AT BLEAK HILLS, the estate of Prince Nikolay Andreivitch Bolkonsky, the arrival of young Prince Andrey and his wife was daily expected. But this expectation did not disturb the regular routine in which life moved in the old prince's household. Prince Nikolay Andreivitch, once a commander-in-chief, known in the fashionable world by the nickname of “the Prussian king,” had been exiled to his estate in the reign of Paul, and had remained at Bleak Hills ever since with his daughter, Princess Marya, and her companion, Mademoiselle Bourienne. Even in the new reign, though he had received permission to return to the capital, he had never left his home in the country, saying that if any one wanted to see him, he could travel the hundred and fifty versts from Moscow to Bleak Hills, and, for his part, he wanted nobody and nothing. He used to maintain that human vices all sprang from only two sources—idleness and superstition, and that there were but two virtues—energy and intelligence. He had himself undertaken the education of his daughter; and to develop in her these important qualities, he continued giving her lessons in algebra and geometry up to her twentieth year, and mapped out her whole life in uninterrupted occupation. He was himself always occupied in writing his memoirs, working out problems in higher mathematics, turning snuff-boxes on his lathe, working in his garden, or looking after the erection of farm buildings which were always being built on his estate. Since the great thing for enabling one to get through work is regularity, he had carried regularity in his manner of life to the highest point of exactitude. His meals were served in a fixed and invariable manner, and not only at a certain hour, but at a certain minute. With those about him, from his daughter to his servants, the count was sharp and invariably exacting, and so, without being cruel, he inspired a degree of respect and awe that the most cruel man could not readily have commanded. In spite of the fact that he was now on the retired list, and had no influence whatever in political circles, every high official in the province in which was the prince's estate felt obliged to call upon him, and had, just like the architect, the gardener, or Princess Marya, to wait till the regular hour at which the prince always made his appearance in the lofty waiting-room. And every one in the waiting-room felt the same veneration, and even awe, when the immensely high door of the study opened and showed the small figure of the old man in a powdered wig, with his little withered hands and grey, overhanging eyebrows, that, at times when he scowled, hid the gleam in his shrewd, youthful-looking eyes.
On the day that the young people were expected to arrive, Princess Marya went as usual at the fixed hour in the morning into the waiting-room to say good-morning to her father, and with dread in her heart crossed herself and mentally repeated a prayer. Every day she went in to her father in the same way, and every day she prayed that her interview with her father might pass off well that day. The old man-servant, wearing powder, softly got up from his seat in the waiting-room and whispered: “Walk in.”
Through the door came the regular sounds of the lathe. The princess kept timidly hold of the door, which opened smoothly and easily, and stood still in the doorway. The prince was working at his lathe, and glancing round, he went on with what he was doing.
The immense room was filled with things obviously in constant use. The large table, on which lay books and plans, the high bookcases with keys in the glass-covered doors, the high table for the prince to write at, standing up, with an open manuscript-book upon it, the carpenter's lathe, with tools ranged about it and shavings scattered around, all suggested continual, varied, and orderly activity. The movements of the prince's small foot in its Tatar, silver-embroidered boot, the firm pressure of his sinewy, lean hand, showed the strength of vigorous old age still strong-willed and wiry. After making a few more turns, he took his foot from the pedal of the lathe, wiped the plane, dropped it into a leather pouch attached to the lathe, and going up to the table called his daughter. He never gave the usual blessing to his children; he simply offered her his scrubby, not yet shaved cheek, and said sternly and yet at the same time with intense tenderness, as he looked her over: “Quite well? … All right, then, sit down!” He took a geometry exercise-book written by his own hand, and drew his chair up with his leg.
“For to-morrow,” he said quickly, turning to the page and marking it from one paragraph to the next with his rough nail. The princess bent over the exercise-book. “Stop, there's a letter for you,” the old man said suddenly, pulling out of a pocket hanging over the table an envelope addressed in a feminine hand, and putting it on the table.
The princess's face coloured red in patches at the sight of the letter. She took it hurriedly and bent over it.
“From Heloise?” asked the prince, showing his still strong, yellow teeth in a cold smile.
“Yes, from Julie,” said the princess, glancing timidly at him, and timidly smiling.
