In former days, Pierre had always felt in Anna Pavlovna's presence that what he was saying was unsuitable, tactless, not the right thing; that the phrases, which seemed to him clever as he formed them in his mind, became somehow stupid as soon as he uttered them aloud, and that, on the contrary, Ippolit's most pointless remarks had the effect of being clever and charming. Now everything he said was always “delightful.” Even if Anna Pavlovna did not say so, he saw she was longing to say so, and only refraining from doing so from regard for his modesty.

At the beginning of the winter, in the year 1805, Pierre received one of Anna Pavlovna's customary pink notes of invitation, in which the words occurred: “You will find the fair Hélène at my house, whom one never gets tired of seeing.”

On reading that passage, Pierre felt for the first time that there was being formed between himself and Ellen some sort of tie, recognised by other people, and this idea at once alarmed him, as though an obligation were being laid upon him which he could not fulfil, and pleased him as an amusing supposition.

Anna Pavlovna's evening party was like her first one, only the novel attraction which she had provided for her guests was not on this occasion Mortemart, but a diplomat, who had just arrived from Berlin, bringing the latest details of the Emperor Alexander's stay at Potsdam, and of the inviolable alliance the two exalted friends had sworn together, to maintain the true cause against the enemy of the human race. Pierre was welcomed by Anna Pavlovna with a shade of melancholy, bearing unmistakable reference to the recent loss sustained by the young man in the death of Count Bezuhov (every one felt bound to be continually assuring Pierre that he was greatly afflicted at the death of his father, whom he had hardly known). Her melancholy was of precisely the same kind as that more exalted melancholy she always displayed at any allusion to Her Most August Majesty the Empress Marya Fyodorovna. Pierre felt flattered by it. Anna Pavlovna had arranged the groups in her drawing-room with her usual skill. The larger group, in which were Prince Vassily and some generals, had the benefit of the diplomat. Another group gathered about the tea-table. Pierre would have liked to join the first group, but Anna Pavlovna, who was in the nervous excitement of a general on the battlefield, that mental condition in which numbers of brilliant new ideas occur to one that one has hardly time to put into execution—Anna Pavlovna, on seeing Pierre, detained him with a finger on his coat sleeve: “Wait, I have designs on you for this evening.”

She looked round at Ellen and smiled at her.

“My dear Hélène, you must show charity to my poor aunt, who has an adoration for you. Go and keep her company for ten minutes. And that you may not find it too tiresome, here's our dear count, who certainly won't refuse to follow you.”

The beauty moved away towards the old aunt; but Anna Pavlovna still detained Pierre at her side, with the air of having still some last and essential arrangement to make with him.

“She is exquisite, isn't she?” she said to Pierre, indicating the majestic beauty swimming away from them. “And how she carries herself! For such a young girl, what tact, what a finished perfection of manner. It comes from the heart. Happy will be the man who wins her. The most unworldly of men would take a brilliant place in society as her husband. That's true, isn't it? I only wanted to know your opinion,” and Anna Pavlovna let Pierre go.

Pierre was perfectly sincere in giving an affirmative answer to her question about Ellen's perfection of manner. If ever he thought of Ellen, it was either of her beauty that he thought, or of her extraordinary capacity for serene, dignified silence in society.

The old aunt received the two young people in her corner, but appeared anxious to conceal her adoration of Ellen, and rather to show her fear of Anna Pavlovna. She glanced at her niece, as though to inquire what she was to do with them. Anna Pavlovna again laid a finger on Pierre's sleeve and said: “I hope you will never say in future that people are bored at my house,” and glanced at Ellen. Ellen smiled with an air, which seemed to say that she did not admit the possibility of any one's seeing her without being enchanted. The old aunt coughed, swallowed the phlegm, and said in French that she was very glad to see Ellen; then she addressed Pierre with the same greeting and the same grimace. In the middle of a halting and tedious conversation, Ellen looked round at Pierre and smiled at him with the bright, beautiful smile with which she smiled at every one. Pierre was so used to this smile, it meant so little to him, that he did not even notice it. The aunt was speaking at that moment of a collection of snuff-boxes belonging to Pierre's father, Count Bezuhov, and she showed them her snuff-box. Princess Ellen asked to look at the portrait of the aunt's husband, which was on the snuff-box.

“It's probably the work of Vines,” said Pierre, mentioning a celebrated miniature painter. He bent over the table to take the snuff-box, listening all the while to the conversation going on in the larger group. He got up to move towards it, but the aunt handed him the snuff-box, passing it across Ellen, behind her back. Ellen bent forward to make room, and looked round smiling. She was, as always in the evening, wearing a dress cut in the fashion of the day, very low in the neck both in front and behind. Her bust, which had always to Pierre looked like marble, was so close to his short-sighted eyes that he could discern all the living charm of her neck and shoulders, and so near his lips that he need scarcely have stooped to kiss it. He felt the warmth of her body, the fragrance of scent, and heard the creaking of her corset as she moved. He saw not her marble beauty making up one whole with her gown; he saw and felt all the charm of her body, which was only veiled by her clothes. And having once seen this, he could not see it otherwise, just as we cannot return to an illusion that has been explained.

以前，皮埃尔在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜面前经常觉得他所说的话失礼、无分寸，说出一些不宜于说出的话。他在脑海中酝酿发言的时候，总觉得他要说的话都是明智的，可是一当他大声说出来，这些话就变得愚蠢了。与之相反，伊波利特说的至为愚蠢的话，却被人看成是明智而且动听的。而今，无论他说什么话，都被认为charmant①。即令安娜·帕夫洛夫娜不开口，他也会发觉，她想说出这一点，为尊重他的谦逊起见，她才忍住没有把话说出来。

从一八○五年冬季之初至一八○六年，皮埃尔接获安娜·帕夫洛夫娜寄来的一封普通的玫瑰色的请帖，请帖上并有补充的话：“VoustrouverezchezmoilabelleHéléne，qu'onneselassejamaisvoir．”②

①法语：十分动听。

②法语：“有个百看不厌的十分标致的海伦要到我这里来。”

皮埃尔念到这个地方的时候，头一次感到他和海伦之间日渐形成别人公认的某种关系。这个念头使他胆寒，好像他正承担着一种他不能履行的义务似的，与此同时，它作为一种有趣的设想，又使他欢喜起来。

安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办的晚会还和第一次晚会一样，只是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜用以款待客人的一道新菜，现在已经不是莫特马尔，而是一位来自柏林的外交官，他捎来了详细的新闻——亚历山大皇帝在波茨坦逗留、两位至为高贵的朋友在那里立誓永缔牢不可破的联盟，为维护正义事业而反对人类的敌人。皮埃尔受到安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的接待，她流露着一点忧愁，这显然是年轻人不久以前丧父——别祖霍夫伯爵去世之事牵动了安娜的心（大家总是认为，说服皮埃尔，要他对他几乎不认识的父亲的去世深表哀恸，是他们自己的天职），而她流露的一点忧愁宛如她一提到至尊的玛丽亚·费奥多罗夫娜皇太后时流露的哀思一样。这使皮埃尔深感荣幸。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜用她那惯用的方法把她的客厅中的客人编成几个组。瓦西里公爵和几位将军的那个大组用上了一名外交官。另一组人在茶几旁边就座，皮埃尔想加入第一组，可是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜处于激动不安的状态中，就像战场上的将领此时脑海中浮现出千万种上策，但尚未一一实现似的。她望见皮埃尔后，便用指头摸了摸他的袖筒。

“Attendezjáidesvuessurvouspourcesoir．”①她望望海伦，对她微露笑容。

①法语：等一等，今天晚上我打算找您聊聊。

“MabonneHélène，ilfaut，quevoussoyezcharitablepourmapauvretante，quiauneadorationpourvous，Allezluitenircompagniepour10minutes．①为了让您不感到寂寞，这里有个可爱的伯爵，他是乐意关照您的。”

美丽的女郎向姑母跟前走去了，但是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜还把皮埃尔留在自己身边，装出那副样子，好像她还要作出最后一次必要的嘱咐似的。

“她多么惹人喜欢，不是吗？”她对皮埃尔说道，一面指着庄重地慢慢走开的美妙的女郎，“Etquelletenue！②这样年轻的姑娘善长于保持有分寸的态度！这是一种出自内心的表现！谁能占有她，谁就会无比幸福。一个非交际场中的丈夫有了她无形中就会在上流社会占有至为显赫的地位。是不是？我只想知道您的意见。”于是安娜·帕夫洛夫娜让皮埃尔走开了。

①法语：我亲爱的海伦，您要仁慈地对待我可怜的姑母吧，她是宠爱您的。您和她一块呆上十来分钟吧。

②法语：她的举止多么优雅啊！

皮埃尔十分真诚而且肯定地回答了安娜·帕夫洛夫娜有关海伦的行为方式问题。如果他曾经想到海伦，那他所想到的正是她的姿色、她在上流社会中那种十分宁静、保持缄默自尊的本领。

姑母在一个角落里接待了两个年轻人，但是看起来她想隐瞒她对海伦的宠爱，在安娜·帕夫洛夫娜面前她想更多地流露她的惊恐的神态。她注视着她的侄女，仿佛心里在问，她应当怎样对付这几个人。安娜·帕夫洛夫娜在离开他们的当儿，又用指头摸摸皮埃尔的袖筒，说道：

“J'espére，quevousnedirezplusqu'ons'ennuiechezmoi．”①她望了海伦一眼。

①法语：我希望下次您不要再说，在我这儿觉得寂寞无聊。

海伦嫣然一笑，那样子表示，她不容许任何人看见她而有不被勾魂的可能。姑母干咳了几声，清清嗓子，吞下口水，用法国话发言，她看见海伦觉得很高兴，之后把脸转向皮埃尔，用同样的言词问寒问暖，流露着同样的神色。在那枯燥无味、不能继续下去的谈话中间，海伦回头望了望皮埃尔，对他微微一笑，这种微笑安然而妩媚，她在人人面前都这样笑容可掬。皮埃尔看惯了这种微笑，他认为微笑的含义甚微，因此他不予以注意。姑母这时分正在谈论皮埃尔的亡父——别祖霍夫伯爵收集烟壶的事情，并且拿出自己的烟壶给大家瞧瞧。公爵小姐海伦要瞧瞧嵌在这个烟壶上面的姑父的画像。

“这想必是维涅斯所创作的，'皮埃尔说道，同时提到著名的小型彩画家的名字，他向桌前俯下身去，拿起鼻烟壶，继续倾听另外一张桌上的闲谈。

他欠一欠身，想绕过去，可是姑母正从海伦背后把烟壶递过来了。海伦向前弯下腰去让开一下，面露微笑回头看看。她和平素在晚会上那样，穿着一件时髦的袒胸露背的连衣裙，皮埃尔向来认为她的胸部像大理石那样又白又光滑，它现在离他的眼睛很近，所以他情不自禁地用他那对近视眼看清她那十分迷人的肩膀和颈项，并且离她的嘴唇很近，他只要略微弯下腰来，就会碰到他了。他闻到她的身躯的热气、香水味，听到她上身动弹时束腰发出窸窣的响声。他所看见的不是和她那件连衣裙合成一体的大理石般的俊美，他所看见的和所体察到的是她那仅仅散以衣腋的身体的迷人的姿色，他既然看见这一层，就不能去看别的了，就像骗局已被查明，我们不能再上当了。

“So you have never noticed till now that I am lovely?” Ellen seemed to be saying. “You haven't noticed that I am a woman? Yes, I am a woman, who might belong to any one—to you, too,” her eyes said. And at that moment Pierre felt that Ellen not only could, but would become his wife, that it must be so.

He knew it at that moment as surely as he would have known it, standing under the wedding crown beside her. How would it be? and when? He knew not, knew not even if it would be a good thing (he had a feeling, indeed, that for some reason it would not), but he knew it would be so.

Pierre dropped his eyes, raised them again, and tried once more to see her as a distant beauty, far removed from him, as he had seen her every day before. But he could not do this. He could not, just as a man who has been staring in a fog at a blade of tall steppe grass and taking it for a tree cannot see a tree in it again, after he has once recognised it as a blade of grass. She was terribly close to him. Already she had power over him. And between him and her there existed no barriers of any kind, but the barrier of his own will.

“Very good, I will leave you in your little corner. I see you are very comfortable there,” said Anna Pavlovna's voice. And Pierre, trying panic-stricken to think whether he had done anything reprehensible, looked about him, crimsoning. It seemed to him as though every one knew, as well as he did, what was passing in him. A little later, when he went up to the bigger group, Anna Pavlovna said to him:

“I am told you are making improvements in your Petersburg house.” (This was the fact: the architect had told him it was necessary, and Pierre, without knowing with what object, was having his immense house in Petersburg redecorated.) “That is all very well, but do not move from Prince Vassily's. It is a good thing to have such a friend as the prince,” she said, smiling to Prince Vassily. “I know something about that. Don't I? And you are so young. You need advice. You mustn't be angry with me for making use of an old woman's privileges.” She paused, as women always do pause, in anticipation of something, after speaking of their age. “If you marry, it's a different matter.” And she united them in one glance. Pierre did not look at Ellen, nor she at him. But she was still as terribly close to him.

He muttered something and blushed.

After Pierre had gone home, it was a long while before he could get to sleep; he kept pondering on what was happening to him. What was happening? Nothing. Simply he had grasped the fact that a woman, whom he had known as a child, of whom he had said, without giving her a thought, “Yes, she's nice-looking,” when he had been told she was a beauty, he had grasped the fact that that woman might belong to him. “But she's stupid, I used to say myself that she was stupid,” he thought. “There is something nasty in the feeling she excites in me, something not legitimate. I have been told that her brother, Anatole, was in love with her, and she in love with him, that there was a regular scandal, and that's why Anatole was sent away. Her brother is Ippolit.…Her father is Prince Vassily.…That's bad,” he mused; and at the very moment that he was reflecting thus (the reflections were not followed out to the end) he caught himself smiling, and became conscious that another series of reflections had risen to the surface across the first, that he was at the same time meditating on her worthlessness, and dreaming of how she would be his wife, how she might love him, how she might become quite different, and how all he had thought and heard about her might be untrue. And again he saw her, not as the daughter of Prince Vassily, but saw her whole body, only veiled by her grey gown. “But, no, why didn't that idea ever occur to me before?” And again he told himself that it was impossible, that there would be something nasty, unnatural, as it seemed to him, and dishonourable in this marriage. He recalled her past words and looks, and the words and looks of people, who had seen them together. He remembered the words and looks of Anna Pavlovna, when she had spoken about his house, he recollected thousands of such hints from Prince Vassily and other people, and he was overwhelmed with terror that he might have bound himself in some way to do a thing obviously wrong, and not what he ought to do. But at the very time that he was expressing this to himself, in another part of his mind her image floated to the surface in all its womanly beauty.

