night a person who had to go through a terrible ceremony which every one expected of him, and that for that reason he was bound to accept service from every one. He took the glove from the adjutant in silence, sat down in the lady's place, laying his big hands on his knees, sitting in the naïvely symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, and decided mentally that it must all inevitably be like this, and that to avoid losing his head and doing something stupid, he must for that evening not act on his own ideas, but abandon himself wholly to the will of those who were guiding him.
Two minutes had not elapsed before Prince Vassily came majestically into the room, wearing his coat with three stars on it, and carrying his head high. He looked as though he had grown thinner since the morning. His eyes seemed larger than usual as he glanced round the room, and caught sight of Pierre. He went up to him, took his hand (a thing he had never done before), and drew it downwards, as though he wanted to try its strength.
“Courage, courage, mon ami. He has asked to see you, that is well …” and he would have gone on, but Pierre thought it fitting to ask: “How is …?” He hesitated, not knowing whether it was proper for him to call the dying man “the count”; he felt ashamed to call him “father.”
“He has had another stroke half-an-hour ago. Courage, mon ami.”
Pierre was in a condition of such mental confusion that the word stroke aroused in his mind the idea of a blow from some heavy body. He looked in perplexity at Prince Vassily, and only later grasped that an attack of illness was called a stroke. Prince Vassily said a few words to Lorrain as he passed and went to the door on tiptoe. He could not walk easily on tiptoe, and jerked his whole person up and down in an ungainly fashion. He was followed by the eldest princess, then by the clergy and church attendants; some servants too went in at the door. Through that door a stir could be heard, and at last Anna Mihalovna, with a face still pale but resolute in the performance of duty, ran out and touching Pierre on the arm, said:
“The goodness of heaven is inexhaustible; it is the ceremony of extreme unction which they are beginning. Come.”
Pierre went in, stepping on to the soft carpet, and noticed that the adjutant and the unknown lady and some servants too, all followed him in, as though there were no need now to ask permission to enter that room.


第一章第十九节


当客厅中和公爵小姐寝室中交谈正酣的时候，皮埃尔（已着人接他回家）和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜（她认为应当伴他同行）乘坐的四轮轿式马车开进了别祖霍夫伯爵的庭院。当马车车轮软绵绵地经过铺在窗下的麦秆上发出嘎嘎的响声时，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜把脸转向皮埃尔，说了几句安慰的话，当她弄清了，皮埃尔正在车厢的一角睡熟了，她便把他喊醒。皮埃尔睡醒了，跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜身后从车厢里走出来，这时分他才想了想他要和行将就木的父亲见面的事情。他发现他们没有朝前门门口走去，而是朝后门门口走去。他从马车踏板走下来时，有两个穿着市侩服装的人急匆匆地从后门门口跑到墙边的暗影里。皮埃尔停了一会儿，发现住房两边的暗影里还有几个类似模样的人。然而，无论是安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，无论是仆役，还是马车夫，都不会望不见这几个人，但却不去理睬他们。由此看来，非这样不可，皮埃尔拿定了主意，便跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜后面走去。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜迈着急促的脚步沿着灯光暗淡的狭窄的石梯上楼，一面招呼落在她身后的皮埃尔跟上来。虽说皮埃尔心里不明白，他为什么真的要见伯爵，他更不明白，他为什么必须沿着后门的石梯上楼，但从安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的坚定和仓忙的样子来推敲，他暗自断定，非这样不行，别无他途。在石梯半中间，有几个拿着水桶的人，穿着皮靴，踏得咯咯作响，朝着他们迎面跑下楼来，险些儿把他们撞倒。这几个人挨在墙上，让皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜走过去，当他们看见皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜时，丝毫没有现出诧异的样子。
“这里可通往公爵小姐的住房吗？”安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜向他们之中的某人问道。
“在这里。”有个仆役大胆地、嗓音洪亮地答道。仿佛现在什么事都是可行的，“大娘，门在左边。”
“伯爵也许没有喊我，”皮埃尔走到楼梯的平台时，说道，“我回到自己的住房去好了。”
安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜停步了，想和皮埃尔一同并肩走。
“Ah，monami”她说道，那姿态就像早晨和儿子在一起时碰碰他的手那样，“croyez，quejesoffre，autantquevous，maissoyezhomme。”①
“说实话，我去好吗？”皮埃尔问道，透过眼镜温和地望着安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜。
“Ah，monami，oubliezlestortsqu'onapuavoirenversvous，pensezquec'estvotrepère……peut－êtreàl'agonie她叹了口气，“Jevousaitoutdesuiteaimecommemonfils，fiezvousàmoi，Pierre，Jen'oublieraipasvosintérêts．”②
①法语：啊，我的朋友，请您相信，我比您更加难受，但是，您要做个男子汉。
②法语：啊，我的朋友，请您忘记人家对您不公道的态度吧。请您想想，他是您父亲……也许他死在旦夕。就像爱儿子那样，我一下子爱上您了。皮埃尔，信赖我吧，我决不会忘记您的切身利益。

