战争与和平(上)-第291部分

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ter…mother　of　her　nephew；　and　independent　mistress　of　her　own　destinies；　Princess　Marya　was　the　first　to　be　called　back　to　life　from　that　world　of　mourning　in　which　she　lived　for　the　first　fortnight。　She　received　letters　from　her　relations　which　had　to　be　answered；　the　room　in　which　Nikolushka　had　been　put　was　damp；　and　he　had　begun　to　cough。　Alpatitch　came　to　Yaroslavl　with　accounts。　He　had　suggestions　to　make；　and　advised　Princess　Marya　to　move　to　Moscow　to　the　house　in　Vozdvizhenka；　which　was　uninjured；　and　only　needed　some　trifling　repairs。　Life　would　not　stand　still；　and　she　had　to　live。　Painful　as　it　was　for　Princess　Marya　to　come　out　of　that　world　of　solitary　contemplation；　in　which　she　had　been　living　till　then；　and　sorry；　and；　as　it　were；　conscience…stricken；　as　she　felt　at　leaving　Natasha　alone；　the　duties　of　daily　life　claimed　her　attention；　and　against　her　own　will　she　had　to　give　herself　up　to　them。　She　went　through　the　accounts　with　Alpatitch；　consulted　Dessalle　about　her　little　nephew；　and　began　to　make　preparations　for　moving　to　Moscow。
Natasha　was　left　alone；　and　from　the　time　that　Princess　Marya　began　to　busy　herself　with　preparations　for　her　journey；　she　held　aloof　from　her　too。
Princess　Marya　asked　the　countess　to　let　Natasha　come　to　stay　with　her　in　Moscow；　and　both　mother　and　father　eagerly　agreed　to　her　suggestion；　for　they　saw　their　daughter’s　physical　strength　failing　every　day；　and　they　hoped　that　change　of　scene　and　the　advice　of　Moscow　doctors　might　do　her　good。
“I　am　not　going　anywhere；”　answered　Natasha；　when　the　suggestion　was　made　to　her；　“all　I　ask　is；　please　let　me　alone；”　she　said；　and　she　ran　out　of　the　room；　hardly　able　to　restrain　tears　more　of　vexation　and　anger　than　of　sorrow。
Since　she　felt　herself　deserted　by　Princess　Marya；　and　alone　in　her　grief；　Natasha　had　spent　most　of　her　time　alone　in　her　room；　huddled　up　in　a　corner　of　her　sofa。　While　her　slender；　nervous　fingers　were　busy　twisting　or　tearing　something；　she　kept　her　eyes　fixed　in　a　set　stare　on　the　first　object　that　met　them。　This　solitude　exhausted　and　tortured　her；　but　it　was　what　she　needed。　As　soon　as　any　one　went　in　to　her；　she　got　up　quickly；　changed　her　attitude　and　expression；　and　picked　up　a　book　or　some　needlework；　obviously　waiting　with　impatience　for　the　intruder　to　leave　her。
It　seemed　to　her　continually　that　she　was　on　the　very　verge　of　understanding；　of　penetrating　to　the　mystery　on　which　her　spiritual　vision　was　fastened　with　a　question　too　terrible　for　her　to　bear。
One　day　towards　the　end　of　December；　Natasha；　thin　and　pale　in　a　black　woollen　gown；　with　her　hair　fastened　up　in　a　careless　coil；　sat　perched　up　in　the　corner　of　her　sofa；　her　fingers　nervously　crumpling　and　smoothing　out　the　ends　of　her　sash；　while　she　gazed　at　the　corner　of　the　door。
She　was　inwardly　gazing　whither　he　had　gone；　to　that　further　shore。　And　that　shore；　of　which　she　had　never　thought　in　old　days；　which　had　seemed　to　her　so　far　away；　so　incredible；　was　now　closer　to　her；　and　more　her　own；　more　comprehensible　than　this　side　of　life；　in　which　all　was　emptiness　and　desolation　or　suffering　and　humiliation。
She　was　gazing　into　that　world　where　she　knew　he　was。　But　she　could　not　see　him；　except　as　he　had　been　here　on　earth。　She　was　seeing　him　again　as　he　had　been　at　Mytishtchy；　at　Troitsa；　at　Yaroslavl。
