战争与和平(上)-第151章

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ould　not　be　his　wife；　that　he　had　no　means；　and　that　they　would　never　consent　to　her　marrying　him。　But　he　always　failed　to　do　so；　and　felt　an　awkwardness　in　approaching　the　subject。　Every　day　he　became　more　and　more　entangled。　Natasha—so　her　mother　and　Sonya　judged—seemed　to　be　in　love　with　Boris；　as　in　the　past。　She　sang　for　him　her　favourite　songs；　showed　him　her　album；　made　him　write　in　it；　would　not　let　him　refer　to　the　past；　making　him　feel　how　delightful　she　considered　the　present；　and　every　day　he　went　home　in　a　whirl　without　having　said　what　he　meant　to　say；　not　knowing　what　he　was　doing；　why　he　had　come；　and　how　it　would　end。　Boris　gave　up　visiting　Ellen；　received　reproachful　notes　every　day　from　her；　and　still　spent　whole　days　together　at　the　Rostovs’。


Chapter　13
ONE　EVENING　the　old　countess　in　her　bed…jacket；　without　her　false　curls　and　with　only　one　poor　wisp　of　hair　peeping　out　from　under　her　white　cotton　nightcap；　was　bowing　down　on　the　carpet；　sighing　and　moaning　as　she　repeated　her　evening　prayers。　Her　door　creaked；　and　Natasha；　also　in　a　bed…jacket；　ran　in；　bare…legged；　with　her　feet　in　slippers；　and　her　hair　in　curl　papers。　The　countess　looked　round　and　frowned。　She　was　repeating　her　last　prayer。　“Can　it　be　this　couch　will　be　my　bier？”　Her　devotional　mood　was　dispelled。　Natasha；　flushed　and　eager；　stopped　suddenly　short　in　her　rapid　movement　as　she　saw　her　mother　at　her　prayers。　She　half…sat　down　and　unconsciously　put　out　her　tongue　at　herself。
Seeing　that　her　mother　was　still　praying；　she　ran　on　tiptoe　to　the　bed；　and　rapidly　slipping　one　little　foot　against　the　other；　pushed　off　her　slippers　and　sprang　on　to　that　couch　which　the　countess　in　her　prayer　feared　might　become　her　bier。　That　couch　was　a　high　feather…bed；　with　five　pillows；　each　smaller　than　the　one　below。　Natasha　skipped　in；　sank　into　the　feather…bed；　rolled　over　towards　the　side；　and　began　snuggling　up　under　the　quilt；　tucking　herself　up；　bending　her　knees　up　to　her　chin；　kicking　out　and　giving　a　faintly　audible　giggle　as　she　alternately　hid　her　face　under　the　quilt　and　peeped　out　at　her　mother。　The　countess　had　finished　her　prayers；　and　was　approaching　her　bed　with　a　stern　face；　but　seeing　that　Natasha　was　playing　bo…peep　with　her　she　smiled　her　good…natured；　weak　smile。
“Come；　come；　come！”　said　the　mother。
“Mamma；　may　I　speak；　yes？”　said　Natasha。　“Come；　under　the　chin；　one；　and　now　another；　and　enough。”　And　she　clutched　at　her　mother’s　neck　and　kissed　her　favourite　place　on　her　chin。　In　Natasha’s　behaviour　to　her　mother　there　was　a　superficial　roughness　of　manner；　but　she　had　a　natural　tact　and　knack　of　doing　things；　so　that；　however　she　snatched　her　mother　in　her　arms；　she　always　managed　so　that　she　was　not　hurt；　nor　uncomfortable；　nor　displeased　by　it。
“Well；　what　is　it　to…night？”　said　her　mother；　settling　herself　in　the　pillows　and　waiting　for　Natasha；　who　had　already　rolled　over　twice；　to　lie　down　by　her　side　under　the　bedclothes；　to　put　out　her　arms　and　assume　a　serious　expression。
These　visits　of　Natasha　to　her　mother　at　night　before　the　count　came　home　from　the　club　were　one　of　the　greatest　pleasures　both　of　mother　and　daughter。
“What　is　it　to…night？　And　I　want　to　talk　to　you…”　Natasha　put　her　hand　on　her　mother’s　lips。
“About　Boris…I　know；”　she　said　seriously；　“that’s　what　I　have　come　about。　Don’t　say　it；　I　know。　No；　do　say　it！”　She　took　her　hand　away。　“Say　it；　mamma！　He’s　nice；　eh？”
“Natasha；　you　are　sixteen！　At　your　age　I　was　married。　You　say　Boris　is　nice。　He　is　very　nice；　and　I　love　him　like　a　son！　But　what　do　you　want？　…What　are　you　thinking　about？　You　have　quite　turned　his　head；　I　can　see　that…”
As　she　said　this；　the　countess　looked　round　at　her　daughter。　Natasha　was　lying；　looking　steadily　straight　before　her　at　one　of　the　mahogany　sphinxes　carved　on　a　corner　of　the　bedstead；　so　that　the　countess　could　only　see　her　daughter’s　face　in　profile。　Her　face　impressed　the　countess　by　its　strikingly　serious　and　concentrated　expression。
