战争与和平(下)-第16节

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t　to　work　against　so　and　so。　We　may　be　mistaken。　But　I　say　let　those　join　hands　who　care　for　the　good　cause；　and　let　our　one　standard　be　energy　and　honesty。　Prince　Sergey　is　a　capital　fellow；　and　clever。’’
Natasha　would　have　had　no　doubt　that　Pierre’s　idea　was　a　grand　idea；　but　that　one　thing　troubled　her。　It　was　his　being　her　husband。　‘‘Is　it　possible　that　a　man　of　such　value；　of　such　importance　to　society；　is　at　the　same　time　my　husband？　How　can　it　have　happened？’’　She　wanted　to　express　this　doubt　to　him。　‘‘Who　are　the　persons　who　could　decide　positively　whether　he　is　so　much　cleverer　than　all　of　them？’’　she　wondered；　and　she　went　over　in　imagination　the　people　who　were　very　much　respected　by　Pierre。　There　was　nobody　whom；　to　judge　by　his　own　account；　he　had　respected　so　much　as　Platon　Karataev。
‘‘Do　you　know　what　I　am　thinking　about？’’　she　said。　‘‘About　Platon　Karataev。　What　would　he　have　said？　Would　he　have　approved　of　you　now？’’
Pierre　was　not　in　the　least　surprised　at　this　question。　He　understood　the　connection　of　his　wife’s　ideas。
‘‘Platon　Karataev？’’　he　said；　and　he　pondered；　evidently　trying　sincerely　to　picture　what　Karataev’s　judgment　would　have　been　on　the　subject。　‘‘He　would　not　have　understood；　and　yet；　perhaps；　he　would。’’
‘‘I　like　you　awfully！’’　said　Natasha　all　at　once。　‘‘Awfully！　awfully！’’
‘‘No；　he　wouldn’t　have　approved；’’　said　Pierre；　musing。　‘‘What　he　would　have　approved　of　is　our　home　life。　He　did　so　like　to　see　seemliness；　happiness；　peace　in　everything；　and　I　could　have　shown　him　all　of　us　with　pride。　You　talk　about　separation。　But　you　would　not　believe　what　a　special　feeling　I　have　for　you　after　separation　…’’
‘‘And；　besides；　…’’　Natasha　was　beginning。
‘‘No；　not　so。　I　never　leave　off　loving　you。　And　one　couldn’t　love　more；　but　it’s　something　special。…’’　He　did　not　finish；　because　their　eyes　meeting　said　the　rest。
‘‘What　nonsense；’’　said　Natasha　suddenly；　‘‘it　all　is　about　the　honeymoon　and　that　the　greatest　happiness　is　at　first。　On　the　contrary；　now　is　much　the　best。　If　only　you　wouldn’t　go　away。　Do　you　remember　how　we　used　to　quarrel？　And　I　was　always　in　the　wrong。　It　was　always　my　doing。　And　what　we　quarrelled　about—I　don’t　remember　even。’’
‘‘Always　the　same　thing；’’　said　Pierre　smiling。　‘‘Jea　…’’
‘‘Don’t　say　it；　I　can’t　bear　it；’’　cried　Natasha；　and　a　cold；　vindictive　light　gleamed　in　her　eyes。　‘‘Did　you　see　her？’’　she　added　after　a　pause。
‘‘No；　and　if　I　had；　I　shouldn’t　have　known　her。’’
They　were　silent。
‘‘Oh！　do　you　know；　when　you　were　talking　in　the　study；　I　was　looking　at　you；’’　said　Natasha；　obviously　trying　to　drive　away　the　cloud　that　had　come　between　them。　‘‘And　do　you　know　you　are　like　him　as　two　drops　of　water；　like　the　boy。’’　That　was　what　she　called　her　baby　son。　‘‘Ah；　it’s　time　I　went　to　him。　…　But　I　am　sorry　to　go　away。’’
They　were　both　silent　for　some　seconds。　Then　all　at　once；　at　the　same　moment；　they　turned　to　each　other　and　began　talking。　Pierre　was　beginning　with　self…satisfaction　and　enthusiasm；　Natasha　with　a　soft；　happy　smile。　Interrupting　each　other；　both　stopped；　waiting　for　the　other　to　go　on。