“您到现在还没发现我长得多么漂亮吗？”海伦好像在说话。“您没发现我是一个女人吗？是的，我是一个女人，可以属于任何人，也可以属于您，”她的目光这样说。也就在这一瞬间，皮埃尔心中觉得，海伦不仅能够，而且应当成为他的妻子，并没有别的可能性。

在这个时候，他很确切地知道这一点，就像他和她正在教堂里举行婚礼似的。这件事应如何办理？何时办理？他不知道，他甚至不知道，这件事是否可取（他甚至感到，这件事不知怎的是不可取的），但是他知道，这件事是要办理的。

皮埃尔垂下眼睛，又抬起眼睛，心里重新想把她看作是一个相距遥远的，使他觉得陌生的美女，正如以前他每天看见的她那样，但是他现在已经不能这样办了。就像某人从前在雾霭中观看野蒿中的一株草，把它看作是一棵树，当他看清这株草以后，再也不能把它看作一棵树了。她和他太接近了。她已经在主宰着他。除开他自己的意志力的障碍而外，他和她之间已经没有任何障碍了。

“Bon，jevouslaissedansvotrepetitcoin．Jevois，quevousyêtestrèsbien．”①可以听见安娜·帕夫洛夫娜的话语声。

①法语：好的，我就把你们留在你们的角落里。我看见，你们在那里觉得蛮好。

皮埃尔很惊恐地回想起，他是否做了什么不体面的事，他满面通红，向四周环顾。他似乎觉得，大家都像他那样，知道他发生了什么事。

俄而，他走到那个大组的客人跟前时，安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对他说道：

“OnditquevousembellissezvotremaisondePétersbourg．”①

（这是实话：建筑师说，他正要办这件事，就连皮埃尔本人也不知道为什么他要装修他在彼得堡的一栋高大的住宅。）

“cestbien，maisnedéménagezpasdechezleprinceBasile．Ilestbond'avoirunamicommeleprince，”她面露笑容对瓦西里公爵说。“J'ensaisquelquechoseN'est－cepas？②可是您这么年轻。您所需要的是忠告。您不要生我的气，说我滥用了老太婆的权利。”她默不作声，就像妇女们平素在谈到自己的年纪之后，想等待什么似的，都不愿开口。

“如果您结婚，那是另一回事。”她于是把他们的视线连接起来。皮埃尔不看海伦，她也不看他。可是她和他的距离还是很近。他发出哞哞声，满面通红。

①法语：据说，您在装修您的彼得堡的住宅。

②法语：这很好。可是您不要从瓦西里公爵家中迁走。有这样一个朋友是件好事。这件事我略知一二。您说说看，是不是？

皮埃尔回家以后，他久久地不能入睡，心里思忖，他出了什么事。他究竟出了什么事呢？没有出什么事。他所明白的只是，在儿时他就认识一个女人，关于这个女人，他漫不经心地说：“是的，很标志。”当别人对他说，海伦是个美妙的女郎，他心里明了，这个女人可能属于他。

“可是她很傻，我自己也说过她很傻，”他心中想道，“她使我产生的一种情感中含有某种鄙劣的应被取缔的东西。有人对我说，她的哥哥阿纳托利钟情于她，她也钟情于他，他们之间有一整段恋爱史，正因为这件事阿纳托利才被逐出家门，伊波利特是她的哥哥……瓦西里公爵是她的父亲……真糟糕……”他想，正当他这样发表议论的时候（这些议论还没有结束），他发觉自己面露微笑，并且意识到，从前面的一系列议论中正在浮现出另一系列议论，他同时想到她的渺小，幻想着她将成为他的妻子，她会爱他，她会变成一个截然不同的女人，他所想到和听到的有关她的情形可能是一派谎言。他又不把她视为瓦西里公爵的女儿，而他所看见的只是她那蔽以灰色连衣裙的躯体。“不对，为什么我脑海中从前没有这种想法呢？”他又对他自己说，这是不可能的事，他仿佛觉得，在这门婚事中含有一种鄙劣的、违反自然的、不正直的东西。他回想起她从前所说的话、所持的观点，他们两人在一起时那些看见他们的人所说的话、所持的观点。他回想起安娜·帕夫洛夫娜对他谈到住宅时所说的话、所持的观点，回想起瓦西里公爵和其他人所作的千万次的这类的暗示，他感到恐怖万分，他是否凭藉什么把自己捆绑起来，去做一件显然是卑劣的、他理应不做的事。但是在他向自己表白这一决心时，从她的灵魂的另一面正浮现出她的整个女性美的形象。

CHAPTER II

Chinese

IN THE DECEMBER of 1805, the old Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky received a letter from Prince Vassily, announcing that he intended to visit him with his son. (“I am going on an inspection tour, and of course a hundred versts is only a step out of the way for me to visit you, my deeply-honoured benefactor,” he wrote. “My Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, and I hope you will permit him to express to you in person the profound veneration that, following his father's example, he entertains for you.”)

“Well, there's no need to bring Marie out, it seems; suitors come to us of themselves,” the little princess said heedlessly on hearing of this. Prince Nikolay Andreitch scowled and said nothing.

A fortnight after receiving the letter, Prince Vassily's servants arrived one evening in advance of him, and the following day he came himself with his son.

Old Bolkonsky had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vassily's character, and this opinion had grown stronger of late since Prince Vassily had, under the new reigns of Paul and Alexander, advanced to high rank and honours. Now from the letter and the little princess's hints, he saw what the object of the visit was, and his poor opinion of Prince Vassily passed into a feeling of ill-will and contempt in the old prince's heart. He snorted indignantly whenever he spoke of him. On the day of Prince Vassily's arrival, the old prince was particularly discontented and out of humour. Whether he was out of humour because Prince Vassily was coming, or whether he was particularly displeased at Prince Vassily's coming because he was out of humour, no one can say. But he was out of humour, and early in the morning Tihon had dissuaded the architect from going to the prince with his report.

“Listen how he's walking,” said Tihon, calling the attention of the architect to the sound of the prince's footsteps. “Stepping flat on his heels … then we know …”

At nine o'clock, however, the old prince went out for a walk, as usual, wearing his short, velvet, fur-lined cloak with a sable collar and a sable cap. There had been a fall of snow on the previous evening. The path along which Prince Nikolay Andreitch walked to the conservatory had been cleared; there were marks of a broom in the swept snow, and a spade had been left sticking in the crisp bank of snow that bordered the path on both sides. The prince walked through the conservatories, the servants' quarters, and the out-buildings, frowning and silent.

“Could a sledge drive up?” he asked the respectful steward, who was escorting him to the house, with a countenance and manners like his own.

“The snow is deep, your excellency. I gave orders for the avenue to be swept too.”

The prince nodded, and was approaching the steps. “Glory to Thee, O Lord!” thought the steward, “the storm has passed over!”

“It would have been hard to drive up, your excellency,” added the steward. “So I hear, your excellency, there's a minister coming to visit your excellency?” The prince turned to the steward and stared with scowling eyes at him.

“Eh? A minister? What minister? Who gave you orders?” he began in his shrill, cruel voice. “For the princess my daughter, you do not clear the way, but for the minister you do! For me there are no ministers!”

“Your excellency, I supposed …”

“You supposed,” shouted the prince, articulating with greater and greater haste and incoherence. “You supposed … Brigands! blackguards! … I'll teach you to suppose,” and raising his stick he waved it at Alpatitch, and would have hit him, had not the steward instinctively shrunk back and escaped the blow. “You supposed … Blackguards! …” he still cried hurriedly. But although Alpatitch, shocked at his own insolence in dodging the blow, went closer to the prince, with his bald head bent humbly before him, or perhaps just because of this, the prince did not lift the stick again, and still shouting, “Blackguards! … fill up the road …” he ran to his room.

Princess Marya and Mademoiselle Bourienne stood, waiting for the old prince before dinner, well aware that he was out of temper. Mademoiselle Bourienne's beaming countenance seemed to say, “I know nothing about it, I am just the same as usual,” while Princess Marya stood pale and terrified with downcast eyes. What made it harder for Princess Marya was that she knew that she ought to act like Mademoiselle Bourienne at such times, but she could not do it. She felt, “If I behave as if I did not notice it, he'll think I have no sympathy with him. If I behave as if I were depressed and out of humour myself, he'll say (as indeed often happened) that I'm sulky …” and so on.

The prince glanced at his daughter's scared face and snorted.

“Stuff!” or perhaps “stupid!” he muttered. “And the other is not here! they've been telling tales to her already,” he thought, noticing that the little princess was not in the dining-room.

“Where's Princess Liza?” he asked. “In hiding?”

“She's not quite well,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne with a bright smile; “she is not coming down. In her condition it is only to be expected.”

“H'm! h'm! kh! kh!” growled the prince, and he sat down to the table. He thought his plate was not clean: he pointed to a mark on it and threw it away. Tihon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little princess was quite well, but she was in such overwhelming terror of the prince, that on hearing he was in a bad temper, she had decided not to come in.

“I am afraid for my baby,” she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne; “God knows what might not be the result of a fright.”

The little princess, in fact, lived at Bleak Hills in a state of continual terror of the old prince, and had an aversion for him, of which she was herself unconscious, so completely did terror overbear every other feeling. There was the same aversion on the prince's side, too; but in his case it was swallowed up in contempt. As she went on staying at Bleak Hills, the little princess became particularly fond of Mademoiselle Bourienne; she spent her days with her, begged her to sleep in her room, and often talked of her father-in-law, and criticised him to her.

“We have company coming, prince,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, her rosy fingers unfolding her dinner-napkin. “His excellency Prince Kuragin with his son, as I have heard say?” she said in a tone of inquiry.

“H'm! … his excellence is an upstart. I got him his place in the college,” the old prince said huffily. “And what his son's coming for, I can't make out. Princess Lizaveta Karlovna and Princess Marya can tell us, maybe; I don't know what he's bringing his son here for. I don't want him.” And he looked at his daughter, who turned crimson.

“Unwell, eh? Scared of the minister, as that blockhead Alpatitch called him to-day?”

“Non, mon père.”

Unsuccessful as Mademoiselle Bourienne had been in the subject she had started, she did not desist, but went on prattling away about the conservatories, the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and after the soup the prince subsided.

After dinner he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess was sitting at a little table gossiping with Masha, her maid. She turned pale on seeing her father-in-law.

The little princess was greatly changed. She looked ugly rather than pretty now. Her cheeks were sunken, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes were hollow.

“Yes, a sort of heaviness,” she said in answer to the prince's inquiry how she felt.

“Isn't there anything you need?”

“Non, merci, mon père.”

“Oh, very well then, very well.”

He went out and into the waiting-room. Alpatitch was standing there with downcast head.

“Filled up the road again?”

“Yes, your excellency; for God's sake, forgive me, it was simply a blunder.”

The prince cut him short with his unnatural laugh.

“Oh, very well, very well.” He held out his hand, which Alpatitch kissed, and then he went to his study.

In the evening Prince Vassily arrived. He was met on the way by the coachmen and footmen of the Bolkonskys, who with shouts dragged his carriages and sledge to the lodge, over the road, which had been purposely obstructed with snow again.

Prince Vassily and Anatole were conducted to separate apartments.

Taking off his tunic, Anatole sat with his elbows on the table, on a corner of which he fixed his handsome, large eyes with a smiling, unconcerned stare. All his life he had looked upon as an uninterrupted entertainment, which some one or other was, he felt, somehow bound to provide for him. In just the same spirit he had looked at his visit to the cross old gentleman and his rich and hideous daughter. It might all, according to his anticipations, turn out very jolly and amusing. “And why not get married, if she has such a lot of money? That never comes amiss,” thought Anatole.

He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance that had become habitual with him, and with his characteristic expression of all-conquering good-humour, he walked into his father's room, holding, his head high. Two valets were busily engaged in dressing Prince Vassily; he was looking about him eagerly, and nodded gaily to his son, as he entered with an air that said, “Yes, that's just how I wanted to see you looking.”

“Come, joking apart, father, is she so hideous? Eh?” he asked in French, as though reverting to a subject more than once discussed on the journey.

“Nonsense! The great thing for you is to try and be respectful and sensible with the old prince.”

“If he gets nasty, I'm off,” said Anatole. “I can't stand those old gentlemen. Eh?”

“Remember that for you everything depends on it.”

Meanwhile, in the feminine part of the household not only the arrival of the minister and his son was already known, but the appearance of both had been minutely described. Princess Marya was sitting alone in her room doing her utmost to control her inner emotion.

“Why did they write, why did Liza tell me about it? Why, it cannot be!” she thought, looking at herself in the glass. “How am I to go into the drawing-room? Even if I like him, I could never be myself with him now.” The mere thought of her father's eyes reduced her to terror. The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already obtained all necessary information from the maid, Masha; they had learned what a handsome fellow the minister's son was, with rosy cheeks and black eye-brows; how his papa had dragged his legs upstairs with difficulty, while he, like a young eagle, had flown up after him three steps at a time. On receiving these items of information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose eager voices were audible in the corridor, went into Princess Marya's room.

“They are come, Marie, do you know?” said the little princess, waddling in and sinking heavily into an armchair. She was not wearing the gown in which she had been sitting in the morning, but had put on one of her best dresses. Her hair had been carefully arranged, and her face was full of an eager excitement, which did not, however, conceal its wasted and pallid look. In the smart clothes which she had been used to wear in Petersburg in society, the loss of her good looks was even more noticeable. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, had put some hardly perceptible finishing touches to her costume, which made her fresh, pretty face even more attractive.

“What, and you are staying just as you are, dear princess. They will come in a minute to tell us the gentlemen are in the drawing-room,” she began. “We shall have to go down, and you are doing nothing at all to your dress.”

The little princess got up from her chair, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and eagerly began to arrange what Princess Marya was to wear, and to put her ideas into practice. Princess Marya's sense of personal dignity was wounded by her own agitation at the arrival of her suitor, and still more was she mortified that her two companions should not even conceive that she ought not to be so agitated. To have told them how ashamed she was of herself and of them would have been to betray her own excitement. Besides, to refuse to be dressed up, as they suggested, would have been exposing herself to reiterated raillery and insistence. She flushed; her beautiful eyes grew dim; her face was suffused with patches of crimson; and with the unbeautiful, victimised expression which was the one most often seen on her face, she abandoned herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Liza. Both women exerted themselves with perfect sincerity to make her look well. She was so plain that the idea of rivalry with her could never have entered their heads. Consequently it was with perfect sincerity, in the naïve and unhesitating conviction women have that dress can make a face handsome, that they set to work to attire her.

“No, really, ma bonne amie, that dress isn't pretty,” said Liza, looking sideways at Princess Marya from a distance; “tell her to put on you your maroon velvet there. Yes, really! Why, you know, it may be the turning-point in your whole life. That one's too light, it's not right, no, it's not!”

It was not the dress that was wrong, but the face and the whole figure of the princess, but that was not felt by Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess. They still fancied that if they were to put a blue ribbon in her hair, and do it up high, and to put the blue sash lower on the maroon dress and so on, then all would be well. They forgot that the frightened face and figure of Princess Marya could not be changed, and therefore, however presentable they might make the setting and decoration of the face, the face itself would still look piteous and ugly. After two or three changes, to which Princess Marya submitted passively, when her hair had been done on the top of her head (which completely changed and utterly disfigured her), and the blue sash and best maroon velvet dress had been put on, the little princess walked twice round, and with her little hand stroked out a fold here and pulled down the sash there, and gazed at her with her head first on one side and then on the other.

[ 本帖最后由 风の语 于 2007-11-16 00:07 编辑 ]

“No, it won't do,” she said resolutely, throwing up her hands. “No, Marie, decidedly that does not suit you. I like you better in your little grey everyday frock. No, please do that for me. Katya,” she said to the maid, “bring the princess her grey dress, and look, Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I'll arrange it,” she said, smiling with a foretaste of artistic pleasure. But when Katya brought the dress, Princess Marya was still sitting motionless before the looking-glass, looking at her own face, and in the looking-glass she saw that there were tears in her eyes and her mouth was quivering, on the point of breaking into sobs.

“Come, dear princess,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, “one more little effort.”

The little princess, taking the dress from the hands of the maid, went up to Princess Marya.

“Now, we'll try something simple and charming,” she said. Her voice and Mademoiselle Bourienne's and the giggle of Katya blended into a sort of gay babble like the twitter of birds.

“No, leave me alone,” said the princess; and there was such seriousness and such suffering in her voice that the twitter of the birds ceased at once. They looked at the great, beautiful eyes, full of tears and of thought, looking at them imploringly, and they saw that to insist was useless and even cruel.

“At least alter your hair,” said the little princess. “I told you,” she said reproachfully to Mademoiselle Bourienne, “there were faces which that way of doing the hair does not suit a bit. Not a bit, not a bit, please alter it.”

“Leave me alone, leave me alone, all that is nothing to me,” answered a voice scarcely able to struggle with tears.

Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess could not but admit to themselves that Princess Marya was very plain in this guise, far worse than usual, but it was too late. She looked at them with an expression they knew well, an expression of deep thought and sadness. That expression did not inspire fear. (That was a feeling she could never have inspired in any one.) But they knew that when that expression came into her face, she was mute and inflexible in her resolutions.

“You will alter it, won't you?” said Liza, and when Princess Marya made no reply, Liza went out of the room.

Princess Marya was left alone. She did not act upon Liza's wishes, she did not re-arrange her hair, she did not even glance into the looking-glass. Letting her eyes and her hands drop helplessly, she sat mentally dreaming. She pictured her husband, a man, a strong, masterful, and inconceivably attractive creature, who would bear her away all at once into an utterly different, happy world of his own. A child, her own, like the baby she had seen at her old nurse's daughter's, she fancied at her own breast. The husband standing, gazing tenderly at her and the child. “But no, it can never be, I am too ugly,” she thought.

“Kindly come to tea. The prince will be going in immediately,” said the maid's voice at the door. She started and was horrified at what she had been thinking. And before going downstairs she went into the oratory, and fixing her eyes on the black outline of the great image of the Saviour, she stood for several minutes before it with clasped hands. Princess Marya's soul was full of an agonising doubt. Could the joy of love, of earthly love for a man, be for her? In her reveries of marriage, Princess Marya dreamed of happiness in a home and children of her own, but her chief, her strongest and most secret dream was of earthly love. The feeling became the stronger the more she tried to conceal it from others, and even from herself. “My God,” she said, “how am I to subdue in my heart these temptings of the devil? How am I to renounce for ever all evil thoughts, so as in peace to fulfil Thy will?” And scarcely had she put this question than God's answer came to her in her own heart. “Desire nothing for thyself, be not covetous, anxious, envious. The future of men and thy destiny too must be unknown for thee; but live that thou mayest be ready for all. If it shall be God's will to prove thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to obey His will.” With this soothing thought (though still she hoped for the fulfilment of that forbidden earthly dream) Princess Marya crossed herself, sighing, and went downstairs, without thinking of her dress nor how her hair was done; of how she would go in nor what she would say. What could all that signify beside the guidance of Him, without Whose will not one hair falls from the head of man?