“Two more letters I'll let pass, but the third I shall read,” said the prince severely. “I'm afraid you write a lot of nonsense. The third I shall read.”
“Read this one, father,” answered the princess, colouring still more and handing him the letter.
“The third, I said the third,” the prince cried shortly; pushing away the letter and leaning his elbow on the table, he drew up to him the book with the figures of geometry in it.
“Now, madam,” began the old man, bending over the book close to his daughter, and laying one arm on the back of the chair she was sitting on, so that the princess felt herself surrounded on all sides by the peculiar acrid smell of old age and tobacco, which she had so long associated with her father. “Come, madam, these triangles are equal: kindly look; the angle A B C. …”
The princess glanced in a scared way at her father's eyes gleaming close beside her. The red patches overspread her whole face, and it was evident that she did not understand a word, and was so frightened that terror prevented her from understanding all the subsequent explanations her father offered her, however clear they might be. Whether it was the teacher's fault or the pupil's, every day the same scene was repeated. The princess's eyes grew dim; she could see and hear nothing; she could feel nothing but the dry face of her stern father near her, his breath and the smell of him, and could think of nothing but how to escape as soon as possible from the study and to make out the problem in freedom in her room. The old man lost his temper; with a loud, grating noise he pushed back and drew up again the chair he was sitting on, made an effort to control himself, not to fly into a rage, and almost every time did fly into a rage, and scold, and sometimes flung the book away.
The princess answered a question wrong.
“Well, you are too stupid!” cried the prince, pushing away the book, and turning sharply away. But he got up immediately, walked up and down, laid his hand on the princess's hair, and sat down again. He drew himself up to the table and continued his explanations. “This won't do; it won't do,” he said, when Princess Marya, taking the exercise-book with the lesson set her, and shutting it, was about to leave the room: “mathematics is a grand subject, madam. And to have you like the common run of our silly misses is what I don't want at all. Patience, and you'll get to like it.” He patted her on the cheek. “It will drive all the nonsense out of your head.” She would have gone; he stopped her with a gesture, and took a new, uncut book from the high table.
“Here's a book, too, your Heloise sends you some sort of Key to the Mystery. Religious. But I don't interfere with any one's belief…. I have looked at it. Take it. Come, run along, run along.”
He patted her on the shoulder, and himself closed the door after her.
Princess Marya went back to her own room with that dejected, scared expression that rarely left her, and made her plain, sickly face even plainer. She sat down at her writing-table, which was dotted with miniature portraits, and strewn with books and manuscripts. The princess was as untidy as her father was tidy. She put down the geometry exercise-book and impatiently opened the letter. The letter was from the princess's dearest friend from childhood; this friend was none other than Julie Karagin, who had been at the Rostovs' name-day party.
Julie wrote in French:
“DEAR AND EXCELLENT FRIEND,—What a terrible and frightful thing is absence! I say to myself that half of my existence and of my happiness is in you, that notwithstanding the distance that separates us, our hearts are united by invisible bonds; yet mine rebels against destiny, and in spite of the pleasures and distractions around me, I cannot overcome a certain hidden sadness which I feel in the bottom of my heart since our separation. Why are we not together as we were this summer in your great study, on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why can I not, as I did three months ago, draw new moral strength from that gentle, calm, penetrating look of yours, a look that I loved so well and that I seem to see before me as I write to you.”
When she reached this passage, Princess Marya sighed and looked round into the pier-glass that stood on her right. The glass reflected a feeble, ungraceful figure and a thin face. The eyes, always melancholy, were looking just now with a particularly hopeless expression at herself in the looking-glass. She flatters me, thought the princess, and she turned away and went on reading. But Julie did not flatter her friend: the princess's eyes—large, deep, and luminous (rays of warm light seemed at times to radiate in streams from them), were really so fine, that very often in spite of the plainness of the whole face her eyes were more attractive than beauty. But the princess had never seen the beautiful expression of her eyes; the expression that came into them when she was not thinking of herself. As is the case with every one, her face assumed an affected, unnatural, ugly expression as soon as she looked in the looking-glass.
