战争与和平(上)-第156节

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　serious　and　dreamy　face；　and　got　up。　“The　island　Madagascar；”　she　said。　“Mada…ga…scar；”　she　repeated；　articulating　each　syllable　distinctly；　and　making　no　reply　to　Madame　Schoss’s　inquiry　into　her　meaning；　she　went　out　of　the　room。
Petya；　her　brother；　was　upstairs　too。　He　was　engaged　with　his　tutor　making　fireworks　to　let　off　that　night。
“Petya！　Petya！”　she　shouted　to　him；　“carry　me　downstairs。”　Petya　ran　to　her　and　offered　her　his　back；　and　he　pranced　along　with　her。　“No；　enough。　The　island　Madagascar；”　she　repeated；　and　jumping　off　his　back　she　went　downstairs。
Having　as　it　were　reviewed　her　kingdom；　tried　her　power；　and　made　sure　that　all　were　submissive；　but　yet　that　she　was　dull；　Natasha　went　into　the　big　hall；　took　up　the　guitar；　and　sat　down　with　it　in　a　dark　corner　behind　a　bookcase。　She　began　fingering　the　strings　in　the　bass；　picking　out　a　phrase　she　recalled　from　an　opera　she　had　heard　in　Petersburg　with　Prince　Andrey。　For　other　listeners　the　sounds　that　came　from　her　guitar　would　have　had　no　sort　of　meaning；　but　these　sounds　called　up　in　her　imagination　a　whole　series　of　reminiscences。　She　sat　behind　the　bookcase　with　her　eyes　fixed　on　a　streak　of　light　that　fell　from　the　crack　in　the　pantry　door；　and　listened　to　herself　and　recalled　the　past。　She　was　in　the　mood　for　brooding　over　memories。
Sonya　crossed　the　hall；　and　went　into　the　pantry　with　a　glass　in　her　hand。　Natasha　glanced　at　her　through　the　crack　in　the　pantry　door；　and　it　seemed　to　her　that　she　remembered　the　light　falling　through　the　crack　in　the　pantry　door；　and　Sonya　passing　with　the　glass　in　just　the　same　way。　“Yes；　and　it　was　exactly　the　same　in　every　detail；”　thought　Natasha。
“Sonya；　what　is　this？”　called　Natasha；　twanging　the　thick　cord　with　her　fingers。
“Oh；　are　you　there？”　said　Sonya　starting；　and　she　came　up　and　listened。　“I　don’t　know。　A　storm？”　she　said　timidly；　afraid　of　being　wrong。
“Why；　she　started　in　just　the　same　way；　and　came　up　and　smiled　the　same　timid　smile　when　it　all　happened　before；”　thought　Natasha；　“and　just　in　the　same　way；　too。…I　thought　there　was　something　wanting　in　her。”
“No；　it’s　the　chorus　from　the　‘Water　Carrier；’　listen。”　And　Natasha　hummed　the　air　of　the　chorus；　so　that　Sonya　might　catch　it。　“Where　were　you　going？”　asked　Natasha。
“To　change　the　water　in　my　glass。　I　am　just　finishing　colouring　the　design。”
“You　always　find　something　to　do；　but　I　can’t；　you　know；”　said　Natasha。　“And　where’s　Nikolenka？”
“I　think　he’s　asleep。”
“Sonya；　do　go　and　wake　him；”　said　Natasha。　“Tell　him　I　want　him　to　sing　with　me。”
She　sat　a　little　longer；　pondering　on　what　was　the　meaning　of　its　all　having　happened　before；　and　not　solving　that　question；　and　not　in　the　least　chagrined　at　being　unable　to　do　so；　she　passed　again　in　her　imagination　to　the　time　when　she　was　with　him；　and　he　gazed　at　her　with　eyes　of　love。