皮埃尔什么也不明白，仿佛愈益感觉得到，一切都非如此不可，他于是温顺地跟随在那个打开房门的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜身后。
这道门朝向后门的外间。公爵小姐们的一个年老的仆役坐在屋角里织长统袜子。皮埃尔从来没有到过这半边住宅，连想也没有想过这种内室的生活。一个婢女手捧托盘，托着一只长颈水瓶，从后头赶上他们了，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜称呼她小妹子、亲爱的，向她探问公爵小姐们的健康状况。她带领皮埃尔沿着砖石结构的走廊向前走去。走廊左边的第一扇门通向公爵小姐们的住房。手捧长颈水瓶的婢女在仓促中没有关上房门（这时分整座住宅显得手忙脚乱），皮埃尔和安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜从旁边走过时，情不自禁地朝房里瞥了一眼，瓦西里公爵和公爵的大小姐正坐在这间屋里，彼此隔得很近，正在谈话。瓦西里公爵看见有人从旁边过去，做了个烦躁的动作，身子向后仰，靠在椅背上；公爵的大小姐霍地跳起来，无所顾忌地、鼓足气力地砰的一声关上门了。
这个动作和公爵的大小姐平素的宁静截然不同，瓦西里公爵脸上露出的恐怖和他固有的傲气也不相称，因此皮埃尔止了步，他以疑问的目光透过眼镜望了望他的带路人。安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜没有显示出诧异的样子，只是微微一笑，喘了喘气，好像在表示，这一切没有出乎她所意料。
“Soyezhomme，monami，c'estmoiquiveilleraiàvosintérêts。”①她在应对他的眼神时说道，而且行速更快地沿着走廊走去了。
①法语：我的朋友，要做个大丈夫，我准维护您的利益。

皮埃尔心里不明白是怎么回事，他更不明白veilleràvosintecits①有何涵义，但他心里明白，这一切理当如此。他们经过走廊走到和伯爵的接待室毗邻的半明半暗的大厅。这是皮埃尔从正门的台阶一看就知晓的冰凉的豪华卧室之一。但是，就在这卧室的中央，摆着一只空浴盆，地毯上洒满了水。一名仆役和一名手捧香炉的教堂下级职员踮着脚尖向他们迎面走来，并没有注意他们。他们走进了皮埃尔熟悉的接待室，室内安装有两扇朝着冬季花园的意大利式窗户，陈列着一座叶卡捷琳娜的半身大雕像和一幅她的全身画像。接待室里还是原来那些人，差不多还是坐在原来那些位子上窃窃私语。大家都静默起来了，回头望望走进门来的安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜，她泪痕斑斑，脸色苍白；也回头望望个子高大、长得肥胖的皮埃尔，他低垂着头，顺从地跟在安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜后面。
①法语：维护他的利益。