Natasha　was　listening　and　considering。
“Well；　so　what　then？”　she　said。
“You　have　completely　turned　his　head；　and　what　for？　What　do　you　want　of　him？　You　know　you　can’t　marry　him。”
“Why　not？”　said　Natasha；　with　no　change　in　her　attitude。
“Because　he’s　so　young；　because　he’s　poor；　because　he’s　a　relation…because　you　don’t　care　for　him　yourself。”
“How　do　you　know　that？”
“I　know。　It’s　not　right；　my　darling。”
“But　if　I　want　to…”　said　Natasha。
“Leave　off　talking　nonsense；”　said　the　countess。
“But　if　I　want　to…”
“Natasha；　I　am　serious…”
Natasha　did　not　let　her　finish；　she　drew　the　countess’s　large　hand　to　her；　and　kissed　it　on　the　upper　side；　and　then　on　the　palm；　then　turned　it　over　again　and　began　kissing　it　on　the　knuckle　of　the　top　joint　of　the　finger；　then　on　the　space　between　the　knuckles；　then　on　a　knuckle　again；　whispering：　“January；　February；　March；　April；　May。”
“Speak；　mamma；　why　are　you　silent？　Speak；”　she　said；　looking　round　at　her　mother；　who　was　gazing　tenderly　at　her　daughter；　and　apparently　in　gazing　at　her　had　forgotten　all　she　meant　to　say。
“This　won’t　do；　my　dear。　It’s　not　every　one　who　will　understand　your　childish　feelings　for　one　another；　and　seeing　him　on　such　intimate　terms　with　you　may　prejudice　you　in　the　eyes　of　other　young　men　who　visit　us；　and　what　is　of　more　consequence；　it’s　making　him　wretched　for　nothing。　He　had　very　likely　found　a　match　that　would　suit　him；　some　wealthy　girl；　and　now　he’s　half…crazy。”
“Half…crazy？”　repeated　Natasha。
“I’ll　tell　you　what　happened　in　my　own　case。　I　had　a　cousin…”
“I　know—Kirilla　Matveitch；　but　he’s　old。”
“He　was　not　always　old。　But　I　tell　you　what；　Natasha；　I’ll　speak　to　Boris。　He　mustn’t　come　so　often…”
“Why　mustn’t　he；　if　he　wants　to？”
“Because　I　know　it　can’t　come　to　anything。”
“How　do　you　know？　No；　mamma；　don’t　speak　to　him。　What　nonsense！”　said　Natasha；　in　the　tone　of　a　man　being　robbed　of　his　property。　“Well；　I　won’t　marry　him；　so　let　him　come；　if　he　enjoys　it　and　I　enjoy　it。”
Natasha　looked　at　her　mother；　smiling。　“Not　to　be　married；　but—just　so；”　she　repeated。
“How　so；　my　dear？”
“Oh；　just　so。　I　see　it’s　very　necessary　I　shouldn’t　marry　him；　but…just　so。”
“Just　so；　just　so；”　repeated　the　countess；　and　shaking　all　over；　she　went　off　into　a　good…natured；　unexpectedly　elderly　laugh。
“Don’t　laugh；　stop；”　cried　Natasha；　“you’re　shaking　all　the　bed。　You’re　awfully　like　me；　just　another　giggler…Stop…”　She　snatched　both　the　countess’s　hands；　kissed　one　knuckle　of　the　little　finger；　for　June；　and　went　on　kissing—July；　August—on　the　other　hand。　“Mamma；　is　he　very　much　in　love？　What　do　you　think？　Were　men　as　much　in　love　with　you？　And　he’s　very　nice；　very；　very　nice！　Only　not　quite　to　my　liking—he’s　so　narrow；　somehow；　like　a　clock　on　the　wall。…　Don’t　you　understand？…Narrow；　you　know；　grey；　light…coloured…”
“What　nonsense　you　talk！”　said　the　countess。
Natasha　went　on：
“Don’t　you　really　understand？　Nikolenka　would　understand…Bezuhov　now—he’s　blue；　dark　blue　and　red；　and　he’s　quadrangular。”
“You’re　flirting　with　him；　too；”　said　the　countess；　laughing。
“No；　he’s　a　freemason；　I　have　heard。　He’s　jolly；　dark　blue　and　red；　how　am　I　to　explain　to　you…”
“Little　countess；”　they　heard　the　count’s　voice　through　the　door；　“you’re　not　asleep？”　Natasha　skipped　up；　snatched　up　her　slippers；　and　ran　barefoot　to　her　own　room。　For　a　long　while　she　could　not　go　to　sleep。　She　kept　musing　on　no　one’s　being　able　to　understand　all　she　understood　and　all　that　was　in　her。
“Sonya？”　she　wondered；　looking　at　her　friend　asleep；　curled　up　like　a　kitten　with　her　great　mass　of　hair。　“No；　how　could　she！　She’s　virtuous。　She’s　in　love　with　Nikolenka　and　doesn’t　care　to　know　anything　more。　Mamma；　even　she　doesn’t　understand。　It’s　wonderful　how　clever　I　am　and　how…she　is　charming；”　she　went　on；　speaking　of　herself　in　the　third　person；　and　fancying　that　it　was　some　very　clever；　the　very　cleverest　and　finest　of　men；　who　was　saying　it　of　her…　“There　is　everything；　everything　in　her；”　this　man　continued；　“extraordinarily　clever；　charming　and　then　pretty；　extraordinarily　pretty；　gracefu