[ 本帖最后由 风の语 于 2007-11-16 00:07 编辑 ]

第二章

英文

一八○五年十一月，瓦西里公爵要到四个省份去视察。他给自己布置了这项任务，目的是要顺便去看看他那衰败的领地。他带着儿子阿纳多利（在他的兵团的驻地），和他一道去拜看尼古拉·安德烈耶维奇·博尔孔斯基公爵，目的是要儿子娶到这个有钱的老头的女儿。但是在启行去办理这几件新事以前，瓦西里公爵务必要为皮埃尔处理一些事情。迩来皮埃尔整天价呆在家中，即是呆在他所居住的瓦西里公爵家中，消磨时光。海伦在场的时候，他显得荒唐可笑、激动而愚蠢（热恋的人自然会露出这副样子），但是他还没有提出求婚的事。

“这一切都很美妙，但是，任何事必有结局。”有一天早上，瓦西里公爵愁闷地叹息，喃喃自语地说，他意识到，皮埃尔感谢他的隆情厚意（但愿基督保佑他！），他没有办妥这件事。“青春年少……轻举妄动……得啦，愿上帝保佑。”瓦西里公爵想了想，因为他待人和善而感到高兴。“必须、必须了结这件事。后天是海伦的命名日，我得请客，如果他不懂得应该怎样应付，那就是我的责任。是的，我有责任。我是父亲啊！”

安娜·帕夫洛夫娜举办晚会之后，皮埃尔熬过了一个心情激动的不眠之夜，夜里他断定，娶海伦为妻是一件不幸的事，他要避开海伦，远走高飞，皮埃尔作出这一决定后度过了一个半月，他没有从瓦西里公爵家里迁走，他很恐惧地感到在人们的眼睛里，他和海伦的关系日甚一日地暧昧，他无论怎样都不能恢复他以前对她的看法，他也不能离开她，他觉得多么可怕，可是他应当把自己的命运和她联系起来。也许，他本可克制自己，但是瓦西里公爵家里没有一天不举办晚会（以前他家里很少举行招待会），如果他不想使得众人扫兴，不想使得等候他的众人失望，他就不得不出席晚会。瓦西里公爵在家时，他偶尔会从皮埃尔身边走过，拉着他的一只手，往下按，心不在焉地把他那刮得光光的布满皱纹的面颊伸给他亲吻，并且说：“明天见”，或者说：“来吃顿午饭，要不然我就看不见你了”，或者说：“我为你特地留在家里”以及其他诸如此类的话。虽然瓦西里公爵为皮埃尔而特地留在家里（正如他所说的），但是他和他说不上两句话。皮埃尔觉得不能辜负他的期望。他每天都对自己说着同样的话：“总得了解她，弄个明白，她是个怎样的人？我以前出了差错，还是现在出了差错？不，她并不傻，不，她是一个顶好的女郎！”他有时自言自语地说。“她从来没有出过什么差错，她从来没有说过什么蠢话。他少于言谈，可是她说的话总是言简意赅。她并不愚蠢。她从来不会忸怩不安，现在也不会忸怩不安。她真的不是坏女人啊！”他常常遇到和她交谈的机会，她每次都回答他的话：或者随便说句简短的话，表示她不感兴趣；或者报以沉默的笑意和眼神，极其明显地向皮埃尔显示她的优越性。她认为，同她的微笑相比，一切议论都是胡诌，她的看法是对的。

她对他总是露出欢快而信赖的微笑，这是在他一人面前流露的微笑，比起她平素为美容而露出的纯朴的微笑，含有更为深长的意味。皮埃尔知道，众人等待的只是，他临了说出一句话，越过已知的界线，他也知道，他迟早要越过这条界线。可是一当他想到这可怕的步骤，就有一种不可思议的恐惧把他笼罩住了。在这一个半月当中，皮埃尔自己觉得越来越远地被拖进那个使他害怕的深渊。他曾千次地对自己说：“这究竟是怎么回事？要有决心啊！难道我没有决心么？”

他想下定决心，但是他惊恐地感觉到，在这种场合下他竟缺乏他认为自己怀有、从前确实怀有的决心。他属于那些人之列，只有当那些人觉得自己完全纯洁的时候，他们才是强而有力的。他向安娜·帕夫洛夫娜弯下腰来拿鼻烟壶时所体会到的那种渴望的感觉把他控制住了，从那天起，这种渴望造成了他的不自觉的愧悔之感，麻痹了他的决心。

海伦的命名日的那一天，瓦西里公爵的几个最亲近的人——如公爵夫人所云，几个亲戚和友人，在瓦西里公爵家中用晚餐。所有这些亲戚和朋友都明白，这一天应当决定过命名日的女郎的命运。客人们正在吃晚饭。那个身材高大、从前长得俊俏而今仍然庄重的叫做库拉金娜的公爵夫人，在主人席上就坐。贵宾们——老将军和他的夫人以及安娜·帕夫洛夫娜、舍列尔在女主人两旁就坐；不太年老的贵宾们在餐桌末端就座，家里人也坐在那里作陪，皮埃尔和海伦并排坐着。瓦西里公爵不吃晚饭，他在餐桌近旁踱着方步，心情愉快地时而挨近这个客人坐下，时而挨近那个客人坐下。他漫不经心地对每个人说句动听的话，只有皮埃尔和海伦除外，他好像没有发觉他们在出席晚宴似的。瓦西里公爵使大家活跃起来。烛光璀璨，银质器皿和水晶玻璃器皿、女人们的服装和将军们的金银肩章闪烁着光辉。身穿红色长衫的仆人穿梭似地走来走去。可以听见刀子、酒杯、餐盘碰击的响声，这张餐桌的周围有几伙人正在热烈地交谈。可以听见，在餐桌的一端，有个年老的宫廷高级侍从硬要一个年老的男爵夫人相信他怀有热爱她的诚心，她听后哈哈大笑。另一端，有人在叙述某个玛丽亚·维克托罗夫娜遭受挫折的故事。靠近餐桌的中间，瓦西里公爵把听众聚集在他的身旁。他的嘴角上流露着诙谐的微笑，叙述最近一次（星期三）国务院会议的情形，在会议上彼得堡新任总督谢尔盖·库兹米奇·维亚济米季诺夫接获亚历山大·帕夫洛维奇皇帝从军队中发布并转交给他的著称于当时的圣旨，他宣读圣旨，皇帝在圣旨中告知谢尔盖·库兹米奇：他从四方接获百姓效忠皇上的宣言，彼得堡的宣言使他特别高兴。他引以自豪的是，他荣幸地担任这样一个国家的元首，他要竭力而为，使自己无愧于国家。圣旨开头写的是：“谢尔盖·库兹米奇！据各方传闻……”等等。

“念到‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇，'真的没有继续念下去吗？”

一个女士问道。

“是的，是的，一个字也没有多念，”瓦西里公爵一面发笑，一面回答。‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇……据各方传闻。据各方传闻。谢尔盖·库兹米奇……'可怜的维亚济米季诺夫无论怎样也没法念下去了。接连有几次他从头念起。但是一念到谢尔盖……就哽咽起来……库……兹米……奇，就眼泪长流……据各方传闻，语声就被哭声淹没了，他不能念下去了。又用手帕揩眼泪，又念‘谢尔盖·库兹米奇，据各方传闻'，又眼泪长流……于是请别人把它念完。”

“库兹米奇……据各方传闻……又眼泪长流……”有个什么人笑着重复这句话。

“不要狠毒啊，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜从餐桌的另一头伸出一个指头，装出威吓的样子，说道，我们的心地善良的维亚济米季洛夫，他是个挺好的人。

传来了一阵哄堂大笑。坐在贵宾席上的人们在各种不同的兴奋心情的影响下，看来都很愉快，只有皮埃尔和海伦沉默不言，几乎在餐桌的末端并排坐着，这两个人勉强忍住，没有流露出与谢尔盖·库兹米奇无关的喜洋洋的微笑，一种为自己的感情自觉得羞惭的微笑。无论人们谈论什么，怎样发笑，无论人们怎样津津有味地喝莱茵葡萄洒、吃软炸肉、吃冰激凌、吃浇汁菜，无论人们的目光怎样避开这对恋人，好像对他们冷漠无情，不予理睬，但不知怎的，从频频投向他们的目光来看，却使客人感觉到，谢尔盖·库兹米奇无论是打诨、发笑，还是狼吞虎咽，——全是装模作样的，这帮人的注意力都贯注在皮埃尔和海伦这对恋人身上。瓦西里公爵一面效法谢尔盖·库兹米奇呜咽的样子，一面向女儿瞟了一眼，在他发笑的时候，他的面部表情好像在说：“是的，是的，事事都很顺遂，今儿一切都能解决。”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜为心地善良的维亚济米季诺夫鸣不平，而向他做出威吓的姿势，这时她用闪闪发亮的眼睛望望皮埃尔，瓦西里公爵从她的目光中看出这是向他未来的女婿和女儿的幸福所表示的祝贺。年老的公爵夫人气忿地向她女儿瞥了一眼，愁闷地叹一口气，向邻坐的女客敬酒，这声叹息似乎是说：“是的，我亲爱的，如今我和您只有喝杯甜酒了；如今是这些年轻人大胆挑衅的幸福时刻。”那个外交官望着一对恋人的幸福的面容，心里想道：“我所讲的都是些蠢话，仿佛这会使我很感兴趣似的。看，这就是幸福啊！”

在把这群人一个个联系起来的人为的趣味之中，夹进了一对清秀而健康的男女青年互相倾心的纯朴的感情。这种人类的感情压倒了一切，支配着他们的虚伪的空谈。笑谑听来令人愁闷，新闻显得索然无味，热闹的景象原来是伪装的。不仅是他们，就连侍候饭桌的仆人仿佛也具有同样的感觉。他们入迷地望着美人儿海伦和她那容光焕发的脸盘，望着皮埃尔那副红彤彤的、肥胖的、显得幸福而心神不定的面孔，以致于忘记侍候客人。一支支烛光仿佛也只凝聚在这两张显得幸福的脸上。

皮埃尔觉得他自己是一切事物的中心，这种地位既使他高兴，又使他腼腆。他处于那种状态，就像某人埋头于一种业务似的。他什么也看不清楚，什么也不明白，什么也听不真切。他的心灵中只是有时意外地闪现出片断的思绪和现实的印象。

“一切就是这样完了吗！”他想道，“这一切都是怎样弄成的呢？真是太快了！我现在知道，不只是为了她一个人，也不是为了我一个人，而是为了众人，这件事情必然会实现。他们预料这件事必将出现，而且相信，这件事将能实现，所以我不能使他们失望。但是这件事将要怎样实现呢？我不知道，但它一定会实现！”皮埃尔想道，一面瞅着他眼睛旁边露出的她那发亮光滑的肩头。

时而他忽然不知为什么而感到害羞。他觉得不自在的是，他一个人吸引众人的注意，他在别人的眼睛中是个幸运的人，他的相貌长得丑陋，却成为占有海伦的帕里斯。“想必这总是常有的事，应当这样做，”他安慰自己，“但是我为这件事做了什么呢？这是什么时候开始的呢？我是和瓦西里公爵一起从莫斯科启程的。当时什么事都没有发生。后来我为什么没有在他家里居住？后来我和她一同打纸牌，替她拾起一个女式手提包，和她一道坐马车游玩。这是什么时候开始的，这一切是什么时候实现的？你看他现在成了未婚夫坐在她身旁，听见，看见，觉察到她的亲近，她的呼吸，她的一举一动，她的优美。时而他忽然觉得，不是她，而是他自己长得异常俊美，所以人们才这样注视他，于是，他因为引起众人的惊奇而深感幸福，他挺起胸，昂起头，为自己的幸福而高兴。忽然他听到一种声音，熟悉的声音，这种声音又对他说着什么话。可是皮埃尔着了迷，因此不明了别人对他说着什么话。

“我问你，什么时候你收到博尔孔斯基的信，”瓦西里公爵第三次重复地说，“我亲爱的，你是多么漫不经心啊。”

瓦西里公爵面露微笑，皮埃尔看见，大家都对他和海伦微露笑容。“既然你们都知道，那也没有什么，”皮埃尔自言自语地说，“这是实情，那又怎样呢？”他独自露出温顺而稚气的微笑，海伦也面露微笑。

“你究竟是什么时候接到的？是从奥尔米茨寄来的吧？”瓦西里公爵重说了一遍，他仿佛是要知道这件事才能调停论争似的。

“是不是可以考虑和谈论这种琐碎事呢？”皮埃尔想道。

“是的，信是从奥尔米茨寄来的。”他叹口气答道。

吃罢晚饭，皮埃尔带着他的女伴跟随其他来客步入客厅。客人们开始四散，有些人未向海伦告辞就乘车走了。有些人到她跟前呆一会儿，就连忙离开，不让海伦送他们，好像不想打断她干的正经事。那个外交官忧悒地默不作声，从客厅中走出来。他脑海中想到，他在外交场中的升迁，和皮埃尔的幸福相对比，不过是泡影。年老的将军的太太问到将军的腿病的时候，他愤怒地向她发了一顿牢骚。“啊唷，你这个老傻瓜，”他想了一下，“你看叶连娜·瓦西里耶夫娜（即海伦）就是到了五十岁还是个美人儿。”

“我好像可以向您道贺了，”安娜·帕夫洛夫娜向公爵夫人一面轻言细语地说，一面用劲地吻吻她。“若不是偏头痛，我就会留下来的。”

公爵夫人什么都不回答，她对自己女儿的幸福的妒嫉使她觉得苦恼。

送客出门时，皮埃尔一人和海伦在他们就坐的小客厅里呆了很久。此时以前，在最近一个半月里，他也时常一个人陪伴着海伦，但他从未向她吐露爱情。此时他觉得他非这样做不可。但是他无论怎样都拿不定主意去走最后一步路。他十分羞愧，仿佛觉得他在海伦身边占据别人的地位。“这种幸福不为我所有，”一种内心的声音告诉他，“这种幸福应为那些缺少你所占有之物的人所享受。”可是应该讲点什么话，他于是开口说了。他问她对今天的晚会是否感到满意。她仍然像平时那样，简简单单地作答，对她来说，今天的命名日是一次至为愉快的命名日。

近亲之中有些人还没有走。他们坐在大客厅里。瓦西里公爵拖着懒洋洋的步子走到皮埃尔跟前。皮埃尔站立起来，说天已经很晚了。瓦西里公爵用严肃而疑惑的目光望望他，好像他说的话很古怪，简直没法听进去。但是紧接着严肃的表情改变了，瓦西里公爵拉了拉皮埃尔的手，往下一按，让他坐下，亲切地微微一笑。

“啊，廖莉娅（海伦的爱称），怎么啦？”他立刻把脸转向女儿，带着他那温和而漫不经心的口吻说，那口吻是父母从儿女童年时代起就疼爱儿女所习惯用的，不过瓦西里公爵是从模仿别的父母中才领会到这种口吻的。

他又把脸转向皮埃尔，说道：

“谢尔盖·库兹米奇，据各方传闻。”他在扣紧背心最上面的一个钮扣时说道。

皮埃尔微微一笑，但是从他的微笑可以看出，他懂得，瓦西里公爵这时对谢尔盖·库兹米奇的笑话并不发生兴趣，瓦西里公爵也明白，皮埃尔了解这一点。瓦西里公爵忽然嘟哝了一阵，便走出去。皮埃尔仿佛觉得，就连瓦西里公爵也困惑不安。这个年老的上流社会人士的窘态感动了皮埃尔；他向海伦望了一眼，好像她也惶恐起来，她那眼神在说：“也没有什么，您自己有过错。”

“一定要跨越过去，可是我不能，我不能。”皮埃尔想道，又开口说到旁人，说到谢尔盖·库兹米奇，问到这是个什么笑话：

因为他没有听进去。海伦微露笑容回答，说她也不知道。

当瓦西里公爵向客厅走去时，公爵夫人向一个年迈的太太轻言细语地谈论皮埃尔的事情。

“当然罗，这是非常出色的配偶，我亲爱的，但是幸福……”“大凡婚事均为天作之合。”，年迈的太太答道。

瓦西里公爵好像没有去听太太们说话，他向远处的屋角走去，在一张长沙发上坐下。他闭上眼睛，好像在打瞌睡。他的头垂到胸前，可是接着醒过来了。

“Aline，”他对妻子说：“阿琳娜，你去看看他们在做什么。”

公爵夫人走到了门前，她装出一副意味深长而又冷漠的样子从门旁走过，向客厅瞥了一眼。皮埃尔和海伦还坐在那里聊天。

“还是那个样子。”她回答丈夫。

瓦西里公爵蹙起额角，把嘴巴撇到一边，脸上起了皱纹，他的两颊颤动起来，现出他所固有的令人厌恶的粗暴表情。他振作精神，站立起来，迈着坚定的脚步从太太们身边向小客厅走去。他很高兴地快步流星地走到皮埃尔跟前。公爵脸上流露出非常激昂的神情，皮埃尔望见他，吓了一跳，站起来。