“Oh；　if　he　would　come　quickly！　I’m　so　afraid　it　will　never　come！　And　worst　of　all；　I’m　getting　older；　that’s　the　thing。　There　won’t　be　in　me　what　there　is　in　me　now。　Perhaps　he　is　coming　to…day；　will　be　here　immediately。　Perhaps　he　has　come；　and　is　sitting　there　in　the　drawing…room。　Perhaps　he　did　come　yesterday；　and　I　have　forgotten。”　She　got　up；　put　down　her　guitar；　and　went　into　the　parlour。　All　their　domestic　circle；　tutors；　governesses；　and　guests　were　sitting　at　the　tea…table。　The　servants　were　standing　round　the　table。　But　Prince　Andrey　was　not　there；　and　the　same　old　life　was　still　going　on。
“Here　she　is；”　said　the　count；　seeing　Natasha　coming　in。　“Come；　sit　by　me。”　But　Natasha　stayed　by　her　mother；　looking　about　her　as　though　seeking　for　something。
“Mamma！”　she　said。　“Give　me　him；　give　me　him；　mamma；　quickly；　quickly；”　and　again　she　could　hardly　suppress　her　sobs。　She　sat　down　to　the　table　and　listened　to　the　talk　of　the　elders　and　Nikolay；　who　had　come　in　to　tea。　“My　God；　my　God；　the　same　people；　the　same　talk；　papa　holding　his　cup；　and　blowing　it　just　the　same　as　always；”　thought　Natasha；　feeling　with　horror　an　aversion　rising　up　in　her　for　all　her　family；　because　they　were　always　the　same。
After　tea　Nikolay；　Sonya；　and　Natasha　went　into　the　divan…room　to　their　favourite　corner；　where　their　most　intimate　talks　always　began。


Chapter　10
“DOES　IT　HAPPEN　to　you；”　said　Natasha　to　her　brother；　when　they　were　settled　in　the　divan…room；　“to　feel　that　nothing　will　ever　happen—nothing；　that　all　that　is　good　is　past？　And　it’s　not　exactly　a　bored　feeling；　but　melancholy？”
“I　should　think　so！”　said　he。　“It　has　sometimes　happened　to　me　that　when　everything’s　all　right；　and　every　one’s　cheerful；　it　suddenly　strikes　one　that　one’s　sick　of　it　all；　and　all　must　die。　Once　in　the　regiment　when　I　did　not　go　to　some　merrymaking；　and　there　the　music　was　playing…and　I　felt　all　at　once　so　dreary…”
“Oh；　I　know　that　feeling；　I　know　it；　I　know　it；”　Natasha　assented；　“even　when　I　was　quite　little；　I　used　to　have　that　feeling。　Do　you　remember；　once　I　was　punished　for　eating　some　plums；　and　you　were　all　dancing；　and　I　sat　in　the　schoolroom　sobbing。　I　shall　never　forget　it；　I　felt　sad　and　sorry　for　every　one；　sorry　for　myself；　and　for　every—every　one。　And　what　was　the　chief　point；　I　wasn’t　to　blame；”　said　Natasha；　“do　you　remember？”
“I　remember；”　said　Nikolay。　“I　remember　that　I　came　to　you　afterwards；　and　I　longed　to　comfort　you；　but　you　know；　I　felt　ashamed　to。　Awfully　funny　we　used　to　be。　I　had　a　wooden　doll　then；　and　I　wanted　to　give　it　you。　Do　you　remember？”
“And　do　you　remember；”　said　Natasha；　with　a　pensive　smile；　“how　long；　long　ago；　when　we　were　quite　little；　uncle　called　us　into　the　study　in　the　old　house；　and　it　was　dark；　we　went　in；　and　all　at　once　there　stood…”
“A　Negro；”　Nikolay　finished　her　sentence　with　a　smile　of　delight；　“of　course；　I　remember。　To　this　day　I　don’t　know　whether　there　really　was　a　Negro；　or　whether　we　dreamed　it；　or　were　told　about　it。”
“He　was　grey…headed；　do　you　remember；　and　had　white　teeth；　he　stood　and　looked　at　us…”
“Do　you　remember；　Sonya？”　asked　Nikolay。
“Yes；　yes；　I　do　remember　something　too；”　Sonya　answered　timidly。
