War And Peace: Book 9 - CHAPTER XVII

作者: Leo Tolstoy

Free Download Babylon Translate Software

The poster (email) is not available. 收藏推荐:

图书介绍

Author: Leo Tolstoy

NATASHA was calmer, but no happier. She did not merely shun every external

form of amusement—balls, skating, concerts, and theatres—but she never even

laughed without the sound of tears behind her laughter. She could not sing. As

soon as she began to laugh or attempted to sing all by herself, tears choked

her: tears of remorse; tears of regret for that time of pure happiness that

could never return; tears of vexation that she should so wantonly have ruined

her young life, that might have been so happy. Laughter and singing especially

seemed to her like scoffing at her grief. She never even thought of desiring

admiration; she had no impulse of vanity to restrain. She said and felt at that

time that all men were no more to her than Nastasya Ivanovna, the buffoon. An

inner sentinel seemed to guard against every sort of pleasure. And, indeed, she

seemed to have lost all the old interests of her girlish, careless life, that

had been so full of hope. Most often, and with most pining, she brooded over the

memory of those autumn months, the hunting, the old uncle, and the Christmas

holidays spent with Nikolay at Otradnoe. What would she not have given to bring

back one single day of that time! But it was all over for her. Her presentiment

at the time had not deceived her, that such a time of freedom and readiness for

every enjoyment would never come again. But yet she had to live.

It comforted her to think, not that she was better, as she had once fancied,

but worse, far worse than any one, than any one in the whole world. But that

meant little to her. She believed it; but then she asked: “And what next?” And

there was nothing to come. There was no gladness in life, but life was passing.

All Natasha tried after was plainly to be no burden to others, and not to hinder

other people's enjoyment; but for herself she wanted nothing. She held aloof

from all the household. It was only with her brother, Petya, that she felt at

ease. She liked being with him better than being with the rest, and sometimes

even laughed when she was alone with him. She hardly left the house to go

anywhere; and of the guests who came to the house she was only glad to see one

person—Pierre. No one could have been more tender, circumspect, and at the same

time serious, than Count Bezuhov in his manner to her. Natasha was unconsciously

aware of this tenderness, and it was owing to it that she found more pleasure in

his society. But she was not even grateful to him for it. Nothing good in him

seemed to her due to an effort on Pierre's part. It seemed so natural to Pierre

to be kind that there was no merit in his kindness. Sometimes Natasha noticed

some confusion or awkwardness in Pierre in her presence, especially when he was

trying to do something for her pleasure or afraid something in the conversation

might suggest to her painful reminiscences. She observed this, and put it down

to his general kindliness and shyness, which she supposed would be the same with

every one else. Ever since those unforeseen words—that if he had been free, he

would have asked on his knees for her hand and her love—uttered in a moment full

of violent emotion for her, Pierre had said nothing of his feelings to Natasha;

and it seemed to her clear that those words, which had so comforted her, had

been uttered, just as one says any meaningless nonsense to console a weeping

child. It was not because Pierre was a married man, but because Natasha felt

between herself and him the force of that moral barrier—of the absence of which

she had been so conscious with Kuragin—that the idea never occurred to her that

her relations with Pierre might develop into love on her side, and still less on

his, or even into that tender, self-conscious, romantic friendship between a man

and a woman, of which she had known several instances.

Towards the end of St. Peter's fast, Agrafena Ivanovna Byelov, a country

neighbour of the Rostovs, came to Moscow to pay her devotions to the saints

there. She suggested to Natasha that she should prepare herself for the

Sacrament, and Natasha caught eagerly at the suggestion. Although the doctors

forbade her going out early in the morning, Natasha insisted on keeping the

fast, and not simply as it was kept in the Rostovs' household, by taking part in

three services in the house, but keeping it as Agrafena Ivanova was doing, that

is to say, for a whole week, not missing a single early morning service, or

litany, or vesper.

The countess was pleased at these signs of religious fervour in Natasha.

After the poor results of medical treatment, at the bottom of her heart she

hoped that prayer would do more for her than medicine; and though she concealed

it from the doctors and had some inward misgivings, she fell in with Natasha's

wishes, and intrusted her to Madame Byelov.

Agrafena Ivanovna went in to wake Natasha at three o'clock in the night, and

frequently found her not asleep. Natasha was afraid of sleeping too late for the

early morning service. Hurriedly washing, and in all humility putting on her

shabbiest dress and old mantle, Natasha, shuddering at the chill air, went out

into the deserted streets, in the limpid light of the early dawn. By the advice

of Agrafena Ivanovna, Natasha did not attend the services of her own parish

church, but went to a church where the priest was esteemed by the devout Madame

Byelov as being of a particularly severe and exemplary life. There were few

people in the church. Natasha and Madame Byelov always took the same seat before

an image of the Mother of God, carved at the back of the left choir; and a new

feeling of humility before the great mystery came over Natasha, as at that

unusual hour in the morning she gazed at the black outline of the Mother of God,

with the light of the candles burning in front of it, and the morning light

falling on it from the window. She listened to the words of the service, and

tried to follow and understand them. When she did understand them, all the

shades of her personal feeling blended with her prayer; when she did not

understand, it was still sweeter for her to think that the desire to understand

all was pride, that she could not comprehend all; that she had but to believe

and give herself up to God, Who was, she felt, at those moments guiding her

soul. She crossed herself, bowed to the ground, and when she did not follow,

simply prayed to God to forgive her everything, everything, and to have mercy on

her, in horror at her own vileness. The prayer into which she threw herself

heart and soul was the prayer of repentance. On the way home in the early

morning, when they met no one but masons going to their work, or porters

cleaning the streets, and every one was asleep in the houses, Natasha had a new

sense of the possibility of correcting herself of her sins and leading a new

life of purity and happiness.

During the week she spent in this way, that feeling grew stronger with every

day. And the joy of “communication,” as Agrafena Ivanovna liked to call taking

the Communion, seemed to her so great that she fancied she could not live till

that blissful Sunday.

But the happy day did come. And when on that memorable Sunday Natasha

returned from the Sacrament wearing a white muslin dress, for the first time for

many months she felt at peace, and not oppressed by the life that lay before

her.

The doctor came that day to see Natasha, and gave directions for the powders

to be continued that he had begun prescribing a fortnight ago. “She must

certainly go on taking them morning and evening,” he said, with visible and

simple-hearted satisfaction at the success of his treatment. “Please, don't

forget them. You may set your mind at rest, countess,” the doctor said

playfully, as he deftly received the gold in the hollow of his palm. “She will

soon be singing and dancing again. The last medicine has done her great, great

good. She is very much better.”

The countess looked at her finger-nails and spat, to avert the ill-omen of

such words, as with a cheerful face she went back to the drawing-room.

[Translate] Download Babylon Translate Software for Free!
[Directly Download] War And Peace: Book 9 - CHAPTER XVII!

Download this book from Usenet

Free register and download UseNet downloader, then you can free download from UseNet.

Download "War And Peace: Book 9 - CHAPTER XVII" from Usenet!

使用Usenet下载

免费注册即可使用Usenext下载电子书！
Usenet是来自德国的下载软件，强大的共享网络搜索下载工具，免费注册后即可不限速下载150G 电子书，Audiobook等等~~赶快下载使用吧！

Copyright Disclaimer:
本站一切内容源于互联网搜索，禁止商用！如有任何不妥请联系:admin@ebookee.com，我们将在24小时内删除相关内容。

浏览量：239 添加时间：2007-05-10 23:31:54, 更新时间：2007-05-27 05:03:00, from internet