“谢天谢地！”他说道，“妻子把什么都对我说了！”他用一只手抱住皮埃尔，用另一只手抱住女儿。“廖莉娅，我的亲人！我感到非常、非常高兴。”他的声音颤栗起来，“我热爱你的父亲……她将是你的好妻子……愿上帝为你们祝福！

……”

他抱住女儿，然后又抱住皮埃尔，用他那老年人的嘴吻吻他。他的眼泪真的浸湿了皮埃尔的面颊。

“我的公爵夫人，到这里来。”他喊道。

公爵夫人走出来，也哭起来了。这个年迈的太太也用手绢揩干眼泪。他们都吻了皮埃尔，他也吻了几次标致的海伦的手。过了一阵子，又让他们俩呆在一起了。

“这一切应当是这样的，不可能是另一个样子。”皮埃尔想道，因此这件事是好还是坏，没有什么可问的。好就好在事情决定了，以前折磨他的疑团消失了。皮埃尔沉默地握着未婚妻的手，注视着她那美丽的一起一伏的胸脯。

“海伦！”他大声地说，随即停住了。

“在这些场合人们会说些什么特别的话。”他想道，但是他无论怎样也没法想起，在这些场合人们究竟会说些什么话。他望望她的脸色。她愈加靠近他了。她的脸上泛起了红晕。

“嗐，摘下这个……就是这个……”她指着他的眼镜。

皮埃尔摘下眼镜，他的眼睛除开具有人们摘下眼镜后常有的怪相之外，它还惊慌而疑惑地张望。他想向她手边弯下腰来，吻吻她的手，可是她飞快地粗鲁地将脑袋向前移近，截住他的嘴唇，让它和自己的嘴唇相吻合。她的脸色变了，那种不愉快的、心慌意乱的表情使皮埃尔颇为惊讶。

“现在已经太晚了，一切都完了；不过我爱她。”皮埃尔想了想。

“我爱您！”他说道，想起了在这些场合要说什么话；但是这句话听来贫乏无味，以致他为自己羞愧。

过了一个半月，他结婚了，人人都说他是个拥有美丽的妻子和数百万家财的幸运者，他在彼得堡的一栋重新装修的别祖霍夫伯爵大楼中住下来。

CHAPTER III

Chinese

IN THE DECEMBER of 1805, the old Prince Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky received a letter from Prince Vassily, announcing that he intended to visit him with his son. (“I am going on an inspection tour, and of course a hundred versts is only a step out of the way for me to visit you, my deeply-honoured benefactor,” he wrote. “My Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, and I hope you will permit him to express to you in person the profound veneration that, following his father's example, he entertains for you.”)

“Well, there's no need to bring Marie out, it seems; suitors come to us of themselves,” the little princess said heedlessly on hearing of this. Prince Nikolay Andreitch scowled and said nothing.

A fortnight after receiving the letter, Prince Vassily's servants arrived one evening in advance of him, and the following day he came himself with his son.

Old Bolkonsky had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vassily's character, and this opinion had grown stronger of late since Prince Vassily had, under the new reigns of Paul and Alexander, advanced to high rank and honours. Now from the letter and the little princess's hints, he saw what the object of the visit was, and his poor opinion of Prince Vassily passed into a feeling of ill-will and contempt in the old prince's heart. He snorted indignantly whenever he spoke of him. On the day of Prince Vassily's arrival, the old prince was particularly discontented and out of humour. Whether he was out of humour because Prince Vassily was coming, or whether he was particularly displeased at Prince Vassily's coming because he was out of humour, no one can say. But he was out of humour, and early in the morning Tihon had dissuaded the architect from going to the prince with his report.

“Listen how he's walking,” said Tihon, calling the attention of the architect to the sound of the prince's footsteps. “Stepping flat on his heels … then we know …”

At nine o'clock, however, the old prince went out for a walk, as usual, wearing his short, velvet, fur-lined cloak with a sable collar and a sable cap. There had been a fall of snow on the previous evening. The path along which Prince Nikolay Andreitch walked to the conservatory had been cleared; there were marks of a broom in the swept snow, and a spade had been left sticking in the crisp bank of snow that bordered the path on both sides. The prince walked through the conservatories, the servants' quarters, and the out-buildings, frowning and silent.

“Could a sledge drive up?” he asked the respectful steward, who was escorting him to the house, with a countenance and manners like his own.

“The snow is deep, your excellency. I gave orders for the avenue to be swept too.”

The prince nodded, and was approaching the steps. “Glory to Thee, O Lord!” thought the steward, “the storm has passed over!”

“It would have been hard to drive up, your excellency,” added the steward. “So I hear, your excellency, there's a minister coming to visit your excellency?” The prince turned to the steward and stared with scowling eyes at him.

“Eh? A minister? What minister? Who gave you orders?” he began in his shrill, cruel voice. “For the princess my daughter, you do not clear the way, but for the minister you do! For me there are no ministers!”

“Your excellency, I supposed …”

“You supposed,” shouted the prince, articulating with greater and greater haste and incoherence. “You supposed … Brigands! blackguards! … I'll teach you to suppose,” and raising his stick he waved it at Alpatitch, and would have hit him, had not the steward instinctively shrunk back and escaped the blow. “You supposed … Blackguards! …” he still cried hurriedly. But although Alpatitch, shocked at his own insolence in dodging the blow, went closer to the prince, with his bald head bent humbly before him, or perhaps just because of this, the prince did not lift the stick again, and still shouting, “Blackguards! … fill up the road …” he ran to his room.

Princess Marya and Mademoiselle Bourienne stood, waiting for the old prince before dinner, well aware that he was out of temper. Mademoiselle Bourienne's beaming countenance seemed to say, “I know nothing about it, I am just the same as usual,” while Princess Marya stood pale and terrified with downcast eyes. What made it harder for Princess Marya was that she knew that she ought to act like Mademoiselle Bourienne at such times, but she could not do it. She felt, “If I behave as if I did not notice it, he'll think I have no sympathy with him. If I behave as if I were depressed and out of humour myself, he'll say (as indeed often happened) that I'm sulky …” and so on.

The prince glanced at his daughter's scared face and snorted.

“Stuff!” or perhaps “stupid!” he muttered. “And the other is not here! they've been telling tales to her already,” he thought, noticing that the little princess was not in the dining-room.

“Where's Princess Liza?” he asked. “In hiding?”

“She's not quite well,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne with a bright smile; “she is not coming down. In her condition it is only to be expected.”

“H'm! h'm! kh! kh!” growled the prince, and he sat down to the table. He thought his plate was not clean: he pointed to a mark on it and threw it away. Tihon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little princess was quite well, but she was in such overwhelming terror of the prince, that on hearing he was in a bad temper, she had decided not to come in.

“I am afraid for my baby,” she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne; “God knows what might not be the result of a fright.”

The little princess, in fact, lived at Bleak Hills in a state of continual terror of the old prince, and had an aversion for him, of which she was herself unconscious, so completely did terror overbear every other feeling. There was the same aversion on the prince's side, too; but in his case it was swallowed up in contempt. As she went on staying at Bleak Hills, the little princess became particularly fond of Mademoiselle Bourienne; she spent her days with her, begged her to sleep in her room, and often talked of her father-in-law, and criticised him to her.

“We have company coming, prince,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, her rosy fingers unfolding her dinner-napkin. “His excellency Prince Kuragin with his son, as I have heard say?” she said in a tone of inquiry.

“H'm! … his excellence is an upstart. I got him his place in the college,” the old prince said huffily. “And what his son's coming for, I can't make out. Princess Lizaveta Karlovna and Princess Marya can tell us, maybe; I don't know what he's bringing his son here for. I don't want him.” And he looked at his daughter, who turned crimson.

“Unwell, eh? Scared of the minister, as that blockhead Alpatitch called him to-day?”

“Non, mon père.”

Unsuccessful as Mademoiselle Bourienne had been in the subject she had started, she did not desist, but went on prattling away about the conservatories, the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and after the soup the prince subsided.

After dinner he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess was sitting at a little table gossiping with Masha, her maid. She turned pale on seeing her father-in-law.

The little princess was greatly changed. She looked ugly rather than pretty now. Her cheeks were sunken, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes were hollow.

“Yes, a sort of heaviness,” she said in answer to the prince's inquiry how she felt.

“Isn't there anything you need?”

“Non, merci, mon père.”

“Oh, very well then, very well.”

He went out and into the waiting-room. Alpatitch was standing there with downcast head.

“Filled up the road again?”

“Yes, your excellency; for God's sake, forgive me, it was simply a blunder.”

The prince cut him short with his unnatural laugh.

“Oh, very well, very well.” He held out his hand, which Alpatitch kissed, and then he went to his study.

In the evening Prince Vassily arrived. He was met on the way by the coachmen and footmen of the Bolkonskys, who with shouts dragged his carriages and sledge to the lodge, over the road, which had been purposely obstructed with snow again.

Prince Vassily and Anatole were conducted to separate apartments.

Taking off his tunic, Anatole sat with his elbows on the table, on a corner of which he fixed his handsome, large eyes with a smiling, unconcerned stare. All his life he had looked upon as an uninterrupted entertainment, which some one or other was, he felt, somehow bound to provide for him. In just the same spirit he had looked at his visit to the cross old gentleman and his rich and hideous daughter. It might all, according to his anticipations, turn out very jolly and amusing. “And why not get married, if she has such a lot of money? That never comes amiss,” thought Anatole.

He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance that had become habitual with him, and with his characteristic expression of all-conquering good-humour, he walked into his father's room, holding, his head high. Two valets were busily engaged in dressing Prince Vassily; he was looking about him eagerly, and nodded gaily to his son, as he entered with an air that said, “Yes, that's just how I wanted to see you looking.”

“Come, joking apart, father, is she so hideous? Eh?” he asked in French, as though reverting to a subject more than once discussed on the journey.

“Nonsense! The great thing for you is to try and be respectful and sensible with the old prince.”

“If he gets nasty, I'm off,” said Anatole. “I can't stand those old gentlemen. Eh?”

“Remember that for you everything depends on it.”

第三章

英文

一八○五年十二月间，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇·博尔孔斯基老公爵接到瓦西里公爵一封信，通知他，说他将偕同儿子前来造访。“我去各地视察，为晋谒您——晋谒至为尊敬的恩人，我认为走一百俄里路，自然不是走冤枉路，”他写道，“我的阿纳托利陪我同行，他就要入伍了。我希望，您能允许他亲自向您表示深厚的敬意。因为他效法父亲，所以他对您怀有深厚的敬意。”

“用不着把玛丽（即是玛丽亚）送到门外去，求婚的男子亲自会走到我们家里来。”矮小的公爵夫人听到这席话后，冒失地说道。

尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵蹙了蹙额角，什么话也没有说。

接到信后过了两个礼拜，一天晚上，瓦西里公爵的仆人先到了，翌日，他本人偕同儿子也到了。

博尔孔斯基老头子总是对瓦西里公爵的性格给予很低的评价，尤其是近来，当瓦西里公爵在保罗和亚历山大两个新朝代当政时期身任要职、光门耀祖之后，就愈加贬低他了。而目下，他从这封信和矮小的公爵夫人的暗示中明白了这是怎么一回事，他就由心灵深处对瓦西里公爵的非议转变为恶意的轻蔑。他谈论他时经常嗤之以鼻。在瓦西里公爵就要来临的那天，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵特别感到不满，心绪也不佳。是否因为瓦西里公爵就要来临，他才心情不佳，还是因为他心绪不佳，所以对瓦西里公爵的来临才特别感到不满，不过，他心绪确乎不佳。吉洪清早就劝告建筑师不要随带报告到公爵跟前去。

“您总听见，他走来走去，”吉洪说道，要建筑师注意听公爵的步履声。“他踮着整个后跟走路，我们就知道……”

但是，公爵像平时一样，八点多钟就穿着一件缝有黑貂皮领的天鹅绒皮袄，戴着一顶黑貂皮帽出去散步。前一天夜里下了一场雪。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇经常走的那条通往暖房的小路打扫得干干净净，在扫开的雪地上可以看见扫帚的痕迹，一把铁锹被插在小路两旁松散的雪堤上。老公爵走到暖房，之后又走到下房和木房，他蹙起额角，沉默不言。

“雪橇可以通行吗？”他向那个送他回家的相貌和风度俨像主人的受人敬爱的管家问道。

“大人，雪很深。我已经吩咐仆人把大马路打扫干净。”

公爵垂下头，走到台阶前。“谢天谢地，”管家想了想，“乌云过去了！”

“大人，通行是有困难的，”管家补充一句话。“大人，听说有一位大臣要来拜看大人，是吗？”

公爵把脸转向管家，用那阴沉的目光盯着他。

“怎么？有一位大臣？啥样的大臣？是谁吩咐的？”他用生硬而刺耳的嗓音说道。“没有给公爵小姐——我的女儿打扫马路，而要给这位大臣打扫马路！我这儿没有什么大臣啊！”

“大人，我以为……”

“你以为！”公爵喊道，他说话越来越急促，前言越来越搭不上后语。“你以为……土匪！骗子！我就来教你以为。”他抡起手杖，要向阿尔帕特奇打去，如果管家不是本能地闪开，他就打过来了。“你以为！……骗子手！”他急忙喊道。阿尔帕特奇竟敢躲避向他打来的一棍，大吃一惊，他向公爵近旁走去，服服帖帖地低下他的秃头，也许正因为这一点，公爵才继续叫喊：“骗子手！……填好这条路！”虽然如此，可是他再也没有抡起他的手杖，向屋里跑去。

午饭前，公爵小姐和布里安小姐都知道公爵的心绪恶劣，于是站在那儿恭候他。布里安小姐容光焕发，喜气洋洋，仿佛在说：“我一如平日，什么事情都不晓得。”玛丽亚公爵小姐面色惨白，心惊胆战，一对眼睛低垂着。玛丽亚公爵小姐觉得最苦恼的是：她知道在这种场合应当像布里安小姐那样处理事情，但是他没法做到。她仿佛觉得，“假若我装出一副不理会的样子，他就会以为我对他缺乏同情心，如果我觉得烦闷，情绪恶劣，他就会说（这是从前常有的情形），我垂头丧气。”其余可从此类推。

公爵望了望女儿惶恐的神态，气冲冲地开口说：

“废料……或者是个傻瓜！……”他说道。

“那一个没有到！她们真的诽谤她了。”他心中想到那个没有到餐厅来的矮小的公爵夫人。

“公爵夫人在哪里？”他问道。“躲起来了吗？……”

“她不太舒服，”布里安小姐面露愉快的微笑，说道，“她不会出来。在她那种情况下，这是可以理解的。”

“呣！呣！呣！呣！”公爵说道，在桌旁坐下。

他觉得盘子不干净，指了指盘子上的污点，把它扔了。吉洪接住盘子，递给小菜间的侍者。矮小的公爵夫人不是身体不舒服，而是她心里害怕公爵已经达到难以克服的地步，她一听见公爵的情绪恶劣，就决定闭门不出。

“我替孩子担心，”她对布里安小姐说道，“惶恐不安，天知道会出什么事。”

一般地说，矮小的公爵夫人住在童山，经常惶恐不安，对老公爵怀有一种她所意识不到的厌恶感，因为恐惧占了上风，所以她没有这种体会。从老公爵而言，他也怀有厌恶感，但是它被蔑视感冲淡了。矮小的公爵夫人在童山住惯了，特别疼爱布里安小姐，和她在一起过日子，请她在自己身边过夜，常常和她谈到老公公，将他评论一番。

“Ilnousarrivedumonde，monprince，”①布思安小姐用她那白里泛红的小手打开白餐巾时，说道，“SonexcellenceleprinceHenKouraguineavecavecsonfils，àcequej'aientenBdudire．”②她带着疑问的语调说。

①法语：公爵，客人要到我们这里来。

②法语：据我所听说的，是库拉金公爵大人偕同他的儿子。

“呣……这个excellence是小孩……我把他安排在委员会里供职，”老公爵带着蒙受屈辱的样子说。“儿子来干啥，我简直弄不明白。丽莎韦塔·卡尔洛夫娜（即是矮小的公爵夫人）和玛丽亚公爵小姐也许知道。我不知道他干嘛把儿子带到这里来。我用不着。”他望了望满面通红的女儿。

“你不舒服，是不是？就像今日阿尔帕特奇这个笨蛋所说的，你给大臣吓坏了。”

“不是的，monpère．”①

不管布里安小姐的话题怎样不妥当，但她并没有停住，还是喋喋不休地谈论暖房，谈论刚刚绽开的一朵鲜花的优美，公爵喝过汤之后，变得温和了。

午饭后，他去儿媳妇那儿走走。矮小的公爵夫人坐在小茶几旁和侍女玛莎絮絮叨叨地谈话。她看见老公公后，脸色变得苍白了。

矮小的公爵夫人变得很厉害了。现在与其说她好看，莫如说她丑陋。她两颊松垂，嘴唇翘起，眼皮耷拉着。

“是的，真难受。”公爵问她有什么感觉，她这样回答。

“需要什么吗？”

“merci，monpère，②不需要什么。”

①法语：爸爸。

②法语：爸爸，谢谢你。

“嗯，好，好。”

他走出来，走到堂倌休息室。阿尔帕特奇低下头来，在堂倌休息室里站着。

“把马路填好了吗？”

“大人，填好了。看在上帝份上，请原谅我这个糊涂人。”

公爵打断他的话，不自然地大笑起来。

“嗯，好，好。”

他伸出手来，阿尔帕特奇吻吻他的手，之后他走进了书斋。

傍晚，瓦西里公爵到了。车夫和堂倌们在大道上（大路被称为大道）迎接他。他们在故意撒上雪花的路上大喊大叫地把他的马车和雪橇拉到耳房前面。

他们拨给瓦西里公爵和阿纳托利两个单独的房间。

阿纳托利脱下无袖上衣，双手叉腰坐在桌前，面露微笑，瞪着他那双好看的大眼睛，目不转睛地心不在焉地凝视着桌子的一角。他把他的一辈子视为某人不知为什么应该给他安排的无休无止的纵情作乐。他也是这样看待他对这个凶狠的老头子和很有钱的丑陋的女继承人的走访的。照他的推测，这一切都会导致顺利的极为有趣的结局。“既然她很富有，干嘛不娶她为妻？这决不会造成障碍。”阿纳托利想道。

他刮了脸，照老习惯细心而讲究地给自己身上洒香水，带着他那生来如此的和善和洋洋自得的神态，高高地昂着漂亮的头，走进父亲的住房。两个老仆人给瓦西里公爵穿衣裳，在他身旁忙碌地干活。他兴致勃勃地向四周环顾，向走进来的儿子愉快地点点头，仿佛在说：“是的，我所需要的正是你这副样子！”

“爸爸，不，真的，她很丑陋吗？啊？”他用法国话问道，好像继续在谈旅行时不止一次地谈过的话题。

“够了，甭再说蠢话！主要的是，对老公爵要极力表示尊敬，言行要慎重。”

“如果他开口骂人，我就走开，”阿纳托利说道。“这些老头子我不能容忍。啊？”

“你要记住，对你来说，一切以此为转移。”

Meanwhile, in the feminine part of the household not only the arrival of the minister and his son was already known, but the appearance of both had been minutely described. Princess Marya was sitting alone in her room doing her utmost to control her inner emotion.