She went on reading:
“All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my two brothers is already abroad, the other is with the Guards, who are starting on the march to the frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburg, and, people declare, intends to expose his precious existence to the risks of war. God grant that the Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of Europe may be brought low by the angel whom the Almighty in His mercy has given us as sovereign. Without speaking of my brothers, this war has deprived me of one of my heart's dearest alliances. I mean the young Nicholas Rostov, whose enthusiasm could not endure inaction, and who has left the university to go and join the army. Well, dear Marie, I will own to you that, in spite of his extreme youth, his departure for the army has been a great grief to me. This young man, of whom I spoke to you in the summer, has so much nobility, so much real youthfulness, rarely to be met with in our age, among our old men of twenty. Above all, he has so much openness and so much heart. He is so pure and poetic that my acquaintance with him, though so transient, has been one of the dearest joys known by my poor heart, which has already had so much suffering. Some day I will tell you about our farewells and all that we said to each other as we parted. As yet, all that is too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are fortunate in not knowing these joys and these pains which are so poignant. You are fortunate, because the latter are generally stronger! I know very well that Count Nicholas is too young ever to become more to me than a friend, but this sweet friendship, this poetic and pure intimacy have fulfilled a need of my heart. No more of this. The great news of the day, with which all Moscow is taken up, is the death of old Count Bezuhov, and his inheritance. Fancy, the three princesses have hardly got anything, Prince Vassily nothing, and everything has been left to M. Pierre, who has been acknowledged as a legitimate son into the bargain, so that he is Count Bezuhov and has the finest fortune in Russia. People say that Prince Vassily behaved very badly in all these matters and that he has gone back to Petersburg quite cast down.
“I own that I understand very little about all these details of legacies and wills; what I know is that since the young man whom we all used to know as plain M. Pierre has become Count Bezuhov and owner of one of the largest fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to observe the change in the tone and the manners of mammas burdened with marriageable daughters and of those young ladies themselves, towards that individual— who I may say in passing has always seemed to me a poor creature. As people have amused themselves for the last two years in giving me husbands whom I don't know, the matrimonial gossip of Moscow generally makes me Countess Bezuhov. But you, I am sure, feel that I have no desire to become so. About marriage, by the by, do you know that the universal aunt, Anna Mihalovna, has confided to me, under the seal of the deepest secrecy, a marriage scheme for you. It is no one more or less than Prince Vassily's son, Anatole, whom they want to settle by marrying him to some one rich and distinguished, and the choice of his relations has fallen on you. I don't know what view you will take of the matter, but I thought it my duty to let you know beforehand. He is said to be very handsome and very wild; that is all I have been able to find out about him.
“But enough of gossip. I am finishing my second sheet and mamma is sending for me to go and dine with the Apraxins. Read the mystical book which I send you, and which is the rage here. Though there are things in this book, difficult for our human conceptions to attain to, it is an admirable book, and reading it calms and elevates the soul. Farewell. My respects to your father and my compliments to Mlle. Bourienne. I embrace you as I love you.
JULIE.
“P.S.—Let me hear news of your brother and his charming little wife.”
Princess Marya thought a minute, smiling dreamily (her face, lighted up by her luminous eyes, was completely transformed). Suddenly getting up, she crossed over to the table, treading heavily. She got out a sheet of paper and her hand began rapidly moving over it. She wrote the following answer:
“DEAR AND EXCELLENT FRIEND,—Your letter of the 13th gave me great delight. So you still love me, my poetic Julie. So, absence, which you so bitterly denounce, has not had its usual effect upon you. You complain of absence—what might I say, if I ventured to complain, I, deprived of all who are dear to me? Ah, if we had not religion to console us, life would be very sad. Why do you suppose that I should look severe when you tell me of your affection for that young man? In such matters I am hard upon no one but myself. I understand such feelings in other people, and if, never having felt thern, I cannot express approval, I do not condemn them. Only it seems to me that Christian love, the love of our neighbour, the love of our enemies, is more meritorious, sweeter and more beautiful than those feelings that may be inspired in a poetic and loving young girl like you, by the fine eyes of a young man.
