战争与和平(上)-第266部分

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Ever　since　she　had　been　looking　after　him　he　had　always　felt　this　physical　sense　of　her　presence。　She　was　in　a　low　chair　beside　him；　knitting　a　stocking；　and　sitting　so　as　to　screen　the　light　of　the　candle　from　him。　She　had　learned　to　knit　since　Prince　Andrey　had　once　said　to　her　that　no　one　made　such　a　good　sick…nurse　as　an　old　nurse　who　knitted　stockings；　and　that　there　was　something　soothing　about　knitting。　Her　slender　fingers　moved　the　needles　rapidly　with　a　slight　click；　and　the　dreamy　profile　of　her　drooping　head　could　be　clearly　seen　by　him。　She　made　a　slight　movement；　the　ball　rolled　off　her　knee。　She　started；　glanced　round　at　him；　and；　screening　the　light　with　her　hand；　bent　over　with　a　cautious；　supple；　and　precise　movement；　picked　up　the　ball；　and　sat　back　in　the　same　attitude　as　before。
He　gazed　at　her　without　stirring；　and　saw　that　after　her　movements　she　wanted　to　draw　a　deep　breath；　but　did　not　dare　to；　and　breathed　with　careful　self…restraint。
At　the　Troitsa　monastery　they　had　spoken　of　the　past；　and　he　had　told　her　that　if　he　were　to　live　he　should　thank　God　for　ever　for　his　wound；　which　had　brought　them　together　again；　but　since　then　they　had　never　spoken　of　the　future。
“Could　it　be；　or　could　it　not？”　he　was　wondering　now　as　he　watched　her　and　listened　to　the　slight　steel　click　of　the　needles。　“Can　fate　have　brought　us　together　so　strangely　only　for　me　to　die？　…　Can　the　truth　of　life　have　been　revealed　to　me　only　for　me　to　have　spent　my　life　in　falsity？　I　love　her　more　than　anything　in　the　world！　But　what　am　I　to　do　if　I　love　her？”　he　said；　and　suddenly　he　unconsciously　moaned　from　the　habit　he　had　fallen　into　in　the　course　of　his　sufferings。
Hearing　the　sound；　Natasha　laid　down　her　stocking；　and　bent　down　closer　to　him；　and　suddenly　noticing　his　shining　eyes；　went　up　to　him　with　a　light　step　and　stooped　down。
“You　are　not　asleep？”
“No；　I　have　been　looking　at　you　for　a　long　while。　I　felt　when　you　came　in。　No　one　but　you　gives　me　the　same　soft　peace　…　the　same　light。　I　want　to　weep　with　gladness！”
Natasha　moved　closer　to　him。　Her　face　beamed　with　rapturous　delight。
“Natasha；　I　love　you　too　much！　More　than　everything　in　the　world！”
“And　I？”　She　turned　away　for　a　second。　“Why　too　much？”　she　said。
“Why　too　much？　…　Well；　what　do　you　think；　what　do　you　feel　in　your　heart；　your　whole　heart；　am　I　going　to　live？　What　do　you　think？”
“I　am　sure　of　it；　sure　of　it！”　Natasha　almost　cried　out；　taking　both　his　hands　with　a　passionate　gesture。
He　was　silent　for　a　while。
“How　good　it　would　be！”　And　taking　her　hand；　he　kissed　it。
Natasha　was　happy　and　deeply　stirred；　and　she　recollected　at　once　that　this　must　not　be；　and　that　he　must　have　quiet。
“But　you　are　not　asleep；”　she　said；　subduing　her　joy。　“Try　and　sleep　…　please　do。”
He　pressed　her　hand　and　let　it　go；　and　she　moved　back　to　the　candle　and　sat　down　in　the　same　position　as　before。　Twice　she　glanced　round　at　him；　his　eyes　were　bright　as　she　met　them。　She　set　herself　a　task　on　her　stocking；　and　told　herself　she　would　not　look　round　till　she　had　finished　it。
He　did；　in　fact；　soon　after　shut　his　eyes　and　fall　asleep。　He　did　not　sleep　long；　and　woke　up　suddenly　in　a　cold　sweat　of　alarm。
As　he　fell　asleep　he　was　still　thinking　of　what　he　had　been　thinking　about　all　the　time—of　life　and　of　death。　And　most　of　death。　He　felt　he　was　closer　to　it。
“Love？　What　is　love？”　he　thought。