“Why did they write, why did Liza tell me about it? Why, it cannot be!” she thought, looking at herself in the glass. “How am I to go into the drawing-room? Even if I like him, I could never be myself with him now.” The mere thought of her father's eyes reduced her to terror. The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already obtained all necessary information from the maid, Masha; they had learned what a handsome fellow the minister's son was, with rosy cheeks and black eye-brows; how his papa had dragged his legs upstairs with difficulty, while he, like a young eagle, had flown up after him three steps at a time. On receiving these items of information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose eager voices were audible in the corridor, went into Princess Marya's room.

“They are come, Marie, do you know?” said the little princess, waddling in and sinking heavily into an armchair. She was not wearing the gown in which she had been sitting in the morning, but had put on one of her best dresses. Her hair had been carefully arranged, and her face was full of an eager excitement, which did not, however, conceal its wasted and pallid look. In the smart clothes which she had been used to wear in Petersburg in society, the loss of her good looks was even more noticeable. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, had put some hardly perceptible finishing touches to her costume, which made her fresh, pretty face even more attractive.

“What, and you are staying just as you are, dear princess. They will come in a minute to tell us the gentlemen are in the drawing-room,” she began. “We shall have to go down, and you are doing nothing at all to your dress.”

The little princess got up from her chair, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and eagerly began to arrange what Princess Marya was to wear, and to put her ideas into practice. Princess Marya's sense of personal dignity was wounded by her own agitation at the arrival of her suitor, and still more was she mortified that her two companions should not even conceive that she ought not to be so agitated. To have told them how ashamed she was of herself and of them would have been to betray her own excitement. Besides, to refuse to be dressed up, as they suggested, would have been exposing herself to reiterated raillery and insistence. She flushed; her beautiful eyes grew dim; her face was suffused with patches of crimson; and with the unbeautiful, victimised expression which was the one most often seen on her face, she abandoned herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Liza. Both women exerted themselves with perfect sincerity to make her look well. She was so plain that the idea of rivalry with her could never have entered their heads. Consequently it was with perfect sincerity, in the naïve and unhesitating conviction women have that dress can make a face handsome, that they set to work to attire her.

“No, really, ma bonne amie, that dress isn't pretty,” said Liza, looking sideways at Princess Marya from a distance; “tell her to put on you your maroon velvet there. Yes, really! Why, you know, it may be the turning-point in your whole life. That one's too light, it's not right, no, it's not!”

It was not the dress that was wrong, but the face and the whole figure of the princess, but that was not felt by Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess. They still fancied that if they were to put a blue ribbon in her hair, and do it up high, and to put the blue sash lower on the maroon dress and so on, then all would be well. They forgot that the frightened face and figure of Princess Marya could not be changed, and therefore, however presentable they might make the setting and decoration of the face, the face itself would still look piteous and ugly. After two or three changes, to which Princess Marya submitted passively, when her hair had been done on the top of her head (which completely changed and utterly disfigured her), and the blue sash and best maroon velvet dress had been put on, the little princess walked twice round, and with her little hand stroked out a fold here and pulled down the sash there, and gazed at her with her head first on one side and then on the other.

“No, it won't do,” she said resolutely, throwing up her hands. “No, Marie, decidedly that does not suit you. I like you better in your little grey everyday frock. No, please do that for me. Katya,” she said to the maid, “bring the princess her grey dress, and look, Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I'll arrange it,” she said, smiling with a foretaste of artistic pleasure. But when Katya brought the dress, Princess Marya was still sitting motionless before the looking-glass, looking at her own face, and in the looking-glass she saw that there were tears in her eyes and her mouth was quivering, on the point of breaking into sobs.

“Come, dear princess,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne, “one more little effort.”

The little princess, taking the dress from the hands of the maid, went up to Princess Marya.

“Now, we'll try something simple and charming,” she said. Her voice and Mademoiselle Bourienne's and the giggle of Katya blended into a sort of gay babble like the twitter of birds.

“No, leave me alone,” said the princess; and there was such seriousness and such suffering in her voice that the twitter of the birds ceased at once. They looked at the great, beautiful eyes, full of tears and of thought, looking at them imploringly, and they saw that to insist was useless and even cruel.

“At least alter your hair,” said the little princess. “I told you,” she said reproachfully to Mademoiselle Bourienne, “there were faces which that way of doing the hair does not suit a bit. Not a bit, not a bit, please alter it.”

“Leave me alone, leave me alone, all that is nothing to me,” answered a voice scarcely able to struggle with tears.

Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess could not but admit to themselves that Princess Marya was very plain in this guise, far worse than usual, but it was too late. She looked at them with an expression they knew well, an expression of deep thought and sadness. That expression did not inspire fear. (That was a feeling she could never have inspired in any one.) But they knew that when that expression came into her face, she was mute and inflexible in her resolutions.

“You will alter it, won't you?” said Liza, and when Princess Marya made no reply, Liza went out of the room.

Princess Marya was left alone. She did not act upon Liza's wishes, she did not re-arrange her hair, she did not even glance into the looking-glass. Letting her eyes and her hands drop helplessly, she sat mentally dreaming. She pictured her husband, a man, a strong, masterful, and inconceivably attractive creature, who would bear her away all at once into an utterly different, happy world of his own. A child, her own, like the baby she had seen at her old nurse's daughter's, she fancied at her own breast. The husband standing, gazing tenderly at her and the child. “But no, it can never be, I am too ugly,” she thought.

“Kindly come to tea. The prince will be going in immediately,” said the maid's voice at the door. She started and was horrified at what she had been thinking. And before going downstairs she went into the oratory, and fixing her eyes on the black outline of the great image of the Saviour, she stood for several minutes before it with clasped hands. Princess Marya's soul was full of an agonising doubt. Could the joy of love, of earthly love for a man, be for her? In her reveries of marriage, Princess Marya dreamed of happiness in a home and children of her own, but her chief, her strongest and most secret dream was of earthly love. The feeling became the stronger the more she tried to conceal it from others, and even from herself. “My God,” she said, “how am I to subdue in my heart these temptings of the devil? How am I to renounce for ever all evil thoughts, so as in peace to fulfil Thy will?” And scarcely had she put this question than God's answer came to her in her own heart. “Desire nothing for thyself, be not covetous, anxious, envious. The future of men and thy destiny too must be unknown for thee; but live that thou mayest be ready for all. If it shall be God's will to prove thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to obey His will.” With this soothing thought (though still she hoped for the fulfilment of that forbidden earthly dream) Princess Marya crossed herself, sighing, and went downstairs, without thinking of her dress nor how her hair was done; of how she would go in nor what she would say. What could all that signify beside the guidance of Him, without Whose will not one hair falls from the head of man?

这时，女仆居住的房里不仅获悉大臣偕同儿子光临的消息，而且对他们二人的外貌描述得详详细细。公爵小姐玛丽亚一人坐在自己房里，枉然地试图克制自己内心的激动。

“他们干嘛要写信，丽莎干嘛要对我谈到这件事呢？要知道这是不可能的！”她一面照镜子，一面自言自语地说。“我怎么走到客厅里去呢？如果我真的喜欢他，我此刻也不能独个儿和他在一块啦。”一想到父亲的目光，就使她胆寒。

矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐从侍女玛莎那里接获各种有用的情报，谈到某个面颊绯红、眉毛乌黑的美男子就是大臣的儿子，他父亲拖着两腿费劲地登上阶梯，而他竟像一只苍鹰，一举步就登上三级梯子，跟在他身后走去，矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐从走廊里就听见他们兴致勃勃的谈话声，获得这些情报后，就走进公爵小姐的房间。

“Ilssontarrivés，Marie，①您知道吗？”矮小的公爵夫人说道，她步履维艰，摇晃着她那大肚子，身子沉甸甸地坐到安乐椅上。

①法语：玛丽，他们到了。

她已经不穿早晨穿过的那件短上衣了，而是穿着一件挺好的连衣裙。她的头部经过细心梳理，神采奕奕，但仍旧遮掩不住邋遢的毫无生气的外貌。从她穿的这件在彼得堡交际场中常穿的服装来看，更显得难看多了。布里安小姐身上的服装也不易觉察地改观了，使她那美丽而鲜嫩的脸蛋平添上几分魅力。

“Ehbien，etvousrestezcommevousètes，chère

privncesse？”她说，“Onvavenivannoncer，quecesmessieurssontausalon，ilfaudradescendre，etvousnefaitespasunpetitbrindétoilette！①”

矮小的公爵夫人从安乐椅上站立起来，按铃呼唤侍女，急忙而又愉快地给公爵小姐玛丽亚的衣着出点子，并且着手给她穿衣服。公爵小姐玛丽亚觉得受委屈，有损她的自尊心，那个许配给她的未婚夫的来临，弄得她心情激动，使她更受委屈的是，她的两个女友预测这件事只能这样办，如果告诉她们说她为自己也为她们而感到羞愧的话，那就是说暴露了她自己的激动心情，如果拒绝她们给她穿着，势必会导致长时间的取笑和聒絮。她面红耳赤，一对美丽的眼睛变得无神了，脸上尽是红斑，她带着她脸上时常流露的牺牲者的难看的表情，受制于布里安小姐和丽莎。这两个女人十分真诚地想使她变得漂亮。她长得非常丑陋，她们之中谁也不会产生和她争妍斗艳的念头，因此她们是出自一片诚心，而且怀有女人们那种天真而坚定的信念，认为衣着可以使面容变得美丽，于是她们就着手给她穿上衣服。

“Malonneamie②，说实话，不行，这件连衣裙不美观，”丽莎说道，她从侧面远远地望着公爵小姐，“你那里有一件紫红色的连衣裙，吩咐人拿来！好吧，要知道，也许这就能决定一生的命运。可是这件连衣裙颜色太浅，不美观，不行，不美观！”

①法语：欸，您怎么还是穿着以前穿的那件衣服？马上就有人来说话，他们走出来了。得到楼下去，您略微打扮一下也好啊。

②法语：我的朋友。

不是连衣裙不美观，而是公爵小姐的脸盘和身材不美观，可是布里安小姐和矮小的公爵夫人没有觉察到这点。她们总是觉得，如果把一条天蓝色的绸带系在向上梳的头发上，并从棕色的连衣裙上披下一条天蓝色的围巾，等等，一切就会显得美观了。她们忘记，她那副惊恐的面孔和身体是无法改变的。所以，无论她们怎样改变外表并且加以修饰，但是她的面孔仍然显得难看，很不美观。公爵小姐玛丽亚温顺地听从她们三番两次地给她调换服装，然后把头发往上梳平（这个发式完全会改变并且影响她的脸型），披上一条天蓝色的围巾，穿上华丽的紫红色的连衣裙，这时矮小的公爵夫人在她周围绕了两圈左右，用一只小手弄平连衣裙上的皱褶，轻轻拽一拽围巾，时而从那边，时而从这边侧着头看看。

“不，还是不行的，”她两手举起轻轻一拍，坚决地说。

“Non，Marie，décidémentcanevousvapas．Jevousaimemieuxdansvotrepetiterobegrvisedetouslesjours．Non，degrace，faitescelapourmoi。①卡佳，”她对侍女说。“你给公爵小姐把那件浅灰色的连衣裙拿来，布里安小姐，您再看看我怎么安排这件事吧。”她带着一个演员预感到欢乐而流露的微笑，说道。

①法语：玛丽，不行，这件您穿来根本不合适。您穿您每日穿的那件浅灰色的连衣裙，我就更喜欢您了。请您为了我就这么办吧。

可是当卡佳把那件需要的连衣裙拿来的时候，公爵小姐玛丽亚还是一动不动地坐在镜台前面，端详着自己的脸蛋，卡佳从镜中望见，她的眼睛里噙满着泪水，她的嘴巴颤栗着，快要嚎啕大哭了。

“Voyons，chèreprincesse，”布里安小姐说道。“encoreunpetiteffort．”①

矮小的公爵夫人从侍女手中取来连衣裙，向公爵小姐玛丽亚面前走去。

“那样不行，现在我们要打扮得既简朴又好看。”她说道。

她的嗓音、布里安小姐的嗓音、还有那个因某事而发笑的卡佳的嗓音，汇合成类似鸟鸣的欢乐的呢喃声。

“Non，laissez－moi．”②公爵小姐说。

她的嗓音听来如此严肃、令人难受，飞鸟的呢喃声顿时停止了。她们望了望她那对美丽的大眼睛，眼睛噙满着泪水，深思熟虑地，炯炯有神地、恳求地望着她们，她们心里明白，继续坚持非但无益，反而残忍。

“Aumoinschangezdecoiffure．”矮小的公爵夫人说道，“Jeuousdissais，”她把脸转向布里安小姐，带着责备的腔调说，“Marieaunedecesfigures，auxquellesgenredecoffurenevapasdutout，Maisdutout，dutout．Changezdegrace．”③Laissez－moi，laissez－moi，toutcam'estparfaitementégal．”④可以听见勉强忍住眼泪的人回答的声音。

①法语：唉，公爵小姐，再克制一下自己吧。

②法语：不，请别管我好了。

③法语：“至少要改变发式。我对您说过。”“这种发式根本不适合玛丽这一类人的脸型。请您改变发式吧。”

④法语：别管我吧，我横竖一样。

布里安小姐和矮小的公爵夫人应当自己承认，公爵小姐玛丽亚这副样子很难看，较之平日更丑陋，可是已经太晚了。她脸上带有她们所熟悉的那种独立思考而又悲伤的表情不停地注视她们。这种表情并没有使她们产生对公爵玛丽亚小姐的畏惧心理。（她没有使任何人产生这种感觉。）但是她们知道，一当她脸上带有这种神态，她就会沉默不言，她一下定决心，就毫不动摇。

“Vouschangerez，n'est－cePas？”①丽莎说道，当玛丽亚公爵小姐一言未答的时候，丽莎从房里走出来了。

①法语：您准会换个发式的，是不是？

公爵小姐玛丽亚独自一人留下来了。她没有履行丽莎的意愿，不仅没有改变发式，而且没有对着镜子瞧瞧自己。她软弱无力地垂下眼帘和胳膊，默不作声地坐着，暗自思量着。她脑海中想象到一个丈夫，一个强而有力的男人，一个居于高位、具有不可思议的魅力的人士，他忽然把她带进一个完全不同的幸福的世界。她脑海中想象到她怀有一个自己的孩子，就是她昨日在乳妈的女儿那里看见的那个模样的孩子。丈夫在面前站着，温柔地望着她和孩子。“可是我想得不对，这是不可能的，我的相貌太丑了。”她心中想道。

