战争与和平(上)-第115章

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“Well；　then；　tell　him　so。”
“Mamma；　are　you　cross？　Don’t　be　cross；　darling；　it’s　not　my　fault；　is　it？”
“No；　but　upon　my　word；　my　dear；　if　you　like；　I　will　go　and　tell　him　so；”　said　the　countess；　smiling。
“No；　I’ll　do　it　myself；　only　tell　me　how　to　say　it。　Everything　comes　easy　to　you；”　she　added；　responding　to　her　smile。　“And　if　you　could　have　seen　how　he　said　it　to　me！　I　know　he　did　not　mean　to　say　it；　but　said　it　by　accident。”
“Well；　any　way　you　must　refuse　him。”
“No；　I　mustn’t。　I　feel　so　sorry　for　him！　He’s　so　nice。”
“Oh；　well；　accept　his　proposal；　then。　High　time　you　were　married；　I　suppose；”　said　her　mother　angrily　and　ironically。
“No；　mamma；　but　I’m　so　sorry　for　him。　I　don’t　know　how　to　say　it。”
“Well；　there’s　no　need　for　you　to　say　anything。　I’ll　speak　to　him　myself；”　said　the　countess；　indignant　that　any　one　should　have　dared　to　treat　this　little　Natasha　as　grown　up。
“No；　not　on　any　account；　I’ll　go　myself；　and　you　listen　at　the　door；”—　and　Natasha　ran　across　the　drawing…room　to　the　hall；　where　Denisov；　his　face　in　his　hands；　was　still　sitting　in　the　same　chair　at　the　clavichord。　He　jumped　up　at　the　sound　of　her　light　footsteps。
“Natalie；”　he　said；　moving　with　rapid　steps　towards　her；　“decide　my　fate。　It　is　in　your　hands！”
“Vassily　Dmitritch；　I’m　so　sorry　for　you！　…　No；　but　you　are　so　nice　…　but　it　won’t　do　…　that　…　but　I　shall　always　love　you　as　I　do　now。”
Denisov　bent　over　her；　and　she　heard　strange　sounds　that　she　did　not　understand。　She　kissed　his　tangled　curly　black　head。　At　that　moment　they　heard　the　hurried　rustle　of　the　countess’s　skirts。　She　came　up　to　them。
“Vassily　Dmitritch；　I　thank　you　for　the　honour　you　do　us；”　said　the　countess；　in　an　embarrassed　voice；　which　sounded　severe　to　Denisov；　“but　my　daughter　is　so　young；　and　I　should　have　thought　that　as　my　son’s　friend　you　would　have　come　first　to　me。　In　that　case　you　would　not　have　forced　me　to　make　this　refusal。”
“Countess！　…”　said　Denisov；　with　downcast　eyes　and　a　guilty　face；　he　tried　to　say　more；　and　stammered。
Natasha　could　not　see　him　in　such　a　piteous　plight　without　emotion。　She　began　to　whimper　loudly。
“Countess；　I　have　acted　wrongly；”　Denisov　went　on　in　a　breaking　voice；　“but　believe　me；　I　so　adore　your　daughter　and　all　your　family　that　I’d　give　my　life　twice　over　…”　He　looked　at　the　countess　and　noticed　her　stern　face。…　“Well；　good…bye；　countess；”　he　said；　kissing　her　hand；　and　without　glancing　at　Natasha　he　walked　with　rapid　and　resolute　steps　out　of　the　room。
Next　day　Rostov　saw　Denisov　off；　as　he　was　unwilling　to　remain　another　day　in　Moscow。　All　his　Moscow　friends　gave　him　a　farewell　entertainment　at　the　Gypsies’；　and　he　had　no　recollection　of　how　they　got　him　into　his　sledge；　or　of　the　first　three　stations　he　passed。
After　Denisov’s　departure　Rostov　spent　another　fortnight　in　Moscow；　waiting　for　the　money　to　pay　his　debt；　which　the　count　was　unable　to　raise　all　at　once。　He　hardly　left　the　house；　and　spent　most　of　his　time　in　the　young　girls’　room。
Sonya　was　more　affectionate　and　devoted　to　him　then　ever。　She　seemed　to　want　to　show　him　that　his　loss　at　cards　was　an　exploit　for　which　she　loved　him　more　than　ever。　But　now　Nikolay　regarded　himself　as　unworthy　of　her。
He　copied　music　for　the　girls；　and　wrote　verses　in　their　albums；　and　after　at　last　sending　off　all　the　forty…three　thousand　roubles；　and　receiving　Dolohov’s　receipt　for　it；　he　left　Moscow　towards　the　end　of　November　without　taking　leave　of　any　of　his　acquaintances；　and　overtook　his　regiment；　which　was　already　in　Poland。


Part　Five
Chapter　1
AFTER　HIS　INTERVIEW　with　his　wife；　Pierre　had　set　off　for　Petersburg。　At　the　station　of　Torzhok　there　were　no　horses；　or　the　overseer　was　unwilling　to　let　him　have　them。　Pierre　had　to　wait。　Without　removing　his　outdoor　things；　he　lay　down　on　a　leather　sofa；　in　front　of　a　round　table；　put　up　his　big　feet　in　their　thick　overboots　on　this　table　and　sank　into　thought。
“Shall　I　bring　in　the　trunks？　Make　up　a　bed？　Will　you　take　tea？”　the　valet　kept　asking。