‘‘No；　what　is　it？　Tell　me；　tell　me。’’
‘‘No；　you　tell　me；　it　wasn’t　anything；　only　nonsense；’’　said　Natasha。
Pierre　said　what　he　had　been　going　to　say。　It　was　the　sequel　to　his　complacent　reflections　on　his　success　in　Petersburg。　It　seemed　to　him　at　that　moment　that　he　was　destined　to　give　a　new　direction　to　the　progress　of　the　whole　of　Russian　society　and　of　the　whole　world。
‘‘I　only　meant　to　say　that　all　ideas　that　have　immense　results　are　always　simple。　All　my　idea　really　is　that　if　vicious　people　are　united　and　form　a　power；　honest　men　must　do　the　same。　It’s　so　simple；　you　see。’’
‘‘Yes。’’
‘‘But　what　were　you　going　to　say？’’
‘‘Oh；　nothing；　nonsense。’’
‘‘No；　say　it　though。’’
‘‘Oh；　nothing；　only　silly　nonsense；’’　said　Natasha；　breaking　into　a　more　beaming　smile　than　ever。　‘‘I　was　only　going　to　tell　you　about　Petya。　Nurse　came　up　to　take　him　from　me　to…day；　he　laughed　and　puckered　up　his　face　and　squeezed　up　to　me—I　suppose　he　thought　he　was　hiding。　He’s　awfully　sweet。　…　There　he　is　crying。　Well；　good…bye！’’　and　she　ran　out　of　the　room。
Meanwhile；　below　in　Nikolinka　Bolkonsky’s　bedroom　a　lamp　was　burning　as　usual　（the　boy　was　afraid　of　the　dark　and　could　not　be　cured　of　this　weakness）。　Dessalle　was　asleep　with　his　head　high　on　his　four　pillows；　and　his　Roman　nose　gave　forth　rhythmic　sounds　of　snoring。　Nikolinka　had　just　waked　up　in　a　cold　sweat；　and　was　sitting　up　in　bed；　gazing　with　wide…open　eyes　straight　before　him。　He　had　been　waked　by　a　fearful　dream。　In　his　dream　his　Uncle　Pierre　and　he　in　helmets；　such　as　appeared　in　the　illustrations　in　his　Plutarch；　were　marching　at　the　head　of　an　immense　army。　This　army　was　made　up　of　slanting；　white　threads　that　filled　the　air　like　those　spider…webs　that　float　in　autumn　and　that　Dessalle　used　to　call　le　fil　de　la　Vierge。　Ahead　of　them　was　glory；　which　was　something　like　those　threads　too；　only　somewhat　more　opaque。　They—he　and　Pierre—were　flying　lightly　and　happily　nearer　and　nearer　to　their　goal。　All　at　once　the　threads　that　moved　them　seemed　to　grow　weak　and　tangled；　and　it　was　all　difficult。　And　Uncle　Nikolay　stood　before　them　in　a　stern　and　menacing　attitude。
‘‘Have　you　done　this？’’　he　said；　pointing　to　broken　pens　and　sticks　of　sealing…wax。　‘‘I　did　love　you；　but　Araktcheev　has　bidden　me；　and　I　will　kill　the　first　that　moves　forward。’’
Nikolinka　looked　round　for　Pierre；　but　Pierre　was　not　there。　Instead　of　Pierre；　there　was　his　father—Prince　Andrey—and　his　father　had　no　shape　or　form；　but　he　was　there；　and　seeing　him；　Nikolinka　felt　the　weakness　of　love；　he　felt　powerless；　limp；　and　relaxed。　His　father　caressed　him　and　pitied　him；　but　his　Uncle　Nikolay　was　moving　down　upon　them；　coming　closer　and　closer。　A　great　horror　came　over　Nikolinka；　and　he　waked　up。