“请您去饮茶。公爵马上要出来会客。”从门后可以听见侍女的说话声。

她清醒了，她对自己想到的事情大吃一惊。在下楼之前，她站立起来，走进供神像的礼拜室，她把视线集中在长明灯照耀的大型神像的黑脸膛上，把双手交叉起来，在神像面前站立几分钟。公爵小姐玛丽亚心头充满着痛楚的疑虑。她是否能够享受爱情的欢乐，人世间爱慕男人的欢乐？玛丽亚公爵小姐在产生结婚的念头之际，她心中所想望的是家庭的幸福和儿女，但是主要的至为强烈的宿愿，那就是人世间的爱情。她越是对旁人，甚至对她自己隐瞒感情，这种感情就越发强烈。“我的天啦，”她说道，“我怎么能够抑制我内心的这些魔鬼一般可怕的念头？我怎么能够永远抛弃这种坏主意？俾使我能心平气和地实现你的意愿？”她刚刚提出这个问题，上帝就在她心中作出了答复：“别为自己希图任何东西，用不着探求，用不着激动，更不宜嫉妒。对你来说，人们的未来和你的命运都不是应当知道的，为了不惜付出一切，你就得这样话下去。如果上帝要考验你对婚姻的责任心，你就得乐意去履行他的旨意。”公爵小姐玛丽亚怀有这种安于现状的思想（但仍旧指望她能够实现她得到已被封禁的尘世爱情的宿愿），她叹了一口气，在胸前画了十字，就走下楼去。她既不考虑连衣裙，也不考虑发式，更不考虑她怎样走进门去，说些什么话。因为没有上帝的旨意，就连一根毛发也不会从人的头上掉下来，这一切比起上帝的预先裁定，究竟能够意味着什么呢。

CHAPTER IV

Chinese

WHEN PRINCESS MARYA went into the room, Prince Vassily and his son were already in the drawing-room, talking to the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne. When she walked in with her heavy step, treading on her heels, the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose, and the little princess, with a gesture indicating her to the gentlemen, said: “Here is Marie!” Princess Marya saw them all and saw them in detail. She saw the face of Prince Vassily, growing serious for an instant at the sight of her, and then hastily smiling, and the face of the little princess, scanning the faces of the guests with curiosity to detect the impression Marie was making on them. She saw Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, with her ribbon and her pretty face, turned towards him with a look of more eagerness than she had ever seen on it. But him she could not see, she could only see something large, bright-coloured, and handsome moving towards her, as she entered the room. Prince Vassily approached her first; and she kissed his bald head, as he bent over to kiss her hand, and in reply to his words said, that on the contrary, she remembered him very well. Then Anatole went up to her. She still could not see him. She only felt a soft hand taking her hand firmly, and she touched with her lips a white forehead, over which there was beautiful fair hair, smelling of pomade. When she glanced at him, she was impressed by his beauty. Anatole was standing with the thumb of his right hand at a button of his uniform, his chest squared and his spine arched; swinging one foot, with his head a little on one side, he was gazing in silence with a beaming face on the princess, obviously not thinking of her at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, he was not ready, not eloquent in conversation, but he had that faculty, so invaluable for social purposes, of composure and imperturbable assurance. If a man of no self-confidence is dumb at first making acquaintance, and betrays a consciousness of the impropriety of this dumbness and an anxiety to find something to say, the effect will be bad. But Anatole was dumb and swung his leg, as he watched the princess's hair with a radiant face. It was clear that he could be silent with the same serenity for a very long while. “If anybody feels silence awkward, let him talk, but I don't care about it,” his demeanour seemed to say. Moreover, in his manner to women, Anatole had that air, which does more than anything else to excite curiosity, awe, and even love in women, the air of supercilious consciousness of his own superiority. His manner seemed to say to them: “I know you, I know, but why trouble my head about you? You'd be pleased enough, of course!” Possibly he did not think this on meeting women (it is probable, indeed, that he did not, for he thought very little at any time), but that was the effect of his air and his manner. Princess Marya felt it, and as though to show him she did not even venture to think of inviting his attention, she turned to his father. The conversation was general and animated, thanks to the voice and the little downy lip, that flew up and down over the white teeth of the little princess. She met Prince Vassily in that playful tone so often adopted by chatty and lively persons, the point of which consists in the assumption that there exists a sort of long-established series of jokes and amusing, partly private, humorous reminiscences between the persons so addressed and oneself, even when no such reminiscences are really shared, as indeed was the case with Prince Vassily and the little princess. Prince Vassily readily fell in with this tone, the little princess embellished their supposed common reminiscences with all sorts of droll incidents that had never occurred, and drew Anatole too into them, though she had scarcely known him. Mademoiselle Bourienne too succeeded in taking a part in them, and even Princess Marya felt with pleasure that she was being made to share in their gaiety.

“Well, anyway, we shall take advantage of you to the utmost now we have got you, dear prince,” said the little princess, in French, of course, to Prince Vassily. “Here it is not as it used to be at our evenings at Annette's, where you always ran away. Do you remember our dear Annette?”

“Ah yes, but then you mustn't talk to me about politics, like Annette!”

“And our little tea-table?”

“Oh yes!”

“Why is it you never used to be at Annette's?” the little princess asked of Anatole. “Ah, I know, I know,” she said, winking; “your brother, Ippolit, has told me tales of your doings. Oh!” She shook her finger at him. “I know about your exploits in Paris too!”

“But he, Ippolit, didn't tell you, did he?” said Prince Vassily (addressing his son and taking the little princess by the arm, as though she would have run away and he were just in time to catch her); “he didn't tell you how he, Ippolit himself, was breaking his heart over our sweet princess, and how she turned him out of doors.”

“Oh! she is the pearl of women, princess,” he said, addressing Princess Marya. Mademoiselle Bourienne on her side, at the mention of Paris, did not let her chance slip for taking a share in the common stock of recollections.

She ventured to inquire if it were long since Anatole was in Paris, and how he had liked that city. Anatole very readily answered the Frenchwoman, and smiling and staring at her, he talked to her about her native country. At first sight of the pretty Mademoiselle, Anatole had decided that even here at Bleak Hills he should not be dull. “Not half bad-looking,” he thought, scrutinising her, “she's not half bad-looking, that companion! I hope she'll bring her along when we're married,” he mused; “she is a nice little thing.”

The old prince was dressing deliberately in his room, scowling and ruminating on what he was to do. The arrival of these visitors angered him. “What's Prince Vassily to me, he and his son? Prince Vassily is a braggart, an empty-headed fool, and a nice fellow the son is, I expect,” he growled to himself. What angered him was that this visit revived in his mind the unsettled question, continually thrust aside, the question in regard to which the old prince always deceived himself. That question was whether he would ever bring himself to part with his daughter and give her to a husband. The prince could never bring himself to put this question directly to himself, knowing beforehand that if he did he would have to answer it justly, but against justice in this case was ranged more than feeling, the very possibility of life. Life without Princess Marya was unthinkable to the old prince, little as in appearance he prized her. “And what is she to be married for?” he thought; “to be unhappy, beyond a doubt. Look at Liza with Andrey (and a better husband, I should fancy, it would be difficult to find nowadays), but she's not satisfied with her lot.

And who would marry her for love? She's plain and ungraceful. She'd be married for her connections, her wealth. And don't old maids get on well enough? They are happier really!” So Prince Nikolay Andreivitch mused, as he dressed, yet the question constantly deferred demanded an immediate decision. Prince Vassily had brought his son obviously with the intention of making an offer, and probably that day or the next he would ask for a direct answer. The name, the position in the world, was suitable. “Well, I'm not against it,” the prince kept saying to himself, “only let him be worthy of her. That's what we shall see. That's what we shall see,” he said aloud, “that's what we shall see,” and with his usual alert step he walked into the drawing-room, taking in the whole company in a rapid glance. He noticed the change in the dress of the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon, and the hideous way in which Princess Marya's hair was done, and the smiles of the Frenchwoman and Anatole, and the isolation of his daughter in the general talk. “She's decked herself out like a fool!” he thought, glancing vindictively at his daughter. “No shame in her; while he doesn't care to speak to her!”

He went up to Prince Vassily.

“Well, how d'ye do, how d'ye do, glad to see you.”

“For a friend that one loves seven versts is close by,” said Prince Vassily, quoting the Russian proverb, and speaking in his usual rapid, self-confident, and familiar tone. “This is my second, I beg you to love him and welcome him, as they say.”

Prince Nikolay Andreivitch scrutinised Anatole.

“A fine fellow, a fine fellow!” he said. “Well, come and give me a kiss,” and he offered him his cheek. Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity and perfect composure, waiting for some instance of the eccentricity his father had told him to expect.

The old prince sat down in his customary place in the corner of the sofa, moved up an armchair for Prince Vassily, pointed to it, and began questioning him about political affairs and news. He seemed to be listening with attention to what Prince Vassily was saying, but glanced continually at Princess Marya.

“So they're writing from Potsdam already?” He repeated Prince Vassily's last words, and suddenly getting up, he went up to his daughter.

“So it was for visitors you dressed yourself up like this, eh?” he said. “Nice of you, very nice. You do your hair up in some new fashion before visitors, and before visitors, I tell you, never dare in future to change your dress without my leave.”

“It was my fault…” stammered the little princess, flushing.

“You are quite at liberty,” said the old prince, with a scrape before his daughter-in-law, “but she has no need to disfigure herself—she's ugly enough without that.” And he sat down again in his place, taking no further notice of his daughter, whom he had reduced to tears.

第四章

英文

当公爵玛丽亚小姐走进屋里来的时候，瓦西里公爵和他的儿子已经呆在客厅里了，他们父子正跟矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐交谈。当她踮着后跟、拖着沉重的脚步走进来的时候，男人们和布里安小姐都欠起身子，矮小的公爵夫人在男人们面前指着她，说道：“VoilàMarie！”①公爵小姐玛丽亚看见众人，她看得非常仔细。她看见瓦西里公爵的面孔，在他看见她的时候，他脸上有一阵子显得严肃，但立即微微一笑。她还看见矮小的公爵夫人的面庞，公爵夫人怀着好奇的心情从客人们的脸上观察到玛丽给客人们造成的印象。她看见布里安小姐系着绸带，面容俊俏，把她那前所未有的兴奋的目光集中在他身上；但是公爵小姐没法看见他，她所看见的只是一个耀眼而漂亮的大块头，正当她走进来时向她身边靠拢。瓦西里公爵先走到她身边，她在他弯下腰来吻吻她的手的时候，吻了吻他的秃头，对他问的话作了回答，说她非但没有把他忘却，反而记得一清二楚。后来阿纳托利走到她跟前。她还没有望见他。她只感觉到一只温柔的手用力地握住她的手，她轻轻地碰了碰他那洁白的前额，额头上的淡褐色的秀发抹上了一层发蜡。当她望望他的时候，他的俊美的相貌使她大为惊讶。阿纳托利把右手的大拇指夹在制服钮扣后面，胸部向前挺起，背脊向后微倾，摇晃着一只伸出的腿，略微垂下头，默不作声，快活地望着公爵小姐，他显然完全没有去想她。阿纳托利在言谈方面并不机智，也不能言善辩，但是他倒具有交际场中认为可贵的那种泰然自若和以不变应万变的自信的本能。一个缺乏自信心的人初次与人结识时如果不作声，而又意识到沉默很不体面，想随便说说，那末，到头来一定不妙。但是阿纳托利沉默不言，摇晃着他的一条腿，喜悦地观赏公爵小姐的发型。可以看出，他能够这样久久地保持镇静和沉默。“假如这种沉默会使谁觉得很不自在，那就让他开腔吧，我可不愿意说话。”他那副模样仿佛这样说。除此而外，在与女人交往方面，阿纳托利具有一种轻视一切、凌驾于他人之上的派头。他这种派头最容易引起女人的好奇、恐惧、甚至爱慕。他那副模样仿佛在对她们说：“我知道你们，我知道，干嘛要跟你们打交道？你们可真会高兴极了！”也许他遇见女人时并没有想到这一点（十之八九他没有这种思想，因为他很少动脑筋思考），可是他竟有这样的神态，这样的派头。公爵小姐已经有了这种感觉，她仿佛要向他表白，她并没有想把他迷住的勇气，于是向老公爵转过脸去。大家都兴致勃勃地谈着一般的话题，这多亏矮小的公爵夫人的动听的嗓音和她那翘在洁白的牙齿外面的长着茸毛的小嘴唇，她用爱说话的快活人常用的戏谑方式接待瓦西里公爵，使用这种方式的先决条件是，交谈者之间具有一套早已定型的笑话，以及令人愉快的不为尽人皆知的可笑的回忆，而在事实上这种回忆是没有的，矮小的公爵夫人和瓦西里公爵之间也没有这样的回忆。瓦西里公爵心甘情愿地听从这种腔调的摆布，矮小的公爵夫人也引诱庶几不认识的阿纳托利来回忆一些从未发生的滑稽可笑的事情。布里安小姐也一同回忆这些虚构的往事，就连公爵小姐玛丽亚也高兴地感觉到她自己已被卷入这些令人愉快的回忆中了。

①法语：这就是玛丽。

“您看，亲爱的公爵，我们现在至少要充分地享受您带来的欢乐，”矮小的公爵夫人对瓦西里公爵说，不言而喻，是用法国话说的，“这可不会像在安内特家中举办的晚会上那样了，您在那里总是溜之大吉，您还记得cettechereAnBnette！”①

“哎，您不要像安内特那样对我谈论政治啊！”

“可是，我们那张茶几呢？”

“噢，是的！”

“您干嘛从来不到安内特那里去呢？”矮小的公爵夫人向阿纳托利问道。“啊，我知道，我知道，”她使个眼色，说着，“您哥哥伊波利特把您的事讲给我听了。噢！”她伸出指头来威吓他。“我还知道您在巴黎闹的恶作剧啊！”

“而他——伊波利特没有告诉你吗？”瓦西里公爵说道（把脸转向儿子，一把抓住公爵夫人的手），仿佛她想溜掉，仿佛她想溜掉，他差点儿没有把她留住似的，“他却没有告诉你，他自己——伊波利特，想这个可爱的公爵夫人想得苦恼不堪，而她lemettaitlaote？”②”？

“Oh！C'estlaperledesfemmes，princesse！”③他把脸转向公爵小姐说道。

①法语：这个可爱的安内特吧。

②法语：把他赶出家门了。

③法语：公爵小姐，咳，这是妇女中的一个最可贵的人。

布里安小姐一听到巴黎这个词，就不放过机会，也参与大家回忆往事的谈话。

她竟敢问到阿纳托利是不是离开巴黎很久了，他喜不喜欢这个城市。阿纳托利很乐意地回答这个法国女人提出的问题，他面露微笑地打量着她。和她谈论有关她祖国的情形。阿纳托利看见貌美的布里安小姐之后，心中就断定，童山这个地方是不会令人感到寂寞的。“长得很不错！”他一面想道，一面望着她。“这个demoiselledécompagnie①长得很不错。我希望在她嫁给我时，把她带到身边来，”他想了想，“lapetiteestgentille。”②

①法语：女伴。

②法语：长得很不错，很不错。

老公爵在书斋里不慌不忙地穿上衣服，蹙起额角，周密地考虑他要怎样对付。这些客人的到来使他恼怒了。“瓦西里公爵和他的爱子与我何干？瓦西里公爵是个胸无点墨的吹牛家，儿子，得啦，未必能成材。”他暗自唠叨地说。惹他生气的是，这些客人的到来在他心灵中掀起一个悬而未决的经常搁置的问题，即是老公爵一贯自我欺骗的那个问题。这个问题就在于，他是否有决心在某个时候和公爵小姐玛丽亚断绝来往，让她出阁。公爵从来下不了决心向自己直截了当地提出这个问题，因为他事先知道，他会公平合理地回答这个问题，而公平合理的做法和他的感情相抵触，尤其是和他的谋生的才能相抵触。虽然他似乎不太珍惜公爵小姐玛丽亚，但是缺乏她，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵的生活是不可思议的。

“她为什么要嫁人呢？”他想，“想必是个不幸的女人。你看，丽莎嫁给安德烈（目下似乎很难找到更好的丈夫），她满意她自己的命运么？谁会出于爱慕而娶她为妻呢？她长得难看，又笨拙。有人准会为了关系和财富而娶她为妻的。难道就不能继续过处女生活吗？那更幸福啊！”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵一面穿衣服，一面这么想。可是那个束之高阁的问题却要求立刻加以解决。瓦西里公爵把他的儿子带来了，很明显是有求婚的打算，也许就是今天或明天要求率直的回答。名望和社会地位还不错。“好吧，我就不反对，”老公爵喃喃自语地说，“但愿他配得上她。我们要看的正是这一层。”

“我们要看的正是这一层，”他大声地说，“我们要看的正是这一层。”

他像平日那样，迈着矫健的脚步走进客厅，飞快地向众人扫了一眼，他看见矮小的公爵夫人的一件换了的连衣裙、布里安系着的绸带、玛丽亚公爵小姐的难看的发式、布里安和阿纳托利流露的微笑、他自己的公爵小姐在众人谈话中的孤独。“她打扮得像个蠢货！”他愤恨地朝女儿瞟了一眼，心里想了想，“毫无廉耻！他根本不想和她交往！”

他走到瓦西里公爵面前。

“啊，你好，你好，看见你，我真高兴。”

“为了看看好朋友，多绕七里路也不嫌远，”瓦西里公爵开口说道，像平常那样，他说得很快，充满自信，而且亲切。

“这是我的第二个儿子，请您垂爱照拂。”

尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵望了望阿纳托利。

“好样的，好样的！”他说道，“喂，你来吻吻我吧。”他于是向他伸出面颊。

阿纳托利吻了吻老头，好奇地、十分冷静地望着他，等待着，看他父亲的怪脾气会不会马上发作。

尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵坐在他平常坐的长沙发角上，替瓦西里公爵把安乐椅移到自己身边，指了指安乐椅，便开始询问政治事件和新闻。他仿佛聚精会神地聆听瓦西里公爵的讲话，但又不停地注视公爵小姐玛丽亚。

“这么说，是从波茨坦写来的信吗？”他重复瓦西里公爵最后说的一句话，忽然站立起来，走到他女儿面前。

“你为客人们才这样打扮，是吗？”他说道，“好看，很好看。客人们在场，看见你梳个新颖的发式，我却要在客人面前告诉你，未经我许可，你以后不得擅自改变衣着。”

“monpeve，①这是我的罪过。”矮小的公爵夫人面红耳赤，为她鸣不平。

①法语：爸爸。

“随您的便，”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵说道，在儿媳妇面前并足致礼，“她用不着丑化自己，本来就够丑的了。”

他又坐到原来的位子上，不再去理会给惹得双眼流泪的女儿。

“On the contrary, that coiffure is extremely becoming to the princess,” said Prince Vassily.