“The news of Count Bezuhov's death reached us before your letter, and affected my father very much. He says that the count was the last representative but one of the great century and that it is his turn now; but that he will do his best to have his turn come as late as possible. May God save us from that terrible misfortune. I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I knew as a child. He always appeared to me to have an excellent heart, and that is the quality that I most esteem in people. As to his inheritance and Prince Vassily's behaviour about it, it is very sad for both. Ah, my dear friend, our divine Saviour's word, that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of Heaven is a terribly true saying; I pity Prince Vassily, and I am yet more sorry for Pierre. So young and burdened with this wealth, to what temptations he will be exposed! If I were asked what I wished most in the world, it would be to be poorer than the poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the work you send me, and which is all the rage where you are. As, however, you tell me that amid many good things there are others to which our weak human understanding cannot attain, it seems to me rather useless to busy oneself in reading an unintelligible book, since for that very reason it cannot yield any profit. I have never been able to comprehend the passion which some people have for confusing their minds by giving themselves to the study of mystical books which only awaken their doubts, inflaming their imagination, and giving them a disposition to exaggeration altogether contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us read the Apostles and the Gospel. Do not let us seek to penetrate what is mysterious in these, for how can we dare presume, miserable sinners as we are, to enter into the terrible and sacred secrets of Providence, while we wear this carnal husk that raises an impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal? Let us rather confine ourselves to studying those sublime principles which our divine Saviour has left us as guides for our conduct here below; let us seek to conform ourselves to those and follow them; let us persuade ourselves that the less range we give to our weak human understanding, the more agreeable it will be to God, who rejects all knowledge that does not come from Him; that the less we seek to dive into that which He has pleased to hide from our knowledge the sooner will He discover it to us by means of His divine Spirit.
“My father has not spoken to me of the suitor, but has only told me that he has received a letter, and was expecting a visit from Prince Vassily. In regard to a marriage-scheme concerning myself, I will tell you, my dear and excellent friend, that to my mind marriage is a divine institution to which we must conform. However painful it may be to me, if the Alrnighty should ever impose upon me the duties of a wife and mother, I shall try to fulfil them as faithfully as I can without disquieting myself by examining my feelings in regard to him whom He may give me for a husband.
“I have received a letter from my brother, who announces his coming to Bleak Hills with his wife. It will be a pleasure of brief duration, since he is leaving us to take part in this unhappy war into which we have been drawn, God knows how and why. It is not only with you, in the centre of business and society, that people talk of nothing except war, for here also, amid those rustic labours and that calm of nature, which townspeople generally imagine in the country, rumours of war are heard and are felt painfully. My father talks of nothing but marches and counter-marches, things of which I understand nothing; and the day before yesterday, taking my usual walk in the village street, I witnessed a heartrending scene.… It was a convoy of recruits that had been enrolled in our district, and were being sent away to the army. You should have seen the state of the mothers, wives and children of the men who were going, and have heard the sobs on both sides. It seems as though humanity had forgotten the laws of its divine Saviour, Who preached love and the forgiveness of offences, and were making the greatest merit to consist in the art of killing one another.
“Adieu, dear and good friend: may our divine Saviour and His most Holy Mother keep you in their holy and powerful care.
MARIE.”
“Ah, you are sending off your letters, princess. I have already finished mine. I have written to my poor mother,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne quickly in her agreeable, juicy voice, with a roll of the r's. She came in, all smiles, bringing into the intense, melancholy, gloomy atmosphere of the Princess Marya an alien world of gay frivolity and self-satisfaction. “Princess, I must warn you,” she added, dropping her voice, “the prince has had an altercation,” she said, with a peculiar roll of the r, seeming to listen to herself with pleasure. “An altercation with Mihail Ivanov. He is in a very ill humour, very morose. Be prepared, you know.”
“Ah, chère amie,” answered Princess Marya, “I have begged you never to tell me beforehand in what humour I shall find my father. I do not permit myself to judge him and I would not have others do so.”
The princess glanced at her watch, and seeing that it was already five minutes later than the hour fixed for her practice on the clavichord, she went with a face of alarm into the divan-room. In accordance with the rules by which the day was mapped out, the prince rested from twelve to two, while the young princess practised on the clavichord.
