战争与和平(上)-第118章

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her　incidents　betokening　that　it　was　to　be；　were　observed　by　the　family。
The　house　was　full　of　that　poetic　atmosphere　of　dullness　and　silence；　which　always　accompanies　the　presence　of　an　engaged　couple。　Often　as　they　all　sat　together　every　one　was　silent。　Sometimes　the　others　got　up　and　went　away；　and　the　engaged　pair　were　still　as　mute　when　they　were　left　alone。　Rarely　they　spoke　of　their　future　life　together。　Prince　Andrey　felt　frightened　and　ashamed　to　speak　of　it。　Natasha　shared　the　feeling；　as　she　did　all　his　feelings；　which　she　never　failed　to　divine。　Once　Natasha　began　questioning　him　about　his　son。
Prince　Andrey　blushed—a　thing　frequent　with　him　at　that　time；　which　Natasha　particularly　liked　to　see—and　said　that　his　son　would　not　live　with　them。
“Why　not？”　said　Natasha；　taking　fright。
“I　cannot　take　him　from　his　grandfather　and　then…”
“How　I　should　have　loved　him！”　said　Natasha；　at　once　divining　his　thought；　“but　I　know　you　want　to　avoid　any　pretext　for　our　being　blamed。”
The　old　count　sometimes　came　up　to　Prince　Andrey；　kissed　him　and　asked　his　advice　about　some　question　relating　to　Petya’s　education　or　Nikolay’s　position。　The　old　countess　sighed　as　she　looked　at　them。　Sonya　was　afraid　every　instant　of　being　in　their　way；　and　was　always　trying　to　find　excuses　for　leaving　them　alone；　even　when　they　had　no　wish　to　be　alone。　When　Prince　Andrey　talked—he　described　things　very　well—Natasha　listened　to　him　with　pride。　When　she　talked；　she　noticed　with　joy　and　dread　that　he　watched　her　with　an　intent　and　scrutinising　look。　She　asked　herself　in　perplexity：　“What　is　it　he　seeks　in　me？　What　is　it　he　is　probing　for　with　that　look？　What　if　I　haven’t　in　me　what　he　is　searching　for　in　that　look？”　Sometimes　she　fell　into　the　mood　of　wild　gaiety　characteristic　of　her；　and　then　she　particularly　loved　to　see　and　hear　how　Prince　Andrey　laughed。　He　rarely　laughed；　but　when　he　did　laugh　he　abandoned　himself　utterly　to　his　mirth；　and　she　always　felt　herself　drawn　closer　to　him　by　this　laughter。　Natasha　would　have　been　perfectly　happy　if　the　thought　of　the　separation　before　her；　coming　closer　and　closer；　had　not　terrified　her。　He　too　turned　pale　and　cold　at　the　mere　thought　of　it。
On　the　day　before　he　was　to　leave　Petersburg；　Prince　Andrey　brought　with　him　Pierre；　who　had　not　been　at　the　Rostovs’　since　the　day　of　the　ball。　Pierre　seemed　absent…minded　and　embarrassed。　He　talked　chiefly　to　the　countess。　Natasha　was　sitting　at　the　chess…board　with　Sonya；　and　invited　Prince　Andrey　to　join　them。　He　went　to　them。
“You　have　known　Bezuhov　a　long　while；　haven’t　you？”　he　asked。　“Do　you　like　him？”
“Yes；　he’s　very　nice；　but　very　absurd。”
And　she　began；　as　people　always　did　when　speaking　of　Pierre；　to　tell　anecdotes　of　his　absent…mindedness；　anecdotes　which　were　made　up；　indeed；　about　him。
“You　know；　I　have　confided　our　secret　to　him；”　said　Prince　Andrey。　“I　have　known　him　from　childhood。　He　has　a　heart　of　gold。　I　beg　you；　Natalie；”　he　said；　with　sudden　seriousness；　“I　am　going　away；　God　knows　what　may　happen。　You　may　change　…　Oh；　I　know　I　ought　not　to　speak　of　that。　Only　one　thing—if　anything　were　to　happen　to　you；　while　I　am　away　…”
“What　could　happen？”
“If　any　trouble　were　to　come；”　pursued　Prince　Andrey。　“I　beg　you；　Mademoiselle　Sophie；　if　anything　were　to　happen；　to　go　to　him　and　no　one　else　for　advice　and　help。　He　is　a　most　absent…minded　and　eccentric　person；　but　he　has　the　truest　heart。”
Neither　her　father　nor　her　mother；　neither　Sonya　nor　Prince　Andrey　could　have　foreseen　the　effect　of　the　parting　on　Natasha。　She　wandered　about　the　house　all　that　day；　flushed；　excited；　and　tearless；　busying　herself　about　the　most　trivial　matters　as　though　she　had　no　notion　of　what　was　before　her。　She　did　not　weep　even　at　the　moment　when　he　kissed　her　hand　for　the　last　time。