Pierre　made　no　reply；　for　he　heard　nothing　and　said　nothing。　He　had　been　deep　in　thought　since　he　left　the　last　station；　and　still　went　on　thinking　of　the　same　thing—of　something　so　important　that　he　did　not　notice　what　was　passing　around　him。　Far　from　being　concerned　whether　he　reached　Petersburg　sooner　or　later；　or　whether　there　would　or　would　not　be　a　place　for　him　to　rest　in　at　this　station；　in　comparison　with　the　thoughts　that　engrossed　him　now；　it　was　a　matter　of　utter　indifference　to　him　whether　he　spent　a　few　hours　or　the　rest　of　his　life　at　that　station。
The　overseer　and　his　wife；　his　valet；　and　a　peasant　woman　with　Torzhok　embroidery　for　sale；　came　into　the　room；　offering　their　services。　Without　changing　the　position　of　his　raised　feet；　Pierre　gazed　at　them　over　his　spectacles；　and　did　not　understand　what　they　could　want　and　how　they　all　managed　to　live；　without　having　solved　the　questions　that　absorbed　him。　These　same　questions　had　possessed　his　mind　ever　since　that　day　when　he　had　come　back　after　the　duel　from　Sokolniky　and　had　spent　that　first　agonising；　sleepless　night。　But　now　in　the　solitude　of　his　journey　they　seized　upon　him　with　special　force。　Of　whatever　he　began　thinking　he　came　back　to　the　same　questions；　which　he　could　not　answer；　and　from　which　he　could　not　escape。　It　was　as　though　the　chief　screw　in　his　brain　upon　which　his　whole　life　rested　were　loose。　The　screw　moved　no　forwarder；　no　backwarder；　but　still　it　turned；　catching　on　nothing；　always　in　the　same　groove；　and　there　was　no　making　it　cease　turning。
The　overseer　came　in　and　began　humbly　begging　his　excellency　to　wait　only　a　couple　of　hours；　after　which　he　would　（come　what　might　of　it）　let　his　excellency　have　the　special　mail　service　horses。　The　overseer　was　unmistakably　lying；　with　the　sole　aim　of　getting　an　extra　tip　from　the　traveller。　“Was　that　good　or　bad？”　Pierre　wondered。　“For　me　good；　for　the　next　traveller　bad；　and　for　himself　inevitable　because　he　has　nothing　to　eat；　he　said　that　an　officer　had　thrashed　him　for　it。　And　the　officer　thrashed　him　because　he　had　to　travel　in　haste。　And　I　shot　Dolohov　because　I　considered　myself　injured。　Louis　XVI。　was　executed　because　they　considered　him　to　be　a　criminal；　and　a　year　later　his　judges　were　killed　too　for　something。　What　is　wrong？　What　is　right？　What　must　one　love；　what　must　one　hate？　What　is　life　for；　and　what　am　I？　What　is　life？　What　is　death？　What　force　controls　it　all？”　he　asked　himself。　And　there　was　no　answer　to　one　of　these　questions；　except　one　illogical　reply　that　was　in　no　way　an　answer　to　any　of　them。　That　reply　was：　“One　dies　and　it’s　all　over。　One　dies　and　finds　it　all　out　or　ceases　asking。”　But　dying　too　was　terrible。
The　Torzhok　pedlar　woman　in　a　whining　voice　proffered　her　wares；　especially　some　goatskin　slippers。　“I　have　hundreds　of　roubles　I　don’t　know　what　to　do　with；　and　she’s　standing　in　her　torn　cloak　looking　timidly　at　me；”　thought　Pierre。　“And　what　does　she　want　the　money　for？　As　though　the　money　could　give　her　one　hairsbreadth　of　happiness；　of　peace　of　soul。　Is　there　anything　in　the　world　that　can　make　her　and　me　less　enslaved　to　evil　and　to　death？　Death；　which　ends　all；　and　must　come　to…day　or　to…morrow—which　beside　eternity　is　the　same　as　an　instant’s　time。”　And　again　he　turned　the　screw　that　did　not　bite　in　anything；　and　the　screw　still　went　on　turning　in　the　same　place。
His　servant　handed　him　a　half…cut　volume　of　a　novel　in　the　form　of　letters　by　Madame　Suza。　He　began　reading　of　the　sufferings　and　the　virtuous　struggles　of　a　certain　“Amélie　de　Mansfeld。”　“And　what　did　she　struggle　against　her　seducer　for？”　he　thought；　“when　she　loved　him。　God　could　not　have　put　in　her　heart　an　impulse　that　was　against　His　will。　My　wife—as　she　was　once—didn’t　struggle；　and　perhaps　she　was　right。　Nothing　has　been　discovered；”　Pierre　said　to　himself　again；　“nothing　has　been　invented。　We　can　only　know　that　we　know　nothing。　And　that’s　the　highest　degree　of　human　wisdom。”
Everything　within　himself　and　around　him　struck　him　as　confused；　meaningless；　and　loathsome。　But　in　this　very　loathing　of　everything　surrounding　him　Pierre　found　a　sort　of　ta