①法语：普鲁士国王。
坐在休息间的那个头发上扑了粉的老仆人动作缓慢地站起来，轻言细语地禀告：“请。”
门后可以听见车床均匀地转动的响声。公爵小姐羞羞答答地拉了一下门，门很平稳地、轻易地被拉开了。她在门旁停步了。公爵在车床上干活，掉过头来望了望，又继续干他的活。
大书斋里堆满了各种东西，显然都是一些常用的东西。一张大桌子——桌子上摆着书本和图表，几个高大的玻璃书柜——钥匙插在柜门上，一张专供站着写字用的高台子——台子上摆着一本打开的练习本，一张车床——上面放着几件工具，四周撒满了刨屑，——这一切表明这里在进行经常性的、多种多样的、富有成效的活动。从他用以操作的那只穿着绣有银线的鞑靼式的皮靴的不大的脚来看，从青筋赤露、肌肉萎缩的手上磨出的硬皮来看，公爵还具有精神充沛的老人的百折不回的毅力和极大的耐力。他旋了几圈，便从车床踏板上把脚拿下来，揩干净凿头，把它丢进安在车床上的皮袋里。他向桌前走去，把女儿喊到身边来。他从来没有祝福自己的孩子，只是把他那当天还没有剃过的、胡子拉碴的面颊凑近他女儿，露出严肃的、温和而关怀的样子望望她，说道：
“你身体好吗？……喂，坐下来吧！”
他拿起他亲手写的几何学练习本，又用脚把安乐椅推了过来。
“是明天的啊！”他说道，很快找到了那一页，在这段和另一段的两头用硬指甲戳上了记号。
公爵小姐在摆着练习本的桌前弯下腰来。
“等一下，有封你的信。”老人从安在桌上的皮袋中取出女人手笔的信一封，扔在桌上。
公爵小姐看见信，立刻涨红了脸，她赶快拿起信，低垂着头去看。
“爱洛绮丝寄来的吗？”公爵问道，把他那坚固的、略微发黄的牙齿露出来，冷冷一笑。
“是的，是朱莉寄来的。”公爵小姐说道，羞答答地望着，羞答答地微笑。
“还有两封信我不看，而第三封我一定要看，”公爵严肃地说道，“我怕你们在写一大堆废话。第三封我一定要看。”
“monpeve①，就连这封信您也看吧。”公爵小姐答道，脸红得更加厉害，一面把信递给他。
①法语：爸爸。
“喂，女士，”老头子开始说话，挨近女儿，朝着练习本弯下腰来，并把一只手搁在公爵小姐坐着的安乐椅的靠背上，公爵小姐觉得自己已被早就熟谙的父亲的烟草气味和老人的呛人的气味笼罩着。“喂，女士，这些三角形都是相似的：你看见，abc角……”
公爵小姐惊惶失措地望着父亲向她逼近的、闪闪发亮的眼睛，脸上泛起了红晕。可见，她什么都不懂得，心里很畏惧，虽然父亲的讲解清清楚楚，但是这种畏惧心毕竟会妨碍她弄懂父亲的进一步的讲解。教师有过错呢，还是女学生有过错呢，但是每天都重现着同样的情况。公爵小姐的眼睛模糊不清了，她视若无睹，听若罔闻，只觉得严厉的父亲那副干瘦的脸孔凑近她身边，她闻到他的气息和气味，只是想到尽快地离开书斋，好在自己房中无拘无束地弄懂习题。老头子发脾气了，轰隆一声把他自己坐的安乐椅从身边移开，又拖过来，他极力控制自己不动肝火，但是，差不多每次都火冒三丈，开口大骂，有时候竟把练习本扔到一边去。公爵小姐答错了。
“嘿，你真是个蠢货！”公爵嚷道，推开那本练习簿，飞快地转过脸去，但立刻站立起来，在房间里走走，用手碰碰公爵小姐的头发，又坐下来。
他将身子移近一点，继续讲解。
“公爵小姐，不行的，不行的，”当公爵小姐拿起继而又合上附有规定的家庭作业的练习本准备离开的时候，他说道，“数学是一件首要的大事，我的女士。我不希望你像我们那帮愚昧的小姐。习久相安嘛。”他抚摩一下女儿的面颊，“糊涂思想就会从脑海里跑出去。”
她想走出去，他用手势把她拦住了，从那高高的台子上取下一本尚未裁开的新书。
“还有你的爱洛绮丝给你寄来的一部《奥秘解答》。一本宗教范畴的书。我不过问任何人的宗教信仰……我浏览了一下。你拿去吧。得啦，你走吧，你走吧！”