“You　know　I　have　often　asked　both　papa　and　mamma　about　that　Negro；”　said　Natasha。　“They　say　there　never　was　a　Negro　at　all。　But　you　remember　him！”
“Of　course；　I　do。　I　remember　his　teeth；　as　if　it　were　to…day。”
“How　strange　it　is；　as　though　it　were　a　dream。　I　like　that。”
“And　do　you　remember　how　we　were　rolling　eggs　in　the　big　hall；　and　all　of　a　sudden　two　old　women　came　in；　and　began　whirling　round　on　the　carpet。　Did　that　happen　or　not？　Do　you　remember　what　fun　it　was？”
“Yes。　And　do　you　remember　how　papa；　in　a　blue　coat；　fired　a　gun　off　on　the　steps？”
Smiling　with　enjoyment；　they　went　through　their　reminiscences；　not　the　melancholy　memories　of　old　age；　but　the　romantic　memories　of　youth；　those　impressions　of　the　remotest　past　in　which　dreamland　melts　into　reality。　They　laughed　with　quiet　pleasure。
Sonya　was；　as　always；　left　behind　by　them；　though　their　past　had　been　spent　together。
Sonya　did　not　remember　much　of　what　they　recalled；　and　what　she　did　remember；　did　not　rouse　the　same　romantic　feeling　in　her。　She　was　simply　enjoying　their　pleasure；　and　trying　to　share　it。
She　could　only　enter　into　it　fully　when　they　recalled　Sonya’s　first　arrival。　Sonya　described　how　she　had　been　afraid　of　Nikolay；　because　he　had　cording　on　his　jacket；　and　the　nurse　had　told　her　that　they　would　tie　her　up　in　cording　too。
“And　I　remember；　I　was　told　you　were　found　under　a　cabbage；”　said　Natasha；　“and　I　remember　I　didn’t　dare　to　disbelieve　it　then；　though　I　knew　it　was　untrue；　and　I　felt　so　uncomfortable。”
During　this　conversation　a　maid　popped　her　head　in　at　a　door　leading　into　the　divan…room。
“Miss；　they’ve　brought　you　a　cock；”　she　said　in　a　whisper。
“I　don’t　want　it；　Polya；　tell　them　to　take　it　away；”　said　Natasha。
In　the　middle　of　their　talk　in　the　divan…room；　Dimmler　came　into　the　room；　and　went　up　to　the　harp　that　stood　in　the　corner。　He　took　off　the　cloth…case；　and　the　harp　gave　a　jarring　sound。　“Edward　Karlitch；　do；　please；　play　my　favourite　nocturne　of　M。　Field；”　said　the　voice　of　the　old　countess　from　the　drawing…room。
Dimmler　struck　a　chord；　and　turning　to　Natasha；　Nikolay；　and　Sonya；　he　said；　“How　quiet　you　young　people　are！”
“Yes；　we’re　talking　philosophy；”　said　Natasha；　looking　round　for　a　minute　and　going　on　with　the　conversation。　They　were　talking　now　about　dreams。
Dimmler　began　to　play。　Natasha　went　noiselessly　on　tiptoe　to　the　table；　took　the　candle；　carried　it　away；　and　going　back；　sat　quietly　in　her　place。　It　was　dark　in　the　room；　especially　where　they　were　sitting　on　the　sofa；　but　the　silver　light　of　the　full　moon　shone　in　at　the　big　windows　and　lay　on　the　floor。
“Do　you　know；　I　think；”　said　Natasha；　in　a　whisper；　moving　up　to　Nikolay　and　Sonya；　when　Dimmler　had　finished；　and　still　sat；　faintly　twanging　the　strings；　in　evident　uncertainty　whether　to　leave　off　playing　or　begin　something　new；　“that　one　goes　on　remembering；　and　remembering；　one　remembers　till　one　recalls　what　happened　before　one　was　in　this　world。…”
“That’s　metempsychosis；”　said　Sonya；　who　had　been　good　at　lessons；　and　remembered　all　she　had　learned。　“The　E