“Don’t　go　away！”　was　all　she　said；　in　a　voice　that　made　him　wonder　whether　he　ought　not　really　to　remain；　and　that　he　remembered　long　after。　When　he　had　gone；　she　still　did　not　weep；　but　for　several　days　she　sat　in　her　room；　not　crying；　but　taking　no　interest　in　anything；　and　only　saying　from　time　to　time：　“Oh；　why　did　he　go？”　But　a　fortnight　after　his　departure；　she　surprised　those　around　her　equally　by　recovering　from　her　state　of　spiritual　sickness；　and　became　herself　again；　only　with　a　change　in　her　moral　physiognomy；　such　as　one　sees　in　the　faces　of　children　after　a　long　illness。


Chapter　25
THE　HEALTH　AND　CHARACTER　of　Prince　Nikolay　Andreitch　Bolkonsky　had；　during　that　year；　after　his　son　had　left　him；　grown　considerably　feebler。　He　became　more　irritable　than　ever；　and　it　was　Princess　Marya　who　as　a　rule　bore　the　brunt　of　his　outbursts　of　causeless　fury。　He　seemed　studiously　to　seek　out　all　the　tender　spots　in　her　consciousness　so　as　to　inflict　on　her　the　cruellest　wounds　possible。　Princess　Marya　had　two　passions　and　consequently　two　joys：　her　nephew；　Nikolushka；　and　religion；　and　both　were　favourite　subjects　for　the　old　prince’s　attacks　and　jeers。　Whatever　was　being　spoken　of；　he　would　bring　the　conversation　round　to　the　superstitiousness　of　old　maids；　or　the　petting　and　spoiling　of　children。　“You　want　to　make　him”　（Nikolushka）　“just　such　another　old　maid　as　you　are　yourself。　Prince　Andrey　wants　a　son　and　not　an　old　maid；”　he　would　say。　Or　addressing　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　he　would　ask　her；　before　Princess　Marya；　how　she　liked　our　village　priests　and　holy　pictures；　and　make　jests　about　them。…
He　was　constantly　wounding　Princess　Marya’s　feelings；　but　his　daughter　needed　no　effort　to　forgive　him。　Could　he　be　to　blame　in　anything　he　did　to　her；　could　her　father；　who　as　she　knew　in　spite　of　it　all；　loved　her；　be　unjust？　And　indeed　what　is　justice？　Princess　Marya　never　gave　a　thought　to　that　proud　word；　“justice。”　All　the　complex　laws　of　humanity　were　summed　up　for　her　in　one　clear　and　simple　law—the　law　of　love　and　self…sacrifice；　laid　down　by　Him　who　had　in　His　love　suffered　for　humanity；　though　He　was　God　Himself。　What　had　she　to　do　with　the　justice　or　injustice　of　other　people？　All　she　had　to　do　was　to　suffer　and　to　love；　and　that　she　did。
In　the　winter　Prince　Andrey　had　come　to　Bleak　Hills；　had　been　gay；　gentle；　and　affectionate；　as　Princess　Marya　had　not　seen　him　for　years。　She　felt　that　something　had　happened　to　him；　but　he　said　nothing　to　his　sister　of　his　love。　Before　his　departure；　Prince　Andrey　had　a　long　conversation　with　his　father；　and　Princess　Marya　noticed　that　they　were　ill　pleased　with　each　other　at　parting。
Soon　after　Prince　Andrey　had　gone；　Princess　Marya　wrote　from　Bleak　Hills　to　her　friend　in　Petersburg；　Julie　Karagin；　whom　Princess　Marya　had　dreamed—as　girls　always　do　dream—of　marrying　to　her　brother。　She　was　at　this　time　in　mourning　for　the　death　of　a　brother；　who　had　been　killed　in　Turkey。
“Sorrow；　it　seems；　is　our　common　lot；　my　sweet　and　tender　friend　Julie。
“Your　loss　is　so　terrible　that　I　can　only　explain　it　to　myself；　as　a　special　sign　of　the　grace　of　God；　who　in　His　love　for　you　would　chasten　you　and　your　incomparable　mother。