安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的神色表明了，她已经意识到紧要关头来到了。她不让皮埃尔离开她身边，显露出彼得堡女士那种务实的风度，步入房间，那样子比早上显得更大胆了。她觉得，她领着一个死在旦夕的伯爵想要见面的人，所以，她被接见一事是有保证的了。她向房里所有的人匆匆地瞥了一眼，看见了伯爵的那个听取忏悔的神甫，她没有躬起身子，但忽然变得更矮小了。她迈着小步东歪西扭地走到神甫面前，十分恭敬地接受一个又一个神职人员的祝福。
“谢天谢地，总算赶到了，”她对一个神职人员说道，“我们大伙儿，这些亲属多么担心啊。这个年轻人就是伯爵的儿子，”她把嗓门压得更低，补充了一句，“多么可怕的时刻！”
她说完这些话，就向大夫面前走去了。
“Cherdocteur，”她对他说道，“cejeunehommeestlefilsducomte……ya—t—ildel'espoir？”①
大夫沉默不言，飞快地抬起眼睛，耸起肩膀，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜也同样地耸起肩膀，抬起几乎是合上的眼睛，叹了一口气，便离开大夫，向皮埃尔面前走去。她把脸转过来，和皮埃尔交谈，样子显得特别谦恭、温柔而又忧愁。
“Ayezconfianceensamisericorde！”②她对他说道，用手指了指小沙发，让他坐下来等候她，她自己悄悄地向大家盯着的那扇门走去，门的响声几乎听不见，她随即在门后隐藏起来了。
①法语：亲爱的大夫，这个青年是伯爵的儿子……是不是有希望呢？
②法语：信赖天主发善心吧！

皮埃尔拿定了主意，事事都听从他的带路人，他向她指给他看的小沙发走去。一当安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜躲在门后，他就发现，房间里的众人的目光都过分好奇地、同情地凝聚在他身上。他发现，大家在窃窃私语，用目光向他表示，有如目光中流露出恐惧，甚至是奴颜婢膝的样子。大家都向他表示前所未有的敬意。有个他不认识的女士，原先她和几个神职人员谈话，此刻站起身来，向他让座。副官把他无意中掉在地上的一只手套捡起来交给他。他从大夫们身边经过时，他们都默不做声，躲到一边去，给他让路。皮埃尔本来想坐在别的位子上，以免那个女士受拘束，本来想自己把手套捡起来，从那些根本没有拦路的大夫们身边绕过去，可是他突然感到这样做似乎不恰当，他感到今天晚上他是个务必要举行一次可怖的、人人期待的仪式的人物，因此他必须接受大家为他服务。他默不作声地从副官手里接过那只手套，坐在那个女士的座位上，摆出一副埃及雕像那样天真的姿势，把一双大手搁在摆得平衡的膝头上。他暗自下了决心，认为必须这样行事，为了要今天晚上不张皇失措，不做出傻事，他就不宜依照自己的见解行动，务必要完全听从指导他的人们的摆布。
还不到两分钟，瓦西里公爵便穿着那件佩戴有三枚星徽的长衣，高高地仰着头，傲慢地走进房里来。从清早起他似乎显得有点消瘦，当他向房里环顾，瞧见皮埃尔时，他的两眼比平常瞪得更大了。他向皮埃尔面前走去，一把握住他的手（过去他从未握过他的手），并且向下曳了曳，好像想测试一下，这只手臂的力气大不大。
“Courage，courage，monamiIlademandéàvousvoir，C'estbien……”①他于是要走了。
但是皮埃尔认为，问一问是有必要的。
“身体可好么……”他踌躇起来，不知道把行将就木的人称为伯爵是否恰当；他觉得把他称为父亲是很难为情的。
“Ilaeuencoreuncoup，ilyaunedemi—heure、还发作过一次。Courage，monami…”②
①法语：我的朋友，不要气馁，不要气馁。他吩咐人家把您喊来。这很好……
②法语：半小时前还发作过一次。……我的朋友……不要气馁……

皮埃尔处于思路不清的状态中，他一听到“中风病发作”，便把这个词想象成受到某件物体的打击。他惶惑不安地望了望瓦西里公爵，之后才想起，有种病叫做中风。瓦西里公爵在走路时对罗兰说了几句话，就踮着脚尖走进门去。他不善于踮着脚尖走路，整个身子呆笨地一耸一耸地翕动。公爵的大小姐跟在他身后，几个神甫和教堂下级职员尾随其后，仆人们也走进门里去。从门后可以听见物体移动的响声，末了，安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜跑了出来，她的脸部仍然显得那样苍白，但却流露着坚决履行义务的神色，她碰碰皮埃尔的手臂，说道：
“Labontédivineestinépuisable，C'estlacérémoniedel'ex－tremeonctionquivacommencervenez．”①
①法语：上帝的慈善是无穷的。马上就要举行涂圣油仪式了。我们走吧。

皮埃尔踩着柔软的地毯走进门来，他发现一名副官、一个不相识的女士，还有仆役中的某人都跟在他身后走进门来，好像此刻无须获得许可就能走进这个房间了。


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