“Well, my young prince, what's your name?” said the old prince, turning to Anatole. “Come here, let us talk to you a little and make your acquaintance.”

“Now the fun's beginning,” thought Anatole, and with a smile he sat down by the old prince.

“That's it; they tell me, my dear boy, you have been educated abroad. Not taught to read and write by the deacon, like your father and me. Tell me, are you serving now in the Horse Guards?” asked the old man, looking closely and intently at Anatole.

“No, I have transferred into the line,” answered Anatole, with difficulty restraining his laughter.

“Ah! a good thing. So you want to serve your Tsar and your country, do you? These are times of war. Such a fine young fellow ought to be on service, he ought to be on service. Ordered to the front, eh?”

“No, prince, our regiment has gone to the front. But I'm attached. What is it I'm attached to, papa?” Anatole turned to his father with a laugh.

“He is a credit to the service, a credit. What is it I'm attached to! Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the old prince, and Anatole laughed still louder. Suddenly the old prince frowned. “Well, you can go,” he said to Anatole. With a smile Anatole returned to the ladies.

“So you had him educated abroad, Prince Vassily? Eh?” said the old prince to Prince Vassily.

“I did what I could, and I assure you the education there is far better than ours.”

“Yes, nowadays everything's different, everything's new-fashioned. A fine fellow! a fine fellow! Well, come to my room.” He took Prince Vassily's arm and led him away to his study.

Left alone with the old prince, Prince Vassily promptly made known to him his wishes and his hopes.

“Why, do you imagine,” said the old prince wrathfully, “that I keep her, that I can't part with her? What an idea!” he protested angrily. “I am ready for it to-morrow! Only, I tell you, I want to know my future son-in-law better. You know my principles: everything open! To-morrow I will ask her in your presence; if she wishes it, let him stay on. Let him stay on, and I'll see.” The prince snorted. “Let her marry, it's nothing to me,” he screamed in the piercing voice in which he had screamed at saying good-bye to his son.

“I will be frank with you,” said Prince Vassily in the tone of a crafty man, who is convinced of the uselessness of being crafty with so penetrating a companion. “You see right through people, I know. Anatole is not a genius, but a straightforward, good-hearted lad, good as a son or a kinsman.”

“Well, well, very good, we shall see.”

As is always the case with women who have for a long while been living a secluded life apart from masculine society, on the appearance of Anatole on the scene, all the three women in Prince Nikolay Andreivitch's house felt alike that their life had not been real life till then. Their powers of thought, of feeling, of observation, were instantly redoubled. It seemed as though their life had till then been passed in darkness, and was all at once lighted up by a new brightness that was full of significance.

Princess Marya did not remember her face and her coiffure. The handsome, open face of the man who might, perhaps, become her husband, absorbed her whole attention. She thought him kind, brave, resolute, manly, and magnanimous. She was convinced of all that. Thousands of dreams of her future married life were continually floating into her imagination. She drove them away and tried to disguise them.

“But am I not too cold with him?” thought Princess Marya. “I try to check myself, because at the bottom of my heart I feel myself too close to him. But of course he doesn't know all I think of him, and may imagine I don't like him.”

And she tried and knew not how to be cordial to him.

“The poor girl is devilish ugly,” Anatole was thinking about her.

Mademoiselle Bourienne, who had also been thrown by Anatole's arrival into a high state of excitement, was absorbed in reflections of a different order. Naturally, a beautiful young girl with no defined position in society, without friends or relations, without even a country of her own, did not look forward to devoting her life to waiting on Prince Nikolay Andreivitch, to reading him books and being a friend to Princess Marya. Mademoiselle Bourienne had long been looking forward to the Russian prince, who would have the discrimination to discern her superiority to the ugly, badly dressed, ungainly Russian princesses—who would fall in love with her and bear her away. And now this Russian prince at last had come. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew a story she had heard from her aunt, and had finished to her own taste, which she loved to go over in her own imagination. It was the story of how a girl had been seduced, and her poor mother (sa pauvre mère) had appeared to her and reproached her for yielding to a man's allurements without marriage. Mademoiselle was often touched to tears, as in imagination she told “him,” her seducer, this tale. Now this “he,” a real Russian prince, had appeared. He would elope with her, then “my poor mother” would come on the scene, and he would marry her. This was how all her future history shaped itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's brain at the very moment when she was talking to him of Paris. Mademoiselle Bourienne was not guided by calculations (she did not even consider for one instant what she would do), but it had all been ready within her long before, and now it all centred about Anatole as soon as he appeared, and she wished and tried to attract him as much as possible.

The little princess, like an old warhorse hearing the blast of the trumpet, was prepared to gallop off into a flirtation as her habit was, unconsciously forgetting her position, with no ulterior motive, no struggle, nothing but simple-hearted, frivolous gaiety in her heart.

Although in feminine society Anatole habitually took up the attitude of a man weary of the attentions of women, his vanity was agreeably flattered by the spectacle of the effect he produced on these three women. Moreover, he was beginning to feel towards the pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bourienne that violent, animal feeling, which was apt to come upon him with extreme rapidity, and to impel him to the coarsest and most reckless actions.

After tea the party moved into the divan-room, and Princess Marya was asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole leaned on his elbow facing her, and near Mademoiselle Bourienne, and his eyes were fixed on Princess Marya, full of laughter and glee. Princess Marya felt his eyes upon her with troubled and joyful agitation. Her favourite sonata bore her away to a world of soul-felt poetry, and the feeling of his eyes upon her added still more poetry to that world. The look in Anatole's eyes, though they were indeed fixed upon her, had reference not to her, but to the movements of Mademoiselle's little foot, which he was at that very time touching with his own under the piano. Mademoiselle Bourienne too was gazing at Princess Marya, and in her fine eyes, too, there was an expression of frightened joy and hope that was new to the princess.

“How she loves me!” thought Princess Marya. “How happy I am now and how happy I may be with such a friend and such a husband! Can he possibly be my husband?” she thought, not daring to glance at his face, but still feeling his eyes fastened upon her.

When the party broke up after supper, Anatole kissed Princess Marya's hand. She was herself at a loss to know how she had the hardihood, but she looked straight with her short-sighted eyes at the handsome face as it came close to her. After the princess, he bent over the hand of Mademoiselle Bourienne (it was a breach of etiquette, but he did everything with the same ease and simplicity) and Mademoiselle Bourienne crimsoned and glanced in dismay at the princess.

“Quelle délicatesse!” thought Princess Marya. “Can Amélie” (Mademoiselle's name) “suppose I could be jealous of her, and fail to appreciate her tenderness and devotion to me?” She went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne and kissed her warmly. Anatole went to the little princess.

“No, no, no! When your father writes me word that you are behaving well, I will give you my hand to kiss.” And shaking her little finger at him, she went smiling out of the room.

“对公爵小姐来说，这个发式倒是很合适的。”瓦西里公爵说道。

“啊，老兄，年轻的公爵叫什么名字？”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇把脸转向阿纳托利，说道，“请到这里来，我们谈谈，认识一下。”

“是开始娱乐的时候了。”阿纳托利想了想，面露微笑，在老公爵身边坐下来。

“听我说，我亲爱的，据说您是在国外接受教育的。我和您父亲不一样，教我们识字的是个教堂的执事。我亲爱的，请您说给我听，您今儿在骑兵近卫军供职吗？”老头子靠近阿纳托利，目不转睛地望着他，问道。

“不，我已经调到陆军来了。”阿纳托利答道，勉强忍住了，没有笑出声来。

“啊！这是件好事。我亲爱的，怎么样？您愿意为沙皇和祖国效劳吗？目前是战争时期。这样一个英俊的小伙子应当服役，应当服役。上前线，怎样？”

“不，公爵。我们的兵团出动了。可我只是挂个名。爸爸，我在哪个编制内挂名呀？”阿纳托利放声大笑，把脸转向父亲，说道。

“干得挺不错，挺不错。我在哪个编制内挂名呀！哈——

哈——哈！”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵笑了起来。

阿纳托利的笑声更响亮。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵忽然皱起了眉头。

“也好，你去吧。”他对阿纳托利说。

阿纳托利含着笑意又走到女士们跟前。

“瓦西里公爵，要知道你是在国外培养他们的，是吗？”老公爵把脸转向瓦西里公爵时，说道。

“当时我尽力而为，我告诉您，那里的教育比我们的教育办得好得多。”

“是啊，现在什么都不一样了，什么都要按新方式来办理。

英俊的小伙子，棒小伙子！喂，到我那里去吧。”

他挽着瓦西里公爵的手，把他领进了书斋。

瓦西里公爵和老公爵单独留下来之后，他马上向他表明自己的意向和希望。

“你竟以为，”老公爵气忿地说，“我把她留在身边，不能和她断绝往来吗？有人会这样想象！”他怒气冲冲地说。“即令是明天分手我也不在乎！我告诉你的只是，我要熟悉女婿的情形。你知道我的规矩：一切都直言不讳！我明日在你面前来问问，只要她愿意，就让他多住些日子。让他多住些日子，我看个究竟。”公爵气呼呼地说。“让她嫁出去，我横竖一样。”他用他和儿子离别时常用的刺耳的嗓音喊道。

“我率直地告诉您，”瓦西里公爵说道，那腔调就像一个狡猾的人确信他在交谈者的洞察之下用不着耍滑头似的。“您真是把人看透了。阿纳托利并不是天才，却是个诚实而善良的小伙子，挺好的儿子和亲人。”

“嗯，嗯，好的，我们以后看得出来。”

正如孤单的女人长期在缺少男伴的生活中常见的情形那样，阿纳托利一出现，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵家中的三个女人都同样地感觉到，在这时以前她们的生活简直不是生活。她们的思考、感觉和洞察能力顿时增强了十倍，她们以前仿佛在黑暗中度过的生活忽然被那前所未有的充满现实意义的光辉照亮了。

公爵小姐玛丽亚根本不在思忖，也不记得她自己的面孔和发式。那个未来也许是她的丈夫的人的俊美而且显得坦率的面孔吸引着她的全部注意力。她仿佛觉得他很慈善、英勇、坚定、豁达，而且富有男子气概。她对这一点是坚信不疑的。千个未来家庭生活的幻影在她想象中不断地出现。她驱散这些幻影，极力把它们隐藏起来。

“不过我对他是不是太冷淡了？”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道，“我极力地克制自己，因为我在灵魂深处觉得自己和他太接近了，可是他真的不知道我对他有什么想法，他可能在想象中以为我很讨厌他。”

公爵小姐玛丽亚尽力地盛情招待新来的客人，可是她不在行。

“Lapauvrvefille！Elleestdiablementlaide，”①阿纳托利心中想着她。

①法语：可怜的女郎！长得像鬼一般丑陋。

阿纳托利的来临也使得布里安小姐极度兴奋，不过她的想法有所不同了。当然，这个年轻而貌美的女郎没有一定的社会地位，没有亲戚朋友，甚至没有自己的祖国，她不想献出她的一生去侍候尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵，替他朗读一本一本的书，并与公爵小姐玛丽亚结成知己。布里安小姐很早就在等待一个俄国公爵，这个俄国公爵立即看清她优越于那帮丑陋、衣着不美观、笨手笨脚的俄国公爵小姐，他必将钟情于她，并且将她带走。现在这个俄国公爵终于来到了。布里安小姐曾经听她姑母叙述一段故事，故事是由她亲自续完的，她喜欢在想象中重述这个故事。故事中提到一个受引诱的女郎，她那可怜的母亲（sapauvremère）在她眼前出现，责备她，因为她未经结婚就与一个男人发生性关系。布里安小姐在想象中给他——勾引者——叙述这段故事时，时常感动得双眼流泪。此刻这个他，真正的俄国公爵，出现了。他要将她带走，后来mapauvremère来了，他于是娶她为妻。当布里安小姐跟他谈论巴黎时，在她头脑中逐渐地形成她的未来的全部经历。不是有什么打算指引着布里安小姐（她甚至连一分钟也没有考虑她要怎么办），而是这一切早已在她心灵中酝酿成熟了，现在只须在眼前出现的阿纳托利周围加以集中起来，她希望他会喜欢她，而且尽可能地引起他的爱慕。

矮小的公爵夫人就像兵团的一匹老马似的，一听见号声，就不自觉地习惯于准备飞奔，她连自己怀孕的事也置之脑后，很快就卖弄起风骚来了，好在她别无用心，亦无内在的斗争，只是怀有一种轻浮而稚气的愉快情绪而已。

虽然阿纳托利在这帮女人中常使他自己处于那样一种地位，就像某人被女人追逐而觉得厌烦一样，但是他看见他对这三个女人已产生影响，于是感到虚荣心的满足。此外，他开始对这个俊俏而爱挑衅的布里安怀有一种狂热的兽性的感觉，这种感觉产生得异常神速，促使他采取最大胆的粗暴的行动。

饮茶完毕，这群人走进休息室，他们都请公爵小姐弹弹击弦古钢琴，阿纳托利靠近布里安小姐，他在公爵小姐玛丽亚面前支撑着臂肘，一对眼睛含着笑意，欢快地注视着她。公爵小姐玛丽亚怀着痛楚、喜悦而又激动的心情，觉察到向她投射的目光。一支她所喜爱的奏鸣曲把她带进沁人肺腑的诗的领域，而那个被她觉察到的向她投射的目光，却给这个领域增添了更多的诗情。但是阿纳托利的视线虽说是集中在她身上，被注意的却不是她，而是布里安小姐那只小脚的动作，他正用他的一只脚在击弦古钢琴下面碰碰她的那只小脚。布里安小姐也瞅着公爵小姐，公爵小姐玛丽亚在她那对美丽的眸子里觉察到也有一种前所未有的惊喜而又充满希望的表情。

“她多么爱我！”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道。“现在我多么幸福，我有这样一个朋友和这样一个丈夫会是多么幸福！难道他会成为丈夫吗？”她想道，却不敢朝他脸上望一眼，老是觉察到那种凝视她的目光。

夜晚，晚饭后大家开始四散的时候，阿纳托利吻了吻公爵小姐的手。她自己并不知道，她怎么能够鼓足勇气，直勾勾地望望凑近她那对近视眼的美丽的面孔。他从公爵小姐身边走开后，又前去吻吻布里安小姐的手（这是不够体面的，但他却随便而又自信地这样做了），布里安小姐涨红了脸，惊恐地瞧瞧公爵小姐。

“Quelledelicatesse，”①公爵小姐想了想。“难道阿梅莉（有人这样称呼布里安小姐）以为，我会吃她的醋，就不去赏识她对我的纯洁的温情和忠诚吗？”她走到布里安小姐面前，使劲地吻吻她。阿纳托利向前走去吻吻矮小的公爵夫人的手。

“Non，non，non！Quandvotrepèrem'écriraque

vousvousconduisezbien，jevousdonneraimamainàbaiser，Pasavant。”②

①法语：多么和蔼可亲。

②法语：不，不，不！当您父亲写信告诉我，说您表现得蛮好，我才让您吻吻我的手。先吻就不行。

她向上伸出指头，微露笑容，从房里走出去了。

CHAPTER V

Chinese

THEY ALL WENT to their rooms, and except Anatole, who fell asleep the instant he got into bed, no one could get to sleep for a long while that night. “Can he possibly be—my husband, that stranger, that handsome, kind man; yes, he is certainly kind,” thought Princess Marya, and a feeling of terror, such as she scarcely ever felt, came upon her. She was afraid to look round; it seemed to her that there was some one there—the devil, and he was that man with his white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips.

