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战争与和平|War And Peace

Book 1 第8章|Book 1 Chapter 8

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 列夫-托尔斯泰] 阅读：[58914]
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大家都默不作声。伯爵夫人望着女客人，脸上露出愉快的微笑，但她并不掩饰那种心情：如果那个女客人站立起来，退席离开，她丝毫也不会感到怏怏不乐。女客的女儿正在弄平连衣裙，用疑问的眼神望着母亲，就在这时分，忽然听见隔壁房里传来一群男人和女人向门口迅跑的步履声、绊倒椅子的响声，一个十三岁的女孩跑进房里来，用那短短的纱裙盖住一件什么东西，她在房间当中停步了。很明显，她在跑步时失脚，出乎意料地蹦得这么远。就在这同一瞬间，一个露出深红色衣领的大学生、一个近卫军军官、一个十五岁的女孩和一个身穿儿童短上衣的面颊粉红的胖乎乎的男孩在那门口露面了。

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伯爵猛然跳起来，摇摇摆摆地走着，把两臂伸开，抱住跑进来的小女孩。

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“啊，她毕竟来了！”他含笑地喊道，“过命名日的人！machère过命名日的人！”

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“machère，ilyauntempspour，tout，”①伯爵夫人假装出一副严肃的样子，她说，“你总是溺爱她，埃利。”她对丈夫补充地说。

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“Bonjour，machère，jevousfélicite，”女客人说道，“Quelledelicieuseenfant！②”她把脸转向母亲，补充地说。

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①法语：一切事情都得有个时间，亲爱的。

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②法语：我亲爱的，您好，向您表示祝贺。多么可爱的小孩子！

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小姑娘长着一双黑眼睛，一张大嘴巴，相貌不漂亮，但挺活泼。她跑得太快，背带滑脱了，袒露出孩子的小肩膀，黑黝黝的打绺的鬈发披在后面，光着的手臂十分纤细，身穿一条钩花裤子，一双小脚穿着没有鞋带的矮靿皮靴。说她是孩子已经不是孩子，说她是女郎还不是女郎，她正值这个美妙的年华。她从父亲的怀抱中挣脱出来，走到了母亲近旁，母亲的严厉呵斥她不在乎，倒把脸儿藏在母亲的花边斗篷里，不知她为什么而笑，一面若断若续地说到她从衣裙下面掏出来的洋娃娃。

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“你们看见吗？……一个洋娃娃……咪咪……你们都看见。”

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娜塔莎不能说下去了（她以为一切都很可笑），她倒在母亲身上，哈哈大笑起来，笑声非常响亮，以致所有的人，连那个过分拘礼的女客也情不自禁地笑了起来。

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“你得啦，走吧，带上你这个丑东西走吧！”母亲说道，假装发脾气，把女儿推到一边去。“这是我的小女儿。”她把脸转向女客说道。

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娜塔莎有一阵子把脸从母亲的花边三角头巾下抬起来，透过笑出的眼泪，从底下朝她望了一眼，又把脸蛋藏了起来。

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女客人被迫欣赏家庭中的这个场面，认为有参与一下的必要了。

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“我亲爱的，请您告诉我，”她把脸转向娜塔莎，说道，“这个咪咪究竟是您的什么人？大概是女儿吧？”

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娜塔莎不喜欢对待儿童的宽容的口气，女客人却用这种口气对她说话。她一言不答，严肃地瞟了女客人一眼。

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与此同时，这一辈年轻人：军官鲍里斯——名叫安娜·米哈伊洛夫娜的公爵夫人的儿子、大学生尼古拉——伯爵的长男、索尼娅——伯爵的一个现年十五岁的外甥女以及小彼得鲁沙——伯爵的幼子，都在客厅里入席就座了。显然，他们竭尽全力把还流露在每个人脸上的兴奋和悦意保持在合乎礼仪的范围以内。显而易见，他们在迅速奔跑出来的后面的几个房间里，闲谈比起在这里议论城里的谗言、天气和comtesseApraksine①的问题，听来令人更开心。他们有时候互相凝视，好不容易才忍住没有笑出声来。

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①法语：伯爵夫人阿普拉克辛娜。

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两个年轻人，一个是大学生、一个是军官，从童年时代起就是朋友，两个人年龄相同，而且长得漂亮，但其面目并不相像。鲍里斯是个身材魁梧、头发浅黄的青年，他那宁静而俊美的面孔上，五官生得端正，眉清目秀。尼古拉是个身材不高的年轻人，一头鬈发，面部表情坦率。他的上嘴唇边逐渐长出黑色的短髭，他的灵敏和激情在整个面部流露出来。尼古拉一走进客厅，两颊就涨红了。显然，他想开口说话，但却找不到话题；鲍里斯正好相反，他一下子就想到了应付的办法，沉着而戏谑地讲起洋娃娃咪咪的事，说他认识它的时候，它还是个小姑娘，当时它的鼻孔还没有碰坏，他记得在这五年内它变老了，头顶也现出裂纹了。他说了这句话，便朝娜塔莎望了一眼。娜塔莎转过脸去不理睬他，看了看眯缝起眼睛、不出一声笑得浑身发抖的小弟弟，她再也按捺不住了，一跃而起，迈开敏捷的小腿，从客厅里飞奔出来。鲍里斯没有发笑。