‘‘My　father！’’　he　thought。　（Although　there　were　two　very　good　portraits　of　Prince　Andrey　in　the　house；　Nikolinka　never　thought　of　his　father　in　human　form。）　‘‘My　father　has　been　with　me；　and　has　caressed　me。　He　approved　of　me；　he　approved　of　Uncle　Pierre。　Whatever　he　might　tell　me；　I　would　do　it。　Mucius　Scaevola　burnt　his　hand。　But　why　should　not　the　same　sort　of　thing　happen　in　my　life？　I　know　they　want　me　to　study。　And　I　am　going　to　study。　But　some　day　I　shall　have　finished；　and　then　I　will　act。　One　thing　only　I　pray　God　for；　that　the　same　sort　of　thing　may　happen　with　me　as　with　Plutarch’s　men；　and　I　will　act　in　the　same　way。　I　will　do　more。　Every　one　shall　know　of　me；　shall　love　me；　and　admire　me。’’　And　all　at　once　Nikolinka　felt　his　breast　heaving　with　sobs；　and　he　burst　into　tears。
‘‘Are　you　ill？’’　he　heard　Dessalle’s　voice。
‘‘No；’’　answered　Nikolinka；　and　he　lay　back　on　his　pillow。　‘‘How　good　and　kind　he　is；　I　love　him！’’　He　thought　of　Dessalle。　‘‘But　Uncle　Pierre！　Oh；　what　a　wonderful　man！　And　my　father？　Father！　Father！　Yes；　I　will　do　something　that　even　he　would　be　content　with　…’’


Epilogue　II
Chapter　1
THE　SUBJECT　of　history　is　the　life　of　peoples　and　of　humanity。　To　catch　and　pin　down　in　words—that　is；　to　describe　directly　the　life；　not　only　of　humanity；　but　even　of　a　single　people；　appears　to　be　impossible。
All　the　ancient　historians　employed　the　same　method　for　describing　and　catching　what　is　seemingly　elusive—that　is；　the　life　of　a　people。　They　described　the　career　of　individual　persons　ruling　peoples；　and　their　activity　was　to　them　an　expression　of　the　activity　of　the　whole　people。
The　questions；　In　what　way　individual　persons　made　nations　act　in　accordance　with　their　will；　and　by　what　the　will　of　those　individuals　themselves　was　controlled；　the　ancients　answered；　By　the　will　of　God；　which　in　the　first　case　made　the　nation　subject　to　the　will　of　one　chosen　person；　and；　in　the　second；　guided　the　will　of　that　chosen　monarch　to　the　ordained　end。
For　the　ancients　these　questions　were　solved　by　faith　in　the　immediate　participation　of　the　Deity　in　the　affairs　of　mankind。
Modern　history　has　theoretically　rejected　both　those　positions。　One　would　have　thought　that　rejecting　the　convictions　of　the　ancients　of　men’s　subjection　to　the　Deity；　and　of　a　defined　goal　to　which　nations　are　led；　modern　history　should　have　studied；　not　the　manifestations　of　power；　but　the　causes　that　go　to　its　formation。　But　modern　history　has　not　done　that。　While　in　theory　rejecting　the　views　of　the　ancients；　it　follows　them　in　practice。
Instead　of　men　endowed　with　divine　authority　and　directly　led　by　the　will　of　the　Deity；　modern　history　has　set　up　either　heroes；　endowed　with　extraordinary；　superhuman　powers；　or　simply　men　of　the　most　varied　characteristics；　from　monarchs　to　journalists；　who　lead　the　masses。　Instead　of　the　old　aim；　the　will　of　the　Deity；　that　to　the　old　historians　seemed　the　end　of　the　movements　of　peoples；　such　as　the　Gauls；　the　Greeks；　and　the　Romans；　modern　history　has　advanced　aims　of　its　own—the　welfare　of　the　French；　the　German；　or　the　English　people；　or　its　highest　pitch　of　generalisation；　the　civilisation　of　all　humanity；　by　which　is　usually　meant　the　peoples