他拍了一下她的肩膀，等她一出门，他就在她身后亲自把门关上了。
名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐露出忧悒和惊恐的神色回到她自己的寝室。她常常带有这种神色，使她那副不俊俏的、病态的面孔变得更加难看了。她在写字台旁坐下，台子上放着微型的肖像，堆满了练习本和书本。公爵小姐缺乏条理，她父亲倒有条不紊。她搁下了几何学练习本，急躁地拆开那封信。信是公爵小姐童年时代的密友寄来的，这位密友就是出席过罗斯托夫家的命名日庆祝会的朱莉·卡拉金娜。
朱莉在信中写道：
亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，离别是一桩多么可怖、多么令人痛苦的事啊！我多少次反复地对我自己申说，我的生活和我的幸福的一半寄托在您身上，虽然我们天各一方，但是我们的心是用拉不断的纽带联系在一起的，我的心逆着天命，不听从它的摆布，虽然我置身于作乐和消遣的环境中，但是自从我们分离后，我就不能抑制住我心灵深处的隐忧。我们为什么不能像旧年夏天那样在您那宽大的书斋里聚首，一同坐在天蓝色的沙发上，“表白爱情”的沙发上呢？我为什么不能像三个月以前那样从您温顺、安详、敏锐的目光中，从我喜爱的目光中，从我给您写信时我依旧在我面前瞥见的目光中汲取新的精神力量呢？
名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐念到这里叹了一口气，向嵌在右边墙上的穿衣镜照了照，镜子反映出一副不美丽的虚弱的身躯和那消瘦的面孔。一向显得怏怏不乐的眼睛现在特别失望地对着镜子看自己。“她谄媚我哩，”公爵小姐想了想。她把脸转过来继续念信。但是朱莉没有谄媚过朋友；诚然，公爵小姐那双深沉、炯炯发光的大眼睛（有时候仿佛发射出一束束温柔的光芒）十分美丽，尽管整个脸孔不好看，但是这双眼睛却常常变得分外迷人。公爵小姐从来没有见过自己眼睛的美丽动人的表情，即是当她不思忖自己时她的眼睛的表情。如同所有的人，她一照镜子，脸上就流露出生硬的不自然的很不好看的表情。她继续读信：
整个莫斯科只知道谈论战争。我的两个长兄，一个已经在国外，另一个跟随近卫军向边境进发。我们亲爱的皇帝已经放弃彼得堡，有人推测，皇帝意欲亲自督阵，使宝贵生命经受一次战争的风险。愿上帝保佑，万能的上帝大慈大悲，委派一位天使充当我们的君主，但愿他推翻这个煽动欧洲叛乱的科西嘉恶魔。姑且不提我的两个长兄，这次战争竟使我丧失一个最亲密的人。我说的是年轻的尼古拉·罗斯托夫，他充满热情，不甘于无所作为，离开了大学，投笔从戎。亲爱的玛丽，我向您坦白承认，虽说他十分年轻，但是他这次从军却使我感到极大的痛苦。旧年夏天我曾经向您谈到这个年轻人，他有这么许多高高的品德和真正的青春活力。当代，在我们这些二十岁的小老头子中间，这是不常见的啊！尤其是他待人真诚，心地善良。他非常纯洁，充满着理想。我和他的关系虽如昙花一现，但这却是我这个遭受过许多折磨的不幸的心灵尝到的极为甜蜜的欢乐之一。
总有一天我要和您谈谈我们离别的情形、临别时的
赠言。所有这一切未从记忆中磨灭……啊！亲爱的朋友，您十分幸福，您没有尝受过炽热的欢快和难忍的悲痛。您十分幸福，因为悲痛常比欣悦更为强烈。我心中十分明白，尼古拉伯爵太年轻了，诚了作个朋友外，我认为，不可能搭上什么别的关系。但这甜蜜的友情，这多么象有诗意、多么纯洁的关系，是我心灵之所需。这件事别再谈了。
吸引整个莫斯科的注意力的头条新闻，是老别祖霍