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“妈妈，看来您也要走了吧？要马车吗？”他面露微笑地对母亲说。

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“好，走吧，走吧，吩咐他们把马车准备好。”她含笑说道。

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鲍里斯悄悄地走出来，跟在娜塔莎后面，那个胖乎乎的男孩生气地跟在他们后面跑，好像他的事情遭受挫折而懊悔似的。

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A SILENCE followed. The countess looked at her guest, smiling affably, but still not disguising the fact that she would not take it at all amiss now if the guest were to get up and go. The daughter was already fingering at the folds of her gown and looking interrogatively at her mother, when suddenly they heard in the next room several girls and boys running to the door, and the grating sound of a chair knocked over and a girl of thirteen ran in, hiding something in her short muslin petticoat, and stopped short in the middle of the room. She had evidently bounded so far by mistake, unable to stop in her flight. At the same instant there appeared in the doorway a student with a crimson band on his collar, a young officer in the Guards, a girl of fifteen, and a fat, rosy-cheeked boy in a child’s smock.

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The prince jumped up, and swaying from side to side, held his arms out wide round the little girl.

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“Ah, here she is!” he cried, laughing. “Our little darling on her fête day!”

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“My dear, there is a time for everything,” said the countess, affecting severity. “You’re always spoiling her, Elie,” she added to her husband.

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“Bonjour, ma chère, je vous félicite,” said the visitor. “Quelle délicieuse enfant!” she added, turning to her mother.

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The dark-eyed little girl, plain, but full of life, with her wide mouth, her childish bare shoulders, which shrugged and panted in her bodice from her rapid motion, her black hair brushed back, her slender bare arms and little legs in lace-edged long drawers and open slippers, was at that charming stage when the girl is no longer a child, while the child is not yet a young girl. Wriggling away from her father, she ran up to her mother, and taking no notice whatever of her severe remarks, she hid her flushed face in her mother’s lace kerchief and broke into laughter. As she laughed she uttered some incoherent phrases about the doll, which was poking out from her petticoat.

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“Do you see?…My doll…Mimi…you see…” And Natasha could say no more, it all seemed to her so funny. She sank on her mother’s lap, and went off into such a loud peal of laughter that every one, even the prim visitor, could not help laughing too.

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“Come, run along, run along with your monstrosity!” said her mother, pushing her daughter off with a pretence of anger. “This is my younger girl,” she said to the visitor. Natasha, pulling her face away from her mother’s lace kerchief for a minute, peeped down at her through tears of laughter, and hid her face again.

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The visitor, forced to admire this domestic scene, thought it suitable to take some part in it.

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“Tell me, my dear,” she said, addressing Natasha, “how did you come by your Mimi? Your daughter, I suppose?”

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Natasha did not like the tone of condescension to childish things with which the visitor had spoken to her. She made no answer, but stared solemnly at her.

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Meanwhile all the younger generation, Boris, the officer, Anna Milhalovna’s son; Nikolay, the student, the count’s elder son; Sonya, the count’s niece; and little Petya, his younger son, had all placed themselves about the drawing-room, and were obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum the excitement and mirth which was brimming over in their faces. Clearly in the back part of the house, from which they had dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had been more amusing than the small-talk in the drawing-room of the scandal of the town, the weather, and Countess Apraxin. Now and then they glanced at one another and could hardly suppress their laughter.

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The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood, were of the same age, and both good-looking, but not like each other. Boris was a tall, fair-haired lad with delicate, regular features, and a look of composure on his handsome face. Nikolay was a curly-headed youth, not tall, with an open expression. On his upper lip there were already signs of a black moustache coming, and his whole face expressed impulsiveness and enthusiasm. Nikolay flushed red as he came into the drawing-room. He was unmistakably trying to find something to say, and unable to find anything. Boris, on the contrary, was at home immediately and talked easily and playfully of the doll Mimi, saying that he had known her as a young girl before her nose was broken, and she had grown older during the five years he remembered her, and how her head was cracked right across the skull. As he said this he looked at Natasha. Natasha turned away from him, glanced at her younger brother, who, with a scowl on his face, was shaking with noiseless laughter, and unable to restrain herself, she skipped up and flew out of the room as quickly as her swift little legs could carry her. Boris did not laugh.

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“You were meaning to go out, mamma, weren’t you? Do you want the carriage?” he said, addressing his mother with a smile.

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“Yes, go along and tell them to get it ready,” she said, smiling. Boris walked slowly to the door and went after Natasha. The stout boy ran wrathfully after them, as though resenting the interruption of his pursuits.

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