“Ah；　my　dear；　religion；　and　religion　alone　can—I　don’t　say　comfort　us—but　save　us　from　despair。　Religion　alone　can　interpret　to　us　what；　without　its　aid；　man　cannot　comprehend：　to　what　end；　for　what　cause；　good；　elevated　beings　who　are　able　to　find　happiness　in　life；　not　injuring　others；　but　indispensable　to　their　happiness；　are　called　away　to　God；　while　the　wicked；　the　useless；　injuring　others　and　a　burden　to　themselves　and　others；　are　left　living。　The　first　death　which　I　have　seen；　and　which　I　shall　never　forget—the　death　of　my　dear　little　sister…in…law—made　on　me　just　the　same　impression。　Just　as　you　question　destiny；　and　ask　why　your　noble　brother　had　to　die；　so　did　I　wonder　what　reason　there　was　for　that　angel　Liza　to　die—who　had　never　done　the　slightest　harm　to　any　one；　never　even　had　a　thought　in　her　heart　that　was　not　kind。　And　yet—do　you　know；　dear　friend—five　years　have　passed　since　then；　and　even　I；　with　my　poor　intelligence；　begin　now　to　understand　clearly　why　it　was　needful　she　should　die；　and　in　what　way　that　death　was　but　an　expression　of　the　boundless　grace　of　the　Creator；　all　of　whose　acts；　though　for　the　most　part　we　comprehend　them　not；　are　but　manifestations　of　His　infinite　love　for　His　creatures。　Perhaps；　I　often　think；　she　was　of　too　angelic　an　innocence　to　have　the　force　to　perform　all　a　mother’s　duties。　As　a　young　wife；　she　was　irreproachable；　possibly　she　could　not　have　been　equally　so　as　a　mother。　As　it　is；　not　only　has　she　left　us；　and　particularly　Prince　Andrey；　the　purest　memories　and　regrets；　but　there　she　is　in　all　likelihood　receiving　a　place　for　which　I　dare　not　hope　for　myself。　But　not　to　speak　of　her　alone；　that　early　and　terrible　death　has　had　the　most　blessed　influence　on　me　and　on　my　brother；　in　spite　of　all　our　grief。　At　the　time；　at　the　moment　of　our　loss；　I　could　not　have　entertained　such　thoughts；　at　that　time　I　should　have　dismissed　them　in　horror；　but　now　it　seems　clear　and　incontestable。　I　write　all　this　to　you；　dear　friend；　simply　to　convince　you　of　the　Gospel　truth；　which　has　become　a　principle　of　life　for　me：　not　one　hair　of　our　head　falls　without　His　will。　And　the　guiding　principle　of　His　will　is　only　His　infinite　love　for　us；　and　so　whatever　may　befall　us；　all　is　for　our　good。
“You　ask　whether　we　shall　spend　next　winter　in　Moscow。　In　spite　of　all　my　desire　to　see　you；　I　do　not　expect　and　do　not　wish　to　do　so。　And　you　will　be　surprised　to　hear　that　Bonaparte　is　responsible　for　this！　I　will　tell　you　why：　my　father’s　health　is　noticeably　weaker；　he　cannot　endure　contradiction　and　is　easily　irritated。　This　irritability　is；　as　you　are　aware；　most　readily　aroused　on　political　subjects。　He　cannot　endure　the　idea　that　Bonaparte　is　treating　on　equal　terms　with　all　the　sovereigns　of　Europe；　especially　our　own；　the　grandson　of　the　great　Catherine！　As　you　know；　I　take　absolutely　no　interest　in　politics；　but　from　my　father　and　his　conversations　with　Mihail　Ivanovitch；　I　know　all　that　goes　on　in　the　world；　and　have　heard　of　all　the　honours　conferred　on　Bonaparte。　It　seems　that　Bleak　Hills　is　now　the　only　spot　on　the　terrestrial　globe　where　he　is　not　recognised　as　a　great　man—still　less　as　Emperor　of　France。　And　my　father　cannot　tolerate　this　state　of　things。　It　seems　to　me　that　my　father　shows　a　disinclination　for　the　visit　to　Moscow；　chiefly　owing　to　his　political　views　and　his　foreseeing　the　difficulties　likely　to　arise　from　his　habit　of　expressing　his　opinions　freely　with　no　regard　for　any　one。　All　that　he　would　gain　from　medical　treatment　in　Moscow；　he　would　lose　from　the　inevitable　discussions　upon　Bonaparte。　In　any　case　the　matter　will　very　soon　be　settled。
“Our　home　life　goes　on　in　its　old　way；　except　for　the　absence　of　my　brother　Andrey。　As　I　wrote　to　you　before；　he　has　greatly　changed　of　late。　It　is　only　of　late；　during　this　year　that　he　seems　to　have　quite　recovered　from　the　shock　of　his　loss。　He　has　become　again　just　as　I　knew　him　as　a　child；　good…natured；　affectionate；　with　a　heart　such　as　I　know　in　no　one　else。　He　feels　now；　it　seems　to　me；　that　life　is　not　over　for　him。　But；　together　with　this　moral　change；　he　has　become　very　weak　physically。　He　is　thinner　than　ever　and　more　nervous。　I　feel　anxious　about　him