She　was　seeing　his　face；　hearing　his　voice；　and　repeating　his　words；　and　words　of　her　own　that　she　had　put　into　his　mouth；　and　sometimes　imagining　fresh　phrases　for　herself　and　him　which　could　only　have　been　uttered　in　the　past。
Now　she　saw　him　as　he　had　once　been；　lying　on　a　low　chair　in　his　velvet；　fur…lined　cloak；　his　head　propped　on　his　thin；　pale　hand。　His　chest　looked　fearfully　hollow；　and　his　shoulders　high。　His　lips　were　firmly　closed；　his　eyes　shining；　and　there　was　a　line　on　his　white　brow　that　came　and　vanished　again。　There　was　a　rapid　tremor　just　perceptible　in　one　foot。　Natasha　knew　he　was　struggling　to　bear　horrible　pain。　“What　was　that　pain　like？　Why　was　it　there？　What　was　he　feeling？　How　did　it　hurt？”　Natasha　had　wondered。　He　had　noticed　her　attention；　raised　his　eyes；　and；　without　smiling；　began　to　speak。
“One　thing　would　be　awful；”　he　said：　“to　bind　oneself　for　ever　to　a　suffering　invalid。　It　would　be　an　everlasting　torture。”　And　he　had　looked　with　searching　eyes　at　her。　Natasha；　as　she　always　did；　had　answered　without　giving　herself　time　to　think；　she　had　said：　“It　can’t　go　on　like　this；　it　won’t　be　so；　you　will　get　well—quite　well。”
She　was　seeing　him　now　as　though　it　were　the　first　time；　and　going　through　all　she　had　felt　at　that　time。　She　recalled　the　long；　mournful；　stern　gaze　he　had　given　her　at　those　words；　and　she　understood　all　the　reproach　and　the　despair　in　that　prolonged　gaze。
“I　agreed；”　Natasha　said　to　herself　now；　“that　it　would　be　awful　if　he　were　to　remain　always　suffering。　I　said　that　then　only　because　it　would　be　so　awful　for　him；　but　he　did　not　understand　it　so。　He　thought　that　it　would　be　awful　for　me。　Then　he　still　wanted　to　live；　and　was　afraid　of　death。　And　I　said　it　so　clumsily；　so　stupidly。　I　was　not　thinking　that。　I　was　thinking　something　quite　different。　If　I　had　said　what　I　was　thinking；　I　should　have　said：　‘Let　him　be　dying；　dying　all　the　time　before　my　eyes；　and　I　should　be　happy　in　comparison　with　what　I　am　now。’　Now　…　there　is　nothing；　no　one。　Did　he　know　that？　No。　He　did　not　know；　and　never　will　know　it。　And　now　it　can　never；　never　be　made　up　for。”
And　again　he　was　saying　the　same　words；　but　this　time　Natasha　in　her　imagination　made　him　a　different　answer。　She　stopped　him；　and　said：　“Awful　for　you；　but　not　for　me。　You　know　that　I　have　nothing　in　life　but　you；　and　to　suffer　with　you　is　the　greatest　happiness　possible　for　me。”　And　he　took　her　hand　and　pressed　it；　just　as　he　had　pressed　it　on　that　terrible　evening　four　days　before　his　death。　And　in　her　imagination　she　said　to　him　other　words　of　tenderness　and　love；　which　she　might　have　said　then；　which　she　only　said　now　…　“I　love　thee！　…　thee　…　I　love；　love　thee　…”　she　said；　wringing　her　hands　convulsively；　and　setting　her　teeth　with　bitter　violence。
And　a　sweeter　mood　of　sorrow　was　coming　over　her；　and　tears　were　starting　into　her　eyes；　but　all　at　once　she　asked　herself：　“To　whom　was　she　saying　that？　Where　is　he；　and　what　is　he　now？”
And　again　everything　was　shrouded　in　chill；　cruel　doubt；　and　again；　frowning　nervously；　she　tried　to　gaze　into　that　world　where　he　was。　And　now；　now；　she　thought；　she　was　just　penetrating　the　mystery　…　But　at　that　instant；　when　the　incomprehensible；　it　seemed；　was　being　unveiled　before　her　eyes；　a　loud　rattle　at　the　door　handle　broke　with　a　painful　shock　on　her　hearing。　Her　maid；　Dunyasha；　rushed　quickly　and　abruptly　into　the　room　with　frightened　eyes；　that　took　no　heed　of　her。