She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her room.

Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and down the winter garden for a long while that evening, in vain expectation of some one; at one moment she was smiling at that some one, the next, moved to tears by an imaginary reference to ma pauvre mère reproaching her for her fall.

The little princess kept grumbling to her maid that her bed had not been properly made. She could not lie on her side nor on her face. She felt uncomfortable and ill at ease in every position. Her burden oppressed her, oppressed her more than ever that night, because Anatole's presence had carried her vividly back to another time when it was not so, and she had been light and gay. She sat in a low chair in her nightcap and dressing-jacket. Katya, sleepy and dishevelled, for the third time beat and turned the heavy feather bed, murmuring something.

“I told you it was all in lumps and hollows,” the little princess repeated; “I should be glad enough to go to sleep, so it's not my fault.”

And her voice quivered like a child's when it is going to cry.

The old prince too could not sleep. Tihon, half asleep, heard him pacing angrily up and down and blowing his nose. The old prince felt as though he had been insulted through his daughter. The insult was the more bitter because it concerned not himself, but another, his daughter, whom he loved more than himself. He said to himself that he would think the whole matter over thoroughly and decide what was right and what must be done, but instead of doing so, he only worked up his irritation more and more.

“The first stray comer that appears! and father and all forgotten, and she runs upstairs, and does up her hair, and rigs herself out, and doesn't know what she's doing! She's glad to abandon her father! And she knew I should notice it. Fr…fr…fr…And don't I see the fool has no eyes but for Bourienne (must get rid of her). And how can she have so little pride, as not to see it? If not for her own sake, if she has no pride, at least for mine. I must show her that the blockhead doesn't give her a thought, and only looks at Bourienne. She has no pride, but I'll make her see it…”

By telling his daughter that she was making a mistake, that Anatole was getting up a flirtation with Mademoiselle Bourienne, the old prince knew that he would wound her self-respect, and so his object (not to be parted from his daughter) would be gained, and so at this reflection he grew calmer. He called Tihon and began undressing.

“The devil brought them here!” he thought, as Tihon slipped his nightshirt over his dried-up old body and his chest covered with grey hair.

“I didn't invite them. They come and upset my life. And there's not much of it left. Damn them!” he muttered, while his head was hidden in the nightshirt. Tihon was used to the prince's habit of expressing his thoughts aloud, and so it was with an unmoved countenance that he met the wrathful and inquiring face that emerged from the nightshirt.

“Gone to bed?” inquired the prince.

Tihon, like all good valets, indeed, knew by instinct the direction of his master's thoughts. He guessed that it was Prince Vassily and his son who were meant.

“Their honours have gone to bed and put out their lights, your excellency.”

“They had no reason, no reason…” the prince articulated rapidly, and slipping his feet into his slippers and his arms into his dressing-gown, he went to the couch on which he always slept.

Although nothing had been said between Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne, they understood each other perfectly so far as the first part of the romance was concerned, the part previous to the pauvre mère episode. They felt that they had a great deal to say to each other in private, and so from early morning they sought an opportunity of meeting alone. While the princess was away, spending her hour as usual with her father, Mademoiselle Bourienne was meeting Anatole in the winter garden.

That day it was with even more than her usual trepidation that Princess Marya went to the door of the study. It seemed to her not only that every one was aware that her fate would be that day decided, but that all were aware of what she was feeling about it. She read it in Tihon's face and in the face of Prince Vassily's valet, who met her in the corridor with hot water, and made her a low bow.

The old prince's manner to his daughter that morning was extremely affectionate, though strained. That strained expression Princess Marya knew well. It was the expression she saw in his face at the moments when his withered hands were clenched with vexation at Princess Marya's not understanding some arithmetical problem, and he would get up and walk away from her, repeating the same words over several times in a low voice.

He came to the point at once and began talking. “A proposal has been made to me on your behalf,” he said, with an unnatural smile. “I dare say, you have guessed,” he went on “that Prince Vassily has not come here and brought his protégé” (for some unknown reason the old prince elected to refer to Anatole in this way) “for the sake of my charms. Yesterday, they made me a proposal on your behalf. And as you know my principles, I refer the matter to you.”

“How am I to understand you, mon père?” said the princess, turning pale and red.

“How understand me!” cried her father angrily. “Prince Vassily finds you to his taste as a daughter-in-law, and makes you a proposal for his protégé. That's how to understand it. How understand it!… Why, I ask you.”

“I don't know how you, mon père…” the princess articulated in a whisper.

“I? I? what have I to do with it? leave me out of the question. I am not going to be married. What do you say? that's what it's desirable to learn.”

The princess saw that her father looked with ill-will on the project, but at that instant the thought had occurred to her that now or never the fate of her life would be decided. She dropped her eyes so as to avoid the gaze under which she felt incapable of thought, and capable of nothing but her habitual obedience: “My only desire is to carry out your wishes,” she said; “if I had to express my own desire…”

She had not time to finish. The prince cut her short. “Very good, then!” he shouted. “He shall take you with your dowry, and hook on Mademoiselle Bourienne into the bargain. She'll be his wife, while you…” The prince stopped. He noticed the effect of these words on his daughter. She had bowed her head and was beginning to cry.

“Come, come, I was joking, I was joking,” he said. “Remember one thing, princess; I stick to my principles, that a girl has a full right to choose. And I give you complete freedom. Remember one thing; the happiness of your life depends on your decision. No need to talk about me.”

第五章

英文

大家都四散了，除开阿纳托利一上床就立刻睡着而外，这一夜没有谁不是很久才入睡的。

“难道他——这个陌生、貌美而又慈善的男人就是我的丈夫吗？主要的是，他很慈善，”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道，一种她几乎从未感觉到的恐惧把她控制住了。她害怕向四面打量，她仿佛觉得有人站帏围屏后面昏暗的角落。而这个人就是他——魔鬼，而他就是这个额头雪白、眉毛乌黑、嘴唇绯红的男人。

她按铃把侍女喊来，要侍女在她房里睡觉。

这天夜里布里安小姐在花房里来回地踱了很久，徒然地等待某人，她时而面对某人微笑，时而竟被想象中的pauvremere（可怜的母亲）责备她堕落的话语感动得双眼流泪。

矮小的公爵夫人对着侍女说埋怨话，埋怨她没有把床铺好，她觉得侧卧不行，仰卧也不行，睡起来总是难受，很不自在。她的怀孕的肚子妨碍她了。现在比任何时候更加碍事，阿纳托利在她面前，使她更为生动地回想起往日的韶光，当时她身未怀胎，觉得什么都轻松愉快。她穿着一件短上衣，戴着一顶睡帽，坐在安乐椅上。卡佳的辫发散乱，睡意正浓，一面嘟哝着，一面第三次抖松和翻转沉重的绒毛褥子。

“我跟你说过，到处都是凹凸不平的，”矮小的公爵夫人反复地说，“我倒高高兴兴地睡着哩，可见不是我的过失。”她像个想哭的儿童似的，嗓音颤抖起来了。

老公爵也没有睡觉。吉洪在睡梦中听见他很愤怒地踱着方步，发出鼻嗤声。老公爵觉得他为女儿蒙受屈辱。这是最大的屈辱，因为蒙受屈辱的不是他自己，而是别人，是他疼爱得甚于他自己的女儿。他对自己说，他要反复思量这整个问题，如发现它是正确的，就应该处理，可是他没有这样做，他只是使他自己更加忿怒而已。

“只要遇见头一个男人，就把父亲，把一切忘得干干净净，她跑着，梳好头发，摇动尾巴，不成样子了！抛弃父亲才高兴啦！她明明知道，我会看得出来的。呸……呸……呸……我难道看不见，这个笨蛋只是盯着布里安（应当把她撵走）！缺乏自尊感，哪能明白这一点！既然没有自尊感，顾不着自己也罢，至少也要顾全我的人格。应当给她讲明白，这个笨蛋没有去想她，只是盯着布里安。她没有自尊感，可我要给她讲明这一点……”

老公爵告诉女儿，说她正误入歧途，阿纳托利存心追求布里安，老公爵知道，他将会损害公爵小姐玛丽亚的自尊心，他的事儿（不愿离开他女儿）也就能办成，因此他就安下心来。他喊了一声吉洪，开始脱衣裳。

“鬼让他们到这里来！”当吉洪给他这个干瘦的胸前长满斑白汗毛的老头身上披起一件睡衣的时候，他心中想道。“我没有邀请他们。他们来破坏我的生活，我所剩下的日子并不多了。”

“见鬼去吧！”当他的头还套在睡衣里的时候，他说道。

吉洪知道公爵有时候会有出声地表达思维的习惯，所以在公爵把脸从睡衣里露出来时，他仍然面不变色，与他那疑问而恼怒的目光相遇。

“他们都睡了吗？”公爵问道。

吉洪就像所有的好仆役那样，专凭嗅觉就知道老爷的思想倾向。他已猜中老爷要问的就是瓦西里公爵和他的儿子。

“大人，他们都睡了，连灯也熄了。”

“不必，不必……”公爵很快地说道，他把脚伸进便鞋里，把手伸进长衫里，向他睡的长沙发走去。

虽然阿纳托利和布里安小姐之间什么都没有谈妥，但是在那pauvremere抵达之前，他们对恋爱初阶的意义，彼此都是完全了解的，他们心里也了解，他们要在私下多多交谈，因此从清晨起他们就去寻找两人单独会面的机会。而当公爵小姐在平时规定的时刻去看父亲的时候，布里安小姐便和阿纳托利在温室里相会。

是日，公爵小姐玛丽亚不寻常地哆嗦着走到书斋门口。她仿佛觉得，不仅人人都晓得今日就要决定她的命运，而且都晓得她对这件事有什么想法。从吉洪的脸上，从瓦西里公爵的近侍的脸上，她都能看到这种表情，正在此时瓦西里公爵的近侍手上提着热水在走廊里遇见她，并且向她深深地行了一鞠躬礼。

这天早上老公爵对女儿表示特别殷勤和关心的态度。这是公爵小姐玛丽亚心里十分清楚的。每逢公爵小姐玛丽亚不懂算术题，公爵烦恼得把那双干瘦的手紧紧地握成拳头，站立起来，从她身边走开，并且用他那低沉的嗓音将一句同样的话重说数遍的时候，他脸上才流露出这种表情。

他立刻开始谈论正经事，说话时用“您”称呼。

“有人在我面前向您求婚，”他说道，不自然地露出微笑。

“我想，您猜中了，”他继续说，“瓦西里公爵到这里来了，随身带来一个他培养的人（尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵不知怎的竟然把阿纳托利称为接受培养的人），目的不是一饱我的眼福。昨天他们在我面前向您求过婚。因为您知道我的规矩，所以我就来跟您商量一下。”

“monpeve（父亲），我怎样才能理解您的意思？”公爵小姐脸上红一阵，白一阵，她这样说。

“怎样才能理解呀！”父亲怒气冲冲地喊道。“瓦西里公爵照他自己的口味找你做个儿媳妇，替他培养的人向你求婚。就是要这么理解。怎么理解吗？！由我来问你。”

“monpeve，我不知道您要怎么样。”公爵小姐轻言细语地说。

“我？我？我怎么样？甭管我吧。又不是我要嫁人。您怎么样，就是要知道这点。”

公爵小姐看见父亲不怀好意地看待这件事，但是就在那同一瞬间她心中想到，她一生的命运或者是现在决定，或者是永远不能决定。她垂下眼帘，想不和父亲的目光相遇，在他的目光影响下，他觉得她不能思索，只能习惯地唯唯诺诺，她说道：

“我所希望的只有一点——履行您的意旨，”她说。“假如要我表示自己的愿望……”

她还没有来得及说完，公爵就打断了她的话。

“妙极了！”他喊道。“他要把你连同嫁妆一起带走，顺带也把布里安小姐带走。她以后当个太太，而你……”

公爵停了下来。他发现这席话对女儿所产生的影响。她低下头，想要哭出声来。

“也罢，也罢，我在开玩笑，我在开玩笑，”他说。“要记住一点，公爵小姐，我遵守那种做人的原则，少女有选择对象的充分权利。我赐予你以自由。要记住一点：你一生的幸福有赖于你作出的决定。关于我是没有什么可说的。”

“But I don't know…father.”

“No need for talking! He's told to, and he's ready to marry any one, but you are free to choose.… Go to your own room, think it over, and come to me in an hour's time and tell me in his presence: yes or no. I know you will pray over it. Well, pray if you like. Only you'd do better to think. You can go.”

“Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!” he shouted again as the princess went out of the room, reeling in a sort of fog. Her fate was decided, and decided for happiness. But what her father had said about Mademoiselle Bourienne, that hint was horrible. It was not true, of course, but still it was horrible; she could not help thinking of it. She walked straight forward through the winter garden, seeing and hearing nothing, when all of a sudden she was roused by the familiar voice of Mademoiselle Bourienne. She lifted her eyes, and only two paces before her she saw Anatole with his arms round the Frenchwoman, whispering something to her. With a terrible expression on his handsome face, Anatole looked round at Princess Marya, and did not for the first second let go the waist of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who had not seen her.

“Who's there? What do you want? Wait a little!” was what Anatole's face expressed. Princess Marya gazed blankly at them. She could not believe her eyes. At last Mademoiselle Bourienne shrieked and ran away. With a gay smile Anatole bowed to Princess Marya, as though inviting her to share his amusement at this strange incident, and with a shrug of his shoulders he went to the door that led to his apartment.

An hour later Tihon came to summon Princess Marya to the old prince, and added that Prince Vassily was with him. When Tihon came to her, Princess Marya was sitting on the sofa in her own room holding in her arms the weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Marya was softly stroking her head. Her beautiful eyes had regained all their luminous peace, and were gazing with tender love and commiseration at the pretty little face of Mademoiselle Bourienne.

“Oh, princess, I am ruined for ever in your heart,” Mademoiselle Bourienne was saying.

“Why? I love you more than ever,” said Princess Marya, “and I will try to do everything in my power for your happiness.”

“But you despise me, you who are so pure, you will never understand this frenzy of passion. Ah, it is only my poor mother …”

“I understand everything,” said Princess Marya, smiling mournfully. “Calm yourself, my dear. I am going to my father,” she said, and she went out.

When the princess went in, Prince Vassily was sitting with one leg crossed high over the other, and a snuff-box in his hand. There was a smile of emotion on his face, and he looked as though moved to such an extreme point that he could but regret and smile at his own sensibility. He took a hasty pinch of snuff.

“Ah, my dear, my dear!” he said, getting up and taking her by both hands. He heaved a sigh, and went on: “My son's fate is in your hands. Decide, my good dear, sweet Marie, whom I have always loved like a daughter.” He drew back. There was a real tear in his eye.

“Fr … ffr …” snorted the old prince. “The prince in his protégé's … his son's name makes you a proposal. Are you willing or not to be the wife of Prince Anatole Kuragin? You say: yes or no,” he shouted, “and then I reserve for myself the right to express my opinion. Yes, my opinion, and nothing but my opinion,” added the old prince, to Prince Vassily in response to his supplicating expression, “Yes or no!”

“My wish, mon père, is never to leave you; never to divide my life from yours. I do not wish to marry,” she said resolutely, glancing with her beautiful eyes at Prince Vassily and at her father.

“Nonsense, fiddlesticks! Nonsense, nonsense!” shouted the old prince, frowning. He took his daughter's hand, drew her towards him and did not kiss her, but bending over, touched her forehead with his, and wrung the hand he held so violently that she winced and uttered a cry. Prince Vassily got up.

“My dear, let me tell you that this is a moment I shall never forget, never; but, dear, will you not give us a little hope of touching so kind and generous a heart. Say that perhaps.… The future is so wide.… Say: perhaps.”

“Prince, what I have said is all that is in my heart. I thank you for the honour you do me, but I shall never be your son's wife.”

“Well, then it's all over, my dear fellow. Very glad to have seen you, very glad to have seen you. Go to your room, princess; go along now,” said the old prince. “Very, very glad to have seen you,” he repeated, embracing Prince Vassily.

“My vocation is a different one,” Princess Marya was thinking to herself; “my vocation is to be happy in the happiness of others, in the happiness of love and self-sacrifice. And at any cost I will make poor Amélie happy. She loves him so passionately. She is so passionately penitent. I will do everything to bring about their marriage. If he is not rich I will give her means, I will beg my father, I will beg Andrey. I shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is so unhappy, a stranger, solitary and helpless! And, my God, how passionately she must love him to be able to forget herself so. Perhaps I might have done the same!…” thought Princess Marya.