“Love　hinders　death。　Love　is　life。　All；　all　that　I　understand；　I　understand　only　because　I　love。　All　is；　all　exists　only　because　I　love。　All　is　bound　up　in　love　alone。　Love　is　God；　and　dying　means　for　me　a　particle　of　love；　to　go　back　to　the　universal　and　eternal　source　of　love。”　These　thoughts　seemed　to　him　comforting。　But　they　were　only　thoughts。　Something　was　wanting　in　them；　there　was　something　one…sided　and　personal；　something　intellectual；　they　were　not　self…evident。　And　there　was　uneasiness；　too；　and　obscurity。　He　fell　asleep。
He　dreamed　that　he　was　lying　in　the　very　room　in　which　he　was　lying　in　reality；　but　that　he　was　not　ill；　but　quite　well。　Many　people　of　various　sorts；　indifferent　people　of　no　importance；　were　present。　He　was　talking　and　disputing　with　them　about　some　trivial　matter。　They　seemed　to　be　preparing　to　set　off　somewhere。　Prince　Andrey　had　a　dim　feeling　that　all　this　was　of　no　consequence；　and　that　he　had　other　matters　of　graver　moment　to　think　of；　but　still　he　went　on　uttering　empty　witticisms　of　some　sort　that　surprised　them。　By　degrees　all　these　people　began　to　disappear；　and　the　one　thing　left　was　the　question　of　closing　the　door。　He　got　up　and　went　towards　the　door　to　close　it　and　bolt　it。　Everything　depended　on　whether　he　were　in　time　to　shut　it　or　not。　He　was　going；　he　was　hurrying；　but　his　legs　would　not　move；　and　he　knew　that　he　would　not　have　time　to　shut　the　door；　but　still　he　was　painfully　straining　every　effort　to　do　so。　And　an　agonising　terror　came　upon　him。　And　that　terror　was　the　fear　of　death；　behind　the　door　stood　It。　But　while　he　is　helplessly　and　clumsily　struggling　towards　the　door；　that　something　awful　is　already　pressing　against　the　other　side　of　it；　and　forcing　the　door　open。　Something　not　human—death—is　forcing　the　door　open；　and　he　must　hold　it　to。　He　clutches　at　the　door　with　a　last　straining　effort—to　shut　it　is　impossible；　at　least　to　hold　it—but　his　efforts　are　feeble　and　awkward；　and；　under　the　pressure　of　that　awful　thing；　the　door　opens　and　shuts　again。
Once　more　It　was　pressing　on　the　door　from　without。　His　last；　supernatural　efforts　are　vain；　and　both　leaves　of　the　door　are　noiselessly　opened。　It　comes　in；　and　it　is　death。　And　Prince　Andrey　died。
But　at　the　instant　when　in　his　dream　he　died；　Prince　Andrey　recollected　that　he　was　asleep；　and　at　the　instant　when　he　was　dying；　he　made　an　effort　and　waked　up。
“Yes；　that　was　death。　I　died　and　I　waked　up。　Yes；　death　is　an　awakening；”　flashed　with　sudden　light　into　his　soul；　and　the　veil　that　had　till　then　hidden　the　unknown　was　lifted　before　his　spiritual　vision。　He　felt；　as　it　were；　set　free　from　some　force　that　held　him　in　bondage；　and　was　aware　of　that　strange　lightness　of　being　that　had　not　left　him　since。
When　he　waked　up　in　a　cold　sweat　and　moved　on　the　couch；　Natasha　went　up　and　asked　him　what　was　the　matter。　He　did　not　answer；　and　looked　at　her　with　strange　eyes；　not　understanding　her。
That　was　the　change　that　had　come　over　him　two　days　before　Princess　Marya’s　arrival。　The　doctor　said　that　from　that　day　the　wasting　fever　had　assumed　a　more　serious　aspect；　but　Natasha　paid　little　heed　to　what　the　doctor　said；　she　saw　the　terrible　moral　symptoms；　that　for　her　were　far　more　convincing。
With　his　awakening　from　sleep　that　day　there　began　for　Prince　Andrey　an　awakening　from　life。　And　in　relation　to　the　duration　of　life　it　seemed　to　him　not　more　prolonged　than　the　awakening　from　sleep　in　relation　to　the　duration　of　a　dream。　There　was　nothing　violent　or　terrible　in　this　relatively　slow　awakening。