“Come　to　your　papa；　make　haste；”　Dunyasha　said；　with　a　strange　excited　expression。　“A　misfortune　…　Pyotr　Ilyitch　…　a　letter；”　she　gasped　out；　sobbing。


Chapter　2
THE　FEELING　of　aloofness　from　all　the　world；　that　Natasha　experienced　at　this　time；　she　felt　in　an　even　more　marked　degree　with　the　members　of　her　own　family。　All　her　own　family；　her　father　and　mother　and　Sonya；　were　so　near　her；　so　everyday　and　ordinary　that　every　word　they　uttered；　every　feeling　they　expressed；　was　jarring　in　the　world　in　which　she　had　lived　of　late。　She　felt　more　than　indifference；　positive　hostility　to　them。　She　heard　Dunyasha’s　words　of　Pyotr　Ilyitch；　of　a　misfortune；　but　she　did　not　understand　them。
“What　misfortune　could　they　have；　what　misfortune　is　possible　to　them？　Everything　goes　on　in　its　old；　regular；　easy　way　with　them；”　Natasha　was　saying　inwardly。
As　she　went　into　the　drawing…room；　her　father　came　quickly　out　of　the　countess’s　room。　His　face　was　puckered　up　and　wet　with　tears。　He　had　evidently　run　out　of　the　room　to　give　vent　to　the　sobs　that　were　choking　him。　Seeing　Natasha；　he　waved　his　arms　in　despair；　and　went　off　into　violent；　miserable　sobs；　that　convulsed　his　soft；　round　face。
“Pet　…　Petya　…　Go；　go　in；　she’s　calling　…”　And　sobbing　like　a　child；　he　tottered　with　feeble　legs　to　a　chair；　and　almost　dropped　on　to　it；　hiding　his　face　in　his　hands。
An　electric　shock　seemed　to　run　all　through　Natasha。　Some　fearful　pain　seemed　to　stab　her　to　the　heart。　She　felt　a　poignant　anguish；　it　seemed　to　her　that　something　was　being　rent　within　her；　and　she　was　dying。　But　with　the　pain　she　felt　an　instant　release　from　the　seal　that　shut　her　out　of　life。　At　the　sight　of　her　father；　and　the　sound　of　a　fearful；　husky　scream　from　her　mother　through　the　door；　she　instantly　forgot　herself　and　her　own　sorrow。
She　ran　up　to　her　father；　but　he　feebly　motioned　her　towards　her　mother’s　door。　Princess　Marya；　with　a　white　face　and　quivering　lower　jaw；　came　out　and　took　Natasha’s　hand；　saying　something　to　her。　Natasha　neither　saw　nor　heard　her。　With　swift　steps　she　went　towards　the　door；　stopped　for　an　instant　as　though　struggling　with　herself；　and　ran　in　to　her　mother。
The　countess　was　lying　down　on　a　low　chair　in　a　strange　awkward　attitude；　she　was　beating　her　head　against　the　wall。　Sonya　and　some　maid…servants　were　holding　her　by　the　arms。
“Natasha；　Natasha！…”　the　countess　was　screaming。　“It’s　not　true；　not　true　…　it’s　false　…　Natasha！”　she　screamed；　pushing　the　maids　away。　“All　you　go　away；　it’s　not　true！　Killed！…ha；　ha；　ha！…not　true！…”
Natasha　knelt　down　on　the　low　chair；　bent　over　her　mother；　embraced　her；　with　surprising　strength　lifted　her　up；　turned　her　face　to　her；　and　pressed　close　to　her。
“Mama！　…　darling！　…　I’m　here；　dearest　mamma；”　she　whispered　to　her；　never　ceasing　for　a　second。
She　would　not　let　her　mother　go；　she　struggled　tenderly　with　her；　asked　for　pillows　and　water；　unbuttoned　and　tore　open　her　mother’s　dress。　“Dearest　…　my　darling　…　mamma　…　my　precious；”　she　whispered　without　pausing；　kissing　her　head；　her　hands；　her　face；　and　feeling　the　tears　streaming　in　irrepressible　floods　over　her　nose　and　cheeks。
The　countess　squeezed　her　daughter’s　hand；　closed　her　eyes；　and　was　quieter　for　a　moment。　All　at　once　she　sat　up　with　unnatural　swiftness；　looked　vacantly　round；　and　seeing　Natasha；　began　hugging　her　head　to　her　with　all　her　might。　Natasha’s　face　involuntari