War And Peace полностью

His mind was not functioning normally. A healthy man usually thinks, feels and remembers a vast number of different things all at the same time, but he has the power and ability to pick out one track of ideas or phenomena and concentrate all his attention on that. A healthy man can break off from really serious thinking to exchange courtesies with anybody who comes in, and then go straight back to where he was in his thinking. It was in this respect that Prince Andrey’s mind was not functioning normally. His mental powers were as clear and active as ever, but they were acting independently of his will. His mind was overwhelmed by the widest possible range of ideas and images all emerging at the same time. Sometimes an idea would suddenly start up in his mind, working away with the kind of strength, clarity and depth that he hadn’t experienced when he had been well, but suddenly the thought would break off half-way through, giving way to some new and unexpected image, and there was no way back.

‘Yes, a new kind of happiness was revealed to me, one of the inalienable rights of man,’ he thought to himself as he lay there in the quiet semi-darkness of the hut, staring ahead with wide eyes that had settled but still held a feverish look. ‘Happiness beyond materialism, beyond all external, material influences, happiness known only to the soul, the happiness of loving! It is within the conception of all men, but it can be fully determined and ordained by God alone. But how did God ordain this law? And what about His son? . . .’ And then suddenly his chain of thoughts was broken, and Prince Andrey heard a noise (he couldn’t tell whether this was part of a delirious dream or something real), a kind of soft voice whispering something insistent and rhythmical. ‘Pitty-pitty-pitty,’ and then, ‘itty-itty,’ and again, ‘pitty-pitty-pitty,’ and again, ‘itty-itty.’ And all the time, lulled by this sweet susurration, Prince Andrey felt as if a strangely ethereal edifice of delicate needles or splinters was rising up above his face, in the very middle of it. He felt he had to keep things in balance (though it was terribly difficult) so that this soaring structure didn’t collapse, and yet it was collapsing, and slowly rising up again to the rhythmic murmur of the music.

‘It’s stretching up and spreading out, stretching and spreading!’ Prince Andrey said to himself. As he listened to the whispering murmur and sensed the edifice of needles stretching and rising Prince Andrey caught glimpses of a red halo round a candle, and he could hear cockroaches rustling and a fly buzzing round his pillow and his face. And every time the fly brushed against his face it gave him a burning sensation, and he was surprised that the fly could hit him right in the middle of the soaring edifice without bringing it down. And besides this, there was something else that was terribly important to him, something white over by the door. Was that a statue of the sphinx pressing down on him?

‘Must be my shirt on the table,’ thought Prince Andrey, ‘and there are my legs, and that’s the door. But what’s all this stretching and straining and pitty-pitty-pitty, and itty-itty and pitty-pitty-pitty. No more, please. Stop it. Leave me alone,’ Prince Andrey begged wearily. And then suddenly thought and feeling floated to the surface again with the utmost clarity and strength.

‘Yes, it’s love . . .’ (his thoughts were lucidity itself), ‘but not the kind of love that loves for a reason, a purpose, a cause, but the kind of love I felt for the first time when I was on my death bed and I saw my enemy and loved him. I experienced the feeling of love that is the essence of the soul, love that seeks no object. I can feel it now, that blessed feeling. To love your neighbour and love your enemy. To love everything, to love God in all His manifestations. You can love someone dear to you with human love, but it takes divine love to love your enemy. That’s why I felt such joy when I knew I loved that man. I wonder what happened to him. Is he still alive? . . . When you love with human love you can change from love to hatred, but divine love cannot change. Nothing, not even death, nothing can destroy it. It is the essence of the soul. How many people I have hated in the course of my life! And there’s nobody I have loved more and hated more than her.’ And he formed a clear mental image of Natasha, though not as he had seen her in the past, with all the charm that had given him such joy. For the first time he caught an image of her soul. And he could understand all her feelings, suffering, shame and remorse. For the first time he could sense the full cruelty of his rejection of her, the break between them. ‘If I could only see her one last time . . . just once, to look into her eyes and say . . .’