His　last　days　and　hours　passed　in　a　simple　and　commonplace　way。　Princess　Marya　and　Natasha；　who　never　left　his　side；　both　felt　that。　They　did　not　weep　nor　shudder；　and　towards　the　last　they　both　felt　they　were　waiting　not　on　him　（he　was　no　more；　he　had　gone　far　away　from　them）；　but　on　the　nearest　memory　of　him—his　body。　The　feelings　of　both　of　them　were　so　strong　that　the　external；　horrible　side　of　death　did　not　affect　them；　and　they　did　not　find　it　needful　to　work　up　their　grief。　They　did　not　weep　either　in　his　presence　nor　away　from　him；　and　they　never　even　talked　of　him　together。　They　felt　that　they　could　not　express　in　words　what　they　understood。
They　both　saw　that　he　was　slowly　and　quietly　slipping　further　and　further　away　from　them；　and　both　knew　that　this　must　be　so；　and　that　it　was　well。　He　received　absolution　and　extreme　unction；　every　one　came　to　bid　him　good…bye。　When　his　son　was　brought　in　to　him；　he　pressed　his　lips　to　him　and　turned　away；　not　because　it　was　painful　or　sad　to　him　（Princess　Marya　and　Natasha　saw　that）；　but　simply　because　he　supposed　he　had　done　all　that　was　required　of　him。　But　he　was　told　to　give　him　his　blessing；　he　did　what　was　required；　and　looked　round　as　though　to　ask　whether　there　was　anything　else　he　must　do。　When　the　body；　deserted　by　the　spirit；　passed　through　its　last　struggles；　Princess　Marya　and　Natasha　were　there。
“It　is　over！”　said　Princess　Marya；　after　the　body　had　lain　for　some　moments　motionless；　and　growing　cold　before　them。　Natasha　went　close；　glanced　at　the　dead　eyes；　and　made　haste　to　shut　them。　She　closed　them；　and　did　not　kiss　them；　but　hung　over　what　was　the　nearest　memory　of　him。　“Where　has　he　gone？　Where　is　he　now？　…”
When　the　body　lay；　dressed　and　washed；　in　the　coffin　on　the　table　every　one　came　to　take　leave　of　him；　and　every　one　cried。　Nikolushka　cried　from　the　agonising　bewilderment　that　was　rending　his　heart。　The　countess　and　Sonya　cried　from　pity　for　Natasha；　and　from　grief　that　he　was　gone。　The　old　count　cried　because　he　felt　that　he　too　must　soon　take　the　same　terrible　step。
Natasha　and　Princess　Marya　wept　too　now。　But　they　did　not　weep　for　their　personal　sorrow；　they　wept　from　the　emotion　and　awe　that　filled　their　souls　before　the　simple　and　solemn　mystery　of　death　that　had　been　accomplished　before　their　eyes。


Part　Thirteen
Chapter　1
THE　COMBINATION　of　causes　of　phenomena　is　beyond　the　grasp　of　the　human　intellect。　But　the　impulse　to　seek　causes　is　innate　in　the　soul　of　man。　And　the　human　intellect；　with　no　inkling　of　the　immense　variety　and　complexity　of　circumstances　conditioning　a　phenomenon；　any　one　of　which　may　be　separately　conceived　of　as　the　cause　of　it；　snatches　at　the　first　and　most　easily　understood　approximation；　and　says　here　is　the　cause。　In　historical　events；　where　the　actions　of　men　form　the　subject　of　observation；　the　most　primitive　conception　of　a　cause　was　the　will　of　the　gods；　succeeded　later　on　by　the　will　of　those　men　who　stand　in　the　historical　foreground—the　heroes　of　history。　But　one　had　but　to　look　below　the　surface　of　any　historical　event；　to　look；　that　is；　into　the　movement　of　the　whole　mass　of　men　taking　part　in　that　event；　to　be　convinced　that　the　will　of　the　hero　of　history；　so　far　from　controlling　the　actions　of　the　multitude；　is　continually　cont