夫伯爵的去世和他的遗产问题。您想象一下，三个公爵小姐获得一小部分，瓦西里公爵没有捞到分文，而皮埃尔却是全部遗产的继承人，此外他被公认为法定的儿子，即为别祖霍夫伯爵和俄国最大财富的占有者。据说，在这件事的始末，瓦西里公爵扮演了极其卑鄙的角色，很难为情地往彼得堡去了。我向您承认，我不大懂得遗嘱方面的事情，我只晓得，自从这个人人认识、名叫皮埃尔的年轻人变成别祖霍夫伯爵和俄国最大财富的占有者以后，我觉得可笑的是，我看见那些有及笄女儿的母亲以及小姐本人，都在这位先生面前变了腔调。附带说一句，我总觉得皮埃尔是个十分渺小的人。
因为这两个年头大家都在给我物色未婚夫，认为这
是开心的事儿（对象多半是我不认识的人），所以莫斯科婚姻大事记，要使我成为叫做别祖霍娃的伯爵夫人。可是您明了，这件事完全不合乎我的心愿。不妨顺便提提婚事吧。您是否知道，公认的大娘安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜在不久以前极为秘密地把给您筹办婚事的意图告诉我了。对象正好是瓦西里公爵的儿子阿纳托利，他们正想给他娶一个有钱的、贵族门第的姑娘，您倒被他父母选中了。我不知道您对此事抱有什么看法。但我认为有责任提醒您哩。听说他相貌长得很漂亮，但却是个十足的浪子。关于他的情况，我打听到的只有这些，没有别的了。
够了，不必再扯了。我快写完第二页了，妈妈着人来叫我坐车到阿普拉克辛家去出席午宴。
请您读一读我给您寄上的这本神秘主义的书吧，在我们这儿，这本书大受欢迎。虽然我们普通人的贫乏的智慧很难弄懂这本书中的某些内容，但这却是一本出色的书。读这本书，能使灵魂升华，使灵魂得到安慰。再见吧。向您父亲致以敬意，并向布里安小姐问候。我衷心地拥抱您。
朱莉
再启：请将您长兄和他的可爱的妻子的消息告诉我。
公爵小姐想了想，沉思地微微一笑（与此同时，炯炯的目光照耀着她的脸庞，使它完全变了模样），她突然站立起来，曳着沉重的步子，向桌前走去。她取出一张纸，她的手开始迅速地在纸上移动。她的回信是这样写的：
亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，十三日的来信使我感到非常高兴。我的充满理想的朱莉，您仍旧爱我。可见您说得那么难堪的离别，在您身上没有产生常见的影响力。您埋怨别离，假如我敢于埋怨，那么我应当说句什么话——
我丧失了我所珍惜的一切人吗？咳，假若没有宗教的安慰，生活就会极其凄凉。当您谈起您爱慕一个年轻人时，您为什么认为我的目光是严峻的呢？在这方面，我只是严谨地对待自己罢了。我明了别人的这种感情，既然我从未体会这种感情，不能予以赞扬，那我也不加以斥责。
我只是觉得，基督的仁爱，对敌人的爱，较之年轻人的一双美丽的眼睛使您这样一个充满理想的具有爱心的年轻姑娘产生的那种感情更为可敬，更为可贵，更为高尚。
在尚未接到您的来信以前，别祖霍夫伯爵去世的消
息就已经传到我们这里了，我父亲闻讯悲恸万分。他说别祖霍夫伯爵是我们伟大时代剩下的倒数第二个代表人物。现在要轮到他头上了。他将尽力而为，使这一轮尽量晚点到来。愿上帝保佑，使我们免受这种不幸啊！
我是女孩的时候就认识皮埃尔，我不能赞同您对他
的意见。我似乎觉得，他的心肠永远都是善良的。这正是我所珍惜的人应有的品德。至于他所继承的遗产以及瓦西里公爵在这方面扮演的角色，这对他们两人都是很不光彩的。啊，亲爱的朋友，我们的救世的天主说了这么一句话：骆驼穿过针眼比富翁进入天国更容易，这句话很有道理！我怜悯瓦西里公爵，更加怜悯皮埃尔。他这么年少就要肩负一大笔财富的重担，他将要经受多少命运的考验啊！假若有人要问我，这尘世上我最希冀的是什么，我就会说，我希望做个比最贫穷的乞丐更穷的人。亲爱的朋友，我千万次地向您表示感谢，感谢您给我寄来的一本在你们那里引起纷纷议论的书。其实，您对我说，在这本书的一些可取的内容之间还夹有一些我们普通人的贫乏的智慧不能弄懂的内容，所以我觉得，谈奥妙难懂的东西是多余的，不会给人们带来半点裨益。我从来没法领悟某些人的酷嗜，他们酷嗜神秘主义的书籍，思绪给弄得十分紊乱，因为这些书会在他们头脑中引起疑惑，激起他们的臆想，铸成他们那种与基督的纯朴完全对立的夸张的性格。
我们莫如读一读《使徒行传》和《福音书》吧。我
们不要妄图识透书本上包含的神秘的内容，因为趁我们这些不幸的罪人还有肉体的躯壳支撑，它在我们和永恒之间树立着穿不透的隔幕的时候，末日尚未到来的时候，我们怎么能够认识上天的可怖和神圣的隐秘呢？我们莫如只研究救世的天主遗留给我们作为尘世指南的那些伟大的准则，我们要力求遵守这些准则，并要竭诚地相信，我们越少于纵欲，就越能取悦于上帝。上帝排斥一切不是由他传授的知识，我们越少去研究他不想要我们知道的隐秘，他就会越快地用那神明的智慧为人类拨开茅塞。
我父亲没有对我谈起未婚夫的事，他说的只是，他
收到一封信，正在等待瓦西里公爵的访问。我亲爱的、珍贵的朋友，至于筹划我的婚姻一事，我要说给您听，在我看来，结婚是定当服从的教规。我认为无论这是多么沉重，但若万能的上帝要我担负贤妻良母的天职，我将竭尽全力，忠诚地履行这一天职，而我对上帝赐予我的男人怀有什么感情，我却无心去研究。
我已经收到长兄的一封来信，他向我提到他将和妻子一道来童山。这次欢乐的团聚为时是不长的，因为他快要离开我们去参与战斗，天知道我们如何和何故被卷入这场战争。不光是在你那儿——各种事件和社交的中心，而且在这儿——在田间劳作和市民平常所想象的农村的寂静中，也传来战争的回声，也令人心情沉重。我父亲只知道谈论我丝毫也不明了的南征北战的情形。前天，当我照常在村庄的街道上漫步的时候，我看见一个令人心碎的场面……他们都是我们这里招募入伍的一批新兵……有必要去看看那些上前线的新兵的母亲、妻子和儿女的情景，听听新兵和家属的啼哭！你想想，人类已经忘记了救世的天主以博爱和宽恕宿怨的教义训导我们，而人类竟把互相谋杀的伎俩看作主要的优点。
亲爱的，慈善的朋友，再见。愿那救世的天主和圣母赐予您神圣而万能的庇护。
玛丽
“Ah，vousexpédiezlecorrier，Princesse，moij'aidejáexpedielemien．J'aiecrisamapauvremere．”①布里安小姐面露微笑，用她那清脆、悦耳的嗓音说道，她说得很快，“r”音发得不准确。在名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐的凝神思索、愁闷而阴郁的气氛里，她带进了一种完全异样的轻佻而悦意的洋洋自得的神情。
①法语：啊，您就要把信寄出去，我已经把信寄出去了。信是写给我的可怜的母亲的。
“Ah！chèreamie．”名叫玛丽亚的公爵小姐答道，“Jevousaipriedenejamaismeprevenirdel'humeurdanslaquellesetrouvemonpère．Jenemeperometspasdelejuger，etjenevoudruispasquelesautreslefassent．”②
①法语：公爵小姐，我得事先告诉您——公爵把米哈伊尔·伊万内奇大骂了一顿。他的情绪不好，愁眉苦脸。我事先告诉您，您晓得……
②法语：啊，我亲爱的朋友，我求您千万不要对我谈论父亲的心境吧。我不容许我自己评说他，